“You think we’re going to find a little handbook?” Danny said. “‘Saving Redwoods 101’? In case you weren’t listening, I’m supposed to be looking up press releases.” Danny shook his head. “Earth to Julian! I have to find three examples. And then write my own.”
“OK. ‘Saving redwoods’ and ‘press release.’ Search on that. Just to see.”
They got 242,000 results.
“Try that.” Julian pointed to a link at the bottom of the page, but Danny had already clicked on another link, and then another. Every time Julian saw something interesting, the screen vanished and a new page appeared in its place.
“Danny, stop that!” Julian said. “You’re going too fast.”
“No ho–ho!” Danny said, clicking away. “I’m in hot pursuit. I’m on the trail. I can smell it.” He clicked another link. “How about this baby?”
A photograph of giant redwoods filled the screen. Below it was a press release from the Sierra Club about an old–growth redwood grove in Santa Cruz. The timber company had agreed to protect the trees from logging, permanently, by donating them to the state park system.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” Danny said. “What’s going on in that tiny little brain of yours?”
“I don’t know,” Julian said, studying the text. “I mean, it’s not like Sibley’s going to just give the trees away.”
“Let me just print it out. I need it for camp anyway. Then I’m going to try ‘press release’ and ‘San Francisco Giants’—that’ll be a little more entertaining.”
Julian took the sheet out of the printer and looked at it again. Something about it intrigued him, something to do with his visit to his uncle’s office. It was like a little echo in the back of his mind and he was hoping if he just ignored it for a while, it would sound a little clearer and help him figure out what to do.
he following Friday, at six o’clock in the evening, Julian and Danny stood on a corner in downtown San Francisco, trying to make themselves look as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn’t difficult. They weren’t so old that they looked threatening or so young that they looked lost. The rush–hour commuters streamed past them indifferently, hurrying home for the weekend.
“Have you got the press release?” Julian asked.
Danny pulled a piece of white paper from his back pocket, unfolded it, and held it up in front of Julian’s nose. “Yes, for the fourteenth time! Are you satisfied?”
“OK, OK.” Julian checked his watch. They were supposed to be at the Metreon, watching a movie.
“We look ridiculous in these clothes. We look like twins. Or like girls—‘Jules,’” Danny said in a girlish voice, “‘let’s wear the blue pants and the white shirt tomorrow. OK?’”
“No. We look perfect. Like private–school kids. Trust me,” Julian said, staring at the gold door of the skyscraper in the middle of the block.
Danny leaned against the building and started beating a rhythm against his legs. “We’re going to go to jail for sure. Operation Break–In is the worst plan we ever thought up, or you ever thought up, I should say.”
“Stop calling it that!” Julian frowned and turned his attention momentarily away from the door. Their fake press release was ready. The only tricky part was getting into Sibley’s office without anybody seeing them. “You got a better idea?”
“Um, minding our own business? Trying not to get a criminal record?”
Julian suddenly shrank back against the wall. “Look! The guy in the suit! That’s Sibley!”
“They’re all in suits!” Danny said, craning his neck.
“No, look. The tall one. See—he’s hailing a cab.”
“Yeah, that’s him,” Danny said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. They slunk back against the side of the building. Sibley ducked inside the taxi, and they watched until it pulled into the stream of traffic. “OK, so he’s gone. What’s next?”
The exodus into the subway stop was slackening. Julian took a deep breath and looked at his watch. “OK. We better go in now. If we wait, it’ll be too late. We’ll look suspicious. Oh, and take off your sunglasses. We don’t want to look like gangsters.” He started walking toward the door.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Just look like you know where you’re going. The elevators are straight through the door. We’re going to the fiftieth floor. Don’t look at security. If they stop us, we’ll say we’re meeting my uncle.”
Julian slowed as a middle–aged woman in a gray suit approached the entrance from the opposite direction. She pulled open the heavy, gold door and walked briskly past the security guard. Julian and Danny fell in behind her. Once inside the elevator, Julian waited until the woman pushed button number 37, then pushed 50.
“Back to work?” the woman said with a motherly smile.
“Just meeting my uncle,” Julian said.
The elevator whizzed up to the twenty–fifth floor. Then, they all stared mindlessly as the number for each floor lit up, one by one: 34, 35, 36. “Boy!” Danny said, when the woman finally stepped off at the thirty–seventh floor, “I was about to pee in my pants.”
“No. It was perfect. The guard probably thought she was our mother.”
The elevator started up again. “I’m having a panic attack,” Danny said. “When the door opens, what are we going to do? There might still be people around.”
“Even my uncle leaves early on Fridays. The bathroom’s right by the elevator. Pretend you know where you’re going. That’s the key.”
When the doors opened, Julian saw with relief that the sumptuous reception area was deserted. They walked immediately to the bathroom without seeing a soul and locked themselves in the handicapped stall. A few minutes later, a man came in, used the urinal and stood at the sink for a long time. Through the crack in the bathroom stall, Julian could see him combing his hair, practicing his smile and spraying something in his mouth. After he’d gone, Julian cautiously poked his head out the door of the bathroom.
“There’s only a few lights on, but I don’t see the cleaning crew yet. I guess we just have to wait.”
Danny grabbed his head in despair. “Julian! I can’t wait in this bathroom for another hour. I feel like I’m in San Quentin already.”
“We’ve got no choice. You’re the one who told me about the motion detectors at your mom’s work. We’ve got to wait for the janitors. With you here, we can actually talk to them.”
“We don’t want to talk to them! What are we going to say? ‘Don’t mind us. We’re just trying to break into the computer system!’”
Julian frowned. “Relax. Repeat after me: ‘My friend left his homework assignment on his uncle’s computer. We just need to copy it.’”
Danny mumbled something in Spanish, but since the only word Julian recognized was “estúpido,” he didn’t think it was a translation.
“We’ll give it five more minutes,” Julian said.
But five minutes passed, and passed again, and he was beginning to wonder if they should forget the whole plan when he heard a low hum. He cracked open the bathroom door. There they were: Victor and Irene, vacuuming the office just up the hall.
“It’s them!” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
As the two boys walked by, Victor and Irene looked up from their work.
“Hola!” Julian said with what he hoped was an innocent smile.
Victor turned off the vacuum and said something to Irene in Spanish.
“Tell them I’m just going to use my uncle’s computer again for a few minutes,” Julian said to Danny.
Danny put on his most charming smile and started speaking rapidly in Spanish. The few words Julian could pick out gave him no clue what they were saying.
Finally, Danny waved good–bye and they started walking down the hallway.
“What were you saying?” Julian asked.
“Nothing much. They remember you from last time you were here.”
“That’s all? You guys were
talking for five minutes!”
“I don’t know. Just where they’re from, their kids, stuff like that.”
A corridor of empty cubicles appeared on their left and Julian hesitated a moment before following it. At the end of the dark hallway was Sibley’s office, with his name on a gold plaque by the door. Julian turned on the lights and sat down in front of the computer. The screen was dark.
“It’s off,” he said.
“Try touching the space bar. Maybe it’s just sleeping.”
The screen stayed dark.
“How do we turn this thing on?” Julian said, annoyed.
Danny looked at him like he was a bug. “Get out of the chair.” They traded places and Danny reached down and pushed several buttons. “It’s a good thing I came along. I can’t believe you thought you could do this without me!”
The computer started humming and, a minute later, a blue screen came up with the words “ID” followed by “PASSWORD.”
Julian watched over Danny’s shoulder. “That wasn’t there last time,” he said. He felt a little wave of panic come over him. “What do we do now?”
“How about you give me the ID and password and I’ll type them in.”
“Very funny.”
“Well, ID’s usually your first initial and last name. At least in my mom’s office.” He typed in SCARTER. “Now for the ten–million–dollar question.”
“How many guesses do you think we get?”
“Three? Ten? I think if you try too many times, they get suspicious.”
“Who does?”
“I don’t know,” Danny said in annoyance. “Whoever’s keeping track.”
“And then what? You can’t guess anymore?”
“Maybe. Or else the walls start closing in and daggers start shooting out from all directions.”
“Ha–ha.” Julian sighed. “If you were Sibley, what would your password be?”
“Beats me.”
“How about ‘Preston’?”
Danny cocked his head to the side. “That’s worth a try. What do you think?” His fingers were poised over the keyboard.
“Go for it.”
Danny typed PRESTON. The screen blinked and then a message appeared: YOUR ID/PASSWORD IS NOT VALID. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
Julian felt a creeping shadow of fear. “OK, that wasn’t it.”
Danny swiveled the chair around and looked out at the lights of the Bay Bridge. “Nice view.”
“Come on, Danny. Concentrate.”
“How about ‘Death to Redwoods’?”
“Danny! Come on!”
He turned the chair back around. “Julian, I don’t know! How about ‘IPX CEO’?”
“Why not? Try it.”
Danny typed and the computer blinked out the same message.
“It does say ‘try again,’” Julian said hopefully.
Danny looked up at him. “I don’t think we should try more than three times. Something really could happen.”
“OK. One more time.” He looked around the room for inspiration. “It’s like Rumpelstiltskin.”
“We should check his drawers. My mom’s always yelling at people for leaving their password taped to their monitors.”
Julian tried to open the three side drawers, but they were all locked. The center drawer, however, slid open to reveal three pencils, a pen, and a yellow legal pad. On the pad, a list of phrases was written in Sibley’s angular handwriting:
“So much for that idea,” Danny said. “Now what?”
“Maybe it’s one of these words.”
“But which one?” Danny bent down to stare at the legal pad more closely.
It was their last chance. Julian stared at the strange phrases. What were they? Some kind of business tips, he figured.
“Let’s just pick one,” Danny said. “I want to get out of here.”
“No, wait.” Julian tried to concentrate. It was stupid to assume these phrases contained the password. It could be anything—the name of Sibley’s street or his first pet or just some random combination of numbers. He placed the list back inside the drawer and was gliding it shut when he reached out and grabbed the pad again.
“Danny, I just realized something. Read it,” he said, thrusting the pad in front of Danny’s face.
“‘Strategize for success, Understand—’”
“No. The other way.”
“What other way?”
“Read the letters. The first letters of each line. From top to bottom. Look. S–U–C–C—”
“Succeed!” Danny said.
They looked at each other.
“The perfect password for Mr. CEO,” Danny said in a villainous voice. “Do we try it?”
Julian let out a deep sigh. “Try it.”
“Here it goes.” Danny put his hands on the keyboard. “Capitals or small letters?”
“Let’s try capitals.”
Danny typed SUCCEED into the password box. The screen blinked and dozens of icons appeared.
“It worked!” Danny cried. “It’s a miracle! You’re a genius!”
Julian felt his confidence return. “It’s a sign. A sign that it’ll all work out.” They were doing the right thing. The plan was foolproof.
The noise of the vacuum cleaner, which had disappeared without them noticing, suddenly came closer. Danny clicked on the e–mail icon and the screen blinked.
“What are we looking for?” he said.
“Anything about publicity or press releases. I know I saw something like that before. We need the e–mail list.”
Danny scrolled down screen after screen. There were dozens of e–mails just from the last few days.
“Look around the time that last article came out,” Julian said. “The one Robin sent us.”
Danny scrolled down and down.
“Look! There!” Julian pointed to the screen. The subject line read “Press Release re IPX Profit Margins.”
Danny clicked and a list of e–mail addresses filled the screen.
Julian bent down to examine them. “This is what we need. This is all the reporters. See, the LA Times. That one—sfchron.com—that’s the same as Popo. It must be somebody at the Chronicle. We’ll send our press release to everyone on the list. And it’ll look like it came from Sibley.”
“How about the IPX addresses?” Danny asked. “See—there are three or four of them.”
“Delete them all,” Julian said. “The longer we can keep this going without anybody at IPX knowing about it, the better.”
Danny hit a few buttons. In the subject line, he typed, “FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: IPX TO SAVE REDWOODS.”
“OK, good,” Julian said. “Now, where’s the draft?”
Danny pulled the folded white paper from his back pocket and began to retype it into the e–mail. Julian watched the words materialize on the screen. They’d gone over it together so many times he’d almost memorized it.
Several acres of old-growth redwood in Mendocino County known as Big Tree Grove will be protected forever, the San Francisco firm of IPX Investment Corporation announced today.
Prior to being bought by IPX, the 120-acre property was previously owned by the Greeley family. Ed Greeley, who passed away several years ago, never logged in Big Tree Grove and used sustainable timber harvesting on the remainder of the property. IPX’s new policies will continue these practices.
“A number of neighbors and environmental groups were opposed to the timber harvest,” said Sibley Carter, the CEO of IPX. “When we considered their arguments, we realized they were winners. Even though we got a timber harvest plan approved, we’re not going to log. We want to do the right thing. These redwoods are very old and it would be a crime to cut them down.”
Under the new IPX policy, the former Greeley property will continue to provide important habitat for deer, bear, and fishers.
The new policy is effective immediately.
When Danny had typed out the last word, they both read it over carefully. It was good, Julian
thought. Better than good. Professional.
“It’s as good as that other press release,” Danny said.
Julian nodded. “You think it’ll work? It sounds official enough?”
“I think it’s pretty close.” Danny frowned. “Maybe not a hundred percent perfect. What do you think?”
“I’m not sure about fishers. Maybe they live in the river. Maybe we should say ‘other wildlife.’”
“Yeah. That’s good.” Danny typed in the new language. “Anything else?”
Julian looked down at the traffic crawling along the streets, the lights shining in the purplish sky. “We better just send it now. We might make it worse without realizing it. It’s like those multiple–choice tests. Sometimes your first answer is the right answer.”
“It’s perfect,” Danny agreed. “We shouldn’t change it under stress.”
“Right.”
“Send it now?”
Don’t think, Julian said to himself. “Yes. Send it.”
“No regrets?” Danny asked, finger poised over the mouse.
“It’s a good plan. Once this comes out, they’ll look bad if they change their policy again.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?” Danny said.
“Exactly.”
“Now?”
“Go!”
Danny pressed Send. “All right,” he said. “I’m outta here.”
“Shut it down.”
Danny pressed a few more buttons. The screen flashed and then died out.
On their way out, Danny stopped and said something earnestly to Victor and Irene. They laughed and Irene made a quick remark that made Danny open his eyes wide and grin.
When the boys were inside the elevator, Julian said, “What did you say? To Victor and Irene?”
“Nothing much.”
“You always say that!”
Danny shrugged. “Learn Spanish. You’ll be a better spy.”
The lobby door opened. The security guard was glued to his chair, reading a newspaper.
“OK. Don’t run, but be quick,” Julian whispered.
They walked heel–to–toe, gliding by as quickly as they could. When they reached the glass doors, the fat guard looked up. “Hey! You guys need to sign out!”
They rushed through the door and down the subway stairs. With their bus passes, they slipped easily through the turnstile. The rush–hour jam was over and the station smelled like sweat and grime and exhaust. The lights were flashing for an outward–bound train, and the boys raced down the escalator and managed to jump inside just before the doors closed behind them.
Operation Redwood Page 14
