By the time day five rolled around everyone was starting to feel the stresses of being incarcerated by Cyclone Sylvia. Those in the known Tracy household congregated in the gloomy lounge needing human contact, even from those who shouldn't be there. Though the titanium shutters masked the scene outside, the howling winds and incessant rain were a continuous reminder of the maelstrom beating on the building.
Jeff discovered that companionship was preferable to solitude and had abandoned his study… after ensuring that the door was locked and secure. He was seated at his desk, trying to do something constructive without use of videophone, Internet connection, or anything classified.
Brains had escaped his laboratory and was participating in a game of chess with Alan. Trying to limit himself to regular chants of "Check" or "Checkmate", he would occasionally open his mouth to say something, catch himself, and close it again without speaking. The action inadvertently added to his perceived air of bemused imbecility.
Alan, never one for sitting still, was itching for some action. In consequence he was continuously fidgeting, forever knocking chess pieces off the table onto the floor and having to retrieve them.
Virgil, seated at the piano, was endeavouring to play something cheerful, but each musical number would deteriorate into something that matched his mood… and the mood of everyone else in the room.
Mrs Tracy had claimed the most comfortable chair and was knitting. However her constantly moving fingers were far removed from her brain as her thoughts moved from their present situation, to her grandsons' wellbeing, to what would happen if…
Kyrano was doing the rounds, supplying everyone with coffee and tending to the many pot plants. His pockets were overflowing with sprays, trimmers, and discarded clippings. Jeff asked him for a teaspoon and received an off-cut from a begonia. When his error was pointed out he grimaced, bowed low, and, without looking Jeff in the eye, supplied the required utensil.
Tin-Tin, sitting close to Alan and as far away from Ned and Joe as it was possible, had her nose buried in a romantic paperback. She sighed, having read the same page at least ten times without taking in a word and closed the book. She watched as Alan, even jumpier from Kyrano's continuous supply of caffeine, knocked Brains' captured bishop and two pawns onto the floor. She picked them up and placed them back on the table.
Ned had borrowed a book from the Tracys' extensive library and was pretending to be engrossed in it, all the while listening for any clue to the story he craved. So far no one appeared to be in the mood to talk, but he was more than willing to bide his time. He turned the page and, from the corner of his eye, watched his cameraman friend wander without aim about the room.
Joe, in the absence of a fully functioning TV and not being in the mood for watching videos, had contented himself by viewing the closed circuit video of the waves that were pounding the rocks on the shoreline and flooding the island's runway. After a full ten minutes of watching nature's fury he'd given up, stood, stretched, and started examining the many works of art that graced the floor and lined the walls. Coming to a photo of the island that had obviously taken from a boat, he examined it closely. As he looked at the picture it occurred to him that the house was a long way above sea level. He turned back to the occupants of the room. "Why are you so worried about storm surges?"
Everyone jumped, surprised by the sudden intrusion of a human voice into their numb silence.
Brains cleared his throat. "T-Tracy Island is the p-peak of a subterranean volcano, which is part of a larger p-plateau," he explained. "The waters of the Pacific roll for kilometres unimpeded until th-they reach the plateau, where they are pushed upwards towards the island. In a l-low pressure system, such as we are experiencing now, th-the, ah, effect is much more marked. I-It is the same effect as when you suck through a straw. Y-You create a low pressure system inside the st-straw, while the air p-pressure outside the straw remains the same. This pushes the liquid you a s-sucking, up the straw. Y-You could say," he continued on, enjoying his narrative, "that the eyewall of the cyclone is the straw, and the eye is wh-where the liquid is sucked up."
Ned lowered his book and stared at the young scientist. It was the sanest thing he'd heard him say and seemed strangely at odds with his normal persona. Realising his lapse into normality, Brains reddened and turned his full attention back to the chessboard.
Alan, however, had no qualms about continuing on. "Tin-Tin and I have done a small study of the geography of the island and we've discovered that it's been subjected to storm surges before."
"Even this high?" Joe indicated the photo.
"It's why we built the house so far up the mountain," Jeff informed him.
"Oh," Ned commented. "I thought it was for the view."
"No," Jeff confirmed.
Joe turned back to examine the photo again and gave a whistle. "What would you do if you ever had to deal with a storm surge high enough to reach the house?" he asked. "What could you do?" An idea came to him. "I suppose you could call International Rescue?"
For some reason the Tracys and their friends seemed to find this suggestion moderately funny.
Ned felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He dropped his book on a coffee table and joined Joe at the photo where he began examining it in detail. "I'd never realised that we were so far above sea level."
"Of course the alarm is set to go off when the waters reach a height much lower than the villa," Jeff explained. "As a safety precaution… If it does sound, we'll retreat to the storm shelters until the danger has passed. We could stay there, quite comfortably, for at least ten days if we needed to."
Alan and Tin-Tin looked at each other thinking about Scott and Gordon trapped down below them. Physically they were comfortable. But their mental state…
Scott lay on his bed, staring up at the grey ceiling in his room and tried to push an uneasy feeling that had persisted all day to the back of his mind. He was dismissing the sensation as the result of being slightly stir crazy but was beginning to wonder if it was more than that. He reluctantly had to admit that, just as Gordon was pining to be freed to go for a swim, so he was yearning for the skies. He needed the freedom that only flight afforded him. As he continued his examination of the dreary ceiling he resolved that at the first opportunity he'd get Virgil to paint a sky scene on it... The brilliant blue of the tropical skies, with the odd white fluffy cloud... Something so that should the worst happen, and they were stuck down here for two years, he'd still be able to remember what the sky was like.
He shuddered at the idea...
Gordon was doing some exercise, trying to keep his swimming muscles in trim. He'd rigged up a contraption that gave him the resistance required to maintain tone, but it was like eating a bowl full of puffed rice. It filled you up but didn't satisfy your basic nutritional needs. He needed the protective support, the cocoon of security that total immersion in water afforded him.
He released the machine and allowed it to recoil with a snap. Then he sat up, reflecting on the irony of the fact that he was trapped in this underground cell in part because there was too much water above the ground...
Up in Thunderbird Five John played a series of still photographs that the space station had taken over the last few days. By showing them one after another in rapid succession he could see the path that Sylvia was taking and he watched the cyclone's hypnotic rotation for a moment before switching the viewer off. Then he wandered into the galley, selected a snack and settled down at his telescope. He gave a sigh of contentment. The stars, a bar of chocolate, some peace and quiet and the knowledge that his family and friends were safe… things couldn't get much better than this…
Virgil watched Ned and Joe examine the photograph and wondered what they were thinking. Then, switching his attention to the chess players, he was just in time to see Brains 'check' Alan and his brother, yet again, drop a chess piece. Rubbing a knot of tension that was forming in his neck, Virgil turned away and found himself staring at the metallic grey expanse of titanium.
It was not a sight to improve his mood. The grey wall, where the sea and sky should have been, gave him a mildly claustrophobic feeling. He sighed, just at the moment when a bug, which had been happily residing in one of the pot plants until Kyrano had disturbed it, had the misfortune to fly past.
At the sound of coughing Grandma sat up straight. "Virgil! Are you all right?"
"Swallowed… a… fly," Virgil managed to gasp out.
"A fly?" His grandma levered herself out of her chair and came to his side.
"Yep." Virgil sneezed and then wiped his reddened eyes. "I'm fine. It's gone now." He cleared his throat.
"Are you sure, Darling?" Grandma felt his forehead.
He guided her hand away from his face. "It's nothing serious, Grandma. I swallowed a fly, that's all."
She looked at him in consternation. "You're looking pale, Virgil. "
"I haven't been outside in five days," he reminded her. "Of course I'm pale. We all are."
"Do you have a temperature?" She tried again to feel his forehead, but Virgil ducked her touch and she decided that she needed some parental support. "What do you think, Jeff?"
"I think..." Jeff started saying, but Virgil was, yet again, trying to dodge his grandmother's ministrations.
"I'm all right!" he snapped as he held her hand away from his face.
"Let go of me, Virgil. I'm trying to see if you've got a temperature."
"Believe me, I'm fine."
"I'll be the judge of that."
"Trust me, Grandma."
She bit her lip. "I'll get a thermometer."
"There's nothing wrong with me!"
She frowned and folded her arms as she stood in front of him. "You've been overdoing it. I knew you should have been taking it easy these last few days."
"Grandma! The most strenuous thing I've been doing is playing the piano! Next thing you'll be telling me is that I shouldn't be doing that!" Virgil slammed down the lid and the instrument uttered a discordant note of complaint. "There – is – nothing – wrong – with – me!"
Grandma scowled down on her middle Grandson "Don't you take that tone with me, my boy!"
"Hello..." Ned said in a stage whisper to Joe. "There's trouble in paradise." Alan gave him a dirty look.
The two protagonists didn't hear him as Virgil's expression matched that of his elderly relative. "I suppose you think I'm not well enough to continue my job?"
The rest of the family shifted edgily, unused to this kind of confrontation and wary of where it might lead.
Alan found himself wishing that Scott were present to calm his brother down. "Virg..."
Grandma looked at her grandson defiantly. "I was going to suggest that you, your father and I talk about that."
"Oh you were, were you!"
"Virgil…"
Virgil didn't appear to hear his father's quiet admonishment as he rose to his feet and stood there, towering over his Grandmother as he glowered down at her. "Nothing's going to stop me from doing my job! Not some cocky reporters, not some jumped up sea captain, and certainly not you! Do you understand?"
"I understand!" Grandma looked defiantly up at her Grandson and briefly wondered when he'd grown so tall. "I understand that you...!"
"Mother..."
"…won't listen to good common sense."
"Common sense!" The piano stool went flying as Virgil pushed away from the piano. "It's you who seems to have lost all your common sense, Grandma! Just leave me alone! Go bake a cake or something!"
"Not until I'm sure that you're all right…"
But Virgil had gone. Angrily muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he stalked from the lounge.
An uneasy silence fell over those who remained…
Scott threw aside the flight magazine he'd been trying to read and sat up. That strange sense of foreboding had intensified. He tried to tell himself that his nerves were on edge because he was sick of being trapped underground and nothing more. He decided that maybe some company would ease his tension. He went to look for his brother.
Gordon scooped some debris out of the fish tank and tried to imagine what it would be like to be in there, swimming with the freedom that the Plectroglyphididodon Tracii was experiencing. "Can I do anything else for you, M'lady?"
"If she answers back I'd start worrying."
Gordon looked over his shoulder. "Well, you're not the best of company at the moment. You've been moping in your room all day. At least it's listening to me."
'Tracey' chose that moment to hide amongst some of the rocks that decorated her tank.
Scott moved closer so he could look inside. "How is Tracey? Has she given birth yet?"
"Nope." Gordon dropped the net into a draining tray and gave Scott his full attention. "What's up with you?"
Scott shrugged. "Nothing much… I wanted your company."
"I thought you were sick of me by now."
"No," Scott made an abortive gesture. "I've…"
"Yes?"
Scott took a deep breath. "I've got a funny feeling…"
Gordon frowned. "What kind of feeling?"
"Kinda…" Scott hesitated, his brow creased in thought as he tried to analyse the sensation. "Kind of as if something's going to happen… or is happening."
He was surprised when Gordon didn't laugh. "Something bad or something good?"
"That's part of what's so frustrating. I can't pin it down and I was wondering if you were feeling the same thing. If it was something to do with us being trapped down here for the last five days."
Gordon shook his head. "I'll admit to feeling bored. I'll admit to feeling frustrated. I'll even admit to feeling jealous of Alan and Virgil. But I don't have any premonitionary feelings… if that's a word."
"I don't think it is."
Gordon gave his eldest brother a reassuring pat on the arm. "Relax. It's probably nothing. As you said yourself, you're sick of being stuck down here. Eventually Sylvia will move on, things will get back to normal, Ned and Joe will head back home and our secret will be safe. You've nothing to worry about…"
Virgil found himself standing in the middle of his bedroom feeling more than a little ashamed. He had NEVER spoken to his grandmother in that way before. He'd never felt the desire, or the need to do so. He picked up his pillow and slammed it back onto his bed, giving vent to his frustrations. "They won't be thinking I'm a creampuff now. They'll be thinking I'm more of a hot-head than Alan!"
There was a knock at the door.
Virgil knew that the odds were in favour of his guest being one of two people. Either Jeff Tracy was standing outside that door, or else it would be Alan. His father would be waiting to demand that Virgil go and apologise to his grandmother straight away. Alan would either sympathise with his brother's situation, or ask who gave Virgil the right to talk to their Grandma in that way? Virgil had to admit that he didn't know the answer to that one.
He opened the door.
"Grandma!"
"Virgil..."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry."
Feeling that standing in the hallway, talking in unison, was not the best way to offer an apology, Virgil stood to one side. "Please come in," he offered.
She lowered her eyes. "Thank you."
As he watched his grandmother walk into his room, Virgil felt all the more ashamed at her obviously timid manner. He closed the door to give them some privacy. "Grandma, I'm sorry I yelled at you. The only excuse I can offer is that being cooped up for the last five days has finally sent me round the bend."
She gave a wry smile in reply. "No, Virgil. It's not your fault. This situation is driving us all a little crazy."
"But it's my only excuse… and it's not a good one."
"You don't need an excuse because it's all my fault. I suppose I've been worried about so many things that I've concentrated on the only thing I thought I've had some control over. And that is what you can and can't do. Can you forgive me for being a silly old woman?"
"Only if you'll forgive me for being a rude, hot-headed young man."
"I've never thought of you as either rude or hot-headed."
Virgil managed a grin. "How would you describe me then?"
"Caring, sensitive, artistic..."
"A creampuff."
"Oh, no!" Grandma looked horrified. "You're Virgil Tracy, my grandson, and I wouldn't have you any other way... I wouldn't change you or any of your brothers."
"Thank you, Grandma. And for the record I've never thought of you as a silly old woman. I think it's you I must have inherited my 'caring'…" Virgil mimed the speech marks, "…nature from..."
"But I overdid it this time, didn't I? I am a silly..."
"No you're not," Virgil reprimanded her gently. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again, because it's not true." He opened his arms wide. "Can we hug and make up?"
She willingly accepted his offer. "When did you grow so big, Virgil Tracy?" she said into the material of his shirt. "I can remember when I could wrap my arms right around you."
"So can I. But things change, Grandma. I'm grown up now and I don't need you to watch over me every minute of the day."
"I know. But sometimes I look at you… I look at all of you and I still see those little boys who relied on me so heavily. We were so close in those days."
"I hope we still are," Virgil reminded her.
"I've always thought of myself as being lucky. Having you all as such an important part of my life is special…"
"We're lucky too."
"But that other week… I stood on the patio and I watched you flying closer and closer... I saw Thunderbird Two on fire… I was frightened... I-I was frightened that you wouldn't make it… I was frightened that I would never feel one of your hugs again..."
Virgil felt her give a shiver of fear as the memories and feelings came flooding back. "Hey..." he said softly. "But I did make it, and you're getting a hug now."
"I know. But that was a horrible experience."
Virgil gave a wry grin. "I wasn't having a picnic myself... But, Grandma, I don't want what happened to stop me from doing what I love doing."
"And that includes flying Thunderbird Two and being part of International Rescue, doesn't it?" She took a step backwards and looked into his brown eyes, seeking the truth.
He looked down into her faded blue ones. "Yes it does. And I hope that the next time Thunderbird Two and International Rescue are needed, you'll let me go."
Grandma took another step away and put a brave smile on her face. "I won't have any choice, will I?"
"Well…" Virgil gave a wry smile. "You've still got plenty of influence over Father…"
She gave a little laugh. "True."
"And I think Scott's still stressing over what happened."
"Well send him to me! I'll set him straight."
"So you won't try to stop me in the future?"
A distinctive siren sounded.
"No…" Virgil moaned. "Not now! I was hoping that Ned and Joe would be gone before we'd get another rescue."
"You'd better go, Virgil."
"You're letting me?"
Grandma nodded, trying not to show her reluctance.
Virgil gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks."
"Will you be annoyed with me if I ask you to be careful?"
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
She managed to smile. "Be careful... Keep safe… and keep your brothers safe too."
"I'll do my best." Virgil slid open his door.
Alan was in the hallway, guiding Ned and Joe to the storm shelters.
"Trouble?" Virgil asked, knowing the answer.
"Uh, huh," Alan confirmed. "I was making sure that our guests are safe."
"I'll do that," Grandma offered. "You and Virgil have work to do." She slipped her arms through Ned and Joe's. "Come on, Gentlemen. You can assist me there."
They heard Alan ask Virgil "Is everything okay between you two?" as the Tracy brothers hurried away in the direction of the lounge.
"Shouldn't we be helping?" Joe asked as Mrs Tracy guided them in the opposite direction.
"No," she replied with confidence. "Everyone has their job and they know what to do. We'd only be in the way."
Seeing his news story slip away, Ned dropped her arm and stopped walking. "But surely there's something we can do to help."
"You are helping by keeping out of the way," Grandma reminded him.
"Three of your grandsons aren't at home."
"That contingency has been catered for."
Joe, realising Ned's true motives for returning to the lounge, backed him up. "It doesn't feel right running away,"
"You're not running away."
"But it's not right!" Joe reiterated.
"Not when the family has been so generous."
"Please, Mr Cook..."
"We'll go back to the lounge and ask. If Mr Tracy says he doesn't need our help we'll come back."
"You can help me get to the shelters."
"Coming, Joe"
"Yep."
"No! They don't need..."
Ned started jogging along the hallway. "We'll be back really soon."
Feeling sick in her stomach Grandma tried to run after the two men. "Stop! You'll only be in the way! … Jeff!"
The lounge seemed to be full when Ned and Joe ran in, and Ned couldn't stop himself from crashing into someone. That someone turned to face the two intruders.
Ned Cook, ace reporter of the NTBS, held his hand out in greeting.
"Gordon Tracy, I presume..."
To be continued…