In Too Deep – Chapter Eight
From the cockpit of Thunderbird Two, Gordon could make out Scott loading the final parts of Mobile Control into Thunderbird One in a frenzy. Gordon eyed the pilot's chair with distaste. Despite being Virgil's co-pilot, it still felt surreal to be sliding into the leather seat. Virgil's seat.
"Cockpit from Sickbay, we're ready, Gordon," Alan's voice was crystal clear. Gordon noted the lack of emotion and knew that his younger brother was dealing with things the only way he knew how. Throughout their lives there had been many times when they'd looked to their older brothers for an example of how to react or behave in a situation and Gordon didn't doubt that this was one of those times. A time when Scott's glowing example was to be followed without hesitation: the job at hand came first, your emotional reaction to it came second.
Gordon adopted that same tone as he reached for the internal communications panel, "FAB," he responded, "Stand by for vertical take off."
Uncomfortable behind the controls of the giant transporter, Gordon took a deep breath and began the flying process that he wished he'd practiced more often. Simulators weren't the same, no matter how accurate Brains made them and Virgil was always so reluctant to let anyone else behind the controls.
Every time he found himself in a position where he had to fly Two, he made a new resolve to spend more time in the simulator or out with Virgil. Yet, Thunderbird Four needed maintaining and as ridiculous as it sounded, he always had something he needed to do. Somehow, once the immediate threat was over, the renewed resolve faded.
It wasn't that he was incapable of flying her by any means. He was proficient, he just didn't like doing it. His father had told him when he was learning to drive that avoiding the things you didn't like doing just made them harder when you're forced to do them. The truth of that sentence was never more evident than when he found himself in Two's control seat.
This time he would spend more time with Virgil, he told himself. He could never be as good as Virgil, but he could try to familiarise himself a bit more with the procedures so that at times like this, when the adrenaline was already rushing, he wouldn't feel the apprehension of flying. Of course, he knew the root of the problem hadn't anything to do with his capabilities in Thunderbird Two. The reason he felt so agitated when he got behind Two's controls had nothing to do with being familiar with the procedures or being capable of flying her. It was because, nine times out of ten, the very reason he was there was because Virgil was incapacitated in some way and that alone was grounds to be agitated in his book.
As the motors powered up, he felt the vibrations flow through him. This was Virgil's job, his head was telling him, but his hands moved across the controls in a smooth motion as if the thought had never occurred. A brief fire of the VTOL jets and he felt the weight of the steering change as the green giant rose into the skies above.
Hand on heart, he couldn't say that the idea of taking over from Virgil permanently hadn't crossed his mind. It was a notion that shook him to the very core but also one that he couldn't ignore. He was thankful for Scott's incoming call to distract him.
"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One." Gordon sighed and flicked a switch to open communications with his brother. The exhaustion in Scott's voice was mutual, as much as the worry and anger.
"Go ahead, Scott," Gordon replied, shaking himself from his thoughts and concentrating on his flying instead.
"How's Hunt?" Gordon doubted Scott was at all concerned about the scientist and put the call down to his brother wanting to hear a friendly voice more than anything. Or even more likely was the idea that Scott was feeling a little guilty for his outburst earlier.
"Hunt's stable," Gordon reported. "Alan's back in the sickbay with him and Cook, now. How's it going your end?"
There was an audible sigh, "I'm just about to lift off. I'll contact Penny for an update on the jet's position but I can't get too close, they'll pick me up." Gordon looked at his older brother, about to suggest that he contact John instead of Penelope but Scott continued. "As soon as you've dropped Hunt at the hospital and rendezvoused with Cook's cameraman, let me know. With a bit of luck, we'll have retrieved Virgil by then and we'll all be heading home but if not, I might need your help."
"Yeah," Gordon nodded. "Lady Luck hasn't exactly been shining on us so far, has she?" he asked.
Scott shrugged a smile, "You can say that again." His tone was sad and low. So many thoughts were swirling around his head, it was a wonder that he knew which one to evaluate first.
Gordon, of course, was right. Luck did seem to have deserted them.
They had played death against Lady Luck continuously since International Rescue had been up and running and Lady Luck had always come through for them. Sometimes in the nick of time, with only mere seconds to spare, but she'd always won out in the end. Scott wondered if that reliance, that blind sense of belief in the element of luck had forced them into a false sense of security. They weren't superheroes and they weren't infallible, though it sometimes felt like it. They made mistakes like every other person on the planet. Only in their job, mistakes cost lives. Had his mistake today, in underestimating the hostage takers, cost Virgil his life?
They were just ordinary men doing an extraordinary job and for the first time since International Rescue began, Scott felt the vulnerability of being inadequate. They had never failed each other when one of them was in trouble. Yet now, when the rescue had become personal, they were facing a very real possibility of making history. Scott had to doubt whether Lady Luck would come through for them this time.
She was cutting it mighty fine if she did.
XxxxX
Penelope had kept a close eye on the red flashing dot indicating the jet's progress as it travelled across the country. As the moving marker slowed down, she frowned, "According to the tracker, the jet has slowed," she told Parker. "I suggest we change our course, Parker," she looked up, briefly catching his gaze.
"Very good, M'Lady," Parker responded. "Where h'exactly h'are they?"
"Reference…" Penelope paused to trace two fingers along the screen in front of her. "Yankee Uniform nine two three, slash four Foxtrot Alpha," she announced.
"Foxtr't h'Alpha M'Lady?" Parker queried. "H'isn't that h'in the Yorkshire Dales?"
"Yes, Parker," Penelope nodded. "I believe it is. I wonder what exactly the fuel problems with this jet entailed, I think I had better contact John. It may explain their sudden deceleration." She reached forward to the communications console and opened the appropriate channel. "Lady Penelope, England, calling Thunderbird Five, come in please," she called in her usual delicate and unflappable tones.
"Thunderbird Five, go ahead, Penelope," John appeared on her screen, still looking a little too pale for her liking.
"John," Penelope began. "It seems that our jet has slowed over the Yorkshire Dales. I wonder if this sudden decline in speed could be to do with the fuel problems you mentioned earlier?"
John shook his head, "No, I doubt it," he frowned. "They shouldn't be running out already and that jet has a flight time of a couple more hours before it'll need servicing." He was distracted as he verified the information for himself, "Hold up, Penelope, they're on the move again. Maybe they were distracted by something," John suggested. "I've been keeping an ear out for anyone noticing them and I haven't heard anything as yet. Could just be that they're avoiding being detected."
"Okay, John, I can see they're on the move now. Parker and I will continue to track them," she nodded. "Can you tell from their positioning if they are proceeding towards Newcastle? At present we are slightly ahead of them."
"I can do better than that, Penelope, hold on two minutes," John's mumbling and other radio chatter could be heard in the background. "Okay," John retuned. "I've just picked up a secure radio transmission between the jet and an Air Traffic Controller at City Airport in Newcastle."
"That wouldn't happen to be Terrence Balder would it?" Penelope asked with a raised eyebrow.
John shot her an inquisitive frown, "Well, his name was Terry but I'm just running a…" he trailed off as he looked away from the screen. "There's a Terrence Balder on the employee list, yeah," John nodded, surprised that Penelope's guess was so accurate. He looked up at her, expecting her to explain further.
"Just a little hunch of mine," she smiled. "Call it female intuition, if you will. Now, tell me, John, what precisely was the conversation about?" Penelope's eyes were wide with anticipation.
"Well," John told her, "some place called Ferryhill, I think. I'll send coordinates through to Parker; there's an old, unused air base there. Apparently it was an RAF base but the Navy used it as a training center during the war. I'll bet that McConnell used it when he was in the service. According to what I've just heard," he frowned at her again, "they're going to dump the jet there and then travel to an airport at Sedgefield. That's all I know," John shrugged. "Do you still have them on radar?"
"Yes," Penelope nodded. "Could anyone else have heard the message, John?"
"No," the blond astronaut shook his head. "It was a secure frequency."
"Very well," Penelope gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, "we shall continue to follow them."
"FAB," John replied anxiously. "I'll keep you informed of any further developments," he nodded as he signed off and sat back with a sigh. Allowing himself a moment or two to build up the courage to contact Scott, he pondered over how Penelope knew Balder worked at the airport.
XxxxX
Back in the jet, Virgil's head swam. He blinked his eyes open, trying to steady his vision but it didn't seem to have any effect. Raised voices from the cockpit caused the pounding pain in his head to explode and with a groan, he allowed his eyes to close again.
Big mistake.
He was soon floating back to the luxury of a darkness he couldn't afford and forced himself back to reality. With a grunt, he rolled over onto his side. The pain the movement caused to shoot up and down his back was enough for his eyes to snap open. The realisation that the slick texture of the metal floor he was sliding on was due to his own blood brought reality back with brutal force.
Now on his side, he could see a door ahead of him, slightly ajar. One leg protruded, he recognised the dark blue material as the colour that all three of his captors had been clad in. He wondered which one of them it was, not that it mattered, their attention was in the cockpit so he was safe. For now.
Virgil took stock of himself and his surroundings. Bringing his wrists up in front of his face, he digested what his eyes were telling him. Dribbles of bright red blood were still making tracks down his arms and onto the floor from the gashes to his wrists. Not good, he decided. He reasoned that Jake must be responsible. Billy was flying and from what he'd gleaned, it didn't seem Luke's style.
Letting his head drop forward onto the floor, he squeezed his eyes closed against the turmoil inside. The pain was less prominent now. Not that it had decreased by any means, but it was becoming a normal part of him. He was acclimatising to the agony any movement was causing.
Breathing came in gasps. He bit his lips together in an effort to stifle the sobs that wracked his chest, further accentuating his shortness of breath. He felt so weak, drained of everything. Over the last few hours, he felt like the life had been sucked from him. It was ironic that now all he could do was watch as what was left leaked out onto the floor.
"God," he gasped out, trying hard to control himself. He tried to swallow but there was nothing there and he choked. Now it had come to it, he realised the main flaw in his attitude towards death -- he didn't want to die. That thought struck him over and over again. The same way an axe hit a tree trunk, breaking it down inch by inch with steady persistence.
Disorder ruled his thoughts; he didn't want to die, he told himself again, but it was so easy. So easy to roll back and give in. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to fight against it, and he was just so tired. So tired of fighting. Fighting his captors. Fighting his fear. Fighting his fate?
By taking him with them, the three prisoners had given him back hope that he might make it out alive. His brothers wouldn't let him go without a fight and he was prepared for that, to go down fighting. But it had all gone so wrong. The explosion had given them the ideal chance to escape. Virgil could only pray that no one had been hurt, his heart fluttered with anxiety as he remembered seeing his brothers hit the ground.
Now, as he lay on the floor, bleeding, there was only one thing to be certain of -- that hope was eluding him.
He had to snap out of this. He knew that, deep down, by giving up he was stepping out onto a slippery slope that would only lead to one thing.
Death.
He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath but it hurt and he coughed it back out again. When he opened his eyes again, they fixed on something in the distance.
Something yellow. Something familiar.
He blinked and frowned until the object came into focus a bit better. His sash. Not so yellow now, a little blood spattered and grubby but still identifiable. However, it wasn't the grubby yellow or the blood smatterings that had caught Virgil's attention, it was the protruding insignia.
An outstretched hand protecting the world.
It was who he was. What he stood for. And the principle behind their whole organisation? Never give up, at any cost.
He cleared his head with a shake. The realisation was almost as painful in his heart as the pulsating throbbing of his wrists. What was he doing? He couldn't give up. He was International Rescue. He just couldn't.
Determination renewed, Virgil rolled over on to his back. Breathing through gritted teeth, he let out the odd grunt as he pushed back the pain barriers a little further. His eyes rested on the survival kit on the opposite wall. He tried to sit up. The blood slicked floor under his elbows and the weakness in his limbs combined to make the task nearly impossible and he just succeeding in slipping about. As he put more pressure on his arms, he was horrified to see the lacerations that had been inflicted whilst he was unconscious ooze more. His whole body began to shake with the effort it was taking him but he set his brow in a determined frown.
He succeeded in raising himself off the floor but it was only seconds before he collapsed in a heap again, battling for breath. Raw strength had always been an asset he was proud of. He could be relied on to be strong and sturdy, he was known for it. But it seemed that now, when he truly needed that sheer force, it was failing him.
If only he had the energy to reach it. If only his battered body wasn't hampering him. But 'if onlys' were not much use to him.
Accepting that the task was futile, he allowed himself to settle back on the floor with a painful groan and decided on a more in depth assessment of his injuries. The blood was still seeping form his wounds in a slow and intermittent flow. He had enough medical knowledge to know that it wasn't fatal but that it would be if he didn't get help in the next few hours.
He allowed himself a few minutes to recover, surprised at how tiring thinking had become.
As he took a few moments to summon up the energy he needed in order to try to move again, the shouting from the cockpit got louder.
"Then what am I going to do?" Luke could be identified as the one speaking and Virgil could tell by his tone that he was angry. He wouldn't put it past the other two to double cross him and his thoughts were substantiated by the next voice.
"I don't care what you do!" Billy returned. "We're going to Ferryhill and after that, you're on your own."
"First, we've got to get rid of him." Listening from the outside, Virgil didn't doubt that he was the subject of the pensive silence that followed.
"Well, I think Jake's plan's ridiculous," Luke was bold enough to break the silence. "We can't just leave him to die and we can't kill him. I don't see why we can't just call International Rescue and drop him off somewhere."
"I bloody can!" the plane jolted as Billy replied, distracted by the absurdity of the suggestion. "He knows too much, so Jake's right, he's got to go. The question is how."
"But he doesn't…"
"Doesn't matter anyway," Jake scoffed and though his words were muffled, Virgil took the time to frown and listen out for an explanation. "I've already sorted it," Jake declared.
"Sorted it?"
"Yeah, it's done." There was a definite element of glee in the tone.
There was a silence and Virgil's gaze fell on the emergency hatch. He entertained the idea that perhaps his best bet was to jump, parachute or no parachute it seemed a much better option than staying around. The sinister undertone to the conversation he was hearing from the cockpit was stirring the remaining adrenaline in his system.
"What have you done?" Luke's tone replied from inside the cockpit, full of hatred and suspicion.
There was a commotion, muffled only by the door that had swung closed during their squabbling. Virgil suspected that Billy had abandoned his controls to join in as the jet lurched to one side in a violent manoeuvre that sent the injured pilot sprawling across the floor.
The banging and crashing from the cockpit was punctuated by a cry of 'Billy!' before the jet seemed to be brought under some semblance of control again. It levelled out and Virgil let out a sigh of relief. He'd only just released the exhaustion-fuelled breath when the cockpit door flew open. The bang of the door bouncing off the metal caused him to jump and squeeze his eyes shut in anticipation. For a second, it sounded just like a gun shot and he expected pain or burning. His head was pounding.
"Luke, just leave it!" Jake's angry shout from his left, brought an ominous shadow to Virgil's attention. It seemed to loom over him and as he cracked an eye open, unsurprised to see Luke looking down on him, horrified.
"What have you done?" Luke's eyes flicked between Virgil and Jake who stood in the doorway. The anger and horror was clear, for even Virgil to see from his place on the floor. It was the second time Luke had asked the question but he hadn't received a reply on either occasion.
Jake rolled his eyes and shook his head in a gesture of disgust. "You know what?" he said after a pause to look Luke up and down. "I don't care what you do, Lukey Boy, the damage has been done now and there ain't nothing you can do about it. He's more or less dead already." With that, he glared down at Virgil and closed the door to the cockpit with a slam, sliding the lock home.
Luke knelt down alongside Virgil. "Jake shouldn't have done this," he commented as his eyes traversed Virgil's body. His gaze lingered on Virgil's neck, before shifting to meet his stare. "Tell me what to do."
Virgil hesitated for a few moments, unsure whether there was anything he could do. "Survival kit," he found his voice, but was surprised that it sounded so dry and rough. "On the wall," he nodded his head. "Should be a first aid kit…. Need pressure to stop the bleeding."
Luke nodded and jumped to his feet, prying the box away from its fittings and bringing it back to the floor. He opened it and let the top fall back down with a bang. Virgil winced. "Sorry," Luke muttered as he took out several sterile dressings and placed them in the dry lid. Firstly, he placed two pressure pads on Virgil's wrists, holding one in place whilst Virgil held the other. He then picked up some cotton wool with his free hand and eyed the antiseptic, "This is going to really hurt."
For the second time in the space of twenty four hours, he went about dressing the wounds his companions had inflicted on the man who had saved their lives.
XxxxX
"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Five," the hail didn't come with the same confidence it usually did.
In Thunderbird One's cockpit Scott almost winced at the tone. Maybe he had been too harsh earlier, he thought. John had at least deserved a few minutes to explain what had happened. He berated himself, but then forced the events out of his mind; they were both far too busy to deal with it. Scott hoped his brother would accept that. Right now, they had bigger problems to solve.
"Go ahead, John," he adopted his calmest, nicest voice. "How's Penelope getting on?"
For a few seconds once John's image had appeared, Scott wondered if the conversation was going to be awkward. A few embarrassing moments passed during which they eyed each other, trying to determine how they should both proceed.
John coughed uncomfortably, "Umm … yeah, uh, Penelope's tracking the jet now. It's over Yorkshire." He paused and tried to estimate if Scott was still angry or not. The tension in the air added to the strain of the situation and the last thing John wanted was to make it even worse. He bit his tongue. "I've been keeping an ear on the jet's radio transmissions and I picked up a message on a secure frequency about ten minutes ago. It seems they're heading towards a place called Ferryhill. Then they're planning to go across to Sedgefield." John sighed, "I sent the references for the preliminary locations to you."
Scott glanced over the controls, confirming the information with a nod. "Thanks." His smile was genuine. "Will you send me over the exact co-ordinates when you get a firm fix on them?"
"Sure," John nodded.
"Did they say anything about Virgil on the radio?" Scott asked, eager for any news his brother could provide.
"No," John shook his head, feeling a little disappointed that he couldn't provide the hope Scott needed. "But I'll be able to pinpoint him easily now I have his ETD to track too," he added, trying to lighten the otherwise dark situation.
Scott looked up at him, surprised. "Virgil's ETD was triggered?"
"Yeah," John replied. "That's what I was trying to tell you earlier. I was getting a fix on it so as I could track it when…" he trailed off. Scott was prepared to brush the episode under the carpet for now and he didn't want to reignite past anger.
"Oh," was Scott's contrite reply.
There were a few more seconds of discomfited silence over the air waves, before Scott went on. "Alan and Gordon are taking Dr. Hunt to a hospital in Hereford," he informed his blond brother. "It didn't look too good though. They're going to deal with Cook too, then I've told them to await orders," Scott relayed. "I might need their help."
"Well, like I told Gordon earlier," John responded. "The dicetylene worked on the fire. It wasn't registering heat or smoke when you left. It still isn't. Maybe we should have tried that from the start."
Scott shook his head, "We can't afford to waste materials like that. We thought it would burn out. Does Base have an explanation for what happened?"
"Brains seemed to think that the Mole was acting as a plug," John explained. "There was a delay because the fire wasn't directly near the drill hole. It was behind a closed door, but he seemed to think it sucked the air in and then that in turn caused an explosion." He endeavoured to simplify the version that Brains had explained to him, aware that Scott wouldn't appreciate the technicalities. "It's a long shot. To me, it seems a bit unlikely but it's the only thing he could think of to explain why I didn't get some kind of warning."
"Yeah, well, it doesn't really matter now," Scott shrugged, a little off hand but John just bit his lip and ignored it. "The fire's out and by the time Alan and Gordon have managed to get Hunt to a hospital and then dealt with Ned Cook, it'll all be over and we'll all be heading home."
John raised his eyebrows, wondering if Scott truly believed that. He knew his brother wasn't that naïve.
Scott sat back, glancing over the controls even though he knew he didn't need to. He heaved a sigh under the astronaut's scrutiny, "Penny and I can handle this. Right now, Gordon and Alan are busy. We couldn't just leave Cook or Hunt." His tone bordered on defensive but, again, John ignored it for the sake of saving another confrontation and Scott moved on. "Do we have any agents in the area?"
John took a moment to gather the data, "Yeah, David Bell, agent 314. I'd anticipated you asking that and I've
contacted him. I'm sending the details now." He paused to turn away and attend to control consoles, "I told him that he might be needed, so he's on standby. Do you want me to update him?"
Scott nodded his appreciation at John's foresight. "Tell him I'll be landing in his back yard in about three minutes."
John had to smirk. "Okay, he'll be able to keep Thunderbird One safe. What then? Are you going to head to Ferryhill?"
"Yeah," Scott sighed. "You checking to make sure I can land safely at 314's?" They second guessed each other's movements with well practiced ease.
"Hang on," John cut him off, turning to the screens around him. "Okay, 314 has a farm outside of Ferryhill. You can land there, and he has a vehicle you can use. Same drill as when we were monitoring the Fireflash 3, okay?"
"Yeah," Scott nodded. "That should do it, as long as there's cover for One."
There was another silence, but this time it was more settled. John was about to sign off when he remembered, "Oh, before I forget," he began. "Dad's been trying to get hold of you."
"I've been kind of busy, what with Hunt and Cook," Scott replied. "I'll call him in a minute. I'm approaching Bell's farm now."
"That was quick," John commented, he wondered just how close Scott had been to the area when the conversation had started or even if he'd searched for 314 himself so as he knew where he was going. "Scott," he warned. "take it easy, huh? We want these guys alive." He didn't want to think about what would happen if Scott was left alone with these prisoners. There had been the inevitable arguments growing up, where things got heated and an angry Scott was not something John would wish upon anyone. Well, he adjusted that thought, almost anyone.
Scott just nodded but didn't reply.
As the conversation had become easier throughout, John decided to push a little further, "Listen, about earlier…"
"Not now, John," Scott shook his head, cutting his younger brother off before he'd even finished. "Later." It wasn't a question.
"Okay," John conceded. He'd always known that there would be a 'later' and he dreaded to think about how it would go. Scott was a good commander and a lot like their father but he was fearsome when he was angry, hence the earlier need for a soft warning. "Well, keep me informed," he changed the subject back to safer ground.
"FAB," was Scott's final response.
XxxxX
John had only just sat back from the conversation with Scott when he was receiving a call from his father. "Go ahead, Base," he answered into the microphone he held.
"John," Jeff acknowledged. "I need a progress report," he said emphatically.
John didn't doubt that his father 'needed' an update. He knew though that it wasn't as the commander of International Rescue but more as Virgil's father. "Well, Dad," John began, "We know the jet is heading to an old RAF training base at a place called Ferryhill. Scott and Penelope are heading there now. They're going to let me know what they find."
Jeff nodded, "I see." He was sat up straight, clearly expecting more.
"I intercepted a radio message from the jet. It sounded like they're going to be heading for Sedgefield since there's an airport there," John relayed. He watched his father's mouth open and already knew what the question would be. "There was no mention of Virgil, but I'm tracking his ETD."
"Good," Jeff sighed. "That's something at least." He paused, taking his glasses his off and squeezing the bridge of his nose. The action reminded John of the kind of thing Scott did when he was stressed. Finally, Jeff looked back, "Are you holding up okay, John?"
"Me?" John was surprised by the question and began to nod his head, more through instinct than response. He didn't want to think about himself right now, knowing if he did then he would be kissing any help he might be able to offer the others good-bye. He couldn't consider his own feelings of guilt, helplessness and anger. If he did, he would surely breakdown and none of them could afford that. Least of all Virgil. "I'm fine," he managed to get out. "Keeping myself busy, y'know?" he said as he pretended to busy himself off screen.
Jeff nodded, every inch of him was weary, "That's good, Son," he sighed. "I've spoken to Gordon and Alan. How's Scott?"
John wondered if Gordon had told his father about what had happened, but brushed the idea away. If his father had known of his discussion with his older brother, this conversation would have started in a very different tone. "You know Scott," he said accompanying the vague reply with a shrug.
"Why do you think I'm asking?" Jeff raised an eyebrow.
"He's okay, Dad," John assured him. "He's upset. We're all upset and we want to see these guys pay but most of all we just want Virgil back safe." He could hear a beeping in the background of his father's image. "Is that Gordon calling in?"
"Yes it is," Jeff confirmed. "I'd better go. Listen, John, keep an eye on Scott for me, will you? I don't want him doing anything rash."
John nodded despite wondering what exactly his father expected him to do when he was so far away. "Sure, of course I will," he responded as expected. "Thunderbird Five out."
"Go ahead, Thunderbird Two," Jeff's authoritative voice, though a little deflated, boomed through the speakers before John's image had disappeared.
"Father," Gordon acknowledged. "Just to let you know that we've dropped Dr. Hunt at St Mary's Hospital in Hereford." His tone adopted a darker tone, "It doesn't look good though, he'd lost a lot of blood despite our best efforts and he was in shock even before we handed him over. Between you and me, I don't think the doctor I spoke to was hopeful."
"Well," Jeff shrugged a little. "We did our best, Son, that's all any of us can do. It's out of our hands now. Did you have any problems with the police?"
"Well, that's the thing," Gordon frowned as he replied, "there wasn't a police officer in sight." He shook his head, mystified, "I was expecting some kind of interrogation. Scott and I discussed the implications of taking him to a hospital, I knew we could be incriminating ourselves but there was nothing. I mean guys don't fall out of the sky with bullets in their chests, but it's almost as if they weren't interested."
"How do you mean 'weren't interested', Gordon?" Jeff matched his expression with a deep frown.
"Well, it was strange," the redhead replied. "There weren't any police officers there. In fact, the hospital seemed happy to just take Hunt off our hands and we didn't want to stick around. So we handed him over right there on the landing strip and then lifted off as soon as we could."
"Hmm," Jeff's frown deepened further and he raised a hand up to rub his chin in a subconscious reflective gesture. "I don't like it," he sighed.
"Me either," Gordon agreed. "It was too easy." Jeff seemed pensive and Gordon realised that the last thing he needed was unnecessary worry, in particular worry borne from a mere feeling of suspicion. Ultimately, they hadn't encountered any problems at the hospital and the deed was done now. He went on, hoping to reassure his father, "Y'know, we could be overcomplicating this. We only called the hospital a few minutes before we landed, maybe they didn't have time to call the police," he suggested.
"Well, then they'll probably try to get in touch with us one way or another. I'll have John keep an ear out," Jeff decided, the frown still deep across his features and not showing any signs of lifting. "We can't contact them. I can't take the risk that the hostage takers will harm Virgil. These men having nothing left to lose and a desperate man is an unpredictable man."
"Speaking of Virgil," Gordon interrupted his father's loud though process. He didn't seem his usual self, he was still uneasy about the reception they'd received at the hospital but given the circumstances, no one could blame him. "Heard anything yet?" as expected, Gordon enquired about his brother.
"Scott and Penelope are tracking him via his ETD signal, so it shouldn't be long now," Jeff hoped. "How about Cook? Where is he?" he asked, trying not to appear too harsh. Initially, he hadn't trusted the guy but he'd relied on Scott's judgement of the situation. Now, he wanted to get rid of the reporter as soon as possible.
"Cook's promised he won't write the story and he's going to give us all his hard evidence as security," Gordon replied. "Alan's talking to him now; we're going to take him to meet up with his cameraman."
"That's good work, Gordon," Jeff smiled. "Make sure you have all the evidence," he emphasised.
"I will, Dad," Gordon nodded. "I really think he's genuine. He remembered me from New York. He even said if there was anything he could do to help Virgil to just let him know."
"All right," Jeff nodded. "Well, drop him off and hopefully by then Scott will have tracked Virgil down." They exchanged glances, both more than aware of how much force there was in the word 'hopefully'.
"FAB, base," Gordon replied. "Let us know if there's any development, Thunderbird Two out."
Jeff heaved yet another sigh and sat back in his chair. His head pounded and he was tense, every muscle in his neck and shoulders was coiled tighter than a spring. He dreaded to think what he looked like. He'd barely eaten anything over the last twenty four hours, let alone managed any sleep. Reaching for the coffee jug on his desk he poured himself another. It seemed like he was living off coffee at the moment, despite Kyrano and Tin-Tin's best efforts. He couldn't rest though, just as he knew his sons couldn't, not while Virgil was still out there being held hostage by those maniacs.
He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't heard Tin-Tin approach his desk, " …for you, Mr Tracy?" he caught the end of her sentence.
"Sorry, Tin-Tin," he shook his head at his own lack of concentration, "what did you say?"
Tin-Tin laughed but it was a nervous, understanding laugh, "I asked if you'd like some fresh coffee, Mr Tracy. That must be nearly cold," she held a hand out, gesturing to the jug.
"Oh," Jeff looked down at the mug he'd only just poured and felt the edges. She was right, it was cold. He wondered how long it had been since Kyrano brought it to him. It didn't seem that long ago. "Thank you, Tin-Tin," he accepted the offer, handing her the tray.
As she walked away towards the kitchen, Brains came into the room.
"Anything Brains?" Jeff asked immediately.
"No, err s-sorry, Mr. err Tracy," the young scientist replied. "Not a err th-thing on the err television or err radio. I do think it's err s-strange though, that the p-police aren't c-circulating reports. You'd think with e-escaped con-err-convicts that they'd want them err found as s-s-soon as possible."
Tin-Tin returned to the room, sitting down on the couch behind Brains.
"You're right, Brains," Jeff frowned. "Of course you're right. Especially with Dr. Hunt now in the hospital too," he thought the idea through. It was like Gordon said, it was too easy. "So why aren't the police looking for these escaped men?"
"Maybe they err don't err know who's e-escaped yet," Brains suggested "There are err only us and that err sc-sc- err… doctor," he struggled to use the word scientist, "that are err a-aware of the situation."
"Or," Tin-Tin purred, smiling up at her father as he brought back the freshly made coffee. "Maybe they don't need the police to look for them."
"Go on, Tin-Tin," Jeff pushed, unsure what she was getting at.
"Well, according to what Dr. Hunt told Ned Cook, that whole place is awash with corruption and secret government agendas," she looked around the room at Brains and Jeff in turn. "I just wonder how far up the chain of command this goes," she suggested. "Perhaps they are leaving it for the secret service to clear up the mess. It would certainly keep a scandal from the media."
"Lady err P-Penelope would be the err b-best person to ask about err the err British Secret Service," Brains theorised. "If that's what you are err th-thinking."
"You really think the British government would do that, Tin-Tin?" Jeff frowned, unsure if she was letting her imagination run wild. "Put the lives of its citizens at stake to avoid a scandal," he explained. "Besides, it's a big risk. Any number of things could go wrong in the meantime. They could kill someone," he suggested and then swallowed, realising the implications of what he'd just said.
"Well, what's to say they even know?" Tin-Tin raised an eyebrow, suggesting another angle. "Whoever's responsible for this, if there is one person accountable, they could just be a bad apple inside the service." She shrugged her shoulders and began to shake her head, wisps of hair floating around her dainty chin. "Besides, even if they are involved, I don't think putting their citizens' lives at stake is quite how they'll see it, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin continued in her sing-song voice. "They'll be making some kind of active effort to re-capture the escaped prisoners sooner or later, and they're protecting the whole country from the bigger picture. There would be uproar if the truth ever came out."
"Hmm," Jeff nodded, thinking over her words with a great deal of uncertainty.
"Pardon me, err, Mr Tracy," Kyrano appeared in the doorway and shuffled from one foot to the other in apprehension. His hands were clasped together underneath the cuffs of his flowing blue, oriental gown.
"What is it, Father?" Tin-Tin frowned. "Whatever is the matter?"
"I'm afraid Mrs Tracy is on the vidphone and she insists on speaking with you." Jeff rolled his eyes at the news, but nodded in Kyrano's direction for him to continue. "When I explained that I was dealing with the household calls, due to the seriousness of the rescue, she became…" he pondered over the correct word, "upset."
"All right, thanks, Kyrano," Jeff nodded and gestured to the machine behind his desk, "you'd better put her through."
Kyrano just nodded and disappeared again.
"Something tells me this isn't going to be pleasant," Jeff sighed, glancing between his engineering team.
Tin-Tin offered him a smile, somewhere between sympathy and pity, and turned to the resident scientist, "Come along, Brains, we ought to help John with his research." She got to her feet and led the bespectacled man away to the laboratory.
Once the room was empty, Jeff took a mouthful of coffee and swivelled in his chair to face the screen behind him. He pressed a button and greeted an image of his mother looking none too happy, "Mother."
"Don't you 'Mother' me, Jefferson!" her rosy cheeks faded into insignificance with the fierceness of the anger she radiated. "I've just spoken to Kyrano; just when were you planning on telling me that my grandson is being held hostage by madmen?" Her scowl was so deep that her glasses tilted to one side. "I think it's about time you told me what on earth is going on there, young man!"
Jeff took in a deep breath and began explaining.
XxxxX
The first aid kit closed with a bang and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut as the sounds vibrated round his skull. His head didn't seem to be improving but he was pleased that he had managed to keep his eyes open whilst Luke had tended to his newly inflicted wounds. He looked down at his bandaged arm and could already see the white dressing beginning to turn pink in the centre, as the blood soaked through.
Luke saw his gaze, "I'm sorry, I can't do anything more."
"No," Virgil swallowed and shook his head, immediately regretting the action. "You've done everything you can, thank you." He met Luke's gaze and managed a smile before the bruising on his face turned it to a wince. "It'll stop the bleeding in a while."
Luke sat back with a nod but stared at the small puddles of blood on the floor and wondered if his actions would make any difference.
"What's going on in there?" Virgil asked, gesturing to the cockpit with a nod of the head. He wondered if Luke would even answer and didn't want to push him.
"They're arguing over what's going to happen now," Luke replied. He sat against one of the bulkheads and pulled his legs up to his chest. "We're heading to Ferryhill, there's a disused air base where Billy can land. Well, try to land, not exactly been a smooth ride so far, has it?" The anger in his voice was unmistakeable
Virgil managed a smile. "He's no pilot, that's for sure," he tried to appear nonchalant.
"Jake wants to escape to France," Luke sighed, "life long ambition, apparently," he explained. "Billy's staying with a friend who works at the airport Jake's flying… well, smuggling, from. Which leaves me…" he scowled, grinding his teeth together in anger, "no money, no car and no hope of ever getting to Leeds."
"Leeds?" Virgil asked.
"That's where my fiancée lives," Luke shook his head, "lived," he corrected. Virgil looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's where I last heard from her."
"You have a fiancée? Your son's mother?" Virgil was surprised that he divulged the information at all. When they'd been back in the Mole, Luke had been very reluctant to speak of his own family.
Luke studied their hostage for a few long minutes. Trying to ascertain whether he should answer or not. The silence continued to the point where Virgil was about to speak again, when Luke shifted slightly. "Ben, my son's name is Ben." He eyed Virgil with a menace Thunderbird Two's pilot had never seen in him before. Virgil knew it served as a warning not to push for information.
"After your brother," Virgil stated. "I see." He wondered if any of his brothers would name their children after him. He didn't doubt that they'd have children, eventually, and it would be a wonderful honour. On instinct, he decided John would be the most likely. Virgil's name was often the cause for ridicule from the youngest two and although he didn't doubt that Scott would like to do such a thing, he hesitated over whether his closest brother could live with the reminder.
"What are you thinking?" Luke asked, breaking his thought pattern.
Virgil didn't hesitate in replying. He'd discovered that he liked talking. It distracted him. "You were so reluctant to talk about your family before, what's changed?"
The atmosphere changed in an instant. The air became heavy. Luke kept glancing up at him, but never long enough to hold his gaze. He was wondering how he could tell Virgil that he wouldn't live long enough to pose a threat. "You really want to know?" he asked as he sighed and avoided Virgil's expectant gaze.
"I'm asking, aren't I?" Virgil attempted a smile but, again, it pulled on his bruised face.
Luke gestured to the cockpit, "They were discussing what they're planning to do with you."
"Oh," Virgil sighed, the reply eloquent enough to portray his sudden depression. He looked up to Luke and was hesitant to ask the question on his lips. He deliberated for a few moments on whether to proceed. The answer wouldn't raise his spirits, he was aware of that, but at least it would enable him to prepare himself. He cringed in embarrassment as he remembered what had happened back in the Mole and how he'd been tricked into believing they were going to shoot him. That was the turning factor. He was afraid of dying but he was damned sure, that if he was going to die then he'd retain some dignity. "And? What have they decided?"
"Well, Jake's plan," Luke swallowed, "was to leave you somewhere remote and let you bleed to death," he gestured to Virgil's newly cut arms. "But we're almost at the air base now and we slowed down earlier but you're still here." Virgil had felt it, his piloting instincts had told him that they were slowing, but then after a few minutes they'd picked up speed again. He shuddered at the thought of bleeding to death, alone and afraid. Luke sensed his discomfort and stopped but Virgil looked up at him, expecting him to carry on. "Billy…" Luke continued, he spoke slowly, as if he didn't want to voice Billy's plan. "Billy wanted to leave you in the jet and then torch it, after we'd landed."
Virgil's pupils dilated. Somehow bleeding to death in the middle of nowhere sounded more appealing. Being burned alive and being suffocated were his two biggest fears in death. He didn't care if it made him a coward; he wanted something quick and painless. "Oh well," he swallowed and forced an ironic smile through painful, shaky lips, "I did consider being cremated once, at least it would save on funeral costs."
The humour was inappropriate but nevertheless, Virgil felt a rising need inside to laugh. He had no explanation as to why, given that the situation wasn't at all entertaining but as his smile widened, he felt himself begin to shake. One look at Luke's expression sobered his jocular mood. His companion was horrified.
"Sorry, that was crude. I never did do humor very well," Virgil mumbled. "If they're going to torch this thing with me inside then I need to ask you a favour." The atmosphere between them changed again, this time becoming serious.
Luke hesitated, "Virgil, you know I can't promise you anything." He sighed, looking at Virgil's pleading expression. "I'll try, go on."
"It's just… I need you to make sure my brothers know where I am," he stopped and amended that last statement, "where my body is," he stopped again, "or … what's left." Luke screwed his nose up at the thought and Virgil hurried on. "Please, Luke, don't make them go through everything you did. Let International Rescue know what's happened."
Luke's nod of acceptance seemed uncertain and Virgil sensed he was uncomfortable with the way this was playing out. If there was ever any chance that he could escape the fate they'd planned for him, he knew he needed Luke's help. He endeavoured to keep the conversation ticking. "Bet you're looking forward to seeing Ben, huh?"
"Yeah," Luke nodded again. "I guess I am." Virgil frowned at him, surprised by his apparent reluctance. He didn't want to ask, afraid that he'd be pushing Luke too far. Instead, waited for the young man to go on, should he want to continue. "I keep thinking, it's been three years and they haven't heard a thing from me." The abscondee shrugged, "What if Lisa's moved on? What if she's got another bloke? What if Ben calls him Daddy?"
Virgil could understand his apprehension. "You're Ben's father; nothing is going to change that. It's a fact."
"Not really," Luke shrugged and risked a glance up to Virgil's battered face. "I told Lisa not to put my name on the birth certificate when he was born. I wanted him to have a chance in life. Not to be held back by the fact I'm a … I didn't want him to ever find out what kind of man I was, what I'd done."
"Which is how the authorities don't know about him," Virgil let out a gentle sigh, unsure how to reply. He took a few moments to formulate a response. "Luke, you're still his father. He's your flesh and blood. That won't ever change."
Virgil didn't know what else to say, fatherhood wasn't his area of expertise. The situation reminded him of years of counselling various brothers through relationship woes. One late night conversation with Gordon sprang to mind as the nearest comparison. His younger brother, then a WASP trainee, had been frantic at the possibility of a little accident heading his way. Virgil smirked. At the time it hadn't been remotely funny, but seeing the serious side to Gordon's nature was a rarity.
"Yeah, I know," Luke nodded but let his head drop. "It's just," he sighed again, "I don't know." He rubbed a hand across his face, "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I want Ben to grow up in a proper family. I don't want him to end up like me. What kind of life can I offer him? Either of them? Even if I make it to Leeds and Lisa's still there, I'm asking her to up sticks and leave everything; her friends, her family. For what? A life on the run with me. Hardly two point four children is it?"
Virgil grinned, despite the situation. "Lisa?" he asked, as he flexed his fingers, pain tingling all the way up his arm in response. "She's your fiancée?" he asked, after Luke had used her name on more than one occasion. Luke was hesitant, as if he hadn't meant to let that slip but then he nodded, so Virgil took it as a prompt and went on. "I guess you have to take a chance on her. The foundation of any relationship is trust, she trusts you to come back just as much as you trust her to still be there. You just have to have a little faith. Isn't that what love is all about?"
"Yeah," Luke smiled. "I suppose I'm just nervous, that's all." A sudden judder ran through the jet and it lurched again. Virgil went sliding across the floor and landed in an awkward heap. Luke wasn't far behind him. "Y'know, he couldn't fly a paper aeroplane, let alone this thing," Luke grumbled as the floor tilted the other way and they both went spinning to the other side.
After the manoeuvre was repeated a few times, they levelled out again. Virgil sighed and rubbed his face, where he'd impacted with a steel strut on his already bruised jaw. He didn't have time to gather his thoughts as the jet titled once more one way and then the other. At one point, judging by the momentum, Virgil wondered if they were about to roll. As he grabbed on for dear life, Luke connected with a metal pillar, letting out a vocal "Oof."
Virgil grabbed a hold of his arm, before he slid back the other way. The pull was so hard that Luke cried out in agony as his shoulder struggled to take the strain. In his weakened state, Virgil couldn't hold him and they both went tumbling to the 'floor'. Then, using Virgil as some kind of climbing frame, Luke scrambled up the metal pillar, which, as the plane wobbled, had moved from being vertical to now appearing horizontal. Virgil grunted as Luke pushed himself towards the cockpit door, unwittingly connecting with Virgil's bruised chest in doing so.
"I'm going to find out …" Luke paused as he reached for the door handle in time with the swaying momentum of the jet, "what the hell…" he failed to reach it. Stopped. And then tried again, this time succeeding, "is going on." With that, he disappeared, leaving Virgil holding on to what should have been the floor of the jet but was now a temporary wall, with only his thoughts for company.
The affects of adrenaline never ceased to amaze Virgil. He realised that, in the struggle to avoid further injury, it had acted like a drug, coursing through the veins of his body, not only rejuvenating him but providing a new strength. It reminded him of the sensation you get after the first mouthful of whisky from a glass, warming you through but at the same time numbing you, making you feel invigorated. It was a feeling that he was eternally grateful for.
As the cockpit door swung shut, Virgil caught the sounds of angry dialogue being exchanged. More than that though, the sounds the instrumentation was offering up didn't fill him with confidence. He recognised the alarms in an instant and for a few moments, as his hands tightened around the 'wall', his stomach lurched and his eyes squeezed closed.
He was back in Thunderbird Two. The alarms blaring and the cockpit filling with smoke so quickly he didn't even have time to register it. Sparks were flying around him and he could feel the heat of the fire. Then somewhere above the din, Scott's voice was shouting at him, telling him he had to keep going.
A hand on his shoulder brought him away from the frying pan and into the fire. He frowned and blinked his surroundings back into focus. He was pleased to see that the jet's violent manoeuvring had subsided to a slow rolling momentum, not dissimilar to being on a boat. He traced the hand on his shoulder back to its owner. "Luke? What's happening?"
Luke swallowed and shrugged his shoulders, indicating his confusion. "I'm not sure, there's some kind of problem with the landing gear. Billy's talking about one of the hydraulic rams failing, and the hatch has jammed," he relayed. "He's going to have to land without it."
"Luke, I'm telling you, that man isn't capable of carrying off a crash landing," Virgil replied without hesitation. He went on to explain his logic. "International Rescue could help. Call them, without their help it's suicide!"
Luke frowned. His eyes became red as he stared at Virgil in disbelief. "I don't believe it!" he explained as they both moved in time with the jets swaying movement. "That was the plan all along wasn't it? Jake's right. They sabotaged the jet!"
"What?" Virgil shook his head, confusion reigning. "No!"
"I can't believe I nearly fell for it a second time. I can't trust you, you're a liar!" Luke's anger erupted in the form of a shove to Virgil's shoulders.
Virgil fell backwards with a thud onto the fixtures for the survival box that now formed their floor. The jet continued to judder and stagger about in the air, vibrating with such force that it felt like it might break apart at any moment. "No!" Virgil managed to gasp out, sliding in time with the aggressive motion of the jet. "Think about it, Luke, why would they do that? Billy was right before. International Rescue is about saving lives not ending them!" From his position on the floor, he watched as Luke held on to a bulkhead, pondering what he was saying. "They'd never do it."
Luke stared at him, unsure what to believe. The sight before him really was pitiful but he was torn. Virgil had betrayed his trust already by attempting an escape yet Jake didn't give a damn about him either. The man before him now was the better of the two, he thought. A lesser of two evils. Could he trust International Rescue, though? He wasn't sure but then as he looked at Virgil, truly looked, he came to an instinctive conclusion. The man in front of him had saved his life. Pure, simple and without reservation. He'd offered compassion where Jake had only threatened and for once in his life, Luke felt that he had been listened to, perhaps even understood.
"Luke, you have to believe me," the desperation in Virgil's tone, the sincerity and depth of emotion in his eyes; it was all so open. There for Luke to take in. And he did. He could feel Virgil's exhaustion, understand his fear, identify with his apprehension and empathise with his despair.
"We don't have time for this now," Virgil brought the dispute to a temporary truce. He could feel the tension from the way the jet was responding to the pilot. He knew what was about to happen and he knew it wouldn't be pretty. Taking Luke's silence as some sort of acceptance to the armistice, Virgil scrambled to his feet with the aid of the 'wall'. Knees bent in an effort to stay upright, the simple movement sucked every ounce of energy from him and he almost fell back down as the 'floor' moved beneath him. A surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins forced his body to respond, albeit slowly, despite his injuries and his fatigue. "Luke, listen to me," Virgil began. "This jet is going to crash. And when it does, we're in big trouble…"
He didn't have a chance to finish the sentence as he slipped across the floor, in time with another sharp jolt. The jet juddered and began rolling again. Its two occupants were tossed around like a pair of socks inside a washing machine as Billy struggled to regain control. The cockpit door banged open and Jake came tumbling out, holding on to a steel girder in an effort to steady himself whilst he banged the metal exit shut.
Virgil was horrified to see that Jake was trapping Billy in the cockpit, but he didn't have time to ponder the thought as he found himself hurtling towards the other side of the jet. The last thing he saw was the metal bulkhead inches from his nose and in a frightening reminder of Two's crash, the last thing he heard was Billy shouting, "Oh my God, I… I can't hold her, I'm … I'm going to crash!"
The darkness was upon him from all directions and the battle for survival had only just begun…