Chapter 12: The Spy Revealed!

“Jumping Joe Mauer!  You made it!”

“Tracy!” There was Sarah’s friend, in the flesh, still wearing the same outfit she’d been wearing earlier that day (in Philadelphia—not the Annie Oakley one).  The young agent looked a little tired, but the grin on her face was wider than that bridge Sarah had been thrown off of.  She grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her in.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Tracy said, leading her down the hall.  “I hope your trip wasn’t too bad.”

“Well, to tell you the truth,” said Sarah, “it kind of was.  I had to flee for my life in Atlanta, I got shot at once I got here, and then, some guy threw me off a bridge—”

Tracy shook her head.  “Those brutes!  Well, I’m glad you made it here.  I told them you could figure out all the clues, and you did!  See, you didn’t have anything to worry about—”

“Wait, them?” said Sarah.

“Yes—oh, the other agents that are helping me with this case.”  As they’d been talking, the two girls had wandered down to the basement—a very ordinary basement that looked unfinished.  However, Tracy made her way over to the wall of the foundation, then flipped up a thermostat, revealing a keypad.  She typed in a number, and a portion of the wall started to slide away!

Sarah gasped—though, by now, she should have been used to finding secret rooms.  The space which now greeted her eyes was almost identical to the one in Atlanta, only this one had more computers, more TV screens, more controls lining the walls—if that was possible.  There was a large desk in the center of the room, rather long.  Two men in suits were seated at either end of it—they stood up as Tracy went inside.

“Hi guys!” she said.  “Sarah, let me present Agent Burks and Agent DeHann,” she said, pointing to the one on the left and the one on the right, respectively.  “They’re two of the top officials in my agency—and also, the other two agents that knew about the box.  You met the fourth one in Atlanta already.”

Sarah shook hands with DeHann, a short man with a firm handshake and dark eyes that glinted cheerily in the midst of a rather circular face.  A short black beard moved up and down as he said, “Pleased to meet you!”

His partner, Burks, nodded at Sarah but quickly coughed.  “Excuse me,” he said.  “Good to see you, Sarah.  I would shake hands, but—Ah, choo!”

“You’ve been battling that over a week now, haven’t you?” Tracy said sympathetically to the taller man, broad-shouldered with silver streaks running through his black hair.  He had a face which you couldn’t forget—a face Sarah thought was tailor-made for movies.  I’d suspect him of being a spy before I suspected DeHaan, she thought, laughing to herself.

“The fourth one,” she suddenly said, her thoughts going back to the agent in Atlanta.  “Wait a minute—I’m confused.  Burks, DeHaan, and the Atlanta agent know about this box—who’s the other one?”

“Oh, come on, haven’t you guessed?” laughed Tracy.  “You’ve been speaking with her all day!”  And with that, she reached into her purse and pulled out a box.

“Oh, so you had it!” exclaimed DeHaan.  “I was wondering who did.”

Tracy calmly laid it on the table.  “Good thing we had three made,” she said.  “The other two have already disappeared.”

“Alright, Sarah,” said Burks.  “What’s the password?”

“Password?” said Sarah.  “What password?”

“Remember what I said this morning?” Tracy asked.  “Your dad quipped that you could figure it out?”

“I sure hope he wasn’t joking,” said DeHaan gravely, “because if he was, he’s the only one who can get it open.”

“If Akbar was telling the truth, it contains a video of the leaker,” said Burks.  “If we find out who that is, we can find your father, but we need to get the box open.”

Sarah shook her head.  “I’ve been so busy running around today,” she said, “I haven’t had a chance to even think about this!  I’ve got no idea what it is.”

“Think, Sarah!” encouraged Tracy.  “You know your dad.  It was probably something simple—some word or phrase or number he said a lot around the house, something you’d easily associate with him.  You wouldn’t know it as a password, but don’t think of it as a password.  Think, what could it have been?”

“I’m not sure,” said Sarah.  “In fact, I don’t even know why he said I might be able to figure that out.  My mom’s a lot better at that stuff than I am—why couldn’t she?”

“It must be specific to you, whatever it is,” Burks said.

“That doesn’t make any sense, though,” said Sarah.  “He told the same jokes around the both of us.  There’s nothing he’d say that my mom couldn’t guess too, unless—hey, wait a minute!”

Everyone in the room stared intently at Sarah as the girl thought.  “That might be—did he ever…no, he didn’t—of course, that’s got to be it!”

“Did you remember?” Tracy asked.

“Well, I’m not sure,” said Sarah, “but here goes nothing!”

She walked over to the desk and studied the box.  It had a computer keyboard along the top, complete with letters, numbers, and a shift bar.  But Sarah ignored the numbers AND the shift bar, contenting herself with just seven of the letters.  Seven letters that meant absolutely nothing in the order she put them in, but, when flipped, spelled out a word most people have heard.

O-L-O-C-C-I-P

There was a click, a buzz, a whir—

Then, the box spat out a disk!

“It was piccolo!” Sarah exclaimed triumphantly.  “Piccolo spelled backwards!”

“Yes!” exclaimed DeHaan.  Tracy pumped her fist and twirled around, excitedly.  Only Burks didn’t show much of a reaction—Sarah guessed he wasn’t as expressive—but a little smile formed at the corner of his lips.

“Put in the disk, Tracy,” he ordered.  “Let’s see who’s on it!”

“Alright, Mr. B.  Here goes!”  Tracy stepped over to one of the TVs, then shoved the disk into a slot just underneath.

Instantly, the DVD logo appeared.  It stayed there for six seconds, then faded into a screen.  This stayed black for two seconds, at the end of which, the image of a computer screen popped up.  On the screen was a confusing maze of lines with odd little letters and numbers written next to them.

“Gerdex,” explained a voice.  “The revolutionary new technology that promises to produce the most powerful missiles the U.S. has ever had.  This coded document tells how to build a plant for safely producing them.”

Little needles of terror ran down Sarah’s spine, as she heard that voice.  It sounded familiar.  Too familiar.  She’d heard it just that day, in—

The camera switched from the plans to the man behind the voice.  He was seated at a desk with the agency logo on it, eyes staring straight at the camera.  His face barely flinched, his voice never wavered—he spoke steadily, with the composure of a man who is neither guilty or sorry—but the camera shot revealed something Sarah had suspected the moment she’d heard the voice, something she’d been afraid of, a reality she hadn’t wanted to face.  The face behind the voice belonged to—

Agent DeHaan!

BANG!  BANG!

As Sarah whirled around, she nearly fainted.  DeHaan had pulled a gun, and he’d just shot Burks in the heart—twice!  The sight was enough to make any sane person sick—

But nothing could have prepared Sarah for what happened next.

Burks didn’t flinch.  He stared at DeHaan.  No look of pain crossed his face.  Quite the contrary, that little grin that had been on his mouth widened into a look of hilarity.  He started to laugh, a long, hearty laugh that filled the room.  His chair shifted back, and he stood up from the desk!

“Good try, DeHaan,” he said, “but you’ll never get away with this!”

Even as he spoke, he was already—fading!  Yes, fading—Sarah could see the screens at the other end of the room through his body!  The image got fainter and fainter, then disappeared entirely!

DeHaan looked down at his gun, then up at the empty chair in front of him.  “How—what—what happened?”

Tracy giggled.  “Oh, come on, Mr. DeHaan.  You don’t think we’ve been totally unaware of your spying, do you?  We’ve suspected you for quite a while, and this is all we were waiting for!”

“You tricked me!” DeHaan shrieked.  “Well, don’t think you’ll get me so easily, Miss Turner!  I know you’re in this room!” and he fired the gun right at Tracy!  Four bullets!

Sarah screamed!  Then, she noticed that Tracy hadn’t flinched either.  In fact, there wasn’t a sign she’d even been hit.  She continued to stand where she was, grinning at the rogue agent, who in turn stared down at his gun.

“You didn’t put blanks in my gun!” he exclaimed.

“Not only that, DeHaan, but we know your biggest fear.  You’ve got ailurophobia, don’t you?”

DeHaan stared at her, not believing what he was seeing.  Even as he stared, though, a change was taking place in the room.  The controls at each side of the room started to slide downwards into the floor.  Soon, they were completely out of view, and a hatch closed over them.  Behind them, and completely lining the walls, were several small cages—cages full of—

CATS!!!

There were all kinds of cats in the cages—big cats, little cats, purebred cats, alley cats, fluffy cats, thin cats—whatever breed, whatever size, whatever type, they were represented, and they were all meowing.  Meowing and yowling like crazy, and when several hundred cats yowl, it’s a pretty creepy sound.  Sarah shivered a bit.

But she didn’t find the sight nearly as unsettling as DeHaan.  He looked around the room, eyes getting wider and wider.  The gun dropped from his hand, and he sank back into his chair.  “Cats,” he muttered nervously.  “Cats.  No, no no—NOOOOOO!!!!!  Get them away from me!”

“Not yet, Mr. DeHaan!” Tracy insisted.  “First, you’ll tell us where Tracy’s father is!”

“No!” DeHaan knew that was his only bargaining chip at this point.  “I won’t tell you that—I won’t!”

Tracy was firm.  “You’ve got fifteen seconds, Mr. DeHaan, or the cages open!”

Above her head, a large clock started flashing numbers.  15…14…13…

“He’s in Delaware!” DeHaan yelled.  “A little farmhouse, just outside Bridgeville.  15012—U.S. Highway 13.  There’s a keypad in the basement—the code’s 8808.”

“Nice try, Mr. DeHaan,” said Tracy.  “We want to know where he really is!”

“I’m telling you the truth—I swear I’m telling you the truth!”

Tracy ran her eyes over the walls.  “The cats don’t think so,” she said.

7…6…5…

“That’s it—I swear—no, don’t—please, don’t—don’t open those—stop the timer—he’s not in Bridgeville!  I was just kidding—it’s—it’s Lake Lillian!  Lake Lillian, Minnesota—the boathouse right at the southern tip of the lake!  Step on the second plank from the door—it’ll drain all the water—secret room down there-he’s under that.  Only, please—please—please—don’t let the cats out!”

“Ah, so it’s Lake Lillian?” said Tracy.  “No wonder we couldn’t find him.  Come on, Sarah, let’s go!”

“Wait—wait—you can’t leave me here!”  DeHaan stood up and would’ve run toward the girls—except, at that moment, he saw that Tracy was holding a gray alley cat.

“You might not want to follow us,” Tracy said, “unless you want to play with Mittens.  Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Meow,” Mittens replied.

And with that, Tracy led Sarah out of the secret room.  The door slid shut behind them, trapping DeHaan inside—until he could be taken off to prison.

Chapter 11: The Part of Omaha That’s Not Nebraska

The hour flew by, and by the time it was up, Sarah wished it was still going on.  It had been a while since she’d seen Under Fiesta Stars, and she enjoyed the rest of the movie—the exciting, funny tale of how Gene and his foster father’s niece, Barbara, defended a mine from some outlaws trying to get control of it.  Actually, the whole plot’s a lot more complex, but—well, you can watch the movie yourself, and then you’ll see why Sarah liked it so much.

Once it was over, though, Sarah had made up her mind what to do next.  She was through trying to figure out riddles for today—through running places—through staring at everyone she met and wondering, Are they out to get me?  She was going straight to that hotel Tracy had told her about, and she wasn’t going to get anyone’s help to take her there.  She’d walk all the way there, by herself, speaking to no one until she arrived.

Of course, the sun had set by the time Sarah left the theater.  Omaha was a pretty big city, and chances were, it wasn’t the safest place at night—but Sarah wasn’t worried about that right now.  After what she’d been through that day, a city at night wasn’t going to daunt her.  She traipsed her way north until she found Abbott, then hooked a right and continued towards her destination—on foot.

Her walk took a couple of hours, during which time, she had time to slow down, relax, and take a look at Omaha.  It actually seemed to be a pretty nice place.  She’d been around the downtown part already, but once she’d passed the stadium, she found herself crossing more railroad tracks.  This time, no one waited on the bridge to throw her over the side, and Sarah took advantage of this opportunity to look up and down the tracks.  She saw rows and rows of hopper cars parked outside some factory—one of many, no doubt, that kept Omahans employed.  Then, she was walking past a park by the river—the perfect place for an early-morning jog, it looked like.  The walk put her in good spirits, and she was smiling as she wandered past a sign that read, “The People of Iowa Welcome You.”

Wait…The People of Iowa?

Sarah did a double take.  She started back, then examined the marker.  That’s what it said, alright.  Only, Sarah was pretty good at geography, and she was pretty sure Iowa was on the other side of the river.  This sign wasn’t at a river crossing—the street she ran on was parallel with the river.

“This can’t be Iowa!” she muttered to herself.  “It’s still part of Omaha—still part of Omaha—Omaha—Omaha—oh, my goodness!”

She had no idea that there was one little part of Iowa that was on the Nebraska side of the river.  Carter Lake.  Originally, it had been on the east side of the Missouri River, but a bad flood in the 1800s had redirected the river’s course.  A number of legal battles had been fought, but in the end, the two square miles of territory had remained a part of the Hawkeye State.  It was, however, completely encircled by Omaha, and that fact didn’t escape Sarah for an instant.

The part of Omaha that’s not in Nebraska!

“It must be this!” Sarah exclaimed to herself.  “I’ve found it!”

The discovery brought newfound vigor to the girl, and in spite of her harrowing day, she began to run, looking eagerly around for her friend.  “Tracy?” she called.  “Tracy, Tracy.  Where are you?  Oh, never mind,” she told herself.  “I don’t need to call—I’m sure Tracy will spot me first.”

She’d found the part of Omaha that wasn’t in Nebraska, but where was Tracy Turner?  Carter Lake wasn’t a big place, but suddenly, it seemed big to Sarah.  She ran along, past an empty field, past an office building, past a hotel, over another railroad track, past a U-Haul place—

Then, up ahead, she saw the Sleep Inn Tracy had told her about.

“Ah, I see,” she muttered to herself.  “I’ll bet Tracy’s waiting for me there!”

The Sleep Inn was across the street from her, and she stopped at the intersection while she waited for the light to change.  Restlessly, she paced about, kicking at whatever pebbles happened to get away.  Then, her foot hit a yard sign, and she quickly brought it back.

“Oops,” she said, looking down at it.  “A yard sale, I’ll bet—oh, my goodness!”

The sign was just a little slab of posterboard, white, with something written in black marker and an arrow underneath.  Only, it didn’t say “Yard Sale,” it didn’t say “Garage Sale,” and it didn’t even say “We buy junk cars.”  No, the sign was completely blank, except for the arrow two words that formed a name.  “Charles Follett.”

The name I heard on the plane!  Sarah stared excitedly down at the sign.  Then, she glanced at the arrow.  It pointed across the intersection, west along the intersecting road that cut her off from the hotel.

So, Sarah waited for the light to change again, and this time, she headed west down Avenue H.

She went past another hotel, a gas station, another hotel, and several large industrial buildings, all the while keeping a look out for the name Charles Follett.  Several blocks passed, and she didn’t see any trace of it—until she hit Ninth Street.  Then, there was another one of those signs, this one pointing north.

Now, Sarah broke into a run, so eager was she to reach her destination.  She ran past more industrial buildings, a salvage yard, a little house—without seeing any sign of Charles Follett.  She checked the names on all the businesses, but they were always something else—

Until she came to Locust Street.  At this little intersection, the residents of Carter Lake had erected four stone pillars, each of which bore a lightpole and a thinner, brick pillar with the letters CL inset within.  And there, on the northwest corner of the intersection was a little yellow house with this sign in front of it—

“Charles Follett, Injury Attorney.”

Sarah’s heart began pounding as she saw it.  “That must be it!” she cried.

She looked around.  No cars were coming, and she sped diagonally across the intersection, across the driveway, and up the sidewalk to the front door.  Quickly, she grasped the knocker and pounded it.  The door swung open, revealing—

Chapter 10: Chased through Omaha!

“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, you may now exit the plane.  We’d like to thank you for making Delta your choice of transportation for your trip to Omaha, and we hope that…”

Sarah didn’t stick around to hear the end of the message.  She nodded at the pilot and hurried up the ramp as fast as her legs would carry her.  Reaching the terminal, she popped up and looked around.

“Tracy,” she muttered.  “I hope you’re here!”

She looked around some more.

“Of course you’re not here,” she muttered again.  “What was that bus she said?  Number 16?”

She made her way through the terminal, past the security line, and out the door into the street.  Omaha was about the same temperature Philadelphia had been, but there wasn’t a trace of rain.  The late afternoon bathed the city in a welcoming orange light, though it mainly got in Sarah’s eyes as she searched for her bus.

She had no trouble finding it.  The doors were just closing on Bus 16 when she ran up, but they opened straight away.  “Can’t drive away without you, miss!” the bus driver grinned.  “We’ve been waiting!”

“You have?!”

The driver, a young man with short black hair and a cheerful personality, grinned to show he was joking.  “This bus waits for nobody, miss!” he laughed.  “If you hadn’t been running, you’d have been waiting!”

“Well, thanks for sticking around,” said Sarah, looking for a seat.  One was free behind the driver, and she took it.

“This your first time in Omaha?” the driver asked her.  Sarah wasn’t sure how she should respond.

“Uh, yeah,” she finally replied, trying to throw a note of hesitation into her voice, as if she were lying.  She wasn’t—it was her first time—but she didn’t know if she could trust the guy or not.

“Well, you’re really going to enjoy your stay here,” the driver said.  “There’s just so much to do in Omaha—sports, museums, the zoo—and, of course, the music scene.”

“Music?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, music.  We’ve got jazz, we’ve got pop, we’ve got an orchestra, and we’ve got the opera.  Yes, miss, everybody in this town’s a musician.”

“Are you a musician?” Sarah asked.

Instantly, she heard a groan from behind her.  “You shouldn’t have asked him that,” a raspy voice hissed.  “Now Willie ain’t going to stop singing until he makes his next circle.”

“Glad you asked, miss!” the driver replied.  “When you go on a bus in Omaha, there ain’t no driver you could get that’s better than singing than Wavy-Voiced Willie!  Just let me show you!”

And show her he did, for the next several minutes.  Sarah had to admit, this guy did know something about music.  He was especially good at remembering words to songs—he knew them even better than the notes.  Of course, he did know the notes themselves to some extent—he was never more than a step or two off key.  He wasn’t that bad a singer—just terrible.

What did he sing?  Sarah had no idea.  She didn’t recognize any of the songs, but she knew enough about them to know that she didn’t like them.  She was too polite to cover her ears, but she wished she could.  When the bus pulled up outside the baseball stadium, Sarah was only too glad to pull the cord to signal that she wanted to get off.

Fast as a radio being turned off, the singing stopped.  The driver hit the brakes and whirled around to look at Sarah, an expression of incredulity on his face.  “Here?  Here?  You want to get off here?”

“Why not?” said Sarah.

“There’s no game there tonight!” said the driver.  “What reason could you possibly have for getting off there?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Sarah, walking to the door.

The driver shook his head, watched her depart, and went away singing some song called “Why Can’t I Read Your Mind?”

“Whew!” Sarah exclaimed.  “Glad to be off that bus.  Now, what am I doing here exactly?”

She glanced around at her surroundings.  Behind her was the baseball stadium—TD Ameritrade Park, home of the College World Series when it was being played—which wasn’t now.  Tonight, the lights were off, and the sign out front only had future events listed.  No sign of life came from inside.

Across the street was one of the parking lots for the stadium.  Beyond that were some railroad tracks—beyond those, a few buildings—and then the river.  Sarah knew enough about geography to realize it was the Missouri.  Just south of the ballpark was the convention center—to the north, a few new buildings built to look like old downtown structures.

The street in front of Sarah was crowded, but an eerie stillness hung over Omaha this Tuesday evening.  Wide sidewalks were nearly deserted, save for a man doing some sweeping next to the ballpark, a woman with a baby carriage who’d just rounded the corner north of Sarah, and a couple teenagers laughing as they walked north on the other side of the road.

Looks safe enough, thought Sarah to herself, but I wish Tracy’s instructions had been more specific.  Look for something familiar—what looks familiar?

Nothing seemed familiar at all to Sarah.  After all, she’d never been to Omaha before.  What was there to recognize?

She stared at the convention center, wondering if she was supposed to see something there.  She glanced at the ballpark.  She looked north—those buildings didn’t look familiar at all.  She looked east, at the parking lot.

Then, she glanced back north.

Nothing seemed familiar, but she’d just noticed something about the stroller, which was getting closer to her.  It was a cheap, pink plastic sort of thing, the type just large enough to hold one kid that can’t (or won’t) walk wherever you’re going.  Nothing too special about it—except Sarah couldn’t actually see a baby in it.  There was a blanket covering the seat, presumably hiding the tot from view, but something struck Sarah as odd about it.

But if there’s not a baby there, why would someone be pushing an empty stroller?  Unless….

The answer was all too clear to Sarah, and she decided she’d better start moving.  She headed south, at a comfortable walk, going about twenty paces before she glanced back.

The stroller was still there, going about the same speed, but it had gained on her!

The only way that could gain on me, Sarah thought to herself, is if that person was running when I wasn’t looking…

She started to walk faster, then turned again.  Again, the stroller had gotten closer.  It was still about thirty yards away, but getting closer all the time.

Sarah quickened her pace, this time keeping her head turned.  The person with the stroller walked faster too.  She sped up some more, and the person with the stroller sped up more.

Then, Sarah took off running.

She didn’t bother to look back for about a hundred steps, but when she did, she saw that the person with the stroller was now running too—still with the stroller.  Okay, that’s not a coincidence!

The thought didn’t exactly cheer Sarah, and she looked frantically around for some place to hide.  She’d gotten a bit of an edge on that person once she’d started running, but now, the person was narrowing the gap, once again.  If they continued on the sidewalk as they were, she’d get caught—

Sarah zigzagged to the right and ran across a street, grateful that there weren’t any cars coming.  She glanced to her left, seeing if there were any buildings that she could duck in—but all she saw was a parking lot.  The ballpark on her right was locked up tight.

So she ran, and ran, and ran.  Her breath came in shorter and shorter gasps, and her muscles started complaining—stiff as they were after all those airplane flights.  She had to do something—

She looked back. Her pursuer was still coming, still with the stroller—

What’s in that stroller anyway?  Several guesses flitted through Sarah’s mind, all more likely to be found on a military base than in a baby carriage.  Otherwise, they wouldn’t bother to keep pushing it—

The parking lot was coming to an end, and there, ahead of Sarah, was a modern-looking new restaurant.  The heavily-windowed building had several customers this Tuesday night, some of whom chatted happily as they sat outside—but Sarah didn’t care about that.  All she knew was that a stroller couldn’t get through the building as fast as she could—

She crossed another street and darted inside.  Instantly, a friendly waitress spoke up.  “Welcome to Blatt Beer and Table—”

“I’m meeting someone,” Sarah said.  Tracy I hope, she thought as she shoved her way through the restaurant.  Seats wrapped their way around the street corner Sarah was on, but she shoved her way past the booths until she came to the kitchen.  Glancing back, she just had time to see that the woman with the stroller had not come in yet.  Quickly, she shoved open the door—

Crash!  Ding!  Splat!

“Hey, why don’t you watch where you’re going—”

“Sorry!” Sarah yelled.  Shoving past the surprised waiter (and being very careful not to step on the spilled tomato soup), she ran through the kitchen.  Shouts rose up around her (“Hey!  Employees only!”—“Restrooms are through the other door!”) but she ignored them, running until she found the backdoor to the establishment.  She pushed her way through and looked around.

An old railroad track cut its way up the block, towards the stadium again and between a bunch of other restaurants.  I’ll cut my way up the other side of the stadium and circle around, thought Sarah to herself.  They won’t have any reason to suspect me of doubling back.

It was easy to double back when you didn’t have anywhere to run towards.  Look for something familiar, Sarah remembered, and she glanced from side to side.  Nothing.

Oh, what in the world did that clue mean?

Sarah ran across another empty street, then worked her way up the west side of the stadium.  Not until she was halfway up did she sneak a glance back to see if her plan had worked.  Sure enough, the lady with the stroller was no longer following her—

But two men were!

They were too far back for Sarah to make out what they looked like, but she could tell one thing about them.  They weren’t wearing police uniforms, and they probably never had.

Oh, great!  Oh, great!  Tracy, where are you!

Sarah didn’t want to keep running indefinitely.  She had to get these men off her tail somehow!  Quickly, she looked around for a means of escape—

Then, she got an idea.

She was almost back up the side of the ballpark, and straight ahead of her was a six-story brick hotel.  Next to the hotel building was a parking garage that was just as high.  It didn’t connect to the hotel, but the gap between the buildings wasn’t very wide.  Also, workmen could be seen milling about on the hotel’s roof.  That meant—

Sarah looked back.  Those guys are about a hundred yards behind.  If I have to go up six flights of stairs, they’ll be in the hotel by the time—

Enough math.  She decided to chance it.  Bravely she plunged ahead across the busy street—

HONK!  HONK!  HONK!

A gray car shoved on its brakes.  A red sedan didn’t, but Sarah just avoided it.  The truck coming from the other side wasn’t moving too fast, but the taxi in the far lane nearly brushed Sarah with its bumper as it whizzed around!  It was jaywalking, for sure, but Sarah couldn’t afford to wait for the light to change.  She plunged through the doors of the hotel.

“And also, could you make sure my room’s at least four doors down from the elevator?  My wife can’t stand elevator noises.  They wake her up.  She says it must be at least this far away, or she’ll—”

“Excuse me!” Sarah interrupted the guest.  “If anybody comes in here looking for me, could you tell them I’m on the third floor?  I don’t want them to know I’m staying in Room 202!”

Without waiting for an answer, she ran forward, then took a left, hoping she’d find the stairway door that led to the roof.

Five minutes later, the two men made it into the hotel.  “Hey, pal!” one of them asked the clerk.  “Did a girl just run in here?”

The clerk frowned.  “Yes, she did,” he said.  “She told me to tell you she was going to the third floor because she didn’t want you to know she was in Room 202, but we don’t have anybody staying in Room 202—”

Her pursuers looked at one another.  “202,” they said.  “Got it!”

Quickly, they ran for the elevator, just as Sarah reached the sixth floor.  Ah, but there was another flight of stairs, and she ran up it.  Finding the roof door, she twisted the handle—

Unlocked!   Sarah darted onto the roof, turned towards the parking garage, and without looking down ran forward.  She jumped into the air, knowing that once she got across, the crooks would have no idea where to look for her—

Whack!  Whack!

The noises were barely discernible over the traffic sounds below, but the whine and the whoosh of air across the back of Sarah’s neck told her exactly what had produced them.  A gun with a silencer—oh, great, they know I’m up here!

“Oof!”

Sarah hadn’t thought about the landing—she caught herself just in time as the cement floor of the parking garage hit her in a jarring blow.  Frantically, she looked around.  How am I ever going to escape?  There’s nowhere to hide up here, and they’ll be waiting for me at the bottom—

Then, she saw it.

The garage wasn’t very crowded.  In fact, there was only one car parked on the top floor, a little silver sedan that had the trunk open.  Sarah didn’t even hesitate—she raced forward and squeezed herself in.  Then, she slammed the lid.

Eh-eh-eh-vroom!

Instantly, the little car roared to life.  Sarah’s stomach turned as the car moved around curves, slowly winding its way towards the bottom of the garage.  Several times, they maneuvered a curve, slowly getting lower and lower—until they finally came to a stop.  Payment!  Sarah gritted her teeth and braced herself, hoping against hope that there wouldn’t be a barrage of gunshots as they drove out of the garage.

But, as the car swerved to the left and started through traffic, there was nothing!  Sarah relaxed—she rolled to a more comfortable position and stretched her arm, which had become cramped.  Hah!  I sure fooled them! she told herself.  Slipped out right under their noses—

She wasn’t sure what caused that glimmer of light.  Maybe the trunk light had malfunctioned, or maybe the lid wasn’t fully closed.  All she knew was that the inside of trunk became bright as day for an instant, and in that instant, Sarah saw something at the corner of the trunk.

Her heart stiffened.  Nervously, she groped her hand forward until she found it.  It was a medallion, of some sort—a round piece of brass, about the size of a doorknob, though much thinner.  A funny little logo was on it—Sarah couldn’t tell what, but she had seen a word wrapped around the logo.  Her fingers traced the letters, as Sarah prayed she’d misread it.

M-E-N-A-C-E—

Menace!  A badge for Menace!  This was their car!

Sarah wasn’t getting away after all!

She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to scream.  Nervously, she glanced around, seeking a way out—

The car came to a stop all of a sudden, presumably at a red light.  And, just as it did, the trunk lid went flying open.  Sarah stared up as the late afternoon light flooded in like rays from Heaven.

It wasn’t closed all the way! she told herself.  Well, here’s where I get off!  Throwing herself out of the car, she looked around, then took off down the sidewalk.

Instantly, she saw she was right back where she’d started, on the east end of the TD Ameritrade Park.  Can’t I get away from that?  she thought to herself.  Oh well, guess I’ll just retrace my old route.

She headed back south, but this time, she quickly crossed the street.  She didn’t relish running into that woman with the baby carriage again.

She didn’t.  In fact, for a while, she didn’t see any pursuers.  She reached the convention center and ran up to one of the doors, tugging on it in hopes that it would be—it was locked.

“Phooey!”  Sarah continued south along the building.  She’d almost come to the end of it and was about to reach the arena at the south part when she looked over her shoulder.  Soon, she wished she hadn’t.

A plumber’s van was just cutting its way through traffic towards the little dropoff area in front of the convention center.  It started slowly south, making its way straight towards Sarah—and it was going the wrong direction.

Oh, no—I’ll bet those aren’t plumbers!  Sarah ran faster, looking for somewhere—anywhere—to hide—

Then, she noticed that one of the doors to the arena was open!  It was a little white door—a backdoor, it looked like—but Sarah didn’t care about that now.  All she cared about was getting inside.  She made her way through it.

Alright, where do I hide?  Sarah found herself in the midst of a hallway with no lights on.  Dark already, it got blacker still as the light from the door faded away in its recesses.  Sarah had no idea what was ahead of her, but she had an idea of what was behind, and the thought was encouraging enough to send her skittering ahead.

How long she ran, she had no idea, but soon, more light came from behind.  Beams of flashlights, and men’s voices.  The occupants of the van!  They were looking for her!

Suddenly, Sarah bumped into something cold and hard.  She couldn’t tell what it was, but she ran her hand over it, feeling it out.  It seemed to be a platform of some sort, about four or five feet off the ground, with a chair on top—

Sarah quickly hoisted herself up.  The bumpy, metal platform ended in some sort of wall—Sarah couldn’t tell how high it was, but she decided to shove her way under the chair.  Carefully, she pushed her way forward, feet flailing behind her.  Her right foot kicked a switch—

Eh-eh-eh-Vroom!

Suddenly, a motor roared to life, and Sarah felt the platform she was on start vibrating.  In fright, she attempted to pull herself up to see what had happened.  Her hand grasped a lever and pulled it down—

Then, suddenly, the object began to move!

Sarah pulled herself up into the chair and glanced back.  The voices behind her had turned to shouts—the flashlight beams came down the hall, falling on the back of her device.  She looked down just as a beam caught her square in the eyes—

But not before she saw a black object, directly below the seat.  It was long, rectangular, running the length of the back of the vehicle.  And that’s when she realized—

She’d accidentally turned on the arena’s Zamboni!

CRASHHHHH!!!!!!

The runaway Zamboni smashed its way through the doors that led to the arena itself.  Sarah screamed and ducked—just in time to avoid a couple bullets which flew through the air behind her.  She looked up and just managed to make out the general shape of the seats which lined the empty space—

There was something terrifying about the empty arena.  At least, when a sports team doesn’t draw well, there are still people around.  The lights are on, and there’s enough noise that the event feels normal.  Here, in blackness with only the roar of the motor to listen to, Sarah felt almost as if she’d driven out of the world—as if she’d fallen into a black hole of nothingness, apart from all life—

It was so black, Sarah didn’t even notice that the Zamboni wasn’t driving over ice.  There hadn’t been a hockey game at the building in a while.  A basketball floor was currently down on the surface, black streaks forming across its surface as the Zamboni rolled over it.  It’s a good thing the Zamboni’s conditioner wasn’t on—great for smoothing ice, not so great for polishing a basketball court.

As she crouched in the back of the machine, Sarah wondered what she should do.  She could try to stop the Zamboni—but she’d never driven a Zamboni!  She had no idea what to press.  She could hop off, but she didn’t know what was out there.  If those men were still following her, they’d have an easier time catching her on foot.  Or, she could, she could—

She tried to make a decision, but every second that passed was another second in which she stayed on the machine, heading towards—

All at once, the lights turned on, and Sarah could see!  She wished they hadn’t, though, for just in front of her stood—

Ponson!  With two machine guns!

He laughed—a sardonic croak.  “Goodbye, Miss Emery—”

It was goodbye, but not in the way he expected.  How Ponson had tracked her down, Sarah had no idea, but he hadn’t been counting on the Zamboni to be all the way at his end.  When the lights came back on, it was only five feet away from him, and closing fast.  Before he could react—before he could comprehend—before he could even scream—

Sarah shuddered as she felt the vehicle slam into him.  She slammed her eyes shut and held the chair as—

CRASHHHHH!!!!

The Zamboni created a new door out the other side of the arena.  It rolled down another hallway, smashed through another door, and rolled into daylight—

Sarah was through riding.  She jumped off and began to run, not sticking around to watch the Zamboni slam into Ponson’s car—which still held two other enemy agents.  Sarah did hear their shots as they fired on the ice assailant, not realizing it was unoccupied—

But she didn’t stick around for that.  Her only thought was to get away from there as fast as possible.

She had only a vague notion of where she ran.  Down a hill, under an overpass, then zigzagging her way across a field—she considered hiding behind some trees, but when she looked back, she saw three men following her, and she thought better of it.

She cut through a parking lot—rolling under cars in her haste to get through.  She passed a hotel—thought about going in, but she didn’t want a repeat of the last time.  She darted across Jackson Street, and the road began to rise—up, up, and over a long, wide bridge.

A quick look back—they were still coming, but they weren’t gaining!  Sarah wondered if they’d try to shoot at her, but there were a few other people out walking.  Not now—they’d be picked up by the police instantly.  Only, the police were probably on their way to the arena, to see what had happened with the Zamboni—oh, what did that matter?  All that mattered right now was getting away from these pursuers!

She passed two pedestrians.  Part of her wanted to stop and ask for help, but she decided against it.  Tracy had said not to trust anybody, and she didn’t trust anybody right now.  The only people she trusted were the people who paid her no attention, and if they’d tried to help her, she’d have been off in the other direction—

She soon saw what the bridge was for.  Ahead of her was Union Station, and as she ran past it, she saw the railroad tracks, spread out below her.  There were several of them, and a freight train was going by on the nearest one.  The bridge was very wide, with sidewalks and parking spaces on both sides of the road, but the sidewalk Sarah was on was closed.  Apparently, the metal fencing which rose above the walls to keep people from falling on the tracks was being replaced, and cement barriers jutted out to the curb to keep people from getting too close to the edge.  Sarah swerved around the barrier and started running along the empty parking spaces, deciding that once she got over the bridge, she’d look for another place to hide—

Then, before she knew what was happening, a man had risen up from behind the barrier!  He grabbed her, clapping his left hand over her mouth even as he scooped her off the ground with his right hand.  Sarah flinched, struggled, tried to yell but couldn’t!  All she could do was look up into his face—a squarish, hardened face, with deep-set yellow eyes and a jagged scar running across his left cheek—

“You’ve given us enough trouble today!” he said, in a voice as powerful as his iron grip and more threatening than a bulldozer to a half-collapsed house!

With two powerful strides, he carried her over to the edge.  As she kicked and flailed in a futile attempt to escape, he hoisted her up onto the wall—right where the fencing had been taken down!  “Scream a lot as you go down!” he said—and with that, he dumped her over.

Sarah didn’t need to be asked.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!”

Boing!

Sarah’s heart nearly stopped as she made contact with—something soft and springy?  She went flying back into the air, flipping as she did so.  Now, facing downwards, she saw a gondola car below.  A gondola car that wasn’t moving, and inside was—

Boing!

A mattress!  A soft, billowy mattress that looked like it had come off of some hotel bed—

Boing!  Boing!  Boing!

Sarah quickly thanked God before she jumped off the car and—“Ouch!”—landed on the rocks that formed the railbed.  She’d forgotten how tall gondola cars were, but this fall wasn’t life-threatening—nor was it nearly as scary as the one she’d just experienced.  She glanced up at the bridge, but the man with the scar had disappeared—

“Hey!”

She glanced behind her.  Two men had been idling next to a train shed at the Union Station, farther down the track.  When they saw Sarah, they came running towards her.  She couldn’t tell whether they were friendly or not, but she didn’t want to know.  The train blocked her way south, so she turned west and started running, alongside the tracks.

How far did she run?  Sarah wasn’t keeping track.  She wasn’t concerned with much of anything right now, outside of getting away from her pursuers.  If she’d been thinking, she might have wondered why that car just happened to have its trunk open on top of the garage, why one door to the arena just happened to be open, why there just happened to be an unmoving gondola car with a mattress in it parked directly where someone had thrown her off a bridge—

But she wasn’t keeping track of that now.  She fought her way over the hard-packed gravel, deciding the railbed was her best bet right now.  A hill was to her right, the train—a pretty long train—was to her left, and it was all-clear ahead.  She didn’t have to get off the tracks until she was good and ready to get back into the swing of things downtown—

Squeerk!

The door to a boxcar slid open, and suddenly, a man jumped out!  He was a big man, broad-shouldered, but Sarah mainly noticed the sunken yellow eyes and the jagged scar—

“Oh, no!” she screamed, and she swerved to the right.

The hill at this point was pretty steep, but not that tall.  With the right amount of encouragement, someone could climb it, and fear gave Sarah more than enough motivation.  She clawed her way up the slope, grasping at grass, stumbling against stones, until finally, she’d pulled her way up to the dead end of a road—

Then, she was running up a sidewalk again!

She’d gone about fifty paces before she even dared to look back—but she wished he hadn’t.  There was the man who’d thrown her off the bridge—Sarah still didn’t know how he’d gotten to the boxcar that quickly—climbing over the summit.  She turned and ran with double strides, her eyes scanning the buildings to the right and left, seeking a place to hide—

There was a restaurant, but it was closed.  A hotel, but it was empty.  A clothing store—but it hadn’t opened for business yet.  A movie theater that was playing Under Fiesta Stars—

Wait, Under Fiesta Stars?  Wasn’t that a Gene Autry film?  That movie had to be at least seventy years old—what was it doing playing in a theater—

“I might go see a motion picture show at the theater.  I heard that Under Fiesta Stars is playing.”

“You should go see it,” Mr. Oakley agreed.  “That Mr. Autry’s a talented actor.  I only wish Sarah could go with you too.”

What???!!!!  Did he just say my name?

Annie just smiled.  “Oh, I’ve got a feeling Sarah’ll be there,” she said.  “You know her.  She’s got a good head on her shoulders—knows when to do something.”

Sarah gasped.  So this is what Tracy meant by something that looks familiar!

A surge of hope coursed through her veins as she ran towards the building, but then, her heart leapt right into her throat!

At an intersection up ahead, three people had rounded a corner.  The lady with the stroller, and the men who’d chased her after the restaurant.  They were heading straight towards her!

Sarah looked around.  She couldn’t see the man behind her anymore, but the street suddenly looked empty.  Too empty.  There wasn’t anybody else out on the sidewalk—in fact, there weren’t even any cars driving along it!  Part of that was because half the street was torn up—the half Sarah was on.  An asphalt paver and a bobcat were parked next to the tracks, and a steamroller was parked just a couple steps ahead of Sarah—

A steamroller…

Sarah wasn’t sure if these people would try to shoot at her, but she decided she wasn’t going to take any chances.  She leapt inside the steamroller, and found, to her surprise, several brightly colored stickers sprinkled among the controls!

Push here to start! read one of them.  Press here to accelerate! read another.  Grip here to steer! read a third.

It was all the instructions Sarah needed.  She turned the machine on, started it going, and swerved it onto the sidewalk.  Then, she ducked, just as the bullets began to fly.

Ping!  Ping!  Ping!  Bo-weeee!  The little pieces of metal clanked off the roller without so much as scratching Sarah.  She reached up to the wheel and navigated it closer to the buildings—closer—closer still—

Then, just as she drove by the theater, she threw herself off and ran through the door!

It was one of those old-fashioned, single-theater buildings that just played one show at a time.  A black-coated usher wearing a white bowtie and white gloves stepped forward, holding the door open.  “Go on in, Sarah,” he said.

Sarah wondered how he knew her name, but she wasn’t sticking around to ask questions.  “Thanks,” she said, running past him.  She darted through the short foyer and into the main theater itself.

Yes, that was Under Fiesta Stars playing—Sarah’s favorite Gene Autry movie.  The cowboy star was serenading some people on screen with his guitar, as well as the audience—only, there didn’t seem to be an audience.  The room was empty, except for Sarah—

She continued running, straight down the aisle, towards the screen.  After all, those people coming after her had seen her go in.  Surely they’d be along in a minute, forcing their way in to get her—and one usher wasn’t going to stop them—

Sure enough, Sarah heard shouts from the lobby.  A door swished open, and light filled the crack at the bottom of the closed door to the foyer.  But then, Sarah heard some screams, and the door to the foyer never opened!

“Huh?”

Sarah came to a stop at the front of the theater and watched.  A minute passed—two—three—nothing came through that door!

Part of her wanted to go over and check, but part of her didn’t—finally, curiosity got the better of her, and she started her way up the aisle towards the foyer.  When she came to the door, she opened it—

No one was around!

“Yes, Sarah, they’re gone!”

“Huh?”  That was Tracy’s voice!

Sarah whirled around, in time to see—

Gene Autry had vanished from the screen, replaced instead by Tracy, in her Annie Oakley outfit.  She leaned against a post in front of a wooden building with a boardwalk in front, smiling towards the camera as her horse nodded its head to the side and harmonica music played in the background.

“Congratulations!” she said.  “You figured out what I meant on the phone.  Now that you’ve arrived, we’re rounding up all those people that were chasing you around Omaha.  We should have them arrested within the hour, after which, you can leave.”

Sarah wanted to ask how Tracy knew what had happened, but she recognized the futility with talking to someone on screen.

“You’ve gotten through the hardest part,” Tracy told her.  “Now, all you need to do is find me, and it won’t be hard.  Just look for the part of Omaha that’s not Nebraska.”

“Where’s that!” Sarah couldn’t help yelling at the screen.  As if she knew what Sarah was going to say, Tracy just laughed.

“Cymbals and catfish, silly!  I can’t just tell you—it’d be too dangerous.  Don’t worry, you can figure out what I mean.  Oh, and if it’s taking too long to find it, get a room at the Sleep Inn on Abbott Drive.  Your bus passed it on your way here—you can find your way back.  Just keep an eye out for it.  Also, if you want to know how long an hour is, we’ll play Under Fiesta Stars for you while you wait.  Enjoy!”

“Tracy!” snapped Sarah.  “I almost got killed, and you want me to enjoy myself—oh, never mind!”

Sarah sank back into one of the theater seats, thoroughly relieved that the chase was over—and completely unsure what the next clue meant.