Callie Shaw opened her eyes slowly and groaned as she attempted to move. Her head throbbed, and she felt slightly sick to her stomach. As she hesitantly looked around her, she realized that she was in some sort of room that was- above all- sickeningly bright. Ironic, she thought. Aren't places of doom and destruction supposed to be dark and dingy? As she tried to clear her head, Callie realized suddenly that she couldn't move. She was laying on some sort of gurney, her feet and arms tied down. Fighting back feelings of panic, she managed to look down her body and she realized that she was dressed in what appeared to be a gray sweat suit. Callie was instantly bothered, not by the lack of fashion, but how she had managed to get into these clothes. Squeezing her eyes shut, she droned out all possibilities about that, and thought back to a week ago, when her nightmare had begun....

After her talk with Biff, Callie had run home, praying that no one had managed to discover her whereabouts. She had no idea what to do. The next day, she would be leaving on her flight with "Jeff", to some unknown location, and she had rarely been so scared in her life. Please God, she thought, if I could make one wish, let me get back here alive. And, let Iola be okay. Callie gulped. Did that count as two wishes? She hoped that she wouldn't have to choose.

Of course, Callie had asked Jeff what she should bring. She knew if she was flying somewhere (Jeff had told her that much, in a menacing tone, something along the lines of "You'll know you're not in Kansas anymore") that she would need some form of identification, at least. With a faint look of amusement, Jeff had commented that everything was taken care of, and that his organization knew everything about her anyway, thank you very much. Callie had struggled with the idea of bringing a knife, or something for protection. Then again, these guys blew up cars and murdered people, so the idea of a steak knife might not exactly intimidate them. Besides, where on earth would she keep it? She then thought of her cell phone, but that was out, too. Somehow, she had a feeling that the place she was going wouldn't allow one phone call.

Then, as if inspiration had dawned upon her, she had an idea. Simple, maybe too simple, but an idea, nonetheless. Flipping through her jewelry case, Callie found exactly what she was looking for. A few years ago, Frank had given her a lovely locket necklace for her birthday. Its container was fairly large, and it had small a key inside, on which Frank had inscribed "Callie- the key to my heart, always." Well, Callie surmised sadly, 'always' sometimes had a shelf limit. Callie easily removed the key and, in its place, managed to squeeze in a small metal nail file. She realized fully that this might not do her any good, but since she could pretty much rule out anyone baking her a cake with a file in it, she decided that she just might need it. Besides, she had learned a few things from Frank and Joe, and picking locks just happened to be one of them.

The next day, Callie remembered being taken to an airport outside of Bayport. With a groan, she realized that of course she wouldn't be going on a big jet plane. In front of her sat a small Cessna, much like the ones Frank had used to take her flying on occasion. As she was about to get out of the car, she felt a sponge being placed over her mouth, and she struggled to breathe. That was the last thing she remembered until she woke up in this ... fortress, was the only word for it. Callie had never seen such a big place in her life. Naturally, she didn't get a look at the outside, but she vaguely recalled being led from room to room by different people. They must have given her some sort of drug, because she felt hazy and weak in those days, and had a difficult time remembering where she was going or what she did.

*****

As the week passed, Callie was treated reasonably well, but the uncertainty of what was to come was what really frightened her. Although the men did not harm her, she was often interrogated for hours on end, and had to sit with her back straight and her hands tied behind her back. She was asked everything under the sun about her relationship with Frank- if she kept diaries, secret places they had been to, intimate conversations, and the like. Callie had resisted giving as much information as she could, but she had to admit that this drug they had given her made it difficult to concentrate on telling lies, and hours of interrogation made her weak and disoriented. She, of course, had begged to find out about Iola, but was constantly met with grim looks or stony silence. Finally, last night- or was it last night? Time seemed to melt away here- Callie had been questioned relentlessly about cases of the Hardys in which she had been involved. When she had refused to answer, this nondescript man, who reminded Callie in an odd sort of way as an agent from Men in Black, suddenly grew menacing. He had threatened Callie, and pushed back her chair so that she had fallen and hit her head. That was the last thing that she remembered.

Struggling now, once again, to open her eyes and look around the room, Callie became startled as the doors opened. Secret agent alien man, as Callie now thought of him, untied her. Callie tried to sit up, but was overcome with weakness. It felt like her body was being weighted down by an anchor.

"Callie, dear, not feeling so well?" the man asked her, with a smug smile.

Fighting back exhaustion and fear, she managed to reply, "I'm okay, no thanks to you."

With a laugh, the man exclaimed, "My, my! You ARE a spirited one, aren't you?" and continued to smile.

All of a sudden, through the open door, Jeff entered. As disgusted as Callie was to see him, she was, in a weird way, relieved. At least now she could maybe get answers to some questions, and find out about where Iola was. If, Callie thought in sudden fear, Iola is even alive after all.

Jeff looked different from how Callie remembered him. Now, at close glance, Callie could see that he was no high school student. He looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties, at least. Also, Callie noticed, any trace of pleasantry or sympathy seemed to be gone from his face. Going over to where the other man stood, Jeff suddenly hit him in the back, making the man turn around.

"Knock it off!" he shouted. Calming down, he said, "John, Callie here seems to have forgotten that she was brought here to fulfill someone's wish. In turn, she will also fulfill ours."

"Callie," he said suddenly, turning to her. "We have been most displeased at your failure to cooperate with us regarding your relationship with Frank Hardy. The drugs you have been given certainly did- shall we say 'sway' - you into revealing some interesting information, but we really do want you to cooperate. In fact," he added, "we NEED you to cooperate. And you WILL cooperate. Because if you don't... Well, let's just say the alternative is not good."

Callie tried to stop shaking, but she couldn't seem to.

"So, to tell you just what that other alternative is, we have arranged for you to have a little meeting with someone who will be able to enlighten you as to what happens to people who don't see things our way."

Jeff yanked Callie down from her gurney, and she fell to the floor. Struggling to stand, Callie had never felt so weak before in her entire life. Still, she refused to let them see her cry. Jeff then led Callie through a series of hallways that Callie knew she had no chance of retracing. Unlike the room in which she was just held, these hallways were dimly lit, and all seemed to lead in opposite directions. After walking for what seemed to be forever, the two came to an isolated doorway in the back.

Whirling Callie around, and slamming her to the door, Jeff immediately got right in her face and whispered in her ear as Callie struggled against him, "Be careful what you wish for Callie." With that, Callie felt herself shoved into the room and heard the door slam shut behind her. She heard a gasp, and weakly raised her head in the direction of the noise.

Callie felt her heart stop.

There, right in front of her, with a stricken look on her face, was....

Iola.

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