A bit of breaking and entering. Kindest thanks to all who have expressed ideas and opinions. Most questions, hopefully, will soon be resolved...

8

John's words... "When he gets around to explaining what's going on, I think you'll be proud to be a part of things..," and Virgil's boast about landing Thunderbird 2, came rushing back to him now, as Gordon stared at Alan.

International Rescue, a rogue organization operating well outside WorldGov's sanction (thumbing their nose at them, actually), was based on Tracy Island, under his very feet. The last time he'd received so electrifying a jolt, he'd qualified for the European Junior Men's Swim Team. Very much, Gordon wanted to learn more.

Alan pointed upward. Following the gesture, Gordon saw that the roof of their ventilation culvert sprouted the bottom few rungs of a metal ladder that disappeared into the shadows of a vertical maintenance shaft.

"That's the official way to get here," Alan confided, adding, "I've never gone up that way, myself, 'cause I'm not too sure where it comes out, and I'm not.., like, exactly on fire to get caught."

Turning back to the wall-mounted palm print scanner, his younger brother went on, clearly well pleased with himself.

"See..., if you were coming down here to oil the grate, or something, you'd need a way to open it, right?"

Gordon nodded, privately seething with impatience.

"Well, that's what the scanner's for. Now, I only come out this way during summer vacation, spring break, and Thanksgiving. Mom gets me through most of school, and Christmas... (Why does anybody get married, anyway? I mean..., what's the point?)." He shrugged, returning to the subject at hand. "Anyways, I'm not supposed to know all this is here, and I'm pretty sure I'm not in the admission files, but..."

For just an instant, Alan's round shoulders slumped a bit, and he looked rather crestfallen. Or, maybe it was wistful.

"... I betcha anything that you're in there already. All Brains 'd have to do is pick up a glass you set down, and scan it into the system. Bingo, you're legit, and the door opens."

Gordon, sensing his younger brother's shrugged-off hurt, chose to ask a question, rather than leap directly into the experiment. (Would it be better, he wondered, if the grate failed to open for him, and they were forced to try something else?)

"Who, or what, is 'Brains'?" He asked, buying a bit of think time.

"Skinny guy in a white lab coat," Alan responded, idly playing the flashlight about their feet. "Glasses, messy hair..., always looks like he just dropped his keys down the drain, or something."

"Y' mean, th' fellow who keeps slippin' off whenever I walk into a room?" Gordon whispered back. Like an evening shadow he'd seemed; thin, faint and elusive.

"Yeah, but it's nothing personal, man. Give him a couple of weeks, till you aren't new anymore, and he'll start talking to you."

"Right," Gordon smiled. "I'll set out bait, or somethin'." Then, as Alan seemed to have regained some of his confidence, "Just put my hand on th' scanner, shall I?"

"Yup." Alan grew serious again, and held out a loosely clenched fist. "Luck, man. If the alarms go off, we run like heck. Just follow me, and holler if you get stuck. I'll pry you loose some kinda way."

Gordon tapped his own fist to his younger brother's, saying, simply,

"Thanks."

Then, he turned and placed his left hand, palm outward, against the black glass face of the scanner.

The smooth surface grew warm from his fingertips down to the heel, as a thin bar of red light passed silently along his flattened palm. His skin tingled just a bit, while the device carefully catalogued every crease, fold and ridge. A small chime sounded. Then, on the scanner's tiny display screen, the words, 'Tracy, Gordon David' appeared. Alan had been exactly right.

The grating protecting Thunderbird 2 unlocked with the harsh, metallic thunk of a heavy bolt sliding out of its housing.

Gordon started to push it open, but changed his mind. After all, Alan had discovered all this. In Gordon's mind, at least, his brother more than deserved to be first. He stepped away, jerking a thumb at the unlocked grate.

"Why don't you have a go, then?"

Alan's sky-blue eyes widened gratefully.

"For real? Cool! Thanks, man." And he put a dimpled hand to the grating; gave it a slow, gentle shove.

Neither of them, though, had figured on the hangar's defenses.