Books : For Your Paws Only : Excerpts

Chapter 8

Day Two
Wednesday
0830 Hours

"Glory?" Oz looked up in surprise from the bathroom sink in his room at the Waldorf Astoria when he heard the gentle tap at the window. His tiny friend was perched atop a pigeon on the ledge outside. Setting his toothbrush down, he wrestled the sash up a few inches. "How did you find me?"

"Easy," said Glory, slipping off the bird's back. "I used to be a computer gymnast, remember? I hacked into the hotel's reservation system and found your room number. Vinnie here did the rest."

She motioned to the pigeon beside her, who lifted a leg in a jaunty salute.

"Uh, thanks, Vinnie," said Oz. Leaning down, he whispered to Glory, "I thought you said nobody was supposed to know about this mission. Top secret, For Your Paws Only, and all that sort of thing."

Glory patted his hand reassuringly, her soft little paw as light as a feather. "It's okay, Oz. Vinnie works for us. He's Hank's cousin. Lives at the Bronx Zoo. Running Pigeon Air here in midtown is his cover."

Vinnie winked at him, and Oz smiled in relief. "I've got your stuff," he said to Glory. "I hid it in my suitcase under my pajamas."

A strange assortment of stuff it was, too, Oz thought. He and D. B. hadn't been able to resist sorting through the contents of the purple dinosaur lunch bag last night when they'd arrived at the hotel. In addition to Bunsen's souped-up video sunglasses, there was a cell phone (scratched and battered, it was much the worse for wear, but it boasted a small video screen), a miniature tape recorder, a Ping-Pong ball, a book of matches, a magnifying glass, and what looked like a kazoo. Oz couldn't imagine what Bunsen had in mind for all of it.

"Great," said Glory. "I knew we could count on you."

"Where are the others?"

Glory rolled her eyes. "B-Nut's cover for us is just a few blocks away at Rockefeller Center. A nightclub called BANANAS! under the floor of the Rainbow Room." She shook her head and sighed deeply.

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing for you to worry about," said Glory. "My absentminded brother told the nightclub owner that I'm the lead singer. Only problem is--I can't sing. I mean I really can't sing. He got me mixed up with our sister Blueberry. I've got a voice like a bullfrog with laryngitis."

"Oh," said Oz. "That is a problem."

"No kidding. Anyway, no point in worrying about it now. Our gig is hours away. What's your schedule look like today?"

Oz reached into the pocket of his bathrobe and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "The first Bake-Off session is from nine to ten thirty -- I mean 0900 hours to 1030 hours. Then a half-hour break. From 1100 to 1330 hours, we're supposed to go on a tour of the Empire State Building and have lunch at Grand Central Station. Then the afternoon Bake-Off session is from 1400 hours to 1530."

"Busy day," said Glory. "But lunch at Grand Central couldn't be better. We'll rendezvous with you there. Bring the equipment with you, okay?"

"How will I find you?" asked Oz, sounding worried again.

"Don't worry. We'll find you." Reaching into her backpack, Glory pulled out a small scroll of paper and passed it to him.

"What's this?" asked Oz.

"Coded message. From Bunsen. He asked me to give it to you. Use pigeon post if you need to write him back -- or if you want to contact any of us, for that matter."

Oz frowned. "What's pigeon post?"

Vinnie stepped forward. "One of my boys will be tailing you all day," he explained. "You need to get in touch, you just write your message, roll it up, step outside, and hold it over your head."

Oz grunted. "Sounds simple enough." He unscrolled the tiny piece of paper and squinted at it.

"The magnifying glass in the equipment bag is for you," added Glory helpfully. She climbed back up onto Vinnie. "Bunsen figured you'd need it."

Vinnie flapped off into the air, and Oz poked his head out the window.

"Glory?" he called.

"Yes?" she said, tugging on the shoestring reins to make Vinnie circle back. "What about the Bake-Off? Jordan and Tank have it in for me."

Vinnie hovered in front of the windowsill so that Oz and Glory were eye to eye. Glory regarded her human friend soberly. "I know, Oz, but I can't spare anyone yet. Not until we've got a handle on Dupont and the other rats. Someone will be back to help out just as soon as possible, I promise. Hang in there, meanwhile, okay?"

Oz nodded glumly. He'd been afraid she'd say that.

Glory saw the look on his face. She smiled at him. "Come on now, Ozymandias Levinson. You're an honorary Spy Mice Agency field agent, and you're part of my team. You are true-blue, and so am I. I won't let you down. See you at Grand Central!" With a final wave, she and Vinnie flew off.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. Oz opened it a crack.

"For heaven's sake, Oz, what's taking you so long?" his mother asked. "Hurry up now, sweetie! You have a busy day ahead, and you can't work on an empty stomach. D. B. and her mom are here already. Amelia and I are going to head down to breakfast. We'll save a spot for you two at the table." She reached through the crack in the door and tousled her son's pale blond hair. "I just know you and D. B. are going to win the Bake-Off! I can't wait to see the two of you up there on that float, riding in triumph!" Lavinia Levinson lifted her caftan-draped arms upward dramatically. As an opera diva, she did a lot of that kind of thing onstage. Offstage, as well.

"Okay, Mom," said Oz. "I'll be right down."

He emerged a few minutes later, clean and dressed. "Check this out," he said, handing D. B. the scrap of paper from Bunsen. "Coded message."

D. B. brightened. "Really? Cool."

Oz rummaged through the lunch bag for the magnifying glass and cipher disk. "See those two letters?" he said, pointing to the N and A that Bunsen had written in bold across the top of the scrap of paper. "That's the key to the code," he explained. "You line those letters up like this." Oz twisted the cipher disk until the N on the outside ring was lined up with the A on the inside ring. "Read me the rest of the letters and I'll tell you what they stand for."

"S-B-E...L-B-H-E...C-N-J-F...B-A-Y-L," said D. B.

As she spoke, Oz found the corresponding letters on the inner ring of the cipher disk and wrote them down. "FOR YOUR PAWS ONLY," he read aloud.

"Awesome!" said D. B. "It really works!" She continued to call out the letters, and the decoded message soon emerged: "GLORY IN TROUBLE. CAN'T SING. NEED YOUR HELP. SENDING SHEET MUSIC. HAVE D. B. USE TAPE RECORDER IN EQUIPMENT BAG. NEED TAPE BACK BY 1900 HOURS."

"He's sending music to me?" said D. B., frowning. "Why?"

Oz rummaged in the lunch bag again and emerged with the miniature tape recorder. "They've set up the mission command station in some mouse nightclub called BANANAS!" he explained. "It's under the Rainbow Room at Rockefeller Center."

"I've heard of that place," D. B. replied. "The Rainbow Room, I mean. It's a really fancy nightclub, right? A human nightclub, I mean."

Oz nodded. "Anyway, Glory's undercover there with the Steel Acorns. She's billed as the lead singer. It was B-Nut's idea. The only problem is, he got her mixed up with their sister Blueberry. Glory says she has a voice like a bullfrog. If she tries to sing tonight, she'll blow their cover."

"Uh-oh," said D. B., "that's not good. But I still don't understand -- why would Bunsen send the music to me?"

Oz prodded his glasses, which had slipped down his nose as usual. "Um," he replied, "I think he wants you to record the song. He's probably figured out some way for Glory to lip-sync it."

D. B. stood up so fast she nearly knocked Oz over. "Me? No way."

"Why not?" said Oz.

"Glory thinks her voice is bad? I don't even sing in the shower. I'd probably scare the shampoo. And besides, even if I could sing, I can't read music." D. B. folded her arms across her chest. "No way, Oz."

"Well I certainly can't sing for her!" protested Oz. "What are we going to do? He and D. B. stared morosely at the decoded note. Then they looked at each other. "I guess there is somebody else we can try," said Oz slowly.

D. B. relaxed her arms. "Oh, yeah," she said with a relieved smile. "It ain't over..."

"...until the fat lady sings," finished Oz. "We'll ask my mom."