Sorry about the wait on this. I guess I underestimated the emotional mess I ... well ... I'm still in.
Anyway, I wrote most of this in the middle of the night, so please be nice about any typos. (I tried to catch them all, but it's kinda 1:30 in the morning.)
I hope you still like it ...
Chapter 2
"Don't be late, he says," James grumbled. "Someone should have told that the the pilot."
Scott refrained from commenting as he scanned the sky for the transport plane they had been waiting on for almost an hour. There had been no radio contact since it left international airspace, and he was beginning to get worried. But his fears were alleviated when he spotted a shape coming towards them.
"There they are," he announced, peering at the powerful craft through his binoculars.
It may not have been as sleek or as graceful as the jets he flew, but the transport had a beauty all it's own. After a smooth landing, the large plane taxied around to where Scott and James were waiting. When the hatch opened, Scott got the pleasant surprise of seeing, not a government suit, but his friend Tom Roderick. His skin was more tanned then the last time he had seen the Navy pilot, which only served to enhance his blue eyes and honey brown hair.
"Hey guys," Tom waved, stepping out of his plane. "You couldn't behave yourselves in the states, so they had to ship you out here?"
"You should talk," James shot back. "I thought you were going to be in the South Pacific by now."
"At least I have a good chance of getting there," Tom replied with a grin. "Not a whole lot of airbases on the islands are there, flyboys?"
James opened his mouth, but Scott had other things on his mind then friendly banter. It was times like this being the oldest of five brothers came in handy, as he easily derail the verbal sparing match and changed the subject.
"So, you brought us a government liaison?"
Though his tone was light, his words seemed to cast a shadow over Tom, and his cobalt eyes turned serious. He glanced over his shoulder, bringing Scott's attention to the man stepping out of the plane. The bureaucrat was just as he had imagined him; a stark black suite over a crisp white shirt with dark sunglasses. Considering they were in Central America, the guy was setting himself up for a bad case of heat stroke. However, the man himself had little to do with Scott's concerns … unless he was the cause of him.
"Tom?" James prodded, his tone serious for once. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, turning away from the liaison.
"Does this have something to do with why you were late?" Scott questioned.
"We had mechanical problems," Tom replied, sounding a bit too rehearsed for comfort.
"Uh-huh," James scoffed. "What kind of mechanical problems?"
"I'm not at liberty to say."
"Not at liberty- What the-"
While James was trying to verbally finish a thought, Scott's mind was racing to come up with an answer for Tom's strange behavior. Being in the military, one learned how to keep secrets, but this didn't feel like the usual top secret clearance type of situation. This was something bad, something dangerous. Scott had been able to read people for a long time, came with being the oldest, and he could see fear in those cobalt eyes.
"Tom," he dropped his voice to just above a whisper, "whatever it is, you know you can trust us. Right?"
"I know, Scott," he answered in the same tone, once again glancing back at his passenger who was getting closer. "Just watch your backs, okay?"
Neither Scott or James got a chance to respond since the man from the government, and obvious source of Tom's fear, had just arrived at their group causing Tom to hurry back to his plane. With short dark hair and neutral expression, the liaison was as unremarkable as any pencil pushing bureaucrat he had ever met, but that was only on the outside. There was something off about this guy, and he was going to find out what.
/'/'/'/'/'PRESENT DAY'\'\'\'\'\
Stepping out of Tracy One, Scott took a look around the airfield. It had long ago retired from military use, and looked as if most civilians tended to avoid it as well. Now a privately owned airstrip, it's primary use was as a low budget flight school. Even so, in his minds eye Scott could see the row of jets waiting for deployment, or a transport ferrying down the runway. This place had been home once, and now it was nothing but a shell of it's former self, painted over with bright colors to try and hide the shadows. But they were still there, as was the sense of dread he had felt on this very runway all those years ago.
"Mr. Tracy?"
He looked up at the sound up his name, forcing his emotions back so he could slip into the role of bored billionaire that everyone was expecting. Scott gave a polite smile to the two men approaching him. One was tall with cropped blond hair and steel gray eyes. The other looked almost a foot shorter with a mop of black curls. Both were wearing simple button up shirts, khaki pants, and were followed by a group of what looked like students with starstruck expressions. The last part he had been expecting. After all, it wasn't everyday that an heir to one of the world's largest technological fortunes asks for permission to land at a humble flight school. Of course, he had his reasons for coming here, not that he could or would share them with this group. In fact, for safety's sake, he had better clear the lot of them from the area as fast as possible.
"Mr. Davis," Scott said with a casual tone. "Thank you for the use of your runway."
"No trouble at all," the blond responded dismissively. "I'm just happy that it was adequate."
Scott just smiled, noting that Mr. Davis must run the business side of things here to not know the schematics of his own place. Of course a former military runway would be 'adequate' for a small jet. The thing could probably handle the launch of Thunderbird two, except for the fact it's booster jets would disintegrate a chunk of the local foliage. Thank God for vertical take off capabilities.
"If there is anything you need," the shorter man cut into Scott's thoughts, "just let us know."
"As a matter of fact there is, Mr. Amos. You see, I am trying to find a … well, a retreat of sorts. Somewhere out of the way were I can get some alone time. You have no idea how crowded a private island can get."
There was some polite chuckling at the comment, but the eldest Tracy brother could tell they had no idea what he was hinting at. It looked as if he was going to have to use a more direct approach.
"I was wondering if I could rent your property, just for a while," he explained. "And I would really appreciate your discretion. I came here to get away, not be hounded by media."
"Certainly, Mr. Tracy," Mr. Davis gushed. "Whatever you want."
"Of course, we still have our lessons to give," Mr. Amos added, "but we will try not to disturb you too much."
"Actually, I was hoping to rent the whole place, just for a few days."
"But sir," Mr. Amos gestured at the group behind him, "my students …"
Scott looked them over. Most of them were no older than Alan, innocence shining in their eyes, and no idea of the danger that lurked in their own backyard. School or not, he had to clear the area and it looked as if there was only one way to do it. He didn't really like playing the spoiled rich kid card, but there were times it was a necessary evil. As casually as if he were pulling out a pocket watch to check the time, Scott removed a large roll of bills from his pocket and started to flip through them.
"Will this be enough to guarantee my privacy for a week?"
He handed Mr. Davis a generous stack of bills which the businessman took eagerly, shushing his parter with a wave of his hand. It was a crude, but effective, method and didn't look all that great for his public image. Though, at the moment, the safety of these people was far more important then what the tabloids thought of him. An hour later he watched the last of said people drive off and Scott was alone. Just him, his memories, and the threat of death looming on the horizon.
So? What do you think?
Let me know while I try to get the next part up sooner.