A ‘Captain Scarlet & the Mysterons’ story for Halloween

By Chris Bishop

The door couldn’t withstand the violent shove and flew open, nearly torn from its hinges.  Captain Blue stood on one side, holding his gun in both hands, barrel upwards; his blue eyes looked around the dark room, in a quick inspection, searching for any sign of danger lurking in any corner.  But there was no-one inside, and not a single sound could be heard.  Carefully, one of his hands followed the wall inside, searching for the light switch. He found it and pushed the switch downwards.  The room remained dark.  He flicked the switch again.  Still nothing.

“The lights are dead here too,” he muttered.

He lowered his eyes to Captain Ochre, who was crouched on the other side of the door, holding the Mysteron gun aimed towards the interior of the room. Lieutenant Green was standing over Ochre, his colour-coded gun in his hand, ready for action too. The three men exchanged a quick glance, before Ochre straightened up, and they entered fully, their movements fluid and cautious.  Blue got his pen-like torch out of his pocket, and turned it on; a surprisingly powerful beam of light shone from it and he started exploring the room, from one end of the other.

“It doesn’t seem like there’s anyone here either,” Ochre commented in turn. He followed the torch beam with his gun, as if he expected that, in answer to his statement, someone – something – would suddenly leap from a dark corner, or from behind the furniture. But truly, the room seemed completely empty. “You’re sure this is the place?” he asked, addressing Green.

“Positive,” the younger man confirmed, as the three of them started walking around. “The house and the door are definitely those Scarlet described when he contacted me earlier.”

Ochre nodded in answer, as he approached to stand in front of a wide oak desk, adorned with a shut down computer. Lowering the Mysteron gun, and leaving it hanging from his shoulder by its strap, he tried to switch on the desk lamp. It stayed dead. He took his own pen-torch and shone the light onto the desk. It was clean of any papers, there was only a small notepad with blank pages, next to the phone.

“Very neat,” he mumbled. He stroked his fingers along the surface of the desk. “Mmm… the cleaning lady does a very good job around here. Even if it doesn’t seem as if there’s been anyone here for a while.”

“You think so?” Green reflected. “Doesn’t it strike you as strange?”

“I have to admit, it does look highly suspicious.  And with Scarlet not having contacted us for the last three hours…”

“Four hours,” Green corrected Ochre.

“Why did he have to go off on his own like that?” Blue mumbled. “He should have waited for you, Lieutenant.”

“I don’t think it was entirely his fault, Captain,” Green defended his mission partner. “After all, each of us was following our own suspect. I was following McIntyre, and it just turned out he was clean.”

“Which left Ellsworth as our guilty party,” Ochre commented. “It just turned out it was Scarlet who was following him. Scarlet’s disappearance would then mean that he had either been found out or run into some kind of trouble.”

“Well, at the very least, he should have called for back up then, before coming in here,” Blue continued, dryly. It was obvious he was worried for his friend and usual partner. If he had not known him so well, Green would almost have thought that Blue was holding him in some way responsible for Scarlet’s recent disappearing act. Ochre shook his head.

“You have to admit, we were a little busy ourselves, at the other end of the city,” he reminded Blue. “Following that reported sighting of Captain Black…”

“Which turned out to be a wild goose chase,” Blue continued.

“Or a red herring. That expression would be more appropriate.” 

“I don’t find that very funny,” Blue almost snapped.

“Will you relax?” Ochre said with a frown. “You know Scarlet will turn up eventually. There’s not much that can hurt him for good, you know that.”

“That ‘not much’ worries me at times,” Blue answered. “I just wish Scarlet would sometimes remember that there might be stuff that can hurt him. And hurt him really badly. But you know him… always rushing where angels fear to tread…” He tried to shrug it off, and then turned on his heels in his continued investigation of the room.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” Green said morosely, flashing his torch around.

“Yeah, me too,” Ochre answered. “It’s way too quiet.” He tried again for the lamp. “Wonder why there isn’t any light here? It’s not a general breakdown – the neighbours all have light.” As if to make sure, he stepped in front of the window, just behind the desk, and pulled the blind slightly aside to look outside. All the windows he could see in the London street beyond were lit from inside. Blue and Green were still moving around the room.

It was a big office, decorated with taste, if a little soberly. A huge bookcase covered the wall right to the desk. Checking the titles, Blue could see that almost all of them were medical textbooks. Some looked rather old, bound with very expensive and ancient leather covers; obviously, they were very precious to their owner as they were all put together on the most accessible shelf of the bookcase, right at eye level.

“We seemed to have broken into a doctor’s house,” Blue commented.

“What?” Ochre crossed the distance separating him from his colleague, just as the latter was taking a rather thick book between his hands, to slowly turn the pages. They both were checking the title when Green joined them.

“‘An Anatomical Digest’,” Blue read quietly.

“That’s a digest?” Ochre asked, incredulously. “What does the ‘big book on anatomy’ looks like, then?”

“Apparently, this is the office of a surgeon,” Green replied, as Blue was closing the book.

“Great,” mumbled Ochre. “With our luck, a very reputable one, who will sue our butts for breaking and entering.”

“Look around, Ochre,” Blue replied.  “You have seen the rest of the house.  Does it look like the home of a reputable doctor?”

Ochre conceded it.  “At first glance, no.” 

“More like a clandestine office, maybe?” Green offered. “We found what looks like an examination room next door. But there’s no sign on the door… and no diplomas on the wall.”

Ochre nodded thoughtfully, as he continued to walk around the place. “Well observed. That should add to our suspicions that there’s something odd about this place.”

“Unfortunately, there’s no trace of Scarlet around either,” Blue continued.

“So, there’s nothing to tell us that this place is actually related to our investigation,” Ochre commented.

“I’m sure this is the place Captain Scarlet told me about, during his last radio contact with me,” Green insisted. “It fits the description. And in this street, there’s no other house like it.”

“Well, perhaps it is the place,” Ochre sighed. “But it’s obvious we won’t find anything. This is the last room we’ve checked, and if there ever was someone in here, that someone’s been gone for quite some time.”

“Then where is Scarlet?” Blue asked insistently, walking toward his colleague.

“I don’t know…  Maybe we should call for backup to properly search the place from top to bottom.  We might then find a clue to –”

“Wait.”  Blue had frozen in his tracks; he suddenly looked attentive. To Green and Ochre, it was obvious that something had caught his attention.

Ochre’s brow furrowed, as he wondered what it could be.  “What is it?”

“Do you feel it?”  Blue asked.  “There’s a draught…”

“A draught?” 

Obviously, by the clueless expressions on their faces, they had no idea what Blue was talking about, so he slowly moved forwards, extending his open hand in front of him. He returned to the bookcase, moving his hand slowly up and down. Ochre and Green watched with curiosity, and then approached when Blue stopped at a very precise place in front of the bookcase, very close to the desk.

“Here,” Blue said.  “It comes from here.”  As if to make his point, he took a piece of paper from the notepad on the desk and placed it where his hand had stopped a second ago.  Ochre and Green watched, and they saw the paper move, obviously disturbed by a very faint current of air. 

“See what I mean?” Blue said.

“Where does it come from?” Green asked.

“From behind that case, obviously,” Blue answered, regarding with attention the bookcase with its rows and rows of books.  Slowly, he started searching, caressing the spines carefully.

“Oh, come on!” Ochre protested with obvious derision. “You’re not telling me there’s a ‘secret passageway’ behind that bookcase! That would be too –”

He heard a ‘click’ as Blue touched the spine of one book, and then the case started moving. The blond officer looked over his shoulder to grin at his dejected and surprised-looking colleague. “‘Cliché’, would be the word you were about to say?”

“Oh, shut up,” Ochre muttered with bad humour.  “Those English… they’re really too predictable.”

“I’ll give you the pleasure of telling Scarlet that,” Blue answered. “But for now… We have still some investigations to make.”

He pushed the concealed door open, carefully; a stronger draught hit the three men in the face, and with it, a rather unpleasant smell that made them gasp and moan in concert.  Blue hid his nose in the crook of his arm, while Ochre turned his head in disgust.  Green kept two steps behind them, trying his best not to breathe in the awful smell.

“Jesus God…” Ochre gasped. “What a stink!  Smells like –”

“Blood,” said Blue, interrupting his colleague.  “It smells like spilled blood.  Lots of it.”

He didn’t say any more on the subject, and neither did Ochre nor Green, and the three of them crossed the doorway, Blue marching up front, their minds suddenly filled with dread for their missing colleague.

“It’s not a passageway,” Green noticed. “It’s a secret room…”

“Gimme a break,” Ochre muttered. “This is way too weird…”

They entered fully, flashing the light of their torches around.  Blue’s foot nearly slipped, as the floor was covered with some kind of thick, oily substance.  Ochre, who was right behind him, caught him in time before he could fall; a second later, three combined beams of light were directed down to their feet. They discovered, quite rapidly, a human body, lying in a pool of blood, the empty eyes staring at them.

“Who – ?” Blue started.

“Ellsworth,” Green said grimly, recognising the man as Scarlet’s Mysteron quarry.

Ochre crouched next to the dead man. “He’s been shot in the chest. Looks like he has been dead for quite some time. That explains the smell. Scarlet seems to have done a good job on him.”

“Scarlet… or someone else?” muttered Blue.  “And again… where is Scarlet?” 

He shone his light around anew.  The room was large enough, and looked like some kind of laboratory, with instruments lying on a table against the far wall.  There were some kind of electrical devices all around the place, and somehow, they looked familiar to Blue, although at the moment, he couldn’t recall where he could have seen something similar. 

In the middle of the room, there was a huge assembly of switched off spots hanging from the ceiling, and just underneath this, a padded table, empty; it hit Blue instantly at that moment what this place reminded him of. And he heard Green, behind him, muttering the same realisation that had come into his mind:

“It looks like an operating theatre…” 

The light of Blue’s torch suddenly settled on a second table, beyond the first one; on this one there was another body, covered from head to toes with a bloody shroud.  A hand was hanging down from the side of the table, from under the shroud.  Blue’s heart missed a beat and then started beating faster.  The sleeve he could see was sporting a Spectrum emblem.

Ochre and Green had seen too, and they all raced around the first table to approach the second one. Blue stood by as Ochre carefully removed the shroud from the body’s face.

Captain Scarlet’s handsome, but deathly pale, face appeared to them, his eyes closed, the side of his head still encrusted with dried blood.  Blue let out a groan, that nearly covered Ochre’s muttered curse and Green’s gasp, before dropping his cap mic and contacting Cloudbase.

“Colonel White, we found him,” he announced into the mic with obvious relief in his voice. 

Finally, he added inwardly.

“Good news, Captain,” his commander’s voice sounded in his ears. “How is he?”

Ochre was already checking their colleague’s neck for a pulse, but as soon as he did, he turned to Blue and shook his head grimly.

“Dead, sir,” Blue said morosely.  “He appears to have been for a few hours.  So he shouldn’t take that much longer to revive.”

“What happened to him?”

“We don’t know as yet.  We found Ellsworth’s body as well.”

“So, as Scarlet suspected, he was the Mysteron.”

“Well, we have not checked that yet, sir. But if he was, he won’t be doing any harm now. He appears to have been permanently killed. It’s anyone’s guess what could have happened here.”

“Bring Scarlet back to Cloudbase quickly, Captain,” Colonel White instructed.  “I’m sure he’ll be able to tell us what has been going on once he revives.”

“S.I.G., sir.” Blue cut the channel. The relief was now showing all over his face, as he turned to face Ochre and Green, who were still examining their dead colleague. However, Ochre looked rather grim, and Green’s face seemed filled with concern. Blue could understand their feelings; neither of them had been faced with Scarlet’s numerous deaths, and subsequent miraculous recoveries, as often as he had. So it was normal that they would feel apprehensive about this bizarre situation.

But Blue quickly realised that there was more than that to Ochre’s uneasiness, as he was peering underneath the shroud; the white fabric was literally soaked with dark red blood right over Scarlet’s chest. Blue imagined that his friend had been shot several times, or stabbed brutally, for the shroud to be in such a bloody mess. But then, he saw Ochre step back with a start, his eyes suddenly opening wide with shock.

“Oh, dear Lord…” All colour left Ochre’s face, and he turned away, almost instinctively, under Blue’s confused gaze. Green seemed to be as puzzled as Blue, as he, too, watched Ochre’s rather unusual behaviour. Obviously he had not seen whatever it was that Ochre had seen, to leave him so speechless.

Unnerved, Blue stepped forward to where Ochre had previously stood, and pulled away the shroud still covering Scarlet’s chest.

Green gasped loudly and Ochre muttered a curse. Blue froze, before becoming very pale at the horrible sight that presented itself to him.

Scarlet’s shirt had been torn open, and right in the middle of his naked chest was a bloody, gory hole, large enough for Blue to put his hand through it. The flesh on each side of the horrible wound was held aside by surgical pliers; there was still a scalpel lying on the table, by the body’s side, covered with blood.

Blue stepped back, almost without thinking about it, unable to detach his eyes from the horrifying scene. His heart started beating faster still, and he was aware that his breathing had increased considerably; he was nearly hyperventilating. Behind him, he could hear Green gagging, as if the younger man was fighting violently not to throw up.

Blue shook his head, his mind unable to accept what he was seeing.  He forced himself to close his eyes and turned away, almost savagely tearing himself from the ghastly sight.  His fingers fiddled with the microphone from his cap, pushing it down into position manually; they were trembling.  His legs were also shaking violently.  He felt the need to steady against the wall.

“Colonel White,” he breathed into his mic.  He barely heard the acknowledgement answering his call. His mind was almost numb; it could only see the horrible sight he had just seen, as if it was branded into his memory, never to be forgotten. “Colonel, we have a problem…”  He swallowed hard.  The lump in his throat refused to go down.  “It’s Captain Scarlet…”

 “God in Heaven,” he heard Ochre say by his side, as his colleague was making a supreme effort to regain his composure.  “Who could have done this? What the Hell happened here?”

“I was waiting for you, Mister Ellsworth.”

Clay Ellsworth looked around the dark room in suspicion. He was alone with the man seated in a wheelchair on the other side of the large oak desk. The feeble light coming from the lamp on the desk was gently beaming down on the man’s weak and pale face. Ellsworth considered the oxygen bottle fixed to the chair, with the mask attached to it and hanging on the man’s chest. Although still young enough – Ellsworth would make him around forty – he was obviously a very sick man. One who could pose no threat to him.

“You are Vincent? Frank Vincent?”

The man nodded, noting the perplexed tone in Ellsworth’s voice. “You seem surprised. Is something the matter?”

“You are not exactly like I imagined you to be,” Ellsworth answered quietly.

“Oh?” The sick man moved his wheelchair to round the desk and approach Ellsworth; the latter simply stood there, staring as the chair stopped a few feet in front of him. “And what did you expect exactly?”

“Quite frankly, from what I heard of your… expertise… I thought you would be…” Ellsworth obviously struggled to find the right definition he was looking for. “…a bit more healthy,” he finally finished.

The man named Vincent chuckled, but that almost caused him to choke and he started coughing. Ellsworth watched as he took his mask and put it over his mouth and his nose to take a deep breath of oxygen.

“Believe me, I looked quite different, years ago,” Vincent answered, in a strangled voice. “Younger, healthier…That was when I gained my… expertise, as you put it.”

“You’re still as good as you were then?”

Vincent nodded again at the question. “Better, I’m more experienced.” He looked over the mask, into Ellsworth’s doubtful face. He smiled thinly. “You don’t believe me?”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Ellsworth replied quickly. “Although, admittedly, you disappeared from public view quite some time ago…”

“Well, I don’t have to tell YOU why,” Vincent retorted.

“Yes, I know you have been arrested,” Ellsworth answered. “But there were rumours that you had been killed, soon after your relatively recent release from prison.”

“As you can see, I am not dead,” Vincent remarked. “Not quite, anyway. You could say I am hanging on to life, however pitiful it might seem to you, with all the strength that remains in me.”

“Obviously.” There wasn’t even the single trace of emotion on Ellsworth’s face as he spoke.

“But we are not here to discuss my health,” Vincent said. “You contacted me two weeks ago… and gave me a commission.”

“On the recommendation of a mutual… friend,” Ellsworth answered. “From what I learned from him, you would be the best man for the job I had in mind.”

“I can easily imagine what he told you about me,” Vincent smirked. “And how is the dear old chap?”

Ellsworth shook his head. “Not too bad, but in our line of work, that is something that’s liable to change at each passing day.”

“As I well know,” Vincent commented musingly.

“Did you complete the commission?”

“Of course…”

“Following my specifications?”

“I always follow my clients’ specifications, Mr. Ellsworth. I take pride in my work. Although, I have to admit… I was rather surprised that such as you – a man in your position – would be contacting me for this kind of work. What is the matter exactly, you decided you have had enough working for the Government? You saw things that disgusted you that much?”

“My reasons are my own.” Ellsworth frowned deeply. “Enough of the niceties. Give it to me, please.”

Frank Vincent raised his brows. “What, right now?”

Ellsworth was growing impatient. Slowly, he took a gun out of his pocket; the sight of it didn’t seem to impress Vincent that much.

“You don’t need that, I assure you.”

“I’m in rather a hurry,” Ellsworth snapped, his voice becoming like ice. “I have an important mission, Mr. Vincent, and I need the bomb you built for me, in order to complete it. Give it to me. Now.”

“Mr. Ellsworth…There are still a few details we need to discuss, before –”

“Later.” Ellsworth aimed the gun straight at Vincent’s chest. “I’ll waste no more time. Either you give me that bomb, or…”

Vincent looked down at the barrel aimed at him and shook his head.

“There’s really no need for threats, Mr. Ellsworth,” he replied hurriedly. He pointed with his finger, toward the bookcase behind his desk. “If you permit me…?”

Ellsworth didn’t move, and watched warily as Vincent moved his chair around and towards the bookcase. He stopped in front of it and seemed to check the various titles on one specific shelf with attention, before finally setting his mind on one. He raised his arm and after stroking the spine, pulled on the book.

There was an audible click, and the secret door concealed within the bookcase slowly slid aside to reveal an opening. Vincent turned his chair around. “Through there,” he invited Ellsworth. “You’ll find what you came for.”

The latter stared suspiciously at the dark opening. He walked to it, and tried to see inside. There was no light and he couldn’t see a thing. He looked down at Vincent, who shook his head. “Did you expect me to keep a bomb in here, where it could be found?” the wheelchair-bound man remarked casually enough. “I had to keep it away from prying eyes. I would not have liked my father to accidentally discover it.”

“Of course not,” Ellsworth remarked, cynically enough.

“Before we go in there, Mr. Ellsworth,” Vincent continued. “There is still something else we have to discuss. The little matter of payment for my services…”

Ellsworth’s expression grew suddenly cold.

“I gave what you asked for.”

“Not everything. What about money?”

“You will be paid, Vincent. Justly, for the work you have done.” Ellsworth cocked the hammer of his gun. Only then was he able to notice the faint shiver in the wheelchair-bound man in front of him. He smiled cruelly. “Thank you very much for your work, Mr. Vincent…”

“Don’t move, Ellsworth!”

The stern and strong voice that rang out behind him made Ellsworth freeze on the spot. No… those damned Earthmen cannot have followed me in here! Anger filled his mind, as did the sudden thought that he might not be able to complete his mission. He turned on his heel, gun at the ready, fully prepared to face whoever was standing behind him.

He noticed a tall man, dressed in a red and black uniform, standing right beside the open door that he had walked through a second earlier, and recognised him as one of those accursed Spectrum officers that had been following him all day. With a growl of rage, Ellsworth aimed at the tall figure, his finger already squeezing the trigger. But there was no more time left for him.

In a matter of seconds, a series of shots rang inside the room. Hit in the chest by multiple bullets, Clay Ellsworth toppled like a felled tree, right through the entrance of the concealed room.

Frank Vincent, had watched the scene with eyes wide open in complete astonishment, and was now looking with obvious dismay at the man lying dead nearly at his feet. “Oh no…” he whispered, gasping. “No, it can’t be… What have you done?” He raised his eyes and glared at the red-clad man who was now entering the room, his gun still smoking from its recent use.

“You’ve killed him,” Frank Vincent said sourly, his eyes leaving the stern face of the Spectrum officer to look down once again at the dead man at his feet. “My God, you have killed him…”

“His heart is missing.”

Colonel White was in the sickbay waiting room when Doctor Fawn, hours after Captain Ochre had returned to Cloudbase with Captain Scarlet’s body, came to him to inform him of the latest news regarding Spectrum’s number one agent.  Despite having learned from Captain Blue by radio, and then by Captain Ochre when the latter came to the Control Room for his debriefing, in what mess Scarlet had been found, the information provided by Fawn had all the effect of a sledgehammer hitting White behind the knees.  He froze upon hearing the words, and had to make a supreme effort not to shiver.

“What do you mean, his heart is missing?” the Spectrum commander asked with a frown.  “Doctor, that doesn’t make any sense!  Do you imply his heart was – ”

“Stolen?”  Fawn went to the water dispenser and served himself a cupful that he drank greedily. He crushed the empty paper cup in his hand, in a frustrated, almost angry gesture. “As absurd as it may sound, it’s exactly what happened to him. Someone took his heart.  Removed it from his chest.”

“What?” White murmured. “You mean… completely?”

“Completely. Oh but… they removed it very cautiously, taking great care not to damage it, or any of the arteries attached to it. They obviously wanted it in perfect condition. It was a precision job, that  I can tell you. The kind of work only a highly skilled surgeon could do.”  He savagely threw the crushed cup into the nearby basket.  “Not the work of a butcher, damn it… a surgeon!”

“A surgeon?” White repeated with perplexity. “But to what purpose would someone do that?” 

“That, Colonel, is anyone’s guess. I can’t fathom a good enough reason for someone to take the heart from the chest of a healthy, living, breathing man.” Fawn grew morose again. “Because he was alive when they did that. I don’t know if he was conscious – I hope he was not – but he was definitely alive.”

White kept his expression as neutral as possible at these words.  “Is he recovering?”

“You mean, like he usually does?” Fawn sighed. “You have to understand, he never lost a vital organ that way. I mean – never completely gone from his body.  Damaged, yes –  beyond repair, if he had been another man, without his kind of healing factor.  But this… this is something different. Something like a new ‘experience’ for him. An experience he could certainly have done without!” 

“So he’s not healing?” White asked dolefully.

Fawn shook his head. “No. Not completely. That wound is not healing, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“His healing power is working.  The wound to his head is all but completely gone, but as far as the heart is concerned… His power is trying to repair that, I can see it, but it’s so very slow… I can’t actually tell if his retrometabolism can heal it.  Maybe it would, eventually, with time. But then again, maybe his power can’t regenerate his heart since it’s completely gone and there’s not a single trace of it… You know, to use as a pattern? How can his retrometabolism regenerate something that is not there to begin with?”

“So he is dead, then,” White sombrely concluded.

Fawn grunted and turned his back on White to pour himself another cup of water.  “Oh, he’s alive…” he whispered, before taking a sip, causing White to look at his back with surprise. “Just…” He gulped the rest of the water. He would certainly have preferred if it had been something alcoholic – and very strong. He felt he needed it.  He turned on his heel to face White again. 

“He’s alive?” White repeated with a renewed frown.  “How can it be possible, then, if – ”

“A normal man would be dead. But we are talking about Captain Scarlet here. Fortunately for him, we had the proper equipment in sickbay,” Fawn explained. “We plugged him into a heart-lung machine. The sort used for cardiopulmonary bypasses – with patients whose heart and/or lungs are so damaged that they fail completely. It’s normally a temporary measure, while the patient is waiting for a new heart. The model we have looks like a thick electronic corset of some sort, that is put around the patient’s chest. It would be used when there are extensive waiting periods…”

“So you are using that kind of machine to keep the blood pumping around his body?” White said.

“Yes, that’s exactly it. As soon as we connected him to the machine and began the ‘treatment’, his retrometabolism kicked in and he started reviving again. As I’m speaking to you right now, cerebral activity has returned… but he can’t breathe by himself without the help of the machine.” Fawn blew a deep sigh. “And, not surprisingly, he has not regained consciousness either.”

White looked clearly disappointed. “Then he can’t tell us what exactly happened to him,” he reflected.

“Have a care, Colonel,” Fawn almost snapped.  “It’s already a miracle in itself that he’s alive to begin with. You can’t expect to interrogate him as soon as he opens his eyes.  If he ever opens them again!”

“Doctor…”

White carefully weighed what he was about to say; it was so obvious that Fawn was frustrated with the situation – even incensed at what had been done to Scarlet. It wouldn’t take that much for the doctor to lose his cool and vent his anger on the first person available – him, under the circumstances.

“I understand what you’re feeling, Edward,” White said, in a low, gentle tone. “Don’t you think I find all this abominable? I only meant that if Scarlet is able to give us a clue to what happened, we might find a way to catch those who did this to him – and maybe help him.”

“How?  By finding where his heart had been taken to?”  There was doubt in Fawn’s voice. “What good will it do him?”

“Think, Doctor. If whoever took his heart did it with so much care, it’s certainly because they had a need for that heart.  Whatever it might be.”

“The only need I could see for a stolen heart would be if it had been taken by some kind of organ theft ring…”  Fawn waved the thought aside.  “I’ve heard of kidney thefts, lungs, livers… even eyes.  But a heart…  I don’t recall any instance.”

“It only takes a first time, Doctor,” White reminded him.

“Yes… But then… why leave the other organs, and not take them? They would be precious as well. This doesn’t quite add up.” Fawn shrugged and sighed heavily. “Still… I suppose it’s possible, then. But can you imagine how horrible it would be?”

“I also imagine that if it is the case, we might actually be able to locate where his heart is at the moment, and get it back.”

“And put it back where it belongs?” Fawn said musingly.

“Don’t you think it would help him recuperate fully, if we were able to do that?”

“Surely,” Fawn replied, frowning in a thoughtful way. “It certainly could be worth a try… If his body should be whole again, then there’s a good chance his retrometabolism would act as it usually does. But we would need to act quickly then. Because if it is the case, if his heart has really been stolen by an organ theft ring, then it might soon find itself in the chest of another person, a poor soul in dire need of a transplant, who would not even suspect where his or her new heart comes from!” He grunted and shook his head. “I don’t see myself cutting an innocent’s chest to get that heart back, Colonel... that would be signing that person’s death warrant.”

“Then you are absolutely right, Doctor: it is imperative that we act quickly to locate those who stole Scarlet’s heart.”

Fawn’s brow furrowed, as he was thinking of other possibilities. One came to his mind.  “What about if it was orchestrated by the Mysterons?” he asked.

White shook his head. “To what purpose, exactly? In the hope that Scarlet wouldn’t recover from it? Doctor, that wouldn’t explain why the operation to remove his heart was performed so carefully.”

“That’s true, yes…”

“Besides, the Mysteron agent that Scarlet was trying to apprehend when this… incident… occurred, has been found dead in the same room. His heart had been riddled with bullets. From Scarlet’s gun, according to the ballistics and autopsy report.” He kept silent for a second, before adding: “So I guess our best hopes reside within that house where Scarlet was found. Whoever lives – or lived – in that house, could possibly be responsible for Scarlet’s predicament. According to Captains Blue and Ochre, it looked like the clandestine office of a surgeon. And according to you, this surgeon would have to be very skilled to perform that operation to remove Scarlet’s heart.”

“Oh yes… That’s one of the neatest job I have ever seen,” Fawn answered bitterly. “That kind of procedure can only have been done by a very talented surgeon. There can be no mistake about it.”

“Right. We’ll look into the files of every clandestine doctor, and physicians with criminal records we can lay hands on.”

“Hoping whoever did this to him indeed has a criminal record,” Fawn grumbled.

“We can only hope that the house where Scarlet was found will give us enough information on its residents, then. Our intelligence office will investigate it thoroughly. We will have results quickly.” White sighed. “However, in the meanwhile, we still have a mission to pursue.”

“You mean the latest Mysteron threat against the British Prime Minister?” Fawn enquired. “You don’t think it has been averted, then?”

“I don't know, Doctor. It would seem to be over and done with, as the Mysteron suspect whom we believed was to attack the Prime Minister has been killed by Scarlet. But who knows if this new affair doesn't still have something to do with it?”

“I really fail to see how stealing Scarlet's heart would have anything to do with any attack on the Prime Minister, Colonel.”

“Me neither, Doctor, But I don't want to take any risks. At least for the moment. Plus, as a special request from the Prime Minister, we are working with the British section of the Secret Service on this affair,” White added a little sulkily. “I have the impression that our every move is being watched at the moment. We certainly do not want to make any mistake by hurriedly assuming that all danger is passed. If something should happen then, it would be too embarrassing.”

“I can understand that you wouldn’t want Spectrum personnel to appear like bumbling fools in front of your old command, Colonel,” Fawn said with a faint smile.

“At least, we are dealing with the director of the USS British division, and not with Shane Weston himself in this affair,” White mumbled. His dislike of the Universal Secret Service’s supreme director wasn’t a secret from Fawn whose smile broadened ever so slightly at the sound of the discontentment he could hear in the Spectrum commander’s voice. “Fortunately, Lee Terence is a far easier man to work with. I will be calling him and will tell him I’m leaving the security team led by Captain Grey for the protection of the Prime Minister, to continue to collaborate with his men. Barring that team, I’ll be putting all agents I can spare on the search for Scarlet’s attackers. I want these people caught as quickly as possible. At any cost.” White put his hand on Fawn's shoulder. “Keep Scarlet comfortable, in the meantime. And if there's any change at all in his condition...”

“I'm keeping two nurses at his bedside, to monitor him,” Fawn replied. “And I don't plan to go away either.” He shook his head, and his smile returned, but this time, it was a sad one. “He also has his own personal nurse, I might add.”

“Rhapsody?” White enquired.

Fawn nodded. “She was at his side as soon as I allowed it. I figured that her presence by his side, considering the circumstances, could do him a lot of good. Even if he’s unconscious. At any rate, it can’t do him any harm.”

“Of course. I’ll sign her ‘off duty’, then. And I’ll only call on her if it becomes absolutely necessary.”

“Thank you, Colonel. I don’t think she cares anymore that people might talk about a possible relationship between them.”

“She has more worrying thoughts in her mind,” White agreed. “Well, all the same: don’t tell her about my decision. She doesn’t have to know I’m perfectly aware of her relationship with Scarlet.”

“S.I.G. I always knew you had a soft spot for her in your heart, Charles.” As White didn’t answer that, Fawn thought it better to change the subject. “Don't worry. If there is the slightest change in Scarlet’s condition, I'll inform you right away.”

“Thank you, Doctor. You realise, of course, that considering the situation, if Scarlet does wake up, and is able to give us some clues to what happened to him...”

“I realise that, Colonel, but I have to warn you: quite frankly, even if he was to wake up, which I think is unlikely, I doubt he will be able to talk to anyone at all.”

Colonel White kept silent for a brief second, then nodded his understanding, before turning on his heel, and directing his steps towards the exit. “Do take good care of him, anyway, Doctor,” he added before leaving.

“S.I.G., Colonel. That goes without saying.” Fawn watched grimly as Colonel White left sickbay.

He felt like he wanted to throw up.

But he didn't have enough strength to do so; he didn't have much strength to do anything at all, truth to tell, not even to raise his heavy head, or even one finger.

This awakening felt so very strange; as if his whole body was numb, cold, and terribly heavy all over. But at the same time, he felt so awkwardly detached from it. Yet, there was no pain whatsoever; except for that soreness in his throat that was making him want to vomit.

What was happening to him? Hell if he knew.

His mind was in a haze; it was a struggle to think, to concentrate on what was going on at the moment, let alone try to recall his last memories. That was also peculiar; normally, he never had that much trouble waking up after he had been wounded – or even killed, for that matter. He would wake up fresh, although thirsty and famished, and ready for another fight, his retrometabolism having completely healed his wounds, no matter how severe or numerous they might have been, his health restored completely.

Apparently it wasn't the case right now; somehow, for some unknown reason, his extraordinary abilities had failed him.

Why?

Desperate to find an answer to his now unusual predicament, he forced himself to think, to concentrate on his surroundings. It was only then that he noticed the hissing sound of a respirator pump nearby, that seemed to be working in rhythm with another noise, a constant pounding, that was filling his ears like a grumbling thunder. In the background, there was yet another sound, a kind of continuous beeping which sounded like a cardiac monitor.

There was something pasted onto his face – around his mouth and nose. Some kind of tape, that was keeping an object in place. A hose - no, a tube, he corrected inwardly, as he realised what was rubbing so uncomfortably against the sides of his throat. And that tube, he could only imagine, was probably connected to that respirator pump he was hearing.

There was something definitely wrong, he thought. Why was he plugged into this contraption? Why did he need this tube shoved down into his throat to breathe? Why did he felt so disconnected from himself? Why did he have this strange sensation of something missing, of not being whole?

And suddenly, it came right back to him and he remembered; his last conscious memories of what had happened to him… And immediately, he knew a rare instant of panic, that sent through his body enough adrenaline for him to find the necessary strength to open his eyes, and stare in disbelief at the ceiling hanging high over him. He could feel more than he could really see the cold steel case which covered his torso from the shoulder down to his hips, a contraption surrounded with wires and tubes that he could barely see at the limits of his sight, and could only imagine attached to him all over his numb and imprisoned body…

And could only guess what their functions could be…

He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t even do that. He could only lie there and remember… Remember and wonder what it was exactly that they had done to him…

“You’ve killed him. My God, you have killed him.”

Captain Scarlet narrowed his eyes, looking with suspicion at the man seated in his wheelchair. His reaction was a surprising one. After all, Ellsworth had been threatening to kill him. But instead of feeling relieved that his life had been spared and that the Mysteron agent would not pose any threat to him anymore, he looked like he had lost his best friend.

That was curious indeed.

Just as Scarlet was making that observation to himself, the man looked up from the body which had fallen beyond the opened secret door and was now staring at the Spectrum officer, a distressed expression on his face. “What did you do that for? You only had to neutralize him...”

Scarlet frowned, upon hearing the remonstrance. It was not as if he had any choice, to tell the truth. Even wounded, a Mysteron agent could still be potentially dangerous. He could transform himself into a living bomb, for example. Even dead, there was still the possibility that he would revive. At the moment, however, Scarlet couldn’t see any sign that this would happen for Ellsworth.

“Save it,” Scarlet snapped with annoyance. “That’s rich, coming from the likes of you!” He raised his gun, still smoking, and levelled it at Vincent’s head. The man didn’t even flinch. “I know who you are. So I know you are no better than him.”

“I have to say I don’t know what you mean,” the handicapped man replied, frowning. He coughed, and put the respirator mask attached to his wheelchair over his nose and mouth, breathing deeply. He removed the mask to speak again. “As you can see, I’m just a very sick man…”

“That you are,” Scarlet replied dryly. “Do you think your condition is going to make me have any sympathy for you? If you are really as ill as you appear, then I think it’s poetic justice, considering all the atrocities you’ve committed in your life.”

The man frowned. “Do I know you…?”

“Captain Scarlet, Spectrum. We never met. But I am familiar with your work. You are Francis Vincent. I’ve seen what your bombs can do, all the deaths that they caused all over the world.”

“Vincent… that’s not my name.”

“Don’t lie to me. I heard Ellsworth say it.” Scarlet indicated the dead man at his feet. “And it’s not by chance that he’s in your house. He came to see you. I heard your little talk: you were to build a bomb for him. Where is it, Vincent?”

“There’s no bomb, I can assure you of that,” the man replied with a shake of his head. “Listen, you are wrong about me. I am not the man you think. Okay, so you found me out: I was Frank Vincent. But that was in another life. I’ve been to prison, I paid for my crimes. I’ve… changed now. I’ve got a weak heart, you see… and that opened my eyes. I don’t do the things I used to do…”

“No, because you’re too sick to do them anymore, isn’t that right?” There was sarcasm in Scarlet’s voice as he spoke, but Frank Vincent didn’t even react. The Spectrum officer stepped forward to the man in the wheelchair. “You told Ellsworth you had his bomb ready,” he continued.

“I lied to him.”

“I doubt it. For a man in your situation, it would be a very dangerous game to play with your ‘clients’, don’t you think? Now where’s that bomb, Vincent?”

There was a pause as Vincent seemed to ponder what next to do. He glanced once more at the body lying on the floor, before giving a deep sigh. He then nodded in the direction of the open door. “Through there,” he finally answered. “I was about to show it to Ellsworth, when –” He interrupted himself and coughed anew; he needed to take another brief breath from his respirator. He seemed tired, and his face was very pale. Scarlet waited.

“I’ll take you there,” Vincent finally added.

He started moving his chair around the body, breathing hard as he did. Scarlet, still very mistrusting, was watching him intently, keeping a distance from him. The body was blocking his way, and it seemed obvious that Vincent would not be able to go through. The Spectrum officer stepped forward. “Wait.”

Vincent turned his chair around and addressed an enquiring look to Scarlet.

“Move back,” the latter said, approaching. “I’ll get him out of the way and I’ll go through first.”

Vincent pulled his chair away, and Scarlet came to stand over the body. Keeping a watchful eye on the wheelchair-bound man, who obviously didn’t carry a weapon on his person, he decided it was safe to put his own sidearm away for an instant and crouched down to take the body under the armpits. At the same time, he discreetly felt for a pulse. There was none; not a single sign indicating that Ellsworth would be reviving ever again to carry out his masters’ evil plans.

Apparently, like numerous times before, the Mysterons, considering that their agent had failed at his mission, had abandoned him to his fate and left him to die.

Without further thought, Scarlet pulled the body aside, pushing it against the wall inside the dark room, making just enough space for the wheelchair to go through. The room was pitch-dark. Scarlet rose to his feet, and turned once more to Vincent. The latter had started coughing again, this time violently, and was pressing his mask against his face, taking deep breaths, as he seemed to start hyper-ventilating.

“The switch is by the door,” Vincent said, gasping. “On the left.”

Scarlet narrowed his eyes at Vincent, as the latter, fighting a fit of violent coughing, seemed to be more preoccupied with using his oxygen mask than with what the Spectrum officer could be doing.

For a brief instant, it occurred to Scarlet that the man might be faking it – perhaps simply to raise compassion in the Spectrum officer for his fate.

Carefully, his hand followed the wall, on the left of the door, and eventually found the switch about four feet above the floor. He pressed the button.

Suddenly, the real reason for Vincent’s behaviour became clear to him.

It was all a decoy.

Scarlet understood this, at almost the same instant as the light came up, and a violent surge of electric current suddenly ran from the switch to him, with a loud zapping sound. The Spectrum officer was unable to let go of the switch as all his muscles froze and pain made him cry out. His vision blurred, and he found himself barely able to think. As the electric current ceased to course through his limbs, he was able to let go of the switch, but his knees buckled underneath his now numb and unresponsive body, and he fell forward. He had no chance to break his fall, and the impact forced the air out of his lungs.

As Scarlet struggled to raise himself from the floor, something hard came into contact with the back of his head. He saw stars and the floor suddenly rushed to his face once more. Stunned by the traitorous blow from behind, he saw two pairs of feet directly in his line of vision. There were two men in the room that he had not seen until now. One, tall and of brutish appearance, was standing over him, holding some kind of a wooden club between his huge hands.

The other man stood behind the first one; he was much shorter and thinner, and much older, with white hair, and deep wrinkles marking his thin face, and his blue eyes reflected all the worry and the uncertainty he was obviously feeling about what was happening in front of his eyes. Noticing how Scarlet was watching him, he drew a deep, uneasy breath, and shook his head, regretfully. “I’m sorry, I –”

The old man’s weak and shaky apology died on his lips as footsteps made themselves heard and Scarlet saw a new pair of legs approaching. Still fighting to regain his senses, he raised bleary eyes, only to see that Frank Vincent had miraculously left his wheelchair to walk towards him; he didn’t seem very steady on his feet, but he was keeping himself upright, and didn’t seem to have that much trouble breathing.

“Well done, Ian,” he told the brutish-looking man, as he stopped by his side. He took the club from the man’s hands and stood over Scarlet, looking down at him without any remorse reflected on his pale and perspiring face.

“Still groggy, are you, Captain?” Frank Vincent said quietly. “I have to apologise. This… trap wasn’t exactly set for you. It’s just by chance that you stumbled on it, I’m afraid to say. We were actually after Ellsworth. Nobody would have missed a low-life like him. Nobody would have really looked for him, or question what could have happened to him.” His voice became very cold. “You should have believed me. I never had any intention of giving a bomb to Ellsworth. I only meant to use him… for my own ends. But thanks to you, that bastard is useless now. His heart is useless.” His face became hard. “But I’m sure yours will make a fine replacement.”

Sensing what would come next, Scarlet made a last desperate attempt to escape. It was already too late as, with a roar that called on all of his reserves, Vincent raised the club in both hands and brought it down on the defenceless man sprawled at his feet. The next thing Scarlet saw was a wall of red, before total pain and darkness engulfed him.

“Paul?”

The voice reached Scarlet’s tortured mind; a truly angelic voice, sweet and comforting, that he knew so well. It plunged him into confusion. Was it a dream? It sounded so real, and so close to him…

He could only move his head very slightly, but it was enough for him to see the face to whom this voice belonged. It was hovering just over him, upside down; a beautiful face, surrounded by a wondrous halo of coppery red hair. She had probably been standing there all along, just at the head of his bed, and had simply moved a little, to enter his line of vision. He could feel her hands now, on his brow, comfortingly caressing him.

The fact that she was there was reassuring in itself; it meant he wasn’t in enemy hands, but that Spectrum had found him, and brought him back. Back on Cloudbase, in sickbay. But in what state was he actually found? He was still at a loss to know what exactly had happened to him. The only thing helping him to fill in the blanks was that bit of memory, of the last events he could remember… Then nothing.

There was something else after that, he knew it, or rather felt it, but at the moment, Scarlet’s numb mind couldn’t grasp it totally. It was still eluding him… and he wondered if that lack of memory wasn’t some kind of a blessing.

He could only recall Vincent’s words, sounding like an ominous omen in his distraught mind.

Thanks to you, that bastard is useless now. His heart is useless.

But yours will make a fine replacement.

Scarlet looked up into the face of the young woman standing over him; it was obvious in her features that, despite all of her valiant efforts, there was also distress in her beautiful eyes, filled with unshed tears.

It added to his own.

If he had had enough strength in him, he would have wailed his despair; but instead, he could only listen, as the beeping sound picked up in intensity, to the rhythm of his own growing anxiety.

And the despair grew even more as he couldn't even feel his own heart accelerating to his fear.

“Doctor! He's awake!”

Upon seeing Doctor Fawn enter the room, Rhapsody Angel could see that the information was quite superfluous, just by the way the doctor was walking purposefully towards his most unusual patient. Probably, Rhapsody thought, Fawn had been monitoring Paul from afar, so that he would know immediately if there was any change in his condition.

“I’ll be damned,” Fawn muttered under his breath. He first checked on the instruments to which his patient was hooked and made some quick adjustments, before he came to see if there was any change to his wound; he slid open a panel on top of the contraption set across Scarlet’s chest. It only took him a few seconds to make his assessment, before he carefully closed the lid. Rhapsody was watching him with interrogating eyes, wondering, hoping, whether there was any significant improvement. She had not dared move to check over Fawn's shoulder; she lacked the courage, neither was she morbidly curious enough to see the extent of her fiancé’s injuries. She didn't want to see any of it; she just wanted to know how long it would take for him to be all right again.

But the look with which Fawn answered her mute question removed any hope that it would be any time soon. She leaned over to kiss Paul's brow; cold perspiration was covering it. She gently wiped it away with her hands.

“Hang on, darling,” she whispered, trying to render her voice as calm and firm as she could. “You’re back on Cloudbase, and you're in good hands. You'll get through this, you'll see. Like you always do.”

She could see in his eyes that he was afraid – probably more afraid than he had ever been in his life. And she could also see that, despite being grateful for her encouraging words, he somehow doubted they were true.

“Paul.” Fawn stepped forward to enter into Scarlet's line of vision, and leaned over him; there was encouragement in his words too, as he spoke in turn: “Dianne is right. You are amongst friends. We are doing everything in our power to help you with what happened to you. You will pull through. But you have to trust me.” He glanced up at the screen monitoring his patient, and saw the wild readings. He shook his head. “Please, try to keep calm,” he continued, addressing Scarlet. “I know it must be difficult for you, but you have to regain control of yourself. You're not doing yourself any good. It’s a lot to ask of you, but you have to try. It can only help you.”

For a brief moment, Scarlet closed his eyes, and Fawn wondered if his plea had even reached his patient; his doubts only lasted a few seconds as he heard the change in the beeping coming from the control panel. He raised his eyes to read the lines and dots on the screen again, and could see that Scarlet had obviously heard him, and was making an effort to calm himself. Which, considering his situation, was nothing short of heroic – even by his standards.

Fawn heaved another sigh, before returning his complete attention to his patient, who was now opening his eyes again, very tiredly. The doctor could see the drowsiness in the blue eyes which were desperately trying to keep focus on him.

“I’m giving you strong sedatives and painkillers,” Fawn explained in a quiet voice, still trying to keep his patient reassured. He saw the surprise appear in Scarlet’s eyes. “We’re pumping them regularly into your body while we keep monitoring you,” he continued. “We had to find a way to keep you under.” So you wouldn’t feel too much pain, he added inwardly, but he had a feeling that Scarlet already had figured that out, by the way his eyes flickered at Fawn’s words. “Paul, this is actually good news for you… The fact that your retrometabolism is burning away the drugs means that it’s still working as it should. That would also mean that it’s working on your… injury.” He hesitated a few more seconds. “Do you know what happened to you, Paul?” he asked carefully. “Do you know what your condition is?”

He saw Scarlet’s eyes waver again. If he doesn’t know, he might suspect, Fawn reflected. I have to be careful.

“Someone,” he said very slowly, watching his patient’s reactions, “someone operated on you… and took your heart.”

The beeping sounds from the machine behind Fawn increased; he saw the shock reflected in Scarlet’s eyes. He cursed whatever butcher had hacked into his friend, forcing him into this dreadful predicament. He tried to reassure Scarlet. He explained in simple and reassuring words about the machine, and how they had hooked him to it, in order to keep his blood pumping through his body. It was to be a temporary measure, of course. Until they found a suitable solution to help him heal properly. Fawn didn’t know how he actually managed to soothe Scarlet’s fears, while he felt so unsure himself about his own words; he just noticed that the beeping from the monitor had changed again. Perhaps his patient was simply getting tired? He could see in his eyes that he was threatening to fall asleep again.

Not now, mate, he thought inwardly, and he hated himself for even considering depriving his patient of his recuperative and benevolent sleep. I still need to talk to you… Hang on just a few more minutes…

“You have a lot of things going for you, Paul. Your retrometabolism is working – that much we know. The fact that you’ve woken up is a pleasant surprise; it could only be a good omen. It might just take a little more time than we are used to, and I will admit, we just don’t know how much time it’ll take… We just have to be patient this time around. All of us.”

There was a very faint nod from Scarlet’s head as he acknowledged the information. The beeping sound from the monitor was now down to a more normal rate.

“In the meantime, we’re trying to find who did this to you,” Fawn continued. “And why. We don’t have the intention of letting them get away with it.