The Adventures of Kid Combat Volume One: A Secret Lost (7 page)

A voice crackled back into his ear. “Why do
you insist on calling me Tweedledum?” Timmy answered.

Wedge, as loud as he could without being
detected, snapped back. “Would you rather I call you Flower? Now
listen up. Jones is in some sort of a meeting with these guys, and
I can’t make out a thing he’s saying. The room is made of thick
glass walls, and his guards are blocking the door. Any ideas?
Over,” Wedge said.

“There’s got to be a way. There always is,”
Timmy replied.

Wedge paused, waiting for more from his
younger brother. Then Wedge said, “You didn’t say, ‘Over.’” He was
really into the spy aspect of his missions and paid attention to
every small detail he saw on TV. Saying over at the end of
transmissions seemed to be important. The actual reason eluded
Wedge, but that didn’t stop him from insisting that his brother use
it. Timmy, on the other hand, wasn’t playing along.

“What?” Timmy questioned his older
brother.

“You need to end your transmissions with
‘over,’” Wedge said.

Timmy was not complying. “Just find a way to
get in there or a way to bug the room, or this will be all
over.”

“You never want to have any fun. But I’m on
it. Over,” Wedge said and got back to work. Timmy rolled his eyes
and shook his head in disgust. How is he my brother? he said to
himself, pondering the possibility that the hospital made a
mistake.

In the office, Wedge considered how he could
bug the conference room. There was no way to get near with being
seen, and he assumed the glass would be too thick for any remote
transmitters. Plus, he had to deal with Jones’s bodyguards and
anyone else that happened along. He then thought of another option.
He packed his things and headed toward the exterior windows of the
office. It was an older office building, and Wedge noticed that the
windows opened manually. He shook his head in disbelief as he
started to open the window.

“I can’t believe I’m going to do this …”

He circled the hand crank, and the window’s
gears eked into action. The window apparently hadn’t been opened in
quite some time. With every creak, Wedge looked over his shoulder
to see if anyone heard it. No one did. When the window was open far
enough, Wedge flung one leg out onto the small ledge. He then
braced himself against the window frame and flung the second leg
out the window. A third motion propelled his body out onto the
ledge.

He wasn’t that far up, but what Wedge failed
to realize was that the window was directly over Main Street. He
looked down on the crowd of people. Scanning back and forth, he
momentarily made eye contact with his brother. A second later, his
radio went off.

“What are you doing?” Timmy asked.

Standing up straight and slowly shuffling his
feet along the narrow ledge, a not-so-confident or cocky Wedge
answered, “Ahh … I’m not to sure.”

“You didn’t say, ‘Over,’ Mr. Spy,” Timmy
laughed as he looked up. There was no reply.

Wedge continued down the ledge for about
fifteen feet. Baby step by baby step, he neared the conference
room. Sweat ran down his face as his nervousness gave way to fear.
When he was about a foot from the window, he stopped and bent down.
He strapped on a harness and fastened it to the wall to stabilize
himself. He then took off his backpack and placed it in front of
him. He rifled through it and finally produced a small instrument
that looked like a stethoscope, only the tube was longer and it had
a suction cup at the bottom instead of a cold piece of metal.

Carefully and as stealthily as possible, he
applied the suction cup to the bottom corner of the window. He
raised the other end to his ears and fiddled with a knob on the
middle of the tube. A crackle or two later, a voice rang out.

“I don’t like it. It’s too risky,” the voice
said, fading in and out. Wedge adjusted the knobs again.

“Yes, but if it is true, then I say it’s
worth the risk,” another said. Wedge didn’t recognize either voice.
Uproar occurred after that last statement. Wedge heard multiple
voices at once and couldn’t make out any of them. But it was
obvious that the men were bickering.

Timmy, who could also hear the conversation,
radioed Wedge. “What’s going on in there?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t really see anything.
Let me get closer,” Wedge said. As he shifted his weight, he lost
his footing. From the street, Timmy saw the minor slip.

“On second thought, why don’t you stay right
there?” Timmy said.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine,” Wedge replied
with a little bit of embarrassment.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Timmy
said. The two boys didn’t exchange any more words and continued
listening to the conversation in the room. Tempers seemed to have
gotten worse.

“I’m just not too sure about this plan,” the
same apprehensive voice said. “The risks just seem too great. I
mean, what if we get caught?”

Finally, two boys heard a voice they did
recognize. “You are entitled to your opinion,” Jones began.

The man replied, “Thank you.”

“And I am entitled to mine,” Jones came back
with more anger and volume in his voice. “And mine is that you are
fired!”

There was silence for a few seconds in
Wedge’s ears. He moved his instrument around, trying to pick up any
sound. There was none. Finally, the man spoke.

“But, sir, you can’t do this. I’ve been
with—” he started, but Jones interrupted him.

“I don’t care how long you have been here,
and I don’t want to hear your sob story. You are dismissed.”

“But, sir! I was just trying to help you
out,” the man pleaded. “What you want to do is against the law—”
Once again, the man was interrupted.

“I am the law!” Jones roared. A sharp noise,
which Wedge deciphered as Jones pounding on the desk, rang in his
ear. “You still haven’t figured that out, after all this time? Then
you haven’t been paying attention too well, which means you haven’t
been doing your job well. If you will all excuse me, I’m late for
my press conference. The plan will continue as I have instructed.
And get this man out of my face.”

You could hear commotion in the room as the
men got up to leave.

Wedge immediately radioed Timmy.

“Tweedledum, he’s on the move. I’m coming
back in. Over,” Wedge said into the radio, but he didn’t wait for
an answer. As the drones said their goodbyes and took one last
opportunity to make nice with Jones, Wedge was packing up his
transceiver. He then carefully sidestepped along the ledge. He
covered about ten feet when it happened.

A pigeon returned from its morning flight and
headed for its nest—on the fourth-floor ledge. What Wedge didn’t
know was that he was getting close to the pigeon’s home, a little
to close for the pigeon’s liking. Within seconds, Wedge was more of
a target than a trapeze artist.

As the pigeon repeatedly dive-bombed Wedge
from above, Wedge let out a barrage of “shoos,” which didn’t help.
A couple of swats at the bird didn’t help, either. Instead, they
caused him to lose his balance. One foot missed its mark and hit
the edge of the ledge. Wedge stumbled. He caught his balance for a
second or two, but with a final dive-bomb from the bird, it was all
over. His arms flailed and circled as he desperately tried to
regain his balance. But it was to no avail.

“This is gonna hurt,” Wedge said as he
fell.

As he plummeted, he screamed, and his arms
flapped up and down as if he were hoping he would fly.

After a final somersault in the air, Wedge
hit the ground. Smack!

He lay flat on his back with both eyes closed
tightly. Then one eye opened and looked around. Then the other. His
brow furrowed, and he turned his head to the right, then to the
left, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“Am I dead?” he said out loud, still not
grasping the situation.

“No, but you would be if you weren’t so
predictable,” a familiar voice rang out.

Wedge quickly felt around him. He was on a
mattress.

“Yeah, I figured you would fall and that I
better be prepared,” Timmy said, kneeling next to his brother. He
patted Wedge on the shoulder. “Remember that time in school when
you climbed up on the closed bleachers? Who saved you with the bin
of dodgeballs?”

Wedge sat up. He was embarrassed that once
again, his brother had to save him from disaster. He liked it a lot
better when the situation was reversed.

“Did you find anything out, Superman?” Timmy
asked.

Wedge paused for a moment, still trying to
figure out the situation. But then he snapped out of it and said,
“Yeah, he’s on his way to his press conference. He said he was
late. We better get over there.”

“I’ll radio Kid. He’ll want to be listening,
too,” Timmy said as he picked up his radio.

“Tweedle—” Timmy paused and stared at his
older brother. He sighed deeply, and Wedge laughed. In a low,
unenthusiastic voice, he continued. “Tweedledee to Kid Combat. Come
in, Kid Combat.”

“Say, ‘Over,’” Wedge butted in.

“Over,” Timmy complied.

“This is Kid. Go,” the voice on the speaker
rang out.

“Humpty Dumpty on the move. Heading to press
conference. Over.”

“I’ll call the girl and Gears. We’ll
rendezvous later. End transmission,” Kid replied.

Chapter Six:

Jones Press Conference

3:00 pm

A few blocks down Main Street, a crowd had
gathered outside the latest Jones project, The Jonestown Mall. The
mall was an old Elmcrest courthouse that had been renovated into a
large shopping center. Jones Industries was the chief principal
contractor on the project and rebuilt it from the ground up. It
also didn’t hurt that Jones himself would own almost 90 percent of
the stores in the mall and stand to make a great profit.

This site became available after Jones built
a new courthouse for Elmcrest on the other side of the street. It
was a much more modern and bigger courthouse, one that the town
needed but couldn’t afford. Jones gladly stepped in and donated the
building, using it as a write-off for his company. He donated the
money with the understanding that he would own the rights to the
old courthouse and also get to name the new courthouse. The town
agreed, and within days, the deed was signed over to Jones. The
following day, construction crews piled in, and work began on the
new mall. The project took months to finish and was marred in
controversy and lawsuits. Jones bought his way out of most of them,
and finally, the mall’s grand opening had arrived.

The exterior of the newly finished mall was
gorgeous. The white marble stairs leading up to the building had
been cleaned and the old bright white shine returned. The building
itself was renovated and finely painted with a white gloss that
reflected the sunlight brightly, catching the eye from blocks away.
Inside, the place had been gutted, and dozens of stores stood in
the place of former courtrooms and briefing rooms.

For today’s event, balloons of all sizes
lined the stairs leading up to the building and were strung all
along the roof. On top of the roof, a large net held more balloons
that were to be released following the ceremonial ribbon-cutting.
Banners, posters, and signs adorned every surface of the mall’s
exterior walls. It was a big party, and at the center of it all was
Jones.

Between the two pillars that marked the
building’s main entrance sat a podium, and loudspeakers flanked the
pillars. Two oversize banners with the Jones Industries company
logo draped across the new mall.

The street, sidewalk, and stairs were filled
with reporters, news crews, and onlookers patiently waiting for
Jones to make his entrance. Timmy and Wedge were amongst the
participants and tried to blend into the crowd. A small murmur
could be heard as the start time for the press conference came and
went.

After several minutes, and without warning,
the party began. The two massive doors leading into the building
swung open, and two men emerged. Dressed in all black, they walked
down the red carpet and stood on either side of the podium. One of
the men put his finger to his ear, uttered a few words into his
right sleeve, and returned to attention.

Then out marched a dignified-looking Jones.
Dressed in his most luxurious suit, he approached the podium. A
thunderous ovation rang through downtown.

Even though Jones’s ego had taken a hit that
morning, Elmcrest still loved him. They knew only of the facade,
not the evil that brewed just beneath the surface. And Jones loved
every minute of it. He ate up the applause, the accolades, and the
attention they threw at him. He demanded respect, and he got
it.

The applause lasted for what seemed like
minutes but probably was much shorter. Jones never hushed the crowd
or waved his hand, signaling for them to stop. No. He waited for
them to stop admiring their “leader.”