His plan was foolproof.

A forty-something man with a spectacular physique, dark, mysteriously glittering coal black eyes and a smooth, bald pate, Belah Gaat was nothing if not formidable. But here there was no one to frighten, no one to intimidate, no one to lord over. Here in this long, long tunnel deep beneath the surface of the earth there was no one but the man who had come to be known to the world as the Hood.

Given that physical labor tended to make him sweat beneath even the most sophisticated of masks, at this moment his face was his own. Wearing black jeans, black work boots and a long-sleeved black shirt, he had been down in this place for nearly three hours...and was almost finished with his task. He grinned as he positioned the lantern in just the right spot to lay his last electronic charge.

And then he would be leaving. By the time he reached the streets of Manhattan, his charges would have ignited. The ignition would spark an explosive compound those working for him had invented. The explosions, when they occurred, would cause the long-abandoned goods transport tunnel to collapse. He smiled as he set the last charge. Smiled because when the tunnel collapsed, so would the ground above it. Ground upon which stood the corporate headquarters of Tracy Corporation.

Tracy Corporation's owner was none other than Jefferson Tracy. And one thing Belah knew that few others did was that Jeff Tracy wasn't just a billionaire businessman. He was also the founder of International Rescue, a philanthropic organization whose sole purpose was to save the lives of people who couldn't be saved any other way. Belah coveted their technology, bent on using it for his own purposes.

But he wasn't only trying to destroy Tracy Corporation's huge Manhattan office. He was trying to kill the man behind those who had become his greatest enemies. For today, Jeff Tracy himself was inside that building.

"Today," Belah mused as he began moving back through the tunnel the way he'd come, "Today, Jeff Tracy, you die."

"Thanks a lot, Dandridge. I appreciate your help on this project."

"Are you kidding me, Jeff? If this works, it'll make me rich beyond imagination. Besides, I couldn't pass on the opportunity to work with an old friend."

Jeff chuckled as he rose to his feet and reached across his desk to shake the hand of Wilbur Dandridge III, founder of The Gazelle Corporation, a company which specialized in robotics and automation. He and Wil had known each other for years, and had just inked a deal to work together on an extremely adventurous project to create a fully automated self-contained city for use in colonization of the Moon. With Gazelle and Tracy Corp arm-in-arm on this, Jeff knew the NASA contract would be his.

"Can you stay for lunch?" Jeff asked as he and Wil walked to his office door.

"No, 'fraid not, Jeff. Got to get home and take the wife to her doctor's appointment." Jeff chuckled, to which Wilbur added, "You know how Madge is, Jeff."

"Yeah, I remember. I can't believe she's still that scared of the doctor's office after all these years."

Wil just shook his head. "Women. Can't live with 'em, can't throw 'em over a ledge."

Smiling, Jeff nodded. "I can attest to that." He stopped in the hall at the elevator and pushed the button.

"Oh, yes, that lovely little girl who lives out there on that island with you, how is she doing?"

"Tin-Tin's fine, Wil, just fine. She keeps us on our toes around there. So does Mother."

"Yes, what'd we used to call her? Mrs. Ruth, I think?"

"You sure did. Used to make my dad angrier than sin. He said it showed a lack of respect."

"I couldn't respect anyone more than I do your mother."

The elevator car arrived and the two men stepped in. "Well, if I can't take you out to lunch, the least I can do is walk you to your car. Where are you parked?"

"Bottom floor of your underground garage. This is one packed building!"

"I know. I was thinking of looking for someplace bigger. We've nearly outgrown this high rise."

"You'd think a man with sixty-five floors to himself would have plenty of room."

Jeff laughed as the elevator stopped on different floors. Anyone who got in recognized the man who was ultimately their boss. Jeff smiled and nodded and said hello as each of them greeted him. Finally they reached the ground floor and headed for the set of elevators that led to the parking garage. They continued small talk all the way down until at last they were on the lower level.

They walked almost the entire way across the length of the cavern-like structure until finally Dandridge pointed to a burnt-orange BMW. Jeff nearly laughed out loud when he saw it. "You don't do anything halfway, do you, Wil?"

"No, sir, not me. It's as close as I could get to the coat of a gazelle."

Jeff watched as Wilbur got into his car, started it up and, with a wave, put it in gear and drove away. Shaking his head and still smiling at the somewhat garish looking automobile, Jeff turned to head back to the elevators when a strange sound caught his ear. He stopped, frowning, trying to discern its origin. It sounded like scraping...concrete scraping against concrete.

He tried to remember if there was any scheduled construction or maintenance that day. Striding over to a nearby phone on the wall, he dialed Security. A few moments passed while the desk put in a call to the guard manning this level of the parking garage.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tracy, sir, but we can't seem to raise Officer Beeks. We're sending Officers Link and Madera to your location immediately. Please remain where you are."

"Thank you." He hung up the phone as more sounds of scraping reached his ears. His curiosity was piqued, so Jeff decided an investigation was in order. He waited in silence until he heard it again. It was coming from the shadows of the far corner, very near to the large metal shed that housed part of the building's environmental control machinery. Slowly he walked toward the sound, peering into the darkness, trying to see something...anything. But he saw nothing.

Closer and closer he drew to the corner, when suddenly the scraping sound stopped. Finally he saw something moving. It didn't take him long to realize it was a man...a fairly large man in a Security Guard uniform. As the man crept out from behind the environmental control housing, overhead lighting revealed him to be completely bald with harsh Asiatic features.

He frowned and thought, That isn't the guy I saw this morning.

It was, of course, impossible for the owner of a large conglomerate of corporations to know every single employee on his payroll, but something about this seemed off somehow. He watched as the guard lifted a knapsack and slung it over his shoulder. He was carrying a lantern in his right hand and picked something else up off the floor with his left...a small black square box of some sort. The man looked left, looked right, and then began walking toward the other end of the garage. Jeff decided he should follow him, but just as he took his first step, the man turned around.

Now a good forty yards in front of Jeff, he looked surprised for a moment, but then smiled venomously, sneering as he moved a few steps closer. "This is rather poetic, now, isn't it? Meeting up with the one I was after to begin with?"

"What are you talking about?" Jeff asked. He clapped his hand down on his left wrist and found it bare. Then he remembered he'd taken his communicator off because it had been chafing his wrist. He reached into his pocket and grasped the watch.

"Have you ever seen a sixty-five story building crumble to the ground?"

"What?" Jeff asked incredulously.

"I leave you with a front row seat."

Jeff knew he had to do something, and fast. Gathering all his strength, he sprang forward, tackling the stranger to the floor.

Crying out in frustration and surprise, the man grasped the small black box tightly in his left hand, but dropped the toolbox. "Get off me!" he yelled, landing a right hook on Jeff's jaw.

Jeff returned the blow by landing a one-two punch on the man's face. As they rolled around on the garage floor, Jeff wrapped his legs around his quarry, determined that he wouldn't escape. He was shocked as hell when the man growled, "Get off me, Tracy!"

He knows who I am.

He had the stranger pinned to the floor, but hearing him use his name surprised Jeff long enough for the larger man to free his right hand and sucker punch Jeff in the gut. Jeff grunted and fell sideways...right onto the man's left hand...right onto the small black box. Groaning, he lifted his communicator, but didn't get a chance to make the call.

His face went ashen as a sudden violent explosion shook the entire parking garage. The ceiling above him began to crack and the floor beneath him sank slightly as he struggled to his knees. "What in God's name-?"

The man, who was now standing and turning to run, looked at the ground beneath his feet, his face morphing from smug self-satisfaction to a look of horror. "No."

As Jeff struggled to his feet, a second explosion rocked the garage and threw him to the floor. The man cursed in a language Jeff thought he vaguely recognized as he flailed for purchase. The solidity beneath Jeff's feet crumbled. He scrambled on his hands and knees, trying to climb up chunks of concrete as he...along with the garage floor...fell into the earth.

Belah Gaat turned on his heel, sprinting toward the other end of the garage. With a great groan and a rolling boom louder than thunder, the line of sinking earth rushed toward his feet.

The roar was deafening.

Wil Dandridge nearly rear-ended the car in front of his as the shockwaves of a massive explosion shook the windows of his car. He slammed on the brakes and everything shook for a moment. He looked in his rearview mirror to try and see what had caused it. Within seconds another explosion rocked him in his car. He threw it into park and jumped out of the BMW, whirling around to face a sound the likes of which he'd never heard before.

His eyes widened in disbelief as the building he'd just come from...Tracy Corporation's headquarters...swayed slightly, cried out as though in pain, and began folding in on herself.

"Jesus!" Wilbur cried, running toward the building. "Jesus Christ!"

Within a minute, the skyscraper that housed the entire core administrative team for the conglomerate known as Tracy Corp was no more. Smoke and dust blew outward, coating everything and everyone in gray as it traveled through the congested Manhattan streets like a living being trying to escape the destruction that had brought it to life. Glass, concrete and metal rained down upon those within a mile of the once proud structure. Pulling his shirt up over his mouth to try and keep from breathing in the noxious, thick dust, Wil could do nothing but stand and stare wide-eyed at the scene before him.

"Dear God in Heaven."

Scott Tracy looked up from the report he didn't want to be reading as the soothing sounds of the piano reached his ears. He sighed, leaning back in the chair and cracking his knuckles. He knew he'd promised his father he'd get International Rescue's backlogged paperwork caught up before he returned the following day, but damn, he hated this part of his job.

Yawning unceremoniously, he closed his eyes and let the sounds of what he knew was one of Chopin's Etudes...though he hadn't a clue which one...slowly ease the tension that had been building between his shoulders. Leave it to his brother Virgil, three years his junior, to put him at ease without even realizing he was doing so.

Seated at the red cherry wood grand piano which had recently replaced the rather shockingly white leftover from the 1950s, Virgil Tracy's hands flew across the ivories with practiced ease, bringing forth a gentle, rolling melody countered by an equally undulating harmony. Scott sighed again and opened one eye, cocking his head toward the piano.

Without missing a beat or looking toward his older brother, Virgil said, "It's Number 1, Scott. Etude Number 1."

Scott nodded almost imperceptibly and returned to relaxing in his father's chair with his eyes closed. Virgil moved on to the second Etude, a decidedly lighter piece that made Scott think of a hundred butterflies and other assorted insects flitting around in the air. He was somewhat surprised to feel something tickle his nose. When his eyes snapped open, he found that something to be a mosquito, and successfully ridded himself of the pest.

"Guess that little guy thought it was a homing signal," he mumbled as he righted himself in the chair.

"What'd you say?"

"Nothing, Virg. Hey, how about giving me a hand over here?"

Virgil looked up as he moved on to the third Etude. "What, and let you take all the credit? Not a chance."

"I'll make sure and tell Dad we did it together."

Virgil just shook his head and looked down at his keyboard.

Scott's fingers drummed on the desk. "I'll make it worth your while."

He continued playing as he raised an eyebrow and looked back up at his brother. "The last time you made something worth my while I wound up stuck on a bar stool between two women who could've passed for female Sumo's while you headed off with Blondie What's-Her-Name."

Scott grunted in fond remembrance. "Cheryl," he said. "What, didn't you have fun?"

Virgil looked at him pointedly. "Oh, sure. It was especially entertaining when they started demonstrating the self-defense moves they picked up in prison."

Scott laughed out loud and held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, how was I supposed to know Cheryl's friends weren't exactly your type?"

Virg snorted as he came to the end of the sixth Etude. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a rapid beeping coming from the video portrait of their youngest brother, Alan. Rising quickly to his feet, he strode over to the desk as Scott opened a channel.

"This is International Rescue. Go ahead, Thunderbird 5."

"God, Scott! Scott!"

Every hair on the back of Scott's neck stood on end. "What? What is it, Alan?"

"God, Scott...Dad...it's Dad..."

"What about Dad?" Scott nearly bellowed.

"Tracy Corp...Manhattan...it's fallen...turn on...it's on the news...the calls, everybody's frantic...it's Dad, Scott!"

"Alan," Virgil said, ever the voice of reason. "Calm down and tell us what happened. Slowly." Truth be told, his heart had stopped beating right along with Scott's.

Alan took a deep breath and spoke, though not very slowly at all. "Tracy Corp in Manhattan, Virg, it's fallen, it's gone, it's just gone! There were two explosions and it just crumbled, it fell, he was there, Dad was there today, you know he was, what are we gonna do, we have to find him!"

Bile rose in the back of Scott's throat. Within a few seconds he prayed it was an awful mistake, prayed that his father had been at an off-site meeting and prayed that his little brother was overreacting to something much more minor than...but he knew from the look in Alan's eyes that he was relaying the truth. Scott slammed his hand down on a red button and a klaxon started wailing throughout the island.

"Virg, get going, I'll send everyone down."

"F.A.B.," Virgil replied. Adrenaline raced through his veins as he stood against the floor-to-ceiling painting of his father's rocket ship...his father...Jeff Tracy.

He can't be gone. He just can't be.

Scott started barking orders to those who sped into the Lounge as he headed for the secret entrance to Thunderbird One's hangar. "Gordo, Tin-Tin, John, Brains, Thunderbird Two now!"

They knew that tone of voice well enough not to even ask what was going on. Within seconds they were in the elevator that would take them to International Rescue's giant green equipment transporter.

"Kyrano, Grandma, stay here and man Base. Alan, get on the horn and get as much as you can about what happened. I want to be possession of all information before I hit New York."

"Scott," Ruth said as she walked toward the desk. "What is it?" He looked at her...just looked at her. And in his face, she saw something that made her gut twist tighter than a new drum. Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear. She sank onto the settee in front of her son's desk. "Oh, my God."

The wall flipped around, taking Scott out of sight. Kyrano approached Ruth and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What is it, Mrs. Tracy?"

"Jeff," she replied simply. "It's Jeff."

Sirens wailed and people screamed as the cloud of dust and debris rose into the sky. It looked like a solar eclipse...worse, because there was no light getting through at all. It was as though the hand of God had just reached out and turned the star at the center of this solar system off, blanketing the known world in a thick, oppressive fog of confusion, fear and the sights and sounds of death and devastation.

Wil wasn't even sure which street he was on anymore. Electricity was out, cars honked and drivers yelled as they tried to escape something they didn't even understand. Heart racing yet feeling as though time was standing still, Wil tried to get his bearings. He succeeded in doing so by running against the stream of people coming at him. They were fleeing the area surrounding Tracy Corporation. But he didn't want to flee. He wanted to help.

As Jeff's old schoolmate made his way toward the building which had quite literally been erased from the Manhattan skyline, fire engines and police cruisers started arriving on the scene. Security alarms from nearby buildings rang and beeped and small bits of paper floated gently downward like snow, their graceful descent in stark contrast to the event that had caused them to be there in the first place.

The closer he drew to ground zero, the more the magnitude of what had happened became clear. There were bodies. He almost fell over one, but sidestepped it just in time only to nearly step on an arm. That's all it was. Just an arm. Fighting the urge to vomit as he coughed and hacked, he blinked his eyes, trying to keep them clear of the falling ash. Suddenly a man came running towards him. He grasped Wil's upper arms in a vice-like grip and cried, "Armageddon! It's Armageddon!" before letting go and running off screaming down the street.

It sure is, you crazy fool. It sure as hell is.

Beneath the pile of rubble rising almost fifty feet high...beneath what was once the strong foundation of a 65-story building...beneath tons upon tons of steel and concrete and cars, there was only silence. Nothing at all could be heard. Not the sirens, not the alarms, not the car horns. Nothing save a terrible pounding...a pounding that sounded like the beat of a bass drum.

Jeff Tracy tried to open his eyes, but the pain in his head only made him squeeze them shut even tighter.

Boom...boom...boom...boom.

The incessant beat pounded into his brain like a sledgehammer. He could barely take a breath. And when he did manage to get some air into his lungs, the sharp stab of pain he felt through his chest made it all whoosh right back out his mouth.

Dust filled his nose and mouth and he coughed and sneezed uncontrollably for half a minute as he tried to get the pounding to stop.

Boom..boom...boom...boom.

But it wouldn't stop. He tried to concentrate instead on moving, but found that wasn't any more possible than breathing normally.

I can't feel my legs.

His arms were pinned at an awkward angle, one slightly around behind him and the other rising up as though his hand was reaching out to the heavens.

Can't...move. Can't breathe.

What had happened?

Boom...boom...boom...boom.

The floor...the floor had crumbled beneath him...an explosion...two...he'd heard them...he'd felt them...the stranger! The man who...who'd known his name...the man who...

His mind whirled as lack of oxygen made him dizzy.

He wanted to kill me.

Whoever that stranger was, he had done this.

Well, I'm not dead. You didn't get me.

Suddenly he pictured a very old television show that he and Lucille used to watch in reruns.

Missed it by that much.

The urge to laugh made him cough even harder as his breath rasped through his throat.

God, I'm becoming hysterical.

The building. His building was...how damaged was it?

Dark...it's dark...I can't see.

How far had he fallen?

I need help. I need...I need the boys.

But how to get them?

Boom...boom...boom...boom.

Your communicator.

His mind struggled to wade through wave after wave of dizziness.

Where is your communicator?

It had been in his pocket. It must still be there. But wait...no! He had taken it out of his pocket. It had been in his hand. His left hand.

Have to find it...have to call...the boys.

Gathering all his strength, he tried one more time to wrench something loose...anything.

Can't move!

The effort made several sharp jolts of pain course through his torso and he cried out in agony, resulting in another coughing fit. Closing his eyes again, Jeff tried to make what breaths he could take count. He slowed his breathing and listened to his environment. At first he could hear nothing but his own wheezing. But as he got used to that, he thought he could hear something else. It sounded like breathing...except...was that him?

Can't be...it can't be.

He held his breath for a moment and focused on the sound he'd heard. In the silence, he heard it again. It was breathing. There was someone else there with him! "H-Hello?" he said weakly before dissolving into another round of hacking and coughing. "Hello?"

His only response was that same sound of breathing. Whoever it was nearby, they had survived as well. And then Jeff had a thought which made him freeze.

What...if it's the stranger?

"Thunderbird 5 from Thunderbird 1. Come in, Alan."

"Thunderbird 5 here."

"ETA to New York now ten point five minutes. What's the latest?"

"It's gone, Scott. The whole building has collapsed. It's nothing but a...a pile of concrete and glass and office furniture...there are...bodies...everywhere. Ned Cook's on the scene...God, Scott...it's...there's...there's no way he could've...Scott..."

His younger brother's voice became more and more strangled as he continued until at last it tapered off in a half-concealed sob. Keeping his mind on duty, Scott barked, "Alan, continue report!" He knew he had to keep not only Alan, but all his brothers on an even keel, no matter what they found when they reached New York.

A barely heard sniffle was followed by a much steadier voice from the blonde-haired young man. "Every local rescue operation is already on scene. Outfits from Jersey, upstate New York, Long Island and Connecticut are on the way. There are a good two dozen people at ground zero right now looking for survivors."

"All right, Alan. It must be crazy over there right now, but see if you can't find someone in charge and let them know we're on our way."

"F.A.B.," Alan replied, but he didn't cut the line. "Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Find Dad, Scott. Please. Find him."

One last implied, but unspoken, word echoed in both their minds.

Alive.

Belah Gaat could not move. He was trapped in dirt and debris from the chest, down. His arms were both free, but a hunk of concrete rested along the back of his head, pressing painfully down upon him. He was certain he felt blood oozing down his neck.

Where had it gone wrong? He knew, knew as surely as he knew his own name. It was Jeff Tracy's fault. If he had not been down there in the garage, had not distracted Belah, he would've made his getaway as planned. But his own ego, and the irresistible urge to watch his prey die, had overridden his sense of self-preservation. And now, as a result, he found himself trapped beneath a fallen building.

He pushed his head back against the concrete, but it wouldn't budge. He surmised there must be more debris on top of that, making it too heavy to move simply with his neck muscles. He would have to wait for someone to find him. Well, at least he could while away the hours gloating over his accomplishment. He had destroyed Tracy Corporation's world headquarters. He had undoubtedly killed thousands of Tracy Corp employees. He had caused mayhem in New York, of that he was certain.

But most of all, he had killed Jefferson Tracy. He'd seen him fall into the earth, and given his own state, he was certain Tracy could not have survived. He would have been crushed to death, a sight Belah was rather annoyed he hadn't been able to witness, but a triumph nonetheless.

So lost was he in self-congratulation that at first he didn't hear the sound...but then his ears perked up as it floated to him. It sounded like...like someone coughing. And then another sound. A man calling out, "Hello!"

No. It cannot be. He could not have survived. It is not possible!

Belah fought the urge to curse a string of words that would've made any self-respecting sailor blush. He knew that voice, that damnable voice, even through the coughing bouts and the buzzing in his own ears. It was Jeff Tracy! The bastard had survived!

But Belah would not answer. He strained against the concrete slab again, mind racing. He may have failed in killing him by bringing his building down, but now they were stuck down here together.

If Belah could get free, he would make certain Jeff Tracy died...personally.

Jeff snapped to consciousness with a large hacking cough. He was surprised that he'd passed out and was momentarily angry with himself. He was an Air Force veteran. He'd been shot down, stranded on an island, and been through many more personal strains to his physical and mental fortitude...but he had always survived. To allow a little thing like being stuck beneath tons and tons of steel, concrete and various other assorted building materials didn't warrant weakness.

Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself. It was the only way he could push the pain aside long enough to try and get his mind to work. He had no idea how much time had passed since the bombs had exploded, but he figured by now his sons must know about it, and were probably worried. Following protocol, Scott would have sent every last capable hand out in 2, while he himself took 1.

Up in Thunderbird 5, Alan was probably frantic, with Scott doing everything he could to keep him calm. If he knew Brains, the genius was stuttering uncontrollably as he tried to relay plans of attack to Tin-Tin, John and Gordon. Virgil's face would be unreadable as he wore the tried-and-true mask that seemed to come naturally to the Tracy line, a mask that covered whatever turmoil he was feeling inside.

Of course, none of them could be certain Jeff had been in the building when the explosions occurred, but they would assume he had been, as they knew his first two days in New York were filled with back-to-back meetings. In fact, had he not heard that concrete-scraping-against-concrete sound after seeing Wil off, he would've been headed back up the elevator for a board meeting...which would have been rescheduled had Wil been able to go to lunch with him...Jeff closed his eyes and shook his head.

The fact that the heads of each of his companies were supposed to have been meeting less than 10 minutes from the time the bombs went off meant that every one of them was probably near the Executive Conference Room on the sixty-fourth floor. And that meant chances were good they were now all dead. Them and everyone else in the building. Jeff had survived, and so had one other person, whose breathing he could still hear. But what about everyone else? His personal assistant Rosemary, all the administrative staff, Accounting, Human Resources and IT personnel...so many more...the loss of human life was almost incomprehensible.

This is all because of me. It was me he wanted.

For some reason, that stranger had wanted him dead, and he'd been willing to kill thousands to see it done.

But why?

Who was that man? And was he now the one whom Jeff could hear breathing not too far away or was that someone else? As a successful entrepreneur with no less than twenty separate companies under his control, Jeff wouldn't have been surprised if the terrorist who'd done this was somehow related to his businesses in some way.

But something told him that wasn't the case. A chill went down his spine even as the pain in the area of his ribs increased. If it wasn't related to Tracy Corporation, there was only one other possibility: it was related to International Rescue.

But how could he know I'm with IR?

He wracked his brain as he fought to move his left arm, the one that was sticking straight up into the air.

Must...get free...

He grunted and groaned as his biceps and triceps pushed upward against the dirt and bits of concrete. The man had been large, built...muscular...like Virgil. He was bald. He looked Asian...not like Kyrano, though. He looked more Chinese than Malaysian, almost had that ancient look that you found in history books of the days when Genghis Khan ruled China.

God, I can't see a thing. Can't see a thing.

He shook his head. What else, what else...his eyes...his eyes were dark...almost evil. His voice was deep and treacherous. Evil eyes. Evil voice. Willing to kill countless people just to kill one. Knowledge that Jeff was related to International Rescue somehow. And that he would be in the Tracy Corp headquarters that day. How could that man have known all this? How could he...

Oh, my God.

The comparison he'd made between the stranger's looks and Kyrano's came back to him full force. Though one's features were decidedly harsher than the other's, there was no mistaking the vague similarities in the men's faces. And there was only one way anyone could know all of these things...that was either that they were a member of Jeff's own family...or had access to one of them.

Could he have come face-to-face with none other than...the Hood? Bile rose in the back of his throat. If that had been the Hood...

Sonofabitch!

Wil had long ago shed his suit jacket and tie. His white work shirt was dirty and torn, his suit pants almost unrecognizable from the filth. But he worked alongside others who had been nearby when disaster struck, and with fire fighters, paramedics and police officers. Heavy machinery had yet to arrive, and so it was mere human strength that now pulled at twisted steel girders and blocks of concrete so large even ten men together couldn't move them.

Sweat poured down Wil's face, making tracks in the dust caked on his skin. He kept replaying the last time he'd seen Jeff, playing it out like a slow motion movie, watching every move, every gesture, hearing every word over and over again like a broken record.

He said it showed a lack of respect.

I couldn't respect anyone more than I do your mother.

You'd think a man with sixty-five floors to himself would have plenty of room.

You don't do anything halfway do you, Wil?

He just couldn't...wouldn't...believe that Jeff Tracy was gone. He'd come through so much in life...survived so many things...only to have it all for nothing when his building collapsed? Wil refused to accept that. And so he worked harder and faster, his strength coming from a place he never knew he had inside him.

He had to find Jeff alive. He knew Jeff's sons only peripherally, and had no children of his own, but to think that those five men who'd lost their mother before her time would also have to lose their father so tragically made his stomach churn. And besides, he'd always joked with Jeff that he would die a hero's death.

Being crushed by a falling skyscraper was hardly heroic.

Forgetting he was on an open three-way channel with Thunderbirds 2 and 5, Scott gasped when he flew over ground zero for the first time.

"Scott?" Virgil said.

"What do you see?" Alan asked.

Mouth opening and closing in disbelief, it took a few seconds for Scott to reply. When he did, his voice was strong and steady, belying the turmoil he felt. "Tracy Corp's gone."

"Completely?" Virgil whispered.

"Completely," Scott confirmed.

Father.

"I see some heavy rescue equipment a couple miles from the danger zone. The only place there's enough room for us is Central Park, Virg. Make that your destination."

"F.A.B."

"Alan, have you been able to contact anyone in charge?"

"No, Scott, the lines that are still up are jammed. I can't get through to anyone."

"Right. Now, listen, everyone: I'm going in there with the hover camera. I want Virg in the Mole, Gordon in the Excavator. Brains, you and Tin-Tin rig the Mobile Crane for heavy lifting, then Brains and John, you operate that together. Tin-Tin, I want you to man Mobile Control and provide a relay between local authorities and Alan. And keep Base informed. I'm sure Grandma must be out of her mind."

A chorus of "F.A.B." was heard as Scott fired his VTOL rocket and landed Thunderbird 1 gracefully in the middle of the Great Lawn in Central Park. At thirty-three square acres, it provided plenty of room for Thunderbirds 1 and 2 as well as Mobile Control. Scott mused that the last time he'd been there was four months ago when he'd been visiting the very building which now no longer existed. He'd gone jogging right past here early one morning, having had no idea that within a few months he'd be landing his silver rocket plane right in the middle of it on a mission to find his own father.

Hang on, Dad.

Strapping the camera to the back of his hover bike, Scott cloaked Thunderbird 1 and was soon on his way to the danger zone. His stomach churned and his heart raced. He just wouldn't believe his dad was dead. He didn't know if it was because he was sure he'd know when it happened, or if he just wasn't willing to face reality...but whichever it was, Scott chose to think as though he were still alive...a victim who needed rescuing.

I'm coming, Father. Just hold on. I'm coming.

The Hood had only succeeded in shifting the concrete slab slightly, decreasing the pressure on his left shoulder, but increasing it on his right. By now his muscles were growing weary; he was having a difficult time keeping his head up at all, but he'd already felt the glass and steel shards that would cut into his face if he put his head down, and he'd no intention of letting go so easily.

He continued to hear his unseen companion's ragged breathing. It told him whoever it was, was probably injured. He was still convinced it was Jeff Tracy, and still hell bent on finishing the job he'd come there to do in the first place. Sure, it would've been much easier to just wait until the elder Tracy was alone and blow his head off, but doing it this way, destroying the symbol of their public façade, and bringing the Tracy patriarch down with it, would create havoc.

International Rescue would be demoralized, knowing how the fools cared so much about other people, knowing that their father had died there as well. The members of Jeff's family would be in turmoil, as would his half-brother, Kyrano. And that link combined with the family's emotional unrest would be the next step toward finding them, dethroning them and owning the technology that made those magnificent Thunderbirds go.

These thoughts funneled new strength into Belah's body, and he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and poured every ounce of muscle he had into pushing against the concrete slab. A mighty roar escaped his lips as he strained upward. He felt the piece move just a bit, and heard the scraping sounds of concrete and steel giving way. This gave him renewed purpose and he pushed even harder, sweat pouring down his face. With one final groan, he threw everything he had into it.

It paid off. The slab slid down over his head, and he cried out in pain as it peeled skin away. It was still leaning on his shoulder, but his head was now free. He took no time to feel relief at having that weight removed, however. For now he had to work at freeing the rest of his body.

And then I will see to you, Jeff Tracy.

Jeff heard his companion cry out. The sound of that voice was all he needed to hear to know he'd been right; the man trapped down there with him, the one whose breathing he'd been hearing, was the same man who'd caused this disaster. The bass tones were unmistakable. Jeff cringed as he heard something slide, and put two and two together, figuring out that the man...the Hood...must have been trapped beneath something and was working at getting free.

The silence that followed, pierced only by sharp-sounding exhalations, made Jeff think the bastard had been successful. That meant Jeff needed to double his efforts in trying to get out. For if the Hood escaped, not only did that put him in jeopardy, but it meant that the man who'd killed thousands of his employees would not be sticking around to face justice. And if there was one thing Jeff was going to do if he got out of there alive, it was to make absolutely certain the Hood was made to answer for what he'd done.

To that end, he started working at his left arm again, moving it as much as he could, flexing his biceps, pushing up against the debris, up and up, pushing as hard as he could. He grunted from the effort, and worried about the Hood hearing him and knowing what he was up to...but it didn't really matter. For the Hood already knew he was still alive, of that he was certain.

Jeff wasn't usually a man to use colorful language, but the weight of what the Hood had done to all the people in Tracy Corp's headquarters, combined with the weight of that fallen building pressing in all around him made him so angry he couldn't contain himself. There was no way he was letting the Hood get away with it. No matter what.

Fuck this! his mind cried out against the imprisonment of his body. Ignoring the pain shooting through his torso, he gave a great heave and his arm popped free of the dirt. Yes! That was one arm free. The other, he knew, would be more difficult, as it was completely buried down and to his right.

His left hand was numb. He thought he was moving his fingers, but couldn't be absolutely certain. It was only after about thirty seconds that he realized there was something in his hand. Merely five seconds later, he realized what it was.

My God! My communicator!

As the pins and needles sensation slowly crept from his fingertips up through his wrist and forearm, he felt the watch he held...and marveled that it didn't seem to be damaged.

Bless you, Brains.

Jeff's mind worked quickly. If he activated two-way communications, the resulting glow from whichever of his sons' faces that came through would alert the Hood to his precise location, if indeed they were in juxtaposition to allow that. Jeff couldn't take the chance. He would have to rely on other methods.

There was an emergency beacon, a tiny flat button on the side of the watch face, that would let his boys know he was alive, but in serious trouble. But he knew the first thing Alan would do was call him. Again, too risky. The only thing he felt he could do was use their variation on Morse code with a second flat button below the emergency beacon. It would provide a method of communication; let them know he was alive without revealing anything to his nemesis.

Jeff's fingers were dirty; it took him a little bit to make sure he had the right button beneath his fingertip. He closed his eyes and began to tap.

Alan paced the floor of Thunderbird 5's main control room like a madman. He was full of energy that had no release. Adrenaline raced through his body as though he were down there with his brothers, getting ready to go after his father.

His father. Dad. He had to be alive. He just had to. Alan had never known his mother, Lucille, who had died minutes before he was born. Mostly his older brothers had raised him, but his father was his hero, the man he most wanted to be like. It was the major reason he'd become an astronaut. He wanted to be the kind of man that would make his dad proud, and he'd done that through his involvement with International Rescue.

That man he so wanted to be like, that he so looked up to and revered, that he so...loved...that man couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.

Then he heard a sound that made his heart nearly stop.

Beep-beep-beep...beeeeeep-beeeeeep-beeeeeep...beep-beep-beep.

Alan turned slowly toward the main console as Monitor D came to life, translating the code into words.

S.O.S.

Alan hit the console like a ton of bricks, punching several buttons in succession which asked the computer to identify source of transmission. The words that next appeared on the screen made his throat tighten.

Alpha One com.

A sob wrenched itself from his gut as the three-letter message repeated three more times. Alan fingered the keyboard and typed in a return message.

Thunderbird 5 receiving. Are you injured?

He waited for several long moments as the computer relayed the message back to the communicator in code. Perhaps the watch was malfunctioning, somehow sending the S.O.S. on its own. Perhaps someone else had gotten hold of his father's communicator and figured out how to use it to send for help. Perhaps...he jumped as more beeping was heard. The words appeared on the monitor in painfully slow motion.

Am...trapped...Level...six...parking...garage...building gone.

"Dad!" he cried out. Could it really be him? He typed in a message.

Identify yourself.

There was more waiting during which Alan danced around on the balls of his feet like a cat on a hot tin roof. Then the answer came.

It's...me...son...it's...Dad.

Alan couldn't help the tears of relief that rolled down his face. He quickly typed in his response.

Are you injured?

At the same time, he opened a channel to Scott. He didn't even let him answer before he was going a mile a minute.

"Scott, it's Dad, it's Dad! He's alive, he's alive! I've got him!"

"What? Alan, where? Where is he? How are you receiving him?"

"He's tapping in code from his communicator! He says he's trapped on the bottom level of the parking garage!"

Scott couldn't contain his excitement. "Is he hurt?"

"Hang on, I asked, he's coming through now." Alan watched as the words appeared on the monitor, and read them off to Scott in real time. "Only...left...arm...free...body...stuck...in...debris...am...in...danger...son." Alan's face went white. "Danger?" As he said it, he typed, What kind of danger? From building?

"Alan, what the hell is he talking about?"

"Don't know, just asked."

At that moment, another call came through. "This is Mobile Control calling Thunderbird 5. Please respond."

"Tin-Tin, I've got you, but hang on – we have Dad on the line. He's using code to communicate."

"He's alive?"

"Yes!" Alan grinned. "Let Virg, John and Gordon know!"

"F.A.B.!" Tin-Tin replied, her smile evident in her voice. "Contact me when you can. I'll call Base and let them know, too. Mobile Control out."

"Here, Scott, message coming back," Alan said as he read the monitor. "Danger...from...building...unknown...man...set...bombs...trapped...here...too."

"My God," Scott breathed as he stopped his hover bike several blocks from ground zero. "He's trapped with the bomber? Does he know who it is?"

Who's the bomber, Dad?

The next words Jeff sent wiped the smile from Alan's face and made his blood run cold. "Jesus Christ," he whispered.

"Alan? Alan, what is it? Who's down there with him?"

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Alan croaked, "It's the Hood, Scott. He's trapped down there with the Hood."

"Oh, thank God!" Ruth cried as Tin-Tin relayed the news. She found Kyrano behind her and enveloped him in a fierce hug. "He's alive, Kyrano!" she said, her words muffled by his tunic.

Tin-Tin smiled as her eyes met those of her father, then she closed the channel.

"Somehow I knew he would be," Kyrano said as he received her hug warmly. "Your son is a fighter."

"Damn straight he is," Ruth replied as she backed away and tried to compose herself. "Come on, Kyrano, let's get a cup of coffee. They'll be home in no time."

Somehow, though, Kyrano didn't share Ruth's enthusiasm. He wasn't certain why, but something about this bothered him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something...familiar...about all this. Something he felt he should recognize, but the puzzle pieces just weren't coming together.

Tin-Tin ran over to Pod 5, where Virgil and Gordon had already started the Mole's and Excavator's engines. The deafening roar drowned her attempts at yelling for them, but Gordon saw her waving her arms wildly and contacted Virgil in the Mole. The two men got out of their vehicles as Brains and John exited the lab. They rushed toward her as she nearly hopped up and down with joy.

"Good God, Tin-Tin, what is it?" Gordon asked.

"It's your father, Gordon! He's alive! He's alive!"

"What?" Virgil breathed. "How do you know that?"

"Alan's got him on the communicator, he's transmitting via code!"

The men relaxed visibly as Gordon elbowed John. "I knew he'd make it! I just knew it! Where is he?"

"Trapped beneath the building," Tin-Tin replied, her tone turning serious. "You've got to get him out."

"On our way!" Virgil yelled over his shoulder as they headed back toward their respective vehicles.

"H-Help us get the, uh, clamp o-onto the, uh, Crane, Tin-Tin."

"F.A.B.!" Tin-Tin said, and she set about doing just that. Grinning widely, John worked alongside her. Their father was alive. He was alive!

Jeff was relieved. Alan relayed that the boys were already there, having landed in Central Park, and that Scott had arrived at what was left of the once stately building that belonged to Tracy Corporation. Thunderbird 5 had a fix on Jeff's location, with an error rate of plus or minus three feet. With that information, Scott was going to try to get the hover camera down inside to where he was trapped. He would, Jeff knew, already be taking command of the situation up there, whether the officials on the scene liked it or not.

But there still remained the problem of the Hood. When Jeff had told Alan the identity of the man who'd bombed the building, and who was now trapped down there with him, Alan's reply, which Jeff felt as a series of vibrations from the watch in returned code, had been as expected...he was scared to death. Jeff didn't blame him. At this moment, he wasn't certain where the Hood was or what he was doing. He hadn't heard him breathing in over fifteen minutes, but didn't know if that meant he'd died or if it meant he'd moved away...or perhaps if Jeff's own ears weren't working as well due to exhaustion and pain.

Through Alan, Jeff had also discovered that according to Ned Cook, who was reporting live from the scene, ten survivors had already been rescued. But the situation up there looked grim. Life sign indicators had only turned up four more warm bodies, but the range of the traditional LSI was only ten feet deep. From what Alan could tell from the pictures Ned was broadcasting and his knowledge of Tracy Corporation's subterranean parking, Jeff and the Hood were at least seventy feet underground, if not more.

Things weren't looking too good. Jeff could barely keep himself conscious as what he knew must be broken ribs sent sharp jabs of pain shooting through his chest and down into his groin. His left arm rested almost lifelessly on the pile of debris, with only his index finger moving to transmit as needed. He tried to listen for any movement from the Hood, but still, nothing came to his ears. Where was he? And what was he doing?

Having managed to rid himself of the concrete slab, the Hood had worked and worked until he wrenched his body and upper legs free from the steel and concrete. From there, it was only a matter of freeing his feet. Within fifteen minutes, he had done just that.

He found himself with very little room to maneuver. The space between the pile of debris in which he'd been trapped, and the large slab of floor overhead, was barely wide enough for him to wiggle through on his belly. As it was, he kept getting stuck and having to wrench his way through. He moved one way in the total darkness, but found that way blocked. Then he turned and moved to his right, but found it would not yield to his efforts either. The third side to his prison was cut off in the same fashion. Finally he headed in the direction where he knew Jeff Tracy to be.

He could still hear him breathing. He could sense his mind, and knew he was in pain. Do not worry, Jefferson Tracy, he thought. You shall soon be put out of your misery.

As Jeff had imagined he'd be, Scott was now in control of the rescue operation. From a distance, with the aid of his binoculars, he'd seen his father's old friend, Wil Dandridge, with hands cut and bleeding from his efforts to dig through the rubble. He sent one of New York's rescue workers to insist Wil seek treatment for his wounds. Reluctantly, Wil agreed, and headed for the nearest triage unit.

Virgil and Gordon arrived in the Mole and the Excavator. Scott immediately dispatched Virgil to begin tunneling underground. He tapped into the city's computer system and pulled up maps of the underground tunnels, electricity and gas lines. He'd have to do some fancy maneuvering, but Virgil figured he could get to within fifteen feet of his father's location.

Gordon set to work with the Excavator, its massive iron jaws grinding rock into dust and spitting it out the back end as he worked toward an area the LSIs showed contained survivors. Soon thereafter, Brains and John were on the scene in the Mobile Crane, and began removing steel girders and huge pieces of concrete, placing them into waiting super dump trucks belonging to the island of Manhattan, with Brains guiding John's efforts from the ground.

Scott hadn't bothered to tell anyone that the Hood was trapped down there with their father, and he'd instructed Alan not to let it slip either. The last thing Virgil or anyone else needed on their minds was the fact that the man who'd been trying for years to get to them, finally had. And though his first attempt to kill Jeff Tracy had not succeeded, Scott feared greatly that the Hood would yet find a way to do that which he had failed to do – eradicate the head of International Rescue.

Having successfully coordinated a rescue operation that had been highly disorganized and chaotic at best, Scott concentrated on getting the hover camera down into the space where his father was trapped. It was no easy feat, and having to use his watch face as the video monitor the camera transmitted to didn't help. It was simply too small, and Scott had to concentrate very hard on the watch to get a handle on what he was seeing.

The camera finally found a small opening and scooted down into it. From there, Scott followed along one line with it, but that was soon cut off. He turned the camera and sent it the other way, but had no more luck than with the first. Cursing under his breath, he brought the camera back out and tried again just as the Mole's giant bore came to life.

"Scott, report to Mole. Commencing drilling immediately."

He stopped and looked at the point twenty feet away where Virgil was ready to dig. He put the camera on auto-hover and raced toward the massive vehicle. "Alan, keep trying to get that camera under there," he said into his communicator.

Hauling himself up into Mole's cabin, Scott strapped into the secondary seat just behind Virgil in the pilot's chair. In his mind he repeated a phrase he'd said to his younger brother more times than he could count. Only this time, it was for entirely different reasons.

Hurry it up, Virgil.

Jeff felt the ground begin to shake. For a moment he panicked, thinking the building must be further collapsing on top of him. But as the shaking changed into a steady vibration, he knew immediately what it was: the Mole. The Mole was on its way, undoubtedly with Virgil at the helm and Scott riding second seat.

But his relief was short-lived. For the next thing his senses picked up was movement. He heard something that made his hair stand on end. It was a small grunt that he knew must belong to the Hood. Somehow, the man had escaped the confines of wherever he'd been trapped. He'd escaped, and was headed right for him.

Jeff was helpless. Given his injuries, even if he could free himself from the debris, he hadn't a hope in hell of defending himself. He tapped quickly on his communicator's Morse button. In his mind, as he heard the Hood grow nearer and nearer, he knew he was a dead man. But there were things he wanted his family to know before he went. A lump rose in his throat as he tapped out his last words to his sons.

"There's something I haven't told you, Virg."

Virgil's eyes turned away from the monitor containing maps of the lines that ran beneath Tracy Corporation. He twisted slightly in his seat and looked at his brother's face. "What are you talking about?"

"Dad's not alone down there."

"Not alone? Who's with him?"

Scott took a deep breath. "The guy who bombed the building."

"What?" Virgil roared. "Is he alive?"

Scott nodded. "That's not the worst of it. Dad knows who it is."

"Who? Scott, who?"

"It's the Hood."

Virgil's eyes widened in disbelief as one of the Mole's alarm indicators signaled they were too close to a gas line. He cursed as he changed the vehicle's course slightly, then turned back to face his brother. "Is he...sure?"

Scott nodded again. "Seems to be, from what Alan said."

"My God, no. Scott, we have to hurry!" Turning back to the controls, Virgil increased the Mole's speed as much as he could without upsetting the ground above more than he already was. "Dammit, why didn't you tell me before?"

"I didn't...I couldn't...Virg, if he's...I just..."

Virgil reached out and found Scott's hand. He squeezed it and said, "We'll get to him in time. We will, Scott."

Scott just nodded and looked away. "I sure hope so, Virg. If the Hood realizes he isn't dead..."

He didn't have to say more. Virgil turned his attention back to the control panel, willing the Mole to move faster. They were almost there. They would make it in time to save their father, not only from the unstable pile of debris above him, but from that goddamn bastard Hood. Virgil's fists clenched and unclenched as his jaw worked.

And if I get my hands on that sonofabitch, he's going to wish he were never born.

Alan watched as a new message came through from his father. But when he saw what it said, he barely made it to the nearby chair as his legs buckled beneath him.

Hood...approaching...I'm...done...for...have...to...tell...you...all...

Words full of love and anguish, relayed from father to son by a cold, heartless computer that wouldn't know the difference between love and hate.

Alan read the words.

The last message to his eldest, a message Scott would only hear through his youngest brother Alan.

More words, for Virgil.

Tears welled up in Alan's eyes as he read them.

For John.

Alan began to cry.

Dad. No.

And Gordon.

He knew the next ones would be for him. He just clung to the console, face nearly touching the monitor as though somehow it would bring him close to his father, so many miles below, facing death alone down there on Earth.

Words of encouragement...of love...of pride.

Alan lowered his forehead to the console as his tears fell unabated. He looked up for his father's final words.

Good...bye...son.

"Father! No! No!"

On the keyboard, he typed his own message.

I love you, Dad.

He'd done it. He'd gotten his words out. And he'd barely made it in time. For within seconds of his last transmission, he felt a hand reach out and touch his head.

The Hood had found him.

"Mole to Mobile Control."

When Tin-Tin responded, it was evident she was crying. "Mobile Control here."

"Tin-Tin? What the hell-?"

"Oh, Virgil, it's...it's your father...Alan...he's...oh, Virgil!"

Scott came up to the monitor and saw Tin-Tin's red eyes and the tears streaming down her face. "Tin-Tin, report!"

Straightening slightly in the face of her commanding officer, Tin-Tin took a few deep breaths and tried desperately to compose herself. "Your father...he sent a last message to Alan."

"Whaddya mean, a last message?" Virgil whispered, his tawny skin turning several shades lighter.

"He said the Hood was approaching. He gave Alan a last message for each of you."

"No!" Scott roared as he headed for the side exit. "Sonofabitch!"

Virgil was right behind him. There was a space that hadn't been crushed by the fallen building, about ten feet by ten feet square. According to the Mole's sensors, Jeff was only five feet away, but there was a substantial amount of debris between them and their father.

Virgil shone his flashlight around and saw Scott digging frantically at the rubble that blocked their way. "Scott, stop it! You're gonna kill your hands!"

"I don't care!" Scott yelled back. "We have to get to Dad. Now!"

Virgil ran back into the Mole and grabbed two sets of high-intensity heat torches as well as two large shovels. When he came back out, he had a flashlight strapped to his head. Scott was still trying to dig, and his hands were already bloody from the effort.

"Help me, Virg," he panted as his brother approached. "Help me get Dad out."

"I am, Scott. I am. Here, put this on," he said as he offered him a headlight. When Scott had that on, he handed him a torch. "This is the only way we're getting through. If we work together, we can be there in ten minutes."

Scott grabbed the torch and turned it on, and the brothers went to work. But in the back of their minds, Scott and Virgil both knew ten minutes could be too late.

"Well, well, well, Jeff Tracy, we meet again."

Jeff's blood ran through his veins like ice water. "Who are you?" he ground out.

"Ah, yes, you're wondering who it is that has killed so many of your insignificant employees, are you not? Who it is that you saw in the parking garage. And who it is that's going to be responsible for your death."

As he spoke, Belah's hands felt all around Jeff, determining that he had but one limb free.

"You know I'm helpless, Hood. Just kill me and get it over with."

"Oh, so you already know who I am. I am impressed."

"Don't be. You shouldn't have shown me your real face. It was a dead giveaway."

"It does not matter that you have seen my face, Tracy. You will not live to tell anyone what it looks like."

"I figured as much."

There were a handful of moments that passed in tense silence until the Hood spoke again. "I never thought it would end this way. You know, just the two of us. I rather regret that I cannot see your face. I would enjoy watching you take your last breaths."

"Just tell me why. Why did you kill all these innocent people?"

"If you have determined my identity, surely you have determined my motives."

"You blew up an entire building just to kill me?"

"That is correct."

"But you could've done that without all this...pomp and circumstance."

"If there is anything I like, it is pomp and circumstance, as you call it. Why do something with a whimper that you can do with a bang?"

"You know you won't get away with this," Jeff said as the pain in his chest became almost unbearable. "My sons know this is your doing. They will hunt you down."

"You've been communicating with them? I should have realized. Well, where are those sons of yours now, Jeff Tracy? Where is gallant International Rescue when one of their own needs rescuing, eh?"

"There are others in more need than I."

"Right at this very moment? I highly doubt it."

Jeff felt something press into the flesh of his neck, and knew instantly it was a knife. This was it. It was almost over. He was about to die.

"I hope you said your final farewells, my enemy."

"I have," he replied, his voice showing no emotion.

"Good. Then prepare to die."

"Scott, Scott, are you through yet? Are you through?"

"Almost, Alan, shut up for a minute, will ya?" Scott growled.

He and Virgil had made good time burning the steel and concrete, melting it into a sort of sludge that they could then shovel out of their way. But Alan's continued pleas to expedite their efforts made Scott vow he would never again tell Virgil to hurry it up. It was downright annoying.

"Scans show we're less than a foot away," Virgil reported before dropping his scanner to the ground and resuming with his shovel. "We're almost there, Scott, we're almost there."

"Let's just hope we're in time."

A sound startled both Jeff and Belah. It was coming from Jeff's left and Belah's right. The edge of the space they were trapped in was only two feet from Jeff's left hand. He quickly tapped a message on the communicator.

Alan's eyes widened as he saw a message appear on Monitor D.

Hear...boys...hurry...Hood...has...knife...at...throat.

"Scott! Virgil!"

"Alan, Jesus Christ...!"

"No, Scott, listen! It's Dad! He can hear you! The Hood has a knife to his throat! Get in there, now!"

"Goddammit, Virg, faster!"

"Shit!"

Virgil picked up the second torch and joined Scott in melting through the rest of the rubble. Sludge be damned, they might get burned a bit through their uniforms, but it was worth it if they were in time to save their father.

"I underestimated your sons once again, Jeff Tracy," the Hood growled. "But it does not matter. By the time they break through, you will be dead."

Anger rose inside Jeff like a steam locomotive, and with a strength he thought he no longer had, his left arm swung around, smashing into the back right side of Belah's head, right where the slab of concrete had scraped all his skin away. The metal of the communicator watch in Jeff's hand dug into the Hood's soft tissue and he cried out in pain.

The hand that held the knife jerked and moved away, slicing neatly into the side of Jeff's throat. Jeff felt the blood begin to trickle down his neck.

I tried, boys. I'm sorry. I tried.

"Scott, I heard somebody yell!"

"So did I! Come on, we're through!"

The hole was only about six inches in diameter. Within twenty seconds, the boys increased it to a foot, then two feet, then three. Scott dropped his torch and shoved his way into the hole headfirst. "Father!" he cried out as his headlight came to rest on his father's bowed head.

Turning to look wildly left and right, he didn't see anyone else, but knew that the Hood had to be in there somewhere. "Virg, cover me, I'm going in!"

"F.A.B.!"

Virgil grabbed his machine pistol and placed his hand on Scott's ass, shoving with all his might until his brother plopped through. He then stuck his own head through and cried out, "Father!" as Scott approached their dad's seemingly lifeless head and arm.

Scott reached out and felt for a pulse. It was then that he noticed his father's neck covered in blood. He struggled to pull his shirt off over his head in the cramped space, wrapping it around Jeff's neck with one hand as his other hand felt for the carotid.

"He's alive!" Scott cried. "Do you see the Hood?"

"No!" Virgil called out. "Can you pull him out?"

"Hand me a shovel!"

"Here it comes!" Virgil said as he pushed a shovel through the hole.

Just then, movement caught his eye and he whipped his headlight and gun to his left. "Scott, the Hood! Look out!"

Scott felt a knife slice into the back of his calf and he roared, "Goddammit!" He tried to twist himself around but had a very difficult time maneuvering his 6'2" frame in such tight quarters.

Virgil fired a shot and felt a small measure of satisfaction when he heard a telltale grunt that told him he'd hit his target. "I hit him, Scott, get Dad outta there!"

"Already on it!" Scott grunted as he dug at the rubble in front of his father's body. "Hang on, Dad. Just hang on; you'll be outta here soon. Where'd he go, Virg?"

"Don't know, can't see him. Maybe there's another way out of there?"

"Can you try to squeeze in here? I'm not gonna be able to do this myself."

"K," Virgil replied as he struggled to force his bulkier body through the opening. When he finally made it through, Scott had dug down to their father's waist. He then worked at freeing his trapped right arm while Virgil dug around to Jeff's left side.

So intent were they upon their task, neither of them even noticed the figure headed for the escape hole they'd dug. Not until most of the figure's body was through.

"Scott!" Virgil cried, reaching for his pistol. "The Hood's getting away!" He took aim and fired just as the Hood's legs disappeared.

"The Mole!" Scott cried. "Make sure he doesn't get it, Virg, I'll finish with Dad."

"F.A.B.," Virgil replied as he shoved himself back through the hole. "Hood!" he yelled as he came to his feet and shone his lamp one way and then the other. "Show yourself!"

Virgil noticed that the Mole's hatch was still closed. He himself had locked it, knowing that the Hood was down there somewhere. It couldn't be opened without a security code only the active operatives of IR's core team knew.

But if the Hood wasn't in the Mole, where the hell was he?

Biting his lip to keep from groaning in agony, the Hood felt his way around the Mole until he thought he'd found a way out. Hands on the walls told him they were made of crumbling concrete. The tunnels he'd originally used to plant the explosives had been made of concrete, and he thanked the demons for his good fortune as he stumbled along in the darkness, hand never leaving that wall.

He finally allowed himself to grunt in pain when he was well into the tunnel. That goddamned Tracy son had blasted a hole right through his arm, causing him to drop his knife. He hadn't any defense after that, and had decided flight would be his best option. He faintly heard the bastard calling out to him, and grimaced. Had he not lost his weapon, he could've taken out two of Tracy's sons as well as their father...maybe even taken control of the Mole.

But that didn't matter now. Jeff Tracy wasn't dead, but if Belah had gotten to him once, he knew full well he'd get to him again.

It's not over, Jeff Tracy. Not by a long shot.

"Okay, Virg, get under his arms. I'll get down here and pull his legs out as you lift. You sure the Hood's gone?"

"I searched everywhere, Scott," Virgil replied as he squeezed back through the hole again. "He just disappeared."

"Okay, you got him?"

"Yeah, I've got him."

"All right. Start pulling."

Virgil did so, but there wasn't a lot of room to back up. He continued his efforts, however, as Scott dove headfirst into the hole he'd dug in front of his father's body. He dug with his hands around Jeff's right leg and succeeded in freeing that. The leverage Virgil had of pulling him backwards forced the left leg to follow suit, and soon Jeff was free.

Pain from his broken ribs jolted Jeff awake, and he moaned.

"Dad!" Scott cried as he grabbed his feet.

"Scott?" Jeff whispered. Opening his eyes, he looked upward and saw his second-to-eldest son right above him. "Virgil?"

Virg smiled. "Hi, Dad. How you feeling?"

"I-I'm alive."

"Damn right you are," Scott replied. "And we're getting you out of here right now."

"Ribs," Jeff gasped as Scott pulled him toward the hole.

"Sorry, Father, we don't know where the Hood is. We've gotta hurry and get you out."

"Damn...sh-shit..." Jeff gasped as Scott continued pulling him toward the hole.

Virgil laughed out loud. "You're gonna be fine, Dad. You're gonna be fine."

Everyone on Tracy Island gathered around the television in the living room as Ned Cook transmitted live from a Manhattan hospital. He was interviewing one of only twenty-two survivors of the Tracy Corporation disaster that had occurred three days prior. Next to Jeff Tracy, who lay wrapped almost mummy-like in the hospital bed, sat his mother, Ruth.

"Hey, Grandma's a star!" Gordon snorted as Ned began to speak.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Ned Cook reporting live from Manhattan, with an exclusive interview with Tracy Corporation founder and president, former astronaut Jeff Tracy. His doctors say we can only have a few minutes with him, so we'll get right to the point."

"Now there's something new for Ned," Alan remarked from his video portrait on the wall.

"Mr. Tracy, thank you for taking the time to speak with us tonight. I understand you're in a great deal of pain, so we won't take up too much of your time."

Jeff merely nodded.

"I'm told that you were trapped beneath your building after a series of explosions occurred. I also understand that these explosions were no accident. Could you tell our viewers what happened?"

When Jeff spoke, it was slowly and deliberately. "I'm not here to raise your ratings, Cook," he said softly. "I'm here to tell you that the destruction of Tracy Tower was no accident, and also to tell you that I know who did it."

Ned looked like he was about to burst. "Mr. Tracy, what exactly happened in that building? Why were you on the bottom floor of the parking garage?"

"I was walking a business associate to his car when I noticed some activity in the corner."

"He's putting too much of a strain on himself," Tin-Tin commented.

"I confronted a man I later determined to be the one who had set the bombs which destroyed the Tower and killed so very many of my employees, a loss I will always feel." Ned nodded as Jeff continued. "The reason I agreed to this interview is because I know who that man was. And I want him brought to justice. So make sure all your viewers hear this: My name is Jeff Tracy, and I'm offering a ten million dollar reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the man known worldwide as the Hood."

"That'll bring every kook in America out of the woodwork," Scott commented.

"Think it'll work?" Virgil asked.

"I don't know. Somehow I doubt it. That bastard has eluded capture for this long. I can't imagine he'll be that easy to find."

The men turned their attention back to the television, where their father was making it very clear to Ned Cook that the interview was over.

"You're right, Scott," John said, "Except for one thing we have that we didn't have before."

"What's that?" Scott asked.

John looked back at the TV, where Ned was wrapping up the broadcast. "Dad knows what he looks like."

The camera focused in on Jeff's face, which was set in steely determination.

"Yeah," Scott replied. "And he's not going to rest until the Hood has been taken care of, once and for all."

Virgil put one hand on Scott's shoulder and the other on John's as his eyes met Gordon's. "And neither will we."

to Part II: Implosion >>