The Plots Thicken

"So, Brains?" Scott asked as they sat down to dinner. "What's in that crate you got today?"

"Ah... uh... another s-security measure," Brains replied, automatically pulling Tin-Tin's chair out for her. "W-We discussed locator ch-chips. I, uh, ordered some. I am prepared to i-implant them this, uh, evening."

"Implant them?" John asked skeptically as he performed the same courtesy for his grandmother. "What will that entail?"

"A l-local anesthetic and, uh, an injection. You can ch-choose the place where you want me to i-implant it," the engineer/medic explained. He held up a warning finger. "B-But the gluteus maximus is, uh, off-limits!"

"In other words, Brains, you don't want us mooning you," Gordon quipped.

The Tracys laughed, and Brains chuckled along with them, "Yes, exactly. And if you t-try, you'll f-find it hard to, uh, sit down after I'm through w-with you."

"How are you going to handle Tin-Tin?" Virgil asked.

"With kid gloves, I'm sure," Scott riposted.

"M-Mrs. Tracy will be keeping a sharp eye on me," Brains admitted. "As w-will Tin-Tin as I give Mrs. Tracy her, uh, locator."

Eleanor glanced sharply at him. "Land sakes, Brains. I didn't know I was going to get one."

"Mr. T-Tracy's orders, I'm afraid," came the sheepish reply.

"Jeff? What are you thinking?" Eleanor said, shaking her head. She glared at the figure across the table from her. "I don't need one of those contraptions! It's not like I'm going to go out getting myself into trouble."

Jeff looked up from his data pad, and said mildly. "I think you do, Mother. If there was ever any kidnap attempt..."

"Who's going to kidnap an old woman like me?" Eleanor interrupted. "I'm not worth much to anybody."

"That's where you're wrong, Grandma," John said, leaning over in his nearby seat to give her a kiss on the cheek. "You're worth the world to us."

Jeff put the data pad down as Kyrano handed him a bowl of salad. "Thank you, Kyrano." He turned his gaze back to his mother. "John has it right. And you're a Tracy. All anyone has to do is connect us and there would be thoughts of a pretty high ransom without a whole lot of trouble." He passed the bowl to Scott.

"Yeah, Grandma. Remember the Duchess of Royston? She was kidnapped simply because of her painting," Scott added. "Those guys tried to kill her. If Penelope hadn't given her a St. Christopher brooch, they would have succeeded."

"The Duchess of Royston was a silly old woman," Eleanor replied. "I, on the other hand, am not. I would give any would-be kidnapper a heap of trouble."

"I'm sure you would, Mother," Jeff replied, a small smile playing around his lips. "Still, my decision stands. Everyone on base is getting one, including you and Kyrano. I'll probably require Penelope and Parker to have them as well."

John dished up some salad for himself from the bowl Gordon had handed him, then he passed the bowl to Eleanor. "What's up with the data pad, Dad?

"I'm sorry about bringing it to the table. But I have a call to return and I want to see when the time zones will favorable to do it. I want to make it look like I'm calling from New York, but I don't want to be up all hours."

"A call? To whom?" Eleanor asked sharply.

Jeff frowned. "Why do you want to know, Mother?"

"I was just...curious. You don't usually make such a fuss over what time it is when you make a call," she replied, her tone moderating as she dished some salad for herself, and passed the bowl to Virgil.

There was a pause, then Jeff said, "You're right. I don't. But for this call I'd rather make it look like I'm anywhere but here." His eyes narrowed. "If you think I'm calling Lou, Mother, you're wrong. This is a business call."

"Did I say anything about Lucinda?" she asked, reaching for the vinaigrette dressing. "If you say it's a business call, then it must be one. Why are you getting so hot about it?"

"Perhaps because of the way you phrased the question in the first place," he retorted. Eleanor did not reply, and Jeff huffed out a breath, then returned to his meal, shaking his head. A brief silence fell over the table, and Virgil decided to do something about it. "Hey, Tin-Tin," he said as he served himself and passed her the bowl. "You're pretty quiet tonight. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing really," the girl replied. "I'm just planning another new design for the uniforms in my head and I'm trying to get it solid in my memory. I'll transfer it to my sketch pad after dinner."

"Where are you going to put your locator?" Gordon asked her.

She smiled at him. "I think I'll put it under the skin on the outside of my ankle. That way Brains won't get too embarrassed."

The diners chuckled again, and Gordon piped up with, "Hey, Brains! Who's going to implant your locator?"

The scientist was unperturbed. "I a-already have. I put mine in a similar place to Tin-Tin's. I-It was, uh, easy to do." He gave Gordon an amused look. "Not that I d-don't trust you... uh, most of you...but I thought I sh-should test it on m-myself, uh, first. Now that I have, w-who's g-going to be my first vic... uh, patient?"

Gordon pointed at Scott, Scott pointed at Virgil, Virgil pointed at John, and John pointed at Gordon, each of them saying, "He is!" in near perfect unison.

When the laughter died down, Jeff spoke up. "Since I'm the commander, I'll be the example. I'll go first and get it over with."

"Then Scott, as field commander, can be next," Gordon said with a grin.

"I don't know, Gordon. Maybe we should go in alphabetical order," Scott replied.

"I can go for that!" Virgil said eagerly. "Means I'm last!"

"No," Jeff finally said. "We'll use the Thunderbirds to determine the order. Scott's in One, so he'll follow me. Then Virgil, and John..."

"Hey!" John protested. "My Thunderbird is Five!"

"Not when you're on Earth, it's not," Jeff said, a sly smile creeping over his face. "Gordon can be last of you boys. Let him savor the anticipation. Mother, Tin-Tin, and Kyrano can have theirs done when they please, but within the next day or so."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," Gordon said, not wholly pleased with his father's suggestion.

"Still, it's fair enough," Scott admitted. "And actually, Alan will be last."

"Lucky dog," Gordon muttered.

Jeff shook his head, and turned the conversation to other matters.

Later, Jeff sat at his desk, rotating his left shoulder. He had told Brains to put the chip just below the collarbone on that side and he was still feeling the effects of the local anesthetic. The actual procedure took mere seconds. Brains took a few moments to confer with Alan and make sure that the signal the chip emitted was received by Thunderbird Five and that the specific frequency was logged as belonging to Jeff. Everything seemed to be working as it should, and Jeff left, smiling at his sons, all of whom loitered outside the sick room waiting their turn.

Now to return that call. By my calculations, it would be seven a.m. in New York and one p.m. in Geneva. I think the timing will be right. He activated his vidphone and dialed the number that his personal assistant had forwarded to him.

"Snowball, yew idiot! Yew can't get him, theah's a window b'tween yew!" Cindy Lou shook her head as she watched her white cat pawing at the picture window. Sitting on the ledge on the outside of the window was a neighbor's marmalade tabby, steadily gazing with what Cindy Lou could only say was a smug expression at the frantic white feline within. Snowball hissed, and swiped at the tabby again, her claws tapping on the window. Her owner sighed with resignation and reached over to untangle the cat from the sheer curtains. She snuggled Snowball up against her bathrobe and carried her back to the kitchen. "Mebbe if'n Ah feed yew, yew'll stay out o' trouble."

As she dished up the foul-smelling paste, the clinking of the fork against the ceramic dishes drew the other cats from their places all over the house. They lined up in their own peculiar pecking order to gobble down the meat, some quietly, others noisily. Once her end of the job was through, she made a small pot of coffee and toasted a bagel for her own breakfast.

Taking coffee and bagel out with her to the living room, she put them down on her wide ottoman and fetched a large photo album from the cabinet under a bookcase. She moved over to the couch, sat down cross legged, picked up her coffee and opened the book.

Here she had stored the photos from her wall collage. Smiling, she flipped slowly through the book, remembering the people and the places of her former life as she munched on her bagel and sipped her coffee. She came to a page where there was a picture of the Tracy boys, sitting on a picnic table, all smiling. Scott was holding a pudgy baby Alan on his lap and Virgil's arms were wrapped around a toddler Gordon. John knelt on the table's top, his arms flung as wide as his mouth was open. She chuckled, remembering the day she took the snapshot, a clear October Saturday when she had taken the five of them to a nearby park, giving a sick Lucy a much needed break from parenting so she could rest. She smiled back at the boys, and the memory, then turned the page.

A few photos later, she found one of herself and Lucille, taken on one of their "girls only getaways". This one had been to New York City, where the wife of rising tycoon Jefferson Tracy and the Interpol officer had enjoyed an exciting time seeing Broadway shows and shopping in the garment district. The skyscraper that was to become Tracy Industries' corporate headquarters was still under construction, so the two stayed in a plush suite at the Plaza, enjoying the world-class service and the late night girl talk. It was then that Lou had confided in Lucille about the state of her marriage, and her fears that she and her husband were becoming estranged over the issue of childlessness. It was then that Lucy had given her the advice about adoption, an idea that Lou had latched onto as a lifeline. They had those getaways every year until a year before Lucille's death.

The next picture brought her to a halt. It was the one of Jeff and Lucille that Jeff had gazed at during his visit. Her eyes were drawn, not to the smiling face of her best friend but to that of her best friend's husband. She traced a finger lightly over the edges of his face. The few days we had together... I'd forgotten how much I missed his friendship. Not only his, but Lucy's. I don't want to lose it... or him.

At that moment, Snowball's growl and hiss sounded from the front window again, shattering her reverie. She closed the book decisively, then put her coffee aside as she went to extricate the white cat from the sheers and shoo the marmalade tabby away from its favorite teasing perch.

It was early afternoon when Piers Donovan's secretary called him with the news. "Sir? Mr. Tracy on line one."

Donovan sat up as if stung. He drew a quick comb through his hair and straightened his tie. He activated his vidphone. "Thank you, Sandy. Put him through."

On the vidphone's screen, the serious face of Jefferson Tracy stared back at him. "Mr. Donovan? Jeff Tracy here, returning your call."

"Yes, Mr. Tracy. Thank you for doing so." The Interpol chief looked at his clock. Hmm. Seven-thirty in New York. He's up early. "I hope your day is going well so far."

"It'll do," Jeff said gruffly. "Listen, Mr. Donovan. I have things to do and I'm sure you do as well. Your message indicated you needed some information from me?"

"Yes. I do." Donovan sat back, disturbed by the billionaire's abrupt manner. "I'm trying to track down Lucinda Myles. She is a friend of yours, is she not?"

Jeff studied the man on the vidphone screen. He had a narrow face and his hair, a more even mix of brown and gray than Jeff's, was brushed back smoothly from a widow's peak. His mustache was still mostly dark, and he wore small glasses on his long nose. He looked every bit the smooth bureaucrat, and the Tracy patriarch found himself mistrusting the man.

"Yes, Mrs. Myles is a friend of mine. What did you want to know?"

"I wanted to consult her on an old case, thought she might give me some perspective on a person she once arrested," Donovan said easily. "Can you tell me where to find her?"

Jeff shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't, Mr. Donovan. Mrs. Myles moved from her home in North Carolina, but she gave me no forwarding address." That's true enough. If I went to the city where's she's currently living, I'd be looking for days, trying to find her.

"Has she been in contact with you since you last saw her?" the Interpol chief asked. Is he lying or not? It's hard to tell.

"Yes, she has. By email."

"Could I have her email address?"

Jeff hesitated, then frowned as he replied, "Y'know, Mr. Donovan, Mrs. Myles was put through a really horrendous ordeal in North Carolina. I was unfortunate enough to be caught up in it. Her assailants have yet to be apprehended, and she's trying to keep as low a profile as possible so they can't find her again. I don't feel comfortable giving out any information that might possibly lead to the discovery of her whereabouts, not until I know her attackers are behind bars. So, no, Mr. Donovan, you can't have her email address."

Donovan took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was not used to being thwarted, and to him, it didn't matter how rich and powerful a person was, no one was above the law. Still, alienating this particular rich and powerful man wouldn't get him what he needed. He swallowed slightly and smiled. "Well, would you at least pass on a message from me?"

"I might do that. What's your message?"

"That I need to talk to her about one Anthony Cho."

He could see that the other man was scribbling something down. "Anthony Cho," Jeff said. "That's all?"

"That's all, Mr. Tracy." At least, that's all I'm going to tell you about.

"All right." Jeff looked at his watch. "If that's everything, I'll bid you a good afternoon, Mr. Donovan."

"And a good morning to you, Mr. Tracy. Thank you for your time."

Jeff nodded slightly and disconnected the call. Donovan sat back, his elbows on the arms of his chair and his fingers steepled. Then he reached across and activated the intercom. "Sandy? Do we have an vidphone trace on that last call?"

"I'll check, Mr. Donovan." The secretary fell silent, then her voice, full of regret, came back. "I'm afraid not, sir. There was some sort of signal interference. I couldn't get a number for you."

"Hmm. Thank you, Sandy." He sat back and laced his fingers across his midriff. I hope Tracy forwards the message. I won't be able to check up on him, except possibly by leaving a message through his office again. He most certainly lives up to his reputation as a recluse. I wonder if he was even calling from New York. But where else would he be calling from? He pulled over a data pad but didn't look at the information on it. You are a puzzle, Mr. Tracy. One I'd enjoy solving... if I had the time. With that, he turned his attention to the data pad.

"H'Are ye ready, madam?" Parker said through his mustache as he drove to the jetport.

"Yes, Parks. I believe I have everything," Penelope replied. "My earrings are listening devices. I have my compact communicator and my shoes... well, you know what my shoes can do."

"Yus, madam," Parker said, a slight smile spreading across his face. " 'Ave ye done wha' yer h'employer told ye?"

She sighed. "Yes, Parks. I have. But... those edible transmitters give me such a sour stomach."

"Still, madam, yew know tha' 'e's worrid h'abaout ye."

"Yes, I do," Penelope said, smiling slightly.

Jeff's orders on the transmitter had been very explicit. "You're going into an unknown place, Penny, and a dangerous situation. I want Alan to be able to track you at all times so he can tell Parker where you are, and the only way for him to do it is for you to eat a transmitter." He had smiled and reminded her, "This should be the last time you have to use one. When we see you again, Brains will implant one of our new locator chips and we won't need the edible transmitters again."

"That sounds lovely, Jeff. And I shall take care to eat a transmitter before I leave," she had replied. "What do you want me to do should Franks be at the Minister's home?"

"Just inform me as soon as you can," Jeff had instructed, looking stern. "When you return to New Providence, we'll get some surveillance going so he won't leave there without our knowing about it. After all, the authorities are looking for him in regards to that double murder. A word in their ear might work. Though," he had paused, and his voice had gone hard, "I'd like to get my hands on him myself. I have a little score to settle with him."

"Now, Jeff, you do not have the luxury of vengeance," she had gently reminded him. "We shall see to it that the authorities in New Providence deal with him. I shall liaison with them in another guise as soon as possible."

She smiled again at the memory, then realized that they were already at the jetport. A sleek helijet waited on the tarmac by the private hanger where they had been directed. Taking a deep breath and making sure her wig was firmly in place, she stepped from the car, aided by Parker's steady hand. Looking beyond him, she saw Ramirez approaching, a cool smile on his face.

"Ah, Señorita St. Clair! I am glad to see you are punctual. I dislike tardiness," he said, offering his arm. "If your chauffeur will bring your bags, we will depart as soon as they are stowed." He tucked her hand under his elbow as he guided her to the waiting helijet.

"I find tardiness to be quite bothersome as well, Señor Ramirez," she replied with a warm smile, giving his arm a slight squeeze with her gloved fingers.

Parker opened the boot of FAB-1 and removed the overnight case and garment bag she had allowed herself, taking them to the rear of the helijet for storage. Really, she thought, I am travelling light, but doing so makes sense. If I must make a quick getaway, I shall leave far fewer frocks behind. Now to turn on the charm...

The flight to the cay passed companionably enough, though Penelope did feel uncomfortable with the cool, appraising way Ramirez ran his eyes over her form from time to time. Still, she kept her head and made small talk with the man, enjoying a glass of fine Spanish wine until they were over the little island itself.

"Look below, señorita. Look and see the jewel of the Exumas, my employer's home," Ramirez said as they banked over the green cay on their approach. Penelope stood to look out the small window, and Ramirez joined her, standing behind her so closely that when she turned back, she bumped into him... chest first. She smiled, then said softly, "If you will excuse me, señor, I should feel so much safer buckled into my seat for our landing."

"Of course, señorita." He smiled back, that cool, supercilious smile of his, then escorted her to her seat. She sat down smoothly and buckled her safety belt. Ramirez sat across from her, strapping himself in as the pilot announced their imminent touch down.

Once the engines were shut down, the hatchway was opened and a short stairway was brought to the door. Ramirez unbuckled himself and offered her his hand. She took it and rose from her seat, releasing his to smooth her skirt a touch, adjust her wide-brimmed hat, then retrieve her briefcase and handbag. Pulling a pair of designer sunglasses from her purse, she slipped them on her face, and followed him out.

The humid, tropical atmosphere of the Bahamas was freshened here by a breeze from the sea, but the breath of the Caribbean failed to completely wash away the subtle sylvan scent coming from the lush greenery that surrounded the airstrip. Penelope breathed deeply, appreciating the perfume-laden flowers that seemed to bloom on every side. Ramirez waited for her at the bottom of the steps, extending a hand again to help her down. Then he led her over to a man who had just alighted from an expensive, climate-controlled hovercar. She studied him as he approached, and knew herself to be under scrutiny from behind a pair of polarizing, military-style sunglasses. His suit, a pale off-white, was well-tailored, as was his pale blue shirt. He wore a matching off-white fedora with a black hatband, and a wider, somber black band around the upper sleeve of his left arm.

"Your Excellency," Ramirez said as they came close enough for normal speech. "May I present Señorita Alison St. Clair, aide to Señor Edward Trevelyan, Prime Minister of England." He turned slightly to Penelope and made a motion with his hand toward his employer. "Señorita St. Clair, may I present His Excellency, Señor Carlos Esteban Alvarez, Minister of Security to the World Government."

Lady Penelope graciously inclined her head as Alvarez executed a short bow, then extended a hand. She took his hand, and shook it firmly, once. "My condolences, Your Excellency, on your loss. I am truly sorry to intrude upon your time of grief, but Mr. Trevelyan specifically said I was to speak to you and you alone about the arrangements for his security," she said with an apologetic tone.

"I understand, señorita. Edward has always been nervous about his safety," Alvarez said with a slight smile. He shepherded her towards the car, and as she stepped inside, he spoke to Ramirez in Spanish. Penelope, fluent in three or four Continental languages, picked up the words "... take care of our guest ..." as they passed from the Minister to his secretary. The driver of the hovercar placed her bags, along with some packages and what must have been Ramirez's luggage, in the trunk of the vehicle. He came around and took his place behind the controls, then Alvarez joined her in the back seat of the hovercar, while Ramirez sat up front, next to the driver.

"I hope you find your visit here both profitable and enjoyable, señorita," Alvarez said genially, as the hovercar sped down a hill to the Minister's hacienda. "I will have Ramirez escort you to the guest suite so you may freshen up before dinner."

"Thank you, Your Excellency. I look forward to dinner and to discussing the security arrangements for Mr. Trevelyan's visit," Penelope replied.

"All business, señorita? We shall see what we can do about that after dinner," Alvarez said with a smile.

It didn't take long until they were at the large, heavy doors of the hacienda's front entrance. They looked to be made of an intricately carved wood, but Penelope very much doubted that they were wood throughout. Probably wood laid over tungsten steel, unless I miss my guess. She was not given the opportunity to test her theory as the door was opened for her by a massive man dressed in what she supposed must pass for the servants' uniform. There was a smaller, older, similarly-dressed man who reminded Penelope somewhat of Kyrano waiting to take the luggage from the hovercar.

"Come, señorita," said Ramirez as they entered the cool hall of the house. "I shall show you to your rooms, then someone will fetch you when it is time for dinner."

"Thank you, señor. You are most kind."

Alvarez watched the two as they walked down the corridor, his eyes, now free of the sunglasses, noting his lady guest's figure and walk as she glided along. He nodded to himself in satisfaction. It is as I thought. Ah, but it has been a long time since we have crossed swords... Lady Penelope.