Unforeseen Opportunity

"Agent Fourteen?" Alan echoed, glancing over at Mr. Trumbull, who was grinning at him. "Whoa. That's a surprise!" His brow creased with a slight frown. "How many agents do we have, anyway?"

"Enough to do the job," Jeff replied. "Listen, Alan. We're finishing up an operation here..."

"Operation!" Alan's eyes got wide. "What happened? Where'd you go?" He bounced up and down a bit in his excitement.

"I'll give you all the details later, once we've got things wrapped up properly. Right now, I want you to put Art back on the phone, and go find Fermat. He's called and left a couple of messages. It sounds like he needs your help right now."

"Okay, Dad," Alan said. "I'll find him. Will you call later?"

"I will, promise," Jeff replied. "Now, please do as I've asked."

"Right. Talk to you later, Dad." Alan smiled at his father's image, then handed the phone back to Mr. Trumbull. "Dad wants to talk to you. I've got to find Fermat."

"Thanks, Alan." Mr. Trumbull put the phone to his ear, so Alan could only make out one part of the conversation as before he left the room. "Jeff? Art here. I had no idea your boy was at Wharton..." The door shut, and Alan could hear no more.

"Now, if I were Fermat, and wanted to make a private call, where would I go?" Alan muttered. He thought hard about his friend, trying to remember if there had been any such situation the previous year, when they had been roommates. He honestly couldn't think of there having been one; there had been no need for secrecy or stealth between them. I doubt he would have gone far, he reasoned. He'd choose some place warm, some place deserted... the basement? He started off down the hall toward the emergency stairs. I'll try there first.

He opened the door to the stairwell, letting it close slowly behind him, and started down the flight to the second floor, his new sneakers making a light, muffled patter on the stairs. He hadn't gotten halfway to the intermediate landing when he heard a soft croak from above.

"A-Alan?"

Alan stopped in his tracks, backed up a step, and looked upwards. There, on the landing to the roof access, was Fermat, gazing down, his face a pale mixture of concern and relief.

"Hey, Fermat." Alan reversed his direction, and joined his friend. "Dad told me to look for you," he said as he sat down beside the younger boy. "Said you'd left a couple of messages."

"Y-Yeah," Fermat slumped against the wall, his head back. "I c-couldn't get through to my d-dad, so I c-called yours. I must have s-sounded pretty d-d-d... frantic."

"Your dad's probably busy helping wrap up the rescue," Alan said gently. "He might not be able to break free right now."

"You know about the r-rescue?" Fermat asked, sounding perplexed.

"I know there was one, but nothing more than that," his friend admitted. "Still, I'm certain he was involved... he usually is in some way."

Fermat snorted a bitter laugh. "Y-Yeah, my d-dad was involved all right! H-He was the one who w-went down to the sp-speeding train and n-nearly got himself k-k-k-k..." He couldn't quite get the word out. "And I'm sitting b-back here, s-safe as houses, w-watching it all on the vid."

Alan's mouth dropped open. "Your father did what? To a speeding train? And you saw it on the vid?" He blinked, and his mouth worked, but the only thing that came out was, "Damn."

"E-E-Exactly," Fermat said. He gazed down at his phone. "I h-have no idea h-how he is. It looked like he f-f-f... slipped and fell into the t-train. The vid showed him g-getting up... and he s-stopped the train, but..." Fermat swallowed heavily. "He c-could have been... killed."

"Oh God, Fermat," Alan said, sliding an arm around his friend's shoulders. "I didn't expect that. I mean, no offense, but your dad is more brains than brawn. He's usually at base, doing the scientific expert back-up thing. I had no idea he'd actually gone out on this one."

"It w-was a surprise to me, t-too," Fermat admitted. "He even c-consulted me about the s-software he was wr-writing. I d-didn't know he was on the scene."

"Consulted you?" Alan blinked again. "How?"

"Through i-instant messaging, from One, according to the v-vid." Fermat fidgeted a little, and gave a half-shrug. "L-Looked like Two h-hadn't even g-gotten there yet, and m-might not g-get there in time. I g-guess that's why he w-went."

Alan gave a low whistle. "Wow. I mean, I get antsy when Dad and the guys go out and I don't know what's going on. But actually watching it on the vid? That takes worry to a new level." He screwed up his face in a puzzled expression. "But what I wanna know is how'd they get that vid? Scott's usually better about using the camera fogger."

"D-Don't know, and don't c-c-care," his friend said stubbornly. "All I w-want is to h-hear my dad's v-voice."

"Hey, I know how you feel, pal. I really do." Alan said softly, giving his friend's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"I know," Fermat murmured, leaning his head against Alan's shoulder. "You're the only o-one who does."

"Thunderbird Two, Five, and Base from Thunderbird One," Scott said into his mike. "Stand down 2330 hours, local time."

"F-A-B." Three distinct voices – John's, Jeff's, and Virgil's - echoed through his speakers. He sat back against his seat, taking a moment to roll the tension from his shoulder muscles. Then he leaned forward again to program in his flight path home.

On Thunderbird Two, Virgil glanced over at Brains, who had been collected in the rescue basket once Two had towed the train - its levitation restored but its motion restricted – back to the still-under-construction station at De Aar. Ambulances had been standing by for any injured, and the rail company had made provisions for ground transportation from there to the Bloemfontein, Kimberly and Johannesburg stations.

Brains had politely refused an offer of medical assistance, preferring to rejoin his colleagues in the cargo carrier. To Virgil, he looked tired and pale, and alternated between massaging the back of his neck and one elbow.

It's not often Brains gets hurt, but, right now, it looks like he is, Virgil thought, frowning. I hope he doesn't get stubborn about it. He was about to say something, when Gordon appeared, bringing with him a small cup of water, some coffee in a travel mug, and a large dose of aspirin.

"Here, Brains," Gordon said as he offered them to the engineer. "Good for what ails you."

"Th-Thank you, G-Gordon," Brains said, accepting the medication and drink. "I admit I'm f-feeling rather s-sore. I hit my h-humerus on the way into the t-train and it still feels like a t-tuning fork."

"We'll help you take a look at it when we get back to base," Virgil promised. "And your neck, too."

"Mm." Brains was busy swallowing the pills, washing them down with the water. Then he took a sip of the hot coffee. "Thank y-you, V-Virgil. I'm not qu-quite sure what I d-did there. Perhaps when I h-hit my head on the s-side of the emergency h-hatch..."

"Is that what knocked out your comm?" Gordon asked as he strapped himself in for the ride home.

"V-Very likely. I'll h-have to check the h-helmet over," Brains replied. He took another sip of coffee, slid off his glasses, then leaned his head back carefully and closed his eyes.

"I think Dad will insist on you resting for a few days," Virgil said firmly. "You're not used to this kind of hands-on action."

"T-Too true," Brains admitted freely, not opening his eyes. "But you kn-know what?"

"What?" Gordon asked, glancing over.

Brains smiled. "It f-felt d-damned good."

Alan and Fermat headed back to Fermat's room. The younger boy looked and sounded more like himself, and he had been appropriately stunned when Alan brought him up to date on the drama that had gone down in his room just a little while before.

"An a-agent?" Fermat had stuttered in amazement. "That's... that's... m-mind boggling!"

"Yeah, I thought so, too," Alan had agreed with a grin. "I'll have to worm out of Dad exactly how many there are..."

"At l-least fourteen," Fermat replied as he opened the door from the stairwell to his hallway.

"Good point," Alan had stated, poking a finger at his friend as they stepped into the hall, and back into the world of secrecy.

Now Fermat buzzed his door, mindful of Mr. Trumbull's presence and not wanting to walk in on some father-son conversation – or argument. There was a shouted, "Come in!" and he opened the door.

A.J. ran up to Fermat, his eyes shining and a grin on his face. "Dad says I can stay!" he crowed. "Isn't that great?"

Before Fermat could respond, Mr. Trumbull spoke. "Only until next weekend, Andrew," he corrected. He glanced up at Alan. "Your father suggested I leave Andrew here for the moment. He told me he's coming out next weekend to see you compete, and he wants to talk with me then." He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "I still have to find another school that will take him; I can use the week to do that."

"That's great, Mr. Trumbull; I'm glad he's staying," Alan said, smiling. "Maybe by then the guys who've been doing this will be caught and A.J. - I mean, Andrew – won't have to change schools after all."

"Perhaps," Mr. Trumbull replied. He turned his attention to Fermat. "I had no idea that Andrew's roommate was son of the illustrious Professor Hackensack..."

"H-Hackenbacker," Fermat corrected automatically.

Mr. Trumbull's eyebrow flexed upward, as if he was going to be offended at the correction. Instead, he shook his head and sighed, a slightly frustrated sound. "My apologies. I have never been able to get my tongue around your last name. I will work on it."

"I, uh, would appreciate that, s-sir." Fermat nodded.

The man looked from Fermat, to Alan, then to his son. "What's this 'A.J.' business I've been hearing?"

"I told you, Dad," A.J. said with exaggerated patience. "It's a nickname they gave me. It stands for 'Andrew John'."

"That's right, sir. Everybody in our group has a nickname of one sort or another," Alan explained, smiling, his look a little sheepish. He hooked a thumb in Fermat's general direction. "Fermat here is The Brain."

"Y-Yeah," Fermat said, his face lighting up with a sly glee. "And A-Alan is Pinky."

Mr. Trumbull's expression had showed polite interest when Alan told him Fermat's nickname, but a slow smile, at once reminiscent and amused, crossed his face when Fermat spoke up. "Pinky and the Brain, huh? Planning on taking over the world, boys?"

Alan laughed out loud, and Fermat grinned. A.J. gazed at his father with disbelieving eyes. "You... you know about Pinky and the Brain, Dad?"

"I haven't spent all my life surrounded by musty old law books, son," Mr. Trumbull said mildly, putting a hand on Andrew's shoulder. "You might be surprised at the things your old dad got up to when he was your age." He suddenly glanced at his watch. "Hmm. It's time for supper." He looked up at Alan and Fermat again. "Would you two like to come with us?"

Alan and Fermat looked at one another and shook their heads in unison. "W-We're sorry, but our f-fathers have it set up that w-we can only go off-campus with a f-family member or t-trusted friend," Fermat explained, his voice a little wistful.

"But thanks for the offer. We appreciate it," Alan said, trying to sound positive.

"Actually, boys, there's one more group of people who has permission to accompany you off-campus when necessary," Mr. Trumbull said with a grin. He glanced at Alan, one eyebrow quirking up, then down again in a conspiratorial manner. "The Tracy family lawyers... of which I am one."

"No! You're kidding!" Alan cried, his mouth gaping. "Dad never told me that!"

Mr. Trumbull shook his head. "I'm not kidding. There are a lot of people in line ahead of me and my firm when it comes to people who can take you off campus: your brothers, Fermat's dad, Lady Penelope, the Kyranos... we're more a last resort. But for once, I'm in the right place at the right time." He paused. "And I did run it by your dad as a possibility."

"H-How about m-me?" Fermat said.

"I'm on your list, too, Fermat," Mr. Trumbull replied. "Your father uses our firm as well, especially for patent issues."

"D-Did you get to s-s-s... talk to him?" Fermat asked hopefully.

"No, I didn't," was the sober response. "But Jeff assured me that your dad wouldn't object... and if there was an objection, he'd take the heat."

"So?" A.J. said, sounding impatient. "Have you finished explaining? Are we ready? Are we going?"

Alan and Fermat exchanged glances, and Fermat nodded. Alan said, "Sure, A.J., we'll come. Mr. Trumbull, we'd be happy to take you up on your offer."

"Well, then," Mr. Trumbull replied, smiling. He opened his phone. "Reynolds? We're heading out for dinner."