"The partially, nearly Naked Gun 3 3/4 : 'They Saved Crumpf's Brain'…"

Summary: Frank Drebbin is out of retirement and on the case when he learns the fanatical former president and loser candidate Fred Crumpf may not be quite as dead as he left him and he and/or his crazies including his family threaten the newly elected President Woodrowmina Wilson.

Of course Nordberg is no longer on the squad because of, well, we never talk about that...

Part I…

Alone, in the vastness of the ocean…One man stranded, trapped, cast adrift on the sea in a small raft…Barely having had the presence of mind to leap out the rear cargo door on said liferaft in those tragic last moment as the plane, to which he'd pursued his quarry, spiraled down to the sea.

"That's good…But I think you oughta say it burst into flames for a few moments on striking the water…" the bearded man on raft with Drebbin noted, looking over Drebbin's shoulder to read the epic tale Frank had been writing in the logbook of the raft as they floated on the vast Pacific.

"I mean, as long as you're not including me in the story…" the slightly wizened older man smiled, his hair unkempt and long. and clothes, a once reasonably elegant suit, now faded and damaged by the sun, salt spray, and wind.

"But I get that, makes it more dramatic…If it's found once we die. I'm thinking it's sure to be a best-seller. Tom Hanks a sure-fire casting choice for you."

"Thanks. By the way, after five days at sea it might be nice if I knew your name, apart from 'Crumpf-thug-who-jumped-when-I-did'." Drebbin noted.

"'Thug' indeed…" the man, somewhat miffed. "I'm a key policy advisor…Well, I have been, to other presidents, of many parties…As you know, Crumpf listened to no one. Harold Stassen Jones, professor of political science and absurdly right-wing economics at Oxford and the Heritage Institute. Though my economics were far less absurd at Oxford. Had to accommodate those crazy Yanks at Heritage, you know. John Birchers, the lot of them."

"You were at the conventions, advising? And summoned to the plane? You must be hot stuff." Drebbin noted, eyeing him.

"Not to the Crumpfs….And I was on the plane. Been on it for months." Professor Jones noted. "The team though it looked good to say I was a member of the team and as I was getting a very nice salary and free room and board with global travel, I was good with it. Though haven't actually talked to anyone or done a lick of work in months. They would just trot me out for the cameras and then back I'd go to the first class loungewith a couple of others in the same boat. Though sadly not this one."

"That's all you've been doing?" Drebbin stared.

"Heck, I wasn't doing much more for Murdoch, or the Conservatives in England, the Skin-Heads in Germany, or the Marxists in Austria…They all really just like to have me on their teams, PR thing, really. Have been writing a book though…" he fumbled in his worn suit pockets. "Ah, here it is." Pulling out a shelf of notes on paper. "My magnum opus. 'The Plot'. Catchy title, eh?" smile.

"'The Plot' what 'plot'? Wait, you mean Crumpf's plot?" hard stare.

"Him? Oh, lord…That fool can barely manage a coherent sentence." Jones shook head. "No, I mean the Plot of his inner followers, the real movers and shakers…Their Plot. The Plot." Shrewd look.

"So what is their Plot?"

"What, you want me to spoil the ending for you?"

"Well, it's over now, right? Right?" Stare at Jones' knowing and shrewd look. "Crumpf's dead and so are his followers, inner ones anyhow. Not to mention us, shortly."

"Right?"

"Could be…" Jones shrugged. "But you and I survived."

Hmmn… "Well, ok maybe someone else made it. Or, was already at the final destination. And that's not a metaphor for Death."

"Couuulld be…Though God, I hope note as to that clichéd Death metaphor." smile. "Or, maybe even Crumpf survived."

"Professor? If you are a professor and not a thirst-crazed accountant, janitor, thug….I saw Crumpf sucked into the window of his jet at 30000 feet."

"Yes, and his bulk plugged things up rather well. Just enough to allow the pilot to maintain some control. Didn't you see the plane level and fly on, sputtering of course but flying?"

"But…" Blinking at the memory… "He was being squeezed into an 8x8 window, he must have been killed."

"Very likely." Nod. "But…There is…The Lair..."

"The Lair… Yes. Or is that just a fancy English way of saying Crumpf was a liar."

"No, there is a Lair. An old Nazi one. Cleverly set up on a Pacific isle, when we and you Yanks would have been expecting it in the Atlantic during the War." Nod. "Chock full of all kinds of the usual secret high tech the Nazis always seem to have come up with but not gotten a chance to use in the War."

"Ok…And maybe if someone on Crumpf's team. Or maybe…Russians?"

"No."

"Chinese?"

"No, no, no."

"Iranian terrorists."

"Nope."

"The Taliban?" nod.

"Please, they can't risk sending girls to school as then they'd know far more than any of them. What would they do with such high tech?"

Hmmn…Well…

"The French."

"Not since Napoleon."

"The British…Yeah, your people…Plotting a return to Empire."

"intriguing, but no."

"Well, who then? Wait? Not…Americans?"

"Wouldn't put it past them but no."

Drebbin frowning…

"Professor, you are into right wing crap with a very crappy right wing group of extremists…You're not going to start babbling about a Jewish world conspiracy led by the Rothschilds?" Drebbin, shaking head.

"I let them push me unwillingly into the most absurd right wing economics…Supply-side, Laffer curve, Milton Friedman horseshit, but please…That Qanon and other garbage? Never. Nor am I a bigot, sir."

"Sorry."

"Well, I have been jerking you about…Helps to ease the monotony out here on the ocean, waiting quite likely, to die." Jones noted. "But back to square one…Crumpf and his followers."

"But Crumpf's dead. He must be dead. Mustn't he? That one wasn't a stand-in or a clone, was he?"

"Not to my knowledge, Mr. Drebbin. But the Nazis were quite resourceful…Makes one wonder how they lost, but maybe they just sent too many of their best out to places like the Lair to work on esoteric shit they thought they wouldn't need till after conquering Russia or whatever."

"You really believe that?" Drebbin eyed him.

"I do. Quite possible, based on all I saw on…The Lair."

"And you wrote about it all, here…?" Drebbin indicated the book on Jones' lap.

"Yes, plus all I could learn of the Plot…Which is in my book, 'The Plot'."

"Right, so?" Drebbin eyed him.

"In my book, which I wrote…" Jones noted.

"Yes, yes…So?"

"A book that I am having published with illustrations. On , soon as we reach civilization, if we do…Or sooner if I can ever get a decent cell signal."

"Right?"

"I will make it available in Kindle format with Kindle Direct Read access. Practically free…"

"Oh?"

"Practically…" Jones, shrewd stare.

"How much, Professor?" Drebbin frowned.

"One extra tin of water per day…"

"Done…We'll probably be out in three days anyway, so jokes on you."

"And I want some cheese crackers. We have some Goldfish in the side pouch, I've seen the bag."

"We do?" Drebbin looking… "Well, what do you know?" he peered. "Say, there's more in here…" he pulled out a couple of bottles of wine. Then two more. Then, three bottles of champagne.

"I might have guessed so, Crumpf kept everything about him well stocked." Jones nodded.

"Ironic that we have no corkscrew." Drebbin noted. "And of course Crumpf was much too snooty to do twist off wine caps."

"I don't know." Jones noted. "Some connoisseurs are favoring caps to corks now."

"Oh, there is a corkscrew…" Drebbin, feeling around in pouch. "Say, there's a loaf of French bread in here…." Pulling bread out. "And some cheese…" Pulls a wheel of cheese out.

"Are we hallucinating?" Frank stared at the stuff.

"No, it's real cheese. A better choice than I would have thought Crumpf would make, must have been the daughter." Jones noted.

"Good, cause there's more…" Drebbin pulled out…A long string of sausages, a steak, just thawed but not badly…Coffee and mugs…A coffee maker…Potatoes au gratin in a dish…A roast leg of lamb…Baked potatoes in dish…A large pot of coq-au-vin…Several salads…A chocolate cake…Eggs…Ah, irony again as I'll have to be utterly starving to , nope…Skillet. And…A ham, more bread, more cheese. A portable stove.

And a small microwave…

"Ah, the founder of all ironies. We have a coffee maker, a portable stove, and a microwave, but alas no…" Jones began.

"Wait…Hmmn…Solar and gas-powered generator…" Drebbin, lifting out, reading front panel. "Easy to use instructions on outside."

"Well, I'll say…" Jones stared.

"Ah, and ten five liter carboys of ice-cold water. Why, there's a refrigerator in there." Drebbin pulled the water out as Jones stared.

Hmmn… Both look up as rain starts to fall.

"I suppose it would be a bit much to ask…" Jones began.

"Hmmn…Instructions for activating raft shelter roofing." Drebbin noted, pulling up a pamphlet.

"Might do to start with that first." Jones noted.

"Right…"

"Don't suppose there's a radio transmitter or a boat motor in there?" Jones asked.

"Afraid not. Though a large supply of condoms." Drebbin eyed the box.

"Yes, I'd expect that, given Mr. Crumpf." Jones nodded. "Wait, don't throw them overboard…" he urged as Drebbin prepared to toss. "We might find some use for them." Smile.

"I suppose we could patch up the raft with them somehow, if we need to."

"Sure…" Jones sighed.

"Well, lets get the roof shelter up…" Drebbin noted.

"Then I suggest white wine with the coq-au-vin and a salad." Jones suggested.

"That was better than the last 5-star restaurant I ate in…" Jones noted. "And not simply because we were starving."

"Agreed." Drebbin nodded. "Now as to…?"

"Ah, yes." Jones smiled. "Well, I suppose a good yarn to complete a marvelous meal is called for. So, as you must know, Crumpf is a Nazi, I mean a steadfast traditional one, not some flamboyant neo-…Adores Adolf, all that. As are many of his inner circle of course including Mr. Banner-Goebbels, a name Banner changed Banner to once he'd found out his heritage."

"I see." Drebbin nodded.

"And Crumpf's good friend, Putinsky, likewise a Nazi of sorts…Despite being a Russian. Kind of gave them a bond…Boys' club sort of thing, you know?"

"Uh-huh."

"You also know Crumpf lost his two re-election bids and has vowed vengeance on America for that. Though he was always planning to set up a dictatorship as soon as possible."

"Got it." Nod. "Dictator, bad."

"I suppose. I take a historian's pov, myself…Above the battle, so long as I'm not to be sent to the concentration camp and am well paid by the winning side, whomsoever that is." Jones smiled. "But here he is trying a last desperate run…A doomed one I'm sure you know. GOP party split three ways, popular beautiful minority female president as the Democratic candidate…Even he wanted to date her. But not good prospects for him, election- or date-wise."

"He seemed to think, back there…" Drebbin began.

"Well, he's utterly psychotic, which makes you wonder about his followers following such but that's how it works with dictators and cult types." Jones nodded. "But his followers like Banner expected defeat and hoped to lull their enemies with an easy win while preparing…The Plot."

"Right…And…"

"And…Well, this lair the Nazis set up on a distant Pacific island where no one would suspect they'd be…I understand it was only visited once before the war after the initial team set up shop, a Uboat carrying some ancient artifact or something. That group went to look at their artifact and disappeared or went back to Germany, no one left on the Lair knew."

Raiders of the Lost Ark theme playing…

"But the main work of…the Lair…Was to preserve the greatest minds of Nazi Germany. I know…" Jones smiled. "Not really saying much, though they did have some good nonpolitical scientists and engineers. Anyway, they sought to save those minds, possibly to make them immortal. Naturally they meant to include Adolf, Heinrich, all those perverted dweebs. But, in the end, nobody cared to save them."

"Immortal? Professor? Weren't they already…?"

"Immortal, Mr. Drebbin. Not immoral."

"Oh, right. Ok. But how? Shellac the brains? Freeze em?"

"Eehew, no as to shellac. Freezing was considered but not good. They got all mushy and soft when thawed, plus they didn't stay alive, the essential point. So, they approached the problem from another angle…Brain transference."

"Brain transference…? Wait is that like transferring on a subway?"

"What? Well, I suppose it's a crude analogy." Jones shook head. "Transfer the consciousness of one mind, say in a decaying body, to another. Practical immortality if you can keep it up. Plus, imagine the possibilities, Mr. Drebbin. I must say when I learned about the project from some of the surviving Nazis I thought them crazy. Till a few of the surviving Nazis turned out to be impossibly young and the children of their Nazi ancestors with a twist…Their parents had stolen the childrens' bodies."

"Get Out!" Drebbin, stunned.

"Yes, much like the movie." Jones agreed.

"Movie?"

"Never mind….So the Nazi builders, some few of them, had survived in the bodies of their own children. Stolen bodies, Mr. Drebbin."

"Trafficking? Not pretty, Professor."

"Far worse, Mr. Drebbin. The parents removed their own childrens' brains and replaced them with their own, a few test subjects anyway. It's a difficult procedure with a high failure rate."

"Gross…" Drebbin stared. "But very Nazi, I guess."

"Yes. But now, Mr. Drebbin…" Jones eyed him. "Suppose you can't win the presidency of the world's greatest superpower but you really, really want to rule the world…And have the technology to put your brain in someone's else body?"

"I'm not getting you, Professor. I'm tipsy from all that good vino."

"Crumpf's people plan to kidnap key American personnel, scoop their brains, and replace them with their own leaders' brains. That clear enough for you?"

"Wow, great story…A real best seller, professor."

"Mr. Drebbin, I assure you, it's no sci-fi tale. And while Crumpf is a bit too stupid and ignorant of science…Bleach cure, I ask you?...Some of his followers and the surviving preserved Nazis….Are not."

"What, kidnap important Americans…Even…?" Drebbin pauses.

"Even…" Jones nods.

"Aw, come on…Those people, especially the President are too well guarded." Drebbin frowns. "This is fun speculation when you're stuck adrift on a raft and no longer in immediate danger of starvation and death from thirst but…"

"Kidnap subordinates, replace their brains, build up to the big moment…" Jones noted.

Hmmn…

"Have they, do you know?"

"Not yet, that I know but soon they'll start…Especially now Crumpf has fled to join them."

"Oh, you're not still suggesting the guy's alive? I know you're not a medical doc, prof, but you must get that…"

"All they'd need is to save the brain, Mr. Drebbin. And I've seen experiments…If they saved Crumpf's brain, their scheme can begin. Or they might just use someone else's. Banner's or someone's."

"Not the boys…" Drebbin shook head.

"Those idiots? God no." Jones agreed. "Those idiots wouldn't last as long as Oliver Cromwell's kid."

"I have to get proof. I must get to …The Lair." Frank noted.

"You'd need quite a force to get there. The Lair is very well defended. Not only the latest weapons tech but some very creative secret Nazi programs. Like on tv, you know." Jones smiled.

"Well, I'll have to get back to civilization then…Warn my government…Have them take…The Lair."

"Well, even a large force would have trouble. And Putinsky wouldn't be crazy about letting your country take those secrets." Jones, careful stare. "But, one brave man…Well equipped…With another who knows the place and its secrets…They might have a chance."

"I see…" Drebbin nodded. "You and that man would storm the Lair, capture the Nazis and their tech and prevent them from 'Saving Crumpf's Brain', eh?"

"Exactly…" Jones nodded. "With me to pinpoint defenses and the locations of the labs you'd have a chance. Now as to what I'd want for my services…" stretching expansively, the only manscript of 'The Plot' in one raised hand.

A megashark suddenly rears over the side, grabbing Jones in its jaws before Drebbin can act, and disappearing over the side immediately.

Drebbin staring…

"Doc?"