me on the news.  Whattaya’ll say?”

 

“I say I’ve really got to go.” Rebecca scrambled to her feet and scooped up her handbag.

 

“Why, of course you do!  The sooner you look up my credentials, the sooner ya’ll love me.  I reckon everybody does!” Conrad yelled after her as she rushed towards the exit amid a blaze of flashbulbs.

 

Higher for Hire
Five Minutes Later

 

Rebecca sprang from a checkered cab, threw a fistful of bills at the driver, and ran into her office. 

 

Kit, Molly, and Wildcat were sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of Rebecca’s desk.  They looked up from the card game they were playing when she entered.

 

Rebecca was a pink blur as she sprinted across the room, grabbed the Sea Duck’s spare set of keys from her desk drawer and headed for the door, saying quickly, “I’m flying to Thembria to get Baloo because I know he wouldn’t defect in...in a prop-spinnin’ minute.  Kit, you take care of Molly.  Molly, you be good for Kit, and, Wildcat, you do...whatever it is you do.  Okay?  Bye!”

 

As quickly as she had come in, Rebecca left, slamming the door behind her.  A moment later the Sea Duck started up and roared away.

 

“Wait.”  Confusion crossed Kit’s face as he chose a card from the pile on the floor in front of him. “Did she just say Baloo defected to Thembria, or did I misunderstand her?”

 

“That’s okay, Kit.  I misunderstand people all the time,” Wildcat replied with a bright smile. He looked at his cards and scratched his head.  “Are we playing Old Maid or Crazy Eights?”

 

“Go Fish,” Molly answered, trying to decide what card she should ask for next.

 

“Okay.”  Without further ado, Wildcat put down his cards, got to his feet, and started for the door.

 

“Where are you going?” Kit asked.

 

“To get my fishing pole.”

 

Kit and Molly shared a look and shrugged. 

 

Meanwhile...
Khan Towers

 

Shere Khan, the world’s richest and most powerful man, stood in front of his very large window, gazing down at the misty reflection of the city lights far, far below in the harbor.   

 

The radio on his desk was on and Dog Rather was reporting: “According to the President, Col. Conrad was unable to resolve matters with the High Marshall earlier today due to the Thembrian leader’s refusal to negotiate...”

 

“A pity,” Khan purred. His pleased face was reflected in the glass.

 

His reverie was cut short by the nasal voice of his faithful secretary paging him over the intercom. 

 

“Col. Conrad is here to see you, Mr. Khan.”

 

With the purposeful, unhurried strides of a man who knew exactly where he was going in life, Khan crossed the room and seated himself behind his desk. He switched off the radio and pressed the ‘transmit’ button on the intercom. “Show him in, Mrs. Snarly.”

 

A moment later, Conrad exited the elevator. Most people crept timidly into the imposing office occupied by the equally imposing Shere Khan. Not Col. Conrad.  He strutted past the snapping man-eating Venus flytraps with all the arrogance and self-assurance in the world.  When he reached the desk, he slapped one hand on its polished surface and offered the other to the businessman. “As always, a delight to be here, Mr. Khan.  Mighty ‘bliged that you’d see me so late in the P.M.”

 

Khan ignored the proffered hand and got straight down to business. “I trust that you were successful.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Col. Conrad took a seat in the chair opposite the desk and straightened a few of the medals on his uniform. “The goods are en route to Thembria.”

 

“Excellent.”  He handed the colonel a fat envelope.

 

Conrad peeked at the cash in the envelope and smiled with satisfaction as he tucked it into his pocket.  “When the war begins tomorrow, I’ll get to bomb those idiotic Thembrians.  How they ever got to be a world power is beyond me.  Yessiree, I’ll probably be promoted to general and, I reckon,” he chuckled, “your pocketbook won’t be hurtin’ with all those military contracts.”

 

Quietly but resolutely, Khan said, “There’s not going to be a war.”

 

“No war?  No general?”  Crestfallen, Conrad fingered his lapel where he had longed to see a general’s star.

 

“Anyone can be a general. Not everyone can be president.” Khan fixed Col. Conrad with a cool stare. “You do want to be president, don’t you?”

 

“Shore do!” the colonel said eagerly.

 

“Then do as I say and you will get there someday.”

 

“All right-y,” Conrad said dubiously. “Anything you say.”

 

“Return to Thembria.”

 

Conrad sprang to his feet in amazement. “Return?  Why?”

 

Khan explained calmly, “Because you must inform the High Marshall of the location of their stolen goods.  Once they are in possession of those, the war will be cancelled at the very last minute, and you will be a bigger hero than ever.  In gratitude, the Uslandian people will choose you to be their president in the next election.”

 

“You can’t expect me to go back there!” The fearless hero was on the verge of a panic attack. “Those Thembrians are so all-fired mad at us that any and all Uslandians they see will be shot on sight!”

 

In response, Shere Khan stood, towering over the colonel. He had no patience for people who questioned his absolute wisdom and authority. He snarled menacingly, “Let me remind you, Col. Conrad, you’re an image.  An image I made through years of careful planning and connections. I made sure that you were there to be the hero in all the right places and at all the right times.  I made you and, just as easily, I can un-make you.” One of his razor-sharp claws shot out and sliced a row of medals from the colonel’s uniform; they clattered onto the desk. “Do you understand?”

 

In a flash, Conrad snatched up his medals and was gone from the office.

 

Several Hours Later…
The Glorious People’s Government Building
Radar Room

 

Col. Spigot was seated in front of the radar screen, but he wasn’t paying attention to it. He was much too busy polishing his helmet, topped with a garish brass flounder.  He sang happily as he rubbed one of the flounder’s bug eyes with a cloth. “War, war, war, in a few hours we’re going to war.”

 

Hearing an extra ‘blip’ on the radar, he glanced up.  An unidentified dot was rapidly moving towards Mustgo.  He reached for the microphone and demanded, “Who flies there?” 

 

Meanwhile…
The Sea Duck

 

"Oh, dear." Rebecca fumbled for the mike in the dark cockpit and tried to reply, but found that her tongue was frozen with fear. She had left Cape Suzette in such a hurry that she had forgotten to apply for an entry passport. But normally that took weeks, and knowing the Thembrian penchant for shooting first and asking questions later, she was afraid that Baloo didn't have weeks. Her mind desperately raced to think up a plausible reason for why an Uslandian plane was flying over Thembrian airspace, but she couldn't come up with anything.

 

Over the radio, Spigot’s accusing voice barked: “Speak up!  Don’t keep me guessing.  You’re an Uslandian spy trying to get a jump start on the war, aren’t you?  Aren’t you?”

 

“No!  My name is Rebecca Cunningham, owner of Higher for Hire air cargo service,” she blurted out nervously.  “I just need to make a quick stop.”

 

“I’ll stop you all right.” 

 

Rebecca didn’t like the sound of his self-satisfied chuckle.

 

A few minutes later, the Sea Duck was surrounded by five sturdy Thembrian fighter planes.  Their popping machine guns lit up the night sky.

 

Clang went a bathtub as it landed on top of the yellow seaplane, jarring it and the bearess piloting it.

 

Rebecca’s heart sank as she shrank in her seat. So much for her daring rescue.  She knew that she couldn’t out-fly the fighters, so she began her descent.  “Where’s Baloo when I need him?”

 

A Few Minutes Later…
The Hot Water Heater Warehouse

 

Baloo was pacing around the warehouse in the rut that he and Sergeant Dunder had worn in the snow. Above the grooved snowbank only the top of his head was visible. He couldn’t see Dunder, who was half a building ahead of him, but he could hear his steady, “Left, right, left, right,” urging him on.

 

The big bear mechanically marched, muttering under his breath, “Think of somethin’ warm.  The inside of a volcano, the desert sand singeing my tootsies, Louie’s piping-hot pizza.  Oh, baby, I sure could go for one of those right

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