Author's Note: Jeff and Lou converse, but not with each other. Scott makes a surprising discovery. Thanks to Hobbeth for betareading.

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.


“Why do you ask about... him?” Kyrano responded, his face paling.

“To understand him. To... know the enemy,” Lou explained gently. “The more I know about him, the more I can help Jeff and International Rescue.” She glanced down and back up again, a serious expression on her face. “Kyrano, I believe that to keep International Rescue and the family secure, at some point we're going to have to take him down,” she said fervently. “Right now, he's got a lot of power that's not rightfully his to hold or use, but that he can wield against us. I need to know what he wants, what motivates him, and how far he is willing to go to get what he wants. And I need to know about these mind control powers Jeff says he has. We can't protect ourselves against them if we don't understand them.”

“I... I cannot speak of him. Not now, and not to you,” Kyrano said, his voice showing plainly his distress. “I have barely spoken to Mr. Tracy on the subject of my half brother, and he is closer to me than anyone save Tin-Tin. Still, he trusts me in this matter.” He looked at her reprovingly. “I hope you will as well.”

Lou sighed and glanced away. “I'm sorry, Kyrano. I didn't realize this would be so difficult for you.” Turning back, she met his gaze. “As for trust, Jeff told me he trusts you with his life and the lives of his sons. That's enough to satisfy me.”

“Good. Then let us drop this subject,” the retainer said, standing abruptly. “I will make a trip to Wellington within the next two days for the supplies you have requested. Now, I must return to my duties. Have a good day, Mrs. Myles.”

“You too, Kyrano,” Lou said as he left the kitchen without looking back. She shook her head in frustration and rubbed her face with one hand, muttering. “That could have gone a lot better.”

xxxx

Jeff came out from behind the desk, and motioned for Kenny to take a seat on Thunderbird Three's couch. He held the letter in his hand and read it through one more time as he joined the mechanic. “You say in your letter, Kenny, that you're doing this for your family's sake. What exactly does that mean?”

“Well, Mr. Tracy,” Kenny nervously began. “Having been here, and having seen the Thunderbirds in action, I see how dangerous it all can be, and how seriously you take it. I mean, I almost didn't know Alan when I was watching him on that rescue. He seemed like a different person, much more focused and intense. Then there's my work. Sometimes I'm away for weeks at a time, preparing a car for a race and traveling with it as part of the pit crew. I can't always get in touch with you if I need to.”

He held up his palms and sighed. “And frankly, I'm scared. That other agent, the one who died; he was like me, just a working stiff, with a wife and kids and all. I'd hate to leave my family behind like that; I just love them too much. Plus, there's the danger that they might be in because of my involvement. Look at Ms. Myles; she wasn't even an IR agent and not only did she get kidnapped and hurt because of the organization, but her sister did, too. Beth doesn't know anything about IR, and I can't bring myself to tell her. I don't want to take that risk.”

Looking Jeff in the eye he said, “Alan has a mechanic for racing whenever he needs one, and so do you for jobs like this Rolls, as long as I can fit it into my work schedule. I'll be glad to help out that way. But not as an agent. I can't risk possibly being identified with International Rescue. There's just too much at stake.”

Jeff sat quietly for a moment, looking at Kenny with understanding as he marshalled his thoughts. Then he said, “Before I accept this resignation, I want you to know that I understand your concerns, truly I do. I've had a lot of hard thinking to do about the agents' network and the role it plays in our organization. That's why I'll be talking with our operatives and determining what tasks each agent is qualified to do and assigning various levels of responsibility according to those qualifications. If I were to limit your involvement to being the 'mechanic on call' as it were, would you consider remaining with us?” He smiled. “You've already proven to be a valuable member of the network and I'd really hate to lose you.”

Kenny thought for a moment, then solemnly shook his head. “No. I can't. I'm sorry. I appreciate your compliments and all, but my work schedule wouldn't always allow me to drop what I was doing and fulfill my role as 'mechanic on call'. In fact, you were lucky to get me for this job. I'm supposed to be back in San Diego next week to start work on the car José de Casas will be running in the Paris to Dakar race.”

Jeff sighed heavily, and smiled ruefully. “Well, I had to try at least once to change your mind.” He folded up the letter and said with regret, “Agent 204, I accept your resignation. As stated in my letter, your stipend will continue for the next three months and if you like, we will remove the communications equipment from your home.”

“I think it would be wise, Mr. Tracy. We'll probably need to move to a bigger place soon anyway,” Kenny said, relief mixed with sadness in his tone.

“Right. I'll schedule it with our tech team.” Jeff stood, and offered his hand. Kenny followed and took Jeff's hand to shake it.

“I'd better get back downstairs and see what help I can be with that canopy,” the mechanic said.

“Right. See you at lunch.”

Kenny left, and Jeff sat down heavily behind his desk. He opened his wall safe, and added the letter to a file folder. That's eight so far. I really wish I could have convinced him to stay on, but I do understand his reasons. Peter Riordan's death was like a stone in a pond, and is still sending ripples out through IR. I wonder how many more agents we'll lose before I hear from everyone?

xxxx

While Jeff was talking with Kenny, Scott took the unexpected package to his room. Sitting before his computer, he opened the letter he found in the packet and unfolded it to read.

Dear Mr. Tracy,

Our firm was selected to administer the estate of Mr. Peter Aidan Riordan, late of Unity City. As per his wishes, we have sent this computer CD copy of his last will and testament to you, his executor,...

Executor? Scott thought in shock. Since when?

... so that you may peruse the document and become familiar with it. We will, of course, await your response before submitting the will to Probate Court prior to final distribution of Mr. Riordan's assets.

You will find, as part of the document, a video statement from Mr. Riordan to you personally. There are other such statements to be distributed to various of his heirs and assigns, and we have those in our files, to be released when the will goes to Probate. We ask that you view the enclosed video before opening the file containing the will.

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter. We look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely,
Ms. Dena Arianiss, Esq.

Scott sat back, shaking his head at this sudden responsibility. Why did Peter pick me to be his executor? And why didn't he say anything about it, or ask me if I'd do it? He picked up the tiny disk, gazing at the label on it, then opened the drive on his computer and slipped it in. With his stylus, he chose a vid player to show the file, and let it play.

Peter's smiling, freckled face appeared before Scott, eliciting a small gasp from him. “Hey, there Scotty-me-lad!” the recorded Peter said brightly. “Hopefully, by the time ye see this, I'm an old man an' have died in my bed surrounded by my children and lots of grandchildren.” The smile faded. “Actually, if ye see this particular version, I'll have died young. I intend to redo this recording at intervals as I age an' if I find need to add codicils to my will. I hope ye remember when I asked ye to be my executor. It was just before the weddin', at the stag party, and I can't blame ye if in all the craic that was going on ye'd forgotten.”

Damn! I had forgotten, Pete, Scott moaned to himself. I didn't take you seriously that day, you know. I thought we had years and years ahead of us to make such decisions.

Peter cleared his throat. “In any case, my will is supposed to be sent to ye with this vid. Ye'll be surprised at what I did with that little stipend I earned workin' for yer family. I may not have been able to make money hand over fist like yer Da, but I've seen to it that my children will be able to go to college, and that Melissa'll be looked after to a certain extent, at least financially. The attorneys have all my paperwork: the trust funds, the life insurance, the bonds; it's all with them. And my will is very specific about who gets what, too. There should be no quarrel with my family at all; e'en though they disowned me, I've remembered them. I know I can count on ye to be firm an' keep them from stirring up any muck.”

Now Peter turned very serious, and his voice was soft, so soft that Scott had to turn the volume up a bit. “Now, I need to ask somethin' personal of ye, Scott. I wouldn't ask this of any other man in the world. But I trust ye, more than I trust my own brother.” He swallowed heavily. “Look after them for me. Please. Show P.J. an' Quinn what a real man is like. Look after Kaylie like she was yer own daughter; be like a father to them all. And my Melissa? My beautiful, darling Melissa. Please, Scott, make sure no one takes advantage of her. Make sure that if she remarries, it's because the sod loves her like I do. Don't let her settle for less than the best, in anything.”

He glanced down for a moment then looked up to stare into the camera, right into Scott's eyes, it seemed. “I know I can trust ye to do this because I know, in yer own way, ye care for Melissa, too. Ye always have, for my sake. And, if ye an' she were to...” He paused for a moment, composing himself, then continued.. “And ye should know, Scotty, that she doesn't know about the little... erm... arrangement I have with yer family. I didn't think it wise to tell her. I know this may make yer job harder, an' I'm sorry for that. I figure ye can think on yer feet, and ye'll come up with something to answer her questions about where the money she'll inherit came from.”

His eyes dropped again briefly, and he cleared his throat once more, then smiled wryly. “I know ye'll do what's best for her. It's the convincing her that's the hard part.”

Peter chuckled at his own joke and smile changed, to a wide, genuine one that matched the twinkle in his eyes. “Ye've been a good friend, Scotty-me-lad, and I appreciate ye taking care of this little matter for me. Hopefully I didn't die doing somethin' stupid in my taxi or of some wastin' disease. If I could choose a way to die, it would be to die while makin' a difference. Unfortunately, that's not my choice now, is it?” He grinned. “In any case, no matter how I met my Maker, ye be sure to take those brothers of yers to a good Irish pub and lift a pint o' the black stuff in my honor. And keep on making a difference, Scotty. I'm proud to have known a man like ye. Farewell.”

The vid stopped. Scott let out one long, soft sigh. Seeing his old friend like this almost made him forget that Peter lay under two meters of good Irish loam in a Derry cemetery. Almost made him forget his guilt about his part in putting his friend there. Almost, but not quite.

“I'll do what I can for Mel and the kids, Pete. I promise,” he murmured. “It's the least I can do to make up for my lack of initiative.”

Just then his wrist telecomm beeped. He turned it toward his face and activated it.

“Scott?” Jeff's face, as seen on that tiny screen, looked tired. “I'm available now.”

“Okay. I'm on my way.” Scott pushed the eject button on the disk drive and drew the shiny little circle out. Slipping it back into its envelope, he took it with him as he headed to the lounge for the long postponed talk with his father.

xxxx

Eleanor let herself into the Round House. She pursed her lips as she ran a critical eye over the furnishings in the common room. I'll have to talk to Jeff about some renovations in here. The furniture is far too dark for such a bright area. Shaking her head, she stepped over to the room that she knew had been assigned to Lou, and was about to press on the buzzer when a strange sing-song noise made her pause and turn toward the nearby corridor.

Hmm. She said she had planned to wash her clothes. So she must be in the laundry room. But land's sakes, what is that noise?

Eleanor walked briskly down the hall and through the open door of the laundry area. She found Lou there, her back to the doorway, her hips swaying back and forth as she folded a towel, and realized that the noise she'd heard was Lou trying to sing.

“My, my, at Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender. Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny...”

Thankfully, Eleanor didn't have to hear the rest of the song because, when she entered, a large black cat who sat on the clothes dryer looked up at Eleanor's approach. He stood, stretched, and jumped down to investigate the newcomer. Lou noticed this motion out of the corner of her eye and the song trailed off as she turned her head to see what Midnight found so interesting. Her eyes widened to see Eleanor standing there, gazing down at Midnight, who was giving her sensible shoes a good sniffing.

“Mrs. Tracy!” Lou said in surprise as she turned around. “You nearly gave me a good scare there.” She removed her earphones then, reaching to her belt, she fingered her mini player, turning it off.

Eleanor glanced up at Lou, and asked, “Which one is this?”

“That's Midnight, my only male,” Lou said. She took a few steps towards the cat and scooped him up. “Now, boy, you need to behave yourself,” she scolded.

The older woman reached out to scratch the cat between his ears and stroke his fur once or twice. “He's a sleek one, isn't he?”

“Yes, he is,” Lou replied, as the cat moved his head so that his mouth rested on the short sleeve of her v-neck t-shirt. “Oh no, you don't!” she warned, moving him away and upward. “No smurgling!”

Eleanor frowned a bit, puzzled. “Smurgling? What's that?”

“It's when an adult cat... like this brat...” Lou moved the cat's mouth away from her neck, “...tries to 'nurse' on an object or person. This one will lick my shirt or a blanket or whatever he can get his mouth on while 'kneading' with his front paws.” She shook her head. “The other cats will knead, too, but he feels the urge to do more. Might have something to do with being weaned too soon; I'm not sure.” She moved Midnight again. “One day last year I was sleeping on the couch in my living room and he climbed up on my chest and started smurgling on my neck while I slept.” Chucking, she added. “Gave me a hickey.”

Eleanor chuckled, too, and reached out to stroke Midnight again. “We always only had barn cats. They were good at mousing, but they stayed outside.”

“So Jeff told me. Midnight here is a good mouser, and so is his mother, Snowball,” Lou replied as she moved toward the door. “Let me return him to the room with the girls. I'll be back in just a minute.”

Lou returned to find Eleanor automatically folding the towels that had come from the dryer. She bit her tongue about the way they were folded, and went to join Jeff's mother. Picking up a pair of panties, she asked, “So, what can I help you with, Mrs. Tracy?”

“Nothing in particular, Lucinda,” Eleanor said as she patted the neatly folded pile of towels. “I just wanted to see how things were going here and have a little chat with you. There's no reason why we can't be civil and polite with each other.”

“That's very true, Mrs. Tracy,” Lou said, smiling even though she didn't know where Eleanor was going in the conversation. “The accommodations here are very nice,” she added. “My cats and I are all very comfortable.”

“I'm glad you are,” the older woman said, with a small smile. “And I hope you continue to be comfortable for the rest of your visit.”

Lou couldn't be sure if there was an added stress on the word “visit”, but she decided to act as if there hadn't been. “We will be. It was very thoughtful of Jeff to let me bring my kitties.” She picked up some shorts and began to fold them.

“Yes, it was,” Eleanor replied, biting her tongue to keep from saying what she really felt about her son's incomprehensible action. She watched Lou fold some more clothes, nightwear this time. My, but she likes skimpy tops on her pajamas! And such clingy fabrics, too!

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” Lou asked to fill the lull in the conversation.

“Why, yes, there is,” Eleanor began. “What has Jeff told you about your duties as a new agent? He wasn't very specific with us this morning.”

Lou shook her head. “No, he wasn't. And he hasn't been very specific with me either, at least, not yet. He was talking a little about my possibly being a security consultant, using my experience in surveillance and research to help hide International Rescue more thoroughly. But that's all he's said about the agent position so far.” She put the last pair of pajama pants on the pile, and began matching the few pairs of socks that she had used. “His comment this morning took me by surprise.”

“Really?”

The tone of disbelief made the younger woman glance over at the older, a wary look on her face. “Yes, really,” Lou replied, trying to seem as non-confrontational and polite as possible. “Sounds like you don't believe me. Why not?”

“I'm never sure when to believe you.” Eleanor folded her arms and sighed. “I might as well come out and be blunt about this. Are you and Jeff going to pick up your... ah... relationship where you left off?”

Lou closed her eyes and counted to ten. Adding the last pair of socks to the pile of folded clothes, she slid her rear onto the corner of the table top, with her right foot barely touching the floor for balance, and the other dangling. She put both hands on her left thigh, one covering the other, and turned her head to meet Eleanor's gaze. “What do you mean by 'relationship', Mrs. Tracy? If you're talking about our friendship, then yes. We've rekindled that, and have found that we're closer than we were before.”

It was her turn to fold her arms across her chest. “But if you're speaking of our alleged affair, then the answer is 'No', simply because there never was any relationship like that in the first place.”

The two women stared at each other for a long moment, then Eleanor said quietly, “So you said. But I never trusted you.”

“And so Luci said. And so Jeff said, and still says,” the younger woman forcefully reminded her. “And I was never, ever the one you or Luci had to trust! Jeff was, always.” Lou lifted her hands, palms up. “I can't believe that after all this time--Gordon's what, twenty-four now? I can't believe that you still think there was an affair! For God's sake, Mrs. Tracy, why? Luci trusted Jeff when he said we didn't have an affair. Why don't you trust your son?”

Lou's angry outburst took Eleanor aback. “I know what I saw! I know the signs! Late nights at work, not being able to talk about what was going on, praising you while bringing home bouquets of flowers. I saw it all!” she shouted. Then she lowered her voice and said bitterly, “And wives can be deceived. No one knows that better than I do.” Suddenly, she blinked and gasped at the look of shocked comprehension on the other woman's face. She put her hands to her mouth, uttering a strangled, “Oh, God. I didn't mean...!” through her fingers.

The younger woman stood, breathed deeply in and out twice to calm herself, then stepped close to the old woman, not crowding her, not touching her. “Mrs. Tracy?” Lou asked in a soft voice. “Did your husband...” she thought hard to come up with Jeff's father's name, “...did Grant have an affair?”

“That's none of your business!” Eleanor cried, whirling away from her. “It's not anybody's business but my own!”

Lou moistened her lips and took one small step closer. “Mrs. Tracy, if that's the reason you think Jeff and I had an affair, then it is my business.” She resisted the urge to put her hands on Eleanor's shoulders and turn her around. Instead, she waited, hands at her sides. The laundry machine's drum, full of clothes, rolled around, filling the silence between the two women with a gentle rumbling noise.

At last, the older woman shook her head. “No. It's not. It's none of your business or concern. What happened was between me and my late husband and no one else.” She turned around, spots of dark pink embarrassment on her weathered cheeks. Lifting her chin, she added haughtily, “That included Jeff, and still does. I will deny anything you may say to him on the subject. I will not risk sullying Jeff's good memories of Grant or the high regard in which he held his father. Nor the boys' memories of their grandfather, either.” She pointed a gnarled finger at the younger woman. “So I suggest you keep it to yourself, Lucinda, and do what you can to expedite your return to the mainland.” And with that, Eleanor spun on her heel and marched out.

“Now, wait just a minute, Mrs. Tracy!” Lou called angrily, following her adversary into the hall. Eleanor kept her face forward, moving quickly toward the exit. But Lou was younger, and faster, and headed the older woman off before she could reach the door to the outside.

“Out of my way!” Eleanor cried, trying to maneuver her way around the human roadblock.

“No. Not until you hear me out,” Lou responded, her voice very serious. Eleanor stopped trying to get to the door, and stood there, her posture belligerent.

“You and I have more in common than you think, Mrs. Tracy. My husband had an affair, too, but unlike your Grant, Greg walked out on me. He put all the onus of the divorce on me, saying I drove him to have the affair, simply because I couldn't give him children.” Lou paused, swallowing hard to compose herself.

“Couldn't or wouldn't?” Grandma spat.

“Couldn't. I had surgery for fibroids...”

This seemed to anger Eleanor even more. “I've heard enough. You and I may have something in common, but you will never understand. And it doesn't excuse you for what you did when poor Lucy was pregnant with Gordon. Now, please stand aside. I have work to do.”

Lou gaped at her, unbelieving, then moved aside and motioned with her arms that Eleanor could proceed. The older woman marched out the door, and Lou watched her go. Then she turned back to the leather sofa and collapsed onto it, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“Damn!” she said, shaking her head. “That could have gone a hell of a lot better.”

xxxx

“Hey, Dad,” Scott said as he entered the lounge.

“Hello, Scott,” Jeff replied, tapping a few keys on his computer. “Let me just finish this tech team request and I'll be right with you.”

Scott smiled slightly. “Installing the communications equipment in Lou's place?”

“No,” Jeff said, sounding distracted. “Removing it from Kenny's.”

“What? Why?” Scott's voice conveyed his shock. “Is he resigning?”

Jeff tapped a last key with finality. The request he had just made would activate their technical team, three specially chosen agents who were responsible for installing or removing the proprietary communications equipment that IR provided for their agents to use. They were very creative about how they installed things, and could usually finish a job within 48 hours after receiving an order. This is an example how a more specialized agents' network could work, Jeff thought. Though they work together, they live in different parts of the world and have no contact outside of their assignments. And only one of them knows who is behind IR. He sighed quietly. I hope we don't lose any of this team. It would take some time to replace any of them.

“Done,” he said. Motioning to the sofa, he got up from behind his desk. “Sit down, son.”

Scott did as his father bid, parking himself in one corner of Thunderbird Three's sofa, leaning on the arm rest, and putting one ankle on the opposite knee. Jeff sat in the other corner, and mirrored his son's position.

“In answer to your question, yes, Kenny is resigning. He's afraid for his family,” Jeff said sadly. “I'm very disappointed that we're losing him, but I can understand his dilemma, and his feelings.”

“It's a shame,” Scott agreed, shaking his head. “Does Alan know?”

“Kenny says he talked it over with Alan, so I assume he does.” Jeff straightened up and asked, “So, what do you want to talk about?”

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat and grabbed his elevated ankle with one hand. “Well, first of all, I want to apologize for going off on you after Peter's death. I've had time to think about what I said and I realize I was out of line, especially since I learned how Peter viewed what happened.”

“So, who told you what he said?” Jeff asked solemnly.

“Parker did. I guess I never realized what working for IR meant to the agents,” Scott explained. “And we do need them. I saw that very clearly in the... incident with Aunt Lou.”

“For what it's worth, Scott, you made some very good points about the agents, ones that I'm trying to address as we revamp the network.” Jeff smiled wryly. “Sometimes I need somebody to kick me in the ass and tell me what I'm doing wrong.” Pointing a finger at Scott, he smiled wider and said, “Just don't make a habit of it.”

His son chuckled. “I'll try not to.” Sobering, he added, “I still think I should have been the one to create the diversion. I could have been in and out so fast those bastards wouldn't have known what hit them.”

“I'll keep that in mind should we ever encounter that type of situation again,” Jeff said. “Though I hope to hell we don't ever do.”

“Amen to that,” the younger man replied. “I also want to apologize for what I said about Penelope. That was way out of line.”

The father nodded. “You're right about that, but I'm not the one you should be apologizing to. Penelope had no idea what she was walking into. It's not her fault that she was recognized. And she's been agonizing over it ever since.” He made a rueful face. “My response to her didn't help things, either.”

“Nor did Virgil's declaration of love,” Scott added.

“Hmm, yes,” Jeff mused aloud. “Another mistake of mine, asking Virgil to take her home so he would have a chance to talk to her about it.” He shook his head slowly. “I seem to be batting .1000 when it comes to personal blunders.”

“I wouldn't say that, Dad.” Scott jiggled his elevated foot. “You seem to have hit it off well with Aunt Lou.”

That brought a deep chuckle from Jeff. “I guess so, though her comment about being 'a regular agent' was a bit off-putting. I need to finalize things between us in regards to the agent position.”

“And only that?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For the moment, yes,” Jeff parried mildly. “Anything else will come along in its own time.”

The two men fell silent, then the elder asked, “Scott, why did you put up such a fight about helping Lou out? I mean, I'd have thought you'd be more willing to jump her aid.” He smiled slyly. “After all, you proposed to her once...”

Scott shook his head, his face flushing a bit pink at the reminder of his childhood folly. “I guess it's because you've been so adamant that we not get involved in affairs outside the definition of 'rescue'. Like the affair with the gas drilling platform.”

“Does that still sting, Scott?” Jeff asked, concerned. “I would have thought you'd have come to terms with my reprimand in that case.”

“Well, yes, I have, but sometimes it seems you have a double standard when it comes to the word 'rescue',” the younger man explained. “And nothing has stopped you from sending Penelope out to interfere in problems that were best left to the police, like Professor Borrender's kidnapping. I felt that Aunt Lou's problem would have been better addressed by local law enforcement, that's all.”

“Well, if it had, Lou's sister would almost certainly be dead, and Lou herself taken away to meet up with our enemy, Belah Gaat,” Jeff reminded him.

“Possibly. Instead, Lou's sister is alive, but Lou herself is most likely under suspicion of murder and being hunted by the police,” Scott countered. “I hope to God that we didn't leave behind evidence that could link IR to the murder, or to us.”

“Me, too,” the older man said fervently. When there was a lengthy pause, Jeff asked, “Have you heard from Melissa lately?”

Scott colored again. “Uh, yeah. She's been having trouble with her parents, especially her father, trying to run her life. She wants to go back to Unity City and he's trying to keep her in Ireland.” He reached into his shirt pocket to show his father the disk. “In fact, I just got a letter from a law firm about Pete's will. Seems I'm executor of his estate.”

“Really?” Jeff commented, frowning. “Sounds to me like you're surprised about this.”

“I was. He asked me during the stag party, but I thought he was joking. Turns out he wasn't.”

“Looks like you've got a trip to Unity City in your future,” his father stated. “It's a pretty popular place with you boys right now.”

Just as Scott was about to respond to Jeff's comment, there was a buzz from Jeff's telecomm. He put up a finger to temporarily forestall any discussion from Scott, and answered the call. Alan's grimy face appeared in the tiny screen.

“Yes, Alan?”

“Dad, I've finally gotten hold of Lady Penelope and she would like to speak with you. I'm transferring the call to your vidphone.”

“All right, Alan, and thank you. Jeff out.” He glanced over at Scott. “Can we pick this up later, son?”

“Yeah, but I think I've said what I need to,” the younger man said, getting to his feet.

“Okay, Scott,” Jeff replied, standing and stretching. “And about those apologies? I accept them. Consider the matters closed.”

Scott smiled. “Thanks, Dad. Talk to you later.”

“Right.” Jeff returned to his desk. The vidphone was beeping for his attention and he took a deep breath before he answered it.

“Hello, Penny. It's good to hear from you...”

xxxx

The satellite phone on Eddie Kerr's desk rang. He left his private washroom, wiping his hands on a soft towel as he did so. There weren't many people who had the number for this particular phone; most of them were his “sources”, people who regularly fed him tips for his particularly hard-hitting, televid news exposé and opinion show, “Sight Unseen”.

Picking up the device, he plugged in his headset, then pressed the “answer” button and growled, “Kerr here.”

There was no picture; a precaution most of Kerr's sources liked to take. A voice he had only heard a couple of times before responded. “Good afternoon, Mr. Kerr. I hope you are well.”

“I don't have time for polite pleasantries, lady. Tell me what you've got,” he said bluntly, checking his watch.

“All right. There was a man murdered, shot in the head, near Portland, Maine a week or more ago. His name was James Clayton Franks. Four bullets were recovered from the scene. One of them was from Franks's gun. Two were from unidentified pistols. But the fourth one was very interesting.”

“Yeah? Define 'interesting',” Kerr snapped even as he took notes in his PDA.

“It was identified as being from the same gun that was used in a firefight in the Anderbad Tunnel three years ago. A fight in which agents of International Rescue were involved.”

“International Rescue? That is interesting.” Kerr's eyes gleamed as he listened. “So, has this information been released?”

“No, it has not, even though Interpol has verified it to the Portland police.”

“How sure is it that this gun belonged to an IR agent?” Kerr asked.

“A near certainty. None of the other people in the firefight walked away from it, and those who survived are in jail on kidnapping or conspiracy charges. All of the International Rescue personnel were seen leaving the tunnel, intact. The bullet was removed from one of the fatalities and did not fit any of the guns retrieved from the scene.”

“Any fingerprints on it?” Kerr was already thinking of people who could help him confirm or deny this source's statement.

“None, in either case. But at the site of the Franks murder, there was evidence that footprints and fingerprints had been removed.”

“Is there anyone who witnessed this murder?” the reporter asked.

“There were two women involved, both of them victims of an alleged kidnapping attempt by Franks. One of them was hospitalized, and is now at home. The other is missing.”

“Names?”

The voice chuckled. “I think I have given you enough, Mr. Kerr. The rest you can find out for yourself. Have fun, Mr. Kerr.”

The line went dead, and Kerr looked at the phone in surprise. “That's strange. They didn't wait to make payment arrangements.” He scrolled down the notes he had taken, and tweaked them as he went, making sure they were clear to him. Then he saved the file for future retrieval. “Who can I hand this to?” he wondered aloud, then he shook his head. “No. I'm handling this one myself. I missed out on uncovering the secret of the century three years ago. I won't miss out this time.”

He sat down behind his desk, and activated his computer. “Hmm. International Rescue gets involved in a kidnapping, then covers up the indications that they'd been on the scene. Very suspicious. I wonder what other illegal activities they might be hiding.” He smiled as he began searching the web. “I'll start with Mr. Franks and see where he might lead me.”

No notes

No disclaimer