The door to the storm shelter slid open and a uniformed Scott Tracy strode inside. "On your feet," he ordered. "You're coming with me."
"Do we have any option?" Ned struggled to retain his air of calm insolence as he obeyed the order. "No, 'if you please' or 'thank you'?"
"No," Scott snarled.
"Just where are we going?" Joe asked.
"The lounge." Then Scott softened his tone. "Coming, Grandma? Kyrano?"
"As you wish, Mister Scott," Kyrano bowed.
"Have you made a decision?" Grandma enquired.
"Oh, yes…" Scott glared at the interlopers. "We've made a decision." He took a firm grip on their shoulders and guided them towards the lounge, leading them to a couch in the middle of the room and forcing them to sit down. "Stay there."
"Is this the way International Rescue usually treats its guests?" Ned asked, and was rewarded with another glare.
"Wh-Where's everyone else," an obviously nervous Joe enquired.
"Getting ready. They're making some last minute preparations."
"Preparations for what…" Joe began but Scott had departed.
The two reporters were left alone.
"What are they going to do?" Joe asked his friend. "What are they doing now?"
"Probably mixing the concrete."
"Ned!"
"It's a joke, Joe... I wonder why they've left us unattended. They must be feeling pretty sure that they've got the upper hand."
"Upper hand? There's a cyclone howling outside, we're trapped on an island, and we've no way of escaping! I definitely think they've got the upper hand!"
"Calm down…" Ned was looking around. "The shutters are still across the windows, so the cyclone hasn't moved on." He looked behind them. "Eight chairs…" He turned back to the front and gazed at the imposing desk. "Tracy's a master of psychology. When they come in here they're going to surround us." He shifted his gaze to the row of portraits of the Tracy boys in uniform. "I wonder what secrets this room could reveal…"
He didn't get the chance to find out as the Tracy family filed in. In a show of solidarity all the boys, including Brains, were in fresh uniforms. Tin-Tin was wearing a pants suit created out of International Rescue blue cloth and her father's traditional silken robes were in the same shade. Grandma Tracy's contribution was to wear a dress of sky blue. Without a word they all took their places, as Ned had expected, behind the two reporters. Jeff Tracy, obviously in command in his gold trimmed uniform, stood at his desk and faced the assembled group.
'We're on trial…' Ned thought. 'Except we're going to hear the sentence before we get the chance to present our case.' Twisting in his seat, he noticed that despite their position of power, Gordon's brothers still appeared to be protecting him. The auburn haired Tracy stood in front of a chair, twisting his hands together anxiously as Alan moved to his left, Scott to his right, and Virgil stood in front. Brains and Kyrano took up position to the right of this group, while the two ladies placed themselves on the left.
Jeff sat down and, as if in response to a silent order, the rest of the group followed suit.
"Gentlemen…" Jeff began and stopped mid-sentence when Ned held up his hand.
"Just a minute!"
"You have something you wish to say, Mr Cook?"
"Yes. You say you are a fair man, Tracy."
Jeff said nothing.
Ned continued on. "I've always assumed that when a man is on trial or is being court-martialled, he is allowed to face those who are judging him. That is he can see their faces just as they can see his."
"Yes?" Jeff said.
"So, don't you think… in the interests of fairness… we should be allowed to see all those judging us?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning… I'm assuming that John is watching proceedings from Thunderbird Five," Ned indicated the row of portraits. "In the interests of 'fairness', we should we be allowed to watch him just as he is watching us."
Jeff thought briefly. "Very well," he agreed. "John!"
"Sir." John's photo disappeared and Ned and Joe saw the man. Behind him was a bank of computers; in his hand he held a microphone.
"Good afternoon, John." Ned said. "Nice to meet you at last."
"Mr Cook," John acknowledged.
"Please, call me Ned."
John remained silent.
"Gentlemen," Jeff repeated. "Before we begin, I have one thing that I must say. I want you to know that I am proud of each and every one of my sons. Gordon could have won his gold medal in synchronised swimming and then chosen flower arranging as a career and I still would have been proud of him. That he… that all of my sons have chosen to be part of International Rescue, has had no bearing on the way I feel about any of them. Is that clear?"
"Yep," Ned said laconically, as Joe nodded like a wind up toy.
"Good. Now, obviously, the question has arisen as to what we are going to do now that you know our secret. The suggestion was made that we put you back into your hover-plane and let you take your chances with Cyclone Sylvia…"
Joe cast Ned a worried look, but the reporter maintained his cool, arrogant, manner.
"…But obviously that is not an option. We have come to a decision, but first we would like to know exactly why you came here. Did you have any suspicions as to who we are?"
Ned decided that, for the moment at least, he would play along. "I had my suspicions… but nothing to do with International Rescue."
Jeff frowned. "Then what?"
"I was suspicious about you, Jeff Tracy. You're too good to be true. You hide away on your tropical paradise with your sons and your entourage, earning billions and giving away nearly as much! No one's that good. There had to be a catch."
"And that catch would have been?"
Ned shrugged. "That's what I was trying to find out."
"So the TV series was only a ruse to get here?"
Ned could almost feel Gordon relax. "Oh, no. The TV series is genuine. As far as the bosses are concerned, Joe and I are researching some has-been swimmer…" there was a slight movement behind him as someone showed disapproval at the description, "…for a cute and fluffy sports show. I figured that we may as well take the opportunity to do some real journalism. Show our bosses that we're still capable of finding and presenting the real stories." He turned in his seat so he was facing one of the men behind him. "You can relate to that, can't you, Virgil? You were desperate to prove that you were still capable of flying Thunderbird Two, weren't you?"
"Was I?" Virgil asked. "Why?"
"Because the USN Sentinel shot you down."
"The Sentinel? Now why would it do a thing like that?" Virgil asked. "What possible reason would the command of the Sentinel have for shooting a Thunderbird down?"
"You tell me."
"Our craft are of no threat to anyone," Virgil reminded him.
"Are you telling me it didn't happen? That your accident, where you were, in your words, 'in the wrong place at the wrong time'; that this accident wasn't you being shot out of the sky?"
"You're the one telling the story, Mr Cook," Virgil challenged. "You tell us why the Sentinel would shoot down one of International Rescue's aircraft."
"Mr Cook," Jeff interrupted. Ned turned back to face him and didn't see Scott give Virgil a congratulatory pat on the back. "What has Virgil's accident got to do with the situation we're in now?"
"It's…" Ned began and then stopped. "Nothing," he admitted.
"Shall we move on then?"
Ned nodded.
"So you were trying to find some dirt on me," Jeff said. "Such as?"
"I don't know."
"He gets these funny feelings when he thinks he's onto something," Joe interrupted. "More often than not he's right."
Ned wished his colleague hadn't spoken.
"Intuition?" Jeff queried. "So what did this 'funny feeling' tell you about me, Mr Cook?"
Ned gave Joe a dirty look. "It didn't tell me anything precisely. It told me there was a story here on this island that was worth researching. Initially, because we were doing a story on the Olympics I thought that perhaps there was a question mark over your sponsorship of the drug testing. I learnt that Gordon was your son, and wondered if you'd supplied him with the drugs that enabled him to win his gold medal…"
"What!"
The vocal explosion made Ned and Joe turn in their seats.
Gordon was on his feet. "You thought I took drugs!"
"You were the youngest…"
"I would never take drugs! Not to win a swimming race!" Gordon's face was reddening in anger.
"I didn't know that!"
"And you thought my father supplied them to me! That I had to have his help to win my gold medal!" Now Gordon's face was so red, that his hair appeared pale in comparison.
"Sit down, Gordon," his father said.
"That's ridiculous! That's like saying that Scott got his Air Force medals because of our father!"
"Sit down, Gordon," Scott said.
"Or that John got his laser communications degree from Harvard because of our father!"
"Sit down, Gordon," John insisted.
"Or that Alan won his motor racing trophies because of our father!"
There was an inevitable, "Sit down, Gordon," from Alan.
"Or that Virgil…" Gordon opened his mouth to say more and then looked blankly at his older brother. "Um…"
"My résumé in a nutshell," Virgil sighed. "Sit down, Gordon."
"I won't sit down!" Gordon snapped. "He's made me forgot that you… you…" he clicked his fingers trying to remember. "You achieved something!"
"Graduated top of the class at Denver?" Alan prompted and was shushed by his Grandmother.
"Yeah! That! And you did it without Dad's help!"
"Thank you, Gordon," Jeff said. "I think we've ascertained that you boys are all talented, hardworking…"
"But he's accusing me of cheating! He's accused you of cheating!"
"I didn't know what to think," Ned began. "I just knew…"
"You know nothing! You don't know what hard work went into getting that medal. You don't know the sacrifices I made! I didn't even eat anything with poppy seeds in it for the month before the meet, for fear of returning a positive test for opiates!"
"That's right, he didn't," Grandma confirmed.
Gordon didn't skip a beat. "You don't know about the parties I missed. You don't know about the things that I didn't get to do that other kids my age were enjoying. You don't know the hours I slaved away in that pool…"
Scott stood, laying a hand gently on his furious brother's shoulder. He spoke in a soothing manner. "Calm down, Gordon."
"I won't calm down! You and I have had to spend the last five days trapped underground because of these morons. You heard him! He accused me of cheating!"
"I heard him," Scott said. "And I know he's wrong. Now, you've said your piece so sit down."
But Gordon was still seething in anger. "You know how hard I worked for that medal! You were the one who drove me to the pool for the early morning training sessions. You're the one who drove me to the interstate meets when Dad was unavailable. You're the one who said we should pack these two in their 'plane and let Cyclone Sylvia do what she wanted with them!"
For a moment Scott looked uncomfortable. "I know I did. I didn't mean it. I was angry…"
"Well, I'm angry now! And I think it's a brilliant idea."
"No you don't," Scott reminded him.
"Gordon…" Ned began.
"Why couldn't you have left us in peace?" Gordon interrupted, pointing an accusatory finger at the reporter. "You can't help yourself, can you! You've no scruples, poking your nose into other people's business."
Ned didn't disagree with the young man.
"You even snooped around my room." Gordon gave a sarcastic laugh. "Ha! You think I don't know. You thought you were so clever, but I saw you."
"Gordon…" Scott warned, his voice still quiet, but his hand tightened its grip on his brother's shoulder.
"You touched my gold medal!"
"Gordon!" Scott repeated, more urgent this time.
But Gordon wasn't listening. "Nobody touches that medal except me! And you can't deny that you touched it. I was in there and I saw you!"
As one three of his brothers groaned.
The sound appeared to penetrate through Gordon's fury. All the anger drained from his face and he cast an anxious look towards his father. Then, like an automaton whose power source had been disconnected, he sat down and stared at the floor.
In the subsequent silence Scott reclaimed his own seat.
"Now that Gordon has got that off his chest," Jeff said, as though Gordon had merely been commenting on the foul weather. "I should like to know what you gentlemen are planning to do with this information."
"That depends on what you are going to do with us," Ned said.
"There is nothing we can do," Jeff admitted, "except ask that you remember that we try to keep our identities and location secret as much for the world's sake as for our own."
Joe leant forward. "So you're going to let us go?"
Jeff nodded.
"Just like that?"
"Yes."
"No hypnotism, or brain washing, or memory erasing?"
Jeff chuckled. "You've been reading too many science fiction stories."
"Let me get this straight," Ned said. "As soon as the cyclone passes you're going to let us go free and trust us not to give away your secret?"
"That's right," Jeff agreed.
"You want us to tell people that we got trapped by the storm, had an uneventful time staying with you and your family, were unable to get Gordon's interview, and then came home again empty handed?"
"Yes."
"You're asking us to forgo the biggest story this decade?"
"I am."
"You're asking a lot, Jeff Tracy. Can you imagine what the reaction would be if we went back to the States and said 'We know who International Rescue are'?"
"It would be big news."
"Big? Can you imagine the journalism awards we'd receive?"
Jeff nodded.
"Do you know that there are publications out there that would give us millions just to have the slightest hint as to where International Rescue is based?"
"Unfortunately, I do know," Jeff admitted.
"And you expect us to give up all that?"
"I… We were hoping you would."
"Do you honestly believe that we would walk away from the biggest story of our lives…?"
The next vocal explosion came from an unexpected quarter. "Ned Cook!"
Ned looked at his partner. "Joe?"
"I don't believe you! These people saved our necks. If it wasn't for them you and I wouldn't be here today!"
"I'm aware of that…"
"And not only us. Look at all the other lives they've saved."
"I know, Joe."
"That you could even THINK of doing a story on them!"
"I…"
Joe was looking as furious as Gordon had been. "I'm telling you, Ned. If you so much as expose one hair of any of these people I'm asking to work with Sid Lowe!"
"But you hate Sid! You said he had the all journalist ability of a slug."
"Hello," Alan said in a stage whisper to Tin-Tin. "There's trouble in paradise."
Joe didn't hear him as he continued ranting at Ned. "And so he does. But at least he's an honest slug. He wouldn't jeopardise the future safety of goodness knows how many people just for a story!"
"I…"
"He wouldn't disregard a debt of honour!"
"Joe…"
The sudden wail of an alarm had an electrifying effect on the Tracys. "Storm surge!"
Forgetting his and Joe's dispute, Ned looked around him. "Come on… You've already tried that one on us. Don't think you can do it again."
"It's for real this time," Jeff told him. "Let's see it, John."
"F-A-B." Virgil's portrait disappeared leaving a shot of the runway. It was submerged beneath raging seawater, which appeared to be half way up the cliff towards landing control. "It's still climbing… Up one metre… Two… Still climbing…"
"Right! Activating Operation Storm Surge - You all know what you have to do," Jeff instructed. Then, as everyone ran for the door, he turned to Ned and Joe. "You two go to the storm shelters and stay there until you're told it's safe."
"Can't we help…?" Ned started saying.
"No! Everyone else will be along as soon as they've done their duty." Jeff was pushing some buttons on his computer as he spoke. When that was done he stood and vacated his desk. "Go now!" he ordered as he dashed out the door.
"How do you like that?" Ned asked. "One order from Jeff Tracy and he expects us to jump to attention as if we're part of his entourage."
"It's good advice though, isn't it?" Joe suggested. "We know now that we can't do anything to help them. At least we'd be safe in the storm shelters."
"How bad is it going to get?" Ned asked. "They can't really expect the water to climb this high." They jogged along the hallway in the now familiar direction of the storm shelters.
Joe pulled up short. "Hey! Look!"
"What?" Ned skidded to a stop and returned to see what had captured the attention of his friend. He noticed that a door off the hallway was ajar.
"Look," Joe repeated, pointing into the now open room. "My camera!" He reached into the storeroom and grabbed the photographic equipment before examining it quickly. "Seems to be okay."
"Okay for what?"
"Filming!" Joe hoisted the camera onto his shoulder and headed for the door.
"Filming? Joe, you hypocrite! Only minutes ago you were telling me off for..."
'"I don't want to film International Rescue," Joe rejoined.
"Then what?"
"The storm, Ned. What else? Maybe I can salvage some pride for us from this whole sorry saga. Can you imagine what the footage of a storm surge is going to be like?"
"How are you going to film?" Ned asked. "All the windows are covered with those titanium shutters."
"Easy. I'll slip outside."
"Outside? Joe, it might have escaped your notice, but there's a monster of a storm raging out there!"
"That's the point. Besides, I reckon that if we sneak out on this side of the house there'll be some shelter for us. Remember there was on the other side of the house when they were rescuing Tin-Tin, and that was during Sylvia's first pass. The wind'll be coming from the other direction now."
"Sounds dangerous to me, Joe," Ned warned.
"Since when did you become an old woman, Ned?"
"Since a 102 storey building fell on us and buried us alive."
"We'll be okay," Joe insisted. "Are you coming?"
"Of course I'm coming," Ned agreed, trying not to sound reluctant. "Lead the way."
They managed to sneak their way through the house without bumping into any of the Tracys or their friends. "Here," Ned stopped at the shuttered patio doors. "Here's the control panel for the titanium sheets. Why don't we open them and then you can shoot through the windows?"
Joe vetoed the suggestion. "And all we'll see is water running down the glass. I've got to get outside..." He led the way to a door. "Help me open this."
Ned knew that once the cameraman had his mind set on taking a particular shot, nothing would dissuade him from attempting it. "Okay... But be careful."
Joe grinned. "Okay, Grandma."
Together they pulled the door open. "Whew! Joe exclaimed. "That wind fair takes your breath away."
"Then don't go out there," Ned suggested. "Shoot from the doorway."
Joe gave Ned a look of disgust and stepped from the security of the house. "Hold onto my belt and don't let go!" he yelled above the screaming wind. Ned did as he was bid, hanging on grimly, the stinging rains pounding and soaking his clothes and skin. Joe shuffled further out into the storm. "Can you move a bit more, Ned?"
"Okay," Ned said through gritted teeth. "Hurry up and get your shot!"
"This is amazing!" Joe lined up the camera and started rolling the film. "Look at it!" he shouted. "The Pacific Ocean's at our feet!"
Blinking against the rain, Ned peered downwards. It did indeed appear that the waters of that mighty ocean had risen up so that they swirled around the villa's foundations, trapping bits of debris and slamming them against the house.
"You've got your footage," Ned yelled. "Come inside. The Tracys will be looking for us."
But Joe was caught up in the adrenaline buzz of filming on the edge of danger. "I can't see enough," he yelled in frustration. Help me out a little further."
"No!" Ned replied. "It's too dangerous!"
"Then let me go," Joe hit the reporter's hands, forcing him to relinquish their grip on his belt. "I'll be better off by myself."
"Joe..." Ned began to protest, but his words were whipped away by a violent gust of wind.
As was Joe...
To be continued...