Chapter Twenty-one
In the Tracy penthouse, John sweated at the computer to find something that might be useful.
His father paced behind him. "Gordon. Get moving. Helijet in fifteen." His father returned to the computer to breathe down John's neck. "Have Penelope meet Gordon and me at the Gosford helipad in thirty minutes. How's Alan doing? That search pattern working?"
"He's identified a number of possibilities. Penelope's ruled out five. Another five to check."
"As soon as Thunderbird Two arrives, give them an area to search. Inch by inch."
"FAB."
Gordon slouched into the chair beside John.
"You look like baked turd," John told him.
Gordon grinned. "I'd tell you what you look like but I'd get in trouble."
Grandma put a cup of coffee down in front of Gordon and ruffled his hair, which he tried unsuccessfully to avoid. "Look at you. Thank goodness no member of the public'll see you. That's one swollen eye you've got, young man."
John squeezed his brother's shoulder. Then the computer search found what he'd been looking for.
"Dad, I've located Rutledge's wife. They've been living apart for a number of years but I wonder if she could help."
Virgil looked over the primitive tools they had gathered from around the shack for the procedure on Scott's arm. It was far from ideal but it was the best he had. Perhaps this was going to be more difficult than he imagined. Visions of Scott only ninety-eight percent intact, visions of his Scott missing from the elbow down brought the taste of gall to his lips. It was not a question of cutting. It was a question of cutting the right things that was both the carrot and the stick.
What if he made it worse for his brother?
"Scott?"
"It's power," Scott said as he breathed heavily, his eyes glazed and his voice catching. "A power trip. What we do."
"Bullshit and you know it." Virgil picked up the penknife and held it up to the light of the lantern to examine a defect in the blade.
"Ego. Certainly ego. Those machines are something else. Where do we get off, Virg? Huh? Thinking we can—"
"We don't." Virgil held the blade over an open flame of a gas burner to sterilise it. Scott's chuckle in return sounded more like a cough, however, Virgil was intent on what he had to do. "Keep talking like that and I'll slug you."
"Maybe I take. Take. Have to learn to give"
"You won't survive more giving. Concentrate, will you? I need you with me on this." Virgil shook his head with consternation when Scott's face creased into a Cheshire cat grin.
"I'm there, bro. Under that slab. In your hands."
Virgil felt the knife was twisting in his own gut as he gazed down at his brother. Scott rolled his head slowly from side to side, his lips moving without always forming words, a strange luminance about his face that could only mean the onset of serious illness
I have to do this but does Scott have to be so frigging cavalier about it?
"Don't do that to me, you shit," he whispered then said to Deirdre. "I'm counting on you to keep his arm still and coach his breathing when it gets too much. Like you would through a woman having contractions. And – for mercy's sake – tell me if I'm going to do something wrong." Virgil cooled the knife by waving it, drawing in a large breath to hold it as he waited. "Try not to hold this against me, huh?" He gave Scott's good hand a squeeze and Scott squeezed back. "Okay, put weight on him."
Virgil could tell when the knife first went in. Scott shuddered the entire length of his body yet, instead of crying out, he sucked in air through his teeth, the muscles in his cheeks starting to tremble.
"Breathe, buddy, breathe," Virgil whispered and wrestled with that stick to stop it reaching down into his knife hand.
In FAB One, Jeff knew Penelope waited for him to act. She was silent, her head turned towards the car window apparently admiring the view that would have been visible if it had been daylight. Parker waited. The rest of the family waited. They were atop Warrah Lookout, where, if it wasn't for the heavy timber, he could look left to see the Pacific Ocean out past Broken Bay and if he looked right, the Hawkesbury system.
Alan had located the coastguard vessel. It lay at anchor just inside Broken Bay, at the mouth of the Hawkesbury, and they could see it on infra-red.
Jeff considered the page of information in front of him one more time then fingered the communication console. It was a difficult decision but an earlier discussion with Brains was a welcome boost.
"Mr Tracy, I have –ah- some information that might be helpful."
"Go ahead, Brains."
"Well, the technical data is –ah- just becoming available on the building in Kysan. There are some – ah- interesting anomalies."
"Tell me."
"Virgil has left some –ah- samples in Thunderbird Two that he has collected from the site. It's possible he has noticed something that is currently being discussed on the –ah- International Civil Engineering Forum. It looks like he hasn't had time to –ah- complete—"
"What is it?"
"Well, Mr Tracy, there is a lot of conjecture –ah- as to why the buildings in this port precinct suffered such catastrophic failure considering this country has robust –ah- earthquake provisions in their building codes."
"What are you saying? Poor workmanship?"
"Ah, no – not necessarily. Since a similar failure in their architecture –ah- around the turn of the century, the government has –ah- been keen to discourage incidents of a similar nature. We can't rule that possibility out at this early stage but I don't—"
"Then, what?"
"Salt, Mr Tracy."
"Salt?"
"The samples I have here in Thunderbird Two –ah- are labelled lower floor supporting columns. The building that took those –ah- five lives was built with single slab floors supported by vertical columns."
"Is that bad?"
"No, not at –ah- all. It's very common but these –ah- samples show a definite honey-combing of the concrete surrounding the –ah- reinforced steel rods that run vertically through them and the rods appear to demonstrate advanced electrochemical corrosion. I would have to run tests to confirm—"
"Rust?"
"That's what it appears to –ah- be. Standard building codes for –ah- earthquake regions require deeper, broader foundations and an increased number of steel reinforcing rods in the supporting columns. I believe –ah- the irony of this, Mr Tracy, is that the codes may have –ah- actually weakened this building."
"Plain English, Brains."
"The ICE Forum has been discussing the potential –ah- effect over time of increased salinity in subsoils on heavily developed coastal regions. Kysan is a port city, Mr Tracy, and subject to regular -ah- inundation by sea water during their typhoon season. That, together with the increase of sea levels under global warming, have many –ah- experts worried as to what effect this will have on multi-storey developments along the coast. If you think around the world, the potential—"
"Okay, I get it. How does this help Scott?"
"Well…indirectly, perhaps. It may help you – ah- more. And it may help Commander Rutledge –ah- understand the futility of what Virgil and Gordon were doing. If what I'm seeing in this sample is –ah- repeated throughout the building then this structure is likely to have fallen at –ah- even the lowest seismic activity. Virgil and Gordon were working in –ah- conditions much more dangerous than would have been apparent –ah- even to Scott, particularly as –ah- sections were still standing. The slightest movement, Mr Tracy, -ah- even from the heavy machinery could have been disastrous for those still working the site. When columns in buildings of this type fail, it is common the floors, -ah- 'pancake' for want of a –ah- clearer description. They come down one on top of –ah- the other in extremely large segments. From what I could see from Firefly's visual recordings this is the case. It is almost certain that the jacks Gordon were –ah- using would have been unable to support the weight."
"You're telling me that Scott was right to force Gordon back."
"I am, Mr Tracy."
Cherrie Rutledge had also been helpful. She was upset to learn that Rutledge could be planning to hurt Scott. Jeff didn't go into detail as to what was currently unfolding, he only relayed his fears that Rutledge might harm his eldest.
"I know this is a difficult decision for you, dear Jeff," Penelope said, her hand resting on his forearm. "Very difficult."
It was made harder by confirmation from Alan that, while the coastguard vessel was manned by a skeleton crew of twenty, their equipment couldn't find evidence of his sons. All those on board moved freely about the ship, not like those who were captives. Scott and Virgil were not aboard.
So, where were they?
Cherrie Rutledge had given him her husband's satellite phone number. Jeff fingered that number. He would use the approach that was successful with Hubert. Father to father. The grave fear was he could make things worse.
He punched in Rutledge's number and it was answered on the fifth ring.
"Cherrie, I told you—"
"I want my sons back, Mr Rutledge. Today and unharmed." Jeff's voice was cold, even.
"How did you…? It's Commander Rutledge to you."
"I want my sons back before sun-up. Understand? You have no right to hold them or harm them."
"Your eldest destroyed my son in Korea, just as he destroyed that young girl on the streets of Sydney."
"Rutledge, that building in Kysan was ready to fall. It was a death trap. Release my sons and we can discuss this. Sensibly."
"You can't stop me."
"I can and I will. Let Scott and Virgil go."
"You can have Virgil and that woman back," Rutledge said before he turned off the phone.
Virgil had only just begun to consider the next problem – their future – when he was distracted. He still felt more than a little queasy thinking about what he'd just done; cutting down length of Scott's forearm with a less than razor-sharp implement.
Virgil had been grateful for Deirdre's assistance, realising he may not have been able to do it without her help, his nerve almost abandoning him. Deirdre had kept them both at it and she'd been right. It was like skinning a sausage. When he had cut the swollen tissue, it raised and spread back like he'd seen Grandma's cake do as it baked. Luckily, part of Scott's forearm had already been incised and all he needed to do there was release the sutures.
With the strangest fascination, the engineer in Virgil had studied the long smooth muscles that provided the power needed to move Scott's hand. He'd watched the limb redden, the radial artery restart its wriggle. While he had stroked his brother's arm to absorb the excess fluid with the cloths provided, he was saddened that such a perfect mechanism was marred.
Scott seemed to be asleep, though Virgil could no longer reach him to tell for sure. Rutledge had left after the operation, Virgil had been separated from Scott and Doorman sat over his brother as guardian.
Virgil had just started to think about how they could get out of the place before Rutledge returned when Doorman picked up a shovel and casually mentioned to his companion he was going out to sample the night air. Virgil braced for trouble. As soon as Doorman left, Driver went over to Scott to check him then came to stand in front of Deirdre, eyeing her.
Virgil was on full alert as Driver moved in.
"So, you know the rules of engagement do you, love?"
Deirdre inched closer to Virgil. "Get lost, creep."
He squatted in front of her. "You got some spunk for someone who's, how shall we say, been around the block a few times."
"Back off, pal," Virgil said.
"Did you hear that, sister? The yessir, nosir fancies some for himself. We know what we call that, don't we?"
"Touch her and you will regret it."
Driver grabbed Deirdre around the throat and she squealed. "What are you going to do about this, eh poofta?" Deirdre tried to kick Driver and retreat closer to Virgil but Driver twisted her arm to stop her. "Let me fill you in on the facts, sister. When the boss picks up the crack kid, you'll be disposed of. You will not walk out of here. Guaranteed. But, now, do a little favour for me and I'll do a little favour for you. What's say?" He nodded towards the door. "The back room? Huh? Doesn't have to be difficult. No, wait a minute. I know. Better yet, why don't we let your nancy boys watch? They might enjoy it."
Driver didn't wait for her answer. He dragged her from the mattress by the shoulder of her shirt. She struggled and screamed, tried to kick, to bite in a wild fashion, but Driver only laughed. Virgil made a lunge for them with his free hand only to be brought up by the manacle on his other hand. The strain nearly wrenched his shoulder from its socket and he saw stars.
When he looked again, he saw Driver's path blocked by Scott. Driver startled and appeared alarmed to see Scott towering over him. With his dishevelled appearance and blood-splattered clothing, Scott looked gothic even to Virgil.
"Bad career move. First. You'll be dead meat by sun-up. Rutledge was specific. They are to be let go and I will make sure that happens. Second. Even I wouldn't risk my brother's wrath. He has the temper of a Grizzly. When he gets hold of you – and believe me, he will – he will tear you apart. Limb by limb. Me, on the other hand, am as harmless as a kitten. Why don't you take me on? Huh? More your match."
Virgil was mortified. "Scott! No!"
Driver didn't hesitate. He seemed to grow larger with anger as he launched at Scott.