Chapter 51.
To my darling readers: just a quick heads up that the next update might be a bit delayed. I've come down with some kind of nasty virus (I'm hoping it's not the virus) and am finding it very difficult to kick-start my muse. I've got a test booked for tomorrow, so should hopefully have a better idea of what's going on then. I try and stick to a regular update schedule of 48 hours, but don't want my writing to become imbued with virus-inspired drabness. It's taking quite literally all my energy just to sit up in bed and type this.
Please send Gordon.
Sending you all healthy vibes and the biggest of hugs.
-x-
Virgil liked to think of himself as the manliest of his brothers.
Considering he was already the strongest, he figured the two kind of went hand in hand. Scott was the fastest, John the smartest, Gordon the funniest, and Alan the youngest. Which left him as the strongest. And manliest. And possibly the hottest, according to the internet at least.
That sure was a lot of qualifications. Who needed a postgrad when you could just slap an adjective and 'est' after your name?
Consistent with his claim of being the hottest brother, Virgil also had a slightly weird obsession with fire. Not in the pyromaniac sense, but in the 'I'm a man and men make fire' sense.
Unfortunately, opportunities to build, light, and maintain fires were rare on Tracy Island. Considering the chunk of rock in question enjoyed warm weather year round, there was no need for a log fire or a wood burning stove inside the house. Aside from lightning the obligatory fireworks on New Year's Eve, Virgil's fire exposure was pretty much limited to sticking his head inside Thunderbird Two's combustion chamber.
Except for those blessed days when his family requested a barbeque.
Despite living in an ideal location with ideal weather, barbeques on Tracy Island were a surprising rarity. Their absence was usually chalked up to one or more of the brothers being deployed, and further justified with claims of 'we can't have a barbeque unless the whole family is here!'
More specifically, barbeques couldn't be enjoyed when Virgil wasn't home. Which happened to be most of the time, considering Thunderbird Two was the most frequently used craft in International Rescue's fleet. And unfortunately, her pilot was the only one who knew how to properly operate the barbeque.
Scott had a nasty habit of producing nothing but smoke, and John had once switched out the propane cylinder with some of Thunderbird One's liquid hydrogen when the former had run out. The results had been explosive, and the barbeque had ended up in six different pieces. Gordon couldn't turn the stupid thing on to save his life, and Alan was forbidden from handling matches, courtesy of an overprotective Scott, who seemed quite happy to overlook the fact that Alan flew a rocket. According to Brains, that equated to him sitting on top of just short of three billion matches.
Virgil's cooking motto was simple: toss everything on the barbeque. Steak? Toss it on the barbeque. Chicken? Toss it on the barbeque. Salad? Toss it on the barbeque. Ice cream? Toss it on the barbeque.
"Most impressive," Penelope complimented, nodding as she watched Virgil expertly flip a burger. Unlike Gordon and John, he'd opted for something simple that he knew everyone would enjoy. He had no interest in putting himself under any culinary-induced stress, so had chosen a meal that would taste good and be easy to prepare.
Winning be damned. He was already a winner, at least according to some of the online fan sites he'd had the misfortune of stumbling across, and had nothing to prove to anyone.
Cue a mountain of barbequed steaks, burgers, and corn on the cobs.
Penelope was ecstatic. Her socialite schedule meant that she hardly ever got the chance to indulge in the naughtier side of cuisine. She'd secretly been known to turn down invitations to Royal Garden parties in favour of ordering pizza and curling up on the sofa with Sherbert. While Tracy Island was no Creighton-Ward Manor, a glass of bubbly and a burger by the pool with an uninterrupted view of the Pacific certainly came in a very close second.
While Virgil was preoccupied with patiently explaining the mechanics of the barbeque to Penelope, Gordon took the opportunity to sneak off with Alan to catch up on some long overdue pranking.
"Who's our target?" Alan asked eagerly, "Brains? Grandma? John?"
Gordon shook his head and motioned silently towards Scott, who was stood at the far end of the pool enjoying a beer with Parker.
"Nice choice," Alan whispered, grinning manically when he saw Gordon pull out his phone, "Prank call?"
"Can't go wrong with a classic," Gordon replied, a smirk infecting his face as he dialled Scott's number and ducked into the safety of a cluster of ferns.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Excuse me for a second, Parker," Scott muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket, "Huh, that's odd. An unidentified number."
Alan bit his lip in a bid to contain the giggles that were threatening to overwhelm him as he crouched in the undergrowth next to Gordon.
"Hello?" Scott's voice echoed across the pool as he answered.
"Mr Scott Tracy?" Gordon purred in a voice that was a credible attempt at the Hood's tone, "I have your son."
The frown on Scott's face was audible, "Who are you? And what are you talking about? I don't have a son."
"You know very well who I am," Gordon sneered, "And if he's not your son, then I assume he's your younger brother. He won't reveal his name, but he has blond hair and looks to be between the ages of twelve and fifteen. My sources tell me that he's the pilot of your Thunderbird Three craft."
Scott twisted his head to scan the patio. Indeed, Alan was mysteriously absent.
"Are you on our property?" Scott demanded, his voice dangerously low as he walked towards the privacy of the kitchen, "How did you get here, and how do I know you really have my brother?"
Gordon motioned frantically for Alan to come closer, "I'm sure a statement from him will provide you with all the proof you require, Mr Tracy."
Scott felt his blood run cold as he strained to try and figure out the caller's location based on any background noise. There was some muffled scuffling before a gasping voice came on the line.
"Scott!" Alan wheezed, doing his best to sound panicked, "He's got me locked in the basement and is threatening to make me play the accordion!"
Gordon opened his mouth in a silent laugh as he released Alan from the headlock he'd had him in. Over in the kitchen, Scott began to pace anxiously, his concern over the welfare of his youngest brother overriding the quip about the accordion.
"Is everything okay?" a new voice interjected.
Gordon and Alan peeked out from their hiding place to identify the newcomer and promptly dove back under the cover of a banana tree.
John.
A frowning John.
"Scott? Are you okay? You look as if you've just seen a ghost," the redhead commented, his tone a mix of intrigue laced with mild concern.
Scott bit his lip and frowned, his phone sandwiched against his ear, "I'm not sure. I've got someone who sounds suspiciously like the Hood on the line. I don't know how he managed to get my number, but he's claiming to have Alan hostage."
John appeared remarkably unconcerned as he went to the fridge and helped himself to a bottle of water, "Who in their right mind would kidnap Alan? And he can't be missing, I saw him out by the pool not ten minutes ago with Kayo."
"A lot can happen in ten minutes," Scott muttered, motioning with his hands like a conductor about to lead an orchestra into a dramatic chorus, "Okay, I'm going to need EOS to track the incoming communication signal-"
"Oh, give me that," John snapped, snatching the phone away from Scott and taking a large slug of water, "Hello? You're through to John Tracy of International Rescue. I understand you're claiming to have my brother hostage?"
"Not claiming, Mr Tracy," Gordon rasped, his voice like a dead man's lullaby, "I have him right here. I can put him on again if you-"
"I'm not concerned about the details," John interrupted curtly, "How much do you want to keep him?"
Gordon paused, "Excuse me? Are you offering to pay me on the condition that I not return him to you?"
The expression of betrayal on Alan's face was nothing short of tragic.
"Just name your price," John replied, "I'll give you the contact details for our lawyer. If you forward your request to him, I'll make sure the funds are transferred before midday tomorrow. I'll also have him draw up a formal adoption contract for you to sign. I'd just like to make it clear that the adoption will be a closed one. Neither myself nor any of my remaining brothers wish to have any supervised visitation rights with Alan. On that note, would you be interested in acquiring a sibling for him? He can get unruly when lonely, and I'm prepared to pay an extra fifty percent on top of your asking price if you agree to take Gordon as well. He comes with a week's supply of Celery Crunch Bars, and a dog that's just stopped pooping inside the house."
"Hey!" Gordon snapped, dropping his façade, "I resent that! Oh, oh shit…"
There was a few seconds of frantic bushwhacking as Gordon and Alan battled their way out of their natural cover before bolting off towards Thunderbird Two's hanger, their tails clamped firmly between their legs.
"You knew?" Scott wheezed, mopping at the sweat that had begun to form on his brow, "How can you smell out a prank when you're not even the intended target?"
John shrugged, "It's the crazy backwards universe."
Scott gave one of his trademark sighs, "Where up is down and boybands play instruments."