by Stuart Gibbs
“Watch where you’re going!” Marge yelled, even though it had been her fault. She then completely forgot to watch where she was going herself. She was too busy giving Larry the stink-eye to realize she was bearing right down on us.
We all scattered like a herd of wildebeest facing a lion. Marge wove through us and plowed right into a large shrub outside the hospital.
Doc staggered out of the back of the golf cart, looking shaken. “I think I’d have been better off if I’d stayed with the kidnappers,” he announced.
“It was my understanding that it was imperative to get you here as fast as possible,” Marge said defensively.
Molly stepped forward. “Dr. Deakin, my name is Molly O’Malley. I’m the FBI agent in charge of this investigation . . .”
“O’Malley?” Doc repeated, then looked from Molly to Marge, scrutinizing them carefully. “You’re related?”
“Marjorie is my younger sister,” Molly said quickly, as if embarrassed by it. Doc’s jaw dropped in surprise, but before he could say anything else, Molly told him, “I need to ask you some questions about your experiences with the kidnappers. If you’ll accompany me, I have a room set up in the administration building.”
“Sorry, but I have a kinkajou in dire need of bowel surgery at the moment.” Doc sideslipped Molly and headed for the hospital doors. “And after that, I have a full day of other operations. Those kidnappers really mucked up my schedule.”
Molly spun and followed him. “Dr. Deakin, I’m not asking you to come with me. I’m telling you.”
“And I’m telling you I can’t do it right now. There are animals in serious need of my help.”
“This is a federal investigation,” Molly said. “You are required to assist in it. If you disobey me, I can force you to comply.”
Doc stopped and turned back to face her. “I already told your sister everything I know. Ask her.”
“I’d prefer to hear it from you,” Molly said.
“There’s not much. I didn’t hear or see anything.”
“Nothing at all?” Molly asked, incredulous. “Come now, Doctor. They held you for at least twelve hours.”
“I was asleep for all of it,” Doc said. “First, they chloroformed me. Eventually, I woke up lying on a floor, with my arms tied and a burlap sack over my head. I yelled for someone, but no one came, so I went back to sleep.”
“Why?” Molly demanded.
“Because I was tired, I was lying down, and frankly, there wasn’t much else I could do. At some point, someone put me in a car, and the next thing I knew, I was lying in the parking lot here. No one ever spoke to me—or even spoke near me. My head was in the sack the whole time, so I didn’t see a thing. They did pin a note to my clothes, but Hoenekker has it. That’s everything I can tell you.”
I looked at Hoenekker, as did Molly and everyone else. He held up a clear plastic evidence bag with a standard letter envelope in it. It was still sealed, and on the outside was typed: “For J.J. McCracken.”
“This was on Doc when we found him,” Hoenekker stated. “I haven’t opened it yet.”
Molly said, “Dr. Deakin, it would be in Li Ping’s interests if you gave me a more formal interview.”
“You mean, sit in a room for an hour telling you that I don’t know anything else?” Doc asked. “Whoever these guys were, they were extremely careful. If you’re looking for clues, I can’t give you anything more than the one Hoenekker’s holding.” He started for the hospital again, but Molly stepped into his path.
“We’re not finished here yet,” she informed him.
Doc’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Agent O’Malley, do you have the authorization to prevent a doctor from performing emergency surgery on a human being?”
“No, but . . .”
“Well, I’m about to perform emergency surgery myself. If you really think it’s that urgent to talk to me at this very moment, feel free to sterilize yourself and come watch me resect this bowel. If not, then get out of my way. An animal’s life is at stake.”
Molly stepped aside, stunned. It appeared she wasn’t used to people saying no to her. She helplessly watched Doc enter the hospital, then returned her attention to Hoenekker. “Do you have any information on the car that dumped Doc here?”
“No,” Hoenekker replied. “As far as we know, no one saw it. Doc says he was lying there for a good five minutes before anyone noticed him. By that point, the car was long gone.”
“Do you have security cameras in the parking lot?” Molly asked.
“Lots of them. I have my people combing through footage as we speak. Though this was out on the periphery, so I can’t guarantee much.”
Molly said, “If you find anything, I want to see it.”
“Of course,” Hoenekker agreed.
“How’d the guests handle finding a kidnapping victim in our parking lot?” J.J. asked. “Were they upset? Do I need to get Pete Thwacker on this?”
“The guests were quite calm and helpful,” Hoenekker replied. “I don’t know that they’ve connected this to FunJungle at all, since it was on the outskirts of the lot. But bringing Pete on board to finesse the situation is probably still a good idea. I have their names and numbers.”
“I’d like to talk to them myself,” Molly said. Then she plucked the evidence bag with the letter out of Hoenekker’s hand. “I assume you handled this carefully?”
“No,” Hoenekker replied sarcastically. “I made sure I got my fingerprints all over it. Then I spit on it for good measure.”
“There’s no need for that tone,” Molly told him.
“We’re not amateurs here,” Hoenekker shot back. “I could have opened that myself, but I chose to extend you professional courtesy. I’d appreciate it if you would do the same.”
Molly backed down. “Point taken. I apologize.”
“What do you think that is?” J.J. asked. “Another ransom note?”
“I assume so,” Molly said. “But I want to make sure it’s properly analyzed for evidence first. Once that’s done, I’ll contact you with my findings. Don’t go too far in the meantime.” She headed toward where the FBI’s mobile crime unit was parked.
J.J. looked peeved at the way she’d spoken to him. He turned to Marge and snapped, “Get that golf cart out of my shrubberies.”
“Yes sir, Mr. McCracken.” Marge saluted respectfully.
J.J.’s phone rang. I caught a glimpse of the caller ID: Lynda from his office. J.J. answered, saying, “Tell me this is good news.”
From his reaction, it obviously wasn’t. The color drained from his tanned face so quickly, it looked as though he’d been bleached. Then he said a few words that would have gotten me detention at school.
“What is it?” Summer asked.
“The premier of China wants to talk,” J.J. replied sourly. “And he’s mad as a stirred-up hornet’s nest.” He returned his attention to his phone and hurried back into the administration building. “I’m coming back to the office right now,” he told Lynda.
Hoenekker dropped in behind J.J., following him toward Administration. Summer and I did the same thing.
Only, before I could go two steps, Marge caught my arm. “Not so fast,” she told me. “You and I have work to do.”
THE SNEAK ATTACK
Marge’s plan was simple. “I want to know what my sister’s found out so far,” she told me. “So while I distract her, you sneak into that mobile unit and get her evidence.”
I looked to Summer, who was still hanging around. She stifled a giggle.
“Isn’t sneaking into the FBI’s truck and stealing their evidence against the law?” I asked.
“I didn’t say steal it,” Marge qualified. “I said ‘get it.’ Like take pictures of what they have or something like that.”
“It’s still illegal to enter their truck,” I told her.
Marge frowned at me. “You know what else is illegal? Shoplifting.” She tilted her head toward Summer, in case I didn’t understand what she
meant.
I got it, but Summer didn’t. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Marge said quickly. “Just a little code Teddy and I worked out. So, Teddy, are you going to help me or not?”
I looked to Summer again, hoping she would explain to Marge that this was a terrible idea. Instead, she grinned excitedly and said, “I’ll help too!”
After that, I didn’t really have much choice in the matter. Marge would use evidence against Summer to blackmail me if I didn’t participate in her scheme—and Summer wanted to participate in it anyhow. Marge blackmailing Summer would be awful—but getting Summer annoyed at me wouldn’t be great either. The best I could do was try to explain what was wrong with the plan in the first place. “I’m willing to help, but there’s a big problem with breaking into the mobile unit, Marge: Your sister is inside it right now.”
“So we’ll get her out of there,” Marge said confidently.
“What about all the other FBI guys?” I pointed out. “And even if you can lure them all out, don’t you think they’ll lock the unit?”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Marge taunted. “I’ve got this all figured out.” She started to slink down the alley toward the mobile unit, completely forgetting that J.J. had ordered her to get her golf cart out of the shrubs.
Marge’s attempt to be stealthy was ridiculous. She wasn’t exactly light on her feet. It was kind of like watching an elephant try to tiptoe. At one point, she actually flattened herself up against the wall behind a drainpipe, as if she could possibly hide herself behind something two inches wide.
Summer and I gamely slunk along behind her, doing our best not to laugh.
Eventually, we made it to the corner of the administration building and peeked around it.
I had a much better look at the mobile unit now than I’d had from seven stories above. The words “FBI Mobile Crime Unit” were painted on each side, along with several images of the FBI seal, some American flags, and one bald eagle. A set of doors was built into the rear with steps coming down.
Marge pointed to us, then to the truck, then made a series of complicated hand gestures I didn’t understand. It looked like she was having an epileptic fit.
“What are you doing?” Summer asked.
“Don’t you two know your commando hand signals?” Marge whispered.
“I don’t think most people know those,” I said, wondering if Marge even knew them herself.
Marge sighed, apparently annoyed by our lack of military training. “I want you to go over to the mobile unit and wait underneath it,” she explained. “Then, when I lure my sister and the others out, you sneak inside and see what they’ve found so far.”
I scrutinized the mobile unit warily. The body of it was a foot and a half off the ground, which would give Summer and me a decent amount of room beneath it, but that still didn’t mean I wanted to go there. “What if they drive away? We could get flattened under there.”
“Oh, relax,” Marge chided, as though my concern for my own safety was somehow unreasonable. “You won’t be there long. I’m gonna lure them out fast.”
“What if you can’t?” I pressed.
“Oh, I’ll get them out,” Marge said confidently. “I know my sister. She’ll never pass up the chance to be a hero.”
I started to ask her what this meant, but Summer grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the mobile unit. “C’mon,” she whispered. “Let’s do this.” Either she wasn’t as concerned for her safety as I was, or she actually trusted Marge on this.
We reached the mobile unit but paused before going underneath it, having the same idea at once. We pressed our ears against the rear doors to see if we could hear anything important happening inside.
We couldn’t. Their voices were muffled through the thick walls.
Back by the administration building, Marge made some more hand signals for us. I was pretty sure she wanted us to stop screwing around and get under the mobile unit, although it looked like she was doing some very bad disco dancing.
Summer and I slid under the mobile unit. It was awful. Heat radiated off the engine, and it reeked of gasoline. I gave Marge the thumbs-up to get going with her diversion quickly.
Marge pulled a gun out of her holster.
“Oh no,” I gasped. “What’s she doing?”
“Making sure her sister hears her.” Summer clapped her hands over her ears. I did the same.
Thankfully, Marge thought to aim away from any buildings or people before firing her gun. Unfortunately, she was a terrible shot. Her first bullet blew the rearview mirror off the mobile unit. The second ricocheted off the panda truck. The third annihilated a streetlamp.
Each bang echoed loudly in the space between the buildings. In her haste to distract her sister, Marge hadn’t considered what anyone else’s reaction to hearing a gun discharge near a theme park might be. Or what the animals’ reactions would be either. In the distance, I heard the startled trumpet of elephants and roar of big cats, along with many startled human screams.
But it certainly got the attention of the FBI as well. The agents all burst out of the truck above us with Molly in the lead. There were five of them now: three who had arrived on the helicopter, and two who must have come in the mobile unit. I could only see their feet from my position, but from their stances, I could tell they all had their guns out as well.
“What’s the situation?” Molly yelled to her sister.
“Someone suspicious was poking around the panda truck!” Marge informed her.
“And you shot at them?” Molly snapped.
“They pulled a gun on me first!” Marge exclaimed. “They went that way!” She pointed along the side of the administration building.
“Fan out!” Molly ordered her agents. “Avila, follow me. Johnson, Ross, and McDonough, circle the admin building and try to head the perp off.”
The agents sprang into action, racing off after the imaginary criminal.
Marge flashed a satisfied smirk at Summer and me.
“Marge!” Molly yelled. “Get your rear in gear! I need you to identify the suspect!”
Marge raced off after her sister.
Summer and I scrambled out from under the mobile unit. The rear doors were swinging shut, but Summer quickly lunged up the steps and caught them before they locked.
I heard more voices now. It sounded like people were coming our way, concerned about the gunshots.
Summer and I slipped inside the mobile unit and shut the doors behind us.
Thankfully, it was air-conditioned. The interior was spotless and sterile. There were several workstations with portable computers, microscopes, and plenty of technical equipment I didn’t recognize.
“Don’t touch anything,” Summer warned me.
“No duh,” I replied.
One computer was live-streaming a local newscast. The sound had been turned off, but it was obviously about Li Ping. A local TV reporter was positioned outside the front gates of FunJungle. The news crawl at the bottom of the screen declared: LI PING STILL MISSING. NO LEADS IN CASE YET. PREMIER OF CHINA REPORTED TO BE FURIOUS.
“How do you think the news even learned that Li Ping was missing?” I wondered. “Not that many people at FunJungle knew, and all of us were supposed to keep it a secret.”
“It wouldn’t have been that hard for someone here to figure it out,” Summer replied. “The FBI wasn’t exactly subtle when they showed up. One of those people poking around the crime scene this morning probably put two and two together.”
“And you think they went right to the news?”
“Definitely. News companies pay big money for tips like that.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Probably, but it happens all the time. People are always trying to sell video of me to news services.”
I sighed, well aware this was true. A few weeks before, Summer had accidentally dropped an ice-cream cone at FunJungle and a day later, video of it was on a
celebrity news site with the headline: BUMMER MCCRACKEN! SUMMER’S MASSIVE ICE CREAM FAIL. Even though it was the least interesting video ever, it still got several million hits.
We turned our attention to the rest of the mobile unit.
The envelope that had been pinned to Doc’s chest was sitting on the desktop at the workstation farthest from the door. It had been removed from the plastic evidence bag. The envelope had been slit open, and the letter that had been inside was now unfolded next to it. It was a single sheet of white paper and had been printed off a computer:
Dear J.J. McCracken—
Deliver the ten million dollars to White Horse Road, exactly 1.3 miles west of Highway 281. There is a large oak tree on the south side of the road with a hollow in the back.
Place the money in a burlap sack. Unmarked twenty-dollar bills.
Bring the money at exactly twelve noon on Tuesday. We know you have it, so that should give you plenty of time to get it together.
Come alone. If you fail to deliver the money—or if you bring any law enforcement with you—bad things will happen to your panda.
There was a small brown object lying on the table with the letter. It was conically shaped, with a curve to it. Summer leaned in close. “What is that?”
“It’s a claw,” I told her. “Must be one of Li Ping’s.” I pointed to the smooth cut at the end of it. “Looks like they clipped it off her.”
Summer’s eyes lit up with understanding. “So we know they really have her. Of course! It’s like when kidnappers send a lock of hair from their victims.”
The letter sat next to a computer. The image on the screen was split in half. The left side displayed a fingerprint, enlarged to a hundred times its actual size, so big every ridge and whorl was evident. On the right side of the screen, hundreds of other enlarged fingerprints were quickly scrolling through, a dozen each second. At the bottom of the right side was the label “FBIFD.”
“What do you think that means?” I asked.
“FBI Fingerprint Database?” Summer suggested. “I’ll bet the one on the left came off the letter or the envelope, and on the right side, they’re searching for a match!”
