Chapter 66.

Gordon had never been an early riser.

Late to bed and late to get up had been his modus operandi since babyhood. Consequently, early morning rescue calls were not his strong suit. His habit of sleepwalking and waking up somewhere different most mornings of the week also did little to improve the apparent allergy he had to all things forenoon.

Scott, on the other hand, was a ridiculously light sleeper and was often wide awake and buzzing around before dawn. Interestingly, he seemed capable of firing on all cylinders on only four to five hours of sleep, considering he rarely went to bed before midnight.

John's sleep schedule was about as messed up as Alan's sock drawer. The lack of day and night up in space had royally screwed up his circadian rhythm. As a result, he often yawned like crazy in the middle of the day and blitzed through anything occupying his 'To Do' list in the middle of the night.

Alan was the corpse of the family. So deep were the sleeps he fell into that he'd been pronounced clinically dead on several occasions. Unlike most teenagers, he had zero qualms about going to bed at nine, or even eight o'clock of an evening. While this should have satisfied Scott no end, his habit of sleeping in past midday if left to his own devices dampened the aforementioned satisfaction somewhat.

Virgil was the polar opposite of Gordon; early to bed, and early to rise. Unlike the other four, he was the only one who stuck to a regular bedtime routine. After showering and brushing his teeth, he relaxed with a book for an hour or so before turning his phone off, switching his humidifier on, and nodding off.

No wonder he was the most stable of the family.

Unfortunately, the terrible crime all five brothers had run afoul of by forgetting Kayo's birthday had meant that all of their respective sleep schedules were on temporary hold.

Gordon could practically hear his brain's answering machine taunting him.

'Hello, you are through to International Rescue. Unfortunately, all of our operatives have royally screwed up and are currently unavailable. Please hold the line while they attempt to dig their sorry assess out of trouble. We apologise for the inconvenience and endeavour to resume normal rescue services as soon as possible. Please dial one to hear this message again.'

Over by the piano, Virgil dragged a hand across his eyes as he drowsily dialled the number for a ridiculously expensive cake company in New York. Considering the humiliation Kayo had subjected all of them to of late, he didn't feel at all guilty over his lack of originality. The best part of any birthday was the cake, and if the price tags attached to some of the ones he was perusing were anything to go by, Kayo should consider herself damn lucky.

A yawn big enough to shift Thunderbird Two forced its way out of Virgil as he gloomily glanced at the time. Two-thirty in the morning. He couldn't remember the last time he'd voluntarily stayed awake so late, discounting the occasions when he'd been ill or deployed on an overnight rescue. The sudden change in routine would surely land him with a sleeping disorder for the next week or so, which on top of his injured neck, was all he needed.

Still, some domestic jet lag was a small price to pay in exchange for his life. Kayo would no doubt take great delight in hunting down and castrating any loose-lipped Tracy stupid enough to let slip that he'd accidentally forgotten her birthday.

Experience had been a ruthless teacher to all five brothers where Kayo was concerned. If the sight of them all frantically typing and dialling away on their phones at dumb o'clock in the morning wasn't evidence enough of this, then the payments they were making on their credit cards certainly were.

"Hello? Hello?" Scott clipped, standing up and pacing like a hostage negotiator, his phone sandwiched between his shoulder and his ear, "Is that Kensington Florists? Suppliers of the British royal family? Great, I need the most expensive bouquet you have in stock. I don't care how it looks or how it smells, I just need it to be expensive. What are the rarest flowers available for commercial purchase? Casablanca lilies? Black hydrangeas? Grandeur roses? Excellent. Give me ten of each."

A couple of meters away, John was busy dialling a Dubai'an number, his face illuminated by the light of his phone, "Hello? Cara Jewellers? I'd like the biggest diamond ring you have in stock please."

The woman on the other end of the phone cooed excitedly, "Marvellous, sir! Are you planning on proposing?"

"Hell no!" John spat, screwing his face up in disgust, "Okay, make it a necklace instead. Or a bracelet. To be honest, it really doesn't matter. I just need a diamond the size of a doorknob."

Next to John, Alan had located a ridiculously pricey box of twenty-four carat edible gold truffles. He knew Kayo had a soft spot for chocolate and was confident that she'd extend that soft spot to him if he presented her with such a gift.

The term 'gift' was used loosely by all five brothers. It was a well-known fact between them that the 'gifts' they gave Kayo on special occasions had more in common with sacrificial offerings.

"Hi, am I through to Delaffe of Switzerland?" Alan queried, slightly nervous in case the person on the other end didn't speak English, "Can I get two boxes of your gold Swiss truffles please? I'm sorry? Oh yeah, I'll upgrade to the solid gold presentation box."

John raised an eyebrow as Alan was placed on hold, "And how exactly do you plan on paying for that?"

Like a normal corporation, International Rescue paid its operatives regular monthly salaries. Wages were calculated by an algorithm that considered the risk-level of each rescue and the number of hours they each spent on duty during the month. As such, longer and more dangerous rescues paid better.

Considering he hardly ever went on a rescue without one of his brothers supervising him, Alan's risk exposure was by far the lowest. While he was the go-to Tracy for almost all interstellar emergencies, the usual routine of him staying inside Thunderbird Three while his co-pilot went and did the bulk of the dangerous work meant that the salary algorithm always favoured the brother accompanying him. While this may have irked most other teenagers, it worked just fine for him. Being the lowest paid member of the group meant that his brothers often took pity on him and loaned him money without ever asking for paybacks. Little did they know that their mathematically-inclined 'baby' brother knew all of their banking and credit card details by heart.

Gordon's eyes nearly fell clean out of his head as Alan waved Virgil's credit card under John's nose, "Does this answer your question?"

John hastily started frisking himself in search of his own credit card, vowing to never let it out of his sight again. Alan had a nasty habit of blitzing money on ridiculously expensive and utterly useless items. If he saw it, liked it, and could afford it, it was immediately his.

Gordon idly patted his back pocket, relieved to find his own credit card safely wedged inside the denim. He was no authority on money, but Alan's spending was truly something else. Scott himself suffered from a recurring nightmare in which Alan prematurely inherited the family fortune and somehow managed to lose it, Tracy Island, the Thunderbirds, and all of their offshore real estate in just under a year. While Virgil had assured him that such a feat was impossible, they all shared a common fear of what would become of their collective credit rating should Alan come into his inheritance early.

"Loveletter Cakeshop?" Virgil's sleepy voice cut through Gordon's train of thought, "Yeah, hi. Can I get a six-tier red velvet cake with the name Kayo iced across the top? Spelled K, A, Y, O. Also, I'd be very grape-ful if you could have it ready for collection in about four hours. I know I sound non-shallot, but this is for a very important occasion. I got through to one of your competitors about an hour ago, but unfortunately they all spoke porch-you-geese. Can you help me out? Really? You can have it ready in two hours? Perfect, thank you so much. Yes, bone-app-the-teeth to you too."

John bit his tongue to stifle the tears of mirth that were rapidly clouding his vision, "Nice, Virg. Were they grateful for your nonchalance and your aversion to ordering from their Portuguese speaking competitor? Bon appetit indeed."

Virgil grabbed a cushion and curled up where he was sat, "Wake me when it's ready. I hope this one late night doesn't give me in-some-near."

John sniggered in a way that was alarmingly out of character, "I just hope that poor telephone operator didn't a-soon you were drunk."

-x-

After a few minutes of frantic pacing and polite arguing with the Kensington Florist, Scott calmed down enough to retake his seat beside Alan. He muttered something obscene and fished some aspirin out of his back pocket before knocking them back with a huge slug of water.

Alan opened his mouth to object to Scott mixing aspirin with Valium, but closed it after the tablets disappeared down his brother's throat.

"I swear, I'll kill her if she even so much as glares at any of us again," Scott muttered, angrily screwing the cap back on his bottle, "I'll strangle her using Thunderbird One's cable and bury her body in a remote corner of Utah. If the authorities start sniffing around, I'll tell them she died from a strained bladder."

John quirked a brow, "That's a novel way to go."

"It could happen!" Scott snapped, "I once rescued a team of workers from a malfunctioning brewery who were literally drowning in beer. A strained bladder has nothing on the weirdness scale compared to that."

John shrugged and stretched out along the sofa, "Whatever. Say, how are we actually going to get all these gifts delivered on time? She's going to be up in a few hours and we have diddly-squat to offer her."

Scott harrumphed, "I'll go in Thunderbird One. The entire round trip shouldn't take longer than a couple of hours. Just make sure all your orders are ready for collection the moment I arrive. I'm not waiting around for diamonds to be cut and cakes to be iced."

Virgil blinked sleepily and glanced at his phone, "My cake should be ready in about an hour. They promised to start working on it right away."

Alan nodded in agreement, "They have my gold truffles in stock and have put a box aside under my name."

"And my diamond was ready before I even hung up," John added, "I'll call them back and tell them to expect you. You'll need to take ID with you though."

Four pairs of eyes swivelled towards Gordon, who was shifting his weight from one leg to another as he waited for someone to answer the call he was on.

"Hello, is that Aston Martin?"

Alan choked on his tongue at the mention of the iconic British sportscar's name. He knew Gordon's training and military background meant that he got deployed on some of the most dangerous rescues, but there was some serious unfairness going on if his salary was high enough to support the purchasing of such an expensive car.

Alan had once helped John hack into Gordon's bank account. Their fish brother's savings had been non-existent, thanks in no part to his habit of splurging on whatever retro items their old friend Scraps kept procuring for him.

Scott's expression shifted from irritated to amused as he strained to hear what Gordon was ordering.

"Long card number? Sure thing," Gordon chirped, fishing a card out of his pocket, "Five six two four, six zero one nine…"

Scott frowned. Those numbers sounded weirdly familiar.

"Seven two seven one."

Shit.

Those were his card details Gordon was reciting.

"Expires ten sixty nine," Gordon yelled, tripping over his feet as he scrambled to get away from Scott, who had vaulted over the back of the sofa and was in furious pursuit. A loud crash echoed around the house as both brothers rugby tackled to the floor, however a well-timed kick to the groin on Gordon's part gave him the brief window he needed to finish quoting Scott's security details.

John sighed and shook his head. Their collective family wealth easily overshadowed that of several European monarchies, yet Scott still insisted on taking advantage of multibuy offers and haggling over gas and electricity bills.

Still, an Aston Martin would probably be considered excessive by most people, rich or not.

The groan of despair that tore out of Scott' throat when a notification containing the details of Gordon's successful transaction pinged on his phone was loud enough to rouse Virgil, who blinked in irritation.

"Wassup?" Virgil grunted, scowling when he saw that it was still dark outside.

"Scott has a bit of a situation," Alan unhelpfully informed, "His bank account now has a massive Aston Martin shaped hole in the middle of it."

Virgil mumbled sleepily and draped an arm over his eyes, "He should call International Rescue. We always help."

In a state of stupefied, sportscar-induced denial, Scott mindlessly raised his phone and did just that. Ten seconds later, a call came through from a local number over the rather dusty communication system.

EOS was quick to act, "John, John! I've intercepted a distress call from your location. Have you got a visual? My scans show that the caller is only a couple of feet away from you."

Alan sniggered into his fist as John facepalmed with enough force to almost knock himself out.

"International Rescue's first call in over a month, and it comes from one of us."