It seemed too much of a coincidence. Nish had picked up a bag intended for the Portland Panthers, and they had turned out not to have a number 44 in their lineup.
Data had borrowed a master team roster from Mr. Dillinger. It listed all the teams, all the players, and all the numbers. He couldn’t find any other equipment managers, but he had been able to do a visual check of several of the other teams, counting their bags stacked up inside the locked storage areas. He was convinced several of the teams had one more bag than players on their roster. He hadn’t been able to check if in each case there was a number that didn’t fit on the team, but he had seen enough to become suspicious.
“Maybe they just threw in an extra bag for each team,” suggested Nish. “A bag for the coach, or equipment manager–and extra equipment, in case somebody forgot something.”
Data wasn’t convinced. “Don’t you think if that was the case they would have told the equipment managers?”
“What then?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know,” Data said. “But I want to check out that snow globe Nish gave Lars.”
“It’s no good,” Nish said, shaking his head. “We should have taken it back.”
“That’s just what I’m worried about,” said Data.
They had almost reached the motel when Sam, who’d been hanging back with yet another of her cigarettes, caught up to the rest of the Owls and walked quickly, breathing hard, right through the centre of the gang.
Travis thought it was rude, and quite unlike Sam.
As she pushed through, her head held straight ahead, she whispered quickly out of the corner of her mouth: “Don’t anybody turn! There are three men following us!”
“Impossible,” said Nish, threatening to turn.
“Don’t look!” Sam hissed again, her whisper almost becoming a shout. “One’s the guy Travis said was checking bags. The buzz-cut guy with the earring.”
Travis had to fight not to turn. He kept facing straight ahead, and the Owls, as a group, picked up the pace.
As they rounded a corner Travis allowed himself the quickest, tiniest peak back. He saw the man in the tinted glasses. His windbreaker was gone now–it was warm, the sun still out–and he was wearing a dark golf shirt. And two other men, both bulky, both in black T-shirts that showed off their beefy arms, were moving with him.
“What do we do?” asked Fahd.
“We get to the motel and find Muck,” said Data. He had his wheelchair going full speed. Nish was pushing from behind, almost running.
“What do they want?” Sarah asked him.
“I think I know.”
They made it to the motel, and once inside looked out through the glass door. The men had vanished.
“They weren’t after us at all,” Nish sighed in relief.
“Think again,” advised Andy. “Look at the back of the parking lot.”
The men were walking casually across the parking area, pretending to be moving towards their vehicle, but in fact they were turning to watch the kids and slipping in among the cars for cover.
“Get me to your room as fast as you can,” Data ordered Nish.
“Somebody track down Muck or Mr. Dillinger,” Travis called back. He was already fishing out his key to the room he shared with Nish and Lars.
Fahd and Andy split off to find the coach and the equipment manager. The motel seemed empty. It was such a fine day, everybody was probably out exploring. Travis had a sudden wish it was still raining, and that everyone was still in the motel. It was warm, but he shivered suddenly, worried that Muck and Mr. Dillinger wouldn’t be around to help if the three men came after them.
But why? he wondered. Why would they come after a bunch of kids? What did they think they had?
Once Nish had pushed him into the room, Data began taking charge.
“The snow globe,” he said. “Where is it?”
“It’s in the bottom drawer,” said Lars.
“It’s no good,” protested Nish. “It’s broken, remember?”
“I’m not so sure,” said Data.
Lars removed the box and opened it for the second time. The globe was still there. It hadn’t been touched. The “snow” was still crystallized, meaning it was still broken. Travis couldn’t see what the point was.
Data had Lars bring the globe to him. He set it in his lap and, with his good hand, began rolling it back and forth.
“See?” said Nish. “It’s busted.”
“I don’t think so,” said Data.
“What is it then?” Nish asked sarcastically. “Fixed?”
Data looked up at them all, his eyes filled with the same worry Travis had noted before. “It’s cocaine.”
“Cocaine?” Sarah and Sam said at once.
“Drugs?” Travis said.
“I think so,” said Data. “We’re going to have to call the police to be certain.”
“I’m not so sure we’ve time,” said Sam. She was looking out the window. “Those three guys are coming in the back way.”
Travis looked out just in time to catch the third of the big-muscled men dip in the back entrance.
“What if they’re coming after this?” Travis asked.
“If they get it,” said Data, “there goes the evidence. It would just be our word against theirs.”
“Like they’re going to believe us!” said Nish.
Andy burst into the room, scaring them all. He seemed out of breath, frightened himself.
“Muck and Mr. Dillinger are out,” he said. “There’s nobody here.”
“We better call the police,” said Sarah.
“We better hide this,” said Lars, picking up the snow globe.
“Where?” asked Nish. His voice cracked with fear.
“I don’t know,” said Lars. “Let’s get it out of here. The window, maybe–those three thugs are inside the building.”
Travis hurried into action. He was captain, after all. He was supposed to lead in moments of crisis. “I’ll take it,” he volunteered.
“I’m comin’ with you!” Nish said at once.
“I’ll come, too,” said Sam.
Travis was already half out the window. Nish followed, then Sam.
Lars leaned out with the snow globe and passed it into Travis’s outstretched hands.
He took it carefully, afraid of dropping it and breaking it. He cradled it like a baby against his chest.
“Someone better be calling the police!” Sam called up.
“Sarah’s already on the phone!” Lars shouted down. “Just get it out of here until they get here!”
They ran across the lawn and out into the motel parking lot. Travis looked in several different directions, suddenly unsure of where to run.
Nish came to his rescue. “This way!” he shouted. “I know where it goes!”
With Nish leading, the three Screech Owls began running as fast as they could. Nish moved quickly, puffing loudly but running well. He was already sweating. Sam covered the ground as fast as she moved on the ice, seeming to eat up the distance. Travis brought up the rear, finding it difficult to run as quickly as the others without his arms free. But he was holding the evidence, and had no intention of dropping it or leaving it or, worst of all, giving it up.
He heard Nish’s voice, but at first he wasn’t sure it was Nish. It sounded like a trapped animal, a squeal more than a voice, and filled with sudden terror.
“They’re coming!”
Out of the corner of his eye Travis could see two burly figures moving out of the side door of the motel and into the parking lot. One pointed–at him!–and they began running in the Owls’ direction.
“M-M-MOOOOOVE IT!” Travis found himself screaming.
The men were giving chase, the buzz-cut guy and one of the two muscle men. The third must have still been back in the motel, checking the rooms.
Nish was in full flight now, tearing down the streets past the university buildings, headed towards a dark, green park at the far end. Travis d
idn’t know what to think. Perhaps they could lose the men more easily in a park. But then, if they did get caught, who would be there to help them?
There was no time for debate. They made for the park.
Travis could feel his chest burning. His breath seemed on fire as it jumped from his lungs. He was sweating, his heart pounding. Nish’s face was beet red, his mouth wide open, and sweat danced in drops off his cheeks and forehead. Sam was breathing terribly, but still seemed strong.
Sam looked back at Travis. “Here!” she puffed, reaching out with both hands. “I’ll take it a bit!”
Travis handed the snow globe to her gratefully. He felt instant energy, new speed as he gave it up, but the relief didn’t last. Another dozen strides and his lungs were again on fire, his legs turning to rubber.
But he was doing better than Sam. She was suddenly falling back, crimson in the face, and gasping horribly for air. She stumbled once and nearly fell with the snow globe. Travis reached over and she handed it back. She seemed angry–but whether at him or herself, Travis couldn’t tell.
Into the thick of the park the three Owls ran, their pounding running shoes snapping twigs and sending dirt flying. Branches stung their faces as they pushed through, hoping that around the next tree they would find an adult, a policeman–anyone who could help.
Sam was still slipping back. Her breathing seemed loud enough for all of them, deep rattling gasps that cut sharply through the silence of the bush they were invading.
Travis could hear the men crashing through the trees. They were cursing the branches and snapping them off as they elbowed deeper and deeper into the wooded park. Fortunately, the big men were slowing down in the thick bush. Had the branches not blocked them, they might already have reached Sam, who was steadily falling behind the two boys.
Did Nish really know where he was going? Travis wondered. He was acting like he knew, but Travis had known Nish to fake it a million times before. This was no time for bluffing.
Nish was up ahead, picking the path they would take. His head was spinning from side to side, a sure sign he was getting confused. Travis suddenly felt angry with Nish for bringing them there–but still, where else could they have gone? At least the men weren’t gaining on them any more.
Sam suddenly stopped, gagging alarmingly as she tried to breathe. She leaned over and held one arm out, begging them to wait. She was beat, exhausted. It seemed she couldn’t go on.
Up ahead, Nish stopped and spun on his heels, terror in his eyes.
“We’re trapped!” he shouted back.
They had come to the ocean. They could go no further.
Travis could hear the men thrashing through the bush towards them.
“There’s…b-beach…that…w-way!” Sam gasped, pointing.
They looked to their left. The woods gave way to open ground; beyond that was sand.
There were bodies in the distance.
Naked bodies!
Nish smiled. “I’m home!”
“You’re dead!” Travis shouted angrily at him. This was no time to fool around.
Nish had led them to Wreck Beach, the nudist beach!
“I can’t run any more!” Sam cried, her eyes filling with tears. She was puffing terribly, gasping for air.
“What’ll we do?” Travis asked.
Nish had already decided–his shirt over his head, his shorts dropping over his sandals, his boxers down past his knees.
“They’ll never chase me there!” he shouted.
He turned, buck naked, and yanked the snow globe out of the Travis’s hands. Before they could say a word, he bolted out of the cover of the woods and onto the beach.
“GO FOR IT, NISH!” Sam called.
Travis couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t even speak. He could only stare at the back of the best friend he had in the world, Nish’s barenaked cheeks churning as he hurtled, sand flying all about him, directly into the throng of early-season nude sunbathers.
Nish was wearing nothing but a snow globe, clutched so tight to his chest he looked like a football player heading for a touchdown.
“HEY!” a nasty, deep voice shouted. “STOP!”
A little distance away the two men had also broken clear of the woods. They couldn’t see Travis and Sam in the cover of the branches, but they could plainly see Nish charging across the sand with the prize they were after.
They never even looked for Sam and Travis. They set off across the soft sand, sinking and stumbling with each step, two fully clothed men in dress shoes running and yelling into a crowd of peaceful nudists, most of whom were scattering with their towels and umbrellas to make way for the miniature nudist who was barrelling straight down the beach with what appeared to be a crystal ball in his arms. The stumbling men pushed on in pursuit, oblivious to the sudden rise of a police siren ahead at the far side of the beach.
Two police cars with flashing lights and sirens pulled off the hard ground and fishtailed onto the beach, throwing sand in every direction.
Nish never looked back. He kept on going towards the police cruiser, his legs a blur, his pink round body hunched protectively over the snow globe. And as the first policeman jumped out of the car, the naked young runaway blew right past him into the safety of the front seat.
The two men tried to turn back, but it was too late. They stumbled on the soft sand and went down, stumbled over each other again as they tried to get back on their feet. They fell back, cursing, as the police moved in on them with service revolvers drawn.
The two men threw up their hands in surrender.
Beaten by a naked twelve-year-old.
Nish and Fahd came into the motel lobby, their arms filled with copies of the Vancouver Sun and the Province. Nish’s photograph was the entire front page of one paper–“PEEWEE NUDIST FOILS DRUG CARTEL,” blared the huge red headline–and his face beamed out in a smaller photo in the other paper, with a large map beside him showing the various places the RCMP had raided following the arrest of the thugs on Wreck Beach.
“The pictures are inaccurate,” Nish announced as he handed out the newspapers to his teammates. “I shouldn’t have any clothes on–but the stories are pretty good!”
The stories were astonishing. Travis and Sarah leaned over a copy of the Sun spread out on the floor, and raced each other to see who could come up with the most amazing detail.
“‘PEEWEE TOURNAMENT PART OF INTERNATIONAL DRUG SCHEME,’” Travis read from one headline.
“‘AQUARIUM COLLEAGUES STUNNED TO LEARN BIOLOGIST PART OF SMUGGLING RING,’” Sarah read, her voice sad rather than excited.
The story was sad. Exciting, obviously. Dangerous, obviously. But sad, too, for none of the Owls could take any pleasure in learning that Brad Cummings–the marine biologist who had been so kind to them during their visit to the Aquarium, the body they had found floating in the rolling seas off Victoria Harbour, the sweet, gentle man they all thought had been murdered because he tried to rescue a dolphin–had, in fact, been up to his neck in a very dangerous and criminal business.
“This is too much,” Sarah said. And it was, for all of them. She was teary-eyed as she examined the newspapers. And Sam could only read a little bit before crunching up her newspaper and throwing it hard against the wall. She had then stomped out into the light rain, where she could now be seen, walking around the parking lot with her hands wrapped around her bare arms.
Travis read on, switching from one paper to the other, then back, trying to put it all together in a way that made sense.
But it was almost beyond sense. It seemed like they’d all been watching some fantastic, outrageous television show. But there was no remote you could push to turn it off, no happy ending, no feeling it was make-believe.
The mystery had been solved, but Brad and the dolphin were still dead.
Two other things were also certain. The mystery would never have begun to unravel if it hadn’t been for Data’s curiosity about the hockey bags. And the bad guys would never have be
en caught if Nish hadn’t made that daring, naked dash across Wreck Beach with the broken snow globe in his arms. In fact, the snow globe wasn’t broken, had never been broken. It had been exactly as Data had suspected, an ingenious way to smuggle cocaine.
If Travis had to take all these newspaper stories and reduce them to one simple explanation, the way they sometimes had to do in school, he would have written it down this way:
Smugglers had been using dolphins to get illegal drugs into the North American market. Cocaine was shipped up from South America, where it was manufactured. The fishing vessels carrying the drugs really were fishing along the Pacific Coast of the United States, but once they reached British Columbia the “fishermen” quickly became drug smugglers.
Canada is considered much easier to smuggle drugs into than the United States, so the smugglers chose the waters off Vancouver Island as the place to get the cocaine ashore. This is where the dolphins and Brad Cummings, a marine scientist with the Vancouver Aquarium, came in.
The story of Brad Cummings is unfortunate. He was, as friends and admirers believed, absolutely devoted to the welfare of dolphins. He was a leading expert in the training of dolphins and the study of their behaviour, and after many years of research he had developed a complex “language” of whistles that he used to communicate with them. To help finance an international campaign to outlaw the use of gill nets that have killed so many dolphins, Cummings had let himself become involved in helping the smugglers. He helped them land the drugs in return for tens of thousands of dollars, all of which he apparently turned over to various agencies devoted to animal welfare.
One dolphin, raised from infancy by Cummings, had been trained to carry waterproofed packages of drugs from the fishing vessels to a smaller boat closer to the shore, thereby avoiding detection by the Coast Guard and RCMP drug patrols.
According to an informant connected to the drug operations, shortly before his death Cummings came to believe he had been tricked by a smuggler and was owed ten thousand dollars. He instructed the dolphin to head out into open water with the drug payload instead of taking it directly to the drop-off point, and he refused to call it back until he’d received the money. The ransom trick failed. Cummings was murdered by the smugglers, who then used his special series of whistles to track down the dolphin, which was shot and the payload of drugs removed from its body.
The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 3 Page 29
