They had two hours to kill before heading off for the next game, this one against the Portland Panthers, the team the Owls had come up against in so many other tournaments.
Muck told them they could take a nap in their rooms or go for a walk around the block, but nothing energetic and no straying too far.
Travis tried to doze off a while. Fahd began flipping once again through the TV channels.
Click.
“Darn!”
Click.
“Stupid!”
Click.
“Gimmee that!” someone screamed out.
It was Nish, his hand shaking as he reached out and demanded the remote from Fahd.
“GIVE IT TO ME!” Nish shouted.
“Okay, okay,” Fahd said, flipping it to him.
Nish jammed it into his belt. “You watch way too much television, you know,” he said angrily.
“And you don’t?” Fahd asked.
“Muck wants you to get ready for the game,” Nish said, his face beaming red. “Think about that, not some stupid cartoons.”
With the remote control still jammed in his belt, Nish walked out and slammed the door.
Nish had never gone for a walk in his life. He adored cartoons. And since when had noise ever bothered him?
“I don’t understand,” said Lars.
“There’s something he doesn’t want us to know,” suggested Travis.
“Or see,” added Fahd.
“What do you mean?” Travis asked.
“He took the remote,” Fahd said. “It can’t be just to stop me watching cartoons.”
“Then why?” asked Lars.
“So we couldn’t watch,” said Travis. “There’s something on TV that’s bothering him.”
“Let’s check it out,” said Fahd.
“We can’t!” Lars said, shaking his head in disbelief. “He took the control – remember?”
Fahd giggled. “I know he took it,” he said. “But don’t forget he also brought one.”
The TV remote from home! The one that was supposed to get Nish access to those movies he was always trying to see.
“Where is it?” Lars demanded.
“In his equipment bag,” Fahd said.
All three looked at each other.
“I’m not sticking my hand in there!” said Fahd.
“We need one of those dogs!” laughed Lars.
“C’mon,” said Travis. “Somebody’s got to do it.”
They gathered over Nish’s hockey bag like they were about to defuse a bomb. Travis quickly unzipped the bag.
“Open the window!” Fahd called.
“I’ll get it!” Lars said, glad for an excuse to back away.
Travis held his nose and reached his free hand in, moving it about quickly. His imagination raced with wild ideas: tarantulas, lizards, rattlesnakes, rotting corpses, slugs, horse droppings …
“It might not be so bad,” Fahd said in a calm voice. “Everything’s fairly fresh since they blew up his other bag.”
Travis groped around, then felt something that was either a rock-hard chocolate bar or the remote. He pulled it out.
Mrs. Nishikawa’s missing remote!
“I’m surprised the plastic didn’t melt,” said Lars.
Travis aimed Mrs. Nishikawa’s remote at the television and pushed “power.” The television clicked, hissed, then brightened. He pushed the channel button.
Click.
A nature show.
Click.
News.
Click.
More news.
“It’s the same old junk!” Fahd whined. “There’s nothing here about the hockey team.”
Lars seemed unconvinced. “If there’s nothing on but news,” he said, “maybe it’s the news he doesn’t want us watching.”
Travis clicked over to CNN, the all-news channel. There were more reports from the White House. Then more political experts. Then reports from the countries involved in the Summit.
“Bor-ring!” Fahd called out every so often.
“A few more minutes,” said Lars. He seemed to be losing hope himself.
The news anchor was smiling now.
“A most unusual development today at the White House Summit,” she said. “We go now to Andrew Carter for a report.”
The three boys watched as the picture turned to a CNN reporter standing just in front of the White House.
“White House staff have been scrambling since before noon to explain the circumstances behind today’s bizarre developments at the Summit …”
The screen switched to stock shots of the Summit: mostly men talking to other men, men meeting in corridors, men gathered around a long table.
“Around 10:45, according to witnesses, a door to the boardroom where the main Summit participants had gathered burst open, and what appeared to be a naked young man wearing only a hockey goaltender’s mask ran into the room, stopped sharply, and ran right back out …
“Both sides have accused the other of deliberately trying to sabotage the Summit with this unusual incident …
“CNN has obtained amateur videotape of the incident taken by one of the participating officials. We apologize for the poor quality, but it does give some sense of what occurred late this morning at the White House …”
The screen went fuzzy, a lens moved in and out of focus. The video was of poor quality, as warned, but clearly showed men gathering in a room and sitting down. Then the picture jumped and blurred across the room to catch only the hasty exit of the young man.
A young man wearing nothing but a goalie mask, his big, naked bum churning out the door.
“I’d recognize that butt anywhere,” said Lars, shaking his head.
Travis closed his eyes, hoping it would go away. When he opened them the film was being run again. Nish’s naked butt, on instant replay!
CNN switched back to the reporter, who was doing his best not to smile.
“Early reports were that this was a prank pulled off by the President’s hockey-loving son, Chase, but the White House has strongly denied that the naked youngster is Chase Jordan …
“The White House has assured Summit participants that an immediate investigation will be carried out and, once identified, the guilty party will issue an apology. The incident is being treated as a scandal in parts of the Middle East, where public streaking is not considered quite as humorous as it might be here in North America. The President, according to sources, is furious over the incident and fearful that it may derail the agreement he had hoped could be reached today.”
Travis flicked the channel.
More news on the White House streaker. More videotape replay.
Another channel, one more shot of the streaker.
“That’s our teammate,” Lars said.
“Internationally famous,” added Fahd, “just like he always wanted.”