It was chaos. Jeff closed his eyes and hung his head. Despite his repeated pleas for calm, his frightened sons were at each other's throats yet again. Not that he blamed them. It had only been 17minutes since their rather unexpected course correction. But 12minutes of hovering helpless above the defence capital of the world was unnerving at best.
Glancing at Brains and seeing the scientist all but disappearing beneath the mess of open control panels and wires that once constituted the helm, Jeff stood and headed for the cargo bay.
All sense of what might be the cause of the fight was lost amid angry shouting and Jeff barked an order for silence over the noise.
"What the hell is going on now?" He demanded wearily. "We're in enough of a fix without you turning on each other!"
Gordon released his grip on Virgil's collar and stepped back from him.
Virgil eyed his younger brother warily and sighed in relief as he was freed from his near chokehold against the hull.
Alan had evidently been attempting to separate the two of them and slowly removed his hands from their shoulders, satisfied that they would not go for each other in their father's presence.
"Well?" Jeff urged.
"Nothing." Alan replied quickly, "It was nothing. They - " he stopped himself and shrugged slightly. "We're a bit stressed out, is all."
Jeff couldn't help but smile. "No kidding."
"Any news?" Gordon ventured, knowing already that news would have been quickly relayed to them had it arrived.
Jeff wandered over to the three of them and, without a word, drew them all into a tight group embrace. "Boys … you've got the most brilliant mind in the universe working on a way to get us home. And Brains is fiddling with some wires." He smiled in delight as his sons laughed in unison.
"But why are we hanging here?" Alan asked quietly.
Jeff sighed and leaned back from them. "I only know what you know. The computer is fried, the controls locked out and the VTOL drive keeping us in a steady hover."
"Over the Pentagon." Gordon expanded, the atmosphere in the cargo bay becoming immediately tense.
"But with cloud cover and the anti-detection shield running, they can't see us." Jeff reminded him softly.
"How long can we maintain this before we run out of fuel?" Came Virgil's wary inquiry.
"A while yet." Jeff smiled, "Long enough for Brains and John to get us home." He noted the reaction that mentioning his second eldest caused and he shook his head slowly. "Is he what you were fighting about?"
The three of them looked down at the floor uneasily.
"Jeff!"
Jeff spun at the shout and his heart was pounding. It wasn't often that Brains used his first name. In fact it was only in dire emergencies. In an instant he was turning and running back to the flight deck, his sons close at his heels.
Brains looked up from his cross-legged position on the floor and his eyes spoke volumes.
"What?" Jeff ventured warily.
"Two's processor is b-b-b-irrevocably damaged." Brains began quietly, "But I've managed to up-link the terminal Alan pulled from Four." He glanced at the youngest brother and offered him a small smile of gratitude for the boy's idea. "But I can't get a s-s-s-message out. The virus is too virulent. All I've done is corrupt Four's hardware. If I had my laptop from the island, I might …" he shrugged his shoulders in surrender. It was too late for ifs and maybes. Way too late.
"What is it …?" Virgil urged shakily, "What aren't you telling us?"
The four of them watched in silence as Brains turned the terminal in his hands round to face them. They stared in confusion and dread at the scrambled mass of endlessly swirling data.
"The virus?" Alan gasped in awe and stepped closer.
Brains nodded sombrely.
"What's it doing?" Gordon asked, "It looks like it's writing code or …"
Brains closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "It's a sequence, running in s-s-s-gradually depreciating cycles." He looked back up and met their confused, expectant faces. "A countdown."
Scott wiped his face on his sleeve and blinked away the stinging sweat that crept into his eyes. It was damned hot in the belly of his jet and it had been an exhausting squeeze through the complexly designed fuselage to get there.
Now lying between the fuselage and the VTOL engine housing he was caught amid the warmth of the generators further in and the heat coming off the exhaust. The high temperature, claustrophobia and lack of air were all too familiar and memories of one of the least enjoyable stays aboard Five nagged at him.
He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and shook his head clear, wondering if it was actually a serious overlook in the design to put the tallest, most solid of the family in the narrowest, smallest rocket. He then smiled as he remembered the perilous navigation through the craft and wondered how the hell Brains managed to effect repairs. Then he remembered the sprite little robots Brains had created. And Fermat.
The thought of Fermat wriggling his way up through the stationary rocket like some chimney sweep's pet of yesteryear caused Scott to chuckled merrily and for moment he forgot his predicament.
His patience had lasted roughly 8 minutes. And that was a world-beating record. When comm.s had then been cut off, he had not been able to sit in the helpless inevitability of his disabled 'Bird.
There could be no doubting the intentions of whomever it was that had gained control of his powerful craft. He was sitting above the clouds over possibly the most important house in the world (save his family's island paradise, of course) and there were many varied, equally unpleasant, ways that he could be used to bring it to the ground.
Disabling the EM generator had done nothing except hopefully eliminate the possibility of frying all the electronic equipment in the house below him. His father had said something about a virus before comm.s had gone and his fiddling around in the circuitry beneath the helm had shorted the control panel. Scott cursed at the memory and then again reminded himself that it could have been worse; he could have dropped from the sky and caused a whole heap of trouble. Not to mention a national disaster.
But the idea of dropping from the sky had pestered him relentlessly. And dangerous as it may be, a few minutes ago an idea had formed.
It was crazy. And stood a very high probability of getting him killed. But somewhere between rational thought and this moment was the notion that this might work.
And he figured he was dead however he looked at it. Better by his own hand at least.
And so this was the plan: rip open the VTOL exhaust manifold and block the fuel line. The engine would reduce power and he'd sink below cloud level and into visibility. The Air Force would launch fighters and he could somehow signal a mayday.
Or they'd simply shoot him from the sky.
If it worked, he'd be hailed a genius. If it didn't, at least he'd not be around to face his father's wrath.
He had weighed up the options and this seemed the most favourable solution but his heart was thudding in his ears as he rewired the engine controls to bypass the mid-flight safety protocols and then carefully turned in the tight space to face the dauntingly well-protected VTOL engine.
However, opening one of the panels was surprisingly easy and Scott peered inside. The heat coming off the engine was intense and tingled on his face.
Glad for the slight protection offered by his gloves, Scott reached inside the compartment and gripped one of the fuel cables. It was easy to bend and he snagged it firmly, blocking the line.
A shudder rippled through Thunderbird One and Scott closed his eyes, trying to sense even the slightest change in altitude or tilt.
Nothing.
"Shit!"
Scott released the line and heard the engine noise increase in pitch. He paused for a moment, reconsidering his options. Any more of a loss in fuel and the engine could stall. He'd hammer down on the Whitehouse roof and it would all be over.
"Shit!"
Scott moved back from the open panel and sat awkwardly in the narrow space.
"Come on, girl, help me out here?" He groaned into the claustrophobic fuselage. "How do we get down?"
Unsurprisingly, there was no reply.
Scott sighed and glanced at his watch. There could be precious little time for sitting and sulking.
It was infuriating. Scott felt so helpless. And it was a sensation that didn't sit easily with him. With a shout of anger and frustration, he kicked at the VTOL housing. His boot slipped and his foot passed through the open panel. With a gasp of shock, he felt his heel slam into the exhaust port.
And it moved.
Scott pulled back his foot and stared in at the VTOL engine. And then he laughed.
He had needed to look. He had needed to know.
And now he regretted it unequivocally.
John watched in morbid fascination as Mishka paced back and forth along the length of the corridor like a caged animal. She was muttering agitatedly to no one in particular and throwing the occasional half-hearted punch or kick at one of the many sealed doors.
But that wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was Alex and her complete lack of movement. She was sprawled on her back, closed eyes facing the ceiling and he had zoomed in to see the result of her fight with Mishka in the bruises and cuts on her face. What he could not tell from his current location was whether she was breathing.
And, god, he needed to know. It was so hard to sit in the office and wait for Penny. But venturing out was against the rules of this game. And entering Mishka's cage would be suicide.
So he waited. And watched. The island systems were back online and safely fire walled. The virus had been located, lurking amid the EM programme and deliciously neutralised. John had found himself enjoying the illusion that it was Mishka he was pulling apart and that had worried him some. But that was good. Worry equalled insight, which in turn must equal not quite insane yet.
He had chanced a tentative reach out to his stranded family after the virus had died its disappointingly quick death. But Brains was too sensible to leave the wounds exposed and had evidently sealed off what was left of the computers. John glanced at the Five-linked satellite images of the two craft and sighed heavily, trying to calculate fuel consumption and wind drift to work out where and when the craft might fall.
For falling was all that remained, unless by some weird quirk of fate Mishka got out and found a linked terminal. Even Penny's mission seemed pretty pointless since the discovery that his family were unreachable.
He had then considered the option of calling in help from somewhere. But who could International Rescue call for help? Who could be trusted? No, the best course of action at the moment would be to wait for Penny to return. She had more contacts, could call in favours. More importantly, she could be trusted to think clearly.
And then new movement caught his eye. He watched as Mishka ran to the door of his father's room and almost growled in fury. She must have heard Penny's arrival within the bedroom.
Mishka laughed a slow, strange laugh and leaned her ear against the door. "What are you up to…?"
John watched her in interest, much like a biologist studying animals from a secret hide. And he wondered where the friendly concern of the Eva alias had gone. He was contemplating the various behavioural psychology schools of thought, and the irony of the fact that perhaps Mishka was in fact the one to consult, when the worst thing that could happen happened.
Alex regained consciousness.
John stared at her slowly moving form and shook his head in disbelief, urging her to just stay still.
"Well, hello…" Mishka smiled and crouched down beside her prey.
Alex groaned and lifted her hand to touch her head, frowning in disorientation and discomfort.
"Look who's awake." Mishka continued, reaching out to take Alex's hand from her face and grinning down at her.
John looked on in disbelief and watched Alex blinking in confusion. She then seemed to focus on the face above her and was instantly trying to wriggle away, caught by the tight grip on her wrist.
"I know you can see me." Mishka glanced at the various cameras nestled high on the walls around her. "Open the doors."
John shook his head slowly, unable to believe what was happening.
"Open the doors!" Mishka shouted in fury and with her free hand, grabbed at one of Alex's fingers and snapped it back.
Bile rose in John's throat as Alex screamed in pain and kicked out at Mishka, desperately trying to get free. And that was enough.
John glanced at the open access to the air-conditioning vent and groaned in dismay. He then spun back to see Mishka moving in to inflict more damage on the sobbing Alex and his decision was made.
His heart was in his throat as he galloped down the ramp and made his way across the lounge. With trembling hands he entered the access code to the sealed hallway that led into the complex and the heavy door began to gently slide back.
Alex's whimpers of pain seemed suddenly loud through the increasing gap made by the opening door and brought tears to John's eyes.
"I think they've abandoned you to your fate." Came Mishka's even voice. "It seems you're not worth the trouble."
"Wrong." John called out sternly and stepped into the hall.
Tbc …