Thanks for the insights and ideas, Agent Five. John seems to have a way of getting under people's skins, or making them reach for a baseball bat.
22
Earlier that night- Thunderbird 2:
Takeoff had been rushed and secretive, with none of the usual comm chatter that attended the average launch. For Virgil was in a damn quick hurry.
He meant to get into the air and away from the island before Father, or Brains, could think of a way to stop him. Torn wiring only went so far.
His younger brother, Gordon, was strapped into the co-pilot's seat to the right, equally preoccupied. The red-headed teenager attended to the steering rocketswhile Virgil hauled back on the yoke and mentally plotted a course for the distant Pyrenees.
Although he was doing everything he could to reach the danger zone, and his heavily loaded girl couldn't fly any faster, Virgil had to grit his teeth against the terrible knowledge that every second lost brought a thousand people that much closer to the end. Huddled in the darkness, convinced that a suddenly murderous International Rescue had entombed them, they faced death by suffocation, crushing or thirst. Visualizing their desperate plight, there was no peace in Virgil.
They were less than a hundred miles from the island, leveled out and cruising at 40,000 feet, when something sleek and fast shot past them on the right. Thunderbird 1.
Rocked by the quicker Bird's shock wave, 2 yawed a bit, but Gordon brought her back to midline with a sudden firing of the left forward thruster. Meanwhile, Virgil watched grimly as the long, silver rocketplane rolled left, still accelerating, and cut directly in front of Thunderbird 2. All at once, his main view screen was filled with rocket engines and tail fins, rather than stars. At close range, not a comfortable sight.
Scott probably intended to slow down, forcing him to swerve off course, but Virgil had other plans.
"Brace, Kiddo," he instructed, calmly. Then, he pushed the yoke forward as far as it would go, sending Thunderbird 2 into a wild, screaming nosedive. Ocean surged up to fill the view screen, vast and swallowing-dark. While Gordon struggled miserably with sudden weightlessness and violently renewed gravity, Virgil leveled out again and lunged forward, a thousand feet below his startled older brother.
"Not this time, Scotty," he muttered. "You want to stop me, you're gonna have to shoot me down."
Like a stooping hawk, Thunderbird 1 dropped into view again, glittering faintly in the light of a swollen moon. Red and blue running lights put him to mind of police cars and high-speed chases, but his brother wasn't there to ticket him.
"Thunderbird 2, from Thunderbird 1; Virgil, are you receiving me?"
Gordon glanced over at once, but the dark-eyed pilot merely shook his head.
"Dammit, Virge! Answer me!"
Thunderbird 1 attempted another delaying maneuver, cutting across the cargolifter's flight path while firing full afterburners. The resulting turbulence buffeted Thunderbird 2 like a hurricane... or would have, if she'd been there. Knowing exactly what Scott had in mind, Virgil pulled up, at the same time calling,
"Right side, all fire!"
Gordon immediately triggered the port-side steering rockets. The giant craft climbed and banked with astonishing agility, leaving Thunderbird 1 clutching at shadows.
"It isn't the speed, Big Brother," Virgil grunted, "it's the skills, and I haven't got time to play games."
Again, he leveled out and adjusted his course. The rocket plane drew alongside for the third time, pacing them warily some two hundred yards to the left.
"Virge, we can do this all night, or you can quit dodging, and listen!"
No reply. Virgil scowled, but held his tongue. Gordon had a harder time of things; it wasn't in him to just ignore a brother's call. His concerned gaze went from Virgil, to the comm, and back again, but the pilot's face was set like stone.
Scott tried a new tactic.
"As chief of the cottonwood circle, I order you to listen up, Virgil!"
At once amused, and iritated, Virgil flipped the comm switch, snapping,
"This isn't the clubhouse, Scott. We're not kids, anymore."
"Maybe not, but you're sure acting like a 12-year old."
When Virgil failed to respond, Scott said,
"For the record: Come back to the island, Virge."
"No." Quiet, but firm and unyielding as a granite cliff.
"Right. I tried."
Scott's voice was cool and business-like, and very difficult to read. Rather apprehensively, Virgil hit the comm again, signaling Gordon to prepare for evasive action.
"What're you going to do?" The brown-haired pilot demanded.
"Do? Fly to Spain, set up Mobile Command, and keep you two hotheads out of trouble. What else?" As though Virgil had somehow lost touch with reality, he added, "Is there a problem?"
Despite the worrisome situation, Virgil smiled. Cutting on visual, he said,
"Nope. Just asking."
Gordon allowed himself to relax a little, deeply relieved. He sat up with a wince when the back of his head touched the seat, though. The stupid stitches were a poor substitute for laser sealing.Definitely.., more aspirin.
Returning from a trip to the medical locker, hewas just in time to catcha radio news clip of the strange broadcast, with its grimly veiled threats. Just as it had for John, the phrase 'Jewel of the Sea' evoked an immediate, distressing notion.
'Sea Base Alpha,' he decided, growing suddenly cold, 'they'll be after the Sea Base, next.'
Question was, had anyone warned Alpha's commander?
Needing guidance, Gordon looked over at Virgil, but his brother was still deep in conversation with Scott; planning the most dangerous mission they'd ever attempted. Best not to interrupt, maybe.
He considered. Surely, someone had to have come to the same conclusion, and sent word? But... undersea communications were tricky at best, and very few others had information on the attackers' methods. Also, would the warning be taken seriously, coming from a civilian?
He decided. Though he knew that International Rescue lay beneath a cloud of fear and suspicion, in his heart, Gordon didn't really believe it. All he saw was a danger to others, and a way that he might help. Much like Virgil, Gordon tended to lead with his heart, rather than his head.
So, without much forethought, he used his access code to route an emergency signal directly to the Sea Base Command office, employing IR's hidden comm buoys.
Located in the crystal waters of the Caribbean, about three miles south of Curacao, Sea Base Alpha glowed on the ocean floor like a multi-strand necklace of pearls. There were eleven domed sections, each named for a sea or river, and connected to the others by a network of tunnels drilled through the living rock. Tall, cross-braced docking elevators permitted passengers and cargo to be brought in by submarine.
The central section, Coral Sea, was raised above the ocean floor on bridge-like, curving legs, allowing free access to open water for pressure suit diving, or working with the base patrol dolphins (interesting creatures, with genetically enhanced intelligence; they understood a fair variety of spoken words, and a much larger number of signed ones, and they still loved people). Sea Base had been planned, constructed and built as a sort of rehearsal for the Moon Station, and a lot of the same procedures applied to both.
As John had remarked, Alpha was beautiful, though not nearly as vulnerable as some supposed.
The call went through before Gordon worked out what he wanted to say. The base commander answered, looking rather harried. He was a well-favored man in his early forties, with olive skin, dark hair and brown eyes. A strong jaw bespoke firmness of character, but his full-lipped mouth and quiet gaze were sensitive, rather than hard. Commander Jared Carlin, of Sea Base Alpha; a very long way from Manitoba, and his increasingly estranged wife.
Frowning slightly, he said,
"Carlin. Go ahead."
"Um..., yes, Sir," Gordon began, a bit confusedly, "I'm with International Rescue, and I've called t' warn you of possible trouble."
Carlin's expression changed, darkening subtly from impatient, to bleak. He'd learned of the Unity Complex attack, but wasn't yet convinced, one way or another.
"Yeah. I've already been contacted by one of your teammates. Blond guy. A real charmer."
Gordon almost smiled. Apparently, spaceflight and sabotage hadn't made John any more personable.
"Right, then. Terribly sorry t' have troubled you, Sir. I'll just..."
"He said to expect an attack," Carlin continued, leaning forward. "He didn't say what kind, when, or who from. No details. I'm going to amber alert, here, on the strength of a damn rumor from the same... On an unsubstantiated threat."
"Well... if it follows what went on at th' Moon Station, Sir, you should look out f'r bombs, sabotaged equipment, an' possibly a number of turncoats."
Commander Carlin's light-brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"No enemy fleet? No torpedoes?"
"No, Sir. Most likely not. They seem not t' have much in th' way of technology, whoever they are. But, I'd open every locker an' storeroom, check through any abandoned parcels, and look sharp f'r folk away from their stations. Doesn't take much t' bring down a building, Sir. Not if y' know what you're doin'."
Carlin's frown had deepened, growing puzzled. All at once, he said,
"We've met before, haven't we?"
This time, Gordon did smile.
"Yes, Sir, though I'm surprised you'd remember it. I toured th' Sea Base with my class a few years back, on a school outing. You were a Skydiver pilot at th' time, and, like a lot of th' other lads, I was quite awed. Asked f'r your autograph, even."
Carlin shut his eyes briefly, and shook his head.
"Well, there goes another grey hair... Anyway, back to business; I've scrambled the Tigersharks and Skydivers, and a squad of dolphins are out searching the exterior for anything out of place. We'll keep our eyes open, down here."
Across the miles, he gave Gordon a level, considering gaze.
"Headed for Spain, I take it?"
"Yes, Sir," the young aquanaut promptly replied. "We've got t' go. We're most likely the only chance those people have."
Carlin nodded.
"Well... you know what you're up against, over there; what the reports are accusing you of. Watch your backs."
"Will do, Commander. Thank you."
Carlin nodded again, started to switch off the comm, then paused.
"Did I sign it?" He asked, suddenly. "The autograph, that is?"
"That y' did, Sir." ('Best wishes, Lt. Carlin'.)
"Good. I'd really hate to think I was a big enough bastard to give some school kid the cold shoulder. Good luck to you, then, and thanks for the heads up. Let me know if there's anything we can do to help. Carlin, out."
The signal ended, emptying the screen of everything but jiggling white static. Gordon cut off the comm, realizing suddenly that Virgil had wrapped up his planning session.
"Who was that?" His brother asked, curiously.
After a moment's consideration, Gordon replied,
"Believe it or not... a friend."