I'm so sorry this chapter is late. My father's been in hospital so there hasn't been much time for writing. This is just a short one to keep things ticking over, but the next one will definitely move things on a bit more. Thanks as always to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I really do appreciate it.

Chapter Eight

The bad weather that Scott had cursed so emphatically during the flight across the sea started to work in his favour as he approached London. The wind hadn't abated and the rain had turned to sleet, meaning that few people were out on this January night. Those who were tended to be looking down at their feet, doing their best to avoid slipping on the treacherous patches of ice that covered the pavements. It meant Scott was able to get reasonably close to the area where Parker was to be found, gaining height and picking up speed to avoid being spotted as he soared across the city.

By the time he came in to land, the snow was falling more heavily. It wasn't settling - yet - but that was little comfort to Scott. He wasn't dressed for a winter's night in London, still wearing the light tropical island clothes he'd put on for what was supposed to be a quick trip in Thunderbird One. He still couldn't quite believe that just a matter of hours later not only was his 'bird out of action and hidden away in her hangar on the new base, but his father was in hospital, Penelope - and several others - had been kidnapped, and Parker, of all people, was implicated in some way. What a day! he thought as he reluctantly shrugged off his flight suit. It would have kept him warm enough, but unfortunately for him it was branded with the International Rescue logo and guaranteed to attract attention he really didn't need. He glanced around the deserted allotments before spotting some old tarpaulin, shoving the suit underneath it along with the jet pack. It wasn't likely that anyone would find it - it was hardly the time for gardening, and the awful weather was likely to keep at bay any random teenagers who might otherwise be looking for somewhere secluded to drink or smoke. He crossed his fingers and hoped that by morning he'd be able to retrieve his kit and that all this would be over.

As if it's going to be that easy, he grumbled to himself, rubbing his frozen arms as vigorously as he could as he hurried towards the coordinates Alan had given him.

The Dog and Duck turned out to be an unsavoury looking establishment down a dark and narrow alley. The sound of loud music made Scott wince, but it wasn't that which made him wish Parker had chosen somewhere else to make his reappearance. No, it was the group of men hovering outside the door, pint glasses and cigarettes in hand. One had a large dog of some indeterminate breed, but whatever it was, it wasn't friendly, baring its teeth and growling savagely as Scott approached.

"Shut up!" its owner instructed, but the dog took no notice and the man didn't seem too bothered about making it obey.

"Excuse me," Scott said as it became clear the men weren't going to move away from the door they'd been blocking. Instead they made a point of looking him up and down, one leaning over to mutter something in another man's ear. Scott couldn't hear what he said, but by the way the second man's eyes narrowed, he guessed it hadn't been anything particularly pleasant. Still, he stood his ground and forced himself to smile, though every muscle tensed as he wondered if he'd made a mistake in not insisting that Virgil joined him.

"You don't want to go in there, mate," one of the men told him.

Scott actually agreed with him, but he really didn't have a choice.

"There's a wine bar round the corner," another man said. "Might be more your sort of place."

No one moved away from the door and Scott considered his next move. He wasn't a small man by any means, but at least three of the men were bigger than him and that wasn't taking the dog into account - it was growling even more ferociously now. But it wasn't bravado which finally made him step right up to the largest of the men, it was the fact that he'd decided that if he didn't get moving soon he was going to freeze in place right where he stood.

"Look, guys, I'm dying out here," he said. "I'm guessing it's warm in there if nothing else. Do you mind?"

"Where's your coat?" the man asked, still not moving.

Scott thought quickly. "It's a bit embarrassing actually, guys," he said. "I met this girl, we got talking. I really thought I was on to a good thing. Next thing I know, she's run off with my jacket. She's got my wallet, my phone... I really need a place to shelter until I can get some help."

The men laughed. Scott put on his best tourist in trouble look and to his relief, the men who had been blocking the door moved aside.

"Have fun," one said.

Scott pushed thankfully through the doors, taking a moment just to appreciate the warmth before taking stock of his surroundings.

The pub was busy. Even so, the arrival of a stranger was immediately noticed by the drinkers. Scott was reminded of the old westerns he and Virgil had been so fond of watching on Sunday afternoons back in their childhood days in Kansas. That moment when a stranger walked into a bar and the place fell silent as everyone turned to appraise him - usually followed by the bartender hurriedly removing anything breakable and the pianist closing the lid of his instrument before taking cover... Scott suddenly knew exactly how it felt. There wasn't a piano and the barmaid wasn't engaging in any potential damage limitation, but still, the hostility in the bar was palpable.

Once again adopting the helpless expression that had won over the men outside, Scott made his way over to the bar. He'd expected to have a hard job of forcing his way through the people who were crowded against it, but somewhat to his surprise, the way parted easily and he was soon leaning across the bar to speak to the barmaid.

But what to ask? He'd already ascertained that Parker wasn't there. Maybe he'd already left. Or maybe he was somewhere else in the building. A door to his left had the legend 'Function Room' above it and Scott could hear music from inside. A party perhaps? After all, that was supposed to be why Parker was there. Scott had initially wondered why no one had called the police - after all, according to Alan the kidnappings were now front page news and Parker was supposedly being held captive somewhere, not hanging out in seedy pubs throwing parties - but one look at the clientele of the Dog and Duck had told him that these probably weren't the kind of people who'd welcome any contact with the authorities. He was so used to seeing Parker as an ally that he'd forgotten where the man had come from.

But had he really gone back to his old ways?

He summoned up his most winning smile for the barmaid, hating himself for it, but knowing full well that his looks usually worked in his favour.

"Hi, honey," he drawled.

Sure enough, the girl smiled back. "What can I get you?" she asked.

"I could use a beer," Scott told her, then wished he'd remembered that the British definition of beer was somewhat different from the American as she presented him with a pint glass full of some dark liquid with half an inch of froth on top. Still, he wasn't going to argue.

He pulled out the small handful of cash he'd been able to pick up at the new base. The only reason there had been any there in the first place was because the family used it occasionally as a stopping off point for trips to see Penny or to visit the London headquarters of the family business and there was no point taking any money back to Tracy Island. There wasn't much, that was for sure, and he hoped he wouldn't need to bribe anyone to reveal Parker's whereabouts.

"Cheers," he smiled, raising his glass and taking a mouthful.

"Good?" the barmaid asked, the twinkle in her blue eyes suggesting that she already knew the answer to that question.

Scott forced himself to swallow and insisted that yes, the brew was good.

The girl laughed. "I didn't have you pegged as a beer drinker," she said.

"No?" Scott leaned in closer. "What did you think of me, then?"

"Honestly?"

"Sure. Go on."

"Well... I did wonder what kind of idiot came out on a night like this without a coat."

"Ah."

"Although I suppose it's the only reason you'd want to come into a place like this. Not that I'm complaining. A good-looking bloke is always welcome. But you're a bit out of place here, you know."

"Guess so." Scott smiled ruefully and repeated his story of being taken advantage of by a girl. "This town sure is crazy," he said. "I mean, look at what happened in Westminster Abbey today. All those kidnappings. Princes and Archbishops..." He'd decided it would be only natural to make some comment on the story which had been all over the news for the past few hours.

Watching her reaction carefully, he was disappointed when she simply agreed that it was, indeed, crazy.

"What do you think happened?" he asked. "Terrorists maybe?"

"Could be. I suppose we'll find out when they ask for a ransom." The girl turned away, leaving Scott to his drink.

Now what? Scott wondered. He glanced across at the door to the other room and decided it was worth trying to sneak in. But as he approached, a pair of large men swiftly positioned themselves in front of it.

"Private party, mate," one said. He didn't sound like he was in a party mood. He didn't look like it either as he cracked his knuckles and eyeballed Scott.

"Right. Sorry. I was looking for the men's room."

"That way."

"Thanks. Say, whose party? Sounds like they're having fun."

He didn't get an answer, not that he'd expected one. But the extra few seconds the question had bought him had paid off. The music inside faded and just before the next song started up, the unmistakeable sounds of Parker's voice floated out to him. The tortured strains of "H'I'm Getting Married H'In the Morning" would have agonised Virgil, but Scott didn't think he'd ever heard anything so wonderful.

He'd found Parker.

Now he just had to actually get to him.

Realising that there was no way past the two bouncers, he made a show of looking at his watch. "Guess my ride will be here any minute," he said. "Thanks for the hospitality, guys. I'll be sure to recommend this place to my friends."

Then, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the cold, he headed for the door.

Smiling at the men outside, he made his way quickly to the corner of the street. A small alley ran down behind the pub and, after a swift glance around to ensure no one was watching, he slipped down it, pausing only to activate his watch and report in to Alan.

"Parker's in there alright," he announced. "I'm going to see if there's a back entrance."

Sure enough there was. And it was unguarded.

"I'm going in," he whispered to his brother.

"Be careful, Scott," came the answer.

"Al, I'm always-"

The force of two large men tackling him to the ground took his breath away. All he could do was groan, hoping that it would be enough for Alan to realise what was going on. To his credit, his brother didn't say anything, clearly realising that alerting Scott's attackers to the fact that his watch did more than simply tell the time wasn't going to help anyone. That was about all Scott had to be thankful for, though - by the time he'd got his breath back, he'd been bound, gagged and dragged roughly down some stone steps into what appeared to be the beer cellar.

"You can stay there for now," one of his captors told him. He turned to the other man. "I'll keep an eye on 'im. You go and tell old Nosey to get down 'ere."

It took a moment for Scott to register Parker's nickname. Then he wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or not. If Parker vouched for him then he'd be released, bruised, battered and utterly embarrassed - how could he have let himself get caught like this? - but unharmed. But if Parker really had gone over to the dark side, then who knew what his reaction would be?

He could only hope that Alan was doing something to get him out of there.