Chapter 4: The Presidential Assignment Part 1
It had been a week and Lakewood Elementary School was entering a new semester. In a hallway of lockers, the school bell was heard. And with that, kids came out almost simultaneously. A few minutes later, a few girls gathered around a notice board. One of them was Fern.
"Yes!" exclaimed the tomboy, joyfully. "I made the cut! The school's next rock competition will be mine!"
"Definitely." agreed Muffy, her best friend. "Time to get you some new clothes."
"Oh no!" protested Francine. "Remember the last time you tried to accessorize me?"
"It was the new trend, Francine."
"Well, no thanks. I'm fine as it is."
"You should enter too, Fern." suggested Sue Ellen. "I mean you did sing with the Backstreet Boys before." But Fern shook her hand at her.
"Nah. Maybe not this time."
"Why not?" asked Francine. "You're a great singer."
"But singing really isn't my thing. Writing is what I do best. Well, I better get going. See ya around."
They waved goodbye to Fern. As she walked along the corridor, she caught sight of George going through his locker. He closed the door and sighed.
"Something wrong?" Fern asked.
"Oh hey Fern." greeted George. "Binky was picking on me again for my lunch money."
Fern cringed her face with annoyance. "When will he ever stop?"
After packing up, George walked with Fern to the exit.
"I told you that you could finish that assignment." said Fern. "And you didn't even need my help."
"But I did make a miscalculation." admitted George. "It was so stressful. So what was going on at the notice board?"
"It was the auditions for the singing competition. Francine wanted to know if she made it to the singer's part and she did."
"Did you enter? Did you make it?"
"Nah. Not really my thing."
"But you're a great singer."
"I rather stay home and write a novel in the future. I can't just go around the world performing in front of thousands."
"Yeah I guess you're right. I mean, going for all those grand events with all the paparazzi. You'd be so busy that I would've not be able to see you again which will be sad and then the..." Fern stopped him, a little shocked.
"Wait what was that?" George quickly flinched at what he said.
"Uh. Um. Oh look at the time. I-I got to go. Have to do something with Wally today. See ya." Fern just paused. Then she smiled amusingly. She knew what he said and quietly said to herself.
"Oh George. That was so lame." She ran to him again. He was blushing red especially when Fern caught up with him.
"Hey, how 'bout I follow you on your way home?" asked Fern.
"Aren't you going with the girls?" asked George.
"I would, but I can always do that later. Besides, I need you to help me with my story."
"Still need me, huh?"
"Why not? You are a really great helper."
"Let's go to the Sugar Bowl. We'll start there."
At the Sugar Bowl ice-cream stop, the two were prepared for work on their story, while having a milkshake each. Fern had her notebook for her stories and her pencil for writing them.
"Now, let's start the next chapter." said Fern.
"Got an idea on how it's going to be?" asked George.
"I have a plot. Now to add some spice to it. Put on your thinking cap, George."
"I was wondering how you came up with these crimes in the story."
"Oh that. Mr. Ratburn showed me that the war had a lot of interesting stories to tell. And I just couldn't help but look them up on the Internet."
"Why not become a history buff? They come with really neat stories." Fern waved her hand and shook her head.
"Let's not go there. As interesting as the war sounds, history is a real bore for me. (A/N~ I don't agree. If didn't like it, I would not be writing this story. Thank you :p) At least not yet."
"Well, my thinking cap's on. Let's get writing, Agatha Shelly." At this point, Fern grabbed her pencil and book, ready to carry out the next chapter of the heroine detective. But then, she stopped halfway into opening the book.
"That was like a year ago. I'm thinking of a new pen name." she said.
"Why? Fern Walters is a good name." suggested George.
"Don't you get tired of praising me and everyone else?"
"Not really." said George, sheepishly.
"Eh. Good then. Let's begin, uh... um..." Fern then stopped, pausing to look at George curiously.
"What?" the moose boy wondered.
"Never mind. I'll think of a pen name for you next time."
"Me? A pen name?" George was taken aback by the sudden request of a penname for himself.
"Why not? You're a great help for my stories. I think it's time I included you into them. Is that okay with you?"
"Of course. Go on ahead."
And thus, the creative writer picked up her pencil, opened her notebook, and began the writing.
13th April, 1942,
Washington D.C. The capital of the US was bustling with people pushing to contribute to the war effort. But as good of the people went on, crime always found a way to take advantage. At the local Detective Bureau in Washington, our good heroine, Virgule Watteau, was waiting outside the Director's office for her next exciting mission.
"We caught the sneaky Mack Sullivan from attempting a theft at the jewellery store." Bastings was listing and checking down the numerous criminals the pair have caught in their recent cases. "Then stopped Susie Rose from stealing a number of weapons from Army Base Jackson. And lastly, foiled Lance Reginald from sending illegal funds to the black market. I'd say we will get a raise soon enough." But Watteau didn't hear him. Her mind was set on the upcoming mission. She seemed really ecstatic about it and couldn't help but tap her feet in anticipation.
"Hello, Watteau? Anyone home?" Bastings waved his hand in front of her. The daydreaming detective in charge shook her head as she snapped out of her train of thought.
"Huh? Oh, Bastings. Excusez moi." She cleared her throat.
"Ah, excited. Are we now?" Bastings could only smirk at the brief embarrassment of his partner.
"Oui. Every mission has been. It is, 'ow you say, an adventure waiting to happen."
"Wonder what we got today?" Bastings asked with a finger to his lower lip.
"It has been a month since we saw our good friend, ze Grey Dove. He has yet to surface in zhese dark times."
"Who knows? Maybe he's doing no good right about now. Perhaps he's doing a theft at the United States Bullion Depository or something." But something that huge made Watteau scoff in humour.
"Him? Stealing from a well-protected area? Unlikely. But we will catch him somehow. My head has been hurting and swelling for a few days and I am willing for a payback for zhat headbutt!" Watteau threw her fist in the air, with an imaginary image of the Grey Dove projected in front of her.
"Comes to show he is a real rock head." A small chuckle was rewarded to Bastings.
"Good one." Then, at that moment, Watteau stole a look at Bastings' lap. On it, there was a thick, green book with the title, "America's Greatest Landmarks", engraved in gold letters on the cover.
"What do you have zhere?" Watteau curiously asked.
"Oh this?" Bastings took hold of the book and showed it to Watteau. "This is an interesting book about American landmarks. The Yanks really know what to come up with these days." As he finished explaining, he opened the book and flipped through a set of pages, stopping to a page where an image of a tall tower standing over a grassy field. "I've finished reading about the Washington Monument yesterday. Did you know it was completed in 1884 after a long hiatus in...?"
As they continued to chat through about the Monument and such, a woman dressed in formal attire exited the Director's Office.
"Miss Watteau." She formally called. "The Director would like to see you now." From there, a smile was visible on Watteau's face, showing her eagerness in solving whatever crime or antic someone was pulling off. But could this be another normal crime, or would, as chances would be, be a very special case? Either way, Watteau took the call to the Director's office with full enthusiasm.
"Wait here, Bastings." She told her partner. Bastings nodded in compliance. She stood up, grabbed her cane and adjusted her bowler hat, and walked into the room.
The room inside had a very elegant-looking interior, with brown and golden wooden walls and a green carpeted floor. There sat the Director. He was wearing a light brown trench coat and a darker brown hat. He wore a pair of glasses and was reading some sort of book about a heroic bunny. (A/N~ In other words, he is played by Arthur) He stopped on what he was doing.
"Welcome Miss Virgule Watteau. Please sit down." he greeted to Watteau, gesturing to her to sit at the wooden chair in front of the desk. Watteau did so, waiting to hear what next episode in her job had in store for her. Could it be a plot to slow the war effort? Could this be a plan of arson? Or would it be just another theft?
"And how are we doing today, Monsieur Director?" Watteau asked, crossing her arms.
"Very good. I have another special assignment for you. And it's from someone very important to this nation."
In an instant, Watteau was excited after hearing that. What could be so important? Was Watteau the one who can solve this case?
"Who?" asked Watteau again, spirits as high as ever.
The Director held a recorder in hand and place it on his table. He pressed the play button. The tapes rolled and when it was being played, a very familiar voice can be heard.
"Greetings, Miss Virgule Watteau of the French Board of Detectives. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the President of the United States of America, Franklin Delano Roosevelt."
Wow, she thought. Of all the people out there who needed her, it was the President of the USA who asked for her assistance? It was an exhilarating moment for Watteau. Her excitement was starting to get the best of her, but she regained her focus and listened to what the President had to say.
"I am informed by my officials that you have been crippling crime efforts around the country. Well, let me say that you have been a real fine help on stopping crooks from taking advantage of the war we are trying to fight so hard in. And we thank you for that. Now, we could use some well-prepared and conscious people like you in more important missions. Like the one I'm about to give you. You see, our best intelligence has come to a theory that I may be watched. For what purpose is unknown until we find those who are claimed for doing such a potentially dangerous thing. I fear an assassination, but it could be something worse. And if you ask us what we could have that's worth the act, forget about it. Anyway, we have assigned another detective to search for clues but we thought we could use some extra hands. So go to a nearby warehouse where you'll find the detective who is awaiting your presence now. The warehouse was closed after an explosion due to an accident but witnesses have seen people sneaking in and they don't look like anyone who has any permission to enter. Do consider taking this task. The entire nation, the war and my own life could depend on your assistance. Thank you, Miss Watteau.
We may be from different countries, but let us remember that we are all Allies against a common foe. Let us do our parts to winning this war."
The recording ended.
"Well, Miss Watteau?" Watteau stood up from her seat and removed her hat. She looked at the Director with sheer commitment to the special task at hand. Her dedication fuelled by the chance to prove herself to a higher authority that she, a common detective, can contribute to the war.
"It will be an 'onour to help ze President in zis case." declared Watteau, showing her confidence to carry out the mission, and much to the Director's approval.
"The aforementioned detective will be meeting you there. Good luck." With the orders given and the job now in Watteau and Bastings' hands, the eager detective bowed to the Director and left the room with spirits so high, she could jump for joy. Once the detective left the room, Director Randall resumed to his usual business; taking out a special issue of "Bionic Bunny chases the Desert Fox."
After 30 minutes, the dynamic duo went to the scene of the crime. The night was young and the city of Washington was as busy as ever. And so was Watteau, who was looking real ecstatic. She could feel the adrenaline rushing through her body as the special mission she was assigned to, swam in her mind. Oh how thrilled was she to be in the service of the President of the United States himself.
She walked across the streets, while facing all directions, as if she was surveying the area. She was almost like the very moment they left the Bureau, much to Bastings' discomfort.
"Ah! We must be vigilant, Bastings." she joyfully declared, viewing practically everywhere with her magnifying glass for no apparent reason, as Bastings thought. "Ze criminal could be around here somewhere." Then she headed on over to one of the buildings. She sniffed out.
"Hmmmm. Eeenteresting. Something it smells of ze fish. Rotten stench of raw fish." Elsewhere, she picked up the scent and followed it to an abandoned building where scratched and cracked walls covered it. "Bastings, what could zis mean?"
"Uh…" He then pointed up above them. "An abandoned fish market?
"Hmmmm. Maybe. Let's go look some more." At this point, Bastings was getting tired of her over-expressive attitude.
"Look Watteau." he cleared his throat. "I know you're excited and all, but you gotta calm yourself down. This job may be big, but show some patience, will you?"
"Au contraire, my dear Bastings." Watteau responded. "I have ze magnifying glass. I decide how this operation is done."
They arrived at the scene. An old warehouse where prized ammunition was being stored and ready to be shipped to Australia for soldiers to fight the Japanese in the Pacific. But the building has not been open for days after an accident involving a munitions explosion. Luckily, no one was hurt. And intelligence dictated that a few people have been seen entering the building without any approval. Thus, it was worth the start for investigation.
"Zis is ze place." Watteau pointed out.
"So let's get in before we get into any trouble." added Bastings. "I fear some mysterious troublemakers are still lurking in these dark corners."
Just as they were about to get in the warehouse...
"Well, well, well. Look who ze cat dragged in..." They were alarmed by a female French voice heard in the distance. As Watteau looked to where it came from, she gave a glare at the person who uttered those words. The words spoken were rather peculiar. They actually sounded like Watteau's words, albeit being calmer and less rough, with a pinch of cold humour in her voice.
"You spoke too soon, Bastings." Watteau sneered. "Trouble has already come."
She walked towards the shadowy figure, with the shadowy silhouette slowing revealing herself.
"We meet again, Annabelle Fatteauil."
It was Annabelle Fatteauil, Watteau's rival in detective skills and crime investigation. She wore almost the same clothes as Watteau, except with a black skirt and a bowler hat. She walked towards Watteau.
(A/N~ Fatteauil is another one Fern's imaginary characters in the show. But the relationship between her and Watteau as cousins is my idea. And she is also played by Fern).
"I didn't expect you would be here, my dear cousin." she spoke with a proud and soft voice, which didn't amuse Watteau. It was a rare occasion for Bastings. H, in fact, did work for Fatteauil for a short while before joining back with Watteau, and he began to notice the clear differences between the two's manners.
"Well, aren't you a sight of ze sore eye." Watteau ranted.
"Relax, Watteau." Fatteauil raised her hand to Watteau. "Everyzing is under control."
"Hah! Is zhat so? Jell, just so you know, I have orders from ze President of ze United States of America himself. So why don't you just pack up and leave zis to ze professionals?"
"*chuckles* If zis task calls for professionals, zhen I am just ze person for ze job. And unfortunately for you, I have also got orders from ze same man. So I'm staying right here."
Watteau could not believe her ears. Her long-time rival also got the call from the President? Things weren't looking well for Watteau. She had always thought that Fatteauil was better than her, but she always went all out to outwit Fatteauil in a case. Most of her attempts did not go so well.
"You? Ze President called you too? Hah! Don't make me laugh." Watteau laughed in a mockingly matter.
"Well, if you're done bickering, we can start our investigation." Undeterred by Watteau's antics, Fatteauil walked towards the warehouse, passing Watteau and Bastings, without even a care.
"And how are you, Bastings?" she motioned to Bastings.
"Uh, fine. Thank you kindly." Bastings awkwardly bowed in return as the cool and calculative detective walked right in the structure. Irritated, Watteau grabbed Bastings by the arm and stormed in. "Whoa!"
Deep inside the abandoned building, they walked on, where conveyor belts and other machines were seen left dusty and broken from the blowout from the accident. Bastings freed himself from Watteau's grip, snatching him from her own clutches.
"What is wrong with you?" he firmly asked. Watteau, still irritated, could not hold her pressure as she stomped here and there.
"Ugh. Bastings. You do know zat she could ruin zhis task for us." she complained.
"I doubt it. She's as great a detective as you are." Bastings tried to show Watteau reason, but all he got was a glare from her. "O-Okay." he gulped. "Maybe a little less." But Watteau cooled down, not wanting to lose her entire focus on the mission at hand.
"I know you've been working closely with her in London while I was working alone in Paris, but I want to get on top of her for a change." confessed Watteau. Bastings, however, was still not convinced.
"Come on, Watteau. When will you ever cease this childish game?" said Bastings, but just when the argument was about to heat up, Fatteauil came with a slow but stern face.
"Is zere something wrong?" she asked.
"Nozing." Watteau rushed to answer. "We were just starting our search."
"No we weren't." whispered Bastings, scornfully, earning a poke on the thigh by Watteau's cane. "Ow!"
"Ugh! Let's go before we all lose our senses."
Putting aside her rivalry for now, Watteau and Bastings travelled into the warehouse. On every single shelf, there's always boxes of munitions and weapons stored. Big bullets for knocking out tanks or planes, while the little ones for the infantry. There were also some huge blast marks filled with soot and expired powder, indicating the scale of the damage done in the blast. Regardless, everyone was on high alert, hoping to not cause any more destruction with a single mishap.
"Blimey. There's enough rounds here to blow the entire building." cleared Bastings.
"Let alone blow up zhis entire neighbourhood." Watteau added.
Watteau scanned the area with her magnifying glass, searching and searching for any trace left behind by any suspect. Fatteauil on the other hand was just looking up and down, walking her cane in hand. She held her chin and thought.
"Concentrate, Fatteauil. Concentrate." she told to herself. "Where will be ze most suspicious part of zhese American warehouses?"
Their frantic search went on for half an hour, but nothing turned up other than the scale of the damage caused. However, just then, as Watteau was walking along a conveyor belt, she spotted some peculiar on the belt. She bent forward and picked it up.
"Aha! Eureka!" she yelled in excitement.
"What? What did you find?" asked Bastings. Watteau showed it to Bastings. It appeared to be a torn piece of postcard. On it was the number '84'.
"Hmmmm..." But she was not the only one with a lead. "Ha! I found somezing!" Suddenly, the scene was rocked by another equally cheerful cry from Fatteauil.
"Really? What is it?" Bastings rushed to find Fatteauil, leaving Watteau to grumble again.
"Drats."
The two ran to Fatteauil. She was at the exit. As they arrived, Fatteauil pointed on the dirty floor.
"Zere are tracks leading to ze exit." she brilliantly pointed out, but much to the other two's confusion. Watteau, however, was not having it.
"Big deal. Zis is supposed to be ze drop off point."
Fatteauil took a pinch of the rolled-over dirt. She actually checked the contents of the dirt with a magnifying glass.
"Don't you need a microscope for that?" asked Bastings.
"Ahh, but zis is no ordinary magnifying glass, monsieur. With special modifications to ze lens, I can identify ze smallest of findings." Indeed, the magnifying glass looked very weird. It had a very thick frame and a red button at its hilt. Pressing the button, the frame extended outwards into a cone shape until the tip was a tiny piece of lens.
"Great. She's ahead of me in finding zings AND in technology? Ridicule…" complained Watteau.
Fatteauil looked into the piece with her new tool. Through her eye, she could see the fine bits of dirt particles within that one piece.
"Hmmm, ze dirt is fresh and warm. It means ze vehicle has left not long ago." she deduced.
"But it could be a vehicle that could've been sending some supplies or somezing." Watteau added.
"You're forgetting ze fact zat ze place has been closed for investigation. According to ze Bureau, no one has begun anyzing here until we came."
"Eeenteresting..."
But then, suddenly, out of nowhere…
"Ow!" Watteau felt a strong and nasty pain behind her head. She fell to the ground. Bastings went to help her as Fatteauil looked up to where the can was tossed from. And there she saw it! A shadowy silhouette above the support beams of the roof. It ran off with great balance across the beam.
"Halt! In ze name of ze law!" Fatteauil called out strictly. Watteau recovered from her fall, rubbing on where she was hit.
"Sacre bleau. What hit me?"
"We best hurry." said Bastings. "The fiend is getting away. Fatteauil is in pursuit."
"Ah!" cried out Watteau. "Stealing all ze glory, eh? Well you're not going to get ze win zis time!" She ran off to catch up with her competition. Bastings just shrugged and sighed.
"This outta be fun. I can hardly wait for whatever those two have in store for themselves."
Watteau ran as fast as she could. Sprinting through the warehouse like a cheetah, she could not let her cousin take all the credit. She has spent her whole time in America fighting crime. She couldn't let her rival take it all away. She ran outside the front entrance. Bastings was able to catch up. Then they took a turn for the side of the building. And there the saw a dark figure and it appeared to be facing its back at them.
"Ah! Nowhere left to run!" Watteau smirked. Finally, she ran right at the person.
"No, wait!" Bastings tried to stop her, but it was too late. Thinking it belonged to the crook, Watteau pounced on the figure, both falling to the floor. Watteau tried to apprehend the being by putting it in an arm lock, trapping it down. The shadowy figure tried to wrestle its way out, but to no avail.
"Alright, you fiend. Time to get you arrested!" Watteau triumphantly gloated. However…
…what she didn't realize was... That she was not arresting the crook.
"Watteau! Get off! Sacre bleau!" Watteau looked at the figure's face and it revealed a very angry, very cross...
Fatteauil!
Alarmed, Watteau then looked towards the alley and saw another shadowed figure running off. It left their sight. The pursuit had failed.
"Great." Fatteauil crossly uttered. "Now ze suspect is gone. You happy? Now get off!" As Fatteauil got up, she dusted her off the dirt. Boy, was she mad. Even Watteau has not seen her this mad. "Well Watteau, you better apologize for zhis mess."
"Moi? Why moi?" Unfortunately, Watteau was just as mad.
"As you could have clearly seen, I had ze suspect right where I wanted him. And you so happened to be in ze way."
"You could have just caught him with your bare hands! Zat is how you catch a criminal! I swear you always find ze more civil approach."
"Excusez moi. But your ways are razher, how you say, barbaric."
"Well in case you have not noticed, zis country IS at war. Things have been barbaric! And so must my tactics!"
As the two feud over the situation, Bastings was watching the argument unfold, rather dumbfounded by the two's rivalry.
"I can never understand those two."
But when he looked on the floor not far from the girls, he walked over to where he saw something. It was a small piece of paper near the set of footprints left behind from the chase. He picked it up, trying to read it. However, it was a bad idea to read it with all the racket going on. The argument was just too much for Bastings to handle.
"Will you both knock it off?!" At the top of his voice, the quarrelling cousins stopped their unnecessary argument. "Very good." he huffed before returning to his investigation. "Now let me read this. I saw this drop off when the suspect made a run for it. Hmmmm... Yes... How peculiar." He walked towards his partners.
"Well?" It was a simultaneous call from both detectives, earning a look at each other before turning away sharply. "Hmph!"
"Well, it says here in this note."
We got some pretty useful info about the President. Get to the warehouse for some supplies. And meet us at WM, at 9:30 sharp.
-JA
"JA?" Watteau thought.
"And where is zis WM?" added Fatteauil.
"Let's put our heads together for a bit."
And thus, the thinking game began. Three great minds coming up with one definitive answer. While Watteau and Fatteauil were further investigating and thinking, Bastings was holding the note and went to work in the thinking as well. He read it carefully and thought rather hardly. He then remembered the torn piece of postcard that Watteau found and thought of the number '84' on it. Suddenly, as if he was hit on the head, he remembered a conversation he had with Watteau outside the Director's office.
~Did you know the Washington Monument was built in...~
"1884!" His two partners quickly ran to him.
"What is it, Bastings?" asked Watteau.
"I know where the suspects could be. Watteau, hand me the piece of paper you gave me earlier." Everyone was definitely interested in what Bastings had to say. Watteau did as was told and handed the piece of paper to Bastings.
"As I had suspected, this number seems to be signified as '1884' because of the incomplete number text. And 1884 so happens to be..."
"Ze year zat ze Washington Monument was completed. Bastings, you are a genius!" Watteau cried out cheerfully.
"Well is zat so? Then we must head for ze Monument." Fatteauil declared.
"For once, I concur." agreed Watteau. And off they went! The case has been solved. Now for the hunt.
"Impressive work, Bastings." Fatteauil approached Bastings. "You have bested me in zis case."
"Ahem." Watteau cleared her throat. "What about moi?"
"What about you?" A sly answer of sarcasm was enough to put Watteau down.
"Never mind."
After an hour taking a cab to the Monument, the hasty trio rushed to the Monument courtyard. They entered a huge crowd of passing citizens walking here and there. Most were probably spectating the beauty and symbolism the Washington Monument had to offer. But unknown to them, a mischievous criminal, or a group of them, was about to hatch up a plan. What do these guys want with from the President of the United States and why? Such curious questions for Watteau. But with a huge crowd of innocent civilians all over the place, finding the suspects was easier said than done. Still our brave detective and her comrades were determined to put a stop to the scheme.
"Spread out. We will cover more ground zat way" ordered Fatteauil. The group divided into three and split up to find the suspects. They checked among people in the open grassy fields, by the man-made lake and even outside the boundary separating the Monument from the public. But so far, not a single lead was found. They rendezvous back to where they began their hunt.
"Anyzing?" asked Watteau.
"No. Nozing." Unfortunately, Fatteauil didn't find any clues or leads.
"Nothing at my end either." added Bastings. Watteau could only kick the grassy field in frustration.
"We've been searching for an hour. Let us zink of a plan. Perhaps the Monument itself?" suggested Watteau.
"Wait. I almost forgot." Fatteauil spoke up. "We have ze permission from ze President himself to pursue wherever we wish for the sake of busting ze crime."
Using this opportunity, they approached one of the guards who was on guard, watching out for trespassers. They all showed him their detective's pass and the guard agreed to let them in and thus they went in. At the front of the Monument, all seemed quiet, except for the soft sounds of chatter by the citizens from afar. It did not look like anything had happened at this point. They began searching around the tall structure, only to find nothing in the next ten minutes
"If I were a group of fiends cooking up a scheme in a national symbol, where would I be hiding?" Watteau wondered.
Meanwhile, Fatteauil walked to search behind the monument. She headed for the corner of the base of the structure and what she saw at the other end gave her quite a surprise. She ran to the others to report her findings.
"Come with me. I have found somezing."
"Sacre bleau. How does she do it?" uttered Watteau. She and Bastings followed Fatteauil to her findings. After the corner, they walked towards empty ground. She tapped her cane on the ground, looking for something. What was she looking for?
"What are you? Blind?" With every tap, the very faint sounds of common rustling rock were heard. Then, with a few more taps, a sudden knock sound was heard, as if she knocked some wood. After tapping the same spot some more…
"Bingo. Come, Watteau. Tap here." Watteau walked over, still unsure of Fatteauil's findings. She did as was told and tapped the same peculiar spot. She was surprised about the unusual sounds of the knocking, instead of tapping. Watteau looked closer and her surprise grew when she saw a bit of wood surface under the grass. The two then lifted the seemingly fake grass patch. They managed to reveal an underground entrance!
"Aha! A secret hideout. I found it!"
"YOU found it?" Fatteauil could not believe her eyes at Watteau's foolishness.
"Oui. I saw ze wooden material that gave its location away."
"But I found it with sound. AND I saw ze crook open it up." defended Fatteauil.
"I knew ze clue that led us to here."
To Bastings, which was more important, he thought. The suspects or this pointless argument? Bastings couldn't care less about what those two think, but he knew Option #1 was the right choice of said question.
"Oh, come on!" Bastings stormed right past them and into the passageway. "I'm not going to stand around listening to this debacle. Let's just get this over with."
He walked off into the hideout, leaving the other two detectives to shrug their shoulders before they walked with him. The journey was dark and spooky, not to mention wet from yesterday's downpour, leaving drops of water. But as they walked along, they came across wall lanterns and scaffoldings supporting the passage.
"Eck. It's like a mine down here." said Bastings.
"You're telling me. It stinks down here." agreed Watteau as she pinched her nose. Then, half way into the tunnel, Fatteauil heard a very faint sound that resembled something like chatter.
"Sshh. I hear somezing." They sneaked forward and made their way to a wider part of the cave. As they moved on, the chatter became louder and louder. At one point, they could hear actual words like "trouble" and "information". They hid behind the corner leading to a lit area. Around that corner, they could actually hear a conversation happening between a few men. They peeked to see three men. One of them, however, had his appearance unseen in the shadows. The other two were dressed in normal everyday clothes, gathered around a table with a map and a dangling ceiling light on top of them. Watteau listened in.
"You fool!" One of the men shouted. "How can you attack them? All for we know, they could've followed you!"
"I didn't have a choice." The other man panicked. "I couldn't get the goods on time. So I had to distract them. When they hit the road that was when I decided to take them."
"Which is more important? The supplies or our cover?"
"Well I don't see you coming up with any ideas!"
"Enough!" Just then, the argument was interrupted by a sudden call from the third man in the shadows. "Look, gentlemen, zis is not good for us at all. Not only did we not retrieve ze supplies, but you may have allowed ze authorities enough time to find us. You have costed us dearly!" As the conversation went on, Watteau and company knew that one of the men was a Frenchmen from his accent.
"Well you try outrunning some of Europe's finest detectives. I'm pretty sure you won't be able to get even 1 kilometre from that warehouse."
"Oui. Virgule Watteau and Annabelle Fatteauil. Both of zem combined is like dealing with a bomber squadron on your head."
Unfortunately, Bastings was a little uncomfortable with that statement.
"What about me?" he whispered, but it was almost a little too loud,e nough for Watteau to shush him up.
"Sssshhh!" They continued to listen on for more information on the scheme at hand.
"Once we get what ze President wants, we will be rich beyond our wildest dreams!"
Watteau, Bastings and Fatteauil gathered around behind the corner to formulate a plan. But then, as Watteau was about to give out her plans, she could feel a little tug beneath her feet. Afterwards, they felt like they had been pulled up into the air and then caught in a tight grip of a giant hand. Soon they realized, they were stuck in a net. It was a trap! The mysterious men stood up and walked towards the trapped detectives.
"And we don't have to worry about Europe's finest detectives any longer."
They struggled to adjust themselves in the net. As the man approached them, his appearance became more and more visible. He was neatly dressed in a tuxedo and was wearing a piece of lens at his right eye. He looked like a French aristocrat, especially with the French moustache.
"So, you zink you could sneak right in and snag us when ze opportunity presented itself, oui?" the elegant crook spoke.
"So I assume you are ze JA from ze letter." groaned Watteau as she wriggled in the net.
"Well I wonder where you got zat letter." The man shot a short glare at one of his accomplices, who bowed his head down in shame.
"Now zat we know zat you are spying on ze President, what are your true intentions?" asked Fatteauil, earning a knowing smirk from the man.
"Ah. Glad you asked. Mmhmm." He walked towards the trapped detectives, ready to reveal the full details of his notoriety and criminal intentions. "My name is Jacque Anton. And here is my story."
"Here you go, fellas."
The shop's owner, Carl Manino, appeared with a large tub of a banana split ice-cream with a scoop of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry each, sprinkles and a cherry on top. Fern looked on, curiously.
"Hang on, I didn't order this." she said.
"But this young man did." Mr. Manino pointed at the boy opposite her. George grabbed a spoon, ready to devour the scrumptious treat in front of him.
"Thanks, Mr. Manino."
As Mr. Manino left, George prepared to dig in, while Fern could only stare in bafflement.
"Gee. A milkshake and now this?" George shrugged.
"Yeah, couldn't help myself. You're free to join in if you'd like." He grabbed another spoon nearby and lent it to Fern. While she did have a milkshake as well, she too couldn't resist the temptation of dessert. She took the spoon and winked at bastings thankfully.
"Now that's "sweet" of you."
As they helped themselves out with their treat, Fern was still up for thoughts to finish the cliff-hanger. Who is this Jacque Anton? And what would he want from the government? Another exciting chapter awaits!
Well I wanted to finish this case in one whole chapter, but I could save time by splitting it in two. Enjoy!