Alan takes flight

"Ready to go, Lou?" Alan called back from the cockpit, where he was acting as co-pilot.

"Whenever you are, Alan," Lou answered with a smile.

The morning for departure was finally here. Brains gave Lou a final once-over and declared her fit to travel home. So, after breakfast, she had packed up the clothes that Tin-Tin had brought in a small satchel, also courtesy of Tin-Tin, and climbed aboard one of the Tracy family's private SST jets. It was a luxuriously comfortable plane, the best that money could buy, and Lou found herself relaxing in her plush seat. Tin-Tin sat across the aisle from her, while Kyrano took the pilot's seat. She had begged pen, paper and envelope from him that morning and she meant to spend some of her travel time writing a thank you note to her absent host. A smile came to her lips when she thought about what she might say in the missive.

The plane lifted into the air smoothly and made a turn around the island before heading out to sea. Lou looked out her window, now able to see the entirety of the place where she had spent the past two days.

"The island is much more lush than it appears from the sea," she said quietly. She turned to Tin-Tin. "No wonder Mr. Tracy decided to make his home here. It's like paradise."

Tin-Tin smiled. "A paradise without serpents. But not without dangers. Or spiders. Large ones, at that."

Lou regarded her companion thoughtfully. "Forgive my curiosity, but how did you and your father meet the Tracys?"

Tin-Tin sat back, and stared into space for a moment. "Oh, that's a long story. The gist of it is that my father was working as a botanist in the Royal Gardens at Kew, in England. While he was there, he also developed a protein-filled synthetic food base, derived from plants. The Space Agency was interested in it, and invited him to the States to talk to him about it. While he was there, he met Mr. Tracy. They became good friends in a short time. Then Father went back to England, and eventually on to Paris, where he was able to indulge in his other love, cooking. He met my mother there while he was a sous chef at the Hilton. After a time, he was promoted to head chef. I was born in Paris, and my mother died there."

Tin-Tin looked down at her hands. "By this time, Mr. Tracy was also a widower and was finding it hard to keep up things at home and with his business, even with Mrs. Tracy's help. He called my father, and arranged for the two of us to visit him in the States. While we were there, he asked my father to stay and help with the running of the household so his mother could return to her farm. My father agreed and, well, there we were. Mr. Tracy was instrumental in my education, paying for every penny so I could go to the best schools for science and technology." Don't want to tell her that one of the reasons Father came on board is that Mrs. Tracy refused to move to the island!

"That was generous of him. I take it your father is much more than a servant, isn't he?" Lou asked.

Tin-Tin smiled thinly. "My father serves by his choice. But he is still Mr. Tracy's friend and is both a confidant and an advisor."

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Tin-Tin," Lou said contritely. "I was curious because I could sense that he wasn't just a servant. I could see that he occupied a bigger place in the household than that."

"I accept your apology, Lou." Tin-Tin replied, her smile becoming wider and warmer. "You know, this is the first real curiosity you've shown to any of us."

Uh-oh! How do I get out of this? I can't tell her... okay, keep calm. Tell her a bit of truth. "Well, everyone has heard of Jeff Tracy and his family, and Scott and the others, well, they're all brothers and you can see it in the way they interact. But you and your father's relationship to the family piqued my interest, as has... Brains's place in the household." Lou shook her head and made a face. "Really! That's such an absurd name! Is his real name really that bad?"

Tin-Tin beckoned Lou closer, and whispered in her ear. Lou's eyes widened and she grinned. She nodded to Tin-Tin and said wryly, "You're right. That is pretty bad. I won't complain about 'Brains' any more." Good. Now I have his name and I can do some digging...

The flight time to Los Angeles went quickly, and when they reached the airport, Lou got out and stretched. She watched as Tin-Tin embraced her father, then Kyrano came over to her and made a formal bow. "It has been an honor having you with us, Ms. Myles. I hope the rest of your journey will fare well."

Lou returned the bow. "Thank you, Kyrano. I have enjoyed your hospitality. It's not every day that I am served a meal by the head chef of one of Paris's most prestigious hotels."

Kyrano smiled. "You have been talking to Tin-Tin about me. If we had time, I would tell you some stories about her that would make her blush. However, I must leave and I see Mr. Alan is anxious to refuel and be off into the air again. Goodbye, Ms. Myles."

"Goodbye, Kyrano."

Tin-Tin walked her father to the Tracy Industries hangar-terminal, then returned quickly. "I'm going to help Alan with refueling and a quick recheck of the plane's systems. There's a lounge in the hangar area if you'd like to use the facilities," she offered.

Lou shook her head. "I'm fine. The sooner we get airborne, the sooner I get home."

Tin-Tin smiled widely. "Then I'll hurry Alan along. Sometimes he starts talking with the mechanics and loses track of time."

"Don't skimp on the checks on my account," Lou said hurriedly. "I wouldn't want anything... to... happen..." A sudden vision of the Pacific rising up at her, the waves tossing and heaving as she fought with the stalled plane filled her mind and she gasped, her face paling.

"Lou?" Tin-Tin asked, taking hold of Lou's shoulder and looking her in the eye. It took a moment, but finally Lou shook herself and her current surroundings registered.

"I'm... okay now," she said haltingly. "A bit of a flashback, that's all. I expect I'll have more of them." She turned her gaze to Tin-Tin. "Please do not skimp on the flight checks. I'd like to be sure of getting home."

"Of course," Tin-Tin replied, rubbing Lou's upper arm soothingly. "Why don't you go to the lounge and get a cup of good, strong coffee or tea. By the time you're finished with it, we'll be ready."

"I think I will after all. I should call home anyway," Lou agreed. Tin-Tin walked her halfway to the lounge, then returned. Alan met her as she came back.

"Let's be as thorough as we can, Alan," she said, looking back at Lou as she disappeared inside. "Lou just had a flashback to her accident."

"All right. We'll take the time," Alan agreed. "But I'm beginning to wonder if what happened was really an accident."

"Scott's gotten to you, hasn't he?" Tin-Tin said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"He's got a point, Tin-Tin," Alan said as he checked the pressure and tread on the landing gear wheels.

"Let's just get on with it, Alan. See the lady safely home and then head back to L.A." Tin-Tin sighed and smiled. "I want to get in some shopping before we leave the States."

Alan groaned, and covered his face with his hand, muttering, "Not more shopping!"

Within a half hour, they were once again on their way. Alan had taken over the pilot's chair, and Tin-Tin rode shotgun as co-pilot. Lou, left to her own devices, began to write her letter to Jeff Tracy. She smiled as she wrote it, occasionally even chuckling, a sound that neither Alan nor Tin-Tin heard. When her letter was finished, she folded it and put it in the envelope, then put Jeff's name on the front, with one instruction: "To be opened in the presence of his sons, particularly Scott." Then she leaned back and closed her eyes.

The next thing she knew, they were touching down at the Asheville airport, and taxiing over to the small plane terminal.

"Uhh." Lou groaned as she levered herself out of her seat. "I must have fallen asleep."

"You did," remarked Alan, grinning. "We could hear you sawing logs all the way up here!"

Tin-Tin nudged him hard in the ribs. "Alan! That's not polite!"

Lou laughed. "Don't worry about it, Tin-Tin. I'm already aware that I snore!"

Alan unsealed the plane, and the three of them piled out. "A bit of a chilly wind here," Tin-Tin remarked, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Yes. Spring comes later to the mountains," Lou replied, taking a deep, appreciative breath. "Oh, God, it's so good to be home."

"Sorry that we have to use the public terminal," Alan said. "Tracy Industries doesn't exactly have a presence in this city."

"You can't be everywhere," Lou responded. "Oh! There's Mrs. Mason! When we hit Los Angeles, I called and asked her to come pick me up. Hi, Mrs. M.!"

A young, dark-skinned woman turned at Lou's call and smiled widely, her teeth white against her skin. Her hair was in thin braids that sat close to her scalp and were gathered at the nape of her neck, continuing down in a bunch to past her shoulder blades. She was dressed in jeans and a brown polo shirt with the emblem, "Mason's Pet Sitting Service" embroidered on the left below the collar.

"Miz Myles! Oh, am I glad to see you! Poor Spot is drooling away in my van with carsickness, and I'm afraid Snowball has soiled her case again!" Mrs. Mason called in a strong Southern drawl.

Lou laughed loudly, and embraced the woman. "I'm missing in action for two days and when I finally show up, all I hear about is my cats! How are you, Jadzia?"

"I'm fine... Lou. Looks like you got yourself one heavy duty tan there!" Jadzia Mason replied.

"Yes, a bad sunburn that's finally petered out to a tan. I'll tell you all about it later. I'd like you to meet two of the people who were instrumental in taking good care of me. Jadzia Mason, meet Alan Tracy and Tin-Tin Kyrano. Alan, Tin-Tin, this is my mysterious Mrs. Mason, the best pet sitter in the whole county."

"Nice to meet you all," Jadzia said as she shook hands with Alan and Tin-Tin.

"Likewise," Alan answered. He put his hands in his pockets, then rocked back on his heels. Glancing over at Lou, he said, "Well, it looks like it's time."

"Yes. It does, doesn't it?" Lou said with a soft smile. She held out her hand to Alan, who took it, then she pulled him towards her to give him a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Alan, for flying me home. You take care on the way back now."

"I will, Lou," he promised.

Lou and Tin-Tin hugged each other. "Thanks for all that you did, Tin-Tin. I won't forget it. If you are ever in Asheville again, look me up and I'll show you the sights."

"I will," Tin-Tin replied.

Lou fumbled in the pocket of her sweater and came out with her envelope. "Will you see to it that Mr. Tracy gets this? It's just a little note of thanks for my absent host."

"Sure," the Malaysian replied, quickly reading the front of the envelope then giving Lou a questioning look.

But no explanation was forthcoming. Lou turned to Jadzia. "Shall we go?" The two walked away, giving a last wave to Alan and Tin-Tin as they went. Then the doors to the outside opened, and they were gone.

"Well, that's done!" Alan said, turning and putting an arm around Tin-Tin's shoulders. "Nice to have a 'beach find' that was so eager to get back to her own place."

"Do you think we'll ever see her again, Alan?" Tin-Tin asked, slipping the letter into her handbag.

Alan shook his head. "No, probably not. Not unless we visit out this way again." He looked back briefly. "She was good company while she was with us and I'm glad we were able to help her when she needed help."

"Me, too. Now, sir, let's get the plane refueled for the flight back to Los Angeles. I have some shopping to do!" Tin-Tin took his hand and ran for their plane, dragging him along behind her.

Meanwhile, on Tracy Island, Gordon was talking to Scott.

"I was thinking last night..." he began.

"Always a dangerous pastime with you," Scott quipped, interrupting. Gordon frowned and shook his head.

"Do you want to hear my idea or not?" he asked grumpily.

"What is it, a new prank? And you need my help because Alan's not here?" Scott asked.

"No. I was talking with John last night, and I thought that maybe I should go out and take a gander at Lou's plane. See if I can find out what made it go down."

Scott blinked. And blinked again. "What did you just say?"

"That maybe I should go down and find Lou's plane. Find out why she had to ditch."

"Have you mentioned this idea to Virgil?"

Gordon grinned. "Nah. He's busy up on the promontory, painting. What he's painting up there, I haven't a clue. But that's where he is."

"Hmmm," Scott hummed. His eyes narrowed. "How long would it take you?"

Gordon looked up at the ceiling. "With Thunderbird Four's speeds? Three hours there and back, tops." He paused. "And I'd take Brains with me, too. That way if there was an emergency, Virgil could pick me up at sea and Brains could bring Four back to base."

"Sounds like you've thought this all out," Scott remarked.

Gordon smiled proudly. "Yep."

"Why?"

Gordon was startled by the question. "Why? Because I'm as curious as you are about Lou and her story. And if I can figure out why she went down, we'll know a little bit more about her, don't you think? We'd at least know if she was washed up by accident or not."

Scott took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He paused for a moment, looking at Gordon keenly, noting the eagerness underlying his brother's blasé façade. Then he nodded.

"Go. Keep communications open and if there's an emergency, head back right away. I'll hold the fort."

"F-A-B!" Gordon replied smartly. He saluted Scott, then turned on his heel and all but marched from the room.

"I hope you find us some answers, Gords," Scott muttered as he watched his brother go.

Gordon took the monorail down to the lab, knocking on the door before entering. One never knew exactly what was going on inside that room, and more than once an untimely, unannounced entrance had resulted in some catastrophe to whatever Brains was working on.

"C-Come in," Brains's voice called from within.

Gordon opened the door, and stuck his head in. Brains was at his computer, typing so fast that the tapping sounded more like a machine gun than typing.

"What d-did he say?" Brains asked without looking up.

"He said we're go!" Gordon informed him, coming all the way into the lab.

"Let me finish this a-and I'll be there," Brains responded.

"Right. I'll get Four out of the pod and ready to roll!"

"Roll is not the operative w-word. F-Float is more..." Brains stopped when he heard the lab door close. "Sometimes he m-moves too fast."

Twenty minutes later, Thunderbird Four zipped down the airstrip on its hoverjets and plunged into the lagoon. Once in the water, Gordon revved the engines to maximum speed, and the littlest Thunderbird sped through the water.

"Did you t-take your, uh, pill?" Brains asked from the fold down seat behind Gordon.

He nodded. "Yeah. Did you take one?"

"I-I don't think I'll b-be, uh, diving," Brains said. He frowned. "Or w-will I?"

"I don't think so, but it wouldn't hurt, Brains. Just in case," Gordon replied.

"P-Point taken." Brains got up and opened the first aid kit. He popped an anti-bends pill into his mouth and opened a small bottle of drinkable water to wash it down. "You'll n-need to restock your, uh, p-potable water supply."

"Uh, thanks, Brains. I'll remember to do that," Gordon replied, his mind more on his piloting than on what the genius was trying to tell him.

They sailed on for about an hour, checking in at regular intervals with both Scott and John. Scott looked worried, like someone who was about to get caught with their hand in the cookie jar. John, however, sounded like this was some great big treasure hunt. It was he who gave the final coordinates on where the plane had come to rest.

"So, do you see it yet? I'm getting a strong signal from there now, but it's not a mayday," John reported.

"No, I don't... hey! Brains, come look at this!" Gordon exclaimed.

The engineer got up and looked out over Gordon's shoulder. "It's a c-cable of some kind," he stated.

"Yeah, and I have a feeling I know what we're going to find at one end of it. I'm going to look there first and see if I'm right."

Brains sat back down as Gordon angled Thunderbird Four's bow upward, toward the surface. The yellow submarine popped up from beneath the waves and rear thrusters pushed her along toward the thing that was bobbing serenely on the light waves.

"It's a salvage buoy," Gordon said with a frown. "But... why is it here?" He toggled a switch on his telecomm. "John... the signal you're getting? Could it be from a salvage buoy?"

"Yeah, Gords. It's on that wavelength," John said with a nod. "I don't know how they found it though. The mayday from the plane was pretty weak, even for Earth based detectors."

"Hmph." Gordon snorted out a breath. "Well, let's go down and take a look at this plane. Ready, Brains?"

"F-A-B," Brains said mildly. Gordon snorted again, and sent his Thunderbird back beneath the waves.

They followed the cable down into the murky depths, the cable a slender-looking cord in the glare of Four's lighting trough. Finally, they found the end of it, attached, as Gordon suspected it would be, to a small jet plane.

"The buoy is attached to the plane, all right," Gordon complained to John and Scott.

"So?" Scott replied. "That means you can't move it. Which is not what you're there to do anyway. Now, get a move on. Virgil won't be on the promontory forever, and if I know him, he'll blab to Dad if he knows you're out there."

Gordon sighed. "Okay, okay. I'll put on the deep sea equipment and take a look."

"G-Gordon. The n-nose of the plane is open," Brains said. He had risen from his seat again and was looking out into the depths.

"You're right, Brains. Wonder what that means?" Gordon asked.

"I-I can think of one thing," Brains offered.

"What?"

"I'd r-rather you, uh, went out to look," the scientist said. "I can t-tell you what to look for when you, uh, are there."

"Okay, Brains. I'll go out."

Gordon proceeded to don the deep sea diving equipment. It was his own design and had been tested in more than one rescue situation. Then he stepped into the airlock.

"I'm ready, Brains."

Brains, now in the pilot's seat, opened the vents to let the airlock fill with water. The water came in from the bottom of the chamber; to just open the hatch at the top would cause the airlock to flood with enormous pressure, crushing the diver and pushing Thunderbird Four downward. Gordon felt a slight pressure as the tiny room filled with seawater, then his feet left the floor as buoyancy kicked in. Then the hatch opened and Gordon swam out. The depth of the water made him feel like he was swimming through molasses, but he moved on until he reached the plane.

"Brains, ask John for the identification letters again?"

Brains relayed the message and received an answer. "Uh, November India Zulu Zero Two Five Nine."

"That's it. Same plane." Gordon moved over to the nose of the craft to look inside, the light he had strapped to his forearm following his motions. Brains positioned Thunderbird Four closer, so that the engine compartment was brightly lit. He stood up, trying to see the innards of the plane from his vantage point.

"Hmm. Looks like something was removed," Gordon said, pulling out a wire that appeared to have been attached to something at one time.

"Th-The black box. Do you s-see the, uh, black b-box?" Brains asked.

"No, Brains. I don't." All of the Tracy sons, even Gordon, had pilot's licenses and their father had made sure they were all well versed in the mechanics of what made a plane go. "Let me look inside the cockpit and see what's there."

Using the sides of the plane to guide him, he made it to the pilot's side of the cockpit. He ran his light over the dials and indicators then came back to one. He frowned inside the suit and tapped it with a gloved hand.

"Brains, I think I see the problem."

"Wh-What is it?"

"I'll tell you when I get back inside." He finished the rest of his inspection, and returned to Thunderbird Four.

"What's the problem?" Scott's voice came from the speaker as Gordon climbed back into the cockpit.

"What did you find, Gords?" John piped up.

Gordon sighed. "I checked the engine, and as Brains might have told you, the black box was missing. So there's no real way to tell what was going on. But I also took a look at the control panel. Everything was where it should have been, reading zero. Except for the fuel gauge."

"Wh-What?" Brains asked. "What was it, uh, r-reading?"

"Full."

"That doesn't make any sense, Gordon," Scott said. "It should have read less than that. I'm sure she used up some fuel to get to that point."

"Y-You're right, Scott," Brains agreed.

"Yeah. And even though the tanks are full of water now, the gauge would have gone back to zero once the power was out," John added.

"So, what does this tell us?" Gordon asked, already knowing the answer.

"That someone tampered with her fuel gauge," Scott said grimly.

"And w-without the, uh, b-black box, there's no r-real way to prove it," Brains added.

Lou unlocked the door, and walked into her house, carrying two of the animal carriers, while Mrs. Mason brought up the rear with two more. Putting the carriers down, she turned to disarm her alarm system, putting a palm up to a small scanner. Reaching down, she released her black male, Midnight, and her black tortie female, Spot. They stretched, exchanged a hiss and a swat, then sauntered off to see if the food dish was full.

"Here, Luci," Mrs. Mason said, putting the other carriers down gently. "You'd better open these up. Moofum's been swatting at my hands all day. Don't know what got the cat into such a tizzy anyway."

"Oh, sure, Mrs. Mason. Uh, how much do I owe you?" Lou asked, moving into the living room/office to pull out a fresh checkbook.

"Well, I kept them just one extra day, that's eight days for four cats... 400, I think," Mrs. Mason replied. Lou smiled; To her, Mrs. Mason was worth the price. She added an extra 50.

"Now, Luci, you know I can't..." Mrs. Mason protested, trying to hand the check back.

"It's for being so flexible, Mrs. M.," Lou explained. "Not too many pet sitters would allow their clients to suddenly change their plans like you do."

"Well, it's not like you could help it," the younger woman said. "I'm just glad that your sister was able to give me a call, that's all." She accepted the check. "Thank you, Luci. You're one of my prime customers."

"Unfortunately, since I'm now retired, I probably won't have as much need of your services," Lucinda replied with a rueful tone. She reached down to release the fluffy gray Moofum from confinement, then opened the carrier door for Snowball, her pure white cat. She then moved the soiled carrier out to the wide front porch.

"I don't believe that one bit," Mrs. Mason said stoutly. "You'll be gallivanting off on vacations and your cats and I will see plenty of each other." She gave Lou a keen look. "Now, will you tell me why you asked me to call you 'Lou' and not 'Luci'?"

"Well, they've known me as 'Lou' and I didn't want them to hear a different name. It would have confused them and they would have started asking uncomfortable questions," Lou explained. "They'll find out the truth when they get home."

"Wellll, if you say so, Luci," Jadzia said. The pet sitter reached down to scratch the sleepy Snowball under the chin. "I'll be going now. I'll talk to you again soon."

"Right, Mrs. M. Talk to you soon," Lou echoed as the pet sitter made her way down the porch steps and into her van. She watched as the woman drove away, then stepped back inside the house.

Standing still in the entrance hallway, she closed her eyes and tried to get a feel for her home. It felt... off, like someone had been there in her absence. She made her way to her desk, flipping on the stereo as she did so. Sitting in her desk chair, she watched as the machine came to life. The power button glowed green, and she pressed a hidden stud on the side of the receiver box. In one corner of the receiver's face, a tiny round light began to shine. A red light.

Lou frowned, then sighed. I might have known. Someone has been here all right, and left behind a souvenir or two. I'd better check the other rooms.

Each of Lou's rooms, even the bathroom, had some sort of music player in it. Not just because she loved music and liked to sing along, no matter how bad her voice was, but for a different purpose entirely. She knew that as a single woman alone in her house, she was given to talking aloud, both to herself and to her cats. And she didn't always think about what she had to say in the privacy of her home. Her frown deepened as she went from room to room, the tiny indicator light on her sound equipment glowing red at each and every stop.

She left the main floor of her home, and navigated the winding stair down to the finished basement, where she kept a small workout area, a workshop, and a storage room. The indicator light on the sound system down there glowed red, too. Opening the player's disk reader, she nodded, closed it, and turned on the music, then reached behind her music player to find a hidden toggle switch. This she pressed, then waited. After a few long minutes, the red light went out and was replaced by a green one. She smiled slightly, then reached under a shelf to run her fingers over a small, glassy black spot, obscured by the shadows cast by the overhead lights. Across the room, a door slid open silently. Moving her bicycle out of the way, she entered a hidden chamber, her very motion turning on the lights inside. It was filled with computer equipment and racks holding row after row of data disks. Even here there was a sound system, and after the door slid shut behind her, she repeated what she had done in every other room of her house. This time the light immediately came up green and she sighed, her tense body relaxing with relief.

"Good. They didn't find this place," she murmured to herself. Sitting down at the computer desk, she opened a hidden drawer and pulled out a small, silver data disk. On it were printed the initials, TJB, and the words, Investigation #223. An altogether non-descript little disk but Lucinda took in a deep breath and shuddered when she thought of the information on it.

"They were looking for you," she said softly to the disk. "But they didn't find you. Which means they'll be back. And now all my suspicions are confirmed. So... it begs the question: what am I to do with you?" She sat and stared at the disk, her mind running through several different scenarios. Finally, she made her decision.

"I guess the first order of business is to look over all the information again. Then, see what I can do to misdirect my adversaries."