EIGHT
Another far-too brief reprieve came to an end.
Every fibre of Scott Tracy's being seared; he was exhausted, in body and in mind. He just couldn't fight any longer. He had no idea how much water he'd swallowed, his eyes were sore, and his sinuses and the back of his throat were on fire. Ankles and wrists bruised, bloodied and friction burned where he'd waged a one-man war against the force of electromagnetics which he knew, had he been of sound mind, had the potential to be nearly as powerful as those designed to hold Thunderbird Two's Pod in place.
The Colonel's hand remained on his forehead, applying pressure which was now unnecessary. His neck muscles had long since abandoned the task of protesting this abuse, his efforts now concentrating on some kind of survival.
Still she went on.
Scott could hear her shouts and demands, although they'd faded to meaningless background noise as he teetered on the brink of blissful darkness. Trapped in a living nightmare of those few seconds where unrestrained terror was his only companion before unconsciousness claimed him. He'd passed the stage were his muscles spasmed for oxygen, now just in a constant state of burning agony as the convulsions came in ripples, over and over, causing his whole upper body to lift, as far as was possible, from the metal table.
Suddenly his wheezing for breath became an ominous gurgle somewhere deep inside him.
Immediately, everything changed.
The spray of water moved away and the light pressure on his forehead was removed. He started to gasp but this time nothing happened. Not even the smallest molecule of oxygen filled his lungs.
"Warning," The noise of an automated female voice sounded in the background somewhere. "Warning," it repeated.
"Aban, tip him!" The Colonel ordered.
To Scott, the words were muffled, as if he was one step removed from the situation. The sensation was odd, he knew he should be panicking and his body was doing all the right things; eyes now open, despite the mix of mucus, water and god knows what else blurring his vision. Adrenaline suddenly provided the energy to attempt to lift himself up. It felt like the veins in his forehead were bulging, protruding with the strain, his body now in a constant state of spasm, forcing the restraints to bite even further in to his already injured limbs. Yet, his mind was numb. He just didn't have the capacity to panic anymore.
There was pressure on his abdomen, a fist thrusting and the Colonel telling him from somewhere above: "Breathe. Just breathe, Scott."
The pressure built inside him and he could feel it push up through his chest but there just wasn't enough power to break through his airway.
"Aban!" Scott was vaguely aware of her shouting, as his vision started to grey, "Aban! Get back here!" The door slammed and then a softer… "Bloody hell…"
The hiss of hydraulics filled the air. He recognised the sound, knew to expect movement even, but his brain was so sluggish that the table had dropped into a vertical position before he'd even had time to process it. Pain spiked at the pressure on his shredded left wrist and ankle, and his neck snapped at the sudden jolt but it didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore.
"Emergency Release."
A pause.
"Active."
A clunk.
And suddenly he was falling the short distance to the ground.
"Don't panic," she instructed, her hands on his head as the rest of his body hit the deck.
Scott was convinced that this was what death felt like; his limbs were like lead weights and all emotional intelligence had left him. Even if he had the capability to understand what was happening or what she was doing, there was no way he could make any physical effort to assist her.
"We've got…" she grunted out as she knelt behind him and manhandled him against her chest, " a few minutes…" Her hands moved to his torso and downwards, snaking around him to form a fist against his abdomen. "…before there's any brain damage."
Scott knew it was taking him longer than it should to make the words out; the compressions against his abdomen weren't timed with the gaps in her words. Like poor quality dubbing.
"Keep your head back. Keep your airway open, you hear me?"
Scott had only just realised what she'd said when there was a sharp pain in his neck followed eerily by the sound of a staple-gun, and then someone pulled the curtains on the slither of light left of his vision.
The whole thing was over in seconds, but to Scott it had been lifetime.
XxxxX
Tin-Tin arrived home according to schedule and tucked Tracy One back in to her hangar, neither showing any visible signs that they'd just violated every International Aviation Law in existence. Feeling a weight lift from her shoulders, that her criminal activity was complete, Tin-Tin headed towards the main Lounge.
"… like John said." Tin-Tin just caught the tail–end of Penelope's transmission as she entered the room, immediately aware from the atmosphere that whatever the news was, it wasn't good.
"I knew it," John was shaking his head. "They don't want to know!"
"Precisely," Penelope was agreeing. "Plausible deniability."
Tin-Tin opted for a seat next to her father on the couch, who informed her in soft tones, "Lady Penelope has been in touch with Yemen, they will not acknowledge there is a situation, to do so they would have to pick a side."
Tin-Tin nodded, "I see."
"Did the Presidential Guard offer anything else, Penny?" Jeff looked weary to the bone and it showed in his tone.
"Very little," Penelope reported. "The Fortress is in such a remote area that Yemeneese Officials conduct habitation checks quarterly. At the point of the last check, there were no signs of habitation."
"When was that?"
"Approaching five weeks ago."
"Five weeks!" Jeff exclaimed. "Anything could've happened in five weeks!"
"I did point that out at the time and proposed they revisit the fortress. Unfortunately, I was told in no uncertain terms that they did not have the resources for such follies with the recent rioting on the border. I offered our services to conduct our own habitation check, as they call it, but they were offended at the suggestion that they could not manage their own affairs. I was accused of questioning the sovereignty of their government." Penelope sighed and Tin-Tin saw a blonde lock fall into her face. "I could hardly tell them that the WSC and the CIA are operating illegally within their borders. I was reminded that without some kind of formal request for Emergency Assistance, for International Rescue to enter Yemen would be perceived by them as an act of aggression."
"Maybe I perceive it to be an act of aggression, them harbouring the criminals holding my sons hostage," Jeff growled out.
Penelope disregarded the comment. "I believe there may have been some external input to the dialogue as it was more sophisticated than I expected, but in slightly more polite terms, I was told to keep my nose out of their business. At which point, I withdrew from the exchange. What with political relations being a little strained, at present I thought it best."
"Of course," Jeff was in agreement even though his expression was marred with frustration. "And the World Security Council? I don't suppose you have any update from them, the silence is damning."
"I'm beginning to think that Yemen isn't the only organisation wishing to adopt a defence of plausible deniability. It wasn't exactly an update," Penelope appeared reluctant and Tin-Tin saw her glance at John. "British and American forces are prepared to assist covertly."
"But …"
"I would assume the WSC as a whole is fearful of the reaction of other member-countries to the War. China has already withdrawn from the Council; I've heard anecdotal evidence that they're supporting Russia. Switzerland and Israel, amongst others, have entered in to discussions as we speak; they're both threatening to leave the World Council unless their impartiality can be guaranteed. Greece, Italy and Spain are joining the same discussions however, for different reasons; war is expensive and they simply can't afford it."
"The council will be worried that if too many countries withdraw," John's suggestion was met with several nods, "they'll lose the power they do have."
"Quite. Although it would appear that the WSC cannot or will not make contact or assist us, British and American forces are prepared to offer us a Covert Operations Team and indeed has a number of servicemen and women queued up to assist. They were quick to point out to me that they would be acting entirely independently to the WSC, thereby breaching the Treaty in place. Should …" Penelope searched for the right phrase, "things not quite go to plan, they would deny all knowledge of such an Operation."
"That's to be expected."
"They would also require full disclosure of the operatives' identities."
"Full disclosure?" John exclaimed. "Why do they need that?"
"They don't," Jeff growled again, exasperated. "They're using our situation to gain information about us, just like Templar is. Doesn't anyone have any morals anymore?"
"My understanding was that, like myself, Scott and Virgil had both signed agreements that International Rescue's anonymity should be maintained in situations like this," Penelope's sentence was designed to question the truth of what she'd said. "I told them that we'd consider it."
Jeff's attention turned to the portraits of his two eldest sons, alongside the live feed from Thunderbird Five. Suddenly, he remembered those conversations in the weeks before International Rescue went live. Contingency Planning Meetings with each of the Organisation's core agents to ensure Living Powers of Attorneys and Wills were signed and sealed, that named executors were aware of their responsibilities, and that inheritances and certain valuable personal items were left in trust. An emergency response to every dire situation possible, if the worst should happen.
"Jeff?"
Scott and Virgil, like all the others, had responded to the issue of disclosure by agreeing that International Rescue should not be compromised for their safety.
That the world needed International Rescue more than it needed Scott and Virgil Tracy.
In Jeff's mind now, in the face of one of those dire emergency situations, Scott and Virgil Tracy were a large proportion of what made International Rescue's heart beat.
"Dad?" John's voice snapped him out of it. "You okay?"
"Sorry," Jeff shook his head to clear his muddled thoughts.
"I assume you wouldn't want me to go against Scott and Virgil's express wishes?" Penelope pressed for clarification.
Jeff found expectant eyes on him from all directions.
International Rescue was hanging in the balance.
"This is different," he began. "Those documents were signed before the war. That changed everything."
Ominous silence visited Tracy Island for what felt like the umpteenth time since this dreaded rescue had commenced.
"Are you saying you'd consider disclosing their identities?" John found his voice first. "Once that information gets in to the public domain, Scott and Virgil's lives would change forever."
"I know that," Jeff tried not to snap. "But they would have lives."
"But would Scott and Virgil want to live them, Jeff?" Penelope tried to sound calm in the face of Jeff's frustration in the hope it would soothe him, despite the emotive content of their discussion.
Jeff didn't want to admit to the answer to that just yet. "If Scott and Virgil don't make it out of there alive, we're kidding ourselves if we think International Rescue won't die with them. If nothing else, we don't have the man-power to continue operations."
"I agree." Jeff was surprised when John gave a solemn nod. "Sure, we're all a part of International Rescue and we all do our part, but Scott and Virgil are the backbone. I'm not sure how we could continue without them. We also have to consider the impact the war will have on International Rescue anyway; we've already considered shutting down shop once this month. If the end of International Rescue is a strong possibility, maybe even an inevitability, then that changes things. "
Jeff was reminded of just how astute his space bound son could be.
"And that's aside from what would happen to us as a family. We've already lost Grandma, Scott and Virgil…." John swallowed thickly, unwilling to say the word dying. "It would tear us apart. Despite what everyone might think right now, they're my brothers and more than anything I want them home safe." He blinked hard, suddenly feeling very emotional.
It was the incentive Jeff needed.
"Do it, Penelope."
"Are you sure, Jeff? You know how the Intelligence Communities can be and several enquiries are still outstanding."
Jeff gave a nod. "I appreciate you're cautious, Penny, but time's running out. How quickly can they get to Tehbna?"
"An hour or two; three at the very most."
"Okay," Jeff swallowed, checking his watch and doing a very quick mental calculation. "Tell them to get their best team there ASAP. Rendezvous with them in Tehbna, by the time they arrive, The Woman's twenty four hours will be up." In full commanding mode, he looked around at those present. "If we haven't heard anything by then, we give the Covert Operations Team what they want and let them go in."
"Very well, then. I haven't managed to get in touch with Mossad yet and obviously there's no response from the WSC either officially or not, I believe they're tied up in talks with each other. I haven't had a response from the Chinese Intelligence Service either but I'll keep trying. Parker reports ETA Tehbna one hour."
"FAB, England," Jeff responded.
"Thunderbird Five, Copy that England, ETA one hour," John reeled off.
"England, out."
"I shall fetch some coffee, Mr Tracy," Kyrano got to his feet, and headed towards the kitchen without waiting for a response.
"I'll call Alan." Tin-Tin stood too. "Let him know I'm home safe."
"I'll do that, Tin-Tin," John interrupted. "Base wants all comms to go through me."
Visibly disappointed, Tin-Tin agreed. "Oh, I see. Thank you, John." She looked to Jeff. "I will assist Brains."
Jeff heaved a heavy sigh and let his head drop to his hands. "This is really it, isn't it?" he said softly. "The beginning of the end."
There was no answer to that and John wisely didn't respond. The physical distance between them had never been so tangible. There wasn't a thing John wouldn't have done to have been able to offer his father some kind of tactile comfort in the face of those words… for both their sakes.
XxxxX
Thump.
Ba-thump.
Thump.
Ba-thump.
Scott's return to consciousness came slowly and with a soundtrack. He prised his eyes open in time to see the rubber ball that had previously been stuck to his palm, bounce once against the wall and then straight into the Colonel's waiting hand.
"Welcome back."
Memory flooded over him and his breathing hitched instinctively. He looked down at his own bare chest and the trailing wires of a heart monitor attached there, before he inhaled and exhaled deeply once. Then twice. Then three times. Each breath reassuring himself that he could breathe unhindered again.
The strong smell of disinfectant had his stomach turning and he realised he was in the recovery position, head on the floor. Reaching a hand out to push himself up with the intention of rolling on to his back, he winced at the stinging around his wrist and examined the limbs closer; red, bloody and raw.
The Colonel cleared her throat. "You put up quite a fight."
Scott ignored her and reached for the electrodes.
"Leave them…" she leant forward to stop him but using a speed and strength Scott thought had long since abandoned him, he grabbed hold of her wrist. Hard.
"Don't!"
Unfortunately, his attempt to sound menacing dissolved into a coughing fit even though he tightened his hold enough to cause her discomfort. He struggled to balance his breathing against the coughing but eventually gained control and looked directly into her grimacing features. "Don't ….touch me."
"Okay," The Colonel hissed. "Okay."
Slowly, cautiously, he relaxed his grip and watched as she sat back in the most passive position she could manage; back against the wall, legs bent at the knees and feet flat on the ground. Defiantly, he pulled the electrodes from his chest surprised when she didn't protest, merely flicking a switch on the small computer to silence any alarm.
"What…" Scott cleared his throat, tender and ironically dry, "What happened?"
"Your vocal chords seized blocking the flow of air into your lungs. It can be dangerous but…"
"Is that… normal?" Scott cut her off and rubbed at his sore eyes.
"Not …. not exactly. I pushed you too hard," she admitted. "I shouldn't have allowed you to have that effect on me. It was unprofessional."
The unspoken apology hung in the air for a few moments.
"You were never in any danger," she continued. "However, I appreciate it may have been a little distressing for you …."
"A little distressing?!" Scott rumbled. "Jesus, I couldn't breathe!"
"You were perfectly safe. Otherwise you wouldn't be sat here now."
Scott scoffed before dissolving into a coughing fit again.
"Here." She shuffled a little closer, offering a kidney shaped paper dish. "I don't intend to clean up after you again."
"Again?"
"You've been out a while. You came to just long enough to spew watery vomit all over the floor and then pass out again." Then she seemed to check herself. "How do you feel now?"
"Fine," Scott's tone was curt as he slowly got control of both his breathing and his stomach. "Isn't that the point of waterboarding?"
"Lack of physical evidence can be a benefit. I know you've got your doubts, Tracy, but I am on your side."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"You left me no choice. I've interrogated enough people to know when they're going to surrender. Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong."
Unable to do as requested, Scott instead looked away.
"You were about to submit and I couldn't let you do that. Not with Aban there."
"So, I should be grateful that you continued to drown me when you could see I was dying?"
"You really don't see the bigger picture at all, do you? It must be so nice in your world. Everything black and white; good and evil, right and wrong; there's never any grey is there?"
"Is that what you are?" Scott's eyes narrowed as he studied her. "A grey area?"
"Don't try to understand me. I pushed you too hard, I acknowledge that, but I did what I thought was necessary. If I'd allowed you the opportunity, you'd have told us anything to make it stop and International Rescue would be over. " She stressed the last three words. "I had to do it. There was no alternative; surely, you must understand that."
"I guess I do." Scott pushed his thumb in to the corner of his sore eyes, rubbing at the discomfort. There was truth in her logic. He could see that.
"Aban suspected me because I went easy on your brother," she spoke again and Scott got the impression she was still rationalising her actions. "Would you rather I hadn't done that?"
"Of course not," Scott's response was instant; no thought necessary. "Do you think you've been compromised because of us?"
"No, I can talk my way out of that one easily enough." She pulled a face, shrugging off the possibility. "Aban and I have differing opinions on the objective of interrogation. We always have done. To Aban, the purpose is death and the extraction of any information along the way is an advantage."
"And to you?" Scott prompted.
"I prefer to be more civilised; the objective is to extract accurate information. Waterboarding is a difficult one; most people will tell you anything to make it stop."
"I thought …." Scott was hesitant to appear honest despite her being candid enough. The bottom line was that she'd nearly killed him. It was hard not to question her true allegiance.
"You thought you could handle it," she finished for him. "Most men do. In fact, I'm yet to meet a man who can." She shrugged a little. "I suppose it's particularly hard for a man, when it's a woman."
"I thought you were going to kill me! "
"I nearly did. You were seconds away from a cardiac arrest."
She met his eyes and held them to emphasise the gravitas of that statement.
Scott's eyebrows pulled together. "You said you were in control."
"No, I said you were never in any danger," she corrected him. "I'm a professional; I'm equipped to treat medical emergencies."
"Of course you are," Scott was dismissive. He reached for his neck fingering the area where she'd injected him. "So what did you give me?"
"Diazoprodal. I think I overestimated your body weight but it's safe enough," she assured him. "You should feel no other effects now that you're coherent. It's an approved response according to the international guidelines on waterboarding."
"Guidelines?"
"World Security Guidelines state that laryngospasm lasting longer than sixty seconds should be broken through the application of muscle relaxants in the first instance," The Colonel explained in what Scott was beginning to understand was her normal cold, clinical style. "If that fails, the next step is a crike." Her eyes diverted briefly to the pen concealed at the shoulder of her shirt.
Scott was suddenly grateful things had turned out how they had. Essentially, she'd saved his life, even though she was the one responsible for putting it in peril in the first place.
"World Security Council?" He asked, changing the subject. "You work for them?"
"If that's some kind of test, it's not a fair one," The Colonel was eyeing him as if she was judging his intentions. "I can't tell you that. I trust you, Tracy, but you've admitted that you don't trust me. That's a risk I just can't afford to take."
"But you abide by their rules?"
"Everyone abides by their rules," she said. "Don't read too much in to it. The WSC are the only proper authority on developed interrogation skills with International scope. Although, technically we're not under their jurisdiction."
Scott picked up that crumb of information. "No? Where are we then?"
She smirked. "Now that's a test I can pass … … we're in the Buh Al Kabir desert, close to Qu'Lak in Yemen."
"Yemen?" Scott's expression showed his surprise.
"I did tell you Templar was not to be underestimated; Yemen will want to remain politically neutral in the war, they're reliant on Vorva to survive. The WSC has no jurisdiction here." Her eyes drew together, examining him critically. "Do you remember what happened?"
Scott shook his head.
"You were attending a rescue in Oman, a landslide caused by freak rains."
The situation flashed back to him. "I think I remember that."
"You were drugged. This crowd aren't organised enough for gas in close quarters and I can't see any obvious puncture wounds around your neck, with the exception of the one I caused myself. The neck's the most favourable area, so most probably a cloth to the nose and mouth with some form of sedative. You were brought here by vehicle by Templar's henchmen, Tehbna, Oman's about 150 miles from here. What's the first thing you do remember?"
"Waking up in that cell."
"Then you know the rest."
"Please tell me that after all this, you have a plan" He spoke softly, his throat still raw from the strain he'd been under.
"I thought you'd never ask," she grinned. "Extraction must be 2200hours. That's when the Guards swap over outside your cell. It's imperative that both details are killed; they're the only ones who have seen your faces and could confirm your identities."
There was a time when Scott wouldn't have been entirely comfortable with International Rescue being tied to the deaths of others merely to maintain secrets. But after the experiences of the last few days , he wasn't quite so uneasy.
"I've planted explosive devices around the complex on a cascade timing circuit. There's enough C8 on your cell door to blow it and cause a small explosion in the corridor outside, so make sure you're both as far away from the door as possible. I'll provide you with a map at some point tonight and keys to the white land rover clearly marked on it. Make sure you're familiar with the location," she ordered. "After the explosion, you'll only have five to ten minutes to get out of the complex and to the vehicle before the whole thing blows. The Sat Nav's pre-programmed to take you back to Tehbna and the Danger Zone. You can rendezvous there with your brothers." Scott opened his mouth to speak but she pressed on, "It's imperative you stick to the route I've prescribed. It might be the obvious but it's the fastest and getting a head start on anyone who might follow you is essential. The WSC might not have jurisdiction, but I suspect they'll have observation posts in place, anyway."
"You've spoken to Alan and Gordon?" Scott was surprised. Despite the revelations, the part that meant the most to him was his brothers.
"Err… not exactly. But I have spoken to your father. Somehow, I don't think I'm on his Christmas card list. In fact, if I was a gambling person, I'd bet money that despite me asking him to do nothing, somehow he'll have managed to get your brothers to Tehbna." She paused. "Which I admit with hindsight is probably a good move as neither of you are fit to fly."
"And what did my father say?"
"Besides demanding to know who I am?" The Colonel smirked, "Not a lot really. I'll admit I was perhaps a little short with him but I was very busy at the time."
She glanced at her watch, "I need to take you back," she said, reaching for a piece of blue material which Scott belatedly realised was his shirt. "Clean yourself up and put this on," she instructed and tossed it at him. "Can you stand?"
Slowly, Scott got to his feet, wobbled a little and then steadied himself. He was surprised to see her staring at him. "I'm okay," he told her. She didn't comment as she allowed him time to dress and then secured his hands. She returned with the musty, stale hood.
Scott's stomach rolled at the thought of that oppressive claustrophobic feeling.
"It's for your own sake as much as anything else," she reminded him. "We need to minimise the amount of people who see your face. I'll put in on at the door, and remove it as soon as we reach the cell. This is not negotiable."
Scott accepted what he was being told but his brow was furrowed deep. Even now, he was still trying to understand her motivations. "Answer me something," he said. "Why?"
"Why?" she queried. "I would've thought that was obvious, Templar…"
"No," Scott stopped her. "Why are you doing this? Why help us?"
"Because I believe there's a place in the world for an organisation like International Rescue."
Scott examined her expression. "It's more than that."
"You know when you put your ego to one side, you can be very perceptive. Let's just say that I've followed orders all my life even when I've known them to be …" she searched for the right phrase, "morally ambiguous."
"And all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is good men do nothing."