A/N: You can thank maverickiceman for prodding me into updating this story. I have no excuse except I got involved writing new stories and didn't continue editing these. Unsound Foundation is mostly by my sister Jelsemium. Thanks for reading. Qweb
The Origin of MASK
Chapter 11: An Unsound Foundation, Part 1
By Jelsemium and/or Qweb
Jacques LeFleur entered the brand new, ultra-ritzy Empress Hotel in Vancouver with all the confidence of a stray dog that had been kicked too many times. He had worn his best suit (the one that fit) for the interview that Duane Kennedy had set up for him. Kennedy had told him it had something to do with rescues and emergency relief, which fit with what Jacques knew of the humanitarian Matt Trakker, but he was still in awe that that the great man was interested in him! A mere lumberjack-cum-natural disaster specialist!
Jacques walked up to the front desk and asked for Matt Trakker's room number.
The clerk looked up and saw a neatly dressed man holding a brief case, just the sort of person to come calling on an important guest. If the clerk noticed the dark haired, dark eyed youth was nervous, he correctly put it down to meeting with the Matt Trakker.
The clerk called up to Trakker's room and confirmed the appointment, then he ushered LeFleur to the elevator that went to the penthouse suite. Jacques moved with athletic grace that the clerk interpreted as confidence. However, Jacques had the feeling that everyone was staring at him. He wished he could just vanish from sight.
"Really, Matthew. A lumberjack?" the cultured English accent sounded incredulous at the thought of such a being.
Trakker, who never cared to be called by his formal full Christian name, looked at his father's best friend in amusement and shook his finger at him. "Why, Alexander, you little snob, I'll have you know some of my best friends are lumberjacks."
The red bearded computer expert/zoologist/strategist/masked adventurer — whose only objection to being called Alexander was that it wasn't his name — snorted with amusement at the cliché. Though he wouldn't have been surprised if Matt did have a lot of lumberjacks as friends. His best friend's son always did make friends as easily as he made money. "I'm just more choosey in my choice of comrades, old chap," Alex defended himself, "And I still don't see how a lumberjack will be able to aid us in fighting Venom."
"Jacques has already stopped Venom on two occasions…"
"By accident."
"By serendipity, you mean," Matt pointed out, still shaking his finger under Alex's nose. "But he wouldn't have been in a position to do anything if he wasn't the type of person we're looking for. Also, considering how much I'm investing in this project, I want to do more than chase Venom. Some of our equipment would be just perfect for aiding victims of natural disasters and M. LeFleur has been studying natural disasters and their causes. His studies will at least be useful in determining whether or not the disaster we are facing is natural or man-made."
"If you insist," Alex said rubbing his bald head and absently pushing Matt's finger away. "But don't forget, you have an appointment with that contractor to sort out this problem that's keeping the Trakker Foundation's new 'energy research' lab from being built."
"This shouldn't take long," the blond inventor said in his mildest manner. "I'll have plenty of time to make the appointment. And you needn't snigger so much about the energy research lab. Its primary purpose will be to develop clean energy sources."
"Primary purpose, and if any of these 'sources' can be used against Venom…" Alex waggled his eyebrows.
Matt just smiled slyly.
"You're overlooking the dangerous aspect of being late for your appointment with Carl Meyer, of Meyer Construction, however," Alex said.
Blond eyebrows climbed to blond hairline. "And that is?"
"Scott's supposed to meet you there after his tour. Heaven knows what sort of mischief that son of yours will get into if you don't pick him up promptly. Talk about natural disasters!"
Matt gave his best friend a mock 'if looks could kill' glare and went to answer the door.
If looks could kill, the architect that Carl Meyer was glaring at would have gone through four or five incarnations simultaneously.
Calhoun Burns — architect, horse breeder and gentleman of the old school — returned the glare with one that should have shriveled the contractor to the size of a pea.
"I'm telling you for the last time, Burns," Meyer snarled. "There is nothing wrong with the alterations in the plans for the research center. It's perfectly safe and legitimate!"
"Have you submit them to the planning department for approval, Mister Meyer?" Calhoun said in his cultured southern drawl.
Meyer snorted explosively. "Matt Trakker, THE Matt Trakker, hired me to see that this building goes up as fast and as cheap as possible, and that means using a more practical foundation."
"Practical! Dangerous is more the word," Calhoun said coldly. "I'd think that a man who lived in earthquake country would be aware of…"
Meyer blew a cloud of cigarette smoke into Calhoun's face, sending the younger man into a coughing fit. Burns waved the smoke away. "I assure you, you have not heard the last of this. I intend to take this up with the planning commission myself."
He exited with great dignity and promptly crashed headlong into a metallic thing that was blocking the corridor.
"T-Bob!" Scott exclaimed, jumping out of the way in fright. It's one thing to get caught eavesdropping on an interesting argument by one's lenient father, it's another to get caught by a total stranger of uncertain temperament.
"Wha…oops…hey!" gurgled the robot as he thrashed around on the floor.
Calhoun rolled out of the way of the flailing metallic limbs and climbed to his feet a little shakily and leaned against an obliging wall.
T-Bob scrambled to his feet with aid from the ten-year old would-be spy. Calhoun's startled confederate gray eyes met Scott's anxious blue-gray eyes. Two well brought up minds hit upon the same thought at the same time.
"Gosh, mister, we're so sorry … "
"I beg your pardon, I didn't see you… "
"It was our fault, really, we shouldn't have been standing right by the door … "
"I should have been paying attention to where I was going. I trust that neither of you is injured?" Calhoun wasn't sure what to make of T-Bob, but the boy was obviously worried about him.
Scott and T-Bob took a quick inventory. "I'm okay. T-Bob?"
"I'm all right," squeaked the robot faintly.
Just then Meyer stomped up to the still open door and glared at the trio in the hall. "Burns, why are you still here? "
"I was just leaving when I ran into your other visitor here," Calhoun replied, indicating Scott.
"Whaddya want, kid?" Meyer snapped at Scott.
"I'm looking for my father… " Scott started.
"He ain't here. Go 'way, you bother me," Meyer ground his cigarette out on T-Bob's head and slammed the door in the trio's faces.
Well brought up Calhoun looked at well brought up Scott and both started to giggle.
"Hey!" T-Bob protested. "You wouldn't think it was so funny if it was your head he used as an ash tray!"
"Sorry, T-Bob," Scott apologized as he searched his pockets for a handkerchief.
Calhoun pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket, "Allow me."
"Thanks, Mr. Burns," Scott said. "By the way, I'm Scott, and this is T-Bob."
Calhoun smiled warmly, and offered his hand, first to Scott, then to T-Bob. "I'm honored to meet you. Please, call me Calhoun."
"Pleased to meet you," Scott said as they walked to the elevator.
"Scott," T-Bob said. "I think it would be a good idea to wait for your father downstairs."
"That's the best idea you've had all week," Scott agreed. "That coffee shop looked good."
When the elevator arrived Calhoun ushered the two on before him, and paused to rub a sore spot on his thigh while they had their backs to him. Little did he realize that these bruises were just the beginning of an impressive collection.
Jacques first exposure to the English language had been in the form of comic books and Saturday matinees. For a moment he thought that his "tutors" had warped his understanding of the language. "I beg your pardon?" he managed to get out.
Matt smiled reassuringly, or as reassuringly as he could after proposing that Jacques might want to become a MASKed crusader. "I realize my proposition is a little abrupt, but there isn't any way to approach this more diplomatically."
"Why me?"
"I like your style, you went to college, even though your family thinks that higher education is an excessive luxury. You worked full time and went to school full time, not the easiest thing to do. You even came up with a new major, the study of natural disasters, that's been needed for a while. A subject that you are so good at, that the Peaceful Nations Alliance has called on you for advice on several occasions."
Jacques shrugged away the list of accomplishments. "But, I do not understand why you want me to help fight the Museum Robbers. I am no hero, I am just a lumberjack."
"Not a hero?" Matt pointed to a sheaf of papers sitting on the table next to the coffee cups. "According to this, you foiled a hijacking."
"By chance," Jacques protested, "I saw what looked like an accident and stopped to see if I could help. When they saw me, they took off."
"Stopping to help is another point in your favor," Matt said. "Plus, you put your new major to work by designing a series of firebreaks that stopped a brush fire in Malibu, California from getting out of hand. Which, incidentally, prevented looters from escaping with several million dollars worth of jewelry and paintings."
"That still does not mean I can take on the Museum Robbers," Jacques protested.
"Both incidents were the museum robbers, or Venom, as they call themselves."
"Sacrè cœur!" Jacques stared at the floor for a few moments, absorbing the fact that he had done something that most of the police forces in the free world couldn't do, and had done it twice. "Je…I will need time to think this over."
"I understand, this is quite an outré, and dangerous, offer. Take all the time you want. I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about this. But if you feel you must talk to somebody, only do it with somebody you can trust with your life. And make sure that nobody can overhear you."
Jacques nodded as he watched Matt gather up his "demonstration materials" in silence. Matt smiled cheerfully as he packed "Lifter" and "Gulliver" in their boxes. "I don't like to shock and run, M'sieu LeFleur, but I am late for an urgent appointment with a tour guide. Why don't you meet us here for dinner tomorrow around seven and we can discuss this in more detail. We could also go out someplace where we could demonstrate our vehicles, and some of our more… 'uncivilized'… masks."
Matt had been debating his next step for a long time, now he decided to go for it. He went into the next room, where Alex had set up a mask that had not been used in the demonstration, even though it was in the category of "Masks that will not trash a hotel room."
Matt tried not to make the same mistake twice. So, knowing that Jacques was likely to have an accent, he arranged to make sure the mask understood it's new owner. Of course, it meant that Jacques wouldn't have a choice in masks, but that could be corrected later if necessary. He disconnected Mirage mask from the computer that had been analyzing Jacques voice and speech patterns. Matt returned to the sitting room and handed Jacques a hatbox, "Here's something to prove my good faith. It's yours if you want it. Try it on in front of a mirror, why don't you?"
Jacques left the hotel in something of a daze, hatbox firmly, if uneasily tucked under his arm.
For a moment the desk clerk entertained the wild notion that something illicit had transpired in his hotel. Then he dismissed the thought as unworthy. If Matt Trakker wanted to trade a briefcase for a hatbox, he had a very good reason for it.
Scott, T-Bob and Calhoun went into the coffee shop on the first floor of the office building. Scott had been told not to go off with strangers, but he figured that going into a public place, in the area he was supposed to be in anyway, didn't really count. He did, however, turn down Calhoun's offer to buy him something to eat, and contented himself with the doughnuts and milk that he had the money for.
Scott guessed his new friend was around his father's age, but in spite of being so old, he wasn't stuffy or anything. He had dark brown hair with a sort of reddish tinge to it, a triangular face that was meant to smile a lot, and he smelled faintly, but distinctly, of horses.
Calhoun settled on coffee. He looked at his new friends curiously, especially T-Bob. The boy's square jawed face looked vaguely familiar, like he resembled somebody that Calhoun had met somewhere, but Calhoun had never seen anything like T-Bob.
Scott caught the look. He'd been waiting for the usual, "What the heck is that thing?" but Calhoun was too polite for that. What he said was: "I've never seen anything like you, T-Bob."
"T-Bob was a science project of mine that kinda got out of hand," Scott said.
T-Bob made a disgusted noise.
"I see," Calhoun smiled. "Would I be safe in assuming you got an 'A'?"
"No, T-Bob wouldn't co-operate."
"Of course not," T-Bob said indignantly. "It was bad enough when those little rug rats tried to sharpen their pencils with me, but it was too much when the teacher used me as a garbage can."
"You didn't have to spit the garbage back in his face."
"Can I help it if banana peels make me burp?"
Calhoun laughed into his coffee cup, interrupting the old argument. "You're very good with your hands," he commented to Scott.
"Thank you, I take after my dad."
"You're father must be very clever. I hope I'm not getting you into trouble by detaining you from your rendezvous with him."
Scott nodded proudly, pleased that his new friend realized how swell his father was. "Nah, he's supposed to meet me here after the tour," the boy from Nevada assured his new friend.
"Maybe you ought to call him, he seems to be rather late."
"No, uh … the tour ended early," Scott said uneasily, hoping neither Calhoun nor his father would ask why the tour had ended so abruptly.
Calhoun was staring into his coffee like it had answers hidden amongst the caffeine. He was worried about the research lab, but he pushed that thought out of his mind and continued his conversation. "May I ask why your father arranged to meet you here? Does he work here?"
"No, but he has some business with that Meyer creep. Something about some dumb architect holding up his new energy lab."
The penny dropped for Calhoun. He'd seen pictures of Matt Trakker, so he asked, "Would your father be Matt Trakker?"
Scott smiled proudly, "Yes, do you know him?"
"No, but I would like very much to meet him."
"What about?" Scott asked curiously, having heard that one before.
"About his new energy research laboratory."
Scott could add one and one real well, and he started to blush. "Uh, you wouldn't be the architect would you?"
"I am."
"Boy, now you've put your foot into it!" said T-Bob, poking Scott in the side.
Scott pushed him away and began to take on the colors of his dad's Thunderhawk. "Oh, no, I didn't mean to call you dumb…" he started.
Calhoun grinned. "Not to worry, I've been called worse. And I'm beginning to think I have been 'dumb' about this. I should have gone to the planning commission the minute I saw the revisions in the blueprints."
"It's dangerous?" Scott's eyes went wide with the thought of danger.
"Well, that may be an exaggeration," Calhoun said thoughtfully. "It's just that this area is in an earthquake zone and I don't think the new foundation is appropriate."
"Oh, well, why don't you tell my dad that?"
"I'd like to, if I can get the chance." Calhoun said.
"Why don't you come to the Empress Hotel? We're in the penthouse suite. Do you know where that is?"
Calhoun grinned, "I ought to, I designed it. But, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to try to catch the commissioner before he leaves his office." He stood up and offered his hand to Scott. "I'm staying at the Pagebrook Hotel, room 211, I'd be honored if you or your father would call me."
Scott frowned. "If you designed the Empress, why don't you stay there?"
"I can't afford their prices," Calhoun chuckled ruefully. He shook hands with T-Bob and took his leave.
Matt entered the building and got all the way to Meyer's office before it occurred to him that he ought to have checked out the coffee shop in the lobby. Oh, well, he thought, Scott can wait a few more minutes, if he's even here yet.
Matt knocked and was surprised to have the door jerked violently open. "Mr. Meyer?" he said, stepping back a pace defensively.
"Sorry, I thought it was that crazy architect again," the unlovely man with the smelly cigar said.
"No, just me, I'm…"
"You're Matt Trakker, I'm very pleased to meet you, sir," Meyer said as he ushered Matt into the room and offered him a chair.
"The pleasure is mutual. I suppose you're Carl Meyer?" Matt said mildly.
"I am. I'm so sorry about the delays in getting the construction started on that building of yours. That idiot, Burns, has been kicking up a fuss about some changes I made in the plans. But everything's under control now. We'll start on Monday, for sure."
"Good, I'm glad to hear everything has been cleared up," Matt said with relief.
"Yeah, I'm sorry you had to come all this way. But at least it gave me a chance to meet you."
"Thank you, I was glad for an excuse to come out here." Matt said sincerely. "By the way, why did the architect object to the alterations?"
"Who knows? I guess it offended his ego to have a mere contractor spoil his work of art."
"What were the alterations?"
Meyer shrugged. "Just a different way of laying the foundation, my way is cheaper and it's been used in lots of buildings."
"I see, well, then if that's settled I'll be going. Perhaps we could have dinner together while I'm here?"
"I would be honoured," Meyer said as he leaped to get the door for him.
Matt went back to the coffee shop and, as he figured, found his son stuffing his face. Scott was just starting on a second round of doughnuts that he had bought on the credit that the proprietor had extended after learning who Scott's father was.
Matt paid for the doughnuts, swiped one and escorted boy and robot to the bright red and purple sports car called Thunderhawk.
"Well, that was easy to clear up," Matt sighed happily as he buckled up.
"Really? What did Meyer say?" Scott asked curiously.
Matt dutifully reported on the conversation.
"Hmm, that's not what Calhoun Burns said, and I'd rather believe him than some rude guy who uses T-Bob's head for an ash-tray!"
"You've met Burns? When?"
"Just before you got here," Scott said, and explained his afternoon's activities (only leaving out the spectacular bus… umm… stop).
"Hmm, this Calhoun Burns didn't strike you as the temperamental type?" Matt asked thoughtfully. Ten-year old Scott was a fair judge of character for his age, and he had met Burns, while Matt had only gotten a second hand impression of him.
"No way. He apologized for tripping over T-Bob, and shook his hand, too," Scott defended his new friend.
"Twice!" T-Bob squeaked up from the back seat.
"I guess I'll have to run a check on this Calhoun Burns of yours," Matt said thoughtfully.
Scott leaned back in his seat, breathing a mental sigh of relief that his father hadn't asked how come he had had so much time on his hands. He wasn't ready to tell him about the bus yet, though he knew he'd better before his dad got the bill.
Jacques reached his motel when he realized that he had forgotten his briefcase. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he ought to go back and get it. He sighed at the thought of the long walk back to the Empress. But since the briefcase held his clean clothes, not to mention the object he had come to Vancouver to obtain, he turned around and headed back. He didn't want to leave the mysterious hatbox lying around in his room unattended, but it was very awkward to carry as it was. So Jacques decided to buy a duffle bag. He'd needed a new one anyway.
Venom's lead to Boulder Hill, Nevada hadn't turned up any of the little masked spacemen that the tabloid had talked about. In fact the only things of interest there had been the leading citizen, the philanthropist Matt Trakker and his money - especially the money. Just thinking about all that money going to charity made Mayhem's palms itch, so he decided to do some fundraising for his own favorite charity.
Mayhem had worked out a way to bring Trakker out of his nice, secure home in Boulder Hill, Nevada, to a place where Venom had a stronghold. If only he could rely on his hirelings to do their jobs! The grey-haired man in the military uniform glared at the recumbent form of what passed as his infiltration expert. "Rax, you blundering idiot!"
Sly Rax lifted the ice pack from his shaggy black hair and eyed the overweight, criminal genius sourly. His face was even paler than usual, and his black goatee quivered indignantly.
"I'm telling you, that bus attacked me. How was I supposed to grab the brat with two tons of metal going for my throat?"
A deep-throated chuckle interrupted Mayhem's reply. "Honestly, Rax, you can be such a child sometimes," scarlet haired Vanessa Warfield mocked. She pushed her jet-black forelock out of her eyes and looked scornfully at Rax.
Rax shifted his glare from Mayhem to Warfield.
"If you think you can do better, be my guest," he snarled. "I haven't finished repairing Piranha anyway."
Mayhem sighed, "I ought to charge you for those things. Warfield, take Gorey and get that kid. A ten-year old ought to be about his speed."
"Sure, Mayhem." The green-eyed, venomous beauty strode out the door regally.
Matt had several friends in the construction business, all of whom laughed at the thought of Calhoun Burns getting "temperamental".
"The man's as thoroughbred as his horses. If he says something is unsafe, I sure as heck wouldn't sell insurance for it." said Joe Barker, head of Trakker Construction Company. "Y'know, if you really want to get me a really nice Christmas present, hire him."
"Thanks, Joe, I'll keep that in mind." Matt hung up the phone and made a face at Alex.
"Don't look at me, old chap, I didn't say anything about this Mr. Burns."
"Then you're the only one," Matt said drily. "I swear even the computer laughed at me for suggesting he'd do something unprofessional."
"Computers don't laugh," Alex said absently as he studied Calhoun's biography. "Not unless your son's been playing with it again."
Alex was silent for a while, then continued, "I have to admit that this Burns chap does rather impress me. If only because his life story reads like a cheap melodrama, what with him losing his father, mother and sister to various causes in the space of two years. And then having his villainous uncle try to force him to sell the family farm. But like all good melodramas, the hero comes through, gets his degree in architecture, saves his farm and lives happily ever after."
Matt sighed ostentatiously.
"Speaking of melodrama, what's your problem?" Alex inquired.
"Now you're on his side."
Alex grinned suddenly, "Of course, I never met a man who owned thoroughbreds I didn't like."
Matt laughed, "I guess I'd better go hear his side of this. Scott said he was at the Pagebrook."
"Dad!" exclaimed an excited Scott, bursting into the room after a trip to the lobby. "Guess what?"
"What?" Matt supplied obligingly.
"There's a theatre near here that's showing a whole slew of Dusty's pictures! Can I go? Huh? Huh? Pleease?"
"You know I don't like you going out alone at night, Scott…" Matt began, frowning and rubbing his chin.
"But I'll have T-Bob with me," Scott pointed out. He gave his father a pleading look.
"Hey, I'm T-Bob, not Mr. T. and I don't like going out at night with just you!"
"T-Bob!" Scott wailed in anguish.
The argument was interrupted by a knock on the door. Matt opened it and found Jacques LeFleur standing there.
"Pardon me," Jacques said apologetically, "but I forgot my briefcase this afternoon."
"Of course. It's right there," Matt pointed to the item in question, then turned to the other occupants of the room. "Jacques, I would like you to meet my colleague, Alex Sector, my son, Scott, and our robot, T-Bob. Alex, Scott, T-Bob, this is Jacques LeFleur."
"Charmed, I'm sure," said Alex.
"Hi, there," said T-Bob.
"Pleased to meet you," the lumberjack said, shaking hands all around (even with T-Bob). The robot fascinated him and he wished he had an excuse to stick around and learn more about it.
"The pleasure's all mine," Scott said, knowing serendipity when it bit him. "Would you like to go see some movies with me? Dad'll pay."
"Scott!"
"You mean you'd make him pay his own way for (ugh) baby-sitting?" Scott asked innocently.
Matt sighed heavily.
Jacques looked at the Trakkers curiously. "Is something wrong?"
"Scott wants to go to the movies, but I have business to attend to right now. And I don't like to have him out alone at night."
"I would be happy to accompany him to the movies tonight," Jacques said, both out of politeness and a desire to see more of T-Bob. Before he could refuse payment, Matt dug out his wallet and stuffed approximately six months wages into the startled lumberjack's hands.
"Thanks. Here, why don't you get yourselves some dinner first? Be back by twelve. Come on, Alex."
Matt beat a hasty retreat before Jacques could protest the largess.
Jacques looked at the wad of cash in his hand like it was going to bite him. Then he looked at the triumphant Scott.
"Where do you want to eat, Scott?" he asked, as calmly as he could under the circumstances.
Calhoun didn't eat much of his dinner. He was tired and discouraged from the run around he had been through at the city planning office. He hadn't managed to convince anyone that he had a serious problem. He decided to go to the Empress to see Trakker. At least he had some allies in that camp! He spotted a taxi idling a little ways from the Pagebrook but decided against a ride for now. He strolled off down the street, then noticed that the taxi seemed to be following him. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering if the cabbie was trying to drum up business, or just locate an address. As the cab drew abreast, Calhoun thought of another reason it could be hanging around. The thought came too late.
A dark form rushed him from a dark doorway and knocked him against the now stopped taxi.
Calhoun twisted to hit shoulder first, then braced himself against the car and kicked out at his assailant.
The rusher fell back, but as Calhoun pulled away from the cab, the door was flung open violently. The edge of the door caught Calhoun in the back and threw him to the sidewalk. The first assailant leaped forward and landed on Calhoun's back, winding him. Before Calhoun could recover, he felt a sharp pain in his bicep. It was the last thing he would feel for several hours. The kidnappers bundled the drugged architect into the cab and roared off, somehow managing to overlook the gaudy red and purple sports car and its astonished occupants.
Matt sent Thunderhawk leaping forward after the fleeing kidnappers.
"My word!" said Alex, "This is the sort of behavior I'd expect in Chicago, not Vancouver!"
"Criminals aren't as well briefed as you are," Matt said, trying to keep the taxi in sight in the gathering dusk without turning on his headlights and giving away his position. He hissed at himself in annoyance.
"MASK!" Spectrum obediently dropped into place over his head. The infrared trackers worked well, too well. The taxi went around the corner and when Matt followed there were so many vehicle trails that he started to get a headache.
"Infra-vision, off." He could tell the vehicles apart better by regular sight, since he hadn't quite mastered all the intricacies of infrared yet.
The taxi made another turn onto a more deserted street, Matt took a parallel route, slammed the gearshift forward and became airborne. The kidnappers were gone. "Blast!" Matt spat, and slammed his fist against the dashboard in fury.
"Take it easy old chap," Alex said in concern. "You might break one of your fancy toys."
"Toys!" Matt snorted. "They're not toys, Alex, but I'm a child. An idiot child at that. All my high-tech gizmos and clever plans, and I blow the first pop quiz! Buddy wouldn't have lost that cab."
"Perhaps," Alex said soothingly. "but if he had lost it, he wouldn't sit around cursing himself for a fool, he'd just refind it."
Matt took a deep breath to calm his nerves. "You're right…"
"As always," Alex threw in.
Matt gave him a sideways look, "Modesty, that's what I've always liked about you, Sector."
Alex grinned, "Well, we know the general area he's been taken to. So let's start searching."
"Right, at least Scott is safe with Jacques."
In the next episode:
Scott and Jacques aren't safe at all,
Mayhem gets more kidnap victims than he asked for,
And the prisoners put an earthquake to good use.