by Dan Gutman
“Oh, great.”
Pep put aside the white piece of paper and went back to working on the previous cipher they had received—SSGBETPLARAAENXRNDNX.
Fifteen miles down the highway, I-76 forks up toward Harrisburg and Philadelphia, and I-70 forks down toward Baltimore. Dr. McDonald merged onto I-70 South.
“I got it!” Pep suddenly exclaimed.
“What have you got, honey?” asked her mother from the front seat.
“Uh … poison ivy,” Pep said, scratching her leg. “I think maybe I got it back at the rest station.”
“We’ll get some calamine lotion next time we stop.”
Silently, Pep motioned for her brother to slide over next to her and look at her notebook. She had written out the cipher.
SSGBETPLARAAENXRNDNX
Then, below that, she wrote it again, but this time she divided it up into four lines.
SSGBE
TPLAR
AAENX
RNDNX
“So?” Coke asked, shrugging. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s so simple!” Pep whispered in his ear. “I can’t believe it took me so long to figure it out. Don’t read it horizontally. Read it vertically.”
Coke looked at the letters again.
STAR SPANGLED BANNER
“You got it!” Coke exclaimed.
“Maybe we should take her to a doctor,” said Mrs. McDonald.
“I’m fine, Mom!”
Pep went back to the page in her notebook with the other ciphers on it and added the new one.
• July 3, two P.M.
• Greensboro lunch counter
• John Bull
• Star-Spangled Banner
What could it mean? What could a train, the national anthem, and a symbol of the civil rights movement have to do with one another? Every time they got a new cipher, it made things more confusing. And now they had one that said nothing at all. Coke shook his head wearily.
Half an hour after the highway split, a sign appeared at the side of the road.
“Woo-hoo!” Coke hollered. “Did you know that the state sport of Maryland is jousting?”
“Nobody cares,” Pep told him.
“Jousters care,” Coke said.
They had traveled almost two hundred miles across southwestern Pennsylvania. From the front seat, their mother informed them that they were exactly one hundred miles from Washington, D.C., now. The twins fell silent in the back of the RV. Coke didn’t bother to announce any more fun facts about Maryland.
Something was going to happen in Washington. Something big.
The end was near.
Chapter 17
Y’ALL NEW TO THESE PARTS?
Soon after crossing the Maryland state line, Dr. McDonald pulled off the highway and drove a few miles to Yogi Bear’s Jellystone Park Camp-Resort in Williamsport, Maryland. Mrs. McDonald checked in at the office while the kids checked out the pool. It was an uneventful night.
In the morning, Dr. McDonald said he was in the mood for poached eggs, and they didn’t have any eggs in the RV. So they hit the road looking for a place that served a decent breakfast.
It wasn’t long before they came upon the Blue Bell, one of those diners that was designed to look like it was from the 1950s. There was a line of stools at the counter, silver chrome and mirrors all over the place. A big jukebox was playing “Great Balls of Fire” in the corner, alongside a glass case filled with cakes and pies that spun around slowly.
Mrs. McDonald picked up a few travel brochures from a rack on the wall. A sign said SEAT YOURSELF, so the McDonalds slid into a booth near the window. Coke was immediately absorbed in reading the menu, which was filled with Maryland trivia.
Soon the waitress, a bleached blonde wearing a pink skirt, a little pink hat, and a lot of eye makeup, came roller-skating over to the table.
“Howdy, folks,” she said in a deep Southern accent. “Y’all new to these parts?”
“We’re on a cross-country trip,” Mrs. McDonald told her. “My sister is getting married in Washington the day after tomorrow.”
“Well ain’t that sweet?” said the waitress. “So what would you folks like this morning? We got eggs, bacon, sausage, muffins…”
“I’ll have two poached eggs on toast,” said Dr. McDonald.
“Adam and Eve on a raft!” the waitress hollered to a guy in the kitchen.
“And coffee, please,” added Dr. McDonald.
“Cuppa joe!” hollered the waitress.
Pep kicked Coke under the table, and he shot her a nasty glare before looking back at the menu.
“I’ll have a western omelet with french fries,” said Mrs. McDonald.
“One cowboy with spurs!” hollered the waitress.
“And no onions, please.”
“Don’t cry over it!” hollered the waitress.
“On second thought,” said Mrs. McDonald, “can I get an English muffin instead of the french fries?”
“Eighty-six the spurs!” hollered the waitress. “Burn the British!”
Pep kicked Coke under the table again.
“Hey, stop it!” Coke barked at his sister.
“Stop what?” asked Mrs. McDonald.
“She’s kicking me.”
“Stop kicking your brother.”
“I’m not kicking him.”
“And how about you, little lady?” asked the waitress. “What’ll ya have?”
“I’ll have waffles,” Pep said.
“Two checkerboards!” hollered the waitress.
“And butter, please.”
“With cow paste!”
“And a glass of milk.”
“One moo juice!”
“And what about you, hon?” she asked Coke.
“Do you have any cold cereal?” he asked.
“Sorry, sugar,” the waitress replied. “We’re fresh out.”
“Then I’ll have soft-boiled eggs.”
“Drown the kids!” hollered the waitress.
“Do you have rye toast?” asked Coke.
“Whiskey down!”
“And a glass of orange juice too,” Coke added.
“Hug one!” the waitress hollered. “Anything else?”
Dr. McDonald had been staring at the waitress ever since they came in.
“Say, haven’t I met you somewhere before?” he asked. “You look familiar to me.”
“’Fraid not, hon,” she said. “I’m sure I woulda remembered a handsome fella like you.”
Pep kicked Coke under the table again. When he looked at her angrily, she was mouthing the word “Mya.”
Coke looked at the waitress, and she winked at him. Pep was right. Under that blond wig and all that makeup, it was Mya!
“I’ll be back in a jiff with your grub,” the waitress—that is, Mya—said.
“I gotta … go to the bathroom,” Coke said.
“Me too,” said Pep, getting up.
The twins slid out of the booth and hustled over to a hallway where the restrooms were located. Mya was waiting for them, with open arms.
“What are you doing here?” Pep asked as they hugged.
“Right now, I’m serving breakfast,” she said. Her Southern accent was gone.
The short-order cook came over from the kitchen, and when he got close enough, it was obvious that it was Bones.
“How did you know we were going to stop at this diner?” Coke asked.
“We always know where you are,” Bones replied seriously. “Listen, we need to make this quick. We’ve intercepted a message. Something bad is going to happen in Washington on the Fourth of July.”
“That’s the day after tomorrow,” Mya said. “It’s going to be something big.”
“Are you sure it’s not the third of July?” Pep asked.
“No, it’s the fourth,” Bones replied.
“Our aunt is getting married on the Fourth of July,” Pep said. “We’re going to be there. What’s going to happen?”
“We ha
ve reason to believe there’s going to be some kind of a robbery,” said Bones.
“You mean somebody’s going to try to steal, like, the Declaration of Independence or something?” Coke asked.
“It could be the Declaration, it could be the doorknob to the White House, or it could be the president’s dog,” Bones said. “It could be anything. We don’t know yet. There’s a lot worth stealing in Washington.”
“Chances are, it will be a symbol of America,” Mya added. “That’s what these creeps want.”
“What should we do?” Coke asked.
“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Bones advised.
“You know what these people are capable of,” Mya said ominously.
“They tried to kill us in Chicago, in Cleveland, and at an amusement park,” Pep said. “They used poison gas on my brother at a rest stop in Pennsylvania yesterday.”
“Yeah, where were you?” Coke asked. “We could have used your help at all those places.”
“We had another mission,” Bones said mysteriously. “But we’ll have your back in Washington. I promise.”
“Hey, where’s my food?” a guy shouted in the background. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”
“Comin’ right up, sugar!” Mya yelled back.
“We have to go back to work,” Bones said. “See you in D.C.”
The twins went back to their table, where their parents were looking over the travel brochures they had picked up.
“The world’s largest rubber band ball is in Chevy Chase, Maryland,” Mrs. McDonald said. “It weighs over three thousand pounds, and it’s fifteen feet in circumference.”
“Actually, Mom, that used to be the world’s largest rubber band ball,” Coke informed her. “A guy in Southern California made one that’s even bigger.”
“How do you know that?” Pep asked, incredulously.
“Doesn’t everybody know that?” Coke replied. “I thought it was common knowledge.”
“There’s a giant fiberglass pineapple in Baltimore,” Mrs. McDonald said. “That could be interesting to see.”
“How about we skip all that stuff and go straight to Washington this afternoon?” suggested Dr. McDonald. “I mean, which would you rather see, the Wright Brothers’ first plane at the National Air and Space Museum, or a rubber band ball?”
The family debated that question for several minutes, until Mya came roller-skating back to the table carrying a big tray full of food.
“Enjoy, y’all!” she said with a wink.
Everyone dug into their breakfast. Coke tapped his egg with a spoon to crack the shell. When he peeled off the top of it, this was printed in blue on the surface of the egg:
DMOHFYNEEHN UBTELIGLPAT
“Oh no,” Coke said involuntarily.
“What’s the matter, dear?” asked his mother.
“Oh, uh … nothing,” Coke replied. “I think my eggs might be hard boiled.”
“We could send them back.”
“Forget it.”
Coke kicked Pep under the table and turned the egg slightly so she could see the letters that were printed on it. Her eyes widened.
Some ciphers take days, weeks, or even months to figure out. Others can be deciphered almost instantly by someone who knows what they’re doing. Pep took one look at this one and knew the solution right away. It was simple.
She took the first letter of the first word—D—then the first letter of the second word—U. DU. Then she took the second letter of the first word—M—and the second letter of the second word—B. DUMB.
Pep looked at the egg and continued like that, remembering the letters in her head. It wasn’t long before she had the whole message:
DUMBO THE FLYING ELEPHANT
“Did anybody ever hear of Dumbo the flying elephant?” Pep asked the family as she ate her waffles.
“Dumbo was an old Disney movie,” Mrs. McDonald said. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Pep said. “It just popped into my head.”
“I never saw that movie,” Dr. McDonald said, “but I seem to recall that Dumbo could fly by flapping his ears or something.”
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Coke said.
“Me too.”
“What, again?” asked Mrs. McDonald.
The twins got up and rushed over to the bathrooms. Pep caught Mya’s eye and signaled for her to come over.
“Did you or Bones hide a secret message in my brother’s egg?” Pep asked her.
“What? No, of course not. Why?”
“Somebody has been sending us these messages—John Bull, the Star-Spangled Banner, Greensboro lunch counter, and now Dumbo the flying elephant.”
“Don’t forget the one that said July third, two o’clock,” added Coke. “That’s tomorrow.”
“I assure you that Bones and I have nothing to do with any of these messages,” Mya said. “But all of them must tie in with each other somehow.”
“What could they possibly have in common?” Pep asked her. “What could Dumbo the flying elephant possibly have in common with anything?”
“Somebody’s playing games with you,” Mya said. “But we’re going to figure out who, and we’re going to stop them. What concerns me is that our information says something will happen on July Fourth, and your information says July third. You kids better go back. Your parents will be suspicious.”
Coke and Pep hurried back to their table and finished their breakfast quietly. When their parents went to pay the check, Coke examined his eggshell one more time. There was no writing on the shell itself.
“Hey, how is it possible to write on the inside of an egg without leaving a mark on the shell?” he whispered to his sister.
“It isn’t possible,” Pep told him. “But it is possible to write on the shell with special invisible ink that seeps through to the inside. It’s an old trick that spies use.”
“How do you know that?”
“Doesn’t everybody know that?” she replied. “I thought it was common knowledge.”
Dr. McDonald got back on Route 270 South and drove about thirty-three miles until he reached the exit for I-495—the capital beltway. From there, it was just eleven miles to Cherry Hill Park, a campground in College Park, Maryland.
“This is it, guys,” Dr. McDonald said. “The end of the line.”
Go to Google Maps (http://maps.google.com/).
Click Get Directions.
In the A box, type Williamsport MD.
In the B box, type College Park MD.
Click Get Directions.
“What do you mean, Dad?” Pep asked.
“We’ve driven all the way across the country,” he told her. “We did it! Welcome to Washington, D.C.!”
“This doesn’t look like Washington,” Coke said, looking out the window. Some kids were playing shuffleboard.
“We’re ten miles outside of the city,” Mrs. McDonald explained. “It will be hard to park the RV in D.C. We’ll park it here and take the Washington subway into the city.”
“So, we’ll have all afternoon in the nation’s capital,” Dr. McDonald said, clapping his hands. “What do you want to see? The Washington Monument? The Air and Space Museum? Ford’s Theatre? The Spy Museum?”
“The Spy Museum!” Pep shouted. “The Spy Museum!”
Chapter 18
THE SPY GUY
Cherry Hill Park is the closest—and the coolest—campground to Washington, D.C. It has two swimming pools, a hot tub, sauna, game room, miniature golf, and a playground. But after they checked in, none of the McDonalds wanted to hang around Cherry Hill Park. Everyone—and especially Pep—wanted to go into the city and spend the afternoon at the Spy Museum.
The Washington subway system is called the Metro, and the Greenbelt stop at the end of the Green line is right near Cherry Hill Park. Dr. McDonald had been to Washington many times to do research, so he knew his way around. The family took the Metro ten stops and got out when the train reached Gallery Pl
ace–Chinatown.
“This is the heart of Washington,” Dr. McDonald said as they emerged from the station. They walked a short way down Seventh Street and made a right on F Street. “The White House is about seven blocks that way. The Capitol is about seven blocks the other way. And Ford’s Theatre is right around the corner from here. That’s where Abraham Lincoln was shot, you know.”
“We know,” said Coke, who knew just about everything, and didn’t particularly enjoy hearing things he already knew.
The Spy Museum is directly across the street from the Smithsonian American Art Museum. After they paid their admission, the McDonalds were taken by elevator—along with a bunch of other people—to a little room. There, they were instructed to choose a cover identity from a bunch of choices displayed on the walls. Just like real spies, the McDonalds had to memorize important details of their fake lives—like their names, where they were born, what they did for a living, and where they were going. After that, visitors were free to roam around the exhibits.
If you ever go to Washington, you have to go to the Spy Museum. It’s the only public museum in the United States that is solely dedicated to espionage, and it covers the history of spying from biblical times to the present day.
There are exhibits devoted to concealment devices, sabotage weapons, intelligence gathering, audio surveillance, threat analysis, maintaining one’s cover, and dead drops. A dead drop is a place—like a hole in a tree—where a spy will leave something for another spy to pick up. That’s as opposed to a live drop, in which two spies will pass something—like a briefcase—from one to the other in person.
In the display cases, they have lots of cool stuff like lipstick pistols, microdots, and cameras hidden in everything from pens to buttonholes. One room is devoted to hero pigeons, which were once used to carry secret messages. Before the days of satellite surveillance, pigeons even wore tiny cameras to take photos from the sky. There is also a section devoted to famous spies who led double lives. Some of them were caught, and sometimes executed.
“Did you know that Julia Child, the French chef on TV, was a spy?” Pep asked her brother.
“Sure I did,” Coke replied.
In fact, he had no idea that Julia Child was a spy. He didn’t even know who Julia Child was. But he didn’t like the idea of his sister—or anybody—knowing something he didn’t.