by David Lubar
“Hey, I found this in Smetchinski’s pocket.” I fished out the piece of paper and showed it to Mr. Murphy. “You’re supposed to be good at codes. Figure it out.”
“CXATEHWM.” Mr. Murphy studied the paper for a moment. “It looks like there were numbers, but he erased them. Too bad we aren’t at BUM. The lab could decipher it easily.” He handed the slip back to me. “Here—your eyes are better than mine. Hold it at an angle. Sometimes, in indirect light, you can see the indentations left behind by the pencil.”
I tilted the paper and squinted. He was right. I could make out the first three numbers. “Two, nine, then maybe another two . . .” I kept trying, but that was all I could see.
“Let’s get out of here,” Mr. Murphy said. “We need to call in the feds so they can take custody of these men.”
“But we need that computer. And we still don’t know what they’re planning.” I stared at the paper. There was something familiar about the letters and numbers.
“A good spy has to know when to get out,” Mr. Murphy said. “It would be wonderful to have their files.
It would not be so wonderful to get captured again before we can call in some help.”
“We know the first three numbers,” I said. “CXA is two-nine-two.”
“That’s not enough to break the code,” Mr. Murphy said. “Besides, C and A can’t both stand for two, unless they’re using a shifting encryption key or a one-time pad. There’d be no point doing that for a combination number. It has to be a simple code.”
I wasn’t listening too closely, because I’d finally figured out what was tickling around in my brain. “Got it!” I held the slip next to the pad while I typed some numbers—29283496.
“Nathan, stop playing around,” Mr. Murphy said.
I heard a couple clicks, a whir, and the grinding sound of metal sliding against metal. The red light on the keypad turned green. The door popped open. Right after that, Mr. Murphy’s jaw dropped open. It was a nice thing to see.
“How—?” He snatched the paper from my hand and stared at it. Then he stared at the keypad. “I don’t understand.”
“You probably don’t send text messages,” I said. “Most old people don’t.”
“I sent a text message once,” Mr. Murphy said. “It’s a very cumbersome process. And I’m not old.”
“Right. Anyhow, the letters on the paper are the ones over the numbers on a phone. Any kid who texts a lot would figure it out. I don’t need to see the letters. I know where they are. I can even text with my eyes closed.” I pulled the door open the rest of the way.
There was a desk inside the room, with a laptop on it. I took the flash drive out of my pocket. But Mr. Murphy grabbed the laptop. “Let’s go. We can do that in the car.”
We headed back through the tunnel. Mr. Murphy leaned on me a bit, but I could tell he wanted to pretend he didn’t need any help. He stopped when we got through the door, and looked at Smetchinski. “He’ll be out for a while,” Mr. Murphy said. “We’ll have him and the other two picked up. With luck, RABID won’t know we have the data from their computers for at least two or three hours. Maybe longer. This is a major success for us.”
“What about the goop?” I asked. “Aren’t they planning something big?” I thought about Smetchinski’s words. You’re better off missing what’s coming.
“At this point, it’s merely annoying. I think we can wait until tomorrow to clean things up.” He raised the laptop. “The details are probably here. We’ll inform the EPA, or whichever agency is best qualified to handle goop.”
When I got near the car, Dr. Cushing shifted her eyes toward the trunk. I guess they’d all decided not to let Mr. Murphy know anything. That was a good idea. I just hoped Mookie could keep from blowing his cover.
“Are you all right, Peter?” Dr. Cushing asked.
“I’m fine.” He slid into the backseat. I got in front.
“You don’t look fine,” Dr. Cushing said. “Let me check you out. I’m a doctor, remember?”
“It can wait. Nathan, give me the flash drive.”
I passed it to him and he plugged it into the laptop. I guess he was sending the files to BUM.
Dr. Cushing called BUM to let them know we were out of the funeral parlor, then drove back toward East Craven. She and Mr. Murphy seemed to believe our mission was over. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Smetchinski. It wasn’t just the words or the way he said it. It was the look in his eyes. I could see pleasure in there. Pleasure from the pain and suffering of others.
I knew Mr. Murphy was exhausted, but I needed him to do something. “Can you just see what the plan was all about?” I asked. “I think it might be something bad.”
“If it will keep you from whining.” Mr. Murphy looked at some of the files on the laptop. “Here it is. The project is code-named Anubis. Whatever that is.”
“I know!” I couldn’t believe the one time I had a chance to show off, Abigail wasn’t close enough to hear me. “That’s the Egyptian god of the dead. Any fifth-grader could have told you that.” I loved mythology. Egyptian, Greek, Norse, Aztec. It was all totally cool.
“Do you think RABID is planning something deadly?” Dr. Cushing asked.
“Unlikely,” Mr. Murphy said. “They prefer to cause suffering. You can’t rule dead people.” He flashed me a grin. “With some exceptions, of course.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny,” I said. “You don’t rule me.”
“Anubis could refer to Smetchinski, since he runs funerals,” Dr. Cushing said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to make sure RABID’s plan isn’t more serious than we think. Nathan seems concerned, and I trust his instincts.”
“Hmmmm,” Mr. Murphy said. “I guess it’s worth checking.” He clicked through a couple more screens. About five minutes later, he said, “Take a look at this. It outlines their plan. Science is not my strong point.”
He passed the laptop to Dr. Cushing, who’d pulled over to the side of the road. She read for a moment, then said, “Oh, dear. This is bad.”
19
Growth Spurt
Bad?” Mr. Murphy leaned forward in his seat. “According to everything we’ve learned, the goop is a nuisance, but nothing more than that.”
“I suspect the goop that’s come through the water pipes so far is just a side effect of this creature they created.” Dr. Cushing said.
“Creature?” Mr. Murphy asked.
“I’m not sure what to call it,” Dr. Cushing said. “It’s a life-form. One they created in a lab, specifically for this purpose. They spliced DNA from at least seven different sources into a central host.”
She had his full attention now. “What’s the danger?” Mr. Murphy asked.
“They’ve charted its growth with remote sensors. It’s doubling in size every day. In a week, it will be one hundred twenty-eight times as big as it is now. If it isn’t destroyed right away, it might become unstoppable.”
“What will it do,” he asked. “Clog up the pipes?”
“I fear it’s a lot worse than that,” Dr. Cushing said. “They’ve somehow combined a variety of fungi. Honey mushroom. Elfin saddle. Several others. Along with a slime mold. Strangely enough, there’s also genetic material from bamboo and from willow trees. I haven’t taken a botany class since college—but I know many types of fungi can make you sick.”
I remembered what the plumber had told Mom. “Willows search out water,” I said. “They even invade pipes.”
“And bamboo is the fastest-growing plant,” Dr. Cushing said. “This is looking very bad. I think it’s designed to invade the water system and then make people sick. Does it say where the creature is located?”
Mr. Murphy tapped a few more keys. “There’s an old sewage-treatment plant just north of East Craven, near the river. It was replaced by a new facility last year. I don’t see any danger there. Sewer lines are separate from water pipes.”
I knew the old plant. Everyone in town was complaining about how they hadn’t removed th
e old sewage before they closed the plant. All the groups involved blamed each other, but nobody did anything about it. A large pond of sewage just sat there in the sun. Luckily, nobody lived too close to it. I didn’t really care about any of that. I knew another thing about the plant that was a lot more important.
“That’s right near the reservoir,” I said.
“So there’d be major water pipes nearby for the creature to invade,” Dr. Cushing said. “This is looking worse and worse.”
“How do we destroy it?” Mr. Murphy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dr. Cushing said. “I’m not an expert on fungi. And I know even less about slime mold.”
“One of my friends knows a lot about fungi,” I said. I caught Dr. Cushing’s eye, then glanced toward the trunk. “One of my closest friends. Very, very close. Probably one of my two closest friends at the moment.”
“Nathan, we don’t care about your social circle right now,” Mr. Murphy said. “We’re trying to prevent a disaster.”
“Leave it to us, Nathan,” Dr. Cushing said.
I was afraid she didn’t understand. But then she said, “Your clothes are all ripped. You must be cold. I think I have a jacket in the trunk.” Still holding the laptop, she hopped out of the car and went around to the back. I saw the trunk pop open. A moment later, Dr. Cushing closed the trunk and returned, carrying Mookie’s jacket but no computer.
“Here. This should keep you warm.” She handed me the jacket.
“Where’s the laptop?” Mr. Murphy asked.
“Oh, dear—I guess I left it in the trunk,” Dr. Cushing said. “But I saw enough to understand there’s a problem. Now I need to think up a solution.”
I realized she’d left the report with Abigail. I hoped Abigail was a fast reader. And a really fast thinker. Dr. Cushing started the car. “We better get back to East Craven. With luck, I’ll have a plan by the time we reach the old sewage-treatment plant.”
Sewage. Yay. I had a funny feeling I knew what my role would be in all of this. I could almost hear a thousand toilets flushing right over my head.
“Don’t worry,” Dr. Cushing said. I guess she knew what I was thinking. “That’s where the creature is, but I don’t think you’ll actually have to go through any sewage.”
She drove for a couple miles, then pulled over to the side of the road. “I guess I shouldn’t leave the laptop back there.”
“Scientists,” Mr. Murphy muttered as Dr. Cushing walked behind the car. “They are such scatterbrains.”
“Yeah. They aren’t action people like us spies. I’ll bet you’ve had some amazing adventures.” I figured if I kept him talking, he wouldn’t pay so much attention to what Dr. Cushing was doing. Instead of telling me about his adventures, he gave me a lecture about how spies need to keep secrets.
Dr. Cushing came back a minute or two later, carrying the laptop. I could tell she was also carrying a bunch of information she got from Abigail. “I’m almost positive now that there’s an immediate danger. I remembered that elfin saddle is toxic. It causes vomiting and diarrhea. The honey mushroom spreads out underground, forming the largest life-form on the planet. This creature will spread through the water supply and make people sick.”
“That just came to you?” Mr. Murphy asked.
“My memory isn’t as sharp as a fifth-grader’s.” Dr. Cushing winked at me. “What really matters is I think I’ve figured out how to destroy the creature. A normal slime mold reacts to heat shock by retracting. But because of the genetic splicing from more solid life-forms, such as trees, the creature is denser than normal. If we can introduce a small concentrated heat source right in the center of the mass, we’ll stress the entire organism and produce a chain reaction that will destroy it. If only we had a concentrated heat source.”
“Are you sure?” Mr. Murphy asked.
“I’d better be. Once it grows much larger, it will be too late. We probably have less than an hour.” She glanced over at me. Then she said it again. “If only we had a heat source.”
She kept glancing at me, which made me nervous since she was driving. Then she poked me in the shoulder. “It would be great to have a heat source.”
“Oh!” I guess Abigail had told Dr. Cushing about the gumballs. I reached in my pocket. “Hey—I just remembered I have this.” I explained to them about my doctor’s appointment.
“We can call in some scuba divers to deliver it,” Mr. Murphy said. “They could safely go inside this slime creature.”
“By the time they got there, it could be too late,” Dr. Cushing said. “And their body heat would trigger a defense reaction from the creature. The heat has to be activated at the very center of its mass, or it won’t work. We have to count on Nathan. It won’t react to him.”
“I’m in,” I said. “It doesn’t sound bad.” I was kind of excited about seeing a giant slime monster. Killer slime. Who wouldn’t be excited?
“It will be unpleasant,” Dr. Cushing said. “But it shouldn’t be dangerous.”
“Hey, I like a little danger.” I relaxed in my seat, happy to know the hard part of this mission was over. I checked the backseat. Mr. Murphy was asleep. I guess the hard part of his mission was over, too. His part had definitely been a lot worse than mine.
A moment later, Mr. Murphy gasped. “What is that dreadful smell?”
Dr. Cushing and I glanced at each other. “I don’t smell anything,” I said.
“Neither do I,” Dr. Cushing said.
I thought I heard a moan coming from the trunk.
Mr. Murphy sniffed again. “It’s not just sewage. It smells like vomit, too.”
“Rest up, Peter,” Dr. Cushing said. “You’ve had a brutal day. You’re probably suffering from sleep deprivation. That can cause you to imagine things. I’m going to drop you off at the East Craven access to BUM. It’s on the way. You really need to get medical attention.”
I thought Mr. Murphy was going to argue. But he nodded. I guess he was in pretty bad shape. He passed the laptop to me. “There might be more information about the sewer plant in one of the files. Have Dr. Cushing take a look before you go in.”
“Thanks.” I glanced toward the trunk again. Poor Abigail. I was going to have to get BUM to buy something real nice for her to make up for this. Maybe a microscope or something.
When we reached the museum, I handed Mr. Murphy the bag with the phone pieces.
“I’ll have it reassembled,” he said.
“No extra parts,” I said. “No surprises. I don’t want it blowing up in my pocket the next time it rings.”
He took the bag and got out of the car. I expected him to thank me for rescuing him, but he just walked off.
Dr. Cushing drove around the corner, then stopped. We ran back to the trunk. Abigail looked almost as bad as Mr. Murphy had. She was pale. Her hair was straggly. And she’d lost her lunch all over her dress and the trunk. She glared at Mookie as they climbed out.
“Sorry,” he said. “I tried to hold it. But it got to be too much. Maybe it would be better if I let out a little at a time.”
“The word better doesn’t belong in any discussion of your flatulence,” Abigail said.
“Flatulence?” Mookie said. “It’s not nice to make fun of my weight.”
Abigail groaned, then turned toward me. “What happened so far?”
I filled her in as we drove north through East Craven to the old sewer plant. While I was talking, Abigail looked at files on the laptop.
“Ohmygosh,” she said. “I found the plans for the place. The creature is in an enormous vat in the lowest level. But the whole plant is filled with deadly traps. I guess they didn’t want anyone getting near the creature before it grew large enough to overflow the vat.”
“How deadly?” I asked.
“Poison gas. Scalding steam. Thrusting pistons,” she said.
“Cool,” Mookie said. “It sounds like a video game.”
“It sounds too dangerous,” Abigail said. “You can’t go i
n there.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
“A lot of people will get very sick,” she said. “It will be like having a really bad stomach virus. The worst part is, one of the first symptoms will be extreme thirst. So people will drink even more of the contaminated water, and get even sicker.”
“No problem,” Mookie said. “We’ll drink soda instead.”
“Which is made of water,” Abigail told him.
“So I have to go.” I thought about the last time I’d had a stomach virus. It had been awful. And messy.
Abigail didn’t argue. Neither did Dr. Cushing.
We pulled into the parking lot of the old sewer plant. There was tall grass growing around the fence, and the asphalt was cracked in a bunch of places. Dr. Cushing wrinkled her nose. There was an open pool of sewage far to one side.
“I think I found your brother,” I told Mookie.
He sniffed. “Nope. Just a cousin.”
The building was on the other side of the parking lot. I was glad I didn’t have to wade through sewage or anything gunky.
“Do you have any sort of radio?” Abigail asked Dr. Cushing. “It would be good if we could stay in touch with Nathan.”
“Just my phone,” she said. “Do you have one?”
“It’s back at my place,” Abigail said. “Remember?”
“Mine’s in pieces,” I said.
“My folks won’t get me one,” Mookie said.
“I have an idea,” Abigail said. “But you’re not going to like it.”
She explained what she had in mind. She was right. I didn’t like it.
20
Slime Time
Maybe I could just take the laptop with me,” I said.
“You can’t carry it,” Abigail said. “You’ll need your hands for balance. And the environment inside the plant would stop it from working. Laptops don’t like steam. This is the only way.”
“The glue is for bones,” I said.
“It will work on cartilage,” she said. “Besides, it repairs the flesh around the broken bones. There’s no reason it wouldn’t work.”
