Joe followed Brian outside and got into his patrol car as he was directed to do. Since his father had originally been a police officer for the NYPD, Joe was fully aware that once the back doors of the patrol car were locked, there would be no way for him to escape. He thought about making a run for it, or crying for help, since the hospital was crawling with cops. But, the gun pointing into his back as Brian had followed right behind him was enough to change his mind.

As the car sped off, Joe tried to make sense of it all. He kept staring at Brian through the front mirror. None of this made sense. Brian had acted like his friend. He had informed him of the robberies, and had been there when Frank was hurt. He had helped to get information from Dave, and had even told him about the cases involving embezzlement when they had all been in his hotel room. Was Brian really close to Jenna? Were they dating? How had he become a cop—that part was especially confusing. Then, Joe gasped. Maybe… maybe Brian was Jenna’s brother! Hadn’t Green told him that Thornton might have had more than one child? He hadn’t even bothered to get Brian’s last name! He groaned out loud as he realized what he had missed the entire time.

Finally, the car slowed in front of a relatively isolated park. Since it was not yet 7:00 a.m., few people were out. Brian stopped the car and came around to the back, opening the door. Joe slowly got out, trying to seize the opportunity to make a run for it. He noticed that Brian didn’t have the gun trained on him, but did have one hand in his pocket.

"Have a seat," Brian said to Joe, indicating the park bench.

Joe walked hesitantly to it, and did as he was told. "Brian, before you kill me, I’d like to get some answers," he said directly, meeting Brian’s eyes.

"What?!" Brain asked, confused. "Joe, man, I’m not going to kill you!" He sat next to him on the bench.

Joe froze, unsure of what to do. "What do you mean?" he asked at last.

Brian looked at him and smiled. "Want some coffee? I can get it in the car."

"Coffee?!" Joe asked, outraged. "What the hell are you trying to do?! You pull a gun on me, and then tell me to have a seat and offer me coffee?! Are you out of your mind?!" Joe stood and backed up, not sure of whether to run or to try and get answers. He decided to see how Brian would react and tell him what he knew. "Brian Thornton. Very interesting," he said, meeting Brian’s eyes.

"What?" Brian asked. "Joe, calm down. I’m sorry I had to pull a gun on you, but I’ll explain why in a minute. I’m your friend, remember? Who’s Brian Thornton?!"

Joe stared at him, confused. Brian legitimately looked perplexed. "You are," Joe responded, calling his bluff.

"I am not," Brian retorted. "Is this why you’re so mad? Because I didn’t tell you my last name? It’s Radcliffe."

Joe’s mouth dropped open, and he had to pause a moment before he spoke again. "Brian," he said, still standing, "I’m mad because you pulled a gun on me! My brother and his girlfriend are in the hospital, the Supreme Court building is being bombed, the West Point Mint is being vandalized, and the President is in an undisclosed location. So, yeah- I’m not a happy camper right now!"

Brian stood up next to Joe, who instinctively took a step back. "Joe," he said, evenly, "You’re a nice kid. Sometimes I forget that you’re only like 18. You’re very smart, and you’ve helped a lot with this investigation. I’m on your side."

"Then why the gun?" Joe asked, beginning to relax a bit.

"Because obviously you’re being watched. So was your brother, and look what happened to him. I needed whomever was watching you to think that I was somehow on their side. I’ve been working undercover on this case as well. I really am a cop, but I’m in the investigations unit. I’m also 30, not in my mid-twenties like I told you. With the help of you and your brother, we’ve been working on the case feverishly, since it involves national security. Like you, we figured out the West Point hit, and we worked to change all the codes. We can now trace back through systems break-ins to locate the source of the embezzlement. Within hours, we should trace back Thornton and Pogle."

Joe started in disbelief, trying to process this. "So then the Mint’s safe?" he asked.

"Well, yeah. I mean, there are losses, but most of it- 95%- is in computer transfers and information, which is reversible, although it’s a royal pain and will take time. It’s also a major breech of security. Only about 5% of what was stolen we can’t recover, until we apprehend the people responsible. We’re working on restoring the records of the Philadelphia Mint now," Brian finished.

"Okay," Joe replied. "But… what about the Supreme Court bombings? Is that true?" he asked.

"Is it TRUE?" Brian repeated. "Joe, everything else is true. I really did date Jenna Barkalow, and it really was by accident. When you told me what you and Frank had come up with, we got right on it. It’s amazing that she was related to Thornton. Oh…" Brain stopped. "THAT’s why you thought I was her... what? Brother?"

"Yeah," Joe responded.

"Oh," Brian went on with a small laugh. "No, that’s not true. It’d make dating her even more complicated."

Joe had to laugh. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Anyway, what I told you is happening. One of the men, Thornton or Pogle, I believe, is on the steps of the building, demanding that the Justices sign the pardon for the six men on death row from the previous case. We think it’s Pogle—he had no real family to speak of. And….other things, as you know, I think. As far as Jenna goes, she’s been working the inside angle leaking information to her father about what the FBI and police officers have been doing. She’s also working with others who have their eyes on the city—spies, if you will. Many are relatives of the accused men, from what we’ve found. They’ve been watching you and Frank because you came too close to knowing everything. They might not think I’m on their side, but at least they’ll think that for whatever reason, you’re out of the picture. AND," he added, "I’m surprised they messed up and didn’t kill Frank and Callie."

"But why?" Joe questioned. "It’s a suicide mission for Pogle. Why would he steal all that money- millions and millions- and then die? To save his friends? It doesn’t make sense."

Brian looked at him for a moment. "You don’t know?" he asked.

"Know what?" Joe replied.

Brian met his eyes. "Pogle is terminally ill. He only has months to live. A few months don’t matter to him. We presume that he’s funneled the money to hidden accounts for Thornton and the others. And that’s why…"

"That’s why he’s so dangerous," Joe interrupted. "Because he’s going to die anyway." He looked at Brian seriously. "I think we need to head down to the Supreme Court," he said, determined.

"I agree," Brian replied.

The two headed away, hoping to do something to help stop a national tragedy from occurring.

*****

Frank, meanwhile, finally woke up. Was I dreaming? He asked himself groggily. Wasn’t Joe here a little while ago? Where am I? He opened his eyes and found himself looking at Vanessa.

"Van?" he croaked, weakly.

"Hey," she replied, slowly. She had just arrived at the hospital about half an hour ago, and was surprised that she didn’t see Joe anywhere. Thinking he may have left to pursue a lead, Vanessa had floated between Frank and Callie’s room. As she found herself watching Frank wake up, she prayed that Joe would return, fast. How could she tell Frank about Callie?! How could she let him know what was going on in DC right now, and what a dangerous place it was to be? Still, wish as she might, Joe wasn’t there. She had turned on the television very softly and was watching the news as she kept Frank company. Now, though, she had to focus on him.

"Where am I?" Frank asked softly, blinking his eyes rapidly to get adjusted to the light. He went to move and a fierce pain ripped through his shoulder, causing him to grimace out loud.

"Frank," Vanessa said, taking his hand, "Take it easy. You’re in the hospital. You were shot, and you hurt your shoulder and collar -bone. But you’ll be okay. Try not to move."

Frank gasped, and pushed himself up despite himself, ignoring the pain. "Callie," he managed, squeezing Vanessa’s hand.

"She’s… okay," Vanessa said slowly, and she felt terrible when she saw the total relief on Frank’s face, and actually heard him start breathing again.

"Thank God," he said, weakly, and leaned back again, trying to gather strength. The I.V. in one arm prevented him from being too mobile, along with his shoulder injury.

Vanessa nodded, and Frank began speaking. "Van, I… Jenna, she shot me, and Callie…"

His eyes darkened in pain as the image of Callie falling came to him. He knew he had to tell Vanessa what happened, but he needed to see Callie, to make sure she was okay.

Before he could speak, Vanessa cut him off. "I know, Frank. There’s a lot you need to hear, though, so promise to listen. Can you focus?" She swallowed hard, almost praying that he’d say he couldn’t. However, when he responded with a soft "yes," Vanessa knew she had to tell him the truth.

"Okay, then" she said, and, holding back tears, she told him everything. She told him about the connection between Jenna and Thornton, and how the Supreme Court was under attack. She told him about the embezzlement of the Mints, and about Dave Shaughnessey. She ignored his shocked expression at that, and then told him the hardest thing of all; how Callie had been injured, but that she’d be okay. She watched as his pale face became even whiter, and saw his eyes burning with unshed tears.

"What happened to you guys, Frank?" she asked at last.

He didn’t answer. Frank’s felt like he couldn’t breathe. He had heard everything and he knew about the danger and the case. He heard about Dave, and he was in shock. He needed to know where Joe was, too. But the only thing he REALLY heard was Callie’s injuries. Oh, God. It’s my fault, he kept repeating to himself. "Where’s Joe?" he whispered, his voice barely discernable.

Vanessa felt her heart break as she saw the anguish on his face. "I… I don’t know. He’ll be here soon. It’ll be okay," she said, trying to be reassuring.

"I need to see her," he said to Vanessa.

"Oh," she said. Then, understanding what he meant, she jumped back a bit. "Oh, no. Frank, I can’t do that! You just woke up. You’re hurting; you’re weak. I can’t help you."

With a look of pain across his face, Frank shakily threw back the covers with his good arm. "Fine," he said shakily. "I’ll do it myself, then. What’s her room number?"

Vanessa panicked. Frank looked awful. She knew he’d be okay, but the medicine for pain was very strong, and he’d just woken up. Still, she knew that Frank could be as stubborn as his brother, something very few people ever saw since he was normally so kind and generous and he’d always do for others. Not this time, though. Vanessa sighed. If she didn’t help him, he really would go by himself and probably end up killing himself in the process.

"Fine," she said evenly, and grabbed the wheelchair at the side of the room. She helped Frank into it, grabbing the portable I.V. stand next to him, and being careful not to pull out any needles. She tried to ignore the look of pain on his face, and she hated seeing him like this. Frank Hardy was strong and healthy, and seeing him in any discomfort and so shaky was really throwing her.

Vanessa noticed that Frank was unusually silent as she wheeled him to the elevator and up to Callie’s room. He never did tell me what happened with Jenna, she realized as she walked. I wonder if that was an accident. Finally, she reached Callie’s room and Frank insisted that he could take it from there. She watched as he stood and almost fell, one arm close to his chest in a sling, and the other holding onto the stand. Still, as wobbly and pale as he was, he wanted to go in alone, and Vanessa couldn’t blame him. She walked to the nurse’s station and continued to watch coverage of the events unfolding before them at the Supreme Court…

Frank made it into Callie’s room and sat by the chair beside her bed. Obviously, someone had set it up. Was it Joe? Vanessa? He looked down at his girlfriend and started to cry silently, unable to stay strong any longer. Callie didn’t look too bad; she was pale, and had a cast around her wrist and a few bruises by her neck and arm, but he knew she was badly hurt, and it was his fault. Why did I fall for Jenna? Why couldn’t I help her when she was hurt? I can’t be with her any more…the last thought hurt him the most, because it encompassed all the rest. Callie, his best friend and true love, was hurt, here, because of him, and he would rather let her go than to have her get remotely hurt in any way ever again. And, in his line of work, that was always a very real possibility. It had happened before; it would happen again. As much as I love her, need her, I don’t deserve her. He wiped away the tears and closed his eyes, holding her hand. Somehow, just touching her gave him strength.

"Hi," he heard a soft voice say.

Surprised, he opened his eyes and saw Callie looking at him…and smiling. He couldn’t believe it, and was glad he had composed himself before she had awakened.

"Hey, baby," he said gently to her, squeezing her hand. It was all he could manage, the lump in his throat restricting further commentary.

"I told you we’d be okay," she said. Using all her strength, she gently rubbed his hand.

Frank felt tears again in his eyes, amazed at her strength and poise. He willed himself not to cry. He wanted so badly to hold her, but he physically couldn’t, and she physically couldn’t move much, either. It was a strange feeling being so close and yet distant at the same time. There’s a wall between us, he couldn’t help but to think, and was struck at how the barrier was not just physical, but emotional as well.

Callie looked at her boyfriend, who was struggling to stay controlled. She saw that; she knew most others would not. She couldn’t move, and that bothered her. The pain wasn’t bad at all, but she knew that was because she was on God knew how many pain medications, which would also explain her light-headedness and trouble focusing. What she did know was that her head was throbbing, and she longed to go back to sleep. As she felt herself drifting off, she forced herself to remain awake for a few more moments at least, grateful that Frank was there and that he was okay. She imagined that her words were slightly slurred, but that was okay. She was alive.

"Frank?" she murmured.

Frank had to lean in to hear her and he clung to her hand.

"Yeah, baby?" he whispered.

"Everything’s gonna be okay," she said, her focus getting worse. She had to close her eyes, and tears slipped from Frank’s.

He leaned over weakly, standing up, and softly kissed her lips. "I’m sorry," he choked out.

Callie, eyes still closed, barely heard him. "Love you," she mumbled, barely moving her lips, before slipping into darkness.

I love you, too, he mentally replied, sitting down again and taking in ragged breaths, trying to stop himself from crying. Finally, he did, weakened and drained.

Vanessa came quietly into the room, and pulled up another chair beside Frank. He really looked bad now, and she questioned whether she should have even brought him here.

"Did you talk to Callie?" she asked him.

He nodded, silent.

Vanessa bit her lip. "That’s good," she replied. "How’s she feeling?"

Frank shrugged with his one good shoulder, unable to speak.

"How about we watch some television?" Vanessa finally asked. She needed a break from this oppressive sadness. "We can see what’s going on at The Supreme Court." She didn’t wait for Frank to respond.

What she saw made her cry out, and Frank looked up at once. There, right in front of her, was the suicide bomber with guns trained on him from all angles, and, right behind him, was Joe Hardy.

Let the author know what you think of this story