NON-PARTICIPATION by PURUPUSS RATED FRC

This story is the same as my story Participation for those who can't access a word processor.

Author's Notes: This version is for those of you who can't cut and paste into a word processor. If you can, my story Participation is the same story, but the reader has to do some work to enjoy it. (fingers crossed) I can't claim any of the Thunderbird craft or characters - however if Virgil is ever available... Trixie is mine. I quite like her as a character and might use her elsewhere. Happy reading!

The Winner

"I am lucky," I told myself firmly. "I am lucky. I am lucky. I am lucky -- not." The ship swayed violently under my feet, echoing the heaving feeling I was experiencing in my stomach. All around me passengers were groaning and in some cases retching. It sounded and smelt terrible. It was not pleasant.

"I am lucky!" I told myself again and then tried to remember why...

I remembered entering the competition. I was pretty sure that I'd made some comment along the lines that I never won anything and I'd just handed over a donation to the charity. What was the charity? I couldn't remember and at the moment it didn't seem important.

I remembered the feeling of disbelief that I'd felt when I'd opened the letter.

"Dear Dr. Brown," it had begun.

'Here we go' I'd thought. 'Another begging letter.'

"We have pleasure in informing you that you have just won first prize in our raffle."

First prize! I'd rechecked the name and address: Dr. Chris Brown Auckland New Zealand

It was for me all right!

I'd planned on coming on this trip with 'the partner of your choice', but they'd had to pull out at the last moment, so I'd come alone, being unwilling to miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime.

I remembered the excitement I'd felt. The thrill at buying new clothes and kit. When I looked at the bill at the end of it I felt that I'd almost spent as much on gear as I would have done on paying for the cruise myself! But there was no way that I was going to feel shy amongst all those glamorous people I was bound to meet.

A glossy brochure had fallen out of the letter. It had detailed the fun I would have with two weeks on board the luxurious 'Golden Empress' of the Gold Star Line. We would be sailing around the islands of the Caribbean, taking in the sun, the sights, the smells...

I dragged my thoughts back to the present --

'Sun?' I was trapped, clinging to the banisters on the upstairs level above the foyer and lounge. No chance for any sun here.

'Sights!' The sight of the inside of an ocean liner floundering at sea. For some reason we had no power and the only light was coming from the dimly lit emergency lights.

'Smells!' I didn't even want to think about that!

How we'd gotten into this mess I didn't know. The crew had been unwilling or unable to tell us. We'd sailed into a 'bit of a storm'. A storm that had increased in ferocity too a full scale hurricane.

"Nothing to worry about." We'd been assured. "The 'Golden Empress' is equipped to deal with violent storms."

But then there'd been a major explosion, followed by an ominous cracking sound and the power had gone off. We'd been asked to assemble in the lounge and foyer area. Some people moaning, some complaining and some mute with terror -- we'd all complied.

The glossy brochure had proudly proclaimed that the 'Golden Empress' was so state of the art, that most of the crew was employed to ensure that the passengers had an enjoyable time. Only a minimal crew was needed for maintenance and engineering. A minimal crew that was sadly understaffed for the crisis we were facing now.

For we'd heard that the ship was taking on water and the seas were too rough to launch the lifeboats!

Golden Empress

All sorts of rumours were abounding as to why we were in this predicament:

"We've hit an iceberg!" As we were cruising close to the equator I was inclined to discredit that one.

"A bomb's exploded in the hold."

"An engine has overheated."

"The bar man had been too adventuresome with one of his fiery drinks and had set fire to a vat of whiskey which had ignited some vodka, which had lit..." Now that one was too fanciful.

I remembered dinner last night. One old timer had droned on and on about how poorly made and under crewed the ship was.

"But it cost $600 million to build," someone had said.

"Most of that money," he'd replied, "went into the pockets of the designers and the big bugs. They don't know how to make ships anymore," he'd espoused, "not like last century."

"Like the Titanic?" someone had facetiously asked.

The old gent hadn't been amused. "Mark my words," he wagged his finger at us all, "one day it'll happen, you'll see. One day."

I could see him now as I looked down through the banisters into the gloom. He was seated in one of the overstuffed armchairs that were bolted to the floor. A male Cassandra terrified by his own predictions.

I'd only managed to salvage one thing from my cabin. I took my camera from out of my pocket and snapped a few photos. I doubted they'd turn out in this light, but felt the need to have some sort of record. That was if we made it out alive.

I put the camera back into my pocket and once again peered through the banisters. There seemed to be a large crowd by the bulkhead door. As I watched the group seemed to surge forward and diminish in size. I could just make out their exit thorough the door. For some reason they were going outside! Then a wail rose up to me from below. It had come from those by the now closed door. Some were beating on it.

"Please keep calm," a voice rang out. It seemed to have the opposite effect. The noise increased in volume.

It was during this melee that I, incredibly, heard a small voice from behind me. "Help me! Would someone please help me?"

I dragged my eyes from the scene below and peered into the gloom. It was an elderly lady, blindly feeling her way along the wall. "Please help me," she pleaded. "I can't see."

I abandoned my position against the railing and crawled over to her. "Here." I took her arm. "It's easier if you crawl."

My touch seemed to reassure her. "Oh, thank you!" she breathed as she stiffly got to her knees. "What's happening?"

No point in worrying her more than necessary. "We're in a bit of a storm and the generators have given out."

"Bit of a storm!" she scoffed. "And I'm only twenty one!"

I looked at her more closely now. Her name, she'd had pleasure in telling anyone who'd listen, was Beatrix Trickey But she was called by her friends, and she hoped we'd all be friends, Trixie. "Tricky Trixie," she said with a laugh. She'd outlived two children. "They were too boring to live."

She was, she claimed, eighty-four.

She'd thrown herself into this cruise with all the gusto of someone a quarter of her age, trying anything and everything. Clapping her hands in delight when she'd won a game of shuffleboard, laughing at her ineptitude when she lost a hand of bridge. She'd not restricted herself to activities designed for the older set either. She'd been "boogying down" as she put it, quite happily in the night club last night.

I'd been amazed to discover that she lived only a couple of streets away from me. How could I have missed meeting this energetic octogenarian before?

To see this vibrant and garrulous women so helpless and frightened was pitiful.

"What's happened to the lights?" she asked.

I explained that we'd lost power and only the emergency lights were visible.

"Oh that explains it," she said. "My eyesight's not the best in dim light. I'm as blind as a bat." She gave a thin chuckle, a weak echo of her normal laugh.

She pushed her face closer to mine. "I'm sorry dear, I can't recognise you."

"My name's Chris Brown."

"Chris?" she said thoughtfully. "Oh, I know! You were the lucky soul who won this cruise in a competition."

"That's right."

"I'll bet the organisers didn't think this would be part of the prize."

"No, and neither did I!"

She laughed again. "Well, you'll really have something to remember. I can't wait to tell my friends. I'll be able to dine out on this story for months!"

I had to admire her spunk. Here she was, eighty-four, trapped in a ship that in my opinion was as good as doomed, and the though that the end of her life was near hadn't even crossed her mind.

"Trixie!"

"Yes dear?"

"If you can't see in the dim light, why'd you go to the night club?" It was an inane question in light of our current predicament, but for some reason I had to hear.

"Oh, I know it sounds strange and I can't see the other dancers very well, but I love being in the thick of things. And with all those bodies gyrating about no one is going to pay any attention to an old body bumping into them."

She laughed again. She sounded more like her old self.

Suddenly the ship pitched alarmingly. I let out a yell and grabbed Trixie tightly.

"Steady dear," she said calmly as the ship righted itself again. She patted my arm soothingly. "We'll be all right."

I exhaled noisily. "Sorry, Trixie."

"That's all right, dear. Only not so loud in my ear next time, okay?"

"I'll try to remember that."

"Now," she said, as if she were perusing her shopping list, "how do we get out of this little predicament, Chris?"

"I don't know. But if we crawl to the balcony we, I-I mean I, can see what's happening down below."

"Then lead on, MacDuff, or should I say MacChris?"

The scene below was as I remembered it, except there were less people. In fact I estimated that half the number had gone, including 'Cassandra'.

"What's happening?" I asked the man beside me.

"Dunno," he grunted. "Maybe they're manning the life boats. Every so often that door opens and a wave of 'em sweep out."

"D'you think we could get closer?" someone asked. "There're less people on the stairs now."

As if in reply there was a voice, amplified and distorted by a megaphone. "Would those upstairs start making their way down the stairs? Slowly, please."

Trixie grabbed my arm, her nails digging through sleeve. "Chris. How am I going to get down those stairs?" she whimpered.

"Don't worry. I'll help you." We'd reached the top of the broad sweeping staircase. "You go down hanging on to the banisters and I'll stay beside you."

"But I won't be able to walk down! Not with the boat rolling like this!" She was starting to panic.

"We won't walk. We'll go down on our, ah, bottoms. Here's the top step -- swing your legs round so your feet are two steps down. That's it. Now ease your bottom onto the next step and down we go!"

We completed this manoeuvre about ten times when Trixie turned in my direction. "Chris," she asked brightly, "wouldn't it be quicker to slide down the banisters?"

In spite of our predicament I found myself laughing along with her. The other passengers must have thought we were mad.

It was a long, tiring trip down those stairs and we were thankful to reach the bottom. I was surprised to see that only a relatively small group of people remained.

"Where is everyone?" I asked.

"International Rescue." The words were spoken in awe. "International Rescue are airlifting us off the boat. We're the last to leave."

"Did you hear that?" I asked Trixie. "International Rescue are going to save us."

"International Rescue!" She breathed. "I've always wanted to meet them."

Considering International Rescue had only been in existence a maximum of five years, I took this statement with a grain of salt.

As if on cue the door slid open and a bright light spilled into our gloomy prison. A young man was standing there. His uniform was blue; his sash was orange, matching perfectly the trim on his hat and boots. His hair appeared to be copper in colour and he gave us all a big grin.

"Right. All aboard. Last calls," he said. An American I noted.

Everyone shuffled forward. Trixie and I decided to crawl the rest of the way. "This is hard on my poor old knees," she complained. It was the only real word of complaint that I'd heard from her.

My knees weren't taking too kindly to it either.

We found ourselves beside a pair of blue boots. The owner of the boots squatted down so he was at our level. "I can't have this," he said cheerfully. "I won't have anyone grovelling at my feet." He gave Trixie a big smile tempered by a frown of concern. "Are you able to stand?"

"Oh, yes," she said brightly and got to her feet aided by me and the man in blue.

We stepped into what appeared to be a large elevator car, which was packed with people.

The International Rescue man turned to the ship's captain who was ticking off names on the ship's manifest. "Is that all?" he enquired.

The Captain scanned the manifest. "That's all," he confirmed.

"Great!" the International Rescue man said. "Come aboard, Capt'n." The Captain hesitated. "I've never been a believer that the captain should go down the his ship," the International Rescue man continued. "I'd appreciate it if you'd come with us."

The Captain nodded, glanced around the darkened shell of his pride and joy, straightened his shoulders and marched into the elevator. The doors closed behind him.

"Okay, Thunderbird Two," the man from International Rescue spoke into an intercom. "That's the lot."

"F.A.B.," the intercom replied.

"Hang on, everyone." The International Rescue man was talking to us all now. "Next floor, sardines and tinned goods."

A little ripple of nervous laughter ran through the crowd. I wondered how many times he'd cracked that joke.

I heard four thunks from beneath our feet and then experienced a rising sensation. The ride wasn't smooth, but at least we were free of the cruise liner.

There was a hiss and then four more sounds. The man in blue spoke again into the intercom. "Thunderbird Two, we've arrived."

Once again there was a disembodied "F.A.B.," and the doors opened.

"Right, ladies and gentlemen, if you would like to head down the corridor and take a seat, we will be off shortly."

Trixie was still clinging to my arm when we reached the room where the other passengers were. As I gaped at it I got some idea of the size of the plane we were in -- the mythical Thunderbird Two.

I escorted Trixie to a seat and assisted her into her safety harness. Then following the lead of others, reached underneath the seat and pulled out a bucket. "You may want to give it to someone else," I told her. I couldn't see her needing it for herself!

The International Rescue operative came over to double-check my handiwork. "We can't have young ladies falling about and hurting themselves," he told a giggling Trixie.

I looked about. I couldn't see any spare seats. I cleared my throat. "Ah, excuse me. Where can I sit?"

"Oh," he said. "Good question. Wait a moment." He wandered up and down the auditorium-sized hold, stopping occasionally to check a harness or give a reassuring word. When he got back to me, he was frowning.

"We have a slight problem. We've no seats remaining here and we've nowhere else to put you safely." He paused in thought. "There is one option," he said just before I started to panic. "Come with me."

I followed him obediently through a door. As soon as the door behind us was closed he turned back towards me. "Can you keep a secret?"

"I've got a terrible memory," I told him. "I'm just as likely to forget any secrets anyway."

He still hesitated. "Do you swear, by whatever Supreme Power you believe in, that everything you see and hear will remain secret?"

I was startled and mumbled an "I do.", feeling I was either about to be brought before a jury, or be married.

Suddenly he smiled again. "Sorry about this, but this is all very irregular. Come with me."

We entered a lift and rode upward in silence. This ride was much smoother than the one we'd just completed. I assumed that we were no longer attached to the Golden Empress.

The elevator doors opened and I found myself on the flight deck of Thunderbird Two!

Flight Deck

With an effort I forced my eyes downward so I couldn't compromise the organisation that had just saved my life.

All my good intentions went out the window when I heard another voice. "Took you long enough, Gordon."

They'd been spoken by a man largely hidden by the pilots seat. All I could make out was his Brown hair. He was concentrating on keeping his craft steady and hadn't seen me.

'Gordon' cleared his throat. "Ah, I ran into a bit of a problem." He winked at me.

"What's tha...?" the pilot turned and saw me, his words dying in his throat. "What are you playing at?" he calmly asked his colleague before turning back to his instruments.

"There weren't enough seats," Gordon said lamely.

"There should have been at least three spare," the pilot continued. "Were we given the wrong information?"

"No," Gordon said. "It's just that some of the passengers are rather well-endowed, shall I say, and took up two seats."

"Oh," was the quiet answer. "And the medical bay?"

"Full of the injured and the ship's medical crew have all the seats."

The pilot sighed. "What do you think Fa...Base will say about this?"

"We could always not tell them," Gordon said brightly, but not too hopefully. "And anyway, um, I'm sorry I don't know your name."

"Chris. Chris Brown."

"Chris has agreed to keep this all secret. And anyway I think, um, Base will be more annoyed if someone gets injured because we didn't have a safety harness on them."

"I wouldn't be too happy about it either," I piped up and then wished I hadn't spoken.

"If it goes wrong I'll take the blame," said Gordon.

"I guess we can't hang around here discussing it," the pilot said. "Get Chris belted in, and make sure your harness is firm, too. We're in for a rough ride!"

Gordon directed me to a nearby chair and ensured my harness was tight. He was just adjusting his own when...

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two."

The pilot gave a quiet groan. "Thunderbird Two," he replied cautiously.

"How's it going, Virgil?"

I could hear the anguish in 'Virgil's' voice. "We've had a slight hiccup. We've run out of seating in the passenger hold."

"How many are you short?" the voice of Thunderbird One asked anxiously.

"One."

"One? Where are they?"

Virgil cleared his throat. "Here, on the flight deck."

"What! But Virg..." Thunderbird One clearly became aware of their predicament. "So they're listening to us now."

"Yes."

"I'm trying not to," I told Gordon. "Maybe if you got me some earplugs..."

"I know. Don't worry about it," he acknowledged.

"What about the medical bay?" Thunderbird One was asking.

"Full."

"And there's definitely no room in the hold."

"Definitely. We've covered that."

A thought came to me and I fished about in my pocket. "Look. This is the only thing I managed to salvage from the ship." I held out my camera. "It's got all my photos of the cruise on it, but if it'll make you feel better about trusting me I'll let you keep it." I gave it to Gordon.

He looked at the camera and then at Virgil, who was peering around the edge of his seat.

"You can check," I added, "I haven't taken anything of International Rescue. It's a digital."

"What's happening?" Thunderbird One asked.

"It's okay. I think we can trust Chris," Virgil told him.

"Chris? Oh, your passenger."

"Gaining height now," Virgil stated.

This time I had little impression of any change in altitude, so smooth was the ascension.

The rain beating on the cabin windows made it impossible to get any external bearings on our height.

Gordon carefully placed my camera into an adjacent locker and then lowered a video screen down from the ceiling. "Let's see what's happening with your ship," he said.

The image was surreal. "We're using special cameras to see through the rain," Gordon explained. "They've also got to be able to zoom in. We're climbing at a high rate of knots."

The 'Golden Empress' was rolling like a toy in a bathtub.

"What happened to the stabilisers?" Gordon asked.

"I don't know. We weren't told anything..."

My words trailed off as I was gripped by the scene playing in front of my eyes, via the video screen. The 'Golden Empress' was going down.

I was reminded of the old 'Titanic' movies as the ship split in two. Both the bow and the stern were raised skywards before the stern was broadsided by a wave and rolled under the water.

The bow held its ground for a moment before sliding vertically to the ocean's depths.

There was a moment's silence in the cabin as if we were paying our last respects.

"Sad," Gordon broke the relative quiet. "I hate to see a boat go down." I couldn't find any words to reply with and after a moment he continued. "On the plus side at least this new sea water fuel will prevent a major environmental catastrophe." He spoke as one who had an affinity with the sea. Then he looked at me. "I'm sorry. You've lost everything that was on board."

I shrugged. "Everything was new, but it was covered by insurance. The main thing was that you guys got everyone out alive. I'm grateful and I'm sure everyone else is too."

"Well," Virgil said, "time we got out of here."

But it wasn't going to be that easy.

St. Elmo's Fire

I'd only just recovered from the shock of seeing the 'Golden Empress' sink when there was a flash and Thunderbird Two started to shudder. What was really alarming was the eerie blue glow that pulsed momentarily outside the windows.

"Saint Elmo's Fire." Gordon explained quietly. "We've been hit by lighting."

Even as he was saying it I became aware that Virgil was speaking calmly. Not to us but to my fellow passengers down in the hold. "Attention, everyone. I would like to apologise for the difficulties we are currently experiencing. We've been struck by lightning, but have suffered no major damage. We are climbing to above the storm where our flight should be smoother. Our apologies for any inconvenience." He switched off.

From my vantage point I could see Virgil struggling with the controls. The plane was still shuddering violently.

"What's wrong Virg.?" Gordon asked quietly.

"Slight tail damage," Virgil replied shortly.

Gordon looked at me and must have seen the fear in my face. "Don't worry," he said lightly, though I could see a sheen of sweat on his top lip. He leant closer confidentially. "He's the best pilot in the business. Only don't tell him I said so," he grinned.

"Don't worry, I heard," came a voice from the front.

"You're not meant to be eavesdropping," Gordon rejoined. "You should be concentrating on getting us there in one piece."

Virgil must have taken the advice to heart, as there was no reply.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two. What's the situation, Virgil?"

"Been hit by lightning. Tail damage. Minor." Concentration reduced Virgil's sentences down to the barest details.

"Can you still fly her safely?"

"F.A.B., Scott." Obviously safety, not security was foremost in Virgil's mind at the moment. "Bad vibration. But should be fine."

"Okay, Virgil. What's your plan of action?"

"Get above storm cell. Wind's causing the problem." As if wanting to underline Virgil's statement a lightning bolt flashed past the windows.

"Fine, Virgil. I'll let base know." 'Scott' signed off.

For a while no one spoke. I closed my eyes and gripped the edge of my seat tightly.

I heard a noise and dared to open one eye. Gordon had brought a weather satellite picture up on screen. The display was filled with incomprehensible numbers and symbols. He looked and me and I opened the other eye. "Oh, you're awake." He feigned surprise. "I thought all this rocking had put you to sleep."

"Hardly" I said tightly.

"You won't have to put up with it much longer." He continued. "We're nearly above the storm."

Even as he spoke the rain started easing off and Thunderbird Two's shuddering started to reduce in intensity.

We emerged into a deep blue sky.

"We must be quite high up," I remarked.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two."

"Thunderbird Two receiving."

"I have visual on you. I'll get a photo of your tail section and send it through."

"Thanks, ah, Thunderbird One." I could hear caution in Virgil's voice.

"Don't worry about security now, Virgil," Gordon piped up. "You've already told Chris Scott's name."

"I have?" Virgil sounded surprised. "When?"

"Don't worry about it," Gordon told him.

A printer started chattering and Virgil turned his attention to it, muttering something that sounded like "So much for security." Gordon grinned and gave me a wink.

Thunderbird Two had steadied enough that Gordon felt confident in undoing his safety harness and walking over to the pilots seat. I did not share his confidence and continued clinging to my seat.

The two men examined the photo closely and held a conference with Scott. I could hear snatches of conversation, but tried not to listen.

Eventually they came to a decision. Virgil re-opened the intercom to the passenger hold and medical bay. "Attention, everyone. Thank you for your patience. We will now proceed to a nearby island to affect some repairs. When they are completed we will proceed to Anderson City where you will be met by a representative of the Gold Star Line..."

Gordon had resumed his seat beside me. "Scott's arranged it," he told me. "We decided that it would be safer to do the repairs now, although we'd probably be okay if we headed straight for Anderson City. Now we sit back and wait for the complaints." On cue a quarrelsome voice came over the intercom. "Here we go." Gordon rolled his eyes. "There's always one."

"Young man," the voice - male - well to do - and nasal - was saying. "I refuse to be cooped up in this tin can..."

"Virgil's not going to like Two being called a 'tin can,'" Gordon whispered.

"... for much longer. Our daughter will be most distressed. My wife certainly is. I demand that we be taken to Anderson City immediately!"

The man paused and Virgil had a chance to reply. If he was annoyed there was no sound of it in his voice. He was cool, calm and rational. "I'm sorry for all this inconvenience, but as I said, your next of kin, as listed on your boarding forms, will have been notified.

"Currently if we were to make our way directly to Anderson City, we will have to pass through the storm again. I promise you, this way you will have a much more comfortable trip."

"And what about our things left on the ship? We should have retrieved them." This was a female voice.

"I'm sorry that was not practicable." Virgil told her. "International Rescue's interest was in saving your lives. You will have to take it up with the Gold Star Line if there is any chance of retrieving your belongings." He muted the intercom. "Boy! Some people are never satisfied." Finally there was exasperation in his voice.

"Why didn't you just tell her the ship had sunk?" I asked.

He looked around the seat at me and grinned. For the first time I had a clear look at his face: brown eyes, tanned skin and a slightly older appearance than Gordon. "If I told them their precious belongings were at the bottom of the ocean they would have insisted that we send Thunderbird Four down to retrieve them. That kind of argument only upsets the rest of the passengers." He turned the intercom volume up.

There was a question from the Captain. "Some of the passengers were wondering if it would be in order to alight and stretch their legs while the repairs are undertaken."

"That would be quite in order," Virgil confirmed. "Only please, no photographs of our craft or personnel."

Confrontation

We landed and I finally unhooked my fingers from the edge of the seat and massaged them to relieve the cramp.

Gordon noticed my actions. "Is Virgil's flying really that bad?" he asked in a stage whisper.

Virgil heard him, as he was meant to. "How about a little job, Gordon?"

Gordon sounded wary. "Doing what?"

"It must be pretty unpleasant in the passenger hold. Why don't you go give it a bit of a clean?" Virgil was grinning as if he'd scored a point.

Gordon screwed up his face. "I guess I don't have any option."

"Not unless you've got the skills to strap on a jet pack and repair Two's tail."

"Okay," Gordon conceded. "I'll raid the larder first and see if I can scare up anything to feed the hungry masses."

"I've seen that lot eat," I warned him. "Just make sure you get clear before you let them know food's available."

"They won't like what we've got anyway," Gordon said. "We're not set up to cater for more than fifty."

"And all we have are energy bars," Virgil added. "Can't supply salmon and caviar."

I caught up with Trixie outside. "How're you?" I asked.

"Oh, Chris! There you are." She sounded as perky as ever. "Where ever did they put you? I was quite worried."

"Oh, they managed to squeeze me into a corner of the hold," I lied.

There was a hillock a short distance away and a group of us climbed it.

People all around were talking ninety to the dozen.

"It's great to be on land again."

"I'm just glad to finally get some fresh air."

"I don't know why they couldn't have taken us straight to Anderson City."

"I think the damage must be worse than they let on."

"I'll sue the Gold Star Line for the loss of my clothes and jewels."

"Look!" Someone had turned back and seen Thunderbird Two. "It's huge!"

"That storm must have been really something to damage a plane that size."

I spoke without thinking. "The rain was so heavy, you couldn't see outside."

I was aware that everyone was looking at me and wished I could find a hole to crawl into.

"You were on the flight deck," a man said.

I became defensive. "No I wasn't!"

"But that's the only part of the craft with windows!" The man pointed towards Thunderbird Two.

He was right.

"I - ah - I had a video monitor to watch," I said lamely. I don't think anyone believed me.

I settled down to watch what was going on, hoping to distance myself from the stares I was receiving.

Gordon was moving everyone away from the hull of Thunderbird Two. Then, to my immense surprise, the whole body of the craft seemed to rise up in the air. I soon realised that Thunderbird Two's exterior had risen up on some kind of stilts, leaving the body on the ground. A flap opened up at the rear of the plane and formed a ramp downwards. Out trundled some kind of machine towing what appeared to be one of Thunderbird Two's panels. When the towing machine was clear Virgil hopped out (it was then I realised that his sash was yellow) and climbed the ramp, which subsequently closed. The stilts retracted and Thunderbird Two's hull sank towards the ground.

So enthralled by this scene were we that we almost missed the arrival of another craft.

"Oh, wow!" someone ejaculated.

It was a silver rocket plane, smaller than Thunderbird Two but with the words Thunderbird One stencilled on the side. Legs extended and it gracefully landed behind us, red nose cone pointing towards its sister ship.

"I don't believe this," someone said. "Thunderbirds One and Two. I must be dreaming!"

"I'm going to get a photo," another man said and started searching his pockets.

"You can't do that!" a lady told him. "International Rescue asked us not to!"

"I'm not going to sell it!" he told her scornfully. "I just want a record for myself.

He found himself the victim of a barrage of complaints and accusations, all of which he ignored. It was clear he meant to get his photos.

I couldn't sit by and let him take them. "Stop!" I cried. But he took no more notice of me than of any of the others.

He finished retrieving his camera and gave it a quick check. As he raised it to his eye I did the only thing I could do. I quickly rose and stood between him and the plane.

"Hey!" he snarled. "What's the big idea?"

"I'm not going to let you take a photo!" I told him trying to keep calm.

"Get out of my way," he ordered.

"No!" I could feel my heart pounding.

He stood up. He was a big man. "You think that just because they let you ride on the flight deck you're a member of International Rescue. Is that it?"

"I wasn't on the flight deck," I lied miserably.

"Get out of my way!" he said quietly, but with menace. "I'm going to get my photo."

"No!" I repeated and held my breath.

"What's going on?" a voice that seemed slightly familiar intruded into our argument.

We all looked at the newcomer. He was clad in the distinctive International Rescue uniform except his sash and trim were pale blue. Black hair framed his face and his blue eyes were fixed on the man and his camera. "I'm sure that you were told that we don't allow photographs."

I recognised the voice. So this was Scott.

"I-I only want one for my album." The man, so big, brash and defiant before, was now on the back foot.

"I'm sorry, but I can't even allow that. If your photo were to get into the wrong hands, not only International Rescue's future could be jeopardised, but, as I'm sure you've heard, world security could be compromised." Scott's voice was calm and quiet and just as threatening towards the man with the camera, as his had been towards me.

The man offered a quiet apology and thrust the offending camera back into his pocket.

"Thank you," said Scott pointedly. "And thank you for coming to our defence," he told me with a smile.

"Ah, um. That's okay."

He continued on down the hill towards his colleagues.

A kind of awkward silence settled on our group, and I contented myself by watching the International Rescue men.

Scott, Gordon and Virgil were in a huddle. I could imagine Scott telling the others about our little contretemps. In fact, as I thought this, all three looked in our direction. "Oh", I could imagine Gordon or Virgil saying. "That's Chris." I reddened at the thought.

Discussion over, the three of them settled down to work. Gordon headed inside Thunderbird Two, I guessed to clean out the passenger hold. Scott remained outside to help Virgil, who was donning a protective overall. He hefted some sort of pack arrangement onto his back, ensuring that it was strapped on tightly. Scott handed him what appeared to be a length of rope and stepped back.

The next thing I knew there was a flash of light and Virgil lifted off into the air. Upwards he went, trailing the 'rope' behind him. When he came level with the cross piece of the tail section he changed direction until he was able to stand on it. Then he switched off the jet pack. He inspected the damaged section before setting down to work with what appeared to be a cutting laser. In the meantime Scott busied himself with attaching the new panel to the rope.

I realised that I was getting a quiet thrill from being able to name these men. To everyone else they were members of International Rescue. The man with the orange, or yellow, or blue sash. To me it was Gordon, or Virgil, or Scott.

Virgil had finished his cutting. The new panel was being raised to the tail at the same time as the damaged one, acting as a counterweight, was being lowered.

As the old panel swung around I could clearly see the sky beyond, through a gaping hole. The new panel reached its destination and Virgil wasted no time in fixing it into position.

The sun was starting to set when he finished his task and, aided by his jet pack, flew back down to earth.

The three International Rescue men consulted again briefly before Scott headed back to Thunderbird One, avoiding our group on the hill. Virgil re-entered Thunderbird Two and Gordon climbed into the towing machine. Once again Thunderbird Two rose up on its stilts, the ramp opened, and Gordon drove the towing machine inside.

As soon as the bulk of Thunderbird Two had settled into place a voice, Gordon's, was heard from loud speakers. "Would everyone please proceed to the entrance?"

I hung back as the others boarded. Then I saw Virgil walking past. "Um...if you'd rather I travelled somewhere else, I'd understand."

He hesitated. "No, Chris. Thanks, but you're safer with us. Besides," he winked and I was struck by a similarity between him and Gordon, "you're already a security hazard and we'll want to keep an eye on you."

I was the last to board, and was aware of a number of people staring at me. It made me feel uncomfortable, but I didn't mention it to Gordon.

He followed me onto the flight deck, smelling strongly of disinfectant. "We've got a machine for cleaning out that room," he explained, "but there's only so much it can do!"

Gordon was ensuring that, once again, I was safely strapped in, when Scott made communication with Virgil.

"I'll follow you back to Anderson City," he was saying.

"Just in case anything falls off?" Virgil joked. At least I hoped it was a joke. He allayed my fears by continuing on. "I think we'll be fine, Scott. The diagnostics check out and I'm satisfied with the repair job."

"Okay, Virgil, but I'll still keep within visual contact. I'm lifting off now." A moment later the hull of Thunderbird One, now coloured bright orange in the setting sun, swung briefly into view through the windows.

Virgil activated the onboard intercom. "We will be lifting off in one minute," he warned his passengers. He then turned back to us, a smile on his face. "All set for the final leg?"

"Yep," I said.

"F.A.B.," said Gordon. I assumed that this meant 'affirmative' as Virgil settled back into his seat and switched on Thunderbird Two's great engines.

The Press

The flight to Anderson City was much smoother. I think even Gordon felt more relaxed, as he started to ask me questions about the cruise.

"I've never been on one," he told me with a gleam in his eyes. "Is it true about all those ship board romances?"

"I saw a few develop," I admitted, "but I didn't get to experience anything personally though. Most of the people seem to have been outside of my age group."

"Shame," he commented and then proceeded to ask me about the other activities on board.

The flight was smooth and passed quickly.

From where I was seated I could just make out when we reached land and subsequently when we started flying past the tall buildings of Anderson City.

Virgil prepared to land at the airport. His conversation with the control tower confirmed that the airport had been closed off in order to maintain International Rescue's security. Local government dignitaries and representatives of the Gold Star Line would be on hand to meet us. He passed this information on to the other passengers.

We began to lose height, so gently that I didn't realise that we'd touched down until Gordon undid his safety harness and stood. I followed his example. Now I could see the tarmac.

"We'll let the injured out first," Virgil said. "Once they're sorted we'll offload the passengers. As soon as you're all clear we'll take off again."

"Oh," I must have looked disappointed.

Both International Rescue men smiled. "Can't be helped," Virgil said. "We might be needed at any time and I want to do a proper repair to the tail."

"Th-thanks for trusting me," I stuttered. "And thanks for saving me, too."

"Scott told us you were almost involved in a punch up." Gordon raised both hands in a fighting position. "Thanks for sticking up for us."

I didn't get the opportunity to say good-bye to my International Rescue friends. As soon as we alighted from Thunderbird Two we were escorted away. We reached the terminal and were startled by a loud noise coming from behind us. It was Thunderbird Two taking off. She lifted up and flew away, towards Thunderbird One circling in the distance.

We were herded into a hangar. "Like a flock of sheep," someone muttered. The mass media clung to every vantage point like a flock of vultures.

I could see some of my fellow passengers pointing me out, but I chose to ignore them, hoping to find anonymity in the crowd.

A lady wearing a badge that proclaimed her to be an Emma Goldstein, Public Relations Assistant to the Gold Start Line, approached me. They were holding a news conference and understood I would have an interesting story to tell. Was I interested?

"No!"

She gave me a big artificial smile. "The company would be willing to give you half a million dollars worth of free travel on its line."

"Ms Goldstein. At the moment I have no desire to ever set foot on another boat. All I want to do is have a shower, find some clean clothes and have something to eat."

"And then would you be willing to attend a conference?"

"No! Never!" I walked away.

A reporter from the World News approached me. Would I consent to an interview?

"No," I repeated.

"If you would consent to an exclusive interview we'd be willing to pay you."

"I'm sorry. I'm not interested."

"You name your price."

"Not interested."

"We'll also get you an immediate flight home, first class. And pay for the replacement of all the goods you lost on the trip."

"No!"

"You stick to your guns, Chris." It was Trixie. "Don't tell them anything. Don't tell anyone!"

"Thanks Trixie." I was grateful for her support.

The World News reporter pushed in front of her, forcing her to step backwards.

"You don't have to give us all the details. Just the highlights."

"No!" I repeated for the hundredth time and moved away, only to have the tape recorder of a newspaper journalist thrust under my nose.

"Is it true that you travelled in the cabin of Thunderbird Two?" he asked.

"If you want a story," I told him in anger, "you can write about how a eighty-four year old lady who showed more spirit and character than any of you - you..." I couldn't think of a suitable, and publishable, adjective. "...members of the press was treated with no respect by any of you. How she's just been shoved away. Or..." I was getting into my stride now. "...you can write about how the Gold Star Line doesn't care about it's passengers. How when all they want is a good meal, a shower and to get some sleep, they are cooped up in a hangar and asked inane questions."

I took a breath to continue and Ms. Goldstein, who'd been following me like a lap dog, jumped into the fray. "Now then," she said with an ingratiating smile at me, "Dr. Brown is quite correct in reminding me of my duty. The Gold Star Line is arranging now to have all passengers and crew put up in a five-star hotel for the night. Maybe tomorrow Dr. Brown will feel like talking to the media."

"No I won't!" I told her and was blinded by a flash bulb.

Hooded Menace

It was an unflattering photo that greeted me on the front page of the Anderson City Herald.

I was frowning. Ms. Goldstein had a saccharine smile. Trixie was glaring daggers at the reporter from the World News and the reporter from the radio station had practically shoved his microphone up my nose.

Trixie and I had laughed about the encounter when we'd shared a meal last night. We'd ordered room service as I wanted to avoid the publicity and she (although she was reluctant to admit it) was tired after a stressful day.

She'd told me about her time in the passenger hold and hadn't asked me any questions about International Rescue or Thunderbird Two, for which I was grateful. We relived our memories of the cruise and then said our good-byes.

I thought of the wonderful times I'd had had on the Golden Empress (how many days ago? It seemed like years). It was only then that I realised that International Rescue still had my camera.

The newspaper article had concentrated on the fact that it was rumoured that someone (the insinuation was that the someone was me, of course) had actually flown on the flight deck of Thunderbird Two and had been able to talk with the International Rescue men.

The only non-controversial reporting was the fact that no one had been seriously injured in the disaster. This excellent news had been relegated to the last paragraph of the article.

I was scowling at the paper and wishing I were home when there was a knock at the door.

'If it's another reporter I'm going to slam the door in his face,' I vowed to myself.

The person on the other side of the threshold was a heavyset man with bushy eyebrows and thick, almost unnatural hair. There was something about his looks that wasn't quite right, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Yes?" I said cautiously.

"Dr. Brown?" he asked. "Dr. Chris Brown?" His voice was thick and guttural.

"Yes?"

"Ah," he said and his eyes glowed.

I mean they really glowed! I tried to look away, but was held captive by those staring, glowing eyes!

"You will come with me," he intoned. "You will act perfectly natural. If asked you will say that I am an old friend and that we are going to spend the day together. Do you understand?"

'No!' my mind was screaming. 'What's happening?'

I heard a voice say - "I understand, I will obey." And realised with horror that it was mine.

"Then come." He stood back and I walked into the hallway.

We reached the lift and he pressed the button marked down. It opened and a young lady and an older man (with a prominent nose) stepped out.

"Oh," she sounded surprised. "Aren't you Chris Brown?"

"Yes, that's right," I said.

'Help me, please!' my mind screamed.

"I was hoping to have a talk with you." Her aristocratic English voice was filled with concern as she gracefully shook my hand.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I've caught up with an old friend and we are going to spend the day together."

"Oh, how disappointing," she said. "And we've travelled such a long way to see you. Perhaps you will allow me to take you to your destination?"

'Yes! Yes!' my mind was saying.

"That will not be necessary," my kidnapper said. "I have my own transport."

In my mind I swore.

"We should be leaving," my captor continued.

"Dear me, so soon? Well at least we can share the lift." The lady took a step forward.

"I think not, My Lady." Once again his eyes glowed and the lady and her man-friend froze.

The lift door closed between us.

Interrogation

Time lost all meaning. I had no idea of for how long or how far we'd travelled. It could have been next door or half way around the world. When we stopped I was taken in a lift to another level. Up or down I didn't know. There my captor sat me in a chair and bound my arms and legs with steel manacles.

Then with a laugh, that I could only describe as pure evil, he put his hands to his throat and started peeling away his face. He was wearing a mask.

The face beneath was menacing. His natural eyebrows were just as heavy and capped oriental eyes. His bald head reflected the solitary spotlight that shone into my eyes. His lips, thick and hungry, leered at me.

It was then I became really frightened.

He left me alone for a while. Alone with my thoughts and fears. What did he want with me? What would he do to me?

The room was bare - except for my chair, the light, and the door - and told me nothing of his plans. The steel walls told me yelling for help would be futile.

When he returned he was dressed in golden oriental robes. His ornamental (I hoped) sword sparkled with gold and jewels. To my mind he looked like the villain in a cheap James Bond movie ripoff.

"I have brought you here to supply me with information that you possess. It was you who travelled on the flight deck of Thunderbird Two."

I'd already guessed that this was his intent, so said nothing.

"We," he continued on, "can do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way is easy for both of us. The hard way..." he paused for effect, delighting in his own theatricality, "is hard on you. It is your choice."

I maintained my silence.

"Very well. We will start with the easy way. The members of International Rescue that you met. What are their names?"

"I - don't - know." I dragged the words out. They were wooden, robotic and unconvincing, but I was proud of them. He didn't have a complete hold on me after all. Maybe the effects of his hypnosis were starting to wear off.

"Lies!" he shouted and slammed his hand on my arm. I jumped, winced and said nothing.

"I repeat. What are their names?"

"I - do - not - know."

"You are making things difficult for yourself. I will get the information I crave - one way or another."

I swallowed.

"Perhaps we will try an easier question. How did you get to Anderson City?"

Keep one thought in mind. "My name is Chris Brown."

"What craft did you arrive on?"

"My name is Chris Brown." One thought only.

He carried on relentlessly asking me questions about Thunderbird Two and her crew. Always I answered with the same words. "My name is Chris Brown."

Eventually he threw his hand up in the air. "Pah. I am wasting time." He rounded on me again and thrust his face close to mine. His breath stunk and tried not to wrinkle my nose in disgust. "I tried to make it easy for you, my friend. Now I shall go get a few items to aid me in my work." With a maniacal laugh he left the room.

International Rescue. Where are you when I need you?

Rescue Two

My captor had gone for what seemed to be hours. I began to feel the physical torture I was sure would follow couldn't be any worse that the mental torture I was experiencing now.

I knew it was impossible for International Rescue to know where I was, but still I was longing to see Gordon's cheeky grin, or Virgil's more serious smile, or even Scott, who I'd only met briefly.

"Forget about them!" I told myself sternly. "They'll be in worse trouble than you if that madman gets the information he wants. Concentrate on your name. Nothing but Chris Brown."

In the distance I could hear a rumbling sound.

My thoughts continued on. 'I'm sick of my name. Sick of saying it. Maybe I should call myself something else. That'd fool him.' I began to run a few combinations through my mind.

Suddenly there was a queer buzzing sound coming from the door. As I watched, a spark of light and then a flame pushed through. The flame started at the base of the door and worked its way around the inside edge, melting the metal as it went.

I wondered about this phenomenon. Was it some prelude to my captor's terrible torture?

I was unprepared for the bang that happened with the door was pushed in. I was even less prepared for what greeted me on the other side.

"Virgil!!"

He quickly scanned the room with his eyes before rushing over to me. "Chris! Are you okay?"

"I am now that you're here. But how did you know I was here? Who was that guy? Where is he now? How'm I going to get out of these chains? How do we get out of here?"

"Whoa! Calm down!" he ordered. "One thing at a time." He was examining my bonds as he spoke. "We'll get you out of here and you can ask questions later." He unhitched a very odd gun that was hanging across his shoulder. "I'll try to keep the laser away from you, but the metal may get a bit warm."

A bit warm was an understatement, but I bit my lip and tried not to complain. The laser made short work of the manacle on my right wrist and once my arm was freed I shook it to try to get some feeling back.

Virgil was releasing my right leg. "Hold still," he said. "I don't want to burn you!"

I grabbed hold of the armrest again and froze. Not until the fourth bit of metal fell to the ground did I move and try to massage some feeling back into my limbs.

"Now what?" I asked.

"Can you stand, walk?" he asked with concern on his face.

"Yeah, sure." I stood stiffly and moved my legs a few times to ensure they were still mobile.

"Good." He raised his arm and spoke into his watch. "Virgil to Scott."

I could just see the dial disappear and Scott's face replace it.

"How're things going, Virgil?"

"I've got Chris. We're on our way out."

"Great." I could hear relief in Scott's voice.

"Any sign of our man?" Virgil asked.

"Negative."

Virgil signed off and lowered his arm again.

"You're not alone then?" I asked.

"No. Scott's keeping watch at the stairwell and Gordon's minding the 'Mole'."

"The 'Mole'?"

"Our boring machine. C'mon." Without explaining further he cautiously looked out the door before stepping through the hole he'd cut. I followed closely behind.

The hall split into four different directions.

"Which way now?" I asked. Virgil pointed down the right hand corridor.

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

We ran quickly down the hall. To me our footsteps sounded as loud as my heartbeats.

Suddenly Virgil pulled up short and I cannoned into him. "Sorry," I whispered.

He was looking in consternation at the room ahead. It was large and filled with all sorts of computers and electronic equipment.

"We'll go back the way we came," Virgil whispered.

We retraced our steps until we reached a dead end.

"Virgil! Where's the door gone?" I tried to sound calm.

"It must be a secret door. It can't have been open when I was looking for you." Virgil examined it and then began to speak into his wristwatch communicator.

But there was no reply.

"The walls must be blocking our signal." He muttered.

"This isn't good, is it?"

"No. This isn't good."

I indicated his laser gun. "Can't you cut our way out?"

He nodded as he unhooked the laser.

An electronic sound from the door made him stop. "Quick" he hissed. "In here!"

He pushed me into a shadowy alcove, shielding me with his body, from the hall. It wasn't very big and we were standing very close, but I wasn't going to complain as I heard the door open and the all too familiar voice of my captor. He was muttering to himself as he ran down the hallway.

"...has escaped. International Rescue is behind this. I will make them pay!"

After we were sure he'd gone Virgil backed away from me. "Sorry," he apologised.

"That's okay." I whispered. "If I had to choose between you and him..." I let my words trail off. There didn't seem to be any point in carrying on.

Virgil was staring down the corridor after my captor. "There may be another exit down there. We can't chance that he'll hear us here. We'll have to go that way."

"Oh, heck!"

This time we crept quietly along the hallway. There were no other doorways off to the side, but there was an occasional alcove. Virgil stopped to examine one. "Thought it might be a door."

We came to the electronics room again. Virgil motioned me to wait in a nearby alcove. I crouched down in the shadows and watched.

My captor was standing at a control panel, reading printouts I supposed. Was he trying to ascertain our position?

After checking the layout of the room Virgil un-holstered his gun. He then crept quickly halfway across the room so that he was hidden from the man by a computer bank. Then, keeping as much out of sight as he could, he raised himself up and pointed the gun in the direction of the man.

I held my breath. I thought, and I was somewhat horrified by the thought, that Virgil was going to shoot the man in cold blood.

Virgil fired one shot. It slammed into the console to the right of my captor. The console burst into flame. The man said something in a foreign tongue and grabbed a fire extinguisher.

Virgil signalled to me to run across the room and through a door on the left side. As I did so Virgil kept cover for me. I now understood what Virgil had done. He'd not only created a diversion for me, but had disabled part of our enemy's computer system.

I reached the other exit and, panting slightly, hid to await Virgil.

He wasn't so lucky. As he prepared to join me, my captor turned and saw him. With a snarl the man raised a gun and fired several shots at Virgil!

Under Fire

"Virgil!" I shouted, but the name was obliterated in a loud explosion from the console beside where Virgil was crouching.

Smoke filled the computer room and I grabbed a fire extinguisher and ran back into the room, spraying the general area where I had last seen the International Rescue man.

The smoke grew thicker and I started to cough, my eyes were smarting and it was becoming difficult to breathe. Explosions were happening everywhere and I still hadn't found Virgil.

I could hear the ominous cracking of the fire off to my left, and behind me I thought I heard an evil laugh.

It was forgotten when I, once again, cannoned into Virgil.

"You're alive!" I yelled and tears streamed down my face, though from smoke or relief I wasn't sure.

He was wearing a facemask and pulled another out of his pocket and gave it to me. I put it on and immediately found it easier to breathe. Virgil then grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back towards our original entrance. "Better to try and get out where we know there's an exit!" he yelled as he swung his laser around in preparation for attacking the door.

I hoped the door was open and was disappointed when we, once again, came upon a dead end.

Only this time something was different. There was a line of singed metal leading from the bottom to halfway up the door. As I watched the line grew.

"Must be Scott!" Virgil exclaimed and started to cut his way through from the other side.

Shortly after he'd begun cutting I noticed that Virgil's wristwatch started beeping. Virgil ignored it, so I did too.

Just before the two cuts met, Virgil stopped cutting and led me away from the door.

Moments later the laser cuts met. Then the door budged slightly. Virgil rubbed his ear. "Come on Scott," he muttered.

The door fell towards us.

Scott was standing there. He too had a respirator mask on. "I saw smoke," he said. "Are you both okay?"

"Come on. Let's get out of here!" Virgil said urgently.

Scott led the way with Virgil bringing up the rear.

We reached some steps leading downwards and Scott stopped. "Still here?" he asked.

"Yep," I said.

Virgil didn't say anything.

"Okay Virg?" Scott asked, a look of concern on his face.

"The smoke's spreading," Virgil said urgently.

Indeed the smoke appeared to be following us, rolling along the corridor. We ran down the stairs and then a short way to the left.

We reached the bottom and I pulled up short.

It was Virgil's turn to cannon into me.

"Sorry," he said.

It was the scene of destruction that had stunned me. Rubble was strewn everywhere. Furniture lay broken around the room. In the middle a giant machine projected out of the floor, its orange casing capped by what appeared to be a large, chrome screw.

I suddenly realised that Gordon was in a door in the side of the machine. "Chris! Over here!" he called.

I sprinted over and he assisted me inside and escorted me to a seat. As he showed me how to put on the harness I realised that Scott had sat Virgil down and was looking at him full in the face.

"Okay, Virgil," he said. "What's wrong?"

"Can't hear you, I'm afraid, Scott." Virgil was trying to sound light-hearted. "A computer exploded beside me and the concussion's knocked out my hearing. All I can hear is a roaring sound. It's getting better, though."

Scott was frowning and then to my surprise started communicating using sign language, speaking out loud at the same time. "Any pain?"

"No. I feel fine."

Gordon abandoned me to check out his colleague. "What can you hear, Virgil?" he signed and said.

"I'm starting to hear some sounds," Virgil told him. They continued to fuss over him. "Guys," he said. "Can we get out of here first?"

"Okay," Scott conceded. "You keep an eye on him," he ordered Gordon. He then strapped himself into a seat. The machine, I assumed it must be the 'Mole', came to life.

It was an eerie experience. We seemed to be moving backwards and the 'Mole' changed from nose up, to being level, to nose down. All the time our gimballed seats kept us upright. At least I thought we were upright. It was quite disorienting.

Gordon kept checking Virgil's progress. "How many fingers, Virg?" he asked and then held up three on his right hand.

"I know you were a Boy Scout, Gordon," Virgil said in exasperation. He looked at me and rolled his eyes. I grinned in return.

"Hey, Virgil," Gordon touched his colleague on the arm to get his attention. "Thunderbird Two is the ugliest craft in our fleet. Right?" He did not sign but nodded emphatically to encourage Virgil to follow suit.

"No!" Virgil shook his head.

"Aw, you heard," Gordon complained. Virgil looked blank and Gordon signed the phrase.

"No," Virgil told him when he understood. "I just know that when you've got that look, you're up to something."

From the driver's seat Scott laughed. "He's got you there, Gordon."

We'd stopped our horizontal movement and appeared to be rotating about a pivot point. "We're above ground and locking onto the 'Mole's' trolley," Gordon explained. "We'll now be able to drive straight into Thunderbird Two's pod."

Virgil looked at me. "Are you okay?"

I gave him the thumbs up signal.

There was a sudden change in orientation, which was, Gordon explained, the 'Mole' climbing up the ramp into the pod.

The motors died away.

Scott climbed out of his seat. "How's the patient?"

"No change that I can see," Gordon said.

"Hey, if you guys are going to talk about me," Virgil complained, "at least do it in a way that I can understand."

"How's the hearing?" Scott was signing now.

"Better. I could hear the 'Mole's' motors before you switched them off."

"Can you hear what I'm saying?" Scott asked.

Virgil shook his head and flinched.

"What's wrong?" Gordon crouched down so he was level with the still seated Virgil.

"Bit of a headache," Virgil admitted.

"Okay. I'm making a command decision here." Scott sounded authoritative. "You're going to the sick bay and Gordon's going to fly Thunderbird Two."

Virgil was not impressed. "I'm fine. I can fly Thunderbird Two."

"So can Gordon. You know he's perfectly capable."

Gordon looked hurt. "Anyone would think you didn't trust me."

"Would you trust me to pilot Thunderbird Four?"

Gordon was affronted. "No way!"

"See?" Virgil looked smug as if he'd won the battle.

But he'd lost the war. "Doesn't change anything," Scott was saying. "You're resting. I'm not having you upset our passenger."

He winked at me and once again I was struck by the similarity between the three men. I guessed that working together closely and trusting each other like they did, they'd take on each other's characteristics. But then another thought struck me.

Surely all three couldn't be related?

Still grumbling, but I had the feeling that it was more out of duty than conviction, Virgil allowed himself to be led out of the 'Mole'.

Gordon showed me to the now-familiar cabin of Thunderbird Two. I sat in my 'usual' seat.

"Don't worry about our little arguments. We're all protective of our own craft," Gordon assured me. "Scott knows perfectly well that there's no way that Virgil would attempt to fly a plane if he wasn't fit. And Virgil was just teasing us. He's the last person to take any unnecessary risks. That's why we've lived so long at this game."

"Doesn't Scott like flying Thunderbird Two?" I asked.

"I don't think he minds it," Gordon said. "Why?"

"He seems to be in command. I thought he'd want to fly it."

"No. He'll be flying Thunderbird One. He hates the idea of anyone else flying his baby as much as any of us do."

"Thunderbird One's here too? Who's keeping guard?"

"No one. We're deep in the Malaysian Jungle."

"Weren't you worried that guy would try and steal one or get photos or something?"

"Not really. We're over five miles away from his HQ. It's unlikely he even knew we were here until the 'Mole' came through his floorboards."

"How'd you know that I--?"

But Scott had entered the flight deck.

"How is he?" Gordon asked.

"Took a painkiller and went out like a light," Scott told us.

"Will he be all right?" I was concerned that Virgil may have been permanently injured rescuing me. I would have felt responsible.

"We'll get our medical team to check him over, but I think he will be," Scott reassured me. "I wouldn't mind betting he'll be up here telling Gordon what he's doing wrong before we reach our destination."

"Where are we going?" I asked eagerly.

"We're going to hand you over to the care of someone who can look after you until you get home," Scott told me.

"Oh." That didn't tell me much.

"What happened to the guy who kidnapped you?" Gordon asked.

"Dunno. I couldn't see where he went with all that smoke. How'd you find us?" I asked Scott.

"I got worried when I couldn't raise Virgil, so I went to his last known reference point. I could see where you'd been, because of the hole in the door, but apart from that you'd both vanished into thin air. I reasoned that maybe there was a hidden door somewhere, so I used a device that enables us to find exits in the dark or in smoke-filled rooms. I must tell our engineer I've discovered that it also works on secret doors," Scott finished smugly.

Safety?

This flight was pleasant enough. Gordon let me undo my safety harness and look out the windows.

Scott was right. Virgil appeared part way through and told Gordon he was using too much throttle.

He was told, in no uncertain terms, that back seat drivers should keep their mouths shut. Virgil sat down beside me.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"Better," he admitted. "I can understand what you say now, though it's still a little muffled."

"Thanks for coming to get me."

"Not a problem. It's our fault that you were in that predicament anyway. We thought something might happen so we put some of our top agents on the case to keep an eye on you."

I was about to ask how they knew where I was when Gordon announced that we were coming in to land.

"Easy on the vertical jets," Virgil said.

"I'm turning a deaf ear to you," he was told.

"Charming. See what we have to deal with," Virgil said to me in mock resignation. "No respect for the injured."

We touched down. The landing was only marginally rougher than Virgil's had been.

Not enough vertical thrust," Virgil told Gordon.

Gordon turned and signed something.

"Now that wasn't very nice," said Virgil mildly.

They reminded me of two kids playing together and wondered again about their relationship.

I had no idea what part of the world we were in. It felt like it was early evening, although whose I had no idea. We certainly weren't in thick Malaysian jungle. The terrain was sparsely wooded and elegantly landscaped.

Scott was there to meet us along with a young blond woman and an older man, who was wearing a servant's uniform.

"Chris," Scott said, "these are our top agents, Lady Penelope and her butler, Parker."

"H-how do you do?" I felt as if I should be curtseying or bowing or something.

Lady Penelope extended a graceful hand. "How nice to finally meet you properly. We have met, but I have an idea that you were not quite yourself at the time."

Then I clicked. "Of course. It was you two who I met coming out of the lift when that - that - madman was kidnapping me. I wanted to ask for help, but couldn't."

"We've had dealings with him before," Lady Penelope said. "That's why I took the precaution of planting a homing device on you."

"You did? How?"

She smiled. "May I?" She took my hand and examined my sleeve. "Here it is." She removed a tiny pin. "I planted it when we shook hands."

"So that's how you guys were able to find me."

She turned her attention to Virgil. "How are you, dear boy? Scott tells me you were injured."

"Pardon?" he said and then smiled. "I'm fine, thanks, Penny. The hearing's slowly coming back. I'm still hearing Alan's heavy metal 'music' though."

I pulled Gordon to one side. "How do I address a titled lady?" I asked in a mild panic.

"Huh? Oh - um. We just call her Penny."

"I can't call her that!"

He smiled reassuringly. "She's not stuck up. I'm sure Lady Penelope will do."

Scott decreed that it was time to leave. "We don't want to take any chances staying here too long, and Virgil should have a check-up."

"I'm fine," Virgil protested.

"M'Lady." Parker cleared his throat. "Hif you don't mind me sayin' so, hit his time we was moving also."

"Who hit who?" Virgil asked and clearly wondered why we all laughed at him.

"C'mon, brother. Time we got you home." Gordon pulled at Virgil's arm.

'Brother! Was that the relationship?' I wondered

Virgil knocked Gordon's hand away. "I'm all right, I'm not an invalid," he said.

Gordon sighed. "Okay, Virgil. I got the message. So long, Chris."

"I hope we meet again," Virgil added. "Only not in a professional capacity."

"Bye, guys," I said. "And thanks again."

They headed back over to Thunderbird Two.

"Virgil!" Scott called.

Virgil turned. "Yes, Scott?"

"Gordon's in the pilot seat, okay?"

Virgil held a hand to his ear. "What's that, Scott? I didn't hear it."

"Yes, you did," Scott scolded him.

Laughing, Virgil headed into the great craft. We moved further away.

With a roar the mighty Thunderbird lifted off. "Gordon's using too much power to annoy Virgil," Scott commented.

The plane hovered briefly and then flew away.

When it was quiet enough that we could talk without shouting, Scott turned to me. "I'd better head off, too. You've nothing to worry about now. You're in Penny's capable hands."

"Thanks, Scott. And thanks for getting us out of there."

"Not a problem, Chris. As Virgil said, hopefully next time we meet things will be more relaxed."

He bade farewell to Lady Penelope and Parker and climbed into his own craft. The rocket plane disappeared into the darkening sky.

Creating a Scene

I sat back in the leather seat. I'd been shocked to discover that we would be travelling in something as distinctive as a bright pink Rolls Royce, but was beginning to appreciate the joys of travelling in such luxury.

"Would you care for a drink, Dr. Brown?" Lady Penelope opened a well-stocked drinks cabinet.

"Thank you." I made my selection. "Please call me Chris," I begged. "If anyone calls me Dr. Brown I start looking around for someone else!"

Lady Penelope laughed. "Thank you, er, Chris."

It was dark now. There was hardly any traffic on the roads.

"Do we have far to go?" I asked

"How much longer will we be, Parker?" Lady Penelope leant towards our chauffeur.

"Happroximately one hour," he informed us gravely.

Lady Penelope thanked him. "When we arrive we'll have our dinner and then, I think, retire to bed. We shall have a lot to do tomorrow."

The thought of bed sounded heavenly.

Lady Penelope seemed preoccupied with the butler. "Is something wrong, Parker?"

"Hit's the car behind us, M'Lady," he informed her. "Hit appears to 'ave been following us for last 'alf 'our."

"Dear me. How tiresome. I do hope it isn't someone who wishes to create a scene."

"I'll see hif they are followin' us." Parker accelerated.

I looked through the rear window. The car kept pace. Parker slowed down and our tail didn't take the opportunity to overtake.

"'E appears to be following us, M'Lady."

"I think Chris has had enough excitement for today," Lady Penelope said.

"I'll try to shake 'em orf." Parker accelerated again.

There was a bang from behind.

"What was that?" I asked in alarm.

"They appear to be shooting at us." Lady Penelope seemed to be quite unruffled.

"What!?"

More shots rang out. I ducked so the rear of the seat formed a barrier between me and those deadly bullets. Lady Penelope kept her cool and remained relaxed in her seat.

"I do hope they don't scratch the paintwork," she murmured and then looked at me cowering beside her. "You have nothing to fear. We are fully protected in here."

"Oh." Unwillingly I raised myself back into a sitting position.

"Parker. Do try to get rid of them. I hadn't planned on extra guests."

"Yes, M'Lady. HI'll wait until the roads clear."

"Very good, Parker."

A short time later smoke started to billow out of the rear of the Rolls Royce. I was sure we'd blown a gasket or something.

I could hear the squeal of brakes, but to my disappointment the car was still on our tail when the smoke cleared.

"The old methods aren't as effective as they once were, " Lady Penelope sighed. "And this is such a public road, I do not want to try, er, a more direct method."

I wondered what a 'more direct method' entailed.

"We could try Mister Brains' new hinvention," Parker offered.

"Very well. We'll have to let them get closer to us though."

Parker slowed the car down. Our tail slowed also, keeping the same distance between the two vehicles.

"'E's being tricky, M'Lady."

"Keep trying, Parker."

"Yes M'Lady. 'Ang on."

Parker stamped his foot on the brake and we were thrown forward. Once again I found myself crouched on the floor of the pink Rolls Royce.

Caught by surprise, the car following narrowly avoided rear-ending us.

I climbed back onto the seat and waited for 'Mister Brains' hinvention' to be put into action. I could hear a high-pitched hum, but saw no evidence of anything else happening.

The hum stopped and Parker calmly drove away, leaving our foe's car stranded.

"It short circuits the car's electrical signals," Lady Penelope explained. "As the majority of cars nowadays are electrical, it is set at a low output so we only interfere with the car we want. So much tidier than a gun or an oil slick. Care for another drink?"

I declined.

Some how I managed to fall asleep for the remainder of the journey. I was awakened by a gentle touch from Lady Penelope.

"So sorry to wake you," she apologised graciously. "But you would be more comfortable in a proper bed."

"So sorry to wake you," she apologised graciously. "But you would be more comfortable in a proper bed."

I had to agree with her as I worked to get a kink out of my neck and we walked into the house.

"Would Dr. Brown care for somethin' to heat?" Parker asked me politely.

I had to admit that I was hungry. Changing all these time zones and being rescued, kidnapped, and rescued again had upset my internal clock. I had no idea whether I was due breakfast, lunch or tea. I decided it didn't matter much. "Yes, please, Parker."

"Very good." He bowed out of the room.

"Nice place you have here," I commented to Lady Penelope.

"Oh, this is just a holiday cottage of mine." She dismissed it with a wave of her graceful hand.

The meal was delicious, but I was too tired to remember what I had. Lady Penelope accepted my apologies and Parker showed me to my room.

There were some nightclothes on the bed. Parker indicated them. "M'Lady thinks they should be your size. There is also ha toothbrush and towels, for your use, in the bathroom." He held open the door to show me where. "What time would you like breakfast?"

"Oh, um. Whenever Lady Penelope has hers will be fine."

"Very good." He bowed and exited the room.

I cleaned my teeth, got changed and fell into bed.

Faceless Dreaming

I was sitting in the luxurious leather seats of the Rolls Royce. Steel manacles held my arms and legs firm.

My captor was pacing before me. "So! You think you can escape from me, my friend? Well let me tell you - you never will! I WILL make you sing. Do you hear me? YOU WILL SING!"

Before my startled eyes he vanished in a puff of smoke. Instead, Virgil was standing before me.

"Virgil! Thank heavens you're here. You've got to help me, Virgil. He's going to make me sing!"

"Sing? Oh that's a shame, Chris. I won't be able to hear you."

To my horror, Virgil reached to his throat and peeled off his face, revealing himself to be my captor.

"So, do you know what I am going to do to you if you do not speak? Now, tell me your NAME!"

"My name is Chris Brown."

"See, that was not so hard." Once again he vanished in a rolling cloud of smoke, only to be replaced by Gordon.

"Gordon! Gordon! Please help me. Help me get out of here!"

"I'm sorry Chris, but I can't fly Thunderbird Two. I might crash her and Virgil would not be pleased." His eyes glazed over as he peeled off his face.

"So, you refuse to talk!" Once again the glaring eyes of my captor were staring at me. He slowly unsheathed his ornamental sword. The light glinted off the blood-red rubies. "Perhaps if I were to remove YOUR face." He held the sword against my throat.

The sword disintegrated and he disappeared into yet another cloud of smoke. This time, it was Scott who appeared.

"Scott! You've got to help me, Scott. Please help me."

"I'm making a command decision, Chris." Scott stepped into view, indistinct in the thick smoke that filled the room. "I'm going to ask Lady Penelope and Parker to help you." I was no longer surprised when he peeled off his face and my captor was once again leering at me.

"Your friends at International Rescue are powerless to stop me. I will get the information that I crave!" He vanished in the now inevitable puff of smoke.

It started to rain. I could see the rain falling about me, hear it rattling on the roof, and yet I was not getting wet. I became aware that Parker was standing behind me, his great nose acting as an umbrella.

Lady Penelope was beside us holding a machine gun. "Don't worry, Chris. I will shoot away your bonds. You have nothing to fear. You are fully protected in the chair." She proceeded to fire the weapon at the chair, hitting everywhere except the manacles themselves.

"Dear me," she said when she'd finished. "I seem to have scratched the paint. How tiresome. Parker! Get me my new face!"

"Yes, M'Lady."

She removed her feminine face and I was once again facing my captor. He was angry now - clouds of smoke were coming out of his ears. "You have tried to escape. You will PAY!" He pulled off his face.

He must have done it one too many times. He presented himself before me, a large set of brains balanced on his broad shoulders. His voice emitted from his head, even though he no longer had a mouth. "Now I will short circuit all the electrical systems in your body!" He pointed the gun to the ceiling and let loose a hail of bullets.

I woke with a start.

My face felt cold with sweat.

I got up and made my way to the ensuite bathroom, where I bathed my face in cold water and made myself more comfortable. "Really," I thought as I turned off the tap. "I would expect them to have quieter plumbing than this. That rattling sound is quite annoying."

I climbed back into bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

I woke with a start when the curtains were pushed back.

"Mmmwhat," I articulated, squinting against the bright light. "What's the time?"

"'Alf past ten," Parker informed me. "Would you care for somethin' to drink?" He had a pot with him.

My mouth felt as dry as the Sahara Desert. "Yes, please, Parker. Half past ten! Isn't that rather late?"

"You probably 'eard our hunexpected guest last night. 'Er ladyship felt you might happreciate the hexta sleep."

Unexpected guests? What unexpected guests? As I ran the nearly silent taps for my wash I realised that the gunfire in my dream had been frighteningly real.

FABulous Voyage

"The perimeter alarm alerted us to their presence," Lady Penelope was telling me. "They were quite easy to dispose of. Unfortunately, they left some bullet holes in the wall. Mikos will be most displeased."

I decided not to ask how they'd 'disposed' of the gunmen, preferring to concentrate on my breakfast.

"Parker will have laid out some clean clothes for you. I hope you will find them suitable."

'They are more than suitable,' I thought as I admired myself in the mirror. The lady had taste. Mind you, after three, or was it more, days in the same clothes, a sack would have been suitable.

"I'm afraid that we had better destroy your old clothes," Lady Penelope informed me as I made my entrance back downstairs. "Our friend may have employed the same techniques that we did for finding you."

"You mean planted a homing device!"

"It would explain how last night's visitors found you so easily. I hope you have no objection."

"I've no attachment whatsoever to those clothes. Do what you please with them."

"We will, of course, supply you with a new wardrobe. You cannot go home immediately, and it is so tiresome not to have a change of clothes."

"But I've no money."

"Don't worry about that. International Rescue will, er, pick up the tab, as the Tracy boys would say."

The Tracy boys? Who were they?

It was decided that it would be dangerous to stay where we were for too long, so once again I found myself reclining in the luxurious seats of the Rolls Royce. I was somewhat relieved that there appeared to be nowhere that manacles could be fitted. I did, however, put my seat belt on, in case Parker felt the need for some more rapid braking.

Our shopping was done in a seaside resort. As I couldn't identify the language, I had no idea where.

It was the kind of establishment where the prices were not displayed on the goods. The proprietor had dismissed his minions and had insisted on serving Lady Penelope himself.

Between them they would chose a garment, I would say if I approved of the colour, try it on, and then they would critique it.

I ended up with an embarrassing load of new clothes and several new suitcases to hold them in.

Lunch was a leisurely affair at an upmarket café. I ate too much. "I don't think I'll be able to fit those clothes now." I joked.

"Is FAB Two ready?" Lady Penelope asked Parker upon our arrival back at the Rolls Royce. I noticed that its number plate was FAB One.

"Yes M'Lady. HI took the liberty of setting the hautopilot for 'ome."

"Thank you, Parker."

"Does M'Lady wish to go hanywhere helse before we board?"

"I think not, Parker. We had better be on our way."

"Very good, M'Lady."

We took a coastal road for several miles, on what was a very pleasant drive. It was almost enough to make me forget the dramas of the last few days.

Almost. "Lady Penelope, do you think there's any chance that man will try to kidnap me again?"

"There is a possibility that he, or others, may try. We will just have to ensure that he doesn't succeed."

I saw a large boat in the bay and didn't take much notice of it. That was, until Parker drove off the road, down a boat ramp and onto the water. The mighty car rose up on hydrofoils and sped towards the boat. I could just make out its name through the spray of sea water - FAB Two.

A hatch opened up at the rear of the yacht and Parker drove us inside, parking us neatly in a kind of garage. Four clamps swung into position, holding the car firmly in place.

"Are we going to go far?" I asked Lady Penelope when we were in the lounge.

"It will take us just over twenty-four hours to reach England. It should be a smooth journey. If, however, you find that you don't have your sea legs, I have something that will help."

"Um, no, it's not that, Lady Penelope. It's just that after my last experience in a boat I hadn't planned on going on one again quite so soon."

Lady Penelope actually looked horrified. "Oh, Chris. I'm sorry, how thoughtless of me. I felt that my yacht would be less obtrusive than the Rolls Royce."

"Don't worry about it," I said hurriedly. "They say if you fall off a horse you should get on again right away. It's just that in my case it's a seahorse."

She laughed politely at my weak pun. "If you're certain."

"I am. Thank you."

The trip was pleasant and I began to remember how much I'd enjoyed the start of my holiday cruise and wished I had the photos to enhance the memories.

Lady Penelope and I were sitting on the deck watching the sunset. We'd been quiet for a time.

"When do you have to be back?" she asked suddenly.

By now I'd worked out my dates and times. "I'm due home in a week's time."

"A week," she said thoughtfully. "It could be long enough."

"Long enough for what?" I asked.

"I'll have to check with Jeff first," she continued on, talking as much to herself as to me. "Where do you live?" she asked me directly.

"Auckland, New Zealand."

"Yes," she mused. "That could be an advantage and you have shown character over the last few days."

"I've just gone with the flow," I told her. "These last few days I've felt that I've had no control over anything that's happened."

"Yes. But you haven't panicked and you've kept a clear head, and that's important. I heard how you went back to help Virgil."

"I couldn't leave him, and besides, he didn't need my help."

"Yes, but you weren't to know that."

"I didn't even realise that he'd been injured!"

"You couldn't have done anything anyway and if you'd been panicking you could have placed you both in grave danger. And I also know how you helped Trixie. No, you could be of use."

Use for what? And how did she know about Trixie?

Revelations and Surprises

We arrived in England. FAB Two was berthed and we drove, in FAB One, out of the yacht and onto a coastal road.

It was an uneventful trip to Lady Penelope's house.

'Creighton-Ward Manor' the sign on the gate proclaimed. We pulled up outside the front door and, leaving Parker to bring in our bags, we entered the grand house.

As I stood in the main foyer gazing at the opulent surroundings, I became aware that my mouth was hanging open. I shut it.

"Sorry," I apologised. "I've never seen anything like this before."

"We'll take tea in the lounge." She led the way into a room which, if anything, was more impressive than the one we'd just left.

Lady Penelope directed me to an ancient chair. I sat in it gingerly. A rather severe ancestor of Lady Penelope's glared at me from above the fireplace. I turned my back on him.

Lady Penelope pulled on an elegant bell pull and almost instantly Parker appeared at the door.

"You rang, M'Lady?"

"Tea, please, Parker."

"Yes, M'Lady."

After tea, Parker showed me to my room. He had put my bags on my bed and showed me where the guest bathroom was.

"Should you require hanything, please ring." He indicated the bell pull by the bed.

"Thank you Parker." I was searching my pockets.

Parker noticed. "His somethin' wrong?"

"I've lost the key to my suitcase," I said, opening pockets in my bags and searching frantically.

"Hallow me." Parker removed something from his pocket and examined the lock. When he stood he had the lock in his hand. "There you are," he said as he handed it to me.

"Thanks, Parker." I was impressed and relieved.

"Hif you will take my advice," he turned back before exiting the room. "Hit would be wise to buy a stronger lock than that. That sort his child's play to an experienced burglar."

The way he was talking, I almost expected him to add 'like me'. Instead he bowed and left. I resolved to buy a new lock at the earliest opportunity.

It was as we had just finished another delicious meal that Lady Penelope dropped her bombshell.

"Would you care to be an agent for International Rescue?"

She said it so casually that for a moment I thought I'd misheard and she'd actually asked me to pass the sugar.

"Um. What? Pardon?"

"I've spoken to our, er, management and they are willing to employ you, if you are agreeable. The agent in your area wishes to take an assistant. She says she's getting too old. It's not true of course, but it doesn't hurt to have backup."

"An agent? For International Rescue? But I've got no special skills! I can't do karate and as for using rescue equipment..."

"You will receive some training, but generally you wouldn't have to do much. Most of our agents keep their ears and eyes open and if they see or hear of any threat to International Rescue they report to me. I make the decision as to what needs to be done. Do you remember when International Rescue was implicated in stealing the plans for that military plane?"

I nodded remembering the incredulous feeling I'd experienced upon hearing the news. I also remembered the relief and anger I felt when it was revealed that they'd been framed.

Lady Penelope continued. "The couple who discovered the real crooks were agents of ours. A 'hillbilly' couple. Jeremiah had been out hunting for their dinner and found aeroplane tracks and alerted our headquarters. He'd been going about his daily business, seen something out of the ordinary and reported to us. That is all we would expect of you."

"That's all?" I wasn't convinced.

"We would also have to outfit your home with communication and security equipment. It's very discrete."

Security was the word I latched onto. I wasn't looking forward to going home to an unprotected house.

"Okay," I said casually. And then with more feeling. "I'd be proud to be an agent."

"Good. I am glad. I'll let Jeff know, he's already done a security check on you, but he'd like to meet you personally."

"Jeff?"

"Jeff Tracy. The head of International Rescue."

"Jeff Tracy? Not the former astronaut, the head of Tracy Industries?"

"Yes. You've already met three of his sons."

"Let me guess - Gordon, Virgil and Scott. I thought I could see a family resemblance between them."

Parker came in carrying a silver teapot. "Hexcuse me M'Lady. There his a call for you."

"Thank you, Parker." Lady Penelope took the teapot and twisted the ebony knob on top. "Lady Penelope speaking."

I jumped when a strange male voice seemingly came out of nowhere. "Hello Penny. How's things?"

"Fine, Jeff." Lady Penelope was speaking into the teapot, which I now realised must be a hidden radio. "Chris has agreed to join us."

"Great!" Jeff Tracy sounded pleased. "I'm leaving shortly and should be at your place by midday tomorrow. I'm looking forward to meeting our newest agent."

"And I'm sure Chris is looking forward to meeting you, Jeff." Lady Penelope was looking at me as she said this, and I nodded.

"Okay, Penny. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Goodnight, Jeff." She twisted the knob again to disconnect the call.

THE Meeting

I was on tenterhooks awaiting the arrival of Jeff Tracy, the head of International Rescue. My arm was almost black and blue from where I kept pinching it to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I kept on going to Lady Penelope's window and peering out.

"He won't be long now," she assured me.

The thought didn't relax me.

The sound of gravel in the drive drew my attention back to the window. As I had hoped, and secretly feared, it was the pink Rolls Royce. Parker had returned, bringing with him Mr. Jeff Tracy, head of International Rescue.

I pulled myself away from the window.

"They're here," I said unnecessarily as I sat in one of the chairs.

Lady Penelope looked at me. "Relax. I promise that he won't bite."

We could hear the front door open and then shut. There was a polite tap on our door and Parker swung them both open. "Mr. Jeff Tracy, M'Lady," he said grandly.

"Thank you, Parker." Jeff Tracy walked into the room. Lady Penelope rose to greet him. I followed suit. "Penny. It's great to see you."

She'd extended both hands towards him and he took them before giving her a friendly kiss on the cheek.

"Jeff. It is lovely to see you. Did you have a good flight?"

"Not bad." He glanced at me and I smiled nervously.

"Jeff, allow me to introduce Dr. Chris Brown. Chris, this is Jeff Tracy."

"How do you do?" My voice came out in a high-pitched squeak. I cleared my throat.

Mr. Tracy grinned. It was the same easy grin that his sons had. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last. The boys have told me a lot about you."

"And they told me nothing about you. Which you are probably glad about," I added quickly.

"Have a seat, Jeff," Lady Penelope indicated an easy chair.

"Thanks." Jeff Tracy sat with the relaxed air of someone who was a frequent visitor.

Parker cleared his throat. "Would you care for some coffee, Mr. Tracy?"

"Love a cup, Parker." His American accent contrasted sharply with Lady Penelope's aristocratic tones and Parker's strong Cockney.

"Lunch will be served in 'alf an 'our," Parker informed us before leaving to get the drink.

"So, Dr. Brown, you've decided to join us?" Jeff Tracy fixed me with an appraising stare.

"If you want me."

"Oh, from what I've been told you'll be an asset to the team. The boys seemed to be impressed, and if Penny's willing to vouch for you... well I've never known her to be wrong."

He did most of the talking for the next half hour, stopping occasionally to ask me questions or get confirmation from Lady Penelope.

At the end both he and I appeared to be satisfied. I was feeling much more relaxed.

Parker announced lunch.

After we'd eaten, Jeff Tracy sat back. "I always expect cucumber sandwiches when I come to your place for lunch, Penny, and I'm always pleasantly surprised."

"Mr Tracy?" I asked tentatively.

"Yes, Chris?"

"How's Virgil? How's his hearing?"

"Oh, he's fine. He's been grounded from flying for a couple of weeks to make sure there's no inner ear damage. But he should be right as rain. His brothers have been teasing him mercilessly. Keep sneaking up behind him and making loud noises. THEY say that they're checking his hearing. They even scripted an entire practical joke around it. The three of them pretended to have a conversation without actually saying anything. Alan, that's my youngest," he added at my bemused expression, "had already unplugged the radio, so they turned it on and pretended to be listening to it."

That's cruel!" I exclaimed.

"They wouldn't have gone too far. Virgil just told them that he didn't think much of their choice of music and continued reading. In fact, the only time that he's shown any real emotion over his injury was just after they'd got back. While Brains was checking Virgil's hearing Gordon rigged the piano so it wouldn't play."

"Now that is cruel!" Lady Penelope added emphasis to the phrase.

"If I'd known, I would have stopped him," Mr Tracy admitted. "Virgil came into the lounge, sat at the piano, pressed the keys and nothing happened. He went quite white. You have to understand," Mr Tracy added, "each of the boys has an outlet for the stress of their jobs. Gordon's is playing practical jokes, Virgil's is playing the piano. I think for a moment Virgil was truly frightened that he wasn't able to hear the music. Gordon decided that it was time to make an unobtrusive exit and headed outside. Virgil saw him go, yelled at him, and went after him. I could hear a rumpus, but thought it was better if I ignored it. A short time later Gordon comes sheepishly back into the house, soaking wet, closely followed by Virgil and Scott. Without a word Virgil goes to the piano, lifts the lid, removes the towels that are acting as dampers and throws them at Gordon. They wouldn't tell their old man," Mr. Tracy gave a chuckle, "but I think Virgil and Scott threw Gordon into the pool."

Lady Penelope laughed delicately.

"Good job," I said.

"Virgil then sat down and played Rachmaninov's 'Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini' right through, with much use of the loud pedal. I think he felt better after that."

"I wouldn't have taken Gordon to be that callous," I said.

"He's not, normally. He was tired after your rescue and that probably clouded his judgement. He was a little 'gun shy' for a while after that."

"And yet he participated in the radio joke?" I was amazed at Gordon's audacity.

"That was probably Alan's idea. He's nearly as big a practical joker as Gordon, but he doesn't need to do them as much as his older brother. I guess that being the youngest they've developed their joker ability as a defence against three older brothers."

I sipped my drink. "Mr Tracy. I thank you, both of you, for the trust you've shown in me, but aren't you taking a risk telling me all these things? After all, you hadn't even heard of me a week ago."

Mr Tracy became thoughtful. "No, I don't believe we are taking a risk. You've shown admirable restraint up till now."

I felt I needed more reassurance. "Yes, but that's because my kidnapper only interrogated me. He was going to use torture. I don't know that I could have withstood that."

"And we wouldn't have expected you to." Mr Tracy became grim. "But what would he have found out?"

"The names of your sons for a start!"

"From the information we have about that character, he already knows that."

"Oh."

"What parts of Thunderbird Two did you see?"

"Well - the passenger hold and the flight deck."

"Could you describe any of the instruments?"

"I tried not to look!"

"Do you have the engineering experience to be able to describe any of the equipment?"

"Well, certainly not at that level."

"Well, then." Jeff Tracy spread his hands. "We had nothing to worry about. My only concern is what he may have done to you."

"It worries me, too. What if he tries again?"

"We'll try to minimise that risk," Lady Penelope told me.

"How?" I forced myself to sound calm.

Jeff Tracy turned to Lady Penelope who continued. "We've already substituted your records at the Gold Star Line with a fake identity. I take it that you filled in all your forms electronically."

"Yes, that's right, but what about my competition entry form?"

"That has been substituted also."

"Wow." I sat back impressed. "How about the other people I met on the cruise?"

"I'll agree that that is more difficult," Lady Penelope said. "I take it that you've told some of them your name?"

I remembered Trixie and the others. "Yes."

"Had you swapped addresses with anyone?"

"Um..." I had to think about that one. "Noooo. Though some know what country I'm from."

"I don't think it will be a problem." whenever Lady Penelope spoke everything sounded so effortless and possible. "How many people were on the ship? Hundreds weren't there. The odds against our enemy finding someone who knew and remembered you, are remote. I know that on the cruises that I've been on I've made friends with most of the people on board and then as soon as I've got home, forgotten them."

I had an idea that this wasn't the truth, and was for my benefit.

"I was someone of interest," I pointed out. "I'd won that competition and then ended up riding elsewhere in Thunderbird Two!"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Mr Tracy said soothingly. "We'll work on the problem and give you the tools to defend yourself, should the need arise. In fact," he continued, "I'd like to get started installing the communications and security equipment at your home as soon as possible. Do you rent or own your home? If you rent I'll have to buy it so we can make the necessary changes." I must have blanched a bit. "Don't worry. It's nothing structural or aesthetic. But we will have to do a bit of wiring and if your landlord decided to end your lease it could cause a problem."

"You'd actually buy a house?"

"Oh, yes. If necessary."

I reflected that Mr. Tracy must have a bit of cash behind him and that the purchase of a house would mean nothing to him.

"How would you conceal a radio at my place? A silver teapot wouldn't exactly suit."

Mr Tracy laughed. "What do you suggest? It can be as small as a powder compact or wristwatch or as big as a wood range."

"Wood range?"

"The hillbilly I told you about," Lady Penelope explained.

"Oh, um...I'd have to think about it."

"That's fine," Mr Tracy said. "But we'll want to get started a.s.a.p."

Catherine's Assistance

Within the walls of Lady Penelope's home I'd felt quite safe, but as we drove back from dropping Jeff (as he now insisted I call him) off at the airport, I was beginning to feel distinctly edgy. Even the protective shell of FAB One wasn't a consolation.

"M'Lady!" Parker said, and something in his tone made a flock of butterflies lift off in my stomach. "HI believe we are being followed."

"How tiresome," Lady Penelope said. Tiresome for her maybe, but I was wide awake. "Do we know who it is, Parker?"

"I 'ave an idea it may be that bald 'eaded geezer."

Alarm bells started reverberating through my brain.

"Hmm," Lady Penelope mused. "This may work in our favour. Are you quite sure it is the same gentleman, Parker?"

"Well, seein' 'as 'e's got a ruddy great gun pointed at us, I think there's a good chance."

"You may be right, Parker," Lady Penelope said as a shell whistled past and slammed into the bank beside us. Clods of dirt hailed down onto the car.

"How does he plan to get information out of me if I'm dead?" I asked - reasonably I thought, under the circumstances.

"I don't know," Lady Penelope conceded. "I can't understand the criminal mind. Can you, Parker?"

What Parker thought of the question was lost in the concussion of another shell blast.

"This calls for desperate action." Lady Penelope shifted in her seat slightly. "Full harnesses everyone. It's time to use Brains' 'Catherine Wheel Manoeuvre'.

Steel manacles slide out from under the leather upholstery beside me. Remembering my dream I tried not to panic.

"Don't worry," Lady Penelope soothed as she assisted me into the harness. "It's fully padded. You'll be quite comfortable."

Soon all three of us had our arms, legs, torso and head secured to the car.

"Now we wait for another shell," Lady Penelope told me.

Parker appeared to have given up driving, pinned as he was by his safety harness. The car was somehow steering itself. This didn't reassure me.

"What," I asked nervously, "is 'Brains' Catherine Wheel Manoeuvre'?"

"Do you know what a Catherine Wheel is?" I was unable to look at Lady Penelope as she was speaking because of my head restraint.

"A firework that spins around?"

"Exactly."

I didn't like the sound of this. "So whaaaaaaaaa!"

Another shell had exploded beside us. The shock waves had no sooner hit when we were spinning, rolling and burning. Flames shot past the gull wing canopy. We hit a bump and were launched into the air, falling back to the ground with an almighty jolt. Our bodies strained against our bonds, but were saved from injury. Then we were rolling downhill, over and over, nose to tail before finally coming to rest upside down. There was a deafening explosion, which settled back to a gentle roar.

Was it my imagination or did I hear that maniacal laugh?

"Are you all right, M'Lady?" Parker asked anxiously.

"Perfectly Parker." Even after that upheaval she still sounded unruffled.

"Dr. Brown?"

"F-f-fine thanks Parker, and you?"

"I'd be a blinkin' sight better if hI weren't 'angin' upside down!"

In spite of myself I laughed. "I think I agree with you there, Parker."

"Is the coast clear, Parker?" Lady Penelope asked.

He brought up a video image and a radar screen. "Fancy 'e's legged it M'Lady."

"Good. We can right ourselves then. One does feel so out of sorts when one is unable to check one's hair."

"Very good, M'Lady."

Parker freed an arm and pressed a button on the dashboard. The last of the fire was extinguished. Then the gull wing door on my side started to open. As it did so the great car started to roll, with a few hiccoughs, closer to its correct orientation. It teetered for a moment on its side and then fell, with a resounding jolt, so it was now the right way up.

"All systems operational, Parker?" Lady Penelope asked as we disentangled ourselves from our harnesses.

"Hokey doke," Parker answered flippantly. "'Ome M'Lady?"

"Home, Parker."

Obituary

I read with amusement my obituary and the accompanying article that appeared in 'The Times' the following day.

"Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward and her chauffeur narrowly escaped certain death yesterday when her Rolls Royce was involved in an accident. Unfortunately a passenger in the car was not so lucky. Dr. Chris Brown was killed instantly. Dr. Brown was one of the passengers on the ill-fated 'Golden Empress' which sank in the Caribbean one week ago. Lady Penelope was not available for comment."

Lady Penelope was on the phone. "Oh, my dear," she gushed. "It was simply terrible. I am quite overcome." She paused as the person on the other end offered conciliatory noises. "My Rolls Royce is such a mess. It will be quite unusable for at least a month. I shall have to hire a car, which is most tiresome. One simply doesn't have access to all of the little comforts that one is used to." More conciliatory noises. "Poor Chris. Rescued off the 'Golden Empress' by those gallant International Rescue boys, only to be killed in my humble car...it is most distressing. I really can't talk any more. Thank you for your support. Good-bye, dear." With evident relief she hung up the phone.

Parker was pouring me another drink. "HI notice there's no sympathy for the 'umble butler," he muttered in my ear. I gave him a sympathetic smile.

The phone rang again. "Answer that please, Parker," Lady Penelope ordered gently. "If it's someone wishing to offer solace, tell them I am resting after my ordeal and say you'll take a message. If it's the 'gentlemen' of the press, tell them no comment."

Parker withdrew to answer the phone in the hall. The phone stopped pealing.

"Do you think this will work?" I asked Lady Penelope, waving 'The Times'.

"It will merely corroborate what our 'friend' hopefully already believes."

"That was some accident. So that was 'Brains' Catherine Wheel Manoeuvre'?"

"Yes. I must call and thank him. The dear boy has recently added a few extras into the Rolls Royce. A ram to make us roll..."

"Appropriate in a 'Rolls Royce'."

Her laugh was polite. "Exactly. There's also several gas jets to provide the flames and cushions to protect us when we're rolling. When we stop, the cushions explode, giving the impression the fuel tank has exploded and finally the car is covered in soot and grime. Parker is not pleased. It will take him simply ages to clean it again."

"But how did you manage to do it?" I said waving the paper again. "I mean - 'The Times'!"

"It has been reported in a number of the less reputable dailies as well," she informed me. "I have a few friends in Fleet Street."

"So I'm safe."

"I believe so, yes."

Finally I felt a sense of relief.

Home...

It was later that same day that we boarded Lady Penelope's golf cart, having piled my new suitcases onto an accompanying trolley, and trundled over to her private airstrip.

We didn't have to wait long before a small but powerful jet swooped low over the airfield, made a perfect landing and taxied over to us. The pilot disembarked.

It was Scott Tracy. He warmly greeted Lady Penelope and Parker.

"What's this? Am I seeing a ghost?" he joked as he turned to me.

"Reports of my death are grossly exaggerated," I quoted Mark Twain. "Thanks for offering to take me home."

"Well, if you're dead, it's a little awkward to use a commercial flight," he said. "And it's either this or we ship you home in your coffin."

"No thanks." I wrinkled my nose in distaste.

"No, it would be a little stuffy," he agreed. "Also, I hope you don't mind, Chris, but we're taking another passenger as well. He opened the passenger door and assisted the occupant out.

"Trixie!" I gasped.

"Hello, dear. I'm so glad to see you again. When I heard that that evil man had kidnapped you I was extremely concerned."

"When you heard...Trixie! You know these people?"

"Oh, yes. I've had a long association with International Rescue. Lady Penelope has been most helpful to me. I must admit, though," she grasped Scott's arm and looked up at him longingly, "this is the first time that I've met one of the handsome Tracy Boys...apart from Gordon, of course, and he didn't know who I was." Scott smiled at her a little awkwardly.

"And just who are you, Trixie?" I enquired.

"Oh, I'm an International Rescue operative - Auckland section." Trixie let go of Scott's arm.

"So I'm to be your assistant!"

"I was so pleased to hear that it was you." Trixie took my hand. "I know we'll work well together."

"We were glad that Trixie was there to keep an eye on you until Parker and I were able to arrive," Lady Penelope told me.

"I'm sorry I didn't do a better job," Trixie admonished herself.

Scott and Parker had set about loading the plane with my luggage. Lady Penelope, Trixie, and I supervised.

That task finished, Scott headed back to the cockpit. "I nearly forgot," he was saying, "I've got something for you, Chris." He reached in and pulled out a small item.

It was my camera.

"Gordon forgot he had it until after you'd left us," Scott explained. "He feels terrible. He would have liked to have returned it himself, but he's been grounded over a practical joke."

"The piano?" I hazarded.

Scott's face broke into a grin. "Ah, you've heard. It rather backfired on him."

I thanked Lady Penelope and Parker for all the help and support they'd been to me over the last few days. Somehow mere words seemed insufficient.

"I'm glad that we were able to be of service," Lady Penelope said graciously.

Parker handed me something. It was the lock off my suitcase. The one that was supposed to be burglar proof. "Better make sure the Tracy's give you better security than that," he told me with a wink.

"Ah, thanks, Parker."

Scott, Trixie and I boarded the plane. The take off was smooth and effortless. Scott banked at the end of the airstrip and made a low pass back past Lady Penelope and Parker. I waved, said a mental goodbye to the great mansion and settled back for the flight home. The flight back to my life in Auckland.

My life as Chris Brown, International Rescue's newest agent!