Travis woke to the sound of Fahd clicking through the television channels in search of cartoons.
Click.
“Shoot!”
Click.
“Bor-ring!”
Click.
“Dumb!”
Click.
“It should be illegal to run news on Saturday mornings!”
Travis rolled over, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and trying to focus on the rapidly flipping television screen. Fahd was right. Saturday morning in Washington, D.C., and it seemed every television station was talking about the big crisis they were trying to solve at the White House. Channel after channel showed nothing but men in blue suits talking. A spokesman from the White House was saying they were this close – and he held out his thumb and forefinger with a tiny gap between them – from reaching a breakthrough agreement. No one knew what would happen, but that wasn’t stopping every expert on television from giving an opinion.
Travis agreed with Fahd. He’d rather watch cartoons.
“This is ridiculous!” said Fahd, slamming down the remote.
Travis was about to suggest they pass on cartoons and play a round of Nintendo instead, when the telephone rang beside Nish’s bed.
A huge pillow looped over from the other side and smothered the phone. Nish’s way of answering.
Lars dug out the phone and answered it. “Johanssen.”
Travis shook his head. He’d never heard anyone answer a telephone that way until Lars came over from Sweden. Lars said he couldn’t understand why people in North America just answered “Hello,” and he refused to change.
“Uh huh … yeah … uh huh … okay … thanks.” He hung up.
Travis waited, but Lars wasn’t quick enough. “What?” Travis and Fahd said at once.
“Mr. Dillinger. Chase Jordan’s pulled a few strings, it seems.”
“Meaning?” Fahd said, again not waiting for Lars to finish.
“Our White House tour starts in forty-five minutes!”
Fahd pumped a fist. “Yes!”
On Nish’s bed, several pillows shifted. A huge, puzzled face emerged, like a bear shaking off a cover of snow.
“Huh?” Nish grunted.
“The tour! Nish! We got the tour!”
“Whazzat?” Nish mumbled.
“We’re going to the White House!”
Nish shook his head again, rubbed a hand through his flyaway hair, then began nodding and smiling.
“You gotta get ready,” Fahd said, scrambling to put on his Owls track pants.
“We’ve only got forty-five minutes,” added Lars.
With a big arm, Nish swept away the remaining pillows and sheets that were covering him.
He was buck-naked, not a stitch on.
“I’m already ready!”
They made it easily. Mr. Dillinger had the bus rolled up to the hotel entrance and the Owls hurried out and into their seats for the short ride over to the White House. They were all in their team windbreakers, Nish included. They had on their Owls track pants, Nish included. He’d even taken time to comb his unruly hair. They looked like a perfect, well-behaved peewee hockey team, which is exactly what they were – with one possible exception. But Travis wasn’t that worried about Nish. He wouldn’t have the nerve to try anything stupid here.
Chase Jordan had made wonderful arrangements. A tour guide met their bus and took them in through a special entrance. With the Summit underway, most of the White House had been cordoned off to the usual tour groups, but there were still parts of the enormous building open to the public, and the Owls were going to see other rooms in the White House that visitors rarely see.
Chase Jordan high-fived the Owls as he joined them for the tour. He was wearing his Washington Wall track pants and a Capitals T-shirt.
The guide was great. She told stories about the history of the White House, and even one wild story about a child ghost – a young son of Abraham Lincoln who had died there – who people claimed to have seen over the past century and more. She took them through the portrait gallery and showed them various rooms – including the Lincoln bedroom, where rich tourists were allowed to pay to stay over. No one seemed more pleased with the tour than Muck, the history lover. Chase Jordan added the odd story from the present. He even showed them his secret hall, where he and his brother sometimes played hockey mini-sticks below the glowering portraits of Herbert Hoover and George Washington.
“We’re going now to see the Oval Office,” the guide told them. “That’s where the President does most of his work.”
“Is he there now?” Fahd asked.
The guide shook her head, smiling. “No. I’m afraid not. There are special meetings going on in the West Wing, where we won’t be allowed today. They might prove to be the most important meetings in the world this year. So you’re lucky to be here on such a historic occasion.”
“Fantastic!” Sam said. “We get to be a part of history!”
Travis felt Sarah nudging his arm. She had a worried look on her face.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“Have you seen Nish?”
Travis looked around.
“I think I saw him and Chase slip through that door back there,” Sarah whispered as quietly as she could.
Travis squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head violently.
Surely not.
Anything but that.