Gatwick Bear and the Secret Plans (4 page)

“Hiya, Buddy”, Stud began. “Listen, I ain't here to frighten ya. All I want is a bit of co-operation. Let me tell ya before we start: it pays to tell the truth. My friends here”, he shouted, pointing to his bodyguards standing behind Jet, “ain't got good manners. Y'know, their moms brought 'em up rough, real rough. Know what I mean, Buddy? They just ain't got no manners”.

Jet simply nodded because he couldn't find his voice.

“Now we're gonna record this conversation, so ya better be careful what ya say. Are ya in a secret service of any type?”

A secret service! Jet didn't really know what he meant. He thought hard. Well, he had escaped from Miss Acid and secretly came to Switzerland. Only Gatwick knew about that apart from himself.

“Well, yes, you could say I am”.

“Who're ya working for? Who sent ya to fly over that area of the Alps? Threats come to us from many sides”.

Jet didn't know how to answer that. The bodyguards started closing in on Jet.

“Look Buddy”, Stud said, “I ain't here to pass the time of day. Let's get down to business. We got Red-tailed Hawk next door, he just loves torturin' prisoners in those prison cells out there. Ya ever seen one of 'em hawk birds? They gotta wing-span of four feet, wouldya believe it?” Stud signalled to one of the bodyguards who got hold of Jet's tail and twisted it hard.

Jet squawked out loud. “Well, together with Gatwick we decided to...”

“Now this Gatwick guy. Don't ya go thinkin' we dunno him. We've been keepin' an eye on him. He's dangerous. Where's he from? Do y'know where he was born?”

“He just turned up. I think he was born at Gatwick Airport, or he was lost or found there. Nobody knows”.

“Nobody knows, eh! Nobody knows, eh! Who're ya working for?”

“I don't know”.

“So how come ya guys are in secret service and ya don't who ya workin' for? Whose side are ya on?”

“All sides, I suppose”, Jet thought that might be the best answer. Better to keep it general, if you didn't know the right answer.

“Look, Buddy, let's stop messin' around here. I'll tell ya what we're gonna do. Me and you are gonna be good friends. Y'know, us feathered creatures have to stick together. Birds of a feather...! and all that baloney you come up with in London, like proverbs and rhyming slang”. Then Stud started talking to his bodyguards: “Hey, guys, whatya know, I found out that when a guy's in prison they say:
‘
He's doin' bird'. D'ya know, that means
‘
He's doin' time' because it rhymes with
‘
birdlime'. D'ya get that?”

The bodyguards didn't understand it, but they laughed all the same.

“And what was that about the early bird?”, Stud asked, looking at his bodyguards. They looked at each other with blank faces until one of them said: “Hey, chief, we can find out for ya”.

“Just relax and shut ya face willya, do me a favor”.

Stud turned to Jet again. “Look Buddy, we want ya to keep an eye on that there Gatwick. This guy's dangerous. I'm worried about this club he started: Freedom for Bears Club. That's gotta be a suspect organisation. There's only one kinda freedom, and that's our kinda freedom. Got that? Ya'know this here Gatwick guy wants to put funny ideas into bears' heads. Now listen here; me, Bird Dog, Red-tailed Hawk and Sam here, really want ya to be our friend. All ya gotta do is keep an eye on that there Gatwick and tell us what he's up to. Be nice to him, handle him right. Sam here will come and look for ya and bring information back to me. All ya gotta do is tell us his movements and what his intentions are. Ya got that?”

Well, Jet could hardly disagree. He just wanted to get out of the place.

“Yes, I've understood perfectly. If that's what you want, then I'll do it”, Jet answered.

 

“You never had a choice, chuck. Sam'll staple a micro-chip to ya tail, so that we know exactly where ya are all the time. Ya a wise guy. Ya don't wanna get caught up in them Red-tailed Hawk's claws. We got a deal. Now, go into downtown Lugano. The last time we checked him out, Gatwick was about to land at Lugano City Airport. Here, take this camera. Get us some shots of this Gatwick guy. Now just get outta my sight”.

Jet left, ready to carry out his mission.
 

Sam told Stud that Bird Dog wanted to see him.

“Send him up”, shouted Stud. “Ah, Bird Dog, what chicken nugget d'ya have for me?”

“I just wanted to like update ya on the Gatwick case, sir. I gotta email from Miss Acid”.

“Ah, that Miss Acid! One hellava lady! They don't make 'em like that any more. Come on, what's she say?”

“Miss Acid wrote that she had first seen Gatwick Bear in Gatwick Airport last Thursday, in the mornin', sir. At first she thought he was a passenger, but then she thought he was a tramp lookin' to get outta the rain. Now, if he was just homeless he wouldn't, like, go back there. He'd go live in the subway or somethin'. But, he hangs around that there airport. The next day, he was captured on CCTV in disguise, wearin' dark glasses and fake sideburns. He was up to somethin', for sure. Miss Acid found out that he'd been sleepin' in the brush closet. When she went to check it out, she found plans for blowin' up the airport. There was a map of the airport and five symbols, mushroom-like, y'know, like bomb explosions. One was set to go off under a table at the coffee bar, then another three in different garbage cans around the airport. Then she spotted him...”

“That leaves another one, you dumb head”, Stud interrupted.

Bird Dog counted them on his claws.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, sir, the other one was on a seat in departures. Then she saw him airside wanting to leave the country. She tried to stop him, but he got away. Miss Acid can't make this out. But, as we know, he's in Switzerland now”.

“Yeah, and that dumb head of a raven is gonna report to us. If somethin' goes wrong, we kill him”.

“Who will we kill, the raven or Gatwick, sir?”, Bird Dog asked.

“Both of 'em, of course, you stupid or somethin'? Where's this place of Lugano, anyway?”

“We looked it up on google earth, sir. It's south of the Alps and they speak Italian there, sir”.

“Italian!! Are you crazy? They speak Italian in Italy, and Swiss in Switzerland. Sometimes, I wonder if you're up to this. I wanna know about bombs. Any sign of 'em out there in London?”

“No, sir. Miss Acid thinks that he's gone to Switzerland to recruit other terrorists and to withdraw money from a Swiss bank account to finance his evil doings, sir”.

“What a woman! She's just brilliant. These English matrons are a step above the rest, I tell ya!”

“Yeah, sir, I'm sure they are”.

“Focus on the job, will ya? Let me know when there's some news. Get outta my sight now and close the door behind ya”.

“Yes, sir”.

Gatwick had never been so excited in all his life. He had flown on a plane, won the lottery, met his little sister, and had got all that attention. What else could a cub want? Once he had read an article in The Guardian saying that winning the lottery didn't make you happy at all. It made you feel sad as if your life was pointless – you had no direction – and it made you feel guilty about getting money for nothing. But Gatwick felt none of that. He was absolutely gob-smacked exhilarated, never been so happy to be alive.

So trundling his big box on wheels, tied up with red rope with his left paw, and carrying his small blue Edwardian case, with rusty catches and an even rustier big lock, in his right paw, he made his way to the arrivals hall. His little sister was sitting on a big red suitcase parked near the toilets.
‘
I must speak to her now that she's alone', Gatwick thought.

“Hello. I've been thinking about you. I've been thinking that you must be my little sister”, Gatwick summoned up the courage to say.

“How do you know that?”

“Well, I don't have a family, so I must have lost it, or my family lost me. That is, a family is made up of parents and cubs. I'm a cub, you're a cub. You are on your own, and so am I. You are smaller than me, and you're female, so logic tells me that you must be my little sister. I'm Gatwick”.

“Thank you, Gatwick. What you have just said is so true. Now that you've told me, I know who I am. I'm Little Sister”. She liked the sound of that.

“Little Sister, I want to free you. Why don't we go off together? Why don't you join the Freedom for Bears Club? You know, you don't have to spend the rest of your life on a dusty bookshelf in a little girl's bedroom, while she goes out to play and has fun with her friends. Don't you see you are treated like an object?”

Little Sister thought how true this was. She turned her head to see if the family she belonged to were coming out of the toilets. No, they were still in there.

“All right, Gatwick, if you are my big brother, I want to be with you. You're right, I've been a doormat all my life”.

“Of course, we can look after each other. Jump into my box and hide in there”. Gatwick parked his small blue Edwardian case, with rusty catches and an even rustier big lock, on the floor, untied the red rope around his big box on wheels, and let Little Sister jump in. He quickly tied the box up again.

 

Gatwick trundled Little Sister to the information desk. He wanted to enquire about Jet before taking the bus to the city.

“Excuse me, Miss, have you seen a jet black raven called Jet who flies like a jet?”

“I don't think so. I will ask my colleague. Maria, have you seen a jet black raven called Jet who flies like a jet? No, sorry, she hasn't seen Jet, either”.

Gatwick waited a while:
‘
He might get here soon', he thought. He waited and waited, but his friend didn't turn up. As he trundled Little Sister out of the airport, Gatwick saw some brochures. He took a handful and made his way to the bus. First they would go down to the city.

But, Jet had already arrived and, from his hiding place, had seen Little Sister get into Gatwick's box. He followed them out of the airport.

Gatwick stood at the bus stop and studied the timetable. There were lots of numbers above ten. Scratching his head in confusion, he thought:
‘
Mmmm, maybe I should just wait for the bus to turn up'. The bus soon came along. When Gatwick tried to get the box up the steps, he found he couldn't manage it – Little Sister was heavier than she looked. The bus driver stepped down to help him.

“Mamma mia, that'sa heavy. What hava you got in der, many brick?”

“No, I've got a fishing rod, a pencil sharpener, and my Little Sister”.

Gatwick held out the silver shilling to pay for his fare.

“Oh, you are so simpatico. I take you free because you maka me laugh such much”.

Gatwick had forgotten to tell him that he also had a cheque for £20,000 in there, but never mind, it was too late to tell him now. The driver was still laughing. When they arrived in the city centre, the driver helped Gatwick down the steps with the box.

“Excuse me. Could you tell me where there's a bank?”

“Oh, you are so simpatico. In Lugano much bank, much bank. More bank in Lugano than light in the street. You go, you see bank”.

It was true. As soon as Gatwick turned around he saw a bank. But before he cashed his cheque, he wanted to let Little Sister out of the box. He carefully untied the knot and opened the box. He peered into the box. Little Sister sprang out as chuffed as can be. She would have crashed into his round head, if he hadn't been quick to get out of the way:

“Oh, it was so hot in there, Gatwick. I thought I was going to die”.

“Don't be silly Little Sister, you were only born a few years ago. You're too young to die. Put all those nasty thoughts out of your mind. Let's enjoy ourselves”.