Bella settled into a chair in front of the computer and enlarged an image of one of the beehives on the monitor. After a few clicks on the mouse, she pulled up a menu over the display. One popup showed a dial that looked liked a volume bar on any standard audio equipment. “If Molek and the others can be lured close enough to the hives,” she said, glancing toward the beagle, “and I think they can because we have the desired bait, then we can instigate the bees and launch an attack.”
“Are you sure your father wasn’t named H.G.?” Bruce asked her. “Because this is starting to resemble science fiction, with the emphasis on fiction rather than science.”
“To an outsider that’s understandable,” Bella continued, “but our government has been experimenting with environmental programs in counter defense for years. This project is only the tip of the ice burg.”
“That’s what DiCaprio thought right before he found out he wasn’t really king of the world,” Bruce commented.
“Just think of the ecological potential if we could manipulate the flight patterns and behavior of bees and other insects to serve our means?” Bella said.
“But these bees are real insects, correct?” Kip questioned.
“One hundred percent authentic,” she said.
“At the risk of sounding stupid, how do you control real bees?” Kip returned.
“With the hives,” she said. “Each of the artificial beehives are equipped with a scent to mimic a queen bee’s pheromones, as well as sonar frequency panels that permits a controller to influence their conduct with a mere touch of a button.”
“Someone call The Police, because this sounds like a Sting operation to me,” Bruce noted. As usual, Bella ignored the beagle’s cynicism.
“If we’re able to get Molek to give Mark and Wint back to us unharmed in exchange for Bruce, we can utilize the bees to our advantage,” she said.
“Ahhh! Not the bees!” Bruce screamed in a high-pitched voice no one recognized.
“Is that necessary?” Bella asked.
“Sorry,” he then said calmly, “but I’m still feeling a little cagey about this.”
Bella proceeded to exhibit her authority over the beehives by merely elevating the hives’ sonar frequency from her computer. “Watch the activity on the screen,” she instructed. As she increased the amount of sound waves, the bees stirred and exited the hives in larger numbers. “If I maintain this pitch level or higher,” she insisted, “the bees will swarm and strike whatever target they perceive as a threat.”
“Are they like drones?” Kip asked.
“No, Kip. Drone honeybees are males and they can’t sting,” Bella said.
Although Kip was initially fascinated with this demonstration, obvious questions troubled him. “Hypothetically speaking, let’s say that you provoke the bees to a degree where they go berserk. As soon as we release Bruce to Molek and disrupt the hives, we can no longer influence the bees’ behavior, right?”
“I hate to be a fly in the ointment, Doc,” Bruce added, “but Kip makes a valid point. What if your killer bees enjoy stinging a beagle as much as they do the baddies?”
Even before Bruce finished his question, Bella reached into a pocket in her lab coat and presented a small aerosol can. “You didn’t think I was really going to send you outside unprotected, did ya, Bruce?” she remarked.
“It wouldn’t be the first time I barebacked it,” Bruce replied.
“What is that?” Kip questioned, gesturing to the can.
“Bee repellent,” Bella said definitely. She then removed the cap from the canister and placed its nozzle under Bruce’s nose. “Take a whiff,” she suggested.
The beagle sniffed at the can, but showed no adverse reaction. “Smells kinda minty,” he said. “Like a candy cane.” She then let Kip smell the nozzle.
“That’s peppermint oil,” Bella said. “But there’s a lot of other organic spices mixed in the ingredients that repels bees and other insects. This particular spray has been tested on the hives outside. The Africanized bees refuse to land on anything that smells like it.”
“So the bees won’t sting the living daylights out of me if they get a whiff of that stuff?” Kip asked Bella.
“That’s what all my research indicates,” she said. “It’s up to Bruce on whether or not he wants prove my theory correct.”
“Do I look like one of The Platters to you? I’m not the Great Bee Tender,” Bruce remarked.
“I think you mean ‘pretender’,” Kip corrected.
“Go put a bung in your blowhole, Long John,” Bruce told Kip. He then addressed Bella. “Now, if I’m hearing you correctly, you’re asking me to put my tail at risk after being peppered with experimental peppermint spray?”
“That’s the gist of it,” Bella confirmed.
“That has gotta be the dumbest idea I’ve heard since they pitched Jaws the Revenge,” Bruce stated.
“Hey, wasn’t Michael Caine in that too?” Kip asked.
“You bet his Cockney accent he was,” Bruce said.
“I guess he made a lot of odd choices as a film star, huh?”
“He can blame it on Rio, Kip, but who can I fault if Doc’s mint jubilee mist turns out to be a bigger flop than Cutthroat Island?”
Bella seemed at bit miffed that Bruce questioned the legitimacy of her plan, but she understood his reservations. “I’ve tested the formula on other live specimens,” she said. “I used it on a few birds and some rodents. The bees made no contact with those animals. I believe that if you remain moderately still, with this product applied, the bees will strike alternate targets.”
“Does it work on humans, too?” Kip asked.
“Yes. I’ve tested it on myself as well,” Bella said.
“Then we all need to get sprayed with that stuff?”
“Of course. But now here’s the tricky part, Kip,” Bella explained. “It’s likely that the MUTTS won’t let Mark and Wint go free until we first give up Bruce to them.” She then turned her attention to the beagle. “This is where you’ll have to offer some additional help,” she informed the dog. “After you return to the MUTTS, it’s going to be extremely important for you to rub your fur up against Mark and Wint immediately, but don’t touch anybody else who might be with them.”
“So basically you want me to go get pelt-up?” Bruce asked.
“It doesn’t require much of this repellent to keep the bees at bay,” Bella continued. “By transferring just a hint of its fragrance onto Mark and Wint’s clothing or skin, it should be potent enough to prevent the bees from stinging you and them. If you can do that successfully, I’ll then trigger an attack from the bees. I know it sounds a little farfetched, but I think it’ll work.”
“Farfetched? Rin Tin Tin couldn’t retrieve this bleep with radar.”
“Hey, don’t be so rude. She’s only trying to help us.”
“Kip, this sounds about as happening as The Happening,” Bruce said, gruffly.
At this point, Bella pushed her seat away from the computer angrily. “Look, Bruce,” she complained. “I’m trying to save your life here. If you have a better idea to get all of us out of this jam alive, I’d like to know what it is right now.”
“Settle down, Doc. It sounds like you got a bee in your bonnet,” Bruce said. “Okay, I’ll admit that I haven’t thought of an alternate strategy as of yet.” Bella then motioned toward the digital clock on the other computer’s screen. The stopwatch hadn’t ceased in its function. The countdown flashed: 1:09.22.
“Time is about to run out on us,” she said, bitterly.
“Where’s the Master of Disaster when I need him most?” Bruce sighed.
“Why do you think Apollo Creed could weather this storm any better than you?” Kip returned.
“Not that Master of Disaster—the other one who’d be lost in space without his bifocals,” Bruce said.
“Oh, he’s on a towering adventure far beyond here,” Kip offered. “Under the circumstances, Bruce, this doesn’t sound like such an outlandi
sh proposition. Besides, you’re always up for a new adventure, aren’t ya?”
“True, but this one seems like it was contrived by Pluto Nash.”
“You know, Bruce, ” Kip criticized, “for not being born a dachshund, you’re awfully frank.”
“Just when I started to lose faith in you, Kip, you turn into a hot dog with your puns,” Bruce smirked. “I really didn’t think you’d muster the wit to keep up with me.”
“Just relish the moment then,” Kip advised, “and give Dr. Wells a chance to catch up as well.”
“From puns to buns. You’re really on a roll.”
“I’m nervous about this plan too,” Kip admitted, “but we’ve got to try something. And who knows, maybe the bees really are our friends.”
“You ought to be Cained just for saying that,” Bruce grimaced.
There really wasn’t much else for Bruce to debate. After all, the MUTTS were going to find one way or another to recoup him. Whether they took him back dead or alive might’ve mattered in the moment, but nothing would’ve saved the dog if those who vowed to protect him were eliminated. After a few seconds of humbling contemplation, Bruce elected to make amends with Dr. Wells.
“Let’s speak privately, Doc,” he suggested to her. Bruce then gestured for Kip to hit the bricks, but he had only about ten paces (and no bricks) in the bunker to put between himself and them. Bella still seemed irritated by the beagle’s peevish attitude toward her research.
“Maybe I was a little rash with you,” Bruce admitted to her.
“A little?” she huffed, rolling her eyes.
“Okay, I was more like a bad case of shingles. Can you forgive me or do I gotta beg and make those wimpy whimpering sounds you people love so much?”
“Well, you know what they say about bygones, right?”
“Yeppers, they go both ways.”
Bella’s features softened with a smile, permitting a glimpse of her girlish charm to project toward the beagle and his awkward apology. Of course, Bruce hadn’t mastered the art of flirtation, so he came across as a novice applying too much paint to the canvas in front of him.
“Did I mention how bee-guiling you look today, Doc?”
“Don’t try to butter me up, Bruce.”
“Funny you should mention that, because just a little earlier…”
“BRUUUCCCEE!” Kip hollered from the adjacent part of the bunker, verifying that he wasn’t even close to being out of earshot.
“Geez, I suddenly feel like I’m at a Springsteen concert,” Bruce grumbled. “Okay, okay,” he yelled to Kip. He then redirected his attention to the doctor. “I’m not big on small talk,” he told her, “so I’ll just come right out and ask you.”
“Ask me what?” Bella questioned, skeptically.
“Are you into fly-by-night guys?” Bruce said.
“You mean like people who never have a plan?”
“No, I mean like Jeff Goldblum in Telepods.”
“Bruce, I don’t really think my social life is relevant here, do you?”
“Hey, if I’m gonna wear your bee deodorant like a suit of armor, I’m thinking that maybe I could show you a pretty good knight, too.”
“Uh, just because you can talk now doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten you’re a dog, albeit a very peculiar pedigree,” Bella reminded him. “I like dogs, Bruce, just not in the same way as I do people.”
“Because you’re the spy who bugs me, I’ll tell ya a little secret. Bees may make honey, Doc, but beagles supply it in ample portions.”
“I’ll jot that down in my notes under the title ‘total gross-outs’,” Bella cringed. She then held up the can of repellant and sprayed the contents on Bruce’s pelt. She only used a small portion of it on his entire body, which made the beagle slightly nervous.
“Are you sure that’s enough?”
“A little goes a long way,” Bella assured. She then winked at the beagle and whispered, “In most circumstances.”
Bruce smiled and said in a Bob Barker voice, “Thanks, Doc, now I’m sprayed, neutered, and ready for my showcase showdown.” Before Bruce made this conversation any weirder than it already was, Kip strayed back close enough to Bella where his eavesdropping no longer seemed inadvertent. Rather than keep him waiting, Bella called Kip forth and told him to hold out his arms while she applied the repellant to his body.
“Rub it into your exposed skin,” she directed Kip. He smeared the substance along his forearms and around his neck diligently. “Don’t forget your face,” she advised.
“Are you allergic to bee stings, Kip?” Bella then asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said, still smearing the repellant on his exposed skin. “This stuff feels kind of waxy.”
“It’ll wash off with soap and water,” Bella said.
“Yeppers, Kip,” Bruce said, before changing his voice to sound like Mr. Miyagi. “Wax on, wax off. You’re used to doing that anyway.” Both Kip and Bella ignored Bruce’s comment, which aggravated him more than a reprimand.
Bella handed Kip the can and turned around, “I need you to spray it all over my back,” she said. Suddenly, Kip looked vindicated. He knew that Bruce was envious because of this extra attention and unsolicited request. The beagle stewed in jealously as Kip emptied the can’s contents on Bella’s buttocks, thighs, legs, and ankles.
“That’s good,” Bella said to Kip, “but don’t put too much on my feet.”
“You’ll have to forgive the amateur,” Bruce chuckled. “Obviously, he’s never sprayed a woman in the right places before.”
“I think I liked it better when you couldn’t talk, Bruce,” Bella groaned.
Another victory for Kip, miniscule as it was. He bowed mockingly at the beagle, imitating Daniel LaRusso in The Karate Kid. “Next time,” Kip cautioned Bruce, “you’ll mind your own beeswax.”
After all three of them were thoroughly covered with bee repellant, they had little else to do other than anticipate their pursuers’ arrival. Of course, Bella’s expectation was that the MUTTS simply wouldn’t wait them out, especially since Mark knew the whereabouts of the bunker’s location. Kip then brought up a potential problem.
“If Mark knows about this bunker,” he pondered, “doesn’t he also know about the beehives you have here, Bella?”
“He does,” she admitted. “But I’m estimating that the Class V microchip might’ve delayed some of his memory function. In other words, if Mark isn’t asked a question directly related to my bees, he may have no cause to remember that they exist. However, I can’t be one hundred percent sure, so we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”
“And what about Winter Greene? Is he gonna turn out to be a lifesaver, too? Or aren’t you certain about him either?” Bruce asked.
“Last time I spoke to Wint, he knew almost nothing about my work here,” Bella replied. “I’m hoping that Mark didn’t say too much to him, or vice versa.”
“That doesn’t sound too promising,” Kip said, “but I guess we don’t have any other recourse right now.” He positioned himself in front of the computer, while Bella switched to a video screen on the monitor that gave them a front view of the surrounding woods.
“That’s the only clear access to this bunker,” Bella said, pointing to a thin pathway on the screen. “The river is behind us. When they come for Bruce, we’ll see them on that trail.” Kip still appeared distressed; he was shaking erratically enough to attract Bruce’s criticism.
“Get a hold of yourself, Kip,” Bruce said. “You’re more jittery than Michael J. Fox in a meat locker.”
“What’d you expect?” Kip responded. “This is my first mission.”
“Just be thankful you don’t have to go out there and hobnob with the people who are trying to tear out your brain like bloody baboons,” Bruce said, channeling Heston once again. Kip decided to sit down in a chair, figuring that his anxiety would’ve been less obvious to Bella in this position. His lightheadedness, however, couldn’t be overlooked.
“Are you going to be okay?” Bella asked him. “I have some smelling salts if you start to get too dizzy.”
“My head is spinning,” Kip said woozily.
“I’d say call Father Merrin, but I think he’s dead,” Bruce muttered.
“Look,” Bella chastised Bruce. “Give the guy some credit, would ya?”
“Did you say Ouija?”
“No. Why would I say that now?” Bella asked.
“You’d be bored if I told ya. Seriously, I’m just trying to toughen him up, Doc. When the bleep hits the fan I wanna make sure Kip is still in circulation.”
“I think his circulation is just fine,” Bella said, placing her hand on Kip’s knee. “He’s a good man, Bruce. The sooner you realize that, the better off we’ll all be.”
Kip smiled and gave Bruce a thumb’s up sign. Bruce decided to bide his time for now, even if he had only about an hour left to live according to the digital countdown.
Chapter 30
Mark, There's a Beagle in My Bedroom! Page 29
