Author's Notes: Happy Halloween, guys. This beast kind of got away from me, so I plan to upload a couple of sections every day until it's all up.
This has been sitting on by hard drive for about 3 years now. I could NOT let it go for 4. Hope you enjoy.
Checking his watch, Scott Tracy couldn't help but feel pleased as he eased himself down to a walk. Even with sporadic workouts lately, he was still keeping respectable times when it came to his morning run. He knew he would never be in his brother John's league as a runner, but it made him feel good to know he wasn't losing his edge.
It was just before 7 A.M. and already he could the balmy heat of the day coming on as he headed towards the villa. Any later, and his ritual morning exercise would have left him panting and irritable for the rest of the day. In the southern hemisphere, the tropical breezes were bringing promises of dog's breath humidity and plenty of heat. He wondered if he would ever get used to October heralding the beginning of summer.
Back home in Kansas, the leaves would be falling from the maples that lined Main Street and the air would be brisk. The corn would be dry and rustling in the fields. There were probably Jack-o-Lanterns on every doorstep and kids were jumping around, eager for the sun to set. Halloween had always been a great time for the entire Tracy family. It made him kind of homesick to think about it.
He was passing the pool, still lost in revelries of his youth when the alarm sounded. He was moving before he thought, racing across the concrete and up the steps towards the villa's common living room. Within seconds, he was passing through the open glass door on the patio and looking to the wall that held the portraits of Jeff Tracy's five sons.
Alan, Virgil, and Gordon were already gathered. Not surprisingly, Alan and Virgil looked like they had just rolled out of bed, both still clad in hastily-donned bathrobes. Besides Jeff seated at his desk, Gordon appeared to be the only other individual who had been up for any length of time. His t-shirt clung to him a bit and Scott caught the scent of chlorine as he passed his brother. Gordon had obviously come from the pool just moments earlier.
John's visage was visible through the video link that was usually hidden behind his portrait. Thunderbird 5's monitors glowed gently behind him. Even as he approached, Scott could tell his brother was greatly troubled.
"What's going on?"
"I just received a distress call from a group of American 'ghost hunters' in the Vidin Province of Bulgaria." Despite his apparent uneasiness, John still exuded professionalism as he relayed the information. "As part of some TV special, they sent a team into a forest to explore an area noted for paranormal activity. They lost all contact with the team about an hour ago."
"Hang on," Gordon spoke up from where he was leaning on Jeff's desk. "This wouldn't happen to be Michael Cromwell, would it?"
"Yeah." John replied, cocking an eyebrow at his brother. "You've heard of him?"
"Sure. He had a show on one of the satellite channels called 'Unveiled', but it got cancelled a few months ago, so he's been doing all of his investigations on his own and publishing his findings online." Gordon crossed his arms, "He's supposed to be live-streaming the investigation he's on. If you go to his website, you can see everything that's happening out there."
It wasn't surprising that Gordon knew something about this man. Scott had frequently caught him watching those shows with a group of people blundering around in the dark with night vision cameras hoping to catch a rocking chair moving on its own or a door opening by itself. Scott had personally never put much stock in the paranormal and didn't read too much into Gordon's preoccupation with it. He figured it was entertainment and nothing more.
"The support team lost the feed about twenty minutes before they lost contact with the team." John explained. "It seems that the crew started having technical difficulties early on in their investigation. Lights were going in and out. They had problems connecting with the satellite. But Cromwell made the decision to go in to the woods anyway."
"Of course he did." Scott sighed. He could never agree with people who took the 'nothing will ever happen to me' mentality. If the equipment wasn't working properly, they should have scrapped the operation, especially if it was just a ghost hunt. "How many people?"
"Five, including Cromwell. He took a camera operator out there with him and a couple of techs. And, of course, a psychic." John shook his head. "All of them were wearing GPS tracking beacons, but those have stopped functioning."
"How far into the forest were they?" Gordon asked.
"They used ATVs to haul out their gear, so they made it a good distance in." John looked down at one of his monitors. "Their last known location is approximately twelve kilometers north of the support crew's position."
"Not to be a cynic here," Virgil pushed off the desk, "but why call us? Don't they have an emergency protocol in place for something like this?"
"Nope." John responded. "You're thinking like a rescue operative, Virg. These people have gone into places like this dozens of times and nothing has happened."
"Seems a little careless." Virgil replied.
"Do the Bulgarians have any sort of search and rescue system?" Jeff asked John.
"It's limited. Maritime SAR is outstanding and there are always rescue volunteers around skiing resorts and the major tourist spots. But nothing that would get to the site in time to be of use. Besides," John looked a little frustrated. "Cromwell was warned not to take his team anywhere near there by the local officials. They're not going to endanger their own people needlessly when they made it clear this was not a good idea."
Alan crossed his arms and snorted derisively. "Because of the ghosts?"
John rolled his eyes, exasperated. "No. Because of the terrain, the unpredictability of the weather, the wild dogs, the bears, and the fact that if they got into trouble in the middle of nowhere, there would be no one to offer them any assistance."
The whole time they had been discussing the situation, Scott was picking up an odd vibe from Gordon. Usually the first to jump in and offer assistance, he was holding back. His face was inscrutable, but Scott couldn't help feeling that something was bothering him. "What are you thinking, Gord?"
"That this would make a hell of a plot twist for some half-baked ghost story." He came back immediately. "This Cromwell guy is the P.T. Barnum of the paranormal world. He's been trying to cut a deal for another TV show and he'll do anything to get it."
"And wouldn't International Rescue charging in to save him from the big, bad boogeyman make a great tag line for his investigation." Virgil supplied.
"The question is, boys," Jeff stood up. "Do we leave Mr. Cromwell and his team to fend for themselves?"
The room was quiet for a second before Scott sighed. "I'll take Thunderbird 1 and check it out. If it looks legit and I need assistance, I'll call back here and get Virgil to launch Thunderbird 2."
"You'd be wasting time if those people are really in trouble, son."
"Yeah, but I don't think we should risk this entire organization just because some idiots think it would be a good ratings boost."
"I'll go with you, Scott." Gordon was already moving towards the lift that would take him to the Thunderbirds' hangars. "Let me get my uniform. That way, if this does turn out to be a real emergency, you've got an extra set of hands."
"And if it's not, Gordon can hold Cromwell down while you beat him with both fists." Virgil grinned despite the heated look his father was giving him.
"You two remain professional out there. " Jeff warned as Scott crossed the living room to Thunderbird 1's secret access panel.
"We will." Scott assured him before turning to the vidlink again. "But John, you let them know: that Automatic Camera Detector so much as warbles and I'm hitting the throttle and going home."
"FAB."
Moments later, Thunderbird 1 was airborne and screaming towards the west like a silver arrow. Already, the sky had begun to darken.
The full moon glinted off of the Thunderbird 1'skin as the craft rode over the thick dark clouds that had begun to amass. As they had passed into Europe, Scott had asked the craft to gain altitude to avoid the storms and fog John had warned them about after takeoff.
Gordon gave Scott as much information as he could about Michael Cromwell on the flight. 'Unveiled' had never really caught on like some other paranormal shows. Cromwell was arrogant and not above exaggerating his supposedly otherworldly experiences. He and his team had been accused of being nothing more than mediocre actors. Some of the paranormal activity they had experienced had been analyzed by other experts in the field and debunked. It had led to a downturn in the show's already limited audience. Not long after the allegations, 'Unveiled' had been dropped.
To regain his credibility as a paranormal investigator, Cromwell had written a couple of books about his investigations: everything from the Yeti to alien encounters. They had a limited success, appealing only to the hardcore paranormal crowd who wanted desperately to believe. Tonight's excursion was designed to bring some of the less die-hard paranormal junkies into the fold. In an attempt to show people that his research was genuine, he would keep the camera running constantly.
The team had ventured into a deep, dark Bulgarian forest to investigate claims that local farmers had made about unearthly voices and strange lights. Supposedly, it all stemmed from an old, Bulgarian fortress that had fallen to the Ottoman Empire in the 1390's. The fighting had been brutal and none of the defenders had been left alive, all cruelly murdered by the captain of the invading army.
"Thunderbird 5 to Thunderbird 1. Do you copy?"
"We read you, John." Scott responded. "What information did you get?"
"The exact coordinates of the fortress were unknown, but Cromwell had a vague idea where it should have been from the locals."
"Still no contact from the team?" Gordon asked from the passenger's seat.
"Negative." John replied. "There's a message on Cromwell's website that they can't provide the live feed due to technical difficulties. The support team did want me to let you know how grateful they are. After talking with them for so long, I'm getting the feeling that this isn't a gimmick."
"Copy that." Scott was inclined to trust his brother's intuition. John spent a lot of time talking with individuals in crisis and had always had an innate ability to read people. Even still, they needed to be cautious. "Relay any information you get from them to Gordon and I immediately. I don't think a face to face with anyone with a camera and access to the 'net is really a hot idea."
"FAB."
"Patch me through to the island. And then see if you can find me a spot to put this bird down. Preferably, a couple of kliks away from where the support team has set up shop."
"Sure." John looked down for a few seconds. "Go ahead."
"Thunderbird 1 to International Rescue."
"Go ahead, Scott." Jeff's deep voice was a preamble his image in the commlink monitor.
"We're approaching the danger zone. I'm going to take her below the cloud layer and use the exterior cameras. Maybe we'll get lucky and be able to just point the support team in the right direction."
"Sounds like a plan." Jeff nodded. "Keep in touch with us."
"FAB."
Thunderbird 1 responded immediately as Scott guided her down through the thick bank of clouds. According to the maps, this part of Bulgaria was mountainous and wild, covered with thick forests of dark pine trees. The area was also known for caverns and unique rock formations along some of the ridges.
It took him half a second to realize that the clouds were not ending. They were hanging just a hundred or so feet off of the top of the conifers below. Off in the distance, he could just make out the bright white glow of portable fluorescent lighting, diffusing and glowing mutely in the bank of earth-bound cloud. According to John, that's where Cromwell's support team had set up to relay the satellite feed.
"The camera is not going to help." Gordon had released his restraint and was now looking over Scott's shoulder at the monitor.
Scott spared a second to give him a dark look. "Thanks, Captain Obvious."
"I do my best."
"Thunderbird 1 calling Thunderbird 5 and International Rescue." Scott called to the commlink. "The camera is a no-go. The visibility is nearly zero out here. Even the night-vision camera isn't going to be much help."
"Copy that." Jeff sounded less than happy. "You'll have to do a ground search. John has the last known position of Cromwell's team and the coordinates to where they were planning to set up their base camp."
"All right." Scott looked down. Already, John had uploaded the coordinates to Thunderbird 1's navigational computer. "Tell Virgil to get airborne. We've got a lot of ground to cover."
He heard Virgil's voice over the comm. It sounded like he was standing near his father. "The hoverbikes are still in Pod 5 with the Mole. Alan and I will load Thunderbird 2 and be there in a couple of hours."
"We're not going to be able to wait that long." Scott replied, knowing that his father was going to be even less happy once he relayed what he was thinking. "If these folks are lost and panicking, they're more likely to get themselves killed. The temperature is dropping out here and the atmosphere is damp. That's prime hypothermia weather."
Jeff was silent for a beat and Scott knew he was trying to decide whether or not to argue. "Going in there on foot is dangerous."
"I think we're equipped to deal with it, Dad." Gordon spoke up. "Our communications are way better than Cromwell's team and we've got handheld scanners and equipment on board. I would hate to waste any time if there are people out there who need help."
"Thunderbird 5 to Thunderbird 1."
"Go ahead, John."
"I've found you a landing spot." John said. "According to satellite maps, there's a small clearing not far from the base camp. It'll be a little tight, but it should do."
"FAB."
Gordon strapped himself back in as Scott brought the large rocket plane to hover over the coordinates John gave him. Feeling the muscles tense between his shoulders, he cut back the power to the hover jets and let his craft descend into the void. As much as he trusted the computer and John, his intuition told him the landing wouldn't be that easy. The fog swallowed them, swirling against the dark windows as it reflected Thunderbird 1's exterior lights.
The proximity alarms caused Gordon to jump as Scott heard scraping against the hull. There was a cracking and crunching beneath them as Thunderbird 1's landing struts searched for solid ground. The craft bucked a little despite Scott's steady hand. Branches slapped against the small window forcefully as if the trees were fighting back against this unprovoked attack. The craft tilted a little as Scott gritted his teeth and tried not to fight with her. With a final, sickening crack, the flight deck leveled out and they felt the port strut hit the ground with a solid thump.
"International Rescue calling Thunderbird 1. Are you boys all right?"
"We're fine." Scott ignored protocol in an effort to assure his father as quickly as possible. "It's just when Johnny said 'tight' I didn't know he meant that tight."
"Sorry, Scott." John spoke up immediately. "That fog is so thick that even the satellite imaging is skewed. I had to use some dated information."
"It's okay. We're down." Scott unbuckled his own restraints. "Gordon and I are going to set up Mobile Control. That way, we'll be able to keep in touch with base and Thunderbird 5."
"FAB."
A quick look at the exterior thermometer told them that the temperature was riding in the high thirties. On their way to the hatch, both Scott and Gordon grabbed insulated foul weather gear, first aid packs, and a selection of the small sensory equipment that Thunderbird 1 was stocked with.
A cold wind bent the trees and swirled the fog as Scott popped the hatch. Thunderbird 1's lights pierced the dankness marginally, revealing to him a scene that could have come straight from a horror novel. The trees stood close together, creating dark tunnels. The smell of detritus and wet dirt hung heavy in the air. Strange shuffling could be heard as the disembodied eyes of animals stared back, reflecting the bright light. It didn't take much imagination to concoct ghosts, witches, goblins and werewolves, all hiding in the shadows waiting to pounce.
The air was chill and damp, leeching the warmth from his bones as he quickly did an appraisal of his ship's condition after her rather rough landing. The trees had taken the brunt of the trauma, bent and cracked beneath the nearly indestructible stabilizing wings. It was hard to tell in the limited light, but she didn't seem to have a scratch on her.
There was movement inside the craft and he trotted back up the ramp to find Gordon already hefting the small power source for Mobile Control onto the hand cart Scott used to haul all the equipment when he was on his own. Gordon smiled grimly as they lifted the main console. "You know, this morning I was thinking about how it just didn't seem like Halloween on the island."
Scott gave a short laugh. "Yeah, me too. Guess we should be more careful what we wish for."
"You've got that right."
Between the two of them, Mobile Control was up and running quickly. Scott set the powerful unit to relay all of their messages from the small earpieces he and Gordon would be wearing to Thunderbird 5 and subsequently the island and Thunderbird 2. Jeff had ordered strictly that communications be left open. The GPS tracking beacons Gordon and Scott wore were more powerful than anything available commercially, a product of Brains desire to keep IR running efficiently. Aboard the satellite, John would be able to track their every move within inches.
After shutting down the lights and securing Thunderbird 1, Scott turned to his brother. "Hope you're not still scared of the dark."
"That was Virgil." Gordon retorted smoothly.
"Reading you, five-by-five." Virgil's voice crackled over Scott's communicator, his irritation clear. "We're still a-ways out. ETA: One hour: forty-five minutes."
"We're going in." Scott relayed to the rest of his family. "The coms are on. If we run into Dracula, you'll all be the first to know."
"You're too far east for that, Scott." Gordon said as he shouldered a first aid pack and pulled down the night vision goggles he was wearing. "Transylvania is in Romania."
Scott readjusted his own pack, flipped down his goggles and stepped into the darkness with Gordon right behind him.
Though they had landed within a kilometer of the base camp site, it still took Gordon and Scott nearly a half an hour to traverse the terrain. It was rocky and steep in places, causing them to decrease their pace. The night-vision goggles definitely made it easier to negotiate in the pitch black, but they could still see no more than a few feet in front of them due to the closeness of the trees. Fallen logs and slippery ground impeded their progress. The wind that had picked up earlier had died down, leaving the fog to settle in more closely around them. From the forest, Scott could hear shuffling and strange calls of unknown animals. Once, something had screamed in the dark, sounding eerily human. Gordon had called out, but had gotten no response.
Gordon stopped beside him, showing up in shades of gray through Scott's goggles. "I think the base camp would be just over this next rise."
"Affirmative, Gordon." John's voice crackled in Scott's ear. "You guys are almost there."
The embankment was steep and rocky. Grabbing on to saplings and digging in with their boots, the two brothers pulled themselves up. Scott could feel himself sweating beneath the insulated waterproof jacket. Not for the first time this night, he cursed human stupidity. All of this fuss to give a few paranormal nuts the heebie-jeebies on Halloween night. Michael Cromwell was going to get an earful when Scott got hold of him.
Thoughts of taking vengeance on the ghost hunter were lost when Scott laid eyes on the camp. It looked like a disaster area. Flashlights and other equipment were strewn all over the ground. Equipment cases had been stacked and a couple of laptops were placed on top, but it appeared that they had no power. As Scott investigated further, he found a third computer, apparently knocked from its perch, behind the impromptu technical center.
"Base, we found the camp." Scott reported in, "They had set up, but no one is here now. The place is pretty messed up."
"They probably just set up for data collection purposes." John spoke up over the communicator. "Animals may have knocked everything over."
Scott and Gordon exchanged glances. Gordon spoke up. "Johnny, remind us what lives in these woods again?"
"Bears, wild dogs."
"Great." Gordon sighed.
Scott had begun searching the camp, trying to find any clue as to which direction Cromwell and his team might have gone. The portable transmitter was knocked over behind the bank of cases. "Well, at least we know why the live feed went down."
"Looks like they left in a hurry." Gordon said as he put his pack down. "What in the hell would make them leave their camp like this?"
"Maybe an animal." Scott replied, thinking of John's warning of wild dogs. "Maybe they worked themselves up over this ghost story they were working on."
"Maybe." Gordon didn't sound convinced as he walked the perimeter of the camp, searching the ground. With the toe of his boot, he flipped up the edge of the sleeping bag. "Hey, I found something."
Scott crossed to where Gordon was now crouched. "What?"
"A digital camera." Gordon turned the small device over in his hands. "The battery is dead, but I think I can probably upload whatever is on the memory to one of those computers. It might give us a clue as to what happened."
"Give it a try, son." Jeff replied.
Gordon stood and headed towards the bank of computers, riffling through the black duffel bags in search of the cables he would need, flipping on the small, portable power source as he went. Scott continued his check of the perimeter, coming upon the spot where the ATVs were parked. A bare hand over the engine told him that they had been sitting there a couple of hours. The engines were stone cold.
Scott made his way back to where Gordon was crouched by the computer. Already, he had turned on one of the laptops and found the cable to connect the camera to it. Pushing back his goggles, Scott knelt down as well. The download completed and Gordon began scanning through the footage, forwarding through the ATV ride from the support camp to the base.
The camera was perched on a stand to get clear shots of all members of the party. There were five people in the group, three women and another man besides Cromwell. All seemed to know what to expect from a late Bulgarian autumn night. They were dressed warmly in thick coats, wool hats, and gloves. They bustled around, unloading equipment before gathering at the center of camp, directly in the line of sight of the camera.
"Okay, here we go." Gordon tapped the keyboard and the dialog became audible.
Cromwell was talking and gesturing to his team, his image an eerie green-gray in the night-vision camera. His eyes reflected weirdly in the gleam of the small flashlight another member of his team held. "If I'm right, the ruins of the fortress should be just of that ridge to the northwest. Norman, Leslie, you come with me. Natalie and Jen, get the transmitters going to relay the footage back to the support camp. Make sure the beacons are working. Take the digital recorders with you and do some EVP work while you're out there. Don't forget to take a hand-held camera with you."
"What's 'EVP work?'" Scott asked as they watched the first team gather their gear.
"Electronic voice phenomenon." Gordon replied, still watching the screen. "The theory is that a recording device may pick up voices that investigators can't hear at the time. Answers to questions that they ask and stuff like that."
The team broke up to their assigned tasks. Gordon began to scan forward through the footage again for any more useful information. A man with another camera followed Cromwell and the other woman, 'Leslie' out of the camp. One of the women who had stayed behind began unpacking the equipment while the other reached down for the camera and picked it up.
Gordon squinted in the glow of the monitor. "Take a look at this."
The shot was of one of the women, blonde hair peaking from beneath her cap, beginning to set up the equipment. She was kneeling in the same spot in which Gordon and Scott now sat, pulling cables and equipment from cases.
"These are just short range transmitters. Much easier to transport." She smiled for the camera. "So we just shoot it back to the support team on the edge of the woods and they'll edit out the really bad swear words and send it to the website."
"How . . . ." the woman behind the camera spoke up. She paused for second, and the picture jumped as she moved a bit. "How long did it take you to get used to this?"
"Once you get a system down, setting up the equipment is easy. Putting it all away can be a real-"
"No." The other woman was breathing heavily, rasping in the microphone as she panned the camera quickly to the trees overhead. "I mean, all of these creepy places. Do you ever get used to it?"
"Nat, it's okay to be nervous." The other girl smiled as she connected the cables and turned her attention to the portable power cell. "You're new at this, but it'll get easier."
"It's so dark," the woman sniffed and her voice quavered with uneasiness and cold, "It's almost hard to breathe. . . "
The other woman, Jen, Scott assumed, looked up sharply. Apparently, she recognized her partner's symptoms. Natalie was on the verge of a panic attack. "Why don't you put the camera down and take a break? You just need to take a couple of deep breaths-"
"What was that?" Natalie's voice was whisper and the camera shook. Scott found himself looking into the woods again. "I heard something."
"It's probably just an animal." Jen tried to divert Natalie's attention. "Can you come here and help me set up the transmitters for the GPS beacons? I want to make sure we know where everyone is."
"There's something out there."
This time, the other woman looked, too. She gasped before standing up and backing a few quick steps. "Oh my god."
The scream of terror that tore from the camera operator rattled Scott's bones. She screamed again and again as the camera spun wildly, hitting the ground with a thud. They could hear the woman still screaming as items were knocked over. Then there were the sounds of bodies crashing through the woods and the cries of "Natalie! Natalie, wait!" that slowly drifted into nothingness as the woman raced away from the safety of their camp, the radio left behind on the ground.
More to come . . .