Science Fair (21 page)

There were shouts, and again the image went jerky. For a moment, Roger and Fawn could see only a blur of bodies and faces. And then, al at once, there he was, fil ing the screen.

“Ohmigod,” said Roger.

“Toby!” screamed Fawn, staggering backward.

Their son was being half carried through the surging crowd by two men in dark suits flecked with orange dust. For just a moment, Toby’s pale and terrified face fil ed the screen. The next shot showed him being hustled into the van along with Gordon Goril a. The van doors were slammed shut and the van roared away. The camera swung back to pick up…

“That’s Micah and Tamara!” Fawn gasped.

They were being hustled toward a second van. But by then Roger and Fawn were no longer looking at the screen; they were staring at each other, speechless, their faces slack with shock. Final y, Fawn found words.

“He was supposed to be in the basement,” she said.

“Yeah?” said Roger. “Wel , guess what?”

G
RDANKL, THE STRONG
president for life, lumbered unhappily into the bunker deep beneath the presidential palace. Waiting for him were his first, second, and third vice presidents, who were gathered around the lone working computer in the Republic of Krpshtskan. They appeared nervous.

“Wel ?” said Grdankl the Strong.

The first and second vice presidents stared at the third vice president, indicating that he was going to have to do the talking. He cleared his throat and said, “The red flag is up.”

“What red flag?” said Grdankl the Strong.

“On the little mailbox,” said the third vice president, pointing to the computer screen. Grdankl leaned over and frowned at the mailbox, then rose up, looking displeased.

“You disturbed my presidential nap for
this
?” he said.

The first and second vice presidents edged away from the third vice president, who quickly said, “The flag means we have e-mail.”

“How do you know this?” said Grdankl.

“Vrsk told me,” said the first vice president. Vrsk had given him a hasty lesson on the computer before leaving for America with Drmtsi.

Grdankl nodded. “E-mail,” he said. “It must be from Prmkt. What does it say?”

“In order to read it,” said the third vice president, “we must first open it.”

“Then open it!” said Grdankl the Strong.

Al eyes were now on the third vice president, who was sweating as he tried to remember his lesson.

“To open it,” he said, “we must press on the mailbox.”

As the others watched, Grdankl the Strong reached toward the screen and aimed for the little mailbox, pressing a meaty, sausage-shaped forefinger against the glass of the computer monitor. Nothing happened. Grdankl glared at the third vice president, who was sweating harder now as he racked his brain, trying to remember.…

“The mouse!” he said, startling the others.

“What mouse?” said Grdankl, looking at the floor.

“Here,” said the third vice president, pointing at the computer mouse. “We must use this to press on the mailbox.” Grdankl the Strong picked up the mouse and pressed it against the computer screen.

“No!” said the third vice president, quickly adding, “What I mean to say, Your Supreme Democratical y Elected Excel ency, is that you do it like this.” He gently took the mouse from Grdankl the Strong, set it on the computer table, and slid it back and forth. “See? It moves this little arrow on the screen.” Grdankl looked at the mouse, then at the arrow. “It is a stupid system,” he said.

“Yes,” agreed the third vice president. “Stupid.” He put the arrow over the mailbox and pressed the mouse button. An e-mail header appeared on the screen. “Your Exalted Highness is correct,” he said. “It is from Prmkt.” He clicked on the header, and the e-mail fil ed the screen.

“Let me see,” said Grdankl. He leaned forward and read the e-mail slowly, his lips moving. He grunted in surprise, then read some more. When he was done, he faced his vice presidents.

“Drmtsi and Vrsk have been captured by the Americans,” he said. “In a jungle.”

The vice presidents gasped.

“America has a jungle?” asked the first vice president.

“Yes,” said Grdankl the Strong. “It is cal ed Norman.”

The vice presidents nodded.

“What wil the Americans do to Drmtsi and Vrsk?” asked the first vice president.

“They wil hang them by their ears,” said Grdankl, “and poke them with sticks.” Grdankl did not know this for a fact, but it’s what he would have done.

“It is terrible!” said the second vice president.

“Yes,” agreed Grdankl, although he did not seem particularly upset.

“Does this mean,” the first vice president said cautiously, “that our plan to destroy America has failed?” Grdankl the Strong smiled. “No,” he said. “The Americans
think
they have stopped the plan. But Prmkt”—Grdankl pointed at the e-mail—“says they do not know the
real
plan.

Everything is stil in place. We wil stil destroy the United States.”

“Excel ent!” said the first vice president.

“But…” the second vice president began.

“But what?” said Grdankl the Strong.

“What about Drmtsi and Vrsk?” said the second vice president.

Grdankl the Strong waved his hand, indicating this was not a major problem. “I wil name something for them. A street, perhaps. A nice one, without too many mud holes.” The vice presidents applauded the generosity of Grdankl the Strong. He bowed, graciously acknowledging their praise. Then he sat down in front of the computer screen, put his hand on the mouse, and turned to the third vice president.

“Now show me,” he said, “how to find Catwoman.”

A
KEY TURNED IN THE LOCK
of the cel door, startling Toby out of his snooze. He jerked up and said a bad word when, for the fifth or sixth time, he banged his forehead into the ceiling only inches from his face.

Toby was in the upper bunk of a bunk bed in a cel in a building somewhere near Washington, although he had no idea where. Micah was sleeping in the lower bunk. The other bunk bed in the smal cel was occupied by the two weird foreign guys who had been arrested with them at Jungle Norman’s. Toby was pretty sure that the cel had microphones and cameras hidden in it and that the feds had put them al together so they would talk. But they hadn’t talked, because the weird foreign guys were not good at English. They also emitted a funky odor: the cel smel ed like a cross between old cheese and dirty laundry.

Both foreign guys were snoring. The big foreign guy was in the upper bunk, where he had insisted on sleeping even though it took him five minutes to climb up there. The little foreign guy was in the lower bunk; he had a bandage on his chin where he’d been decked by Gordon, the singing robot goril a.

Toby glanced at the clock: it was almost noon. They’d been in the cel a few hours after being kept up al night getting fingerprinted and questioned. The feds had taken away their belts and personal belongings—including Toby’s special iPhone and the special hat. Then the suspects were placed in this cel and instructed to get some sleep. Thanks to the snoring, Toby hadn’t gotten much.

The door opened, and in came FBI Agent Turow, who apparently had not gotten much sleep either. His face was stubbled with beard growth; he stil had orange dust on his suit.

Wrinkling his nose at the smel in the cel , he nudged Micah and the two foreign guys.

“Wake up,” he said. “Time to move.”

“Move to where?” said Toby.

“Interrogation,” said Turow.

“Again?” said Toby.

“Oh, yes,” said Turow, with the hint of a smile, but not a friendly one. “There’s gonna be
lots
more.”

“I want to talk to my parents,” Toby said.

“Me, too,” said Micah, adding, “I don’t mean I want to talk to
Toby’s
parents. I want to talk to
my
parents. But if I can’t talk to mine, I want to at least talk to his. But I’d rather talk to—” Turow cut Micah off. “As I told you both last night,” he said, “your parents have been contacted. They know you’re in custody. You’l see them later.”

“How much later?” said Toby.

“Later,” said Turow.

“Where are we?” said Micah.

“You’re in a government facility, in what we like to cal an undisclosed location,” said Turow.

“But don’t we…” began Toby, “I mean, don’t we get to talk to a lawyer?”

“Where’d you get that idea?” said Turow. “From TV?”

“Yes,” admitted Toby.

“Wel , guess what, Toby?” said Turow. “This isn’t TV. This is real life, and in real life you
don’t
get to talk to a lawyer if it’s deemed a matter of national security.” Toby blinked. “National security?” he said.

“Oh, yes,” said Turow. “Cal us a crazy federal law-enforcement agency, but when we at the FBI find somebody holding stolen highly classified defense technology, which he’s apparently passing to two foreign nationals, we become curious.”

“But I told you!” said Toby. “We don’t know these guys! We never saw them before! I only went to Jungle Norman’s because of the…”

“Right, I know, the instant messages,” said Turow. “Except you can’t tel us who sent them.”

“But it’s
true
,” said Toby. “Somebody IM’d me, and whoever it was is planning…”

“I know,” said Turow. “He’s gonna do something terrible at your school science fair. Except you don’t know what.”

“But…”

“Save it,” said Turow. “You’l have plenty of time to try to explain. Days, in fact.”

“But the science fair is tonight,” said Toby.

“Looks like you’re gonna miss it,” said Turow.

“But…”

“Save it,” snapped Turow. He pointed to the door. “Let’s go, gentlemen.”

The little weird foreign guy on the lower bunk said something to the big weird foreign guy in the upper bunk. The big guy said something back. The language they used made them sound as though they were just about to hawk up major loogies, but they never actual y did. They both climbed out of their bunks. This was a major effort for the big guy, who seemed to be the main source of the odor, emitting powerful stink rays from his pants. When he final y had both feet on the floor, he turned to Turow and said something, sounding pretty angry. The little guy translated it.

“Fourth Vice President Drmtsi demands to speak immediately to a representative of the embassy of Krpshtskan,” he said.

Turow nodded and said, “Mister…Vrsk, is it? Did I say that correctly?”

“Vrsk, yes.”

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Vrsk,” continued Turow. “There isn’t any Krpshtskan embassy here in the United States.”

“Is not?” said Vrsk.

“Is not,” said Turow. “Believe me, we checked. We also tried to cal your country and speak to the authorities there, but we haven’t been able to reach anybody.” Vrsk nodded. The phone system in Krpshtskan was unreliable because people kept using the telephone poles for firewood.

“Please tel Vice President Drmtsi we wil keep trying,” said Turow.

Vrsk translated this to Drmtsi, who said something back. Vrsk turned to Turow and said, “Fourth Vice President Drmtsi demands to know where is credit card.”

“Tel him it’s in a safe place,” said Turow.

Again Vrsk translated. Drmtsi answered at length. Somewhat reluctantly, Vrsk turned to Turow and said, “Fourth Vice President Drmtsi says he requires card for TV shopping peoples show. Very good price coming on machine for to make fodge.”

“Fodge?” said Turow.

“Yes, fodge,” said Vrsk.

“I think he means fudge,” said Micah.

“Yes,” said Vrsk. “Fodge.”

Agent Turow rubbed his tired, stubbled face with both hands. “Listen,” he said. “Right now, you cannot watch TV, and you cannot have your personal belongings. Right now, you are going to be interrogated. I must insist that al of you come with me.”

Vrsk translated this, and the four cel mates trooped reluctantly into the hal , where a half dozen largish agents were waiting, apparently ready to help Turow if there was trouble.

Toby, as casual y as he could, stuck a hand into his back pocket; he felt the two backup coils of thin fiberoptic cable. He wiggled his toes: the insoles were stil in place.

But he needed the phone and the hat. They’d been taken when he and the others had been brought into this building—wherever it was—the night before. The feds had stopped them at what looked like a reception counter and made them put their possessions into manila envelopes. Toby wondered where those envelopes were now, and how he could get to them.