The Mystery of the Russian Ransom

by Roy MacGregor

  Travis slowly counted to ten to try and calm himself. He breathed in and out, deliberately slowing his breath. He was sure he had a grip on himself now.

  He stretched to look.

  He saw a bank of computers with people in white lab coats working at several of them. He saw some workout machines: treadmills, spinning bikes, weight machines, step machines.

  And then he saw Sarah! She was wearing one of the red tracksuits with the yellow bird crest. She was doing sprints on a treadmill, and she seemed to have a dozen wires running off her body. There were wires attached to her legs, her arms, her chest, her neck – and even four to her head. She was running easily. On either side of her stood one of the white-coated people, a woman on her right, a man on her left. They held stopwatches and clipboards.

  Travis dropped back down. His heart was pounding.

  He had found Sarah.

  She was alive and well and, he had to admit, didn’t seem particularly unhappy. That would be Sarah, though. If Nish was the Owl who hated practice and exercise most of all, Sarah would be the one who most enjoyed it. Workouts were like oxygen to her. She craved them.

  He had to tell the others. He had to slip back the way he had come. And he had to do it unseen.

  Back through the long corridor Travis snaked, moving quickly from hiding spot to hiding spot.

  This time, instead of slipping behind the lockers, he dashed across in front of them.

  And when he did, he saw something.

  It was only a flash out of the corner of his eye – something pink. But the color seemed as familiar as his own face.

  He stopped behind a column and looked back. Several of the lockers were open. The girls’ team seemed to be the only ones using the rink, and they must have felt secure enough to use the lockers without locking them. Several of them hadn’t even bothered to close the doors.

  And there, at one end, was the backpack Sarah had been wearing when she’d been kidnapped that day in the park.

  Travis’s first thought was to leave a note, but he had no paper, no pen. He could take something from the pack, but what would be the point of that? Sarah wouldn’t take it as a sign. She’d think one of the Russian girls had stolen from her.

  Reluctantly, Travis moved on, slipping carefully down the long corridor until he came to the exit back into the rink. He checked for anyone on the other side, turned the handle, stepped through, and slipped in under the stands, then made his way back to where the Owls had been.

  Sam and Nish were already back.

  “Anything?” Sam whispered as Travis made his way into their little hiding place. “We found nothing.”

  “I found her!” Travis said, trying to suppress his excitement.

  Sam screeched and instantly clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Where?” asked Fahd.

  “There’s some laboratory set up in another part of the rink,” Travis said. “They’re doing tests on her. She’s okay, though.”

  “You spoke to her?” asked Fahd.

  “No, of course not – just saw her. She looked okay.”

  “We’ve got to get her out of here,” said Sam.

  “Can we tackle the guys who’ve got her?” Nish asked.

  Travis looked at Nish and shook his head. “This isn’t a movie, Nish. It’s real. We can’t risk her getting hurt.”

  “How do we tell her we know she’s here?” asked Lars.

  “If we could only get a message to her,” said Sam.

  Travis shook his head. Then he had an idea.

  “I know,” he said.

  “What?” the other Owls all said at once.

  “Fahd, give me the phone.”

  Fahd recoiled. “I can’t. Data’d kill me.”

  “Give me the phone,” Travis repeated. “This is much more important.”

  “More important than me getting killed?” Fahd said, looking shocked.

  “You can’t phone her,” Nish said.

  “I’ll leave her the phone,” Travis explained. “I saw her pack. I know where it is.”

  “But she might not be able to phone us,” said Sam. “They could hear her. They probably have a guard on her at all times.”

  “She can text,” Travis said. “And we can text her.”

  “How?”

  “Jenny has her phone,” Travis explained. “She won’t turn it on because the charges would be so high, but we can help pay.”

  “Let’s do it!” Sam almost shrieked.

  “Data’s phone,” Travis ordered, holding out his hand toward Fahd.

  Fahd looked as if he might cry. He hesitated, then slowly handed it over.

  Travis grabbed it and immediately headed for the locker area and Sarah’s backpack.

  He’d hide it in the pack. She’d find it.

  Wouldn’t she?

  20

  Now I know what a laboratory rat feels like. I’ve been prodded, poked, measured, wired-up, tested, and examined so much I bet they have enough information to build a brand-new Sarah Cuthbertson out of titanium.

  Hey, you don’t suppose?

  No, I can’t see that. It would be some sort of Sarah Zombie. That’s for science fiction movies, not peewee hockey teams.

  I have some sense of what they’re doing. Why me, I don’t know, but it has to be measuring how quickly I recover from exercise and how I move around the ice. Maybe the little attachments to my brain and that camera in my helmet have something to do with how I see the ice. I don’t know. I’m getting sick of this. I want to see my mom and dad and the team – but there’s not much I can do about it. I can’t stomp my feet and yell and scream until they let me go.

  But that’s the point, isn’t it? When will they let me go? And how will they let me go? They’re very sophisticated, with their science and their tests, so they can’t be so foolish as to think what they did is all right. They must be pretty confident that they can drop me off as safely as they grabbed me in the first place. And they must be pretty sure that I won’t be able to tell the police anything about them.

  I could describe Olga, but she’s hardly the brains behind this. I could identify some of the researchers – and Sacha and Pavel – but they aren’t behind it, either. Certainly not Pavel – he seems like he couldn’t hurt a fly.

  I just wish I could get a better look at that tall man who comes and stands at the back of the benches some days. He’s got to be a big shot. Has to be.

  Olga says that …

  That was weird! My pen ran dry, so I dug down in the side pocket of my pack for another one. I knew I had a couple in there. But there was something else. A cell phone!

  I couldn’t believe it. I don’t own a phone, even though I keep asking for one for my birthday. And I knew for sure there was nothing there before.

  I thought maybe Olga put it there. At first her friendliness seemed fake, but now I think it’s her real personality. In a weird way, she’s a nice kidnapper. She knows I get bored, so maybe she was just giving me something to play games on.

  I turned it on and it lit up! I figured the battery would be run down.

  It took a moment for the screen to come into focus, but when it did, I could not believe what I was staring at: the Screech Owls’ crest!

  21

  “Data’s gonna kill me!” Fahd kept whining as the Owls made their way back to the hotel.

  “If he doesn’t, I will!” barked Sam, who was trying to get everyone to move as fast as possible. “Stop your whining and let’s get back!”

  They worked their way through backstreets and along main thoroughfares – at times losing their way now that they no longer had Data’s phone. Travis was the one who recognized the tall, blue-gray building in the distance and knew the Hotel Astoria was just beyond it.

  They burst into the lobby, ran past the hotel reception desk, and took the stairs rather than wait for the slow elevator. They had to get to Jenny’s room, and fast.

  Up the stairs they bounded, Sam and Travis in front, Lars and Fa
hd right behind, then big Nish huffing and puffing, his face the color of the Russians’ tracksuits.

  Jenny was reading. She’d been wondering where the others had gone off to, and Sam tried to tell her in as few words as she could: “We know where Sarah is. We need your phone. Quick!”

  Jenny seemed stunned by the sudden arrival of the excited Owls. “I’m not using my phone over here,” she said, not moving.

  “Get it!” Sam shouted. “We left Data’s phone for her to find –”

  Just then, Data rolled in from the doorway. He’d heard his name.

  “You left what?” he demanded.

  “Your phone,” Travis said.

  “Sorry!” Fahd gulped. “I –”

  But Data was glaring at Travis, waiting for an explanation.

  “We know where Sarah is,” he said quickly. “We were able to slip your phone to her.”

  “What’s she gonna do?” asked Data. “Phone the police? You remember what Dmitri’s dad said about the police – you can’t always trust them. Maybe they’re even in on it!”

  “I doubt that,” Sam said. “But if she phoned anyone, she would have to talk – and how do we know there isn’t a microphone in the room where they’re keeping her?”

  “She can text,” Travis said. “We can work a plan out. No one will know. We know how to get into the place where they’re keeping her – it’s a hockey rink!”

  Data seemed skeptical. He turned on Fahd. “You lose my phone, you get me a new one.”

  “I will,” said Fahd.

  “Data!” Sam yelled. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook hard. “It’s Sarah! Don’t you understand?”

  Instantly, Data seemed to. Sam was so wound up she was crying.

  “Jenny, we need that phone,” Data said, putting his hand out.

  Data took over. He turned on the phone and looked at the messages.

  “Sarah’s found it,” he said. “We have a message.”

  “Read it! Read it!” Sam shouted.

  “Jenny! It’s me, Sarah,” he read. “You’re the only one with a phone, apart from Data, and I think this is his – but I have no idea how it got here.”

  Data’s fingers flew as he texted back. He waited. The phone gave a light ping.

  Data read: “I am kept in a room to the back of the ‘lab’ – directly opposite the ice surface …”

  “I think I know where she means,” said Travis.

  “No one has hurt me. A woman, Olga, is trying to be nice to me, and so are the two hockey guys, Sacha and Pavel. I am left alone in the evenings after practice. I have to go. I’m expected back on the rink in five.”

  Data’s fingers flew.

  “What did you tell her?” asked Fahd.

  “I said, ‘Go.’ ”

  “That’s two letters,” Fahd pointed out. “You typed more than that.”

  Data swallowed. “I told her we’re coming to get her.”

  22

  I thought my heart was going to pound right through my chest! I knew it was Data’s phone the second I saw the Owls’ logo, but I also knew it couldn’t have been Data who put it there. Who, though? Trav? Sam? Dmitri? Maybe Dmitri – he’s the only one who could talk his way in here. Not Nish. Definitely not Nish.

  What to do, though? I have to confess to the silliest thing imaginable. My first thought was to check my e-mail! Once that ridiculous notion got out of my head, I began to think about what the phone meant and what I should do.

  Whoever put it here – I’ll bet Trav – would realize I’m being watched and can’t risk making a call. And apart from the Owls, who could I call? I don’t speak the language. So I would need to text someone. But who?

  I went through the Owls one by one. Dmitri, no. Travis, no. Nish, no – certainly not Nish! Sam, no. Jenny … yes, Jenny! She has a phone, but she hasn’t been using it. Too expensive, she said.

  Still, the other Owls would also know she has a phone. They might have talked her into checking. So I sent a quick text and got an almost instant answer.

  It came from Data. Data sending a text message to his own phone! But it meant that someone in the Owls had the team organized. Probably Trav. He’d be using Data as the communications expert, which he is.

  I exchanged a few messages but then had to bail. I have an on-ice session coming up and have to get back in my hockey gear.

  I made a decision while dressing. Maybe it’s a stupid one, maybe not, but I’m going to do it.

  I’ve put on my tightest T-shirt and tucked it in and done my hockey pants up as tightly as possible. I slipped Data’s phone down the neck and let it drop so it rested against my stomach. I then put on a body shirt and tucked it in tight.

  With my pants done up and my jersey hanging loose, no one can see.

  I didn’t do this so I can get a call or anything. I have another reason.

  I just hope I don’t mess up.

  23

  “We should get Muck and Mr. D,” Fahd said.

  Data shook his head. “Can’t,” he said. “They’re not here. There’s a big meeting over at the parents’ hotel this afternoon. People from the Canadian embassy have flown in from Moscow to see if they can be of any help with Sarah. It’s just the Owls here, no one else.”

  “We’ll have to wait,” Fahd said.

  “No,” Travis said. He surprised himself. He was really taking charge. He was the Screech Owls’ captain and he was acting like the captain – especially with Sarah not here to help. “We’re going to the rink to see if we can get her out.”

  “Muck won’t like it,” said Fahd.

  “He’ll like it fine if we get her safe and sound.”

  “I’ll get Dmitri,” said Sam. Travis nodded. They would need Dmitri. After all, he spoke the language.

  There were seven of them: Travis, Sam, Nish, Lars, Fahd, Jenny – and now Dmitri. Once everyone was dressed and ready, they gathered in the lobby. They formed a quick circle and bumped fists together. A pact. A vow. Just like the Three Musketeers, except they numbered seven.

  “All for one and one for all,” said Fahd, who couldn’t resist.

  Sam corrected him. “All for Sarah.”

  “All for Sarah!” everyone said at once.

  Data had downloaded the maps app onto Jenny’s phone before they left, so the way back to the old rink seemed quick and easy. They were soon heading down the final street.

  They decided on a game plan. Two of them – Jenny and Fahd – would stay outside and watch. They had no idea what they would do if something went wrong, but they’d at least be able to run back to the Astoria and let Muck and Mr. D know. The rest of them would head around the building to the back.

  They waited patiently for the garage door to rise and didn’t move until the Zamboni driver had headed out to dump his load of snow. They knew the ropes now, and were soon inside and hidden from sight underneath the stands.

  They duck-waddled and dog-walked below the stands until they reached the place where they had previously gathered. Nish was first to climb up the back of the stands and stare out onto the ice surface.

  “She’s on,” he said.

  “Huh?” said Sam.

  “Sarah,” he said. “She’s on the ice.”

  They all carefully climbed up and peered out. There was Sarah, all decked out in her Russian hockey equipment, showing one of the girls how to scoop a puck off the wet ice. She was laughing. She looked great.

  “Maybe she’s a traitor now,” Nish suggested. “Gone over to the other side.”

  Dmitri hissed angrily. “Russia isn’t the other side. It’s not a communist country anymore. That’s ancient history. We have criminals in Russia just the same as North America. Get real.”

  Nish burned red. “I was just joking.”

  “Okay,” said Dmitri. “But don’t forget that you and I are on the same team, right?”

  Nish nodded, not sure what to say. He’d never seen Dmitri so angry.

  “What are we going to do?” Sam asked.<
br />
  They sat down and kicked around ideas. They could try and grab Sarah before she reached the room where they kept her, but there would be people around. Lots of people. The girl players. The two coaches. The men and women who ran the machines and the computers.

  “We will have to wait until she’s in her room,” said Travis. “We’ll wait for practice to end, and then, when the Zamboni is out, we’ll make our way to the back. I’m pretty sure I know where her room is.”

  “How will we get in?”

  “We have to hope there’s a lock or a latch we can open on the outside.”

  “How long do we wait?” Lars asked.

  “Long as it takes, I guess,” Travis said.

  “I have to go pee,” said Nish.

  The others turned and stared daggers at him.

  “That’s it,” Travis said as he ducked back down under the stands. “They’re headed off.”

  Hidden in the dark behind the stands, the Owls peered into the bright arena in front of them.

  “The phone,” Travis said. He took Jenny’s phone and sent a text message to Sarah: “We are in the building. Be ready to go. Trav.”

  Sarah and the players left the ice, and shortly after, the Owls heard the Zamboni burp as it was started up. The driver opened up the doors onto the ice and soon came out on the Zamboni. The big machine chugged down the boards closest to where the Owls were hidden. Once it passed and the driver’s back was to them, Travis moved into action.

  He led them down, crouching and scrambling, until they reached the exit door he had found the last time. He waited, then moved quickly to slip through it. The others followed.

  They waited briefly until the last of the Russian hockey players had cleared out of the locker area. Sarah was already gone. She had always been the fastest of the Owls to dress or change. Travis just hoped she was back in her room.

  Once the way was clear, Travis told Sam, Lars, and Nish to wait where they were while he and Dmitri headed toward the back of the building. He knew the way; Dmitri knew the language. They just hoped Dmitri wouldn’t have to use it.