by Stuart Gibbs
“It’s true,” Mom said.
Molly tapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully, then told Agent Chen, “Text Hoenekker. See if all the Li Ping costumes are accounted for.”
Agent Chen nodded and dutifully sent the text.
“By the way,” I said, “when I was at Panda Palace, Chloé Dolkart said no one from the FBI had come to talk to her yet.”
“Why would we talk to a panda keeper?” Molly asked.
“Because she knows a whole lot about pandas. Maybe she knows something that might be helpful to the case.”
Molly thought so little of this suggestion, she didn’t even bother to respond to it. Instead, she opened her laptop computer and brought up a video file. “Teddy, I want you to listen to this and then tell me if it’s the voice you heard.”
“Agent O’Malley,” Mom said, “I apologize for interrupting, but Teddy has a point. Chloé might know some information that could be important to recovering Li Ping.”
Molly made no attempt to hide her annoyance. “I will decide what is important in this case, not you. And what is important right now is identifying Teddy’s attacker. If we can do that, it might give us a lead to who is behind Li Ping’s kidnapping. So Teddy, listen.”
She played the file. A deep voice spoke. It sounded like someone making a speech to a group of people. “The Nature Freedom Force is committed to the abolition of all zoos, everywhere, no exceptions.”
“That’s not the voice I heard,” I said.
“You’re sure?” Molly asked. “Listen to some more.”
She played another clip: “We must be willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish this goal!”
The cheers of the people listening followed.
I shook my head. “That definitely wasn’t the same person. Was that Carlos Gomez?”
Molly looked up at me in surprise. Then her gaze hardened. “You saw that in the mobile unit, didn’t you?”
I shrank under her glare, which gave me away.
Molly grew even more annoyed.
“Wait,” Dad said. “Was the NFF behind Li Ping’s kidnapping?”
“That’s classified,” Molly replied sharply.
“I don’t think they did it,” I said.
Molly’s gaze grew even harder. “I’m not asking for your opinion.”
“It just doesn’t make sense,” I continued. I knew she didn’t want me to say it, but I needed to. I’d had the idea all day, and I probably wouldn’t get another chance to share it. “The whole reason the NFF wants to shut down zoos is to keep animals from being in captivity. So why would they steal one and hold it hostage?”
“For money,” Molly said, like it was obvious.
“And then they’ll give the panda right back to the zoo?” I asked. “Gomez just said they wanted zoos abolished.”
“I can’t explain what they’re thinking,” Molly told me. “But I do know all my evidence points to the NFF.”
“All you have is a fingerprint from the ransom note,” I pointed out.
“We have two dozen fingerprints from the ransom note,” Molly said, and then seemed annoyed that I’d gotten her to even admit that much. “And as I said, this isn’t open for discussion.”
“You have two dozen fingerprints on one piece of paper?” I asked. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”
Molly ignored me and returned her attention to her laptop. “I want to play another sound file for you . . .”
I didn’t back down, though. “Gomez didn’t leave one fingerprint in the entire panda truck, and then he leaves two dozen on the ransom note? That seems idiotic.”
“Just because someone is a terrorist doesn’t mean they’re a genius,” Molly snapped. “And even geniuses make mistakes.”
“It just sounds like someone’s trying to frame the NFF,” I told her. “Like maybe they stole a piece of paper from Carlos Gomez and used it for the ransom note to throw you off.”
“Teddy has a point,” Mom piped up, unable to hold her tongue anymore. “It wouldn’t be the first time a criminal has tried to frame an animal rights group for something here.”
Molly didn’t bring up the next sound file. Instead, she stared at all of us. Her finger slowly tapped on the conference table like a metronome, filling the uncomfortable silence in the room. It seemed as though Molly had realized I might be right, but didn’t want to admit it.
Eventually she asked me, “And who, pray tell, do you think concocted this elaborate setup?” There was a mocking tone to her voice, like she was toying with me.
“Well,” I said carefully, “you suggested some other of possibilities yourself. Animal traffickers. Or someone with a grudge against the Chinese—”
“I know what I said,” Molly interrupted. “I’m asking you who you think did it, smart guy.”
I swallowed hard, unsettled under Molly’s harsh gaze. But then both my parents looked at me supportively, bolstering my confidence. “Walter Ogilvy,” I said.
“The billionaire?” Molly laughed derisively. “Why would he steal a panda?”
“To hurt J.J. McCracken,” I told her. “They hate each other. Ogilvy claims J.J. stole the idea for FunJungle from him, even though J.J. didn’t. Ogilvy even tried to sabotage FunJungle once already.”
“That still hasn’t been proven,” Molly countered.
“Only because Ogilvy has the clout to slow down the justice system,” Dad said, no longer able to hold his tongue either. “A man who worked for one of his shell corporations tried to destroy Shark Encounter—and Teddy almost died as a result!”
“Stealing Li Ping is even worse for FunJungle than sabotaging the shark tank,” I explained. “First, it makes the park look terrible. Then millions of dollars that J.J. spent to bring Li Ping here and build a panda exhibit and advertise it go to waste. And it’ll cost FunJungle millions more when everyone who was coming to see the panda here cancels their trips. Plus, J.J. has a ton of business interests in China that could all be jeopardized because of this.”
Mom reacted to this last one in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“Some woman from the Chinese Consulate was here earlier today,” I said. “She told J.J. he’d be in a lot of trouble if he didn’t get Li Ping back.”
“That’s exactly where your argument falls apart,” Molly told me. “The panda is being held for ransom. Which means whoever took it expects to give it back. Which won’t damage J.J.’s business dealings at all.”
“Unless they don’t really intend to give it back,” I argued. “If the whole ransom thing is just a scam to make it look like the NFF is responsible, then Ogilvy wouldn’t really care about returning Li Ping to us.”
“Which would be even worse for J.J. McCracken and FunJungle,” Dad concluded.
Molly stared at us all once more, her finger tapping on the conference table. “It would,” she said finally. “Although there’s one more flaw in your accusation. So far, there hasn’t been one shred of evidence against Walter Ogilvy—while there is plenty against Carlos Edward Gomez and the NFF.”
“You mean the fingerprints?” I asked.
“Those—and the car that dumped Doc in the parking lot,” Molly replied. “We found footage of it and got the license plate. It was registered to Gomez as well.”
This was news to me, but I rallied on. “You really think Gomez would use his own car to do something like that? Maybe someone stole it. . . .”
“Or maybe all the evidence is correct, and there’s not some crazy conspiracy,” Molly said dismissively. “Your standard criminal isn’t that smart. They make dumb mistakes all the time. And it appears Gomez has made plenty.”
I noticed that even my parents seemed daunted by this last piece of evidence. Or at least, they weren’t arguing my side anymore. I made one last attempt to protest, but Molly cut me off. “You’ve had your say, Teddy. Now it’s time to get back to business. Listen to this clip.”
She played it. It, too, sounded like someone was making a speech at a rally: “So what if the gov
ernment has a problem with our methods? We need to fight for the animals!”
It was a deep and gravelly voice. The exact same as the man dressed as the panda.
Molly could tell I recognized it just by watching my face. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
“I’m pretty sure,” I admitted. “Who is it?”
“His name is James Van Amburg. And he’s also one of the founders of the NFF.”
Molly turned her computer around so I could see the screen. The clip she’d played was a video. It was now paused on the face of James Van Amburg. He was a tall, muscular guy with a bald head and shoulders as wide as a Cape buffalo’s horns. He didn’t look that mean in the picture, but knowing that he’d threatened my life earlier that day made him seem very scary.
“Yet another piece of concrete evidence against the NFF,” Molly said proudly. “And not a piece of paper or a car that could have been stolen, but an actual human being from that organization.”
There was a knock at the conference room door.
“We’re in the middle of something important,” Molly said.
“It’s Chief Hoenekker,” came the reply. “I have some information about that panda costume.”
“Come in,” Molly said, and Hoenekker did. He nodded brusquely to my parents and me. It seemed like he was embarrassed to be seen reporting to Molly in front of us.
“That was fast,” Molly told him.
“I was already looking into it when I got your text,” Hoenekker explained. “I figured it might be a lead. According to Pete Thwacker, no one has been authorized to pose as Li Ping in the park yet. J.J. felt it would be in poor taste to have anyone acting like Li Ping before Li Ping was actually here. So the Li Ping costumes are supposed to still be in storage. Five were ordered. We like to have multiples in case any of them are compromised.”
“Compromised?” Molly repeated.
“They get damaged a lot,” Hoenekker explained. “The actors fall down and dent the heads. Or a guest spills food on one and stains it. And, apparently, the actors have been known to vomit inside them.”
Molly and Agent Chen both made faces of disgust.
“It gets very hot inside them,” Mom said. “The heat can make the actors sick.”
Molly returned her attention to Hoenekker. “Let me guess: All five suits are no longer accounted for.”
Hoenekker turned pink around the ears in embarrassment. “That’s correct. At some point after the costumes were delivered, an employee at the storeroom discovered one was missing.”
“And you didn’t know about this?” Molly asked accusingly.
“This is a very big park, and incidents occur here every day,” Hoenekker said defensively. “I can’t be informed of every single thing that goes wrong. There wasn’t even any proof that the costume was stolen; merely that it was missing. It might have been misplaced. So, it was reported to security, and an officer was dispatched to deal with it . . . but the investigation failed to turn up anything.”
“Who was the officer?” Molly asked.
Hoenekker frowned, as though he knew the answer wasn’t going to be appreciated by anyone. “Marjorie O’Malley,” he said.
SABOTAGE
“What is monkey-wrenching?” I asked.
My parents both looked at me, intrigued.
“Where’d you hear about that?” Dad asked.
“Carlos Gomez went to jail for it,” I explained.
We were walking back home through FunJungle. Since the days were getting longer, the park was staying open much later than in the winter. It was five o’clock and the park was still packed with tourists; in fact, more were showing up, mostly locals coming by for the evening. For me, though, it had been a very long day, and my parents and I were all beat.
Two FunJungle security guards followed us. Their names were Marcus and Jethro. They were big, imposing guys, and J.J. had ordered them to keep an eye on me. “Someone’s got it in for you,” he’d told me. “Maybe they were just trying to scare you off, but I’d rather not take any chances.” He had ordered the guards to stay posted around our house all night, on the alert for any sign of trouble.
Normally, I would have expected Mom to protest something like this; she didn’t like accepting favors from J.J. But today she hadn’t. That meant she thought the extra protection was a good idea, which made me nervous.
“Monkey-wrenching is sabotage for environmental reasons,” Mom told me. “Sometimes, when groups have seen no other option to protect wildlife or endangered habitats, they have resorted to it.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“It could be anything,” Mom said. “Like putting iron spikes in trees so that lumberjacks can’t saw them down. Or pouring sugar in the gas tanks of bulldozers. But it got its name from the act of throwing monkey wrenches into heavy machinery. If you destroy someone’s construction equipment, then they can’t tear down a forest.”
“Or you at least delay them from tearing down the forest for a while,” Dad put in.
“Do you know what Carlos Gomez got busted for?” I asked.
“He attacked a zoo in Wyoming,” Dad answered. “They were holding some wolves there and he set them free. In his defense, it was a small, poorly run zoo and they apparently weren’t taking very good care of the animals.”
“There is never any defense for sabotage,” Mom said coolly, then turned to me. “It’s against the law.”
“Those wolves would have died if it wasn’t for Carlos,” Dad told her.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Mom argued. “And what Carlos did was still a crime. Such behavior might have short-term gains, but it ultimately makes the whole animal rights movement look like a bunch of radicals and troublemakers. Which doesn’t do any of us any good.”
“It does the animals some good, though,” Dad said pointedly.
There was something in their conversation that struck me as odd. “Dad, have you ever done any monkey-wrenching?”
“Of course not,” he said, but he had a guilty smile. “Like your mother said, it’s against the law.”
“Looks like the rally’s over,” Mom said, obviously trying to change the subject.
We were passing Panda Palace. It was much quieter than it had been earlier in the day. The crowds had dispersed. The PandaManiacs had either gone home, or grown tired of moping around the empty exhibit and left to do something more interesting.
“Hoenekker sent some of his guys over here to break the rally up,” Dad explained. “Said they were disturbing the peace.” He looked to me. “Is this where you saw James Van Amburg?”
“Yes.” I pointed to the entrance of Panda Palace. “The rally was over there, and James was by those trees with some other mascots.”
“Boy,” Mom said, “Marge is really in hot water for not finding that costume.”
“Good,” I said, a little more harshly than I intended. “She deserves it.”
“Hold on now,” Mom cautioned. “I know we’ve all had our issues with Marge before, but locating that costume wouldn’t have been easy.”
“Although . . . ,” Dad began, but then seemed to reconsider and stopped.
“Although what?” Mom asked.
Dad glanced back toward Marcus and Jethro to see if they were close enough to overhear us. They were giving us our space, though, so he said, “There’s always the possibility that Marge didn’t even try to find the costume.”
“You mean, she just didn’t bother?” I asked.
“Er . . . no,” Dad said. “I mean, maybe she was involved with its disappearance in the first place.”
Mom gaped at him. “Jack! You’re actually suggesting Marge was connected to the panda-napping?”
“I am.”
“There’s no way,” Mom said. “Marge is way too committed to her job to break the law.”
“That’s right,” I agreed. After all, why would Marge ask me to help her find the panda thief if she was the thief herself?
“Think about it,” D
ad said. “Marge holds a grudge longer than anyone I’ve ever met—and I’ll bet she has a big one against J.J. And maybe Hoenekker, too. After all, J.J. demoted her from her job running security—and then gave it to Hoenekker.”
“So you think she decided to help steal the panda to make them all look bad?” Mom asked doubtfully.
“Or maybe she did it for a cut of the ransom money,” Dad suggested. “She was supposed to find the panda costume, but she never did. And she was supposed to guard the actual panda, but somehow, it was stolen on her watch. That’s awfully suspicious.”
“Yes,” Mom owned, “but you’re forgetting something important: Marge is completely incompetent. If she was really going to be involved with stealing Li Ping, it never would have worked out this well.”
“I’m not saying she was the brains of the operation,” Dad insisted. “Only that she might have been involved. Suppose someone from the NFF asked her to help kidnap the panda. Her part isn’t very difficult: Don’t find whoever stole the panda costume. And pretend not to notice when the kidnappers attack the truck during the drive. Basically, all she had to do was perform poorly at her job, which is what she does here on a regular basis.”
I considered arguing that my father was wrong, but I didn’t. For starters, I couldn’t reveal that Marge was blackmailing me into investigating; my parents would immediately tell J.J., and Marge would release the footage of Summer. But something else held me back: My father had a good point. The whole time I’d known Marge, she’d been awfully vindictive toward me, and all I’d done to deserve it was play a few pranks on her. Meanwhile, J.J. and Hoenekker had cost her a job and greatly embarrassed her. It now occurred to me that there was another reason Marge might have wanted me to snoop around the case: to find out if her sister was onto her. After all, her only plan so far had been for me to infiltrate the FBI mobile unit and see what information they’d learned.
Marge hadn’t come to me until after her sister had arrived at FunJungle. Perhaps she had thought she was going to get away with the panda-napping, then freaked out when Molly showed up, knowing Molly would do anything to track down the criminal—even if it was her own sister.
