Science Fair

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  “Idiot!” Vaderian yelled at the Wookiee. “Pick it up!”

  The Wookiee scrambled to reassemble the voice-changer. Toby rolled his eyes again, and for the hundredth time berated himself for getting involved with these morons. He looked at his watch: 4:27.

  Finally Vaderian was ready to speak again. “You did well, young Harbinger, giving me the Skywalker doll.”

  “Like I had a choice,” said Toby.

  “I’m glad you understand that you don’t have a choice,” said Vaderian. “Because I want the rest of the collection.”

  “What?” said Toby. “You can’t…”

  “Yes, I can,” said Vaderian. “And you’ll help me, unless you want me to tell your parents what you’ve already stolen from them.”

  Toby was shaking his head. “I can’t.”

  Vaderian lowered his electronic voice to what he apparently thought was a soothing tone. “It will look like a burglary,” he said. “We’ll do it when nobody’s home. All you have to do is leave a door open for us and tell us where the collection is.”

  Toby was still shaking his head.

  “So you’d prefer that I called your parents?” said Vaderian.

  “No,” said Toby. “Please.”

  “Then cooperate. The collection is in the basement, isn’t it?”

  Toby, feeling trapped, looked down and nodded once. He couldn’t believe that this was happening, that he was helping this lunatic. But he could see no way out of this. He just wanted it to be over.

  “That’s better,” said Vaderian. “And will it all fit into this car?”

  Toby glanced at the car. He was surprised it even fit the two men. He shook his head.

  “Excellent!” said Vaderian. “We’ll bring a truck. And when should we bring it?”

  Toby thought about this for a few seconds, then said, “Tomorrow night. There’s an event at school. A science fair.” He was hoping, desperately, that by the next day he’d be reinstated at school.

  “Good,” said Vaderian. “The sliding glass door at the back of your house. Leave it unlocked.”

  “You’ve been to the back of my house?”

  “Just leave it unlocked.”

  “But my parents check the doors before we go out.”

  “You’ll think of something. You’re a smart boy.”

  Toby looked at his watch and flinched at what he saw: 4:32.

  “I gotta go,” he said, turning.

  Vaderian grabbed his arm. “The door will be unlocked, right, Toby?”

  “Okay. Okay,” Toby said. He shook off Vaderian’s grip and hurried away.

  4:33.

  He turned and ran. He rounded a corner and headed toward the school. As he neared it, he looked around. Seeing nobody, he touched the magic wand on the iPhone. Invisible now, he ran toward the school. He thought he saw a shape move across the glass of the front doors.

  They were locking the doors.

  He sprinted.

  Up the sidewalk. Up the steps.

  He grabbed the door handles.

  Locked.

  He sprinted around the side of the school to the gymnasium doors.

  Locked.

  Toby took a step back, then slumped down on the concrete walkway, trying to think of what to do next. Nothing came to mind. He’d failed in his mission to get into the school. He’d failed Sternabite and his friends. He’d been a traitor to his own parents. And he had no idea, none at all, how to make any of this right.

  He leaned forward and put his invisible face into his invisible hands. He muffled a sob. A tear, then another, leaked through his hands. The tears became visible in midair, just before they splattered onto the hard concrete.

  THE PHONE RANG in the crowded room at the Shady Inn Motor Court. Vrsk stumbled toward it through a cloud of steam, banging into empty cardboard boxes.

  The steam was coming from the two cappuccino machines that Vrsk and Drmtsi had purchased from the TV shopping show. The machines had arrived by express delivery an hour earlier; Vrsk had been trying to get them to work. He still had no idea what cappuccino was, but he had produced a lot of steam. The cloud was so thick that Drmtsi had to sit right in front of the TV, his face only inches from the screen, so he could monitor the status of the item currently being sold—a set of eight deluxe tiki torches, propane-fueled, with electronic ignition. The price was currently $89.95, but Drmtsi was sure he could get them for under $70.

  The phone rang again just as Vrsk reached it.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “It is Prmkt,” said Prmkt, speaking Krpsht.

  Switching to Krpsht, Vrsk said to Drmtsi, “It is Prkmt.”

  “Not now,” said Drmtsi, his eyes glued to the screen.

  The price had just dropped to $75.99. Any minute now…“Drmtsi is very busy,” said Vrsk into the phone. Prmkt sighed. “Tell him I have arranged a meeting. You must go to Jungle Norman’s Pizza Party Place.”

  “Where?”

  Vrsk repeated the name slowly: “Jungle. Norman’s. Pizza. Party. Place. It is on Wackmore Avenue, seven blocks north of your motel. Meet me there in one hour.” “What about the men watching us?” said Vrsk, remembering Prmkt’s warning from the night before.

  Prmkt hesitated, then said, “These men are gone.”

  “Gone? But didn’t you say—?”

  “Not to worry about them,” interrupted Prmkt. “Just meet me at Jungle Norman’s in one hour. When you arrive, you will give the special signal, and I will come to you.”

  “Special signal?”

  “Yes. You will lift up the hat from the head of the gorilla.”

  “The what?”

  “The gorilla. You will lift up its hat.”

  “The gorilla wears a hat?”

  “It is not a real gorilla,” said Prmkt impatiently. “It is a robot gorilla that sings ‘Happy Birthday.’”

  “I…see,” said Vrsk, although this was not entirely true. “When you lift up the hat, I will come to you. One hour. You must be there on time. Do not fail. The mission depends on you.”

  “We will not fail,” said Vrsk, but Prmkt had already hung up. Vrsk turned and peered through the ever-denser fog of cappuccino-machine steam at Drmtsi, who suddenly leaped to his feet and shouted, “Sixty-nine ninety-five! I knew it!”

  Vrsk pointed to the phone. “Prmkt says we must meet him in one hour.”

  “Where?”

  “Jungle Norman’s Pizza Party Place,” said Vrsk, speaking the name slowly.

  “What is this place?” said Drmtsi.

  “I do not know,” said Vrsk. “But it is seven blocks from here. We are to lift the hat of the gorilla.”

  “The gorilla?” said Drmtsi.

  “It is not a real gorilla,” said Vrsk. “It is a robot gorilla, for singing ‘Happy Birthday.’”

  Drmtsi and Vrsk eyed each other through the steam, both thinking the same thing: America was a mysterious place.

  “All right,” said Drmtsi. “We will go to the meeting. But first”—he pointed at the screen, where two enthusiastic women were admiring the set of deluxe propane-fueled tiki torches with electronic ignition—“you must call and order this item.”

  Vrsk picked up the phone and dialed the number, which he now knew by heart. Drmtsi watched him, then looked back at the TV screen. Then he made a command decision. He was going out on a mission; there was no telling what might happen out there. He turned back to Vrsk.

  “Order two of this item,” he said.

  TOBY CLIMBED QUIETLY through the window and into his bedroom. His plan was to sneak down to the basement, where he was supposed to be watching TV. But as he crossed his room, he heard the beep of an instant-message box popping up on his computer. He glanced at the screen and stopped when he read the message.

  SecretAgentMan: Hello, Toby. Enjoying your suspension?

  Toby’s first thought was that it had to be Micah or Tamara messing with him. But neither of his friends bothered with the formalities of capitalization, punctuat
ion, or spelling when they IM’d. Besides, this was a new name on his Buddy List. How could someone have gotten onto his Buddy List without him putting them there? Toby frowned, then sat down at the computer and typed a response.

  toby: who r u?

  SecretAgentMan: I am the one person who can help you with your problems.

  toby: wht do u mean?

  SecretAgentMan: The plasma in your locker? The list you left on the principal’s desk? I think you know what I mean.

  toby: but y? who *r* u?

  SecretAgentMan: Go to Jungle Norman’s Pizza Party Place 30 minutes from now, at exactly 5:45. I will meet you there and give you proof of who is behind this.

  toby: y shud i trust u?

  SecretAgentMan: That is for you to decide. Stay suspended if you want. But if you want to resolve this, be at Jungle Norman’s at 5:45. Stand next to the gorilla. This is your only chance. I won’t make this offer again. Good-bye.

  Before Toby could answer, SecretAgentMan signed off. Toby’s mind raced. SecretAgentMan could be the person behind the science-fair plot; he could be setting a trap. But he’d picked a very public place to make trouble. Besides, a trap could be laid both ways. Toby had just tried, and failed, to draw out whoever was behind all this; now maybe that very person was offering to meet him. And if SecretAgentMan had a trap planned, Toby figured he had a surprise or two of his own: the invisibility device and Sternabite.

  Toby made up his mind: he’d go to Jungle Norman’s. As soon as SecretAgentMan revealed himself, Toby would press the sunglasses icon on the iPhone to summon Sternabite. If there was trouble, he’d also press the wand icon and disappear. And as a precaution, he’d let somebody know—somebody other than Sternabite—where he was going to be, so if worse came to worst they could tell his parents. Toby started to dial Micah’s cell phone but then changed his mind; Tamara was more levelheaded. She answered on the first ring.

  “Are you calling to see if I still hate you?” she said. “Okay, since you ask, yes.”

  Toby winced. “That’s not why I’m calling,” he whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “I don’t want my mom to hear. I need to tell you something.”

  “Well, whatever it is, make it quick, so I can get back to doing nothing for the rest of my entire life except be grounded.”

  Toby winced again. “Listen,” he said. “I’m going to Jungle Norman’s.”

  “Is that why you called? I’m afraid I can’t join you, because, as I believe I mentioned, I’m grounded for the rest of my entire—”

  “No,” interrupted Toby. “I just want somebody to know where I am, in case.”

  “In case what?” said Tamara, her voice suddenly serious.

  “In case…something happens,” said Toby.

  “Like what?”

  Toby briefly summarized Sternabite’s plan to draw the enemy out, Toby’s failure to get into the school, and his IM exchange with SecretAgentMan about the meeting at Jungle Norman’s.

  “You’re not actually going to meet him, are you?” said Tamara.

  “Yes, I am,” said Toby. “What if he can help us?”

  “You can’t possibly think that’s for real! He’s obviously planning to do something bad to you!”

  “Maybe,” said Toby. “But there’ll be tons of people around at Jungle Norman’s. And Sternabite’s gonna back me up.”

  “Sternabite’s insane,” noted Tamara.

  “Insane,” agreed Toby, “but smart. He gave me this device.”

  “What device?”

  “A device that makes me invisible.”

  “What?”

  “For real. It uses an iPhone.”

  There was a pause, then Tamara said, “Have you been experimenting with your parents’ vitamin supplements?”

  “Tamara, I swear, this thing is amazing! People can’t see you! Unless they’re wearing polarized sunglasses.”

  “Sunglasses?” said Tamara.

  “Really!” Toby looked at his watch. “Listen, I gotta go. If anything happens, remember I was going to Jungle Norman’s, okay?”

  “Toby—”

  “Gotta go.” Toby disconnected. The phone rang again almost immediately. Toby looked at the screen and saw it was Tamara calling back. He ignored it and went back out the window. He looked at his watch again: he had to be at Jungle Norman’s in twenty minutes. No way he’d make it on foot. He grabbed his bike, which was leaning against the side of the house, and hopped on. He was about to start pedaling when he realized that his mom might see him out the kitchen window. He decided he had no choice but to become invisible, even though this meant somebody might see the bike apparently riding by itself. He tapped the wand on the iPhone.

  Next door, the Harbingers’ neighbor, Mrs. Penin, was having a glass of wine and watching the TV news. She glanced out the window and saw a bicycle pedaling furiously out of Milkwort Court.

  She didn’t see anybody riding the bicycle.

  Mrs. Penin rose, walked to the kitchen sink, and poured her wine down the drain.

  INSIDE THE WHITE, government-issue Ford sedan parked across the street from the Shady Inn Motor Court, the mood was less than perky. The aroma wasn’t so great, either. The two FBI agents—Iles and Turow—had been living in the car for two days now, watching Room 17 and surviving mainly on Red Bull and Cheez-Its, food purchased from a nearby convenience store. They were tired, grumpy, and increasingly smelly.

  They were also bored. Almost nothing had happened since they’d begun the stakeout. The only action had been the delivery of two boxes to the suspects’ motel room. Iles and Turow had reported this to their supervisor, hoping he would tell them to arrest the suspects or question the delivery man, or something. But he had ordered them to continue the stakeout. And so they had, taking turns sleeping and watching the door to Room 17, while their white shirts and dark suits slowly turned orange from Cheez-It dust.

  Currently, Agent Turow was on duty, staring dully out the window and listening to Agent Iles snore. Turow wondered how his partner could sleep through the racket he was making; the man sounded like a defective chain saw.

  Then the door to Room 17 opened.

  “Hey,” said Turow, nudging Iles.

  Iles sputtered awake. “What?”

  Turow pointed at the door. Drmtsi and Vrsk were coming out of their room, surrounded by a billowing white cloud.

  “Is that smoke?” asked Iles.

  “Steam,” said Turow. “I hope.”

  “What are they doing in there?” said Iles.

  “No idea,” said Turow.

  The agents slouched low in their car as Drmtsi and Vrsk headed across the parking lot in their direction. At the sidewalk, they turned toward the main street. When they reached it they hesitated, then turned right and set off at a brisk pace. Iles started the Ford and eased it away from the curb. Turow flipped his cell phone open and hit the speed dial.

  “They’re moving on foot,” he said. “North on Fenster, toward downtown. Right. Okay.” He closed the phone, turned to Iles, and said, “He said to stay with them.”

  “Duh,” said Iles. He turned right on the main street, staying about twenty-five yards behind Drmtsi and Vrsk, who were still walking fast.

  “You snore, you know,” said Turow.

  “That’s what my wife says,” said Iles. “I don’t hear it.”

  “I think people in Baltimore could hear it.”

  “It’s that bad? Really?”

  Turow was about to answer when his phone chirped. He flipped it open. “Hello?”

  Turow listened for a few moments, then said, “Still northbound on Fenster Avenue. Uh-huh.” He said “Uhhuh” a few more times, then “Okay,” and he flipped the phone closed.

  “Whoa,” he said.

  “What?” said Iles.

  “The bureau got a call,” said Turow. “Anonymous, from a pay phone around here. The caller says these two”—he pointed at Drmtsi and Vrsk—“are trafficking in classified t
echnology. Highly classified. Caller says they’re on their way to an exchange right now.”

  Iles snorted. “Classified technology? These clowns? It has to be a hoax.”

  “That’s what they thought at the Bureau,” said Turow. “Except the caller gave them the name and serial number of some kind of highly specialized computer chip. So the Bureau checked it out with the Defense Department. And guess what.”

  “It’s real?”

  “It’s not only real, but it’s supposed to be top secret. And guess what else?”

  Iles opened his mouth to speak, but Turow answered his own question. “The chip with that particular serial number is missing. Nobody is supposed to know that. So Defense is very interested in this. Very.”

  “Whoa,” said Iles. “So what do we do now?”

  “First,” said Turow, “we do not lose these guys.”

  Iles drove the Ford a little faster.

  “Easy,” said Turow. “We also don’t want to spook them. If there’s gonna be an exchange, we let it happen.”

  “Then we take them down?” said Iles hopefully. A high-profile espionage arrest could do a lot of good for an FBI agent’s career.

  “Dream on,” said Turow. “Everyone wants a piece of this. Half the Bureau’s gonna be here in five minutes, not to mention about nineteen other agencies.”

  “Oh, man,” said Iles, looking down at his Cheez-It-colored suit. “All that brass coming, and we look like traffic cones.”

  “We don’t smell so great either,” said Turow.

  “Look,” said Iles. “They’re stopping.”

  Drmtsi and Vrsk had stopped in front of a strip shopping center in the middle of which was a large building whose walls were covered with mucus-colored fiberglass panels. Apparently, the panels were supposed to look like grass, so that the building resembled a giant mutant grass hut. A fiberglass giraffe poked its long neck through the roof, its grinning giraffe head hovering over a huge neon sign that read, JUNGLE NORMAN’S PIZZA PARTY PLACE.