Rescuer's Logbook

The explosion rocked the hacienda, then a loud siren began to wail. Alvarez merely looked up as Franks jumped to his feet.

"No hurry, señor. It is merely a diversion. It will take the chauffeur time to find his employer. And I will even make it easy for him. Capturing him gives us a lever over her... just as she provides a lever over International Rescue."

"Still, shouldn't there be someone waiting for him when he gets to her room?" Franks asked, sitting back down reluctantly.

"There will be. Would you like to join the welcoming committee?"

Franks smiled. "I think I'll leave it to your guards. Now, if you need some help questioning this... Lady Creighton-Ward, I'd be glad to assist."

Alvarez glanced at him, then looked back down at Penelope's lipstick, which he held in his hand. "I will consider your offer."

At that moment, Parker and Brigitte had found the windows on the side of the house where Lady Penelope was imprisoned. The night vision goggles that they wore enabled them to see the guards who stood nearby, concealed... but not well enough. Brigitte whispered in the Cockney's ear, "I will take out the guards." She hefted her stun rifle. "You open the window."

"F-A-B," he whispered back. Brigitte nodded and made her way past him, disappearing into the darkness with nary a sound. There were two quick "twick" sounds, then a loud, "Ow!" from one side and a louder "Hey!" from the other. Then two nearly identical and unison groans, and the rustling noises caused by two stunned and fallen bodies. Parker was up and moving as soon as he heard the stun gun go off, crouching and nearly crawling along the path, trying to make as little noise as possible. He came up to the wall of the hacienda, and whispered into his wrist telecomm. " 'Ow close h'am Ay?"

Alan's voice sounded out at the lowest volume that Parker could set the watch at and still hear. "You're there, Parker. She registers as right in front of you."

"F-A-B," he replied. Reaching up, he felt the window. Some kind of strange plastic. Prolly shatterproof. Lessee how well it does aginst a laser. Rummaging around in his bag, he pulled out a penlight. Clicking one end of it, he activated a laser with a short but concentrated beam.

Brigitte suddenly appeared beside him, her rifle slung over her shoulder. "I took out two more guards, one on either side. But I'm sure there are hidden cameras," she murmured.

"No tayme t' deal wiv 'em naow," Parker muttered under his breath. "Need t' get 'er Ladyship aowt toot sweet." He applied the laser to the window and began to cut through the tough polymer.

"I'll cover your back," Brigitte promised softly. Parker nodded and continued to work.

Within the room, Penelope opened her eyes slightly at a hissing sound coming from the window. Her nose wrinkled slightly at the smell of burning plastic, but she didn't glance that way. Instead, she closed her eyes again, feigning sleep, hoping to confuse her watchers. Good work, Parker. Now just a little faster...

Virgil frowned as he checked the speed he was getting from Thunderbird Two. "She's wide open and it's still going to take me well over an hour to get there," he muttered.

Behind him, nearly forgotten in Virgil's determination to get to the Bahamas, sat John. He heard his brother's mutters, and decided to speak up. "Virge? Where are we going? What's the emergency? Dad didn't set off the signal. Where's Scott?"

Virgil jumped slightly, then turned his head back to look at his brother. "Oh, hey. I'd almost forgotten you were there." He faced forward once again and checked his controls. "Where are we going? The Bahamas, specifically the northern part of the Exuma Islands. What's the emergency?" He paused for a moment, trying to make his voice as neutral as possible. "Penelope. She went on an undercover mission and is in trouble."

"What?" John shouted, incredulous. "When did this happen?"

His brother consulted the console's chronometer. "The trouble? I guess it's been about an hour or so now. Maybe longer. Scott's already on the scene to provide aircover for an escape. We're going in case FAB-1 needs a pick up."

John chewed on this information for a while. "So, what specifically is Penelope doing in the Bahamas?"

"Trying to get a handle on that Franks character. He was tracked as far as the private island of the Minister of Security. It seems she managed to charm her way out there and got caught."

"It's not the first time she's been caught undercover," John said laconically. "So, Parker's out there trying to rescue her?"

Virgil sat up as if stung. "Yes," he said, snipping the end off the word, his voice suddenly cold. "Parker and a bunch of amateur IR operatives."

John's eyes narrowed as he studied his brother's now stiff posture. "You don't have to bite my head off, Virge. At least this time she has some back up. She usually goes in with just Parker... then we get called out to save her." Virgil didn't reply, and John folded his arms across his chair restraints. "You know it's true. You know it better than I do; after all, you're the one who's been in on rescuing her most often."

"And I'd rather have been in on this from the first," Virgil retorted.

"What? Then what would have happened it there was a call?" John asked, incredulous. "Scott could meet up with us from anywhere but we need..."

Virgil cut him off. "I know all that. Father explained it to me."

"So, explain it to me again. Why are we doing this?" John pressed.

"Because they're using FAB-1 in hydrofoil mode and Father realized it might run out of fuel before reaching safety." The pilot was glad to have an excuse, any excuse, rather than tell his brother how he felt about the aristocrat.

The younger man thought about Virgil's words, then nodded before asking, "So, what's back in the pod?"

"Fire fighting equipment, just in case. Alan's watching some wildfires in Chile. If they call for help, we're supposed to go right away."

John huffed out a breath. "Fair enough. What's our ETA?"

"A whole lot later than I'd like," Virgil muttered. He raised his voice. "ETA: one hour, five minutes."

Cindy Lou entered her house through the back door. She had just set the alarm in the garage, and was getting ready to close up her house for the evening. Hanging up her cardigan on the hooks just inside the doorway, she dropped her workout bag, then primed the alarm unit there. Her stomach grumbled; she hadn't eaten dinner at her usual time, deciding instead to visit the fitness club she had just joined. The workout, and the rehydration drink she had sipped as she used the club's equipment, had pushed away the signs of hunger for a time. But now they were back, and she couldn't ignore them any longer. The four cats, all crying in their distinctive meows, either curled around her ankles or tried to lead her to the spot where they usually ate.

"All right, yew furry tahrants," she said with a wry smile. "Ah know what yew want."

She pulled out the ceramic dishes, and spooned some canned cat food into each of them. "Ah think Ah'll add a little somethin' t' tonight's meal." Ducking into the cryofridge, she pulled out some chicken, leftover from a restaurant meal earlier in the week. She pulled meat from the bones, and chopped it up fine in a food processor, reminding herself of Spot's aversion to anything sliced or diced. Adding a portion of the chicken to each bowl and mixing it in with the paste, she set the bowls down, two at a time, and watched the felines dig in. Then she ducked back into the cryofreezer and pulled out a single frozen dinner.

"Hmm. Beef stroganoff," she murmured, reading the label for the reheating instructions. She sighed, popped the package into her nuclear cooker, set it for the proper time, and turned it on. Fetching a drink while the meal heated, she took it and some utensils out to her computer desk, then returned for the dinner. "Hot! Hot!" she cried as she tried to pull the dinner tray out with her bare fingers. Quickly grabbing a pot holder to shield her hands, she managed to transfer the disposable dish from the cooker to her palm, and quickly walked it out to the computer desk.

A simple movement of the mouse, and her computer came to life. She took a sip of her drink, then a bite of her dinner, then another quick, panicked gulp of liquid as the stroganoff burned her tongue. I'd better let that cool a bit. Let's see what kind of email I have today.

Checking each of her boxes was could be time consuming. Her network of email correspondents was large, and she had several different email addresses, including the boxes in her own domain. Some she checked every day, others she checked once a week. Today, she was checking them all.

She frowned as she opened a window to one of her more obscure email dropboxes. Hmm. Something from Tony Cho. It's been here what? Three, four days? Pretty big file size, too. Must have an attachment. Yep, it does and it's the size of most proprietary programs. The title... damn it, Tony, you know I don't speak Chinese! I'd better see if one of the more reputable translation programs can handle it for me. As for that attachment, I am not opening it, no how, no way! Not until I've translated your message. Minimizing the window, she went back to checking the rest of her email, flagging some for later reply, giving immediate attention to others, all the while pausing to eat her cooling meal and sip at her drink. At last, she felt free enough to come back to the mystery of Tony's message. Searching for one of the more accurate online translation pages, she copied the title then the contents of the letter to the action window. Clicking "Go", she sat back and waited, finishing her drink while she did so.

The translation came up in slightly stilted English, and she sat up slowly, her eyes widening in shock.

Friend Lou,

This may be my end email. The program I have attached is why. I built it for people I did not know. They offered much money, very much money. But they paid not what they promised. So I cut in and find bank savings. Took money they owed. Not very happy people. They will kill me if they find me.

You have my wood-eating bug, and you put it in files of Interpol, but it looked like International Rescue did it. This program is about them. It is a web and email scanner. It scans all languages and in major domains. Few emails are private. The (untranslatable)man gang use it to scan Web for name of International Rescue, then use what they find on website to make them look bad.

I send this to you because you are my friend. You treat me like a person when you arrested me. I send this to you because you will do the right thing and because you must know International Rescue. I owe them for the life of my mother's mother. She was on first flying of Fire flash.

I must send this now and try to hide. If I hide well, you will get another email. If not, I am most likely dead. Goodbye, friend Lou.

Your friend,

Tony

Lou read it through twice, then let out a deep sigh. "Tony, yew idiot! Why'd y'have t' go hackin' in somebody's bank account, huh?" she murmured, shaking her head. "Ah wish Ah could figger out what 'man' gang yoah talkin' about. But Ah bet Ah know what websaht is usin' it. Mebbe a little investigatin' o' mah own will turn up th' culprit."

She burned the attachment and email onto a disk, then deleted them both from her inbox. Going to her bookmarks, she pulled up the most rabidly biased of the anti-IR sites. After a moment's thought, she minimized that window, and started a search for the name of "Anthony Cho". She bit her lip, and tears came to her eyes as she read a short article in a Singapore newspaper archive detailing the mysterious murder of her hacker friend.

Peter ran as if his life depended on it, as indeed it did. The helijet had gone up nicely, but his legs, arms, and the back of his head had all been struck with hot, flying shrapnel. His clothing gave him some protection, but not enough. One largish piece had hit him squarely between the shoulder blades, knocking him to the ground momentarily. But he was back on his feet in seconds, thanking the powers above both for the Kevlar vest, and for the fact that he was carrying the pack with the remaining two incendiaries in his hand, not on his back. He wished he could stop and deal with the bullet graze on his left arm, but he knew that the other guards were after him, their blood hot and ire provoked at the death or maiming of one of their number. A loud siren sounded off, proclaiming the presence of intruders on the cay.

Taking a brief break, he leaned over, hands on his knees, breathing hard. Petey, me lad, you are seriously out of shape! He could hear the guards behind him, coming closer, crashing through the decorative underbrush. Okay, now. Time for another boom. Keep them after you, Petey, and not after Parker or Brigitte!

He pulled a second incendiary device from his pack, and laid it in the bushes beside him, taking a deep breath, willing his fumbling fingers to sureness. Knob turned, button pressed... 90, 89, 88, 87... c'mon lads, where are you? 80, 79... okay, time to run like the devil himself were chasing you!

He got up and ran, not caring if he intersected any of the optical devices in his headlong flight. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4. 3, 2, 1... The detonation went off right on schedule, taking out a number of palm trees... and three of his pursuers.

The second explosion caused Alvarez to drop Penelope's lipstick to the desk top. "What was that?" he asked aloud, a frown wrinkling his forehead. He exchanged glances with Franks, who got to his feet. "Perhaps the chauffeur brought along some friends... Luis!" he called into an intercom.

Alvarez's chief bodyguard hurried into the office. "Your Excellency, there are two people cutting through the window! Another blew up the helijet, and set off a bomb in the trees!"

"Where are the guards by the window?" his employer bellowed.

Luis spread his hands palms upward and shrugged. "I do not know, Your Excellency. One of the people at the window has a rifle..."

"¡Estúpidos!" Alvarez jumped to his feet and turned around. Behind the Minister was a painting of himself with his wife and children, draped in black crepe. Stepping up to it and pulling it aside, he revealed a safe, one with a old-fashioned button combination lock. Quickly punching in a number, he opened the safe and took out a gun, handing it to Franks. "Here is your weapon. Come with me." Following Luis, and with Franks at this side, Alvarez strode from the room.

Outside of Penelope's room, Brigitte kept a close watch, rifle in hand, while Parker cut through the plastic. She nudged him when the second blast went off, and so did a second loud siren, this one closer to their position. "That's Peter. He's in trouble." Glancing at what Parker had already accomplished, she asked, "If you cut across now, could she get out through a smaller hole?"

"Don' rush me," he muttered as he worked on a third cut, scowling at the impudence of the firefighter. "Milady h'is h'a del-lee-cate flow'r..."

"Who will be cut off at the stem if you don't hurry!" Brigitte hissed sharply. "Cut across at the top now! The hole should be big enough for her to get through!"

Growling in his throat, Parker turned the laser's path ninety degrees and started to cut across. It took only moments, and then he was pulling the plate away with a suction cup. As soon as it was away, Penelope's shapely leg, bare foot first, came sliding out of the hole. "Careful, milady. Th' top h'is still 'ot," Parker warned in a whisper.

"No matter, Parker," she said softly. She lay on her side as she slid the other leg through and her hips followed. Using one elbow to brace herself below, she pushed her torso through, then her head and arms followed. Just as she was clear of the window, the door within opened, and Luis and Franks burst through. Brigitte ducked down a bit, glancing into the room, and firing at them, causing them to duck to either side as Parker retrieved the extra Kevlar vest from her pack and helped Penelope into it.

"There's no time for this!" Penelope said sharply, waving her chauffeur away. "We must escape!" She glanced at Brigitte, who was still looking for a target within the room. Alvarez was advancing steadily, and Penelope pulled on the firefighter's arm. "Don't look at him! Don't look at his eyes! Come! We have no time!"

Brigitte turned her head toward Penny, and nodded. The three of them took off as fast as they could, down the path toward the beach, heedless of the optical trip wires that they were setting off, with Penelope's deft fingers fastening her Kevlar vest as they ran. Behind them, they could hear Alvarez bellow, "Luis! After them!"

The bulkier Luis tried to follow through the hole made by Parker, but found himself stuck around the armpits for several moments. Alvarez rained curses on him, in more languages than just Spanish, causing Franks to glance at him with an odd expression as he hurried from the room, in search of an easier exit.

Parker pressed a button on his telecomm, and Viktor, who was waiting for the signal, jumped. He signaled Scott and put the hydrofoil Rolls into gear, wincing at the clashing noise the transmission made as he did so, then feeling more confident as the machine smoothly increased speed. He headed for the lagoon, and was dismayed to see, not his comrades, but uniformed figures coming out of the palms and undergrowth, lying in wait for the IR operatives. He sighed, remembering Parker's words. Reaching over, he toggled a switch. Perhaps I can scare them with the guns instead of killing them, he thought as the central machine cannon's business end poked out from the camouflaged grille at the front of the vehicle. Then he smiled. And after I make a pass, I can use the rear smoke canister. Or the rear laser cannon. Then turn again and drive up to the beach... yes. That will work.

Using the built-in sniper sight, he aimed for the sand near the guards' feet. As the guards turned to face him, he turned the headlights on using the "bright" setting, making it difficult for those on the beach to make out the car. Then he pressed down on the firing stud at the end of the three-quarter circle steering wheel. The machine cannon spat out round after round of bullets, kicking up the sand at the would-be ambushers' feet, driving them down the beach or into the surrounding greenery. Two or three of the men fired back, and Viktor felt a strange exhilaration as the bullets merely bounced off the car with a "pinging" noise. He brought FAB-1 around with a sharp turn, creating a strong wake that carried sea water high onto the beach. A grin crossed his pale features as he armed the rear laser, and made the rear smoke canister ready for deployment. All the while he kept an eye on the pink dot that was moving steadily toward the beach.

"All right, you bastards," he mumbled. "Take this!"

Aiming the laser upwards sharply, he pressed a switch and the bright beam lanced out, cleanly shearing off the tops of the palm trees as he drove along. The weight of the foliage took down several of the guards, and the rest had their hands full avoiding the heavy green rain. He reset the laser, made another sharp turn out in the lagoon, and headed back to pepper the remaining men with machine gun fire and blinding headlights. He watched the progress of the pink dot, then revved the engine, retracted the hydrofoils, and drove up onto the beach. Those few men left standing took potshots at the car as it skidded along after them, chasing them down the beach, machine gun fire nipping at their heels. Finally, Viktor came to the spot where he would intercept the pink dot, and he put on the brakes, fishtailing in the sand as he brought the car to a halt. Within moments, the two rescuers and their objective emerged from the shadows. Brigitte looked around curiously at the devastation, while Parker ran up to the Rolls, shouting, "H'Open h'up!" Viktor grinned, and obediently opened the gull-wing front and back doors on that side. Parker waited until Penelope was safely in the back seat, then urged Brigitte to join her. Once the tall blonde had done so, he piled into the front next to Viktor.

"Naow t' find th' Mick," he said with a grin, giving the doctor a friendly slap on the arm.

Brigitte pointed out to their left. "There he is!"

And there he was, running toward them, losing purchase in the sand and slowing as his wounds told their tale on his body and as he saw the black car ahead of him. But behind him, a tall man with a shock of blond hair stepped from the shadows as he passed. He raised his pistol and aimed it at the fleeing figure.

"Oh, dear Lord! Parker! Viktor! Hurry!" Penelope shouted, ignoring her penchant for using the agents' numbers. "It's Franks! Franks is behind him!"

Viktor put the car in reverse, and pulled around, heading straight for Peter. The Irishman put his hands up to shield his eyes, and Parker swore, then reached over to turn off the brights. His vision cleared, Peter took a few more steps then, without warning, fell to the sand clutching his leg.

"What happened?" Brigitte cried.

"Doesn't matter," Viktor snarled. He put the pedal down and FAB-1 shot forward, spraying sand behind it.

"Get between Franks and Peter," Penelope instructed.

"Yes, milady," Viktor answered. He raced Franks to the fallen operative, shooting past Peter and putting the bulletproof hide of the Rolls between him and his assailant.

"I'll get him," Brigitte called. Before Penelope could protest, she was out the door and running in a crouch toward Peter. With practiced ease, she pulled him into a fireman's carry and headed back toward the car, even as Franks aimed beyond it, targeting her. Viktor gritted his teeth and swung the car around backwards so that the front grille faced Franks. Parker turned on the bright lights, blinding the gunman, and pressed down on the machine gun's firing button, causing Franks to turn and run back into the shadows. Brigitte made it to the Rolls, and the two women managed to manhandle Peter into the car.

"What has happened?" Penelope asked, seeing Peter's pale face and hearing his labored breathing.

"Shot. In the leg," the Irishman whispered painfully. His trousers showed that he had been shot clean through the upper thigh, and blood was pouring from the wound, staining the seat beneath him.

Penelope gazed up at Viktor, who had turned around in his seat to assess the situation. "Doctor, we need you back here."

He nodded, and opened the driver's side door, ducking around the back of the car to enter at the still open rear passenger door. Parker slid across and into his proper seat, while Brigitte joined Parker up front, making room for Viktor. Parker closed up the car again, and at Penelope's command, set out into the lagoon.

"There is a first aid kit under your seat, Brigitte," Penelope stated. The firefighter ducked down and retrieved it, handing it back even as Parker activated the hydrofoils and guided the Rolls out to sea.

Back on the island, Alvarez cursed as he came down to join Franks on the beach. The mercenary turned to him and said, "I nailed one of them in the thigh. But that car..."

"Yes," Alvarez spat. "That accursed car. Our pigeon has flown." He shouted over his shoulder to the scratched and sore Luis, who was jogging to catch up with the two men. "Get the men into the helijet. Track the intruders down and use a missile on them! That should do more than just scratch the paint!"

"Si, your Excellency!" Luis passed Alvarez's instructions along, first in Spanish and then again in the local patois. Within moments, the remaining helijet rose from the airstrip far behind them and made its way out to sea. "I will direct the clean up operations," he informed his employer..

Alvarez shook his head. "No, Luis." He beckoned the guard closer then, as the bodyguard was within a meter of him, suddenly spun around to face him. Franks gasped as he saw Alvarez's eyes glow a bright, venomous yellow. Luis's gaze was caught by those orbs and he stopped in his tracks, staring back a surprised expression.

"You have failed me, Luis," said Alvarez. "And there is only one price for failure."

Franks watched with a sick fascination as Luis knelt down on the beach at his master's command, and as Alvarez directed him, the hapless guard raised his own gun to his own temple... and fired. The body fell face down, blood and brain matter from the forced suicide seeping into the clean sand.

Alvarez turned to Franks, who involuntarily took a step back. "Y-You're not Alvarez," he stammered, his voice hoarse.

"You are quite correct, Mister Franks," the man replied, giving him what would otherwise be a charming smile. "And I am sure you know my name by now. After all, I am public enemy number one."

"You...You're B-Belah Gaat," Franks replied, swallowing convulsively. "The Hood."