Debriefing

Dawn found "Alvarez" sitting in the lotus position on the plush rug in his bedroom, dressed only in black silk trousers, his mind reaching out beyond the plane of mere existence to seek, not enlightenment, but power. He mentally crossed the miles to zero in on Tracy Island, and specifically the mind of his half-brother, Kyrano. A mind that he found resolutely closed to him this day, as always. He knew that here, away from the aura of power that permeated his Malaysian temple base, away from the huge statue that helped him focus that power on his half-brother's mind, he could not strike out, could not hope to bring the old man to his knees as he had done so many times before.

So instead, he turned his thoughts toward Kyrano's daughter, hoping that perhaps the mist surrounding her subconscious would have lifted and he could see his way clear to influencing her as he once had influenced her father. But it was still there, as thick and impenetrable as ever. He feared that she was truly one of the mind-blind, a person with natural shields who could neither use nor be used by the powers of the mind. He cursed internally, for he knew he had no one but himself to blame. It was only since his encounter with her at Lake Anasta that the strong shields had developed.

Slowly he withdrew from his explorations and relaxed, giving his body and mind time to recover from his exertions. He knew he would need sleep soon, but the meditation would suffice until he was satisfied that his day's work was done. He took a deep breath to jump start the slowed rhythm of his heart and began to bring his senses back online as it were. His stomach rumbled, and he opened his eyes. A shower first, then breakfast.

The hot water refreshed him, and as he stepped out, he moved close to the mirror to check on his disguise. Knowing that this plot would take a long time to come to fruition, much longer than the life span of his special masks, he had opted instead for plastic surgery. The surgeon who did the job was renowned for his work; the Hood merely appropriated him... and his youngest daughter, as security for the doctor's actions. Both of them were now buried in the wilds of Malaysia where their bodies would never be found. If Gaat ever tired of being the Minister of Security, a position that gave him the kind of power he was born to wield, he would take another eminent plastic surgeon and have him return his face to normal. Or so his reasoning went. He used drugs to stimulate the growth of hair on his usually bald pate, and used permanent dye to simulate the colors of the real minister's mane. His own skin needed little alteration; it needed only a touch of instant tanning lotion applied once a week to keep his epidermis the proper color for a man from Columbia.

He dressed carefully, remembering the black band on his left arm, and went out to the formal dining room for breakfast. Franks and Ramirez were already there.

"Buenos días, señores," he said cheerfully as he sat down. "I trust you slept well."

The two men murmured their own greetings and assured them that they had indeed slept well, albeit for only a short time. Alvarez smiled at them, and gave the servant who came to him an order for breakfast. "Where is Jorge this morning?" he asked casually.

"He is sleeping," Ramirez answered. "He was up until the small hours of the morning, cleaning up that streaming video. He told me to tell you it has been downloaded to your data pad, and that it is ready for transmit to Geneva."

"Ah! Excellent." Alvarez picked up the data pad by his plate. "I will tend to it in my office. First, to read the news."

He sipped at the hot green tea that the servant had brought in and had poured into a delicate china cup. The tea was one of the very few luxuries from his former life that he permitted himself, and was easily explained by a sudden liking for the brew. While he drank and waited for his breakfast, he scrolled down the news reports that were downloaded to his data pad. He came to a particular item, and his eyebrows went up. Putting the cup down carefully, he shook his head and began to chuckle. "Excellent, Lady Penelope, excellent. I have always known you to be a worthy opponent."

"What is it?" Franks asked, stopping a bite of omelet on its way to his mouth.

"Our former 'house guest' has concocted a story to cover her injuries, her involvement with the Thunderbirds... and the death of one of the intruders from last night's imbroglio."

"Which one?" Franks put down his fork, interested in spite of himself.

"I believe it was that man you shot on the beach, señor. Here is the account." Alvarez began to read.

"International Rescue saves victims of pirates. Yesterday evening, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, English socialite and some-time model for François Lemaire, was attacked by pirates somewhere between New Providence and the Exuma Islands. She was sailing on her yacht, Seabird, accompanied by Unity City surgeon, Dr. Viktor Solokov, MD, her servant and pilot, Mr. Aloysius Parker, and Mr. Parker's friend, Mr. Peter Riordan.

"The pirates attacked early in the evening, stealing Lady Penelope's jewelry and other personal belongings, Dr. Solokov's watch and wallet, and stripping other items of value from the yacht. Mr. Riordan struggled with the pirates and was shot through the leg. The pirates then scuttled the boat, leaving the four to die on the open sea. However, during the scuffle, Mr. Parker managed to get a message through to International Rescue, who picked up Seabird's passengers before the boat completely sank and delivered them to Unity City. Mr. Riordan was treated for his injury aboard the Thunderbird craft, but was declared dead on arrival at Unity City's Central Hospital.

" 'It was a terrible experience,' Lady Penelope told this reporter. 'We had no idea whether or not the scoundrels would return. I feared that sharks would attack us; you hear so much about how aggressive they can be. Dr. Solokov worked very hard to save Mr. Riordan's life. It was very sad to watch the man slip away. Thank heavens for International Rescue! We surely would have died if not for their intervention!' "

Franks snorted and Alvarez frowned at him. "There is more," the older man said. He began to read again.

"Dr. Solokov echoed Lady Penelope's sentiments and explained that he was too busy trying to save Mr. Riordan's life to be able to identify any of the pirates. Lady Penelope confirmed that the hoodlums had covered their faces as much as possible. 'I am very fortunate that theft was all they had in mind as far as I was concerned,' she said.

"Unity City Police Commissioner Étienne D'Eschambault has vowed to crack down on the pirates who have been victimizing those smaller boats that sail the waters surrounding the Caribbean islands. 'We are working closely with WASP to find out the identities of these hoodlums and will prosecute them to the fullest extent of the law.'

"Commander Samuel Shore, of the World Aquanaut Security Patrol, explained some of the problems facing his organization as they try to track down the pirates.'They usually attack in small groups, using boats with no readily distinguishable markings or registration numbers. Members of the boarding party cover their faces with kerchiefs and reflective sunglasses to prevent identification and only one member speaks. The rest use hand signals to indicate what they want to their victims to do. Then they often scuttle the boats, leaving no witnesses. They prefer to let the sea do their dirty work; bullets can be traced and used as evidence should a body be recovered. If one of our ships happens to be in the area, it often has to choose between giving chase or rescuing the victims. And should it be in a position to give chase, the group splits up, making it difficult to choose which boat to follow. We often catch a few of the actual boarding crew, but we haven't been able to locate and arrest the leaders or find where they are based.' " Alvarez stopped reading. "There is more, but it does not concern us."

"I bet that the pirates won't be too happy to be blamed for this," Franks remarked between sips of his coffee.

"No, they will not be. But to whom can they complain?" said Alvarez, putting down the data pad. "This account does give us some information that may work to our advantage: the names of some of the International Rescue operatives that were involved in the raid. Even the dead man may have family that could be useful to our ends."

"What will you do now, your Excellency?" Ramirez asked. "Lady Penelope has explained away the disappearance of her belongings. If you produce them..."

"I shall not produce them. Not now. Not unless I find myself in a position to use them to my advantage," Alvarez replied, nodding at his servitor as the plate of huevos rancheros was placed before him. "However, I shall still demand an investigation of both the nighttime raid on my property." He sipped his tea and smiled slyly. "And the mysterious disappearance of Señorita Alison St. Clair."

Jeff and Kyrano were waiting when Thunderbird Two finally backed up into her hangar. Kyrano had an antigravity cargo float with him; he knew from past experience that wherever her Ladyship went, a large number of suitcases usually followed. Jeff had brought down a wheelchair. "We should have Brains develop an antigravity chair of some sort. It would be a boon to the medical community," he said off-handedly. Kyrano had nodded and the two fell silent as they waited.

Thunderbird Two's engines powered down, and Virgil got up from the pilot's seat. John nudged Parker, who had fallen asleep in his seat. "C'mon, old man," he teased. "Let's get Penelope out of here."

" 'Oo ye callin' h'an h'old man, ye young jackanapes?" Parker muttered as he undid his safety straps and stood up cautiously. He was stiff and knew he needed more rest, but her Ladyship's safety and comfort always came first.

"You," John said with a grin. "You've been snoring in my ear all the way home."

Parker just shook his head, then rubbed the back of his neck to get out a crick in it. "Ay'll 'ave ye know, Mister John, thet Ay h'am h'as fit h'as h'any o' ye youngsters."

"Riiiiight," John drawled as the two of them approached the crew's quarters. The door was already open, and John was surprised to find Virgil inside, gently waking Lady Penelope.

"C'mon, John, help me get Lady Penelope to the pod. Parker? I was notified that Kyrano's outside with a cargo float. Could you tend to the luggage?"

"Milady?" Parker asked. He wasn't taking any orders or requests from any youngster, even a Tracy, when his employer was right there and could speak her own mind.

"Yes, Parker. Bring me a pair of my casual sandals, then take care of the luggage. And please discover where we should take FAB-1 for repairs and cleaning."

"Yus, Milady," Parker said, turning on his heels and making his way to the elevator.

"Now, Virgil, I appreciate so very much your desire to help, but really, I am able to walk. You and John should tend to whatever procedures you need to now that we have arrived at base. Parker will escort me to the pod."

Virgil frowned. "Are you sure? Didn't the doctor say anything about putting weight on your feet?"

"Only that I should be wearing shoes or sandals when I did so. Parker will attend to that. You go and deal with what you must." She smiled up at him. "Really, I am very tired of playing the fair and helpless maiden."

"Well, if you insist," Virgil replied doubtfully.

"I do insist."

He sighed. "All right. Come on, John." The two men left together, Virgil looking over his shoulder at her as he passed through the door.

Penelope sighed. It is bad enough to have Parker hovering over me, but Virgil, too... it is really too much!

Parker returned with her sandals, and began to crouch and help her on with them. She pointedly put out a hand. "Give them to me. I shall put them on myself."

The chauffeur did as she requested, and stood up straight, watching her put on her footwear. She stood carefully, swaying just a touch and wincing, then hobbling as gracefully as possible, she left the little room. Parker shook his head and followed.

Outside, Jeff and Kyrano watched the chassis of Thunderbird Two rise smoothly into the air, revealing the pod. As soon as he heard the telltale "thunk" that meant the hydraulic legs were locked into place, Jeff strode over to the pod's smaller access door with the wheelchair, while Kyrano pulled the cargo hauler behind him. The larger door began to descend, and the smaller door opened to reveal Virgil, followed by Penelope. John was seen standing with Parker near the still camouflaged FAB-1, the sight of which made Jeff look twice and Kyrano to raise an eyebrow. The retainer tugged the float up the ramp and, after greetings were exchanged, assisted Parker in moving Penelope's luggage to the carrier.

The lady looked first at the pleasant face of the man who stood behind the wheelchair, then at the conveyance itself. "I shall not be allowed to walk to the Villa under my own power, shall I?"

"No," Jeff said simply.

She sighed again and gracefully arranged herself in the chair. Jeff smiled a little, then turned his eyes to his third son, who was standing at the top of the ramp. "I'm going to take Penny upstairs so she can clean up and get a bite to eat. Have Parker bring FAB-1 to the pod vehicle repair bay next to the lab."

"F-A-B, Father," John replied.

Jeff turned to Virgil. "Scott just came in a few minutes ago. When you're finished here, you and John get upstairs, get showered, and meet us in the dining room. You can debrief over food." He paused for a moment, then added, "Parker should be in on this debriefing, too."

"F-A-B, Dad," Virgil responded.

Jeff wheeled the chair along to the elevator that would take them to the monorail, which would, in turn, take them to another lift and bring them up to the main house. He was glad that Virgil seemed to be curbing his feelings for Lady Penelope in the face of duty; he had envisioned having a fight over who was going to escort the aristocrat upstairs.

"I'll send Tin-Tin in to help you with whatever you might need," he told the back of Penelope's head.

"Thank you, Jeff. You are so kind. I do not foresee any difficulties in changing clothes or bathing," the lady declared. "Perhaps she could help put the dressings back on my feet when I am through freshening up."

"I understand. Just give her a call when you are ready."

They proceeded along to the monorail car. Penelope set the brakes on the wheelchair as Jeff took the controls. "How is your mother?"

"Doing better," he said. "She is still regaining her strength after this bout with the flu. As a result, she has been going to bed early, and actually sleeping in."

"I am sorry that she is still feeling poorly," Penelope murmured sympathetically.

"Her body is still recovering but her personality is back in full swing," Jeff said with a chuckle. Then he sobered. "How bad are your injuries?"

"They are mostly scrapes and scratches from running barefoot down to the beach," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "I shall live." She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Which is more than I can say for poor Peter."

"I know."

She turned to look at him over her shoulder. "How is Scott taking it?"

Jeff shrugged. "I'm not sure. He's barely spoken to me since he arrived home. I guess I'll find out over our early breakfast."

"What time is it here?" she suddenly asked.

"Around three a.m... the day after you left Unity City."

"My, how time does fly."

Jeff smiled slightly at Penelope's attempt to lighten the mood. They entered the second elevator, and rode it up to the main level, where the guest rooms were. The door opened, and there was Tin-Tin.

"Oh, Lady Penelope! What a terrible experience you must have had!" the young woman exclaimed. She moved behind the chair, subtly pushing Jeff out of the way. "I will take you to the guest room and give you any help you need..."

"Uh, Tin-Tin..." Jeff began, trying to get a word in edgewise, trying to tell his overenthusiastic engineer that Penelope would rather do things on her own.

Penelope saw what was happening and took matters into her own hands. Before Tin-Tin could push her anywhere in the chair, she stood, taking a moment to be sure of her equilibrium, then turned and reached out for the Malaysian. Tin-Tin abandoned the chair and came around to give the aristocrat a quick, light embrace.

"Now, now, Tin-Tin, there is no reason to fuss over me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own needs... though I shall require some assistance to replace the bandages on my feet once I have bathed. Would you help me then?"

"Of course, Penelope, of course. Let me at least walk you to your room." The younger woman linked her arm through the blonde's and Penny glanced over her shoulder at Jeff, giving him a slight smile. Then the two women walked slowly down the hall.

Jeff shook his head, and folded up the wheelchair, setting it out of the way until it could be returned to the sick room. As he did, he heard the elevator go down, stop, then come back up again. The door opened and Virgil and John stepped out. They were surprised to see their father standing there, but greeted him. "Parker and Kyrano have taken the float up through the cargo elevator," John explained. He smiled a bit. "Parker even let me drive FAB-1 up to the repair bay." His look turned thoughtful. "Dad, do you think it would be a good idea to get Alan down here to help with repairs to FAB-1? He knows more about cars than any of us, outside of Brains."

It was Jeff's turn to look thoughtful. "Hmm. That's an interesting idea. Bring it up at the debriefing. Right now, though, you two should freshen up then meet us in the dining room. I'll have Alan listen in and we can discuss it then."

John nodded, then stretched and yawned. "I'm off to the shower." He turned and followed Virgil, who was already down the hall, heading for his room.

Jeff watched them go, then went to pick up his laptop so he could interface it with Alan's communicator and have his youngest son with them at the table as they discussed the latest developments.

Alan sipped a cup of hot coffee and leaned up against one of the consoles while he waited for the signal from his father. It had been hard being a spectator this time; there hadn't been a lot he could do other than relay messages and download information. He shuddered when he thought about Peter. He knew him... well, it was actually more like an acquaintance than real knowledge, but still... he had known the man. Met him, ate with him, downed a few beers with him when he was old enough and Scott had occasion to take them pub crawling in Dublin.

This is so unexpected. No one has ever thought that an agent could actually... die... in the line of duty, he realized. The thought made his mind turn to his own good friend and sometime mechanic, Kenny Malone. Recently married, he and his wife had a toddler and another baby on the way. Kenny had also been made an IR agent just the year before. Jeff had thought it wise to recruit the man who was going to be working on some of their technology in the form of Alan's race cars, thereby keeping the secrets closer to home as it were.

Kenny had been working hard to justify Jeff's trust in him; only a few months ago he had given Alan a heads up on a car theft ring that was targeting race cars, hoping to strip them of any state-of-the-art tech to copy and distribute illegally. Alan had passed the word onto his father, and as a result, there was heavy security at his last race around both the Tracy garages and in the pit. Alan also suspected that his father had taken the information and passed it along anonymously to Interpol. He idly wondered if his newly rediscovered "Aunt" Lucinda had been part of the ongoing investigation.

Man, it would be devastating if something like this happened to Kenny! he thought. What wouldBeth do? How would she cope? I know I'd be all cut up about it, too, and feeling like it was my fault. He is my friend and it was on the strength of that friendship that Dad recruited him. Scott must be feeling awful right now. He made a mental note to speak with his oldest brother after Scott had gotten the chance to debrief and get some sleep. With a few hours of shut-eye behind us both, we'll be far more objective... though who can really be objective about the death of a friend?

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

Alan found he had finished his coffee and he put the cup down as he answered the signal. "Base from Thunderbird Five. Reading you five by five. All set here, Commander."

"F-A-B, Sigma." Jeff took a deeper than normal breath and began. "This is the recorded debriefing of incident number 122, taking place on March 17, 2068. Operatives involved as called by their current code names: Alpha, Delta, Epsilon, Sigma, Pink Lady, Nosey, and Agents 38, 53, 87, and 112. Casualties, one." He sagged as he said the next bit, "Fatalities, one." He turned to Penelope and said, "Pink Lady, please begin."

The debriefing was long and very, very thorough. There wasn't as much stumbling over code names as there had been before, but the agent numbers were a bit confusing at the start. Lady Penelope told every detail of her experience, starting in London with the Prime Minister's office and ending with the moment she was pulled from the "guest room" at Minister Alvarez's house. There were gasps and cries of consternation when the true identity of Alvarez was revealed, a response that Jeff quickly quashed in order for Penelope to tell her whole story. There were growls of anger as she, her cheeks flaming as her face paled, described her methodical discovery that her person had been searched.

When she reached the point where Parker and Brigitte extracted her from the room, Parker took up the narrative. Brigitte's recorded statement was played, and Gordon, sitting in on the session, read an account that Viktor had emailed in. Scott added his bits, mentioning the problem with the Automatic Camera Detector.

"Can we do something that links the ACD with the camera fogger? Make the fogger come on whenever the ACD detects a camera?" Scott asked.

Brains, who sat in on debriefings as a matter of course, nodded. "I-I need to upgrade the c-camera fogger anyway. It should be, uh, simple to l-link the two."

Scott nodded, and continued. Penelope added her impressions of their flight from Alvarez's island, and Parker told his side of the story there, too. Virgil weighed in, as well as John, and Scott gave the two men a quick, puzzled glance when he heard Virgil say, "I lowered the pod," and John describe the same action as "He dropped the pod." The field commander sighed internally and thought, I'd better check with John and find out what went on. He's not given to imprecise speech; if he said Virgil dropped the pod, then Virgil dropped it. But I need to know why Virgil disagrees.

The debriefing continued until they had reached the point where the Thunderbirds arrived in Unity City. Kyrano kept the group supplied with a light breakfast and juice, but no coffee. By the end, they were all exhausted, physically and emotionally. Jeff had made copious notes on his data pad, and he looked them over before standing and addressing the group.

"Well done, everyone. I know that the death of Agent 53 is weighing heavily on us all, and I would like a private debriefing about the events in Unity City itself. But not until we get some rest. Is there anything else to discuss?"

John put up his hand. "I suggest that we get Sigma back to base to assist in the repairs of FAB-1. He knows more about cars than most of us... with the exception of Rho."

Alan piped up. "Uh, I like the idea, but there's someone else who knows even more about cars than I do: Agent 204. Instead of making the trip here, he could be brought in to help."

"Hmm." Jeff said, rubbing his stubbly chin. "That may be a better idea. I'll give it some thought and get back to you, Sigma." He looked around the table. "Anything else?"

"I'd like to speak to you privately when we're done here," Scott said.

Jeff nodded wearily. "In the lounge in ten minutes. Sigma, put the station on automatic and get some sleep. The rest of you are dismissed. Get some rest. We'll do the private debrief later."

"F-A-B, Commander. Thunderbird Five out." Alan's picture and its window disappeared from the computer screen.

There was a pause, then the group broke up, stretching and yawning. Jeff went about the business of shutting down the computer and the recording equipment. He was weary in body and spirit. Penelope touched his arm lightly as she left, and he gave her a small, wan smile in response to her look of concern. She returned his slight smile, then left him to his work.

It was more like fifteen minutes later that Jeff trudged upstairs to the lounge. Scott was standing by the windows, looking out at the lightening sky, a glass full of amber liquid in his hand. His father frowned; it wasn't like Scott to be drinking at this time of day. He walked over to his desk and plugged his laptop back into its various sockets. Then he sat down and called, "Scott? I'm ready..."

Scott turned, and Jeff was taken aback at the scowl that was developing on his son's face as he crossed the room. Slamming the glass down on his father's desk so hard that it shattered, Scott ignored the blood on his hands from the glass shards. He leaned over to look his father in the eye and shout, "What the hell are we doing!"