communications devices years ago, so the chances of them blowing out an eardrum or melting off parts of our faces had decreased over time. Still, the fact that he’d tinkered with what I saw as the perfect system worried me. He opened up the silver case and handed us each a smaller box containing the set of items we needed to send and receive messages.
“What’s different about them?” I asked without opening mine. Who knew? Maybe they were rigged to explode when you said a code word. Like “different.”
“They work on the same general principle,” Bergman explained. “A transmitter that resembles a beauty mark, which you should place near your mouth. And a receiver, which, before, was wired into an earring and then tracked into your ear. Now we have this.”
He pressed his finger into his own box and lifted it up. Stuck to the end was what looked like a narrow piece of tape, only slightly thicker. More like the What’s-in-Our-Oceans? window peels my sister, Evie, thought her kid needed all over the house now that she was a whopping three months old.
“It sticks inside your ear like this,” he said, demonstrating with his own piece. “It sends clearer sound and nobody can tell you have it on.”
“Awesome!”
“That’s not even the best part!” Bergman declared. “It’ll magnify sounds for you if you scratch it enough times. So if you want to hear a conversation that’s happening from across the room, you can. Just remember to scratch it the same number of times when you’re done otherwise you’ll be risking permanent hearing loss. And, of course, while you’re eavesdropping you won’t be able to hear anybody else on the party line until you’re done. I like to call it my RAFS redundancy plan. Except now that her name’s Astral that doesn’t sound nearly as cool.”
“Dude, you keep coming up with awesome gizmos like this and you can call them anything you want,” I said.
Vayl banged his cane on the floor, reminding me of a judge gaveling everybody into recess. “It looks to me as if everyone is ready. Shall we repair to the Wheezer?” I held back a smile.
“Just a sec,” I said. “Jack’s in the backyard.” Returning Vayl’s belt on the way, I ran to the glass doors and called my dog, who’d just left a giant deposit I reminded myself to clean up before bedtime. “Yo, poop-meister! We’re leaving!”
Hearing his favorite phrase next to “dinnertime,” Jack bounded through the brown grass and into the house, bringing a rush of cool night air with him. Despite the fact that I’d already thrown on my jacket, I shivered. Nights like these were made for killing. I could always smell it in the air. And tonight, the scent in my nostrils meant blood.
* * *
Wirdilling Primary School made up in whitewash what it lacked in charm. It practically glowed in the streetlights, its black roof making it seem to become a part of the night sky, as much a nocturnal creature as the four of us. A square building with its own water tank out front, it gave off the oddest vibe, the deserted swings and seesaws in the side yard seeming to shout,
I’d backed the Wheezer into a parking space on the street a few feet from the fence. “Nobody home,” I said. Not surprising. Our sources had informed us the Space Complex was hosting no guests other than the Odeam team this week.
Vayl said, “All right, remember your roles, please. We are acting as the Shoot-Yeah Productions crew.
So keep that in mind at all times, yes?” At a little after 9:15 in the evening we didn’t figure on anyone strolling past. But it always pays to play your part. You never know when the curtain peepers are at their posts.
We piled out of the vehicle. Bergman and Cassandra pulled tripods and video cameras out of the trunk, chatting with each other like they actually knew crap about lighting and B-roll. Vayl disappeared around the building’s far side, probably to check out roof access in a way passersby couldn’t witness. The rest of us headed for the gate.
As soon as we crossed into the playground I stopped. Bergman went on through. But Cassandra halted beside me.
“Do you feel it?” I murmured.
“Yes. Like a thrum through the soles of my feet,” she said. She crouched down and laid her palms flat against the dying grass. “I’m not getting anything clear, just a sense of connected life. I think something big lies under this school.”
“Keep moving. Let’s see how far it extends.” Since we were fenced in, I unhooked Jack’s leash and let him run while the two of us paced off an asterisk from one end of the playground to the other, discovering the extent of the labyrinth under the old school, and trying to figure out what kind of
“It’s everywhere!” Cassandra finally announced.
“Yeah, but who does it belong to?” I murmured as I passed Bergman.
“No clue,” he responded. He’d set up the video camera and was now taking a still shot of the building’s main entrance with one of his pocket clickers. I doubted we’d use that door during our return visit, but you never knew. His orders were to get pictures of every visible form of entry so we could figure out the best way to sneak in later that night. He went on. “Hey, don’t let Jack pee on the tripod, okay? Tell him it’s my territory.”
“If
His face puckered like a rotten pumpkin’s. “You know, your standards have really bottomed out since the mutt moved in! I want this clear from the start. If we become partners,
“Works for me. But that’s a big ‘if.’ I’m still pretty happy at the Agency.” I grabbed Jack’s collar and steered him toward a tree in the corner of the playground. Which kinda disappointed him, because I’d told Astral to stick with Vayl. And Jack badly wanted to find her.
After marking the corner of the property and nosing around the fence in a halfhearted attempt to smell up
