In Too Deep - Chapter Thirteen
Sitting there at his desk, Jeff Tracy sighed and continued to fiddle with the small datastick in his hands. He'd listened to the contents several times after Tin-Tin had first played it, hoping to pick out something new or to be struck by a moment of inspiration. Instead, he just heard the same voices saying the same words, which left him with the same decision. He couldn't risk jeopardising Virgil's safety by acting now, he'd already decided that much; nor could he sit on the information forever. Penny had contacts, an anonymous tip-off would be the best approach but to whom? Where did the conspiracy stop?
He was just pondering that point when Penelope's portrait indicated an incoming call.
Welcoming of the distraction and any news he could get his hands on, he reached forward, "Go ahead, Penelope."
"Ah, Jeff," she took in his troubled features and offered him a comforting smile, even though she knew it would take more than that to ease his troubles. "I identified the man at the airport as Jake Field. Parker and I attempted to apprehend him. Unfortunately," her tone belied that comment, "Mr Field disregarded our requests for him to stop and we were forced to use drastic measures."
"How drastic, Penelope?" Jeff frowned.
"Well the police sergeant, ever so helpful young chap, said it looked like an unfortunate accident." She shrugged her delicate shoulders and her eyes sparkled, still feeling the thrill of the chase, "It seems one of his rear tyres ruptured and he finally came to halt in the most regrettable way," sarcasm dripped from her tone. "Overturned in the river. Parker tells me it was a spectacular sequence of events, I'm most perturbed that John distracted me from witnessing it." She could see her witty comments were not having the desired effect in lightening Jeff's mood and so turned her attention strictly to business. "The police officer tells me there's no sign of a body as yet but they're bringing a team of divers out here, the current's very strong, so I'm told."
"I see," Jeff nodded his understanding. He was listening to everything Penelope was telling him and yet, he was also distracted by the decision he knew he'd have to make soon, it hung ominously in the back of his mind. The uncertainty of it all was the worst part. Jeff Tracy was a man who liked hard facts and there was no black or white in this situation. Instead, everything seemed to be a miserable grey.
"Jeff, you look terrible," he was pulled from his thoughts at Penelope's blunt observation. "John apprised me of the developments with Virgil," she continued, as Jeff tried to comprehend her candour, Penelope never had been one to beat around the proverbial bush, "you must keep your strength up. We'll find him, I promise you."
"I'm fine, Penelope," Jeff's reaction was instinctive more than anything else. "Really, I'm fine and I'll be a whole lot finer still when the boys have got Virgil out and I know he's okay."
Penelope nodded, his unwillingness to acknowledge Jake's revelation didn't go unnoticed but she could understand his determination. Deep inside, she felt that same defiance. "Very well, but I'm certain you can't function forever on that insipid coffee you're so fond of," there was sympathy in her eyes but a firmness that told Jeff she meant what she was saying. "Now, do you have any more orders for me? Am I to head to the crash site?"
Jeff found his attention drawn to the datastick in his hands again as he continued to turn it over. He bit his top lip. "Actually Penny, I do have a few things I need taking care off and this one," he waved the datastick in the air, "is right up your street."
Penelope shot him an intrigued smile and cocked her head slightly to one side, "Do go on, Jeff," she purred.
"I don't intend to do anything until I know Virgil is safe but I want this stopped," his voice was filled with resolve. "I need to know how high it goes and who we can contact to make sure this is the end of it. I was hoping you'd be able to advise me on where's best to send this conversation," he looked up at her and waited for her response.
"Ah," realisation dawned for Penelope and she understood what was so important about the datastick. "I see. Well, I shall do some investigative work but don't worry, Jeff, I shall handle it. In the meantime, is there anything else I can assist you with or should I continue home and make a start with my enquiries?"
"Thanks for everything, Penelope," he nodded and gave her a genuine smile of appreciation, "you've been a great help, as always. Putting a stop to this MI R place will be a weight off my mind."
"Nonsense, Jeff, there's something else, I can tell," Penelope was as intuitive as ever and waited for him to explain. She could tell that there was a whole lot more than common decency on his mind and though she doubted Virgil being in mortal danger was helping, she knew she wasn't getting the full story. "What's bothering you?"
Jeff reached a hand up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes were tired and they felt gritty. Blinking to aid his sore eyes, he looked back at Penelope's live feed and shrugged, "It's nothing, Penny. I'm just concerned what kind of state Virgil's going to be in when they find him. The way the boys spoke, that neck wound seemed quite serious."
Penelope read him like words on an open page, it was an ease that came through the years of friendship they'd shared. "Virgil is a very strong willed young man, Jeff, he's a lot tougher than he looks, must be something in the genes," she smiled. Jeff found himself nodding. "But you're worried he might need urgent medical care," as usual she hit the nail on the head. "I can see your quandary, taking him to a conventional hospital may generate awkward questions either in the guise of International Rescue or the Tracy family, yet, his health must come first."
"I was hoping we'd be able to bring him back here for treatment," Jeff confided, not bothering to acknowledge her correct assessment of his thoughts, sometimes, she knew him too well. "But I guess we won't know anything until the boys get to him."
Penelope raised a hand to her chin, manicured pink nails, brushed against her skin as her eyelashes fluttered, "It just so happens I might be able to help you out there too. I'll need to make a few calls but a close friend of mine owes me a good turn, she might be able to help, no questions asked."
"She's a doctor?" Jeff raised an eyebrow, this sounded promising. There was no way he'd risk Virgil's health, but sparing the family or International Rescue the press coverage and the awkward questions would certainly be a bonus.
"Yes," Penelope nodded, glancing at her watch. "Ex-Army. I'm due to officially open her latest venture in a few weeks time, a private hospital in York designed for ex-Forces personnel. It's an extension of the family-run business. Her father was my own private physician."
Jeff wracked his brains, "You mean she's Dr. Mansfield's daughter?"
Penelope nodded, surprised at the accuracy of Jeff's memory, she rarely required the use of a doctor. "Yes, though Dr Mansfield became Sir Hugh Mansfield and retired, quite a few years back too, Jeff. Annie took over the running of the Harley Street practice but she's never been much in favour of the bright city lights, always yearned for the country air." She paused but could already see that the mention of the Army had an unsettling effect, "She is trustworthy, Jeff, she won't ask questions." She looked up at him, uncertain of his response, knowing how much he hated using outsiders but at the same, doubting he'd say no when it was Virgil's life on the line, "I know it's not an ideal situation, but as a last resort?"
Jeff took a few moments to contemplate what she was saying. "Okay, Penny, give her a call. If Virgil isn't fit enough to make it home, then we might need her. Send her details up to John, would you? Get him to run a background check."
Penelope acquiesced his order with a nod but added, "That isn't necessary, Jeff. She's a very dear friend of mine, and I can assure you, there'll be no ramifications from her involvement." She was her usual confident self but she knew deep down inside that Jeff would want every base covered.
"I'm glad you think that," Jeff's tone was stern and powerful, decisive, "but even so, I want her checked. Just in case. How long have you known her?"
"Longer than I've known you," Penelope raised an eyebrow and Jeff began to wonder if questioning her was such a wise move. "She will believe me when I tell her you are trustworthy, I expect you to do the same."
If he didn't know better, he'd have thought he'd upset her, "Okay, Penny," he conceded. He knew from past experience that upsetting Lady Penelope was not a wise move and whatever this doctor friend's background revealed, John would find it anyway.
"Very well, Parker and I shall head to York. I trust you'll keep us apprised of the situation," she looked up and met Jeff's gaze, hoping to impart her sympathy and strength.
"FAB," Jeff's curt nod expressed his reluctance at the situation and his desire to remain professional. He hoped she understood that he did appreciate her concern, though, and allowed a small grateful smile to tug at his lips.
As quickly as the call had come, it was gone and Jeff was left alone again. Despite his determination to remain hopeful, there were dark thoughts lurking in the back of his mind, the inevitable questions that had a history of plaguing his mind during tense rescue situations. There was a sense of dread in his heart as he couldn't help but wonder if this was the day he'd feared since that very first rescue, the day that haunted his worst nightmares, the day one of his sons wouldn't be returning home.
XxxxX
Virgil found himself pinned back against the desk as Luke took a few steps backwards. Putting his weight on the desk, Virgil peered over Luke's shoulder at the British man as he stepped into the ray of light from the ripped curtain. Luke seemed even more jumpy now and Virgil felt a little angry that this guy, whoever he was, had just undone all his hard work. Luke's left hand shook because of the failed experiment, but now Virgil could see his comrade's whole body was shaking in a similar manner.
"Well, well, well," the British man took another step forward and as a result, Luke took another step backwards, pushing his trembling body closer to Virgil. "You're not going to shoot me Mathews," there was a bitter laugh, "you couldn't even if you wanted to, look at you!"
Luke's breathing was quick and shallow, he swallowed and shifted his weight from foot to foot, anxiety written all over him. "Stay back, Foster… " Luke swallowed a second time, his voice wavered as much as the barrel of the gun as it jolted in time with his damaged hand. "Don't come anywhere near us."
"Foster?" Virgil muttered from behind Luke, the penny dropped and he realised who this guy was, he was supposed to be on their side and Virgil wondered why they were pointing guns at each other. "Foster?" Virgil spoke up, as loud as he could from behind Luke. "You're the guy in charge of all this?" Even to his own ears, his voice sounded weak but he battled on.
"Virgil, no!" Luke hissed, turning his head to one side but keeping his gaze on their foe. "Be quiet!"
"It's okay, Luke," Virgil placed a hand on Luke's shoulder and attempted to give it a squeeze, he was dismayed to find that Luke didn't even register the extra pressure. "Look, Foster, it's not what you think," Virgil began. "It's okay. Luke helped me, he saved my life, we've been waiting here for help, that's all."
Foster frowned hard and then moved to get a better view of Virgil. Luke's gun remained trained on him and moved as he did. He looked down at Virgil, casting his gaze up the injured pilot and then back down. "Who the hell are you?" he screwed his nose up.
"I'm with International Rescue, you've come to help us, right?" All of a sudden, Virgil felt confused. Considering this man was on their side, he didn't seem too forthcoming with any help and his attitude left a lot to be desired. Virgil felt Luke wince in front of him as soon as the words had left his lips.
"Help you?" Foster laughed, "yeah, I suppose you could say that." He took a few more steps into the room and again, Luke moved with him. Virgil felt grateful for the extra protection now he had a sneaking suspicion that Foster wasn't there to help them to safety. "International Rescue, huh? That explains a few things, I saw your friends land outside," Foster addressed Virgil, looking him direct in the eye. "I'm sorry you got caught up in this, I really am," his words seemed genuine but the offhand shrug of the shoulders and vacant expression told Virgil that, instead, he was just a damned good liar. "Cards on the table," Foster announced. "You," he waved his gun at Virgil, "know too much. And you," he turned to Luke, who held his own weapon out with renewed purpose, "you made a very big mistake trying to get away, you've ruined everything."
"It wasn't Luke's fault!" Virgil found himself jumping to his protector's defence. "It was the others."
"That what he told you?" Foster asked with a smirk plastered across his face. "It's always someone else's fault isn't it? We didn't blow the place when you called International Rescue," he took a step forward. "We didn't tell them who you were or stop them from rescuing you and this is how you repay us. We put trust in you and you ran! Not to mention shooting Dr Hunt!" his face was growing angrier by the second and with every charge he listed.
"That wasn't Luke either!" Virgil protested, he was taken aback that Luke hadn't attempted to defend himself yet but nonetheless wasn't prepared to hear any injustices against his companion.
"You've ruined everything now, you know that?" Foster's manner became menacing. Virgil frowned as Luke's trembling increased at the rise in Foster's tone. It struck him that maybe Luke was afraid of this man. "I'll let you in to a little secret. My assignment is to tie up the loose ends, to terminate any wandering experiments and I intend to make sure this job is successful." He flicked the safety catch off his gun with a loud click, against the long pause, "So, let's get on with this. If your colleagues are here then we don't have much time." He eyed Virgil. "You first…"
"No," Luke shook his head, taking a step forward, "I won't let you do this. He's nothing to do with your precious experiments, just let him go." He steadied the gun in his hands as best he could and tried to appear calm and in control. He still trembled uncontrollably though.
"You made him a part of this when you went on the run with him!" Foster bellowed, causing both Luke and Virgil to flinch. "You were the one that called them out!"
"Please don't shout," Virgil muttered against his pounding head, "my head's killing me."
Luke heard and lowered his tone even though he wasn't sure Virgil was being serious, "You would have left us down there to die if it hadn't been for us calling International Rescue," Luke accused, taking another step forward and growing with confidence. "We heard you and Hunt talking on the radio, we knew you'd already evacuated the rest. Look, if it's me you want then fine but let him go."
"I can't do that," Foster shook his head but his tone was emotionless. "I'm sorry, orders are orders," there was no remorse.
"No," Luke swallowed again, waving the gun about to prove his point. "I've got a gun here too, Foster. You take one step closer and I'll shoot."
"Luke," Virgil sighed still behind the shield of Luke's body. Deep down he wanted to say that violence wasn't the answer but he also knew just how ruthless the Secret Service could be when it came to orders and following them. He couldn't bring himself to tell Luke not to do it but his gaze kept shifting to the door, hoping that his brothers would get there in time to ambush their assailant.
Luke ignored him, "You'll never get away with this. Don't you think they'll find our bodies? People will ask questions! International Rescue are just outside and they're looking for him," he gestured to Virgil.
"I've planted so much C4 underneath this building that there won't be anything left of you for them to discover," Foster replied confidently. He barked a short laugh, "No-one's going to be suspicious, seems that plane of yours was carrying an awful lot of fuel, the fire spread to the control tower… Come on, Mathews!" he sighed, "You've learned your lesson the hard way, we can do what we like."
Luke's breathing quickened, "This isn't fair!"
"Life's not fair, International Rescue or no, some sacrifices have to be made. I've said I'm sorry, that's just the way it goes," Foster sneered, he flexed his fingers round the butt of his gun, as if in preparation for shooting.
"Just the way it goes?" Luke fumed, his shuddering hand causing the gun's barrel to shake too. "After everything you've done to us, done to me…"
"Oh please," Foster shrugged as he levelled his gun, "cut out the hard done by routine, you deserved everything you got. I'm not the one who broke the law." Bringing both hands up to steady his gun, he raised his eyebrows, "Now, I'm not being funny but I've only got about fifty five minutes left before these bombs go off and I don't intend to be anywhere near here when they do."
It hit Virgil that such a large amount of explosives would create a huge fireball, perhaps big enough to engulf his brothers outside and that he had to warn them. With plenty of caution and very little speed, he nudged the back of Luke's foot and flicked his eyes towards the desk. Luke understood and without hesitation, he aimed the gun above Foster's head and fired. The bullet pinged and ricocheted off a metal cabinet at the back on the room, giving them the diversion they needed to move to safety before Foster could respond.
As Luke grabbed him and they made a dual attempt to dive behind the desk, Virgil wasn't sure whether the returning volley was echoing round the room or just in his head. Between the intermittent sounds of gunfire, shattering wood and bullets rebounded off metal, the smell of singed materials hung in the air.
Virgil could only hope that his brothers would run from the disruption and not to it.
XxxxX
"Go ahead, Base," John waited for his father's image to appear, a little impatient at the constant nagging he'd been exposed to over the last half hour or so. As if he didn't have enough on his plate, liaising with the base, various brothers and Penelope. Not to mention helping Brains' and Tin-Tin's search and also trying to recognise the voice from the recording. Now his father wanted a background check on some friend of Penelope's, it was hardly an appropriate time to be bringing people in to the fold.
"John, have you done that check? Anything?" Jeff didn't waste time on pleasantries and moved in for the kill.
"Check's running as we speak, nothing as yet," John began to reel off, his brow furrowed as he glanced at another monitor. "Scott's arrived at Ferryhill and Gordon's just landing now. Penny's on her way to York and neither Tin-Tin nor Brains have found anything as yet." He offered his father a tight smile at the list of developments.
Jeff raised an eyebrow and nodded. Catching the harassed undertone in John's voice, he softened and sat back in his chair with a loud sigh. "I see, thanks, John. You okay, Son?" he asked, a little warily.
"Yep," John's tone was terse, "I'm just fine." Jeff frowned wondering where between sarcasm and irritation that reply fell. "What are we going to do about this recording?" John didn't give him much time to ponder the thought and moved the conversation on, for which Jeff was thankful, he'd come to the conclusion that this was one of the few times in his life that he'd seen John exhibit any outward signs that he was stressed.
"Penelope's going to handle it. She'll find out how far up the chain of command it goes and then hand all the information to someone in an appropriate position," Jeff was confident that the solution would solve any potential reoccurrences, for now at least.
John nodded, content with that plan. Like his father, he felt that they should do something to stop this happening again, but was at a loss at to what they could do without either compromising their anonymity or publicising this disastrous rescue. "So, you don't need this information, after all." He tapped a file to his left, the one his father had been adamant he should send down earlier.
"No," Jeff grinned in admiration at John's unique way of making a point. "No, Son, you were right, I don't need it," he conceded, watching John's features shine, it wasn't every day the old man was proved wrong about something. In fact, John struggled to remember any time at all. "But," Jeff added, "it's always good to have a back up plan. How's your search for the mystery voice going?" He moved the conversation on before John could gloat too much, but was pleased to see that a certain amount of the tension he'd radiated was evaporating.
"Hmm," John shrugged, "not well. I've started at the beginning of operations and I'm cross referencing every file we have with the voice recognition program, and so far nothing, but it's slow going." He paused to let his shoulders flop, "I guess I hadn't realized just how many rescues we'd been on."
Jeff sensed his despondence even though there weren't any recognisable outward signs. "Keep going, John, you'll get there, it'll just take …."
"Mr Tracy!" Tin-Tin bounded into the room, interrupting their conversation. "Oh," she paused, looking at John, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt." She was apologetic but made no attempt to stop, either. Coming from Tin-Tin, John assumed it must be important and waited for her to go on. "It's just Brains has been analysing the information we recovered," she paused, looking at John and blushing at his frown, the use of the plural again. He'd have to question his younger brothers about all this hacking business later, there was something fishy about it. "He managed to calculate the frequency that these tracking devices run on and it seems that there's only one left now!"
"Only one?" Jeff frowned, "That means that the other prisoner is dead," he concluded.
"Yes, Mr Tracy," she nodded, looking between him and John. "I've cross referenced the material Alan sent me from Thunderbird Two and the signals match, one of the body signals Alan picked up is also sending out this tracking information."
"But Alan said there were three heat signals coming from that building and all human too!" John exclaimed, frowning as he puzzled over putting the pieces together.
"Yes, John," Tin-Tin nodded vigorously, causing strands of hair to fall down from their pinned-up position. "This means that the two other people in the building aren't sending out any signals. If one is Virgil, who is the other one?" her hopeful expression saddened at the possibility she was suggesting.
"Good question, Tin-Tin, good question and I've got a horrible feeling I know the answer," Jeff frowned, not liking the situation one tiny bit. There was only one person left unaccounted for who wouldn't be transmitting any kind of signal and Jeff was loathe to think what might happen if he arrived at Ferryhill before the boys had reached Virgil.
"Oh God," John began, obvious reluctance in his tone, "it's got to be the guy from the recording…"
"That's what I was afraid of, John," Jeff paled. "Contact Scott, now!"
"Already on it," John nodded his leave. "The first check just finished running on Penelope's doctor friend," he glanced over at the appropriate screen and skim-read the information it was telling him, "all the preliminaries look good, Father. I'll let you know if there's anything further to report." His words were rushed and he turned away as Scott answered the call, "Scott," he began, "I've got bad news…"
"FAB," Jeff's deep frown and worry filled eyes dismissed John and turned to Tin-Tin. "Tin-Tin, if Brains can spare you, I need you to ready Ladybird and Tracy One for flight."
"Yes, Mr Tracy," she replied in her sing-song voice. Even at times as disastrous as this where, behind the make-up she'd tried to cover it with, her eyes were red and her throat was still clogged with unhappy emotions, she still tried to sound strong. Not hesitating, she headed away from Mr Tracy's desk, furiously wiping a tear as it began it's journey down her cheek, now was not the time to give in to her emotions, she had work to do.
XxxxX
Virgil had slumped to the floor, behind the cover of the desk and was letting Luke do his best to defend them. He felt confused and his body, once more, was protesting as the events caught up with him. The fatigue was attacking again and though he thought of how he'd fought it off before, in the jet and the Mole and even right here in this room, he didn't think he could face doing that again. Besides, every time he fought it off, the respite was only temporary and then it'd return, stronger than it had been before. They were so close to safety now, they'd worked so hard to get there, yet fate still wasn't prepared to give them an easy run.
The gunfire had only gone on seconds but to Virgil and his pounding head, it felt like it had been an eternity. The way Luke's hand shook, there wasn't much chance of a direct hit but it was enough to hold Foster off for now. Only delaying the inevitable maybe, Virgil thought, but he was grateful for the extra seconds.
"Give it up, Matthews," Foster shouted above the barrage of bullets. "It's over, you'll never get out of here alive!"
Luke looked across to Virgil with a pained expression and for a few seconds there was a temporary ceasefire. Virgil's ears were ringing from the constant banging though, and Luke's loud shout told him that he was having the same reaction, "Well, if we die, so will you!" He heaved a heavy sigh and squatted down alongside Virgil, looking across at him in concern, "Virgil, are you alright?"
"Yeah," Virgil forced out. Breathing was becoming laboured between the pain in his chest, the smoke on his lungs and the dust in the atmosphere but he soldiered on as best as he could.
"I'm so sorry," Luke's eyes were red, his remorse at their predicament was one hundred percent genuine and there wasn't a doubt in Virgil's mind. "I'm sorry you got caught up in all this, it's all my fault."
"No," Virgil shook his head, "no, it's not your fault, it's his fault," he tried to smile, but was sure it turned into a grimace somewhere between his brain giving the signal and his muscles responding.
A few more shots rang out, one piercing the wooden desk by Luke's arm and sending splinters into the air. He winced and then looked down at the gun in his hand, tightened his grip and swallowed hard. "Do me a favour," he puffed his chest out, meeting Virgil's gaze head on, "find Lisa and Ben, tell them that I love them both, that I never stopped loving them and that I never will." Virgil frowned at him, his mind working a few steps behind, he began to shake his head as Luke made an attempt to push himself to his feet. Virgil had seen that look before plenty of times, usually in one of his brothers moments before they made some valiant attempt to save him, it was a look of sacrifice.
"No!" Virgil grabbed his wrist and held it as tight as he could, "Luke, don't do this," he begged, too weak to stop him.
Luke swallowed and then reached his other hand down to Virgil's, his shaking fingers prized his wrist free of Virgil's flimsy grasp. "I can't let him hurt you; this isn't anything to do with you." Virgil's eyes widened in horror as Luke confirmed his suspicions. "And I can't be responsible for putting your three younger brothers through everything I've been through."
"You're not thinking straight," Virgil shook his head. He was overcome with emotion, he felt weak and fragile but was overwhelmed that Luke would surrender his life for him. He felt his own eyes reddening, the intensity of the situation was just the icing on the cake. "I can't get out of here without your help," his voice trembled as much as Luke's hands.
"I am thinking straight, I'm thinking perfectly straight," Luke replied. "Your life is worth more than mine, ten times more," it was said with such certainty and detachment that it sounded like they were discussing the price of beans in Outer Mongolia, nothing as important as life and death. "You'll go on to save thousands of life because you'll make it, I know you will," he unwittingly repeated the very words Virgil had dreamed of hearing from his older brother. Virgil was surprised by the repetition and confusion reigned for the precious few seconds it took Luke to push himself to his knees. "Remember, what I said about Lisa and Ben," Luke swallowed as he placed a hand out to Virgil's shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. The gesture was undersized compared to what it conveyed.
"No, Luke…" Virgil was too late. Taking the gun in his hands, Luke stepped out from the protection of the table and into the war zone around them, poised for action and the consequences that came with it.
Virgil pushed himself to his knees, using his cold hands and his injured wrists for support. His body protested, sending spasms of pain through all the nerves he could still feel. Finally he was rewarded, his vision reached the desk top and he was able to peer over it, onto the floor beyond. He could see that his discussion with Luke had given Foster valuable time and that he'd moved closer, still weaving between the cabinets but now close enough for that vital shot.
Luke stood out from the desk, away from all cover from the incoming onslaught, Virgil's gun in his hands and finger ready. "Come on, Foster, show yourself!" he didn't shout but his voice was loud enough that there was no way Foster hadn't heard.
First a leg came into view from between the cabinets and then the rest of the dark clothing that helped Foster move so covertly became clear. He had his gun in his right hand but it was evident that he hadn't perceived Luke as a threat. Virgil turned to Luke, watching every muscle in his body tense and his brow furrow in concentration.
"You're not going to …" Foster's voice travelled through the air, and to Virgil it sounded warped as time slowed down to afford him to take in every single gesture. Luke's eyes closed and his concentration paid off, for a few critical seconds, his hand stopped shaking. Then it happened and he pulled the trigger.
It all happened so fast, as if time were claiming back the seconds it had slowed down. Several shots fired off in quick succession but the echoing off the walls made it difficult to tell who was firing at whom. Flashes of light and movement blurred the dark surroundings.
Virgil closed his eyes and ducked his head behind the desk. His gut was telling him to get out of danger and his trembling increased with every shot fired but he was frozen to the spot, too alarmed to move. He only opened his eyes again when he heard a muffled cry from the other side of the room, the gunshots ceased on both sides and he began to work up the courage to peer over the desk. With clear hesitation, he placed his hands on the wooden top and allowed his eyes to take in the scene.
Foster was pinned between two filing cabinets, on his knees. Two sinister spots on his chest were spreading and merging into one, causing the dark material to take on a wet, burgundy appearance. He was looking down at his chest in surprise, swaying as if he might slump to the floor at any moment. When he looked back up, his eyes were wide but determined and his face pale, drained of all colour, in contrast to his dark clothes. He lifted the gun in his hands with every ounce of concentration he had and, though his eyes remained on Luke, Virgil was surprised to find the barrel pointed in his direction.
"They're coming…" Foster's eyes flicked to the door and Virgil knew it was a reference to his brothers but the last thing he wanted was for them to walk into this deadly situation. "They'll…. They'll never believe… it wasn't …. you…" Foster managed to gasp out, he screwed his nose up against the pain and his eyes focused on Virgil, his gaze was intense and deliberate.
Startled, Virgil found himself starring at the barrel of the gun in disbelief. For the second time, he faced the notion that he was about to be shot, only this time there was no chance Foster was bluffing. He felt the edges of consciousness blur around him as he tried to shake off the shock. Then it dawned on him, Foster was dying and with Virgil dead too, in his brothers' eyes Luke would be the prime suspect for the double murder, given his past record.
Virgil had barely had time to process the thought before his instincts were screaming out to him to move, to run as fast as his body would allow, to dart out of the line of fire, to do anything. But the interruption between his brain sending the message out and his body responding was far too long.
The shot fired and he could only squeeze his eyes closed in anticipation, willing his broken body to take action.
The pain wasn't what he'd expected, more of a dull thud than a sharp agony. Suddenly he was falling and the air was whipped from his lungs. He hit the hard wood floor with a crash, struggling to breathe but for all the wrong reasons. There was no searing pain in his chest, but instead he felt an incredible weight crushing his lungs and hindering his breathing. The results of the beating had manifested themselves in the shape of large, painful bruises, maybe even a few cracked ribs, and Virgil felt that the force on his chest was now bringing those other injuries, minor in comparison to the rest, to the surface.
Blissful silence reigned as all gunfire ceased again. The ringing in Virgil's ears dulled to an odd throbbing sensation as it pulsated in time with his heart, rapid and loud. He could feel his ears becoming red and hot as the blood rush continued. He didn't know whether he dared entertain the idea that it might be over, so many questions were left unanswered, had Foster finally collapsed? Where was Luke? What did the silence mean?
Listening to every small sound, he picked out Foster's groaning but it seemed so far away. He allowed himself a moment, periodically forcing himself to breathe, frantic for the air but at the same time desperate to avoid the pain. With sudden clarity, he was aware of something tickling his face and his brain slowly put the information his senses were telling him together. Taking as much air into his lungs as he could muster, he opened his eyes, attempting to focus on the oppressive weight making it so difficult for him to breathe. The colours swam into a synchronised pattern and formed the picture Virgil had been afraid of seeing.
"Oh, God, no," he muttered to himself, comprehension dawning that the weight on his chest was in fact Luke and that the young man was making no attempt to move. "Luke?" he asked, placing his mouth alongside Luke's ear as he spoke. "Luke, can you hear me? I need you to…" he had to stop in order to force another breath into his lungs, "I need you to move. I can't …. I can't breathe. You hear me?" There was no reply. "Luke?"
Panic was beginning to set in as he realised that the struggle to breathe was only increasing, he had to do something. "Luke?" he tried again, a little louder but got no response. "Come on, talk to me," he reached a hand up to Luke's head, horrified to find it blood-slicked when he pulled it away. His hand began to tremble, and as if that wasn't reason enough to panic, the sound of something being dragged closer to him penetrated his buzzing eardrums. Virgil froze, listening hard and trying to identify what the sound was. He flinched when a hand grasped the leg of the heavy desk he was sheltering behind, with a bang. The tips of the fingers whitened as the owner clutched the wood and used the grip to haul himself forward causing an ominous dragging sound.
Swallowing hard, Virgil looked around the floor, searching for anything he could use to defend himself. His breathing was becoming more haggard, quickening and exerting him more. He considered attempting to somehow shuffle away from the danger but with Luke's heavy body pinning him down, he could barely breathe let alone move. And then his eyes fell on the answer to all his problems. There on the cold floor, inches from his leg, lay the gun Luke had wielded only minutes earlier.
The cold metal glinted in the few rays of sunlight the curtains allowed. It sparkled like a diamond amongst a sack of coal but Virgil was dismayed to find that despite stretching every muscle he had, it lay out of reach. His fingernails scratched at the floor, desperate to reach those extra few centimetres that would make all the difference but his plight was fruitless.
As Foster managed to pull himself along the floor, accompanied by the sound of hauling weight and the odd grunt, Virgil continued his futile attempts to reach the gun, frustrated that it was so close and yet so far. There was no ethical question in his mind about whether he could actually shoot this man, no rational thought, it was pure instinct but he knew it was like Scott had said all those years, Sometimes it's a case of kill or be killed. Virgil wasn't ready to die and went back to clawing against the floor with renewed vigour, his nails scratching the wax and dust off the wood.
Foster rounded the desk, shaking with exertion as he met Virgil's gaze and aimed his gun. His eyes closed, as if he needed the extra few seconds to draw the strength required to pull the trigger. Virgil used the time wisely, making one final attempt to scramble for his gun but it was too late. It was his one and only chance of any sort of defence and it lay just out of reach for his extended fingers…
XxxxX
Alan placed a hand on the pilot's seat to steady himself as Thunderbird Two made her descent. He could see through the windscreen below them that Scott had already arrived and was jogging over to the remnants of the jet, no doubt to make some kind of assessment. "Gee, that fire's really something," Alan muttered, eyeing the thick black smoke and the bright yellow flames.
"Yeah, we're lucky no one's reported it," Gordon replied, biting his bottom lip as the great ship jolted, finally touching down.
"Well, remember what John said? I think someone has reported it, but this Four guy is holding the emergency services off coming." Alan went on, a frown developing. "It really shouldn't be burning like that."
Gordon pushed the steering yoke away as he stood and stretched his back, rolling his neck from one side to the other, "What do you mean?" he frowned. They moved together to the back of the pod but Gordon hesitated and turned back for one last check that everything was as it was supposed to be.
"Well, think about it…" Alan began. Standing still and waiting for Gordon to catch up with him. "That jet…"
"What the hell is Scott doing!" Gordon suddenly exclaimed, leaning forward over the instrumentation in the cockpit to look out onto the tarmac below. "He's too close!" in a flash, Gordon had spun round and was heading for the exit. "Come on, Alan!" he bellowed as he hurried past his blond brother. Alan let out an aggravated sigh but followed Gordon, attempting to catch up with him.
Below Thunderbird Two's nose, Scott was heading towards the flames of the burning jet. When he'd started out, it had been a reconnaissance trip in order to ascertain whether the flames posed a threat or not, but as he got closer, he decided to investigate.
Try as he might to forget what Jake had said, it still lingered at the back of his mind that Virgil could be amongst the rubble somewhere. He flexed his injured hand, able to feel the fury pounding through his veins, fury that they'd been put in this position, that his little brother was suffering because of it and that he felt so helpless.
As his eyes searched the rubble, he found he was loathe to move his gaze for fear that he would see something he didn't want to, but he forced himself. If Jake had been right then the last thing he wanted was for either of his younger brothers to make the discovery. There was only so much you could see from the outside, the jet was a shell of its former glory, burnt and warped beyond recognition.
He took a few steps closer but there was a small explosion and he was pushed back by the power of the flames. Then he saw something that made his heart constrict, the sole of a boot where it lay amongst the dancing reds and oranges. Thankfully, the rubble of the wing covered the rest of what was there and Scott was unsure whether it was anything more than a discarded shoe. With the very thought that his brother might have been aboard that jet came the urge to leap forward, regardless of the danger, and see for himself.
"Scott!" his head whipped round as he heard Gordon call his name and he saw his aquanaut brother running towards him, Alan hot on his heels. "Get away from there! It's not safe!"
Scott ignored him, turning back to the rubble, he had to know and he had to find out quick, he couldn't allow Gordon to see. He turned with the intention to step over the smoking rubble, closer to the body in the flames. Instead though, the fire was successful in its ambition to eat through the covering wing and it crumbled to the ground, destroyed. As the wing fell, it exposed the scene and Scott squeezed his eyes shut.
"What the hell are you doing!" Gordon exclaimed, reaching his older brother and placing a hand on his shirt, pulling him back from the danger of the flames. Scott opened his eyes but still the image was burned into his brain. His pained expression was enough for Gordon to realise what was going on. "Oh, God," he shook his head, glancing back at the rubble.
"No, Gordon!" Scott grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him round so as they were facing each other. "Don't look," Scott frowned at him.
Gordon looked at the haunted expression on his brother's face and then swallowed, the tears ready and waiting to pool in his eyes, "It's not… it's not him, is it? Tell me it's not."
Scott placed an arm around the younger man's shoulders and began to lead him away. "No," Scott sighed, gently pulling him away from the scene, "No, it's not him."
Gordon let out a heavy sigh, letting his weight sag against Scott's strong frame, "Thank God," he whispered. "Thank God."
"Yeah," Scott swallowed, squeezing Gordon's shoulders in reassurance as they walked towards Alan. He was as thankful as Gordon, even if he wasn't quite as vocal about it, but he was already eyeing the building ahead of them. Planning how to get in, wondering where Virgil might be and what kind of resistance they'd come up against. If John was right then there was one mighty unhappy special agent inside.
"Hey," Gordon mumbled as they walked across the tarmac, "nice coat, by the way."
Trust Gordon. "Thanks," Scott smirked as they came to stand alongside Alan. "Okay," Scott began, "here's the plan. Virgil must be inside that building somewhere but we also know that there are two others with him, either, or both, of which could be hostile. We're going in weapons drawn and I want you two to follow my lead, no heroics right? Virgil's counting on us to get him out of there." Gordon nodded but Alan was still watching the flames of the crashed jet, a calculating frown on his features. "Alan? Are you listening to me?"
"Hmm," the blond haired brother nodded. He gestured to the wreckage in front of them, "What's wrong with this scene?" he asked.
"We don't have time for this!" Scott glowered. "We've got to get to Virgil, now listen!"
"I'm serious!" Alan turned to them, waving his hands towards the remnants of the jet again, "This fire is colossal."
"Yeah well," Scott shrugged but didn't face him, "it's a jet, Alan, it would've had a lot of fu…" he trailed off as he realised what he was about to say wouldn't have made any sense. Turning to his younger brother, realisation dawned.
"Fuel?" Alan cocked an eyebrow. "This jet only had one fuel tank, there's no way it should be burning this quickly, or this aggressively. Unless someone's put some kind of accelerant on it."
Gordon began to nod, "He's right," he looked towards Scott and quickly looked to the collapsed wing and the way the body had been positioned, out of sight. "This rubble is white hot; a normal fire wouldn't get this hot. Someone's trying to cover it up, disposing of the evidence." His words made sense and Scott could see Alan was of the same opinion.
"Tying up loose ends," Alan agreed, remembering the conversation they'd heard. "That's what that guy said, on the recording; he was tying up loose ends."
Scott's eyes widened as he looked between his two younger brothers. They were all thinking the same thing as all three sets of eyes turned to the control tower but no one wanted to voice the thought.
"Let's go," Scott began marching towards the building, Gordon and Alan followed, but they'd only taken a few steps when several loud bangs reached their hearing. "Get down!" Scott and Gordon dove for the floor, recognising the sound immediately, Alan had no such experience, but was pushed to the floor by his oldest brother. The volley of shots lasted only a few moments but was alarming, to say the least.
"What was that?" Alan frowned as he began to sit up.
"Gunfire," Scott and Gordon replied, almost in unison.
"Gunfire?" Alan gulped as he was dragged against the safety of Thunderbird Two's underbelly. "Where the hell from?"
"Good question," Scott responded, pulling out his gun and checking it. Gordon was doing the same. "It sounded muffled to me, Gordy?"
"Yeah, I agree," he nodded. "It's got to be coming from that control tower. There's nowhere else round here for anyone to be."
"We were being shot at?" Alan screeched, still getting over the initial shock.
"No," Gordon responded. "They weren't shooting at us. It was either a warning for us to back off or…." he bit his lip and let his gaze meet Scott's, exchanging thoughts and plans without saying a word.
"Or what?" Alan found himself gulping again at the implication. A little frustrated that he was being kept out of the loop.
"Or it was someone else shooting at…" Scott trailed off, "someone else." He gestured to the building, "We need to get over there," he paused for effect, "now!" He began to move, issuing orders as he went, "Alan, hang back and follow us. Gordon, follow my lead, are you ready?"
With a nod of assent from Gordon, they scurried over to the building as one. Alan was still a little shell-shocked but hurried to keep up with his brothers. His eyes scanned the area as he moved, in a constant state of alertness. His heart thudded against his chest at the thought that more shots could come their way and they were, in effect, running into danger. The thought that Virgil was inside was enough to quell his fear though. Even if the building were full of armed soldiers just waiting to shoot at them, if it meant they'd get Virgil back he'd do it without a second thought.
"John," Alan heard Scott call into his watch, belatedly realising that at some point he'd put a call in to Thunderbird Five. "We're heading to the control tower now, that's where the shots have come from," Scott was continuing, "FAB."
Alan's gaze flicked between his two older brothers as they exchanged urgent hand signals. Gordon broke off and went to the left, whilst Scott gestured for Alan to follow him and headed right.
Alan did as he was told without question, keeping a few steps behind Scott as they made their way round the building. Every so often, he'd watch as Scott stopped and tested the boarded-up windows, seeing if he could gain entry and muttering to himself when he couldn't. After repeating this process a few times, he finally found one with a gap. His fingers had just edged round the hardboard when another torrent of shots rang out. Grabbing the back of Alan's head, he pushed them both to the floor, crouching down underneath the window with their backs against the wall.
"You okay, Kid?" Scott looked at his younger brother's pale features, concerned.
"Fine," Alan gulped.
Scott was raising his watch, halfway through calling Gordon when the redhead beat him to it. "Go ahead, Gordon, are you okay?" Scott kept his voice low, his gun was still drawn and his eyes scanned the area for anything that could be deemed hostile.
"Fine," came Gordon's anxious reply. "Are you?" Scott's nod was enough and he went on. "Those shots were definitely coming from inside here. I've found a doorway that's been kicked in. Can you make your way round here?"
"FAB," Scott nodded again and pulled Alan to his feet as he disconnected the call. "Come on, this way," Scott gestured to the other side of the building and with great caution, they moved.
When they reached Gordon, he was waiting by the opposite side of the door, gun at the ready. Alan could tell, just from the way he stood that he was itching to get inside and give these guys hell. Alan couldn't blame him either. He watched in awe as his older brothers communicated via hand signals and Scott gestured to his eyes, warning them to stay alert. Alan wasn't fluent in understanding the hand signals but managed to grasp that he was supposed to be following both his brothers in, taking up the rear. As Scott and Gordon moved in one fluid motion, side stepping into the building, Alan drew his gun and followed, sweeping their path and praying that no one materialised from the shadows.
The search of the passageway drew blanks; all the rooms were boarded up and locked. Then Alan spotted an open doorway at the very end of the corridor. Nudging Gordon, who was closest, he pushed the door open further, stepping inside and checking that it was clear.
"In here, guys!" Gordon whispered fiercely as he hurried over to the outstretched body in the centre of the room. He whipped a glove off to check for a pulse, just as Scott and Alan stepped into the doorway. Scott darted over to where Gordon was kneeling alongside a pool of blood but Alan took a more contemplative approach, turning his attention to the trail of blood across the floor. He cocked his head to one side and frowned, realising that this man had hauled himself across the floor and concluding that there had to be a good reason why. Looking at the way his body lay perpendicular to the table, Alan concluded that whatever he was trying to reach was hidden by the heavy wooden desk.
"I know this guy!" Scott's gaze met Gordon's. "It's the guy from the center, the fire chief, what was his name… Foster, Matt Foster."
Gordon's gaze passed quickly to the black camouflaged clothes Foster was wearing and then the gun inches from his hand. "I think he was more than the fire chief, Scott." He removed his fingers from the lukewarm skin. "He's dead," he added with a shake of the head.
"Then who shot him?" Scott's cursed. "And where the hell is…"
"Scott!" Scott was interrupted by the shout, though it sounded nothing like his younger brother, the voice was soft and shaky, filled with unease.
"Al?" Scott trailed off as he followed Alan's fixed gaze to behind the table, he moved so as he was stood alongside his brother, seeing exactly what he was seeing. "Oh my God," he muttered, eyes widening as he moved closer, skidding along the floor. "Virgil…"