The Winning Element (24 page)
With another groan, I fell back into bed and crammed the pillow over my head.
“Good morning, good morning, good morning, how are you? I’m fine, I’m fine, I hope you are, too. Good morning, good morn . . .” I didn’t know which twin was singing (and dancing by the way her voice bounced around the room), but I wanted to duct-tape her little mouth and shove her from the room.
One bathroom and four girls did not make good odds, but an hour later, we all managed to be ready. I’d always been a low-maintenance girl. It didn’t take much to get me going. Fifteen minutes tops—showered, ribbons tied, and all. Watching the twins made me thankful of that.
I didn’t know so much could be done to fingers and toes, eyebrows and hair, makeup and shaving, and whatever else in preparation for one single day. Heck, it took them fifteen minutes just to apply lotion. It wore me out watching them.
Then again, I was
already
worn out, so maybe that was my problem.
already
worn out, so maybe that was my problem.
We left our room and joined the other color-coordinated girls trickling through the halls and down the elevator.
TL caught up with us in the lobby and motioned us to follow. He led us down a hall, around a corner, and into a vacant conference room.
That was the good thing about hotels. Lots of nooks and crannies to duck into.
TL pulled the tiny blue pyramid from his pocket and rotated the top. “Eduardo and his men were in their room all night. Parrot translated the Portuguese you recorded.”
Portuguese? I’d thought it was Spanish. Guess that’s why I wasn’t the linguist of the group.
“Everything’s definitely on,” TL continued. “But they didn’t talk times, dates, or locations.”
Beaker held her finger up. “So basically we still have nothing.”
“No,” TL corrected. “We have the recording, pictures, the DNA dust. Some proof. It’s a start. We need a location, though, where it’s all going down. We need the smuggled chemicals. We need the location of where his buyers will be making the bombs. We need to know how he’s shipping them back out. We need Eduardo Villanueva in the middle of it all. And we need to get a tracker on him so we know when he’s on the move.”
“The simulated mosquito sting,” I suggested, “is going to be our best bet. That way we can plant the tracker from a distance. ”
TL nodded. “I agree. And I want a camera in his room today. No audio function on it, though. We don’t want him to pick up our signal if he happens to scan his room for bugs. The IPNC has given us a lip reader.” TL handed me a piece of paper. “This is his IP address. Make sure all film goes directly to his computer so he can analyze it and tell us what Eduardo and his men are saying.”
I pocketed the paper. Great idea sending silent film to a lip reader. Why hadn’t David and I thought of that while we were planning things?
“That’s it for me. You two got anything?”
We shook our heads.
TL extended his hand. “Give me one of the simulated mosquito stings.”
I slipped my backpack off my shoulder, unzipped the front pocket, and gave him what looked like a mechanical pencil. The stings were cool little devices, able to shoot up to twenty feet. They were a combination of Chapling’s technology, my proto laser tracker invention that I’d brought with me from Iowa, and Wirenut’s putty-blowing bamboo that he’d used on the Rissala mission. I’d thought Wirenut’s homemade device was so neat that Chapling and I had immediately started tinkering with it after Rissala.
Once programmed, the simulated stings worked like those military missiles that swerve through the air until they find their target. The pencil’s lead end held the tracking component, and the eraser served as the release lever. Line the lead up with the target (person), and press the eraser. A tiny chunk of lead would shoot through the air and straight into the person’s body, feeling like a mosquito sting.
TL slipped the pencil in his T-shirt pocket. He rotated the pyramid counterclockwise to the off position. “You two go and eat breakfast. No skipping.” With that, he strode from the room.
Beaker and I slowly made our way down the hallway back to the lobby.
“How’d your call with David go?”
“Fine. We got cut off.” I didn’t tell her I’d stayed up all night obsessing over it.
“Huh. That’s weird.”
“Tell me about it.” I stopped at a water fountain and took a quick sip.
“I, uh . . . I saw CJ again last night after I left you at the pool area, as I was heading back to the room.”
“You did?” I smiled. “How’d it go?”
Shrugging, she glanced away. “It went all right.”
Her nonchalant tone did not match her shy avoidance.
I dropped the CJ subject. Something told me she wouldn’t give me more even if I pressed. And pressing, I figured, might ruin our newfound bond.
Crossing the lobby, we entered the meal room. Like yesterday, everyone had already served themselves and been seated.
And like yesterday, Beaker and I loaded up our plates: eggs, strawberries, muffins, bacon.
And
like yesterday, our hearty appetites drew snide attention.
And
like yesterday, our hearty appetites drew snide attention.
After breakfast, we headed across the lobby into the practice hall. As we walked in, music throbbed from speakers positioned around the room. Contestants were already spread out, stretching, getting ready for rehearsal.
In hindsight I should’ve had a muffin and called it quits, because here I stood thirty minutes later feeling a bit queasy. Girls surrounded me on all sides, sweating, dancing, ponytails sagging.
With clipboards in hand, the current America’s Cheer team meandered through us, stopping here and there, observing, checking things off.
Beaker stood diagonal to me, her jaw convulsively flexing. She needed gum. I’d keep an eye on her in case she blew one of her chemically talented gaskets.
Wearing a head mike, the team leader stood on a riser at the front of the room demonstrating the moves. “Five, six, seven, eight.”
She spun, dipped, kicked, swirled, and did about a dozen more fancy things. All around me girls effectively followed her. I barely made it to the kick part.
An America’s Cheer member wandered by, stopping a few feet from me. She watched me, her brows slightly puckered. Then she flipped a few papers on her clipboard and checked things off. I could only imagine:
Ana. Red-and-white team. Complete reject. Check.
The clipboard Nazi moved on, and all around me girls snickered.
I rolled my eyes. What losers. Get a life.
“Five, six, seven, eight.” Team leader busted into a rapid-fire series of moves.
Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.
All around me, girls gyrated. I didn’t even try.
Wiping my hand across my forehead, I gazed longingly over everyone’s heads to the mats stacked along the side wall. I’d give my last segment of code to flop across them for a few seconds.
“Take five,” Team leader echoed through the speakers.
Oh, thank God.
I found the closest America’s Cheer member and pulled her aside. “I’m going to need more than five. I’m not feeling well. I need to go to my room.”
“That’s going to cost you points on the competition.”
So.
“I know.” I gave her my best disappointed look. “But I’m really not feeling well.”
“I know.” I gave her my best disappointed look. “But I’m really not feeling well.”
“All right.” She made a note on her clipboard. “Take as long as you need.”
“Thanks.” For good measure, I put my hand over my mouth and puffed out my cheeks.
She jerked back. “Go!”
Nothing like the threat of impending vomit to make things real. I snatched my backpack from the pile of everyone else’s purses and bags, gave Beaker an I’m-out-of-here look, and then bolted upstairs to our room. Finally, some time to work.
I walked into the room and turned on Lessy’s and Jessy’s signals on my cell phone. Two red dots popped up on my screen. Cranking up my laptop, I keyed in the access code to the satellite. I plugged in the coordinates to our hotel, X-rayed through the roof, and brought up a picture of Eduardo Villanueva’s suite.
He and his men sat around the room as if they were having a pleasant afternoon. One read the paper. Another talked on the phone. Eduardo played chess with the last.
Too bad the lip reader couldn’t watch them via satellite. It would make things a lot easier than planting a camera. But with cloud coverage and storms between here and Denmark (where the lip reader lived), the image would constantly flicker and go out.
Speaking of which. I froze the image to stabilize it and studied the room’s layout. The wide angle camera would definitely have to be placed high in order to film the entire room and all the men.
I zeroed in on the ceiling fan and the globe light attached to it. If I could get the camera inside that globe, it would be the perfect location.
My heart jolted with excitement as a plan clicked into place.
I accessed the secret panel beneath the bed and found The Fly—a nifty little gadget Wirenut had developed way back before he even became a Specialist. It was a wide-angle camera that looked, big surprise, like a fly. Once programmed it would buzz to its destination, land, and begin filming. According to Wirenut, it had enough battery life to last a year.
Sticking my pencil under its tiny wing, I pressed the on button. It fluttered, and I smiled. Cute little thing.
I brought up the software that I had developed for The Fly and, through a wireless connection, programmed it to its final destination—the globe light.
I deactivated The Fly’s audio function and then input the lip reader’s IP address so all film would be copied to his hard drive.
In mere minutes, we would know what was being discussed in that room.
Climbing on top of the bed, I lifted The Fly to the vent and let it go.
From studying the hotel’s blueprints, I knew the ventilation system from my floor connected to the presidential suite. One way or another, The Fly would find its way there.
Reactivating the live satellite, I kept my gaze glued to the ceiling vent in Eduardo Villanueva’s living room. Minutes later, The Fly zoomed out, buzzed across the ceiling, and flew straight into the light fixture. None of the men even looked up.
I flipped from satellite to The Fly’s software. Sure enough, it had already begun filming.
I wanted to hug both Wirenut and his bug for their awesomeness.
In the bottom corner of my screen a message popped up from the lip reader, acknowledging the transmission.
Good. Almost everything in place.
We had implemented DNA dust, and pictures of it along with swabs would give us documented proof of where Eduardo had been. The Fly provided film of them in their suite. And now I just had to get a tracking device on them longer than thirty minutes to electronically monitor where they were going.
Other books
Deliciously Sinful by Lilli Feisty
Doctor Illuminatus by Martin Booth
The Sweetest Revenge by Dawn Halliday
The Clockwork Dagger by Beth Cato
Vanessa's Match by Judy Christenberry
The Last Time I Saw Paris by Lynn Sheene
Bread Machines For Dummies by Glenna Vance, Tom Lacalamita
Claimed: Unchartered Territory by Nia K. Foxx
The Way Back to You by Michelle Andreani
Pure Dynamite by Lauren Bach
