WHO YA GONNA CALL? by BOOMERCAT RATED FRT

When all hope is lost, who ya gonna call? A day in the life of Scott Tracy. 

Author's Notes: Credit is always due to Sam, my most wonderful beta. This story would never have gotten off the ground without her encouragement and help. Thanks, Sam!

I also want to thank Marg for her help in getting me past my writer's block. Sometimes all it takes is changing a word or two.

Also to Gerry and Sylvia Anderson for the creation of such a wonderful fandom for me to play in!

Chapter One: Brothers

Police Chief Kyle Hamilton shivered slightly in the cool night, mountain air. Without taking his eyes from the report he was reading, he reached behind to pull his heavy gabardine department-issue jacket from the back of his chair. Shrugging in to it, he shook his head. The Basque family up in Turkey Hollow had found several of their goats slashed and mangled earlier in the day.

The veteran officer shook his head in disgust. Years on a big city beat hadn't prepared him for the casual cruelty that he found here in what he had always imagined as the quiet countryside. The goats hadn't been taken by a bear or puma. Nothing that straight forward. They had been savaged by a far more ruthless predator, as indicated by the set of running shoe prints found at the scene.

Kyle knew damned well who had done it. The Neely boys were as mean and bigoted as any big city crime lord. They came by it naturally. Their father was a bitter, nasty piece of work currently doing 25 to life for intentionally running a neighbor down with his car. The sons would likely cut up farm animals just for fun.

He'd gone out to that eyesore they called home, but there was no sign of either of them. Well, there was sign... he'd found blood and entrails at the back of the house. As a matter of policy, he'd collected some and sent it off to the county sheriff's office to be tested. Not that there was any doubt that it was from the Elizalde's goats.

Kyle suspected the boys had high-tailed it for that backcountry shack that they thought was so well hidden. They were going to get a big surprise if that was where they were. Kyle was sick of putting up with them and their nasty little games. He'd called in the county sheriff and tomorrow, he and a squad of deputies would be paying them a little visit.

For this evening, as soon as his deputy, Lyle Billington, showed up, he was headed home for pizza and beer and a ballgame on TV. He was considering his pizza toppings, when the door to his office was slammed open, and a frantic young man staggered in.

After initially jumping at the sudden noise, Kyle stood up and held out placating hands to the man, who was practically gibbering in fear. Years on the force had taught Kyle to sum up threats with a glance, and this guy was a loose cannon. Red hair, damp with sweat, framed a face caught in a rictus of terror. The amber brown eyes darted around the office as if looking for somewhere to hide. The shirt had been halfway torn from his body, showing a well-muscled chest and arms.

"Oh God, you can't be the only one here! There have to be more of you."

Kyle used his most authoritative tone, trying to break through the man's obvious panic. "All right now, son, you need to calm down. Sit down here and take some deep breaths"

The man jerked away. "No! You don't understand! He's right behind me! I've got to run!"

The last thing Kyle wanted was for a crazy man running through the streets in the middle of the night. He was beginning to suspect drug-induced psychosis. He'd never seen this guy before, and he was definitely out of control. He grabbed the man's wrist and halted his attempt to leave. "You're not going anywhere, son. Now, sit down here and tell me what's going on."

The man looked down at his held wrist, a welter of emotion crossing his face. Finally, with a massive effort, he seemed to regain control. Taking a deep breath, he began in a shaky voice, "We were just driving through. We were on vacation..."

"We?"

"Yes, me and my brother. Oh God, my brother. How am I going to tell my dad, my family?" The man dropped his head down, taking in gasping breaths of air.

"Tell your family what, son?" Kyle asked gently.

The man looked up, stark despair in his eyes. "My brother's dead. That monster killed him."

Kyle frowned. "I think you'd better tell me exactly what happened."

The man turned almost sullen. "We were driving. We pulled over to look at the map. This... this... man thing came up to the driver's side of the car, and reached in, and... and..."

"And what?"

"And took off my brother's head, okay? He reached in, and instead of a hand, he had this knife, and just swiped it, and my brother's head fell off." The man finished in a whimper.

Kyle still wasn't sure this wasn't all a hallucination, but a murder in his jurisdiction was something he couldn't take lightly. "He had a knife? Where did this happen?"

"On the road that runs through this town. Maybe five, six miles... I don't know how long I ran."

"And you said he chased you? With the knife? What did he look like?"

The man looked up at him and with a hopeless little laugh, said, "You don't get it. He wasn't carrying a knife. He had a knife where his hand was supposed to be. And his legs were made of metal. He was like some kind of cyborg or something."

Kyle sat back, finally convinced that the man was on drugs. He casually unsnapped the release on his holster. The guy looked strong, and Kyle knew that the fear could turn to aggression at the drop of a hat. "All right, son, why don't we go take a look..."

For the second time, Kyle jumped as the door opened, this time sliced off its hinges by a monstrous looking knife. Kyle registered the knife, and his hand flew to draw his gun. He pulled it out, and started to aim when he felt a flicker of something against his wrist. He looked down and frowned. His hand, with the gun, was on the floor. Where his hand had been was just a bloody sleeve. He looked up in confusion and had no time to react as the knife flickered through his neck. He dropped never even seeing the man behind the blade.

His bloody head, face frozen in surprise, rolled to a corner, where his ears could no longer hear the screams of the young man who'd sought his help.

Chapter Two: Movie Night

Scott Tracy padded down the hallway of his South Seas Island home, looking for some company. He'd finished his work for the day, and wasn't tired enough to crash. He figured he'd roust Virgil out of wherever he was hiding and go out and play some tennis or something.

He'd already checked a couple of Virgil's favorite haunts... the lounge with its baby grand piano, the balcony where his brother would paint sunsets, even his bedroom, but could find no sign of him. He was headed for the little monorail that ran around the upper half of the series of linked hangars housing their top-secret rescue craft, the Thunderbirds.

As he moved down the hallway, he heard a sudden burst of muffled laughter coming from the media room. Curious, he opened the door, and found three of his younger brothers, including Virgil, kicking back on the soft leather sofas.

"Here you all are." Scott said, then chanced to look at the film on the big screen TV. "Oh, what is that trash you're watching?"

It was John who replied with a supercilious sniff. "It's not trash. It's research."

"Research." Scott deadpanned.

It was Gordon who grinned up at him. "Yeah, we're doing a body count analysis."

"Actually, John and I have a bet going. I bet that Blenderface has a higher body count than Diabetes Man." Virgil said without the slightest hint of chagrin.

"Diabetes Man?" Scott asked somewhat bewildered.

"Yeah, Diabetes Man." Gordon answered firmly. "The tragic tale of a man with a congenital condition that only allows him to eat sugar. He grows up psychotic from the constant sugar high, and of course, has diabetes that forces the amputation of his hands and feet. He replaces his hands with knives and goes after anyone who mistreated him."

"Mostly nubile teenage girls." John added wryly.

"Yeah. Teen girls in bikinis. And goats, apparently."

"The goats don't count." Virgil said firmly.

"Yes they do. I never said human bodies, I just said bodies." John replied loftily.

Scott listened to the argument for a few more moments, then shook his head. "I do not know you people."

Virgil simply grinned and patted the sofa next to him. Scott rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right." The eldest Tracy brother moved to plop down on the couch, snagging the popcorn bowl as he passed John. "Okay, so what's the count?"

Gordon checked his scorepad. "Okay, with the two brothers and the beheaded cop, oh, and the goats, I've got 42."

Scott leaned back and tossed some popcorn into his mouth as the goat controversy raged around him.

Chapter Three: Workout

With a start, Scott Tracy awakened. For a moment, he lay back with his eyes closed, trying to will himself back to sleep. It didn't take long for him to heave a weary sigh, and decide it wasn't going to happen. He rolled over and checked his bedside chronometer. Seeing it was 4:45am cheered him a bit. Having gone to bed at about 11:00, he had almost 6 hours of sleep. Not bad considering his chronic insomnia.

He pulled himself out of bed and headed for his shower. Hitting the pre-set control, he skinned off his skivvies and stepped in... and immediately jumped out again as he was hit with cold water. Looking closer at the control unit, he saw that someone had reset the temperature to 40 degrees.

It only took a moment to reset it to the 105 degrees that he preferred. Sticking a cautious hand in, he verified the heat, and stepped in a second time. As he took up his soap and began working up a lather, he considered who might have snuck in and changed that setting.

The obvious culprit was, of course, Gordon. His red-haired younger brother loved nothing more than a good prank. But the more Scott thought about it, it seemed a bit simplistic for his devious-minded brother. He'd be more likely to have it change temperature after Scott was already in the shower.

Likewise, it seemed pretty simple for John, too. Scott's middle brother liked elegantly complex pranks that would put a Gordian knot to shame. Of course, yesterday John and Alan had switched places on Thunderbird Five. It might suit John to pull a prank that ostensibly could be blamed on his absent brother.

Now, changing the temperature setting was definitely Alan's speed. If Scott had done anything recently that Alan took offense to, Scott would have been sure that his youngest brother was the guilty party. But the last couple of weeks had been quiet, with everyone getting along particularly well.

Rinsing off the soap, Scott considered other possibilities. His dad for the most part was all business, but he wasn't above the occasional practical joke. Thing about his dad was, though, he judiciously used his prankster skills to alleviate tension. He was most likely to do something very public when everyone was wound up over a rescue or something.

Scott's grandma didn't need pranks to get people going. Ruth Tracy had a devastating wit that the years had never diminished. And if she did decide to play a prank, it would be something gentle that had the victim laughing right along with her.

Brains wasn't really a possibility. The poor guy was so damn smart that his brain just couldn't have come up with something as simple a changing the temperature on a shower. His few pranks had involved vast Rube Goldberg constructions that he'd get so involved in tinkering on that he rarely remembered to actually pull the prank.

Tin-Tin wasn't as sweet and innocent as she'd like everybody to believe, but she had been away visiting friends for the last few days. And who knew what Kyrano would do? The man was so obsessed with his role as a servant, that he'd probably have a breakdown if he ever even considered a prank.

There was no one else. Well, there was Virgil, but Scott knew his best friend wasn't the culprit. Scott dried off thinking it over, and came to the conclusion that it had to be Gordon. Simplistic or not, Gordon was always the Occam's Razor candidate for practical jokes. When all else failed, it was Gordon.

As he dressed he considered his response. His own natural tendency was to just ignore it, pretend it didn't happen. Unfortunately, where Gordon was concerned, ignoring him was tantamount to waving a red flag in front of a bull. Scott knew from long suffering experience that ignoring this prank would just lead to a rapid escalation.

No, ignoring Gordon was not in the stars. Dressed in shorts and an old Air Force sweatshirt, Scott walked quietly through the house, not wanting to disturb anybody, despite being sorely tempted to slam into Gordon's room and scare the crap out of him. While the direct approach had a certain visceral appeal, Scott preferred not to resort to physical violence where his brothers were concerned.

When he reached the lounge, he turned toward the balcony, with its long stairway leading to the beach. Halfway there, he paused. He tended to run every morning as part of his fitness regimen, but today, he wanted something more.

The evening spent lazing around watching old slasher movies had been a lot of fun. All of his brothers were witty, intelligent guys, and it seemed the worse the movie, the faster and funnier the quips got. They all had spent more time laughing than actually doing the so-called body count.

But in the cold light of pre-dawn, it seemed like an extravagant indulgence, like eating too much of one of his grandma's chocolate decadence cakes. Wanting more of a workout than a run on the beach could provide, Scott turned on his heel and headed for the gym.

Entering the room, he flicked a switch on the wall to turn on the lights, immediately wincing in the bright fluorescent glare. Blinking to adjust his eyes, he crossed the full-sized basketball court, and entered the smaller weight room.

He glanced at the free weights, but knowing that working without a spotter was a sure way to have his dad show up, he headed instead to the 'fight corner' where there were both speed bags, and a hanging heavy bag. He stopped off at his locker, and pulled out a pair of glove wraps. Slipping the soft, gel-filled fingerless gloves onto his hands, he considered just wearing his cross-trainers, instead of the low-top boxing shoes.

With a little shake of his head, he pulled out the shoes and his bag gloves. He knew if he did it halfway, he'd get more and more annoyed with himself. It was easier to just bite the bullet and do it right from the beginning.

Once he'd laced up the shoes, and pulled on the protective bag gloves, he headed to the heavy bag. The bag was firmly anchored to the floor of the gym with a short chain, so he pushed against with his hands, stretching his legs out behind him.

After a few stretches and then vigorous running in place, Scott felt loose enough to begin working. He took up a boxing stance in front of the bag, and settled, letting out a long breath. His world shrank until all there was was the heavy black bag, and his fists. His first flurry of punches was deceptively gentle, barely brushing the bag.

Gradually he worked his way up to hard jabs, done in combinations so rapid his fists were a blur. He kept it up, savagely attacking the bag until the sweat pouring from his body started to sting his eyes. With a few more punches, he paused, holding onto the bag, catching his breath.

Pushing off from the bag, he resumed his workout, concentrating on his form, working his way around the bag. Keep the hands up. Punch from the shoulder. Never present a stationary target. Like everything else he did, Scott threw himself into the workout with all of his heart, courage and concentration.

After forty minutes on the heavy bag, he moved over to the speed bag. Working the speed bag required concentration and rhythm. Already tiring from the exertion on the heavy bag, it was a testament to Scott's tenacity and strength that he soon had the bag flying in a furious staccato rhythm. He pushed through the leaden feeling in his arms, and kept it up for another ten minutes.

Finally, drenched in sweat and breathing hard, Scott stepped away. He rolled his shoulders and straightened his back as he headed back to his locker. Pulling off his shoes, and then his socks, he put his boxing gear aside, then grabbed a towel, and headed out a side door to the pool.

As he came out into the sunrise, he breathed deep. The island air always had a touch of flowery perfume that still struck Scott as exotic even after many years of living here. He strode down a path lined with hibiscus and plumeria. As he approached the pool area, he could hear the soft splash of someone swimming.

There wasn't much doubt that the swimmer was Gordon, and sure enough, as Scott came into sight of the area, he saw his brother stroking strongly across the Olympic-sized pool. Long used to his brother's skill, Scott took no notice of the long even strokes that propelled the younger man with deceptive speed through the water.

Tossing his towel on a lounger, Scott dove into the blood warm water. Coming up from his dive, Scott began his own strong glide down the length of the pool, ignoring his brother who had pulled up in surprise at the sudden company.

Scott continued doing laps, and after a few moments, Gordon joined him, stroking beside him. Scott knew better than to try and out swim his medal-winning brother, but his competitive nature got the best of him, and soon he was trying to pull away.

He wasn't successful. He soon winded himself, and came to a stop at the end of the pool, holding onto the deck, and blowing hard. Gordon didn't seem to notice, performing his typically smooth flip turn and gliding away up the pool.

Slightly disgruntled, Scott pulled himself up out of the pool and sat down on the coping, reaching to snag his towel. He rubbed his hair vigorously watching his brother continue his swim, with no apparent sign of fatigue. When Gordon returned down the length of the pool, he pulled up to the edge next to Scott and holding the coping, squinted up through eyelashes sparkling with water drops. "Hey, whadja quit for? That was fun, having someone to swim with."

Scott glanced over, then stood up. "I was just cooling down. I was in the gym."

Gordon made a show of looking around at the water surrounding him. "You mean I'm swimming in your sweat? Gross."

"I make a habit of sweating where I think you'll find it. I keep hoping the DNA will rub off, make you grow up." Scott deadpanned.

"And make me be, what? Responsible? No thanks. I'll leave that to you old folks." Gordon grinned.

"I'd settle for respectful."

"I'm hurt to think you would doubt my respect, Scott. I'm full of respect for you. And Dad. And Grandma. And Methuselah."

Scott nodded. "Methuselah, huh? Are you forgetting that as your commander, I could order you to, I don't know, say... grease all of the pod conveyor tracks?"

"Well, actually, memory loss is something I'd more expect from you."

Scott shook his head. The one thing Gordon never seemed to understand was when to stop. The jibes would continue until Scott cried uncle, or somehow diverted him. Because crying uncle just wasn't in his nature, Scott cocked his head and said, "I'll tell you what. After dinner, we'll settle this over a game of billiards. If you can remember to show up, that is."

"Excellent! A dollar a ball! I'll rake in a fortune!"

Scott finished toweling his hair and stood up. "Well, you better rake it in before tonight, because you're going to need it if you expect to last more than five minutes against me."

Scott snapped his towel at his brother, then headed for the house, Gordon's delighted laughter following behind. 

Chapter Four: Virgilius Drabius

Taking the stairs to the balcony two at a time, Scott entered the lounge and sniffed the air appreciatively. The smell of bacon and sausage filled the air, telling him that his grandmother was up and making breakfast.

He went out to the kitchen and was surprised to find Virgil already at the breakfast table, to all appearances awake and ready for the day. "God, Virgil, it's barely six thirty in the morning. What are you doing up?"

His brother looked up, embarrassment coloring his features. "I wanted to, uh, check on something, but I was too late."

Having kissed his grandma on the cheek, Scott carried a mug of coffee to the table, frowning in confusion. "Check what?"

"Nothing. Were you swimming?"

Scott was a bit surprised by the attempt to divert the conversation, but decided whatever it was Virgil was checking on, he didn't want their grandma to know. Backing his brother was as natural as breathing, so he said, "Yeah. Went a few laps with Gordon. I worked out in the gym, and needed to cool down."

That brought a smile to Virgil's face. "And did you? Cool down?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "I tried, but he was swimming right next to me. You know how it is."

Virgil's eyes twinkled. "You think he knew you were trying to beat him?"

"Probably not." Scott sighed.

Virgil chuckled, and after a moment of mock indignation, Scott joined him. Ruth reached in front of her grandson and put a plate of french toast and sausage in front of him. "I should think you'd know better than to try and beat your brother at his own game."

"Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't you Grandma? This looks great. Thank you."

"Who were you trying to beat, son?" Scott's dad, Jeff, asked as he entered the kitchen and took his place at the head of the table.

Slightly embarrassed by the attention, Scott mumbled through some sausage, "I was swimming with Gordon."

Jeff shook his head. "You know, I'm all for competition, but trying to beat your brother in the swimming pool would be like him trying to beat you in an air race."

Scott snorted. He knew it was true, but there was just something in him that made him always want... need... to be the best. "Yeah, I know. So, how did that trip to Brisbane go, Dad?"

Jeff shrugged, chewing on some bacon. "We made a good presentation, but Pacific Avionics was there. We'll see when the contracts are awarded."

Scott nodded. Pacific Avionics was a serious competitor for Tracy Enterprises. Their head engineer was a genius almost on Brains' level, and with Brains splitting his time between Tracy Enterprises and International Rescue, Pacific Avionics had been able to come up with some innovations that even Jeff Tracy had to concede were brilliant.

Scott turned back to his breakfast. He looked up a moment later, when the door opened on his brother, John. Dressed in sweat-stained tee shirt and shorts, he had obviously been out for a run. He strode into the kitchen, then came to a startled halt. He blinked at the sight of his brother, Virgil, then carefully checked his chronometer. "Uh, I think my watch must be broken."

Scott glanced at his own watch, then shook his head. "No, it is actually 6:42. In the morning."

John made a show of rubbing his eyes. "Um, Dad, I'm sorry to report I'm suffering from hallucinations."

With mock sincerity, Jeff shook his head. "No, son, you're not. That is actually your brother sitting there."

"Wow. Isn't this one of the seven signs?"

Virgil, who had been sitting in annoyed silence, speared John with a look. "Do you want to eat your breakfast, or wear it?"

John just laughed, going to the stove to kiss his grandmother on the cheek. Virgil grumbled, "Next person to comment on my being up is going to be sorry."

Ruth came over behind Virgil, and hugged him hard. "Don't you listen to them, baby. They're just jealous that you have some manners, and know how to dress."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Scott looked around, and had to admit, Virgil, in his neatly pressed clothes, looked 'ready for church' while his dad, John and he looked like cat leavings. Scott knew it was mainly because Virgil preferred to exercise later in the day, so never appeared at the breakfast table grungy.

Still, an opportunity like this couldn't be missed.... "By God, you're right Grandma! I never noticed it before. Virgil, you're an Adonis! A Greek God!"

John immediately jumped on the bandwagon, cooing like a teenage girl, "Why, just look at him! He's sooooo manly! And with muscles too! Can I have your beauty secrets, Virgie-Wirgie?"

Virgil sat sighing under the onslaught. After a moment, he looked over at his father. "Well? Give it your best shot, Dad. You know you want to."

Jeff shook his head soberly. "No son, no shot. I'm proud of you, and the example you set for your brothers."

Virgil frowned warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Jeff didn't let him down. "I would like to know, though, how many cans of hairspray it takes to get your hair so perfect."

Scott and John guffawed. Virgil nodded, trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin. "You know, Grandma, I think you're right, it is jealousy!"

Amidst the hoots and denials, Gordon made an entrance. That was the only way Scott could describe it. The door burst open, and he strode in. "Morning, you pugs and lugs! Good morning, beautiful!"

Gordon swept Ruth into a twirl, ending with him dipping the giggling woman deeply. Scott glanced at Virgil, then said solemnly, "Now, that's just sad."

Virgil picked up seamlessly, "Being dipped by a dip."

Gordon set his grandmother on her feet, keeping a hand on her arm until he was sure she was steady, then said to her, "Grandma, remind me to get out my birdwatcher's life list."

Still slightly flushed, Ruth frowned, "Your what, honey?"

"My birdwatcher's life list. It's a list of all the different birds I've seen." Gordon replied, pouring himself a mug of coffee. "Everytime I see a new species that I've never seen before, I add it to the list. I saw a new one to add to my list this morning."

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought you'd seen everything there was to see on the island, son."

"Yeah, I've pretty much catalogued all of the resident species, but we get transients all the time, and this morning's was an especially rare one."

"It was? Well, what kind of bird was it?"

"It was a pale-bellied, morning-shunning Virgilius Drabius."

It took a moment, but eventually there were snickers all around the table. Jeff nodded his head sagely, "A rare bird indeed."

"What I want to know is if I'm a pug or a lug," John commented dryly.

Before Gordon could answer, a klaxon sounded, and all five men stood up. Ruth quickly piled some sausage and toast on a plate and handed it to Gordon as he followed his father and brothers to the lounge. Scott noticed, but his focus was narrowing down, as it always did, to the issue at hand.

Chapter Five: Flight to Danger

Jeff slid smoothly behind his desk, hitting a control, bringing up a live link to Alan in Thunderbird Five. "Go ahead, Alan."

"Father, we've got a mine collapse in Kyrgyzstan. Four people trapped when a tunnel collapsed."

"Are the locals on scene?" Jeff asked.

"Well, it appears there's a problem with that. My contact is a woman, who is very vague about just about everything except that her husband and sons are trapped. I'm getting the idea that this is an illicit operation. She keeps offering us gold if we'll help."

John nodded. "Kyrgyzstan is a poor country, but they have a lot of gold in the hills. The government regulates mining, but it makes sense that there'd be people trying to strike it rich illegally."

Jeff shook his head, sighing. "All right, Scott, get going."

Scott nodded curtly, and moved to the secret entry to Thunderbird One's hangar. As he triggered the wall sconces that spun him around, bringing him into the hangar, he felt his heart lift at the sight of his 'bird, Thunderbird One.

He'd long since stopped wondering if he'd always feel the thrill at the sight of the fast rocket plane, and just accepted that Thunderbird One was the heart of his existence. He let the conveyor carry him out to the hatch, despite its relative slowness. He always felt as if he could just fly across the gantry, never fearing a fall, safe in the knowledge that his ship would catch him.

He'd never mentioned that to anyone. Likely he'd be put in a straightjacket if he did. But the truth was, he never felt quite as... safe... as he did when strapped into the cockpit of his beautiful ride. With the flick of a few switches on the control panel, the rocket plane started the downward journey from its hangar to its launch point under the swimming pool.

Scott did his quick-change routine, peeling off his shorts and donning his International Rescue uniform. He shrugged to settle the sash properly, wishing he'd had a chance of a second shower to rinse off the chlorine from his swim.

The thoughts of a shower disappeared from his mind as he mounted his pilot seat, and started running through the short checklist. He was assiduous in his care, for all that he could have done it in his sleep. By the time Thunderbird One was at her launch point, he had a green status board, and was ready to go.

"Thunderbird One to Base, I'm ready for launch."

"Thunderbird One, you are go for launch. God speed, son." Jeff's deep voice came through the speaker.

"Thank you, Father. Thunderbird One, out."

One last visual check of his systems, and Scott opened up the throttles. There was that split second of pause as Thunderbird One gathered her muscles, then Scott and the rocket plane were flung into the air. Despite all of Brains' carefully designed cushioning systems, Scott was pressed into his seat by the G-force, and he let out a held breath, feeling as if he had come home again.

He let his 'bird climb until the sky started to darken, and pointing her in the general direction of Asia, put in a call to his brother, Alan, in Thunderbird Five. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five. Alan, I'm ready for coordinate feed."

"This is Thunderbird Five. Scott, set your initial coordinates to map 14, grid reference 330133 slash 85."

Scott keyed in the coordinates, then frowned. Before he could comment, Alan spoke again. "And before you say anything, yes, that is not a straight shot. The Chinese and Indians are all in a lather this morning over a border flyover yesterday. You're going to have to come up through Pakistan. Sorry."

Scott grunted in frustration. He knew his stealth package was good enough to fool either military's electronic search measures, but International Rescue had learned the hard way that even a good stealth package was not perfect. Scott still got the willies over how close he had come to causing a border war in South America, all because one sharp-eyed soldier from a particularly paranoid regime had looked up at the wrong time and seen a shadow.

"Not your fault, Alan." Scott assured his brother. "What can you tell me about the site?"

"It's not good. It's high up in the mountains, and from what I can tell, there isn't a lot of flat area for landing a ship. The mine itself is approximately 100 feet deep, and the tunnel collapsed about fifty feet in. To tell the truth, Scott, I have a feeling this is a recovery rather than a rescue. The woman calling is pretty hysterical. She says she heard one of her sons calling, but it might be wishful thinking on her part."

"Okay. Can you get me the geology, Alan?"

"I'm already on it. I should have something for you in a couple of minutes."

"Good enough. Oh, is she speaking Russian?" Scott asked, a slight hope in his voice. Both he and Alan were fluent in Russian, thanks to a good teacher in high school, followed up by college classes, and in Scott's case, with visits to Moscow.

"She is, but not so I could understand it. She has some kind of accent, and like I said, she's pretty hysterical. You might have better luck, though."

"All right. Let me know when you have that geology report."

"FAB, Scott."

Scott sat back in his seat, and took a deep breath. If he could get by without using the translator, all the better, but if the woman was unintelligible, he would rely on a translator program rather than risk a faulty understanding. It shouldn't slow things down much, and he would have to wait for Thunderbird Two before he could do much anyway.

Almost as soon as he had the thought, his communications console lit up. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One. Scott, I'm in the air, and estimate my arrival on site some 92 minutes after you."

"All right. Alan's working on a geology report, but I reckon the Mole will be the way to go." Scott stated. "Did Dad send John with you? Can you ask him if he has any experience with the local dialect? Alan says it's Russian, but that he couldn't understand it."

"Actually, it's just you and me this trip. I guess Dad had something else he needed the guys for."

Scott frowned. Early on, his father had routinely sent Scott and Virgil out alone on most rescues, the idea being that most of the rescue equipment was designed to only need a single operator. But over time, it became clear that it was simply a matter of prudence to include a backup operator. While he was sure his father had a good reason not to include Gordon or John, Scott didn't like how it narrowed his options.

"All right. I'll see you there."

"FAB."

Scott settled into the flight. Even with the detour, Thunderbird One was so fast that he would be in the danger zone in less than an hour. The speed was a double-edged sword in a way. Scott always arrived at the rescue site well before Virgil in Thunderbird Two. It gave him plenty of time to assess the situation, and in some cases, begin the actual rescue on his own.

But there were other times when he arrived on site, and had his assessment done, and had no choice but to wait for Virgil and whatever equipment the situation demanded. A man of action, Scott hated delays, especially with frantic, frightened people looking to him for yet another miracle.

Scott had been traveling westward over the Indian Ocean for some time when Alan called. "Scott, updated coordinates. Map 13, grid reference 138955 slash 34. Execute in 30 seconds from my mark... And mark."

"Got it. Thanks Alan. How's that geology report coming?"

"It just came through. Bad news, I'm afraid. Most of the area is granite and basalt, but right where you are headed seems to be a pocket of kaolinite. I don't know how effective the Mole will be under the circumstances."

Scott sighed. Kaolinite, a type of clay, was indeed bad news. Vibration from International Rescue's primary digger, the Mole, would cause any air pockets within the kaolinite to disintegrate. Scott had other options, of course, but they required the operator to be more exposed, therefore increasing the risk of injury.

"Okay, Alan. Let Virgil know, and Dad, too."

"FAB. I'm on it."

For the remainder of the twenty-minute flight, Scott reviewed his options, and possible scenarios. By the time he had reached the danger zone, he felt he was prepared for any contingency. When he saw the site, he frowned. Below him, there was a plateau just big enough for both Thunderbirds One and Two to safely land, but other than that, he could see no sign of the reported mine.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five, Alan, run a check on my position, would you? I'm at the danger zone, but I don't see any sign of a gold mine."

"Uh, hang on for a moment, Scott... No, you're right on target. It should be right there."

Scott shook his head. "I see a mountain meadow with a yurt at one end, and nothing else. No shaft, no tailings."

"Whoa. Do you think it could be a trap?" Alan asked, concerned.

Scott sighed. Since the beginning, International Rescue had been subject to occasional attempts to steal the advanced technology. None of the attempts had been successful. Brains was very clever in devising gadgets that kept most criminals at bay, and Scott and his brothers were no slouches when it came to protecting their 'birds and each other.

Scott looked at the bucolic scene below. All it needed was a brown cow with a big bell, or maybe Bambi, to be the perfect alpine setting. "You're sure it isn't a hoax, Alan?"

"I don't know for sure, Scott. But if she was faking it, that woman deserves an Oscar."

"All right, I'm going to stand off, and check out the area."

"FAB. Shall I tell Dad?"

"Let me see if I can find out what's going on first."

"FAB."

Scott had already put Thunderbird One in 'station-keeping' mode, a mile wide circle around the site. Now, he brought up his ship's thermal imagers, looking for any hotspots that might indicate groups of people lying in wait. The results came back negative. There was only one person down there, the woman standing outside of the yurt, waving frantically.

Still not satisfied, Scott ran a scan for any sign of metal. Today's camouflage packages could hide even heat signatures, but Brains had developed a scanner that would pierce even the best heat and optical scatter devices.

When the scan came up negative, Scott contacted Thunderbird Five again. "Alan, as far as I can see, we're clear. I'm going in to land now."

"FAB, Scott. Base wants to talk to you. I'm putting him through now."

"Scott, what have you got, son?"

"No apparent danger, Father. I've run scans, and the area is clear. There's only one person on the site, a woman. I'm assuming she's Alan's victim."

"But there's no sign of a gold mine?"

"As far as I can tell, no. All I am seeing is a meadow and a yurt, nothing else."

"Could the mine be beyond the meadow?"

"The area is basically scrub pine, and I suppose it's possible, but Dad, I don't see any signs of tailings anywhere, or any tools or anything else I'd associate with a mine, I think she may just be a Camille." Scott used the nickname his grandmother had come up with for the occasional calls from people in no real danger, who just wanted the excitement of being rescued by International Rescue.

There was a pause as Jeff considered this. "Shall I recall your brother?"

Scott shook his head. "No, not yet. Let me just land and check this out. I'll know what's really going on in a few minutes."

"All right, son. Be careful."

"FAB." Scott's reply to his father was a bit distracted as he was concentrating on landing as near to the yurt as he could without actually blowing over the sturdy tent. Once on the ground, he shut down his ship and opened the belly hatch to exit. 

Chapter Six: On Site

As he climbed down the ladder from Thunderbird One's belly, Scott started when a hand was laid against his leg. Not wanting to be trapped, he jumped down the remaining few feet, and spun as he hit the ground, immediately in defensive mode. He let out a relieved breath when he found the hand belonged to the woman, who had now gone to her knees, her hands lifted in entreaty.

The woman was of indeterminate age, with Slavic features, dressed in a long felt skirt and babushka. She was by turn wailing and begging, and to Scott's dismay, speaking in what could only be a local dialect. He pulled the woman to her feet, and led her out from underneath his ship.

As soon as he let go of her arm, she fell once again to her knees, then flat on the ground, prostrating herself before him. Scott wavered between annoyance and embarrassment. He had on occasion run into this kind of worshipful attitude, but it never became any easier to deal with.

Stepping back to keep the woman from actually kissing his boots, Scott reached to his belt and pulled out a device that looked like a microphone. It was actually a translation tool linked through Thunderbird One to the extensive language databases in Thunderbird Five's computers. The woman had shown no sign of letting up her wailing monologue, so Scott just held out the device to catch the language until a blue light came on.

Scott flicked a switch, and suddenly the device started delivering a tinny translation of the woman's words. "You have come. In your kindness you have come. You will save my babies. Allah will bless you a thousand-fold. Oh, you have come."

Increasingly uncomfortable, Scott reached down and once again pulled the woman to her feet. Despite this, the woman continued ducking her head in bows, keeping up a non-stop stream of thanks. Scott spoke sharply to get her attention. "Yes, madam, I am here. Please, I am here to help, but you must stop your crying. I can do nothing for your children if I do not have more information from you."

Scott knew his words were harsh, but his experience had taught him that he had to speak with authority to get through to some people. Sure enough, after a moment, the woman ran down. She peered up at Scott as if he were her only hope, and though her lower lip quivered, said nothing else.

Scott smiled his gratitude. "Thank you, madam. Now, I need to see the mine where your children at trapped."

The woman reached out, stopping just short of touching Scott's sleeve, then with more bowing and scraping, led the way to the yurt. As they approached, Scott could see that the big round tent was in poor shape, with the felt worn through in spots, and one side sagging almost to the ground. He had a sinking feeling when she lifted the tattered blanket that served as a door and gestured for him to enter.

Scott stepped in and paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When he could see, his heart plummeted. To one side of the single room were several woven baskets filled with dirt. In front of the baskets were strewn a few stone age-looking hoes and adzes. In the middle of the room there was a hole.

Scott swallowed hard as he stepped up to the hole. He pulled a flashlight from his belt, and directed the light down the hole. He swallowed hard. The hole went straight down for about four feet then angled off. There was no bracing of any kind, and the dry-looking earth appeared as if it would crumble at a mere touch.

Scott asked the woman what kind of supports were used, but she just stared back at him, obviously puzzled. He tried to clarify, and after some discussion, it became apparent that this 'mine' was literally just a hole in the ground. Her husband had lost his farm and had seized upon the idea of finding gold to restore the family's home.

Scott had to bite his lip to keep from commenting on the man's foolishness. As near as he could discover, the man had no mining background, no real indication of gold in the area, and absolutely no common sense.

He looked at the hole with some trepidation. Along with everything else, it appeared the man and his sons were much smaller than average. Going down would be a tight fit, and without any kind of support, it would likely collapse on top of the rescuers.

Scott pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his eyes. The day outside was pleasant enough, but the air inside the confining yurt was stifling. He glanced at the woman who was staring down the hole, wringing her hands. Feeling the beginnings of a headache, he left the fetid darkness of the tent, and stepped out into the sunshine.

Chapter Seven: Conflict

Scott lifted his wristcom and called. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two. Virgil, come in, please."

"Thunderbird Two. What's going on, Scott? Alan said it might be a Camille."

"No, she's not a Camille, but it's not going to be easy, either. These people have dug a hole in the ground apparently on the theory that the gold will just magically appear if they dig deep enough." Scott shook his head. "It's literally just a damn hole. Not even as big as the Hollock's old well at home."

"Crap. Well, have you confirmed survivors?"

"No, not yet, I'm headed back to the ship to get the Ear. I'll let you know when I've tested the area."

"FAB. I'll be with you in fifty-seven point two minutes."

"All right, Virg. FAB." Scott reached Thunderbird One, and went to an equipment locker to get out 'The Ear', a listening-cum-ground radar device. As he dropped once again from the hatch to the ground, he found the woman had followed him, and was kneeling just beyond his ship's fuselage, rocking back and forth, eyes glued upon him.

Scott refused to meet her eyes, not wanting to inadvertently signal her to approach. He knew he would have to deal with her trauma soon enough, but he wanted at least some time to get a better handle on what he and Virgil were facing.

Moving away from both Thunderbird One, and the dilapidated yurt, he found a likely spot, and lifting the heavy equipment, slammed it down, letting the pole that acted as a stand and ground sensor penetrate the clay a good four inches. When he was confident that it would stay, he deployed the tripod that would steady it, and turned on the heads up display.

Slipping a pair of headphones over his ears, Scott triggered the device, and he heard and felt the sonic 'thump' that went out. Within moments, the display was activated, giving Scott a three dimensional image of the surrounding area underground.

Scott narrowed his eyes as he viewed the results. With his forefinger, he traced the crooked path of the tunnel. He swallowed when he found the tunnel ended abruptly about forty feet in. He looked for any sign of air pockets, but as far as he could tell, the ground was solid dirt.

Glancing at the hovering woman, he flicked a switch to check for heat signals denoting a live body. He sighed quietly when the ground came back a uniform blue. He kept a poker face so as not to set off the woman. He knew she would have to be told, but he needed to report to his brothers, and his father.

Scott flicked off the translator, lifted his wristcom, and called, "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."

Alan's quick response confirmed that he was expecting the call. "Go ahead, Scott."

"Alan, link me up with Thunderbird Two, and Base."

"FAB." Alan's voice was subdued, telling Scott he was fearing the worst.

"Go ahead, Scott." His father's voice was suitably grave, but it didn't make the report any easier.

"Yes, Father." Scott paused. "I've run a sonic image of the area, and there are no life signs. The tunnel is collapsed at about forty feet in. The tunnel itself is more like a hole than a tunnel, with no supporting structure that I can determine. Going in for recovery will be a dirty, dangerous job. On the other hand, it seems pretty apparent that if we don't do this recovery, no one else is likely to do it."

As he expected, his father responded with a statement of policy. "Son, it's International Rescue, not International Recovery. I can see no reason for you and your brother to risk your lives if there are no lives to be saved."

Nodding, Scott nevertheless said, "Yes, Dad, I know the theory, but there is a life here. This woman has just lost her entire family, even though she doesn't know it yet. She called out to us for help, and we came. It seems a pretty nasty trick to just walk away."

"You know, we could use the laser drills." Virgil piped up, as always supportive. "We don't need to use the existing tunnel. We can create our own, and pretty much eliminate the risk."

Scott nodded. That had been his next suggestion, but it was better coming from Virgil. He didn't want his father believing that the woman's tears had unduly influenced him. "I agree. We can come in from the side. The DX sealant will make the tunneling safe, and we can give the woman some closure."

"Son, I understand your desire to help, but I'm not hearing anything that requires our specialized services. The local authorities can handle body removal. Forty feet is not beyond the capabilities of the local mine disaster teams."

"True, Father, but given the remote location and hidden nature of the mine, it could be days or weeks before anyone else is in a position to respond. And frankly, I wouldn't put it beyond this woman to attempt it herself, or worse, rope neighbors or relatives into giving it a try." Scott shook his head. "Dad, we're onsite now, and we're equipped to handle the job. I just wouldn't feel right turning our backs on this."

"Scott..." Jeff said tiredly. "I have to weigh the time and energy expenditure against the possibility of a more difficult rescue request that could occur at any moment."

"Sir, I'm aware of all the arguments, as you know, and I still feel we should go ahead here." Scott put every ounce of his natural persuasion and own authority into his voice.

"Uh, uh, Scott, I've been uh, reviewing the scans you've taken, and uh, I-I would like you to do a ground punch survey." Brains' request was delivered calmly, but the increased stutter relayed his trepidation at coming between Scott and his father.

"Sure, Brains, I'll set that right up. Scott out." Scott shut off his wristcom, relieved both at being able to delay what seemed likely to be a definite order to pack up and come home, and also at having something positive to do.

He headed for Thunderbird One's equipment locker to get the ground punch equipment. The ground punch was a sophisticated analysis tool that would both take core samples and supply an analysis giving them a detailed description of the geology of the immediate area. It looked like an old-fashioned rock drilling jackhammer, but it was far more intricate, with an onboard analysis system. It could 'punch' out a three inch core to a depth of 200 feet, and could work through just about any substance up to solid diamond.

Scott pulled on heavy work gloves, and hefted the unit, glancing around to decide where to set up. Although he'd been trained to use the device, he wasn't really a geologist, and frankly, the meadow looked uniform to his eye. Shrugging, he walked over to one side of the yurt, and set the device up.

Not quite sure what Brains was looking for, he brought up his wristcom once again. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five. Alan, I've got the ground punch out, can you find out from Brains what kind of depth he wants?"

"Actually, he gave me some programming for it. You just have to be the mule."

Scott shot his grinning brother a dirty look. The punch's onboard computer made some muted clicking as it accepted the data it was being fed from Thunderbird Five's mainframe. Like all of his brothers, Scott preferred to maintain control, but apparently, Brains wanted precise measurements that only a computer program could provide. Scott's only participation would be carrying the unit from one pre-designated area to another.

"That's Commander Mule to you, kiddo."

Alan just laughed. Scott grinned ruefully and signed off, and waited for the computer to tell him where to go. After a few moments, there was a soft tone that caused Scott's eyebrows to rise. Apparently, the program was content to start right where it was. Scott started the device working with a flick of a switch and the machine rumbled to life, pushing a slender metal rod down into the ground.

Each 'punch' would take about five minutes to complete, and there wasn't much that Scott needed to do except hold it steady. He glanced around looking for the woman, but she was nowhere to be seen. The ground punch was not a particularly loud machine, especially considering its purpose, but Scott found himself straining to hear the voice of the woman. Finally he thought he could make out that she was in the yurt, softly crying.

At another tone, the machine shut down, and the display lit up with a blinking red arrow pointing away from his present position. He was torn between following the instruction and checking on the woman, but as the sound of the machine died away, she appeared at the door of the yurt, anxiety on her features.

Scott nodded to her, and she took it as permission to approach. She looked at the ground punch in hopeless despair. Scott turned on the translator and explained, "This machine will give us a better understanding of the ground in the area."

With her eyes lowered, she dared a complaint. "You have come all this way, but still you do nothing to save my family. Why do you not go to them?"

"Madam... may I ask your name, please?"

There was no mistaking the surprise in her eyes that Scott would care about such a thing as her name. Her head lifted with a hint of defiance. "My name is Nazira Orozova."

"Okay, Mrs. Orozova. I'm waiting for my colleague in Thunderbird Two to arrive with the necessary equipment. It wouldn't do your family any good if I were to attempt something and fail. In the meantime, I am gathering as much information as I can to ensure our success." Scott nodded gravely. "I know that waiting is hard, but it won't be much longer."

The woman fought hard to keep back her tears, nodding and turning away. Scott wanted to be frank with her. He knew he was giving her false hope. But he feared she would break down entirely when she realized her husband and sons were dead, and he wanted the medical facilities onboard Thunderbird Two available when she did. Still, he felt his cheeks redden with guilt.

Breathing deeply, Scott returned to his job, hefting the ground punch and following the arrow until it turned green and another soft tone was heard. He set up the punch, and while he was waiting, put in a call. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two. What's your ETA, Virg?"

"Hey Scott. I've gotten lucky with a storm in the Laccadive Sea. Nice tailwind. I'll be with you in 24.3 minutes. How's it going there?"

With a glance toward the yurt, Scott made sure the translator was off. "I haven't told Mrs. Orozova the bad news yet. She's not going to react well, and I want to have your infirmary here before I say anything to her."

Virgil nodded solemnly. The look in his eye told Scott he also understood what was unsaid. That Scott preferred to have his brother with him when he gave the devastating news. Changing the subject, Virgil asked, "Do you know what's up with Brains and the ground punch?"

"Not a clue, but you gotta love the guy's timing."

Virgil grinned his agreement, then turned serious. "Uh, Scott, about this morning at breakfast..."

Scott frowned, trying to remember anything that had happened, but with the press of the rescue, his mind drew a blank. "Yeah? Oh, hold that thought, Virg, I have to reset the punch."

"FAB."

Scott lifted the machine again and set off across the meadow, chasing the blinking arrow. As it once again turned green, and he set up the next punch, he caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. Mrs. Orozova approached looking far more composed than she had at anytime since Scott had arrived.

Scott smiled reassuringly at her, and she lifted an eyebrow. "Sir... may I ask your name, please?"

"My name's Scott, ma'am."

"This machine, how does it work? What does it do?"

Scott cocked his head to one side. The questions were ones he had heard in dozens of languages on dozens of rescues. While International Rescue's technology was a closely guarded secret, Scott had learned that having an understanding of what was going on reassured people immensely.

"This is called a ground punch, because that is what it does. It punches out a bit of the dirt under the topsoil and runs it through an analysis to determine the chemical composition."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "So you seek gold."

Scott's eyebrows shot up. The woman's demeanor had changed from frightened victim to hostile suspicion in the blink of an eye. "That's not the purpose, no. The tunnel your husband dug is unsafe. We're trying to determine the best place to start our own tunnel to reach them."

The woman stared at Scott as if doubting his truthfulness. After a few minutes she abruptly turned and stalked back to the yurt, leaving Scott with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He watched her disappear back into the yurt, then with a mental shrug, turned back to his work. 

Chapter Eight: Wagnertite

Scott had moved the punch three more times and was starting to break a sweat, when it shut down for the last time with a double tone indicating the survey was complete

Scott had moved the punch three more times and was starting to break a sweat, when it shut down for the last time with a double tone indicating the survey was complete. Knowing it would take several minutes for the computers back at base to run through the data obtained, Scott took the time to wipe down the machine with a treated cloth before loading it back into the equipment locker.

By the time that was done, he could hear a very faint, very welcome rumble, like a far off storm. The rumble quickly became bass thunder, as Thunderbird Two appeared high in the sky. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One. Scott, I've reached the danger zone."

Scott was a stickler for procedure, but even he had to admit that Virgil announcing his arrival was pretty much a case of the elephant trumpeting to let him know it was there. "FAB, Virg. The hole is in the yurt. I need you to land as far from it as you can."

"Understood."

Scott watched as the mighty cargo lifter settled onto the ground as lightly as a butterfly. As soon as it had touched the earth, Scott was moving toward it at the jog. By the time he had covered the fifty yards to Thunderbird Two, Virgil had already lifted the ship up on its struts, exposing the Quonset hut-shaped pod.

The massive loading ramp on the pod slowly lowered, but Scott didn't wait. As soon as it had widened enough, he swung himself up with a practiced move, and headed across the floor to the storage lockers.

Virgil looked up at his approach and handed him a pair of heavy work gloves. "So, how do you want to do this? You want to tell her before we bring them out or after?"

Scott shook his head as he helped pull one of the bulky DX tanks from the locker. "If we had one of the guys with us, I wouldn't delay, but as it is, I think we should just get the job done, then deal with the fallout."

"Yeah, okay." Virgil's reply was distracted as he used a wrench to tighten a connection. Satisfied, he reached over and punched in a command on a keypad and the sled bearing the weight of the tanks, and computer controls lifted gently off the ground.

The two brothers pulled out backpack harnesses that they settled over their chests. The laser drill was one of Brains' better inventions in Scott's mind. The main works of the device fitted neatly on the air sled that was towed behind the operators. Scott and Virgil would be wielding the business end of the drills, cannons that looked as much like big squirt guns as anything else.

As Scott linked the tether from his harness to the sled, a call came in. "Base to Thunderbird One. Scott, Brains has some information."

Scott and Virgil eyed each other, both instantly apprehensive at their father's tone. Scott straightened up, cleared his suddenly dry throat and responded, "Go ahead, Brains."

"Uh, well, Scott, I've reviewed the analysis of the ground punch data, and there's uh, a problem."

Scott caught Virgil's eye and with a nod of his head, the two headed for the ramp, towing the air sled behind. "What kind of problem, Brains?"

"The area of the, uh, mine is mostly kaolinite, a common enough clay, however, it is r-riddled with pockets of Wagnertite."

Virgil's head jerked up and he paused. "Wagnertite? Are you sure, Brains?"

"Uh, uh, yes, Virgil. I recommend you stop operations immediately."

Scott frowned. "You two want to let me in on this? What's wagnertite?"

"It is a rather unremarkable mineral, uh, Scott, with one r-rather remarkable quality," replied Brains.

"Yes, one remarkable quality." Virgil repeated worriedly. "It interacts with the chemicals in the DX sealant, and keeps it from setting up properly."

Scott sucked in a breath. Without the sealant, they would be tunneling without any support structure. The recovery had just gone from dirty and difficult to damn near impossible. Scott looked over at the yurt. "I guess we're back to the Mole, then."

Virgil shook his head, "Uh..."

"No, son, the Mole uses DX sealant just as the drills do. I'm not going to allow you to put yourselves in danger for a body recovery mission."

"What about Buggy?" Alan put in from his post on Thunderbird Five.

Scott and Virgil both shook their heads, Virgil responding, "Buggy's designed to move debris, not dig tunnels. Besides, it's too deep."

"That's it, then. You boys pack it up, I'm calling it off."

Seeing the immediate tension in his brother, Virgil hastily said, "Wait a second, Dad. Brains, when you say riddled, what exactly do you mean? How big are these pockets?"

"Uh, perhaps pockets is an inaccurate, uh, term, Virgil. There are veins of wagnertite throughout the area, in some places, the concentration is as much as f-fifteen percent of the soil."

"All right, so, for the most part the sealant will work, but it will be weakened in areas by the wagnertite."

"That's correct, uh, Virgil."

"All right, then, how about if we go in by way of the existing tunnel? That'll speed the work. We can be in and out before the weakened walls have a chance to collapse."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Will that work?"

There was a moment of silence as Brains thought it over. Scott and Virgil both waited with bated breath. Finally, the scientist replied, "I-I believe that would work. I estimate you would have a seventy-five percent chance of success if you can, uh, complete your work within forty minutes."

"Great, Brains." Scott relaxed.

"Hold on a minute, son..."

"Dad, listen," Scott interrupted. "I've talked to this woman, and I can guarantee you that even if we convince her that her husband and sons are dead, she's going to continue to try and get people to go down that hole. I don't think any of us want to wake up one day and hear that more people have died in this field. The only thing that will prevent more deaths is to give this woman absolute closure."

Scott started again heading to the yurt, dragging the air sled and Virgil behind him. With a tone of reluctant resignation, Jeff said, "I'll trust you on this, Scott. But at the first sign of trouble, I want you and your brother out of there. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir. Scott out."

Chapter Nine: Yurt Deconstruction

Arriving at the yurt, Scott surveyed the structure. "We've got to tear this thing down."

"Is she going to let us?" Virgil asked doubtfully.

Scott glanced over at his brother, then said thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what, Virg. We'll let her know the bad news. Then you can take her over to the infirmary while I take down the yurt."

Scott sensed Virgil freezing next to him, but his voice was mild when he replied. "Sure thing, Scott. But you know, I'm the engineer, and you've already established a rapport with her. I'll take down the yurt and you take her to the infirmary."

The hint of insubordination caused Scott to bristle, and he turned on Virgil with narrowed eyes. "It doesn't take an engineer to tear down a felt tent, Virgil."

"Maybe not to tear it down, but to take it down without destroying it? Face it, I'm better qualified to do it than you." Virgil met his brother's eye unflinchingly. After a moment his own voice took on a diamond hard note. "Let me tell you what's not going to happen here, Scott. I'm not going to sit tamely by in Thunderbird Two while you take on this mine by yourself. Either we go in together, or we don't go in at all."

Caught out, Scott looked away. "I never said that was my plan."

"Good. Then why don't we just stick to the original plan, and not say anything to the woman until we've brought the bodies up?"

Scott took a deep breath. Virgil was probably the only person in the world that Scott would back down for. And even then, he only felt he could do so because he hadn't actually put the plan in words. Still, he felt he had to assert his position. "Fine. I'll introduce you, and you can tell her we're going to dismantle her home."

Obviously unwilling to push his luck, Virgil replied mildly, "Sure, okay, Scott."

Scott moved to the flap of cloth that marked the entrance. "Mrs. Orizova? Mrs. Orizova, my teammate is here, and we're ready to start operations." Scott called.

The two men stood waiting a few moments. Virgil raised an eyebrow, as Scott frowned. "Mrs. Orizova?"

When his call went unanswered, Scott tentatively lifted the door flap and peered into the dark tent. There was no sign of the woman. Virgil glanced around, then pointed. "There she is."

Scott looked, and saw, sure enough, the woman was sitting on the ground at the edge of the meadow. With a softly puzzled grunt, Scott unclipped his tether and headed over, Virgil trailing a few steps behind. "Mrs. Orizova?"

The woman was sitting quietly, gathering tiny wildflowers from amidst the grass, humming a tuneless song. Scott felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Moving to face her, he squatted down, and reached out to touch her hand. "Mrs. Orizova? Nazira? Are you okay?"

The woman looked up with a beatific smile, and handed Scott the small nosegay she had gathered, then returned to plucking the flowers. Virgil, who had remained standing a few feet away, muttered, "Oh boy."

Scott stood, running a hand over his face as he moved away, pulling Virgil with him. In a low voice, he asked, "What do you think?"

"I think she's a few beets shy of a full bowl of borscht."

Scott grimaced, "Not helpful, Virg. She's gone from weeping and wailing to calm to belligerent to this. She's definitely unstable."

"You would be too if your family was down a hole. She probably suspects the worst, Scott. It's enough to send anyone around the bend." Virgil shook his head. "The question is, how do you want to handle it? Should we sedate her?"

Scott stared at the oblivious woman for a few moments before saying decisively, "No. She's quiet enough. Let's just get on with it, and see how it goes."

Virgil shrugged, "Okay."

Scott led the way back to the yurt. "So, okay, Mr. Engineer, how to we do this?"

Virgil paced around the tent, looking it over. "Thing's practically falling apart, isn't it? Well, first things first. See this seam here? What we do is, we sort of roll the roof up, like a rug."

Scott looked at the seam in question. It ran the from the edge of the roof all the way up to the smoke hole at the top. He asked, skeptically, "And how are we supposed to do that?"

With a challenging grin, Virgil lowered interlaced fingers in invitation for Scott to climb up. Scott backed away. "Whoa! Are you kidding me? You said yourself it's practically falling down! There's no way it'll hold me!"

"Yeah, you need to be careful, but these tents are very structurally sound. C'mon Scott, you're willing to go down the rabbit hole for this woman. Don't wuss out on me now."

With a frown, Scott shucked off his harness and accepted the boost onto the roof, grumbling, "If it's so sound, why aren't you up here?"

"I weigh more than you. Besides, you're the field commander, aren't you supposed to do anything you'd ask your men to do?"

Inching his way up on his hands and knees, Scott had to admit, it seemed sturdy, but he wasn't telling Virgil that. Letting out a snort, he replied, "You've got me mixed up with the Navy. Every good Air Force officer knows he's worth any ten grunts."

"Come back down here and call me a grunt."

Smiling as he reached the smoke hole, he tugged at the felt of the roof. To his surprise, it lifted easily. Moving to one side, he looked down at his brother. "Ready?"

"Yeah. Let's do it."

Together, the brothers started folding the felt over, working their way around. Scott was a bit surprised to find the roof consisted of several pieces of felt rather than one consistent roll. It was also in layers, so that they worked there way steadily around the structure several times before Scott was sitting on the underlying lumber.

As Virgil pulled down the last folded section, Scott asked, "So, do I need to do anything else up here before I come down?"

"No, it..."

Virgil was cut off by an ungodly shriek that startled Scott so badly that he almost slipped. The two brothers both looked up to see Mrs. Orizova, who'd been sitting so peacefully, streaking across the field heading straight for Virgil, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Scott started carefully climbing down, but the woman got there first, and started pounding on Virgil's chest, shrieking with outrage. Fortunately for Virgil, she was a small woman, and not particularly strong, and he was able to contain her after a few moments by simply wrapping his arms tightly around her.

When Scott dropped lightly to the ground, Virgil looked over at him, asking mutely for help. Scott once again pulled out the translator device, and as soon as he flipped the switch, the woman's ongoing screaming rant became intelligible. "NO! You must not uncover the mine! The gold is ours, we need it! Please, please, please, you must put up the roof! My husband will be so angry! Please, Allah help me! Please!! Put it back! Put it back!"

Scott frowned, "Mrs. Orizova, calm yourself. Listen to me. Mrs. Orizova, Nazira... Nazira, calm down and I'll explain."

It took several minutes for the woman to settle down enough for Virgil to risk letting her loose. When he did, she dropped to the ground, seemingly exhausted by her exertions. Virgil barely caught her in time to prevent a hard landing, but then crouched down next to her, a reassuring hand on her arm.

Scott squatted also, speaking in a calm quiet voice. "Nazira, in order for us to recover your family, we must use equipment that would burn your tent down. And we must have room and light to use it. We are taking down your tent because we must. All right?"

The woman stared at Scott, eyes glittered with unshed tears, but again she seemed unfocused and just laid on the ground in a listless lump. Virgil shook his head. "Okay, that's it. I'm taking her over to the infirmary. Next step in taking the tent down is to untie and pull down the felt on the side walls."

Virgil easily scooped the woman up, and stood, Scott standing with him. "You got her?"

"Yeah. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Chapter Ten: Hellhole

Scott watched his brother stride away toward Thunderbird Two, Mrs. Orizova barely burden enough to slow his stride. He turned back to the yurt. Stepping up close, he saw where the felt walls were tied onto an underlying lattice, and got to work. As he remove the heavy cloth from the side walls, the underlying structure became apparent, and when he had the felt removed, he started on the long staves that had held up the roof.

Scott admired the design of the tent, but after thirty minutes of lifting the heavy staves, he was very glad when Virgil at last appeared from Thunderbird Two, ready to help. Scott did a doubletake as his brother approached. "You okay?"

Virgil rolled his eyes, running his thumb over a scratch on his jaw line. "Yeah, I'm fine. The minute she saw the needle, she went berserk." Virgil shook his head. "You know, I'm thinking that she's done time in a mental institution. I don't think this is just because of the accident."

Scott glanced back at Thunderbird Two. "You're probably right, but it doesn't change things."

"Yeah." Virgil inspected the tent, which only had a few roof-staves left "You got a lot done."

"Much to my surprise, it didn't take an engineering degree to figure out the eaves had to come down next."

Virgil's eyes twinkled as he teased, "Yes, but you went around the wrong way. Any good engineer would go counter-clockwise when taking it down. You go clockwise when putting it up."

That bit of silliness lightened Scott's heart, and he laughed out loud. "Just for that, you can take down the rest of the roof yourself while I put in a call to Base."

Virgil mock-bowed, "Yes, oh mighty leader."

Still smiling, Scott lightly punched his brother in the shoulder before stepping away to make his call. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five, Alan, put me through to Dad, would you?"

"Sure thing, Scott."

"Scott? How's it going, son?"

"It's moving slowly at the moment, Dad. We're taking down the yurt that was covering the mine, and that's taking some time. The woman who called us in has had a breakdown, so Virgil has her under sedation in the infirmary. We're going to need to divert to a hospital when it's all said and done."

"I'll have Alan make the arrangements. Anything else?"

"No. Until we start tunneling, it's hard to say what kind of timeframe we're looking at."

"Son, I don't want you boys underground for any longer than thirty minutes, understand? If you can't do it quickly, I want you out of there."

"Understood, Father." Scott responded formally. "I'll be back in touch when I have anything new to report."

"FAB."

Scott turned back to the site to discover that his brother had completed removing the ribs of the roof and was working on dismantling the latticework side walls. As Scott moved to join him, Virgil lifted a section of the wall free, and folded it up like an accordion. "Nifty."

Virgil looked up with a grin. "Yeah, I really like the way these things are designed. If we had a couple of camels, we could load up the whole thing and go caravanning."

"Uh huh. Well, you can keep your camels, I'll stick with Thunderbird One and a pup tent."

Virgil chuckled, and the two men continued their work. It was only a matter of a few minutes before they had the last section of wall neatly stacked with the roof staves and felt pieces. In silent accord, they both moved to look down the hole.

In the harsh light of day, the so-called mine looked even worse to Scott's eye. It looked to be no more than 20 inches across, and if he had stumbled across it elsewhere, he would have sworn that no human would have willingly gone down it.

Next to him, Virgil was shaking his head sadly, "God, Scott, can you imagine what their lives had to have been like to make them dig a hole like this? You know, they didn't do it in just a day. Having to face going back down there day after day... it had to have been Hell."

Scott nodded, unable to speak, just as caught as his brother in sudden empathy for the woman's husband and sons. After a few moments, he pulled himself together. "Okay, let's get to work."

Chapter Eleven: Discovery

Scott led his brother over to where they had set aside their drill harnesses. They put the harnesses on, each checking the other to make sure they were properly settled. Donning hardhats and miniature respirators, they re-attached their tethers to the air sled. Virgil flicked the switch that caused the sled to rise up half a foot above the ground.

Walking back to the hole, they stood staring at it for a moment longer before Scott reached over his shoulder to pull out the rifle-like cannon, Virgil pulling his a beat behind. Eyes still on the hole, Scott asked quietly, "You ready?"

With a note of defiance, Virgil responded, "Who ya gonna call?"

Scott grinned fiercely at the old movie reference. His youngest brothers had called the harnesses 'proton packs' from the first time they'd seen them. He ordered, "Heat 'em up."

"Smoking."

Letting out a deep breath, Scott nodded curtly, "See you on the other side."

He pointed his drill at the ground in front of the hole, and pressed the trigger. At that point, any resemblance to the Ghostbusters movie ended as the ground at the business end of the drill simply evaporated.

With a bright red laser pointer light to guide him, Scott made the first cut well back from the hole itself, forming a ramp, two men wide. When the ramp impinged on the hole, Virgil's drill joined in, squaring it off, forming a hard, structurally sound roof. After a few minutes work, the two were able to advance downward. They worked steadily, moving forward and down, turning the twisting, narrow hole into a wide tunnel.

As they advanced underground, they turned on the lights on the front of their harnesses, washing the work site in a harsh glare. Every few feet, one or the other would reach behind to the air sled, and pull out a small LED light that would stick to the wall.

They were efficiently moving forward when Scott sensed Virgil stopping beside him. Shutting his drill down, he looked over. "What?"

Virgil was inspecting the top of the cave they were forming. "It's no good. See this here?" With a gloved finger, he indicated a patch of the ceiling that looked no different than any other patch to Scott's eye. "This grayish line here?"

Squinting Scott could just make out a faint spidery line that coursed across the ceiling. "Yeah, so what?"

"The ceiling's not going to hold, Scott. That's the wagnertite. It bisects the entire ceiling."

"Are you serious? That's all it takes?"

"I'm afraid so. It compromises the entire structure."

Scott stared at the almost invisible line. But as he watched, a short section of ceiling beyond the line started to sag. "Whoa!" Scott jumped back, pulling Virgil with him.

A foot deep section of the just completed ceiling collapsed in a shower of dust. The two brothers stared at the fallen masonry-like chunks that had been impregnated with the sealant. Scott said through a dry mouth, "That's a lot less than the forty minutes Brains promised us."

Virgil shook his head. "He wasn't counting on a vein running right across the top like that."

Moving cautiously, Scott looked up where the ceiling had fallen. It was a clean break, right along the line where the wagnertite ran. "So, we go around."

Virgil had moved up with his brother, and stood inspecting the deadly vein of mineral. "Actually, I don't think we have to. Look, it's only a few inches deep. We can just cut it out with the drills. It should be safe enough once it's gone."

Scott nodded, trusting his brother's expertise. "All right. You work on cutting it out, I'll advance us down the tunnel."

Without further discussion, the two men returned to their work. Scott moved ahead, confident that Virgil would cover his back. He glanced back up the tunnel and then down at his watch. They had come a good fifteen feet in about twelve minutes. It was cutting his father's time limit close, but if they didn't run into any more of the wagnertite, they should be okay.

As he moved forward, he kept the original tunnel squarely in the center of his advance. It continued to lead him downward, twisting and turning as it appeared the tunneling miners took the route of least resistance.

After a few moments, Virgil stepped up beside him, and resumed working on the top half, as Scott worked on the bottom. Every few minutes, Scott sensed Virgil tensing up, examining one bit of wall or another before moving on. It made Scott all the more nervous because he could never quite see what it was that Virgil was looking at.

Scott got a sense that time was running out on them as Virgil became more and more tense. Finally, they reached a point where the hole they had been following simply stopped, and Scott signaled Virgil by turning his own drill off.

As soon as the noise of the drills stopped, Virgil said quickly, "Scott, we've got to make this fast. The tunnel isn't going to last for long."

Scott nodded. "All right. You use your drill to cut a vault above, I'll start digging."

Nodding, Virgil started his drill again, carefully cutting above where they believed the bodies to be. Scott pulled a shovel from the sled and unhooked his tether. The last bit of digging had to be by hand because the laser drills would evaporate a body just as easily as it would rock or clay.

In tandem, the brothers moved forward, Virgil drilling above, and Scott shoveling below. Scott had dug out less than a foot before the shovel struck something. Going to his knees, he used his hands to pull the remaining dirt away, Virgil joining him a moment later.

Scott felt the cloth of a sleeve, and immediately knew something was wrong. Virgil stiffened beside him, "What the..."

Tugging gently on the sleeve, Scott pulled it out of the dirt exposing a hand that was mostly skeleton, with a few bits of dried tendon holding it together. The brothers stared at the hand, then at each other.

"This guy didn't die today." Virgil said.

Scott swallowed hard, anger warring with compassion. "Damn it."

"Yeah. What do we do?"

Scott's instant anger made him want to just walk away. The woman had played them for fools. But as he stared at the grisly hand, the anger drained away as he realized it wasn't man-sized. At a guess, he'd have said the kid was maybe twelve or fourteen. It was all suddenly very clear. Mrs. Orizova's family had died at some point in the past, and she had simply gone around the bend. He wouldn't be surprised if it was discovered that she had escaped from some care facility.

"We finish the job." Scott said grimly, returning to his digging.

In silence, Virgil joined him, and they shortly had the ill-fated boy's body exposed. Resting on the boy's leg was the even more deteriorated skeletal hand of an even younger child, and as Virgil brought a body bag, and gathered up the fragile remains of the first victim, Scott continued digging.

He uncovered two bodies twined together, both of children maybe eight and nine-years-old. Scott's jaw was set in determination, as he worked against his natural tendency to see the tragedy in the light of his own family. His imagination saw the boys as living children, their faces strangely resembling those of his youngest brothers. When they were uncovered, he and Virgil lifted them gently, with loving care, to place them in their own body bags.

Both their heads shot up as a soft sound of dirt hitting the floor of the tunnel hit their ears. Virgil looked Scott in the eye, "We've got to get out of here."

Scott looked up the tunnel, then back at the site. There was still one body to recover. "Five minutes."

Virgil breathed deeply, then nodded agreement. They both plunged back to the dirt, shoveling frantically in an attempt to find the last body before the tunnel caved in on them. Neither man looked back up the tunnel as the sound of falling dirt came more and more frequently. Scott's deadline was almost upon them, when Virgil cried out, tossing his spade aside, and scrabbling at the dirt with his hands.

In silence, Scott joined him, and together they uncovered the head and shoulders of the last victim, Mr. Orizova. With time running out, they couldn't afford the delicate care they had shown with the children, and they roughly pulled the remains from the clinging dirt.

The man was not all that much larger than the boys, and Scott and Virgil had him in a body bag and stowed on the sled in less time than Scott had thought possible. Moving quickly, they got the air sled turned around, and started to sprint up the steep incline for the opening of the tunnel, some forty feet away.

As they moved, Scott could see dirt trickling from several spots on the wall, and dropping like a waterfall in others. He put all of his strength and determination into running, Virgil pounding along beside him. The opening of the tunnel loomed up as there was a heavy rumble.

Seeing cracks forming in the ceiling ahead, Scott reached over and grabbing a handful of his brother's uniform, shoved him forward with all of his strength. The air sled, still tethered to both men, struck the back of Scott's shins, and he went down just as the ceiling collapsed on him.

Chapter Twelve: The Reaper Beckons

Scott screamed in frustration as the light went out around him. In a futile gesture, he covered his head with his arms. He waited for the crushing blow that would end his life, but although his legs and left arm took a beating, for the most part, the weight of the collapse didn't come. After several moments, the rumble of the landslide died away, leaving him with an eerie buzzing in his ears.

Scott cautiously lifted his head, but after no more than an inch, his hard hat bumped into something, and the buzzing took on a higher pitch. "Oh, God."

Scott tried to stay calm as he took stock of his situation. His lower legs were buried in rubble, but he was able to pull his left arm out of the dirt and closer to his body. Over his head and most of his torso, protecting him, was the air sled that had knocked him down as it was pulled forward.

He had no idea how much time he had before the air sled buckled under the weight of the collapsed tunnel, but he would bet that it wasn't much. The only real question was would it fail before or after he ran out of air. Everytime he moved, the sled's motors took on a high pitched note as it struggled to compensate.

Scott wasn't a quitter, never had been, so despite the danger and the near certain failure, he wiggled hard to pull his legs out of the dirt. He was only partially successful, and at one point cried out as a bolt of agony shot from his leg to his hip, but it was good enough to give him access to the wall of dirt in front of him. Carefully he began scooping the dirt away, coughing as dust was raised by his activity.

The thought occurred to him that he was taking it on faith that he was pointed in the right direction, but he had no way of telling which way was out, so he continued his dogged digging. At the back of his mind was terror, not for himself, but for his brother, Virgil.

He had no way of telling if his brother had cleared the landslide, and with each pitifully small handful of dirt, Scott dreaded hitting a covered foot or other body part. With limited mobility, and nowhere to put the dirt he moved except down around his waist and legs, Scott nevertheless kept working.

All too soon, his arms became weary as the oxygen in his air pocket dwindled. It became harder to focus, and if it hadn't been his fear for his brother, he might have given up, but though his movements became slower, and less coordinated, Scott continued on.

Finally after what seemed a lifetime, he slowed to a stop. His lungs heaved, trying to draw in air that simply wasn't there. His arms had become wooden blocks that he had no strength to move. His hands clutched spasmodically, and he closed his eyes, dimly telling himself it was just for a moment.

Chapter Thirteen: The Rescuer Rescued

As Scott lay with his face in the dirt, his weary ears heard a rumble above the buzz of the air sled that had prolonged his life. Through his dust-caked eyelids, he saw an approaching light. With a mental frown, he knew he should move away from the light, that going toward it would mean the end of... something. But he was so weary, so tired, that he had no strength to do anything but lie quietly and await whatever fate intended to deliver.

Then his outstretched arms were grabbed at the wrist by warm power, and he found himself being dragged forward. His mind snapped back, and he realized it was Virgil pulling with all of his might, to get him free from the landslide.

Scott grabbed hold, and pushed with his legs as much as he was able, and with a sudden give, the two brothers tumbled to the ground under the clear blue sky. Scott laid across his brother's belly and legs, gulping in the clean air, as Virgil held him tightly, crying.

After a few moments, Scott nodded, "I'm okay. I'm okay, Virg."

Virgil still clutched him, breathing deep, getting his emotions under control. Finally, he shoved Scott away hard. "Don't you EVER do that again. Do you hear me?"

Scott sat up. "Yeah. I hear you, Virg. I'm sorry. Are you okay?" Scott reached a tentative hand to a bleeding cut on his brother's forehead. "You're bleeding there."

Virgil brushed his brother's hand away. "Yeah, I'm fine. Scott, you scared me to death."

Scott smiled ruefully, "Yeah, well, I scared me to death too. If it wasn't for that damn sled, I wouldn't have fallen."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "If it hadn't been for that damn sled, you would have been crushed. Are you okay? Really?"

"Stop pawing at me and let me see." Scott looked down at the leg that had flared with pain. "My leg was really hurting for a while, but it doesn't seem broken."

Immediately alert, Virgil scrabbled over, and looked at the dirt-caked pants. "Which leg?"

"Left. I think I'm bleeding." Scott said clinically.

"Yeah, you are. You've got a gash here. Tell you what, you stay put, and I'll go get the kit."

"All right. You'd better bring a couple of shovels too. We're going to have to dig out the sled."

"Yeah, I'll..."

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird One, Scott, Dad's asking for an update."

Scott looked down at his grimy watch with surprise. While stuck under the sled, it had never occurred to him to call out to his brother for help. A quick glance at Virgil's sheepish look told him that it hadn't occurred to his brother either.

"Ah yeah, Alan. Tell him we've recovered four bodies." Scott said, as Virgil listened in.

Instead of Alan, it was Jeff who responded. "Understood. Any problems?"

"Yes, Father. Brains was right. The tunnel collapsed. Virgil and I are okay, but the drill sled with the bodies is going to have to be dug out."

"Another tunnel?" Jeff asked in consternation.

"No, not at all. It's under about three feet of dirt. It's just going to take some digging with shovels, then we'll be done."

"All right, son. Be careful."

"FAB, Dad." Scott signed off.

Virgil cocked an eyebrow. "So, that's our story and we're sticking to it?"

Scott shook his head and started unbuckling the drill harness that he still wore. "I'll tell him the whole story in the debrief. Go get those shovels, would you? Oh, and bring some water, too."

"You got it."

Virgil trotted away toward Thunderbird Two, giving Scott a chance to assess his leg in private. Pulling out a penknife, he cut the tough fabric of his pants exposing a long shallow gash in his thigh. To Scott's relief, it wasn't a serious injury, although he supposed it would make his leg stiff for a couple of days.

He looked around to get an idea of how much work would be involved in clearing the air sled. The front edge of the sled was just visible and to his amazement, he could see that it was still hovering about two inches off the ground.

Getting up, he found one of the tethers still attached, and experimenting, he gave it a tug. When nothing happened, he pulled with all of his might, and to his delight, he felt the sled give an inch or so.

As Scott started to pull in earnest, Virgil came running up, dumping the supplies he carried. "Hey, knock it off!"

"No, Virg, I think we can pull it out. It's still got power."

"Yeah, fine, but you're not going to do it, you're still bleeding, remember?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Virgil, I'm all right. It's just a scratch. We need to move the sled now, before the motor gives out."

"If that's what you want, I'll do it. You go sit down."

"Excuse me, but you're bleeding too. You go sit down."

The two stubborn brothers eyed each other. It was Virgil who eventually backed down. "Okay, so, we pull it out, then we both go sit down."

"Agreed."

Virgil found the second tether, and together, the Tracy brothers pulled the air sled from the landslide. As it came clear, dirt cascaded from it, and they found everything intact, the heavy sealant tanks at the back preventing the lighter equipment and the body bags from sliding off the end as it was pulled forward.

Much to their amazement, once cleared, the air sled rose up on its cushion of air to all appearances none the worse for wear. As he stood shaking his head in amazement, Scott suddenly felt lightheaded. He reached out a hand to Virgil's shoulder to steady himself. Virgil's support was instant, throwing his arm around his brother's waist, helping him to the ground.

Taking in measured breaths helped the dizziness to pass, Scott glanced up at Virgil's worried face. "Okay, so it's definitely time to sit now." 

Chapter Fourteen: Confession

Virgil smiled slowly. "Idiot."

"I'll take some of that water now." Scott said wearily.

Virgil moved to where he had left the supplies, and grabbed the EMS kit along with a couple of water bottles. Squatting next to Scott, he handed over one of the water bottles then dug into the kit, pulling out a blood pressure monitor and stethoscope.

Scott eyed the equipment. "Virgil, I hope you're intending to use that on yourself."

"I didn't pass out." Virgil responded sweetly.

As his brother reached to wrap the blood pressure cuff around his arm, Scott grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. "Neither did I, so cut out the Florence Nightingale crap."

Virgil's face fell. Unable to meet Scott's eye, he said in a low, tremulous voice. "Scott... I-I thought you were dead. I thought..." Shaking his head, he looked up. "I just need to know you're really all right."

Scott saw the look in his brother's eyes, and rolling his own eyes, he released his hold on Virgil's wrist. "Tsk."

Virgil immediately perked up and finished wrapping the blood pressure cuff around Scott's upper arm. "Excellent."

Scott pulled a face and muttered under his breath. "Crybaby."

"Butt head."

"Hey! Who you calling butt head? And, for that matter, who you calling idiot?"

"You called me crybaby. And grunt." Virgil commented as he checked Scott's pulse.

Scott wrinkled his nose. "You know, Virg, I think I like it better when Dad sends one of the rug rats with us. Gives us both an easier target."

Virgil nodded at the results of his check on his brother. "Well, you're not likely to keel over dead on me. About that. I need to tell you something."

Scott frowned, puzzling out what Virgil was talking about. His brother had turned very serious all of the sudden. "What?"

Virgil remained quiet for a few minutes as he worked to clean and bandage the cut on Scott's leg. Scott waited, understanding that Virgil was trying to formulate what it was he wanted to say. Finally, satisfied with his work, Virgil turned to Scott, saying, "You know this morning when I told you I got up early to do something?"

"Give me one of those swabs, I want to clean up that cut on your head." Scott took the pre-moistened swab, and dabbed at his brother's forehead. "Yeah, what about it?"

Virgil's cheeks reddened. "I was trying to get up before you. I wanted to sneak into your bathroom and fix the shower temperature, but you were up too early."

"Wait... you knew about that?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Okay, so, which one of them was it?"

"What? What do you mean?" Virgil blinked.

Scott blinked right back. "Gordon or John? Which one of them screwed with my shower?"

"No Scott. It wasn't either of them." Virgil hung his head. "It was me."

Scott laughed, not quite sure of the joke. "No, really, which one of them did it, Virg? I'm want to get them good for it."

A bit exasperated, Virgil grabbed Scott by the upper arms. "Scott. I did it. Not John. Not Gordon. Me. I dropped the temperature on your shower to forty degrees."

Scott stared at his brother, his mouth open. It was starting to sink in. "But... why? What did I do?"

Virgil put his head in his hands. "Nothing! You didn't do anything, Scott. I shouldn't have done it, and I am truly sorry that I did."

Scott frowned, more upset at seeing his brother distressed than angry at the childish prank. "Hey, it's okay, Virg. I understand."

Virgil shook his head. "No, you don't, Scott. I was in the lounge with Gordon and John, and John started in with that Scotty dog crap, and next thing I know I'm telling him I'll pull a prank on you."

The light began to dawn for Scott. Years earlier, in the summer before Scott first left home for college, he and Virgil had spent a lot of time together. Johnny, who was just hitting the hormonal highs of puberty, had started calling Virgil Scotty's little dog, or Scotty dog for short. Virgil had particularly hated that nickname.

"So John called you Scotty dog, and instead of decking him, you screwed with my shower?"

"Gee, thanks for making it sound all that much worse, Scott."

"Just putting it into perspective for you."

"You had to be there."

"I don't doubt it. I'll tell you what, how about we deck him together?"

Virgil stared at Scott, and an unspoken apology, more powerful than any words could convey, was given and accepted. After a moment, Virgil shook his head, "Naw, can we just forget it, please?"

"Absolutely. Help me up. Let's get the dog and pony show on the road."

Virgil held out his hand, and pulled his brother up. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good to go." With a gesture, Scott took up one of the air sled's tether line, and Virgil took up the other, and together, they headed back to Thunderbird Two, the sled following behind like an obedient dog.

No sooner had they had boarded the pod when the air sled gave up the ghost with an almost human-sounding gasp. As it clunked to the floor of the pod, the two brothers looked at it, then with twin shrugs, dropped the tethers and headed for the infirmary to check on Mrs. Orizova.

Scott wasn't surprised to see that Virgil had secured the woman with straps, but he was surprised to see her watching him with calm lucid eyes. As he moved to sit next to her, he absentmindedly picked up a battered old cell phone that had apparently fallen from a pocket in her voluminous skirt. With Virgil at his shoulder, Scott took her hand.

The woman looked at him and asked simply, "Is it over?"

"Yes, Nazira. It's over. We've brought them up so you can give them a proper burial."

The woman's eyes clouded with tears, as she nodded. "Thank you."

Scott nodded, finally understanding her completely. "You're welcome."

After a few minutes, she fell asleep, and Scott and Virgil made their weary way to Thunderbird Two's crew quarters where they both showered off the dirt of the mine. When they were clean, and dressed in spare uniforms, they headed up to the flight deck.

As it was Virgil's ship, Scott made no objection when his brother put in the call to Thunderbird Five. "Alan, we've finished up here. We've got the woman, and four bodies that need to be taken care of."

"Yeah, Virg, sending the coordinates now. Bishkek is about 300 kilometers from the danger zone. They're set up for you at Manas Federal Hospital."

"All right. We'll be leaving here within ten minutes. Tell them we're on our way."

"FAB."

Virgil turned in his seat. "You're safe to fly?"

"Does the Pope speak Latin?"

"Get out of here. Some of us have work to do."

"No, actually, I thought I'd come along to Bishkek, help you offload."

Virgil's eyebrows climbed. "You're going to leave Thunderbird One out here unprotected?"

Scott cocked his head. "She's all buttoned up, and you can do 300 klicks in what? Twenty minutes? There's nobody around, she'll be fine."

"Five minutes, thank you very much," Virgil responded, insulted. "Buckle up."

Sitting down in a flip seat, Scott grinned as he tightened the safety harness. Virgil had already gotten the pod sealed up, and before Scott had the last strap buckled, he had Thunderbird Two lowering to pick it up.

With barely a glance to be sure his brother was secure, Virgil lifted off, and headed for Bishkek.

Chapter Fifteen: Scoring Lunch

Two hours later, Scott Tracy stood on a catwalk in Thunderbird Two's hangar, and watched as Virgil backed the big ship into its space. As the mighty engines wound down, he took an elevator to the floor of the hangar, and waited until his brother appeared at the hatch, bearing a bag full of the detritus from the rescue.

Together, they walked to the incinerator, another application of the same science that Brains used to create the laser drills. As Virgil tossed the bag in, Scott shook his head mournfully. "I liked those pants."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "You've got ten pairs just like them."

"No, actually, I'm down to three pairs, and one of those is worn in the knees."

"You're down to three pairs? Why haven't you told Grandma? You know she lives for making us stuff."

Scott shrugged. "If I tell her I need new pants, she'll want to know why, and I don't want to worry her."

"Scott, she's going to notice if you start going out to rescues in your skivvies."

"Yeah." Scott sighed. He shook himself after a moment. "Let's go see if there's anything to eat."

"Uh, what about the debrief?"

"Oh, Dad said we'll debrief after dinner."

"Excellent. Let's go."

The two brothers headed for the kitchen. As they exited the elevator on the household level, they ran into John and Gordon, headed the same way.

"Hey guys! How was the rescue?" Gordon asked with a grin.

"It was fine." Scott stopped, crossing his arms. "And what have you two been up to?"

Without missing a beat, Gordon chirped, "We went to Moyla."

"To the all-nude beach." John chimed in.

"Yeah, they were holding the annual Girl's Double D Volleyball Tournament."

"A whole lot of bouncing going around."

"We were keeping score."

"But not necessarily of the game."

"There was a game?"

"The big white one that wasn't attached to anything. They were tossing it around."

"I wanted to toss a couple myself."

"All right! Enough you two!" Scott said through his grin, immediately heartened by his brothers' antics.

John smiled back. "Either that, or we were using the spare laser drills to carve out an alcove to the physics lab for Brains."

"Alcove," Gordon snorted. "You coulda flown Thunderbird Two through that 'alcove'."

"Oh, excuse me, and why was it that big?" John asked sarcastically.

Gordon sniffed. "I can't help it if Brains has no sense of style."

The four men moved into the kitchen, led by Scott, then piled up against him as he stopped short at the sight of his grandmother. Ruth stood arms akimbo, with a large wooden spoon in her hand.

Never one to let fear of a whack on the knuckles stop him, Gordon said brightly, "Grandma, we come in search of snacks. We're hungry."

"Dinner is in two hours." Ruth's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, but I didn't have any lunch." Gordon replied, without missing a beat.

"Neither did I."

"None of us did, Grandma." Scott said firmly.

Ruth raised her chin for a moment, then nodded. "All right, boys, there are carrots and celery in the refrigerator. You can have those. Oh, and there's cream cheese to spread on the celery."

Scott had wanted something more substantial, like maybe a steak and potato, but Ruth turned back to something she was stirring on the stove, and showed no signs of leaving.

With a sigh, he headed to the refrigerator for the vegetables.

Gordon muttered something about preferring peanut butter on his celery, and moved to the walk in pantry. Virgil moved up next to Scott, shouldering him over, saying he wanted milk. John moved to the cupboards to get glasses and knives for the cream cheese.

Scott's eyebrows rose as Virgil grabbed packages of sliced ham and swiss cheese along with the milk jug. Scott looked over at him and Virgil jerked his head toward the refrigerator door. Scott glanced, and caught on, grabbing up the mustard and some lettuce along with the carrots and celery.

"Let's go out on the balcony," John said, moving casually to the door.

One by one, the brothers followed, moving easily but with their backs to their grandma. Safely out of the room, they moved quicker, and got to the balcony with their spoils. Virgil delivered up the lunch meats and milk; Scott, the mustard and vegetables. John had grabbed bananas along with his plates, knives and glasses. Gordon pulled out a jar of peanut butter, another one of jelly, two different loaves of bread and a bag of cookies.

Laughing, the brothers settled down to make their sandwiches. Scott sat back with a sigh as he ate his lunch. "You know, it isn't right to go behind her back like that."

Virgil, who had already wolfed down two sandwiches and was making a third replied, "She only weighs a couple of pounds, Scott. To her, a celery stick is a meal. I need real food when I'm hungry."

Scott snorted, then reached for the cookies. "So why was the alcove big enough for Thunderbird Two?"

John, who had been watching Gordon build a peanut butter, jelly and banana sandwich, replied, "Because Gordon thought he'd be cute and..."

"No, I was being sensible." Gordon interrupted. "I was carving shelves into the back wall."

John rolled his eyes. "Shelves that just happened to spell out G O R D O N."

Virgil and Scott laughed. Gordon said reasonably, "You square off the letters, and it makes a whole series of neat little shelves. For knick-knacks."

Scott blurted out another laugh. "And Brains didn't appreciate it?"

"No. He didn't." John said carefully. "In fact, I can't remember the last time I saw him so... so... um, intense."

"Yeah, he started calling me names." Gordon said in an injured tone. "At least, I think he was calling me names. I'll know once I've had a chance to look a bunch of words up."

"The thing was, these 'shelves' were carved about a foot deep into the rock, so Brains made Gordon dig out the whole room a foot deeper to obliterate them."

"The guy has absolutely no sense of humor, ya know?"

Scott and Virgil both just rolled their eyes. The movement caught John's attention and he asked, "What's up with your forehead, Virg? Looks like you took a hit."

Virgil's hand strayed to the small cut. "It's nothing."

Both of the younger men looked to Scott, who continued to eat. That act of indifference reassured them more than any protestation Virgil could make.

Chapter Sixteen: Exacting Revenge

As the impromptu lunch wound down, Gordon turned serious. "So I take it there weren't any survivors."

The good mood the lunch had engendered crashed down around Scott at the mention of the rescue. Virgil started to answer Gordon, but Scott stopped him with a small movement. "We'll go over what happened in the debrief."

Scott's response was curt, but Gordon and John both nodded somberly. They both knew the negative feelings that a rescue gone wrong could cause. With a worried frown, Gordon looked to the double doors leading back into the house. "I guess it's time to face the grandma music."

"I vote Gordon faces the music, and we go play some cards or something." John drawled.

"Hey!" Gordon started to protest.

Scott held up a finger, and said quietly, "No, actually, Mr. Silvertongue, you are going to go face the music."

John shot a cool glance at his eldest brother, but saw the promise of worse 'music' to come if he didn't comply, and with a shrug started gathering up the dirty plates and leftovers. Gordon, not quite getting it, said easily, "That's okay, Johnny, I'll run interference for you."

Scott shook his head. "No, John can handle it by himself. I want to have a word with you in private."

Scott's serious tone made Gordon swallow hard, but he shrugged indifferently, standing up. "Okay. Where you wanna go?"

"Let's head for the billiard room." Scott led the way. Scott preferred the more informal air of the billiard room when he wanted privacy for a talk with any of his brothers.

Reaching the room, Scott opened the door and ushered Gordon in, indicating a chair. Gordon sat down on the edge of the seat, looking ready to run if necessary. "Okay, so what did I do?"

Scott made a face. "What makes you think you did something?"

"Oh, come on, Scott, we all know this is the Tracy Island equivalent of the woodshed back home. So, what did I do?"

"You didn't do anything. I wanted to talk to you because I need your help."

"My help? Wow, that doesn't happen very often. What can I do for you?"

Scott paused, unsure how to proceed, unsure whether he really wanted to proceed. Gordon waited patiently, and finally with a sigh, Scott said, "Virgil pulled a prank on me, and I want to get him back. Nothing painful, or humiliating. Something simple."

"So, what did he do?" Gordon asked, a mischievous glint of anticipation in his eye.

Scott cocked his head, undecided. Telling Gordon was a sure way of insuring the entire family knew of the episode within a few hours time. Not telling him meant Scott would have to figure out something on his own, and he had to admit, he was having a hard time thinking of anything. Still, he eventually just shook his head and turned to walk away.

"I happen to have just the thing, you know. And it's already set up." Gordon said casually to Scott's retreating back.

He couldn't help it. He stopped dead and turned back to his younger brother, his eyes narrowed. "You were going to pull something on Virgil?"

Gordon shrugged. "Not today. I just have a little something set up in case I need it."

"What is it?" Scott demanded.

"What did Virgil do?" Gordon countered.

Scott sighed, "He turned down the temperature on my shower."

Gordon blinked, to all appearances, dumbfounded. "The mind that came up with The Thieving Desk Drawer... The Sweating Car Seat... The Mechanical Girl... For cryin' out loud, the mind that came up with The Swimming Pool of Doom, and the best he could do was a cold shower?" He shook his head in disappointment. "Damn, Johnny got gypped."

Scott had to admit, Virgil's best practical jokes were worthy of the titles Gordon had bestowed, but he immediately zeroed in on the important part. "Johnny? What does John have to do with it?"

"Oh, nothing. Let me go get something from my room. I'll be right back." Gordon said brightly before skipping away.

Scott stood frowning, his second thoughts having second thoughts of their own. He had almost decided to just let the whole incident slide, when Gordon returned, a small remote control in hand. Telling himself he was just protecting Virgil's interests, he asked, "So what does it do?"

With exaggerated patience, Gordon replied, "It exacts revenge."

"Hand it over."

"Okay, first, you gotta know, the only reason Virgil pulled a prank was because Johnny talked him into it."

"I know all about it. Virg and I had a talk. Hand it over, Gordon."

"He 'fessed up? Geez, what a wimp." Gordon rolled his eyes.

Scott kept his voice even. "All right, enough. Are you going to give me that thing or not?"

Gordon held out the remote, but then pulled it away. "I feel compelled to remind you that Johnny could talk Gandhi into barbecuing a sacred cow."

"You've got two seconds."

"Okay then!" With a flourish, Gordon handed the remote to his brother.

Scott inspected it. It was a bit of black plastic with a single button. With a frown, Scott lifted his thumb to push the button, but stopped just short of touching it. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, he asked once again, "What does it do, Gordon?"

"It exacts revenge." Gordon replied with the exact same tone he'd used previously.

Scott rolled his eyes. "All right, then, what do I do? When do I push the button?

"Excellent question. You wait until you hear Virg playing the piano, then you go to the hallway outside of the lounge. Don't get too close, you don't want him to see you. Then you press the button, and enjoy."

Scott gave his brother a look, but Gordon just looked right back making it clear he would elaborate no further. Disgusted, Scott shook his head and walked out the door. Halfway down the hallway, he paused, thinking it over, and sighing, turned to go back.

Gordon was standing in the doorway watching him, so Scott stopped, and said ruefully, "Thanks for your help."

Releasing a breath, Gordon nodded, "You're welcome."

Shaking his head again, Scott walked away. The remote felt like it was burning his hand, and deciding he wouldn't use it, Scott stuffed it in his pocket. Glancing at his watch, he calculated that he had time before dinner to finish up a financial report his father had asked for a few days earlier, and so he headed for his bedroom suite which included a small office set up.

As he moved through the hallway, he could hear the sound of the piano. Virgil was playing something sweet and jazzy. Outside his bedroom door, Scott cocked his head listening to the beautiful music.

Biting his lip, Scott looked toward the lounge. If it had been any one other than Virgil, Scott would have had absolutely no compunctions about retaliating. But this was Virgil, his other half. But on the other hand, Gordon and John, and probably Alan too, knew that he had been pranked. If he just let it go, they would undoubtedly take it as a sign of weakness.

He stood for a full minute debating with himself, and in the end, he pulled the remote from his pocket. He decided he would push the button from where he was standing. He wasn't quite sure what the range of the remote was. He figured if it worked, fine, and if it didn't, then he had tried his best.

He pointed the remote in the direction of the lounge, and after an interminable hesitation, pushed the button. Scott was unsure what to expect, and when there was no immediate change in the music, he started to let out the breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding.

That breath wasn't fully expelled before there was a sharp yelp, and a crashingly discordant chord from the piano. Immediately concerned, Scott ran to the lounge, bursting in to find Virgil standing next to a knocked-over piano bench, face drained of color.

"Virg! What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"R-Rat! Big rat!" Virgil stood with a hand on his chest as if to slow a pounding heart.

Scott looked down at the remote in his hand. The motion wasn't lost on his brother, and Virgil's hand dropped to his side. In a tone full of bewilderment, he asked, "Scott? What's that?"

Starting guiltily, Scott decided to put a brave face on it. Lifting the remote to eye level, he pushed the button again. From under their father's desk came a slight sound, and almost before they turned toward it, something gray and wobbling darted out and raced across the room, landing up under the couch.

"You... you..." Virgil seemed at a loss. Finally, he asked mournfully, "But why?"

Scott made a sound of disgust. "C'mon, Virg, you know why. I did it the same reason you did. I did it because if I hadn't, the guys would have seen it as a sign that they could walk all over me. And you too." He shook his head, lowering his voice. "You know I didn't want to. It was like... like kicking myself in the butt."

"Yeah." Virgil nodded just as quietly. "I'm really sorry, Scott. I should never have let John get to me that way."

"Well, as Gordon told me, John could convince Gandhi to barbecue a cow."

Virgil snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm no Gandhi. I say we get him."

"I thought you wanted to just forget about it."

"That was before he made you feel bad."

Scott frowned. "When was that?"

"You just said it was like kicking yourself in the butt."

"Yeah, but..."

"But what?"

Scott couldn't help the small grin that formed. "You should have seen the look on your face."

Virgil raised an eyebrow, then rolled his eyes and snorted. "Yeah, okay."

The two brothers shared the moment, but then Virgil nodded at the remote still in Scott's hand. "How did you come up with that so quickly?"

"Give you one guess."

Virgil sighed. "Well, better you than him, I suppose."

"If it makes you feel any better, he was sorely disappointed when I told him you'd lowered the temperature in my shower. He seemed to expect something a lot bigger. I got the feeling that he really looks up to you in the practical joke department."

"Well, golly, Scott, that just makes me feel swell."

Scott laughed. "Okay, I've got to get that report on the TS50 sales done before Dad blows a gasket. After dinner, what say we have a strategy meeting?"

Virgil nodded, a fierce grin on his face, "Yeah, sounds like a plan."

The two brothers slapped high fives, and Scott headed back to his office. 

Chapter Seventeen: Debrief

Some hours later, the Tracy men gathered in the lounge for the formal post-mission debrief.

"I routed them up through Pakistan because of the political situation in India, Father." Alan explained from his station on Thunderbird Five. "It added about fifteen minutes on the optimum flight time, but under the circumstances, I didn't think it was safe any other way."

Jeff nodded, making a notation on a pad. Virgil cleared his throat, then said, "Actually, Father, I probably wouldn't have gotten there any faster had I flown straight. There's always a lot of turbulence up around the Himalayas, and as it happened, I got a good tailwind out of a storm in the Laccadive Sea."

"All right," Jeff nodded, then turned to his field commander. "Scott, what did you find when you arrived on scene?"

"Well, Father, as I said at the time, I didn't find anything that looked like a gold mine. There was a meadow with a yurt at one end, and a single woman waving me in. I landed and the woman, Mrs. Orizova, took me to the yurt where I found a hole in the ground, about two feet across. She said that the hole was the gold mine."

"Kyrgyzstan has a number of state run gold mines and it's a widely held myth in the area that you can find gold just lying on the ground," John interjected.

"Yes, well, Mrs. Orizova seemed pretty convinced there was gold in the so-called mine. At one point, when I was running the ground punch survey for Brains, she accused me of wanting the gold for myself."

"She wasn't going to find anything like gold where they were digging, Father. I ran the geology and found that the entire area was kaolinite over a basalt base.

Scott nodded at Alan's comment. "When Alan gave me the geology report, I determined that the Mole would not work, but I was still confident that the laser drills would handle the job. At that point, I brought out the Ear and confirmed no survivors."

Jeff nodded solemnly, and put his pen down, clasping his hands on the desk. "Yes. And at that point, your job was over."

Scott looked his father in the eye. "Dad, this can't be only about people needing rescue. There are other victims to any disaster. The family members, the community, the other rescue workers. International Rescue's credo has always been to rescue any that we can, and sometimes that means giving a grieving widow peace of mind."

Jeff cocked an eyebrow. "That sounds very noble, Scott. Are you sure it wasn't just that you were there, and you just wanted to do something?"

Scott had had time to consider his motivations, and he replied carefully. "I'm the first to admit I don't like walking away from any job, no matter how dangerous. But Dad, I'm out there on the front lines of these rescues, and believe me, the day I risk my brothers' lives just for my own satisfaction is the day I'll hang up my sash. This woman was half-crazy with her grief. I stand by my decision to continue."

"Son, your empathy does you well, but I expect your decisions to be based on fact, not emotion."

Scott shook his head, "Dad, the day I lose my empathy is another day that I'll hang up my sash. But my decision to continue was based on fact. As I said at the time, this woman was determined to get her family out of that mine. If we had left the scene, I believe she would have tried to go down that hole herself, or worse, might convince others to try. The hole was obviously a deathtrap, and I made my decision based on that and that alone."

"Uh, Father, I can confirm the nature of that mine. The dirt on the surface was dry, and crumbling at a touch. There was no bracing of any kind, and the hole would have been a tight fit for a small man, let alone anyone in any kind of rescue gear." Virgil affirmed.

Jeff sighed. "Well, I will accept this decision for now, but I will reiterate to all of you, we are a rescue organization, not a recovery organization."

All five sons responded dutifully, "Yes, Father."

Scott could tell, though, that none of his brothers fully agreed with the sentiment. Not wanting to dwell on the point, he continued, "Anyway, while waiting for Virgil, I did the ground punch survey for Brains. Did he know about the wagnertite, or was he just guessing?"

Jeff shrugged, "I'm not sure, he didn't say."

"Huh. Well, Virgil arrived, and as you know, we found out about the wagnertite, and decided to go in through the existing tunnel. That required us to take down the yurt. While we were doing that, Mrs. Orizova had what appeared to be a breakdown"

"When we first approached her to tell her we were taking down the yurt, she seemed to be out of it, just staring off into space. But as we were disassembling the roof, she came up screaming at us to stop. Then she just sort of collapsed," Virgil shook his head. "I landed up taking her aboard Thunderbird Two, and sedating her."

"We completed taking down the tent, then started digging. At one point, we found a vein of the wagnertite that completely bisected the roof of the tunnel, but Virgil determined that it was only a few inches deep, and we ended up just cutting it out."

"Uh, why?" Gordon asked. "What is this wagnertite stuff?"

"It's a mineral that keeps the DX sealant from bonding. Believe me, I didn't get it either, but before we cut out the vein of it in the tunnel, the portion of the roof beyond the vein just simply collapsed." Scott advised his brother. "As it was, Virgil kept spotting bits of it in the walls, and by the time we reached the collapse, he was all in a dither."

"I was concerned." Virgil corrected Scott in a no nonsense tone. "And I believe my concern was justified."

Scott nodded his head. "Yes. When we reached the collapse, we started digging, and we uncovered the first body about a foot in."

Scott grew quiet, but nobody prompted him, each of the men knowing the devastation of hope in finding a body. Taking a breath, he continued. "I'd been assuming that Mrs. Orizova's sons were all adult, but the first body belonged to a kid, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. The next two bodies were even younger, the youngest not more than about eight."

Again Scott paused, as the magnitude of the disaster sunk in all around. Clearing his throat to ease a lump, he said, "The bodies were all but skeletons. I estimate they had been underground for at least a year."

Jeff's eyebrows rose at this information, but he said nothing. Scott continued, "As we were bagging the last child, we heard some dirt falling behind us. We both looked, but nothing was visible, so we continued on until we had the father's body. We knew we were running out of time, so we bagged him as quickly as we could, and got the air sled turned around, and started running for the exit."

Virgil lifted a finger to interrupt Scott at this point. "Yes, and that is something we need to look into, Father. It took us time we didn't have to get the air sled turned around in those tight quarters. We need to find a way to install a reverse gear on them. It's never been a problem before, but we lost a good 30 seconds getting it turned around."

Jeff nodded, writing a note on his pad. "You'll work with Brains on it?"

"Yes, sir."

Glancing at his brother to be sure he was done, Scott said, "We were running for the exit, and we could see dirt cascading from spots all along the wall, and ceiling. Every place the wagnertite touched the DX, the sealant failed. We were almost clear when the whole place came down. I was caught, but Virgil made it out."

Despite his casual tone, everyone in the room gasped at this news. Virgil nodded, taking up the narration. "I was mostly clear. I was knocked down and buried up to my waist. I pulled myself out, and started digging. I didn't think there was anyway Scott could have survived, but I had to try."

At this point, Scott noticed his father had gone pale, and both of his brothers were sitting tense and wide-eyed. He would have pointed out that he was okay, but Virgil continued. "I didn't have any tools, so I was scooping dirt away with my bare hands. As I dug, I could hear this high-pitched whine, and I dug toward it, and found the air sled. I couldn't believe it. It was still floating. I dug out below the thing, and sure enough, there was Scott."

"I was just about out of air when he pulled me out."

"Yes, he had a cut on his leg, but other than that, he was fine. Together we pulled the sled out from under the slide, and I cleaned up his leg, and that was it. We headed back to Thunderbird Two, and took Mrs. Orizova and the remains to Bishkek."

Jeff sat staring at his sons. After a long moment, he shook himself and asked, "Has Brains had a look at the cut on your leg, son?"

"No, not yet."

"See that he does before you go to bed. Anything else?"

"No... oh, the air sled finally gave out once we were on Thunderbird Two, but that's it."

Jeff nodded, then turned to Virgil, "In your estimation, would you have cleared the site in time if the you hadn't spent time turning the air sled around?"

"Absolutely, Father."

"All right, I want you to put a priority on repair and upgrade to all of the air sleds. Scott, work up a protocol for using them as cover in emergency situations."

"Yes, sir," Both sons responded in unison.

"Well done, boys. If there's nothing else, we're adjourned."

Scott and his brothers stood, Scott noticing Alan on the screen signaling to Gordon to call him. Stretching his tired back, he said, "Gordy, can I have a rain check on the billiards? Virgil and I are going to have a meeting. A strategic meeting."

Gordon's eyebrows climbed at Scott's pointed look at John. He took a large step away from his blond brother and said, "Sure thing, Scott."

John, for his part, stared coolly back, unfazed by the implicit threat. "Come on, Gordon, we'll play some chess."

Caught between his brothers, Gordon stood with a comical deer-in-headlights look. "Um, I think I hear Grandma calling me." The youngest Tracy present took off with alacrity.

With identical predatory grins, Scott and Virgil stared at John, then left the room.

Epilogue

Later that evening, John was walking down the hallway when he heard voices coming from the media room. Popping his head in, he found Scott and Virgil ensconced on a couch, a bowl of popcorn between them watching yet another slasher flick. Eyes on the screen, he entered, "What's this one?"

Scott paused the movie and the two eldest brothers turned cold eyes on their sibling. "It's research."

Pinned by the twin looks, John frowned, "Research? What research? What movie is this, anyway?"

"It's private research." Virgil intoned.

"It's called The Brother Killings." Scott used the same ominous tone.

John's eyes widened. He looked at the carnage frozen on the screen, and at the fierce glare in his brothers' eyes, and swallowed hard. "Oh. I'll, uh, just leave you to it, then."

John backed carefully away, then turned and ran. Scott and Virgil watched him go, then turned back to the screen, and did a high five.