COOK'S TOUR by PURUPUSS RATED FRPT

What happens when your past comes back to haunt you?

Ten: Decisions

The door to the storm shelter slid open and a uniformed Scott Tracy strode inside. "On your feet," he ordered. "You're coming with me."

"Do we have any option?" Ned struggled to retain his air of calm insolence as he obeyed the order. "No, 'if you please' or 'thank you'?"

"No," Scott snarled.

"Just where are we going?" Joe asked.

"The lounge." Then Scott softened his tone. "Coming, Grandma? Kyrano?"

"As you wish, Mister Scott," Kyrano bowed.

"Have you made a decision?" Grandma enquired.

"Oh, yes..." Scott glared at the interlopers. "We've made a decision." He took a firm grip on their shoulders and guided them towards the lounge, leading them to a couch in the middle of the room and forcing them to sit down. "Stay there."

"Is this the way International Rescue usually treats its guests?" Ned asked, and was rewarded with another glare.

"Wh-Where's everyone else," an obviously nervous Joe enquired.

"Getting ready. They're making some last minute preparations."

"Preparations for what..." Joe began but Scott had departed.

The two reporters were left alone.

"What are they going to do?" Joe asked his friend. "What are they doing now?"

"Probably mixing the concrete."

"Ned!"

"It's a joke, Joe... I wonder why they've left us unattended. They must be feeling pretty sure that they've got the upper hand."

"Upper hand? There's a cyclone howling outside, we're trapped on an island, and we've no way of escaping! I definitely think they've got the upper hand!"

"Calm down..." Ned was looking around. "The shutters are still across the windows, so the cyclone hasn't moved on." He looked behind them. "Eight chairs..." He turned back to the front and gazed at the imposing desk. "Tracy's a master of psychology. When they come in here they're going to surround us." He shifted his gaze to the row of portraits of the Tracy boys in uniform. "I wonder what secrets this room could reveal..."

He didn't get the chance to find out as the Tracy family filed in. In a show of solidarity all the boys, including Brains, were in fresh uniforms. Tin-Tin was wearing a pants suit created out of International Rescue blue cloth and her father's traditional silken robes were in the same shade. Grandma Tracy's contribution was to wear a dress of sky blue. Without a word they all took their places, as Ned had expected, behind the two reporters. Jeff Tracy, obviously in command in his gold trimmed uniform, stood at his desk and faced the assembled group.

'We're on trial...' Ned thought. 'Except we're going to hear the sentence before we get the chance to present our case.' Twisting in his seat, he noticed that despite their position of power, Gordon's brothers still appeared to be protecting him. The auburn haired Tracy stood in front of a chair, twisting his hands together anxiously as Alan moved to his left, Scott to his right, and Virgil stood in front. Brains and Kyrano took up position to the right of this group, while the two ladies placed themselves on the left.

Jeff sat down and, as if in response to a silent order, the rest of the group followed suit.

"Gentlemen..." Jeff began and stopped mid-sentence when Ned held up his hand.

"Just a minute!"

"You have something you wish to say, Mr. Cook?"

"Yes. You say you are a fair man, Tracy."

Jeff said nothing.

Ned continued on. "I've always assumed that when a man is on trial or is being court-martialled, he is allowed to face those who are judging him. That is he can see their faces just as they can see his."

"Yes?" Jeff said.

"So, don't you think... in the interests of fairness... we should be allowed to see all those judging us?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning... I'm assuming that John is watching proceedings from Thunderbird Five," Ned indicated the row of portraits. "In the interests of 'fairness', we should we be allowed to watch him just as he is watching us."

Jeff thought briefly. "Very well," he agreed. "John!"

"Sir." John's photo disappeared and Ned and Joe saw the man. Behind him was a bank of computers; in his hand he held a microphone.

"Good afternoon, John." Ned said. "Nice to meet you at last."

"Mr. Cook," John acknowledged.

"Please, call me Ned."

John remained silent.

"Gentlemen," Jeff repeated. "Before we begin, I have one thing that I must say. I want you to know that I am proud of each and every one of my sons. Gordon could have won his gold medal in synchronised swimming and then chosen flower arranging as a career and I still would have been proud of him. That he... that all of my sons have chosen to be part of International Rescue, has had no bearing on the way I feel about any of them. Is that clear?"

"Yep," Ned said laconically, as Joe nodded like a wind up toy.

"Good. Now, obviously, the question has arisen as to what we are going to do now that you know our secret. The suggestion was made that we put you back into your hover-plane and let you take your chances with Cyclone Sylvia..."

Joe cast Ned a worried look, but the reporter maintained his cool, arrogant, manner.

"...But obviously that is not an option. We have come to a decision, but first we would like to know exactly why you came here. Did you have any suspicions as to who we are?"

Ned decided that, for the moment at least, he would play along. "I had my suspicions... but nothing to do with International Rescue."

Jeff frowned. "Then what?"

"I was suspicious about you, Jeff Tracy. You're too good to be true. You hide away on your tropical paradise with your sons and your entourage, earning billions and giving away nearly as much! No one's that good. There had to be a catch."

"And that catch would have been?"

Ned shrugged. "That's what I was trying to find out."

"So the TV series was only a ruse to get here?"

Ned could almost feel Gordon relax. "Oh, no. The TV series is genuine. As far as the bosses are concerned, Joe and I are researching some has-been swimmer..." there was a slight movement behind him as someone showed disapproval at the description, "...for a cute and fluffy sports show. I figured that we may as well take the opportunity to do some real journalism. Show our bosses that we're still capable of finding and presenting the real stories." He turned in his seat so he was facing one of the men behind him. "You can relate to that, can't you, Virgil? You were desperate to prove that you were still capable of flying Thunderbird Two, weren't you?"

"Was I?" Virgil asked. "Why?"

"Because the USN Sentinel shot you down."

"The Sentinel? Now why would it do a thing like that?" Virgil asked. "What possible reason would the command of the Sentinel have for shooting a Thunderbird down?"

"You tell me."

"Our craft are of no threat to anyone," Virgil reminded him.

"Are you telling me it didn't happen? That your accident, where you were, in your words, 'in the wrong place at the wrong time'; that this accident wasn't you being shot out of the sky?"

"You're the one telling the story, Mr. Cook," Virgil challenged. "You tell us why the Sentinel would shoot down one of International Rescue's aircraft."

"Mr. Cook," Jeff interrupted. Ned turned back to face him and didn't see Scott give Virgil a congratulatory pat on the back. "What has Virgil's accident got to do with the situation we're in now?"

"It's..." Ned began and then stopped. "Nothing," he admitted.

"Shall we move on then?"

Ned nodded.

"So you were trying to find some dirt on me," Jeff said. "Such as?"

"I don't know."

"He gets these funny feelings when he thinks he's onto something," Joe interrupted. "More often than not he's right."

Ned wished his colleague hadn't spoken.

"Intuition?" Jeff queried. "So what did this 'funny feeling' tell you about me, Mr. Cook?"

Ned gave Joe a dirty look. "It didn't tell me anything precisely. It told me there was a story here on this island that was worth researching. Initially, because we were doing a story on the Olympics I thought that perhaps there was a question mark over your sponsorship of the drug testing. I learnt that Gordon was your son, and wondered if you'd supplied him with the drugs that enabled him to win his gold medal..."

"What!"

The vocal explosion made Ned and Joe turn in their seats.

Gordon was on his feet. "You thought I took drugs!"

"You were the youngest..."

"I would never take drugs! Not to win a swimming race!" Gordon's face was reddening in anger.

"I didn't know that!"

"And you thought my father supplied them to me! That I had to have his help to win my gold medal!" Now Gordon's face was so red, that his hair appeared pale in comparison.

"Sit down, Gordon," his father said.

"That's ridiculous! That's like saying that Scott got his Air Force medals because of our father!"

"Sit down, Gordon," Scott said.

"Or that John got his laser communications degree from Harvard because of our father!"

"Sit down, Gordon," John insisted.

"Or that Alan won his motor racing trophies because of our father!"

There was an inevitable, "Sit down, Gordon," from Alan.

"Or that Virgil..." Gordon opened his mouth to say more and then looked blankly at his older brother. "Um..."

"My résumé in a nutshell," Virgil sighed. "Sit down, Gordon."

"I won't sit down!" Gordon snapped. "He's made me forgot that you... you..." he clicked his fingers trying to remember. "You achieved something!"

"Graduated top of the class at Denver?" Alan prompted and was shushed by his Grandmother.

"Yeah! That! And you did it without Dad's help!"

"Thank you, Gordon," Jeff said. "I think we've ascertained that you boys are all talented, hardworking..."

"But he's accusing me of cheating! He's accused you of cheating!"

"I didn't know what to think," Ned began. "I just knew..."

"You know nothing! You don't know what hard work went into getting that medal. You don't know the sacrifices I made! I didn't even eat anything with poppy seeds in it for the month before the meet, for fear of returning a positive test for opiates!"

"That's right, he didn't," Grandma confirmed.

Gordon didn't skip a beat. "You don't know about the parties I missed. You don't know about the things that I didn't get to do that other kids my age were enjoying. You don't know the hours I slaved away in that pool..."

Scott stood, laying a hand gently on his furious brother's shoulder. He spoke in a soothing manner. "Calm down, Gordon."

"I won't calm down! You and I have had to spend the last five days trapped underground because of these morons. You heard him! He accused me of cheating!"

"I heard him," Scott said. "And I know he's wrong. Now, you've said your piece so sit down."

But Gordon was still seething in anger. "You know how hard I worked for that medal! You were the one who drove me to the pool for the early morning training sessions. You're the one who drove me to the interstate meets when Dad was unavailable. You're the one who said we should pack these two in their 'plane and let Cyclone Sylvia do what she wanted with them!"

For a moment Scott looked uncomfortable. "I know I did. I didn't mean it. I was angry..."

"Well, I'm angry now! And I think it's a brilliant idea."

"No you don't," Scott reminded him.

"Gordon..." Ned began.

"Why couldn't you have left us in peace?" Gordon interrupted, pointing an accusatory finger at the reporter. "You can't help yourself, can you? You've no scruples, poking your nose into other people's business."

Ned didn't disagree with the young man.

"You even snooped around my room." Gordon gave a sarcastic laugh. "Ha! You think I don't know. You thought you were so clever, but I saw you."

"Gordon..." Scott warned, his voice still quiet, but his hand tightened its grip on his brother's shoulder.

"You touched my gold medal!"

"Gordon!" Scott repeated, more urgent this time.

But Gordon wasn't listening. "Nobody touches that medal except me! And you can't deny that you touched it. I was in there and I saw you!"

As one three of his brothers groaned.

The sound appeared to penetrate through Gordon's fury. All the anger drained from his face and he cast an anxious look towards his father. Then, like an automaton whose power source had been disconnected, he sat down and stared at the floor.

In the subsequent silence Scott reclaimed his own seat.

"Now that Gordon has got that off his chest," Jeff said, as though Gordon had merely been commenting on the foul weather. "I should like to know what you gentlemen are planning to do with this information."

"That depends on what you are going to do with us," Ned said.

"There is nothing we can do," Jeff admitted, "except ask that you remember that we try to keep our identities and location secret as much for the world's sake as for our own."

Joe leant forward. "So you're going to let us go?"

Jeff nodded.

"Just like that?"

"Yes."

"No hypnotism, or brain washing, or memory erasing?"

Jeff chuckled. "You've been reading too many science fiction stories."

"Let me get this straight," Ned said. "As soon as the cyclone passes you're going to let us go free and trust us not to give away your secret?"

"That's right," Jeff agreed.

"You want us to tell people that we got trapped by the storm, had an uneventful time staying with you and your family, were unable to get Gordon's interview, and then came home again empty handed?"

"Yes."

"You're asking us to forgo the biggest story this decade?"

"I am."

"You're asking a lot, Jeff Tracy. Can you imagine what the reaction would be if we went back to the States and said 'We know who International Rescue are'?"

"It would be big news."

"Big? Can you imagine the journalism awards we'd receive?"

Jeff nodded.

"Do you know that there are publications out there that would give us millions just to have the slightest hint as to where International Rescue is based?"

"Unfortunately, I do know," Jeff admitted.

"And you expect us to give up all that?"

"I... We were hoping you would."

"Do you honestly believe that we would walk away from the biggest story of our lives...?"

The next vocal explosion came from an unexpected quarter. "Ned Cook!"

Ned looked at his partner. "Joe?"

"I don't believe you! These people saved our necks. If it wasn't for them you and I wouldn't be here today!"

"I'm aware of that..."

"And not only us. Look at all the other lives they've saved."

"I know, Joe."

"That you could even THINK of doing a story on them!"

"I..."

Joe was looking as furious as Gordon had been. "I'm telling you, Ned. If you so much as expose one hair of any of these people I'm asking to work with Sid Lowe!"

"But you hate Sid! You said he had the all journalist ability of a slug."

"Hello," Alan said in a stage whisper to Tin-Tin. "There's trouble in paradise."

Joe didn't hear him as he continued ranting at Ned. "And so he does. But at least he's an honest slug. He wouldn't jeopardise the future safety of goodness knows how many people just for a story!"

"I..."

"He wouldn't disregard a debt of honour!"

"Joe..."

The sudden wail of an alarm had an electrifying effect on the Tracys. "Storm surge!"

Forgetting his and Joe's dispute, Ned looked around him. "Come on... You've already tried that one on us. Don't think you can do it again."

"It's for real this time," Jeff told him. "Let's see it, John."

"F-A-B." Virgil's portrait disappeared leaving a shot of the runway. It was submerged beneath raging seawater, which appeared to be half way up the cliff towards landing control. "It's still climbing... Up one metre... Two... Still climbing..."

"Right! Activating Operation Storm Surge - You all know what you have to do," Jeff instructed. Then, as everyone ran for the door, he turned to Ned and Joe. "You two go to the storm shelters and stay there until you're told it's safe."

"Can't we help...?" Ned started saying.

"No! Everyone else will be along as soon as they've done their duty." Jeff was pushing some buttons on his computer as he spoke. When that was done he stood and vacated his desk. "Go now!" he ordered as he dashed out the door.

"How do you like that?" Ned asked. "One order from Jeff Tracy and he expects us to jump to attention as if we're part of his entourage."

"It's good advice though, isn't it?" Joe suggested. "We know now that we can't do anything to help them. At least we'd be safe in the storm shelters."

"How bad is it going to get?" Ned asked. "They can't really expect the water to climb this high." They jogged along the hallway in the now familiar direction of the storm shelters.

Joe pulled up short. "Hey! Look!"

"What?" Ned skidded to a stop and returned to see what had captured the attention of his friend. He noticed that a door off the hallway was ajar.

"Look," Joe repeated, pointing into the now open room. "My camera!" He reached into the storeroom and grabbed the photographic equipment before examining it quickly. "Seems to be okay."

"Okay for what?"

"Filming!" Joe hoisted the camera onto his shoulder and headed for the door.

"Filming? Joe, you hypocrite! Only minutes ago you were telling me off for..."

'"I don't want to film International Rescue," Joe rejoined.

"Then what?"

"The storm, Ned. What else? Maybe I can salvage some pride for us from this whole sorry saga. Can you imagine what the footage of a storm surge is going to be like?"

"How are you going to film?" Ned asked. "All the windows are covered with those titanium shutters."

"Easy. I'll slip outside."

"Outside? Joe, it might have escaped your notice, but there's a monster of a storm raging out there!"

"That's the point. Besides, I reckon that if we sneak out on this side of the house there'll be some shelter for us. Remember there was on the other side of the house when they were rescuing Tin-Tin, and that was during Sylvia's first pass. The wind'll be coming from the other direction now."

"Sounds dangerous to me, Joe," Ned warned.

"Since when did you become an old woman, Ned?"

"Since a 102 storey building fell on us and buried us alive."

"We'll be okay," Joe insisted. "Are you coming?"

"Of course I'm coming," Ned agreed, trying not to sound reluctant. "Lead the way."

They managed to sneak their way through the house without bumping into any of the Tracys or their friends. "Here," Ned stopped at the shuttered patio doors. "Here's the control panel for the titanium sheets. Why don't we open them and then you can shoot through the windows?"

Joe vetoed the suggestion. "And all we'll see is water running down the glass. I've got to get outside..." He led the way to a door. "Help me open this."

Ned knew that once the cameraman had his mind set on taking a particular shot, nothing would dissuade him from attempting it. "Okay... But be careful."

Joe grinned. "Okay, Grandma."

Together they pulled the door open. "Whew! Joe exclaimed. "That wind fair takes your breath away."

"Then don't go out there," Ned suggested. "Shoot from the doorway."

Joe gave Ned a look of disgust and stepped from the security of the house. "Hold onto my belt and don't let go!" he yelled above the screaming wind. Ned did as he was bid, hanging on grimly, the stinging rains pounding and soaking his clothes and skin. Joe shuffled further out into the storm. "Can you move a bit more, Ned?"

"Okay," Ned said through gritted teeth. "Hurry up and get your shot!"

"This is amazing!" Joe lined up the camera and started rolling the film. "Look at it!" he shouted. "The Pacific Ocean's at our feet!"

Blinking against the rain, Ned peered downwards. It did indeed appear that the waters of that mighty ocean had risen up so that they swirled around the villa's foundations, trapping bits of debris and slamming them against the house.

"You've got your footage," Ned yelled. "Come inside. The Tracys will be looking for us."

But Joe was caught up in the adrenaline buzz of filming on the edge of danger. "I can't see enough," he yelled in frustration. Help me out a little further."

"No!" Ned replied. "It's too dangerous!"

"Then let me go," Joe hit the reporter's hands, forcing him to relinquish their grip on his belt. "I'll be better off by myself."

"Joe..." Ned began to protest, but his words were whipped away by a violent gust of wind.

As was Joe...

Eleven: It Never Rains...

"Father!"

Jeff, the last person to arrive at the storm shelter, was waylaid by his eldest son in the hallway. "What, Scott?"

"We don't know where Cook and Co are."

"What! Where were they last seen?"

"Unless you've seen them later, in the lounge."

Jeff shook his head in exasperation. "I sent them here. They obviously didn't listen to me. Where's everyone else?"

"In the shelters," Scott admitted.

"Okay... Organise a search party. I'll take the lounge."

"F-A-B."

"Joe!" Ned called into the blinding rain. "Joe! Answer me!"

The only answer was the scream of the wind.

"Joe!" Ned tried again.

There was nothing except the wind and the roar of the water lashing at the house beneath his feet.

Soaking wet, Ned retreated inside. He could only assume that his friend had been swept away. From what he'd been able to see of the churning waters the current was heading towards the front of the villa. If he could get onto the patio then maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to pull Joe out.

He ran for the lounge.

"Cook!" He heard someone yell from the hall. "What are you doing? Head for the shelters!"

"It's Joe," Ned yelled, making a beeline for the titanium shutter's manual controls. "He's fallen into the water... Outside..." he added belatedly as he reached for the switch.

Jeff stepped into the room and saw what the reporter had in mind. "Don't touch...!"

He was too late. With a low rumble the shutters started to retract. "Stop them!" Jeff ordered and broke into a run.

The titanium shutters had done their job well. However the plexiglass doors were less adept at maintaining their integrity against Cyclone Sylvia. Jeff was no more than two steps into his run towards the controls when the, now exposed, doors blew inwards. The resulting inward rush of air sent Jeff flying backwards and he slammed up against the wall beneath Gordon's photograph. He held up his arms, protecting himself against the plexiglass shards, as a chair mimicked his flight before splintering itself against the wall under Alan's portrait.

"Dad!" Gordon, closely followed by Alan, came to his father's aid.

"I'm - all - right," an obviously winded Jeff managed to gasp out.

Seeing that his two youngest brothers had one crisis under control, Scott sought to resolve another. The panel that hid Thunderbird One's hangar had been pushed open, leaving the gunmetal grey rocket plane exposed to the world. "Give me a hand," he yelled at Virgil putting his shoulder to the panel.

Even their combined efforts were ineffectual against the wind.

"Leave it!" Jeff ordered, struggling, with Gordon and Alan's assistance, to his feet. "Joe's outside."

"He's what?" Scott fought against the wind as he tried to make his way to the patio. "This is impossible! Virgil! Alan! Go get the hurricane gear."

Ned, when the wind had roared inside, had been blown into the area that contained Jeff's desk. He was struggling to fight his way out of the constrained space when Scott crawled over to him. "Joe's outside!"

"I know! What happened? Where is he?"

"He wanted to film the storm. The wind caught him and blew him into the water."

"Water!"

"Yeah," Ned nodded frantically. "The house is surrounded by water."

"How deep?"

"Uh..." Ned tried to remember the landmarks that he'd seen in the short time that he'd been outside before the cyclone hit.

"Never mind," Scott heaved himself up so he was able to reach the desk, which had already been stripped of all its papers and smaller items. Deciding not to chance his father's computer, he flipped a switch and the eagle ornament flew up, coming loose from its housing in the process. As it flapped about, tethered only by the wires that connected the microphone to the rest of its circuitry, Scott tried to raise his brother. "Tracy Island calling Thunderbird Five."

John came on line. His eyes widened when he saw the damage that was being inflicted on his home. "Scott..."

"John! How high's the water? Joe's out in it. How high is it against the house?"

"One point five metres below the patio," John replied. "Scott, if he's out there..."

"Yeah, John, I know. Is the water still rising?"

"No. It seems to have reached its peak."

"Thank heavens for small mercies," Scott muttered. "Let us know the instant there's any change."

"You've got to help him!" Ned pulled at Scott's shirt. "You're International Rescue, do something!"

"We will," Scott tried to be reassuring as he shouted over the wind which was roaring through what had previously been the sanctuary of their lounge. "The guys are getting the gear."

"Scott!" His name had to be repeated three times before he heard it. He looked over to where Alan was beckoning him.

"Stay there," Scott instructed Ned. I'm going to get ready." He attempted to crawl to the comparative calm of the hall before deciding that it was easier to roll with the wind. He ended up crashing into the wall and was pulled to safety by his brothers. "The place is surrounded by water and Joe's fallen in," he stated as he accepted the overalls handed to him by Alan.

"Water!" Gordon ran from the hall.

"It's impossible to talk over the wind," Scott added. "We'll need full communication masks."

"Got them," Alan said and pulled open a bag.

"Better get one for Ned too," Scott suggested. "And a set of grav-gear."

"Got a pair of those for me?" Jeff asked. He was already kitted out in his own overalls.

"Are you up to it?" Scott asked.

Jeff pulled himself up and looked his eldest in the eye. "Are you saying I'm too old?"

"No. Just that that was quite a knock you took back there." Scott pulled up the fastening at the front of his overalls. "Everyone ready?" he asked as he donned his mask.

Virgil looked at his brother's overalls seeing the International Rescue logo. Then he looked down at his own, which were still covered by bits of masking tape. "If this is going to be our last rescue," he said tugging at the tape on his chest, "then I'm going down with the flag flying proudly."

"Me too," Alan agreed, ripping the already partly detached tape from his front. "No need to hide now."

Gordon came running up to them, pulling up the back of his wetsuit as he did so. "What's the action, Scott?"

"First thing we do is find Joe," Scott's grim manner told them that he didn't hold out much hope. "Alan, take the laser and get rid of the balustrade. Gordon, bring the victim locator. I'll try to close the shutters. Virgil, you get Ned to safety and then stay back here in case we need more equipment. It's too hard to fight against that wind to risk sending someone back and forth." He picked up a cable, securely tethered one end and then hefted it over his shoulder. "You can send the required gear along this, okay?"

"F-A-B," Virgil replied.

Alan was already crawling lizard-like against the wind to the patio doors. He wore grav-boots and grav-gloves, devices that allowed him to maintain his grip on the floor. He came to the step that marked the piano's platform and adjusted the laser strapped to his back before he started to crawl to the upper level. The wind hit him full in the face, nearly forcing him back, but the grav-gloves took hold and he moved forward again.

Virgil, using the same lizard-like action, made his way over to the desk. There he came across a drenched and windblown Ned Cook, trapped in the alcove formed by the desk. "Here!" Virgil shouted through his mask and the howling wind. He held out a duplicate mask. "Put this on."

Whether he heard him or not, Ned seemed to understand and took the proffered mask. With some difficulty and Virgil's help, he managed to slip it over his head and into position.

"Can you hear me?" Virgil asked.

"Yes," Ned nodded his head frantically. "You've got to help Joe!"

"Don't worry, we've got that under control," Virgil tried to be reassuring. "Put these on," he handed over a set of grav-boots and grav-gloves, "and I'll get you to safety."

Ned looked at the strange garments. "Why do I have to wear these?"

"When they touch something a force field is turned on and they adhere to the surface of the object. There's a switch inside the thumb of the gloves, and above the big toe, which temporarily turns off the force field and allows you to move." Virgil helped Ned pull on one of the gloves. "It takes a bit of getting used to. Put your hand flat on the floor."

Ned did so. "I can't move it."

"Good. Now find the switch..."

Ned's hand flew free.

Virgil gave him a brief lesson in how to use the boots and then pointed to the door leading to the hallway. "That's where we're going..."

"But Joe..."

"We'll only be in the way. There's not much room out there..."

Alan had reached the patio. Maintaining his low profile on the stucco floor he activated a grav-pack on the front of his overalls. When he was sure that he was practically glued to the ground he slid the laser around from his back, wrestling with it until it was pointed in front of him. His grav-gloves maintaining a firm grip on the gun he pointed it at the base of the balustrade. One quick pull on the trigger and the metal disintegrated. After the vaporisation of the second support the balustrade began to lean drunkenly.

"How's it going, Son?" He heard his father's voice in his ear.

"Grandma's not going to be too pleased," Alan grunted as yet another support disintegrated.

"She'll understand. Any sign of Joe?"

"I haven't had a chance to look," Alan admitted. "I can't see through the balustrade with this wind and rain. He switched off the laser and used the instrument to push at the ironwork. It fell forward into the water with a splash. "Can anyone see him?"

"I've got the victim finder," Gordon said. "If he's within the area of the courtyard I'll spot him."

"IF he's within the area of the courtyard," Alan clarified. "What if he's been washed further away?"

Scott had succeeded in making the trip to the shutter's manual controls. Using the grav-gloves to assist him in standing, he pressed the buttons that started the shutters closing again. His plan was to close them until most of the room was protected while still leaving a reasonable sized area to pass through. The plan was thwarted when the shutters moved a quarter of the way across the windows and jammed in the shattered plexiglass. He gave up and crawled outside...

Ned had mastered the grav-gear well enough to crawl three quarters of the way across the room. He was nearly at the door when he realised that the strength of the wind had been dramatically reduced. Looking towards the patio doors he saw that, at least in part, the shutters were doing their job. Inspired, he changed direction.

"Hey!" Virgil yelled after him. "Where are you going?"

"To get Joe!"

On what remained of the patio four figures peered out through the gloom.

"Can you see anything, Gordon?" Scott asked.

Gordon had the eyepiece of the victim finder pressed to his facemask. "Nothing yet... What is that?"

"What's what?" Alan asked, shielding his mask against the water that was pouring down it and obscuring much of his view.

"There," Gordon pointed. "Halfway across the courtyard."

"I think I see what you mean," Scott said. "It's like a big slab of concrete sticking up in the air."

"How big?" Jeff asked.

"It's almost like there's another building out there, but it's not quite square," Gordon was still searching for Joe. "Hang on..."

"What?" he received a simultaneous reply from his three relatives.

"At the base of that thing, whatever it is... I think I can see Joe. What do you think, Alan?" he handed the scanner to his brother.

"Yep," Alan peered through the victim locator. "That's him. He's caught on whatever that thing is."

"I see him." Scott pointed towards the base of the unknown object.

Jeff strained to see something other than the rain and the remains of what had once been his tropical paradise. Then all of sudden he could see it. Something large, flat and grey in colour, standing up against the skyline. Then looking down to where the water lapped against the object he could just make out a man's head, bobbing in the water.

"Virgil!" Scott was ordering. "We're gonna need the winch and two lines. Not the 'Suckers', they're not long enough. Get the heavy duty one. Once you've got that get the spare streamlined scuba cartridge and the stretcher... Just in case."

There was a reply of "F-A-B" in his earpiece and a short time later there was a tug on the cable. Jeff and his sons, fighting against the winds, managed to pull the winch into position.

"Here, Gordon," Scott handed his brother a harness. "Are you able to put this on?"

"I think I'll need a hand." After a short struggle Gordon had the harness about his torso, and a streamlined scuba oxygen cartridge on his back. He edged closer to the edge and looked down. "I know I said I wanted to go for a swim, but this is ridiculous."

"If you want to back out, that's okay," Scott told him. "You're taking a risk."

"So, what's new?" Gordon replied. "Besides I've often dreamt of being able to jump from up here into the swimming pool." He looked back down into the fast flowing waters. "There's a lot of debris about, isn't there?"

"Why don't you take the stairs?" Alan suggested.

"Too exposed and I'll snag the feed-line," Gordon replied. The second scuba unit arrived on the rope. "Send it down when I'm in position," he suggested. "I'll only snag on the rubbish when I'm swimming... Okay, time to get this show on the road. Do you think you guys could lower me down? I can't stand against this wind and it's too dangerous to jump in."

With a lot of manoeuvring Gordon managed to turn so his legs were hanging over the edge and Alan and Scott had, with the grav-gloves assistance, hold of his arms. "Okay, Fellas. Let me down slowly."

"Father! Will you keep an eye out for anything dangerous in the water?" Scott requested.

"F-A-B."

The wind caught Gordon's legs and threatened to swing him under the patio. He, Alan and Scott had to fight to stop him from crashing into the concrete.

"It's clear!" Jeff yelled.

"Ready, Gordon?" Scott grunted.

"Ready, Gordon replied. "On the count of three... One... Two... Three..." He hit the water and disappeared into its murky depths. When he emerged, moments later, he was already metres away from safety.

Ned reached the shattered plexiglass window. Keeping his back to the titanium sheets he inched his way upwards until he was standing. Then, plexiglass crunching under his feet, he edged his way closer to where Cyclone Sylvia was screaming into the house.

Virgil watched the reporter in frustration, before he noticed another problem. The painting that hid his link with Thunderbird Two's cabin was tilting in the wind. As he watched the footplate rose towards the ceiling before falling back to the floor. He took another look at Ned, who was feeling his way around the edge of the titanium, and then crawled across to a couch that had managed to avoid being swept away with everything else in the lounge. Tipping the couch over so it was lying on its back was easier than he expected, and it didn't take much effort to send it sliding across the room so the back was holding the footplate on the ground. Satisfied that he'd done all it was possible to do at that moment, he crawled back to the hall and ran to the shelters to warn Brains to prepare for at least one patient.

By diving occasionally beneath larger bits of flotsam and jetsam and letting the current do much of the work, Gordon was nearing his objective. Back on the patio his family were too concerned about maintaining enough slack in the feed-line to notice Ned gingerly slide around the edge of the shutter. He stood for a moment, held upright by his grav-gloves and the force of the wind against his body, before he decided that it would be easier to mimic the others and lay down.

Gordon was pulled up suddenly. Looking behind him he saw that a tree was caught over the feed-line. "I'm stuck!"

"Are you caught on that tree?" he heard Scott ask.

"The feed-line is."

Scott thought for a second. "Can you dive beneath the water? Maybe the tree'll float over."

"Okay. I'll give it a go." Relying on his scuba cartridge to supply him with oxygen, Gordon dove down to where, only a week ago, he'd been sunning himself on a deck chair.

Scott's plan was successful and Gordon held him say, "You're clear, Gordon."

"Good. I'll stay down here for a bit. The current's strong, but at least I'm not battling the waves and winds."

"Don't forget you've only got half-an-hour of oxygen," Scott warned.

"Don't worry. That won't be far from my mind," Gordon moved forward again. As he struggled against the salty waters he came to realise that even after only five days out of the pool, he had lost condition. Swimming exercises on dry land were no substitute for the resistance of real water.

The wind was whipping at the feed-line, pulling more slack from the winch than was necessary, while at the same time pulling against the swimmer fighting his way through the water. Gordon resurfaced only metres away from Joe, panting slightly. "I'll attach the feed-line to this thing and clip Joe to it. Get ready to send down the second line and scuba gear."

Scott's "F-A-B" sounded distant in his ears.

Joe was pressed up against the slab; his eyes closed and body limp as tumultuous waves bashed him up and down its length. There was no obvious sign of life until the cameraman got a face-full of water and started choking. Relieved that the man was still alive Gordon moved closer, trying to catch the same wave.

Upon feeling his rescuer's touch, Joe began to thrash about. His flailing arms knocked Gordon's mask, nearly dislodging it from his face. Reluctantly Gordon moved back out of harm's way.

"What's he doing!" Ned yelled. "Why isn't he helping him?"

"What are you doing here?" Scott yelled back. "You idiot! Get back inside."

"Not until he's got Joe. What's he doing?"

"Joe's fight or flight instinct's kicked into action," Alan explained. "He doesn't realise that he's fighting someone who's trying to help him. If Gordon got too close now and Joe knocked Gordon's mask off, or dislodged his oxygen feed, they'd both be in trouble. Gordon will have to wait until Joe calms down."

"How long will that take...?"

As he spoke they saw Joe's thrashings weaken and watched as Gordon swam forward to keep him afloat. "Tighten up that feed-line and send down the oxygen," he demanded. "I've fixed this end to this... thing."

"On its way," Scott replied. "How's he look?"

"Bit hard to tell," Gordon was finding it difficult to maintain his hold on the victim. "I can't take any vital signs."

"How's his colour?"

"Pale. Really pale. He's in shock."

"Get some oxygen into him and see how he responds," Scott suggested as the scuba gear reached its goal.

Gordon looped the lightweight cartridge over his arm and pulled the attached mask down over Joe's face. Then, as he wrapped a rescue tube around the distressed man, Joe's face contorted and he let out an involuntary shriek of pain.

"We've got a problem, fellas," Gordon said. "He's injured."

"How? Where?" Scott asked.

"Maybe internal. Could be referred pain or anything. I can't tell. But we're gonna have to stretcher him out of the water. There's no way I'm going to let him be pulled up by this tube."

"Okay, Gordon. I'll get Virgil to get a stretcher. One of us will have to come down and help get Joe into it."

"I'll go," Alan offered.

"Thanks, Alan. Did you get that, Gordon? We'll send Alan and the stretcher down the feed-line. Do what you can to keep him comfortable in the meantime."

"It's not easy," Gordon said as Joe was pulled from his grasp. "If only it wasn't so choppy..."

While Gordon was trying to get a firm hold on the cameraman and prevent the waves from causing any injuries to either of them, Alan and Scott clipped a stretcher to the feed-line. Then Alan struggled into a harness. "I'm ready, Scott."

"Take it easy, Kiddo. Don't unclip that harness from the feed-line," Scott warned.

"Don't worry," Alan reassured him. "I don't have any breathing gear on. There's no way I'm going for a swim."

"Be careful, Son." Jeff helped Scott ease Alan over the edge of patio.

Alan was immediately caught by a gust of wind which sent him and the stretcher swaying uncontrollably. "Just as well I don't suffer from motion sickness," he muttered as he began his slow decent down to the broiling waters.

Gordon was watching his brother's progress until he realised that something large and dangerous was drifting towards him. "Incoming!" He moved so his body was between the tree and Joe.

Alan stopped his downward motion and watched helplessly as the tree bore down on his brother. It seemed that there was nothing that could avert disaster, when a wave broke over the woody plant sending it rolling away. One of the lighter branches brushed against Gordon, pushing him against Joe, before it moved on.

"Gordon!" Alan yelled. "Are you all right?"

"Alan," Jeff yelled, his vision obscured by the salt spray and never-ending rain. "What's happening?"

"Don't panic," Gordon reassured them. "I'm okay."

"What about Joe?" Ned asked.

Gordon's reply was not reassuring. "Get down here and make it snappy, Alan."

Alan was nearly down to what could now be called sea level. Wave after wave crashed over him sending him into an uncontrolled spin. One exceptionally large wave knocked his mask askew. The shock made him inhale a lungful of water and he lost his grip on the stretcher as his body reacted by coughing. The stretcher swung around, catching him on the back, winding him a second time.

"Take it easy, Alan," Gordon advised. "Get your breath back then start again."

"I'm okay," Alan choked out and readjusted his mask. Then he took a deep breath and continued his decent. He was in the water now, the stretcher floating out beside him, and it was easier to swim than to continue to rely on the winch. He pushed the stretcher towards Gordon. "There's a backboard attached. Get him on that first."

"F-A-B." With tired fingers Gordon placed a neck brace on Joe and then strapped him onto the backboard. "That was easier than I expected."

Together and with care the Tracy brothers slid Joe onto the stretcher, making sure there was no way he could slide off. Gordon strapped the injured man's scuba cartridge so it wouldn't interfere with anything. "There you go, Alan. Get him out of here."

"What about you?"

"I'll wait until you're both safe. I've got oxygen, you haven't."

"Okay. Pull me up, Scott!"

"Watch the feed-line doesn't snag on anything," Scott instructed his father as he reversed the winch's action. Slowly the machine pulled the two men up the gradual incline. Scott directed his next comments into his microphone. "Virgil, you and Brains get ready, will you?"

"We're standing by, Scott."

The stretcher neared its goal. "You're doing it," Ned breathed. "He's going to be okay."

"Wait till Brains has checked him over," Jeff cautioned.

"Brains! Why Brains?"

"He's our resident medical specialist," Jeff told the amazed reporter.

"You're kidding!"

"No," Scott admitted. "He's not such an absent-minded scientist, huh?"

The stretcher had reached the edge of the patio. "Good work, Alan," Jeff congratulated as he reached down and helped Scott pull Joe, held rigid on the stretcher, onto the patio. Together they pulled him into the lounge.

Brains and Virgil pulled the stretcher and its unconscious occupant out of the worst of the weather before picking Joe up and carrying him to the infirmary.

Jeff and Scott returned to help Alan clamber back onto the patio.

"Your turn, Gordon," Scott announced.

"Good. I feel like I'm in a washing machine."

"Unhook the feed-line and we'll pull you in."

"F-A-B." Gordon turned to release the connection. "Hang on! I've seen this slab thing before! It's the bottom of the swimming pool!"

"It's what?" Jeff asked.

"The bottom of the swimming p..."

Gordon's last word was swept away in the whirlpool that opened up beneath him. The bottom of the pool that had been Joe's saviour sank down out of sight...

As did Gordon...

Twelve: ...But It Pours

"Gordon!" Jeff yelled as his son disappeared beneath the swirling waters of the whirlpool in what had formerly been their tranquil courtyard.

"Gordon!" Scott and Alan's yells were an echo of their father's.

As he continued to cling to the patio, Ned felt his mouth go dry and his stomach twist into knots. "No! Please no..."

He was ignored by the Tracys. "How much oxygen has he used?" Alan asked.

Jeff looked at his watch. "Ten... fifteen minutes...?"

The waters of the whirlpool continued to spin around, mimicking the pattern of the cyclone above, as it pulled trees, masonry and other debris downwards.

Of Thunderbird Four's pilot, there was no sign.

"My fault..." Ned gasped. "I'm sorry... so sorry."

"Shut up!" Scott snapped as he pulled at Alan's harness.

Alan pulled back. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going down there."

"Scott!" Jeff protested. "It's too dangerous. Wait until we know something."

"By the time we know something he could have run out of oxygen and drowned!" A streak of lighting added emphasis to the dramatic nature of Scott's statement.

"You're not in your wet suit," Alan pointed out.

"I'm not going to waste time with that," his older brother insisted. "Help me put this on, Alan."

"You're not going to be able to swim against that current in your overalls," Jeff remonstrated. "Look at it, Scott! Don't make us have to rescue you as well as Gordon."

"But I can't leave him at the mercy of that!" Scott gestured out towards the vortex of water, which suddenly, almost magically, disappeared.

"Gordon!" Scott called again as he clipped his harness to the taut feed-line. "Can you hear me? Answer me!"

No words could describe the Tracys' relief when they heard a voice. "I can hear you, Scott. No need to shout."

"Thank..." Scott lowered the volume of his voice. "Are you okay?"

"I think I've just gone through the rinse cycle in the washing machine, but, yeah, I'm okay."

"Where are you?" Jeff asked.

"In Thunderbird One's launch bay. You've got a heck of a clean up job to do, Scotty."

To Scott, at that point, a 'heck of a clean up job' was a small price to pay for the knowledge that his brother was alive. "Can you swim through to One's hangar?"

"Looks passable. I'll meet you there."

The four men on the patio crawled back into the lounge. The wind was still roaring past them, and the wall panel with its twin lights was spinning about on its axis. Thunderbird One was clearly visible through the door and as Scott watched the panel disengaged itself from its fulcrum and flew into the hangar. He cringed as it crashed against Thunderbird One's fuselage.

"Don't worry, Scott," Alan reassured him, crawling alongside. "She's tough. She won't even have a scratch."

"Maybe not from that," Scott admitted. "But how high's that water? If it reaches its own level then it should be..." He reached the damaged doorway and peered down. Water lapped a metre below Thunderbird One's entrance hatch.

Scott groaned at the sight. "Salt water... What are the jet units going to be like?"

"Wet," Alan replied.

"Where's Gordon?" Jeff squeezed between his two sons and looked down into the murky water. "Can you hear me, Son? Where are you?"

"Trying to reach the hangar. There's more debris than I first thought."

Jeff looked at his watch. "He's been under 25 minutes," he muttered. "Alan, go and get a couple more oxygen cartridges."

"Where's that winch cable?" Scott re-attached it to his harness. "I'm going down. Get Alan to drop down the oxygen when he gets back."

"Hold on, Scott," Alan stopped him. "There's a pile of cartridges here. Virgil must have left them... He's left your flippers too." He crawled back and handed some of the items to Scott. "He's got you sussed. He knew you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from getting wet."

Offering a silent 'thank you' to his brother, Scott pulled on the flippers, slid a cartridge onto his back, and, holding a second cartridge securely, slipped into the water which filled his Thunderbird's hangar. Then, trying to ignore his submerged plane, he dove down towards the tunnel leading to the launch bay. "Where are you, Gordon? Don't waste oxygen, just answer no or yes. Are you in the tunnel?"

"Yes."

"On the right side leading up?"

"No."

Scott adjusted his angle of approach so he was swimming to his right. "Near the top?"

"Yes."

Scott swam upwards slightly. "In the corner?"

"...."

"Gordon! Can you hear me? Are you in the corner?"

Gordon was sounding tired. "Gettin' my bearings. Uh... yeah."

"Okay. Don't try to move. I'm coming down to get you." Scott swum strongly, trusting his brother's directions. Now he could see why Gordon had found it so difficult to swim from the launch bay to the hangar. Unable to withstand the stresses when the roof of the launch bay had collapsed, the pool's false bottom, that which had saved Joe's life, had disintegrated into several pieces. These, mingled with various pieces of International Rescue's equipment and other bits of debris had effectively blocked the tunnel. Scott prayed that Gordon had chosen a route that was clear.

"Anything, Scott?" he heard his father ask.

"Negative. There's too much rubbish down here." Scott swam a little further. "Hold it! I've found him."

"How is he?" Jeff asked and there was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.

"Dunno." Scott swum closer. "Gordon? Can you hear me? Wave if you can." He was relieved to see a hand move and a pair of legs start to kick. "No, don't try to swim to me. Save your oxygen."

"'Kay..." Gordon slurred.

Scott put more power into his stroke but didn't move forward. Looking down at his side he discovered that the loose material of his overalls had snagged on a tree branch. Impatiently he pulled at the branch and the material slipped free allowing him to cover the last few metres to his brother in quick time. "I'm here, Gordon. Can you hear me?"

As he prepared the spare cartridge he saw his brother give a tired nod. "Good. Now, I'm going to change your oxygen over. Take a deep breath and let me know when you are ready." He watched through the face mask as Gordon tried to suck up what oxygen there was left in the cartridge. Then when Gordon gave an okay signal, Scott disconnected the spent cartridge and attached the new one. "How's that? Okay?"

Breathing greedily at the fresh oxygen supply, Gordon gave a weak grin and a thumbs up, at which Scott managed a smile of his own. "Let's get rid of this," he said as he helped his brother slide out of the old cartridge, letting it fall to the floor below them. "Guess that's something else I'll have to clear away, huh Gordon?" he joked.

"I'll... help."

"I wouldn't say that too loud. We've got witnesses."

"Too late," they heard Alan's voice. "You can't back out now, Gordon."

Gordon managed a chuckle and allowed Scott to guide him upwards. When they cleared the tunnel he attempted to swim without assistance, but his brother kept a firm grip on his harness. Slightly irritated that he needed assistance in what he regarded as his own environment, Gordon looked at the submerged Thunderbird One. "Is this the new Thunderbird Four? I don't think much of the colour scheme..."

"Can it, Gordon," Scott growled and Gordon felt instantly better.

They broke the surface and looked up to the opening where two anxious faces were searching for them. Gordon gave a wave and received the winch's feed-line in reply. He submitted to Scott fixing the cable to his harness and allowed himself to be winched out of the saline water into the windblown lounge. Once he'd reached safety he removed his mask, crawled away from the door and rolled onto his back where he lay with his eyes shut.

Jeff knelt down beside his prostrate son. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Gordon cracked his eyes open a fraction. "I guess I can't be spun around like a Catherine Wheel, suffer from mild oxygen depravation, and not expect to be a little light headed."

"Want us to get a stretcher?" Jeff asked. "Or a wheelchair?"

"Nah. I'll be all right."

"Well you can't stay here," Jeff indicated the wind and rain that was still streaming into the room.

"Nope," Alan agreed and reached out for his older brother. "Get up, Gordon. You're soaking wet."

"Why?" Gordon asked as he accepted his brother's extended hand. "Are you afraid I'll ruin the carpet?" He stood, swayed slightly, and with a mild protest, more out of habit than conviction, allowed Alan and his father to support him as they walked towards the lounge door.

Ned Cook intercepted them. He reached out to shake Gordon's hand. "You saved Joe's life again, Gordon, and I wish there was a more suitable way that we could thank you." He then realised that Gordon had both his arms around Alan and Jeff's necks and shoved his hand back into his pocket. "Thank you," he said.

Everyone else froze. They'd forgotten that the reporter had been watching every moment of Joe's rescue, every moment of Gordon's drama... and every moment of Thunderbird One's submerging. Scott looked back and realised that from here Ned could see right into Thunderbird One's hangar. He noticed that the top of the painting of the rocket had been pushed into the wall cavity, no longer hiding Thunderbird Two's entrance. His heart sank. International Rescue was well and truly exposed now. He exchanged a worried glance with his father.

The sound of approaching footsteps temporarily diverted their attention away from their present dilemma. Virgil was in a hurry. "I need your help, fellas," he announced. "I have to..." he looked at Gordon. "Are you all right?"

Gordon released his grip on his father and brother. "Never been better."

Virgil gave him a curious look. "Good. As soon as you've got changed I'm going to need you guys to give me a hand to prep Thunderbird Two. Brains, Tin-Tin and I are going to have to fly Joe out of here as soon as the waters recede."

"What? The cyclone's at full strength." Jeff said. "Can't you wait until Sylvia passes?"

"Brains doesn't think that waiting's an option."

"Then I'll be your co-pilot," Scott stated.

"No way!" Gordon protested. "That's my job!"

"If Tin-Tin's going then so am I," Alan's jaw was jutting out defiantly.

"Whoa, hold it!" Virgil held up his hand to silence his brothers. "None of you are going. I'm not risking anyone's neck unnecessarily."

"But..." three brothers began to protest and were shushed by their father.

"How bad is he, Virgil?" Jeff asked.

Virgil looked at him. "You'd better go talk to Brains." He turned to the reporter. "You too, Mr. Cook."

When they entered the infirmary, Ned's first thought was that Virgil had been over-dramatising the situation. Instead of lying down, Joe appeared to be sitting, propped up by numerous pillows. Ned walked over to his friend, intending to tease him about how he was alarming everyone unduly...

Then Ned Cook stopped.

Joe was on oxygen. Several IV lines ran clear liquid into his arms. And instead of his usual healthy glow his skin was ashen in colour. Ned laid his hand on Joe's arm and realised that it was feeling clammy. "Joe?"

There was no response.

"M-Mr. Cook?" Brains enquired.

Ned looked over to the other side of the room, where the scientific and operational heads of International Rescue were both looking at him.

"Come here, Ned," Jeff sounded sympathetic. "Brains will explain everything."

Ned patted Joe on the arm. "I'll be back, old friend."

"L-Look after him, Tin-Tin," Brains requested and beckoned the other two men into an adjacent room.

Ned started. He hadn't even realised that the young lady had been standing by the bed. He watched for a moment as she checked a drip and made some notes. She gave him an understanding smile as he walked out of the room.

Jeff Tracy was the first to speak. "How bad is he, Brains?"

"M-My tests show that J-Joe has severe internal injuries. He needs immediate surgery."

"And you can't do that here?"

Brains shook his head. "N-No. My tests also show that Joe has an extremely rare blood-type."

"And we don't have enough in stock?" Jeff asked.

Brains shook his head again. "N-Not enough to sustain him through a surgical operation of that magnitude. I'm using it, ah, sparingly as it is."

"And you can't take a transfusion from one of us?"

"No, Mr. Tracy. We are not compatible." Brains looked at Ned.

"Me neither," Ned admitted. "My blood's one of the more common types. Every time we would go on assignment somewhere dangerous Joe would joke about how he should have spare blood as well as spare film in his kit bag."

"It's going to be a dangerous trip, Brains," Jeff warned.

"I am a-aware of that, Mr. Tracy."

"No one is going to force you or Tin-Tin to go."

"N-No one has. I volunteered."

"So have I, Mr. Tracy." Startled again, Ned turned at the sound of Tin-Tin's voice. She was standing in the doorway so she could watch over Joe, but still be part of the conversation. "I can help both Brains and Virgil if necessary."

"Thank you, Tin-Tin," Jeff replied and turned back to Brains. "How long before you can move him?"

"I-I am assuming that we will have Joe stabilised before the storm surge passes. It is, ah, Mother Nature who will determine when we will be able to depart."

Jeff frowned. "Let's hope she's on our side."

"Right!" Scott said as he strode across Thunderbird Two's hangar floor. "What do you want us to do?"

Virgil, who was pulling various tools out of their lockers, looked at his brothers who'd changed out of their sodden overalls and wetsuit and were now dressed in dry gear. "Undo all the work you've done over the last few weeks. I want to lighten her as much as possible. Anything not necessary for a safe flight has got to go. It's going to be hard enough to get off the ground in that wind and rain without trying to lift unnecessary weight."

"When are you going to leave?" Alan asked. "Did Brains give an optimum time?"

"The sooner the better. But we can't go anywhere until the storm surge passes."

Gordon was staring at the hangar door. "Think of the pressure behind that," he breathed. "We're metres under water at the moment."

"Not for too long I hope," Virgil said as he spread out a plan of Thunderbird Two. "I'll take the cabin. We'll leave the sick-bay intact." He looked at Scott. "You're commander. What else do you want us to do?"

"Dad said he'd be down to help soon," Alan reminded him.

"Good. The more people working the sooner we can get this done." Scott studied the plan. "You'll need an empty pod," he noted. "We'll all work on that last. That's more than a one man job."

Virgil nodded. "Fair enough."

"Virgil!"

Virgil heard the voice from behind him and groaned quietly. "Let me guess," he muttered before turning. "Yes, Grandma?"

"Is it true that you have to fly Joe to hospital?"

"Yes, Grandma."

"Through the cyclone? It's going to be dangerous."

"Yes, Grandma."

"You're going to need all your strength. Would you like me to cook you something to eat before you go?"

Virgil stared at her. "Grandma?"

"Something nourishing? Do you feel like anything in particular?"

"Are you serious, Grandma?" Scott asked.

"Of course I'm serious. There's a man up there who needs urgent medical attention and who better to get him to it than International Rescue? So..." she turned back to her middle grandson. "Well? What do you want?"

"Uh," Virgil was dumbfounded. "Anything I guess... Thanks," he added belatedly.

"Good!' She nodded in satisfaction before turning to the eldest. "And you make sure he eats it," she ordered, before turning on her heel.

"Yes, Grandma," Scott said to her departing back.

"That woman never fails to amaze me," Virgil said.

Scott divided up the transporter into sections and dispatched his brothers to the various quarters of the 'plane.

Ned was sitting by Joe's bedside. "You never do things by halves, do you, my friend?"

The only reply was the soft beeping sounds of the machines recording Joe's progress.

Ned chuckled half-heartedly. "And you accuse me of doing anything for a story. You realise the bosses are going to come down on you twice as hard as they were before we started this stupid Olympic show. You'll probably end up saddled with Sid Lowe no matter what I do."

Someone moved into his line of sight to examine one of the many monitors and Ned looked up. Brains was watching him, his eyes filled with sympathy. "H-He's doing well, considering his condition. We can move him at any time."

Ned looked back at his friends pallid face. "Can he survive a flight through a cyclone?"

"I can't answer that. But I-I can assure you, Mr. Cook. I would not let him die without a fight."

Ned looked back at the young man. "Could you survive a flight through a cyclone? You and Virgil and Tin-Tin?"

"I would have sacrificed Joe's l-life to preserve ours if I had any doubts about our, ah, ability to survive this flight intact. Thunderbird Two is an extremely s-strong craft and Virgil is a brave, skilled pilot, particularly when flying Th-Thunderbird Two."

"Did you design Thunderbird Two?"

Brains inclined his head. "It was a team effort."

"Engineer, scientist, surgeon... You're a clever man, Brains."

"I have been told so," Brains admitted with some modesty.

"With your inventions you could have made millions. Billions even! You could have had more money than Jeff Tracy and yet you've chosen to work for him."

"I-If I had done so billions could have died," Brains reminded Ned. "Not only those th-that International Rescue has saved, but those that would have fallen victim if my creations were obtained by the wrong people."

"I'm sorry I ever doubted your abilities."

"A-And I am gratified that my acting skills were sufficient to f-fool an experienced reporter such as yourself. The, ah, performing arts are not one of my talents."

"Permit me to help you, Tin-Tin."

"Thank you, Father. I would appreciate your help."

Tin-Tin and Kyrano worked together in companionable silence for a short time, packing into cases some of the items that Brains believed Joe would need during the upcoming flight.

"You are not frightened?" Kyrano eventually asked.

"Terrified," she admitted. "But Brains needs my help. And I am lighter than the boys."

"I would not try to talk you out of doing your duty, but no one would cast blame upon you if you were to change your mind."

"I would blame me," Tin-Tin told him. "I am a member of International Rescue and I am proud to be so. I can't in clear conscience let Virgil and Brains fly into Cyclone Sylvia, knowing that I could be of help to both of them."

"I am proud of you, My Daughter."

"Thank you, Father." Tin-Tin shut the last case and looked at the pile of cartons. "I hope we haven't packed too much. We're trying to travel light."

"I am sure that Mister Brains would have taken that into consideration."

Tin-Tin sighed. "Now I'd better go pack for myself. It isn't going to be easy. I always feel that I should wear something different at every meal when staying with Lady Penelope, but I won't be able to take too many clothes this time."

"You could always visit the shops. I am sure Lady Penelope would enjoy taking you around the clothing establishments in London."

"Treat myself, you mean?" Tin-Tin bit her lip in thought. "I might just do that. I'll probably need a little pampering after the flight. I'll take one change of clothes, sleepwear and purchase anything else I need in England." She kissed her father on the cheek. "Any suggestions of what I should buy?"

"Your style and my style are different," Kyrano admitted. "I would not begin to tell a young lady what she should wear... However..."

"Yes, Father?"

"If I may be so bold... a little modesty can be as alluring to the male as... the, ah, exposure of ... female flesh."

Tin-Tin laughed at her father's awkward suggestion. "But I won't be buying for a man's enjoyment. I will be buying for my own."

"Mister Alan would be most disappointed."

"Mister Alan won't be in England. Are you worried I might inflame Brains... or Parker?"

"You will see other men."

"Virgil? He treats me like his little sister. He always has."

Kyrano was beginning to wish he hadn't embarked on this conversation. "Many Englishmen have no wife and would appreciate the company of a young woman such as yourself."

"You forget, Father. I did much of my schooling in Europe. I think I can handle myself."

"Of this I have no doubt. All I ask is that you buy something that your old father would not be ashamed to see you in."

"My father is not that old," Tin-Tin reminded him. "But you are forgetting one thing. It is winter in England. I shall be wanting to wear more rather than less..."

"How high's the storm surge now?" Jeff asked his satellite bound son.

"It's dropping, but not very quickly. I think it'll be at least a couple of hours before the runway's clear."

"And how strong will Cyclone Sylvia be then?"

John's face was grim. "Strong enough that I wouldn't want to attempt flying in her."

"John, I know Virgil's got plenty of common sense, but whatever happens don't let him fly home again until you're absolutely sure that it's safe. If he has to ditch Thunderbird Two there's no one to rescue them."

"I've already told Penny to expect company and she'll make sure they don't leave until I've given the all clear."

Jeff gave a tight smile. "That's one lady who won't accept any arguments. I think she and your Grandmother were cast out of the same mould."

"Somehow," John managed a chuckle, "I can't imagine Penny wearing an apron and up to her elbows in flour."

"No," Jeff mused. "That's probably one skill Lady Penelope has never been taught."

"She might be able to cook on a campfire in an emergency," John suggested.

"Possibly..." Jeff gave himself a shake. "I can't believe we're discussing Lady Penelope's culinary skills, when I should be helping your brothers strip down Thunderbird Two."

"You're helping me not to worry," John told him. "I haven't got as much up here to keep me occupied."

Jeff decided to do something about that. "Any potential disasters which you can keep an eye on?"

"No," John replied. "And what could International Rescue do anyway? Thunderbird Two might be available, but nothing else would be. The Mole, Firefly, and our other equipment are all too heavy to take on the off chance they'll be needed."

"Okay, John. I've got the picture," Jeff growled. He stood. "I'm not helping anyone sitting here. I'm going back down to see if the boys need a hand. Keep giving me updates on the weather situation, would you?"

"F-A-B, Dad."

The Tracys had stripped out most of Thunderbird Two's interior and were in the processes of clearing out Pod Two. Scott and Virgil were emptying out cabinets on the starboard side; piling the contents onto trolleys.

"Virgil," Scott said, as he undid the final screw that held the cabinet in place. "Let me make the flight." They laid the cabinet on the trolley.

Virgil laughed. "I wondered how long it was going to be before you suggested that. The answer's no, Scott."

"I'm a better pilot than you."

Virgil faced off to his brother. "Not in Thunderbird Two you're not."

"I'm as good," Scott protested.

"Would you have tried to fly into the hangar like I did this morning?"

Scott stood a little straighter. "I would have in Thunderbird One."

"I've no doubt of that. But we're not talking about Thunderbird One. Would you have even thought of attempting it in Thunderbird Two?"

Scott hesitated as he wrestled with his conscience. "No," he eventually said.

"No," Virgil agreed. "Case closed. I'm flying Thunderbird Two. If nothing else it'll stop Ned Cook thinking I'm a creampuff."

Scott looked at his brother in concern. "Alan really hit a nerve with that crack, didn't he? Do you want me to talk to him about it?"

Virgil shook his head. "It was a joke! No, Scott. At any other time I would have laughed off a comment like that. It just happened that at that moment, like everyone else, I was stressing over the cyclone and Cook and Co. Forget it. I have."

"If you're sure..."

Unbeknownst to the two brothers they were being watched by their younger siblings. "Three guesses what's going on there," Gordon suggested.

"I'd only need one. Scott's offering to fly Thunderbird Two and Virgil's telling him where to go."

"Would you fly her through the cyclone?" Gordon asked.

"If I was the only person available, maybe," Alan admitted. "But I wouldn't offer to take Two while both Virgil and Scott are capable. Three maybe, but not Two. How about you?"

"No," Gordon said. "I know I'm her co-pilot, but I honestly don't think I've got the skills to handle her in a category five cyclone. I'd probably offer to take Joe under the water in Thunderbird Four."

"And meet up with the Sentinel again?" Alan grinned.

"Well," Gordon chuckled. "I did get to know a few of the crew. And the commander wasn't that bad once you got to know him."

"I don't know that Virgil would agree with you there."

"True. I'll admit that at first it was hard to be pleasant to the man who tried to shoot my brother out of the sky."

"Boys," Jeff bounded up the incline that was the Pod's door. "How's it going?"

"Nearly finished," Alan said, as he and Gordon lowered their cabinet onto the trolley.

"How about you, Scott?" Jeff called across the pod. "Do you want me to help anywhere?"

"Nope, that's it," Scott admitted. "I'm going to take Virgil through some cyclones on the simulator. We'll let Gordon programme it, which should ensure a suitably rough ride. Alan's going to check through Thunderbird Two and make sure we haven't missed anything."

Alan stared at him. "Why me?"

"Because Gordon and I haven't had the opportunity to spend much time with Virgil the last few days and you have."

"Yes," Gordon agreed.

"So!" Alan seethed. "I'd miss him too if anything happened."

"You can sit next to him while he's eating," Scott tried to pacify his kid brother.

"As long as I can sit on the other side..." Gordon added.

"That's my place," Scott told him.

"Why...?"

"Fellas! Stop!" Virgil snapped. "I don't need this. You're making me feel like I'm about to be led to the gallows." His watch beeped.

"Virgil," Grandma Tracy's face looked at him from the dial. "Your dinner's ready."

"Thanks." Virgil lowered his wrist.

Jeff put his arm about his shoulders. "Come on, Son. She won't like to be kept waiting."

Virgil groaned. "And the condemned man was led away to enjoy his final meal."

Thirteen: Into The Storm

Virgil was in uniform as he wandered through his plane, double and triple checking everything carefully. For the first time in as long as he could remember he was feeling slightly nervous about a flight in Thunderbird Two, and the way his family had practically been glued to his side over the last few hours hadn't helped. When he'd gone to get changed, he'd almost literally had to throw Scott out of his bedroom so he'd have some peace. It was only because his father had dispatched everyone off on various tasks that he was alone now.

Virgil checked each compartment noting that they had all been stripped bare of their fixtures and fittings. The various winches, grabs, and other pieces of equipment were now all stacked neatly along the sides of the hangar. They'd even vacuumed each room, deciding that in a craft of this size a small amount of dust in each area could add up to a weight of consequence.

His last port of call was the pod.

He heard his father yell. "Virgil?"

"In here," Virgil's voice sounded hollow inside the barren shell.

Jeff climbed into the pod. "Last minute checks?"

"Yes." Virgil stood for a moment looking around him. "It's ironic that we've had to strip her down like this after all the hard work you guys put into her bringing her back up to scratch."

"It won't take so long to put her back together this time. At least everything's intact. And we'll have you to help this time, your brothers will see to that."

Virgil nodded his agreement, not really listening. He was remembering the note that he'd scribbled and left under his pillow. 'To my much loved family,' it began. 'If you're reading this it's because I'm not as good a pilot as I thought I was...'

Virgil grimaced. He wished he hadn't written that.

"Are you all right?" his father asked when he noticed the expression.

"I think I've eaten too much of Grandma's cooking. I might be too heavy for Thunderbird Two."

Jeff Tracy chuckled. "You've made her happy, anyway." He looked at his watch. "They'll be down soon."

"Yes." Virgil agreed. "I guess I'd better go get everything fired up." He led the way into the lift that would take them to the sickbay.

"I'm proud of you, Son."

Surprised by his father's remark, Virgil could only manage a "Huh?"

"There's not too many people with the skills and courage to undertake such a flight."

This was easy to answer. "No."

"And I want you to know, that even if I hadn't seen that amazing bit of flying this morning, I still would have thought you were the man for the job."

"Thanks," Virgil said. "I don't know what all the fuss is about. It's not like I've never done anything dangerous before."

"But this is different..."

"Only because, this time, you're involved personally. Do you really think flying through a cyclone is any more dangerous than having an atomic airliner land on me or neutralising a nuclear reactor?" He waited to see if he'd eased his father's mind.

"No," Jeff agreed. "I guess you're right. But, even so, please be careful. Don't take any risks."

"I won't," Virgil admitted. "I've learnt the hard way that I'm not bullet-proof. There's no way that I would have offered to take this trip if I hadn't thought that both Thunderbird Two and I were up to the job."

"So I don't need to remind you that you've got Brains and Tin-Tin on board as well as Joe."

Virgil shook his head. "No." The lift stopped rising, the doors opened and he operated a switch.

There was a humming sound as light flooded the room, and when they stepped into the sickbay it was like stepping into a whole new world. Whereas the rest of Thunderbird Two was painted utilitarian greens and greys, the sickbay was a glossy white. Apart from the floor the room was spherical in shape and not a sharp edge or corner was visible. On a console set into the wall just inside the door lights flashed and the needles on various gauges crept higher.

Virgil began to prowl about, opening cupboards, checking stocks, and examining the electronic equipment.

"Brains has already done that," Jeff advised.

"I know. But if I check it myself that'll be one less thing I'll worry about..."

"You can't leave me here!" Ned Cook protested.

Scott glared at him. "We're not letting you anywhere near Thunderbird Two's hangar! You know too much already."

"But Joe's my friend..."

"If you really care about him you'll let us take him away, instead of standing there arguing with me," Scott told him and took up position at the front right of the stretcher. Beside him, Gordon already had his hand on the stretcher's left handle. Alan was behind him. "Would you mind helping, Kyrano?"

Kyrano bowed. "It would be my pleasure to assist you all." He took his place at the sole remaining handle.

"I could do that!" Ned claimed.

Scott ignored him. "Are you ready, Brains? Tin-Tin?"

They were dressed and ready for the flight. Instead of wearing surgical garb or lab coats, both wore what appeared to be a kind of body armour. Ned had goggled at the pair of them and had asked, "What's that get up for?"

No one had told him. Now the seven members of International Rescue were walking out the door, carrying Joe and leaving a frustrated reporter in their wake.

"Now don't you move from here," Grandma Tracy wagged her finger at Ned. "Else I'll see to you, my lad."

Ned could do nothing but wait. Even if he'd been in the mood for a little snooping they'd boarded up the door to the lounge. Thunderbird One's hangar was securely off limits.

The ride down to Thunderbird Two was quiet. The lift was large enough to carry two billiard tables and each person had plenty of room in which to reflect on their own thoughts.

The doors slid back, revealing Thunderbird Two, her nose just metres away from the solid granite wall. "Virgil must have been in a hurry to put that thing away," Grandma remarked. "It's facing the wrong direction."

Her grandsons were careful not to explain why Virgil had been in such a hurry, or how he'd 'put it away' as they crossed the hangar towards the gigantic plane. Footsteps echoed and body armour reverberated in that mausoleum of a room. They entered Thunderbird Two...

Virgil was continuing his inspection of the sickbay as he ran his hands around a distinct panel in the wall, checking the edges were clear. "If nothing else, I hope I don't have to use this thing."

"Me too, Son."

The sickbay had two uses. The primary, obvious use was care of the injured. Its secondary use was as an escape pod. The theory was that upon impact or after manual operation, the sickbay would be ejected out through Thunderbird Two's roof, where a parachute would be deployed to bring it safely to earth. The spherical interior was to ensure that there were no sharp edges on which anyone could be impaled. The matching exterior would ensure that should the pod land on water it would float until the occupants could be rescued. A fraction of a second before the escape pod's ejection, the pilot, and any passengers on the flight deck, would be pulled backwards, on their seats, into the sickbay in a manner reminiscent of the escape units in the 'Zero' fleet of spaceships.

They'd tested it once two months before they'd set out on their first rescue. Since Thunderbird Two was 'his' plane, Virgil had volunteered to be the guinea pig. When Brains had activated the unit, Virgil, in his pilot seat, had been propelled backwards at such a speed that the acceleration and deceleration had left him stunned and gasping for breath. As they'd helped him onto the sickbay's stretcher and given him oxygen, Alan, who'd been champing at the bit to have a go, suddenly remembered that he had something important to do in Thunderbird Three. Gordon had remarked that it made his accident in the hydrofoil look like a cruise on a yacht. John had practically begged his father to let him go up to Thunderbird Five early, and Scott had torn strips off the scientist. "It's too explosive, Brains."

Stung with everyone's reaction, Brains had pulled himself up to his full height and looked Scott in the chest. "Th-That's the point, Scott. It's to save the p-pilot's life."

"It's not going to be much use if it's going to kill him!"

"I-I would not allow that to happen..."

"And I'm going to make sure it won't! Come up with something else, Brains!"

"Such as...?"

By this point Virgil had got his breath back. "Will you all be quiet?" he'd begged. "And help me remove this mask. My hands don't seem to be working properly."

It was only bruising, brought about by the concussive nature of the test, but Virgil remembered that he'd felt sore for the entire week after that. He'd also had to endure teasing from his brothers about his having to move about like an old man. Even more frustrating had been the pain he'd felt each time he'd attempted to play the piano. Brains had explained that inertial forces, caused by his blood being thrust at speed down his arms to his hands, had caused severe bruising to his fingertips. It was not a sensation that Virgil was in a hurry to feel again.

Scott had battled to get the ejection unit changed, and Brains had battled equally hard to retain it. Jeff had finally decided that as it was only to be used in an emergency, and appeared to be working as designed, the system would be retained. He also decreed that there was no need for anyone else to test it...

And so, that was the only time the pilot's escape unit had been used. Virgil hoped it would stay that way.

The lift announced its arrival. "Good luck, Virgil," Jeff said quickly, and Joe, still in his half-seated position, was borne into the sickbay.

A short time later the injured man was secure in the sickbay's bed. Brains confirmed that his vital signs were as good as could be expected under the present conditions and turned to the rest of the group. "W-W-We're ready."

After the expected goodbyes, most of the group retreated back to the safety of Tracy Villa. "We'll watch the flight from the storm shelters," Jeff explained to Ned when they had reached the safety of the house.

This time Ned Cook had no compunction about obeying the Tracy patriarch.

"How're things looking, John?" Virgil asked as he slid into his pilot's seat.

"Better," John replied. "Which isn't saying much."

"How fast are the winds?"

"Varying between 200 and 250 knots, with occasional gusts of 300."

"Just a walk in the park then."

"If the park's situated in a wind tunnel."

"Virgil, John, patch through full telemetry readings," Jeff commanded. "I want to know exactly what's going on with Thunderbird Two. I also want full video coverage of what you're seeing, Virgil. "

"F-A-B." Virgil agreed. "I'd appreciate it if someone could take on a virtual co-pilot role. I'm not going to be able to keep an eye on everything."

"Gordon?" John offered. "Scott?"

"No. You do it, John," Scott replied. "It'll take a microsecond longer for a signal to travel between here and Thunderbird Two than there would be directly from Thunderbird Five. That microsecond could be crucial."

"Are you happy with that, John?" Virgil asked.

"Sure," John agreed. "What do you want me to watch?"

"Let's start with height, wind speed and air pressure. I'll concentrate on what I'm flying through; you tell me if there's anything coming up I should know about. That'll be valuable when we're flying through the transition zone."

"F-A-B."

In the storm shelter Ned was astounded to see the wall change from what he'd previously thought was a plain, painted surface. Now, in one panel he could see Virgil's view through the windscreen. The one on the far left was focused on the pilot himself, while its opposing number showed Brains and Tin-Tin checking Joe in the sick-bay. The middle panel showed John Tracy in Thunderbird Five and the final one displayed all sorts of incomprehensible readouts.

Clearly Scott didn't find them incomprehensible because he was studying them closely. "Looks okay so far..."

"Of course they're okay," Alan replied. "They haven't left the ground yet."

"What's the wind speed in the cirrus outflow region?" Virgil was asking.

"About the same as what you've got down there." Together the two brothers began checking the reports and telemetry readings coming from Thunderbird Two and various weather computers.

Ned Cook listened to the exchange between the Virgil and John with a mixture of anxiety and confusion. "What are they talking about? What's the transition zone and circus outflow region?"

"Cirrus outflow region," Scott corrected. "It's where the air escapes from the low pressure system of the cyclonic inflow."

Ned looked at him in open confusion. "Low pressure system of the cyclonic inflow?"

Alan tried to help out. "Remember how Brains explained that the eye of a cyclone is the area of highest air pressure and lowest wind speeds? That's why we were able to fly out into it this morning. Conversely, the eye wall is the area of the lowest air pressure and highest wind speeds. That's what we're in now."

"Right..." Ned said slowly, trying to follow the science.

"What happens..."

"Scott," his father interrupted, "Maybe later?" He gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of his mother.

Unfortunately for him she saw his gesture. "Don't be silly, Jefferson. I don't need to be sheltered from what they are going to be facing. I'd rather know the facts than be left to imagine the worst."

"Are you sure, Grandma?" Scott asked.

"You're just as silly as your father," she remonstrated.

"Okay," Scott attempted to keep his explanation simple. "The main 'engine' of the cyclone is a 'cyclonic inflow', sucking the air in towards the centre of the cyclone in a clockwise motion... since we are in the Southern Hemisphere. Obviously there gets a point where the air has nowhere to go except up, and it does this through the eye, which acts like a chimney."

"Okay," Ned nodded.

"When the air forced upward by the 'chimney' hits the top of the cyclone, usually about seven thousand metres up, it spills out forming an outflow of cirrus, that's a kind of wispy cloud."

"And that's the cirrus outflow region?" Ned asked.

"Right. But while the cyclonic inflow, made up of active cumulus towers..."

Ned looked confused.

"Thunderstorm clouds," Gordon supplied.

"Oh."

"Thanks," Scott acknowledged. "While the cyclonic inflow is rotating in a clockwise motion, the cirrus outflow region is spinning in the opposite direction. As you can imagine, there's a pretty turbulent area between these two, and that's the transition zone Virgil was referring too."

"How strong is the cirrus outflow region?" Ned asked.

"Well..." Scott thought for a moment. "It depends on the strength of the storm. At their strongest point, which is about 12,000 metres up, pretty much the same as what is there in the cyclonic inflow."

"So," Ned said in amazement. "They've not only got to fly through 250 knot winds going this way," he pointed to his right. "They've also got to fly through 250 knot winds going this way," he pointed in the other direction. "And then they've got to deal with where the two meet up?" He pointed both directions and then twisted his hands together.

"Yep," Alan replied. "Tricky, isn't it?"

"And you're allowing Tin-Tin to fly through that?" Ned asked Kyrano.

Kyrano inclined his head. "It is the twenty-first century, Mr. Cook. Young ladies are free to make up their own minds. They do not rely on their fathers to tell them what they should and should not do."

Ned listened as his words came back to haunt him.

Virgil felt a twinge of apprehension as he looked at the hangar wall ahead of him. If only he'd been able to land Thunderbird Two normally last time... He pushed the unfamiliar sensation down and checked Two's readings. All seemed to be normal. "Opening hangar door."

He imagined the outer door slipping into its cavity. He imagined the runway being cleared of debris. He imagined the inner door dropping down to reveal pure havoc.

He gave the horizontal jets a burst to keep them clear of water and debris. "Flight deck to sickbay. Are you ready?"

"R-Ready, Virgil."

"Reversing out." Virgil did so, and became conscious that something was missing. "Where are the sound effects, Gordon?"

"Huh?" a bemused Gordon replied.

"That irritating 'beep-beep' sound you always make when I'm having to reverse."

"Oh that." Gordon looked embarrassed. "You want that now?"

"I've never been able to stop you before."

"This is silly, Virgil."

"Humour me."

Turning red, Gordon mimicked the sound of a backing truck.

"How can he be that relaxed?" Ned wondered allowed. "He's cool as a cucumber."

"He's not that relaxed," Scott advised him. "Hear that tune he's humming? He only does that when he's worried."

"He won't even be aware he's doing it," Alan confirmed. "He's worried all right. He's just trying to keep us from worrying too."

Satisfied that he'd relieved some of the anxieties that he had no doubt were present in the storm shelter, Virgil concentrated on backing. As Thunderbird Two reversed out of the hangar he could hear the rains beating down on her hull. As more of Thunderbird Two was exposed it became harder to hear Gordon's sound effects. A little further and water was running down the windscreens. Further still and he was outside; the full fury of Cyclone Sylvia hammering down on him.

Praying that the beginning of the runway was still clear Virgil continued backing, turning Thunderbird Two in the small area he had available. He wanted her nose pointing into the wind to aid in lift-off, a position roughly perpendicular to the cliff face. A wind gust hit the megalithic 'plane on its starboard side and sent her rocking gently.

Beads of sweat broke out on Virgil's upper lip. "How strong was that, John?"

There was no trace of humour in John's voice. "310 knots."

"Great. I'll give the horizontal jets another blast to check they're clear."

John switched channels. "How's everything going, Brains? How's Joe?"

"Stable," Brains replied.

"How are you and Tin-Tin?"

"F-F-Fine, John," Brains glanced across at the young woman.

The pair of them were making full use of their 'armour'. Instead of being strapped into conventional seats, they were magnetically welded to the curved walls. Once the flight was underway the walls would release their hold and allow the pair to move freely. This was where the second extraordinary feature of the sickbay came in handy. By reversing the technology that enabled the crews of Thunderbirds Three and Five to move about in simulated gravity, Brains had managed to apparently reduce the effects of gravity in the room. This meant that carers and patients alike weren't restricted by the placement of beds and instrument tables. If need be one carer could hover with ease over his patient, permitting others unrestricted access.

The third remarkable thing about the sickbay was the fact that the whole room was suspended by this same anti-gravitational field, cocooning it from any external movements and vibrations in Thunderbird Two. It ensured that everyone in the sickbay had a safe and comfortable flight.

"I am ready," Tin-Tin told John. "We are isolated from what's happening outside in here."

"H-Have we l-left the ground?" Brains asked hopefully.

"Nope. He's still trying to get into position."

Ned gaped at the odd posture the couple were standing in. "Why are they standing like that?"

Everyone ignored him, preferring to concentrate on the screens.

Thunderbird Two had been turned. Waves of water were lashing across the windscreen making it impossible to see any of the buildings. Whether they were still there, or had been blown away in the storm, it was impossible to tell.

"Everything ready at your end?" Virgil asked John.

"All systems are go," John replied.

"Okay, then, this is it. Wish us luck everyone," Virgil requested, and almost without thinking, everyone in the storm shelter did so.

"You'll need to be free to concentrate on the flight, Virgil, so we'll cease communication from now," his father explained. "If we want to contact you it'll be through John."

"F-A-B." Virgil looked at his father's image. "And thanks. Make sure you all stay dry and don't get blown away before we get back."

His father smiled back. "We're perfectly safe in here."

"Keep your nose into the wind, Virg," Scott reminded him. "And don't take any risks."

"You mean apart from actually taking off?" Alan asked.

"And flying," Gordon added.

Jeff shushed them. "Good luck, Virgil. We'll see you soon."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied and his console went blank. "Looks like it's you and me now, John."

"They can still hear and see you, Virgil."

"I know..." Virgil took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Let's do it." He started applying pressure to the throttle.

Inside the storm shelter some of the gauges projected onto the wall began to respond. Numbers ticked over and the pointer in the gauge registering 'power output' rose steadily into the green...

Cyclone Sylvia, obviously taking exception to the fact that mere human beings were daring to attempt to leave her grasp, ripped the sole remaining palm tree, number eight, from the ground and flung it at the windscreen of Thunderbird Two. Those in the storm shelter instinctively recoiled as the root ball, constrained by the metal nutrient container, crashed against the plexiglass and the palm's leaves, brushed along the window. Then tree eight fell away, down the nose of the 'plane, and out of sight.

The pointer slid back down to zero.

"That was close," Alan noted.

"How's Two?" John asked, his face creased in an anxious frown.

Virgil was examining some readouts from his onboard computer. "Seems okay..." He stood and physically checked the area where the palm had struck. "Can't see any damage." He breathed a sigh of relief. "Sylvia's not going to make this easy, is she?"

"Nope. Looks like she's going to literally throw everything at you."

Jeff leant forward as if he were going to initiate contact. Then he changed his mind and settled back.

"Okay, we'll try again," Virgil said. Once again he pressed forward on the throttle.

Once again the 'power output' gauge's pointer started creeping upwards. Following the gauge's green segment, the pointer slid past the number one and then number two. It reached three with no noticeable change in anything except the noise Thunderbird Two's VTOL jets were making. Steam was rising outside the cabin windows making an already indistinct scene invisible.

The gauge was reading four.

"Come on, Virg," Scott muttered.

Five.

Six was the first degree in the orange segment and the pointer slid resolutely past.

"Come on, Baby," Virgil muttered.

Seven.

Eight came and went and the pointer crept dangerously close to a red nine.

"He's not going to make it," Gordon muttered.

The pointer hovered just below the red mark before sinking back down to zero again. Everyone in the shelter appeared to let out a breath of relief.

"What's he doing now?" Ned asked.

"Re-evaluating his options," Scott replied.

"Trying again..." Once again Virgil applied the throttle and once again the pointer rose. One... Two... Three...

Alan bit his thumbnail.

Four... Five... Past the orange six...

Kyrano closed his eyes as if in prayer.

Seven... Eight...

The pointer hovered at the transition between orange and red. It crept over, approaching the nine...

Scott was muttering instructions to his brother, even though Virgil was out of radio contact. "Too much power, Virg. You're using too much power. You'll burn out the engines..."

He hadn't finished his sentence when the pointer began to slide back into the green again.

Virgil sat and frowned without touching any of his instruments. His humming became louder.

"What's he doing?" Ned asked. "He's not giving up is he? He can't! Joe won't make it if he doesn't get help!"

Everyone ignored him.

Virgil sat in thought for a moment; then he opened up a radio channel. "Can you hear me, Brains?"

Everyone's attention switched to the man pressed against the wall in the sickbay. "I-I can hear you, Virgil. Are we airborne yet?"

"No. We're still too heavy to get off the ground."

"Wh-What are you going to do? W-We can't lighten Thunderbird Two any more."

"I think we can. Can you give me one good reason why we shouldn't build up the power and then jettison the pod?"

Brains had no problem with the answer. "We'd destabilise th-the structural integrity of Th-Thunderbird Two."

"Apart from that," Virgil replied.

"W-We'd destroy the aerodynamic flow."

"Apart from that."

"We've n-n-never tried it before. We've never even t-tested it. Not in these conditions."

"I know that too, but can you think of any 'it would be fatal to try it' reason why we shouldn't jettison the pod?"

Brains thought. "N-No."

"What does he mean 'jettison the pod'?" Ned asked.

"He means he wants to leave a big bit of Thunderbird Two behind," Gordon replied.

Ned had a feeling that he'd been patronised. "Sounds dangerous."

"It is," Alan replied.

"Are you willing to let me try, Brains? Tin-Tin?" Virgil was asking.

Scott was shaking his head. "Don't do it, Virg."

But Brains was reluctantly in agreement with the plan. "I'll say y-yes, go ahead, if you th-think we have no other option, Virgil."

"I can't think of anything else we can do. If we don't get off the ground we won't get Joe to medical help in time. If either or both of you want to get out I'd understand."

"No. I'll stay," Tin-Tin responded and Ned glanced at Kyrano who remained immobile.

"Brains?" Virgil asked.

"I'm staying," Brains replied. "Joe, ah, needs my help."

"Okay," Virgil said. "Thanks, both of you. Are you all secure?"

Brains did a brief check of Joe's vital signs before 'welding' himself to the wall again. "We are ready, V-Virgil."

"Okay. On the count of ten... Ten... Nine... Eight..."

Once again the pointer in the 'power output' gauge started rising as those in the storm shelter began to count along with Thunderbird Two's pilot.

"Seven... Six..."

The pointer slipped out of the green and into the orange.

"Five..." said Ned and was astounded to realise that he was the only person who'd spoken.

"Four..." Virgil continued in chorus with his family. "Three... Two..."

As the pointer hovered on the edge of the red segment smoke and steam were streaming from Thunderbird Two's undercarriage. Even those inside the shelter could see that the mighty 'plane was trembling with the forces that were building up within her. Only those in the sickbay seemed oblivious of the drama happening around them.

"One..."

"Go!" Keeping his left hand firmly gripping the control yoke, Virgil slammed his right down on a button. Thunderbird Two lurched skywards and he wrestled with the controls as she listed to port. Pulling the yoke down to the right, Virgil gave the VTOL jets another burst and Thunderbird Two climbed away from the ground and cliff face. "We're airborne."

A cheer went up in the shelter. "Nice one, Virg," Scott exclaimed.

"Everyone sends their congratulations," John told Virgil.

"Thanks, but that's only the beginning," Virgil reminded them. "We've got another 18 thousand metres to climb before we're out of trouble." He changed channel. "Flight deck to sickbay. We're airborne."

"Th-Thank you, Virgil." Brains began unpeeling himself from the wall.

"Your plan worked then?" Tin-Tin asked as the magnetic field released its grip on her armour.

As Ned watched they floated away from the wall and over to Joe's bed. Brains hovered directly over Joe and inspected where an IV line was entering his arm, while Tin-Tin took his blood pressure. "They're not touching the floor! How are they doing that?"

No one answered him. So he watched the strange aerial ballet as Brains and Tin-Tin worked their way around Joe, checking various things and occasionally changing the solutions dripping into his arm.

"Five hundred metres," he heard John say. "Wind speed 263 knots"

Ned switched his attention back to the pilot of Thunderbird Two. Virgil was clearly fighting against Cyclone Sylvia. Ned glanced at the altimeter just as John gave an update, "one thousand metres."

The rain lashed at the window.

"One point five."

A lightning bolt streaked across Thunderbird Two's nose.

"Two thousand."

Tin-Tin replaced a bag of clear plasma with one of precious scarlet blood.

"Three thousand metres. Air pressure 635 kilopascals. Wind speed 265 knots."

More lightning.

Someone in the storm shelter shifted position, reminding Ned of where he was. He discovered that he'd been digging his nails into his palms and rubbed his hands together to get the circulation flowing again.

"Four thousand metres."

"Remind me, how high do they have to climb?" Ned asked.

Scott tried not to show his impatience with the reporter. "The cyclone is 18 thousand metres high."

"And where's this 'transition zone'?"

It was Gordon who responded. "They'll start feeling the effect at about seven or eight thousand metres."

"Oh."

"Four thousand five hundred metres," John intoned. "How's it going, Virgil?"

Virgil's reply was to the point. "Fine."

"Five thousand metres. 257 knots."

Ned looked around the room. Without exception each person had their eyes fixed on the wall, some watching Virgil, some watching the gauges, and some watching Brains and Tin-Tin at work.

"Five thousand five hundred."

Ned found himself transfixed by the altimeter.

"Six thousand metres."

A wind gust knocked Thunderbird Two about. Virgil's hands were dislodged from the control yoke.

He regained control.

"290 knots. Seven thousand metres."

More lightning wracked the sky.

"Seven-two-five-zero, Thunderbird Two."

The scarlet bag had drained dry and Tin-Tin replaced it with another of clear liquid.

"Seven thousand five hundred metres. Air pressure 622 kilopascals. Wind speed two six two."

Brains flew gracefully across the sickbay and removed something from one of the drawers.

"Seven-seven-five-zero. You're approaching the transition zone, Virgil."

"I know. I'm beginning to feel the effects. Slowing rate of ascent."

"Why?" Ned asked. "He should be going faster not..."

"Eight thousand metres."

Thunderbird Two was jarred by a crosswind. Virgil was flung back in his seat, nearly losing control of the yoke again.

"Eight thousand one hundred."

"Wind speed?" Virgil asked.

"Ah... 250, no... 275 easter... no, west... It's all over the show."

"Height?"

"Eight-two-five-zero."

Thunderbird Two was being buffeted about from all directions.

"Whoa! Virgil!" John exclaimed. "You lost 200 metres then."

"Felt like it."

A lightning bolt zapped across their field of vision.

"Eight-two-seven-five."

A gust of wind caught Thunderbird Two broadside. She rocked violently.

Virgil was sweating. He cuffed his brow with his sleeve and grabbed the yoke again.

"Nine thousand metres. You're halfway there, Thunderbird Two."

Ned glanced at the Tracys. He had a feeling that he could have stripped off his clothes and run around the shelter naked carrying the contents of Jeff Tracy's safe and they wouldn't have taken any notice of him.

He switched his attention back to the sick bay. He saw Tin-Tin look across to her colleague. "Brains! Something's wrong!"

Almost immediately there was an echo from the other side of the room. "John! Something's wrong," Virgil said. "I've lost power."

"How!"

It was obvious that Virgil was fighting the controls. "Engines are dead."

"What!"

"We're falling!"

"B.P's falling!" Tin-Tin exclaimed.

"Pump in the plasma!" Brains ordered.

Those safe in the storm shelter were on their feet. Jeff Tracy had put a protective arm about his mother.

Ned wasn't a pilot, but he knew that the needle on the altimeter shouldn't be spinning in that direction at that speed. Nor should the numbers on that digital display be counting down that quickly...

"What's his vital signs?" Brains asked.

"Blood pressure 60 systolic, 50 diastolic. Still dropping!"

"Air pressure 600 kilopascals. Altitude eight thousand five hundred. Still dropping!"

Virgil's knuckles were white as he gripped the control yoke, struggling to persuade Thunderbird Two to respond to something other than gravity.

"Pull out of that dive, Virgil," John was commanding. "Eight thousand metres."

"I can't! She's not responding..."

"He's not responding, Tin-Tin."

"Pulse is faint. I can barely read it..."

"Breathing's erratic. Get the adrenaline ready. Got to steady his heart..."

"Hold her steady, Virgil. Push through that rain band."

"I can't hold this heading!"

"Pull her nose up! Seven thousand metres."

"I've lost steering!"

"I've lost his pulse!"

Brains flipped a switch and the head of Joe's bed fell back so the man was lying flat. The scientist began cardiac massage. "Where's the defibrillator..."

"Charging. 10 percent... 20 percent... 30 percent..."

"We're in a 30 degree free fall! What's our height?"

"Six five... Six four.... Three... Two... One... Six thousand metres..."

"One, two, three, four, five. Where's that defibrillator, Tin-Tin!"

"It's still charging, Brains. There's a power drain somewhere!"

"Something's draining your power, Virgil!"

"Must be the sickbay!"

Thunderbird Two made a violent manoeuvre that was registered in the video link by Virgil being thrown sideways. He grasped the controls again.

"Whoa!" Alan exclaimed. "Did you see the attitude indicator? He just did a barrel roll!"

"That's not possible!" Scott contradicted. "Two's not built to survive a roll."

"Don't tell me! Tell Two!"

"Barrel roll!" Ned exclaimed. "What's that?"

Needing to do something Scott explained. "You've seen it at air shows. When a plane rolls wing to wing through 360 degrees or more..."

"Quiet!" Jeff barked, all his concentration on the screen in front of him.

Ned looked at Kyrano whose eyes were tightly shut and who appeared to be praying. Then he looked back at Virgil who'd paled significantly, but whose blood seemed to be returning to his cheeks.

"Get another unit of whole blood ready."

"I can't. There's none left!"

"Where's that defibrillator?"

"Here, Brains." Tin-Tin handed him the hand pieces.

Brains sent a jolt of electricity through the cameraman's body and then peered short-sightedly at his vital signs meter. "Didn't work. Charge it again." He began pumping at Joe's chest. "Where's that blood?"

"There's none left."

"None left!" Brains took a moment to glance at his assistant.

"No. We only had a limited supply, remember?"

"Then give him more plasma while the defibrillator's recharging!"

"We need more power..."

"Five thousand five hundred metres. You've got to shut down the sickbay, Virgil! You need more power! You'll crash otherwise!"

"Can't do that!" Virgil slammed his hand down on a button.

"It's three lives against one..."

"Emergency beacon on. Are you reading?"

"Yes, but..."

"Talk to you soon, John."

"Virgil! What...!"

A cry of dismay went around the storm shelter as all but one of the screens went blank. Grandma Tracy sank back down onto her seat.

"John! What's happened?" Jeff exclaimed.

"He's cut the communication link."

"Try to get through," his father ordered.

"It's no good. He's not responding!"

"He must be trying to get enough power to re-start the engines by shutting down all unnecessary systems," Scott hypothesised.

"But how much power would he save by cutting communications?" Gordon asked. "John?"

"Not much."

"What else would he try, Scott?" Alan was looking at his oldest brother for reassurance.

"Dunno..." Scott's brow was creased in thought. "I hate to think..."

"The emergency beacon's working," John informed them.

"What's Thunderbird Two doing, John?" Scott asked.

"Still falling... Five thousand... Four seven five zero... Four s... Hold on... He's arrested the rate of decent."

The Tracys listened intently.

"Four seven... Four seven... He's hovering... He's climbing... Four eight... Four nine..."

"Whew!" Scott let out a breath. "Whatever he did it worked."

"Try and get him back online, John" Jeff requested.

"Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two... Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two... Come in, Virgil."

...

"Calling Thunderbird Two..."

...

"Five thousand. This is Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two..."

...

"Five thousand one hundred. Thunderbird Five calling Th..."

"This is Thunderbird Two. We're okay, John."

John smiled as he heard the sounds of relief come from the storm shelter. "You sure gave us a fright, Brother."

Thunderbird Two's telemetry winked on, closely followed by the image of the sickbay. The head of Joe's bed was raised again and Tin-Tin was clearing things away as Brains took the sick man's pulse. There was none of the frantic activity that had been visible before.

Virgil's image reappeared. He was still fighting against the winds and rains of Cyclone Sylvia, but even so he still managed a wry grin. "If Scott's listening you can tell him he's welcome to take over at any time."

There was laughter in the storm shelter as everyone slumped back into their seats. "Tell him he's doing fine, John," Scott requested.

"Scott says that as you seem to be enjoying yourself so much, he doesn't want to spoil your fun," John paraphrased.

"Yeah, right," Virgil deadpanned.

"Do you want to shut the emergency beacon down?" John requested. "The sound of that thing gives me the creeps and you'll be sending every emergency service within a thousand k of you into a spin."

"Okay." Virgil did as he was bid. "Is that better?"

"Yep. I'll start transmitting the all clear," John continued talking as he did so. "So how'd you restart the engines? What did you do?"

"Shut down one or two unnecessary systems."

"Such as?" John asked, with an eyebrow raised. "I thought everything was necessary. You guys removed everything that wasn't."

Virgil's answer was glib. "I'll tell you later. I'd better check all's well in the sickbay before we start ascending again." Before he had a chance to be questioned further he switched links. "How's things going, Brains?"

"F-Fine, Virgil. We've had no problems you need worry about."

"Glad to hear it."

"How about you. H-How are things progressing?"

"Piece of cake," Virgil lied. "We're coming up to the transition zone now."

"G-Good. In that case I'll let you get b-back to work."

"Thanks, Brains... And congratulations on designing a fantastic 'plane."

Brains sounded surprised. "Uh, thank you, V-Virgil."

Virgil shut down the radio link.

"What did he mean by that?" Tin-Tin asked as she dropped her gloves into the rubbish disposal.

"I've been thinking," Scott announced. "And I'll bet he shut down the oxygen filtration system. That uses plenty of power. It feeds the whole ship."

Gordon nodded. "But not the sickbay. That's on a separate system. I'll bet you're right."

"Uh, what's the oxygen filtration system?" Ned asked and fully expected be ignored again.

"It supplies clean air to the entire ship," Scott told him. "Shut it down and things'll get stale pretty quickly."

"Stale? Stale as in nothing to breathe?"

Scott nodded.

"But... But... That's crazy!" Ned spluttered. "How can he fly if he's dead?"

"I don't think that was the plan," Alan said. "There's an emergency oxygen cylinder beside the pilot's seat."

Ned's reporter's questioning instincts came to the fore. "But what if that didn't work? What would he have done then? Tin-Tin said they were isolated. Would Brains and Tin-Tin have known something was wrong? What could they have done? What if Virgil passed out before he'd got the oxygen mask on? What if..."

"What if you were to keep quiet!"

Ned stopped mid flow and stared at Jeff Tracy. The man was on his feet and he looked angry.

"What if you'd left us alone like you'd been asked to? What if you'd accepted Gordon's word that he didn't want to be interviewed?" Jeff stormed. "What if you'd never invaded our home? What if you hadn't tricked us into letting you stay here? What if you hadn't tried to film the cyclone?"

"Dad," Alan said. "Calm down."

"These last five days I've had to sit back and let you think that I – that WE are something we're not," his father raged. "Because of you we've had to pretend to be different people in our own home! Because of you I've had to deny the respect that I have for Gordon's achievements. Because of your actions you've endangered most of my family. Tin-Tin and Alan could have been killed when the herbarium gave way. And Gordon... Gordon's risked his neck twice to save you! We should have let the Empire State fall on you and then we wouldn't have this trouble now!"

"Dad," Gordon said in alarm. "You don't mean that."

"Gordon, Alan and Scott could have been hurt or killed when they rescued Joe. And now Virgil, Brains and Tin-Tin are out there in the middle of the worst cyclone of the century risking their lives just so he has a chance to live!"

Scott stood. He laid a gentle hand on his father's shoulder. "They'll be okay," he said quietly. "You know that."

If was as if Jeff didn't hear him. "I've had to send three people who are important to me into the middle of a cyclone in an untested airplane..."

"Father!" There was an urgency in Scott's voice.

"And you have the temerity to question my son's actions when he's trying to save your friend's miserable life!"

"Jefferson!" Grandma Tracy caught his attention. She held out her hand and spoke in a soothing voice. "Come here, Dear."

Jeff stopped. He took a deep breath and glared at Ned.

Ned lifted his hands in an 'I don't know' gesture. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing! I don't want to hear another word from you! Not a peep for as long as we're stuck here!" Jeff took a menacing step forward. "Understand!"

"Sit down, Mr. Cook," Gordon requested. "Please."

"You all seem to forget that that IS my friend who's injured."

Jeff made a sudden movement and Scott took a step so he was a shield between his father and the reporter. "You! Sit!" He pointed at Ned and then into the corner.

Ned gave him a petulant stare. "I am not a dog."

"I said SIT," Scott barked.

Ned realised that there was something about Scott Tracy that commanded respect, and that that something wasn't restricted to the stature of the man. He sat.

Scott turned back to Jeff. "Go and sit down," he suggested in a quieter voice.

Jeff glanced at the video wall where John was watching proceedings, looked back at Scott, rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers, and without a word sat down beside his mother.

Scott stood for a moment as if he were refereeing a boxing match and then took a seat halfway between the two men.

John had been listening to the altercation, glad of two things. One was that he was up in Thunderbird Five in relative safety. The second was that Virgil was unaware of what had just happened. His brother had enough to worry about dealing with one storm, without having to deal with the one occurring inside the shelter.

"John... John? Come in Thunderbird Five."

John became aware that Virgil was trying to contact him. "Sorry, Virg."

"You've stopped calling altitude."

"I got, ah, side-tracked."

"Do you think you could do that later? Things are getting a bit dicey here."

"Sorry," John apologised again. "You're at six thousand nine hundred metres... You're at six thousand nine hundred... You're at... Why have you stopped?"

Virgil was firing the jets so that Thunderbird Two was maintaining her position into the wind. "We're nearly at the transition zone again," his voice was quieter than usual. "I, ah, I though that everyone at home might like to... you know... um... talk to Brains and Tin-Tin about how Joe's doing."

John heard the familiar tuneful humming. "I understand, Virgil. Do you want to talk to them first?"

"No."

"When they've finished, huh?"

"Okay."

"Put me through to the sickbay." John waited a moment. "Can you two hear me?"

"John?" he heard Tin-Tin's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. We just thought everyone from home would like to hear how Joe is."

Brains and Tin-Tin looked at each other. "Uh... O-Okay."

Jeff Tracy was the first to speak. He sounded calmer now. "How's Joe, Brains?"

"H-He's stable, Mr. Tracy. If we can get him to h-hospital soon I am quietly confident."

"That's good... I want to thank you both for all you've done so far."

"I'm glad to be able to be of service," Brains said.

"We saw that you ran into a bit of trouble," Jeff added. "I take it that everything is under control now?"

Brains nodded.

"Is my father there?"

"I am here, Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin smiled at the sound of her father's voice. "I feel as if we have been gone for ages."

"To me it too feels as though you have been gone days, not hours."

"I'll be glad when we've landed and got Joe safely to hospital."

"I am proud of you, my daughter."

Tin-Tin blushed. "Thank you," she said in a quiet voice.

"We're all proud of you," Jeff added. "We're proud of the both of you. You're an asset to the team."

"You'll have to tell us everything that happened when you get home," Alan piped up. "I'll be looking forward to that..."

"Amongst other things," Gordon teased.

"Brains," Scott diverted the conversation to something more seemly. "I've got a few ideas I'd like to go over with you when you get home. Thing's that'll improve safety on board Thunderbird Two."

Brains appeared surprised. "Has Virgil mentioned any problems?"

"Not mentioned them, no."

Brains blinked into the camera.

"When you've dropped Joe off at the hospital, give us a call," Grandma requested. "You can let me know what you'd like for dinner the evening you get home."

"Good idea!" Gordon's grin broadened. "We'll make it a real party. With party hats, party music, dancing, wine, women, song..."

"Just as long as you're not the one doing the singing, Gordon," Alan told him.

"We're holding you up," Jeff interrupted what promised to descend into an argument. "We'll let you get back to work."

"Th-Thank you, Mr. Tracy."

"Does anyone have anything else they want to say?" Jeff looked at Ned.

Ned looked at Jeff.

"Mr. Cook?"

Ned stood. "Uh... Thank you, Brains. And thank you, Tin-Tin. I know Joe's in good hands. I... uh... I wish I could do more to help. Tell him... Tell him that when he's feeling better, I hope we'll be working together again." He sat down again.

"Th-Thank you, Mr. Cook," Brains replied. "I will do that."

(1) "Jumpa lagi, Tin-Tin," Kyrano said.

(2) "Saya sayang akan kamu, Father."

"Bye, Brains. Bye, Tin-Tin," Gordon called, and was echoed by his brothers and Grandmother.

"See you soon," Jeff said. "Can you put us back to Virgil, John?"

"F-A-B."

Virgil was concentrating on keeping Thunderbird Two on an even keel. His humming had grown even louder.

"Virgil," Jeff called him to attention.

Virgil glanced at the video screen. "Hi, Father."

"How's it going, Son."

"As well as can be expected... How's everyone down there?"

"As well as can be expected... You did well before."

"Yeah, well. I did what I had to."

"Virg..."

"Yes, Scott?"

"Uh... Take care. I... I want you to show me how to pull Thunderbird Two out of a dive." Scott was speaking quickly now. "Might come in handy some day."

"Okay."

"Don't be away too long," Gordon said. "Grandma's promised to throw us a party when you all get home."

"I said I'd make something special for dinner," Grandma reminded him. "Unless," she turned back to the video image of her grandson, "you'd like me to arrange a party."

"Whatever you're happy with, Grandma."

"The party was Gordon's idea," Scott amended. "We'll get him to arrange it."

"Yeah," Alan added. "And you know what Gordon's parties are like. Unmissable."

"I'd better make sure I don't miss it then," Virgil replied.

"I will make some of my special punch," Kyrano offered.

"The party idea sounds even better now, Kyrano," Virgil managed a smile.

"You can tell us what music we should be playing," Gordon suggested.

"Virgil," Jeff interrupted the conversation. "If you don't think Thunderbird Two can make it through the transition zone, no one's going to hold it against you if you come home now."

Ned glanced at him but said nothing.

Virgil squared his shoulders. "No. I know what to do if we stall now. We can handle Sylvia."

"Thank you, Virgil." Ned had blurted out the words before he'd realised he'd said them. He looked fearfully towards Jeff and Scott Tracy, but they didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken.

"I'll give you a call when we're through the overflow," Virgil said.

"You do that," Scott ordered.

"We'll be waiting," Alan added.

"That's if we don't call you first," Gordon said. "We've got a party to plan."

"He's right," Scott agreed. "We'll call you. We'll be watching your every move."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Virgil asked. "Knowing that big brother's watching?"

"I would have thought you'd be used to that by now," Alan complained. "I've had to live with it all my life."

"You know Scott's got a George Orwell complex," Gordon added.

"Boys." Jeff dragged their attention back to their present situation. "Let Virgil concentrate on flying Thunderbird Two. You can talk when he's above the cyclone."

"And he'll never get there if we hold him up any longer," Mrs. Tracy said. "You be careful, Virgil Tracy. Get that man to hospital safely."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"We'll cease communications again, Virgil," Jeff decided. "We know this next bit's going to be tricky. Do whatever you need to, to keep safe."

"Yes, Sir. See you all topside."

"Bye, Vir..."

Virgil sighed. He knew everyone was still watching and listening to him but he couldn't suddenly help feeling alone. He pulled himself together. "Are you ready to give me the readings again, John?"

"Ready when you are."

"Okay. Ascending." Virgil pushed down on the throttle. "And, John..."

"Yes, Virgil."

"Thanks for everything."

"Yeah, sure," John said awkwardly. "No sweat."

Virgil felt the shaking through his plane increase as they rose steadily. He listened as John read out Thunderbird Two's altitude and felt the wind buffet his 'plane from all directions.

"Seven thousand metres high."

The Thunderbird shuddered as a westerly hit it full force.

"Wind speed 275."

The easterly dropped Thunderbird Two down 100 metres.

"Pressure 610 kilopascals."

Virgil fought against a downdraft.

"Height seven thousand one hundred."

The next gust rocked Thunderbird Two so severely that Virgil's head was slammed against the headrest.

John glanced at Two's altimeter.

It was at that moment that the radio link was lost.

(1) Jumpa lagi See you again

(2) Saya sayang akan kamu I love you.

Malay source – Wikipedia

Fourteen: "Anyone Home?"

"This is Thunderbird Five calling base... Thunderbird Five calling International Rescue Headquarters. Come in please." John frowned as he adjusted the radio frequency. "Thunderbird Five calling International Rescue, come in International Rescue..." He waited expectantly.

Nothing.

He tried again. "Thunderbird Five calling International Rescue!"

Apart from the familiar chatter of the radio signals that Thunderbird Five was continuously receiving; there was no sound.

Now, seriously worried, he abandoned all protocol. "This is John calling Tracy Island. Can you hear me, Dad?"

...

"John calling Scott. Do you read me?"

...

"Come in, Gordon."

...

"Alan! It's John! Do you read me?"

...

Now, becoming increasingly desperate, he tried again. "Grandma...! Kyrano...! Mr. Cook...! Anyone! Can – you – hear – me? Please – say something."

...

"Dad! Where are you? It's John..."

...

"Calling..."

Finally he heard a familiar voice. "John! We made it! We're above the cyclone..."

"Virgil..."

A clearly excited Virgil didn't appear to hear him. "We did it, John!"

"Virgil..."

"Thunderbird Two did it!"

"Virgil..."

"We kicked Sylvia's butt..."

"Virgil..."

"Man, I LOVE this plane!"

"Virgil!" John yelled, finally managing to interrupt Virgil's unaccustomed exuberance.

"What?"

"I've lost contact with home."

"You've what? Why? When?" John's announcement had a sobering effect on his brother.

"I don't know. I've been talking you through the storm and I thought they were leaving us alone to concentrate on that. I never thought there could be a problem."

"And you've tried contacting them...?"

"Tons of times. I've used different frequencies and haven't heard a sound. Weren't they in the storm shelter when you were talking to them?"

"Yes! Yes, they were... I think... Weren't they? You were talking to them last."

"The last real communication was when you talked to them. I didn't say much after that...At least I don't think I did."

"Father said he wouldn't send any more messages..."

"Maybe if I'd paid more attention I would have heard them say something. ..."

"Maybe they've switched off the radio..."

"Maybe they tried to let me know there was a problem and I didn't hear them..."

"John! Calm down!"

"I am calm. You calm down!"

They both stopped to take a breath as Thunderbird Two soared beneath the black sky studded with silvery stars.

"Okay," John said. "Thinking rationally I'll bet I know what's happened. Were the winds knocking the house around at all?"

"I'll say. At times it was like we were in an earthquake." Virgil waited to hear his brother's hypothesis.

"That'll be it then. That system that Tin-Tin assembled was very temporary. The wind's vibrations have probably dislodged a connection. I'll bet anything that Alan and Scott are crawling around in the roof cavity right now, trying to mend the join with tin foil and bits of chewing gum. We'll probably hear from them any moment."

"Of course," Virgil said, greatly relieved. "That's got to be it. Still..." he added, "I won't mention it to Brains and Tin-Tin until we've dropped Joe off. They've got enough on their plates without worrying about this as well. In the meantime I'd better let them know that we're above the cyclone."

"Fair enough," John agreed. "You can tell them that I've alerted the authorities and they're waiting in this park with an ambulance." He gave the co-ordinates. "They've arranged to get Joe into surgery as soon as he arrives at the hospital."

Brains and Tin-Tin received the news that they were out of danger with relief. "H-How long before we reach the h-hospital, Virgil?" Brains asked.

"28 point six seven minutes. Is that going to be too long?"

Brains looked down at the unconscious Joe's vital signs monitor. "N-No. He's stable. I wouldn't want to l-leave it too much longer though."

"It should be a smooth flight from here on," Virgil reassured him. "I can't see us facing any more problems."

"I suppose everyone at home is relieved," Tin-Tin said. "Have you spoken to them, Virgil?"

"Ah, no," Virgil prevaricated. "I haven't had the opportunity yet."

Twenty five minutes later found John looking out of one of Thunderbird Five's view ports down onto Cyclone Sylvia. Tracy Island was hidden somewhere beneath that swirling morass of cloud and it had been half an hour since he'd realised that they'd lost communications with that tiny dot in the Pacific Ocean. Half an hour since that knot in the pit of his stomach had formed. What was Sylvia hiding?

"Thunderbird Two calling Thunderbird Five."

John crossed the floor and picked up the microphone. "Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Virgil."

"Anything?"

"Negative."

"We're on the outskirts of the city. I've made contact with the hospital. Brains says we can't land soon enough."

"Is Joe deteriorating?"

"I don't think so, but he wasn't that hot to start with. Brains is being cautious."

"Understood. I've told Penny to expect you."

"Thanks, John. But I'd rather be heading home. I don't suppose Sylvia's dissipated, has she?"

"Sorry, Virgil. I've been watching her and she looks as fearsome as she was when you flew through."

"Well I won't chance flying through her again, not while Brains and Tin-Tin are on board," Virgil sighed. "There's the park... Talk to you soon, John."

"F-A-B. Hopefully I'll have news."

In some cities it was hard finding clear areas with enough room for the behemoth that was Thunderbird Two to land. They were lucky this time. A cordon of official looking cars were blocking all the entrances to the park, and several ambulances stood nearby. Virgil brought Thunderbird Two down low and then gently, compensating for her reduced weight, landed on the grass. "Flight deck to sickbay. We've landed," he announced. "I'll come down and give you a hand."

"Th-Thank you, Virgil."

It was with infinite care that they moved Joe out of Thunderbird Two and into the hands of the paramedics. He was quickly borne away in an ambulance that had moved in to assist. One of the officials stayed behind and took notes as Brains and Tin-Tin detailed events leading up to Joe's accident and his subsequent care.

Virgil had decided that he didn't need to be involved in the debriefing side of things and was doing a circuit of Thunderbird Two. He had nearly completed his visual inspection of the 'plane's exterior, when he heard what sounded like an argument. Looking over to one of the park's entrances he saw a tall, overweight, well-dressed man holding a loud discussion with a member of the local constabulary.

"I'm telling you, Officer. I have to speak to International Rescue!"

Virgil recognised the man's build and his voice. He slunk into the shadow of the cavity where Thunderbird Two's pod should have been and watched as the man pushed past the policeman and strode onto the park. Every movement was that of a man who knew what he wanted and was assured that he was going to get it.

Virgil raised his watch. "John! Activate Tin-Tin and Brains' rescue alerts!"

"What? Why?"

"Just do it!" Virgil insisted as he crept along Thunderbird Two's bulkhead from port to starboard. Now he was able to see the man who'd been, yet again, accosted by the police officer. Glancing in his colleagues' direction Virgil saw the pair of them look at their watches and then each other with quizzical expressions. "Come on," he muttered. "Move!"

The man was once again loudly insisting that he be allowed to talk to the people from International Rescue and was gesturing towards the engineer and his assistant. "I am a friend of Jeff Tracy's. I need to know that he is all right!"

"John!" Virgil hissed. "Sound the alerts again. I'll talk to you when I'm on the flight deck."

"F-A-B," John replied.

A short time later and Virgil was seated in his pilot's seat; once again talking to John. "Are Brains and Tin-Tin heading this way?" he asked.

"Yes. They're entering Thunderbird Two now. What's wrong?"

"We had some unwanted company."

"Company? Who do you mean?" John asked.

"I mean Stanton Carr's here. He's asking about Father."

"Stanton Carr?" John queried. "'Uncle Stanton'? How did he..." his voice petered out. "Ah. Of course. He's the big wig of Mediaworx Corporation, which owns NTBS. I told the hospital that I didn't know Joe's next of kin, but I knew he was working for the network. They would have contacted his bosses to get more information."

"And his bosses would have known that he and Ned Cook were on Tracy Island. For some reason someone decided to tell 'Uncle Stanton' and he's worried that one of his major source of funds is about to dry up."

Although Jeff Tracy was a major shareholder in Mediaworx, the largest media organisation in the world, he, in general, loathed the media and media people. His main purpose for investing in the company was to keep track of what information on International Rescue was being collected by the press. At the onset of his involvement he'd simply mentioned that, like most people in the world, he was fascinated by this secretive band of white knights and wanted to know all that he could about them. Bowing down to his immense wealth and power within the company, the management had offered to send copies of every scrap of information that crossed their desks directly to him.

Stanton Carr was the Chief Executive Officer of Mediaworx. Arrogant, ignorant and fawning to power and money, he was universally reviled by the Tracy boys. They nevertheless tried to be polite to him in his presence. Having known him since they were teenagers they'd all called him 'Uncle Stanton'; the uncle being an honorary title without any honour attached.

"Wh-What's going on, Virgil?" Brains asked as he and Tin-Tin entered the cockpit.

"Stanton Carr wants to talk to someone from International Rescue," Virgil told him.

"Stanton Carr? Your 'Uncle' Stanton?" Tin-Tin exclaimed.

"He's not ours. We don't want him," Virgil said.

"What's he doing here?" Tin-Tin asked.

"He's heard Tracy Island's being clobbered by a cyclone," John explained.

"I'm beginning to think that Ned Cook's put a curse on us," Tin-Tin said. "He's determined to expose us in one way or another."

"How'd he get past the cops?" Virgil asked, watching the drama outside through a closed circuit video.

Stanton Carr knocked on Thunderbird Two's hull. It was like an ant knocking on a sealed jar of jam. A policeman politely took him by the arm and tried to drag him away, but he shook him off.

"Blast him with the VTOLs, Virg," John suggested. "Go on. You know you want to."

"Nah, I couldn't take out the police as well," Virgil said as he watched another policeman try to help the first. "I can pretend to though..." He entered a code into Thunderbird Two's computer.

Outside a synthesised voice sounded. "Attention! Thunderbird Two will be lifting off in 20 seconds... 19... 18..."

The International Rescue members watched as the police officers tugged harder at Carr's arms.

"17... 16... 15..."

Lights within Thunderbird Two's VTOL jet ducts started to glow red.

"14... 13... 12..."

The glow grew brighter and stronger.

"11... 10..."

The police officers looked at each other as hot air started wafting out of the jets. One of them withdrew his handcuffs.

"9... 8..."

Stanton Carr protested as his hands were fastened behind him.

"7... 6..."

"The guy's an idiot," John said as he watched as 'Uncle Stanton' was marched away from Thunderbird Two by two policemen.

On the count of 'one', when he was sure those outside were clear of the heat and fumes from the real VTOL jets, Virgil launched his aircraft into the air. As Thunderbird Two swung around so she was facing towards England, Brains and Tin-Tin watched the police release the media mogul. They were rewarded with a tongue lashing as Stanton Carr withdrew a Personal Digital Assistant from his pocket.

"I don't believe it," John said. "They've just saved his life and he's getting their numbers!"

Tin-Tin laid a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "You look exhausted. Would you like me to fly Thunderbird Two for a while?"

He flashed her a smile. "No thanks, Honey. I'm okay." Before she could protest he turned back to his brother. "You realise it won't be long before 'Uncle Stanton' will be giving you a call, John."

John grimaced. "I might be lucky and he'll try to ring you."

"Won't do him any good," Virgil reminded him. "I don't have my 'phone with me. Besides, you know he works. He believes in following the rules of hierarchy. He won't be able to reach Scott, so you'll be next in line."

The 'phone' on Thunderbird Five rang.

"Told you," Virgil said as John rolled his eyes and picked up the handset that would mute all the extraneous sounds of Thunderbird Five. Then pushing the button that would allow those on Thunderbird Two to hear both sides of the conversation, he spoke. "John Tracy speaking."

"John. It's Stanton Carr."

John pretended to be pleased to receive the call. "Uncle Stanton. How are you?"

"Worried," Stanton Carr didn't sound it. "I hear your father's been trapped by a cyclone."

"Yes. Most of the family's stuck on the island."

"International Rescue have just dropped that cameraman fellow..."

"Joe," John interrupted.

"What?"

"His name is Joe."

"Whatever. Anyway my sources told me he was filming Alan on Tracy Island..."

"Gordon," John informed him. "They wanted to film Gordon."

He doubted if Stanton Carr heard him, as the man carried on without a beat. "... And I was worried about your father. How is he?"

John hesitated a moment. "To be honest, Sir, I don't know. I haven't been able to contact home."

Brains and Tin-Tin looked at each other and then at the man in Thunderbird Two's pilot seat. "V-Virgil?" Brains asked.

"He's telling the truth, isn't he?" Tin-Tin was looking frightened.

"I'm sure they're okay," Virgil tried to be reassuring, "but John lost contact at least half an hour ago. Don't worry," he added when he saw Tin-Tin's expression. "He reckons that the wind's probably loosened one of the connections in your antenna. They'll be fixing it as we speak."

Tin-Tin shook her head. "That's unlikely. John discussed this with me when he explained the plan. All the wires are securely crimped together and then bound with electrical tape. It would take more than wind vibration to loosen them."

Stanton Carr was oblivious to the concerns held by those in Thunderbird Two. "As you know, your father is a dear friend of mine, John."

"Yes, Sir," John said, not really believing him.

"I would hate for anything to happen to him."

"I wouldn't like it either," John told him. "To him or anyone in my family."

"No, of course you wouldn't. How are they by the way?"

"I don't know. They're on the island."

"Ned Cook went out there to interview Alan, didn't he?"

"Gordon," John corrected again. "They went out to film Gordon."

"Oh that's right," Stanton Carr agreed. "They were doing a documentary about his, ah, um, communication inventions."

"No," John said slowly. "They were filming, at least they wanted to film, Gordon about his Olym..."

"I know your father was excited to know that we were making a documentary about his son."

"No he wasn't," John said through gritted teeth. "He and Gordon both asked Ned Cook to leave them alone."

"Really?" Carr appeared surprised. "Why?"

"You know how private my father is," John reminded him. "That's why he lives on an island."

"Oh, yes. Of course," Carr gave an ingratiating laugh. "Though I'm sure I don't know why he wants to hide away. There's no such thing as bad publicity."

"Uncle Stanton," John said. "I hate to be rude, but I'd like to try and see if I can get hold of my family again. Would you mind if we..."

"Why? Can't your brothers do that?"

"They're on the..." John gave up. "I'll call you later. Bye." He disconnected the phone call.

"You're going to be in his bad books, hanging up like that," Virgil noted.

"Nah. He'll get us mixed up as usual. He'll probably blame Scott, the artist."

"John," Tin-Tin cut through the banter. "We sealed the connections like you said. And we triple checked them. The wind can't have jarred them loose."

"I was hoping you weren't going to tell me that, Tin-Tin."

"Could the cyclone be creating some kind of interference?" Virgil asked as he steered Thunderbird Two through a fluffy white cloud.

"Unlikely," John said. "What do you think, Brains?"

"I have to agree, John. The signal output at h-home might be weak, but the receivers on Thunderbird Five are designed to compensate for that. Th-The only way Thunderbird Five won't pick up a message would be if there's not one being transmitted."

Tin-Tin wrapped her arms about her body and tried to squash the feeling of fear that flooded her system...

Fifteen - Day One

Thunderbird Two sat like a giant folly in the middle of a hollow at Foxleyheath, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward's ancestral lands.

Her ladyship sat in the large library at the back of the manor, a glossy magazine in her hands. From here she could see the top and tail spoiler of the Thunderbird. She could also see three of her friends. Virgil was in the garden under a leaden sky, walking back and forth. In one corner of the room Tin-Tin was 'reading' a clothing catalogue, but, Lady Penelope had noted, she hadn't turned the page in the last twenty minutes. In an opposing corner Brains was scribbling in a notebook and invariably crossing out everything he wrote.

"M'lady," Parker said quietly. He was carrying a silver tea service. "Mister John for you."

"Thank you, Parker." Lady Penelope accepted the teapot and turned the ebony knob. "Lady Penelope speaking."

"Hello, Penny. I was just calling to let you know there's no news."

"I don't know whether I should say 'thank you' or offer my commiserations. What is Cyclone Sylvia doing at present?"

"She's on the move, but not so as you would notice. If Virgil tries to do anything foolish, like take off in Thunderbird Two, stop him."

"He is not doing much at the moment," Lady Penelope admitted.

"Just sketching is he?"

"No. He has ordered some supplies, but they have not arrived yet."

"So what is he doing?" John asked.

Lady Penelope pursed her lips. "We seem to have struck that language barrier that you Americans so delight in putting up. He said he was going to do what he called, 'stretch his legs and enjoy being outside in the sun after being trapped inside for so long'. I, on the other hand, would call it pacing. We're in the middle of an English winter and won't be seeing any sun until sometime in May."

"Is he humming?"

"I don't know," Lady Penelope admitted. "I'm inside enjoying the warmth of the fire."

"I'm about to give you an insight into the psyche of Virgil Tracy, Penny. If he's humming the same particular tune over and over, then you're right, he's pacing because he's worried."

"Really?" Lady Penelope looked back at the man in the garden.

"Yep," John confirmed. "The odd thing is that the only one in the family unaware that he does this is Virgil. Mention it to him and he''ll deny it."

"Do you think he's got anything to worry about?" Lady Penelope asked quietly. "Are you worried, John?"

"Me? I've given up worrying about those guys. Why should this be any different?"

"Because it's not only 'those guys' this time."

"True," John admitted. "Okay, I'll admit that I'm a little concerned. If it had been a loose connection they would have found and fixed it by now, it's been nearly 24 hours."

Parker reappeared carrying a tray of petite cakes. Lady Penelope thanked him.

"Morning tea?" John asked.

"Do excuse me, John," Lady Penelope apologised with regret. "I'm hoping it will help take everyone's minds off, ah, things."

She heard a dry chuckle. "Care to send some up to Thunderbird Five to see if it would take my mind off things?"

"I wish I could help... Chin up, dear boy. I'm sure they'll be fine."

"I hope you're right, Penny... I won't interrupt your morning tea again unless I have news. See ya."

"Goodbye, John." Lady Penelope snapped the knob back into position and replaced the teapot on the table.

"Shall H-I get Mister Virgil?" Parker asked.

"Yes, do, Parker. A good strong cup of coffee will help to warm him up. He must be freezing out there. He didn't bring a lot to wear."

"Very good, M'lady... Ah," Parker held out a piece of paper. "This h-is what the cook 'ad planned for dinner. H-I think dessert might not be exactly tactful."

Lady Penelope read through the menu. "No, I see what you mean." She crossed out 'apple pie' before returning the paper to the butler. "Tell Cook that dessert can be a surprise."

Parker nodded. Then he leant closer to his mistress, whispering in a manner that suggested that he was indulging in a conspiracy. "H-I never thought Cook's was h-as good h-as Mrs. T's anyway."

"You'd better get Virgil, Parker. His coffee is getting cold and it's starting to rain."

"Yes, M'lady."

Lady Penelope turned in her chair. "Morning tea is served, Tin-Tin, Brains."

"Thank you, Lady Penelope," Tin-Tin offered her hostess a smile and dropped the catalogue onto a table as she moved closer.

"Have you found anything to interest you?" Lady Penelope enquired as she poured the young woman a cup of tea.

Tin-Tin shook her head. "I suppose I'm not in the mood for shopping at the moment."

"Come now," Lady Penelope rebuked her gently. "That's not like you. Shall I ask Parker to get the Rolls Royce out and we can go for a drive up to Bond Street? It would do you good to get out."

"No, thank you," Tin-Tin declined. "If you don't mind I'd rather stay here."

"We have the radio in the car," Lady Penelope reminded her. "John would be able to reach us should he hear something."

Tin-Tin gave a small smile and shook her head.

"And you, Brains?" Lady Penelope asked as he pulled up a chair and sat down. "What have you been working on so industriously this morning?"

"I-I've been trying to form a theory as t-to why we've lost contact with Tracy Island," he admitted.

"And have you?" Tin-Tin asked.

Brains held up the pad of scratchings. "No." He placed the pad on the arm of his chair and started scribbling again.

Lady Penelope decided against reminding him that in her house 'everything stopped for tea'.

Virgil entered the library, shaking water off his clothes. Instead of heading to an easy chair he stood with his back to the fire. "I don't want to soak your furniture, Penny," he said as he accepted a steaming cup of coffee from Parker. He sipped the hot drink with appreciation.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't let that worry you, dear boy. These things are so old!"

"Old enough to be valuable antiques," he reminded her. "Anyone heard from John lately?"

"Yes," Lady Penelope admitted. "But he had nothing of interest to impart."

There was silence in the room.

Parker entered again carrying some boxes. "The courier's been. Come h-and get it... ah... I mean. These h-are yours, Mister Virgil." He handed Virgil two parcels; one rectangular and flat and the other smaller but more bulky. "Miss Tin-Tin." Tin-Tin accepted her large box with thanks. "Mister Brains."

Tin-Tin opened her carton and pulled out a chunky woollen jumper, which she instantly put on. "That's better. It takes ages for me to acclimatise to English winters after spending summer on the island."

Brains hadn't opened his parcels, instead placing them under his chair. "And what have you purchased, dear boy?" Lady Penelope asked.

"A v-variety of items," he said as he peered over his glasses at her. Obviously believing that this was a sufficient explanation, he returned to his notebook.

Virgil had finally claimed a seat and was in the process of opening the bulkier of his two parcels. "Great!" he exclaimed pulling out a portable music player and some headphones. "Would you mind if I used your computer to download some tunes later, Penny?"

Brains looked up sharply, as Lady Penelope replied. "Of course, Virgil. Feel free to treat this as your home."

"Thanks."

Lady Penelope looked at Virgil's and then Brains' parcels. "I do hope you gentlemen have purchased something warm to wear as well. You did not arrive with much in the way of clothing."

"Us? Clothes?" Virgil laughed. "We men don't worry about trivial things like clothing, do we, Brains?" There was no response. "Brains?"

Brains looked up. "Sorry, V-Virgil. You were saying?"

"Never mind," Virgil sighed. "I asked Parker to leave anything that looked like it came from a clothes shop in the foyer. I'll take them up to my room later."

"H-I've taken the liberty h-of h-already doing that for you, Mister Virgil," Parker confessed.

"Thanks, Parker."

The day dragged on and the night closed in. Unlike tropical evenings where night appeared to jump out at you suddenly, English dusk was a long drawn out process, during which the occupants of the Creighton-Ward manor finished a solemn meal and retired to their various quarters.

Up in Thunderbird Five, John was finding himself in a state of confusion. His habit was to maintain the daylight patterns of Tracy Island. Now that the only relative he could contact was on the far side of the world, he was feeling the desire to pretend that he was in that time zone. The problem was that he wasn't tired. Not only that, he didn't want to stray too far from Thunderbird Five's control room. He knew full well that he would hear anything of importance in his living quarters, but the need to learn the fate of his family made him uncomfortable at the thought of leaving the radio.

John glanced down at the blanket and pillow that he'd piled tidily beside his chair. He'd try to call Tracy Island one more time and then turn in for the night. He'd slept in that chair before when his brothers had been away on long and dangerous rescues, and had found it reasonably comfortable. He reached out to initiate contact with home..."

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Hi, Virgil."

"I'm just about to turn in. Have you heard anything?"

"Negative. I was going to going to try and call them again when you called."

Virgil managed a smile. "Okay. I'll let you do that. Give me a yell if you hear anything."

"You can count on it, Brother. You'll know nearly as soon as I do. You'll hear me cheering from the other side of the world."

Virgil chuckled. "Don't wake the neighbours."

John smiled. "Whatever response I get, I'll talk to you soon."

"Thanks, John. Bye."

John reached for the switch again.

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Evening, Tin-Tin."

"I was heading off to bed and I was wondering, have you heard anything?"

John managed to chuckle. "I've just had Virgil on the line asking the same thing. I haven't heard anything and I'm going to try once again before I turn in myself."

"Call me if you learn anything," Tin-Tin pleaded. "I miss not being able to say good night to my father."

"And I'm sure he's missing you too, Honey. Don't worry and try to get some sleep. I'll call you if I hear anything."

"Thank you, John. Good night."

"Night, Tin-Tin." Once again John reached for the switch.

Once again he was thwarted.

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Brains. What can I do for you?" John said, knowing it was a stupid question.

"H-Have you m-made contact?"

"Sorry, Brains. Not a word. Have you had any ideas?"

"N-No. Sorry, John, I haven't."

"Don't apologise. I haven't either."

"C-Call me if you h-hear anything."

"You can count on it. Night, Brains."

"Good night, John."

Shaking his head ruefully, John reached out...

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Hello, Lady Penelope. I wasn't expecting you to call."

"I was hoping you had heard something."

"Penny, if I did I would have called Virgil, Tin-Tin and Brains. And then you would have heard the cheers from the other side of that house of yours."

"I suppose you are right, John. Still, one likes to reassure oneself."

"Not a problem. Have a good night's sleep."

"You too, dear boy. I'll talk to you in the morning."

"G'night, Penny."

John made one final attempt to contact his home.

"Callin' Thunderbird Five. 'Scuse me callin', Mister John."

"Parker?"

"H-I was wonderin'..."

"I haven't heard anything, Parker. And don't worry, I was planning on letting you know when I did."

"Thank you, Sir. H-I would appreciate h-it."

"No worries."

"Good night, Sir."

"Good night, Parker."

The line went quiet.

"Finally!" John reached out to flip the switch that would send a signal to Tracy Island.

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Virgil! Will you leave me alone for five minutes!"

"I did! When you hadn't called back I thought that maybe you had got through and were talking to them."

"I haven't called back because I haven't had the chance to radio home. I've spoken to you, Tin-Tin, Brains, Lady Penelope, and even Parker. The only person that hasn't called me to ask if I'd heard anything is Uncle Stanton..."

The phone rang.

John groaned.

"Is it him?" Virgil asked.

John looked at caller-ID. "Yep."

"Ignore him."

"He'll only call back again after he's tried the rest of you guys. He knows he can still contact me."

"In that case, I'll leave you to deal with our beloved 'Uncle' and then you can try to call home. And then..."

"And then I'll promise to call you. I won't answer any more calls. Even if the World President gives me a buzz to see how the family is I won't answer."

"The World President?"

"It was a joke, Virgil. I haven't spoken to her, but going on my luck so far it won't be long before I do."

The phone rang again.

"Go tell him you've been talking to your Air Force Buddies, and you've got your racing manager on the other line," Virgil suggested.

"And once I've finished with those two calls I'm going to paint a picture of the ocean before I have a swim in it," John laughed. "Okay, Virg. I'll talk to you soon. But don't call me, I'll call you."

"F-A-B."

Sixteen - Day Two

He was floating through the lounge at home and the room was in disarray. Furniture had been overturned and smashed. Peering into the open body of the piano, a small grey fish stared back at him before darting for cover beneath the instrument's strings. He turned, swimming through the rest of the house. As he swam down the hall the palm trees lining it fell back, creating currents that brushed against his face and hands.

Now he'd reached the storm shelter. With a deep breath he pushed the button that slid open the electric door.

His family were in there.

They hadn't stood a chance.

As he watched, Tin-Tin floated past, caught up in a deathly embrace with her father and Alan. There was Gordon. Upside-down, a big goofy smile on his face as though he'd finally achieved his dream of living under water. Grandma was still holding her knitting and the wool had wrapped around Scott, tying him to Mobile Control. Ned Cook was holding a camera, which whirred even though it had long ago run out of film.

Now his father floated into view, face down, arms outstretched. No, that wasn't right. His father had always looked to the stars in life, and in death he would continue to do so. Reaching out he took the hand that had held him when he was a child, and watched in horror as the flesh fell away, exposing brilliant white bones. They began to fall... Sparkling, shining, like tiny stars, each making a sound as they landed on the floor of the storm shelter that should have protected them all.

The bones still fell... The tinkling sound continued...

John woke up. The sound he'd heard in his dream had persisted, telling him that someone was trying to reach him. He opened communications. "Thunderbird Five."

"John?" Virgil looked and sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

John rang his hand over his face and tried to push the memory of his nightmare to the back of his mind. "I'm glad you did."

"Bad dream?"

"Yeah. I dreamt they were all dead. They'd drowned in the storm shelter."

"That's unlikely, John," Virgil reminded him. "It's watertight."

"I know, but tell my subconscious that."

Virgil looked at his brother appraisingly. "Have you been sleeping in your uniform?"

"Yeah. In my chair," John pushed his hand through his hair. "I don't want to leave the communications room in case they call."

"You'd hear them anywhere on Thunderbird Five."

"I know, but I'm happier keeping close."

Virgil made no comment about this statement. "What was the dream?"

"You don't want to know. The only good thing about it was that it made a change from the recurring one I've been having."

"Are you going to tell me about it?"

John managed a chuckle. "It's like a scene out of the 'Wizard of Oz'. The whole house is picked up by the cyclone and is taken to China."

"China? Why China?"

"I don't know. I just know that when I find them there, they're trying to talk to me and I can't understand a word they're saying."

"But you understand Chinese."

"I know some dialects, but not this one. I'm not even sure if it's Chinese they're speaking." John chuckled again. "Can you imagine Scott's frustration when he tries to order me about and I don't know what he's saying?"

Virgil laughed. "I think your subconscious is rebelling. You're sick of being the second kid."

"No," John turned thoughtful. "I'm not sick of that. I'm sick of not knowing that they're all okay."

"You and me both, John," Virgil agreed. "What do you think's happened?"

"Something's got to have happened to the antenna! Maybe the roof's leaked."

"You don't think it's something more serious?"

"I'm trying not to think that." John changed the subject. "Have you had any interesting dreams lately?"

"I'd like to say yes, but I can't even say no," Virgil admitted. "I haven't been able to sleep since we arrived in England. I've got this nagging pain in my knee. It's like something's irritating a nerve."

"Pain?" John looked at his brother in concern. "Did you knock it during the flight? You were thrown about a bit."

"Maybe. I don't remember hitting it. The weird thing is that my leg only hurts at night when I'm trying to get to sleep. I'm fine when I'm moving about during the day."

"Have you seen Brains about it?"

"No. There's no point worrying him, he's got enough to worry about as it is. Besides, usually by the time I'm up and dressed the pain's gone and I've forgotten about it." Virgil yawned. "I tried to take a nap this afternoon, but couldn't fall asleep. I'm tired enough, but I don't know if I'm not sleeping because of my leg, or if it's because my body clock's confused at suddenly finding itself on the other side of the world, or if it's because I'm worried."

"And are you worried?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes..."

Lady Penelope had permitted Brains to make use of her computer and he was occupying himself by trying to hack into Thunderbird Five. Parker brought him a cup of coffee and found the little scientist surrounded by cartons that had been delivered over the last two days, various pieces of electronics and a computer that looked as though a small bomb had been placed under it. "Mister Brains!"

Brains hadn't heard the butler enter. Startled, he dropped the circuit board he was holding. "Don't d-do that!" he insisted. "The static electricity in the carpet will ruin it." He retrieved the board and studied it morosely.

"'Er ladyship's computer!" Parker exclaimed. "What 'ave you done to h-it?"

"I'm improving it, P-Parker," Brains said with dignity.

"H-Improvin' h-it?" Parker looked aghast at the mess.

"Y-Yes. It was very out of d-date."

"Out of date?" Parker repeated. "She only bought it last month."

"'Last month' means last year's t-technology," Brains explained. "I'm employing next year's."

"By destroyin' h-it?"

"I can assure you, Parker, it will be b-better when I've finished with it."

"What h-are you tryin' to do h-anyway?"

"I want to access the c-computers on board of Thunderbird Five. I want to see if there's been any s-seismic activity in the area lately."

Parker wasn't slow to cotton on. "You think there might 'ave been h-an h-earthquake on the island h-and h-it's done somethin' to the shelter?"

"Th-That, unfortunately, is a possibility that I am f-f-forced to contemplate. V-Volcanic eruption is another possibility."

"Lumme."

"Or if a c-crack had opened up in the strata above the house, d-destablising the rock face and c-causing a rock fall."

"H-Is that possible?"

Brains nodded. "Tracy I-Island had sustained a lot of rain in a sh-short time." He turned back to the computer. "I hadn't had the opportunity to access the g-geological data obtained from the i-island's seismic equipment b-before the c-cyclone hit. Th-There will be backups of all the d-data, up until when the r-radio mast collapsed, in Thunderbird Five's computers. If I can access them it may g-give us a better idea of, ah, what we're up against."

"Why don't you just h-ask Mister John, to check h-it h-out 'imself?"

"John is w-worried enough as it is. I w-wouldn't w-want to add to his burden."

"No..." Parker agreed.

Brains bit the end of a screwdriver in thought. "Surely the fates couldn't be so c-cruel as to wipe out an entire family," he said to himself.

"No," Parker nodded. "Not twice h-in one person's lifetime h-anyway."

"No," Brains agreed, and then looked sharply at the butler.

Parker gave him a smile, such as a benign uncle would bestow on a favourite nephew, and turned to leave. "H-If 'er Ladyship asks, H-I'll tell 'er you're repairin' h-it."

"Thank you, er, Parker."

The model paraded up and down the elegant Persian rug. "'As you see," the woman standing proudly to one side noted, "we 'ave created a gown wheech will flow with the wearrer."

"Indeed," Lady Penelope murmured appreciatively. "What do you think, my dear?" She turned to Tin-Tin.

"What?" Tin-Tin looked at her blankly. "Oh!" She looked back at the model. "It's lovely."

"Would you per'aps prefer somethink in another coleur?"

"Shantelle is right," Lady Penelope agreed. "This is not quite your colour, Tin-Tin. What would you recommend, Shantelle?"

"Get moi the swatches, Veronique."

"Oui," Veronique, the model, opened a satchel and pulled out a selection of materials. She handed them to Shantelle who flicked through them.

"Mademoiselle would suit a bold coleur. Per'aps... orrange. An orrange as bright as the flame from a rockit?" Triumphant she held up a colour similar to that of Thunderbird Three.

Tin-Tin made an unintelligible sound.

Lady Penelope leant over and patted her on the arm. "He will be all right."

"I wasn't thinking about Father," Tin-Tin admitted.

"Neither was I."

"Oh!" Tin-Tin blushed. "I was thinking about all of them..."

Lady Penelope smiled an understanding smile before turning back. "Thank you, Shantelle. You have given Tin-Tin and myself plenty to think about. I will contact you soon."

Shantelle gave her a stiff smile in return. "Merci, Madame."

"Parker will show you out." Lady Penelope pulled on the bell-pull, as swatches and various items of clothing were packed away.

"You rang, M'Lady?"

"Yes, Parker. Mademoiselle Shantelle is leaving. Kindly help her with her bags."

"Certainly, Madam." Parker bowed and picked up some of the many cases. He carried them out to the car.

"Au revoir, Madame," Shantelle said, as she and Veronique retired from the room.

"Au revoir," Lady Penelope replied. "I will be in touch."

The doors closed behind the French ladies.

"Well, that was a complete shower, Shazza," Veronique said, when they were alone in the hall.

"Shhh, Ronnie!" 'Shantelle' hissed. "They'll hear you. We're supposed to be French, remember?"

"I remember," Veronica griped. "Which means all I get to say is 'oui', and 'non'. Hardly stimulating conversation, isn't it? 'Er Ladyship' wasn't even interested in what you were showin' her."

"Ronnie!" Sharon turned to face the model. "Lady Penelope's our ticket to the big time. It won't hurt you to forget that you're my kid sister occasionally and to pretend you're a top international model. All you need to do is smile and look beautiful. I've got the hard job, I've got to try and get inside the minds of these toffs and work out what they want that'll make them part with their not so hard earned cash."

They started when someone cleared his throat. "H-Is there h-anything else, Ladies?" Parker asked.

"Non," Veronique said.

"Non," Shantelle echoed. "Merci, Parkur."

"Merci, Madame," Parker bowed. He watched as they climbed into their car and drove away down the long, winding driveway. Then he closed the front door and retreated to the lounge where Lady Penelope was talking to Tin-Tin. "H-Excuse me, M'lady."

"Parker?"

"May H-I 'ave a word?" Parker gestured with his head to indicate that he wished to speak to her ladyship out of Tin-Tin's hearing.

"Excuse me," Lady Penelope apologised to her friend. "What is it, Parker?"

"The young ladies 'oo just left," he whispered. "H-I have reason to believe that they h-aren't what they seem."

Lady Penelope smiled. "Have you only just learnt that?"

Parker stared at her. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. 'Shantelle's' accent is simply appalling. She knows next to no French and doesn't know any of the landmarks of her, supposedly, native Paris. Also no real designer of any stature would visit a client at their home. They would expect me to visit them."

"H-If you knew, why do you let them come 'ere?"

"I believe in supporting up and coming talent. If that means being a patron to 'Shantelle', who is obviously talented and would do well if she stopped trying to be something she's not, then I am willing to do so."

Parker shook his head, trying to make sense of this logic. "'Ow's Miss Tin-Tin?"

"Not herself, I'm afraid. How's Brains?"

"Tryin' to keep busy," Parker prevaricated.

"And Virgil?"

"Last I 'eard 'e was up in 'is room talkin' to Mister John. They was tryin' to work h-out why Tracy Island's not answerin'."

"Last you heard, Parker?" Lady Penelope raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"There was h-a bit h-of dust on the floor by the door. Me ear 'appened to rest by the key 'ole."

"Parker!" Lady Penelope was appalled.

"Yes, M'lady." Parker retired from the room.

Seventeen - Day Three

It was 5.00 pm and Virgil was standing in the opulent lounge of Lady Penelope's mansion, gazing at one of the portraits that adorned the walls. But it wasn't one of the Creighton-Ward ancestors he was admiring; he was looking at his brother John. "What if...?"

"No. You are not going to fly back to the island now. The winds are still too strong. It's not safe."

Virgil frowned. "You're not Scott, John. Don't try to second guess me."

"I'm not reading your mind, Virgil." John's frown matched his brother's, as the door to the lounge opened and someone entered. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out what you're planning."

"Rocket scientist?" Virgil looked round. "Well here's one now. What do you think, Brains? Should..."

"N-No, Virgil. I don't think you should fly h-home. Not if John says it isn't safe."

"Huh?" Virgil stared at him. "How'd you know...?"

"Th-This is an old house," Brains explained. "The doors don't shut p-properly. I heard wh-what you were talking about."

"I beg your pardon!" Lady Penelope sounded indignant as she entered the room, followed by Tin-Tin and Parker. "I take great care to maintain the family home. And I can assure you that all the doors close securely. Is that not right, Parker?"

"Yes, M'lady," Parker agreed. "We 'ad the man come h-and check 'em last month."

Lady Penelope fixed Brains with an expression that dared him to disagree with her.

"See, Virgil," John said. "Brains agrees with me. It's too dangerous for you to go."

"I wasn't planning on taking Brains and Tin-Tin. I was going to go by myself."

Now Tin-Tin was looking indignant. "Excuse me? May I remind you, Virgil Tracy, that my father is back on the island too! If you go I go..."

"No way, Tin-Tin. Not if there's any chance..."

"No one's going if there's any chance!" John snapped. "Not until it's safe."

"John!" Virgil protested.

"I'm not letting you risk your neck when I don't know what's happened to everyone else!" John informed him. "Do you think I enjoy staying up here alone on Thunderbird Five, not knowing what's happened to our family? At least when Sylvia passes by you'll be able to fly home. I've got to wait until I hear back from you. Even then I could be stuck up here if something's happened to Thunderbird Three. As much as I would love to walk out of an airlock and free-fall home, the laws of physics won't allow it and common sense tells me it's a stupid idea. If I can wait, then so can you."

"If I leave now you won't have to wait so long," Virgil persisted.

"I promised Dad that if you take so much as one step towards Thunderbird Two before it's safe, I'm to stop you, Virgil."

Virgil gave a sharp laugh. "How, John? As you said you're stuck on Thunderbird Five."

"I'll let Lady Penelope know what you've got planned and she'll deck you with a flying tackle."

"I do not 'tackle' anyone," Lady Penelope informed him. "I have more refined means of restraining miscreants."

"Okay then," John conceded. "Penny will tell Parker to tackle you."

Parker rolled his eyes skyward.

"And if I'm too quick for them?" Virgil asked.

"I'll lock Thunderbird Two down remotely."

The suggestion rocked Virgil slightly. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I? What do you think I'm doing now?" John punched a code into a terminal. "There! One more button and you won't be able to get anywhere near Thunderbird Two."

"You're bluffing, John," Virgil challenged. "You've just dialled our Kansas number into the 'phone link."

John returned the volley. "It's the same number as the lockdown code."

"I don't believe you. Besides, if you enter that lockdown code you'd be cutting off your own nose," Virgil reminded him. "I know one half of the unlock code and the other half is in the safe at home. You lock down Two and you won't find out what's happened to the family until we've made the long, slow flight in a conventional plane."

"I've got the other half of the code up here. You won't be going anywhere until I give it to you."

The two brothers glared at each other in a stalemate as everyone else looked on. Then Virgil gave a sigh and sagged into one of the overstuffed chairs. "Okay, John. You win. I'll wait until Sylvia's moved away from the island."

John eyed him uncertainly. "Promise? You're not going to sneak out while no one's looking."

"Scout's honour." Virgil looked dejected.

Lady Penelope sat in the seat opposite Virgil. "You have made a promise, Virgil, and I expect you to keep it," she warned. "The sounds of the M25 masks the noise your Thunderbird makes during the day, but at night the whole countryside can hear it. It would be most tiresome if the county learnt who we were just because you chose to make a foolhardy dash for home."

She could see exhaustion and worry etched into Virgil's face. "You have my word, Penny. I won't be leaving until John gives me the all clear."

"Good," she said.

John took pity on his younger brother. "Look, Virgil, I'll make you a deal. Cyclone Sylvia's on the move. She's going to be losing steam pretty soon. Wait 24 hours and then, whatever the weather's like, I'll agree to let you fly home."

Virgil looked at him. "Do you mean that?" He looked at his watch. "24 hours is a long time."

"But I'll only let you go on one condition," John clarified. "How much sleep have you had since you arrived in England?"

"Not much," Virgil admitted.

"You mean you've had none. You look as shot as I feel. I'll let you go in 24 hours, as long as you've had a good sleep tonight. If there's any sort of foul weather about you'll want to be strong enough, mentally and physically, to deal with it."

"Fair enough," Virgil admitted and rubbed his eyes. "Hadn't you better hang up the 'phone, John?"

John gave a guilty smile and pushed a button. "How'd you know that was what I dialled?"

Virgil tapped the side of his head. "You're tired too, John, and you've forgotten I've got an ear for music. I know that combination of notes well, I rang it often enough to get you or Scott to pick me up from music practice. Also, I know you! There's no way you'd enter that code until you were sure it was absolutely necessary."

"Guilty," John managed a grin. "It was the only number I could think of at short notice."

Virgil looked at his watch again. "Well... If I'm flying out of here in 23 point nine six hours, I'd better try to get some sleep. If you'll all excuse me..." He levered himself out of the chair. "Good night, everyone," he said as he left the room.

Parker watched him go. "But h-it's only 'alf five. What about dinner, M'Lady. 'E's gonna miss it."

"What Virgil needs now is sleep," Lady Penelope reminded him. "He'll have plenty of time tomorrow to obtain the sustenance he'll need for the flight home." She turned back to John. "Do you think you have made the right decision, my dear boy? What if this cyclone hasn't passed by the time Thunderbird Two reaches Tracy Island?"

"I know Virgil, Penny. As long as he's not tired and is able to think clearly he won't take any unnecessary chances. If things are too rough he'll hover above the cyclone until he's able to land safely. I'm pretty sure that he found that flight out from home more frightening than he's let on."

Virgil stuck his head back in through the door. "Did not," he said and gave them a tired smile. "Brains is right, Penny. This door isn't shutting properly. Don't worry about breakfast for me, Parker. I'll get it myself." He disappeared again.

Lady Penelope gave a sigh. "Parker..."

"H-I'll see to it h'in the mornin', M'lady."

Eighteen - Night Four

In the time since his family had seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet, John Tracy had had no problems in getting to sleep. Staying asleep was a different matter. The nightmares that populated his dreams inevitably caused him to wake him up in a cold sweat. The upshot was that he was nearly as exhausted as Virgil, who'd been getting no sleep at all.

His uniform crumpled and untidy, his sash and belt hanging off the corner of the desk, John tossed in his chair and plucked at his blanket.

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

John gave a little moan and shifted so he was lying on his other side. His pillow slid to the floor of Thunderbird Five's control room.

"Calling Thunderbird Five!"

John pulled his blanket over his head and stretched, trying to get comfortable. His foot kicked his belt and the sash fell to the floor.

"Come in Thunderbird Five! Are you reading me?"

John sat up, partially awake. Deciding that the voice wasn't part of his dream he flicked the switch that completed the link with his caller. "Funderbird Thive. Go ahead."

"Is that how you normally answer a call, Son?"

"Dad!" John stared at the image on the screen. "Is that you? Are you okay? How's everyone? What happened? Why are you...?" John peered closer at the screen, "...in Thunderbird Three? What happened? Are you okay...?"

"Whoa," Jeff ordered. "We're all okay. How's Thunderbird Two?"

"She's fine. She's at Penny's."

"John," Scott clarified, "He means, how's Virgil, Tin-Tin, Brains and Joe?"

"Oh, them!" John's fatigue vanished and his mind cleared. "They're fine. Got through the storm, no problems. But what happened to you guys?"

"Lost the radio," Alan replied.

"So I gathered. But how?"

Ned Cook pushed his way through so that he could see John clearly on the screen. "John! Please! How is Joe, really?"

"He's going to be okay. He's still in Intensive Care, but they'll probably move him out in the next few days. The doctors said things would have been different if we'd got him to hospital any later."

Ned looked relieved.

"Are you sure you're all okay?" John repeated.

"We're a darn site better than you look, my boy," Grandma informed him. "That uniform of yours looks slept in."

"Ah... It has been, Grandma."

She gave a snort that showed that she didn't approve.

Trying to avoid her wrath, John moved the conversation. "Why are you all in Thunderbird Three?"

"Because we were fairly sure that we'd be able to contact you from here, and the flight deck is big enough for all of us," his father said.

"Even Mr. Cook?" John was looking slightly astounded.

"Don't worry, your secrets are still safe," Ned growled. "They blindfolded me and led me here."

"We did think of pushing him off the gantry, but decided against it," Gordon teased.

Ned Cook smiled at the joke.

"Why'd you lose contact?" John asked. "We've been worried sick."

"We've lost part of the roof," Jeff informed him.

"Lost part of the roof...? How extensive is the damage?"

"We haven't checked yet, we were more concerned about finding if everyone had survived the storm."

"If you've lost the roof, you're going to need help replacing it." John looked at his youngest brother. "Slap that baby of yours into gear, Alan, and come and get me."

"We'll do that soon enough," Jeff agreed, "But, first, we'll have to do a survey and compile a list of supplies. Virgil can bring them back in Thunderbird Two."

John felt slightly disappointed. "Okay." Then he cheered up. "Gee, it's great to see you all."

There was a moments silence as he looked at them with a goofy smile.

"John," Scott said.

"Yes?"

"Don't you think Virgil would like to see us as well?"

"Oh... Yeah... Sorry..." Blushing to the roots of his blonde hair, John transferred the call.

Sheer exhaustion and the prospect of finally being able to do something meant that Virgil had fallen into a deep sleep. John had to activate his brother's alarm several times before the signal penetrated his almost catatonic slumber and Virgil awoke. He fumbled for his watch and looked at John with bleary eyes. "I was 'sleep," he moaned. "Whatcha want?"

"I've got someone who wants to say 'Hi', Virgil."

"Who?" Virgil rubbed his hand over his face.

"We can call you back later, if you'd prefer, Virg."

Virgil's eyes widened "Scott! Father! Grandma! Are..."

"We're all fine," Jeff interrupted the expected question.

"What happened?"

"We've lost part of the roof and the temporary antenna with it."

"Lost the roof? Are you sure you're all okay?"

Halfway around the world, in Thunderbird Three, his family glanced in Scott's direction as his brother answered. "We're fine. You don't need to worry." He grinned when he saw Virgil frown. "Honest, Virg. We're a million bucks now that we know that you all made it safely."

"I've got to tell the others!" Virgil exclaimed. "Hang on!" The picture on Thunderbird Three's console blurred as he leapt out of bed and ran down the hallway. "Brains!" he barged into the engineers room without knocking. "Wake up!"

"Wh-What?" Brains asked groggily.

"Here!" Virgil threw his watch at him. "Talk to them while I get Tin-Tin." He was out the door again before Brains had a chance to ask him to clarify his statement.

Brains sat up, hearing a yell of "Tin-Tin! Wake up!" from the hall, and the watch slid down off his bedclothes and onto the floor. Thunderbird Three's screen blurred again.

"At this rate I'm going to be suffering from a severe case of motion sickness before we get to talk to him," Gordon complained.

"You?" Scott looked at him. "You've never suffered a moment of motion sickness in your life."

Brains reached for where he thought he'd left his glasses. "What's he on about?" he muttered. "Where's that thing that fell?"

Gordon leant forward so he was closer to the microphone. "On the floor!" he yelled.

Brains didn't hear him but had succeeded in retrieving the watch. He picked it up, holding it upside down as he affixed his spectacles to his face. Then he turned the watch so it was the right way up and stared into its face. "Wh-What can I do for you, Mr. Tracy?"

"You can show a bit more enthusiasm, Brains," Alan told him.

"Virgil's doing enough of that for both of them," Gordon told him.

Brains frowned, blinked, and yawned. It was only then that the realisation of whom he was looking at awakened as well. "M-M-M...?"

"We're all okay, Brains," Jeff anticipated the question.

"Wh-Wh-Wh...?"

"Part of the roof was blown away along with the antenna."

"Wh-Why...?"

"We thought the radio would still be working and there's room enough for all of us."

It was all Brains needed to know. "Good," he said. And a smile broke out across his face.

Virgil barged back into the room, pulling Tin-Tin by the arm. "Where's that watch, Brains?"

"Virgil!" Tin-Tin complained. "You could at least wait until I've got my dressing gown done up."

Gordon nudged Scott and pointed at Alan whose face had adopted a scowl.

Brains held out the watch. Virgil took it from him and gave it to Tin-Tin, staying close so that he could see its face over her shoulder.

Tin-Tin glared at him. "I know the time! I looked at the clock when you pulled me out of bed. It's 3.00am."

Gordon and Scott could barely contain their laughter as Alan's scowl deepened. Kyrano looked on serenely.

"I didn't pull you out of bed," Virgil protested. "I banged on your door."

"At three-o-clock," she said her dark expression getting even darker.

Jeff indicated that Kyrano should move closer to the microphone. "Selamat pagi (1), Tin-Tin," the Malaysian said.

Tin-Tin heard the voice and finally looked at the watch. "Father!"

"Apa khabar (2)?"

"Selamat Sejahtera (3)," she replied. "Khabar baik (4). And how are you? How are you all?"

"We are all well," Kyrano informed her.

Alan couldn't wait any longer. Partly because he was dying to talk to his girlfriend, and partly to circumnavigate the questions they'd already answered three times, he said, "The roof has gone, which is why the antenna wasn't working, and we're in Thunderbird Three because we thought the radio would still be operational and because we can all fit in here."

"And because Thunderbird One's flooded," Gordon added.

"We don't know that," Scott protested. "The water may not have penetrated the hull."

"I'll bet the jet units are ruined."

Scott responded with a sour, "Shut up, Gordon."

There was a knock on the door to Brains' bedroom and Lady Penelope stepped inside, shadowed by Parker. "What is all the noise? We could hear you from the other side of the house."

"I told you that would happen," John's voice came from the vicinity of Virgil's watch.

"Lady Penelope! Look!" Tin-Tin held out the timepiece, her smile almost splitting her face in two. "They've made contact, and they are all well."

"Made contact? Your family?" Lady Penelope took the watch. "Jeff! It's wonderful to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, Penny. I hope those three haven't been any trouble."

"Not at all. It's been a pleasure."

"I'll bet," Gordon was in a playful mood. "Virgil. I hope you haven't been streaking through Penny's place."

Virgil reddened. "No, I haven't!"

"Then what have you got on?" Grandma's tone made Virgil think he was going to be in trouble when he got home. "I would expect you to wear more when you're a guest in Penelope's house."

Virgil looked down as if confirming that he was underdressed. "I've got my shorts on," he protested. "I'm sorry, Penny. I forgot to order pyjamas with the rest of my clothes. I was in a hurry to let everyone know that everyone was okay and I didn't think of putting anything on."

Lady Penelope had already decided that there were worse things to be woken by than half naked Tracys. "That's all right, dear boy. Don't worry about it."

"I'll go get something on," Virgil offered his father. "We can leave any time."

"Don't hurry back," Jeff suggested. "We'll reconnoitre the complex and see what repairs we have to make and what supplies we'll need. In the meantime you can get some more sleep; you look like you need it. We'll call you tomorrow when we're ready to place our orders. I'll send them through to you, John, and you can ring the suppliers."

"F-A-B," John replied.

"And in the meantime you can get out of that mess of a uniform."

"Yes, Sir."

"At least you could run around naked and you wouldn't offend anyone, John," Gordon quipped.

"Thanks, Gordon," John said without enthusiasm.

"Except maybe some passing aliens."

"Thanks, Gordon," John repeated.

"They'd take one look and flee in fright."

"Gordon..."

"And go home and tell their peoples about this strange beast that is so terrible that Earthlings keep it in a sealed container above the Earth's atmosphere."

"Shut up, Gordon."

The following night (Tracy Island time), John had enjoyed a peaceful sleep, and was showered, combed, and dressed in a clean, pressed uniform. He answered his father's call with a broad smile.

"You're looking a bit more like you," Scott informed him.

"I feel like it too. Where are you both?" John asked. "Thunderbird One?"

"The gantry's still working, so we thought it was easier to get to One than Three," Jeff informed him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a baby. How about you guys?"

"Sleep's not a problem as the sleeping quarters are okay, but the rest of the house is trashed," Jeff told him. "We need to rebuild the lounge, kitchen, dining room, laboratory..."

"Brains is going to be devastated when he sees the lab," Scott interjected.

"It's going to need a complete overhaul," Jeff continued on. "As does the workshop, and most of my study's in the Pacific Ocean. Thank heavens I have full backups of everything on Thunderbird Five."

"Yeah," Scott added. "Thunderbird One's launch bay is filled with mud and rubbish and her hangar's not much better. Palm tree number eight got jammed in Thunderbird Two's hangar door so it didn't shut properly and that's flooded."

"How's One?" John asked.

"Pretty good considering she's been underwater. We've been lucky that the water treatment plant and power generator have kept working throughout all this, I was able to spend much of the morning hosing the salt water out of her jet units, which'll hold her until we can strip them down. I don't think there'll be any long term damage. Alan and Gordon are crowing because Thunderbirds Three and Four came through unscathed."

"Naturally," John commented. "How's the observatory?"

"We haven't been to that side of the island," Jeff told him. "I'm sorry, John, but the main complex has taken priority."

"I understand." John tried not to sound disappointed as he changed the topic. "I've discovered the reason why the storm surge was so high." As his father and brother listened intently, he continued on. "It was a combination of factors. Not only the cyclonic storm surge, but there was also a king tide, and seismic activity near the Hawaiian Islands set off a small tsunami. Two of those events together would have flooded the runway and not much else. It was the three, almost simultaneous events, which caused the problems."

"So, for once in our lives Lady Luck wasn't smiling on us," Scott hypothesised.

"Nope." John paused. "So what do you need?"

"We're sending the list through now," Jeff said, and John heard a printer on board Thunderbird Five spark into life. "It's mainly building materials, but Grandma and Kyrano have attached the list of appliances they want for the kitchen."

Scott grinned. "There was a... shall we say 'animated discussion' about the type of cooker we should get. Kyrano wanted an atomic one, while Grandma had her heart set of something more 'old fashioned', with less rods. It was nearly carving knives at dawn."

John grinned at the image.

"We won't touch the lab until Brains gets home," Jeff continued on. "Then he'll be able to decide what he needs and if he wants to change the room's layout."

"Fair enough," John agreed.

"Since Tin-Tin's in London with Penny, I'll let them decide on the decorations for the lounge and other rooms."

"You're kidding!" John screwed up his face. "Penny will want everything pink!"

Jeff chuckled. "I think I can trust her not to go that far."

"When are you going to come and get me? I'm not doing much good up here."

"Once Thunderbird Two's back, we'll use her to reinstate the radio mast. Until then you're our only link with the outside world and I don't like being cut off, even if we can't actually rescue anyone."

"Has International Rescue been needed?" Scott asked.

John shook his head. "No. Before Sylvia got up to full strength, all the smaller nations had been evacuated to the larger ones, in accordance with the Pacific Disaster Treaty, and the rest of the world has enjoyed a quiet week."

"Glad to hear it," Jeff said.

"Uncle Stanton's been on the phone a few times, but I've played dumb. He can wait until we get the radio mast operational again and I've 'made contact'."

Scott chuckled. "Ned's been telling us a few stories about him. You think Uncle Stanton's a pain in the butt to us, try working for him!"

"Ned!" John stared at his older brother. "You called him Ned? A week ago you would have called him 'Cook'. And that would have been with gritted teeth and plans to eviscerate him."

"Yeah, well... After spending four days cooped up with him I've come to realise that he's not that bad," Scott conceded. "He kept us entertained telling us about the stories he covered."

"And you entertained him with International Rescue stories?"

Scott looked shocked. "No! Of course not... Well... Maybe the odd one. Ones that were already in the public domain... giving our viewpoint as it were..."

"Yeah... Right..." John deadpanned.

Jeff interrupted. "Can you put us through to Virgil? We've, ah... I want to let him know what's happening. You can make a start ringing the suppliers."

"F-A-B."

There was a delay as John located Virgil's position in the Creighton-Ward manor.

"How are you going to tell him?" Scott asked his father.

"I was hoping you were going to tell him. That's why I invited you to help me with this call," Jeff replied.

"Thanks." Scott didn't sound happy with his new responsibility.

Virgil was in Lady Penelope's study, sketching the morning sky from her window, when he received the call. He settled back in a leather chair and looked at his father and brother's image in a small picture frame. "Hi."

"Glad to see you're fully clothed this time," Scott teased.

Virgil ignored his older brother. "Have you worked out what I'll be bringing home yet?"

"Yes," his father replied. "John's got a list and he'll ring around and get everything delivered to Penny's. We're sending you a copy now."

Virgil watched as Lady Penelope's printer started shooting out numerous sheets of paper. "Whoa! Don't forget Thunderbird Two hasn't got her pod!"

"Son, that 'plane of yours could carry a complete house with or without the pod," Jeff reminded him.

"Yeah," Scott added. "Especially since her interior is lying on the floor of the hangar back here. Quite a few things have been damaged." He hesitated. "Ah... Virg..." He glanced at his father.

But Virgil, conceding the validity of their statements, had a suggestion. "Why don't I help John with the 'phone calls? I'm not doing much back here."

"Because I'm getting Tin-Tin and Penny to plan the new décor and I thought you would want to help them decide the colour schemes," Jeff told him.

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "Give a man's point of view. You know what we like. Something simple."

Virgil had sat up straight in the chair. "Shopping! You want me to go shopping?"

"Parker can stay home and accept delivery of the goods while you drive the ladies around," Jeff suggested.

"No way!" Virgil sounded even more displeased at the suggestion. "Parker's the chauffeur. I don't mind staying here and signing delivery dockets."

Scott tried to placate his brother. "We thought you might enjoy it."

Virgil was incredulous. "You thought I might enjoy shopping with a couple of women?"

Rather than become angry at his son's obstinacy, Jeff's voice softened. "We thought... that... you might like the opportunity to try out a few pianos... to replace the old one."

"New p..." Virgil went silent.

"Better you try them out personally rather than leave it to us," Scott told him. "You can get what you like... A quality instrument... Not something that some salesman wants to sell us."

Virgil found his voice. "Isn't it salvageable?"

Scott shrugged. "Gordon did suggest drilling holes in the bottom and letting the water drain out..."

"The man's a Philistine," Virgil growled.

"A few holes won't restore it," Jeff said. "Better buy a new one, Son. Choose something you like."

"I don't have to take Penny, do I? She'll insist that I buy a pink one."

Scott laughed. "John had the same concerns about the rest of the house. That's why you've got to go with them."

Virgil sat back and tried to be nonchalant. "Okay, I'll see if I can find anything halfway decent."

"Don't take too long about it," Jeff suggested. "John's itching to help with the repairs and I don't want to leave Thunderbird Five unattended until we've got the radio mast operational again. And to do that we need Thunderbird Two."

"Okay. Do you want me to get anything else?"

"If we do we'll let you know, but I think that's a pretty comprehensive list."

"I'll say," Virgil was shuffling through the papers. "I see swimming pool tiles are on here. Do you think Gordon would complain if we let Penny choose them?"

"We didn't let him touch your piano, don't spoil his pool," his father warned.

Virgil chuckled. "Okay. Any other instructions?"

"Negative. Call us tonight and let us know when you think you'll be leaving."

"F-A-B." Virgil signed off.

Jeff rotated his shoulders to relieve the tension in them and gave Scott a wry grin. "He took that better than I expected."

"Only after he reminded himself that it was only the piano and not one of us," Scott informed him. "I'll guarantee that Virgil's out in Penny's car at this very moment, warming the motor and leaning on the horn to get the ladies to hurry up."

Jeff smiled at the mental image. "I don't mind if he does. I'm looking forward to having the family, including John, all together again..."

(1) Selamat pagi - Good morning

(2) Apa khabar?" - How are you?

(3) Selamat Sejahtera - Hello

(4) Khabar baik - Fine, good

Nineteen - Tour Over

Ned Cook looked into the games room. In there he found Jeff Tracy hanging photographs on the wall. "What are you doing, Jeff?"

"Hi, Ned. I'm replacing the photos of Gordon," was the reply.

"The ones you took down because I was trying to stick my big nose in?"

"Yes." Jeff reached into a box and took out a photo. He looked at it briefly before hanging it in position. "You've no idea what pleasure this little job is giving me."

Ned looked at the photo. It was of Gordon shortly after he'd won his Olympic gold medal. One hand held the prize triumphantly. The other was around the shoulders of an obviously proud father. "I'm sorry we forced you to lie about him, Jeff."

"So am I," Jeff admitted. "But you can understand why I had to take that step."

"Yes, I can."

"I hated having to lie about the way I feel about him, but I could never hate Gordon."

"I..." Ned began.

Someone slammed a door in the hall. A sloshing sound preceded the appearance of a figure, drenched from head to toe in dark, foul smelling mud. The figure ignored the two men in the games room, instead continuing to slosh in the direction of the sleeping quarters, grumbling under its breath.

"Alan!" Jeff sounded stern. "Where are you going like that?"

Alan stopped and reversed his passage until he was at the door of the room. His face was like thunder. "I'm going to get washed and changed!" A droplet of mud slid off his cheek and onto the floor.

"This is the only part of the house untouched by the storm. You don't have to make it unlivable too," his father reprimanded him.

"I didn't think it would matter since we're going to replace the carpet," Alan stated. "Anyway, I'm not the one to blame! He tipped a bucket of mud all over me! Look! It's going to take me ages to get clean." He spread his arms wide to draw attention to his plight, and sent more mud spilling onto the carpet and the walls. Then, muttering something about brothers, resumed his unhappy course towards his bedroom.

Ned looked at Jeff. "Gordon?"

"Gordon," Jeff confirmed. "I could never hate him, but there have been times..." He shook his head in exasperation, letting the sentence remain unfinished as he hung the final photograph. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. "That's better."

His mother came to the door. "Jeff, I've just been talking to John. Virgil's about an hour away."

"Thanks, Mother."

She looked at the floor and the walls, noticing the mud splatters. "Who did that?"

"Your youngest grandson."

"Alan! And you let him?"

"As he pointed out, we are replacing the carpet..."

"But that won't be for ages!" She clucked her tongue in disapproval. "What were you thinking of, Jeff Tracy?"

"I was thinking how pleased I'll be to have the whole family together again. It's only mud, Mother."

"It smells," she protested. "And this is our eating area until we get the dining room sorted."

"The weather's lovely now," Jeff reminded her. "The wind's gone and the sun's shining. We can eat all our meals outside."

"It's even more muddy and smelly out there..." she complained as a redheaded blur raced down the hall behind her. "Gordon Tracy! Don't run in the house!"

"Sorry, Grandma." He skidded to a stop. "But I've just checked the next bay 'round. The water's cleared so I'm going to go for a swim while I've got the chance. Once Thunderbird Two's back we're going to be flat out clearing up the place. See ya." He'd gone before anyone had a chance to respond to his statement.

Grandma clucked her tongue again. "Really! Those boys!"

"Are getting used to being able to relax, stretch their legs, and be themselves again," Jeff reminded her. "Leave him, Mother. He's not doing any harm. In fact..." he put the empty box beside his desk. "I might go and stretch my legs myself. Would you like to come for a walk, Ned?"

Ned Cook smiled. "I'd love too, Jeff."

Treading cautiously as they made their way down paths made slippery with silt, Jeff led Ned down to where the beach in front of the villa had been. All the sand had been washed away leaving a bay of largish pebbles and boulders. Many of the palm trees had been torn from the ground and were lying dead on the beach. Everywhere there was destruction.

Ned turned so he could see the Tracy Villa. From this angle it appeared that half the building was gone. Something bright on the shore caught his eye and he picked it up. It was the ornament that had sat on Jeff's desk in the lounge. Turning it over he saw that the underside had concealed a microphone. "Amazing," he muttered to himself.

"Pardon?" Jeff replied.

"Oh, nothing," Ned handed him the ornament. "I just can't believe how unlucky you've been."

"Unlucky?"

"Yes." Ned swung his arm in an arc, encompassing the island. "Your home's been destroyed!"

Jeff looked about him as if he were seeing it for the first time. "Not destroyed, but certainly damaged. International Rescue's going to be out of action for a time, which is a concern, but we might not be needed anywhere. What really matters to me, on a personal level, is that no one in my family has been seriously hurt, that Joe is going to be okay, and that in a few hours time I'll have all five of my boys with me again. This..." his arm followed the same trajectory that Ned's had taken, "can all be replaced with time and money. It's the lives of those closest to me that are irreplaceable... When you look at things in the wider scale," he bent down, and using a stick, turned over the body of a dead bird, it's once brilliant plumage now dulled with mud, "I've been incredibly lucky."

Ned stared at him. "You're amazing."

Jeff gave a wry grin, threw the stick away, and began walking along the remains of the beach. "No, I'm not. I don't like the idea of losing all these things. I don't like the idea of millions having to be spent out to restore my home to the way it was. I don't like the fact that some priceless artifacts that cost me a lot of money have been destroyed. But when you look at my misfortune and compare it with the big picture, that's nothing. How many of those birds have died? Just that one? Two? Three? The entire species? That would be a catastrophe. How many other species of birds, plants, animals, fish or insects have been wiped out, or will be because their environment has been destroyed? How about people on other islands? They survived because they were evacuated, but what will they return to? Will they have homes, gardens; a way to sustain their way of life? Will they have the wherewithal to start again? What stresses will they endure before life returns to normal for them, if it ever does? Compared to them I have lost nothing." He chuckled. "Here endeth the lesson."

"Is that why you started International Rescue? To help those with less than you?" Ned thrust his hands into his pocket. His right one grasped the voice recorder.

"Sort of," Jeff admitted. "I first got the idea when my wife, Lucille, was tragically killed."

Ned nodded. That part of Jeff Tracy's life was common knowledge.

"I thought that if only there'd been a rescue organisation with the right tools, she could have been saved. I guess that planted the seed, as it were. From then on every time people were trapped in a mine, every mudslide, every volcanic eruption, every hurricane, every disaster, watered that seed. And as I accumulated more and more money I began to realise that just maybe I could be the one to grow that rescue organisation. It also helped that I had a readymade team with the skills and attitude to bring it to life."

"What would you have done if your sons had decided not to go along with your plan?" Ned asked.

"I don't know," Jeff admitted. "I'm fortunate that I didn't have to consider that option. They hesitated at first, a couple more than the others." He chuckled. "I think they thought their old man had lost his marbles. But now they believe in International Rescue as much as I do... More so, since they are the ones laying their lives on the line." They began to climb up a volcanic outcrop. "I worry about them... A few times I've been frightened for them... But I'm proud of them all."

"You don't have to convince me," said Ned. "I know. And I think they're proud of their father as well."

They climbed the rest of the outcrop in silence.

Jeff reached the top and stopped, looking down into the next bay. Ned scrambled after him and stood there panting. "That's... quite a... climb."

Jeff grinned. "You're out of shape."

Ned straightened. "I've been unwell," he protested. "I had a building land on me, I was nearly drowned and I've been on light duties ever since, remember?"

Jeff chuckled. "Well, if you want to see a perfect example of physical fitness, there you are." He pointed into the bay before sitting down on one of larger the rocks.

Ned looked down.

Gordon was on what remained of the beach. He'd obviously decided that after being trapped inside for a week, he'd forgo wearing a wetsuit, preferring to enjoy the feeling of the warm sun on his back and the gentle caress of the water on his skin. Currently he was pacing backwards and forwards, holding a strange looking object out to sea.

"What's he..." Ned looked around, saw that Jeff was now seated, and took a seat beside him. "What's he doing?"

"He's testing the depth of the water and checking there aren't any hidden obstacles. I'm betting that he's hoping to dive straight in."

Ned watched as Gordon laid down the device, and stretched in preparation for the dive. He completed his last stretch and glanced in the direction of the two men. He gave them a wave. "Care to join me?" he shouted.

"No thanks, Gordon," Jeff shouted back. "We'll watch if you don't mind."

Gordon gave an ironic bow and then made his way onto a scoria reef. He stood poised for a moment, a Greek statue against the blue of the ocean. Then he dove. Barely a ripple marked where he'd entered the water and he didn't surface again until he was nearly halfway across the bay.

Jeff heard a stumbling sound and turned to look behind him. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the same reason that you are. To watch Gordon."

"Scott!" Jeff sounded exasperated. "You're supposed to be resting that leg... And where's your crutch?"

"I've been resting it for the last five days. I needed the exercise."

"Your grandmother's not going to be pleased with you."

"I'll tell her I needed the sun, which is true." Scott found a conveniently sized rock and, grimacing, sat down. "Don't worry, I'm all right."

"You should be inside, resting," Jeff persisted. "You did too much yesterday when you cleaned down Thunderbird One."

"I've been trapped underground for the last week and I'm sick of being stuck inside. I need the fresh air. And," Scott continued as he watched his brother, "being stuck inside with Gordon has been like stuck with a fish out of water. I've come here to see him in his natural environment."

Gordon had completed one length of the bay and was backstroking the return journey. Upon finishing that lap he turned and started back using breaststroke.

"Is this where you all are?" Alan asked as he clambered to the top of the outcrop. "Here," he held out a crutch and gave it to Scott. "Grandma's spitting tacks because you're not resting. And she says if you don't use this she's going to wrap it around your ear."

"She worries too much," Scott said as he reluctantly accepted the aid.

"That what I told her. She told me it's her job to worry, because we don't worry enough." Alan sat next to his father.

"Did you get all the mud off?" Ned asked.

"Nope," Alan ran his finger around the rim of his ear and then wiped it on his shirt. "But at least I got enough off so I shouldn't smell..." He sniffed at his arm and screwed up his face. "Well I thought I had. I'll have another shower later."

"Tin-Tin won't give you a hug if you stink," Scott teased. "Of course, if you ask her nicely, she might let you disguise the smell with some of her perfume."

Alan replied in kind. "Of course, I could always tell Grandma that you're refusing to use your crutch. She'll start nagging you the way she's been nagging Virgil these last few weeks."

"Start? She's already started," Scott protested. "She started the instant I injured it."

Gordon was on the homeward stretch, his butterfly stroke carving efficiently through the water.

"That's how he won the medal, isn't it?" Ned asked.

"Yep. And he's still fast enough to win gold at this year's Olympics," Alan boasted.

"Would he want to?" Ned asked.

"I asked him that," Scott said. "He said he's moved onto bigger and better things."

"That's true," Ned agreed. "And there's a lot of people in this world who are glad that he has. Me included..."

There was a shout from down by the water. "Hey! Look what I've found!" Gordon dove beneath the waves.

"What's he found?" Scott asked.

"A friend for Tracey?" Alan suggested.

"Tracey?" Jeff queried, but Gordon had surfaced again carrying something. He waded onto the shore examining the object.

"It's Joe's camera!" Ned was on his feet.

Gordon had settled the camera onto the beach and he pushed the button that popped open the film compartment. Silt and water poured out, settling in a muddy puddle at the base of the rocky outcrop. He looked up at his family. "Look's like Sylvia's done a better job on it than Scott managed to."

"I've been meaning to ask, how'd you do that?" Ned asked Scott, who was shuffling closer so he could see what was happening. "How did you manage to wipe the film from Thunderbird One?"

Scott smiled. "Trade secret," he replied as he leant on his crutch.

"I figured it might be." Ned thrust his hands into his pockets and felt the two voice recorders there. "You know," he said as he pulled them out. "It's a shame that the cyclone destroyed all our recording equipment." He weighed the items briefly in his hands. "Now we've got nothing to show for our time on Tracy Island." He threw the recorders down towards the beach. They ricocheted off sharp edged rocks before settling in the mud beside the camera.

Everyone stared as Gordon picked the recorders up. "These have been used!"

"Ned?" Jeff was looking at the reporter.

"There's nothing on there from after we found out you're International Rescue," Ned reassured him. "If they still work you can check."

"Nothing?" Scott was frowning. "But are there others...?"

Ned held his hands out as if he were showing he was hiding nothing. "There are no copies of recordings or other recorders, and if you don't believe me you're welcome to search our rooms."

"So why tell us this now?" Jeff asked.

"Because you're trusting me and I want to prove to you that I'm worthy of that trust," Ned admitted.

Scott's frown deepened. "Now I know why Joe didn't trust you."

"I'm disappointed in Joe. I thought he knew me well enough to know that I would never back down from a 'debt of honour', as he called it."

"You had me fooled," Scott growled.

"I guess it didn't sound that way, but that's me." Ned shrugged. "I enjoy winding people up and watching their reactions. I guess I like to keep people guessing. But I never had any attention of 'blowing the whistle'." He thrust his hands into his now empty pockets. "You know how you hear of people making deals with the Devil and pacts with God when they think their lives are in mortal danger... Of course you do," he admonished himself when he remembered who he was talking to. "Well... When I was buried under New York City, waiting to either drown or be rescued, I made a pledge to International Rescue. I promised that if you people did, by some miracle, manage to save Joe and me, then I'd never do anything that might jeopardise your organisation." He looked Jeff in the eye. "And the way that, despite the threat that we posed to your organisation, you all fought to save Joe's life, made me even more determined to keep that pledge. I might be many things, but I hope I am an honourable and honest man and I aim to keep that promise."

"Do you call installing a broken component into a hover-plane so you can buy time with a story honest?" Alan asked.

"That was Joe's idea. Besides I thought I was dealing with reclusive billionaire and his playboy sons."

Gordon snorted a laugh. "Playboy! It never fails to crack me up when I hear people refer to us as that. We never get the time to play..."

A low rumble, like thunder, was heard in the distance. It grew louder.

"Talking of no time to play," Jeff was looking skywards. "Here's Virgil with the supplies."

Ned looked up and was awestruck by the Thunderbird. "Wow."

Thunderbird Two flew low. She hovered over the group of men and a series of strobe lights played out along her undercarriage.

Jeff gave a wave to the 'plane's unseen occupants. "Come on. Let's go and say 'welcome home'."

Thunderbird Two moved off slowly, embarking on a circuit of the island.

"I've seen it before," Ned said, as he watched the great aircraft move away. "But last time I was viewing it as a reporter missing a great story. This time... This time I'm looking at it as... as..." Words failed him. "That's one humungous 'plane!"

"You okay, Hoppy?" Gordon asked, as he moved closer to help Scott.

"I'm okay," Scott held him at arms length. "I don't need to get wet. You worry about the camera, I'll worry about me."

"It's only good, honest, seawater," Gordon told him. "It's good for your skin."

"My skin's good enough, thank you. And my clothes are dry and I plan to keep it that way."

Ned looked up at what remained of the Tracy family villa. "There'll be a lot of work involved in fixing the place," he remarked to Alan. "You're lucky your father's a billionaire, you won't have any problems."

"Where'd we find a tradesmen who'd travel this far?" Alan asked. "And if we did, we'd have to worry about security. We're the ones who will be doing all the work."

Ned stared at him. "You?"

"Yep. We built the place and we'll re-build it. It'll be easier once..." he cast an impish grin Ned's way, "all the 'playboys' are here."

"I wish people could see what you're really like. Before I came here, I was genuinely expecting you all to be selfish brats."

"I keep meaning to ask you, Gordon," Scott said as he limped across the rocks. "How's Tracey? Has she had her babies yet?"

"Yeah," Alan moved closer so he could join in the conversation. "In all the excitement I forgot about that."

"Who's Tracey?" Jeff asked.

"Gordon's goldfish," Alan replied.

"Tracey's not a goldfish," Gordon reminded him. "She's a Plectroglyphididodon Tracii..."

"And she's grey," Scott interjected. "So, when is the proud 'Gord-father' going to show off his new offspring?"

Alan snorted a laugh.

"When I've got everything sorted," Gordon said.

"Sorted? Don't tell me you left her in the – ow – bunkers?" Scott flinched as twisted his sore leg.

"No, of course I didn't. You know that. Or you would have if you hadn't been keeping us awake all night with your moaning and groaning with that leg of yours."

"Moaning and groaning?" Scott scowled. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Alan backed Gordon up. "It's a wonder we managed to get any sleep at all."

Scott huffed. "Forget all that. So where's Tracey now?"

"Um. She's in her tank with the others in my room."

"No she's not," Alan told them. "I checked your room when I was looking for you guys and she's still in her plastic bag. That surprised me," he added. "I thought you would have got to back into her tank straight away, Gordon."

"Actually, Alan, she is... ah... in her tank."

"Huh?" Alan stopped walking and stared at his brother. "Then who, I mean what, was that in the bag?"

"Gil."

"Gil? You mean short for Gillian?"

"No, I mean Gil short for Gilbert."

"But," Scott was trying to make sense of it all, "Gilbert's a boy's name."

"I know," Gordon admitted. "I grabbed the wrong fish."

This time both Scott and Alan stopped to stare at him. "The wrong fish!"

"Yeah," Gordon twisted his hand so the camera spun about, splashing water everywhere. "I was in such a hurry that I grabbed Gil instead of Tracey. And then after Ned had finished poking about in my room I was that furious that I didn't double check."

"Do you mean to tell me?" Scott exclaimed. "That we risked exposure... We risked ruining everything we've worked for... And you got the wrong fish!"

Alan burst out laughing. "You're kidding me?"

"It's not funny, Gordon," Scott snapped.

"No it's not. And I think we should discuss the whole situation later."

Gordon jumped; he'd forgotten that his father was listening... and that he hadn't known about their escapade.

"Getting back to the original question," Scott said. "Are Tracey and her babies okay?"

"Yes. I walked into my room after Sylvia had gone and the tank was swarming with hatchlings. I'll have to do more research, but keeping Gil away from Tracey during the birth may have helped with her young's survival."

They had made their way so they were close to the runway and watched as Thunderbird Two came to rest on an area that had been cleared the day before. Ned hung back so he wouldn't interfere in the family reunion.

The greetings were warm. Jeff greeted Brains as he would have his own son. Alan and Tin-Tin's joyful embrace was a fraction longer than that between the young Eurasian lady and the other Tracy boys.

Virgil was the last to emerge from Thunderbird Two. Scott beamed at him. "Here he is! The cyclone conqueror."

Virgil saw his brother limp towards him. "What happened to you?"

"This?" Scott indicated his leg. "Nothing. I bruised it."

"A bruise?" Virgil folded his arms. "Since when do you need crutches just for 'a bruise'? What happened?"

"Sylvia thought it was her birthday and Scott was a candle to be blown out," Gordon informed him.

"Blown out?" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "What do you mean? What happened?"

"It's nothing," Scott protested. "I'm all right."

"Wh-What happened, Scott?" Brains asked.

Scott, reluctantly, supplied the explanation. "When we lost you guys and John, Alan and I decided that we'd try to make contact from Thunderbird Three. We figured that we'd be able to be a link between the storm shelter, using our telecoms, and Thunderbird Five. We were planning to stay in Thunderbird Three until Sylvia had passed..."

"You and Alan? Stuck together in Thunderbird Three?" Virgil shook his head. "That's asking for even more trouble than you and Gordon."

"I'll have you know that we got on well, didn't we, Scott?" Gordon gave his eldest brother a squeeze, nearly causing him to lose his balance.

"Once you'd finished trying to drive me crazy," Scott growled.

"Never mind that," Tin-Tin protested. "How'd you hurt your leg?"

"We hadn't realised that half the house had been blown away when we attempted to leave the shelter," Scott explained. "It was like trying to walk on one of Thunderbird One's wings while she was in flight! I stepped out the door and whump! Sylvia knocked my legs out from under me. If Alan hadn't grabbed my hand, I hate to think where I would have ended up."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "So I've got hold of one of his arms, Gordon's got the other..."

"...Dad's got me by the legs," Gordon continued on. "Kyrano's got hold of Alan's... Ned's got hold of the both of them..."

"...Grandma's having a blue fit," Alan added. "And the wind was that loud, I honestly thought that you guys had come back to see what had happened and Thunderbird Two had overshot the runway and was heading straight for us."

"I didn't even know we'd lost contact until we were above the cyclone," Virgil admitted. "I've gotta admit that I was imagining all sorts of scenarios." He turned back to Scott. "So is that when you hurt yourself?"

"Yeah. I pulled something, but I'm okay!"

"I know you'll want to check out the lab, Brains," Jeff said. "But that," he pointed at Scott, "is your first priority."

"Y-Yes, Sir."

"I'm okay!" Scott protested again.

Ned, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, sat on a rock and watched the reunion, glad that he'd made the decision that he had. It was clear that although they weren't all joined by blood, they were a family. Scott was ruffling Brains' hair in the same way that he'd ruffled Virgil's when he'd greeted him. And Gordon had his arm around Tin-Tin in a manner that suggested brotherly affection, rather than a more intimate attraction, though, to Ned's amusement, Alan was still casting nervous glances in his brother's direction.

"So, Virg," Scott asked. "Did you manage to find a piano?"

Virgil opened his mouth to speak but was beaten to the punch by Tin-Tin. "Found one! It's a wonder he didn't bring it home with us the way he's been drooling over it."

Virgil tried to sound nonchalant. "There's nowhere to put it in the house at the moment, and we can't store it in one of the hangars. It's a delicate instrument."

"You mean you didn't bring it home because it wouldn't fit on the flight deck," Tin-Tin told him. "You would have quite happily relegated us to the sickbay."

"You had to travel in the sickbay anyway because we'd taken the seats out of the cabin," Virgil reminded her.

"But you did consider it?" Gordon grinned.

"H-He must have done." Brains was enjoying the exchange. "I-I don't know how many time h-he asked me to help him measure th-the crate..."

"We have to make sure it'll fit in the hold without being damaged when we bring it home," Virgil interrupted. "I wanted to ensure the measurements were exact..."

"Th-Then why did you ask me to help you measure the cabin d-doors?"

"Ah..." Virgil reddened at his family's laughter and changed the subject. "Who painted 'roll me over' on the underside of the pod...?" He turned to one of his brothers. "Gordon?"

Everyone turned to look at the pod that had been jettisoned from Thunderbird Two five days ago. It was lying upside down. Its sides scarred from where Cyclone Sylvia had blown it off the runway and rolled it over the adjacent rocks. From this angle the lettering was obscured.

"Just giving you a helpful hint," Gordon admitted.

"Well I hope you're going to clean it off before we store it away again," Virgil demanded.

Gordon shrugged. "Why bother. No one's going to see it when it's on the ground."

"But they'll see it when we're coming in to land," Virgil reminded him. "How would you like to be clinging to life and see the words 'roll me over' heading towards you? Not very reassuring!"

"Gordon," Jeff warned.

"Okay, okay. I'll clean it off. It's only water-based paint. Next cyclone it'll be washed clean."

"How'd you do it, anyway?" Alan asked. "The pod's impossible to climb onto without assistance... And I'm asking this so that no one thinks that I was involved."

"Used a jet pack," Gordon admitted.

"Gordon!" his father sounded angry. "You know the rules about using our equipment for anything other than International Rescue."

"Yes, Sir."

"Then what were you thinking?"

"I was using the jet pack, so I could get the height I needed to scan the runway to check it was intact."

Jeff nodded. This was probably true. "And the paint?"

"Ah..." Gordon prevaricated. "Would you believe the tin caught on my foot when I took off and I didn't want to drop it all over the place but it was making my flight unstable so I thought I'd lighten the load?"

"By painting 'roll me over' on the pod."

"Ah... yeah."

Jeff, not for the first time that day, shook his head in exasperation.

"If you want to check out the extent of the damage to the island," Virgil reached into his pocket and pulled out an electronic card which he gave to his father. "I got some video and scans of the complex when we did the round trip. It's all on there."

"Thank you, Son."

"I sent it through to Thunderbird Five, too. John's up there doing a happy dance because his observatory looks intact. The west side of the island's almost been stripped of vegetation though."

"Say, Virg?" Alan remembered something. "Do you remember? When you were flying out and you went into that dive..."

"I'm not going to forget that in a hurry."

"Did you do a barrel roll?"

"Yes. The wind just caught Two and flipped her over. I'm thinking 'this is it! I'm going to lose a wing and then it'll be curtains.' Don't ask me how I managed to right her again." Virgil shook his head at the memory. "If I ever offer to make a trip like that again... Set Grandma on to me, would you?"

There was a 'humph' from behind the group. "Do you think that would make any difference? You're as stubborn as the rest of them."

Virgil turned; a big grin on his face. "Hi, Grandma."

"Father!" Tin-Tin ran forward into Kyrano's arms.

"My daughter. I am pleased to see you."

"And I you." Together they began to converse excitedly in Malay.

"I've missed you," Virgil gave his grandmother a big hug. "Penny's cook's not a patch on you."

"Huh! Cupboard love." Grandma hit him on the chest affectionately. "Food! That's all you boys think about." She held out an arm in greeting, and drew Brains in close to kiss him on the cheek. "How are you, dear?"

"F-Fine, thank you, Mrs. Tracy."

Ned decided that it was time for him to offer his own thanks. He stepped forward. "Tin-Tin, Brains, Virgil..."

Virgil hadn't seen the reporter. He looked at Ned in alarm and then glanced at Thunderbird Two, as Scott laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Brains froze and Tin-Tin grasped her father's hand.

Ned saw their reactions. "...I know what you're thinking and I don't blame you. You think I know too much, and probably I do, but you can be reassured that I won't speak, I won't write, I won't use any form of communication to talk about what I've learnt on this island to another soul... except perhaps Joe. He's going to want to know what happened."

Virgil was wary. "But can we trust you?"

"I think we can, Virgil," Jeff replied. His son looked at him, but refrained from further comment.

Ned continued his speech. "I know I should say thank you to the three of you... but somehow the words don't seem to be enough. If you hadn't been willing to risk your lives, Joe wouldn't have survived. He and I both owe you a huge debt. I hope that I can repay that debt, at least in part, by keeping your secret."

There was an awkward silence as everyone considered what he'd said.

Jeff was the one to break it. "Come on; let's go back to the house. Scott should be resting that leg."

Scott groaned. "I'm – okay!" but he adjusted his grip on Virgil's shoulder so he was using his brother for support as they traversed the incline to the family home.

Stepping over debris, they clambered, single file up the steps that had led to the Tracys' home.

Tin-Tin gasped when she saw the pool. "It's full of mud and debris and..." she moved closer. "What's that sticking out?"

"That," Alan informed her, "is the bottom of the pool. All that mud and debris has filled Thunderbird One's launch bay."

She stared at him wide eyed. "Who's going to clean it out?"

Alan winked. "Gordon, of course."

The rest of the family had negotiated the steps to the villa. Virgil stood for a moment on what had formerly been the patio and surveyed what had formerly been the lounge. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "That's not fair! You said you wouldn't start the party without me!"

His family laughed. "Yeah," Gordon said. "It was a blast. Scott was legless."

"St-Still is." Brains beckoned to the eldest Tracy son. "Come on. I'll examine you n-now, if you don't mind."

Scott sighed. "Okay, Brains. There're some people here who just won't be happy until they hear a professional opinion." He followed International Rescue's engineer, scientist and medical expert through the debris of the family home.

"Where's the piano?" Virgil asked.

"We don't know," Gordon admitted. "Somewhere in the Pacific we think."

Virgil looked at his father. "You told me he wanted to drill holes in it!"

"That was before we realised that we couldn't find it," Gordon said. "We thought it was hidden under all the rubbish."

"Never mind that," Jeff turned to his International Rescue uniform clad son. "I know you've had a long flight, but I want to restore communications as soon as possible. Do you think you could take Gordon, Alan and Thunderbird Two and reinstate the radio mast? Once that's done someone can go and get John."

"Sure," Virgil replied.

"You might want to check it out first," Alan warned. "I was up there yesterday and it's not going to be a simple matter of just lifting it. We'll need to do some repairs first."

"Okay," Virgil removed his sash. "I'll get my welding gear. Will the hoverbikes work over the terrain?"

"Should do."

"In that case I'll meet you both back here in ten."

The following day found John holding court with three of his brothers in his bedroom on Tracy Island. Scott had commandeered the most comfortable chair and had his injured leg raised up on a footstool. Alan, dressed in clean overalls, sat on the bed amongst the suitcases that John had brought back from Thunderbird Five.

Gordon, also wearing overalls, looked about for a seat, nudged Scott's leg over and perched on the edge of the stool. "Okay, John. What's this all about?"

John began in a formal manner. "Gentlemen, I have evidence of what we have long suspected. Our brother is in love with Thunderbird Two."

Alan leant forward. "Evidence? What do you mean evidence?"

John produced an electronic card with a flourish. "I mean, that on this little card I have proof positive."

"Proof?" Gordon asked. "What kind of proof?"

"I have a recording of Virgil declaring his love."

"You're kidding!" Alan shifted on the bed in anticipation.

"No. Do you want to hear it?"

"Of course we want to hear it," Gordon told him.

"Are you sure?"

"For Pete's sake, John," Scott said. "I've got to fly Ned back to the States shortly and I'd like to hear this 'proof positive' before I leave... or before Christmas, whichever comes first."

"Okay," John smirked. He slipped the card into a player. "Hold onto your hats." He pushed a button.

A voice came spilling out of the speakers. "Man, I LOVE this 'plane!"

John switched the recording off as his brothers looked at each other.

"It kind of sounded like Virgil," Scott admitted.

"He's not usually that, ah, enthusiastic," Gordon noted.

"Are you sure he meant Thunderbird Two?" Alan asked.

"He said 'this 'plane'," John quoted. "How many 'planes do you think he'd fall for?"

There was no answer to that one.

"I'm not convinced," Scott said. "Play it again, John."

Once again they heard the familiar voice. "Man, I LOVE this 'plane!"

Gordon was nodding. "It's him all right, but I don't believe it. How'd you manage to score that?"

"It was a case of being in the right place at the right time," John gloated.

"And where's the right place and what was the right time?" Scott asked.

John tapped the side of his nose, suggesting that the answer to that particular question was a secret.

"John, have you seen..." Virgil stuck his head into his brother's room. "...So this is where you all are... What?" he asked when he saw their expressions. "Why are you, looking at me like that?"

"Congratulations, Virgil," Gordon said. "We hope the pair of you will be very happy together."

"Huh?" Virgil frowned.

"We think it's wonderful." Alan managed to keep a straight face.

"I knew it was only a matter of time," John added.

Virgil looked at Scott. "Would you mind telling me what these idiots are on about?"

"I think that you'd better be careful what you say when you're near a radio microphone, Virg," Scott told him.

"What I say...?" Virgil stared at his brothers. He scratched his head. "I think you've all been cooped up for too long."

"Play it again, John," Gordon requested. "Listen, Virgil."

"I'm all ears..." Virgil's jaw dropped when his own voice was played back to him. "That's not me...! Is it?"

"It certainly is," John confirmed.

"I never said that."

"Yes you did."

"When?" Virgil challenged.

Everyone's attention switched back to John who was trying to formulate a suitable reply.

"I think you've taken a whole lot of my words and stuck them together, John." There was a dangerous look in Virgil's eye.

"If I'd done that, don't you think I would have had you saying 'Thunderbird Two' instead of 'this plane'?" John asked with dignity.

"I think it's real, Virg," Scott said. "The question is when did you say it?"

"You sound drunk," Alan said.

"I can guarantee that I didn't say that because of alcohol," Virgil asserted.

"Oh, yes..." Gordon smirked.

"Or anything else," Virgil snapped.

"I'd say you were intoxicated with love..." John teased. "Right, Fellas?"

"What? You're crazy!"

"We're not the ones declaring our affection for a hunk of flying metal."

"I didn't! I never have! I..." Virgil had the glimmer of realisation. "Wait a minute!"

"Ah, ha!" Alan crowed. "At last we're going to hear the truth."

"Have you played them any more of that recording, John?" Virgil asked.

"Nope. That's the only bit of interest."

Virgil folded his arms and glared at his older brother. "Play them what happened before."

"Nope."

"Yes, John," Gordon agreed. "Let's hear it."

"You don't need to hear it." John was on the defensive. "It's just leading up to the moment of truth. I've played you the best bit."

"I think in the interests of fairness we should hear what went on before," Scott said.

Virgil held out his hand. "Give me the player, John."

"No..." John started to say, but stopped when Virgil charged him. As he attempted to block the attack, Alan grabbed the player and tossed it to Gordon.

"What'll you give me for it, Johnny?" Gordon teased, dancing around the stool.

"Mind the leg!" Scott exclaimed.

"Give me that," John tried to grab the player out of Gordon's hands, but found his way barred, rather conveniently he thought, by Scott's injured limb.

"Sorry, Johnny." Gordon tossed the player over his shoulder to Virgil. "He wins."

"Okay," John conceded as he held up his hands in surrender. "Play it, Virgil."

Virgil rewound the recording a few seconds and pressed play.

"...Made it! We're above the cyclone..."

"Virgil..."

"We did it, John!"

"Virgil..."

"Thunderbird Two did it!"

"Virgil..."

"We kicked Sylvia's butt..."

"Virgil..."

"Man, I LOVE this 'plane!"

"Virgil!"

"What?"

"I've lost contact with home."

Virgil switched off the player.

"Rough flight," Scott commented as he lowered his leg off the stool and stood.

"Yes it was," Virgil agreed.

Scott chuckled. "'Kicked Sylvia's butt', huh? That wasn't a very gentlemanly thing to do."

Virgil managed a wry grin. "Believe me, Sylvia was no lady."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "She decked you, Scott."

"I thought she swept him off his feet!" Alan exclaimed.

Still chuckling Scott patted Virgil on the back as he hobbled past. "I'll see you guys down on the runway."

"That's why I was looking for you," Virgil called after him. "Father said to tell you that Ned's making a phone call. He'll be leaving when he's finished."

"Thanks," Scott limped out into the hall.

Virgil turned back to his other brothers. "I think this belongs to you, John." He held out the player.

John took it sheepishly. "Thanks, Virgil."

Virgil winked. "At least everyone's alive to hear it." He turned to leave. "I'd better go get my overalls."

"Virgil! Wait up! I'll come with you." Gordon scrambled after his brother.

John groaned. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to be in trouble now? If Gordon gives Virgil any ideas..."

Alan grinned at his brother's perceived predicament. "Yep. Tell you what. Don't bother unpacking this lot," he indicated John's bags. "And I'll take you back to Thunderbird Five in Thunderbird Three."

"It might be worth running away and risking Dad's wrath if it means avoiding one of Gordon's practical jokes," John admitted. "Then again," he shook his head and reached into his wardrobe, pulling out a pair of overalls, "if we start repairs straight after the 'plane leaves, neither of them will have time to do anything to me."

Alan's grin broadened. "I wouldn't count on it. You know Gordon."

"That's the problem, I DO know Gordon..."

In Virgil's room, John's worst fears were being realised. "You wouldn't happen to have something in your box of practical jokes labelled 'revenge against John', would you?" Virgil asked as he pulled on his overalls.

Gordon gave a diabolical smile. "I might. Why don't you paint ink on the eyepiece of his telescope?"

Virgil screwed up his face in a grimace. "It's a bit tame, isn't it?"

"It's at about your practical joking level."

"I don't know whether I should take that as an insult or a compliment."

"Take it as a compliment. Your forte is flying mammoth sized planes through 300km/hour windstorms."

Virgil preened himself in the mirror. "I must admit I'm quite proud of that."

"There you go then. Why do you want something complex anyway? He'll only blame me."

"That thought had crossed my mind."

"Huh?" Gordon exclaimed. "You want me to get the blame?" Then he grinned. "You're better at this game than I thought you were."

"How's Joe?" Jeff asked.

Ned had been in the library when he made the videophone call. Now he joined the Tracy patriarch in the games room. "He's looking and sounding well considering what he's been through. He's dying for me to get home so I can tell him everything that happened. He can't believe that he's ridden in two Thunderbirds and he can't remember either time."

Jeff chuckled.

"I told him that he won't have to work with Sid Lowe," Ned admitted. "Unless of course the bosses decide to keep him on the Olympics show. They've assigned it to Sid."

"Assigned Sid Lowe?" Jeff queried. "I thought that was your show."

"They've offered me another one... One that they thought would be right up my alley. One that would take me right around the world to all sorts of locations, meeting all sorts of people... An investigative piece..."

"Sounds ideal."

"I turned them down."

Jeff stared at the reporter. "You turned them down? Why?"

"They wanted me to do a series on International Rescue. They thought that since I've dealt with them twice I'd put more into it. You know, look at it from a personal angle... What they didn't admit, but what I know they really want, is for me to expose who International Rescue are. I told them I wasn't prepared to do that. They begged me to reconsider, but you'll be pleased to know I stood firm."

Jeff looked at him with sympathy. "I'm sorry. It sounds like something you could do well."

Ned shrugged. "Oh, well. Something else will come along."

"Thank you for considering us..." Jeff began.

"It's not only International Rescue I was thinking of, it's all the people who may not be as lucky as Joe and I were if you're not about to help them. I don't mind losing this particular opportunity if it, at least in part, repays the debt I have to you, your sons, and everyone else."

"I think you should take that job."

Ned did a double take. "Take it? Why?"

"Because we both know that if you don't do the series then someone else will," Jeff explained. "Someone who's as good a reporter as you are. Someone who may stumble onto some fact that will lead to us. If you were the one doing the reporting and you came across that same fact, you'd recognise it and be able to negate it. I'd feel that International Rescue is in safe hands if Ned Cook were the person doing the investigating."

"Really?" Ned asked. "Are you sure?"

Jeff nodded. "I'm sure."

"I... Thank you. Thank you for trusting me."

"But please let me give you some advice," Jeff requested.

"Shoot."

"Don't even hint that you've so much as talked to any of us. We swooped in, got you and, or, Joe out of harms way, and swooped out again. That's all. Nothing was said by any member of International Rescue to you."

"If that's what you want," Ned frowned in confusion. "But why? Surely if I were to say that I spent a couple of minutes talking to one of International Rescue's operatives about the weather it wouldn't matter. After all, you rescued Joe from a cyclone."

"I wish it didn't matter, but I know there're people out there who would stop at nothing to get the slightest bit of information about us."

"But..."

"Remember the maiden flight of the Fireflash airliner?"

"Sure. That was one of your first rescues, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Jeff nodded. "So you know what happened?"

"Someone had planted a bomb in the landing gear, or something."

"Do you know why?"

Ned shook his head. "The reports weren't very clear on that point. They thought it was a band of international terrorists or something."

"Our sources tell us that it was planted deliberately so that the bomber would get the opportunity to photograph the Thunderbirds."

Ned's jaw dropped. "You mean someone would risk the lives of hundreds of people just for a few photographs."

"Yes," Jeff sounded grim. "And if someone would think nothing of doing that, think of what they'd do to you or Joe if they thought you had the merest grain of information about us."

Ned swallowed. "I'll remember that."

Grandma Tracy came bustling in. "Good," she said. "You haven't left yet. I wanted to say goodbye, but I won't come down to the runway. Not while the path's all muddy."

"Thank you for everything, Mrs. Tracy," Ned said.

"Here," she held out a box, which he took. It was warm and a heavenly aroma arose from it. "It's my first apple pie out of the new oven."

"Thank you," Ned said, with real appreciation.

"Mind you don't let Scott get wind of it," she warned. "Else you won't get any."

Ned laughed. "Thanks for the warning," he said as he placed the pie carefully into a case.

Jeff smiled. "Come on, Ned," he said. "Scott's itching to take to the skies again. If we don't get down there soon he'll be leaving without you." He picked up one of Ned's bags.

"I can take that," Ned protested.

"I don't mind," Jeff replied. "Besides, the path is still slippery. You'll need one hand free." He began walking out of the room.

"Before I arrived here, I would never have dreamed that I'd have a multi-billionaire carrying my bags for me," Ned quipped as he lifted his other bag onto his shoulder.

Jeff chuckled. "I've got to. Sylvia ran off with the butler."

They walked out into the warm sunshine. There wasn't a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind as they began their trek down to the runway. Even from this distance Ned could hear the sound of the hover-plane's engine.

"Sounds like that replacement part's working well," Jeff teased.

"Sorry about that," Ned apologised. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." He thought for a moment. "I don't want to cast aspersions on Scott's flying abilities. I mean I've seen him in Thunderbird One and I know he's a good pilot, but with that leg... Do you think him flying me home is a good idea?"

"Don't worry about it," Jeff replied. "I think it's a good idea for several reasons. One is that, as I said, if he doesn't get airborne soon he's going to drive us all crazy. Two is that he needs to rest that leg, and we won't be able to stop him from helping with the clean up if he stays here. We'll pick him up again when Thunderbird Two makes her next supply run. And three, he's the best pilot we've got."

"Better than Virgil?"

"In every plane except Thunderbird Two, yes. Don't worry. If he thought a torn knee ligament was going to impede his ability to fly safely, there's no way he'd risk either of your lives."

Despite Jeff's reassurances, Ned still felt a twinge of uncertainty. The feeling remained when they reached the runway.

"All set?" Scott asked as he stepped out of the hover-plane and hobbled over to relive his father of the bag he was carrying.

"Leave that, Scott," Jeff reprimanded. "I can carry it," he hoisted the bag into the plane.

Scott folded his arms. "I'm not helpless."

"I know that. And neither am I," Jeff reminded him. "I've just been reassuring Ned that you're fit to fly with that injury."

"This?" Scott tapped his injured leg. "A torn ligament won't cause any problems. It's all hand controls on this bird."

"Don't worry, Ned," Gordon's voice caused Ned to turn. The four remaining Tracy brothers had descended from the villa. "Unless he decides to push you out of the 'plane." He stopped as if in thought. "If I were you I'd wear a parachute for the trip."

"Gordon!" Scott protested. "I'll admit that, initially, I wasn't Ned's greatest fan..."

"And you had every right not to be," Ned interrupted. "We shouldn't have disturbed you all, not when we weren't welcome."

"But at least you got your interview," Gordon said. "Shame the reception from the research sub wasn't the best."

Ned held up the tape. "Thanks for that. At least my boss won't think I wasted my time coming here."

Alan held out another tape. "There's some more footage to keep them happy. It's some of the CCTV footage of the cyclone. There's some pretty amazing stuff on that."

"Thanks," Ned said again. "I really don't deserve all this..." He looked around. Somehow in the last 24 hours both the graffitied pod and Thunderbird Two had mysteriously disappeared. "But..."

"Yes?" Jeff asked.

"Will you answer one question?"

"Depends," Jeff replied "What is it?"

"I've been dying to know the truth since I heard the rumour. Did the 'Sentinel' shoot down Thunderbird Two? I promise won't tell anyone. Not even Joe."

His question was answered by silence.

"Okay," Ned sighed. "I got the picture. Mind my own business."

Jeff stepped forward to shake his hand. "Goodbye, Ned. Have a safe trip home and good luck with the new show. Give our best to Joe."

"I will. And thanks for not chucking me out into Sylvia's clutches." Ned mounted the steps to the plane. "So long, everyone. I hope we'll meet again... But not in a professional capacity next time."

"Well, tell Joe to stay away from water." Gordon swung the steps to the hover-plane up and locked them into position. "See ya, Ned."

Ned had one final look at the International Rescue team before Scott pulled the door shut. Then he settled into the seat beside the pilot's.

"All buckled up?" Scott asked.

"Yep," Ned waved to the people outside.

"Let's do a bit of sightseeing before we go," Scott suggested, pulling back on the joystick. The hover-plane rose up into the air.

As they climbed higher they got a clearer view of the damage done to the island. Scott gave a whistle. "It's going to take some work."

"Will you be able to repair it all?"

"Yeah. It'll take time, but we'll do it."

Ned looked back out the cabin window. The Tracys were still waving and he gave them another wave in reply. Then, as he watched, Jeff appeared to issue instructions and the group began their hike back up the trail.

Scott pulled the stick over to one side and the hover-plane turned away from the island.

Ned sat back and readied himself for the long flight home. He'd discovered a lot while he'd been on this story. It could have been the story of a lifetime...

And it was a story that would never be told.

As far as he was concerned, Thunderbirds were go.

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