What Could Go Wrong? (15 page)

“I'm not asking for money,” Charlie told him brazenly, “just information. Is it a drug case? Or what?”

The man's voice went very soft. “Are you saying you won't cooperate by answering questions?”

“No, sir. But it's not fair not to tell us anything, in exchange for what
we
know. It's not a matter of national security, I'm pretty sure of that. They're just crooks, right? Tell us what's going on, and we'll be happy to tell you what we've found out, right, gang?”

Even while he had me worried that he'd get us all locked up, I had to confess to a certain admiration for his effrontery. (That was one of those words I learned when Grandma was doing her puzzles.) I'd never have dared talk to him that way, and I didn't think Eddie would have, either. My dad once referred to Charlie as “all brass and a mile wide,” and I finally saw what he meant.

Eddie did find the courage to back Charlie up, though. “Sure. We'll tell what we've found out.”

Between the two of them they made it sound like we'd found out a lot, and I supposed maybe we had if the contents of the briefcase were as valuable—or as incriminating—as we guessed.

Agent Santori was regarding Charlie as if he were some loathsome variety of worm. “You kids traveling alone? No chaperones?”

“No. I'm thirteen. We don't need a baby-sitter,” Charlie said.

“Then you're mature enough to know that the best thing to do when a federal agent asks questions is to answer them.”

“Sure. I told you we'll cooperate fully. So what's the big deal about a trade of information? Just tell us what kind of a case it is. Not the names of the criminals, necessarily, but what the case is about. Besides the fact that they hit old Mrs. Basker over the head and put her in the hospital to get her bag, what's going on?”

The state I was in, it was a miracle I could notice anything except that I was in a cold sweat of nervousness. But I was pretty sure that Charlie had just given him
one
bit of
information he hadn't had before. He didn't know about Mrs. Basker.

His next words proved it. “When did they do this? Hit this old lady?”

“In Portland Airport, a few hours ago,” Eddie said, before Charlie barked, “We're going to trade information, remember?”

The F.B.I. agent considered this for long seconds. In the silence I heard a jet taking off, far in the distance.

“All right,” Agent Santori said finally, not sounding the least bit friendly. “I'll give you a couple of basic facts, and then you'll answer my questions. Either here, and in full, or in my office at the Federal Building. You got that straight?”

Charlie nodded, and I let out a little of the breath I'd been holding.

“Okay. You've stumbled into a case involving large sums of money, taken in on stolen merchandise that has been sold across state lines and international borders, which makes the crime fall under the jurisdiction of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This illegally earned money is being moved around the country by
couriers so that it can be put back into circulation through legitimate businesses—”

“Money laundering!” Charlie exclaimed. “Isn't that what they call it?”

“Correct. There is considerable money involved, and the men who are doing it have a lot at stake. They are very dangerous. Nobody for a bunch of kids to get mixed up with, because they could easily get hurt.” He was back to his former point. “And that is why you are now going to sit down and tell me exactly how you got involved with these people and what you've learned about them.”

“Sure,” Charlie said. His eyes were glowing. I thought he was probably already wondering if he'd get his picture in the paper.

At that moment the voice on the P.A. system caught our attention: “Will Charlie Portwood come to the nearest white courtesy telephone, please? Charlie Portwood?”

“It's for us! It's Aunt Molly, she's finally here!” I cried in relief. “We have to go find one of those white phones right away!” I no longer cared about the contents of the briefcase or The Enemy. I wanted to turn the whole mess
over to Aunt Molly and let her deal with it, including the F.B.I. agent.

“Just a minute,” Agent Santori began, but Charlie spoke urgently. “We'll talk to you in a minute, sir, but right now we have to answer the page. Our aunt's expecting us, and she won't know where we are. She'll be worried. Besides,” Charlie added, “we should have an adult present when we answer questions anyway, shouldn't we?”

Agent Santori gave him the kind of look my dad gave me when I mentioned wanting to have my hair dyed red. “You want your lawyer present, too?”

Charlie grinned. I suppose that he, too, felt better knowing rescue was at hand in the form of Aunt Molly. “It wouldn't hurt,” he agreed.

“Come on,” I urged. “We've got to answer the page.”

Agent Santori nodded sardonically. “All right. Go ahead. As soon as your aunt joins you, we'll talk.” He made it sound like a threat.

He came along behind us as we hurried to find one of the white phones, but he didn't make any effort to keep up. I was eager to talk
to Aunt Molly, but it was Charlie who got there first.

“Hi, Aunt Molly. Yeah, we got here all right. Is your friend okay? Good. Uh, yeah, we're near Gate . . .”

He turned around to see what the nearest gate number was, and froze.

I turned slowly, too, and saw Eddie's face change before my own must have.

Mr. Upton was there, and the guy in the Hawaiian shirt, but not the F.B.I. agent. I glanced around wildly for Agent Santori, who was nowhere in sight even though he'd only been a few yards behind us.

Mr. Upton spoke very softly. “Hang up the phone, kid.”

The gun he was pointing at Charlie's belt buckle was quite enough to assure our cooperation.

And without a word, before he could tell Aunt Molly where we were, Charlie replaced the receiver.

This was real, I thought numbly. My dad's worst fears—and my own—had come true.

Two men, one of them with a gun, were making us walk with them along one of the broad corridors. The one in the Hawaiian shirt had taken possession of the briefcase. Both of them were grim-faced, and after Mr. Upton said, “Just come along with us and don't make any ruckus,” nobody said a word.

As Charlie said later, at least he could have added, “and nobody will get hurt.” He didn't even give us that much assurance that things would eventually work out all right.

I saw the old lady with the dirty coat and her belongings in a couple of paper shopping bags; she grinned at us as if she remembered us, but she didn't seem to see anything unusual
in the way we were being hurried along by the two men.

We passed a security guard, who paid no attention, and dozens of other people, all bent on getting to their flight, or meeting someone else's. No one seemed to notice what must have been three very scared young faces.

What had happened to Agent Santori? He knew what these men looked like, he'd told us they were dangerous, yet now that we were really in trouble he'd disappeared, though he had been right behind us only a few minutes ago.

What if he wasn't really an F.B.I. agent? His badge and I.D. had looked genuine, but I supposed anything could be faked. What if he was in cahoots with The Enemy, as I'd believed in the beginning? Or had they somehow managed to put him out of action—hit him over the head the way they'd done with Mrs. Basker—or even killed him?

Aunt Molly had to be somewhere in the terminal, I thought in rising panic. Had she heard Mr. Upton's low command to hang up the phone? Or only the click when the receiver was replaced? Would she think Charlie had
hung up accidentally, or would she know we were in danger?

I'd expected that when Aunt Molly showed up we'd be okay. She was an adult. She'd know what to do. But she didn't know where we were, and this airline terminal was as big as some small towns.

Even if she reported to the security police, where would they start to look for us? Would they find us in time?

I glanced at Charlie, who was walking briskly with Mr. Upton right behind him. He sensed that I had turned my head, and opened his mouth to say something, but Mr. Upton said in a tone that permitted no back talk, “Keep still.”

The men were moving as if they had a definite destination in mind. What if they took us away from the airport? How would Aunt Molly or the cops find us then? If I'd ever thought Agent Santori was bluffing when he told us these men were very dangerous, I didn't think so now.

I remembered how huge San Francisco had looked from the air when our plane banked to
approach the airport. Thousands of people, I thought, my mouth so dry I couldn't even swallow. Thousands of places where they could hide three kids. Three bodies.

It's quite terrifying to think of yourself and your cousins as
bodies.

Max had always wanted to be an only child. Maybe now he was going to get his wish.

“Go left here,” Mr. Upton said, and we turned into one of the side corridors. For a moment I felt a leap of hope, because some distance ahead I could see one of the security gates you have to go through so they can X-ray your baggage to see if you're carrying weapons. But of course we weren't going that far.

“Hold it,” Hawaiian shirt said, and we stopped in front of one of those locked blue doors. Mr. Upton had a key, which he used, and the door swung inward. He nudged Charlie forward, ahead of him, and then Eddie and me.

We were in a rather large room with couches and chairs covered with sheets of plastic. Two of the walls had been painted pale blue. The carpet had been torn up and a padding had been partially put back down, with
several rolls of it stacked close to one of the newly painted walls.

I heard the door click shut behind us and knew without checking that it had automatically locked. I was sure it would keep other people out, unless they had keys; would it also keep us in? Or could the door be opened from the inside? I wished the blood wasn't pounding so hard in my ears; it was difficult to hear, or even to think.

Not that anyone was saying anything so far. Hawaiian shirt swung the briefcase onto one of the plastic-covered tables; Mr. Upton produced a key to it and opened it up.

I don't think they intended us to know what was in it. Eddie and I couldn't see, from where we were standing, but Charlie could. I saw his eyes practically bug out; he swallowed and averted his eyes. I thought he was trying to send us a message and I mouthed, “Drugs?”

His head moved ever so slightly from side to side.

“Money?” Eddie whispered.

That was a mistake, and Eddie knew it as soon as we did.

Both men turned, and their faces were menacing. Mr. Upton slammed the briefcase shut, but he'd stepped to one side and the lid didn't come down before I'd glimpsed the contents of the case.

It was money. More money than I'd ever seen in my life, all in neat packets. Laundering the cash they'd gotten from some kind of illegal business, Agent Santori had said, meaning they would make the cash seem legitimately earned by processing it through a legal business.

They knew we had seen it. Hawaiian shirt grimaced. “You kids should have minded your own business.”

There didn't seem to be any sensible response to that, so we just stood there. It dawned on me that this wasn't anywhere near as much fun as watching the same kind of situation on TV.

“What are we going to do with 'em?” Hawaiian shirt asked.

“We better call the boss,” Mr. Upton said after a moment's hesitation.

“He doesn't like it very much when somebody screws up,” Hawaiian shirt reminded him.

Mr. Upton gave him a savage look. “Well, who screwed up, buddy? You're the one who left the newspaper where the kid could pick it up. And who let her keep it long enough to erase part of the message?”

“I wasn't supposed to have to leave Seattle,” Hawaiian shirt said, getting angry, too. “You should have retrieved the paper before the kid got off the plane!”

Mr. Upton's lips drew back in a snarl. “I thought the old woman had it! You stay here with the kids while I go find a phone. I don't want to use the one in here. In fact I don't even know if it's still working. We can consider ourselves lucky that they're redecorating the room right now so we have a place to be undisturbed. The workmen won't be back before Monday morning.”

He made it sound as if
we
would still be here Monday morning. Maybe, I thought, fighting dizziness, just our bodies lying here for the workmen to find when they came to finish their job. I could tell by Eddie's face that he was thinking the same thing.

“Leave me the gun,” Hawaiian shirt said.

Mr. Upton gave him a scornful sneer, but he handed it over. “I should think even you could handle three little kids,” he said. I didn't think they liked working together very well. From Charlie's face I figured he was calculating how that might be to our advantage.

I wasn't too petrified to notice one thing. When Mr. Upton left the room, he didn't use the key to open the door. It wasn't locked from the inside, only from the outside.

I looked at Charlie and Eddie and saw they'd noticed it, too. Charlie took a few steps, and though he didn't move toward our captor, but away from him, it made Hawaiian shirt uneasy.

“Stay where you are, kid,” he said.

Charlie shrugged, as if it didn't matter. I thought I saw what he was maneuvering toward, though. In the corner there were some cleaning tools, like brooms and a long-handled squeegee to clean windows and a paint roller that had a long handle, too, for doing ceilings and upper walls.

We'd used broom handles, with no brooms left on them, for the villain's and the prince's
swords in our play. My heart had already been pounding; now it was like thunder. It made so much noise in my ears I was afraid if Charlie whispered anything I wouldn't hear it.