Chapter Eight

Virgil took a step back to stare gloomily at the painting he was working on. He knew that Scott would try to hide a grimace when he saw it – it was a dark, abstract swirl of colors that perfectly illustrated Virgil's feelings. Painting was one of Virgil's ways of keeping from going crazy under the pressure. Scott understood that, even though he didn't necessarily like it – he'd pick a physical outlet any day.

It wasn't as though he wanted to paint the darkness, Virgil thought, but sometimes it felt almost as though he had no choice – the emotions were so overwhelming that he had to get them out somehow. He'd tried Scott's methods before – running or using a punching bag – and they helped to some extent, but sometimes the situation just called for a blank canvas and a whole lot of paint.

He jabbed viciously at the canvas, leaving a series of crimson blobs down the middle of the painting, an echo of the drops of blood they had found on Gordon's shirt.

Yes, Scott would definitely frown. But he wouldn't say anything, because he would recognize his own feelings splattered across that canvas too.

Their little brother had been kidnapped. By murderers. And it had been roughly sixty-four hours since he had been taken, with no contact – a very bad sign in kidnappings. Virgil dipped his brush in black paint and swirled a giant circle around the outer edges of the painting, roughly stroking in lines like a clock.

That made him think to glance at the real clock on his wall, and he grimaced when he saw that it was a few minutes after one. He was exhausted and knew he really ought to go to bed, but his vivid imagination had been supplying him with plenty of nightmares lately, and he wasn't eager to see what his mind would come up with tonight.

He jumped violently as the klaxon sounded. Wait, the klaxon? International Rescue was offline; how could the klaxon be going off?

Despite his confusion, his feet automatically carried him toward the lounge at a run. Everyone crowded into the room – including Grandma, Tintin, Kyrano and Brains – hoping for news.

One look at John's portrait, and Virgil knew that it was not only news, but very good news.

John was grinning widely, blue eyes sparkling. Speaking so quickly they could barely understand him, he exclaimed, "I just had contact from Gordon!"

The babble of excited questions kept him from continuing for a moment.

Jeff held up a hand to silence everyone. "Where is he, John?" he asked. "Is he all right?"

"He's still on the Sea Bird," John said. "I think he's okay. You guys need to get going in the speedboat, though – it sounds like he's managed to sneak out of wherever they were keeping him, and I got the impression that he'll be in trouble if they figure out that he's loose. He said he'll be hiding somewhere on the deck, waiting for you."

"All right, boys, let's not keep Gordon waiting!" Jeff exclaimed.

Virgil hadn't changed into his pajamas yet, so he was ready to go. He smiled wryly as he noticed that his father and brothers were still dressed too – apparently he hadn't been the only one reluctant to go to bed.

The four of them trotted down to the boat shed. Scott claimed the controls, and in his expert hands they were soon flying through the water at considerably more than the seventy knots the boat normally did. John had fed the coordinates into their navigation system, and they all found themselves transfixed by the numbers that were counting down the time until their arrival.

John's voice came over the radio after a few minutes. "I've contacted the police, and they should arrive a few minutes after you guys get there. My recommendation is that you extract Gordon as quickly as possible, and leave the kidnappers for the police."

"We'll see," Scott growled.

"Well, just know that I'm planning on coming down there as soon as possible, and I'll like it a lot better if all of you are in one piece when I get home," John retorted.

The conversation died down then, and Virgil watched as the time steadily ticked away, nervous butterflies beginning to flutter in his stomach the closer they got. Scott began slowing down when they were five minutes out, gradually reducing his speed until the engine was barely turning over.

Virgil looked ahead and saw a few dim lights, outlining a bulky shape in the water – the galleon. His breath caught in his throat as a small light near the middle of the ship suddenly blinked several times in rapid succession. He grabbed Scott's arm. Being careful to keep his voice low so the sound wouldn't carry across the water, he muttered, "Look – Gordon's signaling us."

Jeff and Alan crowded up close behind them to see what was going on.

"'Which way are you going?'" Alan interpreted out loud, even though they could all read the Morse code signal easily. "'Looking for ride to Tracy Island.'" Alan laughed.

Scott snorted. "Only Gordon would try to hitchhike across the Pacific. Acknowledge him, Virg, but don't signal any more than that."

Virgil flashed a light quickly to acknowledge that they had received Gordon's message.

They pulled alongside the ship and followed a couple blinks of Gordon's light to a rope ladder. Jeff practically shoved his way past his sons in order to be the first up the ladder, with Scott hot on his heels. Virgil and Alan hurried to tie the boat to a ring in the side of the galleon, and then dropped rubber floats between the two vessels so that they wouldn't bump together loudly.

When Virgil and Alan climbed up onto the deck a moment later, Gordon was wrapped tightly in Jeff's arms, while Scott ruffled his hair.

"I'm okay," Gordon was saying, his voice muffled by Jeff's shirt.

"Are you really, son?" Jeff asked, his own voice sounding a little muffled, but for a different reason. He took a half-step back in an attempt to look Gordon up and down. It was too dark to really see him, though.

Virgil snatched the opportunity to crowd in and grab Gordon in a quick hug of his own, feeling the need to touch his brother, as if to make sure he was really there. "Nice to see you, Gords," he murmured. Then he frowned as he felt tremors running through his younger brother's body. "You're shivering."

"It's mostly just from the adrenaline," Gordon replied, but he still murmured his thanks when Scott instantly shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him. He put it on and the shivers eased a little.

Alan's greeting was a little more casual, but heartfelt. "Dude, I thought I told you not to get shanghaied!"

"Uh, I was kidnapped, not shanghaied," Gordon retorted. "Big difference!"

"All right, boys, let's get out of here," Jeff said in a low voice. "The police will be here soon, and I'd rather we were all out of the firing line."

They started to turn toward the gunwale – and then froze as they were suddenly illuminated in brilliant light.

"Going somewhere?" a cold voice demanded.