***** RECOVERY *****

CHAPTER SEVEN

Wentworth Falls

An eerie silence in a background of chirping cicadas signalled nightfall in a dense section of bush four miles north of Wentworth Falls. Small insects darted in and out of the glow of their flashlights as Delaney and Hewitt negotiated the thick undergrowth on the way to the scene, Delaney swatting at mosquitos and complaining loudly.

"If these bastards were any bloody bigger they'd eat the two of us alive."

They'd met fifteen minutes earlier up on the main road, a section which meandered through the Blue Mountains via a series of tight curves before straightening up for the gentle two-mile descent into the town of Wentworth Falls. Hewitt reported that the backpack had been found near the bottom of the cliff face, carefully wedged underneath a rock in knee high grass and camouflaged with branches thick with old, rotting gum leaves.

"Whoever put it there didn't want anyone to find it, that's for sure," was his observation before Delaney's interrogation got started. "If one of my guys hadn't gone A-over and slammed right into it, we probably wouldn't have found the thing for months."

There was no doubt in Hewitt's mind that the backpack his men had found belonged to David Townsend. The initials "DT" were emblazoned several times in thick black ink across the front of it and just as the parents had described it the day their boys disappeared, the white pocket zipper was broken and rusted and looked like it had "seen better days."

"We haven't touched anything." Hewitt side-stepped a ghost gum only to stumble over the roots of another, jutting sideways out of the dirt. "The entire area's been cordoned off in case we need to bring in scientific. You know, Mick…" he hesitated, looking directly at Delaney,"…I hate to say it and I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm afraid this one isn't starting to look all that good."

"Tell me about it," Delaney muttered back, ducking and weaving his six-foot frame to avoid the lantana on his left. And he was the one slap bang in the middle of it with an order from the Police Commissioner to "Find them and find them now, Delaney, before someone starts asking me for your badge!"

One of the search team was waiting for them just outside the roughly-erected barrier tape at the end of the three mile walk. The guy looked wrecked even by Delaney's standards and as he led the way towards the area where the backpack had been found, all he could manage was a series of grunts and tired nods every time they asked him a question.

"I've told that numbskull newbie to get in contact with the midnight shift." Delaney had eased back to resume his conversation with Hewitt. "They'll need to drag their asses out here right now to keep an eye on things until it's light. So what's the bet he's gone and lost the bloody roster or something? Or found some other way to screw things up?"

"Keep reminding me never to do anything to get on your bad side, Delaney."

Delaney rolled his eyes. Okay, so he was good at holding grudges. As far as he was concerned there was nothing wrong with that.

"We located the item just over there, sir." Their escort had stopped and was pointing straight ahead. "You can't see it from here but the ground's pretty dangerous. I damn near broke my ankle; I went down on it so hard. It was only when the guys came to check I was right that we saw the backpack shoved behind all the branches."

Delaney frowned and scanned the area with his flashlight. All he could see was the rest of the search team huddled together in the dark, a background of trees and a small clearing peppered with various heights of thick grass.

"We managed a quick grid search before the sun went down," one of the others spoke up. "It didn't turn up anything and there isn't much more any of us can do here tonight. I can hardly see my hand in front of my face as it is, plus we've already sighted a couple of king browns."

Delaney left Hewitt standing with their escort and strode across the clearing before inching his way carefully into the knee high grass. Snake bite from one of Australia's deadliest – yep, it would probably be his luck. Not much else could go wrong in this bloody investigation, so why not add that one to the list?

After maneuvering as close as he could to the rock in question, he crouched down and aimed his flashlight so he could see directly underneath it. A bush rat skittering away in a rustle of leaves didn't help his heart rate. Neither did its partner, its activity disturbed by the brightness of the light.

The backpack caught his eye immediately, at least two arm lengths out of his reach. It sure looked like it was the Townsend kid's all right and other than appearing dusty and the side pocket a little torn, the item appeared to be intact.

His nose told him that it had been here for more than a few days, too. He was no forensic expert but the sickly smell of rotting fruit indicated whoever had left it here hadn't bothered with the contents. The smell conjured up all sorts of scenarios, none of them with an outcome Delaney related to the word success.

"What do you think, Mick?"

Delaney looked up to see Hewitt standing in the grass beside him. The grimness of his tone left no doubt that he didn't need to be told there was more to this than just two missing teenagers.

"I want every available resource assigned to this area tomorrow," was how he responded. "I've got a sick feeling this whole thing's really about to hit the fan."

Thunderbird Five - Four hours later

"Umm… thanks for that, Dad."

"Okay, John. Now, if there isn't anything else, I'll leave you to get back to what you were doing. If you need me I'll be in my office going over some papers with your grandmother."

"F.A.B."

With that, John Tracy watched his father's image disappear from the central communications screen, returning to its usual pane of silver framing a core of faceless black. Well, that had certainly turned out to be more than the regular early-morning exchange! What was intended to be a routine update on a new situation he was monitoring in South Africa had somehow turned into an hour-long advisory session on why necessity meant priority when it came to their performance in the rescue business.

"And I'm not just referring to you at the moment, son," was the message. "It applies to every single one of us and I think it's time for a reminder."

"Oh, honey, you're looking so tired this morning!"

Grandma's observation from the corner of the couch had been the last thing he'd expected when he'd made the decision to notify the base about the situation in South Africa. When it came to International Rescue, she usually took a backseat when he called; understanding that he had a job to do and his father was relying on him to do it. John's quick dismissal that he was fine and she worried too much hadn't been enough to convince his discerning father that nothing was up. No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than he realized his condition was being analyzed. And not just for a couple of minutes, either. His father had kept it up the whole time John sat in front of the console providing him with the update. Then to top it all off, he'd failed to stifle a yawn after asking how the new grabs for Thunderbird Two were progressing.

"John, those grabs are a prime example of why the necessities should always be given priority around here. Like I said to Brains, it's all well and good to point out the outfit needs something but unless we're all prepared to knuckle down and do something about it; it may as well not be said at all. I know he wasn't happy deferring Thunderbird Three's long-range scanner upgrade when he was already right in the middle of it, but to me, this is no different to the old days when I was the one trying to kid myself I had my priorities right as an astronaut. Soaking up the universe seemed a lot more important to me back then than making sure I got enough sleep to be in a fit condition to report. I sure learnt the hard way, and very quickly, three days into that first launch."

What the connection was supposed to be between Brains, the old days and priority, John was still trying to figure out. All he knew was that his father had recognized he was tired and that he hadn't been pleased.

John swiveled his chair to the left and surveyed planet earth. His fascination with it as it moved slowly on its axis in the darkness of space would never lessen, no matter how tired he was. In a few more hours, Australia would be exposed to the sun again and another day on its east coast would begin. Another day of watching and waiting to see what nature had store for it. No-one, not even their experts seemed able to predict what might occur.

"Now don't take this the wrong way, Johnny, but you sure need help recognizing when someone's throwing you a lifeline, especially when the old man's unimpressed and dropping you the hint."

His attention returned to the communications screen, this time to find his brother, not his father, seated behind the desk. Still in his pajama bottoms and wearing his favorite old WASP tee-shirt, Gordon looked more than comfortable reclining with his feet up; a grin on his face, a coffee in one hand and one of Kyrano's breakfast creations in the other.

"As if you helped!" John's light-hearted growl only made Gordon's grin bigger. "You know she'll be calling me on the hour, every hour, now, don't you?"

"Hey! How about trying to be a little bit more grateful, will you? I was doing my best to dig you out of it, and besides, all you had to do was agree with me."

"Agree with you? Then? In front of Grandma? You're nuts!" John was already struggling to hide his exasperation.

"Oh, come on Johnny… what else could I do? You saw the look on Dad's face and I had to think of something!"

"Leaving me stuck to explain things to Grandma for the rest of the month! How about the next time you decide to do me a favor, you don't?"

"But all I said was that you looked like you were still recovering from the good time you found for yourself in Manhattan last month..."

"Gordon!"

"You are so easy, Johnny. You are just so easy!" Gordon's laughter preceded a mock salute towards the screen with what was left of his breakfast, together with the half-empty coffee cup.

John laughed at himself too, realizing he'd taken the bait, and waited for the real conversation to start. Despite Gordon's tactics – all the joking, ragging and teasing – there was usually something serious he wanted to discuss when he gave John a call.

"So?" Gordon's laughter was gone now and so was the grin.

"So? So what?"

"Please tell me you're not staying up half the night to write those crappy asteroid theories of yours again."

"You'll never let me live that one down, will you?"

"What do you think?"

"No."

It had been almost twelve years since a mega-dose of chicken pox had left Alan quarantined and Gordon temporary relocated to sleep in the spare bed in John's room. At fourteen, John hadn't been too happy about the arrangement, and he'd liked it even less when the observant eight-year old went on to inform their father that "Johnny's always looking at 'his private things' underneath the blankets with Grandma's flashlight." Father had almost choked on his supper that night and Grandma … well; given the audience, she'd nearly had a fit. It was under those blankets that John's first astronomy book was being crafted and despite all the help and encouragement he received when he explained to their father what he was really doing; Gordon's innocent assessment always became the source of great hilarity every time the subject was mentioned.

"If you must know…" John grumbled when Gordon's folded arms indicated he wasn't budging until he told him what was up,"…I've been awake for most of the night talking to the monitoring centre in Australia. Depending on who picked up and their degree of pissed-off-ness with the staff cuts, the official opinion on the likelihood of another earthquake varied from "quite possible" to "highly probable." I don't want to push the issue with Dad and Scott again – not until I hear someone say to me it's "inevitable" and it looks like they're going to need our help."

His eyes darted to the left, temporary distracted by the flashing of lights on the console that indicated another incoming exchange over the monitoring equipment.

"So yeah," he continued, once he was comfortable the South African situation wasn't getting any worse. "It's all about who you get when you make those calls and the last guy was the rudest pain in the ass in the whole southern hemisphere."

Gordon's nod was one of more than just empathy. Like John, Gordon had lost count of the number of times International Rescue had been required to deal with arrogance in authority or give those in denial "the gift of a little clarity." He was genuinely concerned about what might happen in Australia, especially when Sydney itself was right in the centre of the seismic activity and was home to an estimated population of just over five and a half million.

"What are you going to do?" This time there was not even a hint of jocularity.

"There's not much I can do. Just keep an eye on it and wait and see what gives with it, I guess. They told me this kind of activity could go on for months, so I can understand why Dad's taken a huge step back from getting International Rescue involved."

Gordon shrugged. "Sure, and I take his point. But an earthquake in a highly populated area like Sydney is going to mean more than just damage if it occurs."

"More like catastrophic damage I'd say; and potential loss of life. That's why I don't understand what's going on with their monitoring centre. They keep saying their silence is deliberate because they don't want people to get the wrong message and panic. If you ask me, it's a pretty lame excuse for not wanting to commit to it either way."

"And why Dad and Scott have decided we're doing exactly the same."

There was a pause in their conversation as they reflected on the last briefing about Australia. There was only so much International Rescue could do was their position. International Rescue's primary role was to save lives when they received an emergency call. The organisation didn't exist to pre-empt outcomes, over-react or interfere.

Gordon was the first to break the silence in an attempt to lighten things up. Maybe they should both be looking on the bright side instead? At least since this whole Australia thing had started there'd been no gruelling training sessions or snap rappelling drills. Scott's sole focus at the moment was to "actively support" Brains in getting Thunderbird Two's new grabs to the point of manufacture.

"I'm sure Brains is really enjoying that," John didn't even try to hide the smirk.

"Almost as much as you'll enjoy explaining what happened in Manhattan to Grandma."

It was official. Their banter was back on.

"Oh... and by the way Johnny, what are you going to say to Grandma when she calls you?"

"That you got it all wrong, because I couldn't afford her."

Then John winked at his brother and ended the call.

Sydney Bulk Electricity Project Tower 124

4.5 miles north of Wentworth Falls

Australia

January 7, 2027

It was at times like these that Jacko Leeson wanted to kick himself for acting like such an idiot when they'd offered him the chance to transfer up north to Taree. A cushy little desk job, Monday to Friday, long lunch, and every second Friday off so that he and the missus could play golf.

Jacko swiped the sweat off his forehead, jammed his hat on his bald head and headed as fast as he could in the direction of the nearest shade. It had to be at least forty-five degrees again this morning. This structural inspection was going to be quick.

The transfer to Taree would have meant a lot of other changes, too. No more weekends lost to outages and midnight emergency calls; no more driving down half-formed access roads or scampering down rocky slopes on his butt so some big-wig in Sydney could tick all the boxes to justify his zillion dollar salary. It had been a golden opportunity and he'd really blown it. Maybe if he hadn't the missus might have stayed.

She hadn't even left him a note the day she'd decided to clear off. Just packed her bags; fed the dog and pinged off in the brand new car. Not the best way to end nearly twenty-four years of "wedded bliss", but these days Jacko was able to be philosophical about it. It was simply what happened when a man got too involved with the job. A bit of a bummer...but life moved on.

Shuffling around the wad of pages inside his clipboard, Jacko found what he needed and began his observations. He started with the geographical stability of the steep embankment protecting the entrance to Tower 124. No noticeable changes, not that he expected to see any, of course. Why the bosses thought the electrical towers near Wentworth Falls might have been affected by the Newcastle earthquake was anyone's guess. Two hundred miles to the south-west was hardly what he'd call "in close proximity to the epicenter." It was that crazy project engineer, Townsend, who was the one insisting they be checked. According to him, five of the towers in the Blue Mountains area had been constructed along the same fault line as the city of Newcastle, a decision taken by the New South Wales Government in a last ditch attempt to satisfy the requirements of the World Heritage listing. Originally, the route had been planned to run much further north before the dog-leg back towards Sydney thirteen miles before Tower 124.

"Governments…" Jacko grumbled to himself, "…nothing but a bunch of dickheads."

Jacko had to admit he felt sorry for the Townsend guy. With his boys still missing and the search now in its eleventh day, the man certainly would have had more important things on his mind than electrical towers when he was asked by the hierarchy to set the inspection parameters. Jacko could understand the need to examine the five towers along the fault line but every other tower in a twenty-mile radius? It was crazy and had to be the result of all the stress he was under. The poor guy had looked so cut up when they'd interviewed him last night on the newscast. All Jacko hoped was that someone found his kids soon...and that they were still alive.

With the external visuals complete and the temperature soaring higher, Jacko picked his way up the rugged terrain to access the carefully concealed ground entrance to 124. Set flush against the cliff-face and towering at a height of almost two hundred feet, Jacko considered its design to be almost as dangerous as it was radical. Access at the base was controlled via a single electronic keypad which automatically relocked itself thirty minutes after it was activated by a special password. The internal inspection then required checks to be made in a specific order involving travel via a small open elevator. There would be no time to stop and reminisce about the missus once the countdown started, especially as he had just realized he'd left his cell phone back at the hotel.

The sound of helicopters passing overhead distracted him and once again reminded him of the Townsend kids. There were two of them combing the area; both, Jacko assumed, part of the search team still trying to find them. The newscast had said the police were "hopeful" but by the look of it they didn't seem to have had any luck. The whole thing smelt off; that was Jacko's opinion. Teenage boys just didn't disappear into nowhere like that.

He frowned and began to jab in the password.

As the keypad flashed green and the small door leading into the circular concrete cavity at the base of the tower slid open, Jacko took note of the time on his watch. Eleven twenty-nine. He'd allow himself exactly fifteen minutes to complete the two levels, starting at the top and working his way down. It didn't help when the automatic lighting failed to trigger and he had to fumble around trying to find the manual back-up switches in the dark. That was another thing he had an issue with; the decision to conceal all the back-up switches. Townsend described it as "the way forward in deterring vandalism." To Jacko it was risky and just plain dumb. All it did was waste time when an Inspector didn't have enough of it and with the tower completely isolated and its password only known to a handful of people, there really didn't seem to be much point.

He also found it strange that he had to wait for the elevator. If the last inspection had been finalised correctly, the elevator should have already been on the ground level ready for the next Inspector to board. The other inspectors often joked about what would happen if they lost track of time and the elevator locked down while they were still working on the upper level. They all thought it would be hilarious, but Jacko certainly didn't. If it happened, using the alternative exit would be an exercise in pure hell. The alternative exit opened out onto a small narrow platform one hundred and fifty feet above the landscape and the only way down was to make a call and wait for help to come. It was an option he wasn't prepared to risk, particularly today without his cell phone. If the tower locked down he wouldn't be going anywhere until someone missed him. And who was going to do that? Not his missus, that was for sure!

By the time he was on his way up in the elevator, his mind was back on the job. Get up there, do what he needed to do, check the masters and then get the hell back down. At least the manual light switches at the top would be easier to access when he got there. He'd just need to be careful trying to get to them in the dark. With only two rows of tiny fluorescent lights illuminating the railing protecting the sheer drop into the body of the sub-station, there was always a risk that if he became disoriented he could severely misjudge. There had already been one near miss this month and the bosses didn't want a second blight on the copybook.

"What the hell?"

The words spilled out of him the moment he stepped into the upper cavity. He'd experienced some bad conditions in his time but nothing as bad as that. He'd never been accosted by such a revolting and God-awful smell.

The stench filled his lungs and invaded his nostrils as he traversed the walkway in the direction of the light switches. It became even more noticeable just before he reached them and it seemed to be coming from the substation below. If he didn't know better, he'd swear something had died down there. He held his breath and tried not to think about it.

Cripes, it was bloody rank!

He flipped the first light switch and waited…

….nope, nothing happened.

He hit the second and the third in succession.

"Shit!" None of the back-up switches on the upper level appeared to be working.

He fumbled for his emergency flashlight, dropping the clipboard; aware suddenly that dozens of flies were battering themselves against him trying to find a way out. His stomach began to churn. Something had happened here….something was wrong.

A sweep of the flashlight told him just how bad it was.

Jacko swayed and grabbed at the railing, his knees weak and his stomach in his mouth. The realisation pounded like sledgehammer inside his brain

He'd found them.

He had to get out.