A Map Made in Heaven
Part 1

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Babbleonanonia
June 1940

The fiery orange sun, half concealed by a rocky hill, sat low in the cloudless western sky, pausing for a last look at this corner of the world before retiring for the night. As it had done for countless centuries, it placidly gazed into a shallow basin ringed with hills - an arid basin containing slowly shifting sand.

Located within this basin were the ruins of an ancient metropolis known as Loquacity. Crumbling stone pillars, decaying temples, eroding statues, and the shaky shell of the great palace stood desolate and dark against the sunset.

Loquacity had once been the hub of a prosperous empire. At its peak - circa 560 B.C. - the city had teemed with people. Tribute from conquered nations filled its overflowing coffers. Its palace had been the largest and most elaborate in the region. Its rulers had been, in turn, the most benevolent and the most tyrannical. Centuries after a rival empire had burned Loquacity and captured its surviving citizens, the city had remained silent save for the howling of the hot wind.

Since Loquacity's rediscovery in 1915, archeologists had been constant visitors. Today was no exception. An archeological team from the neighboring country of Aridia was studying the catacombs that were dug into the hills surrounding Loquacity. This team consisted of Dr. Myra Foxworthy and a native guide.

While the sun slipped beneath the horizon, the guide - a pudgy, scruffy tan canine in a loose fitting blue shirt and baggy green trousers - packed equipment into canvas pouches that were slung over the camel's back. He cast numerous wary glances at the big, black gaping holes in the hills where thousands upon thousands of skeletons reposed. Anxiously, he said, "Excuse me, Effendi, but the sun has gone down. Is it not time to retire?"

Myra - a petite brown fox wearing a khaki shirt, matching shorts, and pith helmet - was circling what looked like an ordinary sand dune. The lack of daylight didn't bother her. She shone her flashlight all over the dune, judging its size and shape with a critical eye. "I can't quit now. I have a feeling that this is Emperor Karat's tomb. According to my research and the evidence that we found today, it should be at this very spot." She took a small brush from her pocket and started to vigorously brush sand away from the mound's surface.

"That is what she said yesterday," the guide murmured wearily to the camel. "And the day before that. Crazy archeologists and their dead people." Since early that morning, they had traversed miles of treacherous catacombs filled with rats, snakes, and other vermin. In his opinion, they had accomplished nothing, and, most importantly, they had come out with nothing.

As if in agreement, the camel snorted softly.

The guide slouched tiredly against the camel, watching as darkness consumed the desert. A myriad of stars twinkled in the inky black sky. A sliver of a crescent moon hung in the east. The wind wailed ominously through the catacombs; it sounded as if the dead were trying to reach him, to warn him, from beyond the grave. His mind became flooded with all of the scary, superstitious tales that he had heard in his youth. Despite the warm temperature, he shivered.

"I think I found something!" Myra brushed more sand away from the ochre-colored stone that she had revealed. Giddy as a schoolgirl, the seasoned archeologist pushed her square, wire-rimmed glasses further up on her nose to read the cuneiform characters that were etched into the stone. "It is! The long-lost tomb of Emperor Karat has been found!"

Her contagious enthusiasm as well as the prospect of a great discovery made the guide forget his fears. He hurried over to help. He, too, started to scoop sand away from the tomb using his hands.

Long into the night, they continued to move sand, stopping now and again to study the ornate, yet functional, cuneiform pictographs that covered the beehive-shaped tomb.

Hours later, the guide sat back on his heels, puffing and sweating from the exertion of moving heavy sand. "Perhaps this is not Emperor Karat's tomb, Effendi. We have dug on all sides. There is no door."

"There must be a door somewhere." The indefatigable Myra shone her flashlight at the sand-encrusted cuneiform carvings. Using her fingers, she dug sand from between the pictographs. "Ah-ha! To open door, press bellybutton," she deciphered. "Bellybutton?"

The guide's face mirrored her confusion. He repeated the unfamiliar term. "Bellybutton?"

The flashlight's beam danced over the tomb as Myra searched for another clue. Then, she spotted something - the cuneiform character meaning 'bellybutton'. "Of course!" She pressed that specific stone block and stood back, smiling expectantly.

An avalanche of sand from the top of the tomb accompanied a low rumbling - the sound of stone scraping against stone. A door slid open before their very eyes.

For a second, Myra and the guide stood there, choking on sand and dust. Then, they rushed to the open doorway and peered in with wide, awestruck eyes. Inside, all was darkness. The air was stale in the cool, dry tomb.

"And to think that no one has been here for over two thousand years," Myra murmured, sweeping her flashlight from side to side as she stepped in.

They were in a large, round room filled with amazingly well-preserved treasures. Carved chairs, painted urns, ornate headdresses, and jewelry had been placed in the tomb to honor the dead. Every inch of the walls and domed ceiling were covered with colorful, two-dimensional murals depicting ancient gods, Emperor Karat's greatness, and everyday life in ancient Loquacity.

And in the middle of the room, upon a golden dias, was the jewel-encrusted sarcophagus of Emperor Karat.

Myra struck a match and lit the torches embedded in the walls. While the guide examined the delicately-crafted jewelry, the archeologist gravitated towards the sarcophagus. She took her brush and gently dusted off the thin layer of sand to reveal an austere tiger's face embossed in gold and onyx on the sarcophagus's lid.

"Do you require my assistance, Effendi?" the guide asked absently, fingering a golden necklace with a tiger-shaped jade pendant. He quickly dropped it when Myra glanced his way.

"Oh, yes. If you could just..."

Together, they managed to slide the heavy lid partially off of the sarcophagus, revealing the head and upper torso of the mummy.

"Nice to finally meet you, Emperor Karat," Myra whispered reverently to the swathed remains of Loquacity's most powerful ruler.

The guide shuddered at the sight of the mummy. He quickly returned to the jewelry.

Myra let out a gasp when she saw something clutched in the mummy's brittle hands crossed upon his breast. "It really does exist! The fabled treasure map of Emperor Karat."

"Treasure map?" the guide said, trying not to sound too interested. He poked the necklace deeper into his pocket.

"According to legend, Emperor Karat was obsessed with gems, especially diamonds. He hoarded jewels in a secret place, the location of which was known only to him and his most trusted advisor. No one's sure how much he collected, but it's said that one percent of the collection would make the owner rich beyond imagining."

The guide reached for the yellowed piece of parchment, saying, "Perhaps we should look for this treasure. It would indeed be a great archeological find."

Perceiving his greedy intentions, Myra added quickly, "It's also said that there will be ten terrible curses cast on anyone who removes even the tiniest gem from the collection."

"Surely you do not believe in ancient curses," he scoffed. Again, he stretched his grimy, fat fingers towards the map. He, himself, happened to believe in curses, but many wealthy buyers did not - much to his delight and profit.

Myra shook her head vehemently and swatted his hand away. "I've seen too much in my line of work. I can't afford to not believe in ancient curses," she countered. "We must leave it untouched until we get it back to the museum at Aridia. Then we can properly catalog and study it. You must promise not to tell anyone about it. It's a priceless artifact that belongs in a museum."

Myra didn't see the sly gleam in guide's eyes when he bowed humbly and murmured, "If you wish it absolutely, Effendi."

"Good," Myra said with a satisfied, trusting smile. "Help me get this lid back on. I must contact the Babbleonanonian officials right away!"

With difficulty, they slid the lid back on the sarcophagus.

Higher for Hire
The Next Afternoon

Rebecca von Bruinwald, a petite brown bearess wearing a magenta cardigan over a white turtleneck and purple slacks, sat at her desk, talking to a prospective client on the telephone while simultaneously trying to prevent her eleven-month-old daughter Cassie from chewing on the phone cord.

"No, baby, don't eat that," Rebecca admonished quietly. She picked up a rubber giraffe and squeaked it in front of Cassie's face.

With a delighted "Eeee!", the little grey bearess wearing a lavender sun dress grabbed the toy and began slobbering on its head instead.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Bixby. Could you repeat that?" Rebecca said into the phone.

The door of the office/living room opened and in stepped the bearess's husband, Baloo. The big grey bear wearing a button-down yellow shirt and red pilot's hat greeted her with a smile and a cheerful, "Hi-ya, Beckers. Made it back from Kalakazoo, Wishagen." For the hundredth time that day, he started to sing Glen Miller's latest hit, "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I got a gal in Kalakazoo..."

Behind him trailed fifteen-year-old Kit, a lanky brown bear cub who hadn't quite filled out around his height. The boy, who was slightly taller than his adopted father's shoulders, seemed to be all arms and legs. His bony wrists protruded from his green pullover. Kit was listening to his nine-year-old sister, Molly, a pretty yellow bearess wearing a pink T-shirt and blue shorts, chatter on about navigation.

"I gotta learn how to navigate now so I can be your navigator when you start flying, Kit," Molly said earnestly. "That's only two years away."

Plopping down on the sage green couch, Kit took off his blue baseball cap and studied it. It was almost too small for him, but so special that he didn't want to give up wearing it. He said cautiously, "I dunno, sis. Navigation's a hard thing to learn, and you're kinda young."

"You knew how to navigate when you were my age. You said so!"

"That was different."

"Different how?" Hands on hips, Molly glared at him defiantly.

Exasperated, Rebecca said in her polite phone voice, "Excuse me a moment, Mr. Bixby." She put her hand over the receiver and whispered loudly, "Guys, keep it down! I'm on the phone!" She shot a reproving look at Kit and Molly, then whispered, "Take her, Baloo," gesturing to Cassie, who was now trying to devour a pencil.

Baloo scooped Cassie in his arms and repeatedly tossed her in the air, prompting joyful squeals and giggles from the baby.

With a sigh of relief, Rebecca turned her undivided attention to the client on the telephone. "Can you please repeat that, sir?...Yes, sir. You can have the utmost confidence that Higher for Hire will deliver your cargo anywhere in the world, on time, and for far less money than the competition. We even promise same-day delivery."

Meanwhile, Cassie had wriggled out of Baloo's arms and had gone in search of a new amusement. She toddled over to a pot and wooden spoon that were lying on the floor near the stairs and started 'drumming'.

Grinning, Baloo got his bongos from the top of the filing cabinet and joined her on the stairs. His drumming added to the cacophony. He proclaimed proudly, "Lookee, gang. We got us a new member for Louie's Aloha Night Band."

"That noise?...Oh, no, that's not a fire alarm. That's just my youngest daughter." Rebecca glared at Baloo and mouthed, "Stop that!"

However, Baloo was too engrossed in playing that he ignored her, causing Rebecca's anger level to be upgraded from 'mildly peeved' to 'really steamed'.

Rebecca covered her free ear to block out the noise. Sotto voce, she said, "I'd like to stick those bongos in that fat bear's ear!" Aloud, she said pleasantly, "Oh, you have a little girl, too? How nice. Now, about that contract...Eighteen months, huh? That is a cute age." She forced a polite laugh. "A quarter up each nostril? Kids will do the darndest things...Mine? Kit's fifteen, Molly's nine, and Cassie's almost one. I could tell you some stories..." Straining to hear Mr. Bixby's reply over the din, she shot death glares at her soon-to-be late family.

Baloo and Cassie continued their enthusiastic jam session, while, on the other side of the room, Kit's and Molly's argument escalated.

"Navigation's not all fun and games, Molly. Some cargo runs are dangerous," Kit pointed out. "There's a war on. Then, there's air pirates, storms..."

"I know," Molly interrupted impatiently. "You've told me all this lots of times."

In the infuriatingly superior air of a real man-of-the-world, fifteen-year-old Kit retorted, "But you haven't been through it. There's a big difference between knowing about it and actually going through it. Baloo and I are used to danger."

"I can get used to danger, too!" Molly shouted. "Stop treating me like a little kid!"

Kit stood. At his full height, he towered over his sister. He ruffled his hair, laughing, "You are a little kid, Short Stuff!"

"Am not!"

"Are, too!"

"Am not!"

"Are, too!"

Through gritted teeth, Rebecca said, "Yes, children are wonderful, Mr. Bixby. Excuse me a second. I must check up on the...ahem...little angels." She put a hand over the receiver and yelled at the top of her lungs, "Enough!"

A startled silence fell over Baloo and the cubs.

Frustrated, frazzled, and furious, Rebecca whispered, "If any one of you so much as thinks about making a sound while I am on this phone, you will be living on bread and water for a month!"

Baloo swiftly grabbed the spoon from Cassie.

In a honeyed voice, Rebecca said into the phone, "What were you saying, sir? A...a play date? Why, um, yes, that would be a wonderful idea! Simply marvelous! I'm sure your Susie would get along with my Cassie very nicely. Just name the date...July 2nd at two o'clock? That will work just fine. I'm looking forward to meeting you and Susie. Thank you very, very much for your time, Mr. Bixby. Bye."

Rebecca hung up the receiver. For a moment, it looked like she would scream or cry or both. Then, to everyone's amazement, she smiled and made a notation in her appointment book. "One play date closer to landing the Bixby Ballpoint Pen account. Thank you, Cassie."

Cassie happily pounded on the pot with her little palms. Seeing that his wife's temper had cooled, Baloo resumed tentative playing of the bongos.

"Mom, tell Kit that he has to teach me navigation. He promised he would," Molly whined, running up to her mother.

Rebecca sighed wearily and rubbed her temples. It had been a long day. Between trying to line up new clientele and appeasing existing clients, she had a tension headache. The last thing she needed was a case of sibling rivalry. "Kit, come over here."

"Now you're in trouble," Molly said with a smirk.

Kit wandered over to the desk and stood in front of it, fiddling with his baseball cap.

Rebecca had to crane her neck to look her tall son in the eye. "Teach her the basics, please. For me?"

Kit shot an annoyed look at his sister, who was batting her eyelashes at him. "Okay, Mom, but just the basics."

"Yippee!" Molly cried.

"Molly, I don't want you pestering your brother," Rebecca warned.

"I won't." Molly grabbed Kit's paw, dragging him outside to the Sea Duck. "C'mon, Kit, teach me right now."

But before they reached the door, Kit's friends, the former Jungle Aces, came walking in - tan hyena Ernie, grey hippo Felix, brown rabbit Sam, white crane Burt, and beige bear Oscar.

Ernie, the unofficial leader of the gang, was saying, "If Usland was in the war, we'd blast old Hilter out of the water in no time. He wouldn't know what hit him."

"Yeah!" the other boys agreed heartily.

"Just wait 'til we're old enough," added Burt.

"We'll show him a thing or two," Felix said confidently.

Baloo and Rebecca exchanged worried glances.

"What's up, guys?" Kit said, pulling his hand away from Molly's.

"We're going to the malt shop," Oscar said, pushing his round wire-rimmed glasses further up his nose. "Wanna come along, Kit?"

"You bet." Anything was better than teaching complicated navigation to his sister. He knew that precocious Molly wouldn't be totally lost when he taught her navigation, but he didn't want to spend his summer vacation in school, so to speak.

"I'm ready," Molly chimed in, squeezing into the circle of big boys.

"You can't go, pipsqueak," Ernie laughed.

Molly fixed her indignant eyes on him. "Why not?"

Sam said, "We're gonna talk about cars, planes, and girls."

"I'm a girl," the nine-year-old said, pointing to herself. "I know all about girls."

"Not the right kind of girl," Ernie countered.

"What's the right kind of girl?" Molly said wonderingly.

Ernie outlined a curvy female silhouette with his hands. "Big girls, if ya know what I mean," prompting a few snickers from the other teenagers as they headed outside.

Kit frowned at Ernie's back. He said quickly, "Never mind, Molly."

Oscar, the only boy besides Kit who hadn't laughed at Ernie's tasteless remark, explained with a kind smile, "High school girls."

"Maybe next time, little sis," Kit said, affectionately tugging on one of Molly's blue hair ribbons.

Molly turned on her heel and stomped into the kitchen, muttering dourly, "Too young to do this. Too young to do that."

"Got any money, Kit?" Rebecca asked.

Kit produced a five dollar bill from his pocket.

"Hey, where was that when we were in Kalakazoo, an' I wanted a burger and fries?" Baloo exclaimed, missing a beat on the bongos.

"Guess I forgot I had it, Papa Bear." Kit shrugged and flashed a mischievous grin at Baloo before leaving.

Baloo said glumly, "It's a conspiracy. You're all tryin' ta keep me hungry."

"No, we're trying to keep you healthy," Rebecca rejoined, giggling at his dejected expression.

"Mom, we're all out of Frosty Pep," Molly sang, coming from the kitchen.

A crafty idea lit up Baloo's eyes. He saw his chance to get ice cream, too, and he took it. "No Frosty Pep, huh? How's 'bout I treat my gals to some ice cream at the corner stand?" He tapped out "Shave and a Haircut" on the bongos.

"Yeah!" Molly shouted.

"Yeah!" Cassie echoed, imitating her big sister. She enthusiastically banged the wooden spoon against the step.

"C'mon, sweetheart," Baloo wheedled, crossing the room to wrap an arm around his wife's shoulders. "One little ice cream cone never hurt nobody." At risk of life and limb, he added, "All work an' no play makes Becky a cranky gal."

"I'm not cranky!" Rebecca snapped, her eyes flashing. Then, abashed, she murmured contritely, "Maybe I am a little, but you would be too if you had to put up with what I have to put up with." Her gaze shifted from the girls to her husband, all of whom were smiling expectantly at her. Once again, she was outnumbered. Not for the last time did she wonder: How does Baloo always manage to get around me? "Okay, we'll go."

Baloo dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then reached for his wallet. It was empty except for his pilot's license and a few photographs. "Uh, got any money, honey?"

Rebecca, anticipating her husband's lack of cash, had already retrieved her purse from her desk.

Out they stepped into the mellow afternoon sunshine. Molly and Cassie, hand-in-hand, led the way. Baloo and Rebecca, also holding hands, followed. They traversed the three blocks to ice cream stand where they all got ice cream cones. Then, they sat on a nearby bench to enjoy the sweet treats.

Since it was Cassie's first ice cream cone, more of the sticky vanilla ice cream got on her clothes and face than in her mouth. She shied away with an impatient squeal when Rebecca tried to mop her messy face with a napkin. Meanwhile, Baloo, seated beside Rebecca, held a chocolate ice cream cone in each hand - his and Rebecca's. He hungrily slurped down his ice cream and furtively took a lick of Rebecca's when she wasn't looking.

Molly, sitting on the other side of Baloo, asked between licks of her Frosty Pep, "Daddy, how old does Kit have to be before he goes to war?"

The pilot was so startled by the question that he accidentally shoved Rebecca's cone in her nose, inciting an indignant, "Baloo!"

"Sorry, Beckers." He dabbed at the ice cream dripping from her face while Rebecca said, "Don't worry about that, honey. Kit won't be old enough for three years."

Molly thought about that for a while. Quietly, she inquired, "Will the war be over in three years?"

"I hope so, Pumpkin." Rebecca, giving up the losing battle of cleaning Cassie's face, glanced at her husband. He had that scared, sick look on his face as he did every time the subject of war came up, which was becoming more often with each passing day. With a comforting pat on his arm, she took her ice cream cone from him, noting its greatly diminished size with a frown. She pointed at her ice cream, which had been leveled off to the cone.

Grinning foolishly, Baloo shrugged. "Hey, it was meltin'."

"Melting on your tongue," Rebecca said sarcastically before taking a bite of her cone. "Let's talk about something fun. What do you want to do on your summer vacation, Molly?"

"Go on all the cargo runs with Daddy and Kit, have lots of adventures, and learn to navigate," was her prompt answer.

Finishing his cone, Baloo beamed at her and affectionately tousled her hair. "That's a lot for one summer, Button-nose."

"Yup, but I can do it," Molly said proudly, also finishing off her cone.

"Do you think that you could fit a family vacation in your busy schedule, Miss Molly?" Rebecca asked with a smile.

"Sure, Mom." Molly giggled.

"Lake Flaccid, here we come! Wahoo!" Baloo whooped like an excited little boy. "When can we go, Becky? When? When?"

Rebecca held up a silencing hand. "First, there's good news and bad news."

"Let's get the bad news over with," Baloo said, steeling himself by gripping the bench with both hands.

"I don't think we can afford a week at Lake Flaccid this year."

Baloo's face fell. "No campin'? No fishin'?"

"No swimming? No toasting marshmallows over the campfire?" Molly said disappointedly.

Eyes twinkling, Rebecca said cheerfully, "The good news is that there's a little extra money in the 'fun fund' this year. I think we could do more than just a week at Lake Flaccid."

"Two weeks?" Baloo said incredulously, looking as if Christmas had come early. He hugged Rebecca, ice cream cone and all. "Man, you're the best little wife a guy ever had, Becky."

Rebecca ruefully looked at the cold chocolate blob on her white turtleneck. "I'm the messiest little wife a guy ever had."

Grinning from ear to ear, he wiped her shirt with a wad of napkins, but only managed to smear the stain around more. "Soon as we get home, I'll have Wildcat tune up the Duck."

"The car, Baloo," Rebecca corrected, playfully swatting his hand away.

"The car?" Baloo echoed, surprised. "What for? We can put more campin' gear in the Duck."

"We're not going camping."

"We're not? But you just said..."

"I want to take a road trip. See some of the sights with the kids before...before...we can't." Munching on the last of her cone, she gave Baloo a solemn, meaningful glance, one that even he understood.

"You mean because of the war, Mom?" Molly surmised, also understanding her mother's look.

Rebecca took Cassie on her lap, cuddling the cub protectively. She sighed sadly. "Yes, honey, because of the war."

In spite of the dark shadow that the encroaching war threw over her family, Molly's face lit up with a sunshiny smile. "I can't wait to tell Kit about the vacation!"

Prison Island
That Same Day

Thirty miles northwest of Cape Suzette, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, a yellow seaplane taxi landed at the dock outside of Prison Island. A short brown weasel paid the taxi driver, told him to wait, and alighted. The weasel - one Marion A. Weazel - tilted his head back to look up at the prison. The slate grey stone building loomed mountain-like before him - a formidable fortress complete with barbed wire, searchlights and the tightest security in the world. Eight stories housing Usland's worst criminals.

Weazel gulped nervously. He, himself, had been freed from the Cape Suzette jail only months before.

Two-and-a-half years ago, he had been incarcerated as an accessory to a crime. The Heimlich Maneuver, which had united every criminal in the city under the leadership of criminal mastermind Heimlich Menudo, had been a diabolical plan - threatening to bomb Cape Suzette if they didn't turn over every diamond. But, because of police intervention as well as a meddling skywriting pilot, the Heimlich Maneuver had choked up and died. On the day that he was locked up behind bars, Weazel vowed that if he ever found that bear again, he would find some way to pay him back.

His legs feeling like jelly, Weazel gathered up his courage as well as the newspaper he carried and strolled inside. At the front desk, he was greeted by a porcine policeman dressed in a navy blue uniform.

Taking a sip of coffee to wash down his donut, Officer Malarkey's shrewd eyes surreptitiously took in every detail of the weasel from the top of his frayed brown fedora to the button missing on the jacket of his cheap green suit. "Checking in, Weasel?" The cool question betrayed his Irish brogue.

It took every ounce of self-control for Weazel not to correct the mispronunciation of his name. Running a finger around the inside of his collar, he mumbled, "No...um, I'm here to visit, uh, my cousin. Yeah, that's it. My cousin. Came to wish him a, uh, happy birthday."

"And who might this cousin be?"

Weazel gulped again, clutching the crumpled newspaper in his sweaty hands. "Heimlich. Heimlich Menudo."

"Hmm..." As if trying to read his thoughts, the officer fixed his piercing black eyes on the weasel, who was fidgeting like a man in desperate need of a bathroom. "Okay, but before I let you see your cousin," Weazel winced; "you'll have to undergo a weapons search. Standard procedure."

Weazel nodded.

Officer Malarkey patted the weasel's pockets; then, finding no weapons, seized the newspaper from him and searched through every page. Finding nothing, he handed it back to Weazel with a brisk, "Follow me."

They quickly walked down a long, grey-tiled hallway. At the end of the hall, Weazel was shown into a small room with three cubicles. Weazel sat down at the middle one and waited impatiently.

After a few minutes, Heimlich Menudo was led out, handcuffed to an armed guard. Years of being in prison had done little to alter the former crime boss. The brawny hyena's eyes were still steely, his countenance still determined, his spirit still unbroken. Heimlich sat down opposite Weazel. Between them was a bulletproof glass partition that stretched from the top of the desk to the ceiling.

Both picked up a telephone receiver hanging on the wall.

"Hello, cousin," Weazel said, casting nervous glances at the guard, especially the guard's gun that was right at his eye level.

"Nice to see you, too," Heimlich said with a thick German accent. He grinned at his former lackey, flashing a mouthful of broken diamond teeth. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"I thought that I would bring you a present on your birthday."

Heimlich lifted his eyebrows with an amused smile. "Ah...I see. A cake with a file hidden in it?"

Weazel laughed nervously. "Uh, not quite."

"Soap so that I can wash my roommate's socks? I'm telling you, that dog is disgusting!"

"No, Heimlich. Something better." Weazel pressed the front page of the Cape Suzette Tribune to the glass.

Heimlich's eyes lit up at the headline, which read, "Emperor Karat's Treasure Map Unearthed". "Ah...yes, truly a wonderful birthday gift. And a very unique one."

Weazel beamed at the rare praise. "You always said that it was a lifelong dream to find Emperor Karat's diamond stash."

Squinting, Heimlich peered at the picture beneath the headline. His smile widened. "And it is doubly wonderful to see an old friend."

"Thank you, Heimlich. It's good to see you, too," Weazel replied, blushing a little.

"Not you, Weasel," Heimlich snapped.

"Uh, it's Weazel."

"Whatever," Heimlich said curtly. "No, this picture. The stalwart fellow behind the archeologist lady. It has been too many years since I've seen Kazim."

"Who?" Weazel said, turning the newspaper around so that he could look at the grainy photo.

Heimlich glanced out of the corner of his eye at the guard before whispering into the phone, "Withdraw $200,000 out of my Swizz bank account. You still have my authorization signature?"

Weazel nodded, vainly trying to remember where he had put that important little slip of paper.

"Contact Kazim in Aridia and make him an offer for the map."

"With the $200,000, Heimlich?" Weazel whispered.

"Of course, you fool!" Heimlich angrily ground what was left of his teeth.

"But what if he refuses?" Weazel asked timidly.

"Make him an offer he can't refuse. Give him all my money, if necessary. I must have that map at any cost! Do you understand me, Weasel?"

"That's Weazel."

"Whatever. For your loyalty, you also will be rewarded. Take about...let's say $200 dollars for yourself and get a new suit."

Weazel looked down at his suit, wondering what was wrong with it. "Thank you, sir. That's very generous of you."

"I know," Heimlich said magnanimously.

The guard's booming voice rang through the room. "Time's up, Menudo."

"Do not forget all that I have told you, and do not mess up!" said Heimlich as the guard yanked him to his feet, making him drop the receiver.

"No problem, Heimlich. It'll be a piece of cake," Weazel said with more confidence than he felt. "Uh, happy birthday, cousin!" he called as Heimlich Menudo was led back to his cell.

Weazel folded up the newspaper, placed it in his jacket pocket, and exited the room. Officer Malarkey was there, just outside the door, waiting to escort him back to the entrance.

"Kazim. Aridia. $200,000. Swizz bank account. Treasure map," Weazel repeated over and over under his breath.

"What did you say?" the officer asked, peering down at the little weasel walking beside him.

Weazel's beady eyes studied the floor until he came up with a good story. "Uh...it's just my, um, grocery list. I need to, uh, pick up a few things for my wife on the way home. Milk, bread, chicken soup." He quickly slipped outside to avoid the officer's suspicious eyes.

After the door had shut, Officer Malarkey, choosing a powdered donut from the box, said sardonically, "Sure, and I'll be believing that cockamamie story when pigs fly, Weasel."

"It's Weazel!" the weasel said angrily, opening the door to correct the officer. He slammed the door and stomped down the dock to the waiting taxi, murmuring, "Kazim. Aridia. $200,000. Swizz bank account. Treasure map..."

End of part 1