Departures and Arrivals

The eyes on Alan's portrait blinked, and Jeff reached over to activate the communication system. The static image of the young blond switched over to a live picture of him, sitting behind Thunderbird Three's controls. "Base from Thunderbird Three. On final approach and requesting permission to land."

Jeff, who had an earphone/boom mike in one ear, smiled at his son, then pulled up a real-time scan of the area around the island in a separate window on his computer screen, showing the position of any vessels in a 100 mile radius. Nothing was close enough to the island to be a problem, so he said, "Permission granted, Thunderbird Three, and welcome home."

Alan grinned. "ETA to landing, seven minutes. See you in a few, Da... I mean, Commander."

"See you then, Sigma." Jeff switched off the communicator and sighed. The new code names had yet to become second nature, something that he had hoped would happen sooner rather than later. He went back to reading the email on his screen, one of dozens of responses, both online and on the phone, that he had been receiving all afternoon in the wake of his earlier announcement.

He stared at the screen, remembering the call he had made to Lou, who dropped the drawl for him as he picked her brain about the possible whereabouts of Peter's DNA records.

"Well, an investigator would look first in criminal records, of course, then military, justice, and governmental employee databases next," she explained. "If the information isn't in one of those, he'd go farther afield, running searches into licensing bureaus like aircraft licenses or some motor vehicle departments..."

Jeff cut in. "You mean you have to give DNA samples when you get a driver's license now?"

Lou smiled and shook her head. "No, not DNA samples per se, but fingerprints most definitely. And DMV's are notorious for cross-referencing to other databases that would also have the fingerprints, and possibly the DNA files as well."

"I'll remember that next time I get my license renewed," Jeff said sourly.

She chuckled. "Just don't make that face when they take your picture, that's all." A pause for a gulp of whatever she was drinking, and she continued. "Places that grant teaching licenses, physician licenses and certifications, and other smaller registries would also have the DNA records. Hey, even marriage licenses require them now! And more and more countries are adding DNA records starting at birth, so that the file follows a person throughout life. But that's only been in the past five years or so, and it's not too widespread... yet."

"Whatever happened to right to privacy?" Jeff groused.

Lou shrugged. "Went out the window after the big terrorist actions at the beginning of the century, I'd guess. The DNA files are supposed to be private, heavily encrypted, and only accessed either with special permission from the person whose file it is, a court order requiring the file be available, or with a 'compelling reason'. Most murder cases and terrorist investigations routinely fall under 'compelling reason' these days, especially when it comes to identifying bodies. Of course, there are a number of hackers who know how to get around the encrypting and tamper with the files. I think that Tom, the guy who was compiling all the information on your family business, had gotten some kind of special permission from higher up to search for those fingerprints he'd obtained. What kind of permission those investigators in Unity City would have, I couldn't say for sure. But since it looks like an attack on the home of a government official, and a mysterious person has disappeared from the premises, I'd say their forensics team would have the clout to initiate a broad search."

"How long do you think it would take?" Jeff asked.

"Hmm. It all depends on what kind of importance the justice agencies put on the incident. The more important it is, the more liable it is to bump lesser forensic investigations and searches back, though they can only go so far with that or else the data they collected for the other cases would be useless. My guess is that this would be a high priority. Since this happened where it did, Interpol is probably working hand-in-hand with the Unity City officials and using the local facilities for testing, but the Interpol system for the database search." Lou sighed and shook her head. "This isn't going to take them long, Jeff. Twenty-four to thirty-six hours, maximum, for both analysis and search. Very likely less."

"Damn. It's been longer than 24 hours, I'm sure," Jeff said with a groan. "I was hoping we'd have time to remove the DNA files of our agent across the board."

"Jeff, it's not going to hurt to try. Find out what places are most likely to have them and start there. Then go farther afield." She raised her eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. "I take it that Hiram has the skills to unravel the encryption?"

"He probably does, yes, but he's not the one I'm calling on."

"Yes, as I've found out just today. One of my closest agents has unexpectedly turned out to be an... expert, as you say. Gave me quite a shock to discover it! He's a most unlikely candidate."

"Well, I wish him luck. Anything else you need from me?"

"I wish I had more time just to talk with you," Jeff said wearily. "But this situation can't wait."

Lou lowered her gaze with a smile. "I understand, Jeff. Besides, it's late here and I'm getting sleepy. Oh, here's something you should know. I'm going to be sending that email from Tony Cho on to the Interpol investigators in Singapore. The original Chinese, not the translation."

"Won't that implicate you in the use of the termite? And won't they be able to trace where it came from?" he asked, concerned.

"I'll be removing my name from the greeting, which should protect me but, unfortunately, will also taint the evidence. Even so, the rest will give them some direction on the case, especially if they manage to figure out that 'Erdman' business. And I'm going to send it from a public terminal in Manhattan. I think I've figured out how to pay for it, too. I'll use a prepaid, general purpose gift card. I can purchase one on my way into the city and use it once I'm there. Not totally untraceable, but nearly so."

"That still sounds rather risky, Lou. Is there any other way to do this? I mean, you said no one could trace your computer's activities."

"Yes, that's true enough, Jeff. When I'm surfing, I leave no traces behind. But I have to use a valid email address to send the file from, and though I can close down whichever one I use, they might be able to trace my domain. And I don't want that to happen. Using a public terminal makes me just another face in a crowd."

Jeff tapped his chin with a stylus thoughtfully. "I see. Lou, let me think about this for you, okay? There's got to be a better way to send it, one that's not going to expose you at all."

Lou looked back at him for a moment, then smiled softly. "Okay. I'll hang on to it. Besides, I just thought of something. The Erdman gang has that little email scanner out there, and this would be a perfect way to deliver a certain little surprise package to them."

"Do I want to know what kind of surprise you're talking about?" Jeff asked, an eyebrow raised.

She shook her head and made a face. "Nah. At least, not right now. I'll tell you about it later. Got to get the package first, anyway."

"Okay. But keep me informed on what you're up to, Lou. I don't need any more sudden shocks!"

"In due time, Jeff, in due time. I'd better let you go." She covered up a yawn, but not quickly enough to keep him from yawning in return.

"Right. Goodbye, Lou, and thanks for all the help."

"Anytime, Jeff. Goodbye."

Jeff had immediately called down to the lab, where he surmised Parker was working, and gave Tin-Tin instructions to pass on to the newly-discovered hacker about where to look for Peter's DNA records. I just hope we're in time. Melissa doesn't need to be questioned about Peter's whereabouts, not now, and especially if she has no idea what he was really up to. It might create some awkward questions in her own mind if she doesn't know about Peter's side job.

Jeff was brought back to the here and now as the couch before his desk disappeared into the floor, and was replaced by its twin, with Alan sitting comfortably on it. "Hey, Dad!" he called as he arrived.

"Hello, Alan!" Jeff exclaimed, getting up from his chair and coming out to greet his youngest son. He clapped him on the shoulder, then drew him in for a quick embrace as the young man stood up. "How was the flight down?"

"Smooth as silk, Dad, no trouble at all. And John's brought me up to speed on some of the things going on around here lately. Did Scott really punch out Virgil?" Alan asked as he stretched, reaching up as high as he could with his arms and momentarily standing on tiptoe.

Jeff made a sour face as he returned to his work station. "Yes, he did. But I understand they've made their peace. Alan, I know you're here to work on FAB-1, but I also expect you to take Thunderbird One starting tomorrow morning. Scott is going to Peter Riordan's wake and funeral, and so will be gone for a few days. He's to pick up Kenny Malone on the way back to give you another set of hands."

"Okay, Dad," Alan replied amiably. "Let me get my gear stowed and my clothes changed and I'll go down and take a look at it."

"Wait until after dinner, Alan. Your grandmother and Kyrano have been cooking your favorites."

Alan chuckled. "All right, Dad. I'll just take a look in on Penelope then. I bet she's missed me," he said. "She always does."

Jeff squinted at him for a moment, then his face cleared when he remembered that Alan had named his pet alligator after the aristocrat. As he recalled, the human Penelope had not been terribly impressed. To her, alligators were for making shoes and handbags. Very expensive shoes and handbags.

"Go on, Alan. I'll see you at dinner," Jeff said, returning to his computer. He closed the email he had just finished, one from an agent in Johannesburg, South Africa. The woman was an old friend of Penelope's, a vicar, and she wrote that she was most decidedly staying on as an agent, and would remain flexible as to her duties. Out of the dozens he had already viewed so far, no more than one or two agents had decided to leave the ranks and another handful had indicated that they would prefer to limit their activities to information gathering. He made notes of these, shuffling the messages to other folders for future reference.

He opened the next one on the list, one from Agent 87 in Unity City. Ah yes! The firefighter who helped Penelope. The single line of the message made him sit back and smile in amazement and wonder.

"Tell me how else I may serve the cause."

Oh, God. How did we end up with such... such wonderful, loyal friends.

The vidphone rang again, and Jeff reached out absently to answer it. "Jeff Tracy here."

"Well theyah, Jefferson Tracy! Took me th' bettuh paht o' th' nahte, but Ah fine'ly got threw t' yew! Whut 'n tar-nation d'yew thahnk yer doin' sendin' out thet theyah lettah?"

Jeff turned to give his full attention to the screen and grinned at the gray-haired, mustachioed man who stared back at him. "Jeremiah! Jeremiah Tuttle! You old hound dog! It's good to see you!"

Jeremiah gave Jeff a very serious look. "It's good t' see yew, too, Jeff. But yew'd bettuh start talkin', ol' son, 'cause'n Ah wants t' know whut's been goin' on thet made yew send out thet dad-blamed lettah!"

Jeff rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, and snorted a small chuckle. "Well, you see, Jeremiah, it's like this..."

Melissa Riordan sighed as she left the confines of the taxi that had transported her to the airport very early on a warm, and tropically wet morning. Two of her three children, Peter James, also known as P.J., and daughter Kaylie, followed her. P.J. opened up the umbrella, holding it over his mother's head as they waited for her cousin's wife, Rose, to come out of the other side of the cab, little Quinn's hand held firmly in her own. The cabbie opened up the trunk of his hack and brought the family's bags to the skycap, then tipped his hat at Melissa. "I'm sorry about Pete, ma'am. He was a good man, honest and easy-going. We'll miss him."

Melissa mustered a sad smile. "Thank you, George," was all she could say without breaking down. Then she turned and, with Rose's help, shepherded her children into the terminal.

They went through the checking in process, then headed upstairs to the security checkpoint and the departure gates. There was a woman standing to one side, looking over the few passengers who were arriving, and when she spotted the little group, she came forward with a warm smile. "Mrs. Riordan?"

Melissa glanced up at the well-dressed, dark haired lady. "Yes?"

The woman held out her hand. "I am Addison Kennicot."

The new widow took the outstretched hand and pressed it briefly. "It's good to meet you, Madame Senator. Thank you for all your help in getting my Peter home safely."

"You're very welcome, Mrs. Riordan. I understand how important it is to bring your husband home to his people." Pulling a long envelope from her handbag, she handed it to Melissa. "These papers should be presented here and at Customs in Belfast. There are letters in there confirming the diplomatic status of your husband's remains as well as your own small party. Should there be any problems whatsoever, call me or Ambassador Conley. You'll find his number on his letterhead. Here is my card; my home phone is listed on there as well as my direct office line."

"Thank you again, Madame Senator," Melissa repeated. Then she frowned, a puzzled look, and looking Addison in the eye, said, "My children and I have been the recipients of many unexpected favors from a number of unusual sources since Peter died, and I don't quite understand it all. I have to ask, Madame, why are you doing this? And why are you here, when you could have easily sent a secretary or courier?"

Addison took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The favor I am doing is as much for an old friend, who asked me to do it, as it is for you and your family. But as for my attending to this personally...," she swallowed heavily, "...it is because I see myself in you and your circumstances. My husband died very suddenly two years ago, and left me in a very similar situation. I had to make a trip much like one you are making today." Taking another deep, rather shuddery breath, she smiled softly at the children before turning her eyes to meet Melissa's gaze once more. "So, should you find you need anything else, including a sympathetic ear, please don't hesitate to call."

Melissa nodded, dropping her gaze. "I'm sorry for your loss. And thank you for the offer. I will remember it." She exchanged gazes with Rose, and turned to her children. "It's time we were going. Goodbye, Madame Senator."

"Farewell and Godspeed," Addison replied. She watched as the small group passed through the security checkpoint, Melissa showing them the papers as she had been instructed. Then she sighed and pulled out her phone. Speed-dialing a number, she said, "Anne? Please reschedule all my appointments. I shan't be coming into the office today."

Melissa was nonplussed as the flight attendant directed her and her little group to the first class section. "There must be some mistake," she said in protest. "I reserved seats in coach."

"There's no mistake, ma'am," he replied kindly, glancing over her boarding passes. "Someone upgraded your reservations for you." He indicated the section with an expansive arm. "Please, take your seat."

Melissa did as she was instructed, and glanced across the aisle to Rose, who looked as perplexed as she felt. "What's it all about, Melissa?" Rose asked.

"I don't know," the young widow replied, shaking her head. "But someone is trying very hard to make this time easier on us. I wish I only knew who and why."

"Well, Trish?" Ciprian asked his partner via vidphone. "Did de forensics team come up wit anyting?"

"Yes, so it did. I'm readin' the report now," Patricia answered irritably. "I'll email ya a copy." Both detectives had arrived early for work, waiting for the promised report from the forensics lab. "Now, this is interestin', so it is. The DNA in the pool a' blood that was hidden don't belong to a woman. It matches that a' one Peter Riordan, formerly a' the British Royal Air Force. The other bloodstain belonged to the suicide, Luis Guiterra. But listen to this! None a' the fingerprints we found for St. Clair have any match on file. And there were two different hairs found in Alvarez's office, black and blonde. The black ones were traced to a wigmaker in London, and my mates up there're looking into it, so they are. But the blonde ones don't have a DNA match anywhere. But definitely female hair, so it is."

"Riordan, Riordan," Ciprian's dark face was frowning in concentration. "Where have I heard dat name before?" His face cleared and he clapped his hands once. "Of course! De man who died during a recent pirate attack! He was supposed to be visiting a friend on de friend's boat... I'll look up de reports on it."

"Ah, but C, mate," Patricia said, wagging a finger at her partner, her voice sounding very much like the cat who caught the canary. "If our Mr. Riordan was on a boat with a friend, just how did his blood come to be on His Excellency's beach?"

"De very question I was going to ask, Trish," her local counterpart said, a wide, white smile decorating his face. "Perhaps we should ask de widow."

"A fine idea, so that is. I'll ring her up, and get back to ya." Patricia cut the call, and while Ciprian waited for her to phone him again, he began to pull up the data on Peter Riordan's death.

"Dere's not much here," he muttered to himself as he scanned the official reports. "I wonder if de newspapers might have more." He began to search the newspaper morgue files on the subject when his vidphone rang. "Badeau here."

"C, me mate, we're too late, so we are! The widow left just this mornin', headed for Belfast a' all places! And there's more, so there is! She, her children, and her husband's coffin are travelin' under diplomatic papers! Courtesy, so I'm told, a' the Irish Ambassador, Mr. Conley, and... the Honorable Addison Kennicot, senator from Great Britain!"

"Dat's very strange, Trish. Why would someone let de remains of a taxi driver travel under diplomatic immunity? I don't understand it."

"Perhaps we'd should go back and ask the senator a few more questions."

"I tink you're right, Trish. I'll be over to get you in a few minutes."

"Well, Parker?" Scott asked as the manservant climbed into Jeff's jet, notebook computer in hand. "You ready for this trip?"

"Yus, Mr. Scott, that Ay h'am," Parker said fervently. "Ay'll be h'askin' ye questions on th' way, so Ay ken come h'up wiv h'a gud story fer Mr. Riordan's family." He hefted the computer. "Ay've got summat t' do h'on Missus Myles's com-pew-tuh virus, too."

"Sounds like you'll be keeping busy on the ride to L.A.," Scott responded with a grin. "JT-1 to control, requesting permission to take off."

"Permission granted, JT-1, and have a good trip," Jeff's voice sounded in Scott's headphones.

"Roger that, control. Back in three days." Scott maneuvered the jet out through the smaller aircraft door set into the massive cliff face that doubled as the entrance to Thunderbird Two's hangar. He fired the engines to achieve the right amount of thrust to get the plane into the air despite the relatively short runway. Then he throttled forward, building speed quickly, so that they were actually airborne by the time they reached Thunderbird Two's launch ramp. He gained more altitude over the ocean, then banked in a wide arc and headed east. The island already looked like a green and white sponge sitting in the bathtub of the Pacific as they flew over. "You okay back there, Parker?" Scott called.

Parker swallowed heavily and said in a slightly strained voice, "Yus sir. Ay h'am."

Scott grinned again and set his course for Los Angeles.

The first hour or so of the journey was quiet except for the tapping of computer keys as Parker continued working on the malicious code he's been set to alter and rewrite. Curiosity piqued, Scott finally called back, "What is it you're doing? A virus for our honorary aunt, Lucinda?"

"Yus, Mr. Scott. She sent h'along h'a fayne exhample o' h'a termayte. Ay've never seen such h'a tayte but simple bit o' code. She wants h'it t' h'act h'as h'a virus, an' h'a termayte, an' drop li'l replicas o' h'itself, h'alter jus' h'a bit fer later h'ak-ti-fay-shun. H'A fair challenge, h'if Ay do say so mayself."

"Sounds complex. Am I right in understanding you learned how to do this in prison?"

"Yus, ye h'are. Took t' h'it layke h'a duck t' water, Ay did." Scott heard a louder, more purposeful "click", then the quieter "snick" of the laptop closing. "Mmm. Ay'll come back t' this later. May h'eyes need restin' summat."

There was a quiet moment as Scott checked his instruments, then Parker cleared his throat with a pronounced, "Ahem."

"Yes, Parker?" the pilot asked.

"H'It 'as come t' may h'a-ten-shun, Mr. Scott, that ye've been rather... cool t' Milady o'er th' past few days..."

"Yes, Parker?" Scott asked again, a touch of warning in his tone.

"May Ay h'ask whay?"

Scott didn't answer for a while, turning over in his head exactly what he should say to Penelope's chauffeur. He waited a bit too long, it seemed, because Parker cleared his throat noisily again.

"Will ye be makin' thin's rayte?"

"Yes, yes, of course I will. When we get back from this funeral. I want to do it in person." The eldest Tracy took in a deep breath and blew it forcefully out of his nose. "I... I just think Pete's death didn't have to happen. It shouldn't have happened. It was... senseless."

Now it was Parker's turn to be quiet. Just as Scott was ready to ask him what he was thinking, he said, "Peter didn' think so."

"Peter didn't think what?"

" 'E didn' think 'is death wuz senseless. 'E wuz proud t' die fer Inte'national Rescue."

Scott was getting angry. "And how exactly do you know this?"

" 'E tole milady. H'In FAB-1. 'E wuz dayin' an 'e tole 'er t' tell yer dad. T'was 'is last words."

His anger turned to incredulity, Scott twisted around to stare at the Cockney behind him. "What did he say?"

Parker gazed off into the clouds, gathering his thoughts. " 'E said... 'e said. 'Tell th' boss, t'was worth h'it."

" 'Tell the boss, it was worth it'," Scott repeated. "That's what he said?"

The chauffeur nodded slowly. "Yus. That's what 'e said."

The pilot slowly settled back into his seat. "Damn," he whispered. He passed a hand over his mouth and shook his head. "Damn."