“Ezra, you will have to find the spy,” Fenton told him.  “Frank, nor I, will be able to get too close.”  He pulled a small notepad from an inner pocket and a pen.  “I’ll make a list of the agents who were there last night and put them in order of possibility.”  

“Carl Kappan is first,” Fenton said, writing the name down.  “He started out as  a cop with the NYPD.  He was an honest cop but since he disobeyed orders and made sure I knew what the first communication said, he must be considered.  

“Second is Donald Schroeder,” Fenton continued.  “He’s Blaine’s second in command and privy to more than any of the other agents who were present last night except, of course, for Blaine.  

“Peter Billings is next,” Fenton stated.  “I noticed he kept slipping away every couple of hours but since we were effectively under house arrest, I couldn’t follow him.  

“Jeff Riser, Ted Cameron, Steve Pierce, Nick Kaplan and Eric Sullivan were there but I can’t tell you anything about them,” he said.  “The last person is Terrence Blaine.  He’s running the show and I doubt he is the traitor but then, I could be wrong,” he concluded.  

“Okay, you have something to do and so does Chief Collig and Con,” Frank said.  “But what’s my assignment?”  

“Try to get in touch with your friends without getting caught,” Fenton said.  “We still need to find out about the shovels.”  

“And if no one is missing any?” demanded Frank because he really believed this would be a dead end.  

“Go back to the mall,” Fenton instructed.  “Ask about Hamby and Stevens.  Maybe someone saw them around that had already left before you discovered Joe was gone.”  

“That’s such a long shot,” Frank complained in disgust.  “Does it even matter?  We know they took Joe and we know they were in a stolen car.”  

“Also an idea,” Fenton said, ignoring Frank’s outburst.  “Talk to Hurd Applegate.  Talk to his neighbors.  We need to find out where Hamby and Stevens are staying.  If we can get a direction then at least we have a start.”  

***  

When Frank left the police station he was unrecognizable.  At the chief’s suggestion Frank had been transformed in the locker room with the help of Sergeant Riley, Officer Sampson, and Lieutenant Bailey.  His short, wavy brown hair was now long and blond, thanks to a wig that had been formed into dreadnoughts.  His puppy dog brown eyes were now a dull hazel via the magic of colored contact lenses and with the help of hidden heels inside specially made sneakers, he was now two inches taller.  

His clothing had changed from khakis and a beige tee shirt to a pair of faded jeans with holes; one in a conspicuous place that Frank refused to acknowledge for fear of blowing his cover by blushing.  He wore a tye-dyed shirt with The Grateful Dead on the front and had one ear pierced with a dangling silver dragon earring.  

Frank left the station via the rear entrance and headed downtown to meet his friends, well aware there would be agency men in the vicinity because of their orders to keep an eye on his friends.  He took a deep, calming breath and released it as he turned the last corner.  He fought the urge to look around as he entered Barney's Burgers and ordered a combo.  Gathering his purchase, he filled his cup with soda at the fountain before turning around.  

He was grateful the place was so crowded.  Asking to sit with his friends wouldn’t seem so out of place now.  He crossed the floor to where they had pulled two tables together.  “Keep cool guys,” he said softly through barely moving lips.  “We’re being watched.”  He deepened his voice before speaking aloud.  “This joint is packed.  Mind if I eat here?”  

“No, of course not,” Biff answered, shoving a chair out a bit beside him.  The chair next to Callie was also empty but he figured since Frank was in disguise that his sitting next to her might raise eyebrows.  

“Thanks,” Frank said, sitting down in the proffered chair.  Again, he lowered his voice and told them about the CIA taking his mom and dad, his dad’s escape and his own evasive maneuvers.  “Did anyone lose any shovels?” he asked hopefully.  

“Nope.  Nada.  Sorry,” his friends all replied.  

“But I did learn something,” Vanessa said, her eyes gazing at Frank with pride.  “Those two men who took Joe have been seen a lot by Kenny Whitaker.  He said they have a red pick-up and he’s seen them going into the mall’s parking lot at all times of the day.  Once, he saw the truck there at night.”  

“You mean their hideout is at the mall?” Chet asked with a dumbstruck expression.  

“No,” Frank said.  “But it does mean they must know someone there.  We need to find out who.”  

“Want us to set up shop there?” asked Phil eagerly.  

“No,” Frank said again.  “You guys are being watched.  Having the CIA, and they are kind of noticeable, at the mall might spook’em.  No.  I think the mall is my job, but could you talk to Hurd Applegate and his neighbors?” he continued.  “See if anyone saw Hamby or Stevens show up?”  

“Will do,” Phil and Chet acknowledged.  Frank and  the others finished their meal and Frank stood up to leave.  

“Thanks,” he said, picking up the debris from his lunch.  

“No problem,” Phil said.  “Sorry we can’t give you a ride but we’re waiting on a friend of ours.  He’s late but unless he’s in trouble he always shows.”  

“I understand,” Frank said, smothering a grin at Phil’s performance for their audience.  “Bye.”  

***  

“Well?” asked Hamby when he answered his cell phone at two o’clock that afternoon.  “Yeah, I understand.  Will do,” he added, hanging up.  

“What did the boss say?” Stevens asked.  

“Hardy’s there,” Hamby informed him.  “So the kid dies slow.”  

“How?”  

“A few more kicks in the side,” Hamby answered.  “Boss says he will bleed internally.  The kid will live long enough to talk to his dad if we need him to but shouldn’t last much past tomorrow night so he won’t be able to identify any of us.”  

“You look happy,” Stevens said, standing up.  

“Kidnapping is too much of a risk,” Hamby explained.  “I’ll be happier when the kid is dead.”  

“Don’t worry,” Stevens said.  “I’ll make sure his injury is fatal.”  

“We’ll make sure,” Hamby said, putting a hand on Stevens’s arm to stop him before he could move toward the cellar’s entrance.  “I missed out on the fun this morning too.”

 

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.