Sorry for continued delays. I'm pretty useless sometimes.
20. Implications
Driving back eastwards, middle of the night, GMT-4 (DST);
John would never have called himself a deipnosophist, and nor would anyone who even slightly knew him. Yet, he thought that the general talk with Ralph Bersch (who really was just a kid who'd strayed a little from the old, beaten path) had gone rather well. He'd found out where this whole, painful as salt in an open wound, damn International Rescue business appeared to originate from, and come away with a memory flash drive full of pre-prepared information.
Not bad for a few hours flying time, and a half-night of work.
Back on the Island, it was still only early evening, but John's immediate plans didn't include a call back home with his discoveries. Not just yet, anyway.
The passing traffic lights were beginning to blur in the edges of his vision, like he was looking at them through thick, frozen ice, and the steady thrumming of hot, rubber tyres on the road was becoming somniferous. No. First thing was to get back towards Manhattan Island, where he'd find a hotel, and catch a few hours of much needed rest. Then, he'd have an early start sorting through the pale blue memory stick, and compiling a suitable, action ready file to send back to his father, as soon as hours became vaguely sociable in that part of the world.
With TrAC's main headquarters based in the centre of Manhattan, alongside the New York stock exchange, NASDAQ and so many other world-enterprising business HQs, John had been subjected to enough company visits to the area to know it quite well. Attendance at a few boardroom meetings a year was compulsory as far as Jeff Tracy was concerned, once the boys reached the age of twenty-one, if they were still living at the family address.
And, therefore, based on those visits and general talk that passed between himself and his brothers, he had knowledge of a few places where he'd be able to book a room for the night, even at this late, dark-wrapped hour. So, as the still clubbing, and awake district came into view, the astronaut automatically pulled off onto waste and trash littered side streets, and finally into an underground parking lot beneath a huge and looming building. The Algonquin Hotel.
If he'd wanted John could have stayed, for free, at his father's penthouse apartment, nearby in the inner city. With so much business being dealt with out of the New York offices, Jeff had invested in accommodation locally, for when TrAC meetings brought him here. But, with pride being what it was, and relationships still so tetchy, and bubble-fragile, John was more comfortable staying elsewhere.
Pulling the sleek, purring Crossfire into a vacant space, John cut off the engine, and got out, pulling his much-travelled rucksack with him. Locking the vehicle with a swift button press, he finally paused to think that maybe a hotel of this stature and grace might not appreciate his arrival in jeans and a tee.
But, then again, they weren't likely to turn down a legendary, Tracy-bank account either. A platinum card with those five letters etched on to its surface, pretty much bought entry into anywhere, or ownership of anything.
Entering into the large, gold-edged atrium, John booked a single room for the night, and headed on upstairs, a swipe key clutched in his right hand. The only suite left for the night was a luxury, business complex; complete with Queen-sized bed, and bath-and-shower equipped en-suite. Shrugging, John had agreed to the terms, flashed his identity card again, and given an account number to bill the expenses to.
On a last minute change of heart, the astronaut had plugged in bank details of a TrAC account on the keypad the receptionist had handed over.
It'd be a month or so before the TrAC accounts were settled for this period of time, and to be honest John doubted anyone would even raise an eyebrow at a single night spent in the city. Besides which, his father owed him still for back when…
Even if the billionaire had forgotten, himself.
Up in the suite, John set down his rucksack, placing the black bag carefully at the bedside, before then stripping off his jeans and outer shirt. Planning on travelling light, he'd only packed a neatly folded, clean tee shirt and a set of underwear, and so climbed under the sheets still partially clothed. Leaning over, he retrieved his comm. device from the stowed rucksack, and set an alarm for 5 a.m. with intentions of getting to work on the files as early as possible.
Setting the small, portable machine on the counter at the right of the headboard, John laid back on the 'made of nature's best resources', finely weaved sheets to catch a couple of hours of sleep.
Tracy Island, early morning, following day;
Dawn slipped in almost silently; leaving wet, dewy patios and slowly awakening bird song behind it. Within the cool villa, the pale yellow sunlight slipped and washed across the walls and surfaces, falling lower on to the floor as the day broke.
Scott Tracy was already up, habitually an early riser, and was seated in the lounge, steaming coffee in one hand and downloaded, electronic newspaper in the other, when Jeff entered the room.
"'Morning, Father. Sleep well?"
The honest answer to that question was that Jeff Tracy had slept very little, and not peacefully when slumber had arrived. He'd tossed and turned, rustling silk sheets and worrying about his widely spread sons most of the night. But…
"Yes, thank you, Scott. I did. Yourself?"
The ex-fighter pilot shrugged a little, sipping from his red-rimmed, ceramic cup before replying.
"Not bad. Spent a lot of time wondering how John was doing, though." Indicating a coffee tray on the side, Scott continued, changing the subject. "Would you like a mug? Kyrano brought it in about ten minutes ago."
Murmuring affirmations, and striding across the room, Jeff picked up the gleaming, silver pot and poured out a drink of his own, the silky, black liquid splashing down into the cup. Taking a seat across from his eldest son, he paused, coffee half way to his lips.
"I thought John would have called in as soon as he'd retrieved the information?"
Scott set down the newspaper he was still holding, the headline ('US PUSHING FOR UN GOVERNMENT TO TAKE ACTION') still bold and unwavering. Choosing his words carefully, said Scott,
"I don't believe there's any reason to doubt his success, yet, Father. I suspect John's probably following information up to absolute certainty, before handing anything over. He can be a little… too efficient sometimes."
Jeff nodded, not looking completely pacified. But, he'd sense enough to know that as far as Scott was concerned the matter was settled, and having his son on his side was rather important at the moment.
Luckily, any awkwardness was broken and shredded by a low-pitched bleeping that came from the room's comm. unit. John it seemed had finally decided to call in.
Scott's knee-jerk, reflexive instincts meant he stood up to receive the call, and so it was he that greeted the chiselled, blond face that appeared on the screen. Seeing his elder brother's features lit a small smile that slowly spread across John's own.
"Hey, John. How's it going?" Scott reached out behind him and pulled up the chair that was just behind. He sat down, facing the desk and his brother.
"Not too bad. I thought if I called early I'd get you on the line."
Scott smirked a little, aware that neither John could see his father, and nor could his father see his face.
"What?"
John was immediately suspicious, and knew too well that look meant trouble, and probably a severe snag heading his way. Seemingly ignoring his brother's last question however, Scott continued on,
"You know me, the morning's too valuable to sleep in. Seems Dad's had the same idea today, too." The grin was still plastered all over Scott, his enjoyment at seeing his John's discomfort, obviously immense.
A single raised eyebrow was all that met this statement. That and a stiff mask that suddenly settled over the astronaut's face, one that so carefully guarded his every thought and emotion from his father.
"Is he there?"
Jeff had picked up Scott's newspaper after he had stood up, but had not really been reading much of the latest, breaking story. World politics were of great interest to him; warring nations could be utilised to make profit, and financial crisis helped to develop brand loyalty, but today there were bigger hurdles, much closer to home. Instead, he'd quietly been listening in on his sons' conversation, and couldn't help but notice the slight change in tone of John's voice, after he'd been mentioned. Still, now seemed like as good a time as any to enter into the not yet heated discussion.
Standing up, and leaving his half empty, coffee mug on the side, Jeff strode over to stand behind the desk. As Scott went to stand, to offer his father the seat, a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Yes, I'm here, John. Did you find Bersch?"
Typical. Jeff Tracy, ex-astronaut, billionaire CEO of Tracy Aerospace Corporation, never skirted around the matter at hand. As far as he was concerned, going straight to the point, and hitting the nail on the head was how he got where he was.
Still, John thought, he'd always been scolded for not using manners. However…
"Yes, Father. I found him. He passed on a series of files, and sets of data with information he'd collated about the group behind all this. The kid knew what he'd done, and had a conscience, it seemed."
"And the files…?"
Off screen, John reached over to apply a few last keystrokes to a programme he'd been running. Then, satisfied, he turned back to the comm. unit.
"I've just sent a more organised and condensed version of the package over. It should be in your inbox any moment." He didn't mention all the extra work he'd put into the data this morning, knowing that praise from his father was as likely as a sudden South Pacific snowstorm, and meant even less to him than it would, say, a cloud of gas out on the Scutum-Centaurus arm of the Milky Way.
A soft ping announced the e-mail attachment's arrival, and Scott, still seated despite numerous, fidgety attempts to switch places with his father, reached over to open up the document.
"Looks like it's all there, John. Thanks." Scott smiled at his brother, appreciating the astronaut's handiwork, even if their father didn't. Then, as an after-thought, he added, "You were right. I don't think I could have settled all this so fast."
If Scott thought he saw the corner of John's mouth twitch ever so slightly at that, he was certain he saw it fall back to a perfect poker face, when Jeff began speaking again.
"Alright. Well, if you've finished with Bersch with regards to intelligence gathering, I presume you've secured him so that he can't take news back to his employers?"
John almost frowned, but stopped himself just in time; reminding himself no emotion, give nothing to the enemy. Who was in this case, his father. For, that statement;
1. Implied his utter incompetence.
And,
2. Meant his father hadn't been listening properly when he'd said Ralph Bersch had a full sense of right and wrong, and had been gathering information against his employers.
However, calmly and very evenly John replied,
"Yes, Father. Ralph won't be a security problem anymore." In fact, I think he probably owes us.
Having accepted the flash drive from Ralph late last night, John had set about keeping his promises to the soon-to-be-returned college student. First, he'd borrowed a computer from the café and, plugging in his PDA to run programmes and copy strings of code from, re-established Ralph as a student at New York University. He'd erased the absence records against the teenager, and replaced them with attendance at all missed lectures.
Next, he'd used a secure bank account (his own, this time) to transfer in money to pay off any debts that had been accumulated, and set up a direct order, for any remaining costs to be billed to the same account.
And then, fulfilling the last agreement, he'd asked Ralph to show him the project he'd last been working on. The pair had spent the following hour and a little, fixing any back-coding issues that had cropped up, and manipulating the data to give perfect results.
All promises kept and delivered upon, John had finally left in the early, still night-smothered, star-glinting hours of the morning.
"Very well, then. I want you to finish resting up, and then to return back home, John."
A silent nod, and a look (meant very definitely for Scott only) that Jeff couldn't fathom, met this statement.
"See you in a few hours, son."
"Yes, Father."
The comm. screen closed down to black, leaving both Jeff and Scott staring blankly at it. And then, as though an electric current had just passed straight through him, Scott jumped up, made his excuses and left.