A/N: Just a very quick author's note to say a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! It's great to know you're enjoying the story and I hope you continue to do so.
Chapter Eight: Closing the Net
Name: Richard Anthony Wilcox
Place of birth: Worcester, England
Age: 31
Education: Attended Worcester Sixth Form College where he excelled in Science and Maths. Graduated from Imperial College, London with a BSC degree in Physics, with Advanced Mathematics (First Class Honours). Graduated from Cambridge University with a Master degree in Geophysics. Studied for a Ph.D in Advanced Geophysics and Mathematic Formulae at Cambridge University – currently incomplete.
Employment History: While studying for his Ph.D degree, worked as a lab assistant for Professor Michael Tyers.
Hobbies: Making bombs, starting fires and stalking International Rescue
Gordon stared at the photograph of the man who'd been plaguing International Rescue for more than half a year. He looked so … normal. The kind of guy you wouldn't glance twice at if you passed him in the street. Neither attractive, nor unattractive just … well, just kind of bland. Why was it that in films the bad guys always had wicked scars, or golden teeth, when in real life they were just people?
He ran his eyes over the biographical information for the fiftieth time. Richard Wilcox was a smart guy. A Cambridge graduate, he'd been obsessively focused on his work to the point that there were several notes from a psychologist, who had been called in to judge his suitability for a position on the physics staff, about his social awkwardness and reluctance to engage in long-term relationships. Evidently the psychologist had given his approval despite his misgivings, because Wilcox had joined the physics faculty a few months later, working as a lab assistant to one of the senior professor.
By all reports, he'd had a shining career in physics ahead of him. During his years at Cambridge, he'd co-written papers with some of the most pre-eminent physicists in the UK, as well as working towards a Ph.D in Advanced Geophysics. And then … nothing. Richard Wilcox fell off the map at the age of twenty-eight, a few months from completing his Ph.D. It was like the records had been erased – or had never existed in the first place. There was just a brief footnote indicating that Cambridge University had chosen not to renew his contract. No explanations were offered, but given the man's penchant for building bombs, Gordon could hazard a guess as to the reason.
But as to what might have turned a promising young physicist into a global arsonist … well if that information could have been gleaned from a picture, Gordon would have known by now.
"For God's sake!"
Scott slammed on the brakes and Gordon grabbed for the papers as they began to slide off his lap. He looked across in time to see Scott giving the driver of the car in front of them the middle finger.
"Why don't you tell them how you really feel," Gordon suggested sardonically.
Scott shot him an ugly look. "Why don't you just keep your mouth shut?"
Gordon's fingers tightened around the papers, but he didn't take the bait, not this time. The whole trip had been like this, one tense exchange after another. Scott had been moody and unapproachable since they'd left Tracy Island and on the few occasions he had opened his mouth, what had come out had been curt, with an edge of impatience that had surprised even Gordon. Sure, things hadn't been great between them recently, but Scott's attitude was taking things to a whole new level.
As if to compound Gordon's misery, the professor they'd travelled half way across the world to speak to had been out of the country at a conference. This had led to three fruitless days of fact finding at the MI5 headquarters in London, the grand total of which was now resting on Gordon's knees. It wasn't much; aside from his stirring scientific career, Wilcox had three unpaid parking tickets and a side note that he'd once witnessed a drunken fight on the Cambridge University campus.
Suffice to say, the delay hadn't helped to improve Scott's mood. As his brother eased the car onto the motorway slip road, Gordon contented himself with scowling at the side of his head and feeling distinctly victimised. There were no prizes for guessing why it was him, and not Virgil, sitting in the passenger seat of the Mercedes S Type as it powered its way along through the English countryside. Their dad was nothing if not persistent. Too busy with the bombing investigation to deal with his warring sons, Jeff Tracy had obviously fallen back on the tried and tested locked-room adage. Only this time the room was a luxurious, leather-seated car and the lock was … well, the fact that it was moving.
Still, it looked like their dad was going to be disappointed. Gordon was currently leaning more towards fratricide than reconciliation.
He breathed an internal sigh of relief when a sign with "Cambridge" firmly stamped on it flashed passed. Looked like he might be able to hold onto his sanity after all, particularly when the calming influence of one Lady Penelope was added into the mix. Even Scott wouldn't dare to snap at the inestimable Lady P.
Scott slowed for the roundabout at the top of the slip road, tapping his fingers impatiently on the wheel as the line of cars in front struggled to join the steady flow of traffic. For once, Gordon could understand his brother's frustration; he'd never understood the European obsession with roundabouts. Sure, it meant a lot less traffic lights, but the whole having-to-give-way-to-the-right thing made no sense. What if, like now, the traffic from the right never let up? A vision of being stuck on the slip road with Scott forever made him feel like he'd swallowed something unpleasant.
The car in front, a little red model that Gordon wasn't familiar with, finally eased out into the traffic. Muttering something unflattering about women drivers, Scott followed, the Mercedes pressed up so closely against the red car that it was like they were attached. Before Gordon could warn Scott to back off, his brother swept off to the left, taking the second exit.
Gordon frowned up at the road sign; any mention of Cambridge had vanished. Deciding that his curiosity was worth the abuse that was likely to follow, Gordon asked, "Uh, isn't Cambridge that way?" He gestured vaguely back over his shoulder.
"This way's quicker," was all Scott said.
Well that was interesting. Scott had been to Cambridge University before; Gordon was pretty sure about that. But unless his brother had some kind of photographic memory, then the fact that he could remember a quicker route to the university was, well, weird. Maybe he'd swallowed a Sat-Nav or something. Gordon wouldn't put it past him.
Whatever the reason for Scott's miraculous memory, he wasn't wrong. No more than ten minutes later, they were rolling onto the leafy campus and Scott was pulling up next to a tall, redbrick building with some fading writing over the arched entrance. Ivy twined up the side of the building, giving it the impression that it had some kind of speckled disease.
Gordon thrust the car door open, took a deep breath of fresh air, and then promptly shivered. It was colder here in England; even in the summer, with the sun high overhead, temperatures rarely rose above thirty degrees. The short-sleeved t-shirt Gordon was wearing felt thin and insubstantial.
A slender figure emerged from the shade of the archway, her smile almost eclipsing the sun. "Hello, Darlings."
Lady Penelope, dressed as impeccably as ever in a pink sundress, wide-brimmed white hat and matching white high-heeled shoes. She glided down the path towards them, for all the world like a model on a runway. Which, Gordon reflected, was something she was probably pretty used to.
She pressed her lips against his cheek and he caught a light wisp of flowery perfume before she drew back and bestowed the same welcome on Scott. "How are you, my boys? And how was your flight?"
"Long," Gordon replied with a groan, stretching out his arms and looking around. Beyond the ivy-entwined building, the campus was bustling. Students hurried between the old buildings; one group were throwing a ball back and forth on the open green. It was loud, alive, exciting and Gordon couldn't help feeling a pang of envy. As much as he loved his family and his job, it was easy to miss that college atmosphere. And being around people who weren't closely related to him.
"Where are we meeting this Professor Tyers?" Scott asked, getting straight down to business as usual.
Lady Penelope adjusted her dark sunglasses. "He's waiting for you in the faculty office. The Dean has instructed him to cooperate with you in any way he can."
"Then let's go." Without waiting for any sign of agreement, Scott swept down the path towards the redbrick building. He didn't so much as glance up at the signpost outside it, which made Gordon's eyebrows rise. Yep, Scott had definitely been here before, and more than once by the looks of things.
"Interesting," the younger man murmured before following Lady Penelope up the path.
The physics faculty office, it turned out, was inside the redbrick building. With Scott leading the way, Gordon and Lady Penelope stepped into the lofty atrium, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. Lady Penelope removed her sunglasses and tucked them away inside her dress. Gordon wasn't sure where, but he knew that any closer inspection would likely earn him a slap.
They followed Scott down a series of long corridors, occasionally passing the odd student or professor, all of whom did a double take when they saw Lady Penelope. She seemed mildly amused by the attention, taking it all in her stride. Gordon was happy to trot along in her wake, his mind still trying to work over the puzzle of his brother's amazing sense of direction.
They passed a small, interior courtyard, artfully landscaped, and then two sets of double doors later, Scott came to a halt in front of a solid-looking, wooden door.
"We're here," he said unnecessarily and knocked.
There were a few moments of silence and then the door swung inward. The man on the other side was tall – taller even than Scott – with short, greying hair and bright blue eyes. He was wearing a lab coat, but apart from that, there wasn't much of the "mad professor" air about him that Gordon had been expecting. It was almost disappointing.
"Professor Tyers?" Scott didn't wait for a reply. "We're here about Richard Wilcox."
Rather than being cowed by Scott's abrupt manner, the man gave him a measuring look. "You'd better come in then."
The interior of the faculty office was as rich and opulent as a room in one of England's stately homes. Everything about it screamed Old Boy's Network, from the leather chairs and couches, to the curved ceiling arches and thick, velvet drapes. There were three desks in the room, two along the walls next to the floor-length windows and one at the end of the room. It was towards the latter that Professor Tyers headed, taking off his lab coat and hanging it on a coat stand as he did so.
"Won't you take a seat?"
There were two chairs in front of Tyers's desk; Scott settled into the furthest and Gordon, after a quick glance at Lady P, opted for leaning against the wall instead. The professor sat across from them, moving some papers off his desk and tucking them away in a drawer. When he looked up, he met Scott's eyes squarely. "What do you want to know?"
"You knew Richard Wilcox then?"
"Yes, he was a lab assistant of mine. I worked alongside him for several years."
"Until he was dismissed?"
"Until he was dismissed, yes."
"What was he like?"
The professor leaned back in his chair and considered. "Brilliant. Quite brilliant. Some of his ideas …" He shook his head. "Richard didn't see things the way that you or I might. His thoughts were abstract. Unusual. Sometimes ground-breaking."
"Sometimes dangerous?"
Tyers nodded. "We encourage healthy professional curiosity here, but not obsession. Unfortunately many of Richard's ideas fell into the latter category."
"Is that why he was dismissed?" When Tyers frowned, Scott tried to clarify the question. "Did he attempt something dangerous?"
"Not exactly. Though I believe that could have been his intention. He was trying to prove a theory –" Tyers's tone darkened. " – and a colleague caught him stealing chemical components from one of our laboratories.
"A colleague?"
"One of my other lab assistants at the time."
"Do you have a name? We'll need to speak to them too."
"Professor Katherine Oliver."
Scott tensed. When he didn't say anything else, Lady Penelope looked askance at him and then asked, "Where might we find this Katherine Oliver?"
"She's on the staff here. Her office is on the third floor."
"We'll talk to her later," Scott found his voice again, his tone brusque. "What more can you tell us about Wilcox?"
As Scott continued to quiz the professor about everything from Wilcox's sleeping habits through to his favourite food, Gordon watched his brother. It would have been almost imperceptible to anyone that didn't know Scott well, but something about the name Katherine Oliver had startled him. He'd recognised the name somehow. Coupled with Scott's recent flair for directions and Gordon began to wonder.
After Scott had bled the lake of Professor Tyers's knowledge dry – and Gordon had taken so many notes his hand was cramping painfully – they bid farewell to Lady Penelope (she had a dinner with the Dean of the college to attend) and headed back towards the car. Scott was as quiet as ever and although Gordon tried to get some kind of reaction out of him with several, "So, what now?" comments, he drew a blank. Then Scott stopped suddenly, just past the interior courtyard. Gordon carried on for several more feet before he realised his brother wasn't with him.
"What's up?" he demanded, turning back.
Scott's expression was hard to read. "Can you find something to do for a while?"
"Huh?" He hadn't been expecting that.
"Look around the campus or something."
" … I guess," Gordon said slowly. "Er – why?"
"There's something I need to do."
What that was illuminating. Gordon raised his eyebrows and waited. Scott's expression darkened. "Will you just do what someone asks you for once, without complaining?" he snapped, turning on his heel and disappearing back through the double doors.
Gordon stared after him for a few moments, swallowing back the murderous thoughts that were fighting for control. He really, really disliked Scott right now. To the point of wanting to find a tall window and shove him out of it, or maybe just smashing his fist into that frowning face. The second option was so tempting that he balanced on the balls of his feet, thinking it through. Then sanity returned and with a regretful sigh, Gordon pulled the double doors open and poked his head through.
Unsurprisingly, the corridor beyond was empty, his brother long gone. As Gordon was wondering what he should do now, one of the doors opposite the courtyard swung inwards and a stream of students started spilling out and heading towards him. A couple of them cast curious glances his way as he held the door open, giving Gordon an idea. Fixing a charming smile on his face, he approached the nearest group of girls.
"Would one of you mind showing me the way to Professor Oliver's office?"
Several flights of stairs later – and wishing that the original architects of the building had had the foresight to leave room for elevators to be installed – Gordon reached the third floor. His guide – Liz, she'd said her name was - pointed out Professor Oliver's office and then paused, looking up at him.
"I finish classes at four, if you're around later …?" Her voice had a beautiful lilting accent.
Gordon felt a pang of regret. Liz really was very pretty; petite, with huge dark eyes and dark auburn hair. If he had more time – but no, as usual, he had to follow Scott. Gordon cursed his brother inwardly.
"Sorry, but I've gotta get back home," he admitted reluctantly.
Liz shrugged, wiry good humour in her face. "It was worth asking. Well, it was nice to meet you, Gordon. Have a safe journey and all that." With a toss of her hair she was strolling off down the corridor, Gordon's eyes following her until she was out of sight.
Refocusing on the task at hand, Gordon contemplated the corridor. It was lined with offices, shiny gold plaques glinting merrily in the sunlight that streamed through the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows. Forget the lack of stairs – the architects of this place had totally known what they'd been doing. It really was beautiful, in that old-worldly way that England did so well.
After wandering a few metres down the plush carpet, Gordon became aware of voices coming from one of the offices off to the left. They seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet of the department and he was still a couple of doors away when the words became clear enough to hear.
"… know him? Richard Wilcox?"
The voice was Scott's – Gordon would have recognised it anywhere. But he sounded odd; his voice was too tightly controlled and there was something else there too, a kind of desperation that Gordon had never heard before.
"Yes, yes, I did – you know I did, Christopher told you! It's not like it's some kind of secret … What is this all about, Scott?"
The woman – Katherine, Gordon assumed – sounded confused and upset.
"Were you just colleagues?" Scott demanded.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Answer the question!"
"Don't order me around like one of your subordinates!" Katherine shouted. There was a brief silence. When Katherine spoke again, her voice was level, calmer. "Why do you want to know about Richard? What are you even doing here? When we last spoke –"
"Dammit, Kate!" Scott exploded suddenly, shockingly, making even Gordon jump. "Just tell me how you know him!"
"He's my friend," she shot back coldly. "My friend and colleague. Now tell me what's going on or get the hell out of my office."
But Scott wasn't to be deterred. "Where is he now?"
"God you're not going to tell me, are you?" Katherine laughed sarcastically. "Who do you think you are, Scott Tracy? You think that just because we have sex every couple of months that gives you some kind of claim on me? Wake up! I'm not yours and I'm not answering any more of your damn questions. If you won't tell me what's going on then I'll make things really simple. I'll leave."
The door snapped open. Gordon considered trying to make it look as if he hadn't been eavesdropping by sidling past, but before he could do anything a woman swept out of the office.
"Kate – " Scott had followed, reaching out for her, but she stepped out of his reach. The expression on her face was a mix of hurt, humiliation and fury. Scott's outstretched arm faltered and then she was gone.
Gordon looked across at this brother and any quips, or eager questions, died on his lips. For a moment – just a moment – Scott's expression was completely open and full of all the human emotions that his brother normally fought so hard to hide. Pain, anger, longing, confusion – even fear. Then he noticed Gordon and the moment was gone; the shutters snapped back into place and Scott the Field Commander from Hell was back.
"What the hell are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to go occupy yourself? Why don't you ever listen?" Anger overflowing, Scott grabbed Gordon by his shoulders and slammed him against the wall. "Are you spying on me?"
With everything that had passed between them since Alan's accident, this was the breaking point. It was like time almost came to a standstill and Gordon saw the choices laid out before him like forks in a road. He could belt Scott in the face and between the two of them, probably do irrevocable damage to both their relationship and Cambridge University's Physics Department. Or… or he could respond to what he'd seen on Scott's face when Katherine had been leaving. He could ask the questions and listen to the answers, and actually have a conversation with his older brother for the first time in months.
Gordon wasn't a saint and the first option was tempting. So much so that his hands actually balled into fists and he shoved Scott away from him with such force that the older man stumbled backwards, releasing him. But then Gordon drew back, holding up his hands in front of his face instead of following through with a punch.
Scott stared at him incredulously. He was obviously itching for a fight and Gordon's lack of aggression had him on the back foot.
Gordon lowered his hands slowly. He was breathing hard, muscles still tense – just like Scott. In fact, his older brother still looked like he wanted to rip Gordon into a million pieces, which wasn't exactly reassuring. Gordon's hands wavered again, ready to defend his face if Scott lunged forward.
"Who is she?" Gordon asked. "To you I mean."
"None of your business," Scott growled.
"Well yeah, I guess not. But you know, you seem kinda shaken up, so I'm just wondering…"
"If you can stick your nose in?"
"If you needed to talk," Gordon said bluntly.
Scott held his gaze for several long moments. "And why would I talk to you?"
Ouch. Still, Gordon had to admit he had a good point. Scott was hardly the first person he would choose to confide in either. Especially after everything that had passed between them recently. So instead of being offended, Gordon simply crossed his arms over his chest and said nonchalantly, "Because I'm here."
Scott let out of his breath in a rush and turned away, all the fight draining out of him. There was a bench outside Katherine's office, an old-fashioned wooden one, and he slumped down onto it, resting his face in his hands. He was quiet for so long that Gordon was sure he wasn't going to answer.
"She's my girlfriend," his brother said finally, voice muffled. "And I think she might be involved in what happened to Alan."
