BROTHERS IN ARMS
by PURUPUSS
RATED FRPT |
 |
Something that we've long
suspected about Scott and Virgil is proven... or is it?
Author's Notes: One thing that
I've been curious about is what did Scott do to be decorated
for valour during his time in the Air Force? I haven't seen
any official stories, so I guess that means that it is open to
fans' interpretation. This is what I've decided it could have
been. (Although I think I prefer an idea quiller had).
This story is based on canon,
fanon and a lot of imagination. It was originally conceived to
be one chapter of a longer story to be written at a later
date. But my muse would not let these events lie down and she
forced me to put 'pen' to 'paper'. 46 pages later and
this has evolved into a complete story in its own right.
However, the rest of the original story is still floating
about in the soup of my mind, so don't be surprised to read a
variant of this tale sometime in the next 90 years.
Thanks to quiller, D.C. and
Calliope (even if she is impatient).
I do not own any members of the
Tracy family (more's the pity) and I would like to acknowledge
those who do.
It was
lunch break at the Denver School of Advanced Technology, and
in the canteen, final year students were rushing to grab their
traditional tables before ignorant freshmen took possession.
Virgil Tracy claimed his usual seat next to friends Dylan and
Mike.
"Did you
catch the game last night?" Dylan enthused. "Carson was
brilliant!"
"Hollows
wasn't so hot," Mike replied. "How many times did he fumble?
And that pass! The coach should have taken him off much
earlier. Did you see it, Virgil?"
"Hello,"
Dylan interrupted, looking over to the canteen door. "The Air
Force is in town."
Intent on
removing the lid from his orange juice as he considered the
game, Virgil didn't take much notice of Dylan's observation
until someone yelling his name caused him to look around.
"Scott!" Leaving his lunch he hurried over to his brother.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm
pleased to see you too," Scott gave him a brotherly hug.
"Sorry,"
Virgil grinned. "You've surprised me, that's all. It's good to
see you. What are you doing here?"
"Come to
see my little brother and see where he spends his days. Why
else?"
Virgil
indicated the table he'd just vacated. "Come and meet my
friends." Seemingly oblivious to the admiring looks he was
receiving from the female students, Scott followed him to
where Mike and Dylan were sitting. "Guys; this is my oldest
brother Scott. Scott; this is Mike and that's Dylan."
"Pleased
to meet you," Scott shook their hands. "So you're the guys
who've been keeping an eye on my kid brother."
"And
you're the famous Scott," Mike chuckled.
"Famous?"
Scott raised an eyebrow in query.
"Yeah,"
Dylan teased. "Virgil raves about you. Once he starts we can't
shut him up. You're the best pilot the Air Force has got."
Scott
looked a little embarrassed by the compliment. "Hardly the
best..."
"And you
can throw a curve ball that a major leaguer wouldn't be able
to hit," Mike added.
"Guys...
Please..." Virgil was looking even more embarrassed than
Scott.
"And you
graduated top of your classes at Yale and Oxford," Dylan said.
Scott
looked at his brother. "Virgil?"
Virgil
gave a nonchalant shrug. "So, I've said one or two things
about you."
"Must be
nice to have such a close relationship with your brother,"
Mike commented. "I only ever seem to fight with mine."
"Yeah,
well..." there was a devilish gleam in Scott's eyes. "You
could say I've got that special bond with Virgil that two guys
can only get when one of them's had to change the other's
diapers."
Virgil
turned scarlet.
"Recently?" Dylan had decided that he liked the eldest Tracy.
If he wanted to tease Virgil then he was more than willing to
play along.
"Ohh. Not
recently. Not for a couple of years at least."
"Scott!"
Virgil repeated. "I thought you wanted to look about the
place?"
"I do.
Grab your lunch and let's walk. Catch you later."
"Later,
Scott," Dylan and Mike chorused.
Scott and
Virgil escaped out into the sunshine. "They seem to be a great
pair of guys," Scott commented.
"They are.
They've been good friends."
"Been
keeping up with your flying?"
"Every
chance I get."
"How's the
schoolwork?"
"I was top
of my year in my last paper."
"So I
heard. Been keeping up with the girls?" At Virgil's expression
Scott laughed. "Want some tips?"
"No,
thanks, I'm managing okay. Besides I wouldn't have any chance
with anyone in there," Virgil jerked a thumb towards the
canteen. "Not after they've seen you."
"Me?"
"Yeah.
Didn't you see them all drooling over you? Must be the
leather."
"Well,
when you've got it, flaunt it," Scott brushed an imaginary
spot of dirt of his Air Force flight jacket.
Virgil
laughed. "So, I'll ask you a third time, what brings you
here?"
"Aren't I
allowed to visit my favourite brother on a whim?"
"Scott,
you never do anything without planning every minute detail in
advance."
"Well..."
Scott hesitated. "Would you believe that for once in my life I
just felt like doing something without 'planning every minute
detail'? I hopped in my plane, pointed her nose at the sky,
and let her take me where she wanted to go. And she decided
that she wanted to see you."
Virgil
regarded his brother. Scott was in a buoyant mood; almost too
much so. "What's wrong?"
"Wrong?
Nothing's wrong," Scott protested. "Why would you say that?"
Virgil
stopped walking and turned to him. "I know you, and
something's wrong. What?"
Scott lost
his smile. "I never could keep anything from you, could I?"
"Only
repaying the favour." Virgil waited as Scott thought about
what he was going to say.
"It's
nothing bad, really... I'm being shipped out next week."
"Shipped
out? Where to?"
There was
another pause as Scott considered his options. "I'm not
supposed to tell anyone. Promise you won't say this to another
soul!"
"You have
my word."
Scott
looked around to check they couldn't be overheard. He lent
close so he could whisper in Virgil's ear. "Bereznick."
Virgil
felt his blood run cold. In a world where most nations were
finally beginning to learn to accept each other's differences
and live in peace under the leadership of the World President,
Bereznick was a rogue state which refused to bow down to
anyone. Its ruling party seemed to be more intent of gaining
power over its neighbours than quelling the civil war that had
been raging within its borders. At least twice this year there
had been reports in the news of peacekeepers and aid workers
being killed. Many more had been injured. "Bereznick?"
"Shh,"
Scott hissed. "What was that old saying? Loose lips sink
ships... Pulverise planes might be more apt in my case."
"What will
you be doing?"
Scott
shrugged. "I won't know until I get there. Could be almost
anything."
"You
realise that Grandma won't stop worrying for a minute while
you're gone!" Virgil exclaimed. He paused. "And she's not the
only one."
Scott
patted him on the shoulder. "I know. That's why I didn't want
to tell you, but I had to say goodbye before I left."
"You will
be careful, won't you?"
All at
once Scott's cocky veneer was recreated. "Of course! Do you
think I'm going to miss out on the chance of being part of
Father's great plan? The plane he's got planned for me is
going to knock the socks off anything the Air Force has!" A
sudden escalation of noise as students headed back to class
announced the end of lunch. Scott grinned. "Sounds like your
call to arms."
"Can you
meet me here afterwards? We could go have dinner somewhere."
Scott
shook his head. "Sorry, Virg. I've got to get going. We're all
so scattered about the country at the moment that it's almost
impossible to see everyone in one afternoon. Next stop is
John; if he's got his head out of the clouds... Hey..." he
looked at Virgil's downcast face. "I will come back. I
promise."
There was
a shout from one of the buildings. "Virgil!" Dylan beckoned.
"Hurry! Bowie doesn't like being kept waiting!"
Virgil
sighed. "I've got to go." He took a step backwards. "You make
sure you keep that promise. You hear?"
"I hear,"
Scott agreed. "Come 'ere," he wrapped his brother in a bear
hug. "And you take care too. Okay? I don't want to come back
and find you've welded yourself into one of your projects or
something."
"I'll be
careful," Virgil promised. "See ya." He jogged over to the
door, turning back to see his brother one more time before he
entered. They exchanged waves.
That was
the last time Virgil saw Scott Tracy.
Weeks
later, Virgil, Mike and Dylan stepped off the school grounds.
Dylan stretched. "Mmmn. Only one day to go and then it's the
weekend. I can't wait."
"No reason
why we can't relax now," Mike said. "Let's go for a drink."
"Sounds
like a good idea, my friend," Dylan said. "How about you,
Virgil? I'll even shout you an orange juice."
Virgil
laughed. "Thanks for the offer, but I want to head out to the
airport and check on the plane. If you guys want to go on that
trip this weekend I'd better make sure she's shipshape. Then I
plan to start work on the next paper so I've got nothing to
worry about this weekend."
"How can
you make a plane 'shipshape'?" Mike asked. "You're not
planning on landing on the water are you? If you've got that
on your mind and she's not amphibious then I'm not going."
Dylan hit
him lightly on the shoulder. "Haven't you heard of airships?"
"I have,
but I don't think they can float either."
"She's not
amphibious and I have no plans to land on the water in her,"
Virgil replied, "which is why I want to give her a tune. I'll
catch you guys tomorrow."
"Later,
Virgil..."
Virgil
went to the airport where he spent a pleasant hour tinkering
with his aeroplane and then returned home. He cooked himself a
meal, had an hour's practise on the piano, did some
schoolwork, and then retired to bed at 10.00pm. Mindful of his
father's future plans, he spent the next half hour poring over
aircraft crash reports to get some ideas on how to deal with
them.
He awoke
abruptly at 4.20 the following morning. He sat bolt upright
with his heart pounding, sweat pouring out of every pore. He
was aware of a sensation of falling, and one of fear. He knew
he had to get help.
Clutching
his pillow tight to his chest he crawled out of bed and
staggered over to his videophone. He wasn't halfway there
before he fell to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes. As
he dragged himself to his feet again he became aware of a pain
that was tearing through his right arm.
Virgil
pushed the emergency button on his videophone.
Jeff Tracy
was attempting to entertain his guests. He sat, resplendent in
his dinner jacket, in one of the city's finest restaurants,
talking in a staccato manner with the Japanese man on his
right, and wishing he had John's grasp of foreign languages.
His mobile phone rang. At once all eyes at the table, and
several of those around about, were looking at him.
"Do excuse
me," he apologised. "It must be an emergency. Only my family
know this number." He stood. "I'll be back in a moment." With
a glance at the caller ID he strode over to the Maitre D and
asked for a phone booth.
Jeff was
directed to a small cubicle at the back of the restaurant and
stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him. At once the
sounds of the restaurant were dulled and he slipped the mobile
phone into a slot in the cubicle's video console. His son's
face appeared on screen. "What's wrong, Virgil?"
"Father!
How is he? Is he hurt badly? Was he shot down? Is he safe?"
"What?"
Jeff stared at his son. "What are you talking about?"
"Scott!
He's crashed his plane!"
"He's
what?" Jeff began a barrage of questions of his own. "When?
How is he? Where is he? How did you find out?"
"I-I don't
know. I just know he's crashed."
Jeff took
a deep breath to get the concerned father inside him under
control. As his head cleared he began to take in what had been
and, more importantly, what hadn't been said. "How do you know
he crashed?"
Virgil
opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it again, a confused
expression on his face. "Haven't they told you yet?"
"No. No
one's been in contact with me. Who have you been talking to?"
"Uh... No
one."
"No one?"
Jeff took the opportunity to examine his son more closely.
Virgil looked terrible: his face was ashen and puffy, his eyes
were red, his hair plastered down on his head, and as Jeff
watched he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Then Virgil rubbed
his forearm, which was pressed into the pillow. "Are you all
right?"
"Am I all
right?" Virgil parroted. "Ah... I don't know. Don't worry
about me? What about Scott?!"
"Scott?
Virgil, I haven't spoken to anyone about him, you're telling
me that you haven't spoken to anyone about him, what makes you
think that something's wrong with him?"
"I... I
just know that something is."
"You 'just
know'?"
"You've
got to call someone..."
"Who? Who
should I call?"
"Someone
at the Air Force! What if they don't know his plane's crashed?
He might be over enemy territory!"
"Enemy
territory... Virgil! What enemy territory? Have you been
drinking?"
"Bereznick!"
"Bereznick?
What has Bereznick got to do with anything?"
"Scott was
shipped out there three weeks ago."
"He was
what? How did you know this?"
"He told
me when he came to see me before he left. He told me not to
tell anyone. Father! We're wasting time. Call someone! You
still know people at the Air Force! You've got to get Scott
help!"
"Virgil..."
"They
don't like Americans in Bereznick. Scott's American!"
"I'm aware
of that..."
"You do
know someone you can call, don't you? Someone high up who can
order a rescue? You've got to..."
"Virgil!"
Jeff interrupted. "Tell me! Why do you think Scott's crashed
his plane?"
Virgil
replied hesitantly. "I felt it."
"What do
you mean, 'felt it'?"
"I felt
the plane falling out of the sky. I felt it crash."
Jeff
stared at his son's video image.
"Father!
We're wasting time! What if the Air Force doesn't know he's in
trouble? He could be badly hurt!"
"Have you
been drinking?" Jeff asked again.
"Drinking?
No... No, I haven't."
"What time
is it there?"
"Time?"
For a moment Virgil looked bewildered. Then he looked at his
watch. "Uh... 4.25am."
Jeff
relaxed. "You've had a bad dream, Virgil. Nothing more. Go
back to bed."
"No!"
Virgil exclaimed. "You don't understand. We've got to do
something! Scott's hurt! He's crashed! He's..."
Having
dealt with five sons for two decades, Jeff had learnt
patience. But his patience was fast running out. "In Bereznick.
You told me all that."
"Please,
Father," Virgil begged. "I know he's in trouble. Help him.
Call someone!"
Jeff's
patience evaporated. "Virgil!" he snapped. "I've had enough.
You've interrupted an important business dinner to tell me
about a dream...!"
"No..."
"I am NOT
going to ring anyone in the Air Force...!"
"But...
"I'm
disappointed in you, Virgil! I thought you had more sense than
that. Go to bed and I'll call you tomorrow and we can discuss
what's happened then!"
"Please...
Father..."
Good
night, Virgil!" Jeff pulled his mobile phone out of its slot.
Fuming, he stood in preparation to leave the booth. It looked
as though he'd have to have a rethink about this whole scheme
he was planning. If Scott couldn't keep his mouth shut and
Virgil got into a flap over a dream...
Jeff
stopped; his hand on the handle of the booth, and weighed his
phone in his hand. It was out of character for Virgil to get
into a flap over anything and he hadn't looked well. Maybe
Jeff had been a little harsh. He slipped the phone back into
the video console and dialled another number.
Virgil
stared at the blank screen. His father hadn't believed him! He
sank onto one of his chairs and hugged his pillow to his
chest, rubbing at his sore arm. He didn't know why, and he
didn't know how, but he did know that Scott was in trouble and
if he couldn't get his father to believe him then who would?
He felt a surge of despair rise up inside him. To ring again
would mean courting his father's wrath; not an appealing
prospect at the best of times, and Virgil wasn't feeling at
his strongest at that moment.
Virgil
knew that the only person who would have been willing to
believe him was possibly lying in the mangled wreckage of an
aeroplane, miles away in Bereznick.
The phone
rang several times before a face topped with dishevelled
blonde hair looked back at him. "Dad?"
"I'm
sorry, John. Did I wake you?"
"Yeah. But
that's okay. What's the problem?"
"I've just
had a worrying phone call from Virgil. He used the emergency
phone."
Instantly
John was fully awake. "Emergency?! What's wrong?"
"That's
the problem. What he was saying was... didn't make much sense.
He was babbling."
John
frowned. "Babbling?"
"I'm
afraid that I snapped at him and told him to go back to bed;
but now I'm not sure that I've done the right thing. He didn't
look well."
"How did
he look?"
"Pale. His
eyes were red as if he'd been crying..."
"Crying!?
Virgil?"
"He
admitted that he wasn't feeling well, but didn't elaborate. He
kept on going on about... About something else. He wanted me
to do something that was frankly impossible."
"What?"
Jeff
decided that he didn't want to worry his son any more than he
already was. "Don't worry about that. Look, I know it's an
imposition, and I know you've probably got work tomorrow..."
"I
haven't. I've got a few days off and I've finished dealing
with my publisher. Do you want me to drive over to check on
him?"
Jeff
looked at his watch. "It's pretty late where you are, isn't
it?"
"Don't
worry about that; you know I'm a night owl. If I leave now I
should get there before he starts school."
"Would you
mind, John? I'd go except that I'm in the middle of a business
dinner and I've had a couple of drinks. If I thought it was
urgent I could probably get a chauffeur to take me in my jet
or catch an air taxi."
"It's
okay, Dad. I don't mind. I'd quite like to catch up with him
again now that I've got some free time." John frowned again.
"Do you have any idea what's wrong with him?"
"No. I
asked him if he'd been drinking and he denied it. If I didn't
know better I might have been inclined to think that he'd been
on something stronger."
"Drugs?
Virgil? No way!"
"I know.
It's a ridiculous idea. But from what I saw..."
"Dad!
Virgil would NOT do drugs. None of us would. Apart from the
fact that it's a stupid idea, we know that if you didn't kill
us then Grandma would!"
"You're
right, we would." Despite his concerns Jeff managed a smile.
"I'd better get back to entertaining my guests. I'd prefer it
if I had a magic wand and then you could come and talk in
Japanese to Mr Horomiko and I could check up on Virgil."
John
managed a grin in reply. "Remind me to teach you some basic
phrases later."
"I'll hold
you to that, Son. Then that'll be two things I'll owe you
for."
"No
charge. I'm the one paying you back for giving me a great
start in life. I haven't begun to make a dent in the debt."
John looked at his watch. "I'll throw some things into a bag
and get cracking."
"I
appreciate this, John. Call me when you've seen Virgil."
"No
worries. Enjoy your dinner." John disappeared from the screen.
Jeff Tracy
removed his mobile phone and left the phone booth feeling much
happier.
It was
early morning by the time John drove into the car park at
Denver School. He figured that Virgil had probably slept off
his problem and would be waiting for the day's drudgery to
begin. He got out of the car, looked about him and spied the
sign that said 'office'. With long, easy strides he walked
over to the building and went inside. He received a broad
smile from the receptionist and responded in kind. "Good
morning," he said. "I was wondering if I could have a word
with one of your students, Virgil Tracy? I'm his brother."
"Virgil?"
The receptionist self-consciously patted her hair into place
as she picked up a piece of paper. "He called in sick this
morning. He left a message on the answer phone."
"Sick?"
John frowned. "Did he say in what way?"
The
receptionist shook her head. "No."
"Okay. I'm
sure it's nothing serious, but I'll go and check on him." John
flashed her another broad smile. "Thanks. Bye."
"Bye," she
simpered, patting her hair again. When he'd left she gave a
sigh of appreciation and sank into her chair. "What a
dreamboat. Tall, fair and handsome."
John was
back in his car, finding his way through the city streets to
Virgil's studio apartment. He'd been hoping that whatever was
wrong with Virgil he'd slept it off and would be 100 okay this
morning, but obviously this wasn't the case. He tried to
remember the last time that Virgil had been sick and decided
that it had been the time that all five brothers had developed
chicken pox and had run their father ragged. Since then, like
all the Tracy boys, Virgil Tracy had been a study of good
health.
"It was a
good dinner, Mr Tracy?" Kyrano helped Jeff remove his
overcoat.
"The food
was overpriced, the lighting too dim, the music too loud, I
don't think I understood a word Mr Horomiko said, and I doubt
he understood me."
"Ah," said
Kyrano, hanging up the coat.
"And to
cap it off Virgil rings me halfway through dinner to order me
to ring the Air Force."
Kyrano
looked at his employer with a quizzical expression on his
face. "Mister Virgil ordered you?"
"He's got
some crazy idea into his head that Scott's plane has crashed."
Kyrano
looked at Jeff in concern. "Mister Scott's aeroplane has
crashed?"
Jeff gave
a dismissive wave. "Virgil was trying to tell me that he
'felt' the crash. He must have dreamt it."
"Are you
sure, Mr Tracy?"
"Sure?
Sure about what, Kyrano?
"That it
was only a dream."
"What are
you on about?" Jeff growled.
"Mister
Scott and Mister Virgil are very close..."
"Are you
suggesting that Virgil's had some kind of paranormal episode?"
"Empathetic clairvoyance is not unheard of."
"It is
where I come from." Jeff looked at his man-servant. "I've kept
you up too long, my friend. You're not thinking straight. It's
time we both went to bed."
John found
Virgil's place and knocked on the door, prepared to tease his
brother about playing truant. All thoughts of teasing went out
of his mind when Virgil opened the door. "Hi, Vir...?"
Virgil
grabbed at his brother as though he was grabbing at a lifeline
and pulled him into the apartment. "You've got to ring,
Father!"
"Why..."
"You've
got to convince him to ring the Air Force and get them to find
Scott!" Using the hand that wasn't hugging his pillow to his
body, Virgil dragged John over to his phone.
"You want
him to do what?"
"Ring the
Air Force!"
"I can't
do that without knowing why."
"He didn't
believe me when I told him Scott's crashed."
"What!"
Alarmed, John watched his brother pace.
"He told
me I dreamt it."
"Huh?"
John was starting to get a confused feeling. "You dreamt Scott
crashed his plane?"
"No! I
didn't dream it! I felt it!" Virgil was clearly distraught.
"This isn't right! We're forming a rescue organisation and we
can't rescue a member of our own family!"
"Whoa!"
John grasped Virgil by the shoulders and pushed him gently
over to his bed. "Sit down, calm down and take a deep breath.
Now... explain everything to me."
"You won't
believe me."
"If you
don't tell me what's going on I won't get the chance to
believe you. I haven't understood a word you've said so far."
John removed his hands from Virgil's shoulders and ran his
fingers across his palms. "Your top's wet." He looked closer
at his brother. "Have you got a fever?" He felt a clammy
forehead.
"I don't
think so," Virgil admitted. "If anything I feel cold."
"With
those damp clothes it's no wonder. Have you got a thermometer
in your first aid kit?"
Virgil
nodded. "In the bathroom."
"Wait
here." John went into the indicated room. Mindful of his
father's suspicions, once there he had a quick look around.
The only signs of any drugs were the empty wrappers of a
couple of painkillers. He found the thermometer and returned
to the studio. "Let's see what this says."
Virgil sat
on the edge of his bed, hugging his pillow tight and rocking
back and forth gently as his temperature was measured.
John
retrieved the thermometer and checked it. "Looks normal.
What's wrong with you, Virgil?"
"I don't
know. I just know that Scott's crashed his plane."
"You said
that. You also said Dad didn't believe you. How come you
believe that Scott's crashed, but Dad doesn't?"
"John,"
Virgil began slowly. "I know this sounds crazy. I know it
sounds as if I'm going mad. But I felt the crash."
"You did
what?"
"I felt
Scott's plane crash. I woke up and I felt this falling
sensation. Like... Like you know when you're skydiving and you
step out of the plane and for a moment it's as if your body's
going, 'hang on, something's not right here. I'm not meant to
be falling towards the Earth'; before you start to relax and
enjoy yourself?"
"Uh, yeah,
I know," John said, trying to remember.
"It was
like that." Virgil pulled his pillow closer. "Except that it
went on and on. It must have lasted at least thirty seconds.
And I could feel fear. You know how they say that someone
tastes fear? Well I could taste it! I knew I had to get help,
so I was trying to get to the phone so I could ring Father,
when the plane crashed."
"The plane
crashed," John echoed; trying to make sense of what was being
said.
Virgil
nodded and rubbed at his arm. "The force knocked me to the
ground and my arm started hurting."
"You
bumped it when you fell?"
"No. I
haven't hit it on anything. Scott's hurt his arm in the crash.
My arm's been hurting ever since. I tried a couple of
painkillers but I couldn't keep them down. And now..." he put
a hand to his temple, "I've got a headache. I know that's
mine."
"You're
probably dehydrated," John commented. "Let me get you
something to drink." He did that, and then put the kettle on
to make himself a coffee, all the while surreptitiously
looking around for anything suspicious. By the time he got
back to the bed his brother seemed calmer. "Feeling better?"
"My head
is," Virgil admitted. "My arm still hurts."
"Do you
want to try another couple of painkillers?"
"I
probably won't keep them down either."
"The way
you were stressing you've probably made yourself sick. Do you
want to try again? I'll go get them."
Virgil
shook his head. "No. I don't think they'll work."
"Look,"
John said, patting his brother reassuringly on the shoulder.
"You've had a bad, ultra-realistic dream, that's all."
"No! No it
wasn't! It woke me up!"
"Virgil..."
"I was
sound asleep until he started falling!"
"Think
about what you are saying."
"I was
awake and out of bed when he crashed!"
"Virgil..."
"I felt
the impact!"
"Virgil...
Virgil..." John soothed. "Calm down. What makes you think that
what you've 'experienced' is anything to do with Scott? Maybe
you're sick."
"John, I
know that Scott's crashed his plane as surely as if I'd been
flying in it. I know he's hurt his arm."
"None of
what you're saying makes any sense." John fixed his brother
with an appraising stare. "You don't look well. Is there a bug
going around at the school? Have you been doing anything you
shouldn't?"
"No."
"What time
did you go to bed?"
"Ten. And
I was fine then. But I've been in a blind panic ever since I
couldn't convince Father to ring the Air Force..."
"Why did
you want him to do that?"
"I wanted
him to tell them Scott was in trouble in case they didn't
know."
John
stared at Virgil. "No wonder he thought you were babbling.
Imagine what they would have thought about him if he had
rung."
"I know,"
Virgil whimpered. "I know this sounds crazy. I just know that
something serious has happened. And I don't think it's
happening to me: I know it's happened to Scott." He hugged the
pillow tighter and rocked harder. He rubbed his arm.
"Here, let
me have a look," John offered. He rolled up Virgil's right
sleeve. "Where does it hurt?"
"There,"
Virgil ran his finger across the middle of his forearm.
"Does it
hurt to touch?" John prodded gently and turned the arm over.
"No. I can
touch it and use it okay. But it still hurts."
"No sign
of bruising. It looks okay to me." John rolled the sleeve back
down, once again noting how wet Virgil's pyjamas were. "You
look like you could do with some sleep, but you can't go back
to bed in that state. Why don't you have a shower and get into
clean pyjamas and I'll... I'll give Dad a call."
"You'll do
that?" Virgil asked hopefully. "You'll stay?"
John
smiled. "I've got the next few days off and I don't have to be
anywhere, so I don't mind. Where're your PJs?"
Virgil
pointed with his good arm. "That drawer."
"Towels?"
Virgil
told him where the towels were and John got him a couple and a
clean pillowcase. He placed the towels and pyjamas in the
bathroom and then went back to his brother. "Can I do anything
else?"
"No,"
Virgil shook his head. "I'll be okay."
John held
up the pillowcase and indicated the pillow that Virgil hadn't
put down since he'd arrived. "If you leave that here I'll put
a clean 'case on it. That one must be wet as well."
Virgil
looked at the pillow and then, with some reluctance, handed it
over.
"Take your
time," John suggested. "And if you need me, just yell."
Virgil
managed a smile. "Thanks."
John
waited until the bathroom door had shut. Then he scurried
about, peering under beds and chairs, in cupboards and in any
other hiding place he could think of; feeling disgusted with
himself the entire time. He even slid the stops off the ends
of the gym equipment's tubular frame and peered down to see if
anything was hidden in the cavity. When he'd exhausted all
options he collapsed into a chair and dialled his father's
number on his mobile phone. He greeted Jeff with, "Thanks for
making me feel lower than a rattlesnake down a hole."
"John?"
"Like some
sleazy detective I've searched his apartment and there's no
sign of anything illicit."
"I'm
sorry, John." Jeff was silent for a moment. "How is he now?"
"Calmed
down a little, now that I've sat and listened to him and
offered to give you a call. Why didn't you warn me that he'd
got this crazy notion that Scott's been hurt!?"
"Because I
didn't want you to worry unnecessarily. I'd hoped he'd be over
it by the time you got there. What did he tell you?"
"That the
sensation of Scott's plane falling woke him up and that he
hurt his arm when it 'crashed'."
"He hurt
his arm?" Jeff queried. "He didn't mention that to me."
"Virgil
said that the force of the crash knocked him to the floor and
that he knows that Scott's injured his arm because his own one
is hurting. He reckoned that he hasn't hit it on anything and
I couldn't see any sign of bruising or redness or swelling..."
John paused. "Or needle marks," he added.
"Okay, I
take the point," Jeff growled. "I'll admit that the idea of
Virgil taking drugs was crazy and I should have never
considered it. But that phone call was so out of character
that I was trying to find a reason why he'd made it. And from
the way he looked it was easy to think that he was under the
influence of something. Maybe he was and he wasn't aware of
it."
"You think
someone slipped him something?"
"What did
he do last night?"
"He said
he was home for most of the evening and went to bed at ten.
Then it looks as though he was doing some swatting for the
organisation. There're accident reports all over his bedside
table." John paused in thought for a moment. "Air accident
reports."
"Ah," Jeff
said. "That's probably what planted the idea in his mind."
"Maybe,
but this whole situation worries me. It's so out of character.
He's that insistent that something's happened to Scott that
I'm almost inclined to believe him."
Jeff
sighed. "Don't you start, John. I've got enough to worry about
with Virgil."
"I don't
understand what's going on, Dad. Virgil even admitted to me
that he knows that this all sounds crazy but he swears that
it's true."
"What is
he doing now?"
"I've told
him to have a shower and go back to bed. His clothes were
soaking in sweat. He's already put his apologies in at
school." John heard the sound of running water cut out.
"Sounds like he's finished."
"Do you
want me to fly out there?" Jeff asked. "I can catch an air
taxi."
"No. Don't
do that just yet. I'll see how he goes."
"Okay.
Call me if you think..." There was a sound in the background.
"Hold on. That's my videophone." Jeff looked at the caller ID
and when he next spoke his voice was quiet. "It's Rex Munroe,
John. He and I were stationed together... He's Scott's
commanding officer."
John felt
his blood run cold. He listened as his father answered the
videophone.
"Jeff?
It's Rex Munroe."
Jeff's
voice was unemotional. "What can I do for you, Rex?"
"I, ah, I
don't have good news I'm afraid, and I wanted to tell you
myself. For these last three weeks Scott's been stationed in
Bereznick. He's been ferrying relief workers and aid to
refugee camps in the hill country."
"He's
crashed, hasn't he?" Jeff asked in the same flat tone.
"We
believe so. He radioed through that his plane had been hit by
a ground to air missile and that was the last communication
that we've received from him. If he did, somehow, manage to
remain airborne he would have run out of fuel by now... I'm
afraid that we've had list his flight as M.I.A."
Jeff was
silent.
"Because
of the unstable situation in Bereznick we can't send troops
in, but we have asked friendly forces on the ground to keep a
sharp lookout and to let us know if they find any evidence of
what has happened to the plane or the crew. I know you'll want
to be kept informed of the situation, so I'll ring through
with hourly updates..."
"No," Jeff
replied. "I'm flying out to where you are now. Do you have an
incident room organised?"
"I will do
by the time you get here... I'm sorry, Jeff. I know how close
you and your boys are."
Jeff let
the sentiment drift by. "How many others were on the flight?"
"Four in
total. Scott was the pilot. His co-pilot was Brian Daniels.
The two aid workers were Hemi Clarke from New Zealand and Ivan
Korsakov from Russia."
"They have
families?"
"Daniels'
parents live in Chicago. I don't know about the aid workers."
"If they
want to, can you arrange to fly them all to your base? I'll
pay the bill."
"Jeff..."
"I'm not
going to let others, who are as worried as I am, suffer just
because they don't have the money that I do."
Munroe
nodded. "All right, I'll see what I can do. I'll make some
arrangements and then call you back."
"Thank
you, Rex... Oh and one more thing. At what time was Scott's
final communication received?"
"What
time? Uh... 1420 hours: Bereznick time."
Jeff ended
the videophone call and returned to John's. "Did you hear all
that?"
"I heard
enough to be worried."
"Scott's
plane is missing in action." Jeff paused. "He disappeared five
minutes before Virgil rang me."
In the
studio apartment the bathroom door opened and Virgil exited
towelling down his hair. "That feels..." He stopped when he
saw John's white face. "What's wrong?"
John
handed over the phone.
Virgil
took it. "H-Hello?"
"Virgil...
It's your father..."
"He's
okay, Father," Virgil interrupted. "He's still alive. My arm's
still hurting."
"How did
you know?" Jeff whispered. "How did you know, Virgil?"
"I don't
know. I just knew. They are looking for him, aren't they?"
"They are
doing everything they can to find him. I'm flying out to his
home base now. You and John can meet me there."
"Okay,"
Virgil agreed. "Don't worry. He's fine. You know Scott..."
"I know,
Son. Take care on the flight."
"You too."
Virgil handed the phone back to John. "I'll get dressed and
throw some things into a bag."
"Dad,"
John said into the phone. "Give me the address." He made some
notes.
"I'll let
Alan and Gordon know, and pick up your grandmother," Jeff
said. He hesitated. "John? What just happened here?"
"I don't
understand either. But in a perverse kind of way I'm glad it
has. If Virgil believes that Scott's still alive, then so can
I... Keep strong, Dad." John hung up the phone.
Jeff
stared at the blank videophone as he tried to make sense of
everything that had happened. He barely moved when Kyrano
bustled into the room. "I owe you an apology, Kyrano."
"An
apology, Mr Tracy?"
Jeff
looked at him. "I just had a call from Scott's commander.
Virgil was right. His plane was attacked by a missile. They
presume he's crashed."
"Mister
Virgil had a premonition?"
"More like
that... what did you call it?"
"Empathetic clairvoyance."
"Rex
Munroe told me that Scott's plane went M.I.A at almost the
same moment that Virgil says he woke up."
"What does
Mister Virgil say now?"
"That
Scott's alive, but he's hurt his arm."
Kyrano
bowed. "Then that is good news."
Jeff
clenched his fist. "I hope you're right, Kyrano. I hope you
are right."
John and
Virgil were nearly at the airport when Virgil's mobile phone
rang. "Hi, Mike."
"Virgil!
I've just heard the news on the radio! Are you okay? It is
your brother, isn't it?"
"What!
It's on the radio? How did they find out?"
"The
radio!" John glanced at Virgil. "Boy, Dad is going to be
spitting tacks!"
"I don't
know," Mike was responding to Virgil's question. I would
assume that someone in the Air Force told them. There's a
whole bunch of us who have been listening for updates. Is
there anything we can do?"
"Thanks
for the offer, but we're okay. John was at my place when we
received the official report. We're flying out to the centre
of operations now. I'm afraid this weekend's trip is off."
"Sure, I
understand. Maybe some other time?"
"You can
count on it." Virgil hoped that that would be the end of the
conversation.
It wasn't.
"Marcus said you'd reported in sick."
"I've...
hurt my arm," Virgil grimaced at the half truth. "That's why
John was at my place."
"Oh, man!
You're having a real run of bad luck," Mike exclaimed. "How'd
you do that? Was it when you were checking the plane?"
"Not
exactly," Virgil prevaricated. "I'll, ah, I'll explain later."
"Can John
fly the plane?"
"Yep." In
the background Virgil heard someone say, "Mike! You'll be
late!"
"I've got
to go," Mike said. "We're all thinking of you. I hope
everything works out okay and we see you Monday."
"Yeah,"
Virgil agreed. "Me too. Thanks, Mike." He disconnected the
call and sighed.
"You
handled that well," John commented as he signalled his turn
into the airfield car park.
"It's a
wonder," Virgil admitted. "I can't think straight at the
moment."
John
pulled into a parking space and braked. "Virgil?" he began as
he undid his seatbelt. "I know she's your plane, but..."
"You want
to fly her?"
"I think
I'd feel happier. You've had a rough morning."
Virgil
nodded. "Okay. I can live with that." He pocketed his phone.
"Of course, if you had your own plane, you wouldn't have
needed to ask."
"If I'm
going to be stranded up in space for months at a time, I aim
to enjoy the Earth from ground level for as long as I can.
Besides, I get plenty of flying practise at work." John popped
the boot and withdrew his bag. He watched as Virgil took out
his own overnight bag and an artist's case. "What did you
bring that for?"
Virgil
looked at the flat, square bag. "I don't know really. I just
couldn't bear to leave it behind. It'll give me something to
do while I'm waiting."
"I wish
I'd thought of bringing something."
"You
didn't have a chance. Besides, you can brush up on your
Russian with the aid worker's family." John's phone rang. "You
answer that and I'll get the plane out."
"Hang
on..." John looked at the caller ID. "Hi, Dad. Any news?"
Virgil
waited until John had looked at him and shaken his head, then,
not surprised at the lack of information, he went to get
things ready for the flight.
"I've
managed to contact Alan," Jeff was saying. "I've told him to
drive carefully, but he'll probably be glued to the speed
limit the entire way. Gordon's out on manoeuvres, testing some
new boat or other. I've told his commanding officer what's
happened and asked him to get Gordon to give me a call."
"Have you
told Grandma?" John asked.
"Yes.
She's demanding that I pick her up immediately... How's
Virgil? Is he there?"
"He's
calmed down since he found out the search is on, and is almost
back to normal. He's getting his plane ready for the flight at
the moment, but he has agreed to let me pilot her."
"That's a
relief," Jeff sighed.
"Yeah. I'm
glad it's Virgil who's the passenger. At least he relaxes when
someone else is at the controls. If it was Scott he would be
itching to take over..." John realised what he was saying. "Of
course if it was Scott, we wouldn't be in this situation now."
"If he has
hurt his arm he might have to get used to someone else
piloting for a while."
"Dad?"
John asked. "Have you told the others about... what happened?"
"I've told
Kyrano and he took it in his stride as if it were the most
natural thing in the world."
John
smiled. "That doesn't surprise me."
"I'll tell
your grandmother on the flight over. Your brothers...? I'll
let Virgil decide if he thinks they should know."
"Okay.
I'll tell him that... Ah..." John hesitated. "Virgil was just
talking to one of his friends. They heard about Scott on the
radio."
"They did
what!" John could clearly hear the anger in his father's
voice.
"If the
media have got your mobile number you're going to be inundated
with phone calls pretty soon. You might like to consider
turning your phone off."
"I don't
want to do that," Jeff growled, "in case any of you need to
contact me."
"In that
case, if we've got any brains, we'll use the emergency phone,"
John told him.
"Rex
Munroe uses this number too. He might have news about Scott."
"Then give
Mr Munroe a call and give him the emergency number. Turn this
one off. It won't matter."
"Yes,
Father."
John
managed a laugh. "Sorry."
"It's all
right, Son. Sometimes even I need prompting, especially when
I'm worried about you boys."
"Well,
once you've picked Grandma up, she'll give you all the
prompting you need and more. And you'd better get a move on or
else she'll do more than prompt you. See you there, Dad."
"Bye,
John. Have a safe flight."
John
concentrated on flying the unfamiliar plane, leaving Virgil
content to dwell on his own thoughts and occasionally rub his
arm. They flew in silence through the blue skies for a good
ten minutes.
Virgil was
the first to speak. "Thanks."
John
glanced at him in surprise. "What for?"
"For not
calling out the men in white coats."
John
chuckled. "Don't think I wasn't tempted."
"If I'd
been in your shoes I would have been."
"You had
me worried, Virg. I'll admit that. And if I hadn't been there
when Dad got the call I'm not sure that I'd believe you now."
"You do
believe me?"
"Yep. But
until I was talking to Dad I could have believed that you'd
been drinking... or something."
Virgil
shook his head. "I don't drink alcohol on school nights."
John
grinned. "Have you taken the pledge?"
Virgil
chuckled. "No. But it's a tough course and I want to be on the
top of my game. And once we're operational we're going to be
on duty 24/7. I don't think drinking's going to be an option.
I figured I may as well get used to it."
"Fair
enough." John saw his brother rub his arm again. "How bad does
it hurt?"
Virgil
looked at his arm. "It's not bad; just a dull ache. It's
painful enough to be annoying and not much more."
"Well,
sorry to say this but, until Scott's safe, I'm more than happy
for you to be annoyed."
Virgil
rubbed his arm again. "So am I."
The grey
ribbon of the runway stretched out before them as the plane
came into land. Following instructions, John taxied into a
hangar. From the neighbouring airfield an Air Force jet took
to the skies.
When they
alighted from the plane they were met by an airman in uniform.
He saluted. "Good afternoon, Gentlemen."
"Any
news?" John asked.
"No," the
airman admitted.
"Not even
any sign of wreckage?" John watched Virgil as he wandered over
to a neighbouring plane. It was Scott's private jet.
"No. We
have had no reports of wreckage. We are waiting on satellite
photos..." The airman saw Virgil approached the plane's door.
"Ah..."
"It's
okay," John said. "It's our brother's."
Virgil
opened the door and climbed inside the plane. He stood still
for a moment before he moved up to the cabin and climbed into
the pilot's seat.
John poked
his head inside. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah,"
Virgil sighed. "I'm being silly, that's all." He exited the
craft and locked the door.
"If you
will both follow me, I will take you to the incident room,"
the airman offered.
"Is anyone
else here yet?" John asked.
"Not as
yet."
Virgil
nudged John and pointed at a cloud of dust that was hovering
over the car park. "Alan's here."
The airman
led them on a detour to the youngest Tracy. "Have you heard
anything?" Alan asked before they'd even had the chance to
greet him.
"Nothing
official," John told him.
"I hate
not knowing anything," Alan grumbled, as they followed the
airman. "Have they told Gordon yet?"
"I don't
know," John admitted. "Dad said he was out on manoeuvres.
They'll have to contact him, get him to shore and then he'd
have to fly here. That's if he's not in a bathyscaphe or
something. He might be ages yet."
The airman
indicated a large empty room filled with a variety of tables
and comfortable chairs. "This is the waiting room allocated to
the families of those on the flight," he explained. "If you
would wait in here, I'll see if there's any new information."
The three
brothers were left alone. "I hate not knowing," Alan repeated.
"What if Scott's seriously hurt? What if he's dead? What'll
that do to the organisation...? What'll that do to US?"
"He's not
dead," Virgil soothed. "This is Scott we're talking about
remember. He's tough." John looked at his brother, wondering
if more of an explanation was going to be forthcoming. When it
became clear that Virgil wasn't prepared to elucidate on why
he was confident of their brother's survival, he claimed a
seat.
Alan
flopped into a chair of his own. "I hate not knowing," he
grumbled again.
"He's
okay," Virgil reiterated, before he picked up his artist's
satchel and retired to a chair in the corner of the room.
Propping his feet up on a small stool so he could use his lap
as an easel he began drawing.
Alan
looked at him. "How come he's so calm, John? I would have
thought that he'd be a nervous wreck. I know I am."
"He uses
his art as an outlet," John explained. "And, honestly, can you
imagine Virgil as a nervous wreck?"
"No," Alan
admitted. "I can't."
And, John
realised, until this morning he wouldn't have been able to
either.
The door
opened and Gordon entered looking very un-Gordonlike in his
WASP uniform jacket and peaked cap. This was soon rectified
when both items were discarded on the back of a seat. "I think
I've just set the air speed record for flying from Marineville
to here... Any news?" he asked as he fell into the chair and
undid the top buttons of his shirt before ruffling his hair.
"Nope,"
Alan said. "I hate not knowing."
"How long
have you guys been here?" Gordon asked.
"About
twenty minutes," John told him.
"Any word
from Dad?"
"He had to
take a detour to pick up Grandma," Alan reminded him.
John
looked at his watch. "He's probably a couple of hours away."
"On the
phone for the latest news every two minutes," Gordon added. He
looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Virg. How are you?"
"Fine,
Gordon."
Gordon
turned back to his other two brothers. "How is he?" he asked
quietly, jerking his thumb in Virgil's direction.
"I flew
him here in his plane." John lent forward. "He had a rough
morning, so go easy on him, okay?"
"What do
you think we're going to do?" Alan asked. "Start teasing him?"
John
looked at him levelly. "It has been known."
"Trust me;
I'm not in the mood." Gordon lent back. "The bluebottle at the
desk said the guy from Chicago's parents should be here any
moment. The New Zealand aid worker's father's on a flight and
the Russian's wife is being escorted through customs as we
speak." He stopped in thought. "What do you mean rough
morning?"
John was
saved from thinking up an answer when the door opened and an
officer marched in. The four Tracy brothers got to their feet.
"Gentlemen, I'm Major General Rex Munroe, Scott's commanding
officer. I'm sorry that we have to meet in such circumstance."
"How do
you do, Sir," John greeted him. "I'm John. This is Alan,
Gordon and..." he looked around and was almost surprised to
see Virgil at his shoulder, "Virgil."
Munroe
nodded an acknowledgement. "I'm afraid that I have nothing new
to impart. We are waiting on satellite photos of the area
where we think Scott's plane would have gone down. Once we
have those in our possession we will be able to form a plan of
attack."
"Attack?"
Gordon asked. "How do you mean, 'attack'?"
"Obviously, because of the political situation in Bereznick,
we can not intervene directly. But we can get word to friendly
forces on the ground where to search. They are already looking
on our behalf."
"So what
do we do in the meantime?" Alan asked. "I hate not knowing how
he is."
Munroe
looked at him in sympathy. "I'm afraid all you can do is wait.
There are refreshments available," he indicated a small
kitchenette, "and you will be escorted to the canteen for any
meals. The hotel over the road is preparing rooms for
everyone. If we can help with anything else, please ask myself
or First Sergeant Boyle." He indicated the uniformed man
standing just inside the door. "I spoke to your father just
before I came in and he hopes to be here in a little over an
hour. I'm hopeful that we will have some news by then."
"How come
it's taking so long to get the satellite photos?" John asked.
Rex Munroe
looked slightly uncomfortable at the question. "We are having
to, ah, deal with a heavy cloud layer..."
The door
was opened from outside and an older couple were ushered into
the room. "Mr and Mrs Daniels," the airman announced. The
introductions were no sooner completed when the door opened
again and a pale woman, identified as Svetlana Korsakov, the
Russian aid worker's wife, was shown inside. Munroe greeted
them and then excused himself.
John sat
down again. "Heavy cloud layer, my foot," he grumbled. "If
military satellites can't see through a 'heavy cloud layer'
there's something wrong seriously wrong with them. He's trying
to pull the wool over our eyes."
"So why
would he lie?" Gordon asked.
John
shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he doesn't want to show the Air
Force in a bad light for some reason? Maybe he doesn't want to
admit that their technology's not up to scratch? Maybe they've
been caught on the back foot with the plane crash? Maybe he
doesn't want to show his own ignorance?"
Half an
hour later and Tipene Clarke, the father of the New Zealand
aid worker, was escorted in. He greeted everyone with a
nervous smile.
Virgil
returned to his drawings; pausing occasionally to rub his arm.
Alan had
been watching him. "What's he done to himself?" he asked John.
John
pretended to be absorbed in a magazine article on the ursine
species of Arctic polar life.
"John?"
Alan pressed. "What's wrong with Virgil?"
"Huh....
Oh, you mean his arm?" John prepared himself to bluff his way
through an explanation, when the door opened again.
Jeff
Tracy, followed by his mother, entered the room. He
acknowledged his sons briefly before marching over to where
Virgil, so engrossed in his drawing that he wasn't aware of
the intrusion, was seated. Jeff laid a hand on his son's
shoulder. "Virgil..."
Virgil
started and then looked up at his father's troubled face.
"Oh... Hi."
"I'm sorry
I didn't believe you, Son."
"That's
okay. I wouldn't have believed me either."
"Are you
all right?"
Virgil
nodded. "My arm's still sore."
Jeff
nodded gravely. "I'm sorry, but I'm glad."
Virgil
managed to smile at him. "Me too." Jeff squeezed his shoulder
and then took a step back, allowing his mother to bustle in.
Virgil stood and gave her a hug. "Hi, Grandma."
"Your
father told me, Darling. Are you sure you're all right?"
"Don't
worry about me," Virgil requested. "I'm fine."
"What are
you sketching?"
"Just...
things. Anything to keep my mind off what's going on."
Alan and
Gordon looked at each other in confusion. "What's all this
about?" Alan began, but John was introducing Jeff to the
relatives of the other missing people.
Grandma
opened her arms to her two youngest grandsons, allowing Virgil
to return to his drawings. "Come here and give me a hug."
"Did you
have a good flight?" Gordon asked.
"Not bad
under the circumstances..." She noticed Gordon's jacket and
hat. "That isn't your uniform you've dumped there, is it young
man?"
"Uh,
yeah." Gordon hung his jacket over the back of a chair and
found somewhere to hang his hat. Then he wandered over to the
window and stood watching a squadron got through their drills.
"Can you
see anything?" Alan asked.
"Just
Bluebottles buzzing about." Gordon turned back into the room
and stopped short.
Jeff
Tracy, a former Air Force man, was watching him. "We used to
call the Navy 'Sprats', Gordon," he growled. "I don't know
what they call the baby of the armed forces; WASP."
"Wet Ar..."
First Sergeant Boyle began, then he looked at Mrs Tracy. "Weak
As Sailor Patrol," he amended. Then he looked embarrassed.
"Sorry, Sir."
Jeff
saluted him. "Well said, Boyle."
Boyle
returned the salute. "Thank you, Sir."
"Sorry,"
Gordon mumbled. "Ah... Let's call it a truce and discuss the
merits of the army, shall we?"
"Let's
call it a truce and not," his father suggested.
"Okay."
Gordon gave an unconcerned shrug and took a seat next to his
grandmother. "What is it with Virgil?" he asked.
"Um..."
She paused. "Virgil..."
The door
opened and Major General Rex Munroe entered. "We've got the
satellite pictures." He laid them on a table, which was
immediately surrounded by a group of concerned people. He
pointed at one particular photo. "There's the plane. It looks
relatively intact."
"Relatively?" Alan asked. "Does that mean they've made a
normal landing?"
"I would
doubt it," Munroe explained. "For one thing, they haven't
landed on an airstrip. For another," he moved that photograph
so a second was exposed, "this is a close up of the plane. As
you can see, part of the, ah, nose of the craft has been shot
away, and it appears that the starboard wing was torn off upon
landing."
"Where is
the pilot's cabin?" Mr Daniels asked.
Munroe
hesitated a moment. "In the nose."
Mrs
Daniels gave a little cry of concern and her husband put his
arm about her in a gesture of comfort.
"I would
assume, judging by the orientation of the plane and the fact
that it is relatively intact, that an attempt was made to make
an emergency landing," Munroe said hastily. "Which means that
at least one of the pilots was able to maintain some sort of
control over the plane after the attack."
Virgil
rubbed his arm.
"Have you
got any idea what has happened to the crew after the landing?"
Mrs Tracy asked.
"Negative,
Ma'am. They are off their flight path and are close to the
border, so the assumption is that whoever was piloting was
attempting to get the plane to safety. If they'd managed to
stay airborne for another 20 kilometres they would have made
it out of Bereznick."
"If they
are so close to the border does that mean you've sent a rescue
team in?" Mr Daniels asked.
"Ah..."
Munroe hesitated again. "No."
"No? Why
not?"
"If we
were to send troops in they would have to be armed. If they
are armed they would be seen as invaders. If they weren't
armed they would be seen as spies. Either way it's too big a
risk."
"If they
survived the crash could they have been taken by Bereznick
forces?" Mr Clarke asked.
"Yes."
"What
would happen to them then?" John asked.
"It would
depend," Munroe hedged.
"On what?"
Virgil asked.
Munroe
gave his answer with obvious reluctance. "The loyalty of the
troops to the present Bereznick regime... If they thought the
crew was a threat in any way... If they thought they could
gain something by holding the crew hostage..."
"And it
would depend on the nationality of the crew?" Jeff asked.
"Yes."
"Meaning
that Americans might not be treated as well as other
nationalities?" Mr Daniels asked.
"There is
that possibility. New Zealanders are not generally considered
a threat... unless they are in the company of those who are.
Russians...? It depends on whether the captors support the
government or the rebels."
"Please,"
Svetlana looked at the Major General. "I understand not well.
My English..."
"Oh,"
Munroe looked taken aback. "I'm sorry, I thought you didn't
need an interpreter. I'm afraid it will take a little time to
find one."
"Looks
like you're on, John," Gordon said.
John
reeled something off in Russian and Svetlana looked at him
with a mixture of gratitude and concern. From then on,
anything that was said to the group in English, he translated.
"But
surely the aid workers would be recognised as being neutral in
the conflict?" Tipene Clarke suggested.
Munroe
looked apologetic. "Not if they are found in the company of
those who are not considered to be neutral."
"Such as
members of the U.S. Air Force?"
"Yes.
Unfortunately in some remote areas there are still people who
distrust U.S. citizens. It's a hang over from the early part
of the century."
Mr Clarke
glanced at the Americans in the room but made no comment.
"All this
is well and good," Jeff said. "But what is being done to
rescue them?"
"Friendly
forces on the ground are searching for them..."
"And if
they find them?"
"They will
do their best to get them to neutral territory."
"Can you
get word to or from these so-called friendly forces?" Jeff
asked.
"Ah... Not
easily," Munroe admitted.
Jeff
stared his friend in the eye. "So we wait until we hear from
these people. And we have no way of knowing how the crew of
that plane," he indicated the satellite photo, "are until we
do. And that might not be until they are transported over the
border, or until it is too late to help them."
"I'm
sorry, Jeff. But that's it in a nutshell."
"So, we
wait."
Jeff took
a phone from out of his pocket and scrolled through the list
of unanswered calls. "World News, London Standard, NTBS, BCC,
CMM, New York Journal, New Zealand Chronicle, Reuters... As if
I haven't got enough to worry about! Wait until I get my hands
on Rex Munroe! He should have kept our names out of the press
release..."
"Ah...
Major General Munroe has nothing to do with public relations,
Sir," First Sergeant Boyle offered.
Jeff
glared at him. "Well someone's responsible!" he snapped. "Can
you tell me who?"
"No, Sir."
"Is there
a P.R. department on the base?"
"Yes,
Sir."
"Then you
can take me there!"
"Ah,
sorry, Sir, but I'm not allowed to..." First Sergeant Boyle
cowered back slightly at Jeff's scowl, "...Sir."
"You're
not allowed..." Jeff growled.
"Jeff..."
his mother rebuked him quietly. "It's not the poor boy's
fault."
Jeff
realised that he'd overreacted. "I'm sorry, Boyle," he
apologised. "I didn't mean to bite your head off. It's been a
trying day and I've never been a fan of publicity...
especially now."
"I
understand, Sir," Boyle sympathised.
Major
General Rex Munroe chose that moment to enter the room and his
expression told them that yet again he had nothing to tell
them. First Sergeant Boyle cast a wary look between his
superior officer and Jeff Tracy.
"Your
First Sergeant and I have just been having a discussion on
publicity," Jeff told Munroe. "I was complaining that I've got
over 100 calls on my answer service and each of them is from
the press. What I want to know is how come they knew it was my
son on that plane?"
Munroe
looked contrite. "I'm sorry, Jeff. But I have no control over
the publicity wing of the Force."
"You are a
Major General and you have no control?"
"I wasn't
even aware that the news was in the public domain until I
received the latest edition of the paper." Jeff made an
impatient sound and Munroe felt compelled to explain. "Like it
or not, Jeff, you, and the disappearance of your eldest son,
are considered newsworthy."
"Perhaps
if your people put their efforts into finding my 'eldest son'
and everyone else on that flight and less into P.R. they would
have been found by now!"
"Jeff,"
Munroe held out his hands in a gesture of peace. "We're doing
all we can. I know you're frustrated."
"Frustrated!? I'll tell you what frustrated is! Frustrated is
being unable to get the top off a jar! This goes beyond
frustrated!" Jeff indicated everyone in the room. "Ask anyone
here!" He sat down and started deleting messages from his
phone.
"I'm
sorry," Munroe apologised. When he received no acknowledgement
he left the room.
The hours
dragged on. Being the only person able to communicate with
her, John entertained Svetlana Korsakov. Alan, Gordon and
Tipene Clarke discussed New Zealand and other topics of mutual
interest. Jeff Tracy and his mother talked with Mr and Mrs
Daniels about the joys and pains of parenting. Virgil kept to
himself in his corner... Sketching non-stop...
He turned
the page so a blank sheet was topmost...
The sounds
of falling pencils, a sliding sketchbook and a sudden intake
of breath had John and Jeff, closely followed by Grandma, out
of their seats and by Virgil's side.
"What's
wrong?"
"What's
happened?"
"Is he all
right?"
Alarmed by
his family's reactions, Gordon deserted his seat. "Will
someone please explain what's going on?" He noticed that
Virgil was holding his arm and appeared to be in a little
pain. "Virgil?"
"What have
you done to yourself?" Alan asked.
"I'm all
right," Virgil gritted out.
Jeff
crouched down so he was closer to Virgil's eye-line. "How bad
is it, Virgil?"
"Getting
better."
"How much
better?"
Virgil
rubbed his arm. "About as painful as it was before."
"But it
still hurts?"
Virgil
nodded.
Jeff
breathed a sigh of relief.
"Okay!
What's going on?" Gordon demanded. "What is wrong?!"
John
looked at Jeff. Jeff looked at his mother. Grandma looked at
John. They all looked at Virgil.
"Well?!"
Alan asked.
"Virgil
hurt his arm this morning," John volunteered. "Right, Virg?"
Virgil
held his arm protectively against his body and said nothing.
"Something's not right here," Gordon stated. "What, Virgil?"
"Come on,"
Alan pleaded. "It's bad enough worrying about Scott. Don't
make us worry about you too."
"It's
nothing serious," Grandma reassured him.
"If it's
not serious then tell us," Gordon begged.
"You won't
believe me," Virgil mumbled, aware that it wasn't only his
family who was listening with interest.
"Won't
believe what?" Alan asked.
"I believe
you, Virgil," John asserted.
"I do
too," Jeff said. "Do you want me to tell them?"
In truth
Virgil didn't want to discuss what was happening to him, but
he knew he wouldn't get any peace until his younger brothers
had the facts. He gave a reluctant nod.
"Virgil..." Jeff began, trying to think of the best way to
explain everything, "felt Scott's plane crash this morning."
It was
Gordon who asked the inevitable question. "What do you mean,
'felt'?"
"He felt
the plane drop out of the sky and crash," John stated.
"How the
heck did you do that?" Alan asked.
"Kyrano
calls it Empathetic Clairvoyance," Jeff explained.
"Huh?"
Gordon exclaimed. "Clairvoyance? You've got E.S.P? Minty!"
"I haven't
got E.S.P." Virgil looked between his two brothers. Gordon's
expression was of open curiosity, while Alan's was of closed
scepticism. "This is just something weird, unexplained, it's
never happened before and I hope it never happens again."
"I'll say
it's weird," Alan said. "It's impossible. How'd you know it
was 'Scott's plane'?"
"I just
knew," Virgil said sullenly.
"You just
knew? What were you doing last night?"
"Don't you
start." Virgil indicated Jeff and John, "I've been
interrogated by these two."
"Dad even
had me searching his apartment..." John began. He stopped when
he realised what he was saying and glanced at Virgil, seeing
anger on his brother's face. John reddened. "Um... I mean...
We didn't think that you would take... But..."
"You
thought I was on some kind of drugs, didn't you?!"
"I'm
sorry, Virgil," Jeff apologised. "Don't be mad at John; he did
stick up for you. It was my idea."
Virgil's
anger had dissipated as quickly as it had flared up, and he
sighed. "Don't worry about it. I suppose that idea made as
much sense as anything I was saying."
"I didn't
want to believe it," Jeff admitted. "But if you'd seen
yourself this morning, Son, you would have wondered too."
"Okay. So
we've ascertained that you hadn't taken any drugs." Alan said.
"But were you drinking?"
"No I
wasn't! I finished work, tuned the plane, came home, had
dinner, practised the piano, did some homework and went to
bed..."
"At
ten-o-clock," John added.
"...And
that's it!" Virgil finished. "And then at 20 minutes past four
this morning I was woken up by the sensation of falling!"
"You fell
out of bed?" Gordon asked.
"No I
didn't. I got up. It's only when the plane hit the ground that
I fell. That's when Scott hurt his arm. That's when my arm
started hurting."
"What does
it feel like?" Gordon asked; his eyes alight with interest.
"What's it like to read someone else's thoughts?"
"Horrible."
"But do
you experience anything else?"
"Like
what?"
"I don't
know. That's why I'm asking you." Gordon grinned. "Don't tell
Brains you've got E.S.P; he'll have you on the dissecting
table."
"You must
be sick," Alan reached out to feel Virgil's forehead. He'd
barely made contact when his hand was knocked away.
"I'm not
sick. I know Scott's crashed... I mean... I felt him crash. I
felt the plane fall out of the sky and I felt it crash into
the ground. I felt Scott injure his arm."
"Virgil?"
Gordon asked. "Do know how crazy this sounds?"
Virgil was
nearing the end of his tether. "I know exactly how crazy this
sounds. But it's all true!"
Alan
turned to the older members of his family. "You believe this?"
"Yes."
John sounded defiant as he stared his youngest brother down.
"I saw him this morning. He knew Scott was in trouble before
anyone else. Right, Dad?"
Jeff
nodded. "I didn't believe Virgil until I got the call from Rex
Munroe, but I believe him now. Scott radioed that he was being
attacked at the exact moment that Virgil was woken up."
"Coincidence!" Alan stated.
"No it's
not!" Virgil stood. "I felt Scott crash! He's hurt his arm!
He's..." He took a deep breath. "I need some fresh air." He
pushed past his family and, ignoring the inquisitive looks
from the room's other inhabitants, stalked out the door. Still
holding his sore arm, he practically ran through the complex
until he found himself on a patio. There he leant against the
railing, breathing deeply and allowing the cool evening air to
caress his face and the back of his neck. He hadn't realised
that it was so late...
"Are you
all right?"
"I don't
know, John."
"Want to
talk about it?"
"What is
there to say?" Virgil turned back to face his brother. "I'm...
I'm confused. I'm confused about so many things. If you'd
asked me about E.S.P, or empathetic clairvoyance, or whatever
you want to call it, yesterday, I would have said that it was
a load of rubbish. But now... Now I'm experiencing it...! My
arm's hurting and I wish it would stop. But I don't want it to
stop, because I know that if it stops then something is
seriously wrong with Scott... I wish this hadn't happened to
me, it's a horrible sensation; but I'm glad it's happened to
me because I'm able to reassure everyone...! My mind's saying
'this is impossible!' while my body's saying, 'that's what you
think!' I'm... I'm a mass of confusion!"
"I wish I
could help. Is there anything I can do?"
Virgil
shook his head. "No... There's nothing."
John
looked at him in sympathy. "Do you want me to stay and talk?
Or I could stay and not talk? Or should I go and submit myself
to endless questions from Gordon and Alan?"
Virgil
managed a smile of gratitude. "I think I'd like to be alone
for a while... And I'm sure Father would appreciate your help
dealing with the terrible twosome."
"You're
probably right. Have you got your mobile phone? Give me a call
if you want me."
Virgil
patted his pocket. "Okay."
"It seems
a bit silly making phone calls over the national network when
we're only metres away from each other," John mused. "I wonder
if I can come up with a more personal communications device."
He sighed. "It'll give me something to think about while I'm
waiting." He turned to leave.
"John."
John
turned back. "Yes?"
"Thanks."
John
smiled. "You've already thanked me once."
"This
one's different. Thanks for being a good friend."
John's
smile broadened. "Always." He gave Virgil an affectionate
squeeze on the shoulder and returned inside.
Virgil
looked around and found a nearby seat. He sat down to think.
"I still
say it's impossible!" Alan stated. "It's a coincidence that
Virgil had a funny turn before you found out about Scott, Dad.
He dreamt that he felt the crash."
"Virgil
said that it was the plane starting to fall that woke him up,
Alan. He was awake while it was happening..." Jeff looked
towards the door when it opened, expecting to see two sons
entering. There was only one. "How is he, John?"
"If you
want to describe Virgil in one word at the moment, I'd use
'confused'," John explained. "He's having some time out." He
hit Alan lightly on the arm as he sat down beside him. "And
you didn't help."
"Why is
this my fault?"
"Because
he doesn't understand what's happening any more than the rest
of us understand. He needs our support; not you giving him the
tenth degree."
"Tenth
degree?! I'm not the one telling crazy stories when the rest
of us are already worried sick."
"There's a
lot of things in the universe that can't be explained, Alan,"
Gordon said. "You know how close Scott and Virgil are.
Perhaps..."
"Perhaps
nothing." Alan looked at him in disgust. "Don't tell me you
believe that rubbish! Look! I'll bet Scott had a satellite
phone and he rang Virgil. There are probably Air Force rules
are against having phones on missions and Virgil's come up
with this E.S.P nonsense so Scott doesn't get into trouble."
Gordon
shook his head. "Coming up with a story like that is more my
scene. Not Virgil's."
"Which
explains why it's not a particularly believable story." Alan
sat back and folded his arms in triumph. "I'll bet any of you
anything you like that that's what's happened."
Gordon
held out his hand. "You're on. What's the wager?"
John
exchanged a bemused look with his father.
"Excuse
me..."
Virgil was
still sitting outside in the darkening night, holding his head
in his hands as he tried to make sense of everything that had
happened during the day. He looked up.
A pilot, a
few years older than Virgil, was standing there. "You're
Scott's brother, right?"
Virgil
nodded. "That's right."
"Have you
heard anything?"
Virgil
shook his head. "No. We're still waiting."
"I hope
he's all right." The pilot extended his hand in greeting. "I'm
Clint Hollis... and you're Virgil?" At Virgil's surprised
expression he chuckled. "You couldn't be anyone else. Once
Scott starts bragging about you we can't shut him up. You're
an 'amazing artist', a 'fantastic pianist' and you're nearly
as good a pilot as he is." Virgil felt his face burning in the
dark. "A couple of times we've got so sick of hearing about
you that we've had to lock him out of the barracks."
"He's said
that about me?"
"Yep,"
Clint sounded embarrassed by his revelations. "You two must be
pretty close."
Virgil
rubbed his arm. "Yes... I guess we are."
"This must
be hard for you."
Virgil
nodded.
"Look...
Scott's a great guy and he's a good friend. He'd do anything
to help anyone, even if it meant laying his life on the line.
He's helped me out more than once. If there's anything I can
do to help now, please ask."
"There's
nothing at the moment," Virgil admitted. "But do you have a
phone number? If I hear anything I'll let you know."
"I don't
want to put you out..."
"It's not
a problem," Virgil entered Clint's number into his phone. He
looked back up at the airman. "He's said a few things about
you too. It sounds like the pair of you have got up to some
'mischief' together."
"Oh...
yes..." Clint chuckled. "You could say that." He stood
awkwardly for a moment. "I'd better get back. Don't forget to
call me if you need a hand with anything. Bureaucracy...
Dealing with the top brass... Directions on how to get around
the base... How to sweet talk the mess hands into cooking your
steak just the way you like it. Anything!"
"Thanks,
but I think we've already got an inside running with all that.
Father knows Major General Munroe."
"Of
course," Clint replied. "I'd forgotten that your father was an
Air Force man." He took a step backwards. "I'd better go. I
hope you get some news soon... Uh... Bye." He walked away.
"Bye..."
Virgil said to the retreating back. He sighed, stood and
stretched. He was feeling the need to return to his sketch
pad.
Everyone
in the waiting room studiously ignored him as he walked in and
took possession of his corner again. Only John met his eyes,
with firstly a worried frown, and then a wink.
Virgil
went back to his drawing. He began by sketching a cross...
"I don't
need to lie down, Jeff. Stop fussing!"
"But
it's," Jeff glanced at his watch, "after five a.m. and you've
been up all night." He looked back at his mother. "The hotel
room's ready for you. I promise that you'll be told the moment
that we hear anything."
Grandma
Tracy planted her hands on her hips. "Are you planning on
going to bed now?"
"No," Jeff
said. "I'm staying here."
"If you're
staying then I'm staying."
"Mother..."
"Mother
nothing! He's not only your son; he's my grandson too. And I'm
not leaving this room until I hear that he is all right! None
of you are going to your rooms yet, are you boys?"
"Nope."
"No,
Grandma."
"No way."
"I'm
staying put."
"There!"
Her jaw was jutting out in defiance.
Jeff
sighed. A lifetime of dealing with this woman had taught him
that she was in a stubborn mood and that nothing would change
her mind. He lifted his hands in an admission of surrender and
sat down.
Virgil
turned the page so the last white sheet in his sketch book was
exposed. He lifted his pencil to draw and then...
"He's been
rescued!"
Virgil
didn't know why he'd said that out loud. He wasn't even sure
if he had until he realised that ten pair of eyes were on him.
"Virgil?"
Jeff asked. "What did you say?"
"I...
Uh..." Virgil stammered. "I said he's been rescued."
"Who?"
John asked; a look of eagerness on his face.
Virgil
looked around his family and then at the other people in the
room. Then he looked down at the white page. "Scott."
"Why do
you say that?" Grandma asked.
"I... I
had this... sensation of relief... and my arm's stopped
hurting."
"That
doesn't mean anything," Alan accused, but Jeff had turned to
First Sergeant Boyle.
"Can you
go and ask Major General Munroe if everyone's okay and when we
can expect to see them?"
"Uh... Me,
Sir?" The First Sergeant wasn't enamoured with the suggestion.
"Do you want me to phrase it exactly like that?"
"If you
don't, I will. Where is he?"
"In the
incident room, but you're not allowed in there... Sir."
Jeff gave
a sound of annoyance and pulled his mobile phone out of his
pocket. Everyone looked on in with mixed emotions as he
dialled a number. "Rex? It's Jeff. Are they all okay?"
"Jeff?"
Rex Munroe sounded bemused.
"Scott and
the others on his flight? How are they? When can we see them?"
"I don't
know, Jeff. We haven't found them yet."
"Trust me.
They have been found."
"I can
assure you that..." Munroe paused as he listened to an
indistinct voice. "What did you say?" he asked the unknown
speaker. "When?" He returned to his phone conversation. "How
did you know, Jeff? All four members of the flight have just
crossed the border into friendly territory."
"All
four?" Jeff gave a thumbs-up and there were exclamations of
jubilation in the room. John translated for Svetlana and
received a hug of joy as his father continued speaking. "How
are they?"
"Give us a
chance. We've only just learnt they're still alive. How did
you know anyway?"
Jeff
winked at Virgil. "I have my sources. I'll tell you some time
when you're not on duty and I've bought you a double brandy."
"There!"
John told Alan. "Try and explain that as a mere coincidence!"
Alan
opened his mouth as if he were going to attempt an
explanation, and then decided that he was in too good a mood
to bother.
Virgil
locked his sketchpad in his satchel and then dialled a number
into his own mobile phone. "Clint! It's Virgil Tracy. Good
news. We've just received word that they've reached safety."
"They
have?! Hey, that's fantastic. Brian too?"
"All four
from what I understand. We don't know if anyone is injured,
but at least we know they're still alive."
"Thanks
for letting me know, Virgil. It's a weight off my mind and
yours too I'll bet." Virgil could hear cheering in the
background. "There're some very happy guys here. Now we might
be able to get some sleep... The only problem is we're due to
get up in half an hour."
Virgil
laughed. "I'd better let you get to bed then. Good night,
Clint."
"You mean
good morning, Virgil. Thanks for letting us know."
Virgil had
no sooner hung up the phone when it rang again. He looked at
the caller ID, not recognising the number. "Virgil Tracy
speaking..."
"Don't
tell anyone who it is. I need to hear your voice for a
moment."
A shout of
'Scott' was bitten back. "Uh..." Virgil said, nonplussed by
the statement. He tried to keep his voice unemotional. "Ah...
Okay... But why? Are you okay?"
Scott gave
a short laugh. "I've busted a wing so I won't be flying for a
while. But apart from that I'm fine."
"Your
right one?"
"Yeah...
Look, I'm sorry, Virgil."
"Sorry?
Why?"
"For...
For all the worry I've put you through. I promised to be
careful."
"You..."
Virgil bit his tongue. "Look... Everyone's here, waiting for
news. We've been up all night. Wouldn't you like to talk to
them?"
"Okay.
Maybe when I get back stateside we'll go out to dinner and
then we can talk."
"We'll
have dinner at my place. I'll cook you something."
Scott
laughed. "Please, Virg. I've just escaped death once. Don't
ask me to do it again."
"Hey! I'm
not bad. Grandma's a good teacher."
"I'll
believe you – thousands wouldn't. Better put me on to the old
man."
Virgil
walked the few steps across to where Jeff Tracy was pacing.
"Father. Someone wants a word with you."
Jeff took
the mobile phone with a raised eyebrow. "Hello?"
"Hi,
Father."
"Scott!"
Upon hearing the name everyone else crowded in close. "How are
you, Son? Are you hurt? We've been worried sick!"
"I know
and I'm sorry. I've broken my arm, but that's all."
"You've
broken your arm?" Jeff looked at Virgil. "Your right one?"
"Yeah. But
it's okay now."
John gave
Alan a triumphant look.
"How is
everyone else on your flight? We've got their families here
too."
"Brian got
knocked about pretty badly when the missile took out the nose
of the plane. He's been unconscious for a large part of the
time and the medics are checking him over now. Ivan's taken a
blow to the head, but seems to be okay. Hemi's cracked a
couple of ribs. We had to strap him up as best we could. We're
all covered in scratches and bruises."
Jeff
relayed the information to those waiting. The Daniels were
silent for a moment and then Mr Daniels started demanding that
First Sergeant Boyle find out more detailed information about
his son. John informed Svetlana of her husband's condition and
the frightened look reappeared on her face until he reminded
her that Ivan was now safe. Tipene didn't know whether to look
concerned or overjoyed.
"Where are
you calling from?"
"Satellite
phone..."
Alan gave
John a triumphant look.
"...It
belongs to one of the guys on this flight. How are you all?"
"All the
better for hearing your voice. If it's a satellite phone don't
you think we'd better cut this conversation short? It must be
costing the owner a packet."
"Nah,"
Scott laughed. "I've charged it to your account. I figured you
could afford it. Can I have a word with Grandma?"
"Of
course. Here she is," Jeff handed the phone over to his
mother.
"Scott!"
she exclaimed. "How are you, Darling?"
Jeff
looked around for Virgil. His middle son was sitting on one of
the chairs and looked pale. Jeff hurried over. "Are you all
right?"
Virgil
fixed him with a tired smile. "All of a sudden I feel
exhausted. I think that now that the excitement's over all the
adrenaline must be wearing off."
"Come on,"
Jeff suggested. "Let's get you back to the hotel. I think we
all could do with some sleep."
When
Virgil awoke he was in a unfamiliar room and the face of a
stranger was looking down on him. "Hello," the stranger said.
"How do you feel?"
"Where am
I?" Virgil asked, and was surprised at how rough his voice was
sounding.
"Base
hospital." The man's white coat and stethoscope, along with
this bit of information, made Virgil think that he was
probably a doctor. "You developed a fever so we admitted you
to get your temperature under control. How do you feel?" he
repeated.
Virgil's
mouth and throat felt parched. "Thirsty."
"Good,"
the doctor turned to a woman behind him. "Nurse?"
She smiled
and poured some liquid into a glass. After adding a straw she
smiled again. "Perhaps you'd like to help him drink it, Mr
Tracy?"
Virgil
turned his head and realised that his father was sitting
there, looking even more tired and careworn than he had when
Scott was missing. "What happened?" he asked. "Last thing I
remember we were going to go to the hotel."
Jeff
accepted the glass and held it so that Virgil was able to suck
on the straw. "John and I got you back to your room. You said
you were okay so we left you to get ready for bed. I was
talking to John when we heard a bang. When we rushed into your
room we found that you'd passed out on the floor. I rang Rex
and he arranged for the base medics to come and look at you."
"Just as
well," the doctor said. "With the temperature you had you
could have suffered brain damage. But I'm sure there'll be no
permanent affects. Do you feel up to having more visitors?
Your family are waiting outside."
Virgil
nodded before turning back to his father. "How long have I
been in here?" He had another drink.
Jeff
looked at his watch. "Coming up to 48 hours."
"How
long?!"
Jeff
looked over to the door and smiled. "Ah. Here's someone eager
to see you."
Virgil
turned his head to greet his family and immediately felt
better. "Scott!" He struggled to sit up and was restrained by
IV lines and his father.
"Hiya.
How're you feeling?" Scott was dressed in civvies. Apart from
his right arm being in a sling and a few scratches and
sticking plasters on his face and hands, he hadn't changed.
"What's all this? I get back to the States expecting to be
greeted by a huge welcoming committee only to find out that
everyone's at the hospital fretting over you." His tone was
lightly teasing and his face was smothered in a huge grin.
"You not only stole my thunder you had to copy my bandage
too." He lifted his injured arm.
Virgil
looked at his own arm. Until that moment he hadn't realised
that his forearm was covered in a dressing. He looked back at
his father with a questioning expression on his face.
"You had
an infection," Jeff sounded almost apologetic as he got his
mother a chair. "That's what caused the fever."
"We were
worried about you, Darling." Grandma gave Virgil a kiss on the
cheek before she sat down.
"So you
were sick!" Alan was sounding triumphant. "I told you so."
"John's
miffed because he thought you had E.S.P when in fact you were
I-L-L," Gordon grinned.
"I'm not
miffed!" John was sounding disgruntled. "I still believe that
something we don't fully understand happened. It's too big a
coincidence to be a coincidence. And he didn't have a
temperature the other day, did you, Virgil?"
"No..."
Virgil agreed.
"See! I
took his temperature and it was fine. You didn't feel
feverish, did you, Virgil?"
"No..."
"You said
yourself that his pyjamas were wet with sweat," Alan
protested. "He must have had a temperature. You read the
thermometer wrong."
"Those
thermometers are pretty foolproof."
"Obviously
this one wasn't."
John
ignored Gordon's playful insult. "Did he feel feverish when
you felt his forehead, Alan?"
"He didn't
give me enough time to feel anything... And I've just
remembered. You owe me, Gordon. I won the bet."
"No you
didn't. You said they'd used a satellite phone, which they
hadn't." Gordon replied. "You owe me."
"The bet
was I'd owe you if it was E.S.P." Alan indicated the figure in
the bed. "Virgil was sick not clairvoyant."
"I'm sure
if he was sick while we were waiting we would have noticed,"
John insisted. "After he collapsed he was that hot you could
have fried an egg on his forehead!" The mention of food made
Virgil feel hungry. "And there was nothing wrong with his arm
the other day either. There was no redness, or swelling, and
it wasn't sore to touch, was it, Virgil?"
"No..."
"And you
could use it with no trouble, couldn't you?"
"Yes..."
"And he
knew Scott had crashed before anyone else. Right, Virgil?"
"I..."
"You said
yourself that he'd been reading air accident reports," Gordon
noted. "He dreamt it. The reports coupled with the infection
made him dream that Scott had crashed. It was a coincidence."
"Mighty
big coincidence if you ask me," John grumbled.
Virgil
looked at Scott for support, but his big brother appeared to
be content to listen to his siblings bicker.
There was
a knock on the door and Rex Munroe poked his head inside. "May
I come in?"
Virgil
nodded, allowing Jeff to say, "Come in, Rex."
The major
general entered the room and Scott scrambled to his feet. He
attempted a salute with his injured arm, causing his brothers
to snicker. "At ease," Munroe smiled. "I don't want you
knocking yourself out with that cast, Scott. Sit down."
"Thank
you, Sir."
Munroe
looked at Virgil. "The doctor said you'd woken up. How are you
feeling, Virgil?"
"Better, I
guess."
"Good. I
thought I'd take the opportunity to return your satchel. You'd
left it in the waiting room. Also..." he turned back to Scott,
"Hemi Clarke asked for you to be given these," he handed Scott
an envelope. "There's nothing confidential in there, we've
checked."
"Thank
you, Sir." Scott opened the envelope and took out some photos.
"I'd nearly forgotten that he'd promised me a set of these.
These are all ones he took while we were in Bereznick. Hemi
was taking so many photos that we started calling him
'Shutterbug'."
"I've been
looking at Clarke and Korsakov's reports," the Major General
said. "They speak highly of you, Scott. Especially the way you
attempted to land the plane. And the fact that you liberated
some of the first aid and food parcels from under the enemy's
noses. They say Daniels wouldn't have had a chance if you
hadn't done that. They were also impressed the way you and
sent some Bereznick soldiers packing."
Scott
looked a trifle embarrassed. "I didn't do anything really."
"I think
you've potentially got another commissioned officer in the
family, Jeff," Munroe laid a hand on Scott's shoulder.
Virgil
felt a pang of anxiety. What if Scott decided to forgo their
dream of forming the rescue organisation and stay on in the
Air Force? He looked at his father and saw pride on his face.
By contrast Scott was looking even more embarrassed.
"And,"
Munroe was continuing on, "I think that there's every chance
you'll be up for a medal, Scott."
"No
way...! Sir," Scott protested. "Honestly, I didn't do anything
special."
Munroe
chuckled. "I know you don't want me hanging about," he said,
"and I want to check on Daniels. He's making good progress...
Don't get up," he ordered Scott. "I'll talk to you later,
Jeff. You still owe me that explanation and the double
brandy."
"Okay,
Rex." Jeff looked at Virgil with an expression that could
almost have been described as disappointed. To his surprise
Virgil found that he shared the sentiment.
Scott was
already showing his photos about. "That's the drop before
everything went wrong. See those kids' faces? Guys, you're
going to love it when we've helped someone. The smile you get
is the best reward you could have, better than any medal."
Virgil
felt instantly better.
Scott
showed off another photo. "That's the inside of the plane.
Those crates are filled with food supplies and first aid
equipment..." He gave a low whistle. "That's after we crashed.
The missile took the nose clean off." He passed the photo to
Virgil and examined the next one. "There's the plane from
another angle..."
Virgil
frowned at the photo in his hand. There was something familiar
about it...
"I hadn't
realised he was taking photos then!" Scott exclaimed. "That's
when the Bereznick forces were looking for us. I knocked a
beehive out of a tree. It landed beside them and all these
bees started buzzing about; looking for someone to blame." He
chuckled. "You should have seen the soldiers run!" He handed
over the photo. "I guess that's what Munroe meant when he said
I sent them packing."
Virgil
looked at the photo. He was starting to get a very creepy
feeling...
"We got a
bit of sheet metal from the plane's wing," Scott was
explaining. "It was light enough that we could use it as a
sled/stretcher type thing to pull Brian out." He chuckled
again. "Because it wasn't very painful, I'd forgotten I'd
broken my arm, so I tried to pull on the sled with it. Boy,
did that hurt!" He passed the photo over. "That's me pulling.
I found a bit of rope I could loop around my shoulders and
across my back." He used his good hand to rub the back of his
neck. "I did the pulling because Hemi couldn't 'cause of his
ribs and we were worried about Ivan's head injury."
"Scott,"
Virgil interrupted. "Would you mind passing up my satchel?"
Scott gave
him a strange look. "Sure." He picked it up and held it so
Virgil could unlock it.
"Take out
the sketch pad," Virgil instructed.
Scott did
as he was told.
"Look at
the pictures."
"This
one's blank," Scott was looking at the last page. He flipped
the pages over so he was starting at the beginning. "This
one's Tracy Island... It's pretty good."
"No. Not
the first few," Virgil insisted. "Keep going."
Scott
shrugged and looked at his Grandma. "Okay." He flipped over a
couple of pages and then stopped. He stared at the drawing.
Then he flipped over to the next page. "Huh?" He looked
equally bemused as the third and fourth pictures were
examined. He looked back at Virgil. "How'd you..."
Virgil
shrugged. "Don't ask me."
"Gordon...
let me have those photos back," Scott turned back to the page
that had first startled him. He held the photo beside the
drawing. "I don't believe it."
John had
been looking over his shoulder. "I do. I told you!"
"What?"
Jeff asked. "What don't you believe?"
Scott
turned the sketch pad around so his family could see it.
Virgil had drawn a picture of a plane with its nose shot away.
"That's
nothing," Alan scoffed. "We knew that had happened because we
saw the satellite photos."
"Don't get
too cocky," John warned him. "You haven't seen the rest yet."
Scott
revealed the next picture. Four burly men were advancing past
a tree. In the one after they were running away, a swarm of
bees around their head. The next picture was the back view of
a man pulling on some kind of stretcher. Scott placed a photo
beside it and the similarity was obvious.
"Okay,
this is too much!" Gordon threw his hands into the air and sat
back in his chair. "We have just entered the 'Twilight Zone'."
"Now what
do you say, Alan?" John smirked.
"Uh..."
Scott went
through the remaining photos, comparing them with Virgil's
drawings. "This is uncanny... It's unbelievable..." He came to
the last sketch in the book. Whereas the earlier ones had been
line drawings with just enough detail to explain what was
happening, this last one had been finished and coloured with
care....
Scott
compared the final drawing with the last photo. Both pictures
were of churches. Both buildings had the same structure. There
was a hint of the same coloured stained glass windows. The
same grave stones were in front of the building. A tree branch
curved in the exact same way and the petals from its fallen
flowers littered the ground. But the thing that made his blood
run cold was the steeple. It stood at an angle and below it a
part of the building had been blown away. "That's where we
were found," he explained. "We were hiding in the church
because we hadn't realised we'd escaped Bereznick territory.
The damage to the building was cause by a Bereznick missile."
He looked back at Virgil. "You must have seen Hemi's photos!"
"I've been
unconscious the last couple of days," Virgil reminded him; and
yawned.
Jeff saw
the yawn. "Are you feeling tired, Virgil?"
"A
little," Virgil admitted. He felt his eyelids growing heavy.
"I think
that's our cue to leave." Jeff stood. "Come on, everyone.
We'll come back later."
"Thanks,"
Virgil struggled to keep his eyes open as he watched his
family leave. His younger brothers were bickering again.
"Prepare
to pay up."
"No way,
Gordon! There's got to be a logical explanation for this!"
"Such as?"
"Ah..."
The door closed behind them.
"Virgil?"
Scott had remained seated by the bed.
"Mmm..."
"Do you
believe you had some kind of telepathic link with me?"
"Mmm...
maybe..." Virgil made an effort to stay alert, not wanting to
miss out on a second with his brother. He was therefore awake
when he heard Scott's final comment... Or had he dreamt it?
"Because I
felt it too." |