In many ways Colin was the most insignificant of his brothers. He had never had David's intellectual ability, nor Richard's sporting prowess, and Ian was the only one to have inherited their father's musical talent. The school had been very proud of the McArthur boys, and each teacher had their own particular favourite. Colin was nobody's favourite. But there were compensations to being slightly anonymous.
Of course, anonymity isn't entirely an option when you're the brother of an olympic athlete, a concert pianist, and an international statesman. Every few years Colin's true identity would become known to enough friends and acquaintances that he felt the need to move on. It was tough on his wife, and even tougher on his two children, so these days he tolerated a lot more local fame than he used to. On the other hand, every time they moved he landed an even better job than the last one, and the absolute perfect house always seemed to appear on the market the morning they started looking. Sometimes Colin wondered whether David was secretly pulling strings for him.
"I'm telling you, David", exclaimed Colin on one of the few occasions the brothers met, "somebody powerful is looking after me. If it isn't you I want to know who it is!"
"Oh come, now, Colin," retorted David. "I'll grant you do often seem to be in the right place at the right time, but you always have. It's your own instinct that does it, and your natural charm that makes any place the right place and any time the right time."
"I used to think so myself," Colin said, "but I've just been offered another promotion by someone I'm sure I've never met before."
Just then they were interrupted by a hearty yell of "Ambassador!". A portly gentleman approached from across the room. "David, my friend," he continued, "what a fortuitous coincidence that I should find you here!"
"Your excellence," David replied with a bow, "it's good to see you so full of the joys of Spring. I hear your troublesome neighbours are keeping quiet?"
"For the moment, David, for the moment," the newcomer observed, raising a finger in a sign of caution.
"May I introduce my brother, Colin," the ambassador continued. "Colin, this is His Excellence Count Theobald of Lokantia, one of our most esteemed allies."
"Ah! Colin!", exclaimed the Count, proffering his hand. "Are you the sportsman or the musician?"
"Neither, I'm afraid," Colin replied. "I'm the black sheep of the family."
"He's too modest," David said, "Colin is the quiet stalwart that keeps the family running."
"I don't doubt it," chuckled the Count. "Without the Colins of this world all our efforts would count for nothing. Ha! Count! Haha! Now, David, about those neighbours of mine..." The Count clapped David on the shoulder and drew him away into a private conversation.
Some weeks later, Colin boarded a transport for a business conference in Reknaburg, near the border of Lokantia and Dengardia. Before his brief meeting with the Count he hadn't even known where Lokantia was, but within days it had become the company's next big market.
He picked up a news sheet to read during the journey, but there was little of interest. It was the day's first edition. Only much later did he learn that the second edition carried a story about his destination, and a government statement advising Satralish citizens not to go there.
On arrival he checked in to his hotel as usual. He had a feeling of unease, and a sense that all was not well, but since he didn't speak the local dialect he could not work out why. Having unpacked as much as he felt appropriate, he took a street map of Reknaburg and left the hotel for an evening stroll. The fresh air would no doubt clear his head, as it usually did.
It was at about the furthest point of his planned route that Colin encountered a man with a machine gun. He had barely had time to register this when a series of clicks from behind told him he was surrounded. He knew he could not escape, nor fight his way out, so he raised both hands in surrender. A voice behind barked out a question in the local dialect.
"I'm sorry," Colin pleaded, "I don't understand. I'm only a visiting businessman, please don't shoot me."
The men surrounding Colin engaged in a brief discussion, none of which Colin understood. One of them beckoned him to enter a building on his left. He obeyed meekly, following the guidance of prods and shouts from behind. Soon he found himself in a small, unlit room in the cellar, with the door locked behind him.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw another man in the room. The man looked strangely familiar, and eyed Colin in a way which suggested the feeling was mutual. He was sat on a small bench, the only furniture in the room. He said something in the local dialect.
"I'm sorry," Colin responded, "I don't understand."
"Oh, you are Satralish!" the man said. "I am most humbly sorry that you have become embroiled in this. My people and yours are long standing allies, but this should not have made you an enemy of our troublesome neighbours."
Suddenly Colin recognised his cell-mate. He went over and sat next to him.
"Count Theobald?" said Colin. The Count nodded. "We met a few weeks back at a concert, but you probably don't remember me. My name is..."
A look of surprise crossed the Count's face, and he clasped his hand over Colin's mouth.
"You are Ambassador McArthur's brother!" whispered the Count. "Colin, isn't it?" Colin nodded. "Do our captors know this?" Colin shook his head. "Do not let them!" The Count finally removed his hand.
"What's going on?" asked Colin.
"There has been... a small insurgence. The Dengardians have taken me hostage. Whether they have made demands of our King yet I do not know, this has all happened only today. I fear we can only wait the situation out, and see how it develops."
The two men sat quietly for some time. Colin could think of no pertinent questions to ask. He wished he had David's mind. In his head he asked himself a string of "what if?" questions, but he felt sure they were the wrong ones. Occasionally he thought of one that seemed worth voicing, but the Count's answers were not encouraging. Eventually he raised the question that had been nagging him.
"Your Excellence," he began, "if the demands are unreasonable, and your King will not accept them, will we be killed?"
The Count seemed to consider this for some time before responding. "Probably," he said. "It is possible my people would attempt to rescue us, but I find it unlikely."
"Why is it unlikely?" Colin asked.
"Because they do not know where we are. Not exactly, anyway. I'm sure you've seen films where the hero kills all the villains and saves the hostages, without hurting any innocent civilians. Well it doesn't really work like that."
"I never thought it did," Colin said. "I don't suppose the technology they have really exists."
"Oh certainly we have much of the technology such films depict," the Count replied, "but not the... what is the phrase... 'Intelligence'? My people could probably rescue us right now, if only they knew exactly where we are. But I was brought here blindfold, even I don't know where we are."
Colin gulped. He put his hand on the small satchel he was still carrying. It should have been taken from him, but it hadn't. Quietly he opened it and removed the street map. He placed a finger on the point he knew he had reached on his walk. Thinking over the details of his capture, he worked out precisely the building he had been taken into.
"We're here," he whispered, showing the map to the Count.
The Count was clearly taken aback. For a moment his face lit up with the hope of rescue. Then he slumped again.
"Ah, so close," he said. "Colin, you are magnificent, but it is not enough that I know. I cannot tell my people."
Again Colin reached into his satchel. He handed the Count his mobile telephone.
The story of Count Theobold's rescue became a legend in diplomatic circles. The tale was told for many years of the Satrali secret agent who located him by sheer cunning, and of the hidden transmitter that he smuggled in past the kidnappers' security.
Colin decided he liked that version.