The Dragonfly Effect

by Gordon Korman

  They got off at the Sixty-Eighth Street station, and the feeling of well-being deserted him completely. Everything about this neighborhood said Sentia to Jax. Even Corrado’s Pizza, on Lexington and Sixty-Fifth, reminded him of countless lunches with his fellow young hypnos at the institute. It had been in this hole-in-the-wall restaurant where he’d first been approached by Axel Braintree. And just a few blocks south of here was the spot where Axel’s life had come to a violent end.

  They turned at Corrado’s and ventured west on Sixty-Fifth toward Park Avenue. The first sight of the seven-story brownstone, with its winged gryphons and Doric pillars, made Jax’s stomach clench involuntarily. Even though Sentia was no longer in existence, the aura of menace hung heavy in the air.

  Tommy could sense his tension. “It’s just a building, Opus. It can’t hurt you.”

  The dignified brass plaque that identified the institute had been covered with masking tape. A sign had been taped to the inside of the glass doors:

  OFFICE SPACE AVAILABLE

  THREE FULL FLOORS

  CONTACT GALBRAITH PROPERTY

  MANAGEMENT

  There was a telephone number and an address on East Forty-Seventh Street.

  “That’s not too far away,” Tommy urged. “Let’s go.”

  The taxi dropped them off in front of a modern storefront office just in from Second Avenue. The two boys approached the receptionist, who was typing busily at a computer.

  “We have some questions about a building you guys manage,” Jax informed her.

  She looked them up and down, clearly skeptical that two preteens had any business that was worth the attention of Galbraith Property Management. “Can I have the address, please?”

  “It’s 115 East Sixty-Fifth Street,” Jax supplied. “Where the Sentia Institute used to be.”

  “I’ll get the file about which you have inquired.” She stood up and disappeared through a door to another part of the office.

  “Check to see if there’s a forwarding address,” Jax called after her. “You know, for mail.”

  The boys stood, waiting. Five minutes went by. Then ten.

  “How long does it take to get one little file?” Jax murmured impatiently.

  “Who uses files anymore?” Tommy added. “Why isn’t it all on the computer right in front of her?”

  Jax snickered. “They must run this place like it’s the Stone Age. You heard her — ‘I’ll get the file about which you have inquired.’ Nobody talks like that anymore.”

  Tommy assumed a very bad British accent. “I cannot find the file, and that is something up with which I shall not put.”

  Jax’s grin faded fast. About which you have inquired. Up with which I shall not put. It sounded stilted and funny, like something an eighteenth-century nobleman might say. But hearing it another way, it was strangely robotic —

  Like people talk when they’re under a post-hypnotic suggestion!

  Somebody had bent this woman and implanted a suggestion, probably triggered by the word Sentia. It sounded a lot like Mako, lying in wait for anyone who might be trying to track him down.

  Jax grabbed Tommy’s arm and began hauling him toward the door. “We’re leaving.”

  “But what about the file?”

  “It’s a trap!”

  They started along Forty-Seventh Street, peering anxiously over their shoulders as they ran. About halfway down the block, Jax pulled Tommy into an alley.

  “What are you doing?” Tommy demanded. “If this is a trap, the farther away we are, the better!”

  “We have to see what happens,” Jax told him. “For all we know, Mako’s on his way here.”

  “All the more reason we should be in Yonkers by now!” Tommy reasoned.

  “Running away isn’t going to stop this new Aurora! I have to face him down.”

  Tommy was horrified. “You can’t beat Mako!”

  “I couldn’t beat him before. I’ve gotten stronger. I might be able to take him.”

  “Might?” Tommy repeated. “Can’t you do any better than might? That guy could make you lie down in front of a bus if you’re wrong!”

  “Shhh!” Jax hissed. “Check out that cab.”

  A yellow taxi drove along Forty-Seventh Street, slowing to a near halt in front of Galbraith Property Management.

  “Is it Mako?” Tommy whispered.

  “I can’t see. The driver’s in the way.” Gripping the bricks, Jax leaned a little farther out of the alley.

  His appearance was greeted by a pointing finger from the backseat of the cab, an urgent command from the passenger. The taxi peeled away from the curb.

  “Follow me!” Jax barked.

  The instruction was unnecessary. The two boys barreled down the alley, threading their way through trash cans and stacks of boxes. A roar from behind drew Jax’s attention over his shoulder. The cab was in the narrow passage, coming after them, swerving around obstacles. The front bumper smacked into a blue recycling box, showering them with a blizzard of shredded paper.

  “Either there’s a ticker-tape parade or he’s right behind us!” Tommy wailed, knees pumping.

  They blasted out onto Forty-Sixth Street scant seconds ahead of their pursuer, and scrambled along the sidewalk, trying to lose themselves in the pedestrians. The taxi jounced out of the alley and wheeled to follow them. Jax and Tommy ran flat out, rounding the corner onto First Avenue. But the cab was too fast, making the turn onto the wide thoroughfare and pulling even with them.

  It’s no use! Jax thought desperately. We’ll never outrun a car!

  There was a sudden squeal of brakes, and the taxi disappeared from his peripheral vision. He held up an instant to glance over his shoulder, and Tommy plowed into him from behind, nearly bowling him over.

  “What are you doing, man? Keep going!”

  “Look!” rasped Jax.

  The taxi was now hopelessly trapped in the traffic jam caused by a series of barriers and lane closures. Across the street towered the glass front of the United Nations building, surrounded by its fountains and fluttering flags.

  “Let’s get out of here before the avenue starts moving again!” Tommy urged.

  Jax led his friend into the entryway of a parking garage. “Listen — now that they’ve lost me, I’m going to double back and take the taxi by surprise.”

  “What part of scramming don’t you understand?” Tommy exploded.

  “When the cab was chasing me, I had to escape,” Jax explained. “But now I have the upper hand, since they won’t expect me to come back. I’ll sneak up and climb in, hypnotizing on the move. Even if it’s Mako, I think I can get it done.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Tommy decided.

  Jax shook his head. “You’ll be defenseless.”

  Tommy reached down and picked up an empty champagne bottle. “Not quite.”

  They doubled back via the garage’s circular drive, reemerging onto First Avenue a short distance behind the stopped cab. The traffic jam was getting worse, with horns honking and drivers announcing their irritation in colorful language.

  Crouching low, they stepped amid the stopped vehicles and crept up on the taxi. Jax scanned the rear window for Mako’s three-hundred-dollar haircut, but the sun was reflecting off the glass, and he couldn’t get a good look.

  Wordlessly, Jax directed their approach, himself on the left, Tommy on the right. He mouthed the words: On three.

  One, two …

  Jax flung the cab door wide and jumped in, blazing with all the mesmeric power he could muster. Tommy burst in the other side, bottle raised, ready to strike.

  “No!” Jax reached out and grabbed his friend’s wrist a split second before the magnum smashed down on the passenger’s head.

  A petite, brown-haired girl Jax’s age looked up at them with frightened eyes. “Jax?”

  “This isn’t Mako!” Tommy blurted.

  “It’s Kira Kendall!” Jax breathed. “We were hypnos together at Sentia!”

  “If
you’re not going anywhere, get out of my cab,” the driver tossed over his shoulder. “Especially you with the bottle.”

  Kira gave the man a ten-dollar bill, and the three exited the taxi, coming to stand in the shadow of the UN building.

  “Are you spying for Mako?” Jax demanded harshly.

  Her face crumpled. “I’m so sorry, Jax! You were right, and I was wrong! He’s horrible! A monster! And who knows what awful things he has planned!”

  “I do,” Jax said bitterly. “I can’t even begin to describe it. He has to be stopped.”

  She nodded vigorously. “I’ve been trying to trap him for the police! That’s why I bent the receptionist at Galbraith. I gave her a suggestion to text me if anybody asked about Sentia. I took off out of French class thinking I’d be chasing Dr. Mako!”

  “The police can’t hold Mako,” Jax told her. “A maximum-security prison didn’t hold him. And now he’s found another kid who can hypnotize by video.” The whole story poured out — Fort Calhoun and HoWaRD, the devastation in Delta Prime, Stanley and this new Aurora-like plan that would do unimaginable damage worldwide.

  Kira listened, her eyes widening in shock. Even Tommy, who already knew, was gray in the face listening to the appalling details.

  “If what you say is true, the post-hypnotic suggestion is already out there,” said Kira in a hopeless tone. “For all we know, it’s in us. I go on FreeForAll. Don’t you?”

  Jax nodded grimly. “Which means tomorrow at nine AM, we’ll probably grind to a halt along with everybody else.”

  “Nine AM?” Kira repeated. “That’s exactly when the big UN conference is supposed to start!”

  Jax was instantly alert. “UN conference?”

  Tommy indicated the traffic snarl on First Avenue. “That’s why all these lanes are blocked off. They’ve stepped up security because the big muck-a-mucks are already starting to arrive. It’s the first time in history that every leader of every country is going to be under the same roof. The TV news can’t shut up about it.” He made a face. “It’s going to be a pretty big bust if the whole world stops on a dime the minute it’s supposed to start.”

  Light dawned on Jax. “Don’t you see? That’s classic Mako! It can’t be a coincidence that he scheduled his Aurora for exactly that instant.”

  Kira nodded breathlessly. “They’re expecting the largest TV, Internet, and media audience of all time for the opening ceremony. He’s going to unleash this monster at the very moment when the eyes of the planet are focused on a single spot.”

  “But what can we do about it?” asked Tommy. “We’re just kids.”

  “The only person who can stop this is the one who started it — Mako himself,” Jax said with conviction. “I’ve never been able to bend him before, but I have to try again.”

  Tommy hefted his champagne bottle. “And if you’re having trouble, I can help.”

  “That’s the last thing you can do,” Kira pointed out. “Even if we knock him unconscious and tie him to a chair to keep him away from the UN, that won’t stop the Aurora. Our only hope is to hypnotize him into calling it off before it happens.”

  Tommy looked worried. “Can he call it off?”

  “He can,” Jax confirmed. “He just needs Stanley to record a new video for FreeForAll. It may not reach every single person, but it should minimize the damage. At least the whole world won’t stand still.”

  “But you can do that yourself,” Kira reasoned. “You hypnotized remotely before this kid Stanley ever did.”

  Jax shook his head. “Even if I made a video, it would never reach enough people to make a difference. Mako must have hackers who can get his message on FreeForAll. Kira, when you bent that receptionist at Galbraith, did you happen to notice if there’s a forwarding address for the Sentia Institute?”

  She did not look encouraged. “It’s just a post-office box. Somewhere in New Jersey.” She reached into her pocket and produced a crumpled slip of paper. “Pine Bough, New Jersey. Box one-seventeen.”

  “It’s in the burbs somewhere, not too far away,” Tommy put in.

  “It’s a place to start,” Jax decided. “And it’s our only lead.”

  Kira took out her phone and began tapping at it, accessing commuter schedules. “The next bus to Pine Bough isn’t until two thirty, from the Port Authority. I’ll drop my school stuff at home and meet you at the gate.” All at once, her face drained of color. “Uh-oh …”

  “What is it?” Jax asked in concern.

  In answer, she turned the screen to them. Beside the charts of destinations, departures, and arrivals was a flashing notice, captioned Runaway.

  INTERSTATE ALERT

  IF YOU SEE THIS BOY

  CONTACT POLICE IMMEDIATELY

  There was a photograph of a sandy-haired youth with large luminous eyes.

  It was Jackson Opus.

  Jax adjusted his Mets cap and, in his heart, asked his beloved Yankees to forgive him. The sunglasses, which had cost five dollars from a street vendor, were heavy and seemed determined to slide off his nose.

  “Keep your shades on,” Tommy advised in an anxious undertone. “You made the news.”

  Inside the terminal, a video screen provided stock market quotes, a crawl of headlines, and TV news stories. There was Jax’s picture over the caption Missing Boy.

  As they bought their tickets, the woman at the kiosk wouldn’t stop staring at Jax. He flipped up his glasses and stared back. “I am six-foot-seven, and Chinese.”

  “Have a nice trip,” she said, passing their change through the slot.

  “Good one,” Tommy approved. “When you see Kira, tell her that I’ve got big muscles, and I look like the guy from Twilight. She just texted. She’s here already, waiting for us at the gate.”

  Kira was pacing nervously in the waiting area. “I was afraid you got arrested,” she whispered to Jax.

  “The ticket lady got too curious, but I took care of it. And by the way, Tommy looks like the guy from Twilight.”

  “Not the creepy one,” Tommy put in.

  “There was a cop here before,” she went on, “walking past the gate and peering into faces. He’s gone now, but who knows for how long?”

  Jax consulted his watch. “We’re supposed to leave in ten minutes. Why aren’t they letting us on?”

  The bus was parked six feet short of the loading marker. The door was shut and, through the glass, they could see the driver savoring every bite of his Big Mac.

  Tommy squeezed Jax’s arm. “Dude —”

  It was the police officer, strolling through the gathering crowd in the direction of Gate 62.

  Kira knocked on the door of the bus. “Can we come aboard now?”

  The driver never glanced away from his burger. One of the other commuters laughed. “I guess you’re new to this bus. Vlado wouldn’t put down his sandwich if the terminal was on fire.”

  Kira knocked again. “Hey, mister! I sprained my ankle, and I really need to sit down!”

  The driver licked a sesame seed off his mustache and paid her no mind.

  The cop passed Gate 60, and kept coming.

  Tommy sidled up to Jax. “Should we run?”

  Jax shook his head. “That’ll just tip him off that something’s fishy. Besides, we need to make this bus. Every hour is precious.”

  The officer was only twenty feet away now, strolling through the crowd, obviously on alert. His eyes panned the line of waiting passengers.

  Is he looking at me?

  Jax’s hand rose to the temple of his sunglasses. He would bend this cop if he had to, but that carried a new risk. He would be unmasking himself in front of all these people. Surely some of them had seen his picture on TV. One of the first things he’d learned about hypnotism was that no one was powerful enough to bend everybody.

  Ten feet. The officer was heading straight for him. He had to act —

  At that moment, Vlado finished his sandwich, pulled the bus up to the loading point, and opened the door. Ho
lding his breath, Jax turned his back on the cop, lined up with the others, and filed aboard. With every step, he expected to feel an iron grip on his shoulder. It never came. The officer moved on with a little wave in Vlado’s direction, and continued to Gate 63.

  Jax handed over his ticket and collapsed in his seat. In the opposite row, he could see Kira, her face pinched.

  Tommy took the place between them. “Man, if it’s this hard just to get on the bus …”

  He never finished the sentence, but his message was obvious:

  How would they muster the strength for what lay ahead?

  Although Pine Bough, New Jersey, was located less than twenty miles from the Lincoln Tunnel, it seemed like another universe. Nestled in rolling hills, it was a picture-book town of picket fences, charming wood-frame homes, and mature shade trees.

  “Look at this place,” said Tommy in awe. “It looks like a movie set for Anytown, USA.”

  Jax, whose father had once managed a Bentley dealership in New York, instantly recognized the many luxury automobiles parked on Main Street. “Not Anytown,” he amended. “Moneytown. This is for wealthy people who want to be close to New York, but also want to feel like they’re out in the country.”

  Tommy considered this. “Well, Mako’s rich, right? At least, he can always get money by bending people into giving it to him.”

  “Sentia’s mail is forwarded to a PO box in this town.” Kira pointed up the road. “There’s the post office. Let’s go in there and see what we can find out.”

  The United States Post Office, Pine Bough Station, was a tiny facility with a single clerk who had more work than she could seem to handle. She answered the phone, weighed packages, sold stamps, and prepared passport applications for a long line of customers.

  Jax, Tommy, and Kira snaked their way through the standees to the wall of mailboxes. Jax felt a tingle of fear and anticipation. This was his first connection with Dr. Mako since the horrible day Axel had died.

  There it was — box number 117. It was identical to all the others, a narrow square metal front with a slot for a key none of them had.