Chapter Three
Alan awoke to hear someone speaking. To him it sounded as though they were pleading with someone. He tried to focus his eyes in the direction of the voice but moving his head made him groan in pain. He felt as though he'd been on one of those forgettable drinking binges that you regretted and said you'd never go out and do again. But then the fog started to clear on his numbed brain and his thoughts finally clicked into place. Oh, fuck!
He was now fully awake and fully aware of the situation he was in, fervently hoping that he was the only one in this situation. His hopes though were exceedingly dashed as he realized the pleading voice that he'd heard belonged to his brother John, who was now eyeing him with deep concern.
"Alan, thank God. Are you okay?"
Alan's throat was dry and raspy, his mouth like cotton. He would have killed at this moment for even a sip of water. It took him a minute, but finally, a sound managed to escape from between his cracked lips. "J-John?"
"Yeah, Kiddo, I'm here. How're you holding up?"
"Oh... just g-great, no place I'd rather be. You?"
"Well, whatever the hell that stuff they shot us full of was, it really did a number on me," he paused as he grabbed his left arm, wincing, "and I think I've dislocated my shoulder. But, I'll live."
He noticed that John seemed a bit anxious about something more than their current predicament. He looked from his brother's face downward to the still form lying on the floor behind him. Realization dawned.
"Sc-Scott!" "What's wrong, why isn't he waking up?"
"Our 'hosts,' " the word was said with more venom than Alan had ever heard come out of his normally soft-spoken brother, "have informed me that our big brother here was not an easy mark. He tried so hard to escape, that they had to shoot him twice."
Alan's eyes went wide. "You mean, they shot him with a double dose of that stuff?"
"Not quite double. It seems he pulled the first dart out before he got the full effect." But, I just can't get him to come to. His breathing is shallow and his pulse is so slow. I'm just praying that he hasn't lapsed into a coma. I've been talking to him, hoping the sound of my voice would help. But so far, it hasn't done any good. I guess all we can do for now is try to make him comfortable." He rummaged around a bit with his good arm before finding an old cushion. He beat it on the wall to remove the dirt from it and gently placed the cushion under Scott's head.
Alan took in their surroundings. It seemed that they were in an old room that might have at one time been a studio apartment, except for the fact that there were no windows and no lights, save for a camping lantern set out on a table. There were still remnants of the most recent occupant's personal belongings strewn about. It looked as though whoever had been here had left in a hurry. The gunmetal-hued paint was peeling off the walls and there was a dankness to the place, a mustiness that made it seem almost dungeon–like in atmosphere. There's no air circulating. We must be underground.
John went over and picked the lantern up off the table so he could do some exploring. He appeared to have enough time, given their situation.
Alan looked at his older brother, but wasn't really seeing him as his mind groped for answers. "Did they say why they were doing this, John?" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do they know that we're...?"
"No, I don't think so. They made no mention of it. In fact, they didn't say much about anything. But, they obviously know our names, so it could have something to do with the "other" business."
"Tracy Corp.?"
"Yeah, sure, why not? I mean, if you were a low-life, wouldn't it cross your mind to abduct the son of a billionaire? And of course, in this case, three's obviously not a crowd, it's just more profitable."
Alan cringed as he thought of their father's reaction to three of his sons being kidnapped. John ran the light along the walls and up toward the ceiling, looking for any way out. "This place must have been used like an underground bunker at one time for someone who really needed to get away from it all."
"Being in here gives me the creeps." Alan said as he looked around wildly. "It's like we've been buried alive or something."
"Don't be so morose, Alan. We'll get out of here; just don't let your thoughts get away from you."
"I know, you're right, Dad'll find us. He'd never give in to these bastards."
"Right, so don't just sit there, help me find a way outta this place."
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Back on their island home, "Dad" was becoming a bit concerned. Even when the boys were on shore leave, it was customary for them to check in with base. Their profession was dangerous in more ways than one and the threat of criminal activity was always looming over them. It always set his mind at ease when he heard their voices and knew they were safe. He was just about to try Scott's comm. link when the intercom on his desktop beeped, signifying an incoming call from the mainland, the mainland in this case being New York City. The line was the one used only by Jeff's trusted secretary. She had been with him a long time and was also a close, personal friend. "Yes, Rosemary."
"Hello, Jeff. I'm so sorry to disturb you at home but I have something here I think you should hear."
Among Rosemary's many responsibilities was the task of handling the calls that came in for him on the main line to Tracy Corp. and then screening them, so only legitimate business and/or other important calls were routed through to the island. When you were both a public figure and the owner of a billion dollar industry, you were bound to receive some calls that weren't exactly "Kosher." Some he'd received had required that he report them to the authorities, but he generally tried to avoid that. For the most part, they were just the usual vidmarketing and survey calls, trying to obtain personal info from him. From the tone of Rosemary's voice though, this was something different, and he thoroughly trusted her judgment.
Not one to mince words, Jeff got right to the point. "Okay then. Let's have it."
Rosemary's voice shook slightly. "Okay, this came in about 5 minutes ago..."
"Hello, Jeff Tracy. How's the weather there on that island of yours? Oh, yes, I know all about it. Some might even call you eccentric, a bit of a recluse. I know those sons of yours aren't though. My, my, five strapping young men, heartbreakers, all of them...and now on the loose. Well, three of them are, anyway. Heard from any of them lately?"
The blood pounded in Jeff's ears and his breathing became labored as he realized where this was going. Dear God, don't let this be happening. The voice on the recording continued on relentlessly.
I wonder Jeff, what it would be worth to you to be able talk with them again, see their faces. Well, my dear Mr. Corporate Mogul, you have 24 hours to decide just that, or you can start thinking of your offspring in terms of two. Are we clear? You will be contacted with instructions on where to leave the sum of 10 billion dollars in exchange for their safe return. I'm sure a savvy gent such as yourself knows better than to contact the authorities, unless you want your sons mailed back to you piece by piece. Have a nice day, Jeff Tracy!
With that, the recording ended and Jeff cut the connection, his head sinking down on his forearms. They'd had to endure so much. Besides the normal perils associated with performing rescues, they'd had to save their own members, on occasion, from the malevolent forces of power, greed and sadism. They'd battled The Hood and survived. He himself had almost ended up a permanent impression on the cliff face at the end of a monotrain line. There were the crashes. Both Scott and Virgil had had incidents and come out of them to fly another day. "Scott." And Gordon, he'd been so close to death, the doctors believing he'd never walk again. It was almost as if they'd had a guardian angel watching over them, and he knew her name. "Lucy, please go and be with them, they need you." And then he was no longer able to dam his emotions up. The flood gates opened and Jeff Tracy, astronaut, businessman and multi-billionaire, wept like a child.
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Waiting in the wings, unseen, was the singular reason why Tracy Island had not as yet imploded upon itself. Jeff's confidante and long time friend Kyrano had not intended to intrude. He had, however, taken stock of the situation and knew that his friend's well being, both mental and physical, was at stake. He needed the strength to face what lay ahead and if he could help in any way...
>>>>>+>>>>>+
When he was finally able to get himself back under control, Jeff started to assess the situation in earnest. Okay, on their side was the fact that these 'people' didn't know the extent of who they were dealing with. They apparently had no idea they had just kidnapped three IR operatives. He rallied himself and took control.
>>>>>+>>>>>+
Kyrano raised his head wearily and opened his eyes, satisfied that his friend could go on from here. A faint smile of satisfaction graced his etched features as he silently relegated himself to resuming the tasks at hand.
>>>>>+>>>>>+
Down in Thunderbird Two's Hangar, the diagnostic of the great, green machine was nearing its completion. The bezel on Virgil's wrist comm. flashed green followed by a vibration. "Yes, Father?"
"How far along are you down there, Virgil?"
"Almost there, just about another sixty minutes to go."
"Good. Finish up as quickly as you can and then I want to see all 3 of you up here, pronto!"
"What's up, Dad?"
"You'll know in an hour. Just get her ready, I'm counting on you boys. Oh, and Virgil?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Do it in forty five...out." The link was cut off.
There was something in their father's voice that made Virgil and Gordon's skin crawl. Gordon tried to put into words what was on both their minds.
"You don't think..."
"I don't know, Gordon and I don't want to speculate. Just get moving!" Virgil's voice had been a little harsher than he'd intended, but Gordon knew it was out of worry...worry that something in Sydney had gone terribly wrong.