Unleashed

by Gordon Korman

  “But why would the government steal the Hover Handler when they could just phone Melissa and ask her how it works?” Savannah asked, bewildered.

  “It must be classified information, so they can’t admit what they’re going to use it for,” Griffin concluded.

  “Are you telling us that Heartless has been right all along?” Ben demanded. “If the government would steal from a middle school kid, who knows what else they might do? Maybe we should all be digging underground rooms and laying in supplies of oxtail soup.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Griffin said firmly. “It doesn’t change the plan.”

  “The plan?” Ben echoed. “You said the plan is dead.”

  “Only because we lost track of the Hover Handler,” Griffin replied reasonably. “We thought Vader had it, and we were wrong. Then we thought Heartless had it, and we were wrong again.” He watched as Luthor’s big black-and-tan body rose up on its hind legs for another dancing session. “But this time we know exactly where it is.”

  Pitch peered over Griffin’s shoulder at the plan on his desk. “Aren’t you forgetting something? If the government thinks Melissa’s invention is important enough to steal and keep inside a top secret building, don’t you think they’ll make it pretty hard for anyone to sneak in there and jack their stuff?”

  “It’s not their stuff,” Griffin pointed out. “It’s our stuff. Melissa’s stuff, anyway. It’s no different than taking back a million-dollar baseball card.”

  “Except that the baseball card wasn’t being guarded by SEAL Team Six,” Ben reminded him uneasily.

  “SEAL Team Six has more important things to guard than an unmarked warehouse across from a barber shop,” Griffin retorted. “You saw that place, Ben. It’s not like it’s crawling with security. They’ve got a gatehouse where they probably ask you to show ID. Our own parents have to do that to get into our school.”

  “Our school doesn’t have an electric fence,” Logan noted.

  “So it’s a little more secure,” Griffin continued. “The important thing is we’re in the right. That’s our Hover Handler. Our friend invented it, and it was stolen right off our other friend’s front lawn.”

  “Luthor needs it,” Savannah added. “And Melissa.”

  Griffin nodded. “We can do this. All we need is the right plan.” He picked up the pen and added to the page:

  Ben snatched the pen from his hand. “Don’t even bother. I already know. Surveillance, right?”

  Griffin laughed. “No surveillance. This time the surveillance has already been done for us.”

  Pitch stared at him. “By who?”

  “By Heartless,” Griffin replied readily. “He knows every secret government installation in a hundred-mile radius. Ben, you yourself told me he’s got pictures of this place and a whole map and floor plan.”

  “Yeah, but that’s in his house. Technically, under his house.” Ben’s face registered dawning horror. “We’re not going back there! It’s too dangerous! Look how I got stuck last time!”

  “That was a breakdown in planning,” Griffin conceded. He took his pen back and wrote:

  “What distraction?” Pitch challenged.

  “There’s only one that will get Heartless out of his house,” Griffin replied confidently. “Kids trespassing on his precious property.”

  * * *

  The steam from the soup fogged his safety goggles, and Ezekiel Hartman took them off so he could see his lunch. Oxtail soup — he hadn’t ordered it, but he was beginning to develop a taste for the stuff. It was strong — just what he needed to keep his energy up after a long morning working on the safe room.

  It was almost ready. He’d completed the last of the excavation. All that remained was the rest of the Sheetrock and a few finishing touches. If the government came to spy on him and intrude into his life, he could survive down there for years.

  He took another sip, enjoying the burn of the strong broth, and that was when he saw it — out of the corner of his eye, through the kitchen window. It was one of those kids — those trespassing schoolkids who were determined to get their shortcut back. There she stood, bold as brass on his property, working at the fence with wire cutters!

  Dropping his spoon with a clatter, he dashed out of the kitchen, flung open the front door, and raced into the yard. “You, there! Get away from my fence!”

  The girl wheeled, watched him rush toward her for a few seconds, and then took off like an antelope. Mr. Hartman was hot on her heels, matching her stride for stride.

  She was younger and faster, but — still running, he frowned — every time she opened a lead, she’d slow down a little, keeping him in the hunt.

  She was toying with him!

  At last he pulled up, breathing hard. Rotten kid! Bad enough to vandalize his fence, but did she have to lead him on a chase all around the neighborhood?

  He turned back to his house, noting in perplexity that his front door was wide open. He could have sworn that he’d closed it behind him when he’d burst outside. He began to jog home. At least the fence didn’t seem to be damaged. He must have disturbed that awful girl before she could use her wire cutters.

  Back in the house, he locked the door and returned to his lunch. The soup had cooled off, and he was carrying the bowl to the microwave when he heard a muffled thump from downstairs.

  Someone was in the house!

  He grabbed the nearest available weapon — a frying pan — and stepped out into the hall. He could hear whispering on the basement steps.

  His safe room — the government must have found it!

  He bustled to the top of the stairs and froze. Kids again — two boys!

  “Don’t hit me!” Ben pleaded. “There’s an innocent ferret in my shirt!”

  Mr. Hartman goggled at the needle-nosed creature staring out from the intruder’s neckband. It was the rat! Was the government training small animals to do its dirty work now? And kids to be their handlers? That girl with the wire cutters must have been the decoy to lure him from the house so they could get access to his basement.

  “We can explain,” said Griffin.

  For the first time, Mr. Hartman noticed the rolled-up poster in the bigger boy’s hand. He snatched it away and opened it. It was the map and floor plan of Facility 107-B from the wall of the safe room!

  “Do you know what this is?” he demanded.

  Griffin nodded. “It’s that building out on Route Thirty-One with no signs and an electric fence.”

  “And what’s it to you? Why do you need my blueprints?”

  The two boys were tight-lipped and silent.

  “Who sent you?” Mr. Hartman persisted.

  “Nobody,” said Ben in surprise.

  If they were lying, they had been well trained. They seemed genuinely scared to death, especially the smaller one with the rat.

  Griffin sighed in resignation. “Our friend’s invention got stolen, and it’s being held in there.”

  The story the boys went on to tell was absolutely bizarre. And yet, he had seen this Hover Handler with his own eyes! A drone copter that made the big dog dance!

  “Are you telling me,” Mr. Hartman said, lowering his frying pan, “that the government stole that machine?”

  The boys studied their sneakers.

  “I know it’s kind of hard to believe,” Griffin mumbled.

  “Are you kidding?” Mr. Hartman crowed. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face! Of course the government stole it!”

  “So,” Griffin forged on, “we were hoping to borrow the floor plan so we could, you know, break in and steal it back.”

  Mr. Hartman regarded them for a long moment. Then, “It seems that I’ve misjudged you fine young people.”

  It was the boys’ turn to stare.

  “It’s your duty as citizens to stand up for freedom and take back what’s rightfully yours,” Mr. Hartman told them in a strident tone. “I’m with you all the way!”

  Griffin and Ben gawked at him in astonis
hment.

  “You mean,” Griffin said at last, “you’re going to let us borrow the blueprints?”

  “I’ll do better than that,” Mr. Hartman promised. “I’m going to lead this mission. Now what we need is a plan.”

  Ben gulped. “You’ve come to the right place.”

  The pet gates were still up, turning the Drysdale home into a complex maze. There was no sign of Luthor.

  “Where’s the dog?” asked Pitch.

  Savannah sighed. “I’m keeping him in the basement.”

  “But isn’t the shock collar supposed to stop him from chasing the exterminator’s truck?” Logan queried, frowning.

  “It would,” Savannah said tersely. “It would also give him a nasty shock. There’s no way I’m letting that happen.”

  “So why bother buying it in the first place?” asked Ben.

  “Because I promised my parents he’d have a shock collar. Fine, he has one. But if you think I’m going to let that awful thing fry my Sweetie, you’re out of your mind. I’m keeping his regular collar in my pocket every minute. The instant I can get rid of that instrument of torture, you can bet I will.”

  “We understand,” Griffin told her. “Luthor’s lucky to have an owner like you.”

  “Family member,” she corrected firmly.

  “Right,” he amended. “Anyway, Ben and I have to tell the rest of you about a change of plan. It might be a little out of left field. We’re going to have an extra team member for this phase of the operation.”

  Pitch opened wide eyes. “Melissa? Did you get Melissa to come back? Griffin, you’re a genius!”

  “No, it’s not Melissa,” Ben told her sadly. “And wait till you hear —”

  The doorbell cut him off.

  Mrs. Drysdale answered it. “Oh, hello there.” She sounded surprised. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. —?”

  “Hartman,” came the reply. “I’m here for the meeting.”

  “Heartless?” croaked Savannah. “What’s he doing at my house?”

  “He’s with us now,” Griffin supplied.

  “Oh, sure,” said Pitch. “Three weeks ago he put up a giant fence just to keep us from crossing his precious lawn. He hates our guts.”

  “That was before he found out the government stole the Hover Handler,” Ben explained. “He’s got a serious hate on for the government.”

  “That’s why he’s going to help us,” Griffin added. “It never hurts to have an adult on the team. Adults have cars.”

  “Savannah, your — friend is here to see you.” Mrs. Drysdale ushered Mr. Hartman into the living room. Her eyes narrowed. “What’s this ‘meeting’ about?”

  Savannah was struck dumb, so Griffin filled in the silence. “Well, we kind of got off on the wrong foot with Mr. Hartman here, so we want to work on our, um, neighborliness.”

  Mrs. Drysdale looked to her daughter for confirmation. Savannah nodded.

  “Neighborliness,” Mrs. Drysdale repeated faintly. “That’s a good thing. I hope I won’t have to hear any more complaining about shortcuts and fences.”

  The phone rang, and she rushed off to answer it.

  Savannah watched her go, then turned back, annoyed. “Now my mom is suspicious. Thanks a lot, Griffin. Why did the meeting have to be here?”

  “Well, it definitely couldn’t be at my place,” Mr. Hartman informed her. “The government has the whole house bugged.”

  Pitch was unconvinced. “Are you sure? Why would the government be so interested in a random person living in a random Long Island town?”

  The newcomer reached into his pocket and produced a tiny wireless microphone. “Look what I found under my stove. If the government didn’t put it there, who did?”

  Logan went into a violent coughing spasm. Pitch pounded him on the back hard enough to knock him off his chair.

  “Well …” Griffin began reluctantly. His usual policy was to never confess to things adults didn’t already know. But it would only hurt the plan if Mr. Hartman put two and two together halfway through Operation Recover Hover. “That was us. We thought you took the Hover Handler, and we were trying to find out where you were hiding it. Our bad.”

  Mr. Hartman thought it over. “It’s still the government’s fault. You never would have suspected me if they hadn’t stolen your friend’s invention in the first place.”

  The five middle schoolers exchanged uneasy glances. No one was comfortable teaming up with Mr. Hartman, who was at least a little bit crazy. What kind of person saw a conspiracy behind every rock? On the other hand, in this case, he was right. The stolen Hover Handler was in a government building; who could have stolen it but the government?

  “If that facility is so top secret,” Ben asked timidly, “how did you get a map of it?”

  Mr. Hartman motioned them all closer and dropped his voice. “I’m not alone,” he said to the huddle. “There are quite a few of us who don’t believe everything Washington tells us. We meet on the Internet and share information — maps, charts, documents. I spent all of 2012 watching Facility 107-B from the Vietnamese restaurant across the street. It wasn’t easy, because I can’t digest spicy food, but that’s what the government is counting on — that regular citizens won’t have the will to suffer a little heartburn to stand up for their freedom.”

  “And what did you learn?” Griffin prompted.

  “A lot of white coats pass through that security gate,” Mr. Hartman replied. “Military uniforms, too — mostly brass. I think it’s a government lab — high-security clearance — because everything that goes in and out travels by armored truck.”

  Ben nervously stroked Ferret Face, who became restless during long conversations. “I don’t like the sound of that. It’s one thing to sneak into some guy’s basement — no offense, Mr. Hartman. But this is like taking on the army. A bunch of kids can’t do it. Nobody can.”

  “Don’t be so quick to give up,” Mr. Hartman advised. “I agree it would be impossible to get in there during the day. But every night, they lock the place up and go home.”

  Griffin pounced on this. “Are you sure? What time exactly?”

  Mr. Hartman shrugged. “Saigon Palace ends their early-bird special at seven, and by seven thirty, all the squints and brass hats have left the lab. Even the sentry chains the gate and moves on.”

  Savannah spoke up. “There’s no fence Pitch can’t get over, no matter how high.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Ben reminded her. “High voltage? Keep out? That’s an electric fence.”

  “It’s true,” Mr. Hartman confirmed. “The busboys at the restaurant used to throw leftover noodles at it, just to watch them fry.”

  “Well, there’s no way we can get in during the day, when the place is full of scientists and soldiers,” Griffin concluded. “We have to find a way to get past that fence.”

  Pitch shook her head sadly. “I’ll climb anything, Griffin. But not if it’s impossible to touch it.”

  “And we can’t very well camp out on Route Thirty-One, waiting for the next power failure,” Ben added.

  “I guess not,” Griffin conceded glumly. “Unless …” When the expression on his face began to change, it was almost as if a miniature sun had come out to shine exclusively on him.

  The team recognized that look and sat forward expectantly.

  Even Mr. Hartman could sense that something was coming. “What is it, kid?” he prompted. “Unless … ?”

  The Man With The Plan beamed all around the room. “I think I might know a way we can make our own power failure.”

  For Ben Slovak, the experience was eerily familiar: sitting up in his bedroom waiting for his parents to go to sleep so he could slip out of the house undetected.

  It wasn’t easy being best friends with The Man With The Plan. The sneaking around, the close calls with disaster, and, occasionally, an actual disaster. Long lectures from parents, teachers, and the police replayed themselves at high speed through his nervous mind. Ev
en those scrapes with the law seemed minor compared with what they were up against in Facility 107-B. The United States government. The armed forces. Men and women with guns, who were dedicated to protecting this nation from all enemies, foreign and domestic. Including Griffin Bing and his marauding band of middle schoolers.

  Most familiar of all was the fear — the lump in his throat, the gnawing in his stomach, the jelly feeling in his legs. And, of course, the vicious cycle of dozing off from sheer stress only to be brought right back into the tension and misery by Ferret Face’s wake-up nip.

  It had already happened three times tonight before his parents finally turned off the TV. Next came the tricky part: skulking outside their half-open door listening for signs of sleep. Times two. Mom snored, so if she fell asleep first, it was practically impossible to hear Dad over the noise.

  Straining, he was able to detect his father’s steady breathing underneath Estelle Slovak’s buzz saw. He timed ten minutes to be absolutely certain, and then tiptoed downstairs. Silently, he shrugged into a jacket and eased himself out the back slider.

  From his collar, Ferret Face looked up questioningly, as if to ask, It’s dark. Where are we going in the middle of the night?

  “It’s a plan,” he whispered in reply. “We’re doing it for Melissa, and for Luthor. And even a bit for Griffin, so he doesn’t have to give that speech. Courage, Ferret Face.”

  The little animal opened his mouth, revealing his needle-sharp teeth. He didn’t need courage. He needed pepperoni. Ben slipped him a slice. “Make it last. We might be in for a long night.”

  Griffin huddled in the bushes at the end of the block.

  Ben indicated the long, thin duffel bag thrown over his friend’s shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Griffin nodded. “Let’s go. They’re waiting for us at the rendezvous point.”

  Keeping to the shadows, they started in the direction of the Hartman home. Most of the houses were dark. All was quiet. They turned right and started up Honeybee Street, passing the Drysdales’ on the left. The only sign of life was at the end of the block, number 94. There, Ezekiel Hartman, dressed all in black like a burglar, complete with stocking cap, entertained a very uncomfortable Savannah and Pitch.