Ned Cook looked into the games room. In there he found Jeff Tracy hanging photographs on the wall. "What are you doing, Jeff?"
"Hi, Ned. I'm replacing the photos of Gordon," was the reply.
"The ones you took down because I was trying to stick my big nose in?"
"Yes." Jeff reached into a box and took out a photo. He looked at it briefly before hanging it in position. "You've no idea what pleasure this little job is giving me."
Ned looked at the photo. It was of Gordon shortly after he'd won his Olympic gold medal. One hand held the prize triumphantly. The other was around the shoulders of an obviously proud father. "I'm sorry we forced you to lie about him, Jeff."
"So am I," Jeff admitted. "But you can understand why I had to take that step."
"Yes, I can."
"I hated having to lie about the way I feel about him, but I could never hate Gordon."
"I…" Ned began.
Someone slammed a door in the hall. A sloshing sound preceded the appearance of a figure, drenched from head to toe in dark, foul smelling mud. The figure ignored the two men in the games room, instead continuing to slosh in the direction of the sleeping quarters, grumbling under its breath.
"Alan!" Jeff sounded stern. "Where are you going like that?"
Alan stopped and reversed his passage until he was at the door of the room. His face was like thunder. "I'm going to get washed and changed!" A droplet of mud slid off his cheek and onto the floor.
"This is the only part of the house untouched by the storm. You don't have to make it unliveable too," his father reprimanded him.
"I didn't think it would matter since we're going to replace the carpet," Alan stated. "Anyway, I'm not the one to blame! He tipped a bucket of mud all over me! Look! It's going to take me ages to get clean." He spread his arms wide to draw attention to his plight, and sent more mud spilling onto the carpet and the walls. Then, muttering something about brothers, resumed his unhappy course towards his bedroom.
Ned looked at Jeff. "Gordon?"
"Gordon," Jeff confirmed. "I could never hate him, but there have been times…" He shook his head in exasperation, letting the sentence remain unfinished as he hung the final photograph. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. "That's better."
His mother came to the door. "Jeff, I've just been talking to John. Virgil's about an hour away."
"Thanks, Mother."
She looked at the floor and the walls, noticing the mud splatters. "Who did that?"
"Your youngest grandson."
"Alan! And you let him?"
"As he pointed out, we are replacing the carpet…"
"But that won't be for ages!" She clucked her tongue in disapproval. "What were you thinking of, Jeff Tracy?"
"I was thinking how pleased I'll be to have the whole family together again. It's only mud, Mother."
"It smells," she protested. "And this is our eating area until we get the dining room sorted."
"The weather's lovely now," Jeff reminded her. "The wind's gone and the sun's shining. We can eat all our meals outside."
"It's even more muddy and smelly out there…" she complained as a redheaded blur raced down the hall behind her. "Gordon Tracy! Don't run in the house!"
"Sorry, Grandma." He skidded to a stop. "But I've just checked the next bay 'round. The water's cleared so I'm going to go for a swim while I've got the chance. Once Thunderbird Two's back we're going to be flat out clearing up the place. See ya." He'd gone before anyone had a chance to respond to his statement.
Grandma clucked her tongue again. "Really! Those boys!"
"Are getting used to being able to relax, stretch their legs, and be themselves again," Jeff reminded her. "Leave him, Mother. He's not doing any harm. In fact…" he put the empty box beside his desk. "I might go and stretch my legs myself. Would you like to come for a walk, Ned?"
Ned Cook smiled. "I'd love too, Jeff."
Treading cautiously as they made their way down paths made slippery with silt, Jeff led Ned down to where the beach in front of the villa had been. All the sand had been washed away leaving a bay of largish pebbles and boulders. Many of the palm trees had been torn from the ground and were lying dead on the beach. Everywhere there was destruction.
Ned turned so he could see the Tracy Villa. From this angle it appeared that half the building was gone. Something bright on the shore caught his eye and he picked it up. It was the ornament that had sat on Jeff's desk in the lounge. Turning it over he saw that the underside had concealed a microphone. "Amazing," he muttered to himself.
"Pardon?" Jeff replied.
"Oh, nothing," Ned handed him the ornament. "I just can't believe how unlucky you've been."
"Unlucky?"
"Yes." Ned swung his arm in an arc, encompassing the island. "Your home's been destroyed!"
Jeff looked about him as if he were seeing it for the first time. "Not destroyed, but certainly damaged. International Rescue's going to be out of action for a time, which is a concern, but we might not be needed anywhere. What really matters to me, on a personal level, is that no one in my family has been seriously hurt, that Joe is going to be okay, and that in a few hours time I'll have all five of my boys with me again. This…" his arm followed the same trajectory that Ned's had taken, "can all be replaced with time and money. It's the lives of those closest to me that are irreplaceable… When you look at things in the wider scale," he bent down, and using a stick, turned over the body of a dead bird, it's once brilliant plumage now dulled with mud, "I've been incredibly lucky."
Ned stared at him. "You're amazing."
Jeff gave a wry grin, threw the stick away, and began walking along the remains of the beach. "No, I'm not. I don't like the idea of losing all these things. I don't like the idea of millions having to be spent out to restore my home to the way it was. I don't like the fact that some priceless artefacts that cost me a lot of money have been destroyed. But when you look at my misfortune and compare it with the big picture, that's nothing. How many of those birds have died? Just that one? Two? Three? The entire species? That would be a catastrophe. How many other species of birds, plants, animals, fish or insects have been wiped out, or will be because their environment has been destroyed? How about people on other islands? They survived because they were evacuated, but what will they return to? Will they have homes, gardens; a way to sustain their way of life? Will they have the wherewithal to start again? What stresses will they endure before life returns to normal for them, if it ever does? Compared to them I have lost nothing." He chuckled. "Here endeth the lesson."
"Is that why you started International Rescue? To help those with less than you?" Ned thrust his hands into his pocket. His right one grasped the voice recorder.
"Sort of," Jeff admitted. "I first got the idea when my wife, Lucille, was tragically killed."
Ned nodded. That part of Jeff Tracy's life was common knowledge.
"I thought that if only there'd been a rescue organisation with the right tools, she could have been saved. I guess that planted the seed, as it were. From then on every time people were trapped in a mine, every mudslide, every volcanic eruption, every hurricane, every disaster, watered that seed. And as I accumulated more and more money I began to realise that just maybe I could be the one to grow that rescue organisation. It also helped that I had a readymade team with the skills and attitude to bring it to life."
"What would you have done if your sons had decided not to go along with your plan?" Ned asked.
"I don't know," Jeff admitted. "I'm fortunate that I didn't have to consider that option. They hesitated at first, a couple more than the others." He chuckled. "I think they thought their old man had lost his marbles. But now they believe in International Rescue as much as I do… More so, since they are the ones laying their lives on the line." They began to climb up a volcanic outcrop. "I worry about them… A few times I've been frightened for them… But I'm proud of them all."
"You don't have to convince me," said Ned. "I know. And I think they're proud of their father as well."
They climbed the rest of the outcrop in silence.
Jeff reached the top and stopped, looking down into the next bay. Ned scrambled after him and stood there panting. "That's… quite a… climb."
Jeff grinned. "You're out of shape."
Ned straightened. "I've been unwell," he protested. "I had a building land on me, I was nearly drowned and I've been on light duties ever since, remember?"
Jeff chuckled. "Well, if you want to see a perfect example of physical fitness, there you are." He pointed into the bay before sitting down on one of larger the rocks.
Ned looked down.
Gordon was on what remained of the beach. He'd obviously decided that after being trapped inside for a week, he'd forgo wearing a wetsuit, preferring to enjoy the feeling of the warm sun on his back and the gentle caress of the water on his skin. Currently he was pacing backwards and forwards, holding a strange looking object out to sea.
"What's he…" Ned looked around, saw that Jeff was now seated, and took a seat beside him. "What's he doing?"
"He's testing the depth of the water and checking there aren't any hidden obstacles. I'm betting that he's hoping to dive straight in."
Ned watched as Gordon laid down the device, and stretched in preparation for the dive. He completed his last stretch and glanced in the direction of the two men. He gave them a wave. "Care to join me?" he shouted.
"No thanks, Gordon," Jeff shouted back. "We'll watch if you don't mind."
Gordon gave an ironic bow and then made his way onto a scoria reef. He stood poised for a moment, a Greek statue against the blue of the ocean. Then he dove. Barely a ripple marked where he'd entered the water and he didn't surface again until he was nearly halfway across the bay.
Jeff heard a stumbling sound and turned to look behind him. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here for the same reason that you are. To watch Gordon."
"Scott!" Jeff sounded exasperated. "You're supposed to be resting that leg… And where's your crutch?"
"I've been resting it for the last five days. I needed the exercise."
"Your grandmother's not going to be pleased with you."
"I'll tell her I needed the sun, which is true." Scott found a conveniently sized rock and, grimacing, sat down. "Don't worry, I'm all right."
"You should be inside, resting," Jeff persisted. "You did too much yesterday when you cleaned down Thunderbird One."
"I've been trapped underground for the last week and I'm sick of being stuck inside. I need the fresh air. And," Scott continued as he watched his brother, "being stuck inside with Gordon has been like stuck with a fish out of water. I've come here to see him in his natural environment."
Gordon had completed one length of the bay and was backstroking the return journey. Upon finishing that lap he turned and started back using breaststroke.
"Is this where you all are?" Alan asked as he clambered to the top of the outcrop. "Here," he held out a crutch and gave it to Scott. "Grandma's spitting tacks because you're not resting. And she says if you don't use this she's going to wrap it around your ear."
"She worries too much," Scott said as he reluctantly accepted the aid.
"That what I told her. She told me it's her job to worry, because we don't worry enough." Alan sat next to his father.
"Did you get all the mud off?" Ned asked.
"Nope," Alan ran his finger around the rim of his ear and then wiped it on his shirt. "But at least I got enough off so I shouldn't smell..." He sniffed at his arm and screwed up his face. "Well I thought I had. I'll have another shower later."
"Tin-Tin won't give you a hug if you stink," Scott teased. "Of course, if you ask her nicely, she might let you disguise the smell with some of her perfume."
Alan replied in kind. "Of course, I could always tell Grandma that you're refusing to use your crutch. She'll start nagging you the way she's been nagging Virgil these last few weeks."
"Start? She's already started," Scott protested. "She started the instant I injured it."
Gordon was on the homeward stretch, his butterfly stroke carving efficiently through the water.
"That's how he won the medal, isn't it?" Ned asked.
"Yep. And he's still fast enough to win gold at this year's Olympics," Alan boasted.
"Would he want to?" Ned asked.
"I asked him that," Scott said. "He said he's moved onto bigger and better things."
"That's true," Ned agreed. "And there's a lot of people in this world who are glad that he has. Me included…"
There was a shout from down by the water. "Hey! Look what I've found!" Gordon dove beneath the waves.
"What's he found?" Scott asked.
"A friend for Tracey?" Alan suggested.
"Tracey?" Jeff queried, but Gordon had surfaced again carrying something. He waded onto the shore examining the object.
"It's Joe's camera!" Ned was on his feet.
Gordon had settled the camera onto the beach and he pushed the button that popped open the film compartment. Silt and water poured out, settling in a muddy puddle at the base of the rocky outcrop. He looked up at his family. "Look's like Sylvia's done a better job on it than Scott managed to."
"I've been meaning to ask, how'd you do that?" Ned asked Scott, who was shuffling closer so he could see what was happening. "How did you manage to wipe the film from Thunderbird One?"
Scott smiled. "Trade secret," he replied as he leant on his crutch.
"I figured it might be." Ned thrust his hands into his pockets and felt the two voice recorders there. "You know," he said as he pulled them out. "It's a shame that the cyclone destroyed all our recording equipment." He weighed the items briefly in his hands. "Now we've got nothing to show for our time on Tracy Island." He threw the recorders down towards the beach. They ricocheted off sharp edged rocks before settling in the mud beside the camera.
Everyone stared as Gordon picked the recorders up. "These have been used!"
"Ned?" Jeff was looking at the reporter.
"There's nothing on there from after we found out you're International Rescue," Ned reassured him. "If they still work you can check."
"Nothing?" Scott was frowning. "But are there others…?"
Ned held his hands out as if he were showing he was hiding nothing. "There are no copies of recordings or other recorders, and if you don't believe me you're welcome to search our rooms."
"So why tell us this now?" Jeff asked.
"Because you're trusting me and I want to prove to you that I'm worthy of that trust," Ned admitted.
Scott's frown deepened. "Now I know why Joe didn't trust you."
"I'm disappointed in Joe. I thought he knew me well enough to know that I would never back down from a 'debt of honour', as he called it."
"You had me fooled," Scott growled.
"I guess it didn't sound that way, but that's me." Ned shrugged. "I enjoy winding people up and watching their reactions. I guess I like to keep people guessing. But I never had any attention of 'blowing the whistle'." He thrust his hands into his now empty pockets. "You know how you hear of people making deals with the Devil and pacts with God when they think their lives are in mortal danger… Of course you do," he admonished himself when he remembered who he was talking to. "Well… When I was buried under New York City, waiting to either drown or be rescued, I made a pledge to International Rescue. I promised that if you people did, by some miracle, manage to save Joe and me, then I'd never do anything that might jeopardise your organisation." He looked Jeff in the eye. "And the way that, despite the threat that we posed to your organisation, you all fought to save Joe's life, made me even more determined to keep that pledge. I might be many things, but I hope I am an honourable and honest man and I aim to keep that promise."
"Do you call installing a broken component into a hover-plane so you can buy time with a story honest?" Alan asked.
"That was Joe's idea. Besides I thought I was dealing with reclusive billionaire and his playboy sons."
Gordon snorted a laugh. "Playboy! It never fails to crack me up when I hear people refer to us as that. We never get the time to play…"
A low rumble, like thunder, was heard in the distance. It grew louder.
"Talking of no time to play," Jeff was looking skywards. "Here's Virgil with the supplies."
Ned looked up and was awestruck by the Thunderbird. "Wow."
Thunderbird Two flew low. She hovered over the group of men and a series of strobe lights played out along her undercarriage.
Jeff gave a wave to the 'plane's unseen occupants. "Come on. Let's go and say 'welcome home'."
Thunderbird Two moved off slowly, embarking on a circuit of the island.
"I've seen it before," Ned said, as he watched the great aircraft move away. "But last time I was viewing it as a reporter missing a great story. This time… This time I'm looking at it as… as…" Words failed him. "That's one humungous 'plane!"
"You okay, Hoppy?" Gordon asked, as he moved closer to help Scott.
"I'm okay," Scott held him at arms length. "I don't need to get wet. You worry about the camera, I'll worry about me."
"It's only good, honest, seawater," Gordon told him. "It's good for your skin."
"My skin's good enough, thank you. And my clothes are dry and I plan to keep it that way."
Ned looked up at what remained of the Tracy family villa. "There'll be a lot of work involved in fixing the place," he remarked to Alan. "You're lucky your father's a billionaire, you won't have any problems."
"Where'd we find a tradesmen who'd travel this far?" Alan asked. "And if we did, we'd have to worry about security. We're the ones who will be doing all the work."
Ned stared at him. "You?"
"Yep. We built the place and we'll re-build it. It'll be easier once…" he cast an impish grin Ned's way, "all the 'playboys' are here."
"I wish people could see what you're really like. Before I came here, I was genuinely expecting you all to be selfish brats."
"I keep meaning to ask you, Gordon," Scott said as he limped across the rocks. "How's Tracey? Has she had her babies yet?"
"Yeah," Alan moved closer so he could join in the conversation. "In all the excitement I forgot about that."
"Who's Tracey?" Jeff asked.
"Gordon's goldfish," Alan replied.
"Tracey's not a goldfish," Gordon reminded him. "She's a Plectroglyphididodon Tracii…"
"And she's grey," Scott interjected. "So, when is the proud 'Gord-father' going to show off his new offspring?"
Alan snorted a laugh.
"When I've got everything sorted," Gordon said.
"Sorted? Don't tell me you left her in the – ow – bunkers?" Scott flinched as twisted his sore leg.
"No, of course I didn't. You know that. Or you would have if you hadn't been keeping us awake all night with your moaning and groaning with that leg of yours."
"Moaning and groaning?" Scott scowled. "Me?"
"Yes, you," Alan backed Gordon up. "It's a wonder we managed to get any sleep at all."
Scott huffed. "Forget all that. So where's Tracey now?"
"Um. She's in her tank with the others in my room."
"No she's not," Alan told them. "I checked your room when I was looking for you guys and she's still in her plastic bag. That surprised me," he added. "I thought you would have got to back into her tank straight away, Gordon."
"Actually, Alan, she is… ah… in her tank."
"Huh?" Alan stopped walking and stared at his brother. "Then who, I mean what, was that in the bag?"
"Gil."
"Gil? You mean short for Gillian?"
"No, I mean Gil short for Gilbert."
"But," Scott was trying to make sense of it all, "Gilbert's a boy's name."
"I know," Gordon admitted. "I grabbed the wrong fish."
This time both Scott and Alan stopped to stare at him. "The wrong fish!"
"Yeah," Gordon twisted his hand so the camera spun about, splashing water everywhere. "I was in such a hurry that I grabbed Gil instead of Tracey. And then after Ned had finished poking about in my room I was that furious that I didn't double check."
"Do you mean to tell me?" Scott exclaimed. "That we risked exposure… We risked ruining everything we've worked for… And you got the wrong fish!"
Alan burst out laughing. "You're kidding me?"
"It's not funny, Gordon," Scott snapped.
"No it's not. And I think we should discuss the whole situation later."
Gordon jumped; he'd forgotten that his father was listening… and that he hadn't known about their escapade.
"Getting back to the original question," Scott said. "Are Tracey and her babies okay?"
"Yes. I walked into my room after Sylvia had gone and the tank was swarming with hatchlings. I'll have to do more research, but keeping Gil away from Tracey during the birth may have helped with her young's survival."
They had made their way so they were close to the runway and watched as Thunderbird Two came to rest on an area that had been cleared the day before. Ned hung back so he wouldn't interfere in the family reunion.
The greetings were warm. Jeff greeted Brains as he would have his own son. Alan and Tin-Tin's joyful embrace was a fraction longer than that between the young Eurasian lady and the other Tracy boys.
Virgil was the last to emerge from Thunderbird Two. Scott beamed at him. "Here he is! The cyclone conqueror."
Virgil saw his brother limp towards him. "What happened to you?"
"This?" Scott indicated his leg. "Nothing. I bruised it."
"A bruise?" Virgil folded his arms. "Since when do you need crutches just for 'a bruise'? What happened?"
"Sylvia thought it was her birthday and Scott was a candle to be blown out," Gordon informed him.
"Blown out?" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "What do you mean? What happened?"
"It's nothing," Scott protested. "I'm all right."
"Wh-What happened, Scott?" Brains asked.
Scott, reluctantly, supplied the explanation. "When we lost you guys and John, Alan and I decided that we'd try to make contact from Thunderbird Three. We figured that we'd be able to be a link between the storm shelter, using our telecoms, and Thunderbird Five. We were planning to stay in Thunderbird Three until Sylvia had passed…"
"You and Alan? Stuck together in Thunderbird Three?" Virgil shook his head. "That's asking for even more trouble than you and Gordon."
"I'll have you know that we got on well, didn't we, Scott?" Gordon gave his eldest brother a squeeze, nearly causing him to lose his balance.
"Once you'd finished trying to drive me crazy," Scott growled.
"Never mind that," Tin-Tin protested. "How'd you hurt your leg?"
"We hadn't realised that half the house had been blown away when we attempted to leave the shelter," Scott explained. "It was like trying to walk on one of Thunderbird One's wings while she was in flight! I stepped out the door and whump! Sylvia knocked my legs out from under me. If Alan hadn't grabbed my hand, I hate to think where I would have ended up."
"Yeah," Alan agreed. "So I've got hold of one of his arms, Gordon's got the other…"
"…Dad's got me by the legs," Gordon continued on. "Kyrano's got hold of Alan's… Ned's got hold of the both of them…"
"…Grandma's having a blue fit," Alan added. "And the wind was that loud, I honestly thought that you guys had come back to see what had happened and Thunderbird Two had overshot the runway and was heading straight for us."
"I didn't even know we'd lost contact until we were above the cyclone," Virgil admitted. "I've gotta admit that I was imagining all sorts of scenarios." He turned back to Scott. "So is that when you hurt yourself?"
"Yeah. I pulled something, but I'm okay!"
"I know you'll want to check out the lab, Brains," Jeff said. "But that," he pointed at Scott, "is your first priority."
"Y-Yes, Sir."
"I'm okay!" Scott protested again.
Ned, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, sat on a rock and watched the reunion, glad that he'd made the decision that he had. It was clear that although they weren't all joined by blood, they were a family. Scott was ruffling Brains' hair in the same way that he'd ruffled Virgil's when he'd greeted him. And Gordon had his arm around Tin-Tin in a manner that suggested brotherly affection, rather than a more intimate attraction, though, to Ned's amusement, Alan was still casting nervous glances in his brother's direction.
"So, Virg," Scott asked. "Did you manage to find a piano?"
Virgil opened his mouth to speak but was beaten to the punch by Tin-Tin. "Found one! It's a wonder he didn't bring it home with us the way he's been drooling over it."
Virgil tried to sound nonchalant. "There's nowhere to put it in the house at the moment, and we can't store it in one of the hangars. It's a delicate instrument."
"You mean you didn't bring it home because it wouldn't fit on the flight deck," Tin-Tin told him. "You would have quite happily relegated us to the sickbay."
"You had to travel in the sickbay anyway because we'd taken the seats out of the cabin," Virgil reminded her.
"But you did consider it?" Gordon grinned.
"H-He must have done." Brains was enjoying the exchange. "I-I don't know how many time h-he asked me to help him measure th-the crate…"
"We have to make sure it'll fit in the hold without being damaged when we bring it home," Virgil interrupted. "I wanted to ensure the measurements were exact…"
"Th-Then why did you ask me to help you measure the cabin d-doors?"
"Ah…" Virgil reddened at his family's laughter and changed the subject. "Who painted 'roll me over' on the underside of the pod…?" He turned to one of his brothers. "Gordon?"
Everyone turned to look at the pod that had been jettisoned from Thunderbird Two five days ago. It was lying upside down. Its sides scarred from where Cyclone Sylvia had blown it off the runway and rolled it over the adjacent rocks. From this angle the lettering was obscured.
"Just giving you a helpful hint," Gordon admitted.
"Well I hope you're going to clean it off before we store it away again," Virgil demanded.
Gordon shrugged. "Why bother. No one's going to see it when it's on the ground."
"But they'll see it when we're coming in to land," Virgil reminded him. "How would you like to be clinging to life and see the words 'roll me over' heading towards you? Not very reassuring!"
"Gordon," Jeff warned.
"Okay, okay. I'll clean it off. It's only water-based paint. Next cyclone it'll be washed clean."
"How'd you do it, anyway?" Alan asked. "The pod's impossible to climb onto without assistance… And I'm asking this so that no one thinks that I was involved."
"Used a jet pack," Gordon admitted.
"Gordon!" his father sounded angry. "You know the rules about using our equipment for anything other than International Rescue."
"Yes, Sir."
"Then what were you thinking?"
"I was using the jet pack, so I could get the height I needed to scan the runway to check it was intact."
Jeff nodded. This was probably true. "And the paint?"
"Ah…" Gordon prevaricated. "Would you believe the tin caught on my foot when I took off and I didn't want to drop it all over the place but it was making my flight unstable so I thought I'd lighten the load?"
"By painting 'roll me over' on the pod."
"Ah… yeah."
Jeff, not for the first time that day, shook his head in exasperation.
"If you want to check out the extent of the damage to the island," Virgil reached into his pocket and pulled out an electronic card which he gave to his father. "I got some video and scans of the complex when we did the round trip. It's all on there."
"Thank you, Son."
"I sent it through to Thunderbird Five, too. John's up there doing a happy dance because his observatory looks intact. The west side of the island's almost been stripped of vegetation though."
"Say, Virg?" Alan remembered something. "Do you remember? When you were flying out and you went into that dive…"
"I'm not going to forget that in a hurry."
"Did you do a barrel roll?"
"Yes. The wind just caught Two and flipped her over. I'm thinking 'this is it! I'm going to lose a wing and then it'll be curtains.' Don't ask me how I managed to right her again." Virgil shook his head at the memory. "If I ever offer to make a trip like that again... Set Grandma on to me, would you?"
There was a 'humph' from behind the group. "Do you think that would make any difference? You're as stubborn as the rest of them."
Virgil turned; a big grin on his face. "Hi, Grandma."
"Father!" Tin-Tin ran forward into Kyrano's arms.
"My daughter. I am pleased to see you."
"And I you." Together they began to converse excitedly in Malay.
"I've missed you," Virgil gave his grandmother a big hug. "Penny's cook's not a patch on you."
"Huh! Cupboard love." Grandma hit him on the chest affectionately. "Food! That's all you boys think about." She held out an arm in greeting, and drew Brains in close to kiss him on the cheek. "How are you, dear?"
"F-Fine, thank you, Mrs Tracy."
Ned decided that it was time for him to offer his own thanks. He stepped forward. "Tin-Tin, Brains, Virgil…"
Virgil hadn't seen the reporter. He looked at Ned in alarm and then glanced at Thunderbird Two, as Scott laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Brains froze and Tin-Tin grasped her father's hand.
Ned saw their reactions. "…I know what you're thinking and I don't blame you. You think I know too much, and probably I do, but you can be reassured that I won't speak, I won't write, I won't use any form of communication to talk about what I've learnt on this island to another soul… except perhaps Joe. He's going to want to know what happened."
Virgil was wary. "But can we trust you?"
"I think we can, Virgil," Jeff replied. His son looked at him, but refrained from further comment.
Ned continued his speech. "I know I should say thank you to the three of you… but somehow the words don't seem to be enough. If you hadn't been willing to risk your lives, Joe wouldn't have survived. He and I both owe you a huge debt. I hope that I can repay that debt, at least in part, by keeping your secret."
There was an awkward silence as everyone considered what he'd said.
Jeff was the one to break it. "Come on; let's go back to the house. Scott should be resting that leg."
Scott groaned. "I'm – okay!" but he adjusted his grip on Virgil's shoulder so he was using his brother for support as they traversed the incline to the family home.
Stepping over debris, they clambered, single file up the steps that had led to the Tracys' home.
Tin-Tin gasped when she saw the pool. "It's full of mud and debris and…" she moved closer. "What's that sticking out?"
"That," Alan informed her, "is the bottom of the pool. All that mud and debris has filled Thunderbird One's launch bay."
She stared at him wide eyed. "Who's going to clean it out?"
Alan winked. "Gordon, of course."
The rest of the family had negotiated the steps to the villa. Virgil stood for a moment on what had formerly been the patio and surveyed what had formerly been the lounge. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "That's not fair! You said you wouldn't start the party without me!"
His family laughed. "Yeah," Gordon said. "It was a blast. Scott was legless."
"St-Still is." Brains beckoned to the eldest Tracy son. "Come on. I'll examine you n-now, if you don't mind."
Scott sighed. "Okay, Brains. There're some people here who just won't be happy until they hear a professional opinion." He followed International Rescue's engineer, scientist and medical expert through the debris of the family home.
"Where's the piano?" Virgil asked.
"We don't know," Gordon admitted. "Somewhere in the Pacific we think."
Virgil looked at his father. "You told me he wanted to drill holes in it!"
"That was before we realised that we couldn't find it," Gordon said. "We thought it was hidden under all the rubbish."
"Never mind that," Jeff turned to his International Rescue uniform clad son. "I know you've had a long flight, but I want to restore communications as soon as possible. Do you think you could take Gordon, Alan and Thunderbird Two and reinstate the radio mast? Once that's done someone can go and get John."
"Sure," Virgil replied.
"You might want to check it out first," Alan warned. "I was up there yesterday and it's not going to be a simple matter of just lifting it. We'll need to do some repairs first."
"Okay," Virgil removed his sash. "I'll get my welding gear. Will the hoverbikes work over the terrain?"
"Should do."
"In that case I'll meet you both back here in ten."
The following day found John holding court with three of his brothers in his bedroom on Tracy Island. Scott had commandeered the most comfortable chair and had his injured leg raised up on a footstool. Alan, dressed in clean overalls, sat on the bed amongst the suitcases that John had brought back from Thunderbird Five.
Gordon, also wearing overalls, looked about for a seat, nudged Scott's leg over and perched on the edge of the stool. "Okay, John. What's this all about?"
John began in a formal manner. "Gentlemen, I have evidence of what we have long suspected. Our brother is in love with Thunderbird Two."
Alan leant forward. "Evidence? What do you mean evidence?"
John produced an electronic card with a flourish. "I mean, that on this little card I have proof positive."
"Proof?" Gordon asked. "What kind of proof?"
"I have a recording of Virgil declaring his love."
"You're kidding!" Alan shifted on the bed in anticipation.
"No. Do you want to hear it?"
"Of course we want to hear it," Gordon told him.
"Are you sure?"
"For Pete's sake, John," Scott said. "I've got to fly Ned back to the States shortly and I'd like to hear this 'proof positive' before I leave… or before Christmas, whichever comes first."
"Okay," John smirked. He slipped the card into a player. "Hold onto your hats." He pushed a button.
A voice came spilling out of the speakers. "Man, I LOVE this 'plane!"
John switched the recording off as his brothers looked at each other.
"It kind of sounded like Virgil," Scott admitted.
"He's not usually that, ah, enthusiastic," Gordon noted.
"Are you sure he meant Thunderbird Two?" Alan asked.
"He said 'this 'plane'," John quoted. "How many 'planes do you think he'd fall for?"
There was no answer to that one.
"I'm not convinced," Scott said. "Play it again, John."
Once again they heard the familiar voice. "Man, I LOVE this 'plane!"
Gordon was nodding. "It's him all right, but I don't believe it. How'd you manage to score that?"
"It was a case of being in the right place at the right time," John gloated.
"And where's the right place and what was the right time?" Scott asked.
John tapped the side of his nose, suggesting that the answer to that particular question was a secret.
"John, have you seen…" Virgil stuck his head into his brother's room. "…So this is where you all are… What?" he asked when he saw their expressions. "Why are you, looking at me like that?"
"Congratulations, Virgil," Gordon said. "We hope the pair of you will be very happy together."
"Huh?" Virgil frowned.
"We think it's wonderful." Alan managed to keep a straight face.
"I knew it was only a matter of time," John added.
Virgil looked at Scott. "Would you mind telling me what these idiots are on about?"
"I think that you'd better be careful what you say when you're near a radio microphone, Virg," Scott told him.
"What I say…?" Virgil stared at his brothers. He scratched his head. "I think you've all been cooped up for too long."
"Play it again, John," Gordon requested. "Listen, Virgil."
"I'm all ears…" Virgil's jaw dropped when his own voice was played back to him. "That's not me...! Is it?"
"It certainly is," John confirmed.
"I never said that."
"Yes you did."
"When?" Virgil challenged.
Everyone's attention switched back to John who was trying to formulate a suitable reply.
"I think you've taken a whole lot of my words and stuck them together, John." There was a dangerous look in Virgil's eye.
"If I'd done that, don't you think I would have had you saying 'Thunderbird Two' instead of 'this plane'?" John asked with dignity.
"I think it's real, Virg," Scott said. "The question is when did you say it?"
"You sound drunk," Alan said.
"I can guarantee that I didn't say that because of alcohol," Virgil asserted.
"Oh, yes…" Gordon smirked.
"Or anything else," Virgil snapped.
"I'd say you were intoxicated with love..." John teased. "Right, Fellas?"
"What? You're crazy!"
"We're not the ones declaring our affection for a hunk of flying metal."
"I didn't! I never have! I…" Virgil had the glimmer of realisation. "Wait a minute!"
"Ah, ha!" Alan crowed. "At last we're going to hear the truth."
"Have you played them any more of that recording, John?" Virgil asked.
"Nope. That's the only bit of interest."
Virgil folded his arms and glared at his older brother. "Play them what happened before."
"Nope."
"Yes, John," Gordon agreed. "Let's hear it."
"You don't need to hear it." John was on the defensive. "It's just leading up to the moment of truth. I've played you the best bit."
"I think in the interests of fairness we should hear what went on before," Scott said.
Virgil held out his hand. "Give me the player, John."
"No…" John started to say, but stopped when Virgil charged him. As he attempted to block the attack, Alan grabbed the player and tossed it to Gordon.
"What'll you give me for it, Johnny?" Gordon teased, dancing around the stool.
"Mind the leg!" Scott exclaimed.
"Give me that," John tried to grab the player out of Gordon's hands, but found his way barred, rather conveniently he thought, by Scott's injured limb.
"Sorry, Johnny." Gordon tossed the player over his shoulder to Virgil. "He wins."
"Okay," John conceded as he held up his hands in surrender. "Play it, Virgil."
Virgil rewound the recording a few seconds and pressed play.
"…Made it! We're above the cyclone…"
"Virgil…"
"We did it, John!"
"Virgil…"
"Thunderbird Two did it!"
"Virgil…"
"We kicked Sylvia's butt…"
"Virgil…"
"Man, I LOVE this 'plane!"
"Virgil!"
"What?"
"I've lost contact with home."
Virgil switched off the player.
"Rough flight," Scott commented as he lowered his leg off the stool and stood.
"Yes it was," Virgil agreed.
Scott chuckled. "'Kicked Sylvia's butt', huh? That wasn't a very gentlemanly thing to do."
Virgil managed a wry grin. "Believe me, Sylvia was no lady."
"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "She decked you, Scott."
"I thought she swept him off his feet!" Alan exclaimed.
Still chuckling Scott patted Virgil on the back as he hobbled past. "I'll see you guys down on the runway."
"That's why I was looking for you," Virgil called after him. "Father said to tell you that Ned's making a phone call. He'll be leaving when he's finished."
"Thanks," Scott limped out into the hall.
Virgil turned back to his other brothers. "I think this belongs to you, John." He held out the player.
John took it sheepishly. "Thanks, Virgil."
Virgil winked. "At least everyone's alive to hear it." He turned to leave. "I'd better go get my overalls."
"Virgil! Wait up! I'll come with you." Gordon scrambled after his brother.
John groaned. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to be in trouble now? If Gordon gives Virgil any ideas…"
Alan grinned at his brother's perceived predicament. "Yep. Tell you what. Don't bother unpacking this lot," he indicated John's bags. "And I'll take you back to Thunderbird Five in Thunderbird Three."
"It might be worth running away and risking Dad's wrath if it means avoiding one of Gordon's practical jokes," John admitted. "Then again," he shook his head and reached into his wardrobe, pulling out a pair of overalls, "if we start repairs straight after the 'plane leaves, neither of them will have time to do anything to me."
Alan's grin broadened. "I wouldn't count on it. You know Gordon."
"That's the problem, I DO know Gordon…"
In Virgil's room, John's worst fears were being realised. "You wouldn't happen to have something in your box of practical jokes labelled 'revenge against John', would you?" Virgil asked as he pulled on his overalls.
Gordon gave a diabolical smile. "I might. Why don't you paint ink on the eyepiece of his telescope?"
Virgil screwed up his face in a grimace. "It's a bit tame, isn't it?"
"It's at about your practical joking level."
"I don't know whether I should take that as an insult or a compliment."
"Take it as a compliment. Your forte is flying mammoth sized planes through 300km/hour windstorms."
Virgil preened himself in the mirror. "I must admit I'm quite proud of that."
"There you go then. Why do you want something complex anyway? He'll only blame me."
"That thought had crossed my mind."
"Huh?" Gordon exclaimed. "You want me to get the blame?" Then he grinned. "You're better at this game than I thought you were."
"How's Joe?" Jeff asked.
Ned had been in the library when he made the videophone call. Now he joined the Tracy patriarch in the games room. "He's looking and sounding well considering what he's been through. He's dying for me to get home so I can tell him everything that happened. He can't believe that he's ridden in two Thunderbirds and he can't remember either time."
Jeff chuckled.
"I told him that he won't have to work with Sid Lowe," Ned admitted. "Unless of course the bosses decide to keep him on the Olympics show. They've assigned it to Sid."
"Assigned Sid Lowe?" Jeff queried. "I thought that was your show."
"They've offered me another one… One that they thought would be right up my alley. One that would take me right around the world to all sorts of locations, meeting all sorts of people... An investigative piece…"
"Sounds ideal."
"I turned them down."
Jeff stared at the reporter. "You turned them down? Why?"
"They wanted me to do a series on International Rescue. They thought that since I've dealt with them twice I'd put more into it. You know, look at it from a personal angle… What they didn't admit, but what I know they really want, is for me to expose who International Rescue are. I told them I wasn't prepared to do that. They begged me to reconsider, but you'll be pleased to know I stood firm."
Jeff looked at him with sympathy. "I'm sorry. It sounds like something you could do well."
Ned shrugged. "Oh, well. Something else will come along."
"Thank you for considering us…" Jeff began.
"It's not only International Rescue I was thinking of, it's all the people who may not be as lucky as Joe and I were if you're not about to help them. I don't mind losing this particular opportunity if it, at least in part, repays the debt I have to you, your sons, and everyone else."
"I think you should take that job."
Ned did a double take. "Take it? Why?"
"Because we both know that if you don't do the series then someone else will," Jeff explained. "Someone who's as good a reporter as you are. Someone who may stumble onto some fact that will lead to us. If you were the one doing the reporting and you came across that same fact, you'd recognise it and be able to negate it. I'd feel that International Rescue is in safe hands if Ned Cook were the person doing the investigating."
"Really?" Ned asked. "Are you sure?"
Jeff nodded. "I'm sure."
"I… Thank you. Thank you for trusting me."
"But please let me give you some advice," Jeff requested.
"Shoot."
"Don't even hint that you've so much as talked to any of us. We swooped in, got you and, or, Joe out of harms way, and swooped out again. That's all. Nothing was said by any member of International Rescue to you."
"If that's what you want," Ned frowned in confusion. "But why? Surely if I were to say that I spent a couple of minutes talking to one of International Rescue's operatives about the weather it wouldn't matter. After all, you rescued Joe from a cyclone."
"I wish it didn't matter, but I know there're people out there who would stop at nothing to get the slightest bit of information about us."
"But…"
"Remember the maiden flight of the Fireflash airliner?"
"Sure. That was one of your first rescues, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Jeff nodded. "So you know what happened?"
"Someone had planted a bomb in the landing gear, or something."
"Do you know why?"
Ned shook his head. "The reports weren't very clear on that point. They thought it was a band of international terrorists or something."
"Our sources tell us that it was planted deliberately so that the bomber would get the opportunity to photograph the Thunderbirds."
Ned's jaw dropped. "You mean someone would risk the lives of hundreds of people just for a few photographs."
"Yes," Jeff sounded grim. "And if someone would think nothing of doing that, think of what they'd do to you or Joe if they thought you had the merest grain of information about us."
Ned swallowed. "I'll remember that."
Grandma Tracy came bustling in. "Good," she said. "You haven't left yet. I wanted to say goodbye, but I won't come down to the runway. Not while the path's all muddy."
"Thank you for everything, Mrs Tracy," Ned said.
"Here," she held out a box, which he took. It was warm and a heavenly aroma arose from it. "It's my first apple pie out of the new oven."
"Thank you," Ned said, with real appreciation.
"Mind you don't let Scott get wind of it," she warned. "Else you won't get any."
Ned laughed. "Thanks for the warning," he said as he placed the pie carefully into a case.
Jeff smiled. "Come on, Ned," he said. "Scott's itching to take to the skies again. If we don't get down there soon he'll be leaving without you." He picked up one of Ned's bags.
"I can take that," Ned protested.
"I don't mind," Jeff replied. "Besides, the path is still slippery. You'll need one hand free." He began walking out of the room.
"Before I arrived here, I would never have dreamed that I'd have a multi-billionaire carrying my bags for me," Ned quipped as he lifted his other bag onto his shoulder.
Jeff chuckled. "I've got to. Sylvia ran off with the butler."
They walked out into the warm sunshine. There wasn't a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind as they began their trek down to the runway. Even from this distance Ned could hear the sound of the hover-plane's engine.
"Sounds like that replacement part's working well," Jeff teased.
"Sorry about that," Ned apologised. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." He thought for a moment. "I don't want to cast aspersions on Scott's flying abilities. I mean I've seen him in Thunderbird One and I know he's a good pilot, but with that leg… Do you think him flying me home is a good idea?"
"Don't worry about it," Jeff replied. "I think it's a good idea for several reasons. One is that, as I said, if he doesn't get airborne soon he's going to drive us all crazy. Two is that he needs to rest that leg, and we won't be able to stop him from helping with the clean up if he stays here. We'll pick him up again when Thunderbird Two makes her next supply run. And three, he's the best pilot we've got."
"Better than Virgil?"
"In every plane except Thunderbird Two, yes. Don't worry. If he thought a torn knee ligament was going to impede his ability to fly safely, there's no way he'd risk either of your lives."
Despite Jeff's reassurances, Ned still felt a twinge of uncertainty. The feeling remained when they reached the runway.
"All set?" Scott asked as he stepped out of the hover-plane and hobbled over to relive his father of the bag he was carrying.
"Leave that, Scott," Jeff reprimanded. "I can carry it," he hoisted the bag into the plane.
Scott folded his arms. "I'm not helpless."
"I know that. And neither am I," Jeff reminded him. "I've just been reassuring Ned that you're fit to fly with that injury."
"This?" Scott tapped his injured leg. "A torn ligament won't cause any problems. It's all hand controls on this bird."
"Don't worry, Ned," Gordon's voice caused Ned to turn. The four remaining Tracy brothers had descended from the villa. "Unless he decides to push you out of the 'plane." He stopped as if in thought. "If I were you I'd wear a parachute for the trip."
"Gordon!" Scott protested. "I'll admit that, initially, I wasn't Ned's greatest fan…"
"And you had every right not to be," Ned interrupted. "We shouldn't have disturbed you all, not when we weren't welcome."
"But at least you got your interview," Gordon said. "Shame the reception from the research sub wasn't the best."
Ned held up the tape. "Thanks for that. At least my boss won't think I wasted my time coming here."
Alan held out another tape. "There's some more footage to keep them happy. It's some of the CCTV footage of the cyclone. There's some pretty amazing stuff on that."
"Thanks," Ned said again. "I really don't deserve all this…" He looked around. Somehow in the last 24 hours both the graffitied pod and Thunderbird Two had mysteriously disappeared. "But…"
"Yes?" Jeff asked.
"Will you answer one question?"
"Depends," Jeff replied "What is it?"
"I've been dying to know the truth since I heard the rumour. Did the 'Sentinel' shoot down Thunderbird Two? I promise won't tell anyone. Not even Joe."
His question was answered by silence.
"Okay," Ned sighed. "I got the picture. Mind my own business."
Jeff stepped forward to shake his hand. "Goodbye, Ned. Have a safe trip home and good luck with the new show. Give our best to Joe."
"I will. And thanks for not chucking me out into Sylvia's clutches." Ned mounted the steps to the plane. "So long, everyone. I hope we'll meet again… But not in a professional capacity next time."
"Well, tell Joe to stay away from water." Gordon swung the steps to the hover-plane up and locked them into position. "See ya, Ned."
Ned had one final look at the International Rescue team before Scott pulled the door shut. Then he settled into the seat beside the pilot's.
"All buckled up?" Scott asked.
"Yep," Ned waved to the people outside.
"Let's do a bit of sightseeing before we go," Scott suggested, pulling back on the joystick. The hover-plane rose up into the air.
As they climbed higher they got a clearer view of the damage done to the island. Scott gave a whistle. "It's going to take some work."
"Will you be able to repair it all?"
"Yeah. It'll take time, but we'll do it."
Ned looked back out the cabin window. The Tracys were still waving and he gave them another wave in reply. Then, as he watched, Jeff appeared to issue instructions and the group began their hike back up the trail.
Scott pulled the stick over to one side and the hover-plane turned away from the island.
Ned sat back and readied himself for the long flight home. He'd discovered a lot while he'd been on this story. It could have been the story of a lifetime…
And it was a story that would never be told.
As far as he was concerned, Thunderbirds were go.
The end.
Thanks to everyone who took the time to review. :-)
FAB
Purupuss