The Flinkwater Factor (17 page)

45

A
Matter of National Security

The first meeting of Gilbert Bates and Billy George reminded me of two strange dogs checking each other out. Not that they were sniffing each other's butts or anything, but there was a lot of virtual tail wagging going on.

Billy, of course, was completely awestruck. Gilbert Bates was one of his all-time heroes. And Gilly seemed equally impressed to meet the boy who had, intentionally or not, bonked half of Flinkwater.

Gilly spoke first. “You're the little fellow who started this great rumpus.”

Billy said, “Did you really hack the CIA when you were my age?”

“Yes. How did you calibrate the infrasonics for your bull animation?”

“Infrasonics? Cool. But that wasn't me. Did you really develop the kinesthetic protocols for
the first DustBot on a three-gig laptop?”

“Two-gig handheld. How did you determine the temporal parameters for your visual subliminals?”

“I used a D-Monix randomizer program and a retinal analyzer. It was easy.”

“As I suspected. The bull animation and the visual subliminals are spurious. The OS must have overlaid the infrasonic track based on your program's frequency of deployment.”

I wasn't sure if they were attempting to commu­nicate, or just throwing big words around to impress each other.

I tried to coax them back into the real world. “Billy, how did you get them to let you go?”

Billy blinked and turned his head toward me as if he had forgotten I was there, which he ­probably had. “They didn't let me go, exactly. I just sort of walked out.”

We all stared at him.

“You walked out of a TSA holding facility?” my dad asked.

“The lock on my cell sort of popped open.”

“Popped open?” my dad said.

“Well, I was kind of fiddling with it. Their security isn't actually all that good.”

My dad made one of his deep frowns. “This is not good,” he said.

“I know,” Billy said. “I could show them how to
make their locks better.”

“I mean, it's not good because they're going to be looking for you. I'm afraid your escape will only convince them that you're a dangerous criminal.”

“What kind of lock was it?” Gilly asked.

“A Yale-Kalichnikov Model Five Thousand.”

Gilly looked impressed. “That is a very good lock!”

“Not
that
good,” Billy said.

The doorbell rang. My mom ran to the window.

“They're back,” she said.

My dad jumped to his feet. “Ginger, Billy, into the safe room.”

“You have a safe room?” Billy said. “Cool!”

The agents knocked on the door in a very not-nice way.

“Quickly!” my dad said.

Back when I was a toddler, my father built a secret room between the living room and the kitchen. You would never know it was there unless you measured every room in the house. He claimed it was in case of zombie attack, but knowing my dad, I think it was really because ever since he was a kid he'd wanted to live in a house with a secret room.

Naturally, we ended up using it to store stuff that wouldn't fit in our closets.

I pulled open the concealed door at the back of
the pantry and stepped inside.

“Come on,” I said to Billy.

“It's kind of small,” he said, looking inside.

It
was
kind of small—only about four feet wide and seven feet long, and crowded with boxes, piles of old clothing, and an old exercise bike.

Billy immediately climbed onto the exercise bike. The seat was too high for his feet to reach the pedals.

“Be careful,” I said. “It's tippy.”

I closed the door. It was dark.

“It's dark,” Billy said.

“Just a second.” I felt around and slid aside a panel. Light flooded into the small space. We were looking into the living room through a pane of glass. “They can't see us,” I said. “It's one-way glass. From the other side it looks like a mirror.”

“Cool!” He leaned toward the glass and the exercise bike started to tilt. I grabbed the handlebar.

“Be careful!” I whispered. “You'll bust right through the glass!”

My mom was moving toward the front door to answer it when suddenly it burst open and four men wearing face shields and SWAT gear came charging into the room waving handguns and screaming at everybody to get down on the floor and put their hands behind their heads. My mom and dad did what they asked, but Gilly
just stood there in his suit looking confused. One of the men shot him with a stun gun. Gilly collapsed. The man with the stun gun raised his face shield.

It was Agent Ffelps.

“Can we hear what they're saying?” Billy said.

I fumbled around and quietly slid open the air vent under the mirror.

“—where is your daughter?” Agent Ffelps was shouting.

“We don't know,” my dad said. I think that might have been the first time I ever heard him lie. I was so proud.

As Agent Ffelps directed his minions to search the house, I noticed my mother giving him her most chilling glare.

“Agent Ffelps,” she said, her voice cracking like a bullwhip.

He pointed his gun at her and smiled. Smarmily. My mother was unimpressed.

“You. Broke. My. Front. Door.” Each word reduced the curvature of Ffelps's smile by a ­couple of millimeters. Mom can have that effect on people.

He said, “Mrs. Crump, your daughter and her friend Billy George are in serious trouble.”

“At least they do not go around breaking
­people's doors down,” she said.

“This is a matter of national security.” He gestured with his gun at Gilly. “And who might
this
be?”

Gilly groaned and tried to sit up.

“That,” said my father, “is Gilbert Bates.”

Episode Five

The Flinkwater Factor

46

An Arresting Development

“Agent Ffelps
,
” said my mother.

Ffelps ignored her—never a good idea. His attention was on Gilly.

“Agent
Ffelps
!” My mother's voice got Ffelps's attention.

“Yes?” he said with feigned mildness.

My mother, in full witch-queen mode, got right in his face. “That door
will
be repaired within the hour, accompanied by an apology from you and your superiors. And I will see to it that it comes out of your personal paycheck.” She stabbed his chest with a red-nailed forefinger. “Your
last
paycheck, I might add.”

Ffelps's face turned a few shades paler, but he held on to his smile.

“Mrs. Crump, that door is the least of your
concerns right now.”

“Perhaps, but it is the greatest of
your
concerns.” She was leaning into him, forcing the agent to bend backward. He wasn't smiling anymore.

“I do not work for you, Mrs. Crump.”

“That goes without saying—as if I would ever hire an incompetent fool of your limited intellect and capabilities. Breaking people's doors down. Where did you get your social skills? Klingon language camp?”

Ffelps blinked confusedly. My mother's clever Star Trek reference went so far over his head it might as well have been on Deep Space Nine.

The men with guns were returning from their search of the house, shaking their heads.

“Please control yourself, Mrs. Crump,” Ffelps said. “You're getting hysterical.”

“Hysterical?”
Her eyes blazed, and both my dad and Gilly jumped forward and grabbed her arms before she could rake her claws down Agent Ffelps's face.

“Cuff her!” Ffelps shouted. “You're under arrest!”

The DHS agents may have been incompetent fools, but they were very good at handcuffing. Within seconds my mother was in shackles, and Agent Ffelps had recovered his smarmy smile.

“That's better,” he said. He turned to Gilly. “You
are Gilbert Bates?”

“I am,” said Gilly.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Do I look dead?”

“Not entirely,” Agent Ffelps admitted.

Gilly said, “May I ask what the lady is being charged with?”

“I would be interested to know that as well,” said my father.

“National security,” Ffelps snapped.

“You are charging her with national security?” my father said.

“I mean, it is a
matter
of national security.”

Gilly interrupted them. “Agent Ffelps, it is imperative that I speak with a young man you have in your custody,” Gilly said.

“And what young man would that be?”

“Billy George.”

Agent Ffelps looked startled. It was a brilliant move on Gilly's part. By demanding to see Billy, he had deflected any suspicion that he might know where Billy was.

“What do you want with the boy?” Ffelps asked

“I believe he may be the key to solving the mystery of the SCIC outbreak.”

“We already know that. In fact, Billy George is now a fugitive. I thought we might find him here.”

“Here?” Gilly managed to look surprised.

Agent Ffelps nodded. “We believe that the girl”—he looked at my mother—“your smart-mouthed daughter—may have helped him escape from our holding facility.”

I decided it was time for me to make an appearance.

“Stay here,” I said to Billy as I slipped out the back entrance of the secret room and sauntered down the hallway to join them. Putting on my best flabbergasted expression, I said, “Agent Ffelps? What are
you
doing here?”

Agent Ffelps looked at me, startled.

“Where did
you
come from?”

I gave him a haughty look. “When scary men with guns burst into our house, I hide. Under my bed.”

Ffelps glowered at his men.

“We
checked
under the bed,” one of the men insisted.

“You must have mistaken me for a dust bunny,” I said. “Why is my mom in handcuffs?”

“She assaulted a federal agent,” said Ffelps.

“I assaulted no one,” my mom said, assaulting Ffelps with her eyes.

“That is true,” said Gilly.

My father nodded in agreement. “I saw no assault.”

Ffelps knew he had a problem. My mother's
nonassault had been witnessed by the most famous and wealthy former missing person in the world, and the director of ACPOD cyber security. But I could tell he was afraid to uncuff her. The way she was looking at him I couldn't blame him.

My father said, “Amanda, if Agent Ffelps removes your handcuffs, will you promise not to claw his eyes out?”

“Only if he agrees to fix my door. Today!”

Ffelps sagged. “All right. I will see that your door is repaired. Uncuff her.”

A moment later my mother was free, and you never saw such a roomful of tense-looking men. Keeping a nervous eye on her, Ffelps turned to me.

“Ginger,” he said.

“Agent Ffelps,” I replied.

“Your young friend Billy George escaped from DHS custody. We would like to know how that was accomplished, and where he is now.”

“How would
I
know?” I sneaked a glance at the one-way mirror and winked.

“Agent Ffelps,” my dad said in his most reasonable voice, “are you actually suggesting that my thirteen-year-old daughter broke a prisoner out of a high-security DHS holding cell?”

“I admit it seems unlikely,” said Ffelps, “but I cannot believe that little boy walked out on his own.”

A sudden loud thump came from the wall, and
a long crack appeared in the mirror. We all jumped back as the mirror exploded outward, followed by Billy George, his legs tangled in the frame of the tippy exercise bike.

Ffelps's eyes bulged.

“Arrest them all!” he shouted.