CHAPTER 2

Location: Unknown

Wednesday

Scott peered through the darkness again, frustrated that even after so many hours he still couldn't see his surroundings clearly. He'd been dumped into a room with bare floors and boarded windows. With his hands restrained, it had taken a while to get the hood off his head, only to discover that there was nothing to see.

He finally had managed to break the plastic holding his hands together, then had worked his feet free. His shoes had been taken, as had his jacket and wallet, after all. In stocking feet, he paced his prison. It was a single room with wooden floors. The door was all too solid metal, fastened firmly shut. He couldn't even get at the hinges to take it apart….A side door led to a bathroom with window also boarded shut from the outside with metal shutters. All the windows were shuttered with metal.

It had been at least a day, that was what his stomach had been telling him. No one answered his yells or brought food. He had water from the bathroom sink, but that was about it. He could hear birds outside, possibly a remote forested place? He tried to recall the map of California. A good chunk of Northern California was covered with forests, not to mention Nevada and even parts of Mexico. He sighed. He could be almost anywhere.

He tried to stay calm. Someone must have noticed his absence by now; Father would be calling out the troops. Why was he here? International Rescue and its operatives were attractive plums for criminal organizations; the possibility of being kidnapped for IR secrets was an acknowledged danger of his job. He tried to remember the training he'd had on captivity and torture. It hadn't been pleasant, the primary goal had been to make the subject afraid and to teach him how to handle that fear as well as physical pain. There was no telling what the kidnappers had in mind. Scott closed his eyes against the dark room and tried to bolster his confidence, wishing vaguely that International Rescue were the kind of outfit that supplied its agents with a suicide pill. No, don't think of that. He repeated to himself like a mantra… This may not even be about International Rescue…Maybe they just want money…. Don't panic. I don't know what's going to happen…and that's the problem. Deep breath. At least it's just me and not any of my brothers, too. Be grateful for small blessings. I can face whatever comes, I'll manage and they'll find me. .Father will find me…

He was dozing when he heard the noise, a car or truck pulling up to the house. Gravel crunched under multiple sets of feet and the steel door shuddered open. Scott blinked at the light as three men entered the house…no, it was a cabin, he realized. He could see redwood trees through the open door and smell growing things.

One of them turned a bright light onto his face, blinding him while the other two rushed him and pinned him down. "He got out of the ties," said Pete's voice. "You wanna use the cuffs instead?"

"Go ahead," said a vaguely familiar voice.

His hands were fastened behind him again. His ankles were chained together as well and Scott found himself hauled upright, blinking into the fierce light.

"Will somebody tell me what it is that you want?" Scott asked in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice.

"It's time to send a ransom note, RichKid," Slater stepped in front of the light. "Sorry about the delay, but we figure it's time we sent your family a little note."

"Slater?" Scott's jaw dropped. "Man, what are you doing? Is this some kind of practical joke? Where are the other guys?"

"Oh, it's no joke, Tracy," Slater moved in closer, attention focused entirely on his victim. "Do you think I'm happy that all the rest of you became officers? Astronauts? And all I have is a damned siding business? I work my ASS off while you live on a goddamned tropical paradise!" Slater's hand shot out and punched his prisoner in the jaw, rocking the man's head back and knocking him to the floor. "You were always set for life. You had the looks, the family contacts, you even got all the pretty girls when we went out drinking! Now I want mine! And I'll take it out of YOU!"

Scott managed to lever himself into a sitting position. "But we were friends, Slater. I saved your damned life during the Asian war!"

"We were never friends, RichKid! I served under you because I had to and I was still hoping for promotion. But that never happened, did it? I never knew whether you put the kibosh on it…"

"For whatever reason you didn't get promoted, it wasn't me," said Scott, trying to heave himself to his feet. "I was always fair and you know I didn't hide my own screwups, much less yours. You got the career you earned. Now, c'mon, undo these cuffs and we'll go out for a beer and talk about it."

Slater pulled a gun, stopping Scott's forward motion immediately. "Oh no, Tracy. You're our meal ticket, you and your oh, so rich, billionaire father!" He gestured behind him and Pete came forward with a camera. Slater dug into his pocket and unfolded a printed piece of paper. "Here's your script, Tracy. Read it into the camera, just like it's written and not a word or a motion different or Loyo will shoot you." He gestured to Loyo, standing in the shadows, holding a gun and, Scott noticed, wearing his International Rescue watch.

"I don't suppose you'd consider at least giving me my watch back," Scott said drily. "I mean, it was a gift from my grandmother."

Slater glanced back at Loyo just as the watch shrilled with an alarm. "What the hell noise is that thing making, Loyo?"

"Hey, he broke my watch. Don't I get a replacement?" Loyo held one hand over the rapidly blinking watch. "Don't worry, it's some kind of alarm that's been going off all day. I haven't figured out how to shut it off yet, but I will."

Scott knew that the watches were voice-keyed. All he had to do was shout and it would pick him up and he'd be saved. John was probably on the other end and would answer and… and… and everyone in the room would know he was International Rescue. What would Slater do with that kind of knowledge? He'd sell the entire organization or worse. Scott closed his eyes and said nothing as Slater grabbed the watch off Loyo's arm and stuffed it into his own coat pocket.

"I'll take care of this. It looks expensive. Don't worry, Loyo, you'll get your cut." Slater gestured toward Scott again. "Okay, Tracy, read the paper and we'll send your Daddy a love letter."

Virgil sat in the Security Manager's office at Scott's hotel and spoke to Brains back at the island. The video was still grainy and the features of the strange men weren't much clearer.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Virgil, but that's as much d-definition as I can g-get on this video," Brains sighed with frustration. "This h-hotel may be high-e-end but their s-security is s-s-second-class."

"I understand, Brains," said Virgil disconsolately. "They threw out the note Scott supposedly left, so we can't examine that either and Scott's room is clean. Even his luggage was packed up by hotel staff. There's nothing there." His watched beeped.

"Virgil and Brains from Alan," Alan's face appeared on the dial. "I've interviewed those of Scott's squadron I could find and they all agree, Scott left the party about 8 p.m. and walked back to his hotel. None of them has seen him since. Nothing was suspicious at all."

"D-did you talk to all of them?" Brains asked.

Alan checked a list. "Everyone but Slater and MacPherson, but the other five's stories were consistent. Should I meet you at the hotel?"

"Yeah," Virgil said, turning off the film viewer. "We might as well go to Los Angeles and pick up Dad's documents and the part for Thunderbird One. There are no leads here."

Thursday

Gordon finally got up after a sleepless night. He rarely complained but he hated being the son left behind on missions, just because his expertise was with water and most of their rescues happened on land.

Like the rest of the family, he was worried about Scott. He'd expect something to happen to Alan or to himself, not to Scott. His eldest brother planned for problems in advance, he didn't do stupid things on impulse like his siblings. Scott was like…a force of nature. Solid. Like a granite wall. He could think his way out of almost any bad situation. So what happened to him?

He knew how worried Father was, he hadn't left his desk or stopped staring at Scott's picture in 24 hours. Gordon had been up sitting with his father, going over and over the hotel video that Virgil and Alan had sent. He pretty much had it memorized but each time they ran through it they hoped for some new detail, and were disappointed. Tintin quietly kept the household supplied with coffee and went around with a sad and worried face.

"Good morning, father," said Gordon, seeing his father still at the desk. "Is there any news from Virgil or John?"

"Hmmm?" said Jeff wearily, "Oh, good morning Gordon. No, there's been nothing since Virgil's last call. They stopped by Tracy Enterprises and picked up the documents. They'll be bringing back that part as well."

Virgil's portrait lit up and Virgil, his face grimmer than his father had ever seen it.

"What is it, Virgil?" Here it comes, his father whispered to himself.

"Father, we were just about to fly out when we got a call back to Tracy Enterprises. This," he held up a video clip, "arrived at the office for you. We looked at it and you need to see it asap."

"Go ahead and feed it through," Jeff said tensely.

The video started and showed Scott, sitting on the floor of a bare room under bright lights, holding a piece of paper. He was battered but didn't look too bad, Jeff thought. Scott looked at the camera and began to read.

"I am Scott Tracy, son of Jeff Tracy of Tracy Enterprises. I have been kidnapped and am being held for a ransom of 1 Billion dollars, to be sent by wire transfer to the Bank of Somalia to account number AC28347409576-12, no later than Saturday morning, 9:00 a.m. P.S.T. If you do not comply or contact any police agency, I will be killed and my body delivered to you."

Scott looked up directly into the camera and quickly started to add, "Dad! It's s…" just as a figure from off-camera leaned in and hit him in the gut with a rifle-butt. As Scott doubled over, the picture faded out.

"Brains, John did you get that?" asked Virgil crisply.

"Y-y-yes, I did, Virgil," said Brains. "I th-think that this may be an, if you'll forgive the term, or-ordinary kidnapping."

Jeff smiled ironically. "Okay, maybe he wasn't taken because of International Rescue's secrets, but that doesn't change the fact that Scott is being held and his life is in danger. Recommendations?"

John's picture flared to life. "Father, why don't you use some of your business contacts? We could get some of your industrial security people on this. They can follow up using the standard police databases while we continue researching with the unconventional ones."

Jeff nodded. "That sounds reasonable to me. In the meantime, Virgil, you and Alan are on your way home? Good. I want to see the original film and have Brains examine it. In the meantime, I'll instruct my bankers to gather the money. John, can you track down the bank account number?."

"FAB," replied John. "It may not be easy, though. The Somalis haven't had a government in a hundred years. Their banks are infamous for sheltering and laundering criminal funds."

"Just do your best, son," said Jeff. He shut the contacts down and put his head wearily down on the desk. Since success had come to him, along with a family of lively boys, this had been his nightmare. He'd taken security precautions all their lives and had felt more secure since he'd started International Rescue with the boys all living in safety on a remote, anonymous island. "I thought we were safe from something like this. I was wrong," he said to himself.

"Y-you are never safe from this k-kind of risk," Jeff looked up to see Brains standing next to the desk, his hands flat on the surface. "Th-the danger has just escalated, in f-fact," he added.

"How so?" Jeff demanded. "My son is in God knows whose hands and he seems to have dropped off the face of the planet!"

"Y-you have f-five sons," Brains said gently. "I-if you pay these k-kidnappers, you put the other f-four at risk for another k-k-extortion." Brains sank into one of the chairs. "A-and worse than that, how likely is it th-that they'll let Scott go even if you d-do pay the money? Remember what happened in the Peterman kidnapping? And the Wilkersons? And S-Scott has seen at least one of the kidnappers."

Jeff closed his eyes, feeling the pain wash over him. He'd known Jess Peterman, a financier whose youngest son, age 17, was taken and later found dead after 10 million dollars ransom were paid. Then, everyone knew about the Wilkerson daughter, eighty years ago she'd been kidnapped and killed by a pair of inept kidnappers after they had been paid. The nanny and the groundskeeper had been convicted, he recalled.

"I take your point, Brains," Jeff said, his voice low and his eyes closed. "We have to delay, then, until we can find him. And try not to give his kidnappers any reason to hurt my son."

Jeff Tracy gave urgent orders that all of Tracy Enterprises security begin looking for Scott. Copies of the tapes were given to his security manager, while the necessary funds were gathered for the ransom payment.

In the meantime, Virgil and Alan had returned to the island. Like his father and brothers, Virgil was almost out of his mind with worry, especially since there was so little he could do. John and Brains were the trained researchers, he was more accustomed to action. He wished he could have torn that damned hotel apart but even then had realized that nobody there knew anything. He spent the time practicing his most intricate and deafening piano pieces, trying to drive the anger and frustration out of his system through the music.

Saturday morning

Scott lay shivering on the floor of the darkened room. There was no heat in the place and it was definitely winter here. They hadn't left him his jacket, shoes or any other covering. They fed him when they remembered, which amounted to a granola bar or two every day. He knew he was getting weaker from hunger and had begun to suspect more and more that they had no plans to ever release him. He was spending most of his time sleeping, conserving his strength and hoped that the temperatures wouldn't drop too low or he'd likely freeze to death.

Resolutely, he got up and began to jog in place to keep warm. They'd left his hands cuffed but had released his ankles so that he could use the bathroom. He'd managed to move his cuffed hands from behind to in front of his body by slowly inching them past his legs. He still had the muscle pains from that manoeuvre and had a new respect for magicians. He made his rounds of the cabin yet again, trying the windows and the steel door without success. He knew that his father and brothers were trying to find him, using all their resources. He just hoped it would be in time.

Saturday-4 p.m. PST

Scott woke abruptly to the sound of the metal door slamming open. Slater ran to Scott and grabbed him by his shirt front, hauling him to his feet.

"What the fuck is going on, Tracy? Your dad didn't PAY! The deadline passed and NOTHIN' happened!" Slater dropped him and Loyo began kicking Scott in the back and belly, joined by Pete. Scott curled up protectively, while the beating went on, hanging on to consciousness by a thread. They stopped, finally, leaving Scott moaning on his side, a thin trickle of blood spreading on the floor.

"So, what now?" asked Loyo. "We kill him?"

"Not yet," said Slater. "Pete, get the camera. Loyo, bring in that old wooden bench and the axe. I don't think Mister Tracy will ignore THIS message."

Sunday morning

NG-TV Morning News Report

"Good morning! This is Terri Kawamura with today's international news. We've had word from our sources that the eldest son of Billionaire recluse, Jefferson Tracy of Tracy Enterprises has been kidnapped and held for ransom. Our sources tell us that the deadline has passed and that Tracy has failed to pay the one billion dollars demanded for the return of his son, former Air Force pilot Scott Tracy."

She looked at the camera, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Could it be that one of the world's richest men is actually poorer than we thought? Or is he simply cheap, like the historic J. Paul Getty who refused to ransom a grandson unless the payment were tax deductible! We await developments and will keep you updated!"

"Did you see that!" Virgil scrambled off the couch and ran to his father's desk to find the rest of the family watching the same news bulletin. "Dad! You can't let them say that! You have to call your lawyers and shut them up!"

Jeff, his arms folded over his chest, said quietly, "That's what happens when you're famous, son. We know the truth. I only hope this won't jeopardize Scott's safety."

"She said you didn't pay the ransom. Is that true?" Alan demanded, crowding the desk.

Jeff Tracy eyed his three angry sons and wearily debated how to answer them. Finally, he said, the words dragging out of him, "It's true. I chose not to pay the ransom on time…" He held up his hand over the shouting of his sons. "I chose not to pay the ransom on time," he reiterated, more loudly, "to save his life! Scott's value drops dramatically the minute the money is paid. Now I don't care about losing the money; I'd give everything I own to keep you all safe."

He looked into the faces of each of his now-silent sons. "If I thought he'd come back to me safe, I'd pay in a minute. But Scott has seen his kidnappers. He's only of value to them while they hope to get something." And I hope to God I'm right.

An alarm began to sound, then another. "What the…?" Jeff said, then Gordon shouted, "There's an aircraft, coming in fast!"

They crowded the big windows overlooking the swimming pool, watching as not one, but three jets came in for a landing on Tracy Island. Each jet had a different newspaper's logo on them.

"Oh my God. The paparazzi have arrived," groaned Jeff. "They've found us!"

He stood up and straightened his clothing and pressed a button, initiating operation cover-up. The boys International Rescue portraits were immediately covered with conventional photos and all traces of International Rescue were hidden. "We can use this, too. Virgil, Gordon, please show our guests into the conference room."

Jeff Tracy found the conference room filled with photographers, cameramen, and people holding microphones. He held his hands up. "I didn't plan on holding a press conference, so give me a moment. First of all, how did you find my home?"

Terri Kawamura smirked and replied, "One of your employees at Tracy Enterprises gave us the details and the coordinates of your island. He seemed to have some talent in hacking your systems."

Jeff's eyebrows raised and he made a mental note to find this employee and fire him then examine his computer security more closely. "In any case, you've found us and, based on this morning's news, I can understand your questions. I'm not willing to be questioned, given the delicacy of the negotiations with my son's kidnappers. But, the simple fact is that we haven't been able to assemble the ransom payment yet…it's a large sum of money. We must beg the kidnappers to please be patient and give us more time…"

He paused for breath and a half dozen voices began shouting questions at him. Frowning thunderously, Jeff leaned forward and began to work the crowd.

Back in the lounge, the mail plane had just arrived and Virgil sat holding an insulated box packed with dry ice, watching a recording on his father's private monitor. His brothers were blessedly absent, ensuring that none of the visitors accessed any secure areas of the island. They'd left him behind to monitor the International Rescue control desk and, under the circumstances, he was profoundly grateful.

Virgil let the tears continue to roll down his face and ran through the tape again. Then he opened the box gently and looked at what the kidnappers had sent; a human finger lay in a clear plastic bag on top of the dry ice. The film showed Scott, dragged to a wooden table or bench or something, his hand splayed onto it and an axe coming down hard. It closed with the sight of red blood spurting and the sound of Scott's screams..