Merry Christmas everybody!
Usual disclaimer. Thanks to my sources for the Met Police info. Enjoy!
From this distance, it was hard to make out any detail amid the green and grey patchwork of the country that passed beneath them. It had stopped raining at last but the odd wisp of cloud interrupted any hope of working out exactly what was going on.
Scott frowned and peered down through the transparent underside of the cockpit. "It would be easier to monitor the situation if we went lower."
"No. We can't."
Scott turned and met a similar concern in his father's eyes.
"We can't be seen." Jeff continued. "I don't want to attract attention."
"Maybe the police would be glad of our presence." Scott shrugged.
Jeff smiled thinly. "I don't think they know how volatile their cargo is and it's better that way; they're not likely to make a mistake if they're not panicking."
"Surely they know who he is?"
"No." Jeff replied, "That was considered too much of a security risk."
Scott shook his head and adjusted his position in his seat. "So now we've got possibly one of the most dangerous men alive being taken on a Sunday morning daytrip."
"Hardly!" Jeff laughed. "How we doing, John?"
"All clear, Dad." Came the reply over the comm. "Checkpoint six successfully reached and no concerns."
"And on the civilian wavebands?"
"Nothing." John confirmed. "And the police chopper is reporting smooth traffic conditions ahead."
"Unusually so?" Jeff urged.
"He didn't sound concerned, no."
"Good." Jeff nodded slowly. "Penny?"
"Holding steady 1 mile behind the convoy." Penelope replied. "Parker and I have just joined the motorway."
"Motor-way!" Scott chuckled softly, "I love it!"
Jeff nodded in amused agreement and then his frown returned. "What's our E.T.A.?"
"Police band says 42 minutes." John replied.
"I concur." Penelope offered, "It's not far."
Jeff nodded thoughtfully. "Everyone keep sharp."
"F.A.B." Penelope and John confirmed together.
"Like a well-oiled machine." Scott mumbled happily and started humming a tune under his breath.
Jeff turned and watched his son. Scott's hands flew over the controls easily, his subconscious seemingly blended in perfect tune with his craft; he knew every inch of the rocket and anticipated every slight adjustment before it was required. Jeff smiled proudly and remembered a time when he had been as young, as confident, and as cocky.
"You think John will be okay?" Scott asked suddenly.
Jeff was pulled from his musing and his frown returned. He glanced at the comm. and sighed in relief as he saw that Scott had already closed the outgoing transmission. "Yeah, I hope so. He just needs time."
Scott nodded thoughtfully. "You don't think he should see this doctor friend of Penny's?"
"Perhaps." Jeff shrugged.
"He knows what I think." Scott offered lightly, "I think he simply uses his brain too much."
Jeff nodded and another smile pulled at his mouth.
"Not that we'd have him any other way." Scott added quietly.
"Hmm." Jeff mumbled thoughtfully and turned to look back out at the scenery far beneath them. He then gasped as Thunderbird 1 suddenly lurched beneath him and he looked back at his son to make a sarcastic observation.
"Uh … Dad?" Scott let go of the controls and clutched his gloved hands to his head. "I can't … uh … oh god - "
"Scott?!" Jeff demanded anxiously, suddenly feeling the semi-weightlessness of their rapid descent. He grabbed the controls and steadied the craft, forcing a climb back up through the clouds. "Scott! What's wrong?" Jeff switched on the autopilot and reached across to grab at Scott's arm.
Scott let his head fall back and groaned weakly, his face distorted in a wave of pain.
"Son?" Jeff demanded in a panic. He unlocked his harness and lifted the bars over his head. Standing quickly, he stepped across the central console and leaned over Scott. "Scott?" Jeff took his son's head in his hands and tried to rouse him.
Scott opened his eyes and stared blankly up at his father, pain crossing his face.
"Scott?" Jeff urged softly, his heart racing as he saw the blood that now trickled from his son's nose.
"I tried to fight him, Dad." Scott husked, tears welling in his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"What?" Jeff gasped in horror and then suddenly Scott's left hand was around his throat.
"I'm sorry, Dad." Scott sobbed, pushing his father up and away from him and slamming him into the Plexiglas cockpit shielding.
Jeff grabbed at Scott's hand, trying to prize his fingers free but Scott's grip only tightened and suddenly Jeff's vision darkened, small spots of light dancing in the corners. He could just about make out Scott reaching for the controls with his free hand and Jeff then felt Thunderbird 1 again start a rapid descent. A chill ran through him as he watched the smile that spread across Scott's lips and suddenly he understood what was happening.
"Hello again, Jeff." Scott offered calmly.
"No!" Jeff mouthed in horror, losing focus as he tried to see what Scott was doing. He watched in disbelief the blurred sight of Scott arming the rocket and saw the smile that grew on his son's face as he fired.
John frowned in concentration and his fingers ran over the comm. controls, rapidly isolating the transmissions he was monitoring and listening for key words or phrases that might signal a problem. It was thoroughly involving and all thought of his breakdown yesterday and the sleepless night that had followed were at last pushed aside.
It was too clear, too routine. John listened to the occasional chatter on the police band and could sense the relaxed atmosphere within the convoy. He wanted to call them, to tell them to keep alert, keep focused.
Turning from the comm. to one of the digital monitor screens, John peered at the slightly snowy image before him. He had tapped into one of the news station satellites and was now using its beam to track the convoy. It was highly illegal but he knew how to keep the hijack well hidden and, besides, he did not have time to worry about formalities.
He had quickly worked out from the conversation that intermittently ran between the vehicles in the convoy that Alex was in the tailing car. Despite the use of formal call signs and official terminology, he had recognised her voice immediately and it had only taken a moment to zoom in and read the identifying codes on the roofs of the cars.
The convoy was, according to Penelope's source, fairly standard; two motorbikes leading, followed by a patrol car, the prison truck and then finally Alex bringing up the rear. The only difference was the air support that cruised in the sky above them. John pulled back to see a wider view and his frown deepened as he looked around at the other traffic on the 3-lane road. It was hard to tell if any of the other cars were simply matching speed in their mid-morning cruise or whether they were following the convoy intentionally. The police helicopter then crossed the screen and John listened to the brief report that outlined the success of the transport thus far.
John sat back from the screen and sighed heavily. Glancing at the clock and quickly working out how many minutes were left of the ETA, he closed his eyes and groaned in aggravation; this was actually not doing his stress levels any good.
With a sigh, John reached up behind him and slipped his hand under the collar of his undershirt to scratch between his shoulders. Itching was a good sign, apparently, but it was beginning to craze him and was yet another annoyance in his frustrated claustrophobia.
Suddenly John caught the edge of an almost healed burn crust and hissed in pain as his scratching flicked up the edge of the scab. The stinging pain made him hold his breath for a moment and he pulled his hand free, frowning as he saw the watery blood on the tips of his fingers.
"Shit!" John husked and stood to wander through to the bathroom. He grabbed a handful of tissue and tucked it down into the back of his undershirt. It wasn't much blood but enough to maybe dry into the soft cotton and then stick. Okay, so perhaps he was being a little too fussy but there was no one there to take the piss of him and he might as well do what he could to minimize his irritations.
"Mayday! Mayday!"
The sudden shout from the comm. startled John and he froze. Caught between dreading the possible cause for the emergency signal and a horrible vivid memory of shouting the words himself, John could not move.
Perhaps his mind was playing tricks with him again.
"Mayday! Mayday! Charlie Oscar from India Zero Three, we are losing control!"
There was no mistaking it. John suddenly flew from the bathroom and sped back to the central computer platform. Panicked transmissions across the police band confirmed what was happening and he watched the satellite feed in horror as the police helicopter fell from the sky.
Black smoke billowed from the tail section and, void of the rear blades, the helicopter was spinning out of control and losing altitude fast. Unsure quite what to do, the convoy seemed to be losing coherence and John watched as the distances and configuration of the vehicles lost all precision.
The helicopter slammed into the centre of the road in front of the convoy, a split second after a small huddle of traffic had passed by. It seemed to bounce slightly, still spinning and grinding the broken skis into the tarmac. John held his breath as the two police motorbikes swerved wildly and narrowly missed the wildly sweeping still smoking tail of the helicopter. The lead car and prison truck skidded to almost a halt and then also managed to manoeuvre around the helicopter. He then watched with baited breath as the tailing police car suddenly lost control and careered sideways along the road.
He wanted to close his eyes; the comm. was reporting all that occurred, there was no need for him to witness it in all too real, slightly grainy Technicolor. But suddenly the car seemed to find a grip on the road and came to a halt beside the now still helicopter.
Breathing a sigh of relief, John listened to the police quickly respond to the danger and the lead car had turned to head back into the oncoming traffic and somehow warn the approaching drivers of the obstacle.
"Thunderbird 1 from Thunderbird 5. What the hell happened, Dad?" John asked quickly.
Nothing.
John frowned in concern. "Dad? Scott? Thunderbird 1 come in?" He flicked up the flight data and his frown grew as he saw how far off the planned course Scott was flying. "Is everything alright?"
"Thunderbird 5 from FAB 1." Came Parker's oddly professional Cockney drawl. "Approaching the scene now. We've lost contact with Thunderbird 1. What do you suggest?"
"Hang back, Parker." John replied calmly, "The prison truck has come to a halt and is under guard. I'm trying to get through to Dad."
" – ird 1. John, we have a serious situation here."
"Dad!" John sighed in relief. "I know – I saw. What happened?"
"Scott shot them down."
"What?" John gasped.
"I couldn't stop him, John!" Scott suddenly sobbed a reply, his tight voice somehow not quite his own.
"What d'you mean?" John asked quietly.
"It was the Hood." Jeff replied quickly, "He must have had time to recover."
"But Thunderbird 1 isn't armed with - " John closed his eyes and groaned in dismay. "The fire suppression rockets."
"Affirmative." Jeff answered hurriedly, "We made quite a low pass, John. Did anyone see us?"
John shook his head in reply, "No. At least, no one is talking about it."
"I think maybe we ought to hang back." Jeff sighed in sorrow, "If he has recharged long enough to generate all that power, there's no telling what he'll do with us."
John nodded slowly and glanced back at the scene that unfolded on the motorway; traffic was beginning to gather at the roadblock one of the patrol cars had hastily created and one of the officers from the other car had climbed out to hurry over to the helicopter.
"Is everyone okay?" Scott's trembling voice asked quietly.
"Yeah." John replied and heard his brother's slight whimper of a sob. "It's not your fault." He offered carefully.
"I guess." Scott husked.
"It's not." John urged, "If the Hood - " He stopped suddenly as a loud hiss screamed across the comm. and he turned back to watch the satellite feed. John stared in horror at the slightly blurred image and his heart slammed against his chest.
The helicopter had exploded.
"Oh god. Oh god. Oh god." Scott stammered in disbelief.
"What the - " Jeff gasped.
"Dad, you've got to get down there." John urged hurriedly.
"I don't think that's a good idea; we've done enough damage."
"No! You have to help her, Dad! Alex is down there!" John argued in a panic.
"Who's Alex?" Jeff demanded.
"Alex?" Scott gasped suddenly.
"You have to help her!" John repeated, dragging his hands through his hair and groaning in dismay as he saw the flames leaping up from the carcass of the helicopter.
"Who's Alex?" Jeff asked again.
"Someone John met." Scott replied quickly. "Oh shit, John, was she in the convoy?"
"Yeah." John managed huskily, tears blurring his vision.
"Dad!" Scott urged in agreement, "We have to go see if she's okay."
"I don't know," Jeff began, "It could be - "
"Please, Dad!" John sobbed suddenly, "Tell him, mom!" He turned and looked up into the face of the woman that stood beside him. It took a second for the fact that he saw her there to register and he stared at her helplessly, a strange mixture of comfort and fear washing over him.
"John?" Jeff asked quietly. "What did you say …?"
"I … erm … nothing …" John faltered.
"Thunderbird 5 from FAB 1." Penelope interrupted briskly, "We're at the scene and there's no sign of the prison van."
John frowned as this new information slowly sank in and then suddenly he reacted, realigning the satellite feed to move along the road, away from the thick plume of smoke rising from the wreckage. His heart sank as he confirmed that the van and the motorbike escort had indeed left the scene.
"Perhaps they thought they'd better continue on to the hospital." Penelope offered.
"Maybe." John sighed and quickly sought the van. "I have them!"
"Received," Penelope confirmed, "We will attempt to intercept. Or should we offer assistance at the scene?"
"Negative." Jeff instructed firmly, "Stay on the van. Scott and I will head down to help the police here."
Jeff climbed down onto the empty road ahead of the accident and shuddered slightly. It was eerily quiet. Like the sudden nothing after the ear shattering loudness of a bomb blast. The air was still and it seemed that even the steady flow of traffic on the opposite side of the wide highway was silent in its passage beside him.
It must be shock. He still could not quite believe what had happened.
"John. Any word?"
"Nothing, Dad." Came the quiet reply, "Nothing since the explosion. They radioed for an ambulance but I can't see past the smoke to tell what's going on."
Movement behind him caught his attention and, turning back, Jeff watched Scott clamber from the rocket. He saw the fear and dismay on his son's pale face and watched in concern as Scott continued his unsteady descent. Scott's feet soon found the ground but his knees were weak beneath him and Jeff hurried forward to grab his son's arm.
"I'm fine!" Scott shrugged away from his father's touch and hung his head with a sigh. "Go help them."
"But - "
"Go!" Scott husked, pinching the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of a gloved hand and leaning against the ladder for support. "Go. I'll be fine!"
Jeff nodded and broke into a jog towards the scene. Not wanting to fan the flames of the still burning helicopter he had landed Thunderbird 1 safely away from the accident and now hurried across the distance, soon able to feel the intense heat from the fire.
A few metres beyond the remains of the helicopter was one of the police cars, its windows blown out from the force of the explosion and it'sboot open, various contents scattered over the ground. Further beyond that, amid the thick black smoke that trailed across the road, the other police car and the front of the traffic jam building up behind it. As he neared the scene he could now begin to hear the noise of the flames and sparking equipment panels, the impatient rumble of the halted traffic a short distance away and the worried shouts from the officers urging onlookers to stay in their cars.
"Dad?!"
John's worried shout in his earpiece startled Jeff and he groaned in dismay. Touching the earpiece to open the channel, he shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I don't know. Stand by."
Jeff continued past the helicopter and allowed himself a glimpse inside to see if the pilots had escaped. He frowned as he gazed into the flame filled cockpit and could feel his stomach churning. It was impossible to see a clear answer amid the bright heat of the fire but the doors were hanging open and he hoped not simply because of the explosion. Voices from somewhere amid the smoke then caught his attention and he ran round to the other side of the wrecked police car.
In an instant he knew what had happened. He paused for only the briefest of moments to quickly assess the situation; two men were slumped awkwardly against the side of the car, yellow reflective jackets gathered around their shaking shoulders. The two pilots mumbled together in shock, trying to fathom what had just happened to them; they were talking, they were okay.
Jeff's gaze then moved to the other two and his heart thudded against his chest.
"Are you okay?"
The police officer looked up slowly, a frown of confusion settling amid the blood-soaked skin of a glass cut face. "It … it exploded …"
"I know," Jeff nodded slowly.
Weary eyes, red from the acrid smoke and from crying then moved down to the insignia on Jeff's uniform.
"We were in the area. We heard the distress call." Jeff offered softly and knelt down on the grey tarmac. The officer laying awkwardly on the ground and gathered in the other's arms was worryingly still.
"I got out to help the pilots … " The officer continued quietly, "The car caught fire … and the windows …"
Jeff nodded in understanding and glanced up at the car, seeing the splatters of white foam where the fire that had caught the upholstery had been extinguished. He shuddered as he imagined for a moment what it must have been like to be inside the car as the heat and force of the explosion blasted through it.
"It took so long to put it out … I think I was too late …"
Jeff turned back and nodded in reassurance. He looked down at the tattered, burned face of the all too quiet other officer and a frown settled over his gentle eyes. "Can I take a look? I know life support."
The request took a moment to register and the officer then nodded slowly. Jeff edged a little closer, peeling a glove from one of his hands to reach out and nestle his fingers under the blood-wet collar. He paused for a moment, holding his breath as he waited. There. A pulse. Fast but strong. "Have you called for an ambulance?"
A nod of confirmation and then a fast return to reality from the shock that had been taking hold. "Charlie Oscar from Two Five Niner. Where the hell is that ambulance?" She shouted into her radio suddenly.
"Two Five Niner." John sighed over the comm. "Alex. Oh thank god."
Jeff allowed a brief smile to cross his lips and then carefully peeled back the blanket that had been thrown over the unconscious officer. Amid the blood from glass injuries and angry red scalds from where the fire had flashed past exposed skin, the man's body seemed relatively undamaged and Jeff then noticed him beginning to stir.
"Tom?" Alex gasped in delight.
Jeff's smile grew as he watched the man's eyes flicker open and Alex leaned down to rest her face against her partner's. She began to gently weep in relief and Jeff stood slowly to wander a short way from them. Once out of hearing range, he took a deep breath and touched his earpiece. "They're okay, Scott."
"Yeah?" Came the quiet reply.
"A little shaken and minor injuries but they'll be fine." Jeff confirmed, "John? What's Penny's status?"
"In pursuit of the prison truck. She's closing in now."
Jeff nodded in thought. "Scott. Get airborne. Penny might need back-up."
"F.A.B."
"More police are en route, Dad." John offered, "Fire fighters and paramedics reporting an ETA of five minutes at your position."
"Good. Keep me posted."
"F.A.B."
Jeff peered beyond the smoke and saw Thunderbird 1 explode into life. He watched as the retros kicked in and gently lifted the craft from the ground.
"Wow …"
Jeff spun round and saw Alex wandering towards him, her eyes fixed in wonder on the departing rocket. He watched as she tracked the path of the craft as it lifted above the road and made a smooth turn before effortlessly shooting away from them.
"Wait …" Alex lowered her eyes and turned to stare at Jeff, sudden horror crossing her bloodied face. "I've seen … oh shit! I remember now …" She glanced back briefly at the rapidly disappearing Thunderbird 1 and shook her head in disbelief. "It was you ..."
Jeff's heart slammed against his chest and he watched the fear in her eyes slowly turn into fury.
"It was you! You shot them down!" Alex declared in anger, backing away from Jeff cautiously.
"Now, hold on - " Jeff raised his hands in a gesture of calm and forced a smile to his lips. "We were in the area but - " He gasped as a sudden thud rang through the air. He glanced across to the other side of the central reservation and watched the cars that had collided now slowly grinding to a halt at the side of the road. Intrigued by the scene beside them, the drivers must have been distracted for a moment and Jeff was surprised that such an accident had not happened sooner. He noticed one of the officers from the undamaged car that was holding back the traffic on this side was now cautiously edging across the road to check on the occupants of the two crumpled cars.
Alex seemed oblivious to all that had happened. Jeff turned back and saw the hatred in her eyes as she glared at him.
"Why?" Alex hissed under her breath.
Jeff shook his head urgently, "Now, listen - "
"No!" Alex shouted angrily, "I saw you!" She gripped the radio at her shoulder and kept her eyes fixed on Jeff as she pressed the transmit button. "Charlie Oscar from Two Five Niner, requesting urgent assistance."
"Go ahead, Two Five Niner." Came the quick reply.
Jeff stepped closer to Alex, again raising his arms pleadingly. "Don't do this. I can explain."
"It wasn't an accident, Charlie Oscar." Alex continued, backing off from Jeff and renewed hatred sparking in her eyes as she quickly glanced at her injured colleagues. "The Thunderbirds shot India Zero Three down."
"What?!" John gasped over the comm.
"Erm … Two Five Niner from Charlie Oscar, please repeat last."
"Please!" Jeff urged in sudden panic, "It's not what you think."
"Charlie Oscar from Two Five Niner, confirm that the Thunderbirds have fired on us."