TEN
"Go ahead, England." Jeff reached for the desk controls. "Sorry, Penny, I know you wanted to talk to me but I've been waiting for calls and I didn't want to jam up the air waves."
"I take it you're alone now?" Penelope's softer tones floated through the Tracy Villa.
"I am, yes," Jeff confirmed. "What is it?"
"I believe there may be something fishy going on here, Jeff. I've been thinking about the WSC…"
"Me too," he interrupted.
"It doesn't add up," Penelope pointed out. "The WSC has gone to great lengths to legitimately hold Kasim Tamplar in custody, so I'm surprised they would collaboratively agree to letting him go again. He has proven himself to be a difficult man to hunt down; the risk of losing him, coupled with the risk to the public is just far too great for any organisation to carry. In addition to all this, Kasim Tamplar was due to be tried at the International Criminal Court; hailed as one of their great successes. It would have been a landmark case, setting precedent for future acts of terrorism." She paused for gravitas. "There would have been unfathomable political implications. This was an ideal opportunity for the WSC to show the world that International Terrorists could be brought to justice and successfully held accountable for their crimes. Letting Kasim Tamplar go, even as an Intelligence asset under close surveillance; is a risky move to make. I just can't believe that the WSC could meet a conclusion whereby every country representative could believe that was proportionate and justified in their own respective legal systems."
"I agree. I got the impression you were sceptical too." Jeff explained further. "John raised a few points about how the World Security Council came to agree on this action without descending into a power struggle amongst the member-countries."
"Precisely. All the intelligence we have is from third party sources, none of it we can corroborate and we have nothing direct from any of my sources at the Council. I'm inclined to believe there's a reason for that, Jeff." Penelope looked uncomfortable with the situation. "Lady Catherine Allgaurd is the legal advisor to the Elected Representative from Westminster. I have tea with her on the third Monday of the month, which happened to be last Monday. She mentioned nothing of this ploy. I find it highly irregular that she would be a part of it, knowing she is a woman of integrity, but even more anomalous is the fact that she never knows when to keep her opinions to herself." The more Penelope went on, the more it appeared she had convinced herself and was gathering impetus. "It's improbable that she would be ignorant of such an operation and I find it highly unlikely that she would fail to mention it to me, particularly when she takes so much glee in reminding me of the career I turned my back on. Therefore, the only conclusion is that she didn't know about it."
"Maybe she didn't. Maybe your sources aren't as good as they used to be, Penny." He attempted to soften the blow. "That's not a reflection on you."
"I'm afraid that's exactly what it is, Jeff." Penelope refuted the rebuke with her usual grace. "I can tell you what most world leaders had for breakfast this morning. The information flow is still there and still accurate. My source network is working. That is not the problem."
"Then what are you saying? That this Lady Catherine's not as irritating as you first thought?" If it weren't for the seriousness of the situation, Jeff thought he would actually find the idea of someone rubbing Penelope up the wrong way a little amusing.
"I fear we may be being led up the garden path," Penelope declared. "It's not just Lady Catherine. We have an agent who handles the physical security of the WSC in Luxembourg. I have sources in all the most prominent International Intelligence Organisations and several at and around the WSC. I haven't heard a sniff of this. It's most irregular. My sources are usually pre-emptive and exceptionally good. There is more to this than meets the eye, Jeff."
"Hmm, the CIA has been mentioned," Jeff rubbed pensively at his chin, deep in thought. When his eyes met Penelope's again, they glinted with familiar shrewdness; the shrewdness that had made him a very wealthy man. "My government? Or, yours?"
"I'm not sure," Penelope was equally as perceptive. "Possibly both."
XxxxX
"I think…. I think I'm hit."
Scott moved forward at the same time Virgil's legs crumpled and he began to slide towards the floor. The shackle at his ankle hindered him at first, and it took several good tugs before it pinged open. By the time he'd made it across the room to his brother, Virgil was slumped half way down the wall.
"It's okay," he consoled, for his benefit as much as Virgil's. "I've got you." He moved to take Virgil's weight, grasping his arms. "Lie down, take it easy."
"Wait!" the Colonel ordered.
Scott did as he was told; he froze.
She manoeuvred her way around him, dropping to her knees to push away the upper half of Virgil's clothing. Her hands skimmed over him, covering every inch with a practiced ease. Finally, she looked over at Scott, all business and no animosity. She shook her head. There was no exit wound.
Virgil's breath came in hot gasps against Scott's ear as he resumed lowering him gently down towards the floor. His eyes roved towards the damage, but the Colonel's hands were already pulling Virgil's away.
"Let me see," she was demanding.
"Deep breaths, Virg," Scott remained in his brother's line of sight, hoping to distract him from the pain and focus him. "You're doing great."
Scott was just in time to see the Colonel pull Virgil's bloodied hands away to examine the wound. Far too quickly, she was pushing them back again, now with the added force of her own.
Virgil groaned and rolled his head away.
"Talk to me, Virg," Scott insisted.
"M'o… M'okay ..Feels…s'burnin'," Virgil stuttered out.
"It's the combination of the bullet and the blood." The Colonel glanced towards the door a little ominously. "The residual heat of the bullet is higher than body temperature so when it enters the body it's often described as a warm sensation, concurrently blood leaves the body and cools in the air." She met Scott's horrified gaze. Virgil lay between them looking equally disturbed. Reaching over, she grasped Scott's hand and pushed it hard against the wound, releasing her own. "Keep the pressure on." Then she stood, wiped her hands on her trousers and turned away from them.
"What are you doing?" Scott demanded, incredulous.
"Any minute now this place is going to be crawling with guards. With all that gunfire, I'm surprised they're not in here already!"
Scott couldn't care less. His full attention was on his injured brother.
"S'bad?" Virgil mumbled. "How bad?"
"No," Scott reassured him. "It's going to be okay." But he sent the Colonel a pointed look.
The Colonel got the message. "Aban never could shoot straight," she shrugged as she knelt next to Aban's body and began searching with the same efficiency she'd showed earlier; rummaging through his pockets, glancing briefly through a wallet and pocketing paperwork. "It's just a scratch," she lied, raising an amused eyebrow at a flick-knife she'd found and concealing it at her ankle.
"Doesn't feel… like a …. scratch." The fact that Virgil was now forming sentences was reassuring for Scott. He opened his mouth to reply but the sound of footsteps outside the cell diverted his attention.
"Someone's coming!" The Colonel took a step back, sending Scott's discarded ankle chain skidding across the floor. "Be quiet!"
She then proceeded to aim her weapon directly at them.
There was no time to query her as the door burst open and Kasim bustled in, weapon at the ready.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Aban was in here when I returned from my Interrogation," the Colonel lied smoothly. "He was a traitor to you, Kasim. He was attempting to free them. I had no choice; I killed him."
Kasim's calculating gaze went from Aban's body to where Scott's hands still tried to stem the blood from Virgil's gut. "And him?"
"He tried to escape."
For a second it looked like Kasim might question her further and Scott's breath hitched, muscles tensed in anticipation.
"This could work in our favour, Kasim." The Colonel was changing tack. "His injuries will act as leverage."
Kasim's eyes narrowed and he scrutinised her enough to make Scott think he may not believe a word she'd just said. The pregnant pause seemed to go on for an eternity but then he nodded slowly in agreement.
"This is good," he agreed, stroking his beard a few times, lip curling to reveal tobacco-stained teeth. "You have 24 hours," he told the Colonel. His lips widened further into a sardonic grin as he stalked from the room.
Kasim could be heard shouting in a foreign language outside and before long two guards entered, hauled Aban's body to the door and manhandled the corpse outside.
Once the door slammed closed a second time, Scott sagged in relief, aware that the Colonel's shoulders had also dropped with a similar sentiment and that she was placing the weapon back at her thigh.
"That was close," she breathed out.
Scott realised his discarded weapon was still close to Virgil's thigh. Thank god Kasim hadn't noticed. "Yeah…" he trailed off when he realised she was walking away from them, towards the door. "Where are you going?"
When she blatantly ignored him, he pushed Virgil's hand against the wound, encouraging him to keep it there and stood, hastily crossing the cell to cut her off.
"You have to get us out of here." His demand clashed with the slap of soft flesh on hard surface as he slammed his hand against the door. Leaving behind a handprint in Virgil's blood.
"Five minutes ago, you seemed to think you could handle that yourself."
"And you said we had to trust you. Now, I'm trusting you."
"No, now you've realised I was right. Trust would have been dropping the weapon you were waving in my face."
"Fine!" Scott exclaimed. "What do you want me to say? That it was a stupid thing to do? It's not even important anymore. This changes everything."
"It changes nothing." She glared at him for a moment, cold and indifferent. "I can't jeopardise a three year operation for the sake of one man. We're lucky Kasim isn't changing the guard detail. Stick to the plan." She glanced at her watch. "In eight hours…"
"Eight hours!" Scott spat, his voice tinged with gut wrenching fear. He saw the Colonel look to Virgil, and adopted a quieter tone but no less urgent. "We both know he hasn't got eight hours."
"It's a low velocity wound, I could feel the bullet; it's not that deep. If it had hit anything major he'd have bled to death by now. It's probably plugging the damage. With a bit of luck the bleeding will stop…"
"A bit of luck!" Scott hissed out.
"It's a slow bleed," she re-iterated, ignoring his outburst.
"Not that slow. We need to move sooner."
"We can't." the Colonel stressed. "I've told you, the extraction must be at 2200 to ensure both sets of guards…"
"Screw your plan!" Scott fumed. "He's going to bleed to death!"
"My hands are tied. I suggest you concentrate your efforts on making him as comfortable as you can. If there was something more I could do, I would."
"If this is because of me …" Scott could hear the desperation is own voice. Normally he would've hated it but right now, he didn't care what he had to do to save Virgil's life. "...punish me but don't let him suffer."
"It's not you," she assured him. "You were right. I should have expected you to disregard the risk and make some kind of stupid attempt to escape even though it was blatantly obvious you'd never succeed."
A few moments of silence passed.
Scott broke it. "Okay, listen." He swallowed, attempting a different approach. "Your cover's blown now. If Aban worked it out, it won't be long before Templar realises too. That's if he hasn't told him already."
"I can pull it back," The Colonel assured him with confidence. "I only have to hold out another eight hours." Before Scott could state his case, she lowered her voice to explain further. "I'm not here to help you, that's an added bonus. I have a job to do, a job I can't compromise for the sake of one man. The success of this operation could save thousands of lives."
"So could he!" He whispered back.
"You know what…"
"Look, I'll do whatever it takes." Scott realised he was running out of options. "You know I will. He doesn't deserve to die like this."
"It's very unfortunate."
"Unfortunate!"
The situation took a further slip out of Scott's control when she pulled open the door, despite his hand resting against it.
"Your brother needs you," she said. "Go to him."
The door shut with less force than normal and Scott leant his forehead against the cool metal as it was bolted in to place on the other side.
He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Found a neutral expression; Virgil didn't need to know the truth of the matter.
"Virg?" He moved to kneel close by his brother. "We're going to get you out of here."
XxxX
There had been many times over the last eight years when Jeff Tracy had found himself alone, questioning what kind of undue influence he'd had on his sons' decisions to take an idea like International Rescue forward. Never more so than now.
Virgil and John, as expected, had clearly been uncomfortable with the idea of war from the outset. Jeff had made the ultimate decision to carry on operations until such a time as they all agreed on a course of action, hoping to give his sons time to come around, in the hope they would accept it and International Rescue would continue. Now, Jeff was wondering if he should have taken heed of the points John and Virgil had raised.
In short, he blamed himself.
"Coffee, Mr Tracy?" Tin-Tin was suddenly at his side as if she'd materialised out of thin air.
He found himself staring at her in surprise.
"Father sent these coconut cakes too." She either hadn't noticed his reaction or had chosen to ignore it. "He knows they're your favourite." She laid out the coffee and the plate on his desk. All of a sudden, she looked at him seriously. "You must keep your strength up, for Scott and Virgil."
Jeff doubted she meant the cake and as she headed back towards the kitchen, he realised Tin-Tin had learned a lot about the Tracy men under his mother's tutelage. Half-heartedly he reached for the mug of coffee. He couldn't stomach the cake; the churning nausea telling him that there was a fair chance he'd see it again if he tried.
The mug was already halfway back to his desk in unrestrained disgust, when John's portrait began to flash.
"Base, Base from Thunderbird Five."
John's voice; Jeff knew immediately from just the tone that something was wrong.
"Go ahead, Thunderbird Five. Reading you five by five." His eyes travelled over his son's appearance, gleaning whatever he could from every tired, nervous muscle.
"I've had an update from the woman." John was clearly apprehensive.
"What is it, John?" Jeff gulped, John's anxieties feeding his own.
"She's now requested medical assistance at the RV."
Jeff's heart plummeted. That had been the only saving grace so far, a beacon of hope in the dark reality to cling on to. Suddenly extinguished.
"Scott or Virgil?" Jeff pulled his lips together to graze with his teeth. "How bad?" He was firing out questions as they fought their way into his conscience from the muddled terror that had become his thoughts. "Are they moving sooner? When's she going to have them out? Do they need a trauma centre?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?" Jeff realised as soon as the snapped words left his mouth, he was taking his frustrations out on the wrong person. He held a shaky hand up. "I'm sorry, John," he reigned it back. "I'm sorry."
"I don't know any more," John continued, professional to the last. "She requested medical assistance at the rendezvous. I tried to question her but she disconnected. She didn't say who was hurt or how bad."
Jeff let out a deep controlled breath. "Okay," he tried to calm himself. "Okay," he repeated. "Where's the nearest Emergency Centre?"
John was already reading information off screens. "The nearest would be in Yemen or Oman, but neither are equipped to deal with major trauma. We have more equipment in Thunderbird Two's Infirmary." He glanced away from the screen and then back again. "We don't have medically trained agents in Yemen or Oman…"
Jeff was nodding, taking this information in and starting to take notes.
"But… I've done a quick check and I've found one of agents who might be able to offer some support; Thomas Jackson, Dr Thomas Jackson. He was our Victorian representative in Australia but he took a six month sabbatical to be part of an Aid Mission in Somalia. He's still got a communications kit and he's probably the closest." John was reading as he was talking. "Aside from that, I guess the next nearest would be southern Europe."
"What about Military air bases? There must be something closer than Europe."
"There is," John nodded, "But they're all WSC Bases and if they're not willing to offer us any assistance…"
"Leave that with me, John," Jeff's tone was suddenly hard. "Get on to Dr Jackson and see if he's willing to assist. Did the woman say anything about the time frame?"
"No, I'm assuming whatever the injuries are, they can't be that serious. Otherwise, they'd have to change the plan and bring it forward."
"They're serious enough to request medical assistance," Jeff said flatly. "If Dr Jackson's willing to assist, make arrangements to get him to Tehbna."
"FAB," John replied. "Thunderbird Five, Out."
John's image winked away and Jeff was left alone at his desk once more. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognised that the call he was about to make had the potential to make a lot of enemies for International Rescue.
"Brains," he used the in-house intercom. "Can you get me a secure line in to the World Security Council Defence Chamber?"
"That would in-involve bypassing, ah, n-normal procedures, Mr T-Tracy," Brains stuttered back. "We'd need to err, hack in via, ah, Th-Thunderbird Five's systems to, ah, en-ensure our an-an-anonymity."
"I'm aware of that." An ice cold tone that told of his resolve. "Can you do it?"
There was hesitation.
"Yes, sir."
XxxX
Virgil gritted his teeth and held back a breath to prevent himself whimpering as Scott withdrew the torn strip of shirt they were now using to stem the bleeding. Designed to be stain and water resistant, even that was soaked right through. Blood always looked worse than it was Scott told himself.
"How s'it lookin'?" Virgil ground out, straining to raise his head to see for himself.
Scott moved a hand to his brother's shoulder, firmly pushing Virgil down. "Lie still." He couldn't hide his dismay as the wound still oozed, blood slipping through his fingers along with Virgil's chances of survival.
"Still bleeding?" Virgil's voice was a mere whisper.
"No," Scott swallowed and avoided eye contact.
"Liar," Virgil's accusation held no malice but it cleared up any confusion that his brother didn't fully understand the severity of the situation.
Scott turned his head away for a moment to compose himself. "Just a little," he said when he turned back.
"You don't have to do that," Virgil spoke softly. "I've had too many close…" he breathed in a haggard breath and then tried to let it out slowly, "calls to be afraid of dying, Scott."
"I meant what I said. I'm going to get you out of here."
"Don't make promises …. you can't keep. We both know … you'll beat yourself up about it … later."
Scott was silent, unable to deny it.
Virgil attempted to move to make himself more comfortable and then groaned as the hole in his abdomen protested.
"Don't move," Scott reprimanded as he moved a hand to re-apply pressure against Virgil's chest.
"So, distract me," Virgil screwed his face up against the pain. "Tell me…" he gasped, "…the plan."
Scott settled down alongside him, leaning against the wall. "She says that we need to blow the doors at ten o'clock. That's when the guard changes." It was the most prominent thing in his mind. "I say we need to move sooner."
"Doors?" Virgil queried.
Scott was confused. Then he realised that in he'd become preoccupied with his frustration, and as a result, he hadn't exactly been clear.
"That one," he pointed to the cell door. "It's wired. She's going to blow it at 2200 when the guard changes to make sure it takes out both sets. After that, the whole place is going to blow bit by bit. We'll have approximately ten minutes to get out. She's going to pass us a map and some keys to a truck. Or, at least she was before I waved a gun in her face." He let his head fall backwards against the wall with a thud and rubbed hard at his sore eyes.
"You did what… you thought was … best." Virgil, even hurt, was trying to console him.
"She was right." The unspoken, 'and I didn't even realise you were hurt' hung in the air. "I wasn't thinking straight. This is so screwed up, I just ... All I could think about was getting out of here. Getting us both out of here." He swallowed hard. "I lost it and if she doesn't come back, it's on me, Virg."
"She will." Virgil the ever-faithful.
"I'll never forgive myself."
"What did … she do to you?" Virgil breathed. "You're o… okay, right?"
Scott was incredulous. Virgil's life was slowly slipping away and he was worried about him?
"I'm fine," he said. "She didn't do anything." Virgil didn't need the extra worry right now.
"Is this … part of … her mission," Virgil took another shallow breath, "Do you … think? Faking…. It?"
Scott tried to ignore his brother's breathing, reminded too many of times of rescue victims whose breath had come in those rapid, harsh gasps, right before it hadn't come at all. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't care so long as she sticks to her stupid plan to gets us both the hell out of here."
Virgil didn't comment for a full five minutes.
"Scott?" He finally summoned up the energy. "It's going to take me…. ten minutes to …. get to that door. Let alone … out of here."
Scott dismissed him. "I'll help you."
It was a tone Virgil had heard throughout his whole life, inherited from their father; one not to be questioned.
"Scott…"
"I'll damn well carry you if I have to," Scott spoke over him.
"Scott…."
"Don't say it. Don't you dare say it."
"Scott," Virgil reached a hand to touch Scott's forearm and then gave as much of a squeeze as he could. "Please be reasonable."
Scot shook his head.
"I can't do it, Virg, so please don't ask me. You know I'd never leave you."
Virgil gave him a look that told him, had their situations been reversed, his response would be exactly the same.
"Dad's probably having…" Virgil shivered again, more audible this time, "…a nervous breakdown by now. He won't … cope if … we both die."
"Stop it, Virgil; no-one's going to die."
They'd come full circle now and Scott's resolution remained just as strong.
Virgil allowed his eyes to close, initially in resignation but there was more than a touch of fatigue there too.
Another shiver ran through him.
Scott's jaw muscles twitched with the effort it was taking not to take his frustration out on the wall as he witnessed it. Virgil had medical training too and it angered him that his brother didn't have the benefit of blissful ignorance. He knew what was coming. Worse still… he was accepting it.
"Must … be… one hell… of a… scratch," Virgil's chest shuddered and Scott wasn't sure if it was a shiver, a breath or a chuckle.
Scott supposed he should take some comfort from the fact that Virgil still appeared to be compos mentis but on reflection, he realised this was probably the most effective form of torture they'd experienced yet.
"You sure…. You're …. okay?"
Virgil pulled him from his thoughts. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore his brother's haggard breathing.
"I'm fine." He found the courage. "It's just this desert air. I'm thinking I'm going to steer clear of the desert after all this. First I get shot down, then Brains gets buried neck down in the sand, and now this." He tried to laugh at himself.
It rang hollow.
"Good," Virgil's eyes had slipped closed again but he pried them open. "'Cos' … you c'n't…. carry … me out…of here, if you're…. hurt …. too."
Suddenly Scott found himself looking into his brother's brown eyes, with the crystal clarity that neither of them was fooling the other any longer. If he wanted to believe he was going to get them both out of this hellhole, if it helped him to accept what was happening, Virgil was prepared to let him believe it.
It no longer mattered.
By the time the clock ticked around to 2200, Virgil would be dead.