CITIES IN THE ELECTROPHONE MESSAGE
After several hours of frustration, they called it quits. Franklin wished everyone a good night and agreed to meet the next morning to try again. Victor and Scott joined Mrs. Godwin in the living room and collapsed onto the couch, exhausted.
“Did you boys get anywhere with your puzzle?” she asked.
“Not really,” said Scott. “It’s a tough one.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She turned off the TV. “I heard you mention Edinburgh. I was there years ago.”
Victor perked up. “You were?”
“Only for a short time. It was an emergency stopover on the way to Paris.”
“What happened?”
“There was a terrible storm. Lightning struck the wing, and we lost an engine. We weren’t sure we were going to make it.” She shuddered. “I was never so happy to see an airport in my entire life.”
“Wow. You don’t remember anything special about Edinburgh, do you?”
She shook her head. “Only the terminal. We spent a couple of hours there waiting for them to put us on a new flight.”
Victor sighed, disappointed at hitting yet another dead end.
“Hey, Mrs. Godwin, have you ever been to Nejran?” Scott asked. “Or Niort? Or Five Finger, Alaska; Mérida, Mexico; or Neryungri, Russia?”
Mrs. Godwin laughed. “I’ve never even heard of those places.” She looked at her watch. “Speaking of trips, isn’t it time you two took a trip up to bed?”
Victor struggled to fall asleep. Every muscle in his body was exhausted, but his mind was racing. Something in his mother’s story nagged at him. The airplane? The storm? The airport?
When he finally did fall asleep, he had terrible dreams. At one point he, Scott, and Franklin were flying in a fierce storm. Their plane rocked from side to side as lightning flashed in the sky. Through the window, Victor could see the Wright brothers flying closer and closer in their old-fashioned airplane. Their fangs were long and sharp, and their eyes glowed bright red.
Then Victor was in an airport. Franklin, Scott, and the Wright brothers were gone. He stood alone in front of an enormous departure board, frantically searching for a flight home. He looked down the list of destinations but couldn’t make out the names of the cities. They were scrambled, as if in some sort of code.
Code.
Airport code.
In a flash, Victor was wide awake, his heart pounding. It was four A.M. He raced to his computer and began entering the names of the cities from the list.
As he suspected, each city was home to an airport. Each airport, Victor knew, had its own three-letter international code, used by pilots and air traffic controllers to identify them easily.
Victor grabbed a piece of paper. Scanning the list on the computer screen, he scribbled down the airport codes for each of the cities.
Mérida, Mexico: MID
Niort, France: NIT
Edinburgh, Scotland: EDI
Neryungri, Russia: NER
Five Finger, Alaska: FIV
Nejran, Saudi Arabia: EAM
He knew exactly what the mysterious voice had been trying to tell them.
There was no time to waste. He woke up Scott.
MEANWHILE . . .
It was four A.M. Police Chief Elmore Hawkins gazed at the sliver of moon high above his city. Confusion swirled in his head. Days had passed since Mayor Milstead and her experts had determined that the giant flying bats were only swamp gas mirages. But he was certain he had caught a glimpse of something only a week before, and it had looked real enough to him.
He had poked around City Hall, asking questions, trying to get his hands on the official report, but no luck. The word from above was that it had been settled. Swamp gas.
But that wasn’t good enough. In the morning he would open his own investigation. Sure, he’d take some heat from the mayor, but he was respected in the community and could weather the political storm.
He turned a corner and walked past a thin, mustached man dressed all in black. An odd-looking man, the chief thought. Something about his eyes ... They almost seemed to glow in the lamplight.
“Hi,” Chief Hawkins said.
The man nodded.
The chief walked past him, then felt a sharp bite on his neck.
He slapped at it, thinking a bug had bitten him. When he looked at his palm, he noticed two small splotches of blood.
Fwoooooooosh!
He spun around. Hadn’t there been a man standing there? Everything was going fuzzy. What had he been thinking about before he was bitten? He suddenly couldn’t remember.
He couldn’t remember . . . anything. But he knew where he had to go.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Breakfast at the Midnite Diner
It was four fifty in the morning when Victor, Scott, and Franklin arrived at the Midnite Diner. Although the rest of the street was still asleep, the Midnite was alive with the aroma of breakfast cooking on the griddle and the sounds of lively conversation.
“It smells delicious,” marveled Franklin. “And it’s only a few blocks from our house! Why have we never eaten here before?”
At the counter sat a biker, a musician with green hair, and an elderly woman with thick glasses and a poodle in her purse. The booths were filled with similarly colorful characters, all chatting in various languages.
“I don’t know,” said Victor. “I guess I’ve always been a little afraid of this place.”
“Afraid?” said Franklin. “Victor, how many times must I tell you, science—and fine dining—is risk! Really, you should get out more.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” added Scott, leading them toward an empty booth in the back. “This place is great.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“All the time. My dad’s a regular.” He nodded toward the wall.
Hanging above the table was an enormous framed, autographed photo of Skip Weaver, weatherman. For some reason, he was in his underpants. Victor shook his head. In a place like the Midnite Diner, Scott’s dad would fit right in.
“So why are we here, anyway?” Scott asked. “And why so early?”
“We’re here to meet the voice from the electrophone,” said Victor. He scanned the room. “Keep your eyes peeled. It could be anyone, and he might be in disguise.”
“But how do you know?” Franklin asked. “You still haven’t explained how you deciphered the message.”
“There was no time. We had to get here right away.” Victor set the piece of paper with his notes on the table. “It finally hit me: this is all about the Wright brothers and airplanes. Each one of the cities on the list has an airport, and each airport has a three-letter code.”
Franklin studied the page. “I see! Well done, Victor.”
“I don’t get it,” said Scott.
“Put the city codes in a row, one after the other,” Victor explained. “Like this: MID, NIT, EDI, NER, FIV, EAM. Then change the spaces: MIDNITE DINER FIVE AM.”
“Cool!”
“We’re still early,” said Franklin. “Shall we order some pancakes?”
OTHER AIRPORT CODES OF NOTE
Five o’clock, then five thirty came and went, with no contact from the mysterious voice. Franklin and Scott ordered more pancakes. Victor was too edgy to eat.
“I wonder if we’re doing this wrong,” he said. “Maybe we’re supposed to get up and introduce ourselves.”
“To who?” asked Scott.
Victor shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the cook. We could tell him we’re here to meet someone.”
“Good luck!” Scott laughed. “He doesn’t speak English, except for the stuff on the menu.”
“Do you recognize anyone else?” asked Franklin.
“Not really,” said Scott. “I’m not usually here this early. It’s a different crowd.”
“Maybe we should just—”
“Shove over,” said a voice. “Act like you know me.”
“Are you deaf? I said move over.”
Victor slid to his left, and the girl sat down next to him.
“He may be watching us, so we don’t have a lot of time. Dr. Franklin, it’s an honor to meet you. I’m Jaime Winters.”
Franklin held out his hand. “The honor is mine, young lady. Are you, by chance, a Custodian?”
“My parents are . . . I mean, were,” said Jaime. “And it’s probably best if we don’t say that word too loudly. He might be listening.”
“Who might be listening?” Scott asked.
Jaime glared at him. “Who are you, exactly?”
“My name’s Scott.” He pointed at the picture above him. “That’s my dad.”
“Look,” said Jaime, “I don’t think you boys understand what’s going on here, so I’ll try to make it as simple as possible. I have business with Dr. Franklin, and it’s not really kid stuff. Maybe it’s best if you just run along.”
Victor bristled. “And how old are you?”
“I assure you, Miss Winters,” offered Franklin, “these gentlemen have my complete confidence.”
Jaime looked at Victor and Scott with contempt. “As you wish, Dr. Franklin.”
“Please, call me Ben.”
“All right, Ben.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Something bad is going down, and we don’t have much time. The Modern Order of Prometheus is in trouble, and Custodians are disappearing. We suspect that a few of them, like your own Custodian, Mr. Mercer, may have been murdered.”
“Mr. Mercer was our downstairs neighbor,” said Victor. “He wasn’t murdered. He died of a heart attack.”
Jaime rolled her eyes. “Did you do an autopsy? I didn’t think so. Now, listen carefully. There are only a few of us left, and every time we speak on the electrophone or go out in public, we put ourselves at risk. I’m in great danger right now. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Sorry,” said Victor.
“You guys figured out the Wright brothers have been awakened. That confirms our suspicions. Their Custodian stopped responding to our messages several weeks ago.”
“Forgive me,” said Franklin, “but when you say ‘our’ messages, do you mean you and your parents?”
“My parents disappeared months ago,” said Jaime. She paused and took a deep breath. “Now it’s just me and a handful of other Custodians from the Order. We call ourselves the Promethean Underground.”
“P-U!” said Scott. “That’s funny!”
Jaime scowled. “We’ve been working in secret, gathering whatever information we can. This latest business with the Wright brothers has us very concerned.”
“Why?” asked Franklin. “What are they planning?”
“We have no idea, and that’s why we need your help. We do know that the brothers appear to be under the control of someone calling himself the Emperor. We believe he’s done something to their Custodian.”
“You said my own Custodian was killed,” said Franklin. “Did this Emperor awaken me for the same reason he awakened the Wright brothers?”
“We believe so.”
“Then why am I not under his control as well?”
“We don’t know. For some reason, you were immune. After he failed with you, he tried again, this time with the brothers.”
“Wait a minute,” said Victor. “That phone call at Ernie’s that made Ben go crazy—that must have been the Emperor calling.” He filled Jaime in.
“I’m sure that was him,” she agreed. “And it sounds like he hasn’t given up trying to control Ben. We have to make absolutely sure that never happens.”
“Don’t worry,” volunteered Scott. “We turned off the phone.”
“That won’t be enough,” said Jaime. “One of our Custodians has connections. We’ll make sure your number can’t be traced to your home.”
“I never thought of that,” said Victor.
“Of course you didn’t,” said Jaime. “Now we need to go on the attack. It’s time to do some investigating at the Right Cycle Company.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” asked Victor. “We know the Emperor is still trying to control Ben. Maybe one of the other Custodians should go.”
“The other Custodians—what’s left of them—are guarding their own inventors. I’d go myself, but I have my hands full working for the Underground. But you’re right about Dr. Franklin. He should stay far away from that place.”
Franklin nodded. “If not me, then who?”
Jaime sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it has to be these two.”
“We could call the police,” said Scott. “Or the army.”
“We can’t trust anyone. As it is, the mayor and several important officials appear to be under the Emperor’s control.” Jaime glanced at her watch. “I have to go. I’ve been here too long already.”
“How do we report back to you?” asked Victor.
“Take this,” said Jaime. She handed Victor a cell phone. “Call the number in the address book, leave a message, then destroy the phone. When the time is right, I’ll contact you. Until then, you’re on your own.” She stood up. “Dr. Franklin, it’s been an honor.”
“Godspeed, Jaime. Please send my regards to the other Custodians.”
Jaime pulled her hood up over her head and slipped out the door.
“She seems nice,” said Scott.
“It is good to know the Order survives,” agreed Franklin. “Although it sounds like we have much work to do. What is our next move?”
“I hate to say it,” said Victor, “but Scott and I need to pay the Wright brothers another visit.”
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Secret of the Wright Brothers
Victor followed Scott through the window and dropped down onto the warehouse floor. He surveyed the immense room.
“It’s all gone!” whispered Scott. Where there had once been mountains of disassembled bicycle parts, only a few scattered piles remained. “Where did it go?”
Victor looked around the room. “That freight elevator—I bet they took everything upstairs.”
Scott ran over to the elevator. “Should I push the button?”
“Definitely not,” said Victor, examining a pile of reflectors and fenders. “We’re here to collect evidence, then get out before we get caught. Just take pictures of everything you see, and I’ll make notes. Got it? Scott?”
Victor looked around. Where had Scott gone?
“Up here!” Scott shouted from the top of a metal staircase.
“Shhh! Someone will hear you!”
“Come on up! I found a door.”
Victor hesitated. Whatever the Wright brothers were up to was probably going on upstairs. Reluctantly, he climbed the staircase.
“It’s locked,” said Scott, yanking the doorknob.
“Give me a minute.” Victor pulled a case from his pocket and knelt by the keyhole. He opened the case and selected two stainless-steel tools: a thin tension wrench and an L-rake lock pick.
Thirty seconds and one soft click later, he turned the knob and eased the door open a crack.
“Nice!” Scott whispered, impressed.
Cautiously, Victor pulled the door open a little more and peeked inside. He could hear two faint voices, masked by a loud hissing noise.
“What do you see?” Scott asked.
“I can sort of hear them, but I can’t see a thing,” Victor said. “A bunch of crates are in the way.”
“If we can’t see them, they can’t see us, right?” Scott pushed past Victor and skittered up against the stack of crates. He looked back at Victor and w
aved him in.
Victor took a deep breath and crawled across the rough wooden floor to where Scott was hiding. The hissing grew louder.
VICTOR’S LOCK PICK SET
“That was crazy!” Victor said. “If they’d seen you—”
Scott peered over the top of a crate. “I think they’re too busy to notice. Look.”
Victor peeked between two crates. He and Scott were at the edge of another enormous room, as large as the one downstairs. At the center stood the Wright brothers. Orville hunched over a table staring intently at some large papers—blueprints, Victor guessed. Beside him, Wilbur operated a blowtorch that hissed flames, welding a section of a monstrous metal contraption. Forty feet long and almost as wide, it was constructed of countless bicycle chains, sprockets, and frames welded together into a terrifying skeletal system.
Wilbur twisted a valve on an acetylene tank and shut off the torch. Orville helped his brother stretch a long piece of canvas across the top of the contraption, fastening it to the framework.
“They’re making wings,” Scott whispered. “It’s a giant bat!”
“That’s no bat,” Victor said. “They’re the Wright brothers. It’s a giant bat plane!”
Orville and Wilbur cocked their heads. Victor clamped his hand over his mouth, and the boys ducked down behind the crate. Two sets of footsteps approached and stopped close by. Victor and Scott held their breaths. After a few tense seconds, the footsteps tip-tapped away and the boys exhaled in relief.
The brothers returned to the plane. Wilbur worked quickly and efficiently, connecting a clear hose to an engine, while Orville opened the valve on a large vat. Glowing blue liquid began flowing through the hose.
Victor recognized it instantly—harmonic fluid !
As it surged from the vat to the engine, the brothers gazed at it, as if drawn to the radiant liquid inside.
Scott pointed across the room. “If we can sneak over there, we can get a better look.”
Before Victor could stop him, Scott had slipped farther into the room, ducking behind a new set of crates. Scott snapped a few pictures of the bat plane. Victor silently counted to three and then dashed to Scott’s side.
Benjamin Franklinstein Meets the Fright Brothers Page 6