Chapter 2
Thunderbird 3 elegantly lowered herself through the centre of the round house to sit, snugly and securely, in her holding cradle. Gordon powered down all the electronics, checked all the systems and prepared the huge spacecraft for shutdown. Meticulously he tidied up after himself, ensuring that she was ready for action at a moment's notice.
It had been a pleasant change being the sole astronaut on board. Usually he was accompanied by John or Alan, but John had insisted that Gordon, and Gordon alone, fly TB3 up to his space station to help with the re-supply. John, ever protective of TB5 had not wanted Alan aboard; from past experience he knew that a bored and frustrated Alan, and a tidy, organised TB5 were not a good combination.
John liked his space station to be like his life, orderly, structured and with everything in its correct place. Alan would have come on board like a tornado and disrupted John's calm existence without a single thought for the effect it would have on his older brother.
Gordon was also glad to have a couple of days away from Alan and Scott. Brothers they might be, but that didn't mean that you always had to get on with them.
He changed straight from his space flight suit into swimming trunks, extremely glad that he had the pool to himself. It had been a hectic but rewarding couple of days in TB5, and although the refits had gone well he was glad to get the opportunity to do some serious exercise in the pool. If Alan or Scott had been around they would no doubt have spent the time dive bombing him, or deliberately getting in his way.
He could hear Virgil, obviously recovered from his rage at the mess caused by his brothers, practising on the piano. The music, soothing and calm, drifted out from the lounge across the pool. Virgil was a more than competent pianist, and Gordon secretly enjoyed listening to the pure, pellucid notes of Bach, especially when he was swimming. He dived into the pool, and swam under the water for several strokes, relishing the coolness of the water, and the freedom of weightlessness.
Having done several fast lengths, he flipped over, floating on his back and gently moving his hands to glide slowly across the pool. The brilliantly blue sky was bisected by a small jet plane flying low. He watched it, intrigued by its rather erratic flight path. Perhaps the pilot was following a shoal of tuna or one of the pods of killer whales that occasionally passed close to the island. It seemed strange that such a small plane, a Gulfstream 150 or something similar, would be used for aerial reconnaissance. Still, the pilot must know ...............
Gordon jerked upright in the water and frantically swam to the edge of the pool shouting as he did so. 'Dad, Dad, quick come here!'
'What is it now Gordon? Not another one of your brothers.........' Jeff was interrupted by Gordon's reply.
'Look, that plane, it's coming down. One of the engines is on fire. It's going to crash, Dad.'
'Virgil!' Jeff shouted at the pianist in the lounge, 'launch Two now, with Gordon. He'll direct you. It's going to come down about 5 miles away. Quick'
Still dripping wet, Gordon ran for the passenger access route to TB2 while Virgil immediately headed for his personal chute direct into TB2's main cabin. Jeff watched, knowing that within seconds Virgil would be at the controls of the huge craft, and selecting Pod 4. Gordon would need to have his wits about him if they were to be successful in reaching and rescuing anyone from the stricken aircraft.
The pilot was still desperately struggling to keep the plane airborne despite the thick black smoke trailing from one of her engines. He could see sections of one of the wings break off as broken fragments of the engine were ejected and slammed into the trailing wing structure.
It was hopeless to try to stay in the air; the only chance they had was if the pilot could manage to put her down on the surface of the sea in one piece, safely. Jeff knew how unlikely that was.
Sooner than he would have anticipated, Jeff heard a thunderous roar as Two's mighty atomic engines lifted her up across the ocean. He had never seen her perform a rescue in such close proximity to the island. There were bound to be some logistical problems. I
f there were any survivors, and hopefully there would be, where would be the best place to take them? Anyone injured might not survive the long trip to the nearest hospital on the mainland.
That was why Jeff had built a fully equipped medical unit on Tracy Island; for use if any of his sons were ever hurt in a rescue attempt. TinTin had undergone intensive training as a paramedic and was able to cope with a wide range of injuries.
With her support Jeff would be able to have Virgil bring survivors back to the island for triage, before deciding whether they were fit to be transported to the mainland for further treatment.
Decision made he went inside to supervise the rescue. Automatically he checked the interactive display of satellite activity, noting that a surveillance camera was due to pass directly over the crash site within a matter of minutes.
'Virgil, you need to use the camera blocking system to prevent images being taken. There is a satellite almost overhead now.' he warned the pilot of TB2.
'Okay Dad, blocking system now operational.' Virgil responded instantly as he waited for Gordon to contact him from inside TB4. The small yellow submersible was locked inside TB2's number 4 Pod, which would be dropped onto the surface of the ocean as soon as TB2 got into position.
'It's down, Virgil, but it's starting to break up. I can't see anyone getting out. Drop the pod and I'll get closer in Four.' Gordon shouted instructions to his brother, while looking out at the scene below on the undercarriage CCTV setup. The plane had hit the surface of the water, hard, and had quickly started to break up.
An oily slick of aviation fuel gleamed on the surface of the water and debris floated around as the jet wallowed in the swell of the waves. The wash created by TB2's number 4 pod dropping down, hit the body of the plane and the remains of the tail section broke off, leaving the open end of the cabin exposed.
'Can you hold the fuselage with the grapples?' Gordon asked, wondering if he would be better leaving his beloved yellow submersible and trying a direct hands-on rescue. TB4 moved closer, and the jet, her nose down under the surface, wallowed heavily in the water, the cockpit rolling into view.
'Forget the crew, Virgil,' he called over the radio. 'I confirm they are all dead. The cockpit is flooded and they are still strapped in their seats. I'll try to get into the cabin and see if here's anyone in there still alive.'
He opened TB4's hatch and dived into the water, having slipped on a loose shorter style wetsuit with a knife strapped to his thigh, while Virgil flew TB2 to the scene of the crash. Swimming with powerful strokes he headed towards the back of the plane where the tail section had left an opening.
He looked inside. There seemed to be only one passenger, strapped into one of the lounge style seats near the back of the plane, fortunately. Gordon knew that there would have been no chance of rescuing him alive if he had been at the front where the cabin was already filling up with water.
He clambered in, heedless of his own safety. Struggling against the rising water and the steep downward slope of the cabin floor he reached the sole occupant who was struggling weakly to free himself from the constraints of the seatbelt.
A deep wound had sliced open the seated man's forehead and blood covered his face, staining the top of his cream jacket and seeping into the now pink-hued water. The surface of the water was nearly up to Gordon's chest and the passenger, gasping and choking in the rapidly rising water, was struggling unsuccessfully to breathe. The Thunderbird 4 pilot knew that he had to move quickly.
He pulled out his razor-sharp diver's knife and slashed through the seatbelt with swift strokes. Dragging the man upwards and out he was stopped by a narrow bracelet on the passenger's wrist that caught on the edge of the seat. There was no time to bother with trying to untangle it. Gordon yanked hard, breaking the chain and the bracelet dropped down through the water with a silver flash.
Frantically he backed out, weighed down his burden, until he fell out of the open end of the cabin into the swell of the sea. He was able to move freely here, and with swift confident strokes made his way back to TB4, supporting his precious cargo with one strong, muscular arm under the man's chin, keeping his head above the water splashing against the nearly submerged fuselage.
Once inside TB4 he laid the survivor down on the floor and began to resuscitate him. After a few hard minutes, when he thought that perhaps it had all been a waste of time, he felt the man's chest move independently. Gordon held him carefully as, barely conscious, the traveller began to retch, gasping for breath and coughing up inhaled seawater.
'Okay Virgil, I have one survivor, male about 40, deep laceration to the head, just about responsive and breathing independently. Bringing him back now. Tell Dad to get sick bay ready. This guy will need some treatment. Just approaching TB2 now........... up the ramp. Okay. Locked down and secure. Pod door closed. Ready for pick-up. Quick as you like Virgil.'
The huge transport vehicle descended as rapidly as possible on its vertical jets, accurately positioning itself over the pod containing Gordon and his treasured submarine. Once the pod was secure Virgil banked TB2 in a sharp curve and heading back to Tracy Island, still visible on the horizon.
By the time Virgil had landed, parked and turned Two around in her concealed hangar, Gordon had got his now unconscious passenger ready to be moved out of the spacious TB4 pod. He looked down at the man. Tall and slender, he had short, very pale, blonde hair, discoloured by blood. Unpleasant bruising was beginning to mottle his forehead and his eyes were tightly closed.
Gordon checked him over for identification, looking for a wallet, phone, anything that would tell them his name. Nothing. Nothing in the pockets of the hand-made expensive suit, no phone, no jewellery, nothing that could give a clue to his identity. Except for a gun in a carefully concealed shoulder holster.
What kind of person carried a gun? And flew alone in an expensive private jet?