Who in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?

by Rebecca Tinker

  “Okay, usernames work. You can call me Player. I’m a white-hat hacker.” He sounded proud of this fact, even though I didn’t know what it meant.

  “What’s a white-hat hacker?” I asked.

  “It means I have crazy-awesome hacking skills, but I use them for good,” he explained. “I just hacked through twenty-seven layers of encryption to get through to you. Who should I talk to about the weak link in your security?”

  “Are you pranking me right now? Where are you calling from?” I couldn’t believe a little kid could hack into VILE’s security.

  “My bedroom. In Niagara Falls.”

  I gasped. In my entire life, I had never spoken to anyone outside of the island. My mind raced with excitement. “Which side of the falls are you on? The American side or the Canadian?”

  “Canadian.”

  “You’re in Ontario? That’s amazing! What’s it like there?”

  “You really know your geography,” Player responded, surprised by my interest. “It’s all right here, I guess. We have computers and the internet and . . . hang on a second! Where in the world are you?”

  I was unsure of how to answer that question, since I didn’t actually know. “School,” I responded with a shrug.

  “What kind of school needs twenty-seven layers of encryption?” Player asked with disbelief.

  I thought about how to answer him. What could I say?

  “Mom’s telling me to take out the trash—​gotta go!” Player said, giving me an easy out. Then he added, “Black Sheep? Do you want to talk again sometime? I have got to get to the bottom of this twenty-seven-layer mystery.”

  And so began the first real friendship of my life. I wanted to know everything there was about life on the mainland. Or rather, a mainland, since I didn’t know where my island was. Could this mean I was near Canada? No, it was too tropical on my island to be that far north.

  Every day after that first call, I would sneak away to a hidden spot and talk to Player. If anyone found out about my conversations with him, my phone would be taken away, and even Coach Brunt might not be able to protect me this time. Secrecy was the number-one most important thing to VILE, after all. But I didn’t care about the risks. I had made contact with the outside world!

  As we talked, I learned that Player was just as curious about me as I was about him. Even though he asked plenty of questions, I never knew how to answer them. How could I even begin to explain my life on the island? Would he even believe me if I tried? I decided it would be best to keep the details of my life, and the truth about Vile Island, a secret.

  Instead I made him tell me all about Canada.

  “Do you watch hockey? Does it snow there all the time? Have you seen the northern lights?” The questions came out in a single breath as we talked one afternoon.

  “Slow down, Black Sheep! Umm . . . no, yes, and yes.”

  “I’ve never even seen snow,” I said with a sigh. The most I could hope for on the island was some rain here or a thunderstorm there.

  “Lucky! It gets old after a while. And it is freezing!”

  Player indulged my questions and seemed to sense that I had my reasons for not telling him about my own life. He told me about Niagara Falls, about the people there, about a Canadian food called poutine (french fries, gravy, and cheese!) that he told me I had to try someday. He spent the most time telling me about the latest computer games he was playing and his latest hacking victories.

  “Tell me more about white-hat hackers,” I said one day.

  “I started hacking because I was bored,” he explained. “Then I found out about white-hat hacking. It’s where you hack into things, but instead of doing anything bad once you’ve gotten in, you do good things—​like how I was going to tell someone about the weaknesses in your school’s security.”

  “I’ll, uh . . . be sure to let them know.”

  “We have a code, you know. I’ve sworn to always use my powers for good.”

  “But where’s the fun in that?” I asked, feeling confused.

  “I don’t know.” He paused, deep in thought. “I guess it’s about the challenge and proving something to yourself. If I go after the right hack, it’s still really challenging . . . the good kind of challenging!”

  * * *

  One day, I watched as the latest group of students made their way into the auditorium for graduation. They had all passed their classes and earned their code names. They would be split into groups and sent off to complete their very first capers for VILE. I thought longingly of the far-off places they would go and the exciting artifacts they would steal. Maybe they would get to run through old forgotten tombs filled with booby traps, just like in the storybooks I used to read as a child.

  I felt a surge of jealousy as I watched them leave, desperately wishing I could be in their shoes.

  When I talked to Player that day, he could tell something was wrong.

  “Wait, so you live at this school, but you’re not a student there?” he asked after I told him how badly I wanted to be a part of the graduating class.

  “Not yet. I’m too young. Everyone who comes here for the program has to be at least eighteen.”

  “That seems like a dumb rule.”

  I smiled at his attempts to cheer me up. “Yeah, it is pretty dumb,” I agreed.

  “I mean, you might be young, but any university would be lucky to have someone as smart as you!”

  VILE Academy was nothing like a college or university, but I didn’t correct him. After all, it wasn’t as though I could tell him the truth. Still, what Player said gave me the spark of an idea.

  “Maybe . . . maybe they can make an exception.”

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “I think it’s time to prove myself. I’m going to talk to the faculty.”

  After my phone call with Player, I decided to do something I had never dared to do before. I found Coach Brunt and told her that I wanted to address the faculty.

  I called for a family meeting.

  In addition to Coach Brunt, each of the other faculty members who ran VILE had their own area of expertise.

  First there was Dr. Saira Bellum. Dr. Bellum was a scientist from India who had a penchant for inventing elaborate devices. She was something of an oddball and always seemed to be working on a hundred things at once, which usually turned out to be a mistake, as nothing could hold her attention for very long. But despite her quirks, she was a genius. She had the ability to create anything, from mind-control devices to robots.

  Then there was Countess Cleo, who was from Egypt. She had an eye for the more sophisticated side of crime, like art forgeries and jewelry thefts. If you needed lessons in how to blend in with high society, she was the one for the job. She wasn’t a fan of my wild nature or mischievous pranks, and I always got the impression that she desperately wanted to tame me.

  Next was Gunnar Maelstrom. He was from Scandinavia and was an intense man who could always be traced back to the stranger and more unpredictable criminal plots. He would often pull off the craziest of capers not for the profit, but because he liked the challenge. He was always playing mind tricks on his students, and even when he was being funny, it felt like there was something dark about him lurking just below the surface.

  And then there was Shadowsan . . . who had zero patience for my pranks. Shadowsan was a straight-faced Japanese ninja who was a master of stealth. Rumor had it that he could creep up on you in an open field in the middle of the day and still manage to surprise you. He made it clear that he thought I didn’t belong here—​that the island was no place for a child. Naturally, I avoided him as much as I possibly could.

  My heart racing, I walked down the long hallway toward the faculty lounge. The faculty lounge at VILE was one of the most frightening places at the academy. It was where the faculty members gathered to plan their criminal operations.

  I pushed open the door and entered the large room. The sound of my footsteps echoed loudly as I made my
way to stand in front of a long table. Each of the five faculty members was seated behind it, staring down at me. My heart felt like it was about to fly out of my chest, but I forced myself to look each of them in the eye.

  Countess Cleo, as always, seemed bored. Beside her, Professor Maelstrom was looking me up and down, his expression as hard to read as ever. “Black Sheep, why have you requested our audience?” he asked.

  I was terrified but tried my hardest not to show it. If I was going to get them on my side, I would have to appear as confident as possible. “I’m ready to enroll,” I said, trying to sound sure of myself. “I know I’m not technically old enough, Professor Maelstrom, but I think I have what it takes to be a great thief . . . the best ever!” I gulped as I remembered my place and added, “In my opinion, sir.”

  Dr. Bellum thought carefully about my request, her wild eyes darting from me to the other faculty members. “Black Sheep may be young, but she has had more training at her age than any other recruit. Even if only by being around the academy for so long.”

  Brunt clapped a huge hand on Bellum’s shoulder in agreement. “Dr. Bellum’s right. Little Black Sheep is ready to run with the big dogs.”

  Countess Cleo leaned back in her seat, unconvinced. “I am not looking forward to dealing with Black Sheep’s lack of manners in a classroom setting,” she said. I winced. I should have known that the elegant Countess Cleo might bring up my mischievous behavior.

  “Precisely why she may be overdue for properly supervised training,” Maelstrom countered. “And what do you think, Shadowsan?”

  My hands began shaking again as I waited for Shadowsan to speak. He looked at me intensely, and I knew that he would be the hardest person to persuade.

  After an agonizing moment of silence, Shadowsan said, “We train the best thieves in the world in these halls. It is not a place for someone as undisciplined and unruly as Black Sheep. She is not ready to be one of the forty thieves.”

  I stared down at my shoes as Shadowsan’s words hung heavy in the air. Each year, these five faculty members would handpick a select group of forty up-and-coming criminals from the world at large. These recruits had already shown some serious talent for thievery, and they usually even had their own areas of expertise. Some would be masters of disguise; others were amateur cat burglars. And what was I? A prankster? I worried that Shadowsan was right, but I also knew I could be a great thief if they would just give me the chance!

  “We’ve never had such a strong case for advanced placement until now,” Coach Brunt said. I looked back up, and her eyes met mine. She winked at me, and I smiled at her despite my nervousness. “Black Sheep has already learned a great deal, and I have a feelin’ in my gut that she’ll be one of our star pupils if we give her a chance. Besides . . . majority vote rules, Shadowsan.”

  “All in favor?” asked Maelstrom.

  I held my breath as Brunt and Bellum raised their hands, followed by Maelstrom and then Cleo.

  Four votes! I had done it!

  Shadowsan leaned forward, towering over me from his position behind the table. “You’d better be certain that becoming a professional thief is what you truly want, Black Sheep, for once you go down this road, there is no turning back.” I did my best to hold Shadowsan’s gaze. I was determined not to let him know how much he intimidated me, but inside I was terrified.

  Was this what I wanted? Of course it is, I told myself. You’re going to be the best thief the world has ever seen!

  “Instructor Shadowsan, I want this more than anything,” I told him. This time, I didn’t have to pretend to be confident.

  From that moment forward, I was taking on a life of crime. And class was about to begin.

  Chapter 3

  I had spent my entire childhood watching as each year a group of recruits from all over the globe came and went from the island. Now it was finally my turn.

  “I got in!” I told Player. I could barely believe it.

  “Nice going, Black Sheep!”

  “Talking to you made me realize that I should take matters into my own hands.”

  “I’ll bet you won’t have much time for these chats once you start classes,” he said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my best friend, Player. My only friend,” I said, and meant it.

  * * *

  The first day of orientation was one of the most exciting of my life. I was the youngest of all the recruits by far, and one of the smallest, too. But I didn’t let it get to me. Soon enough, I thought, I would show them that I was every bit as good as they were. Better, even.

  We sat in the auditorium, all forty of us, in the olive-green-and-khaki student uniforms that I had seen so many other students wear before me. I wore mine proudly, beaming with confidence, while Coach Brunt gave the introductions that I had waited so long to hear.

  Brunt stood behind a podium while a large screen glowed with the VILE logo behind her. “Welcome to VILE training academy,” she began. “You have each been selected for our one-year program due to the extraordinary potential you have demonstrated.” Brunt gestured to the VILE logo, its sharp edges just right for a criminal organization. “VILE . . . It stands for Valuable Imports, Lavish Exports. We traffic stolen goods to the four corners of the globe.”

  As Brunt spoke, I tried to steal glances at my fellow classmates. I had a hard time making out their faces in the dark. Who were these people I would be spending the next year of my life with?

  “While you are here, you are to have no contact with the outside world.” Brunt picked up a cellphone from the podium and crushed it in her hand. When she opened her hand again, the phone was nothing more than a mangled mess of plastic and metal.

  A few students sounded disappointed. I remained as emotionless as possible. Coach Brunt had no idea that I had my secret cellphone . . . my link to Player and the outside world. If any of the faculty found out, I might be expelled from the academy before I even started.

  “You are also to keep your life stories to yourselves,” Brunt continued. “This is a new beginning for you. That means you are to use first names only, until you have earned your code names.” Coach Brunt smiled at me from the stage. “Isn’t that right, little Lambkins?” I blushed a deep red. “Lambkins” was Coach Brunt’s affectionate nickname for me and had been since I was an infant . . . but it wasn’t something I wanted to be called in front of all my new classmates! I tried to smile back at her as I sank a little lower in my seat.

  From behind me, there was a loud snort. “Lambkins? I didn’t know this place had a mascot.” I whirled around to face the owner of the Australian accent behind me. With anger rising, I grabbed him roughly by the shirt collar and pulled him close. “Only Coach Brunt calls me Lambkins! To you, I’m Black Sheep! Do you understand? Nod if you understand!”

  “Whoa . . . I mean . . . yes! Just let me go.” I did as he asked, slamming him back into his seat for good measure. Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw Coach Brunt smiling at me from the stage.

  After orientation, it was time for me to meet my new group of roommates. Instead of my own private room, I was going to be rooming with my fellow recruits in the dormitory. I wasn’t sure if I was excited or annoyed at the prospect. I had lived as an only child—​the only child on the whole island—​for so long that I was unsure of whether or not I would be able to make friends.

  At the dormitory, we received our room assignments, and I was told I would be sharing a room with four other students. I hurried and found I was the first one there. Two boys arrived, followed by a girl. They each waved an awkward hello as they entered, which I nervously returned. I waited for my last roommate to arrive, secretly hoping it would be a third girl so we would outnumber the boys. The door opened, and in walked the Australian boy I had yelled at in the auditorium.

  We stared at each other for a moment, and then I gave a small “Harrumph!” and turned to finish putting away my things. The Australian chuckled with a shake of his head and went to d
o the same.

  * * *

  It took only minutes for the rule forbidding us from telling one another about our past to go out the window.

  “I was working as a junior electrician at the Sydney Opera House in Australia,” said the one who called himself Graham.

  “Australia? You mean down under?” I asked, my eyes widening. His earlier offense was quickly becoming a distant memory.

  “Yeah, what of it?” He seemed taken aback by my excitement.

  “Have you held a koala? Do you play rugby? Have you seen any great white sharks?”

  “I’ll uhh . . . get back to you on that. Anyway, one day,” Graham continued, “a light bulb went on. I could make a far better living stealing from wealthy opera-goers than I could as a measly electrician. I still play around with electricity, of course—​only now I do it so I can steal things.” We had gotten off on the wrong foot, but Graham spoke with a laid-back tone that made him easy to like.

  “I am Jean-Paul,” said a tall guy with an athletic build. He had a thick French accent. I quickly stopped myself from asking him a dozen questions about Europe. “I like heights. I’m the greatest rock climber in the world, you know. The higher, the better, I say. One day I got bored with climbing around for no reason, and I decided to apply my passion for rock climbing to high-rise heists.”

  The shorter, more muscular guy sitting next to Jean-Paul nodded in understanding. “I am Antonio,” he said with a gentle Spanish accent. He seemed friendly and mellow, whereas Jean-Paul came off as gruff and serious. “My expertise is navigating small spaces. Jean-Paul here might like the high ground, but I like the low. There is no bank vault that I can’t burrow into from below.” Antonio suddenly looked wistful as he stared off into the distance. “Digging . . . tunneling . . . feeling the earth between my toes . . .”

  “Yuck!” said an American girl to my left. She flipped her blond hair back and looked around at the four of us like we were lucky to be in her presence. “I’m Sheena. Hi. I like shoplifting.” Graham rolled his eyes at this, and Sheena glared back at him defensively. “I have a thing for bling.”