CHAPTER SEVEN

Virgil's return to the land of the living was disappointing to say the least. He bit his dry lips together and attempted to swallow; the outcome was no different to the result he'd had earlier. Lack of saliva and dry air combined to give the feeling of sand down his throat and tentacles lining the insides of his mouth.

"Hey," Scott spied the movement. "How do you feel?"

Virgil groaned, taking in a deep breath only exacerbated the drought in his throat. "Not a dream," he grumbled.

"No," Scott confirmed. "Not a dream. Not even a nightmare."

Virgil made no comment.

"You okay?" Scott asked again, clearly concerned. "How's the muscle spasm?"

"I'm fine," Virgil held out his hand, a little steadier than before. He knew that whilst he was dozing away, Scott would have been brooding on their situation, helpless to do much else. "How long was I asleep?"

Scott shrugged. "No idea. Couple of hours maybe? You sure needed it." Virgil could feel his brother watching him, probably trying to gauge how to proceed.

"I err," Virgil looked directly to Scott. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

Scott shook his head in an act of dismissal, "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard. I know this isn't easy for you."

"You need to know. I understand that. I was just…" Virgil struggled to finish the sentence, as if his next words were a confession. "She only did it once, Scott. I don't know how anyone could withstand that over a prolonged period, I …. I don't think I could do it again."

"You won't have to," Scott assured him. "They'll take me next."

"We don't know that."

"Sure we do," Scott tried to sound sure in the face of Virgil's unease. "One of the guards said."

"Don't underestimate her, Scott." Virgil felt suddenly alarmed at Scott's casual approach to this prospect. "And don't goad her either, I know what you're doing and so does she. It's not working."

Scott played his best innocent face, "What?"

"You're goading her because you think you're distracting her from me but all your doing is drawing her attention to the fact that you're protecting me." Virgil heaved out a heavy sigh. "That I'm the one they can use as leverage, that I'm the weak link."

"It doesn't make you weak," Scott was quick to respond.

"No?"

"I've had training for this kind of thing," Scott spoke softly and Virgil went to interrupt but his brother hurried to speak before he had the chance. "Much more in-depth training than Penelope provided. Just like you're trained to be an engineer and if we were talking about …." Scott picked something at random from a conversation he'd overheard between Virgil and Brains recently, "… ply separation or metallurgical factors, then I'd be the weak link."

"You're quite capable of understanding electrochemical corrosion rates."

"You know what I'm saying."

Virgil realised he wasn't going to win. "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"I'll be fine," Scott side stepped the request.

Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose. "If we're going to get out of here, we need you in one piece." He looked Scott in the eye once more. "Don't provoke her."

Scott wouldn't commit.

"Scott…." Virgil shifted slightly and then hissed as the tight skin around his elbows became painful.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not much," Virgil was examining the small circular burns on the inside of his elbows; red and angry on the outside, turning pinker towards the middle and then white in the centre.

"I've had a look, there's a little blistering on your feet," Scott eyed the injury too. "Can I do anything?"

"Promise me you'll do what she says," Virgil requested. "She is trying, we just have to give her some time."

"Is that what she told you?" Scott wasn't convinced and his thoughts were turning back towards strategy. "What else did she say?"

"Only that she's working on getting us out," Virgil relayed. "It's not going to be easy though, and I get the impression she's mighty sore we didn't take her warning more seriously."

"Yeah," Scott ran a hand through his hair. "I'm getting that too."

"She told me more than once how she couldn't blow her cover to get us out but that she's working on it," Virgil went on. "We just have to be patient and hold out a little longer."

"Hmm…" Scott clearly wasn't convinced. "And a little longer, and a little longer. This could be a tactical approach, you realise that?" He didn't wait for an answer. "She could be making a play to gain out trust before she really turns on the heat."

"So why warn us ten days before?" Virgil sounded as if the very thought shattered him.

"All part of the plan," Scott discounted that as evidence of her trustworthiness. "What better way to gain our trust than by warning us exactly what was going to happen and then pretending to be 'helping us'."

"Scott, I think you're being a little paranoid," Virgil generally wouldn't have been so blunt but he was exhausted and his mouth to brain relay perhaps wasn't functioning at optimum.

"Virgil," Scott's response didn't carry the frustration Virgil expected. "We need to be paranoid. That's precisely the point she made inside the Mole that day; we are far too trusting."

"Maybe," Virgil had to agree to that. "But after she left the Mole, we could have upgraded all our security systems. Hell, we could have closed down operations completely until we'd put her advice in to practice. She couldn't possibly have known whether we had or hadn't done that." He raised his shoulders in a shrug.

"There was media coverage of the Mid Atlantic Ridge Rescue the night before," Scott answered. "The world knew International Rescue was still operational."

"Even so," Virgil replied. "When she first entered this room, I think she was genuinely angry that we were here."

"You really believe her don't you?" It was a statement. He was already aware from Virgil's tone of voice and the lack of analytical input to his version of events. "Even though there's a possibility that all this," he waved his hand around the room, "could be part of her plan."

"I don't think there's an alternative, Scott. Right now, we have to believe in her because she's all we've got," Virgil's reply came. "Our communicators are gone," he raised his wrist to prove it, "John will have no means of tracking us, or even knowing if we're alive. We've already established we don't remember what happened. Dad's going to be having a coronary by now. We don't even know for sure the craft are secure."

Scott shook his head. "The craft have to be secure; the new lockdown procedures were installed and even if they didn't trigger automatically, which we have no reason to believe they didn't, John will have activated them."

"We can't be sure."

"You think Templar would be torturing us for information if he had his hands on One? Nah, he'd hurt one of us until the other granted him access. Then he'd have killed the both of us."

Scott's eyes slid to his brother for a moment, trying to gauge Virgil's reaction to that concept.

"Great." Virgil lowered his head a little and let out a bitter laugh. "That's a reassuring thought." He paused for a few minutes. "Just how extensive do you think this attack is?"

"Huh?"

"I mean … he got to us. I was thinking, what's to stop him getting to John? Or, Penelope? Or, even home?"

"I doubt it," Scott was the voice of reason. "He's not smart enough. Besides that, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from gloating. No, I think it's just me and you, buddy."

"I sure hope so, I don't even want to think about any of the others stuck here." The comment sparked another thought in Virgil, "Do you even have any idea where we are?"

"Desert." It was clear Scott had given it a lot of thought with all the time he'd found on his hands. "Air's dry and humid, and the last time we went head to head with Templar, it was the Sahara Desert."

Virgil ran a hand along the concrete floor and then raised it palm up, "Sand." He provided further evidence.

"Other than that, no, I guess not. We have no idea how long we were out, how long we travelled…"

"If we travelled…"

"If we travelled," Scott acknowledged. "That window," he pointed to the tiny barred opening high on the wall, "Doesn't tell us much. It's too small to even give any decent shadows, we can't even guess..."

The sound of footsteps and hushed conversation in foreign tongue brought their conversation to a halt. The tinny sound of a key rattling in the lock and then metal bolts being retracted was the pre-cursors to the door being opened. The Colonel entered, one hand raised to the guards at the door, preventing them from following. She gestured for them to wait outside and the door was closed.

"How are you?"

The question was aimed at Virgil.

The response came from Scott. Now on his feet, shoulders squared in an act of hostility.

"He'd be a hell of a lot better if you hadn't forced thousands of volts of electricity through his body. You could have eased off a little."

"Eased off? Eased off!" The Colonel was aghast. "I did … ease off; the voltage wouldn't have gone any lower if I tried and I only discharged it once. I didn't even use all the electrodes!"

"Oh, well, thanks. Is that supposed to make us trust you? Huh?" Scott hissed. "Make us think this good cop, bad cop thing isn't all part of your plan?"

"You doubt my loyalties? After all I've done..."

"Doubting the loyalties of a mole isn't exactly a leap of logic."

"Don't you dare take that tone with me!" She growled, eyes dancing with the same malice Virgil had seen previously, her shoulders squaring to give a formidable pose; a mirror image of Scott's. Virgil could see they were both used to being in control and neither were familiar with the concept of being challenged in this way. "I'm doing everything I can to assist you."

"You have keys to the door," Scott rebuked. "If you were doing everything you could to assist us, we wouldn't be here!"

"If you'd listened to me in the first place, you wouldn't be here!" The Colonel took a step closer to Scott. Her eyes blazed. "You're the commander," she raised a pointed finger squarely at Scott's chest. "Your poor judgement. Your poor risk management. Your ultimate responsibility. I would remind you that being in command isn't just about barking orders, it's about protecting your assets! Your technology," she nodded her head in Virgil's direction, "and your team!"

"Don't…" Scott attempted to interrupt but didn't get the opportunity to complete the sentence.

"You're responsible for this! I warned you this would happen. I even told you what you needed to do!" She was becoming more and more irate. "So if you want to start apportioning blame, take a long hard look in the mirror first!"

Scott's mouth opened but there was a second of hesitation there that suggested to Virgil this wasn't the first time those thoughts had crossed his brother's mind.

"You'd do well to remember that I am under no obligation to save your lives, I've already done my part in trying to prevent this so my conscience is clear." The Colonel paced in front him, walking a stride away as if she thought she should let the matter drop but then changing her mind. "If I walk away from you right now, Aban will kill you. Make no mistake about that. If he can't extract the information he wants, he'll kill you," she repeated. "If he can, he'll kill you anyway." Her eyes were dark. "And International Rescue will be over! The war will be over!" she exclaimed. "The only thing standing between you and him right now, is me so if you want to get out of here alive and International Rescue to continue, you will do what I say, when I say, how I say. Is that clear?"

Scott held her gaze, glaring back. Neither prepared to back down.

"Is .. that … clear?" she repeated the words.

Before either had time to speak again, the door was pushed open and Aban strolled in.

"Problem, Colonel?" He asked with his heavy accent.

"No," Her reply came as she slammed her knee into Scott's groin, "The mouthy one just needs putting his place."

Scott doubled over, holding the aforementioned area and hoping the pain would subside enough to allow him to gasp for air. The Colonel was ruthless, yanking him up straight with a vicious tug of his hair.

A smug smirk dominated Aban's features but he appeared satisfied, so turned and exited the room.

The Colonel released her hold and Scott immediately slipped back in to his doubled over position to ease the pain spiking through his abdomen.

"Was that …." He gasped out, trying to regain his composure, "really…. Necessary?"

"More than necessary," The Colonel replied. "Now, do we have an accord or not?"

She waited for Scott's nod before the hood was placed over his face and he was plunged in to musty, stale, darkness.

XxxxX

Tin-Tin felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of her face; Penelope would be horrified at such an un-ladylike appearance. She concentrated hard on flying the course John had set for her, hopefully the least likely to draw attention to them, flying illegally across the Middle East.

"How does it feel Tin-Tin?" Gordon spoke up from behind her in a faux-jovial tone. "All these underhand activities give you a buzz?"

With the close quarters they worked in, it was hardly surprising he could read her so well. Virgil was the same… her thoughts became melancholy.

"No, Gordon," she replied, making every attempt to concentrate on flying. "It does not give me a 'buzz'." She sighed, adjusting her course at John's marker. "I just want Scott and Virgil back. Unharmed."

"We all do, Honey," Gordon's hand was on her shoulder, offering her reassurance. "And we will get them back, Tin-Tin. They'll be okay," he told her. "They're made of tough stuff."

"Hmm…" Tin-Tin's response came without conviction.

"I've double checked the kit," Alan reported as he entered the cockpit, "We're good to go." Gordon gestured that Tin-Tin was upset. "How far Tin-Tin?" Like Gordon before him, Alan attempted to divert attention to the task at hand.

"About 30 minutes," she replied.

"Tracy One, Tracy One from Thunderbird Five."

Gordon took the opportunity to remove himself from his position and used both hands to access the radio, "Tracy One receiving strength five, go ahead Thunderbird Five."

"Computer systems are showing you're almost at the drop," John's voice came over the radio waves, his image appearing on the screen although much smaller than their usual communications. "Thought you might like to know I've confirmed the vehicle, the green Toyota. Following a rough time projection, I've got satellite of a vehicle matching that description entering the desert. I've tracked it to the fortress."

"So we can be sure the men Sam Morton reported are Scott and Virgil now," Tin-Tin concluded.

"We can't be sure they were in the car when it reached the desert …" Gordon attempted a more tactful approach, "But yeah, that's the most likely outcome."

John nodded on the screen, indicating his approval and that Gordon didn't need to say his thoughts aloud. "I haven't heard back from Penelope yet," he added. "But The Woman's been in touch."

Gordon looked across Tin-Tin's head to Alan, anxiety written all over his face.

"And?" Alan prompted his other blond brother.

"Actually, that's why I called," John advised. "She sent a message in morse code, people just don't use that anymore so my skills are a little rusty. I've hit a snag," He looked at Gordon. "I know you used it in WASP a little, if I play this, can you just double check what I've got? It's the last part that's got me stumped."

"Wait two," Gordon scrambled for a pen and paper around the cockpit. "Go ahead."

A serious of dots, dashes and pauses filtered through the airways and Gordon scribbled notes, nodding to himself. Alan hovered at his shoulder, struggling to read Gordon's messy handwriting as the recording came to an end.

"Cntct md," Gordon read out. "medevac neg, extr 0600 GMT. RVDZ 0830 GMT."

John was nodding on the screen. "Contact made," he translated. "Medevac negative, extraction at 0600 GMT. That's what I got too but what's RVDZ?"

"Tin-Tin?" Alan interrupted. "Is that shorthand for anything?"

"No," she shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"RVDZ 0830 GMT," Gordon read aloud. "It must be a location."

"Of course!" Tin-Tin suddenly exclaimed. "Danger Zone! She wants us to rendezvous with her at the Danger Zone at 0830 GMT."

John looked startled, "Why didn't I think of that? It's obvious." No-one pointed out that their overriding concern for their brothers was affecting all of them.

"Does Dad know she's been in touch?" Alan queried.

"Yeah, he does," John replied. "He still wants you to get to Tehbna, and possibly go on to Qu'Lak so we're ready to act if things don't go to plan."

Alan glanced to Gordon, having picked up on the tone in John's voice. "You don't agree?"

"It's not that I don't agree," John replied. "I want Scott and Virgil back, we all do, let's be straight about that. They're my brothers too. I…" he hesitated. "I just think there's a lot to consider here, politically. We may be able to get the same outcome without International Rescue making enemies. We haven't heard back from Penelope yet, we don't know how Yemen will respond."

"And you're worried about politics right now?" Alan seemed shocked but to John's surprise, it was Gordon who understood.

"John has a point, the long term is something we have to consider but Yemen won't want to get involved, you were right with what you said before," Gordon raised a hand to John. "They need to have a business relationship with whoever controls Vorva to survive and if Templar is being influenced by the Russians…. Yemen can't afford to be on the losing side. Ideally, they'll be Switzerland, but if pushed I think they'd go with Russia."

"Which won't help us," Alan pointed out.

"No," John agreed. "But I don't think entering Yemen uninvited and then busting Scott and Virgil out will help us either."

"I don't give a damn how we do it so long as by the time we get home tonight, we have Scott and Virgil with us. Any means necessary." Gordon looked to John, anticipating some kind of rebuke but John didn't rise to it. "Besides, we talked about International Rescue ending, I just never thought it'd be like this."

"Ahh," Alan scrunched his face up in a gesture that was sarcastically flippant. "What can Yemen do to us? Their forces are hardly kick-ass and they're going to be busy protecting their own borders; there were reports of rioting along the areas where Vorva's piped, just before we left home."

"It's not Yemen we need to worry about," Gordon said grimly. "If they ally themselves with Russia and they perceive this as a threat, Russia will be gunning for us." He looked across the instrument panel Tin-Tin was using as a guide. "I guess we just have to take the positives; if Scott or Virgil were hurt, they'd require a medevac which The Woman's not requested. We just have to hope Penelope brings us some good news and The Woman's plan works out. We're almost at the drop, John," he looked to Alan. "We'd better get ready."

"FAB," John hesitated in signing off. "Be careful out there, guys," he added softly. "Thunderbird Five, Out."

Alan had turned to Gordon before John's words had faded through the speakers. "That was tame. I know how strongly you feel about John's …" he searched for the right word, "idealistic views on war."

"He has a point. I'm not stupid, Al, I can see that." Gordon sighed. "Whatever happens, however this plays out, there's no going back."

"You really think this could be the end for International Rescue?"

"If it comes to a choice between sacrificing International Rescue for Scott and Virgil, or Scott and Virgil for International Rescue," Gordon grimaced. "I know which I'd pick."

XxxX

Scott had been led through a myriad of twists and turns which, combined with his obstructed sense of sight, ensured he had no idea where he was. When they'd finally passed through a locked doorway, the artificial cool of air conditioning caused his skin to tingle. It was a welcome relief to the humid, oppressive heat he'd been subject to. The firm grip of the hands guiding him had been removed, the zip-tie cut and a direct order to "hold him" given in a familiar female voice, prior to large rough hands pinning his wrists to his sides. Fingers had ghosted across his waist pulling his shirt up over his chest and then holding the hood in place whilst the shirt was slipped over his head and finally, down his arms.

No other words were spoken but the grip on his wrists pushed him backwards until his naked back hit something hard and cold, which he assumed to be metal.

"Zone One Electros engaged."

Scott did his utmost not to startle as the mechanical voice chimed out. The sound of metal grinding on metal penetrating his hearing and something cool circled his wrists, still pinned to his sides. A hefty clunk secured them in place and the grip was removed. Out of habit, Scott tested the restraint but it didn't budge an inch.

"Zone Two Electros engaged."

The process was repeated at his ankles.

A few more moments passed before he heard the door open and then close again; presumably the hired help making their exit.

When the hood was pulled from Scott's face, he found himself in a room so white it made his eyes stream.

"We're alone," The Colonel confirmed as she walked away, hood in hand but soon discarded on a nearby table. "But I doubt we will be for long." She felt in her pocket and pulled out a roll of tape. "Aban suspects me, after I …eased up," she raised an eyebrow pointedly, "on your brother." She used her teeth to cut a length of tape off. "We might have to do this for real."

Scott was still taking in his surroundings; he was indeed strapped to some form of metal back board. A computerised unit to his left was flashing green lights under 'Zone 1' and 'Zone 2' and he realised these corresponded to the electromagnets holding his wrists and ankles in place.

"Ever been water-boarded before?" The Colonel asked, peeling protective layers from the tape as she walked close enough to reach Scott's right hand. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling.

Scott followed her vision, spying the piping which hung overhead; a hosepipe complete with sprinkler attachment. He tried not to let his apprehension show and allowed himself to be distracted by the pressure at his hand as she applied the tape. He looked down.

"Double sided sticky tape," she explained as she pulled a rubber ball out of her pocket and pushed it into his palm. "Don't want you giving anything away. Relax your grip," she ordered. Scott complied but the ball stayed where it was, stuck to the inside of his palm. "Perfect."

"Unnecessary," Scott pushed his anxieties to the deepest part of his gut and searched for some mettle.

"We'll see," The Colonel countered, attaching a plastic square to a finger on Scott's left hand. Green figures suddenly lit up on the screen, flashing intermittently. "Pulse Ox," The Colonel saw him looking and explained. "Helps me to maximise respiratory distress but prevent actual asphyxiation."

"I can handle anything you've got," Scott scoffed, trying to appear confident.

"I really hope so," The Colonel looked into his eyes, malevolence sparkling like crystal in sunlight. "Because if I get the slightest hint of suggestion that you're going to blow my cover, and I mean even this much," she held up her thumb and finger a short distance apart. "I'll kill you. I won't have a choice. It's remarkably easy to kill someone doing this, purely accidental of course."

There wasn't a doubt in Scott's mind that she was one hundred and ten percent genuine in her threats. He didn't have time to dwell on it as the sound of hydraulics hissed into life and he was being tipped backwards in a manner not dissimilar to Virgil's chute down to Thunderbird Two. Only, Virgil had a padded construction and electromagnetic restraints weren't involved. The motion kept going until he was passed the point of being horizontal and stopped with his head slightly lower than his chest.

"This is the perfect angle to maximise the amount of water entering your mouth, nose and sinuses," The Colonel appeared to his left, reaching up for the pipe which hung from the ceiling. "Take a deep breath in, keep your mouth closed and breathe out as slowly as you can through your nose."

The sound of running water bouncing off the floor filled the room for a few seconds before he felt the spray move across his chest. The water was cold and with the air conditioning hitting him too, he felt goosebumps breaking out on his upper body.

"So, Commander," The Colonel abruptly spat out as her eyes slid pointedly to the door. "You're all mouth and not a lot else, aren't you?"

Scott didn't reply. He focused on the ceiling in an effort to let his mind drift and follow his own advice. He found himself wondering if it was her hands he'd felt prying his shirt away.

"Very good," The Colonel was patronising. "You've had some counter interrogation training, I see." The water moved up his chest, closer to his chin and Scott felt himself tipping his head backwards in an effort to avoid it. Her hand pushed down on his forehead to prevent him. "Unlike your colleague," He caught a glimpse of her cruel grin. "Electric can actually be quite funny; those little jerky movements people make as the power surges through them, I understand it's awfully painful. You couldn't protect him from me, could you?" She adopted an American accent. "I'll bet that just eats you up inside." She smirked, returning to her normal inflection. "You failed, Commander. He blames you. He told me. How he hates you." Short sharp sentences used to provoke him. "Just before he screamed for me," The Colonel paused. "You'll scream too," she demanded ominously.

Scott felt anger surge within him, white and hot, flushing over him in contrast to the simulated cold. He took in a shaky breath, aware that she was exploiting his known weakness but, such were the images his imagination was providing of what she'd done to his brother that he was unable to stop himself reacting.

"Screw you," he spat out.

In one swift motion, the hand on his forehead was whipped across his face. The sound of the impact followed a few seconds later. The sting was fiercer than he was expecting from a woman.

"Tell me what I want to hear or don't speak at all," The Colonel ground out. She inclined her head slightly to the right. "Aban," she acknowledged, feigning realisation that he was there and becoming distracted slightly. "Nice of you to join us."

"I wish to see Master at work," Aban's poor grasp of English floated into Scott's hearing from somewhere out of sight.

"This Master works best alone."

"I stay," Aban replied.

"Very well," The Colonel didn't appear surprised and returned her attention to the water cascading over Scott's chest. Scott felt her remove her hand from his forehead and a green cloth was placed over his mouth and nose, he moved his head from side to side attempting to resist. He knew he would never succeed but if nothing else it proved the fight left in him and showed them that he would not be broken easily. "We don't have to do this, Commander." The Colonel addressed him. "All you have to do is talk to me, tell me where your base of operations is."

Scott didn't respond.

"Commander, you're a reasonable man, last chance before things get messy. Tell me the Security features on the Thunderbirds."

Scott didn't respond.

"Very well." Pressure returned to his forehead, pinning his head in place. Even dry, the cloth was already hampering his ability to pull oxygen in to his lungs.

"Drop the ball when you've had enough and we'll talk," spoken so casually that they could have been discussing the weather.

The slightest of nods and Scott was reminded of her words of advice. He took in a deep breath as the spray of water started to soak through the cloth.

For the first few seconds, he could breathe against it, preventing the water from entering his throat or nose but after all the air from his deep breath was expelled the liquid began to pour in.

As the water tickled his glottis, he instinctively choked and pressure spiked to the point of acute pain in his head. Coughing was a big mistake; his attempts to expel water only resulted in more being dragged in. His eyes were streaming, bulging in their sockets as his nose and sinuses filled and over-flowed with the constant spray of fluid. Fiery agony shot through all his straining muscles as he struggled to breathe, the green cloth now so saturated that it stuck to his face; attempts at breathing merely sucking it into his mouth along with yet more water.

Despite his best efforts, rational thought left him and his body took over. His natural response to the lack of oxygen was to panic and in complete and utter contrast to everything that epitomised Scott Tracy, that's exactly what he did. The gateway to his primordial, pre-programmed instinct for survival was swung wide open and a whole manner of frightening emotions let loose.

Underneath the cloth, his lips began to form an 'S' with the intention to tell her to stop but the water kept coming and a gargled sound was all he could muster. He couldn't talk for the stream of fluid, he couldn't move for the restraints. Like every other human being, inbred fear of asphyxiating was hard-wired into the panic button in Scott Tracy's brain, sending messages to every muscle he possessed to flee the danger or fight it; his limbs writhing and thrashing in a display of extreme panic.

It was all in vain. Logic dictated that one man would never break bonds forged in steel. The Colonel held his head angled at the flow of water, the electromagnetics held him resolutely in place, and still, the water kept coming. Scott's vision was starting to pepper with black spots, darkness lurking at the edges but spreading inwards. Past experience told him, unconsciousness would follow. He'd have never believed he'd welcome it.

In the background she was telling him to drop the ball, reciting over and over that all he had to do was drop the ball. Scott had long since given up his hold on the rubber ball, resorting to grazing it with his nails in an effort to break the sticky seal and flick it away but like all his other attempts, it was hopeless. Tell them his name; she was repeating somewhere far off. Tell them the security features on Thunderbird One. Tell them the location of their base of operation.

Scott was convinced she was going to kill him there and then.

And then suddenly it stopped.

The water stopped coming. No longer did the stream of liquid make his body's demands for oxygen impossible to deliver. The cloth was not removed but he began to gasp in his attempts to draw in oxygen through it, pulling it so far in to his mouth he thought he might choke on it.

Coughing and spluttering he managed to force out some slime and shakily rattle in a breath. It was disgusting; phlegm and saliva covered his face and ran in to his eyes, mixed with thick slimy mucus.

The reprieve lasted only seconds before the spray of water was back.

His breathing wasn't evened out. His heart still pounded from the lack of oxygen and his ears were rushing with the sound of water and his own pulse rate.

It wasn't long enough, his thoughts were frantic, but the opportunity to succumb was gone, valuable seconds wasted on attempting to breathe again. Water poured back into his mouth and nose once more, familiar pressure shooting through his sinuses forcing tears out the edges of his eyes to mix with all the other bodily fluids.

Her voice remained in the background, constantly making demands of him and reminding him of his failings.

In all the years Scott had experienced with International Rescue, he'd had more than a few close calls but never had he believed with such terrifying fear, that he had been this close to death before.