"Just call him, would you?"

"You call him."

"I'm busy."

Scott frowned at his brothers' bickering. He moved from the kitchen to the lounge, taking in the sight in front of him. Virgil was sitting on the floor; the tyre prints flat out in front of him while he ran his watch over them. Scott knew he was scanning them.

Alan was on the sofa, the blank vid-screen on his lap. Scott had gone to get a glass of water, hoping one of them would have initiated the call. At least, he told his siblings he'd gone to get a drink – he really had needed a couple of moments to himself to let his composure drop.

"What's going on?"

"Alan won't connect," Virgil grumbled.

"I'm not connecting!" Alan's scowl matched Virgil's tone.

"Why?" Scott asked, sitting next to his brother and taking the vid-screen from him.

"He'll blame me, won't he?"

"How'd you figure that one?"

"Everything's normally my fault."

"Grow up."

Scott was not in the mood to deal with childish behaviour. He knew it was Alan's way of channelling his emotions, just like Virgil needed to be doing something with his hands. But two of his brothers were missing and Scott didn't have the patience for this. He was hard pushed not to make a retort about them knowing something was wrong hours beforehand if Alan had checked his phone.

But he'd never blamed his brothers, even when things were their fault. He wasn't about to start now because he was worried.

He heard Alan take in a breath, but whatever look Virgil gave him was fierce enough to quell his retort. Scott ignored them, opting instead to patch the call through to the island.

He couldn't admit that part of him shared his little brother's nerves. It didn't matter they weren't children anymore: part of him still felt responsible for losing two of his brothers. He tried to remind himself they were highly trained adults who'd be a match for anyone foolish enough to take them, but he wasn't reassured.

While the call connected instantly, Scott found himself looking at an empty chair. He could hear his father's voice though, off to one side. The man had obviously lent over to connect.

"He knows."

"What? How?" Virgil looked up sharply, concern written in his expression. "A ransom note?"

"No."

The voice came from the screen. Scott sat up straighter, an instinctive reaction. Alan and Virgil stayed where they were – but Scott knew Virgil would join him as soon as he finished scanning.

"Dad-,"

"What's happened to John?" Their father was never one to beat about the bush.

"What'd you know?" Scott asked. His dad knew something, that was clear, but given he'd only asked about one of the missing brothers, Scott had no idea what information the man had – or how he'd obtained it.

Jeff Tracy came into view, looking stressed. He sank down in his chair, eyes narrow as he took in his son.

"Brains just picked up an emergency signal from John's watch."

Relief flooded Scott. When they couldn't reach either Gordon or John through phones or watches, worse case scenarios had been flashing through his mind, made even worse by the wreckage. This meant John still had his watch – and, more importantly, was still in a position to use it.

"Now we can't contact him. There's no signal."

The hope drained as fast as it had come, a tidal wave of dread taking its place. Scott shut his eyes, running a hand over his face. He was aware of both Alan and Virgil watching him, the latter getting up of the floor to sit next to his brother.

"It's Gordon as well," Virgil said.

Scott saw the colour drain from their dad's face. He'd been worried before: now, he looked, well… Scott didn't want to say it. It wasn't something he'd ever thought about the man he'd grown up worshipping. But his dad looked afraid.

"Tell me everything."

The same commanding tone his children were used to was still present in his voice though. Scott took strength from that, and began to talk. He went through everything: John taking Gordon with him to the observatory; not turning up the next morning; no connection; and, finally, the crash.

His dad wasn't the only one pale when Scott finished. Alan was white, staring across the room, unblinking. Scott squeezed his shoulder softly, his previous annoyance with his brother disappearing as quickly as it had come. Virgil had his hands clasped between his legs, staring at them intently.

The silence lingered when he stopped speaking. Saying it out loud, looking at the evidence stacked like that, made him realise quite what they were dealing with. John and Gordon had clearly been targeted, and whoever it was had gone to great lengths to make sure the brothers couldn't call for help.

The questions that remained were ones no one had answers to: who, how, where… and, most importantly, why. Was it because they were Tracys, famous, ex-military and NASA, or members of International Rescue? So many variables, and all meant so many different outcomes for his brothers.

"What do the police say?"

Scott blinked at his dad's question. Virgil looked up, waiting for Scott to take the lead as he always did.

"They're only just admitting something has happened," Scott sighed. "Half the cops we called to the scene thought it was a stunt."

Half was an exaggeration, but it was what it had felt like at the time. He couldn't help sounding bitter. They'd helped out authorities more times than he could count and apparently it was too much to ask for them to return the favour.

"Leave that with me." His dad sounded in control again, and Scott took strength from that. "You mentioned tyre tracks?"

"Sending to Brains now," Virgil confirmed. He connected his watch to the vid-screen, sending over the scans. His watch along would've been enough, but this way gave them all a visual.

"We've got plates too," Scott added.

"Good. The more information, the better. We can already narrow the area from John's transmission."

"Narrow it? Why can't you pinpoint it?" Scott asked, confused. License plates could be changed: it's why the tyre prints were so useful. Not many crooks stopped to change their tyres during a getaway. But neither should be needed given their technology.

"It wasn't active for long enough."

Scott heard Alan's gulp. Without looking, he reached over, this time leaving his hand on Alan's shoulder. Brains could work fast; if even he didn't have enough time to track John's signal, then it must have been cut off almost as soon as it started. Despite not expecting the emergency beacon to be activated while his friends were on vacation, Brains still worked quicker than thought.

"Send me-," Scott glanced at Virgil when his brother cleared his throat.

"Send us," he amended, "the co-ordinates we do have. We'll check it out; see if we can find matching prints to follow."

"No."

The response was instant, sharp and authoritative. Scott blinked. That wasn't what he'd expected his dad to say.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" the man repeated, disbelieving. "Whoever is behind this has taken your brothers without a trace. There's no way I'm rising you three as well."

"I'll go alone then."

"Like hell you are," Virgil glared at him.

"You're not leaving us behind." Even Alan had sat up straighter.

"Fine," Scott snapped, exasperated. "The three of us are a match for anyone."

"Like Gordon and John are?"

He had no answer to his father's words. Gordon was deadly, and John a genius. Even the three of them combined barely reached that level.

"Dad, we can handle it," Virgil said.

"No," their dad repeated. "Gordon and John can handle themselves, and they're now missing, leaving a burnt-out car wreck and nothing else. You're not to take any risks until we know who we're dealing with."

Scott knew John's cut off transmission and lack of signal was behind his father's fear. They didn't know if it was chance, or if whoever was behind this knew exactly who they were dealing with.

"Dad-,"

"Enough!"

All three boys jumped when their father's open palm hit the desk. Even through a vid-screen, they shrank back from his imposing figure.

"If any of you go out there before I give permission, I'll have you detained and flown home."

Alan gasped while Virgil gave Scott a worried look. Their dad didn't often lose his temper but Scott knew the one thing that would force him to make a rash call was them being in danger. He was the same, after all, and everyone said how like his father he was.

"You don't mean that," Scott said, calling his bluff. But his father stared back.

"Try me."

Scott broke the eye contact first. He glanced at Virgil, who – out of camera view – shrugged. It was rare to see the famous Jeff Tracy look out of control, and Scott knew testing him wasn't a good idea right now. He couldn't risk his dad making good on his word and having them escorted home. That didn't help John and Gordon.

"I know you want to help," the man continued in a softer tone. "When we know what we're dealing with, you can. But for now, please, stay put and keep in touch."

Scott nodded. He didn't trust his voice. As the screen went blank, Virgil exhaled sharply and Alan stood up, crossing to the window.

"He wouldn't, would he?" Virgil asked, sounding as uncertain as Scott felt.

"Cops are already outside," Alan said. "So, yes?"

"He wouldn't have called them that quick." Scott joined his little brother at the window, looking down at the street. Sure enough, two squad cars had stopped outside.

"You think they've found something?" Alan asked, sounding hopeful.

"Maybe," Scott said.

But the look he shared with Virgil spoke volumes. Unless their missing brothers were about to get out of those cars, Scott doubted the police being here could mean anything good.

"Just… stay calm," Scott muttered. Virgil's expression said it all: Scott was the one who needed to remember that advice.

"We need them to trust and believe us," he continued, "until we know how serious Dad is. It's the only way we can be involved."

"For now," Virgil said in an undertone. Scott hid a grin. He wasn't surprised that Virgil was thinking the same as him: their dad's threats only meant they had to keep any action they took quiet rather than running it past Base. None of them had any intention of sitting on the side-lines. Not when they were used to being the ones in charge.

Scott crossed the room as the buzzer sounded, checking ID before letting the officers up. In the few moments it took for them to reach the penthouse, he glanced back at his brothers.

"I swore I'd never let anything happen to any of you," he said. "We're going to get them back, and I'm going to make whoever is behind this pay."

Alan grinned and Virgil gave a slow nod. They weren't children, and their brothers were in trouble. None of them planned on sitting around like good boys waiting for permission.

But first, they needed information. And that was where the cops came into it.


It was a rare occurrence indeed when Gordon Tracy stayed quiet. It wasn't a trait he was known for, no matter the (usually inappropriate) situation.

His hands were cuffed behind his back, his body a smarting mass of fresh bruises. Drawing breath was more painful than it had any right being and he suspected a fractured rib at least.

The only thing that could vaguely be considered a silver lining was that the men escorting him were moving as stiffly as he was. It meant this operation didn't have an unlimited number of people to throw at them.

But it didn't matter. The men could have been semi-conscious and Gordon still would have walked meekly.

He had no idea where his brother was.

John hadn't come back to their prison before Gordon was escorted out. It was why he'd let them take him, hoping he'd get a clue as he was led along. His gaze scanned his surroundings in a well-practiced manner, searching each section, looking for a sign it was where John was. But there was nothing.

He couldn't do it any longer.

"Where is he?" Gordon snarled. He twisted in the grip, trying to break free of them. "John? John!"

"Quiet," one of the men hissed, with a sharp cuff over the head that made Gordon stagger. They hauled him back into position with embarrassing ease.

"Save your voice," the other sneered, "you'll get your chance to talk in a moment."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gordon asked. The cold grip in his stomach and his sinking heart meant he had a good idea what the answer was, but he wanted it confirmed.

He only got a chuckle in response. Losing his temper (if whoever was behind this had done their homework, they shouldn't have been surprised: Gordon was not known for remaining calm in a hostage situation), Gordon dug his heels in. The men swore and although it was a one-sided skirmish given he was outnumbered and bound, Gordon reckoned he still put up a decent struggle.

But they managed to force him far enough along that another building came into sight. It was as non-descript as his prison had been. The only difference was an open door. Before Gordon got the chance to analyse more than that, he saw the same woman as earlier walking towards them, a gun in her hand.

Gordon sighed – albeit dramatically – and went limp. It was hard not to smirk as his escort swore again, suddenly finding they were having to literally drag him along. They couldn't fault a guy for being compliant, could they?

With the gun aimed at him and the grip on his arms bordering on painful, Gordon was pushed into the building, down a few steps and onto a seat. He'd got just enough of a look to decide it had been used as their headquarters before his arms were forced over the back of the chair, an uncomfortable position made even more so by how much it restricted his movement – and view of the room.

"Where is he?" He didn't even try to keep his voice calm: his shout echoed around the room as no one answered.

"Do as you're told, and we'll take you to him." The woman stopped in front of him, toying with the gun with a cold, predatory sneer on her face.

It took all of Gordon's self-control not to roll his eyes as his escort busied themselves setting up a camera on a tripod in front of him.

"You're kidding? An old-fashioned ransom note?"

"Effective."

"Primitive," Gordon countered. "You couldn't come up with something at least a little creative? Not even a tiny bit?"

Baiting the group when he was tied to a chair with no idea where his brother was perhaps wasn't the smartest of moves. Then again, there was a reason John was the smart one, not him.

"Be quiet."

"I won't do it, you know," Gordon said. He rocked back in his chair, wondering if he could tip the entire thing before they stopped him. "Whatever it is you want me to say, I'm not going to say it."

"Oh, I think you will." The woman stood in front of him, smirking . Gordon crashed the two front legs back down to the floor and stared at her.

"You really didn't do your homework, did you?" he drawled, letting every inch of his old Kansas accent back into his voice. "I'm not one to do as I'm told. Never have been."

"This time is different." She used the barrel to lift his chin, almost a caress as the gun slipped to his cheek before Gordon wrenched his head away. "Do you want to be reunited with your brother afterwards? He'll need you. But if you won't do as you're told…"

"What've you done?" All pretence fled Gordon's voice as he stared at her. "Where is he?"

She simply smiled. He couldn't read her: he had no idea if she was bluffing, or if something had happened to John.

He never should have let his brother go outside on his own. John wasn't trained the way he was, if he'd been hurt…

Gordon wrenched at the handcuffs. Trying to unhook his hands, he gave a strange lurch upright, making it to standing before the goons were on him, slamming him back down again. He tried to kick out but they'd learnt their lesson: they stayed behind and out of reach, just a biting grip on his shoulders.

"Where is he?" He yelled, forgetting all about decorum and playing it cool. "What've you done to my brother?"

Too late. Too late did he realise they'd played him for a fool. The woman had slid away from in front of him, the men behind masked and obscured. They'd switched on the camera just in time for his outburst and he'd delivered a performance they'd never otherwise have compelled from him.

He looked forward, and his father was looking back at him.

Gordon didn't need to ask to know that he'd heard the outburst. Shock and concern flickered across his expression, his eyes betraying his worry even as he tried to school his features into the board-room mask Gordon had hated so much growing up.

"Dad-," Gordon breathed.

"Quiet," the woman snapped. But she was using some kind of voice modifier now.

"What is this?" his dad demanded, cold fury etched into his voice. "Who are you? What've you done to my sons? I demand you release them immediately."

"You're not the one making demands, Tracy," she said, "we are. We have your boy."

A hand fisted in Gordon's hair, yanking his head back and making him grunt. But his father wasn't the only one who knew how to don a mask.

They were no longer dealing with a Tracy.

They were dealing with a decorated WASP agent who'd been highly trained.

Gordon twisted his head in a sudden movement, yanking free of the grip. He was out the chair before the men had the chance to restrain him, dropping to a roll to dodge their grasping hands and driving his knee sharply up as he came to standing. One of the men dropped with a howl.

"Outskirts of New York," he said. Quick, efficient, to the point. "Signal jammers operating; no outside contact."

His captor wouldn't understand that one given they'd taken the brothers' phones, but his dad would. The watches couldn't be used.

"East, maybe north-east. Multiple buildings-,"

He kept moving as he spoke, not letting himself be an easy target. But the men regained their wits, starting to work together. Before Gordon could get anything more out, he disappeared under a pile of bodies. They'd forgone finesse: they were relying on brute strength to keep him down. With his previous injuries and ribs smarting, he couldn't offer the fight he wanted.

One of them gagged him with something foul tasting before he could give anything else away. He was pulled first to his knees, then slammed back in the seat. The woman – despite the mask, Gordon still knew it was her – aimed the gun at his temple.

"$10million if you want your children back unharmed. I'll be in touch with where and when."

Gordon knew that tactic. Keep the victim on edge, never giving all the information at once. It was also why they'd only pulled Gordon in and not both brothers, hadn't even hinted at who else they'd taken.

But his dad knew. Gordon could see it in his eyes. The worry was there, true, but it was overshadowed by anger. That only meant one thing: he'd already known before the vid-link had connected. Which meant his other brothers also knew – no doubt had done for hours – and suddenly Gordon could breathe a little easier.

There was an advantage being a Tracy had that a WASP agent didn't. Big brothers.

Big brothers that tended to get a touch irritated when a younger brother got kidnapped.

In Scott's case, two younger brothers.

Gordon stopped struggling. The others were coming, he was certain of it. All he had to focus on was getting back to John.

No one said big brothers had all the monopoly on worrying, after all.

"I don't just have immediate access to that kind of money," his dad said, drawing Gordon's attention back to the problem at hand: being ransomed.

"Then I suggest you find it. And fast."

"How'd I know you're telling the truth?"

Gordon knew what his dad was doing: stalling. No doubt Brains was tracking the signal, bypassing the jammers in the way only their resident genius would be able to do.

"You said you had two of my sons. I want to see John: I need to know he's okay."

The silence made Gordon wince.

"We'll be in contact," the woman said sharply, "do not call the police."

"Wait-,"

She didn't wait. Instead, she spun the gun with alarming efficiency, slamming the butt into Gordon's temple. He fell again, too stunned to pay much attention to her sharp gesture and one of her henchmen turning off the camera before a rough hand dragged the gag away.

"How does he know who's with you?"

Gordon stared at her through vision that was a touch bleary. "ET phoned home," he mumbled.

"What?"

He was able to lift his head enough to glare at her. "You really think the rest of my family haven't noticed we've not come back? There's only five of us: roll-call doesn't take that long to work out who's missing. If you were aiming for surprise, sweetheart, you should've called him hours ago."

He still didn't know how long they'd been unconscious for. How long it had taken the others to realise they hadn't turned up or checked in. But if she'd been banking on them just assuming Gordon and John had gone off an adventure, she really didn't know their family.

Add in the jammers and the watches being out of action and it wouldn't surprise Gordon if his brothers were already outside the door.

"Put him with the other one," she snapped, straightening up and pulling off her mask. She looked frustrated, and Gordon started to wonder if this hadn't been as planned out as he'd originally feared.

The fresh air helped revive him from the blow to his head. But his brothers weren't there – not even as a hallucination after the blow to his head.

"He's gonna kill you," Gordon muttered. He wasn't sure who he meant; his father, Scott, both of them?

The men pulled him along, ignoring him. He didn't fight them though. They were taking him exactly where he wanted to go: they were taking him to John. They didn't return to the prison they'd held them in before, but to a different building. Gordon realised too late he should have been trying to find more clues about where they were being held.

But then his hands were being untied while the second man opened the door. A sharp shove between his shoulder-blades sent him stumbling in and the door slammed shut behind him, plunging him into darkness.

Unlike the first time he'd been shoved into a dark warehouse, Gordon kept his balance this time, still rubbing his wrists. He peered through the gloom, reaching for the wall and fumbling for a light-switch.

A single bare bulb flickered into life, and a long groan came from the other side of the room.

"John?"

Gordon hurried forward, scrambling the last few paces on his hands and knees. A cut off gasp escaped him, anger flashing through him.

"What've they done to you?" he whispered.

John was on his side, breathing ragged. His hands were tied behind his back, his ankles also bound. It wasn't the restraints that made Gordon's hand tremble as he reached for his big brother.

John had been beaten. Badly.

Given the spread of the injuries Gordon could make out in the dim light, they'd tied him up first.