CATASTROPHE by BOOMERCAT RATED FRPT

When disaster befalls International Rescue, the Tracy family struggles to survive.

Chapter One: Silence In Space

Former astronaut and industrialist Jeff Tracy sat at his desk in the living room of his palatial estate on his private island. He was reading the business section of one of the many newsweeklies that he subscribed to. The sounds of his two youngest sons playfully arguing over a video game was background noise to be ignored along with the piano practice of his middle son. As with any father, Jeff could tune out his boisterous boys when he needed.

The room itself was the epitome of modern wealth, but the elegantly tasteful trappings covered the secret life led by Jeff and his five adult sons. Large masterful paintings of each of his sons lined one wall. Visitors to the home often commented on the quality of the likenesses. Jeff would proudly mention that his second oldest, Virgil, had painted each portrait. To the casual eye, the paintings were not arranged in any particular order. To the far left was John, his middle boy, followed by the eldest, Scott, heir to the Tracy fortune. This was followed by Virgil then by the youngest of the clan, Alan. Gordon, Jeff's fourth son was the last of the young men pictured. An additional portrait of an elegant lady seemed somewhat out of place. To any who asked, Jeff would explain the portraits were in the order they were painted, and that the elegant woman was an old friend of the family, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward.

Those visitors would be shocked were they to see what lay beyond the wall holding the portraits, for it was just another secret of the Tracy family. In truth, the portraits concealed a sophisticated communication system. Jeff could communicate with any of his boys anywhere in the world simply by depressing a series of unobtrusive buttons on his desk.

The communications system was a necessary part of an overall design, for in truth, Jeff Tracy was the leader of a worldwide shadowy organization called International Rescue. The shadows were necessary because Jeff had long ago decided that his organization would play no favorites. Regardless of a country's standing in the world, rich or poor, beloved or reviled, people had a right to safety. When danger threatened, and no other rescue was possible, Jeff would send his own sons into peril to rescue any who needed it, regardless of their politics or race or circumstance.

To achieve this lofty goal, Jeff had committed the resources of his worldwide company, Tracy Enterprises. He had a knack for turning a profit in ways that were beneficial to mankind. Tracy Enterprises was far-flung, and truly diverse. Under the TE aegis, medical laboratories worked to find cures for the diseases that plagued mankind. TE's construction division built everything from wells in remote villages to bridges joining countries in unity. TE invested heavily in communication development based on Jeff's strong conviction that it was the lack of communication that started so many of the wars that his world suffered.

Even in those countries where 'American' was considered a dirty word, Jeff Tracy and Tracy Enterprises were held in honor. To Jeff, it was all just a way of life. He had been one the early pioneers in space, working behind the scenes of the American shuttle program. When he finally had his turn traveling to the moon, he had been profoundly moved by his view of the Earth as a fragile ark for humanity. In the silence of space, Jeff had meditated staring at the beautiful blue orb, and he had come to a decision to dedicate his life to protecting his world and all of the people on it.

Upon his return to Earth, he had left the shuttle program, feeling that despite public relations efforts, it was essentially a nationalistic program intent only on furthering the aims of the American military. At the time, he had only the three boys. Scott, a preschooler already showing signs of brilliance, Virgil toddling after the older brother he adored, and John, just beginning to crawl. His wife was pregnant again, and Jeff had hoped for her sake that the fourth time would be the charm, and his boys would have a little sister. It was hard to leave the job security of NASA and strike out on his own with his young family, but a business opportunity had come up and with the encouragement of his wife and his mother, he had grabbed for the brass ring.

It had come as something of a shock to him that he was so good at making money. In the beginning, he had considered money the root of all evil. But as his fortune increased, he realized it wasn't the money itself, but the use it was put to that caused grief. With that realization, he had thrown himself into amassing as much money as he could. Most of the profits from his business went into philanthropic ventures. His money was used to build hospitals and schools, to provide college grants and opportunities. There was no cause too small to be considered.

It had almost come crashing down when his beloved wife had died leaving him with five then young boys. Lucille had never had the daughter of her dreams, but her sons never knew of that heartache. While Gordon and Alan had no memory of their mother, the older boys only knew of her love for them. Jeff knew that they missed her still.

Now, years later, Jeff Tracy had realized his dreams. International Rescue was a reality. Each of his sons played a significant role. Scott, a natural leader, flew the supersonic TB1. Always first on the scene of disaster, Jeff relied on his eldest son's natural ability to rapidly assess a situation, acting as Jeff's onsite eyes and ears. His second boy, Virgil, flew TB2, a huge transport vehicle. Not as fast as TB1, it usually was the heart of any rescue. TB2 had interchangeable cargo pods. It was these pods that allowed the transport of an amazing array of machines tailored to deal with almost any type of rescue that could be needed. One pod, number four, was the support vehicle for TB4, a powerful miniature submarine, piloted by Gordon, one of Jeff's younger sons. His youngest, Alan, handled the space shuttle, TB3. TB3 combined the lift of a Saturn rocket, with a shuttle-like ability to maneuver in space. That maneuverability was vital because the hub of International Rescue's communication system was actually a space station manned by John Tracy, the third of Jeff's sons.

In many ways, John's job was the most important of all, for while he did not endure the physical hardship of the rescues, it was his ability to sift through literally thousands of communications and find the ones that meant IR's particular skills were needed. Much of the system was automated, but still, it was John who ultimately decided which calls to forward on to the base.

The home base of International Rescue was a tiny island in the South Pacific that Jeff had bought years earlier when the organization was still just a dream. At the time, Jeff knew what he wanted, but didn't know how to go about getting it. He needed just the right man to design and build the machines that would be at the heart of International Rescue.

He had cautiously put out feelers in the scientific community, looking for that right man. He wanted someone with vision, and courage, and the brains to make his dream a reality. The search left him discouraged and defeated. Those with the vision lacked the brains. The scientific geniuses he approached were either hidebound and lacking in imagination, or intent on their own projects.

Jeff had given up on the idea of finding someone, and instead concentrated on growing his own. Each of his boys were bright, and with his guidance, they took to the sciences like ducks to water, and developed strong backgrounds in physics and other hard sciences.

Jeff had often reflected on the irony of having found his man only after he had stopped looking for him. Tracy Island had no natural source of fresh water, a condition that made it unsuitable for the establishment of a home base. Jeff had not realized the enormity of the problem until he had started searching for a desalinization plant. It simply had not occurred to him that what he wanted was not readily available. What was available required a sizable workforce to keep it running, and Jeff had no intention of hiring that workforce.

With his usual straightforward approach, Jeff had gone directly to the CEO of the company responsible for the building of 80% of the world's desalinization plants and had been rebuffed. The CEO in question was not interested in innovation, preferring to 'stick with the tried and true'. Jeff found the attitude puzzling.

His young son, Alan, had come up with an alternative on the Internet. Alan showed Jeff a site featuring a single home desal plant. It had seemed to good to be true, more like science fiction than anything else, but Jeff was willing to try anything.

He did a little research on the website's owner, only to discover it was a teenager in a foster home. About to give it up as a hoax, Jeff took a second look. It was that look that caused the hairs to go up on the back of his neck. There was something about the kid's ideas that resonated in him.

He took a trip to Hoboken and found a very shy, stuttering young man named Hiram Hackenbacker. The teen was suspicious at first. He was used to being the butt of jokes. He was called 'Brains' by the other boys in the home, and it wasn't a compliment. Not realizing young Hiram was called Brains in the same way a fat boy would be called 'Tiny', Jeff had called him by the nickname, but with such respect that Hiram never told him how he hated it.

After a conversation lasting several hours, Jeff made an offer. If Brains would design and oversee the building of a desalinization plant, Jeff would use his connections to get Brains into MIT. The fourteen-year-old was overcome. He had long dreamed of getting the education to match his insatiable curiosity, but he knew that foster kids rarely got the chance.

Seeing the teen's response, Jeff made a second, impulsive offer. If Brains would like, Jeff would see if he could qualify as a foster father. Brains could come live with him and his own five sons. Nearly hyperventilating in his joy, Brains said yes. Jeff used his influence to make it happen, and he hadn't regretted it once.

At first Brains had been taken aback by the boisterous Tracy boys. He waited for the teasing to start. He wasn't athletic, he wore thick glasses, and he stuttered. The teasing never started. The Tracy boys were as welcoming as their father and Brains quickly found himself in the thick of things.

Jeff's belief in him caused the young genius to blossom, and before he ever started college, Brains started producing the designs that would eventually become the fabulous machines of International Rescue. When the Tracy estate was being designed, there was no question but that there would be a sixth bedroom. One close to the labs and workshops, but in no way inferior to the bedrooms of Jeff Tracy's own sons.

The move to Tracy Island took place one week after Alan Tracy graduated high school. Although Brains' desalinization plant had made the island habitable several years earlier, and in fact, the house had been designed and built, Jeff waited until all of his boys were through school. He placed a high value on the social skills that his boys learned, and he was loath to uproot them from their home until they were all old enough to make the decision themselves.

Jeff's fortune insured that each of his boys could have the start they needed to succeed in the world, but when it came time to make the final decision, each young man chose to dedicate his life to his father's dream. Jeff knew his boys were close knit. He was nonetheless surprised that not one of the five, six including Brains, ever hesitated. They all threw their lots in with International Rescue, determined to make the dream succeed.

And succeed they did. From the first appearance of International Rescue at the inaugural flight of the ill-fated Fireflash, Jeff and his boys had succeeded beyond Jeff's wildest dreams. Brains turned out designs for ever-better machines, and led by Scott, his sons proved daring, courageous and steadfast in their response to impossible situations.

Newspapers throughout the world carried stories of the bravery and expertise of International Rescue's agents. Success had brought it's own problems, though. The machines of International Rescue were so far advanced that enemies were constantly trying to capture or destroy them. Jeff often worried about one in particular, an Asian mercenary nicknamed 'The Hood'. The man had shown his ruthlessness time and again, and it was only luck, and the courage of his sons that had kept the evil man at bay.

At the moment, these memories were far from Jeff Tracy's mind. He was deep in an article describing the financial woes of a small upstart company manufacturing computer chips. Jeff knew for a fact that Brains preferred the chips from this company because of their high tolerances, and low incidence of failure. Jeff believed the company would benefit from an alliance with Tracy Enterprises.

"Father!" Jeff looked up as his son Scott came into the room, a deep frown on his face. "Dad, turn on the television, you need to see this."

Scott's determination had caught the attention of his brothers and all four gathered around the television. Jeff turned it on, and a World News team was broadcasting. The reporter intoned, "Calls to International Rescue have been to no avail, and the outlook for the miners is bleak."

"What the..." Jeff practically rose out of his seat. The scene showed a group of people gathered at a mineshaft.

"Father, those people need us. We have to get out there."

With a frown matching his eldest son's, Jeff Tracy attempted to contact TB5, the high-flying space station. "International Rescue to Thunderbird Five. Come in John." When there was no response, he tried again. And again. Giving it up, Jeff turned to his son, "All right, Scott, for some reason, John is out of contact. Get going in Thunderbird One. Virgil, you and Gordon get on down to Thunderbird Two. You'll need pod five."

All three boys responded "FAB" and moved rapidly to their respective ships. "What about me, Father?" Alan was practically jittering in anticipation of the next orders.

"All right, Alan, we need to know why John is off the air. Take Brains with you, but get whatever the problem is fixed fast. I don't like being caught flatfooted like this."

"FAB, Father." Alan headed to the couch that would take him to his ship. Jeff sat back and tried not to worry. Without the information provided by John on TB5, Scott would have to make a rapid assessment before Virgil and Gordon got there. The danger increased when the plans had to be made on the fly, and Jeff had to remind himself that Scott, though still not thirty years old, was more capable than many men twice his age.

He hoped that whatever was wrong with the communication system of Thunderbird Five could be rapidly repaired. He didn't like it when John wasn't able to call. It wasn't just for business reasons. John spent months at a time with no company other than the radio link to his father and brothers. Although his middle son was the best suited of his sons to the loneliness of the space station, Jeff knew it was John's ability to call up and chat at anytime that kept the young man from going stir-crazy.

It was during the times like this when his boys were en route to peril that Jeff Tracy most doubted himself. His dreams were important, but his sons were his life. At various times, he had come close to losing one or more of his boys, and at those times he wondered if he were mad to continue.

"Thunderbird One to base."

"Go ahead, Scott."

"I have arrived at the danger zone, Father. It looks like we are going to need the Mole."

"Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One. Scott, I heard you. Gordon is prepping the Mole right now. My ETA is eleven point five minutes."

"Good, Virg. Now, I want you to come down in the large field to the left of my position. We're going to have to drill down well away from where the miners are trapped. The reports say the air pocket they are in is in danger of collapse. We need to use the laser cutters to get close enough to free them."

"FAB, Scott."

"Scott, this is Th-Th-Thunderbird Three. The laser cutters are not safe, repeat, th-th-the laser cutters are not safe under the circumstances. The coal dust in th-th-the air could, uh, ignite and start a flash fire."

"Okay, Brains, but if the laser cutters are out, how are we going to get to those men? Like I told Virgil, we can't take the Mole too close because of the vibration, and handpicks would take too long."

"Uh, yeah, uh, I understand. I suggest you use the rotary cutters. They're slower than th-the laser cutters, but much safer."

"The rotary cutters." There was no mistaking the disdain in Scott's voice. "All right, if you say so, Brains. Virg, did you get that?"

"FAB, Scott. I'll have Gordon get the rotary cutters ready. ETA is now eight minutes."

Jeff sat listening to his sons converse. Coal mines were dirty, dangerous places. Jeff prayed that everything would go well. His servant Kyrano's daughter Tin-Tin had been listening to the last conversations and she looked up at Jeff's worried face.

"Don't worry, Mr. Tracy. I am sure that Scott has things well in hand."

Jeff sighed. "I'm sure you're right, Tin-Tin." Jeff made a conscious effort to relax. Stretching his back he yawned deeply. His pretense of calm left when the radio came alive again.

"Thunderbird Two to Base. Have reached the danger zone and will be landing in one point five minutes."

"Very good, Virgil. Be careful, son."

"FAB, Father."

He glanced over to Tin-Tin who was wearing a wry look. "All right, I admit it. I worry when the boys go out. There are far too many things that can go wrong."

"Oh, but Mr. Tracy, your sons are very, very good at what they do. Just think of all the people who wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for them."

Jeff waved her comments away. "Yes, I know, Tin-Tin, I know. You'll understand when you have children of your own."

Jeff laughed at her skeptical look. Tin-Tin was little more than a child herself, and children were far off in her future.

"Thunderbird Two to Base. We have landed, and Virgil has proceeded with the Mole. He has to go down about two hundred and fifty feet, so this is going to take awhile."

Unlike his brothers, Gordon's voice was a light tenor. Jeff always found his reports slightly disconcerting, as he sounded like a kid playing at being grownup. Jeff shook the thought away. There was nothing childlike in any of his boys. They had taken on adult responsibilities at a time when most young men their age were still in college.

"FAB Gordon." Jeff thought for a moment then put out a call. "Base to Thunderbird Three, come in Alan."

"This is Thunderbird Three. What's up, Father?"

"Can you give me an ETA on your arrival at Thunderbird Five?"

"Yes sir. We will be docking in one hour and twelve minutes."

"All right, Alan. As soon as you get there, I want a full report."

"FAB, Father."

Jeff sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. There was no reason, but he seemed to be filled with foreboding. Tin-Tin didn't comment, leaving him to his silence. Her father, Kyrano, came in and left a tray with a pot of hot coffee, then left as silently as he came.

Jeff opened his eyes when the aroma reached him. Taking a cup, he poured himself some of the hot brew. He knew Tin-Tin preferred tea, but he offered her some anyway. He was not surprised at her gentle refusal.

"Thunderbird Two to Base."

"Go ahead, Gordon."

"Father, Virgil and Scott have left the Mole. They have about a hundred feet of coal to drill through to get to the miners. Scott says the rotary cutters are working better than expected, and they think they will break through within 45 minutes."

"All right, son, keep me posted."

"Will do, Father."

Knowing that the end was in sight, Jeff let out a sigh. His back had stiffened from the tension again, and he worked his shoulders, trying to relieve some of the knots. Tin-tin noticed and came over using her strong hands to massage his neck. Jeff relaxed into the massage appreciating the young woman's talents yet again. After several minutes, Jeff felt loose and relaxed. "Thanks, Tin-Tin. You know, if the boys knew you could give back rubs like that, you'd never get any rest."

The remark was made simply, honestly. Tin-Tin was as much a part of the family as Brains, and Jeff knew his sons looked upon her as a little sister to be protected. Well, most of his sons did, anyway. Alan had been enamoured of her beauty since the day they met. That he was only five to her four at the time had never deterred his love for her.

And lately, it seemed as if his affection was being returned. Jeff suspected his mother had a hand in that. She was always quick to point out that isolated on the island as they were, she was not likely to get many opportunities for great grandchildren.

"Thunderbird Two to Base. Father, Scott and Virgil have broken through! All of the miners are still alive, but a few are injured. Scott and Virgil are leading all of the men back to the Mole right now."

"Thank God for that. Good work, Gordon. Tell your brothers I said so when they get back."

"FAB, Dad."

Jeff released a sigh of relief. International Rescue had set itself up as the rescuer of last resort. Failure to respond to even one call could have ruined all that he and the boys had worked for over the past few years. He hated to think how his sons would have reacted if the men in that mine had died because they had not gotten the call.

Jeff rested his head on the desk for a brief moment. All would be well now. Alan, Brains, and John would repair whatever fault had caused the communication lapse, and International Rescue would be up and running once again.

A short time later, Jeff was startled when two of his sons called in at the same time. "Hold on, Alan. Go ahead, Scott."

"Father, we have finished up here. Thunderbird Two has lifted off, and I will be taking off within a few moments."

"Glad to hear it, Scott. I'll see you when you arrive. Okay, Alan, go ahead."

Jeff could hear the uneasiness in his youngest son's voice. "Dad, we're within sight of Thunderbird Five. The station is completely dark. It looks like John forgot to pay the electric bill."

The joke fell flat as a sudden fear gripped Jeff's insides. How long had it been since John had been in contact? At least six hours that he knew of. He didn't want to alarm his other sons, so he didn't pose the question, although he knew the boys often called John just to talk. He swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. "All right, Alan. John has several options in a power failure. Get over there and make sure he's all right then we'll deal with the station. Oh, and Alan, keep this channel open. I want to know exactly what you see."

"FAB, Father."

Jeff felt his shoulders tense again as his youngest slowly maneuvered Thunderbird Three to the crippled station. "We're on approach for docking now, Father. Brains thinks we should stand off for the moment so we can eyeball the exterior."

"All right, Alan. Go ahead."

"Starting a circuit of the station now. Everything looks okay so far."

Jeff let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Continuing our circuit... No."

The last was said in a horrified whisper.

"Alan! Come in, Alan! What is it? What do you see?"

The young man's voice was hoarse with unshed tears as he struggled to maintain a semblance of professionalism. "Thunderbird Five has been holed. At a guess I would say it was a meteor. About the size of a basketball."

Jeff felt the blood drain from his face. "Where?"

"It went in right at the living quarters. Brains thinks if the collision alarms sounded, John might have gotten to one of the pods. He might be all right." Alan's voice was desperate with a hope that Jeff couldn't share.

Jeff Tracy considered ordering his young son home. As a former astronaut, he knew the odds were against John being alive. Death by explosive decompression was never pretty, and the boy shouldn't have to see his brother that way. On the other hand, John deserved to be buried on Earth, not left to float for all eternity in the station that had become his coffin. "All right, son. Get aboard, and see what you can find."

Jeff put his head in his hands, aware of the quiet sobbing of Tin-Tin but not willing to offer her anything. His John was a good boy, smarter than his brothers. Jeff had always been proud of the quiet young man's achievements. Lucille had had a special place in her heart for him too. His shoulders shook with his grief. First his beautiful wife and now his son. It was almost too much to bear. He heard the roar of Thunderbird One returning to base, but his ears were only for Alan.

"Father, we're having some trouble getting in. Without power, we have to open the hatches manually, and the main hatch seems to be jammed. We are proceeding to the auxiliary hatch now."

Jeff cleared his throat, knowing he had to be strong for Alan to survive this. "All right, son, go carefully."

"Yes, sir."

Jeff was aware that Scott had entered the room. He heard the increasing tone of anguish as his son questioned Tin-Tin. Jeff could not bring himself to look up. His mind had settled on one thought: He must be strong for Alan. He didn't dare lose his focus. Even when Scott put a hand on his shoulder, Jeff did not look up.

"Th-Th-Thunderbird Three to Base. We have, uh, entered Thunderbird Five. The main cabin is, uh, empty. Proceeding to the life pods."

The sound of Brains' voice barely reached through Jeff's concentration. Response didn't even occur to him. After a moment, Scott replied. "Understood, Thunderbird Three."

A clattering racket announced the return of Virgil and Gordon. Jeff didn't notice when the hand left his shoulder. He spared no thought to the distressed voices of his sons as Scott brought them up to date. All he knew was that soon, very soon, Alan was going to need him as he never needed him before.

The report when it came was anti-climatic. "Thunderbird Three to base. We have reached the life pods. Life pod one was also damaged. The entire side was torn away. There is no sign of John."

For the first time since they had known him, Brains had not stuttered once. Each word was like crystal in the air. The utter calm with which Brains had spoken was shattered by howls of grief. Jeff had to take several deep breaths to get words past the closing of his throat.

"Thank you, Brains. Please put Alan on."

"Yes, Mr. Tracy. One moment, please."

It was harder to concentrate now, but Jeff knew he could not fail. He had lost one son today, he would not lose another.

"Father, we can't find him! He's not on board Thunderbird Five. Brains is going to set up a transfer to send the automated signals straight to the island. In the meantime, I'm taking Thunderbird Three and I'm going to find John."

Swallowing hard, Jeff did what he had to do. "No. Alan, you will remain with Brains until he has completed his work, then you are going to come home."

"What? No! Dad, listen! John is out there somewhere. He's not on board. His air can't last forever. I have to go find him! Right now!"

"Son, I want you to listen to me. I can't allow you to expend your resources on a futile search."

"Futile? FUTILE?? Father, it's only futile if I wait! The tanks on the EVA suits are only good for a few hours. I have to get to John before it's too late!"

Alan's voice had steadily risen to a hysterical high. "Alan. Alan! Listen to me! If John had enough warning, he would have gone to the pod. He would not have suited up. Son, he's at peace now. And I need you here."

Alan's voice dropped to a whisper. "I can't."

"You can't what, son?"

"I can't leave him here. I just can't."

"I know, son, I know. Please, Alan. I know this is hard. Believe me, I know. But you have other responsibilities. Your brothers need you. I need you."

"....."

"What was that, son? I couldn't hear."

"I said, John needed me. John needed me, and I wasn't here. He was all alone, Father. He died alone."

Jeff fought hard to maintain his control. "Yes. I know son. Come home."

Jeff waited but there was no response. "Alan? Come home, son. Bring Brains home. You can do that, can't you? You can bring Brains home."

After a long pause, Alan replied, his voice high and tight with grief. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Uh, I don't know how long it will take."

"Uh, actually, I'm done, Alan. We can, uh, leave whenever you're ready."

Jeff said a silent thank you for the young engineer. He knew his hotheaded young son would have searched until his own life was forfeit. It was only the responsibility of safeguarding Brains that swayed Alan. Jeff listened until Alan reported separation from the doomed Thunderbird Five. Then heaving a sigh that threatened to turn into a sob, he lifted his head to tend to his other sons.

At some point Kyrano had entered the room, and now sat on the edge of a chair, holding his sobbing daughter, his own face wet with tears. Virgil sat on the couch, his head in his hands, shaking. Scott sat next to him, tightlipped and white-faced, gently rubbing his brother's back. Gordon was off by himself, sitting on the bench of the baby grand in the corner.

Something in the utter desolation on Gordon's face rang warning bells in Jeff's mind, and almost before he knew it, he had crossed the room, to crouch before his son. "Gordon? Son?"

The young man made no response. Jeff brought a hand up to caress his son's face. Jeff recognized that his son was in shock. He gathered the Gordon up in his arms, ignoring the stiff resistance. Holding his son tightly, he rocked back and forth, whispering assurances in the unresponsive ear. After several minutes there was a deep shudder, and suddenly his son was crying, sobbing, clinging to him desperately.

Jeff looked over at his other boys. Scott understood what was needed though no words were spoken. Pulling Virgil up, he led his brother over, and the four men held on to each other. All four cried without shame. Jeff was finally able to give into his grief.

The next hours were a blur. Jeff kept returning to his desk, checking on his youngest son's progress. As some point, he had put Gordon and Virgil to bed, staying by their sides until they had fallen into exhausted sleep.

Scott had appeared to bear up well under the strain, but when he was alone with Jeff, he had broken down. Jeff worried about his eldest. The strain of being the rock that anchored his brothers could very easily break him. He and Scott talked long into the night. Mostly about John, but also about how to help his brothers get through this tragedy.

It was after midnight when the mighty engines of Thunderbird Three lit up the night sky. Jeff and Scott went to the launch bay to meet Alan. Before the elevator delivering Alan and Brains to the launch bay floor arrived, Virgil and Gordon joined them.

When Alan saw the welcoming committee, he had looked as if he wanted to run away. He face was wreathed in guilt and anguish. Jeff felt the lump in his throat harden, and as he had with Gordon, he strode over to Alan and wrapped him in a hug. After a moment his other boys joined him, Scott reaching a hand out to gather Brains into the communal comfort.

Jeff felt his son's shuddering and whispered in his ear, "I'm proud of you, boy."

Chapter Two: The Aftermath

Three Days Later

"Gordon?"

The young man was startled by the soft question. "Uh, yeah... I mean... yes, Lady Penelope?" The family was gathered around the breakfast table. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward had arrived the previous afternoon, coming as soon as she heard about the disaster.

"I said, you really must eat, dear boy. Grandma went to a great deal of trouble to make this breakfast for us, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste."

Gordon looked at his plate, really seeing it for the first time. The small part of him that wasn't numb recognized that his grandmother had cooked all of his favorites. He picked up his fork, but then the thought occurred that these were also John's favorites. The food remained unmolested on his plate. Dropping the fork, Gordon shook his head and left the table, for once ignoring his father's demand that he return.

In his room, Gordon sat on the edge of his bed, his back to the wide windows overlooking the sea. The sea had always been a comfort to him. He could sit for hours just watching the waves come in. Now it was as if he were cut off. Gordon had a vague sense that it wasn't right for him to be comforted. Not with John gone. He knew he had to pull himself together, but he just didn't seem to have the strength to do it.

The bedroom door opened, and Gordon looked up as Scott walked in. Scott never knocked. He seemed to feel it was his right as the eldest to just come crashing in whenever he wanted. Gordon barely registered that Scott was carrying something before it was flying through the air at him.

"Think fast!" Scott called as Gordon's reflexes brought his hands up. He caught the item before it could smack him in the nose. Looking at what he held in his hand, Gordon couldn't help the small sad smile that formed.

It was a peanut butter sandwich. Scott had made him peanut butter sandwiches since he was a toddler. It was a reminder to Gordon that despite what he had lost, he still was loved. Not that Scott would ever say it out loud. None of them were good at expressing it in words, but a stray peanut butter sandwich spoke louder than any words could.

Sitting down on the bed next to his brother, Scott's voice was tinged with concern. "Come on, Gordon, you've got to eat something."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just not... hungry. I'll eat it later. Thanks."

"No, I want you to eat it now. Gordon, you haven't had anything to eat in two days. You've got to stop this."

"I know, I know. It's just that... I just... Oh, I don't know, I just can't seem to..."

"It's all right, little brother. This is the toughest thing we've ever had to go through, but we can get through it. We just have to."

"I..."

"What, Gordy?"

"I had a joke I wanted to tell him. I had this joke, but I just didn't call him. I kept putting it off, and now he's gone, and I'll never have the chance. I could have just called, it wouldn't have taken more than a minute, but I was just too busy, so I didn't bother."

Scott reached over to gather his brother in a hug. "Gordon, you can't dwell on this. It'll rip you apart. None of us had any way of knowing this would happen. We all feel like we could have said more, done more. There's no way around it when somebody you love dies without warning. But you've got to go on. Life doesn't stop. You can let this ruin your life or you can get past it."

"Yeah. I think I've known that right along, I just need time."

"I understand. I want you to have as much time as you need, but I am not going to let you starve yourself. Now eat that sandwich before I get the plumber's helper and shove it down your throat."

Gordon smiled at the old childhood threat. Looking again at the sandwich, he couldn't help but think that Scott always had made the best sandwiches. He took a bite, half surprised that he didn't gag. Scott showed no signs of moving, apparently intending to be sure his brother ate the whole thing.

Halfway through, Gordon stopped chewing and after swallowing several times to get the peanut butter out of his mouth, said, "You know, this would be a lot easier if I had some milk."

Scott raised an eyebrow and pulled a plastic water bottle filled with a brown fluid from behind his back. "Will chocolate milk do?"

It felt good to smile again. He took the proffered bottle and gulped down half of it. Handing the bottle back to his older brother, Gordon ceremoniously tore the remaining sandwich in half and offered it to Scott.

Scott looked at the sandwich, up at his brother, and back at the sandwich again. Cocking his head, he said, "You know, I'd make you eat the whole thing, except for this." Reaching around he pulled out a second sandwich, which he dumped in his brother's lap before taking the piece offered.

With raised eyebrows, Gordon asked, "What else do you have back there?"

"Oh, some potato salad, a chicken wing, and a watermelon." Scott responded with a grin matching his brother's.

Scott watched as his brother finished the second sandwich. With a grave nod, he spoke. "Gordon, I need your help."

"Anything. You know that."

"Father is considering shutting down International Rescue."

"What? No! Scott, we can't shut down! People need us!"

"Right. Exactly. People need us, but look at us, Gordon. We're falling apart."

"No, Scott. I'm okay, really I am. I'll eat, I promise!"

"Gordon. Gordon! It's not just you. It's all of us. How can Dad send Virgil out in all good conscience? Have you noticed he hasn't stopped practicing the piano in three days? I swear if I hear those scales one more time, they'll have to put me away. And Alan. Alan can't stop jabbering about going up and recovering John's body. Could you blame Dad for not letting him out of the house, let alone in orbit?" Scott shook his head. "I don't know if he'd even let me go out."

Gordon looked up in surprise. "You, Scott?"

"Yes, me. I... I haven't been sleeping very well. Dad knows it, and he's worried. He's worried about all of us." Scott shook his head sadly. "He's got enough on his plate as it is."

Gordon was shaken by his brother's admission. "What can I do?"

"We need to get Virg and Alan back on track. I can handle Virgil, but I need you to deal with Alan. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, sure, Scott. I can go find him right now."

"Great. And be careful with him. Remember, he was the one who was there."

"Yeah, I'll be careful."

"Thanks, Gordon."

The relief in his brother's voice caused Gordon to impulsively hug him then both men parted on their separate missions. Gordon found his youngest brother in his bedroom, working on some calculations. "Mind some company?"

Alan looked up blearily. "What? Oh. No, I don't mind. Have a seat."

As Gordon settled into a nearby chair, he spoke. "How's it going, kiddo?"

Alan replied absently, "Fine."

"Yeah? You don't look fine. In fact, you look pretty terrible."

"No, I'm okay. I'm just trying to work out a search grid. If John was in the pod when it was hit, then he would have been blown out along these vectors. Now if I can just calculate the likely speed, I can narrow down the search area to something manageable."

"Hey."

"Huh? What?"

"Scott says Dad is considering shutting International Rescue down."

Gordon was surprised when Alan didn't immediately deny the possibility. Instead his brother looked thoughtful when he said. "I thought about that too. I mean, I know we talked about the possibility of someone getting hurt, dying, but I never really believed it could happen. And for it to be John. I..."

Alan's voice trailed off. Gordon knew what he meant. Despite some close calls, or maybe because of them, Gordon had had this sense of invulnerability. His brothers couldn't die, they were just too good. And of all of them, John was last one that Gordon expected to die. Somehow, the space station had seemed to be the safest duty. He reflected that maybe that was why it was so hard for them now.

"I know Alan, but do you really want John's legacy to be that his death shut us down?"

"I don't care about legacies. I just don't want to lose anyone else. I just can't lose anyone else."

"So, what, you want to wrap us up in cotton wool? Keep us locked away somewhere safe? Let me tell you, kiddo, there is nowhere that's totally safe. Ask any one of the people you've personally rescued in the last year."

"Hey, stop the lecture! Gee, you sound just like Scott. I said I thought about it, but I came to the same conclusion you did. The world needs International Rescue, and for better or worse, that's who we are. But I don't think I could handle it if you or Virg or Scott died. I just don't think I could handle it."

"Well, then, we'll just have to be careful, won't we?"

"More than careful. We have to be more than careful."

"Agreed. Now, how do we convince Father?"

"That's easy. We send Scott to talk to him."

Gordon grinned. Their big brother Scott could talk their father into anything. "No, there's more to it than that. Alan, we've been going off the deep end for the last three days. You know we have."

"Well, Virgil sure has. I woke up last night at 3am and he was still out there practicing his scales. I tried to get him to go to bed, but he just kept playing. The same thing over and over. It was sort of scary, actually."

"Scott is talking to Virg right now."

Alan was not slow to pick up the implication. "Oh, and you're talking to me? You think I've gone nuts? What about you? You haven't spoken to anyone or eaten anything in three days!"

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" Gordon took a deep breath to calm his temper. "Okay, I admit it. I'm not handling this well at all. Every time I even look at food, I want to throw up. But I'll eat a plate full of worms if that's what it takes to keep International Rescue alive."

"So, what am I doing that's so crazy?"

"Don't be so defensive, Alan." Gordon drew a deep breath. "You need to stop talking about this recovery mission."

"What? What do you mean? Gordon, how is it crazy to want to go and bring John home?"

"It's not crazy. I never said it was crazy. But, Alan, how realistic is it? You talk about limiting the search area, but look at your figures. Even if you could accurately calculate the trajectory, you'd still be talking an area the size of North America. It would be like searching for a needle in a field full of haystacks."

"So what you're saying is because it would be hard, we shouldn't try?"

Alan's voice dripped with contempt, and normally Gordon would have just walked away. But ignoring this argument would not make it go away. He tried again. "Alan, do you really think you're the only one who wants to bring John home? I keep having this fantasy of finding him. It's like I think that's going to heal the hurt. But it's just that. A fantasy. We've got to deal with the reality. And the reality is, if you go flying off on this quest, you could tear this family apart."

"That's ridiculous. How do you figure?"

"Think about it, Alan. A search like that would take months, if not years. Every time you went up, we'd all be thinking is this the time? Will Alan find John this time? And in the meantime, the wounds can't heal. Heck, they can't even scab over. How long could Dad deal with that? And what about the rest of us? Sure, you're doing something, but Scott and Virgil and I would have to just stand by and hope nothing holes Thunderbird Three." Gordon's voice had started to shake with the intensity of what he was saying. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Alan, please. Please, just let it go."

Gordon's quiet plea got through to his stubborn young brother. With tears in his eyes, Alan shook his head sadly. "I don't know if I can, Gordy."

"Yes, you can, Alan. I'll help you. We all will."

Alan looked away. "I miss him."

"So do I."

The two brothers sat each in their own thoughts, and fought to contain their misery.

Chapter Three: A New Rescue

The next morning

Virgil Tracy awoke feeling better than he had in days. Yesterday, his brother Scott had taken him aside and they had talked for a long time about John, International Rescue, their father, and their brothers. In the afternoon, he had joined Scott, Gordon, and Alan in talking to their father. Virgil felt very good about the session. It had cleared the air.

His father had been riding a wave of guilt over John's death. His younger brothers were both basket cases, and he wasn't far behind. The long discussion had brought it all out in the open, and Virgil was sure they had all started to heal. He no longer felt the compulsion to sit at the piano for hours playing scales over and over. Gordon was eating again. Alan had stopped the hyper chatter about recovering John's body. Even Scott looked as if he had actually gotten some sleep.

His father had reluctantly agreed to turn on the automated message system this morning. Scott felt strongly, and Virgil agreed, that work was the best thing for them all. Virgil thought that a few rescues under their belt would get things back to normal. Well, as normal as possible with the big hole in his heart. He wondered if he would ever be able to think about his brother John without pain.

Looking out at the overcast morning sky, Virgil felt the need to paint. As he headed to his room to get his canvas and paints, a warbling call stopped him in his tracks. The automated system had picked up something.

Virgil detoured over to his father's desk. Scott was there right behind him. He noticed his father was very pale, and his hand shook as he reached for the switch that would play the message. Virgil's heart went out to him. He prayed his father would have the courage to continue and tried to will the older man strength.

After a moment's hesitation, his father hit the switch and the message came pouring through. "...tional Rescue. Calling International Rescue. This is the Marianas Queen calling International Rescue."

Jeff Tracy's voice showed no sign of his apprehension. "This is International Rescue, go ahead Marianas Queen."

"Oh, thank God! Thank God! International Rescue, this is the Marianas Queen. We are a glass submarine with fourteen passengers and crew out of Oahu. We've had an engine failure, and we've dropped to a ledge seven thousand feet below the surface. We've lost all power, and we have only four hours of air left. We have women and children aboard. Can you help us, International Rescue?"

Virgil looked around. This was going to require Gordon and Thunderbird Four, but Gordon wasn't around. He thought for a moment, then said, "Father, Gordon and Tin-Tin were going skin diving off the point. Someone needs to go get him."

Alan, who had just walked in, piped up, "I'll go."

"Now, wait just a minute, boys. Let's just get some more information here." Virgil felt his heart drop down to his shoes. His father had never been this cautious before. "Marianas Queen, have you contacted the Navy at Pearl?"

"International Rescue, this is Captain Bartlett at Pearl Harbor Air and Sea Rescue. The quickest we can get a sub in the area is eleven hours. I'm afraid it's up to you folks."

"All right, Pearl. Marianas Queen, we are on our way." Jeff Tracy looked up at his sons. "Away you go, Scott. Alan, don't just stand there, go get your brother. Virgil, get ready to launch with pod four. Thunderbirds are go."

The three young men scattered. Virgil leaned against a painting and was tipped onto a lightly padded platform which whisked him deep into the mountain hiding the hangars and workshops of International Rescue. Virgil had always gotten a thrill out of his swift trip down the long chute into Thunderbird Two and had actually asked Brains if there was anyway to speed it up. As the platform entered into the cockpit of Thunderbird Two, it was transformed into a seat. Virgil quickly threw the switches which would power the gigantic transport up and pressed the button that selected pod four, already loaded with the powerful but small submarine, Thunderbird Four.

A glance out the window confirmed the pod conveyor belt was functioning. Knowing he had to wait for his brother, Virgil took the time to change from his jeans and shirt into his blue International Rescue uniform. As he pulled on the matching boots, he felt the deep rumbling which marked the launch of Thunderbird One. He turned back to his controls just as Thunderbird Two settled down over the designated pod.

Virgil felt and heard a series of thumps as the locks slammed home joining Thunderbird Two and the pod into one smooth machine. Virgil relied as much on the feel as the controls to make sure he had a good connection. Not wanting to waste any time, he started taxiing his great ship out of the hangar. He glanced toward a movement he had seen out of the corner of his eye. It was Gordon, racing to get aboard.

Virgil entertained the idea of not stopping, making his little brother run all the way to the launch strip. He thought it might be worth the revenge Gordon would take. He was still worried about both of his younger brothers and he thought planning revenge might take Gordon's mind off of things. In the end, though, Virgil decided to stop. He didn't want his brother exhausted before the rescue had even started.

Within moments of stopping, the intercom came alive. "I'm aboard, Virg."

Virgil didn't acknowledge the call, turning his attention again to taxiing to the launch pad. The launch pad was not strictly needed. Thunderbird Two could rise straight up in the air if she had to, but the launch pad saved on fuel. As the ship was raised, Virgil went down his pre-flight checklist and made sure the lights were green across the board. He heard Gordon come into the cabin and strap himself in.

"Thunderbird Two to base. Ready for take off."

"All right, Virgil. You are cleared for take off. Be careful out there, son."

"FAB, Dad. Gordon, you ready?"

"Whenever you are, Virg."

With a nod, Virgil pushed the thrusters forward, feeling the power build up beneath him. When the whine of the engines reached the right peak, he released the brakes and the mighty transport took off. The speed build up was slow but steady. Virgil listened with his ears and body to make sure all was well with his ship.

Leveling off at a hundred thousand feet, Virgil put in a call to base. "Thunderbird Two to base."

"Go ahead, Virgil."

"Okay, Father, we're airborne at 100,000 feet. Have you got a location for me?"

"Yes, Virgil. Map fourteen, reference two nine seven three six, slash four nine. Did you get that?"

"Yes, sir. Course is plugged in. Estimate we will arrive at the danger zone in sixteen point five minutes."

"All right, son. Let me know when you arrive."

"FAB, Father."

"Geez, that doesn't give me much time to prep Thunderbird Four. I better get down there now."

"Okay, Gordon."

Virgil never took his eyes from his instruments, but heard as his brother unstrapped and headed aft to the pod. Virgil reflected that Gordon was right. Despite the fantastic speed that Thunderbird Two could fly at, it was rare that a situation occurred so close to home.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two. What is your ETA?"

"Scott, this is Thunderbird Two. I'll be with you in a little over eight minutes."

"Okay, Virg. Now listen. I've deployed the sonar scanner and I think I have a pretty good fix. You can drop Gordon right on top of them, and we can have this wrapped up in no time."

"FAB, Scott." Flipping on the intercom, Virgil asked. "Did you get that, Gordon?"

"Yeah, I sure did. That sonar scanner of Brains' is really proving its worth."

"That's for sure. So, what do you say I drop you from, oh say, two hundred feet?"

"Hmmm. Tempting, but no. How about two feet?"

"Two thousand feet."

"Two inches."

Sighing heavily, Virgil said, "You're just no fun, Gordon."

"No, I'm just saner than you."

"Hah! You can't prove that!"

"Okay, my pre-launch is complete."

"We'll be over the area in about two minutes. I'm dropping to five thousand feet now." Virgil tipped the big ship over into a fast dive. He knew he was asking for it, but at the moment, it just felt good to be out in Thunderbird Two. Gordon would just have to live with it.

All too soon, Virgil pulled out of the dive, leveling off at five thousand feet. "You okay back there, Gordon?"

Virgil chuckled at his brother's dry mouthed reply. "I'm just peachy."

"Thunderbird Two to base, I have arrived at the danger zone. I have a visual on Thunderbird One."

"Very good, Thunderbird Two. Keep me apprised."

"FAB, Dad."

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two. Virg, I am right over where the sub is. I'll move off so you can drop the pod."

"FAB, Scott."

Virgil watched as his brother deftly lifted Thunderbird One out of the way. Virgil brought Thunderbird Two down to skim the wave tops. When he reached the correct position, he called to his brother. "Ready, Gordon?"

"Ready, Virgil. Uh, how high is the drop?"

"Sorry, kid, the waves are really high. I'm as close as I dare. About two hundred feet." Virgil hit the pod release as he said the last words. His younger brother's yelp was cut off as the pod hit the water after a six- foot drop.

"Oh, ha ha. Very funny, Virgil. Launching Thunderbird Four now."

Virgil stood off and watched as the ramp/door descended, and the bright yellow submarine was launched. He noticed Gordon had shut his active mike down for the descent. His brother liked to be able to concentrate until he had the target in sight. Virgil wasn't worried. Gordon would switch back on as soon as he had anything to report.

"Good one, Virg, but boy, are you going to pay."

"All in a good cause, Scott."

"Yeah, I know. Listen, did you do a kamikaze dive back there?"

"Who, me?"

"Virg, I don't want you fooling around like that, it's dangerous."

"Scott, do you hear that?"

"Hear what? I don't hear anything."

"You don't? It sort of sounds like, buck, buck, bu-caw. It's the sound of a mother hen."

"I'm serious, Virgil."

"So am I, Scott. You said we have to get on with our lives. Well, I am."

"I just... Just be careful, that's all."

"Come on, Scott, you know me. I'm a careful guy. Relax. If it helps, I can assure you it scared the bejesus out of Gordon."

"Did not. This is Thunderbird Four. I have located the sub. It's in a funny position, but I think the universal docking collar will connect all right. Am moving in now."

Virgil grimaced when he realized Gordon had heard his comment. His younger brother's revenges were often terrifyingly elaborate. "All right, Thunderbird Four. Let me know when you're bringing the first group up."

"FAB." The curt reply confirmed Virgil's guess that he was in for it.

"It's all in a good cause." He said it to himself, but Scott chuckled, reminding Virgil that the mike was open. "Scott, you want me to call base?"

"No, I'll do it."

Virgil heard a soft click signifying his brother had transferred from short range to long range communications. Virgil made a few gentle corrections to keep TB2 from drifting away from the target area. Flying the big machine was not for the faint of heart, but to Virgil it was old hat. Sometimes it felt as if Thunderbird Two was just an extension of himself, he was so in tune.

"Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Two. I have locked onto the submarine. I have fourteen people here. I can take four at a time, so it's going to take four trips. I'm bringing up the first group now. ETA two minutes."

"FAB, Gordon. I'm lowering the rescue pod now."

With Scott spotting for him, Virgil lowered the bulky rescue pod to within ten feet of the water. When the little yellow sub popped up to the surface, he lowered the pod further still.

"All right, Virg, hold it there. Come on in, Gordon."

"FAB, Scott."

Virgil concentrated on keeping the ship steady as his brother transferred the victims to the rescue pod. "Okay, Virgil, they're all aboard, I'm heading down for the next load."

"FAB, Gordon." Virgil winched the pod up slowly so that the passengers weren't jerked around. When the winch light indicated the rescue pod was in its bay, Virgil flipped up the switch to turn on the intercom. "Folks, International Rescue welcomes you aboard Thunderbird Two. Please exit the rescue pod, and take a seat on the benches to the right. It will be a while before everyone is aboard, so just sit back and relax. We will have you back in Oahu in time for the dinner show."

Virgil practiced sounding like an airline pilot when dealing with groups of frightened people. He found that victims of disaster responded best to the combination of authority and normality. He checked the monitor and saw that the rescue pod was empty, so he wasted no time in lowering it again.

Fifteen minutes later, the third group was on board, and Virgil was to all intents and purposes bored. It was good to save lives, but he'd rather take a more active part than just driving the bus. He glanced out of his window at Thunderbird One and felt a stab of pity for his older brother. Scott had even less to do than Virgil. Ah well, there was nothing wrong with letting his little brother shine once and awhile.

Two more victims and he would be off to Oahu. After some discussion with Scott and Gordon, it was decided that Virgil would fly the victims to Hawaii then return and pick up pod four. At the speed Thunderbird Two could fly, he could get to Oahu and back almost before Gordon could get Thunderbird Four loaded and secured in the pod. As a precaution, Scott would remain over the area. Scott told Gordon it was so the kid wouldn't get lonesome, but Virgil knew it was Scott's own need to keep his eye on his brother.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Four. Gordon, what's the hold up?"

Virgil checked his watch and rolled his eyes. Gordon was less than 30 seconds late with his check in. Scott really needed to get a grip.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Four. Gordon? Answer please."

"Hey, Gordon, come on, this isn't funny."

When there was still no response, Virgil felt his mouth go dry. "Scott..."

Scott's voice was calm. "Take it easy, Virg. I'm deploying the sonar scanner."

Virgil tried not to tense up. There could be any number of reasons that Gordon didn't answer. The loss of his brother John had been a freak accident. There was no reason to believe...

"Virgil! Activate the remote retrieval program! Do it now!"

With his stomach turning to stone, Virgil fought to keep the fear from his voice. "Scott, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I can see Thunderbird Four on the scanner. She's down on the same ledge that the other sub was on, but I can't see any sign of the other sub, just debris. It looks as if it blew up."

Blinking away sudden tears, Virgil watched as Brains' remote retrieval computer program ran. "Scott, I've got a lock on Thunderbird Four's controls. I'm raising her now."

"All right, Virgil. I'm, uh, going to call Dad."

"No! Scott, don't! Let's not tell him until we know what's happening, okay? Okay, Scott?"

His brother's response was low and husky, sagging with defeat. "Okay."

Virgil glued his eyes to the patch of water where Thunderbird Four would appear. Gordon was all right. He just had to be. No god could be so cruel as to steal away another of his brothers. It just couldn't happen. The water suddenly lightened as Thunderbird Four came into view.

Virgil felt as if he would never breathe again. The entire front third of the little craft had been sheared off. He stared in horror, unable to look away. The destruction was complete. His brother was dead. His mouth worked, but no sounds came out. How could he face his father? And Alan. How could Alan deal with another dead brother? It was just too much.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two. Come in, Virgil."

"Scott..."

"Can it, mister. We still have a job to do. Complete the retrieval program. Get Thunderbird Four loaded up. Then get those people to Hawaii. I'll wait here, but I want you back here within an hour. Do you understand?"

Virgil resented the cold tone his brother had taken, but was too well trained to argue. "I understand. Retrieval program is running. Thunderbird Four will complete the loading cycle in two minutes."

There was silence between the two pilots as they watched the wreckage of Thunderbird Four heave itself up on to the loading ramp. As it was pulled in by the conveyor belts on the ramp, Virgil felt as if ice had replaced his heart. As soon as the ramp started to close, Virgil peeled away without a word to his brother.

The trip to and from Oahu was a blur to Virgil. He couldn't bring himself to face the rescued victims of the doomed sub, instead instructing them to leave over the intercom. The people had barely reached a safe distance before Virgil abruptly raised the ship and left.

Returning to the scene of the latest Tracy disaster, he hovered over the now closed pod four, and with the help of the magnetic grapples, locked it in its place as part of Thunderbird Two. Virgil had to adjust for almost half a ton of additional weight, which he knew would be water taken on by Thunderbird Four. Throughout the operation, Scott in Thunderbird One had stood by, unwilling to let Virgil out of his sight. Virgil felt the same way.

"Scott..."

"Virgil, I don't want to hear it. I've informed Father. We head back now."

Virgil frowned. Scott's voice had been totally calm, as if they had lost a bit of rope instead of a brother. He watched as his brother boosted Thunderbird One for home. Glancing down at the anonymous blue green patch of ocean that had claimed another brother's life, Virgil blinked hard to keep the tears from forming. Not knowing what else to do, he turned for home, and boosted himself up to full speed.

Chapter Four: An Answer

The next day

Alan Tracy had never felt so all alone. He felt the weight of his family's survival on his shoulders, and it was as if it was crushing him.

When the terrible news had reached the base yesterday, he thought he would go insane. At first he had thought it had to be some kind of mistake. Gordon couldn't be dead. They had just talked a few hours ago. When his father had reached for him to gather him into a hug, he had pulled away, refusing to be comforted.

He and his father had waited in Thunderbird Two's hangar for Virgil's return. They saw Thunderbird One touch down, just as Thunderbird Two had landed.

When the mighty transport had deposited pod four on the conveyor system, Jeff Tracy had told his son to stay back. Alan ignored the order. He was not a child to be protected from ugly sights. When they had opened pod four and allowed the excess water to drain, Alan had wished he hadn't seen it. There was no way his brother could have survived.

Almost as bad as the sight of the wrecked sub was the way Scott had just turned away. Their father had tried to talk to him but to no avail. The brother Alan relied on most had turned into a cold stranger. Scott and Virgil had always been close but even Virg was pushed away.

Alan didn't know where to turn. That International Rescue had become defunct was a foregone conclusion. His father had already made that decision. Alan couldn't blame him. He almost agreed with the decision. But he couldn't help the niggling of fear that shutting down International Rescue would destroy what was left of the family. His brothers and he had trained all of their lives to become what they were. As much as he enjoyed racecar driving, he knew it would be an empty life in comparison.

Sitting at the breakfast table with Virgil, his father, and Tin-Tin, Alan struggled to find some way to reach out. Virgil sat mesmerized by news reports on the small portable TV that he had brought to the table. His father, who would normally have demanded that the TV be turned off, sat staring off into space. Alan tried to eat his cold cereal. His grandma had taken to her bed when she heard the news and had not made breakfast. Scott had stalked through the room on his way to the hangar without saying a word. Alan hadn't seen Penelope.

The only one showing any signs of life was Tin-Tin, who sat nervously drumming her fingers. When she spoke, Alan jumped at the sudden sound in the too quiet room. "Oh, Virgil, please. Turn that off." The irritation was plain in her voice. "You saved twelve people and all they talk about are the two that died. It's disgusting."

Alan glanced over at the small TV. A World News broadcaster sat at a desk reading from some papers in his hands. Behind him were photographs of two men. As Alan watched, the broadcaster intoned, "Both of the deceased worked for Coulter Industries as security guards. They were vacationing in Hawaii and had planned to return to work in Lompoc California at the end of the week."

Alan frowned. There was something that he knew about Coulter Industries, but he couldn't quite place what it was. Shaking his head, he concentrated on finishing his breakfast. Virgil had simply ignored Tin-Tin's request, and Alan didn't want to be in the room when the fight started.

He took his bowl to the sink, eating as he went. When he finished, he headed for the bedroom area of the home. Finding the door he wanted closed, he knocked softly. "Grandma? Can I come in?" When there was no response, he tried a bit louder. "Grandma? It's me, Alan. Can I come in?"

He heard the slow shuffle of feet, and finally the door opened. Alan thought his heart would break. His beloved grandmother had turned into a frail little old lady overnight. Instead of hair neatly pinned into a bun, Alan found the gray strands hanging limply around her shoulders. Instead of kindly eyes sparkling with a joy for living, he found rheumy dull eyes, red from weeping.

Alan had thought he had cried himself out the previous day, but seeing his grandma so disheveled and old looking caused new tears to spring to his eyes. With a cry of dismay, he reached out and grabbed her into a fierce hug, as if letting her go would mean the end of him. "Grandma, Grandma, please. Please."

He couldn't think of anything else to say. He held on rocking back and forth. At some point, the roles reversed, and Alan surfaced from his misery at his grandmother's no-nonsense words. "Now Alan, you simply have to stop this. Take deep breaths. That's a good boy. Sakes alive, you've always worn your heart on your sleeve, haven't you?"

Alan found himself sitting on the edge of his grandmother's antique four-poster bed. Grandma was next to him, holding him, gently rubbing his back. Alan shook his head ruefully. "I came here to make sure you were all right, Grandma."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm not all right, and neither are you. None of us will ever be all right again. The best we can hope for is good enough. When I lost your grandfather, rest his soul, I thought my world had ended, and between you and me, if it wasn't for your father, I might very well have ended it all. After a while, though, I noticed that the bluebirds your grandfather loved so much still sang. The trees in fall still blazed with color. Cardinals were still red against the snow. And that spring came again. And then one day I actually laughed." Grandma smiled sadly. "Oh, that first laugh was hard. I felt like I was betraying a trust. But it got easier as time went by. And this will too. Your brothers wouldn't want you to feel this way, Alan. They both loved you so much."

Alan felt a sob trying to escape, but manfully he swallowed it. "I know, Grandma."

"Well, then, you go along now. I've wallowed in self-pity for long enough. It's time I got up and got doing." Grandma suited her words with action, standing up and leading Alan to the door. "Alan, it's not going to be easy. Not for a while. Maybe not for a long while. But the day will come when you won't feel guilty for surviving. Now scoot. I've got to get dressed."

Alan smiled as he left the room, his grandmother shutting the door behind him. His face turned thoughtful at his grandma's words. 'Guilty for surviving.' He wondered if that would explain his brother Scott's sudden coldness. Thinking he had to do something about it, Alan headed for the Thunderbird One hangar.

Shunning the elevator, he trotted down the long flight of stairs to the hangar floor. Alan could hear the sounds of an argument as he neared the bottom of the stairwell. The voices of his two remaining brothers were loud as the argument heated up. As Alan reached the door, he heard his brother Scott say, "He got careless, and he died. That's all there is to it."

Alan felt chilled at the coldness of the remark, and he paused, one hand on the doorknob, debating whether or not to enter. He listened as Virgil responded. "Fine. Great. Gordon was an idiot who should never have been allowed to play grownup. Forget that he saved hundreds of lives. Forget that he had more guts than you and me put together. He was an idiot. But what about John, Scott? What did he do to deserve this?"

"Shut up, Virgil. Just shut up." Alan could hear nothing but despair in his brother's voice, and he acted without thinking, pushing open the door, and striding into the room.

His brothers both turned at the intrusion, and Alan watched as the mask of coldness slipped back over Scott's face. "What do you want?"

Alan faltered. "I, uh…"

He was saved by the warbling call of the automated alert. All three brothers looked up at the flashing light overhead. Scott frowned and threw down the oily rag in his hand. "I thought he shut that down."

Scott strode angrily toward the elevator. Virgil and Alan glanced at each other and hurried after their older brother. The ride up to the house was tense and silent. Alan felt guilty for his interruption. It seemed obvious in retrospect that Virgil had come close to breaking through the wall Scott had thrown up, only to have it spoiled by his youngest brother's untimely arrival.

Scott had once again become an unfeeling stranger. Alan worried that in his anger, Scott might say or do things that would only hasten the family's disintegration. The doors to the elevator finally opened and Scott stormed into the living room. Alan and Virgil hurried to catch up, but like Scott, they both came to a dead stop when they found their father sitting at his desk, staring at the switch that would activate the call relay, tears streaming down his face.

Looking up at his sons, Jeff Tracy's face was a mix of emotions. "I can't… I just can't."

Scott replied with steel in his voice. "You don't have to, Father. Just shut it down. Just shut the damn thing down."

Alan was shaken by the bewildered tone in his father's reply. "But people will die."

"So? People die. It's a fact of life. You can't save them all, and neither can I. We aren't superhuman, Father, we're just men. We're just ordinary men. Just shut it down."

By the end of his speech, Scott's voice had taken on a note of desperation. Alan felt frozen in his tracks. Again he felt the helplessness of his situation wash over him. Virgil apparently had no such feeling, for he reached out and flipped the relay saying, "Oh for God's sake, listen to yourselves."

"...is CI Catcher Two calling International Rescue. Do you read, International Rescue? This is CI Catcher Two to International Rescue. Can you hear me, International Rescue? We are an industrial space station. We have had an accident that resulted in an unintentional burn. We are falling out of orbit. International Rescue, can you help us? Can anybody hear me? We are falling out of orbit. By our projections, a substantial chunk of this station will survive the atmospheric burn up. It will land somewhere within the city limits of London. International Rescue, if you can't save us, at least keep us from destroying London! This is CI Catcher Two calling International Rescue."

The four men stood in stunned silence as the frightened voice droned on. Taking a deep breath, Virgil said, "Well?"

Scott turned to his brother cold-eyed. "Well, what?"

Virgil turned from Scott in disgust and with burning eyes said, "Alan, we've got to go. You know that."

"No, wait. Give me a moment." Alan held up his hand, waving his brother to silence as he tried to pin down a stray thought.

Virgil said angrily, "Either get your tail moving, or I'll take Thunderbird Three on my own."

Scott had been standing to one side rubbing his face with his hand. At his brother's angry remark, he said quietly, "No. Not alone. You're right, Virg. We have to go."

Virgil heaved a sigh of relief. "All right, let's get moving. Alan, are you coming?"

Alan felt as if a supernova had exploded in his head. It was all so obvious! "No! I'm not going, and neither are you!"

"What? Alan, we have to go. We have to go, now. With or without you."

"No, Virgil, listen! It's a trap! It's a trick!"

Jeff Tracy raised his head from where it was resting on the desk. "What are you talking about, son?"

"Listen to me. Father, do you remember about three, four months ago when we had to reposition Thunderbird Five?"

"Of course I do. A moon mining outfit was putting up a processing plant in orbit, and it was going to have line of sight on Thunderbird Five."

"Right! So we moved it. We took it over the horizon from the processing plant. That processing plant was owned by Coulter Industries. I knew the name was familiar!"

"Wait a minute!" Virgil looked puzzled. "Weren't those two killed on that glass submarine from Coulter Industries?"

"Yes. And what was the name of that processing plant?"

Jeff Tracy responded slowly, "Catcher Two."

Scott frowned. "Alan, just what are you saying?"

"I think I'm saying John and Gordon didn't die in accidents. I think they were murdered. And if we go up to that processing plant, I think we'll be murdered too."

Having said it, Alan looked around to find a chair. He felt as if his knees would buckle. From the white faces of his brothers, he wasn't the only one. It was one thing to lose his brothers to accidents but quite another to think there was someone out there who would intentionally take his brothers from him. He felt a hard knot of anger start to grow.

Jeff Tracy had sat quietly but now slowly shook his head. "Alan, I know the coincidences are there, but I knew Sir Adrian Coulter. I can't believe Coulter Industries could be involved."

Scott spoke quietly. "I thought Sir Adrian died, Dad."

"He did, son. Less than a month ago. He was a good man."

"Isn't Sir Adrian the man who came out here with Lady Penelope last year?"

"Yes, Virgil, he did. Why do you ask?" The four men looked up as Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward joined them.

"Penny, Alan thinks there may be a connection between John and Gordon's deaths and Coulter Industries."

Lady Penelope turned her cool sapphire eyes on the youngest Tracy. "But Alan, what possible motive could there be? International Rescue is beloved by the entire world."

The answer came not from Alan, but from Virgil. "I can think of a reason. Scott, don't you remember? Sir Adrian kept saying he wished his son were like you. He said it over and over. If he said the same thing to his son, the kid might resent you."

"Resent me? I don't even know the guy!"

"Hmmm, yes, but I do. Giles Coulter was always a disappointment to his father. The type to pull the wings off of flies. But how would he have found out? And while I imagine it wouldn't have been that hard to put a bomb on that submarine, how could he have arranged for a meteor strike?"

Alan shook his head. Coulter Industries was behind his brother's deaths, he was certain of it, but he could think of no way to prove it.

Virgil spoke uneasily, "What about the space station? Even if it is a trap, we can't just ignore it. Except for those two men, the other people on that sub were as much victims as Gordon was. We can't just walk away from it."

"But if we go up there, we'll die."

"No." Scott shook his head thoughtfully. "If Alan's right, and it is a trap, it's a trap for him alone. Whoever is behind this intends to take us out one by one. If it was just a matter of killing us, they had Virgil and me at that site too, but they only killed Gordon. If we all go, and cover each other's backs, we should be safe enough."

Jeff Tracy shook his head. "I just can't believe anyone would deliberately… All right, boys, get over to Thunderbird Three, you have a go. But I want you all to arm yourselves and until we're sure of the situation, I don't want you any nearer than a hundred miles of that station." Jeff turned to Lady Penelope. "Penny…"

"Jeff, I believe Parker and I will take a little trip home. It's time I paid a visit to Mr. Giles Coulter."

Chapter Five: Lady Penelope Steps Out

Early the next morning

Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward leaned back on the fine leather seat in her custom-built pink Rolls Royce. Her manservant, Parker, smoothly guided the big machine through the English countryside. Penelope had not put much credence in Alan's claim that Coulter Industries were responsible for the deaths of John and Gordon Tracy. She had been willing to believe it was just Alan's need to make sense of a senseless situation.

All of the Tracy boys were emotionally fragile after the deaths of their brothers. For all that Penelope liked to think of herself as a tough cookie, she had to admit she found the deaths quite devastating. She had known all of the Tracy sons since they were in grade school. As an only child herself, she had marveled at how different each of the five boys were. John had been bright, if quiet. Penelope had often enjoyed long, thought-provoking talks with him. If John was the philosopher then Gordon was the sunshine. Quick to smile, slow to anger, he had always made her laugh. She would miss them both terribly.

Her trip to Coulter Manor had taken on a hard significance. Brains had taken the readings from Thunderbird Three and calculated that while it was true the space station had been knocked out of orbit, and would eventually strike the earth, that unhappy event would not occur for at least six months. When confronted with this news, the station manager claimed not to have known about the broadcast to International Rescue and assured Scott in Thunderbird Three that the parent company was sending up the necessary equipment to boost Catcher Two back up to a stable orbit. The man had passed off the broadcast as an overreaction by a frightened employee, but Penelope found the entire incident suspect.

Parker pulled up to a speaker grille before immense iron gates. When a voice replied to the buzzer, Parker announced, "Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward to see Mister Giles Coulter."

A disembodied voice replied, "One moment, please."

Penelope sat as the time stretched on, wondering if she would be snubbed. She squashed her half hope that she would be. She had always found Sir Adrian's only son to be oily and repugnant. To her shame, she had not visited Sir Adrian as often as she should have, preferring to stay away rather than endure the company of Giles.

The great iron gates guarding the estate slowly swung open, and Parker took it as an invitation to drive on. As they drove up the long promenade to the manor house, Penelope was disheartened by the state of disrepair in the once immaculate gardens. True, it was the growing season, but she found it hard to believe the plants could have become so overgrown in the short time since Sir Adrian's death. She had the depressing thought that it was as if the very land had been tainted by its unwholesome new master.

The Rolls pulled up at the front portico, and a beefy, hard-eyed man in livery opened the door and offered his hand to Lady Penelope. Ever gracious, she accepted the hand and stepped out. "Thank you."

"Yes, milady. If you'll just follow me, the master will accept you in the library." Penelope couldn't fault the man's manners. And if a tattoo peaked out from under the cuff of his jacket, well, Penelope herself had an ex-con for her manservant. She followed the large man without any compunction. He led her through the house to a wide mahogany double door. Pulling open both halves of the door, the manservant stood to one side and announced, "Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward."

Penelope swept into the room and strode over to the large fireplace, where Coulter posed with a pipe in his hand. "Giles, how good of you to see me."

Penelope tried not to shudder at the clammy touch of his hand. Giles Coulter was short, prematurely balding, with the soft appearance of the Pillsbury doughboy. What little hair he had was greasy with pomade, and Penelope worked not to stare at several pimples that bestudded his face. "Of course, Penelope. I've been expecting you."

Penelope was affronted by the repugnant little man's blatant stare at her bosom and almost missed what he had said. She did a mental doubletake and politely asked, "Expecting me? Why on earth would you be expecting me, Giles?"

Leering Coulter said, "Because you aren't the type to stick with a loser, my dear. You've come to realize that I am the future."

Penelope paused in confusion. What could he possibly be talking about? Who was a loser? As much as she detested him, Penelope was determined to find out. Leaning forward, and touching his arm, Penelope dissembled. "You know me so well, Giles."

"Yes, and I'd like to know you better." The disgusting little man was practically drooling. It was all Penelope could do not to turn tail and run.

"Very well. Let's sit and talk. I'd like to know you better too, Giles." Penelope slid away from Coulter's grasp and casually sat in a tall armless chair.

Thwarted, Coulter sat on a large overstuffed couch. Patting the seat next to him he waggled his thin eyebrows suggestively. "Wouldn't you rather sit here? It's much more comfortable."

"Thank you, Giles, no. You see, I have a bad back. Now. You were saying I wouldn't stick with a loser. And you are right. But what makes you think he's a loser?"

Penelope thought her remark was too obvious and was surprised when Coulter answered. "Oh, come on, Penelope! I have it on good word that Tracy Enterprises is kaput. That Mr. High and Mighty Scott Tracy is going to fold his tent and go back under the rock he came from!"

Penelope was utterly shocked by the outburst. A feeling of dread came over her as she realized the Alan's suspicions could very well be right. Hiding her dismay, she said coolly, "Don't you mean Jeff Tracy? Scott is the son, and as far as I know, he does not participate in his father's business."

Coulter seemed to be caught up short by Penelope's remark. He froze for a moment, his eyes unfocused, his jaw slack. It lasted only a moment, but Penelope felt a thrill of fear run through her as she suddenly understood that Giles Coulter was totally and irrevocably insane. The moment passed and Coulter fixed her with a sly look. "You think I don't know, don't you?"

Caught offguard by the seeming change of subject, Penelope replied, "Don't know? Don't know what, Giles?"

Coulter had a faraway look. "My father was a fool, you see. He played with his little projects, never understanding the importance of what he learned."

Penelope would have objected. Sir Adrian was a wise and honorable man. His son was the fool, but Penelope held her tongue. Giles was talking almost as if to himself, and she needed to know what he had to say.

"For the good of mankind, he used to say. He built his little factories in poor countries. He wanted to raise the standard of living for the dirty unwashed masses. As if they gave a damn. As if they wouldn't have slit his throat for the pound note in his pocket. Then he decides to save the world by setting up mining on the moon. The moon, for gods sake. 'It's more environmentally friendly' he'd say. 'The world is running out of resources' he'd say. 'You're a useless git' he'd say. Well, never mind, he's dead now, and he doesn't say anything."

Coulter paused, deep in thought. The silence drew out. Penelope was on the verge of prompting him when he started again, his eyes glittering with madness. "He had this magnetic cannon built on the moon. You know what they are? They mine the ore then they shoot it at the earth with this mile long cannon. You can do that on the moon you know. Weak gravity. You shoot packages of raw ore at the earth, and you catch them in near earth orbit. It's really quite ingenious. But you need to have the processing facilities in space too. To protect the environment."

Coulter paused again, getting up from the couch to pace around the room. "Father's crews were working on building the processing plant when they noticed something far away, almost over the horizon. They investigated, and can you guess what they found? No, of course not. How could you? Let me tell you what they found. They found another space station! Imagine their shock. Here was this huge space station where no station had a right to be. The foreman decided to go pay a visit to this station, and when he gets close, lo and behold, he sees it is marked as Thunderbird Five! The man finds the answer to the greatest secret of our time. Do you know what he does? Do you? He meekly tells my father, that's what he does! And what does Father do? Amazingly, he does exactly what I would have done. He has the station monitored, and discovers it has a tight relay link to a station on earth. And where is this station?"

Coulter stopped his pacing and turned to face Lady Penelope. Sick in heart and mind, Penelope gave in to the inevitable and asked, "I don't know, Giles. Where?"

"A tiny little island in the South Pacific. Tracy Island."

Determined, Penelope replied, "Tracy Island? Oh, but you must be mistaken, Giles. I've been to Tracy Island myself. There is no relay station there. It is only a home."

Penelope's heart sank when Coulter eyed her coldly. "I'm not a fool, Penelope. And neither are you."

Penelope glanced around wondering if she could reach the door before Coulter pounced. To her relief, Coulter seemed to change gears even as she prepared herself for the attack. "They keep it all hidden. You could stay on that island for a year, and never know. I think they have an undersea monorail system. You see, that way they could keep the big hover jets they use out of sight. There's a big underwater hangar somewhere. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that Tracy Island is the home base for International Rescue. My father figured it all out. He figured the whole thing out, and what did he do with the knowledge? I'll tell you what he did. He suppressed it! He hid it away! Fool! Idiot!"

Penelope shifted uneasily as Coulter raised his voice in his anger. "We could have made millions on it! Millions! And do you know why he hid it all away? I'll tell you why. Scott effing Tracy."

Penelope blurted out. "Scott? What does Scott have to do with anything?"

Coulter affected great surprise. "Why don't you know? Scott Tracy is perfect. Scott Tracy is wonderful. Scott effing Tracy is the son my father never had and always wanted. My father would never do anything to hurt Mr. Scott Tracy. Turn his own flesh and blood out on the street but not Mr. Scott Tracy."

Penelope surreptitiously wiped a drop of Coulter's spittle from her cheek. She no longer doubted that Coulter was behind the murders of John and Gordon Tracy. She wanted only to escape this madman.

"Well, Tracy is getting his comeuppance now. We'll see how perfect he is when he finds he's suddenly an only child." Coulter said this as if to himself. Again Penelope watched as the man seemed to change gears in midstride. "But let's forget all of that. Let's talk about us."

Alarmed, Penelope squeaked, "Us?"

"Yes, us. Oh, Penelope, you must know how I feel about you. How I've longed for you. Why else would you be here? Come, give me a kiss. Tell me you feel the same way."

Penelope was horrified. The repulsive man knelt by her chair and tried to take her in his arms, but she stood suddenly. "No! I mean, Giles, this is very sudden."

Penelope kept the chair between them and Giles tried to reach for her again. "Sudden? I've wanted you for years! For years I've attended boring parties and galas! For years I've stayed at my bastard father's side. For what! To get the chance of seeing you, of course! Penelope, I love you! Marry me!"

Trying to maintain her dignity, Penelope backed towards the door, hands out to fend off any approach. "Now Giles, settle down, please. You've become overwrought. Let me call your man for you."

It seemed to occur to Giles that Lady Penelope was not responding to his overtures with the enthusiasm he expected. Drawing himself up, he stepped back. "No. No, that won't be necessary. I trust you know the way out. But please, Penelope. Think about my offer."

"Of course, Giles. I shall consider it very closely." Penelope was ever after proud of the fact that she did not run from that strange encounter, but instead, head held high, she walked with the grace befitting a true lady.

Reaching the front door, she felt suddenly ill and was very grateful when Parker noticed and ran up the stairs of the portico to steady her elbow. As he handed her into the Rolls, she said weakly, "Thank you, Parker. Just get me away from here."

"Yes, milady."

As the big pink Rolls Royce flew away down the promenade, Lady Penelope allowed herself the luxury of weeping.

Chapter Six: The Cage

Sometime earlier

John Tracy sat on the narrow cot with his arms wrapped around the knees he had drawn up to his chest. He had closed his eyes to block out the sight of his home for the last week. With his eyes closed, he could think better. He could ignore the bars of the cage that contained him, the stone walls that limited his sight.

He sighed. What he couldn't do was ignore the smell of his own unwashed body. He couldn't ignore the stench from the hole in the corner of the cage that was his only toilet. John was a naturally fastidious man, and the longer he had stayed in the cage, the more hellish it had become.

He wondered what his father was doing. Well, not really. He knew. His father was moving heaven and earth to find him. So were his brothers. John wasn't sure if the men who had captured him were after a ransom, or if they worked for someone like the Hood. He only knew that they were going to pay. He could take comfort in that thought.

An unwise move sent a twist of pain through him, and he moved his hand down to press against his injured ribs. As he breathed through the pain, he thought that it wasn't as bad as it had been before. He was fairly sure that at least one of his ribs had been cracked but not broken. At least he had been spared that.

He wondered how long it had been since the men had invaded his space station, catching him in the small gym in his sweats. He had finally figured out how they had gotten around the proximity alarms. A laser beam in the junction where the power plant joined the main body of the station would do it. He reminded himself for the umpteenth time to talk to Brains about relocating it when he got home.

He lifted his head at the sound of someone coming down the corridor. John frowned. His internal clock must be on the fritz. He could have sworn mealtime, such as it was, wasn't for another couple of hours. He could hear the heavy steps of his two jailers. He sighed but didn't move. He had thought again and again about escape, but his kidnappers never took any chances. There were always two of them. Big hulking brutes. One would point a gun while the other would toss an MRE from a safe distance. It was almost comical. John didn't think he was that much of a threat, unless it was from his b.o.

From the position of his cage, John couldn't see the doorway. He only knew the door opened when the gloom of his windowless prison lightened. He perked up when a new face appeared around the corner from the door. The small pudgy man held a double-barreled shotgun in his direction. John was more curious than afraid. The stranger was looking back at the doorway only he could see. "Ready?"

John frowned. It was the first words he had heard in over a week. It sounded as if the guy had an accent of some sort. Whoever it was he was addressing apparently nodded because the small man swung around and brought the shotgun up to point at John's chest. John raised his hands to show his surrender. "Move back."

John looked around him. He was already against the back wall of the cage. In a voice rusty from disuse, he asked, "Move back, where?"

"Over there. Get as far from the gate as possible."

John identified the accent as definitely British. Not that it helped. He moved over to the corner farthest from the locked door of the cage. With a wary eye on him, the pudgy man pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the door and swung it open. As soon as it was wide, the man called back over his shoulder. "All right. Bring him in."

John started. His two jailers appeared, dragging a third man between them. Even without the blue International Rescue uniform, John would have immediately recognized his brother. Ignoring the shotgun pointed at him, John moved forward to catch his brother Gordon as he was tossed in the cage like so much laundry.

He hardly noticed the departure of the three men as he carried Gordon to the cot and gently laid him out. "Gordon? Gordon, can you hear me?"

His younger brother was deeply unconscious. John had to steady his shaking hand to check for a pulse. It was slow but steady. With gentle fingers, he explored the bloody wound to the temple. The cut itself was superficial, but the bruising was extensive. John couldn't feel any sign of a break in the skull, but he had to assume at least a concussion. Worried at the lack of response, John did a quick check of Gordon's limbs, dismayed when the bones in his left wrist shifted under his light probing.

He heard the door to the room open and he looked up to see one of his regular jailers holding a tackle box decorated with a large red cross. John stood and started toward the man who promptly backed up, pulling a gun from beneath his jacket. John froze then slowly backed up. "Look, I need that. Just shove it through, okay? I won't come near until you're gone."

The goon's eyes narrowed and after a moment's thought, he opened the box and dug around until he found the scissors. Closing the box, he shoved it through the bars of the cage then quickly backed out of the room. John scooped up the box and opened it. His heart soared. It was a full kit, including temporary splints and analgesics. Returning to his injured brother, he carefully splinted Gordon's wrist, wrapping it in swathes of bandages to give it as much protection as he could.

John tried not to think about what it meant that they had kidnapped Gordon too. He knew he could no longer afford to wait around for rescue. For Gordon's sake, he had to come up with an escape plan. Having made his brother as comfortable as he could, John sat on the floor near his brother's head and started to think.

Chapter Seven: Action Is Taken

Several hours later

Scott Tracy was a man on a mission. When Lady Penelope had called to tell them of Giles Coulter's obsession, he had been as shocked as anyone. It had seemed unreal that he had lost two brothers simply because Sir Adrian Coulter had disliked his own son.

After a period of stunned silence, the Tracy family had discussed what to do about it. His father was adamant. It was a matter for the police. All three boys disagreed. Because it was late in the tropical evening when Penelope had called, Jeff sent his sons to bed saying they would continue the discussion in the morning.

Scott had no intention of discussing anything. As soon as the house became quiet, Scott got up from his bed. Moving quietly, he went first to the ordnance room and pulled out a gun. Checking to see that it was loaded, he headed for the hangars. He would take the family jet, and he would end this problem once and for all. What his father didn't see was that criminals got away with murder and worse than murder every day. The thought that this madman could remain free long enough to kill another of his brothers sickened him.

Logically, he knew he couldn't be blamed for Coulter's actions, but in his heart he felt the weight of blame. If it weren't for him, Gordon and John would be alive today. With this thought in his mind, Scott slipped across the shadows of the hangar bay. Stepping up into the small jet, he whispered an apology to his father.

Scott froze when the interior lights of the jet suddenly came on. Directly in front of him stood his two brothers. "Going somewhere?"

Virgil had his arms crossed across his chest, head cocked to the side. Alan stood next to him, mirroring the pose. "What are you two doing here?"

Virgil replied sardonically, "Gee, Scott, I dunno. I guess we just had this sudden urge to visit the hangar."

"Fine. Go visit it. Now, get out of my way."

"Dibs on co-pilot."

"No! You're not coming with me! Now the both of you get out of here!"

"Fine. We'll take Thunderbird Two and beat you there."

"Virg, listen to me! This guy's a maniac. There's no way I'm letting either of you within a continent of him!"

"Letting? You can't stop us. Either we go together, or we go separate. It's up to you, Scott."

"I could take Thunderbird One. I'd be halfway home before you hit the English coast."

"Except that you are not going to."

Scott jumped at the deep voice behind him. His father stepped up into the plane. Looking at his three sons, Jeff Tracy shook his head. All three were dressed and armed much the same as he was. "All right. We'll all go. But this is to capture the man. I don't want to hear anything about revenge, understood?"

Three determined voices replied, "Yes, Father."

"Now, I believe Alan called dibs on co-pilot. You two strap yourselves in."

With a smirk, Alan followed his father onto the flight deck. Virgil and Scott both rolled their eyes as they buckled in.

"Scott."

"It's all right, Virgil. It's going to be all right."

"Yeah. It will."

"Look. I want to say I'm sorry."

Virgil looked over at his older brother curiously. "For what, Scott?"

"For everything. Just for everything."

Scott didn't articulate it well, but Virgil knew just what his brother was thinking. "I'm sorry, too."

Chapter Eight: A Hard Decision

Later that same day

John awoke from a half doze at the sound of a groan. Getting up, he found Gordon had flung an arm across his eyes. "Gordon? Gordon, come on. Wake up. Wake up, squirt."

John gently removed the arm Gordon had thrown up, only to find his brother's eyes squeezed tight. "I don wanna go to school."

John smiled briefly. "Gordon. Come on, wake up. I'm not fooling. I need you to open your eyes."

His younger brother opened his eyes a crack. John watched a puzzled look cross Gordon's face. He wasn't prepared for what happened next. Suddenly, Gordon's eyes opened wide, and he leapt up grabbing his brother. "John! You're alive."

As suddenly as he had jumped into John's arms, he fell back just as quickly as a wave of dizziness and weakness rolled over him. John caught his brother and gently lowered him back down on the cot. "Easy, Gordon. You've had a bad knock there. What do you mean, I'm alive? Did you think I was dead?"

Gordon laid still, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to control the sudden nausea. Abruptly, he lost the battle, and rolled over on his side heaving up the contents of his stomach. John jumped back then moved in again, holding his weakened brother as he heaved himself dry. "Okay, squirt, that's enough. Easy. Take it easy. You're going to be okay."

John held his brother until he relaxed into sleep. Looking down at the pain apparent in Gordon's face, John felt fear form in his gut. His brother needed a doctor and soon. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, John reached into the tackle box for some gauze pads and gently began to clean his brother up. Halfway through, he looked up to see his brother watching him. The amber eyes were dull with pain but at least he was conscious. Reaching into the tackle box, John found the painkillers. He grabbed the bottled water from the meal that had been tossed in earlier, and turned to his brother.

"Come on, squirt. We need to get these pills in you."

John could barely hear the soft reply. "No, you won't throw up. We'll do it nice and slow. Come on, now, you'll feel better if you take them."

John was true to his word, lifting his brother gently, cradling him as he took a few swallows of water to force the pills down. As curious as John was, he lowered Gordon back down saying. "I want you to close your eyes for a bit. Give the painkillers a chance to work."

"Where are we?" John didn't like the weakness in his brother's voice. He didn't like the way his vibrant, boisterous brother lay there as if even the slightest movement was too much effort.

"Don't you worry about where we are. Now, close your eyes, okay? Come on, just for a little bit."

Gordon said something so low that John couldn't hear. "What?"

"I don't want to close my eyes. I don't want this to be a dream."

Frowning, John grasped Gordon's good hand. "Because you think you'll wake up and I won't be here?" At his brother's slight nod, John nodded his head. "I'll tell you what, squirt. You close your eyes, but you hold on to my hand. That way you'll know I'm here."

John could see the worry smoothed away as his brother closed his eyes. After a few moments, Gordon's grip slackened as he slipped into sleep. John finished cleaning his brother up and considered his options. He could stay and hope for rescue. He could leave and take his injured brother with him, and hope he didn't kill Gordon with the movement. He could leave Gordon behind and hope he got help before their kidnappers realized he was missing and took it out on their remaining captive. None of the options were palatable, but he couldn't think of anything better.

Looking down on his sleeping brother, he knew he couldn't leave him behind. That left staying or carrying him. Both options had inherent dangers. He finally decided on a middle course. He would wait until Gordon was coherent enough to tell him what was happening with his family, maybe a little scouting trip to get the lay of the land, then he and Gordon would be outta here.

Chapter Nine: Attack

Scott stood in the corner formed by the large overgrown hedge, and a massive bush. From his vantage point he could see the Coulter Manor house. Despite the lack of any curtains or drapes, Scott could detect no movement. He looked to his left to confirm his father's position.

Upon their arrival in England, they had found Lady Penelope waiting for them. She had wanted in on the capture of Giles Coulter, but Jeff had been adamant, refusing to allow her to accompany them. Defeated, she had insisted that they take Parker and the Rolls. Scott had his own thoughts about driving around the countryside in that huge, bright pink machine, but he had been overruled.

Now, as he looked for any sign of his two younger brothers, Scott was glad. The Rolls had gotten them to their objective quickly and with no fuss. After a short conference, it was decided that Virgil and Alan would take the front while Scott and his father would cover the rear.

Parker had asked why they didn't just walk up to the door. Scott's instincts told him that would be suicide, but it was Virgil who pointed out that Coulter probably knew what they all looked like. Parker was left, much to his disgust, as a rearguard. The four grim men had moved in.

Scott moved forward in the shadow of the bushes that outlined the garden path. With his gun extended, he watched the building for any sign of movement before signaling his father forward. The elder Tracy had just taken up a new position within fifteen feet of the building when the sudden chatter of gunfire erupted.

Scott's blood ran cold as he heard first one, then two automatic weapons discharging. He ran for the wall of the manor house, heart beating fast. Then he heard two guns answer back. He closed his eyes for a moment in relief. His brothers were safe.

Chapter Ten: A Surprising Skill

John cocked his head. He thought he had heard something but he couldn't be sure. Dismissing it, he said, "Okay, so they put a hole in Thunderbird Five? How big a hole? Has Brains fixed it yet?"

Gordon had awakened a bit earlier claiming to feel a lot better. John was skeptical. As near as he could tell in the dim light, his brother was deathly pale. But John was willing to set aside his concerns for the greater concern of getting his brother out of here.

"Uh, well, not exactly."

"Gordon..."

"John, we thought you were dead! We weren't really concerned about Thunderbird Five. Father was talking about shutting down International Rescue, and Virgil kept playing the piano and Alan wouldn't shut up and Tin- Tin kept crying and..."

"Gordon! All right! All right, I get the picture! Calm down, little brother." John was surprised at the outburst. Gordon was usually even tempered and not given to hysterics. On reflection, John realized it was probably a combination of pain and the fact that he had thought John dead. "Okay. Now. You're in uniform, so I assume they grabbed you during a rescue."

"Yeah. We got a call that one of those tourist subs had lost power. You know, the kind with the glass sides? We got out there, and it was pretty routine. There were fourteen people. I made three trips up with four people each trip, then I went back for the last two. I docked and hollered for them, but they didn't come, so I went over. I guess they must have hit me from behind because I don't remember anything else."

John nodded his head, half-talking to himself. "So then they put a hole in Thunderbird Four, and boom, another brother is gone."

"No! Not Thunderbird Four!" Gordon cried in dismay.

"Gordon, there are bigger issues here than your toy submarine. If the intention were to shut down International Rescue, your death would probably do it, don't you think? Especially if it looks like an accident."

Gordon replied, "I don't know. We re-grouped after your...death. It took a few days, but we did it." Gordon closed his eyes in obvious pain. "John, what do they want? Why are we still alive?"

"I don't know, squirt, but I have no intention of sticking around long enough to find out."

Gordon opened one eye to look at his brother. "Yeah? Well, how come you stuck around this long?"

"Two things. First, I didn't have the intel. I kept thinking Scott was going to show up any minute. I had no idea you guys thought I was dead."

"And the second thing?"

"This." John reached over and carefully removed his brother's sash.

"My sash?" Gordon said doubtfully.

"Yes. Look and learn, squirt." John felt carefully along the edge of the orange sash. When he found what he was looking for, he used his teeth to tear the tough fabric. As Gordon looked on, John gently teased out a piece of wire about five inches long. He held it up in triumph, grinning.

Frowning Gordon asked, "What is that?"

"This, little brother, is called a 'stay'. Grandma uses them to give the sashes that stiffness." As he spoke, John teased out a second piece of wire.

"Okay. So what are you going to do with them?"

John stopped, and looked his brother in the eye. "I want your word, Gordon."

"My word? On what?"

"I want your word that what I am about to show you goes no farther. You can't tell anyone. Not Scott. Not Alan. Not Tin-Tin. Not Father. Especially not Father."

Mesmerized by the serious tone John had taken, Gordon said, "Okay."

John just stared. "I'm waiting."

Gordon's eyes widened. "Okay. Uh, I promise on pain of horrible death never to reveal the secret I am told this day."

"And what happens to little brothers that break their promises?"

"They get pounded into the ground and covered up with rocks."

"Very good. Now watch." John got up and went over to the door to the cage. Reaching around the lock plate with both hands, he worked the wires to spring the lock.

Gordon sat up in surprise. "John! You can pick locks?"

"If we're lucky."

"When did you learn to do that? Why did you learn to do that? Can you show me how?"

John paused looking back at his brother. "Gordon, I want you to lie back. If this works, we are going to have to move fast. I don't want you using all of your energy before we're even out of the cage. Listen, while you're sitting up, take a couple more of those pills, will you? I've got no idea where we are, and we might have a long trek ahead of us."

"Why would we have to trek? Couldn't you just hotwire a car?"

"What? What makes you think I could hotwire a car?"

With a sly grin, Gordon said, "I can."

"Tsk. Well so can I, but that's another secret you aren't going to spill, right?"

"Right. So, when did you learn to pick locks?"

"Remember that Halloween when we got all that candy, and Scott thought we were stealing his? Remember, he locked the door to his bedroom?"

"Yeah. Hey! Wait a minute! I remember that! Someone stole all of his Abba Zabbas. He said it had to be me, because I was the only one who liked them. John, he pounded me!"

"Yup, he sure did."

"What? You set me up? You set me up! I can't believe it! What did you do that for?"

"You should never have put that itching powder in my shorts." John kept at it, feeling around in the lock with the two wires.

"What? You knew? How did you know? I planned that for weeks!"

"Gordon, when Grandma takes you shopping, and you come back with a bag from Merlin's Emporium, and you're running around barely able to contain your glee, I get worried. I found your little hidey-hole, and saw the itching powder. It didn't take much to figure out you had used it the day of that party. You looked positively angelic. I checked all my clothes, and found the powder in my shorts."

"So that's why you were able to sit still at dinner. I thought it was your iron will."

"Nope. Anyway, right after the party, Lady Penelope came for a visit. I got together with Parker and voila."

"I can't believe you set me up. John, you're my hero!"

John chuckled, and kept at his task. Despite the levity, he was worried. He knew Gordon should be in a hospital bed, not trying to run from some very scary and probably deadly men. Finally the lock snicked open, and John pushed the door wide.

Turning back to the cot, he found Gordon slumped over, eyes closed.

Chapter Eleven: Stairway To Danger

Scott stood listening hard. After the first firefight, he had joined his father in racing around to the other side of the building. They found a big, brutish looking man facedown in the flowerbed next to the house, and Virgil and Alan moving to cover the front door. In a whisper, Scott asked, "Are you guys all right? What happened?"

Alan, who was closest, replied. "Yeah, we're fine. We were crossing the lawn when all of the sudden they opened up on us. There are at least two more, maybe more."

"All right. Give us to the count of sixty to get to the back door, then go in."

"Right."

Scott led the way back to the rear of the house, counting as he went. He wondered if they should call it off. He hadn't expected to go up against armed thugs. He barely reached the back door in time. His father quietly turned the doorknob, and gently pushed the door open. At a nod, they both burst through the door at the same time. The room was a large kitchen, crowded with pots, pans and other implements. In a doorway across the room, looking like a rabbit caught in headlights, was a short fat man. Scott yelled, "Freeze!"

Scott's call had the opposite effect of the one he intended. The little man jumped as if startled, swung a gun in the general direction of Scott and his father, and firing off a shot, disappeared through the doorway. Both Scott and his father flinched but the bullet was far above their heads. Jeff Tracy called to his son, "That was Coulter. Let's go."

The two raced across the room to find themselves in a long corridor. There were several doors, but no clue as to which Coulter had bolted through. Both spun at a clatter behind them, only to find Virgil and Alan running up, eyes wide. "We heard a shot!"

"Yeah, Virg, Coulter took a potshot at us. Listen, he went down this way. Come on."

His father stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Let me go first."

When his father took that tone, not even Scott would disobey. "Yes, sir."

As they advanced, they found that one door led to a closet and another led to a bathroom. Two doors hid staircases, one up and one down. The rest led to various parlors and living rooms. Jeff Tracy called his sons together for a hasty conference. "All right, we need to split up. Scott, you take the downstairs, and I'll take the upstairs. Virgil, you and Alan work your way through the ground floor. I don't have to tell you boys to be careful. If anyone gets in trouble, sing out. You hear your brothers call, and you come running. Got it?"

"Got it." Scott listened as his two brothers moved off. Going to the staircase, he listened for any movement. It didn't take a genius to see that the narrow straight stairwell could be a deadly trap. Anyone waiting at the bottom would see him coming. Not hearing anything, Scott quietly moved down the stairs. He pressed himself hard to one side, hoping to limit his visibility as a target.

Reaching the bottom without incident, Scott paused for a moment, hoping to get his wildly beating heart under control. As he breathed deeply, he looked down the musty corridor ahead of him. There were boxes lining the left side of the corridor, in some places all the way up to the ceiling. An army could be hiding behind any of the boxes. Scott could also see at least two side corridors branching off.

Swallowing to ease the sudden dryness of his mouth, Scott eased his way into the deadly corridor. He had taken no more than three steps when he thought he heard something. It seemed to come from the far end. Remembering the cowardly way his brothers had been murdered, Scott headed for the sound.

He realized his mistake too late as he passed the first side corridor and a hand snaked out grabbing his wrist. He was jerked sideways, off balance. Before he could recover, Scott was pushed up against the wall and a hand was pressed hard against his mouth. He struggled to bring the gun to bear and bit hard at the hand.

Chapter Twelve: Rescued!

"Aaaa! Scott! Owww! Scooter! Knock it off!" As the whispered words got through to him, Scott froze.

"John?"

"Shhhh! Quiet, Scott. A little man with a big gun just went by two minutes ago."

"John?" Scott was stunned. He gingerly reached out a hand to touch his brother, which earned him a roll of the eyes.

"Yes, it's me. Back from the Great Beyond. Now pull yourself together. Listen, we have to get Gordon out of here. He needs a doctor."

John turned to look to his left. "I'm all right. Let's get going."

Scott turned to the familiar voice and saw another miracle. "Oh, my God."

Tears in his eyes, Scott reached out and pulled both of his brothers into a tight embrace. He was shaking so hard he thought his knees would buckle if he let go. "Aaack. Scott! You're choking me! Let go!"

With a grin so hard his face ached, he let John go. He started to let Gordon loose, but suddenly realized his younger brother was sagging against him. Reaching with both arms to support him, Scott felt a sudden dread. "Gordon? Gordy?"

"He got hit pretty hard in the head, Scott. Give me the gun. You're going to have to carry him."

Feeling overwhelmed, he did as his brother said, handing over the gun and scooping his injured brother up in his arms. John led the way to the main corridor then acted as a rearguard, staying between his brothers and the danger further in. They had reached the stairwell when a loud shot was fired. Both brothers reacted instantly. Scott dropped to the ground and covered Gordon with his own body, and John interposed himself between his brothers and the far end of the corridor where the shot had come from.

After a few moments, John swallowed hard and whispered, "What do we do, Scott?"

"Give me the gun. I want that guy bad. You get Gordon out of here."

"I can't. I've got a couple of cracked ribs. I can't carry him."

"All right. You stay here. I'm going after Coulter."

"Scott, no. Let's just get out of here."

Scott looked worriedly at his brother, but before he could say anything more, Gordon spoke from the floor where he was trying unsuccessfully to get to his knees. "Is that the guy who killed John?"

Scott and John both reached down and helped their brother to his feet, Scott replying, "Yeah, it is."

"Well then, give me the gun and I'll go get him." Gordon said with a fierceness that belied his weak knees.

John and Scott shared a look, John saying wryly, "It's the head injury. He's delusional."

"Well, at least now he has an excuse."

"Hey! I'm right here! If you're going to talk about me, do it behind my back."

Scott would have hugged his brothers again but for their injuries. "Okay, this guy isn't going anywhere. Let's get Gordon up the stairs."

"I can make it on my own, Scott. I'm not hurt that bad." John muttered something that sounded like 'definitely delusional,' but Scott couldn't be sure.

"All right, Gordon. I'll tell you what, you go first. I'll be right behind you if you need any help."

Gordon stood swaying, eyeing the staircase doubtfully. Scott was about to say something, but Gordon started slowly up. Scott kept one step behind watching carefully for any sign of imminent collapse. John waited at the bottom, gun at the ready, until his brothers were halfway up then started backing up the steps himself.

They were within five steps of the doorway at the top of the stairs when Gordon collapsed bonelessly without a sound. Despite his careful watching, Scott was caught off guard and would have overbalanced and fallen had John not reached out a hand to steady him. The two brothers shared a frightened glance as Scott pulled his little brother into a fireman's carry. "Get the door, John."

John carefully changed positions with his brother and, trotting up the last few steps, opened the door. John held up a hand to keep Scott back and carefully checked the hallway. It was empty and he motioned Scott forward. Scott came slowly up the stairs, being wary of further injuring his unconscious brother.

"John, you stay here. I'm going to go find Father."

"Father? Dad's here?" John was frankly amazed. "You let him come?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't know, Johnny. Somewhere along the line, I lost control of the situation. Virg and Alan are around here somewhere too."

"Did you bring Grandma and Tin-Tin, too?"

"I've got to put Gordon down. Open that door, will you? It's a bathroom. You can guard it while you watch the stairwell." The bathroom was tiny, little more than a toilet and washbasin. Scott eased his burden down to the floor. In the bright light of the bathroom, both brothers could see the dark bruise that had formed covering Gordon's temple and disappearing up under his reddish gold hair.

The injury gave Scott a sense of urgency and, closing the bathroom door, he said, "I'll be right back."

He headed for the doorway that contained the up staircase. As he reached for the doorknob, it suddenly turned and the door was pushed open. Scott realized he no longer had a weapon but the sudden fear turned to relief as he found himself face to face with his father.

"Scott, you gave me a fright. Did you find anything?"

Scott nodded, "Dad, you are not going to believe what I found."

Scott gently pulled his father away from the door that blocked his view of his middle son. "Hi, Dad."

Jeff Tracy gasped and found his legs buckling under him. Scott reached to steady him, and John rushed forward to give a hand. "Yeah, it's me, Dad. I'm okay."

Jeff simply stared slack jawed for several moments then reached out to run the back of his hand in a caress of a face he had never expected to see again. Scott and John both understood that their father needed some time and both waited patiently, grinning. In less time than they expected, Jeff reached out much as Scott had, to pull his son into a fierce hug.

Jeff stood, rocking his son, whispering 'thank you, Lord,' over and over. Scott heard a sound. He spun around to find Virgil and Alan coming up the hallway. Seeing the twin frowns, Scott realized his brothers could only see that their father was hugging someone, but not who. "What's going on, Scott?"

With a grin, Scott reached over and nudged John on the arm. "Say hello."

John peeked over Jeff's shoulder. "Hello."

Scott watched as both of his younger brothers gasped and turned pale. He was able to reach Virgil and steady him, but Alan simply fell to the floor on his backside. Scott wasn't sure who to help first. He pressed Virgil against the wall. "Virg? You with me? Are you okay?"

Virgil face slowly regained color and lit up in a huge grin. "Yeah, let me go."

Scott stepped back, and Virgil walked over and hugged his brother from behind. "Careful, Virg, he's got cracked ribs. Alan? Come on, boy, snap out of it."

Alan had been sitting on the floor wide-eyed with shock. At his brother's hand on his shoulder, he looked up, with eyes suddenly wet with tears. "He's been here all this time?"

Scott squatted. "Don't think about that. We've got them back and that's all that matters. Come on, get up. Grandma will tan your hide if you get those pants dirty."

The everyday nonsense got Alan moving. As Scott pulled him upright, Alan asked in a fearful voice, "What about Gordon?"

"Yeah, Gordon." John remarked, squirming out of the double hug. "Father, he needs a doctor."

John strode over to the bathroom door, Jeff and his other sons close behind. Scott felt a wrench in his stomach when it was obvious that Gordon hadn't moved at all. Jeff was by his side in a flash, checking for a pulse. Without looking up, he said, "Alan, go get Parker now. And be careful, that maniac is still on the loose."

"No, Dad. He's bottled up. He's down there in the basement. That door is the only way out that I could see."

Alan immediately left at a run. Virgil's eyes turned hard. He lifted his gun and headed for the doorway. "Let's go get him."

"Virgil." His father's commanding voice stopped him. "Son, we have more important priorities. Keep an eye on the door, but we're getting out of here now."

Jeff Tracy gathered his son in his arms and waved off Scott and Virgil's attempts to help him. "Make sure the way is clear, Scott. Virgil, you're rearguard. John, let's go home."

All three boys replied in a chorus, "Yes, sir!"

Scott held out his hand, and John gladly turned over the gun, content to let his brothers do the guarding. Before they reached the front parlor, Alan had returned. "Parker's already out front. He heard the gunfire, and saw a couple of guys hightailing it away from the house, so he came down."

As he spoke, he walked up and gave John a hug. "All right, boys, don't lose focus. I don't want any accidents because we got careless."

Grinning, all four replied, "Yes, Father."

Scott took his father's advice to heart, carefully scanning the rooms they passed through and listening hard for anything out of place. With Alan to point the way, they reached the front door with no resistance. As promised, Parker was waiting at the foot of the portico, a big grin on his face. When he saw the Tracys exit the house, he pulled open the back door of the Rolls. As soon as Jeff was in, Parker trotted swiftly to the trunk and pulled out a blanket, which he passed to Scott as the young man, was climbing into the car.

Within moments, Parker had the big pink machine on the road. "Where to, sir?"

"The nearest Trauma Center, and hurry."

"If h'I might make a suggestion?"

"What is it, Parker?" Jeff cradled his son on his lap, wanting nothing more than to see those light brown eyes open.

"Well, sir, I'm thinking that maybe it would be better to return to 'er Ladyship's. There is, as you might say, a complication in the flowerbed at the front of the house. Master Gordon's injuries might raise the wrong questions. If you were to contact 'er Ladyship, she could have a doctor waiting. A private doctor."

Jeff wanted to say no. He wanted Gordon to be treated immediately, but Nosy Parker's advice where police matters were concerned was not to be dismissed lightly.

"All right, Parker. Get us there fast."

"Yes, sir." The big Rolls picked up speed until it was practically flying down the road.

"Scott, you call Penny, tell her we need a trauma specialist immediately." Jeff gently stoked his son's hair, pushing it aside to try and see the extent of the bruising.

Scott opened up the phone/viewer and pressed a number he knew by heart. Almost as soon as he finished dialing, Lady Penelope's face filled the screen. "Scott! Is everything all right? Is your father okay? Did you capture that dreadful man? Tell me!"

Scott grinned at the impatient questions. "Penelope, everything is better than okay. We found John and Gordon! They're alive!"

Scott watched as Lady Penelope's hands flew up to cover her mouth. With tears in her eyes, she took a few deep breaths. Composed, but smiling widely, Penelope asked, "They're all right? Scott, can I talk to them?"

"Well, John's okay, but Gordon's hurt. We're on our way to your place, and Father is asking you to call a trauma specialist. Gordon has a head injury, but we don't want to take him to the hospital because we left what Parker calls 'a complication' back at the manor."

"Oh, dear. A complication. I believe Sir William Ellis is in town. I'll get on to him straight away. How soon will you be here?"

"Twenty minutes, milady." Called Parker from the front seat.

"Thank you, Parker. I shall call Sir William now. Tell John I shall expect a full report when you arrive."

"Okay, Penelope. See you in twenty minutes." Scott disconnected the circuit.

"Maybe I should call Grandma, let her know I'm all right." John reached for the viewer.

"No, son, let your brother do it. I don't want her to have a shock."

Alan who was sitting as close to John as he could get without climbing in his lap grinned saying, "Yeah, John, your face is shocking at the best of times. And thank gosh it isn't smell-o-vision, because I have to tell you, bro, you're mighty ripe."

Virgil piped up, "It that what that is? I thought something had crawled into the car and died. Weeks ago."

John answered with dignity, "It's a manly smell. Something you children wouldn't know anything about."

Scott listened to the patter as he waited for his call to Tracy Island to go through. When the connection was made, it was Kyrano who answered. "Mr. Scott! Where are you? Are your brothers with you?"

Scott raised his hand to stop the flood of questions. "Kyrano, I want you to go get Grandma. Oh, and Tin-Tin and Brains, too. There is something I have to tell all of you."

A frown raced across Kyrano's face before it assumed it's normal inscrutability. "Yes, right away."

Kyrano disappeared. While they were waiting, Virgil said quietly. "Scott, you better make sure Grandma is sitting down before you tell her."

"That's for sure. My butt still hurts." Alan rubbed his rear ruefully.

Tin-Tin's face appeared in front of the screen. "Scott? Is everything all right? We were so worried when we woke and found you all gone."

"Everything's fine, Tin-Tin. Is Grandma there yet?"

"I'm right here, Scott. We're all here. Now, what is this nonsense all about?"

"Grandma, if you aren't sitting down, could you please take a seat?"

At the sudden gasps, Scott was quick to add, "It's good news, folks. I just know from personal experience, it's better if you're sitting down."

John started to snicker and Scott reached over to swat him. "All right, Scott, we're all sitting down. Now what's this news you have?"

Scott had been trying to think of a gentle way to break the news, but decided honesty was the best way. "Grandma, we found John and Gordon. They're alive."

Scott watched as his grandmother paled and put her hand up to her chest. "Grandma? Are you okay? Grandma?"

Kyrano had immediately stood and left the area, as Brains and Tin-Tin held Grandma's hands solicitously. In the car, all four brothers strained to get a glimpse to make sure their grandmother was all right. When she saw John jostling with his brothers, she reached out a hand to him "John."

"I'm okay, Grandma. Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes! I am definitely all right!"

Her comment caused Alan to break into a big grin. "Me too, Grandma!"

"Where's Gordon? I want to see Gordon!"

Scott answered. "Grandma, Gordon's unconscious. We're taking him to a doctor right now."

"Unconscious? What's wrong? Why is he unconscious?" Scott didn't like the sudden frailty in his grandma's voice.

"Grandma, he's going to be fine. He got hit in the head, but you know how hard his head is. Don't worry, he's going to be okay."

"Oh dear. You tell your father I'm coming over there just as soon as I can get to the hangar."

"But Grandma."

"Don't you Grandma me, young man. Tin-Tin will fly me. Now, I've got to get packing."

Scott watched as his grandmother simply got up and walked away as if further conversation was superfluous. Tin-Tin and Brains were both grinning to beat the band. Kyrano appeared carrying a glass of water, and for once, there was nothing hidden in his look. His eyes shone with joy.

Scott sighed. "Bye Grandma." Looking at the other smiling faces, Scott grinned, "So Tin-Tin, you're going to fly Grandma over?"

"Yes, Scott."

"Uh, uh, I'm c-coming too, Scott."

"I shall come also."

John muttered "Who's minding the store?"

Scott grinned, "Who cares? Okay, Tin-Tin, we'll see you when you get here."

"All right, Scott. And John, I am so glad to see you well."

"Thanks, Tin-Tin."

Scott disconnected. Without the calls to distract him, he could only look morosely on as his father tended to his injured younger brother.

Jeff noticed the silence, and looked up to see four pairs of worried eyes. "Don't you worry boys, your brother is tough. His pulse is strong, and he's breathing without any difficulty. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Looking for something to distract his sons, Jeff asked, "John, why don't you tell us exactly what happened?"

"Well, there's not a whole lot to tell, Father. I was working out in the gym when I thought I heard a strange sound. I went to investigate, and there were these guys in the station. They hit me in the face with some kind of gas, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a cage."

Alarmed, Scott asked, "A cage? What kind of cage?"

"Like a big cage. In the cellar. I think maybe it was to store wine or something. It was maybe eight feet by ten feet. Steel bars. Kind of like those jail cells you see in those old westerns. Anyway, I woke up in this cage, and my side was killing me. Somebody had kicked me and cracked a couple of my ribs. I could tell I'd been kicked because the bruise was shaped just like the toe of a boot. You could even see where the stitches on the boot were."

John had been watching Gordon as he spoke, but now he glanced up to see the hard looks in the eyes of his brothers. "Hey, I'm all right, guys. Anyway, I was stuck in that cage for a week. Every so often, these two big goons would come in and toss me a packaged meal and a bottle of water. It was really kind of funny, because they acted like they thought I was a combination of James Bond and Rambo. These guys were huge, but they were definitely afraid of me."

To clarify a point, Jeff asked, "But you weren't in this cage when you met up with Scott?"

"Well, no. See, I kept expecting you guys to rescue me, so I sat tight. It wasn't until they threw Gordon in with me and he told me you all thought I was dead that I realized no one was coming to help. Believe me, I was as surprised to see Scott as he was to see me."

"Gordon was conscious?" Jeff asked his son.

"Yes, Father." Scott and John replied in unison.

Jeff raised his eyebrows at the response, but simply said, "All right, John, go on."

"Like I said, they literally threw Gordon in the cage with me. I got him onto the cot and I checked him out. I think his wrist is broken, by the way. I couldn't feel any crack in the skull, but he was out cold, like now. One of the goons showed up with a first aid kit. I did what I could, and then I waited. When he came to, he told me about Thunderbird Five having a hole in it. Oh, Father, if Thunderbird Four has a hole, you better not tell him about it. He got really upset when I mentioned the possibility."

John shot a curious look at Scott who responded, "There wasn't enough left to show if there were holes."

John grimaced then went on. "He's not going to be happy. Especially when I co-opt Brains to fix Thunderbird Five first."

"We'll talk about that later, son. What happened next?"

"Well, Gordon was passing in and out of consciousness. I knew I couldn't wait around any longer, I knew I had to get him out of there. When Gordon woke up, I, uh, found a way to spring the lock on the door, and we left. We started down this hallway, and I heard someone coming, so I got us down this side corridor. Gordon was out on his feet, but I was afraid to let him down for fear I wouldn't be able to get him up. We hid behind a box, and this fat little man came by. He was mumbling something, but I was paying more attention to the gun he was carrying."

John shook his head saying ruefully. "I don't mind telling you, I thought we had had it at that point. Gordon was barely conscious, and I figured the guy would come back as soon as he saw we were gone. I reckoned our only chance was to somehow get to the stairway at the end of the hall before the little guy came back. But then I heard someone else coming down the staircase, and I knew we were trapped. I had just about decided to give ourselves up and hope we could survive the reprisals, when, don't ask me how, I realized the guy in the hall was Scott."

John looked over at his oldest brother and shrugged. "I don't know if it was ESP or what, Scott, I just knew it was you."

"Well, you just about scared me to death, John. He grabbed me by the wrist and slammed me up against the wall."

"It was hardly a slam."

"It was definitely a slam."

"Well, you bit me."

"You shoved your hand in my mouth. What did you expect?"

The exchange was without rancor, but Jeff put a stop to it anyway. "Enough. Gordon was conscious when you found them, Scott?"

Scott looked guiltily at his younger brother, lying quietly in his father's arms. "Yes, Father. He said he could make it up the stairs by himself. I shouldn't have let him try it. He passed out near the top. If I had just carried him…"

John put his hand on his brother's arm. "No Scott. He would have passed out anyway. Believe me, it was amazing he stayed awake as long as he did."

Jeff looked his eldest son in the eye. "Scott, don't waste your energy feeling guilt about something you had no control over. Gordon is going to be just fine."

Scott hoped his father wasn't just saying that. His brother looked so pale and still that Scott feared his father was wrong.

"Say, what was this all about anyway?" John asked with a puzzled frown.

"Revenge."

"Retribution."

"Retaliation."

"Reprisal."

"Virgil. Alan. Enough." Jeff Tracy warned his sons.

John had been turning back and forth between his two brothers, but now sat back with his hands interlocked behind his head. "So what did Gordon do?"

"Gordon?" Asked Alan, puzzled.

"Well, it couldn't have been me. I'm too lovable for anyone to want revenge."

Alan snickered, but it was Virgil who answered. "No, it wasn't Gordon or you. Coulter was getting revenge on Scott."

"What did Scott do?"

"Oh, you know Scott. Coulter wanted revenge because Scott is too perfect."

"Yup. That's our Scott. Flawless."

"Impeccable!"

"Ideal!"

"Sublime!"

"Superb!"

"All right. Knock it off, you guys." Scott growled at all three of his snickering brothers. He turned to John. "Coulter was nuts. I don't know what he intended to do. All I know is he came close to tearing this family apart."

John became serious. "Yeah, he might have come close, but he didn't succeed, Scott. That's all that matters, okay?"

Scott nodded his head. "Yeah, okay."

All four boys suddenly focused on Gordon who, with a soft moan, showed signs of awakening. Their father took Gordon's good hand and started rubbing it, encouraging his son in a soft voice. "Gordon? Come on, son, it's time to wake up."

The injured young man took a deep sighing breath and opened his eyes. "F-Father?"

"Yes, son. You're going to be all right. We're taking you to Penny's. There'll be a doctor there."

Gordon seemed to settle back down for more sleep then stiffened. "Father? Is there a hole in Thunderbird Four?"

Seeing the anguish in his son's face, Jeff had no heart to tell him the truth. "No, son. No holes."

Gordon relaxed slightly hen tightened again. "Is John okay?"

John shook his head ruefully, "Second banana to his toy sub." He leaned forward into Gordon's line of sight. "I'm right here, squirt."

"Good." He settled once again then turned his head to where his brothers were seated. "Did we get the guy that killed John?"

"Hey! I'm not dead, Gordon!"

Virgil piped up, "Yeah, he just smells that way."

Jeff spoke up. "Son, don't you worry about that man. We'll take care of him later."

"Okay, Dad." Scott was struck by the faith implicit in his brother's simple statement. Glancing at his brothers seated in the car, he knew it was a faith shared by all of them. Giles Coulter's days were numbered, but at the moment, it didn't matter. His brothers were alive, and if not well, they were at least safe. And that was all that mattered.

Chapter Thirteen: Epilogue

Ruth Tracy sat down at the edge of the four poster bed and carefully removed her hat. It was good to be home. As gracious as Lady Penelope was, Ruth was at an age where her comforts were important to her. And her own bed in her own room was chief among those comforts.

As she opened her suitcase, she thought back over the last several weeks. Her grandson Gordon's head injury has been serious and slow to heal. Even now she suspected he still suffered from severe headaches. John's injuries had initially seemed minor in comparison, but oh my, the fuss when he had developed that fever!

After the first week, when it was clear that both of the boys were on the road to recovery, Ruth had taken a hand in putting her son Jeff back on track. Much to her consternation, none of her family had shown the least inclination to leave England and head home. It was as if they felt John and Gordon would disappear in a puff of smoke if they turned their backs even for a moment.

She told Jeff it was high time he stopped imposing on Lady Penelope. Besides, she thought it would be a very good idea if they were to get cracking on repairs to Thunderbirds Four and Five. International Rescue had been dormant for too long.

Ruth was surprised when Jeff had talked about letting International Rescue go. He was adamant that he could not continue to put his sons at so great a risk. To hear her son say the words had shocked Ruth to the core, and she had spent several hours talking to him, and eventually to Scott, Virgil and Alan. It was obvious that even the recovery of their brothers had not lessened the trauma. Virgil and Scott in particular had been emotionally shredded when Gordon had disappeared.

Well, Ruth had spent years working with trauma victims as an emergency room nurse. She took a no-nonsense tone and told them all that courage was measured by how one dealt with adversity and she had not raised any cowards. She sent them all packing, commanding them to get back to work. Of course, she had worried herself practically to death over how they were faring.

That first news report of International Rescue saving the busload of school children had lightened her heart considerably, even as it worried John. While Gordon was still sleeping a good part of the day and all through the night as his battered head healed, John was fit and ready to return to duty. He had flatly refused to listen to his father's suggestion that he remain on earth while Thunderbird Five was made into a fully automated satellite.

Alan had come that same day, telling the harrowing tale of the rescue before heading home with John in tow. John, Alan and Brains had flown to Thunderbird Five the very next day to put things right. He had called her almost every day since, looking fit in his uniform, checking to see that she and Gordon were all right.

She had raised good boys. All of them. Jeff called daily, giving her updates on the state of the new Thunderbird Four, when the original proved unsalvageable. Scott and his brothers stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, having figured out that 3am their time translated to mid afternoon in England, a time when Gordon was most likely to be awake.

Gordon for his part was grateful for the attention. He never complained and tried to be a good patient. Ruth would have preferred that the young man scream or carry on when in pain. The quiet compliance was so unlike him that it wrenched her heart. Eventually, as he got better, Gordon started to smile and joke with his brothers again. One day she found him in a fit of sniggering as his brother Alan was saying that Virgil had said Gordon had more guts than Virgil and Scott together. The two brothers spent over an hour planning on how to use that information to their advantage.

She knew it was time to bring the young man home when she found him in the kitchen with Parker. She had seen the lock picks the two were examining before they noticed she was there. Gordon had turned bright red and escaped to his room and Ruth had confronted Parker. "Just what have you been teaching my grandson?"

Nosy Parker looked for an avenue of escape and not seeing one, replied defensively, "Well, h'it's a useful skill, mum."

When Ruth just stared, Parker deflated somewhat. "I taught Master John a long time ago. H'it's how they got out. Master John picked the lock. Young Gordon demanded that I teach him too. Like I say, mum, it's a useful skill. I didn't see any harm in it."

"And just who else have you taught this 'useful skill', Mr. Parker?"

"Just John and Gordon. And, uh, young Mr. Scott, too. H'it seemed like a good idea at the time." Parker looked hopeful.

"So you haven't taught Virgil or Alan?"

Parker couldn't quite meet her eye. "Well... Mr. Virgil was bored, like. When he was recovering from that accident he had with the Fireflash"

"So you taught him to pick locks."

"Uh, yes, mum."

"And what about Alan?"

"Oh, no mum! On my honor! I've haven't whispered a word to him!"

"And Tin-Tin?"

"Uh, well, yes."

"So you've taught them all but Alan?"

Parker hung his head. "Yes, mum."

"Well, the next time you see Alan, you teach him too. It's not right for him to be at a disadvantage around his brothers. And while you're at it, teach my son Jeff."

"Um, that, a, won't be necessary, mum. I taught Mr. Tracy when I first met him."

Ruth had shaken her head and that afternoon put a call into her son, telling him it was time. She wasn't really surprised when Thunderbird Two had arrived some hours later with Scott, Virgil, and Alan aboard. As she and Gordon had taken their leave of Lady Penelope, Alan had snuck up behind his brother and thrown a white blanket over him.

At Gordon's indignant protests Alan replied, "It's cotton wool. Now come on."

She could tell by their looks that neither Scott nor Virgil had anymore idea what that was about than she did. Apparently it made sense to Gordon, because he had meekly allowed his younger brother to wrap him in the blanket and then lead him to the waiting ship.

The long flight home had been taxing on Gordon, but true to form, he didn't complain. Once they were safely home, she had insisted on putting him to bed. When she left his room, Jeff was sitting in a chair next to the bed watching his son sleep.

Now, as she finished unpacking, she tried to dredge up some Christian charity for the pathetical little man who had caused the last month and a half of misery for the Tracy family. The day she had arrived in England the newscasts were full of reports of the suicide of Giles Coulter. Apparently the shot Scott and John had heard was Coulter putting a bullet through his brain when he realized his prisoners had escaped.

Through her contacts with the police, Penny had learned that Coulter left detailed plans of his plot. He had intended to capture Alan and then Virgil. His intent was to use drugs to brainwash the four young men into believing he was their brother. Then he was going to set up his own International Rescue. It was, of course, utter madness and the only saving grace was in his paranoia, he did not give specifics as to who his victims were to be. The police were left with a suicide and the body of a convicted murderer. The police superintendent confided to Penny that under the circumstances the case would not be pursued.

That was all to the good in Ruth's mind. Her boys had been through enough. She sighed. As much as they had been through, they had come out the other end stronger than before. She held her head high as she left her room. The Tracy family, like their wonderful machines, were go!