Unleashed

  Darren Vader’s Invent-a-Palooza entry caused quite a stir when it arrived at Cedarville Middle School on Monday. The usual morning hubbub around the front entrance died as everyone watched Darren and his father ease the invention out of the back of their SUV.

  There were oohs and ahhs as the two Vader men carried the central cooking tub with its mesh hopper, digital chronometer, and conveyor belt toward the building. The chrome exterior sparkled in the bright sunlight. The shapes and lines were sleek and well-designed. Everything about the device screamed professional grade. Darren had added a stainless-steel plate engraved with the words EGGS-traordinary by Vader.

  “What is that thing?” asked Kate Mulholland in a hushed tone. “A satellite?”

  “It looks like a miniature nuclear reactor,” put in Marcus Oliver.

  “If you think Vader’s got the brains to invent something like that, you’re about as smart as he is,” Griffin said in disgust. “It’s an egg cooker — like there’s no such thing as a frying pan and a stove.”

  “That’s still pretty cool,” Kate remarked. “I mean, look at it. It’s beautiful.”

  “Vader didn’t build that thing,” Griffin scoffed. “One of his mother’s clients did.”

  “ ’Scuse me, guys,” Darren was saying. “Invent-a-Palooza winner coming through.” He stopped in front of Griffin. “Hey, Bing, you want to memorize the speech, or should I put it on cue cards?”

  “The contest isn’t over yet,” Griffin told him through clenched teeth.

  “It kind of is,” Darren offered in mock sympathy.

  “There’s still plenty of time before the Long Island finals.”

  “I know,” Darren acknowledged. “I’m just giving the teachers a little preview of EGGS-traordinary by Vader. You know, before it’s too famous to bring to school without security.”

  “Isn’t your dad an inventor?” Marcus asked Griffin. “You should be awesome at this.”

  “My entry will be here soon,” Griffin said defiantly. “Count on that. I’m just putting a few finishing touches on it.”

  “Come on, Darren,” Mr. Vader said impatiently. “Let’s get this to Mr. Kropotkin so I can go to work.”

  Burning with resentment, Griffin watched the gleaming EGGS-traordinary disappear into the school. It was beyond infuriating. Vader was going to win the contest with an invention somebody else had built for him. And all because Melissa’s Hover Handler had been stolen by — who knew? Not Mr. Hartman, that was for sure. He turned out to be just a bad neighbor and a crackpot.

  As for Griffin’s Invent-a-Palooza entry — that was a very sore point. He’d developed a virtually silent motor — the sound-muffling was even more effective than before, thanks to a square of theater curtain, provided by Logan. The material was just as fire retardant as Ben’s bunny-rabbit pajamas, since it had to meet the state code for opera houses and concert halls. But the electrical problems were as bad as ever. Mr. Bing had hosted the last meeting of the Nassau County Inventor’s Guild so he could pick his fellow members’ brains. Nobody could explain why the Bings’ vacuum cleaner was knocking out electricity all around itself while continuing to run perfectly.

  One of the guests had suggested that the problem was in the Bing house, not the machine. So Griffin had tested the SH-5 at Pitch’s. Not only had the invention plunged the Benson home into darkness, it had also made the streetlights flicker and initiated rolling blackouts up and down the block. One of the victims had been Logan, three doors up. He’d been halfway through blow-drying his hair for the filming of the Ouch-Free commercial when the power surge had caused the dryer to blow a capacitor in his hand. Luckily, he hadn’t been shocked. But facing the cameras with imperfect hair could permanently damage Logan’s career. The young actor had made a point of saying that if anything bad happened it would be all Griffin’s fault.

  What could Griffin do? He’d gone home to start work on the SH-6.

  * * *

  The EGGS-traordinary was a huge sensation around the school. Mr. Kropotkin featured it in every science class. During the three lunch periods, the aroma of cooking eggs wafted out of the faculty lounge, and contented teachers could be seen smacking their lips and patting their stomachs all day. Darren was a celebrity, strutting through the hallways, accepting praise and congratulations, and bragging about how he would win the Invent-a-Palooza at the county and state levels, before going on to sweep the national finals.

  “He’s going to be impossible to live with,” Pitch complained, watching Darren sign an autograph for a seventh grader. “I mean, he’s always impossible, but this is worse.”

  “At least you didn’t bet on it,” Griffin said bitterly. “I’m the one who’s going to have to make a speech.”

  “This is so unfair,” Ben lamented, slipping a slice of breakfast sausage under his collar to Ferret Face. “The Hover Handler could beat that stupid egg thing in a fair fight.”

  Griffin hung his head. “Operation Recover Hover is done. I know a dead plan when I see it, and this one is six feet under.”

  “But what about Luthor?” Savannah protested. “If we can’t get the Hover Handler back, my parents are going to make me buy a shock collar. Can you imagine that? I’d be putting a portable torture chamber around my best friend’s neck!”

  “And what about Melissa?” Pitch added. “She’s gone back to the days when she was a hermit who never talked to anybody. We’re losing her!”

  Griffin shrugged miserably. “We have to face facts. We ended up on two wild-goose chases, and lost the trail completely. I’d love to keep searching, but there are no leads. Melissa’s invention could be anywhere by now. For all we know, it’s buried in some garbage dump, or halfway around the world. We’ll never find it.”

  “What are the odds that Hartman’s digging machine would sound exactly like the Hover Handler?” Ben lamented. “Just our luck.”

  “What are the odds that Mrs. Martindale would sell her house to a crazy person?” Pitch demanded. “Who hollows out Carlsbad Caverns to move into? You know, unless you’re an earthworm …”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Griffin mused. “Remember what Heartless asked Logan that time: ‘Are you from the government?’ And he had antigovernment news articles on the wall. What if he’s one of those guys who’s convinced the government is out to get him? You know those photographs and floor plans he has? I’ll bet they’re government buildings he’s suspicious of.”

  “Maybe that’s why he got so freaked when we tested the Hover Handler,” Savannah added. “He’s probably obsessed with secret drones spying on him.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why he’s building an underground room stocked with groceries,” Logan pointed out.

  “Actually, it kind of does,” Pitch said. “If you’re wacky enough to think the government is plotting against you, what do you do? You build a shelter where no one will be able to find you. And you stock it with tons of supplies so you can survive there for years, or even longer. It makes perfect sense — if you’re completely paranoid, I mean.”

  Savannah sighed. “Poor Mr. Hartman.”

  “Poor Heartless?” Ben choked. “Spend an afternoon trapped in his dungeon before you say that.”

  “I’m serious,” Savannah persisted. “At first I thought he was just mean. But he’s really nuts.”

  Pitch nodded. “You’re right. It can’t be fun to be totally out of touch with reality.”

  “If they ever make a movie about Mr. Hartman,” Logan said with relish, “I’d love to play that role. I do crazy like nobody’s business.”

  “Stick to ‘ouch,’ ” Pitch advised.

  “That’s yeow,” Logan informed her, “and I nailed it. Filming went great — no thanks to Griffin and his stupid vacuum cleaner.”

  “I guess I feel bad for Heartless, too,” Ben conceded grudgingly. “Digging yourself an underground hiding place — that’s a pretty creepy thing to do.”

  “Save your sympathy for us,” Griffin advised
. “It’s one thing when your plan hits a snag. That’s happened plenty of times. But when there’s no plan at all, it doesn’t matter how smart you are, how motivated you are, or even how desperate you are — a dead end is a dead end.”

  The others regarded him in dismay. It was shocking to see The Man With The Plan admit defeat.

  Savannah had gone to bed in a terrible mood. She woke up feeling even worse.

  Normally, the busy a.m. routine at the Drysdale house energized her. Today, she sleepwalked through it. She dumped feed into cages, barely even looking at their inhabitants, and tossed Cleopatra her breakfast plantains like it wasn’t important to greet a friend. Even Lorenzo, her albino chameleon, was given his teaspoonful of dead flies without so much as a kind word. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern seemed to be objecting to the state of their litter box, but she chose to ignore them. This was risky; when Rosencrantz and Guildenstern complained about the litter box, the next complaint usually came from Mom.

  She regretted treating everybody this way. Nothing was more important to Savannah than animals. To her, they were not pets, but full-fledged family members. That was exactly why she was so upset this morning. The errand before her weighed heavily upon her heart, but she’d promised her parents.

  It was shock-collar day for Luthor.

  The whole idea of it went against everything Savannah had ever believed in. This was so-called “invisible fencing,” where the poor Sweetie would receive a painful jolt of electricity whenever he passed a certain perimeter. In theory, after enough nasty shocks, the dog would learn not to leave the yard, even if the red truck was right outside, backfiring past their front door.

  The thought of deliberately causing an innocent animal pain seemed like the ultimate cruelty to Savannah. Luthor would not know why his collar was suddenly tormenting him. And when the pain went away, he wouldn’t understand that, either. This “invisible fence” might succeed in keeping him out of the road, but who knew what damage it might inflict on his spirit? Luthor appeared ferocious to some, but Savannah knew how innocent, and trusting, and childishly sweet he was. If this impersonal instrument of torture robbed him of his warm and loving nature, Savannah would never forgive herself.

  Oh, how she longed for Melissa’s Hover Handler. No pain, no shock, just a natural reaction to a high-frequency sound. It was 100 percent effective and 100 percent humane. It was sheer genius, just like its inventor. No, it was beyond genius; it was art. And like so many great artists, Melissa had been unable to accept the idea that her creation had been stolen.

  Poor Melissa. Poor Luthor. What a disaster all this was turning out to be.

  The simple act of clipping the Doberman onto his leash nearly overpowered Savannah with guilt. To take him along on the mission to purchase this horrible device seemed like the ultimate betrayal. She sighed. At least there was no chance of running into the exterminator’s van. Ralph himself had confirmed that he was working in the city today and wouldn’t be back until well after dark.

  Savannah rode out of town on her bike, Luthor loping along beside her at the end of an expanding leash. Pet Galaxy was on Route 31, a mile or so beyond the town limits. Route 31 was wider and busier than the quiet Cedarville streets, but Luthor was under control, keeping pace with her in the bike lane.

  And this magnificent, well-behaved animal needed a shock collar? What a joke!

  No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she glanced over her shoulder, and Luthor was gone!

  No — that wasn’t right. His hind end was still back there. Where was the rest of him?

  Savannah squeezed the hand brakes so suddenly that she nearly catapulted herself clear off the seat. She abandoned the bike and wheeled to face her beloved dog.

  He was up on his hind legs, swaying from side to side, his head bouncing, his front paws churning rhythmically. It was the Hover Handler dance!

  But the Hover Handler was gone, and Mr. Heartless’s excavator was more than two miles away!

  Then it was over, and Luthor was back to normal, as if nothing at all had happened. Savannah ran to him, stooping to gather his gigantic head into her embrace.

  “There, there, Sweetie. Everything’s fine.”

  Of course, everything wasn’t fine, and Luthor could sense it. Or maybe his keen animal intuition was picking up on her confusion. What had brought about this latest episode of dancing? She’d heard no high-pitched ringing this time, but that might have been the traffic noise. Luthor’s hearing was much sharper and more selective. What was loud and clear to him, a human might miss completely.

  So what had caused it? What were the odds that someone around here was using the very same kind of excavating machine that Heartless had in his secret room? She looked around. There was no construction going on — at least nothing she could see. Of course, Mr. Hartman had been digging underground, but why would an established store or restaurant do that?

  Her pulse quickened. What if this wasn’t an excavator or some other power tool that made a similar sound? What if it was the real thing — the Hover Handler itself, in the hands of the thief who had stolen it?

  She did a three-sixty, standing right there on the shoulder. On the opposite side of the road there was a Vietnamese restaurant, a florist, a bike repair shop, a hardware store, and a barber on the corner. On this side there was only one thing. It was a —

  What was it?

  It was so different from the rows of shops and eateries along Route 31 that Savannah was amazed she’d never noticed it before now. Maybe that was because it was just very — overlookable. It was almost as if someone had dropped a humongous gray shoe box in the middle of a Long Island field. It was about four stories tall with very few windows and no noticeable features at all. The fence around the property was at least twelve feet high and covered with warnings:

  DANGER

  HIGH VOLTAGE

  DO NOT TOUCH

  The only break in the perimeter led to an entry gate. As Savannah watched, a car nosed in, presented ID at a gatehouse window, and was admitted by an automatic barrier that swung wide. There were only a few cars in the parking lot. Whatever this place was, business was not exactly booming.

  There must be a sign somewhere, she reasoned. But, aside from the high-voltage advisories, the only identification she could find was a small plaque on the gatehouse, declaring this to be FACILITY 107-B.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she mused aloud.

  Luthor had no answer. He was hip-hop dancing again.

  Savannah reached for her phone.

  I hate Route Thirty-One,” complained Ben as he and Griffin pedaled single file out of Cedarville onto the main road. “The traffic noise makes Ferret Face antsy.”

  “Ferret Face will get over it,” Griffin tossed over his shoulder. “Stay behind me in the bike lane. Savannah’s just up ahead.”

  Ben knew there was no turning The Man With The Plan from his course. Ever since Savannah had called twenty minutes ago, he had been like a bloodhound that had picked up a scent and was planning to follow it to the ends of the earth. It was big news. If there was a chance that they had not completely lost the trail of the Hover Handler, Griffin was going to be on it, dragging the team with him.

  They biked on for another ten minutes before Ben spotted Savannah, waiting for them by the curb. Luthor was with her, on his hind legs, in the throes of the dance. No wonder she had smelled Melissa’s lost invention.

  As they cycled up, the big Doberman dropped back down to all fours. He seemed surprised to see Griffin and Ben at first, and greeted them with an unfriendly growl before returning his attention to Savannah. His huge liquid-brown eyes looked up at her in appeal, as if to ask, If you can’t fix this, could you at least explain it to me?

  “Did you see that? That’s the fourth time Luthor’s been dancing.” Savannah explained her theory that the Hover Handler must be somewhere inside the mysterious Facility 107-B. “I think they might be testing it in there, or at least trying to use it for s
omething. But what?”

  Griffin frowned. “I can’t believe I’ve never noticed this place before. We all must have driven by it a thousand times.”

  “I know, right?” Savannah agreed. “It’s practically on our doorstep. Another mile and it would be inside our town limits. How have we overlooked it all these years?”

  Ben couldn’t stop staring at the nondescript gray structure. He was unable to shake the feeling that he’d seen it somewhere before. Driving by? It was possible, but he didn’t think so. The image in his mind was not the building itself so much as a photograph of the building. But that didn’t make any sense, did it? And the name — Facility 107-B. That rang a bell, too. He could picture the letters and numbers scribbled in blue ink on masking tape. The makeshift label was under the photograph on a wall. But what wall?

  Ben thought hard. It was rough, unpainted — unfinished Sheetrock. The lighting was harsh — a bare bulb. A stack of canned goods stood on a shelf nearby. A label came into focus in his mind: DELUXE OXTAIL SOUP.

  When the answer came to him, he let out an “Ohhh!” that sounded almost like a groan of pain.

  “What is it?” Griffin asked.

  “I just remembered where I’ve seen this building before,” Ben said faintly. “It’s on the wall of Mr. Hartman’s secret room.”

  His best friend was surprised. “What — this place? Are you sure?”

  Ben nodded. “It’s not just the building; it’s the name. He had it marked Facility 107-B. How many of those could there be?”

  “But Mr. Hartman is a conspiracy nut,” Savannah protested. “All the stuff on his wall is about government installations he doesn’t trust.”

  “Could this be a secret government installation?” Ben wondered. “I mean, it’s secret enough. We all grew up near it and never noticed it before. But what would they be doing with Melissa’s Invent-a-Palooza project?”

  Griffin’s eyes were alight with discovery. “It makes perfect sense! Melissa’s so smart that she must have invented some piece of technology for the Hover Handler that the government wants!”