Author's Notes
Sorry about the delay... things have been busier around here than I expected
lately. Hopefully the next chapter will be up fairly soon. Thanks again
for the reviews, I always enjoy reading them, and try to work them into the
story at least a little bit if I can (I have a basic plan down, but I can
still adjust it a bit.)
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next installment! ---------------------------------------------
The quiet hum of machinery was lost beneath the roar of Dr. Drakken's voice. "SHEGO!"
"Doctor D, inside voice," Shego responded irritably, stepping into the small cabin where Drakken had been spending the majority of his time.
"How much longer?" Drakken hissed.
"Two to three days... we could go faster if we surfaced. We're running on batteries right now."
"I'm well aware of that, Shego. If I wanted to surface, we would." Drakken turned away from her, shifting his attention back to a computer console.
Shego walked up behind him. "Listen, doctor, either you let us surface or you stop asking me every thirty minutes if we're there yet?'"
"Shego, please, can't you see I'm working?" Drakken muttered.
"You're working on my nerves," Shego responded, stepping back into the hallway.
"We're not getting anywhere," Dr. Possible muttered as he and his wife were waiting for the clerk at the police station to return. At last the squat man reappeared, holding out a piece of paper.
"Here you go... bail for the girl is set at $450,000, the boy at $325,000," the clerk said, pointing to the appropriate figures on the document.
"We don't have that kind of money," Mrs. Dr. Possible gasped.
"Ain't my problem," the clerk replied, scratching his chin. He pulled a wad of gum out of his mouth and stuck it on the wall amidst the shriveled wads of it's long since used peers.
"Can we at least see them?" Dr. Possible asked.
"Visiting hours are over for today, you can come back tomorrow at ten AM."
"But they're just kids," Dr. Possible pleaded.
"According to this," the clerk replied, jabbing a fat finger against the document detailing their incarceration, "they are both eighteen."
"She's still my little Kimmie-cub," Dr. Possible said.
"And Ron is, well... Ron," Mrs. Dr. Possible added.
"Can't help you if they are over eighteen. I'll see you tomorrow at ten." With that, the man slammed shut the glass partition that divided his work area from the room. He turned back to his computer, calling up a game of Tetris.
"Rufus!" Ron yelled, jumping to his feet, "I have an idea!"
The mole rat, seated on a bench across the jail cell, rolled his eyes.
"I get one phone call, right?"
"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Rufus chirped.
"What if I call the President?" Ron asked. "He's like, the top guy in the country. If anyone can get me and KP out of jail it's him!"
Rufus nodded his head enthusiastically.
It took Ron a few minutes to wave down a guard, and then some time to convince him that he actually wanted to call the White House. After that, Ron looked through a phone directory, finally finding the number.
"White house information, can I place your call?" a woman asked over the phone, a quiet hustle audible in the background.
"I need to get a hold of the President," Ron answered eagerly.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but you can't contact the president via this line. If you have business with the president, a number should have been provided."
"I didn't exactly have time to ask," Ron responded.
"Sir, again, we can't just have every person who calls get connected with the President... it's just not possible."
"Anything's possible," Ron said. "Hold on a sec." He fished through one of his deep cargo pockets, thankful the search the cops did was not very thorough. Crushed near the bottom of the pocket and covered in crumbs was one of the business cards he'd been given when he was serving as an escort for Princess Jenna.
"I have a card here... and there's a phone number on it. It's 397-221- 8080. Will that one work?"
The woman on the other end of the line was silent for a moment. "How'd you get that? That's an internal number used only by the Secret Service."
"So, it won't connect me to the President?"
"No, it won't. But let me do this. I'll transfer you to secret service and they can decide if you need to talk to the president."
"That's cool."
The transfer took half a minute, and the guard was getting impatient. Finally someone answered.
"Presidential security detachment, Secret Service," a man answered with a low voice.
"Hi, I'm Ron Stoppable... I need to talk with the President." Ron sounded as cheerful as ever, though he was beginning to get a sinking feeling that this was not going to work.
"And what business do you have with the President?"
"I need him to spring me out of jail."
"Dream on bud, unless you have a damn good reason to get a presidential pardon, you can just hang up now."
"I saved his life? Does that work?" Ron asked.
"Wait... what did you say your name was?"
"Stoppable, Ron Stoppable. I was at the convention in LA, the one with the balloons and the dude from Australia and all that."
The man on the other end of the line let out a thoughtful murmur. "Alright, listen. Let me talk to my boss about this, and we'll give you a call back in a bit."
Ron started to protest, not sure if he would get the return call, but the line was already dead. The guard led Ron back to the cell, where he and Rufus sat for half an hour. Each minute that went by seemed to decrease the chance of getting a return call.
"Maybe I should of just ordered a pizza."
Dr. Possible continued to argue with the clerk that he had to see his daughter. Despite his rather rude attempt to end the conversation, the short man hadn't been able to drive Dr. Possible away. Mrs. Dr. Possible, meanwhile, was trying to convince him that his precious Kimmie would be able to survive the night without his help, and they really needed to go back to the hotel room and check on the twins.
The phone rang, and the clerk grabbed it, motioning curtly for Dr. Possible to be quiet. "Baltimore Police Department, how can I help you?" He paused. "No, visiting hours are over... that includes phone calls." The clerk was clearly irritated. "No, I don't know who is calling, and I don't really care." Suddenly, the clerk almost went limp. "You're joking, right?" The clerk checked the caller ID, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach. "I'll get him, hold just a moment." The clerk turned towards the Possibles. "It seems your kids have friends in high places." He left the room.
He returned a few minutes later, Ron in tow. The short man handed the young blonde the receiver, which he took with much enthusiasim.
"Ron here... who dis?"
"Ron," the familiar voice on the other end answered, "this is the President. One of my Secret Service officers said you and Kim were in a bit of a fix?"
"Yeah," Ron lamented, "We're just trying to-"Suddenly, Kim's parents caught his eye. He hadn't noticed the two familiar faces before, and was excited to see them. "Hey Doctors P squared!"
"Ron, excuse me?"
"Oh... sorry Mr. President.. like I was saying..." Ron continued as Kim's parents turned to look at each other, both of them suddenly realizing what the clerk had meant by "friends in high places".
"Ron, I'm impressed," Kim said as she waited for the guard to open her cell door. Ron was standing next to the uniformed man, smiling broadly.
"So not the drama," he quipped.
"A presidential pardon... I never really wanted to need one, but hey, it worked."
"Yeah... of course, the downside is that he asked us to stay some distance from him for a while. Being it's an election year and all, he said a no-questions-asked pardon like this might not look good on his record."
"Low pro, then?"
"Very."
"Alright, Miss Possible," the guard said as he swung open the gate. "You're free to go. Don't hang around Baltimore though, hon... you might have a pardon from the president, but we'll pick you up again if you destroy something else."
"Don't worry," Kim said disgustedly, "I'm outta here as soon as I can find a ride."
"We already got one," Ron said. "Your folks are here."
"Really? How do you know?"
"I'm just that smart Kim."
The cozy hotel room was located just outside the city limits—Kim had insisted they not remain within the city any longer than necessary. She'd explained to her parents that she couldn't come home yet; she still had business to attend too. Though both Doctor Possibles were anxious to have her back, years of Kim's exploits had taught them there was little point in arguing with her when she felt there was something she had to do.
"Wade, do we know where Drakken's submarine is?" Kim asked.
"Not yet, Kim," Wade answered via the communicator. "I'm trying to tap into a government satellite that has a Magnetic Anomaly Detector on board, but this has got to be the toughest code I've ever seen."
"You can't put a MAD in space," Ron said from a small chair in the corner of the room where he had his feet propped up on the tiny breakfast table. "That would just confuse it."
"Ron, first, get your feet off the table, this is a hotel, not my house. You can't trash it," Kim said, pausing while Ron reluctantly complied, "second, how do you know about Magnetic Anomaly Detectors."
"My chopper instructor was a former Navy pilot. He used to fly a type of helo that used one."
"Wait...," Wade said over the communicator, "Ron took lessons on how to fly a helicopter?"
"That's affirmative," Ron said with a smug grin. "After that time you set us up in a pilotless helicopter, I said to myself this ain't happenin' again."
"Seriously, Kim," Wade said, "would you rather have an advanced autopilot or Ron flying?"
"Good point. How many lessons have you taken?"
"Enough... I can fly OK."
"I'll call you back when I have something," Wade said, cutting off his connection.
"So, Ron, fill me in on these Magnetic Anomaly Detectors."
"Well, basically all it does is detect the distortion in the earth's magnetic field that is produced by a really big hunk of metal... like a submarine. An airplane or helicopter can tow it around and if it passes over a submarine, it'll let you know."
Kim was dumbstruck. She couldn't believe that this information had just come out of Ron. "Are you feeling OK?"
"Well, I am hungry. You want to go grab some snackage?"
Kim didn't answer, completely at a loss for words.
"Kim?"
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next installment! ---------------------------------------------
The quiet hum of machinery was lost beneath the roar of Dr. Drakken's voice. "SHEGO!"
"Doctor D, inside voice," Shego responded irritably, stepping into the small cabin where Drakken had been spending the majority of his time.
"How much longer?" Drakken hissed.
"Two to three days... we could go faster if we surfaced. We're running on batteries right now."
"I'm well aware of that, Shego. If I wanted to surface, we would." Drakken turned away from her, shifting his attention back to a computer console.
Shego walked up behind him. "Listen, doctor, either you let us surface or you stop asking me every thirty minutes if we're there yet?'"
"Shego, please, can't you see I'm working?" Drakken muttered.
"You're working on my nerves," Shego responded, stepping back into the hallway.
"We're not getting anywhere," Dr. Possible muttered as he and his wife were waiting for the clerk at the police station to return. At last the squat man reappeared, holding out a piece of paper.
"Here you go... bail for the girl is set at $450,000, the boy at $325,000," the clerk said, pointing to the appropriate figures on the document.
"We don't have that kind of money," Mrs. Dr. Possible gasped.
"Ain't my problem," the clerk replied, scratching his chin. He pulled a wad of gum out of his mouth and stuck it on the wall amidst the shriveled wads of it's long since used peers.
"Can we at least see them?" Dr. Possible asked.
"Visiting hours are over for today, you can come back tomorrow at ten AM."
"But they're just kids," Dr. Possible pleaded.
"According to this," the clerk replied, jabbing a fat finger against the document detailing their incarceration, "they are both eighteen."
"She's still my little Kimmie-cub," Dr. Possible said.
"And Ron is, well... Ron," Mrs. Dr. Possible added.
"Can't help you if they are over eighteen. I'll see you tomorrow at ten." With that, the man slammed shut the glass partition that divided his work area from the room. He turned back to his computer, calling up a game of Tetris.
"Rufus!" Ron yelled, jumping to his feet, "I have an idea!"
The mole rat, seated on a bench across the jail cell, rolled his eyes.
"I get one phone call, right?"
"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Rufus chirped.
"What if I call the President?" Ron asked. "He's like, the top guy in the country. If anyone can get me and KP out of jail it's him!"
Rufus nodded his head enthusiastically.
It took Ron a few minutes to wave down a guard, and then some time to convince him that he actually wanted to call the White House. After that, Ron looked through a phone directory, finally finding the number.
"White house information, can I place your call?" a woman asked over the phone, a quiet hustle audible in the background.
"I need to get a hold of the President," Ron answered eagerly.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but you can't contact the president via this line. If you have business with the president, a number should have been provided."
"I didn't exactly have time to ask," Ron responded.
"Sir, again, we can't just have every person who calls get connected with the President... it's just not possible."
"Anything's possible," Ron said. "Hold on a sec." He fished through one of his deep cargo pockets, thankful the search the cops did was not very thorough. Crushed near the bottom of the pocket and covered in crumbs was one of the business cards he'd been given when he was serving as an escort for Princess Jenna.
"I have a card here... and there's a phone number on it. It's 397-221- 8080. Will that one work?"
The woman on the other end of the line was silent for a moment. "How'd you get that? That's an internal number used only by the Secret Service."
"So, it won't connect me to the President?"
"No, it won't. But let me do this. I'll transfer you to secret service and they can decide if you need to talk to the president."
"That's cool."
The transfer took half a minute, and the guard was getting impatient. Finally someone answered.
"Presidential security detachment, Secret Service," a man answered with a low voice.
"Hi, I'm Ron Stoppable... I need to talk with the President." Ron sounded as cheerful as ever, though he was beginning to get a sinking feeling that this was not going to work.
"And what business do you have with the President?"
"I need him to spring me out of jail."
"Dream on bud, unless you have a damn good reason to get a presidential pardon, you can just hang up now."
"I saved his life? Does that work?" Ron asked.
"Wait... what did you say your name was?"
"Stoppable, Ron Stoppable. I was at the convention in LA, the one with the balloons and the dude from Australia and all that."
The man on the other end of the line let out a thoughtful murmur. "Alright, listen. Let me talk to my boss about this, and we'll give you a call back in a bit."
Ron started to protest, not sure if he would get the return call, but the line was already dead. The guard led Ron back to the cell, where he and Rufus sat for half an hour. Each minute that went by seemed to decrease the chance of getting a return call.
"Maybe I should of just ordered a pizza."
Dr. Possible continued to argue with the clerk that he had to see his daughter. Despite his rather rude attempt to end the conversation, the short man hadn't been able to drive Dr. Possible away. Mrs. Dr. Possible, meanwhile, was trying to convince him that his precious Kimmie would be able to survive the night without his help, and they really needed to go back to the hotel room and check on the twins.
The phone rang, and the clerk grabbed it, motioning curtly for Dr. Possible to be quiet. "Baltimore Police Department, how can I help you?" He paused. "No, visiting hours are over... that includes phone calls." The clerk was clearly irritated. "No, I don't know who is calling, and I don't really care." Suddenly, the clerk almost went limp. "You're joking, right?" The clerk checked the caller ID, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach. "I'll get him, hold just a moment." The clerk turned towards the Possibles. "It seems your kids have friends in high places." He left the room.
He returned a few minutes later, Ron in tow. The short man handed the young blonde the receiver, which he took with much enthusiasim.
"Ron here... who dis?"
"Ron," the familiar voice on the other end answered, "this is the President. One of my Secret Service officers said you and Kim were in a bit of a fix?"
"Yeah," Ron lamented, "We're just trying to-"Suddenly, Kim's parents caught his eye. He hadn't noticed the two familiar faces before, and was excited to see them. "Hey Doctors P squared!"
"Ron, excuse me?"
"Oh... sorry Mr. President.. like I was saying..." Ron continued as Kim's parents turned to look at each other, both of them suddenly realizing what the clerk had meant by "friends in high places".
"Ron, I'm impressed," Kim said as she waited for the guard to open her cell door. Ron was standing next to the uniformed man, smiling broadly.
"So not the drama," he quipped.
"A presidential pardon... I never really wanted to need one, but hey, it worked."
"Yeah... of course, the downside is that he asked us to stay some distance from him for a while. Being it's an election year and all, he said a no-questions-asked pardon like this might not look good on his record."
"Low pro, then?"
"Very."
"Alright, Miss Possible," the guard said as he swung open the gate. "You're free to go. Don't hang around Baltimore though, hon... you might have a pardon from the president, but we'll pick you up again if you destroy something else."
"Don't worry," Kim said disgustedly, "I'm outta here as soon as I can find a ride."
"We already got one," Ron said. "Your folks are here."
"Really? How do you know?"
"I'm just that smart Kim."
The cozy hotel room was located just outside the city limits—Kim had insisted they not remain within the city any longer than necessary. She'd explained to her parents that she couldn't come home yet; she still had business to attend too. Though both Doctor Possibles were anxious to have her back, years of Kim's exploits had taught them there was little point in arguing with her when she felt there was something she had to do.
"Wade, do we know where Drakken's submarine is?" Kim asked.
"Not yet, Kim," Wade answered via the communicator. "I'm trying to tap into a government satellite that has a Magnetic Anomaly Detector on board, but this has got to be the toughest code I've ever seen."
"You can't put a MAD in space," Ron said from a small chair in the corner of the room where he had his feet propped up on the tiny breakfast table. "That would just confuse it."
"Ron, first, get your feet off the table, this is a hotel, not my house. You can't trash it," Kim said, pausing while Ron reluctantly complied, "second, how do you know about Magnetic Anomaly Detectors."
"My chopper instructor was a former Navy pilot. He used to fly a type of helo that used one."
"Wait...," Wade said over the communicator, "Ron took lessons on how to fly a helicopter?"
"That's affirmative," Ron said with a smug grin. "After that time you set us up in a pilotless helicopter, I said to myself this ain't happenin' again."
"Seriously, Kim," Wade said, "would you rather have an advanced autopilot or Ron flying?"
"Good point. How many lessons have you taken?"
"Enough... I can fly OK."
"I'll call you back when I have something," Wade said, cutting off his connection.
"So, Ron, fill me in on these Magnetic Anomaly Detectors."
"Well, basically all it does is detect the distortion in the earth's magnetic field that is produced by a really big hunk of metal... like a submarine. An airplane or helicopter can tow it around and if it passes over a submarine, it'll let you know."
Kim was dumbstruck. She couldn't believe that this information had just come out of Ron. "Are you feeling OK?"
"Well, I am hungry. You want to go grab some snackage?"
Kim didn't answer, completely at a loss for words.
"Kim?"