Ned Cook yawned as he keyed in the unlock sequence to his penthouse on Manhattan's Upper East Side. It had been a long week. First there'd been the collapse of Tracy Corporation's headquarters in mid-town Manhattan. Forty-eight hours straight he'd stayed awake reporting on that disaster. Then, four days afterward, NTBS had been notified that Tracy Corp founder Jefferson Tracy wanted an interview from his hospital bed.

True to his motto of 'Do anything to get the story,' Ned had practically groveled to station manager Wayne Stetson, begging to be chosen as the one who would interview Tracy. In the end Stetson conceded, and Ned found himself face-to-face with the billionaire businessman and his deceptively tiny hell-on-wheels mother, Ruth. After the live broadcast, in which Jeff had announced that he was offering a ten million dollar reward for the Hood's capture, Ned returned to what had come to be called Ground Zero - the place where Tracy Corporation's magnificent tower had once stood.

Now, a full six days since the tower fell, he was finally home. The concierge had saved all his mail...and there was plenty of it for Ned to go through. But right now all he wanted was about three days of sleep. And so he walked into his bedroom, toed his shoes off and fell face-first into bed.

The mail would have to wait.

On a small island not too far from Fiji in the South Pacific, a flurry of activity made the normally tranquil paradise seemed charged with all the energy of the universe. It was a busy day for the island's residents, for today, their father was coming home.

With three broken ribs, a bruised lung and a cracked collarbone, not to mention a myriad of bumps, bruises, cuts and scrapes, Jeff Tracy was most definitely not at one hundred percent. But he was alive, and he was coming home from the hospital in only three hours' time.

John had taken Thunderbird 3 up to International Rescue's space station. Though his tour of duty aboard Thunderbird 5 technically didn't end until the next day, Scott had seen fit to let Alan come home early, so he could be there with his brothers to welcome their father home. All five of his sons would be there together for the first time in over a year.

Those who had manned the Tracy Tower collapse rescue had only returned home the day prior themselves. That left tons of work to be done around the island, and no time for the Tracys, Kyranos or resident genius Brains to rest. Though weary from the emotional and physical roller coaster ride they'd been on over the past few weeks, the group worked cheerfully and quickly.

Because everything could have turned out so differently. Save for a slightly stronger set of steel beams that for some reason had been directly above Jeff Tracy's head when bombs exploded beneath his feet, the prominent businessman wouldn't have been coming home in a jet...he'd have returned in a body bag.

Scott and Virgil were keenly aware of just how close they had come to losing their dad. They'd been the ones to rescue him from nearly seventy feet beneath the surface of the earth, buried under tons of concrete, steel and iron. By rights, he should not have survived. Of the nearly eight hundred and fifty employees who'd been in that building at the time, only twenty-two had. Jeff had been lucky. He knew it, Scott and Virgil knew it, and so did the rest of their family.

But Kyrano did not believe in luck. Nor did he share the family's enthusiasm over Jeff's safety. Certainly he was overjoyed that his old friend had survived the collapse of the Tower. But as soon as he found out who was behind that disaster, his mind knew no rest. It had been his own half-brother, the man known worldwide as the Hood, who had perpetuated this attack upon so many innocent people. But just because Jeff had survived this attempt upon his life didn't by any stretch of the imagination mean he was safe.

For Jefferson Tracy had seen the true face of the Hood. And Kyrano knew that his half-brother wouldn't rest until that liability had been taken care of. For good.

The Hood was pissed.

That shot he'd taken to the arm from one of those damnable Tracy sons had made escape nearly impossible. Weak and nearly delirious from loss of blood, Belah had stumbled out of the tunnel and into an old subway station. From there he'd made his way to the surface before collapsing.

Several hours later he'd awakened to find himself in a hospital. Surgery had been performed. His arm had been repaired, and was bound in a magnetic cast to promote advanced healing. The next thing he knew a police officer showed up to question him. Gunshot wounds made everyone nervous, and one of the doctors who'd operated on him had called the police to report it.

It took little effort for Belah to mesmerize the officer, then set about removing the magnetic cast. He couldn't find the clothes he'd been wearing, and the cop was a much smaller man than he, so he'd had to escape wearing nothing but one of those embarrassing hospital gowns.

It had taken him four days to get from the United States to his temple in Malaysia. By that time his arm was already half-healed, thanks to forces not entirely of this earth. Along the way, he'd seen the broadcast by that idiot Ned Cook, in which he interviewed the man Belah had tried to kill.

And not only was Jeff Tracy alive, he'd put a price on his head.

That was why the Hood was pissed. Sure, he'd killed hundreds of Tracy Corp employees. Sure, he'd caused chaos in New York City. But the whole point of the exercise in terrorism had been to kill Jefferson Tracy. In that, he had failed. And that was unacceptable to him. There was a loose end that need to be tied up.

First he had to completely recover from his injuries. But while that was happening, he would be plotting. Jeff Tracy may have escaped him this time, but next time, Belah vowed, the patriarch would not be so lucky. Perhaps Kyrano could be of some assistance...

He ran along the street toward the small crowd that had gathered. Being Ned Cook, he had to know what was going on. When at last he shoved his way through the small group of bystanders, what he found was a man lying face-down on the pavement, his arm mangled by an apparent gunshot wound.

Frowning, Ned reached down and turned the man over. He didn't recognize the harsh Asian features of his face, or his smooth, bald head. Soon the paramedics arrived and began working to stabilize their patient. Ned watched as the man was taken away in an ambulance. There was something about the gunshot victim that bothered him. Why? What was it that nagged at him so?

Ned gasped awake and sat bolt upright in bed. "Holy shit," he whispered. He knew exactly what it was that was bothering him.

When International Rescue had emerged from their machine they called the Mole with Jeff Tracy, those on the surface went crazy. Ned had tried to stay as close to the IR operatives as he could, and at one point, he'd heard, "I know the Hood's injured, I shot him. He has to be around here somewhere."

Now it hit Ned like a ton of bricks. The Asian man who'd appeared three-quarters of a mile away from ground zero...he'd been shot...

"Oh, my God," Ned breathed, rising to his feet. "That was the Hood. I've seen the face of the Hood."

The time had come. The family had decorated the house for Jeff's return. Streamers and balloons adorned the living room, along with a banner that said, WELCOME HOME, DAD. That had been Tin-Tin's idea.

Scott had gone to New York in Tracy One to bring Jeff and Ruth back home. He'd just radioed in that they were ten minutes out. Everyone gathered out on the tarmac in anticipation. Even Penelope and Parker were there, having insisted upon a visit to Tracy Island in the wake of Jeff's brush with death.

At last the jet appeared, and within minutes had made a perfect three-point landing thanks to the expert pilot at its controls. Ruth was the first to disembark. She was hugged by each person in succession as Scott gingerly helped his father out of the cockpit and down the steps onto the runway.

At first, nobody moved. Just seeing him alive and standing there before them was overwhelming. But finally Virgil stepped forward and embraced his father, mindful of his ribcage. "I'm glad you're home, Dad," he whispered.

Alan was next, enveloping his father in a hug. "Did you tell them?" Jeff asked. Alan just shook his head no. He hadn't conveyed what Jeff had thought would be his last words to his sons once his father had been rescued. Scott had asked him about it, but Alan claimed he'd forgotten. Now, Jeff just smiled at his youngest and nodded. He knew that a conversation would need to take place between the two of them, and soon.

One by one everyone approached Jeff and welcomed him home. Just as Penny placed a soft kiss upon his cheek, the group heard Kyrano cry out. His legs buckled and he fell to the tarmac, moaning and repeating, "No, no, no, no!"

Jeff moved as quickly as he could to his friend's side as Tin-Tin rushed to her father's aid. Within minutes the attack had abated, and Kyrano, sweaty and somewhat dazed, was helped to his feet by his daughter and John. Kyrano grasped Jeff's forearm firmly in his hand, looked up into his eyes and shook his head.

"You are not safe, Jeff," he said quietly. "You are not safe."

Ned had been working with the police artist for over an hour to no avail. No matter how he tried to describe the Hood to Officer Gelton, the man just couldn't seem to get it right. Ned briefly wondered if something more powerful was at work, negating his attempts to give life to the world's most heinous criminal and, at this moment, most wanted fugitive. But he quickly dismissed that thought as foolish and left the precinct to make his way home.

Four hours of sleep hadn't been nearly enough, but Ned's mind was going too fast to let him rest. He'd seen him. Goddammit, he'd seen the Hood. Ned wondered if the Hood even knew about him. He'd been unconscious the entire time Ned was present, and no matter what he'd done, he hadn't been able to find out what hospital they'd taken him to.

As he worked through possibilities for tracking the monster down, Ned picked up one of the piles of mail on his coffee table. It was wrapped with a rubber band, the largest item being an 8x10 manila envelope on the bottom. He pulled it out and looked at it. There was no return address, just his handwritten name and address. The writing seemed familiar to him. A look at the postmark told him the envelope had come from Singapore.

Singapore. Singapore?

"Adi?" Ned breathed as he ripped into the envelope. There was a stack of paper about an inch thick inside. He pulled it out to find a handwritten note on the top.

Ned,

I'll bet you didn't think in a hundred years you'd be hearing from me. Not after how it ended between us. Quite honestly, I never wanted to see your face again - though that's pretty hard when your ex is the star reporter for NTBS.

I wouldn't be contacting you if this wasn't important. In this envelope you'll find information regarding a black market slave ring operating right here out of Singapore. I've been here on the Murai Reservoir - don't snort, Ned, you know damn well I'm still with what you used to call "that environmental group." Anyway, I've been working on the Murai for the past 7 months. We're not too far from the Tengah Airfield here. Sometimes I have to travel there to get supplies our home base flies in.

About four weeks ago, on one of those supply runs, I accidentally went to the wrong plane. Ned, what I saw in the belly of that cargo jet was unbelievable - it was people, stacked on top of each other like pigs in one of those semi trucks heading for the slaughter house. None of them looked native, and when I heard a few of them speak, it sounded like they were speaking Malay.

I thought I had slipped away undetected, that no one had realized I had seen something I shouldn't have. But apparently someone did. For the past two weeks I've been getting odd messages left on the door to the Hut I'm staying in. Four of us share the hut, but the notes are always addressed specifically to me. You'll find photocopies of those in this envelope, too. I also feel like I'm being followed. Not on the Reservoir, but when I leave its confines.

I did a little research and discovered the information you now have in your hands. I wanted to pass this along to you because of anyone in the world, I know you have the contacts and resources to expose this awful thing and put an end to the underground slave trade I've stumbled upon. These people need your help, Ned.

I just wanted to get this to you in case something happens to me.

Love,

Adi

"Adi," Ned breathed for a second time. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Jeff's first week home was a flurry of activity. Between Mother Hens Tin-Tin and Ruth and three rescues in a row, combined with phone call after phone call from reporters wanting a word with Jeff Tracy, life on Tracy Island was organized chaos at its best.

It was during the third rescue that the one reporter Jeff hadn't heard from in his time home finally called. Lady Penelope was rather surprised when Jeff actually agreed to take it. She was even more surprised when, fifteen minutes later, he emerged from his study to announce they would soon have a visitor. And that that visitor would be Ned Cook.

Penny was worried about Jeff. Since he'd been home, his injuries had seemed to be healing just fine according to Brains. But Jeff's face was drawn, and he appeared tired. She noticed dark circles had appeared beneath his eyes, and he rarely smiled.

Then again, so many of his employees had died. So very many. International Rescue aside, reorganizing Tracy Corporation after such a disaster was nothing short of a feat only the gods could pull off. Penelope feared Jeff wasn't sleeping nearly enough. He'd always been a workaholic, but this situation was far beyond anything he'd ever had to deal with.

With Scott, Virgil, Gordon and Alan out on rescues so much, and John far away on Thunderbird 5, that left Jeff with no one to really help him figure out how to put his companies back together. Every single one of his CEOs for all of the companies under TC's umbrella had been killed. Even his Admin, Rosemary, was still unaccounted for and presumed dead.

The staggering loss of life weighed heavy on his heart. That much she could see in his eyes when he did dare to look directly at her. She wished she could help, but to offer Jeff Tracy assistance with his business matters would be to suggest she saw a chink in his armor, and right now that would probably push him away more than it would draw him near.

Somehow, Penelope had to make him see that she had no doubts as to his ability, only that she wanted to be his crutch should he need one. Now, as she sat in a comfortable chair, ostensibly reading a fashion magazine Tin-Tin had brought her, she watched him carefully as he sat staring at the same piece of paper for nearly half an hour.

She must have opened and closed her mouth twenty times in those thirty minutes, but no matter what she thought to say, it didn't seem adequate. This was the first time she'd been alone with him. Parker had gone off to shoot pool and she had no idea where anyone else was. You could've cut the tension with a knife as the two sat there, one not acknowledging the other...the other silently battling herself over the right words to say.

All at once, they spoke in unison, eyes rising to meet eyes.

"Penny."

"Jeff."

She smiled demurely. He raised his eyebrows.

"What is it, Penny?"

"You first, Jeff."

"Why me?"

"You spoke first."

"I did no such thing."

Penelope smiled. Now this was a game she was good at. She rose to her feet and crossed to his desk, perching delicately upon its edge.

"No, Jeff, I distinctly heard your voice before I spoke."

"I think your hearing's going, Penny. I know you said my name before I said yours."

For a moment, she saw a twinkle in his eye...the one she'd grown accustomed to over the years. But just as suddenly it vanished, as though he remembered what happened in New York and chided himself for daring to have a moment's pleasure when so many were dead.

And she knew he blamed himself.

Just like that, he cut himself off from her as though the short conversation had never taken place. Then the eyes of Scott's portrait blinked, and his attention was permanently elsewhere. Frowning, Penelope headed for the balcony, arms folded over her chest in consternation. What could she do?

Even as he spoke with Scott, his eyes followed her all the way out the door.

Penny...

Ned couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe Jeff Tracy had agreed to let him visit his island home. Now, as he sat in the small cabin of one of NTBS's jets, he looked out the window at the vast Pacific Ocean below. He'd taken Adi's letter and the stack of paper she'd sent him, and pored over every inch. He'd tried calling, but the only form of communication in such a place as the Murai Reservoir was short-wave radio, and he'd been stymied at every turn.

So he'd taken his investigation to every contact he had, every senator and DoJ staffer who'd ever owed him a favor. What he found had made his head spin, and convinced him that if Adi's discovery of the plane full of black market slaves had been noticed, she was in very real danger.

Adi was someone from Ned's past that he could never quite keep there. She popped up every now and again, usually at a DC charity function of one sort or the other, always there to drum up donations for the Red Cross. Even though they hadn't been an item for over five years now, he'd never quite been able to get her out of his system.

Adiduana Mataya was not only the most beautiful woman Ned had ever seen, she was intelligent and had a heart the size of North America. He'd met her while on assignment in the Fijian islands. He'd fallen in love with her so fast it had scared the hell out of him to the point where, not six months after their love affair began, he dropped her like a hot potato.

At least, that's what she'd told him it felt like.

He'd made his excuses quite reasonably, he'd always felt. His editor had called him on assignment far away in Antarctica...not exactly the type of place you take a tropical native to when you wanted to woo her. He had to work. That was Ned.

Of course, it was baloney but he'd never admit that to her.

Ned had always been sorry to have let her go like that, oftentimes lying awake at night remembering her touch, how she'd felt in his arms. And now...if what his sources had revealed was true, and he'd no doubt they were...Adi needed him more than ever. Ned looked down at the picture he held in his hands, the picture they'd had taken in one of those overpriced photo booths at the fair in Labasa. He traced the outline of her bronze-skinned face, of her long, straight black hair. He looked into her eyes and silently vowed that whatever she'd gotten into, he'd get her out.

But he couldn't let NTBS know about his ulterior motives. As far as they knew, he was on to a black market slavery ring. When he'd chartered the jet, he'd explained that he wanted to try one last time to get a second interview with Jeff Tracy before he headed off to Singapore to pursue this latest investigation.

But this wasn't going to be an interview. For Ned's inquiries had quickly turned up a lot more than slaves being bought and sold in that region of the world. He was certain he'd found a way to get at the Hood who, one source informed him, was involved in nearly every shady thing that happened anywhere in the world...not the least of which was slave trading. And he wanted to make sure Jeff Tracy knew he was on the case. Sort of staking out his territory, as it were.

So...he'd get his story...Nobel prize material for sure...save his girl...and get ten million bucks in the process. All in all, not a bad deal for a reporter. He looked down at the message he'd received from an informant not too far from the Tengah Airfield where Adi had found the human cargo.

FOUND SLAVE FROM MALAYSIA STOP WAS IN TEMPLE OF EVIL STOP MASTER HAD MANY FACES STOP MEET KUALA LUMPUR STOP TWO DAYS FROM NOW STOP

Many faces indeed. As soon as he'd gotten that message, he was on the horn to Jeff Tracy and soon thereafter found himself on this plane. Once he left this island, he'd be on his way to Singapore.

On his way to Adi.

He smiled as the island came into view. Even from this far out, it was magnificent. Definitely up to billionaire snuff.

He sat back in the seat and closed his eyes, asking himself the question he always asked before doing what he called "going in."

What is it I want from Jeff Tracy today?

He opened his eyes.

There was only one thing to be gotten. The truth. After all, Jeff had seen the Hood. He and Ned had that in common, and Ned wanted all the information he could get before he embarked on his journey. Finding out the answers to the five W's of what had really happened to Tracy Tower was important. Ned's gut told him it wasn't simple terrorism. That had never been the Hood's style.

Why, then, had he done it? Ned was convinced Jeff Tracy knew. That was what he wanted. As the plane neared the island's runway, Ned's pulse quickened. In the back of his mind, he knew Tracy Island would be one helluva feature story in and of itself.

But Ned Cook had bigger fish to fry. And so, he mused, did Jeff Tracy.

Thankful that the boys had returned from their rescue well before Ned's plane was due to arrive, Jeff was in the process of debriefing them when the proximity alert sounded. His computer screen showed an approaching aircraft. Moments later, the pilot's voice came through.

"This is NTBS Four calling Tracy Island. NTBS Four calling Tracy Island. ETA in twelve minutes. Request permission to land."

"Permission granted," Jeff replied. "You will be met and escorted to the house."

"10-4, Tracy Island. NTBS Four out."

Scott eyed his father, then turned to Virgil and noticed the frown creasing his forehead. He turned to look at Alan, whose pouty face belied his unhappiness. Gordon's face was similarly skewed, and Tin-Tin looked worried. That was all the confirmation Scott needed.

"Scott, would you and Virgil meet Ned Cook on the tarmac?"

"Father, I'd like a word with you. Mind if I stay here?"

Jeff looked sharply at his eldest, but shook his head in acquiescence.

"Virg, why don't you and Gordo handle Ned and his pilot?"

"F.A.B.," Virgil replied. He and Gordon headed for the hall, soon followed by Tin-Tin and Alan, who were very aware of the fact that Scott wanted to be alone with his father.

"What's on your mind?"

"Dad, I'm...are you all right?"

"Of course I am," Jeff replied evenly. But his eyes didn't meet those of his son. "Brains says I'm improving every day."

"I don't mean your injuries, Dad. I mean...you know, what happened. Things have been crazy around here with all these rescues, and I haven't been here to help—"

Jeff held a hand up and Scott was silenced. "You're back now, and with any luck you'll be back long enough to pitch in. I have a whole stack of things piled here for you."

Tin-Tin's voice broke through before Scott could reply. "Mr. Tracy, Virgil and Gordon are on their way up."

"Thank you, Tin-Tin. Scott, if you don't mind..."

Scott nodded. Now wasn't the time. Maybe if he and his brothers ganged up on their father, they'd have more luck than his one-on-one attempt. Because either Jeff wasn't getting what Scott was trying to say, or he was ignoring it. Scott knew the answer to that one.

While Ned Cook and Jeff met in the Lounge, Jeff's sons met in the Game Room, with John patched in from Thunderbird 5.

"So what's with the family meeting?" Alan asked.

"I think you know," Scott replied, hiking his foot up onto the seat of a nearby chair. He leaned one arm on his knee, looking earnestly into each of his brother's faces. "I saw it earlier in the Lounge."

"Dad," Virgil offered.

Scott nodded. "Frankly, I'm worried about him."

"I guess he doesn't look so good."

"No, Gordo, he doesn't. What do you think, Al?"

"I was just...I dunno...he looks...old. Older than...before."

"Before New York."

Alan nodded.

"Have you tried talking to him, Scott?"

"Yeah, Johnny, I have. Right after the debriefing, that's why I stayed behind. But he's ignoring what I'm trying to say."

"That's pretty typical, Scott. You're the same way, you know."

"I am—" Scott bit off his retort. "That's not the point. He's not acting right, I doubt he's sleeping at all. Not only has he had the burden of all those peoples' deaths..."

Virgil's voice was nearly a whisper. "But he's also had to try and rebuild everything on his own so far."

"That's right," Scott replied. "I think what happened to Dad in New York goes deeper than broken bones and bruises."

"Well, all that's true enough. Question is, if he won't listen to you, how the hell do we convince him to take a break?" Gordon asked.

"Dad won't even take a break when everything's going normally," Alan said.

They exchanged glances, one equally as lost as the next.

"There's got to be something," Virgil finally said.

"The only way he's leaving this island is if he's needed somewhere for Tracy Corp."

"Has he figured out yet what he's going to do? How he's going to reorganize things?"

"I don't know," Scott replied. "I haven't had any time to find out."

"Well, if we can keep from having to go on a rescue for longer than a few hours, maybe we can take some of the burden off his shoulders."

"I'm already working on some of it," John offered from the vid screen. "I took the personnel records and am trying to establish who and what we need to get back on our feet."

"Yeah, central operations are pretty much nonexistent right now," Scott agreed.

"He's got to be losing millions every day."

"Pretty much, Al. Pretty much."

"This still doesn't tell us how to get him out of here."

"Short of drugging him and flying him to Timbuktu, I'm at a loss, Gordo," Scott said.

"That sounds like a plan to me."

Scott shot copper-haired Gordon a look that told him precisely what he thought of that plan.

"Well, what are you thinking, Scott?"

"We have to look at this from Dad's point of view, Virg," Scott said as he rose to his full height. The others watched as he walked around the room. It crossed the minds of more than one how much like their father he really was.

Or at least, the way their father used to be.

"He's PTSD. I'm sure of it. Between the building collapsing on him and the Hood nearly finishing the job, he's been through hell."

John nodded. "Not to mention the fact that hundreds of Corp staff are dead."

"And according to what he said in the hospital," Virgil continued, "the Hood did it to demoralize us so he could finally get to International Rescue."

"Which means he's got to be feeling guilt," Gordon chimed in. "That those people died because the Hood wanted him dead."

"And trying to get the company back together with very little help from us," Alan added.

"I think you've got the picture," Scott said as he leaned back against the pool table. "I don't know about you, but I have a bad feeling about where he's headed."

"Wait a minute, guys," Alan said, shaking his head. "This is Dad we're talking about. If you ask me, he's already been through hell once." Only Scott noticed the slight tremor in Alan's voice. "He got through that okay."

Virgil and Scott exchanged knowing looks before Scott turned to face his youngest brother. "No, Al. He didn't."

"What are you talking about? He's been fine, I mean, raising us, starting the companies, International Rescue."

Scott turned his back on them and walked to the opposite wall, where an amusing picture of a group of dogs sitting around a table playing poker hung. For a few moments he stared at it in silence. When he spoke, his voice was low. Quiet.

"Dad pretty much lost it when Mom died," he said thoughtfully. He closed his eyes as memories he hadn't faced in as many years as his father, returned. "He left to start Tracy Aerospace. He was never home, and when he was, he was cooped up in his office most of the time."

Gordon took a step forward. "You mean, Grandma raised all five of us by herself?"

"No," Virgil said, moving forward and placing a hand on his older brother's shoulder. "Scott raised us just as much as she did."

Scott squeezed his eyes shut against the touch that spoke of so much emotion. Emotion that had never been given voice.

"He...he abandoned us?" Alan squeaked.

"No!" Scott whirled on them, vehemence oozing from every pore. "He didn't abandon us. He just...couldn't handle Mom's death."

"But..." Alan looked from Scott to Virgil and back again. "But he did get over it. I mean...he got on with...life. With us."

Scott sighed. "Eventually, he did get on with life, yes. And with us."

Gordon's eyes widened as realization dawned. "But he never got over it. Not really."

Virgil took one look at Scott's face and stepped in front of his brother, as though trying to physically protect him from their past. "No, Gordo, he didn't. That's why he never talks about her. Never looks at the photo albums with us."

"I always wondered why the only ones I ever heard say anything about Mom was you two," Alan said quietly, turning and kicking at the wall behind him.

John, who had thus far been silent, cleared his throat. "I think the point here is not for us to dwell on what happened back then, but on the effect it's having on Father now."

Virgil shot John a look of gratitude. Scott stepped out from behind him and nodded at his space-faring brother. "That's exactly right, John." Now he was back to factual ground. Something Scott Tracy could handle. "What we need to understand here is that all this shit that's happened with the Tower collapsing, the staff being killed, Dad being injured and almost killed...it's compounded by the fact that he's still got everything else pent up inside."

"Shit piled on top of shit," John added.

"He's gonna break," Gordon said.

This time no one argued. Not even Alan.

"We've got to do something, guys," Scott said, his voice full of strength once more. "And we've got to do it together."

When Virgil Tracy, whom Ned Cook knew from his research was the second eldest of Jeff Tracy's sons, had left him at the entrance to the Lounge, Ned had been duly impressed by the beautiful hardwood floors and opulent yet warm decoration. He strolled in, expecting to find the pillar of strength he'd encountered at the hospital only weeks before. For though he'd been bandaged and severely wounded, there was no mistaking the fire that burned in Jefferson Tracy's belly.

Instead, Ned was taken aback when his eyes met those of the Tracy family patriarch. Seated behind his desk, this Jeff was not the Jeff he'd come to know through the interview and the numerous newspaper and magazine articles he'd read. This Jeff looked gaunt. His eyes were sunken, surrounded by dark circles. His smile was tight. Forced.

He stood and offered his hand. "Cook."

"Mr. Tracy," Ned said, moving forward to complete the gentlemanly gesture. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

Jeff reseated himself and looked Ned in the eye. "Well, you were pretty convincing over the phone."

"I was surprised you agreed, to be honest. It begs the question of why."

"You know very well why. You said you could find the Hood. I'm under the impression that wasn't just a ploy to get out here."

"No," Ned said, seating himself on the settee in front of Jeff's desk. "It wasn't a ploy. You see, Mr. Tracy, I have an acquaintance who stumbled upon something in Singapore that put me on the trail of a black market slave trade ring in that area."

Jeff continued to study him. And Ned studied Jeff. Adversary sizing up adversary. As the founder of International Rescue, Jeff had much to hide. As a reporter, Ned had a keen sense of story...and Jeff Tracy was sitting on the biggest one of his life. Of that he was certain.

"In my attempt to help this acquaintance, I came upon some very intriguing information. You see, a man like the Hood travels in some very shady circles. And you don't get much shadier than the slave trade."

Jeff steepled his hands in front of his face. "My patience is wearing thin, Cook. You said you could find the Hood."

Ned rose to his feet and reached inside his jacket pocket. Pulling forth a manila envelope stuffed with papers, he strode forward with purpose. Jeff's hands came down to the desk as Ned slammed the envelope down in front of him.

"I can find the Hood," he said, his voice forceful, full of certainty. His eyes never left Jeff's. "Everything I need to do it is right here," he continued, jabbing his finger toward the envelope. "But first I want something from you."

The look on Jeff's face told the reporter he was skating on thin ice. But Ned wasn't backing down.

"What exactly is it you want, Mr. Cook?"

"I want to know why. Why did the Hood attack your building?"

Jeff spread his hands out as though the answer were the simplest in the world. "Terrorism. The Hood is a well-known enemy of order, of the freedom of choice and capitalism that America represents. New York is the financial centerpiece of American life. And Tracy Corporation is a figurehead of that success."

"You're reading me words from a textbook, Tracy," Ned said. "My gut tells me there's something more to all this than an act of terrorism."

"Then your gut...is mistaken."

Ned watched him closely. "No," he finally said. "No, I don't think it is. You know something more than you're telling me. I can feel it."

Jeff didn't even blink. "That...man..." he spat, "killed hundreds of my people, Cook. Hundreds. He destroyed more families than I can even count. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters...all waiting for loved ones that went off to work one day and didn't come back. Loved ones that will never come back."

Ned took half a step back as Jeff rose to his feet.

"He took away more than just a corporation, than just part of the economy. He took lives." Jeff's voice dripped with barely concealed fury. "He is a mass murderer of the worst kind, and I...want...him."

"And it's not a bit strange that you happened to be there the day he struck."

"Coincidence."

"Calculation."

Jeff leaned forward only slightly. "Whatever you're fishing for, Cook, you've got your hook in the wrong waters. This is an act of terrorism, pure and simple. The Hood must be stopped. And if you can't do it, I'm sure I can find somebody who can."

Ned's mouth twitched as he picked up his manila envelope and turned, stalking to the center of the room.

No. Don't let him have the last word.

He whirled on Jeff, holding the envelope at arm's length. "I know you're hiding something about all this, something you don't want anyone to find out. The Hood struck that day for a reason. You were there." When no reply was forthcoming, Ned threw the envelope to the floor. The slapping sound it made as it hit the hardwood floors echoed in the wide open room.

"Make no mistake, Mr. Tracy. I'll find out what's really behind all this. And I will find the Hood." Ned turned back toward the exit that led to the hall. He stopped and looked back at the man his own news station had once called the most powerful man in the world. "I will bring his head to you on a platter. And then the truth will come out. You can count on that."

With that, Ned Cook was gone.

It was Tin-Tin who escorted Ned and his pilot back to the NTBS jet. As Scott and the others entered the Lounge, they heard the sounds of it taking off. Alan crossed the room and stared out the wall of windows, strangely silent as he watched the plane disappear. Virgil noticed an 8 x 10 manila envelope on the floor and picked it up.

"Something Ned Cook left behind?" Scott asked as he inspected it over his brother's shoulder.

"What is this, Dad?"

"Something for me to look at," Jeff replied, sinking into his chair as he held out his hand. Virgil walked it over to him. "Thank you."

"So what did he have to say, Father?"

"Nothing I wanted to hear, Scott. Nothing I wanted to hear."

Gordon, Virgil and Scott looked at one another for a moment before Scott nodded his head toward the desk. Gordon turned briefly toward the wall of windows. "Al!" he whispered. With that, Alan joined his brothers, and they gathered in a semicircle in front of Jeff's desk.

"Dad, we need to talk to you."

"What is it, Scott? I have a ton of work to do here." Jeff's form of a dismissal. Alan actually turned to walk away more out of habit than anything, but Gordon caught his arm.

"That's part of the problem, Father," Virgil said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Scott. "You're trying to do too much."

Jeff's eyes had never been colder, Scott thought, as he glared at his second eldest son. "If I wanted your opinion, Virgil, I would've asked for it."

"Dad!" Scott admonished. "Virgil's just worried about you. Hell...we all are."

"There's nothing to worry about!" Jeff snapped. He looked down at the envelope and made as if to open it.

Scott's palm covered the package, pressing it into the desk so Jeff couldn't move it. There was a brief moment as Jeff looked up at him that Scott thought the older man might just take a swing at him.

But as quickly as his anger had risen, it seemed to dissipate in some unseen wind. Jeff's hands fell into his lap as he sank back into his chair. "What do you boys want?"

"Well, we had a talk, Dad," Scott said, relieved that the moment seemed to have passed. "Like I said, we're worried. We think you need a break."

Jeff snapped to attention. "A break? Now? Are you out of your mind? How can I possibly take a break now? Everything's in a shambles, Scott. You of all people should be keenly aware of what was lost!"

"Yes, I am! We all are! But dammit, Dad, the people who worked for us in Manhattan aren't the only people who lost something that day."

"What are you getting at?"

"Dad, you're putting too much pressure on yourself," Virgil said. "We've been out on rescues almost constantly, and you're back here running Base and trying to put a multi-billion dollar corporation back together almost from scratch, with hardly any help!"

"Tin-Tin and John have been helping."

Gordon and Alan looked like they wanted to crawl under a rock. They'd seen Scott confront their dad before, but had never been right there when it happened.

"Dad, that's not enough help and you know it! Look at you!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're beat, Dad. You're pushing yourself to exhaustion."

Jeff looked up at his oldest boy. It was like looking at a mirror image of the man he himself had been so many years ago. So many years. Before...

"What is our motto?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "That applies to saving lives, Father, saving lives as International Rescue. It doesn't warrant drilling yourself into the Earth's crust mere weeks after you've come back from near-death!"

"That applies to everything we do!" Jeff retorted, rising to his feet. "Everything! It's not just a motto to make ourselves look good to the world. A Tracy never gives up, no matter what the cost!"

"You did once." The rest of the world fell away as Scott walked around the side of the desk and looked his father dead in the eye. "That's not true, Dad."

Virgil's mouth fell open about as wide as the mouths of his two younger brothers. Instinctively they took a step back. Virgil's mind raced. Holy Mary, Mother of God.

"How dare you," Jeff seethed.

Scott knew he had to diffuse this and fast. "I'm not asking you to give up, Dad. God knows you've already proven that you can survive tragedy. But you can't survive if you're six feet under. And we can't survive without you."

Jeff was at a loss for words. Half of him felt like flattening his son for what he'd said. The other half felt like crawling under the desk. Finally, he spoke. "I'm not going anywhere, son."

And the eyes on John's portrait began to blink and beep.

"Not now..." Virgil muttered.

Jeff opened the line. "Go ahead, John."

John hesitated. He knew why all his brothers were standing around his father's desk, and from the looks on their faces, he knew he'd interrupted at precisely the wrong moment.

"Father, there's a situation in Orlando. Land subsidence has caused the Federal building to become unstable. They got everyone out except two maintenance men who were in the basement when the ground went out from beneath them."

Only John could see his father's face at this point. And was it his imagination, or had he just become pale?

"Local rescuers say it's too dangerous to bring anything close enough to the area to even attempt a rescue. They're asking for our help."

"Okay, John. Tell them we're on our way."

"F.A.B.," John replied. He looked over at Scott for a brief moment, making eye contact before disconnecting.

"Scott, off you go. Virgil, I want you, Gordon and Alan in Thunderbird 2. This situation could get sticky."

Alan looked at Virgil. Gordon looked at Scott. Scott's eyes traveled from brother to brother, then back to their father. Of all the times for a rescue call to come in...

"Go," Scott said as he strode over to the two wall light fixtures beyond Jeff's desk. His brothers jumped to action, with Virgil heading for his painting and Gordon and Alan making for the elevator.

They almost ran smack dab into Lady Penelope. With quick apologies, they entered the elevator and were soon on their way.

Penny came around the corner into the Lounge. She was as surprised by the man behind the desk as Ned Cook had been. It seemed Jeff had aged ten years in the five hours since she'd last seen him. She heard the usual sounds of communication between Tracys in their Thunderbirds that Jeff had started keeping open ever since his return from the hospital. John was giving coordinates and Danger Zone details to Scott with Virgil chiming in here and there asking questions.

It all seemed pretty routine from the sound of things, she thought. So she turned her attention to Jeff, once again taken aback by his appearance. And given what she'd overheard out in the hall, she had a pretty good idea why. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, of course. That wouldn't have been ladylike at all as a guest on Tracy Island. But she'd been innocently heading out of the den at the end of the hall, intent upon helping herself to a glass of water in the kitchen, when she'd heard the raised and angry voices from the Lounge.

She couldn't help but listen.

But unfortunately, a rescue call had come in before the boys had actually succeeded in what she agreed was a much-needed rest for their father. Perhaps now was her chance to help, to do something for this man who was so very important to her.

"Jeff," she said softly, approaching the desk.

He didn't even acknowledge her. Penny couldn't keep silent any longer.

"Jeff, I know that I've no right to interfere in things, and I'm certain I'm quite out of place to say this to you, but I feel that I've no choice."

His head turned in her direction, but she felt like he was looking right through her.

"Perhaps it would be best for you to get away," she said, lines etching worry into her smooth features. "I would be happy to take you to Bonga Bonga, Jeff. Last visit you didn't have all that good a time, but I daresay it would do wonders for you now. Parker has made some modifications to the ranch that I think you will find most—"

"Stop it, Penny."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Just stop. You're right. You have no call saying any of this to me. What were you doing, listening in on us?"

"Not on purpose Jeff. I was en route to the kitchen when I heard raised voices. Honestly, don't you know me better than that?"

"I thought I did," he growled, looking down at a manila envelope in front of him.

That did it. Penny's eyes lit with fire and her jaw set firmly, teeth nearly grinding. "Jefferson Tracy, do you mean to tell me you're questioning my integrity?"

"You tell me, Penny," he retorted in a voice she'd never heard from his lips. "You sneak around my house listening to my private conversations and then think you have the right to tell me how to run my island?"

"Now, you just wait one moment—"

"I need you to leave, Penny." She stopped in mid-sentence, unable to believe her ears. "You and Parker just leave. Now."

My God, he's lost his mind.

Penelope couldn't move. She stood rooted to the spot, staring at him. He jumped to his feet, looking for all the world like a madman.

"I said leave!" he hollered.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

How could I have ever loved this man?

Blinking rapidly, she backed away. "I'm here for you, Jeff. When you decide you need me, I'm here." Her voice cracked on the last word. She turned, walking quickly away.

As he watched her go, his face softened, and he moved as though to follow. Oh, God, Penny...

But then he heard Scott's voice coming over the air. "Mobile Control to Base. I have landed at Danger Zone and am ready to go. Thunderbird 2 ETA now 6.7 minutes."

"F.A.B., Scott. How's it looking?"

"Not too good, from what I can tell. John's information was right on target. It looks like we'll have to come up from beneath with the Mole. It's our only chance of getting those men out of there alive."

"Keep me informed. Base out."

Jeff switched off the Thunderbirds and sat down again. Damn Penelope, anyway. Who the hell did she think she was coming in here and telling him what to do? She'd overstepped her bounds way too far this time.

Suddenly Jeff realized how quiet it was. Deathly quiet. He hadn't seen his mother, Kyrano or Brains all day, and had only interacted briefly with Tin-Tin. But the silence...it allowed him to think.

No.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the remote and flipped on the television.

It was tuned to NTBS, but instead of Ned Cook, some other reporter was standing in front of what Jeff immediately realized was the Federal building in Orlando. He turned up the volume and stared intently at the shot of the building that filled the screen. One corner of it was very obviously sagging. Even from the distance of the camera, he could see it wobbling under its own weight.

His heart rose into his throat.

"...can see the instability of this building. I'm told that it could collapse at any moment. International Rescue has brought out their drilling machine, the one they call the Mole. It looks like they're going to come at the trapped men from underground. I can only wish them well, because right now this isn't looking good at all. Not even for International Rescue."

Jeff ground his teeth. He had to know what was going on. He flipped open the Thunderbirds' channels again, but didn't let on that he was listening in.

"...to Mobile Control. Virgil to Mobile Control. I've successfully entered the structure and am making my way toward the west end. Should have visual on the subsidence in a few seconds."

Virgil was...in the building?

Jeff stared at the structure. His eyes fixated on the northwest corner. It sagged, then seemed to spring back up.

"Talk to me, Virg. Whaddya have?"

"Nothing as yet, Scott. Oh...wait a minute...I see a door here. This must be the door to the basement. Okay, I get the layout now. It's like the Earth just opened up and swallowed these guys, Jesus. Have Gordon get the Mole over to south side of the building. I think it'll be the safest point of entry."

"F.A.B. Mobile Control to Mole."

"I heard, Scott. On my way now."

Jeff heard the Mole's engine rumble to life in the background. Then the eyes of Scott's portrait lit up.

"This is Base. Go ahead."

"Father, Virgil's completed reconnaissance of the building. He and Gordon will be entering from the south side, drilling under the area of subsidence, and trying to pull those men out of there."

Jeff's face turned from the television. He realized that over Scott's shoulder, he could see the Federal building.

Get out of there.

"Very well, Scott."

"Virgil to Mobile Control."

"I'm here, Virg."

"I'm making my way out the rear entrance of the building."

"F.A.B. The Mole is standing by."

Jeff's eyes had returned to the TV and were riveted to the building.

It seemed to sway.

Jeff's breath caught, nearly causing him to choke.

Virgil's in there.

"Scott..." he managed to choke out.

A man ran up to Mobile Control, frantic about something. Before Jeff could even ask what was happening, Scott began to yell.

"Virgil! Virgil, get out of there! Get out of there now!"

Jeff's eyes were glued to the television.

No.

"Virgil, answer me! They say it's gonna go! The building's gonna go!"

His mouth opened slightly, but no sound emerged as Jeff's eyes began to water. He'd forgotten to blink.

The edge of the building sagged, bounced upward...

...and fell.

Virgil. My son.

"Virgil! Virgil!"

Keep your opinions to yourself.

"Virg!"

"Goddammit, Virg, answer me!"

"Scott, where is he?"

"Do you have visual?"

"No, he never came out! Oh, God, Scott, he never came out!"

"Shit!"

Their voices faded away, to be replaced by a rumbling sound. It came back. It all came back.

A large CRACK! and the ground opened beneath him. He could do nothing, flailing for purchase but finding no solidity. The dirt, the concrete, the dust. Scraping at his skin, pulling at his clothes. He clung desperately to the communicator in his hand.

He was falling. He was falling.

The Earth was swallowing him.

He felt everything crashing in around him, dirt and debris crushed into his body. He felt one rib crack, another break completely.

Nooooooooo!

The building on the TV screen fell. It fell.

On top of him. Over him. Hundreds dead. Hundreds. Rosemary. Tom Woods. Stanley Moors. Dead. Crushed. Dead.

The Hood. Hearing his voice. Feeling the knife. Dead.

The Hood.

It's my fault. It's all my fault.

Ned Cook. Penny. The Hood. Lucy...

His vision narrowed. Only a pinpoint of light came through.

Dust and dirt billowed into the air, the NTBS reporter frantically relaying the devastation before him. "...what has become of the man who went into the building?"

"Dad!" Scott called from the portrait. "Dad, come in!"

Kyrano had been meditating the entire day, desperately trying to help his friend, the man who had saved his life, saved his daughter's life. His meditation room was smoky with incense, their fragrances mingled with those of candles as he sat cross-legged upon a large pillow.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet.

"Jeff!" he cried, bolting from the room. "Oh, no! Jeff!"

Lady Penelope had decided she couldn't leave things as they were. She had to try again. She'd been wrong to interfere, and she knew it, but dammit, she just couldn't leave this island with Jeff in this state. She couldn't.

She entered the Lounge to find chaos ringing out all around her. Scott's voice from the portrait yelling for his father. John's voice from the speakers behind the desk yelling something about Virgil. The television blaring with sirens and so much noise she could barely hear herself think.

And in the midst of it all, quiet and still, stood Jeff. She frowned.

"Penny! Penny, what's wrong with Dad?"

"What?"

"He won't answer me!"

"Jeff?" She approached the far side of his desk, where he stood facing the TV. "Jeff, are you all right?"

"Scott, where the hell is Virgil?"

"I don't know! Gordo, you got him?"

"Shit, no! I don't see any sign of him, but this dust is making everything near impossible to see!"

"Scott, it's Alan! I'm on the west side, there's a huge sinkhole here, no sign of Virg!"

"I'm on my way!" Scott yelled. "Dad, Dad!"

"Jeff!" Penny cried.

Kyrano ran into the Lounge, calling Jeff's name.

"He won't answer, Kyrano! Help me!" She stood in front of Jeff, shaking him, grabbing his face, trying to get some sort of response.

But Jeff was rigid, staring at the television screen with unseeing eyes.

"Penny, I'm going after Virgil!" Scott called.

"What? What about Virg—?" But Scott was already gone from the screen.

Kyrano was at Penelope's side in seconds. "Oh, no. That is what I was afraid of."

"What? Kyrano, what's wrong with him?"

"He is gone from his mind," Kyrano said quietly.

"What?"

"Oh...oh, God...Scott! Over here, west side! I think...I think I see his...oh, God, Scott!"

"Alan? I'm on my way! I'm coming! Gordon, get over here!"

Penny's face turned to the video monitor. Dust clouded the screen so much she could barely make out Mobile Control.

Kyrano's scream scared the living shit out of her.

"What on Earth?" she exclaimed as he sank to his knees, moaning in agony. "Kyrano!"

She knelt next to him, her arm around his shoulders. "Kyrano, what's happening?"

"No!" Kyrano yelled, holding his head in pain. "No!"

Penny jammed her hand down on the console near her head. "Parker! Brains! Somebody help me!"

"Oh, my God, no." came Gordon's unmistakable voice over the speakers. "Virgil."

Penelope rose to her feet, her eyes boring into Jeff's. Kyrano writhed on the floor.

"Jeff," she whispered, tears overflowing and running down her face.

Kyrano roared in pain, his body arching off the floor, wracked with seizures. And then he was still.

"He can't be..." Scott's voice. Choked. "He can't be."

"Oh, God," Penny cried. "Oh, my God."

to Part III: Reclamation >>