“They still want me to engineer a quantum computer for them?”
Ben nodded. “There’s that. And they also think that if they remove you from my team, it will stop us from doing what we’re going to do next.”
“Which is?”
“Still confidential.”
“So, again, what am I supposed to do?”
“Staying in your room would be one option.”
“Seriously? I’d go nuts.”
“London isn’t exactly safe, Max. This city has a massive web of security cameras. They’re everywhere. The Corp could tap into them and easily find you using facial recognition software.”
Max sighed. Ben was giving her his puppy dog eyes—silently pleading with her to play it safe. Her usual steely resolve sometimes melted when he did that.
Like now.
“Okay,” she said. “Fine. I’ll be patient. But I’m not hiding in my room with Leo. I’ll stick to my ‘Einstein in London’ tour. Don’t worry—I’ll be careful and be on the lookout for any Corp thugs. I just wish there was somebody who could play tourist with me.”
Ben smiled.
Uh-oh. Did he think Max was asking him out on some kind of date?
“Not that I mind being on my own.” Max backpedaled as fast as she could. “I mean, I’ve been alone most of my life. Another few days or weeks or whatever won’t matter.”
“But what if you didn’t have to be alone?” asked Ben, softly.
Someone new strode into the restaurant.
“What’s the story, Max?” she said in a thick Irish brogue. “Cooee, lassie, is that fish and chips I’m smellin’?”
It was Max’s friend Siobhan, a member of her CMI team. Siobhan had fiery red hair and a temper to match. She was also fearless and had helped Max stand up to some extremely bad actors (whom Siobhan called “brutal thugs”) on the team’s missions in Ireland and Africa.
Max jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around her friend. Ben stood up and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets.
“You should probably hug Ben, too,” Siobhan said when they finally broke off their embrace. “He’s the one who invited me to fly down from Dublin so you wouldn’t have to traipse around London all alone. Go on, Max. Give him a hug…”
“That’s okay,” said Ben, sounding flustered.
He sat down quickly. Max mirrored his move.
Siobhan pulled out a chair to join them.
“So what’s with these private lunches, you two?” Siobhan asked. “Are these, like, dates?”
“We were, uh, discussing plans,” said Ben. “For the future.”
Siobhan winked at him. “I reckon you were, Benjamin.” She lifted a dome off a plate, spotted the fish and chips (chips were the British/Irish term for French fries), and popped a crisp spud into her mouth. The she started batting her eyes and gushing like a cheesy romance novel: “Your beautiful, lovely future… together.”
8
Ben made a big show of checking his watch.
“Oh, my. Would you look at the time?” He still sounded flummoxed. “I’m late for my next meeting. Now you don’t have to explore London alone, Max. You and Siobhan should enjoy yourselves. See all the sights. I’ve arranged a car. Leo will be your driver.”
“Seriously?”
Ben nodded. “Klaus assures me that Leo can turn any vehicle into an autonomous automobile. He’ll pick you up out front when you want to leave, just hit him up with a text. Enjoy your lunch. I ordered one of everything and double puddings.”
Ben plucked up his attaché case, clutched the boxy thing to his chest, and waddled out of the dining room like a nervous penguin searching for the nearest restroom.
Siobhan chuckled a little and pulled the plate of fish and chips closer so she could devour it.
“Sorry,” she explained between bites. “I’m a wee bit famished. All they served were peanuts on the plane. And it was one of Ben’s private jets, too!”
Max decided to eat something as well. It would be a shame to let the food Ben ordered go to waste, especially with all the starving people in the world. So, she started with the “pudding”—the apple and blackberry crumble.
“So, did your boyfriend give you a clue as to what we’ll be tacklin’ next?” Siobhan asked after she’d cleaned her plate.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Max said defensively.
“Says you…”
Max tried to change the subject. “When I first arrived in London, after the water project in India, Ben hinted that our next assignment might be to find a cure for world hunger.”
“Must be why he ordered so much food,” cracked Siobhan. “Fixing world hunger? Phew. That’s a mighty tall order, Max.”
“I know. But those are the only kind Ben likes.”
“Cheeky little billionaire, isn’t he?”
As much as they joked about Ben, both Max and Siobhan were extremely proud to be members of his Change Makers Institute. They were among a handful of young geniuses that Ben and his team had handpicked to try to solve problems that grown-ups couldn’t or wouldn’t.
And, of course, they were also among the handful of young geniuses the Corp was trying to hunt down and destroy.
Max’s mind drifted to her new nemesis. Professor Von Hinkle.
Could he and his evil minions find her, Leo, and Siobhan in London?
They might be able to—especially if they had some good security camera hackers on their team. And, with the kind of money the Corp had, they definitely did.
“Siobhan—you see that cluster of white metal boxes attached to that pole out there?” Max gestured toward the window. “Those are CCTV security cameras. There are five hundred thousand of them watching almost every inch of central London.”
“Half a million?” said Siobhan, adding a whistle.
Max nodded. “The average Londoner is caught on camera three hundred times a day. A tourist seeing the sights, probably more.”
“And you think those goons at the Corp might tap into those cameras and find us using facial recognition software?”
“The thought crossed my mind,” said Max. “Right after Ben mentioned it as a possibility.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Use our brains and defeat the cameras while we go check out London in our own private car with Leo as our driver.”
“And how do we do that?”
“By making our first stop some place that sells pretty stickers for scrapbookers!”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. If we plaster them on our face, throw off the symmetry that the facial recognition software will be seeking, we should be safe. We might want to buy some hats and sunglasses, too.”
“How about those Groucho glasses with the fake nose and mustache—like on the cover of that book, I Funny?” joked Siobhan.
“Perfect,” said Max. “Even if they’re tapping every single CCTV camera in London, the Corp will never recognize us!”
9
Professor Von Hinkle’s thick-heeled boots clomped like horse hooves on the concrete floor as he circled his predecessor. Dr. Zacchaeus Zimm was seated for their interview in a straight-backed metal chair, his legs shackled by chains, his hands secured behind his back with plastic zip ties.
“This will be over once you tell me everything you know about Max Einstein,” said Von Hinkle. His deep, resonant voice made small objects in the room rattle.
“Your logic is flawed, professor,” said Zimm, whose humiliation at the hands of the Corp hadn’t drained away any of his arrogance. “If I tell you what I know, I lose any and all negotiating power with my former employers. By the way, this might be a good time for you to ponder how the Corp might treat you when it’s time for your ‘early retirement package.’”
Von Hinkle went to a shiny aluminum case sitting atop a work table. He snapped open the latches and removed a black metallic ball, the size of a bird’s egg.
“Are you familiar with the T-2 tracker drones our friends at Slingsh
ot Surveillance developed?” Thin wings shot up from the sides of the small ball.
“Of course,” sniffed Dr. Zimm.
“But, have you heard about the brand new T-3s?” He held the black orb closer to Zimm’s face. “I helped them with the design. You see this array of stingers along its sides? Each one is actually a hypodermic needle. The body of the flying bot carries miniature vials of potent pharmaceutical agents. Some to subdue. Some to coax out the truth from a reluctant subject. One to kill.”
Von Hinkle withdrew a slender remote from the left pocket of his long coat. The T-3 drone sprang to life and, hummingbird wings fluttering, hovered like a tiny helicopter over his hand.
“Guess which drug we’ll be using today?” he said with a crooked smile.
Dr. Zimm suddenly lost ninety percent of his arrogance. “The lethal injection?”
“So dramatic,” said Von Hinkle. “No, Zacchaeus, I thought we’d start with the truth serum.”
He tapped the remote one more time and the drone flew from his hand to Dr. Zimm’s right arm. It darted in and stabbed Dr. Zimm with one of its tiny needles. Drug delivered, it zipped back to the table to find its foam resting slot among the eleven other T-3 drones nestled in the case.
Two minutes later, Dr. Zimm was telling Professor Von Hinkle what he’d always promised to tell Max Einstein.
Everything.
“I first met Max Einstein when she was just a baby,” he droned in a hypnotic monotone. “I was posing, for the Corp, as a visiting professor at Princeton University in New Jersey. They had tasked me with stealing as much intellectual property as I could from the school. Max simply appeared one day in the basement of the house I had rented for my stay. The housekeeper found her crawling around on the floor near an antique suitcase with nothing in it but a photo of Albert Einstein and the cover sheet to an antique research paper entitled ‘The Maximum Application of Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity.’ That’s why I named her Max Einstein.”
“Did you search for her parents?”
“Yes, though of course I did not involve the police. For several weeks, I hired nannies and nurses to look after her. All reported that the child seemed to possess unusual talents and skills. She was remarkably advanced for her age.”
“Go on,” said Professor Von Hinkle. “What happened next?”
“Sensing that the child was special, it was decided that I should immediately transport her to an ‘undercover Christmas tree farm,’ a safe house that the Corp maintained outside Elkins, West Virginia.”
“Did her parents ever enter the picture? Were they searching for her?”
Dr. Zimm shook his head. “She was abandoned. An orphan. We ran several tests at the safe house and realized immediately that she possessed a genius IQ. Unfortunately, within a year, a soft-hearted psychologist, a Dr. Victoria Bartlett, didn’t like us treating the child as if she were, as she put it, ‘a lab rat.’ She snatched the infant away and put her some place where ‘we would never find her.’”
“And did the Corp find Dr. Bartlett?”
“Yes. We captured her outside Poughkeepsie. She was transferred to our re-education facility in northern Greenland.”
“Is that so?”
Dr. Zimm nodded and his heavy chin slumped to his chest. Drool dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. The truth drug had made him drowsy.
“Go ahead, Zacchaeus,” Von Hinkle said, his voice eerily soothing. “Sleep. And when you wake up, don’t be surprised if you find yourself in northern Greenland. Maybe you’ll even be reunited with Dr. Bartlett!”
There was a knock on the interview room’s steel door.
“Enter,” said Von Hinkle.
One of his assistants stepped into the room. “Sorry to disturb you, professor.”
“I trust this is urgent?”
“Yes, professor. We have a hit. A college student has identified Max Einstein. She’s staying at a youth hostel in London.”
Von Hinkle snapped shut the lid on his collection of high-tech flying gizmos. He had to smile. His low-tech idea of placing “missing person” ads featuring Max Einstein’s photograph in college papers across the globe had paid off first.
“Kindly instruct the good Samaritan who found our ‘missing daughter’ to not let her out of their sight. And, Matthew?”
“Sir?”
“Scramble a snatch-and-grab team in London. Immediately!”
10
“You need to pack your things, ladies,” said Leo bright and early the next morning. “The benefactor has summoned the entire CMI team to Oxford. You will not be returning to London.”
Max and Siobhan rubbed the sleep out of their eyes.
“Do you know what time it is, Leo?” said Max.
“It is currently six fifteen a.m. in London, England. I have prepared a pot of English breakfast tea as it seemed appropriate for morning consumption. There is a train to Oxford from London, England’s Paddington Station departing at seven seventeen, seven thirty-one, seven forty-three…”
“We get it,” said Siobhan. “There’s a lot of bloomin’ trains from London to Oxford.”
“Seventy-seven per day,” said Leo. “Average journey time varies from fifty-one minutes to one hour and fourteen minutes.”
“Is Ben ready to reveal our next big project?” asked Max.
“His encrypted message was not specific in that regard,” said Leo. “However, logic dictates that, if we will not be returning to London, England, we must be moving on from Oxford to somewhere new. The likely supposition would be our next project.”
Leo’s use of the words we and our made Max grin. Only a month ago, he was working for the enemy, helping the Corp track Max and sabotage the CMI’s efforts.
“Power down to sleep mode,” Max told him. “We need to put you back in the rolling box.”
“Oh, joy,” said Leo. Then, after hiccupping a burst of giggles, he shut himself down.
Neither Siobhan nor Max traveled with a lot of baggage. Max had her Einstein memorabilia suitcase and a duffel bag. Siobhan had all her things stuffed inside a backpack. They put Leo into the rolling steamer trunk that Klaus had designed for the boy-bot’s transportation needs, then they headed out into the hall.
Olivia, the friendly college student Max (or Maeve) had helped with her quantum physics homework, was in the lobby, pretending to check her mailbox. Max knew she was pretending because the mail was typically delivered late in the afternoon.
“Where are you going so early, Max?” Olivia said. “Or should I still pretend to call you Maeve?”
“Excuse me?” said Max.
“Your parents are very worried about you, Max. They placed an ad in the Imperial College newspaper. It had your picture and everything.”
“Let me guess,” said Siobhan. “Did Max’s parents offer a reward?”
“Why, yes. Ten thousand pounds. But that’s not the reason I called the number. They miss you, Max. They’re sending someone over to collect you in fifteen minutes.”
“Too bad she won’t be here,” said Siobhan. “Come on, Max. We have a plane to catch.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” demanded Olivia.
“Rome,” said Max. “I hear the pasta is fantastic.”
“Step aside, lassie,” said Siobhan, barreling ahead with the rolling steamer trunk, using it like a snowplow to clear the corridor.
“I’m going to tell them where you’re headed!” Olivia shouted after them as they trundled the trunk down the stoop steps and bolted into the street.
“Rome is a big place!” Max replied. “They’ll never find us.”
Siobhan hailed a cab. They loaded up their luggage and headed off to Paddington Station.
“Smart telling Olivia we had a plane to catch,” Max told Siobhan when they were underway.
“I know. That’s why I’m with the CMI, Max. I’m a bloomin’ genius.”
While the cab ferried them to Paddington Station, Max and Siobhan plastered more stickers on
their faces to, once again, fool the CCTV security cameras. When they arrived at the station, they purchased tickets (from a machine to avoid human interaction and someone remembering their stickered faces) and quickly found seats on the next train to Oxford. Leo was riding in the overhead luggage rack. At 7:17 a.m. on the dot, they pulled out of Paddington.
“Right on time,” said Siobhan.
Max nodded. “And now I really wish I had a time machine.”
“What for?”
“To go back to when I first met Olivia so I could completely ignore her. What was I thinking? Why did I try to make friends with the college kids? I should’ve remained invisible.”
“Ah, that’s no way to live, Max. You can’t let the Corp turn you into a hermit, always looking for your next hidey-hole.”
“I guess…”
“So, do you think time travel is actually possible?”
Max nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Dr. Einstein did.”
11
Max felt confident that their “Rome ruse” (as Siobhan started calling it) had sent the Corp henchmen scurrying off to Heathrow International Airport to nab her. So being on a train, she relaxed enough to re-create her hero’s famous light-clock thought experiment about time travel for Siobhan.
“There are all kinds of clocks,” Max told her friend as the train clacked along the tracks, heading north to Oxford, home of the famous university. “Most of them measure how many times a repetitive action is carried out. A regular tick-tock kind of rhythm. In theory, we could use light to make a clock, too.”
“How?” said Siobhan. “One of those digital clocks that project the time on the ceiling?”
“No. I’m talking about bouncing a pulse of light between two mirrors that are a known distance apart.”
“How do you make the light bounce? Is it made out of rubber?”
Max grimaced at her friend’s bad joke. “It’s a thought experiment, Siobhan. One of Albert Einstein’s most famous. You just have to imagine it.”
Max Einstein Saves the Future Page 3
