Scott rarely smoked. He used to; a habit he picked up in the air force that was hard to shake at first but soon the nicotine withdrawal became a minor concern next to the nagging of his family. So now it was the occasional cigar on special occasions (or simply when he and his father fancied one) and a few drags of hidden contraband when he was stressed.

Right now it was a good excuse to get out of the house and John followed after him. They headed down the stony path towards the cliffs, far from the main complex and away from the accusatory glares of its occupants. Or so anyone would assume.

Scott lit up the cigarette he wasn't really in the mood for and took in a few breaths of the pungent smoke. Their cover had to be convincing.

"I just couldn't get away, last night." Scott sighed in dismay. "Dad was up in his office for ages and the others were too awake for me to sneak about." He turned to John and shrugged his shoulders. "So. What did you find out?"

John shoved his hands into his pockets and strode out along the cliff top path. His excuse for being out here was to get some fresh air and exercise; he ought to look like he had walked for a while and so he started pacing. It was also good cover for the anxiety that was brewing inside him; he had spent all night worrying about how Scott might react to what he had to say.

"John?" Scott urged, frowning in concern as he watched his brother's quick march back and forth along the rocks.

"You're not gonna like this." John sighed after a moment.

"What …?" Scott responded cautiously.

"They're mercenaries."

"Hey?"

John nodded slowly, "Hired to protect an 'investment'."

"What 'investment'?"

"Don't know."

"But …" Scott frowned, "What …? I mean … how …?"

"It's similar to an old World War II code."

"Huh?"

John nodded slowly, glancing warily back towards the house. "Navajo mainly, mixed with some English terms." A small smile of pleasure and pride danced on his mouth. "I suddenly recognised a few of the clearer words and the syntax works." He shrugged slightly, "Took me hours to convert all the pieces of conscripts once I had the cipher and even then, most of it didn't make sense."

"And they're still there?"

"They were this morning." John nodded and retraced his steps for the umpteenth time.

"And Pen?"

John stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath. "She's with Dad on this. She's backed well off."

"Shit …" Scott closed his eyes and hung his head.

"So I carried on digging by myself."

"You did?"

"It's a mystery." A small smile pulled on John's lips, "And you know what a sucker I am for a good puzzle."

Scott nodded slowly. "So what's this 'investment'?"

"Not sure."

Scott sighed and sucked a little heavier on what remained of his cigarette, frowning as he remembered he had only brought one out with him. He looked back up at his brother and watched John pawing at the smooth rocks with his foot. It was a while since he had seen him appear so uneasy. Junior high, in fact. "What is it …?"

"Well … they made mention of us and … well … they were kinda pissed to have been seen. I don't like the fact that we don't know who they are and yet they have high grade weaponry."

Scott could suddenly read his brother clearly. Not that it was rocket science. He now knew himself what it was like to suddenly be targeted but John was reliving the impact.

"With the situation as it is over there, everyone's being warned to stay away while the UN clear up the mess. No one's going to risk going in there and sparking off more trouble."

Scott frowned and shuddered uncomfortably. "Man, I wish I'd never seen that place!"

"Mmm."

"Maybe - "

A loud siren that erupted from the complex behind them suddenly interrupted Scott's thoughts and the two of them instantly broke into a run back up towards the house.

They charged up into the office to find everyone already congregating in the quickly morphing room and anxious faces watching the display screens that slowly unfurled from the rotating desk.

"What is it?" Gordon asked their father worriedly.

Jeff shrugged a reply and frowned in concern as the shutters closed and the room darkened. "Alan?" he called worriedly across the comm.

"Hey guys."

John could feel his shoulders tensing as he watched his brother smiling merrily up at them from the plasma screen.

"Testing. Testing. 1, 2, 3." Alan chuckled and reached up to tap the screen with his fingers.

"What!" John demanded angrily.

"You little shit!" Scott fumed, "You are so dead!"

"Alan, this equipment is not a to - "

"Wo! Dudes!" Alan laughed again, "Calm down! Geez! There is a call, okay. I was just joking."

"Still not laughing." Virgil commented dryly.

"Patching the co-ordinates through now. It's a USAF fighter plane. They say they had to ditch because of a malfunction and they're taking on water."

"Where's the military?"

"They don't want to risk an extraction because of …" Alan looked away to read something off screen, "Turbulent international relations."

"Huh?" Virgil frowned.

Scott looked at John. John looked at Scott.

"Where are they?" Jeff asked warily.

"The Caspian Sea. In the north part."

"Oh hell …" Jeff sighed and turned slowly to face the expectant gaze of his family and colleagues.

Scott moved towards the larger than life image of himself and shook his head in dismay.

"Scott - " Jeff began.

"No! We're not even going to discuss this." Scott countered quickly, clenching his fists at his side as he waited for the screen door to slide away and allow him access to the elevator behind.

"Boys, wait…" Jeff sighed as he watched his other sons head towards their respective doors with equal determination. "I can't let you go."

"USAF, Dad."Gordon reminded him calmly, "What if that was Scott out there?"

Jeff stood up straight and shook his head. "I would make the same decision. It's too dangerous."

"The war is over!" Scott shouted angrily, spinning round to face his father. "We're not taking sides! We're not interfering, dammit!"

Jeff visibly tensed and glared at his eldest son in fury.

"He … um … he h-h-has a point." Brains offered suddenly, "And it should be qu-qu-qu-relatively easy. The rescue platform could simply hoist the whole plane out of the wa-wa-wa-sea."

"In and out in no time."Virgil agreed. "We can get them to friendly turf and then bug out."

Jeff closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose through thumb and forefinger. "Okay. Get in the air. I'll get intel on the area. First sign of trouble and you come straight home!" He directed that last comment towards John and watched him nod in firm agreement. "Very well." He sighed, "Thunderbirds are go."

Scott smiled and turned back to his image that concealed the door.

"Not you." Jeff husked.

Scott closed his eyes and held his breath.

"You're grounded."

It was cold. Even through the thermal under layer of the flight suit, John could sense the chill in the wind that buffeted against him and whistled around his helmet. At ground level, May warmth had well and truly begun but amid the dark clouds of an evening storm, with the wind rushing by, it was hard to believe it was almost summer.

"You okay, John?"

"Fine." He peered down through the open doors and out of the underbelly of Thunderbird 2. Not seventy feet beneath him was the slowly nose-diving plane, rocking gently in the choppy waters of the Caspian Sea. "Lowering rescue platform."

"F.A.B." Virgil agreed, "Thunderbird 5? How we doing, Alan?"

"Sky's clear." Came the stern reply over the comm. "You getting anything from the crew?"

"Negative."

"Crap." Alan hissed.

They had lost contact with the two pilots during the flight here and had assumed the worst. The fact that the plane was still in one piece was of some comfort but the silence was concerning.

John gripped the railings that encircled him and held his breath as the platform sank down towards the water. Brains had confirmed that the rescue lines ought to be strong enough to lift the whole plane but the weight and drag would mean that Virgil would not be able to get them out of harms way in a hurry. It seemed wiser to get the pilots out of the plane, despite how scary this prospect might be.

The wind rocked the platform and had started it on a slow pendulum swing. John crouched down to brace himself, ready for the impact with the surface of the water. He frowned as he peered out at the ever-nearing plane and suddenly saw why the pilots were no longer communicating. "Oh fuck …"

"What?" Virgil urged worriedly.

"Oh no …" John groaned and stopped the platform's descent. Standing slowly, he leaned over the side rails and stared in horror at the canopy of the jet. It was riddled with bullet holes and the red splashes inside the glass told of the fatal impact of the shots.

"What is it?" Gordon insisted.

"It doesn't look good." John breathed, hardly able to say the words. "They've been shot."

"What?"

John winced as all three of his brothers gasped in shock.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" Gordon ordered quickly.

"No, wait!" John countered, "We need to know what happened."

"It's obvious what happened!" Alan protested worriedly.

"I mean beforehand." John continued, his eyes still fixed on the bullet holes that could only have been made if someone was shooting from above the plane. They had been easy targets in the water. It made him shudder to think that they had been helpless against whoever had done this. "We need the data recorder."

"You sure?" Virgil urged worriedly.

"Yeah." John nodded and set the platform back on a slow descent.

Breaking what remained of the canopy was relatively easy but clambering in beside the pilots made John decidedly nauseous. He carefully balanced himself on the outer edges of the cockpit and carefully reached under the helmets of the two men to confirm what he already knew. Neither of the two had a pulse and he sighed in dismay.

"How's it going?" Virgil asked softly.

"Got it." John replied and looked up to see the rescue platform suspended a little off to one side. "Can you bring her closer, Virg?"

The immense green craft responded with a low rumble of forward thrust and the platform edged nearer. John reached up for the side railings to pull himself up but a gust of wind jolted the platform out of reach and he toppled forward, almost losing his balance. What he did lose was his grip on the data recorder and he groaned as it tumbled down into the cockpit. With a sigh, he stepped down between the pilot's legs and reached down to grab the box.

"You okay?" Gordon asked in concern.

"Groovy." John replied, brushing his arm against the pilot's legs and smearing blood over his flight suit. He swallowed back the bile in his throat and began to clamber back up onto the canopy remains.

He had noticed it a few moments ago and thought nothing of it but now the flashing red light on the control panel in front of the pilot's slumped form was starting to bug him. John leaned closer and his heart slammed against his chest. "Oh shit!"

"What?" Virgil gasped.

"Get us out of here!" John shouted in a panic and made a sudden leap for the rescue platform, only just making it. "Go!"

"You need to winch back in." Virgil suggested.

"No time for any of that shit!" John cried out, "Fucking move it, Virg!"

"Okay. Hang on."

Thunderbird 2 quickly ascended and thrust forward, the rescue platform swinging wildly out behind it and John hanging precariously from the side. Gordon looked down through the open doors in the underbelly of the craft and frowned as he wondered what had spooked John. The sudden explosion gave him his answer.

The fighter plane erupted into a ball of flames, pieces of canopy and fuselage darting through the air. The force of the blast shuddered through his craft and Gordon sighed in relief, glad that his very fortunate brother had been clear of the explosion.

"What the hell - ?" Alan muttered in disbelief.

"Dude …" Virgil agreed, "You okay down there, John?"

There was no reply.

"John? Gordon, can you see him? Is he okay?"

Gordon frowned as he peered down at the yellow platform that hung from Thunderbird 2's open cargo hold and his heart sank. It was empty.