hardy boys fan fiction
HOLE IN THE WORLD
hardy boys nancy drew fan fiction
by
Medieval Liz
Chapter 8
hardy boys fan fiction
THE CHAPTERS
Tuesday, March 26,2:10pm
There was an air of urgency in the Laundromat on the corners of Sackett Street and Hicks Street. It took Fenton everything he had to keep from running across the street and down the alley into the basement suite where his eldest son was reportedly held. He was a spectator in this scenario. Detective Younger had made it painfully clear that Fenton was not to step outside the Laundromat unless called.
So he watched from the large windows as Brian led the SWAT team into the shadows of the alley. Detective Cameron was left behind with Fenton and Adam Younger, his radio crackling with static as he listened in to what was happening across the street.
Adam stood beside Fenton, a hand coming to rest reassuringly on the broad shoulders of the anxious father. “Brian is a good cop, Fenton. He won’t do anything to jeopardize your son.”
Fenton nodded. “I know, but I can’t help feeling like I should be the one going in.”
He looked over to the older man, noticing absently that Cameron was listening to them as well. “Six months today. It’s been exactly six months since he was taken and I couldn’t find him. I’m supposed to be the best, and I couldn’t even find my own son when he needed me. I can’t begin to imagine what he’s been going through all this time.”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty,” Adam frowned. “These people calculated everything. They were meticulous, covering their tracks so perfectly that it’s no wonder that we’ve had nothing to go on for months. It was sheer luck that we had anything at all. And now…”
There was a tone to his words that the investigator in Fenton picked up on immediately. A mix of anger and doubt echoed in the words meant to comfort. Hearing it in the other man’s voice brought a flash of realization that he felt it too.
“It’s a little too convenient, isn’t it?”
“I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Adam gave him a wry grin. “If it means we get your son back, that’s all we should care about.”
Fenton nodded and looked back out the window. “Then why do I feel like the floor is going to fall out from underneath me?”
Adam sighed. “It’s the entire situation, Fenton. The timing of it all, and not just with Frank. All of them. I still don’t get why, after all these years, they’d just let them all go. And the way they’re doing it? It makes no sense! Emily Watson, the little girl in Texas, her ransom was paid to a disgruntled employee of her grandfather. They picked him up at the drop. The girl had been missing for three years, and this guy was laid off four months ago. He hadn’t even been working for her Grandfather at the time of her abduction. So how does he fit in?”
“Obviously,” Fenton said after a moment of digesting what the retired agent was saying, “he wasn’t one of the original kidnappers.”
“No, and now this tip about your son, Fenton? They were talking about your case down in Atlantic City.”
“I was hired on the case a week ago,” Fenton said thoughtfully.
“Seven days and you heard nothing from the group of people you were after?”
“Not a word.”
“You would think that if they wanted to use Frank against you-”
“They’d let me know they had him.” Fenton finished with a sigh. “Honestly, Adam, I couldn’t care less. No, it’s not a neat little package and there are dozens of unanswered questions and loose ends, but I just want to get him home in one piece.”
Adam smiled and looked at the alley. “You’re a father first, Fenton, a detective second. And that’s how it should be. Even when they’re all grown up with lives of their own, you still want them to protect them.”
As if to punctuate the statement, there came the staccato rhythm of gunfire from across the street. Almost immediately, over the radio in Cameron’s hand, there came shouts. “Shots fired! SWAT team move in!”
Fenton paled and felt as though he was going to be sick. “Oh god, Frank!”
Adam put a steadying hand on the younger man’s back as more shots rang out. For several tense seconds the shots echoed in the Brooklyn streets and then all was silent.
Then the radio crackled again.
“10-108! I repeat, 10-108!”
Officer down…!
~~HBHBHB~~
Tuesday, March 26,2:10pm
A dozen men with assault rifles at the ready moved swiftly and quietly out of the sunlit afternoon into the dark shadows of the alleyway between the two old apartment buildings. With a series of quick gestures of his hand, Brian Younger decisively sent teams of two up the fire escapes on both buildings where they took up positions and trained their weapons on the windows and the door to the back suite.
That building was once a custodian’s residence. However, it had been converted into a rental property, and the alley was the only way to the suite. It was wide enough to allow a mid-sized vehicle entry, and located far back enough away from prying eyes from the main street.
Brian drew his service revolver as he and two other members of the SWAT team moved stealthily down the steps to the targeted door. He stood on one side of the door, and signalled his men to move into position with their battering ram. This was a risky operation for the victim. They had no line of sight, and would have to depend on speed and the element of surprise to get the victim out safely. It was not ideal, but they had no choice. He silently reminded his men again that the safety of the victim was paramount, and then took on an offensive stance with his revolver before him and aimed at the door.
He took a deep breath, and then shouted, “NYPD! Open the door! NOW!”
But they did not wait for the door to open. The men with the battering ram had moved immediately into action, breaking down the door with great efficiency. They had no choice, every second counted. The door burst open with such force, it ripped both the deadbolt and the hinges from the doorframe.
The three men within sprang from their seats, caught by surprise by the speed at which the raid took place.
Brian took in the situation before him in an instant. His heart sank as he saw that they were armed. In slow motion, he saw them raise their guns and fired point blank towards the door.
He dove for cover behind the old clunky fridge, and at the same time screamed for his men to take cover. He barely made it. Several rounds of bullets hit the wall where he was, and sent painful chips of broken cements into his unprotected arm. He could hear the SWAT commander ordering the team to storm the apartment, but he knew they would not be on time.
The detective took another deep breath to steady his nerves before he spun away from the safety of the fridge, and fired at those men as he moved deeper into the house. He glimpsed the tallest man backing off from the sofa and into a small hallway.
Without any thought of himself, Detective Younger sprinted after that man. His team covered him, pinning the remaining two men in the living room behind their furniture shields.
He watched that tall man turned into a room; he could hear the pounding music filtering through the open door. He quickly crossed the short distance and halted for the briefest moment next to the door. Cautiously, he peeked around the doorframe, and his blood turned to ice.
That man had moved to the foot of the bed and was at that very moment, raising his gun in preparation to shoot.
The boy was struggling helplessly against his restraints, his eyes terror-filled and locked to the gun that was aimed at him.
Brian stepped quickly into the room with his revolver ready and aimed at that man. His heart was pounding furiously, even as he exuded an outward calm. He saw the man’s finger curling around the trigger.
“Freeze!” Brian shouted.
The man spun around, firing his weapon at the same time Brian did. But the detective was more prepared and his aim was dead accurate. The bullet from his revolver flew across the room, and ploughed straight into the man’s chest where the heart was. That man died, the look of shock forever etched onto his face.
Detective Brian did not emerge from the fray unscathed either. The bullet hit him on his right side, missing his vest and lodging in his hip. The pain was intense, and he slowly slumped onto the floor to land right next to the stereo. Then he remembered he still had a job to finish. He turned off the music and crawled over to the side of the bed.
The dark haired boy on the mattress was still fighting to get free from the handcuffs. The child’s eyes were tear-filled as he struggled to get as far away from Brian as he possibly could. Despite the numerous bruises on the boy’s face, he could tell it was the kid he was looking for. Those dark brown eyes, so much like his father’s, were unmistakable.
“It’s okay, Frank,” Brian said soothingly to the scared little boy.
His voice quavered in pain, but he continued to work on calming the boy down and making him feel safe.
“I’m Detective Younger with the NYPD. I’ve been looking for you for a long time now.”
After a few agonizing seconds, when the boy stopped struggling, he reached toward the boys face and carefully pulled the duct tape off the boy’s mouth.
Frank Hardy licked his chapped lips and met Brian’s eyes. Tears traced a trail down his cheeks and his voice quivered weakly when he finally spoke.
“Thank-you…”
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Disclaimer
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.