Young Adventurers Page 5

  The clacking of the train wheels rose loudly through the iron floorboards, giving Sophia the impression they were suspended in midair. Snow fell through a tear in the rubberized accordion fabric, and Sophia’s breath crystallized into white puffs. She and Janov were pressed together between the two doors. She had to crane her neck to look into his face and even in the dark could see a bruise forming above his left eye. She shifted her hand to open the door behind her, but Janov restrained her. Sophia leaned to the side in an attempt to look through the window behind Janov, but his torso was too wide.

  Janov noted the attempt. “Mr. Jones won’t be joining us,” he said, “but I do need you to give me his briefcase.”

  “I can’t do that,” Sophia said.

  “You are a courageous and admirable young woman, Miss Welsch, but I wonder if you also realize how lucky you are.”

  That almost made Sophia laugh. “This doesn’t feel lucky.”

  “You are lucky because you remind me of my daughter, who is also brave yet foolhardy, and because I don’t value my career so highly that I am willing to murder a teenage girl. Many of my”–he paused a beat to give the next word emphasis–“comrades would have no such compunction.”

  Sophia said nothing. She shivered, but not from the cold.

  “I am giving you your life, Miss Welsch. All I ask in return is that you give me a briefcase.”

  Slowly, Sophia raised the briefcase and let Janov take it.

  “Thank you,” he said. He moved back a step, opening an inch between them. “I expect you will depart at the next stop. You will contact your authorities. Yet even though I still have to deal with Mr. Jones, I will be out of the country before anyone can find me.”

  “Good luck,” Sophia said. It was lame, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  “Goodbye, Miss Welsch,” Janov said as the door behind him slid open. “I hope this episode has taught you not to follow strange men.”

  Sophia stepped into the warmth of the coach car as she watched Janov retreat to his compartment, holding her breath until he passed the rear luggage alcove. When he left the car, Sophia relaxed. She remained where she was at the opposite end of the car and counted to three hundred, approximately five minutes, before walking to the luggage area and reaching behind a suitcase to retrieve Mr. Jones’ briefcase. She looked down the length of the car and mentally begged forgiveness from the sleeping man whose briefcase she just handed to Janov. She hoped Janov would be too busy “dealing with” Mr. Jones to examine the briefcase, at least until she was off the train.

  Once again she considered informing the train crew about Janov, but now that he had a gun she would probably be endangering them. Instead she ducked into the nearby restroom and sat on the toilet until the train slowed for the next stop. She didn’t wait long at all. When the porter opened the carriage door, she saw that the station was Rhinecliff. The porter placed a large blue stepping stool on the station platform to make it easier to get down from the train, but Sophia leaped right over it and ran into the cold toward the nearest pay phone.

  The following Thursday afternoon Sophia met with Ms. Chambers at a Sbarro off Times Square. This was to be an informal session, Ms. Chambers said. She had formally debriefed Sophia on Monday and told her she would not receive any further Harriet Brigade assignments “pending review.” Sophia wasn’t surprised, and her parents had grounded her anyway for not getting home until two o’clock that morning without calling to let them know she was all right. The FBI had sent a car from Albany to fetch her in Rhinecliff, and the journey home was slow because she had to answer plenty of questions along the way.

  She told her parents that after seeing Beverly Hills Cop, she went over to her friend Kayla’s apartment and they fell asleep watching Friday Night Videos. This had necessitated a late-night call from an FBI car phone to ask Kayla to back up Sophia’s alibi. Sophia told Kayla she didn’t want her parents to know she had spent the evening with two older guys from out of town. That was true, but not in the way Kayla imagined. Sophia knew her reputation at school might be tarnished, but Kayla was generally good at keeping secrets.

  Ms. Chambers settled into the booth across from Sophia. She had bought a salad instead of pizza. “Most of this will be off-the-record,” Ms. Chambers said. “I just wanted to catch you up on several developments since your experience Friday evening.”

  Sophia folded her sausage slice down the center as New Yorkers do and bit into the juicy tip as Ms. Chambers caught her up.

  The body of one Alton Boehm was discovered late Saturday morning along the Conrail tracks between Hudson and Albany. He had been a vice president of development at JennDyne, a defense contractor based in Virginia Beach with a plant in Groton. He had died of a broken neck. A brief investigation found that Boehm had bet badly during the New Year’s bowl games and owed a total of $44,000 to several Atlantic City bookmakers. Given that knowledge the local coroner ruled that Boehm had committed suicide by leaping from Friday night’s Lake Shore Limited.

  On Friday evening, Vasily Janov–Ms. Chambers continued to call him TENSPEED–had sent out a decoy limousine from the United Nations. His usual FBI weekend surveillance detail followed the limousine, but fortunately Sophia had missed it and trailed him to Grand Central. Ms. Chambers viewed that as a triumph for the Harriet Brigade. Sophia felt a flush of pride.

  As he had predicted, Janov did get out of the country before the FBI could find him. However, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police did find him, Sunday, in Toronto and arrested him. A satisfactory outcome, Ms. Chambers said, even though the FBI hated owing the Canadians a favor.

  Ms. Chambers took the last bite of her salad. “Now this is the part I have been forbidden to tell you, but I feel you deserve to know. So keep it confidential.”

  “I will,” Sophia said.

  “The briefcase you recovered contained plans for the sonar array that will be introduced in the next block of Los Angeles-class fast attack submarines. Obviously, it would have been a catastrophe if the Soviets had gotten their hands on those plans.”

  Sophia opened her mouth to speak, but could say nothing. She took a sip of Coke because her mouth had gone dry.

  “If you were a field agent, you would get a medal for what you’ve done,” Ms. Chambers said. “But, because of your age and the secrecy of the Harriet Brigade, I’m afraid all I can offer you is a slice and a Coke.”

  Sophia shrugged, “That’s OK.”

  “You displayed courage and quick-thinking under pressure, qualities desirable for a career in counterintelligence. However…”

  Sophia knew a “however” was coming.

  “However,” Ms. Chambers continued. “You grossly exceeded your instructions and made a reckless decision when you boarded that train, a decision that may have cost you your life.”

  Ms. Chambers let that sink in.

  “You also might have exposed the Harriet Brigade. We don’t know if TENSPEED was able to contact his people before the Mounties got him. We’ve decided to continue with the program and observe if our subjects suddenly seem aware of teenage girls in their area.”

  She placed her hand over Sophia’s.

  “But I’m afraid you will no longer be a part of the program. I promised you at the beginning you would receive a letter of recommendation to the college of your choice, and I guarantee you will still get that. Your country owes you at least that much for preventing the Soviets from obtaining military secrets. But I’m afraid I have to let you go.” Ms. Chambers shook her head sadly. “You were brave, but you got caught.”

  Sophia looked down at her paper plate. All that remained of her pizza was the crust. She never ate the crust. She looked back up at Ms. Chambers and reluctantly nodded.

  “Spies should not get caught,” Sophia agreed.

  In today’s Washington DC, even a visit to a museum can hold mystery and adventure for curious and observant students.

  AIR AND SPACE AFTER DARK

  Jeff Ayers and Kevin Lauderdal
e

  “Do you think they could hang a whole space shuttle up there?” asked Jake.

  Hannah looked up at the ceiling of the National Air and Space Museum. From the huge grid of white support beams overhead, several planes were suspended from cables. There was the gray Spirit of St. Louis, with its wooden propeller, that Charles Lindbergh had piloted to become the first man to fly non-stop across the Atlantic Ocean. Nearby hung the Glamorous Glennis, the orange dart of a jet in which Chuck Yeager had broken the sound barrier. To Hannah’s left was the X-15, stubby-winged and bat-black with a bold “NASA” painted on its tail. More rocket than plane, it had once gone over 4,500 miles per hour–more than five times the speed of the Glennis.

  Hannah shook her head. “The beams can hold up a lot, but not that much. And, even if they could, would you trust them enough to stand under it?”

  Jake laughed. The two of them were in the vast, open space of the museum’s main entrance hall. Most of the planes floating a couple of stories above them were fairly small. If one actually did fall, they could duck out of the way. The X-15, though, was so long that it nearly reached the second floor’s chest-high balcony railing. Hannah thought that, if she were up there, she could probably just touch its left–port, she reminded herself–wing.

  Not that anyone could touch anything on the darkened second floor now. For tonight’s party, the elevators had been shut down and everything upstairs was blocked off. Large metal signs reading “RESTRICTED” hung from red velvet ropes on all the staircases.

  Usually crowded with tourists in t-shirts and jeans, tonight the museum was filled with suits and nice dresses. Waiters walked around carrying trays of tiny munchies. There was supposed to be music later.

  Hannah said, “They’ve got a shuttle at the Udvar-Hazy branch of the Air and Space out by Dulles airport. It’s on the ground. People like being able to walk around it and get a view of its top–oops, its dorsal side.”

  “Hey, you’re really picking up the lingo.” Jake sounded impressed, and Hannah felt herself blush. She’d been doing a weekend internship program at the A and S for a solid month now. It was only open to high school seniors. She saw the dark-haired, dark-eyed Jake and his twin sister Kayla at school all the time, but they never just hung out anymore. Specifically, she and Jake never just hung out anymore.

  Jake asked, “So what happens next? Are they going to turn on black lights? I’m wearing white socks. They’ll glow.”

  Tonight’s “After Dark Exhibit” at the A and S was a thank-you to the D.C. area’s scientific community. The second floor was closed, but the museum was premiering the new IMAX film shot aboard the International Space Station. As an intern, Hannah had been allowed to attend. Jake and Kayla were there because they were on one of the handful of Academic Decathlon teams from the area that had been invited. Hannah hoped that Jake would see her differently–as something other than his sister’s best friend–in this different setting. She was wearing a new green dress to bring out the red in her hair.

  “Who’s Kayla talking to by the Hubble Space Telescope?” Jake leaned forward. “Either someone’s modeling a space suit or that’s Lady Gaga. I read a couple celebrities were coming.”

  Kayla had left fifteen minutes ago to go get them all some punch. “Take your time,” Hannah had suggested, and Kayla had disappeared with a wink.

  Carefully, Hannah put her hand on Jake’s arm, and turned him. “There’s no one over by the unmanned spy planes. Let’s go look at those.”

  “I’m dying of thirst,” said Jake, as if he hadn’t heard. “I’m gonna go get the drinks myself.” He started walking away. “You still want one?”

  “Sure,” Hannah said. “Why not?” She turned around and leaned against the blue cone of the Friendship 7 capsule, crossing her arms over her chest. John Glenn had become the first American in space when he’d circled the earth three times in that. All by himself, Hannah thought. She could relate. Seventeen-year old boys! You could put on a green dress, do up your hair, and you were still second place to something cold and fizzy.

  She heard a booming voice thank everyone for coming. It was the museum’s director, Dr. Palmieri, beginning his speech. Everyone began to move towards him at the east end of the museum, where all the moon-landing artifacts were. She could just see him standing next to the Apollo 11 lunar module, which was all gold foil and flags and had two mannequins dressed in space suits.

  Hannah checked her reflection in the clear plastic that surrounded the Friendship 7. Her hair was starting to lose its curl and–What was that person doing on the stairs?

  She stared harder into the plastic. Someone tall–a man, she assumed–crept under the rope at the top of the stairs and disappeared on to the second floor.

  She spun around. The sign was still up at the bottom of the stairs, and she was willing to bet that guy could read. She looked around, but didn’t see any security guards. They were probably all at the other end of the building. Everyone was at the other end of the building, half a football field away. No one else had seen him go up.

  Hannah took a deep breath. As an employee of the National Air and Space Museum, it was up to her. She ducked under the rope and went upstairs after him.

  The second floor was usually flooded with light from the ceiling skylight and glass walls of the museum. But at night it was dark.

  A long beam of yellow sliced into the darkness. A flashlight! The beam grew and shrank. Hannah knew what that meant: he had opened and closed a door down at the other end of the building. Wow, he was fast.

  The door was still open a crack when she arrived and peered inside.

  He was crouching in the area where exhibits that were still being built were stored. He had on a black knit ski mask and gloves. Obviously a thief.

  He was hunched over…the Mars Rock exhibit! Her Mars Rock exhibit.

  The glass case held a fist-sized, rust-red colored stone that one of the landers had sent back from Mars. To its left was the cutaway model Hannah had made showing Mars’ crust, mantle, and the liquid iron core that took up about half the planet’s interior. On the rock’s right were maps of Mars: modern satellite images, and some from a hundred years ago when people thought the planet had oceans and canals. She’d read a dozen books on Mars and surfed all over the web learning about geology. And now this guy was trying to steal her rock!

  Oh, no, she would not let him ruin her exhibit. Her hands had been orange for a week from the dye she’d made just so that the exhibit’s background was exactly the same color as the Martian sand you saw in NASA pictures. Hannah stood up as straight and tall as she could. She needed stuff like this for her college application. She desperately wanted to go to Yale, but the university only accepted one student from her school each year. She needed every possible advantage if she was going to beat out Louisa Wu, who had been playing the cello at Kennedy Center concerts since sixth grade.

  The thief carefully turned on a small lantern and laid out a black cloth with a bunch of tiny tools on it. He knew his stuff. Even now the case was wired to an alarm system, so he wasn’t going to smash and grab. But he might be able to pick the lock.

  There wasn’t time to go all the way back down and get some help. She would call Kayla on her cell phone.

  No, she didn’t dare make any noise.

  She’d send a picture!

  Hannah flipped open her palm-sized phone and aimed it at the crouching man. She clicked and selected Kayla’s name from the menu. Her thumb slid to the red dot in the center of her phone to send–and a hand grabbed her mouth!

  She let out a muffled yell and struggled, but a second hand twisted her right arm behind her back and pushed her onto the floor. Her phone fell and skidded away. Before Hannah knew it, something had bound her wrists behind her. She tried to bite the hand at her mouth, but her attacker wore thick gloves. She heard a tearing sound and then tasted the rubbery flavor of glue as a length of duct tape was stretched over her mouth. She was flipped over and her legs quickly bound w
ith a plastic cord. A tall figure stepped over her and crushed her phone with a stomp.

  The glow of the screen faded to black.

  Where the heck was Hannah?

  Jake stood there with two sodas in his hands. He craned his neck. No, she hadn’t gone over by the spy planes. He put the drinks down at the base of Friendship 7. He hadn’t been gone that long, had he?

  Man, she’d sure looked great in that dress. Now, if he could just keep it together and not mess up long enough to ask her to dance, everything would be okay. The DJ was all set up. There would be music, and later the movie, and everything would be fine.

  No problem.

  But also no Hannah.

  He turned around and saw Kayla running towards him. Like she always did when she was excited, she was talking so fast that he couldn’t make out a single word.

  “Sis, slow down. What’s up?”

  “Hannah’s in trouble. She sent…”

  “Wait a minute, how can she be in trouble? She’s just here–Oh. Yeah. Where?”

  Kayla raised her eyebrows and gave him a look he knew all too well: the look that said he was an idiot. She held up her phone and showed him.

  The image was dark and blurry, but could only be someone messing with a museum display case.

  “I bet it’s her rock, right?” he asked.

  “Gotta be,” said Kayla. “It’s not ready yet, so it’s in a prep area. She showed me where it is last week when I met her for lunch. There’s a closed room in the far corner on the second floor, directly above the moon stuff where everybody is right now.”

  Jake said, “She probably sent a picture because she can’t talk. Something’s wrong.” He started walking towards the nearest staircase.

  “We can’t go up there,” said Kayla.

  Jake looked around. “No one’ll see. All the security folks are way over at the other end.”

  “Then we should get them for help,” said Kayla. “We know there’s a problem.”