Nick and Tesla's Solar-Powered Showdown

by Bob Pflugfelder

  “Uhh … Mr. Photovoltaic?” Tesla guessed. She knew she was wrong—photo referred to light, and voltaic to electricity—but she hadn’t studied the history of solar power.

  “Albert Einstein?” said Nick, who had.

  “Exactly,” said Uncle Newt, looking impressed. “Before he was famous, Einstein won a Nobel Prize for the work he did on light and how it can generate a flow of electrons from certain materials.”

  Nick nodded. “That was the breakthrough that made solar power possible, decades later.”

  “Showoff,” Tesla muttered. “Anyway—we still don’t have a birdhouse.”

  “Sure we do,” said Uncle Newt.

  He returned to the cabinet, reached in again, threw out what looked like a Geiger counter and a sundial, and then turned holding a perfect blue birdhouse.

  “Why do you have a birdhouse in your basement?” Nick asked as his uncle carried it to one of the worktables.

  “It was for the mice. I wanted them to stop nesting in my beakers.”

  “Did it work?” asked Tesla.

  Uncle Newt closed one eye and squinted into the birdhouse.

  “Nope,” he said. “Empty.”

  “Good. That means we won’t have to evict any inhabitants,” said Tesla. She picked up a screwdriver and said, “Let’s build this thing.”

  DeMarco and Silas had gone home for a little while but returned and were waiting on the back porch until the solar spy birdhouse was ready.

  “It’s not big enough,” Silas said when Nick, Tesla, and Uncle Newt finally joined them outside.

  “What do you mean?” asked Uncle Newt, holding the birdhouse over his head. “Once this is up in a tree, the walkie-talkie and the solar panel will be totally hidden. See?”

  Silas shook his head. “I mean, it’s not big enough for a condor.”

  “It doesn’t have to be big enough for a condor,” Tesla said. “It’s a plain old normal birdhouse. That’s the point.”

  Silas scowled. “What’s the fun of that?”

  “It’s not supposed to be fun,” said Nick. “It’s just supposed to work.”

  “I like fun,” Silas grumbled.

  Still holding the birdhouse up high, Uncle Newt walked off toward the row of oak trees that lined the driveway. DeMarco went with him, scouting for branches that were just the right height: close to the ground so the walkie-talkie could pick up conversations yet high enough to keep it out of sight.

  “So,” Tesla said to Silas, “is your dad up for this?”

  Silas nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, but …”

  “But what?” said Nick.

  “When I told him you need to trap a couple government agents on your uncle’s driveway for a while, he wanted me to swear that whatever we were up to wouldn’t endanger national security. So I did.”

  “What’s the problem?” asked Tesla.

  “Well … that got me thinking. Can we be sure we aren’t endangering national security?”

  Nick and Tesla answered at the same time:

  “Absolutely,” said Tesla.

  “Good question,” said Nick.

  Tesla glared at her brother.

  He let her handle the rest of the conversation.

  “Look,” Tesla said, “we’ve done a better job tracking down these spies than Agent McIntyre and Agent Doyle, right? So if anyone’s endangering national security, it’s them—by refusing to tell us everything and let us help rescue our parents.”

  Slowly, a smile spread across Silas’s broad face.

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “That makes sense.”

  “So, you’re in?” said Tesla.

  Silas continued to nod, adding a thumbs-up for good measure.

  Nick gave his sister a thumbs-up, too.

  “All right, then. You go help DeMarco and Uncle Newt,” Tesla said to Silas. Then she turned to Nick. “We should prep the solar cooker.”

  Nick pulled at the gold chain around his neck; with that, the star-shaped pendant/tracking device that Agent McIntyre had given him popped out from under his shirt.

  “Guess it’s time to heat things up,” Nick said.

  After the pendants had been in the cooker for twenty minutes, Nick said, “Maybe it’s not hot enough for them to think we’re in trouble.”

  “It’s hot enough,” said Tesla.

  After the pendants had been in the cooker for thirty minutes, Nick said, “Maybe they’re so mad about us tricking them last time that they’ve decided to let us fry.”

  “They haven’t,” said Tesla.

  After the pendants had been in the cooker for forty minutes, Nick said, “Maybe—”

  “Shhh,” said Tesla. “Here they come.”

  And she was right.

  The distant roar of an engine—a big one—grew steadily louder. A moment later, a black SUV swerved, with tires squealing, into Uncle Newt’s driveway. It screeched to a halt behind the Newtmobile. Right on target.

  (As part of the plan, Silas and DeMarco were hiding in the bushes by the empty house next door, ready to move the birdhouse if the SUV stopped somewhere unexpected. Now they didn’t have to bother. They could stay put until it was time to kick off Phase 2.)

  The SUV’s front doors swung open, and Agents McIntyre and Doyle jumped out and charged around the Newtmobile. They were dressed in their usual getups: black business suits and spotless white shirts. Both were reaching inside their jackets, presumably to whip out something lethal if the situation called for it.

  The two agents stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Nick and Tesla waiting on the back porch, a hot dog cooker on the pavement between them.

  “Told ya,” Agent Doyle said to Agent McIntyre. “I’m just glad you didn’t call the Coast Guard this time.”

  Agent McIntyre scowled first at Agent Doyle, then at Nick and Tesla, and then at the solar cooker.

  “Your transponders are in that … thing?” she said.

  “Transponders? You mean our pendants?” said Tesla. “Yeah, they’re in there.”

  “We were just trying to get your attention,” said Nick.

  Agent McIntyre looked Nick in the eye so intently that he had to look away.

  “Well, you got it,” Agent McIntyre said. “And you destroyed your transponders in the process. They’re not built to withstand those kinds of temperatures.”

  “Oh,” Nick mumbled. “Oops.”

  “Look, we’re sorry about the transponders and we’re sorry we had to trick you into coming out here again,” said Tesla, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “But we’ve got something important to show you. Follow me.”

  She started walking toward the back door.

  Nick followed her.

  Agent McIntyre and Agent Doyle stayed put.

  Tesla spun around to face the agents.

  “We can tell you exactly where our mother was less than twenty-four hours ago,” she said.

  “And we can show you how to trace her to wherever she is now,” Nick added.

  Tesla pulled open the back door and gestured toward the kitchen, inviting Agent McIntyre and Agent Doyle inside.

  “Coming?” she said.

  The agents looked at each other. “We’re already here,” Agent Doyle said with a shrug. “And you’ve seen what they’ve managed to accomplish before.”

  “All right.” Agent McIntyre turned toward Nick and Tesla. “But this better be good.”

  “Oh, it is,” said Tesla. “Trust us.”

  As Agent McIntyre and Agent Doyle went inside, Silas and DeMarco popped out of the bushes by Julie Casserly’s old house. DeMarco took off running, headed for the street. Silas paused to give Nick and Tesla a grin and a thumbs-up.

  Nick returned the thumbs-up.

  Tesla shooed Silas away while mouthing one silent word.

  “Go.”

  Off he went.

  Phase 2 was on.

  Uncle Newt was waiting at the dining room table. Next to his chair was a blue plastic basket overflowing with wri
nkled and stained T-shirts, lab coats, and jeans.

  “You made us come all this way to show us your laundry?” asked Agent Doyle incredulously.

  He and Agent McIntyre had stopped on the opposite side of the table, across from Uncle Newt.

  “It’s what’s in the laundry that’s important,” Uncle Newt said as Nick and Tesla sat down on either side of him.

  “If it’s so important, why would it be in your laundry?” asked Agent McIntyre.

  “Because it’s been hacked,” Uncle Newt said.

  Agent Doyle narrowed his eyes. “Your laundry’s been hacked?”

  “No, no! The thing in my laundry. My laptop. We think whoever has captured Nick and Tesla’s parents have been using it to spy on us. So I packed it in something that would muffle sound so it couldn’t eavesdrop.” Uncle Newt smiled sheepishly. “It’s probably going to smell a bit when you take it out. Sorry.”

  “What makes you think someone’s been using the laptop to spy on you?” Agent McIntyre asked.

  “That,” said Tesla. She pointed at the dining room table. The Post-it note with the message from her mother was sitting between a plate with a half- eaten Hot Pocket and an open box of Cap’n Crunch. (Uncle Newt was supposed to clear the table before Agents McIntyre and Doyle arrived, but apparently he’d forgotten.)

  As the agents leaned forward to look at the note, Nick began telling them how and where they’d found it.

  Their demeanors changed immediately. Agent Doyle was suddenly alert—engaged and intrigued.

  Agent McIntyre was furious. “You have been meddling in a federal investigation!” she yelled, losing the last grip on her temper.

  Nick and Uncle Newt shrank back in their seats.

  Tesla nodded. “Yes, we have,” she said coolly. “And very effectively, too.”

  “No. Not very effectively,” Agent McIntyre snapped. “The spy ring we’ve been searching for was holding your mother, and probably your father, prisoner here in the Bay Area. Right under our noses. We would have found them eventually. But now they’ve moved your parents who knows where, thanks to your snooping!”

  “Can’t you trace them with that?” Nick asked meekly, poking a finger at the laundry basket. “The laptop, I mean. Not the dirty clothes.”

  Agent McIntyre glared at him with such obvious rage that Nick wanted to crawl out of his chair and hide behind it. But before she could bark out a reply, Agent Doyle spoke.

  “We can try,” he said. “If the laptop really has been hacked and if the people who hacked it have been sloppy about covering their tracks, then maybe we’ll be able to find them.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs,” said Agent McIntyre. She’d had a moment to take a deep breath and get her anger under control, but still she sounded far from calm. “And I’ll give you one more: If you can’t stay out of the way, then we will put you out of the way.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Tesla.

  “It means,” said Agent Doyle, “that McIntyre might have made a mistake letting you two stay with your uncle while we sorted out this situation. One more wild-goose chase and we’ll have to take you into protective custody. You don’t want that to happen, believe me. You’re a lot more comfortable here.”

  As Agent Doyle spoke, Agent McIntyre walked around the table, picked up the laundry basket, and headed for the back of the house.

  “Can I get a receipt for that?” Uncle Newt asked.

  “No,” Agent McIntyre said without slowing down.

  “Aw, man,” Uncle Newt groaned. “Some of my favorite T-shirts are in there.”

  Agent Doyle picked up the Post-it note, stuffed it in his shirt pocket, and followed Agent McIntyre without another word.

  Nick and Tesla looked at each other. The agents had stormed out of the house more quickly than they’d anticipated. Would Phase 2 be ready?

  The twins hopped up and scurried out after them.

  “Will you at least promise to let us know if you trace the spyware to the bad guys?” Tesla called out.

  “No,” said Agent McIntyre.

  “The only thing we can promise,” said Agent Doyle, “is that you’ll be sorry if you get in our way one more—oh, give me a break!”

  The two agents stopped in the driveway and stared at the tiny, dented, boxy blue car that was parked all of two inches from their SUV’s rear bumper, its engine rumbling and coughing. At the wheel was a burly, bearded man in a faded flannel shirt—Dave Kuskie, Silas’s dad. Silas and DeMarco were squeezed into the teeny back seat behind him.

  Mr. Kuskie rolled down the window and leaned out.

  “Just who we were coming to see!” he said to Nick and Tesla, grinning.

  “Sir, would you mind—?” Agent Doyle began.

  “Just a sec,” Mr. Kuskie said. “So, Nick, Tesla—we’re going to a matinee of Major Patriot: Super Commando. You want to tag along?”

  “It totally sets up the Metalman reboot!” Silas shouted. “You gotta come see it with us!”

  “Sir,” Agent McIntyre repeated, her anger rising, “we need you to move your vehicle so we can—”

  “Hold your horses. This won’t take long,” said Mr. Kuskie. “What do you say, kids? Popcorn’s on me!”

  “Sorry,” said Nick. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Me, neither,” said Tesla. “Thanks, though.”

  “Oh, come on!” DeMarco yelled. “If you don’t go now, someone’ll tell you all the spoilers before you can see it!”

  “And that someone will be me!” Silas added gleefully.

  Agent McIntyre took an angry step toward Mr. Kuskie’s ancient car.

  “Move that hunk of junk now,” she said with a snarl.

  Silas’s dad truly looked at her for the first time.

  “Excuse me?” he said. “Miss, this is a vintage 1982 Volkswagen Rabbit in mint condition. It is not a hunk of—”

  The car’s engine revved, sputtered, whined … and then died.

  “Not again!” Silas cried.

  “Come on, come on!” said DeMarco. “You know I hate to miss the previews!”

  Mr. Kuskie looked down at the ignition and seemed to fiddle with the key.

  Nothing happened.

  “Uh-oh,” said Mr. Kuskie.

  “Uh-oh?” repeated Silas.

  “I think the carburetor’s out again,” his father said.

  Silas slapped his hands to the side of his face and wailed.

  “Nooooooooooooooooooooo!”

  “Booooooooooooooooooooo!” said DeMarco.

  “Knock it off, guys,” said Mr. Kuskie. “Major Patriot will still be at the theater in a couple days.”

  “Boooooooooooooooooo!” DeMarco said again. This time Silas joined him.

  Their performance was a little too good: Mr. Kuskie looked like he wanted to turn around and throttle them. Instead, he got out of the car and started walking toward the house.

  “Can I use your uncle’s telephone to call the garage?” he asked Nick and Tesla. “I left my cell phone at home.”

  “Sure,” Nick said.

  “You can use the phone in the kitchen,” added Tesla.

  The twins started escorting Mr. Kuskie around to the back door. Silas and DeMarco got out of the Rabbit and stomped after them, trying to look sullen.

  “A couple of days?” Silas whined. “How am I supposed to avoid all the spoilers for a couple of days?”

  “Stay off the Internet?” DeMarco suggested.

  Silas scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Agent McIntyre and Agent Doyle watched them leave in slack-jawed disbelief.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Agent McIntyre called after Mr. Kuskie.

  “To call my mechanic, like I said,” he said without slowing or turning around. “Don’t worry—he’s fast. He’ll be here within an hour.” He glanced back at the clothes basket. “The Laundromat won’t close before you get there.”

  And then he and the kids rounded the corner of the house and we
re gone.

  “But … but …” Agent McIntyre was left spluttering.

  She looked at the Rabbit, the Newtmobile, the house, the trees, and—hopelessly boxed in by them all—her big, black, trapped SUV.

  “You know,” said Agent Doyle, “I almost wish those Holt kids really were being barbecued when we got here.”

  Agent McIntyre sighed.

  “It’s not too late,” she said. “Got a match?”

  Nick, Tesla, Silas, and DeMarco stampeded through the kitchen to join Uncle Newt in the dining room. He was at the table bent over the walkie-talkie he’d just retrieved from its hiding place—a box of dirty beakers and test tubes lying in the corner.

  “What are they saying? What are they saying?” Nick said, panting.

  “So far, just that they wouldn’t mind setting you and your sister on fire,” Uncle Newt reported.

  “What?” said Mr. Kuskie from the kitchen, where his job was to pretend to call a garage and, more important, cut off Agent McIntyre and Agent Doyle if they tried to come in the back door.

  “I’m pretty sure they’re joking,” Uncle Newt said. “Probably … hopefully.”

  “They better be joking,” said Mr. Kuskie. “I’m not thrilled about annoying a couple of government agents.”

  “Oh, don’t be a wimp, Dad,” said Silas. “You annoy people all the time.”

  “Not people who could get me audited!”

  Silas and the other kids pressed in around the table, hovering over Uncle Newt. For a moment, no sound came from the walkie-talkie except a low, staticky hiss.

  DeMarco cocked his head and leaned over the table.

  “I think I hear them,” he said. “It’s muffled, though. Like they’re talking with pillows over their faces.”

  Tesla crept to the nearest window, pulled back the curtain, and peeped out.

  “Oh, great. They got in their SUV. That’s why we can barely hear them.”

  Nick picked up the walkie-talkie and turned the volume as high as it would go. The crackling static got louder—but so did a pair of faint, garbled voices.