Overtures
Chapter 2
Author's Note: Lady Penelope goes for a ride and so do Scott, Alan and Brains. Plus a short visit to some homicide detectives. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading, and to Amanda Tracy for helping me with a certain horse name.
Disclaimer: I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy or hyperlink this fiction without my express written or verbal consent. I may be reached at my email of record. Any and all original characters, including Cindy Lou/Lucinda and her cats (especially the cats) are mine and may not be used without my express written consent.
Enjoy.
Tikatu
xxxxxx
"Hello, Mrs. Sullivan," Bryce Southern said politely as he came out to the kitchen. "Is her Ladyship out riding?"
"Yes, Mr. Southern," Carrie replied. "She left about thirty minutes ago with Valley Mist. Mike could saddle up a mount for you if you like. I think she took the trail up to the overlook again."
"I'll think about it," Southern said, nodding his head. "Thank you very much."
"You're welcome."
Southern walked out of the kitchen, deep in thought. He had come to Bongo-Bongo on the behest of his employer, Interpol, to interview Lady Penelope about her adventures in the Caribbean, with the intent of getting her to admit that the late Peter Riordan was not with her at the time of his demise. He had been chosen as someone whom her Ladyship might perhaps see as less of a threat, playing on the acquaintance he had with her. He had intended to stay only one day, not particularly relishing the thought of interrogating her. But here he was, three days later, and he still hadn't had the chance.
Lady Penelope had been playing the bright, cheery hostess. They had gone horseback riding; she had shown him around the ranch; they had eaten well-prepared meals and had scintillating conversations over dinner. But she had deftly deflected his questions and attempts to turn the talk toward her encounter with the pirates failed one after the other. He had tried to talk to Parker, who was supposed to have been with Lady Penelope at the time, and the faithful servant either ignored his queries or reiterated the story that her Ladyship had given the local constabulary and the press. Bryce Southern was getting frustrated, and the more that her Ladyship deflected him, the more certain he was that there was something being covered up.
Making a decision, he strode out to the barn and asked Mike Sullivan to saddle a mount for him. Mike grinned and pulled out the tack for the black gelding, Midnight Ranger, a horse that Southern was getting well acquainted with. "Hello, Ranger," Southern said as he rubbed the horse's nose. "Ready, old boy?" He mounted the creature as soon as Mike gave him the okay, and together, man and beast trotted out of the barn and set off in the direction Carrie indicated that Penelope had taken.
He found her, a half hour's ride up the trail, sitting on a blanket, looking into her compact. Valley Mist was tethered to a nearby tree, cropping the short wild grass that grew around the small clearing. She looked up sharply when she heard him coming, seemed to say something that he couldn't hear, and closed up the compact. He brought Ranger to a stop and dismounted, tethering his mount to another tree.
"You really don't need that," he said cheerfully, indicating the compact with a motion. "You look fresh as a daisy."
She smiled at him, a forced smile he thought, and slipped the compact into the pocket of her riding jacket. "You say the sweetest things, Mr. Southern," she replied, her tone a touch false to his ear. "What brings you here?"
"Why you, of course," he said, still smiling. He indicated the blanket. "May I join you, Lady Penelope?"
She inclined her head graciously. "Please do."
He sat down on the blanket, turning his body toward her, one leg straight out and the other bent at the knee, propping up his intertwined fingers. "This is such a lovely day, and a lovely place to spend it. Don't you agree?"
"Oh, yes," she replied with a sigh; whether it was a sigh of pleasure or of resignation, he couldn't tell. "It is a very lovely day."
~Well, this is as good a time to broach the subject, I suppose.~ "You know, Lady Penelope, as entertaining and enjoyable as I have found these past few days in your company, I did not come here for a social visit. I came to ask you some questions about your experience in the Caribbean. Perhaps... perhaps we could talk about that here, now?"
Penelope's eyes left his face and she stared off into the distance. "I suppose we might, if you insist."
He tried to capture her glance, smiling ruefully. "I'm afraid I must insist."
The aristocrat breathed in and out deeply once, then turned to him. He was surprised at the change in her demeanor and in her voice as she coolly said, "Before we discuss my experience, I should like to know something."
"What is that?" he asked, suddenly unsure of his footing.
"Why hasn't Interpol asked his Excellency what Peter Riordan's blood was doing on his beach?"
xxxx
Jeff returned to his desk after his conversation with Penelope. He was disturbed on many levels. First was the rescue his sons had gone on. Scott, Alan, and Brains were on their way in Thunderbird Three to one of the commercial space stations in a high orbit around the Earth. A pharmaceutical company, trying to devise new treatments for such deadly and virulent diseases such as Ebola, had the bright idea that it would be safer for the public at large if they did their research in space, where such bacteria and viruses would be less likely to infect more than a handful of people, the researchers themselves. The scientists who volunteered to become part of this venture were, for the most part, young, idealistic, adventuresome, and with an eye to the bottom line; the company paid those who went up to the station very handsomely. They were connected by real time televid conferencing with older researchers on Earth, and their results were downloaded several times a day to the computers at the laboratory facilities in Vancouver.
But the company hadn't heard from the researchers that day. Two scheduled downloads and one planned vidconference had passed without word from the station. Knowing that they had a limited amount of time to discover what was going on and no way to effectively launch a rescue of their own within that time frame, they called International Rescue.
"I can't get through to them either, Commander," John informed his father when Jeff appeared on the scene. "I've managed bounce a visual signal off several communications satellites and this is what I got. It's in geosynchronous over Vancouver, and the terminator has already crossed over that site, but fortunately it's in high enough orbit that the sun's shining on it."
The grainy image of a bulky, circular object came into focus on the screen of Jeff's computer, picked out in the light of the sun shining behind the vid satellite that John had interfaced with. From above it would look like a white wagon wheel, a central cylinder with six "spokes". In reality, the station had three levels, with two of the projecting "spokes" on each level, situated opposite each other. Wide solar panels sprouted from the sides of each projection, and another circular solar energy collector blossomed from the top of the cylinder like some large, flat, golden flower. At the ends of all the stubby arms save one were dish antennae, each pointed downward, and the center of the upper panel also had a wide dish that slowly rotated to catch communications from other stations in the vicinity. The entire station spun on its axis, slowly and silently, twinkling lights on the station indicating where it was and showing that there was no appreciable power disruption.
"There's no radio traffic at all," John explained. "I can't get a visual on the airlock at the base and haven't yet gotten one of the docking arm that's at one end of the spokes. There doesn't seem to be any sign of power loss or hull breach from what I can see. But then again, this isn't the best resolution."
Jeff took in a deep breath. "Okay, Alpha, Sigma, get going in Thunderbird Three. Rho, you're with them. Epsilon, I want detailed schematics of that station as well as a list of all current experiments being conducted, and any other pathogens our people might encounter. Upload to Thunderbird Three while it's en route. Suits, even in atmospheric conditions, men. I don't want any of you coming back with something dangerous. And full decontamination procedures before getting back aboard Three, understood?"
"F-A-B," said Alan, his boyish face serious. Jeff looked each young man in the face before pressing the button that would send the couch down into the depths.
"Whoa!" Lou exclaimed in surprise as they disappeared. "Where are they going?"
"To our space ship, Thunderbird Three, Aunt Lou," Virgil explained. "If you come out to the balcony, you can see it launch." He turned to Kenny Malone, who had followed Alan up from the pod vehicle repair bay to see how a rescue was handled. "Coming, Kenny?"
"Oh, sure," Kenny replied absently, still very much not sure of what he had seen so far. It had been a shock to see Thunderbird Three, even with Alan as his guide, but nothing had prepared him for the change in his racing buddy when the mention of a space rescue was broached. Suddenly, the guy he joked with, talked with, was comfortable with, disappeared and an older, more focused, more mature Alan was revealed. ~I can see this Alan at the controls of that massive rocket,~ he realized. ~Has he always been this way? Which is the real Alan? The race car driver or the rocket jockey?~
"I remember the files I got made mention of a Thunderbird Three and gave a short description, but no vid or other pictures accompanied the note," she said as she followed Virgil out to the balcony. She glanced back to see Jeff stop before John's picture. ~That's an ingenious communication device. I didn't even know those "official IR" portraits were there when I toured the lounge last time I was here. It certainly keeps Jeff in visual contact with John. I wonder if the other boys' pictures do the same thing?~
"Now, both of you, keep an eye on the Round House," Virgil said, pointing to that structure.
"Why?" Lou asked, suddenly concerned.
"Because Thunderbird Three will launch through it..."
"Through it!" Lou was aghast. "My cats! What's going to happen to my cats?!" She made to run down the stairs to the pool level, but Virgil caught her firmly by the arm.
"Your kitties will be fine, Aunt Lou," he said clearly. "The Round House is soundproofed, and protected against the both the heat and the fuel residue of Three's engines as it launches. In fact, the whole building is shake proof. They'll feel no more than a tremor..."
"For cats, that's enough!" she cried, whipping her arm from his grasp. She hurried down the steps, Virgil right on her heels as she sprinted down to the pumice path that led from the villa. She could hear Jeff shouting from the balcony, and Virgil's breathing behind her as he gained on her. Finally, he got close enough to tackle her, bringing her to the ground even as he heard the slight noise that the irising door of the silo made as it opened. He moved up to secure her form beneath his as the roar of Thunderbird Three's engines filled the air and suddenly the red space ship leaped skyward, threading through the center of the Round House.
"Oh my God!" Lou cried in astonishment and awe as her head and eyes followed the ship's rapid ascent.
"Head down!" Virgil shouted in her ear as a wind, caused by the rocket's passing, blew bits of pumice and other debris their way. He pushed her face down toward the ground, and covered his own eyes with a hand for good measure. When things had calmed, he levered himself backwards and let her up.
She dusted herself off, wincing at a scrape on her arm. Turning, she pointed at him, then the villa, saying as she began to jog toward the guest house, "I have to check on my cats! Tell your father I'll be back soon!"
Virgil shook his head as he watched her go, then turned back toward the main house where Kenny still stood on the balcony, waving his arms and shouting something at him.
"Wow!" Virgil could hear Kenny's exclamation from the poolside. "That was awesome!"
"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Virgil had to say, smiling wryly as he mounted the stairs. "Sometimes I forget how magnificent that launch really is. But wait until you see my 'Bird take off. Now, that's really something!"
The two men entered the room to find Jeff talking to Penelope. John's and Alan's portraits were both active, and Tin-Tin was talking to them, but the aristocrat had all of the Commander's attention.
"... He has been there three days now, Commander, and he has tried to steer the conversation to the events in the Caribbean. I am not certain I can hold him off much longer," she was saying. She was dressed for riding, and was sitting or standing before a tree trunk that rose out of the picture. Her eyes flicked to Virgil as he walked past, a hand held up in silent greeting, then she focused again on Jeff. "What do you think should I tell him?"
Jeff shook his head slowly and let out a deep sigh. "I... I don't know. You know this man better than I do. You know what level of discretion you can expect from him."
"I promise you, Commander, that whatever I decide to tell Mr. Southern, I will not implicate your family in anyway," Penny said solemnly.
Jeff nodded. "I leave this in your hands then, Pink Lady. Just be careful. Interpol hasn't been entirely friendly to International Rescue lately, and they probably believe that we set that termite on them deliberately."
"I shall be discreet." Her head turned away briefly and returned. "Now I must go. He is coming. Goodbye, Commander." The picture winked out, replaced by the portrait Virgil had painted, the one with the strand of pink pearls she loved so well.
Jeff found himself at his desk, leaning his elbows on it, his forehead placed briefly in his hands. Then he glanced over at Alan's picture. "ETA, Sigma?"
"One hour fifteen, Commander," Alan said crisply. "We've achieved escape velocity and are beginning our orbital approach to the station. Alpha and Rho are going over the upload from Thunderbird Five."
"F-A-B, Thunderbird Three. Give base updates every fifteen minutes."
"F-A-B."
Jeff turned to John. "Thunderbird Five, I would like a download of the information you have received."
"F-A-B," John replied smartly. "Commencing download now."
The commander sat back as the files with the schematics of the space station arrived in his computer's memory. He opened one of the files, scrolling down, making mental notes of the placement of laboratories, air locks and living quarters. ~Big and ambitious. Probably a lot bigger than the cancer treatment station that Penny sent me the materials about. I just hope that nothing virulent has gotten loose to kill off the crew or anything.~
He was interrupted in his musings by a cough. Looking up, he saw Kenny standing before him, obviously uncomfortable. "Uh, sir?" the mechanic began hesitantly, not knowing the protocol for speaking during a rescue. "I'm going back down to work on the Rolls."
"Of course. Go ahead. I'll get Omicron up and send him down to lend you a hand," Jeff glanced at the clock on his computer. "It's well past time that one was out of bed."
"Thank you, sir," Kenny said, obviously relieved. "Oh, and sir? That rocket ship launch? That was so... awesome!"
Jeff smiled. "Yes, it is, isn't it? It moves me every time I see it."
"Yeah." There was a silence for a moment, then Kenny motioned toward the exit to the study. "I'll be going now."
"F-A-B, Agent 204," Jeff said formally, watching as Kenny backed up a few paces, then turned and walked quickly from the room.
Jeff shook his head. "Am I that intimidating?" he muttered. He glanced around the room. "Where's Lou?" he asked Virgil, who was at the piano.
"Gone to check on her cats. I had to tackle her before she could get too close to the Round House. Being in the building when Thunderbird Three launches is okay, but not being just outside, and from what I could see, she wasn't going to make it," Virgil informed him. He got up from his instrument and came to his father's desk. "What did Pink Lady have to say? Who is pestering her?"
"An Interpol officer, Bryce Southern. He appeared at Bongo-Bongo three days ago and has been trying to question her about what happened in the Caribbean." Jeff's shoulders slumped. "She's thinking of blowing her own cover."
xxxx
"Hey, Janice!" Hugh Bjorg called as he sat down at his desk. "Unity City called. They've got a lead on that gun for you!"
"Great," Janice replied sourly, brushing the over long bangs on her thick brown bob out of her eyes. "I'm still waiting on Interpol for a match on the other bullets found at the scene. It's taking them forever. What's the message?"
"That the gun's ballistic filings match those from a double murder that took place there recently." Hugh handed over the message over to his partner, who took it and glanced at the return call number. "Still think the Clarendon woman's story isn't complete?" he asked.
Janice tapped her stylus on the top of her desk in a rapid tattoo. "Yeah, I think there's something she's not telling us." She sat back in her chair and enumerated her points on her fingers. "We found the traces of her sister's hair and DNA in the room, her fingerprints on the car, and what might have been her footprints outside it. So we know she's been there. And that hypospray we found in the car indicates a powerful muscle relaxant and sedative were used on someone. Just not on Clarendon and not on Franks; the blood work shows us that. So, it makes sense that Franks used it on the sister. But where is she?" She spread her hands in a questioning gesture. "Somebody came in and pulled the two women out, and just in time; after seeing Franks's profile, I doubt he was looking to intentionally graze the Clarendon woman across the back of the head. So, who pulled them out and what did they do with Myles?"
"You're convinced there was more than one?"
Janice snorted irritably. "Yes, of course. According to eyewitness reports, there were at least two people involved in getting Clarendon to the hospital. And we found four different bullets at the scene; one belonging to Franks's gun, and the other three... still waiting on identification."
She glanced at her computer screen as a soft chime was heard. "And we may have that right now. Interpol has finally gotten back to me." She opened the missive and scanned down the information, then sat back again. "Damn! Only one bullet was matched, and its identity is uncertain."
Hugh stood and walked over to her desk. "Why's that?"
She looked up at her partner, pushing her chair away so he could see the email himself. "The bullet they matched is not from a registered gun. It matches one of a few found after a fire fight in the Anderbad Tunnel three years ago. The fire fight was between a Dr. Godber, his lackeys, and..."
Her partner gave her a puzzled frown as he read the email. "International Rescue?"
xxxx
Southern gave Penelope a puzzled look. "What did you just say?"
"I asked," Penelope replied succinctly, "why hasn't Interpol asked his Excellency what Peter Riordan's blood was doing on his beach."
"How... how did you know about that?"
She raised an eyebrow and an almost smug smile ghosted over her lips. "I have my sources." Her face became serious again. "In any case, that was the question you were going to ask me, was it not? How Peter Riordan's blood came to be on the beach of his Excellency, Carlos Esteban Alvarez's private cay in the Exumas when he was supposed to have been with me on the Seabird?"
Southern huffed out a breath and deflated in surprise. "Yes, it was. I was asked to come and see if I could uncover the real story about Mr. Riordan's demise. It was impossible for the man to be in two places at one time, but between your story and the forensic evidence, it seems as if he was."
Penelope paused, examining her companion's face and body language with a keen eye. "I understand that the blood was not easy to find, that it had been somewhat buried on the beach," she told him, fishing for confirmation.
"Yes, that was the report," he replied, nodding his head. "But..."
"Now, Mr. Southern, does that not suggest something to you? That perhaps his Excellency had something to hide? Perhaps he had a reason for not wanting Mr. Riordan's blood found on his beach?"
Southern huffed out another breath, this time sitting up straighter and saying in a slow, conciliatory tone, "Yes. It does. But that doesn't explain how..."
The aristocrat cut him off. "I am prepared to tell you 'how', Mr. Southern. But what I say to you must be between us. Not because of any danger to myself, but because of the Riordan family. There is something that they do not know about Peter that should remain secret. I must have your solemn word that what I am about to tell you goes no farther."
"I can't give that word, Lady Penelope, you know that! It's impossible!" Southern exploded into an exasperated tone. "I have a duty to my employer!"
"As I have to mine!" she shot back. "And you, Mr. Southern, you owe my employer far more than mere duty. You owe them your life!"
"What are you talking about?" he asked, now both confused and angry. "I owe no one..." He stopped mid-sentence as he caught the knowing expression on her face. "All right then! You say I owe your employer my life!" he cried indignantly. "Who is your bloody employer?"
She sat quietly, hands in her lap. Glancing down at them once, she met his gaze with an aloof and imperious air. "Have you never wondered how I came to be near that desolate place where the plutonium store was situated? Have you never wondered how you came to be in the back of my Rolls Royce? It was no accident, no coincidence, I assure you." She lifted her chin and said proudly, "My employer, Mr. Southern, is International Rescue."
