The closer you look, the easier it is to miss what’s obvious.
The Briefing
The owl tapped the map with her wing.
“Supplies keep vanishing. Cocoa shipments. Biscuit deliveries. Half of JamCo’s strawberry stock. All gone.”
She slid a grainy photo across the table: a mountain top with a factory, smoke curling from its chimneys. Ducks in boiler suits patrolled the gates.
“Goosefinger.”
The turtle frowned. “What’s he planning?”
“That’s what I want you to find out,” said the owl. “The plans are in his vault. Get them!”
The Infiltration
The crew crept up the mountainside. Not a duck in sight. They scrambled up the walls, then dropped ropes through a skylight and slipped inside.
The monkey lowered himself into the rafters. The pulley squeaked. He froze.
Below, webbed feet slapped the floor. A duck patrol stopped. Its torch beam swept the rafters, the light hovering inches from the monkey’s paw.
The monkey held his breath.
The beam slid away. The duck sighed through his beak and resumed his patrol, mumbling.
“That was too close,” whispered the monkey.
They lowered themselves to a gantry. Metal groaned under their weight.
The snail and lion crept toward the vault doors. Two ducks stood watch, clipboards tucked under wings.
“They’ll see us,” hissed the snail.
Both ducks turned. Their eyes fell directly on the intruders, crouched in the shadows. A long pause.
Then the ducks looked back at their clipboards. One tapped a note. The other straightened his boiler suit.
The lion let out a shaky laugh. “Didn’t notice a thing.”
The Vault
They slipped into the antechamber. The lion brushed against a sensor. Sirens screamed, red lights strobing.
“Busted,” he croaked. “We’re done for.”
A duck waddled in, torch sweeping the room. The beam washed right over Dunwell huddled against the wall… then moved on.
The duck crouched by the panel, tapped the gauge, and reset the alarm. The klaxon cut out. Lights dimmed.
Without a word, the duck waddled away.
The snail whispered, “He thought it was a glitch. Lucky us.”
The vault doors groaned open. Shelves stacked high. Dunwell edged inside. They found the case with the scrolls and grabbed it.
“Aha!”
Goosefinger
Goosefinger stormed from the shadows, wings flared, golden teaspoon gleaming.
“Caught in the act! My ducks would never have let you—”
He stopped.
The room froze.
Then, with a soft rustle of feathers, the ducks turned away from the intruders toward Goosefinger. One by one, they folded their wings across their chests.
The sound echoed in the silence — a dozen quiet thuds like doors closing.
The turtle blinked. He glanced at the snail, then at the lion.
“Well… um… we’ll just… get out of your way.”
They shuffled sideways, inching toward the door.
A duck called after them, flat and calm:
“Next time, try being less obvious.”
The hinges creaked. The door clicked shut.
Goosefinger’s beak clattered open and shut.
“What is this? Treachery? You’re supposed to be on my side! I pay you to tie animals to rockets and shovel KitKats into the stratosphere! And you dare betray me?”
The ducks didn’t blink.
His feathers bristled.
“Have you no morals? No sense of right and wrong?”
One spoke evenly. “So… about the overtime from Operation Chocopocalypse.”
Goosefinger sagged, feathers drooping. “…oh, not again.”
Another duck pulled a thick, dog-eared contract from his jacket.
“Section 17c,” he said, “overtime is time-and-a-half.”
A third tapped his pen. “And pensions. Still no scheme in writing.”
Goosefinger sputtered. “I am the greatest villain this world has ever known!”
The conveyor belts groaned to a halt. KitKats tumbled from the racks and clattered across the floor.
The lead duck shut the contract with a snap.
“We’re not villains, Goosefinger. We’re contractors.”
Davide la Locomotive 
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