He paused, then seemed to change, as if he had shoved the dreadful vision of nuclear devastation to one side. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner. We’ve been up half the night arguing with Brody. He’s gone a little power mad. He finally agreed to let one of us see you, and since I am father to thirty-three percent of what’s behind bars here, I got to come. Your mother tried to send cookies, Ray, but Brody destroyed them, looking for hacksaw blades, gas pills, and God knows what else. I think he’s hoping to get a promotion out of all this. He’s not quite aware of the connections some of us have. He’ll be wearing private’s stripes in a day or two.”
“Then you know he won’t be able to make a case out of this,” said Roger, trying to draw some more information out of his father.
He wished he hadn’t asked. The expression on Dr. Phillips’s face answered him more eloquently than mere words.
They were in big trouble.
The next twelve hours were the longest of their lives. The tension, the fear, and the anger at Brody, McGrory, and/or Black Glove left everyone sharp and snappish. Rachel, acting in her usual role of peacemaker, was exhausted halfway through the day and began sniping herself.
Their meals, adequate but not much else, were brought by a guard who started the day smirking at their predicament, but ended it looking as nervous and worried as Dr. Phillips had earlier in the morning.
Brody came once and tried to conduct an “interrogation.” Roger tied him in knots without really trying, and the sergeant beat a hasty retreat, muttering about the captain who was coming to take charge of the island tomorrow and how he would deal with their insolence.
Trip drove the boys crazy by pacing endlessly back and forth in their cell. (Given the length of his legs, it was not a long walk.) Wendy drove everyone crazy making wish lists of various combinations of food that might be served to her on a hamburger bun.
Finally they agreed that everyone should turn in and try to go to sleep. This decision was reinforced when the lights went out, indicating that it was nighttime—something they could not tell in their windowless cells.
With his enviable ability to disconnect himself from a situation on which he could have no effect, Hap drifted off immediately. The others were not so lucky. They lay staring at the ceiling, or the bunk above them, wrapped in their private thoughts.
Roger was feeling angry and betrayed. After they had worked so hard to prove there even was a spy, to be treated as if they were security risks was unutterably galling.
It looks as though Black Glove won after all, he thought bitterly.
The thought returned him to his speculations about the black leather glove Dr. Hwa had dismissed so loftily as being of no significance.
It was significant, he was sure of it.
If only he could figure out why.
He had examined it so many times he could see it now as clearly as if he was actually holding it.
I just can’t put a finger on it, he thought again, rubbing his own thumb and forefinger together as he did whenever he was thinking intensely.
Suddenly Roger sat bolt upright. Put a finger on it! The image of the glove formed in his mind again. He saw it in minute detail—every crease, every bulge. He caught his breath.
It couldn’t be! Not—
Before he could pursue the thought, a clattering at the front of the cell caught his attention.
Something had rolled through the bars.
Jumping out of his bunk, Roger fumbled in the darkness until he found the source of the noise.
“What is it?” asked Trip, looming over his shoulder.
“I don’t know,” said Roger, trying to unwrap the package. “You got a match?”
“I do,” said Ray. They heard the sounds that usually accompanied him making a search of his prodigious pockets. “Got it!” he said at last. This was followed by a scratching—oddly loud in the dark—then a quick snap.
A flare of light appeared at Roger’s elbow.
The paper that had wrapped the package turned out to be a note. He scanned it, then cried, “Holy mackerel, Ray. Blow out that match before you kill us all!”
Black Glove paced back and forth across the secret room beneath the Brain Cell, practicing the speech that would soon be broadcast throughout the world.
The spy paused to make a minor adjustment. It was important that the world’s first message from its new leader be powerful, forceful…intimidating.
Taking out a last word that added nothing to the frank statement of power, Black Glove folded the stack of papers and tucked them into a pocket. A couple of last-minute details to attend to upstairs, then it would be time to record the speech. Transmitted to Euterpe, the recording would then be forwarded to several communications satellites. They, in turn, would beam it back to earth so that every radio and television in the world could pick it up.
The message wouldn’t cut into all channels, of course; just most of them. And anyone who wasn’t tuned in at the time would be alerted soon enough.
Black Glove smiled. A hundred years ago it might have taken months for word of this coup to reach the farthest corners of the globe. Tonight, with the exception of a few people living in caves and isolated cottages, it would take less than half an hour to tell everyone in the world the name of its new ruler.
Modern communications were wonderful.
Even while the person who intended to rule the world was preparing to announce the new structure of power, the world’s current leaders were desperately scrambling to find out what had happened to their space weapons.
They were also calling up their armies. Across the globe military ships were changing course to head for strategic locations. Pilots were scrambling, some taking to the air for spy flights, others to be aloft with vital weapons should the bombs begin to fall on the airfields where they were usually housed.
Like their weapons, the chief executives of the major countries were also being moved. Some fled to caverns where they would be protected by miles of mountain above them. Others were traveling far above the earth’s surface, in flying fortresses from which they hoped they could govern from the air as the land was torn to pieces. There was even, in one extreme case, an undersea dome, where a small community had been established only a year earlier for just such an emergency. Now it looked as if this precaution wasn’t so extreme after all.
Ordinary people had no special protection, of course. But then, they weren’t even supposed to know that anything was wrong. Each government had treated the breach of security in the heavenly arsenal as a top-secret situation.
Yet everyone knew. Not exactly what was happening. But the word was out that things were bad, and getting worse.
As if connected by some great, subconscious net, the people knew the world was tottering on the edge of enormous change.
The response was as varied as the human race itself. There were crazed mobs in the streets and weeping throngs in the churches. Some people reacted to what they thought was the end of the world by praying; some by stealing television sets.
Yet under every response, no matter how bizarre, lay a single desperate thought—a terrible cry from the heart that, however warped by rage or fear, meant only one thing: Please—don’t let it be true!
“Plastic explosive?” asked Rachel incredulously when Roger announced what was in the package.
“An early Christmas present from our Mysterious Friend,” he said, working the material between his hands. “As soon as everybody’s ready, I’ll set this up and we’ll see if we can bust out of here.”
“I knew this joint could never hold us,” said Wendy. She spoke out of the corner of her mouth, in her best gangster imitation.
“Maybe,” said Ray. “Or maybe it’s another trap to finish us off for good. What if the whole idea is to get us to blow ourselves up?”
“I can see the tabloids now,” said Trip gloomily. “‘Whiz-Kid Spies Blown to Smithereens: “They were too smart for their own good,” says island security chi
ef.’”
“I always dreamed of making the National Enquirer,” said Hap. “Won’t Mom be proud?”
“Will you ninnies shut up and move to the back of the bus!” said Roger. He was kneeling at the front of the wall that divided the two cells, tucking the explosive into place. “Everybody ready?” he asked a moment later.
“Go for it, Chief,” said Wendy.
Roger moved back to join the other boys in the corner farthest from the charge. He was still holding some of the plastic explosive in his hand.
“Hey, Roger,” said Ray. “How come you didn’t use all of it?”
“We’re going to need a little bit to blow our way into the Brain Cell,” he replied. “I think it’s time we had a little talk with Black Glove.”
“You mean you know who it is?” cried Trip.
Roger’s answer was drowned out by the front of their cell being blown open.
The Brain Cell
“Remember what Brody said when he arrested us?” whispered Roger, pressing against the wall of the building so he wouldn’t be seen.
“He said a lot,” answered Ray. “Just like always.”
“Yeah, but his big thing this time was ‘national emergency.’”
“So?”
“So that’s what this is: a national emergency. So I want you guys to commandeer that Jeep!”
A slow smile spread across Wendy’s face. Giving Roger a salute, she said happily, “We’ll do it for the U.S. of A.!” Actually, commandeering the Jeep wasn’t going to be that difficult. Every security guard in the area had come running at the sound of the explosion. Roger was glad Rachel had taken the time to memorize the building’s floor plan; it was her knowledge of the back ways that had gotten them out quickly without running into any of Brody’s crew.
Now, with the guards all inside, the Jeep was sitting on its own.
Before Roger could say another word, Hap was under the hood, connecting a pair of wires.
“Let’s move!” said Wendy to the others, who were still clinging to the cover of the wall. “He’ll have that going any second now!”
Indeed, their mechanical genius had the Jeep’s engine purring even as the gang was clambering over its sides.
“This is great!” said Wendy, hopping behind the wheel. “Just like the old days.” Without another word she slammed her foot to the floor and took off for the computer center, driving as if she were trying out for the drag-race championship of the world.
“Don’t get carried away,” said Roger. “We’re not going through the front door this time.”
Wendy looked crushed. Driving her parents’ Volkswagen through the front doors of the computer center had been one of the high points of her life. She had been hoping to relive the episode with the Jeep.
“Why not?” she asked petulantly, swinging the steering wheel to the right as she did.
“Because I don’t want those guards all over us,” said Roger, bracing himself against the passenger door. “We’re going in the back way. Rachel, you still remember the plans for this place?”
“You bet. You get us there, I’ll get us in.”
“Well, ‘there’ is ‘here,’” said Wendy, hitting the brakes so hard that Roger’s cast slammed painfully against the dash. “If we don’t want them to know we’re coming, this is the place to stop.”
“Good. Now, just so you won’t be too disappointed, do you think you can set this baby up to go through the doors on her own? We need a little diversion.”
“Roger,” said Wendy gratefully, “if I didn’t think it was a disgusting habit, I’d kiss you. Just watch me!”
“Sorry, short stuff, I’ll be elsewhere. You do the deed, then head for the door on the east side of the building as soon as possible. Ray, stick with her in case she gets in trouble. The rest of you—follow me.”
With that he began a crouching run for the east side of the building; the others followed hard on his heels. As soon as they had rounded the comer and were out of sight of the guards, they dropped the crouch and ran full out.
Roger had just finished tucking a wad of the explosive into the latch area when they heard a crash from the front of the building. The small blast they made blowing open the door merged easily into the sounds of tinkling glass, grinding metal, and angry shouting caused by Wendy’s stunt with the Jeep.
“That worked nicely,” said Roger in surprise. “I only wanted to get the guards to the front of the building. I didn’t realize we could hide the sound of our entry at the same time.”
“Well, don’t waste your breath telling us how wonderful you are,” said Wendy, rushing out of the darkness. “Let’s get going.”
“Where’s Ray?” asked Trip.
Wendy looked around. “Chips! I thought he was right behind me.”
“Now what do we do?” asked Rachel.
“We move on!” said Roger. “Trip, you’re fastest. Run back to the corner and see if you can spot Ray. If he’s not there, hightail it back here. We’ll leave one person at each corner we turn until we run out. If he hasn’t shown up by then, I’ll call you all in and he’ll be on his own.”
Trip nodded, then raced off to look for Ray.
“All right, let’s go,” said Roger. With his sister, Hap, and Wendy following, he plunged into the computer center.
“What’s the big rush, anyway?” panted Rachel when they reached the first corner.
Roger didn’t answer at once. “Hap, you stay here and wait for Trip. Wendy, you take the next corner, and I’ll take the third. As soon as Rachel has to turn again after that, I’ll signal. Wendy, you pass it on to Hap. He’ll signal Trip and the three of you catch up with us, hopefully bringing Ray, too. Got it?”
They nodded.
“Roger…”
He turned to his sister. “The hurry is, if they catch us, we might not have a chance to get this out in the open.” He paused. “I want to force the enemy’s hand. To tell you the truth, I think that may be our only chance to avoid being locked up for life. Besides, I think Black Glove is up to something. There’s been too much going on for it to be coincidence.”
“But who do you think it is?” asked Wendy.
Roger spoke a name.
The others stared at him in astonishment.
Trip had returned without finding any sign of the Gamma Ray, making it a worried group of five that approached the door to the Brain Cell.
“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” whispered Rachel. Like the others, she had been dying to get a look at the restricted area from the time they had learned of its existence.
The entrance to the Brain Cell was through a double set of doors, the first glass, the second solid steel. Dr. Fontana happened to be going in as the gang reached the top of the stairwell that led to the area. They watched as she pressed her hand to a small square at the side of the first door.
“Handprint key device,” said Wendy. “We’ll never get past that.”
Dr. Fontana stopped at the next door, the steel one. From the movement of her arm, Roger guessed she was entering a code on a digital keypad. Probably each scientist had a different code; the handprint and the code number had to match before they would be allowed access. A double-tight security system.
“Look,” said Roger. “I’m all for brains and finesse, but right now I’ll settle for brute force. Trip, I can’t make it down the hall on my belly with this bum arm. Do you think you can plant the last of this stuff for me?”
“My headline in the National Enquirer is getting better by the hour,” said Trip. “‘Crazed Teenager Apprehended in Computer Center: Mad Bomber Was Always a Little Strange, Claim Friends.’ Mom will love me for this one.”
“Look, you don’t have to do it.”
Trip snatched the last of the explosive from Roger’s hand. “Are you kidding? I’ve never had so much fun in my life. Besides, I’ll tell Mom you made me do it.”
Stretching out on the floor, he began to crawl toward the doors.
Dr. Antho
ny Phillips, still acting as spokesman for the gang’s parents, was standing toe to toe with Dr. Hwa when the explosion shook the room.
The group of angry adults in Dr. Hwa’s office had been insulated from the sound of Wendy’s crash at the front doors.
Roger’s small explosion at the side of the building had been far off and muffled.
But there was no mistaking this one. Something had definitely blown up, and from the sound of things, whatever it was, it was right inside the command center.
After a brief scramble of confusion, the entire group of adults had managed to get out of Dr. Hwa’s office and head in the direction of the explosion. A horrified babble broke out when they passed through the shattered, smoking doors and found their children standing in the center of the highly restricted Brain Cell.
“I suppose you’re wondering why we’ve called you together like this,” said Roger calmly.
“What is going on here?” exploded Dr. Hwa, with a force not much less than that which had just knocked down the doors.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” said Roger. He looked around the room. Of the original seventeen suspects only Bridget McGrory and Sergeant Brody were missing.
“I must say, this worked out rather conveniently. I thought we might have to send for some of you. I take it you were talking about us?”
“Roger,” said his father warningly.
“Let him go, Dad,” said Rachel, who was dying to find out what her brother was going to say next.
But before Roger could say another word, Sergeant Artemus P. Brody came barging into the room, dragging the Gamma Ray by the arm.
In his other hand the sergeant held a mean-looking pistol.
“All right, you little creeps,” he snarled. “The game is over. Get in a line against that wall. Now!”
The Black Glove
“Just what do you think you’re doing, Sergeant Brody?” demanded Dr. Phillips.
“My job,” snapped Brody. “Which is to protect this installation from vandals and traitors. These brats of yours seem to fall into both categories—not to mention that they’re also guilty of fleeing custody. Okay, you kids. Get ready to march.”
Forever Begins Tomorrow Page 12