“That’s the living room.” Logan supplied a play-by-play. “Wait — I think he’s heading for the kitchen. That’s where I kicked the microphone under the stove….”
“Great,” Pitch groaned. “He’s decided to hang out in the only two parts of the house we already know the Hover Handler isn’t.”
“Don’t worry,” Ben said confidently. “Ferret Face is nosy. Sooner or later he’ll cover every inch of that place.”
It was true. Watching on Griffin’s phone, the team was taken through room after room of 94 Honeybee Street. Between the furry ears they saw the master bedroom, where Ferret Face tried to make friends with a pair of fuzzy slippers. In the closet, he tore down several shirts and made himself a bed, only to decide he wasn’t in the mood for sleeping.
In the bathroom, he climbed the wooden handle of Mr. Hartman’s toilet plunger. He then jumped up onto the sink and helped himself to toothpaste but didn’t like it very much. He didn’t appreciate the shaving cream, either, and left in a huff.
His favorite part seemed to be the unpacked cartons that filled the living room and empty second bedroom. He played king of the castle on the highest ones and did a lot of jumping from box to box.
“Check out the basement,” Griffin muttered under his breath as if the little animal could hear and understand. “The basement!”
“Only don’t get caught,” Ben added, stifling a yawn. His narcolepsy got worse during moments of stress, and now he had no ferret to administer the wake-up nip.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep or I’ll bite you myself,” Pitch warned him.
In a utility closet, Ferret Face climbed in and out of an old briefcase at least a dozen times, and gave himself a massage by rubbing against a corrugated vacuum-cleaner hose.
“Get on with it!” Griffin urged.
“You can’t plan what an animal is going to find interesting,” Savannah lectured. “I think it’s beautiful to watch his curiosity and imagination react to an unfamiliar environment.”
“He’s a ferret,” Pitch reminded her. “He doesn’t have an imagination.”
“Not true,” Savannah said stoutly.
“Then why can’t he imagine himself in the basement?” Griffin complained.
It was another several minutes — although it felt like hours — before Ferret Face found the cellar door. They could tell by the bouncing motion that the discovery was very exciting. He descended in a series of leaps before losing his footing and tumbling to the bottom. The picture disintegrated into scrambled pixels for a moment, and they worried that the camera might have been damaged. But the image was restored as Ferret Face righted himself at the bottom.
What they saw next canceled out all their relief that the plan was back on track. It was Mr. Hartman, looking down in shock and horror. A moment later, a large broom was coming at the camera at high speed. A split second after that, the picture degenerated into a turbulent blur.
“Nooo!!” wailed Ben.
“What happened?” asked Logan. “Is he dead?”
“I can’t tell.” Griffin stared at the screen, trying desperately to discern something concrete out of the chaotic images. He caught a flash of baseboard amid the tumult. “I think he’s being chased.”
“Run, Ferret Face!” Ben exhorted.
For the next few minutes, they were captivated by the wild jumble of distorted house scenes, punctuated by the occasional swipe of the broom. It was eerie, because it was all taking place on a tiny phone screen in complete silence. It was easy to forget that, for Ferret Face, this was a life-and-death struggle.
“Where is he?” Ben cried in agony.
“Is that the laundry room?” mused Pitch as a gleaming white appliance loomed up at them on the monitor.
“He’s going to hit it!” squealed Logan.
“Duck, Ferret Face!” Ben bellowed.
Smack!
There was no sound, but they could all envision the violence of the collision. Images of the room tumbled after one another in rapid succession — ceiling, wall, floor, ceiling, wall, floor. At last, the picture stabilized on the base of the washing machine. A pair of feral eyes glowed out of the dark space underneath it.
“Of course!” Savannah exclaimed. “A small animal can flatten his body when he needs to hide!”
“But he couldn’t flatten the camera,” Pitch observed. “It must have been knocked off the harness.”
Griffin slapped his forehead. “Who would have thought it could be so impossible to find one lousy Hover Handler in a two-bedroom house?”
“Never mind that!” Ben raved. “How are we going to save Ferret Face?”
“By following the plan, obviously.” From his jacket pocket, Griffin produced a two-foot length of twine tied firmly around several slices of pepperoni. “Agent extraction, remember? Can Ferret Face smell pepperoni all the way from the basement?”
“Ferret Face can smell pepperoni all the way from Alpha Centauri,” Ben assured him. “Come on. Let’s get him out.”
“It’s too risky,” Griffin informed him. “Heartless must still be looking for him. The last thing we need is to get caught dangling pizza toppings through his mail slot. We have to wait till the coast is clear.”
“And how do we know when that will be?” Ben persisted.
“When he starts hammering again,” Griffin supplied. “You can’t spend your whole life chasing one little ferret.”
At that moment, Savannah’s cell phone rang. “Hello? … Oh, hi … Yes, Luthor’s secure. You don’t have to worry about him. Why? … Oh, really? …”
His mind focused on the extraction plan, Griffin ignored Savannah’s conversation at first. But when all the color drained from her face, he began to pay attention.
“… Okay, thanks for telling me … Bye.” She ended the call.
Griffin frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She swallowed hard. “That was Ralph, the exterminator. He always gives me a heads-up when he’s going to be in our area to make sure Luthor isn’t loose. Well, he just got an appointment on Honeybee Street — number ninety-four.”
“Hartman’s house?” Logan asked, mystified.
She nodded hopelessly. “The homeowner spotted a big, gray, long-nosed rat.”
“That’s my big, gray, long-nosed rat!” Ben exploded. “Why didn’t you tell him not to come? That’s no rat — that’s Ferret Face!”
“She can’t tell him that,” Griffin reasoned. “How could she explain why she knows? Ralph would blab to Heartless that a bunch of kids planted a ferret in his house. The guy hates us enough already!”
“We’ve got to get Ferret Face out of there now!” Ben demanded. “An exterminator has sprays and traps and poisons! He’s a professional hit man, a hired killer!”
“Right,” agreed Griffin. There were times that risks must be taken because the plan had veered in an unexpected direction. Operation Recover Hover had to be put on hold. Getting caught was no longer their greatest worry. Rescuing the field agent had become Job One.
Griffin led the team back to the front door and, breathing a silent prayer, opened the mail slot and dangled the pepperoni rope inside. Ben pressed his face right up to the opening, hoping to see his furry friend approaching to take the bait.
No ferret.
“Maybe he can’t come out because Heartless is right there,” whispered Savannah.
“Maybe he doesn’t like pepperoni anymore,” Logan suggested.
Ben wheeled to shoot Logan a dirty look, jostling Griffin’s hand. The brass flap of the mail slot fell shut with a clatter.
Everyone froze. In the urgency of the moment, the sudden sound was as loud as a gunshot.
It took footsteps inside the house to unfreeze them. Mr. Hartman was coming to investigate the noise!
Griffin yanked out the pepperoni lure and led the retreat to the cover of the bushes. Ben’s sneaker slipped and he landed face-first in the flower bed. He was about to get up and run when the door was flung wide and Mr. Hartman
stormed onto the walk. Ben crouched against the side of the porch and for once was glad he was small for his age.
The homeowner looked around. “Exterminators?” he called. “Ralph’s Exterminators?”
Frowning, he advanced to the end of the walk and peered down the street.
Griffin watched in dismay as Ben unfolded himself from the flower bed, scrambled up the steps, and disappeared into the house.
“Oh, man,” moaned Pitch, kneeling beside him. “Tell me I didn’t just see what I think I just saw.”
“He’s rescuing his friend,” Savannah whispered. “I’d do it for Luthor or Cleo or Arthur or any of them.”
Mr. Hartman dialed his cell phone. “Hello, exterminators? I think you missed my house. I heard someone outside, but there’s nobody here….” His brows rose in surprise. “You’re in Garden City? … So when do you think you can get here? This rat looks pretty mean….”
At that instant, Ferret Face shot out the front door, ran right past Mr. Hartman, crossed the street, and disappeared into the bushes. The man could not have known that the little creature had been following the tantalizing scent of his favorite snack. He was safe in Griffin’s arms, nibbling on the pepperoni rope.
Mr. Hartman laughed into the phone. “Never mind. Don’t bother. The rat just took off. He’s somebody else’s problem now.” He marched back inside, slamming the door behind him.
The sound seemed to echo around the bush, where Griffin, Pitch, Savannah, and Logan were exchanging anxious glances. All four were performing the same mental calculation: How panicked should they be? Was Ben trapped inside the house?
“Well, yes and no,” Griffin answered everyone’s unasked question. “I mean, he’s stuck in there with Heartless. But all he has to do is wait till the guy goes to the bathroom and make a run for it.”
Savannah nodded slowly. “I’ll bet he’s pretty scared, though.”
“Probably,” Griffin conceded. “On the other hand, he’s been in plans before. He’ll figure out what to do.”
“Unless he thinks Ferret Face is still in the house somewhere,” Pitch put in nervously. “He’ll never leave without him.”
“Good point.” Griffin took out his phone and thumbed: FF safe with us. Come out as soon as coast is clear.
“What if Heartless hears the text tone?” Logan worried.
“Ben keeps his phone on vibrate,” Griffin assured him. “Ferrets are sensitive to noise.”
They waited, as Ferret Face picked the rope clean of pepperoni. The four sets of eyes never strayed from the door of 94 Honeybee. Ten very long minutes passed. No Ben.
“What’s taking so long?” Pitch worried. “You think he’s stuck in some closet with Heartless right outside?”
“Nah, that can’t be it,” Griffin told her. “Heartless has been moving around — you can see him through the windows. Ben should have had a chance to get out of there by now.”
“So what could be stopping him?” asked Logan.
The explanation, when it came, landed on Griffin like a ton of bricks.
Ben was spelunking through a narrow mist-filled cave, trying to find his way to —
Where?
The answer was as elusive as the place he was trying to get to. He couldn’t seem to focus. Why was he so groggy?
And why were his pants vibrating?
He reached around to his back pocket and his hand found the hard contours of his cell phone. It was buzzing against his hip. And that meant —
Reality returned in a series of bomb blasts, each one more devastating than the last. This wasn’t any cave. He’d been asleep — a narcolepsy sleep! Why hadn’t Ferret Face done his job?
He patted his shirt. The little guy wasn’t there! At that moment, his bleary eyes cleared enough for him to take in his surroundings. He was in Hartman’s laundry room, and his phone was ringing. He checked the display. Bing, Griffin.
He put the handset to his ear and whispered, “Griffin, what’s going on? Where’s Ferret Face?”
“Calm down,” came his friend’s quiet voice. “Ferret Face escaped. He’s here with us. Everything’s fine.”
“For you, maybe!” Ben quavered.
“Don’t get excited. Just wait till Heartless gets busy with something else. Then you can walk right out the front door.”
“What if he decides to put in a load of laundry?” Ben hissed. “I’m sitting right in front of his washing machine!”
“We’re directly across the street. I can see him through the window.” There was a pause. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh?” Ben demanded. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s heading for the basement stairs. Hide!” Click.
Ben looked around desperately. As the smallest team member, he was the expert at getting into tight spaces, but the washer and dryer were pressed right up against the cement wall, and he couldn’t move them without making a lot of noise.
He ran out into the main basement just as the footsteps began to sound at the top of the stairs. Oh, no! Heartless was already on his way down! Where could he hide? The furnace? No good — the boiler was right in the middle of the room.
Think!
He could see feet on the stairs. Another few seconds and he’d be face-to-face with the enemy!
His eyes fell on a half door. A storage closet? Even if it was a trash compacter, it was infinitely preferable to trying to explain to Mr. Hartman what he was doing here.
He made for it, ducking under the low frame, and tripping down three wooden steps, to roll on the sunken cement floor inside.
As afraid as he was, Ben couldn’t help but check out his surroundings in amazement. This was no storage closet! It was a huge room, only partly finished, dimly lit by a bare bulb. He could tell immediately that this was not part of the original house. It was being excavated out of the ground beside Mr. Hartman’s basement and finished with the concrete, lumber, and building supplies that had been delivered by the truckload.
At last, the truth was revealed of the mystery building project at 94 Honeybee Street. Mr. Hartman was putting a giant addition on the house — underground!
In fact, it seemed as if the place was going to get even bigger. The far wall was still dirt, and there were shovels and what looked like a jackhammer leaning against it.
The half door opened, and the stooping figure of Mr. Hartman ducked inside. Ben was galvanized into frantic action. He’d been so mesmerized by the discovery that he’d forgotten that catastrophe was only a few steps behind him! Out of options, he ducked between two rows of high wooden shelving and hunkered there in the shadows.
For a moment, Mr. Hartman was so close that Ben could have reached out and tripped him. But he passed untouched, proceeding to the end of the room, where he began running his hands over the unexcavated portion of wall.
Hidden amid the shelves, Ben crouched, trembling, taking in his surroundings for the first time. Every unit was piled high with canned goods — Mr. Hartman’s parade of grocery deliveries. There was a vast variety of tinned meats, vegetables, pastas, soups and stews, jars of peanut butter, vacuum-sealed packages of crackers and cookies, dehydrated complete meals, and a seemingly endless supply of bottled water. There were enough supplies to feed somebody for years. A box contained dishes, cutlery, and several can openers. A folding cot leaned up against one wall. And … was that a toilet? What else could it be? The only difference was it seemed to flush by some kind of hand pump.
Was Heartless planning to move down here? Why? He had a perfectly good house right above, with a real toilet!
What was this place?
On the wall were pinned charts, maps, floor plans, and photographs of what looked like buildings at the center of heavily fortified fenced compounds. There were also newspaper clippings, headlines blaring: GOVERNMENT CONSPIRACY, BYE-BYE CIVIL RIGHTS, and IS UNCLE SAM PLOTTING AGAINST YOU?
Ben’s head was spinning. Oh, sure, they knew Mr. Hartman had stolen Melissa’s Hover Handler. They knew he w
as mean, unreasonable, unfair, and even weird. But nobody could have imagined he was this crazy. What kind of person moved underground like a mole, building a subterranean bat cave and filling it full of canned beans and cocktail weenies, not to mention strange maps and antigovernment newspaper articles?
A loud grinding sound filled the chamber, startling Ben out of his reverie. He dared a look. Mr. Hartman brandished the jackhammer-like device and was working away at the dirt wall. The thing was an excavator — it had probably dug out this entire room! The cutting blade reached a section of hard-packed earth, and the operating noise jumped several octaves to a high-pitched ringing.
The shock of that moment overpowered everything that had happened to Ben so far that day. The piercing whine was exactly the sound the girls had identified as the Hover Handler.
The noise coming from 94 Honeybee Street — the one that had made Luthor dance — had never been the Hover Handler. It had been this machine, digging the secret room.
With the screech of the excavator, and Mr. Hartman’s back turned, Ben realized he’d never get a better chance. He sprang from between the shelves, nearly tripping over a can of oxtail soup, and scrambled through the half door to the basement. Then he was up the stairs, down the hall, and letting himself out of the house in a matter of seconds. By the time he crossed the street and joined the team in the bushes, he was moving at a speed that would have embarrassed an Olympic sprinter.
Ferret Face sprang into his arms and burrowed under his shirt in the blink of an eye. The other team members gathered around, anxious to hear his adventure.
“Are you okay?” Griffin asked urgently.
“Never mind me!” Ben panted. “I’ve got some news, and you’re not going to like it.” He paused to catch his breath, panning the group with wide eyes. “Heartless didn’t steal the Hover Handler!”