Rebels With a Cause

by James Patterson

  Einstein’s disagreement was with the fundamental idea that, at the quantum (or atomic) level, nature and the universe are totally random and that events happen by mere chance. He insisted something must be missing—that God wouldn’t determine the fate of the world on a random roll of the dice.

  He was mistaken, and it was one of the things that left him behind as younger scientists moved forward, focused on this new area of science.

  Younger scientists like Max and her CMI teammate, Vihaan, who’d be with Max working on, well, whatever they were going to be working on next.

  Vihaan, who was only thirteen, already had a university degree in quantum physics and hoped to, one day, develop a unified theory of everything that would be capable of explaining all physical aspects of the universe.

  Klaus started snoring louder.

  For some reason, that made Max smile.

  In some ways, Klaus was a problem as complex as quantum physics. He could be a braggart and a blowhard while simultaneously being helpful and clever. Max wasn’t thrilled, at first, when Klaus mysteriously popped up in Ireland. But, at the end of the day, she was glad he was there. Klaus was the only one who could’ve taken Max’s complicated and convoluted solution for the well water problem and engineered a practical and efficient way of actually making it work.

  Klaus was a problem with a solution—if you worked on it long enough.

  All of a sudden, Klaus popped up, wide awake.

  “I figured it out!” he blurted.

  “What?” asked Max.

  “Where we’re going.”

  “How?” asked Isabl.

  “Easy. The flight tracker on the seat back screens shows us headed East-Southeast. It also notes our airspeed.” He tapped the screen.

  “I thought you were taking a nap,” said Max with a laugh.

  “I was. But with one eye and my brain open. Multiply the speed times twelve hours coupled with our flight path and I can estimate that we will be landing somewhere in the Indian subcontinent of Asia.”

  Max looked to Isabl.

  Isabl looked at her watch. Apparently, the hour waiting time was up.

  “Correct,” she said. “Well done, Klaus.”

  “India?” said Max. “That’s where Vihaan lives.”

  “Exactly. He needs your help even more than Siobhan did.”

  32

  As the flight continued, Charl and Isabl took Max and Klaus through a PowerPoint presentation.

  “Here’s your next problem in search of a solution,” said Charl.

  “Excellent,” said Max, eager for an official Change Makers mission.

  “Can we watch YouTube on that computer?” asked Klaus. He wasn’t quite as eager.

  “Klaus?” said Max, arching an eyebrow.

  “Fine. We’ll YouTube later.”

  Charl continued his presentation. It was like a briefing out of a Mission: Impossible movie.

  “We’ll be landing at the small Chittaganj Airport near Jitwan, India,” said Charl. “It’s a hill town in the northern state of Himachal Pradesh, not far from the Himalaya mountains. They’re having a clean water crisis.”

  “Just like in Ireland,” mumbled Max as she focused on the images filling the computer screen.

  “But do they have sausages like in Ireland?” asked Klaus.

  “A lot of Indians are vegetarians,” said Max.

  “Oh. Right.”

  Isabl took over the mission presentation. “Recently, people in Jitwan have had to wait nearly four days to get fresh, drinkable water. They line up with buckets to collect it from tankers. They’ve had to close schools and tell tourists to stay away.”

  “The people are frustrated,” said Charl. “They live near mountains, not in a desert. But heavy demand, mismanaged water resources, and wild weather patterns thanks to climate change have made it virtually impossible for the people to turn on their taps and expect clean, drinkable water to flow out.”

  Max thought about how, while living in New York City, she always took a constant stream of water gushing out of faucets for granted. She’d think about that the next time she brushed her teeth. Or flushed a toilet to fool her security guards.

  “Water is a basic human need,” said Isabl. “When people can’t get it, they get mad. Our mission may prove dangerous. There have been scattered protests in the streets of Jitwan, even though the government has been hiring contractors to bring in water tankers.”

  “There has to be a better solution,” said Max.

  “I don’t think so,” said Klaus. “Come on. There’s a billion people in India and a third of them don’t have functioning toilets they can use! They call it ‘open defecation.’ You know what that means? Outhouses. Ditches. Ducking behind a shrub. There’s raw human sewage everywhere! This mission isn’t just impossible, it’s hopeless!”

  Max looked out the window at the snowcapped mountains below. The earth had so much water. The trick was getting it to the right places at the right times and making sure it was clean when it arrived.

  “Stay away from negative people,” said her internal Einstein, who must’ve been listening to Klaus’s dire commentary on the CMI’s chances in India. “They have a problem for every solution. And don’t forget: We owe a lot to the Indian people. They taught us how to count, without which no worthwhile scientific discovery could have been made.”

  That made Max smile.

  And more determined than ever to find a solution to the water problem in Jitwan, India.

  33

  The private jet landed at the Chittaganj Airport.

  It wasn’t much more than a short runway sliced into the top of a foothill facing the towering Himalayas on the horizon.

  Max stepped out of the plane and realized, because of the high altitude, she was breathing faster. Her heart was beating faster, too—trying to increase the amount of oxygen in her blood. She knew that if she stayed at this altitude for a few days, her body would start to restructure itself on a microscopic level to make things easier. She’d actually start growing more capillaries throughout her body to deliver more blood and, therefore, more oxygen to all of her tissues and organs.

  Klaus could have his robots. Max would stick with humans. Their bodies were much more incredible and could do such amazing things—all by themselves.

  “Where’s my phone?” asked Klaus the instant he deplaned.

  “Here you are,” said Isabl, handing him his phone.

  “Good. Like I said, it’s brand new. In fact, this model hasn’t even officially come out yet. A fan sent it to me for my birthday.”

  “A fan?” said Max, arching an eyebrow.

  “Some guy from the US. A doctor. He lives outside Boston.”

  “Boston?” said Charl, sounding slightly alarmed.

  “Yeah. Guess he heard about what we’d done in the Congo and wanted to send me a thank-you gift for my birthday. He said he was going to send one to you, too, Max.”

  “Really?”

  “He asked me for your address, so I gave it to him.”

  Klaus was about to turn on his phone when a voice behind him shouted, “Dude! Don’t!”

  Klaus froze.

  “What?” he said, turning around.

  Keeto was there, holding up both his hands. “Do not turn on that phone, man.”

  Keeto, who was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, even though the Indian air was sweltering, was another member of Max’s CMI team. He hailed from Oakland, California—not far from Silicon Valley. A computer scientist and self-proclaimed “coolest kid on the CMI team,” he was an expert coder and hacker who studied at Stanford University when he wasn’t busy guest-lecturing there.

  “Do not touch that button, Klaus!” echoed Charl as Keeto slowly moved forward.

  “Drop it, dude!” shouted Keeto.

  “Chill, Keeto!” said Klaus, holding up both arms as if he were under arrest. “It’s just a phone.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, man. A phone is never just a phone.
”

  “Keeto?” said Max. “Great to see you. But, uh, what’s up?”

  “That thing in Klaus’s greasy mitt is no ordinary phone,” said Keeto.

  “I know,” said Klaus. “It’s the new one.”

  “And it was sent to you by Dr. Zacchaeus Zimm,” said Keeto. “A Corp goon whose lab is located outside of Boston.”

  Charl, Isabl, and Max all bristled at the mention of Dr. Zimm’s name.

  “Maybe,” said Klaus, with a shrug. “I get so much fan mail, I don’t really pay attention to who it comes from.”

  “We do,” said Keeto.

  “We?”

  “Yeah. Me and Ben.”

  “You’ve been communicating with Ben?” asked Max.

  Keeto nodded. “Everybody thought there was a leak at CMI. Turns out there was just a Klaus. A useful idiot carrying a very elaborate GPS tracking device.” He gestured toward Klaus’s phone. “That’s how the Corp knew you guys were in Ireland. Ben suspected something might be up. Contacted me. I gave him my phone tracker theory. Ben invited Klaus to join you guys in Ireland to see if I was right. Guess what? Like always, I was.”

  Max turned to face Klaus. “And you gave your ‘fan’ my address?”

  “He wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” said Klaus. “I figured he’d send you a cool new phone, too.”

  “What address did you give him?”

  “The one where I’d sent you the postcard.”

  The apartment over the stables, thought Max. That’s why those two Corp thugs trashed the place.

  “So, Klaus,” said Keeto, “do not turn on that phone.”

  Klaus looked at the phone. His hand started trembling. Max figured he’d just realized what he had accidentally done: jeopardized her, their CMI teammates, and the Institute’s mission to do good in the world.

  “I could’ve gotten you killed,” he muttered to Max.

  “But you didn’t,” said Max.

  “Keeto’s right. I’m an idiot. Accepting a gift from a total stranger, just because he flattered me? I am so sorry.”

  Keeto and Max both dropped their jaws. Charl and Isabl, too. None of them had ever heard the blustery Klaus admit that he’d made a mistake or apologize for making it. This was a major, monumental milestone. Not as big as Albert Einstein discovering the theory of relativity, but, hey, it was close.

  “Give me the phone, Klaus,” said Isabl. “We need to destroy it.”

  “No,” said Max. “Wait. I have a pretty good idea.”

  Actually, Max’s idea was better than pretty good.

  It was brilliant.

  34

  “Where are they?” Dr. Zimm shouted at Lenard, his new robotic boss (at least according to the Corp’s board of directors). “Where are Klaus, Max, and the rest of the young geniuses?”

  “Unknown,” Lenard replied with a grin. His left eyebrow was still drooping. It had been melted into an awkward, slanted angle by the searing blue flames of the fireball tossed at his plastic face in the Irish pub.

  “Find them!”

  “Sorry. Klaus has switched off his cellular communications device. As long as its GPS chip remains dormant, I can do nothing but speculate as to its and, therefore, his whereabouts.”

  “He’s been dark for twenty-four hours!”

  “Twenty-four hours and thirty-nine minutes,” said Lenard with another of his annoying giggles.

  Dr. Zimm and Lenard were still in Ireland at a secure Corp facility. Lenard was plugged into the wall, recharging his batteries. Dr. Zimm was smarting from his humiliating demotion by the Corp’s board of directors. They wanted him to report to a machine? He’d agreed. But only to buy more time.

  “What about your deep data dives?” Dr. Zimm demanded. “Have you picked up any news bulletins? Any alerts at all?”

  “Nothing,” replied Lenard.

  Dr. Zimm threw up his arms in frustration.

  “We need to find Max!” he shouted at the ceiling.

  Suddenly, Lenard’s eyes shut, like a doll being tipped backward in its crib.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Buffering. Buffering.”

  “What? What’s going on?”

  “I have just re-established contact with Klaus’s cell phone.”

  “Send me the coordinates! Now!”

  “Of course. Do you plan on retrieving Max and her companions from their new location?”

  “No,” said Dr. Zimm, because he suspected that the robot wasn’t sophisticated enough to know when a human being was lying to it. “Not until we have concrete confirmation. Keep scanning your data files. See if there is a humanitarian crisis near these coordinates for Max and her merry band of do-gooders to deal with.” He gathered up his things and tucked them inside his briefcase.

  “Where are you going, Dr. Zimm?” asked Lenard, a smirk curling his lip.

  “Out. I need some fresh air.”

  “Ah. Of course you do. Humans are so inefficiently designed.”

  “I’ll be back. I want a definitive answer. Is Max there? Yes or no.”

  “I can already hypothesize with eighty-nine percent certainty that—”

  “I want one-hundred-percent assurance! We cannot afford to make another mistake.”

  “But, Dr. Zimm, I have not made any mistakes. You, on the other hand, erred enormously when—”

  “Work the data!” shouted Dr. Zimm, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

  The instant he was beyond Lenard’s line of sight, he glanced down at his phone.

  The robot had sent him the coordinates for Max’s new location.

  He’d assemble a strike team. Commandeer a Corp jet. Go grab Max.

  And this time he wouldn’t take the annoying robot along for the ride.

  He’d show his overlords at the Corp that he didn’t need their maddening mechanical marvel.

  He’d bring Max home on his own!

  35

  Max had had a word with Klaus and Keeto on the drive from the Chittaganj Airport to Jitwan.

  “We don’t need to tell the rest of the team about the mistake Klaus made with his phone,” she’d said.

  “But—” Keeto had started to protest before Max cut him off.

  “We all make mistakes. Even my hero, Albert Einstein. The only mistake in life is the lesson not learned.”

  “Well, I definitely learned my lesson,” said Klaus. “No more cell phones for me.”

  “Or you could just, you know, switch off the GPS locator,” said Keeto.

  “Oh. Right. Good idea. Thanks.”

  Jitwan was a crowded hillside town of brightly colored three- and four-story buildings. A narrow-gauge railroad hauled vacationers up from the stifling heat swamping most of India to the somewhat cooler temperatures of the Himalayan foothills, where pink primroses bloomed outside English-style cottages. That was up at the top of the hill. Down in the Lower Bazaar, the air stank of sewage runoff from the fancy houses.

  The benefactor had arranged rooms for the team at the very posh Royal Duke Hotel in Jitwan. It was at the top of the highest hill.

  “It also has air-conditioning and very clean bathrooms,” Max’s CMI teammate and friend, Vihaan, had said when he’d greeted the new arrivals in the hotel lobby. “Toma, Annika, and Hana have already checked in. They are off sampling butter buns and tea. Thank you all for coming to India. I hope you are all comfortable here; not everyone in this district is as fortunate as we will be in this very nice and posh hotel.”

  Vihaan had dark, soulful eyes and was dressed in a kurta, a loose collarless shirt. He was only thirteen, but already had a PhD in quantum mechanics. Max always thought Albert Einstein would’ve liked Vihaan Banerjee. They were kindred spirits.

  “Jitwan is my family’s ancestral home,” Vihaan continued in his soft voice. “My grandparents, in fact, still live here. Dada, my father’s father, is a key man here.”

  “What’s a key man?” asked Keeto.

  “A very important civil servant, especia
lly during a water crisis. They open and close the valves that supply water to each neighborhood. Some days they are heroes; others, villains. It depends on whether they are turning on or shutting down the water, which flows through the crumbling network of subterranean pipes built here more than seventy years ago under British colonial rule. Mobs follow Dada through the streets. So do the bottled water merchants. They do not like my grandfather ‘cutting into their profits,’ as they say.”

  “I guess they won’t like us being here, either,” said Klaus.

  “No,” said Vihaan. “They will do everything they can to stop us from fixing Jitwan’s water problem.”

  “Great,” said Klaus. “Maybe we should just leave while we’re still alive.”

  “Um, we just got here, dude,” said Keeto.

  “We must be the change we wish to see in the world,” said Vihaan. “My personal hero, Mahatma Gandhi, said that.”

  “Um, dude? Do you have a suitcase filled with Gandhi figurines?” asked Keeto.

  “Not yet,” said Vihaan. “But, inspired by Max, I might start doing so, soon.”

  Max smiled. “Well, my hero liked your hero, Vihaan. He thought Gandhi’s views were the most enlightened of all the political people of their time. He said we should strive to do things in Gandhi’s spirit. Not to use violence fighting for a cause, but to fight by not participating in anything you believe is evil.”

  “But we still have Charl and Isabl, right?” asked Keeto. “I mean, protection is smart.”

  “Right,” said Klaus sarcastically. “We have two highly trained security guards versus a whole army of water merchants and an angry mob. I like our odds. Big time.”

  That night, during their first team meeting, twelve-year-old Hana addressed the group. A botanist from Japan, she hated when anybody wasted water.

  “We need to set a good example while we’re here,” she urged, pulling her long, dark hair into a ponytail. “Take shorter showers. Skip a day if you can. I don’t need to wash my hair every day, for example,” she said, flipping her shiny ponytail.