Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Joe wrinkled his nose but made no further acknowledgment of Frank’s comment. “This guy said they were going to have you take ‘a’ bomb and detonate it.”

“Yeah, so?”

Joe sat on the other cot across from Frank and leaned forward, staring intently. “So they said they wanted you to build two bombs….What’s the second one for?”

Frank sat up, his posture almost mirroring his brother’s, realizing he hadn’t even noticed that faux pas. “He probably meant to say he wanted me to detonate both bombs.”

Joe shook his head suddenly looking very uncomfortable. “I don’t think so,” he said nervously. “I just have a really bad feeling about that second bomb…and what’s up with the piece of leather? What do you need that for?”

Frank knitted his brow in confusion. “What piece of leather?”

“It was on the list. A strip of leather, twelve inches long and three inches wide. I just about went crazy trying to find it! Is leather really necessary to build a bomb?”

Frank shook his head, puzzled. “Not that I know of,” he murmured, acutely aware of the waves of nervous energy radiating off his brother. “I guess we’ll find out eventually…”

Joe seemed to shiver involuntarily. “Yeah…guess so…” he replied softly. Rising from the cot, Joe resumed his nervous pacing.

A short time later the door opened suddenly and the guard who’d been stationed outside took a few steps into the room. He gestured towards Frank with the imposing automatic weapon. “Break time’s over. Let’s go.”

Frank stood up, took a step forward and then stopped, hesitating. His gaze shifted back to Joe, who had stopped pacing and was now standing next to the cot. He didn’t like the idea of being separated from Joe, not knowing what, if anything, was happening to Joe and having to trust their captors when they said he was fine.

Frank was also acutely aware that a tiny room, alone with newly reopened wounds and painful memories was the last place Joe should be. At least upstairs Joe would have something else to focus on, something to distract him.

“He comes, too.” Frank jerked his head towards Joe.

“He stays,” the guard countered.

Taking a step back into the room, Frank positioned himself slightly in front of Joe. “If he doesn’t go, I don’t go,”

“I said he stays here. Now let’s GO!” The man lifted his gun and pointed it at Frank for emphasis.

Frank shook his head and stood his ground. “I’m not going without him so you might as well just shoot us both now.” He felt Joe nudge him from behind, as if to say ‘Are you crazy?!’

“Not a problem,” the guard shrugged as he cocked the gun.

“But you might want to check with your boss first,” Frank suggested. “Because if you kill us you’ll have to build your own bombs and that’ll pretty much shoot your plans all to hell, won’t it?”

The gunman sneered, pointing the gun over Frank’s shoulder at Joe’s head. “Well then, how ‘bout if I just shoot him?”

Frank looked at him impassively and then took a step to his left, completely blocking Joe from view. “Suit yourself,” he invited with a smile, “but you’ll have to go through me to do it.”

The man glowered and the gun dipped slightly as he considered his options uncertainly. “Wait here,” he finally muttered, stepping out of the room and shutting the door.

“Wait here?” Frank repeated sarcastically. “Like we have a choice?” Hearing a soft snort behind him, he turned to see Joe looking at him in disbelief. “What?”

The younger Hardy just shook his head. “And people say I’m the crazy one.”

Frank grinned. “You are.”

“I don’t openly invite people to shoot me!” Joe exclaimed, waving his hand towards the door for emphasis.

Just then the door opened and the guard came back in, looking at Frank. “Let’s go.”

“Him too?” Frank jerked a thumb towards Joe.

“Him too,” the man acknowledged as he tossed a length of rope at Frank. “After you tie his hands.”

Frank caught the rope and looked at it disgustedly. Silently Joe turned around and put his hands behind his back. As Frank moved to stand behind him – and block the guard’s view completely – he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Ah, ah,” the guard warned. Applying a little pressure with the barrel of the gun that was resting against Frank’s arm he pushed Frank over slightly to get a clear view of Joe’s arms. “I’m watching so don’t try anything funny…and make sure you tie him nice and tight,” he finished giving Frank an extra jab for emphasis.

‘Like hell,’ Frank thought, doing a slow burn. He threw the man a look of disdain but allowed him to watch as he tied Joe’s wrists. As they turned to leave the room Frank leaned in towards Joe and whispered, “Stick close.” He wasn’t sure if the guard would try anything once they were out of the room but he didn’t want to take any chances.

Another armed man joined them once they were out in the hall, one walking in front of the brothers and one behind, but the trip back up the stairs was uneventful. Arriving back in the main room, however, Joe was quickly separated from Frank, forced into a chair and bound to it with rope.

“Hey!” Frank protested angrily, as he was physically forced to the other side of the room. “His hands are already tied! You don’t need to tie him up again!”

The sandy-haired man Frank had come to know as the leader stood behind Joe as he addressed Frank. “He can stay here, tied up, or be returned to the bunker. Your choice.”

Frank was about to respond when Joe shook his head slightly and shrugged in an ‘It’s okay,’ gesture. Not happy about the situation, but realizing he had no choice, Frank returned his attention to the plans and materials laid out on the table.

With his every move being watched by the men in the room, and the bomb expert scrutinizing everything he did, Frank couldn’t help but feel like an animal on display in a zoo. Periodically he glanced at Joe, needing to know his brother was there and unhurt, albeit incredibly bored. Joe had tried several times to make conversation with their captors in an effort to get them to slip up and give away more information than they intended but his questions and comments were always met with stony silence. In the end he just gave up and watched, like everyone else in the room.

It was close to nine p.m. when Frank finally announced he was done. At a nod from the leader the explosives expert stepped forward and examined the finished product, never actually touching either of the bombs, Frank noted with disgust. When he gave his approval the leader pointed to the strip of leather Joe had been so concerned with earlier. It was lying off to the side and Frank had actually forgotten about it until the man pointed it out.

“Attach the smaller of the two bombs to the piece of leather,” he instructed. “And then attach the combination lock.”

Knowing better than to ask questions, Frank did as he was told. When he was finished he held it up for inspection thinking it looked an awful lot like a dog collar. Once again his handiwork was given a thorough once over by the bomb specialist. When the man nodded his final approval, the rope binding Joe to the chair was cut and he and Frank were escorted back to the bunker, where they were given something to eat for dinner and told to get a good night’s sleep.

*****

As the men in the room slowly filtered out, the explosives expert stayed behind, waiting. A few moments later, the sandy-haired man returned and placed a small box on the table.

“Finish it,” he said simply and left the room.

Donning a pair of latex gloves the first man opened the box and took out a second detonator attached to a secondary timer. Picking up the strip of leather, he attached the mechanism to the bomb. Smiling, he replaced it on the table next to the larger bomb, turned off the lights and left the room.

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.