Knight's Fork

Gordon sat in back on the way to the Biddeford's tiny airport. He tapped his earpiece and quietly said, "Thunderbird Five from Omicron. Do you read?"

"Thunderbird Five here, reading you four by four," came the quick, steady response. "What is your situation?"

"I want a locator check on myself, Alpha, the Commander, and, uh, her." He didn't have anything he felt he could call Lou and he didn't want to use her name any more than necessary.

"Alpha reads still at Portland jetport, the Commander is still airborne, making progress toward Portland. You and our honorary agent are heading south towards Biddeford," John replied succinctly. He had the gold, blue, orange, and red dots on his locator screen. Usually the red dot meant their grandmother, who adored the raspberry transmitters. But no longer. Now her dot was a blinking yellow, the strobe indicating that she was not an active operative. The Thunderbird pilots all had steady lights, as did Lady Penelope, whose pink light sat firmly in Australia. Their father, as commander, had a steady one as well, a darker, shinier color than Virgil's, almost a coppery tone. His own was purple, he knew, but it didn't appear on the screen. Only when he was on the ground would it be evident.

"F-A-B," Gordon replied. "Just wanted to make sure you had a reading on the edible transmitter."

"I do, and I'm zeroing in on your GPS position to keep a closer watch," John replied. He clicked on the screen with his wireless mouse and the picture zoomed in until he basically had a road map of the area. The red and orange dots were traveling together along Interstate 95 and were about to get off the highway and onto the side roads that would take them to the actual municipal airport. He checked one of the digital clocks that was set for Greenwich Mean Time, subtracted five hours, and sighed. They don't have much more time.

Franks looked at his watch. "Okay. Time to go," he said. He pulled a length of rope from his suitcase, and crossing the room, he forcefully shoved Shelly over onto her left side, intending to tie her ankles together. She kicked out at him as hard as she could, one foot after another, making it difficult for him.

"You stupid bitch," he muttered darkly. Pulling his gun from its holster, he smashed the butt against her right kneecap. Shelly screamed from behind the gag, her head arching back from the pain as bone cracked from the force. She stopped kicking, drawing her wounded knee upward, as she curled in on herself, sobbing. Franks put his gun away, slipped the rope under her other ankle, then pulled down the right one, eliciting another cry of pain. He tied the ankles together firmly, then stood.

"Stupid bitch. If you had cooperated, I would have been sweet. But you had to make things difficult, didn't you?" He looked at his watch again. "I'll be back soon. It's time to pick up your sister at the airport."

He walked away, leaving behind a pain-wracked Shelly, whose upper body slumped further to the floor, her tear-stained cheek resting on the carpet. Oh, God! Please! Get us out of this!

"Here we are," Angela said softly as she pulled up in front of the Biddeford municipal airport.

Lou looked back at Gordon. "Don't forget the listening device," she said.

He nodded and lifted the small receiver, turning it on. "We'll find a spot in the parking lot and keep an eye out for you," he assured her.

With a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out into the rain. Gordon watched as she walked briskly into the building.

"I think I see a spot over there," Angela said, pointing.

"Looks good to me," Gordon said, following her indicating finger. "Let's go."

Once inside the building, Lou looked around slowly, taking in the details. Finally, her eyes rested on what she wanted, a row of public pay phones. She walked over to them with an easy stride. He said second from the left. She hovered near the bank of vidphones, glancing at her watch and saying softly, "I'm at the vidphones now. Just waiting for his..." Her narrative broke off as the one she had been eyeing began to ring. Letting out a huff of breath and trying hard to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, she stepped up and answered the call.

Franks's smug face greeted her. "There you are, Luci. Thought you might not make it. I'm sure Shelly is very glad that you did. And I see you took my advice about law enforcement as well. Very smart of you."

"I made it, Franks. Now what?" she asked bluntly.

"Now, you take off your jacket, and come out to the curb, then get into the back seat of the sedan that will drive up. You'll know which one it is. Hurry, Luci. Shelly's waiting for you." The call disconnected.

She took off her red leather coat. "I hope you heard that," she murmured. "I'm to get into a car at the curb, a sedan." Stepping outside into the rain, she walked slowly down the pavement outside the doors, her jacket over her arm. She heard a car pull up behind her and swung around to face it. The windshield was covered with rain, but between the swipes of the wipers, she could see the figure that she had learned to loathe sitting in the driver's seat.

She strode up to the car and opened the back door. Franks turned to her. "Hello, Luci. Just toss that jacket in here, then climb in after it."

"Where is she, Franks?" Lou demanded, her eyes hard. "I'm here, now where is she?"

"Where is she?" Franks echoed. "She's safe for now. Just get in the car and we'll go see her."

Lou sighed heavily, then threw her jacket inside, and climbed in after it.

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Franks ordered. "Put your right hand through there," he instructed, indicating the front passenger seat headrest, pushed up as far as it would go on its metal rods. She complied, and he took a pair of handcuffs that had been lying on the seat next to him, fastening first the right wrist, then enclosing the left. When he finished the job, he pushed on the headrest again, bringing it down a couple of notches. "There, that should hold you. And it will look like you're just leaning up to talk to me," he said as he put the car in gear and drove off.

Lou, leaning forward uncomfortably, her hands resting on the seat before her, squelched the strong desire to glance back and see if Gordon and his chauffeur were following. Come on, guys. Follow us. Follow us now so we can save Shelly.

Jeff brought his JT-1 in for a landing at Portland's main airport. He had given some thought to how he could camouflage himself as he transferred from his jet to Thunderbird One, and had brought a change of outer clothes. These he had donned before he left the car at the Tracy Industries hangar. Once he had taxied over to the private jet hangar and had parked his craft in the space reserved for it, he got out, dressed in a brown, green and yellow tweed jacket with a matching Ivy cap. The tweed was loud enough to draw attention to itself, and hopefully only to itself, letting people's eyes slide over the features of the man who wore it. His leather jacket, visor, and ball cap resided in his briefcase, and he knew he had to take the time to change into them before heading out to the waiting Thunderbird.

He dashed into the Portland facility, trying to avoid getting soaked, and walking briskly once he was in there. Look like you know what you're doing. Look like you're supposed to be here, he instructed himself as he walked along. Very few people met his eyes or looked at his face; they were all hurrying along to get to their destination or doing what they could to keep to themselves in this most public of places. Only the children looked up at his tweed coat in fascination.

Walking the length of the terminal, he came to a quieter area: the helijet departures wing. He ducked into a men's room and marched right into a stall. Only two other men were in there, one washing his hands and the other using the urinal. He listened carefully as he changed over from tweed to leather jacket. He heard the water stop running, and then the urinal flushed and the water at the sink ran again. When it stopped, and the whirring of the air dryer ceased, he put on his cap and stepped out. The tweed cap and coat were already back in his briefcase, and he slipped on the visor as he left the empty men's room.

Heading for the departure doors, he stopped as a he heard someone run after him, calling, "Sir, sir! You can't go out there without going through security."

I do not have time for this! I knew I should have taken the jacket Tin-Tin made for Gordon, he grumbled internally. To hell with their security. Let them chase me down.

He took a deep breath and quickened his pace. Hitting the doors that led to the outside and the helijet pads, he lowered his head and broke into a run, hearing an alarm go off behind him. Tapping his communicator, he called between breaths, "Commander to Thunderbird One. Fire up the engines! I am on my way!"

Scott was getting antsy about his father's tardiness. He knew that the JT-1 had landed, but had seen neither hide nor hair of his dad. Lou is already getting instructions, and is on her way to meet her sister's kidnapper! He was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of his father's voice in his ear, shouting instructions at him. Quickly, he went through his basic preflight checks, then started the engines, waiting for his father to arrive before activating the thrusters. He opened the hatch, and let down the ladder in preparation for his passenger's arrival.

Jeff's visor was quickly speckled with rain even though the bill of his cap kept the majority of the moisture off. He was heartened to hear the whine and rumble of Thunderbird One's engines before him even as he heard the shout of airport security behind him. A gust of wind threatened to remove his cap, but he slammed his free hand down on it and kept on going. The ladder dropped down into view and he stepped up the pace. Security forces had halted their pursuit; it was now plain to them that this was a member of International Rescue and that he was expected by the Thunderbird that sat on the helijet pad.

Jeff climbed up into the cockpit, wet and breathless, tossing his briefcase in as soon as his shoulders passed through the hatch.

"What was the hold up?" Scott asked his father.

"Someone tried to stop me getting out here. I should have worn the jacket that Tin-Tin made for Gordon. It at least had the logo on it." Jeff complained. He pulled up the ladder and motioned to Scott to close the hatch. "What's the situation?"

"She's received her instructions and she got into a sedan driven by Franks. No sign of her sister," Scott recounted as he lifted Thunderbird One into the air. "Omicron and Agent 22 are following at a distance. I'm tuned in to an audio transmitter that she has planted on her person. So far, other than a few instructions that Franks gave her when she first got into the car, they haven't said much."

"Do we have their location?" the commander asked.

"I'm about to get coordinates from Epsilon."

"Good. Let's follow this bastard right to his lair," Jeff said grimly. "He's going to pay for putting Lou through this."

"Is that him up there?" Gordon asked. He had transferred to the front seat and was trying to keep the sedan in sight. But the rain, as off and on heavy as it was, and the growing darkness, made the task difficult.

"I think so," Angela replied, squinting a bit to make sure. He glanced at her. The agent was older than Scott, short and pudgy, with straight black hair that curled under at the ends. Her light brown skin gave her a tanned look, and her Texas accent had sounded strange in his ear at first.

I'll have to ask Virge where he met this woman, and why he recruited her to be an agent, Gordon said to himself. His thoughts were interrupted by sounds coming from his transceiver.

Lou had sat silently in the sedan, looking ahead, trying to remember landmarks should she need them. We've moved out to the country it seems. Just subdivision entrances along the sides of the road and stretches of forest or farmland between. She noticed Franks glancing in the rear view mirror from time to time. Yes, we're being followed, but I hope you can't see them.

"Your sister has a mouth on her," Franks said out of the blue. "She was screaming obscenities at me... I really had to get rough with her." His eyes checked her face for her reaction, but she merely stared ahead, a scowl on her face.

There was quiet between them again, then he said, "I hope you brought that disk along. My employer is very anxious to get it." He chuckled. "I have to hand it to you, Luci. You are one conniving bitch. That..." His voice trailed off as he realized that what he was about to say implicated him in the attack in North Carolina.

"That fake disk I gave you," she prompted, her eyes still staring straight ahead.

He shot her a look, incredulous for a moment, then his face settled into a small, wry smile. "So, you knew. Yeah, that fake disk you gave us was well done. Took me quite a while to figure it out. And the termite? That was brilliant, as nice a piece of code as I've ever encountered. I underestimated you, Luci, I really did. Thought we had broken you to get that disk." He paused, and his voice changed from almost admiring to hard. "It's a mistake I won't make again."

That's what you think, she said to herself. You already have.

Shelly's pain had receded to a dull throb. She was careful not to move at all, for even the slightest twitch seemed to bring fire from the injury. She had tried to lever herself back up onto her side, which meant moving her hips. Shifting her hips meant pulling up the leg and the knee, and moving the knee had generated a shot of savage pain. Yet, she couldn't relax either, for then the injured part would touch the floor. It's broken. I know the patella's broken, she thought. Possibly more than that. Oh, God. It hurts!

The room around her was getting dark and the cold of the dismal day was seeping into the house. She began to shiver even with her warm cardigan. The carpet smelled foul and musty, and she turned her head enough that her nose wasn't in such close contact with it any more. Her eyes began to close on their own and she fought to keep them open. Have to stay awake for Lou. Have to be ready when she gets here and takes this bastard down. Can't relax; it will hurt so much!

John's attention was split between feeding coordinates and directions to Thunderbird One and Gordon, keeping an ear on the numerous messages that still came in to Thunderbird Five's receivers, and giving Virgil and Alan updates on the situation. He had turned back to the locator screen after one such update and noticed the orange dot going one way... and the red dot going another. "Omicron from Epsilon! You've lost them!"

"Damn!" Gordon shouted. "Angela! We've lost them somehow!"

"It's this rain!" Angela cried. "It's so hard to see!"

Gordon took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "I know, Angela, I know. Let's calm down and get back on their trail, okay? Epsilon, where do we need to go?"

"First of all, turn around," John directed. Gordon relayed the instruction and Angela, biting her lower lip, found a driveway to make the turn.

Once they were heading in the opposite direction, Gordon asked, "Now what?"

"About half a kilometer down the road, there'll be a left hand turn for you to take," John said, keeping a sharp eye on the screen. There was a silence as the pair drove along, slowing down. He heard Gordon say to Angela, "There. There it is."

"Okay, he's at least a kilometer or more ahead of you," John said as he saw the orange dot turn onto the road taken by the red one. "I've got to update Thunderbird One about the coordinates. Be right back."

"F-A-B, Epsilon," Gordon said. He glanced over at Angela, whose face he could barely see by the light of the controls. He knew she was still stinging over his outburst. He put a hand on her arm. "Listen, I'm sorry for shouting like that. I know this isn't what you signed up for."

Angela took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Apology accepted. No, I didn't sign on for this, but if it's what you need, I'm willing to do it. Your... our organization does a lot of good, and I want to be of help if I can."

Now it was Gordon's turn to take in a deep breath and let it out. "Thank you," he said simply. Looking forward he said, "Look, those must be his tail lights. We'll catch up with this bastard yet."

Jeff was silent as he and Scott passed over the same area that Gordon and Angela were taking on land. They had a problem; the cloud ceiling was so low that if they flew beneath it, they might be noticed, but the clouds themselves were so high that to rise above them meant they might not get to the place where they were needed in time. Scott opted to fly just within the lower edge of the cloud cover, unseen from the ground, but available for a speedy rescue. They circled the area, adjusting the loop as the culprit moved along. The new coordinates meant a bit of straightforward flight to adjust the loop.

"Where the hell is he taking her?" Scott asked aloud. He was startled when his father answered his question.

"Somewhere remote and deserted, where he thinks he won't be spotted," Jeff murmured. "I just hope he hasn't hurt her sister. Lou would never forgive herself if Shelly were injured or killed because of her."

Scott squirmed a bit in his seat. Jeff noticed, and looked up at his son from the jump seat. "What's wrong, Scott?"

The pilot glanced down at his father, then back out the view port. "This isn't a good time to talk about it, Dad. Later, I promise."

"Okay. Later then," Jeff said, acknowledging his son's choice.

Just then, an excited voice cut in. "Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Five. Our subject has stopped! Definitely stopped. Here are the coordinates." John rattled off a string of numbers. Scott plugged them into his onboard guidance system.

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Five. We have the coordinates." Scott's voice rang with confidence and relief to finally be going into action.

Jeff quietly checked his gun. He was ready to deal with Jim Franks.