Chapter Twenty-five

Scott was surprised when Thunderbird Two left its hover above him. He watched it fly back over the bay towards the white craft that seemed to be getting nearer to the island. They wouldn't give up that easily. They would know where he was.

He wanted to know how badly Virgil was hurt but he couldn't face going back, not yet. He wanted to be there to support his brother but he didn't think he had it left in him. His younger brother could shoulder some extra responsibility for a change. Gordon was more than capable. He needed to sit down and just be for awhile. Maybe lie down. At least do something different from what he was doing because he couldn't do it for much longer.

They could manage – without him.

He staggered on until he couldn't walk another step. Using a rock as support, he went to ground, fully believing he may not rise again. He was done. Finished.

He fingered the model Nicholas had treasured.

Words circled in his brain like a royal proclamation. The pictures of his grand fall had been broadcast to the world. He'd humiliated his family and brought their lifework into disrepute. Would their organisational head have him back was the key question. He'd never thought for one moment he'd be the one. Scott Jefferson Tracy. Embarrassment. Failure. Disappointment. If Martin was dead, so was he. His defence shattered. His arm useless. He couldn't fly his precious Thunderbird. Worst of all, the family didn't believe him. Didn't believe in him. Wasn't that what Virgil was saying by considering Rutledge's point of view?

So, who would he be without what he did? Who was he – now?

He placed the two objects he carried on the rock in front of him. The pistol and the model of Thunderbird One.

Was Rutledge right about him in some perverse way? Hanging out for the approval of his peers? His siblings? The previous generation? Trying to hold onto something he could no longer have? Was that the name he now deserved? Rutledge. Not Tracy.

He considered the misshapen model then let his fingers wander to the pistol, feeling the weapon's potential, the promise in its hardness.

Future? What was his future? He stared longingly at the pistol…until he thought of the two young people he had unwittingly affected and what their lives had meant.

Virgil scooted across the rocks to where Driver had fallen from the cliffs. From an enormous sense of humanity, he paused a moment to feel for a pulse. None. The fall had killed him. Virgil dragged him onto the rocks, scaled the rock barrier and ran on to find Scott. He sprinted through the undergrowth, slashing aside the branches and blackberries to where Thunderbird Two had last sighted him. Scott couldn't be far but he knew it would be a waste of breath to call out. Scott wouldn't answer him.

He paused a moment to decide which direction to take. Tin-Tin had said he was travelling east. He went that way, saw a single droplet of blood and knew he was on the right track.

Two minutes later he saw him. Scott was slumped against a boulder with his head drooped in front of it like he was praying. Then Virgil saw something that made his blood run cold. Scott's left arm rested on the top of the rock. In his left hand was a pistol. Aimed for his temple.

"Scott, no! For mercy's sake, don't do it! Please!"

Scott didn't move at the sound of his voice. Virgil leapt for his brother and swept his gun hand to one side, expecting at any second to hear that fateful sound. There was only silence. He found Scott was barely conscious, his face leaning on the rock.

Scott murmured when Virgil grabbed him. "I didn't… I wasn't…"

"No, you fuckenwell didn't and thank the frigging stars for that." Virgil pulled his brother's limp form to his own and held him. Then he noticed the gun Scott held was inoperable and he said a few more choice things under his breath as he prised the weapon from Scott's grasp.

"I'm a Tracy," Scott said.

"Huh, what's that?"

Scott tried to smile. "She told me."

"Come on, we need to get you—"

"She said I'm a Tracy."

"Who, buddy? What are you talking about? I think you're—."

"Mom," Scott whispered. "She came. I saw her." Scott was quiet for a moment and Virgil thought he'd passed out. "You think I'm still a Tracy?" he finally added.

"You're a Tracy and I'm a Tracy, I guess that means we're related."

"Sure?"

Virgil rocked him. "You scared the crap out of me with that firearm, you big shit."

Scott grinned.

In Thunderbird Four, Gordon sat with Deirdre to reassure her she was safe but his mind was elsewhere, waiting impatiently for word from Virgil. The comms were silent. He supposed that was a positive – or was it? The amount of residue blood down Virgil's back had him worried, particularly after Scott's heavy bleed at the accident site.

"So, I'm really in a Thunderbird machine?" Deirdre asked him. "For real? I haven't gone crazy or something?"

What Gordon could see was a bedraggled creature who shook from reaction and had put water all over his table but who was basically intact. "Not that I've noticed."

She blew out her lips, looked around her warily and rubbed her jaw where a sizeable red mark was darkening. "You know, we match." She indicated his face. "So, when do you get out of uniform? Have you ever considered pearling off Broome? Or chasing marlin out from Bermie? Maybe counting seals south of Maatsuyker? Yes? No?" Gordon grinned and Deirdre groaned. "Don't tell me you're going to disappear and I'll never see you again. Right? I've heard that's what you IR guys do."

"That's unlikely, seeing as you know so much about us."

"So, what? You going to dispatch me? Weighted down with the next load of kittens?"

Gordon laughed, despite being appalled by the idea.

She shrugged. "Can't blame a girl for trying." Then her gaze dropped to the sheets while her fingers twisted the material. "Any word on Martin? Did he – make it?"

Gordon hesitated. She'd just been through an ordeal and he didn't want to stress her further. He believed he knew what the answer would be.

"It's okay," she said and sighed. "I kind of expect bad news. A word either way would relieve my mind. Stop me wondering, you know."

He raised his watch to his lips and asked John.

"Not a chance, Squirt. I know you worked hard on him. Aorta was blown. He was dead before—"

Gordon tried to cover the watch to muffle the sound of his brother's voice. "Not alone here. Someone with a vested interest."

There were a few seconds of silence before John said, "Ms Stewart, I'm so sorry. Cutting out my tongue, now."

A single tear slid down Deirdre's face and Gordon reached out to take her hand.