He was coming in way too fast.

Adjusting the angle of the VTOL exhaust had proven far too effective. And now he was descending through the mid-morning sky in all but a flat out nosedive.

The advantage, though, was that it made scrambling through to the front of the jet a whole lot easier and he slid into the cockpit to clamber into his seat. And his speed would mean there was no time for jets to be scrambled to shoot him down. If he landed well, there was a good chance he could get a message out to someone. Anyone.

Peering out through the Plexiglas shielding revealed the angle of the dive and rate of descent in worrying clarity and Scott felt his heart leap into his throat. He brought down the harness and gripped it tightly, muttering a prayer beneath his breath.

And someone must have been listening.

He caught sight of a familiar landmark on his port side and gave a brief chuckle of relief before the nose of Thunderbird One then met the lush, dewy grass of the Whitehouse back lawn and he was thrown against his harness.

"Leave her alone."

Mishka stood up straight and turned to face him, smiling in greeting.

John's face was emotionless, flat. He waited at the open end of the hallway and held her in his steady gaze. "It's me you want. Leave her out of this."

Mishka glanced down at her prey and watched Alex squirming out of her reach.

"Fine." John sighed, "God, I'm tired of all this shit." He turned and walked from the hallway.

And the gamble paid off. He heard Mishka hurry after him and waited for the precise moment. With a speed that surprised them both, he spun and flew past her. Entering the code into the control panel made the door mechanism whirr into life and John murmured in relief as the hall was sealed.

Turning slowly, he met Mishka's steady gaze and shrugged what was almost an apology. "Looks like it's just you and me now."

Mishka smiled, "Clever boy." She nodded slowly, "But you have only removed one pawn from the board."

"Oh god." John groaned, "A chess analogy? How original." He shook his head in distain and rolled his eyes. "And suddenly I'm so terribly bored."

Mishka's smile faltered.

"And thirsty." John added as an afterthought and crossed to the kitchenette. "You want a drink?"

Mishka watched him in silence and then her smile made a slow return. "Your bravado is surprising, considering you have first hand knowledge of what I am capable of."

John poured himself a glass of orange juice and stepped carefully around the crumpled form of the still unconscious Parker. He had managed to hastily drag the man's limp body out of sight before opening the door and had felt a steady pulse at his neck but the darkening bruise to the old guy's temple was of concern.

He sipped at his drink and turned back to Mishka. "Well, that's just it." John replied evenly, "I've got me a kind of a 'been there, done that' thing going on."

Mishka regarded him in intrigue.

"In fact, I don't think there's anything worse than what you put me through." He frowned in thought for a second. "So … it's weird but … despite knowing that you're an evil, sadistic bitch … I'm strangely not scared." John considered the notion for a moment and then shrugged. "That make sense, Doc?"

She made no reply.

John smiled and finished his drink. "Hmm … guess I'm supposed to make an appointment first." He rinsed his glass and wandered from the kitchen, stopping a short way in front of her to regard her in interest. "So. What do you charge for your services, Doc?"

Mishka nodded slowly. "This won't work, John."

"What won't?"

She stepped closer to him, grinning in delight. "I have your entire family poised to strike. You can fool around all you want. But if I don't make contact with my source within the next ten minutes , the Thunderbirds will destroy half of Washington."

John clenched his fists at his side and held his breath.

"So." Mishka ventured even closer and looked up into his pale face. "I suggest you take me to the nearest comm. terminal and give me access."

There was a pause.

"You're bluffing."

"Maybe." Mishka nodded, "You willing to take that chance?"

"You're going to kill them no matter what I do or who you call. It's the space station you want."

Mishka searched his eyes and her smile was gone. She lunged forward and jabbed at his side, slamming her fist into bruised flesh and broken bones.

John dropped like a lead weight, clutching his side and gasping for breath. He watched helplessly through his tears as she scanned the lounge and then followed the ramp high up into the second level, unable to stop her as she made for the office.

Having heard Mishka's shouts and Alex's crying, Penny had quickly concluded that she had needed to intervene. It was perhaps not the wisest of ideas but she had little choice when faced with the possibility of what Mishka might be doing to her friend. At once realising the fondness she had developed for Alex and the potential advantage that this would give Mishka, she swallowed back the lump in her throat and entered the access code.

Penny slipped through the slowly parting doorway. She gasped and fell to her knees beside Alex, pulling her into a tight embrace. Alex might not have had any idea of the negative thoughts Penny had recently had regarding her loyalties but Penny did. And she clutched her shaking shoulders close to her as if to somehow make amends.

"I n-need my gun." Alex managed between hiccupping sobs. "I need to k-kill that bitch!"

Penny closed her eyes and made no reply.

"We have to get out there." Alex continued through her tears, "She's got John!"

Penny lifted her head and glanced at the sealed entrance to the hall.

"Pen?" Alex urged.

"Okay …" Penny sighed and released her hold. She helped Alex clamber to her feet and briefly examined her bruised face. Her attention then turned to the obviously broken fingers of Alex's left hand and she groaned in disgust.

"Leave it." Alex clutched her hand to her chest and closed her eyes.

"They need to be seen to."

"Not without a shit-load of anaesthetic," Alex stepped back from her, "And not until we've dealt with that bitch."

Penny nodded slowly. "Fine." She stepped past her and unlocked John's bedroom. "But I usually find that bringing a gun into the fray only ever complicates things."

"Duly noted." Alex husked and hurried into the room and over to the wardrobe. She located her uniform and plucked the radio from the clasp. Pressing the transmit button and holding the handset to her ear, she then groaned in dismay and threw the device aside.

"Safety protocol." Penny acknowledged. "All unrecognised transmissions are jammed."

Alex shrugged and pulled her gun free of its holster. "This will bloody work, though."

Penny crossed the room and frowned in concern. "Wait … we ought to try John's plan before we go charging into the unknown."

Alex slid the gun into the waist of her jogging pants and turned to Penny in interest.

"We need to get back to the office and hook up my laptop. We could make contact with the others."

Alex nodded in agreement. "And if that doesn't work, we've got bullets."

Penny nodded and hurried back out into the hall.

He must have blacked out. Scott lifted his head and instantly regretted the action as pain shot up through his neck and gathered in a swirling mass of ringing agony behind his eyes.

It took a moment for the dizziness and nausea to pass. When it did, he slowly took in his surroundings and saw the devastation.

Thunderbird 1 had evidently scored a path through the lawn and a few layers of topsoil, judging from the dirt and turf that was piled up over the nose and beyond. The impact had crumpled the front of the craft and Scott's heart sank as he realised the extent of the damage.

For a moment all he could think of was that he'd broken the plane. And it filled him with remorse. Then there was the fact that he was down and somehow alive. Then there was the shouting.

Scott turned and peered through the cracked Plexiglas canopy. A whole host of suited and uniformed personnel had gathered around the wreckage. They were all aiming guns in his direction and ordering him to show them his hands. And they all looked very cross.

Scott slowly raised his arms and nodded in reassurance.

One of the braver secret service agents stepped a little closer, his face red with anger – and presumably from the mad dash out of the back door of the Whitehouse. "Do not move!"

Scott almost laughed at the notion; he was trapped both by his harness and the shortened cockpit, the control panel resting against his knees. He couldn't move even if he wanted to.

"State your intent."

"I need help." Scott replied.

The agent paused in uncertainty.

"My craft was sabotaged and my colleagues have the same problem." Scott continued, deciding that perhaps stating where Thunderbird 2 was currently positioned might not be the wisest move given the level of hostility he was faced with.

The agent relayed the information to his colleagues and they discussed their options.

Scott made the mistake of relaxing slightly and gasped as the agent span back, gun barrel pressing in through a crack in the canopy.

"Keep your hands where I can see them!"

"Okay." Scott stayed perfectly still and waited for their next move.

Which was to smash through the canopy and pull him free. It wasn't an easy task by any means and they made no attempt to be gentle.

"Wait!" Scott pleaded, the sudden movement jarring his leg and bringing to his attention a previously unknown injury. He tried to clutch at his knee and then caught sight of the torn, bloody uniform of his lower leg. "Ow! Oh god – please – wait a second!"

"Shut up!" Came the only response, from several of the agents.

Scott cried out in pain as he was dragged clear of the smashed cockpit and forced face down on the grass, his arms held tightly behind him. His leg was throbbing painfully and his chest was tight as he was secured on the lawn.

"I need to speak to The President."

"Shut up!"

Scott held his breath as the barrel of a gun was pressed into his cheek and he closed his eyes. "Please," He ventured carefully, "You don't understand. I need her help."

"I said shut up!"

Scott could now hear several of them examining his downed jet and he groaned in dismay.

"Why did you land here? What is your intent?" Continued the harsh voice from behind him.

"I told you, I was sabotaged. And my friends are in trouble. I need to speak to The President." Scott urged, "You can see I've no weapons." He added carefully, well aware that the 130 tonne jet that was currently embedded in their back yard kind of contradicted him.

"Why didn't you put out a mayday?"

"I told you!" Scott groaned, tired of the questioning and the tight retraining hold of this guy. And his temper more than a little shortened by the growing pain in his leg.

"Baker!"

All the agents seemed to gasp in surprise. Scott felt the startled jolt of the one pinning him down and turned his head towards the new voice.

"What the hell is going on?" The woman demanded angrily.

"Ma'am, you really shouldn't be out here." The agent holding Scott began quickly.

The President shrugged free of her panicking aides and hurried forward, taking in the wreckage and then turning her attention to Scott. "Baker, what on earth? Let him go!"

"But, Madam President, I - "

"I said let him go!" She barked in annoyance and stepped closer.

Scott groaned as his arms were suddenly free and he brought them up beside his head to try and push up from the grass.

"He's hurt!" The president knelt down beside him and frowned in concern before then glancing at Agent Baker and ordering him to go and fetch the doctor.

"Madam President," Scott began through clenched teeth, hissing in pain as she helped him sit up. "We need your help."

The President smiled thinly and nodded towards the ruined jet. "It would certainly seem that way."

Scott glanced at his craft and noted the men peering into the cockpit and seemingly drinking in every detail of the secret technology.

The President followed his gaze and seemed to realise his concern. "Get back from the plane!"

The agents jumped in surprise and backed away obediently.

"Cordon off this area. No one goes near the plane." She continued, "And none of you must speak of this."

The various personnel mumbled their agreement and Scott nodded his thanks.

"Least I can do." The President acknowledged and a gentle frown settled over her face. "What happened?"

"I don't really know exactly." Scott shrugged, "But … someone got control and I was sat above your house. I can only guess their intentions."

She nodded slowly.

"My friends are in another of our craft and … well … I'm sorry, Madam President but they're … they're hanging over the Pentagon."

The President didn't waste a second. She called over one of the uniformed personnel and hurriedly outlined the necessary action.

Scott sighed in relief and adjusted his position on the grass, biting his lip against the burning agony of his torn leg.

"We should get you inside."

Scott looked up and met her gentle, concerned smile.

"You know, I'm not sure you picked a good day to drop by." She chuckled suddenly, "I was having an early breakfast meeting with the Department of Defence."

Scott groaned, "Figures."

"Some of them still have their doubts about your organisation." She continued, more sombrely, "I was ready to defend you."

"Thank you."

She glanced down at his nametag and a thin smile returned. "Don't prove me wrong, Scott."

"No, Ma'am. No way."

Jeff seemed suddenly so very old. He leaned heavily against one of the wide chairs on the flight deck and grew paler as the ramifications of Brains' discovery sank in. With trembling legs he warily moved round to sink into the chair and closed his eyes.

"Countdown?" Virgil echoed in a whisper.

Brains nodded.

"How long?" Alan asked carefully.

Brains looked at his watch and frowned in thought. "At the rate of decay, the d-d-d-signal will expire in fourteen minutes and thirty seven – no twenty seven seconds." He looked back up at them, his expression unreadable but strangely calm. "That is to say, at 09:35 Eastern Standard Time, whatever event had been p-p-p-pre-programmed will occur."

And chaos engulfed the craft once more. All at once, the three youngest of the crew were barking demands and shouting worriedly.

Brains grimaced at the noise of the panic and slowly raised his hands. "Boys."

They continued unabated, too overwhelmed in their distress.

"BOYS!" Brains shouted suddenly.

Quiet descended.

"It seems there is no way to s-s-s-attack this thing scientifically." Brains urged quickly, "I've been looking at it from the wrong p-p-p-perspective. I've been trying to f-f-f-solve the unsolvable. If I disable the o-o-o-operating systems any further …"

The three sons watched him in wary silence.

"We have to accept that she's lost." Brains continued softly, "I need you to go back to the cargo bay and find a way to get us off safely."

Virgil nodded in understanding, "Come on, guys."

Jeff waited for them to leave the flight deck and listened to the now suddenly ominous hum of the powerful craft around him. "We're six thousand feet up." He husked quietly, "There is no way off safely."

Brains turned and saw his friend's tearstained face. "I know. But it will keep them occupied."

Tbc …