Operation: Survival

by Franklin W. Dixon

  There was no point in trying to go against the water. Frank kept his grip on me as we were swept down the rapids of Popular Hill Falls.

  When the white water went dark, we swam over to the shore. Well, Frank did most of the swimming. But I helped a little.

  “Nice job, Moya,” Smiley said as soon as I pulled myself onto the bank.

  “Where’s James?” I asked.

  Smiley pointed to the opposite shore. A couple of the guys had gotten James out of the water.

  “What happened?” Frank asked.

  “Incompetence happened,” Smiley answered. “Lack of strength happened. Lack of wit.”

  “What happened?” Frank repeated, ignoring him.

  “I don’t know. We were doing fine. Then we started taking on water. Lots of it,” I answered. “We were trying to bail and maneuver the haystacks at the same time. And you know the rest.”

  “Get yourselves and your canoes to the van rendezvous point,” Smiley ordered. “We’re going to do another run.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Andrew muttered. For the first time, I noticed he was soaked. He’d obviously been part of the rescue squad.

  Actually, all the guys had, I realized. Smiley was so twisted up about James and my bad performance that he didn’t realize every guy out here had acted like part of the team.

  I wondered if James would have jumped into the river to save one of the other guys if the situation had been reversed. I wasn’t sure that was the kind of teamwork he cared about.

  “You heard me,” Smiley called. “Move. Get the canoes to the vans.”

  “Uh, my canoe has gone missing,” I said.

  “I’m aware of that,” Smiley answered. “You and James will have to wait out the next run. Even though you two clearly need more practice than anyone else.”

  I managed to get myself to my feet. The muscles in my legs felt like they had been turned into wet laundry. Heavy and cold. Useless.

  I realized that my life vest was still looped over one of my arms. I yanked the sodden thing off. And that’s when it hit me. The right shoulder strap was split in half.

  I ran my fingers over it. The webbing on either side of the split felt rough.

  I took a closer look. It was like someone had flayed the strap with a knife. It was probably almost ready to break when I put the vest on. The webbing holding the buckles in place had been messed with too.

  Suddenly I felt ten times colder than I had at the bottom of the river. I knew in my gut that whoever had done this to my vest had also made sure that the canoe was primed to spring a leak while it was going down the rapids.

  Someone had just tried to kill me.

  I tried to remember how I’d gotten the life vest. It had been in the canoe. And it had been James’s job to put all the vests into the canoes.

  But James hadn’t assigned me to the canoe. Smiley had.

  I closed my eyes, trying to picture myself standing on the bank. Had James maneuvered me next to the canoe? Because I had ended up in the one I was standing the closest to.

  Had James stood near me so that we’d get put in the canoe together? Did he want be in the canoe to make absolutely sure the hole he’d started—if it was him—actually broke open?

  If he had, it would have put him in jeopardy too. But not that much. His life vest was fine. I could see it on him right now. A nice, tight fit.

  The image of myself on the shore by the canoes wouldn’t come clear. I hadn’t been on guard. I’d been cocky. Thinking that Frank and I knew who the murderer was: Russell. And that he wasn’t anywhere near the camp.

  I’d been figuring Frank and I had more evidence gathering to do. But I’d been way too sure the truly dangerous part of our mission was over.

  Rookie mistake.

  The guys started hoisting their canoes onto their shoulders. I grabbed the back half of Tim’s, and we started down the path leading to the road. My thoughts were coming so fast and so jumbled I could hardly keep track of them.

  But I kept coming back to the fact that someone had tried to kill me.

  And someone had tried to kill Frank.

  I still figured there was only one murderer at the camp. But who would want me and Frank dead? Me and Frank and Zack?

  Had someone figured out that Frank and I were fakes? That we were at the camp to find out what had happened to Zack? Had someone been afraid that we would find out the truth?

  Nah. The cover ATAC had provided was rock solid. Even the cops who’d escorted us here thought we were true bad boys sentenced to the camp.

  So me, Frank, Zack. Or Brian, Steve, Zack. What did we have in common?

  Zack and I—Brian—were both spuddy, out-of-shape guys who slowed down the team. Brought down the punishments everyone hated.

  But Steve/Frank was a total athlete. He was a guy you’d want on your team. You could count on him not to lag behind. To pull his weight.

  He had attitude. And Janet had said that Zack wouldn’t be one of Saunders’ zombies. So Steve/Frank had that in common with Zack.

  But I’d been reasonably zombie-esque, I thought, as we reached the vans.

  What is it? I thought as I climbed inside the closest one. There had to be something that connected me, Frank, and Zack. But I couldn’t see it.

  Nothing came to me during the fifteen-mile ride back to the head of the run. And after that I had James to contend with.

  The minute Smiley and the rest of the team left for the second rapids run, he was on me.

  “I don’t know what happened out there,” he said. “But however you screwed up, it better not happen again. Because we are not losing that race tomorrow.”

  I stripped off my shirt and put on one of the Camp Wilderness sweatshirts piled in the corner of the van.

  “Are you listening to me?” James demanded. “I’m not going to prison because you screw up. And if we lose, we could all get booted.”

  He paused to suck in a breath, then kept on ranting. “I’m serious. Saunders is that crazy. He might just decide that men who can’t win a race aren’t men who should be here. We could be packing our bags this time tomorrow. Are you listening to me?”

  “I’m listening,” I snapped. “I don’t really want to be, but I am. And you know what? Even if you kept your mouth shut, I’d probably try pretty hard not to drown again tomorrow.”

  James stretched out on the seat all the way in the back. “I’m gonna rest up. Get my energy up for tomorrow. I suggest you do the same.”

  I decided to ignore his suggestion. I decided it was time for a little investigation.

  I waited until James’s breathing was deep and even. Then I grabbed his backpack. Unzipped it. Slowly, slowly, slowly. The sound felt as shrill as fingernails on a chalkboard. But James didn’t twitch.

  Okay, so, what did we have?

  Bottled water. A box of raisins. An extra pair of socks—now soaked. Aw, did James have an Aunt T too?

  And last but not least, a little notebook. I flipped it open. The same words were written over and over again. “I will not go to prison. I will not go to prison. I will not go to prison.”

  That told me exactly nothing new about James. It was clear to anybody who came within a mile of the guy that he was terrified of prison. Or what I like to call the Big House. It just sounds friendlier.

  I ran my hands over the outside pockets of the pack. Nada.

  I’d been hoping for a nice piece of solid evidence. Like whatever it was that had been used to mangle my life vest. But nada.

  Still, it’s not like I had searched everywhere. Should I risk it?

  Definitely. That’s what I was here for.

  I crept down to the seat where James lay. His windbreaker had two pockets. And what’s in Pocket Number One? the game show host in my head asked.

  It wasn’t a brand-new car. It was a stick of gum. Cherry. I thought about chewing it. The rest of the team was going to eat when they hit the bottom of the run. While James and I got zippo.

 
But I’m one of the good guys. So I put the gum back.

  I studied the second pocket. James was lying half on top of it. Tricky.

  But there might be something very interesting in Pocket Number Two.

  I flexed my fingers. I was goin’ in. Gently, I inched my fingers into the pocket. The nylon crackled. I knew the sound was soft. Softer than the zipper opening. But it felt like somebody had started to scream.

  “You looking for this?”

  James whipped a knife out of his sock.

  He shoved me to the ground. Jammed one knee into my chest. And placed the knife blade against my throat.

  This was no time to play Spuddy. I slammed my knee into James’s belly. He wasn’t expecting that from me.

  I tried to roll away from him. There was no room on the floor.

  Biting isn’t my first choice in a fight. But I’m not proud. I twisted my head down and clamped my teeth down on James’s wrist. Until he dropped the knife.

  I managed to grab it. “If you were so worried about going to prison, you shouldn’t have tried to kill me,” I yelled. “Now I’ve got evidence. You’re going down.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know. My life vest. You flayed the webbing with this knife,” I shot back. “I don’t know what you used on the canoe. But I’ll find out.”

  James’s eyes widened. He sat back, easing his knee off my chest. “You’re serious? You think somebody tried to kill you?”

  I wriggled free and grabbed my life vest. I hurled it at James. “Does this bring back your memory?”

  James ran one finger over the split strap. “I didn’t do this, man.”

  I grabbed James’s life vest and flicked the knife back and forth over a piece of webbing. The damage looked familiar. From my vest.

  “I’m not the only one who could have a knife like that. It’s what we used on the fish,” James protested. “They’re easy to swipe. I kept mine, just in case.”

  “In case of what? Anyway, you can tell it to Smiley and Saunders. And the cops,” I said.

  “No. Please. You know what they’ll do to me. A guy with my record,” James said in a rush.

  I stared at him. I’d found the knife on him. But he was right. The knife was exactly like the ones we’d used on the fish. And it had been pretty easy to keep. No one had really been watching us with them.

  “I’ll help you figure out who did it. Just give me a chance. I have an idea, even. Really.”

  “What’s your idea?” I asked.

  14 BAIT

  Keep your mind on the course, I told myself.

  But I kept slipping into autopilot as Smiley and I swept over the haystacks and down the pour-overs. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about Joe.

  Was he alone with a killer right now? His canoe had been sabotaged. And I’d seen the way his life vest had been tampered with.

  Was the murderer getting ready to try again while I was out on the river?

  “Paddle, paddle, paddle!” Smiley yelled.

  I realized we were heading toward a boulder. I stroked until my arms ached to get around it. From that point on, I managed to keep my brain where it needed to be. On the river.

  But once I was on dry land again, I immediately went back to thinking about what had happened to Joe. The motives of the camp killer were making me nuts. I couldn’t come up with a reason why one person would want me, Joe, and Zack dead.

  Could there be two murderers at Camp Wilderness? It wasn’t totally impossible. Just not that logical. Not that murder is always logical. In fact, most of the time it isn’t. Killing is usually all about emotion.

  So I should be trying to feel the feelings of the killer. Or killers. Not figure out the logic behind the murders—and attempted murders.

  Easier said than done. At dinner in the mess hall, I still hadn’t managed it.

  “Lookie, lookie what I got,” Ken exclaimed, pulling me away from my thoughts. He slid a note wrapped in plastic out of his mashed potatoes. The grin on his face was so big, he should have been named Smiley.

  But his expression turned sour as he read the note.

  “What’s the deal?” Andrew asked. “She breaking up with you?”

  “Are you insane?” Ken answered. “The whole letter is about how she thinks about me all the time. And how she wants to sneak out and meet me.”

  “Well, I can see why that would make you look like you just ate a pile of mouse poop.” Andrew reached over and snatched the note out of Ken’s hands.

  “‘Dear Ken,’” Andrew read aloud. “‘I miss you so much—even though you’re probably reading this just across the mess hall from me.’”

  Frank glanced toward the girls’ table. Janet was looking at his team’s table. But Frank noticed she was looking at Joe, not Ken. Huh.

  “‘I think about you all the time.’” Andrew started making his voice all high and girly. “‘It’s the only thing that keeps me going in this horrible place. I can’t wait until we’re both out of here, and we can be together as much as we want.’”

  “Isn’t that sweet,” James muttered. “But it sounds kinda familiar. Wasn’t that in a letter to Zack?”

  “She’d never have written anything like that to Zack,” Ken told him. “She just hung out with Zack out of pity. She felt bad for him because he could hardly take a step without wheezing or tripping over his feet.”

  “‘I’ll try to dream about you tonight,’” Andrew went on reading. “‘You try to dream about me, too. That way we can be together. Love, Janet. PS. Be nice to Brian for me.’”

  Ken took the note back from Andrew and glared at Joe. “What’s the deal with that, Brian?” he demanded. “How does Janet even know your name? That’s what I want to know.”

  “She helped me try and put out the boathouse fire,” Joe answered.

  “But why were you at the boathouse together?” Ken’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yeah, you should have both been at chow,” James said. “Did you sneak off for a little slobber exchange?”

  “We weren’t at the boathouse together. We ended up there together. We both ran toward the smoke,” Joe explained.

  Ken did not look happy. He turned to the other guys at the table. “What do you think? A girl doesn’t just say be nice to whoever if she’s not interested in whoever. Am I right?”

  “I think you’re right,” Tim said.

  “Like either of you are such experts on girls,” James commented. “Although—”

  “Although what?”

  “I’ve been getting to know someone myself,” James said. “Somebody on Janet’s team. And she did mention that Janet’s always talking about our boy Brian.”

  “What girl? What’s her name? Exactly what did she say?” Ken burst out.

  “I don’t really listen that much,” James asked. “I just kind of nod until she’s ready to stop talking. But I can see it. Janet’s always looking at him.”

  “What? When?” Ken was halfway out of his seat.

  “A couple of minutes ago. And the other day.” James spooned a heap of mashed potatoes into his mouth. He seemed happy with himself. Like he was enjoying causing problems.

  Ken jerked his head toward Janet. She wasn’t looking at him or Joe. She was listening intently to something the girl next to her was saying.

  Then they both looked at Joe.

  A dark, angry flush shot up Ken’s neck and splashed his cheeks. He looked ready to stroke out.

  “She can’t be interested in Moya. He can’t even climb a hill,” I threw out. “He’s a wimp,” I added, thinking of Playback.

  I expected my comment to calm Ken down a little. Instead, he turned to me.

  “And who do you think she’d be interested in? You!” he burst out, looking right at me. “I know you’re interested in her. I’ve seen you checking her out. Since day one.”

  The guy was insane. But insane enough to kill someone? That’s the question I asked Joe when I managed to get a second alone with him afte
r dinner. In the latrine. For some reason, this mission was all about meeting in bathrooms.

  “Is he insane enough to kill?” Joe repeated. “Well, James thinks so.”

  “James? You talked about our case with James?” The top rule of ATAC was secrecy. Joe knew that.

  “Not exactly. I accused him of trying to kill me. Long story short—I found a knife in his sock. Well, I sort of found it,” Joe explained. Sort of explained. “The knife looked like it was the one used on my life vest strap.”

  “So why aren’t we taking James in?” I asked.

  “Because he begged me to give him a chance. And I thought I should. I don’t want somebody going to jail who doesn’t deserve it.”

  “So he begged. That’s it?” I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “He told me he’d help me find the guy who tried to kill me. I didn’t talk to him about Zack. Or you,” Joe said. “He thinks it’s Ken.”

  “If he thinks it’s Ken, why was he practically inviting Ken to go after you?” I asked.

  “Because that was the plan. If Ken tries to kill me again—case closed.” He scratched the mosquito bite on his earlobe. “It’s not like we didn’t have Ken on our own suspect list. I can sort of see him going after Zack. Zack was stopping him from hanging out with Janet.”

  “Just by being alive,” I agreed.

  “Yeah. But there’s a piece that doesn’t make sense.” Joe scratched the bite again. “Janet is acting like she’s completely into Ken right now. Saying she misses him. Wanting to meet up with him. Making plans. Granted, it’s because she’s trying to see if Ken killed Zack—at least that’s what she told me—but still.”

  “All right—but bringing you up in a letter? And being out in the boathouse with you? And looking at you,” I reminded him.

  “Right. So I’m sort of a threat. Nowhere near a Double Black Diamond kind of danger, but still a threat,” Joe said. “But if Ken’s our guy, he went after you, too. And you’re like a bunny-trail-level problem. If that.”

  “Unless she likes really athletic guys,” I joked. “I guess Ken could have to bake me in the boathouse because he knew after my performance hiking the mountain that Janet would be all over me.”