Chapter 3

John Tracy heard the distress call first. At half time, with the score 31-0, he had left the living room with its new wall-sized, 3D-TV, and gone upstairs to the loft in Grandma's house in California to monitor broadcasts. John held licenses in every form of radio communication, and often had conversations with people all around the world. Today, the aircraft frequencies had caught his attention.
He raced downstairs, past Grandma's framed photo of the Tracy nebula that he had discovered in his graduate school research, past the photo of older brother Scott receiving the Distinguished Flying Cross, past the photo of younger brother Alan getting the trophy for his first Grand Prix win, past the photo of his younger brother Gordon receiving the gold medal in the Olympics, past the plaque that Virgil received commemorating his first place finish in the national piano competition.  His father and brothers, hearing him tear down the steps, turned from where they sat on the oversized couch.
"Father," John said breathlessly, "I picked up a mayday from an airliner!"
Scott put an arm on the back of the couch. "Where? When? Which aircraft?"
Jeff Tracy turned in his seat. "Has Air Rescue been notified?"
"Yes," John said, circling the couch so that he could face the rest of his family, "and I picked up chatter between the pilots and air traffic control. They're calling the aircraft engineers. There's something wrong with the hydraulic system."
"What happened?" Virgil asked.
"The pilots heard a loud pop! and the plane started to descend. They regained control through the backup systems, but just barely. They're hoping to make it to Parola Sands airport."
"That's just down the road," Gordon said.
"How many souls on board?" Jeff asked.
"The pilot said 138. It's a modern AC-class jet."
Scott turned to Jeff. "Parola Sands doesn't have the personnel or type of equipment to deal with that kind of emergency, Father."
Jeff turned to John. "How far are they away?"
"At current speed, a little over an hour."
"Air Rescue could barely make it from their nearest station by that time," Virgil pointed out.
"It could take up to an hour just to call the rescue squad to the planes and get them in the air," Scott pointed out.
"We could help," Alan said.
"How about it, Father," Scott said. "We've all had paramedic training when we served as volunteer firefighters in Kansas. You, me, and Gordon have had additional rescue training in the service."
Jeff stood and faced his sons. All now were strapping young men. Scott, at six foot two, took after him the most with the dark brown hair that Jeff had had at thirty. Virgil, at six foot even, most resembled Lucy in face and temperament, despite his large muscular build. John equaled Scott at six foot two, but had a slim frame and blond--almost white--hair that curled in the front (the boys called it "the superhero curl"). Gordon at five foot eleven was the slimmest, with reddish-blond hair. Alan at six foot one sported blond hair and a sturdy frame. Jeff had no doubt they were all equal to any task asked of them.
"What is it, Father?" Scott asked. "You look as if you're about to cross the point of no return."
"Do I?" Jeff asked. "Yes, of course, we have to help. Gather the first aid kits and some extra blankets. Alan will drive the minivan."
"We're going, too," Tin-Tin called.
Jeff turned to the kitchen entrance. Grandma had invited Kyrano and his daughter Tin-Tin to spend Christmas with them at her new house in California. They were Buddhists, but always part of the Tracy Christmases since they moved to the U.S., and they had stayed through New Year's. The two women and Kyrano had looked on while the Tracy men talked about the plane.
"I've completed my paramedic training," Tin-Tin added.
"I will come," Kyrano said. "You will need every pair of hands."
"You're not going to leave me behind!" Grandma insisted.
"Okay!" Jeff said. "Alan, you drive the minivan. Let's move!"

Alan, the professional race car driver, sped down the road toward the airport. He found few cars on the road this holiday afternoon; this part of the desert road was not well-traveled even on regular days. Traffic tended to come and go from the other side of the airport--the road that went to L.A. and San Diego.
"This wasn't on the half-time news," Scott said, "so we shouldn't run into people driving to the airport to watch the plane come in."
"The news services haven't covered a plane in flight in distress since the Mobile crash six years ago," Virgil observed.
"Yeah, you don't want a plane crashing right on the curiosity-seekers," Gordon said.
"Where's the plane coming from, John?" Alan asked, keeping an eye on the road and the speedometer. All they needed now was an automated speed monitor calling a patrol car to pull them over.
"East northeast," John said, looking out the window in that direction. 
"Okay, I'll park the van on the access road parallel to the east runway."
The access road was little more than a gravel path next to the airport. They had used it mostly to get to their private hangar where Jeff's personal jet currently rested. Alan drove off the gravel into the flat sand next to the road and stopped the car. Everyone got out.
John put on a headset and pulled out his oversized binoculars, generally used for casual stargazing. Meanwhile, Jeff scanned the airport with his power binoculars.
"They've got fire trucks and ambulances parked near the runway," Jeff said.
John put a hand to his headphones. "The pilot just radioed that he thinks he can make it to the runway." He raised the binoculars to his eyes and scanned east-northeast. He put them down and pointed. "There it is."
A tiny, sleek plane in the distance grew larger by the second.
"No smoke," Scott said. "It must be an internal problem."
"Landing gear coming in place," Jeff said, looking through his binoculars. "No problem there."
Virgil also had binoculars. "Flaps aren't in position."
"Yeah," Scott said. "It's rocking back and forth."
"They're probably having trouble keeping it under control," Alan said.
Now that the plane was in clear view, they could plainly see that the pilots were struggling to keep it on a steady course.
"It looks like it's trying to tumble," Tin-Tin observed.
"I'm wondering what I would do," Virgil said, and the rest of them mumbled agreement. All the Tracy brothers, and Tin-Tin, had learned how to fly planes before learning how to drive cars. The brothers, in addition, had all taken astronaut training.
For a breathtaking minute, it seemed as if the plane would make the runway. Scott, Virgil, and John made hand motions as if they could push the air around the plane to make it descend safely.
"Come on, baby," Jeff muttered.
Suddenly, the plane dipped off the path, nose first, and struck the ground. They heard a sickening crunch before the plane split into three pieces.
"Into the van," Jeff shouted.
They crowded in. The minivan bumped along the desert flat toward the plane. From the side windows, they could see the ambulance and fire trucks converging.
"The fuel tank had to be nearly empty," Jeff observed. "No fire."
Alan stopped the van a distance away. They piled out of the minivan and opened the back doors, grabbing first aid kits and blankets. Running to the plane, they met passengers already stumbling out of the wreckage. 
"Anyone hurt?" Jeff called, and the rest of his party repeated the call. Almost immediately, they were answered with "Over here!" or "Help! Help!" They scattered to aid the victims.
A man hurrying from the plane met Alan and John. "Please! My wife! She's wedged in and I can't get her out." The man turned and sprinted back to the plane, Alan and John ran after him. This was the middle section and when they stepped inside on one end, they could see out the other end. In between lay a wreck of twisted and broken seats, and debris from the overhead compartments. People groaned and writhed in what was left of their seats. Alan heard a small boy's voice crying, "Mommy, Mommy!" He and John paused and exchanged a look. "I'll get him," Alan said. John nodded and followed the man.   
Making his way around the debris, Alan came to a little boy patting the back of a limp woman leaning forward in the seat, head down, held only in place by the seat belt. The boy turned to Alan. "Mommy won't wake up!"
Alan checked the woman's vital signs, but could tell even before he did that Mommy was not going to wake up. "Come on," he said to the boy, and picked him up.
"No!" screamed the boy. "Mommy! I want my Mommy!" He kicked and struggled in Alan's arms. Alan approached a woman in a firefighter's uniform and handed her the boy. He pointed. "His mother's over there," he said softly. "She didn't make it."
"Are you all right?" she said, addressing Alan.
"Yes, I'm not a passenger."
"Then you shouldn't be here," the firefighter said.
"I came to help. I'm a certified paramedic."
"Then you should have a paramedic's badge or something."
Alan had no answer. He walked away, using his palm to wipe his wet face. It was too much like when he had lost his own mother.
Meanwhile, Scott checked the flight crew. Within minutes, he determined that pilot, co-pilot, and navigator had all perished. A uniformed airport security officer poked his head in what was left of the cockpit. "All dead," Scott said to him, sadly. "They gave their lives to try to save the passengers."
The officer nodded. "You okay, buddy?"
"Yes. I'm an Air Force captain on leave just near here. I came to see if I could help."
"You should have put your uniform on before coming here," the officer said. "We don't need civilians poking around."
"Right now, you need all the help you can get!" Scott protested, and walked past the officer before he really lost his temper.
Once the professional first responders realized that the Tracys and Kyranos knew what they were doing and not getting in the way, they allowed them to stay on and render aid. Air Rescue arrived in helijets just as the last of the passengers--live, injured, or dead--were being taken away. The Federal National Transportation Safety Board crash investigators took statements and then sent the first responders away.
They all went back to the minivan, silently. Alan started the van and proceeded up the road. Airport security directed them around the media trucks and gawkers who had shown up since the crash. No one said anything on the ride back, or when they came in the house. All of their clothes had been stained with the blood or vomit of the victims. The two ladies retired to the upstairs showers; the men lined up at the downstairs facilities.
Alan absent-mindedly flipped on the TV. "...earlier this afternoon, we watched the greatest comeback in football history!" the announcer proclaimed with glee, "42 to 34, the final score!"
The Tracy men stared at the screen as if the announcer was from Mars.

As they emerged from the shower, the Tracy men again plopped onto the couch wearing their bathrobes, toweling their hair. With the football festivities over, the station played a movie: It's A Wonderful Life. They watched the film silently as Kyrano padded into the kitchen. Jeff tried to wave him over, but Kyrano waved a friendly, if weary, negation.
"If I knew how to cook, I'd join him just to take my mind off...," Virgil said, the first words spoken since they had returned. The others simply nodded.
Kyrano softly announced supper, and they all took their usual places around the kitchen table. Tin-Tin sat by her father, her hair wrapped in a towel. Grandma's damp hair hung limp. They ate without conversation, speaking only to ask for the coffee or a dish to be passed. The tinkling clash of silverware with plates filled the void.
"Another great meal, Kyrano," Jeff said softly as he pushed his plate aside; the others murmured agreement. They all helped clear the table and stack the dishes in the washer; then they sat again while Grandma proudly dished out the apple pie.
"You know, Dad," Scott said between bites, "it ought to be possible now to design a vehicle which can help in these kinds of situations."
"Yeah," Virgil said, "Tracy Technologies has the means. If we can build moon vehicles and shelters, we ought to be able to design heavy-duty machinery for use right here on Earth."
"That guy that I was with in astronaut training could do it," John interjected. "He was always sketching aircraft designs in class. They were pretty astounding."
"What did you say everyone called him?" Gordon asked, "Brains?"
"Didn't you hire him, Father?" Alan asked.
Jeff nodded.
Scott held out his arm and let his forearm dangle at a 90 degree angle. "You could design an aircraft with some sort of giant clamps and grab the airplane in mid-air." He demonstrated by clasping his other arm with the dangling hand.
Jeff watched Scott without comment.
"It's not as easy as just designing a new aircraft," Tin-Tin said. "There would have to be a base to store it in, and then trained personnel to fly and maintain it...."
"Gee, you'd have to put one of those at every air rescue station on the planet," Alan said.
"There would have to be security," Scott added. "If it got into the wrong hands, a madman could just pluck planes from the sky at will."
"I still think we could do it," John said. "Think of the lives we could save."
"What about it, Father?" Virgil asked.
The corners of Jeff's mouth twitched, as if he had been suppressing a smile. He got up without a word, went into the living room, and came back with a laptop. Pushing his pie plate aside, he set it on the table. He keyed in the combination to open the laptop, then pressed his thumb on the identity square. The screen came to life.
The Tracy sons crowded around. Squeezing together so they could all view the screen required a team effort, but they were practiced at it.
Jeff typed in his password. "Ever since your mother died, I've been thinking the same thing you have just now...that the technology has to be available to save people in impossible situations. So I've been discreetly asking some questions, and this is what I've come up with."
A picture of what seemed to be a giant missile came on the screen, along with diagrams. "This is a rocket reconnaissance vehicle. Piloted by one man, it can reach anywhere on the planet in 2 hours or less, at a top speed of 15,000 miles per hour...."
"Fifteen thousand?" Scott blurted out.
"How is that even possible?" Alan said.
Jeff gestured at John. "That young man John went to Tracy College with has designed this and the other vehicles we would need."
"What others?" Virgil said eagerly.
Jeff pressed another button on the laptop. A huge, beetle-shaped aircraft came into view. "This would be for heavy rescue." He pointed to the screen. "The center is a removable pod. The pods can carry rescue equipment. Using several pods, we can store different kinds of machinery, and pick up the pod needed for each individual situation, ready to go."
"Wow," Virgil said, smiling. He patted John on the back companionably.
"This," Jeff indicated the screen as it changed again, "is a spacecraft we can use for space emergencies."
"Boy, that's overdue!" John said.
"Yeah," Alan said. "No government has much of anything for space rescues."
"And this," Jeff continued, "is a submarine. It can be carried in one of the pods and transported anywhere on earth on the heavy rescue craft."
"How fast can the heavy rescue craft go?" Virgil asked. "It can't go as fast as the first one."
"No, but Brains thinks it can reach 12,000 miles per hour," Jeff replied.
Virgil whistled in appreciation.
Gordon reached over to touch the screen, as if fondling the underwater craft. "The basic concept is fine, but I think I'd want to make some modifications."
"I was hoping you would," Jeff said, turning to him. Facing the screen, he said, "And the last piece of basic equipment...a satellite station. We need satellite communication, GPS, and space surveillance in order to coordinate everything."
"Yeah, but will International Space Control let us put this kind of satellite in space?" John asked.
"Tracy Technologies has already been granted the permit," Jeff said.
"Really?" Alan said, impressed.
"But what they're going to put up is an ordinary communications satellite," Jeff added. "Once it's up, we'll use our new space vehicle to go up and add our own modifications."
Scott turned to John. "This is looking better all the time."
John put a finger on the screen, right at the center of the proposed satellite. "Dad, if you're going to put something in space of that size, you've got to add an observatory. It won't be hard, you have to get the optical equipment for earth surveillance anyway--just order an extra set so I can point it out to space."
Jeff craned his neck so he could look at his middle son. "Are you volunteering to operate the station?"
"I...I guess I am."
"Hey, I want to get in on this, too!" Alan said.
Jeff turned to his youngest son. "That's good, because we need two people to work in one-month shifts."
"Does that mean I get the observatory?" John asked.
Jeff chuckled and turned back to the screen. "I'll have Brains get right on it. And, I'll double the order on the optics."
"Do we draw straws for the others?" Scott asked.
Jeff glanced up at his eldest son. "We're getting a little ahead of ourselves. First, let's all sit down." He gestured, and his five sons took their seats. Jeff shut the laptop. Tin-Tin, Grandma, and Kyrano, who had been looking on during the discussion, also sat. 
Folding his hands on the table, Jeff looked at his sons. "Before we go any further on this, I want you boys to know what you're getting into. You're all of the age where men usually want to start settling down. By the time I was Scott's age, four of you boys were already born. If you sign on to this, you'll have to put any plans to start a family aside, at least for the first couple of years while we're establishing ourselves."
"If?" Alan asked. "You mean we have a choice?"
"Of course you do! I'm going to be asking a lot of you, and it's not going to work if you feel you're being forced." Jeff nodded to two of his sons. "Scott, Gordon, your current enlistments are almost up. You'd have to leave your respective services."
Gordon and Scott looked at each other, but said nothing.
"Alan, you'll have to retire from race car driving, for the time being."
"Can't I just go back and forth?"
"No, Alan, you'll be far too busy, at least in the first year. And it's not fair to your pit crew...they'll need to find work elsewhere. The Parola Sands race this Saturday will have to be your last for a while...maybe a long while."
Alan sighed, and leaned back in his chair, frowning.
Scott leaned toward him and said in a low voice, "Think of the spaceship, Alan."
Alan's face brightened immediately.
"Virgil, John, you'd have to give up your jobs at Tracy Technologies, and John, that also means giving up your guest lecturer position in the astronomy department at NYU."
"Are you leaving Tracy Technologies, Father?" Virgil asked.
"Yes, I'm planning a public statement that I'm retiring from the day-to-day running of the company. I'll still have a toe in the water, so to speak, but once I make my announcement, I won't be much more than a figurehead. I've been grooming my replacements for years; the company will be in good hands. International Rescue will require my total commitment, and yours, if you choose to join."
"International Rescue?" Scott said. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Yes. Let me add that you'll all be provided for. You'll be working hard, risking your lives...."
"Not too much, I hope," Grandma interjected.
Jeff turned to her. "Not any more, or any less, than when they worked as volunteer firefighters, or when Gordon spent a year at the bottom of the ocean, or when Scott test piloted the latest supersonic jets for the Air Force or when Alan crashed his car at his first Grand Prix."
Alan folded his arms. "You had to remind me of that."
"So we get an allowance," Gordon said with a smile, returning to the previous topic.
Jeff nodded. "Quite a generous one, if I may say so. I'll transfer an annual stipend equivalent to the salary for the president of the U.S."
Virgil whistled.
"...and if you sign on, you'll earn every penny, I guarantee it," Jeff said. "One more thing: I'll always be your father, and I'll always love you, but when you sign on to International Rescue, I want it clear right now that I'll be in charge. We'll consult and discuss, as we always do, but my word will be final, and I expect that when I give a directive, it will be carried out. If you can't agree to this, I'll respect that, but if you're going to be part of the International Rescue team, that's how it's going to be."
The brothers looked silently from one to the other.
"This is a solemn decision, maybe the most important one you'll make in your lives. If you want to sleep on it, think it over for a couple of days, I understand."
"I'm in," Scott said, without hesitation.
"Me, too," Virgil chimed in.
John held up a hand, fingers spread. "Let's see, I get a telescope outside the atmosphere and don't have to sign up for telescope time," he touched an index finger. "I get to fly a rocket ship," he touched another finger. "I get a state-of-the-art communications system," he touched another finger. "And I get to make a positive difference in people's lives," he touched another finger. "Frankly, I'd pay someone for the chance to do all that."
"Sounds like fun," Gordon said.
"You would," Alan said to Gordon.
Gordon turned to him. "Well, are you in or aren't you?"
Alan looked at John. "You're going to have to wrestle me for who gets to fly the rocket ship first."
"Let's not lose our focus," Jeff said. "This isn't about a bunch of flying machines. It's a serious business about saving people's lives, in situations where no one else can come to help."
Gordon slapped the table. "Well, I hope we're allowed to be happy if we save someone from certain death!"
Jeff smiled. "Okay, okay. I get the picture. There's a certain amount of excitement in any kind of rescue work, and we'll undoubtedly have our share of that."
"That's a relief!" Gordon said.
"Is there a place in International Rescue for us?" Tin-Tin asked.
"Of course there is!" Grandma said before Jeff could answer.
Jeff had opened his mouth, but closed it when Grandma replied. When she finished, Jeff turned to the young woman. "There is. But I don't want you to change your plans, Tin-Tin. Finish the work on your engineering degree, go on your European tour, and by that time we should be ready to start our operation."
"But Dad," Scott said, tapping the table with a hand, "this is a massive project. It would have to take years."
"Months," Jeff replied. "The same Tracy Technologies equipment that built the moon base, and the launch facilities at Glen Allyn field, will enable us to build our base, aircraft, and everything else we need. Brains has the plans all laid out in step-by-step detail."
"Are we building our base here?" Scott asked. "Out in the desert?"
"No," Jeff said. "Secrecy will be essential for our operation. We'll have to be as far from civilization as possible."
"Antarctica?" Gordon teased.
Jeff smiled. "No, though I have to admit I thought about it." Alan gasped, and Jeff repeated, "No. Brains and I did some scouting and found an uninhabited island in the South Pacific. Brains did a geological survey and found it would be perfect for our purposes. I bought the island and one nearby. There isn't any other land anywhere for hundreds of miles in any direction."
"How do we get everything out that far?" Scott asked.
"I've rented a barge, everything is on it." He gestured to Gordon. "Gordon, here, can pilot anything that travels on or under the sea. That will be our home while we're constructing everything."
"What about the Tracy yacht?" Alan asked.
"We'll bring that when we're ready to move in with the furniture," Jeff said. "But the barge has 18 rooms for crew; they're comfortable, single-occupancy cabins, even if they're only the size of an average hotel room."
"Won't the people who loaded the barge get a hint of what we're up to by what's on there?" Virgil asked.
Jeff shook his head. "To avoid inspections, most of the items have been transported on Tracy Technologies company jets in coded containers. What we need has come from a dozen different places, and seems to be basic electronic and construction materials. It will only look as if eccentric billionaire Jeff Tracy is building an exotic palace for himself on a tropical island paradise, complete with state-of-the-art technology."
"Gee Dad," John said. "I had no idea that you had been doing all this planning. Did you ever think of telling us before?"
"I wanted to be sure I could do this first," Jeff replied, "and that it wasn't just a crazy idea that couldn't be implemented in a million years. It wasn't until someone told me of this genius with impossible concepts and I went to hear Brains give a lecture in France that I realized International Rescue could become a reality."
"He told me everyone laughed at him," John said.
Jeff nodded. "Everyone but me, that is."
"When do we get started?" Alan asked.
"As soon as you boys can get your affairs together and join me in Hilo at the Tracy Technologies docks. I hope it goes without saying that this is top secret. You will tell no one outside this room, except Brains."
The others nodded.
"Grandma will stay here until everything is constructed and our operation is underway." He turned to Kyrano. "Kyrano, you can come with Tin-Tin when she's back from Europe."
"No," Kyrano said softly. "I will come with you to the island."
"Kyrano," Jeff said kindly, "we need everyone there with engineering experience. All we'll be doing is construction."
"Not all," Kyrano said. "You will need to eat, and wash clothes, and keep things clean."
"We all know how to cook, Kyrano, we've been doing it for years."
"All Virgil knows how to make is a bologna sandwich," Alan said. Virgil inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"And heating up food in the microwave, maybe," Grandma murmured.
"I can do a little more than that, Mother," Jeff said.
"A little more, yes," Kyrano said. "But forgive me, you do not do cooking work as well as the engineering work. If I come and cook, you will be better nourished, and better able to work. The time you would spend on cooking you can spend on construction. You will feel better and work better if you have clean clothes every day, not wearing the same old sweaty clothes every day until they fall off."
"We know how to do laundry, Kyrano."
"I have known you for many years, Jeff Tracy, and I know that when you and the boys are working on a project, the laundry does not get done."
The Tracy men looked sheepish. Grandma smiled and nodded at Kyrano.
"Kyrano," Jeff said, "you've been the chief food researcher and dietitian at NASA for many years, as well as manager of the Kew Gardens. We can't ask you to give that up just to do our housekeeping."
"You are not asking, Jeff Tracy. I am offering to do this. When I worked at Kew Gardens, I fed people's souls. When I work at NASA, I enable the astronauts to do their jobs. That is important work. I get great satisfaction from it. I cannot do engineering work, as you said, but I can feed your bodies and your souls so that through your work, no one else needs to die unnecessarily. I would consider that an honor."
Jeff found himself speechless for a few moments. Finally, he replied, "What can I say?"
"You can say, 'Kyrano, welcome to International Rescue.'" He stood and brought out the champagne from the wine closet. Grandma, seeing what Kyrano had in mind, handed out the champagne flutes. When they all had a filled glass, Kyrano raised his. "To International Rescue."
"To International Rescue," they all repeated. They clinked their glasses together, and drank.
Scott put his down. "Now the real work begins."