Woo-hoo! Done, and with time enough to go read Bee's and Tikatu's stories! Didn't get a chance to write yesterday, because I was helping my daughter with AP English. Thanks, Bee, Bubzchoc, Tikatu and Ship's Cat, for reviewing. =) Edited.

11: Enough Rope

Tracy Island, many years previous-

A man fated to hang will never be drowned, it's been said, and if ever a man had a hanging conscience, it was Alec Morrissey; alone among friends, and despairing. Guilty and furtive, he was, afraid for his wife, and afraid of what her captor would next try to force him to do. Pictures were one thing, but what if the next request proved more dangerous for the Tracys? What then?

Gordon was late coming out of his 'Bird that evening, leaving Alec in the company of Virgil, Brains and Scott. Might've been okay if they'd let him just sit there and absorb the conversation, but Scott expected him to comment on the mission and suggest possible improvements. Not in any official sense… they weren't in debrief, yet. But as soon as he and Virgil strode from the hangar and into the office, the blizzard of questions began. Even Mrs. Tracy, who'd brought up a tray of smoking food and hot coffee, got into the act, saying,

"It was a little nerve-wracking, losing touch with Gordon, like that. Maybe there's a way to keep him linked with Island Base, on some kind of private line?"

The question was general, but she was looking at Alec when she said it. Thought and worry tugged at her fine, penciled brows and creased her pale forehead, adding depth to Lucinda's considerable beauty.

Accepting a cup of coffee with gallons of cream and enough sugar to stand the spoon up, Alec said,

"I don't know about that, Ma'am. Any link between the ocean and surface would require a transmitter. Even if they weren't able to read the message, someone could surely track the signal… unless you could come up with a carrier wave that doesn't use any of the standard frequencies."

Hackenbacker paused to think, literally with his fork halfway from plate to mouth. Then,

"Ripples in a hyper-dimensional matrix," he muttered, dropping the fork with a sharp clatter. Next he began patting his pockets for pencil and paper, still talking to himself in low, searching tones. Scott had a pen, as it happened. So did Alec, because a pilot soon learned to be always prepared.

"Well, we've lost him for the evening," Scott grumped, watching the engineer scribble designs and equations on a napkin. "When John was here…"

He let the statement just hang there, looking inward rather than at the gathered others. They could all have finished that sentence differently. When John was here…

"…Brains would have finished his figuring, quicker."

"…Contact would never have been lost between Thunderbird 4 and the desk."

"…That wretched mining sub would have been hacked and reprogrammed in five short minutes."

"…We wouldn't have been so damn blind!"

But he wasn't there, or Alan, either, and the family was coping as best they could; bringing Alec aboard to help take up the slack. Between mouthfuls of savoury pot-roast, Virgil said,

"Might be a good idea to arm Thunderbird 4 better… Gordon got lucky using the laser and cutting arm, but all he managed to do was stall that monster… and sooner or later, we're gonna run up against something you can't scare with a flashlight and pocketknife."

The French-doors were open, letting a mingled wind-and-sea murmur in, but the sound was as low as that of the muted view screens. Shadows were beginning to gather and pool in their subtle way; stretching themselves a bit closer whenever your back was turned. Referring to Virgil's suggestion, Scott said,

"It's a weight thing, Virge. Packing more ordnance on 4 would turn her into a floating damn tank, and then she'd need bigger engines, more fuel… She's a rescue sub, not a fighter craft. That kind of thing, we're supposed to be leaving to WASP."

There was a touch of silver at his temples, now, Alec noticed. No lines on the face, though, or softening of the tall, rangy form. Scott Tracy was rock-hard and lighting-quick, yet, and probably would be for years. Looking around at the Tracys, Alec fingered the cell phone in his pocket. Time and again, he thought of asking for help. Time and again, Louise's pretty face… her silvery laugh… sprang to his mind, choking the impulse quite dead.

His thoughts were diverted when Gordon came into the room from one of those nifty hidden elevators. TinTin was with him, and they both looked a little disheveled, un-tucked and slightly out of breath. Must've been a long ride, Alec thought, smiling wistfully. Across from him, Virgil grinned and Scott shook his head, but Hackenbacker never looked up from his calculations, and Mrs. Tracy (like most mothers) noticed nothing she didn't want to see.

It was then that the debriefing began in earnest, and also then that a short message was delivered to Alec's cell phone. Feeling it vibrate in his left trouser pocket, he turned all at once just as cold and bloodless as a vampirized corpse. The room seemed alternately to shrink and expand with the throbbing pulse in Alec's head. Food was ashes and the talk, endless.

He pled headache… on-coming flu… something like that, and managed to get out of most of their post-mortem bull session. Got a strange look from TinTin once, though; just when he was at his most pressed and panicked. The message, Alec wondered frantically… how long would it remain on his phone?

Then one of the house view screens clicked and flashed, cutting on to reveal the old man, Jeff Tracy. He was sitting up in bed with Kyrano standing alongside, and with something important to say.

"Dad," Scott welcomed his father's image, nodding slightly. "We're glad you could join us. What's on your mind, Sir?"

Half of Jeff's craggy face moved in the ghost of a smile. His hair had gone shocking white by this time, and he'd lost a great deal of weight, but the man and magnate whose portraits hung all over the house was clearly still in there. With fumbling slowness, Jeff reached a curled hand forth to tap at the keyboard in front of him. And as each word took shape, a voice synthesizer spoke for the man, saying,

"Armed… aquatic… remotes… released… same… time… four."

Puzzled, Alec turned to look at Gordon, who'd taken a seat beside him on the big leather sofa.

"How does he know what we've been talking about?" Bird Dog whispered.

In a quiet, side-of-the-mouth murmur the aquanaut replied,

"Dad has partial access to all mission board data and comm lines, both house and vehicles. Not management access, mind you, because we can't have two control centers. But he can hear and see everything. Had the system link put in a few years ago, directly after his last stroke."

"Oh…" Alec nodded, wincing at the thought of Jeff's powerful mind in that faltering cage. Hell of a way to go, he thought, in pieces, like that.

In the meantime, Scott had stood up from the desk to say,

"Dad, that's a worthwhile idea, especially if the remotes can be programmed to send a false Thunderbird 4 locator signal as well as fight. I'll get Brains right on it, Sir."

Again came that flicker of a smile, from a once-strong man too proud to slur or stumble in front of his family. The synthesizer next said, in a robotic copy of Jeff's own voice,

"Thought… of… it…watching… mission… Gordon… too… isolated… down… below… Dangerous."

The red-head leaned past his wife on the couch to say,

"Thanks, Dad, but it's Thunderbird 3 needs the backup. At least I've got WASP, late as they usually are. But Alan… or whoever takes 3 into orbit… is pretty much all on his own, up there."

"What about Spectrum?" Virgil cut in, having by now scraped the pattern and three helpings of pot-roast off his plate.

"What about 'em?" Growled Scott. "They've got their own agenda, Virge, and they're deep in bed with the government. Anything Spectrum does for us, they'll want back in spades, and report straight to the authorities."

For the first time, Brains looked up from his work. He'd pulled out a data-pad by now, but ceased clicking and sliding long enough to say,

"A- And I don't, ah… don't t- trust them around our, ah… our t- technology. Every time I d- debut a new, ah… new d- design, it appears s- six months later with, ah… with different d- decals and a few minor m- modifications as one of th- theirs!"

Nodding once, Brains gave a short, outraged sniff and then returned to his oft-stolen work. All of this, Alec watched and listened to, feeling like the soul was being torn out of him with hundreds of sharp, biting hooks. His phone vibrated twice more before he was able to excuse himself and head for the privacy of an empty room. Jeff's library, as it turned out.

Closing the wooden doors behind him, Alec slipped into a calm, leather-bound and gold-leafed oasis. Heavy drapes let in a sliver of fading sunlight. Deep amber cognac gleamed from a cut-crystal decanter atop the mahogany reading table. An antique ivory chess set was ready for play, beside a large, free-standing globe done in gems and rare wood. A leather and brass telescope, too, graced the room, inscribed: J. M. Tracy.

Feels like a damn museum, Alec thought distractedly, as he fumbled the phone out of his pocket. Fingers jittering rapidly over the virtual keyboard, he pulled up the first message. It was a link, to which he was ordered to send those quick, half-assed photographs.

Alec sweated and stood there a minute, under a slow-spinning ceiling fan. He was a good, solid man under most circumstances, and it took a gut-wrenching effort for him to stab the back of an old friend. But along with the link were the awful words:

'She was asking for you, Alec.'

A dry sob escaped him. Hating himself, he clicked on that link and sent the pictures, anyhow. After that, another text message came up.

'Where are you, Alec? She's so pretty when she cries, and I'm getting bored.'

"I sent them,"' he whispered to the sluggish air and dim shadows. "I sent your damn pictures!"

Rushing to open the last message, Bird Dog dropped his phone, grabbed for it and then caught it once more in midair. His heart and breathing were so loud by this time, they could probably hear him in Fresno. Just a number, it turned out to be, with a strange area code.

10-895-426-1700

Alec hurriedly locked the number into his phone's address book, and then called it, too scared to breathe. Three rings crawled past, then…

"Hello, Alec. You've been taking your time, again."

"I… we had a… had a business meeting. I couldn't break away. But I'm here now, and I sent the pictures you wanted. Is Louise all right? You said she was asking for me. Can I…?"

"That was before, Alec. She's much quieter, now. I have a way with women."

Oh, God, he thought.

"Just, please… let me talk to her. I just need to hear her voice, is all. I need to be sure that…"

"You need to do as you're told, Alec. I got your pictures, and they're very nice for an amateur. You do fine work under pressure. Now, there's just one more little thing, and then you can have whatever's left of sweet, sweet Louise. Are you ready to help her, Alec? Would you like your wife back? She was certainly calling for you, this evening."

"You sonuvabitch…!" Alec snarled, seeing nothing but flashes of red, and tasting hot metal.

"Tsk. That'll cost her. Maybe I'll finish her up and try someone else with ties to the Tracy family. The children have friends… and children scare easy. They're so much fun to play with."

"NO! Listen to me, please, whoever you are. I'll do it! What do you want? A couple of data files? Some blackmail pictures? Just don't hurt her, please! I'll do what you want. I promise!"

There was silence on the other end, and then a rapid series of beeps. Startled, Alec pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at its screen. He wasn't a coder, or anything, but even he could recognize a long, executable program when he saw one.

"What the…?"

Putting the phone back into listening position, he whispered,

"What is it? What's it for?"

"Oh… just a little cold. A little bug for the system. All you have to do is upload it in one of the vehicles, Alec. We'll take care of the rest."

Morrissey didn't have the strength to play dumb. He knew precisely what sort of vehicle his tormenter was hinting about.

"Which one?" he asked in a dry, shattered voice.

"That doesn't matter, Alec. Once one catches it, they all will. Now, be a good boy, play ball, and pray for that nice, happy ending. Everybody loves a happy ending, right, Alec?"

"Don't hurt her," was all he could say in response. All he got back in reply was a shrill, mocking dial tone. But elsewhere, Bird Dog was being discussed.

"Is all quite well with your friend?" TinTin asked, walking hand in hand with her husband. The debriefing had ended at last, and they were on their way through the halls of the massive house to Claire's battered room suite.

"How d'you mean 'well'?" said Gordon, mind not very much in the question. "His wife's expecting, and he's a thousand miles away from her, learning to break the law risking his neck. 'Well' would seem kind of relative, under the circumstances."

TinTin frowned thoughtfully, at the same time rubbing a hand on her soft and barely-there belly.

"I am most serious, Mon Couer. There is something gravely troubling Alec, but the waking thoughts of this small one make it difficult to learn more. And then, too, my mind and heart incline to yours and to Claire's, so that I must struggle to listen to the inner voice of any other."

"Huh," Gordon grunted tiredly. The sun had set, and he always felt less energetic, more out of sorts, with its passing. "Well, I suppose I could just ask him… but I don't like to pester, Angel, in case it's something personal. What if he and Louise are fighting?"

TinTin's head tilted to one side for a moment as though she were listening. Her dark silken curtain of hair brushed over that perfect face, leading Gordon to smile and gently push it back behind her left ear. Frowning again, she said,

"Yes… it is to do with his wife. There is pain and fear, but… ah, non, ma petite! Do not fret! I will cease!" To Gordon, she murmured, "The little one does not like me to listen so far, touching such anguish."

Gordon embraced his lovely wife, soothing her with kisses and a gentle back-massage. Slowly, her muscles relaxed under his expertly kneading hands and she leaned up against him, closing her eyes.

"Shh…" he said. "That's all right, Angel. Th' two of you rest and forget all about it. I'll ask him, myself, over a few beers. He looks like a seven-beer man, to me."

Her face tilted up, soft as a fawn's.

"Seven-beer man?"

"Exactly. Three... and he's telling you all about his job and lady friends. Five... and we're mates for life. Seven... and he's crying over lost love and his cheap bastard of a father. Seen it before, and I'll pry it all out of him, no problem."

TinTin made an exasperated noise.

"Don't come home drunk," she told him, in a tone between laughter and pleading. "Claire cannot abide the scent of beer."

"Drunk, no," Gordon assured her, grinning in that maddening/ wonderful way of his. "Tipsy…?" he held his left thumb and forefinger up, just millimeters apart. "Maybe a touch."

It was impossible to stay angry with him; not with a tiny child inside, already mentally reaching for papa. So TinTin kissed him, instead, pushing away all the night's fear and confusion. Drowning it all in deep love.

XXX

Wharton Academy, in an abandoned steam tunnel-

Claire, too, was reaching as though she could feel the thoughts of that lost little other. Her cousins and uncle were less distracted, though. Folding his arms, Ricky said,

"Bet it's a computer virus he wants Mr. Alec to upload. Bet it wrecks the Birds' control systems, or something."

"Th- That seems… likely," Fermat agreed, scuffing patterns in the dust with his sneaker. "I just w- wish that… Mr. Morrissey had t- taken a longer… look at it. Unless…" He looked up at the quietly shimmering image of Crunchy Bear, their extremely patient help-desk rep.

"Unless th- the code has b- been… archived, somehow. Do y- you have a copy, sir?"

The glowing blue avatar flickered once, and then said,

"The malware code produced and sent to Alec Morrissey/ Bird Dog on the occasion in question is researchable. It has not been stored in its entirety, due to the hazardous nature of its content."

"Uh-huh," said Ricky, plucking at his lower lip. "So it was a virus. But there were gunmen involved in the plot, too. Gordon reported being shot at, just before, um… you know. Everything happened. They had to come from somewhere, and that makes me doubt that this phone guy is so crazy, or that he's working alone."

Ian shifted position suddenly. He'd been leaning against the pipe-covered tunnel wall, blank and still as a stick-figure. Now he stepped forward and said,

"What about your idea of checking on Mr. Alec's wife? I mean… she's been kidnapped, right? Shouldn't we be trying to rescue her, first? If she got free and called Mr. Alec, he'd never have to upload that virus. Problem solved, Q.E.D." Looking around himself through a shock of pale-blond hair, Ian Tracy added,

"I don't think Mr. Alec meant to hurt anyone, and he didn't want any money from Grandpa, either. I think he was scared for his wife."

That suggestion was met with cold, clotted silence. Only the hiss and spatter of Crunchy Bear's image could be heard for many breaths thereafter. But it's very hard, sometimes, letting go of old hatred. Then Sam Nakamura backed up his friend, saying,

"I agree with Ian. It seems to me that Mr. Morrissey felt forced to behave as he did. "

Claire whirled on him, then, like a small, auburn-haired fury.

"Would you, Sam?" she demanded tearfully. "Would you do something to hurt us, if someone caught your mom or your brother?"

Sam was very still and quiet for a moment. Then he said,

"Like you, Claire, I spring from a family of considerable wealth and power. Kidnap attempts are not new to me. No, I would not respond in that way to such a threat… but Mr. Morrissey did not grow up as we have, with family compounds, private islands, body guards and staggering wealth. This came to him, possibly, like a thunderbolt. Let us see what has happened with Mrs. Morrissey, and how she can be assisted. This is Ian's thought, and it sounds good to me."

Ricky glanced over at Jane, who gave him a nod and said,

"Yeah. I'm with Sam and Ian on this one, Rick… and so is Clairey, once she stops sulking. Just, um…" She turned uneasily to face the flickering avatar.

"…There's kids here, okay? I mean, if something really awful's going on… I mean to say…"

"That guy on the phone sounds pretty sick," Daniel supplied, hugging himself. "Can you do, like…PG-13, or something? My mom would freak if she knew I was watching a horror movie. I'm not allowed."

Except that it wasn't a movie. It was their awful, frightening past. Said the avatar,

"The term PG-13 has been researched. Appropriate measures will be taken during all subsequent archive transmissions to prevent unacceptable images of violence or reproduction from being accessed by juvenile sentients."

Janey smiled at the slowly rotating bear.

"Thanks for understanding," she told him. "We're ready to see what happened to... how Mr. Alec's wife is doing."

XXX

California, in an underground bunker of concrete and steel-

Becoming a little bit imprisoned was like being a little bit pregnant. Not possible. Realizing this, Louise Alice Coates, the new Mrs. Morrissey and temporary mother, was starting to grow concerned.

She was a Red Path agent who believed in her cause, and had done since university. Following certain persuasive others, she'd come to believe that there was a bright new future ahead on a clean Earth, for the select few who deserved their spot in Eden. But she wasn't stupid.

Having been called upon to tart herself up and attract this pilot friend of the vile Tracys… having caught, married and then allowed herself to become pregnant by the man… she knew that her time and her usefulness were limited. Once Alec bent to her "captor's" pressure, Louise Morrissey was nothing but a dangerous liability.

She'd thought herself one of the elect. Now, locked in an underground cell, given meaningless praise every day with her rations, Louise understood that she was one more broken stone in the bloody and awful Red Path.

This should have filled her with a martyr's pride. Instead, as she sat on a bunk in her cold, windowless cell, Louise laced her fingers together and fought the urge to cry. She'd married a stranger, and there was another stranger growing inside of her. And, very probably, they were all three going to die, having gotten no closer to knowing each other than this.

A few tears slipped from her wide blue eyes. Ducking her head (for there were cameras), Louise whispered,

"Alec… I'm so sorry. And I'm so scared. I'm never going to see you again, ever… but maybe, if it had been for real… maybe I would have fallen in love with you. I just… please help us. Somebody, help us."

XXX

Wharton-

It was Ricky, this time, who stopped everything by lunging toward the life-sized transmission, saying,

"It's okay, Aunt Louise! We'll…"

Then, stopping short in the midst of a million bright, wheeling pixels, Rick blinked around at his startled companions.

"Aunt Louise?" Janey repeated, staring at her red-faced uncle.

"Yeah… I dunno." He raked a hand through his thick black hair, like Scott sometimes did. "For a second, it's like I knew her."

"Or l- like you… were r- remembering a possible past," Fermat suggested, giving Ricky an out. "One where all of this was p- patched up and… changed for th- the better."

Rick nodded thoughtfully, doing that lip thing, again.

"Maybe that means we're going to succeed at this," he told the others. "All we need is the last few pieces, and a strategy." Hurrying back to the help-desk avatar, Richard Tracy said,

"Okay, assuming that Mr. Alec did upload that virus, fast forward to the Grand Canyon mission. It's time to find out exactly what happened."