by Bill Myers
KA-BLANG! KA-BOOM!
. . . smash into the Dragonfly hard, sending it spinning crazily into a nearby power line. Sparks flew as the line collapsed to the roof below. But not the chopper. It veered to the left and finally took off, high into the sky.
Suddenly a squadron of soldiers swarmed through the stairway door and onto the roof directly beside Melissa and Slobs.
“They’re getting away, sir!” one of the men shouted to his captain. “What should we do?”
“Radio the base,” the captain ordered. “They’ll have to shoot her down.”
“No!” Melissa shouted. “That’s my brother up there!”
Meanwhile, the Dragonfly lifted higher into the sky and started to zoom forward . . . straight toward the Capitol Mall. That’s when Sean finally managed to get inside and grab the throttle. But only for a second, until . . .
Gregor pushed him aside and had the throttle!
Then Sergei had the throttle!
Then Sean.
Then Gregor again.
Trip would have liked to join in. But he was too busy stumbling over the tear-gas canister . . . until he stumbled one too many times and went flying out the door!
“Eeeeyow!”
“Trip!” Sean shouted.
“Down here!”
Somehow the secret agent had managed to grab hold of one of the chopper’s landing skids. Now he dangled some three hundred feet above the ground, his Abraham Lincoln disguise remarkably staying intact.
Down below, tourists were starting to look up.
“Hey!” one shouted. “Isn’t that Abraham Lincoln hanging from that helicopter?”
“Nah,” his wife replied. “Probably just his stunt double.”
Meanwhile, the Dragonfly went up . . . then down . . . and up again! While Trip hung on for dear life! Suddenly they were coming very close to the capitol dome until Trip’s feet . . .
WHA CK- WHA CK- WHA CK
“OW! OW! OW!”
. . . banged across the roof. Next up was the . . .
KER-WHACK!
“YEEOW!”
. . . Jefferson Memorial.
Then, look out, here comes the Washington Monument!
Whew! That was close, they just missed it. But not the . . .
KER-WHAM!
“OOOOFFFfff . . .”
Lincoln Memorial!
This was getting to be quite an ordeal for poor Mr. Trip. In fact, by the time the Dragonfly flew over the White House, he was barely able to hang on.
Then, when the Dragonfly swerved sharply to the left, that was all he could take. Trip let go and flew through the air . . .
“AUGHHH . . .”
Meanwhile, inside the White House, a tour group stopped in the Lincoln Bedroom.
“Some people have reported seeing Mr. Lincoln’s ghost,” the tour guide was saying. “But I’ve been working here for years, and I can assure you, I’ve never seen anything—”
At that exact moment, Trip . . .
CRASHed
. . . through the window and landed facedown in Mr. Lincoln’s bed.
Trying to keep her calm, the tour guide admitted, “Of course, there’s a first time for everything,” before fainting in a heap.
“Aaagggghhh!” the tourists cried. “Let us out of here!”
Meanwhile, back on the Dragonfly, the spies had subdued Sean and were now in complete control.
“What should we do with this one?” Sergei asked as he tied Sean’s hands behind his back.
“I think we should find out if he can fly without a helicopter,” Gregor growled.
While the spies laughed over Gregor’s little joke, the helicopter’s doors suddenly slammed shut. More suddenly still, a face appeared on the instrument panel.
A green face made up of electrical energy.
“Hey, duds, what’s down?” it asked. “I’m your vegematic pilot. I’ll take under now.”
“Jeremiah!” Sean whispered.
Jeremiah gave him a wink and smiled as the chopper banked sharply to the right.
“We’re going off course!” Gregor shouted. He grabbed the throttle and turned it sharply, but the Dragonfly did not respond.
“Just relax,” Jeremiah said. “I’ve taken over the instruments. This will be a very short flight.”
“Who are you? What are you doing!” Gregor shouted.
But Jeremiah didn’t answer. He had other things on his mind.
Moments later, Sean looked out the window. What was that down there? He could make out some kind of tower. And high walls. Soon they were close enough where he could read the sign:
MARYLAND STATE PRISON
All right! Jeremiah was going to land this thing in the prison exercise yard!
The Dragonfly kicked up a swirling cloud of dust as it descended. Soon it touched down, and instantly the helicopter was surrounded by a group of heavily armed federal agents.
“Come out with your hands up!” they ordered.
The spies did as they were told and were quickly taken into custody.
“Thanks, Jeremiah.’ Sean whispered. “You saved the day!”
“Not yet, I haven’t,” Jeremiah said. “Look!”
His image faded from the control panel and was replaced with a view of Mrs. Tubbs. She was still holding on tight to the controls of Trip’s helicopter, which was spinning crazily out of control. “Super J to the rescue!” Jeremiah’s voice shouted.
The control panel blinked once, fizzled twice, and Jeremiah was gone! No doubt to spread his green cheer to Mrs. Tubbs.
Now Sean heard the federal agents speaking among themselves.
“The big guy’s coming,” they whispered. “The big guy is coming.”
And then. . . “Here he is!”
Suddenly all of the men snapped to attention as “the big guy” strode up to the helicopter. He was tall and looked very, very familiar.
“Good work, men!” he exclaimed.
“Thank you, sir,” they answered in unison.
Suddenly Sean’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Now he remembered where he saw him. “Why, you’re . . . you’re the guy who tried to give me . . .”
“The tract?” the big guy smiled. “You’re right.” He opened his leather jacket to reveal the T-shirt he was wearing underneath. Written across it in big red letters were the words Real Men Love Jesus!
“Running the local office of the FBI is my job,” he said. “But telling people about God’s love—that’s my life!”
“But—”
“We know all about your agency,” he continued.
“Been tracking you since you first arrived. Nice work, kid! You did great!”
He motioned to the prisoners standing in the distance and shouted to his men, “Take ‘em away, fellas!”
TUESDAY, 16:48 PST
Back in Midvale, Frieda Smedlap had invited the officers of the Garden Club to her house for an emergency session. She had her speech all written out. The main points were:
• Mrs. Tubbs has embarrassed the Garden Club.
• Mrs. Tubbs should be asked to resign as
president.
• Mrs. Tubbs should have her membership
revoked.
The television set in the background was tuned to the afternoon news as the women gathered around Frieda’s kitchen table for coffee.
“I’ve called this meeting because of Hildegard Tubbs,” Frieda said.
“What about Hildegard?” the treasurer asked.
In the background, Rafael Ruelas seemed excited about something.
“Well,” Frieda began, “as you know, she went to Washington, and—”
“Just a minute, dear,” said the secretary. “We want to hear what they’re saying on TV.” She stepped across the room to the television and turned up the volume.
Ruelas was shouting, “The local heroes who helped to capture that notorious group of spies were Melissa and Sean Hunter and Hildegard Tubbs!”
“Why, isn’t that w
onderful!” cried the treasurer.
“How nice of her to capture those spies,” said the sergeant at arms. “She’s a real hero! Now, what were you saying, Frieda?”
“Who, me? Er . . .ah . . . I was just thinking . . .”
The secretary finished her sentence: “. . . that we should send Hildegard a telegram and tell her how proud we are of her? What a marvelous idea! And we should let her be president for another year.”
“Well, I . . .” Frieda sputtered.
“Two years!” said the sergeant at arms. “But she was . . .”
“I say for life!” said the secretary. “Oh, look, everyone! Frieda is so happy she has tears in her eyes!”
WEDNESDAY, 11:00 EST
The crowd gathered on the White House lawn was large and enthusiastic. All of the major television networks were there to cover the event.
Sean, Melissa, Trip, Mrs. Tubbs, and, of course, Slobs, sat in chairs behind the president of the United States. Mrs. Tubbs’ arm rested in a sling. Trip wore a bandage around his head. But nobody else had a scratch.
Mrs. Tubbs proudly clutched the telegram she had just received from the Midvale Garden Club.
“We are honored to have with us today four heroes . . .” the president began.
“WOOF! WOOF!”
“Excuse me, Slobs,” the president continued. “Five heroes . . . who exhibited extraordinary courage in helping to bring this country’s enemies to justice.”
The crowd applauded in approval. Louder and louder it grew as everyone stood to their feet.
“Pssst, pssst,” someone was shouting. Sean looked down at his digital watch to see Jeremiah grinning away. “Not bad for a day’s wok,” he said.
“That’s work,” Sean corrected. “Not bad for a day’s work.”
“Whatever,” Jeremiah shrugged. “So, what’d we learn?” he asked.
“A ton of things,” Sean said, looking out over the clapping crowd.
“Like what?”
“Like there’s no such things as ghosts.”
Hearing the conversation, Melissa looked over and grinned. Then she added, “And that Mrs. Tubbs isn’t such a bad egg.”
They glanced over to see Trip reaching out to secretly take her hand.
Sean chuckled. “Apparently you’re not the only one who thinks that.” Then, spotting the “big guy” standing over by the end of the stage, carefully surveying the crowd, he added, “Oh, and one other thing.”
“What’s that?” Jeremiah asked.
“Real men love Jesus.”
“And women, too,” Melissa corrected.
“Yup, and women, too.”
The applause continued as brother and sister raised their hands and waved to the crowd while Slobs began to bark. There would be other cases for Bloodhounds, Inc., to solve, and other lessons for Sean and Melissa to learn. But somehow they both knew that this last lesson would be the most important of all. A lesson that they would continue to learn and remember for the rest of their lives. . . .
Real men and real women do love Jesus.
Be sure to Read All the Bloodhounds, Inc. Books!
The Ghost of KRZY
The Mystery of the Invisible Knight
Phantom of the Haunted Church
Invasion of the UFOs
Fangs for the Memories
The Case of the Missing Minds
The Secret of the Ghostly Hot Rod
I Want My Mummy!
The Curse of the Horrible Hair Day
The Scam of the Screwball Wizards
The Mystery of the Melodies from Mars
Room with a Boo
A note from Bill Myers
Folks ask me why, when I write more thought-provoking novels for adults like, The Face of God, Eli, or The God Hater, do I also write for kids. There are a couple reasons . . .
For starters, my adult projects do little if any preaching. They are mostly to explore God. I set out with my reader to investigate some aspect of His greatness. And, often, I’m amazed and astonished at what we find. I’ve tried writing more mainstream, but seriously, it is so boring. Why would I want to write some steamy romance or cliché car chase, when I can explore the most complex and fascinating Being in the universe?
But my kid and teen projects are a little different. Like Proverbs, they’re more instructional. I’ve found the stories that have stayed with me the longest and have had the greatest impact upon my life have been the ones I’ve heard as a child. As exciting and glamorous as it is to write books and movies for adults, if I’m serious about impacting lives with truths that will stick, then I think of children. If I’m serious about my love for people, helping them lay down a solid foundation they can build upon the rest of their lives, then it’s children.
There’s another reason . . . I like to have fun. Friends say there is an innocence and playfulness about me. That may be true. But those who know me best actually complain I think too much. (That’s one of the reasons my wife does most of the driving. If it were up to me, we’d never get to where we’re going because I’m so lost in thought). Maybe both are accurate . . . I do love to think and maybe the playfulness releases the steam so I don’t blow up.
And finally, since I’m in a confessional mood, a quick note about comedy. Even as a teen I found comedy was a great way to make points and avoid fights. If you can get the bully to laugh at you, he may forget why he wants to pulverize you. “Hey, the dude’s an idiot, how can I take him seriously?” And he can’t. At least not me, the person. But whatever truth I’ve managed to pass on to him usually does stay. Kinda like the court jester in the old days. They’d point out the king’s ignorance but wouldn’t get busted because, “Hey, I’m just a fool, remember?”
It’s the same with comedy. Hopefully, underneath all the silliness, there is an eternal truth quietly humming, barely noticeable, that won’t go away . . . even after the story is forgotten.
Anyway, that’s some of the method to my madness. Whether it’s comedy, drama, out-of-the-box characters, or wild imaginings, my purpose is always the same – appear to entertain, to gladden the heart, to challenge the mind . . . but if you scratch a little deeper, past the surface, hopefully there’s some eternal food for the soul.
OTHER BOOKS BY BILL MYERS
NOVELS
Child’s Play
The Judas Gospel
The God Hater
The Voice
Angel of Wrath
The Wager
Soul Tracker
The Presence
The Seeing
The Face of God
When the Last Leaf Falls
Eli
Blood of Heaven
Threshold
Fire of Heaven
Harbingers – supernatural suspense series
NON-FICTION
The Jesus Experience—Journey Deeper into the Heart of God
Supernatural Love
Supernatural War
KID’S BOOKS
Baseball for Breakfast (picture book)
The Bug Parables (picture book series)
Bloodstone Chronicles (fantasy series)
McGee and Me (book/video series)
The Incredible Worlds of Wally McDoogle (comedy series)
Bloodhounds, Inc. (mystery series)
The Elijah Project (supernatural suspense series)
Secret Agent Dingledorf and His Trusty Dog Splat (comedy series)
TJ and the Time Stumblers (comedy series)
Truth Seekers (action adventure series)
TEEN BOOKS
Forbidden Doors (supernatural suspense)
Dark Power Collection
Invisible Terror Collection
Deadly Loyalty Collection
Ancient Forces Collection
TEEN BIBLE DEVOTIONALS
The Gospel of Luke
The Gospel of John
The Letter of James
For a complete list of Bill’s books, sample chapters, and newsletter signup g
o to www.Billmyers.com Or check out his Facebook page: www.facebook.com/billmyersauthor .
