Hornet's Nest
By Spense
CHAPTER THREEExhaustion forgotten, early Tuesday morning was taken up with the Great Family Debate. Immediately following receipt of the transmission left on the vidphone, Jeff, Virgil (via vidphone from TB Five), Scott and Gordon gathered in the study. Rousing Brains to join them, the conclave gathered for a high level summit meeting.
After the initial protestations of disbelief, the group got down to business.
"Are you going, uh, to the FBI with this?" Brains asked guardedly. It was always better to be cautious when one (or more) of the Tracy family was in trouble.
Jeff rubbed his face, and looked pensively at the others. "I have my ideas, but first I'd like to hear yours." He gazed at his oldest son. "Scott?"
"No!" was Scott's immediate, explosive response. "We can deal with this faster ourselves. We have better communications tracing equipment, faster planes and better overall capabilities." As the saying went, there was blood in Scott's eyes. "And they have no idea what they're getting into."
Gordon eyed his older brother warily, as though he were a snake about strike, then looked at his father. "I have to agree with Scott. We are probably more capable of extracting them than anybody."
The calculating look on Gordon's face told Jeff that his second youngest son's agile brain was already on the job. Good, they were going to need it. He turned to the vidphone. "Virgil?"
There was a long pause as Virgil considered his answer. Then, "I'm in agreement – we handle this ourselves. We don't know what they know about International Rescue, or what their real motives are. I mean, they want money, but is that all they want? No, we do this ourselves."
"Brains?" Jeff turned to the engineer.
Brains looked at the two remaining Tracy sons present and Virgil's image in the vidphone carefully. They were a serious, hard-eyed bunch right now. Very, very intimidating and competent. Although Jeff hid it better, he had the same look about him. "We handle it," he said briefly.
"And you Dad?" Virgil inquired.
Jeff thought about how to frame his reply. Finally, he just said bluntly, "I want the authorities involved." He held up his hand to forestall the massive explosion taking place around him. "Let me finish!" At his stone-faced glare, his sons backed down.
Brains had to hand it to the man. Jefferson Tracy still had iron control over his adult sons. No mean feat considering the strength of character and sheer capacity of each of them.
Jeff waited until there was silence in the room again. Sullen silence, but silence none-the-less. "I want these kidnappers thrown in prison for the rest of their natural lives. I want absolutely everything that Tracy Enterprises has at its disposal thrown at them and landing on them so hard that they won't know what hit them. And above all, if any harm has come to John or Alan, anything – even something as minor as a scratch, I want these people nailed to the wall."
At Jeff's vehemence the level of sulky glowering the room abated greatly, replaced by a mood of intense, laser-focused interest.
"That said, I want the bulk of this handled by us, and in such a way that John and Alan are safe. Once that is accomplished, then we move in with the authorities. But I want an air-tight case against these criminals. Any objections?"
A roomful of negatives was his answer. "Good then. Now, we need a game plan. Virgil – you're our communications person right now. Any comments?"
"First off, I wouldn't try the wristcomms from our end. If they were able to, they would have contacted us by now. One, they may not have them in their possession anymore, and two, giving John and Alan away as International Rescue would put them in more danger than they already are," Virgil commented.
"Agreed," Jeff said in response. The others nodded as well. "What else?"
"Well, I'm no John on Five's communications, that's for sure, but we know the transmission came into the vidphone this morning and was left as a message. So I believe that we're safe to assume they'll communicate the same way the next time. They probably think it's secure."
Gordon snorted. "Yeah, and it would be if we weren't International Rescue."
Scott nodded agreement. "I'd have to agree. With all the buzz about vidphones being the most secure of communication forms right now, and all the safeguards in place around its transmissions, it would follow that that's what they'll likely use."
"Okay. Virgil? Is there any way you can speed up the normal tracing programs?" Jeff asked.
Brains cut in before he could continue. "Virgil, there is, uh, a new prototype program that John, uh, and I have been working on. It will, uh, pinpoint the exact location within seconds. It, uh, bypasses the entire security process, unlike, uh, our old program which, uh, worked through it."
"Does it work?" Scott asked bluntly, getting right to the point. "We'll probably only get one shot at this, so it had better be right."
"Yes, we've been, uh, testing it for sometime. It's much more accurate," Brains replied.
"All right. Brains, you get with Virgil on this. I want it set up and running ASAP," Jeff instructed. "And Virgil?"
"Yes Dad?"
"Monitor everything. We can't take a chance on this. If they use a different type of communications system, we'll need to know about it."
"FAB Dad." There was a pause, then Virgil continued. "And Dad, I want in on this." His voice was hard, and all those in the room knew it wasn't a request.
Jeff had no intention of denying his son's request. He needed all of them on this, in addition to understanding Virgil's need to be present. "I agree. As soon as the transmission comes in, someone will be up to get you."
"FAB," was the reply, and Virgil signed off.
Brains excused himself as well, saying he was heading for the lab to contact Virgil and get to work.
The three exhausted men remaining in the study just looked at each other in silence for a moment in the bright light of the sunrise.
"What a mess," Scott muttered finally, getting up and beginning to pace.
Gordon watched his brother knowingly. Scott's feet were moving, which meant that the wheels in his brain were moving as well. Leaving his older brother to it, he turned to his father.
"Any guesses as to when we'll get the next communication?"
Jeff just looked at his son pointedly.
Gordon grimaced and threw up his hands. "I know, I know – stupid question. But seriously," he began, "Any plans in the works?"
"Maybe," Jeff muttered. "It really depends on where and when they want the drop."
Gordon studied his father's face. He could see the strain in it. "Will you pay the ransom?" he asked, desperately trying to keep his tone neutral.
The question stopped Scott cold in his tracks, and he turned to look at his father expectantly as well.
Jeff gazed back thoughtfully at them for a moment, eyes hooded. Then he answered. "If I have to – YES. Whatever it takes to get John and Alan back. And then I'll want blood."
He studied his two stunned sons for a moment. "I suggest you both get some sleep while you can. Virgil and Brains are on the communications, and I want both of you in top form when we move." With that, Jeff got up and left the study, leaving his two sons staring after him, open mouthed.
Scott and Gordon looked at each other for a moment. They had always been under the impression that they father was do whatever it took to protect his sons, but to hear him state it quite so bluntly was another story. They were far more used to the subtle mind that created International Rescue. To see this side of their father out in the open was quite another story.
TB TB TB TB TBWhen John woke up, he recognized that he was no longer in the helijet. Stretching his stiff neck, he realized that the last thing he remembered was finishing the transmission, then a needle driving deep into the side of his neck. As that memory surfaced, John's stomach churned, and he turned his head just in time to lose his last meal. 'Drugged. Great, just great.' He felt vaguely dizzy as well.
Shaking his head to try to clear it, he took stock of his situation. He was on a floor on what felt like thin padding of some kind, with his hands handcuffed around some kind of post behind him, and the blindfold still very much in place. The room smelled vaguely musty, and he could hear rain on the roof. Additional smells of oil and machinery. A shop then. Some kind of outbuilding.
John listened carefully. Aside from rain, he could hear what sounded like light wind moving through trees. No traffic sounds, no city sounds. Out in the middle of nowhere then.
John continued to take stock of his situation and try to make plans as the time dragged on. But he was having a hard time making the intuitive mental leaps that had always come so easy for him. He just felt slow and logy. Like he wasn't thinking quite right. Kind of like when he was extremely tired and it seemed to take a minute to change his mental focus. Geez, what had they shot him up with?
He called out, yelling for Alan periodically, but there was never any answer. John didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually he was treated to the sound of a door opening, footsteps, and the same voice he'd heard before.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Tracy. I take it you enjoyed your nap?"
"Not really," John replied coolly, after clearing his throat. "I'm not overly fond of being drugged."
"No, I don't suppose that you are."
There was a momentary lull in the conversation, and he strained to hear the activity around him.
"No . . . you fool . . ." the man's deep voice suddenly hissed. "Over there. And clean up this mess!"
"Sorry," a disgruntled mutter answered him.
"Silence!" the original voice snapped.
Two, at least, John thought, . . . and from the sounds of it, maybe three people.
"So, Mr. Tracy," the original voice broke into his thoughts. "You will no doubt be glad to know that your younger brother was as reasonable as you were, hence, he is in one piece and unharmed, just as you are. It would be appropriate to keep matters as they stand, don't you agree?" A pause, which John did not fill.
"Now, we have the matter of the next transmission to your father. A private island, Mr. Tracy. Really. What must he have been thinking. Such a recluse and so antisocial. And such an extravagance. The ultimate in self-protection? Well, it has not sheltered him from outside interests this day."
John did his best to hide his laughter. Self-protection my eye! This man had no clue whom he was dealing with. Tracy Island and Thunderbird Five had some of the best communications tracing equipment in the world, as John himself had cause to know. They were poking a hornet's nest with the biggest stick imaginable and had absolutely no clue what they were doing. It was highly amusing, that is until he remembered the gun to Alan's head. That thought sobered him up quickly.
"Now, please remember. This is what you are to say. Do not deviate or young Alan will suffer the consequences in your hearing. I assure you that neither of you will enjoy the process."
John felt cold at the chill tone of the man's voice. "I understand."
"Good. Here is what you are to say. 'I, John Glenn Tracy, am to tell you to have ten million American dollars cash in unmarked, non sequential, random mix of used one hundred, five hundred and one thousand denomination bills. Have these ready to deliver upon the next transmission. Do not, under any circumstances, contact any authorities.' Do you have that?"
"Yes."
"Good. Repeat it to me please."
John did so.
"Very good. Now, you will repeat it on my say so, and say nothing else. Please remember young Alan."
John cursed silently, but obediently did as he was told. He just didn't see any other option.
"Excellent. If your father follows these instructions as well as you and your brother have followed yours, then the two of you should be safely home tomorrow night."
John could hear shuffling in the background. "Sleep well, John Tracy." And the door shut, leaving him in black silence once more.
John found himself trying hard to reach Alan. 'Stay cool Alan. No heroics. Just do as they say. Please!' He finally turned his attention to trying to escape, hoping against hope that Alan understood the seriousness of the situation.