An Operative Adventure

"Hush!" Viktor shouted, putting a hand on Parker's arm and shaking him.

The chauffeur began to power up FAB-1. "Ay'm gonna get those bloody..."

"Parker! NO!" bellowed Peter. "We need more information! Keep listening!"

"We can't go in without knowing what they're going to do!" Brigitte added.

The Cockney rounded on them with a look of cold fury on his face. "An' h'if they kill 'er?"

"They won't!" Viktor said. He had an ear nearly glued to the speaker. "Listen! Just listen!" He adjusted the volume higher and Parker turned around.

"...her to one of the smaller rooms, Ramirez, and lock her in," said the voice of Minister Alvarez.

"Yes, Your Excellency," Ramirez replied. "Any other instructions?"

"Search her. Remove all jewelry and her shoes. Have Franks search her luggage. Bring her handbag to me."

"Of course, Your Excellency." The anticipatory pleasure in Ramirez's voice engendered a low growl from Parker. There was a rustling sound, then suddenly, a loud thudding, scrabbling noise. "Here is one of her earrings. It fell to the floor with her wig."

"Remove the other one, and give them to me." The scrabbling sound grew in intensity, pounding off the speakers, causing Brigitte to pull back, frowning, and cover her ears.

The Minister of Security's voice grew loud. "Such pretty things, so innocent. But with this woman, anything is possible." There were a series of sharp cracks, loud at first, then softer, the sounds overlapping each other. Then a pause, and a louder snap, and a grinding sound, then another loud snap... then nothing but a slight white noise.

"He's destroyed her earrings," Peter realized. "Now we can't hear what's going on."

"We don' need t' 'ear h'enny more," Parker said darkly. "We're goin' h'in." He turned back to the controls.

"Wait!" Peter said, an urgent tone in his voice. He put a hand on Parker's shoulder. "We can't go in like this! We have to know precisely where she is. Then see if we can get in unlooked for. Maybe even create a diversion to draw off some of the household guards."

Parker's stiff shoulders did not relax, nor did he turn around. " 'Oo's sayde are ye on, yer bloody Mick?"

"On our side, ye cheeky Cockney. An' on her ladyship's!" Peter said hotly, his Irish brogue coming forth in his anger.

"Well then, wot d'ye want h'us t' do? Wait 'til they kill 'er?"

"No, o' course not!" Peter replied sharply. "First of all, let's get a report from our eye in the sky. Get some sense o' where she is on the property. And call base, for pity's sake! They're going to want to know about this!"

There was a long, tense silence, one that had the three local operatives holding their breath. Then Parker nodded. "Yer roight. They will want t' know." The others in the car glanced at each other and sighed in relief as he raised his arm and activated his telecomm. "FAB-1 t' Foive. Come h'in, Foive. We 'ave h'an h'ee-mer-gen-see sitch-ee-ay -shun."

xxxx

"Damn!" Jeff shouted, slamming a hand on his desk. "How the hell did the bastard know who she was?"

"I don't know, Commander," Alan said, shaking his head slightly. He consulted his data pad. "The operatives on the scene said that he named her as Lady Penelope. Then she whispered, 'It can't be you,' and it seems she must have passed out. Minister Alvarez has ordered her locked up and, uh, searched." Alan nearly cringed when he saw his father visibly swallow and pale slightly before his jaw set and his blue eyes hardened. "I'm told that, after he gave the order to have her locked up, the earring transmitters were discovered and destroyed."

"So, what does Nosey need?" Jeff asked, going to his computer and pulling up a map of the world. He clicked on the general area of the Caribbean, then enlarged the area, focusing in on smaller and smaller landmasses until he could see three dots clearly, one blue, one pink, and one a light gray.

"He needs a schematic of the house, and a location of where she is within it. The locator array on FAB-1 is too generalized," Alan said, scrolling down his data pad again. "Plus an... incendiary device. The strike team is going to set off a diversion, try to draw away the guards." He looked up at his father. "Alpha could do that from the air..."

Jeff sat back in his chair and looked thoughtful. "No. He'd better not."

"Why not?" Alan asked, perplexed.

Jeff turned to him. "The operatives are anonymous and not easily linked to International Rescue. Thunderbird One is neither. If Minister Alvarez is the source of the blackmail scheme, I don't want to give him anything to use as ammunition against us." Looking over at the map again. "Can you get Nosey the schematic?"

"I've already taken infrared pictures of the house and indicated where she is according to her edible transmitter. I'll pass them along on through the wireless 'Net hookup on FAB-1. But what about the incendiary device?"

"Have Nosey rendezvous with S... with Alpha some distance from the Minister's cay. Alpha can pass them one or two then." Jeff instructed. "And get moving! We don't have time to waste!"

"F-A-B, Commander," Alan responded.

His picture blinked out, and Jeff reached over to flip a switch. "Thunderbird One from Base. Come in, Thunderbird One."

Scott had been cooling his heels for around twenty-five minutes. He had climbed out of his 'Bird to take a brief look around when he first arrived at the Kennicot property. Everything was quiet; the comfortable-looking cottage was empty and dark. Satisfied that he wasn't observed, he went back to sit outside on the cleared dirt landing area, leaning up against one of Thunderbird One's struts... until the mosquitoes got too bad. What do they eat when they can't get pilot? he groused internally as he climbed back into the cockpit and sealed it against the questing hordes of insects. The itching of his bites had tapered off when the call came in from base.

"Thunderbird One from Base. Come in, Thunderbird One."

Scott reached over to activate the cockpit communicator's screen and slipped his hands free earphone and mike over one ear. "Thunderbird One here. Go ahead, Base."

"The Pink Lady has been captured."

"What!" Scott sat up straight at this announcement and began to bring One's engines online. "I'm going in."

"Negative, Thunderbird One. I repeat, negative," Jeff's voice was sharp and commanding. "You are not to engage. I repeat, you are not to engage. Here are your instructions. You are to rendezvous with FAB-1 at the following coordinates." Scott's hands moved quickly to enter the coordinates that his father read to him. "You will pass them four incendiary devices. Then you will remain on standby to provide air cover as needed for an escape. Is that understood?"

"F-A-B, base," Scott said, feeling the familiar rush as Thunderbird One took to the air. I understand it, but that doesn't mean I agree with it. I think you and I are going to have a little talk about this when I get back, Dad.

xxxx

Penelope woke up slowly, her head throbbing. She sat up by degrees, putting a hand to her head, rubbing her temple. She tried to remember what had happened, but her recollection was fuzzy. The last thing I remember, I was in Alvarez's office... we were talking... then... ugh! This headache! Maybe if I can get rid of it, I will remember what happened to me.

She stood unsteadily, stumbling slightly toward the wall and putting a hand out for support. She lifted her the other hand to brush back the hair that had fallen toward her face, then straightened suddenly, her eyes wide with surprise. She leaned against the wall and used both hands to explore her head, and groaned as she realized she was no longer wearing a wig. I had best take stock of the rest of my person.

What she found, and didn't find, discouraged her. She had been stripped of all of her jewelry and her shoes, with their special, explosive heels, were gone as well. Her designer frock was rumpled and open at the back. She took herself into the attached bathroom and pulled off the dress to examine the underthings beneath. The bra was hanging on by half of its hooks, and her hose had several ladders in them. She swallowed hard, and made one more examination, then sighed with relief when she found no signs that indicated sexual penetration. Still, the violation of her person to this degree unnerved her. She allowed herself one long shudder, then put up her chin and dressed again, discarding the hose, her cool, imperious mask sliding into place again.

Having completed her personal examination, she began to examine the room. It was obvious that she was no longer in the luxurious suite they had shown her to upon her arrival. There was no mirror in the bath, and though there was a shower and tub, no curtain. She padded out in her bare feet to see what the bedroom had to offer. The only furniture was a single mattress and box spring set, sitting on the floor and covered with one sheet and a single blanket. She went slowly around the room, looking for surveillance devices, and mentally marking those she found. The door was locked, and the single window was tall, narrow, and made of some tough polymer. There was no curtain. She sat down on the side of the bed and thought about her next move.

Obviously, I have "hit the jackpot" as it were with Señor Alvarez. Otherwise, I would not be a prisoner. What part Mr. Franks plays in this and why he is here, I do not know... yet. I hope that Parker was able to hear the conversation at dinner and was able to pass on the information about Franks to Jeff. She rubbed her temples again. If only I could remember what they used on me that caused me to pass out as I did.

She closed her eyes as she tried to remember the scene. I was in his office. I had handed him the security envelope. He did not open it, but got up and walked to the window. We talked... he said I wasn't Alison St. Clair! Her forehead creased into an unbecoming frown as she struggled to remember. He... he said he couldn't open the envelope... and that his plans... were not yet ready. Then... he called me Lady Penelope! She shook her head, puzzled. I am certain I have never met Señor Alvarez before, so how did he know...?

Suddenly her eyes went wide. "Oh, my good Lord!" she whispered. "I remember now. His eyes... those glowing eyes..." She took a deep breath, then another. "How long has he been planning this, working on this? It has been... six months? A year? More? How long since the helijet crash? He probably had the Minister's family killed... how diabolical! Now... now I am his prisoner." She set her jaw then sat up straight, a cool and confident expression on her face. "I have faced this man before," she said coolly, loud enough to be heard. "He has never gotten the best of me... and never will!" Besides, we have planned for such a contingency. Parker and our other agents should be on their way very soon.

xxxx

Jeff sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew that his sons were fond of Penelope and that her capture in the Riviera had been a nail-biting time for them all. But at least in that situation, she had been able to make contact with them. Here, it was worse. They had no idea of her condition and the only thing that comforted Jeff at all was the fact that she had obeyed orders in the matter of the edible transmitter and that Alan could pinpoint her location. He turned back to his computer, the small window with the map and the glowing locator signals relegated to the upper corner of his screen. He could see the blue and gray dots moving, converging on the same place in the Caribbean.

"So? Why won't you let Scott drop a missile on them?"

Jeff jumped as Virgil's voice, cold, angry and sarcastic, sounded in the room. He looked up to see his second-oldest, his most evenly-tempered son standing before his desk, arms folded, and brown eyes flashing with anger in the same way Lucille's had when she was furious with him. Virgil had been on his way to the piano when he heard his father's outcry and stopped in his tracks. He had peered through the grillwork separating the smaller study from the larger lounge, and his fists had clenched as he heard his father's directions.

"Virgil, I..." Jeff began.

His son cut him off. "Damn you! Why won't you let Scott take the bastards on? One missile from Thunderbird One's arsenal would have these sons of bitches down on their knees! You really think Parker and a bunch of amateur agents can take on this... Alvarez, or whatever his name is? You're risking Penelope's life here! Don't you care?"

Jeff's face turned red, and his eyes became dangerously dark. He stood to his full height, and very deliberately, punched the button that made his desk rise. It stopped three quarters of the way up, sensors reading that the computer was not folded down into its storage mode. With the barrier gone, all it took was three quick steps and he was in Virgil's face. He stuck out a finger and shook it as he spoke, his voice low and full of fury.

"Now, hear this and remember it well. I care about Penelope. I care about her the same way I care about Tin-Tin or Brains or Kyrano. I understand fully that this is her life we are dealing with, and I am doing the very best I can to see to it that she comes out of this situation alive and unhurt. But... we are under siege. There are people out there who want to expose us. There are people out there who are trying to sully our good name. And I will not give them any occasion whatsoever to do either of those things! We've been trying to keep our tech out of the hands of those who would use it for making war or gaining power. Use Thunderbird One's arsenal, use any of our weaponry without just cause and we're just like they are. It turns us from rescuers into enforcers. And I will not let that happen! Is that understood?"

Seeing his father's enraged countenance and hearing his angry voice up close and personal, Virgil took a surprised step backward, not only physically but mentally. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself so he would not further stoke the fire of his father's fury. Still, he could not completely hide his own anger and frustration. "Understood... sir."

Jeff backed off, still glaring at his second son. "Why are you so angry about this, Virgil? Don't you trust Scott to take care of things? Don't you trust Parker's loyalty to Penelope, or his skills? Why does this get you so damned furious?"

The Thunderbird Two pilot took a deep breath. "I... I'm concerned. Very concerned. And I still think that Scott letting loose a missile would create a far better diversion than anything Parker and the other agents could come up with."

Jeff lowered his desk again. When it clicked into position, he gave a quick glance at the map, then met Virgil's gaze. Putting both hands on the desk top and leaning forward, he asked point-blank, "Are you in love with Penelope?"

The sudden, short gasp, caught and moderated before it could be a larger, louder one, the widening of Virgil's eyes, and the sudden flush on his face told Jeff the whole story. Virgil looked at the floor first, then after a split second where he looked like a sheepish schoolboy, he squared his shoulders and looked his father in the eye again. "Yes. Yes, I am. I have been for a long time."

His father made no response other than to nod slightly. The older man sat down behind his desk, looked at the map. The blue dot was moving back toward its original position, and the gray dot that indicated FAB-1 was moving steadily toward the pink dot, which hadn't budged.

Scott's picture came alive. He said, "Base from Thunderbird One. Rendezvous successful. The strike team is armed... and very dangerous if Agent 53's report is to be believed." Indeed, when Peter climbed the supple rope ladder to board Thunderbird One, he told Scott about Nosey's impatience to get the job done.

"If there hadn't been direct orders given, we'd already be on the island and in who knows what condition." He took one of the incendiary devices. "Now, Scotty me boy, how do I prime this thing?"

Scott put his 'Bird on autopilot, and came down to show the workings of the device to Peter. "Here. You turn this knob, press this button, begin a countdown to ninety, and run like hell!"

"Ninety second delay?"

"Right." Scott put the explosive back into the box. He reached up to grab a small pouch. "Here's something else you can use. Hands free communicators. They're already set at a frequency just for us."

"Thanks!" Peter said, tucking the pouch into a pocket. "Anything else?"

Scott began to climb back into his pilot's seat. "Not that I can think of." He made a vague motion toward the box of explosives. "You'd better be careful with those things!"

"Oh, I will," Peter replied with a grin. "I intend t' collect that pint ye owe me from that last football bet."

"Me? Owe you a pint?" Scott said in mock confusion. "I thought you owed me a bottle of lager."

"Lager? How can ye drink that swill, Scotty?" Peter chivvied, his grin wider. "You, me? Who knows? Who cares? Just make some time fer me on yer busy social calendar, lad."

Scott returned the grin. "I will. We'll watch the games until we can't see straight. Melissa won't mind, will she?"

"Now, lad, don't speak ill o' me ball and chain. If I promise to watch the wee ones and let her go shopping, she'll purr like a kitten." A jerk on the rope and an irritated shout of, "Whatchyer doin' h'up there?" caused Peter to roll his eyes. "His Nibs calls. Take care, Scott."

"You, too, Pete."

The Irishman climbed back down the ladder, carrying the box down a few rungs, then handing it off to Parker. Scott saluted through the still open hatch, then winched up the ladder and closed the aperture. FAB-1 peeled off, heading back to the cay, while Scott turned his Thunderbird back towards the Kennicot property. "So I'm back on stand-by," he said to his father as he finished the bare bones of his report.

"F-A-B. Stay alert and keep in contact with us and with Nosey."

"F-A-B." Scott's portrait went silent, though it was still a live picture of him.

Jeff sat back, watching the two dots. He was aware of Virgil still standing, watching him intently. He tapped a stylus thoughtfully against his chin, then opened communications again with Alan.

"Thunderbird Five from Base. Sigma, are there any major disasters out in the world that you are monitoring?"

"There's a wildfire spreading through parts of Chile where they've had a drought condition lately, but the firefighters in the area are keeping it contained. Three fishing boats have gone missing off the international waters of the Grand Banks... wait, I'm beginning to get WASP talkback. They're on the job and think they've spotted the boats... or what's left of them. There's an earthquake predicted for later today or early tomorrow on the Western side of the Pacific Rim. We may even feel a tremor of it. The seismologists have had plenty of time to track this one and the lands in the path of any subsequent tsunami have been on high alert for the past two days." Alan looked up from his data pad. "Those are all the major things that have come in."

"F-A-B, Sigma. Keep an ear out for that wildfire. We'll be ready for the quake, should it come in on schedule." He cut the audio and turned to Virgil. Taking a deep breath through his nose and huffing out through his mouth, Jeff said, "FAB-1 has a limited supply of fuel. They may need a pick-up at sea." He shook his head, then waved his hand irritably. "Go. But your only job is to pick up FAB-1. And if we get a call on those wildfires, you are to divert your mission. Do you understand?"

Virgil's face went from frowning to incredulous to delighted in seconds. He moved quickly over to the painting that camouflaged his personal entrance to Thunderbird Two. "Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

"Take pod three with the fire fighting equipment! And wait for John, he is going along!" Jeff called as Virgil disappeared head first.

"F-A-B!" came a faint reply.

Jeff sat down behind his desk with a long-suffering sigh. He activated his telecomm watch. "John?"

The portrait of the handsome blond activated as he returned his father's call. "Yes, Father?"

"You are to report to Thunderbird Two, stat. Virgil will brief you on the way to the... danger zone. He's on his way down to the hangar right now."

John looked puzzled, but he replied, "F-A-B." His picture became static again, and Jeff shook his head. John will keep Virgil from going overboard in his eagerness to be Penelope's "knight in shining armor". He arched his back a bit, feeling the vertebrae shift into more comfortable positions, then he rolled and shrugged his shoulders to loosen the tense muscles. Getting up, he walked out onto the balcony and leaned with his elbows on the rail and his hands loosely clasped. The early afternoon sun glinted off the water, and he could feel a minute tremor beneath his feet as the cliff face door slowly opened. He watched the palm trees flop away from the tarmac as the ungainly cargo carrier rolled out from beneath the cliff and made its way to a spot just before the airstrip jutted out into the sea. The concealed lift tilted it up, though the motion wasn't as evident from where Jeff stood, and a small blast door opened. With a roar, the primary boosters ignited and the green leviathan shot up into the air, climbing quickly out of sight.

Gordon padded up the steps, drying his hair with a towel as he came. "Where's Virgil going?" he asked. "I didn't hear the emergency signal."

Jeff breathed out another sigh, then turned to his red-haired son with a rueful smile. "Let's go inside and I'll bring you up to speed over lunch." He activated his telecomm. "Kyrano, Gordon and I will be having lunch in the lounge."

xxxx

The quiet engine of FAB-1 quit and the dark Rolls Royce hydrofoil came to a slow halt in shallow water. Viktor was at the controls, and he listened carefully to the whispered last minute instructions from Parker.

"Go back aowt t' sea, an' wait fer th' signal. We'll call when we gets milady h'away from th' 'ouse. When ye gets h'it, come back h'in wiv guns hot." He put a calloused hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Ay knows yer don' layke guns, but yer gots t' be ready fer h'action, chust h'in case. Let H'One know when ye come h'in."

Viktor nodded, and the three operatives climbed out, wading their way to shore, dressed in black from head to toe and with faces blackened. They wore Kevlar vests, night vision goggles, and all carried small backpacks. Brigitte's sack held a spare Kevlar vest for Penelope, Parker carried his lockpick tools and one of the incendiary devices, while Peter carried the other three explosives. They all carried infrared flashlights and their IR-issued ordnance with ammo. Once past the sand, and into the surrounding foliage, they huddled for one last discussion of strategy.

"Yer goin' t' th' 'eliport pad an' creatin' h'a difersion," Parker said to Peter.

"Check," was the Irishman's reply.

"Ye an' Ay h'are goin' h'up t' th' 'ouse t' find Milady. 'Opefully, we'll not need t' go insayde," the chauffeur informed Brigitte.

"Yes. I understand," the firefighter said.

" H'As soon h'as ye set th' difersion, hot foot it h'over t' 'elp h'us," Parker continued. "H'Unless we gif th' signal that we've got Milady." He lifted his watch near his face. "Syn-kro-nise watches." He grinned, his teeth shining in the light of the telecomm watch. "Ay've h'always wanted t' say that."

The two other operatives looked at each other and shrugged. They both had the newer, hands free communications units. But they humored the chauffeur by setting their watches to his.

"H'All righty now, mates. Let's go, an' good luck," Parker finally said. Parker and Brigitte headed up a well-worn path to their left, crouching as they went, while Peter melted into the shadows to the right, taking a path that had he had memorized from the maps.

xxxx

Alvarez inspected the contents of Penelope's purse. A lipstick, a hairbrush, calling cards with case, a silver compact, a pen, and a wallet which contained some Unity City currency and a bank card in the name of Alison St. Clair lay in neat formation on his desk. Her PDA, taken from her briefcase, was in Ramirez's hands, and he was trying to get into the files stored there. The two men looked up when they heard a knock on the door. Alvarez said, "Come in."

Jim Franks entered the room cautiously, a pair of high-heeled sandals hanging from the fingers of one hand, and a pair of ladies' pumps tucked under one arm. "I didn't find anything out of place in her luggage. But I brought her shoes, as you requested." He paused. "I will say that, for a public servant, she has exquisite taste. The clothes are all designer labels, right down to the underwear."

"What about the makeup?" Alvarez asked.

Franks shrugged. "Nothing amiss that I noticed. I can go back and look again."

The Minister shook his head. "No need. I am certain we have enough here to prove who she is. As to who she is working for, we shall get that out of her one way or another."

"I don't get it," Franks said, puzzled. "How do you know she's not working for His Majesty's government? It would make sense with her having the cover of 'aide to the Prime Minister'."

"His Excellency has his own sources," Ramirez piped up. He looked at the PDA and shook it with frustration. "Diablo! I cannot get past the log in screen!"

"Give it to Jorge," Alvarez instructed his secretary. He thought for a moment, then smiled slyly. "Tell him that if he should manage to break into it, he is to upload the termite to each and every email address he finds." Ramirez nodded, and left the room. The Minister turned to Franks. "I know she works for someone because I have encountered her before. However, she did not recognize me, which gave me an advantage. An advantage I used to bring her near and into my grasp." He sat down behind his desk, and began toying with Penelope's pen. "Now, this woman does not work alone. Her chauffeur, a former cat burglar, is her accomplice. I expect him to try and rescue her."

"By himself?"

Alvarez waved a dismissive hand. "He is fiercely loyal, this chauffeur of hers, but not very bright. His loyalty will be his downfall." He beckoned his security guard from the alcove where he watched the conversation. "Luis! Make sure a double complement of guards are on alert this night. Bring anyone who dares to trespass directly to me."

Luis nodded. "Si, Your Excellency." He sketched a small bow and went off to do his master's bidding.

Franks took a seat without invitation. He sat slouched a bit with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His elbows sat on the arms of the chair and he steepled his fingers. "So, what are you going to do with this phony 'Alison St. Clair'? Play with her? Kill her? What?"

"Her name is Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, señor, and no, I do not intend to kill her. Play with her? Perhaps. But she is far more valuable alive as a bargaining chip. And as a source of information."

Franks frowned. "You sound like you know a whole lot more about her than you're letting on."

Alvarez smiled. "I do. But I am not prepared to tell you anything more. Later, perhaps."

The former officer shrugged. "Whatever you want. You're the boss."

xxxx

Peter glided from shadow to shadow, wary of all noises and watching all around him. He had known Scott as a young man, when the two of them were roommates at Oxford together. Scott had gone on to the US Air Force, and Peter, after much soul-searching, joined the RAF, making a decision that would color his relationship with his family forever. But now the skills he had learned as an airman were coming in handy.

He found his way to the helijet pad, being careful to avoid the irregularly spaced photoelectric triggers along the path that he took. Alan had managed to get his satellite's camera to zoom in so close that those pesky security devices showed up in the infrared. And they showed up in the light of Peter's torch, too. Once at the aircraft landing site, he took a good look around. There's got to be a fuel dump somewhere. Or maybe taking out one of the helijets will work. It would be one less impediment to our escape.

Peter chose his target carefully, and skirted around the open concrete pad to reach it. It was the same helijet that had carried Lady Penelope to the islet in the first place. He pulled one of the incendiary devices from his pack and slipped it under the craft near the back, where the fuel tanks were. In the shadows cast by the bright security lights, he set the timer, repeating under his breath the instructions Scott had given him: "Turn the knob, press the button," in his mind he started counting down from ninety, "... and run like hell!"

As he turned to do just that, he heard a loud, "Hey!" He turned to see a massive man standing at the nose of the aircraft, silhouetted in the glare of the security light. Peter saw his shoulders move; his hands and arms came up to be outlined by the yellow glow and there was a glint of light off something metallic in his hands. Peter didn't think, he just reacted. He turned and ran, the mental countdown still going on in his head. There was a loud crack and he felt a hot sear across one arm as behind him the helijet went up in a ball of flame.