As a child growing up in the late sixties and early seventies, almost everybody in the radius of Kip’s neighborhood dreamed of becoming either an astronaut or a spy. But how many of these woolgatherers really ventured into deep space or undercover? The answer: nil. Kip envisioned owning a bicycle shop in his hometown, not a lofty proposition in comparison to his peers. But up until this evening, he hadn’t peddled anything more compelling than a truckload of box springs and mattresses. Breaking the seal on a single envelope was about to change everything.
Kip first fetched a folded roadmap of northern New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania from the envelope. Yellow and orange highlighters outlined specific routes meandering between localities in both states. Kip may not have been much of a techie, but he was savvy enough to know that paper maps had gone the way of 45rpm records.
“I haven’t used one of these things in a long time,” Kip said as he unfolded the map in both hands. “Where do I plug it in?” Maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate time for cornball humor, but he wanted to reduce the tension any way possible. Mark still surveyed the surroundings periodically. Using the car’s interior light as a source of illumination, Kip dragged his finger along the map’s highlighted trail. His fingertip stopped when crossing a circled portion of the map. A cryptic code “DZ1” was scrawled in proximity to it. “I really feel like I’m reading a treasure map now.”
“You’re certainly dressed for the part,” Mark quipped.
“What’s this “DZ1” for?”
“That’s your first destination. It’s your first drop-zone.”
Kip angled the map closer to his face and squinted to examine its indicated site. “Easton, Pennsylvania? What am I dropping off there?”
“Your car, of course. I’m trained to be cautious. There’s no guarantee that the same people looking for me won’t track you down too. I’ve already arranged to have another vehicle waiting on a side street for transfer. You and Bruce will switch vehicles in Easton before continuing north. Follow the directions indicated in highlighter from there.”
“But why are you using an old-fashioned paper map like this one? I have a GPS built right into my phone. I’ll just type in the address.”
“Kip, if I wanted someone stupid for this job, I’d be debriefing your boss right now. You mustn’t turn on your cellphone under any circumstances. In fact, I need to confiscate it from you right now.” Mark held out his palm. “Give it to me.”
“No. You can’t have my phone. I might need it,” Kip refused.
“I’ll return it to you, if all goes well.”
“But what if I need to get in touch with you?”
“You won’t. If necessary, I’ll contact you.”
“I’m starting to think this is a half-baked plan.”
“The MUTTS are cunning and motivated, Kip. If there’s any chance that they can trace your whereabouts through technology, they’ll do it. We got to do this the old-school way, at least for now.”
Rather than debate Mark’s strategy, Kip dipped his hand into the envelope and yanked out a slim black cellphone. “Old school, huh?” he said, showing Mark the phone. “What’s this for then?”
“That’s a secure cellphone. It has no tracking devices. You’ll be utilizing that once you reach your destination. Don’t turn it on before then.”
Kip’s eyes darted back to the map. He noticed the yellow highlighter stopped somewhere in the vicinity of Morris County, New Jersey. Another code and inscription of “DZX” caught his attention. Beyond this point, an orange highlighter proceeded to scribble a pathway upward into the outer regions of a state park.
“I’m going to a park called ‘Hacklebarney’?”
“Not exactly to it, but near it. The park is a wooded region spanning roughly 900 acres. It’s much easier to hide a shelter in there, wouldn’t you say?” Mark kept his hand extended across the seat until Kip finally relinquished his own cellphone. “I couldn’t do this alone,” he continued. “There are other people working behind the scenes to put a stop to this, but we’re shrinking in number. If we get captured, they’ll be even fewer of us.”
“We? You mean my life could be in danger, too?”
“You wouldn’t be an authentic spy otherwise, right?”
“What am I supposed to do when I reach the bunker?”
Mark motioned to the cellphone that Kip just removed from the dossier. “There’s one entrance built behind a boulder alongside the Black River. It’s the only way in or out of the shelter. The boulder is only conspicuous if you know what to look for. It’s set between two willow trees alongside the river. It’s the only trees like it in the area. Your contact will be anticipating your arrival. That phone is your sole link to her. She’s a former agent and defector from MUTTS. Her name is Dr. Belladonna Wells.”
“Are you kidding me?” Is that her real name?”
“As far as I know. She’s from Italy. I think she was named after a plant or something.”
“And she’s a doctor? Her name sure doesn’t ring a Belladonna...ha, ha.”
“I hope you’re a better secret agent than you are a punster, Kip.”
“Sorry. I’m just trying to break the tension. So what kind of a doctor is she anyway—a veterinarian?”
“No. She’s an entomologist.”
“What’s that?”
“Insects, Kip. She studies bugs.”
“But she works with dogs. Do they have a lot of fleas or something?”
“Let’s just focus on what you need to do, okay?” Mark suggested.
“Are you sure she can be trusted?”
“As sure as I am you can. Dr. Wells is indispensable to this entire mission. She also has the apparatus and expertise to save the beagle. Without her help, Bruce dies. But he’s not alone. Like me, Dr. Wells didn’t realize that the dogs exploited by FIDO were slated for immediate extermination when the operation ceased.”
“That’s horrible. When does the operation end?”
“They’ve already started the process. Hence my status as a fugitive.”
“How could they be so heartless?”
“It’s business. It’s nothing personal.”
Kip already knew Mark didn’t really believe that. This was very personal, and stretched far beyond the deviancies of ordinary men. Kip unwound like a ball of yarn with his next string of questions. “How will I know that I’m not walking into a trap with Bruce when I get to that bunker? What if this doctor is caught before I find her? Isn’t that just as likely as you or me being captured by the MUTTS?”
“As I said earlier, you ask smart questions. Are you sure you’re just selling beds for a living?”
“I’m not sure of anything anymore, Mark.”
“Good answer. The most courageous among us are rarely sure of anything. But in response to your question, that’s where the cellphone comes into play. After you arrive at the designated area, but not a solitary second beforehand, you must depress the power button on the cellphone. The phone’s battery has enough juice for about five minutes of usage. There will be one contact visible, and that is Dr. Wells’s extension. You will text her half of a password that I’ll now reveal.”
“Wait. Shouldn’t I write this down first?”
“No. Never write a password down, Kip. Didn’t you ever surf any sites on your computer that you didn’t want people to know about?”
“Sorry. I guess I haven’t.”
“Okay, listen carefully. You’re going to text one message into the phone. It’s only one word, but you’ll need to remember two. Besides me, Dr. Wells is the only person who knows the other half of the password.”
“You’re making this very confusing, you know that?”
“Spy work usually is.”
“Alright, just tell me what I need to do.”
Kip never expected their conversation to take on such a serious tone, but Mark even raised his sunglasses to relay the next objective. His citron-colored eyes didn’t even blink. “You will text the word ‘weaving�
�� and send it to Dr. Wells. Permit no more than two minutes for her response.”
“Got it. But what does ‘weaving’ mean?”
“Don’t get tangled in your thoughts over that right now. You have a lot to remember as it is. Her responding text to you will also be one word. You will advance into the bunker with Bruce only after she texts you the word ‘spiders’, all in caps.”
“Weaving spiders,” Kip repeated. “Okay. That’s simple enough to remember. Boy, this is really starting to sound top secret.”
“Carly Simon’s signature song’s secret pales in comparison.”
Kip’s hand fished around inside the envelope again. He found the car key that Mark spoke of earlier and an unmarked DVD in its keep case. Mark let him examine those items for a few seconds before he continued. “I estimate that it’ll take you approximately four hours to reach the bunker after transferring vehicles. By studying the map you’ll notice that I’ve purposely routed you off the major highways throughout Pennsylvania and back into Jersey.”
“What’s the DVD for?” Kip asked.
“Other than Bruce, it’s the most vital aspect to this whole mission. Once you arrive at the drop zone in Easton, another informant will be waiting to meet you with a car. He’ll be dressed in a mint green suit with a matching bowler derby. His name is Winter Greene and he knows you’re coming.”
“He must use Scope when he spies, huh?”
“Your puns suck. Just give the disc to him. He’s assigned the task to disseminate the DVD’s data across the Information Highway, using equipment set up at an undisclosed location. If all goes well, we can only hope he gets it broadcasted to the general public in time.”
“Why the green suit and hat? Won’t that outfit make him stick out in a crowd?”
“It’s his favorite color. Give me a break, will ya? You’re not exactly the most inconspicuous bloke on the block either, are you, Captain Hook?”
“What’s on the disc?”
“Everything Bruce and I went over with you. It exposes Project FIDO and the MUTTS. It also details the plot for implantation of Class V microchips. More essentially, it links these operations to the upper echelon of the powers that be.”
“How high up does this plot go?”
Mark’s eyes narrowed before he flipped the sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose. “There are certain things that are classified, Kip. This is one of them.”
“But if I’m on your team, shouldn’t I know everything?”
“You know enough for now. Don’t get greedy.”
Mark sat nervously as Kip emptied the envelope’s remaining contents onto his lap. A wad of cash, secured with a single rubber band, plopped onto the seat between Kip’s legs. The bills were all in twenty-dollar denominations.
“Why do I need this money?”
“Fuel, food, lodging, or whatever else might pop up unexpectedly. It’s three hundred dollars. Make sure you don’t use your credit card. Oh, and if Bruce gets hungry, feed him dry dog food only. If he eats anything else, you better ride with the windows down.”
“Great. You’ve saddled me with a gassy beagle. There’s always a catch, isn’t there?” One last item fell onto Kip’s last, and he picked it up with the assumption that it had some clandestine function. “What’s this?” he Mark asked.
“What does it look like?”
Kip examined the vintage canister, which was no larger than his palm. He read from the label affixed to it. “Shinola…it looks like a can of old shoe polish.”
“Brilliant deduction, shoe-luck,” Mark said. “Think of it as a keepsake. They don’t make it anymore.”
“Oh, I get it. It’s sort of like something Maxwell Smart would’ve carried—similar to his shoe phone. Very clever. Is it a high tech transmitter or something?”
“No. It’s exactly what it appears to be—discontinued shoe polish.”
“I don’t understand, Mark. How will an old tin of Shinola help me complete this mission?”
“You read into everything way too deeply. That can be a positive attribute at times, but it can also be a detriment. The problem with most people, Kip, is that they just don’t know shit from Shinola. Take my word for it, there’s a lot of shit to step in out there, some of it quite polished. Your job is to recognize the difference between the two.”
“You know, I’m beginning to believe that you’re just as strange as your talking beagle.” Rather than debate Mark’s logic. He simply stuffed the canister in the front pocket of his shirt. “Looks like I’m ready to go now, huh?”
Mark didn’t answer Kip. Instead, he continued to monitor the road for any suspicious vehicles. He then referenced the time on his watch. “Let’s synchronize our watches first,” he suggested.
It wouldn’t have felt like a legitimate plan without such an application in the protocol of reconnaissance. Kip checked his Timex accordingly. “I’ve got eighteen minutes after ten.”
“Bravo,” Mark said, while coordinating the dials on his watch. “By 5:20 P.M., tomorrow night, I’ll reunite with you and Bruce at the bomb shelter. By then, you should already be acquainted with Dr. Wells. In the event that I don’t arrive by 5:30 P.M., you will proceed with the mission without me. Is that understood?”
“You’re only giving me nineteen hours?”
“Trust me, if you don’t make it to the bunker by then, none of this is going to matter.”
“How will I know what to do?”
“Leave those details to Dr. Wells. She has instructions. You just need to get Bruce to that location by five-thirty tomorrow night. Are you ready to batten down the hatches, Captain?”
“I really gotta change out of this pirate costume first.”
“Make it a quick change,” Mark recommended. “You should leave tonight.”
Mark’s grin suddenly appeared slicker than an oil spill. Kip didn’t have a solid reason to trust a man who already pelted him with a litany of lies. Moreover, none of this sounded plausible to him. But he couldn’t deny Bruce’s presence anymore than he could’ve refuted the beagle’s garrulous talent.
Mark exited Kip’s vehicle without forwarding any further information on where he planned to go next. If Kip entertained any idea of opting out of the mission now, it was already too late. Cue the spy music. Kip Hinkle’s ordinary life just got upgraded.
Chapter 13
Mark, There's a Beagle in My Bedroom! Page 12