True Believer continued
"Thunderbird Five to Scott. Are you receiving me?"
Scott was wide awake and half out of bed as soon as he heard Alan's voice. "Where are they? What's happened?"
"I'm not sure if it's as dramatic as that, Scott. I'm having a communication problem. Apparently your watch is working."
"Uh-huh. No problem here. What's up?"
"The funniest thing. The scanners just quit on me then when I tried to contact John and Gordon, nothing but static. I've reprogrammed the scanner co-ordinates. I'm picking up you guys clear as a bell but all I get from Kunai is static. It came on gradual, intermittent at first, now constant. If you can hear me then it can't be my end."
"Something might be jamming their communication from the island. Maybe Brains can put a finger on it."
"There's no power source. It can't be from the island. But dashed if I… you want me to wake Brains?"
"You woke me, didn't you?"
"Well, I figured you'd be awake."
"You're worried."
"Don't you think it's unusual?"
"Okay. I'll check it out this end."
"So, are you going after them? This can't be good, whatever it means."
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. "I could think of better things to do at three in the morning than chase Gordon across the Pacific. Leave it with me."
"Sorry, Gordo."
John felt a hand on his shoulder and another bottle of water was thrust into his grasp.
"Maybe not as much as I think we're going to be," Gordon whispered as he turned out the flashlight, casting them into immediate darkness. After taking a minute for their eyes to adjust, he added. "That's the last bottle of water. What do you make of that craft?"
John held his rebellious stomach as they watched the vessel slide across the water to the jetty. It was a catamaran: no running lights, little engine noise and little wake, and of a matt finish that sat it dully against the water even in the moonlight. The enclosed deck was fashioned into an aerodynamic shape like the latest top-of-the-range Lamborghini. The entire craft was built for speed and invisibility.
Gordon raised his watch to his mouth. "Gordon to Thunderbird Five. Hey, Al, you definitely fell asleep up there."
But all he received in reply was static. John tried his watch, with the same result, and he swore under his breath.
"That's no trader," John said, and the word pirates was left unsaid between them.
"Think they're causing this interference?"
"The watches were working fine."
"Do you think they saw our light?" Gordon said.
"They'll see the boat any second. They'll know we're here. We need to hide."
There was not a lot of choice in hiding places. Stay up on the rocks or hide in the grass. The rocks ended in a cliff at the far end and they'd be cornered if anyone came after them up there. The grass seemed the best option. There they could wait for a chance to get to the boat but there was one problem. They would have to go onto the beach and past the camp to get to the uninterrupted expanse of grass at the other end of the island. They discussed it for a full minute and still agreed on the grass.
As they clambered down the rocks, the vessel banked at the jetty and a figure jumped aboard their craft. Then John saw something that made his blood boil hotter than it already was. The figure untied their boat and pushed it away from the dock.
Lovely.
"When's the tide due to turn?" John asked. If the tide was onshore there was a good chance the boat would beach itself but if not…
Gordon glanced at the sky. "In about an hour."
"Bad time for Al to be asleep up there."
"He won't be. Come on. Keep yourself low. Try not to make a silhouette against the sky."
"More believing, hey Gordo?" John grinned, pushing his brother forward.
They were almost down the rocks when the second figure appeared on the dock carrying what looked like a bucket. He threw the contents of it into the water, almost over their boat, and it landed with a splot.
"What was that for?" Gordon breathed.
"Somehow I don't think they're wishing us a good day."
A minute later they found out. The water around their craft agitated unnaturally and a fin appeared at the stern.
"Shark!" Gordon spat.
"Burley, huh. So much for retrieving the boat."
They scampered down onto the beach, keeping low in a crouch and against the foreshore rocks. On the jetty, two men were tying up the catamaran.
"We need to get past them before they come ashore," Gordon whispered back to him. "Can you do up that wet suit?"
"I'm stewing in this thing!"
"Just until we make the grass. This is one time when blond isn't beautiful. Cover up as much as possible so they don't see you."
"Yeah, yeah," he agreed then tensed as his stomach contracted. Dear God, not now!
He coughed into his forearm, trying to muffle the sound. Gordon halted and felt for him in the dark. They were almost level with the jetty.
"Hold it, John. For Pete's sake!" he whispered into his brother's ear.
Just as they moved on again, they heard a high pitched whimper on the dock. Two more people appeared on deck, one smaller person struggling between two big males.
"Mother of…," John breathed.
The smaller figure was a girl.
"They're…they're…,' Gordon stuttered.
"Traffickers," John finished for him.
For a second, the brothers hesitated. Then they heard a shout and someone pointed in their direction.
"Run!" Gordon commanded.
John grabbed at Gordon to stop being left behind by his fleet-footed brother. They could hear the heavy footfalls on the wooden boards of the jetty and shouts in a foreign language.
"Split up," Gordon hissed over his shoulder. "Hit the grass!"
Gordon dived into the grass. John intended to run on. He had every intention of running on. He heard a high pitched whurr in the air behind him before something struck very hard in the back of his head. All he recalled was falling.
Gordon had no time to think about the choice he made. He heard the whurr behind him and he saw John crumple. Three burly males gained on him and he knew if they got a hold of him, he wouldn't stand a chance. He dived back to the beach, yanked his unconscious brother onto his side, snatched up the boomerang then dived back into the grass.
To run.
It felt like desertion. It felt like defection of the highest order. But he convinced himself he had a plan.
Gordon immediately discovered, however, the grass didn't provide the salvation he hoped. It was lush and very long and any passage through it left a trail that resembled an elephant in mud. No hiding. No room for subtlety. No option for stealth. Despite his nimbleness, one big, heaving body was catching him. Then Gordon drew on his copious imagination. At first he ran in a straight line, headed straight back to the camp where he hoped they would take John, where he'd surprise them and where he'd get his brother back. It happened all the time in the movies. But he couldn't shake his tail.
Gordon changed tack. He circled. He came back onto the trail he'd originally made then slid back into the grass to wait for his pursuer, his fingers clutched around the boomerang.
John knew something wasn't right but it took him a minute to figure out exactly what it was. He was sprawled on something hard. His body felt light, unusually unencumbered, but his head felt as though something the size of his Thunderbird was sitting on it. A strange fire traveled up his shoulders and neck, which prompted him to think of how he came to be in this predicament. He recalled bottles with messages and boomerangs and furry cats. Then he remembered the traffickers and the images in his mind turned dark.
Head hunters. Cannibals.
He felt like he was being cooked by one.
His eyes flashed open and he heard a sharp movement to his left. He saw rock first, above him, then something cowering in the corner. The whites of terrified eyes stared back at him. Young eyes. Eyes too young to contain such fear.
He carefully moved his gaze to take in his surroundings. More rock. There was a lantern in the entrance, making their shadows spidery on the walls behind them. He dimly recalled being here before with Gordon.
Gordon!
He tried to sit up but only managed to move his arm. The figure in the corner tried to climb the walls. She couldn't have been more than thirteen and her clothes had been swapped for one of those touristy t-shirts. Lovin' a sunburnt country. Once his hand moved he discovered why his body felt so free. He tapped down his torso and found he was no longer wearing his wet suit. His watch was also gone.
"Ah… S'okay," he whispered, trying to locate her without shifting his eyes too much. Moving them did creative things to the walls of the cave. "Here to help."
The idea struck him as ludicrously funny. Yeah, a fat lot of good he was.
Then it occurred to him he may be contributing to the girl's fear. He rolled onto his stomach and when his vision cleared he looked up to see the girl and a rock poised to strike. Him. He held up his hand defensively.
"Ah... Please. Don't do that." He had visions of his head neatly split in two like a watermelon. He pointed to himself. "Me – er- halivim – you." He pointed to her and hoped to hell he was saying the right thing in Pidgin. "Me – halivim – helpim – you. Help you. I'm John."
Her hand holding the rock aloft wavered then her attention moved to something he couldn't see and she shuffled further back into the depths of the cave. John heard men talk in close proximity and pretended to still be out of it.
"…any luck?"
"Disappeared into the grass like a rat."
"He can't go far. Keep looking. So, who do we have here? Anything on this guy?"
A third voice said. "Nah. Nothin' but a fancy watch."
"Ask our man if this turkey's useful. Young. Strong. Good looking. Might appeal to someone. If not, get rid of him. Out to sea. Keep the sharks happy. Make sure that girl's got nothing to identify her and make sure she co-operates. You know what I mean. Do whatever's necessary. I'll be on board. We leave at 0500. There's a trader passing our way who our contact thinks might like some business."
There was amused agreement, a short period of shuffling, and muffled banter between the two men still there.
Then John heard something that made him think he wasn't as with it as he thought.
"Hey, fat stuff!" someone close by shouted and he could've sworn it sounded like Gordon. "Are you looking for me?"
Gordon's grip on the heavy boomerang was still tight as he shouted at the two men. He was running on pure adrenaline. He'd never laid someone out before, at least not without that someone having a swing at him, first. Not three minutes ago, back in the grass, the big boomerang had connected with the guy's scalp before he knew what hit him.
One down, three to go.
"Come on! You want me! Come get me!"
He stood on the rocks at a slightly elevated position to the cave so he could see into it. It wasn't as suicidal as it appeared – at least not to him. He was in the rescue business so he was going to rescue. He doubted if both men would come after him. His plan was to lure one of them back to the grass. Get one of them to chase him and pick him off by ambush. He'd seen John move. He'd seen the girl react to something John said or did and maybe it would give his brother a chance to get away.
Simple.
But then again, maybe not. Both men charged him; perhaps as an instinctive reaction or perhaps in a false assurance that John was still unconscious. Gordon took off like a gazelle over the rocks. He had speed and agility in his favor but not a lot of room to maneuver. The ocean was a long way down over his right shoulder. He bounded over the rocks, his bare feet and hands finding their way in the dark. The two behind him seemed to have familiarity on their side.
He could tell without looking that the men had split up. He could hear one directly behind him, who was lagging, and one was trying to cut him off from the left as the headland curved back towards the east. Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon could see the man angled to cut across him. It was either sprint or be caught. Gordon chose the former. He heard that now familiar whurr of a boomerang. He ducked, dodged, and the weapon went harmlessly into the space.
Gordon could see the sea below him. He had little toehold on the rocks left. He was going for the gap and he was determined nothing would stop him. He almost made it. His pure speed and fitness would have assured him of the win, if all things were equal. His assailant launched into a rugby tackle. It closed that precious space by just a fraction of an inch. Gordon felt a push on his hip and only had time to swing the boomerang he held to free the hold as the momentum swept them both out into fresh air.
Still, Gordon was pleased with the result. As he fell, he knew he wasn't alone. Two down, two to go. And John had a clear route of escape. Now, all he had to do was survive the stop at the bottom.
John couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him when both guards took off after Gordon. He immediately scrambled to his hands and knees, blinking as the objects in his vision did a sharp spin. The girl scuttled away from him further into the corner, drawing up into a ball.
"Run!" he told her, pointing urgently to the entrance. "Get out!"
When she didn't move, he crawled toward her, hoping to at least herd her out if she wouldn't go on her own. She froze in a cut-off scream.
"Out! Out!" He grabbed her arm and tried to take her with him. "Koan! Come on!"
She answered him hysterically with something he didn't understand but, when he repeated the few words in Pidgin he could recall on the spot, she responded more positively. John struggled upright, keeping his feet spread. He took her hand as reassuringly as he could in the circumstances and staggered out into the night air. His watch and wet suit were outside the cave and he stooped to retrieve the watch. He couldn't stand the thought of the suit and grabbed a couple of t-shirts to modestly cover himself.
One size fits all was definitely a handy policy.
As he encouraged the girl down onto the beach, he knew he was really out of it when he imagined the watch vibrate the contact tone on his wrist.
It seemed a hell of a time to think of physics but Gordon did a few quick calculations. Acceleration of a falling body was a constant 32.16 feet per second per second, which meant that for every second he fell, his velocity increased by that amount, which meant that whenever he hit the water it would be fast enough to hurt – a lot.
And despite being the lighter of the two, Gordon predicted he would hit first. It had nothing to do with weight but everything to do with mass. Gordon curled into a ball, bringing up his knees and clutching them with his arms, making himself as tight and as compact as possible. He would go feet first. To dive meant he would go deeper and possibly break his neck on submerged rock. This way he would hit harder but hopefully limit the damage to his limbs. His companion flayed like a windmill and Gordon understood he would hit like an egg on pavement.
Splat.
It felt like that even to Gordon when he surfaced, gasping uncontrollably but reasonably intact, knowing he would feel it tomorrow when his epinephrine levels plummeted. He did a quick scan, tried not to think of the bruises and looked for his companion. Nothing moved save the wash of the water into the cliff face.
He had little time to spare in search of the man. He had priorities. John and the girl. Then their speedboat. He swam around the point towards the beach, careful to keep away from the dash of the rocks and concerned by the pain that shot down his back when he moved.
He was most of the way around to shore when he heard the sound of a boat's motor. He recognized it as their own. Someone was in their boat. The powerful spotlights came on as it motored quietly in a search pattern.
Was it looking for him? Was it John?
Gordon trod water. Undecided. Tingling in his toes not only warned him of damage to his back, it also warned him of the shadows that could be lurking below him. He needed that boat – whoever was in it. He had to retrieve it. He had to.
He waited and watched, unable to tell if it was friend or foe. Would John call out? He cursed the light. It prevented him from seeing who was on board and he let the boat almost pass him through indecision before he acted.
"Oy! Over here!" he called.
He tensed. Waited to see the reaction. The boat immediately swung in his direction, and so did the light, flashing over the surface in search of him. He let it come. Ready for what might follow.
The motor cut. The boat was suddenly silent in the water but still the search of the light. Gordon swam closer and just as the light found him, he saw the outline of who was at the helm.
It wasn't John.
Gordon heard the splash that signaled someone had come in after him. He filled his lungs and dived. He dived as fast and as deep as he could. His training saw him well-equipped to reach the bottom. Above him in the light, he could see the shape of the man coming after him and Gordon swam under him, hoping to elude him. He headed for the far side of the boat, which was once again adrift on the ocean.
At that moment he saw something that genuinely alarmed him. A tail fin twitched in the outer edges of the light source above him. By now, he felt the need for air and had to head for the surface.
He breached the wake and swam for the boat, taking in as much replacement air as he could. As he was about to haul himself aboard, he was grabbed by the legs. There was a flash of relief when he felt it was a man's grip and not a shark's but that feeling quickly evaporated. A dead weight pulled him down. Gordon kicked. The two wrestled. The big man grappled to get hold of Gordon's neck and Gordon fended him off. Then Gordon took a heavy blow to the back. It made him cry out with the pain, which took his fingernail hold from the boat.
He punched back and for a few moments there was a deadly struggle. Gordon was being pulled under and he fought to maintain the surface. The man used his weight to greater advantage and took Gordon under at every opportunity but Gordon knew how to use himself. He gathered his legs and kicked himself clear, pushing for the boat that was just beyond arm's reach.
Gordon had only swum two strokes when he was caught again. The same thing happened. They grappled. They battled. They fought. The air was full of grunts and the noise of distress.
And all the while the boat drifted further away.
Gordon was beginning to tire. And he was aware of that fin.
Elbows. Fists. Knees. Anything did. They went under, together. Swirling for supremacy. His wet suit, thankfully, proved difficult to hold. Gordon broke free with a swift kick. It was an Olympian effort as he swam faster than for any medal chase. His powerful arms propelled him through the water but still his assailant came after him. Gordon fought for breath, the pain in his back paralyzing. His pace slackened. His arms became lead. His legs refused to move fast enough.
Faster. Faster. He needed to swim faster.
Something brushed his foot and he prepared for another fight, glancing behind him as the man lunged forward.
Suddenly the man bucked in the midriff. Something lifted and rolled and he disappeared, the glimpse of a triangular shape the only clue as to what may have happened. The man was gone and suddenly it was still, the wake of the ocean closing over where he'd been.
Gordon went dead in the water, stunned by the shock, the pain, not knowing what might come from beneath. Or when. The boat was out of reach and he was almost out of resources. He would rest – just for a precious moment – and try again.
Gordon felt himself drift…heaviness…all about him a hypnotic heaviness…adrift unsure for how long…until something wrenched his upper arm.
"Gordo! Take it easy, will you? You nearly took my head off."
Scott scrambled to catch his breathing apparatus as Gordon lashed out at him and knocked it off his head. Gordon hesitated as his older brother tackled him by the shoulders to limit his struggle.
"Scott?" he spluttered.
"Easy, Tiger. I've got you."
Gordon relaxed against him with a loud exhale. "I thought you were…"
"Sorry to grab you like that, you went under."
"Where did you?" Gordon searched the sky. "I didn't see."
Scott indicated down with his thumb. "Took the scenic route. A little stealth of our own. Thought we'd better not let anyone see us." Scott passed over his mask and whispered. "Here, get your breath. But do it quietly, huh. We've got company."
There was the faint sound of motors and Gordon looked around him, wildly.
"No!" he shouted. "They can't leave! They can't! John! Where's John? John and the girl? We can't let those bastards go!" He struggled but Scott held him.
"Keep it down, Squirt. They're safe. On the island."
"Are you sure?"
"Al's been talking to John."
"But the watches?"
Scott held him still as the vessel passed within twenty yards of them.
"Yeah, well. I discovered Brains is just as brilliant in his sleep as he is awake. He fixed that problem. John muttered something about 'loving a sunburnt country'. Said you'd understand. I don't know, Gordo. Isn't that about Australia? I guess I'll have to talk to him about his misguided allegiances." Scott grinned but Gordon was too intent on his thoughts.
"We can't let it go! What if they get away? They're slave traders, Scott. We can't let them get... We have to do something."
"Relax. Relax. Virgil's got a present for them. There's one thing we do believe in, Gordo, and that's teamwork. He'll attach it to the hull then come get us. Al's already notified the authorities. They'll pick them up."
"Order Virgil to blow it. Use the missiles. They can't get away. Please, Scott!"
"We're not the police, you know that. They'll be trailing one of Brain's signal amplitude devices. Every vessel within five hundred miles will pick them up on their radar. No hiding this time. Now, just rest easy."
Gordon took in the oxygen from Scott's mask in big breaths. "Virgil got the electronic shark repellent in Four turned on?"
"Oh yeah. And I'm wearing a pod to be sure. It's gone, don't worry. That high-level training you do paid off. The shark took a sniff at you but must have thought you looked too tough to be edible. Thankfully it went for the other guy. Though…gee…that wasn't pleasant to watch. I wish we got here sooner."
"I'm in big trouble, aren't I?"
"Not unless you lose it here and now. If you don't stop fighting me, you'll drown us both. Let me worry about Dad. There's a good chance we can make it back before our guest arrives."
"My back really hurts, Scott."
"Short jump off a long drop, John said. Lean against me, bro. I've got you. Let me do the work. Virg'll be here any second. It's over, Squirt."
Gordon thrust his hand in front of Scott's face. "Not until I find who owns this bracelet, it isn't. We have to find her. I have to."
John stood on the highest point of the path from the house to the beach on Tracy Island. He cupped his eyes as his gaze panned across the rocks then, when he caught sight of a solitary figure, he grinned lopsidedly. He climbed down to sit beside his brother.
"Cheer up, Gordo."
Gordon startled as his fist caught up the bracelet he was staring at. "Hey! You're up. How's the head?"
"Still on, thanks to you."
Gordon shrugged.
"You're not still brooding. You saved me. You saved that girl. And who knows how many others."
"But not this one." Gordon held up the bracelet and the green eyes of the cat blinked in the sunlight. "She was probably the one who put that message in the bottle."
John held up two objects. "Come on, Gordo. Let's see if what they say is true."
"Boomerangs!" Gordon covered his face with his hands. "I don't want to see another one of those things."
"These are the toys ones. These ones are only meant to fly. Let's see if your theory holds, hey? For the sake of science and skeptics."
"What theory?"
" 'What goes around, comes around.' Seems to work with sharks. What about boomerangs? I always wanted to figure out how they do it. I mean if boomerangs don't fit the theory then what will?"
John climbed down to the beach and encouraged his very sore and reluctant brother to follow. He threw one that wobbled in flight and it made a premature dive into the sand. They sauntered to retrieve it. A quarter of the way along the beach, John saw Gordon stop.
"No way. I don't believe it," Gordon said flatly.
"What?"
Gordon pointed. "Look! Another one of those bottles."
"I wonder if this one has a message in it?"
Gordon glanced forlornly at the bracelet. "I don't want to know." He walked on past the object in the sand. "John – if this is some sort of sick joke. If one of those brothers of mine… I'm not laughing."
"I've been in the infirmary, remember. Puking the lining of my stomach. Hey! You can't leave it there. What if it smashes? We'll have glass all over the beach. Wouldn't want Grandma to cut her feet, would you?"
Gordon stopped, seemed to consider it then reluctantly returned to pick it up. He groaned.
"It is another one."
"Same?"
Gordon turned it upside down. "Paper, this time."
"You have to know what it says, you know you do."
John watched as his brother opened the bottle, shook out the paper and unrolled it to read. A frown dug two deep furrows across his forehead.
"What is this? This is not funny."
"I was sent to give you a message," John said unable to hide his grin any longer. "You know the authorities found the sweat shop that covered for the trafficking operation. Well, the King of Tonga respectfully requests your presence at the royal residence. The authorities have found her, Gordon. The owner of that bracelet. She is now safe and being taken care of at home."
Gordon referred back to the paper. "I don't understand. What is this? Kitty?"
"Her friends call her Kitty. Her Tongan name was too long to fit on the paper. Kitty is the granddaughter of the King, Gordon, and she wants to thank you personally. Apparently she'd been snatched off the street but they may not have realized who they'd taken."
John laughed when Gordon's mouth dropped open a fraction. He turned and pointed to the rest of the family standing up on the point. "We're all invited. And, as no Thunderbird craft was seen, Dad thinks we can be hailed as responsible citizens for a change. That'll give Colonel Casey something to think about."
"Kitty? That's her? True? She's been found?"
John put his arm around his brother's shoulders. "You're a hero, you know that. I'm sure Kitty is glad you're a believer…and so are we, Gordon. So are we…"