Project Jackalope (10 page)

“Just give us the suitcase, son. That’s all we want.” He twitched the flashlight at me, I guess to show that he was willing to use it. Or that he had an itchy trigger finger. Or something.

I picked up the Dora suitcase and hugged it to my chest. Beats me why. All I had to do was give it to them and our problems would be over. But there was something about having some weirdo threatening me with a flashlight that really ticked me off. Call it a bad attitude, but there was no way I was giving that jerk my jackalope. He was going to have to pry that Dora suitcase out of my cold dead hands.

I backed away slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the other Suits chasing Agatha and Twitchett, and the ones that weren’t were too far away to grab me.

I backed up more, carefully though, because I was only a few feet from Señor Slappy’s tank. I could hear him back there, barking and splashing. And suddenly I knew exactly what to do. I was going to use my secret weapon.

“Come on now, son. Don’t make this hard on yourself.” Mr. Suit-with-the-Flashlight was walking slowly toward me with this smarmy smirk on his face, like his getting the jackalope was a sure thing. But that’s
because he didn’t know what I knew. He’d never met Señor Slappy.

I backed up until I felt the metal railing against my back. Then I waited. I could hear Señor Slappy swim over and start going through his routine behind me. Mr. Suit-with-a-Flashlight wasn’t even paying attention to him. I just needed to make sure I timed this right.

Mr. Suit-with-a-Flashlight stopped a few feet away and looked at me with pity on his face, like I was a lame-o loser. “Let’s just end this, okay, son? Hand it over.”

I nodded. Señor Slappy was winding up.

“Sure thing.” I bent down like I was going to open the suitcase.

The man smiled. “Good boy.” And then Señor Slappy hit him smack in the face with a giant wave of stinky water.

I took off running, because my “I’m opening the suitcase” stance was also my “Get ready for the starter’s pistol” stance. I could hear the man shouting behind me, and I couldn’t help but grin. Seriously, there’s nothing
better than deploying your secret sea lion defense system against the Feds. That was before my foot hit part of Señor Slappy’s breakfast and I took a header right onto the pavement. Right next to that jerk’s flashlight.

It must have fallen out of his hands when he got hit in the face with the water, so I grabbed it and pointed it at him while I scrambled to my feet.

“No!” he said. “Don’t, please!” So I did what any kid would’ve done. I let him have it.

I switched on the flashlight, thinking I would blind him, clunk him on the head, and run. But that was no ordinary flashlight. I’d barely even turned it on before he started to turn green and clapped his hands over his mouth. And swear to God, thirty seconds later he was puking his guts out.

My jaw practically hit the ground. Fortunately, I had enough sense to turn around and take off. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough sense to turn the flashlight off right away, and I’m sorry to say that Twiggy, the zoo’s resident giraffe, got a faceful. (She had her head lowered
and was gawking at us at the time. Kind of serves her right for rubbernecking.)

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a giraffe barf, but it’s pretty much what you’d expect. Suffice it to say that it’s not pretty, and you can literally see it coming, so it’s nobody’s fault but your own if you don’t get out of the way.

I got out of the way.

My Suited friend was not so lucky.

I was actually starting to feel pretty good about myself until I heard the gunshots. Apparently that flashlight wasn’t the only weapon Mr. Suit had. I felt something brush past my leg, but I didn’t stop, even when I accidentally tripped and dropped the puke flashlight in the bushes. I doubled my pace and ducked through the underpass that separated the zoo from downtown. My chest was ready to burst, but there was no way my legs were going to stop moving. Because if they really had started shooting at us, the whole game had changed.

Twenty-four hours ago, my biggest concern was how to get my usual C- on my science project.

Twenty-four hours ago, my favorite jeans weren’t what I’d call clean, exactly, but they had exactly zero bullet holes in them.

Twenty-four hours ago, I’d never given more than a passing thought as to whether jackalopes existed. And that passing thought hadn’t covered things like A) how long a jackalope can live comfortably in a Dora the Explorer suitcase without freaking out and B) how many bathroom breaks a jackalope needs.

Twenty-four hours ago, I never expected to be hiding from homicidal government agents in a hotel linen closet.

I’m going to kill Professor Twitchett.

I’d run past the tuxedo guys and taken the stairs up to the twelfth floor just in case I was being followed. (Three at a time, too. Well, for the first five flights, anyway. Okay, three flights.) I staggered to the room and collapsed in a sweaty mess against the door. That was when I realized I didn’t have a key.

I thought about going back down and asking the check-in lady, but I figured after the whole “Where’s my dad” stunt, the last thing I should do was draw more attention to myself. Which is why I’d temporarily taken up residence in the linen closet. I was praying the housekeeping staff was done for the day.

It could’ve been worse, I guess. It smelled nice and clean, and I’d found the stash of pillow chocolates. So it’s not like I would starve or anything. Which was good, considering I had no idea how I was going to get out of this mess.

I unzipped the suitcase a little (making sure to point it away from me, in case Jack came out fighting). But he just poked his head out and looked around.
I offered him a pillow chocolate, but he turned up his nose at it. He seemed to appreciate the thought, though, because he gave a big galumphing hop into my lap, kneaded my stomach with his paws for a second, and then settled down for a nap. Which is not an experience I’d ever expected to have.

We sat that way for a couple of minutes, and then my disposable cell phone went off and ruined the moment. (And almost got me impaled on a pair of antlers. Those jackalopes sure can jump when they’re startled.)

“Agatha?” I whispered into the phone. Like it was going to be anybody else. I didn’t even know that phone number. I really should’ve paid more attention when she gave it to me, but when someone’s flinging a cell phone at your head, it’s easy to overlook details.

“Where are you?” Agatha’s voice was tinny.

“Linen closet, twelfth floor.”

“Stay put. I’m on my way.” She hung up before I could say another word.

I stayed put. So did Jack. We may have even done
some napping. All I know is that hallway light sure was bright when Agatha threw the door open.

“Quick, get in the room!” she barked, shooing me with all her might. I scooped Jack up around the middle and staggered into the hotel room. I didn’t even bother putting him in his suitcase; I just draped a washcloth over his head. Nobody saw us, but man, I bet those security tapes were interesting.

Agatha scanned the hallway and then hurried back into the room. She was still in panic mode. I offered her a pillow chocolate and she ate it without even registering what it was. It could’ve been a piece of scented soap for all she noticed.

“So I figured we needed some more supplies,” she said, emptying a drugstore shopping bag. She chucked me a small black duffel bag with a reinforced bottom. “That Dora suitcase has got to go. They’ll spot us in a second with that thing.”

No argument there. If I never saw Dora the Explorer again it would be too soon.

I chucked Dora at the desk trash can (and whiffed it). “What are we going to do? They shot at me!”

Agatha looked up dismissively. “They didn’t shoot at you.”

I put my foot on the bed and pointed to the hole in my jeans. “Excuse me. Bullet hole?”

Agatha glanced at it and rolled her eyes. “So you fell and got a boo-boo. They did not shoot at you, okay? It’s bad enough without you exaggerating.”

I waggled my finger in the bullet hole. “Real bullets, Agatha. The guy had a gun.”

“We’re kids, Jeremy. They’re not going to shoot at kids.”

I snorted. Tell that to my jeans.

Agatha ignored the snort and pulled a tiny netbook computer out of the shopping bag.

“Good grief, Agatha, how much shopping did you do?”

“What? It was on sale, and we need it! It’s not like the Business Center is safe, and we need to get online.
Besides, I told my dad before my birthday that I needed one. It’s not my fault he went for the sweater with the squirrel appliqué instead.” Agatha glared at me.

I shrugged. I remembered that sweater. I think Agatha wore it for a grand total of two class periods before the jeering got to be too much for her. I was just glad I wasn’t going to be the one explaining a massive credit card bill to my parents.

Agatha fired up the netbook. “The first thing we need to do is find out what we’re up against.” She glanced over at the jackalope, who was pawing at the minibar and making pathetic “ehn” noises. “What’s his problem?”

“He wants some whiskey,” I said, taking a bottle out of my pocket. I kind of enjoyed hearing the little guy sing.

“Oh, no,” Agatha said. “No whiskey for him. We all need to stay sharp.” The jackalope shot her a look that should’ve incinerated her on the spot. Agatha didn’t notice.

I tossed the jackalope a pillow chocolate and he turned his fiery laser eyes on me. I made a sympathetic
face, and he turned back to the minibar. “Hey, Agatha, here’s an idea.”

Agatha didn’t look up. “What?”

“Do you think they know it’s a jackalope? Because maybe if we just tell them that’s what it is, they’ll think we’re crazy and go away.”

Agatha didn’t say anything.

“I mean, they’re imaginary right? Who’d believe it’s a jackalope? And why would they want one anyway?”

Agatha typed on her netbook.

“Agatha?”

“Here we go! Hello, wireless Internet!”

So I’m guessing Agatha wasn’t listening. Fine, two can play that game.

I picked at the bullet hole in my jeans like it was the most interesting thing in the world and blatantly ignored her fiddling on the computer. I focused on prying loose a tiny burr that had gotten tangled up in the edge of the hole. I was just pretending to be interested at first, but after a couple of minutes, I frowned and looked closer. That burr
was really worked in there. And it was blinking. I’d never seen a burr with a green blinking light in it.

“Agatha?” I said, my voice an octave or two higher than I like it to be. I poked at the burr tentatively with my finger. “Holy crap, Agatha, it’s flashing.” Call me paranoid, but flashing burrs just scream bad news to me. I grabbed the burr and pulled, but it wouldn’t come loose. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that the more I messed with it, the more my fingertip started to go numb.

That’s when I decided to completely freak out. “Agatha, get it off!” I squeaked, shoving my pants leg at her. “The burr—I can’t get it off! I can’t get it off!” Not my finest moment, I’ll admit.

“What?” Agatha glared at me and then looked at the hole in my pants leg. Her eyes widened as she looked at the burr.

“That’s not a burr, Jeremy. That’s a—that’s not natural.” Her voice sounded normal, but I couldn’t help but notice that her hands were trembling. Without a
word, she grabbed her bag and came back with a pair of scissors. I held my leg out, like some kind of pathetic flamingo or something. Agatha scrunched her face up in concentration and carefully cut the area around the burr out. Then she dropped it on the floor and smashed the hell out of it with the TV remote.

“That’s from them, isn’t it?” she said, whacking the remains one last time for good measure. The burr lay scattered in tiny pieces on the floor.

“I told you they shot at me.”

Agatha just nodded, but her face was pale.

“So what was that, a tranquilizer or something? It messed up my finger.” I sucked on my finger, which was probably not a terrific idea, but seemed to make it better.

“Or a bug or something.”

I turned the pieces over with the toe of my shoe. I don’t know why I thought someone who has a flashlight that can make you barf would use regular bullets. “Who are these guys? He said they weren’t Homeland Security or CIA.”

Agatha looked solemn. “Someone worse. KGB? Israeli intelligence? Or maybe Nazis? An international crime syndicate?”

“Or Vulcans?” Just thought I’d throw that out there. I hadn’t entirely ruled it out.

Agatha just stared at me, but at least she didn’t laugh in my face. “Right. Or…Vulcans. I have no idea. But we can find out.”

“What did Twitchett call them? Look them up.”

Agatha nodded, but she looked distracted. “Yeah, I will, in a sec. But first, I want to know what he said about us. Where do you think Twitchett did his bragging? We’ve got to find out how much they know.”

The thought of Twitchett talking about us online made my stomach twist. “Just Google his name. We need to know what he said about us.”

Agatha typed his name into the search engine and hit enter. “Oh, crud. This doesn’t look good.”

“What?” I didn’t like the sound of her voice. Like with that one click of the keyboard we were doomed.

“He’s been on the Mad Scientists International website.”

Call me stupid, but that meant nothing to me. But it sure didn’t sound promising. “Mad Scientists? That can’t be good.”

“Mad Scientists International. It’s ironic,” Agatha said, then paused. “I hope.”

She clicked through to the message board and we hunched over the netbook, going through the archives. Twitchett had been awful chatty for a while there. It was pretty bad.

It started out okay, with Twitchett just talking about Agatha’s crazy hybrid ideas. Or, sorry, “Agatha H.’s” ideas. Then after a while he stopped mentioning Agatha and started talking about his awesome new project. And then he was just flat-out bragging about how he’d created a jackalope, but it was secret so no one should tell anyone. What a doofus.

Agatha rolled her eyes. “So great, they basically know everything. Sheesh, did he think he was being
anonymous? I mean, forget about the fact that he practically put my full name down, and that he called it a stinking
jackalope
instead of animal hybrid, did he really think that the user name ‘ProfFrankenTwitch’ was going to keep people from figuring out who he was?”

Knowing Professor Twitchett, probably.

“It looks like nobody was taking him too seriously at first, until this ‘GS892-C99’ person started posting, asking for details and wanting to meet. Then it looks like Twitchett got nervous and disappeared.”

I nodded. “And then there’s this guy.” I pointed at the screen. “This ‘Metalman’ guy, telling GS892-C99 that he can produce the jackalope. What’s up with that? Are there two jackalopes?”

“Or is that our informant? And who’s this loser?” Agatha pointed at another user name, Simmons. “What, are those Wingdings? Who actually uses Wingdings anyway?” She snorted in disgust. “At least Twitchett tried to protect your secret identity, ‘Igor.’ Like there’s anyone else who fits that description.
Too bad he practically said he was leaving the jackalope with you. Guess we know why everyone’s after us, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I wished GS892-C99 and Metalman and the Wingding idiot were as lax about their usernames as Professor Twitchett. Somehow knowing that they were out there wouldn’t be as bad if I could figure out who they were. “So the Suit guys must be one of them, right? So are the Suit guys the Wingdings?”

Agatha shook her head. “I don’t know. What was it Twitchett said? Darpa, right?”

I nodded. He said a heck of a lot of gobbledygook, and I didn’t remember half of it. But darpa sounded familiar.

“It’s got to be something important. Maybe a government thing?” Agatha gave a nervous glance at the remnants on the floor and started typing. “Has to be, with that kind of technology.”

“I’ll bet it’s on—” I started, but Agatha cut me off.

“If you say Wikipedia, I’ll rip your throat out.”

I didn’t say it. (But I bet it was there.)

Agatha hit enter and then sat staring at the computer. “Oh, no. This is bad.”

I peered over her shoulder. “What? What’s a darpa?”

Agatha didn’t move. “It’s a government organization. Those guys, they’re from DARPA.” She looked at me dramatically.

I have to admit it was kind of a letdown. Here I thought we were being tracked by the big guys. CIA, Homeland Security, Vulcans, that kind of thing. Not some piddly little agency I’ve never even heard of. It was like finding out that you’re being chased by clerks from the Better Business Bureau. I don’t even know any movies with DARPA guys as the bad guys. And you know they can’t be that scary if they’re not even in the movies.

“DARPA,” I snorted. “Who the heck are they?”

Agatha cleared her throat. “Well for one, they’re military. It’s an acronym: It means Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. It’s part of the Defense Department.”

Military was definitely scarier than the Better Business Bureau. I frowned and peered closer. Man, do those netbooks have little screens. And Agatha’s big head wasn’t helping. “That can’t be right, though. What would the Defense Department want with Jack?”

“You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. Maybe he didn’t say DARPA.” Agatha did another search. “I mean, he’s just a—” She froze and looked at me in horror. “Oh, crap.” She turned the screen so I could see it.

“What?” I looked at what she’d called up. I was trying to be realistic here. It couldn’t be that bad, right? I stared at the screen and then back at Agatha. And then back at the screen. “That can’t be right, can it? Does that say—”

“Cyborg moths. It says cyborg moths,” Agatha said in a monotone.

I’ll admit it. I was like your classic cartoon wolf with my eyes bugging out at the screen. “They’re working on cyborg moths?”

Agatha nodded and read from the screen. “Remote-controlled cyborg moths equipped with surveillance
equipment. They’re implanting chips in their brains as caterpillars. Robot moth spies.”