Rebels With a Cause

by James Patterson

  “Except you, Klaus,” joked Keeto. “You reek of garlic.…”

  “You guys?” said Hana. “This is no joke. Clean, fresh water is essential to all life on the planet: plants and animals. And if humans can’t get water? Watch out—they’ll quickly turn into animals!”

  Toma and Annika had also joined the group in the Royal Duke Hotel’s dining hall, which had a spectacular view of the majestic landscape filled with towering mountains.

  Toma was a budding astrophysicist from China. He was obsessed with the nature of celestial bodies and how this study might lead to an understanding of black holes, dark matter, and wormholes. He had short brown hair and was wearing a black T-shirt with NERD written across the chest to look like the NASA logo.

  “You know,” he said, “there’s hope for the future. Researchers recently found evidence of a body of liquid water on Mars.”

  “Which will help absolutely no one here on Earth,” said Annika in her clipped German accent. She adjusted her dark, square-framed glasses and continued, “There is no Planet B, Toma.”

  Annika was a master of formal logic. She and Max had been on a hair-raising adventure together in Jerusalem when two Corp thugs chased them around the campus of the Hebrew University, home to the Albert Einstein Archives. Eluding bad guys together? That’ll make you friends for life.

  On their third day in India, when all the team members had more or less acclimated to the higher altitudes in the Himalayan foothills, the group assembled in the hotel’s meeting room to brainstorm solutions to the water crisis.

  “Recycling will, one day, be the ultimate solution,” said the logical Annika. “Back home in Frankfurt, one drop of water is recycled eight times before it reaches the sea. Here in India it isn’t recycled even once.”

  “What can we do now?” asked Max, prodding the group. “Today. How can we collect clean water for immediate delivery?”

  “We could try to draw it from the air,” suggested Vihaan. “I have read about a process where large mesh nets are set up to capture fog moisture. There is fog in the nearby mountains most mornings. They already use this technique to great effect in Chile, South Africa, and even California.”

  “Because Californians are all super smart, dude,” said Keeto, smirking and tucking his hands into the pocket of his red Stanford hoodie.

  The group laughed just as Charl and Isabl entered the meeting room.

  “Good news,” said Charl. “We think your plan worked, Max.”

  “What plan?” asked Toma.

  “A way to make sure that the Corp didn’t follow us to India,” said Max, without mentioning Klaus or his phone. “We sent them to the middle of nowhere. Literally.”

  Everyone applauded.

  Except Klaus. He turned to Max and whispered, “Thanks.”

  Max grinned. “No problem.”

  36

  Vihaan suggested that the group continue its brainstorming outdoors.

  “We should go on a field trip,” he said. “Tour the town.”

  “Definitely,” said Klaus. “I could go for some masala chicken crepes!”

  “This is a fact-finding mission,” said Annika. “Not a food-finding one.”

  “We’ll head downhill to the water delivery tanker trucks,” said Vihaan. “This will give you all a true feel for the human consequences of this water problem. But no matter what you see, don’t lose hope! As Mahatma Gandhi once said, ‘If I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it, even if I may not have it at the beginning.’”

  Max nodded her head. A lot of people were counting on her to find a solution. It was a little scary, to be honest, but she needed to have faith in herself.

  As the group headed downhill, Hana, the Japanese botanist, raised her hand. “May I ask a question? How is it that our hotel has running water for tourists while the residents have to hike with buckets and pails to fetch water for their homes?”

  “The hotels purchase their water from private vendors,” explained Vihaan. “The local residents aren’t as fortunate.”

  He led the way into the streets of Jitwan. Max had never seen so many people crowded together—not even on the New York City subway at rush hour. Some wore orange robes and turbans. Others had ceremonial paint dotting their foreheads. Many rode three-wheeled scooters loaded down with goods and supplies. Some even walked with mules.

  Open-air stalls lined the sidewalks as rumbling buses squeezed through the narrow lanes.

  “There has been no drought this year,” Vihaan continued as the team hiked past the women and men lined up in the street. They were all carrying brightly colored (but empty) buckets and jugs. “Jitwan usually gets a decent amount of rain. And there is the runoff in the spring from the mountains. But, still, there is not enough clean water to serve everyone. The rivers and groundwater are polluted.”

  Max saw a banner written in English: IF THERE IS WATER, THERE IS A TOMORROW.

  And if there wasn’t?

  Max didn’t want to think about a world with no tomorrows.

  The group reached the end of the long line patiently waiting behind a water tanker truck where a single tap dispensed water, one bucket or jug at a time. Max thought about all the water fountains she’d taken for granted. Just step up, push a button, and drink. What if she had to wait in line for hours to do it?

  “Hello, Dada!” cried Vihaan, waving to an elderly man carrying a long metal pole with what looked like a handlebar at the top. It was Vihaan’s grandfather. He was escorted by three police officers.

  “Namaste, Pota!” his grandfather replied with a weary smile. “We must ration water again today. Only zone three will be open.…”

  When he said that, a lot of people waiting in the water line groaned. Many shook their fists at Vihaan’s grandfather or hurled insults.

  “Wait until the police are off duty, old man!” shouted one. “Who will protect you then?”

  Apparently, none of those waiting for water lived in zone three.

  Two shady men pushed their way through the mob and approached the police officers. One had a bushy mustache. The other carried a cane. The one with the mustache shook hands with one of the police officers and whispered something in his ear. The officer nodded.

  “Come along Mr. Banerjee,” the policeman said to Vihaan’s grandfather. “We are needed elsewhere.”

  Vihaan’s grandfather give Vihaan a woeful look. Then he shrugged, and, resigned to his fate, picked up his pole and moved on to wherever the police and the two shady men wanted him to go next.

  37

  “That man with the mustache bribed that cop!” blurted Keeto.

  “Definitely,” said Toma. “I saw cash exchange hands when they shook.”

  “We should not speak of these things in public,” said Vihaan, nervously eyeing the water-starved mob lurking on the sidewalks.

  “Is it true?” asked Annika, brusquely. “Is there corruption on top of the pollution here in Jitwan?”

  Vihaan nodded sadly. “Some key men favor hotel owners and VIPs. Others, such as my grandfather, simply do what their police escorts tell them to do.”

  “Who were those two men?” asked Max.

  “Most likely, hotel operators. Or water dealers.”

  “They’re the ones making a buck off all this misery,” said Keeto.

  Vihaan nodded again.

  “Well, it’s time we cut off their income stream,” said Max, boldly. “We need workable ideas, guys, and we need them fast. I think we should focus on cleaning and reusing water that’s already been pulled from the ground, not in tapping new resources.”

  “And who are you?” asked a woman with a crisp British accent who’d just, more or less, bulldozed her way through the crowd waiting for water. She was carrying a compact, high-definition video camera.

  “We’re the CMI,” said Klaus, swaggering forward. “And we’re here to help.”

  Max rolled her eyes. The CMI was supposed to be looking for solutions, n
ot publicity or self-promotion.

  “Seriously?” said the woman. “You’re a bunch of kids. You think you can help with the water crisis here in Jitwan?”

  “Definitely,” said Klaus, puffing out his chest. “In fact, we’re going to bring water to every place in the world that needs it.”

  “Well,” said Max, forcing a smile, “we’re going to try a few things here, first.…”

  “Ma’am?” Charl stepped forward. Isabl was right beside him. “Who are you?”

  “Madeira James. And who, pray tell, are you?”

  Charl nodded toward Max and her team. “These kids’ bodyguards.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “These children are friends of mine,” said Vihaan. “They are all extremely bright and clever. We are hoping that, working together, we might, indeed, arrive at a solution to Jitwan’s current water crisis.”

  “Wait a second,” said the woman. “You’re Dr. Vihaan Banerjee. You’re that thirteen-year-old genius kid who teaches quantum physics down at the Indian Institute of Technology in Bombay.”

  Vihaan blushed slightly. “Part time. But, you see, my grandparents live here in Jitwan and—”

  “Smashing,” said the lady, cutting him off. “Like I said, I am Madeira James.” She flicked a crisp business card at Vihaan. “You’ve probably never heard of me but you should’ve. I’m an award-winning documentary filmmaker. I’m working on a major piece about the worldwide water crisis. And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I think I just found my movie’s stars!”

  38

  “That’s not going to work for us,” said Charl.

  Max couldn’t see Charl’s eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses, but she figured he was probably giving the documentarian one of his iciest squints.

  “Why not?” asked Ms. James. “These kids will give my film incredible human interest. If we tell this story through their adventures, people are going to want to watch. And the more people who watch, the more converts you’ll have to your cause.”

  “She makes a very good point,” said Klaus, smoothing his blond hair. He was definitely ready for his close-ups.

  Max wasn’t so sure.

  She didn’t want the Corp to find out where she and her team were or what they were up to.

  “Shining a spotlight on India’s clean water issues through the lens of the mass media might prove very beneficial, indeed,” said Vihaan.

  “But,” said Max, “there are some very powerful people who don’t want us doing what we’re doing here.”

  “And,” said Annika, “they would also do anything to get their hands on one of us.” She remembered that chase scene around the Hebrew University in Jerusalem just as vividly as Max did.

  “What if I don’t cut anything together right away?” suggested the eager director. “I’ll shoot the footage but I won’t start editing until after you kids are all safely out of the country. Think about it: A film like this could change the way the whole world looks at its water problems.”

  Max knew that Ms. James made a very strong argument. If the Change Makers Institute was dedicated to inspiring change on a global basis, a documentary might help achieve that goal. She’d been camera shy all her life—mostly because she was usually running away from people, places, and things. Maybe it was time to stop running and take a stand.

  “You’ll need to keep Max off camera,” suggested Klaus. “She’s the one the bad guys are most interested in tracking down. But don’t worry. Some of us can pick up the slack.”

  “Excellent,” said Ms. James, raising her camera, focusing on Klaus’s smiling, round face.

  “I’m from California,” said Keeto, showing the director his winning smile. “We’re all about making movies in California.”

  “You’re from Oakland,” said Toma. “Not Hollywood.”

  “You guys?” said Max. “Have you all forgotten why we’re here?”

  “Seriously, boys,” said Annika. “Get a grip.”

  “Totally,” said Hana, adding an eye roll.

  Max turned to her security team. “What do you guys think?”

  “Global exposure to this issue couldn’t hurt,” said Isabl.

  “Keep the footage under wraps until a month after the CMI team leaves India,” Charl told the director. “Keep our team leader, Max, off camera. Completely.”

  Ms. James held out her hand. “You have a deal.”

  Max shook it.

  “So, uh, forgive me for asking,” said Ms. James, “but what’s the CMI?”

  “The Change Makers Institute,” said Max.

  “Great. I need to get that on camera.…”

  Klaus took a step forward to answer before Keeto could.

  “The Change Makers Institute is an NGO,” he said proudly. “A nongovernmental organization, dedicated to making significant changes to save this planet and the humans who inhabit it. So, come on guys—let’s get busy!”

  Max couldn’t’ve agreed with him more. It was time to get to work.

  Talking about what you were going to do to a video camera?

  That didn’t even factor into the equation.

  39

  Dr. Zimm landed with his four-member strike force.

  Lenard was not on the Corp plane. The robot was still stranded in Ireland, plugged into its charger, spending quality time in sleep mode, being fed a constant stream of whatever news and opinions the Corp wanted their genius menace to know. It was all part of their “closed loop” approach to programming.

  Dr. Zimm and his crew rented an SUV with black tinted windows. He didn’t want Max to see him coming for her.

  “Where is the GPS tracker?” he asked his field tech.

  The woman was monitoring a tablet computer, her eyes fixated on a strobing green dot.

  “Still stationary. It hasn’t moved an inch since we received that first ping two days ago.”

  “Klaus must’ve stashed it in his suitcase,” said Dr. Zimm.

  The tech gave him a skeptical look. “Most kids carry their phones with them everywhere they go.”

  “Well, our Polish friend Klaus isn’t most kids. He’s a genius. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if Max Einstein instructed all the members of her team to keep their phones stowed for the duration of their mission. They need to focus on the project. There’s no time for texting.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the tech. “Head north,” she told the driver. “Our target is holding steady, about twenty miles up the road.”

  “Load your weapons, gentlemen,” Dr. Zimm instructed the two enormous mercenaries sandwiching him on the bench seat. Both men were decked out in SWAT gear. “This time, we are not taking any chances. We will take Max Einstein down with a tranquilizer dart before she even thinks about fleeing. The board of directors will be very pleased.”

  The SUV rumbled up the dusty road. The landscape looked parched, with scrubby plants clinging to life on rock-strewn hills. Surveying the arid scenery, Dr. Zimm was even more confident that Max and her friends were in the area, working on some sort of water shortage crisis.

  “It should be up ahead,” said the tech tracking the motionless dot. “That building there.”

  The SUV crunched off the road at a sign reading, WELCOME TO NUTT, NEW MEXICO. Behind it was another sign, identifying the squat building as THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE BAR & CAFE.

  There were two cars, a pickup truck, and a motorcycle parked in the cafe’s lot. Dr. Zimm yanked open his door and bounded out of the SUV before it came to a complete stop.

  “Lead the way!” he barked at the tech. She hurried into the building ahead of him. The pair of weapons experts brought up the rear.

  “Can we help you folks?” asked the lady behind the counter when the foursome burst into the cafe. “The chili pot contest isn’t until Saturday.”

  Dr. Zimm did his best to smile without scaring the locals with his pointy teeth. “We’re looking for… my daughter and her friends. They’re
all twelve and thirteen.”

  “What would they be doing here?” asked the lady. “This is a bar.”

  “The bathroom,” said the tech.

  “Excuse me,” said Dr. Zimm. The men with the concealed dart guns followed him.

  “You all can’t go in there at the same time,” the lady behind the counter shouted after them. “It’s a one-seater!”

  Dr. Zimm shoved the door open.

  The bathroom was empty.

  “Call the phone,” Dr. Zimm barked at the tech.

  She did.

  A ringtone that sounded like someone laughing echoed off the grimy walls.

  “Up there!” said the tech. “On top of that toilet tank.”

  Dr. Zimm reached up. Found the phone.

  There was a sticky note pasted to its screen:

  Dr. Zimm—

  Please don’t send me a phone for my birthday because I don’t even know when my birthday is.

  Sincerely,

  Max

  Furious, Dr. Zimm turned to face his team.

  “We need to leave,” said Dr. Zimm, marching out of the cafe and into the parking lot. He practically ripped the door off of the SUV and climbed into the backseat.

  “Sir?” said the driver, who had remained with the vehicle. “You have a video call.”

  “What?” said Dr. Zimm.

  “I think it’s a robot,” whispered the driver. “Looks like a kid. Calls himself Lenard.”

  Lenard’s placid face filled the small video screen inside the SUV’s command console. He was, of course, giggling.

  “Good afternoon, Dr. Zimm. How are things in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Max Einstein isn’t here.”

  “Yes. I knew that.”

  “But she left me a very interesting note. She mentioned not knowing when her birthday is. Well, I do. I was there when she was born! It’s obvious I retain a psychological advantage over her. This is why I’m going to West Virginia and appealing to the board. I should remain in charge of this pursuit.”