The rescue party prepares to set off, and Scott fends off an unexpected intrusion.

10

Gordon took the lift up to Thunderbird 3's cockpit. They'd landed at last in the pre-dawn stillness of a forested valley, not far from the river. He'd be setting off in just a bit, but first, he needed to speak with Alan.

He found his brother in the pilot's seat, trying to puzzle his way through a computerized flight log. Without a word, Gordon took the screen and stylus from Alan's hands and began reading through the questions.

"Mileage?" He asked.

"Uh...," Alan leaned over and glanced at the proper gauge. "15,751.3 miles."

"Reactors?"

"Green."

And so on, till the log was complete. That done, Gordon handed it back, saying,

"Listen, Alan; I promised y'r mum that I'd look after you, but we're going t' have to separate f'r a bit, and... I just wanted t' remind you to stay low. Y' know... think before you shoot, and all that."

"Yeah," Alan replied, reaching out so they could tap clenched fists. "You, too. Luck, Man."

Gordon shrugged, throwing himself into the co-pilot's seat.

"You're the one going in through the front. All I've got t' do is swim the 'Rio Crap', over there." Then, "Seriously, though; I know John said t' join up quick, but don't be in too much of a hurry. Take it slow, and stay safe. Well..., safe as y' can, anyway. I'll be alright on my own, f'r a bit."

Alan nodded.

"So, uh... what's plan B?" The youngest Tracy asked uncertainly. "If something goes wrong, I mean?"

"Fall back, find Brains or m'self. We'll call up John an' try something different. Then something else after that, if we have to."

Glancing at his watch, Gordon slapped his hands down suddenly against his knees, and stood up. "Well, time t' get started, I guess. Just, um..." Unable to express himself, he settled for a playful cuff to his brother's head.

"Yeah, okay," Alan responded, short hand for everything he couldn't get out, either.

"See you." Shaking off several tons of concern, Gordon shouldered his dive bag and took the lift back down to the hold.

Switching on Thunderbird 3's protective EM field, Brains, Gordon, TinTin and Allen climbed into the humvee. Gordon was still in his blue International Rescue uniform. The others had changed into grey and white winter cammo and heavy weaponry, nearly doubling their bulk. It was a tight squeeze. The back of the humvee was loaded down with Brains' bomb defusing gear, forcing Alan and TinTin to fit in where they could.

Gordon sat up front in the passenger's seat, mentally rehearsing his route, as Brains drove them down the ramp from Thunderbird 3's cargo hold and out into the snowy forest. The engineer had rigged up UV headlights for the vehicle, and was wearing night vision goggles, meaning to stay invisible for as long as possible.

Driving cautiously, Brains covered the seven miles from their landing site to the river in thirty minutes. There, they were to part company. Gordon would have to swim the rest of the way after donning Brains' protective lotion and getting into his dive gear. The others would proceed through the woods in the humvee.

"W- we'll wait a bit," Hackenbacker offered, cutting off the engine, "t-to ah..., to give y-you some cover w-while you ch-change, Gordon."

"Right, thanks. It would be my luck, wouldn't it, to have a bloody great bear amble by in mid..., um..., smear."

"No problemo, Man," his brother informed him mischievously. "We'd help out... soon's we stopped laughing."

Gordon 'accidently' elbowedAlan in the stomach hard enough to leave him wheezing, then got out. He moved away from the humvee, made certain that he was screened from view by a small copse of trees, took a deep breath, and began.

It was incredibly cold in the ice-locked forest; even more so when all one had on were swim trunks and a slap-dash coat of stinging slime. Worse, the process took a lot longer than he'd expected. By the time the first grey, watery light began probing its way through the trees, Gordon still had half the tube left, and was nowhere near completely covered. Worried about the time, he tried to hurry, and ended up a dripping mess.

"Eewwww!" He heard from behind him, suddenly. "You're slimy... in patches!"

"TinTin!" Gordon roared, whirling to face the sound. "What're you doing out here!"

"Checking on YOU! We've been waiting almost half and hour for the go-ahead, and we got worried! Brains thought I'd be the one least likely to get my jaw broken, in case you were still, um..."

"I get the picture. Thanks. I'm fine. I don't need any help. So if you'll just..."

Exasperated, the girl put her fists on her hips, saying,

"At this rate, you'll be all month! Let me help!"

"NO!"

"I won't look, or at least, if you turn around, you can pretend you don't know that I'm here."

"How can I...! That's the bloody stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

"No... stupid is refusing help when Scott and Virgil are running out of time! Now, quit whining and turn around!"

She had him there. Reluctantly, Gordon did as he was told, wishing himself a thousand miles away. Thankfully, TinTin was efficient, and unembarrassed. Limiting her comments ("This stuff is REALLY disgusting! I've lost my appetite until my senior year in COLLEGE!" And "My hands are burning! What's in this gunk!") she got the job done in under five minutes. "There! As for the rest..."

He leapt sideways, nervous as a cat.

"I'll handle what's left, thanks! Just... um, go over there and fetch my gear, won't you?"

TinTin stepped over to the trees, walking very slowly, and picked up the dive bag, or tried to. It was far heavier than it looked. She ended up wrestling it over to Gordon in short heaves, with a maximum of grunting and muttered complaints.

Gordon took the bag from her a few minutes later, oozing through the snow like some polar swamp-thing.

"I feel like I've been excreted...," he said, plaintively.

"Well," TinTin ventured searching for the upside, "you look...uh, green." He also looked cold, shivering violently as she helped him into his wetsuit. Next came the dive knife, signal light, buoyancy control vest, waterproof storage case, weight belt and re-breather. Fins and mask, he carried, meaning to put them on in the water.

"Alright, now?" TinTin asked him.

"Yeah. Good t' go, Angel. Thanks."

Leaning forward, she planted a little kiss on his cheek, saying, "Good luck, then, Gordon. Bring back the gold... or, in this case, the brothers."

"Right. See you at the other end. Take care."

Moments later he was in the river, moving with the silent grace of a shark through black, frigid water. TinTin blew a last kiss in his presumed direction, then hurried back to the humvee.

In the morning, Cindy faced a dilemma. There was just enough light to see and sneak off by, but it was clear that while she might succeed in getting away, Scott was still too weak to travel.

He'd been fiddling with his broken watch all morning, too, seeming really dejected at not knowing the exact time. Fever must have gotten to him, she decided, more than a little concerned.

"You know what?" She told the pilot, over a cold breakfast of chicken noodle soup, oreo cookies and melted snow, "I don't think it's such a good idea to try walking out of here, now. We'll leave obvious tracks, we might get caught outside by a blizzard or by nightfall.. It's too dangerous. Maybe we should use the last of the battery and try to make a call."

"No good," Scott muttered. "They'll be monitoring the airwaves, follow the signal right to us." Frowning, he tapped on the watch again. "What's wrong with this stupid thing! I know it's cracked, but still it oughta at least get..."

"Scott? This obsession with the time? It's unhealthy. Let it go, please, and try to focus?"

Definitely, he was losing it. Cindy knew she ought to go. She had a pretty fair chance of escaping with her life if she left now, but... he didn't. Flatly, if she took off, Scott was as good as dead. Someone would notice her tracks, follow them back to the van, and find there a badly wounded, touched-in-the-head Thunderbird pilot. Or, if he tried to come with her, the exertion would start him bleeding again, he'd collapse in the snow and die. And... truthfully... Cindy found that she just didn't want to leave him, crazy or not.

"Here, Scott; why don't you look at this, instead!" She said brightly, reaching into one of her coverall pockets to pull out a gold charm bracelet. "It's shiny, too. And look, there's even a little clock!"

He left off fretting over the watch to glance over at what she was holding.

"Uh-huh. Very pretty. And... full of dangly things. Virgil would have a fishing-lure field day. What's it for?"

"It's a bracelet," she replied, still trying to distract him, and more than half concerned that he might decide to set off in search of a new watch. "I don't wear it during broadcasts; too noisy. Every one of the charms stands for something important, though, so I always keep it close."

Explaining the significance of each and every charm, she was able to keep Scott occupied for a good fifteen minutes. Finally, edgy, impatient, and utterly baffled by her behavior, he said,

"Look, I can explain about the watch, but what's the deal with this bracelet you keep waving at me?"

"You, first," she responded cautiously. So, Scott broke his second major rule that morning, describing in detail the wrist comm's purpose and capabilities to an outsider. Against procedure, but it was that or have her go on thinking he'd popped his cork. When he'd finished, Cindy remained skeptical. After all, it still looked like a big Rolex with a cracked face to her, but she was willing to extend him a little sanity credit, anyway. Now for the other mystery.

"Right, then. So, what about the bracelet? What's it for, really?"

"Um, it's jewelry. It looks pretty."

"That's it?" He asked, disbelievingly. "That's all it does? No gadgets? Scanners? Weapons? Nothing?"

Cindy shook her head.

"Why bother, then? What good 're a bunch of shiny, dangly things that don't even shoot?"

Cindy was about to snap off a heated reply when the sudden, distinct sound of boots crunching through snow stopped her cold. Someone was coming. She and Scott whipped 'round to face the noise, then glanced back at each other. All at once grim-faced and calm, he forced himself to his feet, pushed Cindy behind him, and drew his weapon.