Operation Sherlock

by Bruce Coville

  “If we hold back we will lose her!” hissed Hap, shrugging himself out of their grip.

  “Hap’s right,” said Trip to Ray. “You’re both right. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You two hang back,” suggested Hap. “I know the terrain better, so I can do the trailing less conspicuously. I’ll keep track of the suspect—you keep track of me.”

  “Good enough,” whispered Ray. “Go for it!”

  Hap sprinted ahead of them. In seconds he had blended into the night landscape.

  “He’s good,” whispered Trip. “She’ll never spot him. The problem is, I can’t, either! I don’t have the slightest idea where he went!”

  Just then a stone landed at Trip’s feet.

  “It came from that way!” hissed Ray.

  Following Hap’s lead, they scurried into the darkness.

  Are they gone?

  The fanatic stopped to listen. Not a sound came through the darkness.

  She frowned. Whoever was following her had been clinging to the trail so tenaciously it hardly seemed possible she had lost them. Yet there didn’t seem to be anyone back there.

  Wait!

  A footstep on gravel. Soft, slow, infinitely patient. But definitely there.

  The fanatic’s frown grew harsher, deeper. All right, you asked for it. Now we play for keeps.

  It worked! thought Hap. Look how careless she’s getting.

  Indeed, the figure that had flitted so elusively through the night now seemed calm and confident, as if thoroughly convinced no one was following it.

  Still moving cautiously, Hap kept his quarry in sight while trying to get a chance to motion Trip and Ray to join him. The moment came, and before long the other two were at his side.

  “I think we’re home free,” whispered Hap. “She seems to have relaxed. If we can stay quiet, I think she’ll lead us right to her den.”

  It wasn’t long before their destination became clear.

  “The power plant!” whispered Ray.

  “Do you suppose she’s the one who blew up the guard shack?” asked Trip nervously.

  “Maybe she’s planning to blow up the whole power plant,” said Hap.

  “I think we ought to get help,” said Ray.

  “I’d agree, if I thought anyone would believe us,” replied Trip. “But remember what happened when we tried to tell Dr. Hwa about our suspicions? We need more proof before we can do anything about this. Besides, just because she’s acting suspicious, doesn’t mean she’s actually doing anything wrong. Heck, anyone following us would think that we were acting suspicious!”

  “But I don’t think we should just drop this,” said Hap.

  “I agree,” said Trip. “Let’s follow her for a while longer.”

  Though the crater left by the guard shack explosion had been repaired some time earlier, the fence was still in place. However, it had not been locked for several days. The boys waited until their quarry was a fair distance down the road, then slipped through the gate.

  The door to the power plant was open when they got there. They realized later that that should have clued them in that all was not right. But they were too close to the prey now; the hunting instinct overcame all common sense.

  They entered the office.

  The second door, leading into the plant itself, was open, too. They headed straight for it.

  As they passed through that door, the first door—the door to the outside—swung silently shut.

  A shadowy hand twisted a key in the lock.

  The trap was sealed; the hunted had become the hunter.

  The three boys passed into the power plant. The slender crescent moon was directly overhead. Its dim light filtered through the glass ceiling, making weird shadows of the tall arms that ranged the length of the great enclosed space.

  “I wish we had more light,” whispered Ray. “I can’t see a thing.”

  As if to prove it, he stumbled over something on the floor and fell to his hands and knees.

  While Trip helped Ray to his feet, Hap looked up and down the power plant. “That woman could be anywhere in here,” he whispered, awed by the plant’s size and complexity.

  The hint of fear in his voice made Ray and Trip more nervous than they already were.

  The tide was out. The top edges of the great boxes used to harness the ocean’s power rested at floor level, their recently cleaned lids still wide open.

  “Should we split up to search?” asked Hap.

  “No!” hissed Ray. “Let’s stick together.”

  They did just that, looking almost like a three-headed being as they moved forward into the plant.

  Without a sound the woman they had been trailing slid to the control panel that had been demonstrated to Trip and Ray several days before.

  All it took was a tap on one of the buttons…

  “What was that?” whispered Trip.

  The sound had come from one of the great tide boxes. The fanatic had made the lid jump a bit—just enough to attract the boys’ attention.

  “It came from over there,” said Ray.

  Still clustered together the boys moved forward to investigate. The sound of the ocean, its waves lapping under the back wall of the building, masked their footsteps—but also made it difficult for them to hear what anyone else might be doing.

  The fanatic stood trembling at the control panel. Just a bit farther. Just a bit farther…

  “Are these the boxes you told me about?” asked Hap, peering over the edge into a great Plexiglass cubicle. It was hard to see in the dim light.

  Just a bit farther…

  Trip and Ray joined Hap at the edge of the box. “That’s one of them,” confirmed Trip.

  Close enough!

  The fanatic punched a pair of buttons. The ten-foot-square grilles that covered the boxes to the left and right of the boys slammed shut with thunderous force. The speed was incredible, the noise deafening. At the same time the fanatic let out a bloodcurdling scream and brought a row of lights flaring into life.

  Aside from the whisper of the incoming tide, the power plant had been almost eerie in its silence. The sudden rush of movement; the unexpected, earsplitting noise; the scream; the blaze of lights—any one of these would have been enough to make a statue jump. Certainly it was enough to startle three boys who had been nervous to begin with.

  Hap was the first to go. He jumped backward, and his foot came down on nothingness. Panic- stricken, he clutched at Trip for support.

  Together, they tumbled over the edge of the cube.

  The fanatic heard their terrified cries and doused the lights.

  It was dark again.

  The trap had been sprung.

  Everything was going to be all right.

  In the moment of triumph the fanatic failed to notice one thing: the smallest of the three boys, the clumsiest one, had done just the opposite of what any reasonable person would expect. With the sudden flare of light he had jumped forward, tripped over his own feet, and smashed his head against the floor.

  Gamma Ray Gammand was out cold.

  He was alone in the dark.

  But he was not in the deadly cage.

  Hap and Trip were not so lucky. The tap of a fingertip against a button brought the great ten- foot-square grille smashing down to seal their Plexiglass prison. Not that it really mattered. The walls were smooth as glass, and ten feet tall. Climbing out was impossible.

  But they didn’t know that yet.

  Stunned and aching, they lay at the bottom of the cube, too groggy even to realize that the tide was coming in…

  Trip Davis opened his eyes and looked up. Somewhere far above him a dim light seemed to be shining through a screen of some kind.

  He shook his head and looked again.

  It was the moon, shining through some sort of mesh.

  His head hurt. He blinked and looked a third time. The mesh was one of the grilles that covered the tide cubes.

  And he was at the bottom of the cube
!

  Suddenly he felt a splash of water on his arm. He looked up. An instant later it happened again. The tiniest amount of water came splashing over the cube. Trip recognized it for what it was: the leading edge of a wave. And he knew it wouldn’t be long before water was pouring into the cube.

  A moan next to him alerted him to the fact that he was not alone.

  “Hap!” he cried, torn between delight at having someone with him, and horror that his friend was also caught in this trap. “Hap, wake up. We’re in big trouble!”

  Hap moaned again. Trip dropped to his knees and began to shake his companion by the shoulder.

  “Huh? Whazzat? Whaddaya wan?” Hap muttered.

  “Wake up!” screamed Trip, shaking him even harder. “We’re in trouble!”

  Another spray of water came over the edge of the cube. When it splashed onto Hap’s face, his eyes blinked open.

  “Where are we?”

  When Trip told him, a look of horrified understanding twisted his face. He lurched to his feet, but fell back. “Help me up,” he demanded. “Help me up. We’ve got to get out of here!”

  But once on his feet, he had to admit what he had already known in his heart. The cube was escape-proof.

  “There’s got to be a way out of this!” raged Trip. He began to run around the bottom of the cube, pounding against the walls as if that would somehow release them.

  “Stop that!” shouted Hap. He looked around. “Where’s Ray?”

  Trip collapsed against one of the Plexiglas walls and slid to the floor. A few drops of water spattered onto his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Maybe he got away. Maybe he’s dead. It won’t be long before we are.” He shook his head. “It’s too bad you didn’t bring one of those wrist things you and Wendy were working on.”

  “But I did!”

  “Well, get busy and get us some help!”

  “I don’t know if this will do any good,” said Hap, fiddling with the controls. “You know how well these things don’t work.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” snapped Trip. More water splashed into the cube.

  “Just don’t want to get your hopes up,” said Hap. He began to speak into the small device. “Help! We’re at the power plant.”

  He waited, but there was no answer.

  He tapped the transmitter and tried again. “Help! We’re at the power plant. Help! Power plant!”

  The edge of another wave washed over the grille. There was more water this time, almost a quart. It wasn’t much, but they knew it was only the beginning. The tide was moving in, and each wave would come a little farther over the edge of the box, throw in a little more water than the one before it.

  It wouldn’t be long before the box filled and began to sink into the deep, dark shaft.

  “Help!” cried Hap desperately. He shook the little transmitter. “Help us. We’re at the power plant!”

  Wendy was just drifting off to sleep when the miniature communicator resting on her nightstand crackled into life.

  “Huh?” she said, struggling to her elbows. “What’s going on?”

  “Help!” cried a distant voice. “Help our aunt!”

  Wendy flopped her head back onto the pillow. What a stupid game. Somebody was going to hear about this tomorrow.

  “Help!” cried the voice again.

  “Shut up!” yelled Wendy, pushing her face into the mattress and covering her head with her pillow.

  “Help our aunt!” cried the voice. “Help. Our aunt!”

  But Wendy could no longer hear the desperate plea.

  Her snores were drowning it out.

  Hap cried out in horror as a splash of salty water from above struck the little transmitter. With the tiniest hint of a sizzle all its lights went out.

  He cursed and shook the thing. It made no difference. The transmitter was dead.

  And the tide was getting higher.

  Descent into Doom

  Wendy sat bolt upright in bed.

  How long had she been sleeping?

  She looked at her clock. Only minutes! What had woken her?

  It was the words—the words pounding in her brain. She clutched her head, trying to force them out. But she kept hearing them over and over: “Help. Our aunt.”

  Where did they come from? Why wouldn’t they stop swirling around in her head?

  Then she remembered. She had been drifting off to sleep, and Hap had called her.

  She growled. He was going to pay for that come morning. She’d teach him to fool around with something that was meant to be a tool, not a toy.

  What if he wasn’t fooling around?

  The thought leaped unbidden into her head and sent a shiver trembling down her spine.

  Help. Our aunt.

  What could it possibly mean?

  She thought about the garbled messages they had dealt with earlier that day. The problem then had been parts of the words getting dropped off.

  Help. That was simple enough. Nothing missing there.

  Our aunt. What could that mean?

  She threw aside the sheets. Grabbing her robe, she headed for the phone. I hope one of the twins answers, she thought. I don’t know how I would explain this to their father.

  Rachel Phillips was putting the finishing touches on the article she had been typing for her father when the phone ringing beside her startled her into deleting a word.

  She frowned. Who could be calling at this time of night?

  “Telephone!” yelled Paracelsus. “I’d get it, but you forgot to give me legs.”

  Wishing her twin had a somewhat less bizarre sense of humor, Rachel reached for the receiver.

  “Help. Our aunt,” said the voice at the other end.

  “What? Who is this?”

  “It’s me, Wendy. Listen, help me figure out what that might mean. I think the boys are in trouble.”

  Rachel felt a coldness grip her heart. “What are you talking about?”

  Quickly Wendy explained about the message that had come in over the wrist device.

  “Do you have a lexigraphic program you can plug into your terminal?” asked Rachel.

  “Great Glork! Why didn’t I think of that? That’s what happens when someone wakes me out of a sound sleep. Listen, you start running it, too, will you? I’m worried.”

  “Will do,” said Rachel. “I’ll call you if I figure anything out. You do the same.”

  “Right,” said the Wonderchild. Then she clicked off.

  Rachel reached for the lex program and found she was trembling. What could the strange words mean? Were the boys really in trouble? She was glad Roger had come home with her and was upstairs now, doing some of the other chores they had promised their father to complete.

  She plugged the program into the terminal. More than likely the mainframe had a similar one, probably more powerful, but she had no time to search for it.

  Almost instantly the screen flashed and the program title appeared:

  SAY THE WORD: A Lexigraphic Compendium.

  Seconds later the words were replaced with a colorful menu of tasks the program would perform.

  Rachel selected the one she wanted, an operation that would take part of a word and splice on beginnings and endings, then present her with the combinations that actually matched the program’s massive dictionary.

  … our aunt… she typed in. The computer would insert beginnings on the first word, endings on the second. If she didn’t find an answer that way, she would turn it around and try the reverse.

  She waited for the computer to race its way through the dictionary.

  Hit any key for listings said the screen.

  Rachel complied, and the possibilities began to scroll past her eager eyes: FOUR AUNTS, HOUR AUNTS, SOUR AUNTS…

  She made an angry sound. Nothing of any sense at all. Feeling desperate, she typed in a new combination.

  The water was up to Trip’s knees and rising faster than ever. He stood braced against the wall. Hap was standing
on his shoulders, pushing against the grille.

  “It’s no use,” he grunted. “I can’t move it!”

  “Try again!” shouted Trip. His shoulders were screaming for relief, but the fear of death gave him a strength he had never known he possessed. “Hit it harder!”

  “I’m hitting it as hard as I can!” bellowed Hap. He smashed the palms of his hands against the grille again, but it didn’t budge, not even a millimeter.

  “Again!” yelled Trip, just before his knees buckled and he dropped backward. A great splash went up as Hap fell from Trip’s shoulders and struck the water.

  They felt the cube lurch another inch downward.

  The two boys huddled together miserably and looked up. The water wasn’t splashing in now. It was pouring over the edge of their prison in a steady stream.

  “How long do you figure we have?” whispered Hap.

  Trip shook his head. “I don’t know. It just keeps coming faster and faster…”

  “Whatcha doin’?” asked Roger, wandering in to the room where Rachel was working.

  “Trying to match words,” said Rachel. Her voice was trembling. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Roger looked at his sister more closely and realized that her face was pale, her eyes wide with worry.

  “What’s going on?”

  When Rachel had filled him in, he looked over her shoulder at the monitor, our…/… aunt were the cues she was typing in.

  “Look, Rachel—I don’t want to tell you what to do. But are those the kind of cues you’ve been typing in since you started?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, this program isn’t all that sophisticated. All you’re going to get with aunt are words that end with a-u-n-t—of which there aren’t many. It doesn’t do sounds. That’s up to you.”

  “So?” Her face went white. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe how much time I’ve wasted. What’s the matter with my brain? Their message probably didn’t have anything to do with anyone’s aunt. That’s just how I heard it from Wendy!”

  Quickly she typed in a new clue.

  The machine rolled up another list of possibilities: DOUR PANT, HOUR PANT, POUR PANT…

  “You know, even now, you’ve got to try different readings for those things,” said Roger. “That’s what made it so hard to get a computer that could read aloud—the language is just so inconsistent. You never know what a set of letters is going to mean, or how—”