Blue Waltz

Chapter 12: Mezzo Progresso

Sept 22. Cont.

J. Gander and Launchpad stood behind Darkwing Duck as the masked hero sat in front of SHUSH's most high-tech computer which was connected to every law enforcement data base that the anti-terrorist group was connected to—and even a few they weren't legally allowed into. Normally only those inside SHUSH should have access to such technology, but J. Gander made an exception for the vigilante. For all that Darkwing Duck had done for the world, the least that the director could do was to let him use SHUSH's resources.

"What is it again that you're looking up?" J. Gander asked.

"A phone number," Launchpad answered.

"Ah, yes. That sounds—What?" J. Gander exclaimed. "You want to use one of the most powerful computers in the world to call a phone number?"
"Well, if you put it like that, sure it sounds stupid," Darkwing said, holding the note that Charity had given him. "But I'm certain this isn't any ordinary phone number. When I tried tracing it, I couldn't get any information."

"Perhaps the number isn't assigned to a phone line," J. Gander wondered.

"No," Darkwing said.

"How do you know?"

"Because I called it." He had used a payphone to prevent a reverse trace being used on him. "And someone answered."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. I quickly hung up." Darkwing didn't tell the whole story. He had called the number on a whim, and when he heard a smooth, cultured male voice, he became flustered and asked if his refrigerator was running. If the man thought it was a prank call, there was no reason for him to think Darkwing Duck was on his trail.

"And you found no information on it?" J. Gander said, rubbing his chin. "Yes, I see what you mean."

Darkwing Duck had a pretty powerful computer at his disposal. If he hadn't found anything about the number, then it was no wonder he needed SHUSH's help.

Darkwing typed the number into the system and pressed enter. "Now we wait. It may take some time." His own computer had spent several hours on the search.

"Let's get some Hippoburgers," Launchpad suggested.

However, not long into the search, the computer beeped. The group read three lines together.

No land lines found.

No cell towers found.

No satellites found.

"Very curious," J. Gander said.

"But that's impossible," Darkwing said, gesturing at the screen. "If it's not a landline, a cell phone or a satellite phone, then how does the number even work?"

But the computer didn't volunteer an answer to the question. Instead, it beeped again before the screen filled with lines and lines of an unknown language, using symbols that Darkwing didn't recognize before it went blank. Big, red blocky words flashed on the screen.

Access denied.

Darkwing gawked at the words. "What's going on? What does this mean?"

"I would guess this means we can't see the information," Launchpad answered unnecessarily.

Darkwing ignored his friend and turned to J. Gander.

"It means we don't have high enough clearance for the information."

"We don't have clearance?" Darkwing shouted. "But you're J. Gander Hooter, the director of SHUSH. How can you not have clearance? And we just discovered this. How would the computer know that this information is top secret?"

J. Gander sighed and took his time cleaning his glasses. "I may be the director, but that doesn't mean I have complete control of the organization. There are others higher up in the chain of command. I may submit a request to gain access, but it'll take a couple of weeks."

"Weeks? I can't wait weeks," Darkwing protested. "My daughter is in danger now. Isn't there something else you can do?"

"My hands are tied. Those are the rules," J. Gander answered.

Bureaucracy. Yet again, the SHUSH handbook and red tape prevented Darkwing from getting the work done. It was his biggest reason for being only a consultant for SHUSH.

"Hey, maybe we should just call the number again, DW," Launchpad asked, his hand guiding the mouse to click on the call button.

Darkwing mulled this over. Based on only the voice, he had eliminated all the usual suspects—and the unusual ones as well. The voice belonged to someone he had never met before.

"I doubt whoever is on the other end would give me any new information, but I guess it couldn't hurt," Darkwing said. After all, if they did a reverse trace, they would only know the call came from SHUSH.

"We may even be able to figure out who it is through vocal recognition," J. Gander said. "We have an extensive data base."

"Okay, let's do it," Darkwing said, nodding to Launchpad.

The sidekick clicked on the call button.

A dialing tone came through the speakers, ringing once, twice, three times before it was picked up.

"Hello?"

Darkwing had expected the rich, male voice from before. Instead, a female had answered the phone. He was not prepared for this. "Hello."

There was a pause.

"Who is this?" the woman demanded. She had an American accent, an alto with a slight lisp on the "s" sound.

"Um…is your refrigerator running?" Darkwing asked, flustered as to what to say.

"Do my ears deceive me? This wouldn't be Darkwing Duck, would it?" the female asked, chuckling. "Oh, this is too good."

"How did you know it was me?" Darkwing asked.

"I watch the news. I would have to be deaf to mistake that conceited, smug air about you."

"Oh, she's good, DW," Launchpad said, elbowing his friend.

"I am not conceited or smug," Darkwing argued.

In the background, a faint, male voice called, "Dear, I told you to leave the phone alone."

"Aw, but you get all the fun," the female pouted. "Besides, it was ringing and you were gone."

"Who is it? Not that self-important pawn from FOWL?"

"No. It's Daaaaaaaarkwiiiiiiing," the female sang out before giggling.

There were some muffled noises before the male voice came through the speakers louder and clearer, obviously having taken the phone from his companion. "What an unexpected surprise, Darkwing Duck. May I ask how you came upon this number?"

"Maybe if you reveal who you are," Darkwing said. "And your business in St. Canard."

"What makes you think I have business in St. Canard?" the voice asked. "You don't know who I am, so where my business is conducted—if I have any—could be anywhere in the world for all you know."

He's educated and smart. I don't know if I can trick him into giving me any information, Darkwing thought. He was already analyzing his enemy solely on the man's voice, and he already figured out his accent.

"I know you're involved in St. Canard," Darkwing said. "I have my ways of knowing. I'm much more cunning than you think."

"I doubt that," the voice said. "For instance, you might think that you're precious hideout is secret, but you don't realize that I can find you easily with a simple trace."

Darkwing smiled, winking at Launchpad. "Oh no. How could I have been so naïve? I am now doomed. Oh, what can I do?"

"SHUSH!?"
"Hey, I can talk if I want to," Darkwing berated the voice. "It's a free country."

"You're at SHUSH headquarters!"

Darkwing smiled. Okay, so he was a little smug, but only when he had reason for it. "Did you actually think I would be in my lair where you might find me? Ha ha, take that. Now you don't just have Darkwing Duck on your tail, but SHUSH as well."

"Oh, he's got you there," the female voice called out through the phone, laughing.

"Shut up, Meg!"

Then the line went dead.

"Well, that was interesting," J. Gander said.

"More like weird," Launchpad said. "Was it just me or was he more afraid of SHUSH than DW?"

"He definitely seemed spooked by having SHUSH involved," Darkwing said, typing on the computer. "Now, let's see about this vocal recognition software that you've been boasting about, J. Gander."

However, just as Darkwing had guessed, both voices that had been recorded and analyzed, their identities in the data base were top secret.

"I'm sorry, Darkwing," J. Gander apologized. "I wish that SHUSH could have been more helpful. I'll send in those requests ASAP, but it will take some time."

"Understood, J. Gander."

At that time, the phone within the computer room rang. J. Gander moved to the wall to answer, speaking in a hushed tone into the receiver.

"So, what do we do next?" Launchpad asked.

"We'll check with my informants about the guy with the accent," Darkwing Duck said. "Perhaps someone will know of an evil villain that's from Italy."

"Italy? Gee, I thought he sounded like he was from Russia," Launchpad disagreed.

"That's a common mistake. Some dialects in Italy are phonetically similar to Russian, which people often mistake," Darkwing said. "Not all Italians sound like plumbers from popular video games."

Launchpad grinned. That was one of his favorite games.

"Bad news, boys," J. Gander said, hanging up the phone. "It turns out that the information we needed isn't just Top Secret, but it has a red flag on it. The top brass want to see me."

"I hope we didn't get you in trouble," Launchpad said.

"Oh, what are they going to do to me? I've been running SHUSH much longer than some of them have been working here. I've even trained a couple," J. Gander said.

Darkwing nodded, knowing that the elderly man had passed up several promotions as well as an opportunity to get into politics. He loved being the director of SHUSH too much, and besides, his family was in St. Canard.

"Don't worry about it," J. Gander said. "This kind of thing has happened to me before. The more power and information that is at a person's disposal, the more paranoid they get."

"Let me know when you find something," Darkwing said, shaking his old friend's hand. "Come on, Launchpad. We have work to do."

His sidekick waved goodbye as they left.

After a quick ride on the Ratcatcher, Darkwing and Launchpad were back at Darkwing Tower. Not two minutes at their lair, the red emergency phone began ringing.

"Hello, Darkwing Duck speaking," Darkwing answered, expecting either a police officer calling for aide or J. Gander with something already. However, he didn't get his usual caller.

"Hello. This is Ms. Loveatte. With DCF," the female voice said. "I-I was able to plant your listening device."

"That's great," Darkwing said, glad for some good news. He needed some after not getting anything from SHUSH. He couldn't wait to get some dirt on that weasel, Musman. Unfortunately, it was already past work hours, so the little rat wouldn't be in his office until tomorrow. "Good job."

"A-and I also have the files on the missing children that had been placed into foster care," Charity said. "Is there somewhere we could meet?"

Darkwing could tell that the woman was upset about something, but he didn't think it was his place to ask. Instead, he told her, "I'll pick them up from your place tonight. Is around eight okay?" It would be convenient since it was right before Gosalyn's bedtime.

"Uh, yeah," Charity said before rattling off her address.

Oh, right. I'm not supposed to know where she lives, Darkwing said.

They said a quick good-bye before hanging up.

"I think things are finally going our way," Darkwing said to Launchpad with optimism. "And since we know that the warehouse robberies are linked to the kidnappings, I'm sure we'll get a lead soon."

"That's the spirit," Launchpad said, glad that his best friend was back to his old self—at least as much as he could without Gosalyn. "Here's our list of contacts. I printed them off for you."

Darkwing took the list, perused it and tore it in half. "I'll take this half, and you take the other." He made sure Launchpad had the side with Gizmoduck.

"What…a…dump."

Steelbeak and a handful of Eggmen stood before a two-story-tall metallic igloo that someone had built with rippled sheets of tin and rivets in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The monstrosity of architecture looked crass and particularly ugly with majestic trees and pristine snow piled as high as three feet in some areas surrounding it.

"Sir, are you sure this is the place?" one Eggman asked, looking uncertain.

Steelbeak turned his GPS tracker so the Eggman could see the screen. "Can't you see the blip? It's right there. If the blip says he's here, he's here." For the scientist's sake who made the tracker, it better be. "Now go knock on the door."

The Eggman's eyes—if there were eyes behind those hideous goggles—widened. The other five Eggmen pushed him forward so that they wouldn't have to take on such an odious job.

That would teach him to ask questions of his betters?

The Eggman tentatively approached a crude imitation of a door that was a lot larger than what was normal. He stood on the brown doormat that said in an angry font "GO AWAY" and trembled as he knocked gently on the door.

"Come on. You's can do better than that," Steelbeak said impatiently.

The Eggman knocked again only a tad louder.

"Isn't there a doorbell or somethin'," Steelbeak said, pushing the Eggman out of the way. He spotted a button to the side. "See? All it takes is a little brains." He pressed the button firmly.

Out of the snow they were standing on, four iron-barred walls sprang up and slammed around them, forming a pyramid-shaped cage.

"Wha-oh," Steelbeak said with a gulp.

One side of the igloo opened up like bay doors, and the cage slowly moved inside on a conveyer belt. The temperature inside was much warmer than outside, but not as warm as Steelbeak was used to. Bright, UV lights shone from overhead, the majority over a large patch of green vegetation with purple flowers, along with a few plants Steelbeak recognized as corn, carrots and beans. The floor of the igloo was splattered with artistic rugs, and there were several pieces of tasteful furniture placed in a visually pleasing way.

On one rug, Taurus Bulba posed with his legs spread apart and his arms splayed. He didn't look in the direction of his captives.

"I knew that one day FOWL would end up on my doorstep," Bulba said as he moved out of the position, put his legs together, hands on the floor with his butt up in the air to form a triangle.

"You certainly know how to welcome your guests," Steelbeak said blithely. He took it as a good sign that Bulba wasn't yelling at them or that he hadn't killed them yet.

"I do not like visitors," Bulba said, holding the triangle pose. "I moved far away from civilizations so that I may find peace." He slowly stood up and faced Steelbeak. "Because of you, I am now this terrible monstrosity. Every time I lose my temper, these mechanical parts overheat and I freeze up." His voice had turned bitter and dark before he burst into laughter. "Isn't English such an amusing language? I can overheat and freeze at the same time."

"Yes. Hilarious," Steelbeak said. "Anyways, now that I have your attention, perhaps we can talk. There's a favor I need from you, and since FOWL has so generously brought you back to life with our state-of-the-art tech and genuis scientists, we can come to some sort of arrangement."

Bulba turned a mechanical eye on Steelbeak, who shrank back as it glowed red. "Ah, yes. The famous FOWL scientists, who not only didn't take into consideration what would happen when the temperature of my circuits reached a critical point, but they didn't even have the foresight to put in a simple fan. And worse, the most unforgiveable of their crimes was to use so much of that garish shade of red. Do I look like the type of person who would wear red pants?" At that point, he was spitting out his words at Steelbeak before drawing back and taking a deep breath. He put his hands together and closed his eyes, humming to himself. A puff of steam released from a vent.

"Because of your bungling scientists, I've moved as far north as I can stand to keep myself from overheating and taken up yoga to help control my temper," Bulba continued to explain. "But as you can see, it is not enough. I have now accepted my fate and wish to retire from a life of crime."

"In this place?" Steelbeak asked, raising an eyebrow at the ceiling of the igloo.

"It serves my purposes," Bulba said, heading to the vegetation, cutting a few handfuls and placing them on a plate. "Would any of you care for an alfalfa salad?"

Steelbeak and the Eggmen shook their heads.

Bulba moved to a refrigerator, took out a bottle of salad dressing, and poured some on the alfalfa. "I had hoped to find someone who could fix your mistakes and replace all the mechanical parts with something a little less…eye-catching. I wanted to eventually take on a new identity and live in more comfort. I have enough money in my offshore accounts to survive for many lifetimes. However, no scientist has the knowledge or skill to do so that is within my reach."

Steelbeak could hear Bulba's voice becoming more dangerous once again. Time to turn on the ol' charm and reel him in.

"Oh, that's too bad that you're retired and all that," Steelbeak said, still scheming in his head. If he wanted Bulba's cooperation, he needed to give him the hard sell. "And here I thought I was being a nice guy and goin' to offer you's the chance of a lifetime to get your revenge on Darkwing Duck."

Bulba paused with a fork almost to his mouth. "Darkwing Duck? Darkwing Duck?" He threw the plate of salad at the cage which shattered, alfalfa and ceramic pieces flying all over. "You dare come into my home and mention that name?" That was all Steelbeak understood because Bulba continued ranting in Russian.

Steelbeak once had a girlfriend from Russia. She taught him a few phrases. The only words he recognized were curses. And you had to hand it to the Russians; they knew how to curse.

Steam billowed out of Bulba for a full minute before the bull stopped in mid-rant, his mechanical parts squealed to a halt.

"Whoa. I think I hit a nerve," Steelbeak joked. He waited for Bulba to release enough steam and for his system to reboot before speaking again. "It's no wonder you retired. I would too if the guy who almost wacked me was still runnin' around. But I can see that your health is more important than revenge. And I doubt that you'd be able to help me with your condition and all. But hey, maybe once I take out Darkwing Duck myself, I'll send you a few of his feathers for a trophy or somethin', okay pal?"

Bulba growled at Steelbeak before laughing in his face. "Fine. We have deal."
"Ah…we do?" Steelbeak asked, confused. He didn't expect the bull to agree so easily.

"You said you want me to do you a favor?" Bulba said, tilting his head. "Then you must do me a favor first. You will find a scientist better than the butchers who worked on me. Once I am fixed to my satisfaction, then I will do you favor."

"That's impossible," Steelbeak protested. "Our guys are the best. Nobody could do better. It just can't be done."

"I know of at least one who can do it," Bulba said, folding his arms. "There is one scientist who has invented a powerful, robotic suit that can do almost anything. I have heard that it is unbeatable."

"Wait, are you talking about Gizmoduck?" Steelbeak asked. "I mean, I guess that's true, but nobody knows who that mook is let alone who made the suit. You're askin' a lot."

"I thought that FOWL boasted to be the best?" Bulba taunted. "You say you're such a big man, but I think you just have a big mouth."

Steelbeak growled at the insult.

"No matter," Bulba said. "I know who the scientist is. I will give you his name, then you will get scientist and bring him here. He will redesign my mechanical parts until I am satisfied, then I will owe you that favor. Deal?" He held out a golden, metal hand to Steelbeak.

Hesitating, Steelbeak thought over the bull's words, trying to see if he could find a loophole or a sign that he was getting the short end of the stick. He couldn't. "Okay, pal. You's got a deal." He shook Bulba's hand.

"Excellent. Now, we are comrades," Bulba said. He went to his computer and pressed a button. The pyramid cage retracted, releasing the prisoners. "How do you Americans put it? This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." He laughed.

"That's great. No offense, friend, but we can't stay and hang out," Steelbeak said, brushing off some non-existent dirt from his jacket. "Why don't you give us the name of that scientist, and we'll be on our way."

Bulba grinned. "His name is Gyro Gearloose. I'm certain you know of him."

Steelbeak's jaw dropped. "Gyro Gearloose made Gizmoduck!" This was worse than he thought. "No. No. There's no possible way we can get to Gyro Gearloose."

Bulba was still smiling. "Is there problem?"

"You tricked me," Steelbeak accused. "You made a deal that you knew was impossible."

"What? You mean that FOWL has a problem with kidnapping one scientist," Bulba said, feigning surprise.

Steelbeak glared. Yes, FOWL was one of the most evil and powerful organizations in the world. They had brought governments and countries to their knees—okay, only the small ones, but you get the idea. Only a few of their enemies had ever gotten the best of them, two of which were SHUSH and Darkwing Duck. However, for a terrorist group that went by the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny, they had yet to steal even a single penny from the richest duck in the world, and it wasn't from lack of trying.

Scrooge McDuck was a force to be reckoned with.

"Let's renegotiate. There's got to be someone else we can get to fix you up," Steelbeak said. "I heard that SHUSH has a girl that's as sharp as a tack and a real bombshell. Why don't we get her for you?"

"If you don't have Gearloose with you when you comeback, then I won't be so nice with my welcome," Bulba warned them. "And to use another American idiom, you have overstayed your welcome and are starting to smell like rotting fish. Goodbye." Hitting another button on his computer, the conveyer belt started moving in reverse at a rapid speed.

Steelbeak and his Eggmen zipped out of the igloo, slingshot through the air and landed in a giant pile of snow. They sat in shock for a few minutes before one of the Eggmen spoke.

"So what now boss?"

"Now, you goons are gonna to find a way to get to Gyro Gearloose without catching McDuck's attention, or you're gonna to be kicked out of FOWL," Steelbeak threatened.

The Eggmen scrambled out of the snowbank. The threat was more frightening than it sounded. Nobody left FOWL or was kicked out. They simply disappeared.

Gosalyn could tell that something was wrong with Charity. First off, she had been late in picking up the young duck from daycare—which she wasn't allowed to call it that because it was demeaning, but it was totally daycare for older kids. Second, while they were driving, Charity had a giant chocolate cake in the passenger seat, and there had been a large slice of it already eaten along with a plastic fork. Third, Charity hadn't asked Gosalyn do her homework once they were back at the apartment—it was a good thing she was far more responsible and had done it without being asked. And last of all, Gosalyn was able to play two hours of video games before Charity realized she hadn't made dinner, in which case, she ordered for a pizza to be delivered.

As they were eating their meal of gooey, plain cheese—with no vegetables in sight—with a side of chocolate cake—and it wasn't even for dessert—Gosalyn wondered what could have caused her foster-parent to be so absent-minded and neglectful. Whatever it was, it had a time limit since the lovebird was constantly watching the clock.

Her first clue in this mystery came when Charity said, "Oh, I'll be picking you up from school tomorrow, so don't get on the bus."

"Why?" Gosalyn asked, glad that she didn't have to go to the daycare-that-wasn't-a-daycare.

"I have the day off," Charity said, her tone strange. "I was thinking of taking some vacation days for the next couple of weeks, so I'll be picking you up every day from now on."

Great news, but very suspicious. Time to push the interrogation.

"Why are you taking a vacation? Are we going to go anywhere?" Gosalyn thought it was too good to be true for Charity to take her out of school for a few weeks. Not that she would want to do anything fun without her dad, but she wouldn't say no.

"No," Charity said with a wan smile. "I just thought I could use a few days off. I've been working hard."

Gosalyn couldn't deny this. Charity usually brought some work home every day. Today wasn't an exception. There was a large stack of files sitting on the counter, although Charity hadn't touched them.

"But what about all the kidnapped foster kids?" Gosalyn asked. "Aren't you helping with the investigation?"

"I was, but I've given all the information to the police. It's up to them to find the kids."

"And what about Darkwing Duck?" Gosalyn asked.

Charity nodded. "I suppose Darkwing Duck will also be working on the case. But my part is done."

Was it Gosalyn's imagination, or did Charity sound sad?

Her questions weren't getting anywhere. Time for the direct approach.

"Is something going on?" Gosalyn asked. "You're acting different."

Charity smiled and straightened up, hiding her earlier emotions. "It's just some stuff with work. Nothing for you to worry about." She patted Gosalyn's head before picking up her dishes and heading to the sink. As she cleaned up, she kept looking at the clock.

At eight o'clock on the dot, there was a knock. Before anyone else could react, Bunny, from his place snoozing underneath the kitchen table, began barking.

"Shhhh, Bunny," Charity said, in which the dog obeyed immediately.

Charity went to the door and opened it, but nobody was on the other side. Confused, she poked her head out and called out, "Is anyone there?"

Another knock came.

Bunny barked again, this time getting onto his feet and racing to the balcony door.

"It's coming from the balcony," Gosalyn said, racing across the room.

One cool thing about Charity's apartment was the balcony. Since they were on the third floor, it was really neat to sit on the balcony and watch the sun set or eat outside on the weekends. But most of the time, the large, glass door was covered by vertical blinds.

Gosalyn grabbed the rod and pulled back the blinds, having a good guess who would be knocking on the balcony door on the third floor.

At the sight of the mask and purple suit she nearly shouted, "Dad" but managed to change it to "Darkwing Duck" at the last minute. She opened the sliding door excitedly. Why was he there? What was going on?

Before she could do anything, Bunny began barking and growling aggressively, baring his teeth and snapping. He missed getting a mouthful of feathers only because Darkwing had quick reflexes and jumped onto the balcony railing.

"Down, Bunny," Charity ordered, grabbing the dog's collar and pulling him back inside. "Shhhh, it's okay. It's okay."

Bunny stopped barking, but continued to growl, his eyes locked on Darkwing.

Charity picked up the dog, who was a thirty-pound armful of flesh and fur. "Sorry about that. I forgot that…Gosalyn, why don't you take Bunny and go get ready for bed."

"Aw, but I want to stay," Gosalyn whined. "Why is Darkwing here? Did you witness a crime? Or does it have to do with the missing children?"

"Now, Gosalyn," Charity said in a firm voice.

"Okay," Gosalyn relented, taking the dog from Charity's arms.

Bunny's growl turned to a whine as he was passed down, his eyes still glaring at Darkwing.

"Wow, that's some guard dog you have," Darkwing said with a nervous laugh, getting down from his perch. "He must be a handful when you throw parties."

"Oh, he's actually a very well-behaved dog," Charity said. "He only does that around people with masks. I would have put him in the back, but I guess I was a little distracted today."

"That's oddly specific," Darkwing said. "I have to wonder why? And how? Did you have to have someone in a mask to train him that way?"

Charity frowned. "I didn't train him to do that. Look, it's a long and very personal story which I'd rather not talk about."

"Oh, sorry," Darkwing said, feeling awkward.

They stood in silence for a while before Darkwing mentioned, "Uh…you have the files, right?"

"Oh, right," Charity said, rushing to the counter for the stack. "Here they are. I organized them in chronological order from when they disappeared. I made copies of all the kids that disappeared in the past three months, but I put a red sticker on the folders of those who are frequent runaways and aren't likely to have been kidnapped, but I thought that I would include them just in case."

"This is great," Darkwing said, taking the stack that was close to a foot high from Charity. "I hope that this didn't inconvenience you at work."

"No, not at all," Charity said before pursing her lips. "I just hope that it helps to find the missing children."

"You'll be the first to know if I find them," Darkwing said, knowing just how worried the social worker was about this case. "Please contact me with any new information or if any other kids go missing." He turned to leave.

"Uh…about that," Charity said. "I no longer have access to the files at DCF."

Darkwing turned back around.

"Duncan caught me in his office," Charity said, her shoulders sagging. "I was trying to plant the bug, and he walked in on me. He thought I was snooping for information and doesn't know about the listening device. But he forced me to take a month's worth of vacation days."

Darkwing couldn't say that he was surprised. He hated the fact that he asked the social worker to take such a risk, but he had rationalized that it was for the greater good. And although he didn't like the idea that this woman was taking care of his daughter when Gosalyn should have been with him, he knew she was a good person and was doing her best being a foster-parent to the young duckling. And he could admit that he was fond of the lovebird who had the courage to break into her boss's office twice and risk her job for children.

His grip on the files tightened. "I'm sorry that happened," Darkwing said with undisguised anger. "I know some people. I could pull some strings and fix this."

"No, I don't want Duncan to suspect that I'm helping you," Charity said. "Just work on finding those children and making sure that Gosalyn is safe and returned to her father. I'll be fine. It's paid time-off. I'll just have to pick up a hobby or two to pass the time."

Darkwing nodded before heading back to the balcony.

Charity wasn't sure how the masked duck had made it to her balcony, and she was curious as to how he was going to get down with such a load. However, she had other things to do.

"Gosalyn, didn't I tell you to go get ready for bed?" Charity asked, peaking around the hallway corner. Just as she guessed, the duckling was crouching on the floor where she could listen unnoticed.

"I'm in my pajamas," Gosalyn said with a sheepish grin.

Charity shook her head. "Brush your teeth while I check your homework. And then you should read until lights out. You have a book report due next week."

Gosalyn sighed and dragged her feet to the bathroom. She didn't want to read before bed. She had a lot more interesting things to think about, like how was all that information going to help Darkwing find the missing kids? Also, did Charity just lose her job because of Darkwing? Was that why she was taking "vacation" days for the next couple of weeks? Gosalyn didn't get all the information from her eaves-dropping, but it was enough for her to have a million questions for her dad when he would drop by for his nightly visit.

Duncan Musman's phone rang just five minutes shy of midnight. Musman was used to calls at ungodly hours. It usually meant someone was in trouble and they would pay a handsome amount of money and favors for some help.

Having just finished a movie and a martini, Duncan picked up the phone with hardly a care. Life was good. Not only did he have a powerful player in his pocket, locked in place with concrete blackmail, but he had Charity Loveatte under his thumb after years of battling with her.

"Hello," he said with confidence, looking at his nails. He needed a manicure.

"You just don't know when to leave things alone," said a familiar voice with that European accent.

"I don't know what you mean," Duncan said. "And I thought you said that you were going to disconnect your number."

"Don't be flippant with me." Whoever it was, they sounded mad. "Because of you, both FOWL and SHUSH are on my trail, not to mention Darkwing Duck."

Duncan sat up. He may have shared the phone number with Steelbeak, but there was no way the guy could pin SHUSH and Darkwing Duck on him. "I don't know what you're talking about," Duncan said, trying to sound as uninterested in the accusation as he could.

"I know it was you," the voice said.

"I couldn't possibly be the only one who had access to the number," Duncan reasoned. "As a fellow schemer, I can attest to the wisdom of not keeping all of one's eggs in one basket. If you were looking for one little girl in a large city, you would have had several informants working for you."

"Yes, you're correct there," the voice said, the anger not cooling even an iota. "But the others didn't find her or know who she is. My bet is on you."

Duncan wanted to curse. He had told Steelbeak to be careful about investigating. Had his old friend found out he had lied about knowing who Gosalyn Mallard was? Did he suspect that Duncan knew Darkwing Duck's true identity? If so, had he told FOWL? At the very least, Steelbeak had called the number and the stupid birdbrain ran his mouth about being part of FOWL.

But what about Darkwing Duck and SHUSH? It wasn't secret that Darkwing did work with SHUSH, even he knew that. But how did Darkwing get the number? Darkwing had been in his apartment, but he had always kept the picture and the number at his office.

An idea hit him like lightning. Charity. Of course. He had caught her on camera going through his papers, but never thought she would be interested in that phone number. She had spent most of her time going through the files of black-mailing information, knowing he left nothing incriminating. It wasn't illegal to own compromising pictures.

It was the only way Darkwing could have gotten the number. Charity was in contact with the vigilante.

"I promise you, I had nothing to do with it," Duncan lied.

The line was silent for almost a minute, and Duncan wondered if the man had walked away without hanging up the phone or was deliberating on his next words.

"I told you to get your house in order before, Musman," the voice said, steely. "I'm done warning you. You're dead."

And then so was the line.

Somewhere else that wasn't St. Canard but at the same time it occupied the same space as St. Canard, a man slowly put his phone back in the cradle. He ran his finger across his rounded beak, contemplating.

"Oh, I know that face," a female voice said. A woman's hand traced his shoulder before resting on his left breast. "This is going to be fun."

"Yes, it is my dear," the man said, picking up the white feathered hand and raising it to his beak to kiss it. "He's all yours, Megaera."