John is consulted

Night at the Tracy villa was quiet. Scott sat behind his father's desk, doing a crossword puzzle. Most everyone else had gone to bed. Brains had given Lou a light sedative when she complained that the sunburn was making sleep difficult. Scott had no fears that she would come walking in on him, but he still made sure that the door from the hallway to the study, and from the balcony to the lounge were locked.

This mystery surrounding Lou is nagging at me, he thought. I hate this thinking that I know her but not being able to place where or when. Hmm. Maybe it's time to ask John to help me out. He reached out to flip the switch that put him in communication with his younger brother in their space satellite.

"Thunderbird Five from base. Come in, John."

"Base from Thunderbird Five," John replied as his live feed image appeared where his portrait had just been. "What's up, Scott?"

"Not much. Just thought you should know that we're under Operation Cover Up. We have an uninvited guest."

"Really? I haven't had any readings of anyone approaching the island. How did they get there, whoever they are?"

Scott grinned. "How do strange women usually get to our island?"

John rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Another 'beach find'? What's her name this time? If she's good looking, I might be interested. I've been pretty lonely up here this month. There's not been a lot to report."

"She's not the usual exotic type, John. She's a middle-aged retiree, and came to us dehydrated, with a touch of sunstroke and a wicked sunburn. I've been able to contact her family and as soon as Brains is satisfied with her condition, home she goes. Eagerly, I might add." Scott paused. "Her name is Lou Myles."

"Lou? What does that stand for?" John asked.

"Don't know. We haven't asked and she hasn't offered," Scott replied. "But I'll tell you, John, she seems really familiar to me. I keep thinking I should know her from somewhere. Virge has the same feeling; says her voice sounds familiar. It's driving us nuts! Can you think of anyone that might fit the bill? She's slightly above average height, well-built, nice looking with a strong chin. Short, dark brown hair with some silver in it. Brown eyes, good teeth..."

"Scott, that could be just about anybody," John snorted, irritated. "And since you can't exactly parade her before me or let me talk to her without security being compromised, I'm not going to be able to help you out." Now John paused, his eyes narrowing in thought. "But... her name. Myles? It rings a bell. Is she married?"

Scott's eyes widened in surprise. "I don't know. She's not wearing a wedding ring."

"Hmm. I almost thought I had it," John said. He looked at his brother and frowned. "Now I'm going to be going crazy trying to figure out who this mystery woman of yours is!"

Scott chuckled. "Misery loves company," he told his brother. "Listen, John. She said that her plane went down, oh, it would be two days ago now. On her way from Auckland to Guam. She told me that she activated the automatic mayday, but didn't have time to shout one out. Gordon and I found her on the western beach. Could you look back in the computer logs and see if there was anything? Some hint of where she might have gone down?"

John sighed and nodded. "I suppose I can. How far out from the Island? It's a lot of Pacific, but the sensors might have picked up something and recorded it. I'll take a look and if I find something, I'll patch it through to the lab since we're under Operation Cover Up."

"F-A-B. She says she was at least a day on the deep. And we found her this morning."

"Okay. That narrows things down a bit. But I'm warning you, don't expect much."

Scott nodded. "Thanks for doing this, John. Dad will be home in a couple of days and I'd like the mystery cleared up so I can give him a full report," Scott told him. "I just hope that there are no rescues while she's here."

"Me, too, Scott. Well, I'd better get to work on this. Talk to you soon."

"Right. Take care, John. Base out."

Scott cut off the communication, then sat back. Maybe if we can get an idea of where she went down, Gordon could go out and take a look. If anything, it would lend credence to her story. I've little reason to doubt her, but we've heard stories like this before. The main thing she has going for her is the fact that her sister, who we contacted, said she was flying a plane, and that the destinations match up. She didn't correct me, either, when I mentioned Auckland. I'll see if I can get some more information in the morning.

In Thunderbird Five, John went to the computer and pulled up the logs from three days ago and began a search. Location, the Pacific ocean between Auckland and Guam. Distance, maybe, oh, 100 or fewer miles out from Tracy Island, in a westwardly direction. Type of signal, an automated mayday from a small plane. He let the search run, then went off to the galley to get himself a cup of coffee. It looked to be a long night .

Lou lay on the hospital bed, waiting for the light sedative to take effect. She knew she should be tired enough; between the plane going down and the time she spent paddling to where she was now, she should be exhausted. In truth, her muscles and joints hurt almost as much as her skin did, and her head throbbed from the bump it had taken. Brains had put her back on the I.V., wanting to rehydrate her body as effectively as possible. So she felt no compulsion to go walking about exploring the place, as much as she would have liked to.

Instead, her mind buzzed with questions. Why did the plane go down? And why wasn't I warned about the storm? The weather report they handed to me said high pressure and clear flying all the way from Auckland. I don't want to think of what might have happened if I hadn't been able to ditch in the sea and get out of the plane. But then, if they wanted me dead... no, it had to be an accident. An outdated weather report and some kind of mechanical failure. That must be it.

She sighed, then yawned. As she dropped into a drug aided sleep, she said to herself, Right. An accident. Now if I only believed it.

The morning held the promise of rain, with low gray clouds floating as far as the eye could see. Or at least as far as Scott could see from his position on the balcony. He heard the buzz of an engine taking off and was surprised to see Tin-Tin's Ladybird taxi down the airstrip and climb into the sullen sky.

"Where's she going?" he muttered, then, curiosity piqued, he went inside to find out. Making his way downstairs, he entered the kitchen. Kyrano was busy fixing a breakfast tray. Virgil was sitting at the table in his pajamas and dressing gown, reading the paper. Gordon was busy shoveling cereal in his mouth; he was wearing shorts and a t-shirt and Scott knew he had just come in from a swim. The oldest Tracy son poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and asked casually, "Where did Tin-Tin run off to this morning?"

"My daughter has gone with Mr. Alan to Moyla to purchase some clothing for Ms. Myles," Kyrano answered in his polite way. "She felt it would reflect badly on the family if Ms. Myles were to return to the United States wearing, as she put it, 'somebody's hand-me-downs'."

Scott could see Virgil's paper shake, indicating that his next youngest brother was trying hard to keep from laughing. He shook his head and went over to inspect the tray.

"For Ms. Myles?" he asked.

The family retainer nodded. "Mr. Brains says she does not feel up to joining us for the morning meal."

Scott nodded. "Is it ready? I'll take it down to the sick room for you."

"It is ready. And thank you, Mr. Scott. Please remind Mr. Brains that it is time to eat."

"I will," Scott assured him, and he picked up the tray and headed down the hall to the sick room. He knocked on the door and heard Brains call, "C-Come in." The door swished open, and Scott walked in. He found Brains checking Lou's I.V. Lou herself was dressed in a hospital gown and, upon seeing him, gave him a wan smile.

"Kyrano sent breakfast down for you, Lou," Scott said as he put the tray across her lap. He pulled up a chair beside the bed, then turned his attention to Brains. "Brains, Kyrano asked me to remind you that it's time to eat."

"O-Okay, Scott. I-I get the, uh, m-message," Brains replied with a sigh. "Y-You rest t-today, Lou. The s-strain of the past few days has, uh, caught up w-with you. I'll b-be back soon."

"I'll keep her company while you're gone," Scott said with a smile. Brains nodded and left the sick room.

"Does he often miss meals?" Lou asked in a quiet voice. She reached over and picked up the glass of orange juice. Scott frowned as he saw the liquid shake in its container. Still, she brought it to her lips without incident.

"He misses more than we'd like," he admitted. "Sometimes he needs to be reminded that there's a world outside his lab." The glass shook even more when she went to set it down, and Scott, fearing a spill, stood and took it from her. "You're shaky today."

She took a deep breath. "I'm afraid so. Reaction, I think. Yesterday I was coming out of survival mode, trying to keep myself alive and not having too much time to think about what happened. But today, I can't help but think about it and... what might have been." She closed her eyes and leaned back against the raised bed. "On top of that, it feels like every joint and muscle hurts. Not to mention my sunburn."

"Has Brains given you anything for the pain?" Scott asked, preparing to rise and get something from the medicine chest if she needed it.

"Yes, he did, Scott," she answered. "He added it to my IV. I should feel the effects of it soon."

He settled back down in his seat, and looked at her intently, his brain filing through the women he knew. Problem is, I don't know that many women Lou's age. Maybe she was involved in a rescue somewhere. Of course, I couldn't possibly ask her that.

"Lou, I'm almost certain I've seen you before," he admitted. "But I can't remember where."

She opened her eyes and looked at him sleepily, a small smile on her lips. "I'm sure if I had met a man as handsome as you are, Scott, I would remember him. They do say that everyone has a double somewhere. Maybe you've met mine."

"I suppose that could be the case." He looked at the breakfast tray. "Are you hungry? Kyrano makes a wonderful Farmer's Scramble."

"It smells terrific," she said. Picking up her utensils, she forked some into her mouth. The fork shook as it moved from plate to mouth but the morsel remained aboard. Another tidbit followed, and suddenly, she was hungry and her shaking diminished. Between bites, she began to question her questioner.

"What do you do, besides live here on this island?" she asked, sipping some of the orange juice, her hand much more steady.

"I work for the family business," Scott replied. It was his standard reply to the question and it was true enough. They all worked for "the family business", both the overt and the covert. He spent a week or more every quarter at the corporate offices in New York, and occasionally his father would send him out to an office where a family face was sometimes required to calm things down or stir things up.

"Sounds interesting," Lou said politely. She was making good headway on her breakfast now. "I must have needed to eat and that's why I was so shaky." She paused her eating for a moment, and her face took on puzzled expression. "Does... Brains have another name?" she asked. "It seems so... odd... for a man to be called just 'Brains'."

"Uh, yes, he does," Scott replied with a wry grin. "But believe me, he prefers to be called 'Brains'. His given name is unwieldy to say the least." He looked at her speculatively and said, "I'll tell you what his name is if you tell me what 'Lou' stands for."

Lou chuckled. "Then I'll pass. The name that 'Lou' is short for is like Brains's name must be, laugh provoking."

"Aww. C'mon, you can tell me," he cajoled, putting on his most honest and sincere expression. "I promise I won't laugh."

"Sorry, but wheedling will get you nowhere," Lou replied. She drained her juice, and put the glass back on the tray. "I think I've had enough. Please give Kyrano my thanks." She leaned back and closed her eyes again.

Scott knew that his interview with Lou was over. He picked up the unfinished tray and headed for the door. "I'll be back later, Lou. Oh, Tin-Tin's gone out to purchase some clothes for you."

"I know. She asked me what sizes I wore," Lou responded, eyes still closed. Scott sighed, then left, taking the tray with him.

As she heard the door close, Lou opened one eye to be sure he was gone then shut it again. A small smile crossed her still burned lips. You are bad, woman! You are having entirely too much fun watching this poor young man try to remember where he's seen you before! At this point, I doubt that even giving him my first name would trigger the memory. But it might in Virgil, or in John, if Scott talks to him. Gordon and Alan wouldn't remember; they were only babies. Just wish I could see Jeff again. But I think it's better that I'm off this island before their father, and especially their grandmother, return. Still, I should leave a memento of my visit. I'll have to ask Tin-Tin or Brains for paper, pen, and envelope.

Scott took the tray back up to the kitchen. Brains was still sitting at the table, reading a journal while slowly eating his breakfast. Kyrano took the tray from him and tsked over the food left behind.

"She was not hungry, Mr. Scott?" he asked.

"Not too hungry, Kyrano. But she did send her thanks." Scott turned his attention to Brains. "When do you think she'll be okay to go home?"

"Uh, t-tomorrow, I think," Brains answered without looking up. "She should be re-rehydrated soon and the, uh, burn salve should lessen the severity of her sunburn b-by morning."

"Thanks, Brains," Scott replied. He sat and had a leisurely breakfast, enjoying the mixture of eggs, potatoes, peppers, onions, cheddar, and seasonings that was Kyrano's Farmer's Scramble. Then he refilled his coffee cup, and left, heading for the lounge. He climbed the stairs and entered the lounge through the study, locking the door behind him. Virgil was already there, playing something repetitive on the piano and laughing quietly to himself.

"What's so funny?" Scott asked as he settled himself behind the desk.

"Lou. Did you know that she's a Victor Borge fan? I've been trying to remember some of the jokes he pulled when he was playing the piano. There was one where he would play a part of a string of requested numbers and each of the separate tunes would degenerate into 'Happy Birthday'."

"I didn't know that about Lou. Did she say anything else about herself?"

"Only that while she can read music, she doesn't play any instruments. And she sings in private. Said her cats run away when she starts singing. Oh, and she recognized Penelope in her role as fashion model."

"How much did she see in here?" Scott's voice turned concerned.

Virgil shrugged. "Not much. She looked at the portraits and asked who John was and where he was. Admired the rocket. Didn't even give the desk a second glance. Then we talked about music. That's pretty much it."

"Still, that's more than I got out of her," Scott huffed. "She wouldn't even tell me what 'Lou' stood for. Said it was 'laugh provoking'." He bent the first two fingers of both hands into "quotation" crooks.

"Maybe Gordon's right. Maybe it does stand for Ludmilla," Virgil suggested with a grin.

Scott shook his head and opened up communications with John. "Base to Thunderbird Five. Come in, John."

John's portrait became a live feed picture of the space station interior, but for a moment, no one was there. Then John appeared and sat down before the camera, his mouth full of cereal from the bowl in his hand. He chewed as quickly as he could and then swallowed.

"Thunderbird Five to base. Good morning, Scott." He shoved another wet spoonful in and crunched.

"And good morning to you, too. Aren't you eating a little late here?" his older brother asked.

John tried to talk around the cereal, but found it impossible. He finished masticating the cereal, and took a gulp of juice from a glass that sat out of camera range, then said, "Yes, I am. I started a search last night for your missing plane and it came up positive on the GPS. I was doing some cross-referencing on the coordinates and the morning got away from me."

"You found it? That's great!" Scott said enthusiastically. He shot a look at Virgil, who moved from the piano closer to the desk.

"Hi, Virge," John said before taking on another load of food and chomping vigorously.

"Hey, John," Virgil greeted his brother.

John took another swig of juice, then put down the bowl. "I'm downloading the coordinates to you, Scott. The mayday might have registered more strongly but the signal seems to be weak. You might like to know that there was a storm front passing by overhead when the plane went down."

Scott nodded. "She said she was caught in a storm."

"I also have the plane's registry numbers if you want them. I might be able to dig up some air traffic control talkback..." John offered.

"Yeah, would you try, John? And I'd like the numbers, too, please," Scott said looking thoughtful.

"What do you plan on doing with this information?" Virgil asked. There was a moment of silence. John studied Scott, interested to see what his brother's answer would be.

Finally, Scott sighed. "I'm not sure. I've half a mind to have Gordon go out with Thunderbird Four and take a look around. See if he can figure out what happened to bring the plane down." He shook his head. "She seems to be a responsible, mature lady. The kind that wouldn't ditch in the sea without a good reason."

"Dad wouldn't like that, Scott, and you know it," Virgil warned. "If there was a rescue requiring Gordon and Thunderbird Four and he was out chasing this downed plane..."

"I know, Virge, I know," Scott replied irritably. "I just hate this mystery. I know I know this woman from somewhere!"

"Well, I'll get back to work and see if I've got any talkback, though it's doubtful I do. The system dumps all unnecessary recordings after 72 hours," John said, picking up his bowl again. "Ugh. Soggy cereal. I think a fresh bowl is in order. What did you guys have for breakfast? Or don't I want to know?"

"Farmer's Scramble," Virgil said with a grin.

John made a face. "Oooh. Rub it in, why don't you? I'll have to see if I have a package of that in the cryofreezer, now. It's not as good reheated but still, it's better than soggy cereal. I can hardly wait to get back home! The cupboard is getting a little bare up here."

"The end of the week, Johnny, I promise," Scott said with a smile.

"Even if our Ms. Myles is still there?" John asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Our Ms. Myles will be back to home and hearth by then, John. She's as eager to go home as we are to see her go."

"Too bad you won't get to meet her, John," Virgil piped up. "She does seem to be a nice lady. Friendly but not overly nosy."

"Well, since she's not a nubile young bit of arm candy, I'll pass," John returned, smirking. "Talk to you later, guys. Thunderbird Five out." The live picture was replaced with a portrait of John in uniform, and then his casual picture slid down to cover it.

Scott sat down behind his father's desk, put his feet up on the flat top, and pulled out his crossword puzzle. Virgil went back to the piano. After a few minutes, the musician could hear the syncopated beat of the pencil against Scott's chin.

"You're still thinking about sending Gordon out, aren't you?"

Scott squirmed a bit at this mind-reading on Virgil's part. "Yeah. I am. If I could be sure that there wasn't going to be a rescue, and that Dad wouldn't find out..."

"Well, you can't be sure of either, so just drop it," Virgil told him, returning his focus to his music.

Scott huffed, then went back to his crossword. After a moment's silence, he asked, "What's a three-letter word for 'Your parent's sister in Milan'?"

Virgil thought for a moment and replied, "Zia, I think."

"Ah, yes. That fits nicely. Thanks."