DISPLACED by JULES RATED FRPT

Lives are always hanging in the balance for the men and women of International Rescue. After a while, you get used to it. But can you get too used to it? One Tracy asks himself that very question.

Muffins

Scott Tracy was at a loose end. He had been in Thunderbird 1's silo but she really didn't need much attention. He had some paperwork to be getting on with but that hardly seemed appealing. A visit to the gym would be sensible but he decided that a run around the Island might be more fun. He wondered if he could get Virgil to join him. It was hard to get Virgil to go jogging. He was solidly-built and generally preferred the gym or swimming but Scott was in a good mood and fancied he could get his brother to come with him.

Scott went down the steps to Thunderbird 2's hangar. After all this time in International Rescue he was still as excited as a little kid by the impressive Thunderbird machines. And Thunderbird 2 was certainly impressive. It was bigger and uglier than his beloved Thunderbird 1 but its sheer size made him stop and gaze appreciatively for a moment. He wasn't much hung-up on the colour but that was neither here nor there.

Scott's footsteps echoed across the hangar floor as he headed to Virgil's office. All the five brothers had an "office" that they could call their own. In reality they were no bigger than closets but it gave them each a bit of private space to work in, privacy being a rare commodity on Tracy Island.

Scott's office was as neat as a new pin, organised and sparkling, just like his father's desk. Virgil's was a mess. Papers were piled up so high they frequently fell over and obscured the computer monitor. Bits of oily equipment lay in heaps on the floor. Scott avoided the room most of the time. As he walked towards it he saw Virgil standing very still behind his desk staring at a piece of paper pinned on the notice board above. Intrigued, Scott squeezed into the office and looked over his shoulder. Virgil didn't acknowledge him. The paper was a printout showing part of Thunderbird 2 where a mass of wires connected into a port near the rear of the aircraft. Scott frowned. He leant passed Virgil and unpinned the printout. Then he turned it the right way up and repinned it.

"Unless you want to fly her upside down, of course," he remarked casually.

Virgil gave a little jump as if he'd only just realised Scott was there. He looked in confusion at his brother and then back at the board. Scott could see him mentally processing what had just happened.

"Something on your mind, Virg?"

"I was just....er...yeh, some of the cabling needs updating and rerouting. Just trying to work it out. Don't know why it can't all be wireless in this day and age. Brains and I are trying to reach a compromise." He sat down in his chair with a thud.

"Want to talk it through? I could maybe give my opinion for what it's worth?"

"No, Scott, it's fine. I've got it under control."

"Want to come for a jog, then? Bit of fresh air?"

"No, I want to keep on with this."

"I'll fetch you a coffee, then."

Virgil finally looked properly at his brother, obviously finding it difficult to give him attention.

"Scott, do you know what I like about you?"

"What?"

"Well, unlike the others you seem to know when I need my space. You always understand when I need peace and quiet and to be by myself." Virgil continued to stare meaningfully at Scott. Scott smiled tightly. He was a bright lad, Yale had said so. He prided himself on being able to take a hint.

"I'll leave you to it then."

Virgil nodded, didn't reply and turned back to his desk. Scott turned and walked back across the hangar and up the stairs. Virgil was busy. Fine. No problem. He'd just go for that run on his own. After he'd stopped by the kitchen. It was Tuesday and Grandma had been baking. Maybe he'd get first dibs on the results.

As he walked into the kitchen a gorgeous chocolaty smell told him he was right. He was drawn to the basket of quadruple chocolate muffins on the table. A muffin would not sit well on his stomach before a jog but now Virgil had rebuffed him there was no rush. He took a muffin, sat down and took a bite. It was all he could do to stop himself saying "Mmmmm" to the empty room. The room did not stay empty for long. The door swung open to admit Gordon.

"Might have known you'd have got here first."

"Mmumpflp," replied Scott his mouth still full. Gordon ignored what he assumed to be an insult. He too took a muffin and sat down. Scott swallowed his mouthful. "What's wrong with Virgil?"

"What's wrong with Virgil?" repeated Gordon, looking thoughtful. "Well, he can be as stubborn as a mule, uncommunicative, he seems to think he's the only one on the Island who knows the difference between a diffusion pump and an ion pump, he..."

Scott looked exasperated as Gordon wittered on. "I meant, what's wrong with Virgil TODAY, you idiot."

"Hey, watch who you're calling an idiot. And as for Virg, no idea. Missed him at breakfast, haven't seen him at all today. Why? What did he do?"

"All but told me to piss off just now."

"And your point is?"

"Well...I..."

"Welcome to my world, Scott. Virgil tells me to piss off all the time."

"He does not...does he?"

Gordon smiled, amused. Scott could be so easy to wind up, sometimes, it was criminal. "God knows why he's so nice to you. Just deal with the fact he isn't for once."

"He only tells you to piss off because you're usually dangling some fake spider over the top of his piano or something."

"Whatever. See you later." Gordon got up and headed out of the kitchen.

"Fancy a run?" Scott asked hopefully.

"Piss off, Scott," The door swung too behind Gordon.

"Well, how do you like that?" said Scott to no-one in particular. The door opened again and Gordon appeared grinning.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist it. Just done a 10 mile swim. Try John." He turned and left again. Scott stared after him. Brothers. What had he done to deserve them? He looked at the rest of the muffins. Run? Muffin? Run? Muffin? He was just reaching for another muffin when he heard his grandmother's voice behind him.

"Scott Tracy, put that down!"

Run it was, then.

Potatoes

That evening everyone was seated around the dinner table. Well, almost everyone. There was a house rule that said that if no rescues were in progress everyone should sit down together for dinner. Jeff had imagined that he would see a lot more of each of his sons when they all lived together on the Island but the truth was that everyone was so busy with their various activities that he was lucky to catch more than a snatched word with any of them during a working day. That's why he liked a full attendance at dinner, so that he could touch base with them all and they with each other.

Another tradition was the saying of grace before the meal. His wife had always insisted on it believing that her advantaged sons should be made to count their blessings on a daily basis and take nothing for granted. After her death Jeff kept up the tradition in her honour. Every evening he would pick someone to say grace and it was wise to pay attention because you never knew when it would be your turn.

Jeff looked around the table. Everyone was present except for Virgil. He turned to Scott.

"Where's Virgil?"

Scott sighed. People had been asking him that his whole life. Everyone expected him to know where Virgil was at any given time. Truth was he usually did but that wasn't the point. He lifted his wrist comm.

"Scott to Virgil. Where are you? Dinner's on the table." There followed what sounded suspiciously like an expletive from Scott's watch. Scott turned to his father. "I think I can safely say he's on his way."

A minute later Virgil turned up and slid into his seat with a muttered "Sorry."

"John, will you say grace, please?"

"Thank you God for keeping us safe on rescues especially that last one which was a real nightmare, amen," said John as speedily as possible. There was a round of amens and then everyone tucked enthusiastically into the food before them. The last rescue had been tough with high winds, equipment failure and John almost getting taken out by a steel girder which had been tossed through the air like a twig. All that was forgotten, now, as the family served up their food and passed dishes. Virgil, however, seemed oblivious to the frantic activity around him as he stared at his empty plate.

"Virgil?" his father said holding out a dish of potatoes towards him. He got no response. "Virgil?" Nothing. Jeff Tracy was not used to being ignored. The next time he spoke his son's name he rapped it out like an order he expected to be obeyed. "Virgil!" Virgil looked up enquiringly at his father. Jeff nodded towards the dish he was holding.

"Potatoes, son?"

"Sure," replied Virgil and took the dish, unaware of the irritated frown on his father's face.

Scott had watched all this as he dished up his own food. Now he looked over at his other brothers and saw John also looking at Virgil. John raised a couple of enquiring eyebrows at Scott. Scott shrugged in reply. No idea, John, no idea at all. But he aimed to find out.

Pretzels

Twenty-four hours later and there was an emergency call. Scott had already headed off towards Thunderbird 1 by the time Virgil, Gordon and John had assembled in the lounge. Their father briefed them.

"You're going to Paradise Island. Alan will give you the details on the way but basically there are people trapped in underwater observation tunnels. Gordon, as you've been there yourself, I want you to give us the benefit of your knowledge once you're underway. Virgil, get going, pod 4. John, this will probably be Gordon's show but would you like to go anyway?"

"Sure thing, Father."

Virgil, who was just in mid-flip against the wall, was heard to mutter at this point,

"She's not a tour bus, you know," before disappearing.

"Someone got out of the wrong side of Thunderbird 2 today. Still want to come?" Gordon asked of John.

"He's just grouchy because he knows he'll miss dinner. Let's go." John and Gordon headed off to the passenger lift. The room was suddenly silent. The calm before the storm. Jeff frowned at Virgil's picture as it flipped back into place. He was just starting a thought when his concentration was shattered by the magnificent roar of Thunderbird 1 clearing the pool area. Jeff heaved a sigh and got on with the job at hand.

In Thunderbird 2's cockpit, Virgil was firing up the big, green machine and initiating the pod sequence whilst changing into his uniform. He heard John and Gordon arrive behind him.

"Sit down, strap in, shut up," he instructed them. His brothers obeyed the first two and ignored the third. Virgil was just getting Thunderbird 2 on the move when the comms unit spluttered into life.

"Changing to horizontal flight," Scott was heard to say. Despite the fact that Scott said this every time he flew Thunderbird 1 he still spoke the words as if he was doing something exciting.

"Alan," said Jeff, "could you fill us in on what the situation is?"

"Okay. The rescue site is on the sea bed just off Paradise Island. There is an underwater observation tunnel which swings out from the Island and around in a circle back to the Island again. The tunnel is a mile long and made of a clear, polycarbolyene plastic compound and is constructed in a series of interlocking sections which sit on the ocean floor. The idea is that people from the Island can walk through the tunnel and observe the marine life. There has been a breech in one of the sections of tunnel. When this happens, there is a safety feature which enables the damaged section to be sealed off with watertight barriers to prevent water getting down the rest of the tunnel. Apparently this happened and the breeched section is contained. Most of the people in the tunnel were able to continue around and back onto land but the section immediately next to the damaged one also sealed itself and there are seven people trapped inside, all holidaymakers, all sitting in a puddle of water but not immediately at risk.

Virgil was just positioning Thunderbird 2 on the launch ramp so it was left to Scott to ask the obvious.

"Don't they have a contingency plan to deal with this sort of emergency?"

"Oh, they do," replied Alan, the amusement in his voice obvious. "They have two underwater rescue craft. The first got into difficulties soon after getting in the ocean. The craft is watertight but sitting disabled on the sea bed. They need rescuing too." There was an audible groan from Gordon at this point. "The second craft got stuck on its launch ramp. Mechanical failure of the ramp."

"Terrific," muttered Scott, irritated by the incompetence.

"Gordon, can you give us your slant on this?" asked his father.

Gordon opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Virgil.

"Thunderbird 2 ready to launch, Father."

"You're good to go, Virgil."

"FAB."

Gordon held his counsel while Thunderbird 2 heaved itself through the clouds. Virgil concentrated on the instruments in front of him for a few moments and, when he was satisfied, he glanced back at his ginger-haired brother.

"Go on."

Gordon collected his thoughts and reflected on his recent vacation. Paradise Island was a man-made land mass in the Pacific Ocean. It had been built as a get-away resort for the obscenely rich. The five-star facilities included hotels, water parks, casinos and shops based around a marine theme which were intended to be a haven of fun and relaxation for those that could afford it. It had quickly gained a reputation as a hedonistic playground for people with more money than morals. Gordon, being a marine expert and also extremely wealthy, had taken it upon himself to have a few days' vacation time there for "research purposes" as he had put it, much to his brothers' amusement.

After a day on Paradise Island Gordon had begun to understand why, over the years, his father had lectured his sons time and time again about using their money wisely and not seeing it as an excuse not to learn some sort of profession. The work ethic that their father had instilled in them meant they were content to put in many hours of effort over International Rescue. Many of the people whom he had met on the Island had no such values and Gordon had quickly become sickened by some of the characters he had met and the activities that he had seen go on. He had, though, made the most of the relaxation facilities that were available and had enjoyed his few days lazing about in the sun being royally pampered. On his return home he had taken his older brothers aside and convinced them that they all had to ensure Alan never went to Paradise Island as he felt certain that his baby brother would have trouble resisting the lifestyle that was too good to be true.

Fortunately, Alan was safely tucked up in Thunderbird 5 and, like the others, waiting for Gordon's take on the situation.

"The sea bed is about 25 metres at that point so the rescue shouldn't be too tough. The tunnel is soundly constructed and I'm glad to hear the sections sealed off okay. It's only a 15 minute walk through the tunnel from end to end. Most people wander around in beachwear which is fine if you keep moving but it's going to be a chilly for the ones who have to sit and wait, especially if there's some sea water in there with them. I'll leave working out the best way to get them out until I get there and see what the damage is. The only thing I hate is what they've done to the ocean around there. It's not like it's the best bit of the Pacific for exotic sea life and they destroyed most of the beauty of it when they built the Island. In fact they have imported pretty-looking coral from other parts of the ocean and just kinda dumped it there. They've even stuck some plastic plants in the sea bed to give the punters something to look at. It's horrible. In fact, I'm not even sure I want to take Thunderbird 4 down there."

At this, Virgil's head whipped around to look at Gordon.

"You think it might be dangerous?"

"Oh, no, I just think she might be offended by the load of crap they've scattered around in the name of entertainment."

Virgil looked back at his control panel with a tut of irritation. John chuckled.

"What have I told you about anthropomorphalising Thunderbird 4?"

"And what have I told you about using long words before dinner?" retorted Gordon.

"Base and Thunderbird 2 from Thunderbird 1. Approaching danger zone."

"FAB, Scott. Thanks for the input, Gordon," said his father, "take it easy down there."

"FAB, Father."

Virgil hit a couple of controls on the comms unit with irritation. There was way too much talking going on so far. How was he supposed to think straight with all this chit chat? He certainly didn't want to listen to Scott conversing with air traffic control at the Island and hopefully his father would keep quiet once they were on site and Scott was in position. He was just trying to calculate his ETA at the rescue site when he heard a rustle and crunching behind him. He looked around again at Gordon.

"Can't you guys keep it quiet back there?"

Gordon looked up guiltily from the bag of pretzels in his hand.

"I was eating these before we took off. Thought I'd save them for the journey. Want one?"

Virgil didn't even bother to answer but turned back to look through the forward cockpit windows. Gordon turned to John and spoke with exaggerated politeness.

"Would you like a pretzel, John?"

"I would, thank you, Gordon," came the equally polite reply. John and Gordon sniggered like schoolboys cheeking their principal.

"Shouldn't you be going to prep Thunderbird 4, Gordon? It's not like this is exactly going to be a long haul flight for us, you know." He didn't look around this time so he missed the look that passed between John and Gordon as they registered the tetchiness in Virgil's voice. Gordon realised that something was not quite right with Virgil and decided that having Virgil lose his temper in the confined space of Thunderbird 2's cockpit would not be pleasant. His reply was all business.

"FAB, Virgil. Give me a buzz when we're five minutes out." Gordon patted John on the shoulder in commiseration at having to stay with their unusually grumpy brother and then headed for the pod. John sat back and wisely kept quiet.

Fruit Punch

After a brief discussion with the Control Tower at Paradise Island, Scott landed Thunderbird 1 on their runway. The Island had only one relatively short runway as its exclusivity meant that only low numbers of people arrived or departed at any one time so they only needed to accommodate small aircraft and helicopters. Scott descended from his Thunderbird and began to set up Mobile Control. It wasn't long before a golf cart pulled up and a man got out. The man was dressed in a suit which seemed odd to Scott bearing in mind the gorgeously hot day and clear skies that they were blessed with. The man stretched out his hand as he approached.

"Thank goodness you're here. Kyle Gibson's the name. I'm Managing Director of Paradise Island. We're grateful you could come and help us with this...er...small problem of ours."

Scott shook the proffered hand. "Good to meet you," he said as pleasantly as possible bearing in mind that his instant judgement of the man was that he was the sort of oily salesman type he'd rather not spend a whole lot of time talking with.

"How long will it take you guys to wrap this up, then?" Gibson asked looking slightly awkward. Scott's eyes narrowed for a moment at the question.

"As long as it takes to do it safely, I should imagine. Have you been able to establish any sort of contact with the trapped people?"

"I think that one of my staff has been in radio contact with them, yes."

"And the rescue vehicle trapped on the ocean floor will have a radio?"

"Bound to, isn't it?" replied Gibson, looking unsure as he spoke to Scott.

"Well, how about you get the member of staff here with his radio and we'll try and get in touch with the victims and reassure them a little before my rescue craft arrive."

"Okay." Gibson pulled out his cell ‘phone and Scott turned back to Mobile Control. He was already starting to feel irritation gnaw away at him. This was one of those rescues where they had been called out because a big company put profits before safety. The effects of earthquakes, tidal waves and typhoons were much harder to deal with and usually involved more loss of life but, in some ways, Scott preferred them to this sort of rescue where they were saving the rear-ends of some corporate enterprise which didn't want to waste time and money maintaining its safety procedures. Still, people were people and if they were in danger International Rescue would be there. He called up Virgil.

"Thunderbird 2 from Mobile Control."

"Go ahead, Mobile Control."

"What's your ETA?"

"5.237 minutes."

"FAB." Scott gave an internal sigh. When Virgil started to throw unnecessary decimal places at him Scott knew he wasn't about to get many laughs out of him anytime soon. This rescue wasn't going to be dangerous for Scott personally but he had already decided that it was going to require a whole lot of patience.

"Thunderbird 5 from Mobile Control."

Alan's chirpy voice replied instantly. "Loud and clear, Scott."

Scott was relieved. At last, someone happy in their work. "Did you get a fix on the exact location of the danger zone?"

"Sure did. I've sent the coordinates to Thunderbird 2 and you."

Scott tapped a few buttons on Mobile Control. "Good work. We may have radio contact established with the victims. If so, I need you to tap into the frequency and let them know we're on the way. If the rescue guys in the damaged sub have any useful input that would be good to get too."

"FAB."

"I'll get back to you in a minute on that. Mobile Control out."

Scott turned his attention to Kyle Gibson again who was just putting away his ‘phone and turning to speak to him.

"Tom's on his way. He says they sound fine. It's not a big emergency, is it?"

"We wouldn't be here if it wasn't," replied Scott.

"Oh, yeh, of course." Gibson gave a high pitched nervous chuckle that made Scott want to wince. "It's just that bad press is not good for a commercial enterprise like this."

"We don't talk to journalists, Mr. Gibson. I will, however, want to talk to your Health and Safety Operations Manager in due course. We wouldn't want this sort of thing happening again."

"No, definitely not." Gibson giggled again. Scott was about to turn back to his controls when another golf cart stopped nearby. Carts seemed to be the transport mode of choice on the Island. What drew his attention was the vision of beauty that stepped out of the cart and walked towards him. She was tall, slender and devastatingly gorgeous. Long dark brown tresses tumbled in soft curls around her shoulders. She wore a red and gold bikini with a sarong tied around her tiny waist. In her hands she was carefully carrying a glass that contained some unidentifiable drink and had a piece of pineapple and an umbrella poking out of the top. She fixed her eyes on Scott and walked purposefully towards him. Scott tried to look professional as she spoke to him.

"Would you like a drink? It's very hot out here." The young lady spoke with soothing, light tones and raised her eyebrows suggestively at him. Scott had to struggle to reply normally rather than in a Brains-like stutter.

"Er... no thank you, ma'am. I don't drink when I'm on duty."

"This isn't alcoholic. Just a fruit punch." Scott was feeling momentarily light-headed. This was the curse of living on an island surrounded mostly by men. One gorgeous woman and suddenly he was a wreck. He glanced at the drink and tried to remember all the bad things Gordon had told him about the Island. God knows what their idea of a fruit punch was around here.

"Even so, a glass of water would be just fine, thanks."

The beauty looked disappointed for a brief second and then smiled. She inclined her head in the tiniest bow towards him and then turned and went back to the cart.

"Thanks, Maria," Gibson called after her.

"Mobile control from Thunderbird 2."

"Go ahead, Thunderbird 2."

"Have arrived at danger zone." The distant roar of Thunderbird 2's jets confirmed what Virgil had said.

"FAB. Conditions are close to perfect here. It should be a nice soft landing for Thunderbird 4."

"Preparing to drop pod," said Virgil.

"FAB," replied Scott and Gordon simultaneously. Scott waited for the splash. There was none. Mobile Control's comms unit was set to pick up anyone speaking from any of the Thunderbirds. He listened as Virgil spoke to Gordon.

"Gordon, watch out down there. If there really is a lot of rubbish, something might get caught up in Thunderbird 4's engines."

"Drop the pod, Virg," replied Gordon, impatience in his voice.

"Dropping now."

Scott finally heard the splash. He frowned. He certainly hadn't picked up from Gordon the idea that the ocean conditions would pose a physical threat to Thunderbird 4. Had there been a conversation in Thunderbird 2's cockpit that he hadn't been privy to?

"Thunderbird 4, give me an assessment of the situation as soon as you can," he ordered.

"FAB," was Gordon's clipped reply.

Golf cart number two with Maria had left but cart number three arrived with a young member of staff clutching a radio.

"Tom," said Gibson. "Can you be of help to International Rescue?"

"Yes, sir," replied Tom proudly. He stepped over to Scott, his eyes practically popping out of his head as he saw the array of equipment on Mobile Control. Scott shook his hand and got down to business.

"You've been in touch with the victims?"

"Yes, I have. Each tunnel section has a radio link to the Island. It's used for maintenance purposes but one of the guests must have found it."

"And you also have a frequency for the marooned rescue sub?"

"The UV? Sure."

"Okay, Tom, that's great. I'm going to get you to chat with our guy in charge of comms. I want you to tell him what you know, he'll possibly get you to do a test transmission, and then he'll be able to patch into those two frequencies and take over communications with the victims. Think you can do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great." Scott called up Alan and got Alan and Tom talking. Then he opened another channel to talk to Gordon.

"Thunderbird 4 from Mobile Control. Alan should shortly have verbal comms with the rescue vehicle. Get him to patch you through so you can get some of their expertise. See if that can't save us some time."

"If they have any expertise," replied Gordon, not entirely tactfully.

"Mobile Control from Thunderbird 2."

"Go ahead."

"Thunderbird 4 is on its way down. Should I land?" Scott glanced up the runway from where he was. He knew perfectly well that Virgil could land his baby on a postage stamp but that didn't mean he had to try it out on a regular basis.

"Negative, Thunderbird 2. We're a bit pushed for space here. You've got excellent weather up there. Remain on hover above the danger zone."

"FAB."

There was a pause in communications as Scott waited for Gordon to navigate Thunderbird 4 down to the rescue site. Scott checked his instrument panel to make sure it agreed with him on the clemency of the weather conditions. Next to him, Tom seemed to have a good rapport going with Alan. He decided to show Tom some of the facilities of Mobile Control at the end of the rescue if he had time. Tom seemed the sort of enthusiastic young man that he would like to train up to become a member of International Rescue when he and Virgil got too old for the rescue business. He was saved from having his thoughts wander to the future of International Rescue by Gordon contacting him.

"Mobile Control from Thunderbird 4. I've found the underwater rescue vehicle. It is in good shape apart from an engine failure. It's in a safe position and the guys in it seem to be unhurt and in no immediate danger. I'm going to leave them for now and check on the people in the tunnel."

"FAB, Thunderbird 4."

Another wait for Scott. That was the bit he hated most. Finally, Gordon got back in touch.

"Mobile control and Thunderbird 2 from Thunderbird 4. I have visual on the victims, well, when I can see passed the dying coral, floating bits of green plastic plant and inappropriate marine life that aren't going to make it through the next breeding season."

"You've made your point, Thunderbird 4, what can you see?" replied Scott.

"The section of the tunnel closest to the Island is the one that has the damage. It looks like one of the bits of fake rock they stuck on to cover the side of the underwater support structure fell off and made a hole in the top of the tunnel. That section is completely filled with water. The next section of tunnel has the victims in. There are seven adults, male and female, standing in about a foot of water. The water doesn't look to be rising or it may be but very slowly. I think Alan's talking to them now. They are sealed off from the next section of tunnel which appears to be intact from what I can see."

"So only one section is actually damaged?" This question to Scott was from Gibson who was still hanging around at Mobile Control.

"Sounds like it. Is there any way the barrier between the section that the people are in and the rest of the tunnel can be opened so that they can walk through the rest of the tunnel and back to land?" Scott asked him.

"We tried to do it remotely but it didn't work. If the people in there had the right tools they might...."

Scott interrupted him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "They don't, so never mind. Thunderbird 4, what's your plan?"

"I reckon I can do this one of two ways. Either I make a hole in the tunnel and carry out an underwater transfer of people and bring them to land or else I cut the tunnels on either side of the trapped people, grab onto the section they are in and bring it to the surface. I'd make a hole there and then they could be transferred to rescue boats topside, that's if they can summon up some rescue boats."

"Don't worry, Gord, there are plenty of boats up here." This remark was from Virgil.

"What do you want to do?" asked Scott. Gibson tapped him on the shoulder.

"If you pull them to the surface we'd have to replace three sections. An underwater rescue would only damage two."

"And if people die down there, Mr. Gibson," replied Scott, "then this operation will be shut down so fast it won't matter how many sections need replacing."

"It's gonna have to be the second way," said Gordon. "Knowing this place, half of them are probably stoned or drunk in there. I would rather they made the transfer from the tunnel on the surface. It's going to take longer but that's how I want to do it. Get them to seal off the start of the fourth section of tunnel if they can and that would at least save the rest of it."

"FAB. We can always change the approach if you find it's not working well. Thunderbird 5, have you established contact?"

"Yes, I have. The trapped tourists seem fine but cold. They cheered up when they saw Thunderbird 4. The rescue guys are sitting tight. Gordon can talk to them if he needs to."

"Excellent work," replied Scott. "Let them know what's happening and tell me if the situation changes."

"FAB."

Scott turned to Gibson. "You have medical facilities here?"

"Of course," replied Gibson indignantly.

"Well, get them on standby. We may be roasting up here but your guests could well have a dose of hypothermia when they get to shore." Gibson nodded, wandered off and pulled out his ‘phone again.

"Thunderbird 2 to Mobile Control."

"Go ahead, Virg."

"Scott, it's mad out here. The ocean above the danger zone is crawling with craft. They keep buzzing around the pod like flies. And there are several light aircraft and choppers getting way too close to me. I'm going to hit one of them in a minute."

Scott frowned. "Since when did you ever hit anything in Thunderbird 2?"

"You want a list?"

"Okay, anything with people in?"

Virgil did not reply to this and Scott sighed, as irritated with himself as he was with Virgil. The trouble with working with family is that you sometimes got into conversations that were best left until the dinner table.

"Thunderbird 5 from Mobile Control."

"Still here," replied Alan cheekily.

"Alan, put a transmission out to all sea-going craft and aircraft in our area and make them aware that there should be a three mile exclusion zone around the rescue site for safety purposes."

"FAB, Scott."

The rescue went according to plan after that point. The laser on Thunderbird 4 made short work of the polycarboylene, and Gordon soon had the piece of tunnel on the surface where the victims were transferred to a boat and taken back to the Island. Gordon managed to affect a similar type of rescue on the stranded Paradise Island rescue craft. By attaching a steel cable, he was able to pull if off the sea-bed and tow it back to their port. The occupants thanked him profusely over the radio and Gordon felt cheered to have been of help to fellow aquanauts.

Scott's time was brightened by the reappearance of the lovely Maria with his glass of water. She flirted outrageously with him and it did his ego no end of good. He took no pleasure, however, in his long talk with Kyle Gibson and the Head of Health and Safety concerning the very obvious failures in keeping their guests out of danger. He also gave Tom a guided tour of his instrumentation on Mobile Control and enjoyed the young man's enthusiasm.

As the sun was setting Virgil collected the pod with Gordon aboard and they set off for home satisfied that they had done a good job. Little did they know that trouble also lay hidden back at Tracy Island.

Coffee

The following day Jeff headed for the mainland and left Scott in charge. The first few occasions he had done this Scott had spent his time at his father's desk, trying to fill his father's shoes. He quickly learnt that this not only made him nervous but left him open to a huge amount of teasing from Gordon so, lately, he had taken to carrying on as normal and only sitting behind the big desk if there was a rescue on.

On this particular day, Scott was trying to track down Virgil. As often happened the day after a rescue, Virgil slept in until mid-morning. He then disappeared somewhere on the Island away from the house and wasn't answering his wrist comm. Scott had been tempted to find him using GPS but, as the last time he'd done this he'd earned himself a five minute lecture on privacy from his younger brother, he decided not to. Early afternoon, there was finally a positive sighting of Virgil in his office so Scott headed in that direction carrying a mug of coffee.

When he arrived, Virgil was seated at his desk, head bent over a sheaf of papers with algorithms scrawled over them. Virgil looked up from his work.

"Hi."

"Brought you a coffee," replied Scott as an opening gambit. He wanted to talk a couple of things through with Virgil and had decided that coffee would be a good way to get his brother in a good mood.

"Thanks."

Scott looked at the desk and wondered exactly where he should put the mug down. Virgil swept a pile of papers to one side to reveal a Tracy Corporation drinks coaster. Scott set down the mug and then stood up to lean against the door jamb.

"Don't you think Dad's been over on the mainland a lot lately?" Scott asked.

"No, why?"

"Well, it's just today is the third time this month."

"Is it? Can't say I'd noticed. You never know, maybe he's got something that we don't have."

"What's that?" asked Scott.

"A love life."

Scott chuckled with amusement at this. "In that case, good luck to him!"

Virgil picked up the coffee and took a slurp managing to spill several drops down his t-shirt and across his papers. This didn't seem to bother him unduly. Watching him, Scott decided to risk his next topic of conversation on the basis that the previous day's rescue had been very tame for him and he could use an adrenaline rush.

"You seemed a bit....well....stressed on the rescue yesterday," he ventured cautiously to Virgil. Virgil fixed him with his brown eyes.

"Really? You know me, Scott, I don't do stressed."

"Exactly, which is why it was so unusual." Scott had felt obliged to have this conversation as, since the rescue, both John and Gordon separately had remarked to him on Virgil's behaviour.

"I'm fine," replied Virgil with certain firmness in his voice as he looked back at his work. Scott was not going to let it drop.

"You were worried about hitting stuff. I know the visibility on TB2 is not brilliant but you and Brains have put in so many monitors and proximity alarms I've never heard you bring it up as an issue before. And fretting about Gordon? You know as well as I do that Gordon can usually get himself out of any mess he gets himself into."

"I'm fine. Maybe I was tired."

"You've been on edge for a couple of days, Virg. You are usually so calm and reliable on rescues. Things can get really scary and you're just sitting there figuring a way around the problem and we all rely on you to be like that. When you get stressed about how you're flying it makes the rest of us nervous."

"Look, Scott....I...." Virgil paused. He was obviously thinking of the right way to phrase his reply. Scott waited. When they were younger he used to leap in at one of these pauses and fill in the gap with his own words and suggestions. Age and experience had taught him that when Virgil stopped mid-sentence you had to wait until he was ready to finish or you would never find out what was in his head. Scott found this really hard as he was not a waiting sort of guy but he respected Virgil enough to make an exception in his case. He was just about to get fidgety when Virgil spoke again.

"You're right, I do have one or two...issues... on my mind at the moment. But I'm still trying to work it out. I promise you that when I am ready to talk, you'll be the first one I come to, okay?"

"Okay," replied Scott, realising that was the best he could hope for now. "Just don't take it out on your brothers, will you? John and Gordon might be a couple of tough guys on the outside but inside they're sensitive souls."

Virgil snorted in disbelief. "Yeh, right." He looked back down at the papers in front of him. There was another silence which Scott broke this time.

"You want me to piss off again, don't you?"

Virgil looked up at Scott and his serious expression melted into an affectionate smile.

"What do you say we grab a game of pool after dinner?" he suggested to Scott. "I haven't had a chance to beat you in a while."

At this, Scott's face lit up like a kid's at Christmas which made Virgil smile even more. In describing John and Gordon, Scott could have been describing himself – a tough guy with a heart of mush when it came to his brothers.

"You can try!" Scott replied.

"It's a deal, then."

"Great."

"Thanks for the coffee." Scott turned away and Virgil listened as the sound of his big brother's footsteps disappeared into the distance. He turned to his computer monitor and moved a Huntz motor aside so he could get to his comms unit.

"Thunderbird 5 from Virgil Tracy." Shortly afterwards Alan's face appeared on his monitor.

"What's up, Virg?"

"Hey, Al, do you have the audio and technical logs from the last two rescues?"

"Of course I do."

"Can you download them to terminal 2-1?"

"What, all of it? That's a lot of data."

"I know that. Is it a problem?"

"No."

"Then quit arguing about it."

"FAB."

Virgil watched as Alan initiated the download. He was in for a long afternoon.

Fried Chicken

Jeff was back to the Island by dinner time and sat down at the head of the table to survey the adults taking their places before him. Virgil had made it on time and was chatting to Brains who was also inclined to be a no-show; Gordon's wet hair betrayed an afternoon's water sports; Tin Tin was laughing with John about something and Scott was complimenting Grandma on the dessert to come, no doubt hoping for an extra large slice. Kyrano was hovering around setting dishes out. He always ate later in the evening on his own. When everyone was in their seat they looked expectantly towards Jeff to see who would say grace. Jeff, however, had decided to take the task upon himself that evening.

"Thank you, Lord, for blessing me with my family and extended family around this table who have provided me with strength and support through many difficult times. Amen."

Everyone was so keen to get at the fried chicken, which was sending fantastic smells around the room, that no-one commented on the rather sombre words Jeff had spoken. Jeff decided to wait until later in the meal to drop his bombshell.

Dessert had just been served and everyone was tucking into a delicious blueberry and apple pie when Jeff cleared his throat noisily.

"Could I have everyone's attention, please?" Like a school teacher, he waited until all heads were up and looking in his direction before continuing.

"I need to have an operation which will take place next week." There was a moment's stunned silence at this statement. Only Grandma and Kyrano didn't look surprised. It was Scott who reacted first with typical directness.

"What!" he said in a barely concealed shout.

"Dr. Williamson thinks I need to have a small operation on my digestive system. We have scheduled it for next week which will be after Alan and John have swapped."

"When did this all happen?" asked Scott.

"It was decided today although I have been in a small amount of pain for some months."

"What is the name of the condition you need the operation for, Father?" asked John quietly.

"Diverticulitis."

"Do you know what that is?" Gordon asked of John, sotto voce, working on the basis that his academically inclined brother knew pretty much a little bit about everything.

"No, but give me twenty minutes on the computer after dinner and I will," replied John, with no small measure of determination.

"Someone should tell Alan," suggested Virgil.

"I spoke with him directly before dinner," replied his father. "Now, I emphasise that this is a relatively minor operation and I hope to be gone no more than a week. I expect things to continue on here as they do when I am on vacation. Scott will be in charge and Alan will fly Thunderbird 1 if we have any call-outs."

"Someone ought to go with you, Father," Scott said, finding his voice again.

"Kyrano will come with me and only Kyrano. I will be in very good hands at the hospital and I shall worry more if I don't think we have full rescue capabilities available in my absence."

Jeff had obviously thought the situation through and the firmness in his voice suggested that the arrangements were a done deal and there should be no discussion. Slowly everyone started to turn back to their dessert and dinner continued.

When the meal was finished everyone was putting their dishes in the dishwasher and clearing up. Scott moved over to Gordon.

"Games room, five minutes, tell John," he stated quietly in his ear.

"Okay." Then Scott went over to Virgil.

"Still up for pool?" Scott asked.

"Sure."

"See you down there."

Jeff, still seated at the table, watched as his family went about their business. Now everyone was in the know he didn't have to hide the pain he was in any more and a wave of exhaustion rolled over him. He wished he could remember where he had left his painkillers. He was going to have to RFID tag them at this rate. He was not unduly surprised when Tin Tin and Grandma came over and sat next to him. His mother spoke first.

"Jeff, both Tin Tin and I want to come to the hospital with you."

"I know, Mother, but we've been through this before. Kyrano, as another man, will be able to tend to my needs much more easily. And I get the impression that, whatever I say, Kyrano is going to come with me. With him gone I need you here to take over the food side of things. You know what the boys are like when they're worried: Scott and Virgil eat us out of house and home and Alan and Gordon stop eating altogether. If I don't want to come back to two tubs of lard and two stick insects then I'm going to need someone here with a strong enough personality to make sure they eat properly and can function well enough to go on rescues. That person is you."

"I suppose you could be right, son."

"It does happen occasionally, Mother. Now, would you get me a drink of water? That chicken is not sitting well."

Grandma got up slowly and went to fetch the water. Jeff turned his attention to Tin Tin.

"Your father and the hospital will look after me, I'm sure of that. I really need you to take over some of your father's chores around the house and make sure the boys do their fair share. And one more thing. You always seem to deal so well with Brains and my sons. If my mother is worrying about their physical health then I want you to worry about their mental health. They are bound to be worried and I know I can trust you to make sure they don't start taking it out on each other. Especially, Alan. He doesn't deal well with me being ill and I want you to support him. Can you do that for me?"

"If that's what you want, Mr. Tracy," replied Tin Tin.

"It is."

And what Mr. Tracy wanted he usually got.

Down in the games room, Virgil was optimistically racking up the pool balls but he wasn't anticipating getting a game as his older brother paced next to him. Over by the computer monitor, Gordon was calling Alan up on the comms unit. Scott had called a meeting of his brothers to discuss their father's situation and, while he waited for everyone to assemble, he was walking up and down the room looking angry. Alan's face, pale and worried by contrast, appeared on the screen.

"Hey, guys, did Dad tell you about his operation?"

"Yep," replied Gordon succinctly.

"Has anyone else known this was coming?" demanded Scott. The others shook their heads. "I'm pretty sure Grandma did."

"What is diverticul- whatever?" asked Virgil. At this point, the door to the games room opened and John arrived waving a piece of paper.

"Diverticulitis," he began, reading from the sheet. "An inflammation of the large bowl or colon where small sacs in the wall of the colon become infected and inflamed. Causes pain and tenderness in the lower left side of the abdomen. Surgery may be needed to remove the infected parts."

"Yuk," put in Gordon.

"Prognosis for a full recovery after surgery is excellent," John carried smoothly on. "Most common in the over-60s. Blah, blah, yadda, yadda...yeh, that's about it. Doesn't sound too serious and Dr. Williamson is an excellent surgeon."

"But how long do you think this has been going on for?" asked Scott.

John glanced at the sheet. "It says here that symptoms can occur on and off over a couple of years before surgery becomes necessary." He suddenly noticed the comms link was up. "Hey, Al, is the plasma pump console still throwing up errors?"

"It was a sticky switch in the end. I fixed it."

"If he's been in pain for months, why has he only told us now, just before the operation?" asked Gordon.

"Oh yeh, right, like last year when you only decided to let us know three quarters through a rescue when you were on your knees that you were having a bad back day and Alan and I had to carry you to Thunderbird 2 and leave you in the sick bay eating painkillers," retorted Virgil.

"Yeh, well, that was different," replied Gordon.

"No, it isn't. Dad just didn't want to worry us," said John.

"We have a right to know if he's ill," put in Scott.

"We know now," pointed out Virgil.

"Just because we all live together, doesn't mean we're not allowed a private life. I bet there's plenty of private stuff about you we don't know, Scott," suggested John.

"And we're all deeply glad you don't share," snickered Gordon.

"Alan, what did Tin Tin call us a while back?" asked Virgil.

"When? Oh yeh, I remember. ‘A bunch of emotionally repressed Neanderthals, who wouldn't know how to express their feelings if their lives depended on it.' Something like that, anyway."

"So what you're saying...," surmised Scott, "...is that it was Dad's choice when to tell us, that his illness is not life-threatening and that it's pointless to get worked up about it and Dad is just being a typical Tracy?"

"Pretty much," replied Virgil. Scott sighed. Well, at least one good thing had come out of this. The news seemed to have jolted Virgil out of his introspection.

"Who's playing pool?" asked Gordon.

"Scott and I were about to. Fancy a tournament, you two?" Virgil suggested to John and Gordon.

"Oh God, I wish I was down there with you guys," complained Alan pitifully. Scott decided it was time to take charge again.

"Okay. Virg and I play first, winner plays John. Gordo, go get the beers."

There was a huge groan of jealousy from Alan. Gordon went over to the comms unit.

"Bye, Al!" He hit a key, the connection with Alan was lost and he disappeared from the screen.

"You know he's going to switch you off one day, don't you?" said John, laughing.

"He'll have to catch me first," replied Gordon as he headed for the kitchen. Virgil passed Scott a cue and the pool tournament began. When Jeff went looking for his sons later that evening he found them laughing and joking and was relieved. He tried to be reassured by this but he still felt troubled. Kyrano had begged him not to have the operation and that was making him nervous. He scolded himself. What could possibly go wrong?

Scotch

The next week proceeded as well as could be expected. Jeff began to give into the pain that had been bothering him over the previous year and started to look grey and exhausted all of the time. He was, however, determined to wait until Alan was back at Base before having his operation. When he went on vacation it was always when Alan was around to pilot Thunderbird 1 so Scott could stay at Base and oversee the rescue. Not that John wasn't perfectly capable of taking on the task of piloting Thunderbird 1 or that it wasn't possible to get Alan and John to swap roles on Thunderbird 5 early but Jeff was a stubborn man. He had decided on a course of action and was unretractable on that.

He left for the mainland the following Tuesday. When given the choice of which of his sons would fly him there he chose Virgil on the basis of his consistently featherlight landings. Virgil accompanied his father and Kyrano to the hospital and returned home that evening with the news that the hospital staff seemed pleasant, Dr. Williamson was relaxed and confident about the operation and Kyrano had been provided with a room just down the hall from their father.

Wednesday was the day of the operation. After breakfast the brothers, being ‘emotionally repressed Neanderthals', did not spend the morning chatting over their worries about their father but instead went off in different directions to engage in what Tin Tin would no doubt have called ‘displacement activities'.

Gordon headed off to the shore wearing a wet suit. Alan started to follow Tin Tin around like a lost sheep, pretending to help her with her chores. Virgil disappeared off to Thunderbird 2's hangar and engaged himself in some vigorous refit work on the outer casings of one of the jets. Scott's activity, however, was slightly less work-oriented. The task he had set himself was to get to the bottom of a bottle of scotch as soon as was humanly possible.

Scott had spent the last week trying to engage his father in a "what if...?" conversation. What if Jeff died? What if he survived the operation but was in some way disabled? What if? What if? Jeff had resolutely refused to entertain any such possibilities. As far as he was concerned, he intended to come through the operation and be back at his desk on full throttle within the week.

Now Scott was seeking some sort of comfort or, at the very least, oblivion. He had taken a bottle of scotch and a glass onto the metal catwalk in Thunderbird 1's silo that went from the house across to the top of his beloved aircraft. He sat on the edge of the catwalk, his legs dangling over the side, looking down into the abyss of the 115 feet that ended at the base of Thunderbird 1's rockets.

What if his father did die on the operating table? Okay, the procedure was routine enough but a general anaesthetic was never to be underestimated. Of course his father would, in the natural course of things, grow old and die one day and Scott, as eldest brother, would inherit the dual responsibilities of the Tracy Corporation and International Rescue. Scott knew this, didn't resent it and, in a small part of his mind, was looking forward to it. But somehow he didn't feel ready yet. He felt certain that his brothers would support him. He was also certain he would be able to take over his father's mantle. Scott rarely doubted his own abilities. But, at the same time, would he want to take on the responsibility whilst still grieving for his father whom he idolised? Could he lead his brothers through the difficult times that followed?

His mind flashed back to the death of their mother. He remembered just holding Virgil for hours, letting him sob in his arms. He remembered trying to answer John when he asked "Why? Why?" over and over. Gordon would keep asking where his Mommy was and Alan just screamed incessantly. He had seen how hard it was for his father to cope with them all during this time and Scott had helped him. Who would help Scott when his father died? How much harder would it be to comfort his brothers when they weren't crying or asking questions but keeping their grief buried and silent? This maudlin state was getting him nowhere but he indulged himself for a minute, suddenly too exhausted to do otherwise.

Footsteps along the catwalk startled him.

"What are you doing?" asked Virgil. Then he noticed the glass and the bottle. "Isn't it a bit early for that?"

"No," replied Scott, dully. "Want some?"

"You bet." Virgil looked around for a second glass. One not being immediately obvious he walked back along the catwalk to a small maintenance bench set into the wall of the silo. He picked up a glass jar of nails, tipped the nails out, and walked back to Scott wiping the inside of the jar out with his t-shirt. He sat down next to his brother and held out the jar in expectation.

"Urh!" said Scott in disgust.

"Don't worry, the alcohol will kill off any germs," replied the ever-practical Virgil. Scott poured a good slug of scotch into the jar and then topped up his own glass. The brothers shared a silent toast and then both drank deeply. They contemplated the distant floor of the silo and then Virgil spoke.

"I've decided I want to talk to you about what's been bothering me."

Scott looked at his brother incredulously. "For Pete's sake, you know how to pick your moments, don't you! I really don't feel like talking right now."

"I'm not asking you to talk; I'm the one who's going to be talking. You just have to listen."

Scott sighed heavily. "Fine, go on."

"I think I had a bit of a reality check on the rescue before last."

"Wisconsin? The storm?"

"That's it. The bit that really got to me was when that steel beam ripped free of the collapsed school and the wind whipped it through the air and it almost hit John. I was standing in the shelter of the pod but he was right out in the open. I knew I'd never reach him in time to get him out of the way and he'd never hear my voice over the storm. It was like watching something in slow motion. It swear to you it missed him by two feet, Scott."

"You said twenty to thirty feet in the debrief," put in Scott indignantly.

"And do you always tell the absolute one hundred percent truth in a debrief?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, Scott, I have so much to teach you," replied Virgil with a chuckle.

"You mean you don't?"

"Mostly, I suppose, but on this occasion I didn't want to scare the holy crap out of John. I don't think he realised how close he came. I swear I have never seen conditions like it in the Mid-West. I mean, we saw a fair few twisters when we were growing up but this was really severe."

"I know, I was there, remember?"

"Oh yeh, twenty feet underground in the Mole trying to get to the basement of the church."

"You got a problem with my allocation of responsibilities?"

"No! You're missing the point. I'm just saying that you weren't around when the worst of the wind hit. Everything was going great, we'd got most people to safety and Gordon was getting the Firefly out of the pod as we reckoned it would make a great battering ram to clear some debris that was blocking the exit of the school's basement. You could barely stand up in the wind and I'm holding onto the pod for dear life and I turn around and Johnny's stood in the middle of the schoolyard waiting to have his fucking head taken off his shoulders."

"So you're saying that John was being a complete jerk?"

"No!" replied Virgil in frustration wondering whether the scotch was slowing Scott's quick brain up or whether he wasn't explaining himself well enough. "The problem is that I think I'm becoming complacent."

"Complacent?" repeated Scott, trying to understand.

"That's the word that sums it up. We know Brains makes such fantastic machinery. I know he tends to be technology first, safety second, but what he builds he makes good and robust and any extra safety features we want him to add, he'll add. When you get in something like the Mole or the Domo you know it's going to have good functionality and protect us from whatever conditions we come across. We have haz suits, wet weather gear, cold weather gear, you name it. People ask for International Rescue because ordinary equipment has failed and we have the extreme technology that will work to save people's lives. We've been at this rescue game a while now and similar situations keep cropping up. We know what equipment we need to use, we all know how it works, and we do the job. I'm not saying it's routine but just that in Wisconsin, when I thought I was going to see John die right in front of me, I realised that maybe I'm just not paying enough attention any more."

"But Virg," began Scott but Virgil interrupted.

"Up to now it's not bothered me. I drop pod 4 and send Gordon off into the ocean, I let Alan dangle from the end of a winch cable in the rescue cage and John's better at driving the Crane than I am. I know you're Field Commander but I kind of feel responsible for whoever is crewing for me. I check the pod's secure before I lift Gordon out of the water, I check Al's not going to swing into the side of a building but always in the back of my mind is that the technology will protect us – that somehow we are one step away from the danger. With John the other day it was a real shock, like I said, one hell of a reality check."

"But Virgil, I am always confident in you doing good job. If I'd ever thought that, in some way, you weren't paying enough attention to a situation I'd let you know. In fact, generally, you're meticulous. You almost over-think a situation."

"But I should have realised John was in danger. I should have known where he was and warned him about the girder earlier."

"You can't wipe their asses for them! I know you and I have done the most rescues and have the experience but the others are all grown up now. They have to take care of themselves. Telling Gordon when he was four not to do a belly flop off the top diving board was sensible. Telling him that now would earn you a punch in the face."

Virgil didn't laugh but instead proffered the jar for a top up.

"I have been over and over the last two rescues," he said after another swig, "trying to find where I screwed up, where I should have made better decisions."

"And you couldn't find anything, right?"

"I don't even know what I'm looking for, anymore."

There was a long silence. Scott knew he should be saying something important and motivating but he couldn't sum up the words. Eventually Virgil spoke.

"How did you cope with it, Scott? When you were in the Air Force? How did you deal with sending someone out on a mission, someone you had worked with, drank with...? How could you do that knowing they might wind up dead?"

It was a fair question. Scott thought for a moment before answering.

"It's not easy but I think the whole thing starts way before the mission briefing. Someone only got to go out on a sortie after completing months, years of training. They would have to be a talented person to start off with and then the training was added to that. By the time someone was on a mission, everything that could be done to make sure that they did the job and came home in one piece had already taken place. It was too late to worry about mothering them once they were in the air with four bogies coming at them."

"I guess that applies to International Rescue too, right?"

"I guess it does. We practice and practice on the equipment until it becomes second nature to use it. We simulate different situations and work out what to do before we face them for real. It should become automatic so we don't even have to think about it."

"But even after all that, John still had a close call."

"We're in the rescue business, Virg, not the trash collecting business. It's going to be dangerous. As for John? Maybe we should do some more training on dealing with acute weather conditions. Make sure it's when Johnny's at home. It never hurts to be prepared. And we learn from the debriefs. We address what went wrong so we can make sure that it doesn't happen again. That's a good reason for being accurate in what we say in them."

Virgil may have been heading towards drunk but he knew when Scott was telling him off, however gently. He decided to maintain a dignified silence.

"So do you feel better now you've got that off your chest?" Scott asked him.

"Not exactly."

"We could go and tell Tin Tin that you've just shared your feelings."

"I could push you off this catwalk and everyone would think it was a drunken accident."

"Okay, okay. Your secret's safe with me. But next time you have a problem with a rescue talk to me straight away. Stewing in your own juice just makes it worse."

"Shut up and pass the scotch."

What neither Scott nor Virgil appreciated was that their separate worries were not the issues that were going to cause them the most trouble in the next twenty-four hours.

Grapes

The operation, as predicted, was a complete success. Kyrano reported back to the Island later that afternoon that Jeff had come around from the anaesthetic and was doing well. There was much relief all around and everyone claimed that they hadn't been worried in the first place which had Tin Tin rolling her eyes in amusement.

The next day, Tracy Island went back to its usual hive of industry. At the hospital, Jeff Tracy was being anything but industrious. Despite coming through the operation well he was left exhausted and still in pain, although this time from the results of the surgeon's cuts rather than the disease. He lay in bed, fortunately still too full of the after-effects of the operation to be fretting at his own inactivity. He slept on and off and, when he was awake, Kyrano was there by his side, supportive and providing strength. Jeff was glad to see his calm friend there rather than the anxious eyes of his family and was pleased he had been insistent that they had not come also.

Jeff was connected up to drips for fluids and antibiotics. The nurses were keen that he should come off the fluids bag as soon as possible and nagged him to try and eat and drink. Grapes had appeared by his bed to try and tempt him and Jeff was offered a cup of water with a straw every time he woke. So far Jeff had not felt able to sit up enough to attempt anything.

Kyrano had stayed by Jeff's side for much of the day, sitting quietly in a chair near the bed. He did not find the hospital a happy place to be. He did not want Jeff treated here. Kyrano didn't believe that this was the way to go about curing a person. The surgeon's knife, the artificially manufactured drugs, the drips, the machines, the cold white walls and the smell of disinfectant all contributed to an alien environment. How was a body supposed to heal itself with this onslaught of intervention? To Kyrano it was not natural. Jeff had allowed Kyrano to treat him with some alternative medicines back at Tracy Island and for that Kyrano was grateful. In the end, though, Jeff was a scientist and, like Kyrano's daughter Tin Tin, had great faith in modern science whether it was of the rocket or medical variety. Kyrano had given in gracefully but, as he sat in the hospital room, he felt uneasy. After some hours he realised that it wasn't just Jeff's condition that was making him feel worried but he couldn't pin down what the problem was. Something was nagging at the edge of his mind. Something was disturbing his serenity.

It was late afternoon and Jeff was fast asleep. Kyrano decided to go to the room down the hall that he was able to use as a bedroom. He had brought a few personal items with him including a couple of small curios, some scented oils to burn and some patterned cloths to drape over the light fittings and along the walls to dull the brightness that seemed to make the hospital permanently daytime. He had tried to recreate a bit of his private quarters on Tracy Island. Now he sat on his bed meditating in an attempt to calm and soothe himself. After an hour he had to admit that things were not working out the way he had anticipated. Instead, he tried to concentrate on what was bothering him in the first place. His feelings of unease began to grow rather than lessen. He opened his eyes. Something was not right. Jeff. Something was wrong with Jeff, of that he was suddenly certain. He moved swiftly off his bed, left his room and strode up the corridor. He entered Jeff's room and what he saw made him stand stock still in shock.

Belah Gaat, Kyrano's half-brother, was standing next to Jeff's bed. Gaat, more commonly known to the Tracy family as The Hood, was evil through and through. He hated International Rescue and he badly wanted their technology. So far he had not succeeded but that only made him more determined. Kyrano's eyes widened as he saw what his half-brother was holding. It was a syringe. It was impossible to tell what it contained but, by the way The Hood was holding it in one hand and one of Jeff's drips in the other, Kyrano assumed it was some sort of poison. Jeff, mercifully, was still asleep and unaware of death lurking at his shoulder.

Belah Gaat gave a cold smile at the arrival of Kyrano.

"Kyrano. I sensed you were somewhere close."

"What are you doing?"

"I am looking at the man that you chose to call Master instead of ME." The Hood's quiet menace had turned to anger. "Why would you serve this weakling instead of falling to your knees in front of MY power?"

"I will never serve you."

"Maybe not, but you will provide me with the means to obtain the secrets of International Rescue."

"Never."

The Hood pressed the hypodermic against the tube filled with fluid that led into Jeff's vein.

"Oh, I think you will. You have a choice, Kyrano. Tell me what I need to know or your Master dies."

"No." Kyrano took a step forward.

"Yes, my brother."

"No." Kyrano took another step forward but was suddenly halted. The Hood's eyes had started to glow and a pain had begun in Kyrano's head. The pain quickly accelerated from a dull ache to searing agony. It stopped him in his tracks.

"You....will....not...succeed," ground out Kyrano.

"It is inconceivable that I won't."

"No...." Kyrano tried to move forward but the pain was too much. He sank to his knees. Words swam around his mind and they said ‘tell me, tell me." Kyrano knew he had to repel this evil. He concentrated on pushing back the fog invading his mind. He tried to make a mental attack on his half-brother. He looked up and saw that, although he was not having much of an effect on The Hood, he was keeping him occupied enough so that he was not making use of the syringe in his hand. They were in deadlock but Kyrano knew he needed help if he was to emerge the winner. He could not do this on his own. But where would help come from? His thoughts turned to his daughter. If only she were here. Tin Tin...Tin Tin...help me...help me...

Tin Tin was in the kitchen on Tracy Island getting plates and dishes out for dinner. Alan was with her, digging the cutlery out of the drawer. He was intent on his task and did not notice the glazed look that suddenly came over Tin Tin's eyes. The sound of a dish smashing on the tiled floor did, however, grab his attention. He whirled around and saw Tin Tin leaning heavily against the kitchen units.

"Tin Tin, honey, what's wrong?" There was no reply and Alan noticed that she had started to sway. He dropped the cutlery back in the drawer and moved quickly over to her. As he grabbed her shoulders, her legs buckled and Alan had to swing her up into his arms to stop her crashing to the ground. There were no easy chairs in the room so Alan slid the two of them onto the floor and supported Tin Tin's head against his chest.

"Tin Tin? What is it?" She didn't seem to have fainted but she wasn't responding to him. Suddenly she put a hand to her head.

"Father..." she muttered so quietly that Alan only just caught it. "Father...." Then she put both hands to her head and let out a groan.

"Tin Tin?"

Tin Tin suddenly became agitated. "Father, Father....no!" Alan's brain worked fast. He didn't pretend to understand the spiritual leanings of Kyrano and Tin Tin but he accepted the fact that strange things happened between them that all the technology in the world couldn't explain. Something must be wrong with Kyrano, and Tin Tin was picking up his distress. And if something was wrong with Kyrano....Oh my God! He lifted his wrist and spoke into his watch comm.

"Alan to John, come in." No reply. "For fuck's sake, John, where are you?" shouted Alan. John's face appeared before him.

"Keep your hair on, squirt, what's wrong?"

"Tin Tin's having some kind of attack. I think Kyrano's in trouble which means Dad could be too. Call the hospital! Get them to send medics, security, whatever they can to Dad's room."

"FAB," replied John, mercifully without argument. Alan stroked Tin Tin's forehead but she was still moaning gently and calling for her father. Alan turned back to his wrist comm.

"Alan to Scott."

Scott and Virgil were sitting on the floor of Thunderbird 2's hangar working their way through a box of small equipment batteries and chucking out the ones past the manufacturer's ‘Use By' date.

"Yes, Alan."

"I think there may be a problem at the hospital. Tin Tin's in a sort of trance. Something to do with her Dad. If he's got in danger then Father may be too. John's trying to call the hospital."

Scott looked up in confusion at Virgil who had been close enough to also hear Alan. Virgil frowned and shrugged. They had thought they had no more worries about their father now that the operation was over.

"Al, are you sure about this?"

"Of course I'm sure! Tin Tin's lying on the floor in agony."

Scott got the urgency in Alan's voice and could see his stressed expression.

"FAB, we're on our way." He leapt to his feet and Virgil swiftly followed. For the briefest of seconds Scott appeared to be making a decision and then he tugged at his brother's arm.

"Thunderbird 1, come on!"

Scott turned and high-tailed it across the hangar floor with Virgil close behind. It was a tortuous route across the underground part of the Island to where they could access Thunderbird 1's cockpit. Scott willed the two of them to negotiate the steps and turns faster. Eventually, they ran across the catwalk and through the entrance hatch. Scott flung himself into the pilot's seat and began the launch procedure. Virgil settled himself into a passenger seat below Scott. He had many questions but decided they were best asked when they were in the air. Scott threw the comms switch.

"Thunderbird 5 from Thunderbird 1. Initiating launch." There was no reply from John but Scott knew his brother well enough to assume that John had heard him and would reply when he could.

Thunderbird 1 slid downwards from its silo and into the launch area under the pool. Scott usually put on his uniform at this point and mulled over the rescue ahead, clearing his mind of whatever he'd been doing at Base. On this occasion the procedure seemed to take forever and Scott had to stop himself from shouting in frustration. After what seemed like an hour, but which was actually less than a minute, Thunderbird 1 halted and waited. Without his father at his desk Scott double checked on his monitors that the pool had slid across and he was ready to go.

"Thunderbird 5 from Thunderbird 1. Preparing to launch."

"Hold it, Scott! I'm just getting something from the hospital," said John.

Scott's finger hovered over the launch button. All was strangely quiet on the ship. There was no hint of the monumental combustion of fuel that was about to take place, just a gentle hum of equipment running within the cockpit. Virgil and Scott sat silently, waiting. Scott was just about to quit waiting and hit the launch button when John appeared on his comms monitor again.

"Abort launch, Scott."

"What!"

"Situation at hospital resolved." There was a pause from John as he was distracted by another communication. Then he turned his attention back to Scott. "Everything's okay. I got in touch with the hospital saying I was from International Rescue in case that would make them leap into action any quicker. It seemed to work. They sent security to Dad's room. Some guy was about to inject something into Dad's drip. The security guys overpowered him and he's been arrested. Kyrano is out cold but stable. Scott, it sounds like it might have been The Hood. They said it was some Asian guy in robes."

"Shit," replied Scott. "Is Dad okay?"

"Only woke up when the security guys arrived. He's fine."

"Then it's all okay?" Scott repeated.

"Someone should probably go but not in a Thunderbird. We don't want to blow Dad's cover anymore than I've already done." John was right and sensible, of course. Scott sat back in his seat.

"FAB. Good work, John."

"The hospital's on again. I'll get right back to you." John disappeared off the screen. Scott stared at the blank monitor.

"Coitus interruptus," Virgil said flatly.

Scott jumped at the sound of Virgil's voice. He had forgotten he was there. He looked down at his brother.

"What?"

"I don't get many launches in Thunderbird 1. I was looking forward to the rush."

Scott suddenly chuckled at his brother. He laid a proprietary hand on the controls in front of him. "I know what you mean." Then he looked back down at Virgil. "What do you say we launch, do once around the Island, and land again?"

Two pairs of mischievous eyes met each other. Scott was just reaching for the launch button when Virgil spoke.

"Yeh, and blow 5,000 dollars of rocket fuel on a joy ride."

Scott gave a heavy sigh. Virgil was being practical again. Virgil saw Scott's expression and grinned. Scott was even more of an adrenalin junkie than himself.

"Come on, we'd better go check on Tin Tin," he said, unclipping his belt.

Sweet Tea

When Virgil and Scott arrived in the kitchen Tin Tin was still on the floor sitting up against Alan and the two were chatting quietly. The two older brothers ran over, concerned now for the woman they regarded as a sister.

"Tin Tin, are you okay?" asked Scott.

"I think so. I'm just worried about my father."

"Scott to John," said Scott to his wrist comm.

"Yes, Scott."

"What's the status at the hospital?"

"Dad and Kyrano are okay. There are now guards outside both of their rooms. Kyrano has come ‘round and is being thoroughly checked out. The Hood has been arrested. I'm arranging to have Dad and Kyrano moved to a more secure area of the hospital and I've told them that I've been in contact with their families and someone will be in touch."

"Thanks, John, you've done an excellent job."

"How's Tin Tin?" John asked.

"Tell him I'm fine and that I owe him a big hug when I next see him."

"I heard that," replied John. "Tell Tin Tin I'm looking forward to it." Fortunately, John was unable to see the indignant look that passed over Alan's face.

"I did a good job, too!" Alan protested. "I was the one who realised there was a problem in the first place."

"Thank you, Alan," said Tin Tin soothingly. "And you stopped me from hitting my head on the floor."

"Alan, you saved the day again," said Scott, generously, patting his brother on the shoulder in the manner of someone appeasing a small dog. Suddenly, the door to the kitchen burst open and Gordon, wearing just swimming trunks, strode in looking angry.

"Who moved the pool without telling me?"

Realising he had forgotten to check the pool had slotted back into place after the aborted launch, Scott smacked his forehead with his hand.

"Sorry, Gord."

"And why is Tin Tin on the floor and why is Virgil laughing at me?" demanded Gordon. Virgil, relieved that his father, Kyrano and Tin Tin were okay, suddenly found the sight of an indignant Gordon hysterically funny and released the built up tension in such a heartfelt outbreak of laughing that the others couldn't help but join in.

Ten minutes later they had calmed down enough to explain to Gordon and Grandma, who had also arrived in the kitchen, what had happened. Alan had managed to get Tin Tin to her feet and over to the table where they all sat around as Grandma fussed over Tin Tin making her drink sweet tea.

"I knew that we should have sent someone else as well as Kyrano to look after Father," said Scott crossly, blaming himself for the near-disaster.

"But who could have foreseen that The Hood would turn up?" pointed out Virgil.

"How do you think The Hood found Dad?" asked Alan.

"Kyrano led him straight to him. One of his stupid mind tricks," said Scott.

"Perhaps The Hood didn't even realise Dad would be there to start with. Maybe he was just after Kyrano," suggested Gordon.

"At least he's been arrested. That has to be a good outcome," said Virgil.

"Oh come off it, Virg, he'll have escaped police custody by tonight, admit it," said Scott sourly.

"That's a bit pessimistic," replied Virgil.

"I agree with Scott," said Gordon.

"That'd be a first," chuckled Virgil.

"Okay, here's what we do," began Scott, back in leadership mode. "Alan, I want you and Tin Tin to go to the hospital as soon as Tin Tin feels up to it."

"I feel up to it now," interrupted Tin Tin.

"Great, you and Alan can leave right away then," continued Scott. "Alan, when you get there I want you to check that all the suggestions regarding security that John has made have been put into operation. Otherwise, give them hell. Oh yes, and you also need to come up with a valid explanation as to why International Rescue knew there was something amiss in Jeff Tracy's hospital room."

"Oh great," replied Alan unenthusiastically.

"Consider it an initiative test," smiled Scott. "Dad will probably order you back to the Island within the next twenty-four hours. I want you to hang on in there as long as possible. Tin Tin, you have every right to stay there until Dad and Kyrano come home, whatever my father says. You're bound to be worried about your own Dad and you can also be an extra pair of eyes and ears for us in case of more trouble."

"Yes, Scott," Tin Tin replied sweetly.

"So?" asked Scott. "What are you kids waiting for?"

Alan and Tin Tin took their cue and got to their feet. As they left, Virgil turned to Scott and spoke softly.

"Think he can handle it?"

"Of course he can. A bit of responsibility does him the world of good."

That evening, Virgil sat on the beach mulling over the events of the last couple of days. The drama surrounding his father and Kyrano had certainly been a distraction from his personal worries but now that it was over, he found his mind wandering back to his performance on rescues. His chat with Scott had not been the therapy that he had hoped for, although that wasn't necessarily Scott's fault. He wondered if another rescue soon would improve the situation in his head or make it worse. He decided that another rescue might just restore his confidence. Of course, he didn't want to wish bad situations on people but a successful rescue might just do the trick.

But Virgil had forgotten the old adage: be careful what you wish for...it may come true.

Barbequed Gordon

Two days later and Virgil had Thunderbird 2 at a cruising altitude of 60,000 feet. There had been a call-out to the south of France where forest fires were out of control on the hills above Frejus, threatening a couple of villages and some camping sites. Behind Virgil sat Gordon pulling on his uniform. Ahead of him, Alan was piloting Thunderbird 1. As Scott had predicted, Alan had only lasted 20 hours on the mainland before his father had kicked up a fuss and sent him back to Base. It was Base where Scott remained now, behind his father's desk, overseeing the rescue.

Usually when Virgil flew Thunderbird 2 it was a case of man and machine in perfect harmony. Right now it was man versus machine, and machine was winning. Virgil was tetchily thumping the controls, fluffing the use of the comms unit and cursing at the status panels. This had not gone unnoticed by Gordon who had hoped that he had seen the last of ‘grouchy Virgil' at the previous rescue.

Virgil was also irritated by his own clumsiness. He had been wishing for a rescue but now he realised that it had come too soon. His father was still in hospital and that meant Alan was aboard Thunderbird 1. This was a normal state of affairs and usually it didn't bother Virgil unduly. Alan didn't have Scott's experience but he tried very hard to do the best job he could when he took his place and Scott provided back up over the radio. Right now, Virgil fervently wished it was Scott ahead of him in the sky. With his confidence at a low, Virgil suddenly missed his older brother's presence on a rescue. Virgil and Scott had worked together on so many rescues now that they had developed a short-hand way of communicating. Virgil only had to start expressing a thought on something when Scott would instantly see where he was going and react to it. Scott's unfailing belief in Virgil's abilities gave him a self-assurance above and beyond what he had naturally. They were the ideal team, complimenting each other, their strengths and weaknesses perfectly balanced. Where Scott would rush in, Virgil would exercise caution. Where Virgil would get frustrated with the failures of the on-site emergency services, Scott would use diplomacy to ensure their cooperation. It worked and it made International Rescue work.

"Approaching danger zone," said Alan, interrupting Virgil's thoughts. Virgil gave a big sigh. He had a stern word with himself about concentration and getting the job done and then contacted Alan to find out what was happening.

By the time Thunderbird 2 arrived at the danger zone, Alan had done a good job of assessing the situation, deciding where they needed to start and finding an appropriate clearing in the forest to use as a landing site. The Firefly was going to be one of the major tools for the job and Gordon had already got it ready to go by the time Virgil touched Thunderbird 2 down next to Thunderbird 1.

When Virgil stepped out of Thunderbird 2 he was struck by the strength of the wind. It wasn't anything like what they had experienced in Wisconsin but was doing an excellent job of fanning the flames, which is why the local fire departments had been overwhelmed in their attempts to control the situation. The ground crunched beneath his feet and Virgil realised that the dry forest floor must have also been a contributing factor. Alan came jogging up to him.

"We need to create a fire break running north east to south west. John and I have worked out the exact coordinates. That should protect the communities to the south of here. We also need Thunderbird 2 to take the Mole across the valley. There is a family trapped in their house and all their escape routes are cut off by the fire. I reckoned that we could use the Mole to tunnel under the line of the fire and rescue them.

"FAB. I'll get Gordon going with the Firefly and then you can guide me to the other site."

The Firefly was just trundling out of the pod. Virgil had a brief exchange with Gordon about the situation and then left him to get in touch with John in Thunderbird 5 to work out where he needed to clear away a line of smouldering forest vegetation and create a break that the fire would not be able to cross to continue its destructive path. Then Virgil got back into the pilot's seat of Thunderbird 2 and, with Alan on board, lifted off and headed to the second rescue site.

Despite his focus on the situation, Virgil still wished he had the soothing tones of Scott next to him rather than Alan. Alan got so excitable whereas, however Scott was feeling on a rescue, his manner was always of a commercial airline pilot, calm and reassuring.

"We are hitting a small patch of turbulence, ladies and gentleman, please fasten your seatbelts and remain seated. We will be on the other side of it momentarily." This was the sort of thing airline pilots said before the plane dropped 200 feet and scared the shit out of the passengers.

In Virgil's current situation Scott would be saying:

"Give those trees a wide berth, Virgil, we're not looking to take any home with us." Alan, on the other hand, was hopping up and down next to him.

"Miss the goddamn trees, Virg, if they get caught in the ram jets we'll crash!"

Virgil counted to ten under his breath and concentrated on lifting clear of the forest.

Three hours later and they had advanced well with the rescue. The family and their small dog had been rescued from their house. Gordon had completed the fire break and stopped the flames from advancing any closer to the camping grounds and a couple of small villages. Alan, Scott and John had coordinated with the locals to make sure everyone who needed assistance got it. Finally, Virgil landed Thunderbird 2 back next to Thunderbird 1 and he and Alan waited by the pod entrance for Gordon's return in the Firefly.

"That fire's getting awful close," pointed Alan, stating the obvious.

"It's okay," replied Virgil, with more confidence than he felt. "We're on the right side of the fire break and Gordon should be here any minute. Then we lift off and head for home." Virgil started to ponder on their removal from the danger zone. Normally, he'd let Scott take off first and then, in a confined space such as this, Scott would use his bird's eye view to give extra information to Virgil about clearance as he took off. Virgil stopped himself from sighing again. Scott wasn't here and he was quite capable of managing this situation himself. They had saved a bunch of people, his brothers were not in danger, and things were going well.

The Firefly came into view and Gordon came on Virgil's comms cheerily remarking about certain people being able to stand around chatting all day while he did all the hard work. He parked the Firefly and leapt out, removing his protective clothing and wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

"Turned into a bit of a sauna, hasn't it? All I need is a couple of naked women and it would remind me of the Spaworld complex at Paradise Island."

"Can it, smug -," began Alan.

"Let's just get out of here, guys," said Virgil. Suddenly, there was an ominous creaking sound. The three men looked up. A tall smouldering tree next to them had burst into flames. A combination of that and the wind and the tree had begun to fall. For a second they all looked at it realising that the burning tree was going to crash to the forest floor where they were standing.

"Move!" Virgil hardly needed to shout the command. They moved. Instinctively each of the three ran towards the Thunderbird machines they were in charge of that day. Alan and Virgil ran south towards Thunderbirds 1 and 2 whilst Gordon ran north towards the Firefly. The tree crashed to the ground and flames shot upwards. Safe, now, Alan and Virgil stopped running. They looked back. Gordon was nowhere to be seen. With horror they realised that the tree had landed directly on top of the Firefly.

"Where's Gordon?" asked Alan sounding panicked.

"I don't know."

"Think he got into the Firefly in time?"

"No chance. It happened too quickly." Virgil spoke into his wrist comm. "Gordon? Gordon? Are you okay?" There was no reply but the noise of the burning forest was so loud now that Virgil could barely hear himself speak, let alone a small voice from his comm. It would be the same for Gordon...if he was still alive. There seemed no way around the burning tree to see if Gordon was trapped on the other side. Despite the heat, a chill crept through Virgil's bones. Gordon, if not dead already, would be surrounded by burning trees. Was this it? The self-fulfilling prophecy? Was Gordon dead because of his incompetence? No! He wouldn't let it happen. He started to move again, shouting at Alan.

"Thunderbird 2! Now!" The two sprinted for Thunderbird 2. As they got aboard Virgil shouted instructions to Alan.

"Get on whatever protective gear you can find and stand by in the rescue cage."

Virgil ran up to the cockpit and immediately started to fire up his Thunderbird.

"John, do you copy?"

"Yes, Virgil."

"We've lost Gordon. I think he may be trapped by fire in the forest. Try and contact him or track him on the GPS."

"What do you mean, lost him?"

"Just do it!" Virgil launched Thunderbird 2 and, this time, he didn't worry about clearance. He checked his monitors and proximity indicators, trusted his own judgement and threw Thunderbird 2 upwards. Scott was trying to contact him now but he tuned his big brother out. His head was full of calculations. If Gordon couldn't get back towards the Thunderbirds he would have to move away from the burning tree northwards. How fast could Gordon run? Exactly which bearing would he take to escape the flames? How fast was the wind fanning the flames? The area was scorching hot. If he was going to drop Alan down in the rescue cage he would need to be as accurate as possible. He would need to be as close to Gordon as he could be...if Gordon was alive.....

Virgil turned Thunderbird 2 and moved northwards over the burning tree. There was so much smoke he couldn't see the ground, let alone his ginger-haired brother.

"Thunderbird 2 from Thunderbird 5."

"Go ahead, John."

"I can't raise Gordon but GPS has him right below you."

"FAB." That was no help. GPS was just not accurate enough in this situation. A few feet either way and he'd miss Gordon. Virgil visualised the situation, checked his instruments for conditions on the ground, and altered his course. Then he stuck the ship into hover. Gordon would hear Thunderbird 2's jets but would he see her through the smoke?

"Al, are you ready?"

"FAB."

"I'm going to lower you. It's hot down there but there are no flames. When you get to the ground don't get out of the cage unless you see Gordo. I'll need to get you right back up if he's not there."

"FAB." Fortunately Alan did not pick that moment to ask what they would do next if Gordon wasn't there.

"Lowering now."

He let out the cable and watched on his monitors as Alan disappeared into the smoke. Scott was still trying to get his attention but Virgil knew he could be no help from so far away.

"Al, what do you see?" Alan had a protective hood on with a radio comm inside and he was able to hear Virgil and speak to him without interference from outside conditions.

"Nothing yet. Bit more, Virg. Okay, I'm near the ground. I see him!"

Virgil waited impatiently. In a matter of seconds Alan spoke again.

"I've got him, he's on board, pull us up."

Virgil started to pull in the winch whilst simultaneously lifting Thunderbird 2 into the air so the two in the cage cleared the ground as soon as possible.

"Is he okay?" asked Virgil.

"Coughing fit to bust but otherwise fine."

"Great. Get him in the sick bay and on oxygen then get ready to disembark. We've got to pick up Thunderbird 1 and clear the area."

"FAB."

A minute later and Alan was in the cockpit again. Virgil looked up.

"While I collect the pod, you get Thunderbird 1 out of here or Scott'll have our butts for breakfast." Alan chuckled. "How's Gordon?"

"Nothing a bit of oxygen and some burn gel won't cure and he's okay to treat himself."

"Great. Okay, here we are. Get going."

Alan headed off for Thunderbird 1 and wasted no time getting her in the air as Virgil collected the pod. Virgil finally became aware again of Scott trying to attract his attention.

"For Pete's sake will someone tell me what's going on?"

"Thunderbird 5 and Base from Thunderbird 2. I have Gordon on board, Alan is just taking off in Thunderbird 1 and the pod is almost secure. Expecting our removal from danger zone in 1.4 minutes."

"How is Gordon?" asked Scott.

"He's a bit the worse for wear but he'll be fine. He had an argument with a burning tree and some smoke. The tree didn't affect the fire break so we're good to go. We won't be able to bring the Firefly with us right now. That'll be a job for another day."

"FAB. Good work, guys. Er... how's Thunderbird 1?" replied Scott. Virgil chuckled at this.

"A few scorch marks. Nothing serious."

"Scorch marks!"

"Elbow grease and a couple of hours work should do it. It's only superficial."

"Base to Thunderbird 1. Alan, what the hell does Virgil mean by scorch marks?"

Virgil chuckled again but ignored the conversation between his two brothers as he got the pod secured and lifted off. From a hover position he checked the ground to reassure himself that the tree had burnt itself out and the fire break had held.

"Thunderbird 1 from Thunderbird 2. Let's head for home, squirt."

"FAB. See you back at Base." With a flash of rocket fuel, Thunderbird 1 shot off into the distance. Virgil set Thunderbird 2's coordinates for Tracy Island and followed after.

A few minutes into the flight Virgil became aware of a coughing noise becoming louder and Gordon made his way into the cockpit to stand beside him.

"How're you doing?" Virgil asked his younger brother, noting the burn gel on his arms.

"I'm fine," replied Gordon. Virgil had his own opinion on that but kept quiet. "Are we going home?" Gordon asked tiredly.

"Yes, we are. Mission completed. Just one thing, though. Next time we're running for our lives you need to run away from the burning stuff, okay? That's away, Gordon, get it? You almost gave me heart failure down there."

"Okay, okay, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Good pick up, though, thanks Virg."

"No problem."

"Did you get the Firefly in the pod before we left?"

"No, it was all too hot down there. I'll swing by tomorrow and pick it up when everything's cooled down."

"Swing by? That'll be a 5 hour round trip."

"Yeh, well, you know how I love to fly TB2. Any excuse."

Gordon stared at Virgil. That certainly hadn't been the impression he'd had a few hours earlier on their way out here. In fact, come to think of it, Virgil was extremely chipper all of a sudden. Instead of grouchy and unsure, he seemed happy and relaxed.

"How come you're in a better mood after the day we've had than you were before?" Gordon couldn't help asking. Virgil glanced at him and shrugged.

"We did a good job and we're going home. What's there not to be cheerful about?"

Gordon shook his head. Sometimes he felt he really didn't understand Virgil at all. Or maybe it was just too much smoke in his head.

"I think I'll go back on the oxygen," he said.

"Good idea. You don't look brilliant. Take it easy on the flight home. I've got it all under control up here."

And as Gordon left the cockpit Virgil struck up a happy whistle. Gordon stuck his fingers in his ears and headed for the sick bay.

Epilogue

A couple of days later back at Tracy Island, Scott and Virgil were cleaning the pool. They were doing this as a favour to Gordon who was still coughing up black gunk and had sore arms. Brains, of course, had constructed a highly sophisticated pool maintenance and cleaning device (or PMCD) but sometimes the simple way seemed easier. Long poles with nets on the end were the equipment of choice for Virgil and Scott as they stood by the pool and scooped dead bugs and bits of plant from its surface.

"I told you The Hood would escape from police custody," remarked Scott.

"You always have to say ‘I told you so', don't you?" replied Virgil but there was a chuckle behind his words.

"Hey, you try growing up with four wise-ass younger brothers. I gotta score points where I can. Anyway," he continued, "Father, Kyrano and Tin Tin will be back home tomorrow so let's hope he doesn't cause any trouble before then. I wonder if I should go over."

"You, Alan and John have half the local police department stationed outside their rooms. I think they'll be okay. Stop stressing."

Scott raised his eyebrows at his younger brother. "I've got three words for you: pot, kettle, black."

Virgil stood up straight and looked across the pool at Scott. "I've done stressed, it wasn't fun. I'm over it."

"Why now?"

Virgil sighed but knew Scott wouldn't drop it. "Because... okay, I admit it, you were right about something else. Stewing in my own juice wasn't getting me anywhere. We're all in this together and if someone didn't feel it was safe to do something they wouldn't do it. On the whole, we all make good decisions and the technology works. If someone makes a bad decision the rest of us can usually get them out. When I threw Alan down into a fiery pit of hell to rescue the water-baby I didn't think twice about it, I just did it. Gotta trust my instincts."

"They're usually good ones. Talking of the water-baby..."

Virgil turned to see Gordon walking towards them.

"Not bad, guys," said their ginger-haired brother as he looked at the pool, "You could have a great career in LA cleaning pools for the rich and famous. Think of all those bored housewives you could make out with."

"That reminds me, how much did you say it cost to stay at Paradise Island?" Scott asked of Gordon, "I think I need a vacation."

"If you have to ask, you can't afford it. Anyway, I thought you said that the MD was completely obnoxious."

"He is. It's not his company I'm going for."

A knowing smile started to cross Gordon's face. "What's her name?"

"I...er..." started Scott.

"Her name, Scotty," persisted Gordon.

Scott threw himself down on a sun lounger and stared at the sky. "She's called Maria. She's a goddess. She brought me fruit punch. I can't stop thinking about her. I'm going back to Paradise Island, track her down and make her mine."

Gordon and Virgil shared an amused glance.

"So she's an employee not a guest, then?" asked Gordon.

"Yep," replied Scott dreamily.

"Then, no tracking down required," replied Gordon. "When you get there you just fill in a form and they'll bring her straight to your suite. Mind you, you have to pay extra for that sort of thing on top of the room bill."

Scott sat up, indignant at Gordon's implication. "She's not like that!"

"All the female staff are like that," said Gordon, "and quite a few of the male staff I should imagine."

"No, that's no true! Anyway, I'd take her away from that....I'd...."

"Don't say Scott's trying to reform hookers now?" asked Virgil with a laugh.

"She is not a hooker!"

"Hey guys, what you talking about?" Alan had joined them.

"Hookers," said Virgil, bluntly.

"Love," said Scott, wistfully.

"Jell-O," said Gordon, perversely. "Scott, you've been in the Air Force and International Rescue. The whole of your adult life you have been trying the rectify all the crap man heaps on its fellow man. How come you're not embittered and cynical like the rest of us?"

Scott frowned at this. He hated it when Gordon came right out with a perceptive question. He saw the others waiting expectantly for an answer.

"Because I have a great family. And because I am way more handsome than you guys and get better girls so what's there to be embittered about?"

Virgil looked at Alan and tipped him a wink. Then he turned to Gordon.

"I know we just got the pool clean but do you mind if we get it dirty again?"

"Go ahead. Need a hand?"

"It's okay. I don't want you to aggravate those burns. Alan?"

And Virgil and Alan provided Gordon with some entertainment as they tried, and succeeded, to manhandle Scott into the pool.