Chapter Twenty-six

Scott slithered down onto the floor of Thunderbird Four and lay in a pool of water and blood. It had taken both of his brothers to manhandle him into the submarine. He was told he was a lot heavier than Deirdre. The air lock was designed for rescues in water, not above the surface, hence their difficulty. Gordon had eased him down into the vessel and he came down in two parts. The great mass of towels that had been around his arm dropped first with a splatter then the rest of him followed.

"Holy shit. What a mess." Gordon did look shocked.

"Sorry, Gordo. I'll help you wash the floor."

"I meant your arm."

Scott pointed at Gordon's face. "One thing Virg and I learnt. Never let Dee near hapless gunmen. Not her handiwork, I hope."

"I heard you, you cheeky bugger," Deirdre said from the sick bay.

Virgil and Gordon lifted Scott from the floor and carried him into the sick bay to put him on the bed.

"Back again," Deirdre said as she moved aside to let them into the small space, clutching her blanket closer around her.

"Some crap about being important," he muttered. "You okay?"

"I will be now I know you're all right."

Scott shivered and Gordon was quick to cover him with a thermal blanket.

"We need to get fluid into him," Gordon whispered aside to Virgil as he pulled an oxygen mast over Scott's face. "Fast. He might be too low to find a vein. I'll do a blind stick. Raise his feet. See if that helps his BP, if not we could try the MAST suit. He may need a transfuse. Get these wet clothes off. He's mighty cold."

"No, leave them," Scott murmured, wincing when he felt the salt water penetrate into his arm.

"Relax, just relax," Gordon soothed. "You're losing too much body heat. We need to get you dry."

Scott fended him off and pulled at the oxygen mask. "Don't touch my clothes."

"Scott, it's okay. Everything's going to all right. Let us take care of you."

Scott rolled restlessly on the bed. "Don't touch me. Please, don't touch me."

Gordon frowned uncertainly at Virgil.

"How about I do it?" Virgil said to Scott. "Gordon'll see to Dee. Okay?"

Scott didn't agree or disagree. His arm became an all-consuming conflagration.

"What's wrong, buddy?"

"Burning."

"Salt water's a bitch," Gordon said.

Virgil reached for a bottle of distilled water. "Irrigating your arm, now."

It took them many minutes of work before Scott was comfortable. When the brothers did finally relax, Virgil said. "I'll let them know he's on board and that we need an urgent medical hook up."

Deirdre muttered away to herself, "No-one is ever going to believe me. This is unreal. I can't even believe it myself."

"You all right, Dee?" Scott said dreamily. "Not beyond you, is it? I can fix that. Only I wouldn't give it in your arm."

Deirdre raised up so her elbow rested on the bed. "You're in no position to give lip, Scotty-boy. I could go another round. What about you? You're looking pretty terrible."

"S-ure."

She sighed very loudly. "Blimey. You heroes must be thick or something. I'm going to find myself a nice deserted island and never leave it." She chuckled then, and he smiled with her.

Maybe she had a point. He closed his eyes and willingly succumbed to that which was invading his eyes from the edges.

Jeff felt two hundred pounds lighter when Virgil conveyed the news that Scott was on board. A collective cheer echoed around the communication equipment.

"Er, Dad," John called abruptly. "I have Commander Rutledge."

"How did he contact you?"

"He made an emergency call direct through International Rescue. He demanded to be put through to you. I told him that you weren't connected with IR and that I would find your number for him. Put him through to the vidphone?"

"Without the visual." Jeff heard the click of exchange. "You're out of luck, Commander Rutledge."

"You don't have your sons back, yet, Tracy. If you haven't noticed I have that yellow submersible boxed in. It can't come closer without being blown out of the water. I promise you I will do it. So, you're the head of International Rescue. Well, well."

Jeff was in FAB One. The car sat on the water at a distance from the danger zone but within visual range. He scanned with the binoculars to see the cutter had moved while they'd been distracted by what had taken place on the island.

"International Rescue is nothing to do with us. They've responded to an anonymous call."

Rutledge laughed. "No-one will believe that. You've made a strategic blunder, this time. You can see the media presence is building. I understand the police launch is on its way. Any longer and the world will want to know what International Rescue is doing. If you care to notice the cutter is positioned central to the channel. I warn you. If that submersible comes anywhere within range, it will be destroyed. If you attempt an air rescue, my forward gun will pick you off. You have until the tide returns then my craft will move in and destroy that sub. Or, you can release Scott to me and the others will live. Simple exchange."

"No deal. I only have to say the word and a law enforcement team will board you."

"I'd welcome them. They'll see no-one's on board. I'll complain of harassment. After all the publicity, frankly Tracy, you can't afford more bad press. It's simple. Scott, for the craft and the lives of those aboard her. You know any delay will jeopardise his future. You've already lost him. He won't return to you. Not willingly, so you may as well hand him over."

"Your wife is on her way, Commander. Maybe she can talk sense into you."

Rutledge cut the connection without further comment.

Jeff turned back to the internal com links. "Right, we need a plan. John, what are we up against? What's the cutter's load? Can he carry out his threat?"

"Not according to the standard equipment charts I've got here for that class of vessel. AN/SPS-64 surface search and navigation radar, one 25mm Bushmaster and two 12.7 mm MGs."

"It wasn't brought all the way to Australia for a repaint," Gordon said.

"Commander Rutledge is no fool," Jeff said. "He must have something."

"I'll see what I can find out," John said.

"Have you found maps of the navigational channels?"

"While you were speaking. I have full satellite imaging. There's two problems. The depth of the water and the distribution of oyster leases. This bay is full of areas where they farm oysters. Navigation is limited, particularly at low tide."

"Couldn't I blast my way through those structures with the lasers?" Gordon asked. "What are they made of?"

"According to my search, wood, metal and plastic."

"No problem."

"There's acres of them. Even if you blast your way through them, it would be slow going. The cutter'll have time to work out where you're headed and cut you off. You're looking at a state-of-the-art pursuit craft."

"How much water does this vessel need?" Jeff said.

"Those beauties are designed to be fast and very manoeuvrable," Gordon agreed.

"Draught 11 feet," John said.

Gordon came back quickly. "But I can get around it, you watch me."

"We could wait for high tide and Gordon could skim over the top of those things," Alan said.

"We can't wait," Virgil cut in. "Scott's not good. We can't wait."

"What about the grabs?" Alan said. "Two could come in and pluck —."

"Bad idea," Virgil said. "Too damn close. The Bushmaster is anti-aircraft. Two's thrusters would be riddled before —."

"Four can take whatever Commander Rutledge could throw at us," Gordon said hotly. "Let him try. I could motor straight past him."

"Four's infrastructure may take –uh- it," Brains said. "But you have –uh- injured on board. Will Scott?"

"Does anyone else have a better idea?"

Scott was perturbed by the silence. He wondered where he could be where there was so little sound. As he listened, he picked up what he thought was breathing and wondered if it was his own. He opened his eyes to discover he was staring at the ceiling of Thunderbird Four. So why couldn't he hear the sound of her engines? Why was he still there?

He pulled back the oxygen mask. "What happened?"

He heard the rustle of fabric and Deirdre's voice was airy, upbeat, beside him. "We're stuck."

He tried to move, which translated into a groan, and Virgil came running from the forward deck.

"What's wrong?" Scott said.

"Slight problem. Rutledge's got us cornered. He's threatening to blow us out of the water unless he gets you."

"What's he got?"

"We're not sure. We don't think he'd make the threat unless he could carry it out. Dad doesn't want to risk a confrontation to find out. We're trying to thrash out a plan. So far negotiation has failed. Any ideas?"

"Simple. Give him what he wants. Problem solved." Scott made an effort to drag his exhausted body up off the bed but Virgil was quick to restrain him.

"That offer to slug you still stands."

Scott tried unsuccessfully to push Virgil's hands away. "Not going to risk you guys. I've used up my lives. Maybe my name should be Rutledge. He's making more sense than I am."

"You even think about getting off this table and I will break out the restraints. Guaranteed. Deirdre, you have my permission."

"Understood," Deirdre said. "What about the –um- slug part?"

"Scott?"

Scott gave up, letting what little part of him he did manage to raise from the horizontal fall back with a defeated sigh. "All right. All right. Tell Gordon this bed's lousy."

"We like you, too," Gordon said from up the front.

Virgil adjusted the bedding around him. "In the Services, what would they do?"

Scott rolled his head away so he didn't have to look at his brother.

"What about the Services?" Virgil pressed.

Scott closed his eyes.

"Come on. An idea."

Scott shifted his position to stretch on the narrow bed, not finding any way to lie that was comfortable while every part of him seemed to either hurt, ache or throb. "Well, I guess, in a situation like this, taking the offence is your best defence. He may not expect Four to be armed."

Virgil raised his watch to his lips. "Hear that, Dad."

"Welcome back, son," Jeff said immediately, Scott realising then he'd been listening all the time. "We're mighty relieved you're still with us. What's your idea?"

Hearing his father's voice so clearly in the tiny medical unit surprised him and with it came a small degree of alarm. What was his father really thinking? Was he relieved?

"I'm grounded, remember," Scott whispered to Virgil, experiencing that sensation of breathlessness again.

"You're not useless. Come on, tell us what you think."

"Don't ask. My decision, my responsibility. We're full circle. We're back where we started. What if one of us is lost this time? I can't. Not like this. Rutledge can have me. That's my solution."

"There's things we need to discuss when you get home, son," Jeff said. "How about you tell us your idea and if we all agree, we'll use it. That way it'll be a joint decision."

Yeah, he bet there were things they needed to discuss. Like how soon he needed to have his belongings off Tracy Island. Scott was silent for a moment, wrestling to keep his thoughts focussed. "Well – taking the offensive is your only way out of this," he said, his voice sounding thin and uncertain even to him.

"There's quite a crowd watching," Virgil said. "Not a good look to have a Thunderbird craft go after a non-aggressive vessel."

"Rutledge is dependent on his ship. Disable or destroy the ship in any way and we're free. I'll bet he assumes IR doesn't attack. We know that's not true. Deirdre, don't listen to this. An airborne attack is out of the question but Gordon could disable it. No-one will see what's done below the surface. Disable its engines. That's all we need."

"The craft's hull is strengthened for work in the Arctic Circle."

"Gordo'll have to get close. What are they carrying?"

"John thinks they've only got surface to air."

"Then so long as he doesn't penetrate the surface."

"The water's clear and it's shallow. He might be seen."

"One and Two can to act as a diversion. A coastguard vessel'll have deck guns. The water cannon was effective on the island. Use that so they can't see what Gordon's doing. Alan could do a dummy run to get their interest. Then Tin-Tin can follow up with the cannon. That would enable Gordon to get into position. Keep Rutledge guessing as to what we're going to do. Confuse, distract and disable. That's the strategy."

"Well?" Jeff asked the others and there was a minute of discussion. "Vote?" The plan was accepted unanimously. "All right. Go, Gordon."