Trapped!

by James Ponti

  Napoli lingered a bit before saying, “Well, it was nice meeting you all. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”

  I thought that was an odd closing line, and I waited until he was far enough away before I turned to the others and said, “There’s something about that guy I don’t trust.”

  “I’m right there with you,” Margaret added, her eyes glued to his every move.

  When we told Marcus about Napoli spying on us in the mirror, he didn’t find it nearly as curious as we did.

  “I think one of the drawbacks of playing Toastbusters is that it can make you suspicious of everybody,” he suggested. “Just because you’re spying on someone doesn’t mean they’re spying on you.”

  “If he’s not suspicious, then why was he staring at us?” asked Margaret.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re the only twelve-year-olds in a room full of FBI agents?”

  Our lack of a response indicated that he might’ve been on to something.

  “He congratulated me just like half the room,” continued Marcus. “And the fact that he included you in the conversation may just mean he’s trying to be polite. Besides, you’ve got to cut those organized-crime guys some slack. They’re always locked in a surveillance van spying on lowlifes. It messes up their people skills.”

  Suddenly everyone’s attention turned to the man who’d just entered the room. Admiral David Denton Douglas would have been imposing even if he wasn’t the director of the FBI. Tall and fit, he took long purposeful strides as he made a beeline to us. I was impressed with how well he was able to make eye contact and acknowledge people without stopping to chitchat. No doubt it was a necessary skill for officials in powerful positions.

  “Sorry to interrupt the festivities,” he said. “But I need your help with a situation.”

  “What type?” asked Marcus.

  The admiral looked around the room at all the people, most of whom were now looking our way. “Not here,” he said. “We need to use a skiff.”

  Marcus and Kayla exchanged a serious look.

  “Do you want all of us?” Marcus asked, motioning to Margaret and me.

  Admiral Douglas thought about this for a moment and nodded. “Yes. Let’s bring the whole Special Projects Team.”

  My pulse began to race, and a smile of anticipation formed on my lips.

  As we followed him out the door, Margaret asked Kayla, “What’s a skiff?”

  She raised her eyebrows a bit and answered, “A spy-proof room.”

  This was beyond exciting. But the last thing I noticed before we left the room was Dan Napoli watching our every step.

  3.

  The SCIF

  THE ADMIRAL MAINTAINED HIS BRISK pace down the hall, the heels of his shoes clicking against the marble floor, his posture so perfect his shoulders barely seemed to move as he walked. He bypassed the main bank of elevators and turned into an alcove where a private one was already waiting, its doors open, a uniformed guard inside.

  “Good afternoon, Admiral,” said the guard.

  “Good afternoon, Thomas,” he replied. “Subbasement four, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The doors shut, and as we descended, I felt a knot of excitement grow in my stomach. In a matter of moments the mood had gone from celebration for Marcus winning an award to anticipation for a case so sensitive we had to go into a spy-proof room just to hear about it. For the first few floors everyone stood quietly, and the only sound was the whirring of the elevator motor. Luckily, we had Margaret there to break the tension.

  “You guys are great when it comes to solving crimes but kind of lousy at naming things,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Marcus.

  “Why would you call a spy-proof room a skiff? A skiff is a type of boat. My dad took me fishing in one once, and believe me, there was nothing spy-proof about it. There was nothing mosquito-proof, either. I used an entire can of bug spray and still wound up covered in bites.”

  The admiral laughed. “I’m with you, Margaret. But the government loves acronyms. Everything’s some sort of alphabet soup. ‘Skiff’ comes from SCIF, which stands for Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility.”

  A ding announced our arrival. “Subbasement four,” said the guard as the doors opened.

  “No bug spray necessary,” added Marcus as we stepped out into the hallway.

  Unlike the reception area or the main hall, there were no marble floors or works of art down here in the bowels of the building. In fact, there was no decoration of any kind, just a long narrow corridor with pea-green walls and tomato-red doors. It was as if the building’s color scheme were dictated by the soup menu in the cafeteria.

  “You think of a room as a separate and independent location,” the admiral explained as we walked. “But it’s connected to the outside world in so many ways—windows, walls, wiring.”

  I know my brain’s a little strange, but when he said that, all I could think of was that all three of those words start with W.

  “The problem with those is that people on the other side can listen in,” he continued. “An ear to the wall, a microphone pointed at a window, or a listening device connected to the wiring. So when we discuss things of a top-secret nature, we sometimes use a SCIF. It’s a soundproof room enclosed in layers of metal on both sides of the wall, floor, and ceiling.” He stopped at a door marked SB4-2051. “A box within a box, wrapped up as tight as a present on Christmas morning.”

  He opened the door to reveal a waiting room manned by a guard behind a desk who told us that electronics weren’t allowed beyond that point. We had to place our phones inside little lockers that looked like post office boxes. As we did, we noticed four were already in use.

  “Company?” asked Marcus.

  “Good to see they’ve arrived,” said the admiral. “We can get started right away.”

  My curiosity level was off the charts imagining who might be waiting for us in the room. I wondered if it was a team of undercover agents like the one Margaret identified at the reception. Or maybe there were secret operatives from a foreign government. The possibilities were endless, but never would I have guessed whose faces we saw once he opened the door.

  “Mom? Dad? Mr. and Mrs. Campbell?”

  “Please enter,” encouraged the admiral. “We have to be inside the SCIF to take advantage of its soundproof qualities.”

  The room had a wooden conference table with eight chairs. My parents were seated on one side with Margaret’s on the other while yet another guard kept an eye on them. Once he left the room and the admiral closed the door, we simultaneously asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “We don’t really know,” said Mrs. Campbell.

  “The admiral didn’t give us too many details,” added my father.

  “I assure you that nothing’s wrong,” he said. “We just need to take care of a little business in private. Everyone, please sit down. I don’t mean to rush things, but there’s another group returning in about forty-five minutes. They’ve been using the room all day, and I managed to squeeze us in while they’re on a meal break.”

  He moved to the front of the room while we filled in the empty seats.

  “Do you know what this is about?” I whispered to Marcus as I sat next to my mother.

  He just gave me a smile and a wink.

  “I’m sorry for all the subterfuge,” said the admiral. “But something unprecedented happened a few weeks ago when I informed Marcus that I was presenting him with a Director’s Award for Excellence.”

  “What’s that?” asked Margaret.

  “He turned it down.”

  We all gave Marcus a look of disbelief.

  “Why would you do that?” I asked.

  “Because I didn’t think I deserved it,” he replied.

  “Special Agent Rivers felt that he was getting recognition and credit for the work of others,” explained Admiral Douglas. “Namely, for the work you two have done. And the more I tho
ught about it, the more I saw his point. You both deserve recognition for what you’ve done. But I think we can all agree that it might have been a bit problematic doing so out in the auditorium in front of all those people. So I convinced Marcus that I would take care of you down here, and in exchange he agreed to accept the award at today’s ceremony.”

  Margaret and I were beyond confused.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Maybe this will help.”

  He unlocked a cabinet and pulled out a pair of flat jewelry boxes, which he placed on the table.

  “Margaret, Florian, would you please join me?”

  We stood next to him, and he opened one of the boxes to reveal a gold medal engraved with the Great Seal of the United States and attached to a ribbon with red, white, and blue stripes. It was stunning.

  “This is the FBI Medal for Meritorious Achievement,” he explained. “It’s awarded for extraordinary accomplishments in connection with criminal and national security cases. It’s one of the highest honors the Bureau can bestow on a civilian, and it is my great privilege that I get to present it to each of you.”

  Margaret and I were speechless. We just stood there with dazed looks on our faces, which the adults found quite amusing.

  Finally Margaret was able to mutter, “You’re giving us medals?”

  “Yes, I am,” he replied. “Now, if you’ll bow your heads a little, we can make it official.”

  He hung the medals around our necks, just like they do at the Olympics, and said, “The Medal for Meritorious Achievement is presented with honor and distinction to covert asset Florian Bates and covert asset Margaret Campbell for their dedicated service to the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the people of the United States of America.”

  Next he gave a glowing account of the role we’d played in solving several cases, and I was touched by his attention to detail. He talked about me overcoming my fear of helicopters and climbing aboard one during an emergency. He spoke of Margaret’s loyalty and quick thinking in a crisis.

  “Not only are they brilliant and brave,” he concluded, “but I believe that TOAST is without question the most impressive mystery-solving technique I’ve ever witnessed.”

  By this point all four parents had tears in their eyes, and although the lighting in the SCIF wasn’t great, I’m pretty sure Marcus and Kayla did too.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I responded, dazed by it all.

  “How about ‘thank you,’ ” suggested my mother.

  “Yes, of course,” I replied. “Thank you very much.”

  “It’s a lovely honor,” added Margaret, “and greatly appreciated.”

  “It’s my privilege,” Douglas responded. “It’s a great thing for this country that you two became friends.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said quietly. “But it was certainly great for me.”

  It was a perfect moment. For about ten seconds. Then the admiral added, “I have bad news, though.”

  “What?” asked Margaret.

  “You can’t take the medals out of the SCIF.”

  Suddenly it all made sense. That’s why we needed a spy-proof compartment. We’d received a huge honor, but no one outside that room could know about it. I was a bit disappointed. It must have shown on my face, because Margaret gave me her “cheer up” smile.

  “We know,” she said. “And that’s all that matters.”

  “You’re right. To be honest, that’s not even the part I’m most disappointed about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought we were coming down here because we were getting a cool case.”

  She laughed. “So did I. But this is still pretty nice.”

  “It’s great. But a supersecret spy case would’ve been great too.”

  Everyone got up to take a closer look at the medals and congratulate us. It didn’t take long for the tinge of disappointment to fade. I don’t think I’d ever seen my parents look so proud.

  “I don’t know about you guys,” Marcus said, “but I think this moment calls for barbecue.”

  “Texas Tony’s?” I said excitedly.

  “I may have reserved that little private room in the back,” he said with a smile. “It’s not spy-proof, but the ribs are amazing.”

  Texas Tony’s was a favorite among agents. Not only was it just a few blocks from the Hoover Building but also the food was delicious, which is why Margaret and I repeated her victory dance from earlier.

  “Want to join us?” Marcus asked the admiral.

  “I’d love to. But I’m afraid there are still a few cases that need my attention tonight.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t want to interfere with your dinner, but there is one thing that I’d like to discuss while we have the SCIF.”

  “Of course,” Marcus replied.

  “We’ll just head over to the restaurant and order some appetizers,” said Kayla.

  “It won’t take long,” assured the admiral. “Ten, fifteen minutes tops.”

  Kayla opened the door, and we all started to leave.

  “This is where we say good-bye,” Margaret said jokingly to her medal as she took it off, gave it a kiss, and handed it to the admiral.

  “It was nice knowing you,” I said to mine as I did likewise.

  “One day you’ll get them back,” he said. “There’ll be a time when your help here won’t have to be secret anymore and they’ll be waiting for you in a vault somewhere in this building.”

  “I can wait,” I said as I handed mine to him. “The real reward for me is getting to work on these cases.”

  “Me too,” said Margaret.

  He gave us a long look before saying, “Why don’t you two stay in here while we discuss the newest one?”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  First a medal, then the promise of ribs, and now a supersecret case. It was better than a birthday. Kayla left with our parents, and the four of us sat down around the conference table. No one spoke until the door was shut and the room secure.

  “I’m about to bend some serious rules, so it’s important that we keep this conversation to ourselves,” said the admiral. “You understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied.

  “Absolutely,” answered Margaret.

  “Two days ago a man named Herman Prothro stopped by the Tenley-Friendship branch of the DC Public Library looking for a book about Einstein’s theory of relativity. When he got home, he felt something in the spine of the book. He bent back the cover, and a small key fell out. It was the key to a PO box located at the Friendship Station Post Office on Wisconsin Avenue. His curiosity aroused by the mysterious key, Mr. Prothro went to the post office and unlocked the box.”

  The admiral stood up and walked over to the cabinet, where he pulled out a white cardboard storage box marked EVIDENCE. He placed it on the table right in front of us and started to open it, pausing for a moment to say, “The instant he realized what he’d found, he alerted the FBI.”

  4.

  The Russian Imperial Collection

  MARCUS, MARGARET, AND I WERE on the edge of our seats as the admiral opened the lid to the evidence box and pulled out a thick black binder. He set it on the table with a heavy thud.

  “This is what Herman Prothro found in that post office box,” he said. “It contains hundreds of pages of top-secret information about ongoing operations being run by the CIA and the National Security Agency.”

  “Wow!” said Margaret.

  “You got that right,” said the admiral. “Apparently, we have a pair of spies on our hands who are using the library and post office as a two-step dead drop.”

  “What’s a dead drop?” I asked.

  “It’s a secret location used to pass information between people so they don’t have to meet face-to-face,” he explained. “It helps them keep the relationship hidden.”

  “How does it work?” asked Margaret.

  “Spy number one g
ets the documents, places them in the post office box, and hides the key in the library book.”

  “Then spy number two gets the key from the book and retrieves the documents,” said Marcus, figuring it out. “The two people never come face-to-face, so it’s virtually impossible to connect them. And there’s nothing suspicious about going to a library or a post office, so they don’t attract any attention. It’s brilliant.”

  “But how does spy number two know when or where to check?” I asked.

  “That’s the million-dollar question,” said the admiral. “Usually there’s some sort of prearranged code or alert.”

  “I read about a spy who would signal a pickup by using a piece of chalk to mark a mailbox or tossing a soft drink can on the ground next to a specific park bench,” said Marcus. “And there was another who would signal the need to have a meeting by moving a potted plant on the balcony of his apartment.”

  “So you’re saying it could be almost anything?” said Margaret.

  “Pretty much,” said Marcus.

  “What about the person who checked the book out before Prothro?” I suggested.

  “We’re trying to re-create the history of the book as we speak,” said the admiral. “But it hasn’t been checked out for nearly a year.”

  “I wouldn’t think a spy would risk something so obvious,” added Marcus. “It’s more likely that he or she would’ve come into the library and hidden the key without actually checking the book out. That way there’s no record of him being in contact with it.”

  “You’re beginning to see our problem,” said the admiral. “There’s really a wide variety of possibilities on this one.”

  I was both excited and overwhelmed. “Are you assigning us this case?”

  “No,” he replied. “I can’t do that. A joint task force of agents from the CIA, NSA, and FBI Counterintelligence Division is handling the investigation. They’re the ones who’ve been using this room. They’re spy catchers, the best of the best. But I’m concerned that the other agencies are trying to manipulate the investigation because they’re worried some of their people are to blame.”

  “Then how can we help?” asked Margaret.