CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Stormy Seas

Gordon lay in the sun, stroking the fur of his sleeping cat, humming under his breath. For once he felt lethergic and uninclined to do anything, and quite prepared to stay when he was for the rest of the morning and doze. It was such beautiful weather. He glanced up and out of the window. Far away on the horizon clouds were moving, and Gordon's face turned grave.

"There's going to be a storm somewhere today," he muttered ominously, but with the sun so beautifully bright on his face it was very hard to stay ominous. "Well, there's nothing I can to to stop it," he said, then dropped his head down again and dozed off.

"Gordon! Hey, hello!" Gordon slowly opened his eyes. The sun had moved off him and Tori had trotted off in search of food. Alan was leaning over him.

"What do you want?" Gordon muttered. Alan grinned.

"Well, you fell asleep on the floor."

"So?"

"So there's a thing about a boat race on telly, thought you might be interested."

"How is that related to me falling alseep on the floor?" Gordon asked, but he got up all the same. "Lead the way then." The two wandered over to the sofa and plonked down. The TV was on, and little yachts scudded across the screen. Gordon narrowed his eyes.

"The weather's pretty dodgy there," he said. "The wind's too high if you ask me. But naturally all the big-wigs want to race their beautiful boats and show off." He harrumphed and folded his arms, watching intently. Alan glanced at Gordon's face and grinned. When Gordon got involved with his boats, no one could come between them.

"I'll just go get us some drinks," said Alan getting up. Gordon didn't even blink. As Alan wandered towards the kitchen, Scott walked into the room.

"Hey Scott, you want a drink too? I'm just going to get some. If you won't spill it." Alan grinned remembering the previous day when Scott had spilled his drink all down his front by accident.

"What, you think I'm stupid?" asked Scott, rolling his eyes. Alan grinned. Scott looked over at Gordon.

"Boat race?"

"Yep. You're lucky."

"Sure." Alan went into the kitchen and Scott grabbed a magazine and sat in his favourite armchair to read it. Half an hour later he was startled by a loud exclamation from Gordon, and looked up.

"How can they still race in that weather!" Gordon exclaimed. "There's going to be an accident! Better suit up, Scott, we're gonna be needed before today is out. I can tell a storm when I see one." He stood up and turned around, looking frowny. Scott shook his head.

"You know we can't go out unless we're called."

"We will be, you mark my words." Gordon nodded sharply and walked off to his room. Alan came back with two drinks, his hair mussed up and grinning slightly. Scott raised an eyebrow.

"You're a little late," he commented.

"What, is the race over already?"

"No. Gordon's decided to rage against the stupid authorities. Says they're risking lives with this race." Scott shrugged. "You know how Gordon gets."

"Yeah." Alan plonked himself down on the sofa. "He won't mind if I change the channel then." He picked up the remote and pressed a couple of buttons. Instantly the sound of roaring F1 cars blared from the speakers, and Alan sighed blissfully.

"HEY!! OH NO YOU DON'T!" Gordon marched back into the room, and shoved Alan over, switching the channel back. "I was here first!"

"You left!"

"I needed the loo! What do you expect?" Scott shook his head and went off to play pool with Virgil. When the pair returned a couple of hours later, it was to find Gordon and Alan staring hard at the screen, a bag of forgotten chips on the floor and an empty bowl with unpopped corn kernels in the bottom by their feet.

"Alan? Don't tell me you're interested now," laughed Virgil. Gordon waved a hand with an impatient, "SHH!" Alan glanced around at them.

"You'd better get a load o' this. Turns out Gordon's right. Take a look." Scott and Virgil wandered over and peered at the screen.

"They're cancelling the race. Conditions are too bad," said Alan quietly. Gordon's face was drawn and tense and he said nothing. Scott nodded.

"Well, good then."

"That's not all. A yacht has capsized already. Several others are floundering, damaged. I think we might be needed there." Alan sighed and shook his head. "Idiots. Can't they tell when danger looms over like a horrible great ominous vulture?" Scott rolled his eyes. Virgil laughed quietly.

"We'd better make sure the Thunderbirds are prepped." He wandered off to the hangar. Gordon leaned forward, his fingers pressed together, eyebrows lowered.

"He looks so much like Dad like that," Scott commented quietly to Alan, who chuckled.

"You can talk, Jeff Junior," retorted Gordon.

"Calling International Rescue! This is the International Yachting Association! We need your assistance!"

John looked up from his game of scrabble. He liked to play, although he was on his own. It was fun to try to beat his own scores, although difficult to resist the tempation to show off and combine words between 'players' to build up a very impressive lexicon on the board.

"Calling International Rescue! We need your help!"

"This is International Rescue, recieving you Strength Three, go ahead." John was at his station immediately, microphone in hand, listening hard. There was a fair amount of static, like the sound of wind blowing very hard against the microphone.

"We were having a race, but we've had to call it off. There are yachts still out there, a couple have capsized, but we can't get out there! Can you help get our people to shore?" John paused, then nodded sharply, even though the other person couldn't see him.

"International Rescue is on its way."

"What did I tell you?" Gordon said cheerfully to Virgil as TB2 powered on its way towards the race, which was off the coast of Ireland, on the west. "Of all the places to pick a yacht race. They could have chosen Florida, or sunny Spain, or-"

"You could just say, 'I told you so' and be done with it," said Virgil calmly.

"Yes, but this is much more fun." Gordon settled back in his seat, then stood up quickly and walked towards the back door. "I'm gonna go get in TB4 and wait. Won't be too much longer now."

"Righto." Virgil shook his head as Gordon disappeared through the door.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two and Four. Just thought you ought to know. WASP has been called in to assist in the rescue too. We're going to have to be bloody careful someone doesn't recognise Gordon."

"Thanks Scott."

"Do you know if Addie's involved?" Gordon leaned forward over the controls and he wriggled into his wetsuit, frowning slightly.

"Not as yet. But I'll try to find out and let you know."

"Thanks." Gordon pulled up the zip and stared out of the windows at the inside of Pod Four. "Dunno why they don't keep TB4 in Pod One, actually," he commented randomly. "Cos she's obviously the top vehicle."

"That'd be far too confusing. Alright, here we go!" TB2 began to dive towards the sea, fighting the storm. Gordon admired Virgil's complete control over every little movement the craft made. He sure knew what he was doing.

"Well," Gordon muttered, "if Addie's involved, I'm just going to have to be extra careful. And also, there's a slight opportunity for showing off-"

"Gordon," came Virgil's voice in a warning tone.

"Just a tiny bit, bro! Alright, tell me wh-EN!! Bloody hell Virgil!" Gordon yelped as the floor fell out from under him, and tensed for the landing on the sea a few seconds later. He could hear Virgil chuckling as he exited the Pod.

"Gotcha!"

"Not funny, Virg." The sea was rougher than Gordon had anticipated, and it took him a few moments to get the little sub under control enough to manouver correctly. "Heading in now. Scott, can you give me the co-ords I need?"

"Sure can. Patching them through now." Gordon nodded and headed off towards the first capsized yacht. Broken debris was sinking here and there, and it was difficult to avoid being hit by it. He looked ahead, the thrashing legs of those above him visible. As he watched, a wave pushed them against the boat, and a couple of them went under water, the yellow of their life jackets making them conspicuous in the gloom. Gordon directed TB4 upwards and underneath. It didn't take long to carefully break off the heavy mast and sail holding the boat under, causing the boat to begin to right itself just as he spied a heavy hull cutting towards him. His eyes widened as he noticed the insignia emblazoned upon it.

"WASP! Jeeze louise! They nearly ran me down!" Gordon pulled his sub out of its abrupt dive, fighting against the strong currents. "Thunderbird Four to Thunderbrd One! Scott, can you get onto that ship? They nearly ran me down!"

FAB, Gordon. Be careful, will you? Can't have them recognising you or your voice.

Hense why I called you, genius.

Aboard the vessel, the S.S. Tempestuous, Captain Michael Brown picked up the radio.

"This is the S.S.Tempestuous, reading you loud and clear, Thunderbird One. Go ahead."

"We've got a man in a submarine right below you! You nearly caught him in your slipstream!"

"Sorry!" The Captain blanched. "We thought you were deeper."

"He wasn't. No matter. There's a crew not far from you that could do with a helping hand. Thunderbird Four is going after a couple of people closer."

"Alright." There was a knock at the cabin door, and a red-headed lieutenant, commonly know as Adelaide Rogers, poked her head around the door.

"Captain! There's-" The captain held up a hand.

"Anything else, International Rescue?" he said aloud, raising an eyebrow at his crew member.

"No sir. I'll keep in touch. FAB."

"Thank you." The radio turned off. The captain turned to Addie, who was frowning slightly. "Yes? Something the matter?" She paused for a moment, then shook her head and shrugged.

"Sir, we're taking on board the first of the crews now, and there's a bit of trouble with one of them, says he wants us to take the yacht on too. I told him no, but..."

"Confound it! Alright then." The two strode out onto the deck.