It was impossible to gauge the passage of time in this place. For all he knew he could have been held captive here for just a few minutes. Or it could be days. Although hethought that after a few days of sitting here on this chair he might be considerably more uncomfortable.

But perhaps they came in and sedated him. Moved him somewhere else to sleep. No. He would know. They had only been in once. With him. His identifier. The man who had all but signed his death warrant. The man who had already tried to kill him once. And had almost succeeded.

Why was he here? And why was he also apparently a prisoner? And who was it that was so bad that even he was scared?

Footsteps. Single. The lock pulling back. A draft of air from outside the room bringing with it the smell of pine forest, diesel, perfume. Strange combination.

Whoever it was that had entered, they neared him slowly, almost cautiously. This was not one of the men from his previous encounter.

A pause. The movement of air near his face. Something small and somewhat sharp catching on his bottom lip. He gasped and shook his head away from whatever it was.

"No! Shh! Okay. It is okay. It is water. Please."

He relaxed in the chair and turned back towards her whisper. A straw. Guided more accurately this time. The water was cool and soothed his parched throat. It settled easily in his stomach and that gave him some clue. Any longer a gap since his last drink and he would have cramps from the sudden rush of fluid.

He drained the container and sighed slightly. "Thank you." He offered quietly.

"Now. I must check you." She continued in her hushed, broken English.

"Check me?"

"Yes. Please. No struggle this time."

This time? The tape over his eyes pulled at his skin as he frowned in confusion. When had he struggled before? When had she come in before? Why did he need check –

"Ouch!" He hissed suddenly, trying to respect her plea for quiet but also shocked by the sudden throbbing pain in his shoulder. And now his arm ached. His fingers tingled as if waking from numbed sleep. And suddenly he remembered. Remembered the impact. Remembered stumbling. Remembered clutching his shoulder. There had been no blood. Only a small dart.

And now he remembered more. All of it. Cursing at them to run. Run away. He would create a diversion, provide cover fire, be their escape. It made sense. He had been trained for this.

"You are strong."

Gentle fingers opening his shirt and stroking over his skin brought him rapidly back to the present. She was checking methodically. His face, his neck, his torso, his arms. Checking for bruising, breakages, damaged skin.

"Most men asleep for days."

"How long has it been?" He asked quickly.

A long pause. A gentle intake of breath. A decision.

"Please."

"Four hours."

He nodded thoughtfully and decided to chance an appeal to her sympathetic tone. "Where am I?"

No reply. And she had moved back from him.

"Is this the warehouse? Am I in the base on the border? Is this Kazakhstan? Russia? Please!"

"Shh!" She covered his lips with her fingers and whimpered in fear. "I am only to bring water. Check you."

He sighed and nodded in surrender. Other voices then filtered down from somewhere outside the room. Clearer this time. His heart suddenly began to race. The door was open.

This was his chance. She was his escape. He could use her as a hostage. He could easily break her neck. They would have to let him go.

But was she that vital to them? Would it be a waste of effort? Might he harm her for no good reason? Might he lose the trust he was sure he could build with her?

And then the moment was gone. She backed away and more footfalls signified the return of his host. Or two of them at least.

"Scott Tracy."

He froze, while trying not to appear frozen.

"Of course. American bravado. But this is your name. I know this as fact."

The voice and footsteps neared together. The tape over his eyes, although freed once before, seemed to pull his face from his skull. He clenched his teeth and refused to cry out.

"Hey!" The man slapped his cheek gently and laughed in amusement. "What? You too scared to look at me? Huh? Scott Tracy. Big American hero, no?"

Scott blinked his eyes open and the bright room was blurry for a moment. Then a surprisingly average, somewhat friendly face came into view.

"There you are!" The man chuckled softly. "Hello."

Scott watched the man smiling down at him and could only stare back warily.

"Well? You not say hello?"

"What?" Scott husked.

"Hello!" The man shouted suddenly, his smile fading in an instant.

He moved so fast and the pain was so sudden that Scott had not even time enough to realise what was happening. He caught his sob in his throat and closed his eyes as whatever the hell it was sent waves of agony through his shoulder.

It was over as quick as it had begun but to Scott it had seemed endless. He sank back against the chair and could feel tears gathering.

"Well?" The man demanded after a moment.

"Hello." Scott managed through clenched teeth.

"Hello? Hello … what?"

"Hello, sir!"

"Ha! This is more like it. We understand each other, no? You tell me what I want to hear and I not hurt you."

Scott opened his eyes and saw the man step back from him; his arms behind his back and a smug smile filling his middle-aged face. Behind him was the man's companion, watching the scene with amusement. They were in camouflage combats, an unknown insignia embroidered on their chest and shoulder. He looked between the two men and then caught her in the periphery of his vision, her head down, and her bobbed blonde hair hanging over her face.

"So. Next question, Scott Tracy." The man turned and fiddled with whatever it was he held in his hand. "Who knows about this place?"

Scott swallowed hard.

"Hm? How many Thunderbirds people are there? Who have you told?"

Scott watched the man turn back to face him and shook his head in reply.

"No?" The man urged.

"No." Scott confirmed.

Without a word the man leapt at him and this time Scott caught a glimpse of the small black device before it was slapped against his bare chest. And this time it hurt more. He bit his lip against the agony. Bit it so hard he was sure he felt his teeth sink into his own skin. It was a welcome distraction to the pain and he tried to imagine which of his many conquests he would call upon first to come and kiss it better.

The man pulled back with a groan of anger and looked down at the device in his hand as if wondering if it was actually working. "Fine." He sighed in dismay. "Stubborn American."

Scott looked down at his chest and saw the lack of evidence on his tanned skin. Whatever that thing was, it was designed to leave no trace and he wondered what kind of sick puppy would invent such a –

"I will go back to the other boy." The man announced merrily and waved a farewell as he headed towards the open door. "It is more fun."

"What?" Scott breathed. He frowned in confusion and fear as he watched the two men leaving quickly. "What?" He asked louder and turned towards the woman who was following them. "What does he mean?"

She shook her head and quickened her exit.

"Wait! Please! What does he mean? Who else is here?" Scott yelled frantically, standing and straining against his chains.

The answer came a few moments later. A shout. A cry. A plead for them to stop.

Scott sank back onto the chair and his head swam dizzily. He then heard the voice cry out again and he closed his eyes, letting the tears fall.

No. It couldn't be. They had escaped. He had seen them get clear. He had been their diversion.

Hadn't he?

"Oh god no." Scott whimpered in sorrow. "Please, no."

The cries of pain didn't last long. Either unconsciousness or mercy had ceased the torture. Either way, a blessed quiet fell outside the room and Scott had then heard the footsteps returning.

The door was unbolted and opened quickly. In flew the man. Angry and all signs of his previous sick joviality gone.

Scott tensed against the chair and prepared himself for the next onslaught.

"I know this works." The man growled in fury and held up his hand as he approached, shoving the small device clearly into Scott's view. "And I will keep proving that on your friend in there until you tell me what I want to know!"

Scott watched the anger sparkling in the man's dark eyes and nodded slowly. "No one."

"What?"

"I told no one."

The man frowned sceptically.

"I was flying outside the sanctioned zone." Scott explained calmly. "If I had told anyone about this place then I would have been in a whole heap of shit. From my superiors, the military and the World Government." He shrugged in what he hoped appeared as embarrassment.

"Really." The man scoffed and turned to his companion, speaking quickly in what Scott assumed was local dialect. This was one area where John would have a distinct advantage. Scott suddenly felt nauseous at the thought. The screams from a few moments ago replaying in his mind. It didn't sound like his brother. Not that he had ever really heard what his brother sounded like when he was in that much pain. He could only hope that it was some other poor soul being held captive. Maybe the one they had brought in before. But then he was again left with the confusion as to why he was being held here.

"Okay."

Scott returned his attention back to his captors. They were both nodding in agreement and regarding him in what he assumed was suspicion.

The leader of the two walked over to him once again, his nodding continuing. "Say that what you claim is true. Why come here?"

"To find out who was shooting at me." Scott replied honestly.

The man smiled in amusement. "Then you are either very brave or very stupid. Being American, I would think the last one is the truth."

Scott shrugged a reply.

"And your friend?"

Which one? Scott thought to himself. If any. Or did they mean the other captive? Was he claiming to be his friend?

The man seemed to read Scott's thoughts. "The other American who knows our language."

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

"He is Thunderbird also?"

"No." Scott replied calmly, anger bubbling throughout his entire being. "He is just my guide. My interpreter."

"Only two of you?"

"Yes." Scott nodded. So Penny had obviously got clear. Thank fuck.

The man nodded and considered these replies for a moment. "I will ask your friend. See if he says same answer."

Scott held the man's gaze evenly, confidently. They had discussed this. If they got caught, this was their story. John spoke the local lingo. They would believe him.

They had to.

tbc ...