Chapter Eighteen – In the Morning Light
"I don't appreciate being spied on, Mr Tracy."
"I wasn't spying on you, Mr Remington." Jeff looked evenly into his captor's pale blue eyes. Xavier Remington had made him drive for many miles away from Cape Kennedy. Jeff had an idea that they had headed south, but had no real knowledge of where exactly they were. The journey was made in silence, except for Remington's occasional directions. Now, in the grey early morning light, they were stood by Jeff's car, surrounded by nothing but miles of flat land, inhabited only by the local wildlife. Jeff could see that Remington no longer had his gun trained on him, but wasn't going to take any chances. He made sure that his body language, his voice, all remained none threatening. Remington, for his part, made no effort to hide the fact that he was both suspicious of, and amused by, his prisoner.
"You certainly did a very keen investigation into my place of work," he said.
"It always pays to keep an eye on the competition," replied Jeff.
"And do you also keep an eye on your competition by illegally obtaining information from the AIDD?" Remington asked, coolly.
"I didn't obtain any information from the AIDD," said Jeff. Remington raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? So it was just a coincidence that a young lady approached the New York FBI bureau to search the AIDD for information about myself at around the same time that you were reading up on the Miami Technology Center?"
"I would say so," Jeff answered. Remington's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Well, I'm afraid that I don't believe in coincidences," he said. "Especially since I know that you were in New York before you travelled here. That young lady wouldn't happen to be an acquaintance of yours, would she?"
"I have many female employees. It would be difficult to say if she was one," said Jeff, with something of a shrug in his voice.
"Late twenties. Blonde. Blue eyed. Slim. About five-six. English accent. Ring any bells?"
"That could easily describe half a dozen people wandering around New York City," said Jeff. "If I may say so, Mr Remington, it seems that you've been doing an awful lot of snooping around on my business." The corner of Remington's mouth twitched upwards slightly.
"Wouldn't you, if you were in my position?"
"What, exactly, is your position?"
"I'm a senior director of the Miami Technology Centre. But then, you already know that. Just as you know that technically, I don't exist."
"So I guess I'm either crazy or talking to a ghost, then."
"You're a sensible man, Mr Tracy. Sensible men know to stay out of trouble. Especially those with too much to loose should trouble arise." Jeff's cobalt eyes settled coldly on his captor.
"I don't take well to threats," he said.
"Merely hypothesising," Remington replied. He took out his gun and calmly pointed it at Jeff. "This is a threat." He placed the weapon back in its holster.
"Killing one of the world's most high profile businessmen probably wouldn't be the brightest move," said Jeff.
"For the average man, it probably wouldn't be," Remington agreed. There was a silence between the two. A slight breeze bent the grass away from them as the sun tried to force its rays through the clouds that currently blanketed the sky. Remington was the first to speak.
"I take it that we understand each other, then," he said.
"Not really," Jeff replied. Remington simply looked mildly amused.
"We're both businessmen, Mr Tracy. We move in different circles, that's all. Circles that have happened to overlap today." Jeff matched the other man's look of mild amusement as he adopted a casual tone.
"If I were to merely hypothesise, those circles wouldn't have happened to overlap at around the turn of the century, would they?"
"I'm afraid that I did not work for any company that held an interest in the space programme at that particular point in time," the pale eyed man told him. Jeff shrugged.
"Like I said, just a hypothesis," he said. "Since we're both here in the Sunshine State now, I wondered if we were both here in the Sunshine State back then – but I forgot that you don't believe in coincidences. My mistake."
"Watch that you don't make too many more in the future, Mr Tracy. I'd hate to think of the global meltdown caused by the collapse of the mighty Tracy Industries." Remington appeared to be deadly serious in his threat; however Jeff refused to be daunted. He eyed Remington carefully.
"Who do you work for?"
"The Miami Technology Center," he replied.
"Apart from them."
"What concern is it of yours?" Remington seemed genuinely curious.
"I'm interested," Jeff said, "in how a man who doesn't exist according to the American Identity Database – one of the world's most comprehensive catalogues of information - can be working as a named director of a not-too-unimportant company. More than that, he's obviously well connected in other places, as demonstrated by the fact that he was rubbing shoulders with NASA and WSA top brass over the past day or two."
"You're not too unconnected yourself, Mr Tracy," remarked Remington. He smirked slightly. "Jeff Tracy, national hero. The man who led the return to the moon. Went on to establish Tracy Industries, the umbrella for a dozen other smaller corporations. Self made billionaire several times over. In recent years, he's become something of a recluse, living out his days on his private island, with only the occasional foray into the wider world. He has five sons, each of whom has done something to distinguish themselves from their illustrious father; however they still choose to remain tied to Tracy Senior's purse strings, much to the heartbreak of a lot of young ladies, if the cream of the social scene is to be believed.
"But of course, no success story could be complete without a great tragedy. In Jeff's case, his tragedy would easily be the early death of his wife Lucille, in a highway pile-up on the outskirts of Boston twenty years ago. To be exact, it'll be twenty one years ago, come this fall." Remington paused and studied Jeff as one would an insect in a jar. "I've seen men like you before, Mr Tracy. Rich beyond their wildest dreams, living the kind of life many people would sell their mothers for, if they thought it would help. Yet you can't be truly happy, because your precious wife was ripped away in circumstances beyond your control, a nightmare for a man who finds it difficult not to have some power over how his life plays out. It's a very sad situation, living with a hole in your soul. I admire you in that you've not allowed it to lead you into dark places. Not every man could remain an upstanding citizen given your circumstances."
"Guess you have me pretty much figured out," was Jeff's only response. In his younger days, he might have felt tempted to try and knock several shades out of Remington. He had learned to be restrained over the years, to bite down on that little white hot flame of temper. You couldn't be in charge of a major international company if you let people get to you easily. However, being outwardly restrained did not stop Jeff from imagining himself planting a fist or two into Remington's face. If the other man had an inkling of what was running through Jeff's head at that moment, he didn't show it. Instead, he nodded towards the rough track that Jeff had driven them down earlier.
"If you turn left at the highway, you'll hit civilisation quicker." Jeff stared at him.
"You're just going to dump me here?"
"Be grateful that I've not left you at Disneyland," Remington curtly replied, getting into the car, one hand once again pointing a gun towards Jeff. The car started up and swung away back up the track, leaving Jeff standing alone in the middle of the field, listening to the fading sound of the vehicle's engine. When he could hear the sound no longer, he began to make his way back to the main highway, turning left as Remington had suggested. He paused. Before him, the black asphalt stretched in a straight line for as far as he could see, with no buildings adorning its edges. Jeff let out a sigh.
"Looks like I'll have to try and hitch a ride," he said, beginning to trudge along the road. At least it being the very early morning meant that the temperatures were cool. He raised his hand and looked into his watch, which doubled as a standard communications device – standard for the residents of Tracy Island, at least.
"International Rescue Base, this is Jeff Tracy. Come in, Scott." He kept walking as he waited for a response to come.
"Dad! Thank God. Are you okay? What the hell's happened?" Scott sounded understandably relieved, anxious and perhaps even a little angry, all at the same time.
"I'm fine, son. Somebody wanted to have a quiet word with me," Jeff replied. "I'll explain later. Right now, I want to know where the blazes I am."
"You're heading towards Lake Okeechobee," Scott told him. "Virgil should be able to rendezvous with you shortly. He's on his way back from Italy. Mount Vesuvius erupted and we were called to assist in the evacuation of the surrounding area. Fortunately, it was a small flare-up on the scale of things, and Naples hasn't been too badly hit."
"That's good to hear," Jeff replied. "What's Virgil's ETA?"
"Forty minutes, providing he keeps a good tail wind," Scott replied.
"So, how's things your end?" Jeff asked. There was silence the other end, and Jeff thought that the connection had been lost. He spoke tentatively into the watch. "Scott? Are you there?"
"Yeah, Dad. I'm here."
"What's the matter? You're not mad at me or something, are you?"
"No… No, I'm not mad at you," Scott replied, somewhat evasively. Jeff frowned, even though his eldest son couldn't see him.
"Scott…" He let just the slightest shade of exasperation show in his voice. He heard something like a sigh at the other end of the line.
"They know, Dad."
"Know what? About why I'm really out here?"
"I'm sorry. When Lady Penelope told me that she'd lost contact with you… I had to tell them."
"I understand, Scott. How did they take it?" There was another hesitation before Scott spoke again.
"Well…"
"Hello?"
"It's me. We've got a problem. Will be there ASAP. We'll talk then."