Belah Gaat opened his eyes and sat up in bed. He took a moment to look at his surroundings and silently congratulate himself. He had done it. He was alone in Thunderbird 2 with the rat called Gordon. They were flying at what he figured was at least sixty thousand feet judging from the point at which he felt the craft level off.

A tiny communicator no bigger than a dime stuck to the inside of the International Rescue uniform shirt's neck vibrated against his skin in a prearranged code which told him another good piece of news: his men stationed at the hospital had the real Virgil Tracy. Things were just getting better and better.

The Hood decided to wait a few more minutes before making his move. Still seated on the bed, he leaned back against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. Visions of his most recent failure moved to the forefront of his mind, playing out like a movie in front of his angry eyes.

Five weeks earlier he had traveled to the port city of Calcutta in India. There he had a prearranged meeting with two American scientists who'd been working for Degranada Laboratories in the United Kingdom. Disguised as a native Indian man, Belah had made his way to the city's central marketplace. In his hand he held a briefcase containing ten million American dollars. Being the untrustworthy man that he was, of course, Belah had no intention of actually giving the money to the men. His plan was to seize the nuclear device they were bringing and get away with both it and his briefcase of money.

Belah Gaat had big plans for this device. He'd been trying to get his hands on it for two years. His own scientists had built a gigantic weapon which awaited only this last piece of the puzzle to become operational. With this weapon he would be nearly unstoppable. Grandiose plans of bringing International Rescue to its knees and world domination filled his dreams and visions. At last he would have all that he desired, including International Rescue.

For his plan was brilliant in its simplicity. He would arrange for some disaster to occur, then lie in wait with his weapon. International Rescue would arrive on the scene and start saving peoples' lives, and then he would strike. Years of repeated failures to gain access to their technology had left him angry and frustrated. He had finally decided to show them that he meant business. And that business would come in the form of destroying one of their precious Thunderbirds, hopefully killing one or two Tracy sons along the way, and commandeering the remaining craft.

But things had not gone the way he'd planned. Nearly half an hour had passed since the time at which he was supposed to meet the men. He grew impatient and was nearly ready to turn around and leave, having felt he'd been stood up, when he caught sight of them approaching from across the market. He frowned, for neither of the men had anything with him. One of them should've been carrying a case the size of an apple crate, but their hands were empty.

"Where is it?" he barked as they came to stand in front of him. Both men looked nervous, looked like they really didn't want to be there at all. "Where is it?" he asked again.

"We...we don't have it," the first man replied.

"Then why are you here?" Belah growled.

The men looked nervously at one another before the second one said, "We couldn't contact you, we wanted you to know that it wasn't our fault we couldn't get it."

"It wasn't your fault," Belah repeated. "Then whose fault was it?"

"It was some guy, we don't know who he was. He said he worked for you and wanted to make sure we got the ZX-20 out of the country safely."

"What guy? I sent no one to you."

"That's what we figured," the first one replied. "We took him back to Degranada and tried to contact you, but the routing you gave us didn't work."

"That's right," Man #2 nodded. "Then we discovered the ZX-20 device was gone, it had been taken. We figured this guy had a hand in it and tried to get him to tell us who he really was, but he wouldn't."

"Yeah, and then some blonde lady and a guy dressed like a butler showed up."

Belah grew angrier by the second. His plan, all his grandiose dreams of taking over the world, of bringing International Rescue to its knees were fading fast. "Lady? Butler?"

The man swallowed hard. "We were going to kill the man, then kill them and try to find the device. But the bastard who was with the blonde shot the gun right out of my hand."

Belah seethed. His eyes had turned blacker than coal. International Rescue. His old foe. They had done it to him again. His body shook with barely concealed rage. "I have waited for two years to get the ZX-20. Two years! And now you fools have taken my prize from me!"

The first man cried, "But it wasn't our fault! We were lucky to escape with our lives!"

"You shall not fare so well this time," Belah said, his bass tones vibrating through their bodies. Within a matter of seconds, he'd pulled a laser pistol from his robes.

"Wait! No! You can't! We told you what happened!" the second man yelled. "It wasn't our fault!"

Without a word, Belah fired, the blast tearing through the man's chest. He fell to the ground in a pool of blood and bits of blasted-off flesh. His companion froze in fear. He wanted to run, but he was rooted to the spot, staring at the man who'd just killed his partner. Once again, Belah fired, this time ripping into the second man's belly, killing him instantly.

Peasants in the market place began screaming in terror and running to get away from the man who'd just committed cold-blooded murder in their usually safe city streets. Belah turned and ran for the city's boundary. He could hear sirens wailing and knew the police were on their way. A valiant citizen tried to collar him as he ran past carts and wagons of the peoples' wares, but Belah shot him in the head before the man even got to him.

Zigzagging through the streets and alleyways, Belah ran into two more people, a man and a woman, who simply didn't get out of his way fast enough for his liking. With nary a moment's hesitation, Belah shot them both, then leapt over their lifeless bodies. He was almost to the city's perimeter, and the large wooden gate that awaited him there.

As he reached the gate, however, five Calcutta policemen rushed at him, firing their machine pistols. Thankful for the bulletproof body and leg armor he wore, Belah fired round after round of laser shots at them, killing three of them as he ran out of the city. There he had a car waiting. He jumped in and sped away, and was miles down the road before the police had even gotten into one of their Jeeps.

The more Belah relived this most recent failure, the more his anger grew. He opened his eyes and rose to his feet, eyes nearly glowing with hatred and thoughts of revenge. This was it. This was his most brilliant and brazen plan ever, but it would work. He knew it would work. This would be the end. The end of International Rescue's interference in his plans forever.

"Today," he whispered as he walked toward the cockpit, "Tracys will die."

Piloting Thunderbird 2, Gordon kept thinking about Virgil, wondering if he'd gotten a concussion or what. It was more than a little unusual for Virgil to let Gordon fly "his baby" without a fight. Virg had given up too easily, indicating something was definitely not right with him.

It was with some surprise, then, that he heard his brother enter the cockpit behind him. He twisted his body to turn and look at him. "Virg, what're you doin' out of bed? Scott told you to stay there 'til we got home."

Virgil reached down and unfastened the loop that held his machine pistol in place. He removed the gun from its holster and leveled it at Gordon's head. The sight of his own brother pointing a weapon at him made bile rise into the back of his throat. "What are you doing, Virgil?" he breathed.

Gordon's eyes widened as the man who looked like his brother replied in a voice that was definitely not Virgil's, "Nobody tells me what to do. Especially not a Tracy!"

"Shit!" Gordon cried, whirling back around to face the control panel. He was seconds away from hitting the emergency beacon when he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed into his right temple.

"I do not think you wish to do that, young Gordon," the man said venomously. "Otherwise you shall find your brain matter splattered all over this cockpit."

Gordon froze, his heart racing as his mind worked. He was strapped into the pilot's chair, meaning he wouldn't be able to move quickly enough to avoid getting shot. If he tried to hit the emergency beacon, he'd be dead before his finger reached the button. Whoever this imposter was who knew his identity, it was definitely not Virgil. And whatever he was up to, Gordon started having a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that the man was going to succeed.

Scott was about ready to explode. His mind and heart were both telling him something was terribly, terribly wrong. He had just reached out to open a line to Thunderbird 2 when Gordon's voice came wafting through his speakers.

"Thunderbird 2 to Thunderbird 1."

"Hey, I was just about to call you. Everything okay over there?"

"Not really."

Scott's heart literally ground to a halt. He knew it. He knew something was wrong! Gordon's voice sounded very strained. "What's going on, Gordon?"

"Well, it looks like I've got a fault in the fuel line here, Scott. I think it might be leaking."

"What caused that? She was fit for duty when we left Base."

"Can't be sure, but I'm losing altitude pretty fast."

Scott opened the viewing window down and to the right of his gimbal-slung chair. Sure enough, Thunderbird 2 was slowly falling out of line with 1. "What do you recommend?"

"I say we head back to someplace out of the way, like around that mine somewhere, maybe, so I can land her and we can take our time getting her fixed up. Maybe that old ghost town."

Scott smiled. Gordon had always had an odd interest in deserted towns. He always said they creeped him out enough to keep him from being able to stay away. That it was so eerie to walk around and see houses and churches, stores and other buildings that used to be occupied by people. People who had left for any number of reasons, left their homes and land and gone to who-knew-where.

"The ghost town sounds fine. Keep her steady, Gordon."

"F.A.B."

At first, Scott felt a little better. Something had been wrong, but it didn't sound like it was anything life-threatening, and between the two of them, they'd probably have the fuel line fixed up in no time and be on their way home. But then dark thoughts entered his mind. Thoughts that came from he knew not where. They were not his own, but he had no idea whose they were. Only that they were foreboding.

Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Something still wasn't right.

"You did very well."

"I kind of had an incentive," Gordon retorted, eyeballing the gun now being held six inches from his head. "Who are you?"

"An old friend."

Gordon frowned. He was facing the front of the cockpit, slowly lowering altitude so Scott wouldn't get suspicious of the fake reason he'd given for wanting to make an emergency landing. He slowly turned his head and was struck by how much the man looked like his brother. Of course, now that he knew it wasn't Virgil, he figured the guy had a mask on.

A mask. There was only one man Gordon knew of who could disguise himself so perfectly as to fool two grown men into thinking he was their brother. "My God," Gordon breathed, turning back to face the control panel. "You're the Hood."

Belah chuckled. "Very good, Gordon. I see my reputation precedes me."

"What have you done with my brother?"

"Oh, Virgil is safe, for now. He was the "victim" that you and Scott left at the hospital."

"Oh, my God," Gordon breathed as everything suddenly became clear. "You were the victim in the mine. You set the whole thing up to lure us there. Then you...you caused that second cave in, didn't you? So that you could...could change Virgil into the victim...and..."

"And change myself into Virgil. Very, very good. It's a shame you're a Tracy. Otherwise, I might have use for a mind as sharp as yours."

"Fuck you," Gordon replied. "If you hurt one hair on Virgil's head...Scott's gonna fucking kill you, and I won't be far behind."

"The only one who will be doing any killing," Belah growled as he jabbed the gun into Gordon's temple, "is me."

Thunderbirds 1 and 2 landed just outside the edge of an old, now-deserted town named Dunkerton, forty miles northeast of Waterloo, where they'd taken the victim to the hospital. There was one main road that ran through the middle of town. Scott landed first, straddling the broken blacktop of what was left of the only way into the city from the west. He opened the hatch and hopped down from his ship, walking towards where Gordon was in the process of landing Thunderbird two right on the road, nose directly facing him.

Scott waited a few moments after 2's engines were cut, but Gordon did not emerge. He raised his watch to his face. "Gordon, what's going on?" At first he received no reply. Frowning, and feeling his stomach begin to churn, he said, "Gordon? Come in."

The Hood had instructed him not to move. But Gordon could see his older brother out the front cockpit windows. Scott was outside of Thunderbird 1, standing there in the open like a sitting duck. He was vulnerable, and Gordon feared it would take nothing for the Hood to kill him. He couldn't let that happen. He just couldn't. He jumped when he heard Scott's voice come over the airwaves. He wanted so badly to answer, to scream at him to run, to get back into his ship and get out of there. But the Hood still had the gun pointed at his head.

Scott called out to him again. He could hear the worry in his voice and he wanted to throw up. The Hood had them. He had Virgil, he had Scott, he had Gordon and both Thunderbirds 1 and 2. No, Gordon thought. I won't let him have us all. He swung his wristwatch up to his face and cried out, "Scott! Scott! Run! It's—"

Belah hollered and slammed the butt of the pistol into the side of Gordon's head. The pilot slumped down in his chair, unconscious. Blood trickled down the side of his face, dripping onto his light blue uniform shirt like falling drops of rain. "Stupid fool," Belah growled.

"Gordon!" came the frantic cries from his older brother. "Gordon, what happened?"

Belah reached out and flipped a switch that turned on Thunderbird 2's external speakers. "Hello, Scott Tracy," he said. His voice was rich with self-righteousness and nearly giddy with triumph.

Scott's blood ran cold. Who the hell was that talking to him from Thunderbird 2? He spoke into his watch again. "Gordon, answer me. Answer me!"

"He is unable to speak to you right now."

"Who the fuck are you? What've you done to my brothers?"

"They are both alive. For the moment."

For one of the first times in his life, Scott felt completely helpless. There he was, standing on a deserted road in the middle of nothingness in between the two Thunderbirds. He was an easy target, and he knew it. Fear started at the top of his spine and worked its way downwards as he heard a panel open on top of Thunderbird 2.

"Now, Scott, we will discuss what you are going to do. I have a gun pointed at Gordon's head. I have your automatic weaponry pointed directly at you."

"Where's Virgil?" Scott whispered.

Belah laughed. "He's not here, Scott. Haven't you figured it out yet? Gordon did, rather quickly, too. Don't tell me he's smarter than you are."

Scott's mind raced. The cave in, Virgil and the victim being cut off from Gordon, them digging through, pulling the injured man out, then pulling Virgil out...him telling Virgil he looked pale...pale...

Oh...oh, my God. No. Oh, no.

The Hood laughed again. "I see by the look on your face that you have finally come to see my superiority here. You thought I was your beloved brother Virgil. Didn't you?"

Emotion welled up in Scott. Virgil had been the man they'd left at the hospital. Well...at least that meant he was safe. Didn't it?"

As if reading his mind, Belah continued. "My men have Virgil. And he is still alive. As is Gordon. Now, if you want to ensure they remain that way, then you will board this craft."

Scott swallowed hard. Who was this man that could fool them into thinking he was Virgil, and into thinking that Virgil was the cave in victim? And then he knew. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. "You're the Hood," he breathed. "You sonofabitch."

"You should be nicer to me, Scott. I have a hair trigger."

"No!" Scott cried out, waving his hands in the air. "No, wait! I'll do as you say. Just let my brothers go. You have to let them go."

Belah laughed. "Very well. Remove all weapons and that watch and toss them aside." Scott pulled his gun out and threw it off in the distance. As he removed his watch, he pressed a tiny button on the side. A button he knew would bring help. But would that help be in time?

"Good. Now walk toward Thunderbird 2. I shall open the hatch in the nose. I will have my gun at Gordon's temple as you enter. If you make one false move, I will kill him instantly."

"No false moves," Scott said quickly, hands raised in the air. "I'm coming to the ship now." Steely resolve filled Scott's mind and heart. He would do anything to save his brothers. Anything. And if that meant giving himself over to the Hood...then so be it. He made his way to the nose hatch and hoisted himself up into it.

"Hurry, Scott. You have five seconds to enter the cockpit or Gordon dies."

Scott scrambled to the back of the nose compartment where the small lift waited. Forcing himself to remain calm, he entered and waited as it rose into the cockpit. He couldn't help the cry that escaped his lips when the lift clicked into place.

"Gordon!"

For sitting in one of the passenger chairs was his younger brother, unconscious and bleeding. The entire right shoulder of his uniform was soaked in blood. His heart skipped several beats when he saw what looked like his own brother Virgil holding a gun to Gordon's head. But just as quickly, he could easily tell it wasn't Virgil, though the facial resemblance was striking. How had the Hood tricked them so easily before? How had neither Scott nor Gordon realized this wasn't their brother?

"Ah, you are wondering how it was you did not realize I was not your gallant brother, are you not?" Scott didn't answer. His blue eyes had gone almost black as he stared his enemy down. "Of course you are. You forget, my dear Scott, that I have powers greater than that fool Kyrano, greater than anyone you have ever known. I can get anyone to do anything."

"What is it you want of me?" Scott said in a low, quiet voice. "What will it take for you to let my brothers go?"

"Sit down in the pilot's seat and strap yourself in. And remember, one wrong move and Gordon dies."

Scott did as he was told, seating himself in the pilot's chair...Virgil's chair...and buckling the harness around him. "Now what?"

"Now we wait."