1Chapter 3

Watermarks and Fancy Flying

As it turned out, there had been no need to cross my fingers about it. We found a plane (albeit a personal plane) headed for Russia with literally no problems, and were soon landed in its cargo bay beside the landing gear. Chip decided to take the opportunity to press our new acquaintance for more clues.

"Tell us more about Miss Marskov, Jules. Anything that could help us find her assassin," said Chip, turning to regard the mouse he was sitting next to. They were sort of cramped in the back seat.

Jules extracted his white handkerchief again and mopped at his brow, then fished in his pocket and brought out a leather wallet. He handed it to Monterey. "In there you will find several pictures of Miss Marskov. She is, as I have said, a Russian actress. She is very famous and extremely wealthy. And while she does exhibit some of the, erm, characteristics of one in her position," he laughed nervously, "you know, spending money extravagantly and so forth, she is a very sweet woman, and has never tried to offend anyone. We are therefore at a loss to her enemy's motive."

Monterey examined the pictures and let out a slow whistle. "Tu-ra-loo! Miss Universe better watch her back."

Jules smiled smugly as the pictures were passed to an excited Chip and Dale. "Yes, it's true."

Chip and Dale's eyes grew round as silver dollars at the sight of the actress. "Wowee!" exclaimed Dale. Chip turned red.

"Let me see," I said, holding my hand out expectantly. After a few seconds, the boys grudgingly relinquished their hold on the wallet, but not before Dale collapsed over backwards mumbling incoherently.

Sophia Marskov was indeed gorgeous, and looked like a queen. A young queen. The mouse didn't look like she was too much older than me, but all the same had a look of condescension and wealth about her. I flipped the pictures slowly, watching her outfit and hair style change. All the photographs appeared to be professional portraits of her, but the last photo was the one I was most interested in. Sophia was standing next to a large fountain in a garden, wearing black slacks and a short sleeved blouse. She was grinning widely at the camera, eyes twinkling like jade. She seemed real in that photo.

Jules saw me looking. "I took that picture of her a few months ago on her birthday. That fountain is in her garden right below her window. Lovely, isn't she?"

I nodded. "I like her," I decided, smiling as I watched Sohpia's ebony hair bounce over her shoulders, framing the delicately pale, pointed face. I looked up at Jules. "I like her a lot."

Jules nodded and reclaimed his wallet. "Yes. She's probably not too much older than you, Miss Gadget. Only twenty-six."

There was silence for a moment before Chip renewed his detective act. "No clues whatsoever about the assassin?"

"No. We do believe that the assassin is a hired hit-man, according to the last letter, but other than that..." He frowned for a moment. "Ah! And there is one other thing." He took out the dreadful letter again, unfurling it. "All of the notes were written on the same paper."

"So?" asked Dale, looking disappointed.

"Nothing else? No signature or anything?" Chip asked, even though he already knew there was no signature.

"No. The only similarity is the paper on which they are written."

Chip took the paper and frowned at it. "It looks like ordinary paper to me," he said at last, looking up at me hopefully.

Honestly, people could be so clueless sometimes. I could already see it. "Well, it is ordinary paper, Chip," I said, taking it from him and holding it up. "But it does have a watermark."

"Blimey. That's first-rate thinkin' there, Gadget-luv," whispered Monty as he cocked his head to see better.

"Not really," I said absent-mindedly. I held the paper closer. "This watermark is the only thing the letters have in common, you said. But I can't tell what the watermark is." I stared at the imperfect circles gracing the middle of the paper. "They look like.."

"Bubbles!" shouted Dale, leaping forward.

We all stopped and stared. "Don't be stupid, stupid," Chip retorted, bapping Dale on the head. "Who would stick bubbles on a paper?"

"Maybe the Kookoo Kola Cult," joked Monterey, taking the paper.

"Not likely, though," I said, trying to ease Chip's retort.

"I think they book like bubbles," Dale mumbled, rubbing his head.

"By Jove, though, they do!" exclaimed Jules.

"Oh, come on!" said Chip, exasperated. "Who would stick bubbles on a paper as a watermark?"

"The point is that they did, Chip," I said logically.

"No, no, wait. If it's the only thing that the papers have in common, we must accept it as a clue. 'A clue is a clue, no matter how ridiculous.'" soothed Jules calmly.

"That's Sureluck Jones!" exclaimed Chip.

"Yes! Do you read it?" asked Jules happily. Chip nodded in excitement. "I'm so glad to find a kindred spirit in you, Mr. Chip..."

Chip and Jules began chattering away. Once Sureluck Jones was the topic of conversation, nothing could get Chip's attention back until he was done. And so, I detached myself from the conversation and turned back to the console in front of me. I rummaged under the seat, found my screwdriver, and started unscrewing panels. We had five hours until we reached Vladivostok, and I wanted the GPS at least jury-rigged by then.

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Five hours later, we were all aroused from our stupor by a female Russian voice cutting through the cargo bay, requesting permission to land. The rest of the Rangers blinked themselves out of their stupor slowly, but I was already awake and grinning. I had been anticipating my opportunity to test out my new booster rockets. And besides, barrel rolling was always fun.

Chip seemed to sense my excitement, because he leaned up between the seats and looked at me. "Gadget, you didn't make any modifications to the Ranger Wing, did you?"

I grinned at him wickedly, and he shrank back in fear. "All right everyone, hold on to your goggles!" I exclaimed and pulled mine down. The bottom of the cargo bay slid open and a gust of icy wind rushed up through the plane, whipping my hair back.

"Here we go!" shouted Chip to the others by way of warning, and I heard seatbelts buckling furiously.

I gunned the engine and we pulled away from the floor, hovering above the door, waiting for the landing gear to extend. Then, without warning the others, I turned the nose of the plane, and we whipped downwards. In my humble opinion, the funnest part of flying is dropping out of moving airplanes.

"Good heavens! Do you always travel like this!" I heard Jules shout.

"Too right! Better do as she says an' 'old on to yer goggles, mate!" cried Monterey. I was glad he appreciated my flying. I wonder if he and my dad used to pull any fast and fancy flying in their days.

I grinned into the wind as dived down, our small craft barely keeping out of reach of the bigger plane, which was now bearing down on top of us. I eased her nose down even more and revved her engines. We put on a spurt of speed that propelled us several feet below the oncoming craft. It was now or never.

I took a deep breath and barrel rolled downwards. The world swirled, a kaleidoscope of blues and grays. I rolled again. As we reached the apex of our second roll, everyone around me clinging to each other and the plane for dear life, I flipped us into a 360', causing enormous tension on the wings, and almost unbearable pressure on the body of the plane, but I knew what she could take. And she'd have to take one last thing, as we came up level, nearly stalling, and suspended. The airplane's engines let off steam, engulfing us. The Rangers screamed.

"Gadget!" Chip leaned forward as much as his seat belt would allow and grabbed at my shoulder.

"Hang on, guys!" I shouted.

Behind the steering wheel is a red button. And as even Dale knows, red buttons should not be pushed except by a person who knows precisely what will happen and is willing to take the consequences. Enter myself.

I fingered it, and with a jolt, a small booster rocket was released from the bottom of the Ranger Wing. Not strictly necessary, but lots of fun. The rocket exploded, throwing bits of shrapnel everywhere and hurling us forward and away from the landing plane, out into free airspace. Thirty seconds later the rocket died and dropped off. Gradually, we slowed to a calmer pace. The Rangers didn't look happy.

"Gadget," sighed Chip, removing his seatbelt and bending over me, "next time you do that, warn us, will you?"

"Yeah, I feel like I'm gonna be sick," moaned Dale, who was now leaning over the side of the plane.

"Too right," gulped Monty, who was squeezing Zipper like a stress ball until the little bug's eyes bulged.

"You all right, Mr. Crissen?" I asked, looking back.

The man looked shaken. "Well...I can't say I've ever, in all my years, seen anything quite like that. And mind you, I see all of Miss Marskov's movies. Never before has a plane stunt..." Words failed him and he slumped back in his seat, pale.

"You stick with the Rescue Rangers too long and you'll almost get used to it," Chip joked, still leaning on my seat.

"All right," I said, coming to business, as the rest of them didn't seem quite up to it, "Where is Miss Marskov supposed to be?"

"Uhm...try the docks in Golden Horn Bay. I believe the Anastasia should still be there at this point. If we're fast enough, we can bring her back to the airport and go straightaway to France."

"The Golden Horn Bay is quite a ways off, Mr. Crissen," I objected. " I doubt we'll get there in time. Unless..."

Chip turned on me. So did Monty. "Gadg, you 'aven't got unuther rocket in 'ere, do ya?"

"Um, well, yes...but if you don't want me to use it..."

Chip heaved a sigh. "We've got a ship to catch. Break out the rocket, Gadget."

"Golly, this will be fun!" I exclaimed and fingered a switch while everyone buckled in again. The rocket rumbled for a moment before exploding.

The last thing I heard before reality was all sharp wind and grey landscape was Dale's moan, "I still haven't gotten over the last one..."

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We reached Golden Horn Bay docks about twenty minutes and three rockets later in the middle of a freezing downpour. The Anastasia was nowhere in sight. I locked the plane into hover mode and we hung just over the pier, giving Chip time to scout the horizon with his binoculars.

The sea was grey and heaving, sloshing water up over the pier in cymbal crashes. I squinted hard, but I could see no sign of a ship. The upset water and distraught sky were both the same color, going through the same waving convolutions.

"Do you see her?" asked Jules frantically.

Chip was practically falling out of the plane in order to see. "No!"

"Then again, we can't see anythin' in this 'ere stew," added Monterey, pulling the collar of his coat up. Zipper huddled in his pocket. "I've seen clam chowder thinner than this mess."

"I don't know what has happened," exclaimed Jules. "Perhaps they saw the storm coming and dispatched the ship early to avoid it?"

"Do they do that?" asked Dale, huddled in the middle of the back seat, shaking.

"If I was a ship in this brew, I'd rather be docked than not," mumbled Monterey.

"There's nothing else for it. If she's not here, then she's out there somewhere," said Jules, gesturing helplessly at the heaving water. "We'll have to go out after her."

I listened to the conversation with growing dread. Reckless as I sometimes am, I didn't like the idea of flying the Ranger Wing over freezing waters in a terrible storm. That was one advantage the Ranger Plane had over the Wing. It could float.

"Come on, Gadget, better find her before this storm gets any worse," said Chip, slipping on the side of the plane as he climbed back in. He pulled his hat down over his eyes.

"Don't think there's any danger a that," said Monty flippantly.

"One sea rescue mission coming right up," I joked, pulling the lever and releasing the hover lock. We dropped a few inches, then the engine chugged loudly and we started off. "I hope the Anastasia isn't too far out," I called, "the engine doesn't like getting wet."

"Now you tell me," moaned Chip.