Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds and I am not making any money off of
this, I swear! I'm just doing this for fun. Since this is my first time
EVER doing anything like this, I hope that is sufficient.
Standing at the observation window of the small airport outside of High Level, Jeff Tracy had never felt more helpless. He was stranded here in this forsaken land. Outside, the wind whipped across the tundra, bowing the vegetation that passed for life in the northern reaches of Alberta, Canada. Never before had he seen such a bleak landscape, where it seemed nothing could survive. A few dedicated aeromechanics moved around the complex in the early morning light, completing final checks on a couple of planes that were due to make supply runs to some of the hunting camps and tourist traps that put money into the pockets of the employees who worked for the small charter plane business. He noticed, with satisfaction, that there was a great deal of activity in hangar four, where his jet was being kept. With the scene he had created earlier, it was no wonder. The repairs to his plane were minor, but the isolation of the area had caused advances in modern aviation to never reach it. Jeff's hi-tech jet was a mystery to the mechanics here, but the head man had been convinced he could fix it. It seemed appropriate, considering he was the man that damaged it.
Running a hand through his graying brown hair, Jeff became fed up with the desolation before him and pushed away from the cold glass. Collapsing into a worn armchair, he scrubbed his face with his palms, feeling the scruff of a 5 o'clock shadow. The fear of the unknown was beginning to get to him. Eventually, the wrist communicators that he and his sons all owned would allow them to communicate with live audio/visual feeds from anywhere in the world. However, that wouldn't be possible until the satellite was in orbit and signal-relay stations could be constructed in strategic areas around the world. In the meantime, Brains, Jeff's most trusted engineer, had rigged a tone system to allow the Tracy's to keep some semblance of contact with each other, no matter where they were on the planet. It was crude, but the simple system had worked for the year they had employed it. Different orders in pitches relayed different instructions; the most frequently used being the signal to 'report in'. With what he was planning, he wanted to know where all five of his sons were at all times.
Jeff had been in the middle of scouting a site for the signal relay, high in the Arctic Circle, when his communicator had gone off. A series of three high-pitched beeps, repeated in succession until he had turned it off. His heart had dropped to his stomach. That particular pattern was only used in cases of extreme emergency, life or death situations. He had broken air-speed records getting back to Barrow, and then Anchorage. From there, he had attempted to reach his island home in the South Pacific via vidphone, but a system of storms across the Pacific Northwest had caused communication disruptions down the west coast. The frantic re-routing of signals had caused an overcrowding of the airspace. The only person he could reach wasn't even a live person. There was just a recording of a tired-sounding woman who kept asking him to place his call at a later time. It never ceased to amaze him. Powerful communication signals had long ago replaced the common telephone line of his day, but the same old problems still existed. There was no overcoming Mother Nature, he supposed.
He had opted to reduce the amount of space between him and his family and took off for the continental United States. He had landed in High Level to refuel his plane. Unfortunately, the service at the airport had been less then favorable. One of the mechanics had attempted to taxi the aircraft and crashed it into one of the outbuildings in the process, leaving Jeff with a damaged starboard engine. He had long ago given up hope that the mechanics here could fix it, and instead arranged to catch a ride south, someplace he could find an international flight. There was nothing to do but wait.
For the hundredth time, he wondered if the call had anything to do with his 'project', now encompassing most of his time. It had been his life's ambition to find new ways to help people, and he had been successful in doing so through his company, Tracy Corporation, developing technology in all fields to assist others. Though, somehow, it never seemed quite enough. Even though the projects of Tracy Corporation were meant to help the underdog, each of them still managed to pad the wallets of the greedy middle-men that were a necessary cog in the machinery of industry. Such was the nature of business.
Everyday, he heard about people dying in horrible, tragic ways: earthquakes, fires, floods, technological incidents, and dozens of other preventable disasters. The technology to stop at least some of these tragedies was there, and Jeff felt that it was his duty, with the means he had available to him, to develop it. Thus, the first seeds of International Rescue were planted.
He had weighed the consequences carefully before involving his family in his plans. In the end, he could think of no one better to help him realize his goals then his own sons. Each of them had something to offer to the organization, and Jeff knew it was only through them that his idea would ever get off the ground. Together, they had begun to build International Rescue from the ground up. One of the rescue craft Brains had designed for the organization was already built. The sleek rocket plane was to act as the scout craft when International Rescue's assistance was required. It would carry communications to be set up in a danger zone to transmit details about a situation back to their base.
Construction had begun on three of the four remaining machines he planned to build, along with some impressive rescue equipment that his son, Virgil, had designed. The satellite would have to wait until he could obtain a contract to build it. How to do that without revealing his identity or the space station's location was still beyond him.
The danger of his venture did not escape him. Jeff knew that the technology used to create the International Rescue machines was incredible, and in the wrong hands, just like anything else, it could be used to hurt mankind instead of help it. He was placing his family in the line of danger, although they did go on their own free will. For two years, nagging thoughts and second-guessing had plagued him continually. Even so, with the help of Scott, Virgil, and John, the day when International Rescue would be introduced to the world was rapidly approaching . . . and it scared the hell out of him.
Impatiently, Jeff abandoned his musings and looked down at his watch again. It had been barely an hour since he had last tried to contact the house. He wasn't going to be able to sit still any longer. Grabbing his jacket from the chair, he made his way to a small vidphone booth near the reception desk. Stepping inside, he ignored the filthy, confined space, the interior of which was decorated with confessions of lovesick teenagers and rude comments about local women of questionable reputation. He contacted the operator who attempted to put through his call. After a few minutes, he thought he was going to be let down again, but then, the sound of the line connecting was followed by the shrill jingling of the contraption ringing. The sense of dread that had been sitting in his heart began to well up as he realized that ignorance was bliss in its own right. He would know what was wrong, but what could he do about it from 3,000 miles away?
After four rings, the screen flashed in front of him, and a snowy image of Brains greeted him.
"M-mr. Tracy!" Relief and fear flooded the engineer's voice, "I am, uh, so glad to s-see you!"
"What's wrong, Brains?" The man's stuttering was worse than usual, Jeff noted with dismay.
He stopped and looked back through the screen at Jeff. He could see the young man was searching for the right words. Something was seriously wrong.
"Brains, just tell me. I don't know how long the connection will last."
Behind the thick glasses, he could see the sympathy already in Brains's eyes. "I-it's Gordon, Mr. Tracy." He stuttered. "He's had an accident." Jeff felt the color leave his face. His worst fears had come true.
Instead of waiting for a response, Brains continued. "It was a hydrofoil accident. The details S-scott gave me were sketchy, but the gist of it was that he was, uh, traveling at high rate of speed, when the single man craft o-overturned. The d-doctors told Scott that he was in critical condition."
Jeff listened to all of this, feeling numb as Brains told him all that he knew, probably more than Jeff needed to know. It couldn't be, it just couldn't. There was no way he was going to lose a son. With more strength then he knew he had, he pulled himself together and focused on the image in front of him. "Where's Scott now?" Jeff's tone was unwavering and commanding as ever, belying the utter devastation he was feeling.
"He and J-john left within 10 minutes of the phone call for the, uh, Naval Medical Center in San Diego. That was just after he c-contacted you."
"Has anyone talked to Virgil? Or Alan?"
"Virgil i-is in route." Brains answered as he pushed his glasses further up on his nose. "He had just finished delivering the p-plans for the pods of Rescue 2 to the contractor in V-virginia. He picked up Alan at C-cape Canaveral. His, uh, superiors granted him emergency leave."
At least there was that. "Brains, if Scott contacts you, tell him I will be there as soon as possible. Until then I have to trust his judgment where his brother is concerned." Jeff cut the connection without bidding Brains good-bye and leaned against the side of the booth. The initial shock was wearing off and slowly the reality of the situation hit him. Gordon needed him and he was here, in the middle of nowhere.
He didn't realize that he had made his way back to his armchair until he found himself sitting, holding his head in his hands, trying desperately to keep a grip on his emotions. Unbidden, images of his auburn-haired fourth son came to his mind's eye. Gordon had inherited his mother's calm, laid- back attitude. He was a light-hearted joker, never failing to get a laugh from even the most depressed individual. A confirmed optimist, the young man always found the silver lining, no matter how dark the situation.
Being one of the youngest children in such a large family, many people had thought that Gordon would be a spoiled child, but it was simply not true. He had accepted his older brothers' overprotective tendencies without the malice that Jeff saw so often in his youngest son, Alan. Gordon always entertained the opinions of his father or brothers, but usually ended up doing what he wanted anyway. When he was wrong, he admitted it. When he was right, that was great, but he never gloated.
Distant memories began to resurface, as crystal clear to him as if they had only occurred the day before. His son's first steps, first words, first day of school. He recalled the evenings spent sitting with his wife, Lucille, on the porch of their farmhouse, watching as John and Gordon played in the tree fort Jeff had built for them in the oak tree that grew in the backyard.
Even the experiences with Gordon that had seemed particularly trying at the time he had to deal with them, brought fond memories to Jeff. There was the time when Gordon was ten and decided to create an indoor frog pond in the kitchen sink. The garbage disposal had never worked right after that, and they found toads in the house two months after the episode.
Another infamous incident occurred when Gordon was fourteen. He informed Jeff that he had no intention of becoming a pilot or an astronaut, as was expected of him. Jeff had lost his temper, but in the face of his father's anger, Gordon had calmly explained that he had a love for the sea. He had smiled when he told Jeff that it would be the best example of a fish out of water that he could think of. Despite the jokes, Gordon had stood by his decision, giving Jeff the first impression of the independent individual his son was becoming.
Finally, he flashed on the day Gordon had made him the proudest man in the world. Standing on top of the podium, gold gleaming from his neck as the national anthem played, Gordon had found his father's face among the thousands of onlookers, his light brown eyes bright with emotion, he mouthed the words "I love you, Dad."
Jeff found himself reeling through the stages of grief at a break-neck speed. Disbelief, guilt, and anger took him all at once, causing him to vault from his chair. He wanted to scream, punch, kick move, run, anything, but sit and wait for news that his son was dead. Instead, he began to pace the length of the room, controlling the flight-or-fight response.
How many times? How many times had he told Gordon to be careful? Though usually incredibly easy-going, Gordon did display a love of speed, a characteristic that Jeff handed down to him, no doubt. As a member of the World Aquanaut Submarine Patrol, Gordon was known to be the first on the scene of any nautical incident, and the first one to volunteer for dangerous assignments. Jeff had always disliked the light construction of the hydrofoil, informing his son of the craft's lousy track record every time a chance presented itself. Gordon would always counter that the hydrofoil was the quickest mode of transport available to WASP and responsible for saving more lives than it claimed. Jeff felt sick at being right in this instance. He paced faster.
Across the room, two men in their 40's and a girl around 20 years old entered noisily. At best guess they were employees at the airport, clad in jeans and boots. For distraction, Jeff found himself studying them as he paced. Laughing and talking, they found a group of chairs in front of the fireplace. Both of the men looked as though they had spent most of their lives in the arctic, one even sporting the stereotypical black beard that was badly in need of a trim. They were tall and stocky, hardened by the lives they led. Still, they were strong and healthy, the picture of what men were in the days when hard manual work was the norm.
The young woman captured his attention, probably because she was so out of place among them. She was of medium height, slender, but not overly skinny. Long, wavy, sun-streaked brown hair fell wildly around her shoulders. She pushed it from her face as she spoke, silver rings flashing from a majority of her fingers. A large black and tan German Shepard collapsed on her feet, snuffling and sighing as he tried to get comfortable. The young woman threw her head back and laughed loudly, a clear ringing sound that would have been pleasant under normal circumstances.
Jeff became increasingly irritated with the boisterous trio. The part of his mind that was still reasonable told him that it was impossible for these people to know of his plight. The other, more irrational side saw no reason why anyone should laugh when he was slowly being ripped apart.
Feeling as though someone were staring, the girl scanned the room searching for the source of her uneasiness. Finally, her gray eyes settled on Jeff as she studied him curiously. His emotions were plain to her. Seeing past the anger he was working hard to display, she saw the anguish beneath the exterior. She smiled softly and reassuringly at him, before one of the men called her attention back to the conversation.
The slight show of compassion nearly broke Jeff and for a moment he thought he would simply collapse into a sorrowful heap in the middle of the airport. Yet, once again, the sorrow turned to anger. He was angry at himself for being so weak. If he wanted to get to Gordon, he had to keep his emotions in check. There would be plenty of time for an emotional breakdown once he got to San Diego. His resentment extended to the girl for her unwanted sympathy. He didn't need her pity, not this young thing that didn't have the first damn clue as to what his problems were. What he needed was to get the hell out of there.
He turned and walked determinedly to the desk, passing by the group. As he went, he sent a hard, unfriendly look in the direction of the girl. She was taken aback by the coldness, but the shock lasted only a fraction of a second. Without lowering her gaze from his, she smiled and nodded at him. He broke the stare first as he turned back to his destination.
An old woman with glasses fastened to her neck with a gold chain sat behind the desk, clacking away on an ancient computer. "Can I help you?" she asked crassly before looking up. When she did, Jeff could see the uneasiness creep over her face. "Mr. Tracy," Her smile was one of forced politeness. "What can I do for you?"
"What's going on with my plane?" Jeff's voice was hard as granite, his normal good manners completely shot.
"Well," she began, toying with the lace neckline that peeked from beneath the pink sweatshirt she wore. "Bill called while you were on the phone." She seemed to be gathering every nerve in her body, "After he gets the parts from Calgary, he can have it fixed the day after tomorrow."
"When will he leave for Calgary?" Jeff asked impatiently. "Perhaps I can ride down with him."
"He won't be leaving until this afternoon."
Jeff's temper flared, but he reined it in. "Ma'am, I need to get to California now. Do you understand?"
"We are doing the best we can, sir," she replied, going back to her typing, hoping that her lack of interest would make him go away.
It wouldn't be that easy. "Can I buy a plane from somebody?"
She stopped typing, unaccustomed to people who apparently had the money to make such an extravagant offer. "We have only five. Three of those are booked to fly hunters up north and one is in the repair shop. The last one. . . "
Jeff's fist met the dark wood of the counter top, sending a jolt of pain up his arm that he barely noticed. The old lady jumped and rolled her orthopedic chair a few feet from the desk. "I don't care what you have to do," He seethed through clenched teeth, "but you better get me out of this frozen hell-hole within the hour, or I will make it a point to buy this goddamn place just to fire you." To Jeff, it seemed that he had stepped from his body and was standing there watching a crazy man threaten a frail, old woman.
"That would be a bad management decision," a feminine voice sounded behind him. He turned to find the girl there, smiling "Ms. Karen is the only person around here that can run that computer. She'd be very hard to replace."
Ms. Karen stopped quivering in the presence of the girl, finding strength in her bold approach. "Mr. Tracy, this is Kai Taylor, one of our pilots."
Still smiling, the girl extended a hand. Out of habit, Jeff took it, finding her grip strong and self-assured. "I was due to head out in an hour or so for Edmonton to pick up a group of backpackers." She released his hand. "There's an international airport there. I would be willing to move up my flight schedule for you."
"You would do that?"
"For a price, of course," Kai replied. Ms. Karen cowered again, but Kai was unflinching. "We have to eat you know. Regular charter price, one-way with an extra hundred dollars for a late fee, will do just fine."
"You're too kind." Jeff replied, sarcasm coloring his words. "It's a deal. When do we leave?"
"Give me fifteen minutes for a pre-flight check." She turned and began to walk away, "Meet you on the airstrip." She left the office, picking up a fringed leather jacket on the way.
Across the room, the man with the beard watched the exchange at the desk with interest. The other man had left, claiming to have been hungry, had gone in search of food soon after Jeff Tracy had begun his argument with the old witch behind the desk. He suspected the man the girl had referred to as 'Al' simply had no backbone, and did not want to be present for the confrontation Tracy had engaged.
Jeff Tracy was hot-tempered. Of course, the man behind the fake beard had his sources, and they had informed him of the Tracy family's misfortunes. Undoubtedly, that would account for at least part of the man's emotional instability, he supposed. Not that he understood such matters himself. Emotions would get him caught or killed. He had but one remaining family member, a fool and a coward of a brother. Half brother, he corrected himself. His brother had always been weak, taking an interest in cooking and gardening. It disgusted him to think that he was related to such a person.
Accumulation of wealth was all that mattered to him. He had learned early on in life that this was of paramount importance. It did not matter who he had to hurt or kill along the way. It was all part of the process.
His next target stood not thirty feet away from him. He had followed Tracy to Canada after tailing him through a parade of business engagements in Asia. Unfortunately, he had been surrounded by people at every turn, leaving no window of opportunity to execute his plan. Costly delays had caused him to miss Tracy in Alaska, but the man who had caused those delays would never cost him again. He'd seen to that personally.
Rumors had been flying in his underground spy network about the incredible machines being developed. Whoever was building them was very clever about it. They had employed hundreds of different contractors to build the necessary parts needed for the machines. None had the complete plans for any of the crafts and the specifications they did have were known to only a select few. In addition, the plans were delivered under the veil of complete secrecy, hand delivered by a package service located within the cities the contractors themselves were located in. Once the components were finished, they were freighted away by either an unmarked cargo plane or ship.
It had all become very tiring. He had decided to run a different route. The organization of such an endeavor would have to be carried out by an individual or small group with endless monetary funds. He had begun to research all of the top industrialists in the world, coming up with a total of 20 names. Jeff Tracy's was right at the top.
It would be very easy to find out. All he had to do was kidnap the man and convince him to tell him everything he knew about the machines. If he knew nothing, he could simply ransom him for half the Tracy fortune. Not that he'd ever return Mr. Tracy, but his family was composed of mere children that would do anything to get their precious father back, especially, if tragedy was already stalking the house.
Outside, a bright red, single-engine plane had arrived on the airstrip, and sat, unsupervised at the end of the runway. He recognized it immediately from the girl's vivid description during their earlier conversation. He had found her presence absolutely stifling. Never had he met someone, so . . . perky, for want of a better word. It did not matter now. He could reap the rewards of his patience, and killing her ranked as one of those rewards.
Quietly, he stood and left the lounge, watching as Tracy made arrangements for his plane to be kept until he could return for it.
The man grinned, a light glowing in his strange yellow eyes. He needn't have bothered.
He wouldn't be back.
Standing at the observation window of the small airport outside of High Level, Jeff Tracy had never felt more helpless. He was stranded here in this forsaken land. Outside, the wind whipped across the tundra, bowing the vegetation that passed for life in the northern reaches of Alberta, Canada. Never before had he seen such a bleak landscape, where it seemed nothing could survive. A few dedicated aeromechanics moved around the complex in the early morning light, completing final checks on a couple of planes that were due to make supply runs to some of the hunting camps and tourist traps that put money into the pockets of the employees who worked for the small charter plane business. He noticed, with satisfaction, that there was a great deal of activity in hangar four, where his jet was being kept. With the scene he had created earlier, it was no wonder. The repairs to his plane were minor, but the isolation of the area had caused advances in modern aviation to never reach it. Jeff's hi-tech jet was a mystery to the mechanics here, but the head man had been convinced he could fix it. It seemed appropriate, considering he was the man that damaged it.
Running a hand through his graying brown hair, Jeff became fed up with the desolation before him and pushed away from the cold glass. Collapsing into a worn armchair, he scrubbed his face with his palms, feeling the scruff of a 5 o'clock shadow. The fear of the unknown was beginning to get to him. Eventually, the wrist communicators that he and his sons all owned would allow them to communicate with live audio/visual feeds from anywhere in the world. However, that wouldn't be possible until the satellite was in orbit and signal-relay stations could be constructed in strategic areas around the world. In the meantime, Brains, Jeff's most trusted engineer, had rigged a tone system to allow the Tracy's to keep some semblance of contact with each other, no matter where they were on the planet. It was crude, but the simple system had worked for the year they had employed it. Different orders in pitches relayed different instructions; the most frequently used being the signal to 'report in'. With what he was planning, he wanted to know where all five of his sons were at all times.
Jeff had been in the middle of scouting a site for the signal relay, high in the Arctic Circle, when his communicator had gone off. A series of three high-pitched beeps, repeated in succession until he had turned it off. His heart had dropped to his stomach. That particular pattern was only used in cases of extreme emergency, life or death situations. He had broken air-speed records getting back to Barrow, and then Anchorage. From there, he had attempted to reach his island home in the South Pacific via vidphone, but a system of storms across the Pacific Northwest had caused communication disruptions down the west coast. The frantic re-routing of signals had caused an overcrowding of the airspace. The only person he could reach wasn't even a live person. There was just a recording of a tired-sounding woman who kept asking him to place his call at a later time. It never ceased to amaze him. Powerful communication signals had long ago replaced the common telephone line of his day, but the same old problems still existed. There was no overcoming Mother Nature, he supposed.
He had opted to reduce the amount of space between him and his family and took off for the continental United States. He had landed in High Level to refuel his plane. Unfortunately, the service at the airport had been less then favorable. One of the mechanics had attempted to taxi the aircraft and crashed it into one of the outbuildings in the process, leaving Jeff with a damaged starboard engine. He had long ago given up hope that the mechanics here could fix it, and instead arranged to catch a ride south, someplace he could find an international flight. There was nothing to do but wait.
For the hundredth time, he wondered if the call had anything to do with his 'project', now encompassing most of his time. It had been his life's ambition to find new ways to help people, and he had been successful in doing so through his company, Tracy Corporation, developing technology in all fields to assist others. Though, somehow, it never seemed quite enough. Even though the projects of Tracy Corporation were meant to help the underdog, each of them still managed to pad the wallets of the greedy middle-men that were a necessary cog in the machinery of industry. Such was the nature of business.
Everyday, he heard about people dying in horrible, tragic ways: earthquakes, fires, floods, technological incidents, and dozens of other preventable disasters. The technology to stop at least some of these tragedies was there, and Jeff felt that it was his duty, with the means he had available to him, to develop it. Thus, the first seeds of International Rescue were planted.
He had weighed the consequences carefully before involving his family in his plans. In the end, he could think of no one better to help him realize his goals then his own sons. Each of them had something to offer to the organization, and Jeff knew it was only through them that his idea would ever get off the ground. Together, they had begun to build International Rescue from the ground up. One of the rescue craft Brains had designed for the organization was already built. The sleek rocket plane was to act as the scout craft when International Rescue's assistance was required. It would carry communications to be set up in a danger zone to transmit details about a situation back to their base.
Construction had begun on three of the four remaining machines he planned to build, along with some impressive rescue equipment that his son, Virgil, had designed. The satellite would have to wait until he could obtain a contract to build it. How to do that without revealing his identity or the space station's location was still beyond him.
The danger of his venture did not escape him. Jeff knew that the technology used to create the International Rescue machines was incredible, and in the wrong hands, just like anything else, it could be used to hurt mankind instead of help it. He was placing his family in the line of danger, although they did go on their own free will. For two years, nagging thoughts and second-guessing had plagued him continually. Even so, with the help of Scott, Virgil, and John, the day when International Rescue would be introduced to the world was rapidly approaching . . . and it scared the hell out of him.
Impatiently, Jeff abandoned his musings and looked down at his watch again. It had been barely an hour since he had last tried to contact the house. He wasn't going to be able to sit still any longer. Grabbing his jacket from the chair, he made his way to a small vidphone booth near the reception desk. Stepping inside, he ignored the filthy, confined space, the interior of which was decorated with confessions of lovesick teenagers and rude comments about local women of questionable reputation. He contacted the operator who attempted to put through his call. After a few minutes, he thought he was going to be let down again, but then, the sound of the line connecting was followed by the shrill jingling of the contraption ringing. The sense of dread that had been sitting in his heart began to well up as he realized that ignorance was bliss in its own right. He would know what was wrong, but what could he do about it from 3,000 miles away?
After four rings, the screen flashed in front of him, and a snowy image of Brains greeted him.
"M-mr. Tracy!" Relief and fear flooded the engineer's voice, "I am, uh, so glad to s-see you!"
"What's wrong, Brains?" The man's stuttering was worse than usual, Jeff noted with dismay.
He stopped and looked back through the screen at Jeff. He could see the young man was searching for the right words. Something was seriously wrong.
"Brains, just tell me. I don't know how long the connection will last."
Behind the thick glasses, he could see the sympathy already in Brains's eyes. "I-it's Gordon, Mr. Tracy." He stuttered. "He's had an accident." Jeff felt the color leave his face. His worst fears had come true.
Instead of waiting for a response, Brains continued. "It was a hydrofoil accident. The details S-scott gave me were sketchy, but the gist of it was that he was, uh, traveling at high rate of speed, when the single man craft o-overturned. The d-doctors told Scott that he was in critical condition."
Jeff listened to all of this, feeling numb as Brains told him all that he knew, probably more than Jeff needed to know. It couldn't be, it just couldn't. There was no way he was going to lose a son. With more strength then he knew he had, he pulled himself together and focused on the image in front of him. "Where's Scott now?" Jeff's tone was unwavering and commanding as ever, belying the utter devastation he was feeling.
"He and J-john left within 10 minutes of the phone call for the, uh, Naval Medical Center in San Diego. That was just after he c-contacted you."
"Has anyone talked to Virgil? Or Alan?"
"Virgil i-is in route." Brains answered as he pushed his glasses further up on his nose. "He had just finished delivering the p-plans for the pods of Rescue 2 to the contractor in V-virginia. He picked up Alan at C-cape Canaveral. His, uh, superiors granted him emergency leave."
At least there was that. "Brains, if Scott contacts you, tell him I will be there as soon as possible. Until then I have to trust his judgment where his brother is concerned." Jeff cut the connection without bidding Brains good-bye and leaned against the side of the booth. The initial shock was wearing off and slowly the reality of the situation hit him. Gordon needed him and he was here, in the middle of nowhere.
He didn't realize that he had made his way back to his armchair until he found himself sitting, holding his head in his hands, trying desperately to keep a grip on his emotions. Unbidden, images of his auburn-haired fourth son came to his mind's eye. Gordon had inherited his mother's calm, laid- back attitude. He was a light-hearted joker, never failing to get a laugh from even the most depressed individual. A confirmed optimist, the young man always found the silver lining, no matter how dark the situation.
Being one of the youngest children in such a large family, many people had thought that Gordon would be a spoiled child, but it was simply not true. He had accepted his older brothers' overprotective tendencies without the malice that Jeff saw so often in his youngest son, Alan. Gordon always entertained the opinions of his father or brothers, but usually ended up doing what he wanted anyway. When he was wrong, he admitted it. When he was right, that was great, but he never gloated.
Distant memories began to resurface, as crystal clear to him as if they had only occurred the day before. His son's first steps, first words, first day of school. He recalled the evenings spent sitting with his wife, Lucille, on the porch of their farmhouse, watching as John and Gordon played in the tree fort Jeff had built for them in the oak tree that grew in the backyard.
Even the experiences with Gordon that had seemed particularly trying at the time he had to deal with them, brought fond memories to Jeff. There was the time when Gordon was ten and decided to create an indoor frog pond in the kitchen sink. The garbage disposal had never worked right after that, and they found toads in the house two months after the episode.
Another infamous incident occurred when Gordon was fourteen. He informed Jeff that he had no intention of becoming a pilot or an astronaut, as was expected of him. Jeff had lost his temper, but in the face of his father's anger, Gordon had calmly explained that he had a love for the sea. He had smiled when he told Jeff that it would be the best example of a fish out of water that he could think of. Despite the jokes, Gordon had stood by his decision, giving Jeff the first impression of the independent individual his son was becoming.
Finally, he flashed on the day Gordon had made him the proudest man in the world. Standing on top of the podium, gold gleaming from his neck as the national anthem played, Gordon had found his father's face among the thousands of onlookers, his light brown eyes bright with emotion, he mouthed the words "I love you, Dad."
Jeff found himself reeling through the stages of grief at a break-neck speed. Disbelief, guilt, and anger took him all at once, causing him to vault from his chair. He wanted to scream, punch, kick move, run, anything, but sit and wait for news that his son was dead. Instead, he began to pace the length of the room, controlling the flight-or-fight response.
How many times? How many times had he told Gordon to be careful? Though usually incredibly easy-going, Gordon did display a love of speed, a characteristic that Jeff handed down to him, no doubt. As a member of the World Aquanaut Submarine Patrol, Gordon was known to be the first on the scene of any nautical incident, and the first one to volunteer for dangerous assignments. Jeff had always disliked the light construction of the hydrofoil, informing his son of the craft's lousy track record every time a chance presented itself. Gordon would always counter that the hydrofoil was the quickest mode of transport available to WASP and responsible for saving more lives than it claimed. Jeff felt sick at being right in this instance. He paced faster.
Across the room, two men in their 40's and a girl around 20 years old entered noisily. At best guess they were employees at the airport, clad in jeans and boots. For distraction, Jeff found himself studying them as he paced. Laughing and talking, they found a group of chairs in front of the fireplace. Both of the men looked as though they had spent most of their lives in the arctic, one even sporting the stereotypical black beard that was badly in need of a trim. They were tall and stocky, hardened by the lives they led. Still, they were strong and healthy, the picture of what men were in the days when hard manual work was the norm.
The young woman captured his attention, probably because she was so out of place among them. She was of medium height, slender, but not overly skinny. Long, wavy, sun-streaked brown hair fell wildly around her shoulders. She pushed it from her face as she spoke, silver rings flashing from a majority of her fingers. A large black and tan German Shepard collapsed on her feet, snuffling and sighing as he tried to get comfortable. The young woman threw her head back and laughed loudly, a clear ringing sound that would have been pleasant under normal circumstances.
Jeff became increasingly irritated with the boisterous trio. The part of his mind that was still reasonable told him that it was impossible for these people to know of his plight. The other, more irrational side saw no reason why anyone should laugh when he was slowly being ripped apart.
Feeling as though someone were staring, the girl scanned the room searching for the source of her uneasiness. Finally, her gray eyes settled on Jeff as she studied him curiously. His emotions were plain to her. Seeing past the anger he was working hard to display, she saw the anguish beneath the exterior. She smiled softly and reassuringly at him, before one of the men called her attention back to the conversation.
The slight show of compassion nearly broke Jeff and for a moment he thought he would simply collapse into a sorrowful heap in the middle of the airport. Yet, once again, the sorrow turned to anger. He was angry at himself for being so weak. If he wanted to get to Gordon, he had to keep his emotions in check. There would be plenty of time for an emotional breakdown once he got to San Diego. His resentment extended to the girl for her unwanted sympathy. He didn't need her pity, not this young thing that didn't have the first damn clue as to what his problems were. What he needed was to get the hell out of there.
He turned and walked determinedly to the desk, passing by the group. As he went, he sent a hard, unfriendly look in the direction of the girl. She was taken aback by the coldness, but the shock lasted only a fraction of a second. Without lowering her gaze from his, she smiled and nodded at him. He broke the stare first as he turned back to his destination.
An old woman with glasses fastened to her neck with a gold chain sat behind the desk, clacking away on an ancient computer. "Can I help you?" she asked crassly before looking up. When she did, Jeff could see the uneasiness creep over her face. "Mr. Tracy," Her smile was one of forced politeness. "What can I do for you?"
"What's going on with my plane?" Jeff's voice was hard as granite, his normal good manners completely shot.
"Well," she began, toying with the lace neckline that peeked from beneath the pink sweatshirt she wore. "Bill called while you were on the phone." She seemed to be gathering every nerve in her body, "After he gets the parts from Calgary, he can have it fixed the day after tomorrow."
"When will he leave for Calgary?" Jeff asked impatiently. "Perhaps I can ride down with him."
"He won't be leaving until this afternoon."
Jeff's temper flared, but he reined it in. "Ma'am, I need to get to California now. Do you understand?"
"We are doing the best we can, sir," she replied, going back to her typing, hoping that her lack of interest would make him go away.
It wouldn't be that easy. "Can I buy a plane from somebody?"
She stopped typing, unaccustomed to people who apparently had the money to make such an extravagant offer. "We have only five. Three of those are booked to fly hunters up north and one is in the repair shop. The last one. . . "
Jeff's fist met the dark wood of the counter top, sending a jolt of pain up his arm that he barely noticed. The old lady jumped and rolled her orthopedic chair a few feet from the desk. "I don't care what you have to do," He seethed through clenched teeth, "but you better get me out of this frozen hell-hole within the hour, or I will make it a point to buy this goddamn place just to fire you." To Jeff, it seemed that he had stepped from his body and was standing there watching a crazy man threaten a frail, old woman.
"That would be a bad management decision," a feminine voice sounded behind him. He turned to find the girl there, smiling "Ms. Karen is the only person around here that can run that computer. She'd be very hard to replace."
Ms. Karen stopped quivering in the presence of the girl, finding strength in her bold approach. "Mr. Tracy, this is Kai Taylor, one of our pilots."
Still smiling, the girl extended a hand. Out of habit, Jeff took it, finding her grip strong and self-assured. "I was due to head out in an hour or so for Edmonton to pick up a group of backpackers." She released his hand. "There's an international airport there. I would be willing to move up my flight schedule for you."
"You would do that?"
"For a price, of course," Kai replied. Ms. Karen cowered again, but Kai was unflinching. "We have to eat you know. Regular charter price, one-way with an extra hundred dollars for a late fee, will do just fine."
"You're too kind." Jeff replied, sarcasm coloring his words. "It's a deal. When do we leave?"
"Give me fifteen minutes for a pre-flight check." She turned and began to walk away, "Meet you on the airstrip." She left the office, picking up a fringed leather jacket on the way.
Across the room, the man with the beard watched the exchange at the desk with interest. The other man had left, claiming to have been hungry, had gone in search of food soon after Jeff Tracy had begun his argument with the old witch behind the desk. He suspected the man the girl had referred to as 'Al' simply had no backbone, and did not want to be present for the confrontation Tracy had engaged.
Jeff Tracy was hot-tempered. Of course, the man behind the fake beard had his sources, and they had informed him of the Tracy family's misfortunes. Undoubtedly, that would account for at least part of the man's emotional instability, he supposed. Not that he understood such matters himself. Emotions would get him caught or killed. He had but one remaining family member, a fool and a coward of a brother. Half brother, he corrected himself. His brother had always been weak, taking an interest in cooking and gardening. It disgusted him to think that he was related to such a person.
Accumulation of wealth was all that mattered to him. He had learned early on in life that this was of paramount importance. It did not matter who he had to hurt or kill along the way. It was all part of the process.
His next target stood not thirty feet away from him. He had followed Tracy to Canada after tailing him through a parade of business engagements in Asia. Unfortunately, he had been surrounded by people at every turn, leaving no window of opportunity to execute his plan. Costly delays had caused him to miss Tracy in Alaska, but the man who had caused those delays would never cost him again. He'd seen to that personally.
Rumors had been flying in his underground spy network about the incredible machines being developed. Whoever was building them was very clever about it. They had employed hundreds of different contractors to build the necessary parts needed for the machines. None had the complete plans for any of the crafts and the specifications they did have were known to only a select few. In addition, the plans were delivered under the veil of complete secrecy, hand delivered by a package service located within the cities the contractors themselves were located in. Once the components were finished, they were freighted away by either an unmarked cargo plane or ship.
It had all become very tiring. He had decided to run a different route. The organization of such an endeavor would have to be carried out by an individual or small group with endless monetary funds. He had begun to research all of the top industrialists in the world, coming up with a total of 20 names. Jeff Tracy's was right at the top.
It would be very easy to find out. All he had to do was kidnap the man and convince him to tell him everything he knew about the machines. If he knew nothing, he could simply ransom him for half the Tracy fortune. Not that he'd ever return Mr. Tracy, but his family was composed of mere children that would do anything to get their precious father back, especially, if tragedy was already stalking the house.
Outside, a bright red, single-engine plane had arrived on the airstrip, and sat, unsupervised at the end of the runway. He recognized it immediately from the girl's vivid description during their earlier conversation. He had found her presence absolutely stifling. Never had he met someone, so . . . perky, for want of a better word. It did not matter now. He could reap the rewards of his patience, and killing her ranked as one of those rewards.
Quietly, he stood and left the lounge, watching as Tracy made arrangements for his plane to be kept until he could return for it.
The man grinned, a light glowing in his strange yellow eyes. He needn't have bothered.
He wouldn't be back.