Kidnapped
"Base from Scott Tracy."
"Hello, Scott." Said Jeff.
"Father, we're about to leave. Everything is in order."
"Okay, Scott. See you soon."
"See you soon, Father." Said Scott. Thunderbirds 1 and 2 had been in attendance at a desert power plant fire. The fire had caused a cooling tower to collapse, trapping all 5 workers. International rescue had found them all, and they had been taken overland to hospital. This left the entire area completely deserted.
Virgil was hauling the last of the equipment boxes back into the pod.
"You go Scott. I've got this in hand."
Scott nodded and climbed into Thunderbird 1. He waited until he saw Virgil heading back to Thunderbird 2, and lifted off.
Virgil took one last look around the scene. He was very satisfied with his work, but as he looked he wondered about the wisdom of locating such a facility out in the desert, miles form anywhere. It minimised the danger in case of nuclear accident, he supposed, but if it had not been for International Rescue, all the workers would surely have been killed. He wondered whether people planning such things had come to rely on the services of International Rescue, and that thought chagrined him. He shrugged his shoulders and continued back to his craft.
Suddenly he felt a massive blow to the back of his head, and the desert landscape faded away.
"Hello, Father." Said Scott. "I'm back."
"Hello, Son. Where's your brother?" Said Jeff.
"He's right behind me."
"Okay, Scott." Nodded Jeff. "Thunderbird 2 from base."
There was no answer. Jeff tried again. Still there was no answer.
"Virgil Tracy from base. Come in, Virgil."
Static was all that came from the radio.
"Come in, Virgil!" Said Jeff with more urgency in his voice. Still, there was no answer. Jeff shuffled his feet behind his desk. He looked toward Scott. "I'm calling John." He said.
"Thunderbird 5 from base."
"Hello, Father." Said John, chirpily.
"John, I need you to try and raise Virgil. He may or may not be in Thunderbird 2."
"What's happened?" asked John.
"We don't know. We just can't seem to raise him. Probably a malfunction." Said Jeff. He was very concerned but did not want to give this impression to John or Scott. "Keep trying for me."
"Sure, Father." Said John, and signed off.
"Scott, you'd better get back there."
"Okay, Father." Scott turned towards the rocket picture that would take him back to Thunderbird 1, but hesitated when he got there.
"I'm sorry, Father." He said.
"I know, Son. And don't worry." Said Jeff. He activated the control and Scott slid down the chute to his craft.
Jeff knotted his fingers together and looked up at Virgil's picture on the wall of the lounge, and sighed.
"Thunderbird 2 from Thunderbird 5, come in Virgil." Said John. He repeated his message over and over while adjusting gain and frequency controls on his console. He knew that if he couldn't get through to Virgil from Thunderbird 5, it was unlikely anyone else could. He was pretty sure that the message was getting through, but nobody was answering it. He thought that something must be very wrong. If Virgil was able, he would have called in somehow. He would know they would worry about him being this far behind Scott.
Scott touched down at the power station site in Thunderbird 1. Thunderbird 2 was still there. The place was still completely deserted. He climbed out of his craft, and went over to investigate with his sidearm drawn. As he walked, cautiously, he looked at his watch.
"Base from Scott Tracy."
"Go ahead, Scott." Said Jeff.
"The place is deserted, Father."
"Thunderbird 2?"
"It's just where it was when I took off. There's no sign of Virgil. I'm just getting close to her now."
Scott tried the door to Thunderbird 2. It was still locked. There were scorch marks on it. He pressed his finger against one of them, and was surprised to find it still very hot.
"Agh!" He yelped and rubbed his burnt finger against his leg.
"Scott?" His father's voice came from his watch.
"It's nothing, Father. I'm going in now."
He used his electronic key to open the door.
"Virg?" he called, quite quietly. There was no answer. He spoke to Jeff again.
"There's nobody here, Father. It looks like someone tried to get in, though. They used cutting torches. They must have left in a hurry; the marks are still hot. They mustn't have known you can't cut into a Thunderbird machine with a regular torch."
"Make a thorough search, Scott. He's got to be around there somewhere."
"Okay, Father." Scott walked over to the ruined power plant to check it out.
Virgil opened his eyes. It was dark, but he could make out two shadowed figures. He was aware of movement- he was in a car of some kind. He tried to lift his head slightly, but the severe pain from his head stopped him. Unwittingly, he led out a small gasp.
One of the figures shouted something that Virgil did not understand. He turned around and punched him in the head. Once again, the scene in front of Virgil became hazy, and then black.
"It's no good, Father. I've searched everywhere. He's just not here." Said Scott.
"He has to be somewhere, Scott." Said Jeff.
"I know, Father, but he isn't here." Said Scott, bowing his head.
"Are you sure, Scott?"
"Yes, Father. I have checked everywhere three times. I think there's been some foul play here."
"I know, Scott. Secure Thunderbird 2. I'll send Alan and Gordon in Thunderbird 3. There'll be somewhere good to land in the desert. When they have her, you'd all better come back to base. We need a plan of action."
"Okay, Father."
"Alan, Gordon." Called Jeff.
"Yes, Father?" Said Alan, and walked into the Tracy lounge.
"Where's Gordon?" Enquired Jeff.
"In the pool. He'll be on his way."
A damp Gordon appeared.
"Yes, Father."
"Virgil is officially missing." Both boys hung their heads. "We need to recover Thunderbird 2. Alan, you take Gordon in Thunderbird 3 to the location. Gordon, can you handle Thunderbird 2?"
"I guess so, Father."
"Okay, off you go."
The boys sat on the couch and were taken to the Thunderbird 3 lounge. Alan climbed into the elevator and took his place in the cockpit. Gordon remained in the lounge. They took off.
When they arrived, Scott was waiting for them. Alan spoke to Scott.
"What can I do?"
"Go back to base. Gordon and I will deal with this." Said Scott.
"Can't I help?"
"Not here, Alan. What if Virg calls in?"
"I guess. FAB" Said Alan, forlornly.
"Go home, Kiddo." Said Scott, and slapped Alan on the shoulder. Alan shrugged, but then he smiled nervously and followed the instruction. This left Gordon and Scott in the desert with Thunderbirds 1 and 2.
"Okay, Gordon, are you sure you can handle her?" Scott asked, smiling slightly.
"Ha ha, Scott." Said Gordon. "I can use all the machines, just like you, remember?" He tried to sound very serious, but couldn't help smiling at the end.
Scott smiled too, trying to detract from the seriousness of the situation. After a little more ribbing about whether Gordon was familiar with the T2 controls, both of them left to go back to base.
Virgil woke up again. He could feel the warm, wet blood trickling down his face. He used his sleeve to dab at it. He was also in a great deal of pain. It was lighter now, and he was in a room of some sort; no longer moving. He could smell oil and fuel. He looked down at his wrist, to see that his watch was missing. He patted his side and found his sidearm absent also. He sat up and surveyed the room more closely. The room was small, about ten feet square. It was quite a high temperature. There was a small, naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, and there was a cable for it clipped to the wall. Rust stains decorated the concrete walls. There were two chairs along one of the walls, and a low, wide bench, on which Virgil was sitting. A large, iron, prison-esque door was opposite the bench. Next to it, there was a poster on the wall displaying information of some sort, but it was in a language that Virgil couldn't understand. He stood to look at it more closely, but the pain in his head was intense. A warm, fuzzy feeling washed over him, and his legs buckled under him. He fought to stay conscious.
"Wow." He thought. "I guess they got me pretty good." He was joking with himself but he knew he was seriously injured. He felt very nauseous, and knew that that was not a good sign. He clambered back to his bench and lay down. Shutting his eyes made him feel better. He fell asleep.
Virgil awoke with a start as a bucket of water was poured over him. He sat up quickly, and felt the familiar dizzy feeling. He was hauled to his feet by one of two men who were standing in the room. His legs faltered and he felt himself falling to the floor. But the man held him up, and the other man slapped his face.
"Oh, no, no. No sleeping, International Rescue. We have some many questions to ask you." The man chuckled, wickedly. He had a thick, heavy accent. Both men were wearing green and red overalls, which seemed to be intended as a uniform but looked shabby and home-made. Virgil didn't recognise them, or their uniforms.
The man holding Virgil let him go, and he fell.
He held on to his still bleeding head. "Where am I?" He asked.
"You are here. That is all you need to know."
"Am I a prisoner?"
"I think, International Rescue, that you are knowing the answer to this question."
"My organisation is looking for me."
"They can look all they want. They won't be finding you."
"What do you want from me?" Waves of nausea were washing over Virgil and the room was spinning.
"We want the International Rescue secrets." He said. "We want to know what materials you using, what fuels you have, how and where you are making your engines, and where is your base."
"I will not tell you anything." Said Virgil, now looking his captor straight in the eyes."
"Then you will die." Said the man.
Both men then left the room and Virgil heard them lock the door. He lifted himself back onto the bench. He put his head between his knees and let out a long, deep breath. He was terrified.
Jeff Tracy sat behind his desk and looked hopefully at the pictures of his sons on the wall. Kyrano entered the lounge, carrying a pot of coffee.
"Have some coffee, Mr. Tracy." He said.
"Thanks, Kyrano." Said Jeff.
"I am sure Virgil will be okay, Mr. Tracy." He said, trying to sound cheerful.
"I'm sure you're right, Kyrano." Said Jeff, without much enthusiasm. Kyrano looked at him, as if reassuring him again. Jeff understood, and nodded wholeheartedly.
Scott arrived back at base.
"Any news, Father?"
"I'm afraid not, Scott. Gordon and Alan?"
"They're right behind me. I mean, they left about 5minutes after I did. They'll be about another 15 minutes, Father."
"Okay, Scott."
"Father, this is all my fault."
"No, Scott. You weren't to know. You assessed the situation, and felt it safe at the time. I trust your judgement, Son."
"Thankyou, Father." This made Scott feel much better. However, he still felt that it was his fault Virgil was missing.
Scott went to change clothes and sat down on his bed. He sighed deeply. He felt a sense of responsibility over all his younger brothers. Even though his Father had tried to put his mind at ease he still felt responsible. He took out a book and tried to read. His progress was slow.
Alan and Gordon returned as expected. Alan helped Brains to remove the scorch marks from the door of Thunderbird 2, and check the metalwork for damage. It helped take their minds off Virgil. Gordon threw himself into a swimming session in the pool. Later, Tin-Tin helped Kyrano to prepare a delicious evening meal, but everyone merely picked at it. Gordon tried to lighten the mood with a few jokes, but they fell rather flat. They all retired early, except for Jeff, who returned to his desk.
In the night, Scott got up to get a glass of water. He hadn't slept well, but had managed to get a couple of hours. As he headed for the kitchen, he saw that the lights were still on in the lounge. He knew his Father must be in there.
"Dad?" He said, as he put his head around the lounge door. "Are you still up?" He saw his father with his head rested on his hands on the desk.
"Oh, I slept a little." Said Jeff. Scott could see that this was not true.
"Come on, Dad. You'll be no good to Virgil sleep-deprived."
Jeff knew he was right, and also that Scott would not have challenged him so if he didn't think it was vital to do so.
"Okay, Scott." He said, and got up to head for his bedroom. Scott was amazed that he actually took his advice. He turned out the lights, went to get his glass of water and headed off to bed himself. In the way he saw that Gordon's and Alan's bedroom lights were still on.
The door to Virgil's prison room opened. The two men came back in. Virgil had been lying on the bench, but sat up and braced himself. One of the men dragged a chair over to the middle of the room. He jerked Virgil from the bench and onto the chair. The other man spoke to him in a language Virgil did not recognise. He held Virgil's arms behind his back. Then he spoke to Virgil.
"What is fuel you are using, International Rescue?"
Virgil remembered his father's training.
"Mary had a little lamb, it's fleece was white as snow, and everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go." He said, confidently.
The man questioning him looked at his colleague. Without looking back at Virgil, he punched him, hard, in the chest. Virgil was winded.
"What is fuel?" The interrogator said, more fiercely.
"Mary had a little lamb, it's fleece-" Said Virgil, as he tried to catch his breath.
He was punched again, harder. He felt his ribs break. The pain was intense. But Virgil didn't make a sound. He didn't want his captors to think they could break him.
He was questioned again, and gave the same response. He was punched again, and felt foamy blood welling up in his mouth. The men let go of him. Virgil staggered from the chair, to lie down on the bench. He laughed, maniacally. A few minutes later, loud music filled the room. Virgil knew it well. It was Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. It was one of his favourite pieces. The sound was so loud it was distorted. The first time it played, he rather enjoyed it. It seemed to take him away from his terrible ordeal. But the second time it was annoying. The third time, it really hurt his head. The tenth time, Virgil curled up into a ball on the bench. Still, the music played. Virgil gritted his teeth.
"Thunderbird 5 from base. Come in, John."
"Hello, Father." Said John. It was early morning but neither Jeff nor John had slept well, so were already up and dressed.
"Any luck last night, John?"
"Nothing, Father. I have been scanning all the frequencies in the area in detail. I have heard nothing. There was a news report on International Rescue rescuing the power plant workers, but no other activity. I have been trying to raise Virgil, but I get nothing. It must be damaged. I can't locate it."
"Good work, John. Carry on."
"Okay, Father."
John sighed. He had been trying everything he could think of to locate Virgil. He put both hands to his head and tried to think of something else.
"Brains, any ideas?" asked Jeff. The whole family were assembled in the lounge.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Tracy." Brains stumbled over his words. "We need to get a signal from Virgil to locate him with the communications equipment."
"What about physically locating him?" Asked Scott.
"There's the whole world to choose from, Scott. And we could get a call at any time. People rely on International Rescue. We can't just shirk our responsibilities because one of our own is missing, however much we might want to." Said Jeff.
Scott sighed. He knew his father was right. But he felt impotent. He wanted to do something.
"Virgil disappeared from the desert, in the time between Scott left and returned to the site. They can't have just happened upon him." Said Alan.
"Yeah." Said Scott. ""The cutting marks they made on the door of Thunderbird 2 were still hot. They must have only just left."
"You mean this was planned? A kidnapping?" Said Gordon.
"Oh no!" Said Tin-Tin, and clasped her hand to her mouth. Alan went over to comfort her.
There was silence for a few moments.
"Whoever has him," Said Jeff. "They are sure to make their demands soon."
Virgil gritted his teeth and moaned. His head was throbbing, his chest ached painfully, and he was coughing up blood. He had lost consciousness a few times in the night, and was desperate to pass out again, to escape the music. He was now agonisingly thirsty. He had been given no food or water. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth if he tried to swallow. He had crushing pain in his chest, and it was making him wheeze. The music stopped. Virgil breathed relief.
The door opened again and the two men entered. The man who had not spoken before faced Virgil. His accent was much heavier than the other man's.
"You tell us, we give you water." He said.
"Mary had a –" Said Virgil, still lying on the bench. The words were much harder to get out now. It hurt his chest to breathe, and it was much worse when he spoke.
The other man pushed his colleague out of the way.
"You tell us." He said.
"Mary!" Virgil spluttered. "Mary had a- had a-"
The interrogator drew a pistol and pointed it at Virgil's head. Virgil laughed. He was in so much pain, physically and mentally exhausted, he didn't see how it could get any worse. The laughter infuriated his captor. He walked back to the closed door and shot Virgil in the lower leg. Virgil yelped, and the man stood on his leg, pressing hard on the fresh bullet wound. Virgil screamed, and it turned again to laughter. The pain wasn't really much worse. And it was a good distraction from his other injuries. This infuriated the man further and he crashed his pistol butt down on Virgil's head. He was unconscious. The two men left the room and the music started again.
Virgil's tormentors stood smoking cigarettes in the corridor outside the room. They were joined by another man from a room at the other end of the corridor.
"What did he tell you?" He asked.
"Nothing. He told use nothing." Came the reply.
"This is not working. We need the information. His friends will come looking for him."
"He will tell us."
"We cannot wait. We must find another way."
"No." Said the interrogator, fiercely, moving closer to the other man and making himself as tall as possible. "We do it my way."
The man looked at the floor, backed off, and went back to the room he had come from. He kicked at the floor for a while, and then glanced around to see if anyone was watching him.
"Calling International Rescue. Calling International Rescue."
"International Rescue here, receiving you loud and clear." Said John.
"We have your driver." Said the voice. It was a deep male voice with a thick accent.
John said nothing. This was the call everyone had been waiting for. He adjusted the controls on his console.
"What are your demands?" He said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
"We want the Thunderbird 1."
"Uh-huh." Said John. He was trying to trace the signal. "I'll have to inform my superiors for instructions. Stay on this frequency."
John heard a commotion over the frequency. He did not recognise the language but one voice was reprimanding the other. He heard gunshots.
"Base from Thunderbird 5."
"Go ahead John." Said Jeff.
"We have them, Father. I think they're some kind of terrorist organisation. I heard arguing and gunfire. I'm sending the coordinates now!"
Jeff jumped up from his seat. He shouted at the top of his voice.
"Alan! Scott! Gordon! Get in here!"
They all ran in, including Scott, who wore only a bath towel, and had shaving foam all over his face.
"John has found your brother! Alan and Gordon, take Thunderbird 2. Scott, Thunderbird 1. Thunderbirds are go!" They all hurriedly readied themselves and launched. The coordinates were relayed as they were launching. They raced to the scene.
Virgil woke up on his bench, choking. He sat up slightly, and leaned over to allow the blood that had pooled in his mouth to come out. The bench was covered in blood, and it was dripping onto the floor. The men were gone. Virgil tried to stand, but couldn't. His head swam, and there were sparkling lights all over his field of vision. The music was infuriating. His sight was confused because he had double vision, and in each image of the room it was at a different angle. He leaned over the side of the bench, and felt as though he might vomit. He knew he was in a bad way.
The music stopped. Virgil breathed relief. His captors both re-entered the room. They looked much more fierce this time, but Virgil couldn't really focus. One of the men pulled him up to a sitting position on the bench. Virgil swayed from side to side.
"You tell us. You tell us now."
"Mary. Mary. Mary." Virgil mumbled. The man punched him in the stomach. Virgil keeled over, but was hauled up again. He laughed.
There was a loud rumbling, and the building trembled. The two men looked worried. One ran out. The other stared at Virgil. About one minute later, the man ran back in, and shouted something in a desperate tone at his colleague. Both men than ran out, leaving the door open. Virgil thought the sound was familiar, and stood up to make for the open door. He made it to the near wall before sliding to the ground. He shuffled along the floor, but the pain from his head was growing more severe. His eyes weren't giving him much information anymore, but he though he could see sunlight at the end of a long passage outside the door of his room. He could hear other footsteps running out of the building. Then he heard engines starting and moving away.
Scott hovered in the desert, a short way from a small complex of concrete buildings. They were only 60 miles from the site of the power plant rescue.
"I'm here, Father. There are a few small buildings, but it seems pretty empty." Scott spoke to his watch. "I can see some trucks driving away."
"How far behind you are Gordon and Alan?" Said Jeff.
"Only a few minutes."
"Follow the trucks. Gordon and Alan can search the buildings."
"FAB, Father."
Scott followed the trucks.
Gordon and Alan landed near the buildings. The place seemed deserted, but they armed themselves. They silently approached the building, and covered each other as they made their way inside. What they found was horrifying. In the first room they came to was a uniformed man slumped over a communications console, dead, and riddled with bullets.
"Wow." Said Alan. "I guess these guys tried to get the secrets of International rescue another way, using Virgil as a bargaining chip, and someone didn't like it."
"I don't think that was the original plan." Said Gordon.
Virgil was lying at the end of a corridor next to the entrance to a small room. There was a trail of blood leading from Virgil into the room.
"How is he?" Asked Jeff.
"Not good, Father. Not good."
"But he's alive?"
"Barely." Said Gordon. He turned his watch around so that his father could see Virgil for himself.
"Oh my God!" He said, looking at Virgil's lifeless body. He then lost the image as Alan was bending over Virgil, and was blocking the picture. "He's got some pretty serious head injuries, Father. And he's been shot." Said Alan.
"Get him to a hospital!" Said Jeff.
"We'll take him to France." Said Gordon. Prof. Rosenblatt, a Tracy family friend, and a head injury specialist, was based in Paris. It was not too far away
"FAB, Gordon, and do it fast."
"Alan?" Virgil came to, but wasn't sure whether he was dreaming.
"Hey, bro!" Said Alan. "You look like hell." Now he knew he wasn't dreaming.
"I still look better than you!" He coughed.
"Where does it hurt?" Asked Alan, with his first-aid kit ready.
"Everywhere." Said Virgil. Alan and Gordon looked at each other. Alan put field dressings on his head and leg.
"C'mon. We'll carry you." Said Gordon. They tried both carrying him by the legs and shoulders, but it hurt him too much. So Gordon carried him in his arms. "No more of Grandma's pies for you!" He said.
They carried Virgil to Thunderbird 2 and strapped him on to the bench seat in the cockpit.
"What happened, Virgil?" Asked Alan.
"They were in green and red uniforms." Said Virgil. He closed his eyes.
Virgil's head slowly rolled to one side as he closed his eyes again.
"Virgil!" Said Alan, shaking him. "Virgil! Wake up!" He looked over at Gordon.
"We'd better haul ass, Gordon."
As they took off, Virgil, still unconscious, grimaced. His body began shaking violently.
"Gordon! He's having a seizure!"
Gordon radioed base and informed his father of Virgil's condition.
"My God!" Said Jeff. He knew his sons would do their best for their brother. Feeling impotent, he folded his arms on his desk, and put his head down.
When he stopped, Alan placed an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, and gently stroked his face while Gordon flew Thunderbird 2. With some difficulty, Alan took off Virgil's sash, shirt, and boots, so there would be less chance of him being recognised as a member of International Rescue. His trousers were covered in blood and shredded anyway.
"Thunderbird 1 from base."
"Hello, Father. I'm trailing these trucks. They've been firing at me."
"We've got Virgil, Scott. He says they were in red and green uniforms."
"Yeah, this is them. Woah!"
"What is it, Scott?"
"They're firing rockets at me!"
"Defend yourself if you have to, Scott."
"Yes, Sir."
Scott asked them to ceasefire, to no avail. Scott fired at both trucks. They were utterly destroyed.
"Head home, Scott."
"But Virgil!" Scott protested. He had set a course for Paris.
"We might get a call, Scott." Said Jeff.
"Yessir." Said Scott, without further protest, and set a course for Tracy Island.
Gordon hovered Thunderbird 2 outside St. Lucille's Hospital in Paris.
Alan placed Virgil's limp form in the bucket, and tucked his oxygen canister in next to him. Alan held on to the side of the bucket as Gordon lowered it. When they reached ground level, just a few feet from the ER doors, Alan shouted out.
"Help us! He needs help!"
A doctor and a nurse ran out with a trolley, and Alan helped them place Virgil carefully onto it. He went to follow them into the hospital, but Gordon's voice from his watch interrupted him.
"You can't go with him, kiddo." He said.
"But-" Alan protested.
"You know I'm right, Alan. He's in good hands, and there's nothing more we can do for him. We have to protect international rescue now." Said Gordon.
Virgil was rushed away. "He's not allergic to anything!" Alan yelled after them.
"We'd better make a retreat for now." Said Gordon.
Alan nodded and climbed back aboard Thunderbird 2. People were looking at them but nobody had been expecting them, so nobody took any pictures.
"We're on our way home, Father." Said Gordon. "I'm sure they'll do everything they can to help him."
"I'm on my way there now. Scott will be back in a few minutes. And then he's in charge until I get back."
"Yes, Father." Said Gordon, sadly. Alan sat with his arms and legs crossed, impatiently.
Jeff Tracy sat at his son's bedside. Virgil had been unconscious for nine days. Jeff was looking out of the window, but turned back to Virgil just as he opened his eyes.
"Virgil?"
"Father?" Said Virgil, weakly. The room was very brightly coloured, and as his focus sharpened he made out colourful balloons and cards. "What happened? Where am I?" Virgil looked around him, and lifted both arms to see IV tubes coming out of them.
"You were kidnapped. Remember?"
"Yeah. Yeah. But how did I get here?"
"You had a subarachnoid haemorrhage. You had brain surgery."
"How long was I out?"
"Nine days."
"Really? Wow."
"How do you feel?"
"Tired. Headache. My leg hurts." He swallowed between sentences.
"You were shot in the shin and it broke your leg. You have a metal rod in there now. Why don't you press that button?"
Virgil pressed it, and felt a cold dose of morphine run up his arm.
"Cool." As he said this, he tried to sit up. He coughed hard, and clutched at his chest. "Ouch!"
"You have a few broken ribs, too."
"Hmmm, so I see." Said Virgil, and sank back to his bed.
"Are you okay, Virgil?" Said Jeff; his head on one side. Virgil knew what his father was getting at.
"I'm fine, Dad."
"Get some sleep, Son. I have to make some calls."
By the time Jeff finished what he was saying, Virgil was already asleep.
Jeff spoke to Prof. Rosenblatt, who had performed Virgil's surgeries, who said that he now expected Virgil to make a complete recovery. Jeff told the good news to the family. Ten days later, they were allowed to take Virgil home to continue his recovery on Tracy Island.
Two weeks later, he had just progressed from crutches on to walking sticks, and was getting his strength back, when he was sitting by the pool with Scott and Jeff. There was a patch of hair missing from the back of his head, with a dressing placed over it. Gordon was swimming. There had only been three calls while Virgil had been convalescing, but he was still jealous, and was getting a little stir crazy. He had done all the painting, composing and TV watching he could handle for a while.
"Don't worry kid." Said Scott. "You'll be back at it soon."
"Scott's right, Virgil. The doctor says you're making excellent progress." Said Jeff.
Virgil grumbled and folded his arms.
Alan appeared in the doorway. "I'm just going to put some music on."
Scott nodded.
The music started. Scott smiled and closed his eyes. After only a few bars, Virgil jumped up. He looked at his father, paled, and went into a dead faint. Jeff ran over to him.
"Son, what's wrong?" He said, shaking Virgil's shoulder. He held his hand as he came to. The music was still playing. It was the 1812 Overture. Virgil grabbed his head and started writhing and screaming. Jeff held him down.
"Scott!" yelled Jeff and Scott came over to help him.
"What's wrong Virgil?" Scott shouted and slapped Virgil's face. There was no effect. Gordon jumped out of the pool and came over to help. Virgil kicked out at him and continued to scream.
"Let's get him inside!" Said Jeff, and the three of them bundled Virgil into the house. They took him to his room and set him on his bed. Alan turned off the music and came to investigate. As soon as it stopped, Virgil became sensible.
"Son, what happened?" Asked Jeff.
"I don't know. The music. The music!" Virgil buried his head in his pillow.
"Scott, Gordon, Alan, would you please leave us?" Both of them did as ordered. This left Jeff alone with Virgil.
"Son, what happened to you in there?" Asked Jeff.
Virgil began to cry softly, and his father hugged him tightly as he proceeded to tell him about his ordeal. After a couple of hours he tucked Virgil in, as he had when he was a little boy, and left him sleeping.
The other Tracy boys were waiting in the lounge, with Kyrano, Tin-Tin, Brains, and Grandma. Jeff sat down behind his desk and drew a breath.
"They tortured him." Said Jeff with his head bowed, and a single tear falling from his eye. The others said nothing. "They wanted our secrets, but he didn't tell them anything." He said.
"Wow." Said Alan, wondering how he would stand up to such a situation.
"They played that song to him, loud, over and over, to torture him." Said Jeff.
"That's why he freaked out?" Said Scott.
"Yes. I am going to fly a counsellor out here to work with him. It's going to be very difficult for him to do without saying anything about International Rescue, but I think it will help him." Jeff sighed. "He's going to need all of our help. I think his mind might take longer to mend than his body."
"He'll be okay." Said Scott. "He's a Tracy."