Nick and Tesla's Solar-Powered Showdown

by Bob Pflugfelder

  4. Hot-glue the motor wires to the end of the coat hanger; glue them near the middle of the wires so that the motor hangs down with the nut barely touching the bell. Place the glue somewhere in the middle of the two wires, then bend the coat hanger up or down as needed so that the nut is at the right height.

  5. Next, make a switch (unless you want your alarm to ring continuously whenever the solar panel is in the sun). Slip one of the brads through one end of the paper clip, then pin the clip flat against the cardboard. Pin the other brad through the cardboard, positioned about 1 inch (2.5 cm) from the other brad, so the paper clip can be moved to touch the second brad.

  THE FINAL STEPS

  1. Wire the switch: Cut two lengths of wire about 1 foot (30.5 cm) long, or longer if you want your alarm to be farther from the sunlight. Cut one of the wires in half. Carefully trim back the plastic coating on all ends.

  2. Connect one of the two shorter wires to each of the brads, twisting them tightly around the brads to create a good connection. Hot-glue the longer piece of wire in place on the cardboard, lengthwise, with the ends running off the cardboard. You should have a pair of free wires extending from each end of the cardboard.

  3. Connect the wires from one end of the cardboard to the wires coming out of the motor. Connect the wires from the other side of the cardboard to the wires coming out of the solar panel. Wrap electrical tape around all the connections.

  4. To operate your alarm/distractor, place the solar panel in bright, direct sunlight. Turn on the switch by moving the paper clip to connect the two brads. Or leave the alarm where sunlight will hit the solar panel at the time you want. When the sun reaches the panel, the alarm will sound.

  The sun hadn’t yet risen the next morning when Julie and Ethel and Gladys came to wake up the kids.

  “Come on, get up,” Julie said after flicking on the overhead lights. “It’s showtime.”

  Nick, Tesla, Silas, and DeMarco rose groggily from their cushions and started trudging toward the door. Nick couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a peek back at the windows as they went.

  Was that a glimmer of dawn’s light in the far left corner? Maybe. But Nick didn’t let himself look long enough to be sure. He didn’t want Julie or the old ladies following his gaze and noticing what was in the far right corner: the wire running out to the solar panel they’d propped against the side of the building.

  “Will there be pizza?” Silas asked while being escorted through the halls.

  The women ignored him.

  “This is your last chance,” DeMarco said to Julie. “You can still help us stop Bob before you commit treason.”

  Julie stayed silent and smirked at him before looking away. She began whistling “Hail to the Chief.”

  A moment later, the group was walking into the control room. Nick and Tesla’s parents and Uncle Newt were still hunched over the same workstation they’d been at the day before. To judge by the bags under their eyes and the haggard expressions, they’d been there all night.

  Bob and Agent Doyle, by contrast, looked rested and refreshed. Bob was in yet another Hawaiian shirt, this one featuring a kaleidoscopic potpourri of pineapples, coconuts, bananas, and butterflies. Agent Doyle had traded in his usual black suit for a colorful Hawaiian shirt of his own. He seemed to be in a festive mood.

  “And here they are! Our insurance policy,” Agent Doyle said with a grin as the kids entered the room. He turned toward Mr. and Mrs. Holt and Uncle Newt. “Just remember who’s next on Bob’s Zap List if you don’t follow orders.”

  The adults glared at him but said nothing.

  Mr. Holt gave the kids a silent wave. Mrs. Holt smiled at them in a tired, sad, trying-to-be- reassuring-and-failing sort of way. Uncle Newt just kept scowling at Agent Doyle and Bob, his fists clenched tight.

  “That’s quite a shirt, Agent Doyle,” DeMarco said. “Reminds me of the time I went on a rollercoaster after eating two corn dogs and an extra-large slushie.” DeMarco clutched his stomach and pretended to vomit.

  “Hey, you’re right!” said Silas, pointing at the shirt. “Same splash pattern!”

  Agent Doyle didn’t let the insult bother him.

  “I’m not ‘Agent’ Doyle anymore. As of yesterday, I’m officially retired,” he said genially. “No more suits for me. Now I can serve my country in style.”

  “I don’t think you and I have the same definition of ‘style,’ Mr. Doyle,” said DeMarco.

  “Or serving our country,” Nick added.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” Tesla said. “About to stab their country in the back, and they dress like they’re going to a Fourth of July barbecue.”

  “Yeah,” said Silas. “It’s as if Arnold Benedict sold us out to the Germans in his pajamas.”

  The other kids looked at Silas confusedly. The plan had been to distract and delay Bob and his gang by drawing them into an argument, not pelting them with non sequiturs.

  Silas winked and gave his friends a (he seemed to think) surreptitious thumbs-up. Apparently, he really didn’t know that it was Benedict Arnold who betrayed America to the English. “And another thing …” he said.

  Bob shushed him without even bothering to look up. “Quiet!” he said. “It’s about to begin.”

  He was staring at the TV tuned to the cable news station. On the screen, the president was stepping up to a podium in the White House Rose Garden while a bunch of other serious-looking adults in suits stood around watching.

  “Good morning,” the president said. “We are gathered here today for a historic moment.”

  “So it is a historic,” Bob said. “Well, however you say it, the president’s right—only we’re the ones who are going to be making the history!”

  He snapped his fingers at Nick and Tesla’s parents and uncle.

  “I want the satellite view. Now.”

  “It’s already up,” said Mrs. Holt.

  “What? Where?”

  Mr. Holt pointed to a nearby monitor. “There.”

  Everyone turned toward the screen he’d indicated. It seemed to be broken; all that showed was a wall of white with the occasional gray streak or swirl floating through it.

  “Where’s the White House?” Doyle asked.

  “Under that,” said Mrs. Holt. “Those are clouds.”

  “What?” Bob barked impatiently.

  “It’s overcast in Washington this morning,” Uncle Newt explained. “We don’t control the weather.”

  Doyle moved across the room to stand behind the kids. “Well, you’d better find a way to see through those clouds,” he growled. “And fast!”

  As Uncle Newt and Mr. and Mrs. Holt got back to work, pushing buttons and fiddling with knobs, Nick gave his sister a nudge. When she peeked his way, he widened his eyes. Is that alarm of ours ever going to go off? his expression said.

  Tesla answered with a tiny shrug.

  But her brain was spinning furiously. Their parents’ work was about to be turned into a dreadful weapon. The president of the United States was in mortal danger. They were in mortal danger. And the one thing that might make the difference between success and disaster, victory and defeat, life and death, was a gizmo she and her brother and friends had cobbled together out of scraps and trash.

  Tesla used to think that competing in a science fair was a lot of pressure. But the worst that could happen at one was not winning first place. The worst that might happen right now was …

  Tesla didn’t let herself think about it.

  “There! That’s doing it!” Bob said. He was leaning so close to the monitor of the satellite view that his nose was practically touching the screen. “I’m starting to see something through the clouds!”

  The sound of polite applause was coming from the news broadcast. “The president’s done talking. They’re about to sign the treaty,” said Doyle impatiently.

  Doyle laid a heavy hand on Tesla’s shoulder. A part of her wanted to shudder. Another wanted to grab the hand and bite it as hard as she could
. Somehow she managed to resist both impulses. For now.

  “Lock onto our target immediately,” Doyle snapped, “or the girl’s going to be the first one we take outside and—”

  BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRINNNNNNNNNNNNG!

  “What’s that?” Bob said, whirling away from the monitor.

  At last, the alarm bell was doing its thing!

  Julie stepped into the hall with Ethel and Gladys. “It’s coming from that way,” she said, pointing. “From the room where we’ve been keeping the kids.”

  “Do you think the smoke detectors in this place could still be working?” Doyle asked Bob.

  Bob’s face went pale.

  Tesla crossed her arms and tried to look smug. They hadn’t started a fire, of course, but it couldn’t hurt to act as if they had.

  “A fire could force us out of the building or take out the power. It could ruin everything!” Bob said. He turned to Julie and the old ladies. “Get back to that room and find out what’s going on!”

  “Right!” Julie said. “Come on!”

  The three women dashed up the hallway.

  Doyle’s grip on Tesla’s shoulder tightened.

  “What are you brats trying to pull?” he demanded.

  “Should we show him?” Nick asked Silas and DeMarco.

  The two boys nodded—then spun around and bolted for the door.

  Before Doyle could react, two things happened: Nick stomped on his foot … and Tesla stopped resisting the temptation to bite his fingers.

  As Doyle howled in pain, Silas and DeMarco slammed the control-room door shut and started searching for the lock.

  “You little idiots!” Bob bellowed, stepping toward the boys. “Get away from there!”

  He felt a little tap on his shoulder.

  Bob turned to see who it was.

  That’s when Uncle Newt punched him squarely in the nose.

  “Oof!” said Bob, his head snapping back.

  “Ow!” said Uncle Newt, shaking his hand. He couldn’t help but make a mental note of his new discovery: punching people hurts.

  “We can’t lock the door!” DeMarco cried. “You need a key!”

  Half of their plan went out the window. The whole point had been to lure as many bad guys as possible out of the control room and lock the door behind them. Then … well, the kids weren’t really sure what they were going to do after that, but at least they could delay the action until the president was safe. Especially with their parents and uncle there to help. But if Julie and Ethel and Gladys could get back inside the control room … it would all be for nothing.

  “Maramay muh mooah!” Tesla said.

  “What?” said Silas.

  “Maramay muh mooah!”

  Tesla couldn’t enunciate any better than that because her teeth were still clamped down on Doyle’s index, middle, and ring fingers. Doyle had fallen to his knees and was trying to push Tesla away, but Nick was hanging on to the man’s free arm with all the strength he could muster. Nick understood what his sister was saying: “Barricade the door!” he translated while stomping on Doyle’s other foot.

  Silas and DeMarco turned and scanned the room frantically.

  “With what?” DeMarco yelled.

  The control room’s computer workstations were attached to the floor and couldn’t be moved. And all the chairs had wheels, so there was no way to wedge one under the door handle.

  “There’s only one thing we’ve got to keep those ladies out, dude,” Silas said. He pressed a shoulder to the door and leaned against it hard. “Us.”

  DeMarco nodded, placed his hands against the door, and waited beside his friend for the push they both knew was coming.

  “Activate the microwave beam!” Bob roared at Mr. and Mrs. Holt. He was staggering back from Uncle Newt, his hands pressed against his bloodied nose. “Now!”

  Doyle finally managed to pry his hand from Tesla’s mouth, and then he shoved both her and Nick away. He reflexively reached toward his left armpit … but grabbed only a bunch of colorful polyester. Because now that Agent Doyle was no longer an agent, what he usually kept tucked in a shoulder holster—his government-issued sidearm—was no longer there.

  Apparently he’d switched from black suits to Hawaiian shirts a little too soon.

  Doyle spat out a curse and then turned to face Mr. and Mrs. Holt. “Do as Bob says. Burn the White House,” he said. “There’s no escape for you. You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

  Before either of the Holts could reply, Silas and DeMarco yelped in alarm.

  They’d felt a push against the door.

  Julie and Ethel and Gladys had figured out there was no fire. Now they were back—and they wanted in.

  “What’s going on in there?” Julie yelled from the hallway. “Let us in!”

  “Not by the hairs of our chinny-chin-chins!” Silas called back.

  The boys felt another push on the control room door—this time so hard that they were barely able to resist it. “Don’t provoke them!” DeMarco told Silas.

  “I think it’s a little late to worry about that,” Silas replied.

  Bob and Doyle sprung into action and started moving toward the boys. Uncle Newt ran over to block them, and Nick and Tesla and their father scrambled over to line up alongside him. “Neither of you are threatening any children ever again,” Mr. Holt said.

  Mrs. Holt, meanwhile, hurried over to help Silas and DeMarco keep Julie and her flunkies out. She put her shoulder to the door just as another shove slammed against it—the strongest one yet—thrusting the boys back half a step.

  “That wasn’t just Julie,” DeMarco said. “Ethel and Gladys are pushing, too.”

  Silas shivered. “Man, those old ladies creep me out.”

  Another push thrusted against the door came, opening it just wide and just long enough for Ethel (or Gladys) to snarl at Silas, “I heard that!”

  Silas shivered again.

  Bob and Doyle stood facing the resolute line of Nick and Tesla, their father, and their uncle. Bob still had his palms pressed to his injured nose. Doyle seemed unsure what to do next; he was a trained federal agent, but not only was he unarmed, his hand was also still throbbing. He could tell by the faces of the elder Holts—not to mention those of Nick and Tesla—that they weren’t going to give up without a fight. Tesla opened her mouth and clacked her teeth together, causing Doyle to flinch.

  “You can’t keep my bodyguards out forever,” Bob said, his voice muffled and guttural. He finally removed his hands from his face, revealing a nose that was swollen and red. “They’re going to get back in.”

  “And when they do,” continued Doyle, “someone’s going to pay for this.” He rubbed the fresh tooth marks on his left hand and glowered at Tesla. It was obvious who Doyle thought should pay first.

  Suddenly, the sound of polite applause came from one of the televisions. The president was signing the treaty.

  “At least we kept you from stopping this historic event,” Tesla said.

  Bob shrugged. “It won’t matter in the long run. Or have you forgotten that I still have an outer-space death ray?”

  “We keep telling you, Bob. It’s not a death ray,” said Mr. Holt. “And it never will be.”

  Bob smirked.

  “Hey,” said Silas, “where’d the ladies go? They’re not pushing anymore.”

  “Somehow that makes me even more nervous,” said DeMarco.

  Mrs. Holt turned her head and pressed an ear to the door.

  “I think I hear something,” she said. “I don’t know what they’re up to out there, but we’d better get ready for—”

  It was too late. They weren’t ready.

  Something slammed into the door with such force that it sent Silas, DeMarco, and Mrs. Holt flying backward.

  Next, a whole swarm of people began streaming into the control room. But much to everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t Julie and the old ladies. It was a group of men wearing black jumpsuits and helmets. All but one were brandish
ing stubby assault rifles. The exception was the guy holding what looked like a large black pipe with red handles—the battering ram that had busted open the door.

  “Go, go, go, go, go!” one of the men was yelling.

  “Down, down, down, down, down!” screamed another.

  “Hands up, up, up, up, up!” shouted a third.

  Everyone but Silas dropped to the floor and put their hands up.

  “Wait,” said Silas. “Do you want us up or down?”

  DeMarco pulled his friend to the floor.

  Out in the hall, as DeMarco and Silas could now see, were Julie and Ethel and Gladys lying facedown with their hands cuffed behind their backs. “Are we being rescued or captured by somebody even worse?” said Silas.

  “I have no idea,” said DeMarco.

  The men in black swept through the room, looking under and around every workstation and into every nook and cranny. Once it was obvious no one was hiding, they stopped, and one of them called out, “Clear!”

  The announcement was followed by a second of silence and then a single sound: the clack-clack-clack of footsteps echoing down the hallway. The steps grew louder until a lone figure appeared in the doorway.

  “All right, everybody—you can get up,” said Agent McIntyre. “It’s over.”

  The kids sprang to their feet wearing huge grins on their faces. The adults rose more slowly. And Bob and Doyle, who were surrounded by the black-garbed agents—they definitely were not smiling.

  “How did you find us?” Nick asked.

  Agent McIntyre held up a piece of singed, sun-faded paper.

  “It’s Gina, by the way,” she said.

  DeMarco cocked his head. “Huh? Who’s Gina?”

  Agent McIntyre pointed at herself. “I am. That’s my first name.”

  “I can’t believe our solar rover made it to the highway,” Tesla said. “It looked like it was burned to a crisp.”

  “It didn’t make it to the highway,” said Agent McIntyre. “It was about half a mile up the access road, in the middle of nowhere.”