11: Gordon
August 15th.
Virgil placed the birthday card he'd received from Bruce Sanders on his table, before a photograph of himself and his brothers laughing together inspired him to turn on his computer. The machine quietly buzzed into life and he logged on to the home page of Team Tracy and clicked the link to the news open forum.
"Rumours abound," he read, "of the continuing rift between star rookie driver Alan Tracy and his father, the owner of Team Tracy, multi-billionaire Jefferson Tracy. Neither man is willing to confirm stories that the pair have been estranged from each other for some time…"
Virgil could confirm it. As far as he was aware no one in the family had spoken to Alan since that angry day one month ago. No one had tried to contact the young man, thinking that he needed the time and space to think.
Unfortunately, Virgil was very aware that Alan hadn't tried to contact anyone either.
His eyes fell on the birthday card again Why not? Surely today, of all days, would be a good opportunity to start mending a few bridges. He had the excuse! He also had a new cell phone and Alan wouldn't know the number.
Virgil dialled and waited, trying to decide what he was going to say.
"Hello?"
"Alan! It's Virgil! I thought I've give myself a treat for my birth…day..." Virgil's voice faded away, overtaken by the sound of the dial tone. Undaunted he dialled again.
The phone was hung up before he even heard it ring.
Refusing to be disheartened Virgil tried ringing again and got an engaged signal. Changing tack he rang Alan's home number, reasoning that would be sure to check his messages at least once today.
After three rings the answer-phone kicked in. "Hi, Alan. It's Virgil. I tried ringing you on your cell, but we were cut off. I think my new cell phone must have something wrong with it. Either that or I must have got a bad phone line. Anyway, I thought that, since it's my birthday, I'd treat myself and give you a call. I've been following you on the TV and the Internet and I wanted to congratulate you on your win. That last race of yours was a nail-biter, but you still managed to sneak through, huh? That puts you even closer to Gomez in the standings, doesn't it? One more win and you'll be in the lead, right…? Ah…." He thought frantically. "Things have been pretty quiet here. Work's carrying on as usual… A few guys are away and Butch has been seconded from Greg Harrison's team to Max Watts'. He'd only been working on his new job for ten minutes when he broke a die. Boy, the poor guy got a roasting from Watts… Ah… I haven't seen anything of Thunderbird Three come through the plant yet, but we'll be starting on Thunderbird Four next week… Gordon says he wants to paint her yellow, but I'm tempted to paint it pink with purple polka dots. Don't you think he'll hate that…? Uh… Every time I talk to John he does nothing except rave on about Toni Cullen. I'm beginning to think that he is the father but he's too scared that if he admits it Father will…" Deciding that mentioning their father's name was a bad idea, Virgil changed the subject. "Scott's desperate to test fly Thunderbird One, but the gimballed seat keeps on sticking. At this rate he's going to be piloting her lying on his back! …" Trapped in this one sided conversation, Virgil ran out of steam. "Ummm… Look… Alan… My videophone number and email address haven't changed if you feel like getting in touch. Just a hello would be great. Just to know that you're okay. But if you want to have a rant about the old man or anything you know I can keep a secret … … Please, Alan," he begged. "If you call me I'll even tell you all about Lisa being naked in my apartment! You'd be the only one who'll know the full story because I haven't told anyone else, not even Scott!" He stopped, realising that he was sounding desperate, and took a deep breath. "Please ring someone… Anyone! It doesn't have to be me… Call John. Call Grandma. Call… anyone…! Alan… I miss you… … We all miss you… We're not a complete family without you…" Feeling dissatisfied Virgil hung up the phone.
The doorbell rang.
Hoping that it was Alan planning to surprise him, Virgil rushed to the door.
"Happy birthday!"
His momentary surge of gleeful expectation deflated, Virgil sagged. "Oh… It's you." He turned away and let his guests into his apartment.
"Well a happy birthday to you too," Scott said. "What's wrong?"
"Feeling your age?" Gordon asked as he stepped into the room looking around him. "Nice place."
Virgil waited until all three brothers had entered and then shut the door. "I've been trying to phone Alan. I thought that maybe, since it's my birthday, he might at least talk to me…"
"And?" John asked.
"And he hung up on me."
"Oh."
"Three times."
"Ah." John regarded Virgil critically. "Sometimes, after you've said things you don't really mean, it's hard to find the right words to say and make them sound genuine. He's probably been busy and forgot it was your birthday. Maybe he's composing an email of apology to you now…" he gave a wry grin. "It's been known to happen before."
Virgil ran his fingernail along the top of the kitchenettes worktop. "Maybe."
"You big softy!" Gordon teased. "You pretend you're tough but in reality you're a pussycat."
Virgil, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, stuck out his chin. "Believe it or not I actually care about you guys; though I wonder why sometimes… What are you doing here anyway?"
"Duh!" Scott exclaimed. "It's your birthday and we're here to celebrate! Come on; if you like we can pick Bruce up and the five of us will hit the town. What do you say?"
Virgil had to admit that it sounded like a good idea. "I'm in! Give me a moment to ring Bruce and see if he wants to join us…" He made the appropriate arrangements with his friend and then headed for the door.
"Hang on, Virgil," John stopped him. "I've got something for you first." He pulled an untidy parcel out of his pocket and placed it on the counter. Its crumpled paper and lack of tape spoke of a hasty wrapping.
Gordon gingerly prodded the package and a corner fell open revealing a computer aided drawing on the paper. "Nice wrapping, Johnny. What did you use? Thunderbird Five's schematics?"
"Close," John grinned. "Open it, Virg." As Virgil picked up the parcel and began unwrapping, he continued gabbling. "It's something we're all going to have, but I wanted you to be the first to try it out."
Virgil held up his present. "A watch?"
"I know," John's grin had broadened, "that you've got a new one, but I'll guarantee it's not like this. Put it on," he instructed.
Virgil raised an eyebrow at his other brothers, removed his watch from his wrist and replaced it with the gift. "It's got a big face…"
"Literally," Scott said as he spread the discarded wrapper on the worktop. On it were various sketches of watches, including a reasonable facsimile of the one Virgil was now wearing. Instead of the traditional dial, or even a digital readout, the face of this watch in the picture was… a human face.
"That's a clue." If John's grin had got any wider it would have split his face in two. "Wait there. When your watch beeps press the bezel at ten and two-o-clock."
"Ten and two," Virgil repeated. "Right… Where are you going?" he asked as John headed for the door.
"Outside. Remember to push ten and two when the watch beeps."
"Ten and two. Gotcha." After he'd seen the door close behind John, Virgil turned back to his brothers. "What's he doing?"
Scott shrugged. "Beats me."
The watch beeped.
"Go on," Gordon urged. "Push ten and two!"
"If you'd given me this I'd expect it to blow up in my face," Virgil muttered. "But since it's from John…" he pressed the bezel.
John's beaming face replaced the dial. "Hi, Virgil."
"John!" Virgil held his arm so Scott and Gordon could see the dial too. "You've made a videophone watch!"
"Yep. It's not a new idea, but the challenge was to create an analogue watch that appeared to have a mechanical mechanism, but which would still work with a clear video output. This is the Mark I model, but once we've got the initial bugs ironed out it'll do more than tell the time."
"Such as?" Virgil asked.
"It'll be a thermometer, altimeter, depth gauge, music player, tracking device, compass, heart rate monitor… and anything else we can think of."
"Kind of an electronic Swiss Army knife, huh?" Gordon mused, trying to remove the watch from Virgil's arm. Virgil pulled his arm free and retightened the strap.
John, still outside, laughed. "Kind of. And once we've all got one we'll be able to be in contact with each other from anywhere and everywhere."
"Anywhere in the world?" Gordon asked.
John let himself back into the apartment. "Not at the moment," he admitted. "Only in the U.S. I'm keeping the signal out of the public network, so it's bouncing off Tracy Industries' radio masts. But once we've got Thunderbird Five operational we'll be able to communicate from anywhere on the planet to any member of International Rescue."
"Won't it be difficult to answer if your hands are full?" Scott asked.
"Nope. It's voice activated." John raised his wrist. "John calling Virgil." Virgil's watch beeped. "You'll answer by saying, 'Virgil here.' I'll set it up to recognise your voice in a minute…"
"What about our agents?" Scott asked. "I can't see Lady Penelope wearing a watch this big."
"Or this colour," Virgil added, indicating the brushed aluminium finish.
Gordon grabbed Virgil's arm again. "And Grandma won't want something this heavy."
"I'll have a chat with them and see what they suggest. Here," John reached into another pocket. "These are yours." He pulled out three more watches selecting one for Scott and another for Gordon.
Virgil picked up the remaining watch. "Three?"
"Uh… yeah… This one's Alan's," John admitted. "I was kinda hoping he'd turn up too."
"Well, the night's still young." Scott finished strapping his new timepiece onto his wrist. "Let's get these programmed and then head out. With any luck he'll be waiting when we get back." He waved his arm. "At least we won't lose each other."
After a great deal of hilarity, some good natured ribbing, and a quick lesson in the finer points of watch wearing, each brother had his timepiece set up to respond to "his master's voice"; as Gordon quipped.
Scott had another look at his new watch, saw the time, and stood. "We'd better go. Bruce'll be waiting."
"Give me a minute," Virgil suggested, "and I'll check my emails before we go…"
---I-R---
---F-A-B---
He checked them again when they returned later that evening, having dropped Bruce off at home. "Nothing." He opened up his web browser and navigated to the Team Tracy page, bringing up a photo of the start of the last race. "I see he's still wearing his helmet to the car before the start."
"Sportsman's superstition," Gordon explained.
Virgil looked at him. "Huh?"
"When you get to the top level of your sport you tend to get a bit paranoid," Gordon told him. "And you start thinking that if you did something this time and you won, then you'd better do it before the next competition to ensure that you keep winning. You don't want to change that winning formula."
John stared at him. "You're kidding?"
"Nope. I'll guarantee that a large percentage of high performance athletes have their own little rituals and woe-betide anyone who breaks that ritual."
"Did you have any little rituals?" John asked.
"Yep." Gordon started ferreting about in his trouser pocket. He pulled out a small drawstring bag. "After I'd won my first inter-state meet, I found this in my left shoe." He tipped a small piece of green plastic, roughly in the shape of a four-leaf clover, onto his palm. "I've no idea how it got there, but ever since, every time I've competed, the last thing I've done before I've left the changing rooms for the pool, is put this bit of plastic into my left shoe."
"You're pulling our legs, Gordon," Scott scoffed.
"Yeah," John smirked. "The left one."
"I'm serious!" Gordon insisted. "Remember how I nearly wiped out in my Olympic semi? Before that race I'd lost my lucky charm. I was frantic, looking everywhere for it, but couldn't find it anywhere. In the end I had to race knowing that it wasn't where it should be. Which…" he mused, "is probably the reason why I swam so badly. My mind hadn't been focussed on the race."
"And you found it after the semi?" Virgil asked.
"Yep. It'd slipped inside the lining of my swim bag. Straight after I found it I went down to the nearest gift shop and bought this little bag so I'd always know where my lucky charm was. Knowing that it was in my left shoe as I stepped up to the blocks for the final gave me that extra confidence I needed to win. I'll be the first to admit that it's all psychological," Gordon grinned, "but when you're about to swim the race of your life, you need every bit of confidence you can get."
"So you think that's why Alan's still wearing his helmet when he walks out to the car?" Scott asked, looking over Virgil's shoulder at the computer screen. "He said it was uncomfortable."
"I'd almost stake my life on it," Gordon said with confidence.
"When's his next race?" Scott took control of the computer and navigated to the race itinerary.
"Saturday," Virgil told him. "At Coche Del Olor."
"Saturday…" Scott mused. "Coche Del Olor… That's not too far away…" He grinned at his brothers. "Why don't we all go catch the race? And if we happen to bump into Alan afterwards…"
Virgil matched his brother's grin with one of his own. "It's the weekend so I'm free. How about you guys?"
"I'm finishing at the space agency in a couple of weeks," John said, "and I'm trying to make sure everything's up-to-date before I leave, but I can spare a day. How about you, Gordon?"
"Coche Del Olor!" Gordon's eyes were shining. "That's halfway between Marineville and here, isn't it?"
"Roughly," Virgil confirmed. "Can you make it?"
"I'm doing some testing for WASP over the next few days," Gordon told him. "But I've got Saturday off, so I'll be there."
"Testing?" Scott's ears had pricked up. "Testing what?"
Gordon tapped the side of his nose. "All very hush-hush, technical, water-based stuff." He winked. "But I'm hopeful I'll get one or two ideas for International Rescue's benefit. And I've told the brass that once we've finished this round of testing I'm quitting." His eyes twinkled. "I'm going to leave WASP to enjoy the playboy life, lazing about on our tropical island paradise with my family…"
His brothers glanced at one another.
Gordon noticed the silent interaction. His smile faded and he became serious. "Can I ask you guys something?"
"Shoot," Scott said.
"Before Alan left, he had a go at me. He said…" Then Gordon, clearly uncomfortable at the idea, gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "No. Don't worry about it. I'm being silly."
Virgil glanced at John and the latter returned the look. They had a fair idea of what was causing Gordon's consternation.
But no one had told Scott Alan's final words. "What did he say, Gordon?"
"He said…" Gordon hesitated.
"Gordon?"
"He said that Dad was having second thoughts about me being part of the team. That's not true, is it?"
Virgil could almost see the wheels in Scott's brain ticking over as he tried to think of a tactful reply.
The eldest had hesitated too long. "It is true, isn't it," Gordon said in a voice that was almost a whisper. "He doesn't want me to be part of International Rescue."
"Of course he wants you," Scott bluffed. "It'd be a bit hard for Virg to fly Thunderbird Two, drop the pod in the water, and then somehow drop out of Two so he could pilot Thunderbird Four. Besides, no one else in the family has the skills to be the aquanaut of the team."
"Then why did Alan say that if it's not true?"
Scott dodged the question. "What else did Alan say?"
"That I'm not a team player."
"Oh."
"Scott?"
John came to his big brother's rescue. "You're a swimmer, Gordon. That's a solo sport. There's just a feeling that… maybe… you're not used to looking out for others in high stress situations like we're going to find working together in International Rescue."
"'There's a feeling'?" Gordon asked, alarmed. "Do you all think that?" He looked between his brothers. "You do, don't you!"
"We didn't at first," Virgil explained. "We couldn't imagine International Rescue without all five of us being part of the team. But then you got caught up with your swimming…"
Gordon looked at each brother in turn, trying to catch their eye, but none of them were able to hold his gaze. "You don't trust me?" He stuffed his lucky charm's bag back into his pocket and sank into one of Virgil's seats. "No one in my family trusts me…"
"It's not that we don't trust you, Gordon," Scott explained. "It's just… that… You do have a tendency to put yourself first."
"Yes," Virgil agreed. "Take that first weekend after you came home. We were all looking forward to spending some time with you and going to the game together as a family, and you took off with your friends."
Gordon was silent.
"If we're going to be out in dangerous situations we can't afford to carry a team member who doesn't consider the others," Scott continued. "We've got to be able to work together for the greater good. Not as individuals. You must understand that."
Gordon looked up at his big brother. "Why didn't Dad tell me this? Why let me think that I was going to be part of International Rescue?"
"Because he was hoping…" Scott glanced at their brothers. "We were all hoping that you'd... I won't say changed… more like reverted back to the guy you used to be before you won your medal. We'd hoped that this last year under water had brought back the team player you always were."
"You'd rather that I hadn't won my medal?"
"No!" Scott said the word brusquely. "We're thrilled you won your medal. We're proud of you because you won your medal. You worked hard to win it and we were willing to support you every step of the way. What we don't like is the way winning the medal changed you."
"Oh." The syllable was said so quietly that Virgil wasn't even sure that a sound had been uttered.
John crouched down so that he was at his auburn-haired brother's eye-level. "Consider this a wake-up call, Gordon. We want you as part of International Rescue. Every time I've day-dreamed about what it's going to be like I've imagined you as an integral part of the team; piloting Thunderbird Four; co-piloting Thunderbird Two; swimming to the rescue of people whose only chance rests with your skills."
"Yes." Virgil sat forward. "International Rescue needs you. We want you to be part of the organisation."
Staring at the floor, Gordon nodded. He looked at his new watch. "I'd better be going. We're starting testing tomorrow."
"Where are you guys staying?" Virgil asked. "I'd let you stay here except I've only got one spare camp bed."
Scott was wearing a troubled frown. "I've got the key to Father's place. John and I were going to stay there until the morning and Gordon was planning on flying back tonight…" He turned to the red-head. "If you want to stay with us, Gordon, I'll get you to Marineville in time tomorrow."
His eyes still lowered, Gordon shook his head. "No. I told the brass I'd be back tonight and I don't want to finish my time with WASP with a black mark against my name…" He looked up. "That's if I do decide to leave."
---I-R---
---F-A-B---
"… Son of the ex-astronaut and industrialist Jeff Tracy…"
Bruce Sanders' ears picked up when he heard the announcer say the name of his boss. He joined his workmates who had downed tools and gathered around the radio so they could hear the news bulletin. "What's happened?" he asked and was shushed by some of the others.
Louis Fleming pulled him to one side. "Virgil's brother's been killed!"
"What!" Bruce stared at the other man. "Which one?"
"Uh…" Louis thought for a moment as he tried to remember. "I think they said he'd won some kind of medal."
"Military medal? Scott?!"
"No. Olympic medal."
"Gordon. He was the guy who was here the other week." Bruce groaned. "I was only with them yesterday… They're a close family and this is going to hit them hard."
"Close? What about those rumours about Alan and his dad...?"
Bruce ignored the question. "Does Virgil know yet or has the press jumped the gun as usual?"
Louis pointed over to a guillotine where Virgil, his earmuffs tuned into his own private music station, worked oblivious to the personal catastrophe that had just been announced to the world. "Looks like he's about to find out."
Olivia, Hamish Mickelson's P.A., had stepped into Virgil's line of sight. With a slight frown of confusion, Virgil stopped the machine and turned to face the young woman, turning off his music so that the inbuilt microphone could pick up her words. She said something, beckoned, and the pair of them headed in the direction of the office.
Bruce glanced about to check he wasn't observed. "Cover for me," he instructed.
"Bruce!" Louis stopped him.
Irritated, Bruce turned back. "What!?"
"Tell him I'm sorry and… ah… I'm thinking of him?"
"Oh…" Ashamed of the way he'd over-reacted, Bruce nodded. "Okay… Thanks."
He'd only gone part of his journey when he was accosted by a supervisor. "Where do you think you're going?" Greg Harrison asked.
Bruce squared up to his boss. "To see if I could help Virgil."
"Good," Greg grunted. "He's going to need our support."
The two men hurried towards the managerial office. "How come the radio heard before the family?" Bruce mused.
"Jeff Tracy is news," Greg replied grimly. "Even in the days when he was first starting out in the business world he was forever being pestered by the media. People forget that he's only human and, more than that, a family man. They're interested in the big story and don't care about his or anyone else's feelings."
"I didn't hear the full bulletin," Bruce admitted. "Am I right that Gordon's been killed?"
"That's what I heard."
"How?"
"He was test driving a World Aquanaut Security Patrol boat. It crashed."
"But what are WASP doing releasing news items about things like that before the family gets to hear about it!?"
"Jeff Tracy's news…" Greg repeated.
They pulled up short in the outer office. The P.A., who had no idea of the reason why she'd summonsed a junior member of staff to the General Manager's office, smiled at them. "Can I help you? Mr Mickelson's busy at the moment."
"We know," Greg began. "We were wanting to…"
The office door opened and two sombre men stepped out. Mickelson, seeing whom was in the outer office, turned to Olivia. He smiled at her. "Would you go and see if the accounts department have finished that financial report yet?"
Her returned smile held a hint of confusion. "Of course, Mr Mickelson."
When the door had shut behind her, Mickelson turned to Harrison. "I'm afraid you're going to have to do without Virgil for a while, Greg."
"I know." Greg cast grave eyes on Virgil. "I'm sorry, Son. We heard the news on the radio."
"What!?" Virgil exclaimed. "But I've only just been told by Father!"
"If there's anything we can do to help," Bruce said. "We… ah… You know where to find us," he finished lamely. "Lou too."
Virgil managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Bruce, but I'm flying out to the hospital now. I'm just going to head home to grab some things."
"Hospital?" Greg Harrison looked sharply at him. "Who's in hospital?"
Virgil frowned. "Gordon."
"Gordon!?" Bruce blurted out. "But the radio said he was dead!"
Virgil paled and 'Uncle Hamish' placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "The radio's wrong. We've just been talking to Jeff. Gordon is in a critical condition at the Marineville hospital."
"Oh good!" Bruce said. "I mean, it's not good, but it's better than what we thought, which was bad, and I'm glad it's better news, I mean not it's not good news, but better news than what we heard…"
"Do you want to help Virgil, Mr Sanders?" Mickelson asked, interrupting the confused, embarrassing discourse.
"If I can," Bruce nodded.
"Good. Perhaps you'll drive him home in his car. You can leave it there. I'll follow and bring you back in mine. We're going to meet John there and then he and Virgil will fly to Marineville." Mickelson turned to the supervisor. "Greg. I've got a private project that will require Mr Sanders' and Mr Tancy's assistance for some time."
Greg Harrison nodded. "I understand, Hamish. I'll let Max Watts know and see if he can spare someone to assist me."
"Thank you."
Little was said between driver and passenger on the ride home. Virgil, free of driving responsibilities, spent most of the time on his cell phone with the airport, arranging for his plane to be readied for the upcoming flight. He hung up as Bruce turned into his street and sat in silence until they drove into his garage. "I only saw him yesterday."
Bruce, at a loss as to what else to say, said: "I know."
"He's such a character; so full of life."
Bruce grinned. "Yes, he was." He parked the car. "And he will be again. Keep positive."
Virgil nodded and climbed out of the car as Hamish Mickelson pulled up on the road outside.
Once inside the building, Virgil kept himself busy throwing a few items of clothing and some necessities in to a bag, while talking to Scott on his mobile. Ten minutes later and there was a knock on the door. Hamish Mickelson answered it. "Hello, John."
"Hi, Uncle Hamish." John stepped into the house and received a wave of greeting from Virgil who was saying something about flight times to his phone. "Is he talking to Scott?"
"Yes. John, have you met Bruce Sanders?"
John managed a smile. "Yes, yesterday. Hi, Bruce."
"Hi, John."
Virgil hung up the phone. "Scott's arranged for us to land at Marineville airbase. There'll be a car waiting to take us to the hospital."
"Good." John looked uncomfortable. "I've just been talking to Father…" He paused. "He wants us to tell Alan… face-to-face."
Virgil, reaching out for his bag, stopped. "Oh."
"He'd rather that someone in the family told him and Coche Del Olor's on our way. He's been in contact with Karl Richards to give him advance warning and to make sure that Alan doesn't find out from a radio report."
"He'll have his work cut out for him," Virgil said grimly. "The radio's already reporting that Gordon was killed."
"What!"
"I'll get on to the radio station and set them right," Uncle Hamish offered. "In the meantime you boys had better get on your way. We'll take my car to the airport."
The aeroplane was warmed up and waiting for them when they arrived. There was the briefest of goodbyes before Virgil did the final checks. A short time later he and John were heading for the skies.
After the standard radio conversation with the tower and John's call to their father to let him know they were on their way, the first half hour of flight through the darkening skies was travelled in silence; each brother wrapped up in their own thoughts.
When he finally did speak, John's opening remarks came straight out of left field. "I guess I owe you an apology."
"Apology?" Virgil glanced at his brother and fixed his concentration back on the controls.
"For what I said to you and what I said about you."
Confused, Virgil frowned at the instrument panel.
"I also want to give you my heartfelt thanks."
Virgil glanced over again, this time with a querying look. "What for?"
"For calling Dad."
"Huh? No, he called me... at work."
"No. I don't mean today. I mean when I was nominated for the Theydon… You did call him, didn't you." It wasn't a question.
"I… ah…" Virgil, unsure how to respond, fixed his attention on a cloud formation.
"He told me that he hadn't spoken to you. But to receive his phone call, so soon after I'd vented my spleen all over you, was too much of a coincidence."
Virgil decided that the cloud formation was shaped like an ice cream… an up-side-down ice cream.
"Thank you."
"Thank you?"
"You did the right thing."
Surprised, Virgil looked at his brother. "I did?"
"You did. You did ring him, didn't you?"
Virgil hesitated briefly before replying, considering his options. Then he nodded. "He didn't lie to you, though. I barely gave him the chance to say hello before I told him not to say a word to me, but that he had to ring you A.S.A.P." Virgil shrugged. "Then I hung up on him."
"Thanks," John repeated.
"You don't mind?"
"I was mad with you at the time, and I'll admit that I called you a few names that you didn't deserve, but now I can see that you did the right thing…" John stared out the aeroplane's window without seeing the skies passing by. "I didn't mean those things that I said about everyone. I was just starting to find my way in the world and was feeling that I was going to be trapped by the idea of International Rescue, and I lashed out at Father, you, and everyone else… The fact that they're all still talking to me makes me think that you haven't given out any details."
Virgil shook his head. "No, I haven't; and Father and I agreed that it would be better all round if he and I didn't discuss what you said. Everyone else has worked out that something happened between us, but I figured that's the way it should stay… Between us."
"You haven't even told Scott?"
Virgil gave a wry grin. "It may come as a surprise to you, but I don't tell Scott all my secrets, and I don't think he's got a hotline to my thought processes. He'd get a shock if he did."
John managed a dry chuckle. "I guess I've been looking for the right time to say I'm sorry, Virg, and I am sorry."
"Don't worry about it. If I hadn't wanted to help, I wouldn't have rung Father," Virgil told him. "Forget it." He flapped his hand dismissively.
"But I shouldn't have mouthed off at you like that. I hope you can forgive me…" John looked at his brother with an expression that was both pleading and hopeful. "I said some horrible things to you, but I didn't want to hurt anyone; especially you. I didn't, did I?"
Now that they'd moved on that cloud was not an ice cream… more like an upside-down traffic cone. One that had been run over several times…
"Virgil?" John pressed.
Virgil gave a reluctant nod. "A little. But you surprised me more."
"Oh, heck." John thumped himself on the knee as if dealing out his punishment. "I'm sorry."
"You've said that. And I've said forget it."
John nodded. "Like I started to say… I've been looking for the right time to apologise. And with what's happened to…" He swallowed. "I've realised that now is always the right time."
Virgil said nothing. He understood fully.
"I know that ultimately the outcome's the same, that I'm still going to be part of International Rescue, but I'm glad that I spoke up, even if I should never have done it the way I did. Now I know that I'm a member of International Rescue because I want to be a member; because I think I can help make a difference. Not because I'm a Tracy and I feel it's my duty… That would have only created more problems."
Virgil nodded.
"Of course now… with what's happened… the whole point may be moot…"
Virgil radioed the airfield ahead and requested permission to land…
---F-A-B---
A Team Tracy car was waiting for them and sped them to the raceway. Negotiating the track's security they were directed over to the team's base inside a featureless grey building just like every other featureless grey building on the track. They stopped outside, underneath the 'Team Tracy Racing' sign and looked at each other, before, without a word, John tapped on the door and they stepped inside.
The room only had two occupants. Alan's face was pale. So pale that his pasty features were nearly indistinguishable from his blonde hair. His team manger, Karl Richards was taking to him quietly, but the young man didn't appear to be hearing him.
"Alan," John said, and Alan started at the unexpected, but familiar voice. "He's alive, Alan, but he's in a critical condition. We're going to see him… Do you want to come with us?"
Alan looked at him, his mouth moving as if he was trying to speak, but no words came out.
"Father, Grandma and Scott are already there," Virgil said. "We need to be all together. We need you to be with us. Are you coming?"
Alan's face was blank with shock and Virgil wondered if anything of what was being said was registering in his brain.
"I tried to keep it from him until you got here," Karl Richards was explaining. "I was keeping him busy running practise laps, but he stopped to talk to another team. They let slip that they'd heard about Gordon's accident on the radio." Alan flinched at his brother's name.
"Thank you, Mr Richards," John said. "Are you coming with us, Alan?"
Richards took a helmet from lifeless fingers. "I think you should, Son. Your family needs you now and you need to be with them."
Alan looked at the older man and gave a slow, mute nod.
"You'll want to get some things together," John suggested. "Where are you staying?"
"In his trailer," Richards told him. "Come on," he took Alan by the arm, "let's get your bag packed."
Alan's trailer, despite being little more than a sophisticated caravan, was a roomy affair with the bedroom, lounge, kitchen and bathroom facilities partitioned off from each other. John went into the latter room and packed away some of Alan's toiletries into a plastic bag while Alan, clearly still numb with shock, attempted to pack an overnight case. A chore Virgil took over after his youngest brother had thrown in two pairs of pyjamas and no underwear.
It was a long time after they'd received clearance to leave the airport and John'd radioed Jeff to let them know that they were on their way with their extra passenger before Alan, sitting in the seat behind the pilot's, finally spoke. "I told him I hoped I'd never see him again."
John and Virgil glanced at each other. "We know, Alan," John said softly.
"I didn't mean it."
"We know," John repeated.
Alan was silent again for a full five minutes. "But does Gordon know?"
Virgil was glad that he was piloting the plane and had an excuse to not participate in this conversation. Not that John appeared to need any help. He clambered back so he was able to sit in the seat next to Alan. "I'm sure he does."
"But what if he doesn't? What if I never get the chance to tell him?"
"You will," John sounded confident and Virgil hoped that confidence wasn't misplaced. "Have you ever known Gordon to give up? How many times over the years has he complained about having to get up early to go to the pool?"
"Hundreds."
"And how many early morning practises did he miss?"
"None," Alan admitted.
"See. And when he was out of form and all the other competitors were winning races and he couldn't even seem to find his rhythm, did he ever give up?"
"No."
"No," John echoed. "And now is no different. He won't give up and we won't let him give up. Will we!?"
"No…"
"We're going to encourage him and support him and work as a team to get him through this. Okay?!"
"Yes."
"And we're not going to let him see that we're scared, or worried, are we?!"
"No!"
"We're going to be positive, and we're going to help him all the way. Right!?"
"Right!!"
Virgil wanted to turn around and tell John how great he was, or at least treat him to a thumbs-up signal of approval, but he knew better than to let Alan see, so he kept his eyes on the cloudy skies ahead.
"Will Dad want to see me?"
"Oh, Alan…" John softened his voice. "The only thing he wants more at this moment is for Gordon to be okay."
"But I was horrible to him."
"You were frustrated, he knows that. But remember he was only trying to keep you safe. He didn't want you to…"
Alan finished the sentence for him, speaking so quietly that Virgil could barely hear the words. "…He didn't want me to end up like Gordon."
"No," John whispered. "None of us want that."
It was time to land.
---I-R---
---F-A-B---
As they had at Coche Del Olor, the aeroplane was met by a chauffeured car, which took them to the Marineville Hospital. A cold, imposing block of concrete, like the other buildings in the complex, it was on a hydraulic ram, which allowed it to be lowered underground in times of danger to the base. Virgil hoped that they'd never experience this particular activity.
A junior WASP officer met them at the car and, practically marching through the hospital, led them to a room. "Your family is in there," he announced, before retreating at double time.
The three brothers looked at each other, took a collective big breath, and slid open the door. Inside, Scott and Jeff were on their feet before they had the chance to realise who the newcomers were, while, between them, Grandma remained seated, twisting her handkerchief between her gnarled hands.
Jeff Tracy didn't smile. "You've made good time."
"It was an easy flight." Virgil went to Scott's side as John claimed the seat beside his grandmother, taking her hand. This left Jeff and Alan standing, face-to-face, eyeing each other up, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
No one said anything.
Virgil was just starting to wonder if John would consider acting as mediator when Alan uttered a strangled, "Dad", dashed forwards, and wrapped his father in a desperate embrace.
Jeff clung to his youngest son. "It's okay, Alan. He's going to be okay. He's got to be."
"I'm so sorry."
"I know…"
"You were only trying to keep me safe."
Jeff pushed his son away and looked him in the eye. "And you were only trying to be yourself… and I respect you for that."
"How is he? How is Gordon?"
Alan's whimpered query sent a chill down Virgil's spine as a forceful reminder of why the family were gathered together in this soulless room. Scott must have seen the shiver of fear because he laid a reassuring hand on his arm. "He's still in surgery."
"Have you had any indication as to how he is?" John asked.
Jeff sat down, guiding Alan into the seat beside him. "Only that he was unconscious when they pulled him out of the water. They had to administer CPR three times on the way to hospital."
"I got here as they were taking him from the emergency room into surgery," Scott said. "If he hadn't been so pale I would have thought that he was tricking everyone…" He paused. "I managed to overhear some of the doctors as they went past… They said his glucose levels were through the roof."
The Tracy boys had learnt the significance of this phenomenon in their medical classes. Virgil had to swallow down the acrid taste of bile as his brothers reacted badly to the news.
"What?" Grandma looked anxiously between her grandsons. "What does that mean?"
"It's something that they discovered earlier this century," John replied. His ability to recall facts had always made him a dangerous opponent when playing trivia games. "They realised that when a victim is badly injured and losing a lot of blood, then the body tries to compensate by releasing large amounts of glucose into the bloodstream. The more glucose the more severe the injury. Emergency medical personnel came to realise that even if the patient showed no external sign of injuries, the glucose levels could indicate a more serious problem internally and they would know to react accordingly. It's saved a lot of lives," he finished, aware that his dissertation had had a disquieting effect on the older members of his family. He gave his grandmother a reassuring smile and patted her on the hand. "If they've picked that up already then they've got an idea what they're dealing with. They're not guessing as to what treatment he'll need."
"But what treatment does he need?" Virgil asked. "Have we been told anything?"
Jeff shook his head.
---I-R---
---F-A-B---
A couple of interminably long hours passed before there was a knock on the door. The Tracy men were instantly on their feet in hopeful expectancy, but it was only the young WASP officer. "Excuse me," he said, saluting, "but Petty Officers Denny and Mason would like to see you. They were onboard the rescue boat."
"Will you boys go?" Jeff asked. "I'm not moving from here until we get some news."
Scott, as eldest and their leader, took it that the directive was aimed at him and stood. His brothers, aware of an unspoken need not to let each other out of their sight, followed him and the officer through the door. It wasn't only their propensity to getting into mischief together that had caused their grandma to call the five of them "her handful". And now that there seemed to be a possibility that one of their digits was going to be amputated…
Virgil gave himself a shake and made himself think positive thoughts.
The junior officer directed the four brothers into a room where two men in WASP uniform stood, twisting their caps in their hands. Scott did the introductions before the senior Petty Officer, Mark Denny, introduced himself and his younger colleague Stephen Johnson. "How is he?"
"You obviously haven't heard the radio," John said.
"No," Mark shook his head. "We came straight here after the briefing."
"He's still in surgery," Scott said briefly as he took a seat.
"Oh," Mark Denny sat down as if he'd been deflated. "I hope he's okay. He's a great guy. A true friend."
"Yeah," Stephen agreed. "Gordon's the last person we'd want something like this to happen to."
Virgil sat forward. "Do you know what happened?"
Both men gave a sombre nod. "We were there," Mark explained. "Stephen saved his life."
"I didn't do anything. You gave him CPR."
"Yeah, but if you hadn't pulled him out in time…"
"Whoa!" Scott ordered, worry and his Air Force training putting more authority into his voice than he'd intended. "Can you start from the beginning? What was he testing?"
"A hydrofoil," Mark stated. "Designed for high speed and manoeuvrability..." The brothers looked at each other. This was a vehicle that would have been of use to International Rescue. "…Theoretically it was capable of reaching 500 knots, but we think Gordon was doing 400 when he crashed."
Virgil closed his eyes and tried not to imagine his brother coming to an abrupt halt from 740 kilometres per hour. "Why did he crash?"
"Did he hit a wave?" John pressed; his voice tense. "Or was it something mechanical? Or was it…"
"We don't know," Mark interrupted. "He didn't report any problems. But you can guarantee that there'll be a full investigation into the accident." His jaw stiffened with resolve. "We'll see to that. It's the least we can do for him."
"So…" Virgil said slowly, not wanting to visualise events, but ironically needing to know the whole story, "what happened next?"
"Obviously most boats can't travel at 500 knots," Mark explained. "So we were positioned at intervals along the course and Stephen and some other guys were flying above in the helicopter…" He took a deep breath. "One moment everything's proceeding as expected… The next…" He swallowed. "The next moment the hydrofoil's tumbling bow over stern. It was crazy! It seemed to happen instantly and yet I watched it happen as if I was watching it in slow motion! The craft hit the water and appeared to explode into hundreds of fragments. There were bits of debris and flaming fuel all over the surface and no sign of the cockpit or Gordon. At that moment I felt sure we'd lost him. That was until Stephen jumped out of the helicopter and pulled him to the surface." He gave his friend an affectionate punch on the arm. "That was the bravest thing I've ever seen anyone do."
"I didn't do anything special," Stephen protested.
"That jump must have been at least 14 feet. And to jump into the water with all that flaming junk floating around…"
"Maybe…" Stephen conceded. "I didn't really notice. I just knew that if our positions had been reversed Gordon wouldn't have hesitated to save me, so I had to save him. So I jumped in. The cockpit was relatively intact underwater, and Gordon was still strapped into his seat, and I managed to find the release lever. Fortunately the balloons inflated and dragged him and the seat to the surface. He had on so much protective gear that I couldn't see him or how he was. All I knew was that he wasn't moving. I pushed the seat closer to the nearest boat, which happened to be Mark's, and they pulled Gordon out of the water."
Mark took over the narrative. "When we got his visor open it was obvious that Gordon wasn't breathing 'cos his face was blue. At that moment we didn't worry about what other injuries he might have had, we just knew that we had to get him breathing again. It's a bit hard to do CPR properly when someone's in full survival kit and strapped to a cocooning pilot's seat, so we more or less," Mark tried to find the right words, "dumped him out of the seat and onto the deck." He clenched his hands into fists. "I hope we haven't made things worse."
"I'm sure whatever you did was for the best," Scott soothed. "Then what?"
"The skipper floored it back to shore," Mark recollected. "We'd just manage to get Gordon breathing again and think that we could kind of relax and evaluate his other injuries, when he'd arrest again. I resuscitated him twice on the water. I understand the ambulance had to do it once more on the way to hospital."
Scott nodded. "That's our understanding too."
Stephen, to the surprise of all present including Mark, suddenly threw his cap onto the floor. "Why did it have to happen to Gordon!? There's not one of the squad who wouldn't be willing to trade places with him right now."
"You know him well?" Virgil asked.
"Yeah. We were stationed with him in the bathyscaphe. You can get to know a guy pretty well when you're trapped together in a bubble underwater for a year."
Scott managed to dredge up a chuckle from somewhere. "Not being able to escape Gordon at times must have been hard going."
"Sometimes," Stephen agreed. "He can be a bit…" he bit his lip, trying to think of a suitable description.
"Arrogant?" John suggested.
Stephen gave him a funny look. "I was thinking more of 'driven'. He could be single-minded at times too. But he always made sure that his squad's welfare had top priority. I mean for most of us it was a bit of a culture shock to be so isolated from the world, but Gordon made sure that our wellbeing was looked after. If we needed support he was always there for us…"
Mark chuckled. "If we needed a laugh he was there for us too. And he tried to make it as much like home as he could. He even produced a weekly newsletter and we were all encouraged to submit our news from home, no matter how trivial. And he was so proud of you guys…" he indicated the Tracys. "You could almost guarantee that there would be something about at least one member of his family in the bulletin. Whether it was you winning your races," he indicated Alan, "or your book," he looked at John before fixing his gaze on Virgil. "You saved a woman's life, didn't you?"
Virgil felt his face grow hot. "Ah… Yeah… Well, I helped."
Mark smiled. "Gordon dedicated a whole newsletter to that story… The funny thing was that as happy as he was to boast about his family, he rarely said anything about his own life. We knew all about you guys, and next to nothing about him."
Stephen was nodding his agreement. "Yes, he is a very modest man…"
The Tracys stared at him. "Gordon!?"
"What about his medal?" John asked.
The two WASP officers frowned at him. "Medal?"
"Yes," John confirmed. "He must have mentioned his Olympic medal. At home he talks about nothing else."
"Medal?" Now it was Mark and Stephen's turn to look astonished. "Gordon had an Olympic medal?"
"I think I remember him mentioning that he'd been to the Olympics, when I first met him," Mark mused. "But he said it so casually that I thought he'd gone as a spectator. What sport?"
"Swimming," Scott told him. "The butterfly."
"Figures. It was obvious that he loved his swimming," Stephen noted. "He didn't need to tell us that, we could tell by the way he moved through the water."
"Where'd he come in the race?" Mark asked.
Scott was looking slightly dazed. "First. He won gold."
"Really!?" A beaming smile crossed Mark's face. "Amazing. Just shows you that you never really know a guy."
"Yes," Scott agreed. "It just shows you…"
Virgil was beginning to wonder if the 'Gordon' that the two WASP men were talking about was the same Gordon who was fighting for his life in another part of the hospital. "How was he before the accident?"
"Fine," Mark replied. "Well…" He looked at his friend as if seeking confirmation. "Maybe a little distracted… He's been like that for the last month since your father and Al..." He stopped: looking away from the youngest Tracy.
"Not that he wasn't totally focused on the test!" Stephen added quickly, not wanting to appear to be laying blame. "He was so focussed that at breakfast this morning that he hardly spoke to anyone…" The elder Tracys glanced between each other; wondering exactly what had caused this uncharacteristic reserve.
"Yes," Mark agreed, grateful for his friend's help. "That was Gordon. Like Stephen said, when he had to be, he could be single-minded."
"But it didn't stop him enjoying a joke," Stephen managed a smile. "Even this morning when we were about to ship out, I had to go and look for him. I found him in the locker; still putting his boots on. His excuse was that he couldn't find his 'lucky charm'. Then he laughed and said that I wasn't to worry as it probably only worked when he was in the water anyway. I asked him if he was worried about the speeds he was going to reach and told him that it wasn't too late to back out if he had any doubts. There are other guys in the squad trained in the use of the boat; any one of them could have taken over. Then I reminded him that about 85% of the attempts on the water speed record ended up as fatalities. He just grinned and said that in that case it was just as well that he wasn't attempting a world record. He wasn't worried about it at all."
"I double-checked too," Mark recollected. "He told me that nothing would stop him from his one chance to go faster than his kid brother without leaving the surface of the planet." He smiled at the youngest Tracy. "He was possibly your biggest fan, Alan. When he was watching your last race… Glued to the TV, wasn't he, Stephen?" Stephen nodded. "The brass walked in right at the moment when you were receiving your trophy." He barked out a laugh. "Would you believe he actually told them to shut up until after…?"
Alan buried his face in his hands.
John, in the seat closest to him, put a comforting arm about his shoulders. "It's okay, Alan," he whispered.
Alan, his face still hidden, shook his head, and Virgil, wishing he could do more to take away his kid brother's pain, rubbed the hunched over back. "This isn't your fault."
Mark and Stephen looked uncomfortable before Mark glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. "Guess we'd better get moving," he said, standing up. He reached into his pocket. "Here're our phone numbers. If we can do anything please call us. If we can, we want to help."
Scott took the slip of paper. "Thanks. We'll let you know how things go."
"Thank you," Stephen replied. "Look… Tell Gordon we're thinking of him. That's not only us, but the whole squad." He hesitated. "He promised us that he's throw a big party for us all before he left WASP. Tell him he's not allowed to renege on the deal in this way." He shot an uncertain glance at Alan, who hadn't moved.
Scott gave him a grim smile. "We will. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us."
The room was silent for a full five minutes after the two WASP officers had left.
John was the first to break the silence and voice his thoughts. "Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde."
"Yeah," Scott agreed.
"And we created the monster."
Alan had taken advantage of the silence to pull himself together. "I don't get it. When he was at home, we couldn't stop Gordon from talking about Gordon. Why didn't he do that at WASP?"
"If WASP is anything like the Air Force," Scott began, "you learn pretty quickly that no one cares how rich your father is and what fancy schools you went to. All they want to know is that you're willing to pull your weight with the tedious tasks, and that they can count on you to watch their backs when the bullets start flying."
"Fine. So that explains his behaviour at WASP," Virgil said, "but reverse Alan's question. Why didn't he behave like that at home? Why was he so arrogant?"
"Remember when he won that medal?" John said. "Initially he didn't boast about it much. We were the ones telling all and sundry how great he was and how proud we were of him."
"Yes…" Virgil agreed.
"After a time he must have come to believe that he was as marvellous as we said he was. Either that, or that's the way he believed we thought he should behave."
"No." Virgil shook his head. "I can't accept that that's the answer. He goosed Lisa. None of us would do that; let alone condone it."
They all looked at Alan. "What!?" he protested. "I wouldn't do that…! Grandma would kill me!"
"Okay, Alan. We believe you," Scott said. He shrugged. "Maybe we got a little bit of old Gordon plus a big bit of WASP, and WASP got Gordon… Who knows and, right now, it's not the question I want the answer to." He looked around his brothers. "Everyone feel up to heading back?"
Nothing had changed. Their father and grandmother were still sitting in the same places, in the same room, their expressions telling the boys that they had nothing to report.
---I-R---
---F-A-B---
It was hours later before the surgeon emerged from the operating theatre. He was a middle-aged man, prematurely old from spending years of repairing otherwise healthy young men and women. He was also a straight-talker, believing there was no point in sugar-coating the cold, hard facts. "The good news is that there're no skeletal or spinal injuries. Those engineering boffins know how to create adequate safety equipment to cushion and restrain the skeleton and external musculature. Unfortunately," he added before anyone had a chance to relax. "They have yet to discover a way to restrain the internal organs and stop them from trying to sieve their way through the rib cage and slice themselves open on the spinal column."
"And that's what's happened to Gordon?" Jeff asked; every muscle taut with worry.
"Yes. There is not an organ in his body that has not sustained severe bruising, including his heart. Part of the right lung is so severely damaged that we have had to remove a section about the size of a fifty cent piece. Gordon is fortunate that his years of swimming have increased his lung capacity and once healed, should he survive, this injury shouldn't cause him any long term disabilities."
Jeff picked up on one particular phrase. "Should he survive? How serious is it?"
The surgeon's face was stony. "The next 48 hours are critical. If he can survive that period he at least has a chance of recovery."
"And the long term prognosis?"
"Mr Tracy, Gordon has been through a lot. His body has spent a relatively long period without oxygen and most of his internal organs have received some degree of damage… As I say, if he survives the next 48 hours his chances of a reasonable, if not a full, physiological recovery are good. Unfortunately I am unable to comment on his neurological wellbeing."
"Brain damage?" The words were exhaled rather than spoken out loud.
"His brain will have sustained severe concussive forces against his skull during the crash. That coupled with the oxygen deprivation…" The surgeon sighed. "I am not a neurologist. Gordon is fortunate that there have been significant advances in neurological care in recent years. My recommendation is that as soon as he is stable enough to be moved, we transfer him to the leading neurological facility in the country."
"I'll do whatever it takes to get Gordon the best care possible," Jeff stated. "Money is no object."
The surgeon gave a humourless smile. "So I have been told. I assume that you would like a full list of injuries and surgical procedures performed?"
Virgil had a feeling that he didn't want to know. Despite this he sat and listened as a long list was recited. Large intestine and small intestine. Urinary bladder and gall bladder. Spleen, stomach, pancreas, duodenum, liver, heart and lungs. Contusions and haemorrhages. Sutures and staples. Dissections and resections. Drains, tubes, and catheters. Medically induced coma. Medical terms that were all distressingly familiar.
At last the surgeon stopped talking. Numb, white faces looked at him, each praying that they were in the middle of a particularly realistic but painful dream. "Any questions?"
"Yes." Jeff's voice caught in his throat and he cleared it. "When can we see him?"
The surgeon gave him a sympathetic look. "I will see to it that, as soon as he has been settled in his room, you are sent for."
"Thank you."
"But I will warn you! As I said we had to remove 25% of his liver and the surrounding structures have also sustained damage. The resultant swelling has filled his body cavity and we have been unable to close the wound. We have been forced to pack the stoma with surgical pads and cover the whole area with a clear surgical dressing. This dressing acts like the skin, aiding in healing and also allows the Intensive Care Nurse a visual check on the progression of the healing process. Unfortunately the sight of what appears to be an open wound can be distressing to loved ones." He looked at Grandma and she returned his gaze with a defiant stare.
It was a further unsettling hour before a nurse collected the Tracy family. She was a bright and cheerful woman, both sympathetic to their plight and eager to do all she could to help them through this traumatic time. "My name is Denise and I'll be one of the six I.C. nurses assigned to Gordon's care," she explained as she led them through a rabbit warren of corridors. "Someone will be in the room to care for him around the clock, 24/7. Rona is already with him and she will go off shift in an hour's time. I'll use that time to get a full understanding of Gordon's condition. The other I.C. nurses assigned to Gordon are Bob, Sarah, Clare, Lance, and Bet." She stopped outside a door. "Would anyone like to ask me anything before we go in…? No? Well, don't be afraid to ask us anything at any time."
"Will he be able to hear us talk to him?" Alan asked. He'd been quieter than anyone during this ordeal and everyone stared at him.
"I'm afraid that I can't give you a definitive answer," Denise admitted. "Some patients in a medically induced coma are able to recall everything that was said to them and about them. Others appear to lose the ability to hear. Each patient is unique." She gave them a sympathetic smile. "Ready?"
No one was 'ready', but they all nodded their assent. Denise opened the door. "Hello, Rona. I've brought Gordon's family along to see him."
The nurse, Rona, older and more serious than Denise, looked up from the notation that she was making on an electronic clipboard. "Good evening."
The only response was a choking noise. It had to have been made by Scott, horrified by the state of his younger brother. Or it could have been John, equally appalled. Or maybe Alan, still coming to terms with the fact that his final words to his brother may have been about to come back to haunt him.
Or maybe I made the sound? Virgil thought. Maybe I made it involuntarily? Without realising. Maybe my brain has disconnected from my vocal chords somehow in these last torturous hours? Maybe it's my way of dealing with what I'm seeing? Maybe… He forced himself away from the inane thoughts and made himself look at the horror before him.
Even Virgil's fertile artistic imagination hadn't visualised this. Gordon had to be lying there, the thatch of red hair seemed to confirm that, but there were so many pieces of medical equipment around him that he appeared to be lost amongst it all. A sheet lay across his body, concealing everything from his hips down, but above that, frightening in it's size and rawness, was the open, bloodied wound.
Other than that original choking sound, no one had responded to Rona's greeting. It wasn't that they'd purposefully ignored her, but the sight of the recumbent figure on the bed seemed to have stolen all traces of lucid thought and speech.
Scott steeled himself. He walked closer to the bed, not looking at the pump that was supplying oxygen, or the machine that was circulating Gordon's blood, but with his eyes fixed on two closed lids. He reached out towards a covered foot, a part of Gordon's body that seemed relatively unharmed and, hesitating before he made contact, looked at the nurse. She nodded her assent and he gently rested his hand on the lump in the sheet. "This isn't one of your funnier jokes, Gordon."
His words seemed to clear the air somewhat, and the family moved closer, Jeff on one side of the bed; Grandma claiming her place on the other.
"We're here, Gordon," Jeff said. "We're all here."
"Yes, Honey," Grandma confirmed. "And we're not going to leave you."
The only reply was the hiss, whine and pulse of machinery.
John placed his hand on a still leg. "It's John, Gordon. We came as soon as we heard you'd had… problems."
Virgil mirrored his brother's actions. "It's Virgil, Gordon. We were talking to Mark Denny and Stephen Johnson earlier. They, and everyone else in the squad, are all hoping that you'll be getting better soon."
"Yeah," Scott agreed. "They're holding you to that party you promised them." He squeezed the foot. "So don't let them down, okay?"
Alan had hung back, painfully aware of his last interaction with his brother, and Jeff indicated that he should come nearer. Alan took a tentative step closer. "Gordon…? It's Alan, Gordon…" He reached out, finding an unencumbered little finger. "I'm here too… I'm sorry, Gordon. I didn't mean what I said when I left… I-I was angry, that's all… I didn't mean it… Please forgive me," he begged, and his father pulled him closer in a reassuring hug.
Friday melded into Saturday which dragged into Sunday. No one strayed far from Gordon's bedside, except when shooed out by the medical team whenever something tricky or delicate had to be attempted. Even then Jeff would often put his foot down, refusing to leave the room, instead taking a seat in the corner where he silently watched proceedings.
It was during one of these brief respites that Alan had passed the comment: "the race will be over now." There was no bitterness or sadness in his voice and he offered up no further speculation on the result or subsequent standings.
Sunday afternoon and Gordon returned to the operating theatre to close up that obscene hole. During this time even Jeff Tracy was forced into a waiting room. "Virgil," he began as soon as the door closed behind them and they were alone. "This is going to put plans back a bit. You'd better ask Hamish if he's willing for you to work longer than the agreed year."
Stuck for anything else constructive to do, Virgil agreed. "I'll go phone him now." He stood, heading for the door and the exit so he could make his cell phone call outside of the hospital.
"No, don't do it now," Jeff amended. "I think that, once Gordon's out of surgery and if things have proceeded as expected, you should fly back tonight. You can discuss it with Hamish face-to-face tomorrow."
Virgil, almost at the door, froze. He turned. "What?!"
"You can go to work tomorrow."
Virgil stared at him, a cauldron of emotions stirring inside him. But he kept his voice neutral. "Why?"
The rest of the family, stunned by the suggestion, were watching the exchange as if it were a tennis match.
"We're not achieving anything sitting around here," Jeff stated.
"I'm achieving relative piece of mind…"
"ACE is finalising work on Barrett Limited's construction and the Graham Corporation job will be coming through the plant this week…"
"So?"
"So, we need to ensure that all the proper quality control processes are adhered to. I want…" Jeff paused, "I need you to be there to make sure that everything is done correctly."
Virgil straightened and fixed his father with a steely gaze. "No."
The family shifted uneasily. This was not a time that any of them wanted to deal with confrontations. And that, combined with the fact that it was Virgil, usually one of the more obedient of the boys, standing up to his father, made them uncomfortable.
"Virgil…" Scott warned. But it was said quietly, as if he were trying to avoid another Alan-sized explosion.
Virgil ignored him. "I am NOT going back to work tonight."
When Jeff spoke again there was no trace of his feared Kansas accent. His voice was calm and measured. "I understand your frustration…"
"Do you?"
"But don't you think Gordon would appreciate knowing that his craft is made to specs?"
The internal cauldron was starting to boil over. "Do you honestly think that Gordon cares at this moment!? Cos I don't!"
"You've tried so hard all year to keep your identity secret at ACE," Jeff continued. "I'm sure you don't want to ruin everything now. How are you going to explain the fact that you're absent from work for an extended period of time?"
"I'll tell them the truth! I don't care if anyone at ACE finds out our relationship! Gordon's my brother and I'm proud of the fact and I'm proud of him!"
"I know you are…"
Scott stood. "Virgil, settle down," he said, laying a calming hand on his brother's arm.
"Let go of me!" Virgil shook himself free.
"Please, Virgil," Jeff persisted. "Go home and keep an eye on Thunderbird Four… Go home for Gordon's sake…"
"No!" The cauldron exploded: erupting into a fury of angry emotions. "I am not leaving him! I don't understand you! Why are you worried about what everyone at ACE thinks?"
"Son..."
"Why are you worried about Thunderbird Four?"
"Virgil," Scott whispered.
"What use is a submarine without an aquanaut to pilot it?!"
There was a stunned silence.
Virgil felt the need to escape. He stormed out the door, just managing to hear a quiet "leave him, Scott," before it slid shut behind him.
An angry red mist before his eyes, Virgil stomped through the hospital and out through the well kept hospital grounds. Once on the road he turned right, then right again, then left, right, walking, turning, running away from the nightmare with no thought or knowledge of where his flight was taking him.
Over half an hour later he found himself on a beach on the edge of what looked like an inlet. The narrow finger of water was flanked on the far side by steep hills casting a shadow over the surrounding landscape. He sat on the sands and hugged his knees close, both to ward off the chill of the closing in night and the coldness of his life.
"Are you all right?"
"Have you been following me?"
"No." Scott sat on the sand beside his brother.
"Then how'd you find me? I don't even know where I am."
Scott gave a wry grin. "I'd like to be able to say that my sixth sense led me here, but the reality is that John's built GPS into these things." He tapped his watch. "It was easy to get a bearing on where you were headed and track you in the car." He gave Virgil a concerned look. "I'll ask you again. Are you all right?"
"Compared to Gordon I'm brilliant." Then Virgil sighed and glanced at his brother. "Why did I do that? Father needed me sounding off at him like Gordon needs a hole in his abdomen."
"You tell me."
"I don't want to leave Gordon. Doesn't Father realise that?"
"He knows."
"I don't want to leave in case…" Virgil swallowed and looked down towards the mouth of the inlet.
"I understand," Scott stated. "I know where you're coming from. If he'd told me to leave there'd be a hole in the hospital's roof." He paused. "But I can understand his point of view too."
"Do you know what's really infuriating?" Virgil asked. "The fact that I can understand his point of view too."
"If there's the slightest change in Gordon's condition, you'll be the first to know. And I'll make sure that you're there when they move him to the neurology unit."
"Thanks," Virgil grunted.
"If it's any comfort, you're not the only one he's told to leave," Scott admitted.
"Really? You too?"
"No," Scott shook his head.
"So who else has he sent packing? John?"
"Yes. I don't think John was happy, but I think he decided that one tirade a day was enough for everyone's nerves at the moment. But, between you and me, I won't be surprised if he applies for compassionate leave so he can finish at the space agency before his two weeks are up. I've got the feeling that he hasn't been that happy there for some time."
"I've thought that too. I figured that maybe the Cullens won't let him see little Toni or something."
Scott ran sand through his fingers. "You do realise that Father dismissed you first for a reason?"
"No? Why? Because he thought I wouldn't make a fuss?"
"Yes," Scott confirmed. "He thought John might offer up a few arguments, since he's leaving so soon, but it was Alan he was really concerned about."
Virgil was aghast. "He didn't tell Alan to leave, did he? Surely not."
"He did. He knows that Gordon wouldn't want Alan to miss out on his one chance at winning the world championship... Did you hear the result of yesterday's race?"
"No."
"Gomez spun out. He took out the guy who's currently in third. That means Alan hasn't lost too much ground in the standings and still in second place."
"So what was Alan's reaction to be told to go?"
"Took it like a lamb. I think that, like John, he realised that Father wouldn't be able to take another argument. It also helped that," here Scott offered Virgil an apologetic smile; "I suggested that you might need his support on the homeward flight."
"You did what!?"
"Humour him, Virgil. Let him think that he's helping you…"
"While you're humouring me into thinking that I'm actually helping him?"
Scott shrugged. "You read my mind…" Virgil scowled and he held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, I forgot that was a taboo subject." He hit his brother gently on the leg. "Are you ready to head back? Gordon will be coming out of surgery soon."
Upon his return to hospital, Virgil's first task was to seek out his father. "Sorry," he apologised.
"It's okay, Son. I understand."
"I suppose someone's got to keep an eye on things back at the factory."
Jeff placed a hand on Virgil's arm. "And there's no one I'd trust more to do that…"
Bob, the I.C. nurse, appeared to the door. "He's on his way back to his room if you want to follow me."
At once Jeff's focus was redirected from one son to another. "How did the operation go?"
"No problems. You'll be pleased to know that Gordon's more or less in one piece now."
Gordon was, although he was still moored to a multitude of machinery. He lay deathly still on his hospital bed and his white gown, white sheets, white pillow case all seemed to have had conspired to drain the colours of life out of him. Even his red hair seemed to have lost much of its vitality.
Jeff stood beside the bed. "I don't know how many times over the years I've thought that he's going to be the death of me before my time..." he said, holding a lifeless hand. "But I've never thought that it would be the other way around."
His mother laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Don't talk like that, Jefferson. He'll be all right."
---I-R---
---F-A-B---
An hour later, Scott looked at his three brothers. "When are you leaving?"
Alan glanced at his watch. "The sooner the better, huh, Virgil? We don't want to be flying when we're tired."
Virgil managed to suppress a sigh. "Okay, Alan. Let's go." He leant closer to the sleeping figure. "I've got to go, Gordon. There's some work for Graham Corporation I've got to see to, and I know you'll want me to keep an eye on that." He patted an unresponsive arm. "Hang in there. You've just survived the first hurdle."
---F-A-B---
The first plan was for John to retrieve his car from Virgil's place. But, after a few phone calls, he persuaded the space agency's hierarchy to let him work from their Marineville office.
This meant that it was only Virgil and Alan on the flight home. Under normal circumstances Virgil would have found Alan's continual fussing over him during the flight to Coche Del Olor either laughable or very irritating. But realising that not only did it give Alan a sense of purpose for the trip, it also helped the young man reintegrate himself into the family, Virgil said nothing to dissuade him.
"Will you be okay for the final leg home, Virgil?" Alan asked.
"I'll be fine, Alan."
"We could always continue on, I could drop you off at home and then fly your plane back."
"Thanks for the offer, Alan, but I'll be fine."
"Are you sure?"
Virgil's resolve nearly snapped. Managing to keep calm he nodded. "I'll be okay."
They made a smooth landing at Coche Del Olor and after one last assurance that Virgil was going to be okay alone on the final part of the trip, the brothers said their goodbyes.
Alan stepped out of the plane and a figure walked up to him. It was his manager, Karl Richards, and Virgil felt a sudden pang of loneliness as he watched the pair of them walk away. He'd be arriving home to no one.
The final leg passed uneventfully and Virgil touched down at his home airport. He taxied into his hangar, locked down the aeroplane and stepped out into the cool, lonely, evening air.
"Hello, Virgil. Did you have a good trip?"
Surprised Virgil looked at Hamish Mickelson. "What are you doing here?"
"Your father called and said you'd be in to work tomorrow. Edna's insisting that I bring you home to stay at our place. She's waiting in the car…"
For the second time in a year, Virgil gave thanks for his 'Aunty' Edna.
To be continued…