"Easy, Gordo. Real easy."

Gordon could feel John's fear, no, smell it as his brother's hot breath rasped across his ear. The downward stroke of his hand hesitated, the titanium of the dive knife momentarily catching the glint of the sun.

"You know they can sense it," Gordon whispered.

"Spare me."

"It's only a baby."

"Twelve foot of white pointer is way enough for me."

Gordon didn't move his gaze from the grey-bodied shark he straddled in water up to his knees. Even in its juvenile state, it would only take it to thrash in the shallows to knock one of them off their feet.

John stood cheek to jowl with him, his arms tensed with the aim of the stock prod at the gill slit; the only defense against the alpha predator of the sea in the voltage he could deliver if needed. Their bodies were almost intertwined as Gordon worked with infinite patience to free it from the stranglehold of a set net and from certain death. He had one more section to cut. Just in front of its gills. And just behind its coal-fired eyes, which were covered by his t-shirt to keep it calm.

"Ready?" Gordon said.

"For the last fifty minutes."

Gordon did the count. His knuckles were already raw from working along the sandpaper-rough surface of its body. He didn't want to give the fish any more encouragement to feed. He slid the knife under the last restraining nylon binds and made a quick jerk upward to yank the last of the net free, at the same time whipping off the t-shirt from the fish's snout with his free hand.

Gordon ran, pulling his brother with him. He leapt over the shark's caudal fins and sprinted through the shallows with John barely a step behind. The twenty feet to shore suddenly seemed a long way. As his feet touched firmer sand, Gordon glanced over his shoulder. The shark raised its cavernous mouth skywards, rippled its body and was gone.

Gordon grinned as he watched it go. Beside him, John sprawled hands first onto the sand.

"Remind me why we did that," his brother panted.

"White pointers are a vulnerable species."

"I can relate. Thunderbird Five was looking pretty cushy for awhile there."

"Sharks are part of the ecosystem. She belongs as much as we do."

"I was definitely seeing myself as part of the food chain," John said and sighed. "She, huh? You and your distressed damsels. You had to do it, didn't you, Gordo."

Gordon's grin grew broader. He knew John would never let an animal die on their beach if he could help it and he hadn't hesitated to help. Gordon shrugged loosely.

"You know. 'What goes around, comes around.'" He bent to offer his hand to John to pull him up. "Besides, I noticed it tended to thrash to the left. I thought it'd get you, first."

John barked a laugh and Gordon deftly avoided a cuff behind the ears. "Let's get back to it before they send out a search party."

'It' was cleaning up the beach on Tracy Island. A cyclone across neighboring islands the previous week had left their beach littered with debris, and Gordon and John had been assigned to clean it up.

Gordon hummed as he went back to work. He didn't mind this detail. The sea was his mistress and he never tired of the gifts it could bestow on him. To rescue the shark was a highlight but he wasn't so sure if it was for his older brother. John had been ordered to get a bit of 'color' after his month on space duty. Despite the layers of sun block and UV clothing John wore, Gordon feared that goodwill act of standing in the water for so long had earned John a little more color than he needed.

They'd almost finished the last section of beach when Gordon bent to pick up a bottle. It was actually a flagon – one of those ugly, stub-necked pieces that once bulged with too much wine. He was about to lob it into the back of the sand tractor tray with the rest of what they'd gathered when he stopped. He gave it a shake. There was something in it and he turned it to make out what it was.

"Grass?"

Gordon shook the flagon again. It was definitely grass, thatched into interlacing patterns. He tried the screw-top lid. Usually the salt water crusted them tight but this gave easily in his fingers, which meant the bottle hadn't been in the water for long. The glass was clear, not sand-peppered and the grass was still green. Definitely hadn't been in the water for long.

"Gordo?" John said.

Gordon hooked the thatch with his little finger and drew it out. He turned it this way and that before he made sense of it.

"Help? The thatch spells 'H-E-L-P'? Look how the letters are neatly—"

"Oh, cute." John chuckled beside him. "A message in a bottle. Trust you to be the one." John yanked the flagon from his hand and tossed it in the back of the tractor. "Kid's trick. Pure and simple. Look at this. Drunk and funny. How many times did we do the same thing, huh? Come on. Lunch. We've earned it."

John sauntered into the lounge after a shower and that much anticipated meal break. His father was at his desk talking to Scott, who was on live feed from Mobile Control, and John sat down to listen. Earlier that morning, Scott and Virgil had been called to a fire along the Alaskan oil pipeline after several explosions. The rescue was going well if Scott's voice was anything to go by. He was upbeat, optimistic, even if a little smeared with the day's action. No injuries but they'd been using the Firefly to knock down some pretty serious heat.

His father had barely signed off from Scott when he said, "Where's Gordon?"

Good question.

John looked airily around him. He remembered his brother hadn't joined him for lunch.

"Colonel Casey will be in our area tomorrow and he said he'd drop by to see if we'd found anything worthwhile to occupy our time," his father said with a laugh. "It's Gordon's day-off but I need him to entertain our guest out in the water, particularly if there's a rescue. Tim mentioned again about seeing a Water Mamba so Gordon can humor him. You, too. Tell Gordon when you see him."

John agreed as he slid from his seat, determined to find Gordon this very minute. He went straight to his brother's room and knocked. There was a muffled acknowledgement and John slid the door open to find Gordon at his laptop shuffling papers frantically. Gordon was still in his swimmers and immediately assumed his deadpan, guileless expression – which meant only one thing. Trouble.

John sighed again. "Gordo, what are you doing?"

"Imperata cylindrica," Gordon said. He reached under the papers and drew out the chain of thatch. "The type of grass. Not too many islands this far east in Melonesia have it. Brains thinks…"

"Brains! Isn't he helping with the rescue?"

Gordon fingered the grass in his hands, his eyelids now half-mast, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Brains thinks, if it'd been in the water it could have only come from one place. You know, considering the…direction of the current…wind strength."

"If it'd been in the water. If. It could have come from a passing vessel. It could have come from—" Gordon's expression remained resolute and John knew it was useless to argue sense. "All right. All right. Where?"

"Ples Kunai Island. Kunai is Pidgin for grass." Gordon held up what was in his fingers. "Often, this kind."

"So, what does Al say? Anyone, anything reported missing in our area?"

Gordon tapped at the edge of his keyboard. "That doesn't necessarily mean."

"Kunai is uninhabited, isn't it? Owned by the Australian government. Can Al get the scanners in on it? Pick up life signs. Trying to help you out here, bro. Save you from a year of stirring if anyone else finds out what you're doing – all because of a bottle."

"The island has a lot of rock according to Brains. What if someone is lying hurt in a cave, the bottle the only means of asking for help? Lying there believing someone will take it seriously. Wanting someone – someone like me – to believe."

John would've laughed outright if it wasn't for the earnest look on Gordon's face. Over the years, they'd lived through it all: monsters, ghosts, extraterrestrials. The list was endless. And John knew exactly what his younger brother intended.

"Our very own true believer. Sorry, Gordo but there's nothing you can do. You're to play host tomorrow with me. Dad wants to see you about it. All leave is cancelled."

Gordon watched the display of his bedside clock click to 12:01 midnight. Technically, he was now on his day off. He had a good eight hours before he was needed. Enough time to jaunt over to Kunai, check it out to satisfy his curiosity and get back in time for breakfast. No-one'd be the wiser. He had run it thoroughly by Brains: weather conditions were clear, glass stable, currents favorable, even the rise of the full moon would help visibility. They often went fishing at night.

What was the harm in a little extended cruising?

He slid from the sheets, pulled into his wet suit and gathered the pack he'd loaded in readiness. It might be a foolhardy purpose but he wasn't going unprepared. He had all the safety gear he needed already stowed in the speedboat.

There was only one problem – Scott.

Getting out without his oldest brother seeing him would be difficult. Virgil and Scott had returned after supper and had spent the evening cleaning up and winding down. Scott was always wired after a rescue, making him the last to go to bed. Gordon had considered all avenues of stealthy escape and came up with out the front through the balcony as the best option. To go out the back put him in too much danger of being discovered by the other members of the family.

But out the front was where Scott prowled.

When Gordon was ready, he slid out from his room and tiptoed so he could peer into the lounge. No-one was there. He waited. Listened. All quiet. He ventured into the room, his bare feet silent on the smooth floor. He stopped every few strides to watch and listen. Only the distant ocean. He was part of the way across the floor space when he heard the deep intake of breath like someone stretched, and a shadow emerged from one of the loungers at the far end of the balcony.

Instinctively, he ducked down to hide behind one of the lounge chairs. The shadow became Scott as he wandered to the balcony railing to lean on it while he finished a drink. Gordon waited, barely allowing himself to breathe. He could see his brother's feet from where he stared out under the chair.

Scott lingered for longer than Gordon would've liked but when he finally moved and walked to cross the lounge, Gordon braced to run out the balcony doors. He watched Scott's toes come closer then pass the lounge.

"Night, Gordo," Scott said.

Gordon flinched. He glanced up as he heard pressure on the chair in front of him, his eldest brother leaning his elbows on the back of the chair.

"Bring us back something nice, huh. A mermaid or something. Better yet. Wrestle us a mahi mahi home for breakfast. Sure would go a long way toward me smoothing things over with Dad when he finds out." Scott chuckled as he drew back and disappeared down the hall.

Gordon, not needing a second chance, grabbed his bag and scooted down to the pier and the waiting boat. He looked up to see his brother reappear at the railing to watch. He was so engrossed in his planning as he untied the stern line he failed to hear someone approach from behind.

He stifled a yelp when a hand grabbed his forearm.

"I'll cast off. You get her turning over." It was John, also in a wet suit and carrying a bag.

"But?"

"Come on," John whispered. "Can't let you make a fool of yourself all on your own. Brains'll cover for me. Grandma packed us some eats in case we're late back and Virgil wants rock lobster if we get a chance to look. Got that? Rock lobster."

Gordon groaned as he realized the entire household must have been watching them. "So why are we whispering?"

John clamped his fingers over Gordon's mouth. "Because Dad doesn't know – yet."

The sound of the motor dying to a guttural gurgle roused John from his semi doze.

"Land 'hoy," Gordon said dramatically from his braced stance by the wheel. "Starboard bow."

John reluctantly let his feet slide from the grab rails on the gunwale and stood up next to his brother to look beyond the low slung windshield. The island of Kunai was a low spread of flecked, flat beach running up to an area of dense blue black that disappeared into an unchecked expanse of stars. It looked very much like a chaise lounge resting along their starboard side. It was a flood tide but even under the whitish moon John could see the line where the water changed from ocean to bay as the reef arced to protect the shore.

John knew he'd be needed up front to check the depth when they passed over the reef. As he was about to climb forward, Gordon thrust a bottle of water at him.

"You need to keep up the fluids." John looked uncertainly at the offering. "You're practically glowing in the dark, did you know? You sure you feel okay?"

John knew his suit felt a little tighter and he could feel the residual heat from the day's sun slicking his suit with sweat.

"Yeah, yeah. Slight headache is all but thanks."

He went forward to sit on the stem and clutch the bow line for balance, drinking the water and cursing his sensitivity to the environment. His fair complexion meant he burnt easily and he reacted to the world around him with baffling severity. The time spent in the space station didn't help. No wonder his imagination tended to be less populated and uncomplicated compared to Gordon's. He glanced momentarily at his beloved stars as he called the depth. He enjoyed contemplating the vast emptiness between stellar bodies of inert material, imagining the practicality of living in different atmospheres, or the potentials of alternate universes. Cerebral. A world away from the ear-splitting noise and blood-curdling chaos in Gordon's mind of adventures.

"I have to do this," Gordon murmured behind him.

"I'm here, aren't I?" John watched dark patches slide by the hull.

"As a skeptic."

"Sometimes I just think out loud, you know. Doesn't mean…" He raised his right hand and he felt the boat swing shoreward to avoid a section of reef. He could see the glitter of moon on the waves along the shore, feel the pitch of the boat quieten within the reef and smell the beached weed.

"It doesn't cost to believe, John."

John glanced back at his brother to see him focussed further ahead. He could disagree but didn't have the heart. What was Gordon going to walk back into after this wild-goose chase? What had any believer of the unusual suffered down through the ages?

"Not inside, at least. Much more costly without it," Gordon said with feeling.

John chuckled, surprised by his brother's philosophical mood.

"Hey, is that a jetty? Dead ahead?" Gordon exclaimed, his reverie gone as quickly as it had come. John had to agree. The square-angled shape out over the fluid movement of the water certainly looked like somewhere to tie-up.

"Who knows what the government used the island for," John said in his best analytical voice. "And how often they need to come here."

Gordon immediately radioed Thunderbird Five using their official protocol then added, "Hey Al, you awake up there?"

There was a short delay before Alan responded sleepily. "Am now. There, yet? Given up? Have I won our bet?"

"Anything changed since we last looked?"

"Nope. I've got the computer monitoring the scanners. Not a peep. Sorry, Gordo."

"Okay. Thanks. Out."

They motored the full length of the bay without talking but John could sense Gordon's eagerness. His brother had barely cut the engine and angled the bow into the jetty, than John needed to jump onto the plank of the jetty to save overshooting it. It was a flimsy affair, caked in flotsam and still slimy wet from wild seas earlier in the week. What John did notice as he slid the rope over the mooring was how smooth the top of the pylon was. From the habit of other vessels tying up? Gordon let their boat bump the fender roughly and let it drift to dock in the following sea instead of using the motor. John secured it forward and aft in a rush but it was Gordon who was first to the beach.

"No harm in a scout. Shouldn't take…" Gordon's voice trailed.

John saw him bend to study the sand. Then John saw it for himself. The sand had been disturbed and recently, at least since the cyclone. By people. And a good number of them.

"Hello! Hello!" Gordon's voice echoed across the beach but there was no answer save the high-pitched cry of plovers they disturbed.

Without any overt agreement between them, Gordon hitched the backpack higher on his shoulder and took the lead. John followed at his heel. Gordon used the flashlight to draw along the ground in the direction the activity in the sand indicated and his pulse beat that bit faster. Excitement? Trepidation? Or vindication. At least someone had been there.

"Hello! Hello!" he called.

"Gordon, Alan said no-one is here," John said irritably. "This is obviously not what you imagined. This looks organized and regular. Not some kind of emergency."

Gordon noticed John had unzipped the top of his wet suit and peeled it back from his skin. Even in the blast of yellow light, he could see the redness sprouting up his brother's neck. He offered another bottle of water.

"Starting to itch?"

John agreed reluctantly.

"Come on. We won't be long."

Gordon went back to look at what the sand told him – lots of feet walking to and from the jetty to the line of grass. He had to admit it wasn't quite what he expected but it was intriguing. The grass had been standing six foot tall until the wild winds had partially flattened it, laying it to one side and covering a well-worn track. Gordon discovered the path when he reached the grass where evidence of people disappeared from the sand. He waved the cane-like grass aside with his forearm as he waded inland.

"What do you think? Snakes in this lot? Pretty warm evening," John asked behind him, using the temporary tunnel Gordon was making.

"Oh, probably the usual tropical fare. Snakes, spiders, scorpions. All waiting to show a sensitive blond a good time."

"I don't know, Gordo. Bad feeling here."

"You sure it's not too much sun?" Gordon grinned.

After a few minutes of grass bashing, Gordon broke through to a cleared space – and the remains of a camp. When he stopped suddenly, John bumped into him and muttered an apology. They both stared over the site. The cyclone had done a good job of dismantling it. Wooden boxes were strewn, camouflage netting shredded, support poles twisted and snapped, cooking gear overturned.

Gordon went to the nearest box and pried the lid.

"Boomerangs?" He picked up a cheap, highly decorated angled throwing stick and stared at the other two hundred left in the box. "Made in Tonga?"

John went to another box. "Same here. Tourist wares."

Gordon found a box with flagons of wine – the same type they'd found on their beach.

"Well, maybe we weren't too far wrong." He showed John.

"This is some trader's camp, Gords. Look at this rubbishy stuff. Boomerangs. T-shirts with 'I love a sunburnt country' printed on it. No prizes for guessing where this is headed."

"Definitely you." Gordon held up one of the t-shirts against his brother's chest. Then he was a little more serious. "This is way off the trader routes. This doesn't make sense."

"No-one needs help here, bro. Except to clean up the mess."

Gordon righted one box by itself and spent longer examining the contents. He was not ready to admit defeat, yet.

"What do you think this is?" He held up a wooden implement about three feet long. "It looks similar to those boomerangs."

John took it to study. It was shaped in the characteristic boomerang airfoil like a pair of airplane wings but was longer, straighter and significantly heavier than the tourist ones. It was also without the decoration. John swung it and its movement made the air 'sing' with a whurr.

"Maybe it's used for a different purpose," he suggested.

"A boomerang? You throw it and it comes back so you can catch it. Simple."

"There are actually different types. This looks a little more – ah – businesslike. They were used to hunt and as weapons. Not all of them are playthings."

"To kill someone? You're joking."

"Well, to stun. To bring down prey or quarry. You know the original Australians weren't the only people group to use them. Islanders. Even Indians. Pretty effective weapons, don't you think? Quiet. Re-useable. No need to worry about ammunition. Wouldn't jam in this sand. And might even return to you if you missed."

Gordon stifled a laugh. "I'm impressed. Now, who has the vivid imagination?"

"It can get pretty quiet in Five," John said defensively. "That wrangler guy on Bonga is interesting when he gets talking. I think we've seen enough. This is a trader's camp and possibly an illegal one. The owner of these goods may not appreciate us being here. We can follow this up from home."

Gordon looked around the goods. "A quick walk along the beach and up to the rocky point and we'll be out of here. After I dive for Virgil's rock lobster. Something tells me you're not up to it."

John agreed to the last part.

It only took a few minutes to walk the beach and to climb the section of rocks at the end. There was a well-worn trail to the top and to a cave on the leeward side. The very end of the island ended in a sharp drop into the ocean. Gordon trailed his flashlight over the remains of a campfire and into the cave that revealed the scuttle of centipedes and scorpions. Beside him, John swabbed his forehead with the back of his forearm.

No-one was there.

From their vantage point, they could see over the tiny island, just an upthrust of rock spilling down to sand and the long grass. The beach in the bay was the only stretch of sand, the windward side of the island being rocks and tossed foam.

All quiet. All empty.

As Gordon ran the flashlight over the scene one last time, something tiny and luminous green flashed from the sand. He bent to pick it up and held it under the light. It was a bracelet of linked silver with a single charm.

"A fur ball with its paw in a power socket. That's all I need," John said curtly. Gordon knew the feline was another member of the animal kingdom that adversely affected his older brother. Gordon had to agree the charm did look like a furry cat, the two jewel eyes winking discordantly inside an edge of heavily jagged silver. This had to be a child's bracelet but an expensive one. "Mystery solved. The trader has kids and the kids have been fooling around. Satisfied now, Squirt?"

Gordon stared at the bracelet, willing to know its history. He saw again the carefully woven letters of grass. Would a child intent on mischief have the patience? Before he could think of a reason to stay any longer, two things happened at once. John deposited the contents of his stomach in the sand at his feet. And he spied a large, aerodynamic shape sail across the bay beneath them.

"Thunderbird Five to Scott. Are you receiving me?"

Scott was wide awake and half out of bed as soon as he heard Alan's voice. "Where are they? What's happened?"

"I'm not sure if it's as dramatic as that, Scott. I'm having a communication problem. Apparently your watch is working."

"Uh-huh. No problem here. What's up?"

"The funniest thing. The scanners just quit on me then when I tried to contact John and Gordon, nothing but static. I've reprogrammed the scanner co-ordinates. I'm picking up you guys clear as a bell but all I get from Kunai is static. It came on gradual, intermittent at first, now constant. If you can hear me then it can't be my end."

"Something might be jamming their communication from the island. Maybe Brains can put a finger on it."

"There's no power source. It can't be from the island. But I don't know…you want me to wake Brains?"

"You woke me, didn't you?"

"Well, I figured you'd be awake."

"You're worried," Scott said.

"Don't you think it's unusual?"

"Okay. I'll check it out this end."

"So, are you going after them? This can't be good, whatever it means."

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. "I could think of better things to do at three in the morning than chase Gordon across the Pacific. Leave it with me."

"Sorry, Gordo," John said.

Back on the island, John felt a hand on his shoulder and another bottle of water was thrust into his grasp.

"Maybe not as much as I think we're going to be," Gordon whispered as he turned out the flashlight, casting them into immediate darkness. After taking a minute for their eyes to adjust, he added. "That's the last bottle of water. What do you make of that craft?"

John held his rebellious stomach as they watched the vessel slide across the water to the jetty. It was a catamaran: no running lights, little engine noise and little wake, and of a matt finish that sat it dully against the water even in the moonlight. The enclosed deck was fashioned into an aerodynamic shape like the latest top-of-the-range Lamborghini. The entire craft was built for speed and invisibility.

Gordon raised his watch to his mouth. "Gordon to Thunderbird Five. Hey, Al, you definitely fell asleep up there."

But all he received in reply was static. John tried his watch, with the same result, and he swore under his breath.

"That's no trader," John said, and he left the word pirates unsaid.

"Think they're causing this interference?"

"The watches were working fine."

"Do you think they saw our light?" Gordon said.

"They'll see the boat any second. They'll know we're here. We need to hide."

There was not a lot of choice in hiding places. Stay up on the rocks or hide in the grass. The rocks ended in a cliff at the far end and they'd be cornered if anyone came after them up there. The grass seemed the best option. There they could wait for a chance to get to the boat but there was one problem. They would have to go onto the beach and past the camp to get to the uninterrupted expanse of grass at the other end of the island. They discussed it for a full minute and still agreed on the grass.

As they clambered down the rocks, the vessel banked at the jetty and a figure jumped aboard their craft. Then John saw something that made his blood boil hotter than it already was. The figure untied their boat and pushed it away from the dock.

Lovely.

"When's the tide due to turn?" John asked. If the tide was onshore there was a good chance the boat would beach itself but if not…

Gordon glanced at the sky. "In about an hour."

"Bad time for Al to be asleep up there."

"He won't be. Come on. Keep yourself low. Try not to make a silhouette against the sky."

"More believing, hey Gordo?" John grinned, pushing his brother forward.

They were almost down the rocks when the second figure appeared on the dock carrying what looked like a bucket. He threw the contents of it into the water, almost over their boat, and it landed with a splot.

"What was that for?" Gordon breathed.

"Somehow I don't think they're wishing us a good day."

A minute later they found out. The water around their craft agitated unnaturally and a fin appeared at the stern.

"Shark!" Gordon spat.

"Burley, huh. So much for retrieving the boat."

They scampered down onto the beach, keeping low in a crouch and against the foreshore rocks. On the jetty, two men were tying up the catamaran.

"We need to get past them before they come ashore," Gordon whispered back to him. "Can you do up that wet suit?"

"I'm stewing in this thing!"

"Just until we make the grass. This is one time when blond isn't beautiful. Cover up as much as possible so they don't see you."

"Yeah, yeah," he agreed then tensed as his stomach contracted. Dear God, not now!

He coughed into his forearm, trying to muffle the sound. Gordon halted and felt for him in the dark. They were almost level with the jetty.

"Hold it, John. For Pete's sake!" he whispered into his brother's ear.

Just as they moved on again, they heard a high pitched whimper on the dock. Two more people appeared on deck, one smaller person struggling between two big males.

"Mother of—" John breathed.

The smaller figure was a girl.

"They're…they're…,' Gordon stuttered.

"Traffickers," John finished for him.

For a second, the brothers hesitated. Then they heard a shout and someone pointed in their direction.

"Run!" Gordon commanded.

John grabbed at Gordon to stop being left behind by his fleet-footed brother. They could hear the heavy footfalls on the wooden boards of the jetty and shouts in a foreign language.

"Split up," Gordon hissed over his shoulder. "Hit the grass!"

Gordon dived into the grass. John intended to run on. He had every intention of running on. He heard a high pitched whurr in the air behind him before something struck him very hard in the back of his head. All he recalled was falling.

Gordon had no time to think about the choice he made. He heard the whurr behind him and he saw John crumple. Three burly males gained on him and he knew if they got a hold of him, he wouldn't stand a chance. He dived back to the beach, yanked his unconscious brother onto his side, snatched up the boomerang then dived back into the grass.

To run.

It felt like desertion. It felt like defection of the highest order. But he convinced himself he had a plan.

Gordon immediately discovered, however, the grass didn't provide the salvation he hoped. It was lush and very long and any passage through it left a trail that resembled an elephant in mud. No hiding. No room for subtlety. No option for stealth. Despite his nimbleness, one big, heaving body was catching him. Then Gordon drew on his copious imagination. At first he ran in a straight line, headed straight back to the camp where he hoped they would take John, where he'd surprise them and where he'd get his brother back. It happened all the time in the movies. But he couldn't shake his tail.

Gordon changed tack. He circled. He came back onto the trail he'd originally made then slid back into the grass to wait for his pursuer, his fingers clutched around the boomerang.

John knew something wasn't right but it took him a minute to figure out exactly what it was. He was sprawled on something hard. His body felt light, unusually unencumbered, but his head felt as though something the size of his Thunderbird was sitting on it. A strange fire traveled up his shoulders and neck, which prompted him to think of how he came to be in this predicament. He recalled bottles with messages and boomerangs and furry cats. Then he remembered the traffickers and the images in his mind turned dark.

Head hunters. Cannibals.

He felt like he was being cooked by one.

His eyes flashed open and he heard a sharp movement to his left. He saw rock first, above him, then something cowering in the corner. The whites of terrified eyes stared back at him. Young eyes. Eyes too young to contain such fear.

He carefully moved his gaze to take in his surroundings. More rock. There was a lantern in the entrance, making their shadows spidery on the walls behind them. He dimly recalled being here before with Gordon.

Gordon!

He tried to sit up but only managed to move his arm. The figure in the corner tried to climb the walls. She couldn't have been more than thirteen and her clothes had been swapped for one of those touristy t-shirts. Lovin' a sunburnt country. Once his hand moved he discovered why his body felt so free. He tapped down his torso and found he was no longer wearing his wet suit. His watch was also gone.

"Ah… S'okay," he whispered, trying to locate her without shifting his eyes too much. Moving them did creative things to the walls of the cave. "Here to help."

The idea struck him as ludicrously funny. Yeah, a fat lot of good he was.

Then it occurred to him he may be contributing to the girl's fear. He rolled onto his stomach and when his vision cleared he looked up to see the girl and a rock poised to strike. Him. He held up his hand defensively.

"Ah... Please. Don't do that." He had visions of his head neatly split in two like a watermelon. He pointed to himself. "Me – er- halivim – you." He pointed to her and hoped to hell he was saying the right thing in Pidgin. "Me – halivim – helpim – you. Help you. I'm John."

Her hand holding the rock aloft wavered then her attention moved to something he couldn't see and she shuffled further back into the depths of the cave. John heard men talk in close proximity and pretended to still be out of it.

"…any luck?"

"Disappeared into the grass like a rat."

"He can't go far. Keep looking. So, who do we have here? Anything on this guy?"

A third voice said. "Nah. Nothin' but a fancy watch."

"Ask our man if this turkey's useful. Young. Strong. Good looking. Might appeal to someone. If not, get rid of him. Out to sea. Keep the sharks happy. Make sure that girl's got nothing to identify her and make sure she co-operates. You know what I mean. Do whatever's necessary. I'll be on board. We leave at 0500. There's a trader passing our way who our contact thinks might like some business."

There was amused agreement, a short period of shuffling, and muffled banter between the two men still there.

Then John heard something that made him think he wasn't as with it as he thought.

"Hey, fat stuff!" someone close by shouted and he could've sworn it sounded like Gordon. "Are you looking for me?"

Gordon's grip on the heavy boomerang was still tight as he shouted at the two men. He was running on pure adrenaline. He'd never laid someone out before, at least not without that someone having a swing at him, first. Not three minutes ago, back in the grass, the big boomerang had connected with his pursuer's scalp before the guy knew what hit him.

One down, three to go.

"Come on! You want me! Come get me!"

He stood on the rocks at a slightly elevated position to the cave so he could see into it. It wasn't as suicidal as it appeared – at least not to him. He was in the rescue business so he was going to rescue. He doubted if both men would come after him. His plan was to lure one of them back to the grass. Get one of them to chase him and pick him off by ambush. He'd seen John move. He'd seen the girl react to something John said or did and maybe it would give his brother a chance to get away.

Simple.

But then again, maybe not. Both men charged him; perhaps as an instinctive reaction or perhaps in a false assurance that John was still unconscious. Gordon took off like a gazelle over the rocks. He had speed and agility in his favor but not a lot of room to maneuver. The ocean was a long way down over his right shoulder. He bounded over the rocks, his bare feet and hands finding their way in the dark. The two behind him seemed to have familiarity on their side.

He could tell without looking that the men had split up. He could hear one directly behind him, who was lagging, and one was trying to cut him off from the left as the headland curved back towards the east. Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon could see the man angled to cut across him. It was either sprint or be caught. Gordon chose the former. He heard that now familiar whurr of a boomerang. He ducked, dodged, and the weapon went harmlessly into the space.

Gordon could see the sea below him. He had little toehold on the rocks left. He was going for the gap and he was determined nothing would stop him. He almost made it. His pure speed and fitness would have assured him of the win, if all things were equal. His assailant launched into a rugby tackle. It closed that precious space by just a fraction of an inch. Gordon felt a push on his hip and only had time to swing the boomerang he held to free the hold as the momentum swept them both out into fresh air.

Still, Gordon was pleased with the result. As he fell, he knew he wasn't alone. Two down, two to go. And John had a clear route of escape. Now, all he had to do was survive the stop at the bottom.

John couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him when both guards took off after Gordon. He immediately scrambled to his hands and knees, blinking as the objects in his vision did a sharp spin. The girl scuttled away from him further into the corner, drawing up into a ball.

"Run!" he told her, pointing urgently to the entrance. "Get out!"

When she didn't move, he crawled toward her, hoping to at least herd her out if she wouldn't go on her own. She froze in a cut-off scream.

"Out! Out!" He grabbed her arm and tried to take her with him. "Koan Come on!"

She answered him hysterically with something he didn't understand but, when he repeated the few words in Pidgin he could remember, she responded more positively. John struggled upright, keeping his feet spread. He took her hand as reassuringly as he could under the circumstances and staggered out into the night air. His watch and wet suit were outside the cave and he stooped to retrieve the watch. He couldn't stand the thought of the suit and grabbed a couple of t-shirts to modestly cover himself.

One size fits all was definitely a handy policy.

As he encouraged the girl down onto the beach, he knew he was really out of it when he imagined the watch vibrate the contact tone on his wrist.

It seemed a hell of a time to think of physics but Gordon did a few quick calculations. Acceleration of a falling body was a constant 32.16 feet per second per second, which meant that for every second he fell, his velocity increased by that amount, which meant that whenever he hit the water it would be fast enough to hurt. A lot.

And despite being the lighter of the two, Gordon predicted he would hit first. It had nothing to do with weight but everything to do with mass. Gordon curled into a ball, bringing up his knees and clutching them with his arms, making himself as tight and as compact as possible. He would go feet first. To dive meant he would go deeper and possibly break his neck on the submerged rock. This way he would hit harder but hopefully limit the damage to his limbs. His companion flayed like a windmill and Gordon understood he would hit like an egg on pavement.

Splat.

It felt like that even to Gordon when he surfaced, gasping uncontrollably but reasonably intact, knowing he would feel it tomorrow when his epinephrine levels plummeted. He did a quick scan, tried not to think of the bruises and looked for his companion. Nothing moved save the wash of the water into the cliff face.

He had little time to spare in search of the man. He had priorities. John and the girl. Then their speedboat. He swam around the point towards the beach, careful to keep away from the dash of the rocks and concerned by the pain that shot up his back when he moved.

He was most of the way around to shore when he heard the sound of a boat's motor. He recognized it as their own. Someone was in their boat. The powerful spotlights came on as it motored quietly in a search pattern.

Was it looking for him? Was it John?

Gordon trod water. Undecided. Tingling in his toes not only warned him of damage to his back, it also warned him of the shadows that could be lurking below him. He needed that boat – whoever was in it. He had to retrieve it. He had to.

He waited and watched, unable to tell if it was friend or foe. Would John call out? He cursed the light. It prevented him from seeing who was on board and he let the boat almost pass him through indecision before he acted.

"Oy! Over here!" he called.

He tensed. Waited to see the reaction. The boat immediately swung in his direction, and so did the light, flashing over the surface in search of him. He let it come. Ready for what might follow.

The motor cut. The boat was suddenly silent in the water but still the search of the light. Gordon swam closer and just as the light found him, he saw the outline of who was at the helm.

It wasn't John.

Gordon heard the splash that signaled someone had come in after him. He filled his lungs and dived. He dived as fast and as deep as he could. His training saw him well-equipped to reach the bottom. Above him in the light, he could see the shape of the man coming after him and Gordon swam under him, hoping to elude him. He headed for the far side of the boat, which was once again adrift on the ocean.

At that moment he saw something that genuinely alarmed him. A tail fin twitched in the outer edges of the light source above him. By now, he felt the need for air and had to head for the surface.

He breached the wake and swam for the boat, taking in as much replacement air as he could. As he was about to haul himself aboard, he was grabbed by the legs. There was a flash of relief when he felt it was a man's grip and not a shark's but that feeling quickly evaporated. A dead weight pulled him down. Gordon kicked. The two wrestled. The big man grappled to get hold of Gordon's neck and Gordon fended him off. Then Gordon took a heavy blow to the back. It made him cry out with the pain, which took his fingernail hold from the boat.

He punched back and for a few moments there was a deadly struggle. Gordon was being pulled under and he fought to maintain the surface. The man used his weight to greater advantage and took Gordon under at every opportunity but Gordon knew how to use himself. He gathered his legs and kicked himself clear, pushing for the boat that was just beyond arm's reach.

Gordon had only swum two strokes when he was caught again. The same thing happened. They grappled. They battled. They fought. The air was full of grunts and the noise of distress.

And all the while the boat drifted further away.

Gordon was beginning to tire. And he was aware of that fin.

Elbows. Fists. Knees. Anything did. They went under, together. Swirling for supremacy. His wet suit, thankfully, proved difficult to hold. Gordon broke free with a swift kick. It was an Olympian effort as he swam faster than for any medal chase. His powerful arms propelled him through the water but still his assailant came after him. Gordon fought for breath, the pain in his back paralyzing. His pace slackened. His arms became lead. His legs refused to move fast enough.

Faster. Faster. He needed to swim faster.

Something brushed his foot and he prepared for another fight, glancing behind him as the man lunged forward.

Suddenly the man bucked in the midriff. Something lifted and rolled and the man disappeared, the glimpse of a triangular shape the only clue as to what may have happened. Suddenly it was still, the wake of the ocean closing over where the man had been.

Gordon went dead in the water, stunned by the shock, the pain, not knowing what might come from beneath. Or when. The boat was out of reach and he was almost out of resources. He would rest – just for a precious moment – and try again.

Gordon felt himself drift…heaviness…all about him a hypnotic heaviness…adrift unsure for how long…until something wrenched his upper arm.

"Gordo! Take it easy, will you? You nearly took my head off."

Scott scrambled to catch his breathing apparatus as Gordon lashed out at him and knocked it off his head. Gordon hesitated as his older brother tackled him by the shoulders to limit his struggle.

"Scott?" he spluttered.

"Easy, Tiger. I've got you."

Gordon relaxed against him with a loud exhale. "I thought you were…"

"Sorry to grab you like that, you went under."

"Where did you?" Gordon searched the sky. "I didn't see."

Scott indicated down with his thumb. "Took the scenic route. A little stealth of our own. Thought we'd better not let anyone see us." Scott passed over his mask to Gordon and whispered. "Here, get your breath. But do it quietly, huh. We've got company."

There was the faint sound of motors and Gordon looked around him, wildly.

"No!" he shouted. "They can't leave! They can't! John! Where's John? John and the girl? We can't let those bastards go!" He struggled but Scott held him.

"Keep it down, Squirt. They're safe. On the island."

"Are you sure?"

"Al's been talking to John," Scott reassured him.

"But the watches?"

Scott held him still as the vessel passed within twenty yards of them.

"Yeah, well. I discovered Brains is just as brilliant in his sleep as he is awake. He fixed that problem. John muttered something about 'loving a sunburnt country'. Said you'd understand. I don't know, Gordo. Isn't that about Australia? I guess I'll have to talk to him about his misguided allegiances." Scott grinned but Gordon was too intent on his thoughts.

"We can't let them go! What if they get away? They're slave traders, Scott. We can't let them get... We have to do something."

"Relax. Relax. Virgil's got a present for them. There's one thing we do believe in and that's teamwork. He'll attach it to the hull then come get us. Al's already notified the authorities. They'll pick them up."

"Order Virgil to blow it. Use the missiles. They can't get away. Please, Scott!"

"We're not the police, you know that. They'll be trailing one of Brain's signal amplitude devices. Every vessel within five hundred miles will pick them up on their radar. No hiding this time. Now, just rest easy."

Gordon took in the oxygen from Scott's mask in big breaths. "Virgil got the electronic shark repellent in Four turned on?"

"Oh yeah. And I'm wearing a pod to be sure. It's gone, don't worry. That high-level training you do paid off. The shark took a sniff at you but must have thought you looked too tough to be edible. Thankfully it went for the other guy. Though… gee… that wasn't pleasant to watch. I wish we got here sooner."

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Not unless you lose it here and now. If you don't stop fighting me, you'll drown us both. Let me worry about Dad. There's a good chance we can make it back before our guest arrives."

"My back hurts, Scott."

"Short jump off a long drop, John said. Lean against me, bro. I've got you. Let me do the work. Virg'll be here any second. It's over, Squirt."

Gordon thrust his hand in front of Scott's face. "Not until I find who owns this bracelet, it isn't. We have to find her. I have to."

John stood on the highest point of the path from the house to the beach on Tracy Island. He cupped his eyes as his gaze panned across the rocks then, when he caught sight of a solitary figure, he grinned lopsidedly. He climbed down to sit beside his brother.

"Cheer up, Gordo."

Gordon startled as his fist caught up the bracelet he was staring at. "Hey! You're up. How's the head?"

"Still on, thanks to you."

Gordon shrugged.

"You're not still brooding. You saved me. You saved that girl. And who knows how many others."

"But not this one." Gordon held up the bracelet and the green eyes of the cat blinked in the sunlight. "She was probably the one who put that message in the bottle."

John held up two objects. "Come on. Let's see if what they say is true."

"Boomerangs!" Gordon covered his face with his hands. "I don't want to see another one of those things."

"These are the toys ones. These ones are only meant to fly. Let's see if your theory holds, hey? For the sake of science and skeptics."

"What theory?"

" 'What goes around, comes around.' Seems to work with sharks. What about boomerangs? I always wanted to figure out how they do it. I mean if boomerangs don't fit the theory then what will?"

John climbed down to the beach and encouraged his very sore and reluctant brother to follow. He threw one that wobbled in flight and it made a premature dive into the sand. They sauntered to retrieve it. A quarter of the way along the beach, John saw Gordon stop.

"No way. I don't believe it," Gordon said flatly.

"What?"

Gordon pointed. "Look! Another one of those bottles."

"I wonder if this one has a message in it?"

Gordon glanced forlornly at the bracelet. "I don't want to know." He walked on past the object in the sand. "John – if this is some sort of sick joke. If one of those brothers of mine… I'm not laughing."

"I've been in the infirmary, remember. Puking the lining of my stomach. Hey! You can't leave it there. What if it smashes? We'll have glass all over the beach. Wouldn't want Grandma to cut her feet, would you?"

Gordon stopped, seemed to consider it then reluctantly returned to pick it up. He groaned.

"It is another one."

"Same?"

Gordon turned it upside down. "Paper, this time."

"You have to know what it says, you know you do."

John watched as his brother opened the bottle, shook out the paper and unrolled it to read. A frown dug two deep furrows across his forehead.

"What is this? This is not funny."

"I was sent to give you a message," John said unable to hide his grin any longer. "You know the authorities found the sweat shop that covered for the trafficking operation. Well, the King of Tonga respectfully requests your presence at the royal residence. The authorities have found her, Gordon. The owner of that bracelet. She is now safe and being taken care of at home."

Gordon referred back to the paper. "I don't understand. What is this? Kitty?"

"Her friends call her Kitty. Her Tongan name was too long to fit on the paper. Kitty is the granddaughter of the King, Gordon, and she wants to thank you personally. Apparently she'd been snatched off the street but they may not have realized who they'd taken."

John laughed when Gordon's mouth dropped open a fraction. He turned and pointed to the rest of the family standing up on the point. "We're all invited. And, as no Thunderbird craft was seen, Dad thinks we can be hailed as responsible citizens for a change. That'll give Colonel Casey something to think about."

"Kitty? That's her? True? She's been found?"

John put his arm around his brother's shoulders. "You're a hero, you know that. I'm sure Kitty is glad you're a believer…and so are we, Gordon. So are we…"