"What are you doing here?" Frank asked bluntly. Teacher or not, Frank didn't trust this guy at all. And never will. Ever since he'd come to Bayport he'd done a fine job at turning Joe's life upside down.

Joe stared at Frank with his mouth open. "Frank, if you can't show any respect for my teacher, I think you'd better leave," he said firmly. He understood that he had to be careful with Weinhardt but that was no excuse for Frank to be rude. Frank thought he saw a smirk on the older man's face. "Hello, Frank. I thought I'd come and visit my student, if that's alright with you."

Frank shook his head, quite unsuccessful in attempt to hide his disgust. Something smells fishy about that guy, he thought as he stepped outside. He's bad news. I can feel it in my bones.

Frank turned to Jerry, the police officer appointed to guard the room. "Hey, Jerry, can you just, uh, watch those two for me?" he gestured his head toward the room, failing to hide the uneasiness in his voice.

"Sure thing," Jerry said, confused. "Is something wrong?" He'd let that guy in because Joe was so insistent about it, saying that he was his English teacher. And besides he thought the guy looked harmless and Joe seemed to know him so well.

"No, nothing's wrong," Frank said quickly. Well, there's nothing wrong actually Jerry, except that this guy lives in a nonexistent house, has the habit of mysteriously disappearing with my brother all the time, and keeps a gun locked in his drawer. And he also owns the car with which someone had tried to run over me. Everything's just peachy, Jerry. Nothing to worry about, he thought bitterly, still dissatisfied for he was sure that Weinhardt was bad news but still couldn't prove it. "Just be extra careful, please Jerry?"

Jerry nodded. "Whatever you say."

"Thanks," Frank said and turned around just to see Biff coming toward him. "Hey."

"Hey, Frank. Can I talk to you for a sec?" Biff said urgently. "It's important."

"Sure. What's the matter, Biff?" Biff frowned when he heard voices coming from Joe's room. He craned his neck a little. "Who's that in there with him? Your dad?"

"No, Dad's still caught up with Aunt Margaret. She's sick and Mom's taking care of her. That's Mr. Gary Weinhardt." Frank spat out his name.

"What is HE doing here?" Biff asked incredulously. Like Frank, he didn't trust that guy even one bit. Not after what he did to Joe. Biff believed he was the one who was messing with Joe's mind. He had known Joe since they were kids and there was no one he trusted more in the world than Joe Hardy. Joe would never lie to me, he thought. And since he came, that has changed.

"Looks like he's just visiting. Wish I know what they're talking about, though." Frank said, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. I must look terrible, Frank winced as he rubbed his rough jawline. And I badly need a shave.

"Yes, you look terrible, Frank," Biff said, smiling a little as Frank took out a comb and ran it through his hair.

"I know, I know. I'm a mess," Frank said. "So what is it you want to talk about?"

Wordlessly, Biff groped in his pocket and took out a small round object kept sealed in a plastic case. Handing it to Frank, his face immediately turned serious. "Phil made that for you. Said it's the least he can do." Phil Cohen was another one of the Hardys' close friends and was a genius in anything that had to do with electronics and high-tech gadgets. His expertise had proven valuable to the Hardys on more than a few cases before.

Frank recognized what it was. Slowly he smiled. "Biff, I couldn't have asked for something better."

"Oh, by the way, thought you might want to know..." Biff said, and procured the daily newspaper from his backpack. The front page showed the three pictures of the investors who had been missing after their fouled-up 'business transaction' with the equally missing Senator Haydin. Frank recognized one of them as Allan Gregory, a multi-millionaire and the chairman of a construction and land development firm who was always featured in magazines and newspapers as one of the most important businessmen in America. Frank had seen his face once or twice in Forbes and the Herald Tribune.

"3 million dollars?" Frank gaped, reading the caption under the pictures.

"Yep. And the money transfer was done yesterday. He's missing but someone's taking money out of his account. How outrageous is that?" Biff said. "Anyway, I can't stay long coz I've got football practice. Tell Joe I say hi, okay?"

"Sure," Frank said distractedly. His mind was racing. First 50 million, now 3. Whoever the perpetrator is, doesn't he ever give up? He wondered, shaking his head as he waved goodbye to Biff.

Frank knocked on the door and he stuck his head in. "Hey. Can I come in?"

"Sure," Joe said suspiciously. Weinhardt's face was unreadable as Frank waltzed in, smiling as if nothing unpleasant had happened. Knowing his brother, Joe was sure something was up his older brother's sleeves. Frank's next words confirmed his suspicions.

"I'm sorry about what happened just now, Mr Weinhardt. I really don't know what came over me. With everything that had happened to Joe these past few days. I-I guess I was a little suspicious about everything, Please accept my apologies," Frank said humbly. Joe's eyes went wide. What's come over you, Frank? He wondered. This drastic transformation was totally uncalled for. Joe could see the familiar gleam in Frank's eyes, a gleam that usually meant that Frank was onto something.

"Yes, when I heard about it, I nearly broke down myself. And I can't stop telling Joe how sorry I am for what has befallen him and you too. I'm sure you've gone through some rough time," Mr Weinhardt said. He sounded sincere but Frank was not easily convinced. Out of the corner of his eyes, Frank could see a piece of a crumpled handkerchief sticking out of one of the pockets of Weinhardt's jacket which was tossed over the back the chair.

"I'm sorry to hear that the play has been cancelled," Frank said sympathetically. "Even Joe was excited about it." Joe managed a weak smile, still trying to figure out what his brother was possibly scheming this time. He knew Frank too well to believe that his making friendly talk was nothing more than an attempt at being friendly.

"Oh, yes, that is a shame," Mr. Weinhardt murmured. His cobalt-blue eyes gazed at Joe. "But the play would not be as interesting without Joe as a lead actor." Joe found himself drawn to those eyes. There was something profound, something mysterious about Gary Weinhardt that he couldn't help feeling a strong affection for him. Even a gaze from those intense blue eyes was enough to send chills down his back. He was secretly pleased that the teacher had come to visit him. He makes me feel special, Joe thought dreamily.

With a quick flick of his fingers Frank surreptitiously snatched the handkerchief from the jacket pocket, his equally quick eyes not missing the glances exchanged between Joe and Mr. Weinhardt. What IS the deal between these two? He wondered for the thousandth time, vowing to get down to it once and for all.

Frank cleared his throat and the two heads jerked up as if startled. Frank prayed that neither of them could see his hands working furiously behind his back. Please let this work, he prayed. I know I shouldn't be doing this but please let this work.

"Well," Mr Weinhardt said as he rose from his seat. "I should get going. Joe, you look like you need some rest." He held out his hand and Joe caught it in a firm handshake. Frank couldn't help noticing Weinhardt holding on to Joe's hand a little longer than he should. Joe didn't look like he minded though. "Thank you, sir," he said respectfully. "For coming. And for everything."

"You're most welcome, Joe," Mr. Weinhardt said warmly. "I hope you get well soon. I miss having you in my class." Joe just smiled. Frank could swear he was blushing. Oh please, he groaned inwardly.

"Mr. Weinhardt, you dropped this," Frank said hurriedly, bending down pretending to pick up something off the floor. "Here, your handkerchief." Frank smiled sweetly, handing it to him. After he left, Frank turned back to his brother, still smiling his angelic smile.

"What was that all about?" Joe asked, feeling more than a little angry. Angry at himself for not knowing what Frank was planning to do and angry at Frank for hiding something from him when he was obviously doing something. Suddenly, Joe felt very tired. He could feel his energy draining away, and his head felt heavy all of a sudden as if he'd just finished doing 10 killer Maths questions in 2 minutes.

"Nothing," Frank said. "Look, Joe, I have to go somewhere for a little while. Will you be okay here?" he asked. He thought Joe looked a little tired. He wondered if Joe was feeling okay.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Joe said, trying to suppress a yawn, but not quite successfully. His head sank into his fluffy pillow and he closed his eyes. "Why wouldn't I be with that great bear of a man standing at the door?"

"Yeah." Frank said, grabbing the keys to the van off the table. "Get some rest and I'll be back before you know it." But Joe didn't answer. He was already asleep.

Oh good, I haven't missed him yet, Frank thought as his sharp eyes followed the tall, impressive-looking man as he climbed into his sports car. Through his earphones Frank could hear him turn on the engine and when the two-seater shot out of the hospital parking lot, Frank was ready. Frank made sure to stay two or three cars behind him, unsure whether Weinhardt was experienced in noticing if someone was tailing him. But if he were, he's not showing it, Frank thought as he followed the car at a leisurely pace.

The bug he'd placed neatly on Weinhardt's kerchief was working perfectly. Too perfectly, Frank winced when Weinhardt launched into a duet with the radio, imitating Billy Joel in Uptown Girl, sounding anything but. Frank heard the hiss of a can being opened and a minute later, Frank counted his blessings for staying a safe distance away when an empty beer can suddenly flew out Weinhardt's front window and hit the windshield of the car behind him. Frank was definitely beginning see another side of Gary Weinhardt, a side totally different with the one he presented for the whole world to see, the charismatic, charming, and wise English teacher.

The chase took Frank directly to the Bayport marina. Of all the places he'd expected Weinhardt to go, the marina was certainly not one of them. He parked the van a few feet away out of Weinhardt's sight and followed the man as he got out of his car and strolled on the deserted dock.

Another man suddenly appeared and joined Weinhardt at the dock. Frank shifted a little behind the pile of empty gas tanks where he was hiding to get a better view. The other guy was wearing an expensive, cut to perfection suit and was carrying a big black briefcase. Frank squinted a little trying to make out who it was. That guy looks familiar, he thought as he scrutinized the briefcase bearer. I've definitely seen this guy before...but where?

Then it hit him. That man was Allan Gregory, the disappeared multi-millionaire!

Frank listened hard into the earphones to hear what they were saying. When he heard nothing, he thought at first that the bug was not functioning. But then he stared more closely. Weinhardt and Gregory weren't speaking at all, but they were using only hand gestures to communicate. Gregory passed the briefcase to Weinhardt's outstretched hand. Once the briefcase changed hands, Weinhardt gave Gregory a hard shove to the chest, sending him sprawling on the ground. Frank stared as he took out the Smith and Wesson from his jacket, taking deadly aim at the businessman's head. What surprised Frank the most was the expression on Gregory's face. Instead of fighting for his life, he was SMILING and bowing his head like a servant submissively serving a king.

What am I going to do now? Frank thought desperately. He looked around frantically for something to use a weapon, anything! A piece of rope...he swung his head around...an empty cigarette carton...a crushed beer can...Then Frank slapped himself on the forehead. How stupid of him! He hefted one of the many heavy gas tanks all around him. With all his might, he threw it right at the unsuspecting Weinhardt, hitting him hard on his head, sending the gun flying into the air and a moment later, Weinhardt was lying unconscious on the hard concrete floor. To his dismay, Frank's earphones had fallen during the fight and Frank picked them off the floor, broken.

"Hey, mister, you alright?" Frank asked worriedly, crouching down in front of Gregory. What baffled Frank so much was his eye. They were...blank. The stupid smile was still plastered on his smile, making him look like one of the life-size grinning dolls with glass eyes they had over in Toys-R-Us. Frank frowned, not knowing exactly what to do. Too late Frank heard the sound of scraping feet and as he turned, he saw Weinhardt running away toward his car, briefcase in hand. Frank considered running after him, knowing he could easily overtake him but a sudden moan from behind changed his mind.

Allan Gregory seemed to have recovered from his trance. He shook his head as if to clear it, his eyes dazed and disoriented. "Wh-What happened? Where am I?" Then he looked up at Frank's alarmed face. "Who are you?"

Damn, damn, damn, he cursed, banging his hand hard on the steering wheel. I should have wiped that kid out myself! He growled. This is all that bitch's fault. If she hadn't messed up in the first place, I wouldn't be in this situation! He banged on the steering wheel again, frustration welling up inside him like an erupting volcano. I'm going to finish this once and for all, he told himself. By hook or by crook I'll get what I want and if someone has to die in the process, so be it. The car screeched as he skidded to a stop.

Barging into the cabin, he flipped out his cell phone, punching in the numbers furiously.

"Yeah?"

"Bobby, I want you to get your ass down here this instant! Frank Hardy saw me! He saw me when I collected the money and I want you to finish him off for good and this time you'd better make sure you don't mess up again or I'll bleeding kill you, you hear me? I want him dead, dead and dead!" he barked into the phone.

"Uhuh."

"If you're not back here in an hour with Frank Hardy's head on a stick, I'll find you and I'll twist a knife in your heart like I did your mother, you hear me?!" An imperceptible sound behind him made him turn and his mouth dropped open when he saw them standing at the door, accusation and hatred flaring in their eyes.

"What else are you going to do to me, Weinhardt?" He heard Frank Hardy say quietly into the phone, every word crashing down on him like thunder.

Frank Hardy stared at Bobby's phone for a long time after the line went dead. His mind felt numb. He didn't know what to think. Hell, he didn't even know where to start thinking. He sat still in the van for a while, trying to clear his mind and calm his racing heart. Weinhardt was the one who had tried to kill him all this while, that much was clear. But why did Bobby try to kill my brother again if they knew they were mistaken? And how is Joe involved in all this? What does he want from Joe?

The questions kept coming and coming like rapid gunfire. What is the connection between Weinhardt and Allan Gregory? Why was Gregory giving him money? Then Frank froze as he remembered something. At the police station Allan said he couldn't remember what had happened to him since the day he went missing. It was like he had a lost a part of his memory or- mind control, an inner voice said. Hypnosis!

His mind racing, Frank got a piece of paper and a pen from the glove compartment. His hand worked steadily as if they had a mind of their own, and Frank's breath whooshed out of him when he was finished.

Frank's instincts were right. Gary Weinhardt was not what he seemed to be. Gary Weinhardt was just an acronym of his real name. He'd solved the case after all. He'd found the missing senator.

The moment Frank stepped off the elevator on Joe's floor, his heart started pounding so hard sweat broke out on his face. Nurses and hospital attendants were looking at him nervously, somewhat sympathetically. Why do I have this terrible feeling like-like something terrible has happened to-

"Joe!!!" he shouted as he dashed down the corridor toward the last room down the hall . From afar he could see the people crowding outside Joe's hospital room. There was no mistaking the striking police badges and their grim faces confirmed Frank's suspicions that something bad had happened. "Joe!"

"Frank," a voice called from behind him, and Frank had a rush of deja-vu as Vanessa instantly threw her arms around him and sobbed. His face ashen, Frank stared at Callie who was standing behind Vanessa, looking equally distressed. Callie answered his unspoken question.

"He's got Joe."

Pain PG