The Prisoner's Dilemma (20 page)

“But… but…,” Sticky stuttered, trying to think of a way to change Kate’s mind. The Ten Men were probably already in the building! They were probably coming up the main stairs! But he didn’t want to leave Kate behind. “That wall isn’t very thick,” he finally managed. “You realize that, don’t you? If they heard us in here, they could smash right through it.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Kate agreed. “So you’d better get settled. They’ll be here any second.”

Reynie hurriedly glanced around to get his bearings before Kate switched off her flashlight. As long as he avoided the stairs there was nothing to trip over or bump into; the floor was barren. So was the entire anteroom, save for the various garments, wigs, and hats hanging on the side wall (these were the disguises the adults donned on errand days) and a lever near Kate’s head that opened the secret entrance into the office.

Don’t bump that,
Reynie told himself as he knelt at one of the peepholes.
Whatever you do, don’t bump that
!

Sticky must have been thinking the same thing; he veered so widely around the lever it might have been a cobra. Then he took his position at the final peephole, Kate switched off the flashlight, and everything was suddenly, impenetrably black.

As if conjured by darkness, there came the sound of footsteps.

The footsteps were followed by a thoughtful grunt, then a man’s muted voice. “This one isn’t marked. It would appear to be 7-B, though.”

“Open it,” said another, deeper voice.

Peering through the tiny hole Reynie saw a red glow in the darkness, like a hot burner on an electric stove. The lock, he realized. A Ten Man had just aimed his laser pointer at it. The glow faded as quickly as it had brightened, Reynie heard the doorknob turn, and with a thump and a heavy shudder the office door opened. Flashlight beams swept across the office. Reynie instinctively drew back. When he pressed his eye to the hole again he saw two men. One of them, a huge, powerful figure with shining, well-coiffed brown hair, was undoubtedly McCracken—the leader of all the Ten Men, and by far the most formidable.

McCracken made an adjustment to his flashlight and stood it upright on the empty desk, where it shone like a lantern. With his intelligent eyes narrowed, he turned his head slowly from left to right, surveying the office. Beside him the other Ten Man—a familiar bespectacled man named Sharpe—was doing the same, with exactly the same expression and movement of the head, so that the two men looked eerily like robotic figures you might see in an amusement park ride.

Again at the same moment, the men set down their briefcases.

“Not terribly promising,” Sharpe observed.

“I never trust promises anyway,” said McCracken in his too-familiar, cool bass tones.

“It’s clearly out of use. Why does Benedict keep it?”

“Perhaps he hasn’t found anyone to take it off his hands. Times are hard for the gainlessly employed, my dear Sharpe. In fact Benedict used to maintain several offices here, but now he’s down to just this one. At any rate, it only makes less for us to search—and search we must, if only as a matter of form.”

By “we” McCracken clearly meant Sharpe, who cheerfully set to yanking out file cabinet drawers. As he did so Reynie studied the office himself, wondering if Kate had overlooked anything. He recognized the room, of course. 7-B had been the site of one of Mr. Benedict’s tests. How well he remembered peering through these very holes with Sticky—they had only just met—as Kate negotiated a challenge the boys had passed moments before. The floor then had been painted in a checkerboard pattern, and the secret entrance had been a regular door. Now 7-B resembled exactly the sort of dull office found behind every other door in the Monk Building, with a desk, file cabinets, bookshelves, a wastepaper basket, and a potted ficus tree that had seen better days. Reynie saw nothing important in it at all.

Nor did Sharpe, who appeared to enjoy the search nonetheless. With a satisfied smile he upended the desk, tossed file drawers here and there, ripped pastel paintings from the wall and punched his fist through them. For good measure he roughed up the ficus, whose last remaining leaves fell to the floor like sad confetti. Then he took a cloth from his briefcase and polished a scuff from one of his gleaming black shoes. “When will the others come?” he asked, breathing hard.

McCracken checked his large silver wristwatch. Then he checked his other one. “Crawlings and Garrotte arrive in two minutes. The others hold their positions, of course.”

“I do hate to wait,” said Sharpe. “Mightn’t we get on with the instructions? It will save time.”

McCracken laughed. “Sharpe, what a fellow you are! All of us have to be present or the number won’t come out correctly. Would you like to follow the wrong instructions? Do you think Mr. Curtain would be pleased?”

Sharpe rapped his knuckles on his head as if sounding for contents. “Excellent point, McCracken. Well taken. No, since you put it that way, I believe we should wait.”

Two and a half minutes later Crawlings and Garrotte strode into the office.

“You’re late,” said McCracken.

“Sorry,” said Crawlings. “We thought we might have seen one, but no such luck.”

“And no sign from the roofs?”

“No.”

“Very well,” said McCracken. “Let’s cite our numbers, beginning with Crawlings.”

Each Ten Man spoke a number aloud. McCracken nodded. “The sum is odd. That indicates you, Garrotte.”

Garrotte reached inside his suit coat and took out a sealed envelope. He handed it to McCracken, who had already unsheathed a wicked-looking letter opener. McCracken slit the envelope, removed the letter, and let the envelope fall. As an afterthought he sliced the envelope in two as it drifted to the floor—he didn’t even look at it—before unfolding the letter and looking it over.

Read it aloud,
Reynie pleaded in his mind.
Read it aloud!

But McCracken only said “Ah,” and passed the letter around for the other Ten Men to read.

“Excellent!” said Crawlings, the last to have a look. He crumpled the letter and tossed it toward the wastepaper basket. “That gives us plenty of time for coffee and scones. I don’t know about you fellows, but I’m famished.”

“You forget,” said McCracken. “We have to make another sweep for the girl. But take heart, my dear—if we don’t track her down this time we’ll set up a watch in the neighborhood, and you can have something then.”

Sharpe looked hopeful. “Do you think she’ll turn up before we have to go? I would so love a bonus! But of course we can’t miss the rendezvous.”

“With luck she’ll go crying back to Benedict’s house well before then,” said McCracken.

“With real luck we’ll track her down right away!” said Crawlings, and with a comical smile he pantomimed drinking from a coffee cup and rubbing his belly. The other Ten Men chuckled.

“As for that,” said McCracken, “I have a few more ideas. Let’s signal the others and get moving.”

The Ten Men filed out of the office, leaving it in darkness, and the young spies listened to their footsteps fading away. Not daring to whisper, Reynie mentally willed his friends to be silent until they were sure the Ten Men had gone for good. For a long time he listened with straining ears, and was just about to switch on his flashlight when Kate switched on hers.

“Did you see that?” Reynie whispered excitedly. “Crawlings left the instructions!”

“I saw it, all right,” Sticky said. “Let’s go…” He trailed off, distracted by the sight of Kate heading for the stairs—and by the crumpled letter in her hand. “Wait, you already
got
it?”

Reynie was staring, too. “I didn’t even hear you!”

“I’ve been practicing,” Kate whispered, already starting down the stairs. “Now come on! We’re going to be late!”

It was agreed Kate would run ahead in hopes of showing the letter to Milligan or Mr. Benedict as soon as possible. And for the first time in ages, Reynie actually
had
hopes. From the Ten Men’s discussion it sounded as though they wouldn’t make their next rendezvous for some time, and Reynie felt sure Mr. Benedict could decipher his brother’s instructions—whatever they were—quickly enough to act. It was a most promising turn of events, and Reynie couldn’t help feeling proud of his part in it. Nor was he alone: Kate’s feet had flown even faster than usual, and Sticky, puffing along beside him in the secret passage, kept spontaneously breaking into a grin.

The boys’ high spirits were diminished considerably, however, when they staggered up out of the cellar to find a miserable-looking Kate being chastised by Ms. Plugg, who had her by the elbow. A short black limousine with its lights on idled in the street—this must be the armored car—and from Mr. Benedict’s house, in tones of rising alarm, the adults could be heard calling their names.

“They’re here!” roared Ms. Plugg, and relieved faces appeared in several windows.

The guard plunged back into her tirade without missing a beat: “—looking for you, and no one seems to have had any idea of these orders Milligan supposedly gave me! And what was I to do? Even though I began to doubt your word, what if I was mistaken? No! I had to keep my mouth shut! I had to shrug and play it off as confusion! Meanwhile the Washingtons are panicking! Miss Perumal is worried sick! Her mother had to take a pill! Do you know how it felt for me to stand here not saying anything to console them? Do you realize—”

“I said I’m sorry!” Kate cried. “And I really am, Ms. Plugg! I can’t explain how important it was, or why we had to do it that way, but—”

Ms. Plugg was hardly mollifed. “Did Milligan give those orders or not? Did you or did you not have to search for something important down in that cellar?”

As the
exact
truth would surely have released fresh torrents of recrimination, Kate simply held up the crumpled letter. “I have to show this to Milligan or Mr. Benedict—it’s urgent, Ms. Plugg!”

Ms. Plugg snorted like a bull, glancing at the letter in Kate’s hand. “What is it? No, let me guess, you can’t tell me.”

By now Reynie had regained his breath enough to come to Kate’s aid. “We’re sorry, Ms. Plugg, but it’s true—we can’t discuss it with you. But it
is
extremely important.”

Ms. Plugg’s steely gray eyes roamed from face to face. All three children tried to look both humble and beseeching. At last she nodded curtly. “Milligan isn’t back yet. You can speak with Mr. Benedict in the car. Milligan’s sentries just went in to fetch him. Here they all come now.”

Sure enough, out of the house spilled not just Mr. Benedict and the sentries (two men in plainclothes whose alert eyes darted ceaselessly all around) but also the Washingtons, the Perumals, Rhonda, Number Two, and finally Moocho Brazos carrying four small brown bags. The children eventually discovered that the bags contained snacks for the police station, but first they had to endure such tongue-lashings as they had never experienced—a frantic, furious scolding from all quarters, amplified by a need for haste.

“Across the street—!”

“—without permission—!”

“—without
telling
any of us! And in that cellar, of all places! Why on earth—?”

“—searched high and low! Have you any idea, young man—?”

It went on like this, at great speed and considerable volume, for about twenty seconds. Then all at once it ended, and in a rush the three of them were swept up and clutched and patted and even wept over, and their hair fussed with (in Reynie’s and Kate’s case) and clothes brushed off (they all had cobwebs and beetles on them), and in her confusion of emotion the crying Mrs. Washington declared that Sticky was getting so
big
—and then with earnest pleas to be careful and tearful promises to see them at the station, the children were bustled into the backseat of the armored car with Mr. Benedict.

Throughout all this commotion they had said nothing to defend themselves. In part this was because they’d been given little chance, but it was also because Mr. Bane had sidled up and was observing the group with keen attention. Reynie, his eyes downcast as he mumbled apologies, had steadied himself with the knowledge that soon they could speak privately to Mr. Benedict.

But it was Mr. Benedict who seemed to have the most pressing things to say. As soon as the car doors closed he said, “I realize you have something to tell me. I see it on your faces, and obviously you had reasons for leaving the house. I have things to tell you as well, and the sooner the better. How urgent is your news? Must we discuss it here, or can it wait a few minutes?”

The children glanced at one another. They were bursting to show Mr. Benedict the letter—and to see it themselves, for that matter—but they all had the sense it could wait a few minutes.

“Very well,” said Mr. Benedict. “We can begin after we’ve made a brief stop in the next block. There’s no sense interrupting ourselves at the outset.” And at a signal from him the driver eased the car away from the curb. (It occurred to Reynie that they had left behind their bags and jackets, but that hardly mattered now.) “This is Mr. Hardy, by the way, and in the passenger seat is Mr. Gristle.”

The sentries glanced over their extremely wide shoulders and gave jaunty salutes to the children. Their faces, however, were deeply serious. Hardy was a tall, wiry man, with tall, wiry hair that brushed the ceiling; Gristle was a blockish, balding fellow with wisps of gray hair like scattered clouds. Their shoulders were so broad that they met between the front seats, and between them the children had no view at all of the road ahead.