Triple Jeopardy – Chapter 33

"Lavinia to Malcolm."

Hearing Lady Penelope's voice and recognising her clandestine needs, Scott responded. "This is Malcolm. Go ahead, Lavinia."

"We are about to depart, but we have a slight problem."

Scott heard Gordon give a slight chuckle. They both knew that, in Lady Penelope's parlance, "a slight problem" could be as simple as a broken fingernail, or as catastrophic as a broken leg. "What is your problem?"

"This craft appears adequate for our needs, with the exception of a winch. Would it be too much trouble to ask you to lift Mr Satin onto the roof?"

"It'll be no trouble at all… So long as Villallobona keeps his distance."

"Are you ready to move in?"

Scott glanced over his shoulder at Gordon and received an acknowledging thumbs up. "Affirmative."

"We shall not take off until you have completed the escape route."

"Understood. Leroy has been in contact with the team on the ground. They have cleared the way for us to start cutting. We'll be ready to create your diversion within two minutes."

"This will be much appreciated. Lavinia out."

"Time to move in." Scott pressed forward on the sidesticks, and keeping close to the Pacific waves below them, flew towards the hospital island.

"Got the pressure wave warning programmed in?"

"Of course. Although we may need to disable it this time if we're going to give Penny the chance to complete the evacuation."

"I'd better let John and Alan know that we're on the way." Gordon opened the radio network. "Thunderbird One to Saint Michael's."

It was Alan who responded. "Saint Michael's. Go ahead, Thunderbird One."

"Stand ready. We're moving in."

"We're in the ANT-e-room… Sorry, force of habit… Satin's bedroom. We're clear of the danger zone."

Gordon glanced towards the viewports showing the way ahead. Ahead of them he could see the vertical cliffs that marked this side of the island of Saint Michael's. He barely had time to wonder if Scott would gradually climb to the altitude required to cut the hole in the roof, or if they would remain this close to the water before suddenly ascending, when Saint Michael's was beneath them.

"In position," Scott told him and those on the radio network.

He heard Lady Penelope's voice. "Remember to keep behind the speaker."

They heard a peevish voice correct her. "It's the 'Decibel Amplitude Magnification Projector.'"

"My apologies. Remember to keep stay away from the DAMP, Boys."

Despite his concerns, Gordon snickered. Well-practised at switching into International Rescue mode at short notice, he became serious. "Firing laser."

A line began burning across the surface of the building below them.

"I've got the DAMP in my sights," Scott reassured his listeners. "At present it's broadside onto the island and facing away from us… But not for long," he added when he saw Villallobona's thugs hasten across the barely constructed gangway and board the ship.

"Cut halfway complete."

"We'll be out of your way in ten seconds, Lavinia."

"Understood. Opening hangar doors."

Whitney, who'd been sitting with his arms folded in a huff after Lady Penelope's impudent renaming of his weapon, saw sunlight creep into the hangar. Leaning forward he watched as the roof slid back, revealing the blue sky above them.

"Taking off in five… four…" Lady Penelope took a tighter grasp of the joystick. "Three… Two… One."

The Epiprocta's skids left the floor of the hangar and she emerged into fresh air and a world of confusion. Most people outside were looking in the opposite direction; the sounds of the Epiprocta masked by Thunderbird One's roar.

Gordon's voice announced. "Nearly through… Roof's down."

Below, John and Alan were aware of an almighty thump when the ceiling of the room next to them responded to gravity's attraction. They waited a moment to allow the dust to settle and then opened the door…

But it wouldn't open.

"What's happened to it?!" Alan exclaimed, pulling ineffectually at the concealed handle, built into the door's panel in case of such an emergency.

"Has the roof fallen against it?" John whipped a toolkit out of his belt and selected the appropriate tool. He levered the cover off the control panel and examined the electrical circuits inside. "We've lost power."

"We still should be able to pull the door open." Alan threw his weight against the door.

It refused to move.

"Lavinia calling Saint Michael's."

"Saint Michael's," John responded. "We've got a problem."

Unsurprisingly, Lady Penelope sounded unperturbed by this. "And your problem is?"

"We can't get the door open between the bedroom and the exit room."

"Oh, dear. Anything I can assist with?"

"Just stand back until we give the word…"

"Time for brute force," Alan said, removing a small explosive charge from his kit. "Is Satin clear?"

"Not yet. Give me a hand with this…"

Together John and Alan tipped the bed on its side before doing the same to a large, dining-sized, table; swinging the latter around so that it acted as a second barrier. Finally, they lowered the hover-stretcher behind the makeshift shield.

John looked down on the injured man. "Guess he's as ready as he'll ever be."

Alan approached the door again. "You ready?

"As I'll ever be."

Sticking the explosive close to the door, Alan started the countdown on the detonator. Hurdling the bed, he joined John as Mitch Satin's human buffer against the expected explosion.

The brothers waited…

John glanced at his watch. "How many seconds did you give it?"

Alan checked his own timepiece. "Five."

"How many have gone?"

"Erm… It's got to be at least five… Isn't it?" Alan straightened.

John held him down. "Don't be stupid. If that goes off you when you're next to it, you wouldn't have a chance."

"Okay…" Alan thought for the briefest of moments. Then he unholstered his gun, switching his red barrel for an orange one. Then he leant around the bed's tailboard. "Get ready…"

Once again John attempted to use his body as a shield for the older man. "Ready."

Trying to steady his pulse rate, Alan trained his gun on the explosive, took a deep breath, released it slightly, caught it again, and fired.

The door shattered into a million shards; most of which were blasted outwards and into the already demolished office.

But not all. Alan had no time to duck before a large splinter spun back into the room, catching him on the temple. He fell back, blood streaming from his head.

"Alan!"

"John!" He heard his big brother's shout. "Report!"

"Alan's been hit by some wood or something. He's got a head wound!" John was examining the damage. "He's uncon…" There was a groan. "No, he's not. He's coming around."

Gordon looked across at Thunderbird One's pilot. "John's not going to be able to get both Satin and Alan out of there alone. Let me down."

"F-A-B." Scott got back onto the radio. "Stay clear, Lavinia. We've got to make an air to ground transfer."

The reply was an unflappable as they'd expected. "Standing clear… We are sheltering behind the cliffs until you give us the word to move in."

Her definition of sheltering behind the cliffs, at least according to Terrance Whitney, equated to hovering like a sitting duck a metre above the choppy waves, waiting for the next tsunami to roll in, or one of Villallobona's men to see them and open fire.

None of the Tracys cared what Whitney was thinking as they prepared for the next step in the rescue.

Pulling three harnesses from out of a locker, Gordon quickly put one on. Clipping a rappelling line to Thunderbird One's winch, he dropped the other two harnesses down to the remains of the roof. Then with a quick, unseen, grin in Scott's direction, and a "See ya," he stepped out, almost dropping to the debris below. Acting quickly, he removed the line from his harness. "I'm clear."

"F-A-B."

Picking up the two harnesses, Gordon ran across the uneven floor and into the adjacent room. "How is he?"

"How's who?" Alan muttered.

"How's you?"

"'m okay."

Not really believing his kid brother, Gordon looked to John for confirmation.

The elder was trying to apply a bandage to a recalcitrant patient. "He's still got some fight in him."

"I tell you, I'm all right!" As stubborn as ever, Alan got to his feet, nearly pitching over as Virgil had threatened to do earlier.

"Don't be stupid and let us help you." Almost throwing one harness at John, Gordon held onto the second. "Sit on this," he instructed, bringing a chair up behind the younger man.

Alan sat down heavily. "Give me that." He held his hand out for the harness.

"No." Gordon pulled it clear when Alan made a grab for it. "Lift your right foot."

Reluctantly, Alan obeyed and had his leg guided through the appropriate hole.

"Now your left."

"I could do this myself."

"You probably could, but this is quicker." Pulling the harness up as far as he could, Gordon looked across at John. "Can you hold him steady, while I pull this over his butt?"

"Yep. Upsidaisy, Alan." John eased his brother upright. "Lean on me."

"I don't need to lean on anyone." But John was well aware of the weight in his arms. He waited until Gordon had pulled the harness to chest height and then eased Alan back onto the chair.

"Right. Right arm…" Gordon guided the limb through the slot in the harness.

"Give me your left." John pulled the second arm through its strap. "Now let's get you done up securely."

"I'll take care of that," Gordon offered. "We can't waste any more time. You see if you can get Satin into the other room."

Raising the hover-stretcher until it was high enough off the ground to float over what remained of the table and bed, John pushed it towards the door.

Having already pulled Alan's left arm about his own shoulders, and with an "Ally-oop!", Gordon got his brother to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"Of course, I can." And Alan did appear to be fairly steady as he allowed himself to be led through the debris maze to the main room.

The winch line was still suspended through the hole in the roof. Lowering the hover-stretcher down onto the relative stability of what used to be the building's weather-protective cladding, John grabbed the line. The end was fused together, and he released the four sections, attaching each of them securely to the four corners of the stretcher. "Okay, Thunderbird One. Lift away."

"Lifting."

Mitch Satin was once again moving upwards; except that this time he reached the hover-stretcher's altitudinal limits and continued climbing.

Gordon and Alan, with the latter still being supported by the former, watched its ascent.

"Take it slow, Thunderbird One," John warned. "You're close to the edge."

"Understood."

But, as the stretcher was passing through the hole, downdraughts sent it spinning in what was a gentle twirl, but what promised to grow more intense.

John could see the imminent danger. "Hold your position, Thunderbird One." After a quick analysis of the ceiling height above the collapsed roof, he turned to his able-bodied brother. "Can you give me a hand up, Gordon?"

"Sure. Can you support yourself, Alan?"

"Of course, I can. I can help too."

"Oh no you don't." Linking his fingers together, Gordon allowed his taller brother to step onto his hands, before he, swimmers' muscles straining, hoisted John towards the sky.

John grabbed a truss within the ceiling and pulled himself into the cavity. Then he wormed himself across the laser cut edge and out into the sun. Pulling a glove from his pocket, he steadied the rope. "Winch him up, Thunderbird One."

"F-A-B."

Proceeding as slowly as he dared when a weapon was slowly being turned towards him, Scott retracted the winch, listening to John give a blow-by-blow account of Mitch Satin's progress.

"He's almost at the ceiling… Passing through… Can you ease off a moment to allow the spin to slow…?"

Scott gritted his teeth at that one. He wanted to get Satin onto a solid surface, Thunderbird One in a different quadrant, and the DAMP facing away from his brothers and the injured man.

"B-B-Brains to Thunderbird One."

"Thunderbird One, Brains. Go ahead."

"I have been analysing recordings of the events before Thunderbirds One and Two were attacked."

"I thought you were entertaining President Heeron."

"Sh-She has flown out with her entourage. I was trying to ascertain what caused Thunderbird Two's malfunction, and I've discovered that both Thunderbirds recorded an electronic pulse seconds before the pressure wave was unleashed. I-I believe that this is the generator absorbing power before it unleashes it as an almost subsonic sound wave."

"So if Thunderbird One detects that electronic pulse, that's when I need to get out of here."

"Exactly."

"Good to know, Brains. That could be the difference between getting Satin out alive and not. Can you programme Thunderbird One to act on this pulse?"

"You will hear a warning alarm, giving you time to take the appropriate action. If I had more time, I would programme One to act independent of you, but it's time we don't have."

"I think you've given us enough time. A warning is all we need."

"I've also programmed Thunderbird One to broadcast the same alert throughout International Rescue's radio network. This should give those on Saint Michael's the chance to take the appropriate action."

"Thanks, Brains. We owe you one."

"Proceed…"

Hearing John's voice, Scott decided that it was time to concentrate on the job in hand. "I'll get back to you, Brains… Retracting winch."

"Almost there…" John told him. "We're through! Get him well away from this hole and I'll steady him as you lower him down."

Obeying his brother's commands, Scott inched the stretcher forward until it was over a solid part of the building and then let it settle.

"He's down. I'll release the line and then you can get out of here."

"F-A-B." Not wanting to draw any attention to the ongoing rescue, especially when the Epiprocta was due to make an appearance at any moment, Scott retracted the line and peeled off, drawing the DAMP away from the real action.

John, hoping to keep out of sight of Villallobona and his cronies, crouched low and watched as Thunderbird One moved out into clear air over the ocean. Then he spoke into his radio headset. "All right, Lavinia, you're cleared to move in."

"Much obliged, dear boy."

-F-A-B-

Villallobona's henchmen's reaction to what appeared to be a red-tipped missile swinging around to aim straight at them, was what you may have expected.

They panicked.

Some rushed the Generalar Wass, assuming that they were safer behind the shield that was Whitney's weapon. Some crammed into neighbouring buildings in the forlorn hope that they would provide shelter from the explosive impact that they were sure was coming. And the braver, or more foolhardy, shouldered their weapons and pointed down the threat.

All except for the Generalar himself. Keeping his head, even though by this point he was close to losing his mind, Villallobona gave the instructions to arm the Generalar Wass and fire on the Thunderbird.

The makeshift gangway was pulled apart and fell into the Pacific Ocean, minions scrambling to safety, as the ship turned to follow the path of the rocket ship.

Thunderbird One swung around to the east, drawing the dictator's attention away from the hospital's buildings.

"Fire!"

-F-A-B-

The TA-Epiprocta 816 hoverjet gained height. Flying just above what remained of the roof of Saint Michael's, she approached the two visible figures – one lying supine, the other crouched low over the former to protect the unconscious man.

"I daren't get any closer," Lady Penelope admitted to her passenger. "You may have to get out and assist, ah, Glenn."

"Me!?" Feeling the cold breeze begin to slide around the slowly opening door, Terrance Whitney turned to her. "Get out?!"

"You have a problem?"

"What if the roof gives way?"

"Then you'll only have yourself to blame. I am sure that it will not even notice your weight."

"But we're still airborne!"

"Buck up, there's a good fellow. You only need to step onto the skid and then onto the roof. It is only a matter of centimetres. Or…" the Epiprocta took on a slight lean. "Do I have to tip you out?"

The centimetres felt more like miles to Terrance Whitney as he decided that there was every possibility that she would tip him onto the hard roofing tiles. Clinging on to the Epiprocta's fuselage with an iron grip, he gingerly swung himself onto the skid. There he hesitated as he reassured himself that they were as close to the solid surface as his pilot had promised.

Another slight lean had him deciding that discretion was the better part of valour and he leapt onto the roof, crouching down as he waited for the building to collapse beneath him.

It didn't.

"Come over here and help!" The man who'd been acting as a human shield was gesturing wildly at him, and, not putting it past the nurse to use the Epiprocta's skids to nudge him closer, Whitney obeyed.

"Help me to guide him into the hoverjet," John ordered. "The downdraft's too strong for me to do it by myself. We want to keep him as immobilised as possible."

A study of pure reluctance, Whitney obeyed, and Mitch Satin made the journey from his resting spot to the Epiprocta.

"Me first," John said, swinging the hover-stretcher around until the head was pointing into the cabin. He climbed inside, grabbed the handles, and pulled.

"I do not wish to bother you, dear boy," Lady Penelope told him. "But I believe that our activities have caught certain peoples' attention…"

-F-A-B-

"Generalar! Generalar Villallobona!" A braver than most lackey approached his leader. "There is something going on, on the roof." He pointed to where a hoverjet appeared to have landed on what remained of the structure.

"What!?" Generalar Villallobona stared at the aircraft. What did this mean? Had Heeron not escaped? Was this his one chance to claim the country of Erikeep? "Leave it!" he screamed, gesturing wildly at Thunderbird One. "Fire! Fire on that hoverjet!"

For all of Terrance Whitney's genius, he hadn't had the time nor resources to come up with a method of rapidly changing the DAMP's angle of attack. As this day's events were only supposed to include a test firing, no one had worried at the slowness of the weapon's deployment. This was until it had become clear that this day held the promise of power and riches that Villallobona had only dreamed of.

"Take aim!" he screamed. "Take aim and fire! NOW!"

"Electronic pulse detected. Weapon ready to fire."

Hearing the deceptively calm recording of Brains' warning echo throughout the network, Scott echoed his own alarm. "Get out of there, Penny! The rest of you take what cover you can!" Obeying his own order, he pressed forward on the sidesticks, hoping that the shockwaves from Thunderbird One's flypast would be enough to disrupt the DAMPs systems.

The Generalar Wass was still turning when Thunderbird One swooped low overhead. The vessel rocked alarmingly, and the captain redirected his attention towards keeping his ship upright and away from the rocks. Then he heard his Generalar's command of "Fire!" and decided that he'd better do as told…

-F-A-B-

"He's strapped in," John told Lady Penelope the instant they'd heard Scott's pronouncement. "And we're not. Get out of here." He jumped out of the Epiprocta, pulling Whitney with him.

"But…" Whitney watched as his only salvation lifted higher, the door between Villallobona and safety slid shut, and the TA-Epiprocta 816 hoverjet flew away.

Away from Generalar Villallobona.

Away from the Tracys.

And away from Terrance Whitney…

-F-A-B-

"Fire NOW!"

Even though his Generalar was on land and there was a short stretch of water between them, the gunner could see that Villallobona was ready to take matters into his own hands. Knowing that should he disobey the end result would not be pleasant for him or his family, the gunner gulped and did as ordered.

A pressure wave blasted out of the DAMP; missing a direct hit on all its targets, but turning Tracy Island's inhabitants' insides into knots when they heard the thunder a short time after their sensors registered the tiny tsunami.

A tsunami that was much bigger and more destructive on Saint Michael's. It rose up the sea mount, forced its way up the smallest cliffs, and swamped the landscape; eroding the shoreline. The pressure wave exacerbated the rate of collapse and added more pressure to already weakened buildings…

Especially those that had holes cut in their roofs.

As Mitch Satin's office fell in on itself, water flooded the area; dragging everything with it as it hunted out the quickest way back to the sea. The power went out, plunging most of the complex into darkness and most of the An-Staff to the floor.

International Rescue's first casualty was John. His intention, when he'd heard Brains' recording, was to get Whitney and himself to safety. His efforts to encourage the inventor to jump back down into the building were thwarted firstly by Whitney's reticence and secondly when the pressure wave hit. The weakened ceiling collapsed, sending the Space Monitor tumbling through the hole and onto the floor below.

He lay there, unmoving.

Despite his head wound, Alan was the first to recover enough to drag himself, gasping for air, onto all fours. "John…"

John groaned.

"Don' … move … John." Alan crawled across the rubble to his stricken brother.

John groaned again.

"Can… you… hear… me?"

"Yeah…"

"Le'…" Alan inhaled a huge breath and felt a little better. "Let… me… examine you…" He coughed as he pulled a torch from out of his pocket.

John attempted to sit up. "'m… all… righ'."

"I'm the… desig-nated… first aider… Remember. Let me decide… that. Now… lie still. Any pain?"

John flopped back. "Do I… have to… answer that?"

Working quickly and with the efficiency of years of practise and practical experience, Alan ran his hands across his brother's body, checking for any abnormalities.

Finally, he sat back, pocketing the torch again. "I think you're okay."

"I told you that." Wincing, John sat up. "Aside from being one solid haematoma down one side."

"Here's an icepack." Alan handed over a single gel sachet that looked woefully inadequate for the extent of his brother's bruising.

John accepted it and tried to decide where it would do the most good. He chose his right temple. "How are you?"

"Not even a headache."

"How's Gordon?"

"Gordon?" Suddenly alarmed, Alan looked about him, seeing no sign of the aquanaut of the team. He leapt to his feet, swaying slightly when his head protested. "Gordon!"

Favouring his right arm, John also managed to get to his feet. "He was here before the pressure wave hit, wasn't he?" He shifted the icepack to his shoulder.

"He was standing over here." Alan stumbled towards the open door that led towards the corridor.

"Thunderbird One calling Saint Michael's. Come in Saint Michael's!"

John didn't know how long his big brother had been calling them, but he heard the Scott Tracy version of frantic in the message. "This is Saint Michael's," he told his headset.

Now he heard the Scott Tracy version of relief. "How are you guys?"

John was wondering that himself. "Bruised and battered," he admitted. "And we don't know what's happened to Gordon."

"What do you mean you don't know?" There was that suppressed panic again.

"He's disappeared." John heard a shout from the corridor. "Alan's looking for him. I'd better go and help."

"Keep me informed and let me know if you need assistance."

"F-A-B." Grimacing as his muscles complained, John started moving. Following Alan's equally unsteady path, he headed towards the door.

"What about me?"

John looked up, squinting past the glare of the sun and into the cavity between the ceiling and the room. "Are you hurt?"

Whitney shook his head. "No."

"Then stay there until we come back."

"I can't stay here!"

"Then get down by yourself," John told the inventor, and finally made it to the darkened corridor.

"John! Help!"

After hearing the call for assistance, the first thing John saw was an International Rescue blue-clad body, lying in a patch of sunlight by a gaping hole in the floor. He didn't need to see the red-stained hair to know that it was Alan, and that his kid brother's head wound had started bleeding again.

But this wasn't the reason why John attempted a painful jog towards him. Alan was hanging over the edge of the hole, and as John drew nearer, he saw him slide closer to the edge.

"John…! Help me!"

"Coming…" Kind of running, kind of limping, John hobbled over to where the floor had opened up; dropping away into the ocean below. Lying down to spread his weight more evenly as Alan had done, the elder Tracy crawled closer to the edge, reached down, and grabbed Gordon's other arm with both hands. "I've gotcha."

The auburn-haired Tracy was soaking wet and his fingers and hands were scratched and bleeding from where he'd scrabbled at the building's foundations when the ground had given way beneath him. Now, he was hanging over nothing…

Nothing except the pounding waves of the remnants of the tsunami, and with nothing to keep him out of the Pacific Ocean except for his two brothers' combined, but failing, strength.

-F-A-B-

Lady Penelope had had the good sense to fly away from Saint Michael's in a direction that took her behind the DAMP's speaker and out of the pressure wave's path. Now she had control of their speed and direction, but, being without assistance, could do nothing about Mitch Satin and his condition.

Glancing at the radar, she pointed the Epiprocta's nose in the direction of the nearest population centre guaranteed to have the facilities to treat a head injury and increased her speed.

Now all she had to concentrate on was flying. Feeling the adrenaline that had been pumping whilst she was on Saint Michael's leach out of her system, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a tablet. Chewing on this gave her an energy boost. It would not do to lose concentration now that she was in the middle of the relatively unexciting, but vitally important task of getting Mr Satin to medical care.

How were her International Rescue colleagues getting on?

It was only when she felt her equilibrium return that she switched on her radio.

The first reports she heard were concerning…

-F-A-B-

"This is Thunderbird One. What's the situation, Saint Michael's?"

His brothers always assumed that John, being the expert, would be the one to answer any radio communications, and this time was no different. "The island's collapsing," he gasped, feeling Gordon's weight pull against his arm. "Gordon's fallen through. Alan and I have got hold of him, but we haven't got the leverage to pull him back up." He felt more of the lip of the hole crumble beneath him.

"How is he?"

"Seems all right."

Gordon saw John's eyes fasten on him and managed a wry grin. "Big brother checking up on me?"

"Yes."

"Tell him I'm fine. Just hanging about waiting for something to happen."

"He's okay," John paraphrased to Thunderbird One.

"Good. I'm on my way back."

"There's not a lot you can do. Not without putting yourself into danger from Villallobona's mob."

"If I need to, I'll think of something."

"Right…" John felt the pressure of Gordon's grip increase on his wrist and the younger man sway slightly.

But it was Alan who asked the question. "Are you okay, Gordon?"

"At the moment, but we're all going to be major trouble soon." The words were said in what was supposed to be a light-hearted manner, but Gordon's brothers could see that he was only just on the right side of panicking. His face was pale, his pupils wide, he was sweating, and his grasp on their arms was almost cutting their circulation off.

Not sure that he wanted to know, Alan nonetheless asked the inevitable question. "Why?"

"Because I can see what's beneath you, and there's nothing there." Gordon coughed away some dirt that fell onto his face. "There's, maybe, a three-centimetre thick pad of concrete between you, and me, and the deep blue sea."

John felt his own fear levels go up a notch. His palms were now sweating, adding to the seawater that lubricated the friction that was keeping his brother glued to his hands. He wished he could let go and dry them.

But he wouldn't release Gordon's hand.

Neither would Alan. "Isn't there anything you can push off, Gordon?"

He felt his older brother sway and part of the ledge beneath him crumble, as Gordon, trying not to increase the strain on his brothers' arms, felt with his feet for something to give him some purchase. But the rock wall had been eaten away beneath the hospital complex by the force of the pressure wave and the tsunami. "No."

"Can you pull him up, John?"

"I daren't let go. My arm's not strong enough to hold onto him or pull us both back from the edge."

Alan felt a momentary panic. "You said it was all right!"

"It's in one piece," John sounded just as stressed, "but bruising's weakened the muscle and I daren't risk it. How about you? Any chance you can pull him back?"

"No. I've got hold of his arm with both hands and I'm not about to let go."

"Me neither."

But one of John's hands did let go when part of the concrete pad fell away from beneath him, nearly sending him in a nosedive into the Pacific. He grabbed at the foundation and held on, trying to stabilise them all with one bruised arm.

"Let me go."

Chilled by those three words, both fair-haired Tracys looked down on the auburn head below them. "What?"

There was a deep breath and then Gordon looked back up. Holding first Alan's, and then John's gazes, he continued with a serenity that they wouldn't have thought possible considering what he was proposing. "You've got to let me go."

"No!" Alan shook his head and then wished he hadn't when the world spun. He wiped his sweating forehead on his upper arm.

"No way," John agreed. But even as he spoke, he felt more of the ledge beneath him crumble and his upper body slide closer to the brink. "We're not letting you go, Gordon."

Gordon, once again hit in the face by the falling masonry, wasn't about to be dissuaded from his plan – nor was he about to drag any member of his family down to a watery grave with him. "Please…" he begged. "Don't let the end of my life mean the end of yours."

"No one's dying, Gordon, because we are not going to let you go."

"You've got to!" Desperate to shake himself clear, Gordon began to kick his legs and twist his body. "Let me go!"

"Gordon!" Alan screamed. "Stop it! You'll pull us all down."

"Then let go!" Gordon opened his fingers and released his brothers' wrists.

Now only three hands were holding him back from oblivion.

-F-A-B-

"Am I hearing correctly?" Virgil, his radio microphone still acting as an aid, emerged from where he'd doing what repairs he could to Thunderbird Two. "Are you both listening to this?!"

"We are." Brains looked sombre as Tin-Tin, trying to offer some comforting reassurance, slipped her arm about Gordon's brother.

Virgil, automatically, did the same to her. "We've got to get back there. We might be able to help."

"We cannot," Tin-Tin told him. "Thunderbird Two is not airworthy yet."

Frustrated by what she said, but aware of the validity of her words, Virgil ran his hands through his hair. He could do nothing except accept his friends' support…

And wait…

-F-A-B-

Far away on Tracy Island, Jeff was attempting to reassure his mother (and she him) in a similar manner. His three sons' portraits were all still images, but two of the familiar, much loved, voices were coming through loud and clear.

The third sounded more distant. "Let me go."

Jeff felt his mother shake in his arms and pulled her closer. "They won't let him go."

"We're not letting you go, Gordon."

"See."

"Don't let the end of my life mean the end of yours."

Despite the finality in the faint words, Jeff felt a sense of pride. His boys were good men. Honourable men. Unselfish men…

"No one's dying, Gordon, because we are not going to let you go."

Tired men…

"They're all exhausted, Jeff. How long can they hang on?"

"I don't know…"

Gordon's: "Let me go!" was almost as clear as if he was still wearing his microphone. Whilst Alan's: "Gordon! Stop it! You'll pull us all down," was close to deafening.

Occupying himself in the kitchen, Kyrano heard the yell and decided to investigate. "Mr Tracy?" He saw that the Tracy patriarch was comforting his mother. "Mrs Tracy? What is wrong?"

"NO!..."

To be continued…