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Chapter 1: Glad Tidings And Sad Tidings

    Jeff Tracy heaved a huge sigh of relief.
    The suspicions had not materialised into a scandal. The Impostors had been found by Penny, Parker and the Tuttles, with a little help from "Ma's Beans".
    All was well.
    Thunderbird 3 was still in a high orbit over the pacific, taking care of an Astronaut who has lost his tether line and had drifted away from an orbital tracking station. Despite the fact that a global search was out for the International Rescue team and its hardware, Jeff had taken the huge gamble of sending the red rocket into space to search for the lost spaceman. During the flight, word has got to Jeff via John that two crooks posing as Thunderbird men had been captured.
    All was indeed well.
    The relief was palpable, and very visible to the founder and commander of International Rescue. The whole lounge seemed to collectively whoop with joy. Gordon jumped into the pool, fully dressed, as he only could. Virgil, aware that Alan was not around, planted a smacker on Tintin that lasted for several seconds, and made the young girl smile, blush, and wonder why the hell Alan could not kiss like that, and to Jeff's amusement, Kyrano and Grandma were both arm in arm in the adjoining room, jigging like a couple who had just won the Kansas state lottery.
    Jeff looked around and found the whole outpouring entirely understandable. After all he had not spent the many years putting the organisation together for it to fall apart in a matter of days as a result of the actions of two "low lives".     
No way.
    He slumped down in his chair, rubbed his eyes, and as he looked up from having done that, he saw, out of the balcony the outline of a Helijet in the distance. His relief was suddenly cut short.
    "Virgil, get on to Alan and Scott", he barked urgently, pointing up into to space, "Tell them to stay in orbit, or, if they have re-entered, and they might have by now, tell them to circle the base at 160,000 until further notice".
    Jeff ran out to the pool, where a saturated Gordon, having clambered out of the pool, was looking in the direction of the Helijet.
    "Guess they've had a hunch that the base is here dad", Gordon said.
    "Yep", said Jeff, running down the stairs onto the patio, almost resigning himself to the fate he felt awaited him, "They've got their men, yet they can't resist having a look for us anyway. They’ve been here once already. Our security is too tight though. They will be wasting their time".
    "I'll lay you even money John gets a call while they're here", the aquanaut uttered as he wrung out his wet shirt in the pool.
    "Hold it", Jeff yelled, putting his arm on Gordon's wet shoulder, "It's no navy helijet, look".
    The men looked. Sure enough it was no navy craft, but the mail plane.
    "Thank God” and Jeff uttered his second sigh of relief in minutes. By now Kyrano was at poolside, and at a loss to understand why his old friend was in such a panic over the visitor.
    "Mista Tracy, you are paranoid after this scrape with these impostors. You should know that the mail plane come at this time of day".
    The ex-astronaut could not help but laugh at himself, and Virgil found it a little amusing too, trying very hard to hide a smile as he arrived at the patio to see the helijet descend on to the runway, and Kyrano slowly make his way down the side path that led over there, carrying with him the handful of envelopes and parcels that were to be couriered by the mail plane to various destinations.
    "The minute I called the lads in space I realised it was the mail plane", Virgil said, "Scott says you could do with a weeks furlough in London with Penny".
    Jeff’s eyes looked skyward, "He just wants my desk. He takes after his Grandfather, always dropping hints".
    Virgil smiled, "Trust me dad, he'd panic ten times worse than you did just now, he'd be on the horn to John every five minutes just to see all was well with the world. Let him have it, I guarantee you in a week he'll end up at that place they took Brains after the Allington bridge job two months ago".
    "You just want me to stay; you take after your Mother, always reassuring me about this and that".
    Virgil smiled, turned, and walked down the path to catch up the Malaysian manservant, and thought to himself, "Something else I do that reminds him of Mom. I bet he churns up inside each time".
    When Virgil got to the runway, he saw that Kyrano had electronically signed to receive the day’s mail. Just one item, a small envelope.
    "Mista Virgil, you need not have come, as you can see I can manage, this letter is not even for you".
    "Yes Kyrano, but what would you have done had there been a brace of parcels", Virgil asked.
    "I would have managed", he simply and modestly replied. He then gestured the Tracy son to turn back for the Tracy house.
    Upon arrival at the house, the Major-domo made for the kitchen, where Jeff had sat down with Gordon and Tin Tin for a bite to eat. Soon they would be joined by Scott and Alan, clearance now having been given for them to commence their decent in Thunderbird Three.
    Kyrano entered the kitchen, "Mail call", he jokingly said, "A light load, just one letter, for the attention of Daniel J Tracy the 2nd, Colonel, US Space corps, retired".
    Jeff smiled as he listened to the show of difference, turned in his chair to face the manservant, and took the letter. He looked at the postmark, and sounded a little puzzled.
    "From the offices of the legal firm of Anderson, Anderson, Read, and Hill. Dated May 12th 2028", he put his mug of coffee down, picked up a knife, and slit the envelope open.
    His face turned pale.
    He read the letter, picked up his mug, took a gulp, put the mug down, read the letter again, then stared ahead, and whispered, loud enough for the whole kitchen to hear.
    "Ye Gods", he muttered, "Edgar Kalinski".
    
"Edgar Who?” Said Scott as he and Alan got up from the settee having been deposited back in the lounge from the round house.
    "Edgar Kalinski", said Virgil, "And before you ask, don't ask. I'm blow'd if I know who the hell he is, no one has a clue, not even Grandma or Kyrano, but I know this much. As soon as Dad said this fellow’s name, he got up slowly from the table, and without so much as a word, walked straight out of the galley, letter in hand, and he looked about as pale as one of Alan's pastries".
    "I beg your pardon", Alan blurted out with hands on hip's, and umbrage taken.
    "Where is he now", Scott asked, trying not to smile at his brothers little snipe at Alan's often disastrous cooking.
    "Bedroom", Virgil replied, trying to smile.
    Scott tapped Virgil on the arm, motioning him to come with him, "C'mon", he said, "let's go see if he's OK".
    "D'ya thinks that's wise", enquired Alan.
    "Eldest son's prerogative", said Scott as he marched out of the lounge, dragging Virgil with him.
    "Second eldest son's prerogative", said Virgil as he was dragged out.
    Alan stood alone, hands still on hips, then suddenly something dawned on him, he raced out to the corridor and yelled at his brother.
    "Who was it who ate them all then!” he enquired sarcastically, still peeved about Virgil's culinary sarcasm.
    The pianist simply turned around and smiled even more broadly than he had done a moment earlier, before bringing his hand up to his lips and kissing his fingertips as if to say "Bon appetite".
    Alan now had a furrowed brow to add to his hands on hips pose.
    Scott was not one to worry, but having heard Virgil's account of the events in the Kitchen; he felt the need just to check that all was well. Over the years Scott had noticed that his Father had always seemed to confide in his eldest two sons for some reason. On more than one occasion at family conferences either before going out on, or after coming back from rescues, or even on family gatherings to discuss matters relating to the family's other business, the official business that is, namely Tracy Aerospace, Jeff would dismiss the meeting, only to ask he and Virgil to stay behind, and then certain matters relating either to the official or un-official businesses, matters of a slightly more delectate nature, matters of either security, or finance, would be talked over. The others never seemed to take offence, not even Alan. Heck, Gordon used to sum up these things in a few well chosen words, "What we don't know, we don't have to fret over".
    Too true.
    Yet all five of the lads were a little worried, why had Jeff just got up and left like that.
    The two sons reached the bedroom door. Scott looked at Virgil, took a deep breath, and then knocked the door.
    Seconds passed.
    The door then slid open, Jeff stood there, still pale. Scott peered inside and saw that his Dad was packing a suitcase. Jeff himself had changed into a clean shirt and trousers and was in the middle of tying a tie. A black tie at that Scott noticed.
    "Good", said Jeff, "You're back Scott, right. Come in, both of you".
    They walked in, Virgil closed the door, and sat on the bed, next to Scott.
    Jeff had walked over to a mirror to finish tying the tie, "I shall be leaving the island for a day or so. Scott, I want you to mind the store until I get back. Alan is due to relieve John at 14:00, Gordon can deal with that. Once John is earth side he can pilot '1, Virgil, you will remain with '2, and as '1 and '3 are not ever needed on the same job, John can pilot '3, Gordon can double crew on her as he does on '2. Scott has my plane made ready for launch straight away please, and Virgil, get on to Air Terrainean and book me a seat on the first Fireflash that leaves San Francisco for London tomorrow morning. Any questions, no. Good. Snap to it both of you, there isn't much time".
    The two sons looked at each other, a little startled at their father’s abruptness. It was Scott who spoke.
    "Is everything OK Dad".
    "I don't recall saying I wanted to discuss this matter with you", Jeff said, now bent down putting the remaining items into his case.
    "But we've noticed . . ."
    Before Virgil had chance to finish, Jeff turned to face them both.
    "END OF CONVERSATION!" he shouted.
    The two lads both looked at each other, message now fully understood.
    They got up, and left.
    Straight away Scott went down to the hangar to see to his father's plane. There was little to do in reality, the fuel level was OK, so were the electrics. Scott had Brains bring the plane out of the hangar and down to the point where the runway met the footpath that meandered its way back up to the house.
    From that direction emerged Virgil, still a little startled by his father’s manner.
    "Tickets taken care of?” Scott asked.
    "Yep", he replied, clearly not enjoying seeing his Dad in such a state. It was as much as he could do to talk.
    The two men stood by the plane, not saying a word, both deep in thought about the events of the past days, not just their Dad's sudden mood swing, born of the letter, but also the attempt to frame the organisation by two crooks, posing as them, even in their uniforms. Maybe this business with the letter, coupled with the investigation by the world's armies into IR's affairs had taken their toll on him. Or then again, maybe not.
    More questions than answers, yet none would come at this juncture.
    The quiet was broken by the noise of footsteps on the path from the house. It was Jeff, looking straight ahead at the jet, his manner still the same.
    It was Virgil who spoke, "Dad, you're booked on the 6.45am Fireflash to London via New York, stop-over in the Apple will be an hour, you'll be in London at 6.30pm local time, collect your tickets at check-in 3, in the southern concourse".
    "Fine", the reply came. With not another sound he got into the plane, looked out of the cockpit at the two men, raised his hand in acknowledgement, his face still stern looking, and fired the motors.
    Scott and Virgil walked back towards the cliff hanger to watch their dad leave; they both noticed that the rest of the family had gathered on the balcony of the cliff-house.
    A worried family. Yes, for all Jeff's assurances, a very worried family.

    The flight to the mainland lasted just over an hour. Jeff flew into Oakland, and took a magnetrain across the golden gate, or rather under it, as the track had been built and situated under the famous bridge, before heading back along the coast to San Francisco International.
    He made for the southern concourse where, upon arrival he went to Air Terrainean Check-in desk 3, as advised by Virgil, he collected his tickets, and then went about seeking a room for the night ahead of his early departure the next morning. He was lucky, the girl at the check-in desk checked the main airport hotel for vacant rooms, and the news was good. Thus the 58 year old father of five with suitcase in hand headed for the recently built San Francisco International Airport Holiday Tower, an un-inspiring sight, situated on the outer rim of the airport complex. "Just a block of un-remarkable concrete", Jeff thought, but it would suffice.
    He checked in, and within minutes he was in his room, he threw off his jacket, dropped the case by the side of his wardrobe, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed on to the bed.
    It must have been the strain of the past forty-five hours, the worry about the future of the organisation, and the lack of sleep to-boot, not to mention hearing about Edgar Kalinski, that all contributed to him being as tired and worn out as it was humanly possible.
    So much so that the moment his head hit the pillow, he went out like a light, and the thoughts that has been going through his mind since the moment he opened the letter, thoughts that were the reason he was now on the American mainland, thoughts known only to him, and no-one else, now became more than just thoughts.
    To sleep.
    Perchance to dream.

On to Chapter 2.