The Third Adventure

by Gordon Korman

  Pitch frowned. Judge Bittner wasn’t here. And when Swindle took off with Luthor, who was right and who was wrong wouldn’t matter anymore. Even if Savannah showed this document to the judge, he might have no power at all over a dog that had been taken to California.

  Pitch wanted to howl her frustration to the four winds. To have the solution to everything but no way to put it into action created an anger that almost generated heat. But what could she do? She couldn’t wake the dog up, and she couldn’t carry him away. She had no idea where she was, and no phone to communicate with the rest of the team or the outside world.

  She set her jaw. She was a climber, and climbers learned to rely on themselves for everything because they couldn’t always count on somebody else being there to come to the rescue. She shouldn’t need anybody else. She should be able to do this all by herself.

  Too bad she couldn’t just get in the car and step on the gas. Wouldn’t that be something — for Swindle to look out the window and see his SUV, his Koenig Doberman, and his future plans for wealth and revenge disappearing down the road.

  When the answer came to her, it was so simple that it brought a smile to her lips. Maybe she couldn’t drive, but she could also fix it so that no one else could, either.

  With a glance at the house to confirm that the coast was still clear, she snuck to the driver’s door, reached under the dashboard, and popped the hood. Then she came around to the front and peered in at the engine. How did you disable a car? Melissa probably knew, but she was miles away at Ta-da!

  Pitch unclipped her climbing knife. Since the car was off, there would be no electricity in the wires. She cut every cable and connection she could see. If that didn’t shut down the SUV, nothing would. Gently, she eased the hood closed, and did the same to the engine of the pickup. Then she returned to the security of the bushes. She was wet, tired, lost, and helpless, yet exhilaration rushed through her like the power from a backup generator.

  She couldn’t wait until these two clowns tried to start their cars.

  If Ben wasn’t too thrilled with this adventure, Ferret Face was in open revolt.

  The little creature peered out from Ben’s collar and hissed vigorously, partly protected from the downpour by his master’s chin. Ben knew from experience that this was a sign of ferret displeasure. But never before had he heard the sound so loud, so bitter, and for so long a time, as on this bike ride.

  “Cut it out, Ferret Face. I get it,” he mumbled, hunched over the handlebars into the wind and rain. “You think this is my idea of a fun day?”

  He felt as if he’d been riding forever, although that might have been the sheer misery of the weather. He was as wet as if he’d jumped in a pool with all his clothes on. His shorts felt like they’d been permanently epoxied to the banana seat. His thighs had chafed through all three layers of skin. His leg muscles were in agony, and his neck had stiffened to the point of locking completely. That last symptom was fine with Ben. If he turned his head, he might lose his laser-straight focus on the tire track of the pickup. The only thing worse than enduring this torture was doing it for nothing — making a wrong turn and winding up lost as well as drenched, exhausted, in big trouble for disappearing from camp, and dealing with a mutinous ferret.

  Ben hadn’t been thrilled when Ebony Lake had refused to take Ferret Face. Still, he figured there was one advantage to going to a different summer camp than Griffin: No way would he get mixed up in another one of his best friend’s plans. Yet here he was, miles from Endless Pines, drenched and half-dead, pedaling his guts out for Operation Hideout. He couldn’t lose Luthor — and he was becoming even more concerned about Pitch. She still hadn’t called. Either that or his phone had become so waterlogged in his pocket that it was no longer working. Anything was possible in this monsoon.

  He had been traveling in the same muddy tire rut for so long that when he finally bounced out of it, he nearly lost control of the bike, wheeling around in a panic.

  What happened to the tracks? Why did they stop?

  Then he realized that the tracks didn’t stop. They pulled off the road onto the property of a small cottage. And there was the pickup — a red crew cab parked next to a small SUV.

  Ferret Face angled his long nose around Ben’s chin to peer up at him hopefully.

  “This is the place,” Ben confirmed.

  His momentary triumph at having tracked down the vehicle that had made off with the Doberman was soon replaced by an overpowering icy dread. Luthor’s kidnapper was a professional criminal working for Swindle — a sleazy, ruthless moneygrubber determined to exploit the poor dog and then come back to ruin all their lives. Ben had to assume that the driver of the other car wasn’t exactly the Tooth Fairy, either. So he couldn’t just knock on the door and demand Luthor in the name of truth, justice, and the American way. In fact, it wasn’t a really smart idea to let the occupants of the cottage know he was even here.

  He stashed the bike in the roadside ditch, where it looked like it belonged. The stealthiest approach to the house seemed to be a line of bushes that passed by a front window. If he could see inside, he might have a better idea of what he was up against. Then he could call Griffin at Ebony Lake and ask what his next move should be.

  He ducked into the thick shrubbery and began to inch his way on all fours toward the house. The mud was unimaginable, and the scratchy brambles forced Ferret Face to take refuge under Ben’s left arm, where he clung for dear life, claws digging into the soft flesh.

  Ben was making steady, if painful, progress, when suddenly a human forearm appeared out of the leafy wetness and slammed into his jaw. He saw stars. A second strike came from the right — an open-handed slap to the ear. This time the stars had streamers. Next it was a heavy boot coming his way. He dodged before it took his head off, but his roll flushed Ferret Face out of his hiding place. The little fellow fell to the dirt, landing on all fours, back arched, teeth bared, ready to fight for his master.

  A gasp of shock came from the attacker. “Ferret Face?”

  Ben was even more surprised. “Pitch? What are you doing here?”

  “Some guy grabbed Luthor out of the tower,” she whispered. “I couldn’t let him get away, so I jumped in the payload of his truck. How did you find us?”

  “It’s a long story,” Ben admitted. “Turns out Ferret Face likes steak. And before I knew it, I was on a bike following your tire tracks.”

  “A bike?” she echoed. “Ben, that’s awesome! Now we’ve got a way to get out of here!”

  Ben was incredulous. “Luthor can ride a bike?”

  “Luthor’s been tranquilized,” Pitch told him. “He’s out cold in the back of that SUV. And you know whose rental it is? Swindle’s!”

  “He came himself this time?”

  Pitch nodded. “I guess he got sick of hiring people who kept messing up.”

  Ben looked haunted. “The amount that guy hates us gives me the creeps. I mean, I hate him, too, but I’m not basing the rest of my life on it.”

  “Don’t obsess about it,” Pitch advised in a no-nonsense tone. “We have to act fast. If they loaded Luthor straight into the SUV, it means they’re planning on leaving pretty soon.”

  “But what can we do?” Ben protested. “The bike’s barely rideable. Who knows if it’ll take two of us? And definitely not two of us carrying a ten-ton dog.”

  “No, no, no. We’ll drape him over the seat and walk him out of here.”

  Ben looked worried. “We won’t get very far. They’ve got cars.”

  Pitch could not hold back a diabolical grin. “Well, they have and they haven’t. I mean, the cars are here, but they probably won’t start.” She reached into her pocket and showed him a fistful of multicolored wires, torn and broken, some contacts still attached. “I made a few minor adjustments.”

  He regarded her in awe. “You’ve got more guts than brains. But you’ve got to know that we can’t wheel him all the way back to camp.”

  “We don’t have to,
” she argued. “We just have to get him away from Swindle. Listen — I found something important in the SUV. Remember that missing form from the Cedarville Pound? It proves that Swindle gave Luthor up, which means the Drysdales adopted him fair and square. Well, I’ve got it right here.” She patted her pocket.

  Ben brightened. “That’s fantastic! Here’s my phone — let’s call the police, and all this can be over.”

  Pitch shook her head. “Swindle still has the court order, and that carries the most weight until it’s overturned. Cops aren’t judges; they’d just give the dog to Swindle until Bittner rules on the new evidence. By that time, Swindle could take Luthor to California and disappear. Even if the Drysdales win, it’ll take years — and tons of money on legal fees — to get a Long Island court ruling enforced on the other side of the country.”

  “How unfair is that?” Ben complained. “It was bad enough when Swindle had the law on his side. But now we have the law on our side, and we’re no better off!”

  Pitch shrugged. “As long as we’ve got Luthor, we’re still in this fight.”

  Giving the cottage’s front window a wide berth, the two retrieved Ben’s bike from the ditch and leaned it against the SUV.

  “Where’d you get this thing?” Pitch remarked, taking in the ancient rusted frame, now even muddier than before. “The Smithsonian?”

  “We’re using it for dog transportation, not to enter into the Tour de France,” Ben retorted. “Be grateful for the banana seat. That’s a little extra room for Luthor.”

  Deciding to move a huge, unconscious Doberman and actually doing it were two very different matters. A hundred fifty pounds was a lot of weight for any two kids to carry; to have it disproportionately spread throughout the rippled musculature of a large canine body made it nearly impossible. Eventually, the stronger and more athletic Pitch got underneath the heavier head, shoulders, and front legs, leaving Ben to contend with the hindquarters.

  As the dog was lifted free of the hatch, Ferret Face emerged from Ben’s sleeve, scampered out onto Luthor’s back, and made himself comfortable in the short black fur.

  “Come back!” Ben hissed. As light as the ferret was, adding any extra mass to Luthor’s load was unacceptable.

  Now came the hard part — fitting all that bulk on the bicycle. They approached from several different angles, but each seemed to leave the Doberman hanging in a precarious way. They finally draped Luthor’s hind legs over the Mustang handlebars, placing his chest and great head on the banana seat.

  “We’re not going to get it any better than this,” Pitch panted. “Now, let’s blow this Popsicle stand before Swindle and his goon decide to check on Luthor.”

  Pitch got on one side, Ben got on the other, and they started slowly down the road. The bike carried Luthor’s weight easily. But in order to maintain balance, the two rescuers had to lean into each other, which made progress exhausting.

  “How long do we have to keep this up?” Ben gasped.

  Pitch’s reply was strained. “As long as it takes.”

  Dominic Hiller pocketed his money and stood up, leaning heavily on his cane. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Palomino. But I’ve got one torn-up knee that says it wasn’t.”

  Swindle glowered at him. “Excuse me for thinking you and your friend knew how to handle yourselves around a couple of kids.”

  “Those aren’t ordinary kids,” Hiller defended himself. “Their loyalty to that dumb animal is insane. It’s almost like a cult. It leads them to perform miracles.”

  “Yeah, well, they just ran out of miracles,” Palomino retorted sourly. “I’ve got the dog, and within a week, every top breeder in the world will be watching him wipe up the competition on the show circuit. That ‘dumb animal’ is going to make me rich.”

  “We should have hit you up for more money,” Hiller mused, limping toward the door. “Especially Louie. He’s got whiplash from when the bug dipper came down on him.”

  They left the cottage and started for their two vehicles.

  The first yelp came from Palomino. “The dog’s escaped!”

  “No chance! He’s out cold for hours yet!”

  “Then how do you explain this?” Swindle roared.

  Hiller thumped over to see for himself. Sure enough, the SUV’s hatchback was empty.

  “I can’t!” The hired man was mystified. “Even if he woke up early, how would he get himself out of the car? He doesn’t have fingers, you know.”

  “Which means he had help!” Palomino growled. “Those kids must have followed us somehow.”

  “They can’t have gone far,” Hiller reasoned. “You drive north, I’ll drive south. We’ll catch them.”

  Distraught, Swindle leaped into his rental SUV, jammed the key into the ignition, and twisted it. The car did not start. He tried again. Nothing. Not a cough, not a rev, not even a hiccup.

  “Cheap rental piece of junk!” He leaped out and ran to Hiller’s truck. “My car won’t start!”

  “Your car won’t start!” Hiller was pounding on the steering wheel. “Mine won’t, either!”

  They raced around and threw open the hood. Cut and tattered wires were everywhere. On the SUV, the situation was the same.

  Sabotage.

  “Those kids!” Hiller exclaimed in agony. “Is there anything they can’t do?”

  Palomino was upset, but not rattled. “We can still catch them.”

  “How?”

  “On foot.”

  Hiller waved his cane. “I’m not exactly an Olympic athlete these days.”

  “They’re still kids, and they’re carrying a ton of dog meat.” The fried-egg eyes grew even wider behind the Coke-bottle glasses as Swindle looked down into the mud of the road. There, the track of a single wheel, much narrower than a car tire, led off to the south.

  Hiller followed his gaze. “A wheelbarrow?”

  “Whatever it is, they’re probably just around the bend. Let’s go.”

  They started off down the road, with the out-of-shape former storekeeper barely keeping ahead of his hobbled hired man. Soon they were soaked and mud to the knees.

  “Lousy kids!” Swindle puffed. “Lousy kids!” After the first quarter mile, he had no breath left for any words at all.

  Hiller’s cane kept sticking in the soft ground, and he took to limping along without leaning on it, waving it in front of him like a sword.

  At last, they rounded a curve in the road, and their quarry appeared out of the mist and rain.

  Palomino pointed. “There. Three of them.”

  Hiller’s eyesight was sharper. “Just two. That’s the dog in the middle. They’ve got him draped over a bike.”

  The two men quickened their pace, hoping the poor weather would cover their approach. It worked for a while. But then one of the kids — the girl — happened to glance over her shoulder.

  * * *

  The first Ben knew of it, Pitch had accelerated her pace, and he had to jog to keep up with the bike. “Hey, what are you — ?”

  “Run, Ben!” she interrupted urgently. “Swindle’s after us!”

  Terrified, Ben looked back at the two lumbering pursuers. The men were slow, but the overladen bicycle was slower. “Let’s move!” he urged.

  They pushed with all their might, which only seemed to dig the bike’s wheels deeper into the mud.

  Pitch’s face was a picture of determination. “Faster!” she breathed.

  Sweat ran down their faces, mingling with the rain. Gradually, the bicycle picked up momentum. The gap between them and the two men, which had been closing steadily, began to open up again.

  Then it happened. The front tire hit an exposed root and bounced. With it bounced Luthor, down to the ground, where he rolled into the ditch. Pitch and Ben dropped the bike and stooped to lift him out, but it was impossible to get any leverage on so much weight.

  “Come on, Luthor, wake up,” Pitch pleaded with the slumbering dog. “You can nap all you want on
ce we get away, but right now we have to go!”

  Too late. Swindle and Hiller appeared at the top of the ditch, panting and glaring down at them. “Fancy meeting you kids here,” drawled S. Wendell Palomino in an unpleasant, if breathless tone.

  Ferret Face shrank inside Ben’s collar. Even the little animal could see the hopelessness of their situation. Luthor was still immobile, and the enemy was upon them.

  This was the end of the road.

  All at once, Pitch sprang away from the Doberman, grabbed Ben’s hand, and hauled him out of the ditch. They pounded through the wet underbrush, making for the cover of the trees. Hiller started to chase them, but came down too hard on his injured leg and hit the ground with a splash beside Luthor. By the time he’d gotten back up again, Pitch and Ben were disappearing into the woods.

  He started after them in pursuit.

  “Forget it,” Palomino told him. “We’ve got the mutt. That’s all that matters.”

  “They could go to the cops!” Hiller sputtered.

  “And tell them what?” Swindle challenged. “That we stopped them from stealing my dog? We’ve got the law on our side. Now we just need a mechanic to fix the cars, and we’ll never have to deal with those rotten kids again.”

  At least not until I’m ready to go back to Cedarville and take them all down. Palomino thought it, but he didn’t say it aloud.

  * * *

  It wasn’t easy for slight Ben to keep up with Pitch’s long athletic strides, but he came close, sprinting through the forest, sidestepping trees like a broken-field runner in a football game. When at last he drew close enough to reach out and grab a fistful of her T-shirt, he nearly pulled her over backward.

  She paused for a moment, listening for footsteps crashing through the woods behind them. “I think we’re safe.”

  Ben collapsed to his knees, hyperventilating. “Why did we do that? Why did we run?” he rasped. “We abandoned Luthor!”