Another shorter one…

Chapter Six

On Wednesday morning, Jeff took one look at the pleading expression in his sons' eyes and sent them out in the Thunderbirds to begin searching the Pacific. Given the amount of territory to cover, it was a nearly hopeless search – they all knew that – but at least it was something positive to do.

Scott was in Thunderbird One, Virgil flew Two, and Alan grumblingly took one of the jets, since Three wasn't exactly ideal for flying in a mid-altitude search pattern.

John checked in briefly a little while after the others had left, his voice distracted as he told Jeff that he was working on the suggestion someone had made that he modify one of Thunderbird Five's scanners to pick up the frequency of cloaked vessels.

Jeff didn't try to talk him out of it, even though he knew that John had set himself up with a project that could potentially take years to complete.

Jeff himself was trying to get some work done, although he found his gaze frequently straying from his papers and settling instead on either the vidphone or on Gordon's portrait on the wall.

Why hadn't the kidnappers called yet? Were they hoping that the suspense of having to wait forty-eight hours would lead Jeff to pay up more quickly? Or had something happened to Gordon while he was in the clutches of his kidnappers so that the call would never come?

Jeff shook his head. He couldn't let himself think like that. Gordon was a strong, resourceful young man, he told himself. The aquanaut was a lot smarter than he liked to let on, too, and Jeff wouldn't be at all surprised if Gordon himself was working to provide the clues necessary for his family to find him.

A brief smile flitted across Jeff's face as he imagined the havoc his prankster son could wreak against his kidnappers. He wouldn't feel any need to hold himself back from causing trouble, that was for sure.

Then Jeff found himself frowning again, remembering the blood splatters on Gordon's shirt, evidence that his son had fought back but been overpowered.

Grandma had gasped at first when she saw the shirt – they had tried to hide it from her, but she had insisted on knowing what had them so pale – but then she had tutted and whisked it away, washing the stains out and sewing the buttons back on. She was, she had told them firmly, getting it ready for Gordon when he returned, as it was one of his favorite shirts.

With a start, Jeff realized that he'd been lost in his thoughts for several minutes. He made himself turn back to his work, though he kept one ear open as his boys' voices maintained a near-constant chatter over the comm. systems. Scott's updates came the fastest, in clipped, unemotional tones – "Sector 898, clear." Virgil's voice, calm and steady, but with a timbre that just barely hinted at the depth of feelings roiling up within him, spoke up about half as often as Scott's did. Alan, unusually somber, added his input every once in a while. There was a hint of grumbling in his tone, undoubtedly due to being stuck in the comparably slow jet.

Jeff shifted, and winced as his foot struck a case on the floor under his desk. Late the day before, an armored jet had arrived, bearing one nearly apoplectic bank manager and a large suitcase packed with five million dollars. Jeff had met the plane on the runway and signed for the money, managing to send the man back on his way within minutes, neatly dodging all his thinly-veiled questions.

His sons' eyebrows had gone up at the size of the suitcase – five million dollars weighed around a hundred pounds. They were used to wealth, but still hadn't ever seen so much money all in one place before.

Jeff's eyes fell on the ransom note next, a frequent distraction for him over the previous couple of days. It lay on his desk, barely touched so as to preserve any fingerprints.

Finally giving up on trying to work, Jeff instead got to his feet to pace around. He'd debated long and hard about calling in the police or the FBI, but doubted that they could provide any real help – and they could, in fact, be a hindrance if the family decided to use more of International Rescue's technology to search for Gordon. He had finally settled on a compromise – they would rescue Gordon, and then call in the authorities to arrest the kidnappers.

He smiled ruefully – his sons had been very satisfied with that decision, as it would potentially give them the opportunity to enact a little revenge upon the kidnappers before the police showed up.

Kyrano brought him a tray of sandwiches for lunch, his face calm but sympathy showing in his dark eyes. Jeff took a bite of the food mechanically, barely tasting it, listening to the monotonous drone of the discouraged voices over the radio, each flat, "Sector clear," resonating with a dull thump in his stomach.

Looking at his watch, he saw that it had now been forty-eight hours since they had discovered Gordon's disappearance, making it more like fifty-two since he had been kidnapped.

"Sector 622 clear," Alan sighed.

Jeff sighed too, pushing his plate away after only a few bites. It was going to be another long day.