I'm just realizing it's fire season where I live so this is obviously the best time to make fire puns like this :/

CJ: It's not letting me respond to your review via PM but thank you! I know most fans aren't super into Cars 2 things, so I'm happy this story still got your attention. (And that I picked the right quotes for the summary lol.)

Holley might not have pushed to change the cover if Finn had bothered to mention that he had already booked the honeymoon suite.

But no, she only found out when the receptionist stamped their fenders with check-in sensors bordered with hearts— big, fat, red and pink hearts.

"I made the booking when we had our original cover," Finn said defensively as they rolled away from the front desk. "And they do weddings here, so there were many of these rooms."

"Sure, Finn," Holley replied, resisting the urge to tase him. At least two hundred cars were scattered around the room; it was too early in the mission to make a scene. And if she tased him, she'd probably disable his holographic disguise— that is, a basic forest green paint job over a more modern Aston Martin model, with hideously large-rimmed glasses around his windshield because he assumed that was what a software developer would wear. Her own disguise was a simple but elegant white coupe, without any glasses. ("Because I have developed software, Finn, and I don't wear hideous glasses like those.")

They ventured further into the main hall. Even if Spinner had funded the refurbishing through illicit means, he had a good aesthetic eye. Holley had never been in a log cabin before, but this was a dozen notches above what she had always pictured one to be: real wood walls, a large stone fireplace, gigantic red rugs, and warm lighting. A distant train horn was accompanied by melodic bells.

A good place for weddings.

…Stop doing that to yourself, Holley.

"Why do we even need a room?" she asked, trying to distract herself. "We know Spinner's not trustworthy with money, and we only have a certain amount of funds for miscellaneous purchases."

He shrugged, maneuvering around a Cessna's wing. "The idea is that we put an end to his activities before he can send the money off. In the meantime, we'll blend in with the tourists and be close to the action. Plus, it's a break from Siddeley."

She couldn't help but snicker. "He probably appreciates a break from us, too."

The ramps were hard to find, hidden behind other walls, but eventually they arrived at their suite on the second floor. Holley positioned her sensor under the scanner at the door. With a soft beep, the garage-style door lifted, and the lights turned on automatically.

"Well, this gives Sid's cabin a run for its money," Holley said, heading to the balcony. She had to admit, it was a cozy space. A large sleeping mat, a TV, a kitchenette— and most importantly, a clean loo. A stunning panoramic view of the valley spread before her, with the runway just barely visible. Gasket Geyser, a popular attraction in front of the lodge, was lit up golden in the night.

Finn double-checked the hallway before closing the door. "Is he still around?"

Holley peered down at the steady flow of cars entering the lodge. "I've got eyes on him. He's doing a terrible job at hiding."

Futuristic and sleek Siddeley looked out of place at the woodsy lodge. The hangar-like building dwarfed him… but as Holley had predicted, he was too big to fit through the entrance. Groups of cars, vans, and smaller planes navigated around him while he lingered by the door, seemingly panicking. One older-looking plane, of a design that Holley was unfamiliar with, broke off from a group of colorful aircraft and made a beeline for poor Sid.

Oh, dear.

"So who do you fly for?"

Sid jumped at least six inches off the pavement, almost squashing two RVs. They gave him death looks as they rolled away. Grimacing, he turned around to face an imposing C-119. "W-What do you mean?"

"You have some pretty powerful weapons." The Flying Boxcar motioned to Sid's wings, where his poorly-designed-to-not-be-retractable gun barrels made him look like some dejected security guard. "But you aren't a fighter jet. So who authorized that installment?"

Simply fleeing would be more suspicious than stumbling through an impromptu interrogation. So Sid flattened his voice into an American accent. "Oh, right, sorry. I-I'm in the Air Force."

"Which base are you stationed at?" the C-119 shot back, narrowing his critical eyes.

"E-Edwards." It was the first one that came to mind. He'd been an intern there while he was in the Flight Academy. He'd hated the climate— mostly dry, relentless sun— but they did interesting work.

The C-119 scrutinized him. "You don't have any markings." He turned, showing off the sun-faded U.S. AIR FORCE on his own side.

Sid almost died of shame right then and there. Attempting to deceive a legitimate veteran was not a good idea, but he was in too deep to back out. "I'm an experimental model. I don't wear the markings off-duty. It allows me to work part-time as a charter between tests— that's what brought me here, actually."

The C-119's soul-slicing stare was enough to make Sid regret not actually going into charter work. Then, just as Sid was formulating another excuse, the cargo plane rolled back enough to give him space to breathe. "Huh. That's what I get for missing the newsletter for a few months. Name's Cabbie."

"Siddeley." Maybe it wasn't the best idea to offer his real name to a stranger— he had a unique name, gee thanks Mom — but he'd already spent so much brainpower to fabricate the rest of the cover, he didn't think he could remember an alias.

Cabbie nodded thoughtfully, then nudged Sid with his wingtip. "C'mon. Let's find someplace to chat, away from all this overpriced glitz."

He began to roll off. Perplexed, Sid trailed after him. "Wait, just like that? We're—"

"Brothers-in-arms," Cabbie interjected. "But you're obviously green. It's my obligation to take you under my wing. And I want to know what's going on with the kids nowadays. In fact, coffee's on me."

Sid considered it. Cabbie was unarmed and seemed to buy his story. With the agents in the lodge, there was no reason to not socialize. And, well, coffee.

So he followed Cabbie around the back of the lodge.

Holley chuckled to herself as she watched Sid head off with the larger plane. She re-entered the suite. "It seems like Sid's making friends— Finn, what are you doing?"

He was running his tires over all the furniture, including the telly. "Checking for bugs," he replied distractedly.

It took her a few seconds to realize he meant listening devices, not insects. "Why would they have the room bugged before they know who's in it?"

"You can never be too careful in our line of work." He backed away from the TV, apparently finding it safe. "Now, did you see Spinner down there?"

"Not at all, except for a cardboard cutout."

"Strange to not show up at his own party." He looked deep in thought, then turned around and… unlocked the mini fridge. It was already stocked with bright blue Dinoco oil cans. Finn nodded approvingly, nudging one out and opening it. "Check the security cameras, see where he is," he said between sips.

An unnecessary comeback struck her like lightning, and rolled off her tongue before she could put it in a bottle. "I'm on it, hubby."

He sputtered and choked, making a visible effort to not spit out his oil. "You did that on purpose," he muttered once he regained composure.

"Did what?" she said in the most innocent tone she could muster. He rolled his eyes and retreated to the loo. She grinned for the next ten minutes. Serves you right.

It wasn't much of an effort to hack the security system; it seemed to be the only part of the lodge that hadn't been upgraded. Quickly finding a loophole, she flipped through various camera feeds before finding the real, non-cardboard cutout Cad Spinner. He was talking up a vibrant green van, who looked less than amused.

Finn re-appeared, and Holley showed him her screen. "Spinner's occupied," she said.

"Good. We should start our investigation in his office, muffin."

She shut off her screen, heading for the door, but then realized— "Muffin?"

"TruckTruckGo told me it was a popular name for a wife. I looked up precisely one hundred more nicknames just now."

"...So this is war?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

So they exited their room. Spinner's office was on the other side of the lodge. They hurried across the wooden platforms, high above the tourists, celebrities, and park staff mingling in the common area—

"DUSTY CROPHOPPER?!" a voice blurted, rising above the other chatter. It sounded relatively close, so Holley looked over the railing. She quickly spotted a small orange-and-white propeller plane on the ground level. A forklift had raced up to him, snapping photos.

"What's Crophopper doing here?" she asked, more to herself than to Finn. "And why is he wearing pontoons?"

Finn gave her a strange look. "Do you know him?"

"How do you not know? We went to Mexico City to run security for the race. They had to fish him out of the ocean. It was all over the news. And then we had to investigate foul play—"

"I can't remember every single vehicle we search the globe for, Shiftwell."

"That happened last year."

"I have no recollection of that. Now hurry, his office is down that corridor."

So they broke into Cad Spinner's office. Although he had left the door unlocked; he was basically asking for it. Despite the lackadaisical security, his office looked like it had gone through the most expensive renovations out of anywhere in the lodge. A personal spa took up at least half of the room, complete with a massage contraption. One whole wall was covered in pictures of Spinner's achievements, including several selfies with his rich friends. There was even a putt-putt golf mat in the corner. Floor-to-ceiling windows faced the mountains and the starry night sky.

Right in front of the window was a massive walnut wood desk. Pamphlets for the "Historic Fusel Lodge Reopening Weekend" were stacked on one side, and a three-inch binder lay on the other. Spinner's desktop computer, with a wild mane of sticky notes around its screen, was begging to be investigated. The notes were hastily scribbled with reminders such as Hire cheaper janitors and Fire that nitwit who couldn't get the crystal glass.

Holley opened her heads-up display, connecting with Spinner's shiny new computer. Glancing around, she noticed a slightly older model was in the metal mesh wastebasket beside the desk. She chuckled; it seemed he couldn't have anything that wasn't the trendiest, flashiest item on the market. Still, the new computer was no match for her state-of-the-art spy system. She beamed, engine swelling with pride as she announced, "I'm in."

"Anything suspicious?" Finn asked, flipping through the binder.

"Not yet." Holley browsed Cad's many, many, many folders. "He could be more organized. Every folder just has one item in it. Several of these could be combined under a broad heading…."

She couldn't resist doing a little administrative work, combining folders together and renaming them. It was only fair to leave things better than they found them.

"Holley, look at this." Finn slid a marked-up spreadsheet toward her. It detailed all the money Cad had received in the past year, from his own paycheck to funding for the renovations. Finn moved his tire down the list. "This is from the government, this is from a fundraiser, this is from another one of his businesses, this is from a friend… But look. A research group made several significant donations to the park."

"Well, of course the science community would donate to national parks."

"Yes, but the donations get larger over time. This amount of money should generate more publicity — and it certainly wouldn't go directly to his personal checking account."

Holley nodded slowly. "There has to be some kind of communication to arrange these transfers. I'll run a search. What's the group called?"

"Elm Nos."

Holley opened Cad's email and searched for Elm Nos. An email came up in the trash folder. It was like he had meant to get rid of it, but forgot to confirm it. The trash folder had several hundred emails in it, so Holley concluded that this occurred often.

She started from the beginning.

To whom it may concern,

Elm Nos would like to take up a temporary research residence in your park. We are on the verge of a revolutionary invention. We trust that your experienced firefighting team can effectively respond to any accidents, explosions and/or massive fires that may occur as a result of our research.

That's right — YOU can be a part of our first steps to world domination! Once we can control the air, sea, and eventually the land, we will have CHROME on its spare tires.

"C.H.R.O.M.E. should be written as an acronym," Holley muttered. It was a fairly easy mistake, she knew, but somehow focusing on it made it easier to cope with the larger problems— like the actual content of the letter.

"Keep reading, love," Finn said, not taking his eyes off the spreadsheet.

She gave Finn something she thought was a vicious side-eye, then continued reading:

If your park is still standing after all of the testing, we'll make it a national landmark: the birthplace of our conquest.

Until we reach our ultimate glory, we are willing to give you $100,000 for your cooperation, as well as $30,000 per month. You know, for those lodge renovations (and personal treats, we assume).

So if you're interested, accept our up-front payment and keep doing what you're doing. And don't mind the dust/storms/fires our weather machine kicks up.

Signed,

Acer and Grem, representatives of Elm Nos

P.S. Delete this message.

P.P.S. CHROME is a spy organization that has sponsored the eradication of our kind, the Lemons. You wouldn't get it, but they are bad news.

Holley wasn't exactly shocked that the Lemons were behind this. If anything, she was disappointed that they made their scheme so blatant— especially their obvious anagram of a cover name, "Elm Nos." Maybe they believed that Spinner was so easy to corrupt, there was no need to hide their plans.

As soon as Finn finished reading, he headed for the door. "Well, that's enough evidence for me. Time to find a weather machine."

"How would we do that?" Holley asked, skimming the email again. "They didn't say where they're building it."

"Yes, though there are only so many places they can work without attracting attention. If they're in the forest, we only need to look for a large use of electric power. We can take Sid around—"

The door flew open, and the silhouette of a muscle car entered the room. "Hey! What are you two doing in here?"

Game on. "We're from the IT department," Holley said before Finn could go with a newlyweds-lost-on-the-way-to-the-restrooms story. "Spinner instructed us to update all the systems to accommodate more visitors to the lodge website."

"Oh, yes," Finn jumped in. "And his desktop's HTML storage is two hundred gigabytes over capacity, so the file speed is delayed."

Holley forced an innocent smile, praying that this security guard knew nothing about computers and would take them at their word.

The car stared at them for what felt like an hour. Then he grumbled, "Hurry up, then. Be out in five minutes."

"We're just about done," Holley said, sending the email to herself. She re-organized a few more files (and deleted some very crass photos) before shutting down the desktop.

Finn trailed behind her as they pushed past the guard. Once they were out of earshot, he whispered, "That was a capital idea, Holley. He didn't suspect a thing."

"We got lucky with that," she replied. In her mirrors, she saw the security guard enter the office, probably to make sure nothing was stolen. "You almost blew our cover."

"What? How?"

"First, it is impossible for a computer to exceed its storage capacity. Though I suppose it depends on how you define its capacity…."

Fueled by frustration, she went on for ten minutes straight. At least he seemed interested.

"Mr. Spinner, were you expecting any IT employees in your office earlier?"

One mystery solved. Now to stop the bad guys, which should be easy enough….

(Also the formatting was giving me a tough time so lmk if anything looks weird ;-;)