Operation Sherlock

  Trip tended to work with spurts of inspiration, leaping past logic to unconventional solutions that were often highly effective. The thrill of those moments made up for the long, frustrating hours that he spent staring at the keyboard or some manual without making any progress at all.

  Sometimes he alleviated the frustration of those dry spells by going out on a “scrounge” to turn up materials the gang needed for various aspects of their project. Ray usually accompanied him, and the two of them were remarkably adept at turning up all kinds of useful junk.

  As for Wendy and Hap, to everyone’s surprise they quickly formed a good working team. By pooling the Wonderchild’s ability to miniaturize with Hap’s skills at putting things together, they were able to make highly effective additions to the abandoned terminal. In a short time it was a far more sophisticated piece of hardware than any of the ones that had been installed in their own homes.

  They found themselves falling into a pleasant schedule. They would work like crazy all morning, then around noon each day jump into their dune buggies and head for the beach, where they would have a picnic and take a leisurely swim before returning to the project. They gained a new pleasure when Hap found a security guard named Max who was willing to give them scuba lessons. Soon they were meeting Max every other day—usually late in the afternoon—for instruction.

  They even discovered a cavern one day when they were hiking in the steep hills at the north end of the island. It was at the base of one of the hills, about a quarter of a mile in from the coast. “This is so cool!” said Trip enthusiastically as they began to clear brush from the entrance. “I bet no one else even knows this is here.”

  “You’re probably right,” agreed Hap as they stepped inside. “I’m pretty sure I would have heard about this if anyone did know it was here.” He looked around admiringly. “This would be a great place to hide out!”

  Evenings they gathered at the canteen to plan their next day’s work and play a few rounds of Gamma Ball. Once they even organized a tournament with some of the island staffers.

  All in all it was a happy time for the gang—save for one thing: Even though nothing unusual had happened for some time, none of them could escape the nagging feeling that they were working against a deadline.

  That feeling was made all the more frustrating because they didn’t know when the deadline was.

  They found out the night Hap, Trip, and Ray crossed paths with the fanatic.

  The Bomb

  It had started out to be a good day. Wendy and Hap, wanting a break from their work on Sherlock, had combined their skills to put together something else they felt the gang needed: a personal communication system.

  “Hey, you guys, come get a load of this!” yelled Wendy, late in the morning.

  “It’s only a prototype,” said Hap modestly when the others had gathered around them. “But if it works we’ll clean up the design a bit and make one for each of us.”

  “Make one what?” asked Trip. “I still don’t know what it is.”

  “A miniaturized walkie-talkie, you towering turkey,” said Wendy. “You wear it on your wrist.”

  “Shades of Dick Tracy!” cried Roger.

  “If you’re going to make fun of them, you don’t have to wear one,” snapped Wendy. She looked hurt.

  “Who’s making fun?” asked Roger. “I love that comic strip. But you have to admit they had the idea first. Which is no reason for us not to have them. I think it’s a great idea, especially since we can’t have cell phones here. We really need something like this.”

  Wendy searched Roger’s face for any sign of sarcasm. “Okay,” she said finally. A little suspicion still clung to her voice. She had already had enough teasing in her life from people who didn’t matter. She really didn’t want it from these kids to whom she had, to her own surprise, come to feel so close to.

  “So how does it work?” asked Trip, deciding it was time to change the subject.

  “To begin with, it operates underneath the island’s electronic shield,” said Wendy.

  “We built in a pretty wide range of options,” continued Hap. “For example, you can ring up someone else if you have their code number. Actually, in some ways its more like a wristwatch-sized telephone than the old Dick Tracy wrist radios. The biggest problem right now is that their range is only about a mile and a half. But we figured they might come in handy anyway.”

  “Miniaturizing them has been brutal,” said Wendy. “We’ve only got two finished so far. But that’s enough for a trial run. Want to go see if they work?”

  The suggestion met with instant approval, and within five minutes the gang had divided into two groups. Leaving their headquarters, they started in opposite directions to test the clarity and range of the new devices.

  Trip and the twins headed north. The trio’s heads made a color-coordinated triangle, with Trip’s close-cropped brown hair centered between about a foot above Roger and Rachel’s fiery crowns.

  Wendy, Hap, and Ray headed south, Wendy and Ray as short compared to Hap as the twins were to Trip. Since they would be passing the recreation area, Ray was clutching his basketball, which he brought to headquarters each morning, even though he couldn’t get anyone to play with him. He was trying to dribble the ball as they walked, without notable success.

  “Why don’t you take up a new game?” asked Wendy. “One where you don’t have anything you can drop so often. Checkers, for example.”

  “Laugh,” said Ray. “Make fun. But when I get the hang of this, I’ll be terribly short but great on the court. You’ll just be short.”

  “Whoa!” cried Hap, grabbing Wendy as she launched herself at the Gamma Ray. “Let’s keep it cerebral.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Wendy, squirming her way out of Hap’s grasp. “But I’m not in a very good mood today. Another short joke and the Gamma Ray is gonna hit a lead wall.”

  “Who’s making short jokes?” asked a voice behind them. It didn’t stay behind them long, because its owner was jogging, and in another second had run past them. It was Dr. Fontana. Jogging along next to her, ebony pigtails flouncing back and forth, was the beautiful Dr. Ling.

  Ray dropped his basketball.

  “Watch the short jokes!” cried Dr. Fontana over her shoulder. “We little people have to stick together!”

  “Yeah,” said Ray bitterly, picking up his basketball. “Stick enough of us together and you can make a regular-size person.”

  “I feel like I’ve been stranded in a world of pygmies,” said Hap, once the women were out of hearing range.

  “Watch the short jokes!” cried Wendy and Ray together.

  Before Hap could respond, the device strapped to his wrist began to crackle. “All in!” said a voice that sounded vaguely like Roger’s. “All in!”

  “All in?” asked Wendy. “What the heck is he talking about?”

  Hap pressed a couple of buttons on the side of the device. “Hap to Roger. Hap to Roger. What are you saying?”

  “Aunt Eeroo,” replied Roger.

  “Now he’s talking about his relatives,” said Wendy. “Here, give me that.”

  “All right, all right!” said Hap, peeling Wendy’s hand off his wrist. “Let me keep some skin, will you?”

  “Aunt Eeroo,” said Roger again.

  Hap passed the wrist radio to Wendy, who fiddled with some of the buttons.

  “Roger, this is Wendy. Come in, Roger.”

  “Ill Aunt Eeroo,” crackled back Roger’s voice. “Now his aunt’s sick,” said Wendy, her voice thick with disgust. “These things are worthless. Come on, let’s head back to the house.”

  “Maybe that’s what he meant by ‘All in!’ ” suggested Ray.

  Hap shrugged. Wendy said nothing. She had worked hard on the communicators, and though she didn’t want to show it, she was bitterly disappointed that they functioned so poorly.

  “What in heaven’s name were you trying to say to us?” asked Hap when they rejoined the others at the house
.

  “Well, I started with ‘Calling in,’ ” said Roger. “But all I got back was a bunch of static from your device.”

  “We kept hearing ‘All in!’ ” said Ray. “I thought you were trying to get us to come back to headquarters. And who’s your Aunt Eeroo?”

  Roger began to laugh. “Probably that’s what you got when I kept shouting, ‘Can’t hear you!’ ”

  “Give me those things,” snapped Wendy. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Snatching the wrist radios from Roger and Hap, she stationed herself at her corner desk, where she began working on the devices with the help of a screwdriver no bigger than a sewing needle. She punctuated her efforts with several words that probably didn’t have any effect at all, but seemed to make her feel better.

  Instead of gathering at the canteen that night, or watching a film at Ray’s house, as they often did (Ray’s father being a notorious fan of monster movies), the gang met again at their hideout.

  After a few more hours of fiddling with the communicators, Wendy came over to where the others were working on Sherlock.

  “Ask it a question,” said Roger proudly.

  Wendy shrugged. “How many square miles on Anza-bora Island?”

  The computer made no response.

  “Oops,” said Roger. “I forgot to tell you, you have to start a question with ‘Sherlock.’ That’s the access code—it let’s the computer know you’re talking to it.”

  “Okay,” said Wendy. “Sherlock, how many square miles in Anza-bora Island?”

  “The answer is elementary,” said the computer in a crisp British accent.

  “Listen to that voice!” cried Roger. “Those tones, that accent! Isn’t it great? He sounds just like Sherlock Holmes would have.”

  “Impressive,” said Wendy. “But I notice I still didn’t get an answer to my question.”

  Roger shrugged. “You can’t have everything.”

  “Well, given my choice, I’d go for silent but useful,” snapped Wendy.

  “It’s been a long day,” said Rachel, sensing trouble. “Maybe we’d better call it quits for now.”

  Wendy flopped into a beanbag chair one of them had brought from their home. “You’re right, Rach. I couldn’t get those wrist things to work the way I want and it’s made me nasty. I apologize to all of you. Even you, Sherlock.”

  “Thank you,” said the computer. “It was elementary.”

  Hap and Trip moved fast enough to grab Wendy before she could throw the beanbag chair at the terminal.

  Operation Sherlock was being created at a terminal tied to the island’s main computer.

  Even as the gang worked at that terminal, tapping into the computer’s power and abilities, a woman with glittering eyes crouched at the frozen heart of the computer itself. Holding her breath, she made one final adjustment to a small timer, and then began to grin.

  With the bomb finally in place, the fanatic felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from the weary shoulders that had carried it for so long. She let out a sigh that bloomed into a small cloud of steam.

  It was hard to understand how everyone else could be so blind. Why didn’t they see what a menace this computer was? Why didn’t they see that someone had to take action?

  That knowledge was a terrible weight to carry alone. It was so hard being the only one who could see clearly, the only one who could sense the danger. That understanding had preyed heavily on the fanatic’s sense of responsibility.

  Now those worries were gone.

  “I have to save the world from the computer,” was the phrase most often repeated in her journal. “I have to save the world.”

  Now, at last, the world was saved. Or at least, soon would be.

  The fanatic patted the bulky package that would do the job. It hadn’t really been necessary to plant the bomb right here at the heart of the computer. It was such an improvement over her first feeble attempts that if it went off anywhere on the island, it would destroy the evil mechanical brain. Yet somehow it seemed appropriate—poetic, almost—to position the bomb right inside the vile machine.

  Trying to move the deadly package more securely into place, she pushed aside a handful of cables and wires. Four of them were connected to the secret transmitter Black Glove had previously attached to the other side of the support post where the bomb was now being installed.

  The fanatic frowned. The bomb still wasn’t sitting properly. Shivering now, impatient, she moved the wires again. In the process, she completely disconnected Black Glove’s secret device.

  A few minutes more and the job was done. The fanatic lingered briefly, then sighed and moved away. It was hard to leave this scene of triumph, but it was too cold to stay. Besides, even though the timer had been set for well past midnight and there were several hours left before the blast would tear the island to pieces, she still had much to do to get ready for the end.

  Ducking under a crossbar, the fanatic left the heart of the computer.

  Left alone, the bomb continued marking off the seconds until it would destroy Anza-bora Island and everyone on it.

  Wrapping up their work for the day, the gang headed in different directions. Wendy, pleading exhaustion, planned to go straight home. The twins, who had not yet started a job they had promised their father they would finish before morning, decided that home was the safest bet for them, too.

  Hap, Trip, and Ray opted to head for the canteen, with the idea of getting in a few rounds of Gamma Ball before they went to bed. As it turned out, they got carried away with their game and didn’t notice the time until it was almost midnight.

  “Holy Moses!” cried Ray when he glanced at his watch. “My parents are going to kill me!”

  “Mine, too!” cried Trip in dismay. “I should have been home an hour ago.”

  Mrs. Swenson, who had been working silently behind the counter, said, “Hap, why not ask your friends to spend the night at our place? The three of you can start for home now. I’ll meet you there when I’m done closing up here.”

  Hap looked at the others questioningly.

  “That sounds great, Mrs. Swenson,” said Ray. “But my parents…”

  “I’ll call your folks and take care of everything,” said Mrs. Swenson with a wink. “Yours, too, Trip.”

  “It’s a deal,” said Trip.

  Hap smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Silently he made a vow to give his mother some extra help the next day. He had already been feeling pangs of guilt because she had been stuck with almost all the canteen work since he had made friends with the gang. Though she claimed she was glad to have him spend the time with kids his own age, Hap decided he had better start making some of that up to her.

  “You can stay out on the beach for a while if you want,” called Mrs. Swenson as the boys headed for the door. “Just don’t be too late.”

  “You bet,” said Hap.

  Giving Mrs. Swenson a wave, the three boys left the canteen.

  They were passing the computer center a few minutes later when they saw a tall figure in a lab coat slip through the side door.

  “That’s funny,” said Hap. “They should have been done working hours ago.”

  “Are you kidding?” asked Trip. “These scientists work whenever the mood hits them. My mother usually stays up all night when a project is really cooking.” He squinted at the figure. “I can’t tell who that is. It’s too dark out.”

  “Maybe it’s the spy!” said Ray.

  “Could be,” said Hap quietly. “Look at the way he—no, I think it’s a she—is walking.” Taking the others by the arms, he drew them behind a bush. “That is not the walk of an innocent person. See how she keeps checking back and forth? She doesn’t want to be seen.”

  Indeed, the woman was constantly looking around as if to spot any possible enemies.

  “Maybe she’s just nervous,” said Ray softly.

  “Could be,” said Hap. “But I think we’re on to something. I vote we do a little tailing.”
br />   Ray and Trip glanced at each other, than back at the skulking figure.

  “All right,” said Trip. “I’m game.”

  “Me, too,” whispered Ray, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.

  Hap put his hand on the others’ shoulders and drew them back as the woman headed in their direction. A slight sea breeze rustled the leaves on the bush behind which they were hiding. In the distance they could hear the ocean.

  “Now,” whispered Hap when their quarry was far enough ahead of them.

  Without making a sound, the three boys slipped from behind the bush. Clinging to the shadows themselves, they followed the mysterious figure down the road.

  Death Trap

  The night was cloudy, the moon hanging over Anza-bora Island a mere sliver. The Gamma Ray stifled a groan as he stumbled over a rock and fell to his knees. It was the third fall he had taken since they began trailing the mystery woman. He needed more light!

  While Hap scooted ahead so as not to lose sight of their quarry, Trip bent to help Ray up. He shivered as he did so. The salty wind blowing in from the ocean was cold.

  “I think she’s on to us,” whispered Ray, once he was back on his feet.

  “Why?”

  “She’s trying to shake us. We haven’t gone in a circle yet, but we’ve been making some awfully big loops. I can’t think of a reason for anyone to take this route, except to try to dump us.”

  Ahead of them, the woman glanced over her shoulder and cursed. Whoever was back there was hanging on.

  Why don’t they leave me alone? she thought anxiously. I don’t want to hurt anyone.

  To her troubled mind, blowing up an entire island and all the people on it was utterly different from taking steps to prevent two or three individuals from sounding the alarm. That could involve harming someone personally!

  Still, they could not be allowed to jeopardize the mission.

  About a hundred yards behind the fanatic, Trip and Ray pulled Hap to a stop.

  “She’s figured out someone is following her,” whispered Ray, when Hap protested and tried to break free of them. “Let’s hold back a bit and see if we can convince her she’s lost us.”