Scott was sitting at the breakfast table nursing a cup of coffee. Across from him the normally chipper Gordon was subdued as he thought over what Scott had told him of the morning's events so far.

"It's just odd about the wrist comm," mused Gordon. "Brains has made them so sturdy. They are great at any altitude, any depth of water, under a couple of feet of concrete underground. Mine's got pretty beaten up but it's never failed. Even if the face got damaged then that wouldn't affect the tracker. To stop that working you'd have to…well…"

"Hit the whole thing pretty hard?" suggested Scott. The two silently mulled over the question that if the watch had taken a fatal blow then what had happened to the wearer? Scott sighed.

"I got John to check in the news that there haven't been any incidents in Brisbane that Virg could have gotten caught up in and there weren't."

"Well, that's something," said Gordon, frowning. "Seriously, he's 6ft 2, how can he just disappear?"

"John's hacked into CCTV before, hasn't he?" started Scott but he was interrupted by Jeff walking into the room.

"Okay, Scott, it's been two hours and no word."

Scott got to his feet immediately, as if the thought of actually doing something was a relief to him. "Then I'm going to Brisbane to see if I can track him down."

Jeff nodded his agreement. As Scott strode to the door Gordon's words stopped him.

"Do you want me to go instead? In case there's a rescue?" Gordon was aware of his place in International Rescue's hierarchy.

Scott paused for a moment. Go searching for Virgil or stay on the Island so as not to risk someone else flying Thunderbird 1? No contest.

"No, it's okay, I'll go. If there is a rescue just remind Alan not to fly One like he drives cars i.e. dangerously."

Gordon chuckled. "I will. And keep in touch, okay? One brother going AWOL is tiresome, two is just plain careless."

"Will do." And Scott was gone.

Thirty minutes later Scott was on his way to Brisbane. He called up John on Thunderbird Five.

John Tracy's primary role in International Rescue was to be the lead on Thunderbird 5, a job he enjoyed very much. Dealing with communications was his area of expertise and he worked hard to upgrade their capability at every opportunity. And as he was also an expert on astronomy, spending six months a year in space was an added bonus.

After a few months into the launch of International Rescue, John also found himself to be a sort of agony aunt to the inhabitants of Tracy Island. He realised that he had become a source of advice and that when tensions were simmering he would often get a call and end up being a listening ear. Despite the fact that even on a quiet day he communicated with base several times in 24 hours it appeared to be his actual physical distance from the island that would make him someone to turn to. Alan might call up on a pretext of asking about a system on Thunderbird 5 but then confess he was having difficulties with teasing from his older brothers. Or sometimes two people would contact him separately and he would hear both sides of a problem and find himself mediating a solution.

What Scott appreciated about John was his ability to find out stuff fast. Time and time again on rescues he would ask John for some background information on a situation and a concise, accurate answer would be forthcoming within minutes. John had spent some time convincing various organisations that it would be beneficial if International Rescue could have access to their databases. He also had a particular skill in accessing computer systems that they didn't have permission to use but that John was able to infiltrate and then get out of without his presence on the server being traceable. This hacking ability had made Jeff sigh with irritation on several occasions but tellingly he had never forbidden John to do it if it helped in an emergency situation.

"Scott to John."

"Decided to go looking for him, then?" replied John.

"Yeah, and when I catch up with him I'm going to give him a piece of my mind, I can tell you," said Scott with sternness in his voice. John glanced at the vid but instead of seeing anger in Scott's face he saw worry and strain and John didn't believe a word of it.

Scott continued. "What do we know about what he was up to yesterday?"

"He was going to some art galleries in the day," John pulled a face trying to remember. "There was a Lichtenstein retrospective I know he wanted to see. Remember that huge comic page he did on his bedroom wall when he was about 8? Man that was funny seeing Dad and Grandma's face."

"And then having to spend the next few weeks stopping Gordon and Alan attempting the same. Anarchy. Happy times."

"Can't remember the name of the gallery but I can look that up," John carried on.

"Then a concert in the evening wasn't it?" Scott cursed himself for not paying more attention when his brother had told him of his plans. What at the time had been more important that he had only been half listening to Virgil?

"Probably at the Queensland Performing Arts Centre."

"Okay," decided Scott. "I'll check out there first and see if I can find whether he at least took his seat. I can work backwards from that point. Uh…John…about CCTV…"

John sighed. "I had a feeling you would get around to that."

"Yeah, but you got into it before didn't you?"

"It's not the getting in that's a problem- it's the searching of the data. I mean, I can run a filter against it but in places like the US and Australia a 6ft tall brown haired male is not that uncommon and Virgil doesn't really have any distinguishing facial features."

"Gordon reckons he's 6ft 2."

"No way! 6ft1 on a good day with thick soles."

Scott smiled. "Okay, okay, we'll continue that argument when he's home and we can measure him. Let me know if you find anything. Scott out."

When Scott arrived at the private airport just outside Brisbane that the Tracy family used, he checked over Virgil's plane and found no clues. He tipped the ground crew generously to put his and Virgil's planes in the hangar, an uneasy feeling persuading him to take no chances in having them in the open where there was less security.

He then took a taxi to the Performing Arts Centre and approached a young lady behind the counter at the box office.

"Hi. I'm trying to track down my brother. He was due to come to a concert here last night. Is there any way you can tell me if he actually took his seat?"

"Er…no, not really." Sharon checked a sheet to one side. "Oh, was he a parent of one of the singers?"

"I beg your pardon?" asked Scott, confused.

"The concert last night was the Messiah sung by the Queensland Schools' Choir. It's open to the public but mostly it's just attended by friends and family. Perhaps he had a daughter or other relative singing in it?"

"No, he didn't. That doesn't sound right. Was anything else on last night?"

Again Sharon checked her sheet. "We had Joe Minnow doing stand up in the cellar bar, and in the studio theatre…no, that wasn't in use last night. Neither were any of the recital rooms."

"Oh," replied a disappointed Scott. "I assumed he'd come here as he's a regular."

Taking pity on the handsome but worried man before him, Sharon hit a few keys on her computer. "What's your brother's name?"

"Surname Tracy, no 'e'. First initial V."

After a few more taps at the computer the woman read from the screen. "Okay, we do have a V Tracy who has been to us a few times. Last time was a couple of months ago and there's nothing booked for the future. He could have paid by cash, though, and the transaction wouldn't necessarily be on the computer. Sorry I couldn't have been more help."

"Okay, well, thank you for your time anyway," and Scott turned and went back out into the Brisbane sunshine. Curiouser and Curiouser.

TBTBTBTBTBTB

Virgil came to with a cough and pulled away the tarpaulin that had stuck to his face. He blinked at his surroundings, disappointed that he was still lying on a hard, concrete floor and was not in a soft bed waking from a bad dream. He managed to sit up and was relieved to find he didn't feel as sick and dizzy as earlier but disappointed that he was none the wiser about who he was and why he had found himself here.

He crawled over to the bottom of a stack of crates, sat up leaning against them and assessed his situation. He looked around at the high ceilinged room he was in. It had an industrial feel to it with brick walls and a metal ceiling. There were some tiny windows high up near the ceiling but their only use appeared to be to let in light. The panes of glass were only about six inches square and ran along the whole length of a wall on one side. If he had to guess Virgil would say he was in an office in a warehouse due to the architecture and tattered notices hanging off the wall. It had clearly not been used as an office for some time, though, and was now a storage area for goods packed in a variety of boxes and crates.

The boxes were stacked high and some reached up almost to the windows and although Virgil could see a way to climb them so he could look out he also realised that with the way he was feeling he might as well be looking up the side of Mount Everest for all the likelihood that he would be able to get up there without falling and hurting himself further. The thought of hitting his still throbbing head again was not pleasant.

Virgil turned his attention to himself. He had a vague memory of someone saying that you could "tell a man by his shoes". Well, his shoes were made of tan suede and looked expensive and in good condition. His clothes were also well made so he was comforted by the fact he was clearly not on the poverty line.

His short sleeved shirt revealed deeply tanned arms so he obviously spent some considerable time outside in a sunny place. He noticed on his left wrist that there was a white area that the sun had not reached. It looked like he wore a watch there and a big one at that. He frowned. There was something important about that watch and he knew it was bad to have lost it. Maybe it had been a present from someone special?

He looked at the back of his hands. No wedding ring and his fingers were long. Wasn't that supposed to mean he was artistic or something? He flexed his fingers to see if magically they wanted to show off a talent like holding a violin. He inspected a deep pink stain on one of them. Was that paint? He turned his hands over and found a different story. It looked as if his hands were used to hard physical work. There were a couple of healing cuts and some hard dry patches that seemed to indicate that he wasn't as pampered as the rest of him hinted.

He gave a huge sigh. This wasn't getting him anywhere. What he needed to do was get the hell out of this room, find a hospital and hope that a combination of the big outside world and medical care would put his head straight and he would be able to get home, wherever that was, and have a decent sleep.

He looked over at the door. He was pretty sure that it had been locked but sitting around assuming stuff wasn't going to help. He heaved himself upright and wobbled unsteadily over to the door and rattled the handle. Definitely still locked and with an old fashioned key system. Pity, if it had been electronic and he had the right tools he could have disabled it. The thought had come unbidden. Oh, so I know a bit about electronics then? He tried to think of what else he knew about but he couldn't get through the fog that was now his brain. Frustrated, he hit the door with his foot. He turned away and sat back down against the crate.

A few moments later there was the sound of a key being inserted and turned in the lock and the door was opened by the woman of earlier.

"Yeah, he's awake, Rob," she shouted over her shoulder.

She was carrying a couple of items including a bucket which she put down on the floor.

"Are you okay?" she asked Virgil.

Virgil gave her the once over. Her face was lacking in colour and she was very thin. Her inner arms showed signs of something – drug use or self-harm, Virgil wasn't sure which.

"Not bad," he replied. "Can you tell me where we are? I mean, what city?"

"Brisbane."

Well that explained the tan although Virgil thought his voice sounded American, not Australian. His brain was sharp enough to tell him that an open door and a woman who looked like she could be blown over by a light wind was not an opportunity to pass up. Again Virgil struggled to his feet, this time trying to keep the woman occupied by talking to her.

"My memory is still a bit hazy so perhaps you could answer a few more questions for me." He started to move in her direction but then Rob entered the room and seeing Virgil's movement he raised a gun to point at him. Virgil's hand instinctively dropped to his hip but he had no idea why.

"Step back, Vernon, you're not leaving yet."

"I just wanted-"

"Don't care what you want. I do care about what you know. Have you "remembered" why you tried to break in here?"

"No, but-"

"If you've got nothing useful to say, Vernon, then shut up."

The woman spoke next. "Are you hungry? I thought you might want some breakfast." She held out a can of soda and a bag of Cheetos to Virgil but the man spoke harshly.

"Throw them to him. I don't want him coming close to you, Dana."

The items were thrown on the floor at Virgil's feet. He glanced at them, back at the gun and then at Dana.

"Did I have a watch on?" he asked.

Before she could answer, Rob spoke. "You see, you do remember some things. That so called watch looked more like a radio that the cops use. I smashed it with the same pole I hit you with so you couldn't bring any of your friends to the party."

"Right," replied Virgil, tiredly.

"Come on, Dana, now you know he's not dead let's leave him alone again."

Virgil felt a sudden sense of panic at this. He didn't want to be alone in this horrible room with no explanations. He needed company, even if it was only Rob and Dana.

"Look, I need the bathroom. Maybe one of you could take me….?"

Rob laughed at him and repeated what Virgil had said as if making fun of his well-mannered speech. Then he jerked the gun towards the bucket.

"There's your bathroom, Vernon, enjoy!" and with that he and Dana left the room, locking the door behind them.

Virgil sat down again in despair. Great, he got to pee in a bucket. Or possibly throw up into it as the thought of the Cheetos made him nauseous again. What the hell was going on? Why had he tried to break in? Did he really work for Brisbane's police force?

He still couldn't force any answers into his head. He closed his eyes and wondered if there was anyone in the world who gave a crap about him and was curious about where he was. He dearly hoped so.