Chapter Two
He was cold.
Jeff shivered as he waited for his head to stop throbbing long enough for him to feel like opening his eyes wasn't such an impossible task. He felt water splash into his mouth and nose, and began coughing and sneezing to expel the unwanted intruder.
What the hell?
Raising his arm to shield his face, Jeff struggled to a sitting position. The stench of age-old ruin and neglect reached his nostrils. At last he opened his eyes. It was raining. Sheets and sheets of it stung his hands and face. Soaked through, Jeff shivered again. As he scanned his surroundings, he realized he could barely see a foot in front of his face.
He rose to his feet and swayed for a moment as a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him. His stomach churned and within seconds he knew he was going to lose what little contents it had. He heaved over and over again, in a torturous cycle he thought would never end.
His head continued to pound as the retching subsided. There was a wall nearby and he leaned heavily upon it, supporting himself with his hand. Then his stomach and esophagus seized again, dry heaves wracking his body as tears escaped his eyes. The rain continued to pound into his back. He took a few deep breaths, willing the nausea away. He knew he had to find shelter, but he didn't even know where he was.
I was in the lab, he thought, standing upright and trying desperately to see through the murky darkness. "Brains?" he called out, turning in a full circle. "Scott?"
But there was no answer. Jeff took a few steps forward but found his way blocked by what felt like steel girders and, plainly put, rubble. Frowning, he climbed over the slippery smooth, yet twisted surfaces until he came to an opening the looked like it led beyond whatever ruins these were.
Just as he reached the edge of the opening, lightning streaked through the sky like a bony hand pointing right at him. What he saw in the brief light it provided took his breath away. He was on Tracy Island, all right. But it wasn't any Tracy Island he knew.
Panic threatening, Jeff forced himself to remain calm as bolt after bolt of lightning lit the surrounding area enough for him to realize that everything was gone. Where once a mansion had been tucked into the side of the mountain, there was now only the most vague suspicion that a structure had ever existed. Turning to look behind him, he realized he had indeed awakened in the lab. But it was destroyed. Gone.
Rubble. That's just what it was.
Thunder cracked above him like a schoolyard bully taunting, as though the heavens knew what the hell was going on and teased him because he didn't. "Virgil!" he cried, scrambling down the hill to the sand below. "Gordon!"
The only response was the wind picking up, lashing his face and body with thousands of raindrops that felt like tiny knives piercing his flesh. He ran the length of the beach, and when next the lightning came, saw that the roundhouse was no more.
He started letting the panic have its way.
Running back along the ocean's edge, he came to where the pool should have been, where Thunderbird 1's launch pad had once been hidden. But it was hidden no more. He peered into the gaping chasm created by the pool's absence. Lightning flashed, and he saw a sight more horrifying than he ever could have imagined.
The launch pad was in a shambles. It looked like a mega bomb had torn it all to shreds. "No!" he cried out. Rising to his feet, he ran to the ocean again. Cupping his hands around his mouth he yelled, "Scott! Virgil! Where are you?"
Jeff turned his back to the water and stared at the once-beautiful paradise, home to his family and secret base of International Rescue. When the last bolt of lightning came, he could do nothing but sink to his knees in shock. "My God," he breathed.
"What happened? Where's Dad?"
"I-I don't know, Scott."
"Goddammit, Brains, where the fuck is he?" John yelled over the din.
The lab was in chaos. The converter had exploded, sending bits of metal and internal mechanics flying throughout, shattering test tubes and beakers as everyone covered their heads. Scott was the first one to his feet, racing for the extinguisher and putting out the resulting fire before it spread. Virgil comforted his grandmother while Kyrano held Tin-Tin protectively in his arms. Gordon and John brushed shrapnel from one another's clothing as everyone just stared around the room in shock and confusion.
Scott threw the extinguisher to the floor and grabbed Brains' upper arms, swiveling the lanky man around to face him. "Where did Dad go? Come on, Brains!"
"I-I don't know what happened, Scott! I don't!"
"Dad!" Gordon called out, running into the lab's second room. "Dad, where are you?"
"Dad!" Virgil said as he headed for the hall. "You out here?"
"He can't have just disappeared!" Ruth cried as she approached Tin-Tin and Kyrano. "He can't."
Scott dropped to his hands and knees in the very spot he'd last seen his father standing. He searched for clues to what had happened to Jeff, but there was nothing. No footprints, no ash...no nothing. Fear began to clutch at his heart. It was something he was used to dealing with in conjunction with adrenaline on a rescue, but not something he was used to dealing with where his own father was concerned.
And so he did the only thing he knew to do. He switched instantly to his role as field commander and began barking orders.
"Kyrano, you and Tin-Tin search the roundhouse. Gordon and John, you've got the hangars. Brains, Grandma, the house. Virg, you and I will search the island. Gordo, contact Alan. Tell him what happened, and have him tune the antennae to pick up Dad's voice."
A chorus of "F.A.B." rang out. This was exactly what they needed: someone to take charge, to make them forget their fear and shock and put them to work. They needed Scott to lead them, as Scott always did. And, true to form, Jeff's eldest hadn't let them down.
As he and Virgil took the elevator that would deposit them onto the island's runway, Virgil kept stealing glances at his older brother. Scott's rock-hard face made his state of mind unfathomable. He stared straight ahead, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. "What happened to him, Scott?"
"I don't know," was his clipped reply.
As the brothers jogged across the tarmac, Virgil began calling out to his father while Scott's eagle eyes scoured the beach and surrounding area.
He has to be here somewhere, Scott thought. Dad, where are you? Where the hell are you?
Jeff sought shelter in the one last structure partially standing that he could actually get to. Half the boathouse was still intact, and as he leaned against the wall, he began to shiver uncontrollably. It had never been this cold on the island before. What had happened? How had it happened? The last thing he could remember was leaning over the phase converter, looking at a readout of numbers. He'd opened his mouth to ask Brains what they were for, what they meant. After that it was all a blur, like a dream you knew for certain you'd had, but couldn't remember to save your life.
Where were his sons? Where were Kyrano, Tin-Tin and Brains? Where was his mother? Why was everything destroyed? How had it happened?
That's when Jeff remembered his communicator. Raising it to his face, he said, "This is Jeff Tracy calling anyone who can hear me. Thunderbird 5, are you receiving me?" There was no reply. "Alan? John? Scott? Anybody, come in. Come in!"
But the watch face didn't even light up. No image appeared. Not Alan's face. Not Scott's. Not John's. Not anyone's. "Mother?" Jeff let his arm fall to his side and leaned his head back, sliding slowly down the wall. "What's going on?" he whispered as he sank to the floor. "What the hell is going on?"
"Sir, we've picked up a low-level transmission on an old frequency."
"So? What of it?"
A tall, thin Arabic man cast an uncomfortable glance at his companion, a slightly shorter and stockier man of Asian descent. "Well, sir, it, uh...it's on that old frequency International Rescue used to use."
A six-foot-one man with a bald head and bushy black eyebrows turned to face his two communications specialists. "International Rescue?"
"Yes, sir," the stocky man nodded.
"Let me hear it."
The tall man reached over to a console and flipped a switch.
"...is Jeff Tracy calling Thunderbird 5. I repeat, Jeff Tracy to Thunderbird 5. Come in!"
The bald man's jaw dropped slightly as a deep frown creased his forehead. "It can't be."
"I thought..." the tall man's voice trailed off into the ether.
"Verify voice pattern immediately!" their leader barked.
The stocky man twisted some dials and tapped several commands into a keyboard. When he turned back to face the bald man, he didn't have to say a word. The look on his face said it all.
"How can this be, my enemy?" the bald man said softly. Jeff's voice continued ringing through the cavernous central room of a grand stone temple situated deep within the jungles of Malaysia. The bald man turned to face the comm again. "Where is the signal coming from?"
The tall one ran a trace and his shoulders stiffened as the results fed back through the computer. He looked right into the eyes of his leader and replied, "Tracy Island, sir."
"That place is quarantined! How did anyone get through?" The stocky man shrugged. He was at a loss to explain it. "Send the warriors, immediately!" the bald man yelled as he headed for his room. "And have Chien ready my helijet for immediate departure!"
"Yes, sir!" the men saluted as they set about their tasks.
The bald-headed man strode into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He began pacing the length of the room, hands behind his back, muttering to himself as he fought to comprehend what he'd just heard.
Jefferson Tracy. A name he'd not heard in more years than he could remember...another lifetime ago, it seemed. How could he be hearing his voice now? There had to be a rational explanation. A long-forgotten recording, perhaps, triggered by an unknown person who had found it somewhere. A trick by one of the rebellious factions he had yet to destroy, meant to confuse him.
Or perhaps a trick not by a rebellious faction, but by a former loyalist to the Tracy family. He strode out of his room and descended a long staircase which led deep into the earth, into the dark and eerie dungeons below the temple. He walked several feet before stopping in front of a door. Grabbing a ring of keys from his belt, he chose one, unlocked the door and entered the room.
A thin figure was crumpled in a heap in the room's far corner. He strode across, reached down, and wrapped his large hand around the man's neck, pulling him to his feet. "How did you do it?" he spat. Large blue eyes, eyes that had lost their sparkle and seemed to show no evidence of a soul behind them, blinked awake. The bald man shook his prisoner. "How?" he bellowed.
But the man couldn't even focus on the one who'd held him captive for so long. Growling in disgust, he released his grip and skeletal figure fell back down to the floor. "No matter. I shall get to the bottom of this one way or the other," he spat as he headed for the door. "And if I find out you had anything to do with it, you will pay dearly."
The man trotted up the stairs and through several winding hallways before emerging through a back exit. He watched as his private helijet landed on the tarmac. His trusted aide, Chien, stepped out of the aircraft and held the door open for his commander. The bald man raced across the lawn and hopped up into his seat, Chien following close behind.
The pilot turned to look at him. "Where to?"
The bald man sneered as he replied, "Tracy Island. And make it double-time."
The helijet rose into the air as the surprised pilot replied, "Sure thing, Mr. Gaat."