9. Going Home
Normally, journeys to somewhere you really want to go always seem to take twice as long as they should, and trips to the single place you don't want to be, over in flash. Today was no different. All John wanted was to get home; yet, it seemed to be taking forever.
Scott hadn't said a word since their father had instructed them to return to the island, and the silence had been uncomfortable and long.
As far as John could tell, or imagine, Scott was either blaming himself for not seeing the danger earlier (which was just about the most dumb-ass thing, ever) or he was unspeakably furious with their father for not allowing them to confirm the situation down in Albania.
Didn't matter which it was though; John still didn't know what to say.
Unquestionable, and just downright stubborn sometimes, Jeff Tracy had dictated that his sons were to turn Thunderbird Two around, and pilot her back to the Pacific island base, after the foreboding and threatening message from a rogue organisation had been received.
None of them were sure how real the danger was, or whether it was just a hugely elaborate ploy to make International Rescue look foolish and laughable. But it appeared (for once at least) that Jeff wasn't prepared to gamble with his boys' lives.
So, bored and with no current 'projects' to pass the time, seeing as Scott appeared to have the flying under control, John opened up a connection to the internet, routed through Five's servers. There he logged on to his personal e-mail, checking for new messages.
There were a few. One from an old… acquaintance (they'd never really been close enough for John to consider them a friend) from his NASA training days, one from a past online gamer companion of John's (from way back, when he used to play 'Knights of Thirsk' as a bored teenager) and one from Virgil.
Around him dials and instrumentation were ever changing, and little, blinking LED lights stood out against the alloy-metal sleek panels and his stony-faced brother.
Shrugging to no one in particular, John opened the mail, and scanned through it. Looked like Alan had managed to land his sorry-ass in trouble again, and Virgil was asking him to do some data mining for his disagreeable and tiresome brother. He needed some information on a 'Richard Lanning'. Easy.
Looking over to Scott, to make sure he was occupied, and his mind was elsewhere, John dived in to the streams of information in cyberspace, sifting through bogus fronts, and worming his way through supposedly 'closed-doors'.
The astronaut had two good reasons for not alerting his brother:
Firstly, not long ago John had insinuated that he'd been warned off activities like these by their father,
And secondly, Scott would want to be in on whatever was going on, and frankly John had no idea what he'd tell him.
Tracy Island, a little later;
Scott had finally filled the cold, shadowy quiet as they had neared the Island. He'd needed John to take over some of the controls to land the giant craft, and conversation had been a necessity, if not a little strained.
John had surmised that at least part of Scott's frosty poise was down to Jeff's decision to bring them home, from his older brother's snapped, fragmented exchange with said parent. Unfortunately it appeared Gordon had seen fit to make himself unavailable to run the command desk, or had been sent away, leaving the lines of communication to freeze up and ice over.
Regardless of what may have been running through Scott's head though, he still managed to touch Two down on the short, cliff-facing runway, feather-light and smooth as sea-beaten rock. A landing that Virgil couldn't have complained at, even if he wasn't going to be at all happy with the near shooting of his craft.
The disguised hangar opening, a thick metal sheet, with dark, hard, rock layered on the front, slid out of the way of the still rolling aircraft, allowing access into the cavernous area behind.
Inside, the floor was even, pale stone, and Thunderbird Two rumbled across it, velvety fluid. The walls were made from the original volcanic rock, although coated in a near mirror-like substance, to seal the surface, and resulting in the space almost appearing to continue on forever, reflecting images back and to, across the hangar.
The giant craft was guided round in an arc-ing path, to settle back facing the exit, atop the caterpillar tracks that she would re-launch from. Spotlights flickered into life, bathing the body of the magnificent beast in golden hues of light. The space, beneath the lethargic and slumbering volcano, was tremendously vast, easily housing the green leviathan, with its stubby nose, and backswept wings, still leaving room to manoeuvre her.
As the brothers onboard began shutting down systems, and completing the flight log, an access gantry extended out to meet the side of the craft, providing an exit off, and linking to the shining hull with a reverberating clang of metal on metal.
Moments before the pilots left the cockpit, the smart glass fizzed into live again, Jeff Tracy's face filling the portion of moving image. His sharp eyes looked out from the screen, his jaw set and gaze surveying the two men who had stood to leave.
"Sir?" Scott ventured, re-seating himself at the controls.
"Boys, get changed and come straight up to the study. I'd like a meeting with the both of you."
John merely nodded off to one side, drawing little attention to himself as usual, but Scott answered for the pair of them,
"Yes, sir. Not a problem."
The forced politeness was quite obvious to anyone who knew Scott much, his voice tight with withheld emotions. No matter how angry Scott might be with their father however, it wasn't enough for him to lose his manners. Yet.
"Good. I'll see you both, here, soon."
The screen dispersed out to nothingness then, clearing back into the transparent windshield. John stood where he was for a moment, waiting to see if Scott was going to say anything. He didn't, but returned to his feet, and keyed open the exit door for the cockpit. Leaving John to follow behind, he silently stalked through the passageways, and out onto the hangar walkway, before entering the main villa via a back-access door.
Twenty minutes later, found Scott and John entering Jeff Tracy's study together, through the sliding teak-panel door.
The main desk faced out into the living area, where couches and chairs were littered about, and Virgil's grand piano stood, proud. Like many of Jeff's personal areas within the villa, the surrounding space was oriental-themed, with wooden panelling and tall, arrondi pot plants.
Their father was seated as usual behind his sweeping workspace, and gestured out towards a couple of the hard-backed chairs that stood off to one side, meaning for his sons to pull them up.
They obliged, although Scott's mood soured a little more as he caught sight of his second youngest brother larking about, and relaxing in the pool with TinTin, through the sliding glass doors down to the decking. Just something else to add to the list of vexing things his father was doing at the moment.
Despite this, the brothers sat down before Jeff, presenting a completely united front. It didn't really matter all that much to John who he agreed with here, to him there were bigger problems than whether or not Scott and his father butted heads. Like whether or not that message was even genuine, for starters.
Jeff cleared his throat and straightened the edge of a few sheets of paper on his desk. An organised work area, meant an organised mind, and that meant a clear, concise presentation.
"Scott. John." His eyes roamed across his two assembled, now adult, children. "Clearly, it would be stating the obvious to say, that today's mission was unsuccessful. However, I do feel we made the right choices. You're safety is paramount, which is why I bought you home. Nevertheless, I need exact details of what happened in Europe, so that we can move on from here, and take the correct action."
John glanced sideways, towards his brother, presuming that he would, as always, take the lead. Naturally, he did.
Scott clinically, and precisely relieved the events of the day; missing out the details of John's modifications to Thunderbird Two's onboard systems, and his own fear and concern. Ending with,
"…After taking evasive action, the location of the launch site couldn't be traced. Which, is when we put a call in to base, to seek further orders."
Jeff had steepled his hands on the surface in front of him, focussing on his eldest entirely. Now he leant back in his chair, puzzled.
"Couldn't be traced? Why? Was there a problem with the system? There were no signs of that from the telemetry being received here."
Looking up from the floor, John quietly added his two cents then, seeing as it had been him, who'd managed to loose the 'enemy'.
"No, sir. The system was fine. The computer did pick up the signals from the missile launcher, but when I followed and tracked its path back down to ground level, the area was deserted. Not one of the cameras was picking up any life signs or machinery."
"Could the computers have malfunctioned?"
Scott picked up the thread again.
"I don't think so, sir. It would have been a damn, big coincidence for there to have been a defective failure of the systems, and for that message to have appeared. How could they of known we would have a problem right then?"
"So where did they go?" Head of International Rescue, and Tracy Aerospace Corporation, Jeff was wondering more aloud to himself, than anyone else, but John, who'd been thinking about this a lot (between helping other absent brothers) answered.
"They knew we were coming, right. So maybe they set-up aim, never really intending to shoot at us. Just a glancing, near miss of a blow, as a warning."
Scott caught on then, and carried on the thought.
"So they held us in their crosshairs long enough to make us worry, and take action. Then, the moment we moved off, and backed away, they left. Probably had left the motors running on their cars and everything."
John gave a small nod. Jeff, for all of that, looked grimmer. His face set in hard, craggy lines, and his brow furrowed.
"Then, it would appear, that this is a very real danger." Going with one of his trademark, lightening-rapid decisions, he continued. "John, I want you to get to work with Brains, and trace that online message. Accurate intelligence is the first step to winning a battle."
Briefly glancing up with shocking blue eyes, that were all his mother's, John nodded, and responded with a mumbled,
"Yes, sir."
"And what about me, Father?"
Jeff Tracy surveyed his eldest son, all muscled-energy, and burning passion to help.
"You can rest up, Scott. Until we know what we're dealing with, there's little we can do, other than be prepared for whatever may come our way."
It was an ending to the meeting, and all present knew it. For Scott, there were a lot of unresolved issues, like leaving those people behind in Tirana, and Gordon, and now his lack of much to do in the way of aiding the cause. He stood with John and left the study though, knowing that one day he might talk it out with his father over a glass of scotch; but that until then, he'd have to deal with it on his own.
Unknown location in Greece, after the attack;
The light from the comm. device flickered across Corbin Ricketts face, playing strange games with his facial features in the long shadows.
"They have received the message then?"
Ricketts nodded,
"Yes, sir. I believe the warning was very clear."
The distorted image of a man's face radiated contentment then, dipping its head in a slight nod of agreement.
"Good. You have done well, Dimitri. You know what to do, if they do not follow our suggestions."
"Of course, sir. You do not need to worry. I know what to do."
The connection ended then, cutting off abruptly and leaving the room in complete darkness.
But yes, Corbin Dimitri Ricketts knew exactly what must be done, if International Rescue could not adhere to the straightforward and succinct orders they'd been given.
