“They’ve done a bang-up job so far.”
“Bang-up is right. It’s like sending in the Three Stooges or The Marx Brothers.”
“Look,” the chief said, “maybe they’re a little, er, unorthodox, but they always come through in the end.”
“I don’t like it,” Deirdre said. “It’s one thing to snoop around crime scenes and back alleys; it’s another to infiltrate a closed environment like an office or lab. Besides, they haven’t completed their mission yet.”
“Any day now,” the chief said confidently, “and we have to do something with them when they’re done.”
“We bring them back on board. Everyone will be thrilled by the news.”
The chief shook his head. “Not as long as we’re keeping Damian Dime in the dark. If word got out that Pete Penny is still alive, Damian will know something is up.”
Deirdre frowned. She didn’t like it, but she saw no better option. “What do we tell the others?”
“Nothing for now.”
“I don’t like keeping all these secrets,” Deirdre grumbled.
Iron Tail laughed. “You’re the director of Coin Intelligence. That’s what CIA directors do.”
“Lie?”
“Look, don’t think of them as secrets if it bothers you so much. Think of it as classified information. Need-to-know basis and all that other clandestine jazz. The others will understand.”
“Grrr,” Deirdre said between gritted teeth. “You’re going to make me the most unpopular dime on the island.”
“Like you aren’t already?” The chief grinned and gave a tug of his head. “Come on, let me handle this.”
The two coins trundled back to the others, who eyed them with suspicion.
The chief looked about and sang, “Never mind.”
“Huh?” Harper said. “Never mind what?”
“Dumb idea,” the chief said. “What was I thinking?” He giggled.
“But what about the mission?” Cody said, confused.
“We’re scrapping it.”
“But what about the danger? The threat to Coinworld, and all that other stuff you two were warning about only ten minutes ago?”
“Ahem,” Deirdre said. “What the chief means is that this isn’t something we can just throw together. We have time, and this is something I need to further cogitate on.”
“Cogitate?” Cody said.
“Think about, chew on,” Harper interpreted.
“Then why not just say so?”
“‘Cuz it’s Deirdre,” Harper said, “and she always has to prove how much smarter she is than the rest of us.”
Deirdre ignored the slight. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted.” She smiled. “And remember, my cave is always open. If you have any ideas, don’t hesitate to swing by.”
With that, Deirdre departed with a sashaying roll.
“That goes double for me,” the chief said, and beat a hasty retreat.
The others exchanged nonplussed looks, and shrugged.
“Whatever,” Two Loons said. “Let them worry about it. We’ve got an island to repair.”
The coins surveyed the island’s damage and grimaced. Two Loons, who oversaw Coin Island’s Department of Interior, Homeland Security, and the Bureau of Land Management, felt sorry for Leo Lincoln and his Coin Army Corps of Engineers who would be doing most of the work. He saw that the industrious 1919 Lincoln wheat penny was already bucking from disaster to disaster, estimating the damage and shaking his head.
Rocks and other debris blanketed Camp Coin, and Coin Gulch looked like it had suffered an avalanche. No doubt many of the canyon’s caverns would require excavation, and Leo’s engineers would have to examine the caves for structural damage before allowing any of the coins to use them again.
Two Loons hoped that the dog’s rampage had spared Deirdre’s CIA headquarters from destruction, but just then an outraged-filled scream echoed from Coin Gulch, informing Two Loons, if not the entire island, that it hadn’t.
Most of the island’s eastern and southern walls and ramparts sat in rubble. The eagle airstrip was demolished and looked like the lunar surface. And to the coins’ further chagrin, they saw that Attila the Hound had slurped the sacred reflecting pool bone dry, and toppled Coinhenge.
Two Loons and Harper looked at Cody as if the island’s catastrophe was all his fault.
“Hey, it’s not my dog,” Cody protested.
“Close enough,” Two Loons said.
Harper sniffed at the air and wrinkled his Ben Franklin nose. “What’s that smell?”
The coins bucked following the scent, rounded a thorn bush, and halted gaping at Laughing Hawk Stadium and the swarm of flies that hung over it.
“Oy gevalt,” Two Loons groaned. “Wait till Leo gets a load of that load.” Imagining the look of horror on the penny’s face, he added, “I’m not telling him.”
“Don’t look at me,” Cody said.
“Phew,” Harper Half Dollar said. “Poor Leo is going to need a lot more beetle-drawn sleds to cart that steamer away.”
10
double bogie
June 1964 — La Jolla, California
It was dawn when Pete Penny bucked to the edge of a lake on the 17th hole of La Jolla’s Torrey Pines Golf Course.
Pete gazed into the still waters. Below he saw a school of minnows swim past, and stuck in the mud, a Titleist golf ball. He cleared his mind and thought of Lenny. Moments later the penny’s wavering, translucent face materialized before him.
“Wheatman, do you read me?” the masked steely shouted over a roar in the background.
“I read you, Lenny, but barely. Where are you calling from?”
“A sprinkler puddle on the sixth hole.”
“What’s that sound I’m picking up?”
“Yeah, can’t talk long. A man on a riding mower is circling in on me.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“I hope so, but maneuvering through this grass is slow work.”
“Give me your coordinates and Sadie and I will pull you out of there.”
“Coordinates? How should I know?”
“A landmark or something, Lenny.”
“Right, hold on…”
Lenny’s face vanished and Pete was staring at the golf ball again. He wondered how long it had been there. It looked new. A tadpole wiggled out of nowhere and then disappeared quickly back into some soggy weeds.
“Wheatman?”
“I read you, Lenny.”
“Sixth hole about ten feet from a big pine tree. Across the way is a sand trap.”
“We’ll find you. Any luck over there?”
“I think I found her, Wheatman!”
“You saw her?”
“No, but I found something. Coins.”
“Gold or silver?”
“Both, but I saw a squadron of gold quarter eagles fly overhead.”
“They didn’t see you, did they?”
“Of course not. I’m wearing a mask!”
“Um, Lenny, how many times do I have to tell you that your mask doesn’t make you invisible? With or without a mask everyone knows you’re a penny.”
“A steel penny. Sometimes I’m mistaken for a dime!”
“A coin, Lenny. Everyone knows you’re a coin. Keep that in mind, please?”
“Whatever you say, Wheatman!”
“So this base, where do you think it is?”
“The squadrons come and go from the other side of the sand trap somewhere. In the distance I see someone’s mansion. I think the golf course borders the guy’s property.”
“Excellent, Lenny. Good job.”
“What?”
“I said good job!”
Lenny smiled impishly. “I heard you the first time, Wheatman. I just like it when you compliment me. Tee-hee.”
Pete rolled his eye. “Okay, we’re coming to get you. Is there some sort of clearing nearby you can buck over to?”
“Not really. I think the lawn mow
er would chomp me up before I reached it.”
“That close, huh?”
“Closer every minute.”
“Why are you so calm then?”
Lenny laughed, as if it was the dumbest question he’d ever heard. “‘Cuz you’re Wheatman, and Wheatman always comes through! What’s there to worry about?” He laughed some more and shook his head. “Over!”
Pete bucked into a small clearing and let out a sharp whistle.
Above, Sadie Silver Dollar and her eagle Ernie circled in a holding pattern. Ernie dipped a wing to let Pete know they heard him and then began to dive.
“Let’s get it right the first time, gang,” Pete said. He righted himself and waited.
Sadie and Ernie swooped, hooked to the left, and missed.
“Oh, shucks,” Sadie said, her voice trailing off along with a clump of grass.
Pete waited patiently as the silver dollar banked and came in for a do-over. Experience had taught that Sadie and Ernie would overcompensate on the second pass, and that the third attempt would be the charm. Usually. He chuckled and then had an idea.
In they came, but this time Pete hopped right a moment before they passed. Ernie’s talon grabbed him up in a perfect snatch.
“Woohoo, Ernie!” Sadie yodeled. “You did it!”
Ernie screeched his joy and Pete smiled.
“Where to, Paul?” Sadie called down to him.
“Hole Six, and pronto before a lawn mower gobbles up Lenny.”
“Which way is that?”
“Head west.”
Sadie and Ernie began to bank.
“The other west, gang,” Pete said.
“Oopsy-doopsy!”
“And Sadie, keep low. Lenny said there was a squadron of gold quarter eagles in the area.”
Ernie squawked in understanding and descended skimming along the fairway.
Lenny the penny wondered if the man on the green John Deere mower knew there was a sprinkler directly in his path, because he sure wasn’t slowing down. Clearly, the man didn’t see him because he was wearing his mask. Invisibility, Lenny thought, had its drawbacks. He made a mental note to work on modulating his visibility with humans.
Lenny glanced skyward, and grimaced—still no sign of The Silver Soarer.
The man on the mower roared closer.
With nowhere to roll and nowhere to hide, Lenny began to dig. Bucking and scooping, he dug as best as his 19.05 mm diameter could muster.
The green monster’s thunder grew louder. Lenny shoveled for all he was worth, but at one cent that wasn’t looking like nearly enough, even though he was Steelman and believed that he possessed the combined strength of a roll of quarters.
Then at the last moment the mower veered sharply right, just missing the sprinkler. The lawn keeper pulled to an abrupt halt, switched off the mower, and dismounted.
Lenny popped his eye over the small divot he had made and saw the man approach. Although certain he was invisible, Lenny ducked back down, fearing that the divot might catch the man’s attention. He stretched out his two wheat stocks and brushed what dirt and grass he could over himself while still being able to keep his eye on the fellow.
The lawn keeper withdrew a pair of shears from his utility belt, and like a sculptor, he clipped at the tall grass around the sprinkler with quick, expert snips. Lenny was mightily impressed by this painstaking dedication, and nodded in approval. A regular Michelangelo, he thought.
Ever since meeting Pete Penny, Lenny had come to believe that there were lessons to be learned from every creature under the Great Minter’s dome. Clearly, the man took tremendous pride in the magnificent golf course that stretched for eighteen holes and some one hundred acres. Such pride in one’s work, Lenny decided, was something to emulate.
“I don’t see him,” Sadie said. “My, this lawn just goes forever.”
“Keep to this side,” Pete said. “The other side might be The Six’s bullion base.”
Pete scanned the fairway and saw the parked riding mower and a man on his hands and knees inspecting something. What, he wondered, might demand such meticulous attention? All he could think of was something the size of a penny. Oh, boy…
“Sadie, head towards the mower, and get ready to dive-bomb.”
Fortunately, the man stood and remounted his riding mower. His clip job was so good that the sprinkler head was now easy to make out. The lawn keeper switched on his mower and putted away.
“There he is,” Pete said. “Ernie, try to get him on the first pass. And whatever you do, don’t hit the sprinkler. If you crash land we’ll never get out of here.”
“Don’t worry,” Sadie said, “Ernie’s got this pick-up business down pat now. Don’t you, Ernie?”
Ernie didn’t nod, and he didn’t squawk either. Ernie wasn’t so sure.
Neither was Pete, who knowing Ernie tended to hook left, shot out a wheat stock to the right. His stock uncoiled like a harpoon and Lenny clasped it with one of his own wheat stocks. The steely was yanked swinging into the air.
“I told you!” Sadie boasted.
“Head to the putting green,” Pete said. “And keep low.”
Ernie banked, and wings beating, sped towards the red flag in the distance. They set down next to the flag pin on the trimmed green of the sixth hole and consulted.
Pete reminded Sadie and Lenny that their mission was not to rescue Franny, but only to locate her, and if possible reconnoiter to obtain what intel they could about The Six’s bullion base. It was decided that Pete and Lenny would try to infiltrate the base and that Sadie would keep a safe distance until it was time for her to pick them up.
“If we’re not back by sunset then you are to leave without us,” Pete instructed the silver dollar.
“You say that every time, Paul.”
“Pete, Sadie. Pete.”
“For Pete’s sake, Paul. I know that.”
Pete sighed. “And remember, we’re on the sixth hole, not the ninth. Don’t get them mixed up.”
“I can count, dear.”
Pete addressed Sadie’s eagle. “Ernie, keep an eye on her, would you?”
Ernie peered around Sadie’s obverse side. He nodded and screeched his understanding.
“Like I could go anywhere without him, silly,” Sadie said. “Why don’t we just grab the silver dollar while we can, anyway? Why all the cloak and dagger stuff?”
“The place is better guarded than Fort Knox,” Pete answered. “The Six has squadrons of gold eagles, any one of which can outfly us.”
“We’re not afraid of them, are we Ernie?”
Ernie craned his head around and blinked his googly eye at Sadie, as if to say, ‘Are you nuts?’
Pete said, “But mostly because it took years to locate her, and we don’t want The Six to know we know. Now, let’s go. And remember, sundown and no Pete or Lenny, you take off.”
“But I can’t leave you!”
“We can’t take the chance. If I’m not back, hightail it to the Grand Canyon base and get a message to Kipp Quarter.”
“Kipp,” Sadie said dreamily. “What a hunk of silver that quarter is. Do you think he likes me?”
“Of course, he likes you. He asks how you’re doing all the time.”
“Ernie and Kipp’s eagle Erasmus get along great, don’t you Ernie?”
Ernie answered by crossing his wings. Two birds of a feather.
“Sadie, not now, please?”
“Why are we still here, Paul? Won’t this place be crawling with golfers before we know it?”
“Ernie,” Pete said, “how do you do it? You’ve got the patience of a 2nd century coin of Marcus Aurelius.”
Ernie dipped his beak in agreement, and then continued dipping his beak.
“Okay,” Pete said, “drop us by that sand trap over there, and then make yourselves scarce until we meet back here at sundown.”
“Rodney that,” Sadie said.
“Roger,” Pete said. “It’s roger.”
“Oh,
Paul, please make up your mind!”
“Go!”
Sadie rolled shooting across the putting green. Ernie Eagle took flight, circled around, and after two botched attempts, snatched up the two pennies. He flew to the sand trap and dropped his packages.
Pete and Lenny hit the sand with a poof, and Sadie and Ernie sailed off.
Pete spit out a mouthful of sand and sighed at the vast desert before him. “I said, by the sand trap, gang. Not in it.”
He turned to Lenny, expecting the same look of frustration, but the black-masked penny wasn’t the least perturbed by the slog ahead of them. Overjoyed, the steely was flipping sand in the air and seemed as happy as a child in a sandbox.
Nothing fazes the guy, Pete thought. He was unsure whether Lenny was some sort of Zen master, or just completely nuts.
Pete shook his head and set off humping towards the edge of the sand trap. Behind him marched Lenny, whistling the “Colonel Bogey March” from the 1958 Academy Award winning film, “The Bridge on the River Kwai.”
If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, Pete thought, and together they whistled the catchy tune and marched on.
An hour later the two pennies clambered from the bunker and shook off the sand and dust that had collected at the edges of their various embossments.
“Okay, Lenny, from here on out we’re quiet as mice.”
“Not a problem, Wheatman.” Lenny squeezed shut his eyes and murmured something unintelligible.
“What are you doing?” Pete asked.
“Going into invisible mode,” Lenny answered. “Done!”
“We’re done for all right,” Pete muttered. “Let’s go, and keep your eye and ear open. We’re in enemy territory here.”
The two pennies rolled and waggled through the grass in the direction of the woods that lined the fairway. Pete thought that if he were going to set up a bullion base in these parts, that’s where he’d build it.
During their tramp they spotted three different squadrons of gold eagles, one made up of $5 half eagles, another of $2.50 quarter eagles, and the third a combination of the two. They seemed to be carrying out war maneuvers, as if practicing for a major mission.
“They sure are pretty,” Lenny whispered.
The Amazing Adventures of 4¢ Ned (Coinworld: Book Three) Page 10
