The Dragonfly Effect

by Gordon Korman

  About a hundred yards away, the car stopped and a passenger climbed out. It was too dark to see the face, but there was no mistaking the uniform. An eagle on the collar winked in the distant light from the house.

  “Brassmeyer!” Jax almost choked over the name.

  “Who’s that?” Tommy whispered.

  And then the army officer’s finger was pointing in their direction. “Opus!”

  Jax, Stanley, Kira, and Tommy fled, running around the side of the house. Brassmeyer and Pedroia sprinted after them.

  “Why are we running?” panted Kira. “If we just explain what we’re doing, they’ll help us!”

  “You don’t know the army,” Jax rasped. “Yeah, they’ll help us — in six months when they sort it all out! We need to go now!”

  “But we’ll never get our taxi with two guys chasing us!” Tommy lamented. “How are we going to make it to the city?”

  A loud whinny came from the darkness ahead of them.

  “The stable!” Kira exclaimed.

  “We can’t hide!” Jax declared. “We have to get to New York!”

  “And we will,” Kira promised. “On horseback.”

  “It’s twenty miles!” Jax protested.

  “I used to ride that far every weekend. We can do this.” She added, “Anyway, have you got a better idea?”

  The two officers pounded through the darkness after the four fleeing young figures. The army required them to be in good shape. But the Hypnotic Warfare Research Department hadn’t offered much opportunity for physical training.

  They rounded the corner of the house and pulled up, squinting through the gloom.

  “Where’d they go?” panted the colonel.

  Pedroia, too, was out of breath. “The little guy — was that Stanley? What’s he doing here?”

  “They can’t be far,” reasoned Brassmeyer with military singleness of purpose.

  They resumed pursuit, this time at a jog, their eyes sweeping the property. Suddenly, a shadowy form exploded from the barn and fled directly across their line of vision.

  “There!” barked the colonel.

  The officers gave chase, but their quarry was fast and agile, and kept well ahead of them. The boy led them to the back of the house and kept on going, clear around the building toward the front again.

  “Give it up, Opus!” rasped Brassmeyer.

  “Come on, Jax!” added Pedroia. “We’re not your enemies!”

  The two men were exhausted, their breath coming out in gasps, but they were closing the gap.

  “Is it just me,” the psychiatrist heaved, “or is he slowing down on purpose?”

  “Doesn’t matter!” Brassmeyer spat. He reached out, grabbed the fleeing figure by one arm, and spun him around. “Very stupid, Opus —”

  The stunned officer found himself face-to-face with Tommy Cicerelli.

  “Where’s Jax?” demanded Pedroia.

  As if on cue, the stable door burst open and out shot a magnificent black stallion at a full gallop. It carried three riders — Kira at the reins, the slight Stanley in the middle, and Jax bringing up the rear. The animal ran a half lap of its practice track then leaped the fence and disappeared across the field into the night.

  Brassmeyer rounded on Tommy. “Tell me I didn’t see what I just saw.”

  “Don’t blame Jax,” Tommy said urgently. “He’s trying to save the world.”

  “What does the world need to be saved from?” Pedroia probed.

  “How should I know?” Tommy howled. “I don’t understand any of this stuff! I’m not even a hypnotist!”

  “Where are they going on that horse?” Brassmeyer growled.

  Tommy bit his lip. He wasn’t sure if Jax, Kira, and Stanley were going to make it to the UN on time. But if there was a chance they might, nothing could be allowed to interfere with their mission there.

  The colonel took hold of Tommy by the scruff of the collar and began to drag him to the car. “All right, smart guy. You’re coming with us.”

  “Okay,” said Tommy. “But there’s another kid in the house, you know. Wilson somebody.”

  “DeVries?!” Pedroia exclaimed in surprise.

  “I think so. Big guy. Jax bent him so hard he won’t wake up till Christmas.”

  The two officers exchanged a helpless look. Jackson Opus, Stanley X, and now Wilson. What had brought these HoWaRDs together in this place?

  As always, Brassmeyer made the decision. “Find DeVries and see what you can squeeze out of him.” He began to frog-march Tommy toward the car. “I’ll keep this one with me. We’ve got a horse to catch.”

  If anything less had been at stake, Jax would have called the whole thing off.

  He clung to Kira’s midsection like a drowning man to a life preserver. Stanley sat squashed between them, too frightened to utter a complaint. Jax was even more scared than Stanley, but if he loosened his grip, he was sure to fly off and be dashed to pieces on the ground. Not to mention that he was probably the only reason Stanley wasn’t launched into outer space.

  Kira didn’t seem to notice the raw terror that existed behind her. She was a brilliant rider, completely focused on her mount and the path that lay ahead. A billionaire’s stable raised no ordinary horses. The stallion’s stall proclaimed him to be named Black Quack, with bloodlines leading back to two Kentucky Derby winners. They were riding on the horse equivalent of Jax himself — the nexus of two great families.

  “Just because he’s a racehorse doesn’t mean you have to race him!” Jax shouted in the direction of Kira’s ear. “If Stanley and I fall off, then where will we be?”

  Kira just laughed. “This is slow! He’s used to a level track, not cross-country in the dark!”

  They continued across endless fields, Kira lighting the way through the darkest parts with the flashlight app on her phone. After a few miles, the pastureland ended, and a heavily treed area began. Skillfully, Kira pulled back on the reins, slowing Black Quack to a walk as they searched for another way to New York. Eventually, they ran into a narrow two-lane road heading east, trotting through a little town, the stores and restaurants darkened and closed up for the night.

  Stanley yawned. “Is New York very far away?”

  “Not really,” Jax told him. “See that glow in the sky — that’s from the city lights. But these roads are really winding, so it’s hard to know where you’re going.”

  “Use the GPS in your phone,” Kira advised.

  “Are you kidding?” Jax complained. “If I let go even with one finger, I’ll be five miles behind you before you even notice I’m missing.”

  “Fine — I’ll navigate. But you guys have to be the headlight.”

  In the end, Stanley, who was wedged in place, held up Jax’s phone in flashlight mode while Kira followed GPS directions. It was fine until the eight-year-old nodded off from the rocking motion of the horse. Jax had to take over, clinging to the phone, Kira, and the slumbering Stanley, while squeezing Black Quack’s flanks with both knees. It was an awful position to maintain as the hours dragged on.

  But not half as awful as the consequences if we can’t get to the UN in time.

  In the little cottage in the residential section of Fort Calhoun, Monica Opus was shaken out of a deep sleep to find her husband staring down at her.

  “Monica — you up?”

  “I am now,” she murmured. “Something on your mind?”

  To her amazement, a sob escaped him.

  “Ashton — what’s wrong?”

  “What kind of parents are we?” he moaned.

  She folded her pillow and propped herself on it. “Jax is fine. Captain Pedroia said he’s in New Jersey and he’ll be home soon.”

  “I know,” her husband agreed. “It makes perfect sense. The question is — should it make sense? Shouldn’t it bother us that our twelve-year-old son is in a jail cell fifteen hundred miles away?”

  “There’s no reason for us to go looking for him,” she droned automatically. “We have to
stay here at Fort Calhoun and let the army protect us. That’s the most important thing.” The language was almost identical to the mesmeric message Jax had implanted in his parents before leaving the post.

  Of course, they had no memory of that.

  Mr. Opus sighed. “I think so, too. I’m totally sure Jax is okay, and we have nothing to worry about. The part that bugs me is” — he looked haunted — “why we feel that way.”

  “Ashton?”

  “Why do we think everything is hunky-dory when any other parents in our place would be freaking out?”

  She frowned at him. “I’m not following you.”

  “Monica, when I was growing up, I was the only kid who loved eating his vegetables, the only kid who did his household chores not because he had to, but because he honestly enjoyed them. At least, I thought I did. In reality, I was the perfect son because I had help.”

  At last, Mrs. Opus clued in. “You think the reason we’re not more concerned about Jax is he hypnotized us?” she asked incredulously.

  Her husband nodded. “I think he was trying to spare us the heartache. And now he’s in trouble halfway across the country and we can’t get to him.”

  She looked alarmed. “I hear what you’re telling me, and I still can’t bring myself to be upset about it. I understand that Jax needs us, but for some reason I can’t make myself believe it’s a big deal.”

  “That’s the hypnotism talking!” Mr. Opus said breathlessly.

  She threw off the blankets. “We’ve got to get to New Jersey!”

  Her husband switched on the light, grabbed his phone from the nightstand, and began tapping at the screen. “There’s a five thirty flight to New York from Oklahoma City. If we hurry, we can be on it!”

  It was shortly after five AM when Jax noticed he was no longer looking at the familiar glow of the city. Sheer panic — were they off course? Had they gotten turned around somehow? Then he realized that a different glow surrounded them now — dawn was coming.

  Kira steered Black Quack onto a larger road, keeping to the shoulder past diners and gas stations that were preparing for the new day. To their left, the occasional car whizzed by. It was amazing how early the signs and sounds of life began.

  And then a half-demented voice hollered, “Get lost, Opus, we’re coming up on you!”

  Jax wheeled around, nearly dislodging himself from his perch. Tommy hung halfway out the window of a dark sedan directly behind them.

  “Quiet, you!” The driver, Colonel Brassmeyer, reached over and yanked Tommy back into the car.

  “Kira —”

  She didn’t have to be told. “Hang on!” And they were off, scrambling down a low embankment, leaping a ditch, and galloping through a 7-Eleven parking lot to an inner service road. Brassmeyer took the next exit and roared off behind them. He gunned the engine, and the car pulled even with Black Quack.

  When racing, the big stallion always wore blinders, so he wasn’t used to the sight of a challenger running beside him. Black Quack took this personally; he was accustomed to being first. The animal mustered every ounce of speed he’d been trained to keep under tight control and blasted across the field like a rocket. The colonel stomped on the gas, watching in amazement as the horse continued to pull away, even as the speedometer approached seventy. There was a very Western “Giddyap!” that could only have come from Tommy’s throat.

  It was almost too late when Brassmeyer noticed a garbage truck backing out of the lane directly ahead of them. Not since basic training had he strained himself physically as hard as he did when he jammed on the brakes. The sedan fishtailed, spun around, and skidded to a halt inches from the truck. There was a loud pop as the left rear tire blew.

  HoWaRD’s commander jumped from the car just in time to see the horse and riders disappear into the early-morning mist. He knew enough about tactics to understand that he was out of this operation. From here on, it was up to local law enforcement.

  How hard could it be to find three kids on a stolen racehorse?

  It was a rare sight in New Jersey, or anywhere else for that matter — a squad car pulling over a horse.

  It happened shortly after six thirty in the town of Clifton, just east of the Garden State Parkway.

  “All right, you three,” the officer said sternly. “Come down from there.”

  He looked up into the eyes of three powerful mind-benders and never knew what hit him. Thrown by the intensity of Kira’s luminous baby blues, he bounced to Jax’s burning violet stare, and finally to the wide, open amber gaze of what appeared to be an innocent child.

  “You are calm … relaxed….” Stanley commanded in a very young voice that nonetheless dripped with authority. “You’re not even thinking about that big gun in your holster.” He peered at Jax through the corner of his eye. “What now?”

  “Tell him to get back in the car and lead us to the Lincoln Tunnel,” Jax decided. “No other cop will arrest us if we’ve got a police escort.”

  So it was that Black Quack and his three passengers trotted behind the squad car clear through the heart of suburban New Jersey. They passed MetLife Stadium and crossed the canal into Secaucus. The majestic stallion caused quite a stir in rush-hour traffic, but the other motorists assumed that the black-and-white in front of them, flashers whirling, meant that the young equestrians had special permission to be there. And to police officers who’d received the APB on three kids on horseback, they appeared to be already in custody.

  The squad car escorted them through the streets of Union City, under the high looping roadway known as the Helix, and right up to the bottleneck of traffic converging on the Lincoln Tunnel. The hypnotized trooper blurped his siren and drove onto the shoulder, Black Quack trotting calmly behind him. Cruiser and horse ignored the toll plaza and bypassed a long line of vehicles that led to the mouth of the tunnel. Here, dozens of lanes squeezed down to six, and even a squad car had to wait its turn.

  Jax frowned at the large police presence at the entrance, monitoring the traffic creeping into the tunnel. There had to be twenty officers, most of them peering suspiciously at the black stallion and its three riders. Confused questions were shouted back and forth and spoken into walkie-talkies.

  We could bend some of them, but not all.

  He checked his watch. It was almost eight — barely an hour before the unthinkable was scheduled to happen. It was getting to be crunch time.

  He leaned over to Kira. “Floor it.”

  It was undoubtedly the wrong phrase — a horse had no gas pedal. Kira, though, understood immediately. “Hold on tight,” she advised.

  And then they were cantering through the stopped vehicles, side mirrors passing mere inches from the horse’s flanks. Black Quack danced between eighteen-wheelers, buses, SUVs, taxis, and cars of all shapes and sizes. The stallion’s footwork was delicate, yet sure, and rock solid on the pavement. He moved with deliberate care, yet covered a remarkable amount of distance very quickly. By the time the tunnel officers rushed to block the way, Black Quack was already behind them, tracing a path through the rush-hour crush. And since the tube was already clogged with cars, the only way to give chase was on foot.

  “Are we allowed to be doing this?” Stanley wondered as they trotted between the astounded motorists.

  “Did you see any sign back there that said ‘No Horses’?” Jax asked him.

  Kira’s attention was focused on the irregular lane created by the gap between the two lanes of vehicles. “Just be ready to start hypnotizing on the other side. I have a feeling the cops are going to be waiting for us.”

  Jax swallowed hard. They’d done an amazing job making it this far, but the worst was yet to come. They had just tweaked the beard of the NYPD — the largest police force in the world, already on high alert because of the UN conference.

  The farther they made it through the mile-and-a-half-long tunnel, the louder came the chorus of car horns and shouts to speed them on their way.

  “Get off the road!”
<
br />   “What are you — nuts?”

  “That’s one way to beat the traffic!”

  “Curse you and the horse you rode in on!”

  The noise spooked Black Quack, and Kira hunched over the racehorse’s neck, speaking soothing words to calm him.

  They cantered past the state line dividing New Jersey and New York, signifying the home stretch. It was there that Black Quack began to detect light coming in from the end of the tunnel and picked up his pace.

  As they burst out of the tube, the stallion saw open pavement and made for it. There was an enormous traffic jam at street level, most of it caused by the police, who were setting up a roadblock to intercept the horse and its three riders. Several officers watched in openmouthed wonder as Black Quack soared over the blue-painted sawhorses and clattered up West Forty-First Street. The roadways were choked with cars, so the thoroughbred galloped onto the sidewalk, scattering pedestrians as he went.

  As they approached Ninth Avenue, Black Quack reared up in fear at the rushing river of downtown traffic crossing in front of him.

  Kira clung to the reins, struggling for control. “Easy, boy!”

  But the horse became even more agitated as a police car pulled over to the curb, siren blaring.

  The cop was already speaking into his walkie-talkie as he jumped out. “Found ’em, corner of —”

  That was as far as he got. Jax bent him with a single scorching glance. “Tell them it was a false alarm,” he instructed. “And stop the cars on Ninth so we can cross.”

  They continued east, traversing the city. As they passed just south of Times Square, Jax caught a glimpse of the huge video billboard. It showed a live feed from the General Assembly chamber of the UN, where the historic conference was set to begin in — when he saw the time, he nearly gagged on his own heart, which jumped up into his throat — forty-three minutes!

  As they galloped on, Jax kept an eye on his watch, agonizing as the time slipped away. 8:21 … 8:32 … 8:43 …

  “We’re not going to make it!” Stanley moaned.

  “Don’t say that!” Kira shot back through gritted teeth. Up ahead, she spotted three helmeted cops on horseback, members of the NYPD mounted unit. “Follow my lead,” she called over her shoulder.