Food for Thought

Parker flew them from Derry to L.A. Scott still had a headache; it pounded like a dull thudding in the background. He rested his head and tried to keep from falling asleep, but the next thing he knew Parker was asking for landing clearance at LAX.

"Mmm. How long was I asleep?" the younger man asked.

"H'Abaowt two hours," the chauffeur answered. "Ye must o' needed h'it."

"Yeah, I guess so." He pulled his PDA out of his suit jacket pocket. "We've got a slightly longer layover in L.A. this time," he commented. "Dad's arranged for one of the company planes. I guess he'll have Alan pick up this one when he brings Kenny back."

"H'A good h'idea," Parker said with a nod. "This is fayne jet, but h'it's h'a mayte crowded wiv three."

Scott agreed. The JT-1 had built for speed, not comfort. The cockpit was wider than the normal fighter jet's but not by much. He knew that his father had flown from Bongo-Bongo once with Penelope by his side, but it had been a tight fit and a short flight. Two grown men in the pilot's seat for three hours? Not to be considered.

"Ay 'ope ye won't maynd, Mr. Scott, h'if Ay rayde h'in th' passenger cabin fer th' rest o' th' trip," the chauffeur ventured. "Ay would layke t' finish th' program Ay wuz workin' h'on."

"Not at all, Parker. I'll take it from here."

Parker carefully brought the JT-1 into the Tracy Industries hangar, slipping it into the place that the hangar personnel directed him to. "Welcome t' Los Angeles," he quipped as he unfastened his safety straps.

"Uh, thanks, Parker," Scott responded, rolling his eyes upward and giving his head a little shake.

The hanger chief, Maureen Hedinori, affectionately known as "Mo", came over to greet them. "There's fresh coffee in the terminal and that phone you ordered is waiting, Scott. I've been looking out for this Kenny Malone dude, but he hasn't showed." She ran her fingers through her long black hair, streaked through with strands of neon pink, electric blue, and bright yellow. "Jet 104 is waiting, and I'll have the boys transfer your luggage over."

"Thanks, Mo. I could use that cup of coffee," he said, smiling at her.

She gave him a little punch in the upper arm as they headed for the terminal. "So, what's so interesting in Londonderry? A new client? New corporate offices? Will we be seeing more flights from here to there?"

"My, my, my, aren't we nosy today," Scott chivvied with a smile as they entered the small private terminal.

"No, no, no, Scott. Get it right. I'm Mo," she said. Hooking a thumb over her shoulder, she finished with, "and he's Nosey." Parker, following them and carrying his laptop case, scowled but said nothing.

"Actually, I went to a friend's funeral," Scott admitted quietly, his smile fading.

Mo was immediately sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Scott. Leave it to me to put my foot in my mouth... again. Was it someone you knew well?"

"Yeah. An old friend from my days at Oxford. We kept in touch," Scott replied, shrugging. He took off his overcoat and suit coat and draped them over one of the comfortable couches that sat in the VIP lounge, then loosened his tie. She went over and poured a cup of coffee into a clean mug then handed it to him.

"Thanks, Mo," he said, accepting the cup and putting one packet of sugar into it. He leaned against the counter that held the coffee maker and an electric kettle. Parker had already switched on the latter device to make himself a cup of tea. There was a plate of fresh donuts on a covered stand next to the coffee, and Scott selected one, covering the edges of his mouth with powdered sugar as he bit into it. "No cheese Danish this time?" he asked after washing down the donut with a couple of sips of coffee.

"No. Enzo made the bakery run this morning. He's got something against sweet cream cheese." She glanced out the door, and nudged Scott. "Look."

Scott glanced up and through the plate glass door to see a thin, dark haired man gazing around uncertainly. He was accompanied by a pregnant blonde who was pushing a stroller with a little girl in it, and was himself dragging a sizeable piece of luggage behind him in addition to the travel case he had slung over one shoulder.

"It's Kenny. Let him in," Scott said. Mo nodded and went to the door to unlock it.

"Kenny!" Scott called, putting down his coffee and donut. "Good to see you!" He walked across the lounge, hand outstretched.

Kenny Malone grinned and took it. "Hey, Scott. Long time no see." Letting go of Scott's hand, he gestured toward the blonde. "I don't think you've met my wife, Beth. And this is our daughter, Tracy."

Scott shook hands and murmured pleasantries with Beth, then introduced Mo and Parker. He squatted down to get face to face with the toddler. "Hey, there, Tracy. That looks like a gooood cookie!" The little blonde offered him a bit of the graham cracker she was masticating, and Scott took it, pretended to nibble it a bit, then handed it back. "Mmmmm! Thank you!"

Tracy's parents laughed, and Scott stood up, smiling. "We'll be ready to go within the hour. Help yourselves to coffee or tea and there are soft drinks in the fridge," he said, pointing out the small refrigerator set under the counter top. "I'm going to finish my donut and see about our preflight checks."

"Okay, Scott. Let me just say my goodbyes, here." Mo had already taken Kenny's luggage away, indicating that she'd have it loaded on the jet. Kenny walked his wife and daughter out to walk in front of the Tracy Industries terminal. Scott watched for a moment as Alan's friend removed little Tracy from the stroller, talking to her then hugging her lightly, kissing her on the forehead. The toddler returned the salute on her father's cheek and wrapped her little arms around his neck. He squatted down to return the child to the stroller, then stood again and cupped his wife's face in one hand, kissing her lovingly, once, twice. They embraced, a fierce hug, then kissed again, long and passionately. Beth moved away, and her husband stood there for a few more moments, waving. How many times did I see Pete do that kind of thing to Melissa? Scott mused. And will I ever have anyone to do that with myself? He became very interested in his snack as the mechanic re-entered the building.

"I guess I'll have a cup of coffee," Kenny said, pouring one for himself. He took a sip and sighed. "I'll really miss them." Glancing over at Scott, he asked, "Did Alan tell you that I'd named her Tracy after him?"

"Yeah, he did," Scott replied, snorting a chuckle. "In fact, he wouldn't shut up about it."

Kenny laughed and slapped Scott on the back. "Sounds like our ol' Alan all right!"

Mo returned, having ducked into her office after dealing with Kenny's effects. "Here, Scott. Here's that phone you ordered," she said, handing him a box. Scott dusted his hands clear of the powdered sugar and opened the box. The very latest model of picture satellite phone lay inside, with all its accoutrements, instruction booklet, and a note telling him that the phone was fully charged. He pulled out the phone, flipped it open and began to familiarize himself with the controls. At that point, Enzo, one of the mechanics who serviced the planes at this particular Tracy Industries outpost, came in.

"Scott? You ready for preflight?"

"Hey, Enzo," Scott said, putting the phone in his shirt pocket and closing the box. "I'm ready." He looked around, making eye contact with Parker and Kenny, "Takeoff in thirty."

"H'An' that does h'it!" Parker exclaimed, punching a last computer key. He saved the program he was working on to a disk, then emphatically closed the laptop, and rubbed his eyes.

"What were you working on?" Kenny asked from his seat across the aisle. The flight was near its completion and had been quiet. Kenny had immersed himself in a mechanic's manual from Rolls Royce, and Parker had been working hard on Lou's little commission.

"Nuffin' much," Parker said, shrugging. "Just h'a piece o' code fer h'a friend o' Mr. Brains. 'Ow's h'it goin' wiv th' manual?"

"It's heavy going sometimes. Wasn't exactly written for Americans, if you know what I mean," Kenny admitted. "Have to do a bit of translating while I read."

"Ah," Parker said, nodding. He normally would be offended by this Yank's comments, but Kenny said it in such an apologetic manner that it was hard to feel more than just a touch of irritation. "Ye'll fin' that 'er Ladyship's Rolls h'is h'a mayte more complex than usual. 'Tis h'a custom jobbie."

"I know; Alan told me. Sent me some specs. I just hope I can be a help to him. If it were an American make, I'd be able to repair it just like that." Kenny snapped his fingers. "But this will be more of a challenge. Especially if he gets..." He let his voice trail off, not sure of Parker's relationship to the Tracy's covert activities.

" 'Specially h'if 'e gets called h'aowt h'on h'a rescue?" Parker offered. "Don' worray, Mr. Malone. Ay've been h'in this bizness from nearly th' very start."

Kenny nodded and smiled, relieved that he hadn't said anything he wasn't supposed to. His curiosity piqued, he asked, "What do you do for the Tracys, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Teck-ni-kally, Ay don' work fer th' Tracys. Ay work fer 'er Ladyship, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. She's h'International Rescue's London h'agent. Ay h'am 'er chauffeur an' 'er butler. An' when she needs h'a 'and wiv 'er dooties, Ay provide h'it."

"Sounds interesting. I suppose that makes you an agent, too?" Kenny pressed.

Parker shrugged. "Ay suppose h'it does. Ay never thought o' h'it thet way."

Kenny paused for a moment, then asked, "Did you get the letter? The one Mr. Tracy sent out?"

"No, Ay don' think so," Parker said. It was true; he hadn't checked his official email box in a couple of days. "Per'aps 'e didn' send me one, seein' h'as Ay work fer 'er Ladyship."

"Maybe," Kenny agreed. He sat back with a sigh. "It was certainly an eye-opener. First thing he said was that one of the other agents died in the line of duty. A father with a wife and kids."

The chauffeur nodded. "Yus, one did. 'Twas 'is funeral Mr. Scott an' me wuz comin' back from."

"Oh, I didn't know!" the mechanic sat straight up again as if stung. "I'm sorry. Did you know him well?"

Parker sighed. "Mayself? No, but Mr. Scott did. Ay wuz supposed t' 'ave known 'im, though; 'twas part o' th' cover story we came h'up wiv t' h'explain 'is death." He saw the younger man's face pale and take on an expression of consternation. "Ay'll h'explain later. What h'else did Mr. Tracy say?"

Kenny took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He said that he had come to realize that some of the things he was asking of his agents might be too much for them to handle, and that the job was more dangerous than he had originally thought. He offered anyone who wanted to leave the option of doing so, and that those who wanted to just gather information should tell him so. And that he would be looking at each remaining agent to see what he or she were equipped to do so that in the future only those qualified for a certain task would be asked to do it."

"Ah," Parker replied, nodding slowly. "Ay'll 'ave t' look fer h'it when we get back t' th' h'island."

There was a silence between them, then Kenny licked his lips and blurted out, "What would you do? Stay or go?"

The older man's bushy eyebrows went up in surprise. "Me? Well... Ay suppose Ay'll be doin' whuteffer Milady decides. May furst h'ob-lig-ashun h'is t' 'er."

"Hmm." Kenny contemplated the answer he had been given, then sighed heavily. "I'm not sure what to do. I mean, Alan's a great friend and all, and working for International Rescue is the chance of a lifetime! But... I've got a wife and child to think of, and another coming..." He shook his head. "If I could be sure of my own safety, I'd feel better."

Parker shook his head. "Ye can never be sure o' yer safety, lad. Ye could be 'it by h'a car an' killed h'on ye way t' th' h'apothecary. H'All ye ken do h'is be prepared fer th' worst should h'it come. Then live yer life h'as best ye ken." He shifted in his chair. "H'If ye want t' know, Agent 53, 'im that wuz Peter Riordan, 'e thought 'is work wiv H'In-ter-nash-un-all Rescue t' be worth givin' 'is life for. Naow, ye may think differently, but h'as fer mayself? Ay h'agree wiv 'im." He pointed at the younger man as he made his next point. "H'An remember, 'e wuz h'in th' same circumstances h'as yerself. Wife an' children an' all."

"I wonder what he saw in it that made him think that way?" Kenny mused.

"Ay'm sure Ay don' know. Ay h'only know what 'e said h'at th' end. That 'twuz worth h'it."

Kenny nodded his head slowly. "Thanks, Mr. Parker. You've given me some food for thought."

"Yer welcome, Mr. Malone." The older man looked at his watch and sighed. "We'll be landin' soon. No' enaow time fer h'a kip."

Nine in the morning on Tracy Island, and Eleanor was tending to her bedroom. It seemed to need dusting more often lately, perhaps because the air conditioning plant was working overtime with the latest warm spell. Like an Indian summer back home, only hotter and more humid, she thought as she took an ostrich feather duster to her antique mirror. I'm almost positive that some of the dust from those dang lava tubes gets into the system and spreads all around the house!

Scott was already home and having a nap after his flight, while a fidgety Kenny Malone had been escorted down to the pod vehicle repair bay, talking a mile a minute to Alan. She had been shown the pictures of Kenny with his wife and little girl at breakfast and had gushed appropriately. She wished that she had photos of her grandson's wives and babies to reciprocate with, but since none of them were married or had children (at least none that she was aware of), she couldn't. That was one thing that had galled her during her visit home; all of her friends had grandchildren with children of their own and not a few had clucked their tongues at the continued bachelorhood of her five handsome grandsons. In fact, a few of the old biddies with dirty minds had cattily and subtly insinuated that her boys were enjoying each other's company, an opinion that earned them Eleanor's coldest stare and a generally frosty reception from her true friends.

She sighed as she remembered how a few of those true friends kept bringing up their unmarried or divorced daughters, and how they were looking for "just the right man". She knew what was going on there; to have a Tracy as a son-in-law would be a feather in any mother's cap. But Eleanor politely refused to set her boys up with any of her friends' daughters. She firmly believed that her grandsons had the right to choose who they wished to share their lives with, and to make that choice without any interference from their grandma, or their father for that matter!

But when did they have time to develop the kind of relationship that leads to a good solid marriage? She had been encouraged by the attraction that Alan and Tin-Tin obviously had for each other. If only he would drop that stupid "my life is too dangerous" attitude and get on with the program! And if the teasing that John had endured at the table the evening before was any indication, her middle grandson might have a lady in mind for himself. After dinner, she had asked Tin-Tin to let her see the background file on this Agent 87; the Malaysian girl had been more than willing to tell her all about her friend from Paris. Eleanor had seen the photo that accompanied the file and been very impressed by John's taste. My, but those two would have absolutely exquisite babies! she thought, smiling.

She had mixed feelings about Penelope. It was obvious how the aristocrat felt about Jeff, but either her son was too dense to notice or he just wasn't interested. When she thought about it, Jeff treated Penelope more like he treated Tin-Tin, as a daughter, or perhaps as a trusted friend. She truly would like to see her son emerge from his grief over Lucille, but she didn't see the blonde as suitable for him. Penelope would look too much like a trophy wife, a trend that she knew Jeff despised in men his age. And then there was Virgil...

If Virgil thought he could hide his affection for Penelope from his grandmother, he was sadly mistaken. She noticed the way he lit up every time her Ladyship came to visit, the way he pulled out all the stops when he played his piano to try and impress her. The subtle things were there, if you knew how to look for them, and Eleanor Tracy knew how. On top of that, she had found the little stash of sketches under his bed and the composition in the Cliff House. What use was there in being a grandmother if you couldn't snoop around...?

The vidphone ringing in her sitting room startled her. She let out a small squeak and jumped a bit, then recovered herself and went to answer it. The vidphone was set before her favorite rocker, one she had brought over from the States, and she slid into it with a sigh of relief. It did feel good to get off her feet!

Activating the unit, she smiled as Gordon's face appeared. "Yes, Gordon dear?"

"A call for you, Grandma," he said. "I'm transferring it down to your line."

"Thank you, dear." The picture of her copper-haired grandson disappeared and the face of her old friend, Maru Soo, replaced it.

"Maru! So good to hear from you!" Eleanor exclaimed with a smile of pleasure. "This is the second time in just a few weeks!"

Maru smiled back. "Hello there, El. I thought I'd call you before I sent an email to that son of yours about the letter he sent out."

"You mean the one about the... death?" Eleanor asked. She had sat in on the end of the debriefing, though she didn't have anything to say. Talking about the rescue wasn't really her place, but Jeff had wanted everyone to know about the letter all at once.

"Yes, that one. Really, El, I don't know what he wants with an old woman like me," Maru complained. "I'm nothing special. But as long as my mind is intact and my body is relatively spry, I'll stay the course."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it, Maru," Grandma replied. "Fortunately only a few people have dropped out."

"Only a few? That's good to hear." Maru paused. "I wish there was something I could do for the wife and children of the agent that was killed. But I just live too far away to do more than send a sympathy card. And I wouldn't know where to send it, anyway."

"I know; I have the same problem." Eleanor said in commiseration. "Jeff will take care of the financial end of things. They'll have everything that they need."

"But will they have the emotional support they'll need to get through this? I remember when my husband died..."

"And I remember when Grant died. Sometimes it seems like just yesterday, doesn't it?" Grandma Tracy shook her head slowly. "The pain fades, but it never really goes away."

There was a long quiet moment, then Maru snorted. "Listen to us! A couple of old biddies feeling sorry for ourselves! So, tell me, has Jeff seen any more of that nice Lou lady?"

Eleanor frowned. "Lucinda Myles? No, he has not. He has called her, or she has called him, but he's been much too busy to visit."

"My, my, my," her friend said, a touch of laughing challenge in her voice. "Methinks you protest too much, El! She seemed like a nice lady when I met her. Jeff could do worse."

"She's the one who had an affair with him when Lucille was pregnant with Gordon," Eleanor stated flatly. "He could do much better than a home wrecker like that one."

Maru frowned at her friend. "What proof do you have that there was any kind of affair, El? As I recall, not only did Jeff insist there wasn't, but Lucille did, too! If she could trust her husband in the matter, why can't you? After all, he's your son!"

"The signs were there. The late nights 'at work', the way he never talked about what they were doing in the investigation... what else could have been going on?" Eleanor shot back hotly. "I should know the signs when I see them."

Her friend's eyes got bigger with comprehension. "Oh, I see! Just because..."

"I don't even want to talk about it!" the irate grandmother cried. "Just drop the subject. As for Mrs. Myles, I'm sure there was a good reason why she got divorced. Why would Jeff want someone else's second-hand woman?"

"You're not going to be rational about this, are you?" Maru said sharply. "Well, for the record, I liked Mrs. Myles. I liked the way she interacted with Jeff. I liked the way she put herself on the line for his organization. And I think she'd be good for him."

There was a tense pause, then Eleanor asked, "Are you through?"

"For now. Please let Jeff know he'll be getting a letter from me," Maru said coolly.

"I will. Goodbye, Maru." The still-angry Eleanor cut off the communication. She got up and went to fetch her duster, muttering as she went. "Who does she think she is, second-guessing me? I know what I saw. I'll never know why Lucille turned a blind eye to it all and was friends with that... that woman... all those years. Maybe it was a case of 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer'." She leaned over to pick up her tool, which had fallen to the floor in her haste to answer the phone. As she stood straight again, a wave of dizziness caused the room to spin momentarily.

"Oooh!" she cried as she stumbled over to the bed and sat down heavily. She put her elbows on her thighs and her head in her hands, closing her eyes until the vertigo and the accompanying nausea went away. "Must have stood up too fast," she reasoned out loud. "Whew!" Glancing over at her pillow, she decided that, though it looked terribly inviting, she had work to do and she'd better get to it. She allowed herself one more moment's rest, then stood up slowly and carefully. Her head didn't swim, and she sighed a deep sigh of relief as she took her duster to the sitting room, ready to finish the job.

Nine in the morning elsewhere in the house and Lady Penelope was making a call. Addison's phone number had been recorded in her voice mail even though the woman herself hadn't left a message, so Penelope was phoning to see what her old friend had wanted. Parker had already reported to her with the breakfast tray, and a brief description of the wake and funeral. Then she had sent her chauffeur off to bed, telling him to have Kyrano pick up the tray later.

"Senator Addison Kennicot's office. How may I help you?" The cultured British tones of Addi's secretary made Penelope smile.

"This is Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward returning the senator's call," she said smoothly. "Please ascertain if the senator is able to speak to me now or if I should ring her again later."

"Please hold," the secretary said, and suddenly Penelope's ear was filled with the lilting strains of Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Music of the Night" from Phantom of the Opera. She did not have to wait long; the tune was barely over when Anne returned to tell her that she was transferring her call.

Addison looked weary, Penelope decided. Weary and perhaps a bit sad. So she got right to the point. "Hallo, Addi. I noticed your number was included in my voice mail, but you forgot to leave a message. Was there something you wanted?"

"Yes, Penelope. There was." Addison put down her stylus and gathered her thoughts. "I had another visit from the two detectives working on the disappearance of Alison St. Clair. They... they asked me about my connection to the Riordan family."

Penny's mind quickly processed the information. "I think I might know why they would ask such a question, but I would like to hear it from you. Please tell me what they said, and what your reply was."

"They said that in their investigation of this woman's disappearance, some blood was found on the beach at Minister Alvarez's home. They said that DNA of the blood matched that of Peter Riordan. They wanted to know why I arranged for the diplomatic seals and papers for Mr. Riordan's body. I told them that a dear friend had asked me to do it, and that Mrs. Riordan's plight was similar to mine two years ago." Her face revealed the level of her consternation. "I don't understand any of this, Penny! How did his blood come to be on the minister's beach? You said he was with you..."

Taking a deep breath, Penelope said softly, "Calm yourself, Addi. Please tell me, what else did they say or ask?"

"They asked me who the 'dear friend' was." Addison dropped her eyes, avoiding Penelope's gaze. "I... I gave them your name." Glancing up again, she gazed at Penelope through the vidphone, her eyes sad and apprehensive. "I... had no other choice."

Penelope's face froze for a second as the implications of her friend's actions sank in. Then she forced herself to smile. "I understand, my dear, truly I do. Do not worry another moment about it. I shall take care of the matter on my end."

Addison relaxed just a touch and nodded then, with a hurt expression, asked, "What is going on, Penny? You say one thing; the police say another... I knew you were in some kind of secret work when you left Rowden, but I always thought you were on the side... the side of the angels, so to speak. Now, you lied to the public, to everyone, but especially... to me." Her voice cracked as she begged, pleading to understand. "Please tell me that you are not... that you are not..." She left the sentence hanging with an exasperated "Ah!", unable to fully explain what she needed to know.

She watched as Penelope smiled slightly, an apologetic expression on her face. "My dear, dear friend. I cannot tell you what I am doing. You are correct when you say I am in a... a secret work. One that I cannot reveal to you without permission from my superiors." Now her facial expression and the look in her eyes turned both serious and earnest. "But I can and I do assure you that I am still on the side of the angels. Sometimes I have to use deception in order to protect myself and the group I am working for. Please understand and forgive me for deceiving you; it is for your safety as well as mine that I have done so."

"I will try to understand and forgive," Addi said after a long moment of silence between them. "I can do no more."

"I know," Penelope replied. "Now, I must go. As I said before, I shall take care of things from my end now. Should the police ask for a way to contact me, you may refer them to Foxleyheath first. If they continue to badger you, then you may give them this number. You may tell them quite truthfully that you do not know where I am. Let them work for that information. And thank you, my dear Addi, for trying to protect me. I appreciate your effort more than you shall ever know."

Addison nodded mutely. "Goodbye, my dear. I shall call again, and we will visit and catch up on each other's lives, I promise," Penelope said. "Take care of yourself and your children."

"I shall. And be careful, Penny," was all that Addison could muster up the nerve to reply. "Goodbye."

The call ended and Penelope slumped in her chair. I must speak with Lil to see if anyone has been asking for me at Foxleyheath. She doesn't know where I am either, but there are ways... I must also speak with Jeff. It seems my decision on being an agent may be taken quite out of my hands.

Jim Franks was quite pleased with himself. He had followed his target to her workplace, got the license number from the car and used it, with a judicious bit of hacking, to find out what he could about the vehicle. Good, no onboard roadside assistance. And she probably has to leave her phone in the car when she gets to work. I'm sure I can lift it while she's inside.

When his mark left work, he discreetly followed her home, noticing as he passed the house that there were no other cars in the drive. He took up his vantage point again and watched, making note of when various members of the household arrived back This is excellent. There's a three-and-a-half hour gap between her arrival and what looked like her daughter. She won't go missing for a while. But then, I hope to have my business complete by the time that happens. He headed back to his motel room, intent on getting some sleep if he could. Everything goes down tomorrow. And by the end of the day, Luci and I will be flying to the tropics... together.