Even as his brothers were storming the wrong place, a slamming door jerked Virgil awake. Falling asleep hadn't beenthe plan, but the drugs – and the boredom – hadn't given him a choice. The irony wasn't lost on him: bored in this kind of situation! But he was still restrained, drugged, and knew better than to waste his energy when it wouldn't help.

Glancing to the side, he saw the girl hadn't returned. The optimist in him hoped the men were bringing her back. The realist knew otherwise. He'd seen the last of her.

Just like Gordon.

His mind cleared, icy fury leaving no room for sleepiness. He tensed in the restraints. Even if he didn't survive this, he intended to make his brother's killers pay for what they had done.

The footsteps drew closer and Virgil lay still, his breathing steady and body relaxed as he feigned sleep.

"Boss wants to take his time," a voice said, too close for comfort. Virgil didn't move: he didn't dare.

"Thought we're supposed to be clearing out," a second man said. "We don't have time for special treatment."

"Something about ending on a high? He's one of the healthiest we've ever had. They'll pay us over the odds for him."

Despite his pretence, Virgil shuddered, but there was no reaction to his movement. Footsteps drew closer: they'd reached the bed.

Virgil held his breath, straining to hear what was going on. The sound of feet shuffling made his eyes open: the men were standing to either side of him, fumbling with the restraints.

He forced himself to remain still until they'd untied his ankles. He didn't react when they grabbed his arms, hauling him up. It wasn't all a pretence: he was off balance, dizzy and his head was pounding. He stumbled against one man, forcing him to correct his balance in order to hold him up even as the second hurried to help.

"Wha-?" He staggered again, stumbling away from the bed, trying to give himself more clearance.

"We'll get the tests done now," one said, "operate this evening."

Th second man made a sound of confirmation, both of them grabbing Virgil's arms, tightening their grip as he tried to pull away. They started moving, dragging him with them, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Instead, he took the chance to look around. Other than a handful of beds in neat lines and a few medical trolleys positioned between them, the room was empty. The white-washed walls made it feel stark and sterile, and Virgil shivered.

As soon as they were level with a trolley, he reacted.

Digging his heels in, he straightened up and yanked backwards. Both men stumbled, one letting go as his momentum carried him too far. Virgil lashed out at the second, and although he avoided the blow, the movement was enough to make him let go. Virgil didn't hesitate; he darted around the trolley, ensuring it was between him and his assailants. He leant against it, vision spinning, unable to say for certain where each man was.

"Where's my brother?" Virgil demanded. The men looked at each other but said nothing.

Virgil straightened, his emotions giving him clarity. Not thinking, he snatched up a scalpel from the trolley. They laughed.

"Put it down, boy," one said, "you're not going to fight your way out with that."

Virgil swallowed. He glanced down, realising how pathetically small the blade looked. His hand lowered and he sensed the men stepping towards him. He jerked his arm back up, putting the scalpel against his own neck. One man reached out a hand, the other giving a surprised hiss.

To Virgil's delight, his hand was steady.

"You won't get paid if I bleed out over your floor."

"You're bluffing."

"Try me." His tone was flat. Whatever the men saw in his expression made them pause and they glanced at each other. Their earlier amusement had disappeared. One tried to step forward, but Virgil lifted his chin and the man stopped again.

"My brother?" he repeated.

"Dead," the answer was cold and blunt. "Max gave him to the river. You'll never find him. Not that you'll have the chance to look."

A roaring sound muffled Virgil's hearing, then he realised it was the blood pounding in his ears. He'd known; deep down, he'd known. But hearing them say it….

They'd killed Gordon.

Tossed him away as if he was trash rather than a living, breathing person.

"He's dead?" His voice was distant, even to himself. The man sneered, moving closer.

"That's right. You'll be joining him soon."

Virgil lunged at him with a scream of fury. The trolley fell with a loud clatter, echoing off the nondescript walls and the blade fell from his hand. The man didn't stand a chance as Virgil hit him, both of them falling to the floor. Virgil punched him once, twice, three times… As the second man closed in, he suddenly remembered the blade, snatching it back up.

This time, he put it against his captor's neck. His companion drew up short and Virgil glared at the pinned man.

"You better pray he survived," he hissed. "Show me the way out."

"How can I when-?"

Virgil snarled. "Not you. Him."

He glanced at the second man, who had a hand resting on his gun but a look of complete confusion on his face. Virgil guessed not many of their prisoners fought back. He stood up quickly and pulled his captive up, keeping a tight grip on him.

They didn't know him: they didn't know he'd dedicated his life to saving people. All they knew was that his hand was steady and his expression furious. They knew he was desperate – and that gave him the edge he needed.

He moved until a wall covered his back, keeping his hostage as a shield in front of him.

"The exit," he demanded.

The second man looked between them, unsure, then gave in. "This way."

He nodded towards the doors, but Virgil shook his head.

"Do you think I'm stupid? The proper way out."

He wasn't going deeper into the facility. He had no idea how big it was, but they'd held him and Gordon before bringing them here, and the girl hadn't come back. He'd seen them drag Gordon in a different direction – there had to be another way out.

His reluctant guide hesitated, causing Virgil to tighten his grip on his friend. He hoped no one noticed his hands shaking.

"Fine! Fine!"

This time, he led Virgil across the ward. He punched a number into a keypad and shoved open a fire-door. Fresh air made Virgil breathe deeply, feeling it revive him further. He kept his back to the wall as he edged closer, gesturing for the man to step away and relieved when he did so.

He checked no one was waiting on the other side, but it was clear. A second glance to double-check, and Virgil pushed his captive away. Taken by surprise, the man staggered, stumbling into his companion as he moved forward. It threw both of them off balance and Virgil didn't hesitate.

He ran.

The door slammed shut behind him. He heard the lock but it wouldn't hold them for long.

He was on a dirt-track with the river rushing through, fast and strong. As soon as he saw it, Virgil's breath caught. Gordon was more than capable in the water, but he doubted their captors had given him a chance.

"Sorry." He wasn't sure if he was apologising for not protecting his brother, or not avenging him.

But there was no time. He could already hear angry voices and knew they'd raised the alarm. Without looking back, Virgil tore down the path, running as fast as he could.

"Stop!" A voice yelled, but Virgil kept going.

If he could get to the cover of the trees, they'd have a harder time coming after him. But it wasn't that easy. His head was pounding, vision spinning, and every breath felt like his lungs were about to burst from his chest. His lack of footwear meant his feet were already bleeding.

He made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder and stumbled. His palms scraped the floor as he tried to steady himself, but his body refused to listen and he fell.

"Don't go any further."

Virgil pushed himself up, turning once he was back on his feet. Two men were approaching him: one was from the ward; the other, the one who had introduced himself as Max. Both had guns trained on him although Virgil doubted they had bullets in them. More likely the same sedatives they'd used to capture him.

Movement drew his attention and he saw another man hurry in the other direction. Virgil assumed he was going for back-up: they had no intention of letting him go.

"There's nowhere to run," Max continued. "We can make this quick and painless, or not. It's your choice."

Virgil didn't answer. He stared at the water. They'd thrown Gordon in, convinced the river would take him too far to trace him here. The very thing that had killed his brother might be his salvation…

He moved towards the river.

"Don't do it!" Max realised he was serious. He stepped forward, and Virgil retreated. Tracys were always good at defying the odds: Gordon had proven that more than once. A choice between his captors and the water was no choice at all.

Virgil turned, already preparing to jump. As he tensed, a weight slammed into him. Just like in the ward, both he and his assailant fell heavily, only this time, Virgil was trapped underneath. Max kept him pinned face-down, his knee pressing into his spine as he pulled his arms behind him. Virgil realised the man had let go of the gun, but it was no good; he was stuck.

"No one escapes us." Max's voice was cold and flat as a pair of cuffs clicked around Virgil's wrists. Max stood up, pulling him up with a harsh grip on his upper-arm. He sneered as Virgil tried to pull free to no avail.

"Start the tests," Max ordered. He shoved Virgil backwards, where he was held fast by two men. Virgil looked around, surprised. There was a group of them, armed and alert, and he hadn't noticed their approach. He'd be flattered they expected that much resistance from him, but right now, he'd rather be underestimated.

It didn't matter how much he struggled and tried to break free of their grip. It took them an embarrassingly small amount of effort to pull him back to the building.

The door banged shut behind them and Virgil faced the sterile room once again. He couldn't help feeling that was his one shot at escaping, and there wouldn't be another.

He'd blown his chance. Now, he had no idea what to do.

Scott slammed the door, running a hand through his hair and cursing the temperature. They lived on a tropical island, but it wasn't this stifling, oppressive heat making everything harder. Either that or his own frustrations were getting the better of him.

Catching his reflection in the car window, he winced. He looked as dishevelled and exhausted as he felt. He'd forgotten one crucial fact when trying to deal with the police: this wasn't America and the name Tracy didn't hold much sway, other than alerting the local authorities that he was demanding answers he had no right to. If only he had his uniform…

He was lucky they hadn't recognised him as the same man who had arrived in Thunderbird One. But they were still handling this as an International Rescue affair, while the army looked for Virgil Tracy. His father was trying to find a way of bridging the gap while maintaining secrecy, but it was hard, and Scott was fast loosing patience with keeping everything secret if it meant delaying finding his brother.

Heading towards the hotel, he'd only taken a few steps when his watch vibrated. He found a sheltered spot and connected. He'd wondered when his dad would make contact. After time spent with their local agents, he knew they'd check in with their boss about what they should do next.

"I had to talk to them," Scott said before his father could launch into a tirade about secrecy and risking Virgil. "Shawn got it wrong; the army can't help. John's pulling data, but nothing that's been flagged. You've always said a personal touch was better-,"

"The police have no reason to give Scott Tracy information about International Rescue," his father snapped.

"I know," Scott retorted, more abruptly than he meant. "I just-,"

It pleased part of him the cops refused to talk. His father was right: as far as they knew, he had no connection to the case. At least their agents had tried to help.

"It's okay." His dad's voice was gentle. "I know you had to do something. I didn't expect you to be on first-name terms with the military out there, though."

"John told you?"

As his father confirmed he'd heard all about their day so far, Scott relaxed.

"I thought you'd be mad we left without permission," he admitted.

"If Brains wasn't on Five, I'd be out there with you. I'm leaving tonight: Penny will put out the word we're offline. Your grandmother's taking it hard."

Scott knew the reason his father hadn't already joined them, and it was nothing to do with International Rescue.

"I knew you'd do something rash," his dad continued, "I just didn't expect you to take the others."

"Not by choice," Scott laughed, although it sounded hollow. "John was already at the plane. As for the kids," he shrugged, "didn't know they were there."

"They've always got into places they shouldn't." His father sighed, sounding tired. "I'll be there by morning. Tracy Two is slower than the jet." Scott winced, but knew John had been right - better to have taken Tracy One than his own 'bird.

"Try to find some more leads and get John to liaise with the military," his dad said. "We need to find him. The cops have no affiliation with IR apart from wanting the credit. At least the army knows who they're looking for."

"F.A.B." That was one order Scott was prepared to follow and he sighed off, determination cutting through his previous despondency. They needed everyone on the same page, although Scott was more than happy letting his dad handle blowing their secrets wide open.

Hurrying into the hotel, he made to go straight upstairs after stopping by reception and picking up a key. But, once again, he was distracted as he passed the bar, doing a double take before calling his brother over. Alan looked irritated but let Scott drag him into a corner.

"What're you doing?" Scott hissed. "You're supposed to be watching Gordon!"

"He's not a kid," Alan snapped, "and now I see why he always got annoyed when you guys gave him that line."

"Alan-,"

"I'm doing research." Alan pulled his arm out of Scott's grip, stepping back. "John said to mix with the locals."

Scott hid a smile – his brother had also been listening when their father had told them time and time again about the personal touch.

"In the bar?"

"Rumours, Scott," Alan said. "Get 'em talking, find out which parts of the forest are off-limits because the ghosts will get you."

Scott had to admit it might work. People often avoided bad spots, even if they didn't know why. If the locals all bypassed the same area, even for different reasons, it was a good sign that's where they should start looking.

"Gordon?" Scott asked and Alan rolled his eyes.

"John's with him. And still not a kid. Can I go now?"

Scott shook his head at the familiar whine in his brother's voice, but nodded permission.

"Don't make me come and find you," he warned as he retreated out of the bar, pretending not to see the gesture Alan gave him in response. He called the elevator, got bored waiting for it and took the stairs two at a time, letting himself into the room at the end of the hallway.

For a moment, he couldn't see either of his brothers. Then he spotted John, curled up at the foot of a bed, his laptop open in front of him. Scott stepped closer, then realised his brother's head was propped on his hand, eyes closed, breathing even.

"That doesn't count," Scott murmured, but he'd known all along John would never follow the order to get some rest.

Gordon was in bed, buried under a heap of blankets and fast asleep. Scott chuckled, knowing full well how the scene had played out. John's position trapped the covers around Gordon, making it impossible for him to get up without first dislodging his brother, and they were both as stubborn as each other.

Glancing at the laptop, Scott turned away, having no idea what the scrolling numbers meant. He moved instead to the small kitchenette, fixing a coffee and was just wondering whether to shower and eat before heading back out or not when John stirred.

"Hey," he said quietly, extracting himself from the bed and wincing as he stretched out. Scott held up his mug in a silent invitation and John nodded. Scott passed it over, but his brother made a face and reached for the cream even while Scott made himself another one.

It was only after a few sips that John spoke again.

"So, nothing stupid, then?"

Scott wondered if it should offend him that John sounded impressed.

"Not resting, then?" he retorted. Dozing off didn't count. John opened his mouth, then settled for just yawning instead.

"Did you get anything?"

Scott shook his head. "The agents wanted to help, but they've found nothing. They're still looking. And the cops… the cops aren't KPD."

John grimaced, but a trace of a smile was visible. They all referred back to Kansas when they needed a comparison to the real world – Tracy Island had its own rules.

"What have you got?" Scott said, picking up his mug and nodding at John's laptop. It was like a switch in his brother's mind: all traces of sleepiness were forgotten, and John put down his coffee and pulled his computer closer. He tapped a few buttons and a lot of red lines appeared.

"It's supposed to do that, right?"

John's scathing look answered the question for him and Scott held up his hands.

"Go on."

"Gords remembered more about the river," John said. "He was conscious in the water, stuff's coming back to him. Sharp bends, the trees not coming as far as the bank. It doesn't pinpoint it, but it narrows it. Take out any streams too small and any that join further down than where we are, and we've got an area that isn't impossible to search."

Even as Scott watched, a different view filtered across the map. Scott recognised a heat signature when he saw one and knew John was using thermal imaging from Thunderbird Five to try to see through the dense foliage. It was the same thing the army had done to get their first location, but Scott trusted his brother to come up with the right answer rather than charge in blindly.

"I'm going to get cleaned up," he said, draining his coffee and heading for a shower.

It didn't take long to shower and pull on some fresh clothes. John hadn't moved when Scott came out of the bathroom, but neither had Gordon. Halfway across to his bed – he always took the one by the window, ever since they were kids – Scott paused.

"How is he?" he asked. They were all so caught up with finding Virgil that he had to remind himself that they'd pulled Gordon unconscious out of a river less than twenty-four hours beforehand. He shouldn't be here, but they didn't have the time or resources to do anything about it.

"As stubborn as ever," John muttered, revealing his attempts to persuade their brother to rest had been met with a fight.

"And Alan?"

John shrugged. "He hasn't grown out of asking why: kid was annoying me."

Scott smirked. Alan might find something in the bar, but John was more likely to discover answers without Alan questioning what he was doing.

Reaching under his bed, he dragged out the duffel he'd left with his brothers. He unzipped it and pulled out a gun, checking everything was in order before sticking it through his waistband and dropping his shirt back over it.

"Classic," John said, watching him. "What're you planning on doing with that?"

"Talk me in," Scott shrugged, "like always."

"You can't just search the forest."

"I'll search the whole damn country if I have to." His tone was harsh, but he'd said far worse to his brother during a rescue. John didn't have an answer – Scott knew he felt the same way. He moved to the door, but as his hand touched the handle, John called him back.

"You can't stop me-,"

"No, wait." John wasn't looking at him. He was hunched over the screen, fingers tapping and brow furrowed.

"You've got something?"

John grunted – and that was enough for Scott. He hurried back to his brother's side, leaning over. John had narrowed in on an area and was trying to improve the resolution of the image. But after only a few passes, Scott saw what had attracted his attention: there was a building nestled in among the trees.

"Shouldn't it show up more than that?"

"There's power," John murmured, "but little heat. I can't get much image clarity on this stupid thing."

"What uses a low thermal footprint?" Scott mused.

"Taking a ton of power, though," John murmured.

The two brothers looked at each other, suddenly realising what they'd just said. Everything Gordon had told them crashed through Scott's mind and he was moving before noticing John was also on his feet.

Scott touched his watch.

"Al, get up here, now."

He couldn't sit still as he waited for his brother, pacing the room while John tried to improve the picture.

"Contact Shawn," Scott said, "tell him we've got a location. We need the back-up."

"And what do I say when he asks how we know?"

Scott shrugged, grinning at John's dumbfounded expression. "You're a communicator, aren't you? Communicate."

John didn't look happy, but he was already reaching for his cell, before pausing and connecting his watch to his laptop. Scott smirked. John was the only one who could make Shawn take them seriously without losing his temper or revealing secrets.

He listened – amazed – as John spun a tale. He made contact as International Rescue, claiming they'd been monitoring the area after their earlier rescue and thermals had shown something. After hearing about the investigation – not admitting to tracing military radio signals but making it believable – International Rescue thought this location was of interest. It would have been easier if the army realised International Rescue was involved, but if they were looking in the right place, maybe they could save Virgil and keep their identities hidden.

Scott was impressed. By the time Alan had arrived and Scott had given him his orders – to stay and watch Gordon – John had the military confirm they would check out the area. Scott checked his weapon while John tucked his laptop under his arm.

It was time to get their brother back.