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Never Too Long, Chapter 28

With the phone pressed to his ear, Jeff lent back in his seat, resisting the urge to shut his eyes. He had started a business from scratch, raised five sons on his own and set up International Rescue. He had never felt so tired, though - emotionally and physically.

Hearing a noise, he looked up. For once, he had kept his office door open while working, needing to hear the instant one of his sons needed him. John was loitering in the hallway and Jeff beckoned for his son to come in.

"I'm going to have to call you back," he said. "Something's come up."

He disconnected without another word as John entered, slumping on the sofa.

"Who was that?" he asked, looking up at his father.

"The GDF," Jeff said, tossing the phone back on his desk and standing up, stretching.

"You just hung up on the GDF?"

John sounded impressed and Jeff allowed himself a shadow of a smile before frowning, looking at his son critically.

"You still haven't slept, have you?"

He knew John had barely rested since this had begun, taking it upon himself to find his brothers. Apart from the flight home from Russia, Jeff didn't know when his boy had managed more than a couple of hours at once.

John shrugged. "I tried," he admitted. "I can't switch off."

"You should probably stop with the coffee."

John looked horrified and Jeff chuckled before moving around his desk, perching on the edge so he was closer to his son.

"I mean it. You need to relax, Johnny. You can't keep running on fumes."

Never Too Long, Chapter 27

Virgil threw the towel on the floor as he stepped out of the bathroom. He grabbed his top, but paused before pulling it on, instead moving across to the mirror. He was not a vain man but took a moment to stare at his reflection.

He had lost weight and still looked exhausted. The bruising he had sustained from the beatings were beginning to fade, although ugly splashes of colour lingered across his torso, and the marks around his wrists were still red. They didn't hurt – as long as Virgil didn't think about his frantic struggles as the water had lapped around his waist.

He shivered and pulled the top on. Despite the obvious marks, he had expected something else, something more. As his family liked to remind him, he had drowned. The mental scars ran deep and it would take time to get over that – he knew that. But he had expected some visible mark to identify what he had been through.

Turning away, he picked up the towel. He didn't want to stay away but Scott wouldn't be stirring anytime soon. Brains had re-administered the sedative and they had all heard the plan: keep Scott unconscious for a few days while they gave his body the chance to heal, then slowly ease him off it, letting him realise for himself it was safe to sleep.

Part of Virgil, a selfish part, was glad Scott was asleep. Being home had brought with it a whirlwind of emotions he was struggling to process and he wanted time before facing up to them. He didn't have much luck hiding how he was feeling from John and Gordon, but it was impossible to conceal anything from his oldest brother.

Scott needed to focus on himself, not using Virgil as a scapegoat for avoiding facing up to what had happened. At least this time, there was no denying it was over. Two bullets at point blank range had seen to that.

Someone knocked on his door.

"Come in," Virgil called, stepping back into the room again and kicking the bathroom door shut behind him. Alan appeared, staring at Virgil incredulously.

"Gordon said you died!"

Virgil raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Did he?"

It hadn't taken long for his father to arrange to have Alan brought home. He had arrived the day before but Virgil had barely seen him: he had spent the evening shut in their father's study with the man – not a place Alan normally voluntarily went.

Never Too Late, Chapter 25

Jeff had intended to be back at his son's side in less than a minute. Virgil was still weak, still sick, but had persuaded his father to fly to the middle of nowhere on a dangerous rescue mission. Jeff didn't – couldn't – regret it, though. Not if it meant finding Scott: not if it meant freeing them from this nightmare.

He planned to make sure Virgil was stable before following the others. He was painfully aware they had no idea how many men Blag had. It was him, and two of his sons, against a potential army. Despite sending them against nature time and time again, he would never have given a mission this perilous his blessing if it had been any other situation.

But as he turned from the radio, it crackled. Jeff snatched it up.

"Llina?"

"Mr Tracy." Her thick Russian accent was hard to decipher; interference was making the radio splutter.

"Hang on."

He switched channels, changing to a more advanced soundwave Brains had developed. It was the same communicator used in the Thunderbirds and no amount of snow would dampen the signal.

"Go ahead."

Her accent got stronger the faster she spoke but Jeff got the idea. The local police were fooled by John's breadcrumbs and were starting to investigate Llina's allegations. They wouldn't arrive in time to help the boys, though. For all Jeff knew, John and Gordon were already in trouble. But they would arrive and the last Llina had heard, the army was being mentioned.

Despite what Gordon had said, there was no plan. They didn't know what they were up against. Jeff doubted his sons had even known their destination when they had boarded the plane. He had acted on instinct – they were already airborne and he wanted Scott back as much as his brothers. But they couldn't do this alone. He didn't need the army though; they needed someone on their side with no questions asked.

"Good," Jeff said, distracted, mind racing. "They need to close down this operation for good."

When Llina fell silent, Jeff realised how quiet the plane was. He thought he would at least hear Virgil moving; his son would be raiding the supplies if nothing else.

"Call me back if you have any more news," Jeff said. "I have to go."

Putting the radio down, he paused.

Never Too Long, Chapter 24

John stared after Virgil, biting his lip. He wanted to go with him - wanted to find Scott himself. It was because of him they had got this far, after all.

But however good Gordon was, he couldn't hold the men off on his own and they needed to stick together. Spreading out across the tunnels, with who-knew how many men searching for them, was a good way for it all to go horribly wrong.

"Don't worry," Gordon said, elbowing him in the ribs. "He's got this."

"You're the one who didn't want him down here."

"Since when did you guys listen to me?" Gordon was checking his ammunition as he spoke and John smiled. Gordon hadn't changed his mind: he didn't want Virgil there. But that was now out of their hands and Gordon was doing what he always did – making the best of a bad situation.

They could still hear the men in the opposite tunnel but John was reassured he couldn't hear anything from behind them. Blag clearly didn't have unlimited men, despite his nightmares taunting him otherwise.

He looked around. There were three tunnels: the one Virgil had taken curved down into the ground, a dark, foreboding place. The other – where the men were sheltering – appeared to slope upwards. The final led back to the exit, the way they had just come.

They were in an open space, a convergence of all three tunnels. The men had clearly been using it – bottles were strewn in one direction and the same boxes that had littered their tunnel – either supplies for the men here, or supplies from a long time ago – had been moved and used as chairs and tables.

The lighting was dim, filtering through from the strip lights John could see flickering in the other tunnels. He shuddered, his keen imagination telling him Blag had found the perfect dungeon, a place straight out of an old book.

"Here."

Gordon handed him the small handgun and unslung a rifle from his back. He tipped a crate, using it as support as he set it up, training it on the opening of the other tunnel. John tested the weight and sighed; he had never been as good with a weapon as the rest of them. It made sense for Scott and Gordon to be good shots, but Virgil had picked it up quickly as well. His hand-eye coordination had always been strong.

Never Too Long, Chapter 23

Virgil didn't need to tell his brothers their dad was changing course - they saw it in his demeanour as soon as he stepped out of the cockpit. Adrenaline was masking his aches but he wasn't alone: Gordon's eyes were glinting and there was a dangerous expression on John's face. They were ready – nothing was going to stand in their way now they knew where their brother was.

Sinking into a seat, Virgil dragged a hand over his face.

"Here," John said, shifting so he was in-between them and balancing his laptop precariously. "This is where we're going."

He indicated the area and they passed some time using every satellite John had access to (through whatever means necessary) to try and work out precisely where they were going and what would be waiting for them. Unfortunately, John's previous assumptions seemed to be true: whatever complex was there was sunk into the ground and they couldn't find plans anywhere. They were going in blind.

When Virgil said that out loud, Gordon stood. He shifted and pressed on a panel. It slid back and Virgil gaped. There was a mini-armoury concealed in the plane: rifles, handguns and what looked like a grenade were securely placed on specifically designed shelves.

"You have to stop doing that," John said. "Seriously."

Gordon winked and Virgil decided he didn't want to know.

"It's for Dad. Brains doesn't trust the rest of the world," Gordon said. "More like he doesn't want anyone getting their hands on the plane. But still… I'm not complaining."

Gordon pulled out a handgun, testing the weight before putting it back. Virgil knew there would be time for that later – they needed a plan before they could decide what to take.

"How'd you know about it?" he asked. Their father must know – Brains wouldn't have installed it without his boss's permission. But John's surprise had been genuine; he hadn't known any more than Virgil had.

Never Too Long, Chapter 21

"Dad, c'mon," Virgil said.

His father rested a hand on his shoulder. "It's being taken care of."

"They're my drawings." Virgil didn't care if he sounded like a petulant child. Hope had flared when he had woken up and realised the images had gone. He wondered if Matt had said anything, telling his colleagues to trust what Virgil had produced, or whether they were so desperate for leads they had accepted his drawings without questioning them. Blag hadn't turned up on any of their searches. At least this way, they could put names to faces for his henchman.

But Virgil had no idea if any names had yet emerged. His father wasn't telling him.

"Dad-,"

"Virgil, enough. You're bored, I get that. But these cops can be trusted, so we need to let them do their jobs. Besides, you can't do anything even if they find something."

Virgil flinched and his dad sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb. The strain was getting to the man and Virgil wasn't the only one to see it. Gordon was leaning forward on his chair, an uncharacteristic frown on his face as he, too, watched their father. His being in a hospital bed was not the reason Virgil's father wasn't telling him; he hadn't said anything to his brothers either.

The worst part was that Virgil knew why. As soon as they had a lead, as soon as they had something to go on, Virgil knew they all planned on beating the police to the scene. This was their family Blag had messed with and they weren't prepared to let strangers handle it. It was their brother on the line, after all.

"I didn't mean that," his dad said, making Virgil look at him again. "But you have to let yourself recover, son."

Virgil nodded mutely, knowing anything he said would be the wrong thing. His dad squeezed his shoulder and left the room. Both Gordon and Virgil watched him go, then Virgil threw back the covers.

"Not a good idea, man." Gordon rested back on his chair, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. He looked like John when he did that and Virgil tried to ignore him.

"Why not?" Virgil felt fine or, at least, much better than he had done. He was bored of sitting in bed.

Never Too Long, Chapter 13

John was aware that he was coughing even before he realised he was conscious.

Choking, he rolled onto his side, then up onto all fours, head hanging as he struggled to get air into his lungs. Acrid smoke made his eyes water as he fought for breath.

He didn't know how he was still alive, let alone relatively unhurt. He was bruised all over and his right wrist throbbed painfully. His shoulder was also smarting as the old wound throbbed. But John knew he had been lucky; the explosion had been strong enough to have killed him.

"Scott? Gordon?" His voice cracked, hoarse and painful, as he shouted but John didn't care. To his delight, an answering groan came from his right.

He lurched upright, then fell back with a cry, his ankle refusing to support his weight. A quick inspection revealed he hadn't broken it, though. He didn't try and stand again, but started crawling towards his brother, not wanting to waste any more time while his body decided what else hurt.

He knew it was Gordon before he saw him. John swore when he caught sight of his brother; blood was smeared across his face and there was a beam resting over his legs, keeping Gordon trapped. Still, the younger man grinned when he saw John moving towards him.

Once there, John took a deep breath and managed to stand. But he bit his lip as he looked at Gordon: Virgil had told him more than once that relieving pressure could cause more damage. The way Gordon was swearing at him to hurry up, however, meant John was certain he was the one in the most danger if he didn't lift it.

"I'm not going to be able to hold it," he warned, hoping that Gordon took the hint and moved as soon as he had the clearance. His brother nodded, and John took a deep breath, steeling himself. He knew this was going to hurt.

Never Too Long, Chapter 15

The sound of his cell pinging made John glance at the screen and swear violently. Gordon slammed on the brakes, causing both of them to be thrown forward until their seatbelts did their job. Then it was Gordon cursing as he rubbed sore ribs and glared at his brother.

"You know we're in the rescuing business, right, Johnny?" Gordon said, his tone flippant. "Saving villages from earthquakes, a mall from a fire, our brothers from a madman… Any reason you wanted us to crash?"

John ignored him. Gordon had woken, taken one look at him and held his hand out for the keys. John hadn't argued; he was exhausted. It meant that he could concentrate on working out what they were about to walk into and wait for Brains to make contact: he hadn't put his phone down for hours.

"John? What is it?"

John suddenly realised that, despite ignoring Gordon's teasing, he had also offered no explanation for his initial reaction. Gordon was staring at him, his face pale. John swallowed.

"We're in this alone."

"What do you mean?"

John filled Gordon in on his conversation with their father regarding the cops. Blag might have been covering his tracks and the police might have encrypted databases, but John knew Brains was up for the challenge. With not one, but two Tracys in danger, it would fuel their friend more than any pep-talk could. Brains wouldn't give up.

Considering the data now currently showing on John's phone, Brains' perseverance had paid off.

"The captain has been receiving payments for the last ten years. Small amounts, stuff that won't show up, but it's built up. Brains' tracked it – and had to go halfway way around the world before he found the source. It's coming from somewhere in Russia."

"Wasn't Blag-?"

"Using the Russians? Yes. He's been using them to buy cops. The police – the genuine ones - are all in position, waiting for an order that isn't going to come."