Terry Whelper's wife whispered urgently to the nape of his neck, "Not in front of Jennifer. She thinks he's real."

"Oh, you're kidding," Terry said.

Under the TV lights, the tan young spokesperson finally was revealing what had been stolen in the daring robbery.

"As many of you know," he said, "the Amazing Kingdom of Thrills is home to several endangered varieties of wildlife. Unfortunately, the animals that were stolen this afternoon are among the rarest, and most treasured, in our live-animal collection. In fact, they were believed to be the last two surviving specimens of the blue-tongued mango vole." Here the handsome spokesman paused dramatically. Then: "The animals were being kept here in a specially climatized habitat, in the hope that they might breed and keep the species alive. Tragically, that dream came to an end this afternoon."

"Mango voles!" exclaimed Jason Whelper. "Dad, did you hear? Maybe that's what landed in our car. Maybe those guys in the pickup truck were the crooks!"

Terry Whelper took his son by the arm and led him back toward the tram, away from the tourist crowd. Gerri and Jennifer followed steadfastly.

Gerri whispered to her husband: "What do you think? Maybe Jason is right."

"I don't know what to think. You were the one who wanted to come to Florida."

Jason cut in: "Dad, there was only two of those mangos left in the whole-wide world. And we shot one!"

"No, we didn't. The policeman did."

"But we told him to!"

Terry Whelper said, "Be quiet, son. We didn't know."

"Your father's right," added Gerri. "How were we to know?"

Jennifer hugged her mother fiercely around the waist. "I'm so scared – can we drive to Epcot instead?"

"Excellent idea," said Terry Whelper. Like a cavalry commander, he raised his right arm and cocked two fingers toward the parking lot. "Everybody back to the car."

TWO

As soon as Charles Chelsea got back to the Publicity Department, he took a poll of the secretaries. "How was I?" he asked. "How'd I do? What about the necktie?"

The secretaries told Chelsea that he looked terrific on television, that loosening the necktie was a nifty touch, that overall it was quite a solid performance. Chelsea asked if Mr. Kingsbury had called, but the secretaries said he hadn't.

"Wonder why not," said Chelsea.

"He's playing golf up at Ocean Reef."

"Yeah, but he's got a cellular. He could've called." Chelsea told one of the secretaries to get Joe Winder, and then went into his private office and closed the door.

Ten minutes later, when Joe Winder got there, Charles Chelsea was watching himself on the VCR, reliving the press conference.

"Whadja think?" he asked, motioning at the television screen in the cabinet.

"I missed it," said Joe Winder.

"You missed it? It was your bloody speech – how'd you miss it?"

"I heard you were dynamite."

Charles Chelsea broke into a grin. "Yeah? Who said?"

"Everybody," lied Joe Winder. "They said you're another Mario Cuomo."

"Well, your speech had something to do with it."

It wasn't a speech, Winder thought; it was a statement. Forty lines, big deal.

"It was a great speech, Joe," Chelsea went on, "except for one part. Specially climatized habitat. That's a mouthful. Maybe we should've tried something else." With pursed lips he repeated the culprit phrase: "Climatized habitat – when I was trying to say it, I accidentally spit on that girl from Channel 10. The cute one. Next time be more careful, okay? Don't sneak in any zingers without me knowing."

Joe Winder said, "I was in a hurry." The backs of his eyeballs were starting to throb. Sinus headache: Chelsea always gave him one. But Winder had to admit, the guy looked like a million bucks in an oxford shirt. He looked like a vice president in charge of public relations, which he was.

Chelsea was saying, "I don't even know what it means, climatized habitat."

"That's the beauty of it," Winder said.

"Now, now." Chelsea wagged a well-tanned finger. "None of that, Joey. There's no place for cynics here at the Amazing Kingdom. You know what Kingsbury says."

"Yeah. We're all little kids." Winder kneaded his skull with both hands, trying to squeeze out the pain.

"Children," Charles Chelsea said. He turned off the VCR and spun his chair to face Joe Winder. "The moment we walk through that gate, we're all children. We see the world through children's eyes; we cry children's tears, we laugh children's laughter. We're all innocent again, Joe, and where there's innocence there can't be cynicism. Not here in the Amazing Kingdom."

Joe Winder said, "You're giving me a fucking headache. I hope you're happy."

Charles Chelsea's blue eyes narrowed and darkened. "Look, we hired you because you're good and you're fast. But this isn't a big-city newsroom, you can't use that type of coarse language. Children don't talk like that, Joe. That's gutter language."

"Sorry," said Winder, concealing his amusement. Gutter language, that was a good one.

"When's the last time you heard a child say that word?"

"Which word, Charlie?"

"You know. The "F word."

"I've heard children say it. Plenty of times."

"Not here, you haven't." Charles Chelsea sat up straight, trying to radiate authority. "This is a major event for us, Joey. We've had a robbery on the premises. Felons invaded the theme park. Somebody could've been hurt."

"Rat-nappers," Winder remarked. "Not exactly Ted Bundy."

"Hey," Chelsea said, tapping a lacquered fingernail on the desk. "Hey, this is serious. Mr. X is watching very closely to see how we do. All of us, Joe, all of us in Publicity are on red alert until this thing blows over. We mishandle it, and it blows up into a story about crime at the Amazing Kingdom. If we can spin it around, it's a story about a crime against Nature. Nature with a capital "N." The annihilation of an entire species. Where's your notebook?"

"Downstairs, on my desk."

"Listen, you're my ace in the hole. Whatever gets dumped in my lap gets dumped in yours."

Joe Winder's sinuses hurt so much he thought his eyeballs must be leaking from the inside. He didn't want to be Chelsea's ace in the hole.

Chelsea said, "And, Joe, while we're at it, what'd I tell you about the hair? No braids."

"But it's all the rage," Winder said.

"Get it cut before Kingsbury sees you. Please, Joe, you look like a Navajo nightmare."

"Nice talk, Charlie."

"Sit down," said Chelsea, "and put on your writing cap."

"I'd love to look as spiffy as you, but you bought up all the oxford shirts in Miami. Either that or you wear the same one every day."

Chelsea wasn't listening. "Before we begin, there's some stuff you need to know."

"Like what?"

"Like their names."

"Whose names?"

"The voles," Charles Chelsea said. "Vance and Violet – two helpless, adorable, fuzzy little furballs. Mated for life. The last of their species, Joey."

With a straight face, Winder repeated the names of the missing creatures. "Vance and Violet Vole. That's lovely." He glanced at his wristwatch, and saw that it was half past five. "Charlie," he said, "you don't happen to have any Darvons?"

Chelsea said, "I wish you were writing this stuff down."

"What the hell for?"

"For the story. The story of how Francis X. Kingsbury tried everything in his power to save the blue-tongued mango voles from extinction."

"Only to be thwarted by robbers?"

"You got it," said Charles Chelsea. "Stay late if necessary and take a comp day next week – I need a thousand words by tomorrow morning. I promised Corporate a press kit." He stood up and waited for Joe Winder to do the same. "Get with Koocher for more background on the missing animals. He's got reams of pictures, too, in case you need inspiration. By the way, did you ever get to see them?"