Camp X (12 page)

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“That's great!”

“It's actually
all
the way across town.” Jack laughed. “But we'll deliver my route out of both bags, you on one side of the street and me on the other, and that way both bags will get lighter.”

“Thanks.”

Jack stopped in his tracks. “What's gotten into you?”

“What do you mean?”

“All this thanking me stuff. Stop it.”

“Sorry,” I apologized.

“And stop that, too! Quit being so mannerly.”

“Sure . . . Shut up, Jack! Is that better?”

He smiled, and we walked another couple of blocks in friendly silence. “We're okay to talk here,” Jack said after a while. “I didn't want to talk to Mr. Krum any more. He was awfully interested in the camp. He kept going on and on. He was making me nervous.”

“Me too. He was asking me a lot of questions when we went inside to get the bag.”

“He was? What sort of questions?”

“A lot of the same ones he was asking you. It was almost like he was checking to see if I was telling the truth.”

“I don't know,” Jack said. “He's got me wondering again.”

“Come on, Jack, he isn't a spy. Remember what they said at the camp? If they'd thought he was a spy they'd have arrested him.”

“But why else would he be so interested?”

“Because he's a newspaper guy. He wants to know because of what he does for a living.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that we especially can't talk to him about the camp.”

“So if he asks any more questions we just say nothing, right?”

“Not nothing. We have to say something. The trick is to say nothing when we're saying something,” he tried to explain.

“You lost me.”

“We can't just pretend we have a zipper on our mouths and cover our ears with our hands when he asks questions. We
have to answer him, but not tell him anything,” Jack said.

“I'm still lost.”

“Like when he asked about Corbett's Creek, I couldn't just pretend I didn't know it. I told him it was shallow in some places and deeper in others—like every other creek in the world.”

“So if he asks me some more questions, what should I say?”

“Just nod your head and say something that really doesn't mean anything.”

“I guess I can do that,” I said. “Funny though.”

“What's funny?” Jack asked.

“The day after we sign that oath saying we won't talk about what we saw, then somebody keeps asking us questions trying to get us to talk about it. It's almost like we were being tested.”

Jack stopped walking and grabbed me by the arm. “Do you think?”

“Think what?” I asked.

“That Mr. Krum is actually working for them and they got him to ask us those questions.”

“Who got him to ask us those questions . . . the Germans?”

“No, no, somebody working for the camp! He's part of them, and they asked him to question us to see if we were trustworthy.”

I started to chuckle.

“Don't laugh!”

“I'm sorry, it's just that half a minute ago you thought he was a German agent, and now you think he's a spy for our side!”

“He could be,” Jack argued. “They do have agents out here.”

“You don't know that for sure.”

“Yes I do. How else do you explain how they could take out the D.I.L. phones so Mom couldn't call, and how they made the bus break down? How do you explain that?”

I didn't have an answer, and I was beginning to wonder myself.

“So either Mr. Krum is nothing but a reporter, or he's a German spy, or he's an agent working with the camp,” I said. “He could be anything.”

“He could be. No matter what he is, though, we're not saying anything to him. Or anybody else. Matter of fact, I don't even want to talk to
you
about it any more. Let's just finish up the papers and go home for lunch.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“I'LL GET IT!” I yelled as the phone rang out.

I threw the dishcloth onto the counter and ran for the phone. We'd just finished delivering the papers and were finishing up the breakfast dishes we'd left behind that morning.

“Hello?” I said as I picked it up.

“Hello. Is this Jack?” asked a man's voice. I didn't recognize it.

“No, this is George. I'll go and get—”

“That's all right. This is Bill.”

“Bill?” My heart rose into my throat. “Bill from the . . . from the . . . place?”

“Did I make such a poor impression that you've almost forgotten me?”

“No, no, I just wasn't expecting you to call us.”

“I told you we'd be in touch. Now go and get your brother so I can talk to both of you.”

“Sure . . . yeah . . . right away!”

I dropped the phone and ran toward the kitchen. “Jack! Jack, come quick!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

“What? What's wrong?” Jack looked annoyed.

“It's Bill,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“Bill . . . Bill from the you-know-what?” Jack asked, lowering his voice.

I nodded my head.

“What does he want?”

“He said he wants to talk to us.”

Jack rushed back and picked up the phone. “Hello . . . yep . . . um . . . yes.” He nodded his head as he listened to words I couldn't hear.

“Now?” Jack asked. He seemed surprised.

That one word took my breath away. I had no idea what they were saying, but whatever it was it obviously couldn't wait.

“Okay, sure, we can do that. Bye.”

Jack placed the receiver in its cradle.

“Go and make sure the front door is locked,” he told me.

“Why?”

“Because Mom always likes us to lock the front door when we go out.”

“Out where?” I asked anxiously.

Jack smiled. “I'm not entirely sure.”

“But . . . but . . .”

“We're going out to the highway and we're going to be picked up.”

“By who?” I demanded.

“Bill . . . or somebody he's sending to get us. Now go and check the door and let's get going.”

“But what about the kitchen? We haven't finished cleaning up yet!”

“You can finish the kitchen if you want,” Jack said, “and I'll go without you. I don't know what good a little crybaby like you could do anyway.” He paused. “You coming or what?”

“I'm coming.”

I ran and checked the front door. It was locked. I heard the side door slam and raced through the house to catch up with Jack. He was already outside and halfway up to the road. I chased after him, slowing to a walk when I finally came up beside him.

“Did he say anything more?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“What else?”

“He said goodbye.”

“Could you get serious? Did he say anything else about what we're doing?”

“Nothing except get to the highway and walk.”

We cut through the vacant lot and took the path, coming out on the shoulder of the highway. A car whizzed by, followed by a swirl of dust. There were two more cars behind that one, and another coming in the opposite direction. None of them looked like the one that had dropped us off the other night.

“Which way do we walk?” I asked.

“He didn't say. Let's just walk toward the camp.”
We started walking along the shoulder of the road, facing the oncoming traffic. A big truck rumbled toward us and I turned my head slightly to avoid the dust and gravel. We kept trudging along as car after car passed.

“Maybe we should have gone in the other direction.”

“I don't know,” Jack said.

“Are you sure he didn't say anything else?”

“I'm sure . . . almost as sure as I am that I wish I'd left you at—”

A car tooted its horn and we looked up. It was Chief Smith in his police cruiser, and as he passed he waved at us. Had Bill sent the Chief to get us? The car didn't even slow down as it continued along the highway.

“For a split second I thought he was the one we were meeting,” Jack said, voicing my thoughts.

“That would have surprised me so much that it wouldn't even have surprised me,” I said.

“What does that mean?” Jack asked.

“I don't think I understand anything that's been going on, and just as I think I do understand something I find out I'm wrong.”

Jack started to laugh. “I thought it was only me who felt that way, and—”

My brother suddenly stopped mid sentence. Up ahead a dirty truck slowed down and pulled off to the side of the road.

“Is that them?” I asked.

In answer the back door of the truck popped open and Bill leaned out. “Hurry up, before somebody comes!” he yelled.

We both raced up and leaped into the truck. He slammed the door behind us, and before we could even settle down on the seats it started moving again. I grabbed onto the side of the seat to stop myself from being thrown backwards.

Besides Bill there was a driver and another man in the back. I'd never seen either of them before.

“We thought we'd gone the wrong way,” Jack said.

“We had to wait until there was nobody else on the highway,” Bill said. “That was the fourth time we'd passed you. We were heading in one direction when the chief of police honked his horn at the two of you. How does he know you boys?”

“He really doesn't,” Jack said. “He was just talking to us one day.”

“Do you know about him?” I asked.

“We know a lot of things,” he said cryptically. “Just what did you mean specifically?”

“I mean that his family name is really Schmidt and he's of German descent?” I could tell that Jack hoped he was giving them information they didn't have. But he was out of luck.

“It's our business to know that kind of thing. And it pays to be observant.” He turned around in his seat to look at us. “You must be wondering why we asked you to meet us.”

“You said there was something you wanted to talk to us about,” Jack said.

“Do you think you could do me a favour?”

“Sure, no problem,” Jack said eagerly.

“Definitely,” I agreed.

“I thought you boys were smarter than that.”

Jack gave him a questioning look.

“It's wise to never agree to do anything you haven't heard yet. Want to hear about it?”

We both nodded our heads in agreement.

“I was hoping you could deliver a package for me. This package,” he said, tapping his hand against a bag that sat at his side.

“Sure we can . . .” Jack stopped himself. “What is it?”

Bill started to laugh. “Now that's much better. It's a bomb.”

“A bomb!” I gasped.

“And I want you to deliver it to the D.I.L. plant.”

I felt a terrible rush of fear and confusion. “We can't do that!” I blurted out.

“We
won't
do that!” Jack growled.

What was going on? He was asking us to deliver a bomb to the plant where our mother worked. He wanted us to help him blow up the plant, and—

“Oh . . . I imagine I should have mentioned that it's a
fake
bomb? Here, have a look,” he said as he opened up the bag. Inside were a few wires and a large chunk of clay.

“It's clay, isn't it? Like they used on the railroad bridge,” Jack said.

“Yes, that's right, you did witness some of our men practicing the demolition of the trestle.”

“I still don't understand why you use clay. Wouldn't it be better to use something that looks like sticks of dynamite?” Jack asked.

“It would if we used dynamite for our explosions. We use plastique.”

“What's plastique?”

“It's a powerful new form of explosive. It resembles modelling clay. If a package of plastique as big as this hunk of clay were to explode it would create a crater in this road over thirty feet wide. And while pieces of this car would be flung in all directions for hundreds of feet, all that would remain of us would be a watery vapour rising into the air. They would not be able to determine how many people had been in this vehicle at the time of detonation.”

“Wow,” I said softly under my breath.

“I've never heard of it,” Jack said.

“That's not surprising. It's very new. Our men are still getting used to it. Last winter some of them used plastique to blow up an ice dam that had formed on the creek. Used far too much of it and blew out windows for miles around.”

“We heard about that!” I said.

“You did?” he asked, surprised. “Our records show you didn't move here until well after that incident.”

“Mr. Krum told us,” I explained.

“Mr. Krum knows a great deal,” he said, and he didn't sound happy about it. “So, would you like to know why we're asking you to bring this fake bomb into the D.I.L. plant?”

“Yeah, why?” Jack asked.

“Part of our job is to find ways to destroy enemy targets. We need practice targets. At the same time, we have many sites that enemy agents might wish to destroy. By trying to
‘blow up' these targets we not only practise our skills, we also learn how vulnerable our targets are to an actual enemy attack. We then tell them how to improve their security so they will be better protected.”

“So it's like playing war,” I said.

“It's not that simple,” Jack argued.

“Actually it is. Our men are always playing war.”

“You've done this before?”

“Oh my heavens, I think we've attacked the D.I.L. plant more than thirty times. It's one of our favourite targets because it's a prime location for enemy sabotage.”

“And when you attack it, do you always get in?” Jack asked.

“Not always, but many times we have, and then they adjust their procedures to make it impossible, or at least much more difficult, to breach security in that manner.”