Rain pummelled the sleek black sedan and Scott listened to it hammering a rhythm on the roof and windows. It was a soothing melody and he closed his eyes, trying to ease his shattered nerves.
The door opposite him then opened and the white-haired lawyer hurried inside, water spraying from his coat onto the leather seat. He leaned forward and ordered the driver to take them to the airport before then closing the partition screen and turning to face Scott.
Scott watched the man in quiet confusion and saw him smile fondly.
"You don't remember me, huh?" Van Der Velden prompted.
Scott shrugged, "Should I?"
"I work for your father at Tracy Aerospace." The lawyer held out his hand. "They call me Dutch."
"Dutch?" Scott gasped in wonder and shook his outstretched hand. "No way!"
The older man nodded, "I guess you must have been about … what … 14 the last time I saw you." His smile faltered slightly, "At your mom's funeral."
Scott became suddenly sombre and sighed heavily. "Yeah … I remember now."
"I've kinda been hanging around in the background since then." Dutch continued, "Watching over the mainland subsidiaries and keeping tabs on you guys."
Scott laughed, "And – man! – I'm glad you did! Thanks for bailing me out." He then frowned, "And just how did you manage that?"
Dutch chuckled softly, "I have my methods." He shrugged, "And – more importantly – my contacts."
Scott's frown deepened.
"You've had a tail ever since you landed." Dutch explained, enjoying Scott's surprise, "Your father's orders."
Scott suddenly felt all colour drain from his face. "Does Dad know - ?"
"No." Dutch raised a hand in reassurance and then regarded Scott fondly for a moment, "Though I'm sure he'd have a lot to say about what you've been up to."
And now Scott blushed.
"You need to give it up, Scott." Dutch offered quietly, "There are some pretty nasty characters hovering around here."
Scott searched the old man's face and his heart was racing. "It was sabotage, wasn't it …"
Dutch nodded slowly.
"Oh man …" Scott closed his eyes. He then shook his head and turned back to Dutch. "But why are they trying to cover it up?"
"To avoid public panic."
Scott leaned closer to him. "I'm sorry?"
Dutch sighed loudly, "Listen, Scott, you need to forget all this. Seriously."
"No way! Dutch … what the fuck is going on?" He demanded angrily, "And how come the Air Force has built one of my dad's designs?"
"Technically, it's not your father's. Or Professor Hackenbacker's, for that matter."
"What?"
Dutch smiled suddenly, "God, you're so like him." He leaned back against his seat and threw up his hands in despair. "I can see my warnings are hitting a wall!"
Scott laughed slightly, "Yup."
"Scott …" Dutch turned back to him, "To maintain the Thunderbird's in absolute secrecy, there are no patents or ownership rights assigned to your father or the Professor. In actual fact, the Air Force would be well within its rights to charge your father with theft."
"That's crazy!"
Dutch shrugged.
"But … surely the fact that the Thunderbirds have been in the public eye for years – well before the Ventura …" Scott watched Dutch slowly shaking his head. "That's insane!"
"Oh, you have no idea!" Dutch groaned, "And ISA has managed to somehow keep the whole build under such tight control. No one knew anything of Project Trailblazer - except a select few officers. It's an impressive achievement to have kept it so secret."
"Why?"
"Oh, political nonsense. And money."
Scott nodded slowly, "Dan told me about ISA putting the project out to contract."
"Yeah." Dutch sniggered, "What a great plan that was. It was almost like the Cold War all over again." He saw Scott's confusion and shook his head. "The first one that gets back up there … deep space once again … we're talking power and money beyond belief."
Scott could see pieces of the jigsaw fitting into place and the beginnings of a familiar pattern was making his stomach turn over.
"There are two Venturas." Dutch confirmed.
Scott groaned, "Oh god …" He closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands. "The other one is in Kazakhstan. Isn't it." He looked back up at Dutch and saw his answer.
Dutch regarded him in concern and reached out to place his hand on Scott's arm. "Now are you starting to see the danger you are in …?"
"Yeah."
Dutch shrugged an apology, "I wanted to contact your father about all this but Lady - "
"Penny knows about all this?" Scott gasped.
"Not the whole picture, no …" Dutch's shoulders sank, "I was ordered not to tell her too much. It was too much of a risk that she would send her guys to look into it – or even go herself. And that would just be too dangerous. And not just for Penny."
Scott's head was swimming. He turned to look out of the window and saw the bright lights of the airport shooting by. He frowned and spun back at Dutch. "Where are we going?"
"You need to speak to some people."
"Hey?"
Dutch nodded, "We need your help." He explained and pointed out through the window.
Scott turned and his heart began to race as he saw the enormous bulk of Air Force One waiting patiently on a secluded runway.
XXXXX
"Scott!" President Mitchell hurried along the wide gangway and held out her hand, smiling in relief as she neared him. "It's good to see you."
Scott shook her hand and managed a thin smile. "Forgive me, Madam President but … I'm a little overwhelmed …" He laughed nervously.
"'What the hell is going on', huh?" The President acknowledged with a sigh. "I was hoping that you might be able to shed some light on that."
Scott again laughed and threw his hands up in the air.
The President nodded in understanding and led him through to the large office towards the front of the huge plane. She ushered her aides from the room and beckoned for Scott to sit down with her at the wide desk.
Scott watched the staff exit quickly and recognised one of the secret service personnel, remembering fondly the gun that had been pointed at him and the knee that had pinned him to the White House lawn.
President Mitchell watched the door close and sagged back into her chair with a heavy sigh. "You know, Scott … it would be so much easier if that lunatic that attacked your family was behind all this."
"It would?"
"Sure! I could have every agency at my disposal hunt the son-of-a-bitch down and that would be the end of it."
"Why don't you then?" Scott frowned.
President Mitchell smiled thinly, "Because the nasty little man has surrounded himself with a whole family of rather lovely people." She sat back up straight and peeled off her jacket. "The sort that we don't mess with lightly."
Scott thought back across the crazy revelations of the past twelve hours (god, was it only half a day …?) and could feel the mother of a headache growing behind his eyes. He took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "Terrorists …"
President Mitchell looked down at her hands. "Of the particularly delightful kind."
Scott groaned and stood slowly, unable to sit still with the amount of adrenaline that was surging within him.
"So … I need your help."
Scott turned to look down at her. "Madam President, with all due respect … we can't."
"Why not? You were there."
"So were the British Marines that - " Scott watched her shaking her head slowly and could feel bile rising in his throat.
"None but you and your friends ever made it out of that place." President Mitchell affirmed quietly. "Scott … you have seen key players. You might be able to identify people."
Oh god. Scott clenched his fists at his side. Just how much could Mishka have known? If John hadn't killed her, they would have had a powerful advantage. And extracting information from her might have been particularly satisfying.
"Of course," Scott agreed after a moment, "I'll help you as much as I can." He frowned in concern, "But there is no way that the Thunderbirds – International Rescue – can be involved. We are neutral. We have to be."
"And where exactly were those principles when you flew in low over a foreign DMZ?"
Scott sighed, "I know … and we learned our lesson … believe me, we won't make the same mistake."
"These are terrorists, Scott … they threaten us all …"
"We are not a military organisation, Ma'am. We are a civilian rescue agency. Nothing more." Scott countered firmly, sure that his father would be proud of him for doing so.
The President considered his reply for a moment and then reached inside one of her desk drawers and took out a large brown envelope. "I would like to believe you but …" She threw the envelope towards him and held his gaze evenly.
Scott stepped forward and opened the envelope. He pulled out the photograph and his heart slammed against his chest.
"One of our field operatives has reported interference in his reconnaissance."
Scott's head was spinning.
"He's your brother. Isn't he."
Scott stared at the image through misting eyes and clenched his teeth. John. Unshaven and hair dyed, his face thin and full of worry as he glanced back from the entrance to a hotel somewhere. Scott could not take his eyes from the picture and groaned in dismay.
"So." The President sighed loudly, "You can see my dilemma. I mean, you're snooping around Houston asking about classified projects. And you brother is chasing the trail of our European counterparts."
Scott frowned in confusion.
"I need you to be straight with me, Scott."
"When was this taken?" Scott managed to look away from the photograph and met her stern gaze. "Where is he?"
The President shook her head slowly.
Scott's heart was racing and he watched her fold her arms resolutely.
"You first." President Mitchell ordered calmly.
Tbc …
