Saving the Statue of Liberty

by Andrea Jo Rodgers

  Mr. Jorgenson entered from a door toward the front of the classroom. He wore a crisp navy suit and shiny black dress shoes. A light blue tie with pale yellow stripes on it—like what FBI agents wear in movies—completed the look. He just needed dark sunglasses instead of the reading glasses with thin gold frames that perched on his nose.

  “Good morning, everyone. We are going to have a special guest this morning: Mrs. Alicia Waldorf-Ellingston,” he said.

  John decided that her name sounded like a person who meant serious business. I’m glad I don’t have to repeat it ten times really fast because I’d become tongue tied.

  “She’s our superintendent. I hope nothing’s wrong. She doesn’t usually come to our meetings,” Shaniqua whispered.

  “Maybe she just wants to meet you.” Annabelle kept her voice low.

  Annabelle seemed worried. Should I be worried? John didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  CHAPTER 3

  Mrs. Alicia Waldorf-Ellingston entered the room wearing an immaculate brown tweed suit, matching one-inch high heels, and a necklace of white pearls that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. She had gray hair, which she wore pulled back into a tight bun. A colorful red, yellow, and blue parrot perched on her right shoulder.

  Raphael spoke in a hushed tone. “That’s Burt. She doesn’t go anywhere without him.”

  “Yeah, I think he’s permanently attached to her shoulder. Sometimes he even scolds us. He loves to say, ‘You’re late! You’re late!’” Shaniqua added.

  Mrs. Waldorf-Ellingston’s piercing gaze narrowed on John. “Mr. Jenkins, I presume?”

  “Y-yes, ma’am.” Beads of sweat began popping out on his forehead like a family of gophers bursting out of their prairie holes on a warm spring day.

  “Stand up, please,” she said.

  John held his breath and stood up so fast that he cracked his knees against the desktop. He resisted the urge to rub them and stood perfectly still.

  Mrs. Waldorf-Ellingston frowned, causing wrinkles to appear between her eyebrows. “Mr. Jorgenson has filled me in on your… situation. I considered having this conversation in private, but I’ve decided to say my piece in front of all of you, since you’re all part of the same team. I disagree with allowing you to go on this mission, even as a probationary student. However, since Mr. Jorgenson has already agreed, I will stand by his decision. But remember this: you are on probation.”

  “Say goodbye! Say goodbye!” Burt squawked.

  “You may sit back down,” Mrs. Waldorf-Ellingston said.

  John’s knees buckled, and he retook his seat.

  “That is all, Team Liberty. Good day.” She turned on her heel and exited through the front door of the classroom.

  After she left, Mr. Jorgenson broke several long seconds of silence by saying, “Well, since that’s cleared up, let’s talk about your next mission.” He turned on the projector, and a photo of a man in his sixties or so with shoulder-length snow-white hair suddenly filled the white screen. He wore a ratty T-shirt with the words I rule the world emblazoned across the front.

  “Who’s that?” Shaniqua asked. The pencil she always kept behind her ear slipped out and bounced gently on her desk. She picked it up and tucked it back behind her ear.

  “That’s Professor Mace Killoran. He’s the head of Maleficus Academy. His hope is to teach and encourage children to follow in his wicked footsteps and to work for his evil empire when they grow up,” Mr. Jorgenson replied.

  Shaniqua threw up her hands. “That’s just awful! He’s turning kids bad before they have a chance to make up their own minds.”

  Mr. Jorgenson fiddled with the knot on his tie. “Yes, that’s his plan: to try to turn them to a life of crime while they’re still young.”

  “What else has intelligence learned? Any good leads?” Annabelle asked.

  Mr. Jorgenson flashed images of three teens on the screen. “We have reason to believe that Team Mischief—that is, Devlin Black, Malicia Stone, and Slade Smudgebottom—are heading to the East Coast. We think they’re planning to target another national monument.”

  Fifteen-year-old Devlin, the ringleader, possessed huge muscles—bulging biceps and triceps. Malicia and Slade helped Devlin carry out his mischievous plans. Slim with gleaming wavy black hair, thirteen-year-old Malicia’s cold eyes reminded John of two chips off an iceberg. Of medium height but quite wide, fourteen-year-old Slade stood like a linebacker.

  “We’ve learned Professor Killoran left two sets of clues this time—one for his team and one for ours. Word has it that he was quite displeased when you got one of the clues before Team Mischief did at Mount Rushmore. Apparently, Devlin had to phone in and ask for help. I know this sounds absurd, but this is a summer-school class for them. They’re being graded as to how successful they are in terms of finding the clues, solving the puzzles, and performing the actual mischief. Thanks to all of you, I don’t think their grades for their first mission were very good.”

  Mr. Jorgenson removed his glasses and smiled ever so slightly. The four children beamed back at him, high-fiving and fist-bumping one another.

  “Now, let’s see if we can keep their grades low. Very, very low,” Mr. Jorgenson said.

  CHAPTER 4

  Raphael bounced up and down in his seat. “I can’t wait to start our mish.”

  “Do you have anything specific for us to go on? Any idea of where on the East Coast? Boston? New York?” Annabelle asked.

  “Could it be Washington or Virginia?” Shaniqua chimed in. She lived in Williamsburg, Virginia.

  “I’m afraid not. All we have to go on is this.” Mr. Jorgenson passed Annabelle an 8 x 10 photo and a very old-looking, rusty key.

  Team Liberty crowded around to look. On the left side of the photograph stood a long brick wall with glass windows, which appeared to be the entrance to a building. The center of the photo showed a large expanse of concrete flooring with a hunter-green and white roof. Glass sections of the roof allowed daylight to enter.

  Raphael pointed to the right side of the photograph, which sported numerous hunter-green archways. Door-sized openings sat in the center of each archway, and each doorway included a small sign with a number. John tried to read the words above each of the numbers, but he struggled with the small print.

  He thought the place looked oddly familiar, and he tried to recall his family vacations from the past several years.

  “Do you have any idea where this is?” Shaniqua asked Mr. Jorgenson.

  “Honestly, no. That’s going to be up to you kids to figure out,” he replied.

  Annabelle pulled her laptop from her backpack. “Does our intelligence team have any input?”

  Mr. Jorgenson looked at his gold wristwatch, then turned off the projector. “I’m afraid not. Well, I have to go to a meeting now with Mrs. Waldorf-Ellingston. Good luck and call if you need help. The Lord keep you safe.” He nodded and vanished out the door.

  Raphael pulled out his cell phone to check the time. “Let’s not forget to go to Introduction to Forensics.”

  “We still have a half hour before class starts. Let’s take a closer look at this photo,” Annabelle said.

  Raphael drew a magnifying glass out of his shorts pocket. John had witnessed Raphael’s keen eye for details on their Mount Rushmore mission and knew how vital his special gift was to Team Liberty. “The word above each number is Track.”

  “What about the signs in the middle of the photo near the ceiling? Can you make those words out?” Annabelle asked.

  Raphael studied the photograph with the magnifying glass. “One of the signs reads ‘To Ferries’ and the other ‘To Trains.’ Each of them also has an arrow. The arrow for trains points towards the green archways to the right, and the one for ferries points to that red brick wall to the left.”

  Shaniqua squinted to see more clearly. “It’s hard to tell, but maybe there are railroad tracks just past those arches.”

  “I know where that is!” John exclaimed. �
�It’s Liberty State Park in New Jersey. My parents took me there about five years ago.”

  “Terrific.” Annabelle glanced up from her laptop. As team leader, her special talent was being a history whiz. “That’s in Jersey City, right? Here’s a site with more info. The Central Railroad of New Jersey Terminal was built in 1864. They built it mainly on landfill from New York City. When that terminal became too small, they built a bigger one in 1889.”

  “I bet they were really busy once Ellis Island opened,” Raphael said. “With all those immigrants and everything.”

  Annabelle continued a web search. “I think you’re right. Ellis Island opened in 1892. It looks like by 1900 the Central Railroad of New Jersey transported thirty thousand to fifty thousand people each day with their ferries and trains.”

  Raphael carefully slipped his magnifying glass back into his pocket. “How many people ride now?”

  “From what I remember, the terminal closed a while back,” John said.

  Annabelle skimmed various websites. “Yes, it peaked in 1929 and went downhill from there.”

  “I guess the Great Depression didn’t help matters,” Shaniqua said.

  “Neither did better highways and a switch from coal to oil and gas,” Annabelle said. “Plus, heavy New Jersey taxes. They went bankrupt and closed in April 1967.”

  Raphael ran his finger along the top edge of the photo. “So did they preserve it?”

  Annabelle scanned farther down the web page. “Yes, it says here that they placed it on the New Jersey and National Register of Historic Places in 1975.”

  “And now it’s part of Liberty State Park. You can catch a ferry from there and go to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty,” John said.

  Shaniqua whistled. “Neat. It sounds like we’ll all get to check it out in person. I’d love to take a ferry ride if we have time.”

  Annabelle nodded in agreement. “We still have a few minutes before class starts. Let’s go visit Teesha and pick up our radios and cell phones.”

  They walked to the dispatch center, a small, dimly lit room at the end of the long hallway. Raphael entered a security code on a keypad next to the entrance door.

  Teesha glanced up and smiled as soon as they entered. “How’s Team Liberty today? Off to save the country?”

  An impressive bunch of computer monitors hid Teesha from view. Teesha looked to be in her mid-fifties, and John wondered whether she used to be on one of St. Michael’s teams as a teen.

  “Would you like to sign out your equipment?” Teesha asked.

  Annabelle nodded. “Yes, please. We’re going to be leaving right after class this morning.”

  “You children be careful.” Teesha passed each a cell phone and portable radio. “Remember, John, if it’s an emergency and you need to reach the dispatcher directly, use your radio. I’ll send you help, like a backup team. If it’s a nonemergency, you can use your phone to call dispatch. That keeps the radio waves clear for true emergencies. Dispatch is set to number one on your speed dial.”

  “Okay, thanks.” John slid the phone into his pocket.

  “Thanks, Teesha. We’ll see you later,” Shaniqua said.

  The children waved goodbye and exited into the hallway.

  “Let’s go get our backpacks,” Annabelle suggested. John hadn’t seen his since they were in the Rapid City Police Department giving statements about their experiences with Team Mischief at Mount Rushmore.

  Annabelle handed John a small slip of paper with a three-digit combination on it. “I shoved your backpack into my locker the other day. I checked with the school secretary, Mrs. Albert, this morning. She assigned you locker 22.”

  Annabelle opened her locker and passed John his black backpack. His finger traced the small blue-and-white patch of St. Michael sewn onto the front pocket.

  He peeked inside his backpack. It still had all the items that Annabelle had given him on his first mission, including a flashlight, fishing line, scissors, a compass, and hand sanitizer. He crammed the water bottle, milk, snacks, bug spray, and sunscreen from his personal knapsack into the one from St. Michael’s. Then he shoved the now-empty bag into his locker.

  Mrs. Albert ducked her head inside the locker area. “Oh, good, I see you’ve found your locker. Here’s rope and a few carabiners to replace the ones you used at Mount Rushmore,” she said, passing them to John. “Oh, and here’s a pair of sunglasses, goggles, and bathing suits for everyone.”

  Secretly, John hoped that the sunglasses, the kind with black plastic frames, would make him look like a super cool special agent instead of a scrawny boy with a bunch of freckles.

  “What are the goggles and bathing suits for? Are we going swimming?” Shaniqua asked.

  Annabelle chuckled. “Well, the beach isn’t all that far away from Liberty State Park. You never know.”

  Next, they passed through the school cafeteria into a spacious yet cozy lounge. Rays of sun filtered through its numerous windows. A large tropical plant stood in one corner, giving the room a relaxed feeling. A long country-style maple table with twelve matching chairs ran the length of the room. The snacks, rather than the ambience, made it John’s favorite room.

  “Yum. Freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies.” John’s stomach growled when he broke a cookie in two. He popped both warm, gooey pieces into his mouth, savoring the taste.

  They each put several cookies in small plastic bags and grabbed bananas from a bowl in the center of the kitchen table. John grabbed a second banana, peeled it, and took a big bite on his way to class.

  CHAPTER 5

  Professor Elizabeth Whitcomb entered the classroom carrying an assortment of colorful cloth bags and plopped them on the center of her desk. The last time John saw her, she was unkempt and frazzled because Mr. Gibbons had just stolen her lunch. At the time, she didn’t realize Raphael’s mischievous monkey had run off with her sandwich.

  Professor Whitcomb’s shoulder-length frizzy red hair stood almost straight out from her head. Absentmindedly, she ran her hand over it in an unsuccessful attempt to smooth it down.

  She cleared her throat to gain the students’ attention. “Class, we have a new pupil among us today. Please join me in welcoming John Jenkins. John, please stand up so everyone can see you.”

  John would have preferred to remain planted in his seat. He stood up and sat back down in one fluid motion.

  A tall, impeccably dressed boy one row in front of John turned around. “Hey, aren’t you the new kid who has no special gift?”

  John’s cheeks reddened. Well, at least I don’t have to worry anymore about the rest of the students finding out.

  “Turn around, Zimmerman,” Annabelle scolded. “Shows you how much you know. Our team has decided to keep John’s special gift a secret.”

  Annabelle winked at John. He flashed her a grateful smile.

  “Peter doesn’t mean to be so rude. I guess you could say he lacks a filter. As soon as he has a thought, it pops right out of his mouth,” she whispered.

  John recalled yesterday, when Annabelle mentioned she had no friends at her home in Sedona, Arizona. The way she jumped to my defense, I would think she’d have a whole bunch of friends.

  Professor Whitcomb’s laptop projected a slide onto the screen at the front of the classroom. “This morning, we’ll be discussing scene safety.”

  The next hour passed quickly. The bell signaling the end of class rang, and John’s heart began pounding. Mission time!

  * * * *

  “I can’t wait to start,” Raphael said as they exited the classroom.

  “I know there’s a portal that’ll bring us directly to Liberty State Park, but it’s a really big place. I’m not sure where the portal is, exactly. Hopefully, it’ll be somewhere close to the CRRNJ terminal,” Annabelle said.

  They grabbed one another’s hands, stepped into the mirror, and whizzed along within the gelatinous walls of the tunnel. Wind whipped against them, and John worried his sunglasses would blow off his face.
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  A minute later, they stepped out of the mirror into a small, dark room. John nearly sneezed from the musty odor. The room didn’t get a lot of fresh air.

  “Where in the world are we?” Raphael asked.

  John reached to touch the wall, but instead, his hand met something moist and stringy. It brushed against his cheek and landed on his shoes. “Oh, yuck!”

  Annabelle unzipped her backpack. “Give me a second to get my flashlight.”

  John shivered. He imagined giant spiders and hairy bugs crawling up his legs and down his back.

  “I think we’re in a supply closet,” Raphael said before Annabelle could even turn on her light.

  John knew that Raphael had incredible vision but now discovered he could see well in the dark too. I can’t even make out my own hand directly in front of my face.

  Annabelle’s flashlight illuminated a mop, a bucket, cleaning supplies, and a doorknob. “It’s a closet, all right. I hope it’s in the train terminal. That would put us exactly where we need to be.”

  Shaniqua turned the handle and opened the door just a smidgen to peek out. “The coast is clear. Let’s go.”

  John picked up the wet mop that had brushed against his face and placed it in the corner, then stepped out after the others into a short hallway. Team Liberty turned to the left and passed through a doorway that led to the large, old-fashioned lobby of the train and ferry terminal. Yellow brick walls complemented the red stone floor. As they passed by an information desk, John grabbed a map of Liberty State Park and shoved it in his pocket.

  A cathedral ceiling soared above a narrow walkway encircling the entire second floor. A bright red railing decorated with patriotic bunting ran the length of the walkway. At one end of the room, a wide flight of stairs led to a small landing. At the other end, a large clock hung on the wall. Underneath the clock were numerous large windows and several sets of double doors leading to the train station.