For a Nickel or a Crime

by Gyrotank

Part 4 of ongoing series. Rescue Rangers return to Baskerville manor to investigate threats to Ivory, Lord Roger Baskerville's racehorse. She is about to win the Triple Crown, but someone out there strongly objects...

1. Chapters 1-9

For a Nickel or a Crime

by Gyrotank

* 1 *

Lord Roger Baskerville stood in the thick of knee-high heather, intensely watching thin, almost hair-like second hand of his very archaic-looking and thus immensely expensive chronometer. He usually hurried the time up, but at the moment he was wishing fervently for seconds calculated by unbiased mechanism to last much longer.

"Zigzag passed." A gray-haired man also equipped with a stop-watch informed him. Haughty poise and bushy whiskers made him look like butler and not a horse trainer whom he really was. He stood in the center of a sandy race track bend and could see beyond a low hill which obscured his employer's line of sight. "She's ahead of schedule."

"I see that, Edwin." Baskerville muttered meaning time. But in just a few seconds he could see the object of their observation, too. It was a pale grey horse speeded by a jockey wearing blue-yellow, like the Baskervilles coat of arms, uniform. Even Roger despite being amateur could easily see that the horse, jockey's urging notwithstanding, wasn't straining her strength to the limit. Still, her result was truly phenomenal.

"Two, fifty-four, zero-eight!" the trainer cried out shaking his stop-watch. "Six seconds better than the Doncaster record and one second better then the all-time best result! And on much slower ground! It's phenomenal, milord! Consider the Triple Crown yours!"

"Ours." Baskerville corrected him. It wasn't some false modesty but sincere truth. Roger knew that no money and no titles by themselves would have never allowed him to make what Edwin and his meticulously picked team made in staggeringly small amount of time. By English standards the Baskerville Stable was not a novice but a baby in horse racing, and yet they already won victories at 2000 Guineas Stakes and the Epsom Derby. This meant that the British version of the Triple Crown, the highest achievement in thoroughbred racing, was just one step, just one victory at St. Leger Stakes away. And all the exercises showed that their common child, a filly named Ivory, was fully capable of that.

"So, Tony, how's she?" Edwin asked the jockey when the horse made smooth braking turn and returned to the finish line.

"Like a rocket, sir!" the jockey said with a beaming smile. He bent down and tenderly patted Ivory's Purbeck marble-colored neck. "She entered the turns before I pulled the reins. I think she'd have passed the distance even faster without me."

"Sure thing! She's a smart girl!" Roger sustained the joke, not knowing how close it is to the truth.

Ivory understood what was going on perfectly. She knew what her masters expected from her, and wanted to win the decisive race desperately. Her owner and trainer drummed the importance of it into each other's and her ears. They discussed the Triple Crown, previously won in immensely distant 1970, in the stables, on the racetrack, and on their way between them. By winning St. Leger Stakes Ivory would not only break this 40 years long pause, but would also become the first filly in history to conquer this shining pinnacle. Queen Ivory sounds really great, doesn't it?

If it weren't for that darned voice…

As streams of warm water and stableman's sponge washed away dust and passion of the practice race, memories from a week ago began to torment Ivory. Memories from exactly a week ago, which made the feelings sharper…

"It was only a joke! Someone's stupid joke!" Ivory checked herself angrily. Despite approaching panic she strode after a human leading her by the bridles steadily, heartily and gracefully, with her head lifted high. The future Queen can't be afraid of the voices, no matter what they offer and how threateningly sound!

"Here we are, beauty! Drink, eat, rest, gather strength, we've got tough schedule," the stableman said, stroke his hand across her thick black mane, locked her stall and left. Ivory turned back, not to follow him with her eyes though, but to check if there was anything behind the gates. There was nothing. She exhaled loudly and, calm and heartened up, went to the watering bowl in the corner, made a few gulps… and returned all the water back, splashing it over the walls, the floor and a small rectangular object behind the bowl, forethoughtfully covered with polyethylene film. With water coughed out and her breath recovered, Ivory glanced around, saw nothing and no one, and pressed a blue button protruding from a carefully made cut in the film with a tip of her hoof.

"Ivory, my dear, it's me again. I see you waved off my generous offer with you tail, and run even faster than before. It's depressing. I used to consider myself a peaceful and big-hearted creature, but you neglect my words so defiantly that I have no choice but to prove I can be persuasive. Demands stay the same: run your practice distance no faster than in three and a half minutes. If this message doesn't persuade you, I'll prove I can be angry and cruel. Not to you, though, but to Meteor. The meter is ticking."

Terrified Ivory's mane stood on end.

"METEOR!" she cried at the top of her voice, bolting towards the stall gates. Panic-stricken, she forgot she could neither knock them down nor jump over, and by the time she remembered she knew how to open them, her loud neighing attracted attention of her trainer and one of the stablemen.

"What happened, Jerry? What's the matter, baby?!" Edwin asked, agitated. His subordinate knew nothing either, and Ivory couldn't explain anything for obvious reasons. She wasn't even trying, though, and kept running from corner to corner, rearing and calling her son. And upon hearing distant "Mommy, I'm here!" she began to beating up and down with much more intense, and calmed down only when Meteor ran into the stable, put his front legs on the stall gate and repeated: "Mummy, I'm here! I'm back!"

"Meteor!" Ivory ran up to her son and covered his face with feverish kisses. "Where? Where have you been? I was so scared!"

"I was walking with Mike," the colt informed her. Just like humans, he couldn't understand his mother's nervousness. "We always have walk at this time. What happened? Are we late? Forgive me, it was so interesting…"

"No-no, everything is fine," Ivory quickly reassured him. "I- I just lost track of time. Yes, I got confused with time, that's all. You say it was interesting. What exactly was interesting? Tell me everything about it…"

"Thank goodness, she settled down," Edwin remarked with relief. "She's so nervous today for some reason."

"Maybe she smells a ride o the race," Mike suggested, joining others and catching his breath after having come running along with Meteor.

"Or incoming storm," Jerry added.

"Or just wanted to see her baby again," Edwin summarized. He turned to Mike. "Give them half an hour, and then take the kid to the barriers. Ordinary workout first, then increase load by ten percent. No more, hastiness often leads to strains. When finished, drop me all the recordings. Go and have a snack if you wish. Jerry, put on something clean, we need to pick up our order in the city."

With orders given and his assistants dismissed, Edwin tied Meteor to the ring on the gates of Ivory's stall and left. But Ivory and Meteor weren't alone for too long.

"Ivory, honey, is everything alright?" a hoarse voice was heard suddenly from a dark corner by the stable doors.

"McDuff!" Ivory screamed, pressing her hoof to her heart. Are you mad? Don't frighten me like that!

"Point taken, I'm sorry," the elderly Old English Sheepdog said apologetically coming out into the light. "Haven't thought about it. Grew too old. If you don't use gallantry often, it withers, it sure does. I'm glad you are all right. You screamed so loud I thought- doesn't matter what I thought. How do you do, Meteor? Do you outrace the wind? Saw anything of interest lately?"

"I did!" Meteor answered enthusiastically. He considered the elderly dog the embodiment of wisdom and undisputable moral authority, and liked to share his impressions with him and to ask him about everything he couldn't comprehend. This time their conversation turned out lively and substantial, too, and thirty minutes flew like one. But as soon as Mike took Meteor away, McDuff grew serious.

"And now tell me what happened. Everything, no omissions." he said sternly.

"Nothing happened…" Ivory made a sluggish attempt to deny, but McDuff pushed it, and finally Ivory sighed, moved the bolt on the gates with her mouth and let the dog into the stall.

"Here," she said, leading him up to the bowl. "Listen." She pressed the blue button with her hoof, but it almost immediately snapped back out with a loud click. "What's going on?" she murmured in surprise and repeated the procedure, but the result was the same. She was about to do it for the third time, but McDuff stopped her.

"I think you should rewind first," he said and pressed the button next to the blue one. The device responded with a rustle of rewinding tape. "Here we go. And no violence against the equipment, mind you."

"Well, I'm a race horse after all, not some, you know, how to say that…"

"And how did you turn it on?" the dog inquired, squinting.

Ivory lowered her head. "They showed me what to press. The first device came with the note…"

"And what device is this?"

"Second…"

"I see," McDuff said dryly. He could have said much more than that, but he knew it was not just useless but even harmful to show anger. Not to mention that the rewinding process has just finished. "All right, let's listen."

Ivory shivered at the prospect of hearing the sinister voice one more time, but the device was silent. Even when impatient McDuff tore the polyethylene with his claws and turned the volume up to the maximum, the dynamics produced nothing but monotonous hum.

Ivory was completely dumbfounded. "I don't understand! I heard it myself!"

"What exactly did you hear?" McDuff asked, switching on seeking fast forward in a futile attempt to find the start of the recording.

"He will hurt Meteor if I don't cede the St. Leger!"

"Who is he?"

"How should I know?"

"So you didn't recognize the voice?"

"No, never heard it before."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, absolutely! I would have remembered! It was so strange…"

McDuff tilted his head backwards, his ears perked up. "Strange?"

"Strange," Ivory repeated. "Hoarse, almost strained. I never heard humans talking like that-"

"Humans?" the dog interrupted.

"Yes, humans. It was a human voice. That's why I thought it was some stableman's stupid joke. Don't you think so?"

McDuff shook his head confidently. "No. On the contrary, now I'm sure it's deadly serious. We need help. I even know whose help exactly."

"You mean those mice?" Ivory asked without any enthusiasm.

"Chipmunks, mice and the fly," the dog corrected. "Oh, please, keep your pecker up! They helped me and Lord Roger, and they will help you and Meteor, too! I'll go write them a letter, and you hide the recording as safely as possible, they would need it most certainly. And the first one, too. By the way, where is it?"

Ivory looked sideways.

"I threw it out. Took it to the garbage bin at night. I told you, I thought it was-"

"Just a joke. Yes, I remember," McDuff glanced around. "Well, it's difficult to hide it here, I'd better take it to my kennel for additional security. If anything happens, call me. Agreed?"

The horse nodded humbly. "Agreed."

McDuff took the audio device with his teeth and ran to his kennel. He often exchanged letters with the Rescue Rangers and remembered their address by heart. He had doubts they would respond to his call for help. He hoped they were at home, and not in some faraway land…

* 2 *

"I got it!" Gadget announced finishing examination of the cassette and the audio device which she recognized as microcassette voice recorder. "There is a small but strong magnet attached to the lower part of the cassette compartment. It erases the tape passed through the reading head. This way the recorded information is played exactly once and then becomes irreversibly destroyed. Pure physics, no mystics!"

"So you do believe me, yes?" Ivory inquired.

"Of course we do," Chip responded, thoughtfully turning pages of his notebook back and forth.

"And you do not consider it joke, do you?" the filly pressed on, probably thinking that if she asked the same question several times, she'd finally get a suitable answer/

"No, we don't," Chip repeated. He saw no need to explain repeatedly that if he and his friends had interpreted McDuff's message as a joke they wouldn't have come to Croughborough with full steam on. On the other hand, there were plenty of very strange moments, and everything strange is always met with a bit of healthy skepticism. "So, the first fully identical voice recorder was attached to the inner side of the gates and came with the note containing text 'Press here' and an arrow pointing at the blue button. What height it was attached on?"

"Like this, I think," Ivory showed by lifting her forward right hoof.

"Not too bad," Monterey Jack commented. He was helping Dale and Zipper with installation of MOSES — Multivariably Oriented Surfaces Examination System. It consisted of a powerful suction cup, pantographic rack and a holder for a vast nomenclature of lenses and lamps. "Who could that be? Some giant muskrat?"

"Or maybe mutant rat! Radioactive!" Dale didn't miss an opportunity to express himself. "And look at me like that! We suspect everybody! Right, Chip?"

"U-hu", Chip answered through his teeth. "Don't worry," he commented for Ivory who was regarding them rather askance. "Nothing virulent, just raving imagination. So where we were…" He checked with his notebook. "Oh, yes. You mentioned that the first time the voice proposed you to lose the race in exchange for 'a lifetime place in the sun'. Do you know what exactly did this mean?"

"Sure I do. Everybody does. In the horseracing world 'a place in the sun' means Darley Racing, the private stable of the Emir of Dubai. Every horse wants to be there, even those who will never acknowledge it."

"You, too?"

"Well…" Ivory paused. "Don't get me wrong, I feel good here, I'm loved, appreciated and so forth…"

"But if the choice were yours, you would choose Darley Racing, wouldn't you?"

"To tell the truth, yes." Ivory sighed. "But don't suspect me! I have no intention whatsoever to short-sell my owners and cede the race!" she quickly added to disperse a shadow of doubt in the chipmunk's eyes. "Never!"

"But why?" Chip was sincerely surprised.

"Yeah, why?" Dale joined in. "If that another stable has butter mountains and wine lakes everywhere, you can win a whole bunch of races for them!"

Ivory's eyes grew not just rounded, but squared.

"You- you- are you insane!? Do you know what you are talking about!? Do you know anything at all!?"

Chip wasn't expecting such an outburst. His knee-jerk reactions were to cower and glance around to check whether there were any humans running, alarmed by loud neighing. McDuff said they were all busy with usual evening prophylactic examination of Meteor, but who knows…

"I'm sorry, Lady Ivory," the chipmunk apologized, "but I really don't…"

"Point is," McDuff allowed himself to interject, "that only horses of certain age are allowed to participate in St. Leger Stakes. Next year Ivory won't be able to participate despite her sincerest wishes. That's why it's so important for her to win this very time." He turned to Ivory. "Please, don't be angry at my friends. It's my fault. I should have informed them more substantially than I did. Forgive me."

"All right, I forgive you," the horse calmed down and stopped pumping her nostrils. "Do you want to ask anything else?"

"Yes, I do," Chip answered, his business attitude regained. "Do you know by any chance if Darley Racing offered Lord Rodger to sell you?"

"They did."

"How long ago it was? How much money they offered?"

"I don't know such details. But I think it happened short after my victory at Derby. After usual exercise Lord Roger greeted me and said to Edwin: 'Just think of it, those Arabs seriously think I will sell them such a treasure!' Then he stroked me and said: 'Don't worry, baby, I'll never sell you to anyone, I promise!' It was so sad, you know…"

Chip was saved from obligation to say something accordingly sympathetic by Gadget's call. "Chip, come here! We've found something!"

"Excuse me," Chip apologized, lifting his hat like any gentlemunk would, and went over to his friends. They had put MOSES into service already and got their first results: small scratches found with the help of magnifying glasses. Inspired by his idol, Sureluck Jones, Chip gathered a rich catalogue of prints of various animals' and insects' claws, teeth and mandibles, which allowed him to instantly recognize their catch. "Those are claws of rodent, a bit larger than us. Most probably, rat."

"Not human nails?" McDuff asked.

Chip shook his head confidently. "No, it's out of the question." He returned to Ivory. "Are you sure the voice on the tapes belonged to a human?"

"Yes, absolutely!" the filly confirmed passionately.

"Specifically human?" Gadget joined to the conversation. "Could it be any other animal with a similar vocal signature?"

Ivory blinked. "Excuse me?"

"With a similar voice pitch," Chip helpfully translated into a simpler language. "For instance, we, rodents, have higher voices than humans, elephants have lower, and animals in between have more or less similar-"

"What voices? What are you talking about?" Ivory became angry again. "It's some load of horse feathers! You think I can't recognize the language I hear every day? Think before you say! It's preposterous! Are you really the ones you are pretending to be?"

It was Monterey's turn to get cross. "Now listen to me here, ma'am!" He said threateningly. "We don't owe nothing to you personally, mind you! Another insult of yours — and we are outta here! Solve your and Meteor's problems by yourself if you are so smart! Okay?"

This angry rebuff caught Ivory by surprise. Her first impulse was to say something like "Go away, do me a favor!", but her son's name turned on her motherly instinct which told her that the threat was too real, and it would be unwise to reject any help because of some unflattering phrases, especially in absence of any other suitable variants. To tell the truth, both modus operandi and technical equipment of these Rescue Rangers were truly impressive. It seemed that if somebody could save her from choosing between Meteor and the Triple Crown, it was them.

"All right, all right, let's not get out of temper," she said, forcing herself to smile pleasantly. "You see, I've never been in such situations, so…"

"Sure, sure," Chip nodded placatingly. "It's always a great stress. Regarding my question, as soon as you mentioned language everything fell into place. By the way, you told McDuff that the voice was strange and strained. Could it be an accent?"

"It could," the horse agreed. "But I never heard it."

"I see. Now, if you don't mind, we'll proceed with our investigation," Chip looked at his friends meaningfully. They understood that the conflict ended and got back to work, while Chip proceeded to the next question. "When is your next practice run?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"I think you should run the distance with the result required by the anonym. It will disorient the blackmailers and win some time needed for our investigation. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Ivory said after a long and agonizing pause.

"I also want to ask you not to turn on any other voice recorders you may encounter but call us to deal with it. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Have you told your son about these threats?"

"No. I don't intend to. And you don't tell him anything, either. Or even keep out of his sight entirely. It will be easy for you, won't it?"

"Sure, sure. You are the mother, you know better," said the Rescue Ranger. He didn't want to press on Ivory further. She had really hard time agreeing to 'cede' the practice run against her pride and deserved some yielding in return.

Finding nothing more worth of their attention, Rangers dismantled MOSES and left the stable along with McDuff, leaving Ivory to wait for Meteor and stablemen on her own. When the equipment was packed back into an outboard container of the Wing, Chip summed up the provisional results.

"So, at the moment the most obvious suspects are Darley Racing. Competition for the title and desire to buy Ivory add up to some substantial motive."

"But why make Ivory lose the race if they want to buy her?" Dale asked. "It's much more prestigious to get the Triple Crown winner!"

"And much more expensive," Zipper added astutely.

"So what?" Monterey Jack inquired. "The Arabs have so much money they can buy a herd of Triple Crown winners!"

"If they need Ivory as a winner of numerous titles, they will pay any sum, indeed," Chip agreed. "But I suspect they are interested not as much in her titles as her genes. What do you think, McDuff?"

"I think that's most probably the case," the dog confirmed knowingly. "Breeding is one of Darley's prime priorities, they often buy prominent sires and damsires. Not too long ago they bought Hyperion who has the most titles among all the living horses. By the way, he's the father of Meteor."

Rescue Rangers whistled at the news.

"Wow…" Gadget expressed common feelings. "Now I see why Ivory is so arrogant. She's basically a royal family member if you could say that!"

"She is." McDuff confirmed absolutely seriously. "She has a very rich heritage. Just like any other horse participating in the thoroughbreds racing. It's called like that for a reason."

"I see…" Chip said slowly and thoughtfully. "The most distinguished stallion, the phenomenal filly… Meteor is uncommon, too, am I right?"

"It's too early to say anything for sure. But Mr. Edwin praises him greatly. I heard him telling Lord Roger that Meteor is fully capable to excel Hyperion who won his owners three million pounds. And he ran in England only, never participating in the most profitable races in Japan and Dubai."

Chip's eyes flashed. "And how large is prize fund in Dubai?" he asked curtly.

"Ten million dollars. The winner takes six."

Dale's throat grew dry. "Six million…" he hissed.

Chip smiled. "Cherchez la money. If I owned Darley, I would go above and beyond to acquire the whole family including Meteor. But he's too young and no one will buy him without Ivory, right?"

"Absolutely," McDuff confirmed.

"Then our top-priority version is that Darley Racing is behind the blackmail," Chip rote the firm's name on the clean sheet, encircled it and underlined twice. "Let's start from the notion that they are the organizers. What do we know about the workforce?"

"That it's a rat," Dale answered immediately. "You determined it yourself."

"Rather, rats," Chip corrected. "It would have been hard for a single rat, even a very strong one, to handle the voice recorder. But I'm much more interested in the owner of the recorded voice."

"If he exists at all," Gadget pointed out. "The voice could have been synthesized by computer based on text, and any animal could have typed it. Well, almost any. Though technology develops so quickly that-"

"I doubt it," Chip interrupted her. "It's very important for a blackmailer to use intones and accentuations. And Ivory mentioned that the anonym could spoke smoothly, gently, apologetically even. Computer can't simulate that. But a human can."

His friends exchanged glances. Speakers, that is humans capable to understand animal language, were rare occurrence. But Rescue Rangers had the first-hand 'pleasure' to verify they really existed. They had too few facts to determine the source of this talent, although in cases of Winnifred and Heinrich von Sugarbottom magic was immediately coming to mind. Nevertheless, the danger Speakers possessed was still great. The vast majority of Rangers' victories happened owing to humans' inability to understand animal language and their ignorance of what was really happening in the world of the "wild". Speakers, on the other hand, were aware of this, and the only upside was that other humans considered them lunatics who must be isolated and forcibly cured. But nothing is eternal. What if one of them working for such a serious firm as Darley Racing is the beginning of a new epoch? Or even the beginning of the end?

"Yeah, that's some bonza-loco situation," Monterey Jack commented, scratching his right moustache. "The rats, the Speaker… By the way, lads, am I the only one who thinks it looks like that ululunium caper?"

"Yes, I thought about the Spy, too," Chip confirmed. "But he's locked up and won't see the light of day in foreseeable future."

"But what if he escaped?" Dale asked. "He did it once!"

"Could be," Chip shrugged. "To tell the truth, I'd prefer it was his making. We know him and his minions and their modus operandi. We have defeated them twice, after all, and can do it for the third time. But if it were someone unknown and unpredictable…" he made a scenic pause, then smiled broadly. "Well, we're no strangers to it! The more acquaintances, the better. There's another more important question: how do the criminals knew so much of what's happening here?"

"If you mean Ivory's results, it's possible to observe the track from the nearby hills," Zipper reported the results of his preliminary recon flight.

"True. But I think it's hard to determine where exactly is Ivory's stall and when no one is observing it with the help of binoculars only." Chip looked at McDuff expressively.

The dog grew gloomy. "You mean we've got some fleas? I hope you don't suspect me?"

"No," chipmunk answered sincerely. "I trust you completely. I also trust Lord Roger who won't undermine himself, and the trainer and the jockey who will receive not only money but also a fame of the Triple Crown winners if Ivory comes first. I suspect stablemen."

"And I suspect butler!" Dale announced.

"And I think it's stupid," Gadget objected. "They sent the rats to plant the voice recorder, so it's natural to send them scouting, too. Or even some crows."

"Paid inside sources are always the most reliable," Chip countered coolly. "They can inform about sudden change of plans, they can draw detailed maps, they can create diversions if need be…"

"Well, Lord Howie can draw the map, too," McDuff prompted. "By the way, why didn't you suspect him?"

Chip pursed his lips. "I forgot about him," he acknowledged. "But he doesn't live here, as far as I can understand. What happened to him?"

"Trudges along. Lord Rodger was very generous to him. He voluntarily gave him one third of all stocks and real estates. But Lord Howie blew most of it off very quickly, and the rest is uncared for. In contrast, Lord Roger began to develop everything. Sure, he can live the rest of his life on royalty from Lord Howard's books, but idleness isn't for him. So he went in for horseracing, like his father did for some time. You can see the result for yourself."

"Ata boy!" Monterey Jack rejoiced. "I'm glad we helped him! For things can go other way sometimes, you know…"

"We do," Chip interrupted, preempting Aussie's long reflection densely mixed with memories. "As for me, I doubt Lord Howie is behind all this, but Darley Racing could have contacted him, so we need to pay him a visit, too. McDuff, when is the race?"

"Next Saturday. But the day after tomorrow, on Tuesday, Ivory and Meteor will be taken to South Yorkshire, to Doncaster, to train on site. They'll stay there until the race."

"So we've got six days," Chip summed up, writing down the most important dates into his notepad. "Tight schedule, but it's for the better. I don't like long pauses; they lower the vigil and tonus. Rescue Rangers, to work!"

* 3 *

Rescue Rangers spent the rest of Sunday evening to settle in and study the territory, then went to sleep, and in the morning, with refreshed strength and mind they started active duty.

Chip took upon himself and Gadget the task to visit Howie Baskerville. McDuff didn't know his address, but Chip surmised Rodger must have had it written somewhere. Hustle and bustle of travel preparations made it easier to slip into his cabinet. Unfortunately, there were no Howie's address in papers or computer, but Chip found coordinates of the legal firm which assisted the Baskervilles in dividing their property. Considering the relationship between the brothers being more than tense, and Howie's allergy for dog fur, it was logical to deduce they kept in touch through lawyers, too. That's why Chip and Gadget flew to Brighton — the largest city of the county where the head office of the firm was located.

The address they found belonged to the large office complex. According to the tenants list providently hanging near the front door, "Sanders and Partners" law firm occupied whole 15th floor. Even the full team of Rescue Rangers would need very long time to thoroughly search such territory, so Chip and Gadget decided they should fly around the building and mark the most promising rooms in advance. Their prudence proved very fruitful, for beyond one of the loosely closed curtains they spotted Howie Baskerville in person.

"To the roof!" the chipmunk ordered with zest, but Gadget knew what to do without his instructions and already directed the plane directly upwards. The building had eighteen floors in total, and Rangers had climbing gear and skills to use it, and quickly came within hearing range of conversations in the needed room.

"Money will come tomorrow? Will it? You guarantee it?"

"Certainly, milord. As soon as you sign the deed of conveyance, I'll get in touch with the bank and approve the transfer."

"But it will come only tomorrow?"

"I have no power over the banks, milord. But what are these questions for? We've discusses and settled everything, haven't we? And, as far as I can understand, it's absolutely ordinary procedure for you."

Rescue Rangers had to hang upside down, and it was hard to observe the room in detail from the fireplace, not to mention that two of three men present were sitting with their backs to it. If it weren't for the 'milord' address Chip would never guessed that the other participant of the dialogue was Howie Baskerville. The voice he heard clearly couldn't belong to the harsh and commanding noble who had shot his double-barreled shotgun at them. This voice was the voice of a banged down neurotic who lost the one and only real battle in his life and didn't thought it was necessary to put up a good front. He even swallowed his opponent's gibe, mumbled something indiscernible and signed all the papers on the table in front of him.

"Thank you, milord. It's a pleasure to do business with you, milord," the buyer thanked him slimily, gathering his copies of the deed with some rustle. Then he got up to put them into his briefcase, and Rescue Rangers saw his clean-shaven face with high cheekbones, which one could call cultured if not for his starry cold eyes of a killer. Natural born highwayman, whom civilization freed from necessity to wait for his victim in bushes and hold in his hands something heavier than a fountain pen. Chip felt an unpleasant chill running down his nape…

"Quite a suspicious fellow," Gadget whispered into his ears. "Should we follow him?"

"We certainly would if we had two planes," Chip assured her. "But Howie Baskerville is more important. Back to the plane, quickly!"

A thin taint of soot on the seldom used chimney's inner walls worsened stucking capabilities of Rangers' suction boots making ascend substantially slower. By the time they reached the Wing both buyer and seller had already left the building and were on the parking lot. They walked almost in step, ignoring one another ostentatiously. Another vivid illustration of relations between the opposite social strata, especially if one compared posture, clothing and car brands owned by hereditary noble and solicitor. It was blue Mini and silver Jaguar XKR correspondingly. A question automatically arose: who were really the ignoring and the ignored?

Upon exiting the parking lot two cars turned in opposite directions. Gadget steered the plane to follow Mini. Baskerville drove very nervously, in turn accelerating and braking to meet the speed limit. He was clearly in a hurry, and Chip felt thrill of the hunt. Howie Baskerville seemed to be inutile, but it could be appearance only…

His living condition were more than modest. It was a two-room flat on the fourth floor of concrete box on the opposite from the city center edge of much less than fashionable district. Interior was also austere; no pets or any signs of them. The notebook on a narrow plastic table was the only piece of electric equipment. Baskerville ran to him without taking off his coat, but had to stop halfway to when his cell phone's ringtone sounded. Howie cursed but received the call.

"Yeah… Of course I know who this is! …Just came home. Tomorrow everything will be alright. …No, this time it's exactly tomorrow. All papers signed, money is coming… Even more than that. With all interests, yes. Exactly as much as you said. And a 'little' bit more. And this very 'little' bit we'll invest in- Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait a second! What do you mean 'it's over'? Nothing's over! It's only a beginning! …No, that time doesn't count! …But I paid everything! What's the problem? You don't need money? …No, this time it's set in stone. …Yes, those ten percent, exactly! If you remember, than you're interested! …And where's no risk? Tell me where there's no risk, and I invest there right away! …See? Now listen: buy everything. Right now. …No, money will be tomorrow. But you buy it now. We'll gain extra half a percent! …You sound as though we've never done that before. …It's hard on everyone. But I'll have the money, so you don't have to lie. …Perfect. Stay in touch. And don't shake, everything will be alright."

Baskerville hung up and not just said, but yelled: "Everything will be SIMPLY PERFECT! You think you got rid of me, Rogie?" he continued, addressing a dot on the wallpapers. "No way! A couple of successful investments, and I'll buy you bag and baggage! You'll be laundering for me again, like you should! Or no, no, dear brother, no, of course not! What laundering? I'll banish you! You can, cry, you can beg, you can wheedle — it won't help you. I'll throw you and your lice-ridden dog out of the gates! With no livelihood! You'll live by alms! You'll feed on garbage! Sleep in ditch under the newspaper! That's your place! Do you hear me? Hear me!? No, but you will! And very, very soon!"

Swinging his fist at the emptiness a couple of times, Howie Baskerville sat down at the table, turned on his computer, opened Internet poker room and delved into another viable way to gather funds to buy his family mansion back. Rescue Rangers saw and heard it all through the window partly opened for ventilation, and now they exchanged telltale glances and shook their heads in unison.

"It's not him," Gadget stated.

"Absolutely," Chip agreed. He didn't know when was the last time Howie saw his brother, but he saw Roger Baskerville earlier today and knew exactly that, if need would be, it would be Roger who would throw his brother out of the gates, and he would never cry or beg or wheedle. Healthy living and high diet turned him from a sapless guy into a man of athletic constitution. He also had pride which Howie surely lacked or he wouldn't be here threatening the walls with his fists and ruffling moustache. "He needs good couch doctor," Chip diagnosed. "Or a Waste-aholic Anonymous. In any case, he's not our client."

"But that attorney could be," Gadget reminded him of her concerns with a hint of reproach. "And we let him go."

"Well, not quite," Chip slapped his binoculars. "First, I saw and remembered his car's license number. Second, if he has something to do with it, we'll meet him again. Well, let's go back, there's nothing to do here. I hope others are luckier…"

* 4 *

Monterey's group could indeed boast to have a positive result, although it expended less effort per personnel capita. Although Dale would object against it aggressively because according to his own feelings his drudging was equal to those of ten, for the period of preliminary surveillance and waiting happened to be really long.

"Why can't we urge them?" he kept mournfully asking his friends sitting on the same branch. "Ivory can run in circles, clatter her hooves, neigh aloud that she's tired of doing nothing and wants to practice as soon as possible. Zipper can bite her if needed for it to look more natural. Or we can take some…"

Monterey Jack smiled. "Come on, lad! You call this a waiting? But it's not! You'll know what real waiting is when you negotiate with a colony of army ants!"

Chipmunk wasn't impressed. "Last year our cable went down. For a week I had to use the modem Gadget managed to reanimate. Speed was 33 kilobits per second." Chipmunk shook in horror. "Trust me; I know what real waiting is."

Monterey snorted snidely. "Thirty-three per second? Big deal! Okay, I swear I didn't want to torture you with my most boring tale, but you fished for it, so listen. Once on my way from Verona to Katmandu I happened to come to Nairobi. Quite a spectacular story itself, mind you, but I'll tell it some other time. And there was a river, wide and nasty. And there is the bridge, the only one for the whole river. Or maybe it wasn't the only one, but the others were too far away, so if it crashes then animals from one side won't get to another one and vice versa. And that's really bad. Before that they had to either tolerate their enemies, or kill them. More often than not they killed them. And with the bridge built they could send their enemy to another side or go there themselves. More often than not they send them, of course, but it's a progress compared to killing, right?"

"Yup," Dale agreed through his teeth. "What does it have to do with ants?"

"Everything! They wanted to go the other side. And twenty million little insects marching in cadence will ruin any bridge, any koodoo knows it! Sadly enough, there were no koodoos in Nairobi at the moment so it fell on me. So I stand in front of the ants and shout: 'Colony, halt and freeze!'"

Zipper couldn't believe his Johnston's organs. "And they listened to you? All twenty million? No way! They couldn't have! They would have gnawed you to the bones!"

Monterey wasn't embarrassed. "I'm no fool too! I climbed up the elephant and shouted from him. I mean, into his ear. And the elephant shouted at the ants. So they heard it all right!"

"And what did they do?" Dale asked curiously. "Turned back and left?"

"Ho-ho, that would be too easy. No, they formed the nest. Giant living hill of bodies meshed with mandibles sticking out everywhere. A moment ago they were marching in columns, than — whoa! — and there's the nest. Discipline! So this nest asks me: 'Who is it? What do you want?' So I get off the elephant, come closer to it and say: 'There's a bridge ahead. You'll bring it down. You can't go there!' And the nest starts ticking-"

"Ticking?"

"Yeah, ticking. Have you ever been inside the cuckoo clock, Zipper? Then you'll know what I'm talking about. What's the nest in short? Soldiers outside, the queen inside she's hearing nothing. But only she can decide. So the ants outside tell what they hear to those beneath them, those beneath them tell those beneath them and it goes on until the news reaches the queen. She thoughts it over and tells her decision to those around, they tell it to those around and then it reaches surface which tells it to me. And it goes on and on and on. I say: 'There's bridge ahead.' The nest goes TICK-Tick-tick, long silence, tick-Tick-TICK 'So what?' I say: 'You'll bring it down.' TICK-Tick-tick, long silence, tick-Tick-TICK 'No, we won't!' In short, we've been talking for three days and three nights sharp, I counted. And you say 'thirty three per second'! Thirty three 'ha-ha!' No, even more than that…"

"The ants, Monty, what happened with the ants?" Dale interrupted his musings impatiently.

"The ants? Oh, it went perfectly! We made a basket from some palm leaves, their colony went into it, and then eight birds carried them to the other side. Since then they have a constant air ferry there!" Monterey summarized self-complacently and raised his binoculars again. "Hey, look! It seems they're starting!"

Indeed, a procession consisting of Roger Baskerville, Edwin, Tony, saddled up Ivory and two stablemen appeared on the road leading to the race track. Monterey focused his attention on the stablemen. It was obvious that even if one of them was bought by Darley Racing he will reveal himself after the practice. Still, Monterey was sure that his experience, wisdom and instincts would point at the villain at the very first glance. It didn't happen. The Aussie attributed it to jet lag and excess humidity.

"At last!" Dale rejoiced. "Half an hour more and I would have gone nuts!"

He underestimated himself. The training session lasted for more than two hours and Dale didn't become even slightly mad, just scratched the tree bark clean with his claws. When the practice finished he felt enormous relief. Lord Baskerville, though, felt quite the opposite.

"What is this, Edwin?" he shouted waving his chronometer. "Forty seconds slower than before! How can you explain it!?"

The trainer, still pale after watching his stop-watch but rapidly growing red with anger, instantly redirected the question to the jockey. "How can you explain it, Tony?!"

"I don't know, sir," the jockey answered. He was depressed. "I urged her, but it was useless. She just refused to run faster. It has never been like that."

"Oh, no!" Roger clutched his head. "What if it's some trauma? And the race is on Saturday, and we leave tomorrow…"

"The result is too good for a trauma," Edwin commented thoughtfully. "But it would do no harm to double check. Toni, Jerry — take her to the doc, he should examine her. Then report to me. And now, milord, if you excuse us, me and Mike will continue loading."

"Sure, Edwin, sure. If you need me, I'll be in my cabinet." Roger turned around and headed to the mansion energetically, hoping to suppress his fears and worries concerning Ivory and the Triple Crown with quick walking and paperwork. Edwin gestured Mike to follow him, and the stableman obeyed, his face distorted with woe.

"Let's follow them!" Monterey commanded and jumped on the climbing roof connecting their branch with McDuff sitting under the tree in order to provide strategic lift. Dale ran in the same direction along the tree. Zipper used his wings.

"Follow them!" Monterey repeated for the dog who ran in the indicated direction with abnormal speed for his age and unnoticed because of the hedge.

"Where now?" McDuff asked stopping at the road fork.

"Good question," Monterey Jack acknowledged scratching his head and watching the stablemen leaving in two different directions. "Who do you think is more suspicious?"

"To tell the truth, neither. They both work for Lord Roger for a long time and served him loyally."

The Aussie was disappointed. "That's bad." It obvious they had to separate, and he knew that if the target moved actively, it was much harder to remain undetected. "Zipper, take Mike. Mac, follow Jerry."

The fly trumpeted and flew off to passively help the loaders while the Old English Sheepdog returned under cover of the hedge and went after Ivory's escort. Their mutual objective was an unremarkable addition to the stable. The Rangers knew it housed cabinet of Doctor Martin, in-house veterinary of the Baskerville Stables. He was tall, thin, long-nosed and red-haired man whose facial expression, manners and speech resembled Sparky so much they could be mistaken for one another aside from static charges.

While Doc Martin examined and palpated Ivory's legs in search of injuries or ricks, curtly answering the jockey's nervous questions, Jerry as if accidentally wandered behind the corner, looked around thievishly, and slipped into the stable's half-opened rear doors. He wasn't a good conspirator, and by the time he took out his cell phone and exchanged the SIM-cards Dale, Monterey Jack and McDuff were in their predetermined positions. They lacked Zipper to watch the screen directly, but movement of finger was telltale enough to choose the moment of strike correctly.

That is, the moment of jump.

"Argh!" Jerry exclaimed when something big, massive and gray hit his hand with the phone. The thin piece of hardware flew along the arc to the nearest stall and landed softly on the carpet of sawdust covering the floor. But it didn't stay there long for McDuff skidded 'accidentally' and hit the phone making it fly under the locked gate.

"Darned stupid bag of fleas!" the stableman shouted at the dog running away from him. Then he spat on his palms and began climbing over the wall.

Dale grew nervous. "Come on! Come on!" he urged Monterey who was working on the edge of his strength. Or rather, abilities, for the touch screen reacted to even the slightest touches, and Monterey's bulging belly was a big impediment, because it kept pressing on something unneeded forcing Dale to tap the return button fiercely. It took them four attempts to get to the list of sent messages and open the latest.

"3 m 35 s," the chipmunk read aloud. "Ivory's time!"

"And the receiver is some AB," Monterey added, rapidly writing the number into the notepad Chip left him. When he finished, Dale pressed Home and Power buttons and the rodents quickly retreated into the deep shadows in the far corner of the stall. In a moment the phone's owner climbed over the fence and jumped down. He quickly picked up his phone, checked if it was working, attributed all strange things to the consequences of falling and left the same way he came. Rescue Rangers crouched under the gates and went to the opposite end of the stable where McDuff was waiting for them.

"Got it!" Dale informed before any questions were asked. "Number written down, the receiver determined. Do initials AB ring any bells?"

"No," he dog said, "not a single one. Are you sure they belong to the felon?"

"Whom else could the stableman secretly send Ivory's results?" Monterey answered with the question of his own. "They flock together, no doubt of it!"

McDuff drooped. "This is it, then. We've lived so long under the same roof, and I didn't smell a traitor. And I hoped my nose was still worth anything…"

"Come on, Mac, cheer up!" Monterey Jack proclaimed. "Look to the bright side! We'll unwind this Jerry fellow like spinnin' bobbin! Everybody has smell problems sometimes. And some doesn't have it at all!"

"Yeah!" Dale joined in. "Same with physical condition! And you jump higher than Ivory ever did!"

The dog smiled slightly. "I doubt it. Maybe when we lived in the keeper's house. But when Roger became the Lord, I'm afraid I started eating too much…"

"That's not a problem!" Monterey waved it off. "I've got one recipe for this very case!"

Dale thought he meant his ill-famous 'healthy diet' and grew green. But Monterey had something very different in mind. "It's an exercise and a rule. The exercise is turning your head from side to side: one, two, three, four…" Monterey shook his head as if rejecting something. "Got it?"

"Getting," McDuff said. "And what's the rule?"

"The rule is: perform this exercise every time they offer you some food. They put a plate of tasty things under your nose, and you begin: one, two, three, four…"

Dale and McDuff both laughed. "Nice advice!" the dog agreed. "I'll certainly try it."

"Yeah, it's good," Dale nodded. "Too bad Monty doesn't follow it, but aside from it its ideal!"

This time all three of them laughed.

* 5 *

"He's coming back!" Zipper screamed, holding his hands to create some kind of a makeshift trumpet.

"Coming!" Monterey retransmitted the message shorter and louder for those too far from the fly.

"Wrap up, guys!" Gadget demanded addressing the chipmunks.

"Just a sec," Chip answered without stopping writing.

"Now!"

"Just a sec."

"Dale, close it!"

"Dale, wait."

"DALE!" Gadget raised her voice. Dale gulped, hunched and smiled at Gadget sheepishly, his looks telling that he would be happy to oblige but at the moment it was Chip who called all the shots.

"CHIP!" The inventor readdressed her pleas.

"I hear you. I need just one more second-"

"HE'S ENTERING!" Zipper squeaked so loud that Monterey's service wasn't needed. The Aussie considered his conscience clear and jumped behind the armchair.

"CHIP!" Gadget cried right before following Monterey's example.

"Okay, let's get out of here," Chip commanded closing his notepad, so Dale didn't need to repeat his name and remind of the necessity to hide before they were spotted by Roger Baskerville who was only five steps away from seeing the surface of his desk…

"So?" Gadget inquired when Baskerville left, too busy and nervous to spot some extra tabs opened in his web browser, and the team gathered in a safe corner. "Was it worth it?"

"Absolutely!" Chip answered without a hint of embarrassment or hesitation. "He could have easily occupied the computer for the day and we would have lost too much time. But now we have everything we need for a fruitful work!"

"You found the number owner, didn't ya!?" Monterey rejoiced.

Chipmunk had to disappoint him. "No, but I found where it can be found out."

"And where?" Zipper asked.

"In Leeds, at the O2 headquarters. It's the communication provider who manages the numbers with this prefix."

"Wonderful, but Ivory will be taken to Doncaster tomorrow in the morning." Gadget reminded everyone.

"I remember," Chip said. "I think we should… we'll make it. At the outside, we'll fly to Doncaster from Swansea, and then fly to Leeds. They are close, in neighboring counties."

Monterey looked up and made some geographic calculations. The longer he thought, the faster his pupils and his right hand fingers moved. Gadget concluded that his route searching function kept returning empty set.

"No, lad, something's wrong," finally said the globetrotter. "How can we get to Swansea, Wales, if we go north to Doncaster?"

"Why north?" Dale asked. "We're in East Sussex! And Doncaster is in South Yorkshire! McDuff said that. I heard it myself! We need to go south!"

"South Yorkshire lies to the north of East Sussex," Monterey Jack explained. Now it was Dale's turn to move his pupils and right hand fingers. Unfortunately, he didn't come to empty set but to division by zero and froze up. Monterey rebooted him by mightily slapping his back, and said to prevent future problems: "It's England, boy. You can't understand it, you can only put up with it."

"By the way, Chip, what's there in Swansea?" Gadget elegantly returned the conversation back to the track.

"DVLA."

Monterey's eyes grew wide. "Really? And I thought it's in the Caribbean…"

"No, Monty, it's not a resort, it's an acronym. It stands for Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency. Its HQ is in Swansea, Wales. I even redrew the driving map."

"You are really crazy about that Jaguar," Dale commented with irritation. "If you are so sure that lawyer is tied with Darley we'll have a bazillion chances to know his name. And what if he was just passing by? Why take an extra risk and travel extra distance?"

"Dale, is it you?" Chip asked, surprised. "And I thought crazy chipmunks love to go extra miles. And what about your unhealthy obsession with computer hacking?"

Dale crossed his hands and stuck out his tongue at Chip, as if saying 'if you're jealous, be jealous silently.' Chip responded with just an arrogant chuckle, although the sting did hit.

Gadget's current large-scale project was about building a multi-functional analyzer for Small Central Hospital. Chipmunks traditionally participated as odd hands and movers, but technical suggestions were welcome and greatly encouraged, which inadvertently led to another turn of their 'arms race'. Dale was the undisputed leader at the moment, for he suggested storing all main functionality logic in EEPROM chips he learnt to reprogram in order to clone, restore and create video game cartridges for his favorite platforms. In return Gadget bestowed the title of Ingenious Hacker upon him, while Chip had to console himself with another topic for his regular wisecracks.

Still, it would be a tactical misstep to leave Dale's remark unanswered, and Chip did his friends proud and explained his logic. "It's always better to meet the opposition fully prepared. Who knows when and under what circumstances we'll meet them. And it can be too late to recon then. In any case, Ivory and Meteor would remain under our protection. I'm confident that their trip to Doncaster will be smooth as silk. First, Darley aren't insane enough to arrange armed attack of the transport or else they wouldn't have made all that fuss with voice recorders. Second, after today's practice they'll think Ivory conceded to their threats, so there's no need for drastic measures at all. But their confidence can lessen in the future, which means that this is the best possible moment to step aside and gather some info. Besides, I have a couple of shoddy but very promising ideas which will be much easier to implement if we come to Doncaster separately. I answered your question?"

Dale needed some time to understand Chip was asking him. "…Wha..? Sure, sure, absolutely! Thank you! Very much!"

"Yes, Chip, it was wonderfully detailed!" Gadget thanked him, beaming with pleasure. It was clear their work in the workshop together was for Chip's good. Usually the chipmunk was too impulsive to patiently explain all his thoughts, especially if there was some Dale's provokingly unreasoned line higher in the thread. The whirlwinds of passions in the chipmunks' hearts were too strong and too focused on her. It was obvious that without her participation the degree of heat would never decrease. And although it definitely decreased the median speed of Gadget's work, she was sure she'd never let herself leave this road and return to her previous lifestyle which was far more productive but left catastrophically little time for the friends. And every little showing of the beneficial influence of her choice filled her heart with joy.

"Let's get to work then!" Chip exclaimed, cheered up by Gadget's smile, and congratulated himself with a small, but nevertheless a victory. "Let's go tell McDuff and Ivory. No, wait, I and Gadget will go tell McDuff and Ivory, and you prepare the Wing. It will be better this way! And, more importantly, faster!"

* 6 *

16-storeyed DVLA main building crowning the hill was the only tall building in the neighborhood and thus attracted attention from several miles away. In contrast, local O2 office occupied one of the buildings of a vast business park, and the Rescue Rangers had to wander around to spot the logo stylized like an oxygen molecule. Naturally, it reminded them of their heroic flight across Britain on the Ranger Plane, made them happy to have much faster Ranger Wing, and prompt them to praise the genius of the blond mouse piloting her. The speed is always of the essence, and if the route includes three distant objects…

But let's start from the beginning.

Information on the Jaguar owner was very difficult to get. First, as it was mentioned above, the building was 16-storeyed. Second, it differed greatly from numerous bureaucratic institutions Rangers had visited in years of crime and injustice fighting. It was swarming with people. Usually in places like this the team had no problems finding unattended computer and getting all the info they wanted while the user was drinking coffee with his colleagues somewhere on the floor below. Here everyone sat on their workplaces, leaving them rarely to join one of the intersecting walk-arounds pervading the whole building and come back unexpectedly catching anyone who'd be brave enough to try using his or her computer and miraculously remain unnoticed by the people walking by. Twice Rangers thought they made it but the first obscure and free terminals Zipper found was occupied before the team got there, and the user of the second came back just a minute after the rodents gained system access.

Rangers were forced to switch their tactics from searching for a free computer to waiting for the best in terms of secrecy to become free. Two hours and thirty eighty minutes later it finally happened.

"Rescue Rangers, away!" Chip commanded with a sigh of relief when the woman occupying the cubicle in the far corner left, and the tram was in front of a wall-facing display even before the screen saver kicked in which meant they didn't have to look for the OS password. The woman also didn't log off from the corporate DVLA network which made the task even easier and faster to accomplish.

"Daniel Joseph Lindstrom," Chip read aloud writing the name down. The database had no photos of owners, but had photos of cars, and if it didn't lie then this Daniel Lindstrom was indeed that 'Brighton Lawyer' as Chip designated him. All doubts could be eliminated by additional thorough check only, but Chip wisely postponed it until better time and place. "We've done here, let's go."

After that was a long trip to Leeds and nerve-shattering and eye-straining search of the right building in the business park, only partially repaid by O2 office small size and fast discovery of a free computer. The latter, though, was due to not the staff misbehavior which wasn't tolerated by the management and burnt out with red-hot iron, but due to Chip's slightly foolhardy decision to infiltrate the server room directly. Apparently, the administrator considered it so impregnable he didn't use really secure password. The only downsides were cold and noise, but the former was overcame with warm clothing brought from HQ, and the latter — with soundproof helmets used to rescue Boeing and since then included in the team's standard equipment along with helmets, flashlights, gas masks, vibrotransceivers and other things vitally important in extreme conditions.

"Bollinger, Alfred Roughton", Chip murmured writing the second name down beneath the first one. There was no photo or any information about client's occupation, but Rangers had time and Internet access, and it was more than enough.

"Shouldn't we get a smartphone?" Dale asked when they left the server room, took off their helmets and heard Chip's remark about needing a computer with Internet access. "There's plenty of wi-fi zones everywhere! Enter any café — and you are in the Net!"

"It's more convenient to mount wi-fi-modem directly on the Wing," Gadget observed. Her stare grew blurred with blueprints and electric schemes seen only by her mind's eye, but she recovered quickly and without assistance and shook her head with determination. "But first we'll finish the multifunctional analyzer."

"Sure thing," Chip acknowledged. He shared the understanding of that device's great importance for each and every West Coast small animal. "But first we'll find the computer with Internet access."

To tell the truth, his friends were punctured a bit by this reminder, but they just exchanged condescending glances. While Chip's tenacity and determination became clinical sometimes, they saved his, his friends' and others' lives too often to consider it a flaw which should be corrected. They caused some inconveniences too, though. This time, for example, Chip went searching for an Internet-connected computer without wasting time to get back to the Wing and change clothes. It was faster indeed, but also much hotter.

"Meet the villain!" Chip announced, pointing at the screen.

Rescue Rangers found the computer whose user had already went home and used her cat's name whose photo was standing on this very table as the password. On the screen there was a photo of a gentleman in his mid-thirties whose rectangular face framed with light snuff colored hair combed upwards radiated calm force.

Chip continued. "Alfred Roughton Bollinger, founder and owner of a thoroughbred horse sale agency Bollinger Bloodstock Ltd. Address of registration: Suffolk, Newmarket, Woodyton-Road, building 58."

Monterey Jack sighed heavily. "So it's Suffolk then. If I don't confuse it with Surrey, it's not too far away from East Sussex. Why couldn't they all gather, I dunno, in Kent or whatever. One must fly all day long to visit everybody!"

"I don't think we'll have to go to Suffolk," Chip cheered him. "All right, Bollinger has a website, but does he have Twitter…? He does! Here we go: 'Driving to Doncaster, will stay there whole week, Earl of Doncaster Hotel. If you want to meet me, call/write.' As you wish! We won't call-write, but we'll definitely visit the hotel. We'll go there right away."

Dale was clearly disappointed. "Oh boy. I thought we'd cross our blades with The Mighty Darley Racing, and our villain turns out to be a simple horse seller. How boring…"

"The Speakers can never be boring," Gadget observed wisely.

"Right," Chip agreed immediately. "Moreover, he's much more dangerous than the simple travel agent Seymour who became helpless as soon as he lost his meteorite. Speaker can't be disarmed as easily. And concerning Darley Racing…" he looked at the browser window. "Gadget, please, press on the 'Bio' link… Let's read and educate… 'Amateur jockey… Bought and raced on Defender, the champion among 2-year colts…' Not bad, not bad… 'Agent of jockeys Johnny Carson, Christophe Piaget and Takeshi Watanabe…' The Englishman, the Frenchman and the Japanese. Impressive geography… 'Made deals for such horses as Beau Monde, Sunburn, Durandal…' Durandal, huh… A-ha! Here it is! 'Hyperion!' Black on blue! And you ask what Darley Racing has to with this. Here's the answer! They have everything to do with it!"

"It doesn't say he represented Darley Racing," Zipper pointed out. "He could have represented the other side, the seller."

Chip nodded. "True. But the link is still direct. And the only one we have. Although…" he turned to Gadget again. "Get back to search panel. Monty, Dale, Zipper, help me to type 'Daniel Josef Lindstrom'…"

There were approximately 30.000 pages mentioning the name, but the third position in results list was a Facebook profile. Guests could find out very little about the social network members, but there was a Facebook page in the list of recently opened pages shown on browser startup, and Chip decided to take a risk. It paid off: both login and password were stored in the browser.

"It's him," the chipmunk announced at the very first glance on the photo. "And what is the recent news… 'Finally finished this real estate deal. Actually, I'm specialized in horses, but I like to help my friends out…' How do you like it?"

Monterey rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Who needs shadowing and interrogation when you have social networks? Your deductive method will become obsolete soon, Chipperton!"

"On the contrary," Chip disagreed. "It will become even more important. You need to analyze this avalanche of information somehow. But yes, it's much easier to find facts now. Consider the friends list. What do you think of the fourth friend from the top?"

His friends looked at the direction he pointed and gasped in surprise.

"Dam my dyke!" Monterey expressed his feelings louder than anyone. "Bollinger, for gosh's sake!"

"The web grows," Zipped agreed gloomily and shook at his own choice of frightening words.

"Do they have Darley Racing as their friends?" Dale asked with hope.

"I doubt it. It would be too easy," Chip said with a smile, but still asked Gadget to expand the list of both suspects. There was nothing obvious, and making a big scheme which could reveal hidden relationships would take too much time. It would be much faster to visit the Earl of Doncaster Hotel and observe Bollinger directly. "Okay, we're done here. Now on to Doncaster!"

"You think he's there already?" Gadget asked.

"I hope not. We'll lose much if we don't catch him arriving, miss his first meetings, calls, message exchanges, glance exchanges and so on. To tell the truth, I wish we were sitting in ambush at the main entrance of this hotel watching the incoming guests right now. How about you?"

His friends wished the same, and in less than an hour they were sitting on the maple tree across the street from the hotel and studying the main entrance and all incoming cars through their binoculars. The leaves were too thick to see everything, but this way they were safe from the light of street lamps accidentally reflecting off the lenses and revealing their whereabouts. Bollinger could have used not only the stableman to watch Ivory but also his animal henchmen, crows for instance, as Gadget had wisely suggested. That's why in the morning Chip asked Dale and Monterey to be very careful, and now he was very serious about the blackout. Who knows, maybe Bollinger is a phenomenal paranoiac who always sends entire scouting division ahead of him…

"Look! It must be him!" Dale jumped up pointing his finger at the car stopped in front of the hotel.

"I don't think this is Bollinger," Chip observed. "He doesn't look like a guy who can afford Rolls-Royce Phantom with a personal driver… Yeah, it's some old nabob with his young girlfriend. Classic."

"No, Chip. THIS is classic!" Gadget exclaimed pointing at provokingly red AC Cobra tailing Rolls-Royce. The soft roof was down and Rangers could easily see both Alfred Roughton Bollinger behind the wheel and a large red macaw in a fastened cage on the passenger seat.

"Tell me who's your passenger, and I'll tell if you are the Speaker," Zipper announced.

"Well, it's unreasonable to carry parrots in the trunk," Monterey said. "Still, the guy doesn't seem to be shy."

Chip shrugged.

"Who's there to be ashamed of? All owners treat their pets like lords, even talk to them. He can be exposed only by other Speakers or by animals, but the former are rare, and the latter don't count. But let's get down to business. Zipper, find out what suite he stays in. When you do it, tell us, then start surveillance. The parrot mustn't see you. I think the bottom of the cage is the optimal variant. But you may the way you think is better. We'll be waiting here. Be quick."

"I will! I'll be back in a zip!" The fly promised and darted towards the hotel door which had just swallowed Bollinger and his parrot whose cage the man refused to handle over to a porter and carried himself. In five minutes Zipper came back with the news that 'the suspect stays in Suite 403.' Owing to Zipper's reconnaissance flight upon arrival Rescue Rangers knew the location of all suits and could easily proceed to the next stage of their investigation. Still, there were some rough edges and disputes.

"I still don't understand," Monterey Jack insisted. "Why can't I wait in the Wing? Or right here?"

"Because neither Bollinger nor his parrot nor their henchmen must see us together," Chip repeated.

"If the hotel is full of their henchmen, you'll surely need my presence and my help!"

"First, even you won't help us to fight off the whole hotel. Second, I've got a plan, so there will be no fight. For now. But in the future, when the time to fight comes, your unexpected emergence will be a real ace up our sleeve. But it will be possible only if our enemies know nothing about you. Or even suspect your existence. At all. Completely. So, please, catch a bus to the racecourse and wait for us there."

The strongmouse didn't step down. "It would be better if Dale goes there. Let him be our ace. And I'll come with you on occasion the brawl still happens!"

"First, you are a better ace. Second, I repeat, I have a plan and there won't be any brawl."

"But what's the plan?" Dale made himself heard. "You sure we don't need Monty? No brawl at all? No heavy things to carry? No cheese to eat quickly?"

"Yeah!" Monterey got excited. "Cheese, I mean, Chip, what's the cheese, I mean, plan?"

Chip rolled his eyes. He really envied Sureluck Jones who could just say 'Blotson, take your revolver! All questions later!' and it was quite enough.

"In short," he explained, "I want to make the parrot think that I consider him not guilty in his master's crimes, this way obtain his illusionary support and thus untie our hands. He would think he has everything under control and pulls all strings till the very end, when it's too late. If we get lucky, I will have opportunities to discuss the case and my versions with him, secretly fishing out useful information and provoking him and Bollinger into acting unwisely, which will help us blow the lid off their vicious plans and ruin them. The details are too long to explain, but you'll see it yourselves along the way? Are you satisfied with my answer?"

"Heh, I like it!" Dale answered happily. "We've never played Columbo! Why didn't you tell it right away?"

Chip narrowed his eyes threateningly. "Have you by any chance been to my network storage again lately?"

Dale smiled. "Smart you are! Yes, I have. I had nothing to do, was too lazy to surf the net, and besides I trust your taste. Really good series, by the way. I like detectives where everything is clear after the first twenty minutes."

Chip hemmed. "Too long movie for you to watch it through? That's something new…"

"Are you sure we won't need to eat cheese?" Monterey asked hastily feeling the chipmunks were about to start one of their usual arguments during which they were no easier to reach than Gadget fallen into her techno-trance.

"Sure," Chip confirmed.

"Then I'm off to the racecourse. Maybe I'll eat… that is, hear something of interest!" Monterey corrected himself quickly catching Gadget's glance full of disapproval and care for his constitution and health.

"And we're off to the hotel!" Chip said and commanded and started climbing down. On the ground the team separated, with Monterey Jack heading towards the bus stop by short bounds and Chip, Dale and Gadget boarding the Wing hidden in the bushes. Their objective was the third window from the right on the top floor of the building. Landing on the roof the rodents climbed down on the window's weather bar and carefully peeked inside. The light in a two-room luxury business-suite was on, and an edge of the cage standing on a round bedside table could be seen through a partly opened door.

"No sign of Bollinger," Dale observed. "Looks like the coast is clear!"

"I wouldn't say that," Gadget moved her palm along the window frame. "Reinforced design with protected breakproof fitments. We'll need a glasscutter."

"We won't," Chip stopped his friend from reaching into her pockets and slammed his fist against the glass with all his might a few times.

Nothing happened.

"Maybe he can't hear us?" Dale suggested. Chip shrugged as if saying he couldn't help for there was no window in the bedroom and raised his hand to knock again. But then the parrot that probably had problems with opening his cage flew out of the bedroom.

"I'll talk! Don't show your surprise!" Chip told his friends, then put his hands behind his back and assumed strict and impatient posture. Dale and Gadget barely had time to blink and then they had to pretend a businesslike air, too, for the macaw had already reached the inner window sill. When he saw the visitors his eyes widened, allowing Chip to deduce that he expected someone else. Another observation confirming the bird's participation in a crime organization, if not being the leader of one. But even if the macaw was the bird analogue of Professor Morbid Arty, the curiosity was there, and he flew up to the window handle, pressed the lock button with his right leg while pushing his left leg against the wall in order to move a leaf a bit aside just enough to hear the rodents and be heard.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" he asked with prim and proper politeness fit for the most genuine Victorian-era gentleman. He had probably learnt human English from BBC television shows and did it so diligently that the Oxford accent could be heard even while he was speaking Animal.

"Good evening," Chip greeted him equally politely and raised his hat a bit. "Am I honored to meet and speak to Mister Shiner himself?" According to Zipper, 'Shiner' was the name Bollinger used at least three times on his way here.

The macaw proudly bowed. "Yes, it's me."

Chip continued. "Is it true that you are an assistant to Alfred Roughton Bollinger, founder and owner of a thoroughbred trading agency Bollinger Bloodstock Ltd?" His friends considered the degree of courtesy he maintained funny but remained serious.

"That's true," the macaw confirmed pompously.

"Then you're exactly the one we need. You see, I and my colleagues are representatives of a very large and influential sardine-owner from San-Angeles. Between us, he's just crazy about horseracing and betting. Do we understand each other, Mister Shiner?"

The parrot grew concerned. "I'm not sure. Sardine-owner, San-Angeles, betting… We're in horse trading business, actually. But you surely know that already…"

"We know much," Chip agreed meaningfully. "And our client knows even more. You see, he has a habit to collect information. Especially everything concerning his business and hobby. And, as I have mentioned already, his hobby is betting on horses. He doesn't like to lose, and while he respects the risk he tries hard to minimize it. A danger foreseen is half avoided; that kind of things. And everybody, everybody tell him that it will be Roger Baskerville's Ivory who'll win this year's St. Leger Stakes. And he wants to believe it. But there's one thing that bothers him. Last year everybody predicted the winner would be Durandal. But he, much to everyone's surprise, came second. How can you explain it, Mister Shiner?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," the macaw answered angrily, but there was nervousness inside his anger. "Who did you say sent you? A sardine-owner from San-Angeles? Could you please repeat his name? I misheard it the first time."

"I didn't say his name at all," Chip said evading the trap like a sea wolf evades dangerous reefs. "You'll surely know it if you decide to go fishing somewhere between the Golden Gate and Vincent Thomas Bridge, but at the moment its irrelevant. Please, Mister Shiner, tell us how you, a smart and honest parrot, got involved into this dirty scheme?"

"What scheme? What do you mean?!"

"I mean Durandal, whom your owner bought with luxury of Darley Racing's stables and made him lose the race. And I mean Ivory who's going to be the next victim in similar fashion. The gift of Speaking allows its owner to do undreamt and unbelievable things. But we do believe them, don't we? Oh yes we do. And we'll do everything to prevent it, for the animals must stay close and help each other out. That's why if you help us and Ivory wins, our client will take you under his tentacle and you will never be in need of anything again. How do you like such a prospect?"

For about a minute Shiner was silent, glancing back and forth from Chip to Dale and Gadget standing not far behind him. Chip kept looking directly in the parrot's face, feeling his friends' strain with his back and praying for them to have enough stamina to do the same, not averting their eyes or exchanging glances. Right now the success of the whole operation depended on their teamwork, or rather team standstill which actually requires much higher level of trust and reciprocal understanding…

Finally the parrot nodded. "All right, I give up. You are right, my owner is seedy. He's a skillful businessman, his firm has stable income, but it's not enough for him. He wants more."

"Common case," Chip said with a tone of experienced natural philosopher.

"Not quite," Shiner disagreed. "Alf, that is, Mister Bollinger is absolutely sure he has all rights to have this 'more' being an extramarital son of Lord Stapleton, Eighteenth Earl of Derby. How ironic. But you surely know that already…"

Chip felt an urge to agree in order to add another powerful detail to his image of Mr. Know-it-all, but then he thought that the parrot could have lied in order to make his unexpected visitors pass a sleaze-factored muster. The chipmunk decided against taking risks.

"Our dossier didn't mention it," he said without covering his surprise. "But it explains much indeed. But what exactly does Mister Bollinger want? Title? Money?"

"Everything," Shiner muttered. He clearly told the truth and now regretted it. "He's jumping over his head. Sooner or later he'll fall to his death I'm afraid. But he has a God-given talent of conman."

"I think he's rather got his talent from God's competitor," the chipmunk corrected him.

"Yes, you are right… I tried to talk to him about it a few times, but he rejected all my points angrily. Thus I consider myself entitled to lay down all my obligations to him and accept your client's offer."

Chip smiled. "I'm glad we reached the agreement." He felt it was time to wrap the conversation up so as not to overpressure so to say and started saying farewell. "As far as I can understand, Mister Bollinger can come back any minute now, so it would be wise of us to take our leave. I think we should meet once again in twenty four hours. I advise you not to try finding us before that. In case of emergency we'll find you ourselves. Once again, I congratulate your choice. It proves we were right about you. Good night."

"Good night," the parrot nodded. It was obvious he wanted to show the rodents out as soon as possible, too. In any case he shut the window fast and without looking back.

"Bright character," Chip observed when the Wing took off and flew towards the pre-designated rendezvous point with Zipper.

"Gleaming even!" Dale agreed. "You nailed him hard with that Durandal!"

"By the way, how did you know it?" Gadget asked.

"Spent the night at Baskerville's computer," Chip explained. "It occurred to me that Ivory could be not the first Triple Crown challenger to be forced to lose. And I found that last year it was Durandal. He won both 2000 Guineas and Derby, but here unexpectedly came second. Everything followed like two plus two!"

"Why didn't you tell us anything?" Gadget inquired with reproach. "Decided to keep us in the dark?"

"No. I wanted the idea to ripe. A good explanation must grow, seed, absorb everything necessary. Remember the list of horses traded by Bollinger? Durandal was there. Too bad the deal date wasn't mentioned, but I bet it took place after his loss here."

"And you said nothing again," Gadget observed with even more reproach.

"I wasn't one hundred percent sure. Now, after meeting with Shiner, I know my intuition didn't fail me, and I can explain everything to you without fear of lying or confusing something. I think it's better and more logical this way. Don't you think so?"

"I do," Gadget nodded, although she felt that if she hadn't questioned Chip he would have kept all his explanations to himself until the very end. Like Sureluck Jones. There was a reason why after reading McDuff's message Chip's eyes kindled. Just imagine: England, the Baskervilles, dark secrets, blackmail… Anyone would think he became a main character of a mystery novel, especially if he is an avid fan of the genre. "If so," Gadget thought to herself, "I'll ask him questions more often!" After all, the more explanations Chip would give, the more chances to praise him she would have, thus inducing even more openness from him. Some positive feedbacks must be not only created but also maintained…

"Zipper's not here yet," Dale said already obvious fact aloud when they landed in the designated spot.

"Good," Chip surmised. "The longer Bollinger is absent, the more likely he's doing something of interest for us."

"Or maybe he took a drive somewhere," Gadget added.

"Not likely. His car is here. But there's no silver Jaguars. Not yet."

"I can't believe what people we're dealing with!" Dale exclaimed. "Cobras, Jaguars, an occasional Rolls-Royce. It lacks only Aston-Martin for a full super-spy set!"

"Right!" Gadget smiled to support the joke, but immediately sighed sadly. "Though it's terrible if you think of it. The man drives Cobra. Real Cobra! What else one can need?"

"Maybe he bought it with a credit," Dale joked. "But actually it's like farming a character in MMORPG. You just can't stop."

"Especially if you are an extramarital son of a Lord with your rights impinged," Chip reminded.

"Yeah!" Dale grew excited. "Bollinger is Lord! And Roger Baskerville is Lord! Lords against Lords!" the chipmunk jumped up on the seat, stood upright and swung his hands as though thrusting with a sword. "'Game of Thrones'! That's what it is!"

"And what's 'Game of the Thrones'?" Gadget asked.

"Oh!" Dale's eyes kindled. "It's TV series! Great thing! Let's watch it someday! I'll explain every-every-everything! The story's so entangled!"

"Entangled?" Chip jumped up, too. "Great! I love it! We'll surely watch it!"

"You won't like it," Dale murmured. He knew it was useless. This argument didn't help him to prevent Chip from going to the A-Kha concert, and it didn't help in all other cases. But it was still the best one Dale could come up with…

The parrot they left behind felt much worse, though. These rodents came from nowhere and threatened to ruin his cherished combination. And in the most vital moment! The Durandal affair got him and Alf a huge sum of money, but it was just a warm-up, test of strength. Nobody knew about it. But Ivory's loss was announced in a small but very influential circle, certain guarantees were given, and a very generous hansel received. If anything goes wrong, the losses, both financial and reputational will be great, irrecoverable…

An impatient knock at the window interrupted Shiner's grim musings. Since he was the only one who had the right to be impatient here, when he opened the window, his voice was strong as steel.

"You are late, DeThrush," he 'greeted' a blackbird wearing a felt bowler of the same color.

"The weather's nonflying, dear mister," the blackbird answered vulgarly. "Three-thirty five. The sum is the same."

"Nonsense. Wait here." The parrot shut the window, flew back to his cage, took a barely visible ring on the floor with his beak, and fetched a silver penny from a secret compartment under a small hatch.

"Fine," the black bird said having tested the coin with his beak. "But it's somewhat too little."

"It's perfect," Shiner countered. "Want gold — work better."

"Is there any?"

"There is," the macaw nodded and gave a general description of the Ranger Wing. He observed it from an edge of the parapet, having silently followed the rodents to the roof. "It's flown by three rodents. A mouse and two chipmunks. I want to know where their base is. If you tell me by tomorrow's noon, you'll get a gold piece."

"Two," DeThrush objected phlegmatically. "I'll have to employ my other guys, and they have their price."

"Their price is your problem. Want more — dig deeper. We'll see then. That's all, dismissed."

"Bye," the blackbird said.

He took the penny in his beak and was about to fly away when Shiner called him from the window handle. "Wait. Did you see that plane in Baskerville Hall by chance?"

"Uh," the blackbird shook his head negatively without letting the coin go.

"And how about two chipmunks and a mouse?"

"Uh."

"And anyone else? Did anyone else watch the horse?"

"Uh-uh uh uh-uh-uh-uh uh-uh," the blackbird mumbled, obviously hinting he saw nothing he wasn't paid for to see.

"That's all, dismissed," Shiner repeated and closed the window, thinking where he could find doubles for DeThrush and his gang who were themselves the doubles for the stableman on Bollinger's payroll. There's shortage of everything. Of professionals, trust, but most importantly time. Shiner had a couple of business partners on the US West Coast whom he could ask to inquire about "a powerful sardine-owner with tentacles" and find out whether these rodents were really working for him. But this kind of information can't be get fast even with all the connections, and the race is on this Saturday already… Well, he'd have to use the fact these rodents consider him his ally. He'll keep them in the dark for a few days, and then no sardine-owner in the world will help them…

* 7 *

"Still sleeping," Zipper reported.

"Gosh, what's wrong with him?" Chip looked at his watch, then, through his binoculars, at the shuttered window of Bollinger's suite. Four hours ago Rangers took position on the roof across the street, and since then their client hadn't moved. "Are you sure he's still there? Did you check it?"

"Trust me, I can tell the difference between a human and a folded mattress."

"And if he hid a heater inside?"

"Even more so."

"And if…"

"Oh, come on," Dale interrupted his friend and yawned heartily. "I told you there's no need to fly here so early when all the normal people sleep. And what you said? 'He's an early riser, he's an early riser…' How do you know he's an early riser? Maybe he's a night owl, just like me?"

"If he's like you, we're stuck here till dinner time!" Chip taunted but his fears disappeared as fast as Bollinger pushed curtains aside but slower than silver Jaguar XKR was moving before stopping in front of the hotel. "Wow! Lindstrom's here, too! So diligent it hurts… Zipper, get back, we need you there!"

"I'm on my way!" Zipper answered eagerly and quickly returned to Bollinger's suite which was easier than leaving it because of opened window. Bollinger was taking shower, Shiner was in the cage cleaning his feathers, and the Rescue Ranger was able to sneak into Bollinger's jacket's inner pocket and read the last message on his cell phone. It was sent by Lindstrom who asked for a meeting and said he'd be in Doncaster by 11 AM. In other words, there was nothing new.

When it became clear the meeting would take place outside the suite, Zipper returned to his friends to receive further instructions. After some thought Chip told the fly to stay in the suite and watch Shiner, then told Gadget to fly to the hotel's west wing where there was a ground floor restaurant. It was not too large and, like the hotel as a whole, was designed in Art Deco style. It offered its customers comfortable semi-darkness, conditioned coolness and not the best but quite accomplished attempt to recreate the spirit of the Roaring Twenties. It was worth noting that it opened at 11 AM sharp, and Bollinger, most likely, considered it while determining time of the meeting and setting up his alarm clock. His choice of table was also very considerate; he sat as far from the window as he could, with his back towards the door but with ability to see it in a mirror with just a slight movement of his head. He didn't consider chiseled ventilation grates painted to match the footstalls, though, which prompted Dale to presume they were guarded by ninja rats, and seeing a strange protrusion on the wall, he immediately hit it with a roundhouse kick. The protrusion turned out concrete, Chip turned out fast, and his hat turned out soundproof enough for the restaurant to continue working as usual.

"Oh, my poor leg…" Dale whimpered when Gadget checked there was no fraction and Chip put his hat away.

"Next time accelerate and ram it with your head," Chip advised smoothing his hat back. "The pain will fade away quickly, I won't need to waste my clothes, and the SCH proctologists will cure you really fast."

"Go kick yourself," Dale snarled despite his pain. Gadget wasn't happy to hear that either and looked at Chip angrily. Chip shrugged as if saying 'He started it!' but then came up to Dale and offered his shoulders as a rest. Nothing could made them stop being the best friends in the world, and Chip allowed himself a snide comment only when he knew Dale wasn't injured seriously.

Reaching the nearest grate to Bollinger's table, the Rangers pushed its edge out of the hole. Still they could hear very little, and Chip left Gadget to care for Dale and sneaked under the table next to the target one. He could hear the conversation much better here, and a wide-branching table pillar provided an excellent cover. The problem was there was almost nothing to overhear. Single-syllable sentences, passive voice, interjections, careful avoiding of names, dates and any content at all for that matter. It was clear Bollinger planned something really phenomenal. There was no other explanation for this kind of paranoia.

"I met four of them," — Lindstrom.

"And?" — Bollinger, respectively.

"Agreement confirmed."

"What about other three?"

"I'll meet them soon."

"Alright."

"And on your side?"

"Don't worry."

"No anabolics?"

"Absolutely."

"They watch it very strictly."

"I know."

"I risk, too."

"You're right to. It's worth it."

"I believe you. You sure you don't need more men?"

"They offer it?"

"They ask about it."

"No, we've got enough."

"Personal contacts? Individual approach?"

"No."

"It's hard to believe."

"Nobody makes you to."

"Sure thing."

"You're quitting?"

"No, I'm curious."

"Understandable."

"Cannabinoids?"

"Don't even try to guess."

"As you wish."

"True."

And so on, and on, and on… Zero answers, plenty of questions, time wasted… luckily, not very much. Lindstrom was the first to say goodbye. Bollinger ordered another cup of coffee. Chip went off to the wall and climbed the drape to see his hands and table surface. No tablet, no phone. Apparently, the burden of negotiations was entirely Lindstrom's. Well, he's a lawyer, after all…

Chip waited until Bollinger finished his coffee, paid and got up, then climbed down and returned to his friends.

"Can you walk?" he asked Dale who was leaning on the wall using his hand as a support.

"Yes, I'm okay."

"Let's run then."

"You asked about walking," Dale reminded him. Despite his limping, he was able to maintain quite a good speed, and all three of them witnessed Bollinger entering the lobby elevator.

"He's back to his suite," Chip said when the digital sign indicated the floor the cabin stopped.

"He's so boring," Dale observed. "Sleeping, eating, then sleeping again…"

"Reminds me of someone I know." Chip mumbled good-naturedly.

"Oh, come on!"

"What did they talk about?" Gadget asked.

"Everything and nothing in particular. Looks like Bollinger organized an entire cartel supporting his affair. Which means he's got plenty of things to do today, and he went upstairs in order not to sleep but to take his overcoat for the forecast promised heavy clouds, north wind and fifty percent probability of thin rain. Let's get back to the Wing and wait for him there."

"What if he's meeting with someone in his suite?" Gadget asked.

"Zipper's there."

"What if he's meeting with someone not in his suite?"

"According to Zipper, yesterday he only had supper and called Lindstrom. He's paranoid, so I doubt he'll stay in the same hotel as one of his accomplices. They'll meet on the racecourse where it's much easier to get lost in the crowd and explain their meeting as an accident. Let's get back to the Wing."

The Rangers left the hotel the same way they sneaked inside and found Zipper waiting them by the plane. The fly told them that Bollinger had returned to his suite, unpacked his suitcase and started putting his clothes into the wardrobe, but not before laying his overcoat aside on the bed. He told Shiner he had met Lindstrom, that everything went as planned, and he was about to drive to the racecourse and spent their half a day or maybe even more.

"And what Shiner said?" Chip asked.

"Nothing important. He said that he was glad to hear that, everything was alright, and he would wait for his return."

"Didn't mention us?" chipmunk asked in surprise.

"No."

"Interesting… Say, what language Shiner used? Our or Human?"

"Human."

"You don't say… Thanks for the info, keep on watching."

With Zipper dismissed, Chip went to the corner of the building and looked along the street.

"Wait here," he told Dale and Gadget over his shoulder and ran on all his four towards the hotel's main entrance and a tri-colored rough collie wearing a tall top hat and checkered cape with neck straps sitting in front of it, tied to the lamppost.

"What's he doing?" Gadget exclaimed in surprise watching Chip talking to the dog, and then hiding behind the wheel of a car parked nearby. "Maybe we should join him, what do you think?"

Dale shook his head vigorously. "No, no and no again! He told us to wait here, so we'll wait here!"

"True," the mouse nodded. To be honest, she also didn't really want to go anywhere. If Chip were in danger, then sure, but otherwise…

Bollinger wearing exquisitely crafted dark violet overcoat, obviously handmade on Savile Row. He smiled at the dog and went towards his Cobra parked three cars away. At that moment the collie turned his head at him and barked not very loud but distinctly: "Durandal — champion!"

Without changing his pace Bollinger turned around, smiled and waved his hand at the collie.

"Diurandal is the champion! The race was rigged!" the dog barked a bit louder. Bollinger, unmoved, waved his hand once more and got into his car never looking back again. When he drove by, Chip left his hiding place, thanked the dog by politely lifting his hat up and ran back to his friends.

"What was that?" Gadget asked, her arms akimbo.

"I'll explain in the air," Chip waved at Cobra driving away. "Rescue Rangers, follow him!"

Indeed, there was no time for questions, for Bollinger quickly reached the permitted speed limit. Luckily for Rescue Rangers, traffic was light, and the vintage red cabriolet was hard to lose.

"So, what was that?" Gadget repeated her question as soon as the Wing's and the car's speed synchronized.

"Voluntary civilian assistance in the noble cause…"

"Don't play the fool, Chip!"

"Okay, okay. I wanted to see how Bollinger would react to phrases 'Durandal — champion' and 'The race was rigged'."

"What for?"

"First tell me how he reacted."

"He didn't," Dale answered.

Chip nodded. "Exactly. He didn't. What do you think it means?"

"He has nothing to do with that case?"

"First, his involvement is a proven fact. Second, even if he wasn't involved, the dog's phrase should have attracted his attention. But it didn't. And it means that…"

"That he didn't understand what the dog said-" Gadget stopped abruptly. "He's not a Speaker!"

"Bingo!" Chip snapped his fingers.

"But who's the Speaker then?" Dale asked.

"You know him. It's Shiner. Remember what Zipper told us."

"A talking parrot," Gadget shook her head. "So obvious it's hard to believe."

Chip smiled. "You don't say. But I suspected Shiner as soon as I saw him. Ivory said the voice on the tape was strange, hoarse and strained, and that's exactly the way parrots sound when they speak Human. That's why he so easily acknowledged that Bollinger was a Speaker. He wanted to confuse us further and elude our suspicions. I think the situation is exactly opposite: Shiner is true organizer and leader using Bollinger as a link to the world of humans, money and power. He commands the rats that planted those voice recorders. And he gives orders to the bird that is following us right now."

Dale turned around quickly but saw no one and looked overboard down and backwards.

"You're right!" he exclaimed. "Blackbird! Seven hours! On the tree level! How did you see him? You've got eyes on your… back?"

"I figured him out," Chip explained calmly. "We came to Shiner through the window so he had reasons to think we had a plane. If so, then it's logical to order not rats but birds to watch us. And it's logical to put one of them where we've been already, that is at the hotel. Sleight of mind, no catch!"

"Great!" Gadget approved. "Should I drop him?"

"Not yet. Let's follow Bollinger to the racecourse first."

"Why do you think he's going to the racecourse? It's in the opposite direction!"

"Because his entire business is associated with the racecourse. He's going that way to turn around on the crossroad."

When Bollinger stopped and turned on his right-turn signal, Dale exclaimed: "You're possessed by Cassandra, no less! Maybe you should start playing lottery? Or visit Fat Cat's Casino? You'll drain him dry!"

"Only Fat Cat wins in Fat Cat's Casino," Chip said instructively. "Gadget, fly behind that building so that Bollinger couldn't see us."

"Then maybe I should also deal with the blackbird…"

"Blackbird can wait."

Having turned around in concentric circles, Cobra, Ranger Wing and the blackbird formed a line again and headed towards Doncaster Racecourse whose huge covered stands could be seen even from here. But instead of turning on Ledger-Way which led to the complex, Bollinger drove straight through a roundabout along Bawtry-Road making Chip whose seemingly faultless theory started crumbling to run his nails deep into sides of his seat. But only some quarter of mile later Bollinger made another U-turn forcing the Rangers to maneuver behind a tree on the roadside, drove back almost all the way to the roundabout and then drove off the road towards the town golf club.

"Racecourse, racecourse," Dale commented with acrid grimaces.

"Don't worry, we'll be in its center soon," Chip rejected the blame and pointed at the golf course inside the horseracing circle connected with the outside world with a dirt road crossing a grass-covered race course. Cobra stopped in front of the golf course administrative building, and Gadget turned the Wing to land on the roof.

"Land on the parking lot between the cars," Chip asked quietly.

"It's dangerous to leave the plane there for long."

"It won't be long."

"We'll go hunting for blackbirds?" Dale guessed.

"Yes, but stop yelling, you'll scare him off."

Rangers gently landed between two cars parked close to the wall and left towards the main entrance. In less than a minute the blackbird wearing a felt bowler of the same color landed by the Wing. He jumped around her in circles, knocked at the engine, and tried a wing with his beak. Then he flew up on her, glanced around the cabin, and then, with his legs propped against the backs of the seats, he started picking out golden watch out of the console which served as an altimeter.

"Need any help?" someone asked him politely. Without looking back the blackbird darted away rocket-like, but before gaining any height he was down on the ground nailed to it by a plunger harpoon and covered with a cannon net.

"Great shot, partner!" Chip congratulated Gadget deliberately omitting her name in order not to give Shiner's agent and Shiner himself any clues about their identities. He came up to the downed bird and lifted his bowler so as to see his eyes. "Good day, sir. What is your name?"

"Aves DeThrush," the stunned blackbird introduced himself. Usually he answered such questions with arrogant 'And who's asking?' but hit and fall temporarily knocked all his uppity out.

"Nice to meet you, Mister DeThrush," Chip said. He unattached a rope from the harpoon which started raveling back automatically and motioned Gadget to take off. Chip knew the blackbird was about to regain his senses and start resisting actively, but he was sure two of them would cope with it even without Dale who stayed in the club to watch Bollinger. True, the bird was larger than the Rangers, but the latter were far better equipped.

"Hey you! What the heck's going on?!" DeThrush screamed feeling something mighty dragging him upwards.

"Hold still!" Chip snared into his ear. He jumped on the prisoner's back and took hold of the harpoon under the locked jaws of the Wing's telescopic grapple. Naturally, DeThrush began to twitch with tripled effort but the suction cup covered with two-sided duct tape held him securely, and the net which straightened out after take-off locked owing to neodymium spheres sewn on along its edges creating secure restraining cocoon.

The blackbird panicked. "It's an outrage! Let me go! Where're you taking me?!"

"To the 'Earl of Doncaster' hotel," Chip informed him calmly. "Familiar place?"

"Never been there!" DeThrush lied awkwardly. "Never heard of it even!"

"Well, you've heard of it already. And you will visit it soon. Hey!" Chip shouted at the thrashing bird. "Your wings are tied, mind you! If you fall, it will be nasty!"

The threat worked and the blackbird calmed down. 'I'll deny everything!' he thought to himself. 'I don't know Shiner and have no idea what it's all about! I was just flying by, saw the clock but was caught. And I dare you to prove me wrong! You think you can? Kiss my crest! You won't! You have no methods against Aves DeThrush!'

Apparently, Shiner thought the same, for he spent a bit too much time than needed to unlick the window, but when he did, his face was the embodiment of surprise and confusion.

"Good day! I'm glad to see you again! How can I help you? Who is this bird?" The parrot could ask more questions, for instance, why the bird in question was swathed with net and had a plunger arrow protruding from his back, but decided that too much curiosity didn't suit gentlemen.

"You don't recognize him?" Chip asked in 'surprise'. He was standing almost in the middle between DeThrush and the Wing. There was no need to hide the plane anymore, so they landed on a free spot between the window and a stepped protrusion of a second floor parapet. The chipmunk came up to the blackbird and lifted his bowler to show Shiner his face. "It's DeThrush, your agent!"

"You must be joking!" the parrot said in insulted manner. "I have never seen this blackbird before. He told you he is my agent, as you put it? He is lying!"

DeThrush shook his head. "I told them nothing! I swear, Mister Shiner, nothing! I was just flying by, saw golden clo- clo…" he understood he said too much and fell sadly silent without finishing the word.

"Wow! That's interesting!" Chip exclaimed and turned to Gadget who stayed in the plane and kept silent. "Heard that, partner? They know each other!"

The mouse nodded in triumph. "Yeah."

"Just a second!" Shiner was quick to devise an explanation. "I know how this con bird knows my name! I recognized his voice! It's Aves DeThrush, Bollinger's spy! Bollinger sent him to spy on you! What a trickster, come to think of it!"

Chip wasn't moved by this ardent speech at all. "Mister Shiner, don't treat me like some ruminant. Mister Bollinger was unable to send this blackbird after us. He doesn't know we exist. He never saw us together or one at a time, nor did he see our plane. So if you haven't told him about us, he must know nothing about us at all…" Chip's eyes narrowed 'suspiciously'. "You haven't told him about us, have you, Mister Shiner?"

"Sure I haven't!" the parrot answered honestly. That is, he answered with the same noble indignation as when he rejected the fact of his acquaintance with DeThrush, but this time Chip knew he was telling the truth. And he really wanted to know why Shiner told Bollinger nothing about them. He doesn't consider them a threat? Then he wouldn't have sent DeThrush to follow them. He plans to deal with them himself and only then report on it? Or maybe he doesn't think it's necessary to report Bollinger anything? After all, they consider Bollinger Shiner's owner by inertia of thinking. A man and his pet parrot. It's so natural. But what if it's different this time? What if Alfred Roughton Bollinger is a puppet on strings? Prisoner who must be saved? So many options, and each one is like a narrow road winding through a minefield…

"Then you sent him, for no one else could. We need to know, why." Chip went on with his game, hoping Shiner wouldn't drop his image of an innocent pet who agreed to destroy his owner's criminal empire from within.

The parrot lowered his eyes. "You are right. It's silly to deny it. I sent DeThrush to spy on you. But the irony is, I just wanted to be sure you are indeed those who you claim to be. What if Alfred sent you to check my loyalty? He could have gone that far, trust me!"

DeThrush ceased understanding anything at all and watched with bulging eyes, but kept silence. Chip wiped off imaginary sweat off his forehead and smiled.

"I trust you, Mister Shiner," he said. "But you trust me, too. If we spot anyone following us again, then we'll apply lethal means of self-defense, and, more importantly, we'll classify both you and Mister DeThrush as our enemies."

"And then what?" the blackbird asked cockily.

"And that's basically it," Chip answered without changing his voice. Then he touched the brim of his hat, turned around and jumped on the plane's wing.

"Hey!" DeThrush shouted at him. "The net! You forgot the net!"

"Don't worry, we have spare ones," the chipmunk explained taking the co-pilot seat and signaling Gadget to take off.

"Hey! Where're you going?! Stop! Stop, I said!" the blackbird convulsively moved his belly trying to turn around but it took him too much time and he was able to follow the Wing with his hatred-filled gaze. "Alright, blokes, you're dead! You're finished! I'll peck you down! Tear you apart! Nip you off! Bring ultra-violence upon you! Hear me? Hear me?!"

"I doubt it," Shiner answered for the Rangers. "And now if you finished-"

"Me?! I finished nothing! I haven't even began! I- Ouch! It hurts!"

"And now if you finished," Shiner repeated spitting out the shaft of the plunger harpoon he tore away along with several feathers out of DeThrush's back, "listen very carefully."

"Take off… the net…" the blackbird hissed grimacing because of pain.

"And what will you do?"

"I'll fly… after those…"

"Try it. I'll catch up and lacerate you."

"You won't!"

"You need no money anymore?" the parrot asked oily. "Just say it. I'll happily oblige…"

"No!" the blackbird changed his tune immediately. "I need it. I'm sorry, I'm listening."

"Good boy," Shiner complimented. "The plan is this: until my special and direct order neither you nor any of your bandits can approach these rodents or their plane. Understood?"

"Understood. But why?"

"None of your business. Any other questions?"

"No."

"Sit still, then." Shiner pried the net with his claw, unfastened magnetic clasps with powerful jerk, and bit a few cells allowing DeThrush to take his restraints off over his head.

"Thank you, thank you very much, Mister Shiner," there was so much oil in his voice it was clear he was going to cajole money. "By the way, how about goldening a beak? Contract is contract."

"Contract was not to get caught," Shiner reminded angrily. "Alright, brainpecker. Wait here."

When the parrot returned and threw a silver penny at his feet, DeThrush grew agitated. "Hey! You promised a gold one!"

"I remember that. Unfortunately, I have to collect a part of your payment to cover my efforts."

"What efforts?"

"These," the parrot pointed at the net and harpoon with his wing. "You may have them. They are yours. Don't thank me. I like to help those in need."

* 8 *

Alfred Roughton Bollinger played calmly and very effectively. He made three birdies and an eagle, and by the twelfth hole he had a comfortable lead of four strokes. His opponent, a tawny bearded narrow-faced man, spoke English with no accent, but Chip immediately recognized him as a native of shores of Persian Gulf. His casual clothing made it hard to guess how high his position in Darley Racing is, but his extremely nervous reaction at Bollinger's success suggested he was no less than a member of the emirate's ruling family. He was no match for the Brit in terms of golf, though, but on the twelfth hole Bollinger for some reason started to hurry, and ran his ball into a rough, then into a sand trap, and as a result completed the course in six strokes instead of required four. The Arabian who passed on par openly rejoiced and started smiling, and when Bollinger asked him again what he thought of his offer he gave up and said he agreed.

"No, he is not a puppet," Chip sighed in relief and lowered his binoculars. "The plan is his entirely, and he enjoys setting it in motion greatly."

"What are you talking about?" Gadget asked.

"Don't pay attention, strange thoughts occur to me sometimes…"

"And what about an idea to start working?" Dale asked. He was lying on the same branch with his arms folded behind his head.

"Look who's talking…"

"And I am talking! Why are we wasting our time here? Why don't we neutralize Shiner when we have time? Ivory and Meteor will arrive… When will they arrive?"

"By 6 PM," Chip repeated McDuff's prediction.

"See!" Dale jumped up on his legs. "Time's running out! We must call in Monty immediately, storm the hotel suite-"

"And what will we gain by that?"

"What Dirk Suave gains by eliminating the evil genius in his lair! All evil plans come to an end at once! Hey, I've got rhyme! It means it's true!"

"Not in our case," Chip answered shortly. He could say many rude things about Suaviana, but Gadget's presence restrained him. "We talked to Zipper twice today, and he said Shiner made no calls and met no one. What do you make of it?"

"We scared all his agents off!" Dale answered immediately.

"And I make of it that his agents have already received all necessary instructions, so 'the elimination of a think tank' is useless."

"And what if not all the instructions were given?" Gadget expressed her doubt. "How about him?" she pointed at the Arabian walking along with Bollinger to the golf-cart in order to drive to the next hole.

"He isn't an agent, he's an investor," Chip explained. The humans had to drive around a group of trees to reach the next hole, but Rangers could just climb to another branch to watch, so there was no need to hurry. "But you are right, Bollinger uses human agents, too. That's why neutralization of Shiner will cause nothing but trouble."

"Absolutely not!" Dale was adamant. "He can do nothing without animals! And only Shiner can command them! That's why he must be removed!"

"He's right, Chip," Gadget said. "Look, we know who the villain is, what his goal is, how he will act — we know everything! I can't remember right now when we had an equally great opportunity to stop the conspiracy at the very beginning. Why are you against it?"

"Because it will only make worse," Chip pointed at the moving cart. "You can see for yourself what kind of people is involved, what money is on stake. You think that if something goes wrong they will just give up and let everything be? You think they have no backup plan covering all possible cases? I would like to believe it, but I can't. I must presume that as soon as the criminals understand their affair is in danger, they will assume radical measures including physical elimination of Ivory."

Dale laughed forcefully. "Oh, come on…"

"I don't mean murder. It's quite enough to injure her seriously or poison."

"Injury is doubtful," Gadget pointed out. "Darley Racing have great plans for her, they don't need a cripple."

"Ivory is precious because of her genes, injury won't affect those," Chip objected. "Sure, her withdrawal from the race will affect the betting odds, but the underdog on whom the conspirators bet will still be underdog."

"Why do you think it's about the underdog?" Dale asked. "If he deals with Darley, then he'll organize their runner's victory. It's obvious!"

"No. It's obvious with underdog. The odds are one hundred to one. Only sum like that can persuade owners of seven out of ten horses to order their jockeys to cede the race."

"Bollinger discussed it with Lindstrom, didn't he?" Gadget guessed. "And you said they spoke of nothing…"

"Nothing solid, just numbers 'four' and 'three', the rest is my interpretation. But it fits! Lindstrom deals with seven of them, Bollinger — with Darley." Chip motioned at the cart. "That's eight. Then there's the underdog with whom no one deals, and Ivory who they couldn't buy and started blackmailing. That's exactly ten."

"It's logical," Dale agreed. "But it's kinda too difficult. Too many people involved. What if someone talks?"

Chip hemmed skeptically. "With odds at one hundred to one?"

Dale shrugged unconfidently. "Well… People are different. Take Baskerville. They don't buy him. He is close to the Crown though…"

Chip nodded. "Exactly. But others have nothing to lose, only to gain. Also victory of the pretender number two or three isn't as bright and can be always blamed on accident or some other factors. But victory of the underdog is another story. It's an achievement. Afterwards you can safely present yourself as a man capable of making any needed result of any given race. It's… I am afraid to think what sum of money we are talking about."

"Alfred Roughton Bollinger, the Lord of the Horses!" Dale proclaimed. "Sounds like a trademark!"

"That, too."

"Maybe he already is?" Gadget suggested timidly. "After Durandal, I mean…"

"No, it doesn't look that way. Lindstrom is too nervous. I feel they take their first steps towards the next level. They needed Durandal to sell him to Darley Racing and stand on the threshold of the horse business elite. Now it's time to make a next move, and their nerves are strained, and that's why I don't want to act radically — the response will be even more radical. So our mission is not to allow Shiner understand we know of him blackmailing Ivory with Meteor's life and health, while carefully analyzing the situation and cautiously, or even better indirectly, covering all possible directions of their strike. First we'll deal with Jerry, then look for the rats. If we get Ivory to the starting position, consider victory yours. Nothing will happen to her on the racetrack."

"You think so?" the mouse asked skeptically. "There're plenty of ways…"

"They won't shoot at Ivory with rifle if you mean that. The race will be annulled, all bets will be cancelled, and the police will start digging. No, it's too late to do anything on the track. Unfortunately, Bollinger and Shiner understand that, too… Sometimes I think it would be better to…"

"Eliminate the nerve center, yes?" Dale interrupted with hope.

"No way, I've explained why."

"And what then?" Gadget asked.

"Well, I've got a couple of ideas… Let's see how it unfolds," Chip moved his binoculars to his back and started climbing towards the branch overlooking the tee box of the thirteenth hole.

* 9 *

The horsebox rented by Baskerville Stables arrived to Doncaster among the first and occupied one of the best places on the lot. Chip, used to American pomposity, expected to see ten-wheeled half-trucks with long trailers and didn't pay much attention to tall two- and three-axis buses appearing on an asphalted square by the racetrack until their crews began to lead horses out to warm them up. Horseboxes of large stables contained four to ten horses brought here to participate in one or several of twenty eight races constituting the schedule of the 4-day Ladbrokes St. Leger festival. Roger Baskerville didn't have a whole herd, and his 2-stall truck looked unpresentable among other heavyweights to say the least. And when two giant golden Darley Racing horseboxes arrived this contrast became extreme. Laymen would consider mutinous the very thought that the horse brought by a small truck could be any match to passengers of these literally blinding whales of automobile kingdom. But you never know…

"Now I see why Ivory wants to be there," Chip observed.

"Impressive," Gadget agreed.

"I wouldn't mind that, too," Dale nodded pointing at the golden roofs. "Let's get closer! See what's up there. Talk to the horses, maybe they know something. Say hello to McDuff, remind Ivory that we exist…"

"No way. We can't be seen together, remember?" Chip stopped him.

Nobody watched them after they visited Shiner with their 'trophy', he was sure about that. But he was also absolutely sure that Ivory and Meteor were watched constantly. That's why Rescue Rangers followed Bollinger who won with a slight margin which didn't reflect relative skill of the opponents but suited his plans to his hotel suite, turned him over to Zipper, and took position on the roof of the racecourse's main stand stairwell block. There, covered with an A1 paper sheet to camouflage both them and the Ranger Wing, they watched the parking lot from a safe distance waiting something extraordinary to happen or darkness to fall, whichever came first.

"Hurry! To the plane!" Chip shouted. "Hyperion is out! We must listen to his conversation with Ivory and Meteor!"

"Where?!" Dale pressed binoculars to his eyes as if it were of any use.

"At the golden buses, where else!"

"I got that! But there're plenty of horses! And they aren't signed! How you know he's there?"

"I googled his photo. Obviously! Come on, move it! Or we'll leave without you!"

"Don't!" Dale screamed and jumped on board a moment before it darted upwards, cutting through the paper with her rotor blades.

"OK if I fly through the stands and land into the fence?" Gadget asked.

"As you wish," Chip said gallantly but then realized his response was too hasty for he didn't like the preps she used. "Wait, how can you fly through the stands and land into the fence?"

"This way we're less visible from the sky," Gadget explained directing the plane under the roof of another stand named after a clock tower protruding out of its roof.

"I thought you'd fly around it!" Dale screamed. He liked reckless flying only when he was a pilot. Chip was about to grab the pilot wheel but Gadget leveled the Wing directing it through amongst steel beams. Chip saw his intervention will led to a catastrophe, so he put his arms behind his back and said nothing until they flew through this and the next block of stands.

"Go to the corner," he told Gadget when she descended almost to the very ground and directed the Wing into a hedge on the border of the horsebox parking lot. A slight turn of the wheel, a gentle move of the rotor rotation control yoke — and the Wing disappeared in the green wall. Gadget landed the Wing in aircraft mode, and they would have turned upside down if the wings didn't dig into trunks of the bushes.

"We need a closed canopy," Dale said putting his fingers through a cut on his shirt. "Like the one the Screaming Eagle had."

"Yeah, it would be nice," Gadget nodded putting her hair in order. "It can jam, though, in case of a crash or a fire, that is, the Wing has almost nothing to burn, but it can crash where there's a fire already, so…"

"You know, Gadget, I'll live without closed canopy!" Dale gulped, jumped out of the plane and joined Chip already confidently paving his way through the hedge. Reaching the edge of the parking lot, the three of them whisked under the nearest horsebox and started moving from car to car, watching for familiar human and horse faces in the crowd. It was problematic, though, for the crowd was moving in the same direction, but then the Rangers saw McDuff through the forest of legs, took their bearings and quickly found Ivory, Meteor and Hyperion. The male horse was walking ahead, turning his head around for each phrase he was about to say.

"How fast you run the mile, Meteor?" he asked his son.

"Three and a quarter!" the colt answered proudly.

"No good. I ran it in three in your age."

"And my trainer says I'll be faster than you when I grow up!"

"That's good of him. You should always compare yourself with the best."

The accompanying stablemen didn't know Animal language and didn't pay attention to the ongoing neighing exchange. McDuff, left in charge by the Rangers, tried hard not to miss a single word, motion or scent. It was the latter which told him about the team's presence. The dog looked around, saw familiar faces behind one of the wheels and was going to bark hello, but Chip quickly put his finger to his lips, and the dog got the hint and continued moving to the common goal: a gate to the road connecting the lot with the warm-up field.

"When do you run?" Ivory asked Hyperion.

"Tomorrow in Leger Legends and the next day in Park Hill Stakes."

"Oldster races," the filly joked bitingly.

"All of us will be there," Hyperion pointed out philosophically. "But the racing is just a stuffer. I'm here because of the lady," he nodded at the red mare wearing a cowboy hat walking ahead of them. "Candy Girl. 'Red Star of Texas'. Won Kentucky Derby last year. There's a very long line for her, you know…"

"Not in the child's presence!" Ivory interrupted him angrily.

"Oh, please, he wasn't born yesterday," the stallion smiled but changed the topic. "Want to see my horsebox, son?"

"I do! I do!" the colt jumped up almost breaking loose from Jerry. "May I, mommy? May I?"

"I'll think about it," Ivory said sternly. She liked the offer, though, as well as Hyperion's behavior towards Meteor. Conversing with her mother and mare friends left her with impression that prominent fathers-producers didn't like their offsprings, spoke harsh to them if they met, and even thought of them as just another by-product of their existence. Hyperion's behavior refuted this assertion and slowly melted the ice cold fear for Meteor encrusting her heart. Aside from that, she would like to visit the golden horseboxes herself and see if the legends surrounding them were true.

"Sure, think about it, we have time," Hyperion said gently. "Where else you can see such a-"

"Darn! I hear nothing! We're too far!" Chi exclaimed in frustration. At the gates the crowd was so thick it was really dangerous to cross the road, so Rescue Rangers stopped and quickly left the hearing range of the conversation of interest. "We should have brought radiomikes along!"

"They don't wear turbans," Dale joked caustically. He hadn't forgiven Chip that Rama-Lama-Ding-Dong joke yet. That is, he forgave the joke itself but not that it turned out so successful…

"Well, we could attach them to arrows…" Gadget suggested. But this and other suggestions were of no use now. Fortunately, McDuff saw they were in trouble and rushed to the rescue.

"Problems, guys?" he asked sitting down with his back turned to them.

"Get us to the fence, we'll proceed on our own from there," Chip instructed, jumping on the dog and digging deeply into his long wool. McDuff was much more visible to those around, so he transported the trio to the designated position with no problems. There they went on foot again, watching the horses from behind the white wooden fence poles. But they heard nothing but long descriptions of various cranky and monstrously expensive things to assess the value and usefulness of which one had to be a racehorse. Then Hyperion was taken to the left, Ivory and Meteor — to the right, and their conversation ended due to natural causes.

"How do you do, guys?" McDuff asked once again approaching the rodents' hiding place. "Any news?"

"There is some," Chip answered. "What about you? New cassettes? New messages from Jerry? Any rats?"

"No, no, no," the dog reported.

"What's today's schedule?"

"Strolling, feeding, medical examination. Nothing special."

"How's Ivory?" Gadget asked. "Holding on?"

"She is. Not too bad, I'd say."

"Did she tell Meteor anything?" Chip got the floor back.

"As far as I know, nothing."

"I see…"

"How about telling something yourselves?" McDuff inquired.

"Sure." Chip quickly told him about Bollinger, Shiner and their probable scheme. McDuff listened without even trying to cover his astonishment.

"I heard the name 'Bollinger'," he said. "Lord Rodger mentioned it to Edwin once. A horse trader plotting such schemes, come to think of it! And you are great! To find so much in a single day — Sureluck Jones would be jealous! What will we do next?"

"We'll start with Jerry. Is Lord Roger here?"

"He'll come tomorrow in the morning."

"Ivory participates in one race only?"

"Right."

"Will she go out on the track?"

"Sure, at least twice a day, to familiarize and work out."

"Will she do it tomorrow?"

"She should."

"Great!" Chip smiled. "Then we'll do it tomorrow. I hope you planned nothing for these days, we can't do it without you."

The dog smiled. "Don't worry, I have nothing to do until Friday!"