"You're sure?"
Despite Gordon's announcement, John sounded calm. Gordon felt the same way. They knowingly walked into danger on a daily basis. Or, at least, several times a week. Going on vacation apparently wasn't enough to take a break from every aspect of their lives. It was what being a Tracy was all about.
"No." He shrugged as he glanced again behind. "But it feels wrong."
"Let's see."
John put his foot down. The brothers never got much practice at driving, and most of the time let Alan just to avoid the back-seat driving their youngest brother always offered. But John only had one hand on the wheel as he slipped easily in and out of the traffic, varying his speed.
"It's following us," Gordon confirmed. No other driver had a reason to mimic John's erratic driving yet the van had done its best to keep pace.
"Call it in?" John suggested but Gordon shook his head.
"Nah," Gordon said. "They'll worry, and they can't do anything, anyway."
His words made a flare of concern form a knot in his stomach. For all his hope they could handle themselves, he was used to having at least a team, if not a number of brothers, surrounding him when inviting danger to approach.
John shot him a look. He probably didn't even realise how reassuring it was. The car returned to a normal speed while Gordon twisted to see out the back.
"Take that belt off and I'm dumping you on the side of the road," John warned, making Gordon snatch his hand back with a flush. This position was going to kill his back later, but John was right: taking his seatbelt off wasn't going to help matters, not when he didn't know what was coming.
"Gords."
John's tone was different: sharp and insistent this time. Gordon looked around. Another van – identical to the first – cut in front of them, forcing John to slow further to avoid going into the back of it. A car in the outside lane sounded its horn, but the rest of the traffic continued to pass them by. Within only a minute, their tail had slotted in directly behind them.
"I don't like this," Gordon muttered. His fingers ghosted his watch. But the chances were it was only some over-eager reporters trying to get an expose on two Tracy brothers. They'd never live it down if that was the case.
Instead, he pulled out his cell, texting Alan the plates of the van in front. Then he repeated it with the vehicle behind. Alan was at his show: he was unlikely to pick it up for a few hours. They all used their watches if something was urgent. Gordon could laugh it off when Alan asked him about it, providing nothing happened.
But if something did…
He shoved his phone deep into his pocket, making sure it wasn't visible. They could – and would – be tracked by their watches, but he didn't want to make it easy. Then he realised what he was thinking, glancing at John, hoping again for a reassuring look.
John's jaw was set, both hands on the wheel this time. The second van had raised the stakes: now, John was worried. Gordon tried not to be: there wasn't a lot they couldn't handle.
His confidence was short lived when a third van suddenly drew up next to them, forcing its way through the traffic until it was parallel to the car. Gordon couldn't see the plates, or any other identifying marks, to be able to send them on.
"What do I do?"
It was rare John didn't know. It was even rarer that he asked Gordon. Gordon knew he had a different kind of knowledge to his big brother.
But that didn't mean he had an answer. Other than an empty stretch of verge visible out of his window, there was nowhere for them to go: the vans hemmed them in. The larger vehicles were also better suited to be off-road than their rental: it wouldn't benefit them to swerve off now.
"I-,"
He never got the chance to admit he didn't have a plan. With a squeal of tyres, the van next to them veered sharply – straight into the side of the car.
"Son of a -!" Gordon swore as John fought with the wheel. They swerved, the front wheels catching the verge, the car shuddering as it lost purchase, then John managed to wrench it back onto the tarmac. The vans to the front and rear of them had altered their speed just enough to make sure there was no way past or for any other vehicle to get in-between.
"He's coming again," Gordon warned.
"Hang on." John's brow was furrowed in concentration. As the van tried to crash into them again, John swerved again. The car jolted as two wheels came off the road. But their movement meant the van hadn't collided when it thought it would, and only narrowly avoided going into the back of the vehicle in front. It pulled back out into the traffic to furious horns – the reckless driving couldn't go unnoticed – and John managed to get them back on the road.
"Nice," Gordon said shakily. "We seem to be smoking, though."
He tried to keep his voice casual, but the plume of black smoke billowing from under the hood undermined his efforts. No rental could handle the strain John had just put on the engine.
"Forget it's not a 'bird?" They were used to their machines handling more strain than average vehicles.
"Smoke's good."
"Did you hit your head?" Gordon stared at his brother. He often couldn't follow John's logic, but this felt more absurd than usual.
"Main road out of the city," John reminded him, checking the mirror, searching for a way out of the trap. "People will look."
Now Gordon understood: he doubted whoever was driving the vans were trying to be subtle – their tactics up to now were anything but. A smoking car would draw every eye on the road.
"Last time I come star-gazing with you," Gordon muttered, looking out just in time to see the van coming at them for a third time.
Their luck ran out. John fought the wheel, but they were going too fast. The wheels slipped off the road, hitting the verge just as the ground sloped. The car shot out of John's control and Gordon slammed one hand against the roof to brace himself as the car flipped…
…and rolled…
…rolled again…
…before coming to a stop with a screech of tortured metal.
Groaning, Gordon swore as sharp pain shot up his leg. He forced his foot back into a normal position, yelling as he did so but satisfied no bones were broken. As his leg straightened, the pain eased and he caught his breath, amazed the ceiling was still the ceiling: somehow they'd ended up the right way up.
"John?" he muttered through gritted teeth, trying to catch his breath. He looked over. "John!"
John hadn't been able to brace himself the way Gordon had. His eyes were shut, his face pale, contrasting sharply with the trickle of blood running down his face.
Gordon scrabbled for his belt. "C'mon, John, be okay."
It took forever for the clasp to give, but Gordon refused to think about it being because his hands were shaking. He almost fell out the seat as he reached for his brother, fingers pressed against the man's neck. The pulse was steady and strong and Gordon remembered how to breathe again.
"You've got cold hands."
John's voice was barely audible, his words slurred, but Gordon gave a shaky laugh.
"Sorry 'bout that," Gordon said with a cheer he didn't feel. "Hang on, I'm getting us out."
He couldn't open his door. It took one kick with his bad leg, copious amounts of cursing, and three blows with his good leg before he got it open and could scramble out. As he limped around the car, he dared a glance back to the road. Two of the vans had stopped just a little further along, and there were at least five men heading their way.
John's door thankfully opened easier than his did. Gordon lent over, unclipping his brother and – after a quick visual check that the head wound was the only thing they needed to worry about – unceremoniously dragged him from the car. John's legs wouldn't support his weight and Gordon couldn't hold them both up. He lowered John to his knees, one hand on his brother's back.
"Need you to focus, Johnny. Wake up that big brain of yours 'cos we're about to have company."
He could sense the men getting closer out of his peripheral vision. But he didn't move until John seemed to be supporting his own weight. Then he unsteadily got to his feet, stumbling back to the car. There had to be something he could use to defend his brother with. But his earlier words came back to haunt him with painful accuracy: this wasn't a Thunderbird. He didn't have an arsenal of sophisticated technology at his fingertips.
"Gordon!"
John's shout made him look around, first at John, then back at the road. He hadn't thought anything of only two of the vans stopping. It had never crossed his mind the third had been looking for a place to come off the road with all four wheels on the ground – unlike them – and as Gordon watched, it came into view. It was off road, bouncing along the verge and heading straight for them. It would only be a couple of minutes before it reached them. The rest of the men had broken into a run: they were almost on them.
Gordon hurried back to John's side.
"Who are you?" he yelled. He could play the innocent act. "What do you want?"
He needed to draw attention; make passers-by realise the men weren't good Samaritans helping a stricken vehicle. The third van stopped in a skid of mud, blocking Gordon's view of the road, at the same time as the five men spread out. All of them were armed, and the same was true of their comrades jumping down from the van.
Outnumbered didn't begin to cover it.
Gordon glanced at John. His brother was still on his knees, looking as if he'd fall over if he tried to get to his feet. But John caught his eye and nodded, a deliberate movement that made him screw up his eyes in pain. But Gordon understood.
"F.A.B," he muttered.
Now wasn't the time to play innocent. It wasn't even the time to be the man who helped save the world. The WASP agent in him surfaced and his gaze took in the situation with far more calculation than he had previously.
"What do you want?" It was a demand this time. "Money?"
He needed to know the stakes before he could make a plan. Needed to know how serious they were.
One of the men smirked, levelling his gun at Gordon, who made sure he stayed in front of John. He couldn't do much about the ones circling them, but if this was the leader, then this was where Gordon's attention needed to be.
"What'd I want? You, on your knees. Now. Hands on your head."
"Like hell."
Gordon ran forward, adrenaline masking the pain in his leg. He dropped low, catching the man around the midriff and sending them both sprawling. Gordon used his position to his advantage, snatching the gun out of the man's hand and tossing it away before grabbing the front of his shirt.
"Who are you?" he demanded again. "Answer me!"
Hands grabbed his arms, the back of his top, forcing him to let go as he was yanked backwards. Off balance, there was nothing he could do as he was thrown to the ground. But Gordon lashed out, driving his foot into the back of one man's knee before rolling up, striking quick and fast at a second and sending him crashing down besides his companion.
It didn't matter how fast he was. For every man he took down, there was another one there – or one getting back up. While the majority were focused on him, Gordon couldn't break free for long enough to stop the final two converging on John.
But his brother was more lucid than Gordon had thought. He stayed low, head bowed, until the men were close, then sprang into action. Sure, he was wobbly and Gordon was going to give him hell about his footwork later, but at least some of Scott's lessons had stuck in his head despite the crash and John was holding his own.
The distraction cost him though. One of his own assailants echoed Gordon's earlier moved and slammed into him, sending them both to the ground. A second grabbed Gordon's bad leg, making him grunt in pain, unable to shake him loose. A third also dropped to his – her, Gordon realised belatedly – knees but it wasn't a gun in her hand this time. It was a syringe.
Gordon bucked even as the needle slammed home. Between the movement and his jeans, it only scratched his leg, and he kicked free, scrambling upright. It was still caught in the fabric and Gordon wrenched it free, tossing it away. To his dismay, the plunger was lower than he hoped.
But as he made it to his feet, his blood ran cold. A third man had gone to help his friends against John. While two kept him distracted, the other approached from behind.
"John!"
His yell was too late. A second needle was pushed into John's neck. Gordon could only watch, helpless, as his brother's eyes went comically wide before they glazed over, rolling in his head even as John fell.
Gordon was too far away. He couldn't catch his brother; couldn't do anything. But he roared his fury and frustration, charging forward, only to stumble after only a few paces. His leg hurt like hell but it was more than that. A fiery sensation was tingling from the scratch, his entire leg starting to feel numb in a way that had nothing to do with the crash.
He staggered, his leg giving way beneath him and pitching him to his knees. He dropped, fingers scrunching into the grass, trying to anchor himself as his vision swum. Whatever they'd hit him with was powerful – he'd guessed as much by how fast John had dropped.
He had to get to his brother.
It was the only thing that mattered. Gordon crawled forward a couple of paces, aware that his attackers had formed a circle around him, making no effort to stop him. He didn't blame them: he was hardly a threat like this.
"Enough of this," the woman snapped. "We're wasting too much time."
A foot drove into his ribs, the impact sending him flat out on the ground. Hands snatched at his arms, dragging them behind his back and the cold feeling of metal against his wrists secured them there.
"You are going to make us very rich," she said, before nodding to someone behind Gordon.
He knew what was coming, but it didn't help. There was nothing he could do but wince as another needle pricked his neck.
"Sleep tight," a voice hissed in his ear.
Then he knew no more.
A jolting, jerking movement made itself known before Gordon properly regained consciousness. He groaned, the sensation making him feel sick.
"Gords?"
The voice was a welcome distraction and he opened his eyes. He'd already guessed where he was and the sight that greeted him confirmed it: the back of one of the vans and, judging by the rocking, one travelling at high speed.
But his gaze focused on his brother and he sighed in relief.
"John."
John was awake and lucid. Actually, Gordon thought he looked far more with it than Gordon was currently feeling. But he figured that was what came of being injected twice – or, at least, one and a half times. His brother was sitting cross-legged, his own hands clearly tied behind him too. But the bleeding had stopped and there was a fire burning in his usually calm gaze. It made Gordon feel safe: whoever these people were, they were in for a shock if they thought John was going to be compliant.
Gordon shifted awkwardly until he was in a vaguely upright position, leaning back on the wall of the van. They were alone in the back, but Gordon knew they still had to be cautious about what they said.
"Any ideas where we are?"
John shook his head. "I reckon I was out for at least a couple of hours. You for a couple more."
"I've been out for hours?"
No wonder he was stiff!
"Yep. Didn't think you were going to wake up." John was aiming for casual, but he couldn't hide the concern in his voice. No wonder he looked furious.
"Made of sterner stuff than you." Gordon shrugged the best he could with his hands tied behind his back. "Had to stick me twice, didn't they?"
John didn't answer – not that there was anything to say. Gordon looked around but nothing gave any clues as to who had taken them.
"So," he drawled, "any ideas?"
John shook his head. "Only that Scott's going to kill them. And maybe us. Probably us first, actually. Then them. Then us again."
"My thoughts exactly," Gordon said. "Let's get out of here before big brother finds out."
He had no idea how he made it to his feet, but he lurched across the van unsteadily, almost falling over John in the process. It was luck more than judgement that got him to the door, turning his back and trying to feel for the handle with his bound hands.
It came as no surprise that it was locked. Glancing at his brother, Gordon realised John was watching him with an amused expression.
"Worth a try," he said defensively.
"And your great plan was to… what? Throw yourself out of a vehicle moving at high speed with no way of breaking your fall?"
"Something like that."
"That's insane."
"That's me. I come up with the insane ideas for you to laugh at, then you come up with the clever ideas to actually get us out of here."
"I'm trying," John said. He sounded fed up. "I can't reach my watch though."
"Let me."
As much as Scott would lecture them about getting into trouble, Gordon would take that over being here any day. They needed help.
He stumbled towards John. He rounded his brother, intending to lower himself to his knees back-to-back with John so he could reach the watch – or John could reach his. But just as he made to crouch, the van braked sharply. Gordon stumbled, tripped over John and ended up hitting the other side of the van as he tried – and failed – to correct his balance.
"That was almost graceful," John teased.
"Aim to please," Gordon groaned, trying to sit up again. He knew what John was doing: the same as him. Anything to try and stop them overthinking the situation they were in.
They didn't have long to wait until the lock clicked and the door opened. It was dark outside.
"On your feet! Now!"
Gordon hadn't even figured out how to sit up, let alone stand.
"Easier said than done," he muttered.
John rose fluidly to his feet and stepped forward. He didn't go close enough to be in reach though, just positioned himself so that their captors couldn't see or reach Gordon without going around John. Gordon forced himself up as quickly as he could, not wanting John to pay the price for helping him.
The two brothers were pulled from the van. Gordon's bad leg almost gave way under him but John propped him up the best he could.
"On your knees." It was the same voice as before.
"Up, down… make up your minds, would you?"
Whatever else he was going to say was lost in a gasp as a gun was pressed against the back of his neck. He glanced at John, only to find his brother suffering the same treatment. John caught his eye and nodded, regardless of the gun. Gordon offered a weak smile in response, and both of them dropped to their knees.
It went against every fibre of his being to submit. That wasn't who being a Tracy was. But, for now, playing along was the best chance they had. If doing as he was told kept him next to John, then Gordon didn't care.
Then he saw what they were holding.
"No." His heart was pounding; breath already starting to come in sharp gasps. He tried to get back up, but hands on his shoulders kept him down.
"It's okay, Gordy," John murmured quietly, "it's going to be alright."
"Listen to your brother, boy. Don't fight."
Gordon looked at John, who smiled at him. It was a big brother's smile of reassurance, a promise that everything was going to be okay.
Then it vanished from view as the bag was pulled over his head, his vision blocked by the dark fabric that fluttered with every breath he took.
Gordon didn't do darkness. He didn't cope well with not being able to see what was in front of him. It brought back too many memories; too many experiences of being trapped in the dark, helpless.
Rough hands pulled him up, a shove in the back making him take a stumbling step forward. He had to stay with John: needed his big brother to get rid of the panic the way he'd done multiple times while sitting by Gordon's hospital bed.
Only right now, he couldn't even be sure where John even was.
