manage to get around me? “Okay, we’ll go.”

Baloo dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then reached for his wallet. It was empty except for his pilot’s license and a few photographs. “Uh, got any money, honey?”

Rebecca, anticipating her husband’s lack of cash, had already retrieved her purse from her desk.

Out they stepped into the mellow afternoon sunshine. Molly and Cassie, hand-in-hand, led the way. Baloo and Rebecca, also holding hands, followed. They traversed the three blocks to ice cream stand where they all got ice cream cones. Then, they sat on a nearby bench to enjoy the sweet treats.

Since it was Cassie’s first ice cream cone, more of the sticky vanilla ice cream got on her clothes and face than in her mouth. She shied away with an impatient squeal when Rebecca tried to mop her messy face with a napkin. Meanwhile, Baloo, seated beside Rebecca, held a chocolate ice cream cone in each hand - his and Rebecca’s. He hungrily slurped down his ice cream and furtively took a lick of Rebecca’s when she wasn’t looking.

Molly, sitting on the other side of Baloo, asked between licks of her Frosty Pep, “Daddy, how old does Kit have to be before he goes to war?”

The pilot was so startled by the question that he accidentally shoved Rebecca’s cone in her nose, inciting an indignant, “Baloo!”

“Sorry, Beckers.” He dabbed at the ice cream dripping from her face while Rebecca said, “Don’t worry about that, honey. Kit won’t be old enough for three years.”

Molly thought about that for a while. Quietly, she inquired, “Will the war be over in three years?”

“I hope so, Pumpkin.” Rebecca, giving up the losing battle of cleaning Cassie’s face, glanced at her husband. He had that scared, sick look on his face as he did every time the subject of war came up, which was becoming more often with each passing day. With a comforting pat on his arm, she took her ice cream cone from him, noting its greatly diminished size with a frown. She pointed at her ice cream, which had been leveled off to the cone.

Grinning foolishly, Baloo shrugged. “Hey, it was meltin’.”

“Melting on your tongue,” Rebecca said sarcastically before taking a bite of her cone. “Let’s talk about something fun. What do you want to do on your summer vacation, Molly?”

“Go on all the cargo runs with Daddy and Kit, have lots of adventures, and learn to navigate,” was her prompt answer.

Finishing his cone, Baloo beamed at her and affectionately tousled her hair. “That’s a lot for one summer, Button-nose.”

“Yup, but I can do it,” Molly said proudly, also finishing off her cone.

“Do you think that you could fit a family vacation in your busy schedule, Miss Molly?” Rebecca asked with a smile.

“Sure, Mom.” Molly giggled.

“Lake Flaccid, here we come! Wahoo!” Baloo whooped like an excited little boy. “When can we go, Becky? When? When?”

Rebecca held up a silencing hand. “First, there’s good news and bad news.”

“Let’s get the bad news over with,” Baloo said, steeling himself by gripping the bench with both hands.

“I don’t think we can afford a week at Lake Flaccid this year.”

Baloo’s face fell. “No campin’? No fishin’?”

“No swimming? No toasting marshmallows over the campfire?” Molly said disappointedly.

Eyes twinkling, Rebecca said cheerfully, “The good news is that there’s a little extra money in the ‘fun fund’ this year. I think we could do more than just a week at Lake Flaccid.”

“Twoweeks?” Baloo said incredulously, looking as if Christmas had come early. He hugged Rebecca, ice cream cone and all. “Man, you’re the best little wife a guy ever had, Becky.”

Rebecca ruefully looked at the cold chocolate blob on her white turtleneck. “I’m the messiest little wife a guy ever had.”

Grinning from ear to ear, he wiped her shirt with a wad of napkins, but only managed to smear the stain around more. “Soon as we get home, I’ll have Wildcat tune up the Duck.”

“The car, Baloo,” Rebecca corrected, playfully swatting his hand away.

“The car?” Baloo echoed, surprised. “What for? We can put more campin’ gear in the Duck.”

“We’re not going camping.”

“We’re not? But you just said...”

“I want to take a road trip. See some of the sights with the kids before...before...we can’t.” Munching on the last of her cone, she gave Baloo a solemn, meaningful glance, one that even he understood.

“You mean because of the war, Mom?” Molly surmised, also understanding her mother’s look.

Rebecca took Cassie on her lap, cuddling the cub protectively. She sighed sadly. “Yes, honey, because of the war.”

In spite of the dark shadow that the encroaching war threw over her family, Molly’s face lit up with a sunshiny smile. “I can’t wait to tell Kit about the vacation!”

Prison Island
That Same Day

Thirty miles northwest of Cape Suzette, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, a yellow seaplane taxi landed at the dock outside of Prison Island. A short brown weasel paid the taxi driver, told him to wait, and alighted. The weasel - one Marion A. Weazel - tilted his head back to look up at the prison. The slate grey stone building loomed mountain-like before him - a formidable fortress complete with barbed wire, searchlights and the tightest security in the world. Eight stories housing Usland’s worst criminals.

Weazel gulped nervously. He, himself, had been freed from the Cape Suzette jail only months before.

Two-and-a-half years ago, he had been incarcerated as an accessory to a crime. The Heimlich Maneuver, which had united every criminal in the city under the leadership of criminal mastermind Heimlich Menudo, had been a diabolical plan - threatening to bomb Cape Suzette if they didn’t turn over every diamond. But, because of police intervention as well as a meddling skywriting pilot, the Heimlich Maneuver had choked up and died. On the day that he was locked up behind bars, Weazel vowed that if he ever found that bear again, he would find some way to pay him back.

His legs feeling like jelly, Weazel gathered up his courage as well as the newspaper he carried and strolled inside. At the front desk, he was greeted by a porcine policeman dressed in a navy blue uniform.

Taking a sip of coffee to wash down his donut, Officer Malarkey’s shrewd eyes surreptitiously took in every detail of the weasel from the top of his frayed brown fedora to the button missing on the jacket of his cheap green suit. “Checking in, Weasel?” The cool question betrayed his Irish brogue.

It took every ounce of self-control for Weazel not to correct the mispronunciation of his name. Running a finger around the inside of his collar, he mumbled, “No...um, I’m here to visit, uh, my cousin. Yeah, that’s it. My cousin. Came to wish him a, uh, happy birthday.”

“And who might this cousin be?”

Weazel gulped again, clutching the crumpled newspaper in his sweaty hands. “Heimlich. Heimlich Menudo.”

“Hmm...” As if trying to read his thoughts, the officer fixed his piercing black eyes on the weasel, who was fidgeting like a man in desperate need of a bathroom. “Okay, but before I let you see your cousin,” Weazel winced; “you’ll have to undergo a weapons search. Standard procedure.”

Weazel nodded.

Officer Malarkey patted the weasel’s pockets; then, finding no weapons, seized the newspaper from him and searched through every page. Finding nothing, he handed it back to Weazel with a brisk, “Follow me.”

They quickly walked down a long, grey-tiled hallway. At the end of the hall, Weazel was shown into a small room with three cubicles. Weazel sat down at the middle one and waited impatiently.

After a few minutes, Heimlich Menudo was led out, handcuffed to an armed guard. Years of being in prison had done little to alter the former crime boss. The brawny hyena’s eyes were still steely, his countenance still determined, his spirit still unbroken. Heimlich sat down opposite Weazel. Between them was a bulletproof glass partition that stretched from the top of the desk to the ceiling.

Both picked up a telephone receiver hanging on the wall.

“Hello,cousin,” Weazel said, casting nervous glances at the guard, especially the guard’s gun that was right at his eye level.

“Nice to see you, too,” Heimlich said with a thick German accent. He grinned at his former lackey, flashing a mouthful of broken diamond teeth. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I thought that I would bring you a present on your birthday.”

Heimlich lifted his eyebrows with an amused smile. “Ah...I see. A cake with a file hidden in it?”

Weazel laughed nervously. “Uh, not quite.”

“Soap so that I can wash my roommate’s socks? I’m telling you, that dog is disgusting!”

“No, Heimlich. Something better.” Weazel pressed the front page of theCape Suzette Tribune to the glass.

Heimlich’s eyes lit up at the headline, which read, “Emperor Karat’s Treasure Map Unearthed”. “Ah...yes, truly a wonderful birthday gift. And a very unique one.”

Weazel beamed at the rare praise. “You always said that it was a lifelong dream to find Emperor Karat’s diamond stash.”

Squinting, Heimlich peered at the picture beneath the headline. His smile widened. “And it is doubly wonderful to see an old friend.”

“Thank you, Heimlich. It’s good to see you, too,” Weazel replied, blushing a little.

“Notyou, Weasel,” Heimlich snapped.

“Uh, it’s Weazel.”

“Whatever,” Heimlich said curtly. “No, this picture. The stalwart fellow behind the archeologist lady. It has been too many years since I’ve seen Kazim.”

“Who?” Weazel said, turning the newspaper around so that he could look at the grainy photo.

Heimlich glanced out of the corner of his eye at the guard before whispering into the phone, “Withdraw $200,000 out of my Swizz bank account. You still have my authorization signature?”

Weazel nodded, vainly

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