LODESTAR LOST by PURUPUSS RATED FRT

What is the one thing that could destroy International Rescue?

Another cheerful story from Purupuss. I'm an equal opportunities author. This time I'm beating them all up equally.

Don't say you haven't been warned. I even had my proof-reader threatening to go on strike on me, and, for a time, the sale of tissues increased in England. I'm sitting here in my flame-retardant suit to protect my thin skin, with the Firefly at the ready.

Once again, thanks to quiller (and Albert), for gritting her teeth and helping me through it. Thanks to D.C. for her proofing skills. And thanks to those who created Thunderbirds.

01 One: As straightforward as they come?

Jeff Tracy stepped up to the tarmac at the edge of the Kansas City airstrip and looked to the skies. "A bit overcast today, Bill," he noted.

"No wind though," Bill Webber, the superintendent of the airfield, admitted as he glanced at a windsock that hung limply from its pole. "You're going to have a good flight home in that plane. It's beautiful." He indicated Jeff's private jet, looking at it in the appraising manner of someone who'd spent many hours with aircraft. "I've never seen another like her."

"And you won't in the short term," Jeff admitted. "She's one of a kind. One of my engineers designed her expressly for me."

Bill grinned. "You still haven't taken me for that flight in her that you've promised."

"On my next trip," Jeff assured him. "I don't feel up to joyriding today."

Bill looked at him. "Something go wrong this time, Jeff?"

"No," Jeff shook his head. "Everything went as expected. Unfortunately."

"Business?"

"Of a personal nature. I've had to terminate... a long standing venture." Jeff sighed. "Now I've got to go home and tell the family the shocking truth."

"Well, flying home in that," once again Bill pointed to the jet, "will cheer you up."

"I hope so," Jeff replied. "And I'll be glad to get home."

"In that case I won't keep you," Bill said. He held out his hand. "Have a good flight, Jeff. Give my best to the boys."

"Thanks, Bill, I will. See you next month."

"And don't forget that flight."

Jeff managed a smile. "I won't." He pulled a personal digital assistant from out of his pocket. "There," he said as he wrote in the PDA. "I can't forget it now. It's encoded into the old electric brain."

Bill laughed. "See you, Jeff."

"Bye, Bill."

Jeff walked out onto the tarmac, admiring his plane as he went. He had to admit that she was pretty special. Brains had designed her as a birthday gift a couple of years ago and the engineer, along with Jeff's sons, had built her when they hadn't been working on various International Rescue projects. She'd only been completed a month ago and, in Jeff's opinion, handled flawlessly.

Jeff reached the plane and examined her closely. It wasn't only out of admiration that he made the circuit of the jet, it was to check that everything was shipshape and in working order. He knew that the mechanics at the airfield had thoroughly checked her over and fuelled her up, but he was going to be flying a long way over ocean. He needed to be sure that the craft was in A1 shape.

Bill Webber watched the multi-billionaire do his circuit of the plane and wondered briefly what had been terminated.

"Mr Webber?"

Bill turned. "Yes, James?"

"You are required in your office. Horace Miles has a complaint."

Bill sighed. "That man does nothing but complain. Okay, I'll be along in a moment." He looked back at the Tracy jet. Jeff was no where to be seen, obviously checking the far side of the craft. Bill gave a hopeful wave and returned to his office and the irate Horace Miles.

A short time later the control tower heard Jeff Tracy request clearance to take off. It was granted.

The Tracy jet soared off into the greying Kansas skies.

Scott Tracy sat at his father's desk in a mild state of irritation. This was the last place that he wanted to be. His brothers had left a short time ago on a mission and he wanted to be out there leading them. If only this had happened a couple of hours later then his father would have been home manning International Rescue's base. "Couldn't they have waited half a day?" Scott muttered, and then chided himself for being so selfish. Somewhere out on the American mainland people were badly hurt and worse; and here he was complaining about being stuck behind a desk.

He opened communications with Thunderbird Five. "How's it going, Alan? Has John got there yet?"

"I've just been talking to him," Scott's youngest brother sounded as though he was in the next room instead of 36,000 km above the Earth. "He estimates he'll be there in approximately five minutes.

"Let me know when he arrives."

"F-A-B, Scott."

John Tracy, at the controls of Thunderbird One, swooped down low over the rescue zone, following a blackened trail. A pall of smoke hung over the scene. It had clearly been a big explosion and most of the mall had been reduced to rubble. He could see people in neon coloured protective clothing digging busily, trying to save those that they could.

It was those that the regular rescue authorities couldn't help that International Rescue were here to save.

John brought Thunderbird One down next a fire appliance, leaving plenty of room for Thunderbird Two, and shut down the motors. He pushed a button on the Thunderbird's control panel, removed the cartridge that popped out, and exited the rocket plane. He was met by a man wearing the same day-glow clothing as the others, but whose nametag proclaimed him to be the 'Incident Controller'.

"Boy, are we glad to see you guys," the controller said.

It was an introduction that the Tracys were used to receiving. "What's the situation?" John asked.

"We're still trying to ascertain exactly what happened. Looks as though he came in from this direction," the controller made a pass with his hand to demonstrate the angle, "and ploughed straight into the mall. Fortunately it's a quiet shopping day: but that's no comfort to those who were here. We estimate that there's at least 30 people trapped in the underground parking area. They are the ones who need your help."

"Okay. We'll do what we can." John held out the cartridge. "I took some high resolution video as I came in to land. We're going to have to destroy some of the scene to rescue those people and it might help with the investigation later."

The controller seemed surprised as he accepted the cartridge. "Thanks. What are you going to do?"

"We can't do anything until Thunderbird Two gets here," John admitted. "She's bringing a drilling machine that can tunnel down to those trapped. Is it possible to get me plans of the complex?"

"I'll arrange that now," the controller agreed and walked away, speaking into his radio handset.

John activated the mechanism that lowered Mobile Control from the belly of Thunderbird One. Deciding that in the shadow of the rocket plane was as good a place to operate from as any, he sat on the seat. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, John."

"I've arrived. They are getting the plans for me. How far away is Thunderbird Two?"

"Virgil says they're fifteen minutes away from the danger zone."

"Thanks. Can you put me through to him? And then you can tell Scott that I haven't crashed his precious plane."

Alan laughed. "F-A-B. Putting you through now."

Now, framed by a panel of gauges and dials, Virgil's face appeared on the screen. "Arriving in 14.58 minutes, John."

"Thanks, Virgil. Has Gordon checked out the Firefly and Mole?"

"Sure have, John," the auburn haired Tracy came and stood at Virgil's shoulder. "She's ready to roll."

"Good." John looked over towards the main command post of the rescue operation. "Here come the plans now. I'll let you know what to do when you get here."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied. "Out."

The screen went black.

The incident controller jogged up holding a roll of paper. "Here you are," he puffed.

John rolled them out on Mobile Control's console. "Where are we?"

"Here." The controller pointed at one corner of the plan.

"Okay," John looked from the plan to the devastation in front of him to get his bearings and blinked as soot was blown into his eyes. He wiped them and then looked back at the plan. "So this is the area where we've got to work?"

"That's it."

John looked at his watch. "Thunderbird Two will be here in about 13 minutes." He poured over the plans again. "Any idea why it crashed?" he asked.

"Not so far. We're still trying to confirm who the pilot was. Once we know that we'll be able to start making assumptions. We have our suspicions, but I can't say anything at this point."

"I understand," John said. "It's nothing to do with us anyway. We're here to help the living. We can't afford to spend time worrying about those who aren't." He straightened when he heard the sound of engines. "Here's Thunderbird Two."

Its shadow eclipsing the surrounding landscape, a giant plane flew low, lumbering towards the scene of the crash. The controller gaped at the craft in astonishment as a voice came from Mobile Control.

"Where do you want us to land?" Virgil asked.

"There's a clear area straight ahead of you," John told him. "It'll be a squeeze, but you'll have enough room to work."

Not long afterwards, the great green bulk that was Thunderbird Two had landed and was rising up on its hydraulic legs, leaving Pod 5 on the ground. The pod's door began to swing open.

"Gordon," John instructed. "Take the Firefly and clear an area big enough for The Mole in quadrant... 24/B."

"F-A-B," Gordon replied. A motor was heard to start up and a scoop, followed by a relatively squat machine, exited the pod and trundled down the ramp that had been formed by the door.

"You're going to need help," John told Virgil. "I'll come over and give you a hand."

"F-A-B." The drilling machine, known to those in International Rescue as 'The Mole', made its exit from the pod.

John smiled at the controller. "I'll be on channel three six, if you need to contact me."

"Roger," the chief replied. "Or should I say 'F-A-B'?"

John chuckled.

"What's happening, Alan?" Scott asked.

"Gordon's using the Firefly to clear the ground," Alan replied. "John said he's going to go down with Virgil."

"I hope he locks down Mobile Control."

"Relax, Scott. He will." Alan was grinning. "Boy, we never have this grief from Dad."

"Well, I'm not him," Scott replied. "And I aim to make sure that everyone stays on their toes."

"Relax," Alan said again. "This is as straightforward as they come. We all know what to do and I'll guarantee that John won't crash Thunderbird One. He's as good a pilot as you are. He must be. We all learnt from Dad: the master."

Scott opened his mouth to make a retort, but closed it without saying a word.

John walked briskly, skirting the blackened entrails of the aeroplane that had crashed into the mall. As he walked he cast his eye over the scene, trying to work out what had happened and to double check that the regular rescue teams hadn't missed anyone who needed help.

A piece of relatively uncharred metal caught his eye and he stopped.

He stared at the panel.

He blinked, trying to erase its image.

It lay there, mocking him.

Without conscious thought he picked it up.

"John?"

He heard the voice say his name but didn't acknowledge it as he stared at the object in his hand.

"John?" Virgil repeated. "What are you doing? You know better than to disturb the scene any more than we have to."

John turned, the piece of metal still tightly held in his grasp. "Tell me I'm wrong, Virgil."

"Huh?" Virgil looked at his brother. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Tell me I'm wrong." John held out the battered piece of aeroplane. "Please tell me I'm wrong," he begged.

"Wrong?" Virgil frowned as he, with some reluctance, took the panel. "What do you mean wr...?"

John watched his brother's face pale.

"John," Virgil's voice was a whisper. "This is Father's registration number. It's from the panel under the pilot's cabin. I painted it myself."

"Yes," John croaked.

"Then this," Virgil turned to look at the wreckage. "This is Father's plane."

02 Two: Bam moment

"You are listening to World Radio. Headlines on the hour. Rescuers, including International Rescue, are fighting to free those trapped, after a light aircraft crashed into a mall in Kansas, USA..."

Scott turned the radio off and reinstated contact with Thunderbird Five. "Have you heard from John, Alan?"

"Negative, Scott."

"Well try and get hold of him."

"I was talking to him only fifteen minutes ago," Alan complained.

"I don't care, Alan. I want to know what's going on."

"Okay, okay. Keep your shirt on... Thunderbird Five to Mobile Control..." Alan tried again. "Thunderbird Five to Mobile Control..."

"Anything, Alan?"

"No. Hang on. John was going to help Virgil... Thunderbird Five to The Mole... Thunderbird Five calling The Mole..." Alan frowned. "Come in, John."

"Try reaching Gordon," Scott ordered.

"What do we do, Virgil?" John asked.

"I don't know, but you'd better put this back where you found it," Virgil handed his brother the panel from their father's plane and watched as it was placed reverently amongst the other scorched remains.

Gordon came running up to them. "What is it with you guys? Scott's having a fit because Alan can't get through to you. Haven't you got your radios on...?" He saw their expressions. "What's wrong?"

John stepped to one side so Gordon couldn't see the tell-tale writing in the wreckage. "Uh... Had a 'bam moment'," he explained.

International Rescue's work, holding people's lives in the palms of their hands, making decisions that could mean life or death, was stressful, and usually the brothers managed to cope with those stresses. But once in a while, it got too much. As John had explained after the first time it happened to him, everything was normal and then suddenly, BAM! It was as if the weight of the world fell onto your shoulders and you would collapse under that weight. It could have been caused by the smallest thing, such as the face of a child, but when it happened there was nothing else that could be done other than to accept the support of a brother and retire to the nearest Thunderbird until you'd got yourself together again.

They'd all, over the years, experienced these so-called 'bam moments'. They'd learnt that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

"A 'bam moment'?" Gordon repeated. He turned to Virgil. "What's with you?"

"Ah... Same," Virgil replied.

Gordon frowned. "Both of you! At the same time! We've never had that before. What are we going to do? I can't do this rescue alone."

"It's okay, Gordon," John reassured him. "Virgil and I will stick together. We'll be okay."

Gordon looked at Virgil who tried to give a reassuring smile. "Are you sure?"

"We're sure," Virgil said. "And we'd better make a start."

Gordon still seemed to be uncertain.

"Have you finished clearing the rubble?" John asked.

"No."

"Go do that then," John prompted. "We'll be okay by the time you've finished."

"Are you sure?"

"We're sure." Virgil echoed himself. "Go on, Gordon."

"Okay..." Gordon still sounded reluctant. "I could take one of your places..."

"Gordon! Go!" John ordered.

"Don't forget to call Scott, John." With one final concerned look at his brothers, Gordon returned to the Firefly.

"Do you think we've done the right thing, not telling him?" Virgil asked.

"One of us has got to keep his wits about him," John replied. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Not until we're about to leave..." He hailed a passing rescue worker. "We've found this," he pointed to the panel.

Without touching the piece of metal the worker read the inscription. "Looks like a registration number. Guess this'll clinch it."

"You know whose plane it was?" Virgil asked.

"We've got a pretty good idea," the worker admitted. "Radar was tracking him as he went down."

"I'm afraid that I picked it up," John admitted. "I tried to put it back where I found it."

"Shouldn't matter too much I wouldn't think." The rescue worker pulled out his walkie-talkie. "I'll let the powers that be know what you've found. Thanks, Guys."

John and Virgil hurried over to The Mole and collapsed into their seats.

Virgil started the drilling machine's motors. "Hadn't you better call Scott?"

"Not yet," John said as he checked the Life-Support Control Systems. "I've got to work out how I'm going to break it to him..."

Scott was still waiting for John's call. He jumped when the videophone rang. He answered it. "Good morning."

"Good, ah, morning, Sir. Ah... Would you be one of Jeff Tracy's sons?" The man consulted his notes, "Scott, John, Virgil, Gordon, or," he read the notes again. "Alan Tracy?"

"I'm Scott Tracy. My brothers are all away on business."

"Scott Tracy," the man repeated.

"And you are?" Scott prompted.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Mr Tracy. My name is Chief-Superintendent Gubb of the Kansas State Police Department. I, ah, I have news... about your father."

Scott frowned. "News? About my father? What?"

"I am sorry to have to tell you, Mr Tracy, that your father... has been killed."

Scott's mouth went dry. "I-I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you correctly."

"Are you aware of the plane crash that occurred here, in Kansas, earlier today?"

Scott mind raced back to when Alan had alerted them to the emergency. "There's a plane that's crashed into a mall," he'd said. "There are people trapped in the underground parking area. They need our help."

Scott hadn't thought twice about the fact that the accident had happened in Kansas. The fact that this was the state which his father was flying out from hadn't crossed his mind. He'd immediately ordered his brothers to the USA in the two Thunderbirds. It was going to be a straightforward rescue. No problems. Nothing they couldn't cope with...

"Mr Tracy?"

"Sorry," Scott forced his attention back to the present. "Yes. I heard about the crash on the radio."

"We have to positively identify him of course. But all evidence points, so far, to your father having been the pilot."

Scott shook his head. "It's not possible. He's a good pilot. He's an experienced pilot. He flies regularly. He flew to the moon..." He stopped, realising that he was blabbering.

"We don't know the cause of the accident yet, Mr Tracy. And at this juncture it would be foolish of me to offer conjecture as to what caused the crash. There will have to be a full investigation..."

"I know," Scott interrupted. "I've been involved with a couple myself." He saw the police officer hesitate. "I was in the Air Force," he explained.

"Ah," Gubb replied.

"Could he have parachuted out?"

"It's unlikely. Someone would have reported seeing a parachutist. Also, no mayday call was received."

This rocked Scott as much as the realisation that the unthinkable had happened. If his father had been capable of doing so, he would have been trying to call up help. At the same time he would have been attempting to land the plane away from large centres of human activity. A shopping mall would have been identified as a place to try to steer clear of... if it were possible to do so... "Are you sure it was his plane?"

"Control was tracking his flight. They saw him lose height," Chief-Superintendent Gubb offered. "International Rescue found a panel with the plane's registration number amongst the wreckage."

Scott stared at him. "What did you say?"

"Control..."

"No! That last bit!"

"International Rescue found a panel with the plane's registration number amongst the wreckage."

"International Rescue? Who found...?"

The Chief-Superintendent look perplexed. "International Rescue. They are an organisation dedicated..."

"I know who they are!" Scott shouted, and then slumped back in his seat, pushing his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. This has been a shock."

"I know, Mr Tracy..."

Scott held up a hand. "Please call me Scott. Mr Tracy is... was... my father."

"I understand. I'm sorry, Mr... Scott. I wish I didn't have to call... We decided that since your father is such an important figure, that I should be the one to tell you."

"We?"

"The mayor... The governor... The president."

'Typical,' Scott thought. 'Trust the brass to pass the buck.'

"I'm sorry, Scott," Chief-Superintendent Gubb repeated. "If there's anything I can do...?"

"Could you...?" Scott sat forward. "My father was a very private man. Could you keep his name out of the media?"

The Chief-Superintendent shook his head. "I'm sorry, but that won't be possible. The world already knows about the accident. Members of the public have been seriously hurt and killed. We can't suppress your father's name... not once his next of kin have been notified. Are you able to contact your brothers within the next 24 hours?"

"Yes," Scott nodded, thinking that there was every chance that his brothers already knew. "Yes. I can contact my brothers within 24 hours."

"Good. This is my phone number," the Chief-Superintendent read out a list of digits. "If I can be of service to your family, please don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you, Chief-Superintendent. I'll remember that."

"Would you... would you like me to email the report on the accident when I receive it?"

"Yes, I'd appreciate that."

"Good day, Scott."

Scott hung up the phone, thinking there was nothing good about the day.

John's eyes in his portrait flashed. He took one look at Scott's expression and subdued manner and knew that, somehow, his older brother had been told the worst. "Have you had a, ah, 'funny' phone call, Scott?"

"I'm not laughing."

"No," John replied. "Neither are we."

"What happened? The Chief-Superintendent who rang told me a member of International Rescue found the registration number of the plane. Who found it?" Scott asked.

"I did," John admitted. "I showed Virgil."

"And are you all alright?"

John nodded. "We'll cope. We haven't told Gordon or Alan."

"Alan? You realise he's probably listening in now."

"No. I told him to contact Gordon and double check the co-ordinates where we're supposed to be drilling in case I got it wrong. Virgil and I have told Gordon that we had a 'bam moment'."

"And have you?"

John shook his head. "No. We're keeping it together. We can't back out now, there're people who need us."

Scott saw the wall behind John change its angle. "You're drilling now?"

"Yes. We hope to be there within ten minutes."

"When are you going to tell Gordon?"

"Before we leave. It's only fair that he be given the chance to... to... say goodbye."

Scott nodded. "I've got to tell Grandma and everyone else, and then Brains and I'll go and get Alan."

"I'm sorry you've got all this laid on you, Scott."

"I'll cope. You and Virgil concentrate on watching out for each other. We can't let International Rescue fail for the first time because of our own tragedy. Fa... He wouldn't want that."

"No," John agreed.

"Keep in touch with Alan," Scott instructed. "But don't let him know something's wrong. I don't want the kid to find out over the radio."

"Okay, Scott." John's picture reverted back to its normal photograph.

Scott took control of his emotions and stood...

...Just as his grandmother came bustling into the room. "Have you seen my knitting bag?" she asked, picking up some cushions to look underneath.

"No..." Scott crossed the floor. "Grandma," he took her by the shoulders. "Sit down," he guided her to the nearest sofa. "I have news..."

"News?" she looked into his face as she sat down. "It's bad news, isn't it?"

"Yes," he sat beside her.

"It's your brothers... One of them's been hurt? How bad? Who is it, Scott?"

"No. They're all fine. John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan are all okay."

"Then what?"

"You know where they've gone? Where John, Virgil, and Gordon have gone?"

Grandma looked at him in confusion. "They've gone to rescue people from under a mall in Kansas."

"And you know why they have to rescue these people?"

"Because a plane crashed. Scott! I don't understand. You say you've got bad news and then you say your brothers are fine. What's wrong?"

"The plane..." Scott swallowed. "The plane that crashed..."

"Yes? Speak up, Boy."

Scott looked into her face and remembered the day his mother had died. His grandmother had been distraught then. What would she be like upon hearing about her own son's death?

"Scott?" she pressed.

"The plane was Father's."

"You mean someone stole it and crashed it?"

"No," Scott shook his head. "The authorities think Father was the pilot."

Mrs Tracy went silent.

"Grandma? Are you all right?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "No. It can't be..."

"The authorities are pretty sure it was..."

"No..."

"John found the registration number in the wreckage."

"He... Your father... Jeff was on board?"

"They think so."

"He was on board when it crashed?"

"Yes."

"But how... Your father said his plane was safe... he promised me..." Tears started to flow down her elderly cheeks. "He said he trusted anything that Brains designed..."

Brains entered the room.

"...He trusted Brains..."

"Grandma," Scott said quietly.

"He said if Brains had made it, nothing could go wrong."

"Grandma," Scott repeated, aware that the engineer was listening with concern. "I have the utmost faith in everything Brains makes. We don't know what happened. It probably wasn't the plane's fault."

"Then you're blaming your father?"

"No, of course not," Scott protested. "I just think it's too soon to start pointing the finger at anyone or anything."

"W-What's happened, Scott," Brains asked. "What's wrong?"

Mrs Tracy started when heard his voice. Then she looked away from him.

"The..." Scott felt as if his throat were closing on him. He cleared it. "The accident the guys are at... the authorities have just told me they think it was caused by Father's jet."

"And M-Mr Tracy...?" Brains had gone white.

"Was last seen taking off in it."

Brains gripped the back of the couch for support.

"Brains," Scott laid a hand on his friend's arm. "I'm sorry, but I want to tell Alan face-to-face. Are you able to help me fly Thunderbird Three?"

"Th-Thunderbird Th-Three?"

Scott nodded.

"Ah... Y-Yes, Scott. I'll h-help."

"Thanks, Brains." Scott sighed. "I'd better go tell Tin-Tin and Kyrano. Once I've done that we'll go. Okay?"

Brains nodded.

"Something's not right, Alan."

"What do you mean, Gordon?"

"I mean with John and Virgil. Don't tell Scott, but they both told me that they had had a 'bam moment' before we'd started the rescue."

Alan looked alarmed. "A 'bam moment'? Both of them? At the same time? Before they'd started? Is that possible?"

"I don't know," Gordon admitted. "That's what's so strange. So is John asking us to double-check the coordinates. He'd worked them out before he went 'bam'."

"So what do you think they are playing at?"

"I don't know, but I'll tell you one thing. Next time The Mole surfaces I'm going back down with it."

"Tin-Tin?" Scott entered the greenhouse and spied the young Eurasian working at the far end. "Where's your father?"

"I am here, Mister Scott," Kyrano said, as he stood from where he'd been weeding behind some beans.

Scott held his hand out to Tin-Tin. "Come here, Honey. I have something to tell you... Both of you."

"Scott?" Tin-Tin moved closer. As he was still offering his hand, she took it. "Scott? What's wrong?"

"It's bad news I'm afraid."

"Mister Scott? Your brothers..."

"No, not my brothers. My father..."

"Mr Tracy?" Kyrano looked at the younger man in concern.

Scott tried to be gentle. "It was his plane that crashed."

It took a moment for the news to sink in. Then, with an, "Oh, Scott," Tin-Tin pulled him into a comforting hug. "I'm so sorry," she whispered into his shoulder.

Scott found that he needed her embrace. He accepted it, and clung to her as her father bowed his head in prayer.

When they eventually parted, Scott took a step back. "I'm going to get Alan..."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Tin-Tin asked.

Scott shook his head. "Thanks, Honey, but Brains has offered to do it. If you both wouldn't mind doing something for me though..."

Kyrano bowed. "It would be our pleasure, Mister Scott."

"Keep an eye on Grandma for me?"

"Of course, Scott."

The Mole cleared the wall of the underground parking area and ground to a halt. John turned to Virgil. "Are you okay?"

"I'm going to have to be. Are you?"

John straightened his shoulders. "Yes."

Virgil stood. "Then let's do it!" He opened the door...

Deep underground, the parking area was in darkness. Virgil switched on the lights that ran along the length of The Mole and the room was bathed in a harsh glow. Together the brothers stepped out into a world of fear and pain. They had to deal with debris had fallen on parked cars... and victims. They had to face a child who was crying because he'd lost his parents... and another who would never cry again. A man with severe head injuries, whose leg had been trapped under a concrete pillar, died as they worked to free him.

And John and Virgil tried to forget that the man who'd directly, or indirectly, caused this misery was their father. They buried that part of their lives down deep in their consciousness...

Gordon fretted and made Virgil take him back down with him when the first wave of released victims were brought to the surface. He kept on asking over and over again if his brothers were all right... If they needed a break... If they wanted his help...

They kept on working...

"Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five. Requesting permission to dock," Scott asked.

"Thunderbird Three; you are clear to dock."

Scott frowned at the microphone. Something wasn't right. There had been no questions. Alan hadn't asked why his brother had made an unexpected trip in International Rescue's rocket during a rescue. "Do you think he knows?"

"I-I don't know, Scott."

Scott glanced at the little scientist. He'd been very quiet throughout the trip and had been unable to meet Scott's eyes. Scott had a feeling that his grandmother's words had struck a raw nerve. "It's not your fault, Brains."

Brains looked up towards, but not at, Scott. "W-We don't kn-know that... y-yet."

"Don't forget we helped to build it. We may have done something wrong."

"F-From my plans. I-I checked everything d-during assembly."

"I don't blame you, Brains. I can't blame anyone until I know what happened."

"W-We are here, Scott."

Thunderbird Three's nosecone slid into Thunderbird Five's docking station and Scott watched as a strip of green lights winked on. "We've docked." He hesitated. "I should do this alone."

"I-I will wait here."

For some reason Scott was dreading telling Alan more than anything. His brother had been too young to remember his mother's death and Scott had no way to tell how the younger man would react. Steeling himself, Scott stepped out of Thunderbird Three and into the space station. He entered Thunderbird Five's control room and stopped.

Alan was standing there, a pile of suitcases at his feet.

"Alan?"

"I know, Scott. The air accident investigator was telling the Chief-Superintendent."

"I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out over the radio. That's why I came."

"Thanks." Alan pressed a button and then picked up some of the cases. "I've switched her over to automatic... Are we going?"

Scott picked up the remainder of his brother's bags. "Are you okay?"

Alan side-stepped the question. "Does Gordon know?"

"No. John and Virgil said they didn't know if they could cope, so they wanted him with a clear head."

"They seem to be coping so far." Alan led the way into Thunderbird Three. "Did you come alone?"

"No, Brains was..." Scott entered Thunderbird Three's flight deck and stopped. "Where is he?" He dropped Alan's bags. "He must be going to travel in the passenger bay. He's blaming himself."

"Why? It was an accident... Wasn't it?" Alan began to stow his bags in the locker. "Do you blame him?"

"No. I'm not blaming anyone until we find out what happened."

Alan shut the locker door and turned to face his brother. "How is everyone at home?"

"In shock."

"How are you?"

Scott shrugged. "Let's go home."

The last of the casualties had been loaded into the waiting ambulances and Virgil and John loaded The Mole back into pod five. Gordon, in the Firefly, followed them up the ramp and braked, blocking The Mole's exit. He jumped down and walked over to his brothers. "How are you guys?"

"I don't know how to say this, Alan..." John began.

Gordon stared at him. "I'm Gordon."

"Sorry..."

"Right, that's it!" Gordon asserted. "You're both acting like a pair of zombies! I'm taking Thunderbird One, picking up Scott, bringing him back and we're flying the Thunderbirds home. You guys are clearly in no shape to do so." He turned for the exit.

"Gordon! Wait!" Virgil called after him. "There's something we have to tell you."

Gordon turned back. "What?"

Virgil looked at John. John looked ill.

"Gordon," Virgil began. "You know what happened out there?"

"Yeah. Some idiot flew his plane into a shopping mall."

Virgil grimaced as if he'd been hit and John turned away.

"What?" Gordon asked again.

"John found a piece of the plane," Virgil said.

"So?"

"It had the registration number on it."

Gordon listened, wondering what his brother was struggling to say.

"It is... It was... Father's plane," Virgil ground out.

Gordon stared at him. Then he looked at John. "This isn't funny."

"We're not joking," Virgil told him.

"That plane was Dad's?"

"Yes."

"That pile of scorched metal?"

Virgil nodded.

"How long have you known?" Realisation dawned. "You never had a 'bam moment', did you? Either of you? You knew all along and you didn't tell me! Why? Didn't you trust me to keep it together? I thought we were supposed to trust each other, but instead you treated me like a little kid. You didn't think I was mature enough to handle this, so you left me in the dark. You treated me like you do Alan! That's right, isn't it? You let me work, knowing... Knowing that our father is out there in that tangled mess."

"Gordon..." Virgil began.

"You're lying." Gordon stepped away from his brothers, shaking his head. "I don't believe you. I don't know why you're lying, but you're lying to me. My father is not out there. Dad is not dead. He can't be... There's been a mistake."

"Gordon," Virgil took a step towards his distraught brother, hoping to comfort him, but Gordon took another step backwards.

"Don't come near me," he hissed.

"Please," Virgil begged. "Don't..."

"No!" Gordon took another step backwards. "You're wrong. And I'm going to prove it!" He turned and ran out of the pod, gravity assisting him down the ramp. He barrelled up to the black mark that scarred the surface of the earth and stopped. No one could have survived this crash.

One of the regular rescue workers came up to him. "Hello? I thought you folks had finished and were heading home?"

"Final checks." Gordon tried to keep his voice neutral.

"Well, thanks for all you've done. International Rescue have saved a lot of lives today."

"That's our job," Gordon said.

"That registration number that your colleague found has helped confirm who the pilot was," the rescue worker said conversationally. "Now it's down to the crash investigators to work out why he crashed."

"Who was he?"

The worker hesitated. "I shouldn't really tell you, but I guess it doesn't matter. It's not as though International Rescue is going to go running to the media with this bit of information... You've heard of Jeff Tracy, the billionaire?"

Gordon kept it together. "Yes."

"It was him. Brand new experimental plane, from what I understand. The investigators are going to have their work cut out for them."

"Yes, they are," Gordon agreed.

"Shame. From what I understand he was a heck of a nice guy. Unlike many with money."

Gordon held out his hand. "Thank you," he said.

Bemused the rescue worker shook hands. "Ah... Surely I should be thanking you?"

Gordon pretended to smile. "I'd better be getting back. So long."

"Bye..." the rescue raised his hand in a wave, but Gordon was striding back to Thunderbird Two.

"Gordon..." Virgil said as his brother stalked through the pod, but Gordon ignored him, entering the lift to the flight deck and punching the button that would take him upwards.

"He's not taking it well," Virgil sighed, and turned to John. "Are you okay to fly Thunderbird One home?"

John nodded.

"Sure?"

John nodded again. "You?" he croaked.

"I'll make it," Virgil confirmed. "See you there."

John nodded, turned, and walked out of the pod.

Virgil took the lift upwards and stepped onto the flight deck. Gordon had strapped himself into the seat farthest from the pilot's. "Okay, Gordon?" Virgil asked.

His brother folded his arms and turned his head so he was looking out the window.

"Scott and Brains have taken Thunderbird Three to get Alan," Virgil told him.

Gordon didn't comment.

"They might get home the same time that we do."

No response.

Virgil decided that it would be best to leave him alone. He slid into his own seat and began the procedure that locked down the pod and lowered Thunderbird Two over it. Looking out the window he saw John climb into Thunderbird One, having returned Mobile Control to its hold.

A short time later the radio crackled into life. "Preparing to lift off," John said.

"F-A-B," Virgil replied. "We'll stick together, huh?"

"Yes. Out."

Virgil watched Thunderbird One's VTOL jets burst into life before he triggered his own. Both planes lifted from the ground.

It had been a quiet flight back from Thunderbird Five. Neither Alan nor Scott said any more than was necessary. They landed through the round house, and then took the lift down to the passenger hold. Brains was already seated on the couch.

"Brains," Alan greeted him.

"Alan," Brains replied, looking at the floor.

The two Tracy boys took their seats beside him and all three felt the couch drop away down through the centre of Thunderbird Three, before it began its homeward track back to the lounge.

John rotated Thunderbird One in midair and slotted her through the swimming pool. As she rode back up on her trolley into her hangar, John took the opportunity to undo his safety harness and climb out of the pilot's seat.

He was standing by the exit hatch when a soft bump told him that Thunderbird One had completed her automated journey. There was a moment's delay, as the moving gantry slid into position, before the hatch opened and John was able to step outside the craft. The gantry began pulling him closer to the lounge.

Virgil spun Thunderbird Two 180 degrees, landed, and taxied backwards into the giant craft's hangar. "We're here," he told his passenger, and turned.

Gordon was already in the passenger lift and was heading up to the lounge.

Virgil sighed, set the diagnostics programme working on his craft, and then made his way back to the heart of the family home.

And so it happened that all five Tracy boys and Brains arrived in the lounge at the same time. When they saw each other they froze, eyeing the others up as though they'd been confronted by complete strangers for the first time.

No one said anything.

Gordon was the first to move. He turned on his heel and walked out, down in the direction of his room.

Head down, Brains exited through the same door.

A moment later, silently, John followed.

Virgil looked after them, glanced at his father's desk, swallowed and headed off to his bedroom.

Scott uttered some unintelligible sound, and strode out of the room.

Alan was left. Alone in the place where he'd expected the most comfort.

A light footstep announced the approach of someone and Tin-Tin entered. "Alan!" she cried and ran into his arms.

Alan held her close as they comforted each other. After a full five minutes he asked, "How's Grandma?"

Tin-Tin gave a sniff and pulled away slightly. "She's cooking. Making dinner."

"I don't know that anyone will feel like eating."

"Leave her, Alan. She needs to keep busy."

He nodded. "How's your father?"

"Keeping busy. He's in the greenhouse."

Alan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "And how are you?"

Tin-Tin tried to smile at him, but instead burst into tears.

"Come here, Honey." Alan pulled her close again.

There was a sound in the hallway and Gordon strode into the room, dressed in his swimming gear, with a towel draped around his shoulders.

"Dinner will be ready soon," Alan told him.

"Not hungry," his brother replied.

"You don't have to eat. We should all be together at this time. Just sit at the table to help support everyone else."

"Support?" Gordon snorted. "Some people won't want our support."

"Gordon?" Alan queried.

"Later, Alan." Gordon deserted the lounge for the comfort of the pool.

Alan was relieved that Gordon did join the rest of the family at the meal table. Not that it was much of a meal. All of Grandma's culinary skills appeared to have deserted her. The potatoes were burnt, the peas like marbles, the carrots were soggy and the meat raw. Not that it mattered, as Alan had predicted no one had felt like eating. No one except Virgil who, without complaint, cut the burnt pieces off the potatoes and ate the remainder, before helping himself to seconds.

Scott dropped his unused fork onto his untouched plate and stood. "I'm going to do some work."

"Work?" Alan looked at his eldest brother. "What work?"

"I've got things to do, okay!" Scott snapped.

The dining room was silent when he'd left.

Alan watched as John pushed a pea around the edge of his plate. Then he switched his attention to his grandmother who was twisting the tablecloth around her fingers and staring into space.

"E-Excuse me." Brains scrapped his chair along the floor as he stood. "I-I'll be in the l-la-l-labor-r-r." He gave up trying to formulate the sentence and left the room.

Tin-Tin sniffed and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

"I must do the dishes." Kyrano picked up his own plate, placed it back on the table, picked up Scott's clean one, placed it on his dirty plate, picked them up, before placing them back on the table and sitting down with an audible sigh.

"Let us help you, Kyrano," Virgil said, and began to clear the plates and cutlery. John, without a word, began stacking the dishes in the dishwasher.

Alan stared at the empty seat at the end of the table, swallowed down the lump that formed in his throat, and then grabbed some dishes of his own. "Go and sit in the lounge, Grandma," he suggested. "We'll take care of this."

"Hmm?" She looked at him blankly. "What, Dear?

"Go put your feet up. We'll take care of the dishes."

"Yes," she agreed. "I might do that." She remained seated.

"Come on, Mrs Tracy," Tin-Tin took the elderly lady's arm. "We're in the way here."

Seemingly in a daze, Grandma allowed herself to be taken out the room.

Virgil grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl and held it in his teeth as he grabbed more plates from the table.

"Are you still hungry?" Alan asked him.

"Hem hm hm," Virgil replied through the apple, nodding to make himself understood.

They finished loading the dishwasher and then each departed for the sanctuary of their own room.

03 Three: The Will

Alan awoke early the following morning, somewhat disoriented at finding himself at home when he was still expecting to be on Thunderbird Five. Then he remembered the reason for his early departure. Feeling sick, he got out of bed and wandered through to his bathroom where he splashed water onto his face. Deciding that he'd rather be doing something active to take his mind off things instead of stewing in his room, he dressed in his tracksuit in preparation for a run.

He walked out of his bedroom and nearly bumped into Gordon, who, judging by his lack of clothing, was planning to indulge in his own form of exercise.

"Morning, Gordon."

"Morning, Alan."

Gordon looked at his brother. "I guess asking if yesterday was a bad dream would be a waste of time?"

"If it was a dream I'd be up in Thunderbird Five."

"I'm going for a swim," Gordon said unnecessarily.

"I thought I'd go for a run."

In silence, the two brothers walked through to the lounge where they found Scott sitting at their father's desk. "What are you doing?" Alan asked.

"Minding my own business, that's what."

Gordon examined his brother and came to the conclusion that he was wearing what he'd worn the day before. "Have you been to bed?"

Scott wasn't in the mood to be questioned. "Are you going for a swim?!"

Gordon looked down at his own attire. "Gee. I'm wearing my swimming gear; I'm carrying a towel... I guess I must be."

Scott ignored the sarcasm. "Then go and do it and leave me alone."

"Fine," Gordon muttered. "Suit yourself." He went out into the grey dawn to submerge himself in the cool waters of the family pool.

Alan had got as far as the patio when the sound of a male voice caused him to stop. Someone was singing. Trying to find the source of the sound he realised that the only two people he could see were Gordon, now eating up the miles in the pool, and Scott, hunched over the desk.

The eldest brother had settled down again, planning to do more work in the early morning peace of the family home before anyone else awoke. He was not pleased to be disturbed by another member of his family.

His grandmother looked a mess. Her hair, rather than pinned back in its usual neat bun, was in disarray. Her dress hadn't been ironed and she'd put the wrong buttons through each buttonhole. "I'm going to make a start on breakfast. What does everyone feel like?" she asked her audience of one.

Scott only just managed to stop himself from telling her that he felt like being left alone. Instead he managed a mumbled, "I'm not hungry."

Normally that comment would have had her fussing about him, checking for fever or another sign of ailment, but this morning she didn't appear to hear him. "Where is everyone?"

"Gordon's having a swim. Alan's gone for a run. Everyone else is still in bed."

Almost immediately, Virgil proved him wrong as he entered the room carrying a bag of peanuts. "Anyone mind if I play the piano?"

"I mind!" Scott snapped.

Virgil ignored him and sat at the baby grand in preparation to play.

Grandma looked at the snack in Virgil's hand, but, instead of telling him off for spoiling his breakfast, merely asked. "What do you want to eat this morning?"

"Anything, Grandma," Virgil replied. He began flicking through his sheet music.

By now Alan was more curious about the identity of the mystery singer than he was interested in his run. He had concluded that the voice was coming from the roof of the villa and he ventured back inside intending to head to the highest point of the house.

"What do you want for breakfast, Honey?" his grandmother asked him as melancholy music wafted from the piano.

"Don't worry about me," he replied. "I'll get something when I get back from my run. I just want to check something out first."

"Fine, Dear. Don't be too long."

Alan was about to leave the room when the videophone rang. Scott answered it.

"Good morning, Mr Tracy," an obscenely cheerful voice said. "I'm from the International Chronicle. I was looking for your family's reaction to your father's death."

Scott stared at the videophone screen in disbelief. "You were what?"

"Wanting a reaction..."

Scott looked at his watch. "But the 24 hours isn't up yet."

"Don't worry," he was told. "Nothing will be published until after the deadline. But I am sure that you understand that when we do go public we would like to be able to present a full and correct account."

"My father has just been killed and you want me to tell you my reaction??"

"If you wouldn't mind, Sir. After all, it's not only your family that has been affected. There are all those people who were killed and those who were hurt when your father crashed his plane..."

"You make it sound as though what happened was my father's fault..."

The man on the other end of the phone laughed. 'Well, it was his plane... I didn't hear any reports of the mall levitating off the ground... Now, do you have any comment?"

"No," Scott growled.

"How is your family coping, knowing that your father was responsible for so many deaths?"

"No comment."

"You do realise that 33 people were killed?"

Scott hadn't known this, but his manner didn't change. "No comment."

"And that a further 20 are listed as being in a critical condition?"

"No comment."

"And that numerous others were injured?"

"I have nothing to say to you, or any other representative from the media." Scott said. "My father was a private man in life, and we intend to keep his death as private as we humanly can."

"Even though your father's death caused the death of so many members of the public?"

"I said I have no comment!" Scott was snarling. "And neither does anyone else in the family. I will wish you good day..."

"How did you feel when you heard that your father's plane had crashed...?"

"Goodbye..."

"...And had killed so many?"

Scott hung up the phone and banged his fist on the desk. "I don't believe it! The nerve of that guy!"

Gordon had come back inside for another towel and had heard the tail end of the conversation. "Who was that!?"

"Some reporter," Scott growled.

"He made it sound as if Dad was responsible!"

"You'd think he'd at least wait until we know what caused the crash before accusing anyone," Virgil commented, tossing a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

"Typical," Gordon snapped. "You would side with him."

"I'm not siding with him," Virgil protested. "It was a comment that's all."

Alan put his arm around the elderly lady who'd been listening to the conversation. "Are you okay, Grandma?"

"That man," she sniffed. "He accused your father of murder."

"He's just fishing for a scoop. We know Dad wouldn't be party to anything like that," Alan said.

"What beats me is that the Chief-Super assured me that the media wouldn't hear anything until the 24 hour deadline was up," Scott growled. "How'd that guy get the news?"

"You know the press," Gordon said. "Some of those guys would do anything for a story. He probably bribed one of the rescue workers. Unfortunately some people don't know when it's time to keep their mouths shut..." He glared at Virgil. "While others don't know when they should be speaking out."

The lift doors opened and Alan stepped out onto the roof of the Tracy villa. One of the pool's deckchairs had been dragged up here, along with a telescope. John was watching the stars that he loved fade in the morning light; just as the father he loved had done.

"John..." Alan said to his brother's back. "Why are you up here?"

"The heavens are now home to you..." John sang.

"Have you been here all night?"

"...Up where the stars are shining through..."

"John?" Alan had taken a step forward before he realised why his brother hadn't heard him.

John had a love for music that was nearly as great as Virgil's, but the only instrument he'd developed a talent for was his own voice. He'd done some training, but had never felt comfortable performing in front of an audience and had given away the stage side of the craft, preferring to concentrate on learning enough to keep his singing voice in trim. It had never been confirmed, but Alan had a sneaking suspicion that one of the many reasons why John enjoyed his time on Thunderbird Five, was because it gave him the opportunity to give his talent full rein without anybody hearing him.

"...That star up there ..."

When he was on Earth John preferred listening to music, and to aid the experience he had developed high-quality headphones that could be set to block out certain, or all, extraneous external sounds. He was wearing these headphones now and listening to his own private soundtrack on the world.

"...I know you're near..."

Alan could understand John's attraction to the song. He walked across the roof until he was standing beside his brother.

John had his eyes closed. "...but from me you are too far..."

Alan touched him on the shoulder and John visibly jumped. "Don't do that!" He pulled his headphones off. "Whaddya want?!"

"Grandma's making breakfast. She's asking what everyone wants."

"I'll get something later." John settled back into his seat.

"Scott's just taken a phone call from some newspaper. The reporter was asking for his reaction to Dad's death. He was insinuating that the whole thing was Dad's fault and that he'd, for some reason, killed those people on purpose."

"What!?"

"It's upset Grandma. You'd make her happier if you'd join us."

John hesitated, a scowl on his face. Then he replaced his headphones over his ears, clipped the music player to his belt, put a protective cover over the telescope and, without acknowledging Alan, stalked over to the lift.

The two brothers rode downwards in silence.

John continued to wear his headphones as he sat at the breakfast table, a social no-no which Jeff Tracy would normally have stopped immediately and without argument. Alan was pretty sure that Scott would have taken the same line if he'd deigned to join them. No one else appeared to notice or care.

After an unappetising meal, which Virgil wolfed down, Alan felt lost. He decided to check on Brains.

He found the engineer, as expected, in his laboratory pouring over plans. "M8 HT machine screw... Th-That's correct," Brains was muttering.

"How are you this morning, Brains?" Alan asked.

Brains glanced up for the briefest of moments before he focused back on the computer screen in front of him. "I-I'm o-okay."

"Any ideas what happened?" Alan saw Brains stiffen. "It's okay, I was speaking in general terms. I don't think the crash was your fault."

"I-It would be unlikely t-to be your father's."

"We don't know that yet. And as much as I would hate to think that Dad was responsible, I can't believe that there was a fault in your workmanship. You're always so careful."

"Th-Thank y-you for your f-faith in me, A-Alan," Brains stuttered. "B-But not everyone sh-shares your beliefs."

"You mean Grandma? She'll get over it once the air accident investigators have finished."

"Mrs T-Tracy is n-not alone in her opinion."

"Who else does?" Alan frowned. "I'm pretty sure my brothers don't..."

Brains shook his head.

"Tin-Tin?" Alan sounded incredulous. "Kyrano? There's no way either of them would blame you."

"P-Please, Alan. I w-would like to return to m-my work."

Alan stood for a moment, uncertain. "Can I help?"

Brains shook his head, looking away. "N-No. I-I would prefer to do this on m-my own."

Bemused, Alan left the lab and sought out Tin-Tin in her room. "Can I have a word, Honey?"

She tried to smile at him, nodded and burst into tears.

"Tin-Tin... Please don't," Alan pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Alan... But your father..."

"I know," Alan pulled her into a hug. "I miss him too."

Tin-Tin sniffed, reached over her bed and pulled two tissues from a box. "What did you want to talk about?"

He hesitated; unsure if now was the best time to ask.

"Alan?" Tin-Tin looked at him with big rheumy eyes.

"I've just been talking to Brains," Alan explained. "He's upset... Like everyone I guess... But he's also upset because he thinks we blame him for the crash. I've told him that I don't, and he accepts that the guys don't... We know Grandma does, but that's because she refuses to believe that her little boy could do any wrong..."

Tin-Tin burst into tears again and Alan realised that his wording hadn't been exactly tactful. He waited until her sobs settled down before continuing on. "Do you..." he paused, wanting to be more diplomatic this time. "You've worked as closely with him as the rest of us. Do you blame Brains?"

"Oh, no!" Tin-Tin shook her head emphatically. "Brains is so methodical in his work, there's no way that anything he'd done could have had a direct impact on what happened."

"Good," Alan managed a smile. "Um... What about your father?"

"Father?"

"Yes."

"No," Tin-Tin shook her head again, just as emphatic as she had been before. "No, I'm sure he doesn't. We talked about what happened last night. Father is of the opinion that it was just fate."

"That's a relief," Alan said. "But then..." he screwed up his face in thought. "The way Brains was talking it was as if he believed there was someone else who blamed him."

"Perhaps," Tin-Tin's voice was quiet, "Brains blames himself?"

"Brains? But he's always so sure of his work."

"Maybe that's the problem. He's always been so confident. Maybe he thinks he was overconfident this time...?"

Alan left Tin-Tin's room and wandered down the hallway. He stopped outside of John's bedroom and waited a moment before knocking. There was no answer. Pressing his ear against a certain part of the door he listened. It was a trick that he and Gordon had discovered soon after everyone had moved to the island and it had come in handy when they'd wanted to spy on their brothers. This time he could hear music playing, but no sounds of movement. He knocked again. "John!"

"He's probably catching up on his sleep. Didn't look like he got much last night."

Alan turned and realised that another brother had walked past. "Virgil! Wait up!" He jogged up to him. "I'm glad I've found you alone. Would you mind if I asked you something?"

Virgil shrugged. "Sure, Alan. What?"

"Um... It's about yesterday." Alan saw his brother tense up. "I'd understand if you don't want to talk about it, but I want to know what happened. All I've heard is what was said over the radio." He waited to see Virgil's reaction.

Virgil seemed to think for a moment and then nodded slowly. "Okay. I guess it is only fair."

"Thanks," Alan said with gratitude. "Ah, do you want to talk in my room? It's more private."

Virgil nodded. "Okay. Just give me a moment to get something."

Alan returned to his room; a shrine to his motor racing days. He tried not to look at the photo of his father proudly standing beside him as between them they held one of his many car-racing trophies. His father had always supported him.

Virgil knocked on the door and entered. He was carrying some apples.

Alan swallowed down the lump that was forming in his throat. "It does get easier, doesn't it?"

There was a moment's silence as Virgil contemplated the question. Then he nodded. "Eventually." He held out an apple. "Would you like one?"

"No, thanks." Alan sat on the edge of his bed.

Virgil claimed a seat beside him and bit into an apple. "So... What do you want to know?"

"What happened? What was it like? How did everyone behave? Why's Gordon mad with you guys?"

There was a moment's silence as Virgil took a bite out of an apple and chewed it slowly as he thought. "Remember that train crash in India last year?"

"Where the train jumped the rails and ploughed into the apartment block?"

Virgil nodded, his mouth full of apple. He swallowed. "Combine that with the fire from that gas explosion in Mexico and you'll get some idea of what the scene was like. There was this great long burnt trail where the plane had skidded along the ground. The mall had collapsed like a deck of cards. There were people everywhere, some hurt, some trying to save others, most in shock... I think John got video for the authorities. If you really wanted to you could look at that." He took another bite of his apple.

Alan waited as Virgil finished off the first apple before reaching for the second. "So it was rough," he eventually said.

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "It was rough."

"When did you realise that the plane... was..."

Virgil was halfway through the second apple and stopped eating. "John found the registration number from the panel under the pilot's window. He got me to double-check it. I don't think he believed his own eyes." Virgil sounded reflective as he chewed slowly and cast his mind back a day. "It was amazing! I don't think there was a panel unscathed, except for this one. And John, of all people, had to be the one to find it."

"Rough," Alan said, casting his mind about for something more meaningful to say.

Virgil nodded in agreement.

"Then what happened?" Alan prompted.

"Gordon came running over to see why we were taking so long. He said that you'd said that Scott was having a blue fit."

"True," Alan agreed. "He was." He waited, but Virgil seemed more interested in finishing his apple than saying anything more. "So you didn't tell Gordon then?"

"No."

"Why?"

Virgil finished off his apple, thinking as he did so. "You don't remember when Ma died, do you, Alan?"

Alan responded with a mute shake of his head.

"So you don't remember how hard the days were afterwards?"

"No."

"We do. Maybe John more than me." Virgil stopped talking as he struggled with the memories.

Alan laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, the gesture more eloquent than any words he could have said. He gave his brother a moment to gather himself together before he spoke. "But we were all children then."

Virgil gave Alan a pained look. "Believe me, Alan. It doesn't matter how old you are, it still hurts just as much when you're an adult as it did when you were a child." He looked down at his apple core. "We had a rescue to get through. One of us had to keep a clear head."

"So you didn't tell Gordon so that he could be the one with the clear head?"

"Yes. But... somehow... John and I managed to cope... Don't ask me how, but we did."

"When did you tell Gordon?"

"Before we left. He deserved the chance to... to..." Virgil's voice broke and he took a deep breath. Alan squeezed his shoulder and the gesture seemed to give Virgil the strength to carry on. "Gordon deserved a chance to say goodbye."

"He wasn't happy that you kept him in the dark?" Alan guessed. "Is that why he's been sniping at you two?"

"Seems like it," Virgil nodded. "He never gave us the chance to explain. He called us liars and ran out of the pod so quickly that he nearly fell down the ramp. He hasn't spoken to us since. Well, me anyway. John's kept pretty much to himself."

"I'd noticed. Do you want me to talk to Gordon?" Alan offered.

"Leave him," Virgil advised. "He'll get over it. I'd rather he were mad at us rather than..."

Alan waited to see who or what else Gordon could be mad with, but Virgil didn't appear to be inclined to carry on with his narrative. He picked up the last apple and began eating.

"Do you know what I think we're missing?" Alan eventually asked after the silence had dragged on for over a minute. "I mean in the house? As a memorial to Dad, so we'll remember him? Not that we'll forget..."

Virgil looked at him. "What?"

"We haven't got a decent portrait of him." Alan prodded Virgil on the knee. "You could do one."

Virgil shook his head. "No I couldn't."

"Yes, you could. You know him. You would... capture the essence of him that no other painter would be able to."

Virgil said nothing as he finished off the apple. "I'm better when I can see the subject," he eventually acknowledged. "I could never do him justice."

"Hi, Scott."

"Alan."

Alan hesitated. The greeting had been more of a curt acknowledgement, than a real salutation. "What are you doing?"

"Working."

"Working on what?"

"Working on minding my own business, Alan. Now you mind yours!"

"If you're doing something to do with Dad, don't you think it is my business too?"

"I'm trying to get a handle on International Rescue's supplies. And I don't need you bothering me," Scott snapped. "Now leave me alone!"

"Can I get you something to eat?" Alan offered. "You didn't have breakfast... Or anything last night."

"I'm not hungry, Alan. What I am, is sick of being interrupted."

"Sorry." Alan stood and watched his older brother for a moment. "Are you worried about John?" he eventually asked.

Scott had his nose buried in some paperwork again. "No."

"You must have noticed that he practically hasn't said a word since they got back from..." Alan hesitated. "Since yesterday."

"You should know by now that John's a quiet guy."

"Yes, but he usually says something, if only 'good morning'. He hasn't said anything since I found him on the roof this morning!"

"Maybe he just knows when to leave people alone."

"And what about Virgil? He hasn't stopped eating."

"So...? He's probably hungry."

"And Gordon won't get out of the pool..."

"What's new?"

"But..."

"Alan!" Scott laid down his pen and glared at his brother. "What the others do is their business. They'll get over it. Now leave me alone before I throw you over the balcony!"

Alan decided to save him the bother and walked down the steps and over to the pool. He removed his shoes, rolled up his trouser legs and sat so his feet were dangling in the water. "Hi, Gordon," he said when the swimmer came within talking range.

"Hi," Gordon grunted and turned for anther lap.

Alan waited until it was completed. "Apart from the obvious..." he began, and had to wait until Gordon had finished another lap before he could complete his sentence. "...What's your problem?"

"Problem?" Gordon asked as he turned.

Alan waited until the swimmer had returned. "With John and Virgil."

"Not my problem..." Gordon began, not missing a stroke. "Their's," he said when he returned.

"Okay," Alan tried to sound agreeable. "What's their problem?"

Gordon stopped swimming and clung to the side of the pool. "You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Would you believe that I suddenly and brutally found out what it's been like to be you all these years?"

"Huh?" Alan scratched his head. "What do you mean; to be 'like me'?"

"To be treated like a little kid, not as an adult."

"What do you mean?" Alan asked again.

Gordon's reply was simple. "They didn't trust me. They didn't think I was grown up enough to be able to handle the situation maturely."

"They being John and Virgil?"

"Yep. And to a lesser extent Scott." Gordon pushed himself backwards off the wall and did two complete laps in backstroke before he stopped again, splashing Alan's trousers in the process.

Alan asked the same question that he'd asked earlier. "What happened?"

"They told me they'd had a 'bam moment'." Gordon gave a bitter laugh. "And I was gullible enough to believe them. I should have realised. They're rare enough as it is. What's the odds of the two of us having a 'bam moment' at the same time?"

"I would hope not very high."

"And I fell for it," Gordon still sounded bitter as he launched himself into the breaststroke. Alan had to wait until he'd completed three full laps of the pool before he stopped again.

"You know why they did that?" Gordon asked. "They didn't think that I could cope."

"No, Alan said. "I think it was more of a case that they weren't sure that they could."

"Did they spin you that line?" Gordon asked.

"Virgil did. John hasn't said anything."

Gordon dunked his head under the pool.

Alan splashed the water with his feet.

"How did you find out?" Gordon suddenly asked. "Who told you it was Dad's plane?"

"I heard a couple of officials talking over the radio," Alan admitted.

"See! Even Scott didn't trust you to be grown-up enough to take it like a man!" Gordon pointed an accusatory finger towards the lounge. "Even he didn't want to tell you!"

"It wasn't like that," Alan tried not to sound as though he were on the defensive. "Scott didn't want me to find out over the radio. He wanted to tell me face-to-face, man-to-man. It just happened that I overheard..."

Gordon snorted.

"How did John and Virgil tell you?"

"John didn't say anything; he just hid away from me."

Alan decided to refrain from saying that John hadn't said much and had hidden away from everybody since the rescue. "So did Virgil tell you?"

"Yeah. Just before we were about to leave."

"See..."

"Do you know what I'd been thinking Alan?"

"No..."

"All through the rescue I was looking at all these burnt and battered and traumatised bodies and thinking 'What was wrong with the pilot? Had he been ill? Had he known that he hadn't been fit enough to fly? Had something gone wrong with the plane? Hadn't it been maintained properly? Was the pilot under the influence of alcohol or drugs? Or was he just some idiot who had no right to be up in the air... Who should never have been given his licence... All through the rescue I was, in my mind, berating this unknown pilot..." Gordon's voice rose in pitch. "And this man I was berating for causing all that misery was my own father... And those two knew and let me think that!"

"They didn't know what you were thinking?" Alan tried to say.

"If you're going to side with them, Alan..."

"I'm not siding with anyone..."

"Then you can just crawl back inside."

"Gordon..."

"I'm done talking." Gordon took a deep breath and sunk beneath the water. He swam down deep to the far end of the pool and stayed there.

Alan waited a moment. When it became obvious that his brother wasn't going to surface until he was alone, Alan decided that he didn't want his brother's drowning on his conscience, and climbed the steps back into the lounge.

Scott was on the phone, the video signal disengaged. "No! We are not interested in making a comment. Goodbye!" He slammed his hand down on the disconnect button.

The phone rang again. Scott answered it.

"Good afternoon," the caller said. "I'm from the 'Universal Mirror'."

Scott hung up.

Alan looked at his watch. The 24-hour amnesty was over.

The phone rang again.

Scott answered. "Tracy Island."

"Wallace Plaidy, World Sun Newsp..."

Scott cancelled the call.

He'd no sooner done this when another sound interrupted their peace. This time it wasn't the ringing of a phone, it was the motor and whirring blades of a hover-plane.

Gordon came running inside. "Hey! There's a NTBS chopper out here!"

"A what?" Most rest of the family had entered the lounge to find out what the unexpected noise was.

"What!?" Scott roared. "Can't they leave us alone?" He ran outside onto the patio and shook his fist at the plane, which was turning in preparation for another filming run on the villa.

"Scott! Stop!" Alan exclaimed. He ran after his brother, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him back inside.

Scott yanked himself free. "Alan! What are you doing?"

"Trying to stop you from exposing us all."

"What?!"

"International Rescue!" Alan reminded him. "We spend all our lives trying to keep out of the media and then you go and stick your face in front of a television camera!"

Scott glared at his youngest brother, and then, without a word, returned to their father's desk.

The phone rang.

Scott answered it. "What?!"

"Scott...? Is that you?"

Scott turned on the phone's video. "Mr Brett? I'm sorry."

Angus Brett had been their parents' solicitor. Alan's earliest memory was of his brothers and himself huddling together in a corner of Mr Brett's office as his mother's will was read out. In general, whenever he'd mentioned this, his family had scoffed, saying he was too young to remember anything of the sort. But still Alan insisted that he remembered the grey, dull walls, the lifeless pot plants, and the unimaginative paintings. Of Mr Brett himself, he'd had no recollection.

When, a few years later, he'd been dragged along to the solicitor's office for some reason, he'd been hit by a strong feeling of déjà vu, but yet again Mr Brett had made next to no impression on him.

"I-Is everything all right?" Mr Brett was asking, somewhat unnerved by Scott's abrupt, and obviously angry, greeting.

"We've been disturbed by the media all day," Scott explained.

"Ah... I understand."

"What can I do for you, Mr Brett?" Scott was being extra polite as he tried to make amends for the way he'd answered the phone.

"I've rung for several reasons," Mr Brett said. "Firstly it's to offer my sincerest sympathies to you all. I've just learned of your tragic loss on the radio."

"Thank you," Scott replied.

"Secondly, I was wondering when would be a good time... And I know that never is a good time..."

"Yes?" Scott prompted.

"To read your father's will?"

Those in the lounge glanced at each other. They hadn't considered the issue of the will. Tin-Tin burst out crying and was comforted by her father.

Almost obscured by the sobs, an intermittent sound was heard from the other side of the room. Alan glanced at Lady Penelope's portrait and saw that the beads and her eyes were flashing in time with the beeps. No one else moved so Alan opened the link. "Hi, Penny."

"Alan." Lady Penelope looked to be less than her usual composed self. In fact she appeared to be in shock. "I've just heard the news. Please tell me it isn't true."

"I wish I could..." Alan began; then he caught himself. "Wait a minute. Hadn't Scott told you?"

"No, Alan. I haven't spoken to anyone this week."

Alan could have kicked himself. "I'm sorry, Penny. I would have thought that you should have been one of the first to know."

There was a muttered, "Typical," from Gordon.

"How is everyone?" she asked.

Alan wasn't sure of the answer so he shrugged.

"I would understand if you and your family would wish to be left alone at this time..."

"Try telling that to the media," Virgil interjected.

"But would you permit Parker and myself to fly out to Tracy Island? I... We should like to offer what little support we can."

"I'm sure we'd all appreciate that, Penny," Alan said. "Do you want someone to pick you up?"

"Please, don't trouble yourself, dear boy," Lady Penelope replied. "We can make our own way there."

"When will we see you?" Alan asked.

Lady Penelope consulted her watch. "I should think tomorrow. Mid-morning if that is convenient."

"I'm sure we'll manage to welcome you with open arms. See you tomorrow, Penny."

"Give my best to everyone, Alan."

"Will do." Alan signed off, turned, crossed his arms and scowled at his brother who was still talking with the solicitor.

"Go to the airport and pick up an air taxi," Scott was saying. "We'll pay for the fare, of course."

Alan scribbled a note. 'Penny coming tomorrow.' He thrust it under Scott's nose.

Scott frowned at his brother, took the note, read it and his frown deepened. "It looks as though a friend of ours is coming here tomorrow, Mr Brett. I'm sure she won't mind picking you up on the way."

Mr Brett seemed pleased at the suggestion. "That would be a great weight off my mind, Scott."

"In the meantime," Scott requested. "Would you mind preparing a press release for us? Something along the lines that we would appreciate being left alone at this time?"

"Press release?" Mr Brett squeaked.

Scott nodded. "Yes, please. We've even had press hover-planes hanging around."

"I-I'll see what I can come up with," an obviously unsure solicitor replied.

Scott had an idea. "Here's my email address," he said. If you need to contact me, email me. I'm going to disconnect the phone so we won't be disturbed."

Mr Brett nodded his approval. "Very well, Scott. I'll contact you shortly to confirm the arrangements." He gave Scott a sympathetic smile. "I know this is hard for you, and I'm sure that the last thing that you and your family want to be bothered with is all the fuss over probates and legacies and such like. Why don't you let me take care of all that?"

Scott looked at Mr Brett in gratitude. "Would you? It would be a weight off my mind. Administration isn't my strong suit. It's one respect where none of us take after him."

"I would be glad to help. What's the name of your father's accountant?"

Scott thought a moment. "Hang on, let me check." He scrolled through his father's address book. "Here it is. 'Bold and Gallagher'. Rex Bold is his accountant." He gave the solicitor the necessary contact details before finishing the phone call in a civilised manner. Then he turned on Alan. "What's the big idea of inviting Penny over?"

Alan decided that in this situation he could give as good as he got. "And what's the big idea not telling her? She's a good friend; she's closer to being a relative than most of our relatives, and so is Parker. They must be feeling pretty hurt at the moment!"

"It's none of their business!" Scott stormed. "This is personal."

"Scott!" Virgil admonished. "I thought you'd called her!"

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "Me too!"

"If you all feel so strongly about it," Scott snarled, "why didn't any of you give them a call?" An awkward silence followed. "I thought you wouldn't have an answer to that. And since you're all so happy to leave me to do everything, why don't you go away and leave me alone to do just that?" He glared at his brothers. "At least John's had the good sense to keep out of my hair."

It was at that moment that Alan realised that John Tracy had been absent for the last hour.

Mid-morning the following day, Alan headed down to the runway. Soon he saw the distinctive pink aeroplane come swooping out of the blue Pacific skies. It made an almost perfect touchdown and taxied until it was resting in the shade of the cliff.

When flying intercontinental, Lady Penelope chose to take the Fireflash airliner, which was able to accommodate the Rolls Royce, FAB1. The Creighton-Ward yacht, FAB2, was ideal for cruising around sea-bound locales in Europe, but for more out of the way locations, such as Tracy Island, the little jet, registration FAB3, was the preferred mode of transport. Another of Brains' designs, it was compact enough to carry six people in comfort while still having the power to fly through the air at half of Thunderbird Two's speed. Her sister craft, FAB4, resided in the States.

Alan moved forward to help lower the stairs into position and extended his hand to assist Lady Penelope. She made her usual graceful exit, unzipping her pink leather flight jacket as she stepped out of the plane. "Alan!" she cried, pulling him into a warm hug. "I can't tell you how sorry I am. He was a wonderful man. One of a kind."

Alan had been wondering how you were expected to behave around a titled lady in such circumstances, even one who was good friend, and was relieved that Lady Penelope had made the first move. "Thank you for coming, Penny. How was the flight?"

"Quite boring," she replied. "No little dramas to test one's flying skills with."

Alan couldn't suppress a grin. Only Lady Penelope would be disappointed at a 'boring', but ultimately safe, flight.

Parker exited the plane carrying an armful of bags, which he deposited on the tarmac. "H-I'm sorry, Mister Alan." He removed his hat as a mark of respect. "Your father was h-a true gent." He spoke with the air of someone whom wanted to say and do more, but wasn't sure if his position would allow it.

Alan solved his dilemma by holding out his hand. "Thank you, Parker. I know he thought highly of you too." Parker turned slightly pink as he shook the young man's hand.

There was a discreet cough from behind the butler, and Alan suddenly remembered the Angus Brett was on the flight as well. "Mr Brett," he said politely.

"Alan," Mr Brett replied. "I am sorry. Truly sorry."

Angus Brett was a colourless, mousy little man. His hair was thinning and combed across in an ill-fated attempt to hide the fact. His eyes were a watery grey, his suit was grey and even his skin appeared to have absorbed the dull colour. His nose was long and his teeth, hidden beneath his moustache, were prominent. The moustache, his only distinguished characteristic, was dark grey, too large and too bushy for a man of his stature. Unfortunately, in a subconscious attempt to bring attention to what Angus Brett regarded as his most striking feature, he had a tendency to preen this hirsute appendage in a manner reminiscent of a mouse cleaning its whiskers. The action only served to add to the man's rodent-like appearance. Even though he'd known the Tracy family for years, he was not one of those that Jeff Tracy had admitted into International Rescue's circle.

"Shall we go up to the house?" Alan suggested.

Mr Brett went to pick up a suitcase, the weight of which caused him to overbalance.

"Let me," Alan offered and picked up the case with ease. He then put one of Lady Penelope's pink cases under his arm, and grabbed another with his spare hand. "I'm afraid we're going to have to walk up to the house. Grandma's decreed that we're not to use the monocar."

"How is Grandmama?" Lady Penelope asked as they began the climb.

"Wary of everything that Brains has designed. She refuses to even consider the possibility that the crash could in any way be Dad's fault."

"And is there a possibility?"

"We don't know. The air accident inspector's going to be emailing a preliminary report tomorrow. Brains is terrified that because he designed the plane that somehow he's at fault. He's confined himself to his lab and keeps on going over and over his plans, trying to find any weak links. If he does find anything I know he'll be devastated."

"That's unlikely, isn't it?" Lady Penelope negotiated a rock that was jutting out of the path.

"I would have thought so," Alan agreed. "Especially since Virgil, Scott and Dad went over the plans as well. And we all were involved with building the plane. Surely one of us would have noticed if something wasn't right."

"I'm sure you would have," Lady Penelope agreed. "How is everyone else?"

"Don't ask," Alan replied. "John hides himself away and has barely said a word since he got back from the res..." He belatedly remembered the solicitor who was following them up the path. "...from work. Instead of eating with us he grabs whatever's on offer and disappears. And whenever we do see him he can't hear us because he's got his headphones on. I know he's usually quiet, but it's becoming ridiculous. Mind you..." Alan sounded reflective. "The others are nearly as bad."

"How do you mean, Alan?"

"Gordon won't get out of the pool. I know we've always joked that he's part fish, but this is getting past a joke. Virgil won't stop eating and Scott's the complete opposite. As far as I'm aware he hasn't had anything to eat since he heard the news... Except for our heads, which he'll bite off at the slightest provocation..." Alan sighed. "You only need to mention Dad and Tin-Tin bursts out crying, and Kyrano spends all his time in the greenhouse. If he prunes those plants any more there'll be nothing left of them," he continued on grimly. "I'm sorry, Penny, but this is not a good time to visit. As far as I can see I'm the only sane one here and if you were to ask one of the others they'd probably tell you that I've developed some psychosis that I'm not aware of."

Lady Penelope contemplated what he'd said as she negotiated the steep trail. Behind her, laden with bags, Parker and Mr Brett puffed their way up the hill.

"I can't even guarantee you a decent meal," Alan was saying. "Grandma's heart isn't in it anymore. I'm a reasonable cook, I've had to learn to be, living alone on Th..." once again he belatedly remembered Angus Brett's lack of knowledge of International Rescue, "...on the mainland. But she won't let anyone else near the kitchen. She's cooking all day and practically everything's inedible."

"Do you know anything about what happened?" Lady Penelope asked.

"Only that he was seen getting into the plane, there was no mayday and no one saw a parachute. So it seems as though he... he was... already..." Alan's voice broke and he dropped the luggage. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.

Lady Penelope stopped walking to give the young man a chance to gather himself together. She turned back to her two older companions. "This is a wonderful view," she said gesturing out over the green of the palm trees, the golden beaches and the blue Pacific Ocean. "One should take this path to the house more often. It offers so much more than the ride in the monocar."

Parker, dressed in his heavy chauffeur's uniform and carrying four weighty suitcases, was less enamoured with the suggestion.

Angus Brett gave a squeak of agreement and tried to ignore the blisters that were forming on his heels.

Alan sniffed and rubbed his nose. "Sorry," he apologised. He pocketed his handkerchief, picked up his bags again and started walking.

The others followed in that awkward silence that tends to follow such moments.

As they neared the villa they heard a shout. "Gordon! Get out of there! Penny will be here in a moment!"

"So what, Scott? It's not like she's never seen me in the pool before!"

"Get your butt in here! Now!"

Lady Penelope and Parker were stunned. This wasn't the playful banter that they expected to hear between the Tracy brothers. There was a real antagonism in the two men's voices.

"Welcome to our happy home," Alan said with more than a trace of irony. "We'll go the back way and give Gordon the chance to make up his own mind to get out of the pool."

Feeling somewhat bewildered, the trio followed him. They walked through a heavily pruned garden to the back of the villa and into the kitchen.

Grandma was cooking, but instead of the usual aromatic smells that both Lady Penelope and Parker associated with her art, there was a strong odour of burnt pots and overcooked food.

"Grandmama!" Lady Penelope greeted her. "How are you, my dear?"

"Lady Penelope," Grandma replied. "It's so good of you to come. You too, Parker." She held up her hands. "I'm afraid I'm covered in flour. Go through to the lounge and make yourselves at home." Angus Brett shuffled his feet. "Hello, Mr Brett."

"Good morning, Mrs Tracy."

Lady Penelope followed Alan through the door.

Almost immediately their ear drums were assaulted with the sounds of more shouting. "John Tracy!" Scott bellowed, pounding on the door. "Get out here now!"

The door slid open part way revealing John, still clad in his black pyjamas. "No."

"Aren't you dressed yet? You know Penny's coming today!"

"She's here." John put his headphones over his ears and took a step backwards. The door slammed shut.

"Huh?" Scott turned. "Penny..." He smiled in greeting, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "How are you? Did you have a good trip?"

"Most quiet," Lady Penelope admitted as she embraced him.

"Parker," Scott shook hands. "Mr Brett... Ah... Shall we go through to the lounge? I'm sure John won't be long."

Alan gave their guests an apologetic look. "I'll put your bags in your rooms."

They entered the sun-filled room to be greeted by the last two members of the Tracy family. As the greetings were made, Alan glanced at the row of portraits on the wall and was relieved to see that Scott had had the presence of mind to initiate Operation Cover-Up.

Virgil smiled at the visitors. "I'm covered in chocolate so I won't get too close. That's one of the disadvantages of living on a tropical island; the heat."

"Virgil!" Scott snapped. "Go and wash your hands!" Virgil glanced at his brother but made no comment.

"And once you've done that," Gordon sneered, "roll over and he might scratch your tummy."

Virgil gave him a neutral stare, but decided that it was easier to leave the room than argue with his brothers.

Gordon extended his hand in greeting and gave Scott a sideways look. "I'm dry and I'm clean, so I'll be civil. Thanks for coming, Penny. Parker."

Lady Penelope gave him a hug before she sat on one of the chairs. "I know I said it before, but I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. Your father was a wonderful man."

Scott had reclaimed the desk. "Thanks, Penny. Sorry I didn't call and tell you personally, but I've been busy trying to catch up with everything." He indicated the papers lying about in front of him.

"He didn't even have time to tell us that he didn't have time to tell you," Gordon said. "It seems that the older members of this family have no conception of the proper way to break bad news." This time the sideways look was directed towards John, who had just entered the room, wearing his headphones.

"Gordon, shut up!" Scott snapped.

"How are you, John?" Lady Penelope asked. He didn't reply. "John?"

John didn't appear to hear her.

Alan, followed by Virgil, who was munching on a candy bar, returned. "Grandma says that lunch is ready," he said without enthusiasm.

Lunch was less than appetising. John had been about to grab some food and leave when he'd been ordered to stay by Scott. He'd glared at his brother and, grudgingly, had remained at the meal table still wearing his headphones. Scott, out of consideration for their guests, had sat at the table, but had not eaten. In contrast Virgil appeared to eat enough for the both of them. Gordon had been civil to Lady Penelope, Parker and Mr Brett, but had made his disdain for his older brothers obvious. Grandma kept on making little remarks that made it clear where she laid the blame for their misfortune. Alan spent the meal wishing he could crawl away and hide from the embarrassment that his family was causing him.

Grandma laid her cutlery on her plate. "How did you get here, Lady Penelope?" she asked.

Lady Penelope had been trying to wash away the taste of burnt eggs with a cup of tea. "We came in FAB3."

"Oh?" Mrs Tracy looked surprised. "Don't you think it would be prudent to fly by air taxi? At least until after the accident report comes out? You don't know what design faults they might find, and I should hate to think what might happen should those faults be present in your plane too."

Brains dropped his coffee mug. It landed on the table, splashing everything and everyone in the near vicinity, before it rolled off the edge. He quickly ducked down out of sight to retrieve it.

Angus Brett cleared his throat. "Where would you like me to read Jeff's will?" he squeaked.

Scott stood. "I guess the lounge is as good as anywhere."

Mr Brett cleared his throat again. "Ah... Isn't there somewhere more private?"

"Parker and I are quite willing to retire to our rooms, aren't we, Parker?"

"Yes, m'Lady."

"I'm, ah, afraid, that's it is not only you who is not a party to the will, Lady Penelope," Mr Brett admitted.

Scott sat down again. "Then who do you want?"

Angus Brett looked at his plate. "Jeff's sons."

"And?" Scott asked.

"Just... Just you, Scott. And John, and Virgil, and Gordon, and Alan."

Scott stared at the solicitor. "But what about Grandma?"

"And Brains?" Virgil asked.

"And Kyrano?" Gordon added.

"And Tin-Tin?" Alan exclaimed. "Dad always said he'd included everyone in his will. He said everyone who lived on the island was a part of his family and would be treated as such."

"I-I'm sorry," Mr Brett stammered. "But I can't go into the details now, but Jeff came to see me last time he was in Kansas and altered the details of his will. I can only say that the only people mentioned in Jeff Tracy's final will are his five sons."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Don't worry," Scott eventually said. "We'll make sure you're all looked after."

"Yes," Alan nodded. "It's what he would have wanted. I'm sure of that."

There were nods of affirmation from the other three bewildered boys.

"Shall we go to the study?" Scott suggested. "That's private."

As Mr Brett and the five Tracy men walked into the study and pulled back the curtains to let in the light, Alan couldn't help but feel that this wasn't the room that he should be in. It had always been his father's private workspace; a place where the Tracy patriarch could retire and not be interrupted. Alan felt as if he were intruding into a sacred site.

His brothers appeared to feel the same as they stood around in an awkward manner, watching as Angus Brett pulled the leather chair out from behind their father's desk, placed his briefcase on the antique mahogany finish and withdrew some papers. He sat down and looked at five anxious faces.

"Better get it over with." Scott pulled up a chair so it was facing the desk and sat down. The others followed suit.

There was a rustling sound.

"Can't you stop eating for ten minutes?" Scott yanked a candy bar out of Virgil's hands and threw it onto the table in front of them. He ignored his brother's hurt look. "And take those headphones off, John!"

"I can hear okay," John replied.

Scott leant over and ripped the audio device off his brother's head. "You can listen to that later!" He sat back. "Okay, Mr Brett. We're ready..."

No one else moved from the dining room after the men had departed. Tin-Tin began sobbing and Lady Penelope handed her a dainty handkerchief.

"I am old," Mrs Tracy said. "I did not expect to be remembered. I am sure that Jeff thought that he would outlive me. But you..." she indicated the Kyranos. "I was sure that you would have been uppermost in Jefferson's thoughts when he made out his will."

"Do not worry yourself, Mrs Tracy," Kyrano said. "I have no need of material things."

"I know," she replied. "But even so..." Grandma looked at Tin-Tin's tearful face. "Now don't you worry," she said with conviction. "I am sure that the boys will look after you. Jeff brought them up properly."

"I-I am sure th-that I-I am not d-deserving of any i-i-inheritance," Brains stuttered.

And Grandma didn't deny it.

Angus Brett, having just disclosed the contents of the will, lay the document on the table in front of him. "So," he said, "in a nutshell, everything your father owned is divided equally amongst the five of you."

"Great! So we're rich," Gordon said in a flat voice. "I'd give every cent away if it meant I could have him back."

There was a murmuring of agreement from his brothers.

Mr Brett cleared his throat. "I'm, ah, I'm afraid it's not that easy, Gordon. I've been looking into your father's finances... and it appears that he wasn't as well off as everyone thought... Including me, I might add."

Scott looked at the solicitor. "What do you mean, not 'as well off'?"

"I mean... And I'm sorry to have to tell you all this... but it appears that your father has made several large purchases over the last few years..."

The five Tracy brothers looked at each other, certain that they knew what those purchases were for.

International Rescue.

"And..." Angus Brett continued on. "He has exceeded his available capital."

"Meaning?" Scott asked.

"Meaning... that... towards the end of his life... your father was borrowing heavily."

"So there's no money left?" Alan asked.

"Not only that, but he has left several large debts..."

"That's okay," Gordon said. "We've all got our own savings. We can pay them back, right, fellas?"

His brothers nodded their agreement.

Mr Brett cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, I'm not talking a few hundred dollars, but closer to several billion. I have a letter from his accountant to prove it. Would the five of you have that much money between you?" He handed the letter to a numb Scott. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad tidings."

There was a rustling sound. Virgil was eating the candy bar again.

Those in the lounge looked up when six extremely solemn looking men paraded back into the room. John was wearing his headphones again and he retired to a chair in a corner.

Gordon flopped into another chair, on the other side of the room. "Well," he announced. "You can all count yourselves lucky you weren't mentioned in the will 'cause you're better off than we are. We're broke."

"More than broke," Virgil had seated himself at the piano. "We're in debt... Up to here," he added waving the hand that wasn't holding a packet of sweets above his head.

"A debt as big as this island," Alan groaned.

"I'm sorry." Mr Brett was clearly at a loss as to what else he should say.

"But... Jeff Tracy was one of the richest men in the world!" Lady Penelope exclaimed.

"Yeah!" Parker agreed. "H-Everyone knows that."

"Apparently one person knew that wasn't true, so he minimised the risk to others," Scott said, his elbows on his father's desk, his head in his hands. "That's why we're the only ones mentioned in his will."

"But what about insurances?" Lady Penelope asked. "I would assume that Jeff would have had adequate life insurance."

The five Tracy sons perked up slightly at the idea.

But Mr Brett was shaking his head. "I don't think you should get your hopes up in that regard. The insurance companies will take their time in paying out," he explained. "Under the circumstances, because of the size of the debts, they may form the opinion that... Jeff..."

Everyone looked at him.

"...So the debts could be repaid..." Mr Brett hesitated. "...Took his own life."

"No way!" Scott exploded. "He'd never do that!"

"Especially not in a way that would risk other people's lives!" Virgil exclaimed.

Alan agreed. "There's no way he'd fly a plane purposefully into a mall!"

"He was a fighter," Gordon stated. "He wouldn't give up. He'd fight until he'd paid the money back somehow!"

"Knowing Jeff, I would agree with you," Mr Brett soothed, "but insurance companies are never keen on paying out, especially on large claims. They would want to fully investigate the circumstances behind your father's death. And their investigations would take time... It's time that you don't have," he added.

"You mean these debts have got to be paid soon?" Scott asked.

"Not necessarily soon, but each debt is accumulating interest at an astronomical rate. Should you wait too long even your father's insurance might not be enough to repay what is owing."

The room fell into silence.

"I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news," Mr Brett said. "Especially at a time such as this. But I'm sure you understand the urgency of the situation."

"We understand," Scott replied. "Thank you for being so up front with us."

Silence descended again.

"If there's any way I can help?" Lady Penelope asked.

"Thanks, Penny. But I think this is one time where we can't call on you," Scott told her.

"You realise that we're all going to have to get real jobs," Gordon said.

"We've got the skills, but who's going to employ us?" Alan asked. "As far as the world knows we could have been pretending to be working for our father when in fact we've been lazing about doing nothing. We haven't even got decent references."

"And even supposing that we do all manage to walk into suitable jobs straight away," Virgil reached into his bag of sweets. "There's no way that we'll earn enough to pay the debts! Not with that amount of money owing."

"And look at what we'll be giving up!" Scott indicated their row of portraits on the wall. To Mr Brett the gesture meant nothing other than the loss of their way of life. To everyone else it meant the end of International Rescue.

"John!" Alan gave vent to his frustrations. "Will you say something?! We're talking about the end of everything Dad worked for!"

John looked even more miserable as he adjusted his headphones.

"Well said as usual, John." Gordon's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You always know the right thing to say."

"Shut up, Gordon," Scott snapped.

"And you're just as bad!" Gordon snapped back.

"Why you..."

"I know it's been a shock to you all," Mr Brett interrupted, "and you need time to think and to talk amongst yourselves. I feel that if I were to stay I would only be in the way. Perhaps... Would you allow me to call for an air taxi?"

Lady Penelope stood. "No. I won't hear of it. I will fly you home, Mr Brett. As you said, this is something for the family to discuss and we would be in the way." She turned back to the Tracys. "Please, all of you, remember that I am only a video call away. If I can help in any way, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks, Penny," Scott mumbled. "We'll be in touch... One way or another."

04 Four: The Sale

Parker pulled open the stately double doors that led into the lounge. Swinging opening these doors always gave him a feeling of pleasure and contentment. Unlike modern doors that quietly slid open at the wave of a finger, the manual manipulation of two large slabs of oak, gave him a... sense of occasion! Of grandeur!

He entered the room, closing the doors behind him. His mistress was seated at a table laden with a silver tea-service; a delicate china cup at her elbow. It was, he noticed as he drew closer, still full of Earl Grey and cold. "M'Lady?"

Lady Penelope appeared to awaken out of her reverie and looked up at him. "Yes, Parker?"

"Was the tea not to your likin'?"

"Tea?

Parker indicated the cup.

"Oh!" Lady Penelope picked it up and regarded it with distaste. "I'm afraid it is past its best."

"Yes, m'Lady." Parker began packing the tea service on its tray. "Would H-I be right in h-assuming that h-if H-I were to offer you h-a penny for your thoughts, H-I would be wastin' me money?"

"Quite probably, Parker. I can't believe that he is no longer with us."

"Mr Tracy?"

"Mr Tracy," Lady Penelope confirmed. "He was such a vibrant, caring, generous man. It seems impossible..."

"Yes, m'Lady," Parker agreed.

"And that poor family!"

"They're takin' h-it 'ard."

"Very hard. Alan was right. John barely said a word while we were there."

"H-And Mister Virgil's packing h-on the beef."

"While Scott appears to be, ah, losing 'the beef', just as quickly. And Gordon's hair! What that chlorine is doing to it! I wish I could introduce him to my hair stylist for some remedial work."

"H-I sent 'em h-a sympathy card, but H-I saw that they 'adn't h-opened the mail bag. H-I'm sure Mr Tracy would 'ave 'ad plenty of h-acquaintances 'oo would've wanted to send their condolences. There wasn't h-a card h-in the place."

"I noticed that too. It's as if they are trying to cut themselves off from the world."

"No wonder, with the press botherin' them. H-After h-all these years h-of tryin' to h-avoid the spotlight."

"They must be feeling like they are trapped in a fish bowl."

"H-And knowin' that they're goin' to 'ave to give h-up, H-International Rescue," Parker shook his head. "That's been their lives. H-It was Mr Tracy's dream."

"They possibly could have coped with Jeff's death if they knew they could still carry on with his work," Lady Penelope mused. "But now..."

"H-And to cap h-it off, that lawyer codger goes h-and tells 'em they're broke, wiv h-a debt the size of Mount H-Everest!"

"That is what is really worrying. This whole affair has knocked them badly. I shudder to think what that news has done to them. I wish I could help, but I don't have that kind of money. Even if I were to sell the family home..."

"M'Lady!" Parker exclaimed, aghast at the idea.

"I wouldn't. And it's such a monstrosity that the only people who would buy it are developers who would knock the manor down and build some characterless subdivision, or convert it to flats, or something equally disgusting. No, if nothing else one must be assured of a roof over ones head that one can call home." Lady Penelope sighed. "That poor family," she repeated. "I wish there was something I could do to help them..."

Alan entered the lounge to find most of his family present. As he'd expected Scott was sitting at their father's desk, pouring over some documents, and Alan had decided to do something about it. "Scott, we can help you with that!"

Scott looked up and for once there wasn't anger in his face, but sadness. "What, Alan?"

"You don't have to shoulder all the paperwork. We're all in this together. We're equal 'beneficiaries' under the will, so therefore we should help with the running of the business. You're not cut out to be stuck behind a desk all day. Let us help!"

Scott indicated the papers in his hands. "This isn't to do with business. It's the Air Accident Inspector's interim report."

At his words the room was stilled. "What does it say?" Grandma asked.

"Hang on. Gordon should hear this too. I'll get him." Virgil left the piano and went to the balcony.

"I'll get John," Alan offered. "I guess he's in his room, asleep."

Virgil was leaning over the balustrade so he could yell down towards the pool. "Gordon...! Gordon...! Come up here!" He waited; a frown on his face. "It's no good. He's not listening to me."

"Let me," Tin-Tin offered. "Gordon," she called. "Please come inside for a moment."

"Okay. I'll be with you in a minute."

Alan re-entered the lounge, followed by John. The latter was in his pyjamas and was in the process of tying his robe about him. He claimed a seat and adjusted his headphones.

Soon afterwards they heard footsteps coming up the outside stairs. "What's up?" Gordon asked.

"Scott's got the A.A.I.'s report," Tin-Tin told him.

"Oh." Gordon walked past the empty seat next to John, placed a towel on the chair beside Brains, and sat down.

Grandma claimed the seat beside John. "What does the report say, Scott?"

Scott cleared his throat and summarised the document. "It says that Jefferson Tracy was seen boarding his plane. The control tower received a request from him to take off, which was granted. His plane left the airport. Five minutes later it was seen on radar to do a sharp dive. It crashed into the Sunflower Mall injuring 116 people, 18 critically. 36 people were killed..." He paused. "Including the pilot."

There was silence, apart from Tin-Tin's tears, as his words sunk home.

"D-D-D-Do they know wh-wh-wh-what c-c-c-caused the c-c-c-crash?" Brains stammered out.

"No. They've removed the remains of the plane to a sealed hangar so they can examine them fully."

This time the silence lasted longer.

"So that's that," Virgil eventually said. "I think a part of me was hoping that maybe he'd been bopped on the head and his plane stolen, but I guess that report's pretty conclusive." He reached into his pocket and pulled out something to eat.

Alan realised that he'd been holding onto a similar dream. "I suppose we're going to have to start thinking about the funeral. Virgil, you can decide on what music to have. John, you can come up with some appropriate poems or readings or something..."

"Alan!" Scott interrupted. "There's not going to be a funeral. Not a conventional one anyway."

His family stared at him. "What!?"

"The report says," Scott explained. "That the explosion when the plane crashed was so intense that there's... that..." He struggled for the words. "That there's nothing to bury."

Hearing a choked sound from his grandmother John put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

Tin-Tin's sobs grew louder.

Scott continued his explanation. "They had to use a DNA scanner to confirm the identity of the pilot."

Gordon found himself back in the pool. He had no recollection of leaving the lounge and walking or running down the steps. He didn't remember diving in. All he was aware of was the reassuring caress of the waters on his body. He dove down to the bottom of the pool feeling the water embrace him. Comforting him and protecting him from the knowledge that one of the people that he'd held dearest had gone forever.

Still in the lounge, Alan looked at his family. He couldn't remember ever seeing them all so depressed.

Scott was talking to Brains. "Because it's 'experimental' the A.A.I. needs the plans for the plane."

Brains nodded. "I-I can do that... I-I, ah, would like to talk to the inspector, Scott."

"I'll get him on the phone."

A short time later Brains was taking with the chief Air Accident Inspector. "Do you have a-any i-idea wh-wh-what c-c-c-c..."

"Caused the accident?" the A.A.I. guessed. "Not as yet. That's why we need the plans."

"I-I will send them th-through shortly," Brains stated. "I'll s-send e-everything I have. Photos, pictures, diagrams... Ah, S-Scott has your email address?"

"Yes," the inspector said as Scott nodded.

Brains hesitated. "I-I know it's irregular. B-But could I, ah... W-Would it be acceptable if I were to w-watch?"

The inspector frowned. "I don't know that that's a good..."

"I'll sit back. I-I won't t-touch anything," Brains promised. "I-I n-need to know wh-what happened as m-much as you do."

The inspector shook his head. "No. I'm sorry but we can't allow it."

For a moment Brains looked as if he was going to plead his case. Then he nodded. "I-I u-understand."

While this was going on, Alan was looking at the unopened bags of mail. They were bigger than usual and he had no doubt they were full of sympathy cards. He decided that maybe at this time everyone needed to know that others had remembered them and, like Lady Penelope and Parker, wanted to offer their support. He pulled a bag open.

"What are you doing?" Scott asked.

Normally Alan would have been tempted to be flippant, but instead he gave a straightforward reply. "I'm going through the mail." He sat on the floor and started stacking the envelopes in piles, labelling each under his breath as he did so. "Sympathy... Sympathy... Account... Scott... John... Sympathy... Gordon... Sympathy... Grandma... Me..." He opened the envelope and read a message of condolence from one of the men who'd been his main competition during his racing days. Then he resumed stacking the mail. "Sympathy... Tin-Tin... Sympathy... Sympathy for Virgil... Tracy Ind..." He looked at the letter more closely. "'The Estate of Jefferson Tracy,' he read out. "This one's from 'Walker and Crawford'. Aren't they the company's solicitors?"

Scott held out his hand. "Give me the Tracy Industries ones. I'll look at them later." He dropped the envelope onto the desk.

"Here's one from Aunt Bella," Alan said, opening an envelope and removing the card. A white fluffy bear, with mournful eyes, stared back at him. "Sorry to hear you're not well," he read and chuckled. "Typical. She's gone and sent us a 'get well soon' card. She probably liked the picture."

Ignored by his family, he resumed his self-appointed task.

Some time later Scott made a phone call. "I got your email, Mr Brett."

"Hello, Scott. How is everyone?"

Scott shrugged and gave an enigmatic reply. "Coping."

"I may have some good news for you," Mr Brett explained. "It's one of those wonderful coincidences that happen in this world. I was thinking about your problem before I saw another of my clients. In the course of our meeting he happened to mention that he would like to buy an island. He's envisaging a tropical paradise. Naturally I thought of you."

Scott blinked at the solicitor. "An island?"

Mr Brett nodded. "Yes. I hadn't mentioned anything about your situation and I haven't told him that I'm working for you. But he's an extremely wealthy man. Without getting into specifics I told him about your dilemma and he's interested in taking on your debts in exchange for your island."

"Tracy Island?" Scott clarified.

"Yes," Mr Brett nodded.

"Our... Our home?"

"Yes," Mr Brett repeated.

"But we've never considered selling it. We've never even thought about it."

"I can believe that, and I know it seems to be a drastic measure, but as it could be the solution to your problems, I urge you all to think about it. I don't need to remind you that the interest on the debts is growing."

"No, you don't," Scott agreed.

"I'm emailing through the contract now," Mr Brett told him. "Then the five of you can discuss it between you."

"Yes, Sir. We'll do that."

"I'll catch an air taxi and see you tomorrow," Mr Brett offered.

"Thank you," Scott replied. "We'll read the contract through and give you our decision then." A beep from the computer told him that the email had arrived. He opened the attachment and printed out five copies. Then he went to the patio and leant over the railing. "Gordon! Would you come up here?"

"In a minute."

"Now, Gordon! It's important! Get up here!" Scott spied a figure in the distance, sitting in the shade of a palm tree. "Come inside, John!"

John didn't move.

Gordon, deciding that his two choices were to either show John up by being first into the lounge or to flaunt Scott's authority, launched himself out of the pool and up the stairs.

Scott made an angry sound and lifted his wristwatch communicator. "Come in, John..." There was no reply. Scott made another angry exclamation and sent a tactile signal to his brother's watch.

A moment later John was looking back at him through the video monitor in the timepiece. "What?"

"Come inside."

"Why?"

"Because I said so!" Scott changed channel. "Alan! Get in here now!"

"Okay, Scott," Alan agreed. "I'm on my way."

"No..." Scott contradicted himself. "Meet us in the study. We'll discuss this in private first."

"Discuss what?" Alan asked.

Scott hung up on him.

Gordon looked uncomfortable. "Do we have to meet in the study? Can't it be here?"

"The study's more private," Scott reminded him.

"I realise that, but... It doesn't feel right somehow. It was Dad's. Why don't we meet in one of our rooms, or the library?"

Scott considered the suggestion before firing up his watch again. "Alan! We're meeting in the library."

Alan, who was hovering reluctantly outside his father's study door, was glad of the change of venue.

"Anyone seen Virgil?" Scott asked as he led two of his four brothers down the hall.

"At a guess," Gordon said. "Since he hasn't been depressing us all with his piano playing, he's in the kitchen."

"I'll go get him," Scott said. "You guys meet us in the library. Get something dry on, Gordon."

"I am dry."

"I'm not going to enter into a debate with you. Just do it!"

Scott found Virgil going through his grandmother's baking, trying to find something edible.

Virgil held out a tin. "Would you like a biscuit?"

"No."

"You should eat something, Scott. You haven't had anything in days."

Scott ignored the comment. "The five of us are having a meeting in the library."

"Meeting? What about?"

"If you'd stop thinking about your stomach for five minutes, Virgil, and would just go to the library you'd find out!"

Virgil tried not to sound aggrieved at his brother's accusation. "Okay," he shrugged. "I'll bring the tin. The others might feel like having something."

"This is a meeting, not a social function!"

"But..."

"And you are not to eat in the library! We don't want crumbs on the floor."

"Okay," Virgil agreed again with little enthusiasm. He stopped by the pantry on the way out and grabbed some snack bars.

John and Alan had set up a table and placed five chairs around it by the time Scott and Virgil arrived.

Gordon arrived seconds later, towelling down his hair. "What's this about?"

Scott waited till they were all seated. "I've been talking to Mr Brett. He thinks he's found a solution to our problem." His brothers listened attentively. "It's going to mean big changes to us all."

"Whatever happens it's going to mean changes," Virgil said. "What's his suggestion?"

"He said one of his other clients is willing to take on our debts in exchange for Tracy Island."

"What!" His brothers stared at him.

"Here are copies of the contract," Scott handed them around the table. "I want us all to read it and then we should make a decision..."

The five of them spent the next ten minutes perusing the documents. The only sound in the library was the occasional rustle of paper as a page was turned, and the crackle of a snack bar wrapper.

Eventually Scott laid his papers down on the paper. "Seems straightforward enough. Anyone have any thoughts?"

"What about International Rescue?" Alan asked. "If we leave Tracy Island we've got no chance of keeping it going."

"We haven't anyway," Scott reminded him. "With no money we can't afford to. I've been going over the figures... Do you have any idea how much the organisation costs to run?" Four brothers shook their heads. "It's no wonder he went into debt."

"But to sell the island..." Virgil sat back in his chair. "Father loved it here. Don't we have any other options?"

"If you can think of any I'd love to hear them," Scott told him.

"John could go on a speaking circuit," Gordon suggested.

"If you don't have anything sensible to say, Gordon..."

"It's not only us we've got to consider," Alan noted. "What about Grandma and Tin-Tin and Kyrano and Brains? Where are they going to live?"

"And where are we going to live?" Gordon asked.

"Father's got property all over the world," Scott reminded him.

"Well why don't we sell them?" Gordon asked. "We can't sell our home."

"Because we have a buyer for the island and it's worth more than the other properties put together... Who knows how long the other places could be on the market? And all the time the debt's getting bigger."

"So you're saying we should sell the island, cut our losses, and run?" Alan clarified.

"I'm saying it's an option... and that at the moment it's the only real option we have."

"Okay, I'm going to play the devil's advocate," Gordon said. "Supposing we go ahead with this plan to sell Tracy Island. What do we do about International Rescue? What about the infrastructure of the place? What do we do about the Thunderbirds and the rest of the equipment?"

The five of them looked at each other.

"We're going to have to destroy them," Scott said. At the resulting outbreak of complaint he held up his hand. "I know. I hate the idea too. But what else can we do? It's not like we can store them anywhere... I mean, at a pinch, Thunderbird Four could be stored in a shed somewhere, but where could we put Thunderbird Two and Three?"

"I can't destroy Thunderbird Two," Virgil declared. "Why don't we just seal up the hangars so no one can get in?"

"That's fine until someone decides to reline the pool or extend the plane hangars into the cliff," Scott pointed out. "Then our secret will be exposed and someone else will have their hands on our equipment... possibly the wrong person... Someone who'll use them for their own ends. Do you want Thunderbird Two to be used to bring the world to its knees?"

"No," Virgil said quietly.

"Do you have any other suggestions?"

Virgil shook his head, clearly unhappy.

"Anyone?" Scott asked.

No one did.

Scott took a deep breath. "I can't see that we have any option... Hands up all those who want to sell Tracy Island." He raised his hand.

No one moved.

Scott dropped his arm and glared at them all.

"I think you'd better rephrase that, Scott," Gordon suggested.

"For Pete's sake! Okay! Hand's up all those who think we should sell Tracy Island because we have no other option!" He demonstrated how he expected the others to proceed.

Five brothers looked at each other.

"I know we're all thinking the same thing," Alan said. "We don't want to sell, but we all know that we have no choice. And, honestly, what have we got to keep us here? We came to this island so we could operate International Rescue in secret. Now we can't afford to keep International Rescue going, we've no reason to stay." He sighed. "I don't want to do it, but I'll be the one to set the ball rolling." He raised his hand.

John looked at the men seated about the table, and then, with obvious unwillingness, raised his arm.

"Just so long as we find somewhere safe to hide Thunderbird Four," Gordon stated, lifting his arm off the table.

They all looked at Virgil. "I don't know that I can," he said.

"All you care about is your precious Thunderbird!" Gordon stated. "You don't care about the rest of us, or Grandma, or Tin-...!"

"Don't care!?" Virgil rejoined. "You're the one who's put a proviso on his vote to save his Thunderbird. None of us have that option!"

"Virgil..." Scott began.

"No!" Virgil got to his feet and started pacing. "I'm not only thinking about Thunderbird Two. I'm thinking that father didn't live here solely because of International Rescue. He lived here because he loved it! He loved the clear skies, he loved the Pacific Ocean. He loved the fact that we were all able to live and work together. He LOVED Tracy Island! And I don't know about you guys, but so do I!" He turned and looked at his brothers. "What about Grandma? She's sold her home! Where's she going to live? With us? Alone? And do you realise that if we leave here we'll all end up going our separate ways? None of us want to be tied to a desk at Tracy Industries head office. We want to be out doing what we're good at and enjoy! I'd want to be doing something to do with engineering. You'll want to be flying all over the world," he pointed at Scott, before switching his attention to Gordon. "You'll probably end up doing oceanographic research at the bottom of the sea somewhere... You'll be touring with a racing team," he reminded Alan. "And you'll probably sign up with a space station, John. We could end up miles... fathoms... half a world away from each other. Have any of you thought about that?" He leant on the back of his chair and glowered at his brothers.

Alan tried to sound reasonable. "I'm sure we all have thought of that, Virgil. The problem is that, whatever happens, we can't stay here. If we do stay what are we going to live on?"

Virgil flung his arm towards the window. "There's an ocean of fish out there. And Kyrano's garden."

"Fair enough," Alan agreed. "But you said yourself that we're going to want to do what we love. To do that we need money... or at least contact with the outside world. What are you going to do? Tinker with Thunderbird Two for the rest of your life? Sooner or later you're going to need money for tools, parts, fuel... And you won't have any. Sooner or later our place on the island would become untenable and we'd have to leave. And when we leave we'll have nothing to start again with. No one will want to know us. The name of Tracy will mean nothing. This way's hard, but the alternative is harder."

Virgil sat down heavily on his chair; folded his arms on the table and buried his head in them. "I can't," he mumbled into his sleeve.

John reached out to his brother, giving Virgil's shoulders a comforting squeeze.

Scott made as if he were going to mimic the gesture, but stopped himself.

An alarm went off.

"I don't believe this," Scott moaned. "We can't go on a rescue now." He glared at Alan. "Didn't you turn it off?"

"No. I hadn't thought that we might be shutting down International Rescue."

Virgil sat up again. "What do we do?"

"We can't go," Gordon stated. "It's as simple as that."

"Why not?" Alan asked. Four brothers looked at him as he leant forward, concentrating on his eldest brother. "Scott, you've been going through our inventory, haven't you?"

"Yes..."

"Are we short of anything?"

"No," Scott shook his head.

There was a knock on the door to the library and Tin-Tin poked her head inside. "I-I'm sorry. I-I wasn't sure if you'd..."

Scott stood. "We heard it. Come on, fellas."

She opened the door completely and stood back to let them through. "What are you going to do? You're not going to respond, are you?"

"Why not?" Gordon asked. "It's probably going to be our last rescue. We may as well make the most of it."

Scott made a beeline for his father's desk and opened a radio link. "This is International Rescue. Go ahead."

"Ah! International Rescue! Good! We need your help! There's been an accident in a research warehouse."

"What kind of accident?"

"Chemicals have mixed together to form a gaseous hazard. It's lethal..."

Scott frowned. "Can't you evacuate the area?"

"We have. But there's two workmen trapped in a sealed room inside the building. They can't get out because of the gas and we can't get to them. So far we've been lucky because it's a heavy gas and there's no wind today, but if we get so much as a breeze, that gas is going to be blown over a highly populated area. If it touches the skin it means instant death."

"Nice," Gordon muttered.

"Can you give our expert the details of the chemicals?" Scott asked.

Brains listened, nodding, as various elements of the periodic table were read out. "W-We can deal with that."

"Thank heavens," the man sounded relieved.

"T-Take filters one and eight, V-Virgil."

"F-A-B."

"Which part of the world are you?" Scott asked, making notes.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot to tell you. The United States. Kansas... but I guess you know where that is after your last rescue."

Everyone looked at each other. No one said a word.

"A-Are you still there?" the caller asked.

"Sorry," Scott apologised. "We were just deciding how we're going to handle this. We'll get back to you when we've made our plans." He disconnected the link, sitting back in his father's chair. "Kansas..."

"That's irony for you," Gordon said. "The part of the world were we started, is the part where International Rescue is finishing."

Scott looked at his brothers. "Who wants to go? Virgil? Gordon? Alan? John?"

"Try and stop us, Scott."

"Of course we want to go."

"We can't back out now."

"Definitely."

Scott looked down, running his finger along his father's desk. "I wish I could come."

"You don't have to stay, Scott," Alan told him. "We need you at the danger zone. It wouldn't be the same without you ordering us about."

"I-I'll stay here," Brains offered. "I can k-keep communications open and I'll have a-access to my c-computer database."

"Okay..." Scott was a mixture of reluctance and desire. "This is what we'll do. I'll take Thunderbird One. Gordon can come with me..."

"Huh?" Gordon said. "Why?"

"Because we can't afford personality clashes while we're on a mission. Until you start getting along with Virgil and John I'm keeping you as far apart from them as possible."

"Until I start getting along?!"

Scott ignored him. "Alan and John, you both go in Thunderbird Two." He looked uncertainly at his eldest brother. "Leave the headphones at home, okay?" John gave him a look that clearly read 'what do you take me for?' "We'll need the suction unit and the polyplastic bag as well as those filters. Which were they again, Brains?"

"O-One and eight, Scott."

"One and eight. Have you got that Virgil...?" Scott looked at the group in front of him. "Where is Virgil?"

"He went into the kitchen," Tin-Tin told him.

"Typical," Gordon said. "Leave him. We don't need him. I'll fly Thunderbird Two."

Scott scowled at the aquanaut. "We're not leaving anyone! I told you, you're coming with me!"

Virgil entered the lounge. He placed what looked like a thick-shake on the desk in front of Scott. "There. Drink that."

"What?"

Virgil folded his arms and stared down at the still seated Scott. "It's an energy drink. You've had nothing to eat in ages. I'm not having you flake out at the controls of Thunderbird One."

"I don't want it."

"Either you have it or someone else is piloting Thunderbird One."

"No way!" Scott protested. "If this is the last time we fly Thunderbird One, I'm flying her."

"Then get that down you!" Virgil was in a stubborn frame of mind. "We're wasting time arguing."

"He's right, Scott," Alan backed his brother up. "You need to eat something."

Grumbling to himself Scott sipped at the drink. "There!" He said when he was a quarter of the way through. "Happy now?"

"No. Finish it," Virgil ordered.

"Virgil, who's in command here!?"

"It won't be you if we don't believe that you're up to it. Right, Guys?"

He received a "Right," from Alan, a nod from John and, surprisingly, agreement from Gordon.

Now truly angry, Scott downed the remainder of the drink in one gulp and then pointed at his brother. "You and I will have this out later. In the meantime we have a rescue to carry out."

But they still faced one obstacle. Grandma Tracy was standing with her back against the wall, between the two lamps, blocking the entrance to Thunderbird One. "No!" she insisted. "You are not going. Any of you!"

"Grandma!" Scott exclaimed. "We have to."

"No, you don't."

"I said we would."

"I don't care. I can't lose you as well."

"Nothing will happen to us," Scott insisted. "We've got our safety gear."

Grandma could be as stubborn as a mule when she put her mind to it. "And how will that help you when you're in those Thunderbirds?"

There was a small sound from Brains.

"Grandma," John protested.

"The Thunderbirds are perfectly safe," Scott added.

"Are you sure?" She glared at him in defiance.

"Positive."

Virgil took a step to the side. Closer to the painting of the rocket.

Scott saw the movement. "Grandma," he said, creating a diversion while Virgil took the opportunity to make another surreptitious move. "The Thunderbirds have flown thousands of miles... Millions! And we've never had any problems except from outside influences."

Virgil inched sideways again.

"Don't you take another step, young man," his grandmother scolded him. "I can see what you are doing."

"Please, Grandma. Let us go," Virgil begged.

"The Thunderbirds are perfectly safe," Scott reiterated.

"Your father thought his plane was perfectly safe, and look what happened." She shook her head. "No! I'm not letting any of you leave this room." She folded her arms and glared at Scott.

He stepped out from behind the desk. "Take over, Brains," he instructed.

Brains obeyed the order.

"Don't you go anywhere near that desk!" Grandma spat. "It was my son's!"

Humiliated, Brains moved away.

"As you were!" Scott barked.

Brains stopped.

"I want you at that desk throughout this rescue," Scott told him. "We need your backup."

"No! I won't have it!" Grandma insisted. "He's not sitting there and you're not going!"

Taking advantage to the diversion, Virgil made a dash for his painting.

"No!" his grandmother cried.

"I'm sorry, Grandma," Virgil apologised as he tipped out of sight.

Grandma reached out towards the departing figure of her middle grandson. Scott, taking advantage of the distraction, ran over to the wall and took her place between the lamps. As he reached up to grasp them, intending to depress the hidden buttons that would send him swinging around into Thunderbird One's hangar, she grabbed his hand. "Please, Scott. Don't..."

Her anxious voice tugged at his heartstrings and Scott lowered his arms. "Grandma," he insisted. "Let us go. Do you think if I had any doubts about the safety of any of our craft I'd let my brothers use them?"

"But if I were to lose any of you too..."

"Grandma," Alan took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. "We will be okay. But there're two men out there who won't be if we don't help them. More than two if that gas spreads."

She looked at him, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Don't put their families through what we're going through," Gordon said. "Not when we can prevent it."

"I can't let you go," his grandma sobbed.

"Please, let us go, Grandma," Scott asked, as gently as he could. "This is probably International Rescue's last mission."

"Don't let it be a failure because we didn't arrive," Alan added. "We promise we'll all come home safely."

"Let us go... for Dad?" John pleaded. "Let us honour his memory with one last rescue."

"Grandma," Scott said, feeling helpless and hating the sensation. "Father wouldn't want us to give up when we can help."

"Mrs Tracy..." Kyrano stepped forward. "Come with me." He released the elderly lady from Alan's grip, and gently moved her away from the wall.

"Thanks, Kyrano," Scott said with obvious relief, and rotated out of sight.

Virgil, in Thunderbird Two, was joined by Alan and John. "Everything okay up there?"

"She practically blamed Brains to his face for Dad's accident, the poor guy." Alan fastened his safety harness. "Kyrano's talking to her. But you're going to be in trouble."

"I know. I'll have to deal with both Grandma and Scott when we get home..." Virgil flicked a switch. "And I guess I'm not in anyone's good books at the moment."

"We understand, Virgil," John said.

"We feel the same," Alan agreed. "But, at the moment, selling the island is the only answer to our problems."

"It's not that I can't see that, it's that I can't bring myself to do it. This place means too much to all of us."

"Well, don't worry about it now," Alan suggested. "None of us can afford to be distracted until we're home again."

Virgil nodded his agreement. "All buckled up?"

"Yep."

Virgil looked over his shoulder. "John?"

John nodded and put his headphones back on his head.

"I thought you were going to leave them at home," Virgil said, but John clearly had them set to block out all extraneous sounds.

"He'll get rid of them once we get to the danger zone," Alan promised.

Virgil rolled his beloved Thunderbird out of her hangar one last time...

To be continued...

Note: The idea for the suction unit and polyplastic bag comes from the 1967 Thunderbirds Annual.

05 Five: A Boring Rescue

Thunderbird One swooped down over the danger zone, avoiding the ominous, sickly green cloud which hung low over some of the buildings.

"Looks nasty," Gordon commented.

Scott looked at the anemometer. "Luckily there's no wind. That gas isn't going anywhere." He brought Thunderbird One down to land outside the cordon that surrounded the complex. He turned to Gordon. "What are we going to do with you until Thunderbird Two arrives?"

"I could have travelled with them. The only reason why I agreed to fly with you was to keep an eye on you in case you toppled over and crashed Thunderbird One."

"Don't you start," Scott growled. "I had enough of that rubbish from Virgil."

"Well, look at you!" Gordon protested. "Your uniform's hanging off you. If you lose any more weight we'll be able to put you in a field to scare off crows."

Scott clambered out of his seat. "Just keep your mouth shut and eyes open. I want to know the instant that gas starts moving. You can set up Mobile Control while I get the intell." He opened the hatch and stepped outside to greet one of the local rescue co-ordinators.

Grumbling to himself, Gordon did as he was told.

Scott surveyed the area as he listened to the co-ordinator. They were standing outside a research facility storage area; a collection of buildings, some well maintained, some derelict. In one, litres of chemicals had been stored, supposedly in secure containers. Somehow, and as yet no one had ascertained how, some of the containers had been breached and their contents mixed together. The result was the green gaseous cloud that hung over the buildings.

"Has the surrounding area been cleared?" Scott asked the local.

"Yep. There were some workers in those buildings over there," the local pointed to their right, "but they were evacuated as soon as we knew there was trouble. Those," he pointed to the left, "aren't used anymore. They're waiting for someone to take ownership and remove them."

"So we've only got the two men in the original building to worry about?" Scott clarified.

"That's right. They're in a sealed room. We have the protective clothing to enable us to walk through the building, but if we try to open the room the gas will enter and kill those men within seconds."

Scott nodded. "We have the equipment to circumvent that problem. We've just got to wait for it to arrive."

The local looked relieved. "Good. While you're concentrating on that we'll work on how we're going to deal with the gas that has already escaped."

"We can handle containment too," Scott told him. "Our system will neutralise the gas to a certain extent. We'll leave you to decide how to dispose of it."

The local looked relieved. "Great, I'll go let everyone know." He hurried away.

"Where's Thunderbird Two?" Scott asked Gordon.

Gordon, who had only just manoeuvred Mobile Control into position, shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't had the chance to get in contact."

Scott opened the link. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two. Where are you? What's your ETA?"

"Four point two two minutes, Scott," Virgil replied. "What's the action?"

"Firstly I want you to get here A.S.A.P."

On board Thunderbird Two, John had divested himself of his headphones. He looked at Alan and rolled his eyes.

Fortunately for him Scott didn't see him do it. "Then offload Alan and the rescue gear. While he and Gordon go in to rescue the victims, I want you and John to vacuum up the gas into the polyplastic bag. I assume you have it on board?"

Virgil sounded affronted. "Of course we do!"

"Good. John can operate the suction unit. You can take care of that and flying Thunderbird Two. Understood?"

"Understood."

"And try to minimise the air disturbance. We don't want to spread that gas cloud."

"F-A-B."

"Swing around and approach from the south. That'll be safest."

"Right."

"And come in vertically. Minimise the use of the VTOLs."

"Scott..." Virgil complained.

"What?!"

Virgil bit his tongue to stop himself from telling his brother that he would be able to work out what to do himself. "Nothing..."

When Thunderbird Two came in to land, Gordon waited until the pod door had opened before he entered the craft. A short time later he and Alan exited, dressed in their protective haz-mat suits, and with the equipment needed for the operation. Ten minutes after the mighty transporter had landed on the ground, she was in the air again.

"How was the trip?" Alan asked Gordon, as they checked their gear.

"Real barrel of laughs," Gordon grumbled. "If you so much as hint that he might not be fit to fly he blows up in your face."

"You only need to talk to him and he's like that," Alan reminded his brother. "It's his way of grieving. Like you spending all your time in the pool."

"I'm not in the pool now," Gordon reminded him. "If I can leave my problems at home then so can he."

"Does leaving your problems at home include going easy on John and Virgil?"

Gordon huffed. "How come you're managing to keep it together so well?"

"I keep reminding myself that however hard it is for us, it's only a blip on the radar of the universe..."

"Very 'new age' of you."

"Mind you," Alan continued on, "that doesn't stop me wanting to believe that it's a nightmare and that all I need is for someone to pinch me so I'll wake up... Ow!"

"Didn't work, did it?"

Alan rubbed his arm where Gordon had pinched him. "No," he agreed.

He sounded so sad that Gordon felt guilty. He cast his mind about for something to change the subject. "How was your flight?"

Alan sighed. "I thought Virgil might be able to last the rescue without eating anything, but no such luck. Once we'd left the island he produced a couple of bananas from somewhere. I've no idea where he'd hidden them."

"Typical. And John?"

"Just sat there. He put his headphones on and sort of dozed off."

"He's a liability. How's he going to be able to work if he's wearing those headphones?"

"He took them off when we got here..."

There was a shout from Mobile Control. "What's holding you guys up? Get that G-E-V moving!"

Alan waved to Scott to show that he understood. Then he stepped into the cabin of a pod vehicle similar in design to the 'Thunderizer' and the 'Laser Cutter Vehicle', except that the front of the new vehicle was mounted with what appeared to be a large, clear sided box the size of a walk-in wardrobe. This vehicle had been christened with the unglamorous, but utilitarian name of 'Gas Evacuation Vehicle'.

Gordon squeezed in alongside his brother. "Let's get going before he blows a fuse."

"All set?"

"Yep."

Alan set the little G-E-V into action, driving forward through the gates of the cordon and into the warehouse complex. As they ventured further, closer to the danger zone they could see the cloud of green gas. Above it, made even more verdant by the green filter, hung Thunderbird Two, a long, thick hose snaking out of her underbelly.

"Got a bearing on the door to the warehouse?" Gordon asked.

"Yes. It's down one of these side alleys..."

Up in Thunderbird Two, Virgil and John looked down through that same green filter onto what appeared to be a surreal landscape.

"There's Gordon and Alan," Virgil commented.

John nodded.

Virgil looked at him. "Are you going to wear those headphones all through this rescue?"

"I can hear you." John shifted position so that he was standing by the controls of the suction unit.

"You know what Scott would say if he could see you wearing them."

"He can't see me."

Virgil sighed. "Ready?"

John nodded.

Scott was sounding angry. "What's the hold up, Thunderbird Two?"

"We're ready, Mobile Control," Virgil responded.

"Then stop mucking about and get on with it."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "If this is going to be our last mission he could at least be both civil and professional," he complained.

John silently agreed as he pushed a button on the suction unit's console.

A green light showed up on Mobile Control, letting Scott know that the unit was in action. "About time," he muttered.

"Problems?" the local controller asked.

"No. Nothing we can't handle," Scott informed him. "Have you got the frequency so I can reach our victims?"

"Here." The local handed over a piece of paper.

In a short time Scott was in communication with the two men trapped inside the warehouse. "This is International Rescue."

"International Rescue?!" The person on the other end of the radio link sounded impressed, but not relieved. "Wow! They have pulled out all the stops."

"Are you both all right?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, no worries. We've just made ourselves a coffee and were going to sit down and go through some of our papers. We're not in any immediate danger, so you can tell your colleagues not to take any unnecessary risks. We're quite comfortable."

"Thanks for that," Scott replied. "I'll pass it on. But don't get too comfortable, we'll have you out in no time."

"Okay. We'll look forward to it."

Scott sat back and frowned. As always situations like this, he was relieved that the victims were both safe, well, and appeared to be in good spirits. But this time the relief was tainted with the feeling that somehow International Rescue were being cheated out of the swansong they deserved. There should be flames raging, winds roaring, people panicking, TV crews fighting to get what footage they could and complaining that they couldn't film the best bits... There should be impossible situations, unattainable goals, and impractical solutions ... Something he could get his teeth into. Something that required him to be on peak form, pulling the answers out of a hat... Not a heavy green cloud of gas, slowly and surely being sucked up into Thunderbird Two's underbelly and a couple of scientists going about their work while they waited to be rescued.

Still, he reflected, maybe it was just as well that this rescue was so straightforward. He wasn't at the top of his game. None of them were. And he knew he should be worried about that...

As the G-E-V trundled down between the various research facilities and warehouses, Gordon and Alan found themselves feeling distinctly under-whelmed at the prospect of carrying out the rescue. "You know?" Alan began. "I always imagined that International Rescue's final mission would be something spectacular... Like having to rescue some scientists from a stricken space station that has been hit by an asteroid and is falling out of orbit. Something to capture the world's imagination and leave them talking about us for years afterwards."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "Or the World President is trapped on a sunken cruise ship that is taking on water, and we're the only ones who can save her..." He looked outside at the gloomy buildings. "Instead what do we have? Two guys that aren't in any real danger as long as they don't try to leave their office."

A one-sided version of the same conversation was taking place onboard Thunderbird Two. "I never thought our final mission would be so dull, did you, John?" Virgil asked.

John shook his head.

"I always imagined that our final rescue would be something memorable... Like rescuing a group of climbers from the boiling crater of a volcano and flying them out of there only seconds before it blows..."

John nodded.

"And all we're doing is sitting here like a giant vacuum cleaner."

John nodded.

"Being bored."

John nodded again.

His brother's continuing silence finally got on Virgil's nerves. "For Pete's sake, John! Will you say something?"

"What?" John looked at Virgil and there was something accusatory in his expression.

Virgil sighed. "I'm sorry. I know. I should take care of myself before I start hassling anyone else, shouldn't I?"

"Yes."

"We're all falling apart, aren't we?" Virgil looked down at the bag of nuts and raisins he was currently holding. "I mean, where did these come from?" He lifted the bag higher so his brother could see them clearly. "I don't remember taking them from the pantry... I don't even remember taking them out of my pocket..." He patted his thigh, found something there and pulled it out. "Want a chocolate, John?"

"No."

Without thinking, Virgil unwrapped the candy bar and began eating. He'd finished it before he realised what he was doing. "Look at me!" He screwed up the wrapper and threw it down in disgust.

"Move two degrees to starboard," John instructed.

"Two degrees..." Virgil, using his instinctive control of the big Thunderbird, shifted it her few metres to the right. "Better?"

John nodded.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Can you keep a secret, John?" Virgil eventually asked. "I know. Stupid question... But promise me you won't tell anyone else?"

John nodded.

"The real reason why I wanted to get out of the lounge before anyone else was to see if my uniform still fitted."

John raised an eyebrow in query.

"The top's okay... a bit snug maybe, but at least I can move in it."

A wry grin creased John's face as he cocked his head, waiting to hear if there was more.

"But I had to borrow Scott's spare pair of trousers. I've got half a mile of trouser leg tucked into my boot!"

John burst out laughing.

"Don't laugh. He's probably wearing yours."

John stopped laughing.

"What are we going to do about the sale of the island?" Gordon asked. "Virgil's going to put us into more debt if he refuses to sell."

"Under normal circumstances I'd say that all we'd have to do to change his mind is get Scott to talk to him..."

"Except that this time," Gordon interrupted, "Scott's not gonna talk. Snarl maybe, but not talk. He hasn't forgotten Virgil's insubordination."

"Is that what you call it? I called it common-sense."

"True..." grudgingly Gordon had to agree with him. "...Especially since I'm the one flying with him in Thunderbird One. But you won't get Scott to see that. And once he's finished tearing Virgil to shreds, Grandma's going to get stuck in to the leftovers."

Alan agreed. "He doesn't do things by halves, does he? Maybe one of us should get injured to take the heat off him?"

Gordon's snort showed that he didn't think much of that idea.

The G-E-V had reached the warehouse. Alan swung the little machine around so it was facing the open door and sent it trundling inside.

The interior was dark. What little light was available from the light bulbs that hung high in the ceiling was largely obscured by the green fog that swirled around them.

Gordon was staring at a radar screen. The needle swung around a full 360 degrees and a dot of light showed their objective to be somewhere to their right. "That way," he pointed.

Virgil and John were concentrating on a screen as well. Since the gas was heavier than air, John had dropped the tube down so it was nearly touching the ground. He had little to do except watch the green haze disappear up the piping.

Virgil, similarly occupied, pulled out a packet. "Cracker?" he offered.

John shook his head and Virgil popped a couple into his mouth.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two."

Virgil nearly choked. "Go ahead, Scott."

"What are you doing?"

"John and I are enjoying a stimulating conversation."

"Don't get smart with me. Are you eating?"

Virgil swallowed and hid the packet of crackers from the video camera. "Of course not."

"Just remember that's a Thunderbird, not a restaurant you're in control of," Scott stared his brother down. "Don't think I haven't forgotten what happened before, Virgil. You're already skating on thin ice."

Virgil ignored the threat. "What do you want?"

"I'm checking on progress."

Virgil looked at John who gave a thumbs-up. "Both filters are working well. By the time that gas reaches the inside of the polyplastic bag it's practically harmless."

"Well just remember that it's not. We can't afford any slip-ups just because this rescue seems easy. There's a lot at stake here. A lot of lives could be affected if so much as a microlitre of that gas makes it to a populated area."

"We're aware of that, Scott!"

"Don't let our last rescue be a failure."

"We won't!"

"Good! Because I'll be watching you!" Scott ceased transmission.

Virgil scowled at the blank screen. "Know what I would like to do, John?"

He didn't see John shake his head.

"When the time comes to destroy Thunderbird One, I want to be the one to push the button!"

Shocked, John stared at him.

Back on Tracy Island, Brains was sitting at Jeff Tracy's desk, though he was painfully aware that Grandma did not approve. She would bustle into the room, pick things off the desk, place them on a coffee table and, ignoring the engineer, polish the wooden top. Then, without replacing the desk's contents, except those that had belonged to Jeff, she'd bustle out again. Only to return with plates of goodies which were offered to Tin-Tin and Kyrano, but not Brains. Her next visit was to bring coffee, but none was offered to the mortified scientist.

"I'll get you something, Brains," Tin-Tin offered.

He shook his head; his face long and despondent. "N-N-No, thank y-y..."

The computer beeped, telling him that an email had arrived. Checking the subject column, Brains found that the email was addressed to him.

He rang the A.A.I. "Y-You wanted to talk to me?"

The Air Accident Inspector seemed on edge. "Yes... Look this is a highly irregular request, but this plane you've built is unlike anything we've come across before. To make matters worse it's so badly damaged..." Tin-Tin started crying and was comforted by her father, "... that we're finding it difficult to work out which part is which. There're some components that appear to have no bearing on your plans whatsoever. So... We need your help. Is that offer to come and observe still open?"

Brains nodded, feeling that at last he was going to be given the opportunity to do something constructive. At last he would be able to do something for Jeff Tracy and his family.

"Good. Ah... When can you get here?"

"Wh-When do you need me?"

"The sooner the better. A lot of people are demanding the answers to this one."

Brains thought. He couldn't leave his post while International Rescue were on duty, but his need to find out what went wrong was so strong it hurt. "I-I should be able to leave l-later today. I'll be in K-Kansas tomorrow."

"Fine. I'll arrange to have someone meet you at the airport," the A.A.I. offered. "See you then, Mr Hackenbacker."

Brains blinked at the unaccustomed name. "Oh, ah, yes. See you t-tomorrow." He hung up the videophone and then called Mobile Control. "Do you h-have a moment, Scott."

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "Nothing much is happening."

"The A.A.I. needs my help. Ah, I t-told them I'd leave today. W-Will that be possible?"

"They need you? I thought they didn't want you near the plane."

"It d-departs too much from a s-standard jet," Brains told him. "I-I was thinking of leaving when the resc-cue is over... I-If that's all right w-with you?"

Scott gave him a tired, humourless smile. "If you can help solve this mystery, Brains, we'll all appreciate it."

"I-I'll do my best."

"I'll call you when we're packing up... And Brains," Scott leant forward. "I still can't believe that you had anything to do with it."

Brains managed a smile. "Th-Thank you, Scott. That means a l-lot."

Virgil, having run out of food, was whistling. He stopped. "I suppose they checked all the surrounding buildings..." He brought up the onboard computer and punched some numbers into it. "Let's do a scan..."

Scott was feeling jaded, although he wasn't prepared to let anyone, especially his brothers, know the fact. He started when Mobile Control beeped at him. "Go on, Thunderbird Two."

"Scott? Didn't you say that they'd checked all the buildings inside the cordon?"

Scott didn't appreciate the perceived innuendo. "You heard me."

"I've run a scan and I've got four, possibly five people about half a kilometre from the danger zone."

Scott sat upright. "Anywhere near the gas?"

"Negative. But it would pay to check it out."

Scott frowned in thought. "Okay, Virg... Thanks..." He remembered himself. "I mean. Affirmative, Thunderbird Two. I'll dispatch Alan and Gordon while you're offloading the gas."

"F-A-B." Virgil turned back to John. "He was almost human for a moment there."

Alan and Gordon had reached the doorway leading to the office that held the two scientists. Taking care to ensure that the box at the front of the G-E-V was lined up with the door Alan pressed it up against the wall.

"Contact," Gordon said, pushing a button.

A silicon gel oozed out of the edges of the G-E-V's box creating a seal between it and the wall. A motor hummed into life draining all traces of gas from the box's interior.

Alan watched as a row of lights flashed up green. "Seal complete. No complications there."

"So no dramas then," Gordon said as he sidled past Alan and opened the dividing panel.

"Just as well. I don't want any while we're dealing with our victims."

Gordon walked up to the door to the office and pressed a touch plate. The door hissed open revealing the two scientists reclining back, coffee mugs in their hands. "Hi, guys. Ready to go?"

At once the two men were on their feet. "I'll say!" said one. "We're missing the big game. The radio transmission in here's terrible!"

Gordon directed them into the G-E-V and shut the door. Then he ensured that the opening to the G-E-V's box was sealed tight. "Okay, Alan," he grunted.

Alan watched the green lights wink off as the seal against the wall was dissolved. "Okay, people. Let's get out of here." He backed the G-E-V up and swung it around.

A short time later they were out in the bright sunlight. "We're clear, Thunderbird Two," Alan announced. "Increase suction."

Virgil responded with a F-A-B as John increased the power to the suction unit.

Virgil looked at the video monitor. "Apart from that office it's an open plan warehouse," he said. "Want me to move Thunderbird Two so you can suck out the interior?"

"'Kay," John nodded and raised the articulated hose so it wasn't dragging on the ground. When he could see that the Thunderbird was in position he lowered the hose again, moving the nozzle so it was pointing inside the building.

The G-E-V trundled out of the cordoned area. Its doors opened and the two scientists stepped out to be greeted by their friends, families and colleagues. After thanking their rescuers, they were led away.

Alan and Gordon walked over to Scott.

"So that's that, then," Gordon said. "International Rescue is finished."

"Nearly," Scott told him. "Virgil's picked up signs of life in some of the 'deserted' warehouses. I want you two to check it out while Thunderbird Two finishes clearing the area and starts packing away."

Alan pulled the hood of his haz-mat suit back over his head. "F-A-B."

Scott returned to Mobile Control and radioed home. Brains answered immediately. "Y-Yes, Scott."

"We've completed the rescue successfully. Alan and Gordon have gone to check something out and Virgil and John have nearly finished securing the area. You can leave when you're ready."

"Are you sh-sure? I can wait."

"No. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can find the answers we need. Call me when you reach Kansas."

"F-A-B, Scott."

Gordon and Alan had divided the warehouses to be searched between them, and Alan wandered, without enthusiasm, down his share of the alleys, scanning the surrounding area with his portable victim locator. He came to an intersection and stared at what appeared to be a never-ending street, bordered with a never-ending row of industrial buildings. He raised his microphone. "Found anything yet, Gordon?"

"Negative. I've only just got to my search zone. This place goes on for miles!"

"Tell me about it," Alan agreed. "It's a rabbit warren."

"I was thinking a maze, but either metaphor will do... Have you found anything yet, Alan?"

"No. I'll try down here. I'll call you if I find anything."

"F-A-B."

Alan strode down two blocks of warehouses, still scanning with his victim locator. He was almost surprised when it registered something. Treading carefully he moved forward and watched as the signal grew stronger.

He walked past another alley and found himself outside an especially decrepit building. He found it hard to believe that anyone would willingly go into this hole, but the signal was definitely coming from its interior. He pulled the door open and slipped inside.

There was no artificial light in the foyer to the building, but there was enough light from the door to tell him that rather than an open plan building, this one comprised of a number of rooms. It was probably this framework that kept the roof supported.

"Hello," he called. "Is there anyone here?"

He was still getting an affirmative response from his victim locator, but apart from that there was no sign of life.

He walked down the hallway. Many of the doors to the rooms leading off the passage were missing and he only glanced inside as he walked past. "Hello?" he called again.

He came to an intact door and with care pulled it open. He was surprised to discover that where he'd expected darkness a light bulb was shining in the hallway.

Mystified he moved forward. Most of the doors leading off here were solid wood and locked.

At the end of the passage he came to a heavy door, locked and bolted, but with a glass panel installed in the top section. As he looked through the glass he saw a pale figure.

The figure looked up.

Alan did a double take, his heart thumping against his chest. He pushed the hood of his haz-mat suit off his head in an effort to see more clearly. In the artificial light of the room, and through the grimy glass the figure had taken on the appearance of a ghostly apparition.

Alan couldn't believe his eyes.

The figure saw him and hobbled over to the window. It gestured wildly, trying to make Alan comprehend something.

Alan's confused mind didn't understand. Nor did he hear the steps coming up behind him. It wasn't until something heavy came crashing down that he even knew that anyone was there.

The room's occupant was helpless as the guard struck Alan over his head and the young man sank bonelessly to the ground.

The figure watched in horror and fear...

Fear for the health of his youngest son...

06 Six: Alive?

"All packed away?" Scott asked his brothers when they'd reached Mobile Control.

John and Virgil nodded. "We're ready to leave whenever you are," Virgil added. "Have you heard from Alan and Gordon yet?"

Scott shook his head. "No. Not yet..."

John nudged Virgil and pointed.

A haz-mat suit clad figure stepped through the cordon and into the safe area. The hood was pushed back revealing a head of straw-textured auburn hair.

"Find anything, Gordon?" Scott asked.

Gordon shook his head. "No. Like the local guy said the place is deserted." He looked at Virgil. "Maybe Thunderbird Two's scanners aren't working properly."

"They are working perfectly!" Virgil said in indignation. "There're definitely people in a building somewhere inside the cordon."

Scott held up his hand to prevent an argument. "Maybe Alan's found them. I'll give him a call..."

"We've had a bit of excitement here, Abe," the man said. He was tall and casually dressed, with a face that only his mother could love. Several scars spoke of untold, unspeakable stories in his life; and one of them twisted his mouth out of shape, mangling his words. Behind him, looking equally reprehensible, were two of his henchmen.

'Abe' looked at him from the videophone screen. "What do you mean 'excitement', Miles?"

"One of the warehouses around here has sprung some kind of gas leak. They've evacuated all the other buildings, but we laid low until it was clear."

"What kind of gas leak?" Abe asked.

"Dunno. But the gas was green. It must have been serious, they called in International Rescue."

Abe had the same reaction that a lot of people did when they heard the organisation's name. "International Rescue!"

"Yeah. One of their guys was snooping around. I guess he was checking if there was anyone else who needed rescuing."

"Did he see anything?"

"Yeah he did," Miles rubbed his fist into his hand. "He'll be lucky if he remembers it though." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wristwatch. "I got a souvenir," he grinned. The watch beeped and he examined it. "Must be an alarm."

Abe looked startled. "What if it's a homing device?"

Miles clearly hadn't considered that idea. "I'll chuck it in the river. Then they can waste their time dragging it for their pal."

Abe looked even more alarmed than before. "What did you do to him?"

"Just gave him a little love tap on the back of the head. When he wakes up he's gonna have a headache the size of Mount McKinley."

Abe amended his original question. "What did you do with him?"

"Put him in the most secure place we've got. He's in with our other 'guest'."

"You did what! Don't you realise that his colleagues will be looking for him? And where he was searching is the first place where they'll look!"

"So?" Miles cracked his knuckles. "We can take 'em on."

"Miles..." Abe was trying to be patient. "We're not talking about some school kid playing truant. This is International Rescue. When he doesn't report back they'll have every member of the sheriff's department out looking for him! Not to mention the FBI, the CIA and the World Police."

"So, what do you want me to do with him?"

"Let him go, Miles."

"Let him go? But what if he's seen..."

"Who's going to believe him? You say you've knocked him out. Any memories are going to be put down to a concussion or something. Just tell whomever you hand him over to that one of the walls collapsed on him. There's enough falling masonry in that place that no one's going to think twice about it."

"And if he says what he's seen?"

"Like I said who's going to believe him? Everyone knows what International Rescue's last rescue was..."

Alan's head hurt. It was pounding so much that his eyes throbbed. He decided the best idea was to keep them shut. He groaned as he continued to regain consciousness and reached towards the back of his head to where the pain seemed to be most intense.

"No," a familiar voice said gently. "Leave it. You'll make it worse." His hand was guided away from the injury.

Alan froze. The voice was one that he would have given the world to hear, but, perversely, hearing it filled him with dread.

He tried to articulate his horror, and succeeded in exhaling a whimper.

"Lie still," the voice instructed. "If you move, the bandage will probably fall off."

Alan felt along his left trouser leg to the concealed pocket that contained a basic first aid kit. The pocket was open. He fought to make sense of what was happening.

The voice continued speaking. "That's the problem with head wounds; your hair gets in the way. I'll probably have to trim it if it doesn't stop bleeding soon." There was a pause. "Can you hear me, Alan?"

Alan groaned and managed to speak. "I'm dead."

"No you're not. But you are injured, so lay still, Son."

"I must be dead."

"Don't say that, Alan. You'll be okay." There was a pleading note in the other's voice.

Alan forced himself to open his eyes. Two bare incandescent light bulbs hung low from the ceiling, casting the other man into silhouette. Alan blinked against the bright lights as through a haze his eyes tried to focus. "If I'm not dead, I'm dreaming..." Once again he raised his hand to where his head hurt most of all.

"Don't touch it," the other man instructed, as he reached out and once again grasped Alan's wrist.

The touch shocked the life back into Alan. He gave a yell and rolled away from the other person, ending up pressed against the wall.

"Alan?" Worried eyes were boring into him.

"You're dead!"

"What?"

"You're a hallucination," Alan insisted. "I'm must be hallucinating!"

"Alan! You're badly hurt. Please calm down." The figure reached out and Alan shrank back. The figure retracted its hand and shifted awkwardly, giving a grimace that may have been a reaction to pain.

Alan stared at the other figure. "No. You're dead! Everyone knows that my father is dead," he whimpered.

"Alan," Jeff stated, "I'm not dead. Why do you keep saying that?"

Alan tried to sit up, his eyes not leaving the ghost of his father. "The plane crash... John found your registration number... The forensics proved it... Everyone knows... It's in all the papers and on the news..."

"What?" Jeff frowned. "What's in the news?"

"We're having to give up... to sell the island..."

"Alan! What are you talking about?" Jeff was sounding more alarmed than before. "Give up what?"

Alan took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and tried to get his emotions and a feeling of nausea under control. "Please tell me I'm not dreaming." He opened his eyes and fixed the apparition of his father with a pleading stare.

"Alan, none of what you've said makes any sense. Help me to help you." Jeff reached out again and this time Alan let him touch him. "I wish I could make this pad stick better... I know." He pulled his own shirt tail out. "Can I borrow your knife?"

"My knife?"

"Do you want me to get it out of your pocket?" Jeff asked.

"No..." Still staring at his 'father', Alan reached into another concealed pocket and withdrew a knife.

"Lucky they don't know about your pockets," Jeff said, as he cut a length of material from his shirttail. "I see they've taken your watch." He slipped the knife into his own pocket before hesitating. "Will you let me bandage your head?"

Alan nodded, and then wished he hadn't. "You are alive?" He sounded disbelieving as his father wrapped the cloth around his head.

Jeff sat back. "Yes, Alan. I am alive."

"And you're my father?" Alan asked.

Jeff looked him in the eye. "Who else would I be?"

"A trap," Alan hazarded. "A trap to make me tell you about us."

Jeff had done all he could with the meagre materials he had. He tried to get comfortable and grimaced again. He looked back at Alan. "How can I convince you that I am me?"

"Tell me something that only I'd know about."

"Like what?" Jeff thought for a moment. "Okay... How about this? When you were little you wrote Tin-Tin a poem and you wondered if I thought she'd like it. I believe that, apart from Tin-Tin, I was the only person you showed it to..." He chuckled. "If I remember correctly one bit went, 'I think you are pretty, Tin-Tin. I like the way you look in your skin.'"

Alan nodded. "It was terrible!"

"I thought it was quite good for a seven-year-old boy declaring his affection for a seven-year-old girl." Jeff took Alan's hand and placed it against his face. "See, Alan. It is me."

"You need a shave."

Jeff chuckled. "They haven't been game enough to leave me a razor."

Alan reached his other hand out to his father. "I can't believe that you're alive." He turned so that he could see Jeff better and his injured head rolled against the wall. He flinched, and sucked in a breath.

"Easy," Jeff said in concern. "Here, I'll sit on your other side." With an effort he got to his feet and hobbled around to Alan's left.

"You're hurt!" Alan exclaimed, when he saw blood on his father's torn trouser leg.

"I'm okay." Jeff brushed aside his son's concerns and sat down in the straw that had been his bedding for the last three nights. He put his arm about Alan's shoulders. "Tell me everything that's happened."

To Alan it was as if he'd slipped back in time to his childhood. His Dad would always hold him like that when he had grazed his knee or had felt ill. He relaxed against his father's shoulder as he had used to all those years ago.

"Why did you think I was dead, Alan?" Jeff prompted gently.

"Your plane crashed... Into a mall... People were killed... We thought you were too."

"People killed?! How many?"

"Ah... Thirty..." Alan struggled with the memory, "...six at the last count, if I remember correctly. No, hang on. That included you... except you weren't in the plane... So who was piloting? Who was in the jet?"

"I don't know," Jeff admitted. "They knocked me out when they grabbed me." He managed a dry chuckle. "Being kidnapped capped off a bad day."

"You changed your will..."

"Yes, I did. How'd you know?" Jeff realised that his 'death' would have prompted that will's reading. "Ah, of course."

"Why didn't you tell us, Dad?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you're broke. That you're in debt. We could have helped. We could have made savings. We could have cut back..."

"Alan? What are you talking about?"

"We all know," Alan continued on a little incoherently. "We're falling apart..."

"Alan?"

Alan started gabbling. "Scott's not eating, and Virgil's eating too much. Gordon's not talking to John and Virgil, and John's not talking to anyone. Grandma blames Brains and Tin-Tin keeps crying..."

"Alan, Alan! Stop, take a deep breath and start at the beginning," Jeff ordered. "I am not broke. I have never been in a stronger financial position!"

Alan looked at him in disbelief. "It can't be you."

"It is me, Alan," Jeff pulled him closer. "Please believe that it is me. I am alive..."

The door to their prison was pulled open. Miles stood there, revulsion on his face as he looked at the two men sitting close together. "What are you doing!?" His two henchmen sidled past him into the room.

Jeff got to his feet and hobbled forward so he was a shield for his son. "You leave him alone!"

"And leave him for you?" Miles pushed Jeff away and moved on Alan who was fighting the pain and nausea as he struggled to get to his feet.

"No!" Jeff managed to maintain his balance and grabbed at Miles' arm. "Don't hurt him!"

"Don't touch me!" Miles swung his fist into Jeff's face.

Stunned, Jeff was slammed against the wall by the force of the punch and slid to the ground. By the time he'd regained focus Alan was already hanging limply between the two henchmen and was being carried out the door.

Using the wall as support, Jeff inched his way upright. "What are you going to do with him?"

"It's none of your business," Miles snarled. "But I can guarantee that it's not what you had in mind... You're sick," he sneered, before he pulled the door shut, leaving Jeff alone in his cell.

Jeff hobbled to the door and peered through the glass partition. He watched as Alan was dropped without ceremony onto an old door that was going to be his stretcher. Grabbing the corners of the plank, the two henchmen picked him up.

Miles turned back to Jeff and sneered again, before his face changed to horror and he looked down at his knuckles.

Jeff watched as his son was carried through the door at the far end of the hall. He rubbed his face and realised that it was wet. There was blood on his hand...

"Alan should have reported in by now," Scott said as he frowned at Mobile Control.

"Maybe he's found them," Virgil suggested. "He's probably trying to convince them to leave." He was nudged by John. "What?"

John pointed towards the cordon entrance. Three men were there, two of them carrying something between them. A haz-mat suited arm was visible, flapping limply and dragging along the ground.

"John! Get the stretcher," Scott ordered. "Gordon! See if the paramedics have left yet."

With a, "F-A-B," both brothers set off at a run.

Scott and Virgil hurried over to meet the four men.

"What happened?" Scott asked, as he bent over Alan.

"D-Dad..." Alan moaned.

A pained look crossed Scott's face. "No, I'm not Dad."

"We found him in one of the warehouses," the big man supplied. "It looked as though one of the walls fell on him."

Virgil was checking his injured brother over. "I can only find a head injury."

"D-Dad..." Alan gasped out again.

John ran over, carrying the stretcher. He placed it so it was parallel to Alan's plank of wood.

"Lie still," Scott instructed. "We'll soon get you comfortable."

"As you fellows seem to have everything under control, we'll leave you to it," the big man offered. He held out Alan's watch. "We found this."

Taking the watch, Scott looked at him with gratitude and tried not to be repulsed by the man's scarred face. "Thank you."

"It's an honour to be able to help International Rescue," the big man told the Tracys, before he and Alan's other two 'rescuers' slipped away.

Alan grabbed his eldest brother by the loose material on the front of his shirt and, using all his strength, pulled him close so that he could tell him the news. "Scott... Dad... Alive..."

"No, Alan," Scott said as gently as he could. "Dad's dead... Remember?"

"No..." Alan found himself transferred to the stretcher. "Dad..."

A paramedic had arrived. "What happened?"

"Blow to the head from what we understand," Scott informed them. "He seems slightly confused."

"Okay, leave him with us. We'll take care of him..."

07 Seven: Headache

"You promised me that none of you would get hurt!" Grandma withered Scott with an accusatory glare. "I let you all go because you promised me that! And what happens?"

"I know," Scott admitted. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?!"

Scott was on the defensive. "He didn't get hurt doing the rescue. It was afterwards when he was checking the area was clear!"

Her frown told him that he wasn't off the hook. "How long before Thunderbird Two gets home?"

Scott looked at his watch. "They left slightly before us, right, John?"

John, who'd co-piloted Scott on the return flight, nodded.

Scott did a quick calculation. "They should be back in about 12 minutes."

"I want to talk to Gordon!"

"Grandma," Scott protested. "They'll be home soon. The medic said that the injury isn't serious and that all Alan needs is rest. So let him rest!"

"Scott!" Grandma Tracy folded her arms and glared at her eldest grandson. "I want to talk to Gordon now!"

Scott offered a compromise. "How about we call Virgil and find out his E.T.A.?"

It was not what Grandma wanted but she allowed him to put through the call.

"Thunderbird Two," Virgil announced. "What can I do for you, Scott?"

"What's your E.T.A.?"

Virgil did a calculation of his own. "Ten point seven five minutes."

"How's Alan?"

"Why are you asking me?" Virgil sounded aggrieved. "You told Gordon to ride with Alan because he was able to talk to him. What you've forgotten is that he refuses to talk to me. He won't give me an update."

Scott felt his grandmother's eyes boring into the back of his head and sighed. "Put me through to the sickbay." He heard the click that told him that the transfer had been made, but no one acknowledged the call. "Gordon, answer the radio!" he demanded.

"Hi, Scott. I didn't realise it was you."

"What's the big idea of not updating Virgil on Alan's condition?"

"I thought he should be concentrating on getting us home quick."

"Gordon!"

Grandma had heard enough. She pushed Scott away from the microphone. "You listen to me, Gordon Tracy! How is that brother of yours?"

Upon hearing her voice, Gordon's tone softened. "He's okay, Grandma. He's slept all the way."

"Good. I've got his room ready. Take him there as soon as you get home..."

Jeff sat on his bed of straw and thought, which wasn't easy with his sore face and the pain shooting through his leg. But at least his nose seemed to have stopped bleeding.

Up until now Jeff had been worried. He been worried for his own safety and he'd been worried about what his family was going through as they wondered what had happened to him.

Now he was more than worried.

Jeff Tracy was frightened.

He was frightened for Alan. What had those men done with him?

He was frightened for the rest of his family. What was it that Alan had said? They believed that Jeff was bankrupt? They believed they had to shut down International Rescue? They believed they had to sell Tracy Island?

For the last three days Jeff been trapped in this windowless prison, more or less alone. Occasionally someone would appear at the door, check he was clear of the entrance, open the door, throw in some food, and then slam the door shut again. Or else a video camera was pointed in his direction through the grimy glass panel. That was okay. As long as they stayed on that side of the door and Jeff stayed on this, there was a good chance that nothing untoward would happen to him.

Time and time again, Jeff had wondered why they'd kidnapped him. They'd said little and told him nothing. All that Jeff knew was that the fact that his captors weren't making any effort to conceal their identities, which told him that when they'd finished with him, they weren't planning on letting him leave here alive.

And then Alan had accidentally stumbled upon him in his cell. Alan had told him that the family believed that they were bankrupt and that they were going to have to sell the island. Was that the motive? How much of what Alan had said was true and how much was the product of a confused mind? A mind belonging to a bewildered, scared, wounded young man who'd suddenly discovered the 'ghost' of his father.

If it was true, who had put that idea into their heads? Alan had mentioned the latest will, but Jeff, having drawn up that will only days ago, knew that there was nothing in there to cause his family such distress. Unless...

Jeff was now sure he knew who was behind the whole plot.

Why had Alan said that they'd read the will? Because Jeff's plane had crashed into a mall... People had been killed.

Killed!

Jeff felt physically sick. That he could have been responsible for the death of innocent people, no matter how indirectly...

He took a deep breath to steady his stomach.

"Think, Tracy, think," he told himself out loud.

It was so hard to think through the pain...

He reached into his pocket and withdrew some of the items he'd taken from Alan before his son had been dragged away. Most of the first aid materials he'd used to bandage the wound in his leg. He hadn't liked the look of it. It was probably infected.

He was left with the knife and some painkillers. He considered taking one of the analgesics, but decided against it, reasoning that there might be a time later when it would be necessary to numb the pain.

Later? What was going to happen to him? Thinking logically, Alan, as a member of International Rescue, had been searching this building for some reason. If he didn't return and was unable to be contacted, Scott would organise a search party. Soon members of International Rescue, and possibly other emergency services, would be combing the area. Rescue might be at hand!

One of Jeff's business strengths was being able to think from his opponent's point of view and he applied that skill now. Supposing his kidnappers had realised that before long people would be looking for Alan? What would they do then to direct attention away from this building? Cause a disaster to occur elsewhere that would create a diversion while they spirited their captives away? The problem with that scenario was how did you manufacture a disaster big enough to occupy International Rescue's time?

Fly a plane into a mall.

Jeff felt sick again.

Another, simpler, obvious answer was to take Alan somewhere where he could be found before they reached Jeff's prison. That could explain why the young man had been taken away.

The thought relieved Jeff's anxieties somewhat. Then he thought of Alan trying to tell his family that their father was trapped in this building... And his family not believing him because of Alan's head injury... Not when Jeff was clearly dead. All the reports said so.

And what if Alan was not able to tell anyone anything? The phrase 'dead men tell no tales' reared its unpleasant head.

Jeff felt his stomach twist into knots again.

Whatever had happened to Alan, Jeff was pretty sure that the guards who'd been holding him captive these last three days would not want to remain here much longer. Not if there was any chance of being discovered.

Jeff could see only one course of action open to him.

Reluctantly he put his hands to his throat...

"We did what you asked, Abe," Miles said. He gave a grin. "Would you believe those International Rescue guys actually thanked us for looking after their friend?" He laughed and the sound was harsh in the barren room.

"So no one asked any questions?"

"Nah. They were all too busy seeing how badly I... I mean 'the wall'... had hurt him."

"Was he conscious when you handed him over?"

"We'd given him some of that stuff we gave Tracy when we'd nabbed him. They thought he was babbling and that he was away with the fairies... instead of being rescued from one."

"Good." Abe visibly relaxed.

"The guy was lucky we shifted him when we did..."

But Abe wasn't listening. "I think it could be prudent to move on. I assume you have another safe area you can take Tracy?"

"Sure, we've got tons. 'The Boss' likes to 'be prepared'... He tells me he was a Boy Scout." Miles laughed again...

Alan's head hurt. It was pounding so much that his eyes throbbed. He decided the best idea was to keep them shut.

He groaned as he continued to regain consciousness and reached towards the back of his head to where the pain seemed to be most intense.

"No," a familiar voice said gently. "Leave it. You'll make it worse." His hand was guided away from the injury and tucked under a blanket.

Something was wrong. That wasn't his father's voice or touch. Someone else was helping him...

Alan opened his eyes.

His Grandma smiled down at him. "Hello, Darling. How are you feeling?"

"Grandma? Where's Dad?"

Her smile vanished. "Honey...? Your father is no longer with us."

"But I was with Dad," Alan told her.

She pasted another, more uncertain, smile on her face as she brushed a finger on his cheek. "You were dreaming, Alan."

"No... No, I wasn't. He's alive. Didn't Scott tell you?"

Grandma sat back in her chair and regarded her grandson. Alan wasn't sure but he thought he could see tears in her eyes.

Scott entered the room. "How is he?" he whispered.

"Scott... Did..."

"Hiya, Kiddo. How are you feeling?"

"Scott! You went back for Dad, didn't you?"

"I wasn't there when he died, Alan. Remember? I was at home. You were on Thunderbird Five..."

"No, not then... Just now... When I was hurt..."

Scott frowned. "I don't understand."

"I told you I saw him. Didn't you go and rescue him?"

He saw Scott glance at his grandmother. "You were dreaming, Alan."

"No," Alan shook his head frantically and wished he hadn't as it began to ache even more. "I was talking to him. He touched me. I touched him! He put the bandage on my head! He's alive, Scott!"

"Whoa, Alan. Calm down. You'll hurt yourself even more if you don't relax!" Scott placed a reassuring hand on Alan's shoulder.

"Didn't you even go and look?"

"There was nothing to look for..."

"Dad was in there!"

"He can't have been..."

"He's been hurt..."

"Yes, Alan, he was hurt. But he's not hurting now..."

"No... It's a trick!"

"A trick?"

"The plane crash...

"How can a plane crash be a trick?"

"...The will... Everything?"

"Alan...?"

"Dad's been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped? Look, Alan...!"

"One of his guards saw me and hit me on the head!"

"No! It was a...!"

"Scott!" Grandma Tracy reprimanded him.

"What?" he asked, bewildered by what Alan had been saying and his grandmother's tone.

"You're upsetting him! I think you'd better leave!"

Scott looked at his grandmother, and then back at his brother. Alan's expression was both fearful and accusatory. He also looked tired. "Rest, Kid. You'll feel better soon."

"Scott's right," Grandma agreed as she pulled the blanket up and tucked it under Alan's chin. "Go back to sleep and everything will be all right."

Alan was fighting the residue of the anaesthetic that the goons had doped him with. "I don' wanna sleep. Gotta find Dad..."

Scott stepped outside Alan's room and into a scrum of brothers.

"How's he?"

"Is he okay?"

"Is he awake?"

Scott held up his hand and gestured that they should all move away from the door. "He's awake..."

They all relaxed.

"But..."

"But?" Three brothers looked at him in concern.

"But... It's crazy..."

"What is, Scott?" Virgil asked.

"He's convinced that he saw Father when he was injured."

"He what?" Gordon exclaimed.

"He kept on saying Dad over and over again," Virgil remembered. "It must have been a dream..."

"Or a hallucination caused by the bump to the head," Gordon suggested.

"He thinks it's real," Scott informed them. He leant against the wall and ran his hand through his hair. "I wish I hadn't let Brains go to Kansas. He'd know what was wrong."

"He probably just needs a good night's sleep," Virgil suggested. "Things will seem clearer to him in the morning.

Scott looked at his watch. "Brains will still be in the air. I think I'll go and give him a call." He started walking down the hallway that lead from the sleeping quarters to the lounge. Eager to hear what the medical expert had to say, John followed.

Gordon turned to Virgil and managed to give a chuckle. "You'll never believe what Alan and I were talking about on the way to rescue those two guys."

Surprised that his brother was talking to him, Virgil replied with a bemused, "What?"

"We were saying how you don't do things by halves..."

Virgil frowned. "Me? I don't do what by halves?"

"Taking on both Grandma and Scott. We reckoned that you were going to be in big trouble when you got home. Alan said that the only way he could think of taking the heat off you would be if one of us got injured..."

Assured that her youngest grandson had fallen into sleep, Grandma stood and tucked the blanket in more securely. "There you are, Darling. Everything will be all right in the morning..." She stroked his hair away from his forehead.

It was at that moment that she heard the shout from the hall.

"Don't you dare try to lay a guilt trip on me, Gordon!"

Startled by Virgil's response, Gordon tried to explain himself. "I wasn'..."

"I can take you ignoring me. I can take you making snide remarks about me, and John, and Thunderbird Two! But don't expect me to stand here and take that when it's not true!"

Grandma exited Alan's room. "What's going on?"

Gordon tried again. "Vir..."

Scott and John had heard the altercation and turned back. "Virgil!" Scott bellowed. "Be quiet! You'll disturb Alan."

"Scott! Shush," his grandma hissed.

"He..." Virgil pointed at Gordon. "Was blaming me for Alan's accident."

"No..." Gordon protested.

"Gordon?" John looked at him.

"I didn't..."

"And I've had enough!" Virgil stormed. "I've had enough of your snide remarks, Gordon!"

"And we've all had enough of you shouting!" Scott told him.

"You're against shouting?" Virgil asked him. "You've done nothing but shout these last few days and we're all sick of it."

John took a step forward, reaching out to his irate brother.

Virgil took a step back, fending him off. "And I'm fed up with trying to hold both sides of the conversation with you! I'm fed up with the lot of you! And since everyone only seems to care about themselves, we may as well sell the island! Who cares if we never see each other again!?" He continued backing up. "I'll do what you want! I'll sign your stupid contract! And I hope you'll all be happy!" Reaching his bedroom he stepped inside. The door slid shut.

There was silence in the hall after he'd gone.

"I wasn't accusing him," Gordon said. "Honest."

But his grandmother had other concerns. "What did Virgil mean about selling the island...? Scott?"

"Ah... We were going to tell you, Grandma... We'd decided... well, most of us had... Well, all except Virgil... that the only way we could repay the debts..." Scott took a breath. "Was to sell Tracy Island."

"Sell Tracy Island?"

"Mr Brett's found a buyer," Scott explained.

Grandma had paled. "Sell our home?"

"We don't want to. And Virgil is refusing to..."

"Was," John corrected.

"...But we don't think we've got any choice. We were going to tell you, but then we were called away to the rescue, and then there was Alan, and..."

"You're going to sell the island?"

Scott nodded. "Yes, Grandma."

"Without telling me? What about Kyrano and Tin-Tin and Brains?"

"We were going to tell you. They don't know yet either."

"What will happen to me?"

"We'll look after you, Grandma," Scott insisted. "Hopefully once the sale's gone through there'll be enough left over to..."

"You've made up your mind haven't you," Mrs Tracy accused him.

"We've no other choice."

"Very well," Grandma stated. "I'll go start packing."

Slightly bewildered by this turnaround, Scott could only apologise. "I'm sorry, Grandma."

Her back was ramrod straight and she stared him in the eye. "Don't be. I know you're doing this for the best. It's not what your father would have wanted... But then a lot of things have happened that he wouldn't have wanted. I'll be in my room."

There was another uncomfortable silence when she'd left.

"Things are getting worse, aren't they?" Gordon sounded morose. "Grandma's upset, Alan's flipped his lid, Virgil's denounced us all..."

John tapped Scott on the shoulder. "Go on."

Scott looked at him. "What?"

John gestured in the direction of Virgil's room.

"John!" Scott was a mixture of exasperation and anger. "I wish you'd say something coherent! It's like living with a mime!"

John folded his arms and glared at Scott. "Talk to him!"

"Why me?"

John's expression clearly told Scott that he considered his older brother to be a complete idiot.

"Don't look at me like that!" Scott complained. "He'd never listen to me anyway."

The door to Virgil's room and Virgil stormed out. He was dressed in his overalls and his face was like thunder. "Out of my way, Gordon!"

Gordon did a hasty side-step. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to blow up Thunderbird Two!"

"Blow up...?" Gordon stared after his brother's departing back. "Did he say what I thought he said?"

"He'll probably blow up himself with it." John hit his elder brother on the arm. "Talk to him!"

"Ow!" Scott rubbed the bruised area. "John!"

"I think you'd better, Scott," Gordon said.

"Why me? When was I elected nursemaid?"

John stared at Scott; his expression one of dazed incredulity.

Gordon's jaw had dropped in a similar fashion. "Scott," he said. "If the situation wasn't so tragic, that would be funny. You elected yourself nursemaid the day John was born."

"Yeah." John nodded his agreement.

"Is that so?" Scott snapped. "Then I resign as of now! Virgil's come to his senses over the sale of the island. What is there to talk about?"

"I give up," Gordon exclaimed. "Virgil was right. You obviously only care about yourself and no one else. And it's equally obvious that Virgil's not going to want to listen to me. And it sounds as though he doesn't particularly want to talk to John. And since Alan's delusional and there's no one else available, Virgil's going to have to work it out by himself. I'm going for a swim." He left two brothers alone in the hall.

"Scott!" John shook his head in exasperation. Then he pointed in the direction that Virgil had left.

"What if he doesn't want to talk to me?" Scott asked.

John grabbed Scott and pulled him around so he was facing the direction that Virgil had taken.

"What if I don't want to talk to him?"

John wasn't taking no as an answer. He pushed his older brother towards Thunderbird Two's hangar.

Virgil was standing at the workbench of one of the workrooms off the main hangar, a set of Thunderbird Two's plans laid out before him and a packet of chips at his elbow.

Since Thunderbird Two's cahelium hull was so tough, his plan was to place a series of small explosives at strategic points. These small charges were to detonate, sending larger explosives into the body of the plane. It was these explosives that would ultimately destroy the workhorse of International Rescue's fleet.

The problem was to work out the optimum place for each set of charges; points on the craft where the most damage could be done for the least effort. Under normal circumstances it was a challenge that Virgil would have relished. But this time he was planning to destroy his beloved Thunderbird Two...

He'd already placed several red marks on the diagram.

"Is that where you are?"

Virgil heard Scott's voice, but chose to ignore him.

"Sulking are you?"

Virgil placed another red mark on the diagram and ate a chip.

"Gordon said to tell you that he was only trying to be civil. You could have at least reciprocated."

Virgil's jaw muscles worked, but he said nothing.

"Are you giving me the 'John' treatment? Because I've had enough of that from him."

Virgil picked up the plans, a handful of chips, a spray can of red paint, and walked away from his brother.

"Fine! Be like that!" Scott snapped. "See if I care. Only don't detonate until I tell you. We don't need to destroy anything until the sale's gone through." He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming his hand against a metal cabinet in frustration as he left.

Virgil leant against a bench and wondered when everything had gone so horribly wrong.

Scott strode through the complex. He climbed into a monocar and sent it screaming at maximum speed to Thunderbird One's hangar. Once there here exited and looked at his rocket plane.

Thunderbird One stood there; her silence belying her power. Scott took the gantry across to the entrance hatch and strapped himself into the pilot's seat.

Gordon had completed ten laps of the pool when the alarm sounded. Startled he stopped swimming and looked about him. He was sure he hadn't heard International Rescue's callout alarm, but despite that it appeared that Thunderbird One was about to launch.

He began swimming towards the ladder and hauled himself out of the pool. He knew that sensors about the pool area should stop Thunderbird One from launching until he was safe, but the pool had started sliding back, exposing Thunderbird One's launch pad. Without even stopping to pick up his towel, he ran into one of the blast proof changing rooms; a fear coursing through his veins that, somehow, Thunderbird One might launch while he was still vulnerable coursing through his veins.

Almost as soon as he heard the door behind him snick shut, he felt the vibrations as Thunderbird One launched herself up through the pool. He watched as she flared away up into the skies.

When the danger passed, Gordon released himself from his haven and hurried up the stairs. He pounded on the still locked patio doors to attract Tin-Tin's attention. She looked up, saw him dripping outside, and unlocked the doors. He slipped inside and slid the doors shut behind him. "What's happening?" he panted.

"I don't know," Tin-Tin replied. "There hasn't been a call out."

"Who's piloting?

"I don't know, Gordon. Where are your brothers?"

"I left John and Scott in the hall. Virgil's gone down to Thunderbird Two's hangar to start laying the charges. I'd guess it's Scott, but why hasn't he radioed asking for clearance?" He stalked over to the desk. "I'm going to find out... International Rescue base calling Thunderbird One. Come in, Thunderbird One."

There was no response and Gordon was about to make the call again when Scott's portrait came to life. "Thunderbird One!"

"What are you doing?" Gordon asked. "You realise you nearly cooked me?"

"I'm having one last flight! Okay!?"

"Okay..." Gordon held up his hands. "You surprised us, that's all. Are you going to be long?"

"As long as I want." Scott abruptly disconnected the link.

Gordon stared at his brother's portrait wondering what was going through his mind.

"Gordon..." Tin-Tin had remained at the window, looking skywards. "I think you'd better come here."

"Why? What's he doing?" Gordon stood at her side. "Where is he?"

"There." Tin-Tin pointed at a tiny dot in the sky.

Scott pushed forward on Thunderbird One's control lever. Accelerating, Thunderbird One began a near vertical dive towards the ocean. He opened the viewport and watched as the waves grew nearer and nearer...

Still standing behind the villa's patio doors, Gordon and Tin-Tin watched as Thunderbird One flew closer and closer to the Pacific's waters.

"What's he doing, Gordon?" Tin-Tin asked. "He's going too fast..."

Gordon felt his wrist. As was usual when he went swimming, it was bare. "Your watch, Tin-Tin!" She pulled it off and he took it without thanks. "International Rescue calling Thunderbird One! What are you doing?!"

His brother didn't respond.

"Gordon calling Scott! Answer me, Scott!"

"Please stop, Scott," Tin-Tin pleaded. "Come home!"

"Pull up, Thunderbird One!" Gordon shouted. "Pull up!"

It seemed as though the Thunderbird was doomed to be swallowed up by the waters that surrounded Tracy Island, but at the last moment, her underside barely missing the waves, Thunderbird One changed course and started climbing back towards the heavens.

Tin-Tin let out a breath of relief. "That was too close."

Gordon was back on the wristwatch telecom. "Scott Tracy! What the heck do you think you're playing at?" he yelled.

His brother ignored him. Thunderbird One was doing barrel rolls at speeds that would guarantee the destruction of ordinary aircraft.

"I can't watch," Gordon turned his back on the scene outside and handed the watch back to Tin-Tin. "He's going to push her to her limits."

Tin-Tin followed Thunderbird One as she began climbing into a loop. Then she turned so she was leaning against the plexiglass. "What's he mad at, Gordon?"

"Everything?" Gordon guessed.

Tin-Tin sighed. Then a memory surfaced. "Gordon...? You said Virgil was laying charges... Where?"

"Thunderbird Two."

"Thunderbird Two?" Tin-Tin frowned. "Why?"

Despite his admission that he couldn't watch Thunderbird One's flight, Gordon had turned back to the window and was craning his neck to try to spot the plane. "So the island's new owners can't abuse her."

"New owners? Gordon? What new owners? Gordon, what are you saying?!"

"Oh, heck." Gordon turned back to his friend. "I'm sorry, Tin-Tin. I forgot that we hadn't told you yet. Mr Brett's found someone who'll take care of our debts if we sell him Tracy Island."

Tin-Tin's reaction had been similar to that of his grandmother's. Except that Tin-Tin's eyes flooded with tears. "You're selling our home?"

"I'm sorry, Tin-Tin. But there's no other way..."

"No..." Tin-Tin let out a sob and ran from the room.

Gordon turned back to the window. "Nice one, Gordon. You've done it again." In punishment he banged his head against the plexiglass.

"Hey!"

Gordon turned. John was standing there, a look of concern on his face as he removed his headphones, leaving them hanging about his neck.

"You've got the right idea, John," Gordon told him. "Not talking is a very good idea, because every time I open my mouth I stick my foot into it."

John cocked his head inquisitively. "How this time?"

Gordon sighed. "I let slip to Tin-Tin we're selling the island... I forgot she didn't know. I'm an idiot."

John walked forward so he was at his brother's side. Then he put an arm about Gordon's shoulders and gave them a squeeze. "No, you're not."

"I don't deserve your sympathy," Gordon admitted. "Not after the way I've treated you these last few days."

He received another squeeze.

Gordon looked John in the eye. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." John looked out the window as a red and silver blur shot past. He frowned.

Gordon turned. "Scott's getting rid of his frustrations by trying to kill himself."

John's frown turned to a look of alarm.

Gordon managed a mirthless chuckle. "Either that or he's trying to give us heart failure, which he's almost achieved. He probably has fried my towel."

John watched Thunderbird One loop the loop. He shook his head in exasperation.

"You give him a good talking to when he comes back," Gordon suggested; before holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Joke."

John smiled.

Gordon clapped his brother on the back. "Will you keep an eye on Scott? I've got another apology to make."

John nodded. "Sure."

Virgil was standing at the desk in the workroom watching the computer scroll through its calculations. He ignored the person who had entered the room and cleared his throat.

"Peace offering?"

Virgil looked down at the chocolate bar that had been placed neatly on the plans. "That's not funny, Gordon."

Gordon extended his arms in a helpless gesture. "I'm not trying to be funny. I want to apologise."

Virgil resumed his inspection of the computer and made a couple of entries.

"It's my last 'Mocca-chocca' bar," Gordon admitted.

Virgil hesitated. 'Mocca-chocca' bars were his favourite and, he knew, Gordon's. Many times over the years there'd been a friendly rivalry between the pair of them as they'd jostled each other to grab the last bar from the pantry.

"I wasn't trying to blame you when I made that comment about Alan getting hurt," Gordon explained. "I was trying to improve communications between us, not make them worse... I guess that over the last few days I've got so used to not saying anything nice to you, and you've got so used to hearing me say some pretty horrible things, that neither of us know... or expect... anything different."

The computer beeped.

"It's all I can think of to show that I mean it, now that I'm trying to say I'm sorry." Gordon pushed the chocolate bar closer to his brother. "I don't know what else to do. I'd offer to help you lay charges, but you'd only think I wanted to blow up Thunderbird Two." He ran his finger along the end of the desk. "How about...?" he bit his lip. "How about I ask you to help me plan where to lay the charges on Thunderbird Four?"

Virgil finally looked at his brother. "Are you serious?"

Gordon nodded; his face a picture of misery.

"Why the change of heart?"

"I was thinking, on the flight back with Alan, what if he'd been more seriously hurt? Would I have coped with that on top of what's happened to Dad? Then I started thinking what if it had been you or John? And I decided that I could never have forgiven myself."

"That wasn't what I meant, but it's nice to know. Why do you want to destroy Thunderbird Four?"

"Well... It's not fair that I'm the only one able to keep his Thunderbird, is it? And if I did, what would I do with her? She's smaller than the others, but it would still take a fair sized shed to house her, and even then I'd never be able to use her. She's not exactly a pleasure craft to be taken out for a spin on a summer's day. And we'd still have security issues. No..." Gordon took a deep breath. "If we have to destroy one Thunderbird, we have to destroy them all."

"I'm sorry, Gordon."

Gordon managed a wry grin. "Hey, I thought I was the one apologising."

"You're forgiven." Virgil pushed the 'Mocca-chocca' bar back towards Gordon.

"No." Gordon pushed it back. "It's yours."

"Want halves?"

"No," Gordon shook his head. "I need to go for a swim. Scott interrupted my last one. Hopefully he's back now."

"Thank you," Virgil said. He watched his brother leave and then looked back down at the chocolate bar. Then, carrying it with him, he walked through the complex until he came to the pod that housed Thunderbird Four. He climbed inside the yellow submarine and laid the 'Mocca-chocca' bar on the pilot's seat.

Then, munching on another snack bar, he returned to the workshop.

Scott didn't know that his temper had improved, but he knew it was time to get back home. He wondered briefly how much longer he could call Tracy Island that.

The pool housing was still open and he slotted Thunderbird One through the opening and settled her on the trolley. Then, after taking the china plate off the bulkhead as a souvenir, he exited the craft.

"Dinner is ready, Mister Scott..." Kyrano began, but Scott didn't appear to hear him as he strode through the lounge.

He was back a few minutes later, dressed in overalls...

08 Eight: Begging for Answers

Brains flew over the Kansas countryside. Beneath him the scene changed as housing increased in density. As he left the rural zone behind and flew over town, and then city, he couldn't help but analyse the cause of Jeff Tracy's fatal crash.

He knew that Mr Tracy was a fit man for his age and Brains had long ago discounted illness as the cause of the accident. He also couldn't believe that Jeff Tracy's actions could have been directly responsible for the crash. In Brains' mind, that only left one option.

Aircraft failure.

Brains' job was to create machines that would save lives, and the idea that one of his machines could harm or take a life was an anathema to him. The very idea that a plane that he'd designed specifically for his employer and friend was the cause of his friend's, and others', deaths was a horrific reality that Brains was having to face.

He had seriously considered turning around and heading home when Scott had contacted him and told him about Alan's accident and subsequent accusations. Only the thought that, by finding the cause of the accident he might be able to bring closure to himself and the family, kept him going.

Now he was flying over the Sunflower Mall. Glancing at the video monitor he could clearly see the long black scar that marked the final landing place of the jet.

It might have been the plane's final landing place, but it wasn't its final resting place. The aircraft wasn't even being allowed to rest in peace as men picked over its remains, trying to find out where Brains had gone wrong.

Approaching the air field, Brains requested permission to land and brought the plane in low. Soon he was taxiing along the runway that, only four days earlier, Jeff Tracy had flown out from on that final, fatal journey.

He was met by the chief Air Accident Inspector; a balding man with a strong grip and a no-nonsense attitude, who could also exude sympathy to those he felt deserved it.

He reserved that decision when he greeted Brains. "Mr Hackenbacker."

Brains felt his fingers squeezed painfully, as he replied, "Mr Campbell."

"The car's this way." David Campbell indicated a practical model of vehicle which emphasised his serious nature. He lifted some of Brains' bags with ease.

"Th-Thank, you," Brains said, picking up his portable computer.

"Did you have a good flight?" David asked as he loaded the boot of the car.

Brains nodded. "Y-Yes, th-thank you."

"It was a long one. Do you want me to take you to your motel first so you can have a rest?"

"No. I a-am o-okay. I had a stop over on the way h-here," Brains admitted. "If it's all r-right with you, I should like to t-take a l-look at the 'p-plane."

David glanced at him. "Are you sure?"

"Y-Yes."

David put the car into gear and moved off. "Hiram Hackenbacker," he mused. "Didn't you develop the 'Hackenbacker Device' for the Skythrust?"

"Y-Yes. That's r-right."

"Great piece of engineering. You've saved a good many lives with that bit of technology."

Brains was silent.

Alan awoke, washed, dressed and headed out to the dining room. Most of his family was present.

"Here he is." Gordon sounded cheerful.

"Morning, Honey," Grandma said. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Okay," Alan admitted. "I've got a slight headache, that's all."

John, on his daily migration from the rooftop to his bedroom, stopped off to grab some food to take with him. His headphones isolating him from his family; he ignored them all as reached into the fridge.

No-one seemed to care.

"Do you want something to eat, Alan?" Grandma asked.

Alan took his seat, not particularly feeling like eating her less than perfect cooking. "I'll just have cereal, thanks." He noticed two empty places at the table. "Has Scott gone to get Dad?"

It was as if a shockwave went through the room. Gordon, Tin-Tin and Kyrano stared at him. Grandma almost dropped the kettle. Virgil had frozen; his spoon halfway between the bowl and his still open mouth. Even John seemed to sense that something was wrong. He slid his headphones off his ears so they were resting on his shoulders and looked at his youngest brother.

"Alan?" Gordon asked.

Alan felt a sinking feeling. "You didn't believe me yesterday, did you?"

Gordon looked at the rest of his family. "Uhh..."

"Or didn't Scott tell you? Dad was in one of the warehouses," Alan insisted. "I saw him"

"Alan," Virgil said cautiously. "That's not possible."

"I didn't believe it myself at first, but it was definitely him!" Alan screwed his face up in thought. "He said something to me... Something important!" He put his fist to his head, trying to push the memory out. "I wish I could remember what..."

"Alan," Gordon sounded patient as he tried to reason with his younger brother. "It can't have been him. He was killed in the plane crash. Don't you remember?"

"I remember," Alan insisted. "And I know it's what we're supposed to believe. But it's not true! Someone's kidnapped him. I found him locked up in this room, and this guy came up behind me and hit me on the head. Then they threw me into the room with Dad. I talked to him. He's alive!"

"It's the bump on the head," Virgil said. "It's..."

"No!" Alan exclaimed, desperate to make his family believe. "I tell you he's alive. He's alive and he's been hurt and we've got to help him! We're International Rescue! We've got to rescue him!"

"Calm down, Alan," Gordon said.

"Please..." Tin-Tin laid a hand on his arm.

"No!" He pulled free. "Listen to me! Dad's alive! You do believe me, don't you? Gordon?"

Gordon stared back at him with a look of intense concern.

"Virgil?"

Virgil avoided his brother's accusing stare by having another spoonful of cereal.

"John?"

John looked stunned.

"Kyrano?"

"Your father is at peace, Mister Alan."

"Grandma?"

She was clearly worried. "Perhaps you'd better go back to bed, Alan."

Alan turned to his last source of hope and support. "Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin burst into tears.

"You don't believe me?" Alan looked at his family again. "None of you do?"

There was an awkward silence.

"Where's Scott?" Alan stood. "I'll make him believe."

"But your breakfast..." Grandma began.

Alan fled the dining room. He ran into the lounge finding, as he'd expected, Scott sitting at his father's desk. "Why are you still here?!"

"Alan?" Scott looked up from the International Rescue papers he'd been reading. "I'm not hungry, so I didn't go in for breakfast."

"That's not what I mean. Why haven't you gone to look for Dad?"

Scott looked startled at the accusation. "Alan?"

"He's alive! I told you he's alive. Didn't you believe me?" Alan heard members of his family enter the room but ignored them. "You should be in the plane now, flying back to Kansas to rescue him! I don't care if you take Thunderbird One, just do it!"

"Take Thunderbird One?" Scott appeared to be struggling to understand his brother's demands. "She's wired for demolition..."

"Demolition! No! Don't you see you don't have to do that? Dad's alive..." Alan leant on the desk. "I wish I could remember what Dad told me. I KNOW it was important."

"Alan," Scott asked. "Have you had your breakfast? You'd feel better after having something to eat."

Alan didn't listen. "We should tell Brains that the accident wasn't his fault. The poor guy's been blaming himself for nothing. Wait a minute! He's in Kansas, isn't he? He can start making enquiries. Maybe get the police to go around to the warehouse and rescue Dad. Let me talk to Brains."

"No!" Scott got to his feet. "You're not going to talk to Brains! He feels guilty enough as it is. Don't make him feel guilty because he's not here to look after you too!"

"I'm fine! I don't need Brains to look after me," Alan protested. "But Dad will need medical help once we find him!"

"Alan! Dad is dead!"

"No! No, he's not!"

"Yes, he is!" Scott ignored Virgil's quiet reprimand as he continued trying to drive home the message. "Don't you understand? Dad - Is - Dead!"

"I saw him, Scott! I touched him! He touched me! He needs a shave..."

Scott pulled out some papers. "This is the A.A.I.'s initial report. It clearly says that no one could have survived the crash. There's no way that Father could have survived the crash!"

"Unless he was never in the plane," Alan pointed out. "Give me the report. There must be something in there that will prove that."

Scott kept a tight grip on the report. "You won't understand it! It's a technical report..."

"Stop treating me like a child! I can fly too, you know," Alan reminded him. "I have a fair bit of technical knowledge." He ripped the A.A.I.'s report out of Scott's hand. "I'll find something that will prove that I'm right! And then you'll all be begging to go to Kansas to save him!" Clutching the report tightly he ran from the room.

"Nice one, Scott," Gordon reprimanded his older brother. "You handled that really well."

"Couldn't you have humoured him a little?" Virgil asked. "It's not good for him to get worked up like that."

John folded his arms and glared at his older brother.

"What was I supposed to do?!" Scott exploded. "Say 'it's okay, Alan. I'll just pop into Thunderbird One and fly half way around the world on a wild goose chase'?"

They had arrived at the hangar that housed the remains of Jeff Tracy's jet. It was a large, uninteresting building, and from the outside there was no hint that it contained the shattered remains of one family's life.

Brains stared at it for a moment, not really wanting to go inside. David Campbell came to his shoulder. "Shall we go in?"

Brains nodded, picked up his computer and another bag, and followed the inspector into the building.

At first they walked through the foyer and down corridors between shabby offices. Then they reached a cloakroom.

David Campbell sized Brains up. "You'll need a pair of overalls."

"I-I have s-some in my bag," Brains began, but the A.A.I. was reaching into a locker.

"If you don't mind we'll give you ours. Less chance of contamination."

Feeling that the 'contamination' that they were concerned about was him planting diversionary evidence, Brains accepted the overalls. He put them on.

"Ready?" David asked.

Brains took a deep breath and nodded.

Together they walked out into a hangar that, from this angle, seemed to be nearly as large as Thunderbird Two's. "It used to be used for building space shuttles for private companies," David explained.

But it wasn't the size of the building that held Brains' attention. It was the blackened, scorched pile of metal that was laid out before him. It was the smell of burnt ferrous compounds. It was the idea that no-one could have survived that crash.

He frowned. "Did the j-jet crash into f-fuel h-holding tanks?"

David shook his head. "No. It landed into the heart of the mall."

"S-Something's not right," Brains mused. "I-I built a number of safety components into the c-craft to prevent explosive l-landings. I also used a n-new type of fuel..."

David consulted his notes. "Hypothermoilene."

Brains nodded. "It's v-very stable. I-It is non-combustible. Th-The plane should not have b-been destroyed l-like this."

"Maybe it combusts under certain conditions?" David suggested.

"N-No. I tested it rigorously."

"Is it possible that Jeff Tracy would have carried anything flammable on board the plane?"

"P-Perhaps. B-But only if it were c-contained in a secure container."

"The explosion travelled from the bow to the stern of the plane. Would he have been likely to have carried any flammable item in the cockpit area?"

Brains shook his head. "N-No. He would have s-stored such an item in the hold." His frown deepened. Something was definitely amiss.

Alan frowned and rubbed his eyes. Scott had been right. For an early draft there were a lot of technical details in this report.

Being a pilot himself, Alan had a good knowledge of what did what and what went where, but how one thing connected to another causing a pile of heavier than air components to lift off the ground had always escaped him. Yet again he found himself glossing over the more technical aspects of the report.

"Concentrate, Alan!" he told himself, and knuckled down to his reading. There had to be some evidence in here...

...And then the evidence seemed to leap off the page at him. He re-read it to make sure that he understood its implications and that his tired and sore brain wasn't only looking for something he needed desperately to be there.

No. It still made sense.

He read it again, highlighting the important sentence.

Clutching the report to his chest he ran into the lounge. "There! Read that and tell me I'm wrong!"

Scott glared at him, but said nothing. He took the report and read the passage that was highlighted in yellow. Then he looked back at Alan. "What does this prove?"

"He used the wrong call sign!"

"I can see that, but what does it prove?"

"Scott..." Alan couldn't believe how dumb his eldest brother was being. "He used the wrong call sign! Dad knows how important it is to get these things right. He would NEVER use the wrong call sign. Whoever's kidnapped him must have been planning this for months. They probably took a recording of him leaving on one of his earlier flights. They never expected him to have a new plane this time."

Alan waited, expecting some kind of reaction. A faint glimmer of hope, a realisation that the youngest brother wasn't delusional, a race for Thunderbird One...

Scott just shook his head. "It was a new plane, Alan. He wasn't used to it. Maybe he wasn't feeling well and wasn't thinking straight. Maybe he had something else on his mind. Don't forget that the A.A.I. found his DNA in the wreckage."

Alan's heart sank. "Please, Scott. Believe me. I saw Dad. He wasn't in the plane," he pointed at the report, "and he didn't make that call on that day. He's been kidnapped!"

"Why?" Scott asked.

The question stunned Alan. "Huh?"

"Why has he been kidnapped? We haven't received a ransom demand."

Alan was stumped. His one thought had been on rescuing his father. He hadn't considered that there had to be a motive behind the kidnapping. "One of his competitors wanted to get him out of the way?"

"What would they gain? No one's made a move on the company. There've been no hostile takeover bids..."

"How do you know?" Alan accused. "You've only been concentrating on International Rescue's business, not Tracy Industries."

"They would have contacted me."

"How, Scott? You've got the videophone and fax turned off. Have you been checking Dad's emails?"

"No..."

"Does anyone know your email address?"

"The air accident inspector does, and the Kansas chief of police, and..." Scott pointed at Alan, "so does Mr Brett."

"But none of them have anything to do with Tracy Industries," Alan pointed out. "You don't KNOW that that's not the reason."

"I do know that that's not the reason, because there IS no reason," Scott was reaching the end of his limited patience. "Father is dead. There's nothing we can do about it. Why don't you go and get some sun? You're looking pale."

"What we'd like you to do," David Campbell told Brains, "is sit in that room there. It's glassed in so you can see what we're doing. If we have any questions we'll bring them to you. Under no circumstances are you to approach the wreckage. I'm sure that you can understand that we have got to keep the investigation as impartial as possible."

"I u-understand."

"We've had pressure all the way from the top on this one," David explained. "I even had a call from the World President this morning, asking me if I could explain how one of the world's most respected entrepreneurs and pilots could crash into a heavily populated mall. She's feeling the heat from the world's media."

"I-I understand," Brains repeated. "I-I want to know what h-happened as much as anyone."

David led the way to Brains' room, gesturing to one of his assistants as he did so. "Here's our first puzzle," he said when they were seated. "We're not sure if this is the starboard or port unit."

Brains hesitated. "May I touch it?" He took the charred bit of metal and examined it closely. Then he withdrew a magnifying glass from a bag and peered through it. "Port," he said. "If you l-look here," he showed some faint scratching to the assistant. "Th-That's the code for the port unit."

"Thanks." The assistant took the unit and returned to his work.

David gave a tight smile. "I can see you're going to be invaluable."

"Gordon, I need your help."

Gordon completed a lap of the pool and looked up at Alan. "What can I do?"

Alan sat on the edge of the pool. "Come with me back to Kansas?"

At once Gordon became wary. "Why?"

"To help me find Dad."

"Find Dad...? Look, Alan..."

"Gordon, I found evidence that he wasn't on the plane."

"Evidence!?" Gordon pulled himself out of the pool so he was sitting beside his brother. "What evidence? What does Scott say?"

"I read the A.A.I.'s report. Dad gave the wrong call sign."

"And...?"

Alan looked at Gordon. "And that's it."

"What call sign did he give?"

"The one for his old jet. See! They recorded him..."

"They?"

"The kidnappers. They recorded him taking off last time he was in Kansas, or the time before, and they replayed the recording this time so that the control tower wouldn't realise that Dad wasn't in the plane. I've been trying to work out a motive," Alan explained. "And I think I've thought of one."

"A motive?"

"Yes," Alan nodded. "Maybe they were after the new jet! They were hoping to claim it as their own design and make a fortune!"

"By crashing the plane and killing Dad?"

"No! Something went wrong. They didn't mean the plane to crash. That was a mistake."

"O-kay..." Gordon said slowly. "Then if Dad wasn't the pilot, who was?"

This was something else that Alan hadn't considered. "I don't know."

"And why did they only find Dad's DNA in the wreckage?"

Alan could feel his brother's support slip away. "I don't know," he repeated.

"And how could they have known that Dad was going to be flying a new jet this time? By your hypothesis they'd recorded him saying the call sign for the old jet, but they were hoping to take control of the new one." Gordon put his wet arm about his brother's shoulders. "Look, Alan. I know you're upset. I know you'd give anything to bring Dad back. But it's not going to happen. We have to accept that he was killed in that crash and get on with our lives."

"But he wasn't killed. I saw him!"

"Alan..."

"I touched him!"

"Alan..."

"He touched me!"

"Alan!"

"He needs a shave!"

Gordon was at his wits' end. "Alan! Stop this crazy talk! Can't you see what you're doing to all of us?"

"Never mind us! What about Dad? He's been kidnapped, he's hurt..."

"'He's still alive!' You've told us that. Time and time again. But how, Alan? You saw the official files. No one could have lived through that crash! No one else could have flown his plane!" Gordon slipped back into the water. "Why don't you go and have a lie down? You're looking tired?"

Brains sat alone in his fishbowl of a room and watched the men pick through the remains of the jet that he'd been so proud of. A man would pick up a piece of plane, consult other men, make note on their tablet computers, replace the part, and move on.

He thought about the conversation that he'd had with Scott. About Alan's assertion that Jeff Tracy was still alive. And Brains thought that all Alan would need to see would be this pile of burned residue and he'd know the truth.

Alan walked through the hallway that ran past their bedrooms. When he came to the door that was inlaid with stars he hesitated. Then he knocked.

There was no reply.

"John..." he called, knocking again.

The door remained shut.

"John!" Alan bellowed. "Open up! I need to talk to you!"

"Alan?"

Alan turned. "Grandma!"

"Let him sleep, Darling. He's tired." She looked at her grandson; her face lined and careworn. "You look tired too."

"I'm fine!" he said impatiently. "I just need someone to believe me. I saw Dad!"

"Perhaps if you were to lie down for a short while, you'd feel better...? I could bring you a hot chocolate?" Grandma offered. "That always makes you sleep."

"I don't want to sleep," Alan complained. "I want someone to believe me and fly with me back to Kansas."

"Honey..." Grandma took his hands in hers. "Alan... Your father is no longer with us. He is never coming back. You do remember the plane crash, don't you?"

"I remember it. I remember being on Thunderbird Five when it happened. I remember Scott coming to get me. I remember how I felt when I believed that Dad was dead. But I now know it was a trick!"

"Alan..."

"It's a scam to make us believe that Dad is dead. But they didn't count on my seeing him in that warehouse..."

"Darling..."

"I need to find some proof; something to make you all believe me..." Alan snapped his fingers. "And I think I know what that is."

"Alan?"

"I'll be back soon, Grandma. And with any luck I'll have the evidence I need..."

John had heard the banging on his door and Alan calling his name, but had chosen to ignore it. It was too hard to deal with everything at the moment. It was hard living with the knowledge that his father had been killed. It was hard watching his family grieve. And now it was hard seeing his little brother fall to pieces.

John didn't think he had the strength to face Alan and his wild ideas today.

He yawned, turned his stereo up a little, and lay back on his bed. He supposed that he shouldn't be surprised that he was tired. He'd stayed up the last three nights, watching the stars and listening to music through his headphones. During the daylight hours he was more comfortable being alone in his room, away from his family. But, perversely, it was his family that kept him from spending his nocturnal hours in the observatory on the other side of the island. John, for all his desire for isolation, couldn't bear the idea of being too far from those he cared most about.

He curled up under his bedclothes, hugged his pillow tightly, and tried to go to sleep...

Virgil was held aloft in a cage atop International Rescue's version of a cherry picker. He was laying charges on Thunderbird Two when he heard the sound of running feet, but missed seeing their owner. Curious he lowered himself to ground level and hurried inside his plane. Consulting an electronic map on the bulkhead he watched as a white dot moved through the plane's interior.

Virgil found Alan on the floor of the sickbay, his gloved hands going through the waste disposal unit. "Alan? What are you doing?"

"Where is the rubbish?" Alan asked in frustration.

"Where it always is after a rescue," Virgil reminded him. "We destroy it."

"You can't have! Not that!"

"What are you looking for?"

Alan sat back on his haunches. "Remember when those guys brought me out to you? I had a bandage on my head. Remember?"

"I remember," Virgil said.

"That wasn't a bandage. Please tell me you didn't destroy that!"

"We didn't..." Virgil began.

Alan visibly relaxed. "Good. Then where is it?"

"The paramedics who looked you over have it. They've probably disposed it."

"And you let them?!" Alan was on his feet. He grabbed at the tight material of Virgil's shirt, nearly knocking his brother over in the process. "Why?!"

"Alan! Let go of me!" Virgil prised his brother's fingers loose from his front.

Alan took a step back. He looked crestfallen. "That was evidence."

"Evidence?" Virgil frowned. "Evidence of what?"

"Evidence that Dad is still alive."

"Still alive... Look, Alan..."

"That bandage was the bottom of Dad's shirt," Alan spoke quickly, more than a little desperate to get some support from someone. "He didn't have anything else to keep the pad on my head, so he cut off his shirttail and used that. Don't you remember what it looked like?"

"No," Virgil shook his head. "I was worried about you, not about what your bandages were made of."

"Oh." Alan slumped against the sickbay bed as he tried to articulate his thoughts into something coherent. "I've been trying to work out why he was kidnapped. I've considered business competitors trying to gain control of the company and someone after the design of the jet. But the obvious answer is that they wanted money."

"Except that we don't have any," Virgil said.

"But they weren't to know that. But the problem with that theory is: why haven't they sent a ransom demand?"

"Because, Alan..." Virgil spoke slowly, "he hasn't been kidnapped. He was in the jet..."

"Listen to me, Virg. I saw Dad. I spoke to him, I touched his face and he needs a shave. He touched me. He helped me. He bandaged my head. He tried to protect me... Why do you think that I'm lying?!"

"I don't think you're lying. I think you're..."

"Crazy? Mad? Lost my marbles?"

"No, I don't think you're crazy. I think you're reacting to a situation that you wish had never happened; that none of us wish had happened. And you're trying to deal with that situation the best way you can..."

"No!" Alan stood. "I'm not delusional! And I'm not crazy! I saw our father! He - Is - Alive!"

"Alan..." Virgil began.

"If you're not going to help me then I'll have to find some other way of proving that I'm right! I WILL find the proof that Dad is alive!" Alan ran from Thunderbird Two's sickbay.

Virgil ran his hand through his hair. "I think I need to have a word with the others..."

Alan ran across Thunderbird Two's hangar, through the concealed door, and into the hangar that housed their conventional aircraft. It looked empty without Brains' jet and his father's new aeroplane.

Alan ignored the gap in the fleet's ranks and ran over to one of the sleeker models. He opened the door...

"What are you doing?"

Alan turned and saw someone standing there. "Tin-Tin!"

"Alan?"

"I'm going to find my father." Alan turned back and put his foot on the first step of the plane.

"Alan! No!"

Alan found himself being pulled away from the door. "Tin-Tin! What are you doing?"

"I cannot let you go."

"And I can't stay. I have to find him."

There were tears in her eyes. "Do not leave here, Alan. You are not well."

"I'm fine," he lied. "My head's fine. I have to go."

"Don't do this, Alan. Think about your family."

"They all think I'm crazy." He looked at her. "You do too, don't you?"

She turned away, hiding her hands from him. "I am worried about you," she said softly.

"Then help me," Alan begged, twisting her around so she was facing him. "Come with me. You can fly the plane!" he indicated the jet that he had chosen.

"No, Alan. I am needed here. My father needs me... Your family needs you to stay too."

"So they can watch over me and make sure I don't hurt myself, or do anything to disgrace the family name?"

"They are worried about you."

"Only because they are not listening to me." Alan caught both of Tin-Tins hands, gripping them so tightly that they hurt. "Listen to me. I did see him. I did talk to him. I DID touch him. I touched his face. He needs a shave and his kidnappers won't give him a razor. He bandaged my head with his shirttail."

"Alan, you're frightening me..." She tried to pull free. "You're hurting me!"

Alan released his hold on her. "Why won't anyone believe me?"

"Because it is not possible for your father to be alive. The report made that clear..."

"I'm telling you the truth and if you won't believe me then I'll have to leave to find the proof I need." He kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be back." He turned to mount the aeroplane's steps.

Tin-Tin grabbed his arm again. "Please, Alan. Wait! Talk to me!"

"I've talked to everyone! I talked to you. I've talked to my brothers. No one wants to listen! What else am I supposed to do?"

"You will rest, Mister Alan."

Alan spun around at the unexpected voice. "Kyrano?"

"What were you planning to do?"

It wasn't only the pain in his head that made Alan feel that he was banging it against a brick wall. "I am going to take the jet and I am going to find my father, Kyrano."

Kyrano stepped out of the shadows, shaking his head. "I can not allow you to leave, Mister Alan."

Alan straightened to his full height. "Why not?"

"You are not well."

"I'm perfectly all right! And you are not going to stop me!" Alan made a move towards the jet, but Kyrano was quicker. He caught and held Alan's arm pulling him away from the aeroplane as his daughter had done.

Tin-Tin burst into tears as she watched the two men she cared the most about struggle briefly.

Kyrano pulled Alan around so he was facing him. "I can not allow you to leave," he repeated. "Out of respect for your father you must not go."

"My father always respected you," Alan reminded him. "You were always more than a servant to him. Dad always treated you as a member of the family."

"And that is why I must stop you. Family members must protect their relatives from harm. You must be kept safe. It is my duty. It is what Mr Tracy would have wanted."

"What he wants is to be released from his prison. He wants to come home to his family. And I want to help him. Help me, Kyrano!"

Kyrano stared the young man in the eye. "Tin-Tin. Lock the door to the aeroplane."

"Yes, Father." Alan heard her scurry across to the plane and the sounds of a lock being sealed.

"Come with us back to the house, Mister Alan." Kyrano's grip was like iron. "Do not make me hurt you."

Alan looked at the older man. He might have the flexibility and strength of youth, but knew that Kyrano's martial arts skills would be more than a match for him. "You are not hurting me physically, Kyrano. But mentally everyone is killing me... and hurting Dad."

"I am sorry. But I must do my duty."

Alan shook himself loose. "Your duty is to help Dad." He put his hand to his head as the pounding pain increased.

"Please, Mister Alan." Now Kyrano's touch was gentle. "Let me help you to your room."

Alan took a step backwards. "I don't need your help!" Without looking at Tin-Tin, he marched away to the exit that led to the monocar.

It wasn't until he was halfway there that he remembered that the vehicle was out of bounds. Not wanting to return to the hangar in case he should meet anyone, he slipped out of an emergency exit and onto the path that led up to the villa.

He reached the courtyard, intending to skirt it so that he wouldn't have to face Gordon in the pool. It wasn't until he was halfway around when he realised that there were no sounds of splashing. He looked at his watch. It was close to lunchtime. Gordon had probably abandoned the pool for something to eat.

Alan came to the bottom of the stairs and looked up towards the villa. Unless he'd had a major change of attitude, Scott wouldn't have gone to lunch and Alan knew that if he wanted to avoid a confrontation he'd have to enter the house another way.

But did he want to avoid a confrontation? What Alan wanted was someone to believe him and organise a rescue mission for his father. Maybe... Just maybe... Scott had been thinking over what had been said earlier and would be more open to the suggestion that the pair of them fly out straight away.

With the stubbornness that had irritated his brothers over the years, but had also helped him rescue people against the odds, Alan mounted the steps and strode into the lounge. There he stopped, aware of sombre feeling that pervaded the room.... Aware that he was being watched...

Aware that as well as the rest of his family, Angus Brett stood there...

09 Nine: A Lady's Assistance

Alan stared at the tableau in front of him. In his desperation to find someone who would fly back to Kansas to rescue his dad, or at least someone to believe him, he'd forgotten that Angus Brett was returning today to finalise the sale of the island.

"Hello, Alan," Mr Brett said.

Alan managed to say a mumbled hello in reply.

"We were just about to go looking for you," Scott told him.

"Shall we begin?" Mr Brett asked. "I know that your father would not have wanted to cause his family undue distress. He would approve of you selling this island so that you can all begin your lives again debt free." He withdrew a document from his briefcase. "This is the original of the copy I sent through to you. I take it you've all read it?"

"We have," Scott confirmed.

"And have you reached a decision?"

"We have," Scott repeated.

Mr Brett laid the contract on the desk and took a gold pen out of his pocket. "And have you all agreed to sell Tracy Island?"

Scott glanced at Virgil, who was stony faced, before nodding.

"Good," Mr Brett gave a smile and held out his pen. "As the oldest, perhaps you'll go first, Scott?"

Scott took the pen, scanned through the document quickly, and then signed his name at the bottom. Then he held the pen out. "John?"

Showing obvious reluctance, John accepted the pen, stepped forward and signed the contract. Then he laid the pen down on the desk and walked outside so he was leaning on the patio railing; gazing out over the Pacific Ocean; listening to the music in his headphones.

Scott looked at his middle brother. "Virgil?"

"Do you require all of our signatures?" Virgil asked the lawyer. "Or only a majority?"

"The way the will's written you all have to agree," Brett said.

Virgil thrust his hands into his pockets. "I still think that this isn't right, but... since I did agree..." He accepted the pen held out to him by Mr Brett. Overcome by a moment's indecision, his hand wavered over the papers, before he signed, dropped the pen on the desk, and retired to the piano, where he sat on the stool with his back to the lounge; eating.

Mr Brett picked up the pen again. "Gordon?"

Gordon stepped forward and looked at Scott as he accepted the writing implement. "No strings," he said and signed the document. He gave the pen back to Mr Brett and retired to the far side of the room where he slumped against the wall.

Mr Brett held the pen out to the youngest member of the family. "Alan?"

Alan clenched his hands into fists. "No."

Mr Brett appeared astonished. "No?"

"No. I'm not going to sign."

"Alan?" Scott scowled. "You agreed that we should all sign..."

"I don't agree now."

"You're the one who tried to talk Virgil into signing!"

"I was wrong. I'm not going to sign. This is our home and we're keeping it!"

Virgil had turned on the stool to watch. John had removed his headphones, abandoned the patio and was standing in the doorway. Gordon had straightened up. They all stared at Alan.

"I am not signing," Alan repeated.

"Come now, Alan," Mr Brett gave his most ingratiating smile. "I don't wish to seem pushy, but every second that this island remains unsold equates to millions more dollars owing in interest. You are not solving anything by being obstinate. In fact you are only making things worse."

"Tracy Island is not for sale," Alan told him.

Mr Brett tried a different tack. "May I remind you, that I have flown halfway around the world on the understanding that you'd all agreed to this deal. I am a very busy man."

"Alan..." Scott hissed, striding over to his brother. "You WILL sign!"

"No," Alan contradicted. "No, I will not."

"Alan," Gordon pleaded. "Be reasonable you've read the reports..."

"They lied! I don't know why, but they lied!"

"Alan," Mr Brett said patiently. "While we're standing here the interest on your debts is increasing. The island's purchaser is a very generous man, but even he will have his limit as to how much he is willing to pay..."

"I'm not signing," Alan's jaw was sticking out in the gesture that his brothers knew only too well. It was his mulish look and signalled that nothing would change his mind. "You can't make me! My - father - is - still - alive!"

"Alan!" Scott lost his temper. "Don't be ridiculous! Father is dead! You have to accept that!"

"Scott," Virgil said quietly. "Keep calm."

"NO!" Alan yelled. "He is not dead! I saw him!"

Mr Brett looked at him in surprise.

Alan took a step away from him. "Why won't anyone believe me?"

"Alan..." Gordon started to say.

"You can't make me sign that bit of paper! The only one who can is my father! And he wouldn't sell Tracy Island!" With that pronouncement Alan ran from the room.

An awkward silence followed.

Scott breathed deeply; trying to regain his temper. "Sorry about that, Sir," he apologised.

"He's taking it hard," Mr Brett noted as he gathered the papers together.

"He... ah, he went climbing yesterday," Scott lied. "He fell and banged his head," he indicated the area of Alan's injury. "Since then he's convinced himself that somehow Father's still alive."

"A fall?" Brett looked at Scott with curiosity. "Has he seen a doctor?"

"He got medical help almost immediately. We're waiting to see if he improves or if we'll have to get specialised treatment."

Mr Brett placed the papers on what had been Jeff's desk. "I'll leave these with you... See if you can talk some sense into him. I can't emphasise enough the importance of finalising these details immediately. Every second..."

Scott nodded. "We understand."

"The only way that the courts will be able to approve of less than full acceptance will be if you have proof that whoever hasn't signed is incapable of signing... for whatever reason..."

Scott nodded again...

Alan ran to his room and locked the door behind him. He was beginning to feel trapped. If only they'd believe him! He needed help but whom could he call on?

He grabbed his watch...

Attired in an elegant gown, Lady Penelope attempted to relax in an easy chair, holding a cup of Earl Grey tea. She wasn't looking forward to attending the soiree, but reasoned that she had to get out of the house. Jeff's death had been preying on her mind for too long.

Parker had just taken up the silver teapot when it started beeping. Surprised, he handed it to his mistress. She twisted the ebony knob clockwise with her delicate, but deadly, hands. "Lady Penelope speaking..."

"Penny, thank heavens," Alan said eagerly. "Look, can you switch to video? I need to see you, and I need you to see me."

"Very well," Lady Penelope gave Parker the teapot. He placed it on top of the large television set housed in what appeared to be a Georgian cabinet. The youngest Tracy's face appeared on the screen. "Alan, how lovely to talk to you. I'd heard you had had an accident. How are you, dear boy?"

"Desperate," he said with honesty. "I need your help, Penny. Please listen to me."

"Desperate?" she repeated. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Has anyone told you what happened yesterday?"

"Only that you were on a rescue and something hit you on your head..."

"Yes, that's right," Alan nodded. "We were all on the rescue... It was probably going to be International Rescue's last..."

Parker glanced at his mistress.

"...We'd finished and I was checking out one of the neighbouring buildings, 'cause Virgil's scanners had seen someone there. I was walking down a corridor when I came to a door with a new bolt and padlock on it. The top of the door was glassed in. I looked through the door..." Alan hesitated, unsure if she would believe him, "...and..."

Lady Penelope waited.

"Please believe me, Penny," Alan begged. "I need someone to believe me. None of my brothers do. Grandma doesn't. Tin-Tin doesn't. Kyrano doesn't... Scott refuses to discuss it with Brains..."

Bewildered, Lady Penelope stared at him. "Believe what, Alan?"

He appeared to be dredging up the confidence to tell her. "I saw... Inside that room... At first I didn't believe it myself..."

"Alan?" Lady Penelope pressed.

"Dad was in there."

Parker made an inarticulate sound.

Alan watched as the aristocrat tried to absorb this bit of information. "I'm sorry, Alan. I don't think I understood you."

"Dad... My father... Jefferson Tracy was being held captive in that room!"

"Jeff?" For a moment Lady Penelope threatened to lose her cool. "You must have been mistaken."

"I thought so at first, but then someone cracked me on the skull and I lost consciousness..."

"Ah," Lady Penelope said, and sat back.

"Don't be like that. I swear that it's not some kind of repressed memory or something. I saw him! Penny! I saw my father!"

"All right, Alan," Lady Penelope tried to calm him down. "What happened then?"

"When I came to I was locked in the same room as Dad. He was talking to me, asking me to wake up, telling me I was going be all right. He touched me, Penny! I felt him touch me!"

"He touched you," Lady Penelope agreed cautiously.

"He put my hand against his face so I would know that it was him! He needs a shave!"

Lady Penelope nodded. "Then what happened?"

Alan looked a trifle guilty. "I thought I was seeing a ghost. I backed away from him. I didn't want him near me. I was saying that he was dead. He thought I was delirious because of the knock on my head and so did I. He tried to convince me that he wasn't a figment of my imagination. For proof I asked him to tell me something that only my father would know. And he did! It was my father! I saw Dad, Penny, and no one believes me! He's alive! He's been hurt, he's in danger and no one believes me! Please help me, Penny! I can't turn to anyone else, they don't believe me!"

Lady Penelope sat forward in concern. Alan was sounding more than desperate. His eyes were brimming as if he was either on the verge of tears of frustration... or a nervous breakdown.

"Help me, Penny! Please help Dad!"

"What do you want me to do?"

Relief and hope spread over his face. "We need to find him. They won't let me leave the island alone and no one will come with me. The lawyer wants us all to sign away the island so it can be sold. I won't do it! Not while Dad's still alive."

"How did you 'escape' from your father's prison?"

"They released me. They figured that someone with a hole in his head wouldn't be believed." A bitter laugh escaped. "They were right."

"Did they know you were Jeff's son?"

"No... I don't think so. I figure they thought that no one would believe that I had seen Jeff Tracy or anyone held captive. Not when they'd so willingly handed me back for medical help."

Lady Penelope thought for a moment.

Alan slapped his forehead. "I've just remembered what it was that Dad said that was so important. He told me his finances are fine; that he's in better shape than he's ever been."

"Better shape?"

"We're not broke. We're not in debt. We don't have to sell the island... It's all a scam!"

"A scam?" Lady Penelope echoed again.

"Penny, I think Brett's in on it..." Then Alan already pale face paled further. "Oh, no! What have I done?"

"Alan?"

"I've ruined everything," he groaned.

"How do you mean everything?"

"I've ruined all we've worked for. I've exposed International Rescue to a criminal!"

"Alan," Lady Penelope spoke in a soothing voice. "Calm down and explain to me why you think that."

Alan took a deep breath. "When I refused to sign the papers everyone started ganging up on me. I guess lost my head a little and started yelling that I'd seen Dad. If Brett's involved he's going to know that someone from International Rescue had seen Dad. If he puts two and two together..."

"But hasn't Mr Brett been your father's lawyer..."

"...Since I before I was born, yeah I know. But I still think he's in on it. He's got to be. Why else would he be so convinced that we have to sell..." His face cleared as realisation hit. "The island! That's it! That must be the reason for the kidnapping! It's not for money, or Tracy Industries, or the jet. Brett wants Tracy Island for himself! What if he's always known we're International Rescue? What if he's after all our equipment? Imagine what it could mean to the world if we let him get his hands on it!"

"Is that possible that he knows?"

"I wouldn't have thought so. I'm pretty sure Dad never confided in him. But if he doesn't know, why is he so desperate to get his hands on it that'd he'd kidnap Dad and put us through all this pain?"

Lady Penelope decided that she didn't have the answer to that question. "What else did your father say?"

For the first time Alan looked unsure about his tale. "I don't really know... My head was hurting pretty bad and I was in shock at seeing Dad. They didn't give me a long time with him and then they gave me some kind of knock out gas so that I seemed dopier than I really was. Then they took me back to Mobile Control... I tried to tell Scott that Dad was inside but he didn't believe me." He looked deep into Lady Penelope's eyes as his voice went quiet. "You've got to help me, Penny. I'm going crazy over this. You've either got to find evidence that proves Dad is still alive, or..." She saw a flicker of doubt in his expression. "...Please, Penny. I need proof."

"Your father was a good man and so are you. Out of respect for both of you I will try to find the evidence you require."

She saw the young man relax. "Thanks," he said. "I knew I could trust you. Just having someone who beli... is willing to meet me half way is a great relief. I know that if anyone can find my father, it will be Lady Penelope."

Lady Penelope smiled. "I hope your confidence in me is not misplaced, Alan. Now tell me everything."

Alan outlined everything that he thought was of importance before signing off. "Don't tell the guys. They'll tell you it's all my imagination because of this bump on the head and tell you not to waste your time."

"I promise I won't let anyone stop me from helping you, Alan."

"Thank you. Call me if you need to know anything..."

Parker removed the teapot from the television's cabinet as his mistress bit her lip reflectively. "What do you think, Madam? 'As the poor kid lost his marbles?"

"I don't know, Parker."

"H-It would not be surprisin'. Livin' a lie h-as that family does. H'And isolated out there in the middle of that ocean. Not h-everyone can 'andle that... Goin' fast all the time can't be good for a kid 'is age neither... And to lose 'is father sudden like. H-It's probably tipped 'im h-over the h-edge."

"Perhaps, Parker," Lady Penelope said thoughtfully. "Except that out of all of the boys Alan appeared to be the only one handling Jeff's passing relatively well."

"You think h-it's a joke?" Parker looked aghast at the idea.

"I would doubt it very much. Alan may be a little immature at times, but this is such a sensitive issue for the whole family that I doubt that even the thought of such a ruse would cross his mind."

Parker returned to his original hypothesis. "So 'e 'as flipped 'is lid."

"Maybe..." Lady Penelope sat upright in her chair. "Get me Scott will you."

"M'Lady? H-I thought you'd agreed not to tell Mister Scott."

"I promised Alan that I won't let anyone stop me from helping him, and that includes Scott Tracy. I shall require all the facts surrounding Jeff's, ah, 'death', and Scott is the person to give me those facts. Don't worry. I won't let him talk me into breaking my promise to Alan."

Scott was surprised to see Lady Penelope. "Oh! Hi, Penny."

"Can we talk, Scott?"

"Yeah. Mr Brett's just left. He's not happy."

Lady Penelope could see how drawn the eldest Tracy son was. He looked to have lost more weight. "I understand you've been having a spot of bother, Scott."

"You've heard what?"

"I've just had Alan call me."

"Oh," Scott slumped. "I don't know what to do with him. He's got this delusion that Father's still alive and we can't talk sense into him. Apart from the fact that I'm worried about him, it's creating problems."

"He won't sell the island?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I don't want to do it, Penny, none of us do. But what else can we do? We've got this humungous debt to pay off."

"Who is your estate agent?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Some guy Mr Brett knows."

"Well before you agree to use him as the sole agent, I know a few agents that have sold the estates of friends of mine; they might give you a better deal."

Scott gave a grim smile. "Thanks. But we've already got a buyer." He lost the smile and clenched his fist in frustration. "What's really sad is that I thought Alan was coping the best of all of us."

"Scott?"

He looked at her for in a moment of honest sadness. "No... I can't lay that on you too."

Lady Penelope left the subject. "Now, dear boy, I want you to keep your temper?"

This instruction surprised Scott. "Okay."

"I've agreed to do a bit of investigation work for Alan..."

"Investigation work... Look, Penny..."

"The poor boy's desperate. He needs evidence and he needs my help. I've agreed to find evidence, whatever it is. What I want from you is your assurance that you won't push Alan or let him know that you know... I think that he'll accept whatever I find, which may be as simple as that he saw someone who looks like your father; but I don't want him thinking that I'm acting for you and not for him. I also need all the information you have on the accident."

"Penny, you're wasting your time," Scott protested.

"Moping around Creighton-Ward Manor is wasting my time. Supporting Alan is not."

"I can't believe that he contacted you over this crazy story..."

"It's clearly real to him..."

"He should never have contacted you!" Scott was starting to get angry. "Don't worry about it, Penny. I won't have him sending you out on wild goose chases. I'll go and straighten him out!" He stood. "I'll take care of this..."

"No, Scott! Don't you dare say a word to him about it!"

"But he's gone too far this time... Spinning you this 'Father's still alive' line."

"Except that he doesn't believe that it's a line... He thinks it's the truth!"

"The truth? The truth is that all the evidence points to Father having been on that plane. The truth is that my father died in a plane crash. The truth is that Alan needs to get the real truth into his thick head and not annoy you or anyone else over it."

"I want to help," Lady Penelope insisted. "I would like to help you all, but so far Alan is the only one who has asked for assistance. And since he's asked, I am going to give him all the assistance I can."

"Penny... He's a mixed up kid who needs to be put straight on a few matters..."

"He's not one of your sub-ordinates in the Air Force, Scott! You can't tell him to shape up or ship out. This is your brother we're talking about and he is grieving for his father..."

"It may have escaped your notice, Lady Penelope, but it's my father who's died too! I'm grieving! But you don't see me coming up with wild stories."

"You're not coping well either! Look at you!"

Scott drew himself up. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Nothing wrong...? You're acting so out of character that I don't know you any more. The Scott Tracy I knew would have put aside his own grief and done everything in his power to support his family. He would have drawn them together, not allowed them to drift apart."

Scott sat down again. "What am I supposed to do? I can't afford to pay back the debt by myself...!"

"The Scott Tracy I knew would never have allowed his brothers to harm themselves the way they are at present..."

"Harm themselves?"

"Scott Tracy would have buried his own anger and done everything he could to help his family get through this!"

Scott had heard enough. "Maybe that Scott Tracy died when a plane crashed into a mall in Kansas."

"I can't believe that. I believe that somewhere under all that grief the old Scott Tracy is hiding."

"Hiding from what, Lady Penelope? What you don't seem to understand is that things have changed. Now I'm the head of this household and I've got to do what's best for everyone. And what's best means selling the island so we can make a new start. And if that idiotic youngest brother of mind can't see that..."

"Give him time..."

"We don't have time..."

"Twenty four hours isn't going to hurt..."

"Twenty-four hours? Do you know who many times International Rescue's been out on a call and would have killed for 24 hours to complete a rescue? A lot can happen in 24 hours. A dam can break, a volcano can explode, and a potential problem solving buyer could get tired of waiting and go away; leaving us in a worse mess than we were in 24 hours earlier. Is that what Alan wants? Is that what you want?"

"What Alan wants is your love and support. All he's asking for is some evidence either way. Out of respect for him and your father I have agreed to find that evidence."

"Evidence! I'll give you evidence!" Scott began sorting through a sheath of papers before slamming them all into a facsimile machine. The papers crushed at one end and with a snarl he reversed them. "They've found evidence of tissue samples, they've found evidence of hair samples, they've found DNA samples. There's the evidence of the airfield superintendent who saw Father climb into his plane and take off. There's the evidence from the control tower that no one parachuted out of that plane! What further evidence does he need?! Read it and you'll see!" Furious he pushed the direct dial button for her fax and was further infuriated when the machine rang but couldn't make contact. "I've unplugged it! Here! I'll email it through to you." He forwarded the required email to her with a few clicks. "Read it, Penny! Read it and see if we're wrong!" He glowered at the computer.

Lady Penelope decided that it would be wise to end the conversation on a conciliatory note. "Thank you, Scott. I know this is hard for you, but perhaps things aren't as bad as you think. If you would allow me to look at your father's accounts, I might be able to help."

Scott stared at her. "Look at the accounts?"

"Though I'm sure you've already looked through them thoroughly..."

Scott shook his head. "No. I haven't had time."

Lady Penelope wasn't expecting that answer. "What have you been doing?"

"Going through International Rescue's paperwork!" Scott's already hot temper was growing hotter.

"International Rescue's? When your personal finances are in such turmoil?"

"Mr Brett's explained it to us. If he couldn't get it right, who could?" Scott snapped. "You?"

"Maybe I'll discover something that will mean that at least you won't have to sell the island. One of my few talents is accountancy; it's how I've managed to keep the Creighton-Ward Manor..."

"That and the exorbitant salary my father paid you," Scott interrupted. "Just remember we can't afford to pay you this time."

This was the last straw. "I am not asking for payment for this, Scott Tracy. I am doing this because Jeff was a good man and a good friend and I do not wish to see his family disadvantaged in any way. I am doing this because Alan needs my help, NOT for any monetary reasons..."

"Lady Penelope...!"

"...I will talk to you some time in the future. AFTER I have found what Alan requires...!" Lady Penelope turned off the TV.

"Madam!" Parker's respectful address was accusing.

"That did not go well," Lady Penelope admitted. She ran her hand across her eyes. "It is obvious that Jeff's passing has affected me more than I had realised." She arose from her chair. "We shall leave for Kansas immediately, Parker. Make the booking to the United States. I will study the accident reports on the flight."

"Yes, Madam."

"And arrange for FAB4 to be flown to Kansas. We may need her."

"Yes, Madam."

Scott glared at Lady Penelope's portrait long after it had reverted back to its original, static form. How dare she!? Stuck up, toffee-nosed, female. What right did this woman have to tell HIM how to run his own family? What right did she have to go over his head? What right..."

As the anger seeped out of his system he felt saddened and then ashamed. What right did he have to tell her to butt out? All Lady Penelope was trying to do was help the whole family and Scott knew full well that they all needed help.

The realisation hit him like a brick. They'd have to do something to snap out of this depression that they'd all fallen into, and fast; before they drifted so far apart that they'd never be able to bridge the gulf between them.

Scott decided that as the self appointed leader of the household, he should be the one to begin building that bridge. He'd start by talking to the brother that he'd always felt closest to... If the brother was willing to listen...

Scott walked into the kitchen. "I thought I'd find you here."

Virgil, standing in one of the walk-in pantries, started guiltily as he removed some snack bars from off the shelf. "Why?"

"Because, these last few days, if you haven't been wiring up Thunderbird Two, you've been eating. How much do you weigh now?"

"What does that matter?"

"It could affect your health, it could affect your work, and..." Scott pulled on the elastic waistband of Virgil's trousers, "your clothes don't fit"

"You can't talk!" Virgil had decided that the best form of defence was attack. "Your clothes are hanging off you! You've had to put another hole in your belt to keep your trousers up! How much have you lost?"

Scott side-stepped the question. "I asked you first."

"Well, be prepared to reciprocate."

"How much, Virgil?" Scott demanded.

Virgil glared at his brother as if trying to think of a counter-attack. Then he shrugged in defeat. "Four kilos..."

"Four k...! Virgil! It's only been four days!"

"Now you tell me, Scott! How much have you lost? Don't tell me you don't know, because I know you weigh yourself religiously." Virgil's brown eyes were boring into Scott's blue ones.

Scott looked away. "Fimmkmgmm," he muttered.

"What? I didn't hear you!"

"I said four kilograms, okay!" Scott flared up. "Though what it's got to do with you...!"

Virgil's reply was just as heated. "You're my brother; it's got everything to do with me!"

"Well I don't...!" Scott pulled himself up short. This kind of exchange was precisely what he was trying to prevent. "I'm sorry, Virgil. I shouldn't snap at you."

Surprised, Virgil accepted the apology. He leant back against the pantry's shelves and sighed. "What's wrong with us?" He opened a bag of chips.

"I don't know," Scott admitted over the sound of crunching. "I don't know why I keep getting angry. I yell and then I think, 'why did I do that? Why did I just hurt someone who's hurting as much as I am?' And I never know the answer."

"I've tried to work out why I'm hungry all the time, and all that I've concluded is that I feel that a part of me is missing... And I guess I'm trying to fill the hole," Virgil admitted. "But knowing that hasn't helped. Look at this." He pulled at a cardboard carton. One muesli bar slid down its length. "I hate these things, but I'm the one eating them. There was a full carton before I started. I'll be doing something and all of a sudden I'll think, 'Yuk! Sawdust', and realise that I'm eating one of these bars. But even then I can't stop myself from finishing it off. Odds on I'll have eaten that one by the end of the day..." He slumped back against the shelf. "And then I look at you and wonder why aren't you eating at all?"

"Because you're eating enough for the two of us and I'm trying to save money." Scott immediately felt ashamed of himself as his feeble joke caused a hurt expression to cross Virgil's face. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say," he admitted. "I just don't feel hungry. And I want to keep busy. I want to stop myself analysing how I feel; how we're spinning out of control... How scared I am..."

"Scared?" Virgil stared at his elder brother. "You?"

Scott nodded. "Before Alan's accident I was scared that maybe someone was going to get hurt. Before we read the will I was scared that I wasn't going to be as good as Father at running International Rescue. And now that Alan's been hurt; now that we're going to have to disband International Rescue, I'm scared that I'm failing him."

"You're not failing him, Scott. He wouldn't expect you to work miracles."

"A part of me keeps saying, 'what if somehow, somewhere, it's my fault that we're having to sell the island? What if I should have taken a more active role in his affairs?"

"I think we're all thinking that at the moment. We're all guilty of ignoring that side of our lives. I suppose we've all subconsciously assumed that the money would always be there for us; falling out of the sky. The debt isn't your fault." Virgil gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't be scared. We have complete faith in you. We always have and always will."

"And there's one other thing I'm scared of," Scott finished his recitation. "I'm scared that I'm not going to be able to keep us together."

Virgil grimaced. "We're in a bad way aren't we? All of us."

"Yes we are," Scott agreed. "And I want to stop being scared." He straightened slightly. "I think it's time we did something about it. I want the four of us to talk. Maybe then we can start getting back to something resembling normality?"

"Four?"

"You, me, John and Gordon."

"What about Alan?"

"He's part of the reason why we've got to do something. Maybe if we four can start to get on with our lives again, then maybe he'll be able to forget this crazy story of his."

"It might not be that easy. I think he really believes that he saw Father."

"I know. But forgetting about Alan for a moment; we can't carry on like this, can we?"

"No," Virgil agreed. "We can't. But where do we start?"

"By finding Gordon and John..."

They found John in bed. Scott had forced open his bedroom door when he didn't answer their knock.

"Hey!" John complained. "What's the big idea?!" He sat up and put his headphones on his head.

Scott was not impressed. "Will you get rid of those things?!"

"Scott," Virgil said quietly. "Calm down."

"Right..." Scott took a deep breath and tried to get his temper under control. "John," he asked. "Will you come with us for a moment? We all need to talk."

"Huh?" John adjusted the headphones.

Trying to maintain his cool; Scott repeated his request.

John frowned and looked between his two brothers.

"Please, John," Virgil pleaded.

"You want us to talk?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "Do you remember how?"

"Scott..." Virgil rolled his eyes heavenwards in exasperation.

"Why?" John asked.

"You've got to admit that we all need help," Virgil explained. "We're hoping that by talking we'll be able to help each other."

"Get dressed," Scott ordered. "We'll meet you by the pool."

John looked between his brothers again. "Okay," he agreed.

Gordon, as expected, was swimming laps of the pool. Scott and Virgil watched him until John, now fully clothed but still wearing his headphones, arrived in the courtyard.

Gordon turned for another lap.

"Wait, Gordon!" Scott ordered.

Gordon stopped. "What?"

"Get out of...! Ah..." Scott made a conscious adjustment to his attitude. "Would you mind coming onto dry land for a minute?"

Gordon's expression clearly read that he did mind. Nevertheless his curiosity got the better of him and he acquiesced to his brother's request.

John adjusted his headphones and then removed them from his head. He held them tightly in his hand.

Virgil leant on the back of a deck chair and waited. He bit into a chocolate chip cookie and brushed the crumbs off the seat.

"Well I'm here," Gordon said. "Make it quick."

Now that he'd called the informal meeting Scott didn't know where to begin. "It's been a rough few days," he said awkwardly.

None of his brothers said anything, but each of them gave a slight nod of agreement.

"But it's time we got over it. Father would be horrified if he knew the way we've been behaving."

He received the minuscule nod in triplicate again.

"And we're not helping Alan carrying on this way."

"Alan," Gordon said. "He needs real help."

"He does," Scott agreed. "I've just had an argument with Lady Penelope over him."

Virgil blinked. "You did what?"

"You must have a death wish!" Gordon exclaimed. "We'll be planning your funeral next..." He realised what he had said and reddened. "I'm sorry."

"See! That's what I mean," Scott told them all. "We used to always make comments like that to each other, and never thought anything of it. You shouldn't be sorry, Gordon."

"Yeah," John nodded his agreement.

"I have a theory," Scott began slowly, "that we might be at least part of the reason why Alan's behaving the way he is."

Gordon scratched his head. "How do you mean?"

"I'm no psychologist, but I'm wondering if somehow the bump on the head has caused him to reason that things were okay when Father was alive... That was when we behaved 'normally'."

"And if Father were to come back to life, then we'd be 'normal' again?" Virgil asked.

Scott nodded. "And... I think... we can help by trying to pull ourselves together, starting today. Virgil, you've got to stop eating so much. Gordon, you can't spend all day in the pool. And, John, it would be really nice if you would talk to us in complete sentences."

"And you, Scott?" Gordon asked.

"I've got to start trying to eat, and I've got to stop biting everyone's heads off..."

"Probably why you haven't been hungry," Gordon managed to quip. Then he became serious. "How?"

"We've got to support each other and try to make an effort to break these negative habits." Scott held out his hand to Virgil. "Give me your apple."

Virgil looked down at the piece of fruit that he'd picked up on the way out of the kitchen. "You're going to make me set the example, are you?" he asked as he handed it over.

"No," Scott replied. "I'm going to set the example." He weighed the apple in his hands. "I really don't want this."

His brothers watched him as he tentatively took a small bite.

"You okay?" Virgil asked.

"Yeah," Scott managed a small smile and took another, slightly larger bite, chewing slowly. He swallowed. "Look, maybe if we tried to talk through our concerns it will be easier for us all. Let's go up to the lookout. We won't be disturbed there..."

10 Ten: Memories

Alan lay on his bed alone in his room and tried to rest his pounding head, but his thoughts wouldn't let him. Had he done the right thing in calling Lady Penelope? She'd seemed willing to at least consider the idea that his father was alive, but was she only humouring him? What if she was on the phone to Scott now, telling him that Alan needed professional help and demanding to know why Scott wasn't doing something about it? To tell the truth Alan didn't know why Scott hadn't done something. It was pretty obvious that no one in the family believed him and had thought he'd gone insane.

Alan thought again about Lady Penelope. He'd always admired and respected her, and he'd hoped that she'd regarded him in the same way. What if she now regarded him as a crazy idiot? What if she was just like everyone else in his family?

But then what if his father was alive, in pain and in danger?

Virgil reached the lookout with a groan, rolled onto the ground and lay there on his back letting the hot sun caress his face. "That path never used to be that steep."

Scott crouched down beside him. "Are you okay?"

Virgil nodded, his arm over his eyes, shielding them from the sun.

"Good." Scott stood, and the world appeared to spin about him. "Whoa!" He leant forward, hands on his knees.

Virgil sat up. "Are you okay?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah. Got a little dizzy there." He flopped down beside Virgil.

"You two do realise what your problems are, don't you?" Gordon asked.

Scott craned his head so he could view his brother who was sitting comfortably on the wooden seat; positioned to maximise the view. "We know."

Virgil felt in a pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar. "Here, eat this. Get your blood sugar levels up." He handed it to Scott.

"Haven't you got something healthier? Where's that sawdust bar?"

"In the pantry."

"No it's not. You put it in that pocket."

Virgil reached into the pocket that Scott had indicated and pulled out the muesli bar. "See! I told you I'd do that!"

Scott pulled the wrapper of the bar and looked about him as he bit into it. The lookout was a raised, lichen covered, rocky area on one of the outflows from the volcano that formed the body of the island. Straight ahead was the unending expanse of the blue Pacific Ocean. Below they could see the buildings of the complex that formed their present home. To their right the Round House was visible on the skyline and down to the left they could make out the end of the island's runway. "Father used to love it up here."

John was standing on the edge of the lookout gazing out to sea; his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He nodded.

"You're right, Scott, he did," Gordon agreed.

John turned his back on the ocean and sat down on a convenient rock. He picked up a stick and started scratching into the thin layer of dirt on the ground. "We should name it after him."

His brothers were silent for a moment as they absorbed his idea: and the fact that he had spoken.

"Jefferson Lookout," Gordon tried out. "That sounds right. Let's do it. You can make a sign, Virgil."

"The only problem," Scott noted. "Is that whoever takes over the island will change the name."

"So!" Gordon sounded obstinate. "We'll write into the contract that it's not to be changed. As a memorial to our father."

"And future generations will think it's a memorial to Thomas Jefferson or someone else!"

"Calm down, Scott," Virgil said quietly. "I think it's a good idea."

"I am calm!" Scott snapped. Then he caught himself. "Sorry, fellas."

There was silence again.

"Aren't we meant to be talking?" Gordon asked. "I could be in the pool. You're the one who dragged us up here, Scott. Say something."

"Okay," Scott said. "Why are we all behaving the way we have been? Why have we suddenly become so... so..."

"Nuts?" Gordon finished.

"I was thinking more along the lines of insular."

No one had the answer to the question, so no one replied.

Virgil reached into one of his many pockets for something to eat. "Know what I miss?" he asked rhetorically, his eyes still closed against the sun. "His presence. Even when he was away on business, or I was someplace else, I always felt that he was there. He was only a videocall away." He bit into an apple.

"Our lodestar has disappeared," John said.

"Lodestar," Scott mused. "You're right. That's what he was to us. A constant beacon in our lives."

"I keep expecting to see him sitting at his desk," Gordon admitted. "Always with some piece of paper in his hand. It could be work or it could be a newspaper, but there was always something."

"He'd be heartbroken if he knew we had to sell the island," Virgil said. "It's hard to believe that he was in such a poor financial position, and we didn't even know."

Gordon agreed. "It still doesn't seem quite real does it?"

"No." Virgil shifted so that a rock in the ground wasn't digging into his shoulder blades. "It doesn't. And Alan saying that it's not real doesn't make it any easier."

"Fellas," Scott began slowly. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but Alan's asked Penny to look for Father."

At once he had the undivided attention of all three brothers. Virgil's eyes snapped open and he sat up so he could look at Scott clearly. "He's done what!"

"That's crazy!" Gordon exclaimed. "Did he tell you this?"

"No, Penny did. She said that she thinks that he's trying to convince himself, as much as us, that he's not crazy. She said that she thinks that he'll go along with whatever she finds."

"And when she finds that the facts don't lie?" Virgil asked.

Scott shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm telling you three this because I want you all... I want US all to go easy on him. When she gets the evidence he's going to need all our support. Don't let's push him away now."

"Evidence! What more evidence does he need?" Gordon asked. "There's witnesses, forensic evidence, audio evidence... What on earth could Penny find that the authorities, with all their resources, couldn't?"

"Penny did suggest that maybe he saw someone who looked like Father," Scott said. "If she can find this man..."

"Someone who needs a shave," Gordon added.

"...That might be the end of it," Scott finished.

"I hope so," Virgil said. "It's hard enough letting go without Alan carrying on."

"So let's make a start now," Scott suggested. "Let's get him up here. We'll show him that we're starting to pull ourselves together. And no one is to mention the sale of the island, or what Alan saw, or anything like that. Okay?"

"Can we do that?" Gordon asked. "Can we pretend to be what might be loosely called 'normal'?"

"Can we at least try?" Scott asked. "Even the idea that we are trying to get ourselves together again, might be enough to get Alan back on track. Are you all willing to try? Because I am."

He received three replies in the affirmative.

"How are you going to get him up here?" Virgil asked. "He's going to think that we'll only want to bully him into selling the island."

"Leave that to me." Scott raised his wristwatch so he was able to see the dial. "Are you reading me, Alan?"

After a moment's pause, his brother's pale, uncertain face appeared in the screen. "Scott?"

"How are you feeling, Kid?"

"I'm... I'm okay."

"We're up at the lookout; just shooting the breeze. And we've decided to name the place 'Jefferson Lookout', since Father liked it here so much. What do you think?"

There was another pause as Alan tried to get his mind around what his brother was saying. "'Jefferson Lookout'?"

"Yes. Do you think he would approve?"

"He'd... He'd probably be embarrassed by the idea," Alan eventually said.

Scott appeared to consider his brother's words. "True... But then it would be five against one... That's if you agree."

"I do," Alan nodded. "But since when have the five of us been able to overrule Dad?"

"We live in a democracy..." Scott began.

Gordon laughed. "Democracy? Dictatorship is more like it."

Scott brushed his brother's comment to one side. "Anyway, we're struggling to decide on the best place to put the sign..."

"The sign?" Alan asked.

"The one Virgil's going to paint. The one reading: 'Jefferson Lookout'," Scott told him. "Virgil and I think it should be at the top of the path. Gordon and John think beside the seat would be better. We need your casting vote."

"Mine?"

Scott nodded. "Like I said. This is a democracy. So why don't you grab a hoverbike and come up and tell us what you think?"

Alan thought briefly. His head was still hurting, but the fresh air might do it good. And he liked the idea of naming the lookout. When his father came home it would be a tangible sign of what their parent meant to them. "Okay. Be with you shortly."

Scott lowered his arm and grinned at his brothers. "Just got to know which buttons to push."

"Actually, I think it would look better over there," Gordon pointed to the very edge where the lookout dropped away down a steep cliff.

"So, you've got him up here," Virgil was telling Scott. "Now how do we prove that we're slipping back into normality... whatever that is?"

"Gordon's made a start," Scott reminded him. "He's not in the pool..."

"I'd like to be, though," Gordon admitted. "If I couldn't see the ocean I'd be passing Alan on the way down."

"You won't though, will you, Gordon?" Scott asked. "Please?"

Gordon nodded. "I'm okay at the moment."

"We've all done a little acting in our time," Scott said. "Pretend that you don't feel compelled to do whatever it is you're compelled to do. And if you see someone slipping, give them a nudge to remind them."

"And don't bite our heads off when we do." Gordon was looking pointedly at Scott.

"Maybe we'll be like that song in the 'King and I'," Virgil suggested, and began singing. "'The result of this deception - is very strange to tell. For when I fool the people I fear, I fool myself as well.'"

Gordon groaned. "Quick! Someone get him his piano! Anything to shut him up!"

Virgil screwed up his nose at his younger brother. "At least I can hold a tune... Unlike some I could mention."

There was a low hum from down on the path. They heard it get steadily louder until a hoverbike poked its nose over the brow of the hill.

Alan looked at his brothers in an uncertain manner and dismounted the 'bike. "Where did you want to put these signs?"

"Virgil and I vote for there," Scott pointed to beside the hoverbike. "John and Gordon were plugging for beside the seat, though Gordon's just changed his mind to over by the edge. What do you think?"

"I don't know," Alan admitted. "They all have their good points."

"I think Gordon's made a good suggestion," Virgil noted. "Though I'd bring it in a bit so it doesn't get blown away. That way, wherever you are on the lookout admiring the view, you'd see the sign and remember who it's named after."

"Sounds okay to me," Scott amended his vote. "How about you, John?"

John nodded. "Okay."

"Alan?"

"I like the idea. I think Dad would approve."

"Good!" Scott sounded cheerful. "That's settled then."

"Let's have something to celebrate," Virgil suggested, digging into his pockets. "I've nothing stronger than chocolate bars. Will that suit everyone?" He handed them out, tossing them to his brothers.

Alan stared at the one that he'd caught. Then he looked at Scott who appeared to be enjoying munching on his chocolate. Then he turned his attention to Virgil, who wasn't eating. "Aren't you having one?"

"No," Virgil said. "I've decided that I need to go on a diet." He tapped his abdomen. "If I gain any more weight I'll have to start wearing Scott's clothes."

Alan stared at him as John laughed.

Scott took advantage of his youngest brother's preoccupation and slipped the remains of his chocolate into his pocket.

"If you want, Virg, I'll be your personal trainer," Gordon offered. "You can use the pool for a change."

Virgil smiled. "Thanks, Gordon."

Alan stared at the both of them.

Scott leant back on his arms. "Remember how Father always came up here after he'd been away on business?"

"Or if he wanted to unwind after we'd had a particularly horrendous rescue," Gordon added.

John was lying on his back, gazing up at the clouds that were floating gently across the blue Pacific sky. "I remember," he began, "though it seems so long ago now..."

"John...?" Alan started saying. He stopped when Scott made a hurried gesture.

"...When I found Lucille," John continued on as if he were unaware of the interruption, "I asked Dad if he thought I should name it after Ma. He said she'd be proud to have a star named after her... I wonder if there's a star up there waiting to be called Jefferson?"

There was silence as his brothers absorbed what he said and waited to see if there was more.

John appeared to be content to continue his inspection of the heavens.

"I'm sure there is, John," Scott said. "It's waiting for you to find it."

Gordon nudged John with his toe. "Welcome back," he said, with more affection than he'd shown over the last few days.

John looked at him. "Thanks."

Alan sat on the ground beside him at stared at his siblings in disbelief.