NINE
Opting not to stop for more than the odd five minute comfort break, Alan and Gordon had made it to the outskirts of a village called Mejiah in record time. The dirt track they were now following was barely travelled; only an old battered pick-up passing them, kicking up a whirlwind of dust in their faces and slowing to stare at them in amazement.
"GPS is showing we're almost at the car Penelope left us." Gordon checked his watch. "It should be just up here on the right."
Alan coughed out as the wind whipped up another dust cloud, "That just looks like dead trees to me."
Gordon swiped his hand across his forehead, his sweat gritty from the dust. Like Alan, he looked like he'd had a bad experience with Tin-Tin's foundation. But it was the least of his problems right now.
"Thirty feet," he called out, eyes now back on his watch. Alan easily kept up with his fast pace. "Three, Two…. One." He came to stop. The land was barren.
"Maybe the GPS is out," Alan suggested, removing his sunglasses, turning 360 degrees, and raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun.
"Great."
Leaving Alan to disappear behind the dead trees, Gordon's attention turned to his wrist communicator. "Thunderbird Five… Thunderbird Five from…"
"Or maybe, Penelope meant this!"
The next thing he knew Alan was emerging pushing a scooter with two helmets swinging from the handlebars.
"Thunderbird Five, cancel my last, out." He dropped his wrist, eyes wide with dismay. "You've got to be kidding me!" he exclaimed.
"When Penelope said vehicle; we assumed it was a car. Oh, come on, it's genius!" Alan was grinning. "Fast, easy to dispose of, manoeuvrable, lightweight …." He trailed off when he turned a helmet upside down and caught a note falling out.
"Boys," he read aloud, "Apologies for the colour scheme." Only then did Gordon notice that the white scooter had a pale pink seat and handlebars. "I'm informed this mode of transport is the most reliable in these parts, and least likely to draw attention to you both. There is a box of matches in the compartment under the seat. Parker requests you…" Alan adopted his best East-End accent, "give 'er a good send orf." He then looked to his brother, eyes sparkling with entertainment.
"Give me that," Gordon took the note from him and scanned over it.
"Come on!" Alan was enthusiastic as he threw Gordon the remaining helmet, pedalled the ignition as the scooter spluttered to life. "Get on!" he shouted over the sound of the engine.
Seriously concerned at the amount of pleasure Alan was taking from this development, Gordon begrudgingly put on the helmet and slipped into the passenger position. He'd barely managed to get a decent grip before Alan opened the throttle and they were on their way.
XxxX
"Nearly there." The Colonel whispered in Scott's ear as they changed direction and rounded a corner.
Fifty five…Mississippi….Fifty six… Mississippi…. Fifty seven…. Mississippi… Fifty….
Scott was relieved to hear the sound of the cell door being unbolted, finally able to abandon his mental mantra as he was led over the threshold and heard the door close behind him. Counting in his head might have been the only thing to distract him from the claustrophobic sensation of the hessian bag on his head but it had also provided the added bonus of helping him to keep his breathing even and giving him a rough estimate of how long it had taken them to move around the complex.
Scott sensed the Colonel coming to stand in front of him before her hands reached for the bag. Sure enough, within seconds and as promised, it was removed. He took a few deep breaths allowing himself some time to gain his equilibrium. His eyes needed time to become accustomed to colour again, and he concentrated solely on her face. He could only imagine the concern oozing out of Virgil right now.
A flash of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and shaking his head, he forced himself to re-focus. Any remaining colour drained as he realised Virgil was stood against the wall with his hands on his head and Aban was holding the business end of a gun levelled at him.
The Colonel, who had been studying Scott's expression, noted the change and followed his gaze over her left shoulder.
"You have been long time," Aban began, nonchalantly. "Yes?"
The Colonel turned back to Scott just in time to place a hand on his chest to prevent him from moving forward.
"Aban, what are you doing down here?" She spoke casually, but she looked directly at Scott, trying to convey to him that he should follow her lead. She bent down to tether him to the wall, her eyes screaming at him to trust her; darting down purposefully as an indication that his should follow. He finally got it. She'd closed the shackle without locking it and Scott could see the butts of two firearms inside her waistband, both bearing the International Rescue insignia.
"Tell me, Colonel," Aban was saying. "How many men do you interrogate here?"
The Colonel's eyes remained locked with Scott's as she rose to her feet, right up until the moment she moved around to stand directly behind him. Scott's gaze then returned to his brother standing helplessly against the wall. Despite his attempts to appear collected in the face of Aban's threats, Virgil's own expression said everything. His breathing was slow and controlled, but in a way that told Scott it was taking a lot of effort to keep it that way.
"504." The Colonel responded to the question suddenly. It was preceded by the sound of a flick knife being locked in to place and the rough handling of Scott's wrists. Scott was so preoccupied interpreting every crease of Virgil's brow, that he had to think back to what Aban's question had been. He felt the cool of the blade against his skin, as the zip tie was cut and she continued to hold his hands in the same position, behind his back. He had no choice but to follow her lead and acknowledge that she was the one in the position of authority.
"And how many were successful?" Aban continued.
"504."
Scott felt one of her hands snake under his shirt and tried to control his flinch at the contrast of cold metal against his skin when the barrel of a gun was unexpectedly slipped into the waistband of his trousers. The weight of the weapon settling against the base of his back was already giving him a sense of reassurance that the playing field might be levelling out. Scott's eyes slid to Aban briefly, concerned he might realise what was happening right under his nose but Aban's attention was solely on Virgil. Scott continued with the charade when she released his hands, pulling his arms around to the front to rub at them, rotating stiff muscles and pulling on torn skin.
She moved back to stand in front of him, flicking the knife back and securing it at her own waist band.
Aban frowned and turned his head for the first time to look at them. "You do not count these as failures?"
"I'm not finished with them yet, " the Colonel replied, suggesting she wasn't overly bothered. She took a few steps closer to the door, apparently un-phased by the scene leaving Scott more confused than ever. His brain worked in overdrive trying to estimate whether she'd react if he pulled the gun, whether he'd be quick enough to maim Aban before he'd put a bullet in Virgil's brain, or whether that's what the hell she was expecting him to do in the first place.
No, he couldn't take the risk. Not with his brother's life.
Aban barked out a laugh and Scott's attention returned to their interaction. "You told Kasim that he tell you nothing." He waved the gun towards Virgil and Scott's gut tensed in time with his brother's flinch.
"That's correct," the Colonel said smoothly. "But as I said, the interrogation process is not complete. I'm still limbering up. " She made her point by rolling her shoulders.
"Yet…" Aban's eyes glinted in superiority, "… you call him, 'Scott'." The words were spat out in real accusation. "How you know his name? Hmm?"
Scott winced. His whole body tensed and he looked in the Colonel's direction, hoping for guidance as to how to deal with this revelation.
The Colonel's expression remained neutral and Scott found himself experiencing the unease of waiting on someone else's orders; an unknown liability he hadn't dealt with since his Air Force days.
"Hardly meaningful information." The Colonel was shrugging off the disclosure, but something in her had changed. Something that told Scott she'd just reverted to Plan B., something that made the cold, steely glint evident in her eyes. "And any psychological or emotional reliance I've achieved over the last…"She checked her watch, "….fifteen hours, you're undoing as we speak. Are you also going to explain to Kasim that my interrogation failed because of your interference?"
"I tell Kasim everything," Aban replied, clearly of the opinion that he had fooled her. "This one has only few marks." He shook the gun in Virgil's direction once more. "And this one…" He waved the weapon briefly towards Scott. "…you safe."
"Save," she corrected his English as if it was an automatic response. "How many times must we go through this, Aban? A dead subject can tell you nothing."
Scott watched the exchange, unsure whether to be alarmed or reassured that the Colonel seemed to be taking this all in her stride. It made him realise that the ferocity of her denial when he questioned her may just have been genuine…
…or exaggerated.
"That is why we take two." Aban shuffled his feet slightly, the actions of an erratic, volatile man. He remained directly in front of Virgil. "We shoot this one, then other will talk." He raised the gun with newfound purpose, a jerkiness to his movements that told of his impulsiveness. "I will show you how interrogation should work."
"You'd be stupid to shoot him," the Colonel replied.
Her hand moved to her waist.
Scott swallowed. Was she readying herself to act? Was she trying to tell him to be ready too? His arm remained by his side, but he readied himself too. If she did, his next move would be for the weapon concealed behind his back.
"He's the weaker of the two," she continued, justifying herself. "Therefore the most likely to talk. The other one is stronger-willed and we've already established his desire to protect his colleague. Take that motivation away and you have no power." She took a few steps forward, slowly and methodically, skirting around Aban; eyes showing no apparent concern, only control and perspicacity. It was as if she was calculating every step. The proverbial fly in the spider's web.
"No psychological bargaining chip to exchange for information," she continued.
Another step. She moved her head slightly to one side as if lining up her position to ensure she was exactly where she wanted to be.
"Not to mention the fact you'd be reducing your source information by fifty percent." She managed a tight smirk. "I'd like to see you explain that one to Kasim."
Aban seemed to think about this for a second.
"You are woman," he eventually pointed out. "Kasim would never trust woman over man."
"Really?" She appeared genuinely amused by the concept. "Ask yourself who he trusts to interrogate his most important prisoners, Aban: you or me? Let's be realistic, who do you think he's going to believe?"
Aban's vision moved erratically between the Colonel and Virgil, a frown crossing his face but his eyes held renewed comprehension.
"I understand," he said, apparently now aware that he'd underestimated her power.
His finger moved to the trigger casing.
"Drop the gun, Aban."
Scott was so intent on watching Virgil, that it was only the click of the safety catch being removed on the Colonel's weapon that alerted him to the fact she'd actually drawn it. Although he had no idea when, her stance had changed. Her shoulders were taut, her elbow raised outwards and whether he liked it or not, her eyes were metallic like steel marbles.
"Drop … the …. gun," she ordered a second time.
Aban chortled out a hollow laugh, "I die here," he declared aloud. His thumb moved to the safety catch of his own weapon.
"No!" Scott cried out as he took a step forward, his own weapon now raised in one hand and the other held out level, a conciliatory palm up.
"Don't shoot!" the Colonel ordered.
"Nobody shoot!" Scott repeated, his eyes flickering right, centre and left between the Colonel, Aban and Virgil.
"I'll kill you, Aban. You know I will," the Colonel threatened. "Do as I say, drop the weapon."
Aban gave one last smirk and scoffed a laugh so deep it almost caused his chest to shudder. "You are traitor to us," he told her. "You kill me anyway."
It happened so slowly, Scott could see every little detail with such precision. It was as if his brain picked up the pace as time decelerated; processing the tiniest of movements and chiselling them forever into his mind to leave an ugly scar on his memory.
Aban's head turned towards Virgil, the pad of his thumb flattened with the pressure he put on the safety catch. His arm tensed. The lines of his mouth and jaw were taut with anger and hatred, but his whole body carried an air of acceptance. As if he recognised this was his fate.
Virgil was staring hard at him, not the barrel of the gun or his hand, or his forehead but directly into the ice cold eyes of the man who was about to kill him. To his credit he didn't waver until the very last moment when his eyes flickered to Scott. A second was all Scott needed to see the sheer terror. A second of absolute horror when he realised what his brother was trying to tell him: goodbye.
The click of the safety releasing was quiet.
The gunfire was not.
There was a second of absolute silence as smoke and chemicals mixed and exchanged reactions in the air. Aban's body convulsed where he'd been stood, head snapped backwards at an awkward angle. Gravity pulled the gun in his hands to the floor with a clatter, to be followed only seconds afterwards with the thud of his body.
The Colonel moved forward, gun still raised and levelled at Aban as if it he might rise again. Kicking away the firearm she knelt down close to where blood was already pooling.
"Virgil!" Scott's hands might have been working to secure his weapon but his attention was diverted towards his brother. "Virgil," he repeated, "You okay?"
Numb, Virgil allowed himself to collapse back against the wall, offering a shaky nod.
"Yeah," he croaked out, barely above a whisper. Talking forced him to breathe again and he gasped as his body started to react. "Yeah, I'm … okay," he replied, convincing himself as he balled his fists and then flexed his fingers, as if shaking off pins and needles.
Scott was already turning his attention to the Colonel, who was wiping her hand on her trousers to clean off the blood. He found himself levelling his weapon at her now; brain working in overdrive to consider whether this was his opportunity, whether now was the time to get out of this living hell.
"He's dead," the Colonel confirmed, rising from her position on the floor. "Great. Now what?"
"Now you get us out of here," Scott growled out.
For the first time, she turned to face him and realised his position.
"For God's sake!" She had the audacity to roll her eyes but didn't seem the least bit bothered about having a gun waved in her face. "Put it away before Templar gets in here."
Scott showed no such inclination.
"You're not serious? Be sensible! What are you going to do, hmm? Make a run for it? Where's the nearest exit? Do you even know which way to turn out that door? Or how many rounds are left in that pistol?"
Scott had to admit he hadn't considered most of those things, which told him a great deal about his own state of mind. And his chances of success.
"You're not thinking straight." She was continuing almost like she'd read his mind. "That's understandable given the circumstances. I will help you but for God's sake you have to trust me." She took a step closer.
"Don't," Scott warned. He didn't lower the weapon.
"Scott…" Virgil tried to interrupt.
"This is our chance to get the hell out of here. We might not get another one."
"You would if you'd just trust me. I can get you out of here, but you have to do what I tell you. An escape bid now would be suicide; don't you think we've got enough to contend with the dead body you've just put on the floor?"
"I put on the floor?" Scott exclaimed. "I told you not to shoot!"
"Scott…" Virgil tried a second time.
"He was going to fire!" The Colonel defended herself. "It was him or your brother. And may I remind you that you fired too!"
"Only because you did!" Scott returned, shaking the gun to emphasis his point.
"Scott…." Virgil tried again.
"You were going to kill him anyway," Scott accused her. "As soon as you realised he could blow your damned cover!"
"Sc- Scott…"
It wasn't so much his name that got his attention but the way it was stuttered out, accompanied by the slightest of moans.
Scott pivoted on his heel, all thoughts of escape instantly forgotten as he was met with pain-filled eyes, wide with shock and unrestrained panic.
He froze and the world according to Scott Tracy stood still on its axle.
It lasted no more than thirty seconds but felt more like thirty minutes. Scott's eyes reflected his brother's horror and then followed Virgil's line of sight down his own body.
"No," Scott felt the blood drain from his face. He was already whispering in denial. "No, No!" His legs were moving him towards his brother, his brain putting the pieces of the puzzle together far too slowly.
Virgil's face, pale but sweat streaked.
Virgil's hands, clamped tight against his abdomen.
Virgil's shirt, darkening to crimson as the small patch grew rapidly to soak up the claret.
And, Virgil's fingers, covered with the blood oozing from between them.
"I think …. I think I'm hit."