by Henry Clark
“I stepped in gum,” she said, waving her shoe under my nose. “Can you believe it?”
I couldn’t believe it. Here, all of our plans had gone wrong, we weren’t about to capture Edward Disin, the population of the planet Earth would soon be slaving away in his shipyards singing show tunes, and Fiona was worried about gum on her shoe. She started scraping it off with her tray.
Mr. North cleared his throat authoritatively and seemed to come to a decision. He bolted around the accounting table and trotted across the room, intercepting the sheik just before he and his driver made it to the door.
“Excuse me!” North bellowed, loud enough to get the attention of everyone in the room. “Sheik Geisel al-Rashid? Of the Unaligned Emirates?” The sheik nodded. “I am agent William North of the United States Treasury Department.” North flashed his ID. “And I am arresting you in the name of the United States government. You have the right to remain silent…”
We listened, stunned, as North read the sheik his rights. North’s partner, Ms. Beauceron, seemed as much caught off guard as the rest of us, but she recovered quickly and raced over to assist him. Neither one of them had drawn a gun.
“What is the charge?” asked the sheik.
“There is probable cause to believe you are a key figure in a terrorist plot against the United States.”
“I have come to this country only to purchase this crayon,” said the sheik, waving the box Alf had just given him.
“A crayon,” said North, “that could easily be used to draw plans, sketch maps, and send messages inimical to the welfare of the people of the United States. I will take that, thank you.” North plucked the box from the sheik’s hand. “Cuff them.”
The sheik and his driver exchanged glances, and the sheik shook his head as the two were handcuffed.
“This is a very bad example of the worst kind of profiling,” said the sheik.
“No,” said North, tucking the crayon box into his jacket. “It’s a very good example of the worst kind of profiling. Can you explain to me your reasons for wearing a false beard?”
North grabbed the sheik’s beard beneath the left ear and pulled. The beard came off the sheik’s face with a loud ripping sound.
“I am very self-conscious about the dimple in my chin,” explained the sheik. “So I wear the beard to conceal it.”
“Why not just grow your own beard?” demanded North.
“Then I would not match my passport photo.”
“Your passport is no doubt bogus to begin with. The name Geisel, while similar to the name Faisal, is not a genuine Arabic name. It is, in fact, the real name of beloved children’s book author Dr. Seuss.”
“My mother was very fond of The Cat in the Hat,” said the sheik. “You know nothing of the people of the Unaligned Emirates!”
“Watch these two,” said North to Ms. Beauceron. “I’m going to the car to radio for backup.” North turned to leave.
“Wait a minute,” said Fiona. When no one paid her any attention, she shouted, “HEY! WAIT! DON’T LET THAT MAN OUT!” She sprinted toward the Treasury agents, waving her DNA tray in the air.
The chewing gum she’d been prying off her shoe clung to the tray, and the tray was brightly glowing.
There had been only one person in the room chewing gum. That had been Treasury Agent North.
All three of us had offered North and his partner things from our serving trays, but when both had declined, we hadn’t pressed them. They were the agents Alf had invited there to arrest Edward Disin. It had never occurred to us that one of those agents might, in fact, be Edward Disin.
Fiona flashed her glowing tray at Alf as she ran past him. Freak and I charged after her, waving our arms in the air, shouting, “WAIT! STOP! THAT’S HIM! HELP!”
Alf shouted at Beauceron, “HE’S NOT WHO YOU THINK HE IS! IT’S HIM!”
Edward Disin, already at the double doors that led to the hallway, twisted the handles and tried to fling them open. They opened about an inch and stopped abruptly.
Disin threw his full body weight against the doors and they opened another inch. Then they refused to budge. His look of triumph was replaced by one that, to me, looked like panic.
We stopped short, realizing we were almost within grabbing range of him but weren’t quite sure how dangerous it would be to grab him. He plowed his shoulder into the doors and still they refused to give. Through the two-inch gap between them I could just see what was holding them shut.
It was the back of a very familiar dark green sofa.
CHAPTER
23
Up a Tree
Edward Disin threw himself against the door one more time, but the door slammed shut, as if two strong furniture movers had shoved the sofa back up against it.
Somewhere overhead, I heard a whumpa-whumpa sound.
Disin took one step forward and grabbed the person closest to him, who happened to be Fiona. He got her in a headlock, then pulled something out of his pocket and held it to the side of her head. He might have been holding a candy bar. He might have been holding a zucchini crayon. He might have been holding a gun. It was impossible to tell. Fiona began thrashing wildly back and forth.
“Let go of her!” I shouted as Freak made an animal noise next to me.
“Back off!” Disin shouted. Those of us who were inching up on him stopped. Freak looked as though he might lunge at him at any moment. If Freak hit him high, I knew I could hit him low. I wondered if I could poke him in the knee with a lollipop stick. I looked around, hoping to find a better weapon.
“Let the girl go,” said Alf, stepping forward and dramatically pulling off his beard and wig. His nose fell off on its own.
“Alfred! How unexpected!” said Disin in a voice that said he was fully expecting him. “That’s almost as bad a disguise as the one you wore in Barcelona when I deprived you of Upchuck the Clown. I knew the whole zucchini-crayon thing had to be you.”
“What’s going on?” demanded Ms. Beauceron. She was holding a pistol indecisively down at her side.
“I assume this is not your usual partner?” Alf snapped at her.
“I never saw him before today!”
“Then arrest him!”
Beauceron raised her gun, but Disin shook his head. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Drop your gun and kick it over here, and this child won’t get hurt!”
When Beauceron hesitated, Disin shifted the position of his hand against Fiona’s head. Fiona attempted to bite his wrist, but bit his sleeve instead. He gave an urgent nod in Beauceron’s direction. She dropped her gun, kicked it to him, and he crouched and picked it up.
It turned out Disin had been threatening Fiona with a pen.
“There’s no need for this!” said Alf, taking another step toward his father.
“No closer!” Disin waved Beauceron’s gun at his son, then swept it toward the rest of us. “Everybody down on your knees,” he ordered. “NOW!”
I had to say something, even if it was totally obvious.
“It’s just a crayon,” I reminded him.
“No,” corrected Disin, “it’s not. By acquiring it, I enable myself to think straight. So it’s much more than just a crayon. It’s the elimination of a final distraction so I can concentrate completely on more important matters. I notice you’re not kneeling.”
Freak and I dropped to our knees. Next to Freak, Sheik Geisel was kneeling and bobbing his head, repeating under his breath, “I’m just an actor. I don’t know who hired me. I’m just an actor.”
“I hired you, you moron. Your check is in the mail,” Disin informed him. “Alfred. You’re still standing.”
Alf stood defiantly in front of his father, his arms folded across his chest.
“I can’t let you leave here,” he said.
“‘You shall not pass!’ I get it! Very commendable. But how are you going to stop me? I, personally, would sacrifice a pawn.” Disin joggled Fiona like he had just plucked her off a chessboard. She responded
by kicking him in the shin. “But I know you wouldn’t. What does that leave?”
“Reason.”
“Reason? Right. Sorry, don’t have time for it.”
Disin dragged Fiona past Alf to the French doors and pushed one open. The helicopter noise got louder. Alf lunged for him but drew back when Disin lifted Fiona one-handedly in the air like a rag doll and swept the pistol up and down her length, as though asking where he should shoot her. Alf took an additional step back.
“I’m leaving now,” Disin announced. “If I see anyone come through these doors in the next five minutes, I will use this.” He pointed the pistol straight up and fired, ignoring the plaster that showered down on him and barely blinking when a small piece of crown molding bounced off his head.
“You can’t take the girl, and you can’t reopen the portal!” Alf bellowed, his hands clenched in frustration.
“I believe I can do both.” Disin took one step out the door, then stepped back in with an afterthought. “There’s a rumor going around that your sister may have survived somehow. If this is true, you need her germplasm to regrow her body, and I’ve got the last remaining sample on my mantel back in Indorsia. It’s between her baby picture and her graduation photo, right under a framed copy of my order to have her executed. I would think that would be justification enough, for you, to reopen the portal.”
He left then, taking Fiona with him and leaving me with the impression he was not a very good parent.
The moment the door latch snicked shut behind Disin, Freak was on his feet and running. I was right behind him. We got to the French doors and looked out through the glass. Light from the ballroom spilled onto the lawn and illuminated the underside of the State Fair Omaha.
We watched as Disin dragged Fiona kicking and screaming across the patio to a picnic table. He stood on the table, lifted Fiona over his head like she weighed nothing, and tossed her into the Omaha’s basket. Then he caught hold of one edge of the basket and hauled himself aboard. Moments later, the balloon’s gas jet sent a fiery blast upward, bathing the scene in a hellish light.
Alf stood stunned, watching, like he really didn’t know what to do next.
“Of all the hostages he could have taken—” he said to himself, bewildered.
“He’s got Fiona!” shouted Freak, yanking on Alf’s sleeve. “If you’re going to drop the basket, do it now, before they get airborne!”
Alf started slapping his pockets, doing the universal pantomime for I-can’t-find-the-remote-that-will-release-my-balloon-basket. After about ten seconds of this, Freak got it.
“He picked your pocket!”
“I don’t do well with heights!” Fiona screamed, loud enough that we could hear her through the glass. She tried clambering out of the basket, but Disin caught her and shoved her to the floor. He immediately started loosening the balloon’s tethers.
“He’s watching these doors,” said Alf, suddenly sounding decisive, “but we can get behind him if we go out through the house and run around from the front! We can still catch him by surprise! Come on!”
It was the old Alf. I was happy to have him back. But as we turned toward the hallway doors, Beauceron waved a water pistol in Alf’s face. She had pulled the pistol from the top of one of her boots, and it was identical to the one Cockapoo had threatened me with the previous day. It had to be full of deadly Hista Mime.
“I never saw him before today,” Beauceron explained, expanding her answer to Alf’s earlier question. “Before today, he was just a bulldog on a TV. Let’s watch him escape!”
Freak and I ducked low and sprinted for the hallway doors. We were hoping Beauceron wouldn’t see us as a threat. Maybe she wouldn’t see us at all. I realized if the sofa was still blocking the doors, we were trapped.
“Hey!” Beauceron shouted.
Freak slapped the handle down and slammed into the door with his shoulder. To my relief, it flew open and he fell into the empty area beyond. By the time I got there, he was already running toward the house’s main entrance. I raced down the corridor after him, passing the sofa, which had parallel parked between two tables. It was acting nonchalant.
Freak burst through the front door and circled around the side of the house. I knew I couldn’t keep up with him, but I was pretty sure, fast as he was, he wouldn’t get to the Omaha in time. I knew what plan B would be. I slackened my pace a bit.
By the time I rounded the house, Disin had launched his balloon. Freak was below it, but he failed to catch the dangling rope, and then it was out of reach. I saw the hovering helicopter rise to a higher altitude and head off in the direction of Hellsboro.
I scampered over to the Dear John and hauled myself aboard. Freak was right behind me. We started pulling frantically at the bowknots that would release the balloon.
“Has she still got Alf?” Freak shouted, yanking at his last knot.
I glanced across the lawn. Through the French doors, I could see Beauceron holding Alf at water-pistol-point. He was looking longingly in our direction and I knew he wanted desperately to join us. Everybody else was on their knees. It looked like a prayer meeting. I hoped at least some of them were actually praying.
“He can’t get away! We’re going to have to do this without him!” I yanked as hard as I could on my remaining knot. It came undone, and the Dear John began to rise.
“Tree!” screamed Freak as the balloon sluiced sideways and headed for the menacing branches of a massive oak.
I grabbed a sandbag from the floor and threw it overboard. The balloon bobbed upward, but the basket hit the tree and a branch came through the wicker, nearly impaling Freak. The balloon strained to rise, but the tree wouldn’t let go.
“We have to break the branch!” I shouted, then climbed out of the basket into the tree limbs. I found a fairly solid perch and started kicking. I glanced up and saw the Omaha getting away from us. We couldn’t afford to stay stuck long, but the branch I was attacking refused to break. Freak swung out of the basket and joined me. He stepped on a bird’s nest and an angry crow started flying in our faces.
“I’ve seen that crow before!” I announced, pretty sure I recognized the angry flapping.
We kicked the branch together and it cracked. The pull of the balloon ripped it from the tree.
“That’s done it!” I cheered.
“Yes!” Freak agreed triumphantly. “There she—”
“GOES!” we screamed in unison as the balloon took off without us.
CHAPTER
24
No Such Thing as Steering
Our flying toilet bowl rose rapidly above us. A rope whipped me in the face and I snatched at it desperately. I caught it, twisted my hands into it, and wrapped my legs around it just as Freak threw his arms around my waist. The rope, attached to the balloon’s basket, yanked us out of the tree in a burst of exploding twigs and furiously flying crow feathers.
We skimmed the treetops and got whacked by the uppermost branches. The crow continued to swoop around us and attack. The wind was taking us in the same direction as the Omaha but at a much lower altitude.
A dangerously lower altitude.
“If we don’t make it to the basket and fire the burner,” I shouted, “we’re going to crash!”
“No kidding,” muttered Freak as he got his own grip on the rope and let go of me. “Get climbing!”
I was above him. Fortunately, it was another challenge requiring upper-body strength. I started pulling myself up hand-over-hand. The crow kept flying into my face, but I had gotten used to him. He was the least of our problems. The nylon rope kept slipping through our fingers.
The rope twisted as we tried to climb it. After a few moments we were spinning around and swinging back and forth, like a carnival ride you shouldn’t be on immediately after eating.
“Tossing cookies!” Freak warned me before barfing above Breeland Road with enough spin to send it spraying like a rotary lawn sprinkler. It caught the crow in the eye and sent it squawking.
> The balloon rose a bit after the loss of ballast. Freak had been sneaking a lot of the auction hors d’oeuvres. I wondered if it would help if I puked, too. I considered it, then decided I didn’t have it in me.
The balloon was skimming the field just before our houses. I could see that Freak and I were going to be slammed against a roof if nothing changed. With one final effort, I hauled myself up the remaining section of rope and threw myself into the basket. I jumped up and pulled down on the burner-release lever with all my might.
With a roar, a huge flame shot up toward the balloon’s envelope. The balloon immediately started to rise, but it didn’t look as though it would rise fast enough to miss the houses. The basket just cleared a chimney, but I heard the rope lash against the bricks.
“Freak!” I screamed, and looked over the side.
My friend was clinging to the side of the basket. My hand shot out and clasped his, and I pulled him to safety.
“Got any breath mints?” he asked, then tumbled into the basket.
I kept my hand on the burner lever for the next minute or so. The bowl of the enormous toilet above me glowed intensely from the flame of the gas jet. It looked like a warning against overindulging in jalapeños. We rose to the same height as the Omaha, about three hundred feet.
When we had inflated the balloons that afternoon, Alf had explained the basics of hot-air flight to us. To go up, you either made the air inside the envelope warmer or you dropped ballast and made the basket lighter. To descend, you either allowed the air in the envelope to cool or, to descend more quickly, you opened the parachute valve at the top of the envelope and let the warm air out. That was all there was to it. There was no such thing as steering.
“We’re gaining on them!” Freak sounded surprised.
“I think it’s the flush tank,” I said. “It’s acting like a sail.”
“Thank you, Science Girl,” said Freak. We looked at each other, suddenly realizing how much we’d miss her if anything happened to her.
The wind was out of the west, propelling the balloons toward Rodmore. The night was clear, the moon was full, and we could see Fiona and Disin outlined in the basket of the Omaha. Fiona was unrestrained. But then, there was nowhere she could go. She was in the corner of the basket opposite Disin, gripping one of the ropes connecting the balloon to the basket and staring at her feet. I could tell she was concentrating on not looking over the basket’s edge. As we watched, Disin tossed a sandbag out.
