Fireworks at the FBI (2 page)

“Right, sir,” the director said. “If they are telling the truth, someone else came in after they left and fired the rockets. Why, I can’t imagine, unless it was a Fourth of July prank.”

The president stood up. “I would like to see the room where this all took place,” he told the FBI director.

“Certainly,” Desmond Smiley said. “Follow me, please.”

The president and the kids followed the director to the lobby.

“Why doesn’t Mr. Smiley ever smile?” Marshall whispered to KC.

KC shook her head. “Maybe he does when there’s something to smile about!”

Mr. Smiley led them to a pair of elevators. They took one to the third floor. Mr. Smiley used a key to open an office several doors down the hall from the elevator. “This is where it happened,” he said.

They all stepped into the room. KC saw five desks, five computers, and a wall of metal filing cabinets. Opposite the door were two windows. Under one sat a metal wastebasket with a red pizza box sticking out.

“EEEW! What’s that smell?” KC asked. She wrinkled her nose.

“It’s burned powder,” the fire chief said. “From the rockets.”

The president walked over and looked inside the trash can. He opened one of the windows, then picked up the can. He tipped it so the can’s opening rested against the window ledge.

“Could someone have shot the rockets this way, Desmond?” the president asked.

“I think so, sir,” the FBI director said. “The rockets would shoot straight out the window.”

“Marsh, look at this!” KC cried excitedly. She pulled the red pizza box out of the can. One whole side was burned and blackened. Bits of the cardboard crumbled when she opened the lid.

“Empty.” Marshall sighed. “Not even a piece of crust left.”

“I suppose this will be one of those unsolved mysteries,” the president said. “We’ll never know for sure why someone fired rockets from this room.”

KC shot Marshall a look. She was sure something weird was going on here. And there was something about that pizza box that bothered her.…

“Ready to go, kids?” the president asked.

“Ready!” KC said.

The director led them from the office.

“What’s in all these other rooms?” Marshall asked as they walked toward the elevators.

“We have staff meetings in this room every morning,” Director Smiley said.

“The office next to it is where we put together the Ten Most Wanted list.” He pointed to a third door. “And this one is the office of the Federal Witness Protection Program.”

“What’s that?” Marshall asked.

“When witnesses go to court for big trials, the criminals usually go to prison. Naturally, they’re angry at the witnesses. So to protect the witnesses, the FBI offers them a new identity and a new place to live. That way the bad guys or their friends can’t find them.”

“Cool,” Marshall said.

The president and the kids rode the elevator back to the lobby. A few minutes later, they stepped into the waiting car. “We’re ready to go,” President Thornton told the driver.

“Um, could we stop and get a pizza?” KC asked. “Seeing that box made me hungry.”

The president laughed. “Me too,” he said. He leaned forward. “Matt, please take us to the closest pizza place.”

“What are you doing, KC?” Marshall whispered. “I know you, and I’d bet anything that you’re not hungry. What’s up?”

“I have a hunch,” KC said, watching the traffic whiz by. “I think the pizza box is an important clue.”

“Sir, would you like me to call ahead for the pizza?” the driver asked the president. “This traffic is pretty bad right now.”

“Good idea,” the president said. “Okay, kids, what do you want on the pizza?”

“Pepperoni!” Marshall said.

“Broccoli,” KC added.

“I want cheese and mushrooms,” the president said. “Got all that, Matt? Make it a large, please.”

Matt called in the pizza order, and soon he pulled the car to a stop in front of ’Round Town Pizza. Inside the wide glass windows were booths, an old-fashioned jukebox, and a counter holding stacks of empty pizza boxes.

“It’s under my name, sir,” Matt said. “Would you like me to go in?”

The president smiled. “No, the kids can handle this deal,” he said. He gave KC some money.

KC and Marshall hopped out of the car and entered the shop. The man behind the counter smiled. “Welcome to ’Round Town, best pizza for miles around!” he said.

“We’re picking up a large pizza for Matt,” KC told the man.

“Just pulled it out of the oven,” the man said. “Let me box it up for you.”

KC and Marshall watched as the man expertly slid the large pizza into a flat box. “That’ll be twelve dollars,” he said.

KC paid and picked up the box. “Do you know a pizza place that uses red boxes?” she asked the man behind the counter.

“Nope, most places use plain brown, like ours,” the man said.

“Thanks anyway,” KC said. Then she frowned. Now why was the pizza box bothering her? It wasn’t just that it was red, not brown. What was it?

When they walked into the kitchen, KC’s mom was filling a vase with water at the sink. She had on a pretty yellow dress and high heels.

“Mom, why are you all dressed up?” KC asked.

The president set the pizza on the table. “Did I forget something?” he asked. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Yes, Zachary, you did forget something,” Lois said, smiling. “We have to go to the New England governors’ lunch.”

President Thornton smacked himself on the forehead. “Bad president! When
do we have to be there, Lois?” he asked.

Lois glanced at the kitchen clock. “We have twenty minutes. Kids, do you want to come along?”

“No thanks, Mom,” KC said, rolling her eyes at Marshall. “Boring!”

“So we get the whole pizza to ourselves?” Marshall said as he peeked inside the box.

“You’d better save me some!” the president said. He rushed out of the room to change.

KC and Marshall sat at the kitchen table and each grabbed a slice of pizza.

“I have a cool idea,” KC said.

“Me too,” Marshall said. “Ice cream after this pizza.”

“No, I want to get a greyhound for the president,” KC said.

“What?” Marshall said. He nearly choked on his mouthful of pizza.

KC slapped him on the back until he stopped.

“Why get him a greyhound?” Marshall was able finally to ask.

“Because he wants one,” KC said. “Did you hear him talking about it last night?”

“Oh yeah, when we saw that guy with the dog,” Marshall said.

KC nodded as she nibbled her pizza. “While you were still sleeping this morning, I found a Web site on my computer,” she said. “It’s called adoptagreyhound.com. The place rescues greyhounds after they stop racing at tracks, then finds homes for the dogs. And I want to get one!”

“Awesome,” Marshall said. “So where do you get them?”

“There’s a dog track just outside D.C.,” KC said. “It was listed on the Web site.”

She patted her backpack. “I printed out the directions. Maybe we can check it out today. I need to go out anyway, to mail a letter to my dad,” she said. “And we need to investigate this fireworks mystery some more. Something in the FBI building is real fishy!”

“We
need to investigate?” Marshall said. “KC, in case you haven’t noticed, the FBI is on the case!”

KC watched a long string of cheese droop down onto Marshall’s chin. That cheese reminded her of something … what was it? Suddenly she jumped up.

“Marsh, I just remembered something!” KC said. “There was no pizza in that box!”

“What box?” Marshall asked.

“The box in the trash can in the FBI office,” she said. “The inside was totally clean. No tomato sauce, no sticky globs of cheese. You said it yourself!”

Marshall stared at her. “So why was a never-been-used pizza box in the trash can?” he asked.

KC took a bite of her slice. “I don’t know.” She chewed slowly and concentrated hard.

“Maybe a pizza guy came to the FBI pretending to make a delivery,” Marshall said. “Only instead of a pizza, he had fireworks inside the box!”

“But why?” KC asked.

“Beats me,” Marshall said.

He reached for another slice. “But whoever it was went to a lot of trouble.
For one thing, there was a guard there.”

“Yes, Joe Cellucci,” KC said. Her eyes opened wide. “Marsh, he might know who brought the pizza box into the FBI!”

KC jumped up again and cleared the table, sticking the leftover pizza in the fridge. She grabbed her backpack and rushed out of the president’s residence.

Marshall ran after her, gulping down the rest of his pizza slice.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the FBI building, out of breath.

A guard in a dark uniform was sitting behind the counter, staring at a TV monitor. The doors were locked, but he looked up when KC tapped on the glass.

He walked over while pulling a wad of keys off his belt. He chose the right key,
unlocked the door, and held it open. KC glanced at his name tag. It said JOE CELLUCCI.

“Hello, miss,” Joe said to KC. “I saw you here earlier today. Er, what brings you back? Is the president with you?” He leaned out the door and checked down the street.

“No, not this time,” she said. “But he’s real worried about those rockets that went out the window last night. We want to ask you some questions, okay?”

Joe Cellucci looked at the two kids. He pulled on his nose and scratched his chin. “I guess,” he said. “But I don’t know anything about any rockets.”

The kids followed Joe into the lobby. They sat in a couple of chairs meant for visitors.

“The president and the fire chief think someone in that office last night shot the rockets,” KC said.

Joe shook his head. “That office was locked. No one was in the building but me and Mr. Rinkel,” he said.

“Who’s he?” asked Marshall.

“Lawson Rinkel, on the third floor, room 303,” Joe said. “He’s here every Friday night, working late.”

“Did he order a pizza, by any chance?” KC asked.

Joe opened his eyes wide and nodded. “Now how’d you know that, miss?” he asked. “He gets one every Friday night, right at nine o’clock.”

“Who delivers it?” asked Marshall. “I mean, which pizza shop?”

“Red’s Pizza,” Joe said. “They have a
red truck, and all their workers wear red shirts and caps.”

“The boxes are red, too, right?” KC asked.

Joe Cellucci nodded.

“What did the delivery person look like?” KC asked Joe.

Joe closed his eyes for a second. “A guy about my height,” he said. “Red shirt and baseball cap. Tinted glasses. Oh, and a tattoo of a leopard on his arm right here.” Joe touched his right forearm.

“What color was his hair?” Marshall asked.

Joe grinned. “It was blond, and really long,” he said. “In those braid things. Not braided braids like girls wear, just long and stringy-like.”

“Dreadlocks?” KC asked.

Joe nodded. “That’s it,” he said. Then he chuckled. “By nine o’clock, I’m usually pretty hungry. When I smell that pizza, my stomach goes crazy. Mr. Rinkel always saves me a couple slices and drops them off for me when he leaves.”

KC remembered the empty pizza box in the trash can. “Did he save you any pizza last night?” she asked.

Joe tugged on his nose. “Nope. Mr. Rinkel called on his cell and said he was waiting for an important call from London, so I should send the pizza guy up. Guy gets here, signs in, and I send him up. A little later, Mr. Rinkel calls my phone again. This time he says he never got his pizza.”

“So the guy went up with a pizza box, but he never delivered it?” KC said. She
stood up and started pacing back and forth.

KC looked at Marshall. “I’ll bet the pizza guy set off those rockets,” she said.

Joe shook his head. “That room was locked,” he said.

“Do you know his name?” KC asked.

Joe shook his head. “Red’s has a lot of delivery folks,” he said. “I never saw this one before.”

Joe snapped his fingers, then hurried over to the counter. He picked up the sign-in clipboard and carried it back to his seat. “He signed in,” Joe said, flipping a page back. “Oh rats!”

“What?” asked KC.

“He didn’t write his name,” Joe said. He turned the clipboard so KC and Marshall could read what was there.

The sheet was laid out with a long line

for a name, then two short spaces to write what time you signed in and signed out. On the line for July 4th, someone had scrawled the words RED’S PIZZA.