In the kitchen Grandma Tracy marked the second day of their incarceration by cyclone off the calendar and reflected that she was glad that if Cyclone Sylvia had to decide to intrude on their home, at least she'd waited until after Gordon's birthday. Now her only concern was that, according to John's last reports, Sylvia appeared to have stalled over the island. "I hope you're gone before Alan's birthday arrives," she told the unheeding cyclone.
Sylvia's only response was to throw something against the side of the house.
Grandma picked up a meal tray and walked down the passageways to the lab, blissfully unaware that she was being watched.
"Two plates," Ned Cook said thoughtfully as he peered out from his hiding place. "Who for?"
"Maybe it's for the nutty professor. Main course and dessert," Joe suggested.
"On the same sized plates?" Ned scoffed. "And the only cutlery I saw was two sets of knives and forks."
"The way that guy's away with the fairies he might need two sets to himself," Joe hypothesised. "So that when he loses one set, he's still got the other."
Ned wasn't satisfied with that solution.
Joe kept on guessing. "Maybe the old lady's going to have dinner with him?"
"And not with her family?"
"He seems to be so engrossed in his work that maybe he forgets to eat. Maybe she's going to make sure the food isn't wasted."
"Somehow I can't buy that," Ned said. "I think someone else must be in the lab. But who? We haven't seen anyone else walk past."
"Tin-Tin? She's been avoiding us. Maybe she knows another way in there..."
"A good theory," Ned accepted. "Except that no one knows we're hiding here. Something doesn't feel right about all this. Just who are those plates for…?"
"How's it going, Brains?" Grandma asked.
Brains looked up from his latest experiment. "It's going v-very well, Mrs Tracy." He noticed the tray. "Dinner time?"
"Yes. I'm off to the zoo to feed the animals."
Brains chuckled. "So that's the g-growling sounds I heard from down there. M-Must have been Scott's stomach."
"I'll buzz you when I'm ready to come out again."
"Good. I-I'll open the door when it's all clear."
"It seems so silly to have to take these precautions in our own home. If only those men hadn't come here!"
Brains agreed. "I haven't b-been disturbed by our 'f-friends' so far. They th-think I'm quite mad. But it's better to be safe than sorry."
"Your dinner will be ready as soon as I get back, Brains."
"Th-Thank you, Mrs Tracy." Brains pushed the button that opened the secret door to the bunkers and waited for his elderly friend to walk through before shutting it behind her. Then he returned to his work. He'd no sooner picked up his pencil when he was interrupted again.
It was Ned and Joe. "Hi, Brains."
Brains pushed his spectacles back up his nose. "Wh-Wh-What can I do for you gentlemen?"
"We saw Mrs Tracy come in here," Joe said.
"Yes," Ned agreed. "She had her hands full and we thought she might appreciate some assistance."
"M-Mrs Tracy came in here?" Brains queried.
"Yes," Joe nodded. "Carrying a tray with two covered plates."
"Carrying a t-t-tray?"
"Yes," Joe said again.
"Where is she?" Ned asked, looking around.
"I-I-I d-d-don't know," Brains stammered. He opened a cupboard door. "Sh-She's not in here," he mumbled into the assorted equipment that was stored there.
"We're sure we saw her come in here," Ned insisted.
"Carrying food," Joe confirmed.
"M-Mrs Tracy brought me dinner? Th-That's very nice of her." Brains started looking around, lifting up a variety of implements. "I wonder where she left it…" He opened an incubator and looked inside. "No."
"What I'm wondering," Ned began, "is where she's gone now."
"P-Probably back to the kitchen," Brains said to the beakers in another cupboard.
"No. She never came out of this room," Joe insisted.
Brains opened another incubator. "Ah! H-Here it is!" he said triumphantly, pulling out a large Petri dish covered in what looked like mouldy cheese. He stared at it closely. "No. Th-That's my antibiotic research," he muttered, placing the dish carefully back into the incubator.
"She's an old lady," Ned reminded him. "She can't just disappear into thin air."
"Sh-She's very nimble for her age," Brains told him. "You should see her go, ah, snorkelling…"
"Mrs Tracy goes snorkelling?" Joe asked in amazement.
"Yes!" Brains nodded enthusiastically. "And abseiling…" Then he frowned. "No," he amended. "I was th-thinking about Tin-Tin."
Ned groaned.
"Hello, Boys," Grandma said cheerfully.
"An angel has come down from on high, bringing us glad tidings," Gordon greeted her, relieving her of the tray. "And good food… Why didn't you tell us you were bringing this down? We would have come up and got it."
"I wanted to see how you boys were getting on."
"Apart from having to share quarters with ol' grumble guts over there," Gordon indicated Scott who was setting the table, "fine."
"Grandma!" Scott admonished. "You shouldn't have carried that all the way down here. One of us could have come up and got it."
"I've just told her that!"
"Do you boys need anything?"
"A little sunshine, some fresh air, and a chance to stretch our legs would be nice," Gordon suggested.
"I think we'd all appreciate that at the moment, Honey."
Scott had removed the covers off one of the plates and was savouring the aroma. "This'll do, Grandma."
"How's things topside?" Gordon asked pulling up an extra chair and holding it out for his grandmother.
"You sit down and have your dinner while it's still hot!" she instructed as she accepted the seat. She waited until both grandsons were enjoying their meal. "Now what can I tell you? The cyclone's stalled…"
Scott grunted his displeasure at the news.
Gordon scooped some carrots into his mouth and munched away happily.
"… Everyone's on edge because of those two reporters…"
"We should have told them to turn around and crawl back into whatever hole it was they came out of," Scott growled.
He received a scolding from his Grandmother. "Now, Scott! You know we couldn't do that."
"Ignore him," Gordon suggested. "He's been in a foul mood since we got down here. What else can you tell us?"
"Tin-Tin's trying to avoid the pair of them. She's frightened that she's going to say something she shouldn't."
"She wouldn't do that," Gordon said confidently.
"I'm sure she wouldn't too," Grandma admitted. "But she's working herself up into a nervous mess over it… Kyrano's fretting because he's worried about his glasshouses and his plants."
"If this cyclone's going to be as bad as we think," Scott reached for a glass of fruit juice, "we're going to have to repair more than the glasshouses."
"I know, but you know how that poor man cares for his plants."
"Like his children." Gordon was chasing some peas around the plate.
"Your father's practically locked himself away in his study and left your brothers to entertain our 'guests'."
"They're not doing a good job of it," Gordon mumbled through the peas, and received a warning glare from Scott.
"What's that, Darling? Don't talk with food in your mouth."
Gordon swallowed. "Nothing, Grandma. Go on."
Grandma Tracy watched her grandsons enjoy their meal for a moment. "If we get a storm surge," she asked, twisting her apron around her wizened hands, "will you boys be all right down here? There's no way the water can get in, is there? You are underground."
Scott shook his head. "We'll be all right. All the doors have watertight seals and the walls are solid granite."
"I still worry about you."
Gordon patted her hand. "Don't. We're fine." He pushed his plate away. "And now I'm full. That was wonderful, thank you, Grandma. I said you were an angel."
"Thank you, Darling. And now I'd better get back upstairs and feed your father and brothers…"
Brains pretended to have forgotten that he was looking for his mythical dinner. "How's your friend S-Sylvia?" he asked.
Joe frowned. "Sylvia?"
"He means the cyclone." Ned turned from Joe back to Brains. "Sylvia is not our friend. Sylvia is the name they have given the cyclone," he explained.
"Oh!" The frown of bemusement on Brains' face cleared, only to be replaced by another. "What cyclone?"
"The one outside."
"Then wh-who is your friend."
"We don't have one," Joe told him.
'Especially here.' Brains thought uncharitably.
"Sylvia has trapped us here on Tracy Island," Ned was informing him. "We can't leave for the rain and high winds."
"Ahhh." Brains appeared to understand. "Has anyone explained to you what to do if there is a s-s-storm s-s-surge?"
"Several people, several times," Ned said. "It's almost as if everyone's trying to hammer it home into our skulls."
"Do you w-want me to explain it again?"
"No!" Ned and Joe chorused.
"You kn-know to follow instructions?"
"Yes!"
"You kn-know where the storm rooms are?"
"Yes!"
"You kn-know to go there immediately?"
"Yes!" the two reporters repeated.
A light appeared on Brains' computer. As he saw it the barest flicker of concern crossed his face. "Ah. My experiment is complete!"
"Come on, Joe," Ned said. "We're interrupting Brains in his work," he tried, and failed, to sound apologetic. "Let's go."
Glad to escape the talkative clutches of the mad scientist, they made their escape.
Brains waited until he was sure they'd gone and then locked the door to the laboratory. Only then did he let Mrs Tracy out through the secret door.
"Did you have visitors?" she asked.
"Yes… I don't think they'll be b-back in a hurry. I'm sure they think I-I'm a few electrons sh-short of an atom. Put the tray in that, ah, cupboard there and I'll b-bring it out for washing after everyone's gone to bed."
"Thank you, Brains. If you want to wash up, dinner will be served in ten minutes."
"Thank you, Mrs Tracy."
"Hi, John. Finished dinner?"
"Yep. Cardboard and marbles."
"Cardboard and marbles?" Scott repeated, a puzzled frown on his face.
"A.K.A. overcooked pizza and peas. Now I'm trying to ignore my indigestion by running a few computer tests. What can I do for you?"
"I just needed to talk to someone who's about the same mental age as me."
John chuckled. "What's the matter? Are you getting the 'Big Brother Blues'?"
"If Gordon doesn't quit bugging me he'll be singing the 'Little Brother Lament'!"
John's grin broadened as through the monitor screen he watched his elder brother's scowl deepen. "What's he done this time?"
"He's decided, that since he can't get outside for a swim, he's got to keep his fitness levels up somehow…"
"And you, of all people, are annoyed about that?"
"I wouldn't be, except I'm pretty sure that the real reason why he's chosen these particular exercises is because he knows full well they've got a high irritation quotient."
John placed his clipboard on the console beside him and prepared to give Scott his full attention. "Which exercises?"
"He's worked out that if he follows a particular path through the bunkers then he's walked exactly quarter of a kilometre. Therefore four laps is one kilometre and 40 laps is ten kilometres."
"Fair enough," John said agreeably.
"Not when a lap means hugging whatever piece of furniture it is that I happen to be using at the time," Scott growled.
"And he's done this… how many times?"
"Let's see…" Scott began checking off on his fingers. "I was sitting on the couch reading for the first two kilometres and he'd knock my legs every time he walked past…"
A figure strode purposefully past the video screen. "Hi, John," Gordon called as he casually brushed against Scott.
"Hi, Gordon." John watched as Scott's complexion darkened.
"I decided to try to do some work for the third kilometre," Scott continued on. "So I was sitting at the table. Naturally he has to knock the back of my chair each time he goes past."
"Naturally. Which kilometre is he on at the moment?"
Scott glared at Gordon. "Four point five."
"So that's, what? Another 22 laps?"
A figure strode into camera shot. "Bye, John," Gordon waved cheerily.
"Bye, Gordon," John called back.
"Don't encourage him," Scott snarled.
"Why haven't you sent him on a route march around Thunderbird Two's hangar?"
Scott stared at his brother for a moment as the words sunk home.
"You didn't think of that, did you?" John asked.
"No…" Scott slumped back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm losing it already."
"If you guys are behaving childishly and aren't thinking straight after only two days down there," John asked, "what would we be like if we had to stay cooped up for two years?"
"I don't know, John. And I hope we never have to find out."
"Well, try to keep your head screwed on right long enough to come up with a solution," John advised. "In the meantime don't worry about Gordon. You know he'll get sick of annoying you and will find something else to do soon."
"But that's not all he's been doing!"
"I might have guessed," John sighed. "Tell agony Uncle John."
"If he's not doing those exercises he's swinging his arms about and kind of twisting his back! He says it's to keep his swimming muscles toned."
"Yes…" John said slowly, waiting to hear what was so terrible about this particular activity. "It's not as if he can go outside for a swim. Even if you were upstairs he wouldn't be able to, because of the cyclone. You can't blame him for wanting to do some…"
"You know when he makes his joints pop and crack?" Scott interrupted.
John cringed. "Yes..."
"Well, it's ten times louder down here. It's like being trapped in an iron drum during an artillery round!"
John visibly shuddered. "The very thought puts my teeth on edge," he admitted. "I don't know how he can willingly do that to his body… And you think he's doing these exercises on purpose to annoy you?"
"I'd almost bet on it. And there's another thing…"
"No," John drawled. "What a surprise."
"You know those rails that we put above the doors…?" Scott asked as John nodded. "He's using them for chin up and curl up exercises."
"That's what they're there for…"
"Hi again, John."
"Hi again, Gordon."
Scott glared at his brother's departing back and rubbed his shoulder. "But not while I'm trying to walk through the door! Whose stupid idea was it to put them there in the first place?"
"If I remember rightly, it was yours. 'We've got to utilise every inch of space', you said. 'In case we can't get into the hangars', you said."
Scott ignored the comment. "He says that he's doing that to keep his arm muscles strong for his swimming and his back free from pain."
For the first time, John found something in the conversation to cause him concern. "Pain?"
"He says ever since his accident he's had to do these daily exercises to keep his back mobile."
"But I thought he was completely over that and has had no lasting problems! Does Dad know?"
In the distance Gordon gave a cheerful wave and disappeared out of shot.
"I don't know," Scott admitted. "You know how reluctant Gordon is to talk about his accident and his time in rehabilitation."
"Yes," John nodded. "I know."
"That's what's so galling. He has a sane, logical reason for every annoying thing that he's doing. Reasons that would make me seem churlish if I told him to stop… But I still can't shake the feeling that the real reason why he's doing these exercises is because he wants to tease me and he knows I won't beat the living daylights out of him for doing it!"
John couldn't help it. He laughed. "He's got you sussed, Brother."
"I don't blame him for trying to keep active and maintain his fitness levels, because I know how he feels. He wants to go for a swim and I'd love nothing more than to go for a run around the island, but we can't! It's just not possible…! And he knows what's best for his body. I'm just the poor sucker who's got to listen to it." Scott shook his head ruefully. "I should have gone with the laryngitis option. It would have been less painful!"
John laughed again. "Poor Scott," he teased.
Scott was growling again. "It's all right for you. You don't know what it's like to be trapped in a hermetically sealed cocoon, unable to go outside for some fresh air and to stretch your legs…"
"Excuse me!" John stared at him. "Where do you think I am at the moment?"
"You're…" Scott realised his mistake. "Sorry, John. So you've got some idea… But at least you're not trapped with a madman, and, to a certain extent, you're there willingly. You haven't been forced to stay there because a couple of nosey idiots have decided to invade our home!"
"I'll give you that," John conceded. "And I've been thinking…"
"So? Tell me something new."
"…About your situation and I've come to the conclusion that you two are the worst combination doomed to hide out down there."
"Thanks!"
"Alan and I are both used to being isolated from the outside world, though that wouldn't stop Alan from moaning and griping the entire time…"
"True," Scott agreed. "That would almost be as bad as clicky joints."
"But give me a pile of books and I'd be happy…"
"True," Scott agreed again. "It'd be no trouble being trapped with you, John."
"And Virgil would probably be quite happy painting, or composing…"
"A 'subterranean symphony'?"
John chuckled. "Something like that. At least we could guarantee that you and he wouldn't be at each other's throats within ten minutes of being shut away. You get along so harmoniously that you'd find something you could do together to occupy yourselves. But you and Gordon…" He shook his head. "That's asking for trouble. It wouldn't be so bad if you could run off some of that pent up energy, or work out in the gym… Or if Gordon could go for a swim somewhere…"
"John," Scott pleaded. "Will you stop psychoanalysing us? I'm trapped down here. Gordon's trapped down here. And there's nothing we can do about it except try not to send each other totally around the bend. We've just got to deal with it the best we can."
"Sorry," John apologised. "I got carried away. See, I'm used to being alone. I'm quite happy spending my time thinking about things. I don't have to be doing something every minute of the day like you…"
"John!"
"Sorry," John apologised again. "So… apart from having to deal with noisy joints, how's…"
At that point three things happened almost instantaneously. There was a yell from the vicinity of the kitchen area, a ball of smoke rolled out through the open doorway, and the fire alarm started ringing.
John watched in concern and then with amusement as Scott abandoned the video monitor, grabbed a fire extinguisher and ran for the kitchen, cannoning straight into Gordon who'd casually walked out flapping a cloth.
"What happened?"
"I got bored with walking and I felt like having something for supper, so I thought I'd cook us something to eat." Gordon waved the rather singed cloth in his hand. "I hadn't realised that I'd left this on the element…"
"You were hungry! You hadn't realised…!" Scott's face had turned beet red. "Have you forgotten where we are? We're underground! We could have been asphyxiated!"
"We've got a good ventilation system. And besides it's not a major. I put a lid on the fire and it smothered it! See!" Gordon held out the cloth. "Calm down. Everything's under control. The fire's out."
"That's not the point! The point is that you've behaved irresponsibly…!" Scott thundered.
"Calm down, Scott."
"Calm down! You've endangered our lives! You've put our security at risk! And you're telling me to calm down!"
"Yes," Gordon replied. "Calm down. It's nothing. The emergency's over, no one's been hurt and there's been no real damage done."
Jeff Tracy had just placed his knife and fork together on his dinner plate when the fire alarm started ringing. As he recognised the siren's distinctive tone he was on his feet and heading for the dinning room door. "Come on!" he commanded his two sons.
Alan and Virgil were already running for the door.
"What is it?" Ned asked. "Fire?"
"Yes," Tin-Tin had paled. "It's down in the… in the lab… I'd better check the sick bay…" She fled before she could be asked any more questions.
Ned and Joe glanced at each other. They didn't need to speak to each other to confirm that here was a bit of excitement they get their teeth into. Maybe this could lead to the news story they were after! They leapt out of their chairs intending to follow the Tracy men.
"Fire!" Grandma exclaimed, panicking slightly. "There's a fire in the house! There's a fire… Oh!" She stopped mid-stride clearly in pain. "My back…"
"Mrs Tracy…" Kyrano sprang to her aid. "Let me help you…"
"I'm all right, Kyrano," she gasped. "Go see if they need your help. Leave me…" she took a step forward and grimaced.
"Come sit down," Kyrano suggested.
"No, I'm all right," Grandma reiterated.
"But your back, Mrs Tracy…"
"I'll be fine…"
Trapped behind the elderly lady who was moving unsteadily and the Malaysian servant trying to help her, Ned and Joe could do nothing but chafe at the knowledge that they were missing the action and wait until there was enough room for them to slip past…
Brains, having decided to forego dessert due to growing tired of trying to maintain his mad scientist act, had earlier retired to the laboratory. As soon as he'd heard the alarm he'd started readying the fire fighting equipment. By the time the three Tracy men had arrived in the lab three sets of breathing apparatus, two fire extinguishers and a trauma first aid kit had been laid out.
"Thanks, Brains," Jeff grunted as he donned an oxygen mask and picked up a fire extinguisher. Alan and Virgil followed their father's lead, grabbing the other extinguisher and the first aid kit respectively.
Jeff cautiously slid open the door that led to the downward spiralling stairs and checked for smoke. "Seems clear," he said as he started descending. After ensuring their oxygen masks were air tight, his two sons followed close behind.
Brains tipped a beaker into one of the sinks.
"Excuse me!" Enough of a gap had opened up between Kyrano and the doorframe that Ned was able to push his way through with Joe slipping after him. As the two reporters ran to the laboratory Grandma straightened. "I think we kept them out of the way long enough, Kyrano."
Kyrano gave one of his characteristically gentle smiles. "I believe you are right, Mrs Tracy."
"I hope it is nothing serious!"
"The siren has stopped. I believe it will be a false alarm."
Grandma looked at Kyrano. "My boys didn't think it was a false alarm." She tutted. "Virgil should have stayed up here with us."
"Mrs Tracy?" Kyrano queried.
"He's pushing himself too hard, too soon. He's as stubborn as the rest of them. Doesn't know when to take it easy. He gets it from Jeff." She sighed. "I hope everyone's all right."
Ned and Joe barrelled into the lab and pulled up short at the sight of Brains, alone, waving a piece of paper frantically. "Where is everyone?" Ned asked.
Brains stared at him short-sightedly and dropped his paper on the bench. "Wh-Who's everyone?"
"Tracy and his two boys."
Brains scratched his head. "In the l-lounge?" he guessed. He picked up the paper and started waving it again.
"No," Joe was doing a circuit of the laboratory searching for the missing men. "They came in here."
"In h-here?"
"Yes! In here!"
"Gordon! You're an irresponsible, immature, irrational idiot…"
"Thanks for the lesson in alliteration, Scott."
"Don't try to sweet talk your way out of this one. It's not like you don't know you've done something stupid!"
"Relax. It was an accident! Everything's under control," Gordon soothed. "The fire's out. No damage has been done and no one's been hurt…"
Scott heard something behind him, saw his brother's expression change, and turned. His father and two brothers were standing there, panting slightly from having run down the stairs carrying heavy equipment. "Oh."
Jeff removed his oxygen mask. "What's going on here?" he asked in a quiet voice.
Virgil and Alan knew that tone. It meant one of them was in big trouble. Without a word they turned and retreated back up the stairs.
"It's okay, Father," Scott said, sensing an impending explosion. "Everything's under control."
Jeff had fixed his gaze on Gordon. "Did you have anything to do with the fire alarm, Scott?"
Scott hesitated.
"No, he didn't," Gordon admitted. "I started it… It was an accident."
"Fine," Jeff had the appearance of a man whose emotions were only just under control. "Go to your room, Scott." His voice was still quiet, but there was no doubt that he was demanding obedience.
Scott briefly considered defying his father and staying to support Gordon, but decided that it would be prudent to leave. He retired to his temporary bedroom, and closed the door behind him.
"All right, Gordon. Let's hear…" Jeff was hefting his breathing apparatus onto the table when he spied John watching them through Thunderbird Five's video connection. "Don't you have work to do?" he snapped.
John hastily disconnected the link, leaving Gordon to his sorry fate…
"Well?" Alan asked when they reached the top of the stairs.
Virgil was trying to open the door. "It's locked," he said.
"So Brains has company?"
"Uh huh."
Alan sat down on the top step, "I'm not going back down there."
"No." Virgil sat down beside him. "I don't think that would be a good idea."
They both winced when a particularly strident shout found its way to the top of the stairs. "Gordon's getting it bad this time," Alan noted.
"Yes," Virgil agreed.
They were silent for a time, occasionally hearing sounds from the depths of the earth, telling them that their brother was still being severely admonished.
"Dad's going overboard," Alan said. "It's not that serious."
"He obviously thinks it is."
They listened some more.
"What would you say if someone was going to interview you about International Rescue?" Virgil eventually asked.
"I'd tell him to get lost."
"No, I mean if we had no security issues. If we had no reason to maintain secrecy and you were free to give the interview."
"I don't know…" Alan said thoughtfully. "I've never thought about it. What about you?" He pretended to hold an imaginary microphone under Virgil's nose. "Now tell me, Mr Tracy. How did you join International Rescue?"
Virgil laughed. "Well…" he said playing along. "You could say I was born into it."
"What is it with this place?" Ned asked as he looked around the nearly empty laboratory. "How can people just disappear into thin air?"
Brains, the only visible occupant, was shaking his head. "That is a physical impossibility. N-Nothing can disappear into th-thin air. F-For one thing we are almost at s-s-sea level. The air here is n-not thin. And the ph-phrase 'thin air' is a misnomer. Air is n-not 'thin', m-merely that the higher you go in the Troposphere, the less w-weight of air there is above you in th-the atmosphere…"
Joe shrugged and looked at Ned.
"Also," Brains continued on with this theme. "It is impossible for s-something to disappear. Th-There must be some f-form of transference of matter or energy. For instance, sh-should someone s-spontaneously combust they would not d-disappear. They would convert into energy in th-the form of heat and light and a portion would p-p-probably remain as a deposit of carbon. It's the s-second law of thermodynamics. Should they…"
"Brains!" Ned slammed both hands onto the workbench and stared at the scientist so that they were practically nose-to-nose. "We heard the fire alarm go off. Jeff Tracy said the fire was in here. We saw him, Virgil and Alan come in here. So… Where… Are… They?"
Brains shook his head. "There was no f-fire. What you can smell is s-sulphur."
Ned frowned. "Sulphur."
"I s-stupidly tipped a b-beaker of sulphur into the sink," Brains said flapping his piece of paper again to disperse the odour. "It's pr-probably that you can smell."
"No," Ned shook his head in frustration. "We didn't smell anything…"
Joe wrinkled up his nose. "I can." He flipped a switch marked 'extractor fan' and a quiet motor hummed into life.
"Ah," Brains said. "I-I hadn't thought of that. Th-Thank you… ah… Jim?"
"Joe," Joe told him.
"Joe," Brains repeated.
Ned ignored this exchange. "We… Heard… The… Fire… Alarm," he enunciated. "Your… Employer… And his sons… Came… In… Here... Where… Are… They?"
Brains frowned. "They're not in the lounge?"
Ned groaned.
"Come on, Ned," Joe said. "We're wasting time."
"But we saw them come in here!" Ned protested as he reluctantly followed his colleague towards the laboratory door.
"Come to my room,' Joe whispered.
"Huh? Why?" Ned queried.
Joe winked and held a finger to his lips.
Intrigued, Ned allowed himself to be led to his partner's bedroom waiting until the door behind him had slid shut before speaking. "Well? What?"
"You and I both agree that the Tracys ran into the lab, right?"
"Right."
"But there was no evidence of them when we got there, after having been conveniently held up in the dining room."
"True," Ned agreed.
"While you and the nutty professor were having your little tête-à-tête, I was having a nosey round…"
"And…"
"And… Do you remember the cabinet on the far side of the room? The one with the fire fighting equipment?"
Ned frowned as he tried to remember. "I think so. I didn't take it in before. Everyone seems to be more concerned about storm surges than fires."
"It was missing three lots of breathing apparatus, a couple of extinguishers, and, if I remember correctly, a first aid kit."
Ned took in this bit of information. "So there was a fire somewhere?"
"Yes," Joe nodded. "The question is where? There was nothing in the lab except for the smell of sulphur which definitely came from that upended beaker."
"Well observed, Joe," Ned congratulated. "I missed all that."
"That's why I'm the cameraman and you're the reporter; I observe things and you ask the pertinent questions. That's why we're such a good team… And I'll tell you something else."
"Yes," Ned said, his attention fully on the cameraman.
"I don't think Brains is as stupid as he makes out. We're being conned by the Tracys and their friends as much as we tried to con them. I'm beginning to think that your hunch is correct... This family is hiding something!"
"You're only beginning to think that? Didn't you trust me?" Ned asked.
"I've trusted you, Ned. But I'm always happier when we start to get some evidence. Something that we can show the bosses so they don't sting us for this little jaunt."
"We don't have any concrete evidence yet," Ned reminded him.
"No…" Joe admitted. "I wish I could get my hands on my camera."
As though he'd suddenly realised that this wasn't a mischievous little boy he was scolding, but a severely chastened young man, Jeff stopped yelling.
Gordon managed to raise his head and look his father in the eye. "I'm sorry, Dad."
"I know," Jeff replied.
"I didn't mean to start the fire."
"I know," Jeff repeated.
"It was an accident."
"I know," Jeff repeated a third time before trying to cheer his woebegone son up. "I'd never disown you, but there have been times when I wonder why your mother and I didn't stop at three children."
Gordon managed a small smile. "Because you needed an aquanaut for the team."
Jeff chuckled. "I knew there had to be a good reason." He laid his hand gently on his son's shoulder. "I'm sorry I yelled, Gordon, but when I heard that alarm all I could think about was the fact that perhaps you and Scott were in danger." He sighed. "I guess the stress is getting to me too."
"No," Gordon didn't sound his usual buoyant self. "You're right, Dad. I've endangered everyone… I've endangered International Rescue! I've endangered all you've worked for…!"
"I hope you don't regard International Rescue as only my project."
Gordon shook his head. "I've been proud to be part of this organisation. I don't want to be the one to ruin it."
"It hasn't been ruined, and as long as we're careful it won't be… I'd better get back upstairs before our guests start wondering where I am. Now, chin up, the cyclone can't last forever."
"It already feels like it has."
"You're right there," Jeff agreed. "Do you need anything Gordon?"
Gordon shook his head…
"It's gone quiet," Virgil noted. "Do you think we should go back down?"
"What for?" Alan asked. "To mop up the blood?"
"I've still got the first aid kit," Virgil held up the item in question.
Jeff rounded a corner. "What are you two still doing here?"
Alan indicated the door. "Brains has company."
Jeff pushed a button and the door slid open. "He doesn't now."
Virgil and Alan looked at each other sheepishly as they picked up their gear.
Jeff wrinkled his nose in distaste as he entered the lab. "What's that smell, Brains?"
"Sulphur." Brains explained. "I t-tipped it in the sink to mask any s-smell of s-smoke. What happened?"
"Gordon." Jeff said simply. "He decided that he wanted to do some cooking." He shook his head ruefully. "The one time he feels like doing something domesticated and he winds up nearly killing himself and Scott, and exposing the organisation."
"It wasn't quite that bad," Virgil reminded him.
"Yeah," Alan agreed. "The fire was well out by the time we got there."
"I suppose it could have been worse," Jeff agreed.
"I-I had our guests in here again," Brains informed them.
"We guessed," Alan told him.
"They're getting s-suspicious," Brains warned. "They saw you come in here and w-wondered where you'd disappeared to."
"What did you tell them?" Jeff asked.
"I did my dumb act. Th-The problem was while I was t-talking to Cook, Joe was nosing around the lab. I'm pretty sure he looked in the, uh, emergency cabinet."
"And saw that some of the gear was missing?" Alan asked.
"Y-Yes."
"We're going to have to be twice as careful from now on," Jeff warned. "But at least I can trust Gordon not to risk exposure twice."
The three younger men looked at each other uneasily and remembered Tracey...
Scott cracked the door to his bedroom open and peered out. Gordon was sitting on one of the comfortable couches, staring at the charred cloth his hands.
"Hey?" Scott asked. "Are you okay?"
"I'm an idiot."
"No, you're not. You were bored that's all. You haven't got the temperament to be cooped up underground for days on end."
"Did you hear what Dad said?"
"Yes," Scott nodded. "It was a little hard not to. We're going to have to do something to improve the soundproofing in this place."
"So you know that he's right. I'm risking all our safety, not just yours and mine."
"He didn't mean that. He got a fright. That's all. He's been worried about Cook and Co being in the house and the stress has been building up. You just had the misfortune to be the one to open the pressure valve."
"Imagine what he'd be like if he'd known about Tracey."
"Well, don't worry. I won't tell him."
"What about Virgil and Alan?"
"Nah. They're accessories before, during, and after the fact. There's no way they'll open their mouths."
"Everything's going wrong and it's all my fault!" Gordon threw the rag angrily onto the coffee table at his feet. "If only I hadn't won that stupid medal!"
"Don't talk like that! It's not a stupid medal and you're not an idiot!"
"I deserved everything he said! It's always me, isn't it? I've always been the one getting into trouble. I've always caused him the most grief."
"In some ways… But we've all given him cause for concern over the years."
"All we've worked for… All we've strived for gone in an instant! All because I had to win some stupid medal."
"Would you stop saying that?" Scott only just managed to stop himself from snapping out the sentence. "You won an Olympic gold medal! How many other people would have given their eye-teeth just to be able to hold one of those, let alone win one? None of us have even come close…"
"Alan has with his trophies."
"Nah," Scott said in a dismissive manner. "Say you're a top race car driver and most people will yawn. But say you've won an Olympic gold medal and watch their eyes light up. They might not know much about the sport, but they'll understand the significance of the medal."
"Maybe," Gordon said reluctantly.
"No maybe about it. Besides after all that hard work you'd done you deserved that medal, and there's no way that Father would have stood in your way and stopped you at least trying. We're all proud of you… including him. And, honestly, did you have any idea that he was planning International Rescue when you were competing?"
Gordon had to be honest. "No."
"No. None of us did. I doubt even Father thought that this crazy idea of his would ever become more than just a dream. And even if he had, I'll bet he still wouldn't have stopped you competing."
Gordon appeared to be giving this idea some serious consideration.
Scott gave him a moment to mull it over before asking, "Do you ever wish you could compete again?"
"Swim competitively again?" Gordon managed a smile as he reflected on past days of glory. "I'll admit that winning my gold medal was one of the most magical days of my life. I'll never forget that day. I got to the end of the race…" He reached out, re-enacting the moment. "I felt my fingers touch the wall, and I thought, 'well, you've done it, Gordon. You've swum the race of your life. You couldn't have done any better.' I could see other swimmers finishing beside me and knew that at least I hadn't come last. Then I turned and looked at the results and saw that my name, Gordon Tracy," his hand traced where he'd seen his name in lights, "was on top of the board! I had won!" His eyes brightened at the memories. "Suddenly I knew that all those years of work and frustration and depriving myself had paid off. That was a heck of a buzz... So was standing on top of the dais, knowing that they were playing the national anthem because of something that I'd achieved. That was a pretty good feeling…" His smile broadened. "In fact it was a pretty awesome feeling!"
Scott grinned as he listened to his brother reminisce.
"But, since then, I've had bigger and better buzzes. Ones that were more rewarding than from simply winning a swimming race."
"Such as?"
"Such as… taking that first step after my hydrofoil accident. After weeks of seeing in people's eyes the belief that I'd never walk again. After many desperate times where I too was convinced that I was doomed to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair... To take that first clumsy step was an absolute high. I felt as if I could dance around that room… Instead of almost falling over as I did."
Scott laughed. "I remember that day. Father rang me. He was so excited that I could barely understand what he was saying. I don't think I really believed him until I was able to get leave from the Air Force to visit you. And I must admit that I got a pretty big buzz when you got out of your chair and walked towards me."
"I remember," Gordon grinned. "I remember the look on your face. At that moment I thought that, of the two of us, you were the one who was most likely to fall over."
"Only because you had something to hang on to."
"But," Gordon continued on, "I know a buzz that tops even that."
"What?" Scott asked, intrigued.
"Can't you guess?"
"No," Scott shook his head.
"Every time that we are on a rescue, and there's someone barely clinging to life, and we manage to swoop in there and rescue that person in the nick of time. I'll tell ya, Scott. The first two were pretty amazing from a personal point of view, but to know that I've helped save a life. That's the biggest buzz of all!"
Scott nodded. "You're right. That's a buzz I can relate to. It tops any number of medals and awards and personal achievements."
Gordon bit his lip, the lightness and excitement falling from his face. "And I hope that I haven't ruined it for us all."
"You haven't ruined anything, Gordon. How's Cook going to find us down here? He'll never see you and he won't be able to connect you to International Rescue. Cyclone Sylvia will blow over, they'll leave, and our secret will still be safe. Don't worry about it."
"I hope you're right." Clearly Gordon's good mood had been short-lived.
"Look, forget all this," Scott nudged his brother on the arm. "Let's get our guitars and have a jam session."
Gordon shook his head. "Thanks for the offer. But I've got work to do on Thunderbird Four." He stood. "If you're talking to John tell him I'm sorry I interrupted you before. I'll be in the pod bay if anyone wants me… keeping out of trouble…"
"Gordon…"
But Gordon had gone.
To be continued…
By this point in her proofreading Quiller had formed the GGootBAG (Get Gordon out of the Bunker Action Group) and had duly elected herself president, secretary and treasurer. I'm sure that she would be willing to reinstate this organization for those who wish to help support Gordon in this time of great stress. This, of course, means there is an opportunity for someone to form a companion group, the GSootBAG, to support Scott. Maybe all you 'bag ladies' could get together and swap tips and hints?
And if Virgil needs any support I'm here, ready and waiting…
Purupuss.
Note from Quiller I'm sure Scott would want to join the GGootBAG himself!