Benjamin Franklinstein Meets the Fright Brothers (9 page)

After about a half hour, they had found everything they needed. Victor and Franklin put it all in a bag. As they waited for Ernie to return, Scott played with a stapler he found behind the counter. “Staplers are cool.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Franklin said. “Throw it in the bag.”

Victor's cell phone rang.

“That's odd,” he said. “Usually the caller's name and number appear on the screen.” He pressed a button. “Hello?”

It was a man's voice.
“I must speak with Dr. Franklin.”

 

FLOOR PLAN OF ERNIE'S HARDWARE STORE

“What?” Victor was stunned. “How do you know—who is this?”

“I must speak with Dr. Benjamin Franklin immediately,”
the voice insisted.
“This is the Modern Order of Prometheus!”

Victor stared at the phone for a moment, then handed it to Franklin. “It's for you. He says he's from the Order.”

“The Order!” Franklin gasped. “Is it the same voice from the electrophone?”

Victor shook his head. “I don't think so. This guy has an accent.”

Franklin took the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello? This is Dr. Franklin. Who is speaking?”

A piercing siren blasted from the phone. Franklin's face suddenly went blank. He stood stock-still.

“His eyes!” Scott said, pointing at Franklin. “They're changing color.”

“Come on!” Victor dragged Scott down an aisle toward the back of the store.

They peered through a shelf. Franklin flung the phone into the air. He pressed his hands against his ears and roared.

“He's acting the same way he did when my radio got wet!” Scott said.

“It must be the phone,” Victor said. “We've got to shut it off!”

Franklin snapped his head at the sound of Victor's voice. He thrust his arms toward the boys, fingers clutching the air, and charged down the aisle.

“Or we could just get out of here!” Scott said, running for the exit.

A bathtub sailed over their heads, crashed onto the floor, and slid to a stop, blocking the door. The boys whirled around to see Franklin searching for something else heavy to throw.

Victor and Scott fled down another twisting aisle.

You could get lost in this place
, Victor thought.
Good thing!

At the end of the next aisle, Scott scrambled up a tall shelf stacked high with hubcaps.

“Where are you going?” Victor whispered.

“Up!”

Victor struggled to the top. They lay flat on their stomachs, inches from the ceiling, and listened to Franklin's heavy footsteps below them. Victor tried hard not to breathe.

“That noise is making him crazy,” Victor whispered. “Did you see where he threw the phone?”

“I can hear it, but I can't see it,” Scott whispered. “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“Dust. I'm . . . allergic.
. . . Aaaaa-choo!
”

Franklin's head jerked up. He swung his arm and struck the shelf, tipping it over. Victor, Scott, and hundreds of hubcaps crashed onto the hard floor below. The clatter enraged Franklin.

Victor froze.

Scott sprang to his feet. He picked up one of the hubcaps, aimed, and flung it Frisbee-style. It flew through the air, past Franklin's head, and crashed against the ceiling.

Franklin swatted at the air. He roared and shook his fists.

“Cut it out!” Victor said. “You're just making him angrier!”

Scott grabbed another hubcap and hurled it. Again, it narrowly missed Franklin and bounced off the ceiling.

Franklin's eyes burned brighter. He clambered over the fallen shelf toward the boys.

“Even if you hit him, it's not going to do any good,” Victor insisted. “He's too powerful!”

“I'm not aiming at
him
.”

Scott picked up a third hubcap, squinted into the distance, and flung it. The hubcap whizzed over Franklin's head and ricocheted off a broken ceiling fan. A small object fell from one of the fan's blades.

Victor's phone!

“I'll distract him!” Scott said. “Get to your phone and turn it off!”

Scott grabbed another hubcap, aimed, and hurled it at Franklin. It bounced off his forehead. Franklin shook his head, and Scott flung another. Then another.

Victor scrambled around the rubble, dove for the phone, and pushed the Off button. The noise ceased.

Franklin froze. His eyes slowly softened back to their natural blue.

Scott ran to Victor's side. “You okay?”

“Thanks to you,” Victor said. “That was genius.”

Franklin blinked. He looked confused. “Weren't we just ... somewhere else?”

They tried their best to clean up Cousin Ernie's store, but it was impossible. Franklin had done too much damage.

“Am I to understand,” Franklin said, “that I took a phone call from someone claiming to be from the Modern Order of Prometheus, my eyes went red, and I came at you?”

“You threw a bathtub,” said Scott.

“Heavens! I shall never answer a telephone again. It seems Victor and I owe you a debt of gratitude, Scott.”

“We have to get to the bottom of this, before someone gets hurt,” Victor said. “Ben, did you recognize that voice? Do you remember anything at all?”

“Only rage . . . confusion . . . It felt as if someone other than I was controlling my actions.”

A bell rang and the front door opened. Ernie walked in, holding half a cheesecake in his hand.

“Hey, guys. Thanks for watching the place.” He stopped and looked around the room, stunned. “What happened here?”

“Ernie, I can explain everything,” Victor began. “You see, we had a minor—”

“It looks fantastic!” Ernie said, a broad smile on his face. “Thanks for tidying up. No charge for the stuff.”

 

By the time
they got back to Victor's house, it was late afternoon and they were exhausted. Franklin needed to recharge his battery belt, so they agreed to meet after dinner in the basement laboratory. Scott biked home to ask his parents if he could sleep over at Victor's.

Around seven o'clock Victor grabbed the equipment he had collected at Ernie's and headed downstairs to Franklin's apartment. He pulled open the secret bookcase, lowered the bag of parts down the shaft with a rope, then climbed down the ladder. Franklin was busy at the workbench poring over a book on the history of famous inventors. It was open to a chapter on the Wright brothers.

“Look at this photograph!” Franklin mused. “Can you imagine the thrill the first time their invention actually took flight? They must have felt like gods.”

Franklin handed the book to Victor. The men in the picture were younger, but there was no mistaking their similarity to the brothers in the bicycle shop.

“Such a fantastic machine!” Franklin continued. “It saddens me to think that they may be using their genius to do the world harm.”

“I know,” said Victor. He emptied the bag of parts onto the workbench and began to sort through them. “But I can't help feeling there's more to the story. If we can just get the electrophone fixed, maybe the mysterious voice at the other end can help us figure it out.”

“But can we trust the voice on the electrophone?” Franklin asked. “After what happened to me at Ernie's—”

“No, the voice on the cell phone was different, I'm sure of it,” Victor said. “The voice on the electrophone is on our side. Plus, I'll be here to turn it off if anything goes wrong.”

For the next hour, Victor and Franklin worked on the electrophone. Scott arrived with his backpack and sleeping bag as they were finishing up.

“Sorry I'm late. My dad came home and tried to squeeze through the front door wearing his bicycle seat costume. We spent an hour pulling him free. He says hi.”

“You're just in time,” said Victor. “I think we've got the electrophone fixed, and we're about to turn it on.”

“Do you think it's safe?” Scott asked. “The bad guys might still be listening in.”

“I fear we have no other choice,” Franklin said. “The urgency of our situation demands we try.”

“We'll keep it short,” Victor agreed. “Ben, I think you should speak this time. The voice specifically asked for you.” He opened the broadcast valves and cranked the charging wheel. Franklin picked up the copper speaking cone and held it in front of his mouth.

“This is Dr. Franklin,” he announced. “We need to speak to you urgently about the Wright brothers. Are you there? I repeat: are you there?”

The speaker bubbled and crackled. For several minutes, they listened to the empty static. Finally, a faint voice said,
“Mérida, Mexico.”

The three looked at one another. Mexico?

“I'm not sure I understand,” Franklin said into the cone. “You want us to meet you in Mexico? That will not be possible. Please clarify.”

“Scott,” Victor whispered, “hand me that pen and paper.”

“I'm afraid we cannot meet you in France, either,” continued Franklin. “Perhaps—”

Victor scribbled furiously. The voice repeated the entire list once more, and then the electrophone went silent.