Operation Sherlock (19 page)

“We searched her bungalow, of course. It was filled with material from that ‘Church of the Human Heart.' ” His distaste showed in his expression. “What poisonous twaddle! Endless ramblings about evil scientists trying to replace mankind with computers. I suppose a steady diet of that would addle anyone's brain.

“Fortunately, thanks to you six, she was stopped.” He paused, then said, “I do not think you can know how important this project is to me, how much of my life, and my heart, I have invested in it. I owe you a great debt, my young friends. I do not know how I can begin to repay you.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Roger and Rachel, who were sitting across from each other, locked eyes. Rachel nodded. Roger cleared his throat.

“Yes?” asked Dr. Hwa.

“Sir, the best way you could repay us is by listening to us. We came to you once to tell you about the transmitter that we found on Rachel's collar. But because it had disintegrated, you did not take us seriously.”

Dr. Hwa nodded, his mouth drawing down in a frown.

“Well, it happened again last night,” said Roger. “When we went into the computer to dismantle the bomb, we found something else attached to the central unit, a device that clearly did not belong there.”

Dr. Hwa looked startled.

“The thing is,” continued Roger, “it disintegrated shortly after we discovered it, just like the first one.” He nodded to his sister. “Show him.”

Rachel held out her hands. An angry red line stretched across both palms. “Bum marks,” she said. “I was holding the thing when it happened.”

Dr. Hwa's frown grew deeper. He sat in silence for a moment, staring at his own hands. Finally he looked up. His voice low, pained, he said, “I am going to take you into my confidence. In turn, I must request that you keep this information to yourselves.”

Roger looked around at the others, then nodded.

Dr. Hwa nodded back, then said, “It appears that you were indeed correct about there being a spy on the island. Though we were planning to keep this quiet, for reasons relating to both morale and security, clearly there is no point in hiding it from you. The truth is, last night
two
boats were stolen from the marina. The one in which Dr. Standish fled has been recovered. The second is still missing. I have to assume that it was taken by the person who planted that transmitter.”

He sighed. “I was very foolish not to believe you the first time you came to me. Though it qualifies as locking the barn door after the horse has run away, we are taking additional security measures immediately.” After a pause he said, “Though I rather wish you were not aware of quite so much of what has happened here, it is a relief to be able to offer you the apology I knew was due to you, but feared I would have to withhold for security reasons.”

He stood, then began to circle the table, solemnly shaking hands with each member of the gang.

“It is my dream that this project may save the world,” he said. “You have saved the project. For that, you have my deepest thanks, my fine young heroes.”

 

Epilogue

Black Glove smiled. It had been the easiest thing in the world to steal a boat from the marina and rig it so that it headed out to sea. As a result, everyone who knew there had been a spy on the island thought that the threat to security was gone.

The spy's smile faded. In one way the threat
was
gone. With the transmitter destroyed, it was going to take time to find a new way to get information to G.H.O.S.T.'s headquarters.

But that was just a matter of time. A way
would
be found.

And if those annoyingly inquisitive kids dared to interfere yet again, whatever had to be done to stop them
would
be done.

Even if it meant that one or more of them must die.

Thank you for reading
Operation Sherlock
! Please take a moment to review it on the source you purchased it from. I would truly appreciate it.

If you enjoyed the story, you'll almost certainly want to read the next two books in the trilogy,
Robot Trouble
and
Forever Begins Tomorrow
. The stakes get higher, the mystery deepens, and the adventures (and laughs) keep coming fast and furious. (You'll find a sneak preview of
Robot Trouble
right after these notes.)

If you'd like to know more about me and my work, you can find me on the web at
www.brucecoville.com

You can also order autographed copies of print versions of most of my books there.

And now… the first chapters of
Robot Trouble
!

Turn the page to continue reading from the A.I. Gang series

Two Spies

This entire mess is the fault of those brats who call themselves the A.I. Gang!
thought the shadowy figure slipping into the secret room hidden beneath the Anza-bora Island computer center.
If they had minded their own business, everything would be fine
.

The figure crossed to the far side of the room and thrust a pair of black-gloved hands into a cage mounted on the wall. The birds inside began to flutter and scuffle. After a moment the hands closed over one of them and drew it from the cage.

“This is insane!” muttered the mysterious figure, deftly strapping a capsule to the bird's leg. “I'm on an island equipped with the most advanced technology in the world. Yet to communicate with my Executive Council, I am forced to resort to the most primitive methods imaginable. If those A.I. brats don't watch out—”

The words were interrupted by a soft cooing. The black-gloved figure glanced at the pigeon, then laughed. It was only a bird. How could it know that the person holding it was Black Glove, chief operative of G.H.O.S.T.? Or that G.H.O.S.T. was trying to steal the secrets of the world's most advanced computer project? Or that those secrets were guarded by an electronic blanket that shielded Anza-bora Island from the outside world—a blanket that could have been pierced by the transmitter Black Glove had mounted inside the Project Alpha computer, if those kids hadn't found and removed it!

No, the pigeon only knew that it wanted to be free to fly home.

Black Glove wrapped the bird in a towel, then stuffed the towel into a gym bag. It was late and the computer center should be empty. Still, there was no point in taking any chances.

On the next floor up the spy spotted a light in an open office—one of the Project Alpha scientists working late. Quickly the black gloves were stripped off and hidden in the pocket of a white lab coat.

The researcher glanced up from her work and nodded pleasantly as Black Glove passed her doorway. And why not? In day-to-day life Black Glove was a well-known island personality. No one suspected that the friendly smile they knew so well masked a deadly, now desperate, enemy.

Outside the computer center the spy unwrapped the pigeon. A moment later the bird was soaring toward the clouds. Cutting an arc across the sky, it headed east, toward home—G.H.O.S.T. headquarters.

Black Glove felt an uncomfortable shiver. The Executive Council of G.H.O.S.T. could be most unpleasant when it was angry. And it was sure to be angry when it got the message the pigeon carried:

Transmission of data delayed by unexpected circumstances. Seeking new route to get information off island. B.G.

Black Glove faded into the shadows, thinking furiously. There had to be some other way to get information off Anza-bora, a way those nosy kids couldn't interfere with.

Of course, the fact that the kids thought their enemy had fled the island on a stolen boat should help slow them down. But even so…

Reentering the computer center, Black Glove vowed two things. First, there would be no rest until the new information path was established. Second, this time no one would be allowed to stand in the way. Not even the A.I. Gang.

Not even if they were just kids.

Not even if that meant it would cost them their lives.

Heading back to the secret room, the spy patted the pockets of the white lab coat, then shivered with a wave of cold terror.

One glove was missing…

Ramon Korbuscek moved slowly toward the abandoned building. It was a windmill, ruined by one or another of Central Europe's seemingly endless wars.

Someone with extremely good eyes
might
have been able to see him picking his way through the shadows that surrounded the windmill—but probably not. Nor would they have heard him, for Korbuscek moved as silently as a hawk floating on the wind.

Associated with no government, loyal to no single organization, he was one of the deadliest free agents in the world.

He paused to study his destination. One crumpled blade rested on the ground. The others, battered and torn by time, weather, and war, cast eerie, broken shadows around him.

A moment later the spy slipped beneath the crumpled blade. He whistled a five-note tune as he entered the building. A pair of rats scurried away from his feet. Pigeons cooed and whirred above him.

All else was silent.

Korbuscek frowned and whistled again.

From the darkest shadows on the opposite side of the mill came an answering whistle—not the same tune, but a variant of it, chosen months earlier as a signal for this meeting.

Korbuscek moved slowly across the floor, careful to avoid the gaping holes, many of them large enough to drop him through to the basement.

A woman emerged from the shadows. “I have your orders.” Her voice was low and husky. Her hand trembled as she held out a brown envelope.

“And my money?”

The woman frowned. She was well aware of how much Korbuscek would make for this job, and she considered the fee outrageous. But her superiors decided these matters with no thought for her opinions.

“Your usual rate,” she said gruffly, passing him another envelope.

“What's the job?” asked Korbuscek, relaxing a little.

The woman shrugged. “The orders are in the envelope. All I know is that you'll be going to Anza-bora Isl—”

Before she could finish the sentence, Korbuscek grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her to the floor.

A shot rang out above them, then another.

Without a word the two separated. Scuttling into the deepest shadows, Korbuscek pressed himself against a worm-eaten beam and held his breath. Three more shots were fired. But there was no cry of pain.

When enough time had passed that he was sure his contact had managed to escape, Korbuscek allowed himself a brief smile. As little as he cared for her, he would not have wanted his baby sister to be captured by these particular enemies.

Moving as silently as he had come, he left the mill, eager to read his orders.

The Scroungers

Ray “the Gamma Ray” Gammand raced up to the abandoned house the A.I. Gang used as a secret headquarters. Thudding to a stop, he checked his watch, then let out a sigh.

He was late again.

He tucked his beloved basketball between his knees, then took off his thick glasses and wiped them on his shirt while he caught his breath. Trying to act casual, he opened the door and stepped in.

Unfortunately, he tripped over an untied shoelace, dropped his basketball, and stumbled into the living room.

“Somebody's la-ate!” sang the handsome bronze head sitting in the middle of the coffee table.

“Shut up, Paracelsus,” said Ray.

“Nobody loves me,” sighed the head, which had been created by the Phillips twins, Roger and Rachel. The twins were constantly programming Paracelsus with new remarks directed at their friends' behavior. By setting it to respond to things they expected the other kids in the gang to do, they could make its comments remarkably appropriate.

“Glad you could make it, Ray,” said Trip Davis. Tall (over six feet!) with sandy-brown hair, slender and intense, Trip was sitting against the wall on the opposite side of the room. To his right, in a chair that barely let her feet touch the floor, was Wendy Wendell the Third, a pint-sized dynamo the gang sometimes referred to as “the Wonderchild.”

Straddling the workbench across the room from Wendy was Hap Swenson. As usual, the handsome, sturdy blond had a screwdriver in his hand and was poking away at some gadget—probably one that the Wonderchild had designed.

Sitting between Hap and Trip were the red-haired Phillips twins, who Ray thought of privately as “Volume One” and “Volume Two.” This was because the twins carried so much information in their heads that between the two of them they were a virtual walking encyclopedia.

Ray sighed as he finished his inventory. That was it—all five of them. He was last again.

“So what's the big emergency?” he asked.

“No emergency,” said Wendy. “Just a new idea. Rachel wants us to add an optical scanner to our system. Problem is, we have to build the darn thing!” She took a bite from the enormous burger clenched between her hands and smiled blissfully. “Should be fun,” she added, speaking with her mouth full.

Hap looked up from whatever he was tinkering with, scratched his blond head, and said, “You guys have got me again. Just what the heck
is
an optical scanner?”