‘Joe. Where are you?’ Fenton thought gazing out the window into the black night sky.

Wondering what could have happened to his youngest son, Fenton was overcome with guilt. This was supposed to have been a simple courier assignment. Fly to Chicago, get the papers signed and notarized, fly home. Easy. Simple. No danger at all. And yet Joe had vanished into thin air.

"Dad?" Frank’s voice cut through Fenton’s worried thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? You’re awfully quiet."

"Just…thinking."

"About Joe?"

Fenton sighed in frustration. "I purposely asked him to do this because it wasn’t dangerous! Joe has therapy twice a week and Vanessa still isn’t comfortable being alone at night. I’ve been trying to give him assignments that aren’t too dangerous if you won’t be with him and where he doesn’t have to be away from home overnight." He laid his head back against the seat. "Why didn’t I just take the damn papers myself?"

Frank could hear the frustration – and guilt – in his father’s voice. And he understood it completely. Frank had been asking himself almost the same thing. Why didn’t he volunteer to go to Chicago and let Joe stay home and attend the meeting with their father? Because Joe hated meetings, that’s why. And this was so easy no one thought twice about it. Then again, Joe always did manage to find trouble in the most innocent and unlikely places.

"We’ll find him, Dad." Frank tried to reassure his father. "Were you able to get ahold of Mr. DiSantos?" Frank asked, referring to the head of security at O’Hare.

Fenton Hardy and George DiSantos had been rookies together in the New York Police Department. They had stayed in touch when both left the force to pursue careers in the private sector.

"Yes. He’s going to review the security tapes from the area where Joe was last seen. We can look at them as soon as we get there."

"Did you tell him about the file Joe left in the trash can?"

"No. He’s a good friend but if I told him he’d go straight to the Secret Service with it and we’d never see it. When we get there I’ll make copies of it and then turn it over to them myself. All they’ll care about is keeping Senator Hurley alive. Joe doesn’t mean a thing to them. He’d be considered a necessary casualty."

Frank nodded, understanding exactly what his father meant. It was why he never seriously considered the offer he’d gotten from The Network to work exclusively for them. He knew he would never be able to sacrifice even one innocent person for the ‘greater good’. And he wasn’t about to let the government sacrifice his brother for anybody.

The remainder of the trip was made in silence, with Frank and Fenton both wondering what could have happened to Joe, while trying to keep their worst fears at bay. Upon landing at O’Hare, Frank was directed to the area reserved for private aircraft. A short time later he and Fenton were quickly making their way through the main terminal.

"His flight left from Gate K-12." Frank said, as he scanned the overhead signs. "There." He pointed to his right.

Stopping in front of the gate, Fenton slowly and methodically scrutinized the now nearly empty corridor. His eyes narrowed slightly when he found what he was looking for. Without a word, he strode down the walkway and turned into the first doorway on his left with Frank only a few steps behind. Entering the handicapped stall in the empty restroom, Fenton pulled out the trashcan, removing the half-full bag and all the extras beneath it. Opening the very last bag he glanced inside then looked at Frank.

"Got it." He said simply.

Quickly replacing the bags and the trash can, Frank and Fenton left the restroom and made their way to the Security Office. They were immediately ushered into George DiSantos’ private office.

"Fenton, it’s good to see you again. Wish it were under different circumstances." The tall, graying chief of security said, shaking his hand before greeting Frank in a similar manner.

"You too, George. And thanks for your help." Fenton replied.

"I found a tape that you should take a look at. I think it’s Joe but I’m not positive. I couldn’t get a good look at his face." DiSantos said cautiously.

"Oh?" Fenton questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"He’s with two other men and he appears to be unconscious." He explained uneasily.

"Did you recognize the men he was with?" Fenton asked.

"I’m afraid so. Keith Rashman and Dennis Malick. They’re with Chicago’s most powerful organized crime syndicate."

‘Oh, Joe, what have you gotten yourself into this time?’ Frank thought, no longer feeling silly about fearing for his brother’s safety.

"One of our security guards stopped them on the way out. Rashman made up some story about the three of them seeing off a new client their company had just signed. Said they waited with the client in the bar, celebrating the new partnership, until his flight was called. He claimed Joe had too much to drink and passed out."

Fenton watched his friend carefully as he related what the security guard had reported growing uneasy at what appeared to be something akin to fear in the man’s eyes.

"Keith Rashman?" Fenton repeated the name. "Is he related to Craig Rashman?"

George DiSantos nodded and looked down at his desk for a moment, gathering his thoughts. When he had recognized Keith Rashman on the videotape, his blood had turned to ice. He’d heard stories about what this man could do and wouldn’t wish that kind of horror on his worst enemy.

"His younger brother." He said softly. "Keith Rashman is a specialist, Fenton, just like his brother was. And Craig taught him everything he knows. Rumor has it he’s even worse than Craig was. Really enjoys his work. He’s the biggest reason no one has challenged the authority of this syndicate. I’m so sorry." He looked at his friend with sympathy.

"What exactly does he specialize in?" Frank asked, with growing anxiety.

George DiSantos looked at him and then quickly looked away, remaining silent.

Fenton closed his eyes tightly, not even hearing Frank’s question. His fear for Joe had just increased a hundred-fold. "Oh, God….Joe…" He whispered.

"Dad? What’s wrong?" Frank asked, slightly panicked at his father’s reaction, worry for his brother now starting to take over his emotions. "What does he specialize in? Dad, answer me!" Frank’s voice rose a few notches.

"Torture." Fenton replied, his eyes taking on a faraway look as if he were remembering something he’d rather not.

Frank suddenly realized his palms had become sweaty, his throat was dry and his heart was beating noticeably faster.

"His brother, Craig, was the top enforcer for one of New York’s biggest crime families." Fenton continued. "His specialty was getting information out of people who refused to talk. He tortured them until they broke and told him whatever it was he wanted to know. He was considered the best at what he did. He could break anybody." Fenton looked at Frank, anguished. ‘And his brother is even worse? God help you, Joe.’

"Where is he now?"

"New York state prison. Serving three consecutive life sentences for murder." He replied tentatively.

"And…" Frank prompted him, sensing there was something more.

"And I’m the one who put him there." Fenton suddenly looked haunted. "If Keith rally is more sadistic than his brother was…and he figures out Joe is my son…" he stopped, unable to stomach the thought of what Joe might have to endure because of him.