Revenge by Amanda Tracy
Disclaimer: All Thunderbird characters are the property of ITC and licensed by Carlton International Inc.; all rights reserved. This work of fiction is unauthorized and solely for non-profit entertainment. Please do not republish this work without notice to and permission from the author.
The sun shone on that annoying Friday morning in a sparkling brilliant sort of way as if to say that yes, Amanda Erickson, you have to work while the entire staff at Tracy International got the day off. I, the sun said, have a whole building of people to think of. They're all hoping that I will be warm and shining today on their three day weekend that Mr. Jefferson Tracy, God bless him, was so nice to give everyone today.
This is Orlando, Florida, after all. The sun is suppose to be shining.
The traffic signal seemed to be taking its sweet time to change from red to green as Amanda sat in her slightly used, police blue caprice. She dropped her vanity mirror down from the sunvisor so she could tuck an errant curl back in the carefully formed golden halo of hair on the top of her head.
As the light turned to green, a white and purple-striped Triumph Spitfire shot past her.
Hmph, she thought! And I've got a corvette in disguise. Please, take one look behind you. You're going so fast, you couldn't tell if I was the real thing or not. That'll get you to hit your brakes!
The Spitfire roared on ahead making no moves to slow down.
"Oh well," she sighed.
After a two sailboats, and a few more city blocks passed by, Amanda guided the car into the security blocked entrance of Tracy International Communications Building. This was the main hub for Jeff Tracy's multibillionaire business interests.
Amanda was one of many data entry technicians working for him, and the only one dumb enough to agree to come in on a company wide holiday. There was a big honkin' book of codes she intended on finishing by the end of the day. Even if it meant staying until 8pm-doggone it!
She took off her coded entry pass that hung around her neck and slipped it into the card reader. The barrier gave her its humble mechanized permission to pass, and she rolled her car into the massive parking lot. Today, there wouldn't be a problem with finding a parking space.
As she drove up to an empty spot in front of the Spitfire that passed her by earlier, she counted 12 cars total.
Some she recognized. Some she didn't.
She got out of the Caprice and adjusted her sunglasses. On the other side of her, sat Chris Gruber's navy blue Monte Carlo.
Sounds like they called Chris in as well, she thought to herself. That girl worked way too hard, and thought way too much.
George Sanders, the chief of security, was here as she looked at the black half ton Chevy truck in the next row.
As Amanda walked up to the sidewalk that curved around the stark white and big windowed building, she noticed a shiny black Camaro with tinted windows parked next to the sidewalk in front of the building.
"I wonder what he's trying to hide." she said to herself.
She walked passed the Camaro, up the stairway, across the barbled landing, and reached to open the door.
Wham!
The door popped opened and caught her right side. Without apology, a man in black slacks, polo shirt, and sunglasses shoved past her and hurried down the steps to the Camaro. He aimed his key ring at the car and it roared to life.
Amanda rubbed her arm where a large buise was already forming.
She walked into the building and rossed the lobby entrance where a security guard stood at the desk with his hand outstretched.
"Hi George," she said as she handed him her ID.
"Hi Amanda. No rest for the weary, eh?" he said in a yooperish sort of way. "Chris is up there, too. I thought Mr. Almighty himself gave everyone leave today?"
"Well, if some of us took the day off, we'd have such a back log of work, we'd never catch up." Amanda sighed, "Well, I'd better get up there."
As she pushed the button on the elevator, George spoke to her warningly, "Oh, by the way, the old man sent two of his sons here to check the place out."
"Oh great! There goes the neighborhood. Who is it this time?"
"John and Gordon Tracy," he answered as the elevator made its way down into the lobby, "Better be careful, Mandy. They're so good looking, they'll sweep you off your feet."
Amanda blushed pleasantly.
"George, I never trust a good lookin' man!"
George winked at her.
"You trust me, don't you?"
"Of course not!" she grinned.
George laughed and then became serious once more.
"Amanda, Dave's here, too."
Amanda's face became as serious as George's.
"Do you know where he is?"
"No, 'fraid not."
Amanda gave him a reassuring smile.
"Okay, thanks for the warning. I wonder how he got back into the company so soon after his comeuppance?"
George could only shrug.
The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. As she touched the 10th floor on the touch pad next to the doors, she frowned worriedly.
As the elevator car shot her upwards she sighed. Just with that bit of news, her senses were already on guard.
How in the world did that guy get let back in?!
Disclaimer: All Thunderbird characters are the property of ITC and licensed by Carlton International Inc.; all rights reserved. This work of fiction is unauthorized and solely for non-profit entertainment. Please do not republish this work without notice to and permission from the author.
The sun shone on that annoying Friday morning in a sparkling brilliant sort of way as if to say that yes, Amanda Erickson, you have to work while the entire staff at Tracy International got the day off. I, the sun said, have a whole building of people to think of. They're all hoping that I will be warm and shining today on their three day weekend that Mr. Jefferson Tracy, God bless him, was so nice to give everyone today.
This is Orlando, Florida, after all. The sun is suppose to be shining.
The traffic signal seemed to be taking its sweet time to change from red to green as Amanda sat in her slightly used, police blue caprice. She dropped her vanity mirror down from the sunvisor so she could tuck an errant curl back in the carefully formed golden halo of hair on the top of her head.
As the light turned to green, a white and purple-striped Triumph Spitfire shot past her.
Hmph, she thought! And I've got a corvette in disguise. Please, take one look behind you. You're going so fast, you couldn't tell if I was the real thing or not. That'll get you to hit your brakes!
The Spitfire roared on ahead making no moves to slow down.
"Oh well," she sighed.
After a two sailboats, and a few more city blocks passed by, Amanda guided the car into the security blocked entrance of Tracy International Communications Building. This was the main hub for Jeff Tracy's multibillionaire business interests.
Amanda was one of many data entry technicians working for him, and the only one dumb enough to agree to come in on a company wide holiday. There was a big honkin' book of codes she intended on finishing by the end of the day. Even if it meant staying until 8pm-doggone it!
She took off her coded entry pass that hung around her neck and slipped it into the card reader. The barrier gave her its humble mechanized permission to pass, and she rolled her car into the massive parking lot. Today, there wouldn't be a problem with finding a parking space.
As she drove up to an empty spot in front of the Spitfire that passed her by earlier, she counted 12 cars total.
Some she recognized. Some she didn't.
She got out of the Caprice and adjusted her sunglasses. On the other side of her, sat Chris Gruber's navy blue Monte Carlo.
Sounds like they called Chris in as well, she thought to herself. That girl worked way too hard, and thought way too much.
George Sanders, the chief of security, was here as she looked at the black half ton Chevy truck in the next row.
As Amanda walked up to the sidewalk that curved around the stark white and big windowed building, she noticed a shiny black Camaro with tinted windows parked next to the sidewalk in front of the building.
"I wonder what he's trying to hide." she said to herself.
She walked passed the Camaro, up the stairway, across the barbled landing, and reached to open the door.
Wham!
The door popped opened and caught her right side. Without apology, a man in black slacks, polo shirt, and sunglasses shoved past her and hurried down the steps to the Camaro. He aimed his key ring at the car and it roared to life.
Amanda rubbed her arm where a large buise was already forming.
She walked into the building and rossed the lobby entrance where a security guard stood at the desk with his hand outstretched.
"Hi George," she said as she handed him her ID.
"Hi Amanda. No rest for the weary, eh?" he said in a yooperish sort of way. "Chris is up there, too. I thought Mr. Almighty himself gave everyone leave today?"
"Well, if some of us took the day off, we'd have such a back log of work, we'd never catch up." Amanda sighed, "Well, I'd better get up there."
As she pushed the button on the elevator, George spoke to her warningly, "Oh, by the way, the old man sent two of his sons here to check the place out."
"Oh great! There goes the neighborhood. Who is it this time?"
"John and Gordon Tracy," he answered as the elevator made its way down into the lobby, "Better be careful, Mandy. They're so good looking, they'll sweep you off your feet."
Amanda blushed pleasantly.
"George, I never trust a good lookin' man!"
George winked at her.
"You trust me, don't you?"
"Of course not!" she grinned.
George laughed and then became serious once more.
"Amanda, Dave's here, too."
Amanda's face became as serious as George's.
"Do you know where he is?"
"No, 'fraid not."
Amanda gave him a reassuring smile.
"Okay, thanks for the warning. I wonder how he got back into the company so soon after his comeuppance?"
George could only shrug.
The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. As she touched the 10th floor on the touch pad next to the doors, she frowned worriedly.
As the elevator car shot her upwards she sighed. Just with that bit of news, her senses were already on guard.
How in the world did that guy get let back in?!