Bonfire Masquerade (14 page)

“NO!” the Krewe roared. “Then saddle up!” Sibyl yelled back.

Suddenly the room was a flurry of noise and action. People were pulling on costumes and hopping on bikes. In under five minutes, I suddenly had twenty angry costumed punks at my disposal.

“Here,” Sybil said, “hop on with me.” She was wearing a fox mask and tail. On anyone else, it would have looked cute. On her, it looked cute—and dangerous.

Her bike was a monster of a bike. The tires and the lower frame were normal, but the handlebars and the seat were ten feet up in the air! It was like a giraffe bicycle. It also had a second seat behind the first one.

“You can get up on my shoulders,” she said, squatting down. I'd never ridden a bike like this. I climbed up on her back, and then scrambled up on the rear seat while she held the bike steady. She hopped up on a table, then hopped up again onto the front seat. The bike wobbled for a second, but it stayed upright. I looked down at Lenni.

“I've got my board,” said Lenni, “so I'm good! Let's go.”

“Open the gates!” yelled Sybil. A large gate on one side of the warehouse began to roll upward. It must have once been the entrance for trucks, when this was
a working factory. Now it served as a launching point for a tiny bike army.

Sybil rode at the front of the pack, her tall bike like the prow of a ship, cutting through the water. The streets were packed with Mari Gras parades and partyers, but they parted for the Krewe de Crude like a hot knife going through butter. They even applauded as we went past, mistaking us for just another street parade. Little did they know that the lives of a lot of people were depending on us.

Riding behind Sybil was terrifying. The bike shook with the wind, and I had no handle bars to hang on to—and no control over which way the bike went. I just balanced on the seat and hoped. It was kind of … exciting.

“WOOO-HOOO!” I yelled, as we pedaled into the night. I felt like a cowboy, riding off to save the town.

A chorus of yips and howls echoed from behind me. I looked back and caught sight of the entire Krewe de Crude. They rode on bikes of every shape and size: from super-tall ones like Sybil's, to ones where the riders were so low they were almost lying on their backs, the pedals far in front of them. Some of them rode on tandem bikes, where two people pedaled together on one extra-long bike. There were two other skateboarders aside from Lenni, and one dude on Rollerblades.

As I watched, a tourist with a camera the size of his
head tripped over the curb while trying to get a picture of the Krewe. He fell straight in front of the Roller-blader, who leaped effortlessly over him, landing two feet away from him on the other side. The guy didn't even blink! They were total pros.

Which was good, because we were going to need some coolheaded, able-bodied people on our side. A gang of arsonists and murderers. Bombs wired to blow. No way to tell our friends from our enemies.

I had to hand it to the city: New Orleans did it big.

CHAPTER
17

NANCY
ALL DRESSED UP AND READY TO BLOW!

“Just get here as soon as you can,” said Frank over the phone to Joe. “And if you happen to have an army on you—who won't alarm the partygoers—bring them along.”

He hung up. I realized we were all standing there frozen, afraid that at any moment we might spontaneously blow up. I took a deep breath, steadied my nerves, and took a step toward Frank.

When nothing happened, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least we could move around.

“Do you think Aaron's telling the truth?” I asked.

“No way to know,” said Frank. “So we'd better assume so.”

George—or was it Bess?—began feeling around the back of her mask.

“There's definitely something there,” she said. It was George. “Nancy, come here.”

I walked over to George and turned around so she could examine the back of my mask more closely.

“It looks like more than just a power source for the robe,” she said. “But I couldn't say for sure what it is. I think I'd have to take it apart. And that might end poorly for all of us.”

Frank joined her. “What do you think this is?” he said, poking softly at the back of my head.

“Looks like copper,” said George. “Maybe that's the detonator?”

“Could be. Or the top of the battery for it.”

“Right. Look at this piece, here. See how it runs all the way around?” George's finger traced a path along the back of my head. I was beginning to feel like a monkey having lice picked off its head at the zoo. Explosive lice!

“I think this is an antenna,” said George excitedly.

“Totally,” agreed Frank. “That's probably what he's using to blow them remotely. I wonder what frequency it's broadcasting on.”

Antennas reminded me of our last case—and of the surveillance help George had given Frank and Joe earlier.

An idea began forming in my head.

“Frank, do you have that remote camera you used when you broke into Andrew's house?” I asked.

“It might be in my pocket. I think Joe gave it back to me.”

“Do you think you and George could use it to deactivate the detonators?”

“It's worth a shot,” said George.

“It could work. We'd just have to figure out how he's broadcasting, and find a way to block the signal. It wouldn't get rid of the bombs, but it should make it impossible to set them off.”

Frank hurried into the next room, and came back holding his jeans in one hand and a small camera, the size of a button, in the other.

“Got it,” he said. He and George ran over to Aaron's desk. George began tapping away at his computer.

“I know a lot about radio transmitters and wireless networks,” said George, “but zero about bombs.”

“Thankfully, ATAC considers bombs a critical part of a good spy's education. Go to this Web page.” Frank rattled off a long web address.

Bess sat down heavily on the couch.

“I can't believe I trusted him!” she said.

“We all did,” I told her. “He rescued me, remember? This isn't your fault.”

“Oh, Nancy, I feel terrible!”

“It's going to be all right. I'm going to go check on the party. Stay here.”

I walked out into the hallway. It wasn't hard to find my way to the main ballroom—I just followed the sounds of music, and laughter, and dancing. At the center of the house was a huge room, which extended all the way to the roof of the building, making the entire ceiling one giant skylight. I found myself on a balcony two floors up, looking down on a crowd of a hundred costumed partyers. They were dancing, chatting, and admiring the decor. Not one of them was aware just how much danger they were in. I tried to pick out Aaron, but everyone looked the same. It was useless.

A spiral staircase led from the balcony down to the party below. I walked down, hoping that up close something might tip me off to Aaron's presence. But it was even more impossible to tell people apart than from a distance. It was just a sea of sparkling black robes and silver masks. I wandered into the crowd, and as I did, a disturbance began in the party. A few people were looking around quizzically, tapping at the sides of their masks. I sucked in a quick, fear-filled breath, but thankfully no one tried to remove their masks. Aaron must have given them instructions to keep them on.

“If we move the
BZZZZZ …
and attach
…
”

Out of nowhere, I heard George's voice in my ear. I
spun around, but she was nowhere to be found. Then I realized the voice was coming from all around me.

The antenna! They might not have been able to deactivate the bombs, but they had definitely hacked into the system. As I listened, George's and Frank's voices began broadcasting from every mask in the room. It gave me hope. I decided to head back upstairs and see if they were any closer to a solution.

I slipped among the confused, masked revelers and headed back toward the spiral staircase. As I did, a small masked figure stomped past me. Wherever the person was going, he or she was headed there in a hurry. The figure nearly knocked into me.

It was only as the crowd swallowed the figure up behind me that I realized something: I couldn't hear George and Frank coming from that person's mask! Which meant they didn't have an antenna. Which meant they weren't wired to explode. Which meant it was one of Aaron's gang!

I turned back to find the person, but he or she was already gone. But still, now we had a way to tell people apart. If George and Frank could neutralize these booby-trapped masks, we might have a chance.

I hiked up my robe and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When I burst through Aaron's office door, everyone froze.

“It's me!” I said. “Whatever you're doing, it's working—
I can hear you guys broadcasting over all the antennas in all the masks.”

“Yes!” said masked-Frank, giving masked-George a high five.

“It gets better,” I said. “One person's mask wasn't broadcasting. If they don't have an antenna, they don't have a bomb, and they must be part of Aaron's gang. So if we can hijack the antennas, we can keep the bombs from going off and use them to tell people apart.”

“We're on it,” said George.

“You better hurry, though. The guy who passed me without an antenna seemed upset. They may be realizing that something is going on.”

“Got it!” said Frank. “The motion sensors and the remote access on the detonators should be deactivated.”

“So it's safe?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Frank. “Well, probably. We're working on the fly with a system I've never used before. I think we've hacked it, but there's no way to know without trying.”

We all stood still, four identically dressed figures in a crazy glass house. I knew what I had to do.

I grabbed my mask with both hands and yanked it off. I heard a sudden loud noise. Bess screamed.

CHAPTER
18

JOE
CRASHING THE PARTY

“Yo, Frank, what's the situation?”

I could hear Bess screaming in the background. Things didn't sound good.

“You just nearly gave Bess a heart attack,” Frank responded. “We were pretty sure we managed to deactivate the bombs, and just as Nancy tested the theory by removing her mask, my cell phone rang. We thought she was dead.”

“My bad,” I said. “But hey! No one's dead, right? Me and the Krewe de Crude are a block away from Aaron's house. What's up?”

“We've shut the bombs off, so we should be safe. But we don't want Aaron and his crew to know it until we're in place to take them all down. So we're staying robed up. We need half of you to surround the house and make sure no one gets away. Once they're in place, send everyone else in.”

In the distance, the lit-up glass box of Aaron's house grew nearer and brighter.

“Can do,” I said. “But how are we going to tell everyone apart?”

“That's the great part. Aaron's bombs are run by remote antennas. We've hijacked the system. Let us know when you're ready, and we'll start broadcasting. Anyone whose mask doesn't make noise? Take them down.”

“Got it!”

I relayed to Sybil what Frank had told me. She took her hands off the handlebars (scaring the pants off me), put her pinkies in her mouth, and emitted the loudest whistle I'd ever heard. As one, the Krewe pulled their bikes in tight around her. Sybil explained the situation. As we approached the building, she started giving orders.

“Everyone on my right,” she said. “Your job is to surround the building. If they're not broadcasting, don't let anyone get away. If you're on my left, you're going in with us.”

The air was split by the sound of yips and howls, as the bikes, blades, and boards of the Krewe de Crude began to circle the house. We waited until everyone was in place, then I called Frank again.

“We're ready,” I said.

“Welcome to the party,” he said.

Sybil and I hopped off our bike. Lenni fell in right next to us. Behind us were fifteen or so costumed Krewe members. We threw open the door and walked right past the startled butler, who tried to stop us with cries of “Wait. Stop! Where are your invitations?”

One of the Krewe stopped, turned, and farted at him. “There's my invitation, man,” he said. I guess they weren't called the Krewe de Crude for nothing.

We ran into the main ballroom, and I could finally see what Frank had been explaining. Everyone looked exactly the same. Tall or short, they were all wearing these weird, black, glowing robes. They looked like some really freaked-out cult. The few nearest the entrance stared at us, confused by our sudden appearance and our different costumes.

Right on cue, as we stepped into the main hall, the music changed. Aaron had been pumping some pop dance music in through hidden speakers, but that was suddenly replaced by the “Ode to Joy” broadcasting out of tiny, tinny speakers in each person's mask.

“What's this?” asked Lenni, when the music started.

“Beethoven,” I replied. “It's Frank's ring tone on his phone.”

Suddenly I noticed someone trying to slip deeper into the crowd. It was hard to be sure, but I didn't think
there was any sound coming from the person's mask. I headed toward him, and he started running.

I tackled him in a flying leap. He went down, taking some other guests with him. But I was right! There was no music coming from his mask. He tried to get up, but Sybil knocked him on the head with a platter of food from one of the tables.

“Get 'em, boys!” she yelled. The Krewe exploded into the crowd. I expected people to take off running in fear, but I'd forgotten: This was New Orleans, a rough-and-tumble city that loved fighting as much as it did partying. In just a few seconds, the crowd had become a giant free-for-all, ten times worse than what we had gone through at the Krewe de Crude warehouse.