Thanks as always for the feedback on the last chapter. Sorry this one's a bit late! Bee

Chapter Ten

Nearly thirty-six hours later, as Virgil was being loaded into Thunderbird Two ready for the move back to Tracy Island – at Scott's insistence even more than his own, the oldest Tracy having grown tired of listening to Virgil complaining about the food and flirting with the nurses, even though both served merely as brief respites from the constant fretting over the fate of Thunderbird Four which occupied most of the brothers' waking hours – a submarine approached a small island in the middle of the South Atlantic. Hundreds of miles from its nearest neighbour and tiny enough to be left off all but the most detailed of maps, the island appeared to be just another wealthy businessman's holiday retreat.

There were never any casual visitors to this particular island, but if someone had accidentally made their way onto its shores they would have found themselves in an apparent paradise, unspoiled by any development beyond a luxurious but rather small villa set in beautiful gardens. They would certainly have had no idea that beneath the house, all entrances carefully hidden and protected by the most sophisticated of security devices, lay a vast underground complex where some of the world's most brilliant minds worked to produce the ultimate in weaponry and military hardware.

The submarine came to a stop some two miles away from its destination, the closest it could get without becoming beached on the rocks and sand banks which surrounded the island. It surfaced and then, surprisingly, given the state-of-the-art communications devices on board, signalled across to the island with nothing more elaborate than a mirror. Clearly someone had been awaiting its arrival since within seconds a boat was launched. Twenty minutes later, with many expressions of gratitude to the captain, along with promises that within six months he'd be commanding a whole fleet of far more sophisticated vessels, a small yellow submarine was released from the clamps which had held her in place ever since the larger sub had picked her up. Carefully secured to the ropes which trailed behind the boat, within minutes Thunderbird Four had been towed back to the island and into what, to all outside appearances, was a small cave. But as with so much of the island, appearances were deceptive, and the cave turned out to be the entrance to an underground lagoon where the sub would stay until all her technology had been stripped out and analysed. A laboratory had been built on the shore, where all the equipment which had been taken from pod four stood waiting to be inventoried and examined. It had arrived just an hour earlier, after a complex journey through several countries via road, rail, sea and air, designed to be virtually impossible to track.

A small group of people was waiting as Thunderbird Four was steered into the dock which had been purpose-built for her. When she was finally secured it was drained, leaving the sub lying forlornly on the floor, ready for her captors to begin their efforts to replicate her – with less rescue equipment but plenty of added weapons capability, of course. The new version of Thunderbird Four wasn't intended to do good. Far from it.

"Good work, everyone!" Freddy McAllister announced, stepping forward and running an appreciative hand over the sub. He turned to the man at his side. "What do you think?"

Sir Reuben McAllister was silent for a moment, looking at the stolen vessel in satisfaction. When one of his best customers, the ruler of a small but troublesome island nation, had demanded a new fleet of submarines to help him gain the upper hand in his ongoing battles with WASP and his neighbours, he'd been stumped for a while, knowing there was little his team of scientists and engineers could come up with which wouldn't be matched quickly by others. Then, watching news footage of an oil rig fire which would have been disastrous if Thunderbird Four hadn't been there to save the day, he'd had his brainwave. His client already had several large submarines, what he needed was manoeuvrability and speed and there was only one craft which fitted the bill. He could have had his team set to work creating something similar – they certainly had the capability to do so – but that would have taken time and the impatient dictator had been willing to pay handsomely for a quick result. Besides, Sir Reuben liked a challenge. Not to mention that one or two of the new subs would be useful to him in defending his own island. One day, he knew, the authorities would get wise to him, and when that day came he was determined he wasn't going down without a fight. The island was well-defended from the air – the elaborate scheme for the theft of Four had enabled him to give his newly modified helicopters a good workout, too, and all had gone well. In fact, he'd just taken an order for five of them from the same man who'd ordered the submarines, the encounter with Thunderbird One having clearly impressed the man. All in all, it had been a profitable few days.

"Not bad," he grunted in response to his nephew's question. "But why are you just standing around? We've got two months to get the prototype ready. Hadn't you better get started?" He moved back to the elevator which would take him up to the house. "I'll expect a progress report every twenty-four hours."

Freddy rolled his eyes, wondering if it would have killed the man to say something nice. Just once it would be nice to hear a thank you or a well done. After all, he'd managed to achieve what several others had failed to do. Their attempts to hijack a Thunderbird had seen them end up in prison, his had succeeded. But even that hadn't impressed his uncle.

"Cheer up, darling," Sahara said, patting his shoulder gently. "Remember, one day this will all be yours. Just stick it out until your uncle's dead and then you'll be laughing."

He smiled, wondering if there was anything he could do to hasten that wonderful day. Probably not whilst the man surrounded himself with bodyguards, but the thought was pleasant enough...

"Can we get on with it?" an impatient voice came from behind him, and he turned to face an elderly man in a white coat.

"Help yourself, Professor," Freddy told him, standing back as the man shuffled towards the sub, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

"Are you sure he's up to it?" he whispered to Marcus Ivins who had come to stand beside him.

Marcus shrugged. "He was the chief designer of submarines for the British navy for thirty years. He knows what he's doing."

"I hope you're right," Freddy muttered, watching as the submarine was scanned, weighed and measured. Marcus joined Professor Franklin and the two were soon deep in discussion as they slowly worked their way around the craft, stopping every so often to comment on some feature of the craft.

Another man had been working on the security devices which had kept the airlock door firmly closed. Finally he rose to his feet, shaking his head. "There's no chance of cracking this," he announced.

The professor sighed, running his hand over Four's hull. "Such a pity," he muttered. "But it has to be done. Ivins, is all the data collected?

"Yes, Professor."

"Very well then, let's get on with it."

Five minutes later Marcus stood at the side of the submarine, the same cutting equipment in his hands which had made such easy work of pod four. He wondered if the hull of the Thunderbird would be harder to cut through, but was delighted to find that his special mixture of chemicals (the formula furtively copied from the notebook of the boy he'd taken such delight in bullying all those years ago at Cambridge) was as effective as ever. Within minutes they would be inside Four and their work could truly begin.