Time Zones

Late morning in the capital city, and already the Honorable Addison Kennicot had fielded thirteen phone calls, in addition to attending an online conference consisting of herself, Britain's other senator, and a delegation from the United States. She was waiting for a call back from Ireland's senior senator about their chat from the evening before, as well as one from the Irish ambassador, for whom she had left a message. So she could be forgiven if she was not best pleased to hear that representatives from both Interpol and the local constabulary were sitting in her anteroom, requesting an audience.

She took a moment to brush back her hair and finish the rapidly cooling cup of tea she had sitting on her desk. Moving the delicate cup and saucer over to join the matching teapot on the small side table, she returned to her desk, took a deep breath and activated the intercom. "Send the detectives in, Anne."

"Very good, madame."

The door opened and two strikingly different people walked through. Ciprian Badeau was massive, a huge, dark-skinned man with hair done in rows of tight, jawline length braids that clung close to his scalp and were decorated with dark wooden beads at the ends. Patricia Carter was slender, but as tall as Addison herself, with dark hair cut short and layered back away from her pale face. Addison rose, and shook hands with each, introducing herself, then looking carefully at the identification that each of the detectives offered before handing it back. "Won't you please sit down?"

The detectives did so, and after a moment of settling in, Patricia pulled out a PDA. "We're here to ask ya some questions about a caller ya had on March 16, a Ms. Alison St. Clair. Do ya remember the woman?"

"Why, yes, I do," Addison said, suddenly alert. "She came asking my help for setting up a visit by Mr. Trelawney, the prime minister. I understand she is missing. Have you found her?"

"No, Madame Senator, we have not," Ciprian replied, pulling out his own data recorder. "We are trying to trace her motions of dat day."

"What do ya know about her? What did she look like? How did she dress?" Patricia asked, stylus poised.

Addison sat back for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. In reality, she was trying to come up with a way to deflect suspicion away from Penelope. Glancing back at Patricia, she said, "She was really quite pretty, with long black hair and blue eyes. She dressed conservatively, but well. Linen suit in a medium blue with knee-length hem, matching shoes with a low heel, simple gold necklace and studs, nothing to set her apart from any of the other professional women who work here."

"Like, I mean, was her clothes dear or just off the peg?" Patricia pressed.

"Hmm. It did rather resemble a Wickfen design I have seen," Addison replied, looking thoughtful. Then she smiled. "But you know how it is. Sometimes the imitations look more authentic than the actual designer frocks."

"Hmph," Patricia grunted. Addison simply smiled sweetly while thinking, It is not as if you wouldn't know, Detective. Not on your salary!

Patricia, on the other hand, took the senator's sweet smile another way. I didn't come up the Lagan in a bubble ya know, ya snotty cow.

"What did she say she was to do while here in Unity City?" Ciprian asked.

"She said she was an aide to Mr. Trelawny and she was charged to made arrangements for an official visit from the prime minister in six months' time."

"Six monts?" The dark-skinned man gave Addison a piercing look.

"Six months was the time frame she mentioned, but she did say it could be later than that."

"Ah, I see. Did her credentials seem to be in order?"

Addison nodded. "Oh yes. Everything was quite in order."

"How did you verify her identity?"

"I phoned Number 10 before she arrived. They confirmed her bona fides."

The detectives exchanged puzzled frowns. Then Patricia asked, "So, how exactly did ya help her out then?"

"I had my secretary phone various departments to smooth the way so she could carry out her assignment. I received calls later to confirm her identity, so I know she visited the offices she said she was to contact."

Ciprian nodded and added the information to his PDA. The intercom on Addison's desk chimed for attention and she leaned over to answer it with a soft, "Excuse me." Once the connection was made, she asked, "Yes, Anne?"

"Ambassador Conley is on line one, madame."

"Ah! Thank you, Anne." Addison's eyes went from one detective to another. "If you would please excuse me, detectives. I have been waiting for this call from the Irish ambassador."

Ciprian glanced at his partner and she nodded. "I tink we have enough for now," he said. "Tank you, Madame Senator, for your time. If we have any otter questions, may we call?"

"Of course. Anything to help you find the poor girl." The three of them rose, and Addison walked her visitors to the door. "Good day, detectives," she said. They returned the farewell, and left the anteroom, comparing notes as they did so. Addison indicated to her secretary that she should transfer the call, then strode quickly back to her desk. As the white-haired visage of Ireland's ambassador to Unity City filled her vidscreen, she made a quick note to herself to tell Penelope about these recent events when she phoned.

As they walked to the parking garage and Ciprian's official vehicle, Patricia asked, "So, who do we believe? His Excellency and Madame Senator back there?" She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "Or Number 10 Downing Street?"

"I don't know, Trish," Ciprian said, shaking his head slowly, making the beads on his braids clack softly. "De papers dat His Excellency showed us seemed autentic enough. And it will be simple enough to check de senator's phone records. I guess we wait to see what forensics has for us."

"I think you're right, so ya are," Patricia agreed. "I'd better get back to my wee office and you get back to yours." She smiled up at him. "Normally our agencies aren't this cooperative, so they're not."

Ciprian smiled back as they reached their vehicle. "Dis is true. But we work well togetter, you and I. Togetter, we can get to de bottom of de mysterious disappearance of Ms. Alison St. Clair."

The wee hours of the morning, the following day (thanks to the IDL) and Brains caught his eyes closing for the fifth time in as many minutes. He shook his head sharply, and yawned. Looking up, he sighed as he saw his scheduling board. So many projects, and all of them a top priority. Most of them wanted yesterday. And no matter how often I rearrange them, something essential is still being put off. Or, something equally essential is added to my plate.

He yawned again and turned off the soldering iron he had been using. I need some sleep. Maybe later I can pry Tin-Tin away from the uniform design and get her to help me on the specs that Deirdre sent me. Somehow, I think that the ability to get on and off the Internet without leaving a trail is very important to us right now. I've also got to put a bug in Mr. Tracy's ear again about bringing Deirdre on as a technical consultant.

Making a tour around the lab to make sure everything that should be shut down was shut down, he turned off the lights, locked the doors, and padded out, summoning the monorail car that would connect him with the elevators to the house. Hands in his pockets, he leaned against the rail of the steps that brought him up to the monorail's platform. He blinked once, then twice, and took off his glasses to wipe them on his lab coat, then rubbed his eyes before replacing the lenses on his face. The monorail was descending the grade, following the path made by lava disgorged from the island's volcano thousands of years ago, a path smoothed and enlarged by the hard work of the Tracys. As the car got closer, Brains found it to be occupied. A pajama'd and dressing gowned Parker was sitting in the car, yawning, setting off another jaw-cracking yawn in Brains. The little red tram stopped at the lab, and Parker, surprised by the fact that there was someone waiting there, hesitated to get out. Instead, he slid open the door and, with a slightly slurred but cheery voice, said, "Goo' mornin', Mr. Brains."

"What's so g-good about it?" Brains asked, a touch of humor in his voice. He entered the car, and leaned up against a wall, yawning again.

Parker was stymied by the question for a moment. "Well, guv, Ay s'pose h'enny mornin' yer alive h'is a good 'un, don' ye agree?" He yawned again.

Brains nodded, and returned the yawn. "I a-agree, uh, Parker. What b-brings you down to the, uh, bowels of the c-complex?"

"Ay don' think tha' callin' this th' 'vowels'..." His mouth yawned open of its own accord. "... h'is h'a good h'idear, Mr. Brains," Parker answered, a slight frown on his face. " 'Tis h'a mayte... h'in-del-ee-cat, 'tis."

"You, uh, haven't answered my qu-question," Brains reminded him, stifling another yawn.

Parker blinked, then nodded. "Yer rayte, Ay 'aven't. Well, Mr. Brains, Ay came down t' see may gehl. May poor brave gehl. She did h'a fayne work th'other nayte h'an' no mistake."

"Well, uh, P-Parker, I'm afraid the lab is, uh, locked up n-now," Brains said kindly, moving over to the controls that would take them back up the grade and to the elevators. Just the thought of getting to bed made him yawn again, this one wide enough to squeeze his eyes totally shut.

The older man gave the engineer a strange look. "That don' make h'enny d'ffrence."

So tired was Brains that it took a full minute for the implications of Parker's statement to sink in. "Uh, I s-suppose it doesn't. Not for you. But, uh, why d-don't you wait until, uh, Alan r-returns from Thunderbird Five later today. Then you can d-discuss your, uh, 'girl's' condition with him." He paused as a monstrous yawn suddenly overtook him. "Besides, I'd, uh, rather you s-stay out of the lab right n-now. There are, uh, experiments going on."

"Ah!" Parker said sagely, nodding again. "Ay see. Ay b'leeve ye 'ave h'a good h'idear there, Mr. Brains. Not good t' disturb th' h'ex-peer-ee-ments."

"Right." Brains turned to the controls. "I'm, uh, taking 'er... her... back to the, uh, elevators, o-okay?"

"Takin' 'oo?" the Cockney asked suspiciously. "May gehl?"

Sighing slightly, the genius looked back at the chauffeur. "Uh, no. The monorail car. Are you r-ready?"

"Oh! Yus. Go h'ahead, Mr. Brains." The older man yawned prodigiously again and Brains fought the urge to imitate him. Fought... and lost. His mouth opened with an audible noise.

"Ye soun' layke yer h'ex-haw-sted," Parker commented as the monorail took them back up the incline and headed for the curve at the power plant.

"I am," Brains admitted. "I've got a lot of, uh, priority p-projects to work on. That's why I asked for Alan, so he could, uh, take FAB-1. B-Besides, Alan's much better with c-cars."

"Ah," the chauffeur replied. "Then h'it looks like Milady an' Ay will be stayin' fer h'a whayle yet. Ay don' know that 'er Ladyship will want t' return t' Foxleyheath wi'out th' Rolls." He sighed heavily. "Ay h'am worried h'about Milady. She seems so sad. Ay'm h'afraid she mayte do 'erself some 'arm."

The little car jolted a bit as it went around the curve near the huge block of a building that housed the nuclear-based power generators. Brains glanced back at Parker just as they entered the well-lit tunnel that would eventually take them past Thunderbird One's launch pad. "Wh-Why do you say that?"

"Well," Parker began, propping his chin on his hand, "Ay've never seen 'er this way. She's taken that lad Peter's death verra 'ard. Naow, h'if 'twere me 'oo died, Ay could see h'it. But she barely knew th' man! She's seen dead folk h'afore. Killed some, too."

Brains sighed. His knowledge of psychology was better than most people's, but was still limited. "P-Perhaps this is the first time it's been, uh, up close and p-personal, so to speak." He turned back to the controls, slowing the car as it reached the terminus with the elevators to the villa. "I wouldn't, uh, worry about Lady P-Penelope hurting herself. She's a very strong, uh, p-personality. It will just take time to, uh, g-get over this."

Parker yawned again, then muttered, "Ay 'ope yer rayte, Mr. Brains. Ay 'ope yer rayte."

Dawn on Tracy Island found a satellite phone ringing over and over in one of the bedrooms. The woman in the bed sleepily waved a white arm and mumbled, "Parker... the telephone." But the device continued to ring, and finally Penelope picked her head off the pillow, squinting toward the dresser where she had laid the thing. "This had better be an emergency," she muttered as she got out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown. Padding over to the dresser, she picked up the offending item, and flipped it open as she returned to the bed to sit down on the edge, pushing the "voice only" button before pressing the pink "answer" bar. "Hello, this is Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward speaking. Who is calling?" she said, her voice betraying just a hint of her internal irritation.

"Penny? It's Addison. Did I wake you?"

Penelope sighed, relaxing, her voice losing that irritated tone. "I am afraid you have, Addi."

Addison's voice held real regret. "I am so sorry, Penny. I shall call again later."

"No, no, Addi." Penelope waved a dismissive hand, forgetting momentarily that her friend couldn't see her. "It is quite all right. What news?"

"Good news," Addison replied. "The Irish Ambassador has agreed to put his diplomatic seal on Mr. Riordan's coffin, and I shall add my own. That should keep the remains from being disturbed by either Irish or British authorities. I have also been in contact with the Customs officials on this end. They have agreed to scan the coffin and to send the results of that scan ahead of the flight, so there should be no trouble with the Customs office at the family's final destination."

"Oh, Addi! Thank you! This is above all I could have asked. I am so very grateful for your help in this matter. I shall phone Mrs. Riordan straightaway and tell her of the arrangements."

"Please do, Penny, and have her call either my office or the embassy. Ambassador Conley's or my own secretary should be able to arrange the details."

"I shall, Addi. Again, thank you ever so much!"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and then Addi, her voice growing serious, remarked, "I had a visit from two detectives today, Penny. One from our local police and one from Interpol, working together. They were looking for clues to the whereabouts of that young lady I mentioned, Alison St. Clair. They seemed very interested in what she looked like and what she wanted from me. And when I told them how I had verified her identity, they seemed a bit... surprised."

Penelope willed her voice to a casual tone, "Oh? That is very interesting, Addi. Very interesting indeed. If I should see Ms. St. Clair, I shall be certain to tell her that she is being sought so diligently."

"Please do, Penny. I do not know what clues they might have to her whereabouts, but I am certain that these two detectives will be very, very thorough in their investigation."

"It is so nice to know that the minions of the law take their job so very seriously," Penelope declared. She yawned slightly, turning her head and covering her mouth so that her friend could not hear it. "I should be going, Addi. I must ring Melissa Riordan and tell her the good news."

"Of course, Penny, I understand." There was another pause, then Addison spoke once more. "Penny, I should dearly love to hear from you again, purely for a social call. Or perhaps we could see each other the next time you visit Unity City? I would so like to catch up with you and your life."

Penelope smiled at this. "I should like that, too, Addi. I have lost touch with so many friends from school. We all went our separate ways, it seems. I shall call again, and soon. And I promise to visit when next I am in Unity City."

"I look forward to it. Goodbye for now, Penny."

"Goodbye, Addi."

The connection closed and Penelope put the phone down beside her. The longing and loneliness in Addison's tone had cut her to the quick. How many old friends have I lost track of in my desire to remain a cipher? How many people are there in this world whom I consider to be close friends? Too few, I fear. This life to which I have given myself has removed much of what used to make me happy. Now my "friends" are only those who can provide me with intelligence, or can arrange things for me that I cannot do for myself. Such as the favor I have asked of Addi. She shook her head slowly. The only ones I feel close to are Sir Jeremy, and perhaps Deborah, and of course, the Tracys. Especially Jeff. Oh, and let's not forget Parker, old girl. She looked down at the phone next to her and smiled slightly. Picking it up, she held it in both hands. Perhaps it is time to change all that. But right now, a bath before I phone Melissa. No sense frightening the poor girl. And after Melissa, a little chat with Edward.

Early afternoon in South Carolina found Deirdre Macias almost ready to tear her hair out. The termite program, as simple as it was, was proving to be difficult to change into the kind of virus-laden, self-replicating hacking machine that Lou had asked for. She looked at the clock and groaned. Soon she would have to pick her children up from school. Her husband usually took them to school on his way to work. He maintained a small studio and office away from the house, mostly so he could feel like he was going to work each day and could focus on his comic strip. Her workshop was in the two-story garage, but the computer area was inside the house, where the climate was more controllable.

Sighing heavily, she cupped her chin and cheek on her hand as she scrolled down the code that Tony Cho had written and she had added to. This isn't working. I need another pair of eyes to look at it. Glancing at the clock again, she thought, I wonder what Hiram is up to? I don't know if he'd have time, or would even touch something like this... but I can ask. He might be amenable if he knew why I was writing it. But I won't send it unless I know he's willing to look over it.

She saved her changes and closed the file, then began to compose an email. "Hey, Hiram. I find myself in the unenviable position of writing what some would call a piece of 'malicious code'..."

Breakfast on Tracy Island found John eating heartily.

"Slow down, John!" Eleanor chided with a smile. "You don't want to have an upset stomach on your way up to Thunderbird Five, do you?"

"How could I, Grandma, with yours and Kyrano's fine cooking inside me?" he quipped. A final bite and a last gulp of coffee, then he was done, wiping his mouth and hands on his linen napkin, leaving it crumpled beside his plate. He gave the old woman a peck on the cheek before he left the room. "Thanks for a delicious breakfast, Grandma. I'll be back for a proper goodbye as soon as I've gone over Three's preflight checks."

"You'd better, John Tracy, or you'll be hearing from me!" she called after him, waving an egg covered spoon in his general direction.

Gordon passed his brother in the hall and chose that moment to enter the kitchen. He took a step back to avoid being spattered by the contents of his grandmother's weapon. "Whoa, Grandma! Easy on the artillery there! I'd like to eat breakfast, not wear it!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Gordon," she said, stepping closer to buss him on the cheek then returning herself and her spoon to the stove.

"And a good morning to you, too, Grandma," he said with a grin as he returned her kiss. "Nice to see you feeling better and more like your old self! Good morning, Kyrano."

"Good morning, Mr. Gordon," Kyrano said from the opposite end of the kitchen where he was busy proofing the day's baking and preparing a breakfast tray.

"I had a good night's sleep and it made a world of difference." Eleanor stirred the eggs in the pan as Gordon poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table.

As he did, Jeff came in, and smiled when he saw his mother standing at the stove. "Good morning, Mother. It's good to see you up and about and feeling better!" He put his hands on her shoulders from behind and kissed her cheek. Then he glanced up at Kyrano. "Good morning, Kyrano. Who is the tray for?"

"For Lady Penelope," the retainer explained. "Mr. Parker relayed her request to have her meals in her room until further notice."

Jeff frowned. "I suppose that's to be expected. She has been very affected by... this incident." He poured himself a cup of coffee, fixed it to his liking, and sat down at the head of the table. "I'll talk to her later, try to draw her out into society again." Picking up the freshly printed paper, he asked, "Where is everyone else?"

"Mr. Brains is still asleep, as is Mr. Parker," Kyrano explained. "They both were up until the small hours of the morning. I believe Tin-Tin is awake and should be making an appearance soon. Mr. John has eaten and is tending to Thunderbird Three's preflight checks. And both Mr. Scott and Mr. Virgil have eschewed breakfast for coffee. I am unsure as to their whereabouts."

"Hmm. I hope this means Scott's doing what I told him to," Jeff muttered. Eleanor put a plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and country sausage down before him. She placed another equally filled plate in front of Gordon, then returned to the stove for her own breakfast. Setting first a cup of tea, then her plate at Jeff's left, she waited as Jeff got up and pulled her chair out for her, helping her to settle into her seat. Kyrano finished his work with the tray, and carried it off to present it to their guest.

"What was going on between those two yesterday, Jeff?" Eleanor asked, having taken a sip of tea. "Both of them were bandaged up, and Virgil looked like he had been on the wrong end of someone's fist. Neither of them was talking much and most certainly not to each other!"

Jeff sighed. "They had an... altercation, Mother. Virgil was offended by something Scott said and took a swing at him. You know how Scott is, Mother. Someone else may start a fight, but he'll be the one to finish it. He defended himself, and Virgil took one in the jaw."

"But what could Scott have said that would have caused Virgil to take a poke at him?" Eleanor persisted. "It must have been very bad."

"I don't know what Scott said," Jeff replied truthfully. "I've already told him to make things right with his brother. I hope that's what they're doing now."

"I hope so, too," Eleanor said, in a tone that indicated to Jeff that she wasn't going to leave the subject alone until she got to the bottom of it. Jeff shook his head. He wanted to tell his mother to drop it, to stay out of it, but a part of him wanted the whole story, too. So, he held his piece, and changed the subject.

"Scott will be going to Peter Riordan's wake and funeral," he said. "I'm giving him 72 hours leave to get there and back."

"That's going to leave us pretty short-handed, Dad," Gordon protested. "I mean, John's going up to get Alan, but he's supposed to be working on FAB-1."

"He'll fill in for Scott should we have a rescue," Jeff said firmly. "And I'm going to have Scott fly over the States to LA and pick up Kenny Malone on his way back."

"Won't that put him in danger of exceeding his flight hours?" Eleanor asked. She was aware that, since the family had to fly to get just about anywhere, Jeff was strict about maintaining a legal level of flight time, including the hours the boys spent in their Thunderbirds. He never added those hours into the logs he sent to the World Aviation Administration, but since the Thunderbirds were faster than just about every other craft on the planet, they really ended up being rather negligible, especially in Scott's case. So even though the boys often flew the legal limits and sometimes a little beyond, it always looked on paper as if they were well within them.

"No, Mother. Parker will go with him. He has his pilot's license and since the story we concocted for the authorities in Unity City had him as a good friend of Peter's, he should be there." Jeff took another sip of his coffee and a bite of his eggs. When he had swallowed, he continued, "He and Scott can come up with a convincing story on how Peter and Parker met en route to Ireland."

"Well, if anyone can come up with a convincing lie about anything, it's Aloysius Parker," Eleanor said tartly. Gordon rolled his eyes at his grandmother's bald-faced statement, and Jeff chuckled from behind his newspaper.

Midafternoon in New York found Cindy Lou returning from a session at the local health club. She still worked out on her own in the garage, using the weights and punching bag, but she had joined the club for a wider range of cardiovascular exercises... and to meet people in her new town. She was still checking out places where she could practice her marksmanship; those who had created her new persona had remembered to alter the gun permit, but had trouble updating the pilot's license. As a result, she was still waiting on that particular piece of documentation.

She entered the house through the back door, checking the screened in porch to see which cats were there. Snowball and Midnight were curled up on either ends of the long, window level shelf, taking their afternoon naps, soaking up the afternoon sun. Snowball raised her head briefly to blink at her mistress, her green eyes barely visible behind the open slits of eyelid. Then she yawned mightily, curling her pink tongue, and put her head back down, as if to say, "Oh, it's only you."

Cindy Lou shook her head, smiled, and entered the kitchen. Dropping her workout clothes by the entrance to the basement, she took out a glass and filled it with ice and water from the cryofridge. Sipping it as she walked, she headed for her office, stopping to turn on the sound system before sitting down at her desk. Here she found her other two cats, Spot and Moofums, sharing the now cleared space on the left hand side of her desk. Moofums was grooming Spot, licking the tortie's short, mottled fur in directions that it wasn't really meant to go. Spot lay patiently still, her position sphinx-like, enduring the ministrations of her "sister's" tongue with what seemed to their owner to be amazing forbearance. The woman smiled more and sighed, reaching out to scratch each cat between the ears. Spot looked over at her, but Moofums never stopped the rhythm of her grooming.

"Now, lessee if Dee has come up with anythin' yet," Cindy Lou murmured as she sat down before her computer. She checked her emails first, and came up with one from her friend to the south.

"Lou, this is beyond me right now. I've got too many other things to think about and Cho's design, though simple, is really tight and hard to work with. Sooooo... I've asked my friend and yours, Hiram Hackenbacker, to take a look at it. Don't know if he'll do it; malicious code may turn him off, even if it's for a good cause. But I'm asking, and if he says yes, I'm sending it to him. Ciao, Dee."

Cindy Lou broke into a grin and chuckled. "Well, Dee, yew've picked th' rahte man fer th' job. If'n anyone's interested 'n helpin' out Inte'national Rescue, he is."

"Virgil?"

"Scott." Virgil didn't turn from where he had been leaning on the balcony rail, looking off into the waves, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. The island's peak still cast its shadow on that side of the island, and would for at least another hour or so. But the sun's rays could be seen in the glitter of the sea farther out from the island, and it was this that had caught the artist's eye. Maybe tomorrow I can be prepared to capture it.

Scott approached the railing, standing to Virgil's left, taking a large gulp of his coffee before leaning on his elbows in a position similar to his brother's. The two men stood there for a long quiet moment, Scott trying to think of what to say, Virgil pretending to ignore his brother, and neither of them having much luck. Finally, the younger man snorted, and turned to leave. Scott reached out quickly and grabbed his forearm.

The response was immediate; Virgil brought his arm up sharply and tried to twist it out of his brother's grasp. Hot coffee sloshed around in Scott's cup, spilling some onto his damaged hand, staining the bandages and scalding the skin. But he ignored it and held on tightly to the limb, saying in a rough voice, "Listen to me for a minute, would you?"

Virgil stopped trying to extricate his arm, but kept it raised. He glared at his brother, hard brown eyes meeting Scott's blue ones. "Why?"

"Because I need... I want to apologize. For what I said yesterday."

The younger man dropped his arm. "Oh. So, apologize."

Scott let go his grip and took a deep breath. "Look, Virge, I'm not apologizing for reaming you out about the pod. I had a point about your treatment of John and you know it. But, I am sorry, very sorry, for what I called Lady Penelope. It was over the top, and I never should have said it." He stopped to run his free hand through his hair. "I'm very angry with her right now, Virge. If she had done her job properly and gone in with a better disguise, she wouldn't have been discovered. And Pete would still be alive."

Virgil continued to glare at him for a long time, then finally said, his voice hard, "You're right about what you said being over the top. It was over the top and totally uncalled for. And you've got no cause to be angry at Penelope. You don't know what would have happened even if she had chosen a different disguise. Scott, think of who we're dealing with. He's got those weird mind powers and he might have easily been able to read her mind to discover who she was, just like he's read Kyrano's mind in the past. Her disguise would have been worthless against him no matter what she looked like!" He paused for breath and his voice lost its edge. "Besides, she feels bad enough about this as it is. So bad that she's debating on whether or not to continue as an agent."

The blue eyes opened wide. "Really? She told you this?"

The younger man nodded slowly. "Yes. That's what we were talking about before you came looking for me."

"Damn." Scott shook his head slowly. "I didn't know." He stepped forward and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry I insulted her like that, Virge. And I'm sorry for socking you on the jaw. It was purely reflex, you know."

Virgil raised his hand to his jaw and lightly rubbed the sore spot. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry I took a swing at you. Purely reflex, you know."

His brother raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. "Note to self: don't diss Virgil's girls."

Virgil snorted. "Yeah, well, she's not 'my' girl. Not yet anyway. I haven't talked to her about... that." He shrugged. "It's not really the best time, y'know."

His brother grunted agreement, then asked, "Have you talked to John yet?"

"No, but thanks for reminding me. I'd better talk to him before he leaves." Virgil took a gulp of his coffee and grimaced. "Ugh, it's cold. I'm going to get some fresh stuff. Then find John."

Scott nodded, then reached out to touch Virgil's arm. "Virge? Are we cool here? Apologies accepted?" He held out his free hand.

Virgil stood still for a moment, then took the proffered hand. "Yeah, Scott. We're cool. Apologies accepted."

"Good," Scott said with a smile. "You'd better get hold of John. And get the coffee before Gordon and Dad drink it all."

"I can always ask Kyrano to make a fresh pot. I'd make one myself, but I haven't gotten the grounds to water ratio down yet. My stuff always looks like motor oil and tastes worse."

"Yeah, I noticed. Every time you've made it on a rescue." Scott motioned toward the house with his head. "Better get going."

"Right." Virgil saluted his brother with his mug, and strode back into the house. Scott turned back to the balcony rail, and watched the island's shadow slowly retreat as the sun rose in the sky, feeling somehow lighter hearted than he had since Peter's death.

It was late afternoon on the east coast of the United States, when "Derek Edwards" set his plane down on the tarmac in this busy little city's jetport. The air smelled of salt from the nearby Atlantic, borne on a wind that ruffled his dark hair as he climbed out of his craft. It was cool and bracing, not at all like the languid sea zephyrs of the Caribbean. He buttoned up his flight jacket against the stiff breeze and went in search of the rental car he had reserved.

He made a quick stop at a pay phone to use the computerized directory, and then, once ensconced in the non-descript sedan, he plugged the address he had gleaned into the car's onboard GPS, which generated a map and directions to his destination. He turned on the stereo, found a station he liked and headed out of town, taking a southbound road. He glanced over at the steel briefcase he had picked up from a locker in the Charlotte airport, one he had left behind after the invasion of Lou's house in Asheville. Caressing the cold metal, he smiled. This little baby has everything I'll need to put my plan into action. And if this doesn't lure out the cat woman, nothing will.