As Bruce emerged from the bunker with Kip and Bella, Molek scrutinized their movements from the comfort of his car. He instructed the others to exit the vehicle. Only Nepo was permitted to remain beside him inside the Caddy. Although Molek didn’t notice anything that might’ve hinted to a ploy to foil his scheme, he knew Bella was too crafty to surrender the beagle without formulating a counter strategy. He also discerned something about Kip that struck him as peculiar.
“Are my eyes deceiving me?” he mentioned to Nepo, “or is Mr. Flyer’s wingman dressed like a buccaneer?”
“You have eagle eye vision, sir,” Nepo assured him.
“Perhaps you’d like to sit on his shoulder instead than mine?” Molek chuckled.
“Pardon the expression,” the bird replied, “but fat chance.”
“Strange taste in attire,” he mused. Nepo simply pumped her head, without bothering to point out that his own wardrobe was in dire need of a massive overhaul.
“They’re making this far too easy for us,” Nepo said, drawing attention to what Molek had already surmised.
After Mason secured Wint’s gag, and lugged him from the backseat by his shirt’s collar, he slipped the gun inside of his own jacket. Oranger and Mark joined him on the muddy trail. They now waited for Molek’s instruction, but he was reluctant to give it as originally conferred. Before anyone stepped another inch forward, Molek called Oranger to the passenger’s side window. Oranger still clung to his last drone.
“I want you to stay beside the car with your little friend,” Molek informed Oranger. “Mr. Mason will escort Mr. Flyer and Mr. Greene to the bunker alone.”
“That’s fine, Hooty,” Oranger complied. “Any particular reason?”
“Have you ever known me to make decisions without reasoning, Mr. Oranger?” Oranger shook his head submissively as Molek tweaked the plan. He trembled slightly in his stance as he waited for his boss’s explanation. “In case there are any unforeseen mishaps, I want you to be in a strategic position to release your armadillo on our former cohorts. I’m counting on this drone to work as you designed it.”
“Arma is solid, and ready to go off big time, sir,” Oranger confirmed.
“You’ve promised me the world in the past,” Molek said. “And all you’ve thus far delivered are anecdotes about Saigon.”
“I know that’s not enough to satisfy you,” Oranger groveled. “But I won’t fail you again. I’ll bet my Purple Heart on it.”
“We know you won’t let us down,” Nepo added as she raised her sharpened talon. “Or my claws will become more cutting edge than your drones.”
As Mason guided Mark and Wint edged toward the bunker, Bruce observed an immediate problem. “Two of them are staying back by the car,” he told Bella. “What are we gonna do now?”
“Stay calm, and hold your position,” Bella commanded, keeping her eyes focused straight toward the approaching men. “We continue as planned.”
“It’s your house call, Doc, but if OKB turns out to be DOA, it’ll be more damaging to your career than if you ripped up a photo of the Pope on national TV.”
“You think I’ll be that much of a goner, huh?” Bella said.
“Worse. Maybe even an O’Conner,” Bruce returned.
“You know, for a beagle, you really do have a wacky way with words,” Bella commented.
“Hey, nobody does it better,” Bruce said with a wink.
“Though sometimes I wish someone could,” Kip grumbled.
“Keep dreaming, Simple Simon,” Bruce cracked.
Mason maneuvered within twenty paces of the willow trees. He still had his gun concealed, and Mark maintained his silence without forwarding the faintest hint of nonverbal communication to his allies. His Class V chip rewired him better than Molek expected. On the other hand, because of his gag, Wint attempted to blink a warning in Mores code to Bella, indicating the peril that they were about to unwittingly encounter, but she was too preoccupied making sure she had her hand firmly on the remote control. In the meantime, Bruce prepared himself mentally for the coerced exchange. Kip’s only responsibilities at the moment revolved around maintaining consciousness and appearing as acquiescent as possible.
“I’m getting a negative vibe,” Bruce muttered to Bella. “I knew things were really bad, but it just dawned upon me that the remake of The Wicker Man looks like high art in comparison to what we’re doing.”
“You really are a drama dog, aren’t you?” Bella sighed.
Whether their idea was riddled with more holes than a gopher graveyard became a moot point. Mason already readied himself and his captives for the trade. Even if they would’ve abandoned OKB now, Bella knew that they wouldn’t make it back to the bunker alive.
“Good to see you again, Dr. Wells,” Mason shouted. He sounded no more sincere with his salutation than a hastily selected Hallmark card. Mark’s hand wave came across as equally artificial. Only Wint tried to expose the vile nature of Mason’s order, but his rapidly blinking eyes proved ineffective.
Bella and Kip offered Bruce one final look, which was a cross between reckless hope and trepidation. “Are you positive you’re ready?” Bella asked Bruce.
“I’m about as ready as Evel Knievel was when he tried to jump Snake River Canyon.”
“Don’t worry,” Kip told the beagle. “We gotcha covered.”
“Hopefully more than Eleanor Rigby,” Bruce said.
Bruce padded forward across the field, sidestepping a few defunct beavers on his way to rejoin Mark, albeit under very different circumstances. Once in range for a proper man-dog greeting, Bruce leapt up onto Mark, who received him like a wet football. The beagle made sure he rubbed up against him, while Bella observed the transfer patiently.
“How ya doing, Mark?” Bruce said. “Aside from that glazed look in your eyes, you seem almost human.”
“I didn’t expect you to be so receptive of me now,” Mark said. “But we’re old friends, right?”
“Sure, like Martin and Lewis. How’s that Mac-Chip working out for ya so far?”
“Honestly, it’s gonna take some time getting used to.”
“I think you’ll find a few bugs in it real soon,” Bruce whispered.
Mason stood by awkwardly, peering at the dog with a sense of disbelief. “I still can’t get over the way those microchips can make a dog speak,” he commented. Bruce jumped down from Mark and trotted past Mason without touching him. The dog then circled Wint once and jumped up onto him. He noticed that his hands and mouth were bound with duct tape, but that didn’t prevent him from making as much contact as possible.
“Are you under a gag order?” Bruce said to him. Wint mumbled something inaudible, but Bruce already sniffed out the fear in his eyes. “You look like something I deposited on this trail a few miles back, but at least you’re not a tablet of Soylent Green yet,” he said to Wint. The dog winked at Wint before turning to face Mason.
“Are you finished with your hellos?” Mason sneered at the beagle.
“You tell me,” Bruce responded. “Are you gonna let my friends go now?”
By now, it was certain that Mason had no intention of releasing Mark or Wint. Instead of answering the beagle, he withdrew the gun from inside his jacket and pointed it at Bella and Kip.
“Is this the part where you start cackling like an ogre and reveal your boss’s entire plan to us?” Bruce asked Mason.
“You didn’t really think we we’re going to let you live, did you?” he shouted to Dr. Wells. She withheld a reply. Her finger had already depressed the red button on the remote control. However, the bees’ reaction time was slower than she anticipated, which caused her to panic slightly.
“Is it working?” Kip asked her. He wasn’t nearly as sedate. His face dripped with dollops of sweat. Bella glanced at the hives. The bees began to stir, but hadn’t yet gone into attack mode.
“The signal must be compromised,” Bella said. “We need a few more minutes.”
“I don’t think we’ve got it,” Kip retur
ned.
Mason already aimed his weapon at his two targets. He had a look in his eye that was grittier than his first name. “It’s nothing personal, of course,” Mason said. “But I’m sure you know that I answer to a higher power too.”
“Didn’t we have a deal?” Kip asked incredulously. He still concentrated on the hives, which began to vibrate more intensely in the surrounding treetops. Mason didn’t pretend to hide his glee in response to Kip’s rebuttal. Yet he failed to notice the enraged insects accumulating just above where he stood.
“I don’t remember making a deal with you,” Mason chuckled.
“No,” Mark interjected. “I’m the one who made them a deal.”
“It’s no time to fight for bragging rights, Monte,” Bruce said to Mark. “We want to know what’s behind curtain number two.”
“I’ll show you,” Mark said. “They don’t call me Agent Flyer for nothing.” Mark then displayed his most acrobatic move in recent memory. In an instant that was too quick for Mason to defend, Mark issued a flying roundhouse kick into Mason’s hand, dislodging his gun and rendering the man defenseless against the forthcoming assault. The gun fell harmlessly onto the ground, causing the beagle to rejoice at the uncalculated breakdown in Mark’s microchip.
“Chip glitch!” Bruce bayed. “Un-bee-lievable!”
Mason was stunned, and he had no time to compensate from what happened next. The bees swarmed over him like a black funnel, enveloping his body as if he was lacquered in a sheath of honey. And these killer bees intended to emulate their namesake, The screams forwarded from Mason proved that they were not in any mood to negotiate. As Bella predicted, the repellant seemed to work as intended. The bees centered their attack on Mason, while leaving the others who benefited from the spray virtually untouched.
While Mason wriggled on the ground like an deracinated earthworm, Oranger heeded the tumult with his own shriek. But the bees weren’t partial to sound; and his own jerky dash back toward the Caddy signaled the swarming insects in his direction. Molek had already closed the car’s windows and locked the doors, and he had no intention of letting Oranger inside the vehicle now.
“Let me in!” Oranger wailed. He nearly dropped his prized drone as the bees peppered his clothing. “Aerial strike! Sneak attack!” Although Oranger banged on the window several seconds, Molek made no attempt to open the car’s door.
“Where’s your full metal jacket now!” Bruce howled at Oranger.
“Release the armadillo,” Molek demanded. “You must finish this now, Mr. Oranger!”
As the bees draped over him like a tarpaulin, Oranger flicked a power switch on the drone’s underside. He watched the robot’s eyes flash fluorescent yellow, indicating that it was fully activated. Despite being stung multiple times, Oranger set the armadillo on the ground in its attack position.
Bruce, Mark, and Wint rejoined Kip and Bella on the open field. The bees buzzed on all sides of them, but none of them were stung more than a couple times. The real danger now presented itself in the form of Oranger’s secret weapon.
“It’s Armageddon time!” Oranger squealed, though it couldn’t be determined if the pitch of his voice was instigated by jubilation or outright agony.
“He’s got another drone!” Kip exclaimed.
“And this one looks like it means business,” Mark noted.
Oranger unleashed Arma 937, and since the robot was preprogrammed to track Class V microchips, the prime targets stood a mere twenty-five feet away. Even as Oranger sprinted toward the river in order to shake off the bees and avert an explosion, the insects continued their rapid assault. He expected to hear a detonation, which should’ve been massive enough to kill anyone within a twenty-yard radius. But as he plunged into the river and submerged beneath the currents, he discerned nothing but the cheers of Kip and Bruce echoing over the riverbank. Arma revealed itself to be a mightier dud than the beaver drones. Before progressing ten feet, the robot sputtered and came to a standstill. It’s yellow eyes fizzled and faded to black. The imminent threat suddenly seemed passé.
“That bald drone is even more dysfunctional than the others,” Kip told Bruce excitedly.
“Yeppers,’ the beagle agreed. “It must be a bad case of razor burnout.”
“NOOOOOOO!” screamed Oranger from the rushing water. A beard of bees covered his face as he continued to float down the river between the jutting rocks.
“Ease up on the hyperbolic interjections, Darth!” Bruce yelped at him, but Oranger had nothing more to offer in the form of coherent words. Bruce and Kip watched until the river currents took him down stream and out of sight.
“Do you think he’s coming back?” Kip asked Bruce.
“Not even as a CGI ghost,” Bruce thought aloud.
However brief or fulfilling this triumph was, it didn’t linger long in their minds. Mark and Wint were quick to point out that the central target still remained secured in his Caddy. What none of them witnessed, however, was Molek’s hasty preparation for his next strike, but it wasn’t one he could’ve attempted without his biddable bird.
“I need you to fly out there and get my gun,” he told Nepo. Molek had already opened the car’s window. “Those fools can’t do anything right. I should’ve never trusted them.”
The parrot certainly expressed no urgency in joining Mason, who remained prone and motionless on the ground. By now, however, the bees had ceased their attack on him somewhat. Many returned to the hives, while others flitted faraway from the repellant. This lull provided Nepo with an opportunity to earn an extra handful of sesame seeds from her master’s hand. After all, when it came right down to it, the simplest pleasures in life motivated man and animal alike.
Nepo took flight, dunking low at the ground’s vegetation as she honed in on the weapon. As soon as the bird soared into sight, Bruce sniffed her out like a quail from the bush. He charged toward the gun, zeroing in on it, but his sluggish pace was no contest for Nepo’s swift pursuit. Without landing, the agile avis grappled the weapon with fluent ease, then sailed back toward the sky without skipping a beat of her wings.
“Holy Burt Ward!” Bruce bellowed to Kip. “Is that a robin?”
“No. It’s a macaw! Boy, I wonder about you sometimes, Bruce,” Kip sighed.
Nepo aimed to return to the car with the gun in her possession, but the extra weight she carted caused instant fatigue. She touched down for a breather in the nearest limb of a maple tree, cawing maniacally at Bruce. The beagle chased her as far as the tree, but that’s where the limitations of his doggedness came to a standstill.
“She’s grabbed the gun!” Mark called from across the field.
“Drop the gun!” Bruce hollered at the bird. Instead of relinquishing the weapon, Nepo raised her tail feathers and discharged a gooey turd onto Bruce’s nose.
“Bull’s eye!” Nepo squawked with delight.
“That’s it,” Bruce growled, “I ain’t takin’ anymore of this bleep today.”
“As long as you’re camped under that tree you’ll take whatever I have to offer,” Nepo retaliated. “How do you like the taste of recycled sesame seeds?”
“Fly down here and face me bird-to-dog and I’ll make chicken wings out of ya,” Bruce countered. “They’ll be dipping you in hot sauce before I’m through tenderizing your bleep.”
Kip sprinted up behind Bruce, hoping to settle the confrontation coolly. “I thought you weren’t prone to violence?” he said to Bruce.
“All bets are off when a parrot craps on my face,” Bruce sneered.
“Hey, relax. If the bird shits, wear it, right?” Kip said.
Bruce usually had a snappy comeback, but in this case he had diverted his energy toward the bird perched above them. “I never thought I’d live long enough to
say this,” Bruce cringed, “but I wish I was a cat right now.”
Once rejuvenated, Nepo planned to fly back over to the Caddy and deliver Molek his cherished firearm. But when Nepo tried to take off from the
tree’s limb, she realized that she landed in a wad of tree sap. Her tail feathers were literally glued to the branch.
“I think the bird’s stuck,” Kip said pointing toward the tree.
“That’s what I call sticking a feather in the sap,” Bruce returned.
“Do you ever stop with the one-liners?” Kip huffed.
“Noppers,” Bruce replied. “I’ve got more groaners than a brothel full of constipated harlots.”
Chapter 33