Disruption (29 page)

I paced for another ten minutes and was about to risk injury by going into the kitchen to tell Amara it was time to go, when he stepped through the doorway. He had both duffel bags slung over his shoulder. I sighed, relieved.

“About time,” Rylee said. “What were you doing in there anyway?”

Amara glared at her with a
what do you think I was doing?
look and then tossed the duffel bags onto one of the tables. “Making it so this plan works,” he said.

Juno rubbed his hands together. “I never get to mess with explosives. At least not ones big enough for what we’re doing.”

Amara unzipped one of the bags and pulled out nine cylinders, each one about the size of a large water bottle. They were built, it seemed, from scraps, glued and taped together without much thought for how they looked.

“It looks like something Frankenstein would create,” Angie said, practically reading my mind. “If Frankenstein were five years old and his kindergarten teacher told him to make a papier-mâché tube from the corpses of other papier-mâché tubes.”

Amara took the cylinders, put them end to end, and screwed them together. When he was done, there were three cardboard tubes that looked a lot like those poster tubes kids in art school carry around all the time. In fact, because of the colorful mosaic scraps, the tube looked exactly like something a kid in art class would have.

“I asked for Roman candles,” I said. “Those don’t look like Roman candles. They look like . . . well, I’m not sure what they look like. Will they work like a Roman candle?”

Amara shook his head. “Roman candles are for four-year-olds on Halloween, Matt.”

“Four-year-olds?” I muttered. “You played with Roman candles when you were four?”

He held up the tube and tilted his head, examining it the way a jeweler might examine a ruby. “This is better. A lot better. If you want, we can call it a Roman grenade.”

“Oh, I like that,” Angie said. “Has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Grenade,” Juno said, a smile spreading across his face. “Now we’re talking. Blow the place up and we’re sure to have a disruption.”

“I didn’t want a bomb,” I said. “We’re not trying to hurt people.”

“I know,” Amara said. “This is entirely non-lethal. But if you get hit by any of the blasts, they’re going to sting.”

“Stinging is fine,” I said. “Just tell us how to set it off.”

He held up one of the tubes and pointed to one of the segments. “You saw me put them together. They come apart just as easily. When you unscrew them, the friction sets the charge. Just separate and put the pieces wherever you want. Then get out.” He licked his lips. “It’s that simple.”

“How long do we have?” Rylee asked. “After we unscrew the pieces, I mean. Is it just a couple seconds like a grenade?”

“One minute and twenty-seven seconds,” Amara said.

“One minute and twenty-seven?” Angie snickered. “Not twenty-eight, or twenty-six?”

“It’s one minute and twenty-seven seconds,” Amara said. “That’s the longest delay I could give with the supplies I had. But that should be plenty of time to separate the segments, get them in place, and get out.” He turned over one of the other bags, and a dozen fist-sized cardboard balls tumbled onto the table.

“What are those?” Juno asked. He reached out, plucked one from the table, and tossed it from one hand to the next.

“I heard you talking,” Amara said. “You wanted something on the roofs of the trains.” He gestured to the small bundles. “Just give ’em a twist,” he picked one up and pointed to the thin line along its center, “and then toss it onto the train.”

“Very cool, Amara,” Juno said, “very cool.”

“Same amount of time?” Rylee asked.

Amara shook his head. “A little less, so separate your segments first; then, as you’re heading to the exits, toss them onto the trains or anywhere you want to toss them.”

“Fine.” I looked around the group. “Yaakov, you’re going to stay here. I want you to record what happens so we have proof, if we need it. But if another team somehow gets in there and goes first, I want you to wipe out everything.”

He nodded.

I stood over the map that Rylee and Juno had made. “Amara,” I began, “you and Angie take this area.” I pointed to the area shaded pink. “Rylee, you go with Juno and hit the yellow area. And I’ll get the green area.”

I smiled. “Everyone good?”

“That’s it?” Angie asked. “That’s your pep talk before the big game?”

“I expected a bit more too,” Juno said, smiling.

“Very funny,” I said. “We’re setting off Roman candles.” Amara drew in a breath, and I turned and nodded. “Sorry, Roman grenades. Point is it’s not like we’re setting out to win the World Cup or anything.”

“The what?” Amara asked.

“Seriously?”

He shrugged, and I turned to Yaakov. “Still nothing on the news about any of the other teams? No major disturbances?”

He shrugged. “There was a fire about fifteen minutes from here, but it was mostly contained to one building. I guess it could have been part of another team’s disruption, but I doubt it. Probably just a coincidence.”

“They’d burn down a building to cause a disruption?” I asked. “Isn’t that kind of . . . severe?”

“It wasn’t them,” Rylee said. “They’re waiting. It’s like a big game of chicken. They probably think we’re waiting too.” She turned to me. “Maybe we should wait.”

“No!” The word came out with more force than I’d intended. I glanced down at my watch to avoid the quizzical stares from my teammates. There was no way we were waiting. Jason had said the FBI was coming for me. If they’d traced the call, they might be at the station already. We didn’t have time to wait. Not another minute.

“C’mon. Let’s do this.”

Three minutes later, we were in the alley behind the bakery, tubes in hand. I looked at my watch. “Mine says two nineteen.” The others checked their watches and made adjustments accordingly. “At two forty-five, we set off the fireworks. That should give us all time to get to our spots and decide the best place to put the segments.”

They all nodded.

“Then,” I continued, “get to the bus. It’s not much of a lead, but hopefully it’ll be enough.” I glanced at my teammates. “Got it?”

“Got it,” they said together.

We split up and headed for the station. Nerves rattled in my stomach, and I kept looking over my shoulder and toward darkened sections of the building, half expecting men in suits to emerge, guns drawn, and take me away. None came, and as I stepped into the station, Roman grenade tube in hand, my nerves went out the window. This was a prank. Just a prank, and I’d done dozens of these.

Plus, I wasn’t going to get caught. I wasn’t even going to be seen. I’d blend in with the bustle of the traveling public, and Yaakov would delete any security footage of me ever being here. This would be the best disruption the camp counselors had ever seen. When the smoke settled, and everyone arrived back at camp, they might know the truth, but it wouldn’t matter. I’d be welcomed into the group with open arms. They’d see that I was a good agent, or operative, or whatever they called kids working for the CIA. I’d be a spy. A real, honest-to-goodness spy.

It wouldn’t matter that I wasn’t supposed to be at that camp, or that my dad had done something, probably illegal, to get me on the list. It wouldn’t matter that I’d kept my mouth shut when I figured out the truth about the camp.

It wouldn’t matter, because I was going to win this competition and it would all work out.

It had to.

Because if I didn’t win, and they didn’t welcome me back . . . well . . . I’d be in a lot of trouble.

Suddenly my anxiety was back, and I thought I might hurl.

Chapter 44

For the first few minutes, I tried really hard not to look suspicious. Thing is, when you’re trying
not
to look like you’re up to something, it almost always makes you look like you
are
up to something. But at first I couldn’t help it. Every time someone looked at me, I’d look away, usually down at my feet. If I saw a security guard, I turned about-face and walked in the other direction. All I was doing was drawing attention to myself, and that just made me act more and more peculiar.

I stopped at a pair of vending machines and caught my reflection in the glass covering the display.

Get it together, Matt. This is your chance. Stop blowing it.

I felt my wallet in my pocket and remembered the cool fake ID I had for my Swedish alter ego, Gunnar Konstantan. I quickly made up a story about how I was on a summer exchange program. I had the colorful tube that looked like a poster tube, so I just added the fact that today was art project day and I’d made a papier-mâché tube. I even decided that my host family lived at Rick’s Waffle House a few stops down the line and my dorky host-brother was Kalvin with a
K
. I smiled and genuinely felt better.

That’s it, Matt, you’re just an art geek from Sweden living at a waffle house. Not a kid about to pull the prank of the century. Not a soon-to-be CIA spy.

My smile widened. For the second time I relaxed, and this time it stuck.

I was about to turn around and head to my section, which was on level four near the green-line-platform, when something caught my eye. Through the reflection on the vending machine, about a dozen yards over my right shoulder, I saw her. Becca Plain. I resisted the sudden urge to duck for cover and, instead, kept my eyes on the reflection.

She walked like a girl on a mission, albeit with a slight limp, straight to a magazine kiosk where she browsed a rack of fashion rags. Then she glanced over her shoulder toward me. At first I thought maybe she’d spotted me, and I nearly sprinted for cover. But just when I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet, one of Becca’s teammates wandered over and stepped up beside her to examine the same publications. Another second passed, and they both headed for the stairs.

I counted to twenty before I followed her. Not because I wanted to put some distance between us, but because I wanted to see if her other teammates were around. Sure enough, when I got to fourteen, two other members of Team Hyena headed for the same stairwell, and then another two came from the opposite end of the station and also headed for the stairs.

Were they planning something here at the station, or were they in transit? They had a driver, so why would they go anywhere by train if they could go by bus? They must’ve been planning something here. Unless a getaway would be easier by train, for whatever they planned to do. They were all together, after all. If they were planning something here, wouldn’t they spread out, like my team?

Too many questions. I had to follow. Maybe I could sabotage them or even just distract them long enough for us to get our disturbance underway.

I wove through the crowds with my cardboard tube clutched against my chest. When I got to the stairs, I stepped behind a group of girls who had their arms filled with bags from department stores I’d never heard of.

At the platform, I ducked behind a pillar.

It was a single-track platform about a hundred yards long, with large, tiled columns that ran the length, right down the middle. There weren’t any construction workers on the platform, but large tarps hung from scaffolding along a section of the wall, opposite the tracks toward the far end. Becca and her team were down there, too, near the tracks. I realized that if I could get to the scaffolding, I could duck behind the tarps and have a pretty great spot to watch them. I wouldn’t be close enough to hear them, but if they started doing something, I’d at least see it.

At first, I moved between the posts, keeping out of their line of sight. I was halfway there, and I checked my watch. 2:33 pm. I had twelve minutes. A buzzer from overhead sounded, and then an echoey, distorted voice announced a train’s arrival.

A burst of cool air whipped around me, and then a second later, a horn reverberated down the tunnel, and the train rolled to a stop at the platform. The doors hissed open, and I glanced around the pillar I was standing against. Becca’s team was in one of the cars, standing in the doorway. Becca was gesturing with her hands, then at her wrist, and then she waved her hand down the track, as if to say,
Go on without me.

Her team stepped all the way into the train, and a moment later, there was a loud
beep
and the doors closed. As the train rolled away, Becca headed the rest of way down the platform and pushed through the door to the ladies’ room.

This was a waste of time, I told myself. Her team was clearly in transit. They’d probably finished their disruption somewhere else in the city and were en route to wherever they had decided to meet up with their driver.

I checked my watch. No time to waste. If Becca wanted to cause a disturbance in the girls’ bathroom, so be it. It wouldn’t be enough to stop what we were doing. Plus, I’d gotten the distinct impression that Team Hyena had set their plan in motion long before they got to the station.

Suddenly someone grabbed my arm, pulled me back around the pillar, and then shoved me hard, so the back of my head smacked the tiles.

Instinctively my hands shot up to my head, and the Roman grenade clattered to the floor and rolled along the platform. I blinked away some of the haze from the impact, only to be punched in the stomach.

Hard.

I gasped, trying to catch my breath. Finally, my attacker came into view.

“A-Alexis?” I blinked some more, staring down at the girl I had told clearly that she could not be part of this competition. “What—”

Her foot shot up before I even realized what was happening and caught me right between the legs. Pain exploded through my body, and I dropped to my knees. Someone moved on my right, and I looked up just in time to see Rob’s face. He had a wicked sneer, and I barely had time to register who he was before his fist hammered into my face, knocking my head back into the tiled pillar behind me.

I groaned and slumped back.

“Wh-what . . .”

“What are we doing here?” The voice was on my left, and I squinted up to see the third member of their little gang, Duncan. “Is that what you were going to ask?” he asked, leaning over me. “It’s simple. The plan was for you to include us. Remember? You’re the one who deviated. You’re the one who lied.” He and Rob hauled me to my feet by my arms and led me, staggering, to the cordoned-off construction area, and before I could gather my senses enough to call for help, they shoved me behind a flap of tarp. I tripped on a section of scaffolding, and my face hit concrete.