HDA - Where Troubles Melt by Cherylann Rivers Introduction

"Ugh," Joe Hardy moaned to himself. His head throbbed, and his eyes felt heavy. Weakly, he opened his eyes, struggling to remember what had happened and where he was. He took deep breaths, trying to focus, and quickly everything came back to him. They had broken the code; the door had opened, gunshots rang out. That was the last thing he remembered.

Very slowly, Joe looked around and tried to get his bearings. Wherever he was, it wasn't in the hotel room. He quickly realized that his arms were restrained behind his back, and only a split second more to realize that they were held there by handcuffs. As he tried to struggle against them, he peered at his location. The room he was in was pretty dim, and he couldn't see much. He could hear something, though. Far in the distance, there seemed to be some sort of crashing noise.

As Joe was just beginning to be fully awake, he saw a figure crumpled in the corner of the room. "Frank!" he gasped. At once, Joe stood up and made his way, shakily, to his brother, who was lying on his side.

"Frank?" Joe asked again, more loudly and with more intensity than before. "Frank! Please answer me!" He nudged his brother with his elbow in his shoulder.

After a few more minutes of prodding, Frank finally began to come around. "What the…" he managed to stammer, but then squeezed his eyes tightly shut again as pain washed over him. Weakly, he sat up and found that his hands were also held behind him with handcuffs. His shoulders ached.

"Are you okay?" Frank turned in the direction of the voice, and found himself looking into Joe's concerned eyes, despite the dim surroundings.

"Joe?" Frank croaked out. "Where are we? What happened?"

"I don't know," Joe replied, wearily, sitting back down next to his brother. "I think I remember being shot, but I don't feel like I'm dead."

"Yeah, heaven could seem a lot nicer than this," Frank sighed, beginning to focus again.

"Maybe we're in hell," Joe replied, only half-joking. Then, as if suddenly realizing it, he jumped, startled. "Frank! Where are the girls? Where's Chet?!"

As if on cue, Joe heard a rumbling in the corner, and barely managed to make out the figure crawling towards them. "I'm here," the voice said, weakly. Chet Morton came and sat besides his friends. He, too, was handcuffed.
"But where's Iola? And Vanessa?" Joe shouted, panicked.

"And Callie!" Frank added, dreading the worst.

"I dunno, but they're obviously not here!" Chet said, taking in all the information.

Joe fought back annoyance. "Thank you for that insight, Chet. I was hoping you might know where they were."

"Oh," Chet said, blankly. His head felt heavy, and it was hard to concentrate. "What happened? I felt this really sharp pain before I… blacked out, I guess. I thought I was dead."

"Yeah, me too, Frank said, grunting softly. His arms were really hurting.

"Oh, man," Joe said, sighing. "They probably hit us with dart guns or something to make us black out."

Frank tried to remain calm, even though he was having a difficult time. "Alright, guys. We've been in tough situations before. We just have to pray..." Frank gulped as he thought of his next words, "That the girls are okay, too, and that the same thing happened to them. I'm just worried that…"

Joe finished his brother's thought. "That they brought us here for something WORSE than death. I mean, if they wanted us killed, it wouldn't have been hard to do. Why are we here?"

"Where IS here?" Chet asked, straining to look around the dark and dingy room. "And what's that noise?" The three boys paused to listen to the slamming and grating noise in the not too far distance.

"I'm willing to bet," Joe began, a sinking feeling in his stomach, "that we're at the Emerald mint. I wonder what the heist will be…"

At that moment, the lights flashed on brightly, temporarily blinding the boys. They blinked as they saw spots in front of their eyes. By the time they were able to refocus, they saw immediately that two men were standing in front of them, dressed in black. They did not have guns. Somehow, all three boys sensed, though, that movement would not be a good idea.

"Jeremy Wilkins and Robert Smith, I presume," Frank said evenly, keeping the bitterness out of his voice. "It's been a long time coming."

The two men laughed, and looked at one another with smirks. Joe didn't like it at all.

"Ah, yes," said one. "We hope you've enjoyed your little trip. I have to say, we thought you'd be a bit quicker at picking up on all those clues we left for you. I'm sure daddy dearest would have gotten to them. Then again, it wouldn't have been half as fun watching you go on a wild goose chase looking for us."

"Where are we?" Joe demanded.

"In Emerald City," one commented sarcastically, while the other laughed.

"What do you want?" Frank asked. He wanted to try to get as much information as he possibly could before whatever was going to happen got started. Frank often found that knowledge was power.

"What do you think we want?" one man asked, meeting his eyes.

Frank noted how nondescript both men looked. With their brown hair and eyes, and medium builds, they could have fit in anywhere. He had a difficult time envisioning them in Harvard.

Joe watched Frank studying the men, and he knew exactly what Frank was thinking. Okay, Joe thought. I'll go with you on this, big brother. He cut in. "Who are you? Which one of you is the computer expert Smith, and which one is the architecture guy? What's your connection to Butler? How'd you pull this off?"

The men looked at one another and smiled contentedly. Joe didn't like it. When people were at ease, that's because they generally had a reason not to worry. "So many questions!" one man said. "But I'll entertain your notions. Shelley Butler and I were very close, almost like brothers. My friend, here- he was close to Chris Ramses. It's too bad your father wanted put them away."

Joe didn't like how they were amused moreso than angry. It didn't make sense. The other man chimed in. "True, my friend. How your father needed to poke his nose into our business. As a result, two people died." His reply was nonchalant.

Frank was as confused as Joe. WHY weren't these guys angry?! "How'd you do it?" he asked. "Come on-tell us. Obviously, you're not planning on letting us go."

One man laughed heartily, then spoke. "Ah, Frank. You're so much like your dad. I see what you're trying to do-appeal to our sense of pride, make us reveal information to you. You're almost an ivy-leaguer. You should know that we know how to play the game, too. Quite honestly, we're a little disappointed that you haven't figured this out already. You would have had potential, though, at Princeton. You're a smart one."

Frank inhaled deeply. These guys were good. Most criminals were smart-they had to be to pull things off. These guys were exceptionally bright.

"What do you want to know?" one asked, while another blonde man entered the room and sat down in the corner.

"Hey," one man nodded to him. "Want to see the show?"

"Of course," he answered. "We're all leading up to the showdown. So, here are the Hardys, live and in the flesh, and their little friend. Please,…" He paused, then smiled. "Go on."

"I shall."

Joe looked at Frank and Frank returned the glance. Chet moved closer to them.

The original man began to speak. "There's nothing you don't know when you think about it," he said simply, "except the biggest thing of all, which you've still not seen. Architecture buffs know the layout of places, right? Easy access, easy escape routes. Computer analysts can jam alarms systems, do research, lay clues. The literature part-that was just plain fun!" He smirked.

"Who went to Shelley Butler's home?" Joe asked, curious. He was intensely interested in this case, even though they might not get out alive. Still, he needed to focus on this now, and escape later.

"That would be me." One of the brown- haired men raised his hand. "I always liked it there. Got back the old medal," he said with a smile. "It really is quite significant to me-to all of us. The name itself of the medal is not. But," he said with a small chuckle, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

Frank gasped, immediately recognizing the line from Romeo and Juliet and its significance. "Shelley Butler!" he shouted. "It can't be!"

"Ah, he catches on," Butler replied happily, and all three men clapped politely.

"You're supposed to be dead!" Chet managed.

"Small details…" He said, shrugging them off.

"Oh!" Joe exclaimed, finally recognizing the face from the picture he had initially seen. "Frank! Look! Butler has brown hair! We should have seen that sooner and recognized it from the picture." Then, it hit him, and his face paled as he turned to the other man. "Oh, God!" he sighed. "You have brown hair, too. A brown- haired man went to see that woman who lived at the Ramses' former home, remember Frank?!" He groaned, then met the eyes of the man to which he was referring. "Chris Ramses, I presume."

Frank was shocked. Joe was right- how could he have missed something as obvious as the hair color?
Ramses looked at Joe approvingly. "Ah, the younger Hardy boy has potential!"

"You're supposed to be dead, too!" Chet managed again.

Butler rolled his eyes. "I take it he's not related," he replied, dryly.

"H... how did you do it?" Frank asked in awe.

"Let's see. Hmmm…" Butler said, with a smirk. "You tell me. Chris, don't you think he should tell us? I mean, remember, we are men of codes." He chuckled. "Our names are significant, oh literature boy. One of your little girlfriends told you that, right? What is it?"

Joe felt his heart skip a beat. "Where's Vanessa?" he shouted.

"Is that the brunette?" Ramses asked politely.

"The blonde," Joe said through gritted teeth. "One of the two. Where's the brunette, too?"

Ramses cast a puzzled look at Butler, and Frank caught it. They were unsure of something with the girls! The blonde, noting the look, nodded and left the room. What was it?

"We'll get to that later, boys. Any ideas on the names?" Ramses asked, amused. "Come now. The pretty girls caught on. You can too."

Joe fought back rage and tried to concentrate, thinking back to what Callie had told him about literature. "Shelly is the name of a poet," he began, slowly.

"Indeed."

He saw it. With a sigh, Joe continued, remembering Callie's words. "He wrote something called "Ozymandias", right? I get it- ha ha. "Oz". Very funny," Joe replied, without humor.

"MMMM…" Butler replied. "Now who was Ozymandias?"

"Oh, no." Joe heard Frank moan. "I know who he was. He was a conqueror, also known as… get this…" he said to Joe. "Ramses, 2nd."

Joe gasped. "Then…."

"That's right!" Ramses smiled. "I am known as the "Wizard" aren't I? So now you have the Wizard of Oz! Convenient, isn't it? By coincidence, my name happened to be Ramses, and my reputation as a whiz was there. One day, Shelley and I thought of the connection while we were speaking about your father and our plan, and hey- here we are. It kind of gave us the idea for our little plot."

"Which is?" Chet warbled.

"We'll get to that," Butler said with annoyance.

"If you're alive," Frank said slowly, "Then who died? Wilkins and Smith? How'd you pull that off?" Frank was both intensely curious and utterly horrified.

"No-they're alive too, " Ramses replied, evenly.

"W… what? How?" Joe stammered.

"Prison- it's an ugly place," Butler replied more savagely than before. "Obviously, you can't manufacture bodies, and all prisoners would ultimately have to be accounted for. Sometimes, favors have to be called in, and debts owed. We knew about the prison break- we manufactured it. Sure, it took us a while, but it happened. We knew some people who were-how she we say-in an organized crime family-and finding bodies wasn't a problem, if you catch my drift."

"What?!" Frank cried. "You planted the bodies!"

"Well, who on earth would doubt it was us? There was nothing left. Leave two medals behind, feign some horror and surprise, manufacture a few 'witnesses'-really, boys, that wasn't difficult. Now," Butler replied, "Thinking of how to get back at your dad-that was much more difficult. We've got that down. Plus, we're going to be pretty rich."

"It's working out nicely, eh?" Ramses asked.

At that moment, another blonde man entered the room. He looked a little troubled, but didn't speak about that with Ramses or Butler.

"Hey, Rob," Ramses said.

"Smith," Joe muttered under his breath.

Smith looked at the boys. "I think it's time for the boys here to visit the ladies, don't you think?' he asked.

"Agreed," Butler said, and turned to leave. Before he left, he said, "I'll see you later, boys. Parting is such sweet sorrow/ I could say goodnight till it be morrow!"

"Shut up with that Shakespeare crap," Smith mumbled.

Butler laughed. "Adieu!"

The boys were picked up and pushed forward, and they continued stumbling as they fought their way through the room. All around the, they could see vaults, and see the pressing and minting machines in the distance. That's where the crashing came from, Joe thought.

What he saw next made his blood run cold. As the boys were pushed forward to their final destination, they were forced to look up. There, above their heads, stood Iola and Vanessa with Jeremy Wilkins. And they looked like they were about to be thrown unto the giant, pressing machinery.

"No," Joe whispered, as he heard them scream……

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors 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 them without express permission of the authors.