Chapter 42.

Scott could tell when something was up.

He just could.

As the eldest of five, he was in possession of approximately fifty internal satellites that notified him when something was off. The smaller ones alerted him to minor problems, like forgetting to turn the oven off, while the larger ones warned him when serious shit was about to go down.

He'd volunteered to accompany Penelope to the lobby to check out, arguing that she shouldn't spend any more money on him or his brothers. After a slightly heated confrontation involving resisting and insisting, it had been agreed that their London agent would cover the costs in exchange for Brains fast-tracking FAB 1's latest engine upgrade.

After leaving Kayo and his brothers to finish packing, Scott had followed Penelope down to the reception desk to return their room keys. They'd exited the elevator together, and probably looked to any onlookers like a typical married couple.

One look at the thunderous expression on the receptionist's face however, and that thought promptly rolled over and died.

Something was definitely up.

"Good morning!" Penelope sang, handing both room keys back to Deema, "We'd like to review the bill and check out, please. Rooms two seventeen and two eighteen."

Scott's systems began to go haywire as Deema peered over the rim of her glasses to frown at the pair of them.

"Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, is this man your husband?" Deema enquired, pointing a finger at Scott.

Penelope frowned and set her jaw, "No, he is not. Kindly enlighten me as to why you require such information?"

Deema didn't answer, her attention absorbed by something on her computer screen, "What about the other four men who are in your group? Are any of them your husband?"

Penelope hesitated, "No."

"What about your female companion?" Deema asked, no doubt referring to Kayo, "Is she married to this gentleman right here?"

A pen was jabbed in Scott's direction.

"No, she isn't," Penelope replied, her frustration evident, "May I ask why-"

"And is she married to any of the other four gentlemen?" Deema queried, her expression indicating that she already knew the answer.

Penelope smoothed down her silk blouse before drawing herself up to her full height, her nostrils flared in anger. In the background, Scott felt one of his satellites self-destruct.

Something was absolutely most definitely up.

"Deema, I find such personal questions most offensive," Penelope snapped, her blue gaze frosty, "Kindly fetch your supervisor so that I may make my discontent known."

Deema made no move to leave the desk. Her own expression was far from friendly as she pushed an intercom button next to the telephone, "Tarek? I need you, Hamdan, and Rashid out here now."

Scott took that as his cue to intervene.

"Excuse me, but I'm getting the distinct impression that we've done something wrong," he began, ignoring Penelope's frantic nods of agreement, "If you could just tell us what we've done, then we'll apologise and do whatever's necessary to make it right."

Deema's eyes softened somewhat as she switched her gaze over to the eldest Tracy, "Sir, I appreciate your cooperation, however I'm afraid there's nothing you can do to rectify the situation. Please tell the rest of your group to evacuate both rooms and come down to the lobby immediately. Failure to do so will result in the intervention of our security team."

Penelope gave Scott a nod of reassurance before turning back to face Deema, her threats of legal action fading into the background as he yanked out his phone and speed dialled Virgil's number.

"Hey Scott," came the smooth voice of Thunderbird Two's pilot, "You okay? We're pretty much done up here. Gordon's just having trouble getting his case closed. He's somehow managing to leave here with more stuff than when he arrived. I reckon he's stolen a couple of towels."

"Never mind about that, Virgil," Scott clipped, "You and the others need to put the cases somewhere safe and come down here right now. Divide our valuables up and get everyone to stow something in their pockets. I think we're in trouble for something."

The frown on Virgil's face was audible, "For what? Did someone complain about Kayo kicking the door down last night?"

"I don't know," Scott replied, his voice strained, "Just come down here now. Also, don't mention anything to Alan or Gordon. Just inform John and Kayo of what's going on."

"How can I tell them what's going on when I don't even know what's going on?" Virgil challenged, "Can you at least give me a bit more to go on?"

Scott dragged a hand across his face, sighing as he watched each of his satellites explode one by one in his mind's eye, "The receptionist was desperate to know if Penny or Kayo are married to any of us. Penelope answered truthfully, however I'm not entirely sure it was the right thing to do."

"Don't tell me all this fuss is because the receptionist fancies one of us?" Virgil asked with a light-hearted scoff, "When will people learn to just come up and talk to us?"

"Virgil!" Scott snapped, icy panic gripping his stomach when he spied three uniformed men approaching Penelope at the reception desk, "Just come down here quick. I think things are about to get messy."

"Your 'Scott Sense' giving you hell again?" Virgil quipped, his tone not half as urgent as Scott would have liked, "Hang in there, we're on our way. Tell your 'Scottellites' to stop self-destructing."

Scott blanched, powerless to stop his last remaining one from erupting into a blue fireball as Penelope's hands were cuffed behind her back.

-x-

Virgil liked to think of himself as level-headed.

Sure, he'd been granted the title of 'peacemaker' within the family, and was usually the one his brothers came to for life advice, but he never let any of that go to his level-headed head.

Unfortunately, all of his self-proclaimed 'levelled-ness' went straight down the toilet with a resounding 'flush' the second his eyes landed on the handcuffed forms of Scott and Penelope.

"Virgil!" John hissed, his face paling as the engineer marched towards the two men restraining their brother and London agent, "Don't do anything stupid!"

Virgil snorted.

Him? Stupid? Never.

"Release them," Virgil demanded, silently grateful for his muscular physique, "Release them, or I'll file an official complaint about the quality of your mattresses."

A loud 'thwack' sounded as John's palm made contact with his face.

Apparently, he and Virgil had completely different definitions for the word 'stupid'.

A third uniformed man was stood behind the reception desk and talking on the phone. When he spied Virgil marching in the direction of his colleagues, he muttered something and returned the receiver to its cradle.

"Sir, I ask that you remain calm," the man instructed, his tone offering no room for negotiation, "My name is Rashid and I'll be handling your case, along with my colleagues Tarek and Hamdan."

Virgil screeched to a halt next to Scott, his eyes wide and confused, "Rashid, please can you tell us what's going on? That's my brother you've got handcuffed."

Rashid sighed through his nose and walked out from behind the desk. Virgil felt his mind fall victim to a flashback as he watched the older man briefly study a clipboard. He could only hope that the Abu Dhabian police weren't as corrupt as the ones they'd had the misfortune of meeting in Rio.

"Please, Mr Tracy," Rashid motioned towards one of the adjoining lounges, 'Perhaps you and your group would be more comfortable sat down. Tarek, kindly remove Mr Scott and Miss Penelope's handcuffs."

Tarek obeyed, but not before throwing Virgil a glare that could have melted concrete.

After receiving visual confirmation that Scott and Penelope were free, Virgil motioned for the group to follow Rashid over towards the lounge he'd selected. Almost subconsciously, John and Scott moved so that Alan was bracketed between them.

"Please," Rashid gestured to a plush sofa before moving towards a drinks table, "Can I get any of you a glass of water?"

Virgil wisely declined. The temptation to dump it over Tarek's head was too strong.

Unsurprisingly, Gordon was the only one to take the guard up on his offer. He always drank excessively when he was nervous. Virgil reckoned it had something to do with his fish gene.

"You are quite understandably confused and angry about the way you've been treated this morning," Rashid began, his eyes scanning over the group in front of him, "My apologies for the inconvenience. My colleague should have alerted you to the situation when she checked you in yesterday evening. Failure to do so was her mistake, and she rightly bears the blame."

Kayo's eyes narrowed dangerously. On her left, Gordon took a nervous gulp of water.

Rashid laced his fingers together before continuing, "I appreciate that things are different in your own countries, but I'm afraid we are governed by a unique set of rules here in Abu Dhabi. One of those rules is the prohibition of unmarried and unrelated persons of the opposite sex sharing a hotel room. In line with Sharia law, cohabitation of unmarried individuals is punishable by a minimum of one year in jail, followed by deportation."

The room would have been completely silent, were it not for the tinkling of Gordon's water as it poured itself all over the floor…and his lap.

"J-Jail?" Alan repeated, his mind flashing back to smelly cells and leering guards.

John's face was devoid of all colour. He still hadn't gotten over the trauma of the woman who'd tried to make a move on him during his brief spell as a jailbird in Rio.

"Are we entitled to legal assistance?" Virgil asked, his tone neutral. He had every intention of maintaining his status as the only brother who had yet to see the inside of a prison cell.

Rashid shrugged, "You are welcome to call your lawyers, however Sharia law applies to all criminal offenses and civil disputes within the UAE's borders."

Scott could feel himself start to sweat. Considering he'd been deployed to over one hundred and forty countries to date, he liked to think of himself as an authority on international customs. The amount of global exposure and first-hand experience he possessed was second to none.

Unfortunately, it was usually Gordon or Virgil who dealt with emergencies in the Middle East. Unstable skyscrapers and territorial disputes over underground oil reservoirs were the most common offenders, neither of which Scott specialised in.

At the other end of the sofa, John was experiencing a similar kind of internal crisis. He was the intellectual of the family. The one who could speak and read Arabic. The one who was intimately familiar with every piece of government guidance on the planet.

Apparently, not even he was capable of remembering everything.

John's hands balled themselves into fists as humiliation crashed over him. He'd never wanted to punch himself so badly in his life.

"I'll need to see some forms of ID," Rashid carried on, his tone not unkind, "Just to clarify your ages and marital statuses. May I have your passports?"

It was with an air of numbness that seven passports were reluctantly handed over by their owners.

Rashid inclined his head in gratitude before walking back towards the reception desk, "I need to make electronic copies. Please, help yourself to drinks while you wait."

Nobody took Rashid up on his offer as he departed the lounge. John in particular looked on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Easy bro," Scott soothed, rubbing the redhead's back when his breath started to hitch, "In for four, out for six. Virgil, grab him a glass of water."

As Virgil moved to refill Gordon's now empty glass, Scott fished a paper bag out of his back pocket. Experience had taught him that it was wise to carry paper bags, tissues, and spare antihistamines whenever John was around.

"Sir, put that down!" Tarek commanded, his posture suggesting that he considered the bag a threat, "And don't put your hands anywhere where I can't see them."

Scott's body temperature rose by three whole degrees as he glowered at the uniformed man, "Excuse me, but my brother is having a panic attack. Getting him to breathe into a paper bag is one of the only ways he'll calm down. On medical grounds, might I suggest that you back the hell off."

Tarek scowled as Scott rose to his feet, grimly realising that he was a whole four inches shorter than the eldest Tracy. Fortunately, Hamdan appeared more sympathetic.

"Would you like me to fetch him some calming pills from the first aid kit?" Hamdan offered, smiling slightly when Scott eyed him warily, "My daughter struggles with anxiety, so I know a bit about how to treat it."

"Thank you," Scott muttered, bracing his hand against John's back as the middle brother inhaled and exhaled for all he was worth, "That would be helpful."

Tarek shot his colleague a look of outrage as he departed, furious and a little intimidated at being left to guard seven people all by himself.

Apparently, Gordon's mind was wandering down the same path.

A rather undignified honk echoed around the lobby as Tarek was rugby tackled to the floor, his attacker pausing to make sure he hadn't suffered any resultant injuries before sprinting towards the door.

"C'mon!" Gordon yelled over his shoulder, "Now's our chance!"

Alan, Virgil, and John all sprang to their feet, the latter discarding his paper bag as he tanked after his brother.

"You boys go on ahead," Penelope instructed, motioning for Kayo to stay with her, "It would be wise for you to make haste and extract yourselves before they start questioning you. We'll deal with the legal side of things here. Radio in when you're home safe."

"F.A.B," Scott replied, throwing Kayo a quick wink before dashing after Virgil's retreating backside.

The slack jawed stare on Hamdan's face when he returned with a small packet of pills, only to see his colleague floored and five Tracys galloping out the door was nothing short of epic.

"Tell me, Hamdan," Penelope began as she and Kayo moved to help Tarek off the floor, "Is your daughter familiar with the Thunderbirds?"

Hamdan nodded dumbly, his eyes flicking between Tarek and the sofa that had contained seven people not seven seconds ago, "Yes. She's a big fan of Thunderbird Four."

Penelope smiled deviously and offered John's discarded glass of water to Tarek.

"Tell me, what would be in it for us if I were to arrange a meeting with the pilot for her?"