A conversation had begun, on another day.

"And that, dear Donna, is why I feel more than compelled to set out for Smiling Island with a swift Tasmanian yacht."

"And of course you're going to let me come with you when you start your search. Canton cannot make that trip, and I don't think he would give up his job to embark on a full-time career of Sneaky Spy adventures the way I did."

"No he wouldn't, and of course you're coming. You'll have to make certain that I do not become overly nostalgic."

Percy had read a newspaper story, which told of a ransom demand made to the parents of Ingrid Castlecove, who had been kidnapped recently. He had been able to contact Mr and Mrs Castlecove, who had told him that Ingrid had left a tape recorder switched on, because she had been about to record some music from the radio in bed the night she had been kidnapped by at least two men coming through her window in the moonlight. They had not seen the tape recorder, and had not given Ingrid a chance to turn the radio on. They had been completely unaware of the fact that they had been recorded making comments to each other:

"Is that stuff keeping her under?"

"Yes, let's get her to the plane, then to Smiling Island."

The ransom letter had read as follows:

"Mr & Mrs Castlecove, parents of Ingrid, we know that you have come into a lot of

money, and we know that you care for your only daughter. This is not the only 

kidnapping. There will be others, and the wealthy ones will be made to pay us.

You must await the next letter for an instruction about the terms of payment, and

you must not try to find your daughter, for she is being held as our prisoner in a 

location that you will never find. One more thing. We know her husband is a suspected gang leader. Do not inform him of this letter or anything pertaining to this matter. If we even remotely suspect that his illegal operations are being mounted against us, we’ll do something most illegal and most permanent to Ingrid.”

Percy did not care for the second letter. He had only told Donna that Ingrid was an old girlfriend. There seemed little point in hiding it. If anything, it might make Donna more prepared for the fact that Percy simply could not go on being with a pretty girl who wasn’t Ingrid.

Percy's mind was in an earlier time zone, an older decade, which contained some years prior to even the year during which Percy and Ingrid had met. 

Percy was straining every iota of his memory and intelligence in order to reconstruct an evening of his life, when Percy had been six years old. On this certain evening, Percy's grandfather had been showing the interested six year old a series of his travel films, one of which included some photograph slides of Smiling Island. Percy was told that the Island was uncharted, and he was told of its exact location, its appearance, and of its special secret, a certain item of information which could be used to the advantage of anybody who knew about it. 

Percy's grandfather had explored the island on his own. It was uninhabited, but the natives of other nearby islands referred to it as the Smiling Island, because of its structure. The bulk of the island's surface was covered by an enormous mountain with a network of large caves inside it. The most noticeable side of the island was a large rock structure jutting out towards the sea. It grew out from the mountain in the shape of an enormous and apparently happy lower lip. 

The island's name was only known to a small proportion of the population of the Southern Hemisphere. Now Percy would be required to unearth not one but two aspects of his past, in order to save the life of a girl who had been of significant importance even to his ten year old self.

It had to be the kidnappers' island.

"Well you didn't have me then, and she was very special to you when you were young. As well as being important for us to save the life of any kidnapped person, it will also be an opportunity for you to see her again."

"Yes Donna.... obviously she was special to me."

Percy and Donna collected those things which might well prove to be useful on a trip to Smiling Island, and packed their bags for a flight to Tasmania. There Percy hired a yacht, and two of the finest friends who ever became more than friends were soon on their way across the water, to plan an assault on the naughty ones of Smiling Island.

Percy felt a little uneasy about the island. Once it had been a relatively unknown piece of isolated land, and it was only visited by those special travellers who sought more than the average entertainment. Now it was owned - or at least occupied - by kidnappers, and they had taken a very special person from wherever she had been.

As usual, he would make these people understand the iniquity of their wicked ways. He would also do his level best to see that  Ingrid was back at home, leading a peaceful existence, and hopefully accompanying a man who would care for her in the way that such a special person would deserve to be cared for.

It was mid-afternoon. Sunday.

"Percy, why isn't Smiling Island found on any maps?"

"It's too small. Of course, it's big enough to temporarily house the naughty ones, but few people have noticed it. Most people haven't bothered to consider its name. I don't think that Ingrid's kidnappers are worried about security for the island. They'll feel quite confident that most of the world's population doesn't even know of the island's existence. The important factor arising from the limited size of the island is the difficulty we might have in sneaking onto it. Taking the yacht all the way to the island would be asking for trouble. They would spot that as soon as we got close. They do not need to place guards on the island, because they can see people coming, from the caves in the centre."

"Then how do we get there?"

"At night in diving suits, under their line of sight. They may well be all asleep at night, but if we leave the yacht three miles away, slip into diving suits, row out in the small rowboat for two and one half nautical miles, and then swim the rest of the way underwater, they'll never see anything that would give us away."

"Except an abandoned rowboat half a mile out from Smiling Island," said Donna.

"Not likely. As soon as we're in the water, I'm going to place an underwater timed charge just below that rowboat and sink it. The explosion won't be nearly as audible underwater. We'll leave the oars in the rowboat to be blown up with it."

"But didn't we rent that boat?"

"No. I planned all this at home. I bought the rowboat. We only rented the yacht. Now what were you doing all that time in Tasmania, while I was arranging our sea-going goodies?"

"Seeing some of the sights; and you've got a very clever plan, I must say."

"It's the best  I could do. Now where did you put our supplies of chocolate? I could do with a bite."

"Let's see. It's on the tip of my tongue."

"That, my dear Donna, is a most beautiful place to keep it."

Donna laughed, and went to find the chocolate. How she loved the Sneaky Spy. He was a master of his emotions. He could be as loving as ever to her, even with the life of an old and special friend in mortal danger,  and he could still combine his wit and amorous opinions into a moderately brilliant retort, a cleverly constructed compliment, made as an instant response to her use of a long established cliché.

Percy's ability to make fun and enjoyment from every single situation was almost superhuman. Certainly, she had seen him break down in the time that she had been with him. A new friend had died, and Percy had felt partly responsible; and yet he had refused to let the situation dominate and defeat him. A man had died, but Percy still had his values, his ideals, and his ability to go about turning fantasies into realities. Donna was not in the least bit concerned about the outcome of this adventure. She knew that Percy had thought of everything. Her questioning was only aimed at finding out his plans, not trying to spot their weaknesses. Donna never asked whether or not Percy would achieve his goals. She merely asked how.

Donna was also completely content with the thought of Percy and Ingrid seeing each other again. Percy's control over his own feelings would ensure his complete loyalty to Donna, and at the same time, Percy would do his best to help Ingrid as well. Donna had no desire to be seen as threatening towards Ingrid. If anything, she wanted to be the closest female friend that Ingrid ever had.

She found the chocolate, and returned to Percy, who was still at the wheel of the yacht.

"We'll easily make it by nightfall, and we'll have all the time that we need after that. Donna, can you put our sandshoes, some ropes, and our breathing tanks into the rowboat? Well wear our wetsuits and flippers on ourselves, as soon as we're ready to row."

"Why are we taking sandshoes?"

"We'll tie them to the breathing tanks. We'll need something to wear on that island after we have hidden our flippers in the bushes. I am going to take my knives as well. They'll be visible, but still better to have than to leave on this yacht."

There were no doubts about that. Percy's ability with a blade surpassed that of any surgeon, swordsman or butcher.

"How close are we to the three-mile limit? I can see an island in the distance now."

"That's the one, but you won't see its happy smile until we're about a mile away. We might as well drop our anchor and start rowing now."

Percy minimized the mobility of the yacht, and he and Donna slipped into their wetsuits, each in their own secluded part of the yacht. Percy strapped each of his battling blades to their respective positions, conveniently in their sheaths as usual. They both emerged, let the rowboat down into the water, dropped their flippers into it, climbed down a conveniently lowered rope with their sandshoes, and entered the rowboat. 

Percy did the rowing, stopping periodically to rest his arms, and as the small metal construction drew closer to Smiling Island, Percy and Donna could see the wide rock structure, shaped undeniably like a large lower lip, smiling at anybody who saw it.

"It's not half as pretty as your lower lip, but what is?"

"Ingrid's," hinted Donna, pretending to be serious.
"An equal contender, but that doesn't matter now. Pass me the shorter bits of rope."