Framed

  “I don’t care what he gets away with,” Ben said unhappily. “I just want Griffin back.”

  Melissa’s voice was quiet, but as usual, her words cut straight to the heart of the matter. “If Griffin was here, he wouldn’t be complaining about how unfair it is. He’d be thinking of a way to fix it.”

  Helpless glances were traded up and down the table. It seemed that the one team member who would know what to do was the one who was missing in action.

  11

  There were no lockers at Jail For Kids. The JFK faculty didn’t think it was a good idea to provide their troubled students with ready-made hiding places. As a result, everyone carried around a heavy knapsack of books and possessions, creating traffic jams in the halls and countless sore backs.

  One of Sheldon Brickhaus’s favorite “greetings” was to come up behind Griffin and pull on his pack so hard that the straps cut off the circulation to his lungs. It always got a panicked reaction from Griffin, punctuated by a cry of shock and terrified wheezing.

  Today, however, it passed almost unnoticed, which Shank found surprising and unsatisfying.

  “What’s up with you, Justice? You’re a shadow of your former self.”

  “Leave me alone,” Griffin grumbled, too wrapped up in his own problems to worry about what Shank might do to him. Things were so awful that any change counted as an improvement, even being pounded into hamburger by his JFK classmate.

  Shank was not the type to be driven off. “Okay, give it up. What’s wrong?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Griffin was bitter. “Look around you! Maybe you think you belong in this dump; I don’t.”

  The short, powerfully built boy was skeptical. “Yeah, but you didn’t belong here last week, either, and you weren’t like this. Something happened over the weekend. What?”

  Even through his deep funk, Griffin couldn’t help noticing that Sheldon Brickhaus was a lot sharper than the mindless sawed-off muscle-headed bully that he chose to present to the world.

  Still, Griffin was in no mood to bare his soul to a Hummer with size-fourteen construction boots. “What do you care?” he muttered.

  “What are you talking about? We’re friends!”

  Search as he might, Griffin could find no insincerity in Shank’s concrete features. This serial torturer actually considered himself a friend! Griffin could only imagine how he treated his enemies.

  Surviving the rest of the school day brought no relief. He peered bleakly through the flyspecked bus window at a town he barely recognized. Cedarville, where he’d lived his whole life, seemed as alien as the surface of Mars.

  Except for a thirty-second conversation with Ben on Saturday, he’d had no contact with his friends since the courthouse debacle. Oh, yeah, and Ben waving from a distance this morning. It was better than nothing, he guessed, but his friend sure hadn’t tried to get any closer. Were Griffin’s friends abandoning him? He couldn’t blame them if they were. He certainly didn’t want them to share his fate, but it hurt to be facing this alone.

  His mother was waiting at the bus stop. Another humiliation. Twelve years old, and Mommy had to walk him the forty feet to his front door, thanks to Judge Koretsky. Mom couldn’t take the chance that her loser son might dawdle on the way home while under house arrest. Also, it might have been just his imagination, but he had been noticing a lot more patrol cars cruising down their quiet little street.

  He caught a smirk from behind the beard of the six-foot-four high schooler. A few of the more prominent lowlifes pounded at the bus windows. Now Griffin would be branded as the mama’s boy of JFK. Perfect, Griffin thought, spread it around. Why should Shank have all the fun?

  The effort of maintaining a smile was practically breaking Mom’s face. “How was school, dear?” she asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She sighed. “Humor me, Griffin. I know it’s a rough time, but we still have to try to live our lives.”

  As he trudged upstairs and faced the prospect of being shut in until bus time tomorrow, it didn’t feel like he was living his own life or anybody else’s.

  Griffin Bing had no life.

  The boredom set in almost immediately. He never thought he’d miss homework, but he could have used a little now, just to pass the time. There wasn’t any homework at JFK — probably because no one would do it.

  He was almost asleep from the sheer inactivity when there was a scratching and scrabbling at his window. He pulled the curtain aside and jumped back in shock.

  A hairy, scrunched-up monkey face grinned in at him — Cleopatra, Savannah’s pet capuchin.

  He pulled up the sash. “Cleo, go home! Savannah’s probably calling the FBI right now! Go on, beat it!”

  The monkey stayed, hanging on to the shutter by her tail. That was when Griffin noticed the note card stuffed under her collar. He reached out and drew her into the room. A second later, the message was in his trembling fingers.

  COME TO THE BASEMENT

  With Cleopatra tucked under his arm like a football, he took the steps three at a time, careful to shield his passenger as he passed by the front hall, where Mom might spot him. He raced down the next flight and jumped to the cement floor. There, pressed against a high casement, was another face, this one human. Ben.

  Griffin stood on a chair and opened the window. They all poured in — Ben first, followed by Savannah, Pitch, Logan, and Melissa.

  “Man, am I ever glad to see you guys!” Griffin exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “We came to show you something,” Pitch replied.

  “Show me what?”

  “This.” Ben held out a sheet of paper, neatly folded in half.

  Griffin was completely bewildered. “What is it?”

  Savannah was impatient. “What do you think it is? How many times have you told us the only way to get anything accomplished is to have a plan?”

  Slowly, Griffin unfolded the page and caught a glimpse of the heading at the top:

  OPERATION STAKEOUT

  He stared at the words. “You guys made a plan? For me?”

  “So help me, Griffin,” Pitch warned, “if you’re going to cry, I’m out of here!”

  “No — it’s just — I didn’t think — I can’t believe —”

  The emotion was almost overwhelming. Here he was, The Man With The Plan, backed into a corner where no plan was possible. And along came his five best friends in the world with this precious page. Even if their plan turned out to be idiotic and useless, it was still the greatest gift he would ever receive.

  OBJECTIVE: To PROVE Dr. Evil stole the Super Bowl ring.

  METHOD: Intense SURVEILLANCE of Egan home.

  BASE OF OPERATIONS: Drysdales’ ATTIC. Window has unobstructed view of TARGET RESIDENCE.

  THE TEAM:

  PITCH BENSON, climber

  Mission: Placing cameras and listening devices in trees and on roof.

  MELISSA DUKAKIS, technology

  Mission: Computer monitoring of electronic surveillance.

  BEN SLOVAK, spy

  Mission: Eavesdropping from small hiding places.

  LOGAN KELLERMAN, actor

  Mission: Using theatrical skill to befriend Dr. Evil’s daughter.

  SAVANNAH DRYSDALE, command center manager Mission: Running base of operations and keeping parents out.

  LUTHOR, distraction specialist

  Mission: Providing audio cover (barking).

  This plan is dedicated to our friend Griffin Bing, who never let us down.

  “What do you think?” Ben asked anxiously.

  “A stakeout!” Griffin’s eyes were alight with excitement. “It’s so simple that it’s brilliant! We know he’s got the ring. All we have to do is watch him. He’s bound to make a mistake. I just wish I could be there with you.”

  Melissa stepped forward. “Show me your computer. I can stream the whole stakeout to you live. You’ll see what we see.”

  “That’s awesome!” Griffin cr
owed. “You only left one thing out — when?”

  Savannah cradled Cleopatra lovingly. “No time like the present. My parents are going out to dinner. We set up tonight.”

  12

  The command center was dusty and unfinished, with a plywood floor and exposed beams on the walls. The attic was jam-packed with boxes, luggage, and an amazing amount of sporting equipment — tents, kayaks, Coleman stoves. The Drysdales had been big-time campers before their daughter’s growing collection of animals kept them tethered to home for all but the occasional overnight.

  The low ceiling slanted downward with the A-line of the roof, meeting the baseboard everywhere except at a single dormer window. It looked out over the street and — more important — the Egan home.

  Ben crouched on the floor, wrapping duct tape around the broken leg of a camera tripod. The long telephoto lens loomed over him, peering out the dormer. It was focused on the principal’s living room window, waiting to capture a glimpse of the stolen Super Bowl ring for Judge Koretsky.

  Suddenly, he felt hot breath on the back of his neck. He looked up to find himself staring into Luthor’s gaping mouth from point-blank range.

  With a wheeze, he leaped to his feet. Wham! His head slammed into the sloping ceiling with such force that Ferret Face popped out of his shirt. The small weasel-like creature was already running when he hit the floor. He skittered across the plywood and disappeared up the leg of Logan’s jeans.

  “Hey!” Logan began to shake his leg wildly until the ferret abandoned his pants and scrambled back to Ben.

  Pitch grinned. “I thought you were just an actor. I didn’t know you could dance, too.”

  “Big joke.” Logan was insulted. “I’m preparing for a complex and challenging role.”

  “What’s so challenging?” asked Savannah. “All you have to do is make friends with Egan’s daughter to see if you can find out where her dad stashed the ring.”

  “But I’m not friends with Egan’s daughter,” Logan lectured. “I have to get in character. It takes concentration — which you can’t do when you’re being attacked by a wild animal!” He glowered at the ferret in Ben’s hands.

  “Speaking of wild animals” — Pitch turned to Savannah — “how’s your little rodent problem? I don’t do rats.”

  “Oh, that’s all over — I hope,” Savannah assured her. “We haven’t seen him in a while. Although he could pop back up at any time. Luthor’s on the lookout!”

  “Hang on, you guys —” Melissa was pounding the keyboard of one of the three networked laptops that were the brains of Operation Stakeout. “Just a few more seconds … there!” She clicked the mouse, and Griffin’s face appeared on the center screen.

  There was applause in the attic.

  Melissa did not join the celebration. Where computers were concerned, she was all business. “Are you with us?”

  “I can see you guys,” Griffin’s tinny voice came through the speaker, “but how will I be able to check out what’s going on at Dr. Evil’s place?”

  “I’ll set up a split screen so you can follow the remote cameras once they’re online,” Melissa assured him.

  “I’d give anything to be there with you guys,” Griffin said wanly.

  “You might want to rethink that,” advised Ben as a droplet of dog drool landed on his sneaker.

  Pitch fidgeted with the nervous impatience of someone with a job to do. “What are we waiting for? It’s dark enough. I can be up those trees, on the roof, and finished before Egan looks out his window.”

  “Not yet,” Savannah cautioned. “I’ve been watching that house. Trust me, we’ll know when it’s time.”

  Ten minutes later, her strategy became clear. The front door of 44 Honeybee Street opened, and out stepped Dr. Egan, along with his wife and their two children — an eleven-year-old girl on a razor scooter and a three-year-old boy in a stroller.

  “What is it?” asked Griffin over the laptop.

  “Right on schedule,” said Savannah with satisfaction. “The Egans take a family walk every night around now. They’re gone between forty minutes and an hour. Sometimes they come back with ice cream.”

  Ben squinted out the window. “Anybody know the daughter? Does she go to our school?”

  “I think she’s a sixth grader at the elementary,” Savannah replied. “Why?”

  Ben looked uncomfortable. “I guess I never thought Dr. Evil could have a daughter who looks — you know — nice.”

  “Don’t worry,” Logan assured all of them. “I’ll craft a character so perfect it will reveal her like an X-ray. If she knows where the ring is, so will we.”

  “Don’t get fancy,” Griffin advised from the laptop. “She may be new in town, but you’re not. If you make up some cockamamy identity, somebody will come along and call you by your real name. And then you’re busted.”

  Pitch grabbed the knapsack that held the surveillance equipment. “The coast is clear.” She reached for Ben’s arm. “We’re on.”

  As they exited the house and scampered across the street, Ben felt the familiar pounding in his ears. Another operation. Even now, the word stuck in his throat. He was fairly sure normal people didn’t get mixed up in anything that had to be called Operation ______. But then he thought of Griffin and hurried along.

  At the Egans’ property line, he and Pitch separated. Pitch melted into the boughs of a lush sycamore, and Ben headed for the lookout spot — the wood box on the front porch.

  At the sound of his own footsteps on the plank deck, a chill ran along his spine. He was a scant five feet from Dr. Evil’s front door. If ever a place counted as behind enemy lines, this had to be it.

  He slipped under the hinged lid and into the woodpile. A cricket chirped close enough to his ear to stop his heart.

  Bugs! There are bugs in here!

  In a flash, Ferret Face was out and munching on an earwig.

  Go, little buddy! Eat ‘em all!

  He stuck a wood chip under the lid, which gave him a view of the front yard and the street in both directions. Peering straight up, he caught sight of Pitch, high in the tree, affixing the first wireless webcam to a branch.

  “First camera’s in place,” he murmured into his walkie-talkie.

  “Roger that,” came Savannah’s voice. “How’s Pitch?”

  He watched her scramble back down the first trunk with the ease of a squirrel. Her high-flying confidence was a mystery to Ben. “Nuts,” he said honestly. “She’s heading up the second tree….”

  It was the last thing Ben remembered for several minutes.

  Pitch wrapped the Velcro strap around the second webcam, setting it firmly in place pointed at an upstairs window.

  Hanging on to the tree, she spoke into the walkie-talkie clipped to the front of her shirt. “Number two in place. Check it.”

  “Point it down slightly,” came Melissa’s instructions.

  Pitch tapped at the tiny device.

  “Perfect,” Melissa approved.

  “Great. I’ll place the microphone and then I’m out of here.” That meant she had to get to the roof.

  She found a sturdy limb that reached toward the house and crept along it as far as she dared. Then, in a remarkable display of balance, she transferred herself onto the dark green shingles. The roof was sloped, but she stepped lightly, with sure feet, and made her way to the chimney.

  From the backpack, she took the final surveillance device Melissa had provided — a wireless microphone on a long, thin rope. She tied the end of the tether to the steel mesh of the chimney cap and lowered the unit down the shaft. If Melissa’s calculations were right — and the shy girl was never wrong — the microphone should hang in the fireplace, just out of sight. From there, it would pick up most of what was being said in the entire house.

  Her face twisted. Bad enough we have to listen to the guy all day in school; now we have to hear him singing in the shower!

  But of course it was worth it — for Griffin.

  For
the first time, she noticed it was raining a little — tiny cold drops. It would be a good idea to get off this roof before the shingles became wet and slippery. Gingerly, she started toward the eaves.

  And froze.

  There, hurrying up the street, were the Egans, coming home early because of the rain. And not a peep of warning from Ben Slovak, the lookout.

  She was trapped on the roof!

  13

  Pitch ducked back behind the chimney. “Ben!” she hissed into the walkie-talkie. A soft snore was her reply. “Ferret Face, what are you doing? Your man’s sleeping on the job!”

  In the wood box, Ben awoke with a start. “What? What?”

  “Shhh, you idiot! Egan’s coming up the front walk!”

  Ben looked around, desperately trying to reacquire his bearings. Beside him, Ferret Face was chasing a grasshopper around a big log. No wonder he’d fallen asleep, with the animal bug-hunting instead of keeping him awake. He grabbed the ferret and stuck him back inside his shirt.

  His mind raced. Should I make a run for it?

  The first footfall hit the porch.

  Too late!

  There wasn’t even time to remove the chip propping open the wood box. If Dr. Evil looked over and wondered why the lid was slightly ajar …

  Ben hugged his ferret to his chest and prayed for invisibility.

  The daughter passed by — blond hair, turned-up nose.

  She has freckles — you can’t see them from a distance….

  “Let’s go, Lindsay,” came the mother’s voice. “Leave your scooter where it won’t get wet.”

  Her name is Lindsay….

  A split second later, all rational thought was paralyzed. The narrow strip that was his field of vision was filled with Dr. Evil. The principal passed so close that Ben could practically count the man’s nose hairs.

  Don’t see me…. Don’t see me…. Don’t see me….

  Ben hunkered down, not even daring to breathe. The next thing he heard was the front door closing. The family was gone from the porch.

  In the command center in Savannah’s attic, Melissa clicked her mouse, and the voices of the Egans came through one of the laptops.