Chapter 6: Strange Communications
He thought he was dreaming it all. None of it seemed real to his eyes. But it was all true.
The Hood stood at the end of the corridor, leading to Thunderbird Three's silo. With Thunderbirds One and Two away in operation, this Thunderbird was the next one he had access to.
He took a moment to quell the rumbles of excitement in his stomach. This had been what he had waited so long for, had worked so hard to bring to fruition. It had all worked out to perfection.
Reaching into his pocket, he revealed his secret weapon. The digital camera bleeped once, signalling it was ready for use. On the other side of the door stood the famous red rocket that had rescued the Sun Probe team from incineration. The very rocket that had saved the life of Rick O'Shea, the DJ.
And now the very same rocket that would start to unravel International Rescue's secrets.
He would begin with pictures of each of the rescue machines, both external and internal. Then he would obtain pictures of the blue prints, detailing all the mechanical workings.
Stepping to the motorised door, he placed a shaky finger on the release button, and pressed with glee.
Nothing happened.
With the exception of a faint series of beeps, nothing moved or showed signs of complying with his request. Looking back at the keypad, he pressed the release button again.
Once again, the keypad beeped its series of warnings.
He glanced at the digital display just above the glowing keypad. The words erupted a volcanic rage in his head.
Enter six-digit password for verification _
"NO! This cannot be happening!" He slammed an angry fist into the side panel. So near, and yet so far.
Gaining access to the code without arousing suspicion wasn't going to be easy. No, he would have to move to more desperate measures, take a few risks.
He felt for the comfort of the bracelet in his pocket. It was the only source of his special powers, such as the power he had used to transfer his spirit into the body he now occupied. Without his own body, this was the only way he had been able to contain a semblance of the black magic he used. No glowing eyes could be used here, but he had other ways around that minute barrier.
Could he…?
Inspiration hit him hard. Perhaps I could simply ask someone to tell me the code…
The bracelet only held a fraction of his usual powers, but there was certainly enough for what he had planned. A dirty smile returned at the thought.
Turning away from the steel door that had blocked his entrance, he headed back to the sanctity of his room. He would have to be extremely discreet when using his abilities, but he prepared to wait until the opportunity arose.
After all, he had waited a long time to gain access to International Rescue's secrets. A little more time wouldn't hurt at all.
::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::
A tiny bead of sweat trickled down the side of Virgil's face, and he absently brushed it away. Their work had been gruelling this time, given the village was submerged in a river of mud. They had hurried to the scene as fast as their aircraft would allow; John had preferred to remain in Thunderbird One and oversee the rescue from above, enabling him to direct Thunderbird Two with more accuracy and to remain safe. John was able to pinpoint most of the people trapped, and had even been able to lift some people to safety, where he was able to land to allow them to board.
The flood waters hadn't been gracious to them, ever increasing with the rain that thrashed down on them. The mud had also hampered many of their rescue attempts by making the buildings unstable. By securing lines to the houses from Thunderbird Two, Gordon had undertaken many perilous trips down to retrieve those too terrified to move.
Virgil had used all of his expertise to keep his lady steady as Gordon descended. He was in tune with her every movement, as though they were a single entity. John had managed to keep Thunderbird One under control through the howling winds and pelting rain, but he knew only Scott could handle her with the experienced hand she needed in such treacherous conditions.
"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two – how's it going, guys?" John's taut expression came through into his voice. He was stressed and exhausted – they all were.
"We're just finishing transporting the last of the survivors to safety. Gordon's lowering them in the cage as we speak. How're you holding up, John?"
Virgil had noted the strain in his immediate younger brother's voice. "Just fine, though there've been a couple of gusts that caught me unexpectedly. But you know Thunderbird One, she handles like a dream."
He had to laugh at that response. "Don't let Scott hear you say that – he already has an overinflated ego at the best of times." The good-natured banter was a sign their spirits were lightening as the rescue was being brought to a close.
"Gordon to Virgil – all passengers are clear. I'm on my way back up."
Virgil switched his attention to the intercom. "F.A.B. Gordon. See you in a minute." Switching back to John, he continued, "You're not thinking of changing 'birds, are you?"
"Oh don't worry – I still think Thunderbird Five is my 'queen'. I just don't see how you guys can be so attached to your ship to call them 'queens'." He gave a laugh of his own. Secretly he was just as attached to Five, but he wouldn't admit to it.
"You really wouldn't understand, John. And we'd better not go there." Just at that point, Virgil heard the distinctive footsteps of his red headed brother approaching the cockpit. "Hey, Gords," he said aloud, glancing around but keeping most of his attention on the controls in front.
"What's this about referring to our ships as 'queens'?" He flopped into the co-pilot's seat, perspiration glinting at his hairline. He drew a hand over his forehead.
"John is living in denial about wanting to take over as Thunderbird One pilot." Virgil answered; his eyebrows flicked upwards as a playful smile hung from his lips. Sure enough, the expected blast of retort sprang from the communications panel.
"In your dreams Virgil! You know full well Scott would rather endure Gordon's pranks for a whole year than let me take control of his Thunderbird for anything longer than a day." John heard his brothers burst into a fit of laughter at his remarks.
"Johnny, you worry too much! But don't worry, I won't tell Scott about any of this conversation." Gordon sniggered, knowing he was beginning to worry his sibling beyond distraction.
"You do, and I'll arrange it with Dad to make sure you spend a very lengthy time up in Thunderbird Five...with Alan."
"Deal." Gordon leaned back in his seat, his mischievous smile broad on his face.
"I'll keep you to it. All right guys, I don't know about you two, but I'm ready to crash for at least twenty-four hours. I'll see you guys back at Base."
"F.A.B. John. Catch you back at home. Thunderbird Two out." And with that, Virgil cut the communication.
With gentle persuasion he guided Thunderbird Two towards the direction of home, and settled back for the journey. At first the cabin was filled with quiet contemplation as both brothers took a moment to catch their breath and gather their thoughts. For Virgil, however, the silence had only allowed his worries to resurface, especially after the mention of the eldest of their brood in the brief conversation.
Gordon looked over, noting the pilot's glazed eyes. "Hey Virg, you okay?" He placed a hand on his older brother's shoulder. Virgil was startled from his thoughts by the touch.
"Yeah yeah, sure. I was just thinking, that's all," he stuttered.
"You're worried about something, aren't you?" Gordon was surprisingly astute with his observation. He knew his brother well. "You've had your mind on other things for most of the rescue. What is it, Virg?"
He involuntarily cringed at the use of his nickname, knowing Gordon was concerned to be using it in his question. "I'm just worried about Scott, that's all."
"I know you are – we all are. But you know Scott, he's one tough cookie." He watched his brother give a slow nod in response, not quite convinced. "Why, what's happened? I mean, he is all right isn't he? Brains told me he had a cut to his head, but that was all." Gordon's frown was a rare sight to witness.
"He's doing okay. It's nothing, really. Let's just get home, get out of these sticky clothes and catch some beauty sleep."
Gordon relented, seeing the tired slump of Virgil's shoulders. "You're right – some of us need more beauty sleep than others." He cast a sneaky grin over to the pilot. Gordon was pleased to see the sarcastic grin appear on Virgil's face.
Sitting back for the ride, they completed the rest of the journey occupying their own silent thoughts – the silence only broken by Virgil as he announced their arrival back at Tracy Island.
The landing was as smooth as ever. Backing into the cliff side hangar, Virgil started the post-flight checks – the move an automatic one, having become set in routine like concrete. Gordon watched in curiosity. Virgil's mind seemed to have wandered off the track again.
"I know I'm not nearly as perceptive as you, when it comes to reading people's expressions. But you've had that deep, bothered look on your face all the way home. So something a little more than 'nothing' is on your mind. Spill."
The game appeared to be up. Virgil wondered if the 'shrug-your-shoulders-and-act-like-you-don't-know-what-he's-talking-about' approach would work. He executed said approach, then turned to head for the passenger lift. Gordon followed closely on his heels, not uttering a single word.
That was, until the lift started to take them back to the lounge. It became crystal clear that Virgil couldn't shrug his younger brother off that easily.
"You know something, Virg? Dad could pay to have the finest psychic in the world read Scott's mind, and they wouldn't see half as much as you can." A smile of faint amusement at the analogy made him pause. "Come on, Virgil, I've got my serious face on right now." To emphasise his point he pointed a finger at his neutral expression. "Something's eating you, and I'd like to know if I can help."
The older man gave a small sigh of exasperation, knowing Gordon wasn't going to relent until he opened up something of what was on his mind. "It's just me, I'm sure of it, but… Well, you know when you've got a feeling, deep down, that something isn't right? A nagging feeling in the back of your mind that won't let go?" Gordon nodded, knowing full well what his brother was talking about. "It's just that, ever since we got back from Canada I've had a feeling that Scott's trying to hide something. Maybe something to do with him blacking out, I don't know."
The aquanaut frowned for a moment, mulling the words over. Both men were jolted as the lift came to a halt. They didn't move at first, both caught in the grasp of deep thinking. "What do you think it is he could be hiding?"
"Like I said, it might be something to do with why he blacked out."
"You think he might be embarrassed by the fact he fainted? I mean, you of all people know he doesn't like to show any signs of weakness. Remember that time he had the flu, and he still insisted on going to football practice because the university team had a major league cup match coming up?" Gordon pushed open the lift door, and both men started to head towards the lounge.
"I remember. That practise put him in bed for an extra three weeks. Grandma went crazy. For punishment, she made him go without any of her homemade cookies for a fortnight."
Both brothers grimaced at the memory of their oldest brother, sick with flu. Though at the time they felt pity for Scott being forced to live without Grandma's famous cookies, they'd found his subsequent begging (in the literal 'on-your-knees' sense) one of the most amusing and unforgettable images of their lives. So memorable, in fact, that Gordon still used it as worthy blackmail material as and when he needed.
"I suppose you're right, Gordon. I'm reading too much into things lately."
Gordon lifted an eyebrow, but withheld any humorous remark that sprang to his mind. "If you're really that worried, why don't you go and talk to Dad? Maybe he can help put your mind at ease."
Virgil immediately began to shake his head at the idea. "No, I don't want to do that. Dad's got enough on his mind at the moment, and he's just as tired as we are." Virgil paused outside the lounge, wanting to finish what he was saying without his father overhearing. "But I will talk to someone about it. Tomorrow morning, once I've had a chance to sleep."
"Let me guess – Kyrano?" From Virgil's look of surprise, Gordon knew he was correct. "He'd be my next choice too, after Dad. When it comes to matters on another plane... I don't know what it is, but he seems to understand even the most complex or unusual problems we come up with. It's as though he can read our thoughts. It's kind of freaky."
"I know what you mean – " The door to the living area slid open, cutting Virgil off in mid-sentence.
"There you guys are! Dad wants a quick debrief before we all crash for the night. We've been waiting for you." John stated, leaning against the doorframe as he peered out of the room.
Gordon peered over his blonde brother's shoulder to see his father leaning on the edge of his desk, arms folded, waiting patiently. Without further delay all three siblings retreated into the designated control centre of International Rescue, closing the door to the rest of the island home.
::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::
From the looks of all three of his sons, it was apparent that they wouldn't remember much from the debrief. They were half asleep as it was, nodding to everything their father said. It wasn't long before Jeff decided to call the meeting to a close, before one of his sons began to make a point by snoring half way through. With heavy eyelids all three dragged their tired bodies towards their room, their weary bones almost creaking with the effort. They reminded Jeff of Alan's zombie video game.
With a mighty yawn, Gordon brought up the rear of the living dead brigade, only stopping when he passed a door belonging to a certain older brother.
Virgil and John turned to see what was holding up their little brother in his tracks. Gordon hooked a thumb in the direction of the room. "I'm going to check on Scott, then I'll crash for the night. See you two tomorrow, bright and early." John nodded, but Virgil winced. The words 'bright and early' didn't favour with the second eldest, infamous for his love of his bed.
Pointing a knowing finger at the prankster, he warned, "You dare, Gordon. You dare pour water on me and I'll stake you out under Thunderbird Two's engines the next time she takes off." With that, he pressed the button to release the mechanism on his door, and stepped out of sight. "Night, guy, " he called back before the door closed.
John looked to Gordon with a knowing smile. "See, I warned you that would happen. Only Virgil doesn't make his threats lightly."
Gordon lifted a questioning eyebrow. "He'll have to catch me first. Night, John." His wink oozed mischief.
"Night Gordon." And with that, both men parted company.
As quiet as possible, Gordon opened the door to Scott's room – just enough for him to peek inside. He was surprised to see his older brother sat up straight in bed with his legs crossed, wide awake. The last of the sun's orange rays illuminated the room, streaking across Scott's face and dark hair giving him a soft outline.
"Hey, Scott. How are you feeling?" Gordon crept over to the side of the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress. He felt it give way under his weight, evened out by Scott's weight in the middle.
Scott didn't reply at first, staring straight ahead into empty space as though his mind was elsewhere. Gordon frowned, watching. He was about to repeat his question when Scott spoke. "I am well… brother."
Brother? Since when did he start talking like that? Gordon felt an uneasy quiver travel down his spine. "Scott, are you all right? Scott…"
The younger was about to reach out and touch the older on his arm, when Scott's hand suddenly flew out and grabbed Gordon's wrist.
"Hey! Scott, what the… hell…" Gordon's speech slurred to a halt. A fog had crept over his mind, throwing his thoughts into hazy view. His head began to pound, as though a sledgehammer was trying to smash its way through his skull. He tried to lift his hands to clutch his head, but Scott's grip on his wrist was tight and refused to budge.
"Sc…Scott…" He felt himself slipping, fighting against the pain. His head was screaming, screaming… Then, in a split second, the pain vanished, leaving behind only the solace of silence.
You can hear me.
Gordon inwardly flinched from the voice that suddenly intruded his thoughts. He knew that voice somehow, had heard the distinctive malice within its tone.
Who are you? he replied, not realising he hadn't spoken the words out loud.
I am a friend, needing your good assistance. Your name is Gordon?
Yes.
Very well. My name is unimportant, but what I wish to learn from you is a set of pass codes that will help me to discover more of your secret world here.
What…? Pass codes…?
Yes, my friend. I need to know the pass codes to gain access to your wonderful Thunderbird craft. Can you tell me the codes?
For a flicker of a second Gordon's head screamed for him to refuse, to deny the intruder's voice in his head. Something told him this was against his morals, but the voice was so soothing.
I… can't…
You can – of course you can. You hold the control, the power with the information you hold.
The voice remained smooth, hypnotic. It was holding him hostage. But he couldn't…
All the pass codes are different.
Then begin with the pass code for Thunderbird One. What is the six-digit pass code to access Thunderbird One's silo?
He couldn't hold back any longer. He felt comforted by the security of the invisible force in his mind. Six…three…five…
Yes, my friend?
Five…An even longer pause. Two…nine.
Gordon could feel the warmth of the presence, knowing the voice was happy for what he had revealed. I am grateful to you, Gordon, for providing such information. And now, what is the code to access Thunderbird Two?
Thunderbird…Two…
Yes, my friend – Thunderbird Two, the great carrier.
Two…seven…one…seven…ni –
The door slid ajar, revealing the finely tanned face of Jeff Tracy. "Gordon, Scott – what's going on?"
Scott immediately dropped his hold of Gordon's wrist, letting it flop freely onto the bed. Gordon felt the haze lift from his mind.
"Hi, er, Gordon and I were just talking about the rescue. He was filling me in on the details."
Gordon shook his head, clearing his view. He glanced over to Scott, a mixed expression of confusion and uncertainty streaking across the red head's face. He wasn't sure what had been going on. Somehow his mind had drifted during their supposed talk. He couldn't remember anything of the past few minutes.
"Uh, yeah, sure, we… we were just talking, Dad." Gordon stuttered in reply to his father's look of question. "I… I'd better get going, before I fall asleep here."
"That's a good idea, Son. How are you feeling, Scott?"
"I'm fine, Dad, thanks. The rest did me good."
Jeff stepped forward, checking his son over. He lifted a hand to his eldest's dark locks, and ruffled them affectionately. "That's great to hear. You should try to sleep some more if you can. Come on Gordon, let's leave Scott to rest."
Jeff patted his fourth-born on the shoulder, gesturing to the door. Once his father had left the room Gordon turned to Scott with a look of confusion. "Are you all right, Gordon? I think your mind drifted while we were talking – you had a glazed look in your eyes."
"Oh God, I didn't, did I? I'm sorry, Scott – I don't remember."
"You've been out on that rescue for several hours – you're bound to be exhausted. Go on, go to sleep and I'll see you in the morning."
Gordon smiled faintly, nodding his head and causing his hair to flop forward. Scott returned the smile, and watched as his brother headed for the door.
"Scott?" Gordon called over his shoulder.
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're okay." And with that, he opened the door and left the confines of the bedroom.
::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::
The smile on Scott's face remained until the door closed, slamming a glare of disgust in its place. Belah's plan had been disrupted once again, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.
The Hood wasn't very pleased having only gained one complete pass code. Though he never liked to remain negative – he had a pass code, which was much better than none at all.
The family would all soon be asleep, giving him the opportunity to sneak over to Thunderbird One's silo and capture the pictures that would bring him great fortune. Camera ready, he settled back for the wait, until his coast was clear once again.
::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::
Not far from the cabin, Scott came across an old military jeep that had seen better days. The body was more rust than actual metal, the tyres bald and hardly able to be used in such frozen conditions. Traction alone would be a problem for a speedy getaway.
Besides, on closer inspection, Scott could not find the key for the engine – he didn't realise cars still used keys in this day and age – and his hotwiring skills were rustier than the vehicle itself. It was a no go. At it so happened Scott didn't have time to consider the plan much longer, as he heard the door of the cabin open with a creak behind him, and he ducked into some nearby fauna for cover.
Keeping low, Scott watched as the second guard rounded the corner, heading down the side of the cabin. He held his breath as the guard came ever closer to the footprints he'd left behind – the deep footsteps created by his much bulkier body – leading from the cabin. The guard – a much smaller, lankier build compared to his unconscious buddy inside – glanced towards the remnants of the window, then at the shattered pieces on the floor.
Then he saw the footprints.
Scott flexed his frozen fingers, feeling the cold hard steel of the gun beneath them. He didn't want to kill the guard, if at all possible. No, an act of such extremity would bring Scott down to a level he didn't want to venture. He wasn't a murderer, whether death was intentional or not, and preferred to keep his conscience free of guilt.
But if it came down to it, he was prepared to defend his life, using such extremes.
Gorilla number two – or rather, the smaller chimp of a guard – studied the direction of the footprints, keeping a tight hold on his own weapon. He was creeping towards Scott's position.
Only one option sprang to mind at that moment. Grabbing a rock from nearby, Scott threw the object over towards another set of partly-dense undergrowth. Just as planned, the bushes rustled on impact, attracting the guard's attention towards the source of the sound.
With the guard's back turned, Scott leapt for his exit and stealthily moved away from the scene, his eyes never leaving the guard for one second. The guard never heard him. As Scott moved one way, the guard moved in the opposite, until Scott was no longer in earshot.
Once far enough away, Scott bolted for the dense woods ahead of him, wanting to place as much distance between him and the goons assigned to watch over him. After a few minutes, and a few aches of protest from his cold limbs, Scott slowed to a walk, then to a standstill as he scanned his surroundings.
He hadn't been followed, as far as he could tell.
He sought the cover of a small pine close by and couched low, watching the path he had taken. Once again he listened for the faintest murmur of sound, but only the whisper of the breeze answered.
His thoughts raced, sorting through his possible choices as to his next move. Topping the list was the need to get to his family to protect them, to warn them. But how? His outlook didn't offer much promise. He was stuck, in the middle of nowhere, with no idea of where he was. With no mode of transport, any journey was going to be long and tiring – that was, if he headed in the right direction. North, south, east or west – the same view greeted his eyes; snow followed by more snow.
Think, Scott, think! The rescue call was received from near the Chilako River, which probably means I can't be too far from where we landed at the rescue site. The problem is… which way do I go? He slammed a fist into the snow in frustration. Damn it! If only I could contact Thunderbird Five some… how…
Rushing to pull the bulky radio free from his pocket, he turned the dial to switch it on. Loud static greeted him, startling him into searching for the volume dial at the side. A quick glance around him told him the radio hadn't been heard.
He chose a frequency at random, taking care not to tune it to the frequency of the radio belonging to the guard still searching for him. He knew he would be picked up on any frequency by Thunderbird Five, though he wondered if the radio would be strong enough to relay a message. Coughing to clear his throat, he swallowed a deep breath, calmed his nerves and depressed the button that opened his end of the communication channel.
"Calling International Rescue… International Rescue, can anybody hear me?" Come on, come on… "Calling International Rescue, please answer."
Scott cringed at how his voice sounded, baritone and sinister. He hoped his brother on Thunderbird Five would at least be willing to hear him out.
His calls were answered by a welcomed and familiar voice. "This is Interna-... Rescue, receiving... two-by-five. What... your emergency?"
"Alan! Oh man, am I glad to hear your voice! Listen, you have to get in touch with Dad and the guys at Base, International Rescue has been compromised –"
"Who is ...-is?" Alan interrupted, his voice tinged with suspicion. Scott slapped his head in forgetfulness. The welcomed relief of hearing a familiar voice had pushed any other thought from his mind, making him forget the slight problem of explaining his current situation. What the hell do I tell him?
"Ah…Alan, it's… Well, I know you're not going to believe me, but it's me, Scott." Scott's words were wavering from his lips, unable to steady them. "Look, something happened on our last rescue helping the cavers, and –"
"Hold on, I'm losing y-... I'll... to boost... it's ver-... -ak. Keep talking..."
Scott took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't sound insane. "Alan, it's me, Scott, your older brother. The person you think is me, well... he's not. He's an imposter, and I think he is trying to find out our secrets or worse, infiltrate the Thunderbirds."
Alan sounded surprised with his next answer. "Who is this? Who... -ou? Are you... ried... -he Thunderbirds? Hel-..." The line was breaking up.
"Listen to me, Al, please. I'm not… I mean… The person you think is Scott – well he's not. He's an impostor – you have to believe me! Somehow he took –"
"I'm los-... I can't... oost... -ou he-...e?" The signal was dropping, until he could only hear short sharp bursts of Alan's voice. It wasn't long before all that was left was noisy static.
"Alan, can you hear me? Alan?" But it was too late, Alan was gone. "Damn it!" Scott wanted to slam the radio to the ground, but thought better of it. "I swear, when all this gets sorted I'm so going to sort that bastard out!" He hissed through clenched teeth, raging, cursing revenge on the man who had dropped him into such a predicament.
Daylight was burning though. The sun would be setting soon, and he would lose any light to see by. He needed to find shelter soon, before the temperature fell even more.
He chose to continue forward, in the direction he had set out. A last glance around, noting the coast was clear, Scott pulled his parka close and began his journey once more.
::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::
Alan sat back, mildly perplexed at the call he had just ended. He had had plenty of experience with calls for help, varying from the genuine to the mistaken. But that call… It had been the strangest of them all, to date.
He stared at the control panel aboard the space station, knowing he had to contact Base and report the call. It had disturbed him how the caller had known his name, though he hadn't given any hint as to his surprise in his reply. He reached over to the computer to open communications with Tracy Island. It wasn't long before the screen was filled with his father's friendly image.
"Hello Alan. What's up?" His father smiled, but then frowned at the look of concern on his youngest's face.
"Hi Dad. I received a strange call a few minutes ago. I lost it, since it was so weak, but… Well, I think you should listen to it."
Turning to another computer, Alan scrolled down until he found the recording of the last message, and hit play.
"...-ling Interna-... Rescue, International Rescue, can... hear me? Calling... Rescue, please answer."
"This is International Rescue, receiving you two-by-five. What is your emergency?"
"Alan! Oh man... glad... -our voice! Listen... have to... and the guys... International... been com-..."
"Who is this?"
"Ah, Alan... I know... -lieve me, but it's... -tt. Look... -r last res-... -ping the cavers..."
"Hold on, I'm losing you. I'll try to boost your signal, but it's very weak. Keep talking to me."
"...me... old-... person you... well, he's... impos-... trying to... -fil-... the Thundebir-..."
"Who is this? Who are you? Are you saying that someone tried to 'film the Thunderbirds'? Hello? Hello?"
"Lis-... I'm... pers-... he's... -post-... -liev-..."
"I'm losing you, I can't boost it any more. Hello? Are you there? Can you hear me?"
Jeff listened to the recording with close interest, leaning against his desk. Kyrano stood next to him, having brought him some coffee to help calm the nerves.
The recording played, and Alan watched his father's expression contort into one of surprise, followed shortly by disturbance, just as Alan had felt a few minutes ago.
The recording came to an end, and Alan watched the computer monitor as his father sat back in thought. Alan waited for his father's response, noting Kyrano watch with similar interest.
"What frightens me is how the caller knew your name, Alan. It's a shame we couldn't improve the signal." Alan nodded – they had been his thoughts also.
"You think this might have something to do with the callout in Canada?" Alan asked, feeling the growing worry poke at the back of his mind.
"There's a strong possibility. Do you have the location of where the call came from?"
Alan turned back to his second monitor and typed in another set of commands. He returned to face where his father waited. "Western Canada, near to where the rescue took place earlier today. It's only an approximation though, since the signal was weak. Within a twenty square-mile radius of the area."
Jeff frowned in thought for a moment, mulling over the situation that had bestowed itself upon them. "I see. Well, in that case… Alan, if the caller should try to contact you again I want you to talk to them – try to find out as much information about them as possible. Keep trying to contact them; I want to know where this information has come from – if there is a leak within our organisation. I hope to God that isn't the case." He rubbed a thoughtful hand over his chin, feeling where new stubble was beginning to form. "I'll have an I.R. agent located nearby have a look into it also. Alert me as soon as possible if you have any further news."
"F.A.B. Dad – I'll have communications concentrated around that area."
"Okay Alan, keep scanning all frequencies as necessary. John will be ready to take over Five's duties tomorrow, but in the mean time be vigilant."
Alan gave a smile of relief at the thought of returning home. "Man, I'm ready to come home. I could sleep for a fortnight after all the rescues we've had."
A soft laugh emitted from the monitor in reply. "I know how you feel, Son. Enjoy your last night up there. Speak to you tomorrow."
"Sure thing, Dad. Thunderbird Five out." Alan signed out, pushing the chair back and stretching his body to smooth out the kinks. He didn't mind his monthly tour of duty up on Five, but this month had been particularly draining. He'd felt the same tenseness as his brothers, only his stemmed from psychological rather than physical stress.
He typed in the command to tell the computer to relay any emergency messages through to the computer in his sleeping quarters. Spinning in his chair, he made his way across the control room and headed for his bed, and with it, welcomed sleep.
::x:x::xx::xXx::xx::x:x::
With no way of timing, Scott could only guess how long he'd been walking. The deepening snow had slowed him somewhat, draining his body of energy he was already low in stores of. The sun was partially hidden below the horizon, its golden rays fading from view behind the thick pines surrounding him.
He had never felt so alone before. At least out on rescues he had the means to remain in contact with his family, even if they were separated. The life of a criminal was a lonely one, he figured.
He hadn't dared to switch on the radio again, fearing the wrong people would hear him. He didn't want to be reminded of his failed attempt to contact Alan and warn him that they had been found and infiltrated, and that he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, lost and alone.
Lost, and alone, in a body that didn't even belong to him.
His legs felt like dead weights; his hands were numb from the cold. His back felt as though he had been carrying Thunderbird One the whole time, it ached so badly.
The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun, the heat dissipating along with the rays of the giant fireball of the sky. The forest felt as though it was closing in on him, backing him into a corner to cower from the looming branches overhead. What he wouldn't give to be sat in his bed right now, a hot mug of coffee in one hand, with his brother Virgil to keep him company.
Virgil.
He hadn't thought of his best friend since the rescue. If anyone was able to sense something was wrong, his oldest brother would. Virgil knew him inside and out, better than anyone else in the world – often better than he knew himself. Now he hoped their supposed 'psychic link' would help him to resolve the predicament he was in – alert Virgil somehow, and lead him back home.
He felt the heavy weight in his heart as he thought of the danger his brothers were in, feeling helpless to do anything. The radio call hadn't worked, and he had no other way of contacting them, or anyone else for that matter. The woods felt even more desolate.
The last of the natural light source disappeared, replaced with the softer luminance of the moon's glow. Night creatures awakened to begin their feeding, oblivious to the stranger who walked amongst them. Scott heard the whistle of a bird fly across his path, knowing how it felt to have such freedom in the sky. His second home had always been up amongst the heavens, ever since an early age when he had first travelled on a passenger jet.
He smiled as he thought back to such happy times. They were heading to Switzerland, his first ever vacation outside the United States. At just the tender age of five he had feared flying, and at first had refused to go on the vacation. He had nervously watched the craft lift from the runway, soaring high into the sky with little effort. His first impressions of flying had been formed from the many stories he had heard of planes crashing in big balls of flames, killing everyone on board. His mother had seen his look of horror and had tried to allay his fears through reassurance, but even she hadn't been able to dispel his anxiety.
His father had known just how to calm the young boy down, however. Jeff had taken Scott and his younger brother Virgil to a nearby airport to watch the craft take off and land. At first Scott had been reluctant to even look at the planes, feeling safer with his eyes closed. With the gentle tenderness only a father could give, Jeff took his hand and walked him to one of the many full-length windows facing onto one of the runways.
Scott had kept his eyes covered with his free hand, shaking his head in refusal to look. Jeff, not wanting to give up so easily, had turned to the two-year-old at his other side, and started to encourage him to watch instead.
"Look, Virgil. Watch the plane as it comes in. Can you see the big round engines on its wings?"
Virgil had given a small coo of curiosity, fascinated as he watched the plane touch down. "Big bird! Big bird!"
"That's right – it's a big bird. And very soon, you'll be flying in a big bird, just like that one."
The giddy toddler had clapped his hands, excited to travel in the 'big bird'. Curious as to his brother's excitement, Scott had risked a look as another plane was preparing to land. Soon the slit between his fingers had grown wider, until his hand had moved away and he was watching with wide eyes of new-found fascination.
Jeff couldn't help but grin, knowing his son would want to know what had interested his brother so. He had sensed the connection between his eldest two early on, and on many occasions had used such a connection to his advantage – albeit in very sneaky ways. Scott was the protective one, using his experience to direct his brother on the right path. Virgil had been Scott's companion while they had been growing up, acting as a 'playmate' to provide him with company, and to be dragged into every adventure the eldest wanted to seek.
Still to this day, as grown men, Scott remained the protector, and Virgil his confidante, and that was how it worked best for them.
Scott's fear of flying had disappeared that day, and Jeff had been forced to carry his son away from the window to head home. When they had finally flown to Switzerland Scott had had the thrill of his life. It had been the highlight of his vacation, and, he would admit later, was one of the only things he could remember of his first time abroad.
What he wouldn't give to be able to fly home right now.
Glancing ahead, he squinted to try and make out an object ahead of him. A dark outline stood out from the snow; a large outcrop from a small sloping hill. It appeared to be a small cave, but he needed to get closer to be sure.
Hardened snow crumpled beneath his feet. He forced each foot down into the deep layer, giving out heavy laboured breaths in a cloud of hot air each time. The cave grew ever closer, poking out from the shadows yet hidden in the depths of snow. He peered inside, his gun drawn in case of any wild habitants that didn't appreciate him looking in. The cave entrance was barely large enough for him to get his body through – it was going to be a tight squeeze. But the cave appeared to enlarge somewhat towards the back, sheltered from the elements. It didn't appear to have been used for some time.
Deciding this would be an ideal location to sleep for the night, Scott moved on to his next task of creating something to alert him of intruders. With at least one guard on his trail - and possibly another not far behind with a debt to repay - he didn't want to be caught unawares while in the depths of sleep. To one side of the entrance of the cave stood a small grouping of trees – an ideal place to start. Withdrawing the knife from one of the parka's many pockets, he walked over to the trees and began to cut through one of the bulkier branches. The branch snapped off in his hand, uselessly too short for what he wanted. He discarded it to one side, and moved to try another branch. This time the branch remained intact, and he managed to cut it off in one piece. It was long and sturdy, perfect for what he planned.
Next, he needed something he could use to tie onto the branch. He looked about his person for some inspiration – and spotted it straight away. Placing the branch to one side, he took hold of the bottom of his parka where the toggles were tied. Using the knife once again, he snapped the plastic toggle, freeing the cord that ran through the bottom of the parka. He took hold of the end of the cord still with the toggle intact, and with several grunted pulls he drew the cord free. It was slim, but strong.
Near to the cave entrance stood a small shrub, no taller than a metre. Scott tied one end of the cord to one of the lower branches on the shrub, then gave a quick pull to test the knot would hold. Reaching back into his parka pocket, he withdrew the set of keys he had taken from guard he had knocked unconscious and tied them near to the shrub, along the cord. He held the keys out in front of him and gently shook them. Their tinny chinking reminded him of the chimes his Grandmother's clock used to ring out, announcing every half hour that had passed, only without the ringing.
Taking the branch he had cut earlier, he pounded the wood into the snow. It stood solid and upright to attention in the ground, awaiting further orders. He hoped there wouldn't be much of a wind tonight, else his plan might not work.
Stretching the cord, he tied the remaining end – with the keys attached – to the branch. The cord was barely touching the snow, taut with tension. He pressed a gentle pressure on to the cord – sure enough, the pressure caused the keys to start jingling in alarm. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.
With a gentle sprinkling of snow the cord was hidden mostly from view, though the dark material was still partly visible. Satisfied with his invention, he turned his attention to other things.
Pulling the gun out, he ejected the clip. There were six bullets remaining. Mental arithmetic told him that meant three bullets for each man who tried to stop him, but only if he couldn't avoid the use of deadly force.
Nearby he found a hand-sized rock. It reminded him of the rock he'd used to hit the imposter – or was it himself? – on the side of the head with. At least the imposter hadn't gone away completely unscathed. Tracy men never gave in without a fight, and that was what he had kept telling himself; what he had kept thinking over and over again, pushing himself forward all the time.
Tracy men never give up.
It was their motto on each and every rescue. It had been drilled in to each of them by their father. It was a part of their blood, their ideals, their morals. It formed the very core of what they stood for.
He wasn't going to let the little problem of switching bodies prove that motto wrong.
Carefully stepping over the cord, he crawled into the cave. His shoulders scraped against the roof of the opening, and he found little room to shuffle on his knees. But once he reached where the cave enlarged further back, he found the space more than comfortable.
Lighting a fire to keep warm was out of the question. Not only would it give away his position, but the smoke would choke him, not to mention any wood he found would be too damp to use. In sobering thought, he shuffled back until he could lean with his back on the cave wall, bringing his knees up and cupping his hands to keep warm. The night ahead was promising to be cold.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. The hard surface was freezing against his hairless head, and he shivered. It was only in that moment he realised how much he had underrated having hair.
Pulling the parka hood over his head, he rested the gun on his knee – poised in his hand, pointed towards the cave's entrance – and settled down for the long night ahead.
He dreamed that the morning would bring warmer hope.
