Hornet's Nest
By Spense
CHAPTER NINE"John!"
Man, he was tired.
"John, come on."
No. All he wanted to do was sleep.
"John. Wake up. Now!"
Younger brothers were pests. They just never left you alone.
"John. Please!"
The tone in his youngest brother's voice finally penetrated. Fear. What was Alan afraid of? He'd better find out.
He opened his eyes to see Alan's white face staring at him. He blinked as a blinding headache hit him.
"Alan?" he whispered.
"Yeah," Alan's voice responded shakily, thick with relief. "You okay?"
"Huh?" John said, trying desperately to clear his head. He looked around, and the memories came flooding back. The car was off the road, sideways in a ditch. The windshield was covered with mud splatter, and all he could see was wet, green foliage.
"I said, are you okay?" Alan asked worriedly. "You hit your head pretty hard."
He had to quit doing that. Twice in less than 48 hours was just too much. "Yeah, I think so. How long was I out?"
"Just a couple of minutes."
"You okay?" John turned to really look at his little brother for the first time, and his eyes narrowed. Alan was absolutely white.
"I think I may have broken my collarbone," Alan admitted carefully.
John released his seatbelt and shifted in his seat, wincing at his headache. Noting the way Alan held his left arm against his chest, it looked as though he might have. Carefully shifting Alan's shirt, he looked at the mismatching ends of his collarbone under the skin and whistled softly. "You sure did." And another quick glance at his arm, he added, "Looks like you broke your wrist too. Braced yourself, huh?"
"Shit," Alan muttered.
John ignored him and shifted again, giving an involuntary gasp of pain. At Alan's worried look he smiled reassuringly. "Shoulder belt. Kept me from going through the windshield, but I'm sure going to hurt."
Alan nodded in understanding.
"Well, looks like I'll be doing the driving from now on, thank heavens. I'm not letting you behind the wheel of a car ever again. That took years off my life."
Alan grinned in spite of the pain. "Yeah, but I lost 'em, didn't I?"
John snorted and shook his head, not finding anything remotely funny about it. "Yeah, you sure did. And nearly lost us too. Well, let's get ourselves regrouped, and see if we can get underway again." He paused and then turned to his brother again, this time looking harsh.
"And so help me Alan, if you ever, EVER pull anything even remotely like your little temper tantrum back there on me ever again, I swear, I'll fillet you. And then I'll turn you over to Dad." He ignored Alan's shocked look at his disregard of the other unwritten Tracy brothers rule – handle things among themselves, and leave their father out of it if at all possible.
"And you know exactly what he'll do," John continued furiously. He looked at Alan knowingly, as he brother slunk deeper into the seat at his words. Oh, yeah. Alan knew all right. He probably wouldn't live to see 16. "Do you understand me?"
"But I drive better than you," Alan muttered, defiant as ever, although the picture was somewhat marred by his clutching his left arm against his chest in order to keep the broken ends of his collarbone from grating together.
John shut his eyes and counted to ten. "I don't care." He said distinctly through gritted teeth. Alan wasn't the only Tracy with a stubborn streak and a temper (although he rarely showed it), and John had thoroughly had it. "Do you understand? And you'd better say yes if you know what's good for you."
Alan looked surreptitiously at his brother. John looked really, really pissed. "Yeah," he muttered sullenly.
"I didn't hear you. And don't push it, Alan," John warned, a hairs breath away from carrying out his threats here and now. He'd had a long hard 36 hours, and he'd had enough, his brother's broken collarbone or not.
Alan finally seemed to get the picture, and pulled back from the brink of disaster just in time. "Yeah, I hear you." He said, then looked away out the window.
"Good," John said succinctly.
TB TB TB TB TBAlthough in real time, Thunderbird One made exceptional speed, the perception to the inhabitants was significantly different. Jeff, attired in business clothes and ready to recruit the FBI to his needs, watched the clouds pass by without really seeing them. His thoughts were solely on his missing sons.
Scott focused on flying and the prospect of action ahead. His every movement was tightly controlled and planned. Like the intimidating, unrelieved flight suit he wore, his manner was formidable.
Gordon was, well Gordon. He was fidgety. The waiting was driving him crazy. Fishing in one of the small compartments of his carry-all, he pulled out a small, yellow Hot-Wheel car. He'd hung onto it because it reminded him of Thunderbird Four – yellow with orange markings. And also because he usually had some small odds and ends with him just to relieve boredom, and also because he never knew when something would come in handy to annoy a brother or two. So it was either the car or a super ball. Deciding that the super ball might cause more trouble than he was willing to handle right now, he chose the car.
He amused himself by driving it up the back of Virgil's seat as he tried to keep his mind off of his missing brothers, and the possibilities of what they would find when they arrived at the kidnappers. Ignoring the growing irritation of his brother, Gordon began to slowly relax. At least until Virgil turned around and smacked the small car out of his hand.
"Hey," Gordon yelped in indignation.
"We'll just call you Alan!" Virgil growled as he turned back around. "Act you age. At least Alan has an excuse. He IS a kid. And just don't ask if we're 'there yet'."
Gordon smiled slightly to himself. Worked every time. Momentary diversion for both himself and Virgil accomplished, at least for the moment. He began to look around for something else to take his mind off their circumstances.
"Don't," the firm, quiet voice of his parent said from next to him.
Gordon turned in surprise to see his father looking at him sternly. He opened his mouth to deny everything, but was cut off.
Jeff's voice was quiet enough not to carry any farther than to Gordon, but it was clear enough. "Don't do it. I know this is your way of relieving your stress, Gordon, but it's not good for any of you right now. Try to find another, more constructive way."
Gordon shut his mouth, chagrined. He just nodded at his father. His Dad was right. It might relieve his stress, but creating more aggravation right now was not a good idea.
"Thank you," was Jeff's quiet reply. "There'll be time enough to get Scott and Virgil to lighten up later, and one way or another, they'll need the outlet. But not right now."
Gordon nodded again, meeting his father's eyes. Jeff gave him a tight smile and turned back to the windows. Gordon tried a different way of passing the time. This time he decided he would plan exactly how he wanted to go about pulverizing the individuals holding his brothers.
TB TB TB TB TBJohn and Alan, between the two of them, had managed to locate a basic first aid kit in the trunk and get themselves fixed up as best they could. John immobilized Alan's arm against his chest using strips of a blanket he found in the trunk, taking care of both the collar bone and wrist at the same time. Alan was able to determine that John didn't have a concussion, just another goose egg to add to his collection, and a couple of possible broken ribs. After downing the aspirin that they found in the first aid kit, John looked to the car.
After looking the situation over, he was able determine that he could probably just drive it forward out of the ditch. Apart from the mud and the cracked windshield, nothing appeared damaged. Alan told John that between the wet roads and the bald tires, the car had just slid off the road. However, they had been going fast enough for the two of them to be bounced around quite a bit.
"Okay. What do you want to do?" John asked as soon as they were both sitting in the car in the afternoon light. The strained atmosphere had dissipated, and the brothers were back to interacting normally. John was actually able to talk to his brother without wanting to throttle him, and Alan had finally finished sulking.
"The way I see it, we have two choices. We can call the authorities when we get to someplace civilized and have them deal with this. Or, we can get to the nearest airport where we have a hanger, go home and deal with everything from there." John knew his choice, but they were in this together, so he figured he'd better ask.
"Go home," Alan said tiredly. "I mean, I know we should go to the police, but do you really want to try and explain who we are and why we stole a car? I don't. Let's let Dad do it."
John chuckled. "I like the way you think. My sentiments exactly. Airport it is. Where our nearest hanger? Any clues?"
"Uh-uh," Alan muttered tiredly. "Do we have anything in Washington anyway?" he asked doubtfully.
John snapped his fingers. "Seattle. We have a jet based in Seattle."
"Are you sure?" Alan asked, looking at him quizzically.
"Yep. I've flown in here to Microsoft with Brains a couple of times."
"Good. Then we don't have to steal a plane too."
John gave a snort of laughter. "Okay, let's get the map, figure out where we are, and get this show on the road."
Alan sat up carefully. "Wait."
John looked at him. "What?"
"There's one more thing we need to do."
John eyed him in trepidation.
TB TB TB TB TB"Alan," John commented in amazement as Alan was trying to switch the license plates on their stolen car with a plate he'd lifted off of a similar car they had located in remote park and ride. They had finally reached Interstate-5 after about an hours drive. Alan had insisted on pulling over at the out of the way park and ride just off the freeway along a predominately rural stretch of highway. There, he'd located a model similar to their generic sedan and lifted the license plates.
"What?" He said, preoccupied, as he tried to change the plates with one hand.
"You scare me sometimes."
"Would you just help!" Alan snapped back.
John sighed and took over. "What on earth made you think of this?"
"Well, we're driving a stolen car. And it's going to take a good couple of hours to get to this Boeing Field place where you said we have a plane if the map is right. Do you really want to get pulled over? I mean, neither of us has a driver's license on us. It will be tomorrow, if then, before they realize the plates are switched." He paused for a second, then added thoughtfully, "Do we need gas?"
John shook his head in bemusement, trying to follow his brother's twisted logic as he worked on the plates, at the same time keeping a look out for any prying eyes. That didn't seem to be an issue. It was the middle of the afternoon, and there wasn't a soul around. It made sense, since these were probably predominately commuter vehicles.
"I don't think so. We've got a little under half a tank. From the looks of the map, it's only a couple of hours drive, and this car is one of those economy jobs. Good thing too, since we don't have any money." He stopped and looked suspiciously at Alan. "Why? Do you have any bright ideas?"
Alan smiled. "Well, because now would be a good time to siphon some for another car. We've got a whole park and ride to choose from."
John closed his eyes in pain for a moment. 'I just had to ask . . .' Where on earth had this kid come from? Couldn't possibly have come from the same gene pool as the rest of his straight arrow family. Well, except maybe Gordon. He was also seriously wondering if his brother was actually going to live to grow up, and where on earth he was getting his information. Once again, he wasn't at all sure he really wanted to know.
"Alan, in response to your first comment, you don't even have a driver's license to begin with." He sat back for a moment and looked pointedly at his brother as Alan immediately looked cagey. He'd have to get to the bottom of this later; fake IDs were all too easy to come by. "And two, I suppose we've already fallen into a life of crime. We may as well compound it with the stolen license plates."
Alan snickered.
"And third, how do you even know how to siphon gas?"
Alan just tightened his lips, and shrugged.
"Right. I don't want to know," John groaned, and turned his attention back to the license plates. How could a kid look so angelic and be so incredibly devious?
"Well, you really don't," Alan pointed out logically.
"Okay, I'm done." John stood up and stretched. He really had the mother of all headaches, and his little brother certainly wasn't helping any. And he still felt like he wasn't firing on all cylinders mentally, certainly not enough to keep up with Alan right now.
In addition, he was developing limitless admiration for his father, and was going to make sure he told him so when they finally got back home. Had the rest of them ever been this bad? Well, again, possibly Gordon. No wonder those two were so close.
He looked thoughtfully at Alan. "And I'm not sure I want to know this either, but do you have any thoughts on what you want to do about our kidnappers?" John asked with real interest. This ought to be good.
Alan shrugged as he got back into the car. John closed his door, then climbed into the driver's side and helped his little brother with the seatbelt since he couldn't do it with his left arm immobilized. "By this time," Alan answered, "I'm guessing that Virg has traced all the transmissions. Let's just let Scott take care of them. He's probably in overdrive by now anyway. Let him work his adrenaline off. Do him good."
John burst out laughing. Alan was right. Scott would be in total big-brother, over-protective mode. He'd mop the floor with them. "You certainly take the prize for creative thinking, Alan," he said, still laughing.
Alan grinned back. "I have four older brothers, remember? You only have one. I need to deflect 'em any chance I can."
John grinned back. "Are you sure you don't want tojust go back and wait for them?"
"Nope," Alan said tiredly. "Let'slet them have all the fun. I don't want to run into those bozos again. I'm not up for it. I feel lousy. I just want to go home."
Since his response echoed exactly what John was feeling, he just nodded, and agreed. "Let's go home then."
"Bet we beat 'em back."