Out of the Frying Pan

Ruth Tracy was pleased with herself-or at least, satisfied that she had managed to feed herself and Brains without filling the house with smoke or poisoning them both. Granted, she'd only made scrambled eggs and toast, but still; both of those items had the potential to go awry, and tonight they'd actually turned out edible. She missed her boys, as she always did when they were out saving the world, but she'd made her peace with that long ago. While they had their job to do, she had hers, which was to keep the home fires burning, as it were. Hopefully not literally, but the house had a sophisticated fire extinguishing system just in case.

In fact, everything about the villa was sophisticated, from the Danish Modern furniture to the technology tucked behind every inch of paneling. The lights came on when you walked into the room, the doors opened when you approached; heck, the toilet even flushed when you stood up. When Grant Tracy brought his young bride to his family's farmhouse in rural Kansas, most of the things she now used every day hadn't been a twinkle in anyone's cerebral cortex. In her eightieth year, she was amused to think that her life was the stuff of Flash Gordon matinees. However, there were still some old things that came in pretty danged handy-for example, the iron skillet she'd used to cook the eggs. The heavy blackened pan had been a wedding gift from her mother-in-law, handed down from Tracy wives over the years, and had a perfect non-stick seasoning from years of frying chickens and baking casseroles.

She had wiped out the pan with a paper towel and was preparing to carry it back to its place on the stove when she heard footsteps behind her. "Kitchen's closed," she quipped. "If you're still hungry, Brains, make yourself a cheese sandwich." She turned to address her unofficial grandson-only to find a pair of men in black wetsuits standing there, with decidedly unfriendly looks on their faces. "Who the hell are you, and why are you dripping all over my clean floor?" she demanded.

"Where is he?" snarled one.

Ruth raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna have to narrow that down a bit, sonny. Lots of testosterone around this place."

"The one they call 'Brains,'" the other clarified. "Get him out here, and don't get in our way, old lady."

Behind her back, Ruth's fingers tightened on the handle of the pan. "I guess no one ever taught you to respect your elders," she gritted. "If you want Brains, you're gonna have to go through me."

Unfortunately, that was the moment that the man in question decided to make an appearance in the kitchen, holopad in hand. "Grandma, I-" He raised his eyes from the tablet and stopped short as he took in the strained tableau in front of him. "What in the-"

"That's the guy," said the second rogue, pointing a gloved finger at Brains. "Grab 'im!"

"Cook's on strike!" shouted Ruth. She swung the heavy skillet at the first thug, eliciting a whuf! of expelled breath as the metal connected with his chest. He stumbled back, desperately trying to draw air back into his lungs, and Ruth finished him off with a two-handed backhand to the forehead. Iron met flesh with a sickening thud, and blood splattered all over the teak flooring as the man fell in a heap. "Brains, panic button!" Ruth bellowed.

Brains dropped the holopad and whirled to slam his hand against the bright red button on the kitchen wall. As klaxons began to sound throughout the house, a distress signal winged its way up to Thunderbird Five. Within milliseconds, John's voice was booming from the hidden speakers in the walls.

"Grandma! Brains! What's going on?"

"John! We have a situation!" yelled Brains, but his words were too late. As he watched, the second rogue ducked out of the way of Ruth's makeshift blunderbuss and caught her across the throat with a beefy arm. A switchblade appeared in the rogue's hand, glittering in the halogen lights. Ruth went still, the faces of her husband and son flitting through her mind.

"Drop it, Granny," the rogue snarled, then turned his attention to Brains. "Don't move, four-eyes."

"This is Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird One."John's voice was calm, and despite the terrible situation she was in, Ruth felt pride well up from her toes. "Scott, someone's in the house with Grandma and Brains."

Scott's voice was tighter, but still calm. "I read you, Thunderbird Five. Grandma, Brains, are you two okay?"

Ruth started to speak, but the knife flashed again in her field of vision, and she cleared her throat. "We've got some uninvited guests," she confirmed, "but we're okay."

John's voice came back, steel-smooth and ice cold. "Unidentified intruder: This is International Rescue. You will be prosecuted by the Global Defense Force for this action. You have no chance to escape. Give yourself up now."

"Oh, I don't think so," said the rogue, an ugly smile dawning across his face. "You boyscouts make one move to stop me, and Granny here gets it."

"He's g-got a knife, John," Brains choked out. "He's holding your g-grandmother hostage."

When Scott spoke again, his calm had been replaced with cold fury. "What is it you want?"

Before the thug answered, Brains stepped up. "He wants me, Scott." The engineer faced the thug, chin raised. "J-just leave her alone, and I'll g-go."

"NO!" the word burst from the three Tracys before Scott's voice edged out on top. "Whoever you are, you will not get away with this!"

"Let him take me, Scotty," Ruth said, surprised at how calm her own voice sounded.

"Absolutely not!" Virgil's voice, hot with anger, broke in to the conversation. "Thunderbird Two is en route. I'll be there in three minutes, so hang tight, Grandma."

The thug pressed the blade against Ruth's throat, and she let out a strangled yelp. "Virgil Grissom Tracy, you stay away from this house!" Ruth shouted. "That goes for all you boys. Stay. Away."

"Smart lady," growled her captor. "Now let's-"

It was the thug's turn to let out an undignified shriek, as Ruth dropped the iron skillet on the man's toes. She made a desperate lunge toward Brains, but the thug pivoted and cuffed her hard against the jaw. Ruth saw stars and the edges of her vision went black as vertigo overtook her. She fell into the thug's arms, and the echoes of her grandsons' voices carried her into the darkness.