FIASCO by SPENSE RATED FRT

Acknowledgements: This is the second story in a loose trilogy of stories centering on vacations. In 'Firecrash', Virgil alludes to a vacation taken by Alan which turned out to be 'both memorable, and expensive'. This is that story. Thanks as always to Boomercat for her great ideas and marvelous editing, and to LMC for lending her expertise as well.

"Gordon! You've gotta get me out of here!"

"Alan? Where are you?"

"Are you alone?"

"Alan, look around. I'm alone." Gordon gestured for Alan to gaze around his spacious quarters in the Tracy Island villa. He was curious. The background from where he could see Alan on the vidphone looked pretty neutral. Plain white walls, no identifying markings, that kind of thing.

"Where is everybody?"

Gordon signed and began to rattle off the litany. "Scott and Virgil are down checking out . . . Wait a second. Are you alone?"

Alan let out an exasperated snort. "Yes!"

"Get over it Alan, I'm just being careful," Gordon admonished. "Okay, Scott and Virgil are down checking out a miniscule dent Virgil thinks he saw on Two, Dad and Brains are looking over stuff in the hangar, and Kyrano, TinTin and Grandma are over on the mainland." Gordon knew whatever it was had to be serious when Alan's face didn't go moony over TinTin's name.

Alan looked closer at his brother, momentarily diverted. "A dent? Did you have anything to do with it?"

Gordon looked innocent. "Me? Now how could I have done such a thing?"

Alan looked at his brother suspiciously. That was the problem. Gordon was subtle. It was hard to tell. Then he remembered his original subject. "Gordon, you've got to help me and Max."

"Max? You're with Max? I thought you were going on vacation in Rio," Gordon said, suddenly worried. He wasn't the only Tracy family member to get concerned at the mention of Alan's friend from the racing scene, Max Turner.

"Yeah, Max. I am on vacation. Max met me here."

"And you conveniently forgot to mention this little fact to Dad when you were planning this jaunt, huh?"

"Gordon, I don't know what you and everyone else have against Max. He's a great guy. And stop sounding like Father," Alan argued, picking up on Gordon's tone.

Gordon just shook his head. Max Turner was a really bad influence on Alan, and the whole Tracy family was of one accord on that fact, with the obvious exception of Alan. Max was a fellow race car driver, and a wealthy playboy. He got into more scrapes than Gordon himself did, except he didn't ever take responsibility for himself, and occasionally, his idea of a good time was downright dangerous.

And as for Alan, well, ever since his college days, some of Alan's biggest arguments with his father had been over Max Turner. Gordon knew good and well that if Alan had been planning to meet Max, he would have ‘neglected' to mention it to anybody else in the family, just on principle.

"Okay, okay," Gordon said, trying to avert that fight that was coming. "That's old news. What's up?

"You won't believe it. I'm in jail!"

"JAIL!"

"Shut up Gordon!" Alan hissed into the vidphone, craning his neck to see if anybody else was around in Gordon's vicinity. "Don't tell everybody!"

"So what's in it for me?" his brother said with a grin. This was just too good to be true.

"What's in it for you?"

"Is there an echo in here? Yeah. I've got to get something out of this. I mean, if Dad and certain older brothers find out I've helped you, my ass is grass, right up there with yours."

"Gordon, so help me . . .Fine! How about I not rat on you for the little trick that got Scott in Dad's black book for about a month. He wasn't thrilled about cleaning the mole, and as I remember, he still blames Virgil for Dad finding out. Virg wouldn't be too happy with you either, I'd say," Alan finished nastily.

"Okay, okay," Gordon said hurriedly. "I'll help."

"Good thing," Alan said sarcastically. "And you'll help Max, too," he stated firmly.

Gordon took a deep breath. "Now that's above and beyond . . ." he began.

"Okay, Gordon. Then what about the time you set up Virgil with all that stuff for his chemistry final in college. . ."

"Never mind. What do you need?" Gordon cut in hastily. His pranks were very well thought out and organized. There were several that he'd never been suspected of, and he preferred to keep it that way.

"Okay, this is what I want you . . ."

Outside the room, two Tracy brothers who had been passing and caught the last few sentences of the conversation looked at each other, and in one accord, moved quietly away from the half-open doorway to a safer, quieter location, i.e. Scott's office in the hangar complex. Raising an eyebrow, Virgil looked at Scott.

"So, were you aware of that?"

"No . . .," Scott said slowly. "Methinks Gordy needs to remember to shut the door of his room completely before having private conversations."

"No doubt. I wonder what other interesting tidbits Alan has locked in that pea-sized brain of his?" Virgil added thoughtfully.

"Mmm, we'll have to shake him down, then deal with Gordon. But later. Right now I'm more interested in what he's doing that he doesn't want any of us to know about."

Virgil shuddered involuntarily. "I don't even want to think about it. I can come up with far too many likely scenarios. And then there's the fact that he's with Max."

Scott heaved a sigh. "I agree. Max is bad news. At least when he was in college and NASA there were lots of other eyes on him, helping keep him in line. Now it's just us, and Alan's had lots of practice in deceiving brothers." He shook his head with an expression part exasperation, part worry. "Let's get John digging."

"Sounds good to me."

Max Turner, a handsome, dark-haired, tanned young man in his mid-twenties, looked up from his doze as Alan was escorted back to their cell. Sitting up leisurely, he examined his friend as Alan entered and turned to watch as the guard locked him in, then strode off. Alan's face was tense and his lips were a tight line.

"Well?" Max asked. "From the look on your face it's a little hard to tell if you didn't get through, or if you actually talked to somebody. But, I guess, given your family, they probably reamed you a new one."

Alan was surprised into a snort of laughter – something not heard since they'd arrived in custody. "You have a point. No, I reached home."

"Well, then with that expression, you must have talked to your Dad." Max suppressed a shudder. Jeff Tracy gave him the willies. Not many things daunted Max, but Jefferson Tracy was sure one of them. "I wouldn't have wanted to be part of that conversation," he stated bluntly.

Alan looked surprised. "You think I talked to my Dad? Are you insane? Dad's great about a lot of things, but calling from jail to bail both you and me out wouldn't be one of them. I didn't even tell him I was meeting you here. He thought I was going alone. They all did."

Max nodded. He knew that. He was aware that the Tracy family was not particularly fond of him, although they'd never been anything but polite whenever he met them.

"I wouldn't open myself up to that for anything," Alan continued. "Nah, I got Gordy. He's the only one I'd talk to. We'd have had to think of something else if I couldn't get hold of him."

Alan flopped down on the bunk opposite his friend, absently fingering his watch. Only he knew it was a communicator, not that he had any intention of using it. He would have been more than happy to sit in this cell until the end of his vacation or until Max had gotten hold of his parents.

First off, the communicator was for emergencies – IR type emergencies. And two, he knew he would be able to reach Gordon with the device no problem, but not who else would be around. There'd be no guarantees that he would be alone. And frankly, Alan would have been happier to leave his family out altogether. Reaching Max's family would have been much better all the way around

While Alan was thinking about his communicator, Max on the other hand, was more than a little intrigued by Alan's comment about Gordon or nobody as the choice in helping them. He knew that Alan and Gordon were very close, and that Alan was most like to confide in Gordon. But he'd also gotten a sense that the oldest brother, Scott Tracy, had spent a lot of time in the past bailing Alan out of various scrapes. So why wasn't he willing to talk to Scott if he couldn't get Gordon? But this wasn't the time to pump his friend about his family life, so opposite Max's own. "Well, what did Gordon say? Is he going to help

Alan scowled at Max. "Yeah, but I'm going to owe him big time to keep this quiet. My life isn't going to be worth spit. I'm going to be his slave for eons after this."

Max laughed. "Come on, it can't be that bad!"

"Oh yeah? I had to convince him to keep this from everybody else, handle the damage payments and the ‘incentives' to make sure nobody would press charges, then pay the fines so we can get out of here. Good thing I had enough on him that there wasn't much of an argument."

"Blackmail?" Max asked incredulously.

"Nah, I wouldn't really call it that. More like an insurance policy," Alan clarified. "I have four brothers, and I'm the youngest of the bunch. Information is always an excellent motivator. Comprende'?"

Max responded by howling with laughter. "Sounds a lot like Washington DC to me. But, come on," he snickered, "it couldn't be that bad!"

Alan glared. "Wanna bet? And I wouldn't be in this position if you could have reached somebody with your phone call. Then there'd have been no big deal," Alan groused.

There was real truth in that statement, Max reflected. Maybe that was one reason he enjoyed the younger man so much. Both were alike in the fact that they came from wealthy families. Wealthy enough to indulge their sons in their favored, albeit very expensive, pastime of racing cars. The difference was that whereas the Tracy family kept Alan on (what was to Max) a very short leash, the older man's own parents were completely opposite. They ignored their only offspring in favor of their own individual pursuits.

Max's mother was a full-time socialite, basking in the southern social scene of charity balls, Junior League and other worthy efforts where one could show off one's prestige and latest acquisitions. His father was a golfer extraordinaire, loving the game, but not disciplined enough to play in tournaments full time or with any renowned success. Both were children of money, and after producing the obligatory heir to both fortunes, they went about their own pursuits in separate parts of the country, getting together only occasionally with each other and their child – strangers spending time together in a single house for the sake of appearances.

There was only one restriction on Max – do nothing to besmirch the family name – otherwise he could do as he please. With a huge trust fund that he could in no way ever see the bottom of, he was free to do pretty much as he pleased, and he did so. However, this particular situation would have definitely warranted their help. They would have done so, without a lot of fuss, except for reminding him of the scheduled events he'd interrupted, and they would have all gone about their business. Unfortunately, he'd not been able to contact anybody with his one phone call – hence Alan's turn – saved for last on purpose.

Max snorted, shaking his head. "Okay. So what's he going to do?

"What I told you I was going to have him do. He'll handle everything, then pay the fines and get us out of here. But he has to be discreet about it, because if anybody else in the family finds out, I'm dead-meat."

"And he'll help me?"

"Yeah, reluctantly. I don't know what they've got against you, Max. You've bailed me out lots. Of course, you've bailed me out of the stuff you got me into in the first place . . ." Alan trailed off with a grin.

"Well, I don't get why you stay at home and work for your Dad. There are lots of other places you could go. I mean you could have stayed driving for a living. You were fantastic. The only driver I know who can give me a run for my money. We proved that last night, didn't we?" He laughed in delight. "And you did prove that Ferrari WAS better than Lamborghini."

Alan had to grin at that. That had been fun . . .

" . . . And the first thing I found was all over the papers – they'd rented a couple of cars and staged a night street race up in the hills. I guess it was a pretty deserted area. Good thing too, because the wreck looked pretty spectacular. The road was pretty well destroyed as well the bridge that was hit," John was saying in amazement through the vid-link to Scott and Virgil. "The amazing thing is that they both walked away completely unhurt."

"How can you be so stupid, but at the same time so incredibly lucky?" Virgil asked in disbelief.

"No kidding. But the dollar value in damages to the road and bridge alone is considerable, plus they totaled the two rental cars."

"Oh, lord," Scott groaned. "On top of everything else, because his name is ‘Alan Tracy' this will make headlines everywhere."

"Actually, no," John chuckled, ignoring the burning glare Scott turned his way. "The names attached to the drivers on the rental papers are John F. Kennedy, and Elvis Presley. Of course I'm sure the credit cards receipts would really say something different if anybody could actually find them, but the owner of the rental agency swears that's the names of the two people, and he's not pressing charges. Bribes are great currency in Rio."

Scott just groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"What kind of cars?" Virgil asked in curiosity.

"For the love of . . . What does it matter?" Scott looked up, snapping in irritation.

Virgil didn't flinch. He knew it wasn't directed at him. Scott was already plotting damage control.

John's face was deliberately blank, making Virgil very, very nervous as he responded. "A Ferrari and a Lamborghini, both the top end of each respective brand's performance car lines," he said blandly.

Scott exploded as Virgil's jaw dropped.

"What the &&# did he think he was doing?" Scott thrust himself to his feet and was pacing the confines of his small office in the hangar complex of the island.

"Shut up, Scott!" Virgil said warningly. "Father's out and about with Brains going over some of the equipment. Keep it down. We don't want him hearing this."

Scott shut up, but his mouth was a tense line.

"No kidding," John said bluntly. "And frankly, as for Alan," he continued with a slightly ironic smirk, "I don't think he was thinking at all, because . . ."

Jeff Tracy paused with his hand poised to knock on the closed door of Scott's office at the sudden, angry outburst of Scott's voice. Although he couldn't make out the words, the tone was clear. He exchanged surprised looks with Brains as they met each other's eyes.

"Em, I-I don't think this is, uh, probably the right time to, uh, interrupt Scott," the scientist suggested.

The Tracy patriarch lowered his hand slowly, and gazed in thoughtful concern at Scott's closed door.

"Maybe later?" Brains suggested hopefully. Dealing with any Tracy in full spate was not something he sought out purposefully.

Jeff sighed and agreed. His sons were all grown men and they didn't need him stepping in. But as a father, it was still instinctive. He looked again in resignation, then turned away.

Together the two men headed back into the depths of the hangar.

Gordon sat back from frowning tensely over his keyboard with a sigh of relief. One stopper placed in the leaking sieve. The owner of the sports car rental agency was more than happy to make the credit card receipts and original rental charges disappear and confirm that the names on the original receipts matched the names given by the two drivers. ‘John F. Kennedy and Elvis Presley. Oh yeah, right.' After he milked this for all it was worth, he was going to have to give his little brother a lesson on using false names. Good grief.

He looked again at his screen to confirm that the electronic transfer of the purchase price for the two exotic cars (plus an ‘incentive' in close to the same amount to forget the whole thing – Gordon had actually termed it ‘damages' to the owner) had been deposited into the recipients account. There was something to be said for the technology Brains had developed. He'd been able to route the money from his trust account though a number of offshore bank accounts, finally to the rental car dealer. Nobody would be able to track it to any member of the Tracy family except possibly Brains himself.

Gordon's eyes opened wide for a moment. Hmmm, it would be kind of fun to tie this to an older brother . . . . He stopped right there. That was NOT a good idea. This was one time he'd pass on a prank. He wanted this one, and his part in saving his brother's neck, to stay as quiet as possible. But he'd make Alan pay. Oh, was he going to make Alan pay all right.

Taking a deep breath, he began the next assignment Alan had laid out for him.

Max watched in amusement as Alan paced the floor of the cell. He really liked Alan. The blond driver was one of the few people on the racing circuit who understood where Max came from. Most of the other drivers were sons of other professional drivers or had worked their way up.

Like Alan, Max had needed to break through a suspicious wall of mistrust and hazing before the other drivers accepted him as a serious contender, not just some rich kid out for a good time.

They'd met at the Parola Sans course while Alan was still in college. They'd formed a united front against the other drivers and pushed back against the dangerous hazing pranks – usually undetected by the track officials - with gutsy driving, sheer determination, and a few discreet incidents of their own.

After one driver and his team had cornered Max behind a garage the night before a final and tried to pummel him out of contention, things had changed. Alan had shown up with his mechanic, Kenny Malone, and although not part of Max's team, they'd weighed in. The original driver, who had stood back and told Max to leave the racing to the real professionals while his buddies did their best to beat him to a pulp, had been appalled at the arrival of the reinforcements. That had not been his plan at all. He much preferred the deck stacked in his favor.

With the odds better proportioned, although they were still outnumbered, Max, Alan and Kenny had not only beaten off his attackers, they'd managed to mar the face of the seasoned professional. Word had gotten out, and Max and Alan were pretty much left alone with quiet respect. That had eventually given way to acceptance. And out of that had been born a fast friendship between the two men.

The two had had some really good times over the last couple of years. Max genuinely enjoyed the younger man, and knew the feeling was returned. And in spite of Alan's family's clear indications of dislike, although that was probably too strong of a word – distrust was probably more like it – Max was fascinated with them.

The Tracy clan was so different than his own family, and from that of the majority of his friends. He loved hearing about the closeness the family shared, and the scrapes they got into. There was clearly a great deal of caring between the six Tracy men, especially since all five sons were willing to live on a remote island and work for their father. Max didn't get why Alan would give up such a promising racing career, but he respected his friend's choice.

Whereas racing was all Max wanted to do, Alan's interests were far more varied – engineering and NASA for example. He also had a great deal of respect for his friend's brain power. Although Alan seemed to not realize it, Max could see the brilliance in the way his friend thought. How many people actually get accepted into NASA in the first place, much less complete the program, then only to walk away? Alan never talked about it, and Max never pushed him, but the respect was there. And Alan was just one of five sons, all of whom possessed the same intellect. It was daunting.

But then he'd get together with Alan, and they'd go off for an evening of fun, and Alan was just, well, Alan. But all in all, the Tracy family was unusual, and Max was impressed. And not a lot impressed him these days.

"So, what did you have over Gordon that would make him do all of this for us?" Max asked, interested.

Alan glanced at him, and snorted. "Oh, just the usual. Stuff he'd done to Scott, Virg and John that they aren't even aware of. Most of it they'd blamed on each other."

Max burst into laughter. "Oh man. That's great. That guy is unbelievably crafty."

"You've no idea," Alan said wryly, catching the amusement.

"So did you have a lot on him?"

"Oh, yeah. But I think I used up all my cards with this one," Alan said thoughtfully. "I mean, we did a lot of damage in less than twenty-four hours."

Max had to agree. They'd outdone themselves. "But wasn't the blond worth it?" He asked, grinning, needling Alan a little bit.

"Well, now that you say that, . . . .yeah, actually, she was fun.

Gordon was shaking his head as he looked at the correspondence he'd gotten from the hotel. At least they'd chosen a place that was well frequented by rock bands, playboys and the like. The hotel was used to this kind of damage, and to keeping it quiet. They even had everything itemized.

Looking at the inventory of damaged furniture, and the number of people who'd been in the suite, Gordon could see how it had gotten out of hand. The liquor bill alone was amazing. It was a good thing it was all in Max's name. At least he didn't have to fix that. Max was well-known for enjoying a good time.

On paper it looked pretty clear. But Alan's account was somewhat different, and frankly, knowing his brother, made a lot more sense. It came down to Alan's usual morass of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Geez, that kid could attract trouble like a magnet.

No, from what Alan had said, the race hadn't even been the start. It had actually all begun with some blond he'd met by the pool at the resort. According to Alan, she'd come up and introduced herself. Gordon wasn't particularly surprised. All of the Tracy sons tended to attract women. And once the Tracy name was discovered, they tended to be inundated. Although his younger brother was clearly developing a fancy for a certain TinTin Kyrano (although probably noticeable to everybody except Alan himself), it didn't stop him from enjoying feminine company that came his way.

Except this time, it seemed that the blond had gone to the same university as Alan had. Soon they were happily swapping stories about mutual friends. According to Alan, they'd been talking for an hour or so when Max had shown up. Pretty soon Max had her collecting all of her friends and meeting them up at their suite. Alan and the blond had resumed their conversation out on the balcony, along with several others, while Max and the remainder of the crowd began to party inside.

Alan said they were all having a good time and the group he was with on the balcony was getting pretty raucous. But in fact, it was nothing compared to what he found when he went back inside for more drinks. The party inside the suite had morphed until it looked like half of Rio was there, and was completely out of hand. The damage had been done.

Anyway, the arrival of the authorities broke up the party, except for the original group. The blond had apparently remembered Parola Sans well, as did her friends, and they were giving both Alan and Max a hard time about the fact that they hadn't raced head to head since those days. Apparently that had led into a lively discussion about which car was better, the Ferraris that Alan favored, or Max's current choice of Lamborghini. Thus, a match race had been born. The whole group had then plunged into the idea with enthusiasm, Alan included.

Alan had sworn to him that he'd only had a beer or two, and Gordon did believe him. Alan was easily swayed by Max, that much had been clear for a long time, but he wasn't stupid. At least not most times. He was smart enough to not drink and drive. Well Gordon hoped he was smart enough. Sometimes he wondered. One way or another, Gordon planned to tear strips off of his brother when he got home. He'd make sure Alan understood just how stupid he'd been and give him something to remember should he ever think about doing something so asinine again.

The fact that he'd raced a Ferrari against Max in a top end Lamborghini in what was essentially a street race at three in the morning was bad enough. But at least they'd had the sense to do it in a deserted part of the country above the city where the danger to outsiders would be nil. But as always, where Max was involved, unforeseen disaster soon followed.

From what Alan had told him, Max had most likely had too much to drink, and had lost control in a curve and swerved into Alan, carrying them both into the pilings of a bridge. The bridge, cars and roadway were destroyed in the crash and resulting fire, but at least Alan hadn't been under the influence (much . . . ) and was able to get them both out. Good thing he'd had all his faculties about him. What little he'd had to begin with, Gordon thought in disgust. Sometimes Alan had the common sense of a gnat.

No, the thing that really astonished Gordon the most was that fact that they'd both emerged without a scratch on them. What kind of dumb luck was that? He shook his head. Alan's guardian angel was sure working overtime on this trip.

A knock on his half-open door made him start, as he automatically shouted "come in".

"Gordon, Brains and I were . . . " Jeff trailed off at the visible start his second youngest son gave on his entry.

Gordon was clearly engrossed in something, and just as obviously, guilty as sin about it. That did not bode well. Gordon had the best poker face in the family. His suspicion grew as Gordon touched a key and the computer screen in front of him went dark.

Jeff's eyes narrowed, his well-honed parental instincts kicking to life with a vengeance. Gordon didn't ever use his computer if he could help it.

"What's going on, Gordon?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing Dad," Gordon answered with an innocent smile, regaining his aplomb quickly. "What did you need?"

"Nothing? Are you sure?" Jeff asked carefully.

"Yeah. What's up?" Gordon said, relaxing against his desk.

Reminding himself that his sons were all adults and that they had their own lives, Jeff forced himself to back off from the interrogation and leave well enough alone. But it was one of the more difficult things he'd ever done.

Jeff finally nodded slowly, then brought up the subject he'd originally interrupted his son for. "Brains and I were looking at Four. We just needed the maintenance logs, and weren't able to locate them. Where are they?"

"Four's logs?" Gordon replied, clearly thinking about something else, again arousing Jeff's suspicions. "Right here, I was adding some stuff last night." Gordon rooted around under a pile of clothes, came up with the data pad, and handed it off.

"Thank you," Jeff said, still clearly dubious.

"Just return ‘em to Four when your done, ‘kay?" Gordon called as they turned to leave.

"All right," Jeff answered, shutting the door behind him.

Brains stayed very quiet as he and the elder man made their way to the lounge. There were times when it was definitely better to stay out of the line of fire. He'd learned that long ago about the Tracy clan, and this was shaping up to be one of those times.

"A blond?" Scott looked like he had a splitting headache.

He probably did, Virgil reflected. Scott took his responsibility as the eldest Tracy son very seriously. And he really had tried all of his life to take care of his younger brothers. But Gordon and Alan were the two most likely to drive him up a wall. Sometimes Virgil wondered if they had any sense at all. And this time it was readily apparent that Alan had pulled out all of the stops.

On the screen, John nodded. "I pulled the video from the hotel security. It was pretty lax, and easy to hack into. Apparently she and Alan were talking by the pool. It all looks pretty innocent. Then Max appears. Looks like he starts going on about something, and she's nodding. Anyway, she gets up, and comes back with a whole group of people, then they all headed out somewhere. From what I've been able to gather, they headed up to Alan's and Max's penthouse suite. It looks like that's when the party really started."

"And from the looks of it," John continued, "it was some bash. The cameras around the hallway show more and more people coming. The room service bills are enormous. And from the logs, the authorities weren't called until about three in the morning. That's when it finally broke up. And apparently that's when they headed out to rent the cars and stage their race."

Virgil sighed. "But not before the room was trashed."

"No, not before the whole suite was trashed," John confirmed, "and the majority of the roof balcony of the hotel."

Scott flopped limply into his chair. "Okay, what are we looking at?"

"Cost? You won't believe it." He named a figure. "Then add the room service and liquor bill."

Virgil gave a low whistle.

Scott just moaned. After a pause, he finally said, "Okay, we'd better go pin Gordon to the wall. He's going to need help with this one. Then I'm going to murder Alan."

"Actually, the damages have been paid," John commented.

"Gordon," Virgil stated. "Had to have been."

"Has to be," John agreed, "Although I can't trace it."

"You know," Scott said thoughtfully, "that's a lot of money going out of Gordon's account in one day."

"A lot?" Virgil said, in disbelief. "And that's the understatement of the century. It's a small fortune!"

"I wonder if he's considered the fraud alerts Father put on all of our accounts," John said slowly.

Virgil's face drained of color. "Alan's screwed up royally, and Gordon's covering for him. This is not something we want Father finding out because of an automatic fraud alert."

John added his two cents. "This isn't something I'd like to be around if Father found out about, period. He'd really blow."

"Amen," Virgil agreed.

"Glad I'm up here," John commented.

"I think we'd better go corner Gordon," Scott said decisively.

Jeff Tracy hung up the phone in disbelief. The call from the bank had been worrisome. Gordon's account had had an enormous amount going out, and the bank was concerned that somebody else had access. Eyes narrowing, he began to put two and two together.

Thinking hard, he finally picked up the phone and placed a call to a hotel in Rio. After asking for a room number, he listened to the response, asked a question or two, then quietly hung up.

Brains got up silently, and edged unnoticed out of the lounge as he watched Jeff Tracy's face tighten and heard him begin to mutter angrily. "They're adults. Somebody remind me that they are ALL adults. But no, the older they get, instead of going away, their scrapes just get bigger! I'm going to get to the bottom of this NOW."

The scientist was heading down the hall quickly, escaping towards the hangar as a seething Jefferson Tracy summoned his sons to the lounge.

Alan sat back and waited as patiently as possible. To pass the time, he and Max had managed to get a deck of cards and played poker.

It seemed forever, but finally a guard came to get them.

"Mr. Tracy? Mr. Turner? Come with me, please. The charges have all been dropped, and your fines have been paid."

"At last!" Alan said, springing to life.

"The fines have been paid?" Max hissed quietly. "You're going to owe Gordon for the rest of your life. Those were enormous!"

"No kidding," Alan whispered back. "And the amounts he would have had to have paid to get the charges dropped. But it's worth it, as long as Dad and the rest of my brothers never find out. Then my life wouldn't be worth spit."

Max actually had the nerve to laugh. "There are times when being an only child of uninterested parents is a really good thing."

"Not when we were trying to find somebody to call," Alan pointed out.

"Point taken," Max conceded. "We'd have been in here forever."

"Don't forget, you owe Gords the money for the damages, fines and the bribes."

"Anything. Better than a 'trial'."

"Amen."

"I'll take care of it as soon as we get back to the hotel," Max assured his friend.

"Great. Let's just get a cab and get back there. I'm beat, and I need to call Gordon."

The two were silent as they were led out to the main waiting room. Alan slowed as he saw the back of a person talking to the desk sergeant. That back looked awfully familiar.

"Uh-oh . . ." he muttered grimly. "Um, Max . . ."

The sergeant pointed over the man's shoulder towards the approaching young men. The man at the counter turned and faced them, his face stern.

Even Max, normally undaunted by anything, slowed accordingly. "Oh, shit," he breathed.

Jefferson Tracy looked every inch the angry Air Force Colonel, as well as a seriously pissed-off father. And probably madder than Alan had ever seen him in his life.

Alan slowed even more as the color drained from his face.

"Uh, Max, you don't suppose that your parents would be interested in adopting another son do you . . .?"