Here's to Your Stealth
Part 2

Higher for Hire
Midnight

A made-to-order night for the ol' cloak-and-dagger, Baloo thought. Leaning against the exterior of Higher for Hire, the invisible pilot gazed up at the coal black sky hovering over the dark cliffs and waited. Waited and wondered and worried about what Shere Khan had in store for him.

He didn't have to wait and wonder and worry long. A moment later, at exactly midnight, a shiny black limousine pulled up in front of Higher for Hire, its tires crunching over the flagstones.

Baloo hurried over to it and knocked on the passenger window.

When the window rolled down, Shere Khan's voice issued deep from within the shadowy interior. "Baloo, I presume."

"It sure ain't Dr. Livingbone."

"Excellent. Put this on." Shere Khan snapped his fingers. In the blink of an eye, Owen was standing beside the open passenger door, holding out a strip of black cloth.

"What for?" Baloo asked, taking the blindfold from the scrawny tiger yes-man.

"Let's just say that there are a few things I would like to remain a secret."

Baloo slid into the car beside Khan, then knotted the blindfold around his eyes. "What could be more secret than an invisible pilot?"

Khan smiled mysteriously as the limousine started down the street.

The Mohahavie Desert
Two Hours Later

When the limousine came to a stop, the moon broke through the thick bank of clouds, allowing a glimpse of a flat expanse of sand and sagebrush as far as the eye could see.

Shere Khan pulled a remote control out of his suit pocket. With a flick of a button, a cluster of massive airplane hangars topped with sophisticated radio antennae seemed to appear from out of nowhere. At first, they shimmered like a desert mirage, then their outlines became more solid.

Khan pushed another button on the remote control, thus opening a large door in the hangar closest to the road.

As the limousine rolled into the dark hangar, Khan said, "You may remove your blindfold now, Baloo. I trust that I need not remind you that all you are about to see is confidential?"

"As long as you don't blab about me bein' invisible," Baloo replied as the car came to a stop. He stepped out when Owen opened the door.

"Then we're agreed." Khan pushed a third button on the remote, turning on the overhead lighting. Gesturing towards the only object in the hangar, he announced, "Behold Falcon Wing, the world's first stealth aircraft."

"You're kiddin', right, Khanny?" Baloo said in disbelief. "It looks like an ordinary cargo plane to me."

It did, in fact, resemble all of Shere Khan's cargo planes, from the maroon and taupe paint to the encircled 'SK' on the doors.

"Perhaps a demonstration is in order."

At an almost imperceptible nod from his employer, Owen scrambled up a set of roll-away stairs to the plane's cockpit. There, he donned a set of goggles that made his eyes look abnormally large. His finger hovered over a large red button on the control panel for a breathtaking moment.

Then he pressed the button, causing Falcon Wing to disappear completely. Only Owen remained, sitting suspended in midair.

"Whoa, baby!" Baloo cried.

"To use the vernacular." Satisfied that the bourgeois Baloo believed him, the multi-billionaire commanded, "That will do, Owen."

The yes-man nodded and pushed the red button a second time, causing the plane to reappear.

"And now you see my dilemma," Khan said; Owen hurried over to his side like a well-trained dog. "My scientists have as of yet failed to design a way to make the pilot invisible. That's where you come in, Baloo. Any questions?"

"How am I supposed to fly it if I can't see the controls?"

"With these special goggles you will be able to see the controls, even in stealth mode." He gestured to the bulky goggles that Owen held.

The instant that Baloo put on the goggles they became invisible. He sounded a little nonplused when he said, "Lemme get this straight. All you want me to do is take Falcon Wing for a test flight?"

Khan took a key ring from his inner jacket pocket. He swung the keys back and forth in front of him in a mesmerizing arc. "Not exactly. Do you know where Wulff's Wunderbar Root Beer is made?"

"Yeah, in the Really Black Forest of Hounsland."

"Correct. I want you to eliminate them."

"Ya mean..." Baloo gulped, "kill 'em? B...b...b...b...!"

"No...I simply want you to obtain their secret formula by any means necessary and bring it to me."

"Now wait a prop-spinnin' minute!" Baloo angrily ripped off the goggles and shoved them back at Owen. "I may be a pilot non-see-est, but I ain't no sneak thief."

Shere Khan casually studied a claw. "A pity. I suppose then that I should inform my scientists to halt work on the antidote to the invisibility formula."

"That's blackmail!"

"Do we have a deal? Wulff's Wunderbar root beer formula in exchange for the antidote?"

Baloo hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the keys and the goggles. "Deal."

"Any more questions?"

As Baloo donned the goggles, he replied, "Nah. I think we...I mean, I can handle it from here."

"Excellent. Avoid detection at all costs, including maintaining radio silence. One never knows who could be listening in."

"Mum's the word." Baloo climbed into the cockpit, and, after giving the controls a quick once-over, started up the twin engines. As he taxied Falcon Wing out of the hangar, he waved to Khan, forgetting that he was invisible.

A moment later, Falcon Wing was in the air, soaring above the dense cloud cover. Stars streaked by the windows, their brightness rivaled only by the plane's headlights.

However, it wasn't the only aircraft in the area. Don Karnage and his band of air pirates were patrolling the shipping lanes in hopes of catching a tired cargo pilot unawares.

From the cockpit of his single-man CT-37, Mad Dog whined into his microphone, "Captain, we've been flying around all night. I'm sleepy."

"Und I'm thirsty," Dumptruck added.

Over the roar of his tri-wing plane's engine, Karnage shouted into his microphone, "You're both dopey!"

"Can ve get our root beer floats now, Captain?" Dumptruck asked hopefully.

"How many times do I have to tell you imbeciles? You can be having the tasty treats only after you seize a big, fat cargo plane." In response to Gibber's mumbling, Karnage snapped, "No, you cannot have any of my sprinkles!"

Seeing Falcon Wing approaching, Mad Dog exclaimed happily, "Here comes a cargo plane!"

"Do all of those nasty things that you do so well, men," Karnage commanded. He let go a burst of gunfire, peppering Falcon Wing's hull. "Hijack that hefty haul!"

Yelling ferociously, the pirates pulled into formation around Falcon Wing, encircling it.

Clang went Mad Dog's grappling hook as it snagged the cargo plane's starboard wing. There was another clang followed closely by a third clang as Dumptruck secured his grappling hook around the other wing and Gibber snagged the tail.

Falcon Wing was trapped, tethered securely between the CT-37s. Baloo knew that in another moment, the pirates would scale down their ropes and force their way inside.

"Time to find out what this baby can do," Baloo murmured. "Now ya see me."

He pressed the big, red button on the control panel, causing Falcon Wing to completely disappear from sight. Gone was the plane, its headlights, and even its shadow. The only evidence that it was there was the steady hum of its engines.

"Now ya don't," the big bear concluded with a grin.

"Hey, vere'd it go?" Dumptruck said, bewildered.

Before the pirates had time to wonder where their quarry had gone, Baloo yanked the control stick sharply to the left, sending Falcon Wing into a barrel roll. Consequently, the three CT-37s that were attached to it were sent spinning out of sight, taking their fearless leader with them.

"Ha! Ha! That sure put the 'sneak' in sneak-attack, right, Li'l Britches?"

From the co-pilot's seat came Kit's astonished voice: "How'd you know?"

Baloo chuckled. "These fancy specs can make more than just Falcon Wing's controls visible." He grabbed an extra pair of goggles dangling from a hook above his head and slung them over his young navigator's eyes. "See what I mean?"

As Kit adjusted the straps around his ears, he could see clear black and white versions of everything that had previously been invisible to him. However, everything that was visible was still in living color. "Wow...!" the boy exclaimed softly, wiggling his fingers in front of his face. "Buzz and his scientists are really onto something."

"Just hope they figger out a way to undo this snafu."

"Yeah," Kit frowned. "If only you didn't have to steal the Wulff's Wunderbar root beer formula to make it possible. Are you really going to do it?"

Ruefully, Baloo said, "Don't look like I have much of a choice, partner."

Meanwhile...
Khan's Limo

As his limousine sped towards Cape Suzette, its headlights cutting across the dark desert, Shere Khan was listening to Baloo's and Kit's conversation. Into his car phone, he dictated, "Mrs. Snarly, raise the price of my root beer five cents a bottle. And tell Buzz and his team to start working on a second antidote to the invisibility formula."

Higher for Hire
The Next Morning

The Rebecca who walked into her office was normally bright-eyed and smiling as cheerfully as the morning sunshine. But this morning was different. The bearess who trudged into the office this morning had bloodshot eyes coupled with an expression as angry as the storm clouds outside. She'd been awake most of the night wondering what to do about her invisible pilot, besides strangling him.

Her black expression darkened when she read the note that had been left on her desk.

Becky,

Gone today. Wurking for Sheer Khan. Cant tell u watt it is cuz I dunno.

Baloo

"Working for Shere Khan? Ha!" she scoffed, crumpling up the note. "Goofing off is more like it. I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

Rebecca picked up the phone and dialed. "When I catch that fat, lazy bear, I'll fire him so fast that it'll take him a week to..."

"Hey, Becky baby," Louie said on the other end of the phone connection, chuckling a little at her tirade. "What's the haps?"

"Don't you 'Becky baby' me. You just tell that good-for-nothing pilot of mine to get off whatever barstool he's sitting on and get back here pronto!"

"Sorry, but no can do."

"Why not?" she demanded crossly.

"He ain't here, dear."

Rebecca blinked, incredulous. She had been so sure that Baloo was at Louie's nightclub, because he seemed to run there every chance that he could. Feeling slightly deflated, she said, "He's not?"

"Nope." The orangutan's voice took on a more intimate tone: "Is there anything I can do for ya, Sugar Cubes?"

"Sorry, but I don't have time to find out." Quickly, she slammed the receiver down.

"Not at Louie's? Then he must be..." Rebecca rose from her desk and flung open the kitchen door, shouting, "Ah-ha!"

But the kitchen was silent and definitely empty.

"Not at Louie's. Not eating. He must be sleeping."

Rebecca hurried upstairs to Baloo's and Kit's bedroom. The door was open, so she walked in, grimacing at the crumbs crunching beneath her feet. "Up and at 'em, Baloo!"

There was no answer from the neatly-made beds nor the empty root beer bottle on the night stand.

"Not at Louie's, not eating, and not sleeping. Fishing! He's got to be fishing. Trying to catch that Ol' Fishy or whatever."

Rebecca stormed out of Higher for Hire and sped down to the end of the dock, near where the Sea Duck was moored. To her disappointment, there didn't appear to be anyone fishing.

In fact, the only person around was Wildcat. The lion mechanic was on his houseboat's porch, up to his elbows in sudsy water in his wringer washer.

"Wildcat, have you seen Baloo?" Rebecca asked, climbing down the ladder to the houseboat.

"Yup."

A triumphant 'caught ya' look appeared on Rebecca's face. "Where is he?" she asked eagerly.

"I dunno." He rolled a soapy sock through the wringer. "But I've seen him before. Just not today."

Rebecca gritted her teeth in frustration. "Of course you can't see him today. He's in-vi-si-ble."

Wildcat hung the sock on a clothesline along with his other mismatched socks. "That explains why I haven't seen him. Say, do you think maybe Baloo borrowed some of my socks? 'Cause some of them seem to be invisible, too."

Then he jumped into the washer's tub, spraying Rebecca from head to toe.

"Wildcat, what are you doing?" Rebecca exclaimed.

"Washing my overalls," he replied matter-of-factly.

Rebecca gave him a wary look and swiftly scrambled up the ladder. Try as she might, she could never seem to understand the workings of Wildcat's mind.

Standing on the dock, she re-read the dripping, crumpled note. "Not at Louie's, not eating, not sleeping, not fishing. Maybe Baloo was telling the truth...for once."

Meanwhile...
The People's Glorious Republic of Thembria
Air Vector Checkpoint #24

A hulking, solidly-built Thembrian airplane plowed a wide path through the snow as it recklessly skidded to a stop in front of the air vector checkpoint.

The short warthog who opened the cockpit door looked extremely small in contrast to the huge airplane that he piloted. He put one leg out of the plane, then quickly withdrew it, deciding that it was too big a step for him. "Sergeant Dunder!" he bellowed.

"Sorry, Colonel Spigot, sir." Sergeant Dunder jumped out of the airplane and touched his toes, creating a step for his superior.

With some difficulty, the colonel jumped from the plane to Dunder's back, then slid down to the snowy ground. He stomped to the guardhouse, lisping, "Open this checkpoint immediately!"

The checkpoint guard didn't bother to look up from his whittling; it was a miniature of the High Marshall in ice. Automatically, as if he had said it a thousand times, he stated, "This is a closed air vector."

"Whatever that is," Sergeant Dunder murmured. Spying a soda pop machine, he hurried over to get a root beer.

Bristling with indignation, the short warthog drew himself up to his full height and announced impressively, "I'm Colonel Spigot. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

The checkpoint attendant immediately snapped to attention. "Of course, Colonel Spigot, sir, but..."

The remainder of his sentence was drowned out by Falcon Wing whooshing by very low and very fast.

Spigot snatched at his hat, which had blown off his head. "Sergeant Dunder, I demand that you have that plane shot down for speeding through a closed air vector!"

A bottle of pop in hand, Dunder scanned the sky. There was nothing in sight but the ever-present slate grey clouds. "What plane, sir?"

Khan Towers

In his massive penthouse office, Shere Khan bent over one of his humongous Venus flytraps, pruning shears in hand. From jungles to corporations, pruning was a natural part of life. Dead weight has to be cut away to encourage new growth, he thought, giving a gentle, yet decisive clip to a dead leaf. Such as that sub-par golf tee company in Winger City. He picked up the dead leaf and deposited it in the trash.

He flicked an eye towards the elevator when he heard it open.

"Mr. Khan, I must speak to you," Rebecca said breathlessly, making her way across the room as fast as she could with Mrs. Snarly, his secretary, clinging to her ankle.

"Sorry about the intrusion, Mr. Khan. I tried to stop her, but she was so persistent." The elderly shrew gave Rebecca's leg a savage pinch.

"Ow!" Rebecca cried out in pain. She continued to limp across the office, dragging Mrs. Snarly behind her. "It has to do with Baloo."

Khan's lips twitched with an expression akin to amusement. This was the first person who had gotten past his secretary. In his opinion, a person that determined had a right to be heard. "It's all right, Mrs. Snarly. Let Ms. Cunningham speak her piece."

"Yes, Mr. Khan." Mrs. Snarly released Rebecca's leg and stood. She shot the bearess a venomous look before heading to the elevator.

Rebecca hobbled over to the tiger. "Thank you, Mr. Khan."

Khan continued to cut away foliage. "Now what's this about Baloo?"

"Is he working for you today?"

Khan considered before replying. "In every business one must take certain risks to get ahead. Sometimes those risks succeed and sometimes they fail." Snip! "Surely you as an entrepreneur can understand that."

"Where is he? What's he doing?"

Instead of answering her question, the most powerful man in the world said, "I'm sure you know what 'top secret' means."

Snip! Snip!

"Of course," Rebecca replied wonderingly.

He turned his cool eyes on her. Not unkindly, he said, "Then you'll understand why I can't answer your questions. However, I can assure you that my scientists are doing everything possible to return your pilot to normalcy...as it were."

"I appreciate that, but as his boss can't you at least tell me...?"

"Good day."

Snip!

The sound of the shears had a tone of finality.

Flatly, Rebecca said, "Thank you, Mr. Khan. I'm sorry I disturbed you."

After the elevator doors had closed behind Rebecca, Shere Khan murmured, "The only thing that will be disturbed will be the Wulff's Wunderbar Company." When the Venus flytrap snapped at him, he easily dodged it.

The Really Black Forest
Hounsland

Kit peered out the window at the sea of trees speeding by below them. "Why do they call it the Really Black Forest? It looks green from up here."

"Yeah, but it's blacker'n a bottomless pit down there 'cause all of those green leafys block out the sun."

"Swell. And we have to get a root beer formula from a factory in the middle of a dark forest crawling with Swatzis?"

"Swatzis who can't see us, kid," Baloo pointed out. "We'll pop in, grab the formula, and pop out. What could go wrong?"

At that moment, without warning, a series of explosions rocked the plane!

"Whoa!" Baloo and Kit yelled.

End of part 2

Here's to Your Stealth
Part 3

Above The Really Black Forest, Hounsland

"Either this is Independence Day or we've been spotted!" Baloo exclaimed. He yanked Falcon Wing's control yoke this way and that in an attempt to evade the bombs that were bursting all around them.

Kit, who was being flung from side to side despite the seatbelt, shouted over the deafening noise, "That's impossible! Falcon Wing is invisible!"

"Tell that to them."

"Whoa!" Baloo and Kit yelled.

The latest explosion had been so close that it shattered the starboard window, causing glass to rain in on the two bears.

"We've been hit!" Baloo swiped shards of glass from his goggles.

Kit felt something warm and wet run down his muzzle. To his surprise, it didn't taste like blood. "By root beer?"

"Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Li'l Britches?"

"That only the Wulff's Wunderbar factory would shoot off root beer-filled pop bottle rockets?"

"Bingo. Only one way to find out."

Mindful of the jagged glass framing the large hole in the passenger side window, Kit gingerly stuck his head outside. Below them, between the blinding flashes of the bombs, he caught intermittent glimpses of a small mountainside clearing that was mostly filled by a large building. "But there's not enough space to land. The forest grows too close to the factory!" he shouted over the bombs, the engines, and the rushing wind.

"We've gotta get down there somehow, an' this falcon ain't the treetop-perchin' kind."

"Too bad, because all I see are trees, trees, and more...wait! There's a lake. Two o'clock low."

A moment later, a pair of frightened geese took wing when a tall plume of water seemed to magically sprout in the middle of the calm lake. They honked frantically at the invisible, roaring intruder as it plowed a watery path towards the shore. The geese alighted on their favorite tufts of grass just in time to hear the monster stop growling, the slam of a door, and a disembodied voice say:

"Now I see why they call it the Really Black Forest."

"Yeah," Baloo agreed. "It's darker than the inside of my empty tummy."

"It's sure looks spooky," Kit said nervously. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the pitch-black, ominously silent forest. "Who knows what might be hiding in there."

Baloo jumped from the plane, splashing into the shallow water near the shore. "Brr! This water's colder'n a Thembrian Jacuzzi." The big bear grabbed at the trees overhanging the crystal clear lake to keep from slipping on the rocks polished smooth by time and water. "Put your fears to rest, Li'l Britches. We aren't going through the forest."

"What do you mean, Baloo?" Kit asked, also hopping into the frigid lake. Losing his footing on the treacherous rocks, he frantically clutched at Baloo's shirttail to steady himself. "We have to get to the factory to get the root beer recipe for Shere Khan so that he'll give us the antidote to the invisibility formula, and the factory is through that forest."

"Right on both accounts, but we'll have a better chance of findin' the factory if we follow the river that I spotted. According to my calc-u-lations, it should be right around heeeeeere!" Unexpectedly, Baloo had stepped off the solid rock shelf and plunged into the not-so-solid stream with Kit still hanging onto him.

Spluttering and splashing, the two bears were speedily propelled down the mountain, tumbling in the strong current. The farther they went, the faster they went, picking up momentum down the steep slope. Flipping head over heels in the natural snake-shaped waterslide, it was difficult to tell which way was up. The forest flew by them in a blur mingled with flashes of blue water and bluer sky.

"H-how do you...glub...st-st-stop this...ouch!...crazy t-thing?" Baloo choked out.

A second later, they found themselves hurtling through the air and landing with jarring jolts. They lay on the warm grass as dazed and as wet as a couple of fish out of water.

"You had to ask," Kit mumbled, shivering from his dip in the icy stream. "What was that thing?"

When Baloo's eyes focused, he was able to see what had caused their abrupt stop. "A paddlewheel." He plugged his nose, closed his eyes, and forced air through his cranium, causing twin streams of water to spout from his ears.

Kit was more interested in the building attached to the paddlewheel. "That's the famous Wulff's Wunderbar Root Beer Factory?" He got to his feet and wrung out his sweater.

It looked more like a picturesque medieval house than a factory. Wildflowers nestled against the mud and stud walls, their yellow and white heads bobbing in time with the spring breeze. On one side of the edifice, an ancient wooden paddlewheel steadily, creakily pulled water from the stream and dumped it into a shoot leading into the factory.

However, like Baloo and Kit, the factory seemed to distrust the dark forest crowding in around it as evidenced by the windows furtively peeking out from underneath the shaggy thatched roof.

"They're definitely makin' more'n just root beer in there," Baloo whispered, taking in the high electric fence that separated the forest from the clearing.

"Ya think?" Kit murmured wryly. He had noticed that there were armed guards posted at every door and gate. "How did they know we were flying over? We're invisible, right?"

Just then, a pudgy young German shepherd hurried out of the factory. Bread crumbs scattered in his wake with every flap of his lab coat. He waved his arms and shouted, "Stop! Stop!"

Alarmed, Baloo and Kit tensed. He was running right towards them.

"Maybe we're not so invisible after all," Baloo mumbled, putting a protective arm around his young navigator.

To their astonishment and relief, he ran past them and clomped across a wooden bridge that spanned the sparkling stream. He was headed for an older German shepherd with a goatee streaked with grey, who was standing next to a curious-looking contraption.

"There's something familiar about that guy," Kit whispered as he and Baloo crept across the bridge.

"Dr. Howlitz, I've been looking all over for you," the young man gasped out upon approaching the older German shepherd. "I need to know how the new soda flavor is coming along and...?" Upon observing Dr. Howlitz's uncharacteristic occupation, he asked, "Are you playing with toy rockets?"

"Must you always hound me, Hansel? These are not toys and I'm not playing." Dr. Howlitz continued to hurriedly pour the contents of two bottles of root beer into two separate funnels. The funnels were connected to a convoluted series of tubes that fed into the holes in the tops of dozens of small rockets sitting on a gigantic launcher. "If you must know, these are pop bottle rockets."

"Pop bottle rockets?" Hansel echoed faintly.

"Pop bottle rockets," Baloo murmured to Kit grimly.

Hansel, Baloo, and Kit watched as Dr. Howlitz removed the tubing from the top of the rockets, quickly corked each rocket, and began working the bicycle pump attached to the launcher.

A second later, thanks to carbonation and pressure, the rockets screamed high into the air. Then, with a surprisingly bright flashes of light and loud bangs,root beer sprinkled down on them.

Viewing his handiwork, Dr. Howlitz smiled triumphantly. "Gutt, eh?"

"Yeah, but what are they for?" Hansel asked confusedly.

"To keep the enemy away, what else?" Dr. Howlitz started to load up the launcher with new rockets.

"B-but we don't have any enemies." Nervously, he pulled a liverwurst sandwich from his lab coat pocket and chomped into it. Between bites, he said, "This is a family business. We all trust each other."

Dr. Howlitz gave Hansel a condescending pat on the shoulder. "When are you going to learn that you can't trust anybody these days? You have a lot of growing up to do before you can fill your father's shoes as president of this company, and no amount of eating will accomplish that."

Hansel's normally placid face grew red with rage. Throwing the remainder of the sandwich on the ground, he spluttered, "G-get back to work! And you have to do what I say because I'm in charge!" When he was halfway across the bridge, he turned and added as an apologetic afterthought, "Right?"

When Hansel was out of earshot, Dr. Howlitz murmured, "I wouldn't be too sure about that." He turned his attention to the sky, his Swatzi insignia ring glinted on the hand that thoughtfully stroked his goatee. Because he didn't see or hear anything, he smiled with satisfaction. "Gutt, I scared them off. Now to contact headquarters."

"Headquarters?" Kit whispered. Both he and Baloo quickly stepped back to avoid being plowed into by the doctor as he strode purposely towards the factory.

"Let's tail him. See what he's up to."

"Roger that," Kit said with a thumbs-up.

Just as Dr. Howlitz reached the door, an armed guard barred the way. "Password?"

"I work here, Gunther. And watch where you're pointing that gun," the scrawny doctor pushed the barrel of the rifle away from his face. "It's not a tuba, you know."

"Sorry, Second-Cousin Twice-Removed Georg."

Between clenched teeth, the scientist said, "It's Dr. Howlitz to you. Now let me in. Schnell!"

The burly, if not exactly bright, guard shook his head. "Just following your orders, Second...uh, Dr. Howlitz. No one enters without the password."

"All right," Dr. Howlitz said with a heavy sigh. "Bluebells."

As Gunther the guard stepped aside, Dr. Howlitz muttered, "Such an idiotic password!" He wrenched open the door and stormed into the factory closely followed by Baloo and Kit.

Dr. Howlitz swept through the warehouse, his lab coat billowing behind him as he skirted around mounds of crates, bottles, and packaging materials.

Baloo and Kit had to trot to keep up. They nearly collided with each other and with Dr. Howlitz when the scientist screeched to a halt and made a sudden U-turn.

"Where is that going?" Dr. Howlitz demanded, hurrying over to two young women loading bottles of root beer onto a truck.

The first woman, a pleasantly plump German shepherd in a brown jumpsuit emblazoned with the Wulff's Wunderbar insignia, paused in pushing a dolly up the ramp leading into the truck. "Café Minsk-Pinsk in Smolensk, right, Cousin Gretel?"

Gretel, another pleasantly plump German shepherd, nodded her head so that her blond braids bounced. She chimed in from inside the truck, "Ja, Cousin Heidi. I hear they have good borscht."

Baloo's empty stomach growled at the mere mention of food. "Mm...borscht."

"Shh!" Kit whispered, giving a fierce yank on Baloo's sleeve.

"You ninnies!" Dr. Howlitz exclaimed, waving his arms so wildly that Baloo and Kit had to dance to avoid being smacked. "You're supposed to load the bottles with the brown caps. The bottles with the red caps are a special shipment for Usland."

Heidi shared a confused look with Gretel, who consulted her clipboard. Flipping through a few papers, she said uncertainly, "Brother Hansel didn't tell us about a special shipment, Second-Cousin Twice-Removed Georg."

"Hansel doesn't know everything around here." As the disgruntled scientist passed through the doorway leading into the production area, he shouted, "And it's Dr. Howlitz to you!"

"He needs to lighten up, Cousin Gretel."

"Ja, Cousin Heidi." When both women jumped down from the truck, it sprang up with a boing.

Unlike the quiet, dim warehouse, the production area was bright, busy, and boisterous. Sweet and spicy root beer bubbled in gigantic vats, so big that they almost reached the rafters. Workers rushed to put empty bottles onto the conveyer belt, workers rushed to take filled bottles off the conveyer belt, and in between was the steady, automatic whoosh, click of bottles being filled and capped. It was a happy environment where the workers laughed and chatted to each other, obviously enjoying their occupations.

But not everyone was happy. Dr. Howlitz paid no heed to any of it as he dourly stalked past the conveyer belt with Baloo and Kit silently trailing him.

"Guttentag, Second-Cousin Twice-Removed Georg!" shouted a pleasant, portly man from his precarious perch atop a ladder. He was using a garden hose to fill one of the mixing vats with fresh mountain water. "You're just in time to taste our newest batch."

"I can't, Helmut," Dr. Howlitz said, not pausing in his race across the room. "And neither should you."

"Is this another special order for Usland?"

"No, it's because the company will never make a profit if you drink it all."

"That sounds familiar," Kit murmured to Baloo, who nodded sheepishly.

"But Uncle Frederick used to let us when he was alive," Helmut countered. "He said that a root beer and a rousing polka made this family business more fun."

"There are more important things than fun." Only Baloo and Kit were close enough to hear him say, "Like taking over the world."

Turning off the garden hose, Helmut murmured under his breath, "Why Cousin Hansel lets Second-Cousin Twice-Removed Georg be top dog is beyond me."

On the far side of the room, behind the gigantic vats, Dr. Howlitz opened a door to what appeared to be a closet. In fact, it was a closet. He pulled the door shut behind him and locked it before either Baloo or Kit could sneak in.

Inside the closet, Dr. Howlitz pulled down on two of the coat hooks, revealing a secret door in the back. Through that door was a small room simply furnished with a table, a chair, a lamp with a red shade, and a radio. Seating himself at the desk, the doctor donned the headset, flicked on the lamp, and turned on the radio before carefully shutting the door to the secret room.

A moment later, Baloo and Kit squeezed into the adjoining closet.

Kit slipped his lock pick back under his sweater. "Sometimes those pirate skills come in handy."

Baloo pawed through the coats and hats, searching for Dr. Howlitz. "Where'd he go? You don't s'pose he's invisible like us?"

Kit, his ear pressed to the back of the closet, whispered, "Shh! I hear something."

Through the thin plywood partition came the following muffled conversation:

"Doc calling HQ. Over."

A no-nonsense, nasal voice pierced the static. "HQ here. Over."

"Scared off intruders. I could hear them, but not see them. Is it possible that Usland has the technology for an invisible airplane? Over."

"Nein," the staccato voice snorted. "Those lazy oafs aren't intelligent enough for that. Over."

"Boss asking too many questions. Request directions concerning same. Over."

"Let the boss taste the formula. That should answer all of his questions. Over."

Dr. Howlitz sounded very pleased at the prospect of making Hansel disappear. "Jawohl. Any reports concerning formula results from Usland? Over."

"Nein. Over."

"But the effects of the formula should have been broadcasted all over the Uslandian newspapers and radios by now!" Dr. Howlitz exclaimed.

"The Furor is furious that it is not," the clipped voice said curtly. "You know he has a very tight schedule regarding taking over the world. He does not like to be kept waiting. Over."

Panicking a little, Dr. Howlitz gulped. "But I thought it would work. Over."

"Report back when you know it will work. Over."

"Jawohl. Signing off." Petulantly, Dr. Howlitz said, "And fat, stupid Hansel will be the perfect guinea pig."

Kit, brushing a coat sleeve out of his face, whispered, "We've got to warn Hansel."

Just then, they heard a low, guttural growl.

"Oh...not your stomach again!" Kit whined.

"Wasn't me," Baloo mumbled.

They turned to see a ferocious-looking guard dog poking his head inside the closet. Alternately growling and sniffing the air, the dog advanced towards Baloo and Kit.

"Is it me or is it gettin' a little crowded in here?" Baloo whimpered, backing as far as he could into the closet in order to escape the dog's prominent fangs.

"You know what they say: Three's a crowd," Kit replied nervously. He pressed up against the side of the closet, putting as many coats as possible between him and the hound.

"They got that right." Just then, Baloo bumped a fedora hat off its hook, causing it to slip down over his eyes. "Hey," he whispered, plucking the hat from his head. "I got me an idea. Get ready to skedaddle, kiddo."

When the guard dog barked viciously, Baloo smashed the fedora down over its head, saying, "Put a lid on it!"

While the dog tried to shake off the hat, Baloo and Kit made their hasty escape. However, it wasn't hasty enough. The dog fiercely flung the fedora off and tore after the intruders, barking and nipping at their heels.

Reaching a door, Kit bolted through it and slammed it behind him. He found himself in a cramped, cluttered laboratory, somewhat similar to Buzz's.

"Who's there?" Hansel called from behind a lab bench upon which were several beakers containing brightly colored liquid.

Deciding that the wind had caused the door to slam, Hansel returned to his work. He taste-tested something out of a beaker and grimaced. "Bleck!" He made a notation in his lab notebook, then threw down his pen and glanced at the portrait of his father. "Guess I'm not cut out to create wonderful soda flavors like you, Father. Dr. Howlitz was right. I'm a failure. I wish I was invisible." He glumly took an apple strudel out of his lab coat pocket and bit into it.

"Trust me, being invisible isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Hansel was so surprised, he dropped the strudel. His frightened eyes scanned the room. "Wh-who are you and how would you know?"

"I'm Kit from Cape Suzette." The boy scraped a metal stool across the tile floor so that it was next to Hansel's stool, then climbed up on it. "And I know thanks to your root beer and Dr. Howlitz's secret formula."

"Dr. Howlitz? I-I don't believe it," Hansel stuttered. He stared, aghast, at the empty stool from whence the disembodied voice emanated.

"Do you believe this?" Kit said, seizing the young German shepherd's hand to give it a friendly squeeze.

Hansel shook Kit's hand off as if he had the plague, squeaking, "Invisibility's impossible!"

Kit chuckled. "Tell that to Baloo, my Papa Bear. He's out there, being chased by your guard dog. Hear the dog?"

Indeed, Hansel could hear the frenzied barking from the next room. He reluctantly nodded; however, there was still a confused frown on his face. "But..."

"Here. Maybe this will convince you." Kit removed his goggles and placed them over Hansel's eyes. "See me now?"

Dumbfounded, Hansel stared at the boy, who was smiling back at him in all of his black-and-white glory. He replaced and removed the goggles to see Kit appear and disappear several times before saying decidedly, "This is a family business. We're all related and very loyal to the success of Wulff's Wunderbar Root Beer. None of us would change a world-renowned recipe."

"Even Dr. Howlitz?" Kit swished the amber liquid around in one of the beakers and briefly relayed the radio conversation he and Baloo had overheard.

Hansel removed the goggles and returned them to Kit. Angrily, he said, "But I trusted him! If he's turned Swatzi, that would explain why hehas been acting so suspicious since Father died. He's been using this company and my family in order to help the Furor take over the world. Insisting on a fence and guards, no more music and, under no circumstances, no more taste-testing. He said that it was all in the company's best interest, that he was developing a new flavor called cream soda, but he hasn't let any of us taste it."

"Taste what?" Dr. Howlitz asked upon entering.

"Your new cream soda," Hansel said, trying to disguise his anger with nonchalance. "I'm very curious about it. As head of this company, I think that I have the right to try it."

"And so you shall." Dr. Howlitz pulled a vial from his lab coat pocket. "Apparently, the last batch was too weak, but if we double the ingredients, this new batch should be more potent...er, potable."

Hansel made an unsuccessful grab for the vial.

"Patience, Hansel," Dr. Howlitz chided. "It has to be mixed with root beer to work." From another lab coat pocket, he procured a bottle of root beer and popped off the cap. He was about to pour the vial's contents into the bottle when it was snatched away by an invisible hand.

For a moment, Dr. Howlitz was speechless as he watched the vial bobbing in mid-air towards the door. "My invisibility formula! Stop it!" he cried, chasing after the vial.

Kit ran through the door and slammed it behind him, causing Dr. Howlitz to smash into it. As the scientist slid to the floor, miniature root beer bottles spun around his head.

Meanwhile...

The remainder of the Wulff family had paused in their work to watch the guard dog tear recklessly around the production area.

"What's gotten into Crusher, Nephew Helmut?" asked the woman at the capping station.

Crash! Crusher knocked over a pile of empty bottles on one side of the room.

"I do not know, Aunt Liesel. The last time he acted like this, he was chasing a rabbit."

Smash! Crusher skidded into a stack of crates on the other side of the room.

"But there is no rabbit, Cousin Helmut," Gretel said from the doorway leading to the warehouse. "He is chasing nothing."

Whoosh! Crusher accidently knocked open a valve on the bottom of one of the mixing tanks, allowing water to gush from it.

"Maybe he drank some of Second-Cousin Twice-Removed Georg's special shipment, Cousin Gretel," Heidi suggested, calmly shutting off the valve and stopping the water flow.

Clatter! Crusher slammed into a shelf, causing all of the spice tins to rain to the floor.

"Where is Second-Cousin Twice-Removed Georg anyway?" Helmut wondered. "Crusher is his dog. He should be taking care of him."

Around and around and around Baloo ran. Past the vats, the conveyer belt, the capping area, the vats, the conveyer belt, the capping area until the machinery and the faces of the Wulff family were no more than a dizzy blur.

Still, the guard dog showed no sign of tiring in its mad pursuit.

"I...gasp...can't keep...gasp...moving...gasp...my chassis...gasp...any longer," Baloo panted.

In desperation, he lunged for the ladder that was leaning against one of the three gigantic mixing vats and started to scale it.

Ha! he thought as he reached the top. Let's see that mangy mutt climb up here.

Then Baloo made his one fatal flaw - he looked down, causing his eyes to about pop out of his head. Why did I climb up here? Overcome by vertigo, the big bear swayed violently, causing the ladder to tilt.

Where's the Sea Duck when I need her? Baloo thought. He made a desperate grab for the vat's lip just as the ladder clattered to the floor. Whew! Safe, he thought.

But not for long. The vat began to tip under his weight.

"Not safe! Not safe!" Baloo cried, kicking his legs in a futile effort to push the vat back up.

Meanwhile...
Directly Below

Kit was cornered between the conveyer belt, Dr. Howlitz, and Crusher.

"Give me the vial, whoever you are, and I'll call off Crusher. If not...well, he's not called Crusher for nothing," Dr. Howlitz said with an ominous chuckle.

Helmut whispered to Gretel, "He has gone cuckoo. Talking to no one."

From behind Dr. Howlitz, Hansel commanded, "Let that boy go, Second-Cousin Twice-Removed Georg!"

"Nein," Dr. Howlitz retorted, his eyes fixated on the vial. "He is a criminal."

"No, you are the criminal here," Hansel proclaimed. "A Swatzi traitor using my family and my company to spread darkness all over the world with your invisibility formula."

Seeing a large shadow falling over the room, everyone glanced up. The vat that Baloo was dangling from had tipped over so far that it allowed them to see the gallons upon gallons of root beer sloshing around inside.

"Achtung!" Hansel shouted. "Everybody out!"

"Here, catch," Kit said. He tossed the vial up into the air and dashed out of the room right behind the Wullfs.

Crusher simultaneously caught the vial and knocked over his master at the same time.

"Crusher, you saved it!" Dr. Howlitz cried. "You..."

Crunch!

"Ruined it," Dr. Howlitz sobbed as he and the guard dog were covered with the vile contents of the vial. "You stupid, slobbering dog! How will I ever be able to show my face again? I'm all washed up. I'm...aaaaaahhhh!"

At that moment, the vat fully tipped over, flooding the room in a root beer deluge.

After the root beer went down the floor drains, both Dr. Howlitz and Crusher were nowhere to be seen.

"Man, I haven't been this sticky since Louie and I took that guacamole bath in Rio de Jalepeno," Baloo said, jumping off of the vat. He wrung out his pilot's cap. "Kit, where are you?"

"I'm here," Kit replied, entering the factory from the warehouse. "Look, Papa Bear, Dr. Howlitz and Crusher are invisible, too."

"I guess you can say that they're dog gone," Baloo said with a grin. Thanks to his goggles he could see a black-and-white version of Crusher sprawled over a very irate, very wet Dr. Howlitz lying inelegantly on the floor.

"Don't growl at me, Crusher," Dr. Howlitz snarled. "This is all your fault. If it hadn't been for you..."

Chomp!

"Ow!" Faster than a flea, Dr. Howlitz jumped up and took off with the dog in pursuit. "Biting me when I can't see you? That's not fair!"

Chomp!

"Ow!"

Baloo chuckled. "Talk about gettin' a taste of your own medicine."

Later...

After Baloo and Kit had been introduced to the rest of the Wulff family and Hansel had explained about the invisibility formula and the factory had been hosed down, the Wulff's Wunderbar Root Beer Factory was up and running again. To show their appreciation for saving their company and their father's reputation, Hansel and Gretel suggested giving Baloo and Kit a guided tour.

Following the tour, Kit asked, "What are you going to do now, Hansel?"

"My family and I can get back to making root beer the old fashioned way - no guards, no fences, and no invisibility formula."

Sheepishly, Baloo said, "Uh, speaking of formulas...I hate to ask, but could we have a copy of it?"

"Ja. It's the least we can do," Hansel said readily.

"But it won't taste the same if you make it," Gretel said in a whispered aside. "The secret is in the mountain water."

"And love." Hansel gave his sister a one-armed hug, then grinned at all of his relatives. "Let's all get back to the serious business of making root beer," he said, pushing the button that started the bottle filling process.

As if on cue, the guards traded their guns for instruments and started playing a rousing polka.

Baloo, his toes tapping, said, "You're doin' your papa proud."

Khan Towers
Several Hours Later

Baloo and Kit stepped out of the elevator into Shere Khan's office. Before either could say anything, Khan said, "Welcome back, Baloo...and Kit."

"How did you know...?" Kit squeaked.

"Like I said, I have my ways," Khan said mysteriously. "I trust the mission was successful?"

"One root beer formula, as promised." Baloo tossed a piece of paper containing the recipe onto the shining surface of the mahogany desk.

"Good," Shere Khan murmured as he skimmed over the recipe. "As per our agreement, drink this." He gestured to two vials on his desk.

Baloo and Kit each picked up a vial and looked at the sludgy green goo doubtfully.

"I'll be seein' ya...I hope," Baloo said, clinking his vial against Kit's.

Both of them uncorked the vials, shut their eyes, and, grimacing, gulped down the goo.

"Bleck!" they said simultaneously.

"That stuff tasted terrible. I'd hate to see..." Baloo said, opening his eyes. Removing the invisibility goggles, he exclaimed, "I can see you, Li'l Britches!"

"I can see you, too, Papa Bear!" Kit shouted happily. He flung off his goggles and jumped into Baloo's arms for a hug.

Dryly, Shere Khan said, "Mmm...yes, I can see you both."

"Yeah, thanks to you, Khanny."

"By the way, there is one very important thing that I haven't seen," Khan said, walking over to the window. "Where is Falcon Wing?"

Just then, there was a loud screech and crash in the street below. A plume of dark black smoke floated past the window.

"Oops. Guess I left it in stealth mode." Seeing Shere Khan's face darken, Baloo muttered nervously, "Come on, Kit. We'd better get while the getting's good."

Meanwhile...
Also in Khan Towers

Rebecca couldn't take the suspense any longer. Forced to wait all day, her constant pacing had almost carved a rut in the floor of her office. She had to get more information about Baloo and if she had to fight Mrs. Snarly again to get that information, so be it.

Rebecca stepped out of the elevator only to face the elderly shrew sitting ramrod straight behind her desk.

For a moment, the two strong-willed women stared at each other, their eyes narrowed. Rebecca could swear that she heard the strains of "The Good, the Bad, and the Very, Very Ugly".

Finally, Mrs. Snarly broke the silence with, "Here to make an appointment?"

"I have to see Mr. Khan." Rebecca edged towards the elevator behind Mrs. Snarly's desk.

Mrs. Snarly opened an appointment book. While keeping an eye on Rebecca's movements, she said, "You can see him two weeks from Thursday."

Both bolted for the elevator at the same time. Unfortunately for Rebecca, Mrs. Snarly reached it first and barred the way.

Rebecca gritted her teeth and tried to pry Mrs. Snarly away from the door. For a little old lady, she was surprisingly strong. "I just need to ask one, simple question."

"In that case, he can see you one week from Wednesday," Mrs. Snarly stated calmly. She didn't even seem to be struggling to keep her octopus-like grip on the door frame.

"There's got to be an earlier slot open!"

When Rebecca said 'open', the elevator door opened. Mrs. Snarly tumbled backwards and landed on something that made a very loud, very familiar, "Oof!"

"Baloo! Kit!" Rebecca grabbed her flight crew by their hands and pulled them out of the elevator. She then quickly pushed the 'up' button. Before the elevator doors closed, she waved at Mrs. Snarly. "I guess I won't be needing that appointment after all. Bye-ee!"

The three bears rushed across room to the other elevator that would take them down to the street.

"Becky, what are you doin' here?" Baloo asked as the elevator rushed downward.

"Um..." Rebecca hedged. She was too embarrassed to tell him that she had been worried about him. "It's...good to see you."

Stepping out of the elevator, Baloo said, "It's good to be seen."

"I second that!" Kit said with a smile.

After they had all exited Khan Towers and gotten into Rebecca's car, Baloo said, "Don't take Seventh Street. There's an accident down there."

Just then, a fleet of fire trucks and police cars zoomed around them.

"How did you know?" Rebecca asked curiously as she started the car.

Sharing an uncomfortable look, Baloo and Kit said simultaneously, "We have our ways."

Higher for Hire
The Next Day

Once more, Baloo and Kit sat on the end of the dock, fishing. The sounds of a radio drifted out to them from Wildcat's houseboat.

Broadcast Sally, Cape Suzette's famous D.J., was saying in her velvety voice, "In other news, air force pilots flying over the Mohahavie Desert reported strange activity around Area 52. Some scientists have attributed it to an UFO. Other scientists have called that theory quote bunkum unquote. Was it aliens? The world may never know."

Baloo and Kit shared a grin.

"And now here's Artie Shawn and his band playing 'Speedy Delivery Stomp'."

As the first few bars of the peppy tune blasted from the radio, Rebecca came down the dock, clipboard in hand. "What do you know? They're playing our song."

"Aw, man." Baloo redoubled his grip on his fishing pole and pulled the brim of his cap down over his eyes in a feeble effort to hide.

"I see you, Baloo." With an amused smile, Rebecca pushed the bill of his hat up.

Baloo felt a big tug on his line. "Yeah, just in time to see a historic moment. I'm gonna finally reel in Ol' Flippy."

"Not Ol' Flippy again," she groaned. "Ah!"

Ol' Flippy had surfaced, spit out Baloo's hook, and splashed the three bears with his fin.

"Why that dirty so-an-so! Turnin' up his gills at a perfectly good triple-action twisted wiggly with extra stink bait."

Kit wrung out his cap. "I don't blame him."

Baloo wrung out his shirt and faced the inevitable. "What's the job this time, boss lady?"

"I need you to pick up some tea cakes from Alice's Wonderland of Baked Goods in Shropshire A.S.A.P." Rebecca smacked the soggy clipboard into his belly. "And don't even think about eating the cargo!"

"Trust me, Becky, I've learned to button-y my gluttony." After a moment's pause, he said, "Wait a sec. Did you say 'cake'?"

Simultaneously, Kit and Rebecca said, "Oh, no, you don't!"

The End