After lunch Ned and Joe had a quick conference in Ned's room. "What have we found out so far?" Ned asked.
"We've been over this before," Joe sighed. "All we know is that Gordon's had a falling out with his old man, and no one in the family knows where he is."
"It's not much," Ned admitted. "I wish we could get into Tracy's study. But either he's in there, or it's locked…"
"Or our shadows are tailing us. We've blown it, Ned. No one on this crazy island trusts us. Not after we 'chased' Tin-Tin yesterday."
"Alan was that livid that I thought was going to hit us!"
"See that little peck he gave her? There's something going on between those two."
"Only those two?"
"And after T-T started yelling about how we said this and we did that, I think we were lucky that Tracy stepped in... I wonder if her old man's into karate." Joe looked at the door as if he expected Kyrano to come bursting in.
"Even Virgil looked ready to take a swing at us. I wouldn't have thought he'd have it in him. He doesn't seem the type."
"You think he'd offer to settle it with paint brushes at dawn? Don't knock him, Ned. Remember he was the one who was going to fix the hover-plane. And he was the one who thought of cutting through the wall to save Tin-Tin…"
"Are you sure it was Virgil who came up with that idea? The way he reacted I thought it sounded as if someone had suggested it."
"Who?"
Ned shrugged. "I don't know. The nutty professor didn't do much except hang about in the background. Maybe, for once, he came up with a brilliant idea?"
"Maybe," Joe said reluctantly. "But I still think you're underestimating Virgil. I've known lots of brilliant engineers who've also had an artistic talent. Must be something to do with the wiring in the brain."
"He didn't fix it though, did he? Alan found the original. Nosy kid. Why didn't he stick to playing with his toy cars…?" Ned's frown reversed itself slowly into a grin.
"What!" Joe asked, intrigued.
"How clued up are you with motor racing, Joe?"
"I know a little. Why?"
"Go make friends with the boy racer. Tell him this all this tomfoolery is my idea and you've come along on this wild goose chase because the bosses made you. Maybe he'll let something of interest slip."
"But I'm not a reporter!"
"All the better. He won't suspect you like he would me."
"And what will you be doing?"
"Working on the wannabe Picasso."
"And he'll clam up like the rest of them. He doesn't trust you, Ned. And you can't blame me like you're asking me to blame you."
"I won't. I won't even mention anything to do with Gordon or Jeff Tracy. I'll talk about his paintings."
"And what do you know about art?" Joe scoffed.
"So I'll wing it. I've done it before. I'll get on my bended knees, apologise and then tell him he's the best thing since sliced bread. He'll lap it up… And maybe let something slip."
Joe looked at his friend uncertainly. "You know, Ned. This'd be a hang of a lot easier if we knew what we were looking for."
"Just keep your mind open, your fingers crossed, and this in your pocket," Ned handed Joe his spare recorder. "Even the smallest bit of information could be all we'll need to bust whatever's going on here wide open."
"You're sure there is something going on here?"
"Positive. I can feel it in my bones. I've got a feeling were standing on something big. Maybe even Pulitzer Prize winning material…"
Alan, relieved that Ned and Joe appeared to have retired to their rooms, had decided to while away an hour or so after dinner polishing his many medals and trophies. When he heard the knock on the door he answered it, hopefully wishing that it was Tin-Tin to give him a hand and some company.
He was disappointed to discover Joe standing on the threshold. "What can I do for you?" he asked, his voice cold.
Joe looked awkward. "I, uh, Ned's not that interested in sport…"
Alan looked at him. "Yes?"
"He only took this assignment on because the bosses told him to…"
Alan looked at the cameraman, wondering what this had to do with him.
"And my job is to go along with Ned. I don't have much say in what he does… or thinks… He tends to go off half cocked sometimes, and I get caught up in the crossfire."
Alan let Joe continue his staccato monologue.
"I'll admit I'm not a keen sports buff, but I do like racing… Car racing… And I was wondering…"
Now intrigued, Alan continued listening.
"Would you mind showing me some of your trophies? I'd… I'd understand if you didn't want to, but I really would appreciate it."
Alan thought for a moment. He couldn't see any harm in that, and quite liked the idea of showing off his one talent that wasn't possessed by his brothers. "Sure. Come in."
"Thanks." Joe stepped through the door and stopped when confronted with a wall of awards. "Wow!" he said, his eyes round.
"It looks impressive when it's all displayed together like this," Alan admitted. "But it's nothing special."
"Nothing special…" Joe was still gaping at the wall of gold, silver and platinum. "Why have you got this hidden in here? If it were me I'd have it on display where everyone could see it."
"Because I've got four talented brothers and if we had all our awards on show there'd be no room for anything else. Also these are a bit more showy than what some of the others have achieved, so I keep them in here so they don't overpower the others' achievements."
"Yes… but…"
"You'll have seen that we've got that cabinet, in the hall, where we've each got one certificate or trophy on display… That's so Grandma can show off to her friends."
"I've had a look at that. Your contribution is the trophy you received at Parola Sands. Am I right?"
Alan nodded. "That was my last race."
"But that was about two years ago! Don't you miss it? Don't you miss racing? The thrills? The speed? The power?"
Alan shrugged. "Occasionally. But what I'm doing now is more fulfilling."
"And what's that?" Joe watched Alan's previously open expression cloud over.
"Helping Brains with research for my father's business."
"Brains?" Joe said awkwardly. "He's a little… um…"
"He a genius." Alan was torn between the need to be disloyal to his friend and the desire to protect him. "He can't help his… ah… eccentricities. We get on well."
"You would have to living and working together."
Alan said nothing.
Joe indicated the trophy cabinet. "But don't you wish you could race again?"
"Well..." Alan hesitated. "We've nearly finalised a new system that we think will be faster and more efficient than any other car currently available. I'm thinking of entering it into the next race at Parola Sands so we can benchmark it against some of the best cars and racers on the circuit."
"So you're able to combine work and pleasure, huh?"
Alan smiled and Joe saw, reflected in the young man's face, excited anticipation. "Yes."
Joe worked his way along the rows of trophies occasionally asking about the various races, tracks and competitors Alan had come up against in the short time that he'd been racing competitively. "I wouldn't mind betting that Gordon has a trophy wall like this."
Once again he saw a guarded expression on Alan's face. "They don't give showy trophies in swimming."
"What's his contribution to your Grandma's 'show off' case? I would have thought he would have put his Olympic gold medal there… But I guess he took it with him."
'You know full well it's still in his bedroom,' Alan thought. "The cabinet holds his diploma in Oceanographic Research. He's pretty proud of that."
"That ranks higher than an Olympic gold medal?" Joe stared at Alan.
"I think he thinks that the medal is a personal achievement. Something he did by himself, for himself. His diploma was a result of a year's worth of research and it's something that he thinks will benefit others."
Joe nodded his understanding. "So… he's proud of what he's achieved." He bit his lip and wondered how he should proceed. "But, obviously, your father isn't. Is that the real reason why Gordon's medal isn't in the cabinet? Because your father wouldn't allow it?"
Now on his guard, Alan frowned. "That is a family matter."
"But it's fascinating. That a man, and not just any man but the highly regarded Jeff Tracy, would disown his own son. Is that why you no longer race? Because your father won't allow you to?"
"I told you I'm going to be in a race later this year."
"Because your father can see some commercial good coming out of it?"
"I think you should mind your own business." Alan tried to keep his voice even.
"Don't you wish you could stand up to him sometimes?" Joe persisted, aware that he was on dangerous ground. "Wouldn't you like to be able to live your life as you want, and not as Daddy says?"
Alan was beginning to lose patience. "You don't understand, Joe..."
The cameraman continued on gamely. "Wouldn't you like to get away from here occasionally? Not be under Daddy's thumb?"
"Joe…"
"Are you secretly jealous of Gordon for having the guts to escape?"
"I think you'd better go, Joe..." there was a definite warning in Alan's voice.
"Okay, okay. I'll leave," Joe held up his hand in a gesture of submission. "Thanks for showing me all these," he indicated the awards. "They are really something else." He beat a hasty retreat, wondering what he'd achieved, aside from, once again, making Alan wary of him.
Ned found Virgil in the lounge, painting the storm outside. "Aren't you worried that something will come through the glass?" he asked as various sized bits of plant and other debris beat a tattoo against the windows.
"No," Virgil indicated the patio doors. "They're made of plexiglass like the herbarium. They'll withstand almost anything. And if the winds do get too strong for them, titanium shutters will automatically close across all the windows." He daubed some grey paint on the clouds. "We've never had to use the shutters before, but I won't be surprised if we have to before this cyclone's over."
Ned examined the painting over Virgil's shoulder. "It's looking good."
"Thanks." Virgil resisted the temptation to tell the man to get lost. "I love storms. All that power unleashed by Mother Nature! It really gives you a sensation of just how insignificant man is. Every time we have a storm I try to capture that power in a painting, but I've never been successful." He changed brushes and started working on a lightning bolt.
"You're not doing too bad now. I'm getting a definite sensation of power," Ned lied.
'Crawler,' Virgil thought.
"I suppose things must be pretty quiet out here in the middle of nowhere," Ned continued on. "Especially since you and Alan are the ones here at the moment. You'd have lots of time to paint. You must welcome a storm just for a little action."
"Not really. We keep busy." Virgil was giving the sky a chance to dry and had switched his attention to what he could see of the beach through the driving rain.
"Doing what?"
Virgil glanced briefly at Ned and then pretended to study the scene outside. "Research and development," he said briefly.
"Researching and developing what?"
"Various things…" Virgil let his tongue creep out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on the fronds of a windswept palm tree.
"Such as?"
"Confidential," Virgil replied, adding a few highlights.
"Of course, I should have realised." Ned was silent for a moment watching the painter at work. Then he changed his angle of attack. "You seem to be a close family."
"Yes, we are. You need to be if you are going to live together on one small island."
Ned wondered if he should mention Gordon and Jeff's altercation and decided that he'd achieve more by ignoring it. "I thought so, the way Alan didn't hesitate to help Tin-Tin yesterday." He thought he sensed Virgil tense up at the mention of the dramatic events. "He seemed quite… protective."
Virgil didn't like the way the reporter had said 'protective'. "We all look out for her."
"All? In what way?"
"She practically grew up as a member of the family." Virgil stared at Ned steadily before returning his attentions to his painting. "Any of us would risk our necks for her."
"That was a clever idea of yours to cut through the wall. I guess you used your engineering skills to ensure you were cutting in the right place?"
"Uh, huh," Virgil replied to the painting. To Ned that confirmed nothing.
Ned watched the artist at work for a short time. "You know, I think you and I have something in common."
Virgil almost laughed as he glanced at the reporter. "Something in common?"
"Yes. You must have heard about my, and Joe's, little drama with the Empire State Building."
"Yes. I watched it on TV. You were both lucky."
"Thanks to International Rescue. Well, ever since then my bosses have been treating us with kid gloves, not trusting us to do anything too strenuous in case we're not ready for it yet. I keep telling them we're fine, but they won't listen to us."
Virgil silently empathised with the reporter's situation as he placed a few daubs of paint on the canvas. "That must be frustrating for you."
"You must know what it's been like. Your family must have been really worried when you had your accident."
Virgil froze mid-stroke. "Accident?"
Ned gave a light-hearted chuckle. "You're not going to tell me that's a state secret, are you? It's pretty obvious that you haven't been well."
"Is it?" Ned had put Virgil on his guard.
"Everyone's been fussing over you, and you've got a small patch on your forehead that's almost healed. So? What happened? I know I'm a nosy reporter, but humour me."
Virgil's hand had automatically gone to the site of the injury. "Equipment malfunction."
"Equipment malfunction?"
Virgil nodded. "It was nothing serious." He turned back to his painting.
"Nothing serious?" Ned repeated. "Your Grandmother in particular still seems to worry about you."
"She doesn't need to. I keep telling her I'm okay."
"So what happened?"
Virgil chose his words carefully. "I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"And…"
"And… I got caught by… an explosion and I was knocked unconscious. But that was weeks ago. I'm fine now."
"So…?" Ned asked casually. "What exploded?"
"Some machinery."
"What machinery?"
"Top secret machinery."
Ned chuckled again. "That seems to be everyone's answer in this house when confronted with a question they don't want to answer. 'It's top secret'."
"That's because we value our privacy." Virgil laid down his paints and brush and turned to Ned. "Mr Cook. You came here uninvited. You tricked us into helping you." His voice was quiet and non-threatening, but still had an edge that showed he had had enough of the reporter's questions. "You took advantage of my father's good nature, and believe me, you don't know and you obviously don't want to know what he's really like. We've allowed you to stay here in relative comfort, despite the fact that you endangered Tin-Tin's and Alan's lives. All we ask is that you respect our privacy. Please don't abuse the fact that we're forced to share the same house until this cyclone blows over."
"Ouch," Ned said genially. "I think I've just been told off."
"You've..." Virgil began, and turned when he heard a rumbling sound behind him. The titanium shutters were sliding into place over the patio doors. He crossed over to a wall and pushed open a panel. Inside was a series of buttons and a small readout. "225 kilometres per hour," he read out. "Cyclone Sylvia's on the move again."
A ripple of concern floated across Ned's face. "Should we be worried?"
Virgil shook his head. "As I said before, we haven't tested our defences, but I've no worries as long as those shutters remain closed... Now, if you'll excuse me..." he began packing up his painting kit, "there's nothing to keep me here, so I may as well put this away."
"Of course." Ned stood back and allowed Virgil to pass.
Virgil put everything in his study and then thought he'd go and check out his incarcerated brothers. He arrived at the lab at the same time as Alan who clearly had the same idea.
"I've just been interrogated," Alan said.
"You too?"
"H-Hello, boys," Brains greeted them. "Visiting time for the inmates?"
"It's safer down there," Virgil noted.
"T-The storm?"
"Our guests," Virgil clarified. "They're being nosy."
"It's either head underground or pretend that we're a few cylinders short of an engine," Alan explained.
"Don't d-do that," Brains recommended. "It's very h-hard to keep up the pretence. I keep having to remind myself not to say something intelligent."
"I think you're doing a great job, Brains," Alan congratulated the engineer as he followed Virgil into the hidden passage. "There've been times when you've nearly fooled me."
The pair of them reached the bottom of the stairwell and found a miserable twosome.
"Human beings!" Gordon exclaimed, his arms open wide in greeting. "Do me a favour and put me out of my misery."
"What's the problem?" Alan asked, amused by his brother's histrionics.
"That's what I'm waiting to find out," a familiar but unexpected voice said, and received a duet of "Hi, John," by way of reply.
"It's him!" Gordon pointed at Scott. "It's like being trapped in a cage with a hungry polar bear!"
"Hungry polar bear?" Scott exclaimed.
"All you've done all week is growl, and pace from one side of the room to the other, except for meal times when you bolt down your food. I'm scared to go anywhere near you in case you bite my head off."
"Well, you haven't exactly been the best of company, Gordon."
"But at least I don't have a face longer than Thunderbird Three."
"Do you blame me? Don't you think it's unfair that you and I are trapped down here, while those two are enjoying the freedom of our home!"
"We're just as trapped as you are, Scott," Virgil pointed out. "It's not as though we can step outside for some fresh air."
"Yes," Alan agreed. "If we want to get away from our 'guests' we have to come down here. I don't feel like I've been able to relax since they arrived. I've had to be either chaperoning them to make sure they don't discover anything, or hiding so I don't give away anything myself."
"And, to make things even more claustrophobic, the titanium shutters have closed," Virgil added, "Sylvia's proving to be more fearsome than anything we've had to deal with here before."
His brothers digested this news in silence.
"I don't know why you're moaning anyway," Alan informed his oldest brother. "At least you can be yourselves down here. At least down here you can talk about International Rescue without fear of being overheard…" He paused a moment before taking a deep breath. "INTERNATIONAL RESCUE!" he yelled.
"Happy now?" John asked.
Alan nodded. "Boy that felt good! Try it, Virg."
"Maybe later."
"Is that why you came down here?" Gordon asked. "So you could deafen us all?"
"I had to get away from Joe," Alan admitted. "He's been interrogating me."
"Interrogating?" now Scott sounded anxious instead of grumpy. "About what?"
"He was asking about my racing days... and then, none too subtly, asked about Gordon's relationship with Dad, and implied that it's because Dad's got me under his thumb that I gave up racing."
"And while you've been talking to Joe, I've had to deal with Cook." Virgil added. "Thanks to everyone treating me as if I'm bone china, he's worked out that I've been in an accident. So I've been fending off questions about what happened to me. Once he gets his teeth into a line of questioning, he won't let go."
"You should have told him to mind his own business and to slither back under whichever rock it was he slithered out from!" Scott snarled.
"I did, though not in those words. I asked him to respect our privacy."
"Privacy?" Scott sounded incredulous. "The nosy creep doesn't know the meaning of the word."
"I guess you don't become a respected reporter by not learning to ask a few questions," John suggested.
"Respected? Who could respect him?" Scott asked. "He's an arrogant, jumped-up, conceited, fat-headed, egotistical moron, who, just because his face is known all over the world, thinks the world should bow down at his feet!"
"Now that's not very nice," Gordon reprimanded mildly.
"Yes," Virgil agreed with his younger brother. "You haven't even met him, Scott. What's he done to you?"
"It's what he did to you that makes my blood boil!"
His brothers were silent for a moment as they tried to make some sense of what he'd just said.
"I've changed my mind," Gordon stated. "Do us both a favour and put him out of HIS misery!"
"All Cook was doing was asking me a few questions," Virgil reminded Scott. "It was nothing serious..."
"That's not what I'm talking about!"
"Well, what are you talking about?" Alan sounded exasperated.
'It's because of Cook that Virgil was shot down!"
Once again his brothers tried to follow his logic.
"He's been underground too long," Alan eventually hypothesised. "I was afraid this might happen."
"You know...?" Gordon was continuing on with his theme. "It's cruel to let him suffer like this... It would be a kindness really..."
Virgil was shaking his head. "I'll admit that my recollections of the day are a little hazy, but I don't remember Cook being on board the 'Sentinel' issuing orders to shoot Thunderbird Two down."
"You don't understand," Scott insisted.
"You've got that right," Gordon muttered.
"If it hadn't been for Cook holding me up, it would have been me the 'Sentinel' would have been shooting at and not Thunderbird Two! I've got combat experience and Thunderbird One's more manoeuvrable. I could have avoided those missiles!"
"Both Thunderbird One and the 'Sentinel' move so fast that neither of you would have known that the other had been in the same area of ocean," Virgil reminded him.
"But I could have taken the heat off you! Maybe then you wouldn't have been hurt!"
"Scott, what happened to me wasn't your fault…"
"I didn't say it was…"
"And it wasn't Cook's either!" Virgil reiterated. "If you'd left before me, I would have had to face the 'Sentinel' on my own! Do you think I could have made it back without you? It was you talking to me that kept me going!"
"But I couldn't do anything..."
"You did do something! You talked me home! I could never have found my way without you! You kept me focused and on course!"
"But..." said Scott.
"But nothing!" Virgil glowered at his brother. "I'm standing here and, although some people may want to think otherwise, I'm fully recovered. Now stop being an idiot!"
"Now you know why I gave you a call," Gordon told John. "I needed someone sane to talk to!"
"That's what I'm up here for. I've always got my ears open for distress signals."
Alan sighed. "How much longer are we going to be stuck like this, John?"
"Sylvia's eye is almost over you so, assuming that she doesn't suddenly dissipate, I'm picking you're going to have to stay put for at least another four days."
"Four more days of putting up with Cook," Alan groaned. "Know what I find really annoying about him?"
"No, and we don't want to know, but I'm sure you're going to tell us anyway," Gordon replied.
"His voice!"
"His voice?" Virgil queried. "What about it?"
"Don't you find it grating?"
"Grating? Uh… no. It keeps reminding me of something… or someone, but I've never thought it was 'grating'."
"What do the rest of you guys think?" Alan looked around the group. "John? Doesn't Ned Cook's voice get on your nerves?"
"I've never thought about it," John replied. "But then I only have to listen to it in sound bites, not live with it."
"Gordon…?"
"I'm the same as John…"
Alan looked at Scott and decided against asking him the same question.
Virgil looked at his watch. "Come on, Alan. Time we were getting back."
Alan pouted. "Just five minutes more."
"Father's not going to be happy if he knows we've left Cook and Co alone in the house."
"Well why doesn't he do some escorting then?" Alan asked peevishly. "He spends all his time cooped up in his study. It'd do him good to get out, and it would give you and me a break."
Virgil had started walking towards the steps. "I'll see you guys later."
Alan had reluctantly decided to follow his brother. "We'll be back as soon as we can."
"Don't make it too long," Gordon requested. "Otherwise you might only find my dismembered remains."
"Don't be silly, Gordon," Scott growled.
Virgil stopped and looked at him. "It wasn't your fault, Scott," he reiterated before jogging up the stairs.
They passed through the lab without incident, but bumped into Tin-Tin in the hallway. "Do you boys know what's happened to the phones?" she asked.
"'Phones?" Alan frowned. "No. Why?"
"I was talking to my friend in London when the line went dead."
"We've just been talking to John with no problems," Virgil said. "Let's try the lounge 'phone."
They entered the room and were confronted with the sight of Joe fiddling with the TV set. He saw the little group. "It went dead," he protested as though they were about to accuse him of damaging the appliance.
"So did the 'phones," Alan informed him.
"What does that mean?" Ned asked.
Jeff Tracy strode into the lounge and to his desk. He tried the 'phone and his Internet connection. "Both dead," he grunted.
"So's the TV," Joe told him.
"And my 'phone," Tin-Tin added.
Jeff sat down in his chair. "That can only mean the radio mast is down."
"So we're cut off from the outside world?" Ned asked.
"Yes," Jeff lied.
"This does not sound like a good situation to be in," Ned mused. "What if we need to call for help? Can't we do anything?"
"Not panicking would be a good place to start," Alan said.
"We're not panicking," Ned told him.
Jeff ignored the two reporters. "If anyone can come up with a solution to our problem, I'd like to hear it."
"Come on, Tin-Tin," Alan turned to where she was standing, partially hiding behind him. "Let's go have a brainstorming session." He took her by the arm, and led her out the door. "Coming, Virg?"
They gave Brains a quick précis of the situation. "Any ideas, Brains?" Virgil asked.
"C-Communication's not my, ah, speciality, Virgil. The best person to talk to would be John."
"That's what we thought," Alan admitted. "But it would sound more plausible if you had the solution."
"I'm supposed to be a prize idiot, r-remember?" Brains looked at the young man over his glasses.
"A genius prize idiot," Alan reminded him.
"We'll see what John can come up with first," Tin-Tin suggested. "If he doesn't have a solution it won't be a problem. We'll let you know what he suggests, Brains."
"Th-Thank you, Tin-Tin."
At the bottom of the stairwell they found Gordon and Scott trying to raise John on the radio. "You weren't gone long," Gordon noted.
"Is the radio mast down?" Scott asked.
"Looks like it," Virgil said. "We're going to give John a call on Mobile Control to see if he has any ideas of what we can do. Did you shift it to Thunderbird Two?"
A short time later found the four Tracy boys and Tin-Tin crowded around Mobile Control in Thunderbird Two's cockpit. "Calling, Thunderbird Five," Scott said into his microphone. "Come in, John."
John's face appeared on the video monitor. "Ah! There you are. I figured one of two things had happened. Either you'd got sick of talking to me, or the radio mast is down."
"We've lost 'phone, TV and Internet reception," Tin-Tin told him.
"Have you got a back up plan?" Alan asked.
"As a matter of fact I do," John informed him. "Under normal circumstances I'd tell you to take Mobile Control into the lounge, but as things aren't normal I've been working on a plan to tie you over until you get rid of Ned and Joe or get the mast erected again. It's simple enough to follow."
"I knew we could count on you," Scott said. "How efficient will it be?"
"It's not fancy, it won't be clever, but it will be functional. You'll only be able to send and receive messages to and from your nearest satellite, which coincidentally happens to be Thunderbird Five, but you don't need to tell them that."
"Say, John," Alan asked, somewhat hesitantly. "Would you mind if Tin-Tin took the credit for your idea?"
Tin-Tin stared at him. "Me? Why?"
"So Cook and Co will realise that you're not just a pretty face."
"That's a good idea, Alan," Virgil agreed. "Then maybe they won't think that… Tin-Tin's here for… um… shall we say… ah…" he looked embarrassed. "Recreational purposes?"
His brothers stared at him as Tin-Tin's face went scarlet and her mouth dropped open in horror.
"What?" Scott exclaimed.
"I know, I know," Virgil said quickly. "The idea sounds slightly incestuous to me too. But I think that's what they've been thinking."
"Why?" Alan's voice had a dangerous quality to it. "Why would they think that?"
"To someone who doesn't know us, our set up could seem to be slightly strange," Virgil explained. "And they've made several comments to me, as though they are trying to find out if we… and Tin-Tin… you know."
Tin-Tin made an unintelligible sound.
"They haven't said anything to me," Alan growled.
"You're such a hot-head they probably think that they'd be taking their lives into their own hands if they did."
"Hot-head? I suppose they think you're such a creampuff that you wouldn't dream of doing something like that."
"What? Creampuff? Just because I don't come out swinging the instant someone says something I don't like?"
"Oh! And I do?"
"Guys! Shut it!" Scott ordered. "I've got to put up with enough from this mad man without you two at each other's throats as well!"
"Mad man?" Gordon rejoined. "Is that what you think I am? I've been trying to inject a little life into our prison! Being trapped with you in those bunkers is like being stuck in an underground crypt with a zombie!"
"At least I'm not more concerned about a fish's well being than our own!"
"Tracey's better company than you'll ever be!" Gordon stormed.
"Tracey?" Tin-Tin frowned. "Who's Tracey?"
Wrapped up in their arguments, none of the Tracys heard her.
John beckoned Tin-Tin closer to Mobile Control. "Come over here, Honey, and we'll see if we adults can come up with a solution while the children play."
The arguments continued unabated.
"Boy, they're scratchy today," John commented. "How are you coping, Tin-Tin?"
"I've been hiding in my room," she admitted. "I've been trying to keep out of the way. If I don't talk to them I can't say anything to them that I shouldn't."
"Just as well you have been hiding away. It's given you time to think and you've come to realise that the mast could collapse and so you've designed this temporary system." John winked.
"Do you think I can carry this off, John?"
"I'm sure you can. I've got the plans all worked out and it's just a matter of following them. I know you won't have any problems with that. I'm sending them through now."
Tin-Tin picked up the piece of paper that scrolled out of Mobile Control's printer and examined it closely. "It seems straight forward enough… And it's to be installed in the ceiling cavity?"
"Yep. There should be enough room to crawl about. Any questions?"
Tin-Tin shook her head. "I don't think so. But it is rather hard to concentrate with all this noise going on." She indicated the bickering that was still occurring behind her.
"We'll soon stop that," John said, and pushed a button.
An ear splitting siren wailed out of Mobile Control's speakers. As the echo died away silence descended on the group.
"What did you do that for?" Scott asked.
"To get your attention. And now that Tin-Tin has come up with her master plan for regaining contact with the outside world you can all leave me in peace… But first I have something I want you guys to do."
"What's that?" Scott enquired.
"I want you all to repeat these words after me. I want you all to say, 'I'm sorry'."
They stared at him.
"I'm waiting," he informed them. "All say, 'I'm sorry'."
The four men glanced at each other before looking at Thunderbird Two's floor and muttering "I'm sorry."
"Now say, 'I didn't mean what I said'."
"I didn't mean what I said," they mumbled.
"Now say, 'this situation is getting to me'.
"This situation is getting to me."
"Now say, "John is the most intelligent, clever, resourceful, generous and handsome of us all…"
Scott flicked the switch that turned off Mobile Control. "I think we've had enough of that," he told the now black screen. Then he turned back to the brother he'd been arguing with only moments before. "I am sorry, Gordon. You're not mad. You're just as frustrated as I am and you're trying to deal with it in your own way. And I know it's important to protect and preserve the ecology of this island, and I respect the dedication you have to that goal."
Gordon blinked at the unexpected little speech. "Ah… thanks. And I guess I'm sorry I've been trying to wind you up. You're not really miserable, and I did appreciate the help you gave me in getting Tracey."
Tin-Tin stared at him. "Who is Tracey?"
"Gordon's pregnant goldfish," Scott told her.
"She's not gold, she's grey," Gordon reminded him.
"Is she still pregnant?"
"Last time I looked she was all puffed up like a balloon."
"Puff…" Alan shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry I called you a creampuff, Virg. You only have to see you at a rescue to know that nothing could be further from the truth. It was just me being my usual hot-headed self. Speaking before thinking…"
"You weren't being hot-headed yesterday, Alan," Virgil told him. "You were sticking up for the people you cared for, and that's to be admired."
Gordon groaned. "If there's any diabetics present," he announced. "Would they kindly leave the room? We don't want any hyperglycemic attacks from all this saccharine sweetness."
"Guys, we've got to remember," Scott said, "that the 'enemy' isn't each other. It's Ned Cook and Joe." He received murmurings of affirmation. "And I wouldn't mind betting that it isn't Gordon that they're interested in. Who in their right mind would fly half way around the world, in the middle of a cyclone, in order to interview some nobody who's had their fifteen minutes of fame… No offence intended, Gordon."
"None taken. So what is you think they are interested in? You don't think they've got wind that we're International Rescue?"
"No," Alan and Virgil were shaking their heads before Virgil continued on. "They've said nothing that makes me think they've got the slightest suspicions that we are who we are."
"So why are they here?" Alan asked.
"Your father?" Tin-Tin guessed.
"I'd say so," Scott agreed. "Going by what they asked you. They can't be interested in us. None of us would rate a mention in as much as a society magazine, except when linked to him, and anyway Cook's not a gossip columnist. No, I'm betting that he's hoping to find something of interest on one of the world's most influential businessmen."
"So he's trying to dig up some dirt," Alan said.
"Well… Something newsworthy."
"Something like who's the bankroller of the world's most secret organisation," Virgil mused. "Imagine what would happen if he discovered who we are."
"I don't want to think about that," Gordon announced. "I'm not going to do anything to risk our security."
"You mean you're not going to do anything more," Alan amended. "Do you promise there aren't any more Traceys up in your room?"
"If there were I wouldn't ask you to get them…"
Scott held up his hand to forestall another argument. "Guys… shush. Who's the enemy?"
"Cook," Gordon said.
"And Joe," Alan added.
"Good. Remember that."
"We'd better get started," Tin-Tin stood and moved away from Mobile Control. "Virgil, will you get the microphone headsets? It's going to be noisy up there so we'll need the noise cancelling headphones as well."
"How many?"
Tin-Tin thought briefly. "Four. We'll need a ladder too."
"Okay."
"Alan. You can give me a hand to get the necessary wire and componentry.
"Sure."
"Scott. You can stay by Mobile Control and relay any messages or questions I have to John."
Scott smiled. "Yes, Ma'am."
Gordon jumped to his feet and snapped to attention. "Ma'am! Anything I can do, Ma'am?"
"You can behave yourself and not annoy Scott while he's working," Tin-Tin ordered.
Gordon saluted. "Yes, Ma'am!"
"Oh, brother," Alan groaned as they departed. "Do you really think he's going to obey you?"
"You know?" Gordon said to Scott after the three others had left. "The way she was ordering us guys about, I think she'd make a good Dominatrix."
"Gordon!"
Fortunately for Gordon's health and wellbeing, Tin-Tin, Alan and Virgil were well out of earshot and gathering together the things they required. Tin-Tin and Alan, arms full of various bits and pieces, went into the lounge to explain what they were going to do.
"It's Tin-Tin's plan," Alan stated. Tin-Tin turned pink.
"So that's what you've been doing all this time," Ned said. "And I thought you'd been avoiding us."
"I thought we might lose the radio mast," Tin-Tin explained, hoping her voice didn't sound too false.
Jeff gave a smile that told them that he knew who the true architect of the scheme was. "Where's Virgil?"
"Getting the ladder."
"Ladder!" Mrs Tracy exclaimed. "He's not going outside!"
"Relax, Mrs Tracy," Tin-Tin soothed. "We're going to climb into ceiling through the manhole in Mr Tracy's study."
"Climb! Jeff! You can't let him climb any ladders!"
"He'd be all right, Mother."
"He's fine, Grandma," Alan reiterated. "He's perfectly healthy."
"Jeff!"
Jeff knew that warning note in her voice and cringed inwardly. She wouldn't be happy until she got her way.
"He must have been badly hurt in that accident," Ned noted. As everyone ignored his statement, they could hear a cheerful whistle coming from the hallway. Virgil was looking forward to the opportunity to do something practical.In a short space of time the ladder was set up, the manhole cover removed and Alan and Tin-Tin were crawling around in the ceiling cavity.
"Boy, it's noisy up here," Alan yelled over the sounds of the wind and rain beating down on the roof.
"What?" Tin-Tin yelled back.
"I said it's noisy!"
"What?" Tin-Tin put her headphones, microphone, and a head mounted torch on. "It is noisy up here."
"That's what I just said."
"How can I help?" Virgil was standing on the ladder, his head through the hole in the ceiling.
"We're okay, Virg," Alan said, mindful of his grandmother's earlier order. "You can go back down."
"No way," Virgil disagreed. "Someone needs to act as chaperone for you two!"
Tin-Tin giggled. "Don't worry. I think the spiders will be a sufficient deterrent."
Alan saw something move on her overalls. "Careful, Tin-Tin. There's a big one on your top."
"Where?" Tin-Tin twisted her head around, trying to find it. "Can you remove it, Alan?"
"Here..." Alan played his light across its body before carefully sliding his hand underneath the arachnid. "It's one of those big ones with the green body." He lifted it clear. "See?"
"Oh, yes," Tin-Tin regarded the specimen with interest as it tracked its way across his hand. "Thank you, Alan. I wouldn't want to hurt it."
"You're amazing, Tin-Tin," Virgil said. "Most other girls would have been screaming their heads off by now."
"Well, I'm bigger than it is... Besides, if you want to see me move in a hurry, show me a cockroach."
"Don't let Gordon hear that..." Virgil sneezed.
"Gesundheit," Alan said.
"Jeff!" Grandma Tracy was frowning at the pair of legs that were stationed at the top of the ladder. "Get him down from there."
"Mother," Jeff said patiently from where he was tidying his desk. "You know he's got a clean bill of health. There's nothing wrong with…"
"He's sneezing! How can you say there's nothing wrong?"
"It's dusty up there!"
Grandma folded her arms and glared at her son.
He sighed. "He's not going to be happy."
"I'm not worried about him being happy. I'm worried about him being healthy."
"Mother, you can't mollycoddle him for the rest of his life."
"Jeff!" The look in her eyes told him that the discussion was at an end.
He donned a microphone. "Virgil…"
Virgil looked down. "Yes?"
"Come down, Son."
"But I can help Tin-Tin and Al…"
"I'll do that. You can stand by to get any other equipment they need."
"But…" Virgil looked at his Grandmother's worried frown and knew exactly where this instruction had come from. "I'm okay!"
"I know. Now come down and let me get up there."
"Father!"
"Virgil!"
Virgil slowly started descending "What is going to happen if we get a…" he saw Ned and Joe watching him intently and pulled up short. The rest of his downward journey was made without comment.
Soon Jeff Tracy was standing at the top of the ladder.
Alan had heard the exchange. "He's okay, Dad. There's nothing wrong with him."
"I know, Alan. But with this claustrophobic situation we're presently in I'd rather have Virgil mad at me than your Grandmother. He'll take his frustrations out on the piano and that will be it. Whereas Grandma would spend the next week trying to send me on a guilt trip. She'll remind me about how she spent the best years of her life raising me and then helping me raise you boys. If she gets really mad she'll start reminding me about embarrassing memories that I would rather forget…"
"Such as?" Alan asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Never you mind. Just remember that for everyone's sanity it's easier this way. I'll make it up to Virgil later… What do we do first, Tin-Tin?"
Tin-Tin examined John's plan. "We need to lay it from there to there." She measured out an exact length of wire and handed one end to Alan. A short time later the area was criss-crossed with a web of metal strands…
Ned surreptitiously looked around the room. "Just our luck," he whispered to Joe. "First chance we get to be in here, and half the family's here too."
"See if you can get closer to the desk," Joe advised. "While everyone's attention is up top, you might be able to find something of interest."
Trying to act as if his journalistic nosiness was making him get a better viewpoint of the activities above him, Ned slid closer to Jeff's desk…
"Now…" Tin-Tin frowned at the piece of paper in her hand. "We need… No we don't… Yes we do…"
"What's up?" Alan crawled over so that he was at her shoulder and took the diagram.
"Does that look like we need six metres or eight?" Tin-Tin asked, pointing at a slightly illegible number.
"Si… No… Eig… You know, it could be ten. Doesn't that look like a one?"
"I thought it was a bit of dirt." Tin-Tin flicked a switch on her microphone. "Scott, can you hear me?"
"Strength five, Tin-Tin."
"Can you ask John what the number in area G-2.5 is, please?"
"Sure…"
Gordon mimed cracking a whip with the appropriate sound effects.
Scott switched of the microphone and glared at his brother. "Will you stop that," he hissed, and was rewarded with an insolent grin. He decided that the best course of action was to ignore the redhead. "Mobile Control calling Thunderbird Five."
"Hi, Scott."
Scott explained the problem. "What's the number?"
John examined his own plan. "The ink's smudged. Hang on, I'll do a quick recalculation." There was a moment's silence punctuated by beeps from a computer. "Eight metres."
"Okay, John. Thanks."
"Not a problem. Apart from that how are they going?"
"Great guns, from what I understand. You should be able to talk to them directly any time."
"I'll look forward to it. See ya soon, Scott."
"Bye, John." Scott switched channels from Thunderbird Five to the ceiling of the Tracy Villa. "Are you reading me, Tin-Tin?"
"Yes, Scott."
"The number is eight metres."
"Good, thank you." Tin-Tin unrolled the spool of wire. "…Four …Five …Six …Sev… Bother."
"Now what?" Alan asked.
"We've run out of wire."
"I'll get Virgil to get us another reel," Jeff offered. "Where is he?"
"Taking out his frustrations on the piano." Hearing the voice in his headphones, Jeff looked down through the ceiling hatch and saw Virgil leaning against the wall of the library, still wearing his headset, his arms folded in annoyance. "Are you sure I'm strong enough to handle this?"
"Please, Virgil. We'll humour your grandmother until this storm is over. As soon as things are back to normal I'll talk to her.
"Okay." Virgil pushed himself away from the wall. "Same gauge, Tin-Tin?"
"Yes, please."
"Grandma," Virgil called over his shoulder as he walked from the room. "You're looking tired. Why don't you sit at Father's desk? It's got the most comfortable seat."
"Allow me, Mrs Tracy." Kyrano held the seat out for her.
"Thank you, Kyrano," Grandma accepted the proffered chair.
Ned rolled his eyes at Joe and moved away from the desk.
Virgil soon returned, and a short time later a length of wire was dropped down through the hole in the ceiling. Jeff, followed by Tin-Tin, and then finally Alan, clambered down the ladder.
Tin-Tin grasped the end of the dangling wire and connected it to a basic radio unit that she positioned on a table. Then, after double checking the connection, she gave a sigh. "Now for the moment of truth."
"Good luck, Tin-Tin," Alan offered.
"Thank you." Tin-Tin place a pair of headphones over her head and spoke into a microphone, "This is Tracy Island. Can anyone hear me?" Everyone waited patiently as she tuned the radio. "This is Tracy Island calling," she repeated. "Is anyone reading me?"
"The suspense is killing me," Joe muttered.
"Is it going to work?" Ned asked.
He received a look from Alan which told him he'd asked a stupid question.
"This is Tracy Island," Tin-Tin said again, after, once more, fine tuning the radio. "Can anyone…" Everyone held their breath as she paused, listening. A smile grew on her face. "I can hear you. Can you hear me clearly?" She nodded at the unheard reply. "Yes, that's right… It's not a very strong signal…" Jeff tapped her on the shoulder and made a gesture. "Just a moment. Mr Tracy would like a word with you." She removed the headset and handed it to her employer.
Jeff took it with a word of thanks. "This is Jeff Tracy…" he announced into the microphone. "It's good to hear your voice too… No, we're fine, but we'd be better if this cyclone would leave us alone…"
"Hear, hear," Alan agreed quietly.
"Well, we'd better let you get on with your work," Jeff was saying. "It's good to know that we've got contact with the outside world… We'll do that… Thank you… Goodbye." He placed the headphones on the table and Tin-Tin turned the radio off. "Well done, Tin-Tin," he congratulated her. "It works perfectly."
"Yes," Virgil grinned. "Good work, Tin-Tin."
Tin-Tin reddened.
"Now that we've got the radio sorted," Jeff stated. "Would everyone please leave the room. I've got some work to do."
"Of course, Jeff," Grandma agreed. "Come along, gentlemen. I'm sure you'd appreciate a cup of coffee." She directed Ned and Joe out of the room.
"Would you care for a coffee, Mr Tracy?" Kyrano enquired.
"You know, that sounds like a good idea," Jeff mused. "All that dust has made me thirsty. I think I'll get a coffee myself before I start work again."
"You two go and freshen up," Virgil offered Tin-Tin and Alan. "I'll clear everything away while Grandma's otherwise occupied."
"Thanks, Virg," Alan said agreeably. Once he and his girlfriend were in the hallway he checked the room was clear. "Well done, Honey."
"Thank you, Alan. But I didn't have a lot to do with it. It was John's plan," she reminded him.
"Well I think you did great…" Alan's gaze shifted off her face and onto the floor. "Ah, Tin-Tin…" There was a note of caution in his voice. "There's a cockroach behind you."
"Cockroach!" Tin-Tin gave a little scream and took a step forward… into Alan's welcoming arms. "Cockroach? Where?"
"He's holding you," Virgil remarked as he walked past carrying the ladder.
"Ha, ha," Alan said sarcastically.
"You'll be pleased to know," John told his older and younger brothers, "that Tin-Tin's makeshift antenna is working perfectly. I've just had a quick word with her and Dad."
"That's good," Scott said. "So everything's all right now?"
"Seems to be, but I couldn't ask much," John admitted. "I got the feeling that the reporters were in the room, so they were trying to keep my identity a secret."
"I guess it would sound suspicious if the one person we manage to contact with a weak radio signal, is the missing Tracy brother," Gordon said.
"One of the missing Tracy brothers," John reminded him. "Cook and Co don't know where any of us are…"
"Did you find out anything, Ned?" Joe asked as they carried their coffees back to Ned's room.
"No. Virgil was watching me more than he was what was going on in the roof. And then when the old lady sat down I had no chance."
"But you must have seen something!"
Ned shook his head. "No. Tracy'd put all his papers into folders and all the folders were upside down on the desk. There was nothing to tell me anything."
"So, Ned." Joe turned into Ned's room. "You got your wish and you've been in Tracy's study and you found nothing. Now what?"
Ned closed the door behind them. "I don't know, Joe. I'm out of ideas. I'll tell you something though, I have a feeling that tomorrow's the day that we find what we've been looking for."
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
To be continued…