Mrs. Larson, the librarian from school, was in my dream and there were lots of old books stacked all around Lincoln while he was writing. Maybe there’s something important about a librarian--or the library.
Gilda remembered her American history teacher commenting that “Lincoln was not only a great American president; he was a great American writer. Sometimes on a Saturday night, I open a volume of his letters just for light reading.”
Maybe that’s it; maybe I need to look at the letters Lincoln wrote!
TO DO: Visit the Library of Congress A.S.A.P. and look at volumes of Lincoln’s letters. Maybe one of his letters contains a clue!
18
“The Man of Our Dreams”
Gilda got into her office at the Spy Museum early, planning to look up some information about President Lincoln and his letters on the Internet before her campers arrived. But when she turned on her computer, she was distracted by a message from her mother entitled “THINKING OF YOU RIGHT NOW!”
Uh-oh, Gilda thought. I bet she’s sending me her dating profile.
Hi, honey!
I miss you, and just want you to know that I’m thinking of you EVERY MINUTE! Please be careful in the city, okay? Don’t go anywhere after dark, and make sure you watch your purse when you’re riding on the subway. Grandma Joyce said someone stole her purse when she was riding the train from Detroit to Chicago, so she wants you to be careful, and make sure you keep an eye on your belongings.
Stephen has been very busy at his math camp in Ann Arbor, but he thinks the Spy Museum sounds “very cool.” Pretty high praise coming from your brother!
That’s impressive that they’re letting you help with Spy Camp! Your father used to like spy movies. It sounds like you’re having fun.
Last night, your brother was kind enough to help me “load off” my Match.com profile (or whatever it is you do to get stuff up there on the computer). Your mother isn’t very good with computers, so I’m lucky I have my kids to help me, right?
Anyway, I just wanted you to see that this is all in fun and that you have nothing to worry about, but if you see any misspellings or sentences that sound silly, just tell me. I’m always telling my friends what a good writer you are.
Take care, be VERY CAREFUL—and call me soon.
Love,
Your mom
Gilda felt annoyed that Stephen had actually helped her mother post an online dating profile. Didn’t the two of them have any sense?
Part of her didn’t want to read it, but curiosity won out.
Gilda opened the attachment to her mother’s message and found a picture of her mother that she had never seen before. Her mother looked younger and prettier than usual, and she sat in a restaurant Gilda didn’t recognize, laughing happily.
One of her friends must have taken it, Gilda thought. From that picture, you’d think Mom was just a barrel of laughs. You’d never know that she gets really upset when socks disappear in the dryer or when she finds crumbs under the couch cushions, or that she loves spending Saturday mornings cleaning the garage.
PATTY JOYCE
Single mom is young at heart!
Hobbies: bowling, dancing, love the nightlife.
Me: Fit, energetic, and cute. I’d love to meet up for
conversation or a night out. I’m a great companion and
a good listener. Seeking friendship and maybe more.
Gilda stared at the profile, feeling like she didn’t quite recognize her own mother. Who knew that her mother loved “dancing” and “the nightlife”? She remembered her parents going to a handful of parties where her father had apparently danced in a very silly way, but that was about it.
It’s weird, Gilda thought, how you think you know everything about your mom and then all of a sudden, you see something that makes you realize you’ve only known a small part of her—that she has these secret parts you discover later. I mean, here I’m supposed to be a spy, and I had absolutely no idea that my own mother even knew the phrase “the nightlife”!
Gilda decided to take her mother up on the request to look for silly-sounding sentences in her dating profile. She composed a new e-mail, typing very quickly:
Hi, Mom,
Attached, please find my rewrite of your dating profile. I think you need a little more info and “truth in advertising” here. (Also, just a heads-up that your line “friendship and maybe more” has a good chance of bringing in the lecherous crowd.)
I’ve made a few changes that should help you find the man of our dreams.
Love,
Gilda
EAGER BUT NOT DESPERATE!
PATTY JOYCE (born Patty McDoogle)
Middle-aged widow and mother of difficult teenagers
still wants to believe in love!
Several years ago, the light of my life was extinguished
when my dear husband Nick Joyce left this earth for
heaven. After a long and semi-chaste mourning period,
I am ready to seize the day—ready to take a chance
on love again.
Are you ready, too?
Me: A “bottle redhead” who’s easy on the eyes.
Just focus on the sun-kissed freckles on my nose,
and you won’t notice the frown lines.
I’m a nurse so it takes a lot to make me squeamish.
If anyone pukes during our date, I’m on it, pronto!
Good thing at our age, huh?
Recent accomplishments: scarves knit for the whole
family while watching Dancing with the Stars.
Aspirations: shakin’ my own booty on the dance floor.
Special distinction: daughter is psychic investigator,
spy-in-training, and novelist.
YOU: good-looking but not vain, filthy rich but not
arrogant. You own your own home, and you prefer to stay
there. You like to keep a low profile. You’re self-sufficient
and you need lots of space and time to yourself.
When you want to give a gift, you think in terms of
ballroom dancing costumes, New York theater tickets, or
European travel for the whole family, kids included.
In a nutshell: We hardly know you’re around, yet our lives
have vastly improved since we met you.
If you match the above qualifications, we’re ready to give
you a chance.
Gilda hit Send and glanced at the clock. She would have to do her research on Abraham Lincoln after work; it was time to go meet her recruits.
19
The Ghost in the Machine
Attention, Team Crypt!” April Shepherd stood facing Gilda’s team of spy recruits. “This morning you’re going to learn what it’s like to find yourselves in a foreign, hostile environment. You’ll have to use your surveillance skills to track down information about possible terrorist activity and a missing nuclear triggering device.”
Gilda and her team were in a part of the Spy Museum that simulated the experience of spying in an imaginary foreign country where streets were lined with markets selling odd foods like “mutton puffs,” secretive government offices containing incriminating documents, and hidden locations for spy surveillance stakeouts.
April Shepherd led the kids into a briefing room covered with maps, photographs of “people of interest,” and diagrams illustrating complex relationships among agents. “Yesterday, Case Officer Zelda taught you the art of disguise—how to create a new identity for yourself and how to ‘live your cover.’ Some of you got a little carried away with the concept of fake body hair, but you saw that in order to be believable, a true disguise is something that becomes part of a whole life story.
“Now, you’re going to expand your spying knowledge; you’re going to learn how to use technology to gather information.”
April led Gilda’s team into an audio surveillance room filled with large machines covered with complex dials and knobs. Gilda noticed Roger Selak in a
corner of the room examining the connections between the machines and various cables and wires.
“Everyone, I want to introduce you to Agent Shockwave, our technical operations specialist.” April turned to Roger, whose eyes looked bloodshot and almost bruised with dark circles. “Agent Shockwave, are our surveillance machines up and running today?”
“I sure hope so.” Roger had spent the morning trying to fix a baffling technical glitch: he heard strange sounds coming from the equipment but couldn’t pinpoint the cause of the problem. He had spent hours checking the rack-mounted panel of electronic show software with no luck. Making matters worse was the fact that he had been up most of the night with a baby who screamed for no good reason that any adult could determine. The two problems had put Roger in a very glum mood: in the past, he had delighted in seeing the Spy Camp kids, but today, he just didn’t have the energy to play the role of a spy in a foreign country.
“You look a little haggard today, Agent Shockwave,” April observed.
She’s right, Gilda thought, remembering Janet’s comment. He looks like he’s just seen a ghost.
Roger was not amused. “You would too if you spent the night with someone screaming in your ear.”
“Kids, Agent Shockwave has been conducting audio surveillance with some pretty dangerous characters recently.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Okay, we’ve gotten some information about a meeting taking place between one of our undercover agents and some suspected terrorists who may be plotting an attack on the government,” April announced. “We’ve got our surveillance equipment set up to listen in on that meeting. It’s going to be hard to hear what they’re saying, so you’re going to have to figure out how to get your equipment tuned in to the correct frequency pretty fast.” April checked her watch. “Okay—it’s time. Use those listening skills!”
Gilda helped her team get set up with headphones, positioning spy recruits in front of the audio surveillance machines.
“Hey!” shouted James Bond. “I hear someone talking!”
“Shhhhh!” Gilda whispered. “You have to listen so you don’t miss anything.”
“It sounds really fuzzy,” The Comedian complained.
“I can’t understand what they’re saying!” Baby Boy cried.
“Team Crypt!” Gilda clapped her hands. “Stop talking and start listening!” The kids fell silent and Gilda had the galling realization that she had sounded exactly like one of the grumpy teachers at school. I guess it really is true that you don’t know why people say or do things until you have to spend a day in their shoes, she thought.
Gilda’s recruits leaned close to their machines, frantically turning dials one direction, then another, in an attempt to get information from the secret meeting.
“Wait a minute,” said Stargirl, “someone’s speaking in another language, but I can’t understand it.”
“Hey, yeah!” said James Bond. “Some foreign lady is talking now!”
Noticing that all the color had drained from Roger’s face, Gilda grabbed a pair of headphones to listen for herself. She heard a man’s heavily accented voice coming through heavy static. “We need to act quickly . . .” he said. “She’s going to visit [something muffled] tonight . . .” Gilda knew that these voices were part of a prerecorded conversation—actors playing the role of suspected terrorists plotting their next moves. Then, in the background, Gilda perceived a soft female voice speaking in a foreign language. It was odd: the woman didn’t seem to be having a conversation with the two men who were on tape. It reminded Gilda of times when she and her family had listened to the radio while driving on a long trip. Sometimes, as you moved farther from home, fragments of stations from other cities broke through, interrupting songs and other programs. Is it possible that these audio surveillance machines are picking up some “spirit” frequency? Gilda wondered.
Agent Moscow listened with a prim expression. She pressed her earphones closer to her head with a childlike hand painted with chipped red fingernail polish. “Eet’s Russian,” she said.
“Really?” This was intriguing, since they were supposed to be in the Spy Museum’s imaginary country of Khandar. “What is she saying?”
“She speaks very soft, but I hear something about a meeting—‘the last meeting.’” Agent Moscow frowned; a furrow appeared between her dark, thinly plucked eyebrows. “She says, ‘Poét znáet’—which means ‘the poet knows’; ‘Poslédnaya fstrécha’—that means ‘the last meeting’; ‘Právda vsegda’—‘the truth lives forever’; ‘Poét znáet’—‘the poet knows’. . .” Agent Moscow paused. “She’s repeating the same phrases again.”
Roger stared at Agent Moscow. “So—those words actually mean something?” His face looked pale and drawn, as if he were just recovering from a bout of the flu.
“Roger—I mean, Agent Shockwave—are you saying there isn’t supposed to be a Russian woman’s voice on these audio surveillance machines?” Gilda demanded.
She felt a distinct tickle in her ear. There was something eerily significant about those phrases, “The poet knows . . . The last meeting . . . The truth lives forever . . .” and something about the pleading tone of the woman’s voice made Gilda believe that this might be a significant message—something worth further investigation.
Something’s definitely up at this museum, she thought. She remembered how, in a case she had investigated a few months before, she had learned that ghosts can use the capabilities of machines as a kind of “voice box” to help them speak to the living. Roger seems baffled by this voice, she thought. My guess is that we’ve got a genuine haunting here.
“If you’re hearing a voice on the machine, I’m sure there’s supposed to be a voice,” April snapped.
Ignoring April’s comment, Roger grabbed a pair of headphones and put them on. “I worked to get rid of that voice all day yesterday, and I thought it was finally gone. And now it’s back again.” He shook his head ruefully. “Gilda is right,” he said. “That voice isn’t supposed to be there. I even called the company who created the show software, and they couldn’t figure out why it’s happening, either. I have no idea where that voice came from.”
The members of Team Crypt whispered among themselves:
“What did he say?”
“He said something’s wrong with the surveillance equipment.”
“It’s broken?”
“No, it’s probably sabotage from a rat agent on one of the other teams.”
April looked annoyed. “Roger—our recruits are supposed to be honing their audio surveillance skills right now. Maybe you can investigate these little technical glitches later.” April didn’t like wasting time, and she hated any suggestion that the fantasy situations created at Spy Camp were not the real thing.
“Actually,” said Roger, completely ignoring April’s criticism, “this is good because you all heard that voice, too, which means that I’m not crazy.”
“Excellent news, Roger,” said April, sardonically.
“I was beginning to wonder.” He stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head at the equipment as if it had just attempted a malicious practical joke. “But if you’re hearing it, too, it’s not just me.”
“Recruits!” April clapped her hands. “Everyone listen up! Time to move on to video surveillance!”
As she dutifully followed April and her recruits from the audio room, Gilda noticed Roger leaning against a wall, still holding one headphone to his ear and listening to the voice. He had the concerned, disappointed look of someone who had just completed a complex jigsaw puzzle only to discover that a single piece was missing.
20
The Frightening Face
The video surveillance room featured an enormous video screen on one wall and stations resembling pinball machines or video games equipped with smaller screens along with various buttons and levers to control the movement of cameras. Gilda’s recruits immediately began pushing levers and trying to make the
screens work.
“Okay, recruits, since it looks like some enemy agents have sabotaged our audio surveillance equipment, we’re going to work on your video monitoring skills instead.”
“Cool!”
April held up a photograph of an attractive, olive-skinned woman wearing a business suit. “Your job is to follow this woman. Her code name is Agent Topaz. Watch her closely and see where she goes and who she talks to.”
“Agent Zelda,” said April, looking at Gilda, “can you tell your recruits to stop playing with the equipment until they understand how to use it?” April eyed James Bond and The Misanthrope, who were all but taking out wrenches and screwdrivers to disassemble the video monitors.
“Stop touching stuff,” said Gilda, walking over to the boys. This was a phrase Gilda’s brother had used with Gilda throughout her life—usually in reference to the interior of his car, his computer, or any other object he owned. It usually deterred her for about half a minute.
“But we already know how to use this equipment,” said The Misanthrope. “When you push this button, you see the view from camera one. This one is camera two—”
“Alert!” April shouted and waved at the front of the room. “Agent Topaz has entered the hotel. Everyone in positions; we need to get a clear picture of what she’s up to and who she’s meeting with. Start working those surveillance cameras, and don’t lose sight of her, whatever you do!”
The large video screen at the front of the room showed the empty lobby of a hotel. A thin, elegant woman entered the lobby, deep in conversation with a man.
“There she is!” yelled The Comedian. “Get her!”
The kids frantically pushed buttons and pulled levers at their stations, zooming the view on their video monitoring screens in and out, doing their best to switch camera controls to follow the constant motion of the woman through hallways and into stairwells where she paused to have whispered conversations with suspicious-looking contacts.
The Dead Drop Page 11