I'm so sorry this update is late (again). This year is continuing to throw the unexpected at me, this time in the form of a new cat. Didn't plan on getting another one anytime soon, but this one needed a home and I couldn't say no. So, I've been playing with toy mice and bits of string instead of writing. (Quite enjoyed it, actually - the cat's gorgeous and settling in well. I'm very glad I agreed to take him.) Anyway, now that things seem to be settling down I'll hopefully get back on track with an update each week. Thanks to everyone who's been supporting me with this one. Whirlgirl, thanks for the review. Dad's doing okay at the moment, so hopefully everything will soon be back to normal.

Chapter Nine

Biting back a yawn, Virgil paid the cab driver, thankful to finally be back at the Ritz. As worried as he was about Scott, Penny, Parker and his father, and as desperate as he was to do something to help, right now he really didn't have the energy for anything other than getting up to his room and crashing out on his bed. Even the bitter cold couldn't snap him into full wakefulness, and he yawned again as he acknowledged the porter's greeting, shoving the last of his cash into the man's hand as he held the door open, then practically running past him and into the warm, dry lobby. Unlike Scott he at least had a coat, but even after a week in London he was still struggling to acclimatise after spending so long on Tracy Island. The snow had made things even worse as far as he was concerned, the taxi journey taking much longer than he'd hoped it would.

"Mr Tracy!"

The receptionist called out to him and Virgil reluctantly turned to face her, appreciating her concern but somewhat resentful of the delay in reaching his room.

"Are you alright? I couldn't believe it when I saw the news. How is your father?"

"He's fine," Virgil told her. "The doctors want to keep him in a bit longer, just for observation, but he's doing well. He's tough."

He could see that the woman was desperate to hear all the details, although as befitted an employee of such a prestigious establishment, she was far too well-trained to actually ask him outright. Not that it would have made much difference if she had - it wasn't as if he could actually tell her anything she didn't already know. After all, he was supposed to be as ignorant as to what had actually taken place as the rest of the guests.

Instead, he feigned a yawn in order to make a quick getaway, not at all surprised when it turned into the real thing.

"Guess that gas had more of a kick than I realised," he said. "I'm going to head up to my room and get some sleep. About twelve hours should do it."

"I'll make sure you're not disturbed," the woman assured him. "Goodnight, Mr Tracy."

Wishing her goodnight, Virgil started to make his way over to the elevator, only to suddenly stop in his tracks as his watch vibrated with what he immediately recognised as the emergency signal.

Immediately alert, he debated whether or not to go on up to his room, but the elevator was one of the old-fashioned ones, painfully slow by modern standards and operated by a genial old gentleman resplendent in the hotel's distinctive uniform. Virgil liked the man, but he did love to talk and, given the day's events, Virgil knew he'd have a hard time cutting him short. He really didn't have time to waste. Instead, he changed tack and headed towards an armchair in the far corner of the lobby. At this time of night the place was deserted, but Virgil was aware of the somewhat surprised receptionist watching him, so he made a show of pulling his phone out of his pocket. His rueful shrug at this unwelcome delay in reaching his bed was only half a pantomime.

Happy that the woman believe he was taking a phone call, Virgil activated his communicator.

"What?" he asked, keeping his voice down as much to hide the anxiety he felt at the emergency signal as to avoid being overheard by the receptionist.

As Alan outlined the situation with Scott, Virgil had to turn away so that the woman didn't catch the expression on his face. "What do you mean he went after Parker?" he snarled. "On his own? Why didn't you tell me? I could have-"

"You've had enough to deal with for one day," Alan said. "Scott said he could handle it, so-"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Virgil snapped, then glanced hurriedly back at the receptionist, aware that his voice had risen. "I'm fine. I'll have to be if I'm going to have to rescue our big, stupid, would-be-superhero brother. Where exactly is this place?"

Alan gave him the information then began to tell him to be careful. Virgil cut him off in mid-flow as he ran back across the lobby.

"Change of plan," he told the startled receptionist, ignoring her question as to whether or not everything was alright.

The woman was even more confused when, seconds later, Virgil burst back through the door and skidded across the wooden floor to the desk.

"I need cash," he said, slapping his credit card down. "Cab fare."

"Of course. How much?"

Virgil thought quickly. He had no idea what he was heading into, but it was as well to be prepared for all eventualities and although he never flaunted his wealth, he knew full well that money often opened doors nothing else could.

"A thousand," he told her.

To her credit, the woman just nodded and set about processing the transaction. Virgil tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter, biting his tongue to stop himself from demanding that she get a move on. Every second could be costing his brother dear, and there was still the task of getting halfway across London late at night during a snowstorm. One thing was for sure: if he did manage to get his brother out unharmed, the first thing he was going to do was knock him senseless for being stupid enough to go off alone in the first place.

"One thousand pounds," the woman finally announced, returning to the desk and preparing to count out the handful of bills she'd taken from the safe. Virgil however, had run out of both time and patience, reaching out and snatching the roll of money from her hand, muttering a hurried 'thanks' as he set off once again, hoping the porter had managed to find him a cab.

He had, and he thanked Virgil for the handsome tip he'd been given for his efforts, watching as the taxi set off, slowly at first, then, as Virgil leant forward and waved what was obviously a large amount of cash, more quickly, wincing as the vehicle slipped and slid across the icy road before vanishing around a corner.

"Well, what do you think all that was about?" he asked the receptionist when he went back inside for some shelter.

"No idea. He had a phone call that obviously upset him. He looked so angry for a moment... I hope it wasn't bad news about Mr Tracy."

The pair agreed that Jeff Tracy was a fine man. Handsome too, in the receptionist's opinion.

"So, what about that wedding?" the porter said. "Any more news?"

They turned their attention to discussing some of the wilder theories that the media were currently throwing around in the absence of any direct communication from the kidnappers.

In the cellar of the Dog and Duck, Scott struggled against his bonds, ignoring the amused looks of the man who guarded him.

"You won't be getting out of that," he'd been told. But Scott was no quitter and it simply wasn't in his nature to just lie there and put up with it. Not that he'd be able to do much even if he did work himself free, of course, not when the man only had to shout to call reinforcements - and Scott knew that next time it would be a whole lot more than two against one. Still, if nothing else, it helped keep him occupied. Years in the rescue business, where every second was critical, had given him a good sense of time, and he knew that at least ten minutes had passed since the other man had gone to get Parker. He couldn't help but wonder what was taking so long.

His guard was clearly wondering the same thing, given the way he kept looking first at his watch, then up at the door. Scott would have loved to have been able to ask him about the situation - he still couldn't get over the fact that these people were merrily partying with a man who right now was all over every news channel not just in Britain, but all over the world. Surely they'd worked out by now that something wasn't quite right...

His thoughts were broken as the door at the top of the cellar stairs finally opened.

"About time," his guard muttered. Then his appreciative look turned to a frown as a man came down the stairs. It wasn't Parker. Instead, it was a man Scott had never seen before. In his mid-thirties by the look of it, he was extremely good-looking. Too good-looking, in fact, and Scott couldn't help wondering if it was all natural. He was used to being around handsome men - the Tracys were hardly lacking in that department after all, but he and his father and brothers had been naturally blessed. This man appeared to have had quite a bit of work done. His dark hair was artfully styled and his clothes expensive. He looked as out of place in this environment as Scott himself.

"Where's Nosey?" the guard asked.

"Enjoying the party," the man told him. His accent was British, but nondescript, and Scott was unable to even hazard a guess as to his origins.

He walked over to stand in front of Scott, a slow smile emerging as he surveyed the dishevelled and disadvantaged Tracy.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said finally. "Never thought we'd get a result tonight." He turned to the guard. "I need to make a call. Keep an eye on him. Might take an hour or so to get everything sorted."

He eyed Scott once again. "She was right, then," he said, before turning back to the stairs.

Scott stared after him. Who was 'she'? Penny? Was this really all part of some scam? Some mission? But if they were all on the same side, why was he still lying here bound and gagged? And why hadn't Parker come down to see him? He glanced over at the guard. He didn't look particularly happy about being left down here, settling himself on the floor with his back against the wall as he lit a cigarette.

With nothing better to do, Scott continued to try to free himself. Confident that all the talk would have been picked up by Alan and that there was seemingly time for help to arrive, he felt a little less stressed. Even so, given that the help was most likely going to take the form of a brother who would most likely be tired, irritable and full of complaint at having to come and bail out his brother, Scott decided that when Virgil arrived he needed to be looking a lot less helpless and pathetic than he did right now.

When the door opened some twenty minutes later he'd started to make some progress. The ropes had loosened slightly, though he was far from being ready to make a break from it. Instead he ceased his efforts and waited to see what was going to happen next.

The barmaid he'd flirted with earlier came down the stairs, a mug of something in her hand.

"Brought you a cup of tea," she said to the guard. "Thought you'd better not have anything stronger whilst you're on duty here."

"Rosie, you're a star," the man told her, reaching eagerly for the mug.

The girl turned to look at Scott, frowning a little at the envious look in his eyes as he watched the guard take a sip from the steaming mug. It was cold in the cellar and he'd been soaking wet when they'd brought him in.

"Don't worry about 'im, love," the guard said, guessing what she was thinking. "Can't feel sorry for the enemy, can you?"

"I just wish I could be sure he was the enemy," Rosie said, blushing a little at the surprised look the other man subjected her to. "Terry, do you think there's something a bit odd about Uncle Al tonight?"

Uncle Al? Scott had to think for a moment - he never thought of Parker as 'Aloysius'. He supposed at least he could be forgiven for not having realised this girl was related - fortunately for her there was no family resemblance. He barely dared to breathe; the pair were speaking softly and he had to strain to hear them. It appeared Terry didn't share the fears of Parker's niece.

"Nah, 'e's fine."

"He's not. There's something... I don't know what it is, but he's not himself."

"'E's bound to be a bit tense. This 'ole fing's got to 'ave taken it out of 'im." Terry took another mouthful of tea and smiled. "You gotta love 'er ladyship. Even for 'er this is going some. Fancy roping in the Archbishop of Canterbury and that Prince Louis. I reckon we'll be in line for a reward, you know, catching this bloke."

Rosie looked doubtfully over at Scott. "It can't just be about him, though, can it?"

"Nah. 'E'll be part of some gang. Terrorist, probably. Lady P will tell us all about it when she gets 'ere."

"She's coming over?"

"'Spect so. That secret agent bloke said 'e was calling someone. She'll take this one off our 'ands and then we can 'ave a proper party."

Rosie had frowned when Terry had mentioned the man who'd been in to see Scott earlier. "I don't like that man," she admitted.

"'E bothering you?" Terry asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"No. Nothing like that. There's just something a bit creepy about him."

"Well you tell me if 'e tries anything. But 'e's a friend of Nosey's so 'e must be alright. Don't you worry about it." Terry held out the empty mug. "You could get me another cup, love. And some biscuits."

Rosie smiled. "Okay. Won't be long." Sure enough, five minutes later she was back - with two cups of tea, biscuits and a blanket. Scott was profoundly grateful when she draped the blanket over him, not just because it provided some relief from the biting cold, but because it would shield his attempts to free himself. Terry watched in amusement, but he refused to allow her to remove the gag so Scott could drink the tea, laughing at her for being so soft-hearted.

"Surprised at you, falling for a pretty boy like that," he told her, and Rosie blushed as she took herself off up the stairs, closing the door behind her.

Scott had a lot to think about as he restarted his efforts to free himself.

It took him another half an hour - and he'd become more and more frustrated at the lack of any appearance from Virgil as time had gone on - but he'd finally freed one hand just as his guard suddenly looked up at the door at the top of the cellar steps. Scott immediately lay still, listening as he heard... yes, the sound of a woman's heels tapping against stone.

Could it really be Penny? Scott's heart gave an unexpectedly joyful lurch as he allowed himself to consider the possibility that she really was there, unharmed and in control, that the whole thing had been part of some scam after all.

Then the door opened and reality hit. It wasn't Penny. It was a dark-haired woman he'd never seen before, although something about her reminded him strongly of the blonde aristocrat. Maybe it was the tilt of the nose, or the plane of the cheekbones. A relative, maybe? But how could that be? Penny had told him all about her family, and he knew none of them had any links to the secret service.

He'd been so focused on the new arrival that it took him a moment to realise that Parker, too, was making his way down the stairs, the man he'd seen earlier close behind. A movement in the doorway caught his attention and he saw that Rosie was there, apparently still concerned about her uncle but not confident enough to make her presence known.

Scott might not have known the woman who came to crouch down beside him, but there was a distinct look of satisfaction in her eyes as she looked at him. Something else, too, but Scott wasn't entirely sure what it was. Excitement? Triumph? She was certainly pleased to see him, that was for sure, and she smiled broadly as she turned to the man who accompanied Parker.

"I hardly dared believe it." Her voice was almost as refined as Penny's and gave Scott no clues as to her identity. One thing he was sure about, however, was that she was no friend. Terry might believe her to be some secret service agent, working with Penny, but he knew that wasn't the case. It was Parker who confirmed his suspicions. The man was just looking at him blankly. There was no recognition, nothing. This wasn't his friend and colleague, it was the man who'd helped with the kidnapping that morning, the man who'd betrayed the woman he admired most in the world. But why? Scott was still none the wiser.

"Parker?" The woman beckoned the man over to her.

He did as he was bid, but still said nothing. Confused, Scott glanced up at Rosie who was standing in the doorway watching her uncle anxiously.

The woman didn't appear to be aware that someone was watching as she reached out and gently patted Parker's shoulder. "Well done, Parker," she said softly. "Thank you. Your work is done."

Parker nodded, then turned and, without a word, began to slowly make his way back up the stairs.

As he passed through the door, Rosie rushed to his side and caught his arm. When he shook her off and continued on his way, she stumbled, staring at him in confusion for a moment before hurrying after him. Something was badly wrong, she just knew it. She'd always been a favourite of her uncle and he'd never have treated her so roughly under normal circumstances. He didn't even seem to recognise her. When she called his name, there was no response. She wasn't entirely surprised when, instead of heading back to the party he'd been so insistent on holding, he instead turned left, moving implacably towards the door through which Scott had been dragged just a short time earlier.

There was no way Rosie was just going to let him go, and she ran outside after him. As the cold hit her, she debated going back for her coat, but the fact that her uncle was in his shirtsleeves but hadn't even flinched as he'd stepped out into what was now a pretty heavy snowstorm decided her, and she followed him, calling his name ever more frantically, even more worried when he ignored her completely, heading out of the alley and onto the street, taking the turning which led towards the Thames.

She was dimly aware of a car pulling up beside her, but all she could focus on was the figure of her uncle, his head unbowed even in the face of the driving snow, his steps unhurried but relentless.

"Parker!"

The yell from behind, presumably from someone who had just got out of the car, startled her. She barely had time to turn before the man ran past her, slipping a little in the snow, reaching her uncle and pulling at his shoulder to turn him. When Parker simply pulled away and continued on his way, the new arrival stood in confusion for a moment, allowing Rosie to get a good look at him.

Who was he? she wondered. The voice had been American. A friend of the man who had been captured, maybe? The two certainly sounded alike. But there was no time to worry about either man now. Her uncle had reached the river, but instead of stopping at the wall which ran alongside, he pulled himself up and stood on top of it, wobbling a little as he looked down into the freezing water.

Then he stepped forward into oblivion.

Scott's mind had been in turmoil, worry about Parker, and frustration over his own situation competing for his attention. He couldn't help wondering what this mystery woman had in store for him. Something in the predatory way she looked at him convinced him that he needed to get away from her - and quickly.

"We need to get out of here," she announced.

"You sure you want to risk driving through this?" the first man asked.

"You really want to stay here?"

"No. I just thought..."

"Well don't. I know it's bad out there - I'd have been here sooner if the roads hadn't been so slippery. But we have to get going." She glanced across at Terry and smiled. "Can't risk the bad guys giving us the slip, can we? Especially not this one. Here." She reached into her pocket, tossing him her car keys. "Silver Mercedes. Bring it up to the back entrance."

Terry left and the woman moved away from Scott, whispering something to her colleague that Scott couldn't make out. He just hoped the equipment John had installed on Thunderbird Five would be able to pick it up. With time running out, he redoubled his efforts to extricate himself. Both hands were free now and he inched his fingers towards the ropes that bound his ankles, praying that the knots there weren't tied too tightly and that the blanket didn't slip and reveal what he was doing.

If he hadn't been gagged, he might have let out a triumphant yell when he finally worked himself free. Hoping there would be some way out of there and that he wasn't just setting himself up for a beating, he leapt to his feet, unprepared for the way his cramped legs wobbled after spending so long in the same position. His captors ran towards him but he managed to shove the man into the woman, then charged up the stairs and out of the door, tearing the gag away as he did so. With the others hot on his heels he glanced left and right. Left was out - Terry was just coming through the door, stamping snow off his shoes and rubbing his arms briskly to try to warm them up. He started to run as soon as he saw what was going on, leaving Scott with no choice but to go right, straight into the bar.

He almost barrelled straight into a stocky man who stood just inside the door, three full pint glasses clutched against his chest. He just managed to dart to one side. Not that he could make much progress - the bar was even busier than it had been earlier and there was barely room to move. He wasn't sure he stood much chance of getting to the door and out of the pub before he was captured again. And even if he did get away, where was he supposed to go? He'd freeze to death before long. What was keeping Virgil?

But luck was on Scott's side for once. His pursuers didn't have his lightning reflexes and Terry had ploughed straight into the man Scott had managed to avoid. It didn't go down well, beer showering everyone nearby and glass shattering everywhere. Terry had been grabbed and pummelled before he knew what was happening. Fighting back wasn't a good move either, as several of the man's friends took it upon themselves to intervene. But Terry had friends in the bar and they immediately dived in to help him out. Other drinkers got caught up in it all, hit by wild kicks and punches and not taking at all kindly to the fact. By the time the mystery man and woman appeared, there was mayhem in the bar and Scott was almost at the door.

The man pulled out a gun and fired.