Chapter 11: Have a Seat!

“Excuse me, sir, but do you know where Theater 11 is?”

The usher gave Drew a funny look.  “Sure,” he said.  “It’s right next to Theater 10.”

“Thanks,” said Drew, with not-so-subtle grumpy sarcasm.  “I suppose that one’s next to Theater 9?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I’m going to find another usher.  Hey, miss!  Excuse me, but where’s Theater 11?”

Drew’s helpful friend was poised to speak again when the other usher answered.

“See that hallway right there?  Go to the right, and it’s almost all the way at the end.  There’s a large sign in front; you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you very much!” said Drew.  “I appreciate helpful information,” he said, looking long and hard at the first usher.

The usher stared back.  “What?”

“Skip it,” said Drew, starting down the hall to the theater.  The other usher’s directions were good, and he found it in no time at all.

“Now, was this General Admission, or was it a reserved seat?” wondered Drew, looking at his ticket before entering the theater.  It was general admission, but to his surprise, there was a note scrawled on it.  “A28.”

“Sounds like a seat number,” thought Drew, entering the theater.  It was, but when Drew saw where it was, he wished it hadn’t been.  A28 was in the top-right corner of the theater, all the way at the back.

“Hardly the ideal seat,” he thought.  “Well, it could be worse.  I could be on the front row.”  He started up to his seat, reaching it after about a minute.

No one else was around.  Other people were in the theater, of course, but they were all lower down and towards the middle.  It didn’t look like the place would be very crowded this evening.

Normally, Drew would have thoroughly enjoyed going to see a movie all by himself.  He loved his family, of course; but they could—well, there were times when he just needed to get away from them.  This was the perfect break, except for one thing: Day of the Dinosaurs 3 wasn’t very good.

It wasn’t a casualty of failed expectations.  Day of the Dinosaurs (the original) had been a decent film—not great, but worth going to see.  Day of the Dinosaurs 2—well, it was one of those sequels they made just for the sake of making a sequel.  It wasn’t that great.  Okay, but not even very good.  They probably should have stopped with the first one.

But they didn’t, and they weren’t through after the second one, either.  A collective groan rippled across the country as the third movie was announced.  And boy, was it announced!  The studio that produced it signed a contract with a fast food company.  Soon, there were commercials featuring huge lizards, frightened people, and tantalizing food.

Did the commercials help the restaurant?  Who knows.  They did nothing to make the movie a success.  Far from it.  When the film premiered in Los Angeles, it was to a mostly empty theater.  The unfortunate souls that did go to see it sent death threats to the star, Elliot Goldwell.  Examples?

This is the worst movie of all time.  Acting in it was the biggest mistake of all time.

Dear Mr. Goldwell:  In your second film, you were murdered by Nazis.  I can’t find any Nazis, but I can do the same thing to you, regardless.

GOLDWEL PREPAR TWO DYE

Faced with such ominous threats, Goldwell had gone into hiding.  He hadn’t been seen since the film’s premiere.  His studio had been notified that he was on an “extended leave,” and they’d postponed all his other movies.  Wherever he was, one thing was certain.  He wouldn’t be caught dead going to see Day of the Dinosaurs 3.  Or, maybe he would be.  Literally.

That was why Drew had little to look forward to as he leaned back in his chair and watched the previews for the new movies.  There was an exciting one about four kids who escape a fake uncle and travel halfway across the country trying to find their parents, a dull one about a woman who falls in love with the son of her dad’s rival CEO, an OK one about a talking fish, and an interesting one about two men that masquerade as Holmes and Watson of Baker Street fame.

Then, after the customary cell-phone warnings, Day of the Dinosaurs 3 started.  It was somewhat predictable.  Two scientists found a bunch of dinosaur eggs frozen inside a block of ice.  They melted the ice, mistake number one.  Then, they X-rayed them, mistake number two.  Something went wrong with the X-Ray.  Five dinosaurs hatched, grew much more quickly than any normal dinosaur ever did, and started multiplying.  Soon, the world was being overrun by dinosaurs.  A tired story with no new twists to add any life whatsoever.  It didn’t take long for Drew to start yawning.

“At least this chair’s comfortable,” he thought, leaning back.  “I might fall asleep.”  He watched as an ankylosaur chased someone past a desolated city that looked a whole lot like a vacant lot in Newark.

Suddenly, he sat up.  The screen was shifting!  Drew rubbed his eyes, thinking he was going batty.  The picture was moving, up through the theater—

No, wait.  It wasn’t moving: Drew was moving!  He looked down in astonishment and saw his seat sinking slowly into the floor.

“Ah-ha!” he thought.  “So this is why I was supposed to sit here!  I’d better be prepared for the welcome party.”  He reached in his coat, pulled out his gun, and sat at attention as the descent continued.

Above, a panel rolled across the hole once the top of the seat dipped under it.  Shortly afterwards, a crack of light appeared at the side of the platform.  It grew, and Drew found himself lowering into a large room.  He looked around.  Computers lined the yellow walls of the strangest movie theater basement Drew had ever seen.  Most of them were off, but a couple were on.  The monitors showed the entrance to the theater building and the seat in Theater 9—that is, the hole where the seat was supposed to be.  There were a few empty chairs surrounding the computers, and one other one, right next to Drew’s seat.  A man sat in it, his back to Drew, busy flipping through papers.

A grin crossed Drew’s face.  I’ll bet I’m not expected.

The man pushed a paper to one side.  “Ah, 50237,” he said.  “It is good of you to drop in.  It’s been far too long since you gave your last report.  We are all too anxious to learn more about the disappearance of—”

He swiveled around.

“Oh!”

Drew faced him, gun drawn.  “Hello,” he said.  “50237 sends his regards; he had better things to do than sit through that putrid movie up there.  I’m here to take his place.  Now, suppose we get acquainted; I always prefer working with someone I know.  Who are you?”

The man glowered.  “If you were really working with 50237, you’d know.”

“Maybe, and maybe not,” said Drew.  “If you were really concerned with leaving here, you’d probably tell me.”

“Smith,” said the man.  “John Smith.”

“John Smith?” said Drew.  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smith.  I’m John Paul Jones.  Got any other lies for me?”

Smith stared at him.  “You’re a little overconfident, aren’t you?” he said.  “Do you really think, when you’re through with me, you can walk right out of here?”

“Sure,” said Drew.  “I have friends who know right where I am right now.”

“As do I,” said Smith.

“Wonderful,” said Drew.  “Hopefully, they won’t have to meet.  Now, why don’t you tell me about this place?”

“This place?” said the man.  “It’s a movie theater.”

“Right,” said Drew.  “A movie theater with a very interesting basement.  Care to explain?”

“Not really,” said Smith.

“Then I’ll start,” said Drew.  “You all have been using Don’s Drive-In to communicate.  Agent 50237 orders the number three with mushrooms, gets the message, and comes here if it’s too important for your little message delivery system.”

Smith nodded.  “You want to just tell me who 50237 is while you’re at it?”

“Don’t think you’re going to get it out of me that easily,” said Drew, “when you don’t really know who he is.”

Smith’s eyes narrowed.  “What makes you think that?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?  They know about it; that’s why they sent me instead of you.  If you can’t tell me who 50237 is, well—you’re through in this organization.”

“You work for us?”

“Sure!”

“Prove it.”

“Uh-uh,” said Drew.  “You prove it first.  Let’s see your badge.”

“You’re in my office.”

“But I’m the one holding the gun.”

“Good point.”  Smith was starting to sweat.  “I’ll just get it out of my pocket—”

Smith’s hand came up holding a gun!  There was a shot—and the gun fell to the floor.  Smith grabbed his hand, wincing in pain.

“Naughty, naughty, Mr. Smith,” said Drew.  “I’ll be sure to tell them about this.  Now, the badge?”

With his other hand, Smith reached into his other pocket and pulled out a badge.  He flipped it open.

Direction générale de la sécurité intérieure

Louis LeBlanc, Agent de contre-espionnage

328049

Drew read it and nodded.  “And the name of 50237?”

“Jean-Luc Bourdon.”

“His real name.”

“Henri Matisse.”

“Very good,” said Drew.

“Now will you tell me—”

“Not so fast!” said Drew.  “Let’s see if you know his purpose.”

“I’ve said all I need,” said the man.  He glared at Drew.  “You’re not one of us, are you?  Where’s your badge?”

“I’m holding it,” said Drew.  “Your hand just felt it.  Now, the purpose?”

“50237’s staying with a guy named Blaine.  Steve Blaine.  He’s an aerospace expert who’s working on a project for the United States—”

“What project?”

“We don’t know,” said LeBlanc.  “All anybody knows is he’s working on something.  It’s common knowledge in the international arena.  Whatever it is, it’s going to be important, and we don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.  We sent Matisse to Blaine’s place to make sure nothing happens before Blaine delivers it.”

“I see,” said Drew.  He smiled, knowingly.  “Any changes you want to make before I report that story?”

“I’d like to take the whole thing back, if I may,” said LeBlanc.

“It’s too late for that,” said Drew, “but I’ll keep your honesty in mind when I make that report.”

“Do that,” said LeBlanc.  “Incidentally, since you seem to know so much, what is Blaine’s secret project?”

“A machine that keeps people from asking too many questions,” said Drew.  “So long, LeBlanc.  We’ll tell Matisse to drop in on you one of these days.”

With that, Drew reached out and hit the up button on a little platform next to his seat.  The chair slowly rose towards the ceiling.  Drew kept his gun trained on Matisse until he was through.  The panel reopened, and Drew jumped up and grabbed the edge of the floor.  He hauled himself out just in time.  Behind him, the chair stopped rising, and the panel closed.  LeBlanc had grabbed the controls.

But he was too late.

Picking himself up, Drew worked his way down the aisle and exited the theater as inconspicuously as possible.  He ran into the friendly usher on the way out.

“How was the movie?” she asked.

“Oh, okay,” said Drew.  “Nothing to write home about.  I had a great seat, though.  Good night!”