Reports and Instructions

Franks stood stock still, startled that the man knew that he was there. He glanced quickly around the room and finally saw the room's only occupant, standing by a window with a magnificent view of the sea and the neighboring island on the horizon. "I take it you are Minister Alvarez?" he asked, trying to regain the upper hand.

"I am," the man said simply. He turned to face Franks and the two of them studied each other. Franks saw a man, slightly past middle age, with a receding hairline and silver patches in his dark hair at the temples. His face was broad, and he had a strong, hawk like nose and an equally strong chin. He was shorter than Franks, but had broad shoulders and a solid frame, not flabby, but not thin. His skin was well tanned and he wore a conservative beige suit with a black armband over the left sleeve. There was an aura of power around him, compelling respect and obedience. He seemed to be a man who would and could get whatever he wanted, regardless of the cost. But is was his eyes that disturbed Franks the most. They were dark and hooded and inscrutably cruel.

"I understand, Señor Franks, that there has been some little difficulty with the disk you retrieved." His voice was low and commanding and there was something odd about the accent, something that Franks couldn't place.

The mercenary found himself fidgeting and didn't know why. He willed his body to stillness and replied, "That's right. Lucinda Myles set up a dummy disk and attached a bunch of termites to the files."

"Ah. Clever woman." Alvarez turned back to the window. "I fear that you have forfeited your fee, Señor Franks. You did not bring us what we requested. All that work for nothing."

Franks's eyes narrowed. "I did what was required! It wasn't my fault that the conniving bitch created a dummy. We broke her to get this disk!"

"Broke her? I would not be so sure. A woman who creates such a convincing replica and such a virulent termite would be able to manipulate a simpleton such as you, Señor Franks."

Keep cool, Jimmy old son. He's pulling your chain. The blond moved slowly toward Alvarez. "I doubt she developed the termite. That's not in her resumé. But..." His odd voice became less threatening, more ingratiating. "She wouldn't have destroyed the original. And I can get it."

"By yourself? It took five of you to get this... replica." Alvarez sneered. "Do not waste my time with idle promises."

"Tracy was with her. We had to have the extra manpower." Franks moved still closer, fists balled. "But just her? I can take her. I was her partner. I know what she knows, how she thinks, all of her moves. I can take her, and get you what you want. All you have to do is say the word. And pay me half my fee."

By this time Franks had quietly moved to within two meters of Alvarez and was preparing to show him that Jim Franks was not to be trifled with. Suddenly, Alvarez snapped his fingers. "Luis."

Franks turned as a tall, heavily built man stepped out of a curtained alcove. He held a semi-automatic rifle in his hands, a weapon at odds with his well-cut suit. He had a wireless communicator in one ear, and he murmured something Franks couldn't hear. Within minutes, the double door slammed opened and two of the massive household guards came running in, pistols at the ready.

Alvarez turned to stare impassively at Franks, who had his hands up in surrender. He snapped his fingers again, and the two guards grabbed the blond roughly, twisting his arms back and fastening them with plastic cuffs. "I have many enemies, señor, so I am always under guard." The minister of security turned back to the window. "You are fortunate that I did not have them kill you. But it is hard to remove the bloodstains from the carpet." He paused. "I will consider your offer. As for now, you will be returned to your room until I decide your fate." Motioning with his hand, he ordered, "Take him away."

The men dragged a silent, seething Jim Franks away from the office. Alvarez sighed and nodded to Luis, who returned to his post. He wandered over to his desk, selecting a fine cigar from the humidor, clipping one end before lighting it, and taking a deep drag on it. Then he returned to the window to stare unseeing at the blue waters. I needed that information to show to Tracy. To convince him that I was serious about my intent. But I do not have it, and everything else that was collected is destroyed. He shook his head slightly, breathing out the cigar smoke. I do not know whether to believe the mercenary about the Myles woman. If she was farsighted enough to create the replica, surely she would have seen the danger in having the information and would have destroyed it. And intelligent enough that she will not have stayed where Franks found her.

His eyes widened as he took another drag on the cigar. But Tracy was there! She must know, she must have learned who runs International Rescue! So he has seen what was collected... and will be on his guard against future incursions. He rubbed his chin with the hand holding the cigar, spilling ash on the floor. But does he know why it was collected? Hmm. I may still be able to blackmail the man. This Myles person is someone who he knows and knows well. And who might know the operations of International Rescue well enough to give me the information I need.

Jeff yawned widely. It was after three p.m. The boys were back home, fed, and debriefed. The Thunderbirds were refueled, restocked and ready for the next call. Now the house was quiet as his sons got some badly needed sleep. He tapped on his keyboard with finality, saving the notes he had just dictated on the rescue. His shoulders slumped, and he rolled his head around again, feeling and hearing the tiny cracking noises made by his neck as he did. He scrolled through the log, making notes or highlighting certain passages for comments later. Coming upon the part where Gordon had put the call in to Alan without using code names, he sat back and tapped his chin with a stylus.

Alan really hates his code name. I suppose I can't blame him; the older boys find it amusing. Something about lambs, I guess. He'd feel that the most, being the youngest and trying for so long to be considered as an adult by his siblings. Maybe I should have just gone with Scott's suggestion and given them the Greek letters in order of their births or something. But... Lou said we had to do whatever we could to hide the number of operatives we really have. The random assignment seemed to be the safest. Maybe I'll let him choose again; after all, we're still new to the code names, it wouldn't be much of an adjustment. Virgil's not pleased at having to use them at all, but he'll have to get used to it. We all will. He glanced at his computer's clock. Speaking of Lou, I promised I'd call her back... what time it is in New York, anyway?

He did a quick calculation, found it was 10 p.m. the previous day in New York, and placed his call.

A sleepy voice answered, "Cindy Lou heah. Who may Ah ask is callin'?"

"It's Jeff."

The picture came up and a tousled and tired Lou looked back at him. She smiled wearily at him. "Well, suh. Y'all mustn't be busy ennymore."

"Hello, Lou. No, we're not 'busy' anymore. The boys are all asleep; it was a long night." Jeff yawned. "What have you been up to?"

"Exterminatin' bugs," she answered.

"Exterminating bugs?"

"Yeah. The kind o' bugs thet trigger mah surveillance detectah. Ah got th' furniture in mah livin' room, office, an' mah bedroom done."

"Oh!" Jeff nodded, and yawned again. " Now I understand." He gave her a puzzled look. "That's got to be hard. How do you know you've gotten them all?"

Lou smiled, and held up Dee's new gadget. "With this. Dee's latest inventshun. Still got a few bugs o' it's own, but it works." She put up a hand to cover a yawn of her own, then said,. "So, how are th' boys takin' the new procedures?"

Jeff sighed. "Not too well in some cases. But they'll get used to them."

"O' coahse. New thangs take tahme to get used to." She indicated her hair. "It's takin' tahme foah me t' git used t' this hayah. Ah look in th' mirror an' Ah still see a strangeah."

"Well, at least at the end of the day you can take out the contacts and peel off the beauty mark," Jeff commented, but Lou shook her head.

"Nope. Ah had mah irises dayhed, an' th' beauty mark is a temporary tattoo. They'll both fade in about three months, then Ah'll ahthuh have t' get 'em redone..." She dropped the accent with a sigh. "...or I'll go back to being Lou Myles."

"That's not..." Jeff failed to stifle another wide yawn. "That's not a bad thing, is it?"

"Not if we can get this situation 'under control'," Lou replied. She raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. "You look like you could use some sleep yourself."

"Well, yes," he admitted. "I've just been dictating notes on the 'business trip'." He yawned again, and shook his head.

"So? Go t' bed already," Lou said, her accent back in place. "Ah'll do th' same. G'naht, Jeff."

"Goodnight, Lou. Talk to you again soon."

"Lookin' fo'ard to it. G'bye."

The call ended, and Jeff stood. He stretched, rubbed his eyes, and toggled a switch. "Kyrano? I'm off to bed."

"Very good, Mr. Tracy. Shall I wake you for dinner?"

Jeff thought a moment and said, "Please do. Goodnight, Kyrano."

"Sleep well, Mr. Tracy."

"Uhhhh." Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward made a most unladylike sound as she turned over in bed. She had endured a long night. The Duke of Denver had held a black-tie benefit dinner and dance, raising funds for the cause du jour, a privately funded space station for cancer research and treatment. There had been entirely too much champagne served, and the dinner, though exquisite, had made her feel a touch bloated, so she had danced far longer than she had intended with a number of distinguished gentlemen to counteract the food. As a result, she did not arrive back at her manor home until after two. It wasn't often that she let herself indulge like that, but then His Grace was an old friend, and if chatting up and dancing with the potential contributors would aid the cause, she was willing to make the sacrifice.

She thought wistfully that she would have liked for Jeff to have been there, but he had declined the invitation weeks ago, pleading his workload at Tracy Industries. However, she suspected that once he had seen the prospectus on the space station, and had done some research to satisfy himself as to its bona fides, he would tender a substantial donation.

There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Parker's voice called out, "Yer breakfast, milady."

"In my sitting room, Parker. I shall be just a moment."

"Very good, milady."

Penelope pulled back the covers and sat up, holding a hand to her head, which had begun to throb and ache. Rising to her feet, she passed by the sequined gown that was thrown carelessly over an antique Louis XVI armchair, upholstered in a pale pink striped fabric. Entering her bath, she found her pink dressing gown with the pale pink marabou feathers around the collar, and slipped it on. Her matching heeled slippers were also there, and she slid her feet into them. She brushed her luxurious blonde tresses to get the night's snarls out, and stepped out into her boudoir's sitting room. Parker was already pouring her a cup of fragrant Earl Grey, dropping in the requisite one lump with a pair of silver tongs. Penelope arranged herself on her Louis XV chaise lounge (it was getting difficult to find antique pieces where the kings' number matched) and took the proffered cup with a murmured thank you.

Parker brought over her breakfast tray, and set it across her lap. " 'Ere h'is yer PDA with yer messages from yesterday, milady. H'Ay've 'ighlighted one in partikular."

She sipped her tea with one hand and held the data pad up with the other. "Ah! Excellent! It seems that our elusive Mr. Franks has been run to ground. His Excellency, the Minister of Security? I suppose that makes some kind of sense, although I cannot think of what possible motive he might have to blackmail International Rescue." She put the PDA down and took another sip. "I wonder what can be done to stop His Excellency and capture this Franks person?" Penelope continued to sip her hot drink as she turned over various plans in her mind. Finally, she glanced over at her butler-chauffeur and general partner in espionage. "Parker, prepare the Rolls. I shall be going to town." Taking a bite of her shirred eggs, she chewed and swallowed, then waved a dainty hand. "Before you go, please hand me the teapot. I must tell Jeff of these developments. What time is it on Tracy Island?"

Parker looked at his watch as he brought over the still-warm silver teapot. "H'Ay beleeve it t' be h'around nine-thirty in th' h'evenin', milady."

"Excellent. I shall call Jeff as soon as I finish my meal. You may go, Parker. Lil can clear."

"Very good, milady." Parker said, smiling slightly. He left her sitting room with quiet dignity, closing the double doors behind him. Once outside her room, he rubbed his hands together. "She's got h'a plan fer h'us, an' no mistake! P'raps h'even h'a trip t' H'Unity City. Best get h'on wit' preparin' FAB-1."

At Tracy Island, night had finally fallen, and in the lounge, Virgil was softly playing "Liebestraum". Jeff was behind his desk, barely hearing the music, and perusing the prospectus on the medical space station, when the pink pearls of Penelope's portrait flashed. Virgil stopped playing. Jeff got up from his desk, adjusted his shirt, and strode over to the picture. "Go ahead, Pink Lady."

"Good evening, J... I mean, Commander. It's so good to see you," Penelope began, a pleased smile crossing her beautiful face.

"And to see you," Jeff responded. "Is this a social call?"

"Oh, no. Business as always when I use the communicator. I have some excellent news. Our agents in Unity City believe they have found just where our Mr. Franks has gone to ground."

Jeff rubbed his hands together. "That is excellent news, Pe... Pink Lady! Where is he?"

"They believe he was taken to the private cay of His Excellency, Fernando Rafael Alvarez, the minister of security. He was last seen in the company of His Excellency's private secretary, Carlos Esteban Ramirez. Agent 53 picked him out from security photographs provided by Agent 38. There was one flight to Unity City from His Excellency's island and back again that day. Our agents believe that Franks was on that return flight."

"Has he been seen in Unity City since then?" he asked, rubbing his chin.

"No, he has not. There has only been one other flight to or from Unity City since then, and that was a cargo helicopter full of supplies."

"Still, there's no guarantee that he made it to the cay or that he's still there," Jeff mused. He looked up at Penelope, smiled and asked, "How does your social calendar look?"

"Let me consult my schedule." The PDA came into view. "I have a golf date with Sir Jeremy Hodges for this afternoon. There is to be a tea at the home of Her Grace, the Duchess of Royston tomorrow in honor of her 75th birthday. I am to present the Gold Cup at Cheltenham later in the week. FAB 3 was to be in the race, but has taken lame, poor thing. The vet has been out to look at him." She smiled. "I know Sir Jeremy will be understanding, and I am certain Deborah will be as well. I shall call Cheltenham and tell them an emergency has come up and I shall not be able to attend. They usually have an alternate for such an occasion." Jeff could see her stand up straighter and square her shoulders. "So. I am available. What shall I do?"

"Go to Unity City and find some way to get out to Alvarez's island, and determine if Franks is there. Also, find out what you can about this blackmailing plot. Is Alvarez behind it, and why?" Jeff became very serious. "This is a dangerous mission. We've already seen that these people will stop at nothing to gain their ends."

She nodded. "I had precisely the same idea. I shall be very careful... Commander. I have already set things in motion to give me an opening to see Alvarez. Par...Nosey will be with me and I shall be taking FAB-1, as well."

"Sounds like you have things well in hand. Stay in constant contact and don't be afraid to call on our agents in Unity City. Agent 38 should have briefed Agents87 and112 on the situation by now."

"She has done so." In fact, Renée had asked for instructions on that matter in her email, and Penelope had instructed her to tell the other two agents, a doctor and a firefighter, everything that was going on.

"F-A-B, Pink Lady. Good luck and Godspeed." Jeff said solemnly.

"Thank you, Commander. London agent signing off." The portrait of Penelope, painted so well by Virgil, became a mere figure on canvas again. Penelope pulled the vidphone to her. "Now to call the Prime Minister..."

Jeff stood in deep in thought for a long moment until Virgil's voice broke through his musings. "Father?" he asked, rising from his piano bench and approaching his sire. "Why do we send her out on such dangerous assignments? So many times she's nearly gotten killed and it's only because we've rushed in to rescue her that she has survived."

His father sighed. "That's what she lives for, Virgil. The excitement of the hunt; the romance of the intrigue. It's what has made her such a vital part of our operations, and why I put her in charge of all of our agents, worldwide. She could never settle down to live the life of the idle rich, even though that's her cover. It's what she loves and what she trained to do. She gets the same thrill from it that you get flying your 'Bird."

"Yes, I understand that. But she's so fragile..."

Jeff shook his head. "No. Far from it, son. She's got ice water in her veins and steel in her backbone. The pretty pampered lady is as much of a façade as... as the code names we're now forced to use. Speaking of which, I understand you're having some trouble with them?"

Virgil nodded. "Yes, I am. Especially Alan's. I want to laugh out loud when I use it or hear it." He frowned. "Why do we have to use them anyway?"

"Don't you remember the pictures that Lou sent to us?" Jeff asked, concerned. "Didn't you read the descriptions of our operations? Your name, your brothers' names; they were in there. Someone could easily track us down if they put all the pieces together, as this Interpol agent had done." He put a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "It's best that we do what we can to prevent this kind of thing in the future." He took in a deep breath and let it out through his nose. "I just hope it's not too little, too late." Catching Virgil's eye, he said, "Can you live with it, Virgil? I know that of all my sons, you and Alan had neither the talents nor the desire to enter the military. It's easier for Scott, Gordon, John... and myself. Our lives were ruled by acronyms and code words." Reaching out, he put a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "I don't want to sound like I'm belittling your choice in not entering the military. I know from experience that it's not for everyone."

Virgil nodded his head and sighed. "I understand. I suppose I'll get used to it. But it'll be hard not to chuckle at Alan's name."

"In that case, I'll let him change it to something less amusing," Jeff said with a wry smile. He raised his hand to clap Virgil on the shoulder. "I'm going to see if there were any dessert leftovers. You want to come?"

Virgil smiled slightly and shook his head. "No thanks, Dad. I think I'm going to practice some more."

"Okay, son. I'll leave you to it." With that, the Tracy patriarch strode from the room, his mouth already watering at the thought of a slice of Kyrano's chocolate torte.

Virgil watched him go, then turned back to the portrait of Penelope. He reached up to run a finger along the painted cheek and whispered, "Be careful, Beautiful."

"What do we have, MacPherson?"

The computer tech sighed, pushing a strand of her brown hair back behind an ear. "A very complex, very virulent termite, of unknown origin, sir."

The short, slim man with the salt-and-pepper hair and mustache leaned over the tech's terminal. "What exactly is it doing?"

"It seems to be destroying any and all information concerning International Rescue."

He frowned, the creases on his forehead falling into a familiar pattern. "Why would International Rescue set a termite on us? We haven't done anything to harm them."

MacPherson shook her head. "I don't know, Mr. Donovan. I'm still trying to track down where it came from. Mohenu over there is checking it against the signatures of known hackers and cyber terrorists."

Donovan nodded, still frowning. "Tell me if you or Mohenu come up with anything. I just wish I could figure out why International Rescue would drop a termite into Interpol's database."

"I'd like to know that, too, sir."

Piers Donovan, head of Interpol, sighed and gave MacPherson a half smile before going on to other pressing matters, putting aside the mystery of the International Rescue termite to the back of his mind until a more convenient time.