ALMOST THE END

The man groaned as he pulled one large boulder atop his leg. Dust and pebbles rained down around him and he coughed twice, waving his hand in front of his face, trying to clear his breathing space. He heard a few creaks and groans, but he knew no more of the roof would fall. His calculations had been precise, down to the centimeter. Nothing was going to happen that was not part of his plan.

Surveying the scene around him, he took in the pile of dirt and bits of fallen rock. As the dust began to settle, he studied the layout of the old termite-infested wooden beams, some of which had fallen to the tunnel floor, some of which still held their place in the ceiling above his head. Cracked just so, they would give one millimeter at a time over a precisely calculated period of hours so that they would finally give way with nothing but a tap when the time was right.

Coughing one last time, he cleared his throat, picked up two handfuls of dust and coated his long-sleeved red and black flannel shirt with it. Then he smudged some dirt onto his cheeks and forehead. Large hands moved to dark brown hair where thick fingers drew dirt throughout the wavy locks. When he was finished, he looked for all the world like a man who'd been down in the old abandoned mine and had gotten trapped beneath a pile of rubble when the ceiling above caved in.

Precise. Exacting. Planned to the letter. Nothing forgotten. Nothing overlooked. Perfect. The man smiled to himself as he picked a small CB radio up from the pile of earth he'd wedged himself into. His thumb depressed the red button on the side, and he spoke.

"Calling International Rescue."

Shredding the last piece of paper that had been sitting on his desk for over a week begging for attention, Jeff sighed and absently scratched his temple. He removed his glasses and placed them on the desk, looking up at the far wall just in time to see the eyes of his youngest son Alan's video portrait begin to blink.

"There's never one thing over but another one begins," he said to himself as he opened the line of communication. "This is Base to Thunderbird 5. Go ahead, Alan."

"Father, I've received a faint distress call from a man claiming he's trapped in a collapsed mine. Coordinates are reference IR-24, northeastern Iowa, about sixty miles north of the Dunkerton Ghost Town."

"Are there any others trapped down there with him?"

"No, he said he was the only one. Seems he was just out exploring when he knocked into a beam and everything came crashing down. He sounds all right, but he's stuck in a pile of rubble."

"What about local authorities?"

"Well, the closest team that can handle situations like this is about eighty miles away in Cedar Rapids. But they aren't available right now. Seems the day for mines collapsing - they've got one twenty miles north of their base."

"F.A.B., Alan," Jeff replied, all business as he pressed a red button. Lights began to strobe on and off and he could hear the klaxon wailing throughout the island, requesting its residents to proceed to the center of International Rescue's command center: a spacious, innocent-looking living room within the sprawling villa on Tracy Island.

Alan's feed winked out just as Jeff's two oldest sons, Scott and Virgil, entered the room from the kitchen. They were soon followed by middle son John and fourth son Gordon. Kyrano, Brains, Tin-Tin and Ruth weren't far behind.

"What do we have, Dad?" Scott asked. His crisp, barked tone spoke of his years as an Air Force man. He had followed in the steps of his father and made quite a name for himself as an ace pilot before he'd left it all behind to become Field Commander for International Rescue.

Jeff briefed his family on the situation in Iowa. Within minutes, Scott had backed against a nearby wall. His hands firmly grasped two light fixtures, and the wall suddenly spun him around and out of sight. He was on his way to Thunderbird 1, the world's fastest air vehicle, and International Rescue's reconnaissance and mobile control rocket plane.

"Pod 5, Father?" Virgil asked, more out of habit than anything. He heard his father reply in the affirmative as he turned and backed against a large floor-to-ceiling painting of the rocket ship Jeff Tracy himself had traveled to the Moon in so many years before. The painting tilted backward, and Virgil slid off it onto a slide which would spirit him down a long chute far below the villa into the craft he was responsible for, Thunderbird 2.

Copper-haired Gordon had been instructed to serve as double crew with Virgil for this one. By the time he arrived in Thunderbird 2 via the passenger elevator, Virgil already had his uniform half on, and Gordon went to fetch his. They heard the rumble of Scott taking off in Thunderbird 1. Adrenaline pumped through their veins. The rescue seemed straightforward enough, and the brothers were looking forward to saving another life.

Neither of them had an inkling of the danger they were walking into.

"Roger that, Alan, I have coordinates on my map. Course locked in. ETA to Danger Zone now 48 minutes, present speed."

"F.A.B., will inform Base. Thunderbird 5 out." Orbiting high above the Earth, Alan Tracy opened a channel to Thunderbird 2. "This is Thunderbird 5 to Thunderbird 2."

"Loud and clear, Alan."

"Feeding coordinates to you now."

"F.A.B., received and registered on the map. Course...locked in. ETA to Danger Zone now 1.6 hours, present speed."

"Understood. Will inform Base. Thunderbird 5 out." Alan now pressed another button that opened a special line to Tracy Island. "Base from Thunderbird 5. Come in, please."

"Base here."

"Thunderbird 1 ETA to Danger Zone now 46 minutes. Thunderbird 2 ETA now 1.5 hours."

"F.A.B. Have you been in contact with the trapped man?"

"I haven't been able to raise him, Father. I'm not even sure he heard me respond the first time."

"All right, Alan, you keep trying. Let me know when the 'Birds have landed."

"F.A.B. Thunderbird 5 out."

Sitting in the large, black, leather-bound chair behind his heavy oak desk, Jeff began drawing up what he called paperwork on this rescue. This "paperwork" consisted of creating a new rescue file on his computer and beginning to fill in as many of the details as he could. Not only did his doing so give Scott a head start on it upon his return, but it kept Jeff busy. And when his sons were flying into danger, he needed to stay that way.

Realizing this was a rather routine rescue, Tin-Tin and Brains figured they wouldn't be needed, and headed down to the laboratory. An intelligent and highly educated woman in her own right, Tin-Tin Kyrano wore many hats both within the family and with International Rescue. One of the things she enjoyed doing most was working side-by-side with the young genius who had played the largest role in designing and building International Rescue's fleet of vehicles and equipment. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and began to help Brains with his latest round of experiments.

Her thoughts strayed briefly to Alan, and then sent up a silent prayer for the safe return of the men who had become her family. She always did the same thing when they left on a rescue. It was like a ritual that helped keep the butterflies in her stomach down to a minimum.

Little did Tin-Tin know how much that small, silent prayer would be needed this day.

"Thunderbird 5 from Thunderbird 1. I have arrived at Danger Zone. Will contact you as soon as Mobile Control is set up. Thunderbird 1 out."

Scott landed the red-tipped silver rocket plane less than half a mile from the mine entrance, where scans showed there were no tunnels. The last thing he needed was for his 'Bird to cause further damage to the shaft where their victim was trapped, or to fall herself into the earth. He moved quickly, taking the Mobile Control unit from Thunderbird 1's belly and hauling it a couple hundred yards away, where he had it assembled and operating within four minutes.

"This is Mobile Control calling Thunderbird 5. What is Virgil's ETA?"

"Thunderbird 2 will be arriving in eighteen minutes. There has been no further contact from target."

"F.A.B. Contacting Base now." Scott closed the channel and opened a second one. "Mobile Control to Base."

"Base here. What's the situation?"

Scott inserted a small bud into his right ear and clipped a transmitter no larger than a cigarette lighter onto his light blue uniform sash, about two inches below his left shoulder. The flip of a switch on MC's control panel transferred communication to these mobile units. In his hand he held a combination thermal and structural scanner which could read heat sources, such as generators or living beings, as well as provide a layout of what was beneath the earth down to one hundred feet.

"On my way to locate target. From the general coordinates Alan was able to get after the initial call, I've got a pretty good idea where the guy is." Scott loped across the mixed rocky and grassy terrain. He'd gone a couple hundred of feet when a pink and green shape appeared on the monitor. "I have target on my scanner, Base." He studied the lay of the tunnel as its outlines became clear around the trapped man. "Looks like it's a single shaft extending west and east of target's position."

He jogged along above the tunnel line, alternately watching the monitor and watching his step as he dodged obstructions. "I see no branches on this line, Father. Looks like the only way in is the entrance a hundred and fifty yards west of target."

"F.A.B., Scott. Keep in touch."

"Will do, Father."

Scott returned to Mobile Control and fed the information from the scanner into its powerful computer. Only a few minutes passed until he heard the familiar whine of Thunderbird 2's engines as she approached.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird 2."

"Thunderbird 2 here."

"Virg, you'll have to land her opposite of where I am, five hundred twenty yards north of Thunderbird 1's position. It's the only spot large enough without any tunnels beneath it."

"F.A.B. What do we need on this?"

"Bring the Lite-Packs and shovels. From what Alan said, you're going to have to dig the man out. I'm feeding you the layout of the mine shaft."

"F.A.B. Commencing landing."

Scott watched as Virgil set his mammoth ship down across the way. Nobody flew that ship like his brother, not even Gordon, who was Virgil's backup if ever he was unavailable to pilot her. Thunderbird 2's engines shut down and soon she was rising into the air on her four hydraulic stilts, leaving Pod 5 beneath her as though laying a giant green egg. The door to Pod 5 lowered like a flap until it rested on the ground, creating a ramp up to the cavernous unit.

Barely five minutes passed before Virgil and Gordon ran out of the pod, down the ramp and across the ground to the mine entrance, where Scott met them. The scans had showed no obstructions - the rescue looked as routine as they got.

Gordon, however, gave voice to something that was on all their minds. "Almost seems too easy."

"Well, you know what always happens when you think it's too easy," Scott replied as Gordon turned to head for the entrance. Virgil turned to go as well, then stopped and looked back at his brother, quirking a small smile in his direction. Scott's eyes seemed to say Watch yourself down there. as they met Virgil's. His younger brother's returned look was half-sarcastic, half-serious, as if to say, Stop being a mother hen. and Don't worry. all at the same time.

All five Tracy siblings were close, as close as any brothers could ever be. But there had always existed between firstborn Scott and second son Virgil, three years his junior, a special connection rivaled by no other. From the time Virgil was born, Scott was his constant companion. It was said that whenever baby Virgil was crying, all Scott had to do was walk into the room and he would become instantly silent. As they grew up, the bond they'd been born with only strengthened, carrying them through adolescence, first dates, proms, college and many, many miles of separation, sometimes for months at a time.

The family had long ago grown accustomed to the two men finishing one another's sentences, holding entire conversations without a word spoken and sometimes even moving with a rhythm that almost made you think the two were Siamese twins joined at the hip. In the field this innate ability to read one another's minds had proved invaluable on more than one occasion.

Each of the brothers was highly trained and highly skilled - experts at what they did for a living. They protected each other. They cared deeply for each other. And they would die for each other. As Scott watched his brothers disappear into the hole that would lead them underground, he had no idea that his commitment to Virgil and Gordon as their oldest brother and field commander was about to be put to the ultimate test.

The man waited patiently, but with each transmission from the unknown Tracy that came through on his CB, his excitement rose. The small unit crackled to life once more and his ears perked up. "Hello, if you can hear me, this is International Rescue. Two members of our team are on their way into the mine as we speak. They should reach your position in approximately twenty-five minutes. If you can respond, please acknowledge this transmission."

He smiled as he palmed the CB. Raising it into the air, he suddenly and forcefully swung it down, smashing it against the boulder covering his leg. Pieces went flying everywhere, effectively ending the CB's usefulness.

"I acknowledge your transmission," his low and menacing voice replied. "And I am ready."

"Thunderbird 5 to Mobile Control. I transmitted to the victim, but I'm still getting no response."

"Well, he's registering warm on the thermal, so I'd wager he's still alive. Maybe more debris fell after his initial call and made his radio inoperative. Virg and Gordo should reach him in a couple of minutes."

"F.A.B. Thunderbird 5 listening out."

Scott was antsy. It wasn't unusual for him to be on pins and needles after sending his brothers into a dangerous situation, but for some reason he was even more concerned than usual. A mine out in the middle of nowhere, a single man trapped. As he looked up from the MC unit, his eyes moved across the landscape. At least fifty of what could only be described as mounds rose up from the earth at evenly spaced intervals beginning on the other side of Thunderbird 2.

He knew from having grown up in Kansas that these were Native American burial mounds. The Indians who used to inhabit the plains of the Midwest were said to have buried their most important tribal citizens beneath these huge mounds of earth along with their possessions and anything they would need for their journey to the Spirit world. Since these mounds lay within the protected boundaries of an old reservation that had been turned into a national park, they lay undisturbed, as the U.S. government, at the request of the Sioux tribe whose land this had originally been, would not allow the graves of their ancestors to be disturbed.

Between where he sat and Thunderbird 2, a small chain of rock and earth made a miniature mountain range as far as the eye could see in either direction. He surmised the old mine beneath to either have been a coal mine or perhaps even a gold mine. But as he turned his head to look toward Thunderbird 1 on his right, he suddenly realized something. There they were, quite literally in the middle of nowhere. There was a man who purportedly had been exploring the old mine on his own when it had caved in and he'd been trapped.

Scott rose to his feet and turned in a complete circle. His eyes searched for something his brain logically told him should also be present. There was Thunderbird 1. There was Thunderbird 2. There was Mobile Control. But there was no car. Or truck. Or Jeep. Or hovercraft. Or anything. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

How had their victim gotten there?

"Hello! Can you hear me?" Virgil called out. The industrial-strength yellow flashlight he held in his hand illuminated up to about five feet in front of where he and Gordon walked, but beyond that it was pitch dark. "Hello! We're from International Rescue! Can you hear me?"

"Help," came a weak response.

"He's alive," Gordon said cheerfully.

"Yeah, sounds like we're almost on him," Virgil replied. He raised his left hand to the side of his mouth and called out again. "We're almost there! Just hang on!"

The two men continued along the tunnel, which was barely high enough for 6'1" Virgil and 6' Gordon to walk upright in. Soon the flashlight showed the beginnings of a pile of dirt and rocks. "Looks like we've hit where it caved in," he commented as he made his way around it to the left. "Watch it, we're going to have do some fancy maneuvering here."

"F.A.B.," Gordon replied. He watched Virgil's back and his own feet alternately as the pile of debris became larger and larger until at last they both had to get on their hands and knees.

"We're here!" Virgil called out. "Can you see our light?"

"Yes," a man's voice answered. "Help me, please. I'm trapped."

Virgil stopped in mid-crawl and shone the light out in front of him. Squinting his eyes to focus his vision, he soon saw something that didn't look at all like rocks or dirt. "I see him, Gordo," he said. "I can see his hair. Come on."

"Right behind you."

They continued crawling along the rubble until there was barely two feet left for them to squeeze through. Virgil belly-crawled until he could touch the trapped man. He reached out and placed his hand lightly on the victim's head. "We're here," he said calmly. "Are you injured?"

"I think...my legs...are broken," the man replied in a deep voice. There was a hint of an accent to it, but the man's nationality was the furthest thing from Virgil's mind at this point.

"Okay, Gordo, he's trapped and he's facing away from us. Get the backboard out and get it ready. I'm going to scoot around and see what we're looking at here."

"Okay," Gordon said as he removed what was known as a Lite-Pack from his back. It was basically an eleven pound backpack that contained everything from a First Aid kit to rope to at least twenty other gadgets that were useful in situations such as this.

Strapped along the length of the pack that rested against his back was a one-foot by two-foot board. Gordon unhooked it from the pack and, palming his own flashlight, pressed a button on the board and scooted back out of the way. The board beeped twice and then began to unfold itself until it was laid out at six feet long and two feet wide. It was an instant body board, which they would have to use to secure the victim for transport back to the surface.

As Gordon worked at getting the board and First Aid kit ready, Virgil had pushed himself another seven feet along and come around so he was facing the injured man. At last he could see his face, which was dirty but seemed to be without any wounds. His eyes were closed, and as Virgil moved his hand up to find the man's carotid for a pulse, the eyes opened.

For a moment, Virgil was taken aback. He had never seen eyes so black. But then he smiled at the man in an attempt to put him at ease and keep his spirits up. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he took the man's pulse.

"In pain," the man replied. "Are there two of you?"

Virgil nodded as he counted heartbeats silently in his head. "Yep, my buddy's just a few feet away ready to help get you out of here."

"Good," the man replied. He moved his right arm, pulling it out of the dirt that had been covering it. He moved his left arm in the same fashion. Now both rested atop the pile of dirt. Puzzled, Virgil cocked an eyebrow at him. Then he watched as the man twisted slightly to the right. It almost looked like he was reaching for something Virgil couldn't see.

"It's just your legs that are injured?" he asked as he pulled the shovel he'd been carrying along the top of the rubble.

"Actually," the man replied as he straightened himself and pulled his right leg out of the dirt, "I don't believe I'm hurt at all." Virgil frowned, but before he could even spare a thought as to what was going on, the man's right hand darted out. Virgil felt something cold press into his neck. It was the last sensation he was aware of before slipping into unconsciousness.

The stranger worked fast. From down and to his right he produced a small metal box, which he quickly opened. Then he reached around behind his head to the back of his neck. Within seconds the face of the cave-in victim peeled completely away, revealing his true identity.

It was none other than Belah Gaat.