by D. B. Magee
Hearing the escaping air from the safe’s cylinders caused William to look up from where he sat on the floor at the back of the cave. Seeing Stacy and Ryan standing around talking, he called to them. “Hey guys! Have you ever seen anything like these before?” He stood and strolled over to the safe just as it closed, and placed the queer-looking glasses on its top.
Disheartened and grumpy over not finding anything more of value in the safe, Ryan waved William off. “I’m not interested in some old glasses,” he said. “I’m going back to the ship’s wheel to see if I can find any clues. Stacy, you coming?”
“No,” Stacy said, “I’m going to stay here and check out these glasses.”
Remaining with William, Stacy slid open the lid to the small box attached to the frames. Peering in, she noticed that half of the slim wooden container housed an empty battery compartment, while the other half contained miniature circuitry. “What do you think they are?” she asked, poking cursorily around in the circuitry compartment.
William shrugged a shoulder. “I was hoping you might have an idea.”
Stacy closed the lid to the compartment and donned the glasses in an attempt to peer through the darkened lenses. “They appear to be some sort of primitive, self-contained, computer glasses, or maybe a prototype for 3D glasses.”
“Then how do you explain the LEWs?”
Removing the glasses, Stacy studied the tiny crystals. “Maybe that’s what it took to project three dimensions, back in the old days.”
“Hey, guys,” Ryan grunted, lugging the ship’s wheel toward them. “Take a look at this!” He muscled the artifact up on top of the safe. “What do y’all make of it?” He pointed to the image of Blood Island.
Stacy traced the outline of the landmass with her finger and wrinkled her nose. “That’s not somewhere I’d want to visit,” she said.
“But what d’ya think it is?” Ryan pressed. “I think it could be a treasure map!”
William examined the figure. “Usually,” he said, “markings on a helm designate the ship’s home port.”
Ryan thumped the hubcap. “Since when do pirates have home ports?”
“You’ve got a point,” William said, pondering Ryan’s comment. “I guess it could indicate the place of some pirates’ horde. But alone, it’s certainly not a map. There are no clues or directions to any specific location. So, by itself, it’s useless. Besides, I doubt that that’s the island’s real name, anyway. And without knowing its true name, or its coordinates, there’s no way to find it—or any treasure that might be there.”
“Well,” Stacy interjected. “That might not be entirely true. If that outline is a fairly accurate representation of a real landmass, then there are online programs that can take that image and search various Internet maps for a match.”
“That’s it!” Ryan exploded. “That’s what we have to do! So, how do we begin?”
Stacy had just begun to explain the process to Ryan when, from somewhere behind them, they heard a low rumble. Ryan and the twins paused to listen, trying to discover its source. Turning, they saw Lisa sitting on the settee, holding her stomach and giggling.
The cave echoed with laughter as the kids decided unanimously that the sound signaled lunch.
The Journals
After a satisfying meal of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, the kids decided to split up in order to get more accomplished. William set off on a mission to find batteries for the cryptic glasses, while Ryan, after a little instruction from Stacy on Internet research, attempted to chase down leads to Blood Island. The girls, however, decided to return to Stacy’s room, and with the help of the journals, mount a quest of their own into the mystery of Tree Root Cavern.
“You know what I don’t get,” Stacy said, pondering the whole situation, “is why someone would put a lock on the inside of the tree. It makes no sense.”
“Right now, none of it makes any sense,” Lisa said, pulling the stack of notebooks closer. “That’s why we need to go through these journals, to see if they will provide some answers.”
Lisa began looking over the titles. The first one in the stack was the cave equipment manual—she left this for Ryan. The title of the next one was only partially legible; however, looking through it, she saw a sketch of the funky glasses that William was investigating. She saved this one for him. The third journal, entitled Pyramid, was a leather-bound daybook. White stitching outlined the title and cover design, a series of triangles within a larger triangle. The final volume was simply labeled, Game Specs. Since Stacy was the game enthusiast of the group, Lisa handed this one to her, which left the Pyramid journal for herself.
Just then, from down the hall, William approached, whistling. She’ll be coming around the mountain when she comes . . .
As he ambled into the room, Stacy rolled her eyes at the comical sight of her twin using his exhalations (while whistling) to cool off a piping-hot corn dog. “Well,” she said, “did you find any batteries?”
William took a bite of his corn dog. “No,” he said, between chews. “But I talked to your dad, Lisa. He said he’ll pick some up when he goes out.”
Lisa stared apprehensively at William. “You didn’t tell him what they were for, did you?”
William shook his head as he swallowed his food. “I told him they were for my remote controller.”
“Good!” Lisa said, breathing a sigh of relief. “We certainly don’t need him asking any questions right now. Okay, let’s get started!” she directed. “Everyone take a journal.”
Leaving the strange glasses on the desk, William sat down on the bed with the girls.
“Here,” Lisa said, handing William the journal she had put aside for him. “I think you’ll find this one to your liking.”
Looking down at the worn cover, William raised a curious eyebrow. Barely legible were the words: quency asses.
What in the world could this be? he thought, opening the grungy notebook. The title page simply read: Design Specifications. No help there, he decided. However, upon scanning a few more pages, he came to a part of a sentence that read, “…the frequencies used by these glasses cause . . .” He stopped and closed the book. Looking once again at the obscure phrase on its cover, he smiled at the simplicity of the solution.
Getting up from the bed, William retrieved a mechanical pencil from Stacy’s desk and filled in the missing letters. The title now read: Frequency Glasses. “Well, now that I know what they are,” he said to himself, “let’s see what they’re supposed to do.” Returning to the bed, he flipped open the notebook once again, and took up where he left off.
On either side of William, the girls remained intriguingly engrossed in their own notebooks.
With only one good arm, Lisa struggled as best she could, and without complaint, with the investigation of the heavier, leather-bound daybook. She didn’t seem to mind, as the topic within her journal read more like the exploits of an international spy than that of an engineer and inventor.
Just as Lisa was getting to gist of the information, Ryan burst noisily through the door, interrupting her concentration. “Stacy,” he said, “I need your help. All I could find on that web search about Blood Island were some movie listings, a few fictional book titles, and a description that blood islands are some sort of cell clusters in the human body. I reckon it’s time to try your idea about matching map images, now.”
“Later,” Lisa said, preventing Stacy’s reply. “Right now we need your help going through these journals before my mom gets back. I don’t want her to see these yet, because she’ll start asking a lot of questions that we don’t want to answer right now.” She slid the remaining journal toward Ryan. “Go through it and see what you can learn. We’ll go over our findings once we all finish.”
Ryan noticed that this was the same journal that he’d seen in the cave, the one with the picture of the Cryptex safe on its cover. Still curious as to the safe’s disproportional parts, he accepted the notebook, and found himself a place o
n the bed to sit.
Lisa was about to take up her journal once again, when Stacy suddenly grabbed her arm.
“Lisa,” she cried. “You’ve got to see this!”
Masking her displeasure at being delayed further from the intriguing Pyramid journal, Lisa simply smiled and peered questioningly at Stacy.
“I can’t believe it!” Stacy said. “These are the design specs for the SPAZ game!”
Lisa leaned over to take a look. “You mean—the one you’ve been playing?”
“Yes,” Stacy bubbled. “Now it makes sense why that flyer I found was in your house. This game must have been developed for use with those funky 3D glasses.” She pointed to the desk where William had left what was now known (to him) as the Frequency Glasses.
“So, besides creating all of this other stuff,” Lisa said, “this David Finch guy designed and wrote computer games, too? He must’ve truly been a genius.”
“No,” Stacy said, remembering that a woman’s name was in this journal. “Actually, I think someone else created the game. I saw her name here, somewhere.” Stacy flipped back a few pages. “Yeah, here it is. Mary G. Lipton.”
Upon hearing this name, Ryan looked up, dumbstruck. “What was that name you just read?”
Looking back to her journal, Stacy verified the name of the game’s designer. “Mary G. Lipton,” she repeated.
Ryan shot inquisitive looks from one girl to the other. “Let me take a gander at that,” he said, reaching for the notebook.
The girls looked at each other in confusion as he pulled the journal away.
Ryan slapped his knee, “Well I’ll be!” he cried. “This is Granny’s name. It looks like she’s the one that wrote this SPAZ game you like, Stacy. I didn’t even know she believed in this spirit world stuff.”
Lisa thought back to her meeting with Ryan’s grandmother, when they’d first arrived. “But—your grandmother introduced herself as Mary Whitmore,” she said to Ryan.
“Sure enough!” Ryan admitted. “However,” he said, stabbing a finger in the air, “Lipton was her name before she was married.”
“But, surely there’s more than one Mary G. Lipton in the world,” Stacy suggested.
“I reckon so,” Ryan agreed. “But there’s only one way to find out; we’ll have to ring her up—but not yet! First, I reckon we oughta see what more there is to all of this stuff.”
Meanwhile, William sat off to the side, hunched over the journal lying open on the bed in front of him. Oblivious to the conversation around him, he probed deeper into a subject of a supernal nature. His eyes drank in every word. He was scarcely breathing as he pored over the book’s contents.
Lisa, happy to get back to the leather-bound daybook, decided to read it at her desk, where hopefully she’d be less likely to be disturbed. Taking a lollipop from her candy jar, she stuck it in one side of her mouth—like a chipmunk with a cheek full of nuts. Then, like a true research journalist, she began to scrutinize and decipher the enigma of the Pyramid journal. She delved wholeheartedly into the book that talked of mystery, secrecy, covert actions and code names.
Soon, her expression changed to fascination when she came upon a complex drawing of equilateral triangles—the image more detailed than its counterpart on the cover.
The information most prominent that Lisa gained from this diagram was the words: Pyramid division – a special covert team, and Ghost – U.S.M.C. Commander, unit Leader. Two other names that also caught her attention were Eel and Shark. Both of these were titled: Navy Seal (Elite) - Anti-Terrorist Specialist. The whole drawing looked like a top down view of a strange truncated pyramid.
Over on the bed, Ryan continued his study of the Cave Equipment journal. After scanning various pages concerning hoses, pumps, motors, and mathematical equations, he turned to one showing a detailed sketch of the inside of the safe.
Ah! Here we go! he thought. Now, let’s see what you’re hiding. After studying the image for many minutes, he eventually decided that the area under the vault was nothing more than a maintenance crawlspace. He was about to turn the page when he saw Lisa waving him over.
“Ryan,” she whispered. “Come have a look at this.”
Ryan set his journal down and slipped quietly off the bed, so as not to disturb the twins, and stepped up beside Lisa. “What’s up?” he asked softly.
“I think this David Finch guy might have been a spy!”
Ryan picked up Lisa’s used lollipop stick and put the clean end into the corner of his mouth. “What makes ya think that?”
Lisa looked disgusted by Ryan’s actions. “Do you have to chew on everything you come across?”
Ryan shrugged. “It’s better than chewing tobacco.”
Lisa looked even more revolted by this comment. She shook it off. “Never mind,” she said. “Take a look at this.” She pointed to the drawing. “Doesn’t this look like he could have been some type of covert operative? It could explain the cave and the safe.”
Ryan considered the diagram and a few of the daybook’s other pages. “Nah,” he said. “I reckon someone was just writing a novel or something. These are probably just their notes.”
“I guess that does make more sense,” Lisa agreed. “But still, I can’t help but wonder why someone would find it necessary to create this big elaborate safe, fill it with nothing of any apparent value, and hide it in the bottom of a hollow tree.”
Crossing his arms, Ryan leaned back against the desk. “Well,” he said. “If this David Finch person was a spy, don’t ya think we would have found some sort of secret spy equipment in the safe?”
Lisa chuckled. “You’re probably right!” she said, closing the notebook. “With all of this mystery and secrecy lately, I guess my imagination just got the better of me.”
Ryan smiled and ambled back across the room, where he stretched out along the foot of the bed.
Lisa hopped up on her knees next to Ryan, and glanced over at Stacy, who was still reading the Game Design journal. “You know,” she said. “It’s still pretty amazing that your grandmother may have been the one who wrote the SPAZ program.”
“Oh, yeah!” Ryan said, sitting back up. “I almost forgot about that!” He hopped to his feet. “I reckon it’s time we found out for sure. What do ya say?”
Lisa leapt to her feet. She followed Ryan toward the door, grabbed his hat from the dresser, put it on, and hurried up next to him. “Do I look like a cowgirl?” she asked.
Ryan sized her up and shook his head. “Not in that getup,” he said, referring to her shorts and frilly top.
Lisa struck a cutesy pose. “Maybe I’ll start a new trend,” she said with a laugh.
Stacy glanced up from her reading. “Hey, where do you two think you’re going?”
Lisa looked back. “We’re going to call Ryan’s grandmother, to see if she knows anything about the SPAZ game.”
“Well, hurry back,” Stacy said, frowning. “You’re the one who made a big deal about rushing through these journals.”
Waving acknowledgment, Lisa disappeared through the doorway behind Ryan.
William, in the meantime, remained engrossed in his journal. His eyes, frozen wide with interest, appeared the size of half dollars through his thick Coke-bottle lenses.
Mary Whitmore (aka Mary G. Lipton, aka Granny) was sitting at her desk, checking a few figures in her ledger when the phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and smiled. “Hello, Ryan!”
“Hi Gran, how’re you?”
“I’m fine, dear. Did you kids get the things I sent over?”
“Yeah—they’re great! We haven’t used them all yet, but we will,” he assured her.
“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” she replied, all the while feeling that there was more to his call than pleasantries. Right she was, as in his next breath Ryan came straight to the point.
“Granny,” he said. “We were wondering if’n you ever heard of a computer program called SPAZ?”
“We?” Mary asked, a peculia
r grin creeping across her lips.
“Me and Lisa,” Ryan said, looking at his friend. “She’s here with me.”
“Why do you ask?” she probed.
“Well, you see,” Ryan said. There was a pause, and Granny tilted her head to consider what he might not be telling her. At last he continued. “Stacy found this here computer game online and we noticed that the designer’s name was Mary G. Lipton, and well—wasn’t that your name before you were hitched to Granddad?”
Mary chuckled. “Yes Ryan. That was my maiden name.”
“So, is that you, Gran? Did you design the SPAZ program?”
“Oh dear, that was a long time ago,” Mary said, her thoughts going to the past.
She heard Lisa in the background, bubbling with excitement and a low whistle from her grandson. “Well, I’ll be a leapin’ lizard!” he exclaimed. “I never knew you wrote computer programs, Gran!”
Mary laughed a hearty laugh. “There’s a lot you don’t know about your old Granny, Ryan,” she said with a glint in her eye.
The conversation continued a few more minutes, with Granny talking about how surprised she was that her program had lasted so many years, and that kids were still enjoying it today.
“Well now, is there anything else I can help you with?” Mary asked as the call wound down.
“No, Gran, that’s all for now,” Ryan replied.
“Well then,” she said, looking down at her ledger, “I guess I’d better get back to my books.”
Ryan’s voice rang in her ear, and she smiled at his enthusiasm. “Sure thing, Gran!”
As the call ended, Lisa looked at Ryan, “Wow! I can’t wait to tell Stacy it was your grandmother that designed the SPAZ program.”
Ryan, however, had lost his grin as soon as the call was over. He now stood staring out the window, his lips pulled tight, deep in concentration.
Lisa noticed the perplexed look on his face. “What’s wrong, Ryan?”
