Frank Hardy sat sideways in his seat, staring out the window. His right wrist was cuffed to the arm of said seat. At least it’s wrapped, he thought. Both of his wrists were rubbed completely raw, courtesy of his attempts to fight back at Stefan and free himself.  

He was on a Leerjet, had been for the last hour, attempting to figure out exactly where they might be headed. But since he had no idea where the takeoff point was, it could literally be anywhere. But the guessing game was keeping his mind from imagining what might be in store for him when they landed.  

Stealing a glance at Stefan, Frank shuddered. Stefan hadn’t actually raped him, seeming to enjoy making Frank think that he was going to. And yet, Frank couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. What happened to turn you into such a monster? Their mother’s death was surely a factor in it, but there had to be more. The leap from verbal abuse to sexual abuse was a big one, according to Joe’s psychology professor.  

If only you had a Joe, Stefan. Your life would be so much better. Maybe even happy like mine.  

“I see you haven’t outgrown your silence.”  

“Just thinking.” Frank turned his gaze back to the window, trying to keep the feelings of hopelessness and despair at bay, focusing instead on the investigation his father and brother were sure to be conducting. Having worked on dozens of missing persons cases, he knew how difficult it would be. And that fact was compounded by the kidnapping taking place in a foreign country. Those were the hardest and rarely had happy endings.  

But this one will be different! Frank told himself. They’ll find me.  

***  

Frank realized he had fallen asleep when the landing of the plane jarred him awake. The sun was just beginning its nightly descent when he stepped onto the runway. Stefan had been nice enough to cuff his hands in front of him and Frank was able to keep the metal from pressing any further into his skin.  

Then his heart sank as he saw the mountains all around and the patches of snow under the trees. Siberia. Millions of people had disappeared in Siberia over the last 300 years. Stefan wanted his little brother to be next.  

Stefan led him to a car, and pushed him into the back seat, then slid in beside him. “Beautiful isn’t it?”  

Frank nodded. It was true after all.  

The two rode in silence for a good forty-five minutes. Frank’s despair grew with each passing mile. The further they went from the airstrip, the greater his chances of never being found. Not exactly a pleasant thought in the middle of a vast and inhospitable nowhere.  

Arriving at a house, Frank was pulled from the car. This house was smaller than the previous one, Frank noted, but was no less grand. But instead of being taken upstairs, Vladimir took him downstairs to the basement. Frank’s heart sank. Stretched before him was a row of cells and even in the dim light he could see that most were occupied.  

Vladimir shoved his prisoner into one of the middle cells, then removed the handcuffs and left. Once Frank was certain the man was gone, he began looking for a means of escape and it didn’t surprise him in the least when none presented. With a shiver, he realized he was cold. His gaze landed on the cot against the wall, and more importantly the blanket folded up on it. Wrapping the blanket around his body, he lay down on the cot and closed his eyes.  

I must be running fever, was his last thought.  

***  

Stefan found himself staring out his bedroom window long after dark had fallen. Damn you, Semyon! Why do you have to look so much like Mama?”  

Semyon had always favored Sophia, while Stefan had looked more like their father. As Semyon grew, he favored Sophia more and more. Every time Stefan looked at his younger brother, it was as if he was looking at his mother.  

Stefan’s brief moment of reflection was just that: brief. “You took her from me, Semyon,” he whispered. “And you will die.”  

***  

Frank woke slowly the next morning, his stomach growling. He was very hungry, but at the same time the thought of eating made him nauseous. I’m sick, he thought miserably, closing his eyes again.  

He didn’t know Stefan had already checked on him just an hour earlier and sent for the doctor he kept on his payroll. A few of the gashes on his back were infected and Stefan didn’t want Frank dying prematurely.  

Frank slipped in and out of fever-induced unconsciousness for the next two days as his body battled the infection. He was vaguely aware of someone cleaning the wounds and it was anything but gentle. Once the fever broke he could tell that he did feel a little bit better.  

On the fifth day, Frank was taken upstairs to Stefan’s office. He was still feeling a little shaky, but wasn’t told that he could sit so he remained standing.  

Another man was in the room, a face Frank recognized from one of his dad’s cases the year before. Alexei Marinov. He was suspected of being involved in the selling of people, but no one had ever found any proof.  

“Tell me, Frank. How do you think dear ole Dad is holding up right now?” Alexei asked as he stubbed out his cigarette in a silver ashtray that sat on the table by his wingback chair.  

Frank said nothing, knowing he was being baited.  

“He has taught you well.” Alexei stood from his chair and walked in a slow circle around the young man. “He’d fetch a nice price, Stefan. Are you sure about this?”  

“I’m sure. This one’s not about the money.” Stefan stared straight into his younger brother’s brown eyes. “It’s about justice.”  

Frank went numb at those words. I’m going to die.  

***  

Two days later Frank found himself in Alexei’s silver mine; run entirely by slave labor with methods outdated by a good hundred years. A quick glance around told him it was a very profitable operation. I’ve got to keep my eyes and ears open! he told himself. This place has got to be shut down.  

He was led to a dormitory type room filled with cots. A quick count totaled forty. At the foot of each bed was a small footlocker, no lock of course. His escort took him to a bed and then left him alone in the room, locking the door.  

The mid afternoon sun was slanting through the high, narrow windows. Too narrow to crawl through Frank noted with disgust.  

Frank set his small bundle on the small bed Victor had led him to. He had been given three changes of clothes and two pairs of heavy boots, along with socks and underwear. All of this he arranged neatly in the little footlocker, then he tucked the boots under the bed and put the sheets on. Once that was accomplished he put his “detective cap” on and began to explore the room.  

The Christmas after his and Joe’s first case, Joe had given Frank a Sherlock Holmes type hat as a gag gift. It had now become a running joke among the boys and their friends and Frank had unwittingly collected quite a few Sherlock Holmes related items. This Christmas Frank had plans to turn Joe into Dr. Watson.  

That thought brought a wave of sadness and homesickness so strong that Frank had to sit down. Will I even be alive at Christmas?  

Once night had well and truly fallen, the other occupants of the room filed in, dirty and exhausted. Some gathered clean clothes and went to the showers a little further down the room while others simply collapsed on their beds, asleep before their heads even hit the pillow.  

A young man about Frank’s own age with curly blond hair and hazel eyes, sat down heavily on the bed next to Frank’s. He eyed Frank for a long minute before bending over and pulling his shoes off.  

“Welcome to your new home,” he said.

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.