“Put a lid on it, Brian,” Belinda scolded her brother. “They were almost killed today. I hope you’re all right, Frank.” She placed a hand on my forearm.
“Well, yeah … um … it was … you know … a little scary,” I stuttered.
What a dork.
“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” I said, clearing my throat.
Brian started clucking like a chicken, which caught the attention of the parrot on my shoulder. It raised its feathered head and squawked.
“I like your bird,” Belinda commented with a smile.
I blushed. “Oh, yeah. Wings had to go to the hospital, so we’re taking care of his pet.”
“What’s his name?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Didn’t Wings call him Birdbrain?” Brian said with a nasty laugh.
The parrot ruffled his feathers and made a loud raspberry sound.
“I wouldn’t like that name either,” I said to my new feathered friend. The bird responded by poking my head with its beak.
Belinda giggled. “How about calling him Pokey?” she suggested.
The parrot puffed up its chest.
“Puffy?” Joe chimed in.
“Polly?” Brian added.
The bird squawked back. “Pokey! Puffy! Polly!”
“Man, he’s like a tape recorder with wings, isn’t he?” I said. “I guess I can throw away my digital mixing board. With this bird on my shoulder, who needs playback?”
The parrot flapped its wings with excitement. “Playback! Playback! Playback!” it chirped.
“That’s it!” said Belinda, slapping my knee. “You can call him Playback!”
“Totally,” Joe agreed.
“Okay. Playback it is,” I said, petting the parrot’s belly. I turned to Belinda and made a lame attempt at flirting. “I think he likes the name. I mean, who wouldn’t … you know … like your … um … bird name.”
Real smooth.
“It’s perfect,” I added, trying not to blush. I gave Belinda a cool sideways glance and nodded shrewdly.
Saved!
Well, until the parrot decided to poop on my shoulder.
“Gross,” I muttered.
Everyone burst out laughing.
But really, did they have to make jokes about it the entire ride home?
“It’s a parrot, Frank. That’s what parrots do,” my brother said, mocking my own words.
Belinda offered her sympathy—and a pack of tissues from her purse—but, boy, was I relieved when Brian pulled up in front of our house.
“Thanks, Brian,” said Joe, hopping out and dashing to the porch of our old house. It was clear to everyone that Joe really hated thanking Brian for anything. He just wanted to make a quick escape.
Which left me alone with Belinda in the backseat.
“You take care of yourself, Frank,” she said. “You had a rough day, poor guy.”
Then she gave me a peck on the cheek.
I’m sure my face turned redder than Playback’s tail feathers. “Um … well … thanks, Belinda,” I stammered. “And, ah, thanks for the ride, Brian.”
Before I could embarrass myself any further, I ran up the porch stairs as fast as I could. I followed Joe into the house—and almost crashed right into him.
The entire family was sitting in the dining room, staring at us. Mom, Dad, Aunt Trudy—and they all had strange, surprised looks on their faces.
“Is that a parrot?” Mom asked.
“Parrot! Parrot! Parrot!” Playback responded.
Mom chuckled. “I guess that answers my question,” she said. “I suppose you boys want to keep him?”
“Can we, Mom?” I replied. “He needs a home.”
Aunt Trudy was horrified. “Is he housebroken?”
“Of course he is,” I lied.
I might have gotten away with it if Playback hadn’t chosen that exact moment to drop a little gift on my shoulder.
“I knew it!” Aunt Trudy exclaimed. “He’s going to poop all over our nice clean house! When I was a little girl on the farm, we had some ducks and that’s all they ever did. Poop, poop, poop all over the place.”
“He’s not a duck, Aunt Trudy,” I argued. “And I promise to clean up after him.”
Aunt Trudy stood up and started clearing plates off the table. “I think we all know who does the cleaning up around here,” she said. “Not to mention cooking for a pair of boys who are always late for dinner.”
“Sorry, Aunt Trudy,” Joe and I said in unison.
Mom stood up, came over to me, and petted the parrot. “Isn’t he a pretty thing?” she said. “I guess you can keep him, but he’s your responsibility. I’ll download some parrot info from the Web tonight for you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, kissing her cheek.
I glanced at Dad. I could tell he was concerned about the skydiving mission. But we’d have to talk about it later, when Mom and Aunt Trudy weren’t around.
“Did you pick up some Band-Aids for me?” Aunt Trudy questioned us.
Oops.
That was the reason Aunt Trudy had lent us her VW. “Um, there’s something I have to tell you about your car, Aunt Trudy,” I said, wincing. “The engine died on us.”
“Yup,” Joe confirmed.
“Well!” she said, shaking her head. “You know, something’s fishy here. I send you boys out with my Beetle to buy some Band-Aids, and you come back with bruises and a bird. What really happened?”
Joe and I glanced down at the bruises on our legs.
“We’ll tell you all about it … after you warm up some leftovers for us, Aunt Trudy,” said my brother, thinking fast. “Thanks! We need to wash up first.”
We both gave our aunt a kiss and bounded up the stairs before she could ask any more questions. Playback clung to my shoulder and squawked.
When we reached the second floor, Joe turned to me and said, “Well, Frank, I bailed you out of that one. You owe me again.”
I swatted the back of his head and followed him into my bedroom. “Where are we going to put this bird until we get a cage?” I asked.
Joe walked to the window and turned around. “Let’s see. We could push a couple of chairs together, and—”
I stopped listening, because something outside the window caught my eye.
A big red brick sailed through the air. Right toward our window.
“Joe!” I yelled. “DUCK!”
3 Extreme Danger
Duck?
I ducked.
A split second later, something sailed past my head and crashed on the bedroom floor. I looked up to see what it was.
A brick?
I slowly raised myself to the window and peeked outside. The yard below was empty. Whoever threw the brick was gone.
“It’s clear,” I told Frank.
“Hey, want to give me a little credit here?” asked Frank. “It’s a good thing I told you to duck—or you’d have another rock in your head.”
“Very funny. But if you’re so smart, why didn’t you pick another word besides duck? I mean, dude, after all the jokes today about ducks and chickens and parrots, I didn’t know what you were talking about.”
“What should I have said?” Frank asked. “Stoop? Bend? Lower yourself into a safe position? Hey, you figured it out. Now you owe me one.”
“Let’s just say we’re even,” I said. “Now stoop or bend down and check out that brick.”
Frank leaned over and picked it up. The brick was your basic red brick—nothing unusual. But it was tied to a small padded envelope.
“What’s that?” I asked. “A death threat from Brian Conrad? ‘Stay away from my sister or the bird gets it….’?”
Frank stood up. “No, it’s our next mission.”
He opened the envelope and pulled out a wad of cash, a hotel reservation, a small laser pointer, and a CD.
“Very clever,” said Frank, turning the CD around in his hand.
“What’s it say on the lab
el?” I asked.
Frank looked me in the eye. “‘Extreme Danger,’” he said.
“Cool,” I replied, nodding. “But not as cool as this.” I snatched the laser pointer out of Frank’s hands and snapped off the lights.
Then, aiming toward the wall, I pressed the end of the pointer with my thumb. A tiny pinpoint of light danced across the room.
Playback squawked.
With a flutter of wings, the large bird flew off Frank’s shoulder and chased the pinpoint from one side of the room to the other. It was pretty hilarious watching Playback go. By swirling the laser, I could even make him fly in a perfect circle above our heads!
“Okay, knock it off,” said Frank.
“But he likes it,” I insisted.
“Joe.”
“Okay.” Fun wasn’t in my brother’s vocabulary. I aimed the laser above the TV set until Playback came to rest on top of it.
The parrot touched the tip of his beak to the pinpoint of light and screeched so loud it made me jump.
“Look!” said Frank. “The laser is burning a hole in the wall! Quick, turn it off!”
I released my thumb. The pinpoint of light disappeared instantly, but it left a small burn mark on the wall.
“Give me that,” said Frank, snatching the pointer away from me and snapping on the lights. “Make yourself useful, Joe. Turn on the game player.”
“Hey, I’m useful,” I said, reaching for the game controls. “I figured out we can use the laser pointer to burn holes, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and you almost burned a hole in my bird.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“All set,” I said, taking the CD from Frank and loading the game player. We plopped down on the beanbag chairs in front of the monitor and prepared ourselves for our next mission.
Bring it on.
I pressed PLAY.
The picture turned black. A low electronic hum grew louder and louder until it sounded like a chorus of spinning wheels. Suddenly the wheel sounds screeched to a halt, and two red slash marks crisscrossed the screen to form a giant X Then there was a sizzling noise—like the sound of a burning fuse—and a huge explosion. The giant X burst into a fireball of tiny cartoon flames.
“Killer graphics,” I said.
“Shhh,” Frank responded.
The flames burned a bunch of holes in the screen, revealing a dozen little scenes—videostream clips of people skateboarding, bungee jumping, rock climbing, motocross racing, you name it.
“Extreme sports,” a deep voice boomed over the soundtrack. “Pushing the limits of human skill and endurance, extreme sports have taken America by storm. Daredevil skateboard stunts, motocross mega-races, Big Air ramp-jumps, death-defying bungee dives—these are just a few of the pumped-up thrills that have captured an entire nation of brave young risk-takers. The highs are higher, the lows are lower, and the dangers … are extreme.”
“Man, look at that ramp!” I said, slapping Frank’s knee. “That must be fifty feet high! How can anyone—” On the screen a leather-jacketed motocrosser flipped backward on his bike and crashed headfirst on the ground.
“Oh, man! Wipeout!”
“Ouch,” said Frank.
“Extreme events are more popular than ever,” the deep-voiced narrator continued. “Once an underground phenomenon, extreme sports now receive international television coverage. Extreme Olympic-style games and events are popping up all over the world.”
“Cool. Let’s go,” I said.
“Careful what you wish for,” Frank warned. “You might end up flying over that fifty-foot ramp.”
“Piece of cake.”
I turned my attention back to the screen. The videostreamed sports footage was suddenly replaced with tourist shots of Philadelphia.
“Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Birthplace of the American Constitution,” the voice went on. “City of Brotherly Love, home of the Liberty Bell. And proud host of the Big Air Games, the newest and biggest extreme sports competition in the country. If you are interested in this exciting midsummer event, tickets are still available. Hotel rooms are conveniently located, with all-day shuttle service to and from the stadium. Just call our 800 number located at the bottom of the screen. Be sure to ask about our special group rates.”
I looked at Frank. “What is this? A commercial?”
“Sure sounds like it,” he agreed. “All it needs is a catchy jingle.”
Then another voice came from the speakers. It sounded like it was making fun of the narrator. “If you would like to attend the Big Air Games as an undercover agent, however, please press CONTINUE and you will be briefed on your mission.”
“That’s more like it,” I said, grabbing the controls and pressing the button.
“Somebody at the home office must have a sense of humor,” said Frank.
The tourist shots disappeared. A detailed map of Philadelphia filled the screen.
“Hello, boys,” said the second voice. “Sorry about that introduction. I just thought I’d show you the tourist board’s ad for the Big Air Games. We got you both tickets for all the events and reserved a room at the Four Seasons Hotel in Philadelphia.”
A yellow square flashed on the map, indicating the hotel’s location.
“Some of the top extreme athletes in the country are coming to the games—and staying at your hotel. Because of the size of the event, we’re taking extra precautions. In dangerous times like these, it’s important to always be prepared for the possibility of trouble. As teenagers, you’ll be able to access more information than police officers could. Blend in, mingle with the fans and the athletes. But always, keep your eyes and ears open.”
This was going to be great!
Frank didn’t seem as excited. “It doesn’t sound like much of a mission,” he muttered. “Just hang out and watch other people take risks?”
“One more thing, boys,” the voice spoke up. “We have reason to believe that several threats have been made to participants. Some skateboarders claim they saw a few strange postings on one of the extreme sports Web sites. There are thousands of those sites. The feds are checking the threats out, but it could take months to find something. Ask around. Gather all the information you can. I suggest you pack and leave as soon as possible.”
I glanced at Frank. He sighed.
“This mission, like every mission, is top secret,” the voice went on. “In five seconds this CD will be reformatted into an ordinary music CD. Five, four, three, two, one.”
The Beastie Boys blared from the speakers.
The music was so loud it scared Playback off the TV He flapped his wings and flew into the air, then landed on Frank’s shoulder. He looked a little shaken. But after a moment or two he was grooving to the beat—and squawking the lyrics.
“Party! Party! Party!”
Frank walked over to the computer, turned it on, and logged in.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “We’re supposed to leave as soon as possible.”
“I’m going online to search some of those Web sites,” he replied. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “The feds are looking for those threats day and night, and you think you can find them in a few minutes?”
“Hey, I’m the Search Master, remember?” he said, tapping his head with a finger. “My Web search talents are unmatched … except maybe by Mom. But she’s a librarian. It’s part of her job.”
“Sometimes I wish we could ask her to help,” I said.
“Don’t even think it. We’re undercover, remember? We’re on our own,” he said, hunkering over the computer.
While Frank launched his Web search, I went to ask Dad to drive us to the garage to pick up our motorcycles. He was sitting by himself at the dining room table.
“Another mission? Already?” he whispered, looking up from his newspaper. “You haven’t even told me about the last one.”
“We’ll fill you in later, on the way to the
garage. Don’t worry, Dad,” I said, noticing the concerned look on his face. Then I turned around and headed back upstairs.
Frank hadn’t moved since I’d left him.
“Find anything, O Mighty Search Master?” I asked.
Frank squinted at the screen. “I don’t know. Maybe. Look at this.”
I leaned over his shoulder—the shoulder without the parrot—and studied the screen. In a tall, narrow window, there was a long scroll of postings. I started reading.
“So?” I said. “It just looks like a bunch of dudes talking about the Big Air Games.”
“Look at this one posted by 4567TME,” he said, reading out loud. “’I hope you Xtreme sports nuts know how to dial 911.’”
I shrugged. “4567TME has a point. Extreme sports are dangerous. Most of those athletes wind up in the hospital sooner or later.”
“Maybe,” Frank admitted. “But it could be a threat. Maybe 4567TME plans to put those athletes in the hospital. And sooner, not later.”
I rolled my eyes. “Man, you’re making something out of nothing. I think you’re just bummed out because we don’t have a detailed mission—or even suspects. No smugglers to bust. No bank robbers to catch. I think you’re afraid to just kick back and have fun … for once.”
Frank sighed. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, logging off the computer.
“I know I’m right. This’ll be like a vacation, man! So pack your bags and get ready to tear up the mega-ramps with your brother. Okay?”
Frank smiled. “Okay.”
I turned around and started filling my backpack with clothes and socks and underwear. Frank got up from the desk and walked to the video game player. He pressed EJECT and pulled out the disk.
I stopped packing. “What is it, Frank?” I asked. “Why are you staring at that disk?”
Frank paused. “I don’t know,” he answered. “You’re probably right about everything. But I wonder. If this mission is nothing but fun and games, why is it called ‘Extreme Danger’?”
I didn’t know what to say.
But Playback did.
“Danger! Danger! Danger!”
4 Warning Signs
Call me paranoid. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this mission than met the eye.
Extreme Danger Page 2