Please note that this story is COMPLETE; I am just posting it in serial format.
I do not own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story. This disclaimer applies to all the following chapters as well.
Mexico
March 7
9:56 AM
Gordon guided Thunderbird Four up through the surface of the underground river, sending waves splashing up onto a nearby rocky shoreline. "Thunderbird Five, I've reached the cave," he said. "I've got one life sign showing on my scanners."
He paused a moment, and when there wasn't a reply, said, "John? Do you read me?" He scowled at the controls. "Great. No signal. Well, okay, then. Guess I'm on my own." He put Four on standby and climbed out through the hatch, jumping nimbly over to the shore. He glanced around, sighing as he realized that stalactites hung from the ceiling, blocking his view. Illuminated only by Four's harsh light, the rock formations cast long shadows back into the blackness of the cave, which could make it hard for him to find his victim. Well, he'd just have to do the best he could, and hope his brothers weren't too stressed by his radio silence.
He took a couple steps forward, and then paused, shivering slightly, as he suddenly got the distinct feeling that he was being watched. "Hello? Anyone down here?"
"Just me," came a voice from directly behind Gordon.
Gordon whirled around, trying to suppress a yelp of surprise. "Oh, uh, hi!" As he met the man's eyes, though, he recoiled with a gasp. "You!"
The man smiled, his cold blue eyes glowing with a triumphant light. "Yes, me." He took a quick step closer to Gordon, his hand flashing upward with the speed of a striking snake.
Gordon tried to dodge the blow, but he was a split second too late; something hard in the man's hand cracked against his skull, and a brilliant flash of stars erupted in front of his vision. He was aware of the jarring sensation of hitting the ground, and then everything faded away into darkness.
Two Months Earlier…
Australia
January 11
7:12 PM
Gordon caught the shovel Alan tossed to him, walking up the ramp to pass it to Virgil, who met him just inside the door of the pod.
Virgil raised an eyebrow. "One shovel? It's not like we get paid by the hour!"
"Hey, I'm just the guy in the middle," Gordon protested. "You got a problem, you can take it up with Alan!"
Shaking his head, Virgil disappeared into the pod.
Gordon trudged back to his post at the bottom of the ramp, wearily rolling his shoulders as he waited for Alan to bring the next tool.
Cleanup was definitely one of the less glamorous parts of their job, especially when they ended up using smaller tools. With the big stuff, it was easy – Mole, check – but today they'd broken out everything from the shovels to the picks to the dynamite. Well, it wasn't actually dynamite; it was some much safer compound Brains had come up with, but, hey, it accomplished the same thing, and "dynamite" was a whole lot easier to say than whatever it was Brains called the stuff.
Gordon reined in his rambling thoughts as he heard someone saying his name; he turned to see Alan staggering through the sand with a bristling armload of tools. That was classic Alan – apparently frustrated with making multiple trips, he'd decided to go to the opposite extreme and carry as many tools at once as was humanly possible.
Gordon started forward to help him, but then he paused, shivering involuntarily as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He swung around, scanning the crowd, wondering why he suddenly felt as though someone was watching him.
At first, no one caught his attention. The gradually-dispersing crowd was keeping a respectful distance from the big Thunderbird. Occasionally someone would look in Gordon's direction, but no one seemed to have anything other than normal curiosity in his or her expression.
And then Gordon noticed one man standing absolutely still, a rock in the midst of the milling crowd, his face turned toward Thunderbird Two. As Gordon's gaze slid onto him, their eyes suddenly locked – and Gordon stiffened, a jolt running down his spine. He wanted to look away, but it was as if the man's eyes held him pinned him in place. He'd never seen such blue, blue eyes, he thought – and three of his brothers had some seriously blue eyes. This man's eyes weren't a warm, friendly blue like Scott, John or Alan's eyes, either…they were cool and calculating.
A hard bump against his arm jolted him away from the staring contest, and he jerked his head around with a gasp.
"Earth to Gordon!" Alan snapped. "Dude, a little help here?" He nudged Gordon again with his armload of tools.
Gordon shot one quick glance back into the crowd, even though the last thing he wanted was to meet the eyes of the mystery man again – but the man had disappeared. "Sorry, Al," he said distractedly, reaching automatically for the tools.
Alan was staring intently at him, the annoyance in his face shifting to concern. "You okay, Gords? You look kind of weird."
Gordon forced a grin onto his face. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied. "Just a little tired." He began walking up the ramp.
"Well, just one more load to go," Alan called after him. "Don't let Virg leave without me!"
Gordon spun around to walk backwards, a retort hot on his lips – but then he gasped instead, as he saw the mysterious man bump up against Alan. The man shot Gordon a quick, piercing look as he did so, a slight smirk twisting his thin lips.
Gordon wasn't sure why this simple act filled him with terror – their job was full of bumps and pushes – but some instinct had him opening his mouth to shout a warning. Before he could get it out, though, his heel caught on something and he would have gone sprawling backward if strong hands hadn't caught his shoulders.
"Whoa, Gords," Virgil said. "Hey, when you're carrying pointy objects, I'd prefer it if you were to watch where you're going."
"Sorry," Gordon said, getting his feet more solidly under him and hurriedly passing the tools to Virgil. He scanned the crowd, and sighed with relief as he saw Alan calmly walking toward them, the mysterious man nowhere in sight.
Gordon trotted back down the ramp, meeting Alan on the way and taking some of the tools from him. "That's the last of them?" he confirmed.
Alan nodded. "I hate it when we have to use the little tools. We really should have some sort of a moveable storage chest for them so we don't have to carry them like this."
"Maybe Brains can make us a dedicated hover sled," Gordon suggested absently, scanning the crowd all around them as they walked. Just as they stepped onto the ramp, he felt the annoying prickling sensation on the back of his neck again, and unconsciously tensed his shoulders. Don't look, don't look, don't look, he told himself…but he couldn't help it – he looked.
One more time, he found those icy eyes focused directly on him, and for another brief moment, he found himself frozen in an irrational sort of terror.
Then, a tiny flame of anger burst up within him. Who was this man to stare at him like that, to run into his younger brother, to try to get under his skin with that smirk? Gordon was an International Rescue operative, and he was ex-WASP. There was absolutely no reason that he should be afraid of this creep! His anger suddenly flaring up into a raging inferno, he glared into the man's eyes, silently warning him to back off.
To his surprise, the man's eyes lit with cold amusement, and his lips twisted into a tight smile. He bowed his head slightly – was that an approving nod? – and ducked out of sight once more.
The entire exchange had only taken a second or two, but evidently Gordon had paused slightly, because suddenly Alan was nudging him again.
"Gordon? You sure you're okay? This is the second time you've zoned out on me."
"I'm fine," Gordon said quickly, brushing past Alan and stepping into the pod. He walked to the back wall, where Virgil was just finishing hanging up the tools they'd already brought inside.
Virgil turned to greet them, brushing dust off his hands. "That the last of them?"
"Yep, that's it," Alan said. He dumped his armload on the floor near the tool rack with a dramatic sigh. "And thank goodness – I am so ready for a long, hot shower!"
Virgil shot a stern glance toward the pile of tools. "Well, I'm ready to take off – as soon as you pick those up and put them where they belong."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Alan grumbled. "I was getting to that." He sighed and began hanging the tools up.
Virgil headed up to the flight deck while Gordon and Alan worked together in comfortable silence. Gordon was glad for the quiet – it gave him a chance to think. Something about the encounter with the mysterious man had left him oddly unsettled – and the fact that he couldn't pin down what was bothering him made him even more uneasy.
As he and Alan walked up to the flight deck, Gordon considered telling his brothers about what had happened, but one thought stopped the words short – the realization that nothing had actually happened. So a guy had stared at him. If he said that, he'd sound like a whiny kid in the back seat – "Daddy, Alan looked at me! Make him stop!"
It wasn't like the guy had made any threatening moves, or even verbalized any threats. And anyway, Gordon wouldn't be able to identify the man by anything other than his eyes – he'd been so transfixed by that single feature that the rest of the man's face was vague in his mind.
He shrugged and ended up continuing the motion – rolling his shoulders a few times and taking some deep breaths, forcing himself to let go of the tension.
Chalk it up as just another weird incident, he told himself sternly.
He decided to distract himself with one of his favorite pastimes – tormenting Virgil.
"Do you guys know all the verses to 'The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round?'" he asked.
Virgil groaned. "Don't you dare!"
Alan laughed. "I don't know if I know them all, but I bet we could make up some new lyrics – hey, how about, 'The Green Thunderbird Flies Up and Down?'"
"Sweet!" Gordon exclaimed. "And Virg, you can fly up and down every time we sing that line! Hey, can you hum the starting note for us?"
Virgil groaned again and muttered something about violations to the Geneva Convention.
Gordon and Alan laughed mercilessly and began their song, to Virgil's dismay. For a while, the nervous flutter in Gordon's stomach eased.
By the time they got home that night, it was well past dark; they scarfed down their dinner, took quick showers and dropped into bed, too tired even to dream.
Tracy Island
January 12
2:37 AM
The klaxon reverberated through the house, bringing its bleary-eyed victims stumbling automatically to their feet.
Gordon rubbed his eyes and spared the glowing numbers on his clock a quick glance as he rolled out of bed. He grimaced – it was 2:37 in the morning. It had been 10:15 when he had turned out the light; he tried to do the math to figure out how much sleep he'd gotten, but quickly gave up. Whatever amount it was, it hadn't been nearly enough.
He joined his father and brothers in the lounge. Jeff Tracy looked as composed as always, his face lined with weariness but his eyes clear and crisp.
John was speaking from his portrait. He was still in his uniform, and Gordon noticed Scott and Virgil exchange slight frowns.
Gordon smirked. It seemed like those two were only happy when they were worrying about one of their brothers. Lately they'd been on John's case, trying to make sure he got enough sleep.
"Everyone here?" John asked, scanning their faces. "Good. We've got a situation. A Skytrain just jumped the tracks in Bangkok, Thailand, and one car is hanging over the edge of a viaduct. Due to the late hour, the train wasn't fully occupied, but we've still got a couple dozen victims trapped, and the local rescue agencies aren't going to be able to get to all of them without compromising the stability of the front car."
"All right, boys," Jeff rumbled. "Thunderbirds are go!"
As they hurried away, Gordon heard John telling their father, "So, the authorities are saying that that mining tunnel collapse in Australia was sabotage."
Gordon's mind flashed back to a pair of cold blue eyes he'd seen in Australia a few hours earlier. He shook his head and pushed the mental image away – he needed to focus on the upcoming rescue.
Bangkok, Thailand
January 11
10:04 PM
They hardly needed John's coordinates; once they were above Bangkok, they could have simply followed the many flashing lights that were all converging on one spot in the sprawling city. As they slowed down and eased to a hover a couple hundred feet above the danger zone, Gordon leaned forward in his seat and let out a low whistle when he saw the train. Three of its four cars were still on the tracks, but tilted at a precarious angle on the narrow concrete viaduct. The fourth car was halfway over the edge, delicately balanced, rocking ever so slightly.
Scott's voice crackled over the radio. "All right, here's what we're going to do. Virgil, I want you to send Gordon and Alan down with magnetic lines. They'll attach the lines to that front car, and you'll use Two to hold the car steady. Once we're sure the train is stable, Gordon and Alan can begin the evacuation. I'll set down and give them a hand with the evac."
"FAB," Virgil said.
Gordon and Alan headed to Two's lower level and quickly donned their harnesses, clipping themselves to the lines that would lower them to the train tracks. Shooting Alan a glance, and receiving a thumbs-up, Gordon spoke into his watch.
"We're ready," he said. "Lower away!"
"FAB," Virgil said again.
A panel in the floor slid open, and the warm, moist night air swirled up around Gordon and Alan. With the confidence of years of practice, they stepped through the opening without a flinch, feeling the familiar sensation of the harnesses taking their weight.
Virgil began to lower the magnetic lines at the same time. Gordon swung back and forth a little until he could catch his. He'd learned early on that it was much better to be hanging onto the line than to let it whip around in the wind – it hurt to get whacked by a thick metal cable.
They were still a hundred feet above the train when Gordon saw the front car lurch forward a little. Even with the wind roaring in his ears, the screech of metal on metal drifted up to him, and his heart dropped into his stomach.
"Lower me fast, Virg," he snapped. "It's going over!"
They'd all learned when to ask questions, and when to just act, and Virgil, of all the brothers, was perhaps the most finely attuned to this distinction. So before Gordon had even finished speaking, he found himself hurtling down toward the train tracks below at breakneck speed. The line jerked him to a stop with six feet to spare, and he used his momentum to swing himself forward. He hit the train feet first, knees bent to absorb the shock, and reached forward with the magnetic cable, clamping it to the side of the train with a solid thunk.
The pitch of Thunderbird Two's engines rose as Virgil immediately flew a bit higher to take up the slack in the cable, stopping the train car's forward motion.
A moment later, Alan dropped down out of the sky and attached his cable further down the car. Virgil used the winch to take up the slack on the second line, then lowered his brothers the rest of the way to the ground. With his usual finesse, he set them down on the tracks with scarcely a bump.
"You okay, Gords?" Virgil asked calmly.
"Yeah, I'm fine…but, whew! What a rush!" Gordon noticed that his fingers were trembling slightly as he unsnapped his harness from the line.
Alan hurried to Gordon's side, grinning broadly. "Dude, that was epic!" he exclaimed, slapping Gordon on the back. "You were like a superhero, or something, swooping in to the rescue!"
Gordon laughed. "Yep, that's me – the Caped Cabler. I just need a cape, and I'll be all set. Oh, and a sidekick – hey, you wanna be my sidekick?"
Alan made a face, but before he could reply, Scott trotted up to them.
"All right, guys, good job, but we need to keep moving. The local crews can evacuate the back cars; you two are with me on the front car. Let's get to it!" He started to turn away, then paused and smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "Oh, and Gords? I think a cape would be a great look for you."
Grinning, Gordon and Alan hurried after Scott.
The remainder of the rescue was a cakewalk, by their standards. Three of the five passengers in the front car walked out with only minor injuries. The other two were carried out on stretchers as a precaution, but did not seem to be badly hurt. International Rescue handed the victims off to the local agencies, and once the train was evacuated, Virgil used the magnetic lines to ease the front car back up onto the tracks. After that, the only thing left to do was pack up and go home.
Virgil retracted the magnetic cables and lowered Gordon and Alan's lines. As Gordon attached the line to his harness, he noticed two police officers studying a portion of track under the wheels of the train. Gordon's stomach jolted as he realized what they were looking at – a short section of track was mangled and twisted, with black char marks spreading outward from that point, as if a small bomb had been placed there. That would make this the second rescue in one day that could potentially trace back to sabotage. Was it just a coincidence?
"Ready?" Virgil asked.
Gordon automatically flashed Alan a thumbs up.
"Ready," Alan replied.
As the winch lifted him up into the air, Gordon saw a familiar blue-clad figure walking briskly along the street below – Scott, making his way back to Thunderbird One. Suddenly a man bumped against Scott, knocking him off balance, and Gordon found his hands unconsciously clenching into fists. He'd seen those same motions earlier, when the mysterious blue-eyed man had run into Alan. But it couldn't be the same man…could it?
He watched the gestures as the man evidently apologized. Scott waved the apology off with a smile and continued on his way, but the man stayed where he was. He swung around, and his gaze instantly zeroed in on Gordon.
Gordon's breath caught in his throat, and he felt like the bottom had just dropped out of his world – it was the same man. The same blue eyes, the same thin smirk, the same oddly challenging stare.
A moment later, the winch pulled Gordon and Alan out of sight up into the belly of the big green Birds. Gordon's fingers automatically unfastened his harness, and his feet carried him up to the flight deck from force of habit, but his mind was still churning.
He'd seen that same man just hours earlier in Australia – hundreds of miles away – at another rescue. How could he have made it all the way to Thailand so quickly? Well, okay, if he had a fast plane, then that part was feasible…but why? Why show up at two rescues in one day? Was he following the Thunderbirds? Or was he actually causing the incidents, so that in a sense, the Thunderbirds were following him?
He slumped into his seat, his eyes drooping. He resisted the pull of sleep, though, partly because it wasn't a long flight home and partly because he was concerned that if he slept now, the blue-eyed man would invade his dreams.
The brothers were practically asleep already when they got home, and their father sent them straight to bed; they'd save debriefing for the morning.
Despite his weariness, Gordon tossed and turned for a long time before drifting into an uneasy slumber. And, just as he'd feared, most of his dreams contained a distant, silent figure, watching him with icy blue eyes.
Tracy Island
January 12
11:02 AM
It was amazing how different things looked in the morning sunlight, Gordon thought as he made his way down to the pool for his daily swim. A few hours of sleep and he was able to see how crazily he'd been overreacting the night before.
So he'd run into the same guy just hours apart and in totally different countries…stranger things had happened in their line of work. It was a total coincidence, and he was sure he'd never see the man again.
He dove into the pool, and just like that, all thoughts of the mysterious man vanished from his mind.
That is, until he spotted the man on the dock after dropping off a load of shipwrecked boaters on Malta the next day.
And watched him bump into Virgil at a rescue in the Italian Alps a week later.
It was at that point that he enlisted John's help, looking up videos of rescues the man had attended and using all of International Rescue's considerable resources to attempt to identify him. After a few days of research, though, John reported back to Gordon empty-handed.
"Sorry, Gords," he had said. "This guy doesn't seem to exist in any of the usual – or unusual – databases. He really is a mystery man." He frowned as he studied a close-up screen shot of the man from a video. "It's weird, though – I could swear I've seen him somewhere before…" He thought for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. "I know – he was at my last book signing, the one in Chicago. He bumped into me, and I dropped some stuff. He helped me pick it up. I remember the blue eyes." He shrugged. "He seemed nice enough."
Gordon growled in frustration. "But he shows up at these scenes before we get there, or while we're there – I don't see how there's any way he could predict where we'd be unless he's somehow causing the disasters. That means sabotage. Do any of the videos prove it?"
John shook his head. "No, I've gone over them a dozen times, and tracked down other security footage from each danger zone as well. Our mystery man is not implicated in any of the videos."
"You agree that several of the disasters lately have been caused by sabotage, though, don't you?"
"Oh, absolutely," John said. "But can we say that it's a deliberate attack against International Rescue, and that this man is the attacker? I'm not sure we're there quite yet. But I'll be watching for him now, and if we keep seeing him, we'll definitely want to get the authorities involved."
Gordon had left that conversation feeling rather like John had been humoring him. He knew John wasn't really, that his older brother was just as concerned about the potential threat as he was, but for some reason all of Gordon's arguments sounded a lot better in his head than they did out loud.
He reluctantly set the issue aside, and began to relax over the next couple weeks as the man didn't show up at any more rescues, and there were no further signs of sabotage.
Then, in the middle of February, Gordon felt the prickle on the back of his neck again at a rescue in Los Angeles, California. He spun around and spotted the mystery man standing in the crowd that was watching an apartment building fire. The man's eyes, as usual, were fixed firmly on Gordon.
"John, I see him," Gordon snapped into his wrist comm., not taking his eyes off the man. "I'm gonna go talk to him."
"Gordon, I don't think that's –"
Gordon cut John off, striding toward the man, who was just behind the safety line.
The man watched him coming, and his eyes lit up with cold amusement. He pointed toward the apartment, and as Gordon warily turned to look, an explosion suddenly rocked the building, showering debris all around. Gordon whipped back around, but the man had disappeared into the screaming crowd.
After that, Gordon told his father and the rest of his brothers about the man, and a full-scale investigation ground into gear. They even involved Lady Penelope, as well as a handful of other IR agents around the world.
Three weeks passed, with no results – and no more sign of the mystery man.
Gordon knew better than to relax this time, but neither could he argue when his father decided to call off the investigation. They still had no real evidence that the man was any sort of threat to International Rescue.
On March 7th, the Thunderbirds were called to Mexico to look for a man lost in the underwater caves there. It was a job for Thunderbird Four, and Gordon climbed into his trusty little yellow submarine and dove into the dark caverns.
He never came back out.