“One thing for sure,” Joe Hardy remarked, “in a port town like ours, you’re always going to have more than your fair share of smugglers.”

“We’ve certainly had more than our share,” his brother Frank asserted with a slight grimace. “It’s a good thing most of them aren’t as organized or ruthless as Snattman and Jensen.”

Joe, who was draped across his bed, his bare feet at the pillow end, was reading over a list of stolen items. At Frank’s remark he looked up with a shudder. “Don’t remind me,” he requested, shoving a lock of blond hair away from his face. “Snattman was brutal to Dad...and Jensen’s ‘electronically activated device’ nearly cut our football careers off entirely.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Frank agreed ruefully. He was sitting at Joe’s cluttered desk, filling out a form. “Anyway, this one should be pretty easy. With me down on the docks and you in the Starmail building, we’ll have it covered.”

Joe nodded, but he didn’t, Frank thought, look entirely convinced. Probably he didn’t like the fact that they were splitting up. Frank wasn’t too thrilled about it either; he and his brother always worked best together. “Pretty clever of ‘em to get into Starmail like they have,” Joe commented after a moment. “They can package anything illegal up with the legal deliveries and then fake the paperwork to get it down to the docks.”

“Which is why you get to start your corporate career as a lowly mail-room lad,” Frank teased.

Joe sat up and reached for the nearest handy thing to throw, which happened to be his pillow, but Frank was off the chair in a second and grabbed it away. Joe made a half-hearted attempt to get it back, but then gave up and regarded his brother with a slightly more serious expression than usual. “Maybe you ought to be the one in Starmail. Business stuff really is more your thing than mine.”

“It’s not like you’re going to be attending meetings and closing mergers, Joe. All you have to do is run the mail to people’s offices and be alert for packages with a portside destination.” Frank’s brown eyes sparkled. “A simple task for a simple guy.”

Joe leapt from the bed and a brief wrestling match ensued.

“There,” Joe panted a few minutes later, grinning down at Frank. “I believe you made a remark that needs retracting?”

“All right, all right, I retract it. Now would you kindly let me up?”

Joe stood and watched Frank get to his feet, then flopped back onto his bed, still grinning at the sour look his brother was giving him. “Let that be a lesson.”

Frank snorted, finger-combed his dark hair so that it wasn’t quite so disarrayed, and sat down in the chair again. “You made me drop my application,” he complained, bending down to pick it up from the floor.

“Like you need one. Chief already told you that you got the job.”

“Yeah, but the paperwork makes it legal,” Frank pointed out, frowning at the cluttered carpet. “Kid brother, are you ever going to clean this room? My pen’s somewhere in this mess around here, but I think I’m going to need a metal detector to find it.”

Joe leaned over the edge of the bed, then grunted, reached out his arm, and lifted a burgandy pen from the messy carpet. “Never,” he replied. “It’d destroy my filing system.” He tossed the pen to Frank, who caught it and shook his head.

“I hope you don’t try to use your ‘filing system’ here on Starmail.”

Joe cocked his head, considering. “Maybe I should. Then no one would-”

“Get anything done, except the smugglers, who aren’t exactly following the filing procedures anyway,” Frank finished.

“Well, I guess not,” Joe admitted. After that, silence fell; the only sound was Frank’s pen scritching over the application form.

Joe finished reading over the list of stolen items, shook his head, and put the paper into a folder that was lying on the bed. Then he stretched out, folding his arms and resting his chin on the back of his wrist. The window was open and the sound of a lawn mower could be heard from outside. The room was very warm, even though it was only a little after ten; the heat had already broken records this summer, and the power company was shutting down the electricity for an hour or two at a time to prevent brownouts.

But Joe’s mind wasn’t on the heat, despite the fact that neither he nor his brother had bothered to put on a shirt this morning. ‘Five days into summer vacation and we’ve already got a case,’ he mused to himself. That in itself was not unusual; adventure- or as Frank put it, trouble- had a habit of finding them at the most unexpected times. But this case, unusually enough, had been brought to the Hardys by their old friend Chief Collig of the Bayport police force. The boys had both been surprised to be called down to his office early the previous morning...

“Another smuggling ring,” the chief said in disgust, waving to the Hardys to take seats. “And it seems to be an unusually diversified one this time. You know that most smugglers pick a product and stick with it, unless opportunity knocks and they can snatch something else of value without much risk. But the thefts we’re getting lately are all over the city. Fine crystal, gold watches and jewelry, a carton of cellular phones-”

“Really diversified,” Frank remarked, exchanging a glance with Joe.

“The only thing the thefts have in common is that they’re large quantities- cartons, packages of stuff. Sometimes with the manufacterer’s label or wrapping still on the boxes. We got a break on it a few days ago; seems they’re using Starmail to ‘ship’ their loot down to the docks and sneak out with it. Don’t know if they’re doing the usual nighttime runs or if they’re operating by day, but we suspect daytime. Fits in with Starmail’s working hours that way.”

“Is Mr Payne in on it, then?” Joe asked quickly, leaning forward with interest. Jonathan Payne was co-owner and CEO of Starmail; he and his wife Linda had founded the company during the nineties. They had two sons who were still in Elementary school, and were among the richest people in Bayport.

“Jon Payne is outraged,” Collig answered bluntly. “That’s not to say he’s not involved somehow, but so far he’s been extremely cooperative, and keeps pushing me for results. He wants someone stationed in Starmail, to try and catch whichever of his employees is involved.”

“That’s why you called us?” Frank deduced. He and Joe had often done undercover work like this before; their relatively young ages made them less susceptible to suspicion, where an older plainclothes detective might attract attention.

Collig frowned. “Partly.” He stood and paced across the room, then turned back and sighed. “I know you fellows prefer to work together, but I’m going to ask you to split up. Between trying to head off robberies in the city and watching the docks around the clock, my force is spread very thin. Besides which, one new mail clerk at Starmail won’t attract attention, but two might. I’d like one of you to take the Starmail job, and the other to help keep an eye on the docks.”

Frank and Joe exchanged a look, communicating- as they often did- without words. “I guess we can handle that,” Frank said after a moment.

“Excellent. Thank you, boys, you’re doing me a real favor,” the chief said heartily. “When you get down to the port, look for Dock Bremen-”

“Dock?”

“Name’s Jeremy Bremen. He’s the dockmaster, so everyone calls him Dock,” Collig replied with a smile. “Tell him I sent you- he’ll get you set up. Your job down there will be to keep an eye on anyone suspicious- you know, of course, that all casual boaters have to sign in now when they pass a certain point, and sign out again when they leave?”

“Yeah, we’ve done it too, when we’ve been out in the Sleuth lately,” Joe agreed. “Are we getting a specific quadrant, or just the entire area in general, Chief? The port’s pretty big, after all.”

“No, just the resident boater area, not the industrial section. I’ve got people assigned to specific shipping companies, but I haven’t had much luck monitoring the pleasure craft.”

“Okay,” Frank agreed. “And Starmail?”

“Similarly, keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Payne felt the mailroom was the most likely place to look, and I have to agree; it’ll make the whole job a lot simpler. You’ll be sorting mail and packages and delivering it to the proper areas or people, so you’ll get a good look at the employees and have hands-on the packages themselves. What you want to look for is falsified paperwork and rush deliveries. And, of course, anything that’s heading for the port that’s not got one of the shipping company names on it.”

“Do they send out one at a time, or do they wait till they have a bunch and make a single delivery?” Joe wondered.

“Not sure,” Collig admitted. “Single deliveries are harder to track, but a steady stream of single cartons going to the docks would be more noticeable. If you keep seeing one person’s name associated with portside deliveries, that’d be someone to watch.”

Both boys nodded at this. “All right, so when do we start?” Joe asked.

Collig picked up two folders from his desk. “Employment applications- I’ve told both Payne and Dock to expect one or both of you, and they’ve agreed, but the paperwork still needs doing. And lists of stolen items, where they were stolen from. People to keep an eye on, both on the docks and in the company.” He handed one folder to each boy. “Tomorrow or the day after,” he added to Joe, who smiled. “And thanks, guys, I really do appreciate the backup.” Taking the hint, the boys rose from their chairs, promised to keep the chief informed, and left the station.

“So how should we split this?” Frank inquired as Joe took the driver’s seat and started the car.

Joe didn’t answer at once, as he was too busy backing out of the parking space, but once they were on the main road, he responded, “Well, corporate business is more your thing than mine, but sitting around the docks all day and just waiting for something to happen sounds like the ultimate stakeout to me. Not much to chose from,” he added grumblingly. “I was hoping for something a little more exciting.”

Frank smiled. He knew exactly how his brother felt about stakeouts, because Joe had explained his feelings many times, at length. “They’re only boring when you spend the entire time trying to come up with new variations on ‘incredibly boring,’ ” he replied. “If you want to run around Starmail, be my guest- you’re better with a lockpick than I am anyway.”

“Hmm,” the younger teen mused. “I didn’t think about it, but it might be handy to have that along, just in case I can’t get a key I need.”

The rest of the day passed in a fairly uneventful manner; in the afternoon; the boys did some chores around the house when their mother asked and spent the rest of the time trying to keep cool.

The next day, a Monday, Frank and Joe spent most of their time getting prepared. Joe telephoned Mr Payne and, after a brief discussion, was told whom he was to report to and at what time. Mr Payne seemed a rather impatient sort, speaking quickly and rather sharply. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re going to be just another employee. No extra privelages, no telling anyone how you needn’t do the work because you’ve got something else to concentrate on,” he warned Joe.

Joe counted to ten, quickly, then replied politely that he had no objections. “Any other attitude would make people wonder what I was up to,” he pointed out. “They might even stop their falsifying until I was gone.” Or try to get rid of him, by fair means or foul... probably foul. But he decided not to mention that. Jon Payne was mollified by his agreement and lost some of his aggressive manner, but Joe still hung up wondering what he was getting himself into.

Frank had a much easier time of it with ‘Dock’ Bremen when he took his turn to phone his prospective employer. Dock explained that he didn’t normally need extra help, but one of his assistants had relocated to South Carolina. The night shift was doing fine, but he was covering most of the days himself and it was getting to be a strain. “Wear light clothes, we’re indoors, but all we have is a bunch of fans,” he warned Frank. “Bring lots to drink, or plenty of money to buy it; you’ll need it. And bring a good book for the slower hours; you can only watch the sea for so long before it puts you to sleep.” Frank was pretty sure he wouldn’t fall asleep, but he appreciated the advice nonetheless.

On Tuesday, two days after speaking with Collig, the Hardys began their new ‘jobs’. Joe, who didn’t have to be in until nine, dropped Frank off at the docks and then proceeded to the Starmail building. He ran into difficulties right off; first, no one had mentioned that the parking lot was underground. Second, no one had mentioned that there was a dress code, the outfit being provided by Starmail. Third, the person he was supposed to report to was not in today, so it took a fair amount of time to find a replacement trainer. By lunchtime, Joe was having some serious doubts as to how much he’d be able to accomplish at this business.

Frank found his new job somewhat dull, seeing as it consisted of monitoring the people who entered and exited the marina over the course of the day. Everyone was now accustomed to signing in and out, so there was no belligerency over it. Dock told Frank- quietly, when no one was around- that there had been a great deal of resistance to the idea at first. ‘Why should I sign in to use my own boat?!’ had been the most commonly voiced complaint.

Dock himself was a big, brawny man with a dark tan and sun-bleached hair. He was well into his sixties, but as fit as someone half his age. His voice was deep and calm, his manner one of unruffled authority. He seemed to have a shrewd eye, Frank thought, but he was also very reticent. It would probably take a little while to find out if he’d noticed anything genuinely suspicious recently.

At the end of his workday, eight hours after he’d been dropped off, Frank made his way up to the parking lot and waited rather impatiently for his brother to collect him. Joe pulled up about twenty minutes later, wearing an expression of deep discontent. The look he shot Frank was a warning one, so the elder restrained his amusement when he slid into the car and caught sight of the slacks and dress shirt his brother was now wearing. Joe hated formal clothes, even though his family agreed that he looked quite good in them. He was, however, still wearing his sneakers, so he presented a rather unusual sight. Frank was not at all surprised when Joe disappeared upstairs the minute they got home and shortly reappeared in a completely different outfit.

The two of them gravitated to the kitchen, where the delicious smell of spaghetti revealed what their mother was making for dinner. Laura greeted them both with a kiss, and then asked them to set the table and help with the preparations. “How many tonight, Mom?” Frank asked as he got out the plates and silverware.

“Just the four of us tonight, your father called to say he’s working late on a case,” Laura informed them.

Frank set the plates and utensils around the table, then went back into the kitchen, grabbing a carrot out of the salad bowl as Joe walked past with it. “Dad’s got a case too?”

“He got it just last night. Said it was mostly research,” his mother explained. “I need a potholder, please. Two, actually, and we’ll need a trivet or two on the table.”

Frank found the required items, gave Laura the potholders, and nearly collided with his brother when he went to put the trivets on the table. “Here, you’re closer. I’ll get the glasses,” he told Joe, who nodded. Frank fetched four glasses and brought them into the dining room, then had to dodge out of the way again as Laura came through the doorway with the big pot of spaghetti sauce in her hands.

“There, we’re ready- would one of you, whoever’s closest to the stairs, please call your aunt?” she requested, placing the sauce on the table and returning for the pasta. Joe obliged, while Frank got out the milk.

During dinner, the conversation- as often happened in the Hardy home- focused on mysteries. The boys gave a summarized version of why they were apparently showing an interest in non-mysterious work, which caused Gertrude to sniff, “I just might have known.” Then she frowned. “Why do people have to sign in and out of the docks in order to use their own boats?”

“Security, auntie, one of those things they added after...after September eleven,” Frank said quietly. “You don’t want the wrong person getting into the wrong boat, just for starters. Especially not in this area.” There was a long silence at that, and Joe stopped eating altogether.

“True,” Gertrude said at last, her voice much gentler and sadder than usual. Then she changed the subject and inquired about Fenton’s case; Laura told them the little that she knew. “Research? That’s a novel change.”

“It had something to do with counterfeiters, I believe.”

“That shouldn’t be a tough one,” Joe remarked. “What with all the new methods of testing fakes these days.”

“I hope not,” Laura agreed. “I was rather looking forward to having your father at home for a while this summer.”

After dinner, the boys cleared the table, and then Joe wandered down the hall to his brother’s room and paused in the doorway, leaning up against the doorjamb. He’d expected to find Frank at the computer, but the older boy was sitting on his bed, shirt off, rubbing at his arms. “What’s up?”

“Sunburn,” Frank answered crossly, annoyed with himself. “I should’ve taken some sunscreen. Anything interesting happen in the mailroom?”

“Plenty interesting, but nothing really related to the case.” Joe was quiet a moment, frowning. “The employees are unhappy,” he amplified as Frank gave him a ‘go on’ sort of look. “If being surly, rude and uncooperative was an indication of suspicious behavior, I’d suspect the entire building. But they can’t all be in on it- I hope.”

Frank picked up a bottle of aloe vera lotion from the bed, but sat still for a moment, thinking. “Did you get a hint of what they’re so unhappy about?”

“I think most of ‘em are just burned out. It’s pretty stressful work, because everything in there is on a deadline- and the company’s not very efficient, either. A lot of the equipment is old and a number of the procedures are completely unnecessary. Like, when you check in a package, you have to have the driver sign the ‘hard copy’, the registry log- but he also has to sign the electronic log. You’d think it’d be one or the other. Just makes more work, ‘cause- ”

“Because then you’ve just got one more thing to cross reference,” Frank mused. “Sounds like Mr Payne needs to update his methods a bit. Anyone actually helpful?”

“Not a one,” Joe snorted. “‘That’s not my department’ seems to be the company motto; it certainly was the phrase I heard the most today. That and, ‘are you new here?’ I was tempted to start telling people that, no, I’ve just been hiding in a broom closet for the last six months.” Frank laughed, and Joe grinned at him. “So what about you, anything to report besides a sunburn?”

“Not much, no. I talked with Dock a bit- he’s quiet, doesn’t say much, but I’m going to try and draw him out some. Nice guy, takes his job very seriously. He knows most of the people who come through to pleasure-boat, but he doesn’t make any exceptions; everyone signs in, and out. He’s heard about the smugglers, of course, but he says that he hasn’t had anyone suddenly showing up more often than they already were. Actually, there are a lot more boaters than usual, because of the heat, but no one’s showing up four and five times a day.”

Joe nodded. “I’d put my money on a shipping company- I mean, a faked up one, that has a legit business as a cover but makes a little extra profit on the side.”

“Profit,” Frank repeated slowly. “You know, with the economy the way it’s been... profit’s something to look into. Anything that’s doing better than average might just have something dirty going on.”

“Or anything that was doing a lot worse than average but made a sudden recovery. Mention that to the Chief; he’s in a much better position to pull up those kind of numbers than we are,” Joe suggested.

“Good idea. I’ll mention it tomorrow morning.”

“Of course it’s a good idea! Don’t forget to tell him it was mine.”

“Unswell your head, Joe. You’ll have trouble getting out the door in the morning.”

The blond boy just grinned and turned from the doorway. “Oh, Mom was getting out the ice cream,” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs. And grinned again at the sound of footsteps hurrying up behind him.

“Well, we seem to have given the Chief another break,” Frank told his brother two nights later.

“Good, the sooner we’re done with this, the sooner I can quit Starmail,” Joe grouched. He was lying on his bed, reading, but as Frank came in he sat up and put the book aside.

“Looking forward to that, are you? I’ll be glad to get off the docks myself, it really is boring. Don’t know how Dock handles it,” Frank sighed.

“I’m looking forward to telling a lot of unpleasant people to take a hike,” Joe replied. “If I ever talk about doing corporate work again, please hit me with something.”

“Like what?” Frank asked, interested.

“I’ll let you know. So what’s the break?”

“He’s come up with three shipping companies that have made very high profits this year. Two of them are already under surveillance by the police.” Frank dug in his shorts pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. He handed this to Joe, who took and read it.

“Okay...Wild Springs, Media, and- what’s CTEW stand for? Sounds like a radio station.”

“Courier Transfer something or other.”

“That would be CTSO,” Joe corrected, and ducked, laughing, as Frank took a swing at him.

“Courier Transfer EarthWide, or something like that. You smartass.”

“You wound me.” Joe didn’t sound remotely wounded as he got up from the bed and put the piece of paper on his desk. “I’ve seen a few CTSO’s-”

“Joe!”

“I mean, a few of that last one-” Joe’s words were lost as Frank got him in a headlock. The two tussled for a moment, and the struggle eventually ended with both of them falling to the floor with a thud.

“Knock it off, up there!” Laura Hardy’s voice floated up the steps.

“Sorry!” Joe called back from his perch on Frank’s chest.

“You’re that, all right,” Frank croaked. “Get off of me, you elephant, you’re breaking my ribs.”

“Aw. You make such a good chair.” But Joe hopped to his feet and gave his brother a hand up.

“As you were saying before we got distracted?” Frank invited, sitting down on the side of the bed to catch his breath.

“I was?”

“Something about CTEW?”

“Oh! Yeah, they do seem to have a lot of packages coming in and going out- but it’s funny how there’s only about six or seven deliverymen.”

Frank frowned, puzzled. “What’s the deliverymen got to do with it?”

“Well,” Joe sat down beside him, “each company that sends stuff through Starmail has it’s own delivery staff. So in the course of a day, we’ll see maybe thirty packages come through for one company- sometimes in a lump, but more often two or three at a time. And each delivery is usually brought by a different person. Takes a while to learn who’s with what company. So either CTEW has a really small pool of deliverymen, or-”

“Or something’s fishy,” Frank finished. “But why so many seperate deliveries?”

“Different departments. Some companies pool their packages and send them all out at the same time each day, but that means that if you miss the common pool, you have to wait till the next day. Rather than do that, each department, or even each employee, will send out their own stuff as soon as it’s ready, not waiting for everyone else.”

“I see,” Frank murmured, enlightened. “Okay, well, you know what to do with that.”

“Naturally!” Joe grinned. “It’s into spy mode for me.”

“Had a chance to use your lockpick yet?”

“Not yet, but I keep it handy. Never know when I might need it.”

“There’s definitely something going on with CTEW,” was how Joe greeted his brother the next evening as Frank got into the car.

“What kind of something?” Frank shut the door and turned the air conditioning vent to face him, sighing in relief at the cool breeze. It was about the only way anyone got any air conditioning at all lately; the demands on the power company had increased to the point where the power was off almost as frequently as it was on.

“I saw a group of CTEW deliverymen in the loading area as I was leaving,” Joe told him.

Frank looked over at his brother curiously. Despite what had to have been a long, tiring day, Joe seemed filled with energy. “And so?” he prompted.

“What d’you suppose five CTEW delivery guys would all be doing in Starmail’s loading area at the same time?”

Frank’s eyes widened. “Special delivery, huh?” he murmured. “Did you actually see-?”

“No, they were standing all bunched together, talking, near the elevators. When I went past them they got quiet. I found a place to watch and saw them all come out together, but they all went to seperate trucks to leave.”

“Seperate trucks,” Frank repeated thoughtfully. “It could have been legit, but that’s not very likely, is it?”

“Nope,” Joe agreed. “Listen,” he added as he turned into the driveway, “tomorrow’s my day off and I can’t seem to convince anyone to switch my schedule, so I’ll just hang out in the loading area tomorrow evening and see if I can observe anything interesting.”

“A stakeout?” Frank gave him a surprised look, and then got out of the car. “Never thought I’d see the day when you’d volunteer for one of those.”

“Well, it won’t last very long.” Joe opened the door of the house and both boys hurried inside and up the stairs. Joe’s room was closer, so they went in there to finish the conversation.

“They might not meet at the same time,” Frank pointed out, sitting down on the bed and watching his brother shuck the dress code outfit. “In fact, they might not meet at all.”

“Those’re the risks, right?”

“True. It’s your idea, so I don’t want to hear anything about how boring it is.” Frank paused as another notion struck him. “I suppose you want me to walk home tomorrow?”

Joe paused in the act of pulling on a t-shirt. “Well, these are the sacrifices one makes when one is a good detective, right?” he answered cheerfully.

“You know, there is one good thing about this room of yours,” Frank replied. “Always something available-” he leaned over, picked up a book from the cluttered floor, and flung it in Joe’s general direction.

“You need to get out and practice your pitching, Frank,” his brother needled him. “You even missed the floor!”

“It’s very easy to miss the floor in here, there’s so little of it showing,” Frank retorted. Then he added, “Why don’t you call the Chief and let him know what’s up? I’ve got nothing to report, and I need a shower- it was a scorcher today.”

“Get used to it, it’s gonna be above ninety-five every day this week,” Joe advised him. “Hey, at least you can always hop into the bay for a few minutes if it gets too much,” he added at Frank’s groan. “We got mighty warm in that building ourselves today.”

‘I might just do that,’ Frank thought as he went down the hall to the bathroom. ‘Or maybe I can find one of those fans that sprays water.’

The boys ate alone that night; their father was out attending to his own case and their mother and aunt had been asked to supper at an old friend’s. Both of the teens were adequate cooks, but neither had any particular enthusiasm for it, so the meal was quick and easy; hamburgers and a dish of well-buttered corn. Dessert was ice cream, and that they took out to eat on the back porch. Joe sat on the topmost step while Frank took one of the wicker chairs and put his feet up on another. It was still hot outside, but much less so than it had been. Neither of them said much for a while.

“It’s been a pretty easy case,” Joe said at length, putting his empty bowl down beside him.

“Ain’t over yet,” Frank cautioned him.

“True, but almost. Definitely not as exciting as some we’ve had.”

“It makes a nice change, I think. I do have a certain distaste for getting shot at, unlike some I could name.”

“I don’t like it either, but a little action isn’t a bad thing,” Joe retorted, giving Frank a slightly irritable look.

“True, but we have different definitions of little.” Frank got up from his chair and stretched, then collected Joe’s bowl and spoon and carried them into the house to wash- a subtle apology for his previous remark. Joe stayed where he was for a few minutes, thinking about Starmail. Then he noticed that the mosquitos were starting to make their presence felt, and went back inside.

“Ever think about how lucky we are to do what we really want to do?” he asked as he wandered into the kitchen. Frank was wiping his hands on the dishtowel, but looked up in some surprise at the remark.

“Yeah, actually. And not only to do it, but to be good at it...we are lucky.” Frank watched for a moment as the younger teen drifted into the living room. He waited for the TV to go on, but when all he heard was silence, he went to the door. Joe was sitting on the sofa, a far-away look on his face. “What brought that on?” Frank asked him, for Joe in a pensive mood was a rare thing indeed.

“Hm? Oh, Starmail. Just thinking about all those unhappy employees, and how all of ‘em must have had some sort of dream or wish when they were younger.”

‘Oh,’ Frank thought. Most of the people who knew Joe wouldn’t suspect him of having a sensitive side, but he did- it went with his inclination to feel first and think afterwards. He regarded his brother closely for a minute; sometimes Joe shook off his deep moods, but sometimes he got a little stuck in them and needed a distraction. Today was apparently the former, however, for after a few more minutes of deep thought, Joe picked up the remote and turned the TV to the sports channel.

The next afternoon, around two p.m., Joe left the house, got into the car, and drove over to Starmail. He parked in his usual place in the underground garage and went to settle into the spot where he’d been the day before, when he’d seen the deliverymen come out of the building. When the employees left the building each night, they went through a double set of glass doors; to the left of these was the parking area. To the right, and somewhat off to the side, sat a large, battered, brown-painted steel Dumpster. Joe walked around it until he found the spot that gave him a clear view of the parking, loading and building exit areas. He figured he had about three hours’ wait ahead of him; it had been just around five p.m. yesterday when he’d seen the group standing by the elevators.

‘I wish there was some way to hide nearer and listen to whatever they were talking about, but it’s way too wide open,’ he thought. ‘Still, it’ll be good enough if I can just observe them.’ One thing did bother him, though; if the men were coming to pick up smuggled goods, where were the cartons? Perhaps someone in the Starmail building would bring something out, he reasoned.

The wait was as long as he’d feared, but not quite as boring. It never was as dull when there was a genuine hope of seeing something important. Having had long experience with stakeouts, he’d brought something to eat and drink. He had debated over wearing his work clothes in case someone spotted him, but had decided against it. Now he was glad he’d picked the shorts and light shirt; it wasn’t as hot underground as it was outside, but it was hot enough. The concrete floor was still cool, though, and the Dumpster’s exterior was only a little warm. Joe was grateful that the Dumpster was holding office trash, not ordinary garbage; that would’ve been a little too odorous.

The time dragged by; there was a steady stream of deliveries for a while, which did at least give the teenager something to watch, but none of them were for, or from, CTEW. As the day grew later, the frequency of deliveries declined sharply, and for half an hour at a time the loading area would be empty of people. The parking lot also gradually emptied itself as employees began going home for the day, and around four-thirty there was a sudden large exodus. Soon the only car in the lot was Joe’s own.

Joe spent his idle time alternately wondering what his brother was up to and speculating on what was in the seven Mack truck trailers along the far wall of the underground room. They had not been moved in some time, judging from the layers of dust and diesel exhaust soot that coated them. The employee parking lot was far to Joe’s left, while the center of the big floor was divided into spaces where the drivers parked their trucks during the loading and unloading.

Joe was wondering if Frank had actually walked home or had called their mother for a ride, when the first CTEW truck arrived. It didn’t take a spot at the loading area, but pulled off to the side somewhat. The driver didn’t get out, either, and Joe felt his pulse accelerate. About five minutes later, another truck pulled in, with a third right behind it. Joe flattened himself against the Dumpster and watched closely as the first driver now exited his vehicle to meet the other two. They stood together in a knot, talking, and the boy wished intensely that he could hear what they were saying. But there was no way to get closer without being seen.

A few minutes later, a fourth truck rolled in, stopped near the others, and this driver got out as well. There was what seemed to be a greeting from the other three, and then the group all walked toward one of the derelict trailers along the wall. The last man produced a set of keys, and, looking furtively around, unlocked the trailer and shoved the door up.

‘Oh, I should have thought of that!’ Joe exclaimed to himself. ‘Hiding it right out in plain sight! Someone must bring the stolen goods in during the night, or maybe through the morning- and then these guys come and transfer it to their trucks and take it right to CTEW’s ships!’ He watched as the men all climbed aboard and then emerged one by one, all carrying a crate or box. These they stashed in one of the trucks, then returned for a second load, which was placed in the second truck. Then a third, and a fourth, and then the man with the keys pulled down the trailer door and locked it again.

‘So, sixteen cases- but if any of them just happened to get checked by security, it wouldn’t look any different than normal- CTEW always does make lots of trips with a few boxes,’ Joe mused silently. ‘Very clever.’ He shifted slightly, trying to get a closer look at the group, but all he could really discern was the general build of the men, and the fact that three were dark-haired, while one had light brown hair.

To Joe’s surprise, the men did not get into their trucks and drive off. They stood in a knot for a few moments, apparently discussing something, and then turned to walk towards the building entrance. Joe frowned and watched them all enter, wondering if they were planning to meet with a contact. He also wondered if it was wise to try and follow them, then regretfully shook his head. No employees would be coming in now- it would look very suspicious, even if he had been in the dress-code outfit. A few minutes later the men emerged again. One of them was carrying a can of cola, and two more were holding snacks from the vending machines in the hall.

“This is great,” one of the men remarked, sounding smug. He was tall and thin, with a crooked nose. “I’ve never seen any operation as smooth as this one, I don’t think anyone’s got a clue.”

Joe grinned to himself.

“The police are sure going nuts,” the man with the cola agreed. That was the fellow with lighter hair; his back was to Joe. “They never know what or when we- or our ‘suppliers’- are going to hit next.”

“Hell, even we don’t know that!” one of the others laughed. He was shorter than the other two, but plump. “The Boss is smart, not sticking to any one thing. Diversity, dudes! Diversity is the key.” There were amused agreements from the others.

“Getting an inside source here was a brilliant move, too,” the fourth man remarked, crunching on something. Pretzels, Joe saw after a moment. “Who’d suspect a shipping company? And even if they did, this one’s so big and handles so much, who could track it?” That man was of middle height and seemed older than the rest. Then he turned his head and Joe saw a white scar on his cheek, near his ear.

“We better be getting back,” the first man said more seriously.

“Aw, no rush. Except for the rush-hour traffic!” the pretzel man retorted.

“No, but we oughta split. There’s still a car here, you know.”

Joe bit his lip; he should have parked elsewhere. ‘Sloppy, J, very sloppy,’ he chided himself.

“Probably just someone racking up overtime, messing with a deadline,” the pretzel man said dismissively. “I don’t relish sitting in no truck in this heat- my air conditioning’s busted.”

“Is it? Pop the hood and let me have a look,” the chubby man suggested. “It’s a good-enough excuse, ain’t it?”

“Guess it is. All right, we’ll hang out a bit,” the cola man, who seemed to be in charge, agreed.

‘Great,’ Joe thought. ‘I’m stuck for a while. Oh, well, maybe I’ll hear something useful.’ He watched as the two men went to one of the trucks and opened the hood, then began messing around with the interior. The other two followed, and one of them lit up a cigarette.

Fifteen or twenty minutes passed as the men checked out the engine’s parts. Joe couldn’t hear much of the conversation, but it didn’t seem to have much to do with their smuggling anyway. At length he heard one of the men say, “Blast it, hasn’t anyone got a wrench?”

“Check around the place, there might be some tools in the security office,” another suggested. Joe glanced around in some puzzlement, wondering where that was, and then shrank back as he heard footsteps approaching. Turning slowly to his left, his eyes widened as the cola man walked past the Dumpster and then angled off to a corner of the loading dock. He vanished, apparently into the office, and Joe thought frantically. If he moved, the other men would see him; if he didn’t, that smuggler might spot him when he came out of the office! A sudden notion struck him and he scrambled to his feet, then reached up and tested the Dumpster hatch.

It was locked.

Before Joe could sit down again, the man had appeared around the corner, holding a wrench and looking pleased. For a moment Joe thought the man wouldn’t see him, but then the smuggler veered toward the Dumpster, crumpling up his soda can. Then he stopped in his tracks, staring at the teenager in shock and sudden anger.

“Well, look at what we’ve got here!” he shouted, pointing the wrench at Joe.

“What?” one of the others shouted back.

“A spy! Split, guys, and take him from both sides!”

Joe swore to himself and took off towards the car, knowing it was insanity to attack the man with the wrench. But he was stiff from his long watch, and before he could make much progress, he was tackled from behind. He landed hard on the concrete, his breath knocked out of him, and things went foggy for a moment.

“So, who is he?” a voice was saying as he came back to himself.

“I saw him yesterday, he checked me in for a legit load,” another man remarked.

“Here, got his wallet. Let’s see... Oh man, buddies, we got trouble. This’s one of those Hardys- Joe Hardy.”

“One of the detectives? Watching the place?” The first man cursed inventively. “I guess it’s not going as smooth as we thought, dudes. We better notify the Boss-”

“First let’s see what else he’s got- he might have a transmitter!”

“Hell, he just might. Check him.”

Rough hands riffled through Joe’s pockets and one of the men said sharply, “Here, what’s this?”

“Lockpicks,” someone else said. Joe opened his eyes to see the cola man holding the plastic case with his lockpicks in it. “That settles it, this kid’s on assignment- and it looks like we’re it.”

“Better call in to the Boss.” That was the pretzel man; the one who’d been smoking had lit a new cigarette, and at the remark, he pulled out a cellular phone and touched several buttons.

“Boss? Yeah, we got the loot, and we got a problem. Name ‘Joe Hardy’ set off an alarm? Yeah- what? No, we checked him, he’s clean- nope, didn’t get away, V spotted him and we took him down. No, still alive. We can, though, if-”

Joe shuddered, then cast a glance upward. The men were still surrounding him, but they were paying more attention to their friend than to him. Making an effort, he sat up- and was immediately shoved back down by a large booted foot. Suddenly angry at the man’s smirk, Joe grabbed the smuggler’s leg and hauled; the man toppled. Joe rolled to his feet and started to run, but hands grabbed him and a fist sank into his gut. Gasping, he doubled over and was flung back to the ground.

“I’ll teach you to play tricks,” a voice snarled, and something cool and hard cracked into his forehead. Opening his eyes again, Joe felt himself go cold; the man was pressing a .22 between his eyes. The click-click of the weapon being cocked echoed in his ears. “Gonna make any more trouble now? ‘Cause it’d be a shame if you did something and it happened to jiggle my hand.”

“No,” Joe whispered, afraid to move his head or speak too loudly.

“Bright kid,” one of the others remarked.

“What’s the Boss say?”

“Don’t shoot him if you can avoid it, it’d just attract attention,” the man on the phone said. “Yeah, Boss, we got it. All right. Soon.” He clicked off the phone. “Boss says, we don’t need a murder rap, but we can’t let the kid make his report. So we stick him in the old trailer, make sure he can’t get out, and then we forget it ever happened.”

“All right, go get what we need, and let’s make it snappy.”

Joe gritted his teeth, trying to keep his fear under control. He could see the other men scattering, but he dared not move; he had no doubt the gunman would shoot him if he did, orders or no. Then the gun was taken away and he was flipped onto his stomach; handcuffs were locked tightly around his wrists, the steel biting painfully into his flesh. He was hauled to his feet and shoved in the direction of the old trailers.

The trailer the smugglers chose was the oldest and most dilapidated of the lot. It took them several minutes to get the rusty padlock loose and the door creaked loudly as it was opened. The truck itself was empty of freight, the walls were covered with graffitti and the wooden floor was thick with dust. A long square pole lay against the side of the truck; this, one of the men picked up and jammed into the metal racks that ran the length of the truck walls. The hooks on the end of the pole caught in the racks and held it firmly in place at just above waist-level.

“What you gonna do with that?” the pretzel man inquired curiously as they hauled an unwilling Joe into the trailer.

“This,” the other replied, taking a chain and padlock from his pocket. “Move him on over there, pal.” The gunman half-shoved, half-carried the teen over and dropped him on the floor in front of the bar.

“You see, we can’t leave him loose- he’d just make a bunch of racket till someone got curious,” the man with the chain explained, walking over to Joe and regarding him with an ugly smile. “So, we take a precaution.”

“Where’d you get the chain?”

“Dog leash.”

A second later, Joe felt the chain loop around his neck, and nearly choked as it was pulled tight. Panic surged through him and he tried to pull away, but it only tightened the chain further. Blackness rose up in front of him and he stopped fighting.

“Not too tight. We’d just hate to suffocate him, now wouldn’t we?” one of the voices in the dark said sardonically. There was laughter, but the chain loosened enough to let him breathe. A clinking sound, and then the snickt of a padlock closing.

“There. One end of the chain nice and tight ‘round his neck, the other end nice and tight ‘round the bar.” There was great satisfaction in that voice. “And a good strong padlock to make sure it won’t slip around any. Right in the middle, so he can’t bang on the walls, low enough that he can’t stand up ‘thout choking himself, and hands cuffed so he can’t do any prying loose. Once we shut the door and lock it, no one’ll find him for months, maybe even years.”

“Probably years, if that padlock’s any indication,” another voice agreed.

“No gag?”

“No need. Even if he does yell, no one’s in the lot to hear him all night, and the truck motors’ll be too loud during the day. Besides, he can’t see out, so he won’t know when to yell.”

“And we’ve got no gag anyway,” another man put in. “C’mon, let’s scat. We’ll probably get word to lie low for a while, our ‘suppliers’ are gonna be nervous about this...” The rest of their talk was lost as the big door came shrieking down. There was a faint sound of scratching, and then there was only silence.

Joe took a deep breath, willing the darkness to lift. He could feel himself trembling slightly from the adrenaline racing through him. Gradually the darkness did begin to seem less thick; there were several small holes in the sides of the truck that allowed a bit of light to filter in. It didn’t illuminate much of anything, but it did make Joe feel a little better. He glanced around, wondering if there was anything lying in the truck that could help him out of this predicament.

‘But first I’ve got to be able to get to it,’ he reminded himself. ‘And they took my lockpicks...’ There were, he’d been told, ways to get out of locked handcuffs, but he’d never learned them himself. ‘A gap in my education, I guess! Better ask Dad...if I get the chance to.’ Bad thought. He had to keep a positive attitude. ‘At least Frank knows where I am,’ he attempted to console himself, but it wasn’t much consolation. Frank thought he was doing a stakeout, not locked in a trailer. ‘Still, he’ll look for me soon. Wonder if I can get that bar pulled off the wall...’

Frank didn’t really begin to worry about his brother until around midnight; or at least, that was what he told himself. He had to admit, sometimes he got a little overprotective of Joe, and though Joe usually took it good-naturedly, he sometimes got exasperated about it. “I can’t help it,” Frank always told him. “You take so many risks, it’s a wonder my hair isn’t pure white yet.”

Still, there shouldn’t have been anything particularly risky about this stakeout; both the boys had done it often enough to know what to do, and what not to do. So it wasn’t until midnight passed with no word or sign of Joe that Frank really started having trouble concentrating on the computer chess game. Finally, around twelve-thirty, he gave up and shut down the computer altogether. It was, after all, quite late; his mother and aunt had been in bed hours ago.

As he made ready to sleep, he debated the wisdom of driving over to the Starmail building and finding Joe. It probably would not be a very sensible idea, he concluded with a sigh. Joe was probably just hanging around until either something happened or he got too bored to stick it out anymore. Just because they’d speculated that the smuggling went on during the day didn’t mean they were correct; most smuggling did take place at night. So his brother would probably arrive home around 3 or 4 in the morning and drop straight into bed. Maybe he’d have something to report, maybe not, but either way, Frank thought with a wry smile, he’d be surly all the next day from lack of sleep. ‘No point in both of us being sleep deprived.’ But despite that, it took Frank longer than usual to get to sleep.

When Frank woke the next morning, his mother had already left; she worked in a local used bookstore. Joe teased her sometimes about that, saying she’d taken the job in order to get the best bargains and the first pick of the books that came in. Aunt Gertrude was also gone. Shopping, or visiting? Frank wondered rather blearily as he went into the kitchen for something to eat. At eight a.m., it was more likely to be shopping than visiting, he decided.

It wasn’t until Frank had eaten his breakfast and gone back upstairs to get dressed that he realized Joe wasn’t around. The car the boys shared wasn’t there, and although it was hard to tell, it didn’t look as if Joe’s bed had been slept in. Frank felt a cold, tense knot start to coil in his middle. If something had happened to his brother-.

The first thing Frank did was to call Dock Bremen and tell him he wouldn’t be down today, and why. Then he called Chief Collig and explained the situation. “And I can’t go looking for him myself,” he wound up tensely, “because our car’s probably still over at Starmail- if we’re lucky. I hope no one towed it.”

“I’ll send an officer over and the two of you can go on over to Starmail to check things out,” Collig answered, sounding concerned. “Meanwhile, we’ll prepare for a sting on CTEW tonight; maybe once we break ‘em up, they’ll tell us what the deal is.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Frank replied, hung up, and hurried to get ready before the cop arrived.

The policeman, whose nameplate read ‘MacNeill’, was friendly enough, if not overly talkative. He was a thin fellow with a lean face and close-cropped hair. He didn’t inquire why he’d been deputized for taxi service, and Frank didn’t volunteer anything.

On their arrival in the underground parking lot, Frank was slightly relieved to find the car still there. However, there was still no sign of Joe. Frank waited until MacNeill had departed before searching the car for any sort of communication, but found nothing. He did make one discovery; over near the Dumpster that stood close by the Security office, he found a plastic bag with crumbs in it and a liter bottle of water, three-quarters empty. There was also a crushed cola can and, most unexpectedly, a wrench.

Frank stood for a few minutes, frowning at the spot. Clearly Joe had made this his point of surveillance. He’d sat and watched, eaten a sandwich and drunk most of the water. The cola can was a bit mystifying; it was on the ground several feet away. The wrench, though, was worrying. It had been dropped quite a few feet from the Dumpster. Frank walked over to the Security office door, and then turned. Walking back, he paused at the cola can. Yes- if Joe had been sitting there, he would have been in plain view to anyone walking out of the office.

So- someone had come out of the office carrying the wrench, seen Joe, dropped their soda can in surprise, and then... the wrench was several yards away now. Perhaps Joe, realizing he’d been spotted, had run, but been caught. Frowning, Frank walked over to the wrench and studied it closely without touching it. There was no sign of blood, which was only slightly reassuring. It meant Joe probably wasn’t badly hurt. But whoever had dropped the wrench must have overpowered him, and there was no telling what they would have done with him!

Deeply worried, Frank went to the car, kicking himself mentally for not asking Officer MacNeill to stick around. He found a piece of cloth and a pen; used the pen to mark the concrete where the wrench was lying, and then picked it up carefully with the cloth, trying not to smudge any fingerprints that might be on it. Then he hurried back to the car, hopped in, and headed for Police Headquarters.

For several minutes after he opened his eyes, Joe wondered if he had somehow gone blind. Then the pain in his neck and wrists reminded him of where he was. In the trailer, lying on the dusty floor, the chain digging into his neck and the handcuffs painfully cutting off circulation in his hands. He’d been unable to knock the bar off the rack that was holding it up, and his attempts to do so had left a ring of bruises around his throat. ‘I guess I’m lucky the chain is long enough to let me lie down,’ he thought sourly. ‘I wonder what time it is.’ There was, of course, no way to tell how much time was passing; the lights were always on underground, so the same amount of illumination seeped into the trailer. Joe had a reasonable time sense under most circumstances, but in this situation, he had no reference points at all.

No point worrying about it, though. Time didn’t mean much now. What mattered was keeping himself calm, staying alert enough to tell if someone came near, thinking of ways to attract attention. If he could get to one of the small holes in the trailer wall, he’d know when someone was nearby, and might be able to make enough noise that they’d hear it.

It was a good idea, but it failed. The smuggler who’d looped the chain around the bar had padlocked it so securely that the links didn’t slide at all. Hot and weary, frustrated and newly bruised, Joe leaned back against the bar and sighed as his stomach growled. He was, he felt, going to miss more than a few meals in here. But that wasn’t what really worried him. He was already feeling thirsty, and he knew it was only going to get worse.

“I’m afraid the sting was only a partial success,” Collig told Frank grimly. “Four smugglers, three thieves who helped supply them, but not a word out of any of them.”

“You caught ‘em in the act,” Frank protested. He was sitting in one of the chairs before the Chief’s desk, weary but keyed-up.

“Oh, they admit to the smuggling and stealing,” Collig sighed. “But all of them insist they never laid eyes on Joe, much less did anything to him.”

Frank, unable to sit still any longer, stood and began to pace. “Why?!” he burst out finally.

“I suspect,” Collig replied, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes, “because, while theft and smuggling are serious offenses, kidnapping is moreso.”

“And murder is the worst,” Frank said bitterly. Collig looked sharply at the teen; Frank was trying to keep his expression under control, but his eyes were full of fear. “Of course,” he continued, “they wouldn’t admit to anything worse than what you got ‘em on already.”

“Exactly. And there’s no good trying a polygraph; won’t work on anyone who’s decided he’s got nothing to say.” Collig said nothing about it being inadmissible in court; he knew Frank’s mind wasn’t on the trial.

Frank paced for a moment more, then stopped. “Four smugglers,” he said slowly. “Joe said that when he saw the first bunch, two days ago-” almost three, he thought with a glance at the clock- “there were five of them. So at least one, and maybe more of them, got away.”

“Two, at least,” Collig corrected him. “We seized the ship, but the Captain got past us.”

Frank turned, suddenly alert. “The ship-”

“We’ve searched it.” The chief shook his head slowly. Frank’s shoulders sagged. The longer this went on, the more he feared that his brother was already dead. He took a deep breath.

“What about the crew?”

“Crew didn’t know. Thought it was all legit shipping. Or so they say,” Collig explained tersely. “They did seem mighty shocked to find all that stuff hidden away. It does make sense; crew does what the captain tells them, but we’re questioning them anyway. And there might have been more than three thieves; we’re checking some street sources on that score.”

“Where was the gang’s base? On the ship?”

“Cave along the cliff wall between the harbor and the ocean. We found the cell phones in there, and some supplies. I’ve got men checking the other caves in the area, but it’s a long process; there’s a lot of caves, as you know.”

Frank doubted it would do any good; if the smugglers hadn’t been holding Joe in their own hideout, it didn’t seem likely that they’d go to the trouble of stashing him in a different one. But he didn’t say this; any lead, no matter how slight, he would follow. He nodded wearily, and then said, “I did get hold of Mr Payne and let him know that we’d caught most of the gang. He still wanted to know who in his office had assisted, so I’ve been cross-checking invoices for the past eight hours or so. There are two people who’ve signed all the CTEW paperwork, a man and a woman, so I figure at least one of them is an accomplice.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to the chief. “Probably the man; he seems to have written ‘merchandise’ in the carton contents descriptions a lot.”

“I see, and this other one, Lila, she’s very specific about what’s in each delivery. Good deductions, Frank, we’ll pick him up and ask him some pointed questions. Now- go home and get a few hours’ sleep before you start scouring the cliffside caves,” Collig said quietly.

Frank tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work; he nodded and left the office. ‘I don’t think I’ll need to check out the caves,’ he thought as he got into the car. ‘They’ll probably be done searching there within a few hours anyway- so if by some chance he is there, he’ll be found soon.’

If only Collig had allowed him to take part in the sting operation! None of Collig’s people knew the codes and messages that the boys used; there might have been some sort of clue that got overlooked in the procedure. And since the captured crooks weren’t talking...But Collig had insisted that someone had to finish up tying in the Starmail aspect. Frank suspected that the chief just didn’t want to put him at any more risk; it was bad enough having Joe vanish like that. But this was one time when Frank felt the risk was justified. He tried not to think of Joe being bound, tossed into the bay, and left to drown, even though that did seem the most likely thing to have happened.

‘They might even have weighted him down so- dammit, I’ve got to stop thinking like this! He must be alive. I’ll find him. Somehow, I will.’

Joe was in agony.

It wasn’t the throbbing ring of bruises around his neck.

It wasn’t the sickening ache of his wrists and hands where the metal of the handcuffs had cut into his skin and left infected sores, though that was painful enough.

It wasn’t the unpleasant prickly itch along his legs. He wasn’t sure when that had happened, but he suspected that his bladder had decided to empty itself while he was asleep, without consulting his brain first. The odor lingered, though the dampness had long since evaporated.

It wasn’t even the heat, though that was part of it. He was feverish now, and could no longer tell the difference between the day’s heat and the night’s relative coolness.

It was thirst.

Joe knew the physiological symptoms of dehydration. He knew that the body, growing desperate for moisture, drained whatever water it could find from muscles, tendons, and even from the blood. The result was dizziness, increased pulse and blood pressure levels, muscle aches and spasms. He also knew vital chemicals were lost in the process, chemicals that regular water did not contain. That was why a dehydrated person needed the special electrolyte-added juices or water to recover. Loss of the chemicals would make one lightheaded, cause extreme fatigue, and impair judgement.

Most of this he had learned in his classes at school. Some of it he had experienced firsthand. But never anything like this. The painful dryness of his mouth and throat seemed to stretch down through his body. He felt hollow, brittle, sucked dry; it seemed as if he were about to shrivel up and crack apart, leaving only dry dust and fragments.

Two thoughts possessed his mind. The first was water. The second was Frank.

It was easier if he thought about his brother. Frank would find him- he clung to the thought. ‘He knows, he knows I’m in trouble, he’ll look for me. He’ll find me. He won’t know to look here, but he’ll figure it out. He’s clever enough to do that. Got to fight. Got to hang on and wait for him...’

The thought of his brother was so strong, it seemed he could almost see Frank. Frank was at home, in his room, but he wasn’t asleep. He was looking out the window, staring upward- almost staring right at Joe, but not quite. His eyes were tired and very worried.

‘Frank...help me. Find me,’ Joe thought, and suddenly the eyes, the dark eyes he could see so plainly, were staring at him. And Frank’s expression had changed; he looked shocked, disbelieving.

“Joe?” He sounded shocked, too. “Joe! Where are you?”

Where was he? Joe fought to remember, suddenly almost frantic. “I- it’s- Starmail! The- the parking lot- the trailer! Trailers- along the wall- the last one- oldest one, the lock’s all rusty-”

“I’m coming!” Frank leapt up from the bed and suddenly his face was gone. Joe blinked his aching eyes and stared at the light spearing in through one of the holes in the trailer wall.

‘What’s happening?’ he wondered, still filled with that frantic hope. But exhaustion suddenly swept over him and he laid his head back down on the floor, closing his burning eyes. ‘Hallucinating. You’re fading, J,’ he told himself. ‘It didn’t happen... but he might find me. He will find me. Got to trust him.’ The exhaustion was deepening; he could hardly even feel the wooden floor beneath him. A flicker of fear, fear that this might be the final sleep...and then, darkness.

Something, somewhere, was making the most abominable racket. Joe winced at the noise, opened his eyes, and gasped at the flood of light that was suddenly pouring in from the end of the trailer. A figure climbed up into the truck, stood, and moved quickly toward him. Bewildered, unable to see who was there, barely able to grasp that he was found, Joe simply stared as the person knelt beside him and leaned over to touch him. “Joe,” a familiar voice said softly. Familiar, but he couldn’t remember, couldn’t think of anything...

“Water.” The word came out as a faint croak.

The figure turned slightly, lifted something, set it down. Then a hand slid under his head and lifted, an arm cradled him close. Cool metal touched his lips and water trickled into his parched mouth. He gulped; it was the most wonderful water he’d ever tasted. Another trickle, a bit more this time. He swallowed again, feeling the coolness spread through his burning throat. Then the container was set aside. A hand, cool from the metal, damp with condensation, gently stroked his hot forehead and paused on his cheek. “You can have a little more in a minute,” the voice said gently, as if sensing his yearning. “You don’t want to throw it all back up.”

That voice... “Frank?” Joe managed to whisper.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t try to talk, Joe, just rest.”

Joe lay quiet, feeling the softness of Frank’s t-shirt against his skin, listening to the strangely comforting sound of his brother’s heartbeat. He felt Frank lean forward and knew he was examining the chains, felt Frank’s intake of breath and heard the breath hiss out from between his brother’s clenched teeth. “Assholes,” Frank murmured, anger edging his voice. “I found your lockpicks,” he said suddenly. “They left ‘em on the ground, half under the trailer, guess they just threw ‘em aside. So I can get this crap off you, but I’m going to need some more light. There’s a flashlight in the car, I’ll be back in-”

“No!” If Joe could have screamed, it would have been a scream that tore itself from his mouth. Frank jumped, obviously not expecting this. “No,” Joe gasped again. “Don’t go! Don’t go!”

“But-”

“Don’t leave me!” The words were strained, taut. “Don’t leave me here! Please!” Joe gasped in a breath and suddenly the strength drained from him. “Don’t,” he whimpered. “Please don’t...”

The dark eyes that met Joe’s were wide with shock, but somehow full of concern as well. Arms pulled him closer, the hand glided across his forehead again. “Joey...” Frank’s voice was just a whisper. “I’m going to get you out of this. I’m not going to leave you behind. Joey, you’ve always trusted me. Trust me now- I know,” he added, sensing Joe’s terror, his unspoken protest. “I know, it’s hard. But think. I came to get you- why would I just turn around and leave you?”

It was logical, it made perfect sense. Joe resisted the logic with all his might, but in the end he closed his eyes and nodded, wishing he didn’t have to. There was no protest he could make. Nothing he could say that would keep Frank beside him. No words that would convey just how terrible his fear was, irrational or not. He might as well nod; Frank would go no matter what, and if the terror was going to happen, he might as well get it over with.

To his surprise, Frank didn’t release him; instead, the canteen was held to his lips again and he took a longer sip of the cool water. Then he felt himself lowered, felt the wood was under his aching body, heard Frank’s footsteps hurrying away. Joe opened his mouth to call out, and then closed it, swallowing the cry; it wouldn’t do any good at all, and he hadn’t the strength to be heard now anyway. As the seconds ticked by, he felt himself start to shake with fear. It was too hard to trust, too easy to believe that he’d be abandoned here, for good this time, left to die of thirst and infection. He didn’t want logic, he didn’t want reassurance of Frank’s swift return. He just wanted his brother beside him, to keep the fear at bay until he could fight it back himself.

A shadow caught his eye; Joe watched dazedly as Frank climbed back into the truck and knelt beside him again. Frank had definitely hurried, for he was breathing quickly. He didn’t say anything, only rested his hand lightly on Joe’s arm for a moment before digging into his pocket and pulling something out. Joe recognized his lockpick case, but he cringed at a sudden, unexpected click. A strong beam of light pierced the darkness and he realized it was just the flashlight being turned on. ‘My nerves are completely shattered,’ he thought miserably as Frank leaned over him again. ‘How could I think he’d just leave me here? I must be delirious or something.’

“There, got it,” Frank murmured after several minutes, and a second later the constriction eased as he lifted the chain carefully away. Joe took a deep breath of relief; it was so good to have that thing gone! Frank stood, walked cautiously around behind Joe, dodging the bar as he went, and then Joe felt a surge of pain as his brother began working on the handcuffs. He bit hard on his lip, and gasped a few minutes later as the first metal circle was pulled away from his wrist. He could hear Frank muttering something, but couldn’t tell what; the pain shooting through his arm from shoulder to fingertips was too intense to concentrate on anything else.

The second one was worse; by the time his hands were free, Joe’s head was spinning. He had a vague feeling of movement and realized he was sitting up, with Frank’s arm steadying him, but after that it was all darkness.

Frank stared at the clock on the waiting room wall until the numbers finally made sense. Almost three in the morning, he registered at last. He was tired, or should be, but if so he couldn’t really feel it.

He’d been perfectly fine, or so he’d thought. He’d found Joe after that...dream? Vision? Well, whatever that had been, he’d worry about figuring that out at a later time. The point was, he’d found Joe, freed him from the handcuffs and the chain that had kept him immobilized, had carried him to the car when Joe passed out, and had driven in a perfectly regular manner- if somewhat faster than usual- to the hospital. He’d watched as stretcher-bearing attendants had carried his brother into the hospital; he’d even filled out the hospital forms with no difficulty.

So why, now, was he shivering so badly? Why that ominous pressure behind his eyes, that ache swelling in his throat?

‘Delayed reaction,’ he told himself dully, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing at his aching temples. ‘Stress. Tension. All of the above.’

He knew Joe would be all right. Yes, he was dehydrated, probably suffering heatstroke, definitely in a fever from his infected wrists. Two, maybe three days on an IV and antibiotics, and he’d be home again. As good as new. Physically.

But emotionally?

The brothers had been through a lot in their time. They’d faced dangerous criminals, life-threatening situations; they’d scraped out of tight spots on luck and wits. They’d faced fear- Frank had seen fear in Joe’s eyes often enough, had felt it often himself, but the two of them had learned how not to let it rule them. In fact, Joe was better at it than Frank was, which was a little surprising, considering Frank had the greater tendency to think logically and not get stirred up by his feelings. No matter how they emerged from trouble- no matter if they were bruised and battered, shaken or exhausted or even half-drowned- Joe could always find something to make a joke about, something that put distance between them and the danger, that helped push everything into perspective. It was maddening to Frank sometimes, but mostly it was reassuring.

True, there were the rare times Joe wasn’t up to making a joke, but that was usually because he was too mad to do so, which generally accomplished the same thing.

So what was it that was so different about this situation? It had been years since Frank had seen such terror in his brother’s eyes, heard such desperation in his voice. Seeing it, hearing it, had shaken Frank to his core. ‘I called him Joey,’ he thought, closing his eyes with a sigh. ‘Twice! I haven’t done that since he was eight or nine years old! I don’t know why I did, except...except, somehow I thought it might help. And- because- because he looked at me the same way he used to when he’d wake up from a nightmare, or any time something had really frightened him.’ Frank shook his head and sat up straight again. ‘He thought I was going to leave him there. He knows I’d never do that- but he wasn’t delirious...well, maybe a little, but not that bad. He was just so terrified, to the point of not thinking rationally. He hasn’t done that since... I can’t even remember when.’

There had to be some sort of a reason, and after brooding on it for a while, Frank began to get a notion what that reason might be. Part of it was that Joe knew perfectly well he’d been close to death- that always gave him a bad scare, just like it would anyone else.

The next aspect was the fact that he’d been completely helpless to do anything about it. Joe didn’t ever deal well with being helpless; it had taken him a long time to learn to be patient and wait. He’d always rather go forth and attack than sit and endure, which was one reason he so disliked stakeouts. Sitting and waiting- hoping- to be rescued from a very cruel death had to have been a terrible strain on him. Especially since he’d also known that nobody knew where he was.

But probably, Frank thought, the main thing that had Joe so unnerved was simply that he’d been alone. That was the most enduring aspect of their joint sleuthing; they got into trouble together, and they got out of it together. When one of them felt their spirit faltering, the other would bolster him up. They would trade ideas, or work out solutions, or even just try to fit theories together, to distract their minds. And together, they found ways out of situations that would daunt a person working alone. ‘I wasn’t with him,’ Frank thought sorrowfully, biting on his lip. ‘He desperately needed me there- and I wasn’t. No wonder he was afraid I’d leave. Why didn’t I go and check on him? I should have-’

“Mister Hardy?”

Frank jumped as though stuck with a pin, then looked quickly up at the nurse standing a few feet away. He rose to his feet and she beckoned him over. “Your brother?” Frank nodded. “Well, he’s going to be fine. He’s in stable condition; you can go on up and see him if you want.” She told him the floor and room number and then returned to her desk. Frank hurried to the elevators, pressed the arrow-up button, and waited impatiently for the doors to open.

The room in which Joe had been put was not a private one, but he was the only one in it right now. He was lying in the farthest of three beds, close to a window. Frank glanced around, taking in the room, then walked softly to the side of the bed and looked down at his brother for a moment.

Joe’s blond hair was dark with dampness, and tousled; it looked as though someone had doused him in water and then quickly toweled him off. His cheeks were flushed with fever and the bruises around his throat were dark purple. White bandages encircled his wrists, which gave Frank a moment’s shock until he remembered the handcuffs. An IV needle was taped into the back of Joe’s right hand; Frank followed the tube up to the stand and glanced at the bag of clear liquid hanging there. Looking back down, he saw that Joe was now wearing a clean but faded blue hospital gown. Then he realized that Joe was not asleep; his eyes were closed, but his breathing was not that of a sleeping person, and his fingers, pale against the white sheet, were trembling visibly.

Frank reached out, took Joe’s hand in his. Joe slowly turned his head; frightened blue eyes gazed up at concerned brown eyes. Joe’s hand tightened slightly on Frank’s and some of the fear left his face. He even managed a faint smile, which loosened some of the tension in Frank’s gut. “How’re you holding up?” Frank asked softly.

“Better.” Joe’s voice was weak, but clear. “Not fantastic, but a lot better. Still awful thirsty, though.”

Frank slipped his hand free, went to the sink he’d noticed at the far end of the room, and filled a plastic cup with water. Returning, he offered it; Joe tried to sit up, but gasped in pain and slumped back on the bed. “Oh, your arms,” Frank remembered suddenly, berating himself. He sat down on the side of the bed, leaned over and slid an arm beneath Joe’s back. With this help, Joe managed to sit up; he reached for the cup, but winced again. Frank held it to his brother’s lips and waited while he drank; when Joe’d had enough, he put the cup- now half empty- on the small table near the bed. He wasn’t all too surprised when Joe didn’t lie back down, but leaned against his side and rested his cheek on Frank’s shoulder.

“I’m really glad you’re here, big brother.” Joe sounded so tired, so relieved, so.... Frank couldn’t put a word to it, didn’t try, just put his arms around his brother and held him for a few minutes. He’d lost weight; no surprise, seventy-two hours without food...

“I could say about the same,” he finally answered. “Been going kinda crazy, trying to find you and thinking-” Frank stopped, not quite able to make himself say it. Not now.

“How did you find me? I didn’t think anyone would.” Joe’s voice shook.

“It’s...hard to explain,” Frank replied slowly. “Look, why don’t we talk about this whole mess in the morning, okay? We’ll both be a little more clear-headed by then. And you’re practically asleep anyway.”

Joe nodded, but didn’t move at once. Eventually, though, he sat up with a long sigh and then lay back down on the bed, flinching at the renewed ache in his muscles. “You gonna head home, then?” His voice was little more than a whisper.

Frank shook his head. “I’m too tired to be driving, and there’s two beds available- I don’t think they’ll mind if I borrow one. Besides, I’m not leaving you.”

A smile- a real smile, if a very brief one- crossed Joe’s face at that. “Thanks...”

“Go to sleep,” Frank ordered gently. Within five minutes, Joe had obeyed; only then did Frank pull off his shoes and stretch out on the middle bed.

It was the sun blazing in throught the window that roused Frank from his sleep. He turned over on the bed and tried to drift off again, but the bed didn’t feel right. Opening his eyes, he glanced around the hospital room in perplexity, then sat up quickly as he remembered why he was here. Joe was sleeping peacefully in the next bed, his face turned away from the window. Frank got up, feeling as if his body were made of lead rather than flesh, and lowered the shade. Then he glanced at his watch and sighed. Seven thirty- about four hours of sleep.

‘Oh, hell,’ he thought suddenly. ‘Mom must be frantic- if she’s awake yet. I never called to tell her I’d found Joe, and now she’ll think I’m missing, too. There must be a phone around somewhere...’ He glanced around the room again, then frowned as his stomach growled. A noise from the doorway made him turn quickly; a nurse was entering the room.

“Good morning,” she said quietly. “Vital signs check.” She went to Joe’s bedside and tested his temperature and pulse, then wrote on a chart for a moment. “Not quite back to normal, but give him a day or so. He’ll be on a liquid diet, too, I see,” she remarked. Then she took a closer look at Frank. “Been up all night, have you?”

“Is it that obvious?” Frank asked ruefully. “Not quite the whole night, but I haven’t been sleeping a lot anyway.”

The woman nodded. “You should go home, get some rest. He’ll probably sleep most of the day. Dehydration patients usually do.” With that she replaced the chart and hurried from the room.

Frank considered that advice for a few minutes and decided the nurse might be right. He hadn’t eaten for at least twelve hours, and he was- he thought, looking down at himself with a grimace- overdue for a shower and a change of clothes. But if Joe did wake... Frank frowned, quietly went out of the room, and walked down to the nurse’s station to try and find a pen and some paper. The woman on duty was helpful and soon Frank was back in his brother’s room, writing a brief note.

‘Joe,

Went home to get cleaned up a bit. Also to find some decent food, not the hospital variety. I’ll let Mom and Aunt G know what’s up. They’ll probably come by as soon as I tell them where you are, so brace yourself! Last I knew, Dad was still incognito, but Mom might have more news.

Be back soon.

Frank.’

Frank underscored the ‘soon’, then put down the pen and folded the paper several times. He placed this under Joe’s left hand, the one that didn’t have the IV in it, and then departed, quietly closing the door behind him.

When Frank walked into the house, the first thing he saw was his mother and aunt at the table. His mother was staring at a platter of scrambled eggs and there was a full teacup beside her empty plate. Aunt Gertrude was vigorously buttering a piece of toast. “You must eat something, Laura,” she was saying briskly. “You need to keep your strength-”

“Frank!” Laura rose from the table with a cry and hurried to hug her eldest. “Where have you been?”

Frank was more than glad to accept the embrace. “I found him. I found Joe. He’s safe now, Mom. He’s in the hospital- and he’s stable.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Laura whispered. Gertrude, who had frozen in surprise, now stood, carefully laid the toast back on the plate, and went to give her nephew a brief peck.

“I knew if anyone could find him, you would,” the older woman declared. Frank managed a smile at this unusual praise.

“Where-?” Laura began.

“He was in a locked trailer in the Starmail parking lot,” Frank explained, and paused as Gertrude gasped.

“My glory, in this heat?”

“An underground parking lot,” Frank amended quickly. “Orders from the smugglers’ boss, apparently.” Then he paused again, wondering how he knew that. ‘Never mind, no time for that now,’ he thought. Taking a deep breath, he told the two women what had happened.

“He’s very lucky,” Gertrude said flatly when Frank was done. “Very lucky indeed. Oh! If I ever get my hands on those crooks-!”

“Where- what room did you say he’s in?” Laura asked, moving for her purse.

“Now, Laura, you still need to eat-”

Laura hesitated, glancing at her son.

“He was still asleep when I left, Mom. And you know what hospital food is like. You should eat Auntie’s cooking while you can,” Frank cajoled her. Both women smiled at this.

“You always have been persuasive, Frank,” his mother admitted. “And I am rather hungry all of a sudden.” She returned to her seat at the table and served herself some eggs, then stirred a spoonful of sugar into her teacup and sipped it.

“Sit down, Frank, and eat something- let me get you a plate.” His aunt disappeared into the kitchen and, in a remarkably brief time, Frank found himself hungrily eating a good meal. The two women finished before he did, and he suggested that they leave directly.

“I still have some cleaning up to do,” he pointed out. “But I’ll follow as soon as I can. Oh, Mom, was there anything from Dad?”

“He called last night to say he should be home this evening,” his mother answered. “But I don’t have any way to contact him right now, unfortunately.”

“If he does call back, I’ll update him,” Frank promised. Laura nodded, and then she and Gertrude gathered their things and left the house.

Frank finished eating and cleared the table. He stacked the plates and silverware in the dishwasher, then climbed the stairs and went down the hall to the bathroom. Stripping off his dusty, sweaty clothes, he turned on the shower. He kept the shower water cool, knowing that hot water would just make him sleepy, and he was already weary enough. Despite what the nurse had said, he really didn’t plan on sleeping yet.

Twenty minutes later Frank- dressed in fresh jeans and a short-sleeved shirt and feeling just barely awake- sat down on the side of his bed to tie his sneakers. As he leaned over, the phone rang; he got to his feet and hurried down the hall to his parents’ room, stumbling over his shoelaces several times in the process.

“Hello? Oh, Dad! Yes, Joe’s safe- he’s in Bayport General, but he’s stable...” Frank spent a few minutes explaining, again, what had happened, and was grateful to think that this was the last time he’d have to go over it. When he was done, there was a brief silence at the other end.

“Well, I was right,” Fenton said at last, and he sounded both relieved and proud. “When your mother told me Joe was missing, I was tempted to come straight home- but I knew you’d be on it, and I was sure you’d succeed. From what you’ve said, Collig hasn’t handled this as well as he might- I’m not putting a burden on you boys, Frank, since you two weren’t in charge of the operation, but it does sound like things got away from the Chief.”

“You mean, like keeping me covering the casual boating area even after we knew that it was major companies that were under suspicion?” Frank inquired grimly. “Or insisting that I stay out of the operation when they were catching the jerks? If I’d been there, I might’ve been able to help out. Maybe even managed to find where they were keeping Joe that much sooner.” He sighed, and added, “If I’d been on the stakeout with Joe-”

“Frank, all the ifs in the world won’t change it now,” his father reminded him. “And you did find him in time, that’s the main thing.”

The teenager sighed, but had to agree. Saying ‘if’ about the past never produced anything but a lot of words. ‘And sometimes, a lot of bad feelings,’ he amended his thought. “Well,” he said aloud, “Mom and Aunt Gertrude have gone to the hospital to see him. I’m going to head back real soon, too.”

“I’ll stop by there on my way home,” Fenton replied. “Hopefully this afternoon, but we might not be wrapped up until the evening. What room do I look for?” Frank told him, and then his father said farewell.

Frank hung up the phone, left his parents’ room and went back down the hall to his own. He sat back down on the bed, suddenly feeling very tired and unhappy. “I don’t get this,” he murmured to the empty house. “Aunt Gertrude ‘knew’ I’d find him. Dad was ‘sure’ I would find him. Am I the only one who wasn’t positive that I’d figure out where Joe was? How many times did I wish Dad was here to give me some guidance- or at least wasn’t so far out of touch? Why were they all depending on me? And...what if I hadn’t found him? Would they all have blamed me for the rest of my life?”

There he went again, he realized after a moment. Asking ‘what if’. He didn’t have any answers, and he was glad to think he never would. But he did know one thing; if he hadn’t found Joe, or found him too late- even if his parents hadn’t blamed him- he never would have forgiven himself.

The thoughts, coming after the long days of uncertainty and worry, days too filled with imperfectly-surpressed visions of what might have befallen his brother, were too much for the youth. All of the horrible possibilities that he had striven so hard not to think of, to ignore and deny, raced through his mind one after the other. His brother- alive, but captive, mistreated. Hurt, perhaps severely. Dead- murdered in a dozen different ways. A gravestone with a name and a date. A coffin with no body. Weeks, months, years, of never knowing...

Frank bowed his face into his hands and tried futilely to wipe away the tears that just would not stop running from his eyes. He tried to tell himself that he was being foolish, that the danger was over, that his imagination was running wild, but it did no good at all. Finally he gave up the fight, knowing he’d lost. He slumped onto his bed and let himself cry. He never noticed when his tears stopped and he fell into a deep sleep.

Frank woke with a sudden jolt, feeling as though someone had shaken him or called his name. Blinking around his room, he had a distinct feeling that he’d forgotten something. Then he got a look at the clock on his bedtable, and his eyes widened. It was almost eleven-thirty! His mother and aunt- and most importantly, Joe- would be wondering where on Earth he was!

Frank scrambled off the bed, feeling considerably better for the extra sleep, but chagrined that he’d succumbed to it. He paused long enough to tie his shoes and then ducked into the bathroom to wash his face. He found his keys, ran down to the car and was on his way in a matter of minutes. The inside of the car was an oven, despite the windows he’d left open, but the air conditioning gradually took care of that.

When Frank entered the hospital room, Joe was lying quietly on the bed, his eyes closed. His face seemed pale, which was better than feverish, but he looked very tired. There was no sign of Laura or Gertrude, but two chairs had been placed close to the bed, so they had to have been in recently.

Joe, apparently hearing footsteps, opened his eyes, and then he smiled. “Well, you look better,” he remarked.

“Thanks. Sorry I took so long getting back. First Dad called and then I think I just crashed completely,” Frank answered, trying not to remember exactly how he had crashed.

“Oh, it’s all right. Thanks for the note, though, I would’ve been wondering what was up. What’d Dad say?” Joe asked. He sounded much more like himself, Frank thought.

“He thinks they’ll wrap up sometime this afternoon, or this evening at the latest. Said he’ll be in to see you,” he answered. Joe smiled again, then sighed and his eyes closed. “You look wiped out,” Frank added with a frown, taking one of the chairs.

A rueful look crossed Joe’s face and he opened his eyes again. “Mom and Aunt Gertrude just went down to get some lunch,” he said obliquely.

“Oh,” Frank murmured, enlightened.

“I didn’t realize how tired I was till they left.”

“When’d you wake up?”

“About an hour after you left.”

Frank nodded, and then suddenly had a feeling that something was missing. “Oh, the IV,” he said, realizing that the pole was gone and the tube was no longer in the back of Joe’s right hand. “It’s gone.”

“Yeah, they took it out- just a little while ago, actually. I’m glad it’s gone, but I wish,” Joe said with sudden emphasis, “that they’d take these off too!” He lifted his hands and gestured at the bandages on his wrists.

“The infection,” Frank started.

“I know...I know, but I don’t like ‘em. They just- they-” Joe stopped, took a slow breath, and then said, calmly, “They remind me too much of those damned handcuffs.”

Frank opened his mouth to answer, then changed his mind and closed it again. “Oh,” he said at last. “Yeah, you don’t need that kind of reminder.”

Joe shook his head, sighed a little, then gave a sort of shrug. Acting on some inexplicable impulse, Frank reached over and took his brother’s hand. Joe gave him a tired smile and squeezed Frank’s fingers gently. Neither of them said anything more, and after a few minutes Frank realized that Joe had fallen asleep again. “That was fast. He must be awful tired,” Frank mused.

‘No,’ a thought seemed to whisper through his mind. ‘Just...safer, now.’

“What?” Frank asked, aloud but softly, glancing around the room in bewilderment. There was no answer, but a minute later the door swung open and his mother and aunt walked in.

“Oh, Frank-”

“Shhh.” Frank freed his hand and rose from the chair, coming to stand next to the two women. “He’s asleep.”

“Oh,” Laura said softly. “We talked for quite a bit; I guess it wore him out.” She looked at Frank. “Is everything all right?”

He nodded. “I kinda crashed myself, fell asleep without intending to,” he admitted.

“Looks like it did you good, dear. Your eyes are still a little bloodshot, but you don’t look so haggard.” Laura smiled, then walked quietly to the bedside and sat down in the chair Frank had been in.

“I just thought of something,” the teen mused, trying not to blush at the remark about his eyes.

“What?” Gertrude inquired.

“I forgot to tell Chief Collig that he can call off the search. Oh, and Mom, Dad said he’ll be back this evening, or maybe this afternoon if he’s lucky.”

“That’s good to hear, love. Go ahead and call the Chief, I’m sure he’ll be relieved,” Laura suggested in a quiet voice. Frank nodded and left the room to find a phone, grimacing at the thought of repeating the whole thing over again.

It was the sound of voices that woke Joe; two voices, one deeper than the other, both coming from nearby, but speaking very quietly. He tried to open his eyes, but they seemed much too heavy; instead he lay still and listened.

“How long has he been asleep?” inquired the deeper voice.

“Since about noon, on and off,” answered the other. “He woke up a few times and wanted something to drink, but fell asleep again within a few minutes.”

“Any idea when he’ll be released?”

So that one wasn’t a doctor, Joe mused drowsily.

“Probably tomorrow afternoon. He’s to be on a liquid diet for a day or so; they said that’s pretty standard for dehydration. The infection’s clearing up well, they’ll give him some tablets to take, to be sure it doesn’t relapse.”

Joe wondered when he could take the uncomfortable bandages off his wrists.

“Good. Good to hear,” the first voice said warmly. “Did you let the Chief know?”

“Yeah, I called him not long after I got here. He was as relieved as the rest of us. I also told him that we wouldn’t be inclined to work seperately from now on.” There was a grim note in that remark that Joe recognized but couldn’t quite place. “In fact, I think I’ll insist on taking a breather before we try anything else this summer.”

“That’s probably wise,” the first voice agreed. “Give both of you some time to settle down.”

Neither of them were doctors...and they both sounded so familiar...Joe tried again to open his eyes, but although he succeeded, his vision was too blurred to discern who was in the room with him. Against his will, his eyes dropped shut again.

“...Your mother go home?” the first voice was asking.

“Just about twenty minutes or so,” the second voice answered, coming closer. A chair scraped.

‘Your mother...Dad, it must be Dad,’ Joe realized. ‘Dad and Frank.’

There was another scraping sound; apparently they had both sat down. “Now, run this by me again, Frank. How many were there?”

“Still not sure,” Frank answered ruefully. “We caught- ‘scuse me, the Chief caught- three guys who were doing some of the robberies and passing the stuff on to the smugglers, and four of the smugglers. Joe told me he saw five in the parking lot at Starmail- the day before all this happened- and there was the Captain of the CTEW ship, who got away.”

“Has he determined who was in charge?”

“Possibly the Captain- but it might have been the fifth guy, or there might have been a sixth.” Joe could tell that his brother had shrugged as he spoke.

“In other words-”

“In other words, no. They were using one of the cliffshore caves as a hideout, not the ship, if that means anything.”

“So at least two got away, and from the sound of it, likely the more wanted of the bunch,” Fenton remarked. Joe knew that level tone of voice, and winced inwardly. His father was not pleased. “I think you two better keep your distance from Collig’s cases,” Fenton added after a brief silence. “Either that, or start insisting that he give you as much credence as he does his own force. I don’t think he deployed you properly, and he didn’t make good use of the information you and Joe got for him.”

“Credence?” Frank asked, sounding cautious.

“Hm, well, perhaps I mean autonomy. You’re not part of his force, so you shouldn’t be subject to his orders, especially when it runs counter to your own methods and instincts,” Fenton explained. “Which is why private investigators don’t usually work with the police much,” he added. “They tend to run at loggerheads when authority becomes a question.”

‘So he’s not blaming us,’ Joe thought. That was very good to hear, particularly since they hadn’t done such a terrible job. ‘I really should’ve been more careful, though,’ he admitted to himself. ‘Especially since I was by myself. I don’t think I’ll argue with Frank over taking a pause, either.’

“I don’t suppose there’s any way of tracking down the ones who got away?” Fenton was asking. Frank sighed, the sort of sigh he gave when he was feeling defeated.

“They’re ‘trying’, but I think it’s all going to go for nothing. They have a chance of locating the Captain, since they have a description of him, but the problem is that none of the others are talking, and without that, there’s no way of knowing how the rest escaped. They wouldn’t even admit to having seen Joe, much less...what they really did.”

‘They didn’t talk?’ Joe wondered, surprised and suddenly unnerved. The words he’d heard in the parking lot came back to him: “Lock him in the old trailer and then forget we ever saw him.” But he’d assumed that one or more of the smugglers must have decided to talk anyway, perhaps in the hope of getting a lighter sentence. ‘If none of them talked, then how did Frank know...?’

Fenton had just asked exactly the same thing; Joe listened to his brother, who was replying, slowly, “It was...sort of a hunch. It made sense to think that they would’ve taken him somewhere else, but it also seemed to make sense that they would have been in a hurry, and just picked the closest convenient place- to give them enough time to get away.”

‘Logical,’ Joe had to admit to himself. ‘So why don’t I believe it? Or maybe I was just hallucinating.’

“I see,” their father murmured, and there was a long silence. “I definitely don’t want you two taking on anything dangerous for a while,” Fenton added at length. “Not till after the smugglers have had their trial. I’ll talk to Collig tomorrow and tell him we’re pressing charges of kidnapping and attempted murder. Maybe when they hear that, they’ll be more willing to let us in on where the rest of their gang is.”

‘Attempted murder.’ The words echoed in Joe’s mind. Why they should suddenly seem so threatening was beyond him; he’d heard them many times before, even applied to himself. But he felt a coldness spread over him, a deep fear, a sense almost of loss. Confused, he focused on the sound of a chair moving, tried to listen as his father said something to Frank, and then struggled to open his eyes again at the sound of footsteps departing. This time he managed, and saw his brother standing at the door. Fenton had apparently just departed. Before he could say anything, Frank had turned back and came to sit down in the chair. Then he leaned closer.

“Oh, you’re awake. You just missed Dad.”

Joe stared at him, puzzled. The peculiar feeling had passed; he felt very tired, but no longer afraid. “What time is it?” he asked, trying to shake off the confusion.

“A little after five. Mom and Aunt Gertrude left around four, and Dad came in at about four-thirty.”

“You were talking,” Joe murmured. Frank looked surprised, then chagrined.

“Sorry, we thought you were sound asleep. Should’ve kept quieter, I guess.”

“S’okay. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t get my eyes open,” Joe stopped to yawn. “Thought I was dreaming at first. I’m glad Dad’s not upset with us, though.”

“No reason to be.”

“Not with you, but I was careless,” Joe admitted. “Left the car right out in the parking lot, in plain sight- which wasn’t a problem until everyone left and it was the only one there. And I didn’t check the area well enough, didn’t know there was a security office down there.” He paused, sighed, then explained how he’d been caught. It took a little while; talking was an effort and his head didn’t feel very clear.

“That wasn’t so much careless as unlucky,” Frank told him when he’d finished speaking. “I wouldn’t’ve seen that security office either, if I hadn’t been wondering what a wrench was doing on the floor. And most people don’t make a habit of locking a Dumpster; must make it a real pain for the trash people.”

“Now you’re being protective,” Joe whispered, but he turned a smile in his brother’s direction.

“I should be anything else?” Frank inquired, gently ruffling Joe’s hair. “By the way, did you catch the bit about not taking up anything new until this has been completely settled?”

Joe nodded, and felt his eyes closing again. “I’m not going to argue,” he murmured. “Did someone sedate me or something? I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“They gave you a painkiller for your shoulders,” Frank explained. “Or don’t you remember that?”

“No.”

“D’you remember eating?”

“Hmmm...broth,” Joe recalled, suddenly remembering the tray, and the bed being inclined so that he could sit up, and the lingering ache in his arms that had made holding a spoon and lifting a cup a rather unpleasant sensation.

“And do you remember complaining about it?”

Joe opened his eyes and observed his brother’s grin. “No, but I’m not surprised that I did,” he said placidly. Frank chuckled.

“Well, get used to it, because it’s liquids again tomorrow. But the good news,” he added over Joe’s grumble, “is that they might discharge you tomorrow afternoon.”

“I will be glad to get home,” Joe murmured.

“Clutter sweet clutter,” Frank suggested.

“Oh, be qui-” Joe broke off and yawned again.

“I better get out of here before you put me to sleep.” Frank stood up from his chair, then laid his hand on Joe’s arm. “See you in the morning.”

Joe nodded and let the drowsiness drift him away as Frank departed.

When Frank walked into Joe’s hospital room the next morning, he was taken aback to see that the bed was empty. His surprise didn’t last long, however; Joe was perched on a chair beside the window, looking out. He turned when Frank came in, and smiled. “Morning!”

“And morning to you. Good view?” Frank stifled the urge to ask why Joe was out of bed; his parents would surely attend to that when they arrived.

“Not really, it’s too close to the ground to see much besides parking lots and building walls. But it’s better than this view.” Joe waved an arm, indicating the interior of the room. “At least there’s some blue sky and sunshine.”

Frank had to agree that the hospital room was pretty drab; everything was either white, steel, or beige. “Any word on your pending dismissal?” he inquired.

“Not a thing,” Joe sighed. “Haven’t even seen a doctor all morning. Just a nurse, who greeted me with the business end of a thermometer. The fever’s gone, but I’ve still got to keep taking the antibiotics.”

“Yeah, to make sure it’s completely killed off.”

Joe nodded, rubbing absently at his shoulder.

“Still achy?”

“Oh, no, it’s the bruise from the tetanus shot.” Joe pulled up the loose sleeve of the hospital gown and displayed a blue-green bruise about the size of a nickel. “Smaller than it was yesterday,” he remarked. “But they might’ve considered how sore my arms already were before they went and stuck a needle into ‘em.”

“So you’d rather be sitting uncomfortably?” Frank asked slyly.

“Ah, well, now that you mention it,” Joe said hastily, and then he laughed. “All right, I’ll quit griping.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Frank retorted, coming over to the chair and glancing out the window. It was, he agreed, a rather dull view.

About fifteen minutes later, Fenton, Laura and Gertrude arrived. As Frank had expected, Gertrude immediately demanded to know why Joe wasn’t in bed.

“They want me to move around a bit, Auntie,” Joe explained. “Not a lot, and I don’t think I’ll be up for a ten mile hike until the end of the week-”

“If you think-!” Gertrude started, and then realized she was being teased.

“Joe? Think?” Frank asked in amazement, and got a dirty look for his pains. His parents chuckled. Laura sat down in one of the chairs, while Gertrude claimed the other. Joe went back to sit on the bed, so Fenton took the chair by the window and Frank sat at the foot of the bed. The family was deep in discussion of Fenton’s latest case when a doctor came into the room.

“This is quite a gathering,” he remarked, adjusting his glasses. “I’m Doctor Anderson and I’m here to discharge the patient- I expect that’s this fellow who’s sporting our latest fashions.”

Joe laughed. “That’s me,” he agreed.

“All right, well, let me take a brief look.” Doctor Anderson gave the youth a quick examination, checking his pulse and temperature, testing his reflexes and eyesight, and finally doing a balance test. The last, which none of the Hardys had seen before, consisted of having Joe stand up, close his eyes, turn in circles several times, and then stop and look around.

“The point being, if you’re dizzy after a couple turns, you probably stand in need of more rest,” the doctor explained. “It’s a more reliable indicator than fatigue, which is pretty hard to measure anyway. No, looks like you pass all the tests, so if you want to change and get out of here, we won’t stop you.”

“Change,” Joe repeated, looking around at his family. Laura smiled and picked up a small paper bag with handles that Frank hadn’t noticed.

“We thought of that.”

“Oh, thanks,” Joe said gratefully as his mother brought the bag over to him. He went into the little bathroom in the corner to change and came out looking much more like himself in the jeans and short-sleeved shirt.

“I’ll send up the wheelchair,” the doctor told them, “once I sign the release forms and notify the desk. It’ll only take a few minutes.” He reached into the pocket of his white coat and withdrew a small vial. “Your remaining antibiotics,” he said, handing it to Joe. “Twice a day, two hours after eating or one hour before. Lots of water. You can take the bandages off tomorrow, but use an antibiotic ointment on them for a few days.”

Joe accepted the vial, glanced at the label, then nodded and put it in his pocket. He obviously wasn’t thrilled at the thought of riding in a wheelchair when he could perfectly well walk, but he said nothing. Hospital regulations, after all. “Thanks,” he said.

Doctor Anderson nodded. “Well, hope we don’t meet again,” he said cheerfully, shook hands all around, and then departed.

The wheelchair arrived a few minutes later; Joe resignedly sat in it, and was only slightly mollified when Frank took the handles to push it. The orderly, he knew, would have proceeded at a much slower rate, but all the same he was glad to get down to the lobby and get out of the chair. There was some tedious filling out of forms at the discharge desk, but after that was done, the family walked out to the parking lot in very good spirits.

It took a bit of doing to cram all five of them into one car, even a car as large as Fenton’s sedan, but with some wedging, they managed. Fenton drove; Gertrude sat in the front passenger seat, as she tended to suffer car-sickness, and Laura sat in back, between her sons.

Joe watched out the window as they drove, listening to his parents and aunt talk to each other and Frank, feeling oddly subdued now that they were on the way home. There was a palpable feeling of worry in the car, despite all the easy talk, and it didn’t take much pondering to know what the worry was about. That, he figured, would pass in a day or so, once everyone realized he was all right. Except, of course, for Frank, who always kept a wary eye on him after he’d been injured. Normally Joe got fed up with it long before Frank tired of being wary- but, the teen mused, gazing almost unseeing at the passing cars, this time he might not. Because he wasn’t so sure, himself, that he was all right.

Joe was pulled out of his muse when his father asked him a question; he replied, and turned his attention back to the conversation, but he didn’t miss the glance that Frank gave him.

The feeling that he wasn’t quite altogether all right continued over the next days. Joe was glad enough to be home, but he found himself hoping, with an intensity he would never have expected in himself, that nothing in the way of a mystery would land on them for a while. First, he wasn’t up to it, and second, he had his own little mystery to figure out.

Just how had Frank known where to find him? What were these strange, sudden bursts of feelings or ideas in his mind? It was unnerving, waking up and knowing that Mom and Aunt Gertrude were talking about having chops for dinner; unnerving to sit at his desk and know that Dad was about to pick up the phone and tell Mom he’d be a little late; extremely unnerving to hear Frank’s voice actually inside his head. That last wasn’t happening as much as the rest of it, but it was definitely the most unexpected.

The other aspect to Joe’s private mystery was the emotions. The looming worry he had noticed on the drive home from the hospital was just the start; soon he realized he could tell how everyone in the family was feeling without even looking at them. It was one thing to listen to a voice and take clues from a facial expression, but when you weren’t listening to or looking at the person- that was rather creepy.

Completely unsure what was happening, Joe retreated in an attempt to puzzle things out. He discovered several things: first, he could keep himself from hearing, or whatever the word would be, all these thoughts and feelings and hunches. He still wasn’t quite sure how he did it, but he did manage to get it to where he had to make a conscious decision to listen to someone- most of the time.

Second, he learned that sometimes his conscious decision didn’t work. He discovered this one afternoon when Laura exploded with anger at the bookstore over something a customer said to her. Joe was actually outside with Frank at the time; they were doing some of the yard work. The sudden sharpness of his mother’s anger was a complete shock, almost a physical pain. Joe stopped what he was doing and closed his eyes, pressing his hand to his head in an effort to push that anger out.

“You okay?” Frank asked, and Joe dimly felt his brother’s concern.

“Yeah, just a headache.” It was more than that, though; Joe found his hands shaking and quickly picked up the trowel he’d dropped. For a moment, it had almost felt as though his mother was mad at him, and that had brought on several vivid memories of being scolded as a child. ‘She’s not mad at me,’ he told himself firmly as he went back to what he’d been doing, but all the same he didn’t feel quite right until she greeted him with a warm hug on her arrival at home that night.

Another thing he noticed was that, while his parents and aunt seemed to be unaware of how often he anticipated their remarks, Frank was quite aware of it. His brother said nothing directly about it, but more than a few times Joe wondered if some feeling or unspoken remark had been directed specifically at him. That in itself wasn’t so surprising; the two had often picked up each other’s feelings and thoughts without needing to say much- or even say anything- so perhaps it was just more of that. It was, he thought, something he should probably discuss with Frank, but he couldn’t quite summon the nerve.

It took Joe a while, though, to realize that this retreat into himself to ponder his private mystery was causing a problem of another kind as well.