"Gordon!" Jeff yelled as his son disappeared beneath the swirling waters of the whirlpool in what had formerly been their tranquil courtyard.
"Gordon!" Scott and Alan's yells were an echo of their father's.
As he continued to cling to the patio, Ned felt his mouth go dry and his stomach twist into knots. "No! Please no…"
He was ignored by the Tracys. "How much oxygen has he used?" Alan asked.
Jeff looked at his watch. "Ten… fifteen minutes…?"
The waters of the whirlpool continued to spin around, mimicking the pattern of the cyclone above, as it pulled trees, masonry and other debris downwards.
Of Thunderbird Four's pilot, there was no sign.
"My fault…" Ned gasped. "I'm sorry… so sorry."
"Shut up!" Scott snapped as he pulled at Alan's harness.
Alan pulled back. "What are you doing?"
"I'm going down there."
"Scott!" Jeff protested. "It's too dangerous. Wait until we know something."
"By the time we know something he could have run out of oxygen and drowned!" A streak of lighting added emphasis to the dramatic nature of Scott's statement.
"You're not in your wet suit," Alan pointed out.
"I'm not going to waste time with that," his older brother insisted. "Help me put this on, Alan."
"You're not going to be able to swim against that current in your overalls," Jeff remonstrated. "Look at it, Scott! Don't make us have to rescue you as well as Gordon."
"But I can't leave him at the mercy of that!" Scott gestured out towards the vortex of water, which suddenly, almost magically, disappeared.
"Gordon!" Scott called again as he clipped his harness to the taut feed-line. "Can you hear me? Answer me!"
No words could describe the Tracys' relief when they heard a voice. "I can hear you, Scott. No need to shout."
"Thank…" Scott lowered the volume of his voice. "Are you okay?"
"I think I've just gone through the rinse cycle in the washing machine, but, yeah, I'm okay."
"Where are you?" Jeff asked.
"In Thunderbird One's launch bay. You've got a heck of a clean up job to do, Scotty."
To Scott, at that point, a 'heck of a clean up job' was a small price to pay for the knowledge that his brother was alive. "Can you swim through to One's hangar?"
"Looks passable. I'll meet you there."
The four men on the patio crawled back into the lounge. The wind was still roaring past them, and the wall panel with its twin lights was spinning about on its axis. Thunderbird One was clearly visible through the door and as Scott watched the panel disengaged itself from its fulcrum and flew into the hangar. He cringed as it crashed against Thunderbird One's fuselage.
"Don't worry, Scott," Alan reassured him, crawling alongside. "She's tough. She won't even have a scratch."
"Maybe not from that," Scott admitted. "But how high's that water? If it reaches its own level then it should be…" He reached the damaged doorway and peered down. Water lapped a metre below Thunderbird One's entrance hatch.
Scott groaned at the sight. "Salt water… What are the jet units going to be like?"
"Wet," Alan replied.
"Where's Gordon?" Jeff squeezed between his two sons and looked down into the murky water. "Can you hear me, Son? Where are you?"
"Trying to reach the hangar. There's more debris than I first thought."
Jeff looked at his watch. "He's been under 25 minutes," he muttered. "Alan, go and get a couple more oxygen cartridges."
"Where's that winch cable?" Scott re-attached it to his harness. "I'm going down. Get Alan to drop down the oxygen when he gets back."
"Hold on, Scott," Alan stopped him. "There's a pile of cartridges here. Virgil must have left them… He's left your flippers too." He crawled back and handed some of the items to Scott. "He's got you sussed. He knew you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from getting wet."
Offering a silent 'thank you' to his brother, Scott pulled on the flippers, slid a cartridge onto his back, and, holding a second cartridge securely, slipped into the water which filled his Thunderbird's hangar. Then, trying to ignore his submerged plane, he dove down towards the tunnel leading to the launch bay. "Where are you, Gordon? Don't waste oxygen, just answer no or yes. Are you in the tunnel?"
"Yes."
"On the right side leading up?"
"No."
Scott adjusted his angle of approach so he was swimming to his right. "Near the top?"
"Yes."
Scott swam upwards slightly. "In the corner?"
"…."
"Gordon! Can you hear me? Are you in the corner?"
Gordon was sounding tired. "Gettin' my bearings. Uh… yeah."
"Okay. Don't try to move. I'm coming down to get you." Scott swum strongly, trusting his brother's directions. Now he could see why Gordon had found it so difficult to swim from the launch bay to the hangar. Unable to withstand the stresses when the roof of the launch bay had collapsed, the pool's false bottom, that which had saved Joe's life, had disintegrated into several pieces. These, mingled with various pieces of International Rescue's equipment and other bits of debris had effectively blocked the tunnel. Scott prayed that Gordon had chosen a route that was clear.
"Anything, Scott?" he heard his father ask.
"Negative. There's too much rubbish down here." Scott swam a little further. "Hold it! I've found him."
"How is he?" Jeff asked and there was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.
"Dunno." Scott swum closer. "Gordon? Can you hear me? Wave if you can." He was relieved to see a hand move and a pair of legs start to kick. "No, don't try to swim to me. Save your oxygen."
"'Kay…" Gordon slurred.
Scott put more power into his stroke but didn't move forward. Looking down at his side he discovered that the loose material of his overalls had snagged on a tree branch. Impatiently he pulled at the branch and the material slipped free allowing him to cover the last few metres to his brother in quick time. "I'm here, Gordon. Can you hear me?"
As he prepared the spare cartridge he saw his brother give a tired nod. "Good. Now, I'm going to change your oxygen over. Take a deep breath and let me know when you are ready." He watched through the face mask as Gordon tried to suck up what oxygen there was left in the cartridge. Then when Gordon gave an okay signal, Scott disconnected the spent cartridge and attached the new one. "How's that? Okay?"
Breathing greedily at the fresh oxygen supply, Gordon gave a weak grin and a thumbs up, at which Scott managed a smile of his own. "Let's get rid of this," he said as he helped his brother slide out of the old cartridge, letting it fall to the floor below them. "Guess that's something else I'll have to clear away, huh Gordon?" he joked.
"I'll… help."
"I wouldn't say that too loud. We've got witnesses."
"Too late," they heard Alan's voice. "You can't back out now, Gordon."
Gordon managed a chuckle and allowed Scott to guide him upwards. When they cleared the tunnel he attempted to swim without assistance, but his brother kept a firm grip on his harness. Slightly irritated that he needed assistance in what he regarded as his own environment, Gordon looked at the submerged Thunderbird One. "Is this the new Thunderbird Four? I don't think much of the colour scheme…"
"Can it, Gordon," Scott growled and Gordon felt instantly better.
They broke the surface and looked up to the opening where two anxious faces were searching for them. Gordon gave a wave and received the winch's feed-line in reply. He submitted to Scott fixing the cable to his harness and allowed himself to be winched out of the saline water into the windblown lounge. Once he'd reached safety he removed his mask, crawled away from the door and rolled onto his back where he lay with his eyes shut.
Jeff knelt down beside his prostrate son. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Gordon cracked his eyes open a fraction. "I guess I can't be spun around like a Catherine Wheel, suffer from mild oxygen depravation, and not expect to be a little light headed."
"Want us to get a stretcher?" Jeff asked. "Or a wheelchair?"
"Nah. I'll be all right."
"Well you can't stay here," Jeff indicated the wind and rain that was still streaming into the room.
"Nope," Alan agreed and reached out for his older brother. "Get up, Gordon. You're soaking wet."
"Why?" Gordon asked as he accepted his brother's extended hand. "Are you afraid I'll ruin the carpet?" He stood, swayed slightly, and with a mild protest, more out of habit than conviction, allowed Alan and his father to support him as they walked towards the lounge door.
Ned Cook intercepted them. He reached out to shake Gordon's hand. "You saved Joe's life again, Gordon, and I wish there was a more suitable way that we could thank you." He then realised that Gordon had both his arms around Alan and Jeff's necks and shoved his hand back into his pocket. "Thank you," he said.
Everyone else froze. They'd forgotten that the reporter had been watching every moment of Joe's rescue, every moment of Gordon's drama… and every moment of Thunderbird One's submerging. Scott looked back and realised that from here Ned could see right into Thunderbird One's hangar. He noticed that the top of the painting of the rocket had been pushed into the wall cavity, no longer hiding Thunderbird Two's entrance. His heart sank. International Rescue was well and truly exposed now. He exchanged a worried glance with his father.
The sound of approaching footsteps temporarily diverted their attention away from their present dilemma. Virgil was in a hurry. "I need your help, fellas," he announced. "I have to…" he looked at Gordon. "Are you all right?"
Gordon released his grip on his father and brother. "Never been better."
Virgil gave him a curious look. "Good. As soon as you've got changed I'm going to need you guys to give me a hand to prep Thunderbird Two. Brains, Tin-Tin and I are going to have to fly Joe out of here as soon as the waters recede."
"What? The cyclone's at full strength." Jeff said. "Can't you wait until Sylvia passes?"
"Brains doesn't think that waiting's an option."
"Then I'll be your co-pilot," Scott stated.
"No way!" Gordon protested. "That's my job!"
"If Tin-Tin's going then so am I," Alan's jaw was jutting out defiantly.
"Whoa, hold it!" Virgil held up his hand to silence his brothers. "None of you are going. I'm not risking anyone's neck unnecessarily."
"But…" three brothers began to protest and were shushed by their father.
"How bad is he, Virgil?" Jeff asked.
Virgil looked at him. "You'd better go talk to Brains." He turned to the reporter. "You too, Mr Cook."
When they entered the infirmary, Ned's first thought was that Virgil had been over-dramatising the situation. Instead of lying down, Joe appeared to be sitting, propped up by numerous pillows. Ned walked over to his friend, intending to tease him about how he was alarming everyone unduly…
Then Ned Cook stopped.
Joe was on oxygen. Several IV lines ran clear liquid into his arms. And instead of his usual healthy glow his skin was ashen in colour. Ned lay his hand on Joe's arm and realised that it was feeling clammy. "Joe?"
There was no response.
"M-Mr Cook?" Brains enquired.
Ned looked over to the other side of the room, where the scientific and operational heads of International Rescue were both looking at him.
"Come here, Ned," Jeff sounded sympathetic. "Brains will explain everything."
Ned patted Joe on the arm. "I'll be back, old friend."
"L-Look after him, Tin-Tin," Brains requested and beckoned the other two men into an adjacent room.
Ned started. He hadn't even realised that the young lady had been standing by the bed. He watched for a moment as she checked a drip and made some notes. She gave him an understanding smile as he walked out of the room.
Jeff Tracy was the first to speak. "How bad is he, Brains?"
"M-My tests show that J-Joe has severe internal injuries. He needs immediate surgery."
"And you can't do that here?"
Brains shook his head. "N-No. My tests also show that Joe has an extremely rare blood-type."
"And we don't have enough in stock?" Jeff asked.
Brains shook his head again. "N-Not enough to sustain him through a surgical operation of that magnitude. I'm using it, ah, sparingly as it is."
"And you can't take a transfusion from one of us?"
"No, Mr Tracy. We are not compatible." Brains looked at Ned.
"Me neither," Ned admitted. "My blood's one of the more common types. Every time we would go on assignment somewhere dangerous Joe would joke about how he should have spare blood as well as spare film in his kit bag."
"It's going to be a dangerous trip, Brains," Jeff warned.
"I am a-aware of that, Mr Tracy."
"No one is going to force you or Tin-Tin to go."
"N-No one has. I volunteered."
"So have I, Mr Tracy." Startled again, Ned turned at the sound of Tin-Tin's voice. She was standing in the doorway so she could watch over Joe, but still be part of the conversation. "I can help both Brains and Virgil if necessary."
"Thank you, Tin-Tin," Jeff replied and turned back to Brains. "How long before you can move him?"
"I-I am assuming that we will have Joe stabilised before the storm surge passes. It is, ah, Mother Nature who will determine when we will be able to depart."
Jeff frowned. "Let's hope she's on our side."
"Right!" Scott said as he strode across Thunderbird Two's hangar floor. "What do you want us to do?"
Virgil, who was pulling various tools out of their lockers, looked at his brothers who'd changed out of their sodden overalls and wetsuit and were now dressed in dry gear. "Undo all the work you've done over the last few weeks. I want to lighten her as much as possible. Anything not necessary for a safe flight has got to go. It's going to be hard enough to get off the ground in that wind and rain without trying to lift unnecessary weight."
"When are you going to leave?" Alan asked. "Did Brains give an optimum time?"
"The sooner the better. But we can't go anywhere until the storm surge passes."
Gordon was staring at the hangar door. "Think of the pressure behind that," he breathed. "We're metres under water at the moment."
"Not for too long I hope," Virgil said as he spread out a plan of Thunderbird Two. "I'll take the cabin. We'll leave the sick-bay intact." He looked at Scott. "You're commander. What else do you want us to do?"
"Dad said he'd be down to help soon," Alan reminded him.
"Good. The more people working the sooner we can get this done." Scott studied the plan. "You'll need an empty pod," he noted. "We'll all work on that last. That's more than a one man job."
Virgil nodded. "Fair enough."
"Virgil!"
Virgil heard the voice from behind him and groaned quietly. "Let me guess," he muttered before turning. "Yes, Grandma?"
"Is it true that you have to fly Joe to hospital?"
"Yes, Grandma."
"Through the cyclone? It's going to be dangerous."
"Yes, Grandma."
"You're going to need all your strength. Would you like me to cook you something to eat before you go?"
Virgil stared at her. "Grandma?"
"Something nourishing? Do you feel like anything in particular?"
"Are you serious, Grandma?" Scott asked.
"Of course I'm serious. There's a man up there who needs urgent medical attention and who better to get him to it than International Rescue? So…" she turned back to her middle grandson. "Well? What do you want?"
"Uh," Virgil was dumbfounded. "Anything I guess… Thanks," he added belatedly.
"Good!' She nodded in satisfaction before turning to the eldest. "And you make sure he eats it," she ordered, before turning on her heel.
"Yes, Grandma," Scott said to her departing back.
"That woman never fails to amaze me," Virgil said.
Scott divided up the transporter into sections and dispatched his brothers to the various quarters of the 'plane.
Ned was sitting by Joe's bedside. "You never do things by halves, do you, my friend?"
The only reply was the soft beeping sounds of the machines recording Joe's progress.
Ned chuckled half-heartedly. "And you accuse me of doing anything for a story. You realise the bosses are going to come down on you twice as hard as they were before we started this stupid Olympic show. You'll probably end up saddled with Sid Lowe no matter what I do."
Someone moved into his line of sight to examine one of the many monitors and Ned looked up. Brains was watching him, his eyes filled with sympathy. "H-He's doing well, considering his condition. We can move him at any time."
Ned looked back at his friends pallid face. "Can he survive a flight through a cyclone?"
"I can't answer that. But I-I can assure you, Mr Cook. I would not let him die without a fight."
Ned looked back at the young man. "Could you survive a flight through a cyclone? You and Virgil and Tin-Tin?"
"I would have sacrificed Joe's l-life to preserve ours if I had any doubts about our, ah, ability to survive this flight intact. Thunderbird Two is an extremely s-strong craft and Virgil is a brave, skilled pilot, particularly when flying Th-Thunderbird Two."
"Did you design Thunderbird Two?"
Brains inclined his head. "It was a team effort."
"Engineer, scientist, surgeon… You're a clever man, Brains."
"I have been told so," Brains admitted with some modesty.
"With your inventions you could have made millions. Billions even! You could have had more money than Jeff Tracy and yet you've chosen to work for him."
"I-If I had done so billions could have died," Brains reminded Ned. "Not only those th-that International Rescue has saved, but those that would have fallen victim if my creations were obtained by the wrong people."
"I'm sorry I ever doubted your abilities."
"A-And I am gratified that my acting skills were sufficient to f-fool an experienced reporter such as yourself. The, ah, performing arts are not one of my talents."
"Permit me to help you, Tin-Tin."
"Thank you, Father. I would appreciate your help."
Tin-Tin and Kyrano worked together in companionable silence for a short time, packing into cases some of the items that Brains believed Joe would need during the upcoming flight.
"You are not frightened?" Kyrano eventually asked.
"Terrified," she admitted. "But Brains needs my help. And I am lighter than the boys."
"I would not try to talk you out of doing your duty, but no one would cast blame upon you if you were to change your mind."
"I would blame me," Tin-Tin told him. "I am a member of International Rescue and I am proud to be so. I can't in clear conscience let Virgil and Brains fly into Cyclone Sylvia, knowing that I could be of help to both of them."
"I am proud of you, My Daughter."
"Thank you, Father." Tin-Tin shut the last case and looked at the pile of cartons. "I hope we haven't packed too much. We're trying to travel light."
"I am sure that Mister Brains would have taken that into consideration."
Tin-Tin sighed. "Now I'd better go pack for myself. It isn't going to be easy. I always feel that I should wear something different at every meal when staying with Lady Penelope, but I won't be able to take too many clothes this time."
"You could always visit the shops. I am sure Lady Penelope would enjoy taking you around the clothing establishments in London."
"Treat myself, you mean?" Tin-Tin bit her lip in thought. "I might just do that. I'll probably need a little pampering after the flight. I'll take one change of clothes, sleepwear and purchase anything else I need in England." She kissed her father on the cheek. "Any suggestions of what I should buy?"
"Your style and my style are different," Kyrano admitted. "I would not begin to tell a young lady what she should wear... However…"
"Yes, Father?"
"If I may be so bold… a little modesty can be as alluring to the male as… the, ah, exposure of … female flesh."
Tin-Tin laughed at her father's awkward suggestion. "But I won't be buying for a man's enjoyment. I will be buying for my own."
"Mister Alan would be most disappointed."
"Mister Alan won't be in England. Are you worried I might inflame Brains… or Parker?"
"You will see other men."
"Virgil? He treats me like his little sister. He always has."
Kyrano was beginning to wish he hadn't embarked on this conversation. "Many Englishmen have no wife and would appreciate the company of a young woman such as yourself."
"You forget, Father. I did much of my schooling in Europe. I think I can handle myself."
"Of this I have no doubt. All I ask is that you buy something that your old father would not be ashamed to see you in."
"My father is not that old," Tin-Tin reminded him. "But you are forgetting one thing. It is winter in England. I shall be wanting to wear more rather than less..."
"How high's the storm surge now?" Jeff asked his satellite bound son.
"It's dropping, but not very quickly. I think it'll be at least a couple of hours before the runway's clear."
"And how strong will Cyclone Sylvia be then?"
John's face was grim. "Strong enough that I wouldn't want to attempt flying in her."
"John, I know Virgil's got plenty of common sense, but whatever happens don't let him fly home again until you're absolutely sure that it's safe. If he has to ditch Thunderbird Two there's no one to rescue them."
"I've already told Penny to expect company and she'll make sure they don't leave until I've given the all clear."
Jeff gave a tight smile. "That's one lady who won't accept any arguments. I think she and your Grandmother were cast out of the same mould."
"Somehow," John managed a chuckle, "I can't imagine Penny wearing an apron and up to her elbows in flour."
"No," Jeff mused. "That's probably one skill Lady Penelope has never been taught."
"She might be able to cook on a campfire in an emergency," John suggested.
"Possibly…" Jeff gave himself a shake. "I can't believe we're discussing Lady Penelope's culinary skills, when I should be helping your brothers strip down Thunderbird Two."
"You're helping me not to worry," John told him. "I haven't got as much up here to keep me occupied."
Jeff decided to do something about that. "Any potential disasters which you can keep an eye on?"
"No," John replied. "And what could International Rescue do anyway? Thunderbird Two might be available, but nothing else would be. The Mole, Firefly, and our other equipment are all too heavy to take on the off chance they'll be needed."
"Okay, John. I've got the picture," Jeff growled. He stood. "I'm not helping anyone sitting here. I'm going back down to see if the boys need a hand. Keep giving me updates on the weather situation, would you?"
"F-A-B, Dad."
The Tracys had stripped out most of Thunderbird Two's interior and were in the processes of clearing out Pod Two. Scott and Virgil were emptying out cabinets on the starboard side; piling the contents onto trolleys.
"Virgil," Scott said, as he undid the final screw that held the cabinet in place. "Let me make the flight." They laid the cabinet on the trolley.
Virgil laughed. "I wondered how long it was going to be before you suggested that. The answer's no, Scott."
"I'm a better pilot than you."
Virgil faced off to his brother. "Not in Thunderbird Two you're not."
"I'm as good," Scott protested.
"Would you have tried to fly into the hangar like I did this morning?"
Scott stood a little straighter. "I would have in Thunderbird One."
"I've no doubt of that. But we're not talking about Thunderbird One. Would you have even thought of attempting it in Thunderbird Two?"
Scott hesitated as he wrestled with his conscience. "No," he eventually said.
"No," Virgil agreed. "Case closed. I'm flying Thunderbird Two. If nothing else it'll stop Ned Cook thinking I'm a creampuff."
Scott looked at his brother in concern. "Alan really hit a nerve with that crack, didn't he? Do you want me to talk to him about it?"
Virgil shook his head. "It was a joke! No, Scott. At any other time I would have laughed off a comment like that. It just happened that at that moment, like everyone else, I was stressing over the cyclone and Cook and Co. Forget it. I have."
"If you're sure…"
Unbeknownst to the two brothers they were being watched by their younger siblings. "Three guesses what's going on there," Gordon suggested.
"I'd only need one. Scott's offering to fly Thunderbird Two and Virgil's telling him where to go."
"Would you fly her through the cyclone?" Gordon asked.
"If I was the only person available, maybe," Alan admitted. "But I wouldn't offer to take Two while both Virgil and Scott are capable. Three maybe, but not Two. How about you?"
"No," Gordon said. "I know I'm her co-pilot, but I honestly don't think I've got the skills to handle her in a category five cyclone. I'd probably offer to take Joe under the water in Thunderbird Four."
"And meet up with the Sentinel again?" Alan grinned.
"Well," Gordon chuckled. "I did get to know a few of the crew. And the commander wasn't that bad once you got to know him."
"I don't know that Virgil would agree with you there."
"True. I'll admit that at first it was hard to be pleasant to the man who tried to shoot my brother out of the sky."
"Boys," Jeff bounded up the incline that was the Pod's door. "How's it going?"
"Nearly finished," Alan said, as he and Gordon lowered their cabinet onto the trolley.
"How about you, Scott?" Jeff called across the pod. "Do you want me to help anywhere?"
"Nope, that's it," Scott admitted. "I'm going to take Virgil through some cyclones on the simulator. We'll let Gordon programme it, which should ensure a suitably rough ride. Alan's going to check through Thunderbird Two and make sure we haven't missed anything."
Alan stared at him. "Why me?"
"Because Gordon and I haven't had the opportunity to spend much time with Virgil the last few days and you have."
"Yes," Gordon agreed.
"So!" Alan seethed. "I'd miss him too if anything happened."
"You can sit next to him while he's eating," Scott tried to pacify his kid brother.
"As long as I can sit on the other side…" Gordon added.
"That's my place," Scott told him.
"Why…?"
"Fellas! Stop!" Virgil snapped. "I don't need this. You're making me feel like I'm about to be led to the gallows." His watch beeped.
"Virgil," Grandma Tracy's face looked at him from the dial. "Your dinner's ready."
"Thanks." Virgil lowered his wrist.
Jeff put his arm about his shoulders. "Come on, Son. She won't like to be kept waiting."
Virgil groaned. "And the condemned man was led away to enjoy his final meal."
To be continued...