And that’s what I did. All the way to California. Even when we had to stop and refuel in Montana, I didn’t get off the plane. I thought about everything. From the time I literally stumbled over Boone in the desert to poofing on top of a Chicago skyscraper. I thought about the bombing in Washington, D.C. Then I remembered how we stopped the ghost cell in San Antonio and Chicago. But no matter what we did, they still managed to hurt people in Atlanta, Paris, and L.A.
And for some reason, that made me think of Speed. My real dad. He lived in L.A. I wondered if he was okay.
“Hey, Angela,” I said. She looked up at me from her computer screen. No doubt she was using whatever down time we might have to study something.
“Yeah?”
“You know that tracker thing Boone put in my dad’s boot?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you pull up that program on your laptop? See where he is?”
Angela looked at me for a few brief seconds. Her hands worked the keyboard.
“The signal shows it’s coming from Key West, in the Florida Keys,” she said.
She turned the screen around so I could see it. It showed a map of southern Florida. Way out in the Keys a red dot blinked.
“Thanks,” I said, “I appreciate it.”
Speed had really gone to the Keys. Just like he said he would. It was probably the first true thing he’d ever told me in my life. Of course he waited until he and my mom were divorced to say it. But at least he was okay.
Angela was quiet all the way until we landed at the San Francisco airport. Mom and Roger had sat in the front of the plane with Heather the entire time. I knew Mom was just giving me space. I also knew the three of them were talking about nothing else but the attacks and what had happened with Buddy T. Why hadn’t he come back? If only they knew what we knew.
Marie and Art sat in the middle. Marie had her everpresent look of serenity on her face. I knew she could probably kill someone seven different ways with just her thumb. But no one would ever see it coming. Art was a little more intense. Unlike Marie, Art’s face was not serene. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were clear and bright. I was pretty sure he wanted to get in on the action. Find a terrorist he could punch in the head several times. But Boone picked and trained his people very well. I knew Mom and Roger were safe with Marie and Art watching them.
We landed in a part of the airport reserved for private craft. The inside of the terminal looked a lot like a regular terminal, only not as big. It had less security, and big glass windows you could look out of. Lots of other planes were landing and taxiing around. Then I saw it. About three hundred yards away was a hangar area for military aircraft. A giant cargo plane was parked on the tarmac. The back end of it was opened up and a huge ramp descended from the inside. A Marathon coach rolled down the ramp. It looked a lot like ours. Probably because it had a big “Match” logo on the side. Then a Range Rover rolled down the ramp. Followed by the intellimobile. It was ours! Uh-oh. And Mom and Roger were standing right there. Their backs were to the window but they could turn around at any second. If they spotted the coach and recognized it, we were in for a lot of questions. Starting with why their coach was being unloaded from a military aircraft.
I caught Art’s attention and nodded out the window. He followed my gaze and his eyes went wide. We had to get Mom and Roger and Heather out of there. And fast. But how? I saw a little kiosk across the terminal that sold magazines, sodas, and candy bars. Quickly, I sped over and rummaged through my cargo pants until I found enough change to buy a Kit Kat bar. I hustled back to a spot twenty feet from the group and stood so that I was facing the window. Then I made a big loud show of ripping open the wrapping and snapping off a piece of chocolate. I took a big bite. It was like heaven on my tongue.
Angela noticed me first and her mouth made an O shape.
“Q?” she said. “What—?”
I shushed her.
The commotion attracted Mom’s and Roger’s attention. Roger looked at the candy bar, then at me. His expression was not pleasant.
“Q!” My mom said. She stomped over to me. “What are you doing?”
“Eating a candy bar,” I said. “It was a long flight.”
“You know we don’t eat like that anymore. That’s very disrespectful to Roger. What has gotten into you?” she asked.
“Right now, chocolate. And since I’ve got to go to boarding school, I feel like I should at least get to eat what I want,” I said.
“Q! I know you’re not happy about this decision. But it’s been made. So you’ll just have to accept it. This isn’t like you. And no matter how mad you are, you don’t get to be rude to Roger. He’s done nothing to deserve it. Now you throw that out right now!” she said.
“All right, fine,” I said.
I stalked off toward a trash can that was about fifty feet away. As I did, I glanced out the window. The three vehicles were pulling away. I kept moving toward the trash can and all eyes in the group were on me. Mom followed along in lockstep.
When I reached the trash can she put her hand on my arm. She had placed herself between me and Roger.
“Q before you throw that away give me a piece, will you? This diet we’re on? I’m starving.”
Chinese Food
Union Square in San Francisco was its usual buzz of activity. Commuters on their way to work rushed by with briefcases and cups of coffee in hand. Street performers and homeless people competed for spare change. No one noticed an older, gray-haired bearded man and his aging dog materialize on a previously empty bench.
Boone leaned forward and put his arms on his knees. His entire body ached and he felt weak and dizzy. His breathing was labored and it took him several minutes to catch his breath. No one stopped to ask him if he was okay. People passed by without noticing him at all. In a city like San Francisco an old man like Boone was invisible.
Croc was lying at his feet and finally rose slowly, pawing at Boone’s leg as he did.
“I know, boy,” Boone said. As he reached down to stroke the dog’s head the muscles in his arm cramped and he groaned with the effort. “It’s getting harder for me every time, isn’t it?”
Croc lay back down on the ground, resting his head on Boone’s foot.
“I think that’s the last one for a while. Going to take some time to build up the energy again, don’t you think?”
Croc raised his head to look at Boone and the old man could swear the dog nodded in agreement.
“What would I do without you?” he said with a sigh. “We’ve got to get moving, pal. There’s a lot to do. People are depending on us.”
The morning fog had burned off and the sun was bright in the sky. Boone leaned back on the bench. He let the sun warm his face. It was a glorious day. The kind of day he would enjoy if he didn’t feel so weak.
Croc whined.
“I know. You’re hungry. Just a few more minutes, buddy.”
Finally Boone felt like he had the strength to stand and walk.
Croc barked and huffed at his feet, standing now, his tail wagging.
“Seriously? Chinese food? This early? You know what Chinese does to your—”
Croc barked, louder this time. Interrupting him.
“All right, all right … you win. Chinese it is. But absolutely no kung pao chicken.”
Croc whined.
“No. Way.”
Boone stood and stretched. With Croc at his side, he headed for Chinatown.
Disappearing into the crowd.
Roland Smith
Roland Smith is a New York Times best-selling author of eighteen novels for young readers and more than a dozen nonfiction titles and picture books. Raised in the music business, Smith has incorporated his experience into the I,Q series. When he’s not at home writing, Smith spends a good part of the year speaking with students at schools around the country. Learn more about the I,Q books at www.iqtheseries.com. Learn more about Roland Smith at www.rolandsmith.com.
Michael P. Spradlin
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New York Times best-selling author Michael P. Spradlin has written more than twenty books for children and adults. He is the author of the Killer Species series and the international best-selling The Youngest Templar trilogy. He lives in Michigan and can be visited on the Web at michaelspradlin.com.
www.IQtheSeries.com
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Cast of Characters
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10: 10:00 a.m. to 12 noon CST Incoming
Running Into Trouble
Running Errands
New Rules
All in Good Time
Why Doesn’t Anyone Trust Us?
Rude Reception
Caged Leopard
Counterattack
More Questions
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10: 12 noon to 6:15 p.m. CST We’re Going to Need New Stuff
On the Move
Walking Tour
Changing It Up
On the Move. Again.
Avoidance
Everybody Talks About the Weather
Clueless
Change of Plans
The Leopard Pounces
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10: 6:15 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. CST Backwards and Forwards
High Stakes
Ding Dong
The Show Must Go On
In the Wind
The Martyr
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11: 12:15 a.m. to 9:45 a.m. CST Up All Night
Preparations
Under Undercover
Additions to the List
Leopard Unleashed
Angela Unleashed
Up on the Roof
Getting In
The Leopard Waits
No Place to Hide
The Big Problem
Getting Out
Mad Dog
Changes
Resolve
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15: 7:00 a.m. to 9:00 a.m. CST Out of Options
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15: 12 noon to 5:30 p.m. PST The Show Must Go On
Chinese Food
About the Authors
Guide
Cover
Title
Contents
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10
Roland Smith, The Windy City
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