If Gordon Tracy had ever truly wanted to be a fish, this was the closest he'd come to achieving that piscine goal. His mouth hanging open in surprise, wide eyes and red hair made him seem as though he was giving his impression of a startled goldfish. Only his International Rescue blue uniform spoilt the effect.
Ned Cook, as he had learnt to do over the many years that he'd been reporting, hid his shock beneath a veneer of insolence. Instead he, rather obviously, ran his eyes up and down the uniform. "So this is the Tracy family's great secret. You know, I'd never guessed. There were clues, I knew you were hiding something, but I never guessed it was this!" His eyes narrowed. "I guess we'll be having that interview later, Gordon."
Alan stepped protectively in front of his brother. "You leave him alone!"
"Yeah!" Scott agreed. "Why don't you slither back into the storm shelter until Sylvia's passed and you can leave us in peace?" He took a step forward. "Or do we have to make you?"
Ned's attention switched to the other man, recognising the voice as the one that had comforted him through the long hours he'd been trapped under New York City. "Thunderbird One!"
"Yes," Scott growled. "I'm the pilot of Thunderbird One. And I could wipe you out as quickly as that roll of film."
Virgil laid a restraining hand on his oldest brother's shoulder. "Please, Mr Cook. Leave us and let us do our job."
The sound of laboured breathing heralded Grandma Tracy's arrival. She stopped when she saw the tableau, and wailed, almost in tears. "I'm sorry, - Jeff. - I tried to - stop them, - but they woul-dn't listen - to me."
"It's all right, Mother. It's not your fault," Jeff's voice was calm, belying the glint of anger in his eyes.
"Mrs Tracy. Come and sit down." Kyrano took the elderly lady by the arm and led her towards a chair.
Tin-Tin pushed the chair closer and Grandma sat down with gratitude, twisting her hands together in anxiety. "I'm sorry, Boys, Brains. I'm so sorry."
There was a moment's tense silence as the two groups of protagonists eyed each other.
Brains looked at his watch. "Th-The eye will be here s-soon."
Joe, who didn't have Ned's command of his emotions, was looking in astonishment from Gordon, to Scott, to the row of portraits. He noted that Gordon's had appeared and that in all five pictures the boys were in uniform. "I don't believe it," he breathed. "You're International Rescue!"
"Yes," Ned agreed, sounding less impressed. "They are International Rescue."
"Kyrano," Jeff commanded. "Will you please escort these… 'gentlemen' to the shelters. And then I would be grateful if you would ensure that they stay there."
Kyrano bowed. "It would be my pleasure, Mr Tracy."
"I'm going to help you, Kyrano," Grandma offered, rising to her feet. "It's the least I can do."
"Hah! You've had it now, Cook," Alan jeered. "Kyrano's a master of any of the martial arts. He could whip all five of us Tracy boys at once, with one hand tied behind his back. And once Grandma's got you in her sights you've got no chance of escaping. Take it from one who's tried to sneak out at nights. Right, Gordon?" he nudged his brother.
Gordon maintained his stunned mullet impression. He remained immobile.
Kyrano bowed again. "Mr Cook. Mr Joe. If you would come with me."
"Very well," Ned conceded. "Come on, Joe."
Joe still appeared to be as stunned as Gordon was. "International Rescue!" he breathed again as the reporter pulled him out of the room.
The atmosphere in the lounge remained tense after they'd gone.
It was Gordon who broke the silence. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault, Gordon," Scott reassured him. "The question is how do we eliminate the problem?"
"We'll worry about that later," Jeff stated. "In the meantime there's someone who needs our help. How far away is the eye, Brains?"
Brains consulted his watch again. "Eighteen m-minutes."
"Then you'd better get ready, Boys. Scott. I want a word with you before you go."
There was a chorus of F-A-B in reply as they all scrambled for Thunderbird Two.
Their father's parting instruction pulled them up short. "Boys… Make it a good one… It may be our last mission."
"International Rescue?" Joe whispered to Ned. "Had you any idea?"
They were seated at one end of the fabled storm shelter. At the other end, on either side of the door sat Grandma and Kyrano, as immobile as a pair of statues.
"No," Ned admitted.
"What do you think they'll do to us?"
"Nothing too drastic."
"Are you sure?"
"This is International Rescue we're talking about. I don't think dropping us into the Pacific wearing cement shoes is their modus operandi."
"Maybe they can wipe our minds. Look at the technology they've got available to them. That could explain why no one's been able to trace them up till now."
"You mean we'll turn up somewhere in the States as a couple of gibbering idiots with total amnesia?"
Fear showed in Joe's face. "Maybe."
"Joe, my friend, you're letting your imagination run away with you."
There was an electronic whispering noise from the other side of the room.
Jeff Tracy stood there; a physically imposing man framed by a door that seemed too small for him. As if honouring his presence both his mother and Kyrano stood and he took a step into the room, the door sliding shut behind him. "Gentlemen."
Joe went to stand, looked at Ned, froze without straightening, looked at Jeff, looked back at Ned, and then sat down again.
Ned resisted an impulse to stand as the others had done. Instead he hooked both arms over the back of his chair in an approximation of a relaxed attitude. "What are you going to do with us?"
"We won't be making that decision until my sons return." As Jeff moved closer there was a sense of restrained anger about him. "In the meantime I am asking you to not cause any trouble."
"And if we do?"
The hint of a smile twitched at the corner of Jeff's mouth. "As my youngest son has already told you, you would be unwise to try anything against my mother or Kyrano. Don't underestimate either of them. I'm telling you this for your own good."
"So you're going to hold us prisoner…"
"Not prisoner. We're merely ensuring that you don't see anything that you shouldn't."
Ned ignored the interruption. "So you're going to hold us prisoner until your sons return?" He managed to maintain his laconic attitude. "Until they've returned from flying through one of the worst storms this century. How fast are those winds? 250 kilometres per hour?"
All trace of the smile had disappeared. "275."
"Two hundred and seventy five kilometres per hour," Ned said reflectively. "You know… Jeff…" he used the first name with the arrogance of someone who held the upper hand. "I don't think it's us your sons have to worry about. How good is this plane they're in? Just how strong is this Thunderbird? It is Thunderbird Two they'll be flying in, isn't it?"
"Ned!" Joe hissed.
"Did International Rescue receive any recompense from the USN?"
"What…?" Bemused, Joe looked at his friend.
"Why would we receive 'recompense from the USN?" Jeff asked, with a light laugh.
Ned answered the question with a question. "Do you still trust Thunderbird Two? Is she strong enough to withstand 275 kilometre an hour winds?"
"I'm not answering any of your questions."
Ned kept pushing. "How does it feel, as a 'loving' father, to send your sons out into danger?"
Jeff hesitated and Ned saw a moment's indecision before the Tracy patriarch smiled. But it was a smile touched his mouth and nothing more. "You are persistent, Mr Cook."
"That's the way I work. Get a few ideas, keep throwing them into the pot and see what kind of stew is served up at the end… So tell me. Is it veal or vile?"
Jeff's overriding impulse was to yell into the reporter's jeering face. Instead he kept hold of the iron self control for which he was so well known. "I have a rescue to oversee. I trust that you will behave yourselves and will not give my mother or Kyrano any trouble. You will wait here until the boys return."
Ned's final shot was directed at Jeff's back. "And if they don't return?"
The door closed leaving the four of them in the room.
"Why," Joe hissed, "were you goading him?"
"To see if he'd let something slip."
"Such as? What's the USN got to do with anything?"
Keeping his voice low so that their 'guards' couldn't hear their conversation, Ned said, "while we were in hospital one of my contacts in the USN gave me a call. He told me that there was a rumour going round that the 'Sentinel' had shot down Thunderbird Two."
"What!" Joe exclaimed before glancing towards the door and then lowering his voice again. "What? Why?"
"I don't know."
"Did you try to confirm this?"
"I tried, but I didn't get very far. Can you imagine the world's reaction? One of the strongest assault craft in the world attacks one of the most peaceful. It's not like either organisation would be straining to admit that such a thing had happened."
"True," Joe agreed.
"My contact thought that the reason why International Rescue took so long to reach us was because Thunderbird Two was still out of action and they had no way of getting Thunderbird Four to us in time. My contact said that it was the 'Sentinel', to repay their debt, which took Thunderbird Four from, I guess here, to New York."
"So, is that why John's not here? Do you think he was injured or worse in the crash?"
"No. I caught a glimpse of the portraits before the Tracys realised we were in the room. It shut down pretty quickly, but I think John's is a video link between here and him on Thunderbird Five."
"So who was the pilot of Thunderbird Two? From what I've hear about the 'Sentinel's' missiles, they're not the kind you can just walk away from after getting hit. Whoever was shot down must have been hurt. Does Jeff Tracy have a sixth son? Or a daughter?"
"The guy's so secretive that I wouldn't be surprised, but, no. I'm guessing Virgil was the pilot. You've seen how they've all been watching over him. You heard his comment about the 'jumped up sea captain'."
Joe sat back. "This is bigger than a story about an Olympic Swimmer."
"You're telling me, my friend. You're telling me…"
Down in Thunderbird Two's flight deck four of the Tracy men were waiting impatiently.
"How long till the eye reaches us, John?" Virgil asked.
John gave a snort. "This is a cyclone we're talking about, Virgil. It's not like you, able to predict touchdown to the nearest second.
Virgil frowned in annoyance. "I'm aware of that. Roughly?"
"Roughly five minutes."
"Good."
"Give or take a couple of minutes."
Virgil restrained from further comment.
"Is everything ready, Virg?" Scott was standing at Virgil's shoulder.
"It should be. You did the pre-flight while I was getting changed."
Scott was watching a gauge on Thunderbird Two's control panel. "Look at those wind speeds! 270 – 280 k per hour."
"I've seen gust of over 300," Virgil noted. "You'd either have to be mad or desperate to be flying out in that."
"Speaking of flying in cyclones," Scott turned so he was addressing his three brothers in the cockpit. "Father's told me that if the eye passes before we're able to get home, we're not to attempt a return until the winds are at a safe speed. We're to go to Penny's instead."
"Fair enough," Virgil said.
"In that case we're going to have to work fast and make sure we're home in time," Alan stated. "There's no way I'm going to run away and leave everyone else to face the cyclone alone… Right, Gordon."
"…Right…" Gordon appeared to still be in a daze.
"Bet you're glad to be finally getting out of that bunker, huh, Gordon?" Alan asked.
"…I guess…" Gordon mumbled; staring at his hands.
"Soon you'll be outside."
"…Yeah..."
"And you won't have to go back down underground when we get back."
"…No…"
"And we'll make sure that reporter doesn't get anywhere near you."
…
Alan looked at his other two brothers and rolled his eyes. "How's Tracey?"
"…Fine..."
"Has she had her babies yet?"
Gordon shook his head and said nothing.
"Gordon," Scott knelt in front of his brother in concern. "Are you feeling all right?"
"…Yeah…"
"Are you up to helping us with this rescue?"
Gordon looked at his eldest brother. "I'm okay. I won't let you down… not with this anyway." He resumed his inspection of his hands.
Scott patted him on the knee in an affectionate and reassuring manner. "You've never let us down. What's happened with Cook and Co isn't your fault."
"What are we going to do with them?" Alan asked. "Did Dad say anything?"
Scott shook his head. "No. He only said he wouldn't make a decision unilaterally. This is something we've all got to agree on. But he doesn't want us to worry until we're home again. He wants us to concentrate on the job in hand. Okay, Alan?"
"Okay."
"Virgil?"
"Sure, Scott."
"John?"
"F-A-B."
"Okay, Gordon?"
"…Okay…"
Scott mouthed something to Alan that the youngest Tracy took to mean, 'Keep talking to him. Cheer him up.' He nodded his understanding and thought for a moment. "I missed the results of the match before we lost the radio mast. You didn't happen to catch them, did you, Gordon?"
Scott watched the pair of them for a moment until he was sure that Gordon was at least responding. Then he returned his attention to his brother seated in the pilot's seat. "How are you, Virg?" he asked quietly.
Virgil looked at him. "I'm okay. Why? Don't try to stop me from going. I'm as fit as I ever was."
"I'm aware of that… I heard about you and Grandma."
Virgil eyed him warily. "Has Alan been talking?"
"No. Father thought I should be aware of what happened."
"So you can keep an eye on me as well as Gordon?"
"You know how it works. As Rescue Co-ordinator I have to be aware of all the facts. And that includes knowing about anything that might impede the performance of one of my operatives. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Virgil…"
"I'll admit that that wasn't one of my finest moments, but you don't need to worry."
"I want to help."
"I know, boy do I know." Virgil shook his head. "But I'm okay, Scott. That's all there is to say."
"Later maybe?"
"I'll think about it."
John interrupted the discussion. "Are you guy's watching the anemometer? The wind's dropping."
"And the barometric pressure's rising," Virgil added. "The eye's almost upon us."
Scott clapped his hands once to get everyone's attention. "This is it guys. If anyone wants to back out now, this is your last chance. We could be flying in the cyclone before we reach our destination."
Gordon and Alan answered by tightening their safety harnesses.
"Virg?"
"If you're coming with us, Scott, you'd better sit down because I'm lifting off as soon as the runway's cleared."
Unseen by the men inside the hangar, the wall of the cliff face started sinking into the earth. Then a scoop slid into position across the face of the hangar door. It moved forward, shifting debris from the runway until an area slightly larger than Thunderbird Two was cleared. Only then did the hangar door fall forward.
Amazingly sunlight streamed into the hangar.
Virgil sneezed.
"I think you're allergic to the sun," Alan said.
"I was beginning to think I'd never see sunshine again," Scott commented as the megalithic craft rolled forward along the runway that was still being pounded by the seas.
Alan gave a whistle. "Look at the mess! We're going to have a heck of a clean up job later. Aren't we, Gordon?"
"Yeah."
"We've lost all the palm trees," Alan continued conversationally.
"No," Scott pointed out through the windscreen. "Two and eight are still standing."
"Bet they don't withstand Sylvia's second affront."
"It's going to be a vertical lift off," Virgil announced. "We can't reach the launch pad. Everyone buckled up?"
"Yes."
"Here we go… Straight up…"
Jeff stood on the patio and watched as Thunderbird Two rose up from behind the headland that hid part of the runway. The sun shone down giving everything a fresh sparkle, disguising much of the damage and belying the fury the island had recently had to endure.
"Mr Tracy?"
He glanced over his shoulder and then looked back, craning his neck as he watched Thunderbird Two fly higher. "Tin-Tin?"
"Would you like some coffee?"
"Are you taking over your father's role since he's otherwise occupied?" Jeff chuckled, shielding his eyes against the sun and searching out Thunderbird Two, which was now a speck against the blue sky. "That'd be great, thanks. But perhaps you'd take four cups into the storm shelter first? They could be getting thirsty by now."
"Yes, Sir."
"And you and I are going to have to take turns to relieve Mother and Kyrano. Do you mind?"
She had moved to his side and he saw her shake her head. "No. I don't mind."
"Thank you."
"Mr Tracy?"
"Yes, Tin-Tin?"
"What are you going to do with those two men?"
"I don't know, Tin-Tin… At the moment I've got more important things to worry about." He looked back up into the sky.
"Are you worried about Thunderbird Two?"
"A little. We didn't get to test her enough for my liking."
"A-All test's showed sh-she is A-OK, Mr Tracy."
Jeff started. "Brains? I didn't see you there."
"Sorry, Sir."
"You're not worried?"
Brains shook his head. "Th-The launch went very smoothly."
"You're right. I'll admit that with all the damage we've sustained I had my concerns."
"C-Cyclone S-Sylvia has been a good test of our defences. I do not think we have to w-worry, about Thunderbird Two or our home."
Jeff smiled. "Then let's drink to that. I thought you said there was some coffee on offer, Tin-Tin."
She bowed in an unconscious mimicking of her father's customary action. "I will bring some to you, Mr Tracy."
"Thanks, Honey."
"How high are we going, Virgil?" Alan asked, temporarily giving up on his task of bringing Gordon 'back to life'.
"Looks like Sylvia's about eighteen thousand metres high, so I'm aiming for twenty."
"Two kilometres? Will that be enough separation between us and the winds?" Alan glanced out the window to where the broiling cloud marked the eye wall.
"If it's not then we'll have to go higher," Virgil stated.
"How's our 'victim' holding up, John?" Scott radioed.
"He seems to be fine. Just hanging around waiting for us to rescue him."
"Has Sylvia reached that part of the world yet?"
"The rescue services report that the wind's picked up since I last spoke to them. Sylvia's edging in that direction… as we well know."
"18,000 metres high," Virgil interrupted. "Will be at danger zone in 17.53 minutes."
"Okay, Virg. Thanks. I'll let them know."
"Once you've done that, John, can you patch me through to them?" Scott requested. "I'd like to let them know what we've got planned."
"F-A-B."
As he waited for the local rescue co-ordinator to come on-line, Scott closed his eyes and allowed the sun to play across his face.
Virgil glanced at him. "Feels good, does it?"
"Mmn. I'll say. Better than a heat lamp any day."
"Scott! I have Police Commander Rob Giles."
"Thanks, John. Good morning, Mr Giles."
"Good morning, ah, Sir. How can I help you?"
"Firstly, can you tell me exactly how this man came to be in this predicament?"
"They were filming a reality show," Scott could almost see the man screw up his face in disgust. "The 'star' of the show has to attempt one dare each episode. This week he had to step off the 'Vertical Jump'."
Scott asked the inevitable question. "'Vertical Jump'?"
"It's an attraction on the tallest building in the city," Rob Giles explained. "There's a couple of cables running from the roof to the ground. The chump who's willing to fork out his cash gets trussed up in some kind of overall and a safety harness. Then they're clipped to the cables and step off the roof. They freefall towards the ground until they reach a point where they slow down to a more sensible speed. The theory is that they won't end up as pancake."
"Sounds like fun. Don't you think so, Gordon?" Alan asked.
Scott winked at his brothers as he said, "So what went wrong?"
"The 'star's' dare was to 'enjoy' this bit of 'fun', without being harnessed to the safety line…"
"What!" Scott exclaimed. "That's crazy!"
"Illegal too," Giles agreed. "The regular management say that if they had have known what was happening they would have put a stop to it. But the TV crew managed to sweet talk their way into the pocket of one of the employees and he arranged for it to happen after hours. He says the wind speed at the time was within the accepted limits, but I have my doubts. Anyway, our victim slid halfway down the cables and then his cape got jammed in the…"
"His what?" Scott interrupted.
"His cape… He's dressed as Superman." Giles' disgust at the stupidity of it all was clear in his voice.
Alan burst out laughing. "I can't wait to see this. The guy must feel a right idiot! Right, Gordon?"
Gordon's eyes had brightened as he imagined the scene. "Superman stuck in mid-air… I can't believe it. Video it, Virg!"
"Okay."
"We could have handled the situation ourselves," Giles was explaining, "but, as I said, it's the tallest building in the city, the cyclone's getting closer, and we wouldn't be able to carry out the rescue before the winds started getting dangerous. If he'd been wearing the safety line, things would have been different, but... That's why we had to call International Rescue."
"You said they were filming?" Scott asked cautiously. "What about their cameras?"
Mr Giles gave a chuckle. "Don't worry, your security is assured. The producer was having grand visions of filming the whole spectacle and making a documentary out of it… Until we confiscated their cameras. They're crying 'Police State', but we're holding the film as evidence. There'll be a court case no doubt. We've also evacuated all the streets within a mile radius… Local businesses are screaming blue murder!"
Scott sympathised.
"Media!" Giles huffed. "In my experience they cause nothing but trouble."
"Tell me about it," Scott agreed.
"I'll tell you one thing, the TV company's going to cop a mighty big bill at the end of all this."
Scott chuckled. "We'll be sure to send ours along too."
The Police Commander appeared to remember who he was talking to. "What are you planning to do?"
"Lower an elevator car down to 'Superman', secure the guy, cut him loose, and pull him in."
"So you won't be coming in to land then?"
"I've been checking out maps of the general area. There's no room for Thunderbird Two within the immediate vicinity. We will have to land somewhere though to let 'Superman' out. Can you recommend somewhere secure?"
"I'll work on it. How big an area will you need?"
"Ninety two metres by sixty one."
Rob Giles was silent for a moment. "Ah."
"Or, to make things easier, we can lower the elevator into an open area somewhere. Somewhere close to medical facilities, but not too close to buildings or tall trees?"
"Okay. I think I can manage that."
"Good," Alan said in approval. "Then we won't have to hang around too long and can head home. I want to get back before the cyclone hits again."
Gordon appeared to be about to agree, but then remembered who and what was waiting at home and lapsed into silence again.
Scott and Giles sorted out a few more details before Scott turned back to his brothers. "Okay, fellas. This is what we're going to do. I'll control the elevator. That way I can maintain contact with the rescue services. Alan, you control the feed-out line and Gordon, you release 'Superman'. Is everyone happy with that…?"
Alan relinquished his seat next to Gordon so he could talk to Scott without being overheard. "Do you think that's a good idea? He's not exactly himself at the moment."
"I know, but it's a four man job. This way one of us won't be relying on Gordon for safety. If he's got to worry about his own neck, and 'Superman's', I'm pretty sure he'll concentrate on the job and forget about his problems."
"Makes sense," Alan nodded. "I'll keep an eye on him too."
"Thanks, Alan. I know I can count on you."
"One point five minutes from danger zone," Virgil intoned.
"Thanks, Virg. You guys had better go get suited up," Scott instructed. "We'll let you know when we're in place."
Alan was relieved that Gordon appeared to be able to put aside his troubles and concentrate on the rescue. Soon they were both suspended in the elevator car beneath Thunderbird Two. Ahead of them, dangling between two thick cables, was 'Superman'."
If he'd ever believed that he'd cut a dashing figure in the iconic uniform, 'Superman' was less than impressive now. The wind may have been pushing his body so it was parallel to the ground, and part of his cape was flapping in a manner that simulated flight, but his green face clashed with his blue leotard and spoilt the effect. "I feel sick?" he moaned above the roaring wind.
"Hold on," Gordon shouted. "We'll be with you shortly… Ready, Alan?"
"Yep."
After re-checking that their safety harnesses were securely attached to the elevator car, Alan picked up an instrument similar in shape to a large gun. The projectile appeared to consist of a large suction cup attached to a length of strong wire. He lined up the scope, taking care to aim away from the airsick victim, and squeezed the trigger. With a hiss the projectile soared through the air, the wire snaking out behind it. A thwunk sounded as the suction cup landed against the wall of the building and stuck firm.
Alan tested the strength of the suction cup's grip. "Feels good, Gordon. It should hold you."
"Thanks." Gordon stepped out into nothing and allowed the feed-out line to take his weight. When he was satisfied that the suction unit was indeed going to hold he started sliding along the line.
Scott was watching via the video camera positioned on Thunderbird Two's undercarriage. "He's looking good, Alan. Any problems?"
"No. You know Gordon. When it comes to work he's a total professional. He's left his troubles onboard Thunderbird Two."
"Glad to hear it."
"Hi," Gordon greeted 'Superman'. "Let's see about securing you to this first." He busied himself attaching the victim's harness to the feed-line. Then he made a point of attaching a safety line. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Clark Kent."
Gordon looked at him. "You're kidding me!"
"I'm not… well… it is a nickname, my real names Mark Dent, but I've been known as Clark Kent for as long as I can remember. That's why the producer thought I was ideal for this role."
"I'll bet you're glad you took it on now."
'Superman' said nothing.
Gordon spoke into his microphone. "Okay, Alan. He's hooked up. I'm going to start by cutting loose his cape."
"F-A-B."
"Can you give me more height?"
"Hang on… Scott, Gordon needs more height. Can you winch us up a metre?"
"F-A-B. Confirm rise one metre."
"Check."
The elevator car started to move skywards.
Sylvia clearly did not approve of the Tracys' escape from home. She sent a gust of wind which caught the elevator car, jerking it outwards and pulling the suction cup away from the building's wall.
Gordon found himself falling towards the Earth, 275 metres below. His safety line caught and held, leaving him dangling underneath the elevator car. "Alan! What happened?"
"Gordon! Are you all right?" He heard Alan's yell in his earpiece.
"I'm fine. Just giving Clark Kent a lesson in the necessity of safety equipment."
"Who?"
"It's Superman's real name."
"You're kidding me!"
"That's what I said." Gordon felt the winch kick into action and he was brought up to the elevator car, the suction cup dangling below. "What happened?"
"Wind gust." Alan pulled Gordon into the elevator car. "I think Sylvia's annoyed with us."
An anxious voice was heard over the radio. "Are you okay, Gordon?"
"Fine, Scott. Get Virg to hold her still will you."
"Don't blame me. Blame Sylvia."
"I'm willing to blame Sylvia for lots of things." Gordon watched as Alan reloaded the suction cup's gun. "Make sure it sticks this time."
Alan bit back a retort. "Are you ready to go out again?"
"Yep. Aim higher than last time and we'll try to keep the line on the horizontal."
"F-A-B."
The line shot out and Alan tested that it was held securely. "Ready when you are, Gordon."
Moments later Gordon was once again cutting at 'Superman's' uniform.
Up in Thunderbird Two's flight deck things were a lot less exciting.
"What's that you're humming, Virg?"
"Huh? Oh… I've got one line of some old song running over and over again in my mind. I can't get rid of it."
"What's the lyric?"
"'You don't pull on Superman's cape'. I can't remember the rest."
Scott chuckled. "Someone forgot to tell Gordon."
The cape fell free, becoming even more of a menace as it flapped about, flicking at both men's faces. "Let's get rid of this thing," Gordon grunted as a corner nipped against his cheek.
"It's sewn into the costume," 'Superman' told him.
"We'll soon fix that," Gordon grinned and set to work with his cutter again. He made quick work of the cape and it blew out of his fingers and whirled away out of sight. "Now I want you to fold your arms against your chest…"
"Why?" an obviously nervous 'Superman' asked.
"So if you fall you won't catch your arms on any of these cables… Don't worry," Gordon added, seeing even more fear flash across 'Superman's' face, "You won't fall any further than I did. That's why I've attached the safety line to your harness."
"I… I… I'm gonna…" Without warning 'Superman' expelled the contents of his stomach forcing Gordon to swing out of the way. "Sorry," he said sheepishly as he wiped his mouth. "I guess I'm suffering from a little air sickness."
"Doesn't worry me. I only hope no one's below us."
'Superman' gave a nervous giggle.
Gordon cut through one of the original horizontal support lines with a small laser and 'Superman' dropped a few centimetres. "Now for the other side…" The laser made short work of the second support line. "Bring him in, Alan."
"F-A-B."
'Superman' was dragged to safety, where, assisted by Alan, he scrambled into the elevator car and sat in the corner breathing heavily. A short time later he found himself in the hold of Thunderbird Two. At this point, realising that he was out of danger, he appeared to regain his equilibrium. "Can I have a look around?"
"No," he was told.
After a short trip to drop the errant 'super hero' off to the safety of the rescue services, Scott turned to his brothers. "Okay, fellas. Let's head home."
"Everyone buckled up?" Virgil asked and received three replies to the affirmative.
"Floor it, Virgil," Alan requested. "Let's beat Sylvia."
"She's already made landfall," Scott told him. "Right, John?"
"Afraid so. The centre of the eye passed over Tracy Island about 32 minutes ago. I reckon you've got 25 minutes of clear air in which to get home. How long did it take you to get there, Virg."
"25 minutes."
"Nothing like cutting it fine," Alan said. "At least gravity's on our side this time."
"And as the winds in the outer spiral bands are light enough to fly through, we can climb through them," Virgil added.
"Whatever you do, don't get caught in the left front quadrant," John warned. "You don't want to get pulled into Sylvia's path."
"F-A-B."
The brothers were silent for a time as the weather alternated between moments of relatively calm air and bands of heavy rain. As time went by the light patches became more infrequent and the stormy ones grew progressively stronger.
"We're reaching the overflow," Virgil warned. "Wind change coming up!" Thunderbird Two jerked in his hands as the winds reversed direction and they found themselves flying through thin and wispy cirrus clouds.
"How long have we got, John?" Scott asked.
"Approximately fourteen minutes."
Scott saw his brother frown. "How far away are we, Virg?"
"Fourteen point six minutes."
Thunderbird Two broke through the cloud cover and into clear air.
"Put your boot down, Virgil," Alan commanded. "We've got to beat her."
"We'll gain time when we're descending into the eye," Virgil reminded his brothers. "But if we're not going to be able to make it, I'll have to follow the path of the eye to fly out again."
"You can do it," Gordon said with confidence.
Ominous looking cloud passed beneath them at speed. Above them the sky was blue and clear.
Virgil pointed ahead. "There's the eye. Anyway want to change their mind?"
"Negative."
"Uh, uh."
"No way."
"Okay. We're going in." The cloud opened up beneath them and Virgil pointed his plane into the abyss. They began to descend in a spiralling motion, keeping the eye wall visible through their starboard windows. A streak of lightning lit up the pilot's cabin.
"Why does the phrase 'rats in a drainpipe' keep going through my mind?" Gordon asked.
"Because you and a rat have a lot in common," Alan told him.
"Thank you. Highly intelligent and resourceful. I can live with that."
"Tracy Island calling Thunderbird Two. Where are you, Virgil?"
"Right above you, Father."
"That eye wall looks mighty close."
"I have a visual," Scott was peering at a video image. "He's right. We're running out of time."
"We'll make it," Virgil said grimly. "Just make sure you're buckled up securely."
"Don't take any chances," Scott warned. "If it's safer to pull out, do so."
"Don't worry. I've no intention of risking our lives," Virgil adjusted the angle of descent.
"Can we all get a look?" Gordon requested. "Bring it up on the monitor."
An image flashed up on screen. A patch of ocean around which circled several dots, the largest of which was Tracy Island. Framing the scene was the wall of Cyclone Sylvia's eye.
More lightning shot through the cyclone's grey, thunderous cloud.
"How far's the wall from home?" Gordon asked, as he watched the monitor, almost mesmerised by the island's hypnotic motion.
"Five ks," Scott said. "And closing."
The dot grew bigger.
The cyclone's wall grew closer.
A bolt of lightning lit up the island.
They could make out the peaks, valleys, bays and, finally, some of the man-made features of their home. The seas were pounding against the rocks and white water was running over the runway.
"Three ks," Scott intoned.
"Us or it?" Alan asked.
"It."
"Half a lap should to do it," Virgil said.
"Two kilometres."
In the distance, out the port windows, they could see Tracy Island.
"One kilometre. It's too close! By the time we've landed and reversed into the hangar…"
"I'm sorry, Boys. But I'm going to have to close the hangar door. We can't risk it being caught by the wind."
"No!" Virgil almost yelled. "We can do it!" He lined his plane up with the runway.
Lightning raced across the sky.
"Point five of a kilometre. Pull out, Virg!" The brothers could almost feel Cyclone Sylvia breathing down their necks as she chased after them.
"Not yet…" Thunderbird Two surged under them as Virgil applied more power. Ahead they could see the internal hangar door start to swing back up to seal its opening. The space available to them was steadily getting smaller and it seemed that the cliff was growing in stature.
A flash of lightning threw interior of the hangar into sharp relief.
Virgil flew the giant transporter metres above length of the runway, watching his target shrink in size.
"Virgil…!" Scott started to say, but Virgil had applied the retros. Thunderbird Two squeezed between the cliff face and the closing hangar door, her forward momentum was arrested, and she hung in the air for a moment before settling gently onto the hangar floor.
The door shut behind them as the deluge touched down. Palm two was torn from its nutrient container and tossed into the ocean.
Virgil flicked a few switches and the great craft fell silent. "Easy," he said, as if he'd just parked a mini in a garage the size of the QEII. "We'll let the exhaust gases dissipate and then we can leave." He started the diagnostics programme before turning to face his brothers. Their faces all held similar expressions of disbelief.
He opened his mouth to say something when an alert from the console caused him to turn back. "Father?"
"Who was flying Thunderbird Two!"
Virgil looked at his father's image in puzzlement. "I was."
"You were…" Jeff's face melted into the same expression as that of three of his sons. "Virgil…" he said quietly. "I'll want to talk to you later."
"Yes…" Virgil hadn't managed to say 'Sir' before his father's image had disappeared from the screen.
Gordon eventually found his voice. "Could someone help me unhook my fingers from this seat?"
"Only if someone will do the same for me," Alan replied.
Scott stared at the number '2' painted on the hangar wall, seemingly only inches away from his nose. "Now I know why I usually travel in my own plane."
"Come on, Guys. It wasn't that bad," Virgil protested.
Scott shook his head as if her were trying to clear it of the memory of what he'd just experienced. "Virgil… That was irresponsible, injudicious, stupid, ill-advised, out of character, astonishing, astounding, amazing and very, very impressive... And if you were one of my subordinates in the Air Force, I'd have your wings stripped from you."
"I did only what you would have done."
"Maybe in Thunderbird One, she's light, fast and manoeuvrable. But Thunderbird Two…!"
"She's as light, fast and manoeuvrable as the Empire State Building," Gordon elucidated.
"I don't know why you guys are complaining," Virgil said. "I got you home safely, didn't I? Isn't that what you wanted?"
Alan stood. "I'm going to get changed. That landing was a little too close for comfort."
The lounge was gloomy after the artificial brightness of the elevator lights. The titanium shutters had slid shut again cutting out the view of the driving rains.
Scott, Gordon and Alan were met by their father. "How was the rescue?"
"Less exciting than the trip home," Alan told him.
"Piece of cake," Gordon added. "I could have done it in my sleep."
"For a while I thought you were going to test that theory," Alan informed him. "Then you woke up."
Virgil was the last to enter the lounge. He ended up face to face with a disapproving father. "Virgil! What were you playing at?"
"We had to get home…"
"You didn't have to risk all your necks to do so!"
"I wouldn't have attempted it if I hadn't thought I could have pulled it off."
"That's beside the point! Were you trying to prove that you're fit enough to pilot that plane again? Because I'm beginning to get my doubts!"
"I…"
"It was a dangerous manoeuvre! Thank heavens your Grandmother didn't see it. She would have insisted that I keep you grounded... and I would have agreed with her!"
"Sorry, Father…"
"Sorry? Virgil, if I ever see you do anything like that again, I'll banish you up to Thunderbird Five from August 14th till December 26th...! And that goes for any of you!"
"Yes, Sir," Virgil sounded chastened.
"What's so great about August 15th?" Alan asked Gordon.
Gordon shrugged. "Beats me."
"Why didn't you order him to pull out, Scott?"
"Because by the time I'd got as far as 'V' we were inside the hangar."
Jeff took a deep breath and tried to cool his temper.
"Any problems back here?" Scott asked.
"No," Jeff shook his head and looked at his sons. "Go get changed, Boys. We need to make some decisions…"
To be continued…