Frank peered into Kiwi’s eyes, hoping he was playing a cruel practical joke which, although tasteless, would have been preferable to the other possibilities. The New Zealander’s gaze didn’t waver, so he pushed past his friend and ran into the house to see for himself.

Hearing the unmistakable sound of the television playing, he went straight for the lounge and stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of a discarded blanket on the floor next to the sofa. Stepping into the room, he trod on something that crunched under the heel of his sneaker, which upon closer examination proved to be a broken mug which must have fallen from the coffee table that was lying on it’s side.

He saw a dark stain that spread out across the carpet. This scared him at first until he touched it with his fingertips, bought it to his nose and noted it smelled of chocolate. "Hot chocolate - one of Joe’s favorites," he muttered.

He felt a hand firmly grip his shoulder and rose out of his crouch.

"See?" Kiwi said, seeking affirmation.

Frank’s eyes scanned the room again, and lit upon an envelope that had been leant up against the clock on the mantel. He stepped over the fallen table and initially peered at it. Seeing the now familiar red inked handwriting on the envelope, he instantly remembered the threatening letter that was sent to Helen and Alex some days previously. Kiwi came and stood at his shoulder and watched as he lifted it gingerly by the edges.

"Aren’t you going to open it?" Kiwi asked surprised.

"Yeah, but I’m being careful so I don’t destroy any evidence," he explained, "Kiwi, will you go and find some plastic from somewhere, and lay it across the dining room table?" he asked.

Kiwi lopped out into the kitchen. Two seconds later, Frank was running at the sound of his friend shouting, "MY GOD! FRANK…COME AND LOOK AT THIS!"

He rounded the corner to see Kiwi staring at the back door. Broken glass was scattered all across the tiled floor, some had even hit the table top, one of the larger shards having rendered a long groove in the woodwork. Lying in the centre of the table was a large portion of house brick. "Wow, Joe must have jumped six foot up in the air when he heard that!" remarked Frank, "no mystery to how they gained entry anyway!"

Two minutes later, Frank was carefully laying the envelope down on top of the black plastic refuge bag that Kiwi had found under the sink. "Has Helen got such a thing as a letter opener?"

"As it happens, yeah, she has," Kiwi went off into the hallway and returned seconds later with the long bladed implement. He sat down in a seat across from where Frank was standing and put his head on his fist, watching Frank work in fascination.

Frank carefully slit open the envelope, and slowly and carefully eased the paper note from the inside. He unfurled the letter and began reading it.

Watching Frank’s eyes scanning the page, Kiwi forced himself to be patient. Eventually, his friend finished reading and let the paper go (which folded in on itself). Signing heavily, the older Hardy brother slumped down into the seat opposite and buried his fingers into his hair - silence ensued.

"Come on Frank, what does it say?" the New Zealander verbally prodded.

There was a short silence, "It’s pretty much what I thought it would say, but its somehow more scary when you see it laid out in front of you."

"Well?"

"To cut a long letter short, they say that if we don’t deliver the ring to Sarehole Mill Park at 12.00 midnight tonight, my little brother won’t live to see another day."

"So we give them the ring!" said Kiwi blithely with a ‘What’s the problem?’ expression on his face.

"Ah, if only it was that simple a solution…!" Kiwi raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders mystified "…we don’t have the ring remember, Rob’s still got it, hanging around his neck – five hours drive away!"

***

Joe Hardy had replaced the phone in it’s cradle some time ago but found he was unable to sleep for thinking about his brother. He tucked his arm behind his head, wishing he’d been able to accompanying him, not relishing the idea that Frank was currently entering a strange apartment without backup, also, his older brother’s voice had sounded nervous on the phone – even though he’d made an effort to disguise it. Finally, Joe got out of bed and went to make himself a coffee.

Pulling on his jeans over the top of his boxers, he half tucked in his shirt and sauntered out of the room. Although his throat was still raw, he wasn’t overheating anymore and suspected that his fever had finally run it’s course.

Opening the kitchen cupboard above the tea preparation area, his eyes lit enthusiastically on the tub of hot chocolate flakes and took it down. Following the instructions on the back, he made himself a huge mug full in Mark’s basin sized cup and overly drenched it in sugar – finally he felt he was getting some sort of appetite back, "aw man, when I’m done with this, that refrigerator is gonna get SERIOUSLY raided!"’.

Grinning to himself, he wandered into the lounge, set the mug down on the coffee table and unhooked Rob’s car rug from the clothes airer where it had been laid out after being laundered. He lay back on the sofa and threw the blanked haphazardly over his legs. Switching the TV on with the remote control unit, he began channel hopping, disappointed at the limited program choice – "only having five channels is a real pain!" he thought.

He settled on an early evening film staring David Niven and leant over to lift the mug from the table. Thinking he heard a muted noise he paused, slightly spooked, listening, his eyes swiveling slowly towards the doorway. Detecting nothing further he leaned back again allowing his attention to return to the TV.

Suddenly, all at once, his heart was jumping violently into his throat by the tremendous noise of smashing glass – "THAT was definitely not my imagination!" he thought, quickly shooting to his feet, the blanket falling to the floor.

Hearing many footsteps pounding through the kitchen at speed Joe felt hairs creeping up on the back his neck and went for his only means of escape – the patio door. Leaping over the coffee table as he went, he attempted to slide the door along but found it to be locked solidly shut. He was running his hand along the top in the vain hope that Helen stored the key up there, when he sensed eyes boring into his back.

He turned his head slowly and looked back over his shoulder at the balaclavad faces of five men filling the doorway.

"You will come with us," one of them ordered, striding forwards with a rope in his hand.

Joe shook his head defiantly and tensed, ready for action, "This is gonna be just pointless Joseph!" he thought glumly, readying himself for a real punch up. Deciding attack rather than defense was the best ploy, he launched himself straight into a flying, spinning, back kick and struck the man with the rope squarely in the center of the chest, the force of the blow sending the masked man careering over the coffee table. The mug flew off, it’s hot contents splashing all over him before smashing on the floor. Joe felt a sense of satisfaction and grinned wickedly as the liquid commenced to scold.

"Get him," wailed the man on the floor breathlessly, clutching at his rib cage, while simultaneously pulling the steaming material away from his skin. The remaining four converged as one into the room, stepping over their leader and headed for Joe. The younger Hardy brother stood his ground, feeling decidedly outnumbered and cornered. He glared steadily at them, careful that his face remain totally impassive, aware that this would unnerve at least two of them. They stopped their advance and started glancing at one another, waiting for someone to make the first move, not wishing to also receive a foot in the chest for their trouble.

Finally, one gave off a war whoop and jumped forward, receiving a chopping punch to the face for his trouble, delivered at terrifying speed via Joe’s trained hands. The men in the room where now decidedly nervous, but instead of backing off, they all charged at once, taking Joe down in a heap, attempting to pin him to the ground. He kicked and thrashed about wildly, and amazingly threw one guy aside and managed to sit up.

Finding himself eye to eye with a pair of knees, Joe allowed his gaze to travel up the legs and body and saw it was their leader towering above. The masked man pulled his arm back and delivered a shocking backhander straight across Joe’s mouth, splitting his lip and stunning him.

"Hold him tightly lads until he’s tied - he’s pretty powerful."

"You’re not kidding," muttered the man who’d received the blow to the jaw.

Once tied hand and foot, he was lifted to his feet and quickly dragged out into the foyer area. Joe tried to dig his heals in, but his bare feet couldn’t find any traction and he was easily pulled out the front door and lifted into a Land Rover that was parked with it’s doors open against the front entrance. He found himself pushed down onto the floor between the front and back seats and a blanket thrown over him.

Lying there in the dark, he attempted to concentrate and memorize the route they were taking, but every few seconds someone was spitefully stomping down.

"Okay, leave the boy alone, he’s had enough." Someone finally shouted and thankfully the blows ceased.

"I’ve gotta make a phone call to let Mike know we’ve got the lad, so keep the noise to a minimum everyone," said another voice.

***

"I’m calling Kyle," decided Kiwi, heading immediately for the phone.

"NO…STOP!" Frank roared, lurching forward and pulling his friend back by the elbow, "I don’t trust him."

"Why the heck not?" argued Kiwi, failing miserably in his attempt to break the strong hold Frank had on his arm, "he is a policeman after all and he can help us – OUCH, Frank Mate, let go…that’s painful!"

The older Hardy brother released his friend, finally realizing what he was doing, "sorry Kiwi, but the letter said specifically not to involve the police, and I don’t trust the man," he repeated.

"Why not?"

"I’m not sure, gut instinct I suppose, but my gut is usually right."

"Well, you’re the boss I suppose, but if it was MY brother, I’d be phoning the police right now! Not relying on tenuous ‘gut instincts’!"

"WELL THAT’S ALL I’VE GOT!" Frank snapped back, causing Kiwi to balk. Taking a deep breath, the older Hardy brother forced himself to relax, "man!…this is not like me!" he muttered. "Let’s not argue Kiwi, I feel rancid enough already. Let’s both calm down and talk about this rationally."

Kiwi put his arm about his friend’s shoulders. "Okay, point taken. But if you won’t let me phone Kyle, we’re gonna have to come up with a good plan of action instead. Something fool-proof, and I warn you Mate, I’m not great in one-on-one combat situations – a peace loving guy, that’s me!"

The New Zealander’s last few words caused Frank to smile a little and Kiwi felt his friend’s shoulder’s relax under the weight of his arm. "Okay, what are the options open to us?" Frank asked.

Kiwi looked back with an interested expression on his face and raised his eyebrows questioningly, "you tell me, you’re the expert!"

"Well, they want the ring, but unfortunately, as you know, Rob’s still got it." Frank sat down, and pulled a plastic re-sealable bag from his pocket and began carefully pushing the letter and envelope inside. "We could call their bluff and refuse to give them the ring, tell them we’re bringing in the police – that might shock them into releasing him." Kiwi looked doubtfully back. "Right, dumb idea - I agree. Well, my only other suggestion is that we pull the same trick as last time, and pass the reproduction ring off as the real McCoy." Frank sealed the bag with a loud snap and placed it down on the table again.

Looking even more cynical, Kiwi remarked, "that’s a big risk, we’d really be playing with Joe’s life pulling that scam again."

They both went quiet and Kiwi looked at the floor, after a few seconds of contemplation he look up sharply, "but thinking about it, it’s just crazy enough to succeed. They’ve proven how sloppy they work – especially with the car number plate slip up, and Joe’s previous ‘accidental’ kidnapping. I vote we try it, but take some back up with us, just in case of problems."

"Such as?"

"Alex’s long bow – I could easily take out anyone whose holding Joe."

"You could easily kill someone too, and if Joe got in the way…"

"…I’m a better shot than that - trust me."

Frank smiled fully this time, allowing hope to stray into his eyes. "My baseball batting average is pretty great too!" he added mysteriously. His grin faded as suddenly as it had appeared, replaced by the worried frown again, "but unfortunately not my English accent – boy, that could prove a BIG problem."

"You’ve only got to learn a few well chosen phrases," said Kiwi, "come on, let’s put the home videos on, and while your practicing, I’ll get down to making all those arrows I’m going to need."

***

Joe glaring murderously at the man’s back as it exited through the doorway, locking it behind him and causing all the light to be banished from the small room. "Well, that’s another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Joseph," he decided, probing his swollen lip carefully with his tongue, deciding it probably wasn’t as bad as it felt.

He rolled himself into a seated position and started moving his wrists up and down to ascertain how loose his bindings might be, he was disappointed, however, to find there was no give in the knots, and all he was doing was giving himself rope burns. His next course of action was to try and pass his arms underneath his feet to bring his hands out in front of him, which was a trick he’d seen Frank perform on a number of occasions. Upon finding this impossible, he concluded his brother must be considerably more supple.

He began shuffling around the edge of the unfurnished room, feeling the wall as he went, trying to find something sharp to rub the ropes against. After five exhaustive minutes, he decided to give it up as a bad job, and curled up on his side, forced to trust his fate to his brother and new friends.