Chapter 3
Virgil, seated at his father's desk, was vaguely aware of the sound of aircraft taking off from the island. The news people were leaving. Virgil looked up to see his father and brothers approaching the desk and quickly closed down the monitor and began scrubbing at his eyes.
He forgot about the box. "What's that?" asked Alan, who picked up the box and began to open it.
"No!" Virgil shouted and grabbed the box back, clutching it hard to his chest. "No! Don't open it!"
"Son, what's wrong?" Jeff demanded, noting Virgil's expression. Jeff's voice softened. "What is that? What's happened?"
"Are…are they all gone? Have they left?" Virgil asked.
"Their craft have taken off, but I imagine they're still in the area. It's okay, son, you can tell me what's wrong?" Jeff held out his hand for the box. "What is this box?"
Virgil gave each of them an anguished look, then handed his father the box. "There's a video that came with the box..NO! Don't open it….Dad…"
Jeff had already opened it and his face became stone as he viewed what lay on top of the dry ice. Gordon and Alan were quiet, attention riveted on the box. Gordon's eyes teared up and he sat down in one of the desk chairs before his knees collapsed on him. Alan grabbed a waste basket and began vomiting into it.
"It came with a video on the mail plane today," Virgil said miserably.
"I think I need to see that video," Jeff said, pushing Virgil out of the command chair. He turned the monitor back on and stolidly watched, hunching more and more into his chair until it finished, his left hand clenching into a fist. Gordon and Alan moved in to watch it over their father's shoulder. When it finished, Jeff stared into space a moment. His three sons were silent and Gordon was openly sobbing now.
Finally Jeff broke the silence. "Virgil, take that box to Brains. It needs to be stored properly so that when Scott…." His voice faltered, then strengthened again. "When Scott comes home it can be reattached. Excuse me, I think..I need to be alone." Jeff turned off the monitor and shambled into his private office, closing the door behind him.
"What do we do?" Alan asked desperately. He sat on the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms around them, almost a fetal position, Virgil thought. Gordon wasn't much better. He sat on the floor biting his nails, reminding Virgil painfully of how Gordon the child had reacted to their mother's death.
Virgil said tensely. "I'm going to call John and see if he has any ideas. Scott's almost out of time."
John maintained a calm façade, even after he saw the film, to Virgil's surprise. Then Virgil realized that calm, serene John was enraged.
"Where's father now?" asked John.
"He's in his office. He said he wanted to be alone," Virgil replied. "I haven't seen him like this since…"
John nodded, "Since Mom died. I know. Get Brains. We all need to discuss this. And Brains needs to put…it…on ice until Scott needs it."
Saturday
Redwood Pawn and Loan, Ukiah, California
James Brody turned the watch over in his hands. He'd bought it a couple days ago, thinking it was a Rolex but now he had his doubts. The thing had an alarm that kept going off and he couldn't figure out for the life of him how to shut it off. Finally he located a small button, almost hidden on the side. Ah, there you go! He pressed it firmly and that blasted noise shut off. Well, Rolex or knockoff, it looked like it was worth something. He polished it and set it back into the glass display case.
Scott huddled on the floor, trying to stop the blood. They'd given him an old towel to hold against his hand but any movement and he started bleeding again. Slater's blow with the axe hadn't just taken off a finger, it had damn near cut his hand in two, severing multiple blood vessels. Just his luck he'd get a kidnapper with lousy aim. He'd never pilot Thunderbird One again unless he could do it one-handed. He snorted. How likely was it that he'd pilot anything again? He could feel his head swimming and his hand throbbed. How long had he been out? He peered into the darkness with crusty eyes. Still daylight, judging by the small chinks of light that got past the metal shutters over the windows.
Well, at least they'd fed him, not that he could eat much. So, they didn't want him dead just yet, but he knew he didn't have much time. He clutched his hand to his chest, feeling the pain throbbing up his arm. They'd left right after they'd taken his finger off and Scott had a pretty good idea what they were going to do with it. His heart ached when he thought of how his father and brothers would take it.
The handcuffs had been removed before the axe had come down and never been replaced. Slowly he dragged himself to his feet. Slater wasn't worried about Scott breaking out now that he'd crippled him. Scott could feel that he'd lost weight, his clothes were loose and he'd been starved for what? Three days? His eyes avoided the bench covered in his own blood, then realized that an equally bloody axe lay on the floor next to it. They'd forgotten it in their rush to send that last package to Father. He frowned in speculation. The windows were impossible, but this was a cabin, solid enough but it had to have weak spots…Maybe the bathroom walls? The room smelled of dry rot to begin with.
He slowly bent to pick up the axe with his good hand. Fortunately they'd hit his left hand and he was right-handed. Judging by his kidnappers' past history, he would be alone the rest of the day at least. He wasn't very fit but he had time. And he had patience. And he had an axe.
Holding the sticky axe with his right hand it took Scott several hours to chip a hole big enough to slip through in the bathroom wall. He had to stop periodically to catch his breath and try not to pass out. He was starting to feel woozy, his hand was burning up. He thought infection might be setting in. Thank goodness Father kept them all up to date on their tetanus shots or he'd be fighting lockjaw as well.
Finally he was able to squeeze through the opening and debated whether or not to bring the axe with him. He looked up. Damn! The last thing he needed was a pouring rainstorm. The wind was picking up too. He decided to leave the axe behind since he didn't think he could carry it. He could barely lift it by now and he didn't want to frighten any passerby he asked for help by toting a bloody axe with him since he was already covered with blood. He laughed bitterly, remembering a hundred campfire stories he'd told his brothers. His laugh became a sob as he stumbled away from the cabin and down the gravel road.
Thunderbird Five
Somewhere in Orbit
John had thrown himself into the task of finding his brother. Too many times he felt sidelined, out of the action, floating out here in space. This time his special gifts for computer research and communication might help. His trace of the bank account number was still pending. The Somalis were professional criminals and had buried their private data under a dozen firewalls. Still, John hoped that he'd be able to come up with the data that saved Scott through sheer persistence.
He'd been pinging Scott's watch at regular intervals, hoping that somehow Scott might answer or trigger the tracking beacon. Nothing so far, but he wasn't going to give up. Virgil's call had been…devastating. John's eyes narrowed as he recalled the tape. He wasn't going to give up the search until they had Scott home safe and nothing was going to stop him.
He heard a soft chime from one of the automated systems. One of his searches had turned something up…Scott's watch had been activated. He fought down the temptation to whoop with joy and buckled down to narrowing the locator beam. North America…California…the watch was in..Ukiah? Where the heck was that? A small town in Northern California, surrounded by redwood forests…Hmmmm…Time to follow up on some other possibilities. On a hunch, he ran a list of Scott's squadmates through the local property records database.
"Bingo!" John said and opened a line to base.
"Go ahead, John," said his father's voice, sounding hopeful.
"I got a signal from Scott's watch in the area of Ukiah, California. Coincidentally, one of his old squadmates owns property in that area, a cabin in a remote forested area."
Jeff's face lit up. "I'll call local police. Say a prayer, John. This may be it. I'll take the jet."
"What about us?" Virgil moved to the desk.. "We can't just sit here." Alan and Gordon nodded vigorously.
"Until we know the status of Scott's kidnappers, I don't want you leaving Tracy Island. I've already had one son kidnapped and injured; I won't risk the rest of you."
The three sons exchanged sullen looks but didn't argue.
Jeff took off in Tracy 1 and was dismayed to find the paparazzi jets following him. Damn vultures. Why couldn't they leave him alone, especially on this mission?
Scott stumbled down the road. It was a long hike and it had begun to get dark. The rain was getting heavier. He wrapped his arms across his chest to try to preserve what body heat he could. He looked around, never had the forest seemed so menacing. He stopped, hearing wheels on gravel, then ducked behind a redwood tree to listen. A battered, windowless van came up the road and he had a suspicion that he knew who was in it.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath and blended into the forest. They'd find out he was gone shortly. He couldn't stay on the road, that's the first place they'd look. His best bet would be to try to shadow the road or find a stream and follow it downhill. Streams led to rivers, which led to civilization and help. He sat quietly until the van had passed, then made the best speed he could through the woods.
It got darker and darker and Scott soon realized that he was lost. He couldn't see the road anymore. The rain poured down, drenching his clothing and plastering his dark hair flat on his head. He stopped in the shelter of a tree and carefully unwrapped his hand. It felt hot to the touch and hurt worse than ever. Well, there was nothing more he could do with it. He rewrapped it in the sodden cloth. He decided to cut his losses and try to rest for the night. In the morning he'd see his way better. He found a giant redwood, long hollowed out by fire and hunkered down inside, trying to shield himself from the cold and shivered himself to sleep.
Later that night he heard voices calling his name. He couldn't tell where the voices came from, but he knew that his kidnappers couldn't let him go. They had too much at stake. Quickly, he rummaged outside his tree and found some underbrush to hide the opening. He had to stay quiet if he was going to survive this. He huddled back into his corner against the burned out bark of the tree and hunched over his injured hand. He felt cold, he was shivering harder. He should be holding his hand above heart level to control the bleeding; Virgil would disapprove of his current posture. As if he could still lift his arm... God, he wished Virg were here, hopefully toting hot coffee with bourbon in it and some painkillers. His clothing had dried a bit but was still damp. His feet didn't bear thinking about; his socks were in shreds. He ran his right hand over his sweaty forehead. Great. His fever was worse; the hand was definitely infected. He had to wait out the kidnappers, then he could try to hike into a town somewhere.
Jeff landed the family jet at the Ukiah Airport to find a group of police waiting for him in the pouring rain. The paparazzi had peeled away miles back and he was grateful that his was the only aircraft here.
A man in a trench coat with an umbrella met him and offered his hand. "You must be Jeff Tracy," he said, shaking Jeff's hand. "I'm James Davis, the special agent in charge of this investigation. Let's move inside and talk."
Jeff followed him into the terminal. "Is there any word on my son?" he asked impatiently.
The FBI agent was silent a moment, looking abashed. "I'm sorry, no. We've picked up the kidnappers and they swear that your son broke out of the cabin where they held him. They say that they don't know where he is."
Jeff frowned. "If that were true, Scott would have found help by now, wouldn't he?"
The agent shook his head. "We've examined the cabin. There is a hole chipped through one of the walls. We found a considerable amount of blood inside the building and a bloody axe immediately outside the hole. Given the amount of blood, I'm afraid we can't rule out the possibility that your son was killed by his kidnappers and the story of his escape concocted to avoid prosecution for murder….Mr. Tracy? Hank! Get Mr. Tracy a chair and some water!"
Jeff slumped in the chair, feeling the blood rush away from his head. No, can't faint, he reminded himself. He isn't dead if there's no body. We'll find him and bring him home, no matter what.
The agent sat next to Jeff and began to talk," Mr Tracy, I said it was a possibility. Your son was..is… athletic, right? He could have chopped that hole himself despite…ahh…injuries. We have searchers in the woods looking for him right now. We've got scent hounds out there too. We'll find him."
Jeff Tracy looked bleakly at the agent. The man hadn't even put Scott into the present tense. They were looking for his body, not his living son. He drew in a breath.
"I understand, Agent Davis, but I hope you don't mind if I call in International Rescue as well? Scott's been out there for hours and I want to maximize his chances." Jeff found his hands balled into fists but had no one to hit. He carefully spread his hands flat on his thighs.
"By all means, Mr. Tracy, please feel free to call them in. We'll be happy to work with them. They have an excellent reputation," Davis said soothingly. "But I do have to insist that they not interfere with my investigation or handle evidence. They aren't trained for that."
"Agent Davis," Jeff locked eyes with the agent. "I only want my son back alive. I don't give a damn about your investigation. Anything that will help to find him, I'm going to do."
"Understood, sir." Davis replied. "Would you like to use our radio to call them?"
"No, I'll use my own in the jet," Jeff replied and sprinted back to the Tracy One.
Gordon, Virgil, Alan, Tintin and Brains were in the lounge when the call came in. Jeff purposely gave a brief account of his visit with Agent Davis.
"I've already updated John separately. First, there may be a news presence, so I want you all to wear the fabric masks Brains has devised. Yes, even Brains wears one." At Alan's groan, he added, "This is the only way to make sure that none of the reporters spot you and recognize you. I know they're uncomfortable, but they're necessary in this instance. Alan, I want you to take Thunderbird One. Put her at top speed. I want you here immediately," Jeff ran a hand over his face tiredly.
"FAB, Father," Alan said and immediately went to the Thunderbird One access.
"Gordon, you are going on Thunderbird Two. Please go and begin the pre-flight checks for Virgil. Tintin, you'll stay here and monitor International Rescue while we're gone. But for the moment, go with Gordon and help him with pre-flight. I want to talk to Virgil and Brains alone. They'll tell you what supplies to load and which pod to take."
"Yes sir, said Gordon solemnly.
"Yes, Mr. Tracy..and…bring Scott back safe," Tintin said solemnly and followed Gordon to the elevator.
"Is the room clear?" Jeff asked.
"Yes sir, it's just Brains and I," replied Virgil with a worried frown. "What is it?"
"The FBI have a theory that Scott was actually killed and his body hidden somewhere in the forest. In any case, they're experiencing a major storm system here with a drop in temperature, so it's likely that your brother will have hypothermia on top of everything else. Bring both the primary and secondary medical kits."
Virgil swallowed hard. "Yes, father. What makes them think that…that Scott…"
Jeff sighed. "The amount of blood in the cabin is significant. They think that the kidnappers made up a story to hide a murder."
Virgil frowned, "Dad, let me see that room. Brains' specialty is biochemistry but I have some medical training. I can tell you whether the amount is inconsistent with life."
"A-and Mr. Tracy, I think I can help too," said Brains. "I've developed a mechanical a-alternative to a scent-hound. I have a m-meter that can follow a DNA trail. Presuming Scott left behind a blood trail i-in whatever condition he was in, I can follow him."
"Brains, you've given me hope," Jeff said. "There are searchers and dogs out here already but they've had no luck at all. Get here as fast as you can. Thunderbirds are go!"
Aboard Thunderbird Two, Gordon and Virgil unpacked several crates in Thunderbird Two's infirmary,
"Which kit did you bring?" Gordon asked, seeing the large crate marked with a red cross that Virgil was had opened.
"You're unpacking the primary medical kit. I have the secondary one here," Virgil gestured toward the crate with his chin.
"Wait a minute, the portable operating theater?" Gordon demanded. "We aren't going to need that are we?"
"Dad wants us completely prepared for whatever we find," Virgil replied, closing the empty crate and surveying the various medical supplies and implements he'd stowed. "I hope to God they won't be needed, but we'll have them if we do."
"D-do you think Scott's still alive?" Gordon asked softly.
"Dad's really worried about Scott," said Virgil. "But we are all assuming that Scott is alive." He turned to his younger brother. "And we WILL find him."
Virgil went into the cockpit and nodded to Brains, then strapped himself into the pilot's chair. Gordon took the co-pilot seat.
"Base from Thunderbird Two. Am I clear for launch?" On getting Tintin's okay, he took
her up and set course for the West Coast of North America.
