In Too Deep – Chapter Nine

Manoeuvring Thunderbird One into the barn hadn't been an easy task but it was necessary to prevent their security being compromised. Task complete, as Scott readied himself to leave, he reasoned that they had little choice but to go it alone on this one. The fact that the police weren't suspicious that Dr Hunt had turned up at a hospital, seriously injured, was perhaps evidence enough that there was a higher force at work. Though International Rescue was an apolitical organisation, they could only operate that way whilst the powers of the world allowed them to. Making an enemy of the British Government was the last thing they wanted and Scott could say with certainty that the Government wouldn't want to draw attention to one of their more controversial projects, either.

Besides that, Scott didn't like the idea of hacking through copious amounts of red tape, which was sure to happen if they involved the authorities. The operation to get Virgil back safely had to be done subtly. As he looked around him, he realised that there was nothing subtle about the one hundred and forty tons that made up Thunderbird One.

Moving to the exit hatch, Scott's mind was filled with possible strategies. These prisoners had proved that they were beyond reason, now was the time for action. An ambush would put Virgil at too great a risk, a trap would take too long to facilitate, but he couldn't just sit back and wait for them to make a mistake. He just couldn't.

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Five, God, Scott," John's call prevented him from leaving the cockpit. His blond brother's voice was filled with alarm, bordering on panic. Scott frowned and moved towards the radio but it appeared John wasn't intending to wait for a response. "It's the jet," he continued, aghast, "the hydraulics on the landing gear have failed."

Scott chose that point to intervene, "It doesn't matter; there should be a back up system, it just means the gear will freefall into position and ..."

"Scott, it's too late," John stopped him with a shake of the head. "Virgil's ETD signal has been jumping about all over the place. Whoever's flying that plane was barely in control of it before. The pilot panicked," John stalled, the news he was about to deliver would not be welcome and he knew it only too well. "He lost control."

"What?" Scott replied, the frown on his face deepening in a gesture of concern. "What do you mean he lost control?" he exclaimed. "Where are they?"

"They were almost at Ferryhill when the pilot realized what was wrong, he panicked and lost control of the jet." John was reluctant to go on when he saw the expression on Scott's face but pushed forward, "From what I can make out, he attempted a crash landing on the air strip at Ferryhill. I've lost the radio feed," he met Scott's ice cold glare, unenthusiastic to see his brother's anger, "but it didn't sound good."

Scott clamped his jaw closed in a desperate bid to stop himself from screaming at the frustration he felt. "Okay, John," he swallowed hard, "so, they're at Ferryhill now? What speed were they registering when they hit the ground?"

John spared him the details but gulped, "Too fast."

"All right, I'm heading to Ferryhill now…" Scott reached forward to the screen, as if to disconnect the call.

"Wait!" John stopped Scott in his tracks. "He's moving! Virgil's moving." There was a pause as John concentrated on the screens in front of him and interpreted the information they were telling him. "His ETD signal is moving away from the jet."

Scott allowed himself to release a long breath, "Thank God. Okay, keep an eye on his signal."

John smiled in relief, "FAB," he breathed. He turned his attention back to his screen and left Scott to continue on his journey to meet Penelope.

Things were going from bad to worse.

XxxxX

There was an eerie silence as the dust settled. Hydraulic fluid hissed and metal creaked as if it might collapse at any moment. The sudden silence against the panicked chaos moments earlier was uncanny. Virgil blinked his eyes open and groaned at the pain emanating from every part of his body. He waited for survival training to kick in. He was a pilot. He was trained for this. But as smoke began to roll towards him in waves, he realised that survival wasn't going to be some spontaneous or automated reaction that his body would just obey.

He had to work for it.

Coughing against the dry smoke that was hindering his breathing, he rolled his head to one side taking in the damage. He was laid on his front but he became confused when he tried to focus on a nearby object, it wasn't the floor he was lying on. Looking around, he realised that the jet had somehow twisted and was almost on its side, in a precarious position.

Deciding that the smoke was becoming too dense to see through and that getting out might be a wise move, Virgil tried to push himself up. His chest heaved as he attempted to take his own weight and his whole body protested. He began to shake with violent tremors. It felt like his muscles were exploding from the white hot agony that rushed through him. Failing miserably in his plight, he sank back down on the floor with a grunt. It was at that point that his muddled consciousness realised there had to be a reason as to why he couldn't move. It wasn't the blood soaking through the dressings with sluggish certitude, either.

He realised with horror that there was something heavy across his back.

Chest muscles erupted in fiery agony by means of protest again, as he twisted to see the obstruction across his bottom half.

The cockpit door.

The last thing Virgil remembered it was swinging from its hinges but it must have come loose, and he was in no condition to remove it. It wasn't that the door was that heavy. Normally, he could have lifted it with ease but not today. Virgil wasn't sure whether it was dehydration or blood loss that was making him feel so weak or even if maybe his adrenaline supply was finally drying up. Either way, the remaining energy he had was departing him, leaving him with little hope of escape.

A scrambling noise close by brought Virgil's head up. In the dense smoke, he couldn't see but he could hope. "Luke?" he coughed as the smoke tickled the back of his throat. Squinting to be sure, Virgil saw a blurred figure in the haze. It stepped closer but Virgil was horrified to discover that it wasn't Luke at all.

"Well, well, well," Jake gloated as he loomed over his trapped prey. Virgil noticed that the blood stained yellow sash which the predator breathed into was the very same one that he'd been wearing that morning. Or should that be yesterday morning? He wasn't sure, it seemed this nightmare had been going on forever. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Looks like its all come right after all," Jake offered him a smug grin that only succeeded in him renewing his effort to move the door that was pinning him down. "Surely it's not too heavy for you, is it?" Jake crowed, "How pathetic!" he grinned. "And what a shame, you being such a hero and everything. What a way to die, eh? Pinned down by a door I could lift with one hand," he laughed with gusto, "there's irony in that."

He stepped forward and knelt alongside Virgil, who had exhausted himself in his struggle for freedom. Jake reached a hand forward and clasped Virgil's jaw, yanking his head so as he was looking directly at his captor. "Nobody," Jake squeezed Virgil's cheeks with his fingers for effect, "Nobody…" he growled, "crosses me and gets away with it." Mouth clamped shut, Virgil could only breathe through his nose, his chest shuddering from the lack of air. After a menacing stare, Jake let go and Virgil's head hit the floor once more.

Gasping for breath, the anger in him surged like a tidal wave and, fist poised, Virgil lunged forward as far as he could. A tingling fire began to spread from his knuckles to the bottom of his spine but he wasn't entirely sure whether he had connected with anything. He grunted as every muscle in his body objected to the sudden movement and pain surged up inside him. It wasn't until Jake's boot pushed his head against the floor that he realised his attack had not only been futile but also feeble, given his current condition.

Realisation hit him that this could be the end. It was far from the hero's death he'd imagined. It was wretched and pitiable. He bit his lip in order to prevent giving Jake the satisfaction of seeing him whimpering on the floor like a trapped animal.

"You know," Jake laughed again, "I'd be angry," he admitted before his grin became sinister, "if it weren't for the fact you're going to die."

"No one's going to die," a voice coughed from behind them both as Luke appeared from the smoke.

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief but Jake just made his way to the exit hatch, ignoring his companion in a selfish bid for freedom. Luke's head turned to follow Jake but he frowned in confusion at the older man's behaviour and knelt by Virgil. "Get this thing off me, Luke," Virgil panted, he would have tried again to push the door back but his energy was long gone. Now, he could only lie on the floor asking for help.

The sound of metal scraping against metal signified that the emergency exit was being opened and the smoke began escaping into the fresh air as daylight streamed into the dark wreck. "Luke!" Jake shouted, "I'm going to hold this door open for ten more seconds."

Luke's head snapped up at the mention of his name and he looked between the open hatch, longing to escape, and Virgil, who remained pinned to the floor.

"Ten," the countdown began, "nine."

"I can help you, Luke," the words rushed from Virgil's mouth with the realisation that Luke was deliberating over his life. Virgil was well trained and he knew they hadn't jettisoned any fuel; as far as he knew, they were sitting on a time bomb. "Help me and I'll help you, I swear to you," he promised, no longer caring to hide the pleading that filled his voice. "You want to see Lisa and Ben, I can help you. I can help you but first you have to help me."

"Eight," Jake counted in the background, "seven."

Luke hesitated, still glancing between his two options in indecision. "Tell me the truth," he ordered as he bent down alongside Virgil. "Did International Rescue sabotage the jet?"

"No!" Virgil cried, screwing his face up as he realised that Luke still doubted him. "They wouldn't, Luke, I swear to you," wide brown eyes faced their only chance at freedom, focused on Luke and begged him for help without saying a word.

A few more moments of reflection passed.

"Six," Jake continued, "five."

Trusting his instinct, Luke was spurred into movement. Virgil let out a sigh of relief as his youngest captor moved down to his waist. He felt Luke take the strain of the door and for a few seconds the hard material was away from his back. He was free. But then something flickered and sizzled above them sending sparks their way. Luke panicked and in an effort to protect himself from the flames, he dropped the heavy door.

Virgil cried out as the weight hit, pinning him back down.

"Four," Jake called.

Luke threw Virgil an apologetic grimace.

"No!" Virgil shook his head, feeling the panic rise inside. "No, don't leave me here. Luke, help me! Try! Just try once more!" the words were frantic, portraying his distress, his fear, with a precision that Virgil hated himself for. He cringed inside, disgusted at the desperation he was riddled with. He didn't want to die but he was sickened by the lengths he was going to as his self control began to crumble.

Luke's pained expression moved slightly as he shook his head in another apologetic gesture. "I'm sorry," he muttered, "I … I can't. I have to get out."

Panic spreading like wild fire through every inch of him. "Trust me, Luke," Virgil pleaded, despite the shame he felt at having to. He knew his only hope of getting out of the wreckage alive was standing before him now. His fate rested solely in Luke's hands.

"Three," Jake's calls were getting quicker, "Two."

Hardening his jaw, Luke turned away and took steps through the smoke billowing from the cockpit. Virgil slumped to the floor in defeat. He could only bury his head in the crook of his arm and hope that it would be over quickly. A surge of despair rose up in him and for a few seconds he shuddered in an effort not to let it control him.

Luke neared the hatch, seeing Jake on the other side. "Jake, wait!" he cried, "Just give me five more seconds!"

Jake's expression became smug as he shrugged, "One."

The final marker.

Without any form of emotion, he swung the metal door closed in Luke's face. Luke lunged for the hatch, an angry battle cry escaping his lips but the door held firm. He was pretty sure he could hear Jake laughing on the other side, blocking the metal escape route somehow. After another try Luke's energy was fading and he took a breather. He panted to get his breath back as he scurried over to Virgil.

Head tucked into his arm, Virgil was so engrossed by his morbid thoughts that he didn't register Luke's presence until the door began to lift.

He could only offer his rescuer a grateful smile as words failed him. The relief was immediate but lasted only seconds. Soon the pain erupted from his battered body and he rolled onto one side, in agony. "We've got to get out of here," he breathed, swallowing back another cough. Now the hatch was closed again, the smoke had nowhere else to go and was becoming thicker, making it harder to breathe.

"Are you okay?" Luke frowned as he pulled Virgil to his feet. Virgil was grateful for the assistance but winced as Luke wrapped an arm around his waist. Pain shot across his lower back where the cockpit door had left an aching bruise and Virgil found himself digging his fingers into Luke's shoulder as his muscles spasmed.

"I'm fine," Virgil grunted out, biting down the fiery agony. "What about you?" he gestured to Luke's arm, where blood was beginning to trickle down the sleeve of his shirt. Luke's face was blackened and there were numerous cuts and scratches on his arms and face but he shook his head.

"It's nothing," he dismissed the injury, "just caught it on some sharp metal." Taking almost all of Virgil's weight, he led them towards the hatch. The smoke was beginning to turn from a dismal grey to a rich black and the smells it brought with it were of rubber and the vulgar, almost acidic, smell of electrics burning. It reminded Virgil of the lingering odour that hung in the air, not only for the duration of his trip back to Base in Thunderbird Two after being shot down, but also after that. It was the kind of stench, like stale cigarette smoke, that seemed to fasten itself to your hair and your clothing, and that took copious amounts of washing to remove.

Luke came to a stop and Virgil looked up, identifying their first problem. In order to make it to the hatch, first they had to climb a pile of unstable looking debris. Luke had no problems and pulled himself up onto the mass of crumpled metal but Virgil hesitated. He knew there was no way he could do it himself. Feeling useless, he could only lean against a damaged bulkhead and recoup some energy, watching in anticipation whilst Luke did all the work.

Luke, meanwhile, was pushing against the hatch once more in an effort to force it open. However, the smoke was causing him to cough and splutter, hampering his attempts at freedom. Due to the nature of the landing, the hatch was now situated almost on the ceiling and it was evident from the amount of effort it was taking to open that Jake had somehow weighted it down.

Virgil began to think ahead. Getting in touch with Thunderbird Five was their next priority but one glance at the cockpit told him that the radio would be irretrievable. The odd spark flew towards them and Virgil could already see the flames dancing closer and closer, almost like some kind of menacing threat not to even think about retrieving the radio. He looked around for some kind of extinguisher. He found the fixture but realised that the desired object had come loose in the crash.

"Come on, Luke," Virgil urged, "we don't have much time." The smoke hit the back of his throat once more and he dissolved into a coughing fit. "Hurry!" he managed to gasp out as he moved to stand on some debris. Luke paused to offer him a hand up and pulled him so as they were working side by side. Virgil began trying to push against the hatch in time with Luke but he wasn't sure whether he was providing any help or not. His body was on fire but he knew he had to keep fighting.

The battle wasn't over yet.

Despite his body begging him to stop, and continuing to torture him when he didn't, he had to push on. As he gritted his teeth and drove through the pain barriers, his effort was rewarded. The burning fire in his muscles began to fade into the background replaced with a gruff determination. A determination to survive.

A creak signified that they were making progress and one final heave later, daylight was streaming in.

All of a sudden, the fight left him and the agony rushed up to consume him like a fireball. Luke all but dragged him out onto the exterior of the jet and he collapsed in a heap, gasping for breath and no longer bothering to conceal his moans of discomfort. Luke, too, collapsed alongside him, gasping for breath as if he'd run a marathon and for a few moments they took the time to recover. Bar the hissing of air and roaring of fire at either ends of the wreckage, there was only the sound of laboured breathing from both of them. And a great sense of a relief.

Then they both turned. Something in the direction of the hatch caught their attention. A hand protruded, spread open, in an unmistakable plea for help. There was only one person who it could be and Virgil's eyes widened as he realised their dilemma. He had only just talked Luke into helping him by the skin of his teeth. Billy's influence had the potential to take him back to square one.

Luke looked at Virgil and Virgil looked at Luke. Still the hand protruded.

Virgil followed Luke's gaze as he looked from one end of the wreckage to the other. From the cockpit, the tough windows had been blown out and a dark grey smoke billowed, accompanied by the odd flame. The tail end was another story: thick, black smoke rose up from flames that flickered against the skies and stood metres tall.

"This thing's on fire!" Luke swallowed as he began shuffling his way across to Virgil and dragging him down the curve of the fuselage. "Let's go!"

"Somehow, he's still alive. We can't just leave him!" Despite everything, Virgil appealed to Luke's mercy. One look at Virgil caused a sigh to erupt from Luke. The injured pilot was right, of course, they couldn't just leave Billy to burn. Returning to the hatch Luke grasped the hand extended beyond and pulled Billy up on to the fuselage. Not intending to do anything else to aid his release, Luke turned his attention back to Virgil.

With great caution, all three slid onto the remains of a wing. Where it had almost snapped off as the jet hit the ground it now made for a perfect slide. The first thing that had gone right so far, Virgil reflected as he followed Luke down the blackened section.

Watching Luke slide down made it look easy but, for Virgil, it was far from it. The fact his shirt had been cut and torn meant that his back created friction as he let gravity pull him to the floor. There was a horrible screeching sound as his skin slid against the wing.

The journey to the ground wasn't as much of a problem, though, as the landing. His feet impacted with the ground sending shocks through his entire skeleton. He grunted as his eyes lost focus for a few seconds. He had no time to recover before Luke was pulling him to his feet.

"This thing's going to blow," Virgil muttered as Luke began dragging the battered pilot away. Billy attempted to follow but lagged behind them. Virgil hadn't even had a chance to register the fact he was on his feet, let alone what was happening, before he was being hauled in the other direction. Not that he was complaining; they needed to move fast and right now, his body wasn't about to do anything fast if left to its own devices.

Explosions sounded but Virgil didn't dare look back. From the flashes of orange light, he knew it couldn't be good. It became plain that Luke agreed with his sentiments as he picked up the pace. Taking more and more of Virgil's weight, he dragged them away from the danger.

His hand gripped harder against Virgil's bruised trunk and the jolting movement of the run was not only painful but also nauseating. Virgil didn't comment though. Unable to turn round and look, he could only hear Billy's laboured attempts to keep up with them.

The ground came up to meet him and for a moment, Virgil thought he'd stumbled, then he realised there was a pressure on his back, pushing him against the floor. They were falling, he thought, becoming confused but it was more like a dive. He saw the flash of light around them, like some kind of orange fireball they were in the middle of, before Luke's hand pushed his head against the rough concrete with firm force. There were a few seconds of strange silence and then a thunder-like rumble erupted from behind him, transforming into a loud explosion. As it grew with power, it became so loud that Virgil wondered if his head was imploding.

As he brought an arm up to protect his face, and hunkered down next to Luke as close to the ground as possible, he felt the heat roll across his bare back like the sea lapping at the sand in a never-ending cycle.

Virgil closed his eyes, sure that he was melting under the intensity of the heat. Then, as he was pelted with white hot rubble, he slipped into a world where this nightmare was well and truly over.

XxxxX

Having borrowed a vehicle from the agent who was keeping an eye on Thunderbird One, Scott was travelling and thinking so fast that it took a while for him to register the bleeping that was coming from his watch. Shaking himself away from the dark places his thoughts were taking him, he concentrated on the face of the time keeping device for a few minutes. Opening a channel, he looked back to the road.

"Scott here," he sighed. Despite his best intentions, he couldn't help but sound a little aggravated at the helplessness he felt.

"Scott, I've got an update for you," John's voice came through the speakers. He took a guess as to why Scott's live feed hadn't appeared on his screen and presumed he was driving.

Scott was quick to reply, eager for any news. "What is it? Is it Virgil?"

"His ETD is heading for Sedgefield Airport. I've informed Penelope and she suggests that you rendezvous with her there instead." John didn't mince his words. "Parker will meet you in the parking lot but judging your current speed and theirs you should arrive at about the same time."

"FAB, I'll adjust my route," Scott paused as he did so. "What are you thinking, John?" he asked, anxious to know what the most contemplative of his brother was considering. You could always rely on John to be calm and calculating, even in the most terrifying of situations.

"I'm thinking that Virgil's travelling too fast to be on foot," the blond astronaut replied without hesitation. Scott nodded even though his brother couldn't see the gesture. "He's got to be in a car," John assumed, "which begs the question: why is he heading for the airport?" A sigh rustled through the airwaves, illustrating John's clear reluctance. "He must be under duress, Scott," he concluded, though not at all happy about it.

"I agree," Scott's gruff tone told John that his sentiments were returned. "I'll be prepared," he added.

John frowned, not one hundred percent sure he liked the idea of Scott being 'prepared'. Remembering his father's words, he wondered just how far Scott would go for vengeance. His oldest brother wasn't a killer but his temper could be as vicious as Alan's when he allowed it to be. John had to admit that it wasn't often Scott's rage rose to the surface and it was usually with good reason. He couldn't deny his brother had good reason now.

"Have you heard anything from Base?" Scott's voice broke John's silent assessment, before he could really consider Scott's ability to remain rational when Virgil's life was at stake in a way it never had been before.

John let out a long and heavy, frustrated sigh. "Dad's worried sick. Brains and Tin-tin are looking into anything and everything they can find that's remotely related to the research center. Or why the hell the police aren't bothered that there are convicted criminals," he paused for a much needed breath, "armed convicted criminals," he emphasised, "running round the country." John realised that he was ranting and shook his head to himself, "Before you ask, no they haven't found anything yet but I'll keep you informed. And then to top everything off, Grandma's been on the line."

"Ouch," Scott didn't need to expand further. "Poor Father," he sighed, "I'm glad I wasn't around for that conversation."

"Between you and me, my money's on Dad sending Tin-Tin out to get her soon," John confided but Scott wasn't surprised at his estimation. Their grandmother could be very assertive when she wanted to be. A force that not even Jeff Tracy could withstand.

"Knowing Grandma, you're right," Scott allowed a grin to grace his features as he thought about just what his grandmother might have said to his father. He could guarantee one thing: it wouldn't have been pretty. "Anything from Thunderbird Two yet?"

"I contacted them to inform them about the jet and Gordon said he'd be landing in about five minutes. He's going to drop Cook off first." John's brow furrowed a little as he wondered what Scott was planning. "What do you want me to tell them?"

Unseen by John, Scott chewed on his bottom lip, "Tell them to stand by. I may need assistance."

John nodded, "Umm, okay," he spluttered out when he realised his brother couldn't see the gesture. There was something in Scott's tone that distracted him, something cold and sinister. Something that sent a chill down his spine. In the face of his brother's wrath, he began to feel sympathy for the men that, up until this moment, he had despised for their actions. "Scott, take it easy, okay?"

Scott scowled at his brother, despite the fact that John couldn't see him. "What?" he asked, knowing his brother was concerned he'd lose control of his temper, "You worried I'm going to hurt someone, Johnny?"

There was a hesitation across the airwaves that spoke volumes. "I just don't want you to do anything you're going to regret," John's hard thinking for a diplomatic response paid off. "What are you planning to do?"

"Ask no questions and be told no lies, little brother," Scott's reply was laced with menace behind the façade of a forced grin.

"Scott," John began. "Dad hasn't been off the frequency since the jet went down; he's worried sick and he wants these people to pay. But there's something going on here, something bigger. The authorities not knowing doesn't make sense, the last thing any of us needs is…"

"Don't lecture me, John!" Scott barked.

John swallowed. The dust hadn't settled from their earlier discussion and the last thing he wanted was to cause more friction. He could have retorted in a tone as vicious as Scott's, the comment was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back for the sake of keeping the peace. He heard his older brother let out a heavy sigh and awaited his response.

"I… I didn't mean to snap," Scott muttered and went on to change the subject. "Any news on Dr. Hunt, is he going to make it?" he asked, his tone now low and calm.

John accepted that the situation was getting to all of them and let out a sigh of his own, "It doesn't sound good." He paused to run a hand over his face, surprised to find his chin was a little rough. "From what I can make out, he's still in surgery but only just." The last few words came out rushed as his attention was grabbed by one of the consoles in front of him, "Give me a few minutes, Scott, I think I might have something here."

Scott tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in an outward indication of the tension he felt. He was in no mood to mess with. Anger simmered inside him and he was biding his time for the right moment to let it boil over. He was more than ready to dispense his own brand of justice to each of these so called human beings. He knew it and John knew it too. He was still in control though and aware that he was still a representative of International Rescue, something that John seemed to doubt. He was halfway between amused and insulted that John didn't trust him enough to know where the ethical line was to be drawn.

But for John, it wasn't so much Scott's ethical philosophy that was the problem, it was how Scott's emotional condition would affect it. They were all feeling the strain with the current situation and there wasn't a doubt in John's mind that Scott would be feeling the pressure the most. Virgil's safety on a rescue was his responsibility, at least that was how Scott saw it, and the guilt alone would be enough to hamper his ability to think rationally.

"I've just picked up a very interesting triple nine call," John spoke, tearing Scott away from his rhythmic tapping. Just from the rise in his tone, Scott could tell the news was good and waited for him to continue. "A carjacking in Ferryhill and you'll never guess where the tracker on the car is signalling from."

"Sedgefield," Scott nodded. "Well, at least that explains how they got the car. I'm approaching the airport now. Where's Virgil's signal?"

There was a short delay as John checked, "He's in the Airport …"

"Already?" Scott screeched, cutting his brother off mid sentence. "Damn! I'm going in."

"No, Scott!" John replied, his tone urgent and demanding attention. "Listen to me, Penelope is two minutes away, wait for her."

Scott pulled the borrowed vehicle into a bay and hurried to remove the key from the ignition as he spoke. "John, they could be getting away and they're taking Virgil with them!"

"They're not going anywhere, Scott." John reassured him, going on to explain, "There aren't any departures for another forty five minutes and according to the air traffic control there aren't any non-commercial planes there. You can't go in there alone, all three of them could be armed, not to mention that it's a public airport!"

"Yeah and they could be killing Virgil as we speak!" Scott knew his astronaut brother didn't need that reminder and regretted the words as soon as they'd left his lips.

"Just wait for Penelope, she should be there any minute," John replied as calm as he could. He hoped his soothing tone would rub off on his brother. He didn't doubt that if Scott unleashed his full anger in that airport, nothing short of an apocalypse would stop him.

Sighing, Scott sat back in his seat and raised his watch to his face, flipping on the display as he did. "What's the matter, John?" he asked with burning eyes. John took in his taut expression and his pale complexion, realising that he wasn't the only one who looked a sight. "Don't you trust me not to hurt them?"

Cool as always, John shook his head, "Ask no question and get told no lies, Scott," he grinned.

Scott bit his lips together but nodded, "Thanks for that vote of confidence." John appreciated the sarcastic comment and smiled. "I'm not the murderer here, John. You're acting like I'm some kind of maniac."

"Only because if I were in your position, I know how I'd be feeling," John admitted, fracturing Scott's irritation a little. "Penelope's on the line, she'll be with you in a few minutes, okay?"

Scott nodded, taking a few moments to calm himself. He had to admit he was a little annoyed at the unnecessary panic in John's demeanour. "I just want him back, John, that's my top priority. If I get to bust a few asses along the way then that's a bonus."

John was sympathetic to the emotional roller coaster Scott was travelling. "We all do, Scott," he muttered.

"And for the record," Scott went on, "yes, I'm angry but no, I'm not out of control."

John nodded at his brother's sincerity. "I know," he stated with conviction. "I'll talk to you later," were John's final words before the link closed down, bypassing all formal radio protocols.

In the silence that followed, Scott began thinking of the things he'd need from Penelope. They knew that Virgil was bleeding and might need urgent medical attention; they made need to take him to a hospital. In which case, they would also need to dissolve the tracker inside of him, in case it interfered with the machinery. As he began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel again, Scott looked around for any signs of the prestigious Pink Rolls Royce. It was as he looked back towards his tapping fingers that he realised he was still wearing his uniform. And if an International Rescue uniform didn't draw attention to him then nothing would. He growled to himself in frustration, wishing he'd had the foresight to change into civilian clothes.

His patience was about to run out when the sleek Rolls Royce pulled alongside him. Slowing down to a steady stop, Parker controlled the vehicle with a lot more grace than Scott had shown with his parking. Jumping out of the driver's seat of his borrowed vehicle, Scott scurried into the back of the luxurious pink car.

"Scott," Penelope smiled at him in her usual serene manner, "perfect timing, as ever. John is locating Virgil's edible transmitting device, as we speak." She turned her attention back to the monitor in front of her and from where he sat Scott could just make out his blond brother returning to the screen.

"'Ere in h'England, we park h'our ve'icles," Parker commented from the driver's seat as he looked down his nose at the car Scott had, for want of a better word, abandoned. "None h'of that dumpin' 'em, like what you Yanks do."

Scott was so taken aback at the easy banter and how calm they both seemed that he failed to retaliate with enough speed. Penelope could read his expression though and quelled the angry retort that was brewing.

"Enough, Parker," she broke from her conversation with John to intervene. "Proceed to the entrance."

"Very good, M'Lady," the chauffeur nodded from underneath his cap and went back to concentrating on his driving.

"Scott, you'll be needing some kind of disguise," Penelope continued, adopting a pensive expression as she looked around the leather interior searching for inspiration. Her gaze rested on a compartment in the back of the passenger seat. "Perfect!" she sighed as her manicured nails pressed the appropriate controls to open the box. "Borrow Parker's dress coat and shoes," gesturing to the now open compartment, she turned back to John.

Reaching forward, Scott retrieved the heavy wool coat and began to remove his sash. The full length overcoat concealed his uniform, he had to admit, but to say it was a tight fit was somewhat of an understatement. The shoes had been polished to perfection and were about two sizes too small but he attempted to force his feet in anyway.

Parker saw his plight. "H'I h'always carry h'a spare pair," he informed the struggling pilot. "In case 'er Ladyship requ'res me t' look smart."

"Really?" Scott growled, uninterested in Parker's small talk.

Penelope was unaffected by their exchange and continued her conversation with John, as collected as always, "I see, John, well we're approaching the entrance now. Parker shall drop us off, so please tell us exactly where Virgil's signal is coming from." There was a pause whilst Scott struggled to tie the laces on Parker's shoes.

Succeeding in his plight, Scott sat back with a sigh.

"I see," Penelope continued with John, completely unperturbed.

Scott looked down at himself and became self conscious. For a man who prided himself on exclusive suits and designer shoes, he looked a sorry sight. The blue of his trousers was just visible at the bottom of the coat and it was such a grossly small fit that he looked ridiculous. Still, it was better than the alternative and with a bit of luck, they would be in and out before anyone had even noticed.

He began rifling through the secret compartments in the back of the seats, searching for the dissolver he had earlier feared he might need. He sighed in frustration when he couldn't find what he wanted. "ETD dissolver, Parker?" he asked in a fluster. "Where is it?"

Parker reached forward to a small computer console on the dashboard and typed in the appropriate codes, "H'under your seat, Sir, there's h'a safety cabin't where M'Lady likes t' keep h'all 'er medical h'accessories, so t' speak."

Scott bent down and felt underneath his legs. Sure enough, under the chair there was a small latch and a touch pad that scanned his finger print. The drawer unfolded with a mechanical hiss, revealing a box full of various vials. Scott muttered to himself as he studied the labels and pulled one or two out at random. Coming to the one he wanted, he studied it for a few minutes. He grabbed a syringe from the end pocket of the drawer, before he slid it back under his seat and waited for the camouflage panel to cover it up. Drawing the contents of the vial into the syringe, he replaced the plastic cap on the end of the needle and buried it deep in Parker's coat, hoping that Virgil would be well enough not to need it just yet.

"We shall disembark over there, Parker," Penelope laid out a delicate finger pointing to the entrance. "John has managed to pin-point Virgil's location. I know precisely where he is."

Parker pulled up outside the entrance to the airport, amongst taxis and other waiting vehicles. He wasn't even stationary before both his passengers jumped out, leaving him with orders to await further instruction. He nodded his customary gesture of acceptance and slid back in his seat. Lowering his cap over his face and closing his eyes.

Penelope hurried into the airport, managing to retain some grace despite her urgency. Scott, hot on her trail, had long since passed worrying about grace and was more concerned with the suspicious glances he was receiving.

"Where to, Penny?" he asked as he hobbled along in Parker's shoes. So much for being inconspicuous. He quickened his pace to a jog as Penelope studied a map of the layout on the wall.

"This way," she called as she proceeded in one direction, managing to push herself through small crowds of people in a dignified and calm manner.

"Excuse me," Scott found himself saying as he bumped into people in his hurry. "Sorry, I…" He pushed on, keeping sight of Penelope and following at maximum speed where possible. "Excuse me," he pushed his way through with sincere apologies yet an urgent need to get to his brother.

Penelope came to a stop outside a blue door. Frowning at the sign in front of her, she hesitated and pulled out her compact. "John," she spoke in her soft tones. She attempted to be discrete whilst imitating re-applying her make-up. "I followed your instructions. Are you absolutely sure about this?"

"Yes," the blond astronaut replied. "His signal's definitely coming from in there. I've got you too, right outside," he nodded. "What's the problem?"

"Problem?" Penelope queried. "Oh, there is no problem," she assured him with a brief smile. She closed down the link just as Scott arrived, a little breathless.

"He's in there?" Scott gestured to the door she stood outside and she nodded. "Great!" he panted as he drew his gun, careful to avoid being seen. "Come on, he could be hurt!" he swallowed. Without a thought for the anxiousness he felt, he pushed the door open and then disappeared inside.

Penelope sighed as the door swung shut in her face. The metal plate was just at eye level, 'WC: Gentlemen' it read. She cringed, "Oh, the things I do for International Rescue," she muttered as she pushed the partition aside and followed Scott in.

"All right, now …" Scott was cut off as he met a most unwelcome sight. "You!" he cried. The anger in his voice was uncontained and erupted from nowhere. His eyes bulged and his outstretched arm, which carried his poised firearm, dropped in sheer surprise. He took menacing steps forward as he comprehended what his eyes were telling him. The dangerous fire behind his blue orbs only intensified. "You son of a…" Scott was quick on his feet and dived forwards, pinning the man in his sights to the wall, whilst Penelope did a quick check that the other booths were empty.

Ascertaining that they were indeed alone, she moved back to the entrance door. Satisfied to take the backseat Scott had given her, she leant back in order to prevent anyone else coming in. Watching Scott's fury erupt, she stood in silence and tried to make sense of the scene in front of her.

The only other man in the room when they'd entered had been hunched over the sink and appeared startled at Scott's intrusion. Penelope watched, unsure why Scott was so irate and confused that the figure in front of her was clearly not Virgil. She recognised the unidentified man from a mug shot in one of the files she'd perused but couldn't identify which one of Virgil's attackers he was.

Scott's pounce had taken Jake by surprise and he was too shocked to fight back as the pilot took a hold of his collar and pushed him up against the tiled wall. The force Scott used was brutal and Penelope winced as Jake's head connected with the hard wall. A deep thud echoed off the porcelain but Scott wasn't perturbed. Instead, as Jake's head rolled forward, he brought his arm up and pushed it against the villain's throat. Jake's pupils began to dilate at the firm pressure Scott was applying and he brought his hands up in an instinctive attempt to pull the obstruction away. Scott just increased the pressure, though the satisfaction he felt to see the discomfort in Jake's eyes was frightening.

"Anything?" Scott breathed through gritted teeth as he turned to face Penelope.

"Not a thing," Penelope replied, eyes wide as she continued to observe. Unsure how he planned to play this, she waited to take her cue from him.

"Where is he?" Scott's attention returned to the man that he was pinning against the wall but Penelope was reassured that his tone of voice wasn't as angry as she had anticipated.

Despite Jake's predicament, he eyed Scott with defiance, "I almost didn't recognise you," he grinned, eyes flickering with menace. He looked Scott's 'disguise' up and down, proceeding to let out a bitter laugh. "How did you know I was here?"

Scott wasn't amused. He forced Jake's head back and added a little more pressure to where his forearm rested against the criminal's windpipe. "I asked you a question," Scott growled.

When Jake didn't reply, Scott pushed harder against his trachea, hampering the thug's attempts to breathe. It wasn't until Jake began to gasp from the lack of air that Scott saw a flicker of fear on his features. Jaw hard and muscles tense, it was all Scott could do not to push a little further. He was determined though, that the fury he felt inside wouldn't control him. He wasn't prepared to give Jake that satisfaction.

Jake gargled for air and came to the realisation that the angry man in front of him was very serious. "Stop!" he gasped out. Scott's ice cold glare held no sympathy but he did loosen his hold a little. Taking a few moments to breathe again, Jake managed a sinister grin as he looked back up at the fire burning in Scott's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," he uttered, his tone as defiant as his stance.

"Enough!" Penelope commanded. Scott glared at her but obeyed the order. "My dear boy," she cooed as she stepped toward Jake, "you are treading on very thin ice. As you may or may not have comprehended we do not have time to play your silly games. At present, I am the only thing standing between you and an untimely engagement with a very angry young man. I strongly urge you to tell us everything you know."

"I'm not telling you anything!" Jake insisted, wriggling about within the confines of Scott's hold.

"Very well," Penelope nodded. She turned to Scott. "You have two minutes. Be as persuasive as you wish." Scott frowned at her. He was unsure just what she was insinuating and where she was planning to go. Hanging around outside the men's lavatory wasn't exactly standard operating procedure for an aristocrat. "I have a little errand to run," she expanded when she saw the confusion in Scott's eyes.

Scott nodded and watched her head towards the door. Her faith in his ability to keep his calm was surprising, giving John's earlier words of wisdom. Scott didn't doubt that his blond brother would have mentioned his concerns to Lady Penelope. He trusted that the 'errand' she was running was pertinent to their situation and wondered what was so urgent that it couldn't wait until after they'd dealt with this animal.

He turned his attention back to Jake, his determination not to lose control renewed.

Penelope took steps towards the door, reassured that Scott wouldn't take this too far. She understood his desire for vengeance a lot better than he gave her credit for but Scott was calm and rational. He had no problems in dealing with any situation, she reminded herself, thinking of the times he'd rescued her from perilous situations with his quick thinking and calm demeanour. Besides, she thought as she pushed the door open and stepped back into the low hubbub of the tiny airport, she had a feeling that not even Scott's fury could encourage Jake to talk and if that was the case, they'd be in need of a little assistance. She raised her compact and flipped it open, "Ah, Parker, excellent," she began, "I need you to do something for me."

Back inside, Penelope's assumptions about Jake's willingness to crumble were appearing correct. He stared at Scott, insolence sparkled in his eyes and he leant as far forward as he could.

"You think I'm scared of you?" he mocked in Scott's face, laughing at the absurdity of the suggestion.

"No?" Scott replied, his grin dropping to form a deep, menacing scowl. "Well, maybe you should be."

Penelope had reassured herself with beliefs that Scott was at all times calm and rational. However, with Virgil still missing and hurt, calm wasn't the best description of Scott's emotional state. And as Jake continued to mock him, ethical reasoning seemed to fall away leaving only anger, rage and a strong desire for retribution.