I do not own the Thunderbirds. I do not own the Thunderbirds. I do not own the Thunderbirds.
Chapter Three – Under the Gun
"Alan!" The screamed name came from four voices. Even when the eighteen-year-old raised his head, obviously physically unharmed, the table remained alarmed. Blood had splattered across his white shirt and some had even landed on his face. Wide blue eyes sought out his father, fiancée and friend, seeking the strength he had always drawn from them. A moan to his left drew his attention.
"Coach Michaels!" Alan grabbed his coach's shoulders and pulled him into a seated position. Pulling off his necktie, Alan quickly wrapped it around the wound in the man's shoulder. Watching as the young man tied of the improvised bandage, Michaels looked him over.
"Any of that blood yours?"
"No sir," Alan said quietly. "I believe it is the headmaster's. Or it was his."
Michaels hated to do it, but looked over to see the headmaster's remains. The bullets – one of which had hit him in the right shoulder – had mainly ended up in the headmaster's body. The man was clearly dead.
Suddenly one of the gunmen jumped up on stage. Grabbing Alan by the arm, he yanked him up, pointing a gun at the boy's head. "OK, we have shown we are not afraid to spill blood. Now, we are not expecting any heroes here, are we?" With that he gave a vicious shove of the semi-automatic pistol into the back of Alan's head. Jeff made to move forward only to have both Brains and Tin-Tin grab his arms. Drawing in a deep breath, Jeff relaxed his body if not his mind. The sight of the gun pointed at his baby boy's head not only brought out a father's fears, but drew out suppressed nightmares of other times; times when Alan's life had been in the hands of a madman with a gun.
The head of the board of trustees drew the attention of the gunman when he spoke up. "What do you want?"
"Money, which does make the world go round, hmm?"
The trustee looked at the masked man with disgust. "So this is a robbery? You want our watches and our wallets."
"You think small little man. I am sure I could get thousands of dollars in cash by emptying out the wallets here. And the jewelry would fetch an impressive sum, but the risk of getting caught, with so much distinctive or one of kind pieces… Just not worth it. However, we have some of the wealthiest families in America, if not the world, represented here today. And I have this." The killer raised his free hand to show a lap top case. "And as any good FBI agent could tell you, a good criminal can steal more with a laptop than a gun any day. As my friends separate you from your precious children, the fine young men who clearly represent the best and the brightest that will be launched upon the world, the family members will line up, give us financial information and ransom their offspring back. And please be aware, I have researched you all carefully. I know what you can afford to pay. Failure to cooperate will guarantee that you will not be watching your son graduate tomorrow, planning his future. You will be planning his funeral, he will have no future." He moved forward; pushing Alan in front of him, part of the teen's collar caught in the same fist that clutched the weapon to the base of his skull.
"Since I am aware that so many of you hold this young man in such high esteem, he will remain with me as you line up to make your payments to our retirement fund. And you, Mr. Jefferson Tracy, will be the final donor. I have heard it said there is nothing you would not do for your sons, and here is your baby boy. The one who is such an eerie reminder of your dead wife, the love of your life, wasn't she? You have nearly lost him how many times in the last few years? That nasty bout of MRSA, the fire in the hotel, the fire in the woods, the incident with that poor man in New York, the one you traumatized?"
Jeff glared at the fiend holding his son hostage. "If you are referring to Jackson Mitchell, the man was a traitor, prepared to sell out both his employer and this country. Then he kidnapped and terrorized a fifteen-year-old boy. Even at his trial, he tried to harm Alan again, just to get to me. He was a monster."
"So you set your hired gun on him once more." Alan's captor spat out. "No mercy if you cross a Tracy."
Raising his chin, Jeff countered. "Kate did what she felt she had to in order to save Alan and Scott. The authorities cleared her."
"Yeah, while we are in here, I am the authority. And" he sneered, pulling Alan's head back, after placing the laptop on an empty table, "I agree with the Tracys on one idea. Family should be everything." Jamming the pistol up under Alan's chin, actually cutting the skin slightly with the force of his gesture, the terrorist continued to glare at the Tracys. "So, just for your knowledge: Jackson Mitchell was my brother."
a/n - as Alan might say, Oh, schmitt. or something like that... So, do I have your attention yet or what?