Chapter Text
Lost in the middle of the desert, the San Miguel Bridge spanned a ravine with steep walls and towered over the Rio Almar. The river, whose powerful waters had flowed majestically only a few weeks earlier, was now little more than a lazy stream winding its way through the valley. The water struggled to slip between stones laid bare by the drought. The few animals brave enough to face the midday sun still ventured down to drink and enjoy its coolness before the river dried up for the rest of the season. They scattered, however, when a terrible roar echoed through the valley.
On the San Miguel Bridge, a red sports car stood motionless in the middle of the roadway, its engine growling angrily. The two men seated in front shouted a few words, drowned out by the noise of the car. Moments later, they sped away, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.
Perched on one of the beams recently fixed to the bridge, Alan Tracy watched, his face grim. Leaning against the bridge’s support pillar, his grandmother looked up at him anxiously.
“What are we going to do, Alan?”
The young man did not answer right away. He kept his eyes fixed on the car—his car—until it disappeared from the bridge. He clenched his fists, struggling to contain his rage, then muttered a curse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his grandmother make a move as if to straighten up.
“Don’t move, Grandma. Whatever you do, don’t move.”
He risked a glance at the small device placed between them. If he focused, he could almost feel it vibrating. Its various sensors—a series of antennas rising from the top of the casing—buzzed ominously.
“I don’t understand. How can that little object there be so fragile?”
“It’s a detonator,” Alan replied sombrely. “It’s so sensitive that the slightest move could set off the bomb beneath the bridge.”
His grandmother’s eyes widened as she studied the device fixed to the beam. Despite her efforts, fear was clearly written on her face. Alan tried to force a reassuring smile, which quickly turned into a grimace. His cheek still ached from the punch Gillespie had landed on him.
“What time do you think it is?” Grandma asked.
“Close to noon, judging by the sun.”
Alan had done the math earlier. Their captors had warned them that the bomb would explode at one o’clock, unless the motion detector triggered it sooner.
“Virgil must be on his way to pick us up at the meeting point,” Grandma added after a moment.
Alan nodded. His brother must already have left Tracy Island to come get them. When he failed to find them at the designated coordinates, he would surely begin searching. Alan feared, however, that Virgil might not arrive in time to save them from the explosion. No one would think to look for them on this bridge.
“I’m starting to feel terribly hot,” Grandma whispered.
More than the bomb, it was the sun and the suffocating desert heat they had to fear most. It would claim them long before the bomb detonated: they would lose consciousness from the heat, inadvertently triggering the detonator. Alan felt the sun burning his back and neck; but the worst was yet to come. The longer they waited, the greater the risk became. He had to try something.
He began to move his left arm very slowly, not taking his eyes off the ultra-sensitive detector.
“What are you doing?” Grandma worried when she noticed that he was moving.
“I’ll try to use my transmitter.”
“Be careful, my boy. You know what they told us: if we cause ultrasonic interference, the charge will explode, and so will we!”
“I know, I know,” Alan said impatiently.
Inch by inch, he managed to bring his watch close enough to his face to activate the voice command on his communicator. He sent out his distress call without wasting a moment, praying the signals wouldn’t interfere with the motion detector.
*
On Tracy Island, Jeff was alone in the lounge when Alan’s call came through. He was waiting for news from John and Gordon, who were overseeing the rescue of a team trapped aboard an oil platform in the Atlantic. Absorbed in sorting through reports from their latest operations, he barely heard Alan’s voice:
“… Can anyone hear me?”
The urgency in Alan’s voice made Jeff look up from his reports. Activating the lounge communicator from the control panel on his desk, he answered at once:
“Go ahead, Alan.”
The portrait on the wall was replaced by Alan’s real face. The youngest of the Tracys seemed relieved to hear his father’s voice, but fear quickly took over again.
“We’re in trouble, Dad. Big trouble.”
“Where’s Grandma? Is she alright?”
“She’s with me. For now, she’s fine,” Alan reassured him. “I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but we’re stuck on a bridge and we can’t move.”
Alan bit his tongue, cursing his sudden inability to explain himself clearly. Why couldn’t he simply describe the situation to his father? Why had it suddenly become so difficult? They had no time to waste! The image of his car disappearing into the distance and the anxious look his grandmother had given him provided the answer. He was ashamed, far too ashamed of how events had unfolded.
Alarmed by Alan’s unusual nervousness, Jeff triggered the emergency signal without hesitation. The alarm echoed throughout the villa. On-screen, Alan took several deep breaths before explaining the situation they were in.
“As long as we don’t make any sudden movements, everything should be fine. But you must get here before the heat knocks us out,” the young man insisted.
“Understood. Scott and Virgil are on their way, be patient. They’ll be there in time.”
Alan gave a barely perceptible nod, and Jeff offered him a reassuring smile before cutting the transmission. His smile vanished as soon as the image disappeared, replaced by the tense furrow creasing his brow. He rose quickly from his chair and was about to go find his sons when they appeared at the end of the corridor, pool cues in hand. They had interrupted their game when they saw the emergency signal light up.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Scott asked.
“It’s Alan. Take off immediately with the pod one. I’ll give you course and all details when you’re airborne,” Jeff slipped back behind his desk to coordinate the operation. “And if you want to save Grandma and your brother, move fast!”
Scott and Virgil needed no further urging and practically sprinted toward the walkways leading to their respective craft. Meanwhile, Jeff reactivated his communicator and contacted the laboratory:
“Brains!” he called out, certain to find the scientist in his workshop. Brains appeared on the screen, tools in hand. Jeff cut him off before he even had time to speak. “You’re leaving immediately aboard number two. I’ll explain on the way.”
“Very well, Mr. Tracy.” The scientist said once his surprise had passed.
Brains ended the call and hurried off to join Virgil.
In the lounge, Jeff stepped out onto the villa’s balcony to watch the two craft depart. He leaned against the railing to follow the launch of Thunderbird 1. The rocket plane burst out of the hangar hidden beneath the swimming pool in a thunderous roar, slicing through the sky and vanishing rapidly into the distance. Jeff barely noticed Tin-Tin coming up behind him to watch the departures as well. She had just finished updating Thunderbird 3’s systems when Alan had called.
“What’s the situation, Mr. Tracy?” She asked, meeting his gaze.
Below them, Thunderbird 2 rolled to the end of the runway and came to a stop on the launch ramp. Jeff tightened his grip on the balustrade. Without taking his eyes off Number Two, he quickly explained the situation. Tin-Tin’s worried exclamation was soon drowned out by the roar of Thunderbird 2’s engines. The craft lifted off and left the island in turn.
“How long do you think it will take them to reach them?”
“An hour, maybe less at this speed,” Jeff pondered as he stepped back inside.
Selecting one of the screens behind his desk, he did a quick search to bring up a map of the San Miguel region. Any information they could gather would be vital if they wanted the operation to succeed.
“This is the bridge.” Jeff indicated after a few seconds. “That’s where they are.”
Tin-Tin moved closer to the screen and studied the map in turn.
“But it’s in the middle of the desert!”
“Yes,” Jeff replied grimly. Beside him, the young woman mentally calculated how long Alan and Grandma might be able to hold out; the result only seemed to deepen her concern. Meanwhile, Jeff continued scanning the regional data. Another article drew a frustrated growl from him. “On top of that, the bridge has been closed to traffic for another two months. The people who did this must have known.”
“What time is the bomb set to go off?”
“About one o’clock in the afternoon, according to Alan. There is something else: an ultra-sensitive receiver connected to the charge has been installed on the deck. If it detects the slightest movement, it will trigger the explosion.”
Jeff sank back into his chair. He brusquely pushed aside the papers cluttering his desk.
“I’ll take care of our action plan. Can you pass all this information on to Scott and Virgil?”
“Yes, Mr. Tracy.”
**
On the San Miguel Bridge, Alan had not dared to lower his arm. He already considered himself lucky that the sensors had not detected his movements; he had no intention of tempting fate a second time. The position was far from comfortable, but he had no choice. Not to mention that his father would surely try to contact him again. Alan had to be ready to guide his brothers—he only hoped he would still be alert when they arrived.
Half an hour had already passed since they had reached the bridge, and his back was burning painfully. The worst was probably his neck: completely exposed to the sun, he could almost feel his skin reddening, as if it were being heated white-hot. He was sweating heavily under the oppressive heat. Despite being used to the tropical climate of Tracy Island and having spent several summers in the region with Grandma, he was soaked through his T-shirt and overshirt. He blinked frequently, trying to clear away the beads of sweat that flowed from his brow.
He glanced toward his grandmother. Even though she was shielded by her hat, her face was already bright red. Alan grimaced, realizing his own must look much the same. Exposed to the sun as they were, they would be lucky to get away with nothing more than a few burns.
“They’re on their way,” Alan said, meeting her gaze.
His grandmother seemed to struggle to keep her eyes open.
“Do you know what worries me, Alan?” she murmured in a barely audible voice. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to withstand heat like this for very long.”
“You have to, Grandma!” Alan replied, alarmed by the resignation in her voice. “Try to hold on. It won’t be much longer.”
“I’ll try... But it will be very difficult...”
She lost consciousness before she could finish the sentence. Her head fell back, and Alan’s heart nearly stopped when he saw her slump. Fortunately, the pillar behind her kept her seated on the bridge. He still cast a glance at the detector placed between them. If she slipped any further, she could fall from the bridge and trigger the bomb.
“Grandma! Grandma!”
The despair in his voice changed nothing; all he could do was watch over her helplessly, silently praying that his brothers would arrive as quickly as possible.
***
“Do you think they’ll be able to hold out much longer?” Virgil asked Tin-Tin as she finished relaying the information Alan had given them.
The young woman’s brief silence did not escape him, and he exchanged a glance with Brains.
“I hope so, but the sun is extremely harsh in that region,” she replied in a low voice.
“They have to hold on,” Scott cut in from Thunderbird 1, unknowingly preventing Brains from sharing his survival estimates for Alan and Grandma in the desert. “And we have to do everything we can to get there in time.”
“How’s it going, Scott?” Virgil asked.
“Good for now. My speed is steady. I’m on heading two-six-three.”
“Two-six-three, understood.”
Virgil adjusted his craft’s trajectory before pushing Thunderbird 2’s engines to full power.
“Tin-Tin, I’ll be over the operation zone in about ten minutes,” Scott concluded. “Contact Alan and try to find out how they’re doing, please.”
To everyone’s surprise, it was Jeff’s voice that came over the radio.
“I’ll call Alan. I’m keeping the line open between the four of us,” he switched the call to Alan’s communicator. “Calling San Miguel… Alan, do you read me? How are you?”
“Not very well,” Alan finally replied. He struggled to form his words. “Grandma passed out.”
“She fainted?!”
“For now, everything’s all right, she’s not in danger. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold either… I’m already feeling numb.”
From his desk, Jeff looked at his son’s face with growing concern.
“Try to hang on, Alan. Your brothers will be there soon.”
“Yes, I’m trying... but... It’s so hot on this bridge...”
“Alan, listen to me,” Tin-Tin called out as she saw him sway dangerously. She leaned closer to the microphone to be sure he could hear her. “Focus. Don’t give up, please!”
Her voice broke, and the end of her sentence was swallowed by Alan’s silence.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, Alan,” Jeff said. “You hear me clearly, I hope?”
Eyes half-closed, Alan didn’t react.
“Alan, can you hear me?” his father insisted.
“Yes...”
“Try to understand this carefully: you need to be able to speak when your brothers are close to you, all right?”
“Yes, Dad.” Alan whispered.
“Good. Now you’re going to tell us what led you to that bridge. I want the whole story in detail, from the beginning. Do you understand?”
“The whole story in detail...” Alan repeated, clearly focusing on his father’s instructions. “Got to keep on talking.”
“That’s it. Go ahead, Alan. We are listening. Tell us what happened,” Jeff encouraged him.
“All right, Dad... It all started the day we left for the Parola race. Everything was going fine; nothing suggested the trouble that was coming...”