“Do you have any plans for the first week of summer break?” Sasha asked. She and Frank were walking out of Leiber Hall and towards the student center.  

“Actually, yes. I do. Dad’s current case requires a trip to Europe, and he’s sending me and Joe.” Their conversation flowed easily in Russian, so Frank had no worries that it would be overheard.  

Sasha looked up at Frank. “Where exactly, if I can ask.”  

The two friends sat down on a bench underneath the old elm tree in front of the student center and Frank dropped his book bag on the ground. “Moscow. I’m getting pretty excited about going. I don’t remember a whole lot about what it’s like.”  

Sasha smiled. “When do you leave?”  

“Wednesday I think.”  

“And how long will you be gone?”  

“I forgot to ask,” he admitted sheepishly.  

“Fine detective you are,” she teased. Then she stood. “I’ll find you for lunch.”  

Frank nodded and waved at her as she hurried off to her next test, then pulled his psychology notebook out of his bag and reviewed his notes one final time.  

While he and Sasha weren’t exactly an item, he did enjoy her company a great deal. When Sasha and the Belov family walked into his life, he found himself able to be truly proud of his heritage. With hers and Anton’s encouragement, Frank had finally been able to tell his friends where he’d been born, and why Joe could get so protective of him at times.  

Frank had worried for years about how they might react, worried over the fact that since he was born when Russia was still the Soviet Union might somehow affect the way they viewed him as a person. But his fears had been completely unfounded, and they had taken it in stride. Just as Joe had always told him they would.  

The rest of the day alternately flew and dragged by for the twenty-year-old. When his last class let out, he went straight home. Fenton’s car was back in its spot in the garage, so he made a beeline for the office.  

“Dad, I want to go.”  

Fenton looked away from his computer screen and smiled. “I was pretty sure you’d say that. Any particular reason?”  

Frank shrugged as he sat down in the same chair he’d occupied the night before. “I don’t remember much about the city itself, the way it looked outside of my own little world. I remember the Metro, the cathedral, the apartment building and school and that’s it.” He paused a minute and his eyes took on a faraway look. “Mama loved it there, and I want to know why.”  

“Your mom suggested last night that she and I come also.”  

“Could you?” Frank perked up. The idea appealed to him very much, but he was almost afraid to hope. Fenton had been very busy the last few months, rarely home for more than a few days at a time.  

“I think I can work it out, Frank. A couple of things I can hand off to Sam, you and Joe now have one, and the other case I plan to wrap up over the weekend.”  

Frank smiled, suddenly feeling like a giddy little boy at the prospect of returning to his place of birth with his family. Fenton opened his Internet browser and checked the flight he had booked for Frank and Joe.  

“Looks like the flight you two are on is already booked. We’ll be a couple of days behind you looks like.”  

“That’s fine.” Frank stood up from his chair. “I have more studying to do.”  

 

Summer was taking its sweet time in arriving in New England this year, so instead of the usual beach party that weekend, the Hardys and their friends gathered at the Morton farm for baseball, hamburgers and s’mores. Sasha and her brother Anton frightened everyone with a Russian ghost story told ‘round the fire. Anton was a theater major and his skill at changing his voice brought the story frighteningly to life.  

Joe wandered off for a little while once the story was over, and sat down under a maple tree that overlooked a pasture. Nights like this one always made him think of Iola. She had loved ghost stories, particularly when she could tell that he was being scared by it.  

Frank waited a few minutes and then followed him, knowing he was partially thinking of Iola. “You okay?” he asked as he leaned against the tree and looked down at the top of his brother’s blond head.  

Joe shrugged. “I know I said that I wanted to go, Frank. But I don’t want you getting hurt in any way while we’re there.”  

Frank seated himself on the ground, next to his brother. It was dark enough now that they couldn’t clearly see each other’s faces, and that always made it easier for Frank to talk. “The only way I could get hurt would be if something happened to you or Mom while we were there. But I’m not going to borrow trouble and worry about it.”  

“What do you plan to do after we wrap the lead?”  

“Find my mother’s grave,” Frank answered immediately. “I’ve never been there. Then I want to find the apartment building and see if Mrs. Damirov still lives there.”  

“Who’s she?”  

“She watched us when Mama had to go out at night.”  

Joe noticed that Frank used the word “us”, but he chose not to comment on it. Frank very rarely spoke about his older brother, but this was not the time or place to gently pry any details from him. All Joe really knew about Stefan was that Frank was scared of him, very scared of him.  

“If we don’t go back, Chet and Anton will eat our marshmallows,” Frank commented.  

Joe jumped up and brushed the seat of his pants off. “That will never do. Race ya!”  

Being completely unprepared for his brother to take off running, Frank almost tripped over his own feet getting up. He didn’t stand a chance of winning since Joe had taken off at top speed, so he just jogged back to the bonfire. Joe was holding two sticks, his and Vanessa’s, while Vanessa attempted to keep the marshmallows away from Anton. Sasha was teasing her brother about turning into a marshmallow if he ate any more.  

Frank selected a stick for himself and managed to swipe a handful from the bag Vanessa was trying to hide, and proceeded to light them on fire. He liked his s’mores char-broiled, as Joe put it. Talking about his mother’s grave had made him a little depressed, but he succeeded in pushing it away again and joined in the teasing and joking.  

***

Leaning over his sleeping brother, Frank looked out the window as they began to circle Shermetyevo Airport. He’d slept most of the way from New York to Amsterdam, but once they had boarded the Aeroflot jet that would wing them to Moscow, he was unable to settle down. Surrounded by people speaking Russian, he just sat back in his seat and listened to the language of his ancestors, immersing himself in it to make sure he was up to date on everything. He would most likely need it when they started following Matt Walker’s trail.  

His parents had never once made him feel as if he should be ashamed of his heritage. They had encouraged him to hang on to the language, to find opportunities to use it, to be proud of being Russian. Even though he’d only lived there for 6 years, his heart still had a strange sort of connection to Russia and all her vastness. And the memories had nothing to do with his home life.  

Frank only had three distinct memories of his real father, one of them being the night his mother had died; an evening he rarely spoke of and that still haunted his dreams.  

“Are we there yet?”  

Joe’s voice brought Frank out of his memories. “Almost. Look out the window.”  

Joe did so. The city from the air was nothing short of spectacular. He could just make out the onion domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral as they made one more turn around the city.  

The flight attendant announced that landing procedures had begun, so Frank settled into his own seat and buckled his seatbelt. He could hardly believe that after fifteen years, he was finally back in Russia.

 

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.