Prologue: All Aboard

Disclaimer: I do not own Lilo and Stitch, G.I. Joe, or Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego. The characters of Lindsay Moretti and Henry Tresckow are my own creation.

Author's Note: I've used the ACME Detective Agency as a substitute for Interpol for this particular universe.

Summary: In a world where Cobra is a recognized and legitimate state a young intelligence officer is reassigned to the Hawaiian island of Kaua'i to a project involving visitors from way out of town.

CIA Headquarters
June 5, 2003, 0840
Langley, VA
United States

Lindsay Moretti walked through the halls of the Directorate of Operations, towards the conference room for her newest assignment. After some years working in Skojpe, Macedonia and the other former Yugoslav republics she had been recalled to Washington, D.C. for some form of special assignment.

Or a euphemism for something unpleasant like reassigning me to some office where I won't ever see the light of day. Lindsay thought to herself.

She could hear the heels she wore clicking on the tile floor as she headed towards the sterile looking conference room where she could see six manila envelopes at one seat, and four others at another seat.

There was a blonde haired, blue eyed case officer she knew as Philip M. Provost, but everyone called him Chuckles, after his military codename. He had worked as a counterintelligence officer, attached to a secret military unit known as G.I. Joe, the ones who had fought against Cobra in the 1980s and 1990s, most recently in its South Africa endeavors in the early nineties.

It never ceased to amuse her how the man always seemed to wear the loudest and most garish of Hawaiian shirts no matter where he was.

"Good morning, Lindsay," Chuckles said, with an easy grin and a faint Southern twang.

Lindsay asked, "What's going on? And please don't try patronizing me. There has to have been a reason I was pulled out of the Balkans."

"They always said you were a sharp one," Chuckles replied, "And that's why you were reassigned."

"To where exactly?" Lindsay asked, her own blue-green eyes meeting Chuckles' clear blue ones.

"You're still going to be with the Directorate of Operations, but you're heading to the Office of Interagency Cooperation," Chuckles said.

"And what, exactly, did I do to warrant being sent to work with other agencies?" Lindsay replied, "I know my number of agents isn't as high as some of the others."

"This isn't a question about agents, or sources, or in fact what you got up to in the Balkans," Chuckles said, "This is about a unique assignment."

"Ok, what is the unique assignment?" Lindsay replied, eyes narrowing and fingers brushing a stray strand of her dark brown hair from her face.

"Well, you are about to be read in," Chuckles said, "We're waiting for Mr. Adler."

Rene Adler, head of the Office of Interagency Cooperation was a six foot tall, lean bodied fellow in his late fifties, his close set blue eyes deeply set into his head, on opposite sides of a long, pointed nose. He wore a blue and white shirt, the top button unbuttoned with no tie, blue jeans and brown suede shoes and a dark blue blazer.

"Mr. Provost, Ms. Moretti, good morning. Please, have a seat," Adler said, his voice having its usual gravelly growl to it.

Lindsay took a seat to the right of Adler and Chuckles one to the left at the head of the table. Adler donned a pair of reading glasses and seemed to be looking through the sheaf of papers he extracted from a black leather briefcase he had been carrying into the room.

A glance towards Adler, actually more towards the flat screen television behind him, revealed the document he was looking at was her own dossier.

"In case you were curious, Ms. Moretti." Adler said, catching her trying to see what he was reading, "I was looking over your file. It seems you had a fair bit of success in the Balkans and that you requested to be assigned to Eastern Europe right out of the Farm."

"That's right," Lindsay replied. Where is he going with this?

"You did reasonably well as a CST," Adler replied, adjusting his reading glasses a bit, referring to Lindsay's training five years earlier as a Clandestine Service Trainee, "And I suppose you're wondering why you're here."

"The thought had crossed my mind, yes," Lindsay replied.

"Your work in the Balkans and Iraq did recruit quality agents, and your focus on quality of agents and information versus quantity brought you to my attention," Adler replied, referring to Macedonian, Bosnian, Serb, and other former Yugoslav as well as a couple of Iraqi nationals she had recruited for various tasks over her years there.

"I'll get right to the point," Adler replied, "Last summer various news sources reported seeing a meteorite strike the island of Kaua'i, in the Hawaiian Islands."

Lindsay glanced down at the files and papers at her particular seat, reading over half a dozen newspaper clippings about a meteorite that had impacted somewhere on Kaua'i.

"It wasn't a meteorite," Adler said, "We had confirmed that it was a spacecraft of extraterrestrial origins."

"What?" Lindsay asked, letting the statement soak in. If this was some office prank, then this was something elaborate. But then again Adler wasn't exactly known for having anything approximating a sense of humor.

"We had one of our officers, Cobra Bubbles, on Kaua'i in less than twenty-four hours due to past experience in these sort of matters," Adler replied.

Lindsay reached over for the dossier labeled Cobra Bubbles, one of the six files she had in front of her. She saw the color photograph of a powerfully built African American man. Masters degree in Social Work. Thirty years of service. To include one incident in 1973 at Roswell, New Mexico and an accolade for brokering the first ever interstellar treaty. Telling an alien leader that Earth was a preserve for an endangered species, brilliant. But couldn't he have picked something else other than the mosquito?

"So what happened after we discovered the spacecraft?" Lindsay replied, slowly wrapping her mind about extraterrestrials existing for one, and that evidently they had made landfall at least twice, to include one in the last year.

"Well its occupant was struck by a car and taken to an animal shelter in the mistaken belief that he was a dog," Adler continued.

"So we found a corpse and it was taken to the animal shelter?"

"Not quite. The spacecraft pilot survived the impact and because the locals mistook him for a dog he was taken to the local SPCA. Look into the file labeled 'Stitch' for more information." Adler replied.

Lindsay picked up the manila envelope as directed and read through the file. She saw a picture of a blue, vaguely koala-like alien standing about 3 feet tall with spikes on his back, and a second set of arms. Then there was a second picture where evidently Stitch had retracted said spikes and one of his two sets of arms into his body, now that sort of made him appear vaguely canine when he was on all fours.

She read the information in the file. Stitch, also known as Experiment 626 was the product of the machinations of one Dr. Jumba Jookiba, a self proclaimed "evil genius". Evidently both he and his creator were on trial by the United Galactic Federation whereupon Stitch was sentenced to life imprisonment on a desert asteroid. The events of Stitch's escape led to the crash on Kaua'i, Hawaii.

"So effectively Experiment 626 crashed on Kaua'i, was mistaken for a dog, and was adopted by the Pelekais," Lindsay surmised, noticing two files one on a Nani Pelekai and a Lilo Pelekai.

"Correct. Cobra Bubbles' report contains the events in detail, but in summary Stitch was pursued by his paroled former creator and an assigned a handler, Agent Wendy Pleakley, listed as an expert on planet Earth," Adler replied, "Anyway, their lack of success did lead to the United Galactic Federation sending Captain Gantu to attempt an arrest. This failed and ultimately Stitch was exiled to Earth, along with Dr. Jookiba and Agent Pleakley."

"So what's my role in all of this, a year later?" Lindsay asked.

"I was getting there," Adler said, "Given the extraterrestrial nature of the three men and thus their access to advanced technology I need you and Mr. Provost there to work with Mr. Bubbles to thwart any efforts on the part of Cobra to steal any technology from the Pelekai household. I am sure you're aware that Cobra Island opened its own consulate in Honolulu on the neighboring island of Oahu, so we can only surmise they have some knowledge about the three."

"Additionally the ACME Detective Agency has sent one of its own agents to assist Mr. Bubbles. The dossier for Mr. Henry Tresckow should give you the information you need," Adler said.

"ACME?" asked Chuckles.

"The Academy for Combat Mission Enhancement was founded in 1921 after World War I and evolved to tackle international crime," Adler replied.

Lindsay replied, "So our main mission is counterintelligence."

"Officially, that's all Mr. Bubbles or Mr. Tresckow needs to know. Additionally I want you two working to see if you can't recruit any agents out of Cobra Island's consulate. We need to learn what their intentions are," Adler said.

"When do we leave?" Lindsay replied.

"Mr. Provost is leaving tonight. Your flight out of Dulles is tomorrow morning at 6 A.M," Adler replied, "Any questions? No? Good."

And so, after an hour and a half long meeting Lindsay went back to her hotel room, after all she had moved out of her old place and put her belongings in storage when she went on assignment to the Balkans and had gotten deployed to Iraq so fast she didn't have time to scope out a new lease.

Seattle Tacoma International Airport
June 6, 2003, 2124.
Seattle, WA
United States

"Sorry about that," the man with the Rhodesian accent remarked as he accidentally bumped into Lindsay as the two of them walked into the terminal at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.

"It's alright." Lindsay replied. She turned to see a man she had never met before but knew a lot about thanks to the dossier on him she had in her backpack.

Henry Tresckow stood 5'8", with jet black hair sort of combed forward with no hairgel, dark brown eyes and a fairly deep suntan. He wore blue jeans, slip on brown suede leather shoes, a forest green collared shirt and a black blazer. She noted the 'winged dagger' lapel pin and knew that it was a trademark of the Special Air Service. From the dossier she knew that he was a former officer with the Rhodesian Special Air Service and later served with the South African Special Forces Brigade after Rhodesia became Zimbabwe in 1999. From that same dossier she knew he was thirty years old, four years younger than her own thirty-four years.

Her blue-green eyes locked onto Tresckow's brown eyes, as it seemed that he was sizing her up. Not surprising. Lindsay thought. Someone who served in the Rhodesian SAS and South African Special Forces over thirteen years could definitely spot an intelligence officer.

"That's bad tradecraft you know," Lindsay quipped, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Tresckow's gaze flickered down to the winged dagger badge on his lapel and a small, ironic smile creased onto his features, "Well, miss, it's not like too many blokes outside of Rhodesia would recognize this."

"Let's not forget the United Kingdom, Australia, and New Zealand have similar units," Lindsay replied, and met the Rhodesian's gaze again replying, "And we say Zimbabwe now."

"Old habits do die hard," Tresckow said before adding, "And I should like to know your name."

"Lindsay Moretti," she replied, holding out her hand.

She knew for this assignment she wasn't travelling under an assumed name, that would be when she would work sources and agents with any Cobra Island types she would encounter in Hawaii.

The Rhodesian reached over and shook her hand, and with a smile introduced himself, "Henry Tresckow. Do you have any baggage to pick up?"

"No, they're transferring it to my final destination. You?" Lindsay asked, knowing Tresckow's final destination matched her own, first to Honolulu International Airport and then onto Lihue International Airport on Kaua'i but wanting to make conversation.

"Right, would you like to have a drink then?" Henry offered.

I'm supposed to work with the man, so why not, Lindsay thought before saying, "Sure, do you know any good places?"

"According to the airport guide there's one called the Seattle Tap Room in this concourse. I'm sure you'd want a pint after a long flight," Henry replied.

Lindsay countered, "Well, mister, what makes you think that I didn't already toss back a few on the flight over here?"

"My obvious indicators are that your complexion doesn't appear to be reddening and you don't smell of alcohol," Henry replied.

"Maybe I'm just a heavier weight drinker and I freshened up before I left the plane," Lindsay countered gamely.

"But how 'freshened up' can one really get on an aircraft lavatory of any sort," Henry replied as he began to walk in the direction of the bar.

"This is true," Lindsay replied.

Presently they arrived at the bar and after getting small two person table with high chairs they sat down, having ordered their drinks.

"I do say this Alaskan Ale sounds rather promising. Evocative of the 'frontier spirit' of the frozen north," Henry quipped and took a drink of his beer.

"Let me guess, liberal arts degree?" Lindsay asked as she took a pull of her own drink.

"How did you guess?" Henry replied.

"Your trend towards pontificating, most recently on the 'frontier spirit' of a pint of ale," Lindsay replied.

"Good. And I would suppose you are also a liberal arts degree, perhaps English or History. Possibly both. And likely from an Ivy League school," Henry countered.

"And what led you to those conclusions, Mr. Tresckow?" Lindsay replied.

"Well, first off your manner of speaking English," Henry replied, "Marks of someone educated and quite comfortable with reading, writing, and speaking. And your use of the odd, what's the Yank expression? Ah, five dollar word lends further credence. In this case the term 'pontificate' springs readily to mind."

Henry Tresckow regarded the woman sitting across the table from him. She stood 5'7" to his 5'8" and was somewhere in the neighborhood of his age of 30 years. By his estimate, and in all likelihood the estimate of practically every other male eye in the room, she was definitely beautiful. Her dark brown hair was pulled behind her head in a simple, if slightly messy bun which served to bring those blue-green eyes of hers out. Her slim figure had a certain athleticism about it, by the shape of her thighs he figured she was some form of endurance athlete or perhaps a climber or hiker. She also had a tastefully conservative way of dressing, wearing a light green blouse, blue jeans and black flat bottomed shoes, her black jacket set on the chair behind her.

"So you're a runner or hiker then?" Henry observed.

"What makes you say that?" Lindsay replied.

"Your slim build has an athleticism to it," Henry observed, "I have you pegged as a cyclist or distance runner."

"Yes and no," Lindsay replied, "I swim too. I've done a couple of sprint triathlons, but I'm more of a hiker and rock climber."

Lindsay had, of course, made her own assessments on Henry. He too had a certain athleticism about his lean build, but there was also a good deal more musculature than she would figure on a hiker or climber. He had the lean build of an infantry soldier, for sure, but also some of the bulk that showed he had at least some familiarity with a weight room.

"What about you?" Lindsay asked, "Do you play any sports?"

"A bit of rugby on occasion. And since I moved to the coast in South Africa I took to surfing," Henry replied, then asked, "So what is your final destination?"

"Hawaii. And you?" Lindsay asked.

"Hawaii as well," Henry replied, finishing his own drink. Their server came back and Lindsay reached into her purse for her wallet only for Henry to hold up a hand.

"I'll get the check," Henry said.

"This isn't a date," Lindsay protested.

"That may be, but I am, dear lady, a gentleman first and foremost," Henry replied.

Lindsay put the purse down and let Henry hand his credit card over to the server, "Thanks for the drink."

"Not a problem," Henry replied.

Definitely officer class, like his file indicates. Lindsay thought before she stood up after their check cleared.

"When's your flight?" Lindsay asked.

"The 1:55 P.M. flight," Henry replied, "Yours?"

"Same," Lindsay said in reply, "So are you splurging for a hotel?"

"Doesn't seem quite worth it, and after all there are plenty of chairs hereabout," Henry replied, "If you're not adverse to sleeping in the terminal that is."

Lindsay quipped, "This isn't the first airport I've ever slept in."

"I've slept in worse places over the years. Long story, or rather series of stories," Henry replied. From Lindsay's comment he had figured she was definitely an experienced budget traveler, the sort who knew hostels as well as she knew her own home.

From your file, that's something I know to be true. Lindsay thought to herself as the two of them stood beside one another, looking at the various information monitors before determining the concourse for their particular flight.

She saw Henry suppress a yawn, putting a hand in front of his mouth, "Excuse me."

"It's ok," Lindsay said, "Long flight?"

"Quite," Henry replied, "Flew from Cape Town to Atlanta, then that's when I got onto the flight we shared here."

"I'm not complaining about my flights at all," Lindsay commented as they found their particular terminal.

She lay across one long set of chairs, setting her folded jacket atop her bag and purse like a pillow. She noticed the Rhodesian stretching his legs to his backpack, leaning against the back of his seat and the wall.

The better to react if suddenly awakened. Henry thought to himself. It was a force of longstanding habit, although the last times he slept like that he had his AK-47 rifle cradled across his lap and wore the camouflage pattern of first the Rhodesian and later South African militaries.

That can't be too comfortable a way to sleep. But then again that's how he probably saw the sun set on the Battle of the Line. Lindsay thought, observing her new travel companion's method of selecting a place where his back was to the wall and how he was scanning the room for, but for what she didn't know. If she had any doubt Tresckow was a veteran soldier they would have been erased now.

"Good night," He muttered, before shutting his eyes.

"Night," she replied before shutting her own eyes. A combination of drink, time zone changes, and long flights meant sleep came rather rapidly for her.

Pelekai Residence
June 6, 2003,1300
Kokaua Town, HI
United States

BOOM!

Just half an hour after lunch the island tranquility (or what passed for it anyhow since Stitch, Jookiba, and Pleakley had moved in) was shattered by a loud boom from downstairs, jerking seven year old Lilo Pelekai from her bed where her sister Nani insisted she go since she had come down with the flu earlier.

The loud boom was followed by Dr. Jumba Jookiba's laughter, "Ha ha ha! Success! Success!"

Nani ran outside to the back yard to find Jumba standing over a large scorch mark in the ground.

Irritated, Nani shouted, "Ok Jumba, which one of your experiments failed this time!?"

"Not failed. Worked! Eureka! I am a genius," Jumba shouted.

"Ok, which one of your experiments worked this time, using the term loosely?" Nani asked.

"Why the walking cherry bomb of course," Jumba replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Ok, now the sixty-four dollar question: why on Earth or any other planet would you invent a walking cherry bomb?" Nani asked.

"Eh, I just dreamed of the idea," Jumba replied.

"Do you think you could find somewhere else to test it? Like, I don't know, the bottom of the ocean?" Nani snapped.

"Ah...now I would have to think of a waterproof fuse and..."

HONK! Nani pulled an air horn from her pocket and said, "Jumba no! No more testing explosives in the backyard!"

"What was that?" the voice of Cobra Bubbles could be heard from around the side of the house.

"Evidently Dr. Jookiba chose now of all times to create a walking cherry bomb," Nani remarked.

Cobra Bubbles regarded the situation with not even a smidgen of emotion. Yes, that was typical Jumba alright, experimenting on something. "Now, Dr. Jookiba, why would you invent a cherry bomb with legs..."

"Arms and legs, actually," Jookiba replied, "They're self lighting cherry bombs and..."

"Ok, fair enough, but why would you want to invent a walking explosive device?" Cobra asked.

"I dreamed of it last night and I just had to create it," Jumba replied, "And which reminds me has anyone seen my..."

"GAH!" Chuckles could be heard screaming from the front of the house.

Nani, Jookiba, and Cobra all ran around to the front of the house. From underneath the house had crawled a large mechanical tarantula about the size of two of Stitch lying end to end on the floor.

From a loudspeaker built into RoboTarantula the song Itsy Bitsy Spider began to play, "The Itsy Bitsy Spider went up the waterspout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out..."

"What in tarnation is that thing?" Chuckles asked.

"Why it appears to be a robotic version the species tarantula gargantua," Cobra Bubbles deadpanned.

"I can see that!?" Chuckles said.

Simultaneously Cobra Bubbles and Nani Pelekai turned on Jumba Jookiba, "Did you invent this thing!?"

"Uhm...yes," Jumba asked, "And there it is. I've been looking for it all day."

"Ok, here's my other sixty-four dollar question," Nani asked, "Why would you invent a robotic model of a large hairy spider that plays a nursery rhyme that gets stuck in your head?"

"You know, I can't figure that out myself," Jumba said, "You see I went to bed last night and when I woke up I had built it."

"So you invent things in your sleep and don't even know what they do?" Nani asked.

"I guess I do now," Jumba said, "This is the first time this has ever happened..."

"Ok, before we were distracted by Dr. Jookiba's devices, what brings you here?" Nani asked, hoping it wasn't the explosion.

As if reading her mind, Cobra began, "No, nothing to do with the explosion, after all you do have the cover story of the mad scientist uncle who lives with you now with Dr. Jookiba. This is to do with some new help I'm going to have here. One of whom you've just been somewhat informally introduced to. This is Philip Provost, he's from my agency. The other two are scheduled to arrive today and I'm going to go with Pleakley to pick them up at the airport. Their names are Henry Tresckow and Lindsay Moretti."

Chuckles reached out his hand to greet the others, his Southern accent twanging through his voice, "Pleased to meet y'all. You can call me Chuckles. It's my old nickname."

"Hi Chuckles," Nani said, "Sorry to rush, but I've got to get back to work, I was only here to check on my sister Lilo who's home sick today."

The spider continued to parade around the lawn, the speaker now reciting the Itsy Bitsy Spider in Mandarin Chinese.

"Will somebody turn this thing off? It's kinda distractin'," Chuckles remarked.

"You know, I don't think I designed an off switch into it," Dr. Jookiba remarked.

"I've got to get back to work..." Nani replied.

"Uhm, before you go, do I get my 128 dollars for answering two sixty-four dollar questions?" Jookiba asked.

"Argh..." Nani remarked as she headed back to work.

"I guess that means no?" Jookiba said.

RoboTarantula suddenly began to start a completely different beat. From its internal speaker it began to sputter, "Wocka. Wocka. Wocka."

And it began walking in ever smaller circles around Chuckles. "H-hey! What on Earth..."

"Eh-heh-heh," Jumba said, "I don't think I remember that being in my dreams."

"Wocka. Wocka. Wocka." the spider said and promptly jabbed Chuckles in the butt with its fangs that had tasers built into them. The spider then dragged Chuckles up the nearest tree and wrapped him in webbing from chin to toe.

"Wocka. Wocka. Wocka." RoboTarantula said.

Lilo and Stitch came running out of the front door, and on seeing Cobra Bubbles she beamed and said, "Hi Cobra...what's that?"

She was pointing at RoboTarantula on the tree limb intoning 'Wocka. Wocka. Wocka.' repeatedly.

"That's RoboTarantula, apparently it likes to sing Itsy Bitsy Spider in multiple languages and randomly sting people and tie them to trees. And evidently Dr. Jookiba created it," Cobra remarked.

"What does it do?" Lilo asked.

"He doesn't know, apparently he invented this thing in his sleep," Cobra replied.

"Huh..." Stitch said as he eyed the thing.

Then RoboTarantula jumped down from the trees and walked over to Stitch before it promptly fell over on it's back and curled its legs inward like a dead spider.

"Since when do you invent things in your sleep?" Lilo asked.

"Evidently today...Come on Dr. Jookiba, give me a hand in getting Chuckles down from the tree," Cobra Bubbles said and then he and Dr. Jookiba climbed the tree to get the now wakening Chuckles down.

"I'm terribly sorry about my invention. I didn't know it would do that," Jookiba said.

"It's ok. I'll just remember to wear body armor next time I visit this house," Chuckles quipped.

To Be Continued…