Chapter 5
The Mission
The next few days dragged on as Sarah and Matt passed notes back and forth in class, trying to avoid the eagle eye of Madame Leblanc. The thrill of the mission was upon them as they put their heads together during recesses and lunch hours. Step by step, they devised the cloak-and-dagger plan. Some of the people from their class were amazed at Matt’s behaviour, or rather, his apparent disinterest in pranks. And they couldn’t believe that another student preferred his company to theirs.
On Friday, Chelsea couldn’t stand it anymore. She came up behind them as they laughed, whispered, and joked. “What are you doing with the jerk, Sarah?”
Sarah stood up. “He’s not a jerk,” she said. “If you got to know him—”
“Yeah, like I’d want to,” Chelsea spat out. “He’s a menace. Anyone with half a brain would steer clear of him.”
“Well, I guess I’ve lost more than half my brain then,” said Sarah. “A lobotomy, I think they call it. Does someone with a lobotomy know what a lobotomy is?” She looked at Matt.
“What’s a lobotomy?” asked Matt.
“Exactly.”
“Hey!”
“If you got my joke, you know what it is,” said Sarah, giggling.
Chelsea huffed. “You guys are hopeless.” She leaned towards Sarah. “You’ll regret this, you know. With him for a friend, no one is going to want to hang out with you.”
“Good. Then I can concentrate on my basketball.”
“Humph. You’re as weird as he is.” Chelsea tossed the tassels on her toque back and stomped away.
Sarah sat back down beside Matt. “Why does she care?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s jealous.”
“Did she try to meet your dad, too?”
“Once, two years ago. She slunk up to me and turned on the charm. Out of the blue. You think I would trust her? Ha!”
Sarah smiled.”But you trusted me.”
“That’s because you’re different. You fought back when I slammed you down.”
Sarah puckered her eyebrows.
“Yeah, I admit it. But you didn’t give up. Not once. After what I did to you, you still wanted to get to know me. Not my dad, but me. You see, no one ever wants to get to know me. It’s always about Dad. ‘What’s your dad like? Do you ever go to those cool places with him? Would your dad sign an autograph? What does your dad eat for breakfast?’”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. Like who cares what he eats for breakfast? Only I would care about that stuff and I never knew.” Matt dropped his gaze and kicked a clump of snow.
Sarah felt her heart go out to him again. The problems in her own life seemed microscopic compared to his. Sure, she missed her old friends and her mom horribly, but at least she still had her dad, stubborn as he was. As she tried to decide between reaching out to Matt or letting the awkward moment fade, a silence fell over the schoolyard. The buzz of students’ chatter was dying down, which meant the bell must have rung. “We have to go in,” she said.
Matt got up. He brushed the snow off his backside. “Are we ready, do you think?” His face was brightening.
Sarah nodded. “It’s a mission thumbs up.”
Their next class was history, an hour-long lecture, dry and almost unbearable, as if they were plodding through a desert with no water. Sarah jotted down a few facts, but most of the time her eyes wandered outside. Mr. Fletcher kept pausing during his monologue. He’d turn to look directly at Matt, waiting for an interruption, but Matt was a model student today. Well, not model. He was snoozing, but at least he wasn’t being disruptive. That would mean no detentions and they’d have no trouble escaping the school grounds. When the final bell rang, Sarah expelled a sigh of relief. She turned around to shake Matt out of his stupor.
“Wh-what?”
“Freedom!” she exclaimed.
Matt grinned. With glowing faces, they raced out the double doors into the semi-circular driveway at the front of the school.
Sarah was thrilled to see her dad’s car waiting for them. He’d left Parliament early, and he was acting chauffeur in his grand limousine—a cramped Saturn. She motioned for Matt to join her as she ran to the idling silver vehicle.
“You’re early,” she said. She wrenched the back door open.
“Got tired of the squabbling,” he said. “Hop in.”
Sarah leaped into the back seat. Matt joined her a little hesitantly. “Dad, this is Matt Barnes. Dr. Barnes’s son.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, offering his hand over the front seat.
Matt shook, his spindly hand clamped tight in her father’s huge paw. “Same here,” he mumbled.
Sarah’s dad turned around. He shifted the car into gear. “So where’s this office of your father’s, Matt?”
“Just off Sparks and O’Connor.”
“Not far from Parliament, then. You told your dad’s assistant to walk over to the Hill, right?”
“Right,” he replied.
“Then if it weren’t for you guys, I could have stayed at work, if you call it that.”
Sarah frowned. “What do mean by ‘if you call it that?’ You’re always talking about how hard you work.”
“I do, sweetheart,” he said with a smile. “Although sometimes I’m reminded of a pack of wolves fighting over a piece of meat.”
“Do you mean to say that the parliamentary process, something you’ve praised all your life, something you made me learn when I was six years old, is a waste of time?”
“Oh, no, no,” said her dad, biting his lip. “Not the process, dear. That’s democracy, and it’s our lifeline. But the politicians . . .”
“You’re a politician, Dad.”
“Yes. I guess I’m part of that sorry lot.”
He darted onto the Queensway—the expressway to downtown Ottawa—and poured on the gas. “Suckers,” he said, nodding where departing vehicles jammed the opposite side.
“It’s not as bad as Toronto,” said Sarah. “Those cars are actually moving.”
Matt was looking out the window, studying the trees with glazed eyes. He didn’t seem the least bit interested in Sarah’s banter with her father.
“Are we boring you?” she whispered.
Matt shook his head. “I can’t help but feel this won’t work. How are we going to get our hands on that briefcase? Every time I’ve tried it’s either been locked or she caught me snooping and kept an even closer watch on it.”
Sarah gave his arm a pat. “Think positive. You’ve never had a partner before. Now you have two.” She grinned, but she couldn’t draw a smile out of Matt.
“I hate to interrupt,” said her father, “but you’re starting to remind me too much of the back-benchers in the House of Commons. Whispering usually means secrets, am I right?”
“Not really, Dad” said Sarah. “It means far more than that. Undercover operations, you know. It’s far safer for you,” she winked at the mirror, “if you don’t know.”
“My, you have been reading too many spy novels lately, haven’t you?”
Sarah shrugged.
“So, Matt. Tell me about your family. What’s it like to be the son of Professor Barnes?”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Matt. “I haven’t met him.”
Sarah poked Matt with her elbow, but her father merely chuckled. “I guess he’s just Dad to you. Have you had any adventures with him?”
“This is the first,” said Matt.
Sarah kicked him in the shins. “What?” he whispered. “What do you want me to say?”
“You’re the son of a genius. Make it up.” She was starting to get worried Matt was going to let something slip. They couldn’t let her dad find out the truth. He might interfere with their plans. Then he’d be confronting Nadine instead of getting her to relax her guard.
“Well,” said Matt. “He’s really kind of a strange man, you know. Scientists are like that sometimes, I’ve heard. Wha
t’s the word they use?”
“Eccentric,” her father supplied.
“Right. So, when he’s home, he just hangs around the house, doesn’t say much, you know. But he’s a great guy, I guess.”
Now her dad was frowning. “I guess,” he said. He looked at Sarah in the mirror, but she fled his gaze, turning quickly away. Her father was far too good at digging out secrets. She could sense the electrical storm in his brain already.
“And your mom?” he asked.
“Oh, she’s dead,” said Matt.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
The drive continued in silence. At least Matt’s abrupt response about his mother had stopped her dad from pressing further. He focused on the traffic for a while, at a loss for words. Finally he burst the swollen silence when he banked off the Queensway and turned down Nicolas Street, a major roadway to the city core. To their left, the sun was skewered on the pikes of steel and glass office buildings. “Lots of skaters out this evening.” He pointed to the Rideau Canal.
Sarah looked at the shimmering ice surface and the colourfully-clad skaters gliding towards the palace-like Chateau Laurier hotel. She sucked in her breath as she gazed at the majestic buildings that crowned Parliament Hill. Even though she’d been to the capital before as a tourist or as a sidekick to her politician father, the elegance of the place never failed to enchant her. The hotel and the Parliament buildings reminded her of the pictures she’d seen of British castles like Westminster Tower sitting atop London with crusty old brick walls soaring into spires and battlements.
As the buildings loomed closer, more details emerged: elongated arched windows, stained/aged brown brick, peaked roofs that pierced the skyline. The seat of government was dominated by the stately Peace Tower where a clock chimed every hour—so much like Big Ben. These buildings were chips off the old British block. It was strange to see something that looked so ancient—Neo-Gothic it was called—in a frontier land.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said her father.
She had to think of something disparaging to say about the city. After all, she was supposed to hate moving here. “Ugh, green roofs.”
“You know it’s tarnished copper.”
“Someone should go up and polish them then. Mint green. They look like Barbie castles. Might as well paint the bricks pink.”
Her dad sighed. “I remember when you used to goggle at the Parliament buildings. You said they reminded you of all the stories you’d read about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “There are no knights in Ottawa.”
“Maybe not now.”
“Come on, Dad. I know better.”
“They weren’t exactly knights—”
“Da-ad, no history lessons, ple-ease.”
The car slowed down as they vaulted the Laurier Street Bridge, a hoop of green metal spanning the Rideau Canal. Sarah looked down the length of the canal, the slender rope of ice that wound its way through the core of the city. Skaters dotted the ice like speckled paint on a window. Part of Sarah longed to join them, zooming over the frozen surface in her insulated leather skates, breathing in the crisp fresh air, and pirouetting on a smoother patch. But not today. She had far more important things to do.
After they’d crossed the bridge, the car edged through traffic into the midst of the office towers that comprised the downtown core. The Gothic flavour dissolved as the buildings impeded any view of Parliament. Here Ottawa became a modern city, full of exhaust and flying trash that curled through the wind tunnels of dense high-rises. The sidewalks were choked with frantic men and women in suits and long coats rushing to catch a bus, coffee in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
With a swift twist of the steering wheel, her father maneuvered the car towards a gap between the tall buildings and cruised towards the West Block of Parliament, where his office was located. He pulled into the back parking lot, reserved for MPs, and slipped into a slot.
“Well, we’re here. I hope you gave the lady the correct conference room number,” he said to Sarah.
“I’m not that dumb,” said Sarah. “I told Matt after you said it was okay. Hopefully she’s already here.”
“You can leave your backpacks in the car,” he said. “Then we won’t have the fuss of security.”
Sarah heard Matt curse under his breath. He immediately dug through his backpack and withdrew a couple of discs and a memory stick. He tucked the discs into the waistband of his jeans, and slipped his sweatshirt over them, and jammed the stick into his pocket. She raised her eyebrows quizzically.
“In case we find something,” he whispered.
She nodded just as her dad turned around to look at them. “Shall we go?” he asked.
Sarah and Matt leaped out of the car. They raced up the worn stone steps, leaving her bewildered father behind. At the top, they were halted briefly by security, then plunged through the broad double doors and slowed their pace only when some politicians with slicked-back hair and double breasted suits walked towards them.
“The conference room is at the end of the hall,” said Sarah. As they approached it, they saw Nadine waving at them outside the door. This time her hair was impeccable, swept up, but loosely, so it softened her sharp nose and severe chin. Her glacier blue eyes twinkled like melting ice crystals. Sarah felt a chill slither down her back. She turned to find her father catching up to them, slightly out of breath. She reached out and grasped his hand protectively. He looked down at her with wide eyes.
“Just a little cold in here,” said Sarah.
“Right,” he said, but he still looked puzzled.
Nadine’s face lit up at the sight of him. She still clutched the briefcase Matt had mentioned and an extra duffel bag hung over her shoulder. “Hello. You’re the Honourable . . .”
“Just Donald. Donald Sachs,” he said, holding out his hand.
She clasped it eagerly with her long scarlet talons. Her smile was so plastic, it almost made Sarah gag. “Yes, of course. Sarah told me you were a—”
“A Member of Parliament,” said Sarah, cutting in. “Representing Toronto Centre.”
“I didn’t catch your name.” He gently retracted his hand. Nadine released it reluctantly.
“Nadine. Nadine Barnes.”
“You’re a relative of Matt’s?”
“Distant cousin.”
Matt glanced at the ceiling.
“I’m also Dr. Barnes’s assistant. I run things for him while he’s out of the country.”
“Or out of this world,” Matt whispered to Sarah.
Sarah scowled at him, warning him not to upset their plans, but Matt didn’t look like Matt right now. He had the same tousled hair and sea-green eyes, but he was taller and fuzzy, not quite there. Sarah blinked. The illusion disappeared, leaving just plain Matt again.
“You sure you’re not a corpse?” she whispered, leaning towards him.
Her father caught her eye. She clamped her lips and stood up straight.
Matt grinned at her. He seemed to love the joke.
They walked into the conference room, Sarah’s dad leading the way. A large ebony table dominated the centre of the room, with matching leather chairs looping around the outside. A big-screen television was mounted on the far wall.
“Sarah told me you had some exclusive footage of the professor on assignment. We’d love to see it,” said her father.
Sarah smiled. Straight to the point, Dad. Not falling for Nadine’s sugar. She couldn’t stand the thought of her father getting hooked up with this vulture, but she still needed him to distract the woman.
“Yes,” said Nadine. “I have them in my bag.” She placed the duffel on the table, flipped over the flap, and removed several discs. “Which one would you like to see first? There are the Mayans, the Alberta dinosaurs—that’s a favourite of the children’s—Egypt . . .”
“I’ll let Sarah decide. She’s the one with a fascination for a
rchaeology and ancient history,” he said. “In other countries,” he added as an afterthought.
Nadine looked expectantly at Sarah.
“Um, maybe Egypt,” she said. “I’ve always loved those mummies.”
“Egypt it is.” Nadine removed a disc and handed it to Sarah’s dad. He slotted it deftly into the nearly-obsolete DVD player. “It’s one of the professor’s favourites, as well.”
The giant screen sprang to life, displaying the pyramids as clearly as if they were right in front of them instead of viewed on film. The limestone blocks were vivid, eggshell-white, and perfectly shaped, as if they’d been freshly cut and spliced with no sign of crumbling stone or the stain of weathering. Professor Barnes stood in the foreground. He cleared his throat and began a narration of his new discoveries beneath the sphinx, including the secret burial chamber of Khufu, the builder of the Great Pyramid. Sarah was mesmerized, but at the same time she saw Nadine sidle up to her father and take a seat next to him. So far, so good.
Matt, however, watched with his head tilted, his mouth slack, trying his best not to fall asleep. They endured the next hour impatiently, Sarah continually glancing at the briefcase, but getting more and more exasperated as Nadine kept it close to her side. How were they going to pry it from her overprotective grip? But no opportunity presented itself, even with Nadine constantly making goo-goo eyes at her father.
After they’d watched a few videos, Sarah decided she would try a new tactic. Matt had his head buried in his arms, so she kicked him awake first.
“Wh-what?”
“Boy, am I ever hungry,” she blurted out, looking at Matt. “These videos have been fascinating, but do you think we could have some dinner?”
“Y-yeah,” said Matt. “I’m starved.”
Her father raised his eyebrows and shot her a stern look, but she wasn’t about to back down. “We could have some dinner at Chez Henri across the street. Ple-ease, Dad?”
“Why, that sounds like a great idea,” said Nadine, jumping at the chance to dine with an MP at a fancy French restaurant.
Sarah’s dad immediately agreed, since there was no diplomatic way to wriggle out of his daughter’s trap, although he looked disgruntled. They left the West Block and strode across the street to Chez Henri, settling in at one of the elegantly draped tables of white. Nadine seemed to enjoy being instantly catered to by the haughty French waiter.
As they sat down, Nadine slid her briefcase under the table. Perfect. Then she excused herself to freshen up in the ladies’ room. Even better. Maybe she thought it would look too odd to take the briefcase with her, so she left it behind.
Now was their chance. While her father chatted with Jean about the menu specials, Sarah reached under the table and snagged the briefcase. Then she rose from her chair, slipping it behind her back.
“I’m just going to get some fresh air while we wait for dinner. Will you order for us, Dad?” she asked.
“All right,” he said, obviously distracted by his discussion of the exotic herbs and spices in the soupe du jour. “What do you want?”
“The roast chicken breast sounds good. Matt?”
“Sure,” he mumbled, his nose still buried in the menu.
“Be back in about half an hour,” she said. “That’s how long it usually takes to serve, right?”
“Um hum,” said her father.
“Matt?” She nudged him with her shoe.
“Oh, oh yeah.” Matt jumped up.
The two co-conspirators spun around and raced for the door.
As soon as they were outside, Sarah grinned at Matt and held up the briefcase triumphantly.
“Wow, girl, you’re amazing,” said Matt.
“Now we just have to open it.”
They slipped into a side alley and Sarah tried to spring the latches. They flipped open with a snap. She looked up at Matt in astonishment.
“Nadine must have forgotten to lock them. Incredible. I guess your dad really has her off her game.”
Sarah grimaced, but she wasn’t about to downplay their good fortune just because of the barracuda.
Matt jumped for the case. Before opening it, he paused and caught Sarah’s gaze. The corners of his lips were quivering. She smiled and nodded. Then he opened the Pandora’s box.
His forehead creased in confusion as he stared at the contents. “It’s just discs,” he said. “And papers.”
“What’s on the papers?” asked Sarah.
Matt riffled through the stack, scanning as he went. “Formulas. Mathematical formulas and scientific equations.”
“Like what?”
“E = mc². That one’s easy—the speed of light. But these: d² = x² + y² + z² and d² = x² + y² + z² (1-v²/c²)^½ and s² = x² + y² + z² - ct². I have no idea what they mean.”
“Let me see,” said Sarah, pushing him aside and grabbing the papers. She shuffled through them. “This is all Greek to me. It’s like that endless, unreadable code when you accidentally change the computer setting.”
“I don’t get it. Why all the secrecy?”
Sarah shook her head. “Your dad is a genius. We’re just kids. But look here, it’s Nadine’s keycard.” Sarah held up the slim plastic card. “This could get us into the lab, and maybe there we can find out more.”
“Do you think we have time?” asked Matt.
Sarah glanced back at the restaurant. “You said the lab is just down the street.” They might never get another chance, but what would her dad do if they took too long? She clutched the card tightly in her fist. “We’ve got to be fast.”
Matt looked down at the keycard, his eyes glowing. “This may be the key to a lot more than the lab.”
Sarah nodded.
“Let’s do it.”
Time Meddlers Page 6
