Project Jackalope (11 page)

“Oh, of course.” I scanned the screen Agatha had up. “Agatha?”

“Yes?”

“Down there, when it says they’re developing flesh-eating robots, it doesn’t really mean…”

“It means flesh-eating robots,” Agatha said. “Along with…” She peered at the screen. “Invisible self-healing shoot-through shields. And…oh yeah. Mind control helmets.”

I sat down hard on the red chair. It was that bad.

That little trick Mr. Jones had pulled earlier at my apartment, zapping the power with his pen—that was nothing compared with what he could do. He really had just been playing with me.

“They probably started salivating as soon as they read Twitchett’s messages.” Agatha read a little more and then shut the netbook. I didn’t blame her. There is definitely such a thing as knowing too much. I’d never dreamed we were dealing with people crazier
than Twitchett. I’d liked it better when they were just government bad guys in suits.

I stared at the Dora suitcase lying on its side with holes poked in the corners of the fabric. And it all clicked. “Jackalopes are killers, Agatha. That’s what it is. When you provoke them, they turn into crazed killers. They’re unstoppable.”

Agatha nodded gloomily. “That makes sense, then. DARPA must know that. They’re the ultimate secret weapon. Nobody would expect you to be packing a crazed angry jackalope. And if they could control them…”

We both stared at the suitcase for what seemed like forever. Then Agatha finally straightened up. “Well, fine. We know what we’re up against. Now we have to figure out what to do.”

I nodded. Except it seemed to me that the only decision was whether we planned to cry or not cry when we went to surrender. Because no matter what Agatha said, I knew it wasn’t that easy.

“That’s the thing, though. We
don’t
know what we’re up against, Agatha. We don’t have a clue.”

Agatha looked confused. “But we do. DARPA guys with guns that shoot tranquilizers. Or bugs or whatever.”

I felt like shaking her. “Get real. Those Suit guys? Flunkies. They have to be. If those were the actual DARPA guys, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation—we would’ve woken up this morning wrapped up tight in cybermoth cocoons. As soon as the Suit guys call in the actual big guns, it’s all over.” We were doomed. “Flesh-eating machines, Agatha. Moth armies. Flashlights that make you puke!”

“Okay.” Agatha nodded carefully, like I was a defective firecracker about to go off. I realized I hadn’t even told her about the puke ray yet, but to her credit, she didn’t call me a wack job. “So we just have to outwit the Suit guys before they call in the big guns. And you can tell me all about the puking flashlight later on. That’s all there is to it.” Agatha stood up and made an attempt at a smile. “So where’s our furry friend?”

I looked around for Jack and groaned out loud. He wasn’t hard to find. He hadn’t technically moved, but now he was standing next to a pile of what used to be the
minibar. To his credit, he had a really guilty expression on his face (not to mention the shard of metal hanging out of his mouth).

Agatha stared at him blankly. “Is that because I wouldn’t let him have whiskey?”

I nodded. I made a mental note to hustle the next time Jack went “ehn.” I didn’t even know you could shred a little refrigerator like that.

“Well, that’s going on the credit card,” Agatha said, still completely blank. I think the stress of the day had finally gotten to us. Jack licked his lips, flicking the shard of metal away. (It ended up embedded in the wall nearby.) Then he lazily flopped over on his side.

At least one of us wasn’t freaking out.

“You know what’ll happen to him if they catch us.” Agatha didn’t look at me—she just watched Jack lick a paw.

“They’ll make him a killer.”

“Worse. Experiments. Dissections. They’ll need to know how he works so they can make more. Thousands more.”

I swallowed hard. “Then they won’t catch us.”

We watched Jack dozing until the sound of traffic sirens outside snapped us out of our stupor. Agatha picked up the trash can to clean up the remains of the minibar, and I went to the window and peered down at the street. There were military Humvees and long black cars blocking the road at either end of the block. Not a great sign, I didn’t think.

“Hey Agatha,” I said, craning my neck to get a better look. “That credit card of yours. Whose name did you say is on that, exactly?”

Agatha shrugged and started scooping pieces of minibar into the trash. “Mine. It’s legal, okay? I can deal with my dad.”

I nodded. “It’s not that. I was just trying to figure how fast the Feds could tell you used it. A day or two? Or an hour?”

Agatha went pale and dropped the trash can. “Why, you don’t think—”

Then the hotel phone rang.

We both stared at it in horror. There was no reason for anyone to be calling us. Nobody knew we were here. And I really didn’t think the front desk could’ve found out about the minibar yet.

“Should we answer it?” Agatha said.

“I don’t know.”

Agatha drifted over to the phone like a sleepwalker and stared at it, the flashing red phone light shining on her face. Then she picked it up. “Hello?”

She stood listening for a second, and then put it down.

“There’s no one there.”

We stared at each other without moving for a few long seconds. I swallowed hard. “That burr,” I said, forcing my voice to work. “Maybe it wasn’t a bug. Maybe it’s a tracker.”

It was like someone flipped a switch. Agatha lunged for the netbook and her bookbag, and I lunged for the jackalope, stuffing him in the duffel bag in a way that I’m sure he really didn’t appreciate.

Then we took off down the hall.

“Stairs! They’ll be watching the elevators,” Agatha gasped as we hurried into the stairway, slamming the door behind us. Then we stopped short. Because it was just like being in a gym pool. The acoustics were awesome. Which would’ve been fine, except that meant anything we said, any movement we made, would be heard by anyone on any other floor. Anyone hiding, waiting for us to come blundering by. We had to creep.

Creeping down twelve flights of stairs isn’t really something I’d recommend. Especially at the Grand Empyrean, because the stairs are marble and cold and murder on the knees. I wouldn’t give it more than one star.

It felt like it took hours, crawling stair by stair, but we finally got to the ground floor. We crept up to the door, creaking and hobbling like senior citizens, and peered out into the lobby. They definitely knew we were there.

Suit guys were watching the front doors and talking to the tuxedo guys, making those doors doubly impossible to get through. More Suit guys were talking to the
front desk people, and random other Suits were milling around in the indoor trees. We were stuck.

“Front door’s out,” Agatha said. “Side door, you think?”

“Maybe…” I hesitated, hoping that I would see some opening that we could take advantage of. But all I could see were the Suit guys, a few stray hotel guests, and some little kid sucking on the hem of her Disney Princesses shirt.

And then I knew what to do.

I have to take a minute to say thank you to the kid in the Disney Princesses shirt for being my source of inspiration. Because you can’t watch as many crappy Disney movies as I have without knowing the perfect way to escape. I elbowed Agatha in the ribs. “Not the side door. Kitchen.” I pointed at the Disney Princesses kid. “Okay? Kitchen.” I raised my eyes meaningfully.

She grinned at me. Apparently she’d seen as many crappy Disney movies as I have.

We counted to three and then took off running for the kitchen. Okay, so if you haven’t seen a lot of crappy
Disney movies, let me explain. First off, I’m talking the live-action ones that are super old, the ones that my mom’s always bringing home from the library and bribing me to watch. In every single one of those, there’s the big chase scene through the kitchen, where someone knocks over a pot of something slippery, people fall down and slide into big bags of flour, and hilarity ensues. And the people being chased always escape.
Always.

So that was our goal.

We raced down the hallway away from the entrance, weaved our way through the restaurant, and then slammed through the swinging doors of the kitchen, picking up a tail of Suit guys as we went, just like in a crappy Disney movie.

And after that, it really wasn’t much like a crappy Disney movie anymore.

Agatha lunged for a pot on the stove, but she just winged it and only managed to burn her finger. I think she spilled maybe two drops. I knocked an empty pan onto the floor, but instead of getting angry and charging us, the kitchen guys mostly just stared. If the pan I knocked
down hadn’t tripped one of the Suit guys, it would’ve been a total waste.

We burst out into the street and then turned and ran blindly to the left, away from the blockade. The pathetic thing was, there was really no point in running at all. There was no way we were going to escape, no matter what happens in movies. There were only two of us, and lots of them, and we’re not that fast.

The kitchen door slammed open behind us. I didn’t look back, but I knew it was only a matter of seconds before their hands would be on our shoulders.

And then, just as my legs were about to give out, I heard a huge squealing sound and Bob the lab assistant drove up onto the curb in front of us, van door hanging open.

“GET IN!” screeched in his reedy voice. Me and Agatha didn’t even hesitate. We jumped in and slammed the door just as the Suit guys caught up to the van. Bob hit the automatic door locks, peeled out, and took off down the street.

I grabbed my seat belt to buckle up and shoved a photo lying on the seat out of the way. I frowned and took a closer look. It was a photo of me and Twitchett, grainy and taken from a long way away. I was handing him a bag (probably of Preparation H).

And that’s when I realized what we’d done.

We’d gotten into Bob’s van. His white van. And suddenly I knew what had been bugging me about Bob. In the lab, when I met Bob for the very first time? He kept asking me, “What do you think about this, Jeremy? Jeremy, what do you think about that?”

But I’d never met Bob before. Bob shouldn’t have known my name.

Agatha crawled into the front seat of the van. “Wow, Bob, where’d you come from? Good timing, huh?” Agatha looked over her shoulder and grinned at me. She hadn’t put it all together yet.

I tightened the grip on Jack’s duffel bag and slowly reached out to try the door handle. I’d heard about people doing that rolling jump thing out of a moving car, and I was willing to give it a try. How hard could it be? Well, harder than it looks, apparently, especially when you’re in a stupid passenger van with child safety locks.

I slumped back in my seat to figure out a Plan B. Bob was staring at me in the rearview mirror.

“I control the locks, Jeremy,” Bob said casually.

“Yeah, I figured.” I glared out of the window. I couldn’t stand looking at Bob’s weaselly face, and I was ticked that I’d given myself away.

Agatha turned around in her seat and stared back at me. Somebody needed a whack with the cluestick. “What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you ask your good friend Bob here?” I said, glaring back at Bob.

Agatha turned and frowned at Bob. “What the heck. Bob?”

Bob laughed and reached out to tousle her hair, but she ducked away. “Beats me. Sounds like somebody needs a nap. Right, Jeremy?”

“Yeah, about that. Who told you my name?” Why beat around the bush? It’s not like I was going anywhere. I might as well lay it all out.

Bob didn’t answer, but Agatha twisted around and stared at me for a long minute. I reached over and propped up the photo so she could see it.

Agatha’s eyes widened, then without a word, she
sat back in her seat and adjusted her bookbag in her lap. Whacking complete.

“So, how did you know Jeremy’s name?” she said, trying to sound casual. But it had gone up by about an octave. “Did Professor Twitchett tell you about him? Or did I do it and just forget?”

“Yeah, that’s it. One of those.” Bob chuckled.

“That’s what I figured.” Agatha gave a weird unnatural laugh and then cleared her throat. “So thanks a ton, Bob. You really saved our hide back there. But you can just drop us at the corner. We’ve got a thing. You know. At the place. We’ve got to go.”

I nodded. “That’s right. Wish we could explain, but…” I shrugged.

Bob’s eyes darted over to Agatha for a second and then he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t think so, Agatha.”

“No, it’s okay. Just anywhere is fine.” I could see her knuckles turning white as she gripped her bookbag.

“Why don’t you give me what’s in the bag, Agatha?” Bob’s voice was cold.

Agatha froze. “What? This bag?”

“Just give it to me, Agatha!” Bob barked and then caught himself. “Don’t play games with me.”

Agatha’s eyes were huge, but she gave a half shrug. “Sorry, Bob. You’re too smart for me. I’m totally busted.” She hesitated and then unzipped her backpack. And then she slowly pulled out the netbook. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have bought it. But if you really want it…”

“I’m not stupid, Agatha,” Bob said, all friendliness gone from his voice. “I know about Twitchett’s project. I took your notebook.”

“You took…” The muscles in Agatha’s jaw started working, like she was gearing up for something big, but Bob cut her off.

“So it’s in the duffel bag, Jeremy? Is that where it is?” Bob glared at me in the rearview mirror.

“Whatever,” I shrugged, staring out of the window. I wasn’t even going to participate in the conversation. Anything that distracted me from figuring a way out of the van wasn’t worth my time. So far all I could come up with was the strangle-Bob-while-he’s-driving option,
and since I didn’t want this to end in a fiery car crash, I eliminated it as an option. (Reluctantly.)

“Don’t make this hard on yourself, Agatha. Tell Jeremy to hand over the duffel bag.”

I tightened my grip but kept staring out of the window.

“But you’re my friend!” Agatha said. She really sounded betrayed. That’ll teach her to pal around with creepy hipster types.

“Agatha, you’re just a kid. This is my career.” Bob shook his head. “You’ll understand when you’re older, okay?”

“Yeah, right,” Agatha muttered, giving him a black look and launching into a tirade of her choicest bad words.

Bob swerved and almost went into the ditch at the side of the road. Apparently Bob wasn’t expecting his mother’s family line to be called into question. I guess he didn’t know Agatha as well as he thought.

Bob said a few cusswords himself, and then his jacket pocket started to vibrate and sing that oldies
song, “Highway to Hell.” He fumbled for his cell phone and answered it. I’ve never heard a more appropriate ring tone.

“Yeah,” Bob said, looking at us nervously while he drove with one hand. If I was going with my strangle-Bob-while-he’s-driving plan, this would be the perfect time for it. But I just glared at him. Yeah, I’m really tough.

Agatha turned around and jerked her head toward Bob. “Metalman,” she mouthed.

I nodded. Crap. She was right.

“I got them. Yeah, the kids. They’re in the van.” Bob shot us a threatening look. “What? They were right there! I couldn’t just…Look, what was I supposed to…Okay, I’m bringing them to…No! I’m bring—fine. Fine.” Bob slammed his phone back into his pocket, and did an abrupt U-turn, whacking me and Agatha against the doors.

“Change of plans,” Bob said. “You’re going to see the boss.”

I rolled my eyes. How corny can you get?
You’re going to see the boss.
But I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my
stomach, like I was getting an ulcer or was going to puke or something. Agatha stopped cussing and got a stricken look on her face.

I tried the door handle again. Still locked. I felt so useless, especially since I don’t even know how to successfully strangle anybody.

We sat in silence while Bob tore down the highway and then stopped and parked the car. Directly in front of our building.

Agatha and I exchanged glances. Bob had definitely made a big miscalculation, bringing us right to our own apartments. I was pretty sure at least one of us would be able to make a break for it. And come on, I haven’t been able to get inside the building without at least one of the nosy neighbors spotting me the entire time I’ve lived there.

Bob switched off the car and turned to look at us. “Now I’m only going to say this once, okay? We’re going inside and I expect complete and total cooperation from you two. Got it?”

I curled my lip at him. What a joke.

Bob nodded at me. “I thought you might feel that way. So you might like to see this.”

He opened his jacket. Inside, he had a huge, long hunting knife strapped into the lining. One of those big ones, the kind that can take apart a grizzly bear in a couple of swipes. I swallowed hard and tried to act cool.

Bob closed his jacket. “Now we’re going to take your bags and go inside, and you’re not going to scream, you’re not going to run, you’re not going to do a thing except say, ‘Hello, Mom,’ or ‘Hi, Mrs. Garcia,’ if we run into anyone. Because I’ll use this knife if I have to. On you, or on your families if you get away. And I will do it. Are we clear on this?” Bob watched us, and his face was cold. It hit me hard, right then. He really didn’t care at all what happened to us. He’d just as soon kill us.

We got out of the van slowly, and Bob came around and grabbed me by the arm. He may be wiry and scrawny looking, but that guy really is strong. “Don’t make this difficult, Jeremy,” he hissed at me.

He jerked me around to Agatha’s side of the van, waited while she got out, and marched us into the building. It was all a blur. I couldn’t believe I was just walking along with him, doing nothing. Here’s my chance to be a big hero, escape, and save the day and instead all I do is act like a pathetic puppy on a leash. I saw on
Oprah
once that if someone grabs you, you’re not supposed to let them take you to a second location. But I just kept walking. I guess my feet hadn’t watched
Oprah.

Bob’s hand on my arm was acting like a tourniquet, cutting off all the blood. It was all I could focus on. I glanced over at Agatha. She looked as embarrassed and horrified as I felt.

I didn’t even really register where we were going until I heard Agatha gasp. I looked up just as Bob shoved us through the door into Mrs. Simmons’ apartment.