"The feed is working, John," EOS said, interrupting his contemplation of the list in front of him.
"Thank you, EOS." He swept aside the list, having already honed in on his targets for the night, and turned his attention to the feed. On the screen, instead of seeing the familiar backdrop of glass and blackness as was usual when he video called from Five, he saw the image of what looked to be a simple apartment lounge. Pictures hung on the walls, along with a couple of football team banners, a signed baseball bat, and a movie poster. A window showed to his left, and through it, he could just see the New York landscape, even the clouds moved gently across the sky.
He moved his hand experimentally, momentarily blocking out the pictures and part of the poster, but the image didn't waiver. EOS had outdone herself with it, creating a version of a greenscreen so advanced that he could interact with it as if he were really in the room and no one would know the difference.
The room wasn't the only thing she had doctored. He himself was almost unrecognisable. Using the same technology she had perfected the day she had tried to take over Thunderbird Five, she was projecting an image over his own. The hair of the John on screen was dark brown as opposed to the reddish brown his had faded to. And the eyes of the on-screen image were chocolate brown, partially hidden by thin wire-rimmed glasses. Instead of his International Rescue uniform, the image was dressed in a band T-shirt and jeans, although they were hidden by the edge of the desk the image sat at, even though John himself was seated on a fold-down chair in the gravity ring. What he was seeing on screen couldn't have been more different to reality, and that was exactly what he wanted.
He didn't know why he felt nervous or why he felt the need to check everything for himself when EOS had never let him down before. But he did. This wasn't the first time they had used this technology, but this was the last night that he could do it. The private games would be over tonight, making way for the first official International Poker Championship that was due to start the following week.
"The stream is about to start," EOS informed him, just as she had seven times before over the last three weeks.
"I'm ready." He knew what to expect now, he'd spent every game learning everything there was to know about the other players. He knew their tells, the way they bluffed and how to get them to talk. He had played his role of a hometown boy done wrong and had spoken only when spoken to until they had warmed up to him and he had felt confident enough to join in. Until then he had kept quiet and watched, listened, and sized up the other players. They had been on their guard at first but by the fourth game they had started to forget themselves and be less careful about what they said and who they were saying it to. Last game, they had even included him in their after-stream chat.
He was in the outer reaches of their circle, but that wasn't good enough for him. He wanted, no he needed, more. He needed to worm his way into their inner circle and tonight was his last chance to do it.
"Five seconds, John," EOS warned him and, even though he knew they wouldn't see it, he smoothed a hand over his hair, an unconsciously comforting gesture that he often found himself doing before a lecture or public occasion where he knew he'd be out of his depth. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes as EOS counted down the seconds…
His screen changed bang on time, the waiting room logo vanishing and the 'room' appearing in its place. Now, instead of seeing just his own face on the screen, the feed split into six different windows in the top half, and two feeds from the table in the bottom half.
The one on the bottom left showed an overview of the table, housed in the VIP room of the very casino that he had infiltrated, where a smartly dressed dealer waited to start. The bottom right feed showed a camera pointed at the bottom of the table, just below the empty glass square. It was a clever set-up, he had to admit. The dealer would lay out the cards, placing your hand over your designated spot on the table that was linked to a camera which only you had control over. This eliminated the potential for any cheating and meant that only you knew what your cards were.
The technology was top-tier, unhackable to almost everyone, apart from him and EOS. EOS had snuck in during the first game, and had been recording the entire everything during and after the games. She'd even stayed in place after John had left the stream, allowing them to pick up more information than they would have before.
He checked out the feeds of the other players, mentally checking them off. Player one, Jean-Pierre Daniau, the head of the Banque de France. Player two, Howard Coates, the politician he had told Gordon about some weeks prior. Player three, Kellan Archer, an up-and-coming pop star that had found fame online. Player four, Foster Tennyson, the CEO of Global Tech. And lastly, player five, Jacob, the casino owner and organiser of the game. It was an impressive bunch of people which, to anyone not in the know, seemed to have nothing in common. He just hoped that his suspicions were correct and they did proof to be a link to their invisible enemy.
-x-
The names popped up on the screen, one by one. As usual, the new guy was the first one in the waiting room. He was an eager-to-please, punctual, polite young man that seemed to instinctively know his place. Jacob imagined that he was the type to win scout badges for helping old ladies across the road and doing voluntary work without being asked. So why did he get the feeling that there was more to Tyler than there appeared?
From the moment he had spotted him on the casino's security feed he had been curious. He'd seen his fair share of good boys going mad their first time in Vegas. They would get drunk, bet all their money the first night and then run crying to their mama's the next day, needing a cash injection to see them through the rest of their stay or risk starving. Except Tyler was nothing like them, he had enjoyed the complimentary drinks designed to lower a customers inhibitions and dilute any good sense the players had, but hadn't overindulged. He'd been sensible, calculated and on top of his game from the moment he'd started to the moment he left the casino six hours later.
Jacob could tell that he wasn't used to playing in that kind of environment, church fundraisers and game lights around the kitchen table looked to be more his speed, yet he'd conducted himself in an impressive way. He'd bets weren't too high that he was showing off, nor were they so low that there was little point in playing. He chatted amiably to the dealer, managing to dodge his attempts at distraction, and played game after game at a level that Jacob had seldom seen in an amateur.
There was just something about him that Jacob couldn't quite put his finger on, but he'd known that, with his hometown boy good looks and easygoing nature, coupled with the ingrained politeness of those from the south, he would be an instant hit with the viewers. They loved a good sob story, a working-class hero that had dragged himself up from nothing and made good. In short, he would be perfect to add to their lineup.
He'd watched Tyler grow more comfortable over the past few games, easing himself into the group but not in such a way that he was taking over. Honestly, it made a refreshing change. Not many of the newbies that he recruited made it past the second game. Yes, Tyler had been a good find.
He watched closely as the dealer dealt the first hand. Coates folded immediately, Daniu called, typing in his bet of $125,000 which flashed up on his screen and was added to the pot total. Tennyson, after much deliberation, folded too. Tyler called, inputting his bet, leaving only Archer and himself left. Archer, being a bit of a risk taker, upped his bet, raising to $250,000.
Jacob looked at his cards again, a seven and a four. He was good at bluffing, he could fake his way out of anything and he'd won with less before. But his winning was not the aim of the game.
"I'm out," he declared, pressing his button to quit the hand. He looked at the two men still in. "Tyler," he prompted, seeing the younger man staring intently at his screen. "It's your play."
Tyler nodded thoughtfully to himself, his eyes darting to the side, obviously checking his cards again on the split screen. He rubbed his chin, weighing up his options. He leaned forward and tapped on his screen. "I see your bet and raise you." His total bet flashed up to $500,000.
Archer nodded confidently. "Yeah, I see your bet." He too increased his bet to match Tylers, a smug grin on his face. "I call, Queen and a Six." The dealer flipped over his cards so everyone could see them. "Let's see what you've got."
Tyler's expression never changed as he waved a hand towards the dealer.
"King and a Queen," the dealer announced.
Archer groaned, dropping his head into his hands.
Tyler just smiled that good-natured grin of his as the pot transferred to his own funds, taking the high road as he said, "Thank you kindly."
Yep, this kid was going places.
-x-
John's eyes flicked down and to the side, monitoring EOS's activity on his side screen. As always she was covering her tracks, erasing any trace of her presence as she worked. If anyone caught a glimpse of her she would register as a system glitch that was impossible to trace.
The casino itself, as well as Jacob's work there, was squeaky clean. Everything above board, every penny accounted for and declared, every staff member paid on time and above the average wage for their sector. In short, he seemed like the perfect boss and business owner. But John was sure there was something else there, something hiding below the surface that they had yet to find. His instincts were rarely wrong, they just had to find it. And fast.
He looked back at his cards on screen, an eight and a four. If he had been playing at home with his brothers he would have bluffed his way through it, he'd win by whittling down the competition. But that wasn't his aim here. He didn't want them to suspect that he was good at lying, he wanted them to continue to think he was a good boy who was gambling because he felt like he had no other choice.
"Fold," he said, rejecting the hand. He leaned back in his chair, ready to watch it play out, his body language screaming casual calm when in reality he felt anything but. This was the last hand of this half which, by his calculations, meant he had less than three hours to make significant headway or lose the opportunity.
"I'm out," Tennyson declared, reaching out of shot and coming back with a martini glass.
"Me too," Archer said, swigging from his bottle of beer.
"And I," Daniau added, munching on yet another handful of potato chips. The man already looked like a bloated baboon going through the meat sweats, yet he hadn't stopped eating from the moment the stream had started.
"I'll see the bet, and raise you," Coates said, staring Jacob down as his new bet of $350,000 flashed up on his screen.
Jacob twirled a pen between his fingers, his eyes locked on Coates's as he debated his next move. After what seemed like forever he leaned forward over his desk and tapped his screen. "All in." He motioned to the dealer, who flipped his cards over.
"Ace and King," the dealer announced, then reached for Coates's, whose head was already in his hands. "King and Two."
"Well played," Jacob said, lifting his whiskey glass in a salute to the other man.
"So you say," Coates muttered. "I need a piss break." He pushed back his chair and stomped out of view without bothering to turn off his camera.
"Someone's a sore loser," Archer taunted, his voice a little slurred from his third beer in less than an hour. "But he has a point, bathroom break."
John was about to make a similar excuse, wanting to check in with EOS properly but, just as he cleared his throat to speak, Tennyson beat him to it.
"So, what's your story, kid?"
"Me?" John asked, feigning confusion while inside he sent up a silent cheer.
"Yeah, you." Tennyson drained his glass and poured himself another from the cocktail shaker on his desk, no doubt made by his secretary. "You've been here weeks and have barely said a word."
"Oh," John said, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, "I'm not that interesting."
"Tell me anyway," Tennyson said, almost in challenge. "Why is a bright kid like you playing poker for this kind of money? You could end up losing everything."
This was it, the moment he had been hoping for. Now all he had to do was take advantage of it.
Keeping his voice low, trying to inject as much sadness and despondency into his words as possible, he ducked his head and said, "I already have."
Tennyson, Jacob and Daniau perked up as one, scenting gossip.
"How so? Seems to me like you've not had a bad loss yet," Jacob asked, joining in the conversation.
John shifted in his seat, radiating discomfort, which wasn't that hard to do. "Let's just say that I need to raise the funds to get me out of a situation I found myself stuck in."
"What kind of funds?" Daniau asked, the prospect of money piquing his interest.
"And what kind of situation?" Jacob asked. "Nothing illegal I hope."
John smiled reassuringly, but only so he didn't grin like an idiot. They were taking his bait like hungry fishes. "No, nothing like that, I promise," he drawled in his good-boy Tyler voice. "Truth be told, I've never even stolen a candy from a sweet shop." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, as if debating their trustworthiness. Eventually he said, "I'm trying to buy my way out of a contract I'm stuck in and hopefully have enough left over to start my own business."
"What's this about a contract?" Coates asked, returning to his seat with a fresh pot of tea.
"Your British is showing," Tennyson teased, nodding at the cup and saucer Coates was pouring into.
"It's still lunchtime here," Coates pointed out, "besides, I like to keep a clear head when it comes to business."
"That is not the rumour I heard," Daniau muttered under his breath.
Coates cleared his throat. "So, this contract? You need out of it? Maybe I can help."
John feigned brushing it aside, playing the part of the country-boy. "I don't think you can help, sir."
"Let me be the judge of that, boy."
John nodded, acting like he didn't want to insult the man by arguing further. He twisted his fingers around the neck of his beer bottle but made no move to drink from it. "Could you help against Tracy Industries?"
Quick looks were exchanged, his words having the desired effect on them. His gamble was, literally and figuratively, paying off.
"Tell your story, son," Coates said, his tone going from pompous and slightly sneering, to warm and trustworthy, exactly as John would expect from a politician of his calibre.
John sighed, sounding for all the world like the most hopeless case. "There's not much to tell, it's the same old story that's been told a hundred times. A big company steals from the little guy and the little guy comes out looking like the loser. They screwed me over and I'm just hoping to get the chance to screw them in return one day."
John kept his eyes downcast, but peering through his lashes he saw Tennyson, Coates and Jacob exchange a look.
"Man, that's rough," Archer commiserated, having returned while John had been talking. "I hope it works out for you."
"Thanks," John said. "All I can do is keep doing my best and hope that some higher power is going to send good things my way." He smiled lightly, tipping an imaginary hat to the heavens.
"Enough of this talk," Daniau said, waving an impatient hand, clearly bored. "We've got a game to play."
Jacob's eyes narrowed, but he inclined his head, then motioned for the dealer to begin the next hand.
"Sorry to have derailed the night," John said, keeping up appearances as he looked at his latest hand, a Jack and a seven. "I'm in," he said, tapping in his bet.
He relaxed back in his chair, ready to wait his turn when the message he'd been waiting for popped into his private chat box, which read; Join us after? Followed by the log in to another video call.
-x-
"We wanted to talk to you," Tennyson said as soon as John entered the video call.
John studied the man in front of him. He was clearly moving past his prime but acted like he was still very much a player. His pale hair was swept back from his forehead, accentuating a high brow and drawing attention to his bright blue eyes and square-jawed face that the ladies had gone wild for ten years ago. Ruthless and cold, he was the type of man that got what he wanted and didn't care who he trampled to do it.
"Me? Did I do something wrong, sir?" John's eyes widened, feigning surprise and doubt. "I apologise if that's the case, I assure you it was unintentional."
"No, nothing like that, son," Coates assured him. "We were just thinking that, if you told us a little more about your problem, we might be able to find a way to help you out. You seem like a nice boy that doesn't deserve whatever trouble you've found yourself in."
"Well, sir, I don't believe I do." John shook his head sadly.
"Care to elaborate? The more we know the more we can help," Tennyson said.
John glanced from one man to the other, then sideways to Jacob, who had so far remained silent. "I wouldn't want to bore you all with my problems, I'm sure you've got far more important things to be doing."
"Now, I like you, Tyler," Coates said to John. "You remind me of my son, and I'd like to think that someone would help him out when he had a problem if I wasn't able to. We've got time and we're ready to listen." His tone was persuasive, warm and trustworthy, and John could tell why he had gone so far in his career. Politics was a subject he wasn't fond of, most politicians used people for their own gain, something that he and his family didn't approve of, but he hoped would work in his favour now.
"Well, alright," John said hesitantly, "but it's not very exciting."
Coates motioned for him to continue.
"Back in highschool, we had an assignment where we were asked to invent something that we thought could benefit the world. Most people in my class took the easy way out and came up with crazy inventions but never actually specified how they should be made. But my Mama always told me I was an overachiever, ever since I was a young 'un, and so I went further than anyone. I researched, I came up with an idea and I started to plan out how to produce it. Turns out I didn't need to do half the work I did, but I got me some good marks for it. Top of the class."
The men nodded along with him, but John could tell they were barely listening. That was fine, he wasn't expecting them to, but they would be paying attention soon enough.
"Anyways, once the assignment was over, I couldn't stop thinking about it. It became a pet project of sorts, and I spent the next five years perfecting the plans and rejigging old tech until I made a basic working prototype."
Tennyson sat up a little straighter, the mention of a prototype capturing his interest.
"I take it ya'll have heard of Tracy Industries Mapwear, the one that uses soundwaves so there's no need for imaging systems?"
"Of course," Coates said with a shrug, nodding slightly, which made the glare of the overhead light dance on the top of his balding head. "I've got the latest upgrade in my car."
John nodded. "I thought as much, well you see, they didn't invent that version of the sonic geo-mapping tech, I did."
Tennyson's eyes widened. "The patent for that is registered with Tracy Industries, with the design credited to one of the Tracy sons, John I think it was, and that Hackenbacker fellow. I should know, my company released our own version not long after, with a few adjustments, of course." The smirk that accompanied his words told them everything.
John held in a smirk of his own. It had been an easy enough story to fabricate. He and Brains had invented the tech together more than seven years ago. He used it primarily on Thunderbird Five to examine rescue zones and the like where CCTV cameras and satellites wouldn't be available.
It was a simple enough concept, using sound waves to create a 3D image of an area, mapping it and beaming back an interactive picture to him in the space station. They had then adapted the tech for use in the other crafts and the pod vehicles and, eventually, handed it over to the developing team at Tracy Industries to convert it for commercial use. The aim had been to prevent accidents, therefore saving lives, by having it incorporated into the satellite navigation systems in cars and planes. And it had worked better than either of them had expected. It forewarned drivers and pilots of upcoming dangers, working in all weathers even when visibility would ordinarily have been an issue, as well as plotting their course and steering when needed. It had been revolutionary, and as a result, quickly copied by other companies, the first of which had been Global Tech.
He wasn't surprised that Tennyson knew the details of the patent, in fact he'd expected as much. Fortunately, it had been easy enough for him to hack into the Tracy Industries system, to create an employee record for Tyler Rogers, including background checks, project histories, and vacation time that would stand up to the highest scrutiny. Yes, it was illegal, and no he didn't care. The people he was dealing with were hardly shining members of society themselves and he knew only too well that their mysterious enemy would have people inside the company ready to jump at his command. Sometimes you had to fight dirty, and John was fully prepared for battle.
John nodded again. "Yeah, the patent says that, but that's only because I was foolish enough to go to them with the idea before my patent was accepted. You see, I needed funding to create a fully working prototype, and I went in with a full proposal. I had everything planned out, years and years of work. Of course, they signed me up immediately. Offered me a job on their development team, told me that I'd have all the funds and equipment I'd need."
"And they didn't fulfil that promise?" Coates guessed.
"Oh, they did, alright. I finished the working prototype, made it ten times better than the original, and they stole it. Apparently, being under contract with them, and having developed it in their lap using their equipment, meant that they owned the intellectual property. Essentially, by signing that contract, I signed away the rights to my own work and anything else I come up with over the course of my contract."
This got the reaction he had hoped for. Their eyes darted to each other, calculating expressions evident.
"You kept working for them?" Tennyson asked, acting for all the world like a concerned uncle rather than a scheming businessman.
"I had no choice," John answered, sounding as hopeless and miserable as he could manage. "I used my savings to build my prototype and put together the proposal, and, once I'd signed the contract, I had to work for them exclusively. I needed money to live, let alone engage a lawyer to fight my case, and if I didn't work they didn't pay me."
"And that's why you came to the casino, looking to make some quick money?" Jacob asked, speaking for the first time.
"Yes, sir." John cleared his throat. "Truth be told, I've never really held with gambling. I mean no offence, but I saw what it did to my granddaddy, and I was brought up to see it as a doorway to the devil. But I've always been good at calculating risks and strategising, and I figured, so long as it was only my own money I was risking, and I stop as soon as I get what I need, there'd be no real harm done."
"And what do you plan to do with your winnings?" Coates asked. "You said you wanted to, how did you put it, screw with them as they had you?"
"You're gonna think it's stupid," John warned, lacing his fingers nervously. "Hell, I'm not even sure I can do anything." He checked, and winced as if hearing something loud in his ear. "Excuse my language, my Grandma taught me never to take the lord's name in vain or invite the devil. I just feel so strongly about this, it's got me as mad as a mule chewin' on a bumblebee."
Coate's eye twitched, like he wasn't sure what he was listening to, but he managed what passed as an encouraging smile. "Please, don't worry on our account, but do continue."
"Well, I've had this new idea, an improvement to the original design, but I can't do anything while they hold the patent. I spoke to a lawyer, mentioning no names, you understand, and he advised me to gather all the evidence I could proving that the idea is mine, and then take it public."
"Public?" Tennyson echoed. "And how do you plan to do that? Surely they will be prepared for such a thing?"
"I plan to beat them at their own game. They humiliated me, so I'll do the same back." John leaned forward eagerly. "You heard of the Tracy Conference?"
"Of course," Tennyson said, while the other two nodded. "What of it?"
"I'm gonna do it there. I've already won enough to produce a new prototype, for a portable version of the geo-mapping technology, housed in a device as small as a wristwatch. It connects to your phone, tracking your location, plotting your route, and it constantly scans your surroundings, sending out echoes, kinda like a bat's, to alert you to any dangers, as well as logging others around you with the same technology. I predict that, within five years, everyone will own one." He pushed aside his sleeve to reveal his comm and touched the screen, which lit up, projecting the geo-map logo. "I had been looking for new investors but as they say, once bitten, twice shy, so I decided to raise the money on my own."
Greedy eyes focused on his comm, no doubt imagining the things they could not only do with the technology, but the money they could make. John pretended not to notice it as he pushed his sleeve back down and turned to face them.
"I applied to do a pitch at the conference," John continued, laying out his trap without them even knowing it. "I know the elder Tracy will be there, no doubt with at least one of his sons, and I plan to tell the world what they did to me, with the press watching, where they cannot deny it. They're already under scrutiny and every member of staff has been told not to talk to the press under any circumstance, under threat of being fired." He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Something like that could put them in a very bad position, and I intend to be a part of it."
His audience remained silent for a moment or two, digesting the information. Tennyson looked at Coates, who looked at Jacob in return.
Jacob hadn't uttered a word the entire conversation, his eyes watching John intently, his gaze assessing and not a little suspicious. Now, he cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "We may know someone that could help you," he started, and John fought the urge to tense up under the scrutiny. He just had to hold out a little longer.
"He's got his fingers in a lot of pies," Coates elaborated, "and he's a very busy man, so he might not even be interested."
"And even if he is, he won't ever meet you in person," Tennyson continued, all three of them pushing the point home. "But he helps people."
"Could he help me?" John asked eagerly. "I could sure use it."
"For a price," Jacob said, his tone casual. "He's got a vested interest in the Tracy family and their little rescue business."
"How much would he want?" John asked, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his spine.
"It varies," Coates told him. "He's more a 'you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours' person."
"Then how do I talk to him?"
"You don't, he'll contact you, but never directly. But we can pass on the message about your little venture," Jacob said, "and then, who knows?"
-x-
"This is going to suck," Gordon said, his finger on the elevator button yet making no move to push it, "and not in a good way."
"I know," John answered. He wished there was another way, but he'd laid the groundwork of their plan and now he needed help to execute it. "Dad is not going to take this well."
"Neither will Scott." Gordon shuddered briefly, already imagining the wrath of Big Bro that was about to come their way.
John absently raked his fingers through his still dark streaked hair, the dye washing out unevenly. He made a mental note to ask Selene to order him some colour remover, she'd had her fair share of dye disasters in her time, she'd know what to do to fix it.
"It can't be helped," he said with a sigh. "If Dad had listened to us and asked our opinion rather than taking over and issuing orders, we could have avoided it."
"It's only because he cares," Gordon pointed out, stepping back from the elevator. "They targeted his youngest and his daughter-in-law, you know he's practically adopted Sel. He adores her."
"I know," John said again. It wasn't that he didn't understand why their dad had done as he had, and ordinarily, his way of working might have been an effective one. But this was no ordinary situation, nor was it an ordinary foe. They had needed an extraordinary plan and for that, he and Gordon had had to take the matter into their own hands.
John glanced upwards, as if he could see through the hangar ceiling and into the lounge above them. He felt like they were about to enter a lion's den wearing a steak as a necklace. "We can't keep putting it off."
Gordon nodded, resigned to their fate. "Yeah." He stabbed the button, the elevator doors opening instantly. He swept his arm out in invitation. "Oldest first."
"Gee, thanks." John strode into the elevator with far more confidence than he felt, Gordon following behind him. He was a grown man, a married man that should be able to make his own decisions and protect his own wife as he saw fit. Not that he would ever say that out loud, not in this situation. He was smart enough to know that pushing his luck was stupid.
The doors opened with a ding, announcing their arrival.
Heads swivelled in their direction, eyes growing wide as they took in his new look.
"John? What's going on?" Virgil asked, sitting up straighter in his chair.
John swallowed, but pulled up his big boy pants. Keeping his tone as confident and no-nonsense as possible he dropped their bomb. "We've got a confession to make."