“This is so cool,” Eric called as the tube floated a little way away. “There’s even a monitor here for the tension on the line. I don’t need to do anything.”
“Activating voice control for engine speed,” I heard the boat say.
“Well,” he corrected, “hardly anything.”
Once the line was taut, Savannah gave the signal and the boat took off. We squealed and clung to the tube, laughing our heads off at every bounce and kick from the wake. Our path took us on a wide arc through the cove, so we could see the buildings of the Guidant campus flash by on the left-hand shore. To the right was a large, heavily wooded island, and as we got closer I could see a few buildings shrouded among the trees, as well as a rocky outcropping with what looked like a radio tower on top.
“This is awesome!” Savannah yelled in my ear. She held up her thumb to Eric. “Faster!”
The boat sped up, then began to swing us around to the right, when suddenly, the motor cut off. Momentum swished the tube closer to the boat, and we bobbed up and down on the waves created by the wake.
“What happened?” Savannah called to the boys. “We’re not out of power already, are we?”
Eric was peering at the screen. “It says something about proximity limits.”
I paddled over to the boat and hauled myself aboard. “Maybe it’s saying we’re too far off to return before the battery runs out?” I peered over his shoulder as he tapped the screen. “Oh, that’s weird.”
“What?”
“Well, all the buildings on the campus are marked on this map,” I said, pointing out the labels on the digital map on the screen. Our boat was a blinking red dot in the blue lagoon. To the left were all the streets and landmarks of the campus. “But nothing’s marked for the island.”
“Maybe nothing’s on it,” Eric said. He banged his fist against the side of the control column. “Start, you stupid thing.”
“No, there are buildings!” I said, and pointed at the island, but whatever I’d seen before was now hidden by trees. You could still catch sight of the radio tower on the outcropping, though.
“Proximity limit reached,” the boat said. “Please specify destination.”
“We’re not going to a destination,” Eric said to the boat. “We’re going tubing.”
“Proximity limit reached,” the boat repeated. “Alternate route required.”
“Is that all?” Eric asked. “Fine then, just turn to port.”
“Location clip disengaged,” the boat said. “Please reattach to continue.”
“Here,” I said, undoing my clip. “You take a turn. I don’t like watching you argue with an inanimate object.”
“Fine,” Eric said, snapping the clip to his life jacket and jumping off the side. I pressed my hand to the boat’s sensor panel.
“Welcome, Gillian Seagret,” said the boat. “Proximity limit reached. Alternate route required.”
“Okay,” I said. “Keep going back in the direction of the docks.”
The boat made a sharp turn to the left and motored slowly away from where Eric and Savannah bobbed on top of the tube. Once the line was taut, the boat said, “Activating voice control for engine speed.”
I checked on Eric and Savannah, who gave me a thumbs-up.
“Faster,” I told the boat, and it complied. I set us on a weaving pattern, so the tube could bop along back and forth over the wake, and smiled when Savannah and Eric screamed in delight. Howard was paying us no attention, crouched low over his notebook, his arm protecting the pages from sea spray.
“What are you doing?” I shouted to him.
“Trying to break the code, of course. But I’m not getting very far.”
“Give yourself a break,” I said. “You only got that book last night. Real code breakers use, like, computers and things to decrypt stuff.”
“I didn’t get enough of a sample to use letter frequency,” he said. “Plus, there’s no reason to think that the code is even a substitution cipher.”
I assumed that was all code-breaking talk he’d picked up from his book. “Maybe it’s not even a code,” I said. “It was just random numbers and nursery rhymes.”
“Faster!” Eric called from the tube.
“Faster,” I said to the boat, which responded immediately.
“But that’s how numbers stations work,” Howard explained. “At least, according to the chapter Dr. Underberg starred in the book.”
Maybe Dr. Underberg. But I didn’t say that to Howard.
“They mix up their codes with songs or other messages that contain the keywords, and only the people receiving the transmission are supposed to know how to decode it.”
“So you think that radio station we heard was a numbers station?” I shouted over the engine.
As the boat neared shore again, it made another wide turn to head back into the lagoon, and Eric and Savannah bounced over the wake behind us.
“Are you trying to kill us, Gills?” he screamed.
“Blame this screwy boat!” I called back, then turned to Howard.
“It played numbers, didn’t it?” Howard asked. “Have you ever heard a radio station like that before?”
“If someone’s actually broadcasting code from a radio station in Eureka Cove, don’t you think the encryption would be too advanced to be broken by a twelve-year-old with his first code book?” I grabbed onto the rails as the boat veered right again. “Guidant is a tech firm. Encryption is what they do.”
“Dr. Underberg sent me this book with the chapters marked, and then the very next day we hear a numbers station.” He looked at me. “I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
He was right, but it still didn’t make any sense. We didn’t know if Dr. Underberg was even alive yesterday. What kind of code could he want us to break? How did he even know we’d be coming to Eureka Cove?
“What if you’d had your birthday party after we came back from Guidant? What if we’d left a day early and you’d waited until after you got back to open it?”
“I don’t,” Howard said. “I always open my birthday presents on my birthday.”
“Well, what if you’d waited to start reading the book? You didn’t read that book Nate got you yet.”
Howard thought about this for a second. “I guess that’s true.”
Again, the boat engine cut off and I glanced up, sure I’d see that either Eric or Savannah had fallen off the tube.
“Proximity limit reached,” the boat said. We bobbed up and down on the surface of the lagoon. The prow of the boat now faced the dark island. “Please specify alternate location.”
“What is with this thing?” I asked, tapping the screen. “Why does it keep steering us to the limit?”
I checked behind us to see Eric and Savannah waving and gesturing to me. “Just a second!” I said. Behind them I could see the docks and the beach, not so far away. Not nearly as far as it had been when I had been out on the tube and we’d traveled up the shore.
“Boat,” I said carefully. “Redirect us to go parallel to the shore.”
The motor started up again, and the boat veered left. “Voice control activated.”
I checked on Eric and Savannah, then ordered the boat to speed up when they gave me the signal. As we sped away from the docks and up the coast, I ordered the boat to go faster and faster, to weave back and forth in the water so it got closer to the campus shore and then farther away, but I was always careful to keep a far distance from the island.
“Hey, Gillian,” Howard said. “Can you see if the boat’s radio gets reception for the numbers station, please? Eric wouldn’t let me.”
“You asked Eric?”
“Yeah,” he said. “We were arguing about it right before you came onboard.”
He meant right before the boat stopped. And earlier, in the car, when Howard said the words “numbers stations,” the car went and found one for him on the radio.
“Radio station,” I said out loud, to test my theory. The boat ve
ered right, then promptly slowed.
“Proximity limit reached.”
I looked ahead of us, at the radio tower winking through the island trees. It might not be marked on the map, but there was a radio station on that island.
And, as the boat said, it was off-limits.
9
ROBOTS AND RADIOS
BY THE TIME WE GOT HOME FROM BOATING, WE BARELY HAD TIME TO shower and change before we were supposed to meet Elana Mero, the Guidant CEO, for dinner at one of the campus’s fancy restaurants. When we were all dressed and ready, we convened in the entrance hall of the town house to head to dinner. Dad looked us over, which I thought was a little funny, given that he’s not exactly known for his fashion sense. Savannah was back in her daisy-print dress, I’d donned the A-line skirt Mom had bought for me as well as a ruffled top, and Eric wore khakis and a polo shirt.
“Hmm,” said Dad, polishing his glasses against his sleeve. “We seem to be down a man.”
Eric rolled his eyes. “He’s upstairs writing down numbers again. Turns out the tablet in the room gets local radio.”
“What?” Dad asked.
“There’s a numbers station in Eureka Cove,” I said. “At least, Howard thinks so.”
“A numbers station?” Dad said. “And Howard’s upstairs, trying to break the code?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I told him it was impossible—”
“Don’t say that, Gillian,” Dad chided me. “Let’s go talk to him.”
Upstairs, we found Howard in the room he was sharing with Eric. He was seated at the desk, scribbling down numbers as fast as the flat female voice said them. The string of digits eventually gave way to another creepy recitation of a nursery rhyme.
Mary had a little lamb.
Its fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb was sure to go.
The voice stopped, and Dad spoke up. “Howard. It’s time to go.”
Howard started in his seat. “I have to write these down.”
Dad nodded. “I understand. But there’s an easier way to do this, you know.” He came over to the tablet, set on a stand on the desk, and tapped the screen. “Just set it to record. This is how we used to make mix tapes, back in the old days.” With the press of a few buttons, Dad set up the tablet to record all transmissions from the station until we got back.
“Oh,” said Howard blankly. “I should have thought of that.”
“Great. Dinner?” Dad clapped his hands together. “You can tell me all about this station you found on the way. I used to have quite an interest in numbers stations, you know.”
I opened my mouth to remind Dad that it was Dr. Underberg who’d tipped us off to this one, but I saw him rest his hand on Howard’s shoulder and steer him down the stairs. Message received. We’d talk about it in the car.
As soon as the self-driven car arrived for us, Eric claimed the driver’s seat again. Savannah sat shotgun and the rest of us squeezed into the back.
“I think this is really made for four,” Dad said, chuckling. Eric gave directions to the car.
“So,” Dad said, clasping his hands in his lap. “Numbers stations.”
“And codes.” I nodded eagerly at Howard. “Just like in the book.”
Dad frowned. “That’s right. What did the message in the code book say again?”
“‘I believe this will soon be useful to you. Good luck,’” Howard and I said at exactly the same time.
Savannah gave me a look. Eric appeared to be choking on something.
Dad pursed his lips. “It does seem a strange coincidence that you were given a book on codes . . . even on numbers stations, and then found one here in Eureka Cove. Then again, there are lots of numbers stations, all over the world.”
“What are they for?” Savannah asked.
“No one really knows,” Dad said. “Though, of course, there are a lot of theories. Some people think they’re communication systems for spies to send instructions, or even just an elaborate prank.”
“Or aliens,” said Eric.
“Why would aliens need radios?” asked Howard seriously.
“Why would spies?” Eric replied.
“They’re basically untraceable,” Dad said. “Someone with a shortwave radio broadcasts a signal. Only the recipient knows what it means, but no one knows who the recipient is or where he might be listening. There are probably some you can access back home, and if not, you can pretty much get recordings from any of them on the internet. Ham radio enthusiasts record the transmissions, just like we’re recording the one in your room, and then put them online.”
Untraceable? I sat back, deflated.
“When we get back to the town house tonight, I want to see that book,” Dad said to Howard.
It was silent in the car for a minute.
“Okay,” Dad said at last. “Before we get to dinner, I’d like to hear this numbers station of yours.”
Eric turned to the control panel. “Play the radio on the numbers station.”
The oddly flat female voice started up again. “Forty-four, twenty-two, thirteen, twenty-four, forty-three, twenty-two, forty-five, thirty-one, thirty-four, forty-one, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, twenty-two, forty-one, twenty-five, thirteen, forty-four . . .”
“This is why it’s better to record these things for later,” Dad said. “It can get exhausting trying to write it down and make sure you’ve got it right.”
After another minute of numbers, the nursery rhyme came.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row.
“Ah,” said Dad. “Now, that’s a new wrinkle. Is it the same nursery rhyme every time?”
“No,” said Savannah. “She was doing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ earlier today.”
“Then it seems likely to me that the keyword to the cipher is somehow embedded into the nursery rhyme.”
“You mean there’s a word in each rhyme that works as the keyword?”
“Possibly,” said Dad. “And the people the code is meant for know which one it is. Say it’s always the seventh word. Or maybe it’s the rhyme itself that holds a clue. Maybe the keyword is Mother Goose or something. Or maybe it’s the word before the question mark. In ‘Twinkle,’ that would be ‘are,’ but in ‘Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary,’ it would be ‘grow.’”
I thought about that. Earlier, in Howard’s room, the rhyme the station had used was “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” There was no question mark in that rhyme.
“The possibilities are endless,” Dad went on with a sigh. “And if they keep the messages as short as they are, there’s little chance of using letter frequency theory to help you decode them. If they even are in English. That’s what makes number codes such an enduring mystery. I have friends who study them full-time.”
“Your friends are weird, Dad,” Eric said. “You know that, right?”
“Look who’s talking,” Savannah said to him.
“Oh, you mean because we’re friends?”
Savannah raised her eyebrows. “We are?”
The car pulled to a stop in front of the restaurant. “Remind me to lend you a book I have in my library on numbers stations, Howard,” said Dad. “They really are a fascinating field of study, if a frustrating one.”
He leaned across me and opened the car door. When Howard made no move to unbuckle, Dad smiled at him and said, “We’re recording it, remember? You’ll have plenty of time to look at the numbers when we get home, I promise.”
Howard seemed satisfied and followed the rest of us onto the street. We watched our car zip off into the gathering darkness, and I wondered if the people who lived here full-time ever really got used to it. When you sat in the backseat, it wasn’t too different from riding in a normal car with your parents, or even a taxi or a bus. It was only once you got out, and the car kept going, all by itsel
f, that the true weirdness of the situation hit you.
Turns out, Eureka Cove had much more weirdness in store.
Inside the door of the restaurant, instead of the usual hostess stand was a small silver robot that came up to my waist.
“Do you have a reservation?” it asked, as lights blinked on what could only be described as its head.
“Cool!” cried Eric. “R2-D2 is going to show us to our seats!”
Dad pressed his palm against the panel on the top of the robot.
“Dr. Sam Seagret,” the robot said now. “Right this way, please.” Then it spun in place and wheeled off into the restaurant, leaving us, openmouthed and stock-still, in the entryway.
“Let’s try to keep up,” Dad said, and marched off behind it.
The little robot weaved in and out of tables, which was when we noticed that the place, though filled with Guidant employees eating, seemed to have no waiters of any kind. Instead, a whole fleet of robots moved from table to table, taking orders and bringing dishes.
“This is amazing,” Savannah said as she passed a robot carrying at least seven plates on his outstretched, tray-like arms. “But I wonder how they know you need a refill.”
“You may request a refill, replacement, or other adjustment to your meal using the table-side tablet, and an automated server will bring it to your place setting,” said our host robot. It had brought us all the way across the main dining floor of the restaurant and to a set of doors in the wall. “The rest of your party is waiting beyond these doors. Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”
Eric smirked. “Does it accept tips?”
“Automated servers do not accept tips,” the robot replied. “Unless they come in the form of batteries.”
“Nice!” he said. “They programmed him with a sense of humor.”
Savannah sniffed. “You thought that was funny?”
Eric turned to her. “Aww. You want them to reprogram you?”
10
GREEN DINNER
DAD OPENED THE DOOR TO THE PRIVATE ROOM, REVEALING THREE PEOPLE sitting at a large carved table. Dani, of course, we recognized. There was also a tall man with gelled hair swept back from his face, who rose to his feet as we entered.
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