Later that afternoon, Fenton filled Joe in on what Ray had told him. Joe could feel his rage and anger growing in leaps and bounds, but he kept it in check, for Frank’s sake. They were Frank’s only hope as far as Joe was concerned.  

“What now, Dad?”  

“I honestly don’t know.”  

“If we need to go home to find him, I won’t argue,” Joe said. “I’ll do anything, Dad. Even sit in the library.”  

Fenton gazed at his younger son, wondering when he’d grown up. It seemed like yesterday that he was taking his first steps and jabbering away. “I know. We’ll find him, Joe. That I promise you.”  

***  

Frank slowly opened his eyes and pushed himself up. The pain in his back was still present, but he needed food.  

“You are hungry?”  

He saw Vladimir sitting in a chair by the door, and he nodded. Vladimir pointed to a clean t-shirt that lay on the foot of the bed and Frank reluctantly pulled it on. “Do I get any shoes?”  

“No.” Vladimir knocked once on the door and it opened. He used his handgun to motion Frank forward and the young man slowly walked out of the room. Vladimir stayed behind him while the man who had opened the door was in front of him.  

He was led to a spotless kitchen furnished with stainless steel appliances and told to sit at the bar, which he did. The cook, a sour looking older lady with salt and pepper hair, set a bowl of stew in front of him. The scent made his very empty stomach growl, but he made himself eat it slowly. A quick glance at the clock on the oven showed him his last meal had been almost 24 hours before.  

Please be alright, Joe!  

Stefan came into the room minutes later and also sat down at the bar with a bowl. Frank detected a faint whiff of alcohol. Better not set him off, Hardy, he told himself.  

“You’re probably wondering why I have such a large place,” Stefan commented.  

Frank chose to nod rather than answer verbally. Probably safer.  

“This was Papa’s place.” Stefan smiled mirthlessly at the look of astonishment on Frank’s face. “But you never cared much for Papa, did you?”  

Again, Frank responded non-verbally, this time in the negative.  

“I’m going to tell you a story, Semyon. Listen carefully because I will only tell it once.” In between bites of his stew, Stefan told Frank about their parents.  

“Mama was his mistress and Papa was KGB. When the Soviets lost control and the KGB folded, dear Papa entered what you Americans call “organized crime”. He was successful too, in a short amount of time.  

“This house was the summer dacha of a count, before the Revolution. Let me tell you it takes serious funds to keep this place running. I’m not here very often though, I much prefer the far mountains.”  

Frank froze inside. If Stefan takes me to Siberia Dad will never find me!  

“Mama knew what Papa was into, and that’s why he killed her really. And Vera really was pregnant, she died giving birth to the child. The baby died too, and Papa came looking for us. Naturally he only found me. He sent me to the best schools and trained me to take his place. He never considered the fact that I hated him.”  

“You killed him?” Frank gasped.  

“Yes, I did.” Stefan’s brown eyes darkened to anger, becoming almost black. “Just like he killed Mama.”  

Frank worked hard to keep the shock from his face. And failed at it.  

“Don’t act so surprised, Semyon. You would have done the same.”  

“No,” Frank interjected. “I wouldn’t. I would have made sure he was sent to prison. You know that in Russia that’s worse than dying. I would have brought his entire operation crashing down around him.”  

Stefan shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, little brother. I shall have to deal with that.”  

That statement left an unsettled feeling in the pit of Frank’s stomach.  

“I have now doubled the profit margin by expanding into a very lucrative trade.” Stefan took a sip of water from his glass. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”  

Frank nodded slowly, reluctantly. Stefan’s “lucrative trade” was the trafficking of people into slavery. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”  

Stefan smiled. “Yes, but I’m a very rich one. If I were to receive a good offer for you…” Stefan let his voice trail off.  

Frank shoved his fear aside and leaned forward. “There’s one minor problem with that idea, Stefan.”  

“And that would be?” Stefan scoffed.  

“I’m Fenton Hardy’s son.”  

Stefan looked at Vladimir as he stood. “Get him out of here,” he growled. Stefan then retired to his study while Vladimir returned Frank to his room. Picking up the phone, Stefan dialed a number he knew by heart, the direct line to the manager of his mining operation.  

“I have a surprise, Alexei.”  

“Oh really?”  

“Yes, Fenton Hardy’s son, Frank.”  

“Are you out of your mind?” Alexei shouted. “He could bring us down in two shakes, Stefan.”  

The above-mentioned man sat down at his desk and lit a cigarette. “Oh, relax. Blood is stronger than paper. Frank is actually my little brother, Semyon. Once I’m done with him, he’s all yours, and he won’t remember that little tidbit about being Hardy’s son. Fenton will give up eventually. I want Semyon to die slowly and alone.”  

“I still think it’s foolish, but I like it. I like it a lot.”  

“Good.”  

***  

Upstairs, Frank found himself once again chained to the wall. Stefan had made him empty out his pockets the day before and had promptly tossed his lockpick set out the window pick by pick. He’d also pulled the laces from Frank’s sneakers. As if I could pick a lock with a shoestring! he thought. I’m not MacGyver.  

He sat down on the bed, dejectedly. The room was so sparsely furnished that there was no way he could find something to use to free his hand. The t-shirt was now stuck to his back and Frank knew that increased the risk of developing an infection. Now there’s an appealing thought.  

Stefan came back that night, only this time he was drunk. Frank could see from the look in his eyes that tonight it would not be simple playing around, he was seriously angry.  

***  

At the hotel in Moscow , Joe couldn’t sleep. Ray Walhburg was running every source he had and coming up with nothing.  

“It’s not that there’s nothing to find,” he’d said two hours ago in a phone call. “It’s that people are afraid of him. He has a reputation for being cutthroat and ruthless.  

Joe wasn’t sleeping partly because of those words. Oh sure, they’d encountered cutthroat and ruthless people before, just never one with so personal a grudge. You have to be alright, Frank. You have to be!  

***  

By the end of the week there was still nothing to go on. The Hardys reluctantly faced the fact that the search would have to be continued from Bayport.  

Stefan Gregov had simply disappeared.

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors 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.