A rescue without Jeff

They drove until they reached Balsam Gap and ate a late lunch in the town of Balsam. As they left the restaurant, Lou asked, "Do we take the highway back? Or the Parkway? Your choice."

"Hmm. How about the Parkway on the way back. too? See the vistas from a different angle. But, if you don't mind, I'd like to drive. I know you were up late and you've been driving all day," Jeff said.

Lou smiled. "Thank you, Jeff! That's such a generous offer. I think I'll take you up on it." She tossed him her keys, saying, "Go ahead and start it up while I use the ladies' room. There aren't too many places along the Parkway to use the facilities."

Jeff chuckled and went out to the truck. After adjusting the seat to accommodate his longer legs, he started it up. While he waited, he flipped through Lou's music collection, found something he liked, and slipped it into the player. I wonder if she's got the same deal in here as she has in her house with the jammer and all? I'll have to ask.

At that point, Lou hopped into the truck. Just before she fastened her seat belt, she took the plastic bag out of her pocket and showed it to him. It was empty.

"Ah!" Jeff exclaimed, nodding and grinning at her. He backed carefully out of the parking space; he wasn't used to such a large vehicle. When he rented cars, they were almost always expensive sports cars or luxury sedans, cars that screamed out his wealth and position, which were intimidation enough. To him, it felt odd to sit seemingly high above the rest of the traffic. He looked out the rear mirror and the side ones, trying to spot a tail.

"Is your player in your truck like the ones at your house?" Jeff asked.

Lou, who had been resting her head against the back of her seat, seemingly relaxed for once, said, "No. Too much work to remove the player." She said nothing more than that on the subject and Jeff got the impression that she felt her truck was bugged, too.

They drove in silence for a while, Lou watching out the window at the scenic view. Finally, Jeff spoke up. "So, you're going to South Carolina tomorrow?"

"Yes. My friend will put me up for the night then I'll come back early the next day."

"How will your cats survive without you?" he asked.

Lou chuckled. "Oh, they'll be fine. They can live without me for a day. There's plenty of cat kibble, and I'll change the litter in the boxes before I go. They're all indoor cats so there's no chance that they'll get lost or anything. Midnight and Moofums will be snarky for a bit when I return; kind of a 'you abandoned us so we're going to let you feel our displeasure' sort of thing, but Snowball and Spot will be happy to see me."

"So, you'll discuss what you're beta-testing for her..."

"Yeah, we'll talk about the tech, then I'll take the family out for dinner and spoil her kids with a trip to the bookstore or the mall. Give her and her husband some time alone, which is spoiling them as well."

"Aunt Lucinda, again?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. One of the many families whose children call me 'Aunt'," Lou said, smiling. She turned to Jeff. "You should see my Christmas list!" Lou looked down at her hands and her voice got soft and sad. "Unfortunately, I couldn't spoil your boys at Christmas like I do now with my other honorary nieces and nephews. Greg wouldn't let me. He wanted us to save money for our own children. What funds we did save went into the adoption attempt. It was only when we divorced that I was able to do what I wanted to with my money. By that time nearly all your boys were grown. Only Alan was still a teenager. And he didn't know me." She sighed. "I wish I could have done for them what I've done for my other friends. Especially since they were Lucy's kids. And yours, of course."

Jeff reached over and squeezed her hand. "My boys were spoiled enough by us and by my parents while they were growing up, especially once the business got off the ground. And I still spoil them, or at least try to. It gets harder every year. I mean, what do you get for the sons of the man who has everything?"

Lou chuckled. "Your boys spoiled? Couldn't prove it by me. Like I said before, you and Lucy did a wonderful job with them."

"Well... thank you, Lou," Jeff said. He glanced at her. "Y'know, I don't think I ever returned John's call. Do you mind if we stop at the next scenic overlook so I can do that? I brought my satellite phone with me. I just have to figure out what time it is over there..."

"Go ahead," Lou replied.

They pulled over about a half-mile down the road at a scenic overlook that gave them a vista of the mountains, lit by the late afternoon sun. The sky was beginning to change color as the sun started its descent into the west, and what few high cirrus clouds there were looked like wavy, buttery smears against the aquamarine of the sky. Lou leaned up against the grille of her truck while Jeff paced up and down waiting for his call to connect. He had figured out that it was roughly ten-thirty the next morning at Tracy Island and a good time to call.

"Hi, Dad," Scott said hurriedly. "This isn't a good time to call, I'm afraid."

"Hello to you, too, Scott," Jeff said wryly. "What's the problem?"

"Uh... the boys are out on family business," Scott told him.

Jeff picked up on his son's stress on the last two words. "Okay, son. I understand. Where are they?"

"Italy," Scott answered. "I need to get back..."

"Say no more, Scott. I'll leave you to it and we'll talk later. Goodbye." Jeff hung up without waiting for an answer. He returned to Lou's truck. "The boys are out on an... excursion," Jeff explained in a low voice.

Lou's eyebrows went up. "Really? Where?"

"Italy." Jeff hurried around to the driver's side of the truck. "Let's get back to your place quickly. I want to see the news."

"Right," Lou said smartly as she hopped in on the passenger side.

Jeff pulled out quickly, nearly hitting a car that was entering the scenic lookout as he did. Ignoring the indignant honking behind him, he stopped for a split second at the view point's entrance, then roared out onto the Parkway. Lou held on for dear life.

"You do realize that it's mostly all downhill from here, don't you?" she called to Jeff, who just smiled deviously as he kept his eyes focused on the road ahead.

"Well!" a shaken Lou complained as she got out of her truck. "That took a year off my life! Where'd you learn to drive anyway? We were lucky that we didn't get stopped by the state police!"

Jeff muttered something about "overly cautious women" and "back seat drivers" as he slammed the truck door shut. "Here, catch," he said sullenly as he tossed Lou's keys to her.

"Well, as a driver, you make a great jet pilot!" she retorted as she fielded the keys. "Wait up. I need to get Oscar out of here."

"Oscar? Who the hell is Oscar"? Jeff called, stopping halfway from the drive to the porch.

"Not who. What." Lou reached under the passenger seat and pulled out a locked metal box. "Oscar is my handgun."

"Your gun? Oscar? You named your gun Oscar?" Jeff asked, incredulous. "Why not name it Sure Shot, or Tex, or something else that's more... appropriate? Something more manly?"

Lou joined Jeff on the walk and the two of them climbed the porch steps together. She used her remote to unlock the front door, then, as they stepped inside, she put her palm up to the alarm to disarm it.

"Oscar is a perfectly good name and I have a very good reason for naming this gun that way," Lou said as she put the box on the upper shelf of her hall closet. Jeff helped her off with her jacket, then took off his own and hung it up next to hers. "I named the gun for my first weapons instructor, Oscar Goldman."

Jeff shook his head. "I still think Oscar is a wimpy name for a gun. Makes me think of wieners." He turned and strode into the living room. Picking up the remote, he turned on the televid. Lou tapped him on the arm and put up a finger, mouthing the word, "Wait." Going over to her sound system, she pushed the button on the side, and shook her head, grimacing as the tiny light turned red. Reaching in back, she flipped the switch and waited until the light turned green. Then she turned to Jeff, who had been channel surfing while he waited for the go ahead. She returned to him and said quietly, "Go find the news. I'll brew us some coffee." Jeff nodded and made himself comfortable, turning to the 24-hour news station to see if there was a story about his boys.

He settled on the channel just in time to hear the anchor say, "...update on the latest from Messina. Go ahead, Maria." The image switched from the well-dressed man in the anchor room to a picture of a young woman, wearing a yellow rain slicker and covered by a wide umbrella. It was obviously night in Italy, and the wind rippled the umbrella's fabric as rain splattered down, a drop or two occasionally making it past the hood that protected the camera lens from the worst of the weather. Jeff sat down on the edge of Lou's sofa to hear what the reporter had to say.

"Earlier this evening, two of the engineering marvels of the 21st century collided with catastrophic results. The world's largest ocean liner, the President, collided with the world's longest suspension bridge, the one that spans the straight of Messina, connecting mainland Italy with Sicily. This accident was caused by a strong storm with rough seas and strong winds that twisted and slammed the bridge's main suspension portion into the top of the President, smashing the roadway and spilling cars onto the deck of the ship. The monorail that runs along the center of the bridge has broken near the point of impact, leaving the two monorail trains without power and making it nigh impossible for the passengers to get off and make it back to land safely. A call went out to International Rescue as it became apparent that the situation was beyond that of the local rescue units. I understand that they are now on the scene."

Jeff wished for once that his prohibition on picture taking was being violated. I wish I could see what was going on out there. But then again, the bridge is two and a half miles long, and the Danger Zone would be over a mile away. Too far for the cameras to pick up, even without the darkness and the storm. He sighed. Fat lot of good it does anyway if that disk of Lou's is to be believed. Long range vid, sketches, too much information is being collected that can pinpoint us to our enemies.

He looked up as Lou came back into the living room, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee. She handed them both to Jeff, then sat down beside him and reclaimed her cup. "Any news?" she asked.

"Not much. The President collided with the bridge over the Straits of Messina. The monorail is without power and the bridge itself is twisted at the point of collision," Jeff explained. "I wonder how the boys are going to handle this one?"

In Sicily, John was wondering the same thing. He had taken Thunderbird One out to assess the damage and now Virgil, in Thunderbird Two, was on the scene and consulting with him. The Penelon awning that kept Mobile Control dry was virtually worthless in the stinging, windy rain, and John was tempted to pack it in and fly out to the site and manage the rescue from there. I bet I could even set down on the President; they're bound to have a helijet pad.

"What's the plan, John?" Virgil asked. He, Gordon, and Tin-Tin had all been pressed into service since Jeff and Brains were not available.

"Okay. Step one: get those monorail cars off the bridge. That will give us a clear path for the recovery vehicles. There are several cars that have slid to the edge of the bridge and will have to be pulled up onto the monorail track, or even to the other set of lanes before they fall. Then we can get to the cars that are smashed up against the sides. Fortunately the sides of the bridge have held, for the most part, and the ship is caught on the access road that runs beside and at a lower level than the main part of the bridge. I am told by Alan, who has been in touch with the President, that seven cars have spilled onto the ship itself, and that one has gone into the water." He sighed. "Attempts have been made to find the car, but it's been given up as pretty much hopeless. If we'd had Thunderbird Four... we might have succeeded where others have failed. But we don't have her along."

Tin-Tin interrupted. "John, wouldn't it be safer to first pull the bridge off of the President? It would remove the danger of other cars falling off the roadway and possibly killing people on the ship."

The Tracys looked at each other. Tin-Tin didn't go out on rescues too often, but the Tracys respected her engineering background, and knew that if she made a comment like that, they should take it seriously.

"How would you do it?" Gordon asked.

"Attach cables from Thunderbird Two's winches to the supports on the bridge on that side and have Two pull up while the President pulls back. Then Two should support the bridge while we get the monorail trains off and evacuate the cars."

"Who would fasten the cables?" John asked.

Tin-Tin sighed. "Gordon and I. Virgil would be needed to fly Thunderbird Two."

"So, we'd wait until the bridge was stable to get the monorail off?" Gordon asked.

Tin-Tin nodded. Scott, who had been listening to the talkback, commented, "Virge? Remember when we did something of the sort on the President in the Nicaragua Canal? We had to use both One and Two to pull the ship free from where it was jammed. I think that adding the power of One's engines to Two's will give us more time to get those cars evacuated."

Virgil nodded. "I remember. It took all we had to do it, but we managed."

The rescuers looked at each other again. "Okay," John said. "Tin-Tin, get the Monobrake out of the pod. Gordon, set up the pod winch for several lines with closed channel hooks. Virgil, you set up the forward winch for the same and make sure all the winches are on remote control. Then, pick up the pod, and head out over the bridge. Gordon, meet up with Tin-Tin, and go with her to the worst spot on the bridge. I expect you to take every precaution! Hard hats, harnesses, tethers, the works. Do the hooks one at a time so you can spot each other. I'll pack up Mobile Control and join you out on the bridge. Alan, I need schematics of that bridge! Then get in touch with the President and tell them what we're going to do. And alert the authorities on both sides of the bridge. We may need them to help evacuate the cars. And be careful! This storm has winds over 40 miles per hour, gusting to as high as 60 mph."

Virgil looked John in the eye. "We'll be careful. Okay, Gordon, Tin-Tin, let's go!"

"F-A-B," Tin-Tin replied, nodding her head, and the three ran off to carry out John's orders.

Man, I wish Scott were here, John moaned internally, and not for the first time that night. He sighed, and began to break down Mobile Control.

Man, I wish Dad were here, Scott sighed within himself. I hate being so far from the action. He turned toward Alan's portrait. "Alan, an update?"

"The weather is deteriorating, Scott, and wind speed has increased," Alan reported. "So far, the President reports twelve fatalities, mostly from the cars that fell, though a couple of people were killed from the cars falling on them. Another twenty injured, seven of them critically. I'm trying to coordinate with the Italian and Sicilian authorities for medical helijet pick up."

"F-A-B, Alan. Keep up the good work." Scott turned to the portrait of John, sitting where Scott usually sat, in the cockpit of Thunderbird One. "What's your status, John?"

"Tin-Tin and Gordon have fixed three of Thunderbird Two's winch cables to the supports on the affected side of the bridge," John replied. "One more to go from Thunderbird Two and then one from here, and we'll start pulling."

"Is Gordon okay? That slip was pretty hairy," Scott remarked.

"Yes, he's okay, or says he is," John said, frowning. They were referring to an incident that happened when Gordon was below the bridge and climbing one of the underside supports. The supports were actually dry but the wind was coming nearly straight on and was forced downward by the tilting deck. As a result, a strong gust blew Gordon off his perch. Fortunately, he was tethered to the rails of the bridge and between the tether and Tin-Tin's quick thinking, he was pulled to the relative safety of the bridge's surface. But from then on, Tin-Tin went under the bridge to fasten the hooks and Gordon, bruised and battered, kept an eye on her.

"Monobrake crew to Thunderbird One," Gordon said, shouting to be heard above the wind. Tin-Tin leaned up against the small access road, breathing heavily. "Thunderbird Two is attached. We're ready for you."

"F-A-B, Monobrake. Releasing cable now." A flick of a switch and a heavy-duty cahelium cable snaked down through the night sky, showing up in glow of Thunderbird One's underside light. John maneuvered it closer, lowering slowly until at last Gordon could reach out and snag it. The duo had already reached their target, another of the bridges underlying supports thirty meters away from the last one. Tin-Tin took the hook from Gordon, who checked her tether and harness one last time.

"Last one, Tin-Tin!" Gordon said in encouragement. Tin-Tin smiled wearily, and, securing the hook to her belt, began to climb beneath the bridge once again.

Jeff fidgeted. He stood up and paced, sipping his coffee. The news blathered on about the specifications of the bridge, built in 2014, and the statistics of the President, including its mishap in the Nicaragua canal and its first encounter with International Rescue. Finally, Maria returned. The wind seemed to be stronger now and the rain was pelting down, and Maria shouted into her microphone.

"I understand that International Rescue is ready to lift the bridge and stabilize it, releasing the President and allowing rescue officials from both sides of the bridge to evacuate any cars that are still occupied." She put a hand to her ear. "We have a report from Xavier, on board the President."

Jeff sat down at the edge of the sofa, putting his coffee down on the table beside him. Lou sat up, too, draining her cup and setting it down on the floor.

The scene shifted, and a tall young man with strikingly blond hair stood before a camera, dressed much as Maria had been. "We're here on the President, where in just a moment, on orders from International Rescue, Captain Thomas will put the ship in reverse. As you can see from the running lights," here the picture changed as the cameraman turned and aimed his lens upward, "two of the mighty Thunderbird craft are poised above the bridge...sssttt...to pull... crackle..." The picture began to break up, along with the sound.

"Good thinking," Jeff murmured. He turned to Lou. "They must have hit the camera fogger. It disrupted the transmission."

The picture returned to Maria. "I'm sorry, but we seem to have lost Xavier's transmission. As you could see, the Thunderbirds were ready to lift the bridge... I have a report from Xavier that they have done so. The President is now free of the bridge and is headed out of the Straits of Messina to a wharf facility. The authorities on the Sicilian side of the bridge tell us that International Rescue is towing the stalled monorail nearest that side back to the shore and plans are for the monorail on the Messina side of the bridge to be towed back to its starting point as well. Back to you, Phil."

"See, our security works," Jeff said as he muted the televid. Lou didn't answer right away, she kept her eyes on the screen. She nudged him and he looked back to see a still shot from the footage that Xavier's cameraman had taken. The underside of Thunderbird Two was clearly seen, but the bright spotlight under Thunderbird One partially obscured its form. Only the very tips of the craft were visible.

"It works... but not fast enough," Lou said softly. "This picture will be picked up by every news organization around the world, enhanced so that more and more of the crafts will be visible. And I'm sure there were people on the ship snapping away with regular film or, having heard about the anti-photo devices, pulling out sketch books and using their eyes and hands to capture the scene. Even in the dark. Even at the expense of their own safety." She turned to him. "It looks like whichever of your boys were there, they were all kept busy and away from the crowds... this time." She glanced over at the stereo player. The little light was still green.

"Hmm. Looks like it's time for some supper. I've got the makings of enchiladas available. You keep watching. I'll be back once they're baking." Lou stood, briefly squeezed his shoulder, then walked out of the living room. Jeff watched her go, then turned back to the televid, his eyes focusing on the picture, but his mind dwelling heavily on what she had to say.

Gordon and Tin-Tin all but fell into their seats on Thunderbird Two. It had taken hours, but the authorities finally gave them the all-clear. All of the cars that remained on the bridge had been evacuated. John had offered the services of the Monobrake so that to the authorities could use the now-empty monorail cars to transport victims to the Italian side, where ambulances and paramedics waited. This had meant many trips back and forth with the Monobrake as the cargo carrier and the rocket plane continued to hold up that edge of the bridge. Morning was breaking over the scene when the two Thunderbirds were finally able to cast away their cables and end the nerve wracking job of just holding position. Virgil had released the pod on the Sicilian side of the bridge to pick up the Monobrake and its operators, and now they were ready to head for home.

Virgil said nothing as he lifted off. He was tired, as tired as Gordon and Tin-Tin, and hoped that there were no rescue calls until he had gotten at least twelve solid hours of sleep under his belt. He wished that Brains were back at base to see to the injuries that Gordon had sustained as a result of his slip. If they proved to be too painful or debilitating, they would have to rely on the doctor that made the rounds of the small, inhabited islands in their vicinity; a portly, balding man who tended to ask embarrassing questions.

"Gordon?"

"Yeah, Virge?"

"Why don't you get some sleep in the crew's quarters?"

Gordon turned the idea over in his mind, then got up painfully. "Don't mind if I do. Wake me when you need me."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied, though he had no intention of "needing" his brother on the way back home. Behind him, Tin-Tin smiled and rested her head back against the seat, closing her eyes.

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One," John's weary voice came over the airwaves.

"This is Thunderbird Two. Go ahead," Virgil replied.

"Stand down from emergency, 0642, local time," John stated. "I'll pace you on the way back, Virgil."

"F-A-B, and thanks." Virgil was in no mood to argue. He sighed, then turned his craft to the east and together, the two Thunderbirds flew towards the rising sun.

The enchiladas were made with chicken, and were served hot, in more ways than one. The white wine that Lou paired with them came from the cellars of the Biltmore winery and Jeff appreciated the quality as he cooled the spices in his mouth with the drink. The conversation turned to family; Lou wanting to know more about what Jeff's sons had been up to in the years since Lucille's death, and Jeff wanting to hear more about Lou's sister and parents.

"Alan was at Colorado University for a while," Jeff explained, scooping up a mouthful of Spanish rice. "He wasn't a good student, I'm afraid. Spent more time out at Parola Sans than he did in class. Until the day that he built a rocket for one of his science courses. He actually got it off the ground but, in the process, broke every window on campus! I still haven't figured out just how he managed it."

Lou chuckled. "So what happened then?"

"I pulled him from school and enrolled him at Tracy College in their commercial astronaut program. Figured if he was so interested in rockets, he should learn to fly them." A sip of wine, then Jeff asked, "How are your parents? I remember meeting them one weekend when you and Greg still lived in Kansas."

She paused a bit and her face took on a melancholy look. "Mom died five years ago of advanced cervical cancer. She hated doctors so much that she didn't have the usual diagnostic screenings and by the time anyone knew something was really wrong, it had already spread to her lymph nodes. She didn't want to spend her last days 'bald and barfing' as she called it, so she refused treatment. I was lucky; I made it home from overseas to say goodbye. Though it wouldn't have mattered much; she was so doped up with pain meds that she didn't know anyone." She sighed. "A year or so later, Dad began to show signs of Alzheimer's. He's in a nursing home in Kennebunkport now. Shelly makes sure that he's well cared for. Her kids think I'm selfish for not dropping everything and moving to Maine to help with Dad. Maybe now that I'm retired I can go up and give Shelly and Chuck some time off from Dad's care. It might be too little too late, but I can try."

"Hmm. I guess I'm blessed, aren't I?" Jeff said softly. "My mother is still sharp of mind and spry of body. Though this last illness did concern me. I don't think I've ever seen her that sick before."

"You mother is a feisty old woman who will probably live long enough to give her great-grandchildren grief," Lou said with a smile. "As much as she dislikes me, I still respect her and always will."

"Just wish I knew where she got that bee in her bonnet about the two of us," Jeff said, finishing up his enchilada. "Perhaps I'll ask when I get back home." He looked at his watch. "I think I might turn in early tonight. Get some extra shut-eye before I leave in the morning."

"Sure. I've still got some chores to do before I go to bed," Lou replied.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. I want to check the news one more time," Jeff explained, rising from the table. "Thank you for the enchiladas. They were delicious. And I'll have to order some of that wine."

"You're welcome," she said, picking up his dishes and hers. "I'll come in when I'm finished to say goodnight."

Jeff nodded, and padded off down the hall, stretching as he headed for the living room. Lou rinsed the dishes, loading them into the autowasher, and putting the leftovers away in the cryofridge for later consumption. She let the cats out of the screened in porch and fed them, watching them gobble up their canned paste like starving lions. Then she ducked into her room. Slipped between her Dr. Seuss omnibus and her collector's edition of The Hobbit, was a slim, clear case with a familiar looking disk inside. She slipped it into a clear zipper bag, then brought it out to the porch with her, setting it on the cats' perch as she donned rubber gloves, and hauled out a big bag of cat litter.

Time to change the litter boxes, she thought, smiling wryly as she began the odious chore.