FOUR
"I'm sorry, Father, there's no sign of them," John admitted reluctantly. "I've checked all radio frequencies; I've had satellite imagery of the scene, I…"he trailed off, at a total loss. "There's just nothing. Their remote beacons are active and I traced them to the danger zone but there are no heat signatures. I also hijacked Thunderbird Two's Ground Penetrating X-Ray scan, there's no evidence of them anywhere." It wasn't necessary to be specific. "It's like they disappeared in to thin air." John paused, unwilling to give his father entirely negative news. "Our nearest Agent, James Ross, is on the way to the scene and Security Forces in Oman are guarding the craft."
Jeff Tracy's brow furrowed in a frown, the craters in his forehead not dissimilar to the surface of the very moon he'd once walked on. "They can't just have disappeared." He looked to John. "Are the craft secure?"
"Yes, sir," John was pleased to offer some positive news. "Remote lock down procedures are working A-OK."
"This is ridiculous," Jeff growled out. "John…" He was interrupted as Gordon entered the room at a jog.
"Dad…." Gordon spied John's virtual presence, "Sorry, John," and turned back to his father. "Line 2; I think it's The Woman… Scott's woman." He gulped. "She asked for you by name." Gordon grimaced as his father's expression darkened at the latest security breach.
"This is Jeff Tracy speaking," Jeff pressed the necessary buttons to put the call on loudspeaker.
"Mr Tracy," a confident British female voice replied. "I'm sure you're aware that two of your operatives have been involved in a situation in the Middle East."
"Who the hell are you?" Jeff Tracy was not a man to mess with, particularly when faced with two sons in an unknown amount of danger and several, possibly fatal breaches of security. He wasn't pulling any punches.
"Unfortunately, I can not disclose that information," came the reply. "I appreciate your position but I give you my word that I am friend, not foe. I am calling out of courtesy to inform you that I'm approximately an hour away from where your operatives are being held and intend to mount a rescue attempt. Please do not take any action at this time."
"And where exactly is that?" Jeff looked up with the intention of instructing John to trace the call but he halted when it became obvious that John already had the task in hand.
"I'm afraid I can't disclose that either," she replied, not at all phased by Jeff's hostile tone. "Give me one good reason why I should trust you."
"Firstly, I did attempt to warn you that would happen. And secondly, I'm confident I know the identities of most, if not all, of your core operatives and I haven't said a word."
"Is that supposed to convince me?"
"I don't need to convince you. You don't have a choice. I'd appreciate your cooperation but it's not essential; I'm closer, my Intelligence is better and more accurate. To put it in basic terms: I'll most probably have completed my mission by the time you can get another team on the ground. As I said, my call is a courtesy, not a request for compliance."
"And if your mission fails?" Jeff awaited an answer with a growing sense of anxiety.
"We'll most probably all die."
"You're prepared to risk the lives of my operatives for…"
"Forgive me for pointing this out, but you risked the lives of your operatives yourself when you disregarded my warning." She paused for breath and when she spoke again her tone had changed from demanding and authoritative, to disdainful. "John, I know you're there. Tracing this call is a waste of your time."
John's head came up sharply.
"Now, hold on a minute, I …" Jeff began.
"I'll be in touch," she spoke over him and the screen lit up with the words 'Call Ended'.
Jeff's head swung around to the feed from Thunderbird Five, his expectant expression barely concealing the rage he felt towards her.
"I'm sorry, Father," John was forced to admit. "She's right, I barely got a fix on the signal long enough to bounce it to enough satellites for a triangulation, I…"
"Plain English, John," Jeff snapped.
"I've got nothing," John confessed.
Jeff's eyes glowed with pure fury and his fist came thundering down on his desk. "Damn it!" He growled. "Who in the hell is this woman?"
X
The sun had set and risen again before anyone disturbed them. Scott and Virgil sat in companionable silence against a cool damp wall, neither truly sleeping but both finding their eyes closing of their own accord on occasion.
"You remember what happened?" Virgil asked, his voice gravelly through lack of use and dust exposure.
Scott looked across at his brother, who hadn't bothered to open his eyes, with a sense they'd already had this conversation. "No," he found himself replying. "Figured maybe we drank too much to start with but that was a good few days ago. I think the last thing I remember was Oman; I was walking back towards Two to talk to you about the clear up. You?"
"Same. I remember seeing you and walking towards you, but then…." Virgil attempted to clear his throat. "Can you taste …" he struggled to put a name to it.
"Melon," Scott provided. "Yeah, I think maybe they drugged us." He frowned again, remembering Virgil saying how he'd never eat melon again after this.
Virgil was rolling his tongue around his mouth and screwing his face up, "This has put me off melon for life."
Scott stared, "Virgil, did you hit your head?"
"Hmm?" Virgil was taken aback by the question. "No, I don't think so. Why?"
Scott shuffled closer to his brother. "Check my pupils."
Virgil slowly complied, opening his own eyes and peering into Scott's, "Equal and reactive; you're fine, Scott."
Without a request to do so, Scott returned the favour. "Must be whatever drug they used on us," he concluded.
Virgil had already come to the same conclusion. "Well, I guess your woman was right." He let his head rest against the wall again, his eyes slipping closed once more. "What now?"
"No weapons, no communicator, no boots …" Scott trailed off. "They even took my belt."
Virgil raised his shirt but didn't bother to open his eyes, "Mine too."
"There aren't any viable exits except through that door," Scott made no effort to hide the frustration in his tone. "I couldn't fit my head through that window even if we managed to lose the bars somehow, and the fact it's an outside wall doesn't really help us."
Virgil let out a sigh and opened his eyes with a renewed interest in the conversation as he moved his leg against the jangling chain at his ankle. "And we're not going anywhere like this." He took the padlock in his hand, not for the first time. "If only it were Tin-Tin I was stuck down here with."
Scott's brow furrowed and he looked at his brother, eyes quizzical and facial muscles tight with astonishment.
"Not like that!" Virgil exclaimed. "I was just thinking…" his eyes gestured to Scott's chest, "you know… something we could pick the lock with."
"Keep those thoughts to yourself." Scott retorted. Virgil was pleased to see the tension in his brother's shoulder relax, even if it was only for a few moments.
"Promise me you won't tell Alan I said that," Virgil groaned out, suddenly realising the potential. The request was an unnecessary distraction; Scott would never betray him to Alan.
"Shh," Scott whispered, any hint of joviality evaporated in a second as his head turned sharply towards the door. "I think someone's coming."
Virgil pulled his head off the wall and sat up a little straighter in time to see a thin, tall man enter the room dressed in loose camouflage fatigues. His dark hair was relatively short and the small beard he sported around his mouth was trimmed neatly. Behind him was a larger man, bald headed and muscular, dresssed in similar clothes but his khaki t-shirt clung tightly to his oversized biceps.
"Gentlemen," the thinner of the two opened his arms in greeting, his mouth forming the curve of a false smile. "Welcome." His accent was thick and although unidentifiable to Scott's untrained ears, he thought it was unlikely to be Russian. "My apologies that your accommodation is … how you say?" The thin man paused to consider for a moment. "Sparse." He took a step towards where Scott and Virgil remained seated on the ground, eyeing them. "It is similar to what I have become used to."
A muscle in Scott's jaw jumped but that was the only indication he'd made the connection as to who this man was.
"Forgive me," he continued. "We have not been introduced, My name is Kasim Tamplar," he bowed his head a little, in some kind of greeting. "I am the man you robbed of several thousand teppa." He rubbed his finger and thumb in a well-recognised symbol of money. "And, I am the man," Kasim placed his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels, a smirk of glee lighting up his eyes, "to which you will tell the secrets of International Rescue."
Scott snorted, "You think we're going to tell you anything?"
Kasim's smirk widened even further, "Not willingly," he shrugged, "But where is the fun in that?"
"We're just pilots," Scott replied, hoping his voice was level. "We don't know the kind of information you want."
"Hmm…" Kasim moved to stand in front of Virgil, still studying him. Scott scrutinised his every movement, trying to deduce what he was thinking and he had a sinking feeling what was coming next.
After a few moments of contemplative silence Kasim moved away to stand alongside the unidentified male in the room. "This one is the dominant one," he pointed to Scott and narrowed his eyes when Scott met his gaze. "Aban, you will make sure this one," he pointed to Virgil, "is interrogated first."
'Aban' nodded his compliance but did not move or speak.
Scott took in a breath, given the conversations he and Virgil had been having prior to this incident, he hoped his next words would not cause more damage than they'd prevent. "He's just a pilot, he doesn't know anything."
Kasim turned to him and gave him the same predatory look he'd given Virgil. "And you? You do?"
Scott nodded once, trying to appear unwilling yet a little relieved that Kasim was playing into his hands. He'd do anything to spare Virgil the experience of torture. "I'm the Field Commander."
"I can see that," Kasim sneered. "I can see that you wish to protect him. An admirable quality in any leader," he agreed. "But there are many ways to torture people, Commander," he patronised, "not just the physical kind." Scott's heart skipped a beat and any hopes of controlling this situation were dashed as Kasim turned back to Aban. "Make sure you do not take him too far away, I want this one," he gestured to Scott, "to hear his screams."
Once again, Aban nodded but gave nothing else away.
"I want to know as soon as the Colonel arrives," Kasim told Aban as they both turned to exit the cell. "You have done well Aban, these are most pleasing assets, you will be rewarded…" their conversation tailed off as the door was shut and bolted again.
Scott looked to Virgil, noting that his brothers' complexion appeared a shade whiter.
X
Total silence was not a stranger to the Tracy Villa Lounge, particularly during any tense rescue operation. This kind of total silence however, was unnerving. It hung heavily in the room, overbearing for its occupants.
The bleeping of an incoming call was a welcome interruption.
No-one quite hid the disappointment however, that it was not Scott's or Virgil's portraits flashing the incoming signal, but Penelope's.
"Go ahead, England," Jeff's deep tone rumbled across the airwaves, carrying every bit of tension the air held. "Penny," he greeted once her real time image appeared, "tell me you have some kind of news." It wasn't a request so much as an order from the very depths of his shattering heart.
"I do, Jeff," The blonde aristocrat nodded ever so slightly, "but I'm afraid it's rather convoluted."
"Go on," Jeff encouraged, aware that she'd got the attention of the whole family.
"I'm sorry I couldn't take your call earlier, I was otherwise engaged in a rather interesting conversation with a contact at Thames House." Her image rose and fell slightly in the frame of the picture, signifying the fact they were travelling at speed.
"British Secret Service Headquarters," Tin-Tin whispered.
"It would appear that Kasim Tamplar has walked out of a high security prison in Luxembourg and is now unlawfully at large," Penelope's voice hardly matched the gravitas of that statement. "The information is not in the public domain yet but I'm afraid I must report that his current whereabouts is unknown."
"Walked out?" Jeff's boomed as the other occupants of Tracy Island looked at one another in astonishment. "What exactly do you mean walked out, Penelope?"
"It was a highly sophisticated operation," Penelope expanded. "The details are sketchy at best but it would appear that Tamplar was due to attend some form of pre-trial hearing at the International Criminal Court. The transport was ambushed in a very well executed manoeuvre by a small group of unidentified armed men. Tamplar has always previously used mercenaries as his muscle, so to speak. His inner circle is insignificant and certainly not capable of organising this kind of advanced approach. In my experience the kind of synchronicity necessary to be successful in an operation like this, is not attained by mercenaries who are used to working alone." She paused to let that sentence sink in. "In fact, I would hazard a guess that whoever was responsible for assisting Mr Tamplar's escape was very well versed in such tactics," she added.
"The woman said he'd offered our secrets to the Russians for asylum," Gordon remembered. "Is it possible they could be behind this, Penny?"
"With the level of expertise required to execute an operation like that, and as flawlessly as it was carried out too," Penelope nodded. She glanced purposely at Jeff but was unprepared to commit. "It's a possibility. I must admit though, the Russians are renowned for their… crude approach," she tried to be tactful. "This was almost too smooth, even for them."
"Wow," John let out a deep breath. "So much for International Rescue being an a political organisation."
"Speaking of politics," Penelope continued, ready to deliver her next blow. "I've been in touch with a few contacts and Thames House seems to believe there's rumour that the World Security Council were complicit in Tamplar's escape."
"Complicit?" Jeff was aghast. "What exactly are you saying Penelope?"
"Well there's nothing concrete, or confirmed which I find suspicious in itself," another meaningful glance shot in Jeff's direction. "I must stress this is only a rumour. None of my WSC sources have been in contact therefore I have nothing to corroborate any of this. Apparently," Penelope was jolted as FAB1 hit something and she reached for the front seat to steady herself. In the back ground, Parker could be heard mumbling his apologies. "Apparently," she repeated, "there are rumours that the WSC were aware of the plans to ambush the vehicle, but chose not to intervene. Allegedly, they have an operative under deep cover and they believe Kasim Tamplar would be more productive as an Intelligence Asset."
Jeff's expression darkened like the gloomy daylight just before a thunderstorm, "You mean to tell me that they knew this was going to happen and they did nothing?" The pitch of his voice was rising. "They think he'd be safer running around the world taking my sons hostage than in a prison cell?"
"There's nothing to connect Tamplar to Virgil and Scott's disappearance as yet, Jeff," Penelope vocalised, calm as ever. "I agree it's highly probable and I'd bet at least one of my Caribbean holiday homes that he's behind it, but for now, the evidence is all circumstantial."
"Penny's right, Father," Gordon added, reluctance in his tone but he hoped his influence was a calming one. The last thing they needed now was their father having a coronary too. "We only know they're involved in a situation from the woman, and we don't even know that's true."
"Everything she said is turning out to be right so far," Alan reasoned. Tin-Tin nodded in agreement, but was distracted by a ping from the lab on her hand held computer system.
"Am I to presume your contact with your ex-colleagues in the Air Force were not fruitful?" Penelope had worked alongside Jeff Tracy for long enough to recognise 'The Look'. "I see." She didn't press him any further.
"It would appear the American President already has contingency plans in place for this kind of situation," Jeff insisted, determined to expand despite Penelope's apparent satisfaction that there were no further avenues to explore. "The majority of the civilised world has signed a Treaty basically putting an embargo on any action they might take independent of the World Security Council."
Penelope's perfectly trimmed eyebrows narrowed, "Surely each Head of State then would lose absolute authority over their own counties and be reliant on the WSC for direction."
Jeff heaved a sigh, "Apparently, there's some legal loop-hole that allows them to 'interpret' this in correspondence with their own legal systems but essentially, in practice, it's an embargo on independent action to ensure that the world acts as one." He shrugged. "I can see the logic behind it, even if I don't agree on this occasion."
"So that brings us back to the WSC," John pointed out. "And being totally reliant on them."
"Penelope, what are the chances of the WSC's 'deep cover operative' and the woman being one and the same?" Jeff was doing his best to piece together what few parts of the jigsaw they had.
"I've already left messages for my contacts at the WSC to get in touch, but no-one's got back to me yet," Penelope replied. "I'm trying to get a few more details about their agent; we may be able to identify her from that." She raised a large, bound file and placed it in her lap, visible to the feed. "This is Tamplar's Security File held at Thames House," she said as if its very presence was a great achievement. "I couldn't get an electronic copy. Any kind of electronic trail would have compromised my source so I'm afraid I'm doing it the old fashioned way. I intend to get a little light reading in en route to Oman."
Jeff was about to vocalise his agreement when Tin-Tin drew his attention.
"Mr Tracy," she called out. Her eyes didn't move from the screen in front of her but were sweeping from left to right, reading the contents as quickly as possible. "Brains is in the lab doing some background research on Tamplar. He's just sent me some reports from the initial investigation into the death of Sergei Vladisgov. The bullet that killed him was a …" she paused to read the exact phrase, "Titanium Ithanol Turning Round. These were tested eighteen months ago in Germany and declared unlawful for use due to them being inhumane. It says here," she used a polished finger to find the exact place on the screen, "As they enter the body, the cap of the bullet is removed to reveal a twisted frame with spring bound harpoon-like attachments." Tin-Tin looked around the rooms occupants, her face morphed in disgust. "They look like a drill bit with razor blades attached."
"I recall that," Penelope was flicking through the file in front of her, hustling pages to get to something in particular. "Two hundred thousand were produced with only one hundred thousand being tested but I thought the World Security Council were responsible for overseeing that procedure. The bullets were so destructive they called an end to the testing."
"That's right," Tin-Tin picked the thread up. "The other hundred thousand remaining were supposed to have been destroyed."
"Wasn't Arms dealing one of Tamplar's charges?" Jeff frowned.
"Yes," Penelope nodded, still searching through the paperwork. "Here," she mirrored Tin-Tin's actions a few moments earlier, reading rapidly. "A well-known Swiss Arms Dealer was found in possession of some twenty thousand rounds when entering Lithuania. He told authorities they'd been sold to him by Tamplar." Penelope silently skimmed the rest of the report. "He committed suicide under suspicious circumstances whilst he was awaiting trial. His cell mate was an associate of Tamplar."
"This keeps getting better and better," John's tone expressed both his disgust and his rising anxiety. "And we think this guy's got Scott and Virgil, what? Hostage? So should we be expecting some kind of demand?"
"Oh, my," Tin-Tin raised a hand to her mouth. "It says here that the spies killed in France and Spain were all tortured to death, some of these…" she trailed off, clearly distressed by what she was reading.
Gordon leaned over and removed the computer from her grasp without resistance. "Evidence of asphyxiation through water boarding, electrocution, targeted bone breaking," he scrolled through, "removal of eyes and fingernails, genital mutilation, evidence of sexual violence …."
Tin-Tin left the room.
Alan watched her go and looked to his father, grateful when he nodded his assent to Alan following.
Gordon briefly paused, realising the upset. Although he knew Penelope was made of tough stuff, he felt duty bound to apologise, "Sorry, Penny, I probably shouldn't have read that aloud."
"Nothing I haven't heard or seen already, Gordon," Penelope replied sadly. "No need to apologise."
Jeff's head hung. He knew he shouldn't dwell on those words. He knew he couldn't dwell on them. But they rattled around in his head like someone had shot several ping pong balls into an enclosed space at high velocity.
Composing himself, he took control.
"Penelope, can you follow up with your sources? I want to know who this woman is and whether she's the operative the WSC have under cover." He saw Penelope open her mouth to intervene. "Allegedly have under cover," he corrected himself, offering her some assurance that he understood her suspicions. "Gordon, ready Tracy One for flight. I want Tin-Tin to fly you over to Tehbna,. You can parachute in without her having to land. Take Alan with you." He could see John had something to say and quickly added, "At least we'll have someone on the ground then and you might be able to find something out about what happened down there."
"Father," John spoke up. "The woman advised us not do anything, that her operation would be over by the time we landed."
"Yes she did," Jeff replied, forced patience in every line of his face. "I've got no evidence what her motives are and, yes I know she tried to warn us, but for all I know her involvement could be part of their plan. She also admitted to me that if she failed, Scott and Virgil would die with her. I'm not content to just sit back and let that happen." He paused for a mere second. "John, get on to the authorities in Tehbna and tell them we appreciate them guarding the craft but that we'll have personnel on the ground to take over within twenty four hours." John nodded his head. "Keep alert. Someone somewhere must know something. And…" he hesitated, "and there may be demands of some kind."
"Yes, sir," John replied. "Thunderbird Five, out."
Gordon rose from his seat, "I'll find the others," he offered as he left the room.
As the occupants all filtered away, Jeff continued to keep the feed open with FAB1.
"I don't like this, Jeff," Penelope commented only when they were alone. "I cannot believe the WSC would put the integrity or good relations they've taken years to build, at risk like this. Especially, based on the word of a man like Kasim Tamplar."
"I agree with you, Penny," Jeff's tone spoke of his sadness. "And I hate to say this, but we don't live in a world where integrity and good relations count for much, anymore."
"Jeff," Penelope pressed her point. "In my little pink book, I have several Gatekeepers, each of which run tens of sources in multiple countries and all of them, bar one, know nothing about this," her blond hair shook in time with her head. "I am concerned there is much more to this than meets the eye. If only the WSC would get back to me…." She trailed off, letting out a ladylike sigh. When she looked up at Jeff again, she caught his eyes and hoped to convey some sincerity, "I understand this is an emotive operation for you, Jeff, but as your friend and your most trusted advisor, I would counsel caution."
Jeff heaved a heavy sigh of his own and sat back in his chair, "I appreciate what you're saying, Penelope, but we're not talking about some unquantified, unknown prisoner of war here. They're not soldiers, they're not just American citizens, they're my sons."
As he looked directly at her, Penelope could see just how much this situation was already taking its toll. "Oh, Jeff, I do wish I could be there to support you in person, but you understand I can be of more use here."
"Of course," Jeff agreed. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Penelope noted his slumped shoulders and the way he removed his spectacles and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "Try not to worry, Scott is a very resourceful young man and Virgil is one of the strongest I know."
"Gordon wanted to double crew," Jeff admitted, reminding himself that a good man acknowledges a bad decision.
"Jeff," Penelope adopted a soft tone which she hoped was reassuring but equally as firm. "As you and I both know, you haven't the resources to double crew all the time. Gordon was still exhausted from the Mid Atlantic Ridge Rescue yesterday, and Alan and Tin-Tin were still the wrong side of the stratosphere from a supply run to Thunderbird Five."
"Virgil wanted to just take Two to the danger zone," Jeff continued to explain. "If we'd done that at least we'd have been able to take One to the scene now. It's going to take hours before we can even get another team on the ground."
"And, on arrival, didn't Scott fire a wall of steel prongs to prevent a rock fall?" Penelope pointed out, distracted as her mobile telephone began to play a tune. "I would think that saved many lives prior to Thunderbird Two even arriving on the scene."
Jeff nodded his head. "You're right, Penny, I just…" he trailed off, bone weary of analysing the impact of this war.
"There are no answers, Jeff," Penelope replied. "No right or wrong, only an opinion on what is." She picked up the telephone. "I'm so sorry, but I really must take this. It might be pertinent."
"Of course, Penny," Jeff agreed. "Keep me informed."
"Will do," Penelope hurried to reply. "England, out."
Jeff Tracy found himself alone in the Tracy Island Villa.
Total silence descended once more. Times like this, he really missed his mother.
XxxxX
Scott gritted his teeth at the continuous strum of Virgil's fingers against his thigh. Despite his purposeful glares at the offending and monotonous movement, and even an aggravated sigh, Virgil was clearly too deep in thought to pick up on the hints.
Finally, Scott could stand it no longer. "You okay?"
He thought his voice was soft but against the stark silence, bar Virgil's drumming, and the unfurnished walls, he actually sounded quite loud.
And irritated.
Virgil jumped at the sudden noise, eyes flicking to the door, startled. "Me?" he replied. Scott didn't answer, although he felt like offering up a sarcastic response about who else he could have been addressing. "I'm fine," Virgil tried to sound his usual calm, rational self. He knew he'd failed; he sounded anxious and defensive but in the face of Scott's tone he had no intention of apologising for that. "You?" he queried.
"I'm fine," Scott clarified. "Sweaty and hungry, just like you," he admitted. "But I'm not the one giving myself repetitive strain injury," he inclined his head towards where Virgil's fingers were continuing their merry jig.
Virgil followed his gaze, realising what he was doing. "Sorry, Scott," he apologised and made an effort to stop himself by moving his hands to under his thighs.
"Come on, Virgil, what's the matter with you?" Scott encouraged. "You're the poster boy for rock-solid, remember?"
Virgil scoffed at the description. "John was right," he turned to look at Scott. "This isn't what I signed up for. We're supposed to be a rescue organisation, not a militia."
"We talked about this," Scott replied.
"Yeah, and this kind of validates my point." Virgil shook his head. "I'm not a solider, Scott."
"You're stronger than a lot of the soldiers I know," Scott told him sternly, "Physically and mentally."
Virgil grimaced. "It's a different kind of strength. Sure… tell me to channel under a collapsing building and I'm fine with that, or to drive a truck while a crashing plane tries to land on the roof…. I'm good. But this? This is exactly what I've been dreading." He took in a deep breath, allowing his chest to expand as far as it would go before letting the air out slowly in an effort to sooth his agitation.
"I know," Scott acknowledged softly. "But it's all about what's going on up here," he tapped his temple. "Positive mental attitude: whether you think you can or you think you can't. You're right." He could see Virgil wasn't convinced. "It's all about confidence. Rescue victims rely on you to be strong and pretend to know what you're doing even if you don't and that's exactly what you need to do in there. All you have to do is pretend." Scott wasn't sure if his words were having an effect.
"Yeah," Virgil tried to compose himself. "We've been in situations a hell of a lot worse than this and come out of them." He looked to Scott, seeking reassurance: "Right?"
"Right," Scott agreed without hesitation. "Good man."
A few moments passed but Scott purposely didn't speak. He could see there was more to come and so he gave Virgil the time to build up momentum.
"What if I tell them something?" Virgil finally vocalised the thoughts he'd been stewing on.
"You won't," Scott replied confident as ever.
"What if I do?" Virgil persisted. "What if I'm the one to spill the secrets of International Rescue to one of the biggest Terrorists out there?"
"Come on, Virgil," Scott tried to stay calm; he couldn't think of a time in their adult lives when Virgil had ever appeared to be this negative. It was unsettling. Maybe he'd underestimated the strength of his brother's feelings on the subject of war. "You can handle this."
"I can." It was more a question than a statement.
"Yes." Scott replied firmly. "You can. You're the guy that tunnels under burning buildings and drives elevator cars underneath landing planes. You were right there at the front of the queue when they handed out nerves of steel. If you weren't so damned good, I'd fire you for the way you scare the hell out of me sometimes," Scott tried to jest and appear relaxed on the outside but he could feel his own anxieties surfacing at how this conversation was progressing. He tempered himself down. "Just remember what Penelope told you, focus…"
"…on a spot on the wall and let my mind drift," Virgil finished for him. "I know, but what if I lose focus?"
"Let your mind go anywhere you want," Scott suggested. "Paint a picture or imagine yourself composing a tune." He ran a hand over his face and Virgil suddenly had a very clear picture of the stress his older brother was under. "We don't have time to worry about this right now," he met his brother's eyes. "You're stronger than this." He took in a deep breath. "Look, it's just like a rescue. How many times have we worked against the odds? Come out on top through sheer determination? Purely because we believed that we could. Huh? I need you to do that now. Okay?"
"Okay, Scott," Virgil sounded his usual calm self and was nodding. Realisation came that it was perhaps a little selfish to lay all this at Scott's door. He tried to take the positives and reassure himself that surviving the next few hours was even possible.
"I wish they'd damned well get on with it."
"That's the idea," Scott knew he didn't need to explain this his brother, a man of excellent intellect, but it filled the silence and there was a part of him that worried Virgil wasn't exactly thinking straight. "It's all a game to them, this is a tactic. Anticipating what's going to happen, letting it get to you," he looked across at Virgil directly. "This is what they want."
"Of course it is," Virgil agreed. He knew that. "Have you ever noticed that Penelope has perfect teeth?"
Scott frowned at the abstract sentence. "What?"
Virgil knew he'd heard. "She's a got a filling, right here," he raised a hand towards the back of his jaw on the right. "I noticed it after Anderbad." Scott suddenly had a sinking feeling where this was going. "She told me it wasn't a filling at all, it was a synthetic tooth filled with cyanide. Apparently, she'd discussed us having them when International Rescue started but Dad vetoed the idea, he thought it was overkill."
Scott listened, surprised that he hadn't been made aware of this during International Rescue's conception. He wondered what else Penelope had discussed with their father without him.
"I'm kind of thinking right now," Virgil continued, oblivious to Scott's apprehensive stare. "I'd be biting down pretty hard if I had a cyanide filled tooth." He heaved a heavy sigh, part exhaustion and part tension, "I'd rather die than spill International Rescue's guts.
"Don't …. " Scott offered some rational thought with a shrug. "Realistically, whatever happens in there, it doesn't matter." Virgil looked up at him questioning that statement with his eyes. "The woman has proved that information about International Rescue is already in the public domain. It's only a matter of time now. It's not worth dying over when the writing's already on the wall."
"We don't know that," Virgil qualified. "The woman might know but that doesn't mean she's told anyone. You were right; we should have listened to her."
"Yeah," Scott sighed. "We should have."
They were both so involved in the conversation that the door opening took them both by surprise. Kasim Templar walked in, closely followed by Aban and then another figure. Dressed in khaki fatigues like the others, but this one was different, more rounded and feminine. Sure enough, underneath the flat cap dark brunette wisps of hair were fanning out.
Virgil's attention was immediately drawn to her chocolate eyes; there was something familiar about them.
"Gentlemen," Kasim greeted them as if they were joining him at a dinner party. "Allow me to introduce the Colonel, the best interrogator I have ever had the pleasure to do business with." He eyed her in admiration that was not of the professional kind. "And I do like to mix pleasure with business," he leered.
Scott let out a short burst of patronising laughter as he got to his feet. He saw from the corner of his eye that Virgil, who remained seated, was looking at him as if he was insane. "A woman?" he grinned. "Your interrogator is a woman?"
It had the desired effect and hit a nerve for Kasim, who responded aggressively, "Do not underestimate her. It was nearly my downfall three years ago," he growled out, a finger raised at Scott, his lips pulling in to a sneer. "But I turned her to my advantage." He realised how his façade of control had slipped and like the flicking of a switch, his temper was pushed back.
Scott glared at him but said nothing, satisfied that he could relight he ignition if necessary. Kasim turned to the Colonel, finished with the conversation.
"You will take this one first," he pointed to Virgil. "This one," he raised a hand towards Scott, "attempts to distract me from him."
The Colonel inclined her head in a gesture of compliance.
"Aban will ensure my men available to you in any way you require," Kasim told her as he turned to leave. "Aban!" he nodded sharply towards the Colonel and Aban stepped closer to Virgil.
"That won't be necessary."
The accent was crisp. British. Like Penelope's.
"I would like to conduct a pre-interrogation study before we commence."
Scott's eyes rotated in their sockets towards her, widening as he reconciled what his eyes and his ears were telling him. Recognition was causing the proverbial bell not just to ring but pound out loud and clear.
Virgil was, as usual, on the same wavelength.
"Is that…" his murmur trailed off, as the other men exited the room, leaving only Scott, Virgil and the woman.
"Yes," Scott's whisper came back, more from disbelief than a need to be particularly quiet.
The door to the cell closed and the woman turned to face them both, her expression darkening with what could easily have been anger or exasperation, or maybe even both.
"Are you deaf?" She hissed out as she strode towards them, aiming her words at Scott. "Or just down-right bloody stupid?"