Chapter Six

"Oh, this is so lovely!" Penelope said as she sailed through the lunchtime crowds of inner city Sydney, only a few blocks from Tracy Corporation.

The day was hot, the skies pure cobalt, a slight breeze from the harbour lifting the colourful awnings and lazy flags. The street was strewn with alfresco dining eateries. People lounged and lolled in the shade of generous umbrellas while sun-tanned youths in white uniforms served them. Shoppers pushed their bags out from quaint refurbished stone buildings to merge with the overhead trees and the slow-moving traffic. It always reminded her of England but the pace and colour gave her the tingle of something fresh.

Parker on the other hand, she observed on her many efforts to slow down so as not to lose him, was having a time of it. Right from when she declared they'd walk to their destination and not take the distinctive pink Rolls Royce, his face carried a twinge of concern. His efforts to shield her from the noon sun with her parasol were ineffectual as he negotiated the busy footpath beside and behind her. His button-up uniform was not helping as she could see the sweat gathered in the creases of his ample-sized nose.

"Nearly there, Parker," she reassured him.

"Very good, milady," he said as he puffed.

"Now remember what we planned."

"Right you h'are."

Penelope stopped suddenly to recheck the address Brains had given her and Parker nearly bumped into her. He mumbled an apology.

"There it is. That's the position of the com-watch."

Opposite them on the other side of the street was 'The People's Whole Food Co-operative', a renovated shop similar in style and age to those around them. The large window was painted in a rainbow of colour with a cornucopia of food spilling across the pane. Very clean and newly painted.

"H'are you sure, milady?"

"I'm sure, Parker. It does look rather nice, doesn't it? At least from the outside. I've already positioned two agents to watch both entrances and they'll report in at fifteen hundred hours. There's an entrance through a back lane so we should get some idea who comes and who goes."

As they watched, young people went in and out. Young sophisticates with their suits, tiny square glasses and cropped haircuts coming out carrying paper parcels.

"Brains could detect a large area of heat coming from the rear of the shop," Penelope whispered. "John suggested it could be a hydroponics set-up for growing illicit drugs."

"H'a bad egg, milady?"

"Let's find out, shall we?"

They crossed the street and entered the shop to the sweet chime of a welcome bell. Business was brisk with shop attendants going about the store as customers pointed to white bins and picked out what they wanted to buy. It was a whole food shop. The bins contained items such as lentils and dried beans and an array of food that Penelope had rarely seen. Each purchase was weighed in a scale and shovelled into a paper bag. The people paid with cash on their way out, a sight so unusual Penelope stared longer than she thought was polite.

"Can I help you?" a young man with overly long curly hair and those trendy little glasses asked her with the raise of his eyebrows.

"Oh, isn't this wonderful. It reminds me of a long-gone era," Penelope enthused.

"When people ate real food from the ground and not pre-packaged manufactured products?" He was tall and clean-cut in most ways, his hair tending to bob in waves when he spoke and moved.

"Exactly." She immediately went in search of something that might interest her and left Parker to do what he did best.

Ten minutes later, they stood back on the footpath, Parker holding up and staring into a plastic container where a blob of yellowish solid matter floated in water.

"Er, milady?"

"Tempeh, I believe he said it was. Soy beans fermented by a mould. Something new to try. Well, what do you think?"

"H'a bit off-beat for my taste. Do you eat it?"

"I believe so, Parker, but I was actually referring to the set up."

"Oh. Oh, piece of cake. Barely h'a lock in the place. Couldn't see h'an h'alarm, even. There's h'a tumbler combination behind the counter. Should take me h'about three minutes."

"Strange – but good. I'd expect more robust security measures for a drug lab. Still. That's one piece of good news for Jeff. Let's just hope the watch stays there. Come on, Parker. Some tea."

Parker found a table for them where they could see the front door of the shop. Just as Penelope placed her hat on the table a gust of wind sent it spinning into the street. Parker jumped out to save it.

"Hey, watch it!" someone called.

Parker was bumped from behind by a strange-looking contraption. Penelope stood up to watch as a motorless device sailed on down the street at speed. The rider stood on a board. Wheels were front and back and the rider clutched a crude steering device. They pushed with their foot to make the transport go.

Parker righted himself then stared with dismay as the purchase Penelope had made was splattered in a bilious fashion on the street.

"Oh, milady," he said aghast. "I do believe I just dropped your bundle."

"Never mind," she soothed. "I think I've just discovered something that'll help Jeff with his."

"John. John. Look at this!" The timbre in Alan's voice nearly hit soprano. "It's Scott. He's right. Someone did take his picture. It's on the internet."

John dashed from the kitchen and swore when he saw the screen. "Nuke it. Right now. Get rid of it, Alan. Shut it down, for mercy's sake!"

When Alan continued to stare at the screen, John took over and activated a DoS attack that was sent into the website. It would disable it in five seconds. John counted down the time. The website blue-screened. He relaxed until the website re-activated.

"Hey what?" John clicked a few more keys and the website disappeared with the same message again. And just as quickly came back on. "Brains! It's fighting back."

John and Alan moved apart as Brains took over.

"It's okay, fellas. Let me –uh- handle this."

John stepped back and rubbed his hands over his face, suddenly feeling slightly ill. There on the internet for the world population to look at was a picture of Scott taken at the accident scene. It was dark and wet and the outline of the wrecked car could be seen in the background. Scott was running towards the camera, a police officer running behind him. He was reaching for something, and obviously in a distressed state. The only saving grace was the image of Scott was slightly blurry, his face being so close to the camera and moving. The caption asked:

IS THIS THE FACE OF INTERNATIONAL RESCUE?

And underneath the caption was a photograph of the com-watch.

Back in America, a hand on the mouse of a computer paused in its almost hourly Google search. Then it made a couple of moves to go back two screen steps. The website flickered, disappeared, came back on. Just for a moment. Just enough time to be certain.

The hand became a fist.

"That's him. I know that's him. That dark-haired bastard!"

Jeff couldn't avoid it any longer. It seemed every room in the hospital had a television set on and the news was dire. International Rescue had turned down a rescue call. From the tone and urgency of the newsreaders it was as if WWIII had started. The speculation was rife and rampant. It didn't matter whether he was in the cafeteria or in the waiting room near where Scott was in recovery, he couldn't avoid the fact that now the world knew International Rescue had let the people down.

They hadn't come. They'd said 'no' to those in need and people had died that day because of it.

It made him pace. It made him churn. It made him downright angry. And it wasn't the best mood to go see his son. His injured son, he needed to keep reminding himself.

When he was finally allowed into the booth outside surgery where Scott had been left to sleep off the effects of the anaesthetic, he still hadn't quite mastered his feelings. But no matter how you prepare, it's always a shock to see your loved ones hurt. Jeff felt no different during that initial glimpse he was given of his eldest.

Jeff had been assured Scott had woken from the anaesthetic but was sedated, having come out of the surgery agitated and restive. They hoped it was a sign that feeling had been restored to his arm. Jeff stood at the side of the bed, his hands clenched around the rail that had been put up to stop Scott from rolling off in his uneasy state.

"Son?" His voice sounded hollow in the compartment where around him the rattle and clash of equipment being cleaned up were harsh.

Scott didn't respond.

Scott was lying flat out, his head turned away. It highlighted a long cut that was developing into a swollen bruise across his cheek. Where the gown had slipped from his shoulder, Jeff could see deep bruising already forming.

Jeff forced himself to look at his son's right arm. They'd explained they'd inserted an external fixator into the bones in his arm to keep the limb straight and at the right length. It was a metal construct that came straight out of the tissue of his forearm and joined into a rod running parallel to his arm, with an adjustment device at the centre. It was a macabre looking instrument. The rest of his arm was bandaged and his fingers, swollen and purple, extended motionless from the swathe.

"Scott?"

Still no response.

Jeff couldn't tell if he was asleep or awake. Scott was barely breathing, like he was holding his breath. The boy was tense – rigid, almost. There was no voluntary movement at all. It was as if he was holding himself against some blow to come.

Jeff felt a desire to reach out to reassure him that everything would be all right but something held him back. He clutched at the bedrail, instead, his knuckles whitening. Ever since Lucille, his wife, had died when the lad was nearly ten, Scott had refused physical comfort from him. He would fight him. Push him away.

Lucille. If you can see him. Help him. Please help him. You know I can't.

Scott, being the firstborn, had enjoyed a special relationship with his mother and when she died he'd felt it the most keenly of the boys. But when Jeff broke down at the loss of the boys' mother, the little lad had put his own grief aside and had taken on responsibility as carer to his siblings. Sometimes, Jeff felt a little guilty about the load Scott had carried, mainly without complaint. And now he was carrying the responsibility of this latest tragedy.

Reach out to him, Lucille. Reach him. Help him carry this.

"Scott?"

Still nothing.

Was the lad was shutting him out? Again?

Jeff was helpless to prevent a surge of anger. In some respects, Scott had made him redundant. It was Scott the boys went to if they had a problem. It was Scott they looked to for guidance. It was Scott they trusted with their lives. And now it was Scott they had protected from him.

So, why had Scott let them down? Why couldn't he have come for help if he had a problem? Jeff knew the answer. Scott didn't look to him for help. He never had. He'd worked things out on his own. But why had he shown his brothers such a bad example?

Jeff's grip on the bedrail became painful. He pulled back.

He knew there was only one person alive who could comfort Scott and that was Virgil. Virgil was Scott's buddy. They were inseparable. He would have to leave Virgil here instead of taking him to Bonga. Despite his overwhelming desire to gather them all back into safety, he would have to make a sacrifice. He would have to risk another son, another member of International Rescue, to save Scott from himself.

I hope nothing happens to Virgil, Scott. How could you live with that? Lucille. Help me. Help us.

Jeff retreated to the door and stopped to look back as he left.

"I'm disappointed in the decisions you made today, son," he said sadly.

"Listen up, people." Jeff clapped his hands for silence and the dozen or so members draped around the furniture in the massive living room area of the Tracy Penthouse came to attention.

All the family members were present, now. Grandma, Tin-Tin and Kyrano had arrived from New Zealand. There was a lot to catch up on, not the least the condition of those injured.

John came in from the kitchen and sat on the floor next to Gordon, stretching to iron out a kink in his neck. Brains, Alan and he had spent the entire day chasing down Scott's picture until Brains came up with a program that would hunt and tag any copies automatically.

The mood in the room was sombre, despite the knowledge that they were about to retrieve the com-watch. The lights were low and the curtains drawn. It was past midnight and most of them hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. Even though they were tired, John suspected the downbeat mood had to do more with the fact Scott had refused to see them when they'd made the trip into the hospital. No-one was allowed in his room. Not Father, not Grandma and not his brothers. The nurses tried to soften the blow by suggesting it was because he'd had trouble sleeping but John wasn't so sure.

John rested his hand on Gordon's shoulder. Gordon had slept all day, even after his embarrassing run-in with Penelope, and still looked worn. Gordon turned with an inquiring look. John gave him a reassuring squeeze and Gordon tried to smile.

"Let's get this done," Jeff said, addressing everyone present with the sweep of his hands and the direction of his eyes. "Then we can rest before we tackle new problems tomorrow. As of this minute the com-watch is still at the premises of 'The People's Whole Food Co-operative'. And we aim to get it back. Tonight. Brains has made up a substitute watch with a tracker from the remnants of Scott's watch. We want to know who this crowd is and what threat they might be." He held up the replica. "Penelope and Parker will go into shop and make the switch. And we will make sure nothing else goes wrong while they're doing it." He gave them a run down of the set-up as observed that afternoon by Penelope and by the agents stationed out there. "There's a residential premises above so keep your wits about you. Penny?"

Penelope, dressed in figure-hugging black, stepped into the middle of the group. Without speaking, she drew a 9-mm automatic weapon from a bag and laid it at Alan's feet. Then she shifted to John and placed an identical handgun in front of him. No-one spoke as each of the boys picked up their weapon and slid it down the back of their jeans, pulling their almost identical black jackets over it.

Gordon, who was following Penelope's movements with his eyes, looked up expectantly.

"Not tonight, son," Jeff said. "You've been through enough. Go back to bed. You have a special job tomorrow and I want you fresh."

John saw Gordon sag with disappointment.

"So, what do we know about this crowd?" Alan said. "Who owns this store?"

"An organisation called 'The People for the Planet', a green activist group, opposing the further development of new technologies, particularly in third world countries. I had Ms Gleeson prepare their background and they're the ones involved in a skirmish at this building's opening."

A murmur went around the newcomers.

"The manager of the store is Martin Langley. We're working to get his image tomorrow."

"Yeah, it's more than that," John said. "They're the ones responsible for the website that Brains and I have been trying to shut down all afternoon."

"Any connection between Amber Kreuzer and this group?" Tin-Tin asked.

"Not that we've found," Jeff said. "Our CEO will have the employment files checked."

"They must have been there," Alan said. "To get the com-watch."

"Jeff, I have one piece of news I hadn't relayed to you. About the scooter."

"There can't have been a scooter," Gordon said heatedly. "She was standing up. She was upright. I saw her in the lights. Only for a second but I saw her. She must have been running."

John had gone over the recordings with Brains. There was no heat source the size of a motor bike on the screen. He hadn't erred. He hadn't missed anything and with that knowledge a tight band had removed from his chest. But even as they'd watched in muted horror as Amber dashed out in front of Scott's vehicle and the two shapes came together, the tiny image gave him shivers down his back.

"There was definitely no motor scooter," John said. "We checked."

"She was travelling –uh- at some speed," Brains said. "I estimate – uh- the velocity needed to intercept the vehicle would be –uh- greater than is possible on foot."

That comment brought on another round of murmuring.

"How?" Grandma asked. "How would that be possible?"

John let go more of the tension he'd been holding when he saw his father nod at him.

"Standing up is exactly how it would be," Penelope agreed. "That's it precisely. Something we observed today. Push or kick scooters I'm told they are called. They're all the rage with these inner city dwellers. They rely on their own power to get around. No pollution and no parking worries. And as Parker can attest, they can travel quite quickly."

"Oh yes, milady," Parker said and groaned, rubbing his rear portion.

"So, I'm thinking that this kind of scooter may explain what we've experienced but also what witnesses have seen."

There was another murmur, this time of agreement.

"Technically speaking then, as soon as the com-watch is swapped," Alan said. "International Rescue is operational again. Brains can turn the comms on."

"I admire the sentiments, son. Brains will turn the comms on as soon as the switch is made but we have two members of our family and two members of International Rescue at risk. I've decided Virgil will stay here with Scott for the time being. As the hospital officials don't know who they have under their roof, I need you boys to keep watch on them. That will be our job in the short term."

John also bet it was to keep an eye on Scott to stop him from doing anything stupid.

"Right. Be careful, tonight. And good luck."

It took less than five minutes for John, Alan, Penelope and Parker to be in the street of the shop. The Rolls was parked in a side alley, ready if a quick getaway was needed. They checked with the agent at the rear of the premises then when the all clear was given, they congregated around the front. The agent who was watching from an opposite laneway reported that everything was quiet. No-one had come out or gone in for hours. The lights in the residence above were out.

John ran the imaging and the portable camera detector past the shop and came up blank. No-one was in the shop and the interior of the shop was not being filmed. Alan and John separated to stand in shadowy corners to wait while Penelope and Parker went in. If they needed assistance, one of them would flash a light onto the window.

John leaned up against the bricks, his hands in his pockets, keeping his face turned towards the shop door. He could see his little brother pace back and forth in his usual impatient manner. As he had a few minutes to wait, he couldn't help wonder what they were doing there. He felt the firearm press into the small of his back as he leaned on the brickwork not so much for support but to reduce his shape in the dark and largely deserted street. A few restaurants were open but clientele was light, the atmosphere subdued on the warm and steamy night.

It was significant they'd been given a standard automatic and not the IR issue they normally carried. Obviously, nothing must lead back to IR. He wondered if his father actually meant him to use it. How far did his father expect him to go to protect IR technology? That's what they were doing. They were risking further exposure to get the watch. A complicated watch, but only a watch.

As John brooded on the direction their intervention had taken, his com-watch flashed and Penelope's voice floated up from his arm.

"All clear, boys. Back to the penthouse."

Once back at Tracy Corp, Gordon found they had a far more mundane matter to settle.

"There is no way I am sleeping in there," Alan said, his hands on his hips. "No way and that is final."

"We used to sleep together," Gordon said. He sat on the floor in the master bedroom, his hands resting on his knees. The light was off, the curtains drawn back, his face towards the sea. He loved the sea and he already missed their island home where the sea was available to him all day and all night.

"If you haven't noticed," Alan retorted. "We're adults. I am twenty-three, technically speaking an adult, so that would make it kinky on one side and downright wrong on the other."

"Yeah, well, technically speaking," John said as he stretched out fully clothed over the bed Gordon had been sleeping in that day. "Why don't you sleep with Tin-Tin, then? Don't know about you but I am absolutely wasted. I couldn't care less where I slept or with whom."

"Right between her father and Grandma. Are you crazy?"

"Have to learn to do it very, very quietly, bro," John said.

"And how—?" Alan was stopped from saying more by the rap of knuckles on their door as their father pushed his way in.

"Sorry about the sleeping arrangements, boys. There wasn't enough single accommodation on the other side of the penthouse for us all. Shouldn't be for long."

He was quickly reassured there was no problem.

Jeff sat down on the bed. "I appreciate the good job you all did, today. Gordon, don't take this too hard. You're needed tomorrow."

"What's wrong with Scott?" Alan asked.

"Look. No doubt, he's mighty upset at what's happened. I want you to watch out for him the next couple of days. Okay. That's your job. Look out for both of them. And I don't want you to bother Scott with too many details of what's happening. I don't want him to think about things. He must have rest. And plenty of it."

"He won't even let us in his room," Gordon said.

"He'll come round. You'll see. I meet with his physician and the administrator, tomorrow. We see what's to be done, then."

"Scott won't like it if we don't tell him anything," Alan said. "He'll know if we're not straight with him."

"He needs rest, son, so I expect you to be at your diplomatic best."

John snorted but Alan ignored him. "Couldn't International Rescue issue a statement about why we're not attending distress calls? It's all over the news and people everywhere are talking. Maybe if they knew that there was something wrong."

"And what could I say, Alan? We can't afford to let our enemies know we're vulnerable. It's the opportunity they'd be looking for."

"Well…maybe. Hey, great to have the com-watch back," Alan said. "That was so easy."

"Yeah," John drawled. "Too easy."