Operation Sherlock (7 page)

Unfortunately, the moment was short-lived.

“It's a good idea, Ray,” said Rachel, brushing back a strand of flame-colored hair that the ocean breeze had misplaced. “But it doesn't hold up. I was wearing this blouse last night. I spilled coffee on it before I went to bed, and this morning when I got up I threw it in the cleaner/dryer. No way that transmitter would have survived a trip through the wash cycle.”

“Chips!” said Wendy. She turned around and looked out to sea again. “I want to go home.”

“Don't we all!” said Trip. “But there's no point in going on about it. We're stuck here, so we might as well make the best of it.”

“What makes you so perky?” asked Wendy. She began pacing back and forth. “Did you take sunshine pills this morning?”

“All right, all right,” said Roger. “Let's not debate philosophy. The question is: When did the bug get on Rachel's collar?”

“And who put it there?” added Trip.

“Well, look,” said Rachel. “I put on the blouse just before Roger and I left the house to head for the meeting. Since we didn't meet anyone along the way…”

“It had to be someone at the meeting,” finished Trip. “And assuming it wasn't one of us…”

“Then it had to be one of the adults,” concluded Ray.

“Is it possible someone snuck into your house and planted the bug on your blouse while you were out this morning?” asked Wendy.

“Not likely. I've learned to safeguard my room because of certain pranksters in my family”—at this Roger looked at the sky and whistled tunelessly—”so I'm pretty sure I would have known it if anyone had been in my room.”

“We have to consider even the slightest possibility,” said Trip.

“Let's say for now it was someone at the meeting,” put in Ray. “Who was close enough to do it, Rachel?”

The redhead paused for a moment. “Oh, it could have been anyone,” she said unhappily. “I think each of the adults made it a point to greet me. Of course…” She shook her head. “No, it couldn't be him.”

“Who?” cried several voices in unison.

“Dr. Weiskopf. He sat next to me in the Jeep when we took the tour. He would have had lots of time, and I would never had noticed it when we were jouncing around. But he's such a sweet little man I can't believe it was him.”

“Attila the Hun's mother probably thought he was a cutie,” said Wendy.

“I have to agree with the twerp here,” said Trip, glancing down at Wendy. “For the moment, Dr. Weiskopf is our number one suspect.”

“But the truth is, it could have been any of the adults at that meeting,” said Ray.

He didn't go on to say that this meant the list of suspects included their parents.

He didn't need to.

They were all thinking it anyway.

 

Brainstorm

Wendy woke the next morning when Mr. Pumpkiss climbed onto her head and began singing a mournful song about its long-lost love.

“All right, all right,” grumbled the Wonderchild. “You stop singing and I'll stop snoring. Okay?”

“Of course, Captain Wendy,” said the bear. Then, as it had been programmed to do, it resumed the song.

“Chips!” exclaimed Wendy. Snatching the bear from her head, she pushed in its nose.

It stopped singing.

“Why I put up with my own inventions, I'll never know,” she grumbled, climbing out of bed and stumbling through the laundry scattered across her floor. To her surprise, the message light on her computer terminal was blinking.

“Awfully early for a message,” she muttered to herself. Tossing a stack of mismatched socks off her chair, she sat down at the keyboard and typed in her personal code. Despite the fact that she had been awake for only a few minutes—she usually required at least an hour to start feeling human—Wendy smiled as she did this. Having her terminal connected to the superpowerful mainframe was one of the best things about this island. Of course there was a lot on the big computer she couldn't tap into. At least, not yet…

A beep from the computer interrupted her thoughts as a message flashed on the screen:

Wendy:

Meet me at the canteen. Pronto!

—Rachel

“That's all?” said the Wonderchild. “Meet me at the canteen? Who does she think she is? The President?” Despite her resentment at the tone of the message, Wendy ran a brush through her hair and bound it into pigtails. Then she began rummaging through her clothes. Finding nothing clean (she hadn't washed anything before she packed), she dashed into her parents' room and snatched a sweatshirt from her father's dresser.

Three minutes later she was heading for the canteen.

Clutching his basketball, the Gamma Ray trotted along the base's main road until he came to the crater left by the previous day's explosion. The air still held a touch of early-morning briskness, and beads of dew glittered on the grass. Early as it was, he was still worried that he might be late. So he sighed with relief when he saw that Trip had not yet arrived. The older boy's computer message had sounded so urgent Ray had been afraid he would be waiting impatiently.

I wonder why Trip wanted to meet here, anyway?
he thought. Then, answering his own question:
Maybe he has some new idea about what caused the explosion that he wants to check out!

Ray gazed into the crater and wondered, as he had several times in the last twenty-four hours, just what
had
caused the blast that destroyed the guard shack. Certainly he hadn't gotten any useful information from his parents, who had assured him it was simply an accident and if it was anything else Sergeant Brody and his men would see to it. His father in particular seemed very impressed by the security measures Dr. Hwa had arranged for the base.

Bouncing his ball as he walked, Ray paced back and forth at the edge of the blast site. Brody's men had constructed a temporary road around the hole and repaired the fence. A uniformed guard sat in a chair, leaning against a post and reading a paperback book. He appeared casual, but the nasty-looking rifle propped at his side made it clear he meant business.

“Well, young man, you look lost in space. What's on your mind?”

Ray glanced up and felt his mind go blank at the sight of the dark-haired woman in front of him. She was, to use his father's term, “a knockout.” Slightly out of breath, she was jogging in place and looking more beautiful than any scientist had a right to.

Ray knew she was a scientist because she had been at the meeting yesterday. But he couldn't remember her name to save his life.

Pretty women always confused him that way.

She laughed—a light, silver ripple of sound that made him think of bells. His brain began to make connections. Bells ringing… belling… Bai' Ling!

“Just thinking, Dr. Ling,” he said with relief. He wished she would stop bouncing. Her jet-black hair, tied in a ponytail, was swishing across her shoulders in a way that he found very distracting.

“Dangerous habit,” she said, giving him a wink. “Thinking, I mean. Makes you unpopular in the real world. Of course, it's considered more acceptable for boys than for girls. Even so, if you want to have a lot of friends—stick to basketball.”

“I'm a little short for it,” said Ray bitterly.

“Horsefeathers! If you want to do it, do it! If you can't do everything, do what you can!” She stopped jogging and looked into the crater. “I wonder what caused that explosion.” She glanced at Ray and winked again. “Dr. Fontana thinks we have a traitor in our midst. Me, I think someone was making bootleg firecrackers.” She started to bounce again. “Well, I have to go. I want to make it all the way around the island this morning.”

Ray watched wistfully as Dr. Ling jogged into the distance, her ponytail bouncing behind her.

“That,” said a voice at his shoulder, “is one unforgivably beautiful scientist.”

Ray turned to his side. “Roger! Did Trip ask you to meet him here, too?”

“Sure did. Only it seems you and I are more punctual than our friend from Philadelphia.”

“Not much,” said Trip, who had walked up behind them while they were staring after Dr. Ling. “Sorry if I'm a little late. What was it you wanted to see me about?”

Ray and Roger exchanged a puzzled glance. “We didn't want to see you,” said Roger. “You asked to see us!”

“Let me get this straight,” said Wendy, wiping her ketchupy fingers on her father's sweatshirt. “You're here because you got a message from
me?”

“That's right,” said Rachel. She took a sip of her coffee. “And I most emphatically did not send
you
a message.” She winced as she watched Wendy take a bite of burger, make a face, and then remove the top of the bun to pour a second round of ketchup over the pile of pickles and onions that already completely hid the meat.

“Well, this is more fun than a malfunctioning circuit,” said Wendy. “Looks to me like one of us is losing her marbles. My grandfather always said it would happen. He didn't approve of women thinking too much.”

She glanced over at the counter where the boy named Hap was whistling quietly as he stacked doughnuts in a plexiglass container. A little robo-runner tootled up and down the counter, brushing away crumbs and wiping up spills. “What's he so happy about?” she snarled.

“Wendy!”

“Sorry. I guess this place is getting on my nerves. First they pluck us out of our homes and drag us off to this barfacious island. Then less than twelve hours after we get here, someone blows up a guard shack, which everyone is trying to pretend is a perfectly normal accident, though if it was I'll eat an organically grown booger while standing on my head. Next we find that microphone on your collar, which was probably placed there by one of the seventeen most important grown-ups on this dump—only we can't prove anything, because it self-destructs the minute we discover it. To top it all off, you sent me a message and I sent you a message, except neither of us sent anyone a message. I could have more fun being flea inspector at a dog show!”

She took a huge bite of her burger and began chewing ferociously. Before she could swallow, the door to the canteen swung open and the three boys came stalking in. “Okay,” said Roger, crossing to the girls. “Which one of you was it?”

“Huh?” said Wendy.

“By that,” said Rachel, “she means ‘which one of who was what?' ”

“Come on, sis, don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you. Which one of you is playing games with the computer system? I suppose the two of you have been having a real laugh fest here while we were off at your phony emergency meeting!”

“Sit down, twin,” said Rachel. “I've got something to tell you.”

Roger looked at the expression on his sister's face, then nodded to his companions. Grabbing chairs, they joined the girls at the table.

Wendy and Rachel quickly filled the boys in on the messages they had received that morning. Before they could finish, everyone began talking at once.

“All right!” bellowed Roger. “Shut up!”

“You say that a lot,” observed Trip.

“I have to with this group. Now look, there's something weird going on here, and frankly I don't feel comfortable talking about it in the open, if you know what I mean.”

He nodded toward the counter section, where Hap was filling salt shakers.

“Let's go to my house,” said Wendy. “I'll cook up some burgers.”

“Was it a hurricane or an earthquake?” asked Rachel. She was standing at the door to Wendy's room, surveying the mess that covered her floor.

“Neither. I'm just domestically impaired. I keep thinking I'll wake up neat someday, but it never happens.”

“It's Captain Wendy!” cried the teddy bear sitting on her shelf. “Welcome home, Captain Wendy!”

“Captain Wendy!” cried the baby doll and the fashion doll that sat on either side of the bear. “Welcome home, Captain Wendy!”

The toys stood up, took a step forward, and fell off their shelf. Cursing like sailors, they got to their feet and began walking toward the girls.

“What is this?” cried Rachel, taking a nervous step backward.

“My specialty,” said Wendy happily. “Microrobotics. They're not nearly as sophisticated as Paracelsus when it comes to their speech patterns, but they can walk around pretty well. The bear's name is Mr. Pumpkiss. The dolls are Blondie and Baby Pee Pants.”

“Wow,” said Ray, stepping up beside the girls. “That's spooky.”

“They are amazing,” agreed Rachel admiringly.

“I don't mean the toys,” said Ray. “I mean Wendy's room. A guy could get lost just trying to walk from one side to the other.”

Wendy was about to punch him when Roger yelled, “Will you three get back out here? We've got work to do!”

“Come on,” said Wendy, heading for the kitchen. “I'll tell you more about their programming later.” Ray and Rachel followed her down the hall.

A few feet after them came Mr. Pumpkiss and the girls.

The idea was born, as great ideas often are, from frustration.

“I can't make head or tail of this mess,” said Ray, pushing himself away from the table. He picked up Mr. Pumpkiss, who was trying to crawl into his lap. “It just doesn't add up.”

“Good grief!” cried Roger. “That's it!” He looked around the table, as if expecting the others to get it as well. “We're trying to do the adding up ourselves,” he said. “Don't you see how silly that is?”

The others looked back at him blankly. But Roger was on his feet now, pacing back and forth in his excitement.

“Adding up. That's the whole point of having computers: to do the adding up! They're made to handle the drudgery—sorting, storing, comparing—so the human mind can be free to do more creative things—free to do the thinking!

“Now, here we sit, beating our brains out trying to sort through these clues, and what's in the next room?” He answered his own question before anyone else had a chance. “I'll tell you what's in there: a terminal linked to what may be the most powerful computer in the world!
Will
be, by the time our parents are done with it.”