Triple Jeopardy - Chapter 12
The Hood was having a good day. He had the unsettling belief that a little destruction was good for the soul, and he'd done a lot of destruction that day. There was the destruction of the engineering plant and airfield that had built Terrance Whitney's aeroplane. There was the destruction of that craft and the even more satisfactory crash landing of Thunderbird One. And, of course, there was the delightful entertainment of watching a member of International Rescue effectively wreck his own communication system.
And now he was enjoying the climax of his day. A flight in Thunderbird Two. As he stared ahead, seeing her great, green nose drop away before him, he couldn't suppress a chuckle. A chuckle that held no humour nor warmth except for the man that uttered it.
His computer was flying the great aeroplane as effortlessly as if he had the Thunderbird's original pilot in the control seat. Later, he would take the time to learn the workings of each of the linkages and the minutiae that went into piloting the transporter of International Rescue's fleet, but in the meantime, he was quite happy to sit back and let the computer reverse the green machine's course. It did so easily... Forward three hundred revolutions, two degrees to starboard, forward fifty-five thousand six hundred and four revolutions... and then the flight became less settled as it reversed Virgil's itinerant path when he'd chased down Thunderbird One's flight from Whitney's broomstick.
The Hood didn't care. As far as he was concerned it was Christmas, and he was prepared to enjoy this day for as long as it took.
-I-R-
-F-A-B-
The route had smoothed out and slowed down, indicative of Virgil's relaxed journey away from Australia, but, despite the relative slowness, the great red continent soon came into sight. The Hood considered ordering the computer to skip ahead several revolutions but decided against it. Better to keep to the preordained path than miss something of importance.
Thunderbird Two hovered over a dried-up river and a bridge that seemed almost invisible in its construction. Nobody appeared to be on the road below and The Hood told his computer to move on. It did, following Thunderbird Two's trail.
Below the mighty aeroplane the skies thickened and darkened. She slowed, lost altitude – the clouds becoming dusty red and then black – before she emerged into the chaos below and hovered again. The blackened scene was one of almost total destruction, as firefighters battled the blaze that barely seemed to have been contained since International Rescue's last visit.
Ah... So this was Sheppegie and this was why the minion had reported only four agents present. Thunderbird Two must have offloaded one at the river before advancing to the fire's front. This didn't excuse the lackey, and didn't mean that he wouldn't be punished, but at least The Hood would know that the man's words were true.
People on the ground, upon hearing Thunderbird Two's engines, looked up, hopeful of some respite, but The Hood told the computers to proceed. The next stop, he hoped, would be International Rescue's base. Once that was under his control, he would experience real power.
Thunderbird Two returned to Werrirna again and, impatient, The Hood told the computer to move into fast forward...
-F-A-B-
It had been hours since all contact had been lost with the Tracy Boys.
Tin-Tin had spent much of that time on the balcony, her eyes straining for the merest glimpse of a speck of green. Jeff had preferred to stay by his desk, hopeful that communications would clear, and he'd receive confirmation that all was well, but she was of the opinion that if that were going to happen, it would have happened by now. And so, she stood, and waited, and worried for the men whom she loved like brothers – and Alan, whom she didn't.
And then she saw it.
After so long staring at nothing but blue, she wondered if her eyes were deceiving her. She rubbed them and looked back.
It was still there, and it was growing bigger!
"Mr Tracy! I can see something! I think it's Thunderbird Two."
"What?" Jeff wanted to believe her, but he hesitated to do so. But still he left his desk and hurried outside.
The aeroplane that he longed to see was there; but conversely the sight of it filled him with dread. "Get inside, Tin-Tin."
"Mr Tracy?" Confused by the order, Tin-Tin nevertheless obeyed. "What is wrong?"
"Something doesn't ring true," he admitted. "I'm going to initiate Operation Burnt Toast. Stay with Mother and your father in the emergency bunkers, and don't come out until you receive the code phrase from either myself, the boys, or Brains... Or Lady Penelope," he added remembering that International Rescue's most trusted agent was on her way. He hurried to his computer and entered the seldom used code.
"Operation Burnt Toast?" Tin-Tin queried, as a raucous alarm rang through the complex. If their communications systems had been working, an alert would have flashed on everyone's watch and powder compacts. "Because Thunderbird Two has not contacted you? But that would be because of the interference caused by the Mark II."
"I could be wrong, but I think that this close we'd be receiving some form of communication, John would have insisted on it, but there hasn't been so much as an interference-clouded squawk. We'll know for sure by how Thunderbird Two makes her approach and landing."
"But if it is not the boys, how did the pilot find Tracy Island? Your sons would never direct anyone to here. They would travel to one of your decoy islands in the Indian Ocean."
"If they can find them with the Mark II screwing up their guidance computers. I can't be sure, Tin-Tin. My most intelligent hypothesis is that whoever's flying her has somehow managed to tap into Thunderbird Two's route planning computer and has reversed the flight path."
"But, as you said, the guidance computers are malfunctioning. Should they reverse Thunderbird Two's flight path the computers could direct them in any direction. Brains said that the Mark II was saying that its location was on the other side of the world."
"Unless that's what they think we'd do and have developed some other system…"
"You are staying here, Mr Tracy? Tin-Tin?" Both Jeff and Tin-Tin turned when they heard the soft voice.
"I am Kyrano, but Tin-Tin's going into the emergency bunkers with you and Mother. I'm going to go down to the runway and greet whoever exits Thunderbird Two. If it's the boys, I'll let you know straight away by deactivating Operation Burnt Toast. If not..."
"If not, you could be at the mercy of whoever shot Thunderbird One out of the sky," Tin-Tin reminded him.
"I'll have to take that chance."
"If you insist on remaining to face the interlopers," Kyrano removed something from his pocket, "then, please, Mr Tracy, I must request that you wear these."
Jeff accepted a pair of mirrored aviation sunglasses. "Why, Kyrano?"
"To hide what you truly are."
"As far as anyone who lands here who doesn't know me will be concerned, I'm an eccentric hermit of a billionaire."
"Your voice; your mannerisms will say this; but your eyes will reveal the truth."
"My eyes?"
"Your eyes are the eyes of a father who is worried for his sons. These sunglasses will conceal your concerns."
Jeff conceded that Kyrano's theory made sense and donned the eyewear.
All three turned to see Thunderbird Two hover over the launch pad end of the runway, almost as if she were unsure of herself and the proximity of the concealing palm trees.
"I think that's all we need to know," Jeff told his friends.
"Indeed," Kyrano murmured.
"Good luck, Mr Tracy!" Tin-Tin flung her arms around his neck in a brief hug, and then hurried away after her father.
Taking a deep breath, Jeff called up a monorail car that was one of the unremarkable methods of getting around Tracy Island. Climbing inside, he sent it at full speed down to the conventional hangar.
He was halfway down through the ride when he received notification that all three inhabitants were in the emergency bunkers and that the accessways had been firmly sealed.
Operation Burnt Toast was fully operational.
This layer of security was several steps up from Operation Cover Up. Not only were all visible signs of International Rescue hidden from curious eyes, and the emergency bunkers sealed so tightly that it would take nothing short of an intercontinental ballistic missile to open them, but everything relating to the organisation was killed. Power plants that normally ensured a constant power supply were powered down until not so much as an electron stirred. Computers that hummed, and kept sub-systems ticking over, and were dedicated to scanning and maintaining International Rescue's equipment, were as good as disconnected from the grid. Machines, including Thunderbird Three, that were normally kept in a state of permanent readiness, were dead.
Nothing that could alert the wrong people and their scanners to International Rescue's existence on this remote island was operational.
When the idea of a last resort complete shutdown was mooted by Brains, many of his associates had decided that it was overkill. Operation Cover Up was more than enough to cover most contingencies, including over-eager generals of the World Government hunting down thieves operating under the guise of International Rescue. Gordon's reaction was that the whole plan was so overdone that it was the burnt toast of the security world – and the name had stuck.
"Thank you, Brains," Jeff breathed as the monorail slowed to a stop.
After the cool air conditioning of the inside of the mountain, the hot salty air hit him like a slap in the face. Just the thing to wake him up and put him on the alert as he faced the unknown, Jeff mused as he mounted a golf buggy and motored the length of the runway.
As he drew closer, he could see that Thunderbird Two was still. There was no sign of life. If it was under his boys' control, they would have known that he was coming, and someone would have been racing down to meet him; either to let him know that all was well... Or to break the news that it wasn't.
He was almost level with the mighty craft when someone did exit it.
Jeff caught his breath, glad that they'd taken the precautions that they had.
This was not one of his sons.
This was a man he'd never seen before.
Telling himself to remember that he was merely an eccentric hermit billionaire, Jeff approached this unknown man. "Do you have news?! How is he?"
The Hood frowned. He had expected many reactions to his arrival. A crescendo of emotions from elation, to disappointment, to suspicion. Fear. Anger. Maybe even drawn weapons – a contingency which he was prepared for. But here he was, and he had no idea of what news this man was talking about. Feeling the pull of his mask around his neck, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a scanner.
Hoping that this wasn't a weapon, Jeff did his best not to flinch, reminding himself that he was a worried father with no need to feel fear from this angel of mercy. "You took my son to hospital in this, didn't you?" He laid his left hand upon Thunderbird Two. "Why have you come back?"
The Hood regarded the scanner.
"Weren't you part of that team? You're not in the same uniform as the others." Jeff's right thumb touched an electrode on the ring on that hand, turning himself into a human conduit.
If The Hood's plan had incorporated impersonating a member of International Rescue, he would have carried an approximation of their distinctive uniform with him. But today, as he frequently did, he'd been making decisions on the fly and when he'd got up this morning, International Rescue had barely registered on his radar.
"Please tell me that you're not here to warn me that there's a cyclone on the way," Jeff complained. "That's all I need after the day I've had. I'll have to batten down the hatches before I head off to the hospital, and I've spent all afternoon cleaning up after the accident. I'd much rather be at the hospital with my son." He felt a tingle pass across his torso.
The Hood said nothing. As did his scanner. Odd. If this was International Rescue's base, then he would have expected a huge power source and a multitude of computers whirring and calculating. Perhaps even mighty machines, such as Thunderbird Three, kept humming in a state of constant readiness. But he was registering nothing more than the amount of electron movement that he might expect from your standard billionaire's home away from everyone else's home. There wasn't even much in the way of radio traffic and surely one of International Rescue's bases would have a constant hotline to Thunderbird Five?
"If you don't know, could you get onto your other team, the one that was here earlier?" Jeff babbled, as a signal was transmitted from the ring, through the water that made up much of his body, and out his left hand and into Thunderbird Two's hull. From there it worked its way around the green exterior and into to the walls of the pod. Once it reached its intended destination, the signal released a glue. A glue that set so hard that the pod's exterior walls were as good as welded to the ship's frame. It would take a full quota of International Rescue operatives to unseal it.
Jeff hoped he still had a full quota. "I'm desperate to know how Donald is. I know it's not your policy to allow uninjured family members to travel with injured victims, but I do think that you could have made an exception this time. Either that or let me know which hospital you were taking him to if I need to make my own way there. It's not like any of my planes have the speed of your Thunderbird and I could have followed you." He didn't know what had inspired this train of thought. Maybe it was Kyrano's eyes of a worried father? If that was the case, maybe he didn't need the sunglasses?
He felt the ring vibrate and allowed his left hand to drop from the green surface. The pod was secure and there was no way that Thunderbird Two could be used anything as horrendous as a troop carrier for an entire army, or to transport a division of devastating tanks.
But that also meant that the Domo and the Firefly were unavailable if their services were needed. Then again, without Thunderbird Two, there was no way of getting the Domo and the Firefly to where they could do any good.
The Hood remained mute as he analysed the situation he'd flown into. Had he misread everything? Then he remembered the downed Thunderbird One. There had been plenty of time for one of those left behind to have radioed base a warning before he'd knocked them out and left them all to die in a blast of jet fumes.
"I suppose you took him to one of the closer countries?" Jeff babbled on. "New Zealand or Australia? Or did you take him to one of the Pacific Islands? Would they have the facilities to treat his injuries?" He frantically tried to decide what those injuries could be that would warrant his calling on International Rescue and then their flight to Australia, and then decided that it had to be a head injury. Something with a lot of blood and a probability of a serious concussion or worse. Plus a few broken bones. A fall from the runway into the Pacific Ocean where "Donald" was dashed, unconscious, upon the rocks perhaps? A chance of oxygen deprivation from a near drowning coupled with a head injury and possible neck fracture. That would be enough. Any more and it would sound suspicious.
If it didn't already sound suspicious. Oh, well. Jeff still had a chance to refine it. The stranger opposite had yet to say a word...
"Look at me."
This was an odd request, and Jeff decided that so long as he had no need to, that was the last thing he would do.
"Look into my eyes."
It had all the hallmarks of a cheap hypnotist's turn at a vaudeville show. But even as Jeff told himself that he shouldn't, he felt his gaze creep up from the sand on the edge of the runway, to the almost too large head of the man before him and the staring, almost hypnotic, eyes.
Jeff felt lightheaded. Disconnected from the world, his mythical son, and his real ones.
"You will..." The Hood felt his iron will falter as his stare was reflected off the mirror finish of Jeff's sunglasses. "You will..." he repeated, before something disconnected his thought processes from his physical processes.
"I'm sorry..." Jeff removed his sunglasses and ran his arm over his face as he rubbed the sweat that he was sure was beading on his forehead onto his sleeve. "But all of a sudden I'm not feeling too well," he continued, replacing the glasses. "It must be the stress of worrying about my son..." He only just managed to swallow the final "s".
The Hood had recovered in that short moment and he made another attempt to gain the upper hand...
Just as Jeff had turned away. "If you're not going to help me, I'm going to start ringing around to try to find the hospital. And lock my home down against the cyclone."
"Look at me!" Grabbing him by the arm, The Hood swung Jeff around to face him again. Light from the sun, low in the sky, reflected off the twin mirrors and into his eyes. He had no choice except to look away or be blinded, and once again his hypnotic stare failed him.
Jeff took advantage of the other's distraction to take a few steps out of reach. "I know you're busy," he told The Hood, "and so am I. So, I'll say thank you again for helping my son..." He wondered how he managed to avoid being physically sick as he thanked the man who had probably endangered his boys' lives. "...and let you get back to your admirable work. Good day." He jogged to the golf cart, spun it about in a perfect one-eighty-degree turn, and floored it back to the hangars, deciding that he probably deserved an Oscar for his performance and wondering if it would be possible to have one made.
He made a point of locking the door behind himself and his golf cart and then initiated the procedures that would protect his home against cyclonic winds. Then he wondered what he should do next. Retire to the emergency hangars to be with what remained of his family? Or go back up to the house to wait out Thunderbird Two's departure? It felt so wrong to be eager to see that big aeroplane leave.
But what if Jeff Tracy's boys weren't thousands of kilometres away? What if they were at the far end of the runway, desperate to get word to their father, and unable to do so? What if they were ready and willing to help defend their home, but trapped within the craft that normally was a bastion of hope?
Of course, he could always attempt to overpower the hijacker and then, if his sons weren't on board, reverse the process that Thunderbird Two had used to reach here, and return to the island that held many unknown secrets. How had the man managed to navigate Thunderbird Two halfway across the Pacific Ocean when International Rescue's guidance systems were non-operational?
No. An attack on the intruder would only make him suspicious and probably confirm that this small island was the hiding place of the biggest secret in the world. But it went against the grain to let a stranger command one of the flagship aeroplanes in his fleet.
Jeff considered that he'd done all he could in the short term. But had he done enough?
-F-A-B-
The Hood was flabbergasted. How had he managed to let one man go? One man who was so concerned for his son – such a weak emotion: love – that he'd spoken of nothing else... Except for the cyclone.
But was that man all he said he was? Hadn't Thunderbird Two told him that this was her base? But that man had said that International Rescue had visited here to save his son from some unknown tragedy. Visited and then flown away again – probably to a hospital in Australia.
If the man was telling the truth.
The Hood was unwilling to leave without confirmation that this wasn't International Rescue's base. If it was, he could come back another day, when he knew all of Thunderbird Two's secrets, and claim it for himself. But so far, all his instruments had told him that there was nothing here to connect this small, insignificant island with the biggest treasure trove available to someone who wanted the power to rule the world.
First things first. He would meet with that man again – someplace where mirrored aviator sunglasses weren't necessary, and the sun wouldn't render his talent useless. And if not that man, then with another, potentially weaker victim. And maybe this time he would use skills and tools available to your ordinary, everyday, villain.
But, if he was going to drag the truth out of anyone, he was going to have to capture them first, and that meant a long, exposed walk down the runway. There was bound to be something inside Thunderbird Two that he could use as the local had used the golf cart, but The Hood didn't know where such a device was stored, nor how to operate it.
He started walking down the runway towards the hangars and the building that jutted out from the impenetrable cliff.
-F-A-B-
The last of the thick, cyclone-proof and hopefully bad-guy-proof, barriers slid home and Jeff breathed a sigh of relief. At least the mythical cyclone had given him an excuse to batten down the hatches so tightly that nothing short of a category seven storm could breach them.
His home was safe, but what of his boys?
A video camera directed down the runway showed the figure drawing closer. A broad, powerful figure that was striding out with confident, but watchful, assurance.
Clearly, the stranger was determined to learn more of this island's secrets. Jeff Tracy was just as determined that he would learn nothing. This would be easier if he had the assistance of five equally determined young men.
Thunderbird Two was unattended. Now was the time to see if she was holding any hostages.
Most contingencies had been thought of when International Rescue's base had been built, including the malfunction of Thunderbird Two's launch pad during inclement weather. In order to access the launch pad a tunnel had been constructed; running the length of the edge of the runway. It exited almost parallel with where the transporter was currently sitting; waiting.
Letting himself into the access way to the tunnel, Jeff immediately found an obstacle. At times when this tunnel was necessary, speed would be of the essence, and a travellator ran its length. But now all International Rescue related equipment had been shut down and the travellator was non-operational.
There was only one thing for it. Unhooking a torch from its place on the wall, Jeff began to run...
-F-A-B-
The Hood examined the end of the runway minutely. He'd tried the obvious doors, finding no handles to push and pull on, and was now looking for less obvious ones. He ran his scanner over the surface and then, somewhat optimistically, beamed Gordon's palm print onto several likely locations.
He found nothing.
Looking up he could see a large structure wedged into the rock, but he could find no way to access it from down here.
Huffing angrily to himself he turned and looked back down the runway to the bulk of Thunderbird Two. It looked big. Too big to traverse the runway; those palm trees would get in the way. Too big to sink into a hangar beneath the runway where it jutted out into the sea. Too big to land on this side of the palm trees, and besides, there was nowhere for it to go once it had. The cliff face was made of solid rock.
Thunderbird Two's hangar must be elsewhere on the island.
If it resided on this island.
-F-A-B-
Jeff ran.
It was hard going, running through the dark tunnels with only the light from his torch bouncing off the walls to show him the way. It was dark, and stuffy, and almost claustrophobic; and Jeff wasn't as young as he once was. It was only his need to help his sons that kept him going, lungs heaving and trying to drag in oxygen that seemed to be in short supply.
He resolved to get more exercise. He was fitter than most his age, but this marathon-like run was severely taxing on his legs and his lungs.
He reached what he knew was the halfway point and kept going.
-F-A-B-
The Hood took a moment to consider his next plan of action. He'd found a path that led up the hill to, he assumed, the living quarters. Should he take it, or return to Thunderbird Two and do an airborne reconnoitre of the island?
The path looked long, steep, and tiring. The Hood knew he could climb it without issue, but also knew that traversing an unfamiliar track when it was growing dark would leave him open to attack from those who had an intimate knowledge of the lay of the land.
He squinted up the path. A short way up there appeared to be a ridge. Perhaps the hidden access way to International Rescue's secrets? If not, it would afford a lookout over more of the island. He decided to go that far, see what was there to be revealed, and if it was nothing, return Thunderbird Two to the skies.
-F-A-B-
Jeff had reached the end of the tunnel and permitted himself the luxury of a moment to catch his breath. He didn't want his presence revealed just because he was puffing like a steam train.
When he felt that he had his breathing and heart rate back under control, he crept outside.
He could hear nothing that sounded like the heavy footstep of an intruder. Nor the soft footsteps of an intruder trying to remain concealed.
Jeff climbed up the rocky bank that marked the side of the runway and crouched behind a boulder, hunting for signs of life.
Of the intruder, there was no sign.
Taking a deep breath and trusting that his luck would hold, Jeff dashed across to Thunderbird Two. He slammed his hand against a palm reader and let himself in through the door that had caused Gordon so much stress just hours before.
Now Jeff Tracy held the upper hand. He knew this craft intimately; including her tricks and secrets.
Slipping into a side room that had a door that looked like wall panelling, he slid aside the cover that hid a screen. Then he entered a code, his fingers beating a rapid tattoo on the screen. A schematic appeared on the display and he scanned it hopefully, swiping it several times to bring up different levels.
He was disappointed to realise that there was no other sign of life on board.
Now what? Take control of Thunderbird Two himself? Lock down Thunderbird Two so that the hijacker couldn't regain access? While both options could arouse the suspicion that he was so careful to avoid, both would mean that Jeff held the upper hand...
Leaving his mother and the Kyranos potentially at the mercy of an unprincipled thief.
At least a visit to the flight deck would tell him how the hijacker had gained control of the craft and give International Rescue the chance to revise their systems so that it could never happen again.
Jeff rode the lift up to the flight deck.
The sight of the empty seats, so recently occupied by his sons, elicited a painful pang of concern. When they'd left, earlier in the day, John, Gordon, and Alan had sat safe and secure on those red cushions...
Jeff laid a hand on the back of the pilot's seat. Virgil would be horrified to know that someone outside of International Rescue's ranks had sat here and controlled his beloved craft.
Was Virgil aware of what had happened? Were any of them?
Jeff turned his back on the control yoke. How had the hijacker gained control of Thunderbird Two?
A search down the port side of the cabin revealed nothing, but a glance across to starboard showed all. Panels had been removed and an unfamiliar computer sat there, humming, blinking, and waiting for its owner's return. This computer had gained control of Thunderbird Two.
Jeff decided that to tamper with this computer, or to take flight, or to lock the aeroplane down was too close to a breach in security.
Time to leave Thunderbird Two. While he still could.
Needing to give himself a chance to exit without being seen, he worked his way through the maze of corridors and out of one of the hatches at the rear of the craft. Ahead of him lay the broad expanse of the deep blue Pacific Ocean, but he didn't stop to admire its grandeur.
In fact, he didn't stop until...
-F-A-B-
It was tiring, flying an unfamiliar aeroplane, Lady Penelope decided. Tiring and uncomfortable. Top of the line this S-402 might be, but it wasn't customised specifically for her and her flying style, and it felt like there was a constant battle between the two of them to see who would maintain the upper hand.
She glanced at the fuel gauge. While it wasn't low, it would be prudent to ensure that they had as much fuel as possible on board, before they began their search across the broad expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
"We shall land and rest," she told Parker, who was already resting without the need for the aircraft's wheels to touch the ground.
He shifted in his seat, snorted, and started snoring.
Lady Penelope got on the radio and sent a message to the nearest airport that they would like permission to use one of their delightful runways, if the control tower would extend them that pleasure. And perhaps a little fuel, to sustain them on their way...?
-F-A-B-
The hike up to the ridge had revealed nothing of value. Not even the beauty of the scene out over the broad expanse of the Pacific Ocean was able to inject a little lightness and joy into The Hood's dark soul. He was close to his goal; so close that he could almost taste it! And yet it eluded him.
Time to do a reconnoitre in Thunderbird Two.
Once again, he walked with a masterful stride as he traversed the length of the runway. As was his wont he kept his eyes and ears open, listening for sounds of movement or any signs of support or betrayal.
He saw nothing untoward until he reached Thunderbird Two. Then he spied just a flicker of movement, the merest shadow shifting in the setting sun at the rear corner of the craft.
The Hood crept closer to that corner...
-F-A-B-
Jeff knew that in order to sneak back to the tunnel he would need to be exposed for a brief period. He could only hope that the hijacker was out of sight or looking elsewhere when he made that dash.
He reached the corner of Thunderbird Two and crouched down below the eye level of the average observer, poised and ready to run to the safety of the edge of the runway. Cautiously, he went to peek around the corner.
The Hood's initial grab had been at chest height but had connected with nothing. Already slightly off balance, he'd tripped over the crouching figure and both had ended up on the ground; an intertwined mess of arms, legs, and curses. The mirror finish aviator sunglasses skittered across the tarmac.
The Hood, having landed on top of Jeff, found that he had the upper hand, or at least upper body, and he'd soon subdued the other man. "What were you doing?" he snarled, pulling Jeff's arms up and pinning him to the ground.
Jeff reminded himself of his story, covering his recollection time behind a wince as the pressure against the runway increased. "I need to get to my son!"
"He is not here."
"But you know where International Rescue have taken him! You refuse to tell me, so I thought I'd stow away." A little implausible, Jeff thought, but it would do in an emergency... Which this was.
"I do not know where International Rescue have taken your son, because I am not International Rescue," The Hood growled. "You are."
"You must be mad." Jeff struggled against his captor, who seemed to have the strength of ten men. "You're the one who arrived in a Thunderbird."
"Your Thunderbird."
"Mine? Where would I hide something this... this..." Jeff peered over his imprisoner's shoulder up the craft that loomed like a cliff over them. "...this huge?"
"This I do not know, but you will show me."
"I won't show you because there's nothing to show!" Jeff struggled again. "Please! I want to see my son! I need to know that he's all right." This was a good choice of story. Keep the plural to the singular and it was easier to maintain the fabrication.
"On your feet!"
Jeff had no chance to protest as he was dragged upright and spun about so his back was pressed up against Thunderbird Two's bulkhead.
"Look into my eyes."
This time Jeff, almost nose to nose with the hijacker, had no choice. The eyes seemed to bore into him, and he felt his will leave him.
"You will obey me."
"I will obey you."
"Are there others in the house?"
"There are others in the house."
"Will they offer resistance?"
"They will not offer resistance."
"You will lead me to them."
I will not. But Jeff, as Gordon had been earlier, was powerless to stop himself from doing as he was commanded.
They began the hike back down the runway, Jeff's mind in overdrive as he fought for a way to break free of the hypnotic trance.
They passed the nose of Thunderbird Two. No chance of making a break for it and flying out of here. Nor of diving into the maintenance tunnel. I don't want to do that anyway. I can't give this guy any clue that there are other ways into the complex.
Halfway down the runway.
I wonder what his plans are. Clearly, he wants to know our secrets, but what will he do once he has them. What has he done with my boys? I hope they're all right.
The cliff face was looming closer.
At least Mother, and Kyrano, and Tin-Tin are safe. So is Brains. I hope this hypnosis, or whatever it is, isn't strong enough to force me to fly Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five. He may not be my son, but I'd protect Brains with my life rather than let this guy get his hands on him. I don't want to think what would happen to him if this fiend did bring him under his control; and I dread to think what would happen to the world.
Fading shadows were being cast across the runway from the cliffs rising ahead.
Okay, Tracy, think. Start making plans. What is this guy likely to do? The obvious first step is to enter the complex through the aircraft hangars. If we do that, what can I do? Steer him well clear of Two's hangar for a start. We have that dummy hangar off to the side and that might take his focus off me for long enough for me to do something. But what? This guy's as strong as an ox...
"To the door," The Hood commanded.
They walked to the door.
The Hood cast his gaze around its perimeter. He already knew that there was no obvious way to enter. "Open it."
Although unwilling, Jeff used his palm print to give the command to gain access to the traditional aircraft's hangar. The door swung open.
The Hood grinned. This was easy. Almost too easy. And once they were inside, he would give the order that they were to proceed to International Rescue's control centr...
There was a scream and a thousand harpies descended onto him, tearing at his eyes with their needle-sharp talons. Desperate to retain his sight The Hood backed away, rubbing his eyes as his tears, and they had to be tears of blood, streamed down his face. His nose ran just as violently, blocking his airway and shortening his breath as his fight or flight instinct kicked into life.
At the moment, flight seemed to be the optimum action.
"You're not International Rescue!" the harpy screamed. "You're a thief. A common thief!" She clawed at his face again. This time with nails that had to have been dipped in acid.
It was time to cut his losses and leave. He still had control of Thunderbird Two, if not his sight, and he could return another day if his other options didn't pan out. Fire burned his retina and dogged his path as The Hood turned, stumbling as his nearly blinded eyes misjudged his footing, and ran for the aircraft.
"And good riddance too." The harpy bent down. "Are you all right, Jeff?"
Lying where he'd dropped when the attack had begun, her son blinked through reddened, tearful eyes at the figure that was slowly coming into focus. "Mother?" Jeff sat up. "What did you do?"
Grandma looked quietly triumphant. "Sprayed him in the face with liquid soap to put him off his stride... Now, don't rub, you'll only make it worse... And then, before he had the chance to recover from that, and once you were out of the way, I threw Kyrano's hottest chilli powder into his eyes. Once he was on the run, I followed him with our most powerful spotlights. He's not going to be seeing clearly for a long time. Now, hold still while I apply these eye drops... There. Is that better?"
Jeff blinked, feeling the cooling solution soothe his eyes.
There was a roar from the end of the runway and both Tracys watched as Thunderbird Two, with a blaze of light that cut through the dusk, hauled herself off the ground. She turned and retreated the way she came.
"I'll be betting that he doesn't have anyone to find the eye drops for him, let alone apply them," Grandma said smugly. "Did you find out anything about the boys?"
Jeff wiped soap, sweat, tears, and eye drops off his face. "Only that they're not on Thunderbird Two." Using the door as support, he struggled to his feet. "Why are you here and not in the emergency bunker?"
"We were watching everything through the CCTV. Once he had his hands on you, I knew I had to do something to help."
"Leaving Kyrano and Tin-Tin behind?"
"Oh, no." There was that smugness again. "They were the second and third wave of defence."
-F-A-B-
The Hood cursed, cursed, and cursed again. As soon as he was behind the protective door of Thunderbird Two, he ripped his mask off. His eyes still felt like they were on fire, but his eyesight had cleared enough for him to find his way to the flight deck. "Computer!" he roared. "Return to point of origin."
The computer received his command, retrieved the point of origin's latitude and longitude from its non-International Rescue memory banks, and obeyed.
Spying what appeared to be a blurry row of five or six green lockers with white crosses on them on the back wall, The Hood lurched towards the leftmost one.
His hand slammed against flat, metallic panelling.
Sliding his hand to the right, The Hood discovered that the second and third first aid kits were equally as nebulous as the first. The fourth appeared to be solid, but its catch was just as hard to pin down as the locker had been.
Finally, the little door swung open and he was greeted with a pale blur of indeterminate bottles and packets. Feeling his way along the rows, his fingers felt a shape that had to be a bottle, possibly with a dropper attached. He pulled it out, held it to the light, and tried to read what it said.
He couldn't.
He dropped it into his pocket so he could find it again, and continued feeling the contents of the kit, dropping anything that didn't appear to be useful out of the way and onto the floor.
He was a third of his way through the flight back to the Tracys' prison, when he finally decided that his original selection had been the correct one.
The eye drops missed his eye and landed on his forehead...
-F-A-B-
High above the Earth, in geostationary orbit, Brains waited and fretted. With nothing else practical to do, he had spent the intervening hours alone, analysing what could have gone wrong with the Mark II version of Mobile Control.
He thought he finally had the answer – for all the good it did them. Until he could get back to Earth and physically make the changes necessary, he was unable to stop the interference that was blocking every signal received and sent by Thunderbird Five. The broken inane chatter of millions of messages was almost sending him around the bend, but he was loathed to turn it off in case, somewhere in the melee, he got a message from either Thunderbird One or Thunderbird Two.
There'd been a couple of times when his hopes had been raised. Some sound, a rhythmical tapping, had forced its way through the burbling static and had almost resolved itself into something intelligent. But each time he'd heard the sound, had managed to interpret a range of letters that could have been part of a word in Morse Code, the sound had been absorbed by the static that permeated every other sound that he was hearing.
It was probably his imagination anyway, he decided. He was desperate for news, any news, and his brain was picking up and interpreting any sound that sounded halfway like intelligent communication.
Brains decided that he would have to continue to wait... And fret.
To be continued…