QUARANTINE by LMC RATED FRT

A remote tropical island. A call for help. But when International Rescue returns to their secret base, they bring much more than Thunderbirds back with them. Now the Tracy family faces an enemy more deadly and unstoppable than they have ever encountered.

CHAPTER ONE

Umbabwe knew there would be trouble this night. As he tended his family's fire, he could hear the elders whispering in the next hut as they passed the gontin pipe around their circle. They had heard the screams only moments before. Screams of agony and terror. The direction from which they came made Umbabwe certain it was Hoogadin's family who was suffering.

Now, the sounds of fear drew closer to his home. His mother called to him from the pigskin hide flap covering the door of their hut. But Umbabwe did not wish to go inside. He wished to eavesdrop on the elders. His mother was insistent, however, so he obediently went to tend to his family's needs. To prepare for the unexpected.

As he stopped in the doorway, he chanced one more look at the afternoon sky. He could hear them approaching, some kind of animals on a rampage. His mother called them demons. His father called them evil. The black, curly hair on Umbabwe's dark-skinned neck stood on end. Whatever was coming, he knew it was not good.

Umbabwe was afraid.

"It's been so quiet lately," John said to the emptiness surrounding him on Thunderbird 5. "I wish something would happen."

As if on cue, the red light in the middle of the Control Panel flashed slowly at first, then picked up more speed until finally it just stayed on.

Help! Cheetooh! Cheetooh! Wild dogs kill family! Help!

"Finally," John breathed as he picked up his microphone. "This is International Rescue receiving you. Can you tell me more about what's happened?

"That's right, Father," John said from his portrait screen on the wall. "Seems like a pack of wild dogs has gone crazy, started killing anyone they can get their jaws around."

"Hm," Jeff Tracy said, leaning forward in his chair. "Has World Animal Control been advised of the situation?"

"Yes, I contacted them, but two of the people killed on the island were from WAC. They're not having much luck. Even tranquilizers aren't stopping those dogs."

"What's the population of this island?"

"It's a small place barely three times the size of Tracy Island called Cumbaquay. It's rather primitive, with only about two hundred permanent residents. Fifteen have been killed so far, plus the two WAC officers. Some kid with an ancient HAM radio placed the call."

"Right. John, call that boy back and tell him International Rescue are on their way."

"F.A.B."

Jeff turned to a panel near his desk. On this panel were ten different switches, each leading to a different part of Tracy Island. He pressed the switch marked 'Game Room.'

"Boys, get up here right away."

"Nice shot, Virgil!" Gordon applauded as Virgil's thirteenth shot in a row hit the target dead on.

"Ah, it's just luck," Alan teased as Scott aimed his rifle at the next target.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Virgil retorted, frowning.

They watched as Scott fired, hitting his target dead center as well. "Nope. It's years of practice."

"Years and years of practice," Alan said from across the room.

"Do I sense a Methuselah comment around the corner?" Scott asked menacingly, laying down his rifle and starting toward Alan.

Alan stumbled backwards, hands up defensively, shaking his head. "No, not at all, Scott, not at all. I'm innocent."

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," Gordon piped up, laughing.

Virgil bowed graciously, flipping his hand around and around in front of himself. "Your Grace," he said, trying not to laugh.

Buzzzz-buzzzz Boys, get up here right away.

"Uh-oh, sounds like we have work to do!" Alan crowed, racing out of the room before Scott could reach him.

The eldest Tracy son frowned slightly. "You know, sometimes I think that kid gets a little too happy about his work."

"Naw, he's just glad he had a reason to duck out," Virgil replied as the remaining three brothers headed for the door. "Wonder what's up this time."

"Ah, there you are," Jeff said, standing in front of his desk.

"What's up, Father?" Scott asked.

"Scott, I need you to leave in Thunderbird 1 right away. Contact John once you're airborne, he'll give you the destination and details."

"F.A.B."

Scott walked quickly to the wall, placed his back against it and gripped two light fixtures, one on either side of and slightly above his head. The wall flipped around and he found himself on a moving gantry leading to Thunderbird 1, International Rescue's fastest vehicle.

"Virgil, I want you to follow Scott in Thunderbird 2. You'll need Pod 1. I've had Brains load it with all the medical equipment we have and his new tranquilizer formula. I want both Gordon and Alan along on this one. You may need all the hands you can get. John will explain on the way."

"F.A.B.!" the three replied.

Virgil headed for a tall painting of the rocket ship his father had used on his first and only mission to the Moon many years before. As soon as he was stationary, the picture flipped backwards and Virgil slid onto a padded slide that ferried him down a long chute into the pilot seat of Thunderbird 2, International Rescue's freighter craft.

Alan and Gordon headed for the passenger elevator that would take them into the back of Thunderbird 2's cockpit. They talked quietly as they rode, wondering what the scoop was on this particular rescue.

"Thunderbird 1 to Base. I've received the details from John. What's the action on this one, Father?"

"Well, WAC is sending out another team to help corral the dogs. Since their tranquilizers have proven ineffective, I'm hoping Brains' new concoction will do the trick. He's improved it since the alligator incident four years ago. I want Virgil to get the wounded off that island while Gordon and Alan help you keep the wild dogs at bay 'til WAC arrives."

"F.A.B. I'll contact Thunderbird 2. Scott out."

Jeff leaned back in his chair and sighed. This mission sounded simple enough, and he fully expected his sons to return none the worse for wear.

"Jeff? Oh, there you are, Jeff."

"Hi, Mother."

"Did I just hear the boys take off on another mission?"

"Yes, a remote island about a hundred miles from here. A pack of wild dogs has gone crazy and started attacking people."

"Oh, dear, that sounds dangerous."

"It shouldn't be too bad. Less dangerous than a burning building, I'm sure."

"I don't know how you can be so blasé about these missions, Jeff."

"Almost five years of them, Mother. I guess it just gets to be old hat."

Grandma frowned, then her face softened again. "I came in here to let you know that Tin-Tin, Kyrano and I are going to the mainland for groceries and some other shopping. We should be back in a few hours."

"All right, Mother. Have fun."

"I will, Jeff, I will. Kyrano's left some coffee on for you in the kitchen."

"Now that sounds like a good idea," Jeff replied, rising from his seat. He could use some coffee. As easy as this rescue sounded, as sure as he was they would succeed with no problems, when his sons were out there facing any kind of danger, no matter how minimal, he never could keep from worrying, a fact he tried valiantly to keep from everyone else. 'Worry: The Curse of All Parents,' his mother had once called it. How true.

"I wonder what could make a pack of dogs go crazy like that," Alan mused.

Gordon shook his head. "Don't know. Especially since they've been peacefully coexisting with the inhabitants of the island for years."

"John said that kid Umbabwe sounded pretty shook up," Alan said, a frown creasing his forehead.

"You would be too if you watched a bunch of wild animals kill your entire family," Virgil stated grimly.

His brothers nodded in silence as Thunderbird 2 continued on her way.

"Stoy flah may koo Cheetooh," Umbabwe whispered, stroking his dead mother's long, braided hair. "I have called the Saviors. Chinsacwa. They will come. Mee cheet Chawba. They will save you, Mother. Mee cheet. They will save you."

He knew full well that his mother was dead. International Rescue could not bring her back, as she'd been torn nearly limb-from-limb, as had his father, his grandfather, the other four elders and his two sisters. Silent tears rolled down the fourteen-year-old's cheeks as more screams of terror came floating across the breeze.

"Hindaqua, tay shon...my friend," he cried. "Mee swen qo...not you, too."

"I can see the island now, Father. It looks pretty peaceful from up here," Scott reported from his vid picture on the wall.

"I just heard from John again. Umbabwe, the young man who first called for help, has transmitted again saying the pack of dogs has attacked his friend's home about a mile up the beach from his present coordinates."

"Oh, man, they just won't stop. I'll be landing at Danger Zone in one minute."

"F.A.B."

Umbabwe heard a strange sound, one he had never heard before, a high-pitched whine. He scanned the skies, wondering if the Cheetooh, or Saviors, as the residents of Cumbaquay called them, were already arriving. Then he saw it...something that made him momentarily forget the horrible scene of death surrounding him. He stood and walked to the edge of the beach, shielding his eyes from the sun's glare with his hand.

A machine appeared on the horizon and within a minute was directly above him. He stood awestruck and watched as fire shot out from the machine's belly, making a large, frightening sound. The machine lowered itself until it rested on legs in the sand. Umbabwe saw a piece of the machine open and flip down, forming stairs. Then two blue-clad legs appeared. As soon as the body above the legs came into view, Umbabwe knew the Saviors had arrived.

"Cheetooh, Cheetooh!" he hollered, running toward the stranger. He skidded to a halt directly in front of him. Umbabwe had never before seen a white-skinned person, and was even more perplexed by the fact that the man's hair, instead of being jet black like his own, was of a brown color similar to Umbabwe's skin. He stared hard at the man, more than a little frightened, but grateful for the stranger's presence.

Umbabwe had heard of the Cheetooh from Hindaqua's cousin, the only indigenous resident of Cumbaquay to leave the island in the last forty years. The cousin had spoken of an amazing rescue performed by the Cheetooh during his time in the United States, a rescue in which they had saved a family of three trapped in the subterranean garage of a new building with over three hundred floors. He had told them that all one had to do was call for help, and Cheetooh would come save you.

"Mee shay Tonaqua," Umbabwe breathed, eyes large as saucers.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you," Scott said, frowning at the young man in front of him. "Are you Umbabwe?"

The boy nodded. So, the Cheetooh spoke the language Hindaqua's cousin had taught several of them. The language of the White Gods. "I say you White God," he repeated in English.

"No, I'm not a god. My name is Scott. I'm from International Rescue."

"Cheetooh," Umbabwe nodded emphatically.

"Right. Cheetooh," Scott smiled. "Are you alone here? Where are the dogs?"

"Family dead," Umbabwe replied, head bowed. "Hindaqua family dead...there." He pointed up the beach to a point Scott could not see. "Dogs there."

"Okay. Now, listen, another of my ships is on its way. We're going to do everything we can to keep these dogs from hurting more people. I need to get airborne so I can find the dogs. Do you understand?"

Umbabwe nodded. He'd picked up most of what the White God had said, but didn't understand that he'd be leaving in his ship again until Scott began ascending the stairs to Thunderbird 1.

"No! Tonaqua, no! Showpa cheet! Save me!"

Scott turned and frowned. The boy was all alone with his family dead. And who knew where those dogs were now? They could be doubling back. If Scott left Umbabwe on the beach alone, he could very well return to find the boy had faced the same fate as his family and friends.

"Okay, Umbabwe. You come with me, but you must not touch anything and you must remain totally silent. Understand?"

He nodded and followed Scott into Thunderbird 1. Scott soon had the young man strapped into a seat at the bottom of the cockpit while he climbed into the pilot's chair suspended in the middle of it. Umbabwe stared all around him in awe. He was not used to such technology. The closest thing he'd ever seen to this was the ragged HAM radio he'd found on the beach and, slowly but surely, finally gotten to work. But this...this was breathtaking. He listened as the White God spoke, to whom he did not know.

"This is Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 2 and Base. I've located Umbabwe. He pointed me in the direction of the dogs' last known location. I'm taking Thunderbird 1 up now to see if I can spot them."

"F.A.B," Virgil replied. "ETA to Danger Zone now three minutes."

"Okay. Hopefully I can give you new coordinates to land before then."

"Scott? Where's the boy?" came Jeff's voice.

"Um, he's strapped in here in the cockpit, Father. I didn't want to leave him at the mercy of the pack in case they doubled back." Scott was worried. He knew damn well how dangerous it was to have a stranger in the cockpit with him, but he'd had to make a snap decision, one his gut told him had been the right one. But what would Jeff think?

Virgil, Alan, Gordon and Scott held their breaths waiting for their father's reaction.

"Good job, Scott."

Scott smiled. "Thunderbird 1 out."

Opening his side view ports, Scott flew his bird low, trying to find the place Umbabwe had pointed to. It didn't take him long...roughly a mile from where he'd picked his charge up off the beach he found a hut surrounded by something that looked like the carnage from one of those old horror flicks they used to show back when he was a kid. He gulped, and then looked further inland.

Umbabwe bit his lip. He, too, witnessed what had become of his friend Hindaqua and his family and wanted to cry. But in the tradition of the Cumbaquayan, Umbabwe did not shed a single tear. He was the last of his family now. He had to be strong. He had to be a man.

"Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 2. I think I see them."

"Where, Scott?"

"It's dense, overgrown...there's no way you could land here. I can't even land here. This is gonna be tough. Put her down at IR 3, reference G. And please tell me you brought the Muncher."

Scott listened as his brother radioed their father.

"Thunderbird 2 to Base."

"Come in, Virgil."

"What else did Brains put in Pod 1 besides the medical equipment?"

Brains himself answered the question. "Uh, I, uh, I put in Med 1 and, uh, the Tranquer."

"No Muncher?"

"O-Oh yeah, that t-too."

Virgil smiled. "Brains, remind me to buy you a drink when we get back."

"F.A.B.!"

"You get that, Scott?"

"Yeah, I got it. I'll buy him one, too. I'm heading back out to land near the coordinates I gave you. We'll assemble in two minutes."

"F.A.B."

Scott glanced down at Umbabwe and frowned. The portion of the boy's body not concealed by the small cotton cloth wound around his waist was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "You okay, Umbabwe?"

He looked up at Tonaqua. Why was it so hot? Nodding dumbly, Umbabwe returned his gaze to the window as he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Tonaqua must come from a white-hot place, he reasoned. That was the only explanation for why his machine was burning like a fire.

Thunderbird 1 landed gracefully about twenty feet back from the ocean just as Thunderbird 2 fired retros right next to her sister ship. Within the space of a minute, all four brothers and Umbabwe had gathered in the small space between the two ships. Umbabwe was lost in the unbelievable size of this larger machine. He had never seen anything as big as that before. It was the color of the leaves on the trees, whereas Tonaqua's machine was the color that lined the clouds floating high in the sky.

Umbabwe watched as the other Cheetoohs descended from their machine. He was surprised to see that they were all Tonaqua just like the one who called himself Scott. But even though they were white of skin, they were all very differing shades. Umbabwe didn't know the White Gods could be different colors of white.

He also stared in awe at their hair. The larger man had hair the color of the bark on the Wamba tree. The one following him down the steps had hair the colors of the sunset on his beloved island. And the final one looked like his entire head was ablaze with the glory of Shoonay, the Sun Goddess. Surely Shoonay herself must bless this one.

As they gathered into a small group, he also noticed their eyes were of differing shades. Was there really so much variety in the world of the White God, he wondered? Scott had eyes that mirrored the color of the sky just as Shoonay descends for the day. Wamba had eyes the color of the moss on the Wamba tree. Umbabwe found that fitting. The gods of the Earth must favor him. The sunset-haired man had eyes a color Umbabwe had never before seen, a color that almost mirrored his hair. And the one blessed by Shoonay...the teen's eyes widened when he looked into eyes the color of the sea. Surely this must be the leader of White Gods, for he was blessed by both Shoonay and the Sea God Bahnay.

The four pilots were startled when Umbabwe suddenly genuflected at Alan's feet, face touching the ground, knees tucked tightly beneath him.

"What's he doing?" Alan asked.

Umbabwe looked up. "Shoonay Bahnay mee spanga."

"Huh?" Alan said, scrunching up his face.

Scott placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Umbabwe, we don't understand what you're saying."

Umbabwe looked up, but had eyes for no one but Alan. "Tonaqua, White God, blessed by Goddess Shoonay. Blessed by God Bahnay." Seeing their looks of utter confusion, he added, "Hair of sun, eyes of water," before returning to his position of reverence.

Gordon chuckled. "Seems he thinks you're blessed by the gods or something."

"Very funny, guys," Alan frowned as his brothers tried to keep from laughing.

"Umbabwe, stand up. Believe me, Alan's no god. None of us are. We're just here to help."

Finally, with gentle urging from Scott's hands, Umbabwe came to his feet, still unable to stop staring at Alan. For his part, Alan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under such scrutiny.

"So what's the action, Scott?" Virgil asked.

"Well, it looks like the only way we'll get into that jungle is with the Muncher, so Virgil, you get that going."

"F.A.B."

"Gordon, you get the medical gear loaded onto Med 1 and follow as Virgil cuts a path for you into the jungle. I'll meet you in Pod 1 and give you a hand."

"F.A.B."

"What about me, Scott?"

"I want you in the Tranquer, Alan. If you can get a clear shot at those dogs, you need to knock them out before they kill any more people."

"F.A.B," Alan replied, glad to be escaping his new admirer.

"Umbabwe, listen to me," Scott said gently as he placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "We'll need your help to navigate. Can you show us how to get to where we saw the dogs when we were in the air?"

He nodded, stealing glances back toward where Alan had disappeared into a giant cavern, which emerged beneath the great ship the color of leaves. He was a bit confused. If the Blessed One were so blessed by the gods, why did this one called Scott seem to be telling everyone what to do?

"Good. Okay, let's go, we have to help Gordon load Med 1."

Not having a clue what Scott was referring to, Umbabwe followed silently, wondering once again why he felt so awfully hot. Since they were no longer in the machine belonging to Scott, he could not blame it on the White Gods themselves. Perhaps Shoonay was angry with them for allowing the evil animals to destroy the lives beneath Her. Perhaps Her revenge was to make Herself burn more brightly. But Shoonay did not seem to affect the White Gods. Then again, Umbabwe reasoned, they were gods, just as Shoonay. Her powers would have little effect upon ones such as them.

Virgil was the first out of Pod 1. The Muncher, something Brains had finished only about 6 months ago, had not yet been needed on a rescue, so this was her maiden voyage. She was about the same size as the Excavator, but had a large opening in the front that could only be described as a mouth. She was painted a dark forest green with the name MUNCHER in capital letters on both sides. The purpose of this machine was to "munch" through dense vegetation, enabling International Rescue to reach formerly inaccessible Danger Zones. It would then spit out what it had eaten in the form of mulch through an exhaust in the tail section that was only about half the width of the machine itself. Virgil put the monster in gear and began forging the trail for his brothers.

Alan emerged next with the Tranquer, a small machine no bigger than the Booster Mortar. This machine was painted midnight blue and had the word TRANQUER in block letters on each side. Much like the Booster Mortar, it had a single barrel in the front, but this one was only about as wide as the old-time shotguns they'd used back when Jeff Tracy was young. Between the barrel and the cab where Alan was seated behind the controls, there was a tank of Brains' new tranquilizing agent, which he, in his dryly-humorous way, had called KED...or...Knock 'Em Dead.

The liquid was sucked into the barrel, where an empty dart waited. Once full, a green light on the Control Panel would flash, telling the pilot it was loaded and ready to be fired. The engineer claimed his latest invention could knock an elephant out upon impact. Given that WAC's tranquilizers had been ineffective in stopping the pack of wild dogs, everyone hoped Brains' claims were true. Alan put the little tractor in gear and began following Virgil as he blazed the way.

Back in Pod 1, Scott and Gordon rushed to load as much medical equipment onto Med 1 as they could. This was another new vehicle designed and constructed by Brains and Tin-Tin to aid the brothers in providing on-the-spot triage to victims. It stood as high as the Mole and was just as wide. To keep Umbabwe's mind off what was happening around him, Scott engaged him in conversation as he and Gordon finished loading Med 1.

"Umbabwe, how did you escape the dogs?" he asked.

The boy shook his head. He did not understand the word 'escape.'

"The dogs, when they attacked your family, how did you survive?"

"On top home," Umbabwe replied. He was now almost dripping in sweat and breathing rather rapidly.

"Say, is he sick or something?" Gordon asked, frowning. "He doesn't look so good."

"I know," Scott replied, eyeing the young man warily. "I'm not sure what's wrong with him, maybe he's in shock or something. Listen, I'll drive Med 1, why don't you keep Umbabwe in the back and see if you can get him to cool down."

"F.A.B. Umbabwe, come with me," Gordon said, motioning for the boy to follow him into the back of the vehicle.

Shaking his head as though trying to clear his mind, Umbabwe followed the Sunset One into the large white truck. He had seen two lines of red criss-crossed on each side and formations in block letters that he did not understand...they looked like MED 1, but Umbabwe could not read. He offered no resistance as Gordon, anticipating a bumpy ride, strapped him onto a cot. As Scott pulled Med 1 out of the Pod, Gordon took Umbabwe's temperature.

"Gordon to Scott."

"What's up?"

"He's burning up. His temperature's at a hundred and two."

"Well, then he's in the right place. Apply the ice packs, give him a hypo spray of ASA, and see if you can't bring it down."

"F.A.B."

Virgil found the way fairly easygoing, only having to change course once or twice to avert trees too large for the Muncher's jaws. He just hoped he was going the right way, considering Umbabwe was too feverish to point them in any particular direction. Gazing at the vid screen that occupied the space normally held by actual cockpit windows, Virgil panned left and right constantly, trying to find any sign of the wild dog pack. Within ten minutes, he and the Muncher had broken through the jungle into a clearing.

"My God!" he exclaimed, slamming on the brakes.

"What?" Alan practically screeched over the intercom. "What happened?"

"There's...there are...bodies. Everywhere. It's..." Virgil closed his eyes and looked away. He'd never seen a massacre like this. Ever. The clearing was littered with bodies and body parts. There was blood all over the place, covering the four huts that dotted the center, staining the ground red...it was just everywhere. Worst of all, he could easily make out limbs and extremities that had been viciously separated from their owners. Squeezing his eyes shut even tighter, he swallowed hard, took a large gulp of air and reopened them.

"This is the Muncher to Med 1 and Tranquer."

"Virgil, what's going on?" Scott asked.

"I don't think we'll find any survivors here."

Scott frowned. He'd never heard his brother's voice so flat. So emotionless. He knew whatever Virgil was seeing must be horrific. He was employing his best defense mechanism: complete emotional detachment from the situation.

"Can you tell where the dogs might be?"

Virgil scanned the perimeter of the clearing, now completely ignoring the carcasses. "No, I...wait. Wait. Yes, there. At eleven o'clock I see signs of the undergrowth having been disturbed."

"Right. Then off we go."

"Scott..." Virgil's voice sounded strangled.

But his big brother knew exactly what the problem was. "Hang on. Alan, Gordon, meet up in front of the Muncher."

Within fifteen minutes, the four boys had finished the grim task of moving bodies and body pieces out of the Muncher's way. Virgil's face was as stone, belying nothing of what he might be feeling. Scott was more or less stone-faced himself. Gordon looked like he was going to hurl, and Alan blinked about a thousand times per minute trying to keep the teardrops from escaping his eyes. In the end, they all re-boarded their vehicles and continued on their way.

"Scott to Gordon. How's Umbabwe doing?"

"Not good, Scott. I can't get his temperature down. I even gave him another ten cc's of ASA, and he's melted almost every ice pack we have. His temperature's risen a degree."

"We need to get him to a hospital, and fast. But we need to corral these dogs so they don't kill more of his people." These were the times Scott hated the most on rescues. They were no-win situations. If someone left now to take Umbabwe off-island to a hospital, it might mean the remaining three would not be able to effectively contain the wild dogs until WAC arrived, which meant more people would be killed. If they kept going after the dogs, Umbabwe might die.

Gordon understood the predicament. "The needs of the many, Scott."

"Yeah, I know. Outweigh the needs of the few," Scott finished. It was a quote from a Star Trek movie he and Gordon had seen at least fifty times, if not more. They were both closet Trekkers, and old-time Science Fiction movies like the Trek ones were fond favorites whenever they got to the mainland together. Scott sighed. "On we go. Do your best, Gordon."

"F.A.B," he replied quietly.

Twenty minutes passed before Virgil finally saw something moving in the brush ahead of him. "Muncher to Tranquer and Med 1!"

"What is it, Virg?" Alan asked.

"I just saw something move ahead! It was small and low to the ground. The cover is too thick for me to be sure, but it may have been one of those wild dogs."

"Keep going, Virgil. Alan can't get the Tranquer up there without a clear path," Scott said.

"F.A.B."

"This is World Animal Control Team 2 calling International Rescue."

Scott pressed a button on his Control Panel. "This is International Rescue. Go ahead, Team 2."

"This is Byron Anderson, WAC Team 2 Lead. We've just landed near your vehicles on the beach and assume you're the ones who've cut into the jungle. Have you found the pack of dogs yet?"

"No, Mr. Anderson, not for sure. My buddy thinks he may have spotted them. We're doing our best to cut through the undergrowth in an attempt to catch up to them."

"Fine. We're going to head down the trail you've made in our Containment Vehicle. How far in are you?"

Scott checked his readings. "We've gone four.point.six miles."

"Roger that. We'll use best speed to catch up."

"Thank you. Will keep you informed of any new developments."

"Much appreciated. Over and out."

Another five minutes passed before the pilots all heard a blood-curdling scream. In the back of Med 1 with Umbabwe, Gordon hopped to his feet; stopping the work he was doing trying to keep the increasingly frenzied young man from breaking free of his restraints. "What in blazes was that?"

Virgil skidded to a halt. "I've come upon a clearing. The dogs, they're here! They're attacking!"

"Move off, Virg, let Alan get in there!"

"F.A.B!"

Virgil turned the wheel all the way to the left and hit the gas, forcing the Muncher into another area of the jungle. This left the way mostly clear for Alan to move the Tranquer into position. He pushed through the last two feet of vegetation as fast as he could before popping out into the clearing. His eyes widened as he watched the vicious attacks.

There were five dogs in total. They had obviously banded together as a pack after being abandoned. All were sickly skinny, looking like they hadn't eaten in weeks. One was about eighty pounds with short slate gray fur. He was chasing a mother who was clinging tightly to her screaming baby.

The second dog was only about sixty pounds and colored white with large black spots. She was chasing the big gray dog as a third dog, roughly the same size and coloring, barged into one of the six huts in the clearing. The fourth dog, a large Wolfhound-looking creature, was in the process of ripping a grown man to shreds, while the final dog, a black short-haired one, turned to stare the Tranquer down coldly, as if he had no idea that this small vehicle was about twenty times the size he was.

Alan knew he could take the black one out without potentially hitting one of the running and screaming humans. He loaded the dart and hit the green button on the panel. His aim was dead on and the dog went down as soon as the dart pierced its skin. He then turned his attention to the Wolfhound one who was mauling a man about twenty yards in front of him. He aimed, lining his shot up as carefully as he could, and fired. Once more, he was deadly accurate as the hound yelped and collapsed on top of his victim.

Alan hit the two black and white dogs successively before finally turning to the large gray one. "All right, then, fella. Here, doggy, doggy." Alan sat back from the scope for a moment. "Now why do I recall that the last time I tried calling something big and mean to me, I got a knock on the head for my efforts?" He sighed and took aim again. Easily taking this last dog down, he got on the mike. "This is Tranquer calling Muncher and Med 1. I have neutralized the threat. But there are a lotta people we need to get to a hospital."

"F.A.B," Scott replied. He could hear the Muncher returning to their position.

In no time at all, the WAC team arrived on the scene and loaded the unconscious dogs onto their transport. Thanking International Rescue profusely, they also helped the boys load those members of the clearing who were still alive into Med 1. The hound had succeeded in killing the grown man. There were four other people who were pretty badly injured, and another three with minor injuries. Once everything was set, the group headed back to the beach.

"Right, Scott, Med 1 is loaded and we have all patients secure for flight-"

Virgil was cut off by a deafening scream coming from inside the Pod.

"What the--?" Scott ran to the Pod, followed by Alan and Virgil. "Gordon! Gordon, what's going on?" he yelled as he reached Med 1.

White-faced and visibly shaken, Gordon staggered up to his big brother. "Umbabwe," he whispered, "got loose."

"Virgil, Alan, spread out. He didn't leave the Pod. He's in here somewhere. Gordon, did he hurt you?"

He shook his head.

"Okay, then go sit down before you fall down."

The three brothers fanned out center, left and right peering into the shadows of the Pod interior. Without warning there was a sound that could only be described as a war cry. It came from directly above Virgil's head over to the right side of the Pod. He stopped and looked up just as Umbabwe leapt out of nowhere right on top of him.

The young man was dripping in sweat and had a crazed look on his face. He was screeching words in Cumbaquayan as he landed atop Virgil, sending both of them sprawling to the floor. Virgil was too surprised to even yelp.

Alan and Scott raced over. Scott tried manhandling Umbabwe as he pummeled Virgil's body and face. Alan was trying to grab Virgil by his uniform and drag him away. Gordon joined the effort, all four men yelling as loud as the kid.

Umbabwe continued screaming as Scott and Gordon succeeded in pulling him off Virgil. He struggled between them for several minutes, and then suddenly went limp and quiet. The assault over, Alan helped Virgil sit up and checked out the various bumps, bruises and gashes that were showing up on his face.

"Oh, man, why the face?" Virgil groaned in mock sincerity.

"Don't worry, pretty boy, I don't think any of them are bad enough to leave a scar," Alan smiled. His smile faded, however, when Virgil glared at him.

"What got into that kid?"

"I don't know, Virg. It's like he's gone crazy or something," Scott replied.

Just then, Umbabwe tore out of his and Gordon's grip and ran out the Pod entrance. The four boys ran after him and could only watch in horror as the teen shimmied up a nearby tree, edged out onto a limb and took a swan dive, hitting the sand with a sickening crunch.

"My God," Virgil breathed.

Alan went and knelt down next to the boy's lifeless body, needlessly confirming the lack of a pulse. He shook his head, frowning, and rejoined his brothers. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know," Gordon replied, even though Alan hadn't really been asking him in particular. "He was strapped down to the cot, his fever was rising. I kept trying to cool him down but was also securing the other passengers for the ride. Suddenly he let out the most god-awful scream I've ever heard and ripped right through the restraints. He grabbed me by my uniform and shook me, screaming right into my face. Finally he let me go and bolted."

"Well, we can't do anything more for him," Scott said, stunned as the rest of them. "Let's get the remaining victims out of here."

"F.A.B," Virgil replied. "You up to playin' nurse, Gordon?"

"Yup. Let's go."

Scott watched them enter the Pod. "Alan, you'd better give Gordon a hand. I don't think he should be alone down there, just in case."

"Right, Scott. We'll see you back at Base."

"F.A.B."

Scott waited until Thunderbird 2 had taken off before boarding his own craft. He strapped himself into the pilot's seat and suddenly realized how hot it was in there. Wiping his arm across his forehead, he made a mental note to have Brains check out the refrigeration unit upon return to Base.

CHAPTER TWO

The wall flipped around and revealed Scott, his uniform and face both quite dirty.

"Hello, son."

"Father," Scott nodded. "Have Brains check out my refrigeration unit, would ya? It's so damn hot in that cockpit."

Jeff nodded, noting that Scott's grimy face was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. "You all right?"

"Yeah. Just hot. I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Okay. See you out here later."

"F.A.B."

An hour later, as Scott re-emerged into the Lounge, Virgil, Gordon and Alan were just returning from having dropped the victims off at a mainland hospital. Jeff noted the three of them didn't look any better than their elder brother as he sent them off to get washed up.

Scott flopped unceremoniously onto the settee in front of Jeff's desk, surprising his father. In spite of the fact that he was wearing shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, Scott still felt like he was in an oven.

"You did well on this one, Scott. Especially where that boy was concerned."

"Oh, yeah, I did real well," Scott snorted. "Damn kid killed himself."

"You couldn't have prevented that. You didn't know it was coming."

"But I should have known, right, Father?" Scott said hotly, jumping to his feet. He began pacing in front of the desk as Jeff watched in confusion. "I'm the first one on the scene, I'm supposed to be ready for anything! Big Brother Scott, Mr. Never-Makes-A-Mistake. Well, I did this time. I lost someone, so go ahead and yell at me, I know it's what you wanna do."

"I don't have any desire to yell at you. Losing that boy was not your fault."

"Yeah, sure, fine, whatever," Scott mumbled, collapsing onto the settee again.

"What's got into you, Scott?"

"What's got into me?" Scott yelled, jumping to his feet again. "I'll tell you what's got into me, Dad. I'm sick and tired of being the one making all the decisions out there. I'm tired of telling everybody what to do! They're all grown men; they can make their own decisions! Why do I have to be first? Because I'm the oldest? To hell with that! I don't want the damned responsibility anymore! I'm sick to death of this whole thing!"

Jeff watched his son's tirade open-mouthed and couldn't even form a sentence as Scott stalked out of the Lounge. He was still looking quite in shock when his other three Earth-bound sons entered the room.

"Father, what's wrong?" Virgil asked, wiping his forehead with his hand.

"You-I--uh, I don't...quite know for sure. Your brother just had a, uh, well, a tantrum, I think."

"A tantrum? Scott?" Alan asked.

Jeff nodded. "I think I'd better try and find him. Will you boys mind the store?"

"Sure, Father," Gordon replied as the three took up various positions around the Lounge.

As Jeff disappeared down the hall, Alan asked the question all three had been asking themselves. "Scott threw a tantrum?"

"I wonder why," Gordon said.

"Probably because he's sick of being in command all the time, just like I'm sick and tired of being the Second Fiddle ferry boy," Virgil retorted from the piano bench. His brothers looked at him in surprise. "We oughtta switch places. See how he'd like being stuck in Thunderbird 2 for a change."

"Virgil?" Gordon asked.

"What?!?" he snapped.

"Uh, never mind."

Virgil began playing a rather loud march on the piano. Alan and Gordon frowned and headed for the patio.

"What's with him?" Alan asked.

"Don't know. Maybe the same thing that's with Scott. Man, it's evening, but it's so hot out here."

"You're right," Alan replied, fanning his face with his hand. "Let's go for a dip in the pool."

"But Father asked us to keep an eye out for emergencies."

"Aren't you tired of being told what to do?" Alan asked, frowning.

"Uh...huh? Well, I-I guess so. But we're the youngest. It comes with the territory."

"So let's break the cycle. I say we go for a dip in the pool and let Mr. Personality keep an ear open for blinks and beeps."

"Okay!" Gordon agreed.

The two raced down the staircase, shedding clothes along the way until, by the time they reached the water, they were both buck-naked. They did cannonballs into the pool and splashed and yelled, acting like two ten-year olds instead of two twenty-somethings.

Jeff found his oldest boy in his room. He tapped on the door softly before entering to find Scott standing out on his balcony, wearing nothing but his boxers.

"Son?" he said softly.

"Can't you just leave me be?"

"I'd rather not. I'd rather find out what's going on."

"I already told you," Scott spat, unwilling to turn and face his father.

"Are you telling me you want to quit International Rescue?"

He whirled on Jeff, eyes dark, and body fairly dripping with sweat. "So now you think I'm a quitter?" he menaced.

"I never said that. It's just...you said you were tired of it all, so I thought..."

"Yeah, Father, you thought. You always think. You think you know what's best. You've locked us on this island, a bunch of grown men. Grown men with needs! Did you ever stop to think about that? Are we s'posed to be goddamn monks for the rest of our lives just to save a bunch of ingrates who couldn't care less?"

Jeff was speechless as he sank down onto his son's bed. Is this how Scott really felt? Is this how they all felt?

"But you went into this willingly, Scott. You knew what life would be like. You all knew."

"You're right. We did know. But did you honestly think any of us would say no to you? To our father? To the great astronaut and billionaire Jeff Tracy? Please, you already had Brains building the damn machines; you already had most of this hunk of rock carved out before you even asked us. What were we gonna do? We had no choice."

Becoming angry, Jeff rose to his feet to face his son eye-to-eye. "Don't tell me you didn't have a choice. I must have asked all of you twenty times if this is what you really wanted. Every single one of you assured me it was. You could have backed out any time before we started operating."

"Sure. And be the quitter. Just like now. Right?"

Scott's newly flippant attitude confused Jeff even more. He decided the conversation couldn't possibly go anywhere in his son's present state of mind, so figured he'd let him cool off before attempting to continue. "I don't think you're a quitter. I think you're a hero," he said quietly as he exited the room.

Turning back to face the ocean's breeze, which wasn't all that cooling at the moment, Scott snorted, "Hero, my ass."

Jeff returned to the Lounge to find his middle son engaged in the loudest rendition of the Thunderbird march he'd ever borne witness to. It was so loud it actually hurt his ears.

"Virgil!"

"WHAT?"

The angry face turned upon him startled Jeff, to say the least. Thankfully, Virgil had stopped playing, but why did he look so livid?

"I was just wondering why you were playing the piano so loudly."

"Sorry, was I bothering you?" The question was not asked with actual concern or regret.

"Well, it was a bit loud."

"So sorry to be bothering you, Sir," Virgil ground out as he rose from his seat.

"Virgil, what's wrong? What's going on?"

"What's going on? I'll tell you what's going on!"

By now, Jeff was ready to commit himself to an asylum. First Scott, and now Virgil? What in blazes was happening? He just nodded for Virgil to continue, wondering if this conversation would prove as fruitless as his last.

"I'm tired of playing second banana to the Great and Powerful Scott," Virgil began, pacing across the Lounge to the patio doors and back as he spoke. His voice dripped with hatred, a sound his father had never before heard from him. "He always goes first, he's always telling us what to do. He's not so great. I don't get a chance to make my own decisions unless for some reason you can't get hold of the Golden Boy."

"Virgil, that's not true, and you know it."

"You can deny it all you want, Father, but you stuck me behind a goddamned freighter. I wasn't good enough to pilot Thunderbird 1. I wasn't smart enough to be made commander of International Rescue whenever you left the Island. I'm the one who has to do all the dirty work while your perfect firstborn sits on his ass at Mobile Control! God forbid one flippin' lock of hair gets out of place or one tiny scratch mars his James Bond face."

Jeff found himself once more with a mouth that hung wide open, unable to move. Had has sons gone mad? "I depend on you for your level headedness, your strength and your determination. You are the backbone of our operations in the field. I thought you understood that."

"Backbone? Strength? Sure, I'm the biggest one of all us Tracys, I'm the big brute, I can do all the tough stuff and I can pilot the big lug of a ship that doesn't go a third as fast as Scott's, but that's okay because I'm only second born."

"Son, the order in which you boys were born makes no difference to me. You’re all first."

"Yeah, right. You put us into these roles. You did, no one else. You stick Mr. Bright and Wonderful in the anchor because he's so...bright and wonderful. You've got Water Boy who's perfect for 4. You've got a kid you forced to go to astronaut training that you throw up into space to get rid of, and another one who looks so much like Mom you wanted him up in space so you wouldn't have to look at him any more than necessary."

"Virgil Grissom Tracy, you'd better stop while you're still ahead of the game. You have your roles based on what you're best at, nothing more. I talked this over with each of you before the craft were even built, before assignments were even decided upon. If you're all so unhappy, why haven't you come to me before now? Why keep it all inside?"

"Yeah, you're really one for heart-to-hearts, Dad. Just forget it!" Virgil stormed out of the Lounge, leaving a shocked and somewhat angry Jeff Tracy in his wake.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON AROUND HERE?!?!?" Jeff yelled to the empty room.

Gordon and Alan had tired of splashing in the pool and, as if Jeff needed any more surprises that night, came waltzing into the Lounge completely nude, as if it were the most natural thing on Earth.

"BOYS!" he bellowed.

"What?" they asked in unison, frowning.

"Put some clothes on! Kyrano, Grandma and Tin-Tin will be returning soon. You can't be standing here like that when they do."

"Oh," Gordon snickered, "like Tin-Tin's never seen a naked Tracy before." Alan punched him in the arm. Hard. "OW!"

"What did you just say?" Jeff asked, his face turning scarlet.

"Shut up, Gordon, you jackass!" Alan fumed, fists at the ready.

"Hey, knock it off, you little hothead!" Gordon retorted.

"Just you keep your mouth shut about Tin-Tin!"

"Who's gonna make me, Squirt, you?"

"Don't call me that!" Alan roared, lunging for his brother.

"Boys! You stop fighting this instant!"

"I'll call you whatever I want, you whiny little shit!"

"Screw you all to hell you little weakling!"

"I am not a weakling!"

"Yeah, that's why you can't do heavy rescue, wimp!"

"Boys, get off each other NOW!" Jeff tried to move in to break them up, but instead found himself getting kicked and punched. He could do nothing but back away and pray they didn't kill each other.

"You know I have a bad back!"

"Yeah, because you can't even pilot a Hydrofoil right. That's why your sorry ass got stuck with Thunderbird 4!"

"Yeah, well the only reason you've got Thunderbird 3 is because Dad wants to get rid of you for a month at a time!"

"That's not true!" Alan yelled. Then, just as quickly as the fight started, it was over. Alan came to his feet and walked up to his dazed father. "Is it?"

"What?"

"Is what Gordon said true?"

"Of course it is, you stupid jerk," Gordon interjected, nursing a large bruise forming on his stomach.

"Shut up, mermaid," Alan hissed. "So? Father? Is that true? You sent me off to be an astronaut so you could get rid of me?"

"No, it's not true. I sent you to astronaut training because I thought it would discipline you. And because I wanted you to share in my love of space."

"Discipline me? Jeezus, Father, I'm not a flippin' kid!"

"You were back then, son. You were out of control. You nearly destroyed an entire building."

"I see. So...let me get this straight...I'm a hotheaded, out of control little shithead that you're glad to be rid of every other month on that damned space station."

"That's not what I said."

"You didn't have to!"

Alan, Gordon and Jeff didn't realize Grandma, Kyrano and Tin-Tin had returned and were walking into the Lounge at this very moment.

"Oh!" Tin-Tin exclaimed, covering her eyes with her hands and running out of the room.

"Hey, you scared your girlfriend without any clothes on!" Gordon guffawed, earning him an evil glare.

"I'll deal with you later!" he said to Gordon. Then he turned back to his father as Grandma and Kyrano scurried back to the kitchen. "And you...you can take your piece of shit astronaut job and shove it up your ass! I'm through!"

Alan turned heel and headed for his bedroom while Gordon laughed uncontrollably from the couch in the middle of the room.

"He finally gave it to you!"

"Gordon, what is going on here? You boys have lost your minds!"

"No, we've just finally grown balls enough to speak them, Dad." He rose from the couch, oblivious of the fact he was in his birthday suit, and looked his father right in the eyes. "Everything Alan says is true, at least that's how you see me. I know you do."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm the weakest one of all of us. That's why you gave me Thunderbird 4. It's not as strenuous as the other vehicles. The rescues are easier because they're in water. My back's screwed up, so I'm pretty much useless to you as a real member of International Rescue." Gordon's voice was low and full of pain, but he put up a brave front. "I know you're ashamed of me. I'm not as strong as Virgil or as smart as Scott or as useful as John or as fearless as Alan. I'm the boy you want to hide under the water, the one who can't hack it out on real rescues."

Jeff shook his head. Who was next now? John? "Gordon, please, that couldn't be further from the truth. I admire you for what you go through every time Pod 4 is dropped into the water. I know that has to hurt your back, but you endure without complaint. You are steadfast and even-keeled. You always make us laugh and keep even the direst situations from getting to us. You have a gift, and I respect every facet of the man you are."

When he spoke, Gordon's voice was barely a whisper. "I don't believe you."

Jeff frowned, looking deep into his son's eyes before Gordon turned on his heel and left. He could do nothing but stare after him as Gordon walked determinedly away. Sagging into the chair behind his desk, Jeff put his head in his hands. He was this close to putting his fist through a wall just as Kyrano, Grandma and Tin-Tin entered the room.

"Jeff?" Grandma asked as the three approached his desk. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, Mother," he replied quietly. "I just don't know."

"I've activated the view screens in each of their rooms."

"Thank you, Tin-Tin. And they're all present and accounted for?"

"Yes, Mr. Tracy. Would you mind explaining to us what's happened?"

"I can't figure it out. They were fine when they left for the rescue, and even afterward when they reported in from their Thunderbirds. It was after Scott finished showering that he went into a tirade in the Lounge. When I confronted him in his room, he just went crazy. Then I came back out here and found Virgil pounding at the piano. He pretty much blew a gasket the same way Scott did. And then Alan and Gordon came in dressed in nothing more than their birthday suits and started fighting."

"Why would they act in such a manner, Sir?"

"I wish I could tell you, Kyrano. Brains, any ideas?"

"W-Well, it's, uh, pretty clear th-they aren't themselves. C-Can you tell me m-more about this island Cumbaquay?"

Jeff relayed what he knew to the group as they all watched the vid monitors showing each of the boys in their bedrooms. Suddenly Tin-Tin screamed. "Scott!"

"Oh, my God!" Jeff cried, racing to the patio doors. Tin-Tin and Brains were in hot pursuit while Kyrano held Grandma, trying his best to soothe her.

They ran full-boar down the steps and around to the left. When they arrived at the place below Scott's balcony, they skidded to a halt, staring at a small ledge about six feet from the edge of the house where Scott lay motionless. Tin-Tin began to cry.

"I'll get him," Jeff said as he began climbing the side of the cliff. "You two get back in there and keep an eye on the boys."

Tin-Tin led Grandma and her father to Grandma's room. She could sense neither of them wanted to be alone right now, but she wanted them to stay hidden until they could figure out what was happening to the Tracy boys. Tin-Tin was quite frightened. They had always been sweet and kind, full of love and respect for each other and everyone around them. How had this changed so suddenly?

Brains stayed and watched the vids showing the rooms of Alan, Gordon and Virgil. The latter looked like he was asleep on the floor while Gordon sat in his desk chair crying and Alan sat out on his patio with his arms crossed, a mean look on his face. Brains flipped through the Rolodex in his mind, trying desperately to figure out what could be causing their odd behavior.

"I wonder..." he mused, sitting down in Jeff's chair and flipping on the computer console behind the desk.

Jeff managed to make it up to the ledge with only a few scrapes here and there on his hands. He found Scott seemingly passed out. Jeff sat down next to his boy and looked at his peaceful face, so different from the angry man he'd encountered a mere hour before. "What's happened to you, my son?" he asked sadly.

Suddenly Scott's eyes snapped open. Jeff couldn't help himself...he flinched, wondering what would be next. But contrary to what he expected, Scott's eyes suddenly filled with tears that overflowed onto his cheeks as he began to cry. He grabbed his father's pant legs and pulled himself up until he was grabbing his shirt and jacket, then finally buried his face in his chest, sobbing so hard Jeff could feel the wetness soak through his clothing.

"Scott, what is it? What's wrong?" he asked, wrapping his arms around the shaking body in his lap.

But Scott either couldn't or wouldn't speak, so Jeff just let him cry, gently rocking him to and fro as he stroked his hair and back. Just the sound of Scott in such anguish cut him to the quick. He was confused and frightened...he was hurt and sad...he just didn't know which feeling to feel first.

Tin-Tin had returned to the Lounge and was watching the monitors while Brains headed for his Lab. He had an idea, but needed to do further research on his supercomputer. Tin-Tin watched the boys, wondering where Mr. Tracy and Scott were.

Suddenly, Virgil jumped up off the floor, startling her. He ran to the door before she could even get out of the chair, and was standing against the painting of the rocket before her hand hit the COM link to the Lab. She watched as the picture flipped backwards, carrying Virgil far beneath toward his ship.

"Brains! It's Virgil! He's on his way to Thunderbird 2!"

"What?!? O-Okay, d-don't worry, uh, Tin-Tin. I'll jam her so she can't start." Brains turned and punched some commands into his computer.

The chute dropped Virgil into the pilot's chair in the cockpit of Thunderbird 2. The chair folded and clicked into place on its stand. Virgil reached out his left hand and pulled a lever towards him. He expected the lights to come on and the steering unit to start moving toward him.

But nothing happened.

He flicked the lever back and forth again and again. Still nothing. "YOU BASTARD!" he screamed, fists clenched. "YOU LOCKED ME OUTTA MY OWN SHIP!"

Brains had opened a COM link to Thunderbird 2. He sighed in relief when Virgil yelled, knowing at least he wouldn't be able to get the ship airborne. He decided he'd better lock down the other Thunderbirds and Pod vehicles as well. One-by-one he sent lockout commands to all of them until at last, twenty minutes later, his mission was complete.

"I don't believe it," he whispered as he returned to his research. "For the first time in almost five years, International Rescue is non-operational."

Tin-Tin couldn't stand it anymore. While Alan had fallen asleep out on his balcony, Gordon had continued crying uncontrollably for over thirty minutes. She, too, had begun to cry. She reasoned that since Alan was asleep, she could steal into Gordon's room for a moment to see if she could help.

She crept down the hall and stopped at his door. She could hear him now, and her heart broke. Softly she entered, closing the door behind her.

"Gordon?" she called out.

He stopped just long enough to lift his head and look at her. "What are you doing here?" he choked.

"I want to help."

"The only way you can help is to stop loving Alan."

"What?!?"

"Never mind. Just go away," he whispered, rocking back and forth on the balcony floor.

"No, I will not go away, Gordon. You're in pain. Why?"

"Because of you, Tin-Tin."

"Me? What on Earth do you mean?"

"Why did you have to love Alan, Tin-Tin? Is it because he's stronger and heartier than me? Or because he has dashing blonde hair and blue eyes and I don't?"

Realization dawning, Tin-Tin covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, my," she breathed.

Gordon sniffled and came to his feet, turning his back to her and leaning his elbows on the balcony railing. "I can't believe you've never noticed," he said quietly.

"Gordon, I-I'm sorry, I had no idea."

"No kidding. Anyway, it doesn't matter. You and Alan are an item. I just have to deal with it. Every day of every year. Deal with seeing you go gaga over him every time he returns from a rescue. Deal with you and he sitting together in the same chair even when there are five empty ones around. I just have to deal."

Tin-Tin approached him carefully. She'd truly had no idea that, "You're in love with me."

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock," he said, smiling wryly.

"I-I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. There isn't anything to say. Just leave me alone."

"I don't want to."

"I don't care what you want! You've made your decision!" he yelled, his eyes darkening. "Just go! Go to your lover!"

Tin-Tin backed away, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said before running out of the room.

Gordon looked over the balcony and wondered how far down it actually was to the ground below.

Scott's tears had finally subsided and his body heaved with leftover dry sobs.

"Talk to me, son," he pleaded, his voice barely audible.

"I...I miss Mom!" Scott wailed, clinging to his father like a lost child.

"I miss her, too, Scott."

"It's so unfair! Why did she have to die? Why???"

"I don't know. I don't know. But that's why we do what we do. In memory of your mother. We save others' lives so they don't have to feel this pain."

Suddenly the angry Scott was back. He jumped to his feet, nearly knocking Jeff over the edge of the cliff.

"Why the hell should anyone else be spared this?!?" he yelled. "If I have to hurt like this, why should I care what other people go through?!?"

Jeff came to his feet. "Scott, I don't have all the answers. I'm doing the best I can, doing what I know how to do. How can I help you?"

"You can't, Dad. Mom's gone. You can never make that better."

"I'm sorry, Scott. Truly."

"Yeah, you're sorry you got stuck with us. That's why I raised my brothers!" he spat before skidding and sliding down the cliff to the ground below.

Jeff shook his head and sank back onto the ledge. Pulling his knees up, he rested his arms and head upon them. "Oh, Lucy, what have I done to our sons? What have I done?"

Tin-Tin returned to the Lounge. She sat in Jeff's chair for a few moments letting herself cry before looking up to the vid monitors. Scott's room was empty. Virgil's was empty. Gordon was rocking to and fro on his patio again, but it looked like he wasn't crying anymore. Her eyes came to rest on Alan's room. She jumped to her feet.

Alan's room was empty.

"Oh, no! Alan! Where could you be?"

Brains had just figured out...or thought he'd figured out...what might be at the root of the Tracy boys' afflictions, when he heard a sound coming from the open com link. It sounded like...crying. He turned the volume up and continued to listen. He could tell it was Virgil...even just crying, Virgil's voice came through unmistakably. Brains frowned. He'd never seen any of them cry. Not a one. Slowly he came to his feet and headed for Thunderbird 2.

Alan felt extremely smart. He'd made it down to Thunderbird 3, only to discover that Brains had mechanically locked it so the engines wouldn't fire.

"I fixed him!" he crowed. "Guess he's not the only genius in the house!"

Through the fog that had settled over his brain, Alan thought he was doing the most logical thing in the world. He was certain his brother John hated space duty as much as he did, if not more, so he was going up to Thunderbird 5 to bring John home. Home.

"Ha!" Alan barked, slamming his fist into the console. "Father hates all of us. We're just slaves to him so he can live out his damned dream. Well, we'll see who has the last laugh in this, Father! Only one more set of adjustments and I'll be on my way. Just you try and stop me!"

Jeff gathered himself together and slid down the edge of the cliff. He'd no idea where Scott had gone, but decided he should check up on the rest of his family before attempting to locate him again.

"Virgil?" Brains whispered as he entered Thunderbird 2 cockpit via the passenger elevator.

He sat hunkered over the ship's steering unit, body shaking like a leaf trembling in the wind. He sniffled, but kept his head down. "What do you want?" his voice echoed through the hollow created by his arms.

Brains wasn't quite sure what to do. Of all the brothers, Virgil's size alone made him the most intimidating, even though he was, by far, the gentlest of all of them. "Uh...I, uh, heard you crying and, uh...well..."

Virgil sat up and turned to look at the engineer who was cowering in the elevator. He laughed. "Geez, Brains, I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Oh. O-Okay, Virgil." Brains stepped out of the elevator and took a few steps. "What's wrong?"

"I-I don't know. I can't...I can't think straight, I-I-" he struggled.

"I know, Virgil, I know. Just try. Try for me. What are you thinking?"

"Just...anger. I'm so angry."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I'm angry at Father, at Scott...I was angry with you for shutting Thunderbird 2 down."

"S-Sorry about that. I-I was afraid you'd, uh, you know."

"I know. I'm just...now I'm sad. This overwhelming despair, I can't--I can't explain it. It's so hopeless. Everything is so hopeless."

"Virgil, I think you may have been infected by something on Cumbaquay."

"Huh?"

Brains could see Virgil's momentary clarity was rapidly beginning to fade. "Why, uh, why don't you c-come with me?"

Virgil nodded dumbly and allowed the smaller man to lead him up in the passenger elevator.

Jeff looked up as Brains and Virgil entered the Lounge. When Virgil's eyes rested upon his father, his face took on a mask of anger once more. Brains and Jeff both noticed, and Brains had the...well, the brains...to shuffle him off to his Lab post-haste.

Jeff wondered where everyone else was. He could see Gordon in his room, but Alan and Tin-Tin were nowhere to be found. Suddenly he heard a sound that made his heart stop. He jumped to his feet and pressed a button on the back of his desk. He leapt onto the settee just as it disappeared beneath the floor.

"Good God, no. Tell me he's not," Jeff muttered, willing the damn settee to go faster.

"NO! ALAAAAAN!" Tin-Tin cried as Thunderbird 3's engines roared to life. She was close enough that she felt the heat of the rockets and the blast knocked her backwards onto the floor. She could only watch helplessly as Thunderbird 3 roared into the sky.

CHAPTER THREE

"John, come in!" Jeff barked into the mike on his desk. Tin-Tin cried quietly from her perch on the corner of the desk.

"Thunderbird 5 here. What's the matter, Father?"

"John, do you have Thunderbird 3 on your radar?"

He took a moment to check his radar screen before nodding and replying, "Yes."

"What's his course?"

"Same as always, looks like he's headed here. Father, is it Alan?"

Jeff just nodded.

"Why is Alan coming up here now? I'm not due for shore leave 'til Saturday."

"John, I think I'd better tell you the whole story."

It took almost half-an-hour, but finally Jeff had conveyed everything to his second eldest son, who sat in quiet shock in front of the vid camera.

"So you mean to tell me every one of my brothers has gone mad?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying. There's no telling what Alan might do in his present state of mind."

"What should I do, Father?"

"Hope to hell he docks with you. And pray, son. Just pray."

"F.A.B," John replied quietly. "Thunderbird 5 out."

"Uh, M-Mr. Tracy?"

Jeff sighed as he leaned back in his chair. "Yes, Brains?"

"I think I may have f-figured out what's, uh, wrong with them."

He perked up. "What is it, Brains?"

"Well, I, uh, I got Virgil down to my laboratory and managed to sedate him. He was awfully angry."

"I'm sure he was."

"I took a sample of his blood. I found, uh, some sort of virus. It attaches itself to the neurons of the brain, inhibiting some of them and increasing the speeds at which others of them fire."

Jeff had barely noticed Brains' lack of stuttering.

"I found a published treatment of a similar case about thirty years ago. A sociologist, April Jade, and her assistant found Cumbaquay quite by accident and decided to remain on the island to study the inhabitants and their way of life. Seven months after they first landed, the assistant returned to Peru where she recounted a horrific story about how Dr. Jade and several of the indigenous peoples became violent and went insane. In the end, all five people committed suicide."

Jeff paled as he thought of Scott's leap from the balcony.

"I, uh, took the liberty of contacting that assistant, one Clarissa Maycombe. I spoke with her at length and found disturbing similarities between Dr. Jade's behavior and that of your sons."

"So you think they have contracted this virus?"

"It seems to be the only logical conclusion."

"Where's the antidote?"

Brains looked at the floor, fiddling with the pencil in his hands. "That's just it, M-Mr. Tracy. There is no known cure."

"No," Tin-Tin whimpered.

"Don't tell me that, Brains."

"W-Well, there is one possibility. It's a remote one, b-but it's our only chance."

"Well, what is it?"

"Mrs. Maycombe researched the virus for almost ten years after the incident on Cumbaquay. But the grant funding her research was retracted after she failed to provide anything more than conjecture. She feels the virus was somehow plant-based, and identified one plant on the entire island she thought might hold a cure. But Cumbaquay was put under quarantine, so she hasn't ever been able to get back there to get a sample of the plant for use in a potential vaccine."

"Under quarantine!?!" Jeff bellowed, rising from his chair. "Why didn't it show up registered as such when John identified it?"

"Well, uh, it was just removed from the A-list and dropped down to R. Only a few weeks ago."

"Has this Mrs. Maycombe been able to get back to get a sample of the plant?"

"N-no, Sir. She's in failing health and too old now to do anything more about it. And nobody else wants to go to the island, they're afraid of contracting the disease."

"From what I've seen, it's well they should be. There's only one thing to do, Brains. I have to travel to Cumbaquay and find the plant."

"I-I'm sorry, Sir, but you w-wouldn't be able to find that plant if it reached up and g-grabbed you by the seat of your p-pants."

Jeff chuckled, then something occurred to him. He loosened the collar of his shirt. "Is it just me or is it getting hot in here?"

"O-Oh, no," Brains moaned.

"What?"

"Mrs. Maycombe told me th-the first sign of infection is that the patient feels unbearably h-hot. Then a f-fever sets in and finally madness."

Jeff paled. "Are you saying I'm infected?"

"Did you touch any of them? Skin to skin?"

"Yes. Yes, I did. I touched Scott when he was out on the ledge. I still have no idea where he went."

"Oh, d-dear. That's what I was afraid of. Mrs. Maycombe said her findings showed the virus could only be transmitted by skin-to-skin contact. Tin-Tin, have you touched any of the boys?"

"No, Brains. I have not."

"I touched Virgil's clothing as I was leading him to the Lab, but after that I wore protective gloves. H-How about M-Mrs. Tracy and Kyrano?"

"I took them to Mrs. Tracy's room shortly after we returned from shopping. They haven't left as far as I know," Tin-Tin replied.

"Mr., uh, Tracy, I need to be the one to go to Cumbaquay. If you're getting sick, the madness could kick in before you find the plant I need."

"I'm going with Brains," Tin-Tin announced.

"You most certainly are not!" Jeff said.

"Mr. Tracy, please. I cannot sit here and do nothing. Brains might need help. I have the scientific expertise to provide that help."

Jeff sighed. "All right. What you say makes sense. First, go and tell Kyrano and Grandma to gather enough food and water to last themselves a few days. Tell them to stay locked in Mother’s room no matter what they hear happening outside the door, and they are not to come out until you and Brains give them the all-clear."

"Yes, Mr. Tracy." Tin-Tin left the room as Brains walked closer to Jeff's desk.

"Brains, contact John and bring him up to speed so he knows what he's dealing with when Alan arrives."

"Okay. Uh, if you want, I can sedate Scott and Gordon. To keep them from harming themselves until we return. I-I could sedate you as well."

"I think sedating the boys is a good idea. Where's Virgil now?"

"I brought him back up to his room on a hover stretcher. He's resting comfortably in his bed."

"Right. But since you're not infected and I am...I'll do the sedating."

"What about you?"

"I can't be sedated now, Brains. I have a sick son hurtling through space to God-knows-where and another all alone and worried to death on Thunderbird 5."

"B-But Sir..."

Jeff held his hand up. "Leave me with a shot of the medication. As soon as I start to lose my grip on reality, I'll inject myself."

"I don't know you'll realize it when you do."

"I have to take that chance. For Alan's sake."

Brains nodded. "I'll just fetch the syringes from my Lab."

Jeff watched as Tin-Tin and Brains left for Cumbaquay aboard Tin-Tin's little plane 'Ladybird'. He then set out to find his oldest son, whom he hadn't seen since the incident on the ledge. He decided to start in the roundhouse.

Gordon, although quite sad and zombie-like, hadn't seemed nearly as insane as his brothers. It had been fairly easy to jab him with the needle, and without protest he was out like a light. Jeff had tucked him comfortably into bed, and then gone to check on Virgil. He'd smiled at the way Brains had covered Virgil as well. That Brains was an old softy beneath his hard science exterior.

Finally, he'd spoken through the door to his mother and Kyrano, assuring them they were doing everything possible to save the boys. He neglected to add that he was infected as well, deciding they would worry even more if they knew.

Now, as he took the steps to the roundhouse two-at-a-time, he started feeling the effects of the fever. He was positively burning up. Sweat began forming at his hairline and trickling down his neck and face. He stopped at the roundhouse entrance, setting his mind firmly. He was not going to give in to this virus, no matter what. He had to stay strong. For his boys.

As he entered, he heard a strangled sound, like something was...like someone...was having trouble breathing!

"Scott!" he yelled, straining to tell which direction the sound was coming from. "Scott, are you in here?!?"

Jeff darted to the left, eyes scanning everywhere at once. When he was about halfway 'round, he spotted something that froze his heart in mid-beat.

"NO! SCOOOOOOTT!!!!"

Swaying to and fro in front of him was his son, swinging from the ceiling. He was still alive...the strangled sounds were coming from him as he struggled against the rope around his neck. Jeff grabbed his legs and lifted him up, allowing Scott to gasp in some air.

"Grab the top of the rope, son!" Jeff ordered. "Hold yourself up while I pull the chair over!"

He looked up and saw that Scott had indeed grasped the rope above his head. He reached for the chair Scott had obviously kicked over and stood it upright, allowing his son's feet to rest upon it. He watched as Scott removed the noose and started falling off the chair. It took all Jeff's strength to stop his fall and carry him to the nearest chaise lounge.

Tears sprang to Jeff's eyes as he took in the rope burn forming a perfect necklace around his son's throat. Scott was still gulping in large breaths of air, but seemed on the whole to be okay.

"My God," Jeff breathed. "You almost gave me a heart attack. And I'm serious."

"Why did you stop me?" Scott coughed. His strength drained, he sank back onto the lounge.

"What the hell kind of question is that? I saved you because...because I love you, dammit!"

Scott eyed his father warily. When was the last time his father had spoken those words to him?

"Listen to me, son. You're sick. You contracted a virus on Cumbaquay, you and your brothers all did. I've got it, too. Now, Brains is looking for a cure, but until he finds it, we're all going to be sedated."

Scott shook his head. His father was speaking too quickly; he just couldn't grasp the words. "Huh?"

"Here, just let me see your arm."

Before Scott even knew what was happening, Jeff had stuck him with the syringe and emptied its contents into his arm. That done, he leaned back in the chair for a moment to gather his wits. He never ever thought he'd see the day when Scott Tracy tried to kill himself. He prayed he'd never see it again.

John fiddled with the sash on his uniform as he watched Thunderbird 3 come nearer and nearer. "Come on, Alan," he said, staring at the blip that contained his little brother within. "Come see Johnny-boy."

Both Jeff and John had tried unsuccessfully to reach Alan by vid or COM link, but Alan was either ignoring them or had shut down the communications system altogether.

"Come on, you have to be coming here. You just have to."

John had never felt this helpless, not even during the most harrowing rescues his brothers had gone on. Alan was sick. Very, very sick, from what his father had told him. If he didn't come to Thunderbird 5, what would John do? He couldn't just let Alan keep going.

Then something triggered in the back of John's mind. Something he remembered reading several years ago in one of Brains' manuals on Thunderbird 5. He tore his eyes from the radar screen and ran to a nearby closet. He looked at his watch as he opened the closet door. If Alan were going to dock with him, he only had about twenty-five minutes before their paths would cross.

That didn't leave John a lot of time.

Jeff had loaded Scott onto a hover stretcher and ferried him back to the villa through the tunnel. He carefully tucked him into bed, checked on Gordon and Virgil, spoke briefly to his mother and Kyrano, and headed back out to the Lounge. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He was deathly hot, but worked hard to keep his brain functioning.

"Base calling Thunderbird 5. Come in, John."

But John didn't answer. A chill ran up and down Jeff's spine as he checked his chronometer. Could Alan have docked already? What was going on up there?

"John, this is your father. Come in!"

"Right here, Father!" John finally answered as his vid clicked on.

"Jesus, son, don't do that to me. Has Alan arrived yet?"

"No, Father, and there's only about fifteen minutes 'til he reaches me. I've, uh, I've come up with a contingency plan, but I'll have to work fast."

"What is it?"

"Tell you what, I'll leave my wristband line open and talk while I work."

"Okay."

Jeff was sweating profusely now. He took out his handkerchief and had it soaked within seconds of it touching his face and neck. He waited as John's vid winked out, wondering how Tin-Tin and Brains were faring, praying they were finding what they needed.

"I should be able to set it down on the beach there," Tin-Tin said as they flew over Cumbaquay.

"Right. Let's do it," Brains replied.

Ten minutes later, Brains and Tin-Tin were nearing the scene of the first attack. They reasoned the plant in question must be in that general area, since that's where the dogs had first gone berserk. They used hand-held scanners programmed to search for this particular plant's bio-readings. They scanned left and right in a fan out from each other.

"I certainly hope no other animals have gotten sick," Tin-Tin commented, her eyes glued to her scanner.

"M-Me, too. I'm afraid I don't make a very good d-defender."

Tin-Tin smiled. Brains was always putting himself down even though he was the most amazing man she'd ever met. Well, and she blushed at the thought, besides Alan, that was. Then she frowned as she recalled Alan's current predicament. She prayed he wouldn't do anything foolish, then pushed those thoughts from her mind as her scanner began to beep.

"Brains! I think I've found one!"

"L-Lemme see!"

They moved quickly in the direction the scanner had indicated. Within five minutes, they were standing over a tiny light-green plant that stood no more than five inches high. It had three leaves; all bearing three yellowish spots each.

"Th-That's it," Brains confirmed. "That looks exactly like the picture Mrs. Maycombe sent me. The Corginus Machinis. Quickly, put the gloves and masks on."

Tin-Tin nodded and dug into her backpack. Since they knew the virus was transmitted by skin contact, they covered their hands with gloves and their faces with protective masks. The rest of their bodies were fully covered in one-piece flight suits and boots.

"Right. Open the container, Tin-Tin. I'm gonna grab it."

She did as requested and watched anxiously as Brains reached down to the base of the plant and pulled gently. The plant came out of the ground with minimal resistance, but just as Brains was about to place it into the container, he yelped and dropped it.

"Brains! What happened?"

"O-Oh, no. I-It has th-thorns. Tiny ones." Brains held up his right index finger for Tin-Tin to see the spot of blood oozing out of a hole in his glove.

"Oh, Brains. Do you think you'll be infected?"

"I don't know, but w-we have to move even f-faster now. If I am, I-I won't have the presence of mind to c-create an antidote!"

Tin-Tin reached into her backpack and pulled out what looked like long tweezers. She picked up the plant by its stem and placed it into the container, tightly sealing it with a special digital combination only she and Brains knew.

They returned to Ladybird and loaded all their gear inside. "I have to dress that wound," Tin-Tin said.

"N-No! Tin-Tin, if you touch me, and I'm infected, you'll get it, t-too! We can't all of us be insane."

She sighed. "You're right, of course. Let's get back to the island and see how they're doing."

"R-Right."

"So what is it you're doing, John?"

"Well, Father," John replied as he began flipping switches and buttons. He pulled a panel off the front of the Control Panel and lay down to gain better access to its guts. "I remembered reading something in one of Thunderbird 5's manuals a few years back. Something about making her move."

"Making her move?!?"

"Yeah. See, I figure if Alan overshoots me, or if he looks like he's going to, I need to be able to stop him."

"Making her move?" Jeff could feel himself slipping, could feel his mind going. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. Not yet.

"Right. Hang on." John fiddled with a few wires before continuing. "Turns out Brains built a set of rockets into this baby."

"Yes, I knew they were there. We're supposed to use them if we ever have to move the satellite."

"Exactly. So my thought is, why not use them to stop Alan?"

"Well, what the hell are you gonna do, ram him?"

John sat up and looked into his father's eyes. "It'd sure beat letting him get past me."

"John, I can't ask you to--"

"You're not asking me, Father. I'm doing it, no matter what you say. I can't just sit here kicking my heels up if he flies by. I have to do something!"

"I know you do, son. I know you do. But...how will you survive? The impact alone would blow you both to pieces!"

"A-ha, that's what I thought at first, too. But I won't actually ram him, Father. If I jet air through the gravity compensators, combine that with the blast from the rockets and throw open the airlock in precise conjunction, I can create a disturbance so strong it'll slow Thunderbird 3 enough for me to fire Thunderbird 5's grabs and send an electronic command to shut her engines down."

Jeff shook his head. Not now, dammit. Not now. "You really think you can do all that at once?"

John looked across the room at his radar screen. "We're about to find out!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet. "He's changing course!"

"What?!?!"

John raced to the airlock and hurriedly put his space suit on. Then he returned to the panel. The space suit's helmet had a built-in communicator, so he used that for an open line to Base.

"A few more adjustments..." he muttered.

"John?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"I'm...about to go, son. I'm infected, too. I-I can feel myself slipping."

"What? Dad! Brains didn't tell me you got it!"

"Sorry, I-I..."

"Father?"

"Just save Alan. Save him and get him home. Please."

John felt tears sting his eyes. "I will, Father. I promise you. I will."

"I love you, John. Go carefully."

John choked out a sob. "I love you, too, Father."

"Base out."

"This is Ladybird calling Tracy Island. Come in, please."

Tin-Tin and Brains looked at each other. Why wasn't Jeff answering?

"Ladybird calling Tracy Island. Requesting clearance to land. Over."

Nothing.

"I-I guess we should assume M-Mr. Tracy gave himself the sedative," Brains offered.

"Right. I'm landing."

Ten minutes later, Brains and Tin-Tin rushed into the Lounge. "Mr. Tracy!" they cried.

Jeff sat straight as an arrow behind his desk, his hands gripping the edge of it 'til they'd gone ash white with the effort. His eyes stared straight ahead and his body trembled slightly.

"Mr. Tracy, are you all right?"

"Try-ing...to...keep...con-trol," he ground out.

"W-We have the plant. Just t-take the sedative. W-We'll find a way to cure you."

One solitary tear rolled down Jeff's cheek. "Keep...con-tact...John...try-ing...to...save...Al-an."

"All right, Mr. Tracy, we will, we will," Tin-Tin soothed.

"I'll take him to his room," Brains offered. "J-Just in case."

"Okay. I'll start collecting cell samples from the plant."

"Cover up, Tin-Tin. Every inch of you."

"I will."

Brains went to Jeff as Tin-Tin headed for the Lab. "Can, uh, can you walk?"

Jeff nodded. "Hurry, Brains. I-I can't fight it...much...longer."

Brains helped him up by his arm and led him slowly back to his bedroom. As Jeff lay down upon the bed, Brains prepared the injection.

"I-I'm so...angry!" Jeff seethed, using every last ounce of his willpower to keep the feelings at bay.

"I know, Sir. I-I know. Here. Y-You'll sleep n-now."

Quick as a flash, Brains had injected Jeff with the drug, and it knocked him out immediately. It was only then that Brains realized they were truly alone. Grandma and Kyrano were there, of course, but they were not going to be at all helpful in this current situation. Tin-Tin was a pretty delicate flower, and Brains was...well, he was a geek. At that moment, the engineer felt the weight of possible failure close in.

"N-No, I c-can't think that way," he stammered, rising to his feet. He took Jeff's shoes off and covered him with his blankets. "I w-won't fail you, M-Mr. Tracy."

"Alan! Alan don't you overshoot me!" John yelled into the mike. But it was no use. Alan still wasn't acknowledging. "Okay, little brother. You asked for it!"

John watched through the view port as Thunderbird 3 approached just to the left of his position. Alan would pass only about half-a-mile from the edge of Thunderbird 5. John took this as a good sign. As close as he was, John's little trick might just work. Or blow them both to hell. Either way, John realized, it was now or never.

Alan had paced his ship from stem to stern and back again a hundred times. He'd ridden the lift up and down from the Lounge to the Cockpit and back at least fifty.

When he'd first taken off from Tracy Island, he'd been sure he was doing the right thing. John didn't want to be on Thunderbird 5, he was certain of it. But as one hour had passed and then two, Alan began to wonder if he were right about John. After all, he and John had never really been close. They were never together except during change of rotation. He hadn't spent any real time with his brother in five years.

So how could he be sure what John was thinking? In his crazed mind that developed into a surety that John was somehow in it with their father, that John and Jeff together had organized the whole plot to make Alan rotate with John, getting him off the island for a month at a stretch.

The nearer he drew to Thunderbird 5, the more certain he became that he was right. "Well, I'll just show you!" he growled as he changed course. "I'll go out and find a place to live where no one is out to get me and where everyone thinks I'm the important one. That stupid kid Umbabwe thought I was a god. I can find others who will think I am, too!"

With that, Alan was half-an-hour away from passing by his last hope in the universe.

"Y-Yes, I think this is it. I think it is!" Brains fairly crowed.

"You have it, Brains?"

"Yes, uh, Tin-Tin, I believe I do! Boy, is it getting hot in this suit!"

"Brains..."

"Y-Yeah, I know, I know. Symptoms. I have to finish this. I just have to."

"But how will you know it works, Brains? You'll have to test it on someone."

Brains looked up, straight into Tin-Tin's eyes. "If I can finish this before I lose my mind, I'll test it on myself. I-If I don't, you have to call for help."

Tin-Tin nodded. If that happened, International Rescue's secrets would surely be known by the world. Either way you looked at it, the end was near.

CHAPTER FOUR

Brains grew increasingly feverish as he toiled over beakers and Erlenmeyer flasks, open flames and computer diagnostics. Tin-Tin helped where she could, but she knew that when Brains was at his best, he was single-minded and focused, and any interruption by her could throw him completely off-track.

She therefore decided to go check on the Tracys in their bedrooms, to make sure they were still asleep and not trying to do harm to themselves or others. She doubted Brains even realized she'd left.

In front of the side Control Panel on Thunderbird 5 is a chair bolted to the floor. Having anchored himself to that chair with a tether, John had the thumb and forefinger of his left hand poised over two switches, and the thumb and forefinger of his right hand poised over two more. He watched out the view port as Thunderbird 3 came closer and closer. When it disappeared 'round to his left, John closed his eyes and counted down.

"7...6...5...4...3...2...1...0!" Quick as lightning, he flicked all 4 switches with his fingers. The airlock opened, sucking every molecule of fabricated air out into space. The rockets fired and the artificial gravity containment released. John felt Thunderbird 5 lurch violently as he was first pulled toward the airlock, then jerked to the right as the rockets fired.

The fourth switch shot four sets of metal grabs out from Thunderbird 5. As he feverishly punched a code into the computer, he felt Thunderbird 3 yank the space station but good as the grabs ground it to a halt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he exalted his success in having stopped the space ship even as his fingers flew across the keypad to enter the 3rd party shutdown sequence.

Lights flashed and beeps and clicks were heard. Then there was silence. John looked out the view port and could see the stars outside moving past...but he knew it was Thunderbird 5 moving, not the stars. The quick rocket blast had evidently been strong enough to break the great station's orbit. John knew he had to get it shut down quickly. Thunderbird 5's orbit was highly secretive. If it moved too far away, Earth radar would pick it up...he shuddered. He didn't even want to think about that.

John untied the tether from his waist and bounced across the Control Room to the Master Control Panel. He entered a series of commands and flipped a few switches. Finally he could see the movement of the stars outside slowing until at last Thunderbird 5 stopped altogether. He checked his coordinates and found he'd drifted 82 miles. John bit his lip. Move Thunderbird 5 now or check on Alan first? The choice was simple.

"Check on Alan."

Tin-Tin tiptoed into Scott's room. To her great relief, he lay snoring atop his sheets, having evidently kicked them off at some point. She saw the sweat matting his hair and dripping from his face, but knew she shouldn't touch him. So she backed out of his room and headed for Virgil's. He was turned on his side facing the door, snuggled down into his blankets.

Leaving his room, she next headed for Gordon's. Tin-Tin frowned as she recalled his seemingly drunken confession about being in love with her. Now he lay peacefully beneath his covers, an almost angelic smile upon his face. How could she never have noticed his interest? But that got her to thinking about Alan, and her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of him piloting Thunderbird 3 half-crazed into the great nowhere of space.

Stifling that train of thought, Tin-Tin continued on to Jeff Tracy's room. Truth be told, she'd only been beyond the doorway twice in the entire time she'd lived on the island, and was a bit trepidatious to cross the threshold. She cracked the door and peered in. Jeff was obviously having a bad dream, tossing and turning, his sheets winding themselves around his legs and body as he moaned in displeasure. Tin-Tin walked about halfway across the room and, even in the dim light, could see the sheets beneath her benefactor were soaking wet from his sweat.

She shook her head as she watched, wishing she could somehow ease his mind, wishing she could help him, comfort him. But she knew that touching him could prove fatal. Still, she couldn't bear to leave just yet. His head rolled from side to side as his rugged face screwed itself up in an expression of anger. This man meant so much to her. He was her second father, and she greatly respected and admired him.

Tin-Tin was startled out of her reverie when she heard someone enter the room behind her. She turned to see Brains, still in protective suit, mask and gloves, holding a bottle of something in his hand.

"Oh, Brains, you startled me. Have you finished it?" Then she looked more closely at his face. His brow was furrowed and his eyes didn't look quite right. "Brains?"

"Tin-Tin."

"Are you all right?"

"No."

"The virus?"

He nodded.

"What can I do?"

"I think this serum...will work," he ground out between clenched teeth.

"Have you taken an injection yet?"

"No...fighting...the...anger."

"Brains, let's get back down to the Lab, okay?" she asked evenly, walking toward him.

"Want...to...smash...it," he hissed, raising the bottle into the air.

"No!" Tin-Tin cried, rushing him and reaching for the bottle.

As she sailed through the air, she managed to grab hold of the bottle, but a well-placed fist slammed into her, hurtling her backwards. She landed on the floor, her back hitting the wooden chest Jeff kept at the foot of his bed. Tin-Tin moaned in pain. She'd saved the bottle from being smashed, but Brains had disappeared. Moving gingerly, she got to her feet and shuffled out of the room.

"Brains!" she called out. "Come back!"

Suddenly he appeared in the entrance to the hall. He'd removed his mask and gloves and was clearly at odds with himself as several expressions fleeted across his face in rapid fashion. Anger...confusion...pain...sadness...anger again.

Tin-Tin realized the sick room was only two doors away. She walked slowly backward until she reached the doorway. Inside she knew there would be syringes. She didn't want to be the one to give this concoction to Brains, hell, she didn't even know if he'd stayed sane long enough to actually make a workable vaccine. But if she didn't try...she had to try. She just had to.

John checked his Locator grid. According to the readouts, Alan was currently in the cockpit of Thunderbird 3. That being the case, John knew he'd be able to enter the great ship through its side hatch...so long as Alan didn't beat him there, his younger brother would be no worse for the wear.

But John didn't have a sedative and he had no idea what shape he'd find Alan in once he got on board. The best thing he could think of was tying his brother up if he became violent. Securing a length of rope to his utility belt, John checked the Locator one more time, confirmed Alan was still in the cockpit, and allowed himself to float out the airlock.

He saw that three of the grips had indeed attached to the body of Thunderbird 3, while the fourth floated aimlessly, having missed its target. Jetting over to the hatch, he keyed the entry code and watched the door slide open. Pulling himself in, he shut the door quickly behind him, relieved to find his brother wasn't there. He decompressed and waited until the oxygen indicators were at a safe level before removing his helmet and gloves. Detaching the rope from his utility belt, he opened the inner door.

There was no sign of Alan. John headed for the Lounge, only to find it empty as well. He got into the elevator and as it rose, prayed long and hard for his and Alan's safety. When the lift reached the cockpit, he caught a brief glimpse of his brother through the window before the door slid open. Alan was in the pilot's chair, slumped over the Control Panel.

John crept nearer and found that his brother was, indeed, breathing, and besides being drenched in sweat, seemed to be okay. He pushed a few buttons on the small panel attached to his left arm and heard the metal grabs unlocking from the ship's hull. Then he keyed the release commands that would allow Thunderbird 3's engines to fire. Moving as gently and quietly as he could, John then picked Alan up and laid him on the floor.

Seating himself in the pilot's chair, John started Thunderbird 3 and maneuvered her so she was docked properly, her nose tucked securely into the side of Thunderbird 5. He then went about the task of getting his brother into a space suit.

Holding a syringe filled with 10 cc's of the liquid from the bottle Brains had almost smashed, Tin-Tin tiptoed into the hall...and ran smack-dab into Virgil Tracy.

She gasped. "Oh! Virgil!"

"Tin-Tin? What's going on?"

"What?"

Virgil yawned. "I feel like I've been asleep for a hundred years. What's in the syringe?"

Well, he seemed to be acting normal enough, but Tin-Tin was confused. "The antidote."

"Antidote? To what?"

"To the virus."

"What virus? Tin-Tin, what are you talkin' about?"

She blinked, staring up into his eyes. "The virus you and the others contracted on Cumbaquay."

"We contracted a virus?"

"Don't you remember not feeling well? Getting angry? Any of it?"

"Cumbaquay. Sure, I remember using the Muncher to get through the jungle. Alan tranquilized the dogs, we loaded the injured onto Med 1 and Umbabwe attacked Gordon and me before killing himself by jumping from a tree. Then Gordon, Alan and I took the Cumbaquayans to a hospital in Peru."

"And?"

"And what? Tin-Tin, what's going on?"

A voice from behind Virgil startled them both. "That's what I'd like to know. Where is everyone?"

"Gordon?!?" Tin-Tin saw that he, too, looked perfectly normal. They both looked a little confused, but other than that, Tin-Tin could find no trace of the lunacy she'd both heard about and borne witness to.

Gordon peeked around Virgil and saw the syringe in Tin-Tin's hand. "Who's getting the shot?"

"Oh, my gosh, Brains!"

"What about him?" Virgil asked.

"He's got it! He's got the virus! This...this is his antidote...where is he? Where did he go?"

"What virus?" Gordon asked.

"He's in danger, we have to find him!"

"Okay, Tin-Tin, okay, calm down. We'll go find him," Virgil soothed.

"But...no, you can't, you're infected, too, there's no telling what you'll do!"

Gordon and Virgil exchanged glances. Why was Tin-Tin acting so...crazy?

"Listen, Tin-Tin, I feel fine." Off her look, Gordon added, "Honest, I do."

"So do I," Virgil put in.

"But...I don't understand..."

"Neither do we, obviously. But if you say Brains is in trouble, let's go find him. All right?"

She nodded, following the boys down the hall.

"Where should we look first?" Gordon asked.

"Probably his laboratory," Tin-Tin replied, still trying to figure out what was going on.

"Right. Let's go."

Inside Thunderbird 5, John battened down the hatches and prepared to maneuver the space station back into its proper position. But when he flipped the switch that should've started the engines, nothing happened.

"Oh, no," he breathed. Next he tried turning on the gravity compensators. Nothing. The oxygen. Negative. "I must've blown them all out," he said to himself. "Now what?"

He turned when something bumped into him from behind. To his surprise, it was Alan, fully awake and trying his best to stay in one place in the zero G of the station.

"John?"

"Alan?"

"What's goin' on? How the heck did I get up here?"

"You don't remember?"

Alan shook his head. "And why are we in space suits on Thunderbird 5?"

"Cumbaquay? The virus? Hijacking Thunderbird 3?"

"Cumbaquay I remember. What virus? And what do you mean hijacking Thunderbird 3? Who hijacked it?"

"Uh...you did."

"You're puttin' me on."

"Listen, Alan, I don't have time to explain this right now. I honestly don't think I could even if I tried. We have to get Thunderbird 5 back into orbit."

"Why's she out of orbit?" Alan frowned. What the hell was going on?

"Later, I'll explain later. The rockets won't fire, but I have an idea. I'll need your help."

Gordon, Virgil and Tin-Tin made their way down the steps to Brains' lab. Halfway down, they heard glass shattering and someone yelling at the top of his lungs. They raced the rest of the way down and back into Beaker Room, as Brains called it. Gordon and Virgil skidded to a halt, causing Tin-Tin to run right into their backs.

"Brains?!? What are you doing?" Gordon asked.

For as they watched from the doorway, Brains was dropping and throwing any flask, beaker or container he could get his hands on to the floor and against walls. He was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"FINE! REJECT YET ANOTHER PROPOSAL, MR. TRACY!!! NEVER YOU MIND THAT I'VE SPENT SIX MONTHS WORKING ON IT!"

Virgil and Gordon skittered out of the doorway, pulling Tin-Tin with them, just as a vial of blue liquid sailed their way. It flew through the opening, landing on the floor. CRASH! POOF! And a small cloud of smoke rose into the air.

"That was close," Virgil said. "What's going on with him?"

"It's the virus, I've been trying to tell you. He's infected with the virus."

"What virus, Tin-Tin? I don't understand."

The confusion plain on Tin-Tin's face slowly dissipated as one thought occurred to her...then another...then another...until at last she shrieked, "I think I have it! I think I have it!"

"Have what?"

"Quickly, the sedative. We have to give Brains the sedative!"

"I'm getting tired of asking you 'What?' all the time," Virgil remarked.

"Never mind, we have to do this first, then I can try to explain," she replied, heading for a locked cabinet in the next room. She returned in less than a minute holding a syringe containing an amber liquid. "Now, I'll need your help. I can't possibly give this to him in his present state of mind."

"What do you want us to do?" Gordon asked.

"Hold him down."

"But he's flinging acid and God-knows-what-else all over the place in there!"

"Gordon, please, it's his only chance. If we don't get this sedative into him, he could very well try and kill himself."

"Kill himself?" Virgil asked, his voice rising in pitch.

"I know what you can do," Tin-Tin said. "Put on the hazard suits we keep down here. That way if he does get you with something, it won't harm you."

"Good idea," Gordon replied, heading for the closet.

"Thunderbird 3 calling Thunderbird 5. You reading me?"

"Loud and clear, Alan. You ready?"

"I sure hope this works."

"Yeah. If it doesn't, we're gonna rip Thunderbird 3 to shreds. You're certain you wanna try it?"

"F.A.B. On a 5-second countdown. Ready?"

"Ready."

"5...4...3...2...1...0!"

Alan threw Thunderbird 3's retros on, full-throttle. At the exact same moment, on the other side of Thunderbird 5, John wrenched two manual levers from 'Closed' to 'Open', one with each hand. This act jettisoned the coagulant compound from Thunderbird 5's double walls as well as plasma from the golden meteor deflector surrounding the great space station. The combined force of the releasing weight and Thunderbird 3's retros were enough to begin moving the satellite back the way it had come.

"Still in one piece?"

"Yeah, Alan. Still in one piece. Think you'll be able to pull her back into orbit?"

"Piece of cake."

John smiled. "Right. Piece of cake."

"Father's sure going to be pissed about all the damage."

"I don't think he will. Not after he finds out you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Never mind."

"Quickly!" Tin-Tin urged as Gordon and Virgil appeared wearing blue hazard suits. She had put on a mask and gloves, just to be on the safe side.

The men nodded and entered the Beaker Room, only to be pummeled with all manner of lab equipment. Ducking and running, they were soon one on each side of Brains, and before Tin-Tin could even blink, had grabbed hold of his arms.

"LET ME GO!" Brains yelled. "LET ME GO!!!"

"Come on, Brains, knock it off," Virgil said. "Tin-Tin!"

"Yes, here, hold his arm out for me, Virgil."

As much as he struggled, Brains hadn't a hope of getting free from both Tracy boys. Virgil succeeded in holding his arm fairly still, long enough for Tin-Tin to jab a needle into it. In a second, Brains went limp between them.

"Whew..." Tin-Tin breathed. "Let's get him to his room."

Virgil lifted Brains into his arms and carried him halfway up the steps to the landing, turning right to enter his bedroom. Tin-Tin turned back the covers and Virgil laid Brains gently on his bed. She then removed the engineer's shoes and glasses before Virgil tucked him in.

"Now, Tin-Tin," Virgil said as they left the room, "would you mind telling us what in blazes is going on here?"

A voice from the top of the stairs echoed down, surprising all three. "Hellooooo down theeeeeeeere!"

"Yeah, Scott, right here," Gordon replied.

"What're you guys all doin' down there? Nobody's up here minding the store."

"Oh, Scott," Tin-Tin sighed as she pulled off her mask and gloves.

"We'll be right up!" Virgil said.

"Thunderbird 5 calling International Rescue."

"There's no answer," Alan remarked as he bounced through the airlock. There really wasn't any point in sealing it, but he did just the same.

"So I noticed. I sure hope they're all okay down there."

"John."

"What?"

"Are you ever gonna tell me what happened?"

"Okay. Hang on. Thunderbird 5 calling International Rescue. This is Thunderbird 5 calling Base. Come in, please."

Silence.

"John?"

"All right, all right. The long and short of it is this: the four of you went on a rescue in Cumbaquay, right?"

"Right."

"You tranqued some dogs and delivered victims to a hospital. Right?"

"Right."

"Then what happened?"

"Uh...well, uh...I woke up here?"

John shook his head. "No, Alan, you got sick. All of you. It's some sort of virus from Cumbaquay. I don't know all the details, but you went crazy."

"I did?"

"You all did. Even Father contracted it. You stole Thunderbird 3 and he asked me to try and stop you."

"I stole my own space ship?" Alan's look was one of utter confusion. He truly hadn't a clue what had really happened. "And how the heck did you stop me?"

John shook his head. "Luck, bro. Pure luck."

"We did WHAT?!?!" Gordon screeched.

Scott and Virgil tried not to laugh, as Gordon turned very, very red.

"I'm sorry, Gordon, but that's the truth. When Mrs. Tracy, Father and I returned from our shopping expedition, we entered the Lounge to find you and Alan standing here with no clothes on. It seemed as though you were all fighting."

"But how come we don't remember any of this?" Scott asked. "And why do I have this blistered mark around my neck?"

"I don't know, Scott. Whatever that mark is from must have happened while Brains and I were on Cumbaquay gathering the plant. As for why you don't recall any of this, the only thing I can think of is that the virus somehow caused a form of amnesia. Would the three of you mind if I took blood samples from you? I need to see if you're still infected."

"Infected with what?" came a voice from the hall.

Tin-Tin jumped and turned to find Jeff Tracy entering the Lounge.

"Mr. Tracy?"

"What on Earth was I doing asleep in bed, in my clothes nonetheless, in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Well, Dad," Gordon replied, "It's kind of a long story."

"Oh, my God," Alan breathed when John finished telling him everything. Everything he knew, anyway.

"You can say that again. Thunderbird 5 calling International Rescue."

"Here, John."

"Father? Father!"

"Yes, John, I'm here. Is Alan with you?"

"Right here, Father."

There was a moment of silence. None of them really knew what to say. Given what John had told Alan, and what Tin-Tin had relayed to those on Earth (for the time being leaving out the part about Gordon confessing his love to her), they were not only perplexed, but embarrassed as well.

In his best Desi imitation, Scott said, "I guess we got some 'splaining to do."

CHAPTER FIVE

One year earlier...

A man with ginger-colored hair and a moustache to match looked up from checking his chronometer for the hundredth time in the last half-hour to see a short Peruvian man making his way through the crowd. As the man passed him, he nodded his head almost imperceptibly.

"Arrgh, he's late," the ginger-haired man growled to himself. He took one last look 'round Pennsylvania Station in New York City. The station had formerly been one of the largest hubs for railroad trains in North America. But over the years, monorails had become the ground transportation of choice, and trains that ran on regular rails phased out until only a scant few remained, mostly for tourists and those who were nostalgic for the old days.

Today's Penn Station looked precisely as it had when the last ground train chugged out more than ten years before. Oh, it was a bit more modern, but it still drew throngs of travelers taking the Long Island Express Monorail out to the landmass east of New York City, or the Amtrak Monorails that departed at all hours for nearly every city in North America.

The ginger-haired man followed the elderly South American native through the station's large center, carefully keeping enough distance so as to thwart anyone who might be watching. They reached a door that looked as though it hadn't been opened in over twenty years. The Peruvian man struggled a bit, but finally pushed it open enough to squeeze through. The ginger-haired man soon followed.

He found himself on a large staircase cut from natural limestone, leading below ground, down many hundreds of feet into the deserted tunnels that used to be home to New York's famous subway trains. Those, too, had phased out in favor of monorails. Now the tunnels stood eerily still, lined with aged and dirty posters that had once advertised the latest movies and Broadway shows.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, he kept his counterpart in view as they lowered themselves onto the subway track and walked for what seemed like miles and miles. Just when the ginger-haired man thought he was being had, the man in front of him leapt up to a small side ledge with surprising dexterity and disappeared behind a metal door.

Grasping his holstered machine pistol's handle just in case, he climbed up to the ledge and approached the door. He was surprised as he peeked into the room. For it was spacious, larger than he would have expected to find down among these tunnels. And it was filled to the brim with metal tables, upon which sat all manner of rather old scientific equipment for use in experiments: everything from Bunsen burners to Erlenmeyer flasks, from beakers and vials to microscopes and Petrie dishes.

The Peruvian man waited patiently on the other side of the room next to yet another metal table that held two bottles...one full of an almost neon-yellow liquid and its companion equally as full of an amber-colored liquid. The ginger-haired man curled his upper lip in appreciation...but strangely enough, to the Peruvian man, it didn't look like his mouth had moved at all.

"As promised," the elderly man said softly, bowing low.

"And you are certain the outcome will be as discussed."

"Yes. The yellow mixture carries a variation of the virus of the Corginus Machinis plant, a rare species found in only one place in the world. The virus will remain dormant until it enters the bloodstream."

"And once there, it attacks the neurons," the ginger-haired man continued, "slowly driving its victim to insanity."

"Indeed. All who have been given this virus have dishonored themselves by ending their own lives."

A low, evil laughed echoed off the room's concrete walls. "That is so perfect! It is, as they say, poetic justice. And what of the second liquid?"

"Our people have guarded this secret for thousands of years," the Peruvian man replied. "In the days of our ancestors, it was used only after portions of memory had been damaged accidentally, or, in cases of torture, by electro-shock and chemical therapy. The patients who suffered temporary amnesia prior to receiving this potion were affected most brutally."

"Tell me once more how it works. I must envision my triumph in my own mind."

The man bowed again before continuing. "If short-term memory has been damaged or lost, the organisms living within this mixture attach themselves to those portions of the brain which are no longer operating properly. They feed upon memory cells...but only memory. No other functions are impaired. It takes less than one week for the patient to move from short-term amnesia into long-term permanent memory loss. By the sixth day, their condition is irreversible. Their memories are lost to them forever. My ancestors used this potion to enslave their enemies and traitors to the dynasty. It was...most effective."

The menacing laugh rang out again. Even the elderly man got chills. It sounded like pure evil, and he was glad he would not have to see this man again after the completion of this transaction.

"Very well. You have given me the means to destroy my greatest enemies. Here is your payment."

But the Peruvian man saw no briefcase or container of any kind. He looked confusedly at the ginger-haired man. "Where? Where is the payment?"

"Right..." the man replied, digging his fingers into his neck, "...here!"

Before the elderly man knew what was happening, the ginger-haired man had quite literally ripped his face off and flung it across the room. He could only stare as the pleasant face of the buyer gave way to a smooth pate, large black beetle eyebrows and dark, slanted eyes. His appearance gave new meaning to the word sinister.

"What? What is going on? Who are you?"

His voice now thick with an unidentifiable accent, he growled, "You do not need to worry about who I am. You will never have to worry about anything ever again, my friend."

The man stumbled backwards into the corner of the room, where he cowered, trembling like a child. Suddenly the bald man's eyes began to glow. The Peruvian man could not look away from them. They were mesmerizing. He stared and stared, slowly feeling a dark cloud form over his mind, bringing coherent thought to a standstill. He felt his legs and arms grow weak until they no longer supported his body. Sinking to the floor, he swayed for a moment or two before tumbling into darkness.

Smiling most unbecomingly, the man with the glowing eyes pulled his machine pistol from its holster. He leveled the gun at the prone figure in front of him, and without hesitation, fired once, killing the elderly man with a single bullet to the brain.

The dirty work finished, he looked 'round the room until his eyes rested upon an old brown leather satchel. "Perfect," he said, retrieving it quickly. He returned to the metal table and the two bottles of deadly liquid sitting atop it. The evil one began to laugh once more, a low rumble beginning at the base of his torso and bubbling up through his chest like putrid tar until it spewed from his mouth, resulting in a most distasteful sound.

"At last," he spoke with barely contained glee, "at last I will put a stop to you once and for all. You haven't got a prayer, International Rescue!"

Eleven months, three weeks and six days later...

"There you are," he said quietly, peering out the windows of the cockpit. "Right where the ancient maps said you would be."

A small two-person sea plane overflew a lush, tropical island two hundred miles west of the country of Peru. Its pilot, a forty-something man with dark blonde hair and bushy blonde eyebrows grunted as he made a U-turn and flew back over the island once more. Its beaches were pristine white, the water surrounding it clear and blue. Not thirty feet back from where the ocean touched the sand, a dense jungle began. This jungle covered four-fifths of the island, but the man could see small paths that had been cut through the undergrowth.

He could also see clearings here and there throughout the tropical forest. In each of these clearings was a cluster of huts, sometimes as few as three stood together, sometimes as many as eight or nine. He saw dark people running out of them as he zoomed overhead. From his height, they were no larger than ants. He knew they were watching him, but he also knew it did not matter. These were primitive people. They didn't have a communications system to speak of. It was only through diligent research and traveling to the ends of the Earth that the blonde man had even been able to discover its location.

"It is perfect," he grunted. "It has been almost a year to the day, but my tireless efforts shall soon bear fruit. And if what that cripple told me was true, there should be, somewhere on this island, those creatures who will become the vessel for a plague to end all plagues. A plague to end International Rescue!"

The man steered his plane away from the island, heading due east toward the coast of Peru. As he flew, he recalled how 'willing' the man had been to pass along the secrets of Cumbaquay, secrets that had been kept for almost six years. The pilot's eidetic memory recalled every word of what had been relayed in dramatic story-telling style. Even now he could picture the man with coffee-colored skin as he sat in his wheelchair, staring helplessly into mesmerizing golden eyes he could not ignore. Finally, he'd told the blonde man something he claimed he'd never told another living soul.

"Shining like a jewel among the azure waves of the Southern Pacific lies an island untouched by time, untouched by human technology and advancement. It is a small island with a small population of indigenous peoples. This tribe has lived and flourished on the island of Cumbaquay for over a thousand years, since the time of Separation, when the island broke apart from the mainland of South America and slowly drifted away until at last it came to settle in its present location."

"Yes, a beautiful tropical island. The virus is native to this place, so I will never be suspected. It will be known as a world tragedy, but a naturally occurring one...and at last I will be rid of you!"

"Almost forty years ago, a sojourner happened upon this island. But she was met with a most deadly fate. It would be thirty-four years before another soul would lay eyes upon this enchanted place. A small party of four adventurers had set sail from Peru on an old schooner that they had restored themselves. They chanced upon a storm, which tossed their ship hopelessly in the water until at last it crashed upon the shores of Cumbaquay. Two of the men were washed overboard during the storm. The third did not survive the impact. The fourth man survived, but was rendered crippled and sightless in one eye. That survivor was me."

"Ah, yes...and the other passengers," the blonde man chuckled. "They are the ones I seek now."

"I spent six months with these natives, who were most hospitable and friendly. We developed a rudimentary understanding of one another, enough so they were able to convey their remarkable history to me. As time passed, I grew restless for my own people. Even my dog Sascha could not lift my spirits after so long without my family. The dogs of my companions - two Dalmatians, a Labrador Retriever and an Irish Wolfhound - had all survived the storm with me, and they kept Sascha and I company, but it was not enough. I longed for home. In their infinite generosity, several Cumbaquayans were able to create a modest dinghy using palm leaves and other flora that flourished on the island. At my insistence, they launched me into the vast ocean. Three days later, nearly dead, I was plucked from the sea by a passing World Navy ship. I had to leave my beloved Sascha behind with those who had been the companions of my friends...my friends who were long dead. The Cumbaquayans promised they would see our dogs were fed. To this very day, I wonder if they are still alive."

"As do I," he replied to his thoughts as he approached land. "As do I."

One hour later...

The blonde man could barely contain himself as he neared the island of Cumbaquay with his precious, but deadly, cargo. Sophisticated monitoring equipment located within his hideout seven miles inland from the beaches of Peru had picked up five distinctly canine life forms on Cumbaquay. His plan was coming together quite nicely.

He made a perfect landing on the surface of the calm ocean about five miles west of the unsuspecting island. Releasing a small boat from where it had been tied to the bottom of the sea-going plane, the man then hauled two large plastic bags, weighing nearly fifteen pounds each, out of the small cargo hold, dumping them into the boat. He then hopped in himself, started the small motor and sped toward the island.

Once ashore, he carried the bags about ten feet up the beach before ripping them open with a switchblade knife. He arranged the contents into a two-foot long straight line before balling up the used bags and backing away.

Suddenly the man lifted a small silver object to his lips. Taking a deep breath, he blew into the object. It didn't make a sound...at least not one he himself could hear. He stood there for ten full minutes, continually blowing into the object until at last he heard rustling noises. They were coming closer and closer, and finally he heard the sound he'd been hoping to hear.

Barking.

He scurried back to his boat and started the engine, gaining a safe distance between himself and the beach. He watched as five domestic...yet alarmingly thin...dogs came bounding along the beach barking and howling. One who seemed to be the leader, the one the blonde man knew was Sascha, approached what the man had left behind. He sniffed carefully and recognized a scent he had not smelled in a very, very long time.

Raw beef. Pounds and pounds of it. With a delighted yelp, Sascha began ripping into the meat, devouring all he could get his chops around. His four companions broke into a run and were soon joining him in this all-too-rare feast.

The blonde man laughed quietly as headed his small craft for the airplane that floated nearby. "Yes, my canine friends, eat up. Eat well. Enjoy your meal. Enjoy every...last...bite."

Sascha and the other dogs had not been this ecstatic since long before they'd come to be on this island six years ago. There was no beef to be had here...very little meat of any kind, actually. The carnivore in them did not notice that the beef had a slightly odd flavor to it. Even if they had been able to comprehend such things, they would have had no idea that what they were eating had been marinated by the man who had left it there for them. Marinated for two weeks in a liquid the color of neon yellow.

Before the blonde man had even started the engines of his plane, the dogs had finished their surprise meal. Beneath their fur, beneath their skin, beneath sinewy muscle...something slowly stirred to life. Rushing through capillaries, veins and arteries, something awoke from a long, long slumber. Something that hungered for one thing and one thing only. In each dog's mind, a slow transformation had begun.

As they ambled lazily away from the beach into the jungle behind them, the friendly dogs could not have known that merely ten hours later, they would eat again...only this time, their feast would be on human flesh.

Present day...

It took just over a week, but Brains, John and Alan had successfully returned Thunderbird 5 to normal. Her plasma-cored localized field meteor deflector was functioning perfectly, as were the artificial gravity and life support systems. The double walls surrounding the space station had been refilled with coagulant compound that would seal micrometeorite punctures to prevent air leaks. Thunderbird 5 was, once more, fully operational. Alan remained on board for his tour of duty, while John and Brains returned to Earth in Thunderbird 3.

While they had been toiling far out in space, the rest of International Rescue had spent long hours trying desperately to remember the events of the week before. It took Scott several days to come to terms with the fact that he'd attempted to hang himself in the roundhouse.

"I just don't understand, Father," Scott had said as the two relaxed on the patio one evening. "Committing suicide - it's unthinkable! It's so out-of-character for me. For any of us!"

"You're right, Scott. But from what little we know, it seems all of us were acting somewhat out-of-character. Virgil and Gordon said Brains was mad as a hornet, yelling something about me rejecting one of his designs."

"Well, you know, Father, he is a genius. Rejecting his work must feel to Brains like you're rejecting him."

Jeff sighed. "I suppose so. But when it just doesn't fit my vision, I can't see spending millions of dollars to build it."

"I'm sure Brains understands that. And what of that bruise on Gordon's stomach?"

"We still don't know how that happened, but it sure is a nasty one."

"Tin-Tin told me you were tossing and turning in your sleep after they'd given you the sedative. She said you looked very angry."

"Yes, well, it seems anger was one of the effects of this virus. I sure wish Brains were here now investigating the whole thing. It's disconcerting to have no idea what happened."

"I know, Father. We could've compromised International Rescue and not even know it!"

"Now, don't worry, son. Tin-Tin remained unaffected, and she's certain we didn't do anything like that. I'm sure if we had done something to jeopardize our security, it'd be all over the television by now. I would hope that no matter how insane we might have become, that we never would've betrayed our first and foremost loyalty."

"Then again," Scott replied, staring out at the moonlight sparkling upon the ocean, "who would've thought I'd betray my own life?"

Upon their return from Thunderbird 5, Brains immediately sequestered himself in his laboratory, allowing only Tin-Tin to enter when he required assistance, or to bring him meals and coffee. Jeff knew better than to bother his engineer. He knew Brains was desperate to recover the lost hours, recover their memories and determine what had happened, what had almost destroyed them. Hell, they all wanted to know that, but Jeff knew that for a mind like Brains', it was unacceptable not to have all the answers.

Deep within the bowels of Tracy Island, Brains worked non-stop. Occasionally he'd catnap, but for the most part he stayed awake for hours on end. After two days, he'd discovered something alarming...something that made goose bumps break out all over his body and his hair stand on end.

Up in the Lounge, every member of the household was present save Kyrano and Grandma. Tin-Tin and Gordon talked quietly, mostly about news reports surrounding the events on Cumbaquay. She still hadn't told him of his confession, but to her own mind it was moot to do so. It would only embarrass Gordon and make them all uncomfortable.

Scott leaned against the piano listening as Virgil toyed with a new composition. When Virgil wanted to think, he would write music. It always served to bring order and clarity to his thoughts. Equally therapeutic for Scott was listening as his brother's musical aptitude gave birth to sweet new melodies and harmonies. He'd been known to stand at the piano for hours as Virgil brought forth a new creation.

Jeff toiled through paperwork related to one of the many business under the Tracy Enterprises umbrella. He found it difficult to concentrate, wishing he were able to do something more than nothing where the virus was concerned. John was seated at his desk with him, helping him review the latest financial indicators. When his eye wasn't glued to a telescope, John enjoyed immersing himself in the business world. Of all the Tracy brothers, he had the best head for following in the public footsteps of his father.

A thunderous sound shook everyone from their quiet pursuits as Brains blasted into the Lounge nearly as fast as Thunderbird 1. He panted from the exertion of having sprinted from his lab and was waving a paper around in the air as he landed in front of Jeff's desk.

"Good heavens, Brains, what's got into you?" Jeff asked.

"I--pant--found--pant--something--pant--you--pant--must--pant--see."

"Well, what is it?"

Brains thrust the paper right down in front of Jeff, jabbing his finger at the diagnostic readout it contained. "There!"

"What am I looking at?"

His breathing finally slowed, allowing Brains to speak with only the usual amount of stammering. His voice still rang with the excitement of discovery and something else...fear, perhaps? "The virus, Mr., uh, Tracy. The virus - it's different. It's different!"

"In what way, Brains?"

By now, everyone had gathered in a semicircle to listen.

"I was working on a sample of the virus from the plant Tin-Tin and I picked up on Cumbaquay. I remembered the sample I had taken from Virgil after he'd already been infected."

"You saw me infected?" Virgil asked.

Brains turned to look at him and blushed. "Y-Yes, I did, Virgil."

"Why didn't you tell me? What did I do? What did I say?"

"I-It's really unimportant now. W-We can, uh, talk about it later." Virgil nodded as Brains turned back to Jeff. "I extracted two active viral cells from the blood sample and, just for curiosity's sake, compared them with viral cells from the Corginus Machinis."

"And?" Jeff barked impatiently.

"They're different!"

"What?" Scott gasped. "Brains, are you sure?"

"Quite, Scott. Quite. The difference is so infinitesimally small that I almost missed it altogether."

"What does that mean, Brains?"

"It means, uh, Tin-Tin, that the virus which infected Virgil is not exactly the same as the virus from the plant."

"Could it have mutated?" Gordon asked.

"I don't believe so. I've had the virus from the plant incubating in a sample of Virgil's blood that Tin-Tin took after we all woke up with no symptoms. Thus far, the virus has not mutated in any way...just multiplied. But I can only keep them alive for a few hours. For some reason, they die after that."

"But it stayed alive in these guys for more than just a few hours," John noted.

"Perhaps it has something to do with what you discovered earlier, Brains," Tin-Tin said thoughtfully. "It seems this virus attacks the neurons. Without whatever nourishment it gains from them, it cannot survive after being activated, even if it is within the bloodstream."

"Exactly," Brains nodded.

"But what about these discrepancies?" Jeff asked, studying the diagnostic. "You're not suggesting Virgil was infected differently than the rest of us?"

"I can't be certain, Mr., uh, Tracy, without having samples of your blood when the virus was in your system. But I can say with certainty that Virgil's virus did not come from Corginus Machinis."

"Then where did it come from?" Virgil asked.

"I must run a few more tests to be certain, but I think it was altered."

"Brains, do you realize what you're saying?" Scott asked incredulously.

The engineer nodded. "Indeed I do, Scott. The virus that infected Virgil was, somehow, genetically altered."

Jeff stared at his reflection in Brains' glasses. "Then you mean those dogs got the virus because..."

Brains removed his horn-rimmed glasses, looking his employer right in the eye. "...because someone gave it to them," he finished.

As if he had not been so before, Brains stepped up his efforts trying to determine the source of the altered virus. Tin-Tin and Scott were by his side constantly, doing everything they could to increase the pace and help him reach his goal.

Their goal.

Jeff most definitely could not concentrate on work now. If everything Brains had said was true, and he had no reason to doubt it was, that meant someone had deliberately made those dogs sick. Eighteen innocent people had died. Four of his five sons, his engineer and he himself had nearly met the same fate. Could it have been a terrible accident? Or was it some madman who had designs on Cumbaquay for some reason?

Or...and this thought made Jeff shudder...was it someone who was trying to kill International Rescue?

A second thought followed this so quickly that Jeff almost didn't catch it. There was one man he knew wanted them gone more than anything. One man who'd been trying to steal their secrets since they'd begun operating. One man who seemed both evil and clever enough to try something of this magnitude.

"The Hood," he breathed.

"What'd you say, Father?"

The sound of John's voice brought Jeff out of his abstraction. "It's the only explanation that makes sense," he said, turning to his fair-haired son.

"What explanation is that?"

"The Hood."

John frowned, trying to fit the pieces together. An altered virus. Sick dogs. Dead people. International Rescue. His brothers become infected. They go insane. Scott tries to kill himself.

Recognition dawned, and John rose to his feet. "You mean he meant for us to die? Every last one of us?"

"It all makes sense. He wouldn't have any way of knowing one of you is always far above the Earth in Thunderbird 5. At least, I don't think he could possibly know that. He would assume we're all in one place together, and that if even one of us contracted the virus, the rest would soon follow."

"And we'd all be driven to madness, finally ending our own lives."

Jeff nodded. "This is serious, son. Deathly serious. I want you to gather everyone here. We need to have a talk."

"Okay, Father." John left in search of the rest of his family.

"Dammit!" Jeff cursed, pounding his fist upon his desk. "This one hit way too close to the mark. And all those people dead. The Hood must be stopped once and for all!"

Later that night...

A nondescript sedan pulled into the parking lot of a factory in Binger, Oklahoma. A large peanut-shaped sign covered with lights rested atop the factory roof, proclaiming it to be the home of Oklahoma Peanuts. At 5,075 square feet, the building was not as large as some factories of the day, but it had stood the test of time. Oklahoma Peanuts had been in operation for well over one hundred years, and though the times had changed, the building housing the successful company had not.

The motor was turned off and for a moment nothing moved. Then the car door opened and a blonde man with bushy blonde eyebrows exited. He looked around and, satisfied he was alone at ten minutes to midnight, pressed a button that popped the car trunk open. He fished around for a few moments before producing a knapsack, which he held carefully with one hand. Closing the trunk lid, he made his way up the front walk to the Main Entrance.

Pete Grayson, the guard on duty at Oklahoma Peanuts that night, had seen the headlights of the car as it entered the parking lot. He didn't think a lot of it, as teenagers were frequent nighttime visitors to this rather remote area. There wasn't much to do in Binger but drink and make out, and Pete figured this car was carrying a load of kids bent on doing just that. He would do what he always did: give them about twenty minutes, then go out and embarrass the hell out of them before asking them to leave the property.

The guard was surprised, then, when he saw a man approaching the large glass double doors at the front of the factory. He was certainly no teenager, but why would anyone be here at this hour? The stranger knocked on the glass, and Pete hefted his considerable body up from his chair, and then ambled over to the door.

"What kin I do ya for, Mister?" Pete asked, keeping the safety of the locked door between them.

"I've had car trouble!" the man explained, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. "Might I use your vidphone to call for help?"

Pete nodded. The guy looked harmless enough. He certainly didn't look like someone who'd be in on spying for one of Oklahoma Peanuts' competitors. The guard pulled a ring of keys out from his pocket and unlocked the front door, then held it open for his uninvited guest.

"Car just shut down on ya?" he asked as he led the man to the guard station.

"Yes, er, it just shut down, as you say."

"Well, here's the vidphone, go ahead and give it a whirl."

"Thank you very kindly."

"No problem, Mister."

The stranger seated himself in a second chair behind the semicircular guard desk as Pete lowered himself into his own chair.

"You know, I'm not certain I remember the number I need to call," the stranger said, turning to look at the hapless guard.

Pete turned to face him. "Oh, that's no problem. I can get Gary out here with the tow truck for-" He was cut off in mid-sentence as the stranger's eyes began to glow yellow. He'd never seen anything like it. "What the--?"

The man didn't speak. His eyes just kept glowing as Pete's head wobbled, his mind becoming clouded as though a fog were descending over it. He tried to shake it off, but felt his body grow weaker and weaker until at last he slumped forward onto the desk.

"Good," the blonde man said as his fingers dug into his neck. "I will take care of you later. Now, I must find that well of yours."

He turned to a computer monitor as his hand pulled his face right off his head, blonde hair and all. The man revealed beneath was none other than The Hood. He punched a few commands into the computer console before finally finding the factory blueprints. Scanning them, he soon found what he was looking for.

"Ah, there it is. Now to put Plan B into motion."

The Hood rose from his chair, picked up his knapsack and headed for a hall leading to the south side of the building. As his footfalls echoed around him, he laughed maniacally, the sound slowly fading as he entered an elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator descended one floor to the basement of the old factory. When the doors opened, The Hood stepped out and looked around to get his bearings. "According to the blueprints, the well head should be just over there," he said, pointing to the left.

He made his way west along the wall until he came to a large metal structure that housed the pumping unit for water the factory pulled up from Rush Springs reservoir, a vast underground lake fed by fresh mountain springs at the head of Rush Creek, for which the town itself had been named back in 1889.

The Hood placed his knapsack on the floor, unbuckled it, and opened the flap. He removed a large round object that had a large magnet on one side and several buttons and light indicators on the other. Securing the object to the side of the wellhead, he pressed a few of the buttons, grabbed his bag and fled across the way to hide behind a large water tank.

In twenty seconds, a large explosion blew the wellhead to pieces. The Hood emerged from behind the tank and drew closer, surveying his handiwork. He walked right up to the edge of what was now a deep hole into the Earth, measuring five feet in diameter. "Perfect. Just as I anticipated."

He headed for a Control Panel about ten feet from the wellhead and removed a second object from his bag. This object was flat and rectangular, and he pressed it up against the Control Panel. Depressing a red button, he watched as the object began to click and whir, the panel behind it lighting up like a Christmas tree. At last a green button glowed, and The Hood hit it. With that one small touch, he gained access to all of Oklahoma Peanuts' systems.

It took him no more than ten minutes to shut down the water intake far below the ground. This meant that no water was being pulled into the well from the reservoir. From information he had gathered earlier in the week, The Hood knew the well tank beneath his feet held at least four hundred gallons of water. Just the right amount to suit his purpose.

Removing the last item from his knapsack, he slithered to the open wellhead and stood staring at the amber liquid contained within the bottle he held in his hands.

"Now, my little microscopic friends, you will be unleashed. I have kept you safe for over a year in anticipation of this very moment. Do well by me."

A wicked grin crept onto his face as he unscrewed the lid from the bottle. As he tipped the bottle over the edge of the hole, the grin widened. "Go well, my friends. For in a few hours, you will have the hosts you so desperately crave."

The amber liquid slowly began its journey out of the bottle's mouth. Gravity pulled it down, down, down over eighty feet until The Hood heard it splash into the water below. He began to laugh as he watched the bottle become emptier and emptier until the very last dropped was shaken from its tip.

"Now," he said, putting the bottle back into his bag, "we shall go and get our friend the guard."

Alan listened from his vantage point on the wall as Jeff Tracy explained to a room full of people his theory as to the origination of the entire ordeal that began on Cumbaquay.

When Jeff finished, Scott was the first to speak. "It makes a lot of sense, Father. We know The Hood's been out to get at our secrets from Day One."

"Yeah," Gordon piped up. "But who knew he would actually go so far as to murder us? I mean, if we're all dead, he'd never find our base anyway."

"Well, it is just a theory. But for some reason it's a theory that rings true to me," Jeff replied.

"If that's the case, Father, how do we know that any rescue we go on hasn't been created by this madman in hopes of killing us once we arrive?" Virgil asked.

"We don't," was Jeff's simple reply. "But we can't allow people to die for the sake of our own skins."

"It seems like the only way out of this predicament is to catch that bastard once and for all."

"My thoughts exactly, Scott. We've got to do something, or more people may die, and us right along with them."

"What'd you have in mind, Jeff?" Grandma asked.

"Nothing yet. But we're going to have to take extra precautions on every rescue from here on out." He stopped and frowned, looking around the room. "I was hoping Brains would join us so we could find out if he's come up with anything more on the virus."

"I-I have, in fact," came a voice from the hall. Everyone turned as Brains entered the room, looking decidedly bedraggled and unkempt.

"What have you found out, Brains?" John asked.

"I've been testing, uh, Tin-Tin's theory about why you all showed no symptoms of the virus after having been put to sleep with the sedative we gave you."

"And?" Jeff asked.

"Well, uh, Sir, it seems that Tin-Tin was correct."

"How so?" Alan asked from the wall.

"Since the, uh, since the virus must feed on firing neurons, when the conscious mind ceases to operate, such as happens during our normal sleep cycle, it, uh, it seems to lose its hold on the neurons and, with no food source, dies within minutes."

"But we still have neurons firing even when we're asleep," Tin-Tin challenged. "Why wouldn't the virus just attach itself to those?"

"I, uh, I'm not sure, uh, Tin-Tin. I haven't any viable neurons to use in my experiments. But my computer model suggests that this virus feeds only upon neurons in those parts of the brain which house emotion and rational thought. When you are asleep, you can still feel emotion, say, if you dream, but rational thought processes close down until you wake up."

"So you putting us to sleep was just the antidote we needed to shake this thing."

"It, uh, it would seem so, Scott."

"That still doesn't help us figure out how to find The Hood," Alan said.

"The Hood?!?" Brains exclaimed.

Jeff quickly filled him in on his theory, and then frowned as Brains retreated down the hall. "Where are you going?"

"T-To do some more research," Brains threw over his shoulder.

"To heck with The Hood, Brains is gonna kill himself without any help at all if he keeps this up."

"You may be right, Virgil, but you know as well as I do that he won't stop. Not until he gives us something that can help us," Jeff replied.

Alan turned away from the monitor and frowned. John noticed.

"What's up, Alan?"

"Hang on, there's an emergency call coming through."

Alan disappeared from view for a few moments. They could hear him speaking, but couldn't discern his words. When at last he reappeared, he looked pale.

"What is it, son?"

"A call for help, Father."

They all exchanged looks with one another. This was the first rescue call they'd received since Cumbaquay. The same thought settled into everyone's minds: could this be the Hood?

"What's the emergency?" Jeff asked.

"Oklahoma Peanuts, a factory located in Binger, Oklahoma, Father. The night guard has gotten stuck down a well. They've tried getting him out with conventional equipment, but apparently he's wedged in pretty tight. They don't have an underwater vehicle small enough to get at him from the reservoir below. They've asked for our assistance."

"Thunderbird 4 could do it," Gordon offered.

Jeff locked eyes with Scott. Although they were both worried, there was no question International Rescue would go.

"Okay, Alan, give Scott the details once he's airborne."

Alan hesitated a moment before replying, "F-A-B."

"All right, then, Virgil, Gordon, get Thunderbirds 2 and 4 up. John, go with 'em.”

“F.A.B.!" they replied.

Jeff turned to watch as Scott leaned against the wall and Virgil backed into the rocket picture. He then looked at Gordon and John as they entered Thunderbird 2's passenger elevator.

"And boys?"

"Yes, Father?" they asked in unison.

"For God's sake, be careful."

All nodded solemnly before disappearing from sight.

CHAPTER SIX

"What's the situation, Alan?"

"I've been speaking with the plant engineer, Scott. They're not sure how, but the factory's main wellhead blew. Apparently the night guard went to investigate and fell down the well."

"How deep is it?"

"Eighty feet. The guard's caught about seventy feet down."

"What's the well pumping from?"

"Rush Springs reservoir. It's a big underground lake."

"Is there a way for Gordon to get through?"

"Yes. There's an underwater entrance. He can gain access through the springs at the head of Rush River, according to the plant engineer."

"Well, this should prove fairly simple, then."

"Scott..."

"Yeah, I know, I know. I won't count my chickens. Thanks a lot, Alan. Feed Virgil the coordinates for the head of the river. I'll contact Thunderbird 2."

"F.A.B. Thunderbird 5 out."

"Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 2."

"Thunderbird 2 here."

"Okay, Virgil, now Alan's gotten some more information from the factory's engineer. We'll need you to drop Pod 4 at the coordinates Alan's feeding you."

"F.A.B., they're coming through now. What's the action?"

"Gordon will travel along the river in Thunderbird 4 until he reaches the underwater entrance to Rush Springs reservoir. From there he'll proceed to the well tank. He'll need to get up under the well in a dive suit. The guard's only ten feet up from the aperture. I think he can get him out without too much trouble."

"F.A.B., Scott," came Gordon's voice. "But I'd sure like to have an extra pair of hands."

"What about me?" John asked.

"Sounds good. You go with him, John. Meantime, Virgil, you meet me inside the factory. I'll have Mobile Control set up before you've even dropped Thunderbird 4."

"F.A.B. Estimated Time of Arrival now sixteen minutes. Thunderbird 2 out."

As he approached Binger, Oklahoma, Scott watched the patchwork of fields surrounding the area come into view. He smiled as it brought back memories of his family's old farm back in Kansas. Then he frowned as his neck tingled. He brought his fingers to the most offending point and scratched lightly.

The rope burns were healing, causing his skin to itch, but he was sure he looked a sight. Lady Penelope would never approve of his choice in accessories, he thought grimly, thinking how the marks left by the rope resembled a gruesome necklace. His frown deepened as these thoughts led his mind to wander inevitably to the Hood. He couldn't shake the feeling that this rescue sounded almost too easy.

"This is Thunderbird 1 of International Rescue calling Oklahoma Peanuts."

"This is Chuck Beasley, Plant Engineer. Boy, am I glad you're here. Pete's in a bad way down there."

"How so?"

"Well, he's an awfully big guy. He's stuck head upright far as we can tell. We lowered a mike down there a while back to try and make contact, but we could only hear breathing, and it's started getting pretty shallow. I think he's suffocating himself."

"Our underwater vessel should be arriving in a few minutes. Until then, I need some men out here to help me with my equipment."

"When are you arriving?"

"Right now," Scott replied, firing his retros. Thunderbird 1 came to rest gently in the parking lot. "I want someone to contact local law enforcement. Our craft must be guarded at all times."

"Right. The sheriff's right here, I'll let him know."

Five minutes later, three men approached Thunderbird 1, gaping openly at the magnificent rocket plane.

"Hi, thanks for your help," Scott greeted, shaking each of their hands in turn.

"Hey, anything we can do to help old Pete is okay by us. I'm Chuck Beasley."

"The plant engineer."

"Right. This is Mike," he said, nodding to a man about Scott's age who had dishwater blonde hair, "and Tom," he finished, nodding to the second man. Tom seemed like he was about Jeff's age, with salt-and-pepper hair and built just as sturdy.

"Okay, let's get my equipment into the plant. I want to be as close to the wellhead as possible. Will there be room?"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, it's in the basement. There isn't much else down there but water storage and treatment facilities and the guts of our processing plant. There'll be room."

In no time at all, Scott and the three burly men had Mobile Control set up not fifteen feet from the wellhead. Scott inspected the opening, but even with his high-intensity flashlight, could not see the guard trapped far below. He listened to the strangled sounds of Pete's breathing on headphones Chuck gave him, then took them off and headed back to his control unit.

"This is Mobile Control calling Thunderbird 2. What's your ETA?"

"Mobile Control from Thunderbird 2. I'm just about to land. Looks like the river isn't wide enough here to drop the Pod. Will have to position it on the bank so Thunderbird 4 can launch."

"F.A.B. When you get up here to the factory, bring the lifting gear, breathing apparatus and harnesses with you. The guard's having a hard time. We might have to do some work from this end before Thunderbird 4 gets to him."

"F.A.B. I've landed. Raising Thunderbird now."

"That's some sophisticated machine you have out there," Chuck said from over his shoulder. "I sure wish I could take a look at her engines."

Scott looked up at him warily, but was soon put at ease by the engineer's friendly, relaxed demeanor. "Sorry, no can do. Our Thunderbirds are top secret."

"I know, I know," Chuck smiled. "But a guy can dream, can't he?"

"Sure, no harm in that. What blew that wellhead, anyway?" Scott asked, walking around and looking at the bits and pieces scattered over the basement floor.

"Not sure. I was thinking pressure buildup, but the well tank isn't even full. And there isn't any water up here, so it couldn't have blown out."

"What are you saying? That it blew up?"

"Best I can figure. Must have been a flaw in it or something. Never had it happen before. It's a new wellhead, though, just went on a week ago."

"Hmm. I wonder..."

Thunderbird 2 elevated herself on four hydraulic legs, leaving her Pod below like a bird laying an enormous egg. The door of the Pod, covered with a large white number 4, opened slowly, meeting the edge of the river bank. A long metal track extended from inside the Pod out into the clear water below.

"Ready for launch?" Virgil asked through the com.

"F.A.B. Launching...now," Gordon replied as he brought the small submersible to life.

"I haven't been in this thing for a couple of years," John commented as his brother maneuvered the craft down the river. "And even then, it was only for some testing."

"Well, then, sit back and watch the expert," Gordon proclaimed, flashing him a grin. "You, uh...you do still remember how to dive, don't you, John?"

John's mouth dropped open to protest, then he saw the mischievous look on Gordon's face. "Very funny."

Having recollected its Pod, Thunderbird 2 lifted off and was landing in the factory parking lot within five minutes.

"Thunderbird 2 to Mobile Control."

"Mobile Control here."

"I've just landed. Will be with you in a few minutes. Going to collect rescue gear now."

"F.A.B. And hurry, Virgil. This guy's breathing sounds worse."

"F.A.B."

In precisely five minutes, Scott watched the elevator door open. Virgil exited and headed right for him, laden with all types of equipment. Scott turned and spoke into his mike.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird 4. How's it looking down there, Gordon?"

"Okay, Scott. We've just reached the reservoir entrance. According to my readouts, we have about seven miles to go before we're below you."

"Right. Now, when you arrive, it'll probably be as simple as you pulling the guard down through the pipe into the water, but it'll take both of you. I hear he's a pretty big fella."

"Is he conscious? Will he know to hold his breath?"

"No, he’s been unconscious since they found him. We'll have oxygen on him from up here by that time, so you'll just have to get him into Thunderbird."

"F.A.B. Will contact you once we've reached Danger Zone. Thunderbird 4 out."

"So, what's the action, Scott?"

"Well, Virg, one of us needs to get down there and secure a mask on him."

"Right. Shall we draw straws?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"No, that's okay," Scott replied, grinning. "I need to keep on top of Gordon. You go ahead."

"F.A.B!"

Virgil was soon inside the well pipe, his boots and hands keeping him from sliding downward. Scott attached the lead rope to four different buckles on the harness, then handed a mask and small oxygen tank to his brother.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I'd better go in headfirst. This pipe's only five feet wide. I doubt I can fold myself in half well enough to upend when I reach the guard."

"Right. Okay, Tom, Mike, Chuck. You wanna give us a hand?"

"Sure thing," Chuck replied. The three were instantly at his side. Scott handed them each a portion of the lead rope, while he kept the fourth.

"All right, 'round you go," he said.

Virgil hoisted himself up to the side of the pipe, swung his legs out and leaned over 'til the top half of his body was inside. "Okay!" his voice echoed. "Take me down!"

"Let's go," Scott said to the men helping him. "Inch at a time."

Slowly, ever so slowly, the men fed out their individual lines, and Virgil began his descent into the well. He felt the blood rush to his face, but ignored it, shining his flashlight directly beneath him. He lifted his chronometer to his face.

"Down about ten feet now," he said.

"How ya feelin'?"

"Major headrush."

"Can you see him yet?"

"Nope. Keep it going."

Twenty feet. Thirty feet. Forty feet.

"Scott, I see him!"

"How's he look?"

"Not too good," Virgil replied, noticing the blue tinge around the guard's eyes and lips even from this distance. "In fact, he's suffering from a severe lack of oxygen, from what I can tell. I'm gonna have to get this tank on him now instead of waiting."

"F.A.B. As soon as you reach him and secure yourself, I'll let Thunderbird 4 know."

"Right."

Ten more minutes found Virgil's head hanging mere inches above Pete's. "Stop!" Virgil said.

"You on him?"

"Yeah. Boy, Scott, he's in a bad way." Virgil reached out and touched Pete just under his ear. "He's still alive, but his pulse is faint."

"Do you see any way for us to haul him out through this end?"

"No, don't think so. His arms are wedged next to him against the wall. There isn't anywhere for me to secure him." Virgil reached out, grabbed the back of the guard's jacket, and pulled with as much strength as he could. "He's in tight, Scott. Looks like Thunderbird 4's our only hope."

"All right, let me check on their ETA. Secure yourself."

"F.A.B."

Scott handed Chuck his lead rope and headed for his station while Virgil attached four suction cups at each compass point on the well wall. The cups were attached to a belt around his waist, and would hold him in place should for any reason the people above let go the ropes. Once finished, he shone the light back on the guard's face.

"Hey, Pete, can you hear me?" he asked.

There was no reply.

"Hang in, buddy. We'll have you out of here but quick."

Virgil finally had a moment to realize what a tight fit it was inside the well pipe. He looked back down to Pete's face and said, "Sure is a good thing I'm not claustrophobic." He then set about the task of hooking Pete up to the oxygen tank. He hoped it would be good enough to keep him alive until Gordon and John arrived.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird 4."

"Right here, Scott. We were just about to call you. We've reached the intake, but it's closed. Can you get it open?"

"Chuck, can you get the intake opened up for my buddies down there?"

"Sure, but we'll have to close it right back up again. Without the wellhead to stop it, that water will rise up and flood the factory pretty quickly."

"Okay, Gordon, let me know when you and John are ready to go in. They'll open the valve for you, but once you're through they have to close it again."

"F.A.B. Setting Thunderbird down on riverbed now. Will call once we're in position."

Chuck handed one of his lead ropes to Tom, the other to Mike. They didn't really need to hold them now since Virgil was secure, but if those suction cups failed for any reason, these two men would be the only things keeping him from crashing headfirst into Pete.

John and Gordon, already wearing their wetsuits, donned their breathing equipment and left Thunderbird 4 through the topside airlock hatch.

"Keep your eyes open," John said as they neared the intake. "You never know if that creep's around here."

Gordon shivered involuntarily at the thought. "Yeah, I guess so. Ready to go?"

"Ready."

"This is Gordon calling Mobile Control."

"Receiving you."

"We're ready, Scott. Tell them to open the intake...now."

Scott turned and nodded to Chuck, who pressed a few buttons on a nearby Control Panel. "Okay, it's opening."

"Right. Gordon, tell me once you're through."

About thirty seconds later, John and Gordon had traversed the four-foot-long intake and found themselves inside the large Oklahoma Peanuts well tank.

"We're in, Scott!"

"Right, close the intake!"

Chuck immediately complied, and the valve was soon shut tight.

Gordon and John made their way to the top of the tank and found about three feet of open air between the water's surface and the top wall. Sliding their face masks aside, they shone flashlights around until Gordon finally spotted the well pipe.

"Scott, I see the pipe. We're heading over to it now."

"F.A.B."

Scott returned to the well opening and spoke into his chronometer. "Virgil, how's Pete doing?"

"Okay, I think. His color seems to be returning, but he's still unconscious."

"How about you?"

"Getting a little dizzy, but not too bad. Where are Gordon and John?"

"Coming up beneath you as we speak. You may need to help them out with a shove or two on the guard."

"F.A.B. Hey, I hear something."

"Must be them. Hang on." Scott returned to Mobile Control. "Gordon, John, Virgil thinks he can hear you. What's your position?"

"We're right under the pipe now. We can see the guard's feet--hey, what the heck was that?"

"Gordon? What is it?" Scott ask, brow furrowing.

Gordon and John frowned at one another as they heard something like a muffled explosion. Air bubbles broke the surface near where they'd entered.

"What's going on?" John asked.

"Don't know. Hey, does the water level seem to be rising to you?"

"Yeah, it--it does."

"Maybe the intake valve was opened again. Scott, did you guys open the valve?"

Scott turned to look at Chuck, who shook his head vehemently. "No, Gordon, why?"

"It sounded like there was an explosion, and the water in here seems to be rising now. We'd better get the guard out of here, and fast," Gordon replied. "If Virgil's still in that pipe, tell him to push like hell."

"An explosion? Well, what would cause that?" Scott asked of the plant's engineer.

"I don't know," Chuck replied. "We've never had a problem with the intake valve."

"Yeah, and you've never had a problem with the wellhead either. Until today."

"What are you getting at?"

"I don't know, but something just doesn't add up. Hey, Virgil!" Scott said into his chronometer.

"Yeah, Scott?"

"Start pushing. Something's happened below. Gordon and John heard some kind of explosion. It looks like the valve has blown and the water level's rising. We have to get Pete outta there."

Scott's unspoken thoughts settled onto Virgil like a huge weight. He knew instinctively what his brother was thinking.

"All right, Scott, I'm on it."

Virgil grasped Pete's shoulders firmly and began pushing as hard as he could. He could feel the guard move slightly, and figured John and Gordon must be working him from the other end. He soon latched onto their rhythm and matched it, pushing when they pulled.

"Okay, Gordon, let's each grab a leg and get this poor fella outta here," John said, reaching up the pipe.

"Right. I've got one."

"I've got the other."

"On three. 1...2...3!"

The two men yanked hard, budging the man only about an inch.

"Again!" Gordon said, and they pulled. "Again!" Pull. Get a better grip. Pull down. Hoist themselves up. Pull down. Hoist up. Pull down.

"Virgil must be pushing, I can feel him coming down," John said.

"This water's getting pretty high. We only have about a foot left. We should put on our masks soon."

"Right. But let's see if we can't get him out of...OOF!"

"John!" Gordon cried out as Pete came flying out of the pipe. He'd landed smack on top of John's head, propelling him down into the water of the tank.

"Gordon! What happened?" Scott yelled into his mike. When he received no response, he raced over to the well. "Virgil!"

"He's out, Scott, but I don't know what's going on. I can't see them."

Suddenly Gordon's face appeared right in Virgil's line of vision. In his arms was Pete the guard. "Virgil, I can't find John!" he yelled up.

"I'm coming!" Virgil yelled, releasing his suction cups.

"Virgil!" Scott yelled down the pipe.

Virgil pointed his arms in front of his body as he fell over ten feet into the cold water of the tank. When he opened his eyes, he couldn't see anything at first. Then a soft glow below him caught his eye, and he swam toward it. When he reached it, he saw it was an International Rescue flashlight. Beaming it around, he saw John floating not four feet away from him. Chest growing tight with the need to breathe, Virgil grabbed his brother's arms and swam for the surface.

Gordon watched anxiously, doing his best to keep hold of Pete while he waited for his brothers to reappear. It was less than a minute before the splash of water and the sound of someone gasping for air and coughing at the other end of the tank caught his attention.

"John?"

"I got him, Gordo," Virgil replied, panting. "But he's unconscious."

Gordon looked up into the pipe. "Scott! We need a mask!"

Scott almost didn't hear him, so faint was his voice, but he ran and grabbed an O2 tank and mask and held them over the well opening. "Coming down!" he called out.

They all heard the apparatus clang and clunk its way down the pipe until at last it landed with a splash in the water below. By this time, Virgil had reached Gordon and Pete, with John in tow.

"Is he all right?" Gordon asked.

Before Virgil could answer, John coughed and spluttered, water shooting from his mouth and nose. There was barely enough room now to keep their heads above water.

"Get his mask on!" Gordon said. "And here, Scott sent one down for you."

Virgil moved swiftly, securing John's facemask before donning his own. "Let's get outta here," he said.

"You guys okay?" Scott's voice wafted through their masks.

"Yeah, I think so," Gordon replied. "We're heading out. We'll need a pick-up."

"On my way."

Gordon hauled Pete below water back to the intake valve, while Virgil pulled John along. He was regaining his senses, but wasn't quite aware enough to be of any help. Once they reached the intake valve, Gordon whistled softly.

"What is it?" Virgil asked.

"Would you look at that?" Gordon said, shining his torch along the side of the valve mechanism. "It looks like it's been blown to bits."

"So Scott was right," Virgil breathed, recalling the telepathic connection he and his brother had made right after the explosion. "Is the way clear?"

"Yeah, looks like it. If this was The Hood, he didn't do a very good job of trapping us in here."

"May-Maybe he didn't...intend do," John breathed.

Gordon and Virgil looked at their brother, wondering what he meant, before continuing on their way.

"I heard all that," Scott said. "I'm in Thunderbird 2 now. I'll be landing river-side in five minutes to collect you. Watch yourselves down there, we don't know if he's still here."

"F.A.B.," Gordon replied.

The foursome returned to the submersible without incident. Gordon was soon revving up the engines, and Thunderbird 4 was on her way.

Scott watched as Thunderbird 4 moved up her track. The track then lifted and retracted into Pod 4, with Scott close on its heels. As the autolock door on the side of the cockpit opened, Scott raced up. "Virgil! John! You two okay?"

The men nodded as they supported Pete, one on each side. Gordon was behind them, holding Pete's legs.

"You mind...giving us...a hand?" Gordon ground out.

Scott smiled as he helped them get Pete out to the waiting ambulance. They didn't seem any worse for the wear, and he couldn't have been more pleased. Once Pete was loaded and on his way, Scott turned to his brothers.

"John? You all right? What happened?"

"Pete popped out unexpectedly. Cold-cocked me. Had a taste of Rush Springs mountain water, but I'll be fine."

Scott nodded before looking at Gordon. "I suppose you're fine, too."

"Sure thing, Scott."

"Virgil? You look like a drowned rat."

"Thanks a lot."

The men laughed as Scott closed the Pod hatch. They heard Thunderbird 2 moving down and before long, her clamps latched the Pod into place.

"Let's get back to the factory," Scott said. "We have to clean up before we can head home."

"I'll drive," Virgil said, heading for the cockpit.

Scott's hand reached out and grabbed his arm. "No, you don't. You'll make a mess in there. Get changed, you can fly her home."

Virgil grumbled good-naturedly, heading back the other way in search of clean, dry clothes. Gordon chuckled as he and John strapped themselves in. He happened to glance over at John as Scott brought Thunderbird 2 to life.

"Hey, John, you sure you're okay?"

"Hm? Oh, uh, yeah, I'm fine. Probably a mild concussion, you know how these things go."

"Well, we'll have Brains check you out as soon as we get home," Scott said. "In the meantime, you stay here while we gather our equipment."

"All right."

Scott and Gordon exchanged looks. It wasn't like their brother to be so complacent when being ordered to stay put. Maybe he'd gotten hit harder than he was letting on.

Having returned safely to Tracy Island, Brains fussed over John, who seemed even quieter than usual. Scott, Virgil and Gordon filled Jeff in on the details of the rescue while Tin-Tin and Alan listened.

"That intake valve was definitely sabotaged," Gordon said.

"It wouldn't surprise me if that wellhead was, too," Scott added.

"Yeah. And somehow I don't think Pete ended up in that pipe by accident. You ever see someone fall into a hole and wind up wedged in feet-first?"

"You all have a point," Jeff replied. "But it doesn't make sense. Why lure you there and then make such a weak attempt on your lives by releasing the intake valve?"

"You know, John said something about how maybe the Hood didn't intend to trap us in the tank," Gordon mused.

Jeff turned as Virgil shook his head. But not shaking it as though saying 'no,' shaking it as though trying to clear cobwebs from his mind. "Son?"

Virgil frowned as he looked at his father.

"You all right?"

"Uh, yeah, Father, I-I'm fine. I think I just need to go lay down for a bit."

"Maybe Brains should take a look at you, too."

Virgil nodded and headed off to the Sick Room.

"That's weird," Alan said from his vid portrait on the wall.

"What is?" Gordon asked.

"I've never known Virgil to agree to a check-up that easily."

"You're right, Alan," Scott replied. "And John, too. He was awfully quiet on the way home."

"Hm. I'll go speak to Brains and see what he's found." Jeff rose from his desk and strode toward the Sick Room.

Scott, Gordon and Tin-Tin frowned as Alan signed off. They were all thinking the same thing, but none of them could figure out how it was two and two kept adding up to six.

Jeff expected to see John lying on the bed when he arrived at the Sick Room. He was surprised, however, to find that not John, but Virgil was in that position, with Brains taking his temperature and blood pressure while John looked on.

"John? How are you feeling?"

"Oh, fine, Father, just fine. Brains says it's just a mild concussion."

"The boys said you were quiet on the way home."

"Yeah, I had one zinger of a headache, didn't feel much like talking. But Brains loaded me up with some ASA, and I'm fine now. I'm more worried about Virgil."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"I-I'm not sure, Mr., uh, Tracy. His vitals seem normal enough, but his eyes don't, uh, look quite right."

"Virgil?" Jeff asked, coming to the side of the bed. "How do you feel?"

"I-I don't know, Father, I'm a little...confused."

"About what?"

"That's just it, I don't know. I feel like I've forgotten something."

Jeff frowned. "Forgotten something?"

Virgil nodded. "Yeah, but I can't figure it out for the life of me."

Jeff patted his son's arm. "Don't worry, son, I'm sure you'll remember whatever it was. John, let's leave Brains to it."

"All right, Father. Hey, Virg?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"Saving my life."

"Oh, you're welcome," Virgil replied. Then he scrunched up his face in confusion as he watched his brother's lithe form retreat into the hallway. "Saving your life? What's he talkin' about, Brains?"

"You, uh, you dove into the well tank and pulled John out after he went under."

"I did what?"

CHAPTER SEVEN

Day One

"Mr., uh, Tracy, could I, uh, speak to you for a moment?"

Jeff removed his glasses and laid them on his desk. He could tell by his engineer's face that something wasn't quite right. "What is it, Brains?"

"Well, uh, it's about Virgil, Sir."

"What about him? Is he hurt?"

"I-I can't be certain, Mr. Tracy. But he seems to have forgotten the, uh, the rescue."

"Forgotten it?"

"Yes, Sir. John, er, thanked him for saving his life. Virgil asked me what he was talking about, so I told him that he'd pulled John from the well tank."

"And?"

"And he doesn't remember. He doesn't even remember going to, uh, Oklahoma Peanuts."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing."

"Any ideas?"

"Well, uh, the only thing I can think of is the virus."

"But I thought you said it was gone."

"It was...er...I mean, it is. I just finished testing a fresh sample of his blood for traces of it. It's not there."

"So you're saying this might be an aftereffect? Sort of a time-release symptom?"

"I just don't know. I don't have enough information on the Corginus Machinis virus to make an adequate assessment. Tin-Tin's down in the lab now running some tests to see if we can come up with anything more."

"Right. You let me know the second you find something. In the meantime, I'm going to check on Virgil."

"F.A.B," Brains replied, heading out of the Lounge.

Jeff sat back and scratched his chin in thought. Virgil couldn't remember the Oklahoma rescue? They'd only returned two hours ago. How in the world could he have forgotten?

Virgil heard a knock at the door and turned in bed so he could see who was coming.

"Hey, you. How're you doing?"

"Hi, Scott. Not too good, I'm afraid."

Scott saw the confusion in his brother's eyes and frowned. "Yeah, I was down in the Lab talking to Tin-Tin. She's testing your blood as we speak. She said something about your memory."

"Well, it's the darndest thing. Brains tells me we just returned from rescuing a guard stuck down in a well...but Scott, I don't remember any of it."

"You don't remember being down the well pipe?" Virgil shook his head. "Or diving into the tank when John went under?" He shook his head again. Scott cracked a smile. "Or the fact that I called you a drowned rat?"

"No, Scott," he replied quietly, pulling himself into an upright position. "I don't remember any of it."

Scott pulled a chair over next to the bed and seated himself, his eyes never leaving Virgil's. "Do you have any idea when this started? This memory loss?"

Virgil shook his head, looking down at his hands folded in his lap. "I know I started feeling funny when we were standing in the Lounge talking to Father. I remember us all being there, we were talking about...about...what were we talking about?"

"The Hood," Scott replied, growing more concerned with each passing moment. "How we thought the Hood had created the Oklahoma Peanuts rescue just to get us out there."

"Why would he do that?"

"Virg, do you remember Father's theory?"

"About what?"

"He thinks The Hood is the one who let that virus loose on Cumbaquay because he wanted to kill us."

Virgil looked into his brother's eyes once more, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "What virus?" he asked. "What's Cumbaquay?"

Jeff rose from his chair as Gordon entered the room. "Hello, son."

"Hi, Father. Wanna play a game of chess?"

"Not right now, Gordon. I need to have a visit with Virgil."

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know. Brains was just here, and told me Virgil doesn't remember the rescue."

"You mean the one we just returned from?"

Jeff nodded.

"What gives?"

"Brains isn't sure. He thinks it might be an aftereffect of the virus we had, but he and Tin-Tin are running more tests to try and figure it out."

Gordon frowned as he leaned against Jeff's desk. "Father, if it is something the virus left behind, we could all start forgetting things."

"I know, Gordon," Jeff replied grimly. "I know."

Having left Gordon in charge of Base Control for the moment, Jeff headed down the hall toward Virgil's room. He chanced upon John coming out of his own room.

"Hi, Father."

"Hi."

"How's Virgil?"

Jeff explained what Brains had said about Virgil's memory loss. "Say, you were a little out of it on the way home. Are you feeling all right?"

"Sure, but I never contracted that virus from Cumbaquay, remember? If it's a result of that, I wouldn't be affected."

Jeff frowned.

"Can I tag along, Father? I'd like to see how Virgil's doing, too."

"Sure. Come on."

Scott came to his feet as Jeff and John entered Virgil's room. He took his father off to the side as John spoke with Virgil.

"Father, what's going on here?"

"I don't know for sure, Scott. How bad is he?"

"Bad. Not only doesn't he remember Oklahoma, he doesn't even remember Cumbaquay."

"What?" Jeff turned to watch John and Virgil speaking quietly. "You're telling me he doesn't remember the last two rescues you were on?"

"That's what I'm saying. He seems to recall the older stuff: Fireflash, Eddie Houseman, the Seascape, being shot down by the Sentinel. But he's lost the last coupla weeks."

"And you're certain he wasn't injured in Oklahoma?"

"No, I can't see how he could've been. Gordon says he watched Virgil make a straight, easy dive from the pipe into the tank. He was underwater for a few minutes, but was fine swimming back to Thunderbird 4 and all the way home. And you saw him when we were together in the Lounge."

"Yes. At first he seemed fine, but...I guess that's when things started going fuzzy for him."

"Father?" Virgil called out from the bed.

"Yes, son." Jeff crossed the floor and took the seat John had just vacated.

"What's wrong with me?"

"We're not sure yet, Virgil. Brains and Tin-Tin are working hard to find out. Now, I don't want you to worry."

"How can I not worry? I can't remember the last two weeks of my life!"

Tin-Tin appeared in the doorway and clucked her tongue in dismay. "Now, now, everyone, leave Virgil be. He does need his rest, you know!"

"That's okay, Tin-Tin," Virgil said. "I don't mind."

"I know you don't," she replied, pushing John toward the door. "But as the resident nurse, I insist my patient not be mobbed by family members! Out! Out you go!"

"Aw, Tin-Tin-"

"No, Scott, leave. You can come back in a few hours."

"Tin-Tin, have you found anything?" Jeff asked.

She held up a finger, indicating he should wait a moment. He nodded, and headed for the hall. Then Tin-Tin turned and smiled brightly at Virgil.

"How do they ever expect you to get any sleep if they're in here bothering you? I knew I should've left you in the Sick Room!"

"Tin-Tin, I'm not really-" yawn "-sleepy."

"Right. Here, why don't you just lie back and rest?" she said, fluffing his pillow and pushing him gently onto his back. "I'll be back to check on you in a moment."

Virgil nodded. All the effort of trying to recall events that seemed to be wiped clean from his mind had indeed been exhausting. Before Tin-Tin's feet had crossed the threshold of his room, he was asleep.

Jeff was waiting just outside the door, but Tin-Tin motioned for him to follow her to the Lounge, where Gordon, John and Scott waited.

"What's going on?" John asked.

"Well, I'm not certain yet," Tin-Tin replied as she and Jeff approached the group. "Brains thinks he found something odd in Virgil's bloodstream, but he can't make heads or tails of it."

"Odd in what way?" Gordon asked.

"Well, it almost looks like...waste."

"Waste?" Scott questioned.

"Yes. All living organisms secrete whatever their bodies don't use, as well as by-products of their biological processes. Brains has picked up extremely minute amounts of something that doesn't look like it belongs in Virgil's system. But it's not viral or bacterial. In fact, it's been broken down to extremely simple compounds, which is why he thinks it's a waste product."

"But a waste product of what?" Jeff asked, crossing his arms.

"We don't know, Mr. Tracy. I need to take another blood sample. I don't want to worry Virgil any further, but Brains wants a CT scan and an MI scan."

"The CT scan I can see, since it's obviously his brain that's affected," Scott said. "But why the Micro-Imaging scan? That's for locating...microorganisms. The waste in his blood...an MI scan...does Brains think Virg is infected with something other than a virus?"

"We're just grasping at straws, Scott."

"Yes," Jeff interjected. "We need to run every test we have until we find out what's caused Virgil's memory loss. How about the rest of you? Are you still in retention of your memories?"

"Think so," Gordon said.

"I'm fine, Father," John replied.

"Yeah, I'm okay too, Dad. I remember everything about Oklahoma."

"Good. You must let someone know the minute you feel something's wrong. Understood?"

"Yes, Father," they all replied.

"I'd better get those scans done," Tin-Tin said. "John, would you help me with the mobile scanners?"

"Sure thing," he replied, following her out of the room.

"Hey, I just had a thought."

"What's that, Scott?" Jeff asked, seating himself behind his desk.

"Well, Brains thinks there's waste product in Virgil's bloodstream that doesn't belong there. But he also says the virus isn't there anymore. I know it sounds crazy, but what if the virus evolved?"

"Into what?" Gordon asked.

"I don't know. It was just a thought."

"We'll have no more speculation on the matter. We need to stick with cold, hard facts; something we have very little of at this point."

"Right, Father."

"Sorry, Father." Gordon started out of the room, intending to head for Thunderbird 4. He wanted to check her over one more time. He was always overprotective of his ship right after a mission, and would sometimes spend hours going over her with a fine-toothed comb.

Suddenly, though, he shook his head. The motion was almost imperceptible, but Jeff picked up on it like an eagle spying a field mouse from far up in the sky.

"Gordon?" he said, coming to his feet.

"What is it, Father?" Scott asked, approaching his brother.

Jeff was instantly next to them. "Gordon, are you okay?"

"I-I don't feel so good, Father. I think I need to go lie down."

Scott and Jeff looked right at each other. This was exactly how it had started with Virgil.

Day Two

Being it was rather late, Gordon had fallen asleep quickly after being escorted to his room by the two eldest members of the Tracy clan. Scott watched over Virgil throughout the night, while Jeff kept an eye on Gordon. From time to time, Grandma or Kyrano would bring them coffee or juice to drink, neither of them able to sleep any better than the others.

Tin-Tin and John, having successfully completed their scans on Virgil's head without waking him, had taken them down to Brains' Lab. There, the three of them worked all night on various tests, experiments and theories as to what was happening. When Jeff buzzed the Lab to inform them that Gordon seemed to be acting the way Virgil had at first, they redoubled their efforts, putting their heads together to try and come up with anything and everything they could think of.

When dawn broke on Tracy Island, Tin-Tin, John and Brains staggered into the Lounge, bleary-eyed. In spite of their tireless efforts, they'd come up with nothing at all to explain Virgil's missing memories.

"I still don't understand why the MI scan came out blurry in the northern quadrant," Brains yawned as he removed his glasses and placed them next to him on the couch.

"Perhaps we did something wrong," Tin-Tin offered, stifling a yawn demurely through her hand.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly an expert running medical diagnostic equipment," John added.

"W-We'll have to try a second one, Tin-Tin," Brains said, yawning again.

Jeff walked into the room in exactly the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before. "You three find anything?" he asked, taking a sip of hot coffee from the mug in his hand.

"No," Brains replied dejectedly, his shoulders slumping.

"Are Virgil and Gordon awake yet, Father?"

"No, John. Gordon was still sleeping when I left his room. I looked in on Virgil. He and Scott are both still out."

"Scott?"

"He spent most of the night with Virgil, while I looked after Gordon."

"So you say Gordon started acting the same as Virgil?" Tin-Tin asked. When Jeff nodded, she said, "How?"

"Well, he, Scott and I were in the Lounge. It seems innocuous, I know, but suddenly he shook his head just like Virgil did right before he started forgetting." Jeff sighed. "Maybe I'm looking for things that aren't there."

"I don't think you are, Jeff," Grandma said as she entered from the hall.

"What do you mean, Mother?"

"I went in to check on Gordon just now, and, well, I think you'd better come talk to him."

Jeff followed his mother into the hall, with Brains, John and Tin-Tin right behind. When he entered Gordon's room, he found him standing in the middle of the floor turning this way and that, as though looking for something.

"Good morning, son," Jeff greeted as he walked through the door.

"Good morning, Father."

"Are you, uh, are you looking for something?"

Gordon cocked his head and looked at Jeff, a frown creasing his brow. "I don't know. I think I am, but...I can't remember what."

A knot began forming in Jeff Tracy's stomach. "Could you sit down? I want to ask you a question."

"Okay, Father," he replied, seating himself on the bed.

"Do you remember taking Thunderbird 4 down into a reservoir yesterday?"

Gordon frowned. "Uh...I took Thunderbird 4 out yesterday?"

"Oklahoma, son. Do you remember going to Oklahoma with your brothers?"

He shook his head slowly. "No, I don't think I've ever been to Oklahoma."

Jeff came closer and sat down in the chair he'd occupied the whole night previous. "What about Cumbaquay?"

"Cumba-what?"

Jeff turned and looked at the others, who were gathered in the hall just outside Gordon's bedroom door. Then he turned back to his copper-haired son, recognizing a look of utter bewilderment in his amber eyes.

"What's the last thing you do remember, Gordon?"

"Um...well, I, uh, I guess the last thing I remember is taking the boat out with Alan. Yeah, that's it. We went fishing together. We didn't catch anything but little sunfish, but it was fun all the same."

Jeff turned to look at the trio in the hall once more. Whatever it was, he was now certain Gordon had it, too. Alan and Gordon's day at sea had happened almost three full months before the Cumbaquay rescue.

Scott was stretched out on the chair next to Virgil's bed, his legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded. He snored lightly, his chin resting on his chest. He nearly fell out of the chair when Virgil yelled:

"Scott!"

Jumping to his feet, it took a moment for Scott to realize where he was and why. He looked at his brother, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes wide and puzzled.

"Virg! Jeez, man, you tryin' to give me a heart attack?"

"Sorry," Virgil mumbled.

"S'okay, don't sweat it. How are you feeling?"

"I'm, uh, I'm okay."

"You don't look okay."

Virgil concentrated on some invisible point just over his brother's shoulder. "I guess I'm not."

"Why's that?"

"Scott, what year is it?"

"Huh?"

"What year is it?"

"It's 2031."

Virgil paled and looked even more distraught.

"Virg, what is it?" Scott asked, crouching next to the bed so he could look at his face.

"I knew something was wrong when I looked at the paper," Virgil replied, gesturing to yesterday's newspaper that sat on his bedside table. "It said 2031, but I didn't believe it until you said it, too."

"Why didn't you believe it?"

"Because I'm certain it's 2027."

Jeff paced to and fro across the Lounge. For the rest of the family, seated or standing here and there, it was a bit like watching a tennis match.

"I just can't understand it!" he bellowed, face drawn tight in a frown. "Virgil and Gordon weren't the only ones to contract the Cumbaquay virus! It just doesn't add up!"

"Four years," Virgil whispered to no one in particular. "How can four years just slip away like that?"

Scott placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezed it tight.

"Brains! Tin-Tin! What the hell is happening to my boys?!?"

"S-Something has occurred to me, Mr., uh, Tracy."

"Well?"

"Don't you find it rather, uh, odd that Virgil and Gordon didn't begin to lose memories until after the Oklahoma rescue?"

Jeff literally stopped in mid-stride, pivoting to face his engineer. "That's it, Brains. That has to be it!"

"Yes...I had an uneasy feeling throughout the whole rescue. Like it was too easy!" Scott chimed in. "And the wellhead blowing up...an explosion at the intake valve..."

Tin-Tin frowned from her perch on Jeff's desk. "Are you saying you think this guard down the well was another attempt on your lives?"

"It makes sense," Jeff replied. "It all makes sense."

"But what on Earth could make us lose our memories? And for that matter, why weren't Scott and I affected by it?" John asked.

"That's a good question, son," Jeff said, resuming the act of wearing a hole in the floor. "Think, think, we have to think!"

Alan spoke from his vid portrait on the wall. How he wished he were there in person to help them. "Let's assume your theory is correct. Let's assume the Hood is the one who gave those dogs on Cumbaquay the virus."

"Okay," Scott said. "So he got the dogs sick, probably knowing they'd go insane and start attacking people. That spread the virus."

"So when we arrive on the scene," Alan continued, "we pick up the virus, too."

"It slowly drives us t-to madness," Brains said, "the point of which seems to be that we all k-kill ourselves."

"Right," Jeff nodded. "But we don't die. We survive. How could he have known that? We didn't have another rescue call after we recovered, not until Oklahoma. How could the Hood have known we were alive?"

"A spy?" Grandma offered.

"But where, Mrs. Tracy?" Tin-Tin asked. "We haven't had any visitors."

"None that we're aware of," Jeff corrected.

Everyone silently mulled that over for a moment before Alan continued. "Okay, let's leave that part of it for later. Somehow he figures out we're alive. So he sets up the Oklahoma Peanuts rescue."

"He blows up the wellhead and stuffs Pete inside the well. When the first workers arrive for the day, they find him and call for help."

"Okay, Scott," John said, "But why Oklahoma Peanuts? Why that factory?"

"And why the well? He could've just blown the plant up or something," Alan said.

"That must be the key," Jeff said, leaning back against his desk. "The well must be the key."

"A-As if he wanted them t-to go in it?" Brains asked.

"Yes, Brains, I think that's it!" Tin-Tin cried, leaving the desk and walking out onto the floor. "I think you have it! It's the water. It has to be!"

"The water?"

"Yes, it all makes sense now. I can't believe I didn't think of it before!"

"Think of what, Tin-Tin? Spit it out!" Jeff said...not altogether unkindly, just rather at his wits' end.

"All right, let's work this out, shall we? Gordon and John go down into Rush Springs reservoir in Thunderbird 4."

"Right," John said.