Joe sat up and rubbed his eyes. "The warehouse blew up and I was worried about you." Joe then repeated the story of the night’s events. It took much longer this time because of all the questions Frank kept throwing at him. By the end of the narrative, Frank was frowning.

"None of what Ericson told you makes any sense," Frank remarked.

Joe nodded in agreement. "Why would they waste the time to blow the warehouse up if it’s not important?"

"That’s what I’m wondering." Frank raised the head of the bed a little and shifted his position. "Maybe it is important. But how?" That thoughtful look came onto his face and Joe knew he was in another galaxy. Then Claire came in just as Frank started tapping his index finger on his chin.

"What on earth are you thinking about, Frank?" She then began the process of unhooking the IV from Frank’s arm. He winced as she pulled the needle out.

"The bomb makes no sense," Frank answered.

Claire raised an eyebrow. She had heard about the bomb on the morning news, but had no idea that Frank and Joe were connected with the case. She then placed a hand on Frank’s forehead. "No fever. Are you hallucinating explosions now?" She smiled teasingly as Frank directed his frown at her.

"You know good and well what I’m talking about!" They had known Claire long enough that she knew about the Hardys’ luck with explosive devices.

Frank then stopped frowning and looked at her expectantly. "When do I get out of here?"

"As soon as your parents get here and sign all the papers." She would have ruffled Frank’s hair for that remark if he’d had any, so instead she squeezed his hand, then gathered her things and left.

As soon as the door was closed, Frank beckoned to Joe. Joe moved over to the bed, wondering why Frank was being so secretive all of a sudden. "I need to see the warehouse."

Joe’s jaw dropped. "Are you nuts??" His voice rose un-intentionally.

"Hold it down, Joe. I have a theory and want to see if I’m right. This case is beginning to be a little too much like the one in New York. And besides, we haven’t done any investigating together in ages now!"

That was an appeal that Joe couldn’t refuse. "OK. But if Mom finds out, you’re taking all the blame!"

An hour later the brothers were on their way. Joe had made Frank tell their parents that they just wanted to spend some time alone together away from the hospital. Fenton gave his consent, knowing full-well what their plans were.

The trip was made in silence, except for the sounds of Gershwin coming from the stereo. Joe kept glancing at his brother, who was leaned back with his eyes closed. If it hadn’t been for the Giants baseball cap, Frank’s long-sleeved shirt and how pale and tired he looked, Joe could almost pretend things were normal.

"I’ve got four tickets to that big Gershwin revue on Broadway. Who are you going to take?"

"Don’t, Joe." Frank looked at his brother, his brown eyes filled with sadness. "I don’t want to make any plans for the future at this point. Right now is all that matters to me."

Joe pulled into a parking space by the blasted-out warehouse and turned the motor off. "I can’t help it, Frank." He turned to meet Frank’s gaze. "I want everything to be the way it was."

Frank smiled. "I do too. But wishful thinking will not keep me alive, bro." Frank opened his door and stepped out of the van. "So let’s go do what we do best, while we still can."

Joe got out of the van and walked around to join Frank, giving him a tight smile. There was something ominous in Frank’s tone that Joe didn’t like one bit. They ducked under the crime scene tape and began looking around.

Frank took a good look at what was left of the warehouse. There were a few support beams still standing, and pieces of charred wood and twisted metal were strewn about as if a child had forgotten to pick up his toys. "Show me where the bomb was."

Joe looked around to get his bearings, then went over to the spot where he’d been tied up. "I’m pretty sure it was here." Frank joined him and knelt down to examine the floor. Frank recognized the scorch pattern and whistled. "What?" Joe asked, kneeling down beside Frank.

"This was the same type of bomb that was used to blow that warehouse in New York." Frank looked at his brother. "What if this is the same group?"

Joe sat back on his heels. They had been successful in getting only part of the group in New York. The leader of the gun-running operation had managed to escape. "You think maybe there’s another level under here too?"

Frank stood. "Only one way to find out."

The brothers went to the other end of the warehouse and began examining the floor for a trap door. They had infiltrated a gun-running ring in New York and that group had hidden the weapons in the basements of warehouses, then blown up the buildings to cover their tracks.

"Joe, come here!" Frank finally shouted. Joe was instantly beside him. "I think I found it. But I can’t get it open." Frank stepped back, feeling very weak and useless as Joe effortlessly pulled the door open. They peered inside into the darkness.

"I’ll go get the flashlights." Joe ran to the van, then returned with two high-wattage lights. He handed one to Frank, then went down the ladder.

Frank followed slowly. His energy for the day was just about gone. He was breathing hard at the bottom as he flashed the light around.

There were stacks of crates everywhere. Joe pried the top off of one and looked inside. "Whoa!" He pushed the straw aside as Frank peered over his shoulder. The crate contained illegal MAC-10’s and modified AK-47’s.

"I think it’s time to go to Con," Frank finally said.

"Agreed." Joe replaced the lid, then the two hurriedly left the scene. They went straight to the station, where Con was waiting for them. He’d know as soon as Frank was released from the hospital, he’d be seeing them.

When they were seated in Con’s office, Frank began speaking. "The drugs are a fake front. They’re gun-runners."

"And you know this how?" Con asked, ever the skeptic.

"We found illegal automatics under the warehouse." Frank watched Con’s eyebrows fly up. "These guys have the same MO as the group we tried to infiltrate last fall."

Con leaned forward. "Tell me more."

Joe took over. "The drugs are fake. They use that to divert attention from the guns. They hide them in warehouses with sub-levels, then blow the warehouse up to throw the cops off. Once things cool down, they liberate the guns and sell them."

"We got part of the ring," Frank added. "But the mastermind got away. He’s probably back in business, using Bayport as his front."

Con pointed his finger at the boys. "If this were coming from anyone else, I’d lock you up. You two go home, and I’m going to talk to the chief."

Joe started to protest, but one look at Frank sent all thoughts of further investigating from his mind. "OK," he agreed.

Once outside, Joe put his arm around Frank and gently led him to a nearby bench. Frank bent over and covered his face. "What’s wrong, Frank?" Joe asked, unable to keep the fear from his voice.

"I’m so dizzy, Joe." Frank shivered and clenched his teeth, not wanting his brother to know that the dizziness was from pain.

"Stay here. I’m going to bring the van around and we’re going straight home."

Frank managed a nod. "OK." For the first time in Frank Hardy’s life, he was not telling Joe everything. Frank’s health was much worse than Joe knew. Dr. Sanders had given them very bad news this time. Frank had begged his parents not to tell Joe how bad things really were.

The van pulled up and Frank let Joe help him in. Joe could feel his brother trembling, but said nothing. He knew, however, that something was very wrong.

Once at home, Joe slowly helped Frank up the stairs to his room. Frank collapsed on his bed and surrendered to sleep. What Joe didn’t know, was that it was the pain medication making him so sleepy. Joe spread a thick blanket over Frank, then went in search of his parents for an explanation.

But Fenton found him first. "What’d you find?" he asked, oblivious to the storm brewing inside his youngest son.

"Guns," Joe answered shortly. "Just like in New York. We’ve already talked to Con."

Fenton nodded, then looked closely at Joe. "What’s wrong?"

Joe’s fists clenched. "What’s wrong?" he repeated, unable to keep the anger from his voice. "I want to know what I have not been told! When did this family start keeping secrets from me?"

Laura walked in just then. Joe looked from parent to parent. "I want to know why my brother almost passed out. I want to know why he’s not getting better!"

There was a sound at the top of the stairs. Joe turned and saw Frank, who had been awakened by Joe’s shouting. "I’m not going to get better, Joe. The chemo isn’t working." Frank watched his brother’s face turn white. Joe then came up the stairs, went right past Frank and into his room. He then slammed the door so hard the walls rattled.

Frank just stood there at the head of the stairs for several minutes before going back to his room. He waited about twenty minutes, then went through the bathroom into Joe’s room.

Joe was sitting on his bed, his back towards Frank. Frank could tell from the set of Joe’s shoulders that he was angry and hurt. "I’m sorry, Joe," he whispered just loud enough for Joe to hear. But Joe made no move to answer, so Frank returned to his own room.

Just as he was about to doze off again, his bed moved. Frank flipped over on his back and saw Joe. His eyes were suspiciously bright.

"You don’t have anything to be sorry about, Frank," Joe whispered. "I just can’t accept that you’re going to die."

Frank shoved his pillows up where he was propped against the headboard. "Me either."

Joe settled next to Frank and put an arm around him. "Then we’ll just have to make sure you don’t."

Frank smiled sadly. "Yeah," he agreed softly. He then rested his head on Joe’s shoulder and slowly fell asleep.