I, like everyone else, thought that I'd completed Lodestar Lost. Then I received a review suggesting an epilogue. (Thank you, KMWRoad.) Well, my muse must have liked the chocolate fudge… I mean idea because she's produced 19 extra pages.

F-A-B

:-)

Purupuss

Epilogue

Alone in his studio, Virgil Tracy picked up the flat piece of wood with the scalloped edges and inspected its paintwork for blemishes. Satisfied by the white satin finish he sharpened a pencil and prepared to draw… only to be interrupted by two of his brothers.

"Whadareya up to, Virg?" Gordon asked.

"Making the sign," Virgil explained, silently cursing the fact that he hadn't locked his door.

"I'm glad Dad decided he wanted us all together for a few days longer." Alan was examining some of the sketches that lined the walls; concentrating on the family portraits. "Or at least we will be together when he and Scott get back from the States."

Gordon ignored his little brother, folded his arms and fixed Virgil with a hard stare. "When are you going to get the sign finished? You've had a couple of weeks to work on it, and these last two days Dad hasn't even been home to see what you're doing! We'll want to get the dedication ceremony over and done with before you head up to Thunderbird Five to do Alan's shift."

Virgil briefly mused on the fact that if he was up on Thunderbird Five at this precise moment he'd have the necessary peace and quiet to complete that very task. He opened his mouth to remind Gordon exactly why there hadn't been any opportunities, when the arrival of his two older brothers further destroyed all hopes of privacy.

"Hey, Scott," Alan was saying. "When did you get back?"

"Just flew in," Scott explained.

"Where's Dad?" Gordon asked.

Scott hesitated. "He's gone up to the lookout."

"Jefferson Lookout," John expanded. "He took one of the hoverbikes."

"Huh?" Gordon looked between the pair of them. "Why?"

"It hasn't been an easy few days for him," Scott explained. "He found out more than he wanted to know… than either of us wanted to know. He got me to fly the plane back to Tracy Island."

"He let you fly?!" Alan, like his brothers, found this bit of information more than a little disconcerting. When Jeff Tracy was in one of his planes he preferred to be in control, and even Scott, who regarded being co-pilot as something akin to travelling third class, would be forced to kowtow to his father's wishes. For Jeff to not want to be the pilot meant that something was definitely bothering him.

Virgil laid down the still pristine sign and sat on the edge of his worktable. "Why? What happened? Is there something wrong with Tracy Industries?"

"No, that's fine," Scott replied. "Pen Fordbury kept a tight hold on the reins while we were moping about here."

"Is his leg causing him trouble?"

"No… It's what he was told about Mousetopheles that's knocked him."

"And what was he told?" John asked.

Scott pulled out a chair, removed some sketches, twirled it around so he was able to lean forward on the back, and sat down as his brothers made themselves comfortable. "Mousetopheles has been keeping scrapbooks… well, files, on us, as well as keeping a diary of his daily thoughts…"

"That must be a slim volume," Gordon interrupted.

"The District Attorney dealing with Father's kidnapping thought he should know what was in those books in case they got into the public domain," Scott explained, "and before the relevant ones are brought out at Miles' and Earl's trials… Whenever that's going to be."

"Scrapbooks," Alan said. "That doesn't sound too bad."

"It's not the newspaper clippings that are the problem," Scott told him. "They're pretty much the same ones that Grandma's got. It's the comments that Brett's made against them that hurt… Especially the ones about Ma's death."

The five Tracy sons were silent for a moment as they recollected Angus Brett's taunts about that painful time.

Scott hesitated, weighing up whether or not he was speaking out of turn. "His diary…" He stopped.

"Yes?" John asked.

"No," Scott waved a dismissive hand. "Forget it."

"How can we forget it if you haven't told us what 'it' is?" Alan asked.

"What about his diary, Scott?" Virgil prompted.

"Brett… Mousetopheles…" Scott was struggling with the revelation. He gripped the back of his seat and stared at the floor so he was avoiding his brothers' eyes. "He said in his diary that he danced on Ma's grave."

"What…?"

"Why that…" a crimson flush began to creep up John's face.

"Calm down, John," Virgil soothed. "He can't hurt us now."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "Remember that he got what was owing to him."

With an effort John brought his temper back under control. "I'd like to dance on his grave," he growled.

"I'd like to hold a dance on his grave," Alan stated. "And sell tickets. The proceeds could go to the fund Dad set up for those affected by the plane crash."

Virgil looked at his eldest brother. By the expression on his face he'd struggled with the revelations of the last few days as much as their father. "Are you okay, Scott?"

"Yeah…" Scott released his grip on the chair and flexed his fingers to get the feeling back into them. "I'm fine… It's just… It seems…" he began, and then paused. "It seems that Mousetopheles has harboured this hatred for Father, and then for the rest of us, since the day they first met."

"But why?" John asked. "What did Dad do to him? What had any of us done to him?"

"Apart from getting him locked away?" Scott gave a wry grin. "I don't know. I just know that ever since Dad was shown those files and the diary excerpts he's been pretty quiet."

"He didn't mention International Rescue, did he?" Virgil asked. "I mean, Mousetopheles hasn't mentioned us in the diary or a scrapbook?"

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Alan frowned. "What exactly do you mean by 'not exactly'?"

"Penny and Parker were at the hearing. After it was over they showed us one folder that the District Attorney hasn't seen."

"International Rescue?" Gordon guessed.

"Yeah," Scott nodded. "Parker had the presence of mind to take it from Mousetopheles' briefcase when they were hit by the flood. It starts about the time that Alan gave us away."

"I'm sorry, Guys," Alan admitted, not for the first time.

"It's not your fault, Alan," John reminded him. "If we had believed you in the first place things would have been a lot different."

"Yes," Gordon agreed. "They could have been worse."

Virgil wasn't reassured. "And there's nothing in the diary linking us to International Rescue?"

Scott shook his head. "The D.A. didn't mention anything and he showed us the last few entries. Brett was in too much of a state to write much."

"You know?" Alan began, a thoughtful expression on his face. "When I was thinking about making a will I was going to go to Brett, but Dad talked me out of it. He said I'd be better going to someone closer to my age."

"Yeah!" Gordon remembered. "Me too. He told me I'd be better getting someone at Marineville to handle it. Even then he must have been more than a little concerned about Mousetopheles' dealings."

"How's the investigation into Miles and Earl going?" John asked.

"It's going to take months, if not years, before the D.A.'s got the case together. He's going to apply for leave to let Father give his testimony via video link."

"It doesn't seem right that he's got to testify against those guys after what he's been through," Alan said.

"The D.A. wants to make sure the assault charges against Miles stick. Including the charge of assault against the International Rescue operative; since he can't be found to give evidence himself." Scott ruffled his youngest brother's hair affectionately forcing Alan, with a grimace, to run his fingers through it to comb it back into place.

"Can't they link Miles to the plane crash?" Gordon asked. "All those people who were killed… Surely that's enough to lock him away for the next few centuries?"

"It would be if they could find something to prove that he was involved with the plot… They've got enough evidence to prove that the engineer who worked on Father's plane was involved in the scheme."

"So the little guy'll get locked up," John exclaimed in disgust, "while the scumbags who organised the whole operation go free?"

"No…" At his brothers' confused looks Scott hastened to explain. "He was found in his car at the bottom of a cliff."

"Dead?" Virgil guessed.

"Uh, huh. Apparently he'd offered to turn State's evidence if he was given a lesser sentence. Of course the crash was an accident. The roads were wet. It was night time…"

"Of course," Gordon said dryly. He pointed out the window. "Look! A flying pig!"

"The D.A.'s taking the line that Father's life will be in danger if he's in the States before and during the trial. He's decided that all further communications are to be via teleconferencing."

John shifted his long legs. "So he won't be heading back to office in the short term?"

"You know Father; it'll take more than death threats to keep him down," Scott said. "But, even so…" he shrugged. "He needs something to cheer him up. How're preparations coming along?"

"They'd be coming along great if Virgil would finish the sign!" Gordon scowled.

"They'd be coming along great if I could have a few minutes peace and quiet to finish the sign," Virgil amended.

John ignored the potential argument. "We've got the basics ironed out. We're just waiting for you to get back before we set things in concrete."

"Grandma's been cooking up a storm," Alan added.

Virgil groaned. "It's been murder; all those wonderful smells coming out of the kitchen… Between that, Grandma cooking Father's favourites to welcome him home, and her cooking Brains' favourites to apologise for all she's said about him," he patted his tummy. "I'm taking one step forward and two steps back!"

"Make them quicker and you'll burn up more calories," Gordon suggested.

John prodded Scott's midriff. "Is that why he's managed to regain weight quicker than you've lost it?"

"Gerroff," Scott growled, knocking his brother's hand away. "Do you think you can get the sign finished by tomorrow, Virg?"

Virgil shrugged. "If I keep it simple."

"That'll do. He's not into flowery stuff."

Alan looked up at Scott. "Did you get everything we ordered?"

"Yep, I got everything. I managed to sneak away from the office long enough so I could pick it up and stash it in the plane where he wouldn't see it…"

---F-A-B---

"What are you doing up here, Mother?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing, Jeff." Ignoring the view of the Pacific Ocean, Grandma sat down on the wooden seat beside her son and looked at him with concern.

"I needed to think," he admitted.

"How's your leg?" Her elderly face creased even more with worry.

"It's okay."

"Then why did you use the hoverbike?"

"I'm tired," he confessed. "It's been a tiring couple of days. I couldn't be bothered walking."

She took his hand. "Didn't things go well at work?"

Jeff gave a wry grin. "Everything's fine. Pen Fordbury had done such a good job looking after things that I don't know why I bothered going back." He chuckled. "It was Scott who was the problem. He was into everything, determined to do everything and wanting to learn as much as possible. He was more of a hindrance than a help."

She smiled at the image. "He won't admit it, but he was lost without you to guide him."

"So I gathered. And I will train him up… I'll train them all. But that wasn't the time. I eventually kicked him out and told him to leave us alone." Jeff laughed. "Pen confided in me that boss's son or not, she was almost ready to throw him out herself!"

"I'll be betting that if it was Gordon getting underfoot she wouldn't be thinking that."

"Huh?!" Jeff stared at his mother. "What do you mean?"

"That young lady has her eye on your son, Jeff."

"Pen Fordbury and… and Gordon?!"

She sighed. "You're a typical man. Can't see what's in front of your nose."

"Do you think he feels the same about her?"

"I would imagine that Gordon hasn't given himself the opportunity to even notice her. He'd be too eager to hit the town and catch up with his old friends."

Jeff stared out over the ocean, a reflective frown on his face. "You are probably right."

Grandma squeezed his hand. "You know I am. Not that I'd complain if they did get together. She's a lovely lady and it might be the only way I'm ever going to get any great-grandchildren! Alan's hopeless when it comes to romancing Tin-Tin!"

Jeff didn't appear to hear her. "After all that's happened I had considered telling her about International Rescue," he admitted. "It would have solved a lot of problems over the last month if she'd known how to get in contact with everyone. Since then I've even considered asking her to work from here, on the island… until the trial is over anyway… But in light of what you've said…"

"You'd have to ask Pen first," Grandma reminded him. "She might not agree to the move. Not everyone can handle being isolated out in the middle of nowhere away from the world. And, as you said, she knows her job and can work well unsupervised. If I were you I'd keep the status quo in the meantime… And as for telling her about International Rescue… Only you can make that decision."

Jeff gave a slight nod; his gaze still firmly fixed on the Pacific's waters.

"So," Grandma tapped him on the hand to ensure she had his attention. "If there were no problems at work, what is bothering you, Jefferson?"

He sighed and wrapped her small hand in both of his. "Scott and I went to see the District Attorney. Putting it bluntly he wants to see Miles and Earl behind bars…"

"Don't we all?"

"And he's concerned for my safety until the trial is over. He doesn't want me to leave the island…" Jeff stood and took two steps towards the edge of the lookout, letting the sea breeze blow across his face. "He wants me to testify by video link." He swung back so he was facing his mother. "I love it here, but I don't want to be held prisoner in my own home!"

His mother stood and walked over to his side. "There are a lot of people who wouldn't consider living on a tropical island a prison."

"Wasn't it you who just said that not everyone likes the idea of being isolated away from the world?"

"That's true, I did. But you're not everyone. You can work quite well from here. You've done it in the past…"

"But it's the principle of the thing!" Jeff snapped. Then he bit his lip. "Sorry, Ma."

"That's all right, Honey. I understand."

Jeff returned to the wooden seat and sat down again. He stared at his hands. "It's not only that…"

Grandma reclaimed her seat. "I thought there was more to it." She laid a hand on his arm. "Tell me, Jeff."

"The D.A. showed me some of Brett's effects. Diaries, files… records he's kept. Things about me, about us, about the boys, Lucille…"

"International Rescue?"

"No. Parker managed to grab that folder before I was rescued."

Grandma sat silently and waited for him to speak again.

Jeff clenched his fists. "I've been trying to work out what I'd done to him to cause him to hate me so much. I've always tried to be fair in my dealings with other people; both in daily life and with business. I know that I was a little… self-centred in my younger years, but I think… I hope that I've never done anyone any harm." He squinted up into the sky against the sun. "The D.A. thinks that he was jealous of what I had; the career that I wanted, a wife who loved me and I was crazy about, wonderful, talented kids; parents…" as he placed his hand over hers his smile didn't reach his eyes, "who, although they had their concerns about what I was doing, supported me all the way. Going through Brett's diary it appears he didn't have any of that and he hated the fact that I did."

"Jeff," Grandma squeezed his arm lightly before speaking in a soft voice. "That was only one man and he was obviously deranged. Even Miles and Earl didn't have anything against you personally; they were only interested in you for what they could get out of you." She indicated the complex that lay at their feet. "There's your whole extended family down there who love you and care for you. The whole world," she made a sweeping gesture, "even though they don't know who you are, admires you and respects you and what you've created. Angus Brett was only one man in billions…"

"One man who did a lot of damage to my family." Jeff looked at his mother's careworn face. "We could have lost all this. The family could have been destroyed."

"But we didn't and we weren't, Jeff. Remember that," she urged. "Because you meant enough to Alan, and Penelope, and Parker to try and find out the truth!"

Jeff shivered as the breeze intensified. "I'm getting cold. I'm going home. Do you want to take the hoverbike?"

"No, thank you. It's a lovely evening. I'll walk." She looked at her watch. "By the time I get back dinner should be just on ready. I'd set the timer."

"I'll skip dinner tonight, if you don't mind." Jeff stood. "I think I'll go straight to my room."

"Jeff?" Mrs Tracy looked up at him in concern.

He took her hand. "I'm all right, Mother. I'm just tired. I'm getting too old for traipsing halfway around the world and back again. Maybe having to stay on the island will be a blessing in disguise." He squeezed her hand and released it. "I'll see you in the morning."

Grandma Tracy walked into Virgil's studio. "Is this where everyone is?"

Her grandsons, the Kyranos and Brains all looked up. "How is he?" Scott asked.

"Angus Brett is preying on his mind." Grandma pursed her lips together tightly. "He's decided that he's old, he's tired, and he's not going to have dinner with us and has gone to bed. When are you going to do it?"

Scott picked up that notes that were in front of him. "In light of what you've just said, I'd say it's got to be tomorrow afternoon… This is what we want you to do, Grandma…"

---F-A-B---

Jeff Tracy sat at his desk and looked at the mountain of paperwork that he'd brought back with him from Tracy Industries' head office. He knew he should make a start but didn't feel that he had the energy or inclination. Instead he picked up the wedding photograph that resided on his desk. Running his fingers around the outline of his late wife's face, he tried to dispel the unfamiliar sensations of frustration, despair, anger, and hatred.

His mother watched him in concern. "Are you all right, Jeff?"

He didn't look at her; his attention remained fixed on the photo. "Yes."

She watched him a moment longer before making her decision. "What you need, Jefferson Tracy, is to get some fresh air!"

"I'm all right," he mumbled.

"No, you are not! You're like a walking zombie!" She strode over to his desk and positioned herself squarely in front. "You and I are going for a walk!"

"I need to do all this work." Jeff didn't take his eyes of the picture.

"What you need to do is get out of this place for a bit! Now put that photograph down before I take it from you!"

He looked up at her; his eyes dull. "But, Mother…"

"But, nothing. I am going for a walk and I am taking the coastal track. If you want me to stumble along atop those bluffs alone…"

This was something that Jeff didn't want. He respected his mother, and, for her age, was amazed by her fitness and agility, but he always worried when she would go out walking alone. He sighed, and with obvious reluctance, replaced the photo. "Give me a moment to change my shoes."

"I'll meet you back here in five minutes."

Their walk was slow and measured. Together Grandma and Jeff had traversed half of the coastal track when Grandma declared that she was getting cold and would like to begin the homeward journey.

Jeff was feeling marginally more cheerful, but every time he reflected on how much he loved his island, his reflections would turn to how close he'd come to losing it. Thoughts on losing Tracy Island invariably led to contemplations about Angus Brett and why he'd built up such a complete hatred of the Tracy family. He said none of this, preferring to walk in silence, musing on his own thoughts.

They were level with the villa when Grandma's watch beeped. She took her son's arm. "Let's go up to the lookout."

Jeff had already attempted one step towards his home. "But I thought you were cold?"

"I've warmed up now I'm out of the wind. Come on, Jeff. It'll be dark soon. That's one thing I liked about living in the States; the long evenings. We just don't get them here and I do like a nice long sunset."

"I won't be seeing any long sunsets for a while." The morose tone in his voice was unmistakable.

"Well, then we'll have to make do with short ones. Come on, Jeff," Grandma repeated. "I'll need your help to get me down the track after dark."

"What about dinner?" he asked. "The boys will be starving."

"They can wait. If they're that hungry, they can get something themselves. We didn't raise any of them to be helpless in the kitchen." Grandma pulled on his arm. "Let's go."

Deciding that his mother was the most stubborn person that he'd ever met, Jeff Tracy allowed himself to be led towards the path leading up to the lookout.

They were halfway up the track when he became aware that something wasn't as it should be. At first he dismissed the sound as just the noise of the wind through the trees and grasses; but the higher they ascended the more pronounced the music became. Then Jeff heard something else… The dulcet tone of a young female voice was singing along with the unknown musician.

"What…?" Jeff began, but his mother tightened her grip on his arm and kept climbing.

They reached the final bend where the track doubled back on itself, and as he looked up to the summit of the path, Jeff saw Kyrano, his 'di' bamboo flute to his lips, accompanying Tin-Tin's vocal solo. Neither acknowledged the two people climbing the track.

Mrs Tracy made no comment about this unusual situation and continued walking.

Now, as the lookout was once again obscured from view, the haunting melody ceased, only to be replaced by a quiet introduction from a piano. A tenor began to sing, and as he heard the first words of 'Nessun Dorma', Jeff and his mother crested the hill and came out onto the open ground of the lookout.

Jeff's mouth fell open.

The singer, Jeff had already guessed that it must be John, was standing on the single flat-topped boulder that rested on the promontory that jutted out over the Pacific Ocean. He was silhouetted against the sun, which hung low in the sky, and its beams shone through his blonde hair giving the appearance of a halo. The additional height the boulder gave him helped create the illusion that he was suspended in mid air; and as he held the final long note, John spread his arms wide and the voluminous sleeves of his shirt, glowing white with the light behind, took on the form of wings.

As the last note dissipated into the Pacific breeze, John smiled at his stunned father. "Hi, Dad. Take a seat."

"Huh?" Jeff looked around. Arranged so that they formed an amphitheatre, facing each other but opening out towards the Tracy home and the ocean, were a variety of chairs. Two of these burgundy clothed seats were already occupied. "Penny? Parker?" Jeff stared at them. "When did you get here?"

Lady Penelope smiled. "I believe that this may not be the time for questions, Jeff."

"Huh?" Bemused, Jeff looked about him. "What's going on?" he asked Gordon and Alan who had stepped forward to guide him from his mother's care.

"You'll find out soon enough," Gordon grinned.

"Yep! In the meantime this is where the guest of honour sits," Alan indicated Jeff's leather seat from the study. "Sit down, Dad."

Jeff stared at his chair; draped in gold cloth and positioned at the apex of the amphitheatre. "Guest of honour? What's going on? Scott?"

"All good things come to those who wait," Scott replied and grinned at the exasperated expression that crossed his father's features. "We have a bit of housekeeping to do first." He waited until Tin-Tin and Kyrano had taken their places beside those who were already seated. "Sorted, Virg?"

"Nearly." Virgil and Brains had shifted the piano keyboard from where Virgil had been unobtrusively accompanying John's solo, to beside the last chair on Jeff's right. Then Brains retreated to the vacant seat beside Kyrano, while Grandma and the younger Tracys claimed the seats on the other side of the 'auditorium'.

"What…" Jeff began but was silenced when his eldest son laid a hand on his shoulder. He decided that he may as well sit back and go with the flow.

Scott straightened the sheets of papers that he held in his hand and began speaking. "I'd always thought that years ago, as a child, I'd experienced the lowest that a person could feel emotionally; but one week this month revealed to me that I hadn't even begun to plumb the depths of human emotion." He held up his hand; palm foremost. "I'd like to take this moment to apologise to everyone for each time that I've snapped or growled at you." He turned to Lady Penelope. "Especially when all you were doing was offering to give us some much needed help." He lowered his hand and gave a slight nod to his brothers. As Gordon and Alan each retrieved a parcel from under their seats and stood, Scott continued speaking. "Penny… Parker… We all would like to thank you for doing what none of us were prepared to do and actually consider that perhaps Alan hadn't been hallucinating. Please accept these gifts from the Tracy family as a token of the gratitude we feel for all that you've done in bringing Father home to us."

With a 'thank you', Lady Penelope accepted a small, handcrafted, wooden box from Alan. On its lid had been painted a scene of Tracy Island, while embossed on either side of the lock was a palm tree.

"Ta, Mister Gordon," Parker acknowledged as he received a similar item.

"You may not know that not only is Alan a speed-freak and a seer of ghosts," Scott smiled, "but he also possesses some talent in woodcraft. He made the boxes. Virgil painted the scene on the lid and Gordon came up with the idea of the secret compartment."

"If you open the lid right out and push the palm trees away from each other," Gordon explained, "the false bottom springs open."

"Really?" Curious, Lady Penelope did as she had been instructed. There was a pop, and everyone jumped in surprise as a cloud of smoke rose from the box. The aristocrat, along with those nearest to her, found themselves covered in confetti. "Oh, my!"

Four Tracy brothers groaned. "Gordon!" John shook his head in exasperation. "Did you have to?"

Gordon gave an unconcerned shrug and brushed a bit of orange confetti off his shoulder. "Yep." He returned to his seat beside John and fixed him with an engaging smile. He was rewarded with an un-angelic frown.

"Dare h-I try mine?" Parker asked, with a bushy eyebrow raised at the prankster.

Gordon winked. "If you want."

"Maybe later, Sir. H-If you don't mind."

"Do not concern yourself, dear girl," Lady Penelope requested of Tin-Tin, who was trying to extract coloured bits of paper from blonde hair. "I'm sure Scott would like to return to the proceedings at hand."

"Thanks, Penny." Scott had been shooting Gordon a glare that promised retribution at an appropriate time. "Now, where was I?" He folded the top sheet of paper and shoved it into his pocket. "Oh, yes… There is someone else to whom we all would like extend a vote of thanks… as well as a sincere apology. On your feet, Alan."

Alan looked about in surprise. "What?"

Gordon grabbed his elbow and tried to push his younger brother into a standing position. "Get up."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," John insisted.

Clearly reluctant, Alan got to his feet. "This wasn't part of the plan."

"Yes, it was," Scott corrected. "You didn't know about it, that's all… Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin stood. "Alan," she said and walked across the open area between them. "This is from us all. We hope that you can forgive us for not believing and trusting you." She pressed a parcel into his hands.

"But… But the guys are going up to Thunderbird Five in my place! That was the agreement! I wasn't expecting…" The kiss on the cheek he received from his girlfriend dried up Alan's flow of speech. "Uh…" He remained standing, staring at the white box, as she returned to her seat.

"Open it, Alan," Grandma prompted.

Alan glanced at her before he slipped the lid off the box and peered inside. His face lit up. "Wow! The Thrust SSC!"

"What you wanted?" Scott asked with a wry grin.

Alan looked at his brother, his eyes shining in gratitude. "A model of the first land vehicle to break the sound barrier…? I'll say. Thank you! But how did you know I wanted one? How did you get it? They were a limited edition. They are out of production. They were made years ago… They're impossible to get!"

Scott laid a finger on the side of his nose. "Let's just say that some of us have friends in high places… and that Gordon's nosey."

"And that impossible isn't a word in International Rescue's vocabulary," John added.

"Yep," Gordon chipped in. "We can even bring the dead back to life."

Alan looked back inside his box. "Wow!" he repeated.

"Does this mean I don't have to go to Thunderbird Five in your place?" Virgil teased.

"Sit down, Alan, so we can make a start on Dad," Gordon pulled on his brother's arm before reaching behind his seat.

"Huh? Oh, right," Alan mumbled. He dropped back into his seat and, after one final look inside, carefully replaced the lid and pushed the box under his chair.

"And now," Scott began with an air of someone who was about to make a grand announcement. "We come to the reason why we're all here. Drum roll, Virgil."

Virgil pushed a button on his keyboard and the sound of drums rolled over the lookout.

"Jefferson Tracy," Scott began, "we have gathered here together…"

"To join this man and this lookout in holy matrimony…" Gordon shrunk back from the frowns he received from everyone. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, as he looked down at the guitar in his hands. "I'll shut up."

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Scott continued. "We are here to celebrate the life and non-death of a man who means a lot to us all: as friend, son, and father. Someone who I don't think anyone realised meant so much to us, until we thought we'd lost him forever."

A gentle melody wafted across the landscape. As an accompaniment to Scott's words, Gordon was strumming a tune on his guitar.

Scott laid his hand on Jeff's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "At our lowest point, when we thought we'd lost you, we thought we were going to lose our home, we were concerned for Alan's wellbeing, and we were scared that we were drifting apart; we, that is the five of us, came up here to try to pull ourselves together. We talked, we remembered good times and bad; and we gained strength from each other, our memories, and our surroundings… Father, as I know you are aware, there is something special about this place and together, the five of us decided that it would be fitting if it took on the name of someone special; someone who meant the world to us."

Jeff began to get an embarrassed feeling that he knew who that person was.

"And so," Scott nodded at Alan, "we would appreciate it if you do the honour of christening this lookout."

Alan stepped forward holding a box topped with a large red button. "Dad," he requested, "when you press this, look over there." He pointed to the edge of the lookout and for the first time Jeff noticed that an object was positioned there, shrouded in the same type of burgundy cloth as most of the chairs.

Jeff accepted the panel. "Boys…" he protested.

"Shush," he was told by various quarters. "It's not your turn yet." He sat back: silenced.

"Once again we've all had a hand in this," Scott explained. "You'll understand when you push that button…" He paused; a frown on his face. "Gordon… You haven't added anything 'extra', have you?"

Gordon looked affronted at the suggestion. "To spoil Dad's celebration? Of course not!"

"I'm just thinking what your task was," Scott mused.

"Scott! Relax will ya!" Gordon pouted. "I haven't done anything that we hadn't agreed on."

"I was watching him like a hawk while I was checking the radio signal," John revealed. "He hasn't had the chance."

"Yeah… But I had those boxes in my room," Scott said, clearly unconvinced. "I'm still trying to work out when he booby-trapped them."

"I haven't done anything to the… the… thing!" Gordon protested again, gesturing towards the burgundy cloth. "I promise! Scout's honour!"

It was too much for Jeff. He burst out laughing. "I'm glad to see that nothing's changed around here. Are you sure this button is safe to push, Gordon?"

"Dad!"

"All right, I trust you," Jeff chuckled.

"Brains wired up the button so you don't need to worry," Virgil reassured him.

"Carry on, Scott," John sighed.

"I've lost my place…" Scott was going through his notes. "Ah! Here we are… No… I've done that bit…"

Jeff burst out laughing again, accompanied by titters from various sections of the group opposite his sons. "I'm glad you got Pen Fordbury to organise the concert."

Exasperated, Scott threw up his hands. "I don't know why I bothered. I can't organise anything…" His "like this," was obliterated by a roar of laughter from the assembled group. He decided to skip much of what he'd written and proceed to the climax of the celebration. "And so, Father, as a mark of the respect and affection that we have for you, we have decided that this lookout deserves a name. We would like you to unveil the name."

Jeff looked at the button and briefly considered denying their request. Then he decided that he was flattered enough to accept. "Do you want me to push this now?"

Scott nodded. "Yes, please."

Jeff placed his palm over the red knob and depressed it. As a fanfare sounded; a wave of fireworks burst into the air and the burgundy cover slid to the ground revealing a white sign, the legend 'Jefferson Lookout' clearly readable in black.

"We've all signed it," Scott said. "Come and look."

Jeff climbed out of his chair and wandered over to the piece of wood bearing his name. On the back and around the support were etched eleven signatures. The top of the post was blank.

Scott handed his father a laser pen. "We'd like your signature on the top; to sign off the change of name as it were."

"Sign off the change of name? We'll make a desk jockey out of you yet, Scott," Jeff teased. "And what if I don't approve of this transaction?" He winked, took the pen, and engraved his name into the flat surface of the post with a flourish before turning back to the group. "Thank you: all of you. This has been a wonderful afternoon and came as a complete surprise; and I appreciate all the thought and effort you've all put into it…" He looked at Scott. "Am I allowed to speak now, Mr Chairman?"

Scott made a show of going through his notes. "That is the next item on the agenda."

"After all that," Jeff chuckled, "I don't think I've got anything to say except thank you. You've all helped me remember something that I'd managed to forget: that I am a very lucky man. Thank you, everyone." He looked back at Scott. "What's next on the agenda?"

"Party!" Scott rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Where's the food? I'm starving!"

"You always are, Scott," Virgil reminded him. "Well…" he amended remembering a time not so long ago. "You usually are."

"It's been quite a month, hasn't it?" Jeff ran his finger along the top of Jefferson Lookout's sign and his smile dissolved. "I suppose that I should feel sorry for Angus Brett because he's never known what it's like to have love and support like this from family and friends… But, I will admit, after reading what he said about me and my family and knowing what he did to us all, it's hard to feel anything more positive than apathy towards him…"

"Jeff?" His mother was sounding concerned.

He smiled at her. "I'm all right, Mother. I'm not going to let one man get me down; not after such a wonderful celebration… And as for Miles and Earl," now Jeff sounded defiant, "let them try to stop me! I'm not going to be stupid and leave myself open to whatever they've got planned for me, but equally I'm not going to let them live my life for me! I aim to make sure that they get locked away so they can never hurt another soul… And if that means staying on this island for however long it takes: then so be it! It's mine and no one is going to trick it out from under me!"

"Hear, hear," Gordon cheered. "You tell them, Dad."

"There will be times when I will have to go to the States," Jeff continued, "but only when it's absolutely necessary. When I do I promise that I'll take all necessary precautions; which will mean that I'm going to have to rely on your help, Penny."

She inclined her head. "I am at your service, Jeff. Parker and I are always willing to help," she looked at Alan, "no matter how odd the request." He beamed at her.

Jeff had turned to his sons. "You boys will have to do more work at the office."

They looked between each other. "You'll have to give us some training, Father," Virgil said.

"I know, but you're all bright boys. You won't have any trouble… And talking of trouble…" Jeff glanced at Gordon. "Let me guess… You were in charge of the fireworks tonight?"

"With Alan's help, yeah."

"I'm not surprised your brothers were concerned." At the sight of his son's suddenly downcast face, Jeff wrapped an arm about his shoulders and squeezed. "I'm joking, Son… It created a wonderful effect."

Gordon brightened. "Thanks, Dad."

"Thank you, Kyrano." Jeff took something to eat off the tray that his friend was holding out to him, before looking at the changes to the lookout. "How did you get everything up here?"

"Various bits of equipment and a lot of manpower," Alan admitted, helping himself to a snack. "We thought you might have got suspicious if you'd seen Thunderbird Two hovering over the island."

Lady Penelope was talking to John. "That was a wonderful rendition of Nessun Dorma, dear boy. You do have a lovely voice… and the effect of you standing on the rock with the sun behind you... It was quite stunning."

John turned pink and gave an embarrassed smile. "Thanks, Penny," he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking down to where his toe was stubbing the dirt on the ground. "It was Grandma's idea."

"Aw… Has Johnny gone all shy?" Gordon teased, and earned a glare from his brother.

"How did you get here, Penny?" Jeff asked. "I didn't hear your plane arrive."

"That was the plan. Parker and I flew here while you were on your walk," Lady Penelope admitted. "Scott had everything planned like a military operation."

"Until the lower ranks spoilt it," Scott growled, glaring at Gordon. "Grandma let us know when the pair of you were around on the other side of the island where the surf's rough. We figured Penny would be able to sneak the plane in and you'd never hear it."

"You figured correctly," Jeff admitted

"Hey, Dad," Gordon piped up, his earlier pique forgotten. "If you are ever broke for real, you'll be able to sell the Jefferson Lookout notice. After all it's signed by a murderer, a car thief…" Confused frowns appeared on the faces of most of the people present as he rambled on. "A ra…"

John grabbed his red-headed brother in a head lock. "It's okay everyone; I've got him under control. You guys carry on and I'll throw him off the cliff."

"Leave him, John." Scott had an evil grin as he selected something else to eat. "I'll take care of him later. I'm sure I can make it look like an accident."

"Is there any chance you're related to Earl?" Alan asked. "I can see similarities in your modus operandi."

"John!" Muffled by John's sleeves, Gordon's voice was somewhat indistinct. "I can't breathe through your bat wings. Will you let me go?"

"Will you behave?"

"Promise."

John released him and Gordon straightened up, making a show of trying to remove bits of lint from his mouth.

"Mr Tracy." In his usual unobtrusive manner, Kyrano had appeared at Jeff's right shoulder holding a tray with a single champagne flute. "Would you care for a drink?"

Jeff took the glass. "Thank you, Kyrano." He turned to his left to find his mother standing there with a tray of even more delicious-looking snacks.

"Would you like one, Jeff?"

"Thank you, Mother… for everything."

Mrs Tracy smiled at him before she bustled away to make sure that everyone had something to eat. When she reached Virgil, her grandson hesitated. "No, thank you."

"Oh, go on with you. One won't hurt."

"Well," Virgil wavered. "I guess not." He picked up a sweet. "Though I shouldn't really eat this…"

"In that case I'll have it." Quick as a flash Scott whipped the sweet out of his brother's hand and popped it into his own mouth. He grinned at Virgil's expression of dismay.

Grandma leant close to Virgil's ear. "Don't worry, Honey. I've made extra. They freeze well so you can have them when you come back from Thunderbird Five."

Virgil brightened. "Thanks, Grandma."

Jeff accepted another morsel. "Virgil, I think I'll have to come up to Thunderbird Five with you. Grandma's determined to make me gain weight."

"I don't see you turning anything down," she retorted. "What can I get you, Brains, dear? Some more of these? I know you like them."

Starting to feel smothered by her continuing attempts to make amends, Brains reddened and took a step backwards. "I-I am fine, thank you, ah, Mrs Tracy. I, like M-M-Mist-t-t… Virgil, appear to have gained some weight. I sh-shall have to go on a diet too."

"Looks like you're going to have plenty of company on Thunderbird Five, Virg," Alan teased.

Scott tapped the laser pen against the side of his glass. "Excuse me! Has everyone got their drinks…? Good." He winked at his father. "If International Rescue gets called out now we're going to be flying under the influence of alcohol." He raised his glass. "Ladies and Gentlemen… And Gordon…"

"Hey!"

Scott laughed at his brother's indignation. "Ladies and Gentlemen. I give you Jefferson Lookout and Jefferson Tracy!" There were various murmurings of agreement and support as he brought the champagne flute to his lips.

Watches started beeping and, as one, the brothers groaned and lowered their glasses. Scott placed his flute on Kyrano's tray. "Sorry, Father."

"That's okay, Son, I understand. Thank you for a wonderful evening… Thank you everyone…" Jeff opened his arms in an all embracing gesture. "Now get going," he ordered. "Report back as soon as you get there, Scott."

Scott grinned at International Rescue's commander and flipped him a salute. "Yes, Sir! Come on, fellas." The five young men took off down the track at a run.

"Do you w-want to go down too, M-Mr Tracy?" Brains asked. "We'll clean up here."

"I'll wait," Jeff said. "I've never watched the Thunderbirds launch from up here before. Besides, the boys have shown themselves more than capable of handling International Rescue business without my help." He raised an eyebrow and an impish grin, an echo of Gordon's, crossed his face. "Anyone care to wager on who'll be first to reach the villa? Winner gets to finish off the leftovers… I'm backing Scott. Mother?"

"You're betting on your sons when they are running to rescue someone?"

"Yes."

"In that case my money's on John's long legs."

"How about you, Penny?"

Lady Penelope looked amused by the idea. "Thank you, Jeff, but I think I shall decline. I must watch my waistline."

"Rubbish…" Jeff turned to the other young lady present. "Tin-Tin? I guess you want Alan?"

Tin-Tin coloured slightly as her mind took a roundabout route to her answer. "Yes, please, Mr Tracy."

"Brains?" Jeff asked.

"Knowing his c-competitive drive," Brains said. "I'll, ah, choose Gordon."

"Good choice, except he's not in his element at the moment." Jeff looked about. "Kyrano's off tidying up, so I guess Virgil's yours, Parker."

"Thank you, Mr Tracy." Parker wasn't looking too hopeful at his chances of success.

"There they are!" Tin-Tin pointed down to where the lookout track met the main coastal path. "Come on, Alan!"

"Virgil's fitter than he thought," Jeff said as he watched his five sons. "There's nothing between them, Parker; you're in with a chance. Come on, Scott!"

"Of course, they don't know that this is a race," Mrs Tracy remarked. "We're cheering for no good reason… Go, John!"

"C-C-Come on, G-G-G," Brains stuttered. "G-G-Go G-G-G…" He gave up. "Swim!"

"Run, Mister Virgil," Parker yelled. "Run!"

"Go, Scott!"

"Run, John!"

"You can do it, Alan!"

"Swim!"

"Faster, Mister Virgil…"

Oblivious to the encouragement that they were receiving from the lookout, the five racers sprinted along the path that skirted the shoreline. They reached the home complex and disappeared behind a building.

"Well," Jeff turned back to his friends. "I'd call that a draw. Do we share the spoils or leave them for the boys when they get back?"

Everyone agreed to leave them.

"Oh, well. Lucky last." Jeff picked up one of his favourites and chewed on it happily. "Mother, these are delicious!"

She smiled at his obvious delight. "It's good to hear you say that, Jeff?"

He glared at his watch; his face suddenly serious. "Look at how much time we've wasted! Under normal circumstances we would have a plan of attack worked out by now, but, as it is, Scott'll have to wait until John's made contact before he has any idea what they're up against. The sooner we get Thunderbird Five manned the better."

"There 'e goes now!" Parker pointed as Thunderbird One flared up towards the sky.

The rocket plane rose into the air and then levelled off, skimming along just above those standing on Jefferson Lookout. She did a barrel roll before gathering speed and zooming off over the Pacific.

Jeff winked at Tin-Tin. "Show off."

Thunderbird One's sonic boom had already receded when they saw Thunderbird Two appear at the end of the runway. From their height advantage on Jefferson Lookout and with the palm trees tilted away from the craft, the great aeroplane gave no indication of her massive size. It wasn't until she had lifted off into the air and, like her sister craft, made a slow fly-past, that her awe inspiring bulk became obvious.

Seconds later the sonic boom from Thunderbird Two hit Tracy Island.

Jeff Tracy watched his sons go before raising his champagne glass in the direction of the departing Thunderbirds. "To International Rescue," he proposed and a broad smile creased his face. "Thunderbirds are go."

The end.

I promise.

I think...

What happened to Miles and Earl? I can't tell you because the case is still sub judice.

Is International Rescue still going? Of course it is.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this story. And thanks again to those who reviewed.

:-)

Purupuss