Chapter Three

Jeff turned to the diminutive scientist who was standing beside him. "Well, Brains? Can that individual wrist-com be isolated from the others?"

"Oh, yes, Mr Tracy."

"Even on open contact?"

"Well – yes. It just needs to be – uh – reconfigured."

"How long?"

Brains adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses. "That's the problem, I – uh – believe. It'll take some time – uh- with this storm. It'll need me to –uh- configure each link separately through Five's computer."

"We must have those comms back on line."

"Yes, sir. As soon as I – uh- can. But you know as soon as I do, –uh- you won't be able to trace the stolen comm, Mr Tracy. It would be – uh- imperative to retrieve that device –uh- if at all possible. The – uh- circuits in it are very sophisticated. They would interest a – uh- lot of people."

"Of course. That's right. John can get onto it as soon as he's back. Penelope can help us. You could start the shutdown?"

"Oh, yes."

"Could there be a fault with the telemetry so that girl was not picked up?"

"That's unlikely. Not if the rest – uh- is working. They all would show or none would."

"I don't like this, Brains. How long before we can get off this damn island?"

"Two hours forty is my – uh- estimate."

"Right. In the meantime, I'll engage the best lawyer I can find and get the new CEO of Tracy Corp Australia out of bed."

"Mr Tracy, lie back, please." An emergency room nurse pushed back on Scott's shoulder but he refused to move.

"The girl? Is she okay? Does anyone know her name? I'd like to know her name. Please."

"Still alive last we heard. We're not able to give you any more details. Now, lie back. We can't examine you while you're half off the table."

Scott nodded but didn't move. He felt someone feel for the artery in his left arm. "What about Virg?" When the nurse raised her eyebrows, he added, "Virgil Tracy. My brother. MVA. Possible ruptured spleen."

"He's been taken to surgery. He should be just fine."

Again Scott nodded and looked up to see a crowd of medical staff staring at him, waiting for him to submit. He felt the coldness of a swab and he pulled away. If they started an IV he knew he wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry. Several pairs of hands grabbed at him.

"Not a good idea, Mr Tracy. We could hurt you. Lie down, please." It was the surgical registrar this time. Speaking very patiently.

"I have to speak to my father. There's something important I have to tell him. I have to get home."

"Mr Tracy. Your arm needs urgent attention or you risk losing it."

"Oh, this. It's okay. We can fix it. No problem." Scott pressed his good hand to his forehead, finding it increasingly difficult to keep all his thoughts in one place. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand. There were things he just had to do, to organise, to supervise.

"Really." There were patient but tense smiles. "And where do you live?"

"Well – on a – private island in the..." the volume of his voice trailed as he looked at their bemused expressions.

The registrar closed in on him. "As our guest, you can be assured of all the resources of the state-of-the-art Australian health system. I may run kangaroos in my top paddock, Mr Tracy, but I do know my way around the anatomy of your arm."

That comment bought guarded chuckles from the staff. Scott was aware of the stereotypical comment about Aussies and kangaroos. He'd been to Bonga Bonga often enough. He smiled with them. He understood they weren't teasing him. They were trying to diffuse a difficult situation without having to resort to physical restraint. It was something he would do. Distract. Humour. Diffuse.

It wasn't going to work.

"But you see Br—" He was going to say that Brains had perfected the new micro-surgery unit and they'd been keen to try out for real then thought better of it. He did know his arm needed the best or he'd have to live without it.

The police officer stepped forward. "You have a choice. Either you check in here or I take you down the lock-up. They're the only options you have. You will be charged with offences that carry jail terms. You're not going home. Better get used to the idea."

They stared at him, waiting for his decision. The two security guards, he realised, were there to not only stop people getting to him but also to stop him from absconding. They waited.

Scott stared at each of them in turn. They didn't understand what would happen if he did lie down. He had responsibilities. He was the mainstay of the family. It had been that way since his mother died. At an early age, his duty had been impressed on him. His father was counting on him to protect his brothers, to protect their family and no more since they'd established International Rescue. He was the field commander. The decision maker. Damage control was his brief.

He needed to do what he could for this child he'd hit, maimed. He needed to find that com-watch. He needed to be there when Virgil woke up. He needed to assure Gordon and John everything was okay. He needed to discuss strategy with Father.

He needed to fix this fucken mess.

"I have to speak to John," he said to no-one in particular, almost thinking out loud.

"Who's John?" the nurse asked him.

The officer scratched his temple. "He's, um, been talking to someone he called John all evening, only no-one by that name was there."

Scott saw the registrar nod to someone outside his line of vision and indicate down with his forefinger.

"Tell Gordon someone took my picture! Please!" Scott shouted, understanding they were going to sedate him, and he hoped Gordon might be somewhere near to hear him. He was restrained and the needle jabbed into his upper arm before he could stop them.

"Decision made, Mr Tracy. Lie down."

Scott hit the sheets hard.

The fall was not so much the result of the injection but the ignominy of it. The contents didn't knock him out completely. They just immobilised him. He was a superbly fit and strong man. His grandma had seen him without his shirt and commented he was one of the best examples of Midwest prime she'd seen but he was not some wild animal to be brought to ground by chemical ropes.

As he faced into what he could see was an unstoppable nightmare for him, for his family and for International Rescue, he was mortified to see water well up into his vision. He was aware in a detached kind of way that someone had noticed and attempted to reassure him by stroking his forehead.

It was too late. When he went down, he felt something give within him.

Gordon was in another part of Emergency when he heard Scott's shout. He'd accompanied Virgil as far as he was allowed and was relieved Virgil was still with it when he'd been taken upstairs for emergency surgery. Once the paramedics had given Virgil a sedative stick to suck on, he was far more comfortable. A torn spleen had been quickly determined by a scan. With modern technology, a spleen could now be repaired and saved using keyhole surgery rather than removed during a major operation.

Potentially, that meant a rapid recovery.

While Gordon was there, he'd also witnessed the transfer of the girl to somewhere where they would stabilise her horrific leg injuries. He silently wished her well. He immediately thought of the long months ahead of rehabilitation if she was fortunate to get that far. After a hydrofoil accident, he'd been left with a multitude of injuries. It had taken months of surgery and intensive therapy to regain his independence. He understood what it would take to learn to walk again.

He felt very sore, dirty and depleted. His shirt carried the outward signs of how he felt. He had inadvertently wiped Scott's blood across his shirt then Virgil had thrown up on him. He couldn't understand why his com-watch didn't work and he wondered if John had been able to reach base with the storm.

When he had casually mentioned he'd also been in the vehicle when it crashed, Gordon was shown to another cubicle where they insisted on checking him, too. They'd scanned him to check for any damage and now he waited for the results as he waded through the paperwork he was asked to fill out.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he heard Scott cry out. It had brought him to his feet, a tingling sensation transmitting all the way to his feet.

"Is Scott okay? That's my brother."

"A little confused and frightened. He'll be okay," a circulating nurse said.

Scott confused? Scott frightened? Scott was the calmest, coolest individual under pressure he knew.

"Maybe I can help." He'd seen hefty security guards go into his brother's cubicle that was curtained off from view.

"He's being taken care of."

"Oh, Scott won't like that."

The nurse smiled and asked if there was anything they could do for him but he declined. "Then, if you'll sign this paperwork you can go. Is there someone to pick you up?" All Gordon could do was stare blankly at his silent com-watch. "The doctor thought you're a bit dazed. Mild shock. It should pass. If it doesn't, come back here."

When he was cleared, he wandered back out into the noise of the Emergency waiting room, not sure where to go next. He made the mistake of going outside to clear his head and walked smack bang into a media pack.

Alan couldn't believe that the slender shoot of a woman who met them at the airport and bustled them into a dark sedan was the new CEO of Tracy Corporation Australia. Ms Gleeson. He thought he'd better take more notice of the business side of things in future.

It was five-thirty in the morning, Eastern Summer Time, and yet she met them in a red, fitted business suit, her silken hair curled immaculately under her chin as if she'd had all day to prepare for their arrival. They were only dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts, not having bothered to change in their rush to leave as soon as the wind abated. Still, his father carried himself with an arrogant dignity that left no doubt who was the senior partner, and he didn't mean only in years.

Alan remembered the greeting. The dark eyes had landed on him briefly and she clutched the tips of his fingers in a tight but fleeting handshake, then his hand was dropped so she could clutch the clipboard and mobile phone with equal determination.

The woman did most of the talking on the way to the hospital in her quiet way, so quiet he almost had to lean towards her to hear her. If you believed the look on her face, she had everything under control. His father stared out the windscreen, agreeing in grunts to her strategies to contain the media fallout and other ideas of damage control. An office and fully self-contained living quarters within the security of the Tracy complex were immediately available for his exclusive use. Everything was in readiness.

Alan was sure his father barely heard a word she'd said. Dad would be thinking of the girl and his brothers. His own mind churned at the thought of any of them being injured. And beyond that – what would this mean for International Rescue?

Ms Gleeson only faced opposition to her plans when she wanted to stop at Corporation offices so she could brief him fully on the situation to hand but Jeff had no interest. He insisted he be taken straight to the hospital. And she only had his full attention when she mentioned the scuffle at the opening of Tracy offices.

"What scuffle?" Jeff said.

"A very minor incident, Mr Tracy. Very minor. I have it in my report, if you'd stop a minute to—"

"Lay it out plain. I don't have time for detours."

"A protest group tried to storm the doors during the opening ceremony. The police quickly gained the upper hand. A peaceful end to a very brief struggle, I can assure you."

"We at Tracy Corp pride ourselves on good community relations, Ms Gleeson."

"This is a democracy, Mr Tracy."

Alan couldn't remember any other enterprise group having problems, but then it wasn't his interest. He would rather man the space station than be seen in a Tracy Corp office and even the space duty he shared with John on a month-on, month-off basis was not his favourite appointment.

"Later," his father said. "My sons and that poor girl are our priority."

"I've arranged for the head of hospital Administration to meet you. We do need to show a little care getting into the hospital. I understand there's a full contingent of media camped out there. Let me handle them, Mr Tracy. It'll sound better coming from a woman. The sympathetic angle would look good."

"I want to know who the girl is. I want to show our horror and sadness at such an accident. And I want to demonstrate our willingness to make full amends."

"As soon as possible. We'll know as soon as we get there."

As the CEO by-passed the main entrances and eased the sedan into a less populated entrance, security men rushed to open the doors and a tired looking man in a suit stood just outside the lighted doorway to greet them.

Jeff turned to Alan. "Find Gordon. He must be here someplace."

"He hasn't been admitted," Ms Gleeson told Jeff. "I'll have security find him for you."

"No," Jeff countermanded in a tone Alan was used to hearing. "You find him, Alan. And, son. Keep your voice down. Your accent is distinctive. We don't want a reporter hearing it."

"Okay, Father. Will do." He had to bite his tongue to stop from saying FAB as was their normal call sign of agreement. He watched as his father was taken in hand by Catrina Gleeson. Wait till Gordo hears that the new CEO is younger than Scott.

"Oh, water baby. How about I run your yellow tin can down the runway ramp? How many knots do you reckon she'd do on land? Hey? Oh, water baby. Come watch me."

Gordon was the only aquanaut in the family and had shown an early fascination with anything wet but if there was something he hated, it was being called water baby and that ran a second to anyone else manning his Thunderbird.

"Oh, water baby, I feel mean today. I think dual overruns should get me thirty knots."

Alan. He was going to kill him. His life wouldn't be worth living if he touched his machine.

Gordon groaned and swiped at the voice that was mocking him so near to his face. He flinched when his hand met flesh that was closer than he expected. Gordon struggled to open his eyes and he couldn't believe he was staring straight into Alan's smirking face. He blinked. Outside he could see it was getting light but inside the waiting room, it was still the same old day. The lights were on, and the suffering and scared milled waiting their turn for treatment.

Then he recalled with a start the close shave he'd had when he walked out of Emergency, earlier. Thankfully, the media crew was temporarily distracted by a car that came through the emergency lane and he escaped back inside before he was noticed. He'd found an unoccupied corner of the waiting room and had finally lain down to sleep when he couldn't keep awake any longer, tucked up across five chairs that someone had graciously spared him. Alan was balanced on his haunches right in front of him, a hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Good to see you, Gordo. How you doing, huh? You weren't hurt, I hope. I've been worried sick."

Alan embraced him. Warmly. Tightly. Gordon grinned before grimacing as he tried to move. Forget being stiff tomorrow. "How are they doing, Al? Scott? Virg? That girl? Any news? What time is it? Where's Dad?"

"Steady. Let's get you upright, first. Man. Look at the state you're in. You'd scare even the medical staff. Come on. Let's find Dad. He's got the latest."

In hospital administration, Jeff Tracy came forward in his chair, suppressing a howl of disbelief.

"Hubert Kreuzer's daughter! Are you saying my son hit Hubert's daughter, Amber? Our Chief Engineer's daughter? My son hit one of our own employees?"

His gaze shifted from the administrator to the CEO. Ms Gleeson appeared just as surprised. Jeff stood up, bringing to mind all he remembered about the man.

Hubert Kreuzer had worked as Chief Engineer in TC New York. A steadfast, brilliant designer for their company who had been lured from Eastern Europe as a very young man in search of opportunities. Jeff had come to respect the man's ideas enough to allow him to develop his radical ideas for alternative fuel engines, a fervent interest of Jeff's with a depletion of fossil-fuel energy sources. Kreuzer's wife had passed on many years back, leaving the man and a daughter alone in the US.

He remembered when Hubert had shown him pictures of Amber as she'd travelled the world, backpacking across every continent before choosing to call Australia home and to work part time in administration for Tracy Corp. An ultra petite eighteen-year-old with an eggshell white complexion. Hubert had followed, accepting a demotion to be closer to his daughter. That was only last year.

Alarm bells rang. Jeff's face turned to stone.

How could this happen? The boys weren't expected in the city until the morning and they certainly weren't supposed to be sprinting to the airport at 2 am. Three Tracys injured, the com-watch stolen, and an employee near death. What were the odds?

"She was knocked from her scooter," the administrator went on.

Scooter? Scooter? How could John have missed that? None of the boys had mentioned anything about a motor scooter.

"—right near her flat."

What was she doing on a dark and wet street at two o'clock in the morning? Gordon hadn't relayed anything about a helmet or a scooter? How could they not know about this?

"Ms Kreuzer is in a critical condition. I can't reveal her full details but the extent of damage to her lower extremities is extensive."

Jeff swallowed a groan of anguish. "Hubert's here?"

"Yes, he's waiting outside ICU for her to come back. She's still in surgery."

"I must see him."

Ms Gleeson came at him with her hands clasped in front of her. "Mr Tracy. Jeff. That might not be a good idea. Let us handle this for you – at least in the preliminary stages of negotiations. I'm sure you're anxious Tracy Corporation is seen to do everything possible for their employees."

"I'll meet with him. I'll approach him as a father and a friend. Whatever offer of help will be made directly from me and not Tracy Corporation."

"Jeff. That's noble but this is a delicate situation. Legally. There's no telling how he'll react when he finds out your son has done the damage."

"I disagree. I'll go personally. When will my sons be up to visitors? I want the latest."

The administrator checked his computer. "Your younger son, Virgil, is in recovery and should be awake shortly. Everything went well. He should be up and about in a day or so."

"I want security tight around those boys. I want to know the minute Virgil's fit for travel. And I want him transferred to private quarters as soon as possible."

What a difference it would have made to know they had two International Rescue operatives under their roof. But that wasn't going to happen, even if they saw him as an overstressing father. Jeff felt the organisation had been split wide open – belly to brain. The operatives were scattered across half the South Pacific, without the ability to communicate and without the luxury of the secure quarters at base. He'd rarely felt so vulnerable.

"A place in the secure unit has already been arranged for your older son, Scott. Your son will be subject to an on-going police investigation and they've stipulated the terms he's to be held here. The police have his blood alcohol report, Mr Tracy. He was over the legal blood alcohol content limit for this country of .05. No doubt your solicitor will explain what this means.

"He will also be in surgery for some time to come. The preliminary report suggests he requires orthopaedic surgery to repair comminute fractures to both bones of his forearm. Also microsurgery to repair a severed flexor muscle group and associated nerve damage. The surgeons will go over it with you in due course and explain it when the full extent of damage is assessed."

As Jeff was taking all the man was telling him, the door slid open and Alan's beaming face rounded the edge of the door.

"Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt." Alan nodded to the other two people in the room then focused on Jeff. "Found something we lost. Thought you'd want to see."

Alan opened the door wider to reveal Gordon standing in the doorway and looking like he was about done in.

Jeff rushed him and embraced him. "Thank goodness. Son?"

"We're real sorry, Dad." Gordon rested his head on his father's shoulder.

"As long as you're safe. By the look of you, you need rest. And plenty of it."

Ms Gleeson walked to them. "The offer of the corporate office suite still stands. Self-contained accommodation and private office space."

"Right, boys. We take it for now. Go back to Tracy Corporation and get cleaned up."

"I'll arrange a private physician to attend. Immediately," Ms Gleeson said.

Jeff put up his hand to stop her. "That's not necessary. We have everything we need. Make sure that entire floor is sealed off. No-one is to gain access to that floor unless I say so. If you'll excuse me, I want a word with my boys."

Jeff shepherded them back out into the hospital corridor and briefly relayed the condition of Amber and their brothers. He watched their faces turn to mystification then alarm then fear when Scott's predicament was mentioned.

"There was no scooter." Gordon shook his head. "No way. I didn't see any motor scooter."

"Dad, something's not right," Alan said. "Why use Tracy Corp facilities when the threat seems to be coming from there – though, honestly, I can't see how?"

"We designed that place. We know its strengths and weaknesses. It's the best we can do for now. Until Virgil's ready to go. Then we draw back to Bonga and set up a forward command there. A day or two at the most."

"What about Scott?"

"He'll stay where he is."

"Dad, Scott said someone took his picture," Gordon said as he leaned heavily against the wall.

"What?"

"I was in Emergency. I heard him shout something about a picture. I think someone took his picture. It was hard to tell. He sounded mighty upset."

"Scott?" Alan said in disbelief. "Our Scott?"

Gordon nodded.

Jeff covered his face with his hands as he thought then stood up straight. "Listen up. Here's what we do…"