Use technology, but don’t count on it. Batteries die. Signals fade. Web pages can be faked. Email can be hacked.
— Rule Number 13 from Rules for a Successful Life as an Undercover Secret Agent
I didn’t know why Stanley hadn’t returned, but whatever the reason, I was sure it couldn’t be good. Celebrating my small victory of faking out Montgomery would have to wait.
Keeping off the main highway, I jogged the three blocks to the sheriff’s office. The sheriff’s cruiser was parked outside. As soon as I opened the door, I heard voices coming from the office. As I went through the second set of double doors, I saw why the sheriff and Stanley hadn’t come to my rescue.
He was talking to her, pointing to his nature photos, which he had spread out across her desk. The sheriff, however, was on the phone, looking none too pleased.
“Stanley, why didn’t you come back?” I asked.
“I’ve been trying to convince Sheriff Baker there’s something terribly wrong. She still doesn’t get it,” he said.
“Mabel’s here,” Sheriff Baker said into the phone as she shot an icy glare at me. Then she hung up.
“He escaped,” I said. “Montgomery got away, and you didn’t help me.”
“Mabel, tell me what is going on.” Sheriff Baker held up a hand to Stanley. “Do not mention bat houses or mammal hibernation to me again.”
I took a deep breath and tried to figure out what I could tell the sheriff. My parents are Cleaners and they’ve been sent on a mission by Agent Montgomery? No, that wouldn’t work. I have Thomas Jefferson’s gold spoons in my basement? True, but that would lead to a whole lot of questions, which we didn’t have time for. Frankenstella are up to something devious? Also true, but I didn’t have enough compelling details to convince her of it. Instead, I thought of something she could take care of. “Stanley and I figured out where Aunt Gertie is.”
“Tell me,” Sheriff Baker said.
“Tim Chamberlain’s warehouse,” I said. “The road is closed for the winter, so no one is supposed to be there, but since there hasn’t been any permanent snowfall yet, it is probably drivable. And the line of black —”
“That’s enough, Mabel,” Sheriff Baker said. “No talking about bat houses.”
“You’ll check it out?” I asked, relieved she was listening to me again.
“I don’t have jurisdiction, but I will get the park rangers to go over there.” True to her word, the sheriff called, putting in a distress code with a warning so the park rangers would know to be careful as they approached the warehouse. “It might take a while.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Both the White River Wilderness Information Center and the Sunrise Visitor Center are closed for the off-season, so there aren’t any rangers stationed nearby. In the meantime, I want you kids to stay here,” she said.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’m going to pay a visit to Inspector Montgomery’s hotel room,” she said as she put on her hat. “Do not leave this office.”
“You know where he’s staying?” I asked.
“At the Inn-Between,” she said. The Inn-Between was a couple of guest cabins located in between Silverton and Bluewater.
“But he’s probably at the warehouse now,” I said.
“I can’t legally search there, but I can search in Silverton,” the sheriff said. “Don’t step one foot out of this building until I come back.”
The doors squeaked as she walked outside, leaving Stanley and me alone. “What do you want to do?” he asked as he gathered all his photos, taking care to put them in the right monthly order.
“Find my aunt,” I said. “She can’t wait hours.”
“Let’s go.” He smiled and placed the photos in his backpack. “And we can examine those bat houses on our way.”
We walked out of the sheriff’s office and up the road we’d hiked just a few days ago. I felt confident that Sheriff Baker would know exactly where to search for us whenever she returned. I tried calling the Agency a few times on each phone as we walked, but no one answered. Stupid spy agency.
Neither of us talked much as we hiked at a very brisk pace. When we had been walking for about thirty-eight minutes, we reached Stanley’s favorite tree grove, seven minutes faster than usual. He took out a photo for guidance. “Look,” he said, pointing to a Douglas fir about twenty feet away. Sure enough, there was a black box with a large antenna.
We walked through the underbrush until we got to the tree. There were no branches to climb. “How can we reach it?” I asked.
“The same way your dad climbs telephone poles,” Stanley said as he took out a set of climbing spikes. Stanley strapped them onto his heels so the two-inch spurs were aimed inward. He placed his arm through a coil of rope and pushed it up on his shoulder, then took out a long, thick belt. He wrapped it around the tree trunk, placed his right foot at about six inches off the ground, and tapped the spur into the tree. He leaned back, just like I’d seen my dad do, using the belt for balance. Then, like Stanley was walking on air, he lifted his left foot, tapped that heel against the tree, and started climbing up. Right, left, right, left. He was at the black box in no time.
He pulled the black box off a hook, tied it around himself with the rope, and descended the trunk.
“When did you learn to climb trees?” I asked, impressed.
“I get bored,” he said, handing the box to me. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a bat house. There was no entrance hole. The antenna was about four feet long and an inch in diameter. The box was made of metal, heavy for its size, and emitted an electronic hum, like the noise in the file cabinet.
Is this connected to my parents’ job as Cleaners? I wondered. “Put it back,” I said.
“OK.” Like always, Stanley didn’t waste time with questions.
When we resumed walking, he offered me water and a granola bar from his backpack. I didn’t feel hungry, but my legs were starting to ache. I knew I’d be no help to anyone if I didn’t have energy, so I ate. While the route from Silverton to Stanley’s favorite tree grove had a very slight incline, from the tree grove onward, it became much steeper until it was obvious we were heading up the mountain.
We soon reached the end of the paved path and the gate, which had a sign saying:
ROAD CLOSED FOR WINTER
KEEP OUT
NO TRESPASSING
After about ten minutes, the dirt path met an old gravel logging road. Stanley pointed to black boxes in trees every five minutes or so, taking pictures as we went. I was nervous about what we might find at the warehouse, and more nervous that we would find nothing.
The gravel road narrowed as we walked. Freshly crushed grass on the sides of the road indicated that a car had been there recently. The trees became denser and the undergrowth thicker. We followed a turn in the road, and Tim Chamberlain’s warehouse — as large as my house and the museum together, metal, and dirt brown — appeared. Montgomery’s car was parked at the end of the road. Stanley had read the topological map correctly.
The huge sliding doors were partially opened, letting out the sound of clanking and an undercurrent of voices. I couldn’t understand the exact words, but they sounded rushed. I turned to Stanley with a finger on my lips, and was surprised to see that he was making the hush sign at me too. He motioned for us to go through the undergrowth and around to the back of the warehouse. I nodded, following him through the trees until we reached the back.
In just a few years of disuse, weeds had popped through cracks in the cement of the helicopter landing pad. But they hadn’t prevented a Robinson R22 Beta II from landing here. The blue helicopter was small yet agile, with room for a pilot and one passenger. Dad loved flying them, which was why I recognized it on sight. Mom could pilot one too. All Agents could; it was standard training. My heart sunk. Was it possible Montgomery really was an Agent? Doesn’t matter, Sunflower. Focus on the mission: Find and rescue Aunt Gertie.
I continued my recon. Vines crept up the back of the warehouse’s corrugated metal siding until they reached the large windows, which were propped open. Stanley touched me on the shoulder, then pointed to a nearby tree — another black box. We were hot on the trail of… something.
In back of the building there were no bushes around to hide behind if anyone was on patrol, but I decided to take a chance. I walked up to the back wall of the warehouse and pressed my ear to the metal. Some type of machinery was in use — clang, whoosh, clang, whoosh. Stanley joined me, his eyes closed, eyebrows wiggling, and mouth open.
“We don’t have all day,” Montgomery said. I flinched at the sound of his voice. I whipped my head around, but he wasn’t outside. He must have been standing really close to the wall inside. “I don’t know where your troublesome niece went, and I don’t want to be here when she figures it out.”
“You worry too much. What can Moppet do?” That was Frank. “She’s just a girl.”
I can figure out the suitcase’s code, which unlocked Thomas Jefferson’s gold spoons, I thought. And break into the museum without setting off the alarm. And track you to a remote location.
They spoke some more, but their voices and footsteps grew fainter as they walked away from the window, making it difficult to make out their words.
“Once the print job is complete, we’re leaving,” Montgomery said. “And you’re coming with me.”
Print job? Was that the clang, whoosh sound?
“Just tell me where you put the red suitcase, Gert,” Frank said.
I was right. Aunt Gertie was being held here. Where are the park rangers?
“I’ve never seen a red suitcase. Our parents didn’t have one. We never traveled anywhere.” Aunt Gertie’s voice sounded hoarse and tired. “Frank, if I knew where it was, I would tell you.”
I thought about the size of the warehouse. Big enough to park six school buses — three rows of two deep — inside. Since I could hear them clearly, that meant Aunt Gertie and the men were at the back. How can I get Aunt Gertie out of there without Frank and Montgomery noticing me?
“Sad about leaving the warehouse, Frank?” Montgomery’s tone was joking. “Are you going to miss this place?”
Frank grunted in reply.
“It was a good setup for you — rent-free with no one bothering you,” Montgomery continued. “Wouldn’t you agree, Frank?”
I couldn’t hear Frank’s answer.
“True,” Montgomery continued. “Living in the woods is fine in the fall with its warm, sunny days. Winter, especially up here on the mountain, gets downright frosty at night.”
A memory fell into place. Victoria had smelled of the woods that first morning when she’d taken video of me sleeping. This must be where Frankenstella had been living, plotting against my family. No wonder they wanted to take over my house.
“So, leaving you here — all tied up — wouldn’t do, Ms. Baies,” Montgomery said. “Tell me where the red suitcase is, and I’ll release you before I leave the country.”
“I still say we should just leave her,” Frank said. The clang, whoosh sound stopped. “It’s done.”
“She knows too much,” Montgomery said. “I’ll bring her with me. She’ll talk.”
“No, I won’t,” Aunt Gertie said. “Because I don’t know anything.”
“They all talk eventually,” Montgomery said.
“I want what’s mine,” Frank said.
“The suitcase has been hidden for thirty years. A few more days won’t make a difference,” Montgomery said. “Pack the car, Frank. We’re leaving now.”
“Why the car?” Frank asked. “We’re taking the helicopter.”
Not all three of you, I thought.
“It’s a two-seater,” Montgomery said, “and you don’t know how to fly it. We’ll meet at the rendezvous in three days.”
(Rendezvous was a French [and spy] term for an agreed upon meeting spot.)
There was the sound of a chair being dragged on the floor and more talking, but the voices had moved away again.
I couldn’t let Montgomery take Aunt Gertie in the helicopter. With the Robinson R22 Beta II’s range of two hundred and fifty miles, he could fly almost anywhere. The Canadian border was about two hundred miles north. The Pacific Ocean was less than one hundred and thirty miles west, and who knew if he had a boat waiting for him in international waters? I tugged Stanley’s arm and led him into the undergrowth. “You go to Silverton and tell Sheriff Baker what we’ve discovered.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked me.
“Stop Montgomery from getting on that helicopter,” I said.
“The park rangers should be here soon,” Stanley said. “I’ll make sure Frank won’t be able to drive anywhere.”
“How?” I asked.
Stanley pulled out his pocketknife. “Can you disable the helicopter?”
“I’m too short to reach its engine,” I said. “I’ll just have to keep them here.”
“Be careful,” he said. We walked together around the side of the warehouse. I stood next to the open doors, but out of sight from the inside.
Stanley ran to the car, slashing the first tire with a quick cut. He darted around until all four were cut. I could hear the hiss of air from where I stood. I watched Stanley running down the path. When he was no longer visible, and the car’s tires were flat, I walked into the warehouse’s open doorway.
“Hi,” I said to three very startled adults.