The Prisoner's Dilemma (6 page)

“If we had done similar exercises with Sticky,” Mrs. Washington continued, her tone suddenly regretful, “perhaps we’d have made fewer mistakes. Don’t you think, dear?”

Mr. Washington considered this, then nodded.

“We learn from our mistakes, though,” said Rhonda mildly. “And Sticky has turned out wonderfully well, hasn’t he?”

Mrs. Washington’s face lit up. “Oh yes, he has! Of course he has!” she cried (as Mr. Washington nodded), and both beamed fondly at their son.

Their son, meanwhile, squirmed in his seat. These days almost anything Sticky’s parents said about him embarrassed him—they might have said “Sticky likes salt on his potatoes” and still he would have winced—but public adoration was more embarrassing by far. It was all he could do not to reach for his spectacles.

“We are none of us impervious to error,” said Mr. Benedict. “I least of all. It was not so long ago, you’ll recall, that I failed to perceive the character of my brother’s plottings, to the great detriment of everyone here. So focused was I on protecting the Whisperer, I completely overlooked the possibility of Ledroptha’s capturing
me
as a means of reclaiming it. A foolish mistake indeed, and I—”

“Mr. Benedict!” snapped Number Two, who in the midst of peeling an orange (she always followed lunch with a snack) slapped it down with such force that juice squirted across the table into Reynie’s eye. “Sorry, sorry,” she said as Mrs. Perumal handed Reynie a damp napkin, “but I simply cannot bear to hear such talk.”

Pointing her finger accusingly at Mr. Benedict, Number Two said, “You spend so little time thinking of yourself that it was a natural mistake. You can’t blame yourself for your brother’s treachery!”

Everyone seconded Number Two’s sentiment, but Mr. Benedict, acknowledging this with a grateful inclination of his head, persisted, “Nevertheless, I cannot say too often how deeply I regret the circumstances it has created for you all. I feel that—” Here his speech faltered, and his bright green eyes glistened all the more brightly with tears. (Kate discreetly took hold of his teacup, ready to slide it away if Mr. Benedict slumped forward.)

“But you
have
said it too often, Mr. Benedict!” said Mrs. Perumal in an imperious tone that was quite out of character. “And if you continue in this vein, I’m afraid we’ll be compelled to cut our visit short. Surely there are other establishments that would host an entire troop of guests—indefinitely and without reward—and not feel obliged to apologize for it!”

For an instant only Reynie knew that his grandmother was joking; everyone else sat in startled silence. Then Mr. Benedict erupted into his high-spirited laugh (that peculiar, familiar laugh that sounded so much like a dolphin), and the whole table soon followed suit. Everyone laughed until their eyes watered, especially after Mrs. Perumal, who at first had succeeded in maintaining her haughty air, finally broke down into giggles herself. Mr. Benedict, having narrowly escaped falling asleep from regret, now came close to doing so from mirth.

At last the jollity subsided, and Mr. Benedict removed his spectacles to dab at his eyes with a napkin, saying, “Thank you, Mrs. Perumal, for lightening the mood. I daresay we all needed that.” Resettling the spectacles on his nose, he took out his pocket watch, frowned, and grew businesslike again.

“I’m expecting visitors,” Mr. Benedict said, “but before they arrive I must return to Constance a moment. As I said, I do feel compelled to press her a bit, and toward this end I should like to enlist Reynie, Sticky, and Kate in an experiment. Provided you’re willing, of course,” he said to the children, “and only with your parents’ permission.”

When Miss Perumal had been sent for (she hurried in from the kitchen wearing sudsy gloves and a look of relief), Mr. Benedict explained his idea. After a brief discussion, the parents all granted their permission, and the children—somewhat reluctantly—agreed to help.

“I’ll have to ask Milligan when he gets back,” said Kate, whose father had been called away on a secret matter the day before.

“Actually, I’ve already secured his permission,” said Mr. Benedict, “but you can discuss it with him later if you like. He’s just returned.”

“He has?” Kate cried, jumping up.

Sure enough, they could all hear Milligan whistling in the hallway (he was a supremely talented whistler), and the next moment he burst into the dining room, arms stretched wide in greeting. Kate flew to him happily—she was always relieved when he came home safe—and he laughed as she hugged him, taking a few steps backward to absorb her momentum and calling out a cheerful “Hello, hello!” to everyone else.

Milligan looked like himself for a change—no disguises, bandages, or casts—and his bright, buoyant aspect, so much like his daughter’s, brought smiles to the faces of everyone in the room. A tall man with flaxen blond hair and ocean-blue eyes (the same color as Kate’s), Milligan wore a shabby assemblage of boots, jacket, and hat that quite belied his position as a top secret agent. But agent he was, and no sooner had he greeted them than he drew Mr. Benedict, Rhonda, and Number Two aside to speak in private.

Reynie overheard the words “just as we thought” and “sooner than expected,” and noting Mr. Benedict’s expression—attentive and composed, yet also faintly troubled—he realized that here, at last, was some kind of important development. But whatever it was, it appeared to be an undesirable one.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Mr. Benedict said, turning to address the table, “my visitors have arrived. Mr. Bane is bringing them up presently. No, no,” he said when the others made to leave, “please stay as long as you like. This is an official matter and must be dealt with in my study.” He went out, accompanied by Rhonda, Milligan, and Number Two.

Mrs. Perumal murmured something to Mrs. Washington, who shared a questioning glance with her husband. Apparently Reynie wasn’t the only one who had sensed this “official matter” was significant.

“You have half an hour before your afternoon lessons,” Mrs. Washington said. “Wouldn’t you three like to go outside?”

“Actually,” said Kate, already moving to the door, “I need the boys’ help with something. Don’t worry, we’ll keep out of everyone’s way.” She beckoned to Reynie and Sticky, who hurried after her so eagerly that the adults, had they not been intent on having a private discussion themselves, might have been suspicious.

The boys followed Kate down the long hallway past Mr. Benedict’s study, thinking they were headed upstairs to talk. To their surprise, however, she turned at the stairs and darted down a seldom-used passage which, as far as Reynie knew, led to nothing but an overcrowded storage room and a utility closet.

“Wait, you really do want help with something?” Sticky asked as they hustled to catch up. “I assumed you wanted to talk about these mysterious visitors.”

“We can talk later,” said Kate. She opened her bucket and handed each of them an empty water glass that she’d smuggled from the dining room. “Right now we’re going to listen.”

“You mean eavesdrop?” said Reynie, raising his eyebrows. He knew this trick—by putting your ear to a glass and the glass to the wall, you could sometimes make out what was said in the next room. He felt his heartbeat quickening.

“But we’ll be seen!” Sticky objected. “Eavesdropping on an official meeting won’t go over very well, you know.”

“Lower your voice,” said Kate with a glance back down the passage. She drew the boys into the utility closet and shut the door. “Listen,” she whispered as she groped for the light switch, “this meeting is obviously unusual. I mean, Mr. Benedict has countless meetings, but you can tell this one is different, can’t you?”

The light came on. The boys, squinting, nodded.

“And chances are we won’t be told anything about it, right? It’s for our own protection, they’ll say—and that’s probably true—but aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know?”

“Of course,” Reynie said. “I’m just wondering how you plan to get away with it.”

Kate looked at Sticky, who was trying not to fidget for fear of knocking over a broom or dust mop. They were rather tightly packed. Cautiously, he nodded. “Yes, how do we do it?”

“Like so,” Kate said with a grin, scooting aside a mop bucket to reveal a large access panel in the wall. She quickly removed its screws, saying, “This old house has been through a lot over the years. Walls knocked down and relocated, plumbing replaced, sockets rewired, you name it. There are lots of what you’d call… eccentricities. Here we go now.”

She lowered the panel to the floor, exposing a tangle of brightly colored, insulated wires draped before a dark empty space—like vines overhanging a cave entrance, Reynie thought, or a bead curtain in a doorway. Kate took out her flashlight, leaving her bucket on the floor nearby. “It’s a tight fit,” she explained. Sweeping the wires to one side, she shone her flashlight into the darkness, then looked back over her shoulder at the boys. “Don’t worry about the wires, they’re not connected anymore. Now listen, we need to be as quiet as mice. No, quieter than that. As quiet as… as…”

“Dead mice?” Reynie suggested.

“Perfect,” said Kate with an approving nod. “As quiet as dead mice.”

And with that, the boys followed Kate into the walls.

H
aving passed through the curtain of dangling wires, Reynie discovered that he could stand upright in the space between walls. It was narrow, with scarcely room to turn his head, but by edging sideways as if shuffling along a ledge he was able to move without bumping the walls. Once or twice Kate directed her flashlight at the floor, drawing his attention to a spot of uneven footing. Each time Reynie swiveled his eyes toward Sticky to be sure he had noticed, too. Then he nodded to Kate, and silently they moved on.

In this way they soon arrived at the wall of Mr. Benedict’s study, beyond which they could hear the muffled tones of conversation. Ever so quietly and carefully, they raised their water glasses and pressed them to the wall.

Reynie heard Number Two’s agitated voice as if from the bottom of a well: “... unannounced? If not for Milligan…” Her words grew indistinct; Reynie pressed his ear to the glass so hard it hurt. “... the whole point being to catch you off guard, no? They want—”

Mr. Benedict’s muted voice came in. “I know, Number Two, but at least we’ve had the experience of observing their methods. It’s instructive, don’t you think?”

A forceful knock sounded at the door. Through the listening glasses the banging came like a series of detonations. Reynie jumped, almost dropping his glass, and Kate (using her opposite ear and thus facing him) wrinkled her nose.

“One moment, please!” called Mr. Benedict, and then in a lower tone, barely audible to the eavesdroppers, he said, “Number Two, you and Milligan had better escort Mr. Bane back down to his post. We don’t want—Why, hello!”—this in a louder, cheerful tone as the door was rudely opened—”Yes, please do come straight in! Take those two chairs. Just brush away the crumbs there—Number Two was enjoying a biscuit. Perhaps you’d care for something yourselves? No?”

A few more pleasantries (on the part of Mr. Benedict), a tense and hushed exchange the eavesdroppers couldn’t make out, and the study door closed. Mr. Benedict and Rhonda had been left alone with the two visitors. One of them Reynie had deduced to be Ms. Argent, a highly placed official who often met with Mr. Benedict, and who was always present when the captured Executives were brought to the house for questioning. She was a key figure in the cases involving Mr. Curtain, and Reynie could easily picture her silver hair and pinched features.

The other visitor had been introduced as Mr. Covett S. Gaines, a man whose deep, gravelly voice, as perceived through the listening glasses, sounded like the rumblings of a tiger.

“Let us cut to the chase,” rumbled Mr. Gaines when the door had closed.

“Certainly,” said Mr. Benedict. “And who is to be chasing whom?”

“What? Is that a joke?”

“Perhaps not a very funny one. Please continue.”

“Very well. Now let’s see… you’ve thrown me off my track.”

“I believe you were about to inform me that you are the head of a new committee assembled to deal with matters concerning the Whisperer, and that as such you have a few questions for me.”

“How the devil did you know that?”

Ms. Argent said, “He often knows such things, Mr. Gaines. The best course is not to grow exercised.”

The iciness in Mr. Gaines’s tone was not lost even through the wall. “I thank you for recommending the best course, Ms. Argent. Perhaps you should lead the way, seeing as you know it so well.”

Ms. Argent cleared her throat. “We’re here to clarify certain things in Mr. Gaines’s mind.”

“Before you make your final decisions, you mean,” said Mr. Benedict.

“No one said anything about decisions,” growled Mr. Gaines. “Right now we’re talking about facts—and I want all of them. I need to know how this Whisperer works, what powers it, what its connection is to you, everything. Start at the beginning, Benedict. Assume I know nothing.”

“That won’t be difficult,” said Mr. Benedict, and Rhonda’s spurt of laughter was surprisingly clear—she must be standing next to the wall—but she instantly disguised it as a coughing fit as Mr. Benedict pressed on. “I mean to say it won’t be difficult to give you the facts. It’s everything
else
that I seem to have trouble conveying.”

“Please,” said Ms. Argent, “just answer Mr. Gaines’s questions.”

Mr. Benedict proceeded to relate the facts. The Whisperer, he said, was powered by the tidal turbines his brother had invented and installed in Stonetown Bay. Due to their remarkable design, these turbines were capable of generating enormous energy (a mere fraction of which had once powered Mr. Curtain’s Institute), but which currently remained unused save for the energy they transmitted to the Whisperer.

“Transmit?” interjected Mr. Gaines. “How? With cables? Wires? Speak plainly, Benedict!”

“Forgive me,” said Mr. Benedict, and then, making liberal use of terms such as “electrical resistance” and “electromagnetic induction” and “receiver coils”—along with a great many terms that only Sticky, of all the eavesdroppers, even faintly recognized—he explained that the energy was transmitted invisibly, without cables or wires. “Is that plain enough, Mr. Gaines?”