Oops! Bit of an innumeracy/ continuity problem! Editing time, again...

5

The look on the faces of the trapped saboteurs kept returning to TinTin. She wasn't a mean-spirited girl, but their mingled shock, incredulity and bug-eyed horror had tickled her, just the same. Fire from the sky, a giant green UFO, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon 'd had quite an effect.

Gordon (an excellent shot, anyway, but downright outstanding with TinTin watching) had pistol-herded the five men into a tight group, then fired a gas grenade. Sixty seconds later, the mangrove-lined inlet with its crumbling boat slip resounded to the grunting snores of five lightly-toasted thugs.

"Is it safe to just leave them, do you think?" TinTin asked, as her friend climbed back into his Bird's interior, through the upper hatch. "What if they should wake?"

Gordon dropped to the deck, removing the dive mask he'd worn to disguise his features.

"Security forces 're on their way," he responded, accepting her brief hug. "And Scott's lasered th' hell out of their engines. They'd not get far, Angel, trust me."

TinTin nodded, stepping aside to let Gordon (fourth born, red-headed and... well, accident-prone) return to his seat. Following him, she leaned over the back of the chair to watch as he started up the little sub, and began backing her out of the swampy cove. Soon enough, they'd plunged below the weedy surface and were underway, at speeds that would have given the World Navy spitting fits.

"We're t' be picked up about two-hundred kilometers away, in open water," he confided, looking up at her, over one neoprene-clad shoulder. "I'll have t' go forward with th' others, then; it's expected, but I'll find a pretext t' come back an' get you out, once we've landed. Meantime, there's water and biscuits in the second storage locker. Good enough?" She'd been after him for days to help her sneak along on a mission, having tired of waiting for an official chance that seemed unlikely ever to come.

"Of course, Mon Couer, and merci mille fois, for the opportunity."

Even though she'd had to remain hidden through all the excitement, TinTin had felt almost a part of the team.

"No bother, I enjoyed havin' you aboard." Gordon replied, with an easy smile. He was, and forever remained, one of her closest comrades. Easy-going, high spirited and bold, but with a deep gash in his memories that she'd had to help him mend, and conceal.

...And there was nothing he wouldn't do for her, in return.

"Feel like havin' a go?" he asked, indicating the sub's controls. Excitedly, TinTin nodded, changing places with Gordon so that she was now in the padded pilot's seat.

Something strange happened when she touched the plane and rudder controls. Standing beside her friend, looking out through the wide steel-glass view screen, she'd seen the green water slide by, turbid and textured as lentil soup. Now, through the contact of her palms on the metal control levers, she felt it. Warm,close waters slipped and eddied past her ticklish sides, while a chilly cross-current rushed by, just beneath her belly.

Gasping, TinTin let go of the controls, and looked up, her expression at once accusing, exasperated, and amazed. Gordon's answering grin was quite mischievous.

"But, how...?" She began, throttling the urge to punch him.

"Ace, isn't it?" he laughed, tapping one of the control levers. "New feature. Your engineer friend's been busy plantin' sensors all over th' hull; temperature, pressure, that sort of thing..., and he's routed th' data up through th' control system. Any bare-handed contact 'll feed the sensations straight to th' pilot. Took a bit of gettin' used to, just at first, but I've got accustomed."

Actually, he loved it; Thunderbird 4 was now less of a craft than an extension of himself, allowing Gordon to instantly sense when he'd got too deep, or into dangerously hot or contaminated waters. (So much for the sensible reasons; mostly, it was just cool.)

TinTin 'drove' to their pick up site, relinquishing control when Thunderbird 2 rippled into appearance before them, hanging over the water with a conveyor ramp extending down to the choppy waves. This was another new feature- after Scott's painfully wrenched back, no more long drops, or violent 'sky hook' pickups.

The girl hid herself beneath the control panel again, smothering a laugh when Gordon hit the wrong key and got Scott, rather than Virgil.

"Umm..., Thunderbird 1, from Thunderbird 4... I'm at th' rendezvous site."

Scott's dark brows lifted.

"I know," he replied. "Shadowbot hides you from everyone else, remember?" Then, his violet-blue eyes narrowing, Scott peered suspiciously past his younger brother, attempting to see further into the cockpit. "Everything okay?" he asked.

An abrupt, terrible worry came over him, that one of the saboteurs had somehow gotten aboard, and was holding Gordon at gunpoint; maybe planning to hijack Thunderbird 2. Gordon's evasive reply...,

"Couldn't be better. Really."

...didn't help matters. It wasn't their pre-arranged trouble signal ('All quiet on the western front'), but something was definitely up. On a sudden hunch, Scott triggered a quick scan of the sub's interior. What he learned caused his face to harden suddenly, mouth settling into a grim line. He said nothing, though. Not just then.

As Alan chattered away over his shoulder, regaling Gordon with his side of their recent adventure, Scott went back to piloting his Bird. ... but there 'd be hell to pay, later.

With the swift manipulation of a few controls, Gordon converted his Seabird to jet-hovercraft mode, raising her clear of the turbulent green Atlantic on a cushion of hissing air. Piezoelectric ceramics in her engines and hull converted the resultant vibration to heat, making the whole process blessedly smooth and quiet, if a bit warm.

"Permission t' board?" Gordon playfully asked, once he'd gotten Alan off the line. His brown-eyed older brother, in fine spirits after John's successful launch, played along.

"Sure...," Virgil smiled. "After you go through customs, and fill out the paperwork. And if I find anything you forgot to declare, I'm tossing you back."

"Just a few illegal immigrants and exotic plant species, Virgil. No panic."

And with that, Gordon throttled forward, sending the yellow sub skating across the water and onto its big sister's ramp. There, the conveyor beams locked on, drawing Thunderbird 4 safely within. Mission accomplished, time to go home.

He was pushed back into his seat by the steep angle of ascent, TinTin nearly tumbling out from under the instrument panel. Through the view screen, bright, wave-splintered sunlight and blue skies gave way to a massive, shady green belly crossed by undulating bands of reflected light. Then an opening, black as a cave mouth, into which Thunderbird 4 slid like a bullet into its chamber. The ramp retracted and the sub was reoriented, spun about by conveyor beams so that she was once more facing forward and locked into 'firing position'. Moments later, the pod door clanged shut, plunging the submarine and her passengers into stark red dimness.

Suddenly jet-lag exhausted, Gordon thanked his brother and shut off the comm, then handed TinTin up out of her hiding place.

"Thank you, truly," the beautiful Malaysian girl said again, full of genuine wonder, and delight. Quick as a hummingbird, she gave him a darting little kiss upon the cheek, which he returned, like a gentleman, upon her forehead.