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. And perhaps we can
even locate your…” He stopped himself, realising that he might raise Scarlet’s
fears yet again. But the monitor kept beeping steadily. Fawn addressed a glance at Rhapsody, who was
still wiping Scarlet’s perspiring brow, gently, very soothingly. He cleared his
throat. “Any information you can give
us might be helpful. Can you recall
anything?”
Scarlet closed
his eyes. He was still fighting hard to stay awake. There was a moment where
Fawn thought he had fallen back to sleep. He gently called to him: “Paul… do you know a single clue that might
help us?”
There was again a
brief moment of waiting, and then Scarlet opened his eyes once more; they were
filled with dread. There was a second, very weak nod. Fawn held his breath.
“You do
remember? What can you tell us?”
“How can he tell
us anything?” Rhapsody then replied,
distraught. “He can’t speak with that
tube down his throat and –” Her voice
broke, and she couldn’t continue.
Fawn acknowledged
her intervention. She was right, of course. He looked around, searching; his
eyes found the notepad hanging from the wall behind him, and he snatched it
from its hook. He took the pen from his breast pocket and leaned closer to
Scarlet, to slide the pad under his right hand as it rested on the bed, and put
the pen between his fingers. Scarlet’s
hand was numb, and Fawn gently pressed his fingers around the pen for him to
get a better grip on it. He looked up
again to Scarlet’s face.
“Try to write
whatever you can, Paul,” he said, encouragingly. “I know I’m asking a lot, but
whatever clue you can give us might help us catch those bastards. Please, try.”
For long seconds,
the pen rested within Scarlet’s numb hand, motionless; then, the fingers slowly
and awkwardly closed around it and the tip rose over the paper,
unsteadily. With a trembling hand,
Scarlet started to write, his usual handwriting barely recognisable within the
wobbly characters that slowly appeared on the piece of paper. He wrote two single, short lines, the last
characters becoming thin and unstable, as he obviously struggled to finish
them. The pen nearly fell from between his fingers and he let his hand rest on
the mattress, unable to write more.
Fawn took the
piece of paper from the notepad and looked at it closely, trying to comprehend
what Scarlet had written on it. He could scarcely make out the words.
“Francis…
Vincent?” He looked down to Scarlet to enquire if it was what indeed what was
written, but saw that the latter had closed his eyes, tiredly. He showed the
paper to Rhapsody, who nodded, confirming his assumption. “Right. I’ve got to
show this to Colonel White. Perhaps
this will help in the course of the investigation.”
“Go,” Rhapsody
said. “I’ll stay with him, Doctor. If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,”
Fawn replied. “But… only a few minutes.
You’ll have to get some rest too, you know.”
“I’ll stay until
you come back,” she answered.
Fawn nodded,
although he knew that her intention was to stay far longer than that. He didn’t
argue for the time being. With murmured thanks, he shot out of the ward.
Rhapsody leaned
forward to kiss her fiancé’s forehead again. “I will stay here as long as
needed,” she whispered close to his ear. “I’m not planning to go
anywhere.”
She knew Scarlet
couldn’t hear her anymore. He was,
again, deeply unconscious.
“We found the information in the WAAF
files,” Colonel White was saying over the SSC onboard videophone,
addressing both Captain Blue and Lieutenant Green, as their vehicle left London
that night and travelled North. The Spectrum commander had quickly given them
instructions to follow that direction, before briefing them on Spectrum’s new
discoveries. “Francis Vincent
Jr. He enlisted
in the British Militarist Army towards the end of the Regime. Explosives expert, turned bomb-maker for
various mercenary and terrorist groups. He supplied high-quality bombs and
explosive devices to whoever was prepared to pay his high prices. His creations
were very devious, and virtually undetectable. They cost many lives over the
years, and he’s been on the WAAF Special Forces’ most wanted list for nearly
fifteen years. That would explain why Scarlet knew him. He must have seen his
dossier while in the Special Forces.
Maybe even went after him himself.”
“I’ve got it, sir,”
Lieutenant Green said, consulting the onboard computer. “Vincent was caught
about ten years ago, but he got a reduced sentence because the authorities were
unable to link him to most of the terrorist acts he was suspected to have been
a part of…” He quickly read a few lines
in silence. “Vincent was released from prison a few months back. It says here
that it was on compassionate grounds, because he had a heart condition that was
threatening his life. If he stayed in prison, he wasn’t expected to last the
year.”
“Apparently, his condition didn’t stop him
from renewing his criminal activities,” Blue remarked sourly. He was driving
the car, looking straight ahead on the dark road with an hardened expression on
his face. “How much do you want to bet
Ellsworth commissioned him to build a bomb for the attack against the Prime
Minister?”
“Very likely,” White confirmed. “Ellsworth was part of the Secret Service Security team, who was
to attend the security meeting with the Prime Minister at the Spectrum Security
Building in London. As a Mysteron agent, Ellsworth knew he could never expect
to enter the building. Our Mysteron
detectors would have spotted him right away.”
“But an undetectable
bomb, like Vincent knows how to make, could have got through,” Blue
continued. “Ellsworth would not even
have needed to be in the building on the day it was to go off. For example, he
could have attracted our attention to himself, elsewhere, while his bomb –”
“… Would have done the Mysterons’
job for him,” Green finished.
Blue nodded. “That would have been an attack worthy of
the Mysterons’ evil planning,” he added.
“Quite right,” Colonel White conceded. “But we don’t know for sure
if Ellsworth took delivery of that bomb.
It looks doubtful, as Captain Scarlet might have intervened before the
deal between Ellsworth and Vincent was done, but since there was no trace of
any explosive device in that house you searched, I took no chances and advised
Commander Terence to evacuate the Security Building, while his men and Captain
Grey’s make a thorough search of the premises.”
“Of course, sir,” Blue
said with a nod. “And where are the lieutenant and I going?”
“On his release from prison,” White
explained, “Francis
Vincent was left in the custody of his father, who shares the same name. Since then, Frank Jr. has disappeared from
public view. You are going to his father’s
house.”
“Francis Vincent Sr.,”
Green read from his screen. “Retired physician and surgeon…” He stopped suddenly, and straightened up on
his seat. “Heart specialist?” he said with a puzzled expression on his
dark face.
“According to HIS file, he was one of the
best in the field, yes,” White confirmed. “Doctor
Fawn told me he has heard of the man.
Vincent Sr. retired many years ago.
His activities since his retirement are unknown, but there have been
rumours that he actually performed illegal surgical procedures for needy people
– and sometimes the criminal underground.
No proof has been found of that,
though.”
“You think HE performed that surgery on
Captain Scarlet to remove his heart, sir?”
Blue asked with obvious surprise in his voice.
“We don’t know anything for sure,” White
replied. “But he
does seem a likely candidate. We just
don’t know why, yet.”
“It could be his name that Captain
Scarlet wrote,” Green reflected.
“Perhaps. But it seems unlikely.
Captain Scarlet would KNOW the son, because of his infamous reputation –
but I doubt he would know the father.”
Blue and Green exchanged
a quick glance, but White, through the videophone, didn’t seem to notice, as he
continued to give his orders: “Your mission has a double
purpose. You will try to locate both
Vincents. I want to know if Frank Vincent Jr. has successfully delivered a bomb
to Ellsworth, as we suspect he was probably hired to build one for him.”
“S.I.G.,” Blue answered
coolly.
“And,” White continued, you will need to find out if
Frank Vincent Sr. was indeed involved with what happened to Captain Scarlet –
and why.”
“We will find out what
we can, sir,” Blue promised. Green turned to him, and saw his features becoming
even harder than before.
“Of course. You have the address, and the directions to that house. Just be
careful. Remember what happened to
Captain Scarlet. I don’t want either of you to suffer the same fate. As we all
know, it is quite possible that Scarlet will survive and make a complete
recovery. You, unfortunately, would
not.” White made a short
pause. “Good
luck, gentlemen.”
“Thank you, sir,” both
men answered, before Lieutenant Green closed the channel. For a few short seconds, they both stayed
silent, staring at the dark road straight ahead.
“It is also quite
possible,” Blue murmured sullenly, “that he would not heal completely.”
“Captain Scarlet, sir?” Green said with a raised brow. He seemed perplexed. “But so far, he’s recovered from every
injury he’s ever had.”
“So far,” Blue
repeated relentlessly. “This is different,
however.”
“The colonel did seem
to believe so.”
Blue snorted. “When it comes to hiding what’s on his mind,
the colonel is an expert, Lieutenant. You know that as well as I do. I suspect
he’s not telling us everything we should know about Scarlet.”
“You think so?” There was some obvious concern, and
disappointment as well, in Green’s voice.
“Damn it, the whole
heart was missing! You saw the wound, Lieutenant.”
“I did. It is not a
sight I’m likely to forget.” Green shivered. The young man sounded and looked
dazed at the same time. “It could have been me,” he said in a near murmur.
“What?” Blue asked with
a frown.
“It could have been me.
If I had been the one to follow Ellsworth – I would have suffered that fate,
instead of Captain Scarlet.” Blue kept silent, and Green felt himself flushing
with some embarrassment. “I’m sorry,
Captain. That’s so thoughtless of
me. I know he’s your friend, and –”
“That’s all right,
Lieutenant.” Blue instantly regretted
the rashness of his previous words. He
addressed an encouraging if weak smile to Green. “We can’t help thinking like that, whenever Scarlet steps forward
to take the brunt of whatever comes our way.
He’s always willing to put his life on the line, if it means saving
another’s. He’s always been like that. Even when he wasn’t indestructible.”
“I sure hope his
indestructibility will hold this time too,” Green said grimly.
Obviously, Blue
reflected, Green was as worried as he was himself. He would never forget either the empty hole in Scarlet’s chest,
where his heart was supposed to be. Not
for as long as he lived.
“You are right,
Lieutenant,” he said, forcing his voice to regain his usual, calmer tone. “Scarlet will make it this time. Like he always does.”
“Yeah,” Green said in a
murmur, lowering his eyes. “If you say
so, Captain.”
Let’s just hope so, Blue added
to himself. He wasn’t willing to voice
any more of his underlying doubts and concerns.
For now, he had to
concentrate on his mission ahead – and on catching the bastards who had hurt
his best friend.
He just didn’t know
exactly how he would react when he came face to face with them.
“Stop that! You are going to kill him!”
The voice of the old man echoed through
Captain Scarlet’s dazed mind; the vicious beating from Frank Vincent had left
him so very weak, and in such terrible pain, but he was still conscious – if only
barely. His head was heavy, from the many blows it had received, and he could
feel the blood smearing the side of his face.
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think straight; but he could hear and see
what was going on around him.
His vision half-obscured by a deep, red
and grey mist, he could see the old man, who had not participated in the
beating, suddenly stepping forward to put an end to it; he caught Vincent’s
wrist with his hand, and stopped the club from coming down again to hit the
defenceless man lying on the floor. “That is enough, Frank!” the old man said,
fixing him intently with his eyes. “You
don’t need to do that.”
“That’s all right, Dad.” Vincent’s voice had a rasping edge to it,
but also a distinct tone of satisfaction. Obviously, he had been enjoying the
treatment he had given his victim.
Although he was breathing very hard, he didn’t seem as sick now as he
had appeared previously.
Of course… It was all
an act, earlier… He wanted to make believe he was in a worse condition than he
really was… Lulling his potential
victims into a false sense of safety…
Vincent freed himself from his father’s hold and threw his club away; it
echoed through the room as it hit the floor. “These Spectrum officers are
tough. They can take it.”
“Don’t you think you went a little
overboard?” his father protested.
“Not in the least. What difference does it make to him
anyway? As long as he is still
alive… for now.” Vincent pointed to Scarlet. “Ian, help me
put him on the table.”
His father opened his eyes wide with
horror and surprise, as he watched the two younger men leaning over the
apparently unconscious officer. Unable to defend himself, Scarlet felt their
hands picking him up from the floor and carrying him over a short distance.
Frank Vincent was puffing and gasping, apparently under some amount of strain,
and obviously, Ian had to do most of the work.
They put their load onto a padded table;
Scarlet groaned weakly, and that attracted Vincent’s attention. Breathing hard after the effort he had just
made, Vincent leaned over the defenceless man and lifted one eyelid to look
into the dilated pupil. For a brief
instant, Scarlet was able to clearly see his cold features, haloed by a hazy
mist.
“He’s alive, all right,” Vincent
declared, letting go of the eyelid and checking the pulse on Scarlet’s
neck. “But mostly out of it. Still, let’s not take any chances with
him. Tie him up, Ian. Just in case…”
Scarlet felt straps being secured tightly
around his wrists and ankles. He was
barely able to think, let alone move and defend himself. But he still could hear everything that
was said around him – and none of it
was particularly reassuring.
“Wait a minute!” Vincent’s father said,
in protest. “You’re not expecting me to operate on him?”
“We have no other choice, Dad. Time is
running out, you know that. We can’t afford to be choosy anymore.”
“That wasn’t what we had originally planned!” his father protested
anew. “We were supposed to use that
man, the one who contacted you… and asked you to make that bomb for him. He was an evil man… Planning to kill
people.”
“And that’s supposed to have made it
better if we had used him instead?” Frank asked mockingly.
“We would have done the world a favour by
getting rid of such a man. And dying would have been the best thing he could do
for the world. But Frank… that Spectrum
officer –”
“… Came into the house, and killed
Ellsworth,” Frank cut in suddenly. “And very nearly sent our plans down the
drain. Come on, Dad! That Spectrum
officer was about to arrest me – and you, for harbouring two criminals in your
clinic… Your underground and illegal clinic, I might add. Which makes you a criminal too!”
“I’m helping people, Frank… I’m not a
criminal.”
“And do you really think he would
have believed or understood our – your motivation?” Frank shook his head. “He killed
Ellsworth, and we can’t find another replacement in time. He will have to take his place.”
“No,” his father answered.
“Dad, if you don’t do it NOW, it’ll be
too late soon! He’s probably
brain-damaged anyway.”
“Because you hit him over the head with
that club!”
Frank Vincent walked briskly to his
father. “If you really want to help, you will have to act quickly. Now or
never. We can’t wait.” He gestured towards Scarlet. “Besides, it’s too late.
Even if he survives, he’s a threat to us all. Me… you… and Ian. You
don’t want poor Ian to end up in prison, do you? He’ll have us arrested for
attempted murder. It’s a question of
survival now. For all of us.”
“What are you asking me to do?” the older
man asked in a murmur.
“You will have to do your stuff.” Frank
put a scalpel into his father’s hand.
“You are the surgeon. Do
it. Operate on him right now and take
his heart.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,
Frank.”
“I’m fully aware what I’m asking, Dad. You’re the one who doesn’t seem to realise
that we don’t have any choice anymore. This Spectrum officer’s friends might
not be very far away. They might arrive
any minute now. And when they find him
here – with us – we’re all finished. So
we’d better take what we need and get away quickly, before they stop us. We won’t be able to set a trap for another…
donor. Not in time, anyway,” he added,
sourly, “and you know that.” He closed
his father’s fingers around the handle of the scalpel. “You have to do it, Dad. There’s too much at stake now.”
“Damn you…” Doctor Vincent turned away from his son and walked towards the
table where lay the defenceless Spectrum officer. At this point, Captain
Scarlet hadn’t had enough recovery time to try to free himself. His mind was
still in too much of a haze to permit him to speak, or move, but not so much as
not to understand what the consequences of this conversation between father and
son actually implied for him.
His bleary eyes barely able to focus behind
his drooping eyelids, he could see the devastated expression of the old man
standing over him, trying hard to make up his mind. Slowly, the doctor’s free
hand reached for the spotlight hanging over the padded table, and pressed a
button to power it up. The blade of the
scalpel flashed in his other hand, and Doctor Vincent looked down at his
unwilling patient.
For a very brief instant, hope flared in Scarlet, as the old man
leaned over him and lifted one of his eyelids to look into his eye, much like
Frank Vincent had done earlier. He
wondered if the old man had noticed the slight but noticeable reaction of his
pupil under the strong beam of light, and the mute pleading that Scarlet was
desperately trying to convey with his eyes.
He tried to speak, but his brain refused to let him.
He was desperately trying not to lose
consciousness.
“I’m sorry,” Doctor Vincent said
reluctantly, in a barely audible whisper. “But I have no choice. He is my son… and I love him.”
Despair completely filled Scarlet’s
heart.
“Prepare the anaesthetics,” the doctor
continued, standing straight. “He
doesn’t have to suffer more than he already has.” His features became at the same time hard and determined, as he
took his final decision. “And get the cool-bag ready.”
The deep mist in Scarlet’s mind became
much thicker and despite all of his best efforts to hang on to whatever
consciousness he still might have, he finally lost his battle, and fell into
complete oblivion.
It was a series of
bleeping sounds that seemed to draw Captain Scarlet out of the dark.
Disoriented, on the verge of panicking, he looked around, trying to get his
bearings. He was still lying on his
back, the upper part of his body encased in that hard metallic shell.
He remembered. He was in sickbay, on Cloudbase.
A dream, he thought. It was only a dream…
No… he realised bitterly. Flashback. A nightmarish
flashback…
At last, they have come
back to him. The very last memories he had of what had happened to him
before…
… Before he woke up
here.
He closed his
eyes. Have to calm down, he told
himself, as his still rather foggy mind realised that all those annoying
beeping sounds around him were coming from those machines to which he was
connected, monitoring his condition, and that they were caused by his own
anxiety about his situation.
That’s when he
heard it. Again. Her voice.
Calling to him
through the mist.
“Paul? Can you hear me?”
Rhapsody had
watched with growing concern as the screens monitoring Scarlet’s vital signs
had suddenly gone crazy, before her own eyes, reaching a crescendo of such
intensity that for a moment, she had imagined the worst would happen. But the two nurses left to care for Scarlet
had called for Doctor Fawn, while making sure, in the meantime, that their
patient’s condition was not deteriorating.
Fawn had not yet arrived when Scarlet had finally awakened,
panic-stricken, and looking around with terrified eyes.
The patient was only
having a nightmare, the nurses had deduced.
Rhapsody considered
that to be a rather coldly clinical conclusion. In view of his recent
horrifying experience, she imagined that any nightmare he might have had would
not be any ordinary dream.
Paul had quickly quietened
down, however, and that was already reassuring; he had closed his eyes and had
not noticed her presence this time around, so with the intention of comforting
him, to show him that she was still there, supporting him in this horrendous
ordeal, she had stepped forward, to stand next to him, and softly called his
name.
At the sound of
her voice, Scarlet opened his tired eyes once again. For a moment, he seemed to
search for her, then he found her. A
frown appeared on his brow as he looked up to her.
She didn’t get
the impression he was very pleased to see her there.
“Are you all
right, darling?” she whispered, stroking his brow.
He weakly shook
his head. Stupid question, she inwardly admonished herself, angry for
even having thought of asking it. How
could she be so stupid? She didn’t even
know how to make amends for her blunder now.
All she could do was to stroke his sweat-soaked hair and lean over him
to kiss his brow. “I’m sorry,
Paul… Forget I asked. I know you’ll be all right soon…”
She then noticed
that his right hand was moving; for a second, she wondered what he wanted to
do…
Of course… he’s looking for the pen and pad Edward gave
him before!
They were still
on the bed, but slightly out of reach.
“Wait,
darling… I’ll get them for you….
There….” Carefully, Rhapsody pushed
them under his searching hand. She saw his fingers struggle as before, to close
around the pen and use it again on the pad she had positioned for him. The words were drawn even more shakily than
before, but Rhapsody, who watched as they appeared, had no trouble recognising
the two single words that Scarlet wrote – this time exclusively for her:
“GO AWAY.”
At first she drew
back, feeling her heart missing a beat at the tingling pain of his obvious
rejection; then, realising that his reason for not wanting to have her around
was that he couldn’t bear the thought of her seeing him in such a state, she
shook her head vehemently, and furrowed her brow in turn.
She was angry
again, but this time, at him, for wanting to turn her away.
“No way, you
dimwit,” she answered sternly. “I love
you, no matter what might happen to you. You’re forever risking life and limb
to save this planet; you’ve always come back from it, unscathed. Obviously,
this time will take just a little more time than usual, just as Edward
said. So you need us to stand by you,
just as you’ve stood by us so many times.
If you think I’m going to leave you all alone at a time like this, you’d
better think again!” She leaned over
him once more, closing her eyes as she did so, and pressed her brow to
his. “I am not going away. I’ll be here, waiting for you to get better,
whether you like it or not.”
One single tear
trickled from her moist eyelash and then went running down Scarlet’s cheek. Despite
all his effort to keep his eyes open in order to look at her, while he was
quite unable to say even one word to her, whatever thoughts were in his mind,
Rhapsody could see he was losing that battle as well. Giving in to the
painkillers, his eyes fluttered tiredly, and he dropped back into a deep sleep
– or unconsciousness, she couldn’t tell for certain.
Now knowing that
he would not see or feel any of her distress, the young woman permitted her
long-restrained tears to silently and
freely flow from her eyes.
“He told me to leave
him alone.”
Doctor Fawn had just
arrived a few minutes before and had come briefly into the room to check on
Scarlet, before asking Rhapsody to join him. He was waiting in the observation
room, from where he could watch the bed where Captain Scarlet was resting. Through the large bay window, he was
watching the information displayed on the screen embedded in the wall just over
the patient’s bed. He was taking notes when Rhapsody left her fiancé’s bedside
to finally join him. He raised a brow
at her words.
“He wrote it on the pad
you left him,” she explained.
Fawn nodded and
returned to his notes. “Knowing him,
I’m not surprised at all.”
“He fell asleep again
immediately afterwards. At least, I think he fell asleep. Or perhaps he lost
consciousness?”
“He regained
consciousness, then?” Fawn asked.
She nodded. “Very
briefly. A few minutes.” Her voice grew weary. “He had a nightmare. Maybe that woke him up? He’d been…
unconscious… since you went to show that note to Colonel White.”
“I know,” Fawn
answered.
“It was the first time
he regained consciousness since then.”
“Quite frankly,
Rhapsody, I was surprised that he woke up that first time around. And even more
this time. I fully
expected him to stay in a coma – at least for the duration of the healing process. He doesn’t usually wake
up, when he’s this seriously wounded.
He’s asleep, not unconscious,” he confirmed, answering her earlier
question. “He’s usually sleeping when he recovers. I call it the ‘retrometabolic sleep’.”
“You think it’s a good
sign, then?” Rhapsody asked hopefully.
“That he sleeps?”
The doctor didn’t want
to commit himself with too affirmative an answer. “It is certainly not bad, anyway.”
“You are not sure,
then.”
Fawn sighed. “Right
now? No. I’m not sure of anything. I can only hope and wait to see.”
“Isn’t there something more we can do for him?”
Fawn’s brow furrowed
deeply; to say that he hadn’t been expecting this question would have been a
lie; it was just a matter of time before Rhapsody would ask it. In fact, it was quite similar to Colonel
White’s question some hours earlier.
Fawn could only provide
the same answer.
“We’re doing all we can
right now, Dianne,” he said patiently. “But at the moment, it’s really up to
him.”
“But can’t you help him
speed up the healing process?” she
asked.
“It’s what I normally
do, Dianne. But his present situation
is highly unusual. Even for him.”
“There must be something that can
be done…” Rhapsody muttered again. “That bulky contraption you have him hooked
up to…”
“The heart-lung
machine? I know it looks like a medieval engine of torture, but right now, it’s
what’s keeping him alive. It oxygenates his blood, then, just like a normal
heart would do, pumps it back into his body.”
“So it takes over all
the functions of his heart…”
“And provides
assistance to his lungs – so they won’t fail him. It helps him breathe more
easily.”
“What about a real transplant?” Rhapsody
suggested. “Instead of putting him into this… machine… why not transplant a
real heart into his chest, to replace the one that was stolen?”
Fawn slowly shook his
head. He put his pad on top of his
desk, and walked across to stand
directly in front of the large bay window. “Don’t you think I haven’t thought
of this already?” he asked Rhapsody in a sour voice.
“Then why don’t you do
it?” she nearly snapped at him.
“Dianne, there’s a lot more to consider
than you seem to imagine. It’s not that easy.
Captain Scarlet… Paul… is in a unique situation. There’s no-one like him on the surface
of this planet.”
“You think I don’t know that?!”
Hearing the anger in
her voice, Fawn turned to face her. “You don’t realise the implications. Think
about it a minute. There’s a huge waiting list for heart transplants. And
there’s not nearly enough hearts to satisfy demand – even if, with the medical
miracles of today, we’re actually able to adapt a given heart to almost
anybody, with the minimum risks of
rejection, everywhere around the world, every minute, someone on that list dies, because a suitable
heart could not be found for that person. This is an ethical question: for all I know, your fiancé could very
well heal himself without need of a transplant. So if I give him a new heart,
I might be condemning someone, someone in desperate need, to certain
death. And that would have been for nothing.”
“Doctor –” Rhapsody
tried hesitantly.
“And even if I put
medical ethics aside,” Fawn continued, interrupting her suddenly. “I admit I’m
very tempted, Dianne, Paul
deserves every chance we can give him, considering all he risks for us, the
many times he’s put his life on the line for the inhabitants of this planet. I don’t know if his
unique metabolism will accept a new heart, and will actually assimilate it into
his body. Maybe it will, but maybe it will get rejected – like a foreign body.
That’s the same reason why I’m not even considering an electronic heart… There is so much we don’t know yet about
Captain Scarlet’s physiology, how it actually works…”
There was obvious
regret in Fawn’s voice, as he turned once more to face the bay window and stare
at his patient on the other side. For a moment, Rhapsody gazed at his back,
without moving, considering what he had just told her. If his words had filled her with dread, and
if they conveyed little hope for what could be done for Paul, she could
certainly not accuse him of not trying. He simply felt almost as helpless as
she did – and ineffective in his abilities to help a friend.
She approached, and put
a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I know you are trying, Edward,” she said,
the words almost catching in her throat. “I’m sorry. I was unfair to you.”
His hand rose and
covered hers. “I’ll do my very best to help him, Dianne,” he promised, turning
to look at her. “I don’t know how, but I will.
We just need to wait, for the time being.” He faced the window again.
“Wait and watch… and hope that his condition is even more miraculous than we actually
think it is.”
Rhapsody lowered her
head, and rested it against the doctor’s shoulder. He held her close to him, reassuringly.
“Amen to that,” he
heard her say in a choking voice.
When they arrived at
the address given to them as Doctor Francis Vincent’s home, Captain Blue and Lieutenant
Green could see it was the house of someone who liked living a very comfortable
and private life; it was set back from
the road, almost hidden behind a dense copse of trees, and there was no trace
of nearby neighbours. Fortunately, there were no surrounding walls, and no
gates to obstruct access, and Blue drove the SSC up the long drive leading to
the house. There were quite a few lights on, despite the fact that they were
well into the middle of the night. They were absolutely certain that they were
indeed at the right place and that something must be going on, right at this
moment.
Captain Blue had
neither the time, nor the inclination, to be subtle about it. He knocked only
once on the door, but didn’t even wait more than ten seconds for someone to
come and open it, before bringing it down with a strong shove of his
shoulder. Lieutenant Green didn’t even
try to protest that maybe it would have been better to wait just a little longer, to
give time to whoever was in the house to actually come; he doubted his
companion would even listen to him, seeing the determined and hard expression
on his face. Green grimaced upon
hearing the loud creak the door made as it nearly broke from its hinges. If
someone had not heard the knock, certainly that noise would have
alerted them to the Spectrum officers’ presence. Not that they would not have
already noticed the bright red car that had driven up the driveway a few
minutes ago, anyway…
Both officers entered,
guns in hand, as soon as the door opened; they stopped a few paces into the
hall. Just at the bottom of the large marble stair leading to the second storey
of the spacious house, there was the body of an old man, lying still in a very
awkward position. Blue gestured towards it, and Green carefully approached the
body and crouched to examine it, while his senior officer was making a quick
survey of the hall’s immediate surroundings.
When he returned to Green, the latter was getting back to his feet,
shaking his head.
“He’s dead,” he
announced.
Blue nodded, giving a
quick glance at the dead man’s face. He recognised it from the picture provided
earlier during their briefing by Colonel White in the SSC. “Doctor Frank Vincent, I presume,” he
muttered under his breath. He looked up the stairs. “Probably fell down those stairs and killed himself. How long has
he been dead, do you think?”
“I’m no expert,
sir… Maybe a few hours, judging by the
body temperature?”
Blue nodded again; if
the body had been left there for that long, then there was nobody else in the
house who had bothered to do anything about it. It confirmed his first
assumption that the house was apparently empty. He re-holstered his gun and crouched by the body to examine it a
little more closely.
An angry roar coming
from upstairs startled him, and he shot back to his feet, next to Green.
Rushing down the stairs four at a time, a brute of a man was coming straight at
them, his eyes crazy and his hands ready to grab them. Green made a step
backwards, impressed by the strange appearance, and Blue reached for his gun.
The man leapt the reminder of the steps and literally pounced at the American
officer, hitting him with all of his weight in midsection and bringing him
down.
“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” he yelled, his hands searching for Blue’s
throat. “I won’t let you hurt the doctor!
I will kill you!”
“Captain!” Green
shouted, waving his gun, all the while trying to get a good aim at the
seemingly possessed man.
“Don’t shoot him!” Blue
ordered forcefully. He wanted answers,
and whoever his attacker was, if he was the only living soul in this house, he
would provide those answers.
“Kill you, I will kill
you!” the man repeated, fighting like a
madman.
“Like Hell you will!” Green
yelled. And with a violent kick, he shoved the brute away from Blue. The latter,
free from his attacker’s hands, quickly got to his feet.
“Stop right there!” he
shouted to the man who was starting to come back at them. “We don’t want to hurt you! We want to know what happened!”
“NO!” the man yelled back. “You’re here because of
your friend! I won’t let you hurt the
doctor! He did nothing wrong!”
With a renewed roar, he
charged forward, but this time, Blue was ready for him and easily evaded his
new attack, and the man’s fist only brushed his face. Grunting, Blue punched
the man’s stomach with all his strength and weight; the brute gasped, as air
was expelled forcefully from his lungs, but he didn’t fall.
Blue hit him three
consecutive times in the belly, hoping to wear him down; as he felt him
starting to waver on his feet, he landed a series of punches on the jaw, which
finally drove the man to his knees; Blue finally finished him off properly with
a kick under the chin. Moaning, the brute fell on his back, spread-eagled, at
his vanquisher’s feet.
“I don’t believe it!
He’s still conscious!” a stunned Green exclaimed, looking at the man, and then
at the nearly breathless Blue.
“Good!” Blue gasped. “He’ll be able to talk to us, then. Help me get him to a seat, Lieutenant!”
Both of them took the
barely conscious brute by an arm and pulled him up to his feet, dragging him
from the hall to the nearby living room. They tossed him onto the sofa, none
too gently. By this point, the man was slowly starting to regain his bearings.
“Do you think there’s
someone else beside him in this house?” Green asked. He was breathing hard; the
man they had carried was rather heavy. Blue considered his question.
“You are right. We had
better make sure. Go and check the house over, Lieutenant. I’ll stay here with our… host.”
Green did catch the
rather heavy tone in Blue’s voice and he glanced at him with some suspicion;
but he was unable to read on his expressionless face any of the emotions he
just knew were racing through his superior’s mind. He was Captain Scarlet’s
best friend and partner, after all. Captain Blue was, however, a dedicated
officer; he would certainly not do anything injudicious – especially not during
a mission.
“S.I.G. sir,” Green
answered. “I’ll keep in contact with you and will tell you if I find anything.”
Blue just answered with a brief nod, and Green quickly left the living room.
The brute, in the
meantime, had almost recovered, and suddenly made a move to spring out of the
sofa; he came nose to barrel against Blue’s gun.
“Not so fast, handsome,
you’re not going anywhere!” the American captain growled. “I have questions to ask you.”
The man swallowed
hard. “You will kill me, no matter
what…” he whispered.
“If you stay quiet and
collaborate… there’s no reason for me to kill you.”
“No, I know you’ll kill
me. I just know it. You want to avenge your friend. Don’t you?” The man
lowered his eyes. “You already killed
him, didn’t you?”
“Who?” Blue asked with
a frown.
“Doctor Vincent. You killed him.”
“What is your name?”
Blue asked.
“Ian… My name is Ian.” He didn’t dare look up to
Blue. “Ian McPhee.”
“Ian. The doctor was already dead when we
arrived,” Blue answered. “We didn’t kill him.”
“You didn’t?” Ian
whispered.
“No. We found him lying
at the bottom of the stairs. We’d just discovered he was dead when you attacked
us.”
“Already dead?”
murmured Ian, his eyes becoming vague.
“Then… he killed him,
then. I – I tried to stop him from leaving…”
“Who, Ian?”
“I – I saw him falling
down the stairs,” Ian said, without answering.
“He… he was running after – I
tried to stop him…”
“Ian,” Blue said, not
understanding what the man was trying to say.
“Who did you try to stop? The
doctor? You tried to stop him from falling
down the stairs?”
Ian shook his head, but
didn’t say a word. Blue’s frown
deepened. “Are you sure that you didn’t – ”
“Kill him?” Ian interrupted. “No! No, I couldn’t! I
could never hurt the
doctor. He was kind to me. Always has
been. Took me in when nobody wanted me,
he did. Gave me a roof over my head
and… jobs to do around the house. He was a good man, the doctor.”
“A good man who killed
and hacked up my friend?” Blue replied, his tone becoming hard.
Ian whimpered and
closed his eyes. At this point, Blue had already figured out that the man
wasn’t that bright; he was a simple-minded brute, on whom Doctor Vincent had
probably taken pity, and had taken under his wing. However, he seemed to know a little more of what had happened to
Scarlet, and that was probably because he played some part in it – whatever it
was. That thought was irritating enough for Blue, and that eliminated any
thought of compassion he might have for the man.
“Ian, I told you I
wanted answers. You will tell me
exactly what the doctor did to my friend.
Why did he take his heart? What did
he do with it?” But as Ian remained
silent, Blue became more insistent. He pulled back the hammer of his gun, his
eyes growing cold. “You had better come
up with some satisfying answers quickly!”
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Ian pleaded, raising his hands.
“I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you
what you want to know! Just don’t kill
me!”
“WELL?!” Blue almost shouted. “Tell me!”
“The doctor – he didn’t
want to… hurt your friend. He didn’t…”
“He did anyway!”
“He didn’t have a
choice! When the bad guy was killed, when your friend shot him… there was no
other choice! Your friend… your friend had to do. The doctor needed him
then. There was no-one else anymore…”
“No-one else for what?”
“It was all for his
son.” Ian’s tone had grown angry all of
a sudden. He hit his own thigh with his
closed fist. “It was all his son’s fault.”
“His son? Frank Vincent Jr.?”
Ian nodded vigorously,
but didn’t raise his head to look Blue in the eyes. He was snivelling now, and
his voice was shaking. “The doctor was
a good man. But his son… his son, he’s the bad man. He’s evil. As
evil as you can get! I knew him. I knew he would cause trouble. I told the doctor, but he wanted to help his
son.”
“What happened?”
“He insisted the doctor
took your friend. He forced him to do it.
He didn’t want to wait any longer.
He said he couldn’t
wait. It had to be your friend.”
“Had to be?” Blue
murmured, his brow furrowing. “Ian, what kind of hold did Frank Vincent Jr.
have on his father, to force him to do what he did?”
“The doctor – he loved
his son,” Ian said, sniffing. “He knew
he was evil but… he couldn’t let him
die, could he? He needed your friend… to save his son’s life.”
Suddenly, the horrible
truth hit Blue right in the face; all the clues were there. He just had not seen them until this very
moment.
“Oh no,” he muttered.
He felt his legs wavering suddenly, and his arm, holding the gun, sank down;
but Ian was now sobbing so hard that he had not noticed he wasn’t threatened by
the Spectrum officer’s weapon anymore.
“The doctor needed your
friend’s heart,” Ian pursued, as Blue found the need to sit down on the
armchair behind him, “so he could give it to his son…”
“This is truly
phenomenal.”
Doctor Frank Vincent was looking with
astonishment at the results displayed on the monitor embedded in the wall. His
patient was now seated on the side of his bed, checking himself, flexing his
muscles, breathing deeply. The top of his pyjamas was open, and the physician
could see that the long scar upon his chest was now reduced to a thin rosy
line, where, only a few hours ago when he had first removed the dressing, it
was still encrusted with dried blood.
Never in all of his career as a doctor
had Frank Vincent Sr. seen anything
like this. His son looked so much better than he had been for
years. He looked so much younger. It was like a miracle.
And considering the conditions that had
brought this miracle to occur, he wasn’t that sure that his son deserved it.
“This is impossible,” the perplexed Doctor Vincent said. “The
procedure was done yesterday. Only
hours ago. After that, you should be in
bed for days, even weeks. Weak as a kitten.” He pressed his
stethoscope to his patient’s chest. The new transplanted heart was beating
steadily. “And yet, here you are, soon to be on your feet... and nearly
healed.” He stood up and took a step back, looking at his son with
curiosity. “Apparently, even that scar
will be gone in a very short time.” He sounded almost as if he could not believe
his eyes.
“You told me I would always have one,”
his son remarked, looking down at his chest. “Looks like you were wrong.”
“I can’t explain this.” Shaking his head, Doctor Vincent walked back
to his son and took his arm, pulling the pyjama sleeve up to show him the bare
skin. “Look. What do you see?”
“Nothing,” Frank Vincent Jr. answered,
looking at his arm, and then at his father.
“That’s what I mean,” the excited physician replied. “There’s nothing. No needle marks. No I.V. marks. Everything is healed. It’s like there never were any punctures in
your skin.” He let go of his son’s arm,
and straightened up. “It can’t be. This is not normal, Frank… You’re making the most extraordinary
recovery I’ve ever seen in my life. You
seem –”
“… In perfect health?” Frank looked at
his arm, musingly, and then started chuckling. “I know. I’ve never EVER felt
better.” He breathed deeply, obviously revelling in his new-found health. “It’s
like my whole body’s been cleansed… by I don’t know what miracle.” He winked at
his father. “You sure you didn’t do anything else except graft this new heart
into my chest, Dad?”
Doctor Vincent shook his head. “And what
would have I done exactly?” he asked with a frown. “I’m not a miracle worker,
son. I’m a simple surgeon.”
“You’re too modest. You’re a damned good
surgeon. Or you would never have had the
kind of practice you had.”
“And what did it give me?” Frank Vincent
Sr. asked. “Okay, I had a good life… A good reputation… I had success and I
made a lot of money…”
“You’re able to live a comfortable life
today.”
Doctor Vincent scoffed. “You know as well
as I do that it’s only make-believe, Frank. When I was forced out of
practice, because some bureaucratic idiots thought I was too old to hold a scalpel, I had to find another way
to make a living… All the while,
pursuing my work in helping my fellow man.” He pushed his fists into his vest
and drew a deep sigh. “My… underground clinic… helped provide the money that
still permits me to live like this up to this day,” he added, looking around at
the walls surrounding him. “I wouldn’t have been able to afford this house,
without it.”
“Well, you did prove that you still were
able to hold a scalpel, contrary to what those imbeciles at the hospital
believed,” Frank remarked.
“Not that they would know anything about
it,” Doctor Vincent murmured. “Still, this marvellous phenomenon is not due to
my work. I wish I knew how it could have occurred…”
“I’ve been feeling this good since you
gave me this heart,” Frank remarked, thoughtfully. “Reckon it could be because of it? Of this particular heart?”
“How could it be? I mean… It didn’t look
any different from any heart I have ever seen…And believe me, I have seen quite
a lot.”
“How about the… donor?”
There was but the merest of smiles on
Frank’s thin lips as he looked up at his father and asked the question; Doctor
Vincent stood there, staring his son straight in the eyes. He was the one who lowered his eyes, before
turning away.
“The donor looked normal enough,” he
answered with a neutral voice. “He was a perfectly fit human being. Obviously, in very good health at the moment
of his death.”
“You mean, at the moment you removed his
heart from his chest,” Frank replied.
“He was still alive when you did that, wasn’t he, Dad?”
“Damn you… don’t remind me of what I had to do in order to keep you alive,”
Doctor Vincent shot back, turning on his heel to face his son again. “His heart
was beating, of course… but I’m not even sure his brain functions had ceased –
like you implied.”
“I thought I had made sure of that when I
had bashed him over the head with that club,” Frank said pensively, much to his
father’s dismay. “Obviously he was even tougher than I thought…”
“That’s a rather clinical way of seeing
the situation!”
“Don’t play the hypocrite, Dad! YOURS was the hand that killed him after
all, not mine!”
“Of all the ungrateful…” Doctor Vincent
nearly choked. He could feel his blood pressure rising. “You have some gall,
speaking to me that way. After I sacrificed so much for you! For instance, my clinic has been compromised
because of you. I will never be able to continue working there now!”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I realise it was all my
fault. I’ll try to find a way to repay you about the clinic, I promise.”
Doctor Vincent frowned. “Don’t make
promises you can’t keep, Frank. You
know how much trouble it brought you already.
I’ve got more than enough money to hold on for quite a few years
yet. That’s not what preoccupies me the
most.”
“You mean – you’re still worrying about
what happened yesterday,” Frank remarked quietly. “Can the authorities – can
Spectrum – trace the clinic back to you?”
His father hesitated and shook his head.
“I was practicing there under an assumed name,” he answered. “Nobody can trace it back to me.”
“Very thoughtful of you. How about your patients?”
“The only thing they would be able to
give the police would be my description.
And let’s face it, that isn’t much for them to go on. As far as it goes, I’m a standard-looking
old man.”
“So what exactly are you worrying about?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” his
father growled. “My clinic is not the only thing I compromised in this affair.
All my convictions… my conscience…”
“You regret having killed that man.”
“Of course, I do! What do you
think, I’m a doctor! My job is to save
lives – not take them!”
“I don’t regret that he’s dead,” Frank
replied coldly. “He was a threat to
us. Anyway, we needed a replacement for
Ellsworth. Do you regret having saved my
life, Dad?”
“You are my son,” Doctor Vincent said, shaking his head. “Without that heart transplant, you would
have died. I couldn’t leave you to die.
No matter… what you might have done in the past. Whatever…‘contacts’ you might keep with
some… evil people.”
“Evil people?” Frank repeated, raising an
eyebrow. “And what does keeping in with
these people make me, Dad?”
“You were misguided…” his father started.
“Misguided?” Frank scoffed. “Remember
what I did in the past, Dad? You do know what I did, for those ‘evil people’,
to make a living?” His eyes flashed. “I’m an explosives expert, Dad… The only
GOOD thing I learned to do right in the Army. I started by defusing bombs…
Then, I learned to build them. That was really helpful when I returned to
civilian life, if you recall. I won a
good reputation in my line of work – and got a lot of clients in the underworld. Wealthy clients who needed my talents…”
“Yes…” Doctor Vincent said bitterly. “I
do know that… to my shame. That reputation of yours is the reason why that man
Ellsworth contacted you in the first place.”
Frank sighed. “You know Ellsworth was working
for the Universal Secret Service, Dad?
He wasn’t really… a ‘bad guy’, by your own definition.”
“He still commissioned a bomb from you,
in order to kill people! Whatever his
reasons could have been…”
“Yeah.
I still wonder what went through his head. But I didn’t build any bomb for him, Dad… It was only a ruse. I told him I would build it, to lure him
into your clinic. And then, we would
have used him, like we planned all along, and never again would he have been
able to do any harm to anyone.” Frank looked up at his father. “I never planned
to build that bomb, you know that.”
Doctor Vincent stiffened. “Do I, really?” he said, rather
suspiciously.
“What do you mean, Dad?” Frank asked with a frown.
“Can you explain to me why you’re keeping
all those explosives I found in your room, then?” his father asked
harshly.
“You searched my room?” Frank said, in a
low voice. He didn’t sound very pleased to hear that.
“I did – you’ve been living under my roof
since you were released. I am responsible for you, don’t you remember?”
“That doesn’t give you the right to –”
“Save it, Frank! Don’t tell me about what
I have the right to do or not! If you were not planning to build that bomb,
what are you doing with those explosives, then?”
“Tell me, Dad, what would Ellsworth have
done with those explosives, since he was supposed to be dead? I’ll remind you he was not to leave that
clinic of yours alive.”
“I’m fully aware of that. Then what are those explosives for? They had
nothing to do with Ellsworth, then?”
Frank Vincent didn’t answer. He didn’t
even dare look at his father. The latter started to have a very bad
feeling.
“Frank…
you promised me you’d
give up all your bad ways, if I saved you.
You do intend to keep your promise, don’t you?”
“There is another promise I have to keep,
Dad,” Frank answered in a low murmur. He glared up at his father, who stepped
back under the intensity of his look, suddenly thinking he had understood what
his son meant.
“You don’t still intend to avenge
yourself, do you?” he said in a near whisper.
“Some things must be done, Dad.” For a few seconds, Frank stared at his
father, and then turned away from him, and slowly removed his pyjama top. Doctor Vincent watched him with growing
wariness.
“What are you doing now?”
“Preparing to leave. I see that I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“What?” Doctor Vincent stepped
forward. “Wait… you can’t go. You’ve
just had a very serious operation… A heart transplant…You have to rest, you
must be very weak.”
“Don’t be silly!” Frank scoffed loudly. “I
feel perfectly fine! You’ve seen it yourself. Whatever miracle happened to me,
it’s obvious it made me stronger – and healthier than I ever was. It’s like I was never ill!” Taking a shirt
from his drawer, he turned to his father.
“I certainly can leave this house now,” he said. “I won’t be in your hair anymore, Dad. You won’t be responsible for me from now
on. And don’t worry, I’m taking those
explosives with me.”
“What do you plan to do with them?” his
father asked with dread.
“Originally, since I was going to die, I had planned to settle a
few scores with my ‘old friends’.”
Frank scoffed at his own choice of words, as he was putting his shirt
on. “Before it was too late for me to
do so. But now…” He straightened his collar, his eyes
flashing. “I think I will settle those scores anyway, so they don’t interfere
with me having a quiet and happy life.”
Doctor Vincent looked at his son with
eyes wide with shock and horror. “How are you supposed to life a ‘quiet and
happy life’, after killing people, Frank?”
“Easily enough, Dad… I’ve already done it, remember?”
Doctor Vincent’s heart missed a beat,
hearing that callous comment. “You were sent to prison for that, Frank.”
“Yeah. And the one responsible will now
pay. And he won’t be the only one.” Frank took a pair of trousers from his
wardrobe, and started putting them on.
“Now, call Ian, and tell him to bring the car up, please. I’ll get my
stuff and will be on my way.”
“You can’t ask him – or me – to be your
accomplices, Frank!”
“I am not. I’m just borrowing your car.”
Frank finished pulling on his trousers and walked towards the door.
“IAN!” he called forcefully. “Come
here, right now!” He turned to his father.
“Look, if you’re afraid of being involved, just say to the police that I
stole your car. They should leave you
alone, then.”
“You don’t understand, Frank. I didn’t
save your life so you could continue planning to kill people!”
“Don’t concern yourself with that,
Dad…” Frank shrugged dismissively. “After all, these two men… they’re only ‘evil
people’. So seeing them die shouldn’t
be a bother to you. You didn’t give a
damn about Ellsworth. And they are far
worse than he was, believe me.”
The cold tone in which his son had said those
terrible words rendered Doctor Vincent completely speechless. Rooted in place,
he watched as Frank looked around for his shoes, very casually, as if he had
never uttered those dreadful threats.
“I cannot let you do this,” Doctor Vincent whispered.
“What?” his son said, turning to him with
curiosity.
“I cannot let you go and kill people like
this,” Doctor Vincent repeated. He barely glanced at the door, upon hearing
steps. Ian had just arrived, having heard Frank’s call. He stayed in the doorway, waiting, as the
physician continued, addressing his son now standing in front of him: “Not
after having given you a new lease on life.
It is not… right. Frank, please,
forget about –”
“I CAN’T forget!” Frank snapped. “You know whose fault it was I had that weak heart! You know whose fault it was I ended up in
prison! Those two, they have to pay for
that, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me making them pay!” He waved at Ian,
who wasn’t moving a muscle, waiting in silence in the doorway. “Look!
Look at Ian. The poor sod… if
he’s like he is, it’s because of one of those two bastards! Don’t you want him to be avenged too?”
“I…
never gave vengeance a thought,” Doctor Vincent answered,
hesitantly. “And… I’m sure Ian never did either.” He turned to glance at the brute, but the
latter was still keeping silent, looking from one man to the other, seemingly
not quite understanding the reason of the fight. Under the mute question the doctor seemed to address him, he
shook his head vigorously.
“No.
No vengeance. I am happy here,
with the doctor. I don’t want any
trouble.”
“Well, for ME, it’s different!” snapped Frank Vincent. “I have to make these men pay – for my own
peace of mind!”
A short silence followed, as Doctor
Vincent felt that he couldn’t find anything more to say that would change his
son’s mind. The latter walked to him,
and put a hand on his frail shoulder.
“I am grateful that you did give me that new chance,” he said.
“Really. But what I will do with it now
is my business only. And I would advise
you not to get in the way. I
don’t want you to get hurt, so –”
“Are you threatening me?” Doctor
Vincent’s expression was one of pure shock.
Then it became so very hard, as his son simply stared at him, unsure of
how to answer. “You would DARE threaten
me?” Vincent snapped again, much to his son’s utter surprise. He shrugged his
hand off and stepped back. “ME, your OWN father? Who JUST saved your miserable, pitiful LIFE?”
“Hey, no!” Frank protested. He glanced at Ian who had tensed. He had known the brute for a long time,
having met him many years ago, while they were both in the army. He was the one
who had brought Ian to his father, about ten years ago, after a violent car
accident had taken his family. He knew that the brute, now living in his
father’s house, was a simple-minded man, with a slavish devotion to the
physician who had saved his life after that terrible tragedy. Ian was totally
devoted to the doctor. Strong as a
bull, he was also a potentially dangerous man, who had already shown that he
was able, and would not hesitate to hurt anyone who might seem to endanger or
threaten the man he had come to consider as some kind of surrogate father.
“Dad, it’s not like that at all,” Frank
continued carefully, forcing himself not to look at Ian and turning his
attention back to his father. “Those
men are dangerous and they might hurt you. I –”
“If they’re so dangerous, then you should
stay AWAY from them, Frank!” Doctor Vincent replied. “Change your ways. You’ve
been given a new chance in life. Look at this miraculous recovery of
yours! Show yourself worthy of this
miracle, Frank. Let it go.”
“I can’t, Dad,” Frank replied coldly,
without hesitation. “This is something I have to do.”
“No you don’t,” Vincent continued,
stepping forward and standing right in front of his son. “But I can see I won’t be able to reach
you. I saved your life, Frank, and now,
you want to go on KILLING people! My
God… I had thought that such a close brush with death would have brought you
back to your senses!”
He looked away, as the enormity of what
he had recently done hit him in the face. It was as if he couldn’t bear it
anymore. He saw Ian looking at him with a troubled expression. Obviously, the
brute didn’t understand much of what was going on, but was discreetly staying
out of the way. It wasn’t as if he would enter the conversation, anyway. Ian wasn’t a very talkative man. He relied
on his actions more than on speech. The thought that he had brought the simple
man into this foolish scheme to save his son’s life – that they had his help to
trap another human being with the admitted purpose of killing him and using him
as an unwilling organ donor drove Doctor Vincent deeper into the feelings of
guilt he was experiencing over his own actions.
“How could have I been so blind? And
naïve?” he whispered to himself. “I probably killed a GOOD MAN so you could
live.” He looked down at his hands. To
his eyes, they were covered with innocent blood. And whatever his son might do now, he would be responsible. “My God…
What have I done…?”
“Dad,”
Frank said hesitantly, putting a tentative hand onto his father’s
shoulder, “you did what you had to do.
What every father has to do for his son…”
“I should have been a better father!”
snapped Doctor Vincent, turning around to face him and brushing his hand away
for the second time. “I should have realised you would never become the good
man I hoped you would be. I should have
left you to your fate…”
“You can’t mean that, Dad…”
“I SHOULD HAVE LET YOU DIE LIKE THE
MONSTER YOU ARE!”
In an attempt to force his father to
silence, Frank Vincent Jr. slapped him across the face; admittedly, with much
more strength than he intended to. The
force of the blow stunned Doctor Vincent, and threw him back, his frail legs
buckling underneath him. He hit the wall behind him, and slid to the
floor. A roar of anger made itself
heard.
“DON’T TOUCH THE DOCTOR!”
Ian sprang from the doorway and rushed
towards Frank who was standing there, rooted in place, as if he was surprised
by his own gesture. Frank found he
didn’t even have the time to regret having hit his father, as Ian tackled him
with such force that it sent him tumbling over the bed, so violently that they
fell right over to the other side. As
Frank, desperate to escape Ian’s hands that gripped him around the throat,
tried to push the larger man away from him, he crashed into the wardrobe, with
its mirrored doors, set against the wall beyond. The sound of the glass
crashing down on them was barely enough to cover the horrified shout from
Doctor Vincent, who watched the scene from where he had fallen.
He saw both men fall behind the bed, and
lost sight of them. The wardrobe had fallen on top of them, and for a moment,
there was silence in the room. His heart beating fast – and hurting him inside
his chest – Doctor Vincent braced himself against the wall and dragged himself
to his feet, grunting.
He heard moaning from behind the bed, and
saw a hand appear over the top and grab the sheet, smearing it with blood. The physician watched with dread and saw his
son standing up.
“Frank?” he whispered.
“I’m… all right, Dad,” Frank croaked. He
had a cut across his face, and was breathing hard, as he tried to regain his
composure. He was just standing there, looking dazed. Doctor Vincent stumbled across the room and leaned over the
bed.
“Ian?
How is Ian? Did you kill him?”
There was accusation in his voice.
“No!”
Frank protested. “I – He fell
underneath me… I think he hit his
head. I didn’t –”
“Is he dead?” Doctor Vincent whispered. His
chest was now hurting him badly. He
grimaced. Not another innocent
death, Lord, please… I can’t stand
another…
“You’re worried about him… Dad… I’m
bleeding!” Frank raised his hand to touch his throbbing head but cried out
suddenly. He opened his eyes wide when
he saw that a big piece of shard was embedded deep in his palm, and that blood
was flowing profusely from the wound.
Gritting his teeth, he lifted his other hand – and pulled out the piece
of glass in one swift tug. He grunted,
throwing the shard away.
“I’m bleeding, Dad,” he gasped. “I’ve been cut all over, I –”
“Frank!”
his father suddenly interrupted him. With a trembling finger, the doctor
was pointing to the wound across his son’s face. It had stopped bleeding. From
where he was standing, he could see it healing already, the blood coagulating,
and slowly forming a crust. He couldn’t
believe his eyes.
“Frank, you’re healing…”
Frank stroked his face, and felt under
his fingers the scar starting to form.
Then he looked down at the cut in his hand. It was deeper than the one
on his face, but he could already see it healing, slowly.
A smile formed on his lips. And then he started to laugh. And that laugh echoed with an evil ring in
his father’s ears. The pressure in his
chest was intensifying; it was becoming more difficult to breathe…
He knew what was coming.
“Frank… I don’t feel so good…” he
whispered.
Frank was barely taking any notice of
him, as he stared at his hand in shock.
He then saw his father’s eyes were looking at him, and in complete
agitation, showed him his open palm, trembling. “My hand – it’s really healing, Dad… Look, the cut is closing all
by itself… It’s a miracle!”
Doctor Vincent saw; but what he saw too,
was the totally insensitive fashion in which Frank was facing his father’s
sudden illness. He could see it in the excitement with which he was looking at
his healing hand, the expression of glee upon his face as he considered this
new ‘gift’ that suddenly was manifesting itself to him. It didn’t matter that his father was
ill. It didn’t matter either that Ian
was lying at his feet, probably dead.
Nothing else mattered anymore, but this new-found ability of his.
And the next words that came from his
son’s lips convinced Francis Vincent Sr.
that his son was lost to him.
Totally, thoroughly lost.
“Imagine, Dad… If I can heal from a gash like this… If I can heal from a heart transplant so quickly and without a
trace… Then what could it mean to
me! What could I REALLY do now! There would be NOTHING to stop me. NO-ONE to prevent me from doing what I
want… No-one to escape my revenge!”
“M-monster…” Doctor Vincent felt a wave of disgust hitting him. His son looked at him with surprise. “Get out of my house.”
“Dad…” Frank tried to reach for his
father. The latter, finding new strength inside of him, pushed himself from the
bed and stepped back, stumbling.
“Get away from me…” he croaked. There were beads of sweat on his forehead,
and he could barely breathe. His chest
was hurting him so much and it was so difficult to walk, but he managed to back
away from his son. He stepped out of
the room and staggered hesitantly and with great difficulty towards the
stairs.
His son was following, pleading with
him. He put a hand on his shoulder.
“Dad, listen to me… You
don’t look too well, I –”
“Don’t touch me!” growled his father.
“You’re no son of mine. You’re nothing but a monster!” He escaped Frank’s touch
and turned away, falling on his knees at the top of the stairs. Keeping himself
straight, by holding the banister, he started to sob, and didn’t turn to look
at his son, whom he knew was standing behind him. “Go away…” he whispered. “Leave this house… I don’t want to see you ever again!”
There was a short moment of silence; and
then he heard his son whispering something – some kind of apology, he imagined,
he couldn’t decipher the words. He felt
the brush against his arm as Frank walked by and started going down the stairs
towards the hall below. Doctor Vincent, his eyes filled with tears, watched him
go; his son didn’t turn back once, as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and
then walked the distance separating him from the door.
The door opened, and Frank Vincent Jr.
left, closing the door behind him, not even glancing back a last time, not even
uttering a single last word.
His father felt his conscience hitting
him a last time.
“Frank…” he whispered with regret. “I’m sorry…”
His mind blacked out and he let go of the
banister, to tumble noisily down the stairs.
The back-up team of
Spectrum investigators they had called in order to help in the search of Doctor
Vincent’s house had arrived. Captain Blue left Lieutenant Green in charge of
them, while he retired to the living room with Ian McPhee and a Spectrum agent,
who stood guard at the door, to interrogate the man on what had been happening
since the incident of the previous day in London.
Although McPhee’s
testimony was hesitant and full of holes – and Blue had to admit, digressions –
it was nevertheless clear enough for the Spectrum officer to start having a
good view of the recent events. He finally made his report to Colonel White,
while McPhee, handcuffed, and still seated on the sofa, was now quiet, his eyes
riveted on the still form of Doctor Vincent’s body, which still lay at the
bottom of the stairs. The body was hidden by a sheet that one of the
investigators had brought in from another room.
“We have further
information that corroborates your findings, Captain,” Colonel
White said, after Blue finished his report.
“The address where you found Captain Scarlet yesterday indeed housed
an illegal clinic. The house was owned by a certain Victor Cushing – an assumed
name, of course, as we haven’t found any records of a Victor Cushing. We traced back some of the clinic’s patients
– a certain ‘Doctor Cushing’ was their physician.”
“So we can assume
that this Doctor Cushing and Doctor Vincent are one and the same,” Blue
mused. He glanced at Ian, but the
latter didn’t say a word to confirm or deny his assumption. Blue shrugged. Apparently, Ian felt that he had nothing
more to tell him. Not for some time, anyway.
Blue started
pacing around, as the voice of Colonel White continued: “This is indeed
highly possible. Many years ago, Doctor Vincent was forced into retirement by
colleagues, with whom he was working; they considered him unfit to practise,
after he suffered a severe heart attack right in the middle of an operation –
and nearly killed his patient, because he was too stubborn to listen to his
assistants and leave the operation to them.”
“He had a weak
heart?” Blue said, frowning. “Just like his son? Of course, heart diseases are
hereditary.”
“Not quite true
in this case, Captain. Francis Vincent Jr.’s military records don’t show any
sign of heart weakness. He was in perfect health when he enlisted. That changed
later on.”
“How so?”
“During his
military service, Frank Vincent Jr. signed up to participate in a series of
tests, involving resistance to drugs, gas, interrogation… There was also
something about ‘strength enhancement’ drugs…
The people in charge of those tests were some very dubious characters,
and had no scruples about using and pushing their human guinea pigs to the very
limits of their resistance, and beyond.
Some of these tests went very wrong, and in the case of Vincent, he
nearly died from them. The tests eventually stopped, when an officer
supervising them finally decided his conscience had taken more than it could
bear – and denounced his superiors.”
Blue nodded. “Mmm.
I see… Those tests damaged
Vincent’s heart. No wonder he turned
out badly – he probably had a grudge against the world. And that must be the
reason why he was released from prison on compassionate grounds. The authorities must have felt the
government of the time bore some responsibility for what happened to him.”
“Are you SURE
that Doctor Vincent put Scarlet’s heart into his son’s chest, Captain Blue?”
Blue sighed.
“Sir, the only witness we have might not be entirely reliable, but I believe
him,” he answered. “I see no reason for
him to lie about it.” He glanced again
at Ian, but the latter was still staring towards the body under the sheet. Blue started pacing again. “Furthermore,” he
continued sombrely, “while searching the house, the investigating team found
that one of the rooms had been converted into an operating theatre. And
apparently, it had been used quite recently.”
He swallowed hard. “There was a discarded heart in a bin…”
“Vincent’s?”
“I guess so.”
Blue pinched the bridge of his nose, stopping his pacing. “I’m not a heart
expert, sir, but it didn’t look like a healthy heart, from what little I know
of it. So I believe that yes, McPhee
told us the truth about that.”
“But where’s
Vincent, then? After such an operation, he should be somewhere near, resting
until he recovers.”
“The last thing
McPhee recalls was that Vincent attacked both himself and the doctor.” Blue shook his head. “He lost consciousness after that. But when we arrived, the doctor was dead at
the bottom of his staircase, and his son had disappeared.”
“Someone took
him, then?”
“Or maybe he left
by himself?” Blue suggested. “McPhee seems to think as much. He was quite
determined to leave and… get revenge on someone. His father wanted to stop
him.”
“It sounds highly
improbable that he would have left by himself, considering his condition,
Captain Blue.”
“Perhaps – but
McPhee said that he seemed fine after his operation… He heard Vincent and his
father talking about… some kind of miraculous healing.”
“What?”
“That’s what he
said, sir. Vincent recovered from his operation in record time.” Blue gave a last look towards Ian, then
moved away some distance from him, before stopping, a frown forming on his brow
as a thought formed in his mind. “Colonel,” he said in a low voice, “I know
this might sound preposterous… but
maybe the reason why Vincent recuperated so quickly is that he received
Scarlet’s heart?”
There was a
moment of silence.
“Doctor Fawn will
say you’re going out of your mind, Captain,” White finally
said.
“Perhaps, sir,
but that’s the only logical answer, if we are to believe what McPhee told us.”
“IF we believe
his testimony, yes.”
“As I said – I
see no reason not to believe him, sir.
He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could make up a story like
this. And,” he added pointedly, “He couldn’t know about retrometabolism and all
that. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“So if we believe
that Vincent recovered quickly because of this transplant – he would have left
to get revenge on someone?”
“That would seem to
be the case, yes. We found a lot of
explosives in the room that McPhee told us is Vincent’s room. Very neatly hidden away. At the moment, we don’t know if he took any
of it, but if he did, you can bet he’ll use it to get his revenge.”
“And his father disagreed with that, so he
killed him?”
“Or the doctor’s death could have been an
accident?” Blue suggested. “There are no marks of violence on his body. Except
minor injuries he might have made himself falling down the stairs. We will need an autopsy to know what he died
of.”
“He killed him,”
grunted Ian from the sofa. Blue turned
to him, and could see his eyes flashing now – burning with a cold, barely
contained hatred as he was speaking. His handcuffed fists were clenched in
obvious rage, knuckles so white, it was as if there were no blood left in his
hands. “He killed the doctor,” Ian repeated between his teeth. “He wanted to
get his revenge. The doctor didn’t want him to go. He tried to stop him. So
he killed him!” He growled angrily.
“I’ll KILL HIM, when I find him!”
“Calm down,” Blue
demanded, as the guard, standing next to the door made a step forward towards
their prisoner. “You’re not going anywhere. Do you know who Francis
Vincent wanted to get revenge on, Ian?”
Ian
hesitated. He was obviously searching
his memories.
“Didn’t say any
names,” he muttered.
“What did he
say?”
“He said…” Ian frowned. “He said he was going to make
them pay… Two men, that’s what he said…
Someone responsible for him going to prison… and another one, because of
his weak heart.” He sniggered
derisively. “Weak heart… He had no heart, that bastard. I know him
well. He’s so evil… He cannot have a
heart.”
“You heard that,
Colonel?” Blue said, returning to his
communication with his commander.
“Quite well. Give
me a moment. We’ll make some enquiries to find out who Vincent’s possible
targets could be.”
“S.I.G.,
sir. So we’re going after Vincent,
then?”
“If only to stop
him killing someone else, yes. And to
arrest him for what happened to Scarlet, of course. But further than that…” Colonel left the
rest of the sentence hang. “Doctor Fawn was hoping that we would find
Scarlet’s heart before it was used for a possible transplant, and then put it
back where it rightfully belongs. It
looks like we’re a little too late for that. I’m afraid I don’t see any way for
us to get that heart back, now.”
“I was thinking
the same,” Blue sighed. “Colonel… how is Scarlet now?”
“No change at
all,” Colonel White answered gloomily. “Doctor Fawn still hopes there will be
some improvement soon.” There was a
very short pause, as White changed the subject, before Blue could add more on
this: “I’ll call you back in a few
minutes with more information.
Cloudbase out.”
“S.I.G.,” Blue
muttered. He closed the channel, and
his microphone returned to its place against the visor of his cap.
He felt
frustrated. His best friend and partner’s condition was not improving, and he
felt, with horrible conviction, that the only way for him to show any sign of
recovery would have been to put back into his chest that piece of him that had
been stolen: his heart, which had been grafted into the body of a
revenge-hungry criminal. A man with murder in his mind, who, while Scarlet was
lying defenceless and vulnerable in a sickbay bed, seemed to have made the same
kind of miraculous recovery that typically was Scarlet’s astonishing faculty.
It’s because of
that transplant. It has to be, Blue repeated to himself. He was
convinced of that – because there was no other logical explanation for what
could have happened to Vincent. And the
more he thought about it, the more it upset him, and the more powerless he
felt.
‘I’m afraid I
don’t see any way for us to get that heart back,’ the colonel had
said.
Short of
committing murder, Captain Blue very sombrely added to
himself.
“Your friend… the
one who died?”
The voice of Ian pulled Blue out of his fugue and made
him turn to him. The brute was looking straight at him.
“The man at the
clinic?” Ian specified. “He was your
friend, was he?”
Blue nodded
silently. Ian lowered his eyes.
“I’m sorry he
died,” he murmured.
“You’re sorry?”
Blue repeated with an angry frown. He approached, and sat down on the armchair,
just in front of Ian. “You were there
when he was trapped,” he accused. “You participated in his… murder. You told me as much.”
“It wasn’t
supposed to be that way,” Ian said, shaking his head.
“Yes, I know.
Ellsworth was the one Francis Vincent – and his father, your precious doctor
– wanted to trap. You told me so.”
“Yeah – he was a
bad man, he was.”
“That doesn’t
excuse anything. It was still
conspiracy to murder. And you helped in that.
You’re as guilty as Vincent and his father.”
Ian shrugged
dismissively. Obviously, Blue thought, the seriousness of such an accusation
escaped him totally.
“I just wanted to
help the doctor. He helped me so much already. Took me in, when my parents
died. Gave me everything. He was… like a father to me. And me… I was better to him than his own
son.” There was obvious disgust in his voice, and Blue noticed it instantly.
“You said you
knew him. The doctor’s son.”
Ian nodded. “We were in the army together. We met there.”
“The British
army? During the Militarist regime?”
Ian shrugged
again. “My dad said I had to be useful in some way. Only place for me to be was
the army. I wasn’t very bright… Still
am not… So I would make a good foot
soldier. No? Was the worst period of my life.”
“Because that’s
where you met Francis Vincent?”
“Yeah. There’s that too,” Ian muttered. “There were other things as well. Bad
things.” He lowered his eyes, as if he
didn’t want to say more on the matter.
Blue didn’t care about that, anyway.
“You didn’t
like him much,” he said, returning to
the subject that interested him.
“Hated him!” Ian snapped, almost jumping from the sofa,
causing the guard to step forwards again. “Always getting into trouble. Always
bringing trouble. I knew something would go wrong, but no-one listens to
me. Too stupid, I am. Not that stupid, you see? I knew!”
He sat back, heavily. “But I did
what the doctor asked. The doctor could
ask me anything. I would have
done anything for him.”
“You loved him so
much, then, that you were ready to kill someone for him?” Blue asked in surprise. “You would go that
far out of loyalty?”
“Wouldn’t
you?” Ian asked, looking up into Blue’s
eyes again.
“No.”
“How about your
friend – would you have done anything for him?
Wouldn’t you like to avenge him?”
“That’s not how
it works, Ian,” Blue answered. “That’s
not how I work.”
“Really? Don’t tell me you’re not tempted, then. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be happy to go
after Frank and kill him, for what he did to your friend.”
Blue hesitated;
suddenly, he found he couldn’t keep his eyes levelled with Ian’s. He diverted them. It was as if the man had
read his mind, somehow, and saw the terrible thoughts he was having. “I will
bring him to justice.”
“I will bring him
death,” Ian promised. “I didn’t understand revenge before, when Frank talked
about it. I didn’t care. Now I know what it is! I’ll kill him for
what he did to the doctor. I swear.”
“Don’t kid
yourself, Ian,” Blue said abruptly, looking at him again. “You’ve been arrested
for your complicity in this affair.
We’ll be taking you back to London, and into custody, where you’ll await
trial for what you have done.”
Ian shrugged
again. “Doesn’t matter… I’ll find a way.” He looked down; this time, he was the
one not able to look Blue in the eyes. “I meant it earlier… I’m sorry for your
friend.”
“For what it’s
worth, Ian,” Blue said quietly, “I’m sorry too, for the doctor.”
His epaulettes
started flashing white and he stood up, his microphone falling in front of his
mouth, to answer the call from Cloudbase.
“Captain Blue
here…”
“Captain,” he
heard the clipped voice of Colonel White, “I have further information.”
“You know who
Vincent’s intended victims are?” Blue asked hopefully.
“More than that,
actually. But I’m afraid it might not
be very good news for one of them.”
“Sir?”
“Our quarry left
a trail for us to follow…”
“Hey, handsome… what are you doing here all
by your lonesome?”
The tall man
standing in the dark alley had been staring straight at Julia with burning eyes
for the last five minutes. She had recognised him instantly; it had been
quite a while – years, actually – since she had seen him around, and she had
thought that she would never see him ever again. She knew he had been
arrested, and sent to jail, and word on the street was that he had died there.
But now he had come back, proving that he was indeed alive, and she had to
admit, she was curious to know what he had been up to recently.
She looked
around; Sam wasn’t anywhere around, so she felt safe to leave her station at
the corner of the street, and went to the newcomer, her walk deliberately
enticing. Years of walking the streets to earn her living was not so easily
discarded. And anyway, even though he
had looked unwell from what she could recall of the last time she had seen him,
he was a good-looking man, and potentially a client, as far as she knew. She wouldn’t mind giving him a little of her
time.
She saw his smile
as she approached him. He didn’t look as ill as she remembered. Quite the contrary, he looked very well.
And even more
handsome than before.
“Hiya Julia… long
time no see,” he said, casually enough.
“It’s been a
while, that’s true,” she acknowledged, standing in front of him and striking a
provocative pose. “Years, isn’t it? Where have you been all this time,
Frank?”
“Away…” he
answered, without committing himself.
“In prison?” she
asked with a perfectly raised brow.
He chuckled and
scoffed at the question. “You think the police are bright enough to catch
me?”
“Come off it,
Frank. We all know they got you, years ago. It was the talk of the streets.”
“Was it?” he
mused. “All right, I’ll admit. I was
inside. But I’ve been out for a few
months now.”
“What did you do,
escape then?”
He laughed. “No…
I was paroled.”
“You?” Julia seemed surprised. “I don’t believe it. You’re as bad as anyone can be. And they let you go?”
“Well, they
did… I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Is it true what
I heard? You’ve been ill?”
Frank tilted his
head to the side. “You’ve heard that too?”
“Well, I remember
how you looked last I saw you. You
didn’t seem that well. So I guess there
was some truth in it, then?”
“Yeah – I nearly
died, Julia,” Frank answered, shaking his head. “But…as you can see, I got better. Much better.”
“You sure
did. You look rather good, for someone
who’s been in jail.”
“I do, don’t I?”
he said, chuckling. “You wouldn’t
believe what I’ve been through, girl.
It’s been a real miracle for me.”
“Well, I’m sure
glad you’re okay, Frank. You know,
there’s some people who actually thought you were dead.”
He shook his
head. “Really? Who, for instance?”
“Me, for
instance.”
Julia visibly shivered
at the sound of that voice and took a step back from Frank. The latter raised
his head; behind the young woman, just at the entrance of the alleyway, a man
had appeared. He was casually approaching them, smoking a bad-smelling cigar. Just in time, Julia kept herself from
groaning as he came to stand right next to her, and removing his cigar from his
lips, blew a mouthful of smoke right into her face.
“What’re you
doing here?” he snapped at her. “Why aren’t you standing at your corner, trying
to find clients?”
“Come on, Sam…
You can see there’s no-one around at the moment.”
“I ain’t keeping
you with me so you can chat with useless wasters,” the newcomer interrupted
her, pointing a warning finger at her. “Unless this particular waster has money
to pay for your time. Does he?”
“I… don’t
know. I didn’t ask him,” she stuttered.
“I was about to,” she added quickly in her defence.
“Yeah,
right!” Sam snorted. He gave a mean
look in Frank’s direction. “Don’t waste your breath, luv. I doubt that he would be able to pay you for
your services…”
“You seem pretty
sure of yourself, Sam,” Frank remarked quietly enough.
Sam addressed him
a wicked smile. “It’s been a while since you’ve had cash to throw around,
Vincent. I’m pretty sure that hasn’t changed much.”
“Maybe it has
changed, Sam. Maybe I’ve got some money this time…” From the pocket of his
vest, he produced a wallet that he opened. He took a small wad of banknotes
from it and presented it to Julia. “As a matter of fact, I’m quite able to pay
for the lady’s time…”
Sam snatched the
money from his hand and counted the notes. He addressed a suspicious glance at
Frank. “That’ll more than cover her fees, all right,” he muttered.
“I imagine so,”
Frank stated. He could see the enticing
smile on Julia’s face as she was coming back closer to him. She winked at him,
but he was too busy attentively watching Sam to answer.
“But you ain’t
going with her just now,” Sam continued, pushing the money into his own pocket.
“Consider this a down payment, Frank.
Now where’s the rest?”
“The rest of
what?”
“Come on,
Vincent. You know you still owe me
loads. And I do intend for you to give it back to me. Fully and with interest.
Do you have enough to repay me back?”
“Don’t worry
about a thing, Sam. I am here to
pay you back.”
“Oh yeah? Then
you surprise me, pretty boy. It would be a first, then. Whenever you’re in
debt, you have the habit of running away… I suspect you disappeared all those
months ago because you couldn’t pay your debts…”
“Do you?” Frank
said coolly. “Don’t lie,
Sam. You knew I
was in prison. You even thought that I
died there. You just said so.”
Sam scoffed. “I knew you weren’t that healthy. I expected you wouldn’t survive there very
long.”
“I survived
longer than you thought, obviously,” Frank answered coldly.
“That’s
enough. If you have the cash, give it
to me. I don’t know where you might
have found it and I don’t really care. Out of curiosity though, did your old
man finally give you what you needed?”
“He did give me
what I needed,” Frank murmured. “But he didn’t give me money. What makes you think the money is not my
own?”
“Because I know
you, Vincent. You’re finished, man.
Good for nothing now. You were
already out of the game when you got arrested, it’s even more true now that
you’re out of jail. Nobody will ever
give you a job that’s really worth it now.”
“How wrong can
you be, Sam. Obviously, I did get a job
that paid me. And paid me well.”
“Then it’s time
for you to pay me.”
“I said I would,
but first, I’ve got a few questions to ask you.”
“I’ve got nothing
to tell you, mate, if it doesn’t involve the money you owe me.” Sam presented his hand. “Give it to me.”
Frank sighed, and
then smiled again. Quietly, he
approached Sam, his hand in the pocket of his coat, where he had previously put
his wallet. He stopped in front of Sam, glaring down into his
eyes. Sam was a Chihuahua of a man compared to him, barking more than he
could bite, useless against a man, but certainly capable of hitting the girls
working for him if they came back without enough money to pay him what he
considered his due. Yet, he had powerful contacts in the criminal underworld,
and that made him a dangerous man to cross. He knew that whoever was
facing him was aware of that fact, and he didn’t hesitate to hold that up as a
potential threat, if it should come down to it.
However, Frank
didn’t seem to be impressed by it at the moment. Not like he should
have. Not like he had been in the past. And Sam was just starting to
realise it.
“I’m here to settle
all my debts, Sam,” Frank said quietly enough. “And you’re the lucky one,
mate. I’ll start with you.”
Slowly, he
removed his hand from his pocket and Sam looked down, fully expecting to see a
wad of money that would be handed to him. He saw the metallic glint in
Frank’s hand.
The surprise
froze Sam on the spot. That was just
enough time for Frank to grab him by the lapel of his coat and to push him
further into the dark alley. Sam nearly
stumbled under the brusque assault, until his back came into rough contact with
the brick wall behind him. He could see
a very sharp blade just under his nose.
“Hey, Frank,” he stammered, “wha–”
“You shouldn’t
smoke, Sam,” Frank said, imperturbably looking into Sam’s livid face, now so
close to him. “It’s bad, really bad for your health. Believe
me… I’ve been through it. I know.” He snatched the cigar from Sam’s
lips and threw it down to crush it under his bootheel. Julia had followed them
into the alley, obviously surprised by the sudden development of events, and
was now pulling on Frank’s shoulders, trying to talk him out of whatever he was
planning on doing.
“Come on, Frank,
stop this, it’s not funny. You don’t
know what you’re doing!”
“Shut up!” he
snarled, turning briefly to her. “Keep
out of this, if you know what’s good for you!”
He turned back to Sam, his eyes flashing madly. “I know perfectly well what I’m doing,” he said in an undertone.
Sam swallowed
hard; the blade was now pricking his throat. “Now, Frank… you don’t want to do
that… I know we’ve had our disagreements in the past, but –”
“Disagreements?”
Frank sniggered. “Tell me about it, Sam.
I’m giving you just ONE change to save your pitiful life, and if you’re
smart, you’ll take it. Now… I want a
name. Just ONE name from your dirty
mouth. Tell me, Sam… Tell me the name of the person who sold me
out to the police all those years ago.”
“Nobody sold
you…” Sam’s words died on his lips when Frank pushed him further into the wall,
nearly knocking him out in the process.
Sam whimpered.
“LIAR!” Frank
snapped. He swiftly lowered his blade and pressed it against Sam’s
abdomen. The latter shivered against
the contact. “Lie again to me, and I’ll open up that belly of yours and spill
your guts into the streets, scumbag! Now, the police could never have
found me all by themselves. Obviously, someone tipped them off to where they
could pick me. And what do you know,
there’s only a handful of people who knew where I was, mate… So you see, I KNOW
someone sold me out.” He smiled. “Now, would you care to tell me the name of
that bastard?” he said in a sugary tone.
“I…” Sam felt Frank’s hand nearly strangling him.
He wheezed, barely able to breathe. “Please, don’t kill me,” he gasped. “I…
I’ll tell you his name… It’s –”
“Don’t bother,”
Frank answered coldly. “I’m not really interested in your lies, Sam. Because I
know who it was.” He saw Sam’s eyes
becoming wide with fear. “It was you,
Sam,” Frank added, between his teeth.
“It was you who sold me out to the police, when the heat was getting too
hot for you to handle. And you, you double-crossing scum, you pocketed the
reward money for that. A good way for
you to get back from me what I owed you, right?”
“No…” wheezed
Sam, desperately.
“I know it was
you, Sam. I was told,” Frank replied, not listening to the little man. “I spent
years in prison, because of you, you know that? My health kept deteriorating in
there… I nearly died, you bastard. All
because of you.”
“Frank, please, I
don’t –”
“Frank,” Julia
pleaded from behind, getting frightened by what was going on. “Stop this!
You can’t be serious. You don’t
want to do this!”
“Don’t I?” Frank
seemed to consider, coldly. “Yeah, it’s true using a blade isn’t really my
style. I do prefer to use explosives, you know… Blowing up people is more
fun… All the preparation for the bomb
and all… It’s kind of an art, and I’m pretty good at it.” He looked into Sam’s eyes again, and this
time, a very cruel smile appeared on his lips. “But I’ll make an exception
tonight,” he continued casually. “Time to repay our debts, Sam…”
Sam didn’t have
time to react. Taking a step backward, Frank swiftly and brutally shoved his
blade into the other man’s abdomen. Sam
gasped at the sudden pain, and the horrible feeling that the sharp object was
moving inside of him, cutting its way through his body, causing irreparable
damage. He tried to cry out, but Frank’s free hand rose swiftly to press
against his lips, smothering any cry that mounted from the man’s throat. Stoically, Frank twisted his wrist and Sam
groaned loudly; his eyes glazed and blood started appearing on the corner of
his mouth.
At this point,
Julia started shrieking madly, as if she suddenly realised that Frank was
indeed deadly serious. Frantically, she tried to push Frank away from
Sam, in an effort to intervene.
“What are you
doing? Stop it! You’re killing him! Stop it, Frank!”
She desperately
pulled on Frank’s arm, but the only effect it had was to remove the blade from
Sam’s bleeding belly. Freed from it, Sam’s entire body shivered violently; his
knees buckled, and he felt sideway, sliding on the wall against which Frank had
kept him backed until this moment. Julia watched with horror as he crumpled on
the pavement, and lay there, not moving, not breathing, his eyes wide open.
“You’ve killed
him,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. She stared
unbelievingly at Frank. “You killed him, without even blinking…”
“I never blink
when I kill,” Frank said very coldly. He pushed the body with his feet. “Sam should have known not to cross me. He had it coming, sweetheart. He was pondlife… Selling me out to the cops
like he did… for money!”
“What have you done… you’re crazy!
You’ve killed him, you dirty –”
“Watch out!”
Frank suddenly caught Julia’s wrist with his hand, holding her tight, and looking
into her eyes. “I don’t like being called names, darling. You should know
that…”
“Frank,” she
whispered. “Don’t –”
Seeing murder
again in his eyes, Julia suddenly panicked; she fought with desperation, trying
to free herself from his hold, kicking and hitting him with her free hand. “Let
me go! Let me go, you bastard! Don’t touch me! I don’t want
to die, I won’t let you kill me! HELP ME, SOMEONE!”
Grunting with
annoyance, but not using his blade, Frank attempted to contain her, wrapping
his arms around her, trying to put his free hand against her mouth to silence
her physically. She was fighting back
so violently, that she actually was able to kick him in the groin, forcing him
to let go; in doing so, he accidentally nicked her arm. The pain, and the sight of her own blood
caused her to desperately renew her efforts and she hit him with more force. He
did his best to protect himself from her attacks, but was unable to avoid her
very long and sharp nails. She managed
to scratch him across the face and under the searing and sudden pain, he let go
of her. Julia pushed him off, and he
stumbled against the wall behind…
… And fell into
his own blade, which entered his side.
Frank fell to his
knees, and surprised by the results of her struggle, Julia froze on the spot
and stood over him, breathing hard. Mesmerised, she watched as he hugged
himself, his right hand holding the handle of the blade that had cut him
deeply, and which was still embedded in his side. Blood was pouring from between his fingers, and he was grunting
in pain.
Surely, Julia
thought, he was wounded badly and was down for the count. He would not be able
to hurt her anymore.
“Bitch,” Frank
muttered. He pulled on the blade to
extract it from the wound; then, he forced himself to his feet, holding his
side, and raised his head to look in the direction of the young woman. She saw the three long, bloody marks that
her nails had made across his cheek, and the madness in his eyes and she
stepped back.
Too late.
Frank brutally
slapped her across the face. She fell down, nearly on top of Sam’s dead
body. She screamed in terror and quickly crawled away from the corpse,
looking with disgust and horror at the blood now covering her hands and
clothes. Sprawled on the pavement, she looked up with dread as Frank
slowly approached her. The first thing she saw was his hand, holding the sharp
blade covered with blood. It wasn’t a knife, she reckoned, but rather, it
looked more like a surgical instrument of some sort. A scalpel, maybe…
“Please, don’t
kill me…” she whispered, raising her head to look up pleadingly at Frank.
The rest of her prayer died on her lips, as she watched, with astonishment, the
scratches on his cheek, bleeding so much a second ago, seemingly starting to
heal before her very eyes. Frank wiped the blood from his face with the
sleeve of his coat, still looking coldly down at her.
“You’ve made a
mistake, whore,” he hissed between his teeth, standing over her. “A deadly
mistake.”
Despite the
promised threat she could hear in his voice, Julia found in herself the
courage, the strength to speak again. Her eyes were riveted on the three
scars on his cheek, already,
impossibly, starting to fade…
“My God,” she
said fearfully. “Wha-what are you? Frank, what happened to you? You’re not… you’re not human…”
“Am I not?” Frank brutally took her by
the lapels of her coat and forced her to her knees. She whimpered in
fear, but this time, did not try to get away. Fear was freezing her in
place. “No, sweetheart. I am still human. I am just… a NEW man.
With a new lease on life. And I intend to settle all those scores left
unpaid. Sam was the first. The Hammer will follow…But before that…” He
smiled wickedly. “You, girl… just added yourself to my list. So now it’s
your turn.”
He raised his
closed fist high over his head and violently brought it down against the young
woman’s face, before she could even think of screaming.
Captain Blue stopped the
SSC near the entrance of the alley. It
wasn’t very difficult to find out exactly which one they were looking for,
seeing all the police cars parked in front and around it, with all their
flashing lights rotating wildly into the night. A barricade had been set right
at the opening, with reflecting yellow ribbon prohibiting access to it. There
were policemen everywhere around, keeping crowds of onlookers, obviously
clients of bars from all around the sector, from getting too close to the crime
scene. Murmurs of surprise were heard, at the arrival of the Spectrum car, and
some people watched with curiosity as both Captain Blue and Lieutenant Green,
leaving their vehicle, made their way across the crowd towards the officers
guarding the security blockade. They
showed both their Spectrum I.D. and they were allowed to pass through.
In the middle of the
alley, there was another group of police officers, surrounding a white sheet
which was covering an indistinct mass on the asphalted ground, lying at the
foot of a brick wall. Streaks of blood
marked the sheet, leaving little doubt of what it was actually covering.
Blue and Green
presented themselves to the officer in charge – an Inspector Gorman – who shook
hand with both of them, before turning to lift one end of the shroud.
“It’s a bloody mess,”
he announced morosely, as both Blue and Green gazed down at the face of the
dead man, whose body remained mostly hidden from their view. “The victim was
gutted with such savagery, there’s blood all over the place. I doubt there’s
much left in him.” He covered the face of the victim, before addressing Blue
and Green again. “His name was Samuel
Pierce, a local pimp. We know him well. Got a load of girls working for him. At first, we thought maybe one of them got
tired of getting beaten up by him, and got her revenge.”
“You don’t think it’s
the case now?” Blue inquired.
“No. It takes strength
to butcher a body the way this bloke was,” Gorman answered. “Not a woman’s work, if you ask me. Plus, we
found the murder weapon.” He pulled from the pocket of his large coat a bag,
made of thick, transparent plastic, and showed it to Blue and Green. Inside,
there was a scalpel, covered with blood.
“That’s what he used to kill Pierce.”
“How much do you want
to bet this blade comes from Doctor Vincent’s collection?” Green asked, eyeing
the object.
“I won’t bet, I’m
pretty sure of it,” Blue replied.
Gorman eyed both men. “When Spectrum sent
that A.P.B. for Frank Vincent Jr., and when we discovered Pierce’s body, an
hour ago, I had a feeling that was somehow related.” He shrugged. “Or you
would not have come here, so quickly after my call to your London offices,
would you?”
Blue nodded. “What can you tell us of Pierce?”
“Oh… petty criminal,” Gorman answered, scratching
his chin. “A little fish in a big
pond. We sometimes used him as
informant, to get at the bigger players.
A few years ago, he told us where
Frank Vincent was hiding, and got the reward for that. We reckoned Vincent owed him a large sum of
money that he could never pay back, so it was Pierce’s way to get back at
him. That got Vincent sent down for a
long time.” He looked at Blue. “I heard he got out a few months ago?”
“He did,” Blue
confirmed.
“So… he killed Pierce
to avenge himself?”
Blue didn’t commit himself. That seemed to confirm what Ian McPhee had
told him – and that also corroborated the information given by Colonel White,
as they were rushing to this place. Frank Vincent wanted to get revenge on the
man responsible for him having been sent to prison. It appeared he had succeeded in his quest.
His first target was
dead.
Gorman handed the
scalpel, inside its bag, to a nearby officer.
“I’m sure we’ll find Vincent’s fingerprints on this,” he said. “That’ll be enough to send him back to
prison for good. Now, what is it that
Spectrum wants with Vincent exactly?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential, Inspector.”
Gorman clicked his
tongue. “Oh, come on now! I called your offices in London as soon as
we found this bloody mess Vincent made of Sam Pierce, and you won’t tell me a
single thing about your interest in it? What kind of collaboration between
services is this, anyway? Seems to me
like it’s pretty one-way, don’t you think?”
“Sorry,” Blue said with
a reticent smile. “We have our orders.”
“That’s the problem
with you military types,” Gorman sighed.
“Now let’s see what I can guess, then. I know of Vincent’s past as a
terrorist. He was one of the finest explosives experts the underground had. Could it be he went back to his old tricks?
That would explain why Spectrum, an anti-terrorist organisation, would be after
him.”
“At the moment, we’re
just trying to apprehend Vincent, before he kills again,” Blue answered
simply.
“So you do think he’s back in
business,” Gorman mused.
Blue hesitated. That was
a tricky question, and an even trickier answer. From Ian’s testimony, and what had been found in Doctor Vincent’s
house, Frank Vincent didn’t seem to have left with any of the explosives he was
keeping in his room. Although that
wasn’t a clear indication that he had none in his possession. As far as they
knew, Vincent could have kept a cache of explosive devices somewhere else
besides the house. And he could still
use it for his own purposes.
“Explosives are
Vincent’s weapon of choice, aren’t they?” he asked Gorman musingly.
“Yeah, so far as his
records show. The bastard didn’t like
to dirty his own hands by killing someone directly. Most of the time, that is. This messy killing of Pierce, with a
scalpel, looks like a new hobby of his. ”
“If, indeed, it was
him,” Green remarked. “Although there are strong indications that it might be
him at the moment, we still need confirmation of that.”
“In any case, we’ll
know for sure shortly, when we retrieve the prints on the scalpel,” Gorman
answered.
“Inspector, do you know
of any other people that Vincent may hold responsible for his incarceration?”
Gorman shrugged at
Green’s question. “The officer who made
the arrest at the time died last year of a stroke. He was eighty years old.
You can always add the judge who sentenced him, his lawyer who
ineffectively defended him, the Crown…”
“Why not add the jury,
while we’re at it?” Green asked. He was
starting to get the impression that Gorman was exaggerating. Perhaps the police
inspector didn’t like the fact that the Spectrum officers were keeping him in
the dark concerning their own mission, and it was his way of getting even with
them.
“We could add anyone
you want – but from what I know, the one person Vincent always held responsible for his
arrest was the unknown grass who gave him to the authorities… And whose
identity he probably learned recently.”
Gorman pointed to the white sheet at his feet. “And that ‘grass’ is
lying there in a pool of blood.”
While Lieutenant Green
was pursuing his talk with Gorman, Captain Blue was walking around the alley,
looking at the scene of the crime, glancing down at the victim lying under the
sheet. The sheet was heavily stained with blood, and there was more blood
spattered all over the alley. He grimaced; Gorman was right: such savagery with
a sharp weapon wasn’t quite according to Vincent’s style. He was more of the
kind to kill at a safe distance, detonating bombs under his unsuspecting
victims, rather than take a direct approach like he did this time around. Perhaps Vincent took some personal pleasure
in killing Pierce so violently – the man who had sold him out to the police and
whom he held as the main person responsible for his years in prison.
Well, if we already had an indication
that Sam Pierce was to be one of his targets, Blue told himself, we still are in the dark about
who else he wants to kill. Now they
needed to find who he held responsible for his weak heart. Someone from Vincent’s time in the British
military, they suspected, who was in charge of the drug tests that caused
Vincent’s ailment.
The
military records from the time of the British Militarist Government were pretty
scarce these days, as most of them had disappeared or were destroyed during the
coup that deposed the regime. Whoever that person was that they were looking
for – the name was nowhere to be found in what little was left of those
records.
At least so far.
Spectrum was still analysing all they could find on the subject. Colonel White
was confident that they would find something eventually. But the question was: would they find the information in time to
save Vincent’s intended victim? Or
would they be too late, like in Pierce’s case?
As he was looking down,
pensively, something attracted Blue’s attention and he frowned deeply. Now that was odd, he thought to himself. From the marks he could see on the ground,
it looked like a bleeding body had been dragged for some distance. But
strangely enough, the trail ended about two metres away from where the dead body
of Pierce lay.
No… the trail didn’t
end there. It started there.
Blue started following
the bloody path, barely listening to the exchange between Green and Gorman,
which continued behind him.
“You know, after that
messy massacre, we won’t hear from Vincent for a very long time. He’ll go underground for a while after
this,” Gorman said.
“We have reason to
believe that he will probably kill very soon again,” Green replied. “He has another target in mind.”
“Oh yeah? Any idea of who that target might be?”
Green sighed.
“Unfortunately, the identity of his intended victim is unknown to us.”
“So you kind’ve hoped
we’d would be able to provide you with some information?”
“Well, that was a
possibility we considered…”
Blue had walked nearly to
the end of the alley, beyond the last officers who were standing around the
dead body. The trail he was following led underneath a staircase; there was
something like a large wooden board, leaning against the side of the staircase,
forming a kind of dark space beyond, where no light entered. A perfect hiding place, Blue
thought, as he slowly crouched down in front of the stairs. He tried to see beyond the dark, but without
much success, so he took his pen flashlight from his pocket and powered it up.
What he saw nearly made
him jump out of his skin.
“Dear God!” he
exclaimed. He pulled on the wooden
board and it fell on the ground, noisily.
At the same instant, the limp and bleeding body of a young woman, who
had previously been leaning against the board, fell from the dark space under
the stair straight into Blue’s arms. The Spectrum officer heard a very faint
moan coming from her lips and he knew instantly she was alive.
Just.
“A doctor, quick!” he
called. His discovery had attracted the attention of nearly everyone in the
alley, and they were all running towards him now, Green and Gorman amongst
them. The young woman was sobbing softly, cradled in Blue’s arms; he could see
her face, savagely slashed with a blade, and the multiple deep cuts and bruises
on her body, through the shreds of her clothes. She had been beaten and stabbed
a number of times, and she was bleeding profusely.
“Shhhh… It’s all right
now,” he told her, trying to calm her frantic weeping. “It’s all right… Someone will take care of you…”
He could feel her
shivering against him, just as the policemen surrounded them. “He… He’s crazy,” she hiccupped, barely able
to control herself. “He… he tried to
kill me… He cut me…” She raised one
hand and touched her face. “My face…”
she wept. “My face… That crazy bastard
cut me…”
A policeman was leaning
down to take Blue’s place, and help to lay her down on the ground, as
comfortably as possible, while a medic ran in from the street where the cars
were parked. Her blood-covered hands gripped the collar of Blue’s uniform, as
if she didn’t want to let go. She was obviously in shock. “He’s not… human…” she gasped, in Blue’s
face. “He’s… a monster… He can’t be
hurt…”
“Calm down,” Blue said,
gently removing her hands and pushing her into a lying position. Someone put a
folded jacket under her head, and the medic was now tending to her. Blue looked
up at Green, who was standing over the scene, and they exchanged a significant
look, before Blue turned to the medic
to enquire about her condition. He
shook his head, as he checked her with his stethoscope.
“She’s not good, but
she’s alive,” he answered. “She’s lost a lot of blood. We’ll have to stabilise her before taking
her to the hospital.”
Blue nodded. He addressed the young woman gently: “What is your name?”
“J-Julia…” she sobbed.
“He… he tried to kill me…”
“It was Vincent, wasn’t
it?” Blue asked softly. She nodded, feverishly, her eyes growing wide at the
mention of his name. “We’ll get him, Julia,” Blue promised. “He won’t get away with this.”
“No…” she whispered
again, shaking her head frantically.
“No… you can’t hurt him… You
can’t –”
“Julia,” Blue cut in
suddenly. “Please, help us, and we’ll
arrest him. Do you know
where
we can find him?”
She shook her head ever
more madly. “No… No, I…”
“We need to find him,
to stop him. Before he kills someone else. Before he hurts someone else, the
way he hurt you. If you know anything…”
“No… I can’t… I don’t…”
Julia swallowed hard and started gasping. Obviously, breathing was putting her
in pain. “He said… He said the next
one… will be the Hammer…”
“The Hammer?” a puzzled
Blue repeated. “Who’s the Hammer?”
“I don’t know… I don’t know…” Julia started crying, and there seemed to be no stopping her now.
Seeing that he wouldn’t be able to get anything more from her, Blue stood up,
musing. He turned to Gorman, who was now by his side. The police inspector nodded to Julia. “Looks like you were right,
then. That bastard will kill again.”
“The Hammer?” Blue
repeated. “Do you know what it could mean?”
Gorman shrugged. “If
it’s a nickname, it isn’t familiar to me,” he said. “But I’ll run a check.”
“And we’ll do the
same,” Blue answered, lowering his cap mic. “That’s a lead to Vincent’s next
target, so maybe our intelligence network can find information on it… If you will excuse me, Inspector… He motioned to Green to stay with Gorman and
walked a short distance, before operating his cap mic.
“Go ahead, Captain,” he heard the
voice of his commander in his ears.
“Reporting the latest
news, sir,” Blue announced. “It seems we were right in thinking that Samuel
Pierce might be one of Francis
Vincent’s intended targets.”
“Too bad we didn’t find the right
information about Pierce, before the police actually called us to report his
death,” Colonel White grimly remarked. “Please
continue, Captain.”
Blue told his commander
all he knew, all that had been going on in that London alley where Pierce had
been discovered dead. The testimony
from Julia left the Spectrum commander somewhat perplexed.
“So it would
indeed appear that Vincent has… inherited retrometabolism from this heart
transplant?” he
said as Blue was drawing near the end of his account. “How curious. And potentially
alarming. That’s all we needed. A bomb-maker
on the loose, with possible retrometabolic powers similar to Scarlet, and a
desire for revenge.”
“And worse than a
Mysteron agent,” Blue concurred. “Because he’s unpredictable.”
“You’re quite
right at that, Captain. It’s of the utmost importance that we should get our hands on Vincent
now. At all costs.”
“S.I.G., Colonel,” Blue
answered, nodding to himself. I do want to get my hands on
that bastard, he added inwardly. He can’t get away with what
he’s done. I’ll make sure of that.
“And as if this matter wasn’t complicated enough,” the voice of
Colonel White continued, “we now have added complications as well. I have some bad news, Captain.”
Blue thought he felt
his heart failing him. He swallowed
hard. “Scarlet…?” he asked.
“No,” White answered quickly,
suddenly realising the scare he had given his officer. “How thoughtless of me – no, there’s no
change in Scarlet’s condition right now.
He’s still resting in sickbay.
It’s something else, entirely…” There was a short
pause, which permitted Blue to calm himself, before the Spectrum commander
continued: “Your witness from Doctor Vincent’s house?
He escaped.”
“McPhee?” Blue said
with a frown. “How did that happen? Is
anybody hurt?”
“No, there was no violence involved.
McPhee took advantage of a moment’s inattention from his guard and jumped
through a window, shortly after Lieutenant Green and yourself left. Don’t ask
me how, but it seems he broke his handcuffs… The Spectrum commandos at the
house went after him, but as he obviously knows the area far better than they
do… He made good his escape. We don’t
know where he might be right now, but I’m sure we’ll be able to get our hands
on him soon. He can’t go very far,
anyway.”
“No, of course not.”
Blue couldn’t imagine why Ian McPhee would have escaped Spectrum’s custody like he
did. Of course, he was an accomplice to both Vincents for what they had done to
Scarlet, and as such, could be accounted as guilty as they were; but somehow,
Blue had had the notion that the brutish, simple-minded man had seemed to have
accepted his capture, and whatever punishment his actions would bring upon him.
That he had even entertained the notion of escape was surprising – and curious.
No matter. McPhee was
but a little fish to catch; Vincent was
the important quarry.
“Sir,” Captain Blue
continued, “the girl Julia has given a clue to Vincent’s next target.”
“What is it, Captain? Our intelligence
services have been working on discovering who it could be from the moment of
your first report on the subject. Of course, we are concentrating our efforts
on whoever he might have met during his military service period, but we’re also
checking other avenues. Unfortunately, Vincent seems to have many enemies.
Anything that you can give us might help narrow the field.”
“Vincent mentioned a
name to her. Or rather a nickname. ‘The Hammer’.” Blue paused. He noted the silence at the other end of the line,
but moved on: “Unfortunately, the police
don’t seem to know who that might refer to.”
“They might not know, Captain, but I do,” Colonel
White then answered.
That surprised Captain
Blue. “Sir?”
“Vincent’s second intention is to get
revenge on the person he considers responsible for his weak heart. And we know that Vincent’s
heart was damaged during tests while he was part of the Military, under the
Militarist Regime in Britain,” White continued, musingly. “We’ve been trying for hours to find out who that person
could be. My God, that cannot be a
coincidence!”
“Sir, what is it you –”
“Captain, I know for certain who
Vincent’s next target is!”
It was the middle of the night, and the
door of the lift opened in front of Lee Terence, to let him step into the
underground parking lot. He sighed
deeply, rubbing his eyes; he’d stayed at the office far too often lately,
working some very late hours. His wife
didn’t like it at all and he expected to have another argument when he got
home.
Well, considering the late hour tonight –
that would be early in the morning, when they both woke up. Terence hated to start a new day with a
morning argument but quite frankly, what could he do about it right now? He couldn’t leave the office – not until all
the details of this affair with Spectrum were entirely finished, and he was
sure the Prime Minister’s life was no longer in danger.
Thank God, the alert was now over. The
Spectrum Security building, which had been evacuated the previous day following
a warning from Spectrum, had been thoroughly searched for hours, but no
suspicious package – which could have contained an explosive device – had been
found. In view of the possible
impending danger, the security meeting with the British Prime Minister was held
elsewhere, in a new, secret location, and everything had gone fine, without any
trouble. Spectrum had concluded that
the Mysterons had indeed given up on following their threat against the Prime
Minister.
Now every USS personnel involved with the assignment was entitled
to some well-earned rest.
Stifling a yawn, Terence walked to his
car, which was waiting in a lone, dark corner; his steps echoed through the
nearly empty parking lot. He fumbled
for his keys in his trouser pocket, and found them. He was only a short
distance from his vehicle when he activated the button to remove the security
device from it.
He was opening the driver’s door when a
voice, quiet and low, sounded from behind him.
“You’ve made quite a life for yourself.”
Terence, who was about to sit behind the wheel,
stopped in his movement, and standing behind his open door, slowly turned
around; a tall man was standing in the darkness, beside a concrete supporting
stud. He couldn’t see his face.
“Who are you?” he asked with a frown.
“I didn’t really expect you would
recognise my voice,” the man said. “It
has been quite a while, after all.
What… twenty five years?” He
stepped out of the darkness and quietly advanced towards Terence. “I was so very young, at the time. Even younger than you were yourself.”
The man was only two or three metres away
from Terence and, his face now in plain view under the feeble light, he stopped
his advance. Terence looked into it with a clueless expression upon his own
features; he couldn’t say he remembered the man – or if he had even met
him. However, that he was here was a
little worrying; people needed a security pass to enter this parking lot, and
they were not given to just anyone. Surreptitiously, Terrence slipped his right
hand under the flap of his coat, reaching for the handle of the gun hanging
from his belt. Fortunately, the open
car door hid his movement, so the man now facing him couldn’t see what he was
doing.
“You still don’t recognise me?” the man
asked again .
“Sorry, I can’t say I do,” Terence
answered truthfully, his frown deepening.
“Now who are you, and how did
you get in here? This is a
restricted area.”
“I know – reserved for Secret Service
personnel, isn’t it? I’ve got a
pass.” The man waved an electronic card
he was holding in his right hand. Terence recognised the design and the colour.
It was obviously owned by someone from an office with a lower security level
than himself. Yet, it would grant
access to the parking lot.
By the sound of it, the man didn’t seem
like the card’s rightful owner. Terence had a bad feeling about all this.
“Who gave that to you?”
“No-one.” The man was deadly calm.
So much so, that it was unnerving Terence. “I took it myself, without asking.” He casually put the card away into his pocket, with a
deliberately slow gesture. “From
someone called Clay Ellsworth.”
“Clay Ells…” The name stuck in Terence’s throat. His feeling that something was wrong was confirmed. “Clay
Ellsworth was killed yesterday by a Spectrum officer,” he said. “Just as he was about to be arrested.”
“I know,” the man replied, his voice icy.
“I was there. I took his card after he died.”
Terence drew his gun. “You’re Francis Vincent,” he said
accusingly.
“Finally,” Vincent answered, still very
calm despite the gun aimed at him. “You
found me out.” He looked down at the
gun, then returned his gaze to Terence’s face.
“But I see you still don’t recognise me.”
“How should I recognise you?” snapped
Terence. “I never met you.”
“Oh, but you did,” Vincent answered with
a thin smile. “Long ago…”
“Enough.” Terence cocked the hammer of his gun. “I’m arresting you, Vincent.
And if you don’t come quietly…”
“I wouldn’t use that gun, if I were you,”
Vincent warned him.
“And why’s that?”
“You’ll make me really angry.” Vincent showed his left hand, that he had
been keeping closed in a fist ever since he had addressed Terence. He was holding something in it, something
from which a small button protruded, his thumb resting at the very top. “Since you know my name, you know of my
reputation as an explosives expert.
Guess what I put under your car, that you activated when you opened that
door, Mister Terence?”
“Wha…”
Terence grew nervous; suddenly, he felt the need to stay very
still. He didn’t even dare let go of
his car door, which he was holding with his left hand. “You booby-trapped my car?” he whispered.
Vincent smiled evilly. “What do you think?” he asked casually.
Terence blanched. He slowly lowered his gun. “Why?” he asked.
“What do you want from me, exactly?”
“Don’t you guess it?” Vincent replied.
“Vengeance. For what you did to me all those years ago.”
“I don’t even know you!”
Vincent nodded slowly, his eyes
narrowing. “Maybe it is true,
then. Maybe you don’t know me. After all, tormentors don’t often know the
names of their victims, do they? To you, I was probably just another nameless
soldier, that you were free to use, without any thought for the consequences of
your acts. Just like poor Ian was, too.
So you didn’t know my name back then – how can I expect you to know it
now?”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
Terence asked, his voice now little more than a whisper. “How did we meet?”
“It was in another life, Mr. Terence.
Don’t you remember what you did, what you were, twenty-five years ago?”
“I was an officer in the British army,” Terence
murmured. “A captain…”
“Yes. A high-regarded officer, a hero you
were. Weren’t you? You were nicknamed
‘The Hammer’ – because you showed little mercy to whoever was standing in your
way.”
Terence slowly nodded. He didn’t feel like he needed to deny those
accusations. “That was so long ago,” he defended himself. “I’ve changed a lot
since then.”
“Yes, it’s quite surprising that you
should now work for the Secret Service, isn’t it?” Vincent said mockingly. “Or perhaps your name has been erased
from all records regarding certain… ‘war crimes’ you might have committed?”
“I committed no such crimes.”
“Didn’t you? What about those tests, run
by the Military, that you were supervising
– don’t you remember? Those strength-enhancing drugs? There was bitterness
in Vincent’s voice now. “Only these tests had disastrous results, didn’t they?
Not quite what everyone expected from them. They didn’t enhance strength at
all… on the contrary, they were quite damaging to their subjects – to whom you
gave little regard.”
“You were one of those men?” Terence
shook his head.“It was… a life-time ago,” he admitted. “I tried to stop those
tests, when the first results came in. I didn’t want to participate…”
“TOO LATE!” snapped Vincent, interrupting
him.“You participated in them, you low-life scum… Don’t tell me you were just
following orders back then, and that you have made amends since! That won’t
work with me! Many of your test subjects had serious side-effects from those
drugs. Like that poor Ian – he wasn’t very bright already at the time, but
those drugs messed so much with his brain that he’s nothing more than a big
simple-minded ape today! As for me, I nearly died because of you! My heart was
damaged – irrevocably.”
“Vincent, whatever I might have done to
you… I’m ready to make amends. Just
tell me what you want, and I’ll help you.” Terence paused a second. “To the
best of my ability.”
Vincent chuckled. “You want for me to
surrender, don’t you?”
“Spectrum is looking everywhere for you.”
“For the murder of their officer, of
course…”
“I can help you…”
“In exchange for me not telling them of
your involvement with those tests, years ago, I bet? What else can you give me?
A full pardon, perhaps?”
“No deal, Vincent,” Terence replied,
shaking his head. “What I did, years ago
– what I might be guilty of – I’ve spent a lifetime paying for. I hold a very
high position within the Secret Service, and I’ve dedicated my life to
upholding law and justice. That’s my way of making amends.”
“You’re just a damned hypocrite,” Vincent
said between his teeth.
“No.
I’m trying to do some good, and I believe I’m succeeding. I was serious when I said I could help you,
but a pardon is out of the question. I cannot offer you that. I can keep you off the hook with Spectrum,
but only if you agree to collaborate with us.
A prison term – even the possibility of escaping the rest of your life
in a ten by ten cell – could be very sweet for you if you would surrender
willingly – and give us useful information.”
“Information…” muttered Vincent, with a
frown. “On my former associates, you mean?”
“All kinds of information, that will
satisfy both the Secret Service and Spectrum,” Terence specified.
“The police tried that, years ago. If you know my record, you know that I
refused to cooperate. I would have been
a dead man, even in prison.”
“You’d be better protected now. Think
about it, man. You’re one of the
world’s leading experts in the field of explosive devices. You’ve had contacts
with various terrorist groups, over the years.
That can be used…”
“Ah yes…” Vincent mused. “Explosive
devices… Well, since we’re on that subject…”
He smiled mockingly and showed his closed fist, with the button
underneath his thumb.
Terence grew even more nervous. If he had thought he’d gained the upper hand
for the last few minutes, it seemed now that he was losing ground.
“Remember that bomb I told you about,
which is supposed to be under your car?”
Vincent chuckled, as he pressed the button.
For an instant, Terence thought his heart
would stop… but nothing happened.
Slack-jawed, his heart hammering in his chest, he stared at Vincent,
unbelieving. The latter opened his fist and showed him what he had been holding
all along: a simple, silver-plated pen.
Vincent winked at him, almost
mischievously. “I lied,” he said, laughing and letting go of the pen, which
fell on the concrete floor. “I just discovered recently that I much prefer to
use a direct approach to kill certain people.”
He nodded slowly. “And lucky
you, you qualify…” His right hand rushed to his pocket.
Terence quickly drew his gun before his
opponent could get his own weapon out.
He barely took the time to aim, and a single gunshot rang out through
the parking lot.
Struck in the chest, Vincent fell on his
back, without making a sound. He lay on
the concrete floor, spread-eagled, motionless.
His legs shaking, Terence walked out from
behind the open door of his car;
cautiously, he approached the now still body of Vincent, his gun aimed
at him. There was a huge stain of blood
smudging his shirt, right in the middle of his chest, where the bullet had
struck him. His eyes were closed, and
he didn’t appear to be breathing. In
his open right hand, there was a scalpel. That apparently was his only weapon.
Carefully, Terence crouched next to him and
checked on his vitals, touching the side of his neck.
There was no pulse.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. It
had been so easy, he thought, as he looked down into the face of the dead man.
Almost incredibly easy. The criminal for whom Spectrum had been searching for
nearly two days was now lying dead at his feet, killed by a single bullet.
Colonel White would probably be pleased
that the murderer of his man had been put out of circulation.
Terence certainly was.
He put his gun into his holster and,
still crouched down next to Vincent, took his cell-phone from his pocket. He
quietly dialled a number and put the phone to his ear, waiting for his call to
be answered. He heard the communication
officer at the other line.
“This is Commander Terence,” he said into
the phone. “No, I’m not home yet. I’m
calling you from the underground parking lot. I ran into a… little problem
here.” He was about to continue when he
heard the sound of squealing tyres and a running engine. He raised his head towards the parking lot
entrance. He first saw powerful beams,
then a very distinctive red car which was coming his way: a Spectrum Saloon Car. Terence sighed inwardly. Apparently, Spectrum would not have to wait
much longer to learn that their man’s murderer had been dealt with.
He was about to stand up to welcome the
Spectrum officers when suddenly, the dead man he was crouching over opened his
eyes to stare squarely at him; taken by surprise, Terence froze and didn’t
react; Vincent promptly sprang from his position, and, his fist having closed
on the scalpel, he shoved it violently into Terence’s stomach.
Terence gasped in pain, and bent over
against his attacker. He heard the mocking snigger of Vincent in his ear: “I
told you I preferred a much direct approach, didn’t I, ‘Hammer’?”
Terence, unable to answer, slid to the
ground, off Vincent’s blade. He lay there, bleeding, slowly getting numb, as
the madman, still holding his scalpel, was getting to his feet.
“VINCENT!”
The shout made Vincent turn his head
towards the Spectrum Car who had stopped a few metres away. Two men had stepped
out of it, each on their side, and, hiding behind their open doors, were now
aiming their guns at him.
“Surrender!” the same voice roared again,
with an obvious pitch of anger. “This will be your only warning!”
Vincent started laughing maniacally. “Try to stop me, Spectrum!” he shouted back,
starting to lean over his victim, who was still far too alive for his taste.
“NO!
Keep away from him!”
Francis Vincent was about to slice his victim’s
throat, to end his life definitely, when the two Spectrum officers swiftly
opened fire on him; the shock of the multiple bullets hitting him drove him
back from Terence and seemingly pulled him fully to his feet. He felt the pain,
but somehow, he was able to overcome it – and he was still standing, although
bleeding from various new wounds.
He was standing… and able to walk.
He felt so exhilarated; he started to
laugh, and turned to face the two Spectrum officers.
“You can’t stop me!”
Blue couldn’t believe
his eyes; laughing like a madman, Francis Vincent continued to advance towards
them, holding his scalpel – how many of those did he take from his father, anyway?! – in his
blood-covered right fist. At least we’ve driven him away
from his intended victim, thought Blue as he gave a furtive glance towards
Lee Terence, who was lying on the ground, in an enlarging pool of blood. He
could see the man moving, but he knew he was badly hurt; he had seen Vincent’s
blade strike him in the belly, only seconds earlier; a severe blow, that could
lead to the man’s death very soon, if the wound was not attended to quickly.
But for the time being,
they had to stop Vincent; he was still approaching, despite the hail of bullets
that was presently hitting him. Truly, it was as if nothing could stop him.
For the first time
ever, Blue found himself cursing Scarlet’s amazing powers of recovery – now
being held by another, who was corrupting the astonishing gift, and seemed
fully intended on killing him.
“We should shoot to
kill, Captain!” he heard Lieutenant Green shout over the shooting.
Up until now, they had
only used their guns to wound, and disable their target. Green couldn’t understand why his superior
officer was so determined not to use lethal force against Vincent. As for Blue, he would
have had difficulty to exactly explain his own behaviour. After all, the
miserable cur was responsible for his best friend’s predicament, and with
everything he had done lately, he certainly deserved to be killed on the
spot.
But for Blue, resorting
to killing Vincent was just like letting go of his own basest instincts – he did want revenge, so badly,
for what Vincent had done to Scarlet, and it was so difficult fighting against
that horrible feeling… It made him feel like he wasn’t that different from
Vincent himself, driven mad by his own desire for vengeance.
I won’t sink to the same level as this
bastard, Blue tried to convince himself. I have to be better than him.
However, seeing the situation,
it seemed now that it would not be possible to stop Vincent any other way than
by killing him, so Blue nodded to Green’s suggestion, if still reluctantly.
But neither of the two
officers were actually able to take lethal aim at their target. Suddenly, Vincent, as if understanding that
maybe he would not come out alive from a direct encounter with Spectrum, dashed
at a run towards the exit.
Blue mumbled a curse,
as he fired in the fugitive’s direction.
He hit him in the right thigh, but it only slowed him down a
little. Vincent continued his run,
limping heavily. “He must not get away! I’m going after him!” Blue shouted to
Green. “See to Terence!”
“Be careful, Captain,
he’s dangerous!”
Blue barely
acknowledged the warning and sprinted after Vincent. He had no intention of
getting close to that scalpel, but he was determined to capture Vincent – and
capture him alive, if
possible. His latest bullet had given
him an idea, as he ran.
Each of his bullets hit
Vincent in the legs and, with a loud howl of pain, the man crumpled to the ground just as he was about to cross the
door. Blue resumed his run.
You won’t get away, scum, he told
himself. I have you, now, and you’ll pay for all
your crimes.
He was reaching Vincent
when he saw the man pushing himself to his feet, with difficulty. Steadying
himself against the nearest wall, he turned around, gasping loudly, his scalpel
in his hand, and glared angrily at the approaching Spectrum officer.
“Come on, then!” he shouted at him, waving his blade
meaningfully. “Come over here,
Spectrum! Get me, man on man, if you
dare!”
Blue stopped and took
aim again, carefully. “Get down on the ground!” he barked. “I’m arresting
you for multiple murders, Francis Vincent!”
Vincent smiled
wickedly. “You mean, you want me for your friend’s death in my father’s clinic,
don’t you? Admit it, you want to see me
dead on the spot!”
“Get down on the
ground!” Blue ordered again, detaching each word, forcing himself not to hear
Vincent’s taunting. “Don’t force me to
kill you!”
Vincent started
laughing; a maniacal laugh that sent shivers down Blue’s spine. “You can’t kill
me!” he told him. “Nothing can kill me, Spectrum! I can heal from any wound, in a matter of
hours! That means, you will never be able to stop me, no matter what you do!”
“I wouldn’t count on
this,” Blue growled, slowly approaching, keeping careful aim. “On the ground, Vincent!”
“Come on, Spectrum!”
Vincent sniggered, waving his scalpel again.
“Be a good sport… for your dead
friend. Come and give me your best
shot!”
“You asked for it,”
Blue muttered under his breath; he slightly changed his aim, and aligned his
barrel between Vincent’s eyes.
But as he was about to
pull the trigger, a silhouette appeared from the darkness beyond the door and
with a roar of anger, pounced with all the fury of a wild animal into Vincent’s
body. The latter, startled by the sudden attack, barely had the time to turn
around before he was driven to the ground by the weight of his new opponent.
Blue blinked in
surprise and lowered his gun as he watched, astounded, as Ian McPhee, sitting
astride Francis Vincent, forced his opponent down, holding him by the throat.
“YOU KILLED THE DOCTOR,
YOU EVIL MAN!”
“IAN!” Blue shouted. He sprinted towards the two
combatants; effortlessly, Ian had snatched his scalpel from Vincent’s hand,
after effectively breaking his wrist.
The cry from Vincent was a
strangled one, so strong was Ian’s grip on his throat. Blue saw the brute raising the blade over
his head; he seized the man’s arm.
“Don’t kill him!” Blue yelled into Ian’s ears. “He’s not worth it, Ian!”
“He’s evil! Ian shouted
back, struggling to get Blue off him.
“He must die! He killed many people!
He killed the doctor!”
“Dad?” Vincent wheezed,
opening eyes wide with surprise. “Dad
is dead…?”
“You killed him, you
maniac!”
“No… I didn’t mean to – I…”
“You broke his heart,
Frank!” Ian shouted without hearing him out.
“You killed him with all your evil things! You don’t deserve to live!”
“IAN!” Blue called
forcefully. “Ian, let him go!”
As Blue tried to pull
him away, Ian, with an annoyed and powerful shrug, pushed the Spectrum officer
off him, sending him sprawling to the floor. He did it with such strength that Blue
was taken by surprise; his head hit the floor hard and he saw stars dancing in
front of his eyes.
“The doctor gave you a
good heart!” Ian said, turning back to
his victim, his eyes burning madly with uncontrollable anger. “It was meant as
a gift of life… You spoiled it all!”
“Ian, please,” Frank
begged in a whisper. “I swear, I didn’t
…”
“You didn’t deserve
that gift, Frank!” Ian cut in, raising
his arm with the scalpel again. “So I’m taking it back from you!” With a strong shove, he plunged the blade
straight into Vincent’s chest.
The awful cry of pain
reverberated through the underground parking lot, and rang into Blue’s heavy
skull, as, still half-stunned, he dragged himself to his feet, with great
difficulty. He could feel blood
trickling down his face; he felt for sure that Ian had unwittingly given him a
concussion, he was so dazed. He
couldn’t see quite straight, but straight enough for him to witness Ian finish
his gruesome work, having used the scalpel to open the chest of a still living
Francis Vincent like he would have carved a Christmas turkey. Blue had seen an awful lot of horrible
sights in his life, but he had to admit, this probably topped them
all. He turned his eyes away in
disgust, unable to bear the vision of the struggling, screaming Vincent, trying
to get away from his murderer.
The cries subsided, and
Blue heard a final squishing sound, that made him look again. Vincent had
stopped struggling, and his mouth and eyes were now wide open. So was his chest, over which Ian, still
kneeling across his victim, was leaning, gasping heavily, his arms covered with
blood from fingers to elbows. He
straightened up and looked over his shoulder towards an obviously still dazed
Captain Blue.
“Ian…” the Spectrum
officer murmured, shaking his head in desolation. “My God… Why… why did you
have to do this?”
“I had to avenge the
doctor…” Ian gasped. “The doctor… he killed your friend to give
his son’s his heart… I was there. I saw it all.” He half-turned and Blue’s eyes opened wide with utter and
complete horror. “He didn't deserve
your friend’s heart. So I took it
back.”
He let go of the bloody
object he was holding in his left hand, and let it drop to the blood-covered
floor. Blue couldn’t detach his
horrified eyes from it.
It was a human heart.
His friend’s heart, Blue considered
dejectedly, which had been taken from its rightful owner and put into the chest
of a mad assassin. And then torn from
within that murderer’s open chest, crudely cut out, he was sure, by a man who
had obviously lost what little was left of his mind in his mad hunger for
vengeance.
Paul’s heart. Totally useless now…
Or perhaps…
A wild inspiration
suddenly started to form in Blue’s mind.
If it is
Paul’s heart… then maybe it CAN’T be completely lost, right?
Blue swiftly removed
his colour-coded vest and used it to delicately envelop and, then very
carefully pick up the unbeating heart from the floor.
‘We were hoping to find Scarlet’s heart…
and then put it back where it rightfully belongs.’
Those were Colonel
White’s words to him earlier.
Scarlet was still in a
coma on Cloudbase, and Doctor Fawn had thought that maybe – just maybe – giving
him back his heart, if they were to find it before it was put inside the body
of another person – might actually help him to recover. Blue had the heart now – although it was
probably badly damaged by Ian’s manhandling; but if it was Paul’s heart, then
perhaps it would still do its usual trick on its rightful owner. The way it seemingly
had done with that despicable Francis Vincent.
Blue just hoped it would work.
He barely took notice
of the sound of rushing footsteps, as he contacted Cloudbase to inform the
colonel of the latest developments – and to tell him of his precious load, that
he was now holding against his own fast-beating heart.
Captain Scarlet slowly
opened his eyes.
Once again, there was
the familiar sight of the high ceiling of sickbay welcoming him, and the
omnipresent sound of the monitor over his head.
But this time, he could
hear that the beeping was different; and he felt different too. Much better
than he had been lately. There was nothing rasping his dry throat anymore, and
he could swallow freely. He could
breathe… on his own. So he took a deep
breath.
That damned ‘coffin’ in
which his body had been imprisoned for so many long hours, was gone too.
Tentatively, he lifted his hand – and touched his chest.
His fingers encountered
bare, smooth skin, without any scars at all.
He put his hand flat on his chest; underneath it, he could feel a comfortable,
familiar pounding.
His own heart; beating
strongly, regularly, like the heart of a man in perfect health and physical
condition.
He was back.
He was whole again.
“Hi, handsome.” The voice
made him look round and he saw her standing by his side, waiting patiently.
Rhapsody. Her face now calm, smiling, and not as worried as he remembered
having seen it recently. She looked
relieved, happy, if a little tired.
“Hi,” he whispered in
answer. His voice didn’t sound like his own.
His throat was so dry. He
managed a weak smile, to which she answered with a smile of her own. She leaned over him and kissed him.
“We missed you so
much,” she whispered back, leaving his lips, but staying close to him.
Scarlet answered with a
nod. “I missed you too, Angel.” He frowned deeply, as he looked deep into
her eyes. “Was it all a dream?” he asked.
She smiled again. “A
nightmare,” she answered simply, taking his hand and holding it in hers,
between both their chests. “An awful
nightmare – from which you have awakened at last.”
“I’m thirsty,” he said,
his voice still hoarse.
Rhapsody nodded,
understanding that he needed water to relieve his aching throat. She made a move to stand up to get him some,
but he held on to her hand, refusing to let her go and she turned an inquiring
look at him. “Later,” he said, smiling again, before drawing her closer for a
tender kiss.
She couldn’t refuse
him.
“How long have you
known?”
Captain Blue was
standing in the observation room with Colonel White, both of them watching as
Captain Scarlet and Rhapsody Angel were exchanging their tender kiss. The Spectrum commander turned away from the
scene, and faced his junior officer; the young man’s face was drawn, and he
looked weary. White could see he still
had not shaved that morning.
“Rather a long time,”
White answered quietly. “I admit they did a better job at hiding their
relationship than you and Symphony Angel did, but…” He smiled a little wickedly, and glanced over his shoulder
towards the couple beyond the glass. “…
still I believe it was obvious. Don’t
you think?”
Blue’s brow furrowed.
“They’ll be annoyed to find out you know,” he said. “They think they have
fooled you.”
“Like you did?” White replied, with a raised brow. “Perhaps for a time they did. But do you really believe I can’t be aware
of anything that’s happening on this base, Captain?”
“Obviously, you know
everything, sir,” Blue said with a faint smile. “What are your intentions,
then?”
“That’s none of your
business.” White considered this a moment. His tone softened a little. “I
forbid you to tell them you know any of this, do you hear me, Captain?”
Blue’s smile
widened. “Loud and clear, sir. I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of the
chance of telling them yourself.”
“At the risk of seeing
my support for your upcoming wedding disappear in smoke, no…” White tilted his head to the side, looking
closely at the younger man. “How are
you feeling?”
“Sir?”
“You look like
something the cat just dragged in. You should get some rest. You have not slept
for two days.”
“I couldn’t, sir,” Blue answered morosely. “Not as long as
Scarlet was in that state. Not as long
as his… ‘murderers’ were on the run.” He turned towards the large window. Rhapsody, who had left Scarlet’s side
momentarily, was returning with a glass of water. “But now that those guys have
been found, and that Scarlet’s condition has improved, I should get some rest,
yes.”
“This mission was not
an easy one for you,” White considered.
Blue heaved a deep sigh
and turned back to his commander. “No, I guess it was not, sir.”
“When you found
Scarlet’s body, two days ago, exactly what went through your mind?”
“I…” Blue lowered his head. “I wanted to get those men, Colonel,” he
said truthfully. “Those guys who did this to Scarlet… to my friend. I wanted to
get them – well, Vincent, at the very least –
so badly… you can’t imagine how
much.”
“Oh, I can imagine,”
White said, nodding. “Don’t you think
the same thought ran through my mind, Captain?”
Blue hesitated. “I…
guess so, sir.”
“You wanted revenge,
then?”
“At first,” Blue
conceded. “Yes, I wanted to kill the
bastards responsible for that gruesome murder. I had to fight myself every step
of the way. I… might have killed
Vincent myself if I had followed my first instinct.”
“But you didn’t,” White
remarked. “Although, you would have been justified in killing him – or even Ian
McPhee for that matter – you didn’t do it.”
“McPhee is just a poor,
dumb soul,” Blue retorted. “He was
barely responsible for his own acts, let alone those the Vincents asked him to
do on their behalf.”
White nodded. “A poor
soul, indeed,” he agreed. “He was
another of those subjects the British Army used years ago, during those same
tests that were performed on Vincent.
Except the results, even though disastrous, were not quite the same for
him as they were for Vincent.”
“They might have
enhanced his strength, obviously, but they also nearly destroyed his mind,”
Blue commented. “Doctor Vincent took pity on him after that, I guess, and took
him under his wing. I still can’t
figure out how he knew where to find Vincent, to kill him.”
“My guess is that he
might have heard Vincent talk about Terence with either his father or
Ellsworth. Vincent probably learned
from Ellsworth that Terence was now at the Universal Secret Service. Whether it
was part of the deal between them, we will never know… Anyway – our investigators found that after
escaping from us, McPhee took a cab and, quite simply, asked the driver to take
him to the USS building. He probably just waited there, for Vincent to appear –
and appear he did, eventually.”
“And then, Ian took his
revenge,” Blue murmured. “I guess you
might consider that I was no better than the Vincents, for having used him,
though.”
“Oh? What do you mean?” White asked with curiosity.
“I stood by and watched
as McPhee killed Vincent,” Blue explained.
“Maybe I could have stopped him…”
“You were concussed,
Captain. There was little you could do.
McPhee could have turned against you with that scalpel. In the state you were in at the time, you
would have been easy prey for him. I
have no doubt that you did what was right during this whole mission. So you
need feel no guilt whatsoever for your handling of the situation.”
“S.I.G., Sir,” Blue muttered. “If you say so… I must
admit, having witnessed what Ian did, and having seen Vincent’s handiwork – all
that in the name of revenge… it was rather an ugly sight. I’m sure glad I didn’t
follow the same path.”
White nodded slowly.
“You know, I sometimes had some concern that your obvious… closeness, the
friendship you share with Captain Scarlet might at some point hinder your
judgement – and your work, at the same time.
But the fact that you didn’t let yourself be consumed by vengeance
during this mission, to avenge your best friend, is proof enough that my
decision to keep you as a team…” he
smiled, “…was the best decision I could ever make.”
“Sir,” Blue
acknowledged, smiling in turn.
“Now, get back to your
quarters, Captain,” White continued, turning to the observation window. “Have a
shower, a shave, something to eat and get to bed. And not necessarily in that order. I’m signing you off duty for
the next forty-eight hours.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Go on, then. Get out of here.” White heard Blue’s footsteps departing, and then the sliding of
the door as the American officer left. “And no detour to the Amber Room!” he called
over his shoulder. He heard the door sliding closed. “At least not for tonight,” White added under his breath,
imagining that his last order would make no difference to what Captain Blue
would actually be willing to do.
“Did I miss anything?”
a new voice asked.
White didn’t turn to
welcome the newcomer; he shrugged dismissively at the question. “Nothing much, Doctor,” he answered
quietly. “Their behaviour has been very
proper up until now…”
“Oh, very funny,
Charles!” White smirked and turned to
face Doctor Fawn who came to stand by him.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” The physician jerked his thumb towards the closed door behind
them. “I meant your conversation with
Captain Blue, just now.”
“Doctor, with the
greatest respect…”
“Here we go…”
“… Whatever the content
of the conversation between Captain Blue and I might be, it is strictly
confidential.”
“… I knew you would say
that,” Fawn said, rolling his eyes.
“But should it concern his physical condition…?”
White slowly nodded.
“He’s fine, don’t worry. He’s a good officer, and an even better man. I just
ordered him to get some rest. After this outlandish affair, he certainly needs
it.”
“He’ll have nightmares
for days,” Fawn mused. “And probably
Ochre and Green as well, after seeing the empty hole in Scarlet’s chest. Nobody
could really blame them.”
White raised a brow.
“Well, then, if it should be the case, it’ll become your department, Edward. I
already signed Green off duty, in any case.
He’s going to visit his family
on the next shuttle.”
“Splendid. That’ll be good for the kid. And Captain Ochre?”
“He’ll be in New York
with Captain Magenta until after Halloween.”
“That’s good. You’re a very considerate commander,
Charles.”
“In this particular
case, I was rather acting on a survival instinct,” White replied coolly. “I am
not particularly keen on having Captain Ochre around the base, on a day where
Americans are much too happy to play ‘trick or treat’ on their acquaintances. And considering Captain
Ochre’s usual penchant…” White’s voice trailed off as he pictured quite vividly
in his mind what kind of pranks Cloudbase’s resident trickster could get up to
when given the chance. “Well, let’s just say that I don’t want to give him the
opportunity to ‘let off steam’, after what happened.”
“Point taken,” Fawn
said with a broad, amused smile. He looked through the window, towards Scarlet
and Rhapsody. They seemed engaged in
conversation, but of course, neither he nor Colonel White could hear a word of
what they were saying. “How about those
two?” the doctor asked quietly.
“Mmm… We’d better leave them be, for the time
being,” White answered. “I cannot send
them both on furlough
without them suspecting that I know all about their… em… secret relationship, can I?”
Fawn shook his head.
“You can always grant furlough to Rhapsody,” he commented innocently, “while I can sign Scarlet off
duty for a few days. That should do the trick nicely.”
“As always, you have
answers to every problem, Doctor.”
“Not all of them.” Fawn marked a
thoughtful pause. “I still have a lot to learn about retrometabolism, for
example,” he added. “I felt so inept during this latest affair… I would not like a similar situation to
present itself again. Not any time soon, anyway.”
“I think I can
understand your concern, Doctor,” White concurred. “This time around all ended
well, but next time… we might not get
the same result.”
“Did you tell Blue?”
Fawn asked pointedly.
“Concerning that last
report of yours?” White replied. “That, even before you put that damaged heart
of his back into Scarlet’s chest, his retrometabolism was already starting to
show signs of – apparently – growing a new heart?” It was his turn to shake his head. “No, I didn’t. Because there
was no real, conclusive evidence that it was actually what was happening. What if you were mistaken?”
“What if I was not?”
Fawn retorted. “Colonel, you know that this power of his
is amazing… If it was actually growing
him a new heart –”
“… And if it was, how
long would it have taken?” White
interrupted.
Fawn shrugged,
admitting his ignorance on the subject. “Hell if I know,” he muttered. “He had
already been in sickbay for two days,
without any apparent sign of healing that particular wound… It could have taken him days more… weeks…”
“Perhaps months?” White
finished.
“I don’t think it could
have taken quite that long, but who knows, really? The only thing I am certain about at this point is that when I
put that heart where it belonged… the
full retrometabolism process kicked in. I almost didn’t need to reattach it
properly, everything worked itself out with hardly any help from me. And barely
a few hours later…” Fawn gestured
towards the window. “Well, you now see
the results.”
“So I see,” White said.
Thoughtfully, he stroked his chin. “And
how about Francis Vincent?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. “How is it
that a transplant of Scarlet’s heart into that miserable criminal’s chest
apparently gave him the power of retrometabolism?”
“That, Colonel, remains
a mystery,” Fawn declared, sighing. “It was Scarlet’s heart, after all, and
perhaps even separated from the body to which it belonged, it still retained some
retrometabolic power of its own? We will have to do further research, further
tests, to try to decipher the mystery behind that peculiar phenomenon. Scarlet won’t appreciate me taking more of
his blood for those tests.”
“And Vincent’s body?”
asked White.
“It’s in Spectrum HQ
London,” Fawn answered. “To be shipped to our Atlanta research facility, as
soon as possible. Since Scarlet’s heart has been removed from its chest, the
body has showed no further sign of retrometabolism… the source of that power
now being gone.”
“I am rather glad that
he is dead,” White said grimly. “He was a nasty piece of work, going on a
killing spree like that, just out of revenge. Commander Terence will survive,
but apparently, he might have been crippled in that attack. He was very lucky.”
“More so than he
deserves, I believe,” Fawn sourly remarked. “If he had not participated in
those tests all those years ago… perhaps a Francis Vincent would not have been
created.”
“Terence isn’t such a
bad man,” White answered. “Misguided, during those dark times in Britain,
perhaps, like so many other young men his age.
And he did
try
to stop those tests, and made amends after the Militarist regime fell. As for Vincent… I think the man was already a rotten apple, to begin with. And a man like that with the power of retrometabolism – and I
don’t mean a Mysteron, bound to do his masters’ work – that was a rather frightening thought.”
“I can only agree with
that, Colonel.” Fawn was still looking
through the window, towards the young couple on the other side. “Fortunately, the man who presently holds
this power is a decent one.”
“One of the best,”
White concurred with a nod. He smiled, seeing Scarlet and Rhapsody kissing –
again – and then frowned. “Do you think
they know we’re watching them?”
“Naaa,” Fawn said, shaking his head
dismissively. “They couldn’t know. Scarlet knows of this observation bay of
course… but he believes we would not use it injudiciously. He trusts us enough to respect his privacy,”
he said, raising a mocking brow. “He would never imagine his commander playing
peeping-tom at him.”
“Ahem. I see your point, Edward.” White turned to the doctor, smiling
widely. “They don’t need us indeed. Care for a cup of coffee?”
“Tea for me,” Fawn answered with a smile of
his own. “It’s been a long night, and I will go to bed straight after
that. And I expect I will be sleeping…
for twenty-four hours straight.”
White softly laughed,
as they both walked towards the exit. “Barring any emergency, Doctor – I should
be able to let you have your rest. You
have certainly earned it.”
In London Spectrum HQ, Doctor Lilian Bray
was fighting the cold of the morgue by drinking her own cup of very strong and very hot coffee, while making a last
check on the dead body in the wooden box on the table in the middle of the
room. The body was very pale, nearly
white, partly because it had lost most of its blood at the time of its death;
the wide hole in the middle of his chest was particularly horrifying to look
at, but Bray had seen enough corpses in her time not to find herself overly
impressed by such things. The eyes and mouth had been closed and looking at the
face only, despite its pallor, the dead man could have appeared as if he were sleeping.
Bray took some last notes on her pad.
Male, Caucasian, forty-five years, approximately… She sighed deeply. He
wasn’t a bad-looking man; quite the contrary.
Perhaps a little thin, but aside from that… She lifted an eyelid..
Blue eyes…
Good-looking chap
indeed. what a shame…
“Okay, boys,” Bray told the two men
standing at each end of the table, waiting for her orders. “You can close the lid now. They’ll be waiting for it in the States.”
She stepped back as the two men shut the
box containing the dead body. Bray took a single note on her pad, before
closing it.
Strange, she told herself, and she
turned around to leave the morgue. The
skin was still supple, despite the body having been dead for more than a day.
She shrugged dismissively. That would be
a mystery for the Atlanta research facility to elucidate. She had no time for that.
Beside, it wasn’t part of her remit…
She walked out through the door, giving
no more thought to the subject.
____________________________________________
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
This story used characters from the TV series “Captain
Scarlet and the Mysterons” ©, is the creation of Gerry Anderson and Sylvia
Anderson, and the rights of the series,
once owned by Century 21, ITC/Polygram and now by Carlton International. The ‘British Militarist regime’, mentioned
in this story has been inspired by official (or semi-official, depending of
your acceptance of those facts) information taken from Century 21
materials, as was the Universal Secret
Service. Other events and characters,
created for this story, are my own.
I wish to thank Hazel Köhler for her tremendous patience and her
ever-helping beta-reading of this story.
Any mistakes and omissions you might find are my own and only
fault. I’m also expending those thanks to all those who
encouraged me into writing this story, when my resolve wavered and I thought I
wouldn’t actually succeed in making it in time for this year’s Halloween! So, to Mary J. Rudy, Caroline Smith, Marion
Woods, Siobhan Zettler, Connie G., aka ‘Luvmylops’, and (again Hazel), thank
you very much for your kind words, ladies!
I hope you enjoyed this story.
Any comments? Send an E-MAIL to the SPECTRUM
HEADQUARTERS site