Sid hadn't expected Cabbie to have so many questions.

None were difficult— how well does charter work pay, do you secretly hate your clients, what's the climate inside the Air Force nowadays— but the incessant string of questions kept Sid on the edge of his landing gear, wracking his brain for facts he could weave into lies. A few of his relatives had gone charter; he'd been recruited by C.H.R.O.M.E. before he could research the market more closely. He figured Cabbie didn't know much about the industry, either, so he probably wouldn't be caught in a lie.

To complicate matters, he was jet-lagged. Regrettably, it was a common condition for spy jets. He hadn't gotten as much sleep as he would have liked in the past month or so. The coffee helped, but even the lights from the lodge windows felt too bright, like miniature suns beating down on him. At least Cabbie seemed to believe him, nodding periodically— and he could rest as soon as he was released from this unusual form of torture.

Cabbie didn't believe a word "Siddeley" said. No stealth fighter worth their parts would be allowed to be a charter plane, especially not with weaponry. Cabbie was aware that a lot of rules had changed since he was on active duty decades ago, but certainly not that much. So he was determined to get the truth.

This jet's will was surprisingly strong, but fatigue was setting in. Even coffee couldn't hide the effects of severe sleep deprivation: twitching wing flaps, unfocused gaze, and alternating between rambling and stuttering.

Eventually, he'll slip up.

All Cabbie had to do was pretend he was even more feeble than Siddeley to lull him into a false sense of security. So, for the fifth non-consecutive time, Cabbie hummed like a grandfather trying to remember a childhood anecdote about crossing train tracks to meet a girl on prom night. "What did you say your rank was, son?"

"Capt— Uh." Siddeley's eyes looked off to the side, as if the world was spinning. "I… I'm just an Air Agent."

"That's catchy." That was not what he had said before. It's working. Cabbie chuckled. "Very, very interesting. The cat's meow, as they used to say in my day."

"Not really," Siddeley murmured. "All the other kinds of Agents get all the credit. I've just… Long hours, 'nd the higher-ups always cut our funding first. 'Cause twenty years ago they didn' worry s'much about… planes."

"How long did you train for?"

"A couple years. It's not, like, a regular military thing… It's called the Common Hap— Command HQ for… something. No one remembers it, it's too long…."

Cabbie's mind raced. He didn't know what Siddeley was babbling about, but it sounded very important. What kind of ranking would someone need to get clearance for that? He was about to ask Sid to provide his ID when two cars, one dark green and one white, skidded to a stop behind the jet.

"Siddeley!" the green one shouted.

Startled, Siddeley nearly crushed them when he backed up. He blinked several times before recognition set in. "Oh, it's just you guys. I thought you were enemy agents. Or assassins. Or plane hijackers. Or—"

As Siddeley rattled off other potential threats, Cabbie snickered. "He's a little riled up. Spun some pretty crazy spy stories for me."

The cars' jaws dropped. It was satisfying.

Siddeley fell quiet. "Oh… I wasn't supposed to do that. I'm sorry. It's just that… I'm so tired, and he came up and started talking, and I… I'm so sorry! I ruined everything, and I— I— I can't—"

He burst into tears, sinking down to the pavement. Bystanders glanced over, giving the group a lot of space.

The white car ventured past Sid's waterfalls of tears to pat his wing. "That's fine, Siddeley. You've been doing great. Um… there, there."

"He wanted to be a spy, or something like that," the green one stuttered, "but we're just software developers— wait, are you a spy, Sid? Why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm sorry!" Sid wailed.

Cabbie almost felt bad for him. Almost. "He probably just needs some rest."

Siddeley's passengers agreed, eventually coaxing him to leave. The jet hiccuped apologies as they headed toward the rest area.

Cabbie shook his front in dismay, finishing off his espresso. That was odd. Can't wait to tell the others about this.

Right on time, the rest of the Piston Peak Air Attack flyers (and Maru) approached. They were laughing amongst themselves.

Dipper was the first to reach him. "Cabbie! We've been looking for you everywhere!"

"You know I hate large parties," Cabbie said, giving her a look. They should've known he'd be far from the crowds. Windlifter wasn't a fan of flashy parties, either, but neither of them had anything better to do; the smokejumpers were still stamping out the fire from earlier.

"Yeah, but this is a bonding experience!" Dipper said. For emphasis, she moved closer to Dusty, invading his personal space more than she already had.

His propeller twitched when Dipper's wingtip brushed against him, but the guy (in Cabbie's opinion) was too much of a pushover to say anything. Instead, Dusty looked up at Cabbie and added, "We met a couple of RVs on their honeymoon. Uh, what have you been doing?"

Cabbie shrugged. "I met a spy."

Everyone looked surprised, even Windlifter. Then, after a few tense seconds… Maru burst out laughing. "Oh, Cabbie, that's— Hahahaha! That's hilarious!"

"A spy?" Dusty repeated skeptically.

"He was a terrible spy," Cabbie conceded. "But definitely a spy."

"What would a spy be doing here?" Dipper asked. Then her eyes widened, looking flirtatiously at Dusty. "Maybe he wants to be a firefighter, too, Dustmuffin! Oh, I bet you guys could have the coolest stories! He's probably been around the world, too— and Cabbie could tell you some of his war stories, and—"

"I doubt that," Cabbie interjected. "He was posing as a charter plane. But after some passive-aggressive interrogation, exploiting his sleep deprivation, I have concluded that he was here on other business. He did not say exactly what. It's probably top-secret. I could have gotten it out of him— he's weak. But then he'd have to come back and kill all of us later."

Dipper and Dusty's grins disappeared, but Maru continued to chuckle.

Windlifter remained silent.

Finn and Holley decided to let Sid sleep for a few hours. Dropping him off in the jet rest area behind the lodge, they headed back into their room.

Holley had intended to sleep as well. Right after she checked her agency email… and the next thing she knew, she had watched about thirty new videos on FlewTube.

She growled in frustration. If she was capable of ripping her computer out and throwing it across the room, she likely would have. And in the course of doing that, the computer probably would have bounced off the wall and hit Finn, who had been parked under the corner lamp with the Technology Terminology for Dummies book she'd gifted him for Christmas. He glanced up. "Something wrong, Shiftwell?"

"I've been outwitted by FlewTube's algorithm."

"Doesn't it make you yearn for the pre-internet days?"

"Oh, no, not at all. I just need to be better at self-control… How much have you read in that book?"

He swelled with pride. "Three chapters."

Considering each chapter was three pages, she didn't quite see the accomplishment in that. At the same time, she didn't feel now was the appropriate time to reveal that she read three books per week throughout her childhood. Instead, she asked, "Do they have anything about weather machines in there?"

"Unfortunately not. Maybe the revised edition will have a section about it."

"Har har. But they'll never know a weather machine exists. We'll have to cover it all up."

"Unless we don't. It would make an excellent movie."

It probably would. A weather machine sounded surreal— a part of Holley wondered whether the Lemons were bluffing about it. But if Professor Zundapp was involved, anything was possible. "So what do we do about that plane Sid was blabbing to? Our cover is blown!"

"He's military, so he understands the importance of keeping private conversations."

She could have retorted that half of C.H.R.O.M.E.'s staff didn't follow privacy regulations, as evident on their gossip forums. But she also knew Finn didn't read the gossip forums anymore, and would likely launch into a tirade if she mentioned them. "I hope so. He seemed to take it well. Worst case scenario, he writes a book about it."

"Precisely. Though we should have a discussion with Siddeley about giving away that much information in the first place."

"Agreed." She shut down her computer, determined to finally get some sleep. "Night, Finn."

"Sweet dreams, my beloved."

She made a mental note to exact her revenge after the mission.

Around four in the morning, the agents woke Sid up. They were in the air long before the sun rose, heading north of the Lodge. It was deeper into the park, more isolated, and few tourists would be wandering around. Ideal for any less-than-legal activity.

Finn and Holley monitored the hidden cameras on Siddeley's exterior, searching the forest and mountains for a lab. Since the Lemons paid off Spinner to ignore them, they didn't expect anyone to come looking— so they likely hadn't put much effort into camouflage.

"Even if they could disguise the base itself," Holley said, switching between multiple computer screens, "or the electricity they're using, they can't hide the skies. If they've got a functional weather machine, recent storms and such could be centered around their testing site."

Finn nodded eagerly. "Capital idea. Pull up weather logs from the past six months."

"Got it." She found the logs within seconds, and uploaded them to a simulator. "Cross-referencing the storm patterns now."

The intercom crackled. "Um, Finn? Another aircraft just came out of nowhere."

"That by itself is not unusual," Finn said. "This is a campsite. Vehicles are scattered all over the forest."

"But this area was under restriction from a small fire yesterday. Heck, we're not even supposed to be here."

"Is the aircraft in your sights?"

"Um… No. Radar says it's small. I can circle back to see…."

The cabin tilted as Sid made a wide turn. Meanwhile, Holley's focus was on her simulation. Colors swirled together over a time lapse. One area was a deeper red than the others, indicating more precipitation. "The storms move fast, springing up mostly during the night. Most begin in the mountains close to Anchor Lake, directly across from Piston Peak itself. Of course, it's not unusual for clouds to form at higher altitudes—"

Sid gasped. "Oh, bloody—" was all the agents heard before he went into a barrel roll.

Neither of them were strapped in. Holley screamed, tumbling out of her seat; she barely caught herself on the computer center.

Finn activated his magnets, sticking to the ceiling. "Who's in pursuit?"

"An Apache. Attack helicopter." The cabin jolted again, punctuated by several loud thuds from outside. "OW! Agh… They're shooting at us. Evasive maneuvers from here on."

Holley scrambled to the nearest chair and locked herself in.

Siddeley hadn't seen where the attack helicopter came from, but they were a little too close for comfort. They had already grazed his tail and left wing. So he transitioned into a loop-de-loop to stay out of the Apache's aim. His injured wing and tail trembled under the Gs, but he had to complete the maneuver. Finishing the loop a few hundred meters behind the AH-64, he shot back.

Since the helicopter was a small target, all the shots missed. If anything, the helicopter just seemed annoyed. Aborting that tactic, Sid began to climb. If he could gain enough altitude, he could break the sound barrier without flattening the forest. From there, he could easily outpace the helicopter.

That spark of hope died when, by sheer luck, he saw the missile— an AIM-92 Stinger missile, which could travel at twice the speed of sound. It was on his tail within seconds, attracted to the heat of his twin engines.

Okay, what now? He had flares, of course, but they were a massive fire hazard, being several times hotter than his own turbines. But an even bigger risk was being blown to bits.

So he dropped the decoy fireballs. They sprayed out from specialized storage units underneath his cargo loading door, bathing the forest in red light.

"Oh, blast!" Due to a combination of adrenaline and inexperience, he had accidentally dropped his whole supply. But there was no time to cry over spilled flares. He pulled up sharply, once again giving his superspy passengers a jolt, to put as much distance between him and the missile as possible.

Predictably, the missile went after the flares. After a few seconds, a small explosion popped in the sky.

"Yes!" Sid exclaimed, relief flooding his system. Now to finish off the enemy craft. He made a swift turn— and almost stalled in shock. "Oh, no. No, no, no…!"

The Apache had flown past the flares and fired another Stinger. And Sid was flying right toward it.

He knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Or arrogant enough to not retreat at the soonest opportunity. Or so stupid to drop his entire supply of flares for one missile. Now, all he could do was minimize the damage. He did a high-speed aileron roll, eliciting more screams from Finn and Holley. The missile just missed the turbines… and slammed into his wing instead.

Ba-boom!

It could have been worse. He didn't look, but surely his wing was missing a sizable chunk. (Finn's outburst of "Egads!" indicated that it wasn't a pretty sight.) One of his turbines wailed as it was force-fed debris, sputtering out not long after.

Thankfully, the Academy had trained him well on the art of crashing. On simulators, beaches, oceans, deserts, runways with paramedics standing by… and, briefly, in forests.

"Brace for impact!" Sid barely remembered to warn the agents. Then he hyperfocused on the task ahead of him: not dying.

First, he had to slow down and tilt his nose up to minimize damage from hitting trees. As much as he wanted to avoid the trees, the forest extended as far as the eye could see. His only alternative was a nearby lake, glistening under the moonlight. A water landing wasn't ideal— with the damage he'd taken, he was certain he'd drown if he ditched— but it was a good landmark. So he followed the river toward it.

He lost altitude quickly. On the bright side, he must have convinced the helicopter he wasn't worth shooting at again. However, it also meant the barely-visible trees were soon nicking his fuselage. When he estimated he was five seconds from impact, he veered away from the lake and aimed for the flattest-looking part of the land.

Innocent campers could have easily mistaken him for an asteroid as he plowed into the forest.

I was gonna call this chapter "Crash and Burn" but I'm not that cruel lol. People with more knowledge of airplanes/physics, feel free to fact-check me because I'm genuinely curious how that fight would work irl.