Did you find the hidden references in the last chapter?

Did you email your answers through to turton-tracyathotmail .com?

See how you go with this one.

Two: Double Trouble

"Penny!"

Lady Penelope turned when she heard her name. "Bucky! Why are you here?" Both women embraced, Carole Hampton, a.k.a. Bucky, giving an exaggerated, Hollywood style kiss.

"Shhh. No one uses that name now, Penny. Except very OLD friends!"

"If I'm old, then I'm too old to change my ways," Lady Penelope rejoined. "I can't begin to think of you as anyone else, Becky Hampton… Especially as, Carole Hampton, the glamorous Hollywood star."

Lady Penelope's old school friend was tall, blonde, and showed no hint of the dental 'defect' that had earned her her nickname. A popular movie actress; she was wearing little makeup, had tied her hair back under a scarf and was wearing thick spectacles, all of which offered her a modicum of anonymity. She was also overly enthusiastic about everything she did. "I couldn't wait to see you, so I got Chip to run me over," she indicated a handsome, well-built man, wearing a Stetson, who was signing autographs for dozens of goggle-eyed teenagers. "How was the flight?"

"Boringly uneventful," Lady Penelope said.

"What? No hijackings or bombs?" Carole asked. "You must have found it deadly dull. Is your man with you?"

"Do you mean Parker? He's retrieving the Rolls Royce from the hold of the Fireflash. He always worries that someone may leave their fingerprints on the paint work."

"Is it still that garish pink colour? You must tell me everything you've been doing these last few years. Let's sit down in the lounge, Chip's going to be simply hours."

"So is Mr Harrison the new man in your life?" Lady Penelope asked rhetorically.

Carole sighed. "He's wonderful! Everything a girl could want. Tall, dark, handsome, and with a career that's heading into the stratosphere. I'm hoping he'll take me along for the ride."

"Your career seems to be progressing quite nicely on its own, Becky dear," Lady Penelope said. "I'm forever seeing your face on the cover of one publication or another."

"Isn't that a hoot," Carole giggled. "My mother has scrapbooks devoted to my career… Which reminds me, if my autobiographer calls on you…"

"Don't you mean biographer?" Lady Penelope corrected.

"No. Maurice is my autobiographer. You see I'm writing my autobiography. I'm going to be terribly witty, and charming and provocative… at least Maurice tells me I will be when he's finished writing it. I'm going to tell all about how I was shunned by English High Society, and left Old Blighty to seek fame and fortune in America. A poor starving waif with nothing to my name…"

"Apart from a title and several million pounds," Lady Penelope commented dryly.

"Shh. That's a secret," Carole said in a dramatic fashion and laughed.

"Becky? Why are 'you' writing these lies?"

"Maurice tells me they will sell. I'm already a star here so the Americans will read the book and believe every word of it. The Brits will read it and write angry letters to the tabloids about how it's not true. Either way I'll get publicity and the book will sell like hot cakes…" Carole gave one of her famous, disarming smiles. "Anyway, as I was saying, when Maurice comes to call he'll ask you for some photos of me as a child, and since all my childhood photos were lost when the family home was tragically destroyed in the fire…"

"Bucky!" Lady Penelope scolded. "The Hampton homestead is still standing."

Carole Hampton continued on as if she hadn't heard the admonishment, "…and I know you'll want to help him, so please be a dear and tell him you don't have any?"

"I have that one of you at the masquerade ball," Lady Penelope offered. "You can't see your face at all." She appraised her friend's features. "Your, er, 'new' nose suits you."

"Thank you. The old one was rather… shall we say prominent? I met this charming surgeon who…" Carole's attention wavered.

Well used to her friend's sudden changes in concentration, Lady Penelope waited patiently. Then she realised that Carole was listening to a rather interesting radio report.

"Sorry, Penny dear," Carole eventually apologised. "I heard them mention International Rescue and I simply had to listen to what was happening."

"Did I hear correctly? Are they are up in the Arctic?" Lady Penelope queried.

Carole nodded. "Some scientists have got stuck under the ice or something. Have I told you about my latest role?"

Lady Penelope shook her head.

"Do you remember when the Thompson Tower burnt down, and that family was trapped?"

"It is not something that one is likely to forget," Lady Penelope reminded her friend. "One of the tallest buildings in the world, destroyed by fire days after it was opened. The world's media were filled with nothing else for weeks!"

"They are making a movie about it, mainly about that family that was trapped. And I am playing the mother, Blanche Carter," Carole said proudly. "That's how I met Chip. He's playing one of the International Rescue men." She looked over to where the actor was swamped by fans of all ages. "You know how I like to research each role I get…"

Lady Penelope nodded. It was well documented that Carole Hampton would always research a role to death. On one famous occasion, when Carole had been playing a doctor, a member of the crew had complained of abdominal pains. Carole's diagnosis had been appendicitis. It was in fact indigestion, but the poor man had been so unnerved by Carole's assured manner and demands that he seek help, that he'd driven himself at speed to his real doctor, crashing his car on the way and ensuring a genuine stay in hospital.

"…That's why I had to listen to that radio story," Carole continued on. "I'm simply absorbing every piece of information about International Rescue that I can find."

"You could always talk to Deborah," Lady Penelope suggested. "I believe she had the misfortune to require their services."

"Really! I must give the dear woman a call."

"Tell me, Becky, how did you get the role?" Lady Penelope asked.

"Oh, it was easy. When I told them I was there when it all happened and had met those dashing men from International Rescue…"

"And had you?"

"Had I what?"

"Met 'those dashing men from International Rescue'?"

"Well…" Carole Hampton gave Lady Penelope a sideways grin. "I was there, opening one of the shops when the building caught fire, and I had to be evacuated, which was terribly exciting. So I didn't lie about that…"

"And meeting International Rescue?" Lady Penelope pressed.

Carole looked sheepish. "I heard their aeroplanes fly overhead," she admitted.

"Becky!" Lady Penelope admonished again.

"What! In this world you do what you can to get what you want, and I wanted that role. The problem with you, Penny, is that you don't get out of your social circle. What happened to that feisty girl I was at school with? The one who rode her pink motor scooter into the school hall one morning during assembly, and drove right round the hall and out again before any of the staff could catch her?"

"I don't feel the need to lie about meeting International Rescue," Lady Penelope told her.

"But wouldn't you like to meet one of them? I would! In fact I know so much about them that I would guarantee that if a man from International Rescue, in disguise, were to stand beside me I would know straight away who he was. He wouldn't be able to hide from me!"

Parker chose that moment to arrive. He doffed his cap differentially. "M'lady."

Carole didn't notice. With only a glance at the chauffeur she continued on with her recitation. "One look and bam! I'd be thinking, 'I know who you are, Mister'. And it would be bye-bye Chip. Who'd want a celluloid hero when you could have the real thing? I'd make Mister International Rescue sweep me up in his big strong arms and carry me away to wherever it is they hide out!"

It took all of Lady Penelope's self control to not burst out laughing as she said, "And you think you would recognise one of the International Rescue men as soon as you saw him?"

"Of course," Carole said confidently.

Lady Penelope managed to conceal her amusement at the irony of the situation, which was even funnier as her friend was totally unaware of it. "Parker. Er, this is Miss Hampton."

"Ma'am," Parker said.

"Parker," Carole acknowledged.

Parker turned back to his mistress. "Beggin' your pardon, M'lady, but the car h-is ready."

"Is all well?" Lady Penelope enquired.

"Yes, M'lady. The Rolls Royce 'as sustained no damage on the flight h-over."

"Perhaps you will lead the way," Lady Penelope suggested. "Miss Hampton will want to ask Mr Harrison to join us."

"Of course, M'lady." Parker began walking out of the lounge.

Carole giggled. "He sounds a character. Is he as much fun as old Jenkins?"

"More so," Lady Penelope admitted. "He has one of two little tricks up his sleeve that Jenkins would never dream attempting."

"Chip!" Carole called.

Chip Harrison returned the piece of paper he'd been signing, along with the owner's pen, and strode over to catch up with the two women. "Yeah, Honey," he drawled.

"Chip, this is my friend, Lady Penelope. Penny, this is Chip Harrison."

Chip Harrison seemed quite unconcerned as a posse of teenagers tagged along after the little group. "How do, Lady P."

Lady Penelope disliked her name being shortened in that way by strangers; nevertheless she remained polite. "Ah... Very well thank you, Mr Harrison."

"Glad to hear it. Carole here has been tellin' me all kinds of stories about what you two got up to at school."

"Indeed," Lady Penelope said as some over zealous teenager pushed her in the back. "I should take whatever Bec… ah… Carole says with a grain of salt, Mr Harrison. Shall we go? I should like to freshen up after my flight."

"Sure thing," Chip drawled. "Let's mosey." He gave a winning smile and a wave to his fans and swaggered to the door, followed by Carole and Lady Penelope.

The man who'd been reading the paper on Lady Penelope's flight watched their departure closely…

All was silent.

All was still.

The snowstorm stopped.

Virgil, amazed that they were still in one piece, forced his fingers to let go of the control yoke. That task successfully completed he turned to check on Gordon and John. They were white and green respectively.

"You all right?" Virgil tried to say, but it came out in a squeak. He cleared his throat and managed a more normal, "Are you both okay?"

John nodded slowly as Gordon found his voice, which wasn't quite steady. "Yeah… What happened?"

"I don't know…"

"Calling, Thunderbird Two. Come in, Thunderbird Two!" They could hear what might pass for panic in Scott's voice.

"Well, at least communications are still functional… This is Thunderbird Two," Virgil acknowledged. "We're okay, Scott. A little shaken, but okay."

"Thank heavens." He could see relief on Scott's face. "What the heck happened, Virgil? One minute I had you losing height on my radar screen and the next you're breaking up into three pieces."

"Breaking up into three pieces?" Virgil echoed in amazement, as Gordon and John leapt out of their seats so they could see Scott on the telelink.

"What does the instrumentation say?" Gordon asked.

Virgil cast his eye over the control panel. "I'm getting no readings from the pod back."

"So we could have lost the pod," John hypothesised.

Gordon had managed to get much of his colour back, but now blanched again. "What about Thunderbird Four?" he asked faintly.

"Had you secured it?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, ah, I think so… yeah I had."

"What was your height when you lost control?" Scott asked.

"Approximately 500 metres," Virgil told him.

"If it can survive a drop into the ocean, there's a good chance it survived a landing into a snow bank." John's attempt to comfort Gordon didn't have the desired effect.

Another voice came out of Thunderbird One's radio. "Scott!" Alan sounded anxious. "What's happened? Thunderbird Two's emergency locator beacon has been activated."

"They're okay, Alan," Scott reassured his youngest brother. "Thunderbird Two's down though."

"What happened?" Alan repeated.

"We don't know. Thunderbird Two just broke into three pieces."

"And you're sure everyone's okay?"

"We're fine, Alan!" Virgil cut in. "All three of us."

"Do you want me to let base know?" Alan asked.

"Yeah, you'd better. See if Brains has any suggestion as to what happened." Suddenly Scott let out a long low whistle. "Boy… look at that!"

"What!" He received simultaneous communications from both Thunderbirds Two and Five.

"Thunderbird Two's tail section. It's sticking out of the snow like a couple of chimneys. The left one's still firing… no, it's stopped now. I'm not getting any radiation readings so the reactor's still intact."

"Any sign of the pod?" Gordon asked anxiously.

"Negative. It's probably the section that I'm getting a reading on a couple of k's nor-west of here. I'll swing over and check it out… Hey, Virg…" Scott added as an afterthought. "…I'm getting pictures. Want to see them?"

"No thanks," Virgil sounded dour. "I'll wait 'til we get home."

"I'm not going to wait," Alan said impatiently. "Send them up here and I'll transmit them on to base. It'll give Brains something to work from."

"Okay," Scott acknowledged. "I'll see what else I can find." There was silence for a moment as he cruised across the white landscape. "There's bits everywhere… Okay, there's a wing… I'm over the pod now." Gordon waited impatiently for any reports of damage. "Boy, that's got to be the biggest igloo I've ever seen! It's totally covered in snow. Guess the antifreeze system isn't working. Looks as though it's landed the right way up."

"How is it, Scott?" Gordon pressed.

"I can't see any signs of damage."

Gordon was not reassured.

"Right…" Scott continued on his tour of the debris field that marked the remains of Thunderbird Two. "There's the other wing – looks to be the right one… I've got a visual on the front section. Everything from the pod back has gone. Looks as though you've still got structural integrity though. Great bit of flying, Virg, you managed to land in the biggest mound of snow between here and the North Pole. It probably saved your lives."

Virgil said nothing. He couldn't claim the credit for landing safely. It had been luck, pure luck.

"So can you come and pick us up?" John asked.

Scott glanced at the weather gauges on Thunderbird One. "No. There's no way I could land in this wind."

"So what are we going to do?" Gordon asked a trifle impatiently.

"I'll fly home and get the Mark II, and use it to pick up both the pod and you guys. I'll be back within three hours…"

But Virgil was shaking his head. "The Mark II's not ready, Scott. Brains hasn't programmed the guidance and weather computers yet. You'd never make it back here safely."

"How long will it take for him to do the programming?"

"Well... If he's been working on it while we've been on this rescue, it shouldn't take him long. Maybe four hours, depending on how the debugging goes."

"Okay, so I'll be back in just over six hours…"

But Virgil was still shaking his head. "You won't be able to, Scott. The Mark II hasn't been painted yet…"

Gordon had heard enough. "Oh for Pete's sake, Virgil! Is that all you're worried about? I swear sometimes that you've got oil paint in your veins. Scott - if Virgil wants to stay here in his precious, broken Thunderbird Two just because he doesn't like the Mark II's paint job, fine! Me – I want to get home, get a little sun, and check out Thunderbird Four. And I'm sure John's the same."

"That's not what I mean, Gordon!" More than a little anger was evident in Virgil's voice. "You know full well what our paint is capable of. Without it the friction will slow down any trip by at least 10 percent. That's on top of the resistance that the Mark II will experience flying without a pod. AND…" he shook his finger at Gordon for emphasis, "that paint also protects our sensors. In these conditions they'll be damaged before we even get the Mark II in full commission."

Gordon had the famous temperament often attributed to redheads. "Don't preach to me, Virgil Tracy! I know as well as you what our equipment is capable of, and if our sensors can't stand a little snow…"

"Guys, guys!" John said soothingly. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" Gordon yelled. "I have no idea what state Thunderbird Four is in and you are asking me to calm down? At least Virgil has the luxury of knowing that Thunderbird Two is history!"

Scott attempted to diffuse the situation. "Gordon – Virgil – Before you say anything else; count to ten!"

He was ignored by his brothers.

"Luxury!" Virgil yelled, jumping to his feet. "We were nearly killed! We don't know why! Thunderbird Two's in pieces! International Rescue is temporarily out of action! And you call that a luxury? Are you nuts?"

"Guys, we're alive," John said. "Nothing else matters."

He received a twin chorus of, "Shut up, John," from his younger brothers.

"D'you think that Thunderbird Two is the only craft in the International Rescue fleet capable of doing anything useful? Well let me tell you…" Gordon seemed about to continue on his rampage when a totally unexpected voice interrupted him.

"Boys! What's going on?"

All three of them looked back at the video radio link.

Their father's face was frowning at them. "Sounds like you were having an argument."

"Ah, just a discussion, Sir," Virgil said meekly.

"Yeah on the merits of International Rescue's paint," Gordon added, with pointed emphasis.

Back on Thunderbird One, Scott deactivated his links with Thunderbird Two and home, and contacted Thunderbird Five. "That was a good idea, Alan, getting Father to diffuse the situation."

"Yeah, well it sounded like it was getting out of hand. I didn't want them killing each other after surviving the crash."

Scott grinned. Every now and then his youngest brother would surprise him by actually coming up with a good idea.

"That car of yours is a monster, Penny," Carole commented as Chip went to get his vehicle. "I don't know why you don't get something nippier. Trade it in for an Aston Martin or something."

"FAB1 serves my purposes," Lady Penelope informed her. "There are some little luxuries that only the Rolls Royce can provide. I do like to arrive at a destination fully refreshed."

There was a toot and a red Ferrari convertible pulled up behind the shocking pink Rolls Royce. Chip grinned and reached across the passenger seat to push open the door. "You comin' with us, Lady P?"

It was being referred to as 'Lady P' by this loud American, as much as anything, that caused Lady Penelope to decline his invitation. "Thank you, Mr Harrison, but I am afraid that my hair would not survive a trip in your car. Marcel would not be impressed to know that I had ruined his latest masterpiece. I will travel in the Rolls Royce and we will follow you."

Chip seemed unfazed by the rejection. "Sure thing, Lady P... Hop in, Sweetheart," he said to Carole.

"Isn't he just so masterful," Carole gushed, and slid into the seat beside her beau. "See you up at the house, Penny."

"Masterful?" Lady Penelope mused under her breath as the convertible slipped into the traffic. "I have no doubts that he is full of something, but of what I am not sure… Thank you, Parker," she acknowledged as he assisted her into her car.

Parker had almost claimed his seat when someone else jumped into the back seat beside Lady Penelope. "'Ere! Wot's your game!" the cockney demanded.

It was the man with the luxurious eyebrows and moustache who'd been reading the newspaper on the plane. "You will take me to where I want to go," he said. His tone made it clear that he considered it to be an order and not a request.

"I wasn't aware that we were picking up hitch-hikers, Parker," Lady Penelope said calmly.

"We're not. So h-if you wouldn't mind…" Parker turned in his seat to confront the man… and froze.

The stranger had removed a gun from his pocket. He pointed it at the chauffeur. "Start driving… Parker."

Lady Penelope reacted as if she were being held captive by nothing more dangerous than a water pistol. "Dear me... I do hope that thing isn't loaded. I simply can't bear loud noises."

"It is loaded and it is ready to fire," the stranger informed her. "Now instruct your man to drive on."

"I detest guns." Lady Penelope explained, fiddling with her bracelet. "They tend to make such an awful mess of one's surroundings."

The stranger knocked her hand away from her wrist. "Forget your tricks!" he ordered. "They won't work this time, My Lady, for I am more powerful than your toys!"

"Toys? What to…?" Lady Penelope found herself memorised by the stranger's eyes, which had taken on an eerie glow. "Such… fac…in…ate…ing…"

Lady Penelope's mind was strong, and she fought against the man's hypnotic stare. But even her cast iron will was not enough to defeat him. She slumped back against the Rolls Royce's leather seats.

"M'lady!" Parker attempted to clamber back over his seat to assist his mistress, but stopped when he felt the gun press into his chest. "Wot 'ave you done to 'er?" he demanded. "'Oo are you!"

"She merely sleeps," he was informed. "As for my name; that is not important. There are those who know me only as 'The Hood' and that is all you need to know. Now you will do as I say and your lady may live. You will drive west."

Parker stared the gun down. "No!" he said stubbornly. "H-And you can't shoot me, 'cause you'll never be able to drive this car yerself. I'm the only one who can start h-it!"

The Hood thought for only the briefest of moments. "Very well," he acknowledged with an evil smile. "In that case, since you are so fond of this car," the gun swung back and rested against Lady Penelope's temple, "I am sure you would rather not have to clean these elegant seats. It would be a shame if I were to make a mess. And so easy to do…"

Parker swallowed as he heard a sound not dissimilar to the cocking of a gun. He turned back in the driver's seat and, without a word, started the engine.

There was a knock on the gull-wing canopy. "Penny!" Carole Hampton called. "I forgot to tell you about the road works on…" She saw the gun but had no time to react. She swayed as The Hood's hypnotic gaze took effect and crumpled to the ground.

"Weak!" The Hood sneered and prodded Parker in the back with the gun to force him to pull the car out of the car park. "Unlike your lady here…" he turned his attention to the unconscious woman beside him and ran a strand of her blonde hair between his fingers. "She is unusual. She is of a stronger makeup than others of her kind…"

"Don't you touch 'er," Parker snarled.

The Hood laughed. "Such touching devotion. And so wasted. Do you think she would be as loyal to you as you are to her, my friend? To her you are nothing but a servant. A common slave. Drive on!"

"She's not like that," Parker protested.

The gun swung back in his direction. "I said 'drive on'!" The Hood reminded him before turning his attention back to Lady Penelope, once again touching her hair. "I would like to know more about this lady. She could be of use to me…"

Parker felt a shiver of fear crawl up his spine.

John sighed. He looked at Gordon. The redheaded Tracy was staring out the window, arms crossed in anger. "Any change in the weather, Gordon?"

No reply.

John looked over to where Virgil was still seated in his pilot's seat. All he could make out was some chestnut coloured hair, poking up from behind the high-backed chair. "What's the weather forecast, Virgil?"

The reply was blunt. "No change."

John sighed again. If it was cold outside, the atmosphere in here was downright chilly. They'd been sitting for at least an hour and neither of his brothers had said more than two words.

John decided to do something about it. "You know, it's not very often that the three of us have some time to just chat."

By the silence that greeted his announcement it sounded as though this wasn't going to be one of those times either.

"I'm usually stuck up in Thunderbird Five…"

Not a murmur.

"You're back on Tracy Island, or out on a rescue…"

The snow fluttered against the windows.

"And when I am at home we're always too busy doing other things."

There was a quiet drone from some bit of equipment.

"Now would be a good time to just chew the fat…"

Something beeped on the control panel.

"…and talk. Just the three of us. You know, as brothers."

Virgil levered himself out of his seat and left the flight deck.

'Well, that didn't work,' John thought, and sighed again.

"For Pete's sake, John. Will you cut out the heavy breathing?" Gordon said irritably. "You've been doing nothing else for the last hour."

"What else is there to do?" John asked. "You two aren't exactly a barrel of laughs. I'm the only one talking and most of the time that seems to be to myself. I'm beginning to think that the only person who wants to talk to me, is me."

"Well at least you're not pining for Thunderbird Five."

"Be fair. You'd be the same as Virgil if we were going to de-commission Thunderbird Four. And look at the way you're carrying on! For all we know Thunderbird Four could be perfectly all right and you've been worrying yourself into a lather over nothing. As soon as Scott gets back in the Mark II, he'll pick up the pod, then us, and you'll be able to see for yourself that Four is okay."

Gordon pouted as he mulled over his brother's words. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right! In the meantime, how about cutting Virgil some slack? You know how he feels about Thunderbird Two. It must be killing him seeing her like this."

"Okay…" Gordon's sentence was cut off by the sound of the door to the cabin opening.

Virgil came in carrying three mugs of coffee. He handed one to John. "It's always easier to talk over a warm drink," he explained, before tentatively holding one out to Gordon.

Gordon took the proffered drink with a small smile. "Thanks, Virg. Nothing like a warm cup of coffee on a cold day to make you feel better."

"Except maybe a cup of hot chocolate," Virgil said with a smile of his own. "But I'm afraid this café can't oblige."

Gordon sipped his coffee. "This'll do."

Virgil turned back to his seat. He took a mouthful of coffee and looked at the back of the pilot's seat, then, setting his mug on the delicate instruments of the control panel, disappeared back out through the door again.

"Where's he gone to this time?" Gordon asked.

"Maybe he's got some chocolate biscuits hidden somewhere."

"You know, if either of us left our coffee there, he'd have a fit."

"Guess he's realised that he'll never fly her again."

Virgil came back in, carrying an array of tools. He disappeared behind the pilot's chair. Soon John and Gordon could hear the sounds of bolts being undone and a small laser being put to use.

John looked at Gordon with a questioning expression.

Gordon shrugged. "What are you up to, Virg?"

Somewhat abashed, Virgil's head popped up from behind the pilot's seat. "I'm, ah, getting a souvenir." He walked out from behind the seat, carrying the control yoke. He carried it over to his survival pack and strapped it on firmly. He then returned to his seat and undid the two rear bolts that attached it to the floor of the cabin. He swung the whole unit around so that it was facing his two bemused brothers and then re-bolted it in position, before finally reclaiming his coffee and sitting down.

"Comfortable?" Gordon asked.

Virgil smiled. "It'll do." He stretched out his legs. "So John, what do you want to talk about?"

"I dunno…"

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two."

Virgil found the one drawback to having turned his seat around. He knelt on it and looked over the backrest. "Go ahead, Scott."

Scott paused. "What the heck have you done to your seat?"

"Made it more comfortable… Where are you?"

"Just coming in to land on Mateo Island now. Brains and Tin-Tin have made a start on the computer. He thinks he can get it programmed within two hours. In the meantime Tin-Tin and I are going to give the Mark II a base coat of paint. It won't be pretty, but it'll be functional. It should be dry within four hours." Scott paused again. "Ah, how's things going?"

Virgil glanced at Gordon. "Well, we haven't killed each other yet…"

To Parker, the next hour seemed to last for days. He continuously kept checking the monitor trained on the rear seat of the car to see if Lady Penelope showed any signs of wakening, or if the goon was attempting to do more to her than just look. He was disappointed to see that she still slept and relieved that the Hood seemed to have forgotten his preoccupation with her ladyship.

Although FAB1 was equipped with a number of devices designed to combat such a situation, Parker was wary of using them. While Lady Penelope was mysteriously unconscious, he did not wish to endanger her health in any way, so he decided that the best course of action was to bide his time until she awoke.

They were in the desert now and travelling down a road that seemed to be never-ending. Around them only rocks and cacti broke up the view of the hot and dusty landscape. The car's air conditioning was working efficiently, but even so Parker was aware of the sweat that lingered on his brow and top lip. It wasn't perspiration caused by heat; it was the only external manifestation of the concern that was gnawing at his insides.

"Stop here!" The voice from the rear of the car startled him and he jammed on the brakes, hearing the sound of two bodies slither on the back seat. "Fool!" The Hood spat.

"Well, you said stop!" Parker responded. He checked the monitor again. His mistress would have slipped off her leather seat if she hadn't been securely held by her safety belt. "Where are we?"

"Where we are is not of your concern." The Hood had an electronic box in his hands and was pushing a multitude of buttons. "Drive towards the cliff on your right."

"But there's nothin' there!"

"I said drive!"

Parker decided that it was better to humour the man. He turned the Rolls Royce off the road and bumped the car across the uneven surface that was the desert sands. "'Ow far?"

"Until I tell you to stop," The Hood snarled.

"Okay, okay, keep yer 'air on," Parker muttered under his breath. They were drawing close to the wall of the cliff. "Now where?"

"Keep driving."

"Which way?"

The Hood's tone showed that he would not stand for any arguments. "Straight ahead!"

Parker decided to argue anyway. "Straight ahead! There's a blimmin' rock wall straight ahead! 'Ow am I supposed to…!" His jaw dropped as the wall of the cliff opened outwards. "Strike me!"

"If you don't obey me I will. Drive in!"

Powerless to do otherwise, Parker obeyed, driving forward into an unlit bunker. As the door behind them closed, an oppressive darkness surrounded the car before the sudden beam from a spotlight lit up the occupants of the Rolls Royce, forcing Parker to shield his eyes from the glare.

"Get out and stand with your hands against the car," The Hood ordered. "Wait until I tell you to move. And beware that you do not try anything. You are being watched at all times."

Deciding that it was safer to comply, Parker climbed out of the car. He surreptitiously looked around to see if he could spot any of The Hood's assistants, but the darkness beyond the spotlight hid its secrets well. He watched as the other man vacated his seat and strode around to Lady Penelope's side of the car, but when The Hood reached inside Parker knew he had to act. "Stop!"

The Hood straightened and glared at the chauffeur. "You are living dangerously, my friend. You would do well to keep your silence."

"Let me carry 'er," Parker demanded, determined not to let that man's large hands touch his employer's slender frame.

The Hood glared at him and then nodded slowly. "Very well, but be aware that I will be following and I am armed. Try anything and both you and your lady will die."

'Nice feller,' Parker thought sarcastically as he reached into the car and with gentle care pulled at Lady Penelope. He lifted her so she was draped over his shoulder and straightened with a little difficulty. "Now where do you want h-us to go?"

"That way," The Hood gestured with his gun towards a poorly lit hallway. "I will follow."

Parker began walking…

"I've been thinking," John said

The inevitable "That's dangerous" came from Gordon.

John ignored him. "Do you realise that the last time I was involved in a rescue was that time that we saved the crew of the 'Ocean Pioneer II'."

Gordon was chuckling to himself. "Who would've thought that dog food was so explosive?"

John continued on. "It was certainly the last time I risked my neck on a rescue. This time all I was, was the winch operator. There was nothing dangerous, if you don't count crashing into the North Pole."

"You still did an important job," Virgil reminded him.

"Yeah, I know. But sometimes I feel that my role in International Rescue is the easy one. That it would make more sense if we were to automate Thunderbird Five. It would give us more man power on assignments."

"But we need you up in Thunderbird Five," Gordon told him. "We need someone on the spot who's able to do quick repairs. And," he continued on, "you're our link with base, and it's good to have someone who's able to assess the situation without being directly involved and sidetracked by everything that's going on at the rescue zone."

"Not only that," Virgil added. "It's good having a human face to International Rescue. Take that time that Father, Brains and Tin-Tin went to check out the Pacific-Atlantic monotrain. Not an engineer on board and what a mess they got into, and all because there wasn't a human in charge."

"Yeah, and we ended up having to rescue them," Gordon added. "If it wasn't for the human touch, in the form of Brains, they all would have been killed."

John had a drink of his coffee. "You know, sometimes even I'm amazed with what we've managed to achieve. I've often sat up in Thunderbird Five and thought 'those people haven't got a snowball's chance in…'"

"Not a good metaphor at the present moment, John," Gordon grinned.

"Okay," John amended, "they're doomed. Then I think about the equipment we've got and I realise that, because of International Rescue, just maybe 'these people' can be saved."

"Because of Brains!" Virgil reminded him. "If it wasn't for him there wouldn't be an International Rescue."

"And us!" Gordon added. "We have to have the skills to be able to drive the things… Even if Virgil will persist in flying into snow banks…"

"And your skill," Virgil ignored Gordon's last remark, "is being able to ascertain the situation and then to let us know what that situation is clearly and succinctly."

"While keeping the person at the danger zone calm," Gordon finished.

There was a moment of silence.

Gordon broke it with a hypothetical question. "What would the world have been like if Brains had decided to become an evil genius?"

"That doesn't bear thinking about," John grimaced.

"I don't know what the world would be like," Virgil said as he stretched. "But I do know that I'm glad that he's a mild mannered man whose main goal in life is to build amazing craft capable of saving peoples lives."

"He wasn't that mild mannered when Dad tried to get him to build a Thunderbird Six," Gordon remembered. "He was only just keeping his temper until he got back to his lab."

"It's not even as if Father knew what he wanted in a new Thunderbird," Virgil said. "I thought he should have let Brains go on 'Skyship One's' maiden voyage. The break away from the island might have got the creative juices flowing."

"True," John agreed. "But as they say every cloud has a silver lining. At least he wasn't hijacked with the others."

"Amazing, wasn't it?" Gordon said thoughtfully. "There we were, possessors of the most advanced equipment in the 21st Century, and we had to rely on a Tiger Moth bi-plane to rescue them."

"When I heard we were going to call it Thunderbird Six, I thought it was a joke," John said. "But I see it's still got its name."

"I reckon we should change its colour," Gordon said. "We can't have two Thunderbirds painted yellow."

"We could always repaint Thunderbird Four," John suggested.

"No way! Grey, red & blue's out, that's Thunderbird One. Green's Two, orange is Three, Five is grey."

"Stardust silver and gold if you don't mind."

"Pink!" Gordon said with a grin.

"I don't think Lady Penelope would be too impressed," John noted. "Purple?" he suggested looking at his own sash.

"We could always paint the Mark II blue and make Thunderbird Six green. What do you think, Virgil? You're the artist... Virgil? What's wrong?"

Virgil's attention had been caught by an instrument on the control panel. A temperature gauge was rising alarmingly and he stood so that he could get a better look at his instruments. Punching a few buttons on the onboard computer brought up a schematics diagram of Thunderbird Two. One area was glowing red. The computer zoomed in. It was in an area a few metres below their cabin. "Fellas," he said quietly. "We've got a problem."

Both John and Gordon were on their feet looking at the monitor. "What is it?" John asked. "Fire?"

Virgil nodded. "Looks as though one of the thermalene cylinders has ruptured. The gas has permeated throughout the lower compartments…" as they watched the red glow expanded in size. "Get your thermal gear on. We're going to have to evacuate."

"Evacuate!" John hesitated. "If we go out into that cold we'll be frozen within 20 minutes!"

"And if we stay here, and the other thermalene cylinders catch fire, we'll be cooked within two seconds!" Virgil's words spurred his brothers into action.

While Gordon and John hustled into their winter wardrobe, Virgil tried unsuccessfully to raise Thunderbird Five. "Alan! Can you hear me? Come in Thunderbird Five!" He pounded the control panel in annoyance. "The fire must have damaged the communications systems."

John held out Virgil's thermal suit. "Here, put this on and I'll try to reach base." He made some adjustments. "Thunderbird Two to International Rescue. Thunderbird Two to International Rescue. Come in International Rescue."

"Anything?" Fully rigged out in his thermal clothing, Gordon threw his sash over the back of one of the passenger seats as he looked over John's shoulder.

John shook his head. "Nothing. Guess it's time to leave." He turned to face back into the cabin. "Right, Virgil?"

Virgil was standing in the middle of the flight deck of his beloved Thunderbird Two, looking about him, trying to burn its image into his memory. It was clear now that this was the last time that he would see it intact. He nodded, folded his sash carefully onto his pilot's seat, and ran his fingers over the seat's red leather one last time. He sighed. "Right, John. Let's go."

Before popping the emergency escape hatch, they briefly scanned the white landscape. There were no visible landmarks or anything that would offer any protection.

"When we hit the ground we start running, is that the plan?" Gordon asked.

"That's the plan." Virgil slammed his fist onto the button that blew the escape hatch out of Thunderbird Two. The temperature immediately dropped 65ºC and they instinctively turned away from the icy blast that bit into their faces, causing their eyes to water. They donned their protective masks as a slide inflated at their feet.

"Go, Gordon!" Virgil was pulling at the flight recorder that was housed just inside the escape hatch.

Wearing his survival pack Gordon jumped onto the slide and slid down to the frosty ground below. Urged on by Virgil, John followed behind closely.

Contrary to orders both brothers remained at the bottom of the slide to await Virgil.

"What's keeping him?" Gordon yelled above the roar of the wind.

"Dunno. He was getting the flight recorder out."

"He's not getting more souvenirs is he?"

"I…"

Virgil appeared at the top of the slide and tumbled down. He had the flight recorder held tightly in his hand. "C'mon! Run!" he yelled as he hit the bottom.

As one man, the three of them ploughed through the snow and ice, trying to get some distance between themselves and Thunderbird Two.

The remains of the great plane sat there placidly. There was no external evidence that she was now a ticking time bomb. The words "Thunderbird 2" were barely noticeable under the coating of ice that she now wore. Snow was already piling up on the escape slide and drifting into the hole that the Tracy men had just exited. The windows to the cabin started to frost up in intricate patterns that would never be found on a sun drenched Pacific island. Cups of coffee, deserted and forgotten, froze in their mugs. Red leather covered seats turned pink and then white. A layer of ice formed on the monitor screen until the schematic diagram was no longer visible. Only the ominous red glow of the fire warning, now a dull pink, showed through. It filled the hull…

Suddenly, obliterating the snow-white landscape, there was a blinding flash and a shockwave that shook the very ice cap itself…

How are you going so far? Did you manage to score all eleven points? Email your answers to turton-tracyathotmail .com (remembering to change the at to the appropriate symbol and removing the space before the .com) We are looking forward to seeing how you are getting on.