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President Thickett's plan to hunt for WMMDs in Nesstown's jungle using a fake Cheshire Cat are being secretly boosted by the CIA's planting of fake WMMDs. Trouble is Charlie the highly trained spy 'cat' hasn't been told, and the CIA can't find Nesstown: they've been told it's near Canada. Thickett has now abandoned his plans to invade Canada because he can't win in time for the election. He pins his hopes on finding those WMMDs.
"Phew! That was too close for comfort," the PM's husband said to himself as he finally sneaked past hotel reception dressed in a stolen porter's uniform and wearing a thin false mustache. "Now where is Sherry? Hope she hasn't been captured by Spanish hoteliers too."
'Shiny black with a large white registration number, hmm.' Hugo Hacker swung his binoculars round looking for a chink in the security. 'There, perhaps,' he thought to himself. A small airforce vehicle trundled around the perimeter taxiway and then down the runway, stopping occasionally as a man got out to pick up bits of debris. 'Reckon I can get into that uniform, he's almost as comfortably built as me.'
A day later Hacker was back, armed with some unusual 'weapons.'
The sound of motorbikes announced the arrival of the Prime Minister's Range Rover cavalcade. The guard of honour stood to attention, bayonets glinting in the low, bright morning sun. A perfect flying day. Just before the red carpet was rolled out to the now all black chopper, a small sweeper vehicle ran past making sure the hard was clean. At the far side it stopped, just hidden from the guard. A few seconds later the helicopter had an unexpected co-pilot.
"Take me to Chequers first," Sherry said, "I need some more lipstick."
The chopper took off without the pilot saying a word. Soon it was over HM Prison Wormwood Scrubs. Under the pilot's new helmet the Debrimp worked in reverse, instead of reading brain patterns, it was sending them.
"That's not Chequers, is it?"
"A private mansion," explained Hacker, "We have to pick up a foreign dignitory, a nobleman, ma'am."
"I thought this was a private flight, not a taxi."
"That's re-nationalisation, everything has to be multi-function to be efficient."
It was true: it was one of her own orders, so the PM kept quiet.
"'AAwk! 'Ak's my 'eak you're 'anding on!"
"Get your face out'a my way then!" Retorted 'able helmsman' Poncho. "I need me feet there to turn this."
"Can't work the pedals from anywhere else," moaned Perseus checking his jaw hadn't dislocated.
"And I can't steer from anywhere else... unless we can raise this seat."
"Pedro, get down off that dashboard and see if you can fix it!"
"Friskin 'ell! It's taken me five minutes to get up 'ere."
"Fly then."
"That's for birds."
"Then get some steps."
"'Ere, Percy, Plato, Paddy, Pugh, Penny; lie down there!" Poncho pointed imperiously. Prefect Perseus nodded in agreement and the junior penguins complied. Pedro manoeuvred himself gingerly, intending to step as lightly as possible onto the pengy-pile. However, brother Percy was somewhat softer than expected, his paunch giving away causing Ponhco to roll tail-over-head down onto Penny; both lay temporarily stunned on the coach floor.
"Oh my God!" Gasped Poncho. "They've killed Penny."
"Ow my gut!" Wailed Percy. "It's killing me."
"Just gut on with it!" Perseus sniggered through battered beak.
"That gives me an idea," said Pontius. "Pugh, you stand on the seat behind Poncho and stop him rolling side to side as he steers. Wedge your feet into the seat-belt brackets."
Pugh squirmed his way behind Poncho. "But Chief Pecker, they're too far apart... Squaawk! I'm splittin in friskin two!"
Poncho leaned back. "That's better, I can work it nice wiv me beak now." He waggled the wheel vigorously.
"Squaawk!" Wailed Pugh.
"Squaawk!" Wailed Percy.
"Squor-orwk," moaned Pedro as he came-to and felt his dizzy head. "That worked well then."
"What do'you mean, Rumacre, the CIA men couldn't find Nesstown jungle; thought you said it was big?"
"Apparently somone told them it was near Canada."
"'Tis, ain't it?"
"No Mister President, Cheshire, England. They ran out of fuel looking."
"So what are we goin to do with our WMMD?"
"Sir, I suggest we helicopter it in from England: someone there must know where Cheshire is."
"Constable Williams!"
"Yeh Sergeant Williams, what?"
"Warm up the patrol car: we're getting reports of a stolen bus. The 488b."
"That's not our patch is it?"
"Soon might be."
Agent Cheryl was picking up the first replacement dose orange dye from the Cheshire Cat shop when her phone rang. "What? Hire a helicopter? Why?"
"We have a large package we want you to drop in that jungle."
"So señor Hitler, you refuse?"
"Damn right I do," exclaimed the (ex) PM, "And my name is not Hitler."
"I see... ve haf vays of making you stand."
"No you don't."
"Ach! But for the glory of the fatherland... to defeat America once and for all..."
"But they're my friends."
"Ach! Ach! Ze freezing process has made your mind soft!"
"But I haven't been frozen, I was trapped in a hotel!"
"Mine Gott, for sixty years... and look at you, you've hardly aged!"
"I'm the Prime Minister of England."
"Then I'm Louis ze fourteenth of France!"
"I won't stand against my friend George Thickett, and that's final."
Thickett stared at the TV headline news and waved his aide and advisor over. 'A. Hitler to stand as new Far-Righteous Party candidate in coming election.'
"Ah yes, Mr. President, I was going to mention that," Rumacre explained uncomfortably. "It, er, could cause us problems with a split Republican vote."
They read more of the rolling banner: 'Mr Hitler, who claims his name is now Anthony, not Adolf, is, apparently, an experienced, domineering and successful politician. He is believed to be a newly naturalised US citizen originally of Anglo-Saxon origin and is expected in the US from Argentina tomorrow.'
"Get my hitman!"
NEXT - Double Trouble - Pedro sees double, the unrelated Williams brothers see double, the ex PM invents a double-double-cross, Charlie is charmed, and trouble brews all round Nesstown.