Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

She was so tired. That was due partly to the fact that she'd never been able to sleep on a plane. "Too many disaster-of-the-week movies," muttered Casi, falling across the bed of her hotel room. The desire to sleep just barely overshadowed the desire to catch up to Joe. she still had a ways to go. Rabat was several hundred miles north and west of Marrakech. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She had two things to go on so far. Hadad and the fact Joe had said he was going to Marrakech.

Cassandra yawned until her jaw popped. Maybe she could get a little information here before trying to follow Joe. Yeah, right, said that obnoxious inner voice. You just want to sleep. She yawned again. Sleep, definitely, maybe for a couple of hours...or twelve. Casi closed her eyes. Or twenty-four...maybe even a week....

It was familiar--the candles flickering in the sconces, the dim light reflected and refracted by the faceted glass behind the flames. The flagstone floor was cool beneath her bare feet. A part of her knew this must be a section of the castle she'd never been in before and yet if she'd never been here before how could she know the way? And come to think of it, except for the towers, there were no corridors around the outside of the castle, yet here in this hallway,lit sconces were on one side, arched windows on the other.

As always, she walked to a window and leaning on the stone ledge, looked up and out. Overhead, the black night sky glittered with stars that seemed close enough to touch. The scent of the ocean wafted toward her from the southwest just beyond the stand of tall stately conifers. She could smell the trees too. She had to leave, to get back to what she knew. The simple cottage hidden by a ring of boulders taller than she was. She alone knew the way in and out. It was close to the ocean too...

A noise made her turn and for a moment, the darkened end of the corridor, the one always in shadow blurred and seemed like a mirror, reflecting her own image, auburn hair, golden eyes, long pale dress. The mirror image shifted slightly and it's lips moved but she only heard the voice in her mind....

'It's plain as the nose on your face. You love him'.....'I love him. And he's leaving'....'And you're letting him?'.....'You know I have to leave after the wedding....I don't want you following me, promise?'....'I know why you're doing this but I can't. I love you, I don't want to lose you'.......'I'd come back from hell if I could'...'You're leaving'....'I have to go'...'I'll go with you'... 'I don't want you following me. Promise?'........'Just go....just go...not safe....just go'....

The mirror image faded into blackness and a heavy sorrow washed over her, bringing tears to her eyes. All she could see now was the pearl necklace seemingly suspended in mid-air, it's silver chain glinting in the firelight. The sudden sight of it startled her and when it fell, then vanished for some reason it scared her.....

Casi sucked in a breath and sat up. The hotel room was dark and she was clammy with sweat and chilled. The dream had been different and yet the same. Considering that in the last twenty years or so she'd had the dream again and again, it was unsettling to say the least. She had been either six or seven when she'd first had it. She dreamed not long after visiting her grandparents in Scotland and seeing the castle there. In the dream when she'd looked out the windows, the gardens below had caught fire.

The next day, she learned her grandparents had only just moved out of the gatehouse---which had caught fire that night. The next time she dreamed it, she must have been around fifteen when her great-grandfather had died. In that one a ghostly red-haired woman had glided down the hallway in front of her. The next day her father mentioned a woman coming to take Seamus home. His description fit the woman in her dream and Casi had hoped then and there never to have the dream again.

The summer before her seventeenth birthday, only days before heading out to Kenya, she had had the dream again. But all the times before, she'd never seen him. This time he appeared in the dream with blond hair and eyes that unique shade of tropical oceans but his face was indistinct...until she met Joe MacKensey, then the face became clear. In the next several years, the dream always started the same--the corridor, the flames but ended differently. Last year she'd dreamed that Joe would walk away and he had.

She fumbled for the pull chain of the bedside lamp. Her fingers finally grasped it and she tugged. Soft yellow light flooded the room and she looked at her watch. Eight-fifty-one. Damn. Casi got to her feet, her stomach rumbling loudly. She was starved and the hotel restaurant was probably closed. And she really didn't want to wander around a strange city looking for a place to eat.

She switched on the overhead light and went into the bathroom to splash water on her face. The gingham shortset was rumpled and her hair a tangled mess. She couldn't go anywhere like this anyway. A little more awake, she went back into the room and unzipped her suitcase. As she rummaged for fresh clothes, she picked up the phone and dialed the front desk. After learning that the restaurant stayed open until eleven, and yes, they did have room service, Casi gave up on changing clothes and asked for a light supper to be sent to her room.

Casi hung up and pulled out a night gown instead of pants and a blouse. As soon as her food came, she'd take a nice hot bath and go back to sleep. She sat down suddenly on the bed. She was used to traveling all over but the realization dawned that she was getting into something she knew nothing about. Oh, she knew the public history of Hadad's family, sketchy though it was, but not much more. What was going on? And how was Lilith Raven involved in it all?

A tap on the door roused her and she let in a waiter with a small metal cart. She thanked him and after he left, sat down to eat. And how was she to investigate without letting Joe know what she was doing.? Casi frowned and took a sip of tea. Ahh, that was the question. Casi sat back in her chair. But cloak-and-dagger machinations aside, did it matter? It wasn't like he'd have her arrested on some such nonsense...He'd never do that....would he?

***

At that precise moment, Joseph MacKensey would have arrested his own brother and shoved him under the local jail. Joe fiddled with the handle of the over-sized cup of thick, rich coffee he'd ordered. Jon was supposed to have met him at the Cafe Argana at nine sharp. He was now twenty minutes late. Joe pulled the cup to his lips, then thunked the cup down, sloshing the dark strong coffee. If he drank much more, he'd be awake the entire time he was in Morocco.

Where the hell was Jon? When he'd arrived in Marrekech, he'd found a message waiting at the airport for Trevor Macklin, his cover name, telling him to go to the Hotel Chems. The cheapest spot in town, Joe soon found out. Why did he always get shafted on hotels? It seemed that Jack always picked the dingiest places. At the hotel, there had been another message to be at the Cafe Argana at nine o'clock tonight.

Joe shoved the cup to the other side of the table. The terse messages were practically his older brother's trademark and he was supposed to

meet Jonathon tomorrow anyway. He glanced at his watch and frowned. Shit, nine-thirty. Joe got to his feet and tossed a handful of dirhams on the table. He was tired even though he'd managed to snatch a little sleep on the flight down. He was tired enough to even no longer care about the accomodations.

As he started for the door, he did toy with the idea of switching to a more upscale hotel. Maybe the Sheraton closer to the medina. Joe's grin was sardonic. No...the upscale, most famous one of all--La Mamounia. Of course, Jack would blow a gasket. Joe sighed and left the cafe. Dream on, pal, he told himself. Trevor Macklin, a mercenary for hire, had developed the habit for staying in the sleaziest hotels.

He started down the street, heading back to Hotel Chems. It was gut instinct that warned him of a tail Joe stopped, half-glanced over his shoulder. Streetlights backlit a silhouette of a tall broad-shoulderd man in the distance. Something about him seemed familiar which put Joe on hyper-alert. Joe started walking briskly, counting the alleyways he passed, then suddenly he ducked into the dark passageway, stationing himself at the corner, his back against the rough brick of a building.

His tail stopped at his alley but didn't venture in for a long moment. Keeping still, all Joe could see was short-cropped light hair. It struck a chord. But he knew that Omar Hadad had black hair. The man stepped into the alley, past Joe. Joe bounced up on the balls of his feet, then kicked up and out, catching the man in the back just above his kidneys. The man fell, disappearing into the blackness of the alleyway. Joe started forward, only to have a flailing fist catch him on his jaw. Joe staggered back, shook his head to clear it. "That the best you can do?" He caught sight of an old battered ice chest propped against the wall to drain. Joe grabbed a handle and swung the ice chest at the stranger.

The ice chest caught the man in the abdomen and knocked him off his feet. He landed hard on the gravel-strewn asphalt. "Shit!"

Joe went very still. That voice...suddenly, it dawned on him who this was. " Damn it. Don't do that." He stepped forward and reached out a helping hand.

The man slapped the hand away. "What the hell was all that?"

"I'm a little tense."

"No...never would have guessed." The man's voice was sarcastic as he stood up and brushed himself off, causing the ice chest to clatter to the ground.

"Oh shut up. I didn't realize it was you."

The man grunted. "Who else would it be?"

"Lay off. You were thirty minutes late."

Jonathon MacKensey glared at his younger brother in the dimness. "That can't be why you beat me up."

"I didn't beat you up."

"Ha!" Jonathon massaged his back. "Say that again. My injured back didn't catch that."

"Injured back, hell. I think you broke my jaw."

"Yeah, right."

"So why are you late?"

"Got sidetracked."

Joe shook his head. "So where are you staying?"

"Hotel Imperial Borj. Why?"

"Why? You want to know why? I got stuck in some dingey flea motel. Why are you there?"

Jon shrugged. "Seniority."

"Like hell."

"Chill, bro. How did it go?"

"What?"

Jon shook his head, then sighed. "The....wedding. How....did...it....go?"

"Fine. Stop talking to me like I escaped from the looney bin."

"You escaped from somewhere. Maybe Bellevue Hospital?"

"It went fine. What was so damn important it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"What?"

"Exactly."

Jon stared at him, puzzled, then reached out to touch Joe's forehead. "No fever..." he mused as Joe jerked back. "Apparently no trauma to the brain...So why isn't he making any sense?"

Joe groaned. "Forget it. Apparently the trauma to your back is affecting your brain." He shook his head and started walking away, playing catch with a set of keys.

Jon frowned, then patted each pocket--front and back--of his blue jeans. "Hey!"

Joe grinned. "I'm sleeping upscale tonight."

"The hell you are. Give me my keys." Jon hurried after him and grabbed the keys out of the air.

Joe frowned. "It's not fair."

Jon looked unconcerned. "Life's not fair."

"Oh shut up."

"Anyway, Mack prefers the seedier side of life."

"Like you don't?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Joe shook his head, exhausted and in no mood for jokes. "Why did you want to meet me tonight?"

Jon glanced up and down the street, then with a jerk of his head, he started walking, Joe falling in step beside him. "Rumors are running rampant about Hadad Pharmaceuticals rising out of its own ashes like the proverbial phoenix," he said in a low voice.

"Forget the metaphors and similes. Who's behind it?"

"Some say Omar. Though we both know he's dead."

"Do we? Yeah, he was in the factory, and yeah, the whole shittin' place went ka-boom. That doesn't mean he's dead. Remember Blofield?"

Jon gave his brother a hard look. "Last time I checked, you weren't James Bond."

"It was an example. Duh."

"Duh yourself. Others say it's Shakira, trying to build up the company." He caught Joe's look. "And, yea, I know she supposedly had no real power in the heirarchy of things."

Joe grunted. "What about Anwar?"

"What about him?"

"Four years ago, he was in Merida, in the Yucatan, now he's in Galway, Ireland."

"So?"

"What do you mean, so? He's a legitimate suspect."

"Moving from Merida to Galway makes him a suspect."

"Lilith Raven's working for somebody."

Jon frowned. "What's she got to do with the price of hashish in Rabat?"

Joe took a deep breath. "She was in Killarney. We had an....impromptu meeting."

"Excuse me?" Jon shook his head. "What the hell happened?"

Joe told him in short terse sentences what had occurred five days ago, glaring at the cracked concrete the whole time. Jon heaved a sigh. "Shit, did you get checked out?"

Joe's head shot up. "I'm fine. You're not my keeper."

Jon looked ready to explode as he glanced up and down the street. "Look, we don't need to be talking here. Tomorrow." He checked the street again. "I'll leave a message." With that, he walked away.

Joe heaved a sigh and started back to his own hotel, such that it was. He looked down at his bandaged hand, the gauze now a grimey shade of gray. He ripped off the tape, wincing as the hairs on the back of his hand got yanked in the process. He pulled the gauze away to see a jagged puckered scar, still a raw pink, angled across his palm. It looked like it was healing fine. He shook his head and tossed the gauze into the nearest alleyway. Everyone was blowing all this way out of proportion. He was fine.

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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.