Mark, There's a Beagle in My Bedroom!

by Michael Ciardi

At this phase in Molek’s hunt, Kip wasn’t sure what to expect from his newfound nemesis. He remained somewhat skeptical about the possibility that a bunker even existed, until a boulder between the willows began to vibrate and reconfigure. It soon became evident that the rock was a meticulously constructed decoy; behind it was a steel door that opened like a hatch to a vault. It was difficult for Kip to imagine that anyone could’ve existed in such a subterranean environment for long periods without showing obvious signs of distress. But the woman who emerged from the bunker looked as though she thrived in the solitude of this refuge.

  Since Kip was now a self-proclaimed “professional” spy, he tried his best to avoid gawking at Dr. Belladonna Wells’s feminine attributes. She threw better curves at her onlookers than Sandy Koufax in his prime. And Bruce may have even underestimated her similarity to Raquel; she bedazzled Kip by casting a spell on him with one glance of her caramel-colored eyes. Despite, the doctor’s conservative dress, Bruce focused on other details of her anatomy.

  “Holy crustaceans,” Bruce growled with carnal delight. “I haven’t been this turned on since I saw Ursula Andress strut onto Crab Key’s beach holding conches. Wowsers, the things I wouldn’t do to her under the mango tree.”

  “Control yourself, Bruce,” Kip scolded.

  “I hope the doctor doesn’t say ‘no.’ Luckily for you, Kip, I kiss and shell.”

  “You’re going to make a fool out of us if you don’t stop it.”

  “Oh, cut me some slack, killjoy. Don’t tell me you’re not ogling her turd-slicer right now. That thing’s gotta be tighter than a crab’s bleep.”

  As the doctor appeared in full view from the bunker, Kip lowered his voice. “Bruce, what’s wrong with you? Just because you’re named after a shark doesn’t mean you have to leer at her like she’s a bucket of chum! Do you want her to think you’re a filthy animal?”

  Bruce cleared his throat and began to pant, “Uh, in case you haven’t noticed, Clouseau, I am an animal. And it’s the filthy part I’m trying to kick into gear. I haven’t unloaded a shot in the dark since Donny and Marie last graced the cover of Tiger Beat.”

  “Even for an informant, that’s too much information,” Kip cringed.

  “Look, Kip, sometimes a dog just needs to bury his bone. Now, whether I do it in the front yard or back is secondary to the task at hand.”

  “Do I need to remind you that you don’t have any balls?” Kip mentioned.

  “Low blow, Kippy. You really know how to crush a hound’s libido, don’t ya? But do you think she’ll notice?”

  “Forget it, Bruce. Just keep it tucked in your sheath. She’s off limits.”

  “I’m guessing here,” Bruce mused. “But with a dash of desperation and a jar of peanut butter, I could make her a honey of a rider in a jiffy.”

  “It’s not gonna happen. So get your mind out of the gutter and the butter.”

  “I wonder if she likes cream cheese on a beagle as much as a bagel?”

  “You’re just impossible, Bruce!”

  “Yep, like tellin’ the sun to leave the sky,” he sang in Perry Como’s voice.

  “You need to think about something else,” Kip insisted.

  “Bone blocker.”

  “You know, I hate to tell you this, but you’re turning into Matt Hooper.”

  “From the book or film?”

  “The book.”

  “Bleep. I was shooting for Dreyfuss.”

  Before their conversation digressed even more so, Kip reminded Bruce of the mission at hand. Dr. Wells already unveiled the bunker enough for them to see the entrance from where they stood. She didn’t display any urgency in her mannerisms, but her expression commanded them to move closer. Kip strode ahead, while the beagle followed at his heels. Dr. Wells assessed him practically as Kip positioned within introductory range from her.

  “You must be Kip Hinkle,” she said, tossing a swath of chestnut hair over the back of her shoulders. She looked as lovely up close as she did from afar.

  “You’re reputation precedes you,” Bruce muttered to Kip.

  Dr. Wells then held forth her hand, which was both delicately sculpted and firm in Kip’s palm. “I’m Belladonna Wells,” she announced. “But feel free to call me Bella.”

  Bruce was thinking: What else can we feel for free?

  Her eyes then shifted to the beagle; he waited impatiently for his own greeting. She stooped down to Bruce’s level (which was pretty low) and summoned him forward. Without hesitation, Bruce bounded toward the woman and jumped up on her bent knees. He immediately began to lick her hands and wrists, even flicking his tongue at her lips unsuccessfully a few times. Kip reacted with both disgust and envy; he wasn’t sure which feeling was more accurate or merited.

  “Hi ya, Bruce. Boy, you’re acting like I haven’t seen you in ages,” she smiled.

  “Feels like at least one million years B.C. to me, my fair one. I don’t want to rush in to anything, but I think I’m in love,” Bruce said.

  “You’re always so suave to my ears,” she giggled.

  “Just like a cue tip,” Bruce remarked. “But feel free to stick me in places you shouldn’t. Shhh. I won’t tell.”

  Bella then stood up and returned her serious attention toward Kip. “I’m sure Mark told you what’s going on with the MUTTS.”

  “Yeah. I don’t think he’s going to make it here, though,” Kip replied. “Molek has him now. Bruce thinks they put a microchip inside him.”

  “Yes, I assumed as much when he didn’t confirm the password.” Bella surveyed the surroundings and decided that they needed to take cover. “Let’s go inside the bunker now,” she suggested. “It’s safer to talk in there.”

  The bunker’s entrance was only wide enough to accommodate one person in single file formation. Bruce followed behind Kip, and Bella entered last, closing and locking the iron hatch behind her. Five concrete steps lead into a cubicle designed to fit four adults snugly. The main room had two working computers on an elevated stand, and a generator in the corner, which supplied the bunker’s light and power. An adjacent room housed a ventilation system, and a bathroom area. Another table was set up holding some electronic equipment and medical apparatus that Kip had never seen before.

  “It’s not the Hilton, but I guess it’ll suffice for the time being,” Bruce said.

  “Don't sound so ungrateful,” Kip chastised the dog. Bella laughed, displaying a grin that could’ve melted more hearts than a blowtorch at a Valentine’s Day supply center.

  “It seems that you two have already bonded,” she remarked.

  “Like glue to turpentine,” Kip groaned.

  “Well, I know that Bruce can be quite a handful,” Bella said. “And I really want to thank you for risking your life to save the beagle and help expose FIDO for what it truly is. You must be a very brave man.”

  Kip chuckled like the Pillsbury Doughboy being poked in his belly, and he might’ve even stood with his shoulders arched back for the first time in years. “I try my best,” he said in his deepest, non-Poppin’ Fresh voice.

  “Yep, his heart is braver than a Scottish folk hero,” Bruce added contemptuously. It was now obvious that they were competing for Bella’s affections. But as Kip already surmised, she was more inclined to demobilize Molek and his MUTTS forever. Kip elected to ease the tension in the bunker by learning more about the doctor.

  “Mark told me that you study insects,” Kip said.

  “That’s right. I’m a scientist.”

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Kip said, “but I never met a woman who liked bugs before.”

  “Until now,” Bruce interrupted. He then addressed Bella. “Hey, I know my name isn’t McFly, but can I still call you ‘Doc’?”

  “Just don’t take her for a ride in a DeLorean,” Kip said.

  “Don’t worry about it. There’s no future in that ride anyway.” Bruce returned.

  Because Bella was somewhat accustomed to Bruce’s off-kilter cond
uct, she agreed to tolerate his harmless request. “Sure. I don’t care,” she said.

  “I don’t mean to be nosey, Doc,” Bruce continued, “but considering my heritage, that’s a bit of a stretch. I was just wondering what kind of work ya did before you became a scientist and a spy?”

  “Well, going way back, I worked on Wall Street for awhile,” she said.

  “Just as I figured,” Bruce said, “a stock and bonds kinda girl.”

  “I’m surprised you can even picture me as a girl doing bonds,” Bella gushed.

  “It’s easier than imagining Denise Richards doing one.”

  “Why? She had certain sheen about her.”

  “He came later. But I can see you getting a little Moore action on Craig’s list after a Piercing or two.”

  “What about Connery’s list?” Bella countered with a wink. Bruce was speechless for a moment as he cleared his throat. “What’s the matter?” she said, “Blofeld’s cat got your tongue, wise dog?”

  “Nah,” replied Bruce. “I just got a little Fleming in my throat.”

  “Are you two finished yet?” Kip asked, disgruntled.

  “Don’t mind him,” Bruce said to Bella, “he’s just mad because he’s left out more often than Dalton in a 007 marathon.”

  Bella smiled and then expounded upon the situation as it now stood. “As you two know firsthand, we’ve encountered some uncalculated setbacks. The MUTTS are a lot closer than I first anticipated. With our cover now blown, it won’t be long before Molek finds us here. And it’s looking like Wint didn’t get away either. He hasn’t responded to my communications and I haven’t any confirmation that he’s transmitted the DVD’s contents on the closed circuit.”

  “No offense, Doc, but I take it that this place isn’t bugged?”

  “It’s clean, Bruce, but that’s really the least of our worries right now.”

  “Tell me about it,” Kip said. “We were just attacked by a bevy of drones.”

  “Fortunately, the beavers stopped working before they got close enough to explode,” Bruce clarified.

  “Sounds like most of the guys I’ve dated in my life,” Bella said, comically.

  “What do ya know?” Bruce said. “Doc has some racy jokes in her repartee after all. I’ve never seen this side of you before.”

  “There’s a lot of sides of me you’ve never seen or will see,” she added. “But kidding aside, I stopped those drones with a few keystrokes.”

  “I’d like to see some of those strokes sometime,” Bruce muttered. Kip nudged the beagle in order to silence him.

  “That’s impressive,” Kip said to Bella. “I thought those drones had us for sure.”

  “Too many beavers bog down a party, right, Doc?” Bruce said cheekily.

  “I needed you here with me alive, Bruce,” she explained. “So I jammed the drones’ signals with magnetic waves and caused their computer chips to malfunction. Piece of cake.”

  “Not from where I’m sitting,” Bruce said. “You’re a clever girl, but then again, we didn’t come here just so you could give us a view to a thrill either, did we?”

  Bruce’s comment prompted Bella to redirect him and Kip to the table with the electronic equipment. The device she picked up looked similar to an industrial strength staple gun with clear cylinders attached to its handle. She then pointed to a digital stopwatch on one of the computer’s screens. A timed meter subtracted digits steadily. It flashed: 1:15 33 and counting.

  “You see that,” Bella said, indicating the computer’s screen. “That’s how much time Bruce has left before the core of his microchip melts entirely. I think we all know what happens if that occurs.”

  “Yeppers. It’ll be cyanide city for me,” Bruce confirmed. “My muzzle will be frothier than Kardashian’s lips after a private video shoot.”

  “But you can neutralize it now with that thing you’re holding, right?” Kip asked, motioning to the gadget in Bella’s hands.

  “Of course,” Bella concurred. “But you and Bruce should understand that once I deactivate the chip, Bruce will lose the ability to communicate in conversational English and he’ll no longer understand or react to complex commands.”

  “In other words, I’m gonna be slower than that dog Goliath in the old stop-motion animated show for kids.”

  “Would it really be that awful?” Kip asked the dog.

  “Have you ever watched Davey and Goliath sober? It’s like the Special Olympics for canines,” Bruce returned.

  “You’ll be a regular beagle again,” Bella assured him. “But no more or less than that.”

  “Well,” Kip said to Bruce, “it needs to be done. If you don’t get the chip demagnetized, you’ll be dead in a little over an hour. I don’t see the dilemma here.”

  Maybe Kip didn’t understand, but he had forgotten that the situation had changed since the MUTTS kidnapped Mark and Wint. Bella realized that Bruce might’ve been the only legitimate tool to get Mark released in a trade of sorts with Molek. “It’s a long shot,” Bella debated, “but we still have over an hour to work with. It’ll only take me thirty seconds to get the chip neutralized. If Bruce will agree to it, I want to try and get Mark and Wint back alive.”

  “Maybe they’ve already killed them,” Kip thought. “How would we know?”

  “I don’t think they’ll do anything rash until after they get the beagle back in their possession,” Bella said. “But once they’ve got Bruce, it’s likely that they’ll kill us all.”

  “But they’ve already tried to blow us to smithereens with those drones,” Kip said. “What makes you think they’d negotiate with us now?”

  “They still don’t have the dog. They’d like to reclaim Bruce alive, if only for a short time to obtain any additional information he might know,” Bella said.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Bruce assured. “I’ll be as mute as a Helen Keller in a monastery’s library.”

  “You had to go there, didn’t you, Bruce?” Kip said.

  “Sorry, let me call my seamstress. I’m running short on time and material here.”

  “Listen,” Bella interjected. “Mark didn’t set me up in this bunker just to be a sitting duck. Now I’m not saying that what I’ve got planned is going to work out entirely in our favor, but it might give us a chance to survive and rescue Mark and Wint.”

  “What did you have in mind, Bella?” Kip asked.

  Bella put down the microchip neutralizer and directed Kip and Bruce to the second computer’s screen. She leaned over a table where it was situated and tapped a few codes onto the keyboard. The computer’s blue screen flashed to a split series of panels that showed the exterior view of the bunker and surrounding woods. Kip and Bruce concentrated on the images, but couldn’t figure out what exactly they were looking for.

  “I don’t see Waldo yet,” Bruce quipped.

  “Hush, puppy!” Bella commanded. Bruce obeyed, which was a minor victory in itself.

  Kip smirked at the beagle and said, “It’s not just a pair of casual loafers anymore, is it, ruff guy?”

  Bruce countered with this: “Kip, I’m gonna say the same two words to you that your plumber said to your ex wife right before he sat on her face—Pipe down!”

  Bella continued with her discourse. “Stop squabbling and look at the monitor closely. What do you see?”

  Bruce stared at the screen intently and said, “Uh, our reflections?”

  “No, in the trees,” Bella said, directing their eyes with her finger. Kip squinted and discerned various oak and maple trees encompassing the bunker. He detected a few large bulbous objects tucked between several trees’ upper branches.

  “Is that what you’re talking about?” he said, pointing to one of the things he couldn’t identify immediately. “They almost look like beehives,” he guessed.

  “Good observation,” Bella said. “That’s exactly what they are. Well, to be more precise, they’re hives designed for Africanized honeybees. There’s five synthetic hives stationed i
n various trees surrounding this bunker.”

  “Synthetic?” Kip questioned. “You mean the hives are fake?”

  “Did Bon Jovi have a yard sale or something?” Bruce said.

  “They’re manmade only on the outside,” Bella confirmed. “On the inside, I’ve bred and contained over ten thousand Apis mellifera, more commonly called killer bees.”

  “You may be the breed winner when it comes to bugs,” Bruce said to Bella, “but why should we cash in our fates on a horde of invasive insects?”

  “Do you know anything about killer bees, Bruce?” Bella asked.

  “A little bit more than Nicholas Cage and marginally less than Harvey Klinger,” the beagle said.

  “Who’s Harvey Klinger?” Kip inquired.

  “Ask Marcia Brady,” Bruce advised.

  “You must really like working with bees, huh?” Kip asked Bella.

  “I do,” she replied. “They’re fascinating insects.”

  “Seinfeld seemed to think so, too.”

  “Can you please get serious for a second, Bruce?” Bella said.

  “Sorry. Go ahead, Doc. Give us the buzz word on killer bees.”

  “Contrary to what you may have been taught, Africanized honeybees are not so mysterious in nature. They’re simply hybrids of western honeybees,” she explained. “They have a notorious reputation because of their aggressive behavior and attack patterns. But by themselves, they are no bigger or deadlier than your standard versions of honeybees.”

  “Bee-utiful,” Bruce huffed, “Just what we needed—thousands of miniaturized Alec Baldwins swarming around the scene bleeping everything up.”

  “It does sound kind of dangerous,” Kip said to the doctor. “But at least I now understand why you were put in charge of this phase of the operation.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Bruce asked Bella. “Your plan B really is Plan Bee?”

  “I guess that’s an accurate way of describing it,” she agreed.

  “I don’t think Michael Caine would approve of this plot point,” Bruce added.

  “We’re not working with Mr. Caine, Bruce,” Kip said. “So why don’t we hear the doctor out before passing judgment? She may be our only hope.”

  “Well, she sure doesn’t look like Obi Wan to me,” Bruce debated, “but I guess I’ve run out of options.”

  Chapter 29