Hey, long time no see ... in this story anyway.
One of my friends reminded me of my new years resolution to finish all my active stories, and she suggested I work on the ones closest to being finished first. (I think she was hoping for one of my Supernatural fics, but this one has less chapters to write.)
WARNING: The following chapter contains some graphic images towards the end. Just thought I would give you a heads up.
Here ya go ...
Chapter 9
Taking a deep breath, Scott forced back his rising frustration. At least James had taken the arrival of Thunderbird Two as a cue to do a perimeter check. It was hard enough trying to convince his brothers to leave without his best friend's well meaning, but often disruptive, comments. Not that the lack of distraction had helped any when it came to persuading said brothers.
"It's not safe here," Scott said, as calmly and rationally as he could. "You need to go."
"Oh, and it's safe for you?" Gordon snorted.
"I know what I'm up against. I can handle it."
"You said goodbye, Scott," Alan argued. "You really think we're just going to ignore that?"
"Look, if I can explain later I will, but now there is no time. Please, just go home."
"To get away from what?" Virgil questioned, clearly as frustrated as his older brother. "What aren't you telling us?"
"That's the big question, isn't it?" James said casually, coming in to drop onto the couch. "Look what I found."
He held up his old tin box, before focusing on going through the contents. Typical James. Turning back to the matter at hand, Scott tried again to get him family to safety while there was still time.
"Just trust me on this," he pleaded. "I know what I'm doing."
"You know we trust you," Virgil replied, placing a hand on his older brother's shoulder, "but don't you trust us too."
"He's got a point," James murmured. "How long do you think gum is still good?"
Scott ignored the comment, locking eyes with his middle brother. He could see the concern and fear there, also a sense of betrayal. Once again he hated what this was doing to his family, but he knew that pain he was causing now was nothing compared to what they would face if one or more of them were killed at the hands of the traitor.
"I don't want to see any of you getting hurt, but you won't be safe until you go home."
"That is true. Hey look, I found my yo-yo."
"You think it would be any better for us if you got hurt?" Alan challenged.
"Especially when we can help you," Gordon added.
"Can't argue with that," James interjected, studying the photo. "I remember that shirt."
"Who's side are you on?" Scott snapped, turning on his friend.
"I'm on your side, you know that."
"Then why are you agreeing with them?"
"I said I was on your side," he shrugged, looking back at his box. "I didn't say I agreed with you."
Scott just gaped at him for a second before closing his eyes, once again trying to push back his frustration. He had been hoping that James, at the very least, would back him up in this. Someone gripped his shoulder and he looked up, thinking he would see Virgil, but came face to face with best friend.
"Saint, I know you want to protect your brothers; I do too. Heck, I'd put you on that plane with them, if I thought you would go. But like it or not, they're on your side too. Don't you think they deserve the truth?"
Though he knew James was right, Scott didn't want to accept it. He didn't want to drag his brothers into this bloodbath. Still, his friend did have a point. Looking into the determined faces of his family, he knew they weren't going anywhere. If they were going to be part of this fight, they needed to know what they were up against.
"Do you guys remember what happened when I was stationed here?"
"You mean when those people were killed?" Virgil questioned.
"That's what this is about?" Gordon inquired. "I thought they got the guy."
"So did they," James replied grimly, "but no one got the real story."
"Why not?" Alan wondered.
"Because there was a traitor," Scott explained, picking up Hatfield's notes. "The government official, sent to find out who it was, got killed before he could send out his report."
"Your brother was his contact," James interjected. "After he died, Saint had to finish what he started and find his killer."
"So you never found him?" Gordon guessed.
"No, I found him," Scott admitted.
Not wanting to see the reaction of his brothers when they found out the truth, Scott kept his eyes on the file and allowed James to take over the story. As he listen to the words he already knew, his mind went back to that dark day when he discovered the truth.
/'/'/'/'/'10 YEARS AGO'\'\'\'\'\
Scott was halfway through searching the ceiling tiles when he heard James cry out in triumph. Looking over he saw his friend pulling a file out of the wall, a discarded baseboard laying on the floor nearby.
"Does it say who it is?" Scott asked, peering over James' shoulder.
"Keep your shirt on," he muttered, flipping through the crisp white pages. "Ah, here's a list."
Scott scanned down to the circled name and felt his blood run cold. No, it couldn't be. It just couldn't be him. How could he be the traitor?
"I can't believe it," James muttered, cursing under his breath as he snapped the file closed. "You know what we have to do now, don't you?"
Scott nodded, wishing he would wake up from this nightmare. Still, he couldn't deny the proof. Taking the file from James, he solemnly followed him down the hall toward Col Stevenson's office. How could he be the traitor? He was pulled from his thoughts when James cried out in anguish. Scott looked down and took in the horror that lay before him. On the floor of his commander's office knelt James, the lifeless body of Col Stevenson cradled in his arms. Blood covered his chest from a deep gash in his neck, and his empty eyes looked sightlessly at the ceiling. They were too late.
"Dear God," Scott breathed, not knowing how he found his voice.
Movement at the edge of his vision snapped his attention to the corner and the eldest Tracy brother found himself looking straight at the man on the list. The murderer and traitor himself, a bloody knife still clutched in his hand, stared back with eyes as cold as ice.
"East, what have you done?"
Anyone think it was him?
Let me know what you think. Meanwhile I'll try to get the next one up, at latest, Monday. (Sooner if asked.)
