PROLOGUE TO TRIANGLE

This story brings in characters from Gerry Anderson's Stingray. I am not terribly familiar with the background to Stingray. The only information I was able to find (Stingrayonline) was that Captain Tempest was supposed to have taken over the command of Stingray in 2068. As the Thunderbirds series was set either in 2026 or 2046 (depending on your point of view) this would completely louse up my story!

So here, for the purposes of my story. Captain Tempest is twenty years older than Gordon Tracy. Marineville exists, not as a futuristic village but a collection of subterranean research stations. The Ocean floor and it's trenches are the subject of investigation but as yet, no traces of Ocean dwelling intelligent life forms have been found. The links between Troy Tempest, Marina, and an explanation of ‘Titan’ and ‘Agent X' will be revealed in the coming chapters.

Stingray and Thunderbirds were created by Gerry Anderson and are licensed by Carlton International Media Ltd. This story is intended for education and entertainment purposes.

A “Thunderbirds” and “Stingray” crossover

By Polly Amber

Chapter 1 - The Aftermath

Gordon Tracy stood up to his knees in fetid water, surrounded by mud and rubble, in what used to be a quiet Mexican village at the bottom of a hillside. Only now the hill was gone - washed away in a torrent of water, which had cascaded down onto the hapless residents of Monte Christos. Two solid weeks of rain had caused this massive landslide. Fortunately the town had a small population, and there had been enough warning for many of its residents to reach safety. There had been inevitable fatalities, of course. It would have been nothing short of a miracle for everyone to have escaped unharmed. International Rescue Operatives, Scott, Virgil, Alan and Gordon Tracy had the grim task of pulling bodies, as well as casualties from the quagmire.

Gordon peered through the gloom to see a slime covered creature slipping and sliding his way toward him. It was Virgil, his brother, covered from head to toe in mud.

"You gave me quite a turn there. I thought you were the creature from the black lagoon!"

"You should take a look at yourself, brother!" was his retort. "You don't look so hot either!" Virgil, dirty and exhausted, tried to wipe the grit from his red rimmed eyes. "Whoa, this is some job. Do you know who we could do with right now?"

"Who?"

"Seamus O' Rourke."

"Who?" repeated Gordon.

"Our Irish agent and County Derry bog snorkelling champion!"

"Oh, the guy with the farm. I remember now. Scott used his place as a base when we were tracking the Fireflash."

"Scott told me about his hobby. I remember we all thought it was kind of amusing at the time. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to dive into a dirty peat bog for fun. Sure wish we had him here today. You never know what talents are going to come in useful."

"Did you find any more casualties?"

Virgil's face looked grim. "No. I'm pretty sure all of the people have now been accounted for. Some of the dead are still waiting for positive identification. But their relatives could be among the dead or injured, so it could take a few days. Scott's pretty sure that we are unlikely to find anymore survivors in there. All that remains is the clean up operation. I reckon the local authorities can handle things now. They are trying to save the facade of the old Town Hall. Scott is holding the front of it up with the Domo, while the building workers make it safe. Alan is in the excavator trying to shift some of the mud. Scott told the Mexican authorities we would loan them the excavator and earth mover for a few days. Their equipment is rather outdated. It would take them twice as long to do the job."

"Did he okay that with Dad?"

"Of course." Virgil's watch started to bleep. It was Alan. "Go ahead, Alan," he instructed.

"I've done as much as I can here and I'm heading back to Thunderbird Two to clean up. Scott reckons it’ll take another half hour to make the building safe and then we can think about moving out. The military have got things under control now. I don't think there will be any further landslides."

"I wonder what could have caused that much rain to fall. They had the equivalent of a whole year’s rainfall in just two weeks!"

"I dunno. The weather experts are baffled. Freak of nature, I suppose. Anyway see you later, Virgil."

"F.A.B." Virgil and Gordon also made their way back to Thunderbird Two. Gordon paused outside the huge green transporter and stripped off his muddy protective suit. Wrinkling his nose, he sealed it in a black plastic bag. Clad only in his underwear, he made his way down to the lower deck of Thunderbird Two for a welcome shower.

"Don't use all the hot water," warned Virgil.

Gordon let the steaming water cascade down his back. He flexed his aching muscles, and then vigorously lathered his red hair. The shampoo smelled of chamomile. He inhaled deeply hoping this fresh smell would cleanse his nostrils of the smell of death. .He closed his eyes and let the water pour down his face. He tried to blot out the images he had seen that day. They were not the first dead people he had seen, nor would they be the last. They were ordinary men, women and -worst of all - children. He knew that the sight of a mother's body, still protectively shielding her smothered child, would haunt him for the rest of his life. He tried to blank it out of his mind. He was beyond crying. He had a job to do and could not afford to be emotional about it. People looked up to International Rescue. They wanted to see order, control and results, not weeping and wailing. That would come later, when the job was done. All of them had learned to by-pass their human emotions while dealing with disasters such as these. If they ever cried it would be in private. After the reports were filed, the most harrowing rescues were never discussed between the family. But, some of them would never be forgotten.

Gordon roughly towel-dried his hair and changed in to casual clothes. He was now off duty. Virgil was to drop him off at Key Largo, to stay with a friend and ex- colleague from the World Aquanaut Security Patrol.

"Are you okay?" asked Virgil, as Gordon slumped exhaustedly on to one of the bunks.

"Tired, aching, trying to get the stench of raw sewage out of my nostrils."

"Well you rest for a while. I'm going to help Alan secure the equipment back into the pod. Scott's on his way back too, then we're out of here."

Gordon closed his eyes. He was looking forward to a week’s rest and recuperation. Most of all, he was looking forward to diving in one of his favourite haunts, with an old friend he did not get to see enough of. Noah Brady was so laid back he was practically horizontal! He shared Gordon's wacky sense of humour. Noah would be just the person to lift his jaded spirits. He had been Gordon's diving partner when they both served in the W.A.S.P. Gordon hoped a week of sun, sea and male bonding would exorcise the depressing scenes he had witnessed during the last two days.

"Lazy bones, sleeping on the job again."

Gordon opened a moist blood-shot eye. That irritating voice could only belong to his younger brother Alan. He chose to ignore him.

"I'm bushed!" complained Alan as he flopped on to the bunk beside him. Still Gordon did not acknowledge him.

"Are you really asleep?" asked Alan giving him a prod.

"No."

"You okay?"

"Yes." Alan could see that Gordon wasn't okay. He was biting his lip so hard it was almost bleeding.

"Was it bad?"

Gordon nodded and swallowed hard.

"Sorry I wasn't there to help."

"It's not your fault. We can't be everywhere at once. We did the best we could."

"What was the final death toll?" asked Alan tentatively.

"Fifty two at last count," replied Gordon flatly

"Considering the scale of the disaster, that's not too bad. It could have been a lot worse. It's lucky the landslide missed the village school. That doesn't bear thinking about. This sort of thing is always harrowing when kids are involved. It stays with you."

Gordon blew his nose loudly.

"That bad huh?" Alan gave Gordon a sympathetic pat on the arm. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Gordon gulped. "You know how sometimes it's the little things that get you going. You pull out bodies of people you never knew. You keep going ... another one ... then another. You bag them up, number them and then you come across a child's doll. or a little shoe..." he paused to wipe his nose again, " and you find yourself crying like a baby."

"It's happened to all of us at some point."

Gordon continued, "I went in to this house. The roof had caved in. There was mud everywhere. I pulled some of the rubble away and underneath was a young woman, about Tin Tin's age. When I reached her it was obvious her neck was broken. I couldn't have done anything for her. She was sitting in a chair hunched over something. When I moved her, I saw she had been trying to protect her baby. It must have been only a few days old. It was a beautiful little girl ..." Gordon turned away to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. He quickly regained his composure and blew his nose again. Alan did not know what to say.

"I dunno, Gordon. Grandma says things happen for a reason."

"Why? It's so dammed unfair. A little life snuffed out just like that." Gordon clicked his fingers. "Why?"

"You did your best. That’s all we can do. Some we will win and some we will lose."

Gordon shrugged and sat up abruptly. "Yeah. You're right." He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and strode to the galley to get a cold drink, to wash the grit from his throat. As he was pouring water into a glass he could hear Scott relaying a report to their father.

" ...and that's about all we can do for now. The authorities have one hell of a clean up operation ahead of them. They are very grateful for the loan of our equipment. I just hope we don't need it for the next few days."

"Good work boys. Get back to base."

Alan was banging on the door of the shower, asking Virgil how much longer he was going to be. Virgil came out dressed in a towelling robe with his thick chestnut hair standing up in spikes.

"Is everything secured in the pod, Scott?"

"Yes. There was only the firefly. I decided to let them borrow the domo as well. I still wasn't happy with that building. It will take them another few days to make it completely safe."

"That's quite a lot of expensive equipment we've left there. Supposing some of it disappears?"

"I doubt it Virgil. I know these people are poor, but they are honest. Their stuff is antiquated. Ours will do the job in no time. It was the least we could do for them."

"Sorry, Scott. You're right of course."

"Aargh, it's freezing cold!" shouted Alan. He leapt from the shower cubicle and pulled on his clothes. "You've used all the hot water."

"You're getting soft, Alan," scoffed Virgil.

Scott smiled. "Well I'm going to hit the road now. Are you coming with me, Alan, or taking the scenic route with Virgil?"

"Well since he's seen fit to use all the hot water, I'm coming home with you. I want to get back as soon as I can. I can't wait to get in to a nice hot tub and have a good long soak."

"And get Tin Tin to scrub your back," teased Virgil.

"Well a guy can dream," replied Alan.

"See you back home,” called Scott. "Enjoy your vacation, Gordon. Dad says that's an order."

Gordon smiled weakly. "Bye, Scott."

Alan eased himself in to the cramped passenger seat. In the confines of Thunderbird One’s cabin, both he and Scott were aware of how badly they smelled. A mixture of sweat and stagnant water.

"That was a tough one," remarked Alan.

"Yeah. I think Virgil and Gordon got the rough end of that one. The northern end of the village where they were was hit the worst. I expected the death toll to be much higher than it was. I suppose that's something to be thankful for."

"Gordon had a pretty bad time,” said Alan. “Found a mother and baby. He's pretty choked up about it."

Scott sighed. "I'm glad Dad let him have a few days off. He's not been his usual jovial self. Sometimes it can be claustrophobic living as we do, on an island. I know we all get on each others’ nerves from time to time. That's only natural. We're brothers! But living together all the time and working together, sometimes it can get you down. You need your own space."

"Well at least John and I get that," joked Alan, who with his elder brother took turns to man International Rescue's communication satellite- Thunderbird Five.

Scott strapped himself into his seat as the silver/blue rocket ship fired up for vertical take off. Flying at five times the speed of sound, they would soon be in the luxurious surroundings of their Pacific Island home.

Chapter 2 - The Disappearing Act.

Virgil flew back over the disaster area. It looked worse from the air. Half of the village had been engulfed by sludge. There was still a lot of work to be done clearing it all up, and by people who were feeling just as exhausted as he was. He felt guilty for being able to just fly away and leave the inhabitants to it. The village was in turmoil. It would take months to rebuild. The heart had been ripped out of it. Life would never be the same. Still his job was to save lives, not repair property, and that had been done. Lives had been lost, but many more had been saved, thanks to the prompt action of International Rescue.

"Shouldn't take us too long to reach Florida. It's just a hop across the bay," he told Gordon.

"Where are you going to land? I don't think Noah's back yard is going to be big enough for Thunderbird Two." Gordon was starting to feel a bit brighter.

"There's a strip of wasteland nearby, I can put down on that. I know I'm bound to attract a bit of attention, but the whole world knows we've been out to Monte Christos."

"I can walk the few miles to Noah's place. A walk will do me good. Give me chance to clear my head."

"Okay. But watch out for the alligators!"

Gordon smiled and reached up to retrieve his suitcase from the luggage rack. Virgil was already flying low across the Bay of Mexico. He could see the Florida Keys below him, connected by a series of long bridges. Strung out like a necklace of jewels. What a contrast to the scenes he just left! Large opulent, waterfront houses stood amidst green tropical gardens. With expensive cars in the driveways and luxury yachts moored by private jetties.

Gordon spotted Noah's house. "That's his. I recognise his boat. Set me down somewhere near that scrubland. I'll say I hitched a lift from the airstrip. I know he wanted to come and pick me up, so I'll have to tell a few white lies."

Virgil landed briefly; just long enough for Gordon to sneak out un-noticed. Then he waved him a cheery farewell and became airborne again. He put in a call to Scott who was already well on his way home.

"Leaving for home now. I'm just hovering above Gordon now, making sure he doesn't stumble into an alligator swamp or something."

"How is he? He seemed quite down when we left."

"Better now," replied Virgil. "Oh, I can see him; he's just found the main road. Guess I can leave him now. He wanted to walk. I think he wanted some time on his own to get his head together."

"Yeah. It doesn't get any easier though does it?"

"No," agreed Virgil.

"See you back at base."

Leaving the Florida Keys Virgil flew in an easterly direction. He scanned the horizon in front of him. The weather was looking a little misty. Surely there was not going to be anymore rain on the way! Virgil groaned, that was the last thing the poor people of Monte Christos needed. Their part of the world seemed to go from one extreme to another. Months of having no rainfall at all, resulting in parched soil and poor crop yields, to having too much for the ground to cope with.

Virgil cast an eye over his instrument panel. "That's odd." he muttered to himself . Then he gave his navigational compass a sharp tap. "Hmm. Strange!" he made a mental note to report this minor defect to Brains when he got home. Although it was not a serious problem Virgil decided it needed to be checked out. He put in a quick call to John on board International Rescue's communication satellite Thunderbird Five. John was able to confirm what Virgil had suspected. Instead of pointing to magnetic North, Thunderbird Two's compass was pointing to true North."

"Not to worry, Virgil," assured John, "There could be any number or reasons. The atmospheric conditions over that part of the Ocean are notorious for whipping up the odd electric storm now and then. My instruments are picking up a surge of charged atmospheric particles. Like static."

"Must be why the hairs on the back of my neck are tingling then," replied Virgil.

"Might be a bit of a storm building over the bay, but don't worry, you'll be out of it soon."

"Oh, I'm not worried. Not for me anyway. If there is a storm building there could be more problems in Monte Christos. That's what I am really worried about. It was pretty grim back there."

"Can't see any signs of anything serious from here. The atmospheric pressure has risen to the south of Bermuda. It might whip up a bit of a squall, but it would probably blow itself out before it reached Mexico bay."

"Well, that's something I suppose."

"You could get a bit of sea mist stirring up."

"Yes, I've just hit that right now. It's all around me. Darn it. I should be over Cuba right now. The compass needle tells me I'm flying east and now the satellite navigational computer tells me I'm flying east too. I reckon it's more like north-east."

"Yes, Virgil. I'm tracking you now you. I've got you just south of Bermuda."

"Bermuda? How the hell..." he broke off suddenly as he noticed the compass needle twirling wildly. "What the hell is going on?"

"What is it Virgil?" John became concerned.

"The compass is going haywire. Must be one hell of a magnetic surge. What the heck is in this area? Are there any Top secret Government installations we don't know about?"

"I'm picking up something too. It's interfering with my tracking beam."

"Hell! Now this mist is closing in. I'm going to be flying blind for a while. Can you stick around I might need you."

"Sure, Virgil."

Virgil was feeling disorientated. His visibility was down to a few yards. Swirling milky, white mist made the sea appear to be steaming.

"Are you out of it yet?" asked John tersely

"No. As Parker would say ' It's a real pea souper' ... Oh my God!"

"What is it?"

"It's incredible ... Oh, my God!" Virgil's voice was filled with panic

"What? What is it?" Now John was alarmed. His knuckles were white as he gripped his microphone. "Virgil!"

"AAAAaaaaaargh!"

John trembled as he heard Virgil's cry accompanied by a swishing, sucking noise. Then it all went quiet. The only thing John could hear was his own pounding heartbeat.

"Virgil? .... Come in, Virgil." John could hear something which sounded to him like waves rushing over a rocky shore. The sort of sound you would hear on a relaxation tape. John felt anything but relaxed. He wanted desperately to hear his brother's voice, but when the rushing sounds subsided all that remained was eerie silence. John's face turned pale as he scanned the map in front of him. Thunderbird Two had vanished in to thin air!

Chapter 3 - The Devil's Triangle

Safely home on Tracy Island, Scott returned Thunderbird One to its silo hidden beneath the family swimming pool. He took up position on the moving gantry which would take him directly to the Operations Room of International Rescue. He stepped off the gantry, stood with his back to the wall and located two fake lamp brackets positioned either side of a special panel. When he pulled the brackets down, this section of the wall swivelled round to deposit him in the family living room. He entered the room and saw his father in earnest conversation with John, via the video link. John's face looked grim. Immediately Scott realised that something was wrong.

"More trouble?" he asked. "Don't tell me I've got to head back to Monte Christos again!"

"No. It's not that." Jeff shuffled some papers on his desk. " Is Alan with you?" he asked.

"He came up via the passenger lift. I expect he's soaking in a hot tub right now. We're both filthy."

"I need him up here and Brains too." he pressed a red emergency button on the top of his desk to summon his team.

"What is it, Father?"

"Sit down, Scott." instructed Jeff.

Scott gripped the back of Jeff's chair. "John, what's happened?"

"Sit down, Scott. " John's voice was shaking. Scott thought he looked dreadful.

"Something's happened to Gordon hasn't it? Has he been in an accident?"

"No. No, Gordon's fine."

"Well, what is it?"

"Son, I asked you to sit down." urged Jeff gently. He knew how close Virgil and Scott were.

Alan came rushing in wearing his tracksuit top back to front, his blond hair still had shampoo suds in. Brains followed behind him, a large frown creasing his high forehead. Kyrano, Jeff's assistant, and his daughter Tin Tin heard the alarm. They too, were regarded as family and included in all family matters. Only Grandma was absent. She was spending some time in London with Lady Penelope. Jeff was grateful for this. She should not have to learn of the fate of her grandson like this.

"Thunderbird Two has gone missing," announced Jeff solemnly. Tin Tin gave an audible gasp followed by a short cry. Her father put his arms around her.

"Are you sure?" asked Alan.

Scott clutched the arms of his chair. He was stunned, "How? Where?" was all he could manage to say.

"John lost contact with Virgil fifteen minutes ago. We are still trying to get through to him, but so far we have had no answer."

"Perhaps it could be a fault in the transmitter. Check your dishes, John. Alan and I will check the aerial."

"Scott, I've done that. It's fine,” said John sadly.

"Where was he when you heard from him last?"

"John recorded his last conversation with Virgil," announced Jeff "You can listen to it, but you will find it distressing."

"Go ahead. Play it," snapped Scott.

Scott heard his brother's bemused voice over the humming engines of Thunderbird Two.

"I should be over Cuba right now... The rest of the family listened in silence as Virgil relayed details of the thick fog that engulfed him. "... as Parker would say It's a real pea - souper ... Oh my God ! Jeff visibly stiffened. Tin Tin bit her nails. Then they heard John's anguished cry." What? What is it? ...Virgil!"

"AAAAaaaaaargh!"

"Virgil? .... Where are you Virgil?" John sounded like a frightened child, calling out in the darkness after a distressing nightmare. Scott had not heard him sound like that since he was a five.

Alan's face turned deathly white . He got up and walked shakily to the French window. He ran across the decking and leaned heavily on the balcony overlooking the sea. Then he rested his head on the crook of his arm. Tin Tin ran to his side. Kyrano took him a glass of water.

Jeff gave his youngest son a sympathetic look. He knew there was nothing he could do to lessen the pain. "He'll be okay, just give him a few minutes."

Scott too felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. He buried his face in the palms of his hands. For a moment there was only a stunned silence. Then Brains spoke up.

"I-I kn -know it's distressing for everyone , but c-can I hear the tape again? Not all of it just the last bit. I'm puzzled by that sound" John replayed Virgil's scream. Scott winced. "There that's the bit. That swishing noise. Can you get that any louder ? And can you slow it down?"

The slow, drawn out sound of Virgil’s scream made Scott feel sick. He hastily gulped down a glass of water.

Brains was frowning intently. "Hmm."

"Well?" asked Jeff urgently. "Can you make anything of it?"

"It s-sounds to me like s-some kind of vortex."

"Something like a tornado?"

"I-I'm not sure. I could hear water s-sounds. F-first a sucking noise. P-play it again John...there...that noise ... n-now, l-listen again.. w-we have a swishing noise in the background. C-can you hear it?"

"Yes I hear it. Like water being sucked down a plughole," said Scott.

"Th-then here we have the sound of water rushing over something,” continued Brains.

"So did Virgil crash into the sea?"

"No, Scott. I don't think he did," cut in John, "he didn't seem to be losing height. He sounded as if he was still in control. Whatever happened took him entirely by surprise. It was quick too. One minute he was there, the next he was gone."

"I-it could be that Th-Thunderbird Two was sucked down in to s-sea. If V-Virgil had crashed, John would have heard it hit the water. It would have m-made a pretty bigsplash."

"But how could it have been sucked down? And by what?" Scott paced up and down restlessly.

"I don't know. What was his position when he made that call John? Can you show us a map?"

"Sure Brains." John relayed a map of the area he had enlarged, showing a section where the cold Atlantic Ocean met a warm Caribbean Sea. John drew a line from Bermuda to the Florida Keys and across to the island of Puerto Rico. "Virgil went missing somewhere around her" he explained. He then extended the line from Puerto Rico back up to Bermuda. Jeff was looking at the shape of a triangle.

Kyrano dropped the glass he was holding. It fell to the floor and shattered in to pieces. "The Devil's triangle!" he gasped.

Brains looked annoyed. "Pure superstition," he said crossly.

"This area- The Bermuda Triangle - it is a bad place," argued Kyrano. "Many ships and planes have disappeared, never to be seen again. It is the devil's work."

"The Bermuda tr-triangle does not exist anymore than the L-Loch Ness Monster does!" snapped Brains. "Th-there is a scientific explanation. A-as John detected from the er satellite. Th-this is an area where the er cold Atlantic meets the warm Caribbean. Highly charged p-particles are present in the atmosphere, a-and as Virgil um found out they can cause a sh-ship's or plane's navigational system to give um incorrect readings. It is also an area prone to sudden v-violent storms. In the er fifties and um sixties, m-many ships and planes were reported lost in that area. A c-combination of bad weather and disorientation would be the most likely cause of a ship or plane coming to grief. They were p-probably never um found because they were not actually in the area they were thought to have been. In the nineteen fifties and sixties they relied purely on compass navigation. If the pilot had hit bad weather he would have relied solely on his instruments to guide him. Again, Virgil mentioned the fog, another freak weather condition. Before the advent of computers and satellite navigation systems, a pilot would have read his instruments and thought he was in a particular area. H-he would have probably relayed his assumed position over the radio. When he failed to reach his destination, It would be assumed that he had crashed in to the sea. A search would have been mounted to recover the wreckage. The rescuers would have concentrated on the area the pilot was thought to have been in when he went down. But in reality he would have been much further away."

"So you think Thunderbird Two could be at the bottom of the sea?" asked Scott.

"The only answer to that I'm afraid is yes,." replied Brains soberly.

Alan walked in silently and sat down on his chair. He stared miserably at the floor. Tin Tin clasped his hand.

"Do you want to go and lie down for a while, Alan?" asked Jeff gently.

"No. I want to get out there. I want to get out there and start searching for him."

"There's still a chance he could be alive," said Scott. " Thunderbird Two is fully sealed. Heck, Virgil puts it in to the sea every time he picks up Thunderbird Four in the pod."

"Yeah," agreed Alan, "All we need to do is get Thunderbird Four out there and start looking."

Jeff frowned, "You forget, Alan. Thunderbird Four is slow. It was not designed for long distance travel. We need Thunderbird Two to transport it."

"We've got to figure out a way to get Thunderbird Four out there as soon as possible," voiced Scott.

"Maybe the Navy could help again," suggested Alan, "They did last time, when we had to get to New York to rescue that reporter."

"Well, they owed us one," replied Jeff gruffly, remembering the time when the US Sentinel mistakenly opened fire on Thunderbird Two.”

"We can't sit around waiting for them to wade through all their red tape," exploded Scott. "You know what the military are like! Forms in triplicate for a pencil sharpener! There's got to be another way."

"I can pilot Thunderbird Four," volunteered Alan.

Scott had a better solution. "The main problem with Thunderbird Four is that it cannot hold enough fuel and is too slow for long journeys. Maybe if I could fix a magnetic line on Thunderbird Four, you I could tow you part of the way in Thunderbird One. There's still a chance, Dad, Alan's right. We've got to get out there." Scott was now fired up with adrenaline and itching to get behind the controls of Thunderbird One. "It could work."

"You would have to go slow though, Scott. I wouldn't want to be thrown all around the place. I won't be much use if I'm suffering from chronic sea sickness."

Jeff started to look hopeful. "Virgil would have twenty hours of air supply on board Thunderbird Two. We must be positive and assume that Virgil has had to ditch in to the sea. We must pray that he was uninjured and that Thunderbird Two sustained no serious damage. Thunderbird Two's structure has been built to withstand several tons of water pressure. I don't know why we haven't had a signal from his wristwatch communicator. He may be unconscious. We're going to find him. I just only hope we'll be in time. Go to it," decided Jeff.

Scott and Alan didn't need to be told twice. They were already at their stations.

Chapter 4 - Finding Virgil

Jeff Tracy knew he was clutching at straws. It would take at least twenty hours for Scott to tow Thunderbird Four to the search area. He had to remain optimistic for the sake of his sons. He knew Scott and Alan would go crazy just sitting around waiting for news. His heart went out to John. Although John was used to having to sit and wait for news, he was thousands of miles away from the comforting touch of another human being. Jeff wanted to fetch him back home, but John would not leave his post. He clung to the faint hope that Virgil might get in touch. It was the only thing that was keeping him going.

After the conversation with his father, John radioed the Florida based search and rescue team to report Virgil missing. They had been working in tandem with International Rescue. Three of their helicopters and most of their operatives were still tied up with the Monte Christos disaster. They had only one helicopter on standby, and the best they could offer to conduct a search, was the service of their rescue hydrofoil equipped with a four man diving team. John sighed. That was not going to be enough, but he realised the needs of many would outweigh the needs of the few. John had to be grateful for any offer of help no matter how small. He pounded his fist on the wall in frustration. Without Thunderbird Two International Rescue was severely hampered. Thunderbird Four was miles away from where it was so badly needed. John desperately needed to get hold of someone in the vicinity who could supply a submarine. He did not get much joy from the Navy whose subs were on 'secret manoeuvres'. He decided to try the World Aquanaut Security Patrol. He prayed that their nuclear powered Swordfish would be available to help. The W.A.S.P. sympathetically informed him that the Swordfish was undergoing maintenance checks, and would out of service for the next few days. It's sister craft the Marlin was tracking in the Antarctic Ocean.

Meanwhile Jeff put in a call to an ex-colleague in NASA to see if they had seen or heard of any unexplained disturbances in the area. Jeff had heard many fanciful notions concerning the Bermuda Triangle. The area had a high degree of electromagnetic energy. There had been numerous reports of UFO sightings. Even wild theories that the area was a time portal to a parallel universe or a wormhole to another galaxy. Jeff didn't know what to believe anymore. He kept a calm and steady voice while he thanked his friend for his sympathy and offers of help. Next came the unenviable task of letting the rest of the family know. He almost broke down while speaking to his mother. He was glad Penelope was on hand to offer comfort and a good old English cup of tea. Now he sat with a glass of whiskey in his hand trying to summon the strength to call Gordon.

Unaware of the drama. Gordon Tracy was being welcomed by Noah Brady and his wife Cheryl.

"You should have called us Gordon." scolded Cheryl. "We would have picked you up from the airstrip."

"You look as if you've been boiled!" laughed Noah. Gordon's face was red from sunburn. His hair was flattened with perspiration, and his shirt was clinging to his back. It had only been a three mile walk but in the ninety degree heat he was dripping and drained.

"Man it's hot! And I'm covered with flies!” Gordon swatted a black bug busily feasting on sweat at the nape of his neck.

"There's only one place for you then!"

"The pool Daddy." squealed Noah's six year old son Jake. "Throw Uncle Gordon in the pool!"

"Oh no." cried Gordon in true pantomime style. "Not the pool! Please don't throw me in the pool!"

"He's got all his clothes on and his watch too." noticed Cheryl.

"Do you want to see Uncle Gordon go in the pool?" asked Noah theatrically.

"YEEEES!" roared Jake.

Gordon slipped off his wristwatch and put it on a table next to Noah's. It was practically identical.

"So you've got one of those new fangled watch phones too," observed Noah. Gordon's wristwatch communicator looked like any other mobile phone. Technology had made them small enough to fit into the face of a wrist watch . "How do you get on with it? I'm all fingers and thumbs. Damned Japanese technology. Granted they can make things smaller, but then they have smaller hands. I've got palms the size of meat plates and fingers like sausages. I keep getting the numbers wrong."

"Are you going to throw him in Daddy?" urged Jake who didn't wish to miss the fun. Gordon didn't mind. Being hurled fully clothed into the cooling waters of the pool would be the nearest thing to heaven right now.

Noah, a well built man, hoisted Gordon over his shoulder and unceremoniously dumped him in. He hit the water with a loud splash. Jake shrieked with laughter as Gordon grabbed Noah's leg and pulled him in as well. With all of the gleeful shouting and splashing. No-one heard one of the wristwatches bleep.

Gordon raced across the pool with Jake. "Beat you. Uncle Gordon."

"I must be getting out of condition," panted Gordon.

"Have a beer," called Noah, pouring himself a drink and one for Gordon. When he set Gordon's glass down on a nearby table, he heard a watch emitting a loud bleep. Noah picked it up, strapped it to his wrist and put his finger to his ear.

"Okay ...I'll be there in five minutes." Noah hastily pulled on his trousers. "Duty calls," he shouted to Gordon.

Gordon hauled himself out of the pool.

"Sorry," apologised Noah. "I'm afraid I'll have to cry off our evening dive. I'm on call tonight. I've got to go."

"What's the problem?" Gordon lifted the cool glass of beer to his lips and drank thirstily.

"Dad rescues people," piped up Jake, "He pilots the rescue hydrofoil. We saw International Rescue today. They flew over our house in a Thunderbird Two."

Gordon playfully ruffled Jake's hair. "Did they really? What a shame I missed them."

"I'm going to help International Rescue," announced Noah proudly.

"Really Dad. Are you going to help them rescue someone?"

"I hope so, Son." Noah took Gordon aside, out of Jake's earshot. "I don't want to upset Jake, but it's International Rescue who need rescuing. You know that craft he got so excited about..."

"What about it?" asked Gordon in alarm.

"I've just had a report that it's missing. It may have come down in the sea. My team are mounting a search for the pilot."

"Uncle Gordon," cried Jake, "Look out, you're spilling your drink all over the sun bed!"

"Jeez Gordon, I'm so sorry you had to find out like that. I just don't know what to say." Noah and Gordon were breathless, having just raced full speed to the jetty where the rescue hydrofoil was stationed.

"How fast will this thing go?" asked Gordon earnestly.

"I didn't know your brother was a pilot for International Rescue."

"It's top secret. I would appreciate it if you didn't mention it to anyone else. Not even Cheryl. Virgil dropped me off a few miles down the road. He had been called to Monte Christos. He's not supposed to take passengers. He would be in trouble if they found out I hitched a ride."

"My lips are sealed, but that's the least of his problems right now. We need to find that bird before his air supply runs out."

"It should be good for at least another twenty four hours. Thunderbird Two is water tight and strong enough to withstand heavy water pressure. That's what I remember him telling me."

Noah started up the hydrofoil. "How do you feel about travelling on this thing again. They've greatly improved the safety features since...."

"Yeah no problem just go," interrupted Gordon.

"They changed the design after the accident with the prototype. What happened to you couldn't happen again. This craft is model is far more stable than the old one, and it's just as fast."

"I wish we had Thunderbird Four," said Gordon in frustration.

"Have you seen Thunderbird Four? I've only seen it in action once. That was from a distance and through high powered binoculars. It looks neat. Bit on the small side though, not as sleek as the old Stingray. That was a classic."

Gordon looked affronted. "It's as big as it needs to be. It's tough and it's fast."

"I don't really know anything about it. International Rescue are pretty touchy about publicity. Now they need our help. It's ironic, they have all that expensive equipment and now they have lost their only means of transporting it all. What's that Thunderbird plane worth.? A few billion I would guess."

"Virgil only flies it," replied Gordon. "He didn't buy it."

"Sorry, I'm not trying to pry. I'm sure your brother has been sworn to secrecy. I can't help being curious about them. I would love to be part of their organisation."

Noah and Gordon were joined by the other three divers, who were already in their wetsuits.

"Do you have a suit I can borrow?" asked Gordon.

"I have a spare suit, but I'm not sure whether you should go down," replied Noah.

"You'll make an odd number," explained a colleague. "We go down in pairs."

"Yes, yes I know the procedure," snapped Gordon. " I'm a diver myself. I want to help."

Noah pulled Gordon aside. "Gordon. I really don't think it's a good idea. You're obviously emotionally involved. You won't be thinking rationally."

Gordon angrily pulled away. "I've got to do something!. I can't just sit around and wait!"

"Gordon I'm asking you as a friend. Man the hydrofoil for us, you have the experience. Man the radio. We need someone to do that. It will release an extra man to dive."

Gordon apologised for his outburst. Noah made good sense. "Gordon, I want you to co-ordinate activities with International Rescue. Use the radio link on the hydrofoil . If we find their man you'll be the first to know. It's better this way."

Gordon agreed, he desperately wanted to be in touch with his family. He watched as two of the divers flipped backwards in to the water. Gordon picked up the radio mike and called,

"International Rescue... this is.... this is Gordon Tracy. I'm with the Key rescue unit. We are nearing Bermuda. Can you give us the last known position of Thunderbird Two?"

"Receiving you, Mr Tracy." John tried to keep a neutral tone to his voice as he relayed the co-ordnance.