The Tillamook Escapade
Act II - Into Escher’s Tinderbox
Two hours later, The Vertijet descended toward a giant arched structure near the Oregon coast. A thousand feet long and nearly twenty stories high, it looked like a Quonset hut built to house the entire Marine Corps.
“Omigosh!” Gadget gasped as they neared the roof. “That building’s gigantic!”
“It’s the largest all-wood structure in the world,” Gordon said. “It was built for World War Two airships that patrolled the coast, and it’s still in use as an aircraft museum. We have a field office in the rafters. It isn’t normally staffed, but it will do while we’re here.”
Only a few security lights were visible on the ground. As they circled, a brilliant green light appeared on the top of the structure, flashed twice, and vanished.
“There she is,” Gordon announced.
“You’re using a biscuit gun?” Gadget said, incredulously. “What about all the high-tech equipment?”
“A signal light,” Gary explained, “is silent. It can’t be intercepted, spoofed or jammed. Dirt simple still works, and reliably. You know that better than I do.”
Gary made a short approach, only switching on the landing lights when he was well over the structure and hard to see from the ground. He planted the Vertijet on the landing pad and immediately cut the lights and engines. He and Gordon scrambled out to chock the wheels, and Gadget clambered out the co-pilots door behind them.
Approaching out of the darkness toward them, Gadget saw a lithe, very feminine shape move into the dim light that reached them from the ground. She was a red squirrel, and the little fur tufts on her ears gave her a pixieish appearance. Her red hair flowed to her waist; her tail swayed in perfect, sinuous counterpoint to her steps. She had more curves than the Snake River, all wrapped in a red and white leather motorcycle suit that was unzipped about half again too far for Gadget’s sense of propriety. She was as tall as Gary, looked as strong as Gordon, and had eyes that glimmered as hard and green as polished jade.
“Gary,” she said curtly in a low, sultry voice. “Gordon. I wasn’t expecting a third.”
The Scruffies moved up to stand on either side of Gadget, and she wasn’t sure if their stance was falsely casual, possessive or protective. None of the possibilities made her feel at ease.
“This,” Gordon said, “is Gadget Hackwrench of the Rescue Rangers. She’s our cheese consultant.”
“I see.” She extended her hand to Gadget. “I’m Gloria, but everyone calls me G.G. Nice to meet you. Looks like I’ll be your tour guide.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Gadget said with a gulp as she shook hands.
“Since I didn’t make any arrangements,” G.G. said, “you’ll have to bunk with me. Is there anything you need from the plane?”
“You go ahead,” Gordon said. “I’ll get our flight bags and be right down.”
G.G. turned and led the way to a small stairway which led into the support beams of the hanger. A series of walkways threaded a bewildering path around, over and through the trusses. The complexity required to leave the hanger with seven acres of clear floor space made the overhead look like M. C. Escher had been playing with twenty ton jackstraws.
High-powered lights nestled in the ceiling around them gave the beamwork an even more alien appearance. The hanger floor was fifteen free-fall stories below and, somehow, being indoors made the height feel more acute to Gadget, and she clutched the walkway railings as she went. The air in the overhead was desert dry and smelled of old dust and even older wood, as if it were a thousand foot long attic.
The field office that G.G. led them to would have been viewed from below as a couple of wooden boxes bolted against the curve of the ceiling, their purpose lost to time. The office space inside was equipped with two desks, a table and a few chairs. The furnishings, like the office, were simple and sparse. Doll house furniture, if your doll house was stenciled U.S.M.C. One desk held a small computer terminal which used a wristwatch sized CRT screen from a defunct mini-TV. Beyond the desks was a countertop and a kitchen just barely large enough for the title “efficiency.” There was room in the place for all four of them to stand, but a fifth rodent might have been forced to stay outside.
“Here we are,” G.G. announced. “Bunk rooms are down the hall past the kitchen. Boys on the right, girls on the left. The lavatory is here on the left. The facilities are a bit primitive, since water’s at a premium this high up. There’s no shower, but you can manage a sponge bath at the sink. Where’s Gordon?”
“Right here,” he said, mashing himself and three stuffed flight bags in the door.
“Before we do anything else,” G.G. said, “come with me.”
She led them down the narrow hallway to a door that opened to the outside and on to a small platform that protruded from the upper curve of the building’s roof. Gadget noticed a steel wire fastened to the building just above the platform. It stretched slightly downward into the distance. Several “T” handles attached to pulleys were hooked to the wire.
“Now, get this and get it straight,” G.G. said sternly. “Our biggest hazard here is fire. If you hear the alarms go off, or you smell smoke, don’t hesitate. Get out here. Grab one of those trolleys attached to the wire. Kick out that part of the railing and slide for the ground. It’s twelve hundred feet and there’s a landing cushion hidden at the end. You’ll find a shelter about thirty yards east.”
“How great is the fire danger?” Gadget asked.
“Do you see that big concrete pad?” Gadget nodded. “There was a hanger identical to this one there until 1992. It caught fire one night. Before the fire department could even get in sight of it, the flames were four hundred feet high. If this place catches, don’t wait for anything, not even each other. Get out fast.”
As she led them back inside. Gadget turned to Gary, “Are you ever going to take me to a place that’s safe?”
“If there is a truly safe place, I haven’t found it.”
“Guests have first dibs on the bathroom,” G.G. announced. “I’m going to check in with my support team in Portland.”
“Since when did you work with a team?” Gary said crossly.
“Since I found some people who can stay behind me,” G.G. snapped.
“It’s probably the only way they can keep you from going off the scope!” Gary retorted.
"All right!” G.G. snarled. “Your butt is the football, your ears are the goalposts and here comes the extra point!"
"It figures you'd have to get behind me to take a shot!"
“Gary!” Gadget squeaked, surprised. “You don’t have any call to...”
“It’s okay, Gadget,” G.G. said, not taking her eyes off him. “He’s not picking a new fight. We’re just keeping our vitriol level topped off from all the old ones.”
Gary huffed into his bunkroom and G.G. marched back into the office. Gordon gave Gadget a shrug and a “what can you do?” smile before following Gary, leaving a very puzzled mouse to her own devices.
Gadget made her bathroom trip brief so as not to strand the others, and made for the bunk room. The beds and dresser were as starkly practical as the office furnishings. It was Motel Six a hundred and fifty feet in the air. Gadget undressed, slipped into her trusty flannel nightgown, selected a bed and got in.
Gadget could hear Gary and G.G. start the disagreement again in the office. The words weren’t clear, but the heat of the argument was. They didn’t shout, but there were fewer words in each exchange. Suddenly, the office door banged shut and the place fell silent.
G.G. came in a few moments later and clicked off the light, leaving a dim red night light glowing. She sat at the edge of her bed and pulled off her boots and socks, giving her feet a hard, soothing rub.
“Did Gary go out?” Gadget asked, concerned.
“Yeah. He wasn’t spilling enough blood for his satisfaction, so he jumped.”
Gadget shot up in the bed. “He jumped!? From the ceiling!?”
“Sure,” G.G. said nonchalantly. “He glided down to the hanger deck. He’ll be back when he cools off.”
“Oohhh,” Gadget sagged in relief. “Flying squirrel. I forgot he could do that.”
G.G. slowly unzipped and peeled off the motorcycle suit. Gadget goggled when she realized G.G. wore not a thing under that suit. G.G. ran her fingers through her fur in a combination stretch and scratch bout, then pulled back her bedcovers and flopped in just as she was.
If she has to use that slide-for-life, Gadget thought, it’s going to be a cold, embarrassing trip. Nonetheless, Gadget found her unexpected roommate both intimidating and fascinating.
“So, Gadget, how did you get mixed up with the drug-free Cheech and Chong? Did Robertson give you the assignment? The O.T.T.? Oh, I’ll bet it was Chucky. It’s just his angle.”
“No. No one assigned me. The Scruffy Guys got me out of a bad situation a couple of months ago. I told them they could ask my help anytime.”
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud!” G.G. said with a smile Gadget could feel as much as see in the dim light. “You’re a volunteer! Well, now I am impressed, Mrs. Peel.”
“It’s not a big thing,” Gadget insisted. “It’s just that I can’t...”
“...Sit and do nothing,” G.G. concluded. “I know. Everyone in this business feels that way.”
“So it seems. I don’t think Gary could survive doing anything else.”
“Did he tell you about The Sin of the Dowd?” G.G. asked pointedly.
“Ye-ess,” Gadget said carefully. “You’re not going to tell me it’s just a line of his, are you?”
“Not at all. He rarely tells that story. It’s like having him hand over his aorta. It means you’re special to him.”
Gadget felt her face grow warm and changed the subject. “Gary sounded surprised that you work with a team.”
“My support team stays at our base in Portland, which he knows perfectly well. I’ve mostly been a solo operator. There aren’t many that work alone.”
“Is that what you prefer? It sounded like you get along with Gordon.”
“Gord’s a peach. Gary -- Well, we’ve had problems in the past. But I work solo for good reason and you may as well know it now. I keep getting my partners killed.”
Gadget couldn’t think of anything to say to such a blunt statement. She just waited for G.G. to explain.
“I’m not careful on operations. Not with myself, anyway. And I’m not good at looking out for anyone with me. I get so fixated on mission success that I forget everything else.”
“Don’t your partners look out for you?”
“That’s the problem,” G.G. said. She kicked off the covers and sat up to face Gadget, her voice low and weary. “They try. And I draw them into danger where I’ve only left room or time for myself to get away. I’ve had two partners killed and one permanently disabled. I can’t do that to anyone again.”
“Gary told me this was a dangerous business. More dangerous than being a Rescue Ranger.”
“Don’t rely on me too much. You are going to have to watch out for the guys. If they think the situation is slipping out of control, they’ll try something desperate. You might have to catch their collars and hold them back.”
“I hate to tell you this, but usually one of the Rangers has to grab my collar. I get in enough trouble on my own.”
“But that’s perfect!” G.G. said. “They’ll be so busy watching over you they won’t get in trouble themselves. Especially Gary. He just can’t help trying to protect everyone in sight.”
“I noticed. He’s got a big heart.”
Just be careful with your heart. Don’t let any of us get too close, Gadget. Considering our business, it probably wouldn’t work out.”
“G.G., I knew I wasn’t coming up here on a date. Even if romance were on my mind, this wouldn’t be the time for it.”
Gadget felt the smile from G.G. warm the room. There was something behind it, some secret she wasn’t telling. It was as if she had Gadget’s Christmas present behind her back and didn’t want her to see it.
“No. This wouldn’t be the time,” G.G. said softly as she lay back in bed. “Forget I said anything. Let’s get some sleep.”
“Good night, G.G.” Gadget said. And she slipped off into dreams of sunlit fields.
* * *
With no windows to admit sunlight, no alarm clock and companions whose stock and trade was silence, Gadget slept undisturbed into the mid-morning. She awoke well rested, got dressed, and found the office vacant. A note had been left for her to follow the right-hand walkway.
Gadget weaved through and along the fantastic latticework of the hanger structure for hundreds of feet until she at last sighted Gary standing on a small platform against the arch of the hanger. He smiled as she approached.
“Hi, Gary.”
“Mornin’ Gadget.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry I argued with G.G. in front of you last night. I should have kept my big mouth shut.”
“It’s okay, Gary. She and I talked last night.”
Gary weighed the vast implications encompassed by the word “talked,” and decided if Gadget would still get this close to him, it couldn’t be as bad as it might have been.
“Shall we take in some brunch?” he suggested.
“The rumor that I live on engine oil is highly exaggerated,” Gadget said smiling. “What is there to eat in a hanger?”
“This is a museum. We’re right above the cafe. There’s a mouse couple who run a concession next to it. They help out on the sly when the restorers have trouble with small parts and detail work on the planes.”
“Pretty nice of them,” Gadget remarked.
“It’s started a story here that there are ‘mechanics elves’ afoot in the hanger. Or else that they’re ghosts.”
The scent of cooking reached Gadget and her stomach growled. “We’re a long way from a meal,” she said, looking at the long drop.
“Right this way,” Gary said with a cavalier sweep of his arm. “There’s a conveyor lift here. We’ll be down in a minute.”
He led Gadget to another platform where a device awaited them that brought a smile to Gadget’s face. An immense number of canvas trouser belts from military uniforms had been stitched together to make an endless band from the ceiling to the floor and back. It ran over pulleys and was propelled by a small electric motor. Every so often along its length a foot-and-hand hold was placed. Gary pushed a button and started the belt. It moved downward at a leisurely pace.
“Just step on as the step goes by,” Gary instructed her. He stepped aboard and sank toward the hanger deck. Gadget followed on the next passing step. It was a surprising thrill to hang above the distant floor by only one foot and her fingertips.
“Where are Gordon and G.G.?” Gadget asked.
“At the other end of the hanger taking the tour,” Gary answered. “Would you like to have a look around? It’s not busy today so we don’t have to worry about getting stepped on or scaring someone.”
“Shouldn’t we get to the cheese factory?”
“We don’t dare try to get in until the late shift is on. Too many humans otherwise. We’ll brief the action tonight and get there about ten o’clock.”
Shortly after, they reached the deck. Once Gadget stepped off, Gary pushed the button to stop the belt. They were right next to the fifties-style Air Base Cafe, tucked against the arch of the hanger. The rodent-sized Aileron Diner was discreetly snugged in to the right of the cafe. The only customer there was a mouse at the counter in a blue work shirt and pants that sagged a mite too much.
A slender mouse in a waitress’ uniform greeted them as they approached. “There you are. Your friends told me you’d be along. I saved a couple of Swiss Specials for you.”
Gadget hesitated. “Ummm, I’m not sure I’m in a mood for cheese.”
“Oh, don’t worry, honey,” the waitress said. “Gary, here, told us last night there could be trouble with the local cheese. This is imported from Lucerne.”
“Okay. Count me in"
There was little small talk as they ate. Gary noticed Gadget picked at a meal she should have consumed with gusto.
“Are you feeling okay?” Gary inquired. “Or are you worried about something?”
“I’m wondering how many little mouse kids are having poison for breakfast while I sit here on my tush.” She pushed her plate back and started to stand.
“Siddown!” Gary barked, sounding like a home plate umpire. Surprised, Gadget plopped back in her chair.
“You can’t go through life thinking anytime something bad happens it’s your fault,” Gary said sternly. “There’s too much wrongdoing and ill fortune in the world for that.”
She clasped her hands in front of her on the table, wringing her napkin in distress. “I can’t help how I feel. It’s like I’m letting down a whole lot of creatures who are counting on me.”
“Allowing that kind of feeling,” he said gently, “will eat you alive from the inside. I know. That’s the way I used to feel, too.”
Gadget was puzzled. “Used to feel?”
“I learned the hard way that I couldn’t save the world, Gadget. None of us can. We’re too small and too weak and the world is too big.” He reached across the table and took her hands in his. “All we can do is try to save the little part of the world we can reach. We’ll do all we can, when we can, and try to live a good life in the meantime. It’s all anyone can do. Okay?”
“Thanks, Gary,” she said warmly. “I guess I just needed to hear that. Sometimes it’s tough to let it go, even for a little while.”
“Still want to take the tour?”
“Sure. I may not get this chance again.”
Seven acres of classic and vintage aircraft took quite a while to view from the rodent perspective. Of course, they had the advantage of being able to climb into and through the most interesting exhibits without being scolded, and they didn’t have to end their tour at closing time. It was well past sunset when Gary and Gadget took the belt-lift back into the rafters and made their way to the office. Gordon and G.G. were already there, calling up web pages on the computer link.
“Here’s the plant layout.” G.G. indicated a map on the screen labeled Oregon United Cheese Co.
Gadget leaned over her shoulder and tapped a point on the map. “We should start at the beginning, where the milk comes in off the tanker trucks. If it’s arriving contaminated, we won’t have to go any further.”
“Should we split up after that?” Gordon asked.
“Blazes, no!” G.G. said. “If anything goes wrong it’ll take all of us together to get out of there with our whole pelts.”
“We’ll just work our way through the entire production line,” Gadget said. “I need to take readings at three different stages of the process.”
“Then,” G.G. said, “we’ll go right out through the shipping dock. The defenses are set up to keep rodents out, not in.”
Gadget frowned. “What if everything turns up negative?”
“Then it means,” Gary said ominously, “the cheese is being deliberately poisoned after it’s shipped. In that case, it goes to a higher level than ours.”
“Why the biohazard suits?” Gadget waved toward a series of large plastic suitcases. “I know cheese in the making can smell bad, but the bacteria used to make it isn’t dangerous.”
“No,” G.G. said. “But once we go in, we can’t leave a whisker, a hair or even a footprint. And above all, we can’t be seen. One hint that there are rodents in the plant and Vector Control will swarm over the place placing traps everywhere. And they use dart guns as deadly as any of our Crosman’s. If we have to come back to search or take action, we won’t stand a chance. The suits will keep us from even leaving our scent behind.”
G.G. had a new page on the screen. “This is our way in, this rooftop vent and through the ventilation system. It’s the only way in without being seen. The route is set with more traps than an Indiana Jones movie, and these are designed to kill rodents. Fortunately, we’re up to date on what’s rigged in there now. They change the set-up regularly.”
“It shouldn’t be too hard to get through them,” Gadget studied the screen. “Boobytraps are a specialty of mine.”
“We have to bypass them,” G.G. cautioned, “not disarm them. We can’t leave any traces.”
“Okay,” Gary said. “Let’s suit up and get to it.”
Gadget and G.G. retired to their room with the bags marked with their names. Gadget found inside a set of strikingly thin white cotton long johns she was certain were two sizes too small.
“Oh, brother,” she said weakly, holding up the underwear.
“You’ll need ‘em.” G.G. pulled off her motorcycle suit. “Or else you’ll fill up the bottom of the suit with sweat.”
“I’m not sure about this. Where’s your tail supposed to go?”
“You have to tuck it in. Curl it around the base or down one leg. It’s uncomfortable, but they couldn’t make a tail covering and protect it adequately.”
Gadget discovered an equally undersized and even thinner powder blue Nitrile body suit. A hood, gloves and feet were permanently attached.
“So much for feminine mystique,” Gadget said. “I won’t even have any privacy in this.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. The guys are going to be more self-conscious than we are.”
“Are you kidding!” Gadget said desperately. “This is more naked than naked!”
“True,” G.G. conceded. “But the fellas will be wearing them too. There isn’t a male of any species who’s totally unashamed of his body. You watch. They’ll be trying to be soooo dignified when we see them, they won’t hardly look at us.” She flipped the light blue suit up in front of herself, modeling it. “And this color will make them look just precious!”
They laughed so hard that Gary and Gordon heard, and the guys knew they were in for it.
* * *