"Try up here Frank," suggested Kiwi. Frank obediently turned left and drove on sedately. Joe, sitting in the back with his New Zealand friend was panning the receiver backwards and forwards.

Upon leaving the house two hours earlier, they’d decided to immediately drive to Mike’s apartment block to see if the red sports car was outside. It wasn’t, but they were neither surprised nor disappointed as they had decided tracking the car rather than the van would reap the greater reward. It was also possible that the larger vehicle had been stolen, and had (after the punishment it had taken from the arrows) been abandoned.

They proceeded to the park to progress their sweep of the area and then took a late lunch at a local greasy spoon before continuing. Lady Luck had so far eluded them.

"Let me have a go…" muttered Kiwi impatiently, taking the machine from Joe’s hands which was set to the same frequency as the car’s homing device. He began emulating his friend’s sweeping motion.

Frank glanced in his mirror and did a double take as his brother sprayed something into the back of his throat, "Hey bro, what you doing?" he asked, leaning slightly forward into the glass for a closer look.

Joe held up a little bottle filled with green liquid.

"It’s an antiseptic spray," answered Kiwi, "I gave it to him earlier, it anesthetizes the throat when it’s sore. It’s good stuff!"

Frank frowned slightly, "maybe you should have stayed home and rested?"

Joe smiled, pulled out a pad of paper and started to write.

Kiwi grinned broadly and nudged Joe in the arm with his elbow, "that’s the spirit Joe Mate!" he turned to Frank to explain, "he says, ‘Not on your Nellie’ – not after what happened last time."

"We would have asked ‘Tim the Mad Jeweler’ to come over again…"

Joe wrote something else on the paper and underlined it severely. He held it up to the mirror and tapped on the pad loudly with the pen. Frank grinned when he saw it said ‘!DITTO!'

Suddenly all three of them snapped to attention as the machine gave off a faint beeping noise.

"COOL!" shouted Kiwi excited.

Frank thrust his arm out of the window and started twirling it to indicate to Kyle behind that he was pulling onto the grass verge.

Kyle wound down the window as Frank approached on foot. "Why have you stopped?" he asked loudly.

Frank ignored his snappish attitude. "Just thought I’d keep you informed of progress. We’ve picked up on a signal; it’s pretty faint though, so it might take us some time to pinpoint the final position of the car. You might like to let your colleagues know to ready themselves."

"Okay," agreed Kyle, pulling his head back into the car.

Frank climbed into the hatchback and watched Kyle using his handset. Once the Inspector had placed the microphone down, they set off again.

They took numerous wrong turns and were forced to double back time and time again before the beeping began to gain in volume. They were now in the heart of Birmingham’s industrial area, full of factories, warehouses and office space.

"This place is immense," complained Kiwi, "It’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack finding one small red car amongst all this lot."

"Actually, the tracker should take us straight to the source of the signal, it shouldn’t be too hard from here on in," Frank corrected.

Almost on cue, the emissions from the speaker started to flatten out, almost letting off one continuous stream of noise. Frank rounded a bend, noted the beeping slowed down again, put the car into reverse doubled back. Finally, they found themselves sitting outside a huge twelve foot high, wooden, double gateway. It was set into what had once been a coaching house, but was now an abandoned warehouse. There was a three-foot gap between the top of the gate and the brick archway surrounding it.

"Is this it?" asked Kiwi.

"Yep, the car’s probably on the other side of that gate. Let’s go and take a look see shall we?"

Kiwi leaned forward to place the receiver on the floor between the front and back seats out of sight and Joe threw his jacket over the top to conceal it further. They then both climbed out and met Kyle and Frank on the sidewalk.

"…okay, I’ll radio our coordinates and you three see if you can’t get into the warehouse," said Kyle, inspecting his fingernails.

Joe and Frank exchanged surprised looks. "You want us to break into the grounds without a search warrant?" Frank asked, jerking his thumb towards the gate in amazement.

"You got a problem with that?" the Inspector batted back.

"Well, in case you didn’t know - entering a building without a search warrant is highly illegal."

"Didn’t stop you from breaking into Mike Gregg’s flat!" argued Kyle pointedly.

Frank closed his mouth, unable to think of a smart come back to the Inspector’s statement.

"Just get us in there and leave the legalities to me," ordered the Inspector, pulling rank. He turned his back, effectively brushing them off.

Joe raised his eyebrow at the other two as Kyle got into the front seat and slammed the door. He pulled the pad and pen from his pocket and started to write. Frank and Kiwi stood at his shoulder reading as the words where etched onto the paper.

"You want us to leave a message on Helen’s answer phone?" asked Kiwi surprised, "why?"

"For back up," stated Frank, not even having to look to his brother for verification. Pulling Mark’s cell phone from his pocket, he pressed autodial and quickly barked a message into the answer phone. He walked slightly up the road and read out the name of the street they were standing on.

When he turned, he could see Kyle glaring through the windscreen at them. He pointed vehemently towards the gate and carried on talking into his handset, his mouth set in a firm line.

Frank turned the phone off and rejoined his brother and friend. "Well, you heard the boss, let’s get to work." He stated.

The teenagers all stood back and looked up at the imposing gate and building. Seeing there were no windows on the outside wall, Joe advanced to study the old fashioned lock on the gate. He shook his head and indicated for his brother to come forward. Frank immediately saw that the lock was such an old one that lock-picking equipment would prove next to useless against it.

Unconsciously mind reading what the two brothers were thinking, Kiwi suggested, "why don’t we kick it in?"

"That would create way to much noise," explained Frank. "Only one thing for it…Joe - it’s circus time!"

"What?" asked Kiwi.

"Stand back Kiwi. Look, learn and marvel, my friend," said Frank, handing the cell-phone to Joe for safekeeping and taking a stroll across the road.

Kiwi stood aside and observed as Frank inspected the sole of each sneaker before started to run back towards his brother who was still standing under the gate. Joe was now bent at the knees, with his arms hanging slightly forward and down with fingers intertwined. Frank sprinted to within three feet of his brother, leapt into the air and planted his right foot into Joe’s hands. With the help of a mighty thrust from his brother, Frank was catapulted to the top of the gate. He grabbed on with his hands and boosted himself up until he was balanced on the top, his elbows locked.

If it wasn’t for the noise it would have created, Kiwi would have given them a round of applause. Watching Joe wiping his hands on his jeans, he understood the significance of Frank checking the bottom of his shoes first.

Peeking into the concrete covered courtyard, Frank could see the sports car, the battered van and a mystery Land Rover. Spotting no other sign of human activity, he hooked his leg over the side and dropped as silently as possible to the ground, going instinctively into a break-fall.

He came out of the roll straight onto his feet and unlocked the gate. Opening it slowly for fear of the ancient hinges creaking, he let Joe and Kiwi though, quickly followed by Kyle.

They looked about them and saw they were in a completely sealed courtyard encased by one continuous building on all sides. They would have been sitting ducks, if it were not for the fact that all of the windows facing them were boarded up. Kyle headed for the nearest uncovered window and put his face against the glass, trying to see in through the grime. He came back a second later and reported that the building seemed deserted.

Frank could see familiarity written on his brother’s face. "Is this where you were bought last night?" Frank asked him.

Joe nodded grim faced and pointed at the Land Rover.

"They transported you in that?"

Another nod of affirmation, followed by a point towards one of the doors opposite.

"And that was the room you were locked in?"

"Yep." Joe mouthed.

Looking directly to his left, the younger Hardy brother took in the site of the green painted, wrought iron stairwell that led upwards over their heads and linked up with what looked like a balcony.

He stepped forward and turned round to get a better look, craning his neck. He saw a door set into the wall at the top and all at once caught site of a window – a window that was dressed with curtains - this was obviously someone’s home.

Frank joined him to see what he was looking at. Just as his eyes took in the sight that Joe had seen, they suddenly detected the unmistakable sound of raised voices coming from inside the building. Without warning the door at the top of the staircase opened with a clatter and someone stepped hurriedly out onto the balcony.

All four of them jumped back under the ironwork and pressed their backs against the wall to listen to the heated conversation raging above. They could see the outlines of the two men, through the Victorian filigree grill.

One man was standing against the rail pointing a finger defiantly. "I’ve had enough Mike – more than enough! Get some other poor sucker to do your dirty work."

The second man, obviously Mike Gregg was wearing a long trench coat. He stepped out onto the walkway and fronted up to the other man, "you’re up to your neck in this - if I go down, I’m taking you with me!"

"All I did was buy the gear off you, I don’t want any part of what you’re planning!"

"Don’t mess with me Alan, I’ve had a gut full! You try and walk away and it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do!"

"Oh! Is that right? Just try me…" Alan started to walk towards the stairs, but Mike stepped in front, blocking his path.

There was a pause in the shouting and Alan raised his fist. Mike thrust his hand inside the coat and drew out the now familiar gun.

Taking in a sharp intake of breath, Alan attempted to step backwards out of range. "Don’t be stupid Mike, put that thing away," he hissed, putting his palms up.

"I don’t think so…"

"No way!" whispered Kiwi hoarsely.

"MIKE – NO!" shouted Alan desperately. There was a loud blast and Alan was thrown against the railing and then pitched forward, face-first and lifeless, onto the balcony floor. Blood started to flow plentifully from the terrible wound and seep through the gaps in the grill towards the four people standing beneath.

Unlike the other three, this was all new to Kiwi. Thanks to the combination of shock, nauseousness and lightheadedness, his normally straight thinking brain went all out of whack. Tilting his head slightly, he watched mesmerized as a large crimson drip began forming above him, it came to the point of no return and dropped. His revulsion was such that his Instincts told him to get out of the way fast. He shuffled sideways and bumped straight into Kyle, who in turn inadvertently kicked over an old can.

Mike paused in his investigation of the body and leaned over the side to peer underneath the parapet. He seemed surprisingly unperturbed to see the four of them standing there and leaned his elbows on the guardrail. They could now see the bandaged hand that had been injured by Kiwi’s arrow the night before.

He treated them all to a sickening smile and pointed the gun. "Come to give me my ring?" he asked almost mischievously.

No one answered him, their attentions entirely leveled on the deadly pistol in his hand.

Kiwi’s mind was whirring out of control. Not only was there a double murderer in front of him, waving a gun around, there was a body above him and a pool of blood slowly growing at his feet. He wanted desperately to run through the gate and away from the horror that was unfurling - so much so that the balls of his feet were rocking him backwards and forwards. Joe, sensing his growing temptation, placed his hand firmly on his wrist as a warning signal. Kiwi’s hand immediately grabbed his and squeezed hard.

Seeing and sensing how uncomfortable the New Zealander was, Mike said, "not shocked are you Kiwi Dave? You have to understand that he had it coming. He was going to leave me high and dry. Now, you’re not going to cut and run on me are you?" Kiwi shook his head quickly. "Glad to hear it."

His head tilted to one side and gazed at the other three standing with him. His eyes danced over Kyle’s face and then moved to the Hardy brothers, finally resting on Frank. "Well, isn’t this my lucky day? Alex Morris - just the person I need! If anyone can get that ring out of the lovely Helen it’s you. Please step forward away from your friends."

Frank stayed standing stock still, his chin lifting slightly with stubborn determination, his upper lip curling. Sensing ‘Alex’s’ singular resolve, Mike turned the gun on Kiwi and locked the hammer back with an ominous click.

"Okay, okay! Keep your hair on!" Frank snapped, managing to keep his accent to a minimum, trusting Mike would see it as a sign of nervousness. Mike seemed totally oblivious however.

Frank started to shuffle forward through the blood, he and Joe locking eyes for a split second, sending a silent signal to be ready to move if the opportunity should arise.

Kiwi had jerked out of his stupor upon being threatened with the gun and his hand slipped away from Joe’s and scrunched up into a tight fist. "When are the police going to be here?" he whispered urgently out the corner of his mouth to Kyle. He waited, but received no answer. He tried to catch the inspector’s eye, but Kyle’s face was set forward and unreadable, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He and Joe looked from Kyle to each other and then back to Frank.

Keeping the gun trained on ‘Alex’, who was now standing lonely in the middle of the courtyard, Mike started to descend the stairwell.

***

Helen Randall indicated and turned into the driveway of her house, "home sweet home…" she muttered feeling suddenly weary. "It seems like I’ve been away for weeks, not just a couple of days," she observed.

"I know what you mean, " agreed Mark.

Rob’s pulled in behind them.

"Whose is that car?" asked Helen, looking at Frank’s hired Hatchback.

"It’s Kiwi’s hire car…oh hang on, no it’s not - another rental car maybe? It’s the same model as Kiwi’s, but a different color."

Rob was already heading for the house, and was studying the car strangely himself. "Whose is that?" he repeated as the other two joined him.

"You’re guess is as good as mine, but I’d assume either Joe or Frank hired it." Mark surmised.

They walked up the front steps and Mark pushed the doorbell. No one answered, so Helen fished her keys out and handed them to him.

He unlocked the door, pushed it wide and stood aside for Helen to enter. Taking a long, drawn out breath, she finally passed him slowly and entered with Mark’s supportive hand against her back.

Rob followed and called up the stairs to see if Joe was in bed. Receiving no answer, he sprinted upwards two steps at a time and stuck his head around Helen’s bedroom door. Seeing the bed was neatly made and unoccupied, he returned to the ground floor. "No one home," he reported.

Helen was now leaning against the wall next to the open door, ready to make a quick exit if required. Upon hearing that the house was empty, she pushed herself away and went to the kitchen, passing Mark who touched her upper arm lightly.

She went to the entrance and stood for a moment silently, with her hands on her hips. "Well, for goodness sake! What’s happened to the back door and table?" she suddenly asked shrilly.

Both her friends crowded into the entrance way behind her.

"Wow!" Mark exclaimed. "You leave the house in the hands of three trusted friends for a couple of days and the place gets wrecked." Something on the draining board caught his eye. "NO!…NO!…NO!" he shouted out horrified and strode across the room. "My cup! My most favorite, beautiful cup of all time!"

Rob caught Helen’s eye and crossed his eyes as she went out into the hall before turning and staring at his brother nonplused. "And there’s me and Helen thinking the real catastrophe was a smashed backdoor window, and an expensive table getting damaged!"

"This is a catastrophe - on a massive scale!" Mark insisted, turning round with the pieces of broken pottery in his hands. "Look at my poor baby…"

Rob shook his head in resignation, "give me strength," he muttered.

"Erm…boys…" began Helen ominously, her voice muffled from within the foyer, "you’d better come and listen to this answer phone message from Frank - I think it could spell disaster."