The Case of the Exploding Loo (11 page)

As I gaze at my reflection I notice the mirror is set into the wall. Moving closer, it looks like the glass is glowing from the inside, as if lit from behind. I knock on the surface. Sounds
hollow. Could this be one of those two-way mirrors you get on TV detective shows? I cup my hands around my eyes and press my face close to the glass. I can’t be sure but I think I see
something behind it. A TV? No, a computer screen. And what’s that in the corner?

Trying not to imagine what Ms Grimm will do to me if she discovers I ignored her instructions, I creep into the corridor, glancing left and right to make sure no one’s looking. If that is
a two-way mirror, the spy room must be the next door along – the door Short Trousers Jangly Keys Guy didn’t have time to lock behind him.

Something sinister is going on at LOSERS and I’m sure it’s connected to Dad’s disappearance. This room might hold the secrets.

Then again, it might just hold a big heap of trouble. What to do?

Holly would barge straight in. Month-Ago-Me would stay put and wait for Ms Grimm to return. Today-Me stands half in, half out the room, unable to make a decision.

Porter comes flying around the corner and skids to a halt, three doors down. He jams the handle up and down, smashing his shoulder against the door and swearing when it refuses to open.
You’d think it was a roomful of portaloos the way he’s behaving.

I move across to join him. “What’s in there?”

“Answers.” Porter kicks the door.

I thought Porter
had
the answers. Well, most of them at least. Maybe we can find the rest together.

“This door’s not locked.” I point behind me. “Want to check it out?”

Porter looks at the door and then at his watch. “They’ll be here any second. I’ll distract them for another five minutes while you slip inside. But you have to tell me what you
find. Promise?”

I nod.

He takes a deep breath and releases it in a mad whoop before running off down the corridor.

I’m committed now. I promised Porter. Closing my eyes, I fling myself into the room.

Albert Einstein!
I was right. I’m on the spy side of a two-way mirror. Next to the glass are two wooden, fold-up chairs. One is still warm. My eyes lock on to the device in the
far corner of the room pointing directly at the chair I was sitting in only minutes ago. I approach it slowly, reaching out to touch the turquoise plastic to convince myself it’s real.

It matches our design in almost every way. The only differences are:

I jump as something beeps behind me, then laugh shakily when I see it’s just the computer I spotted from the other side of the glass. I must have nudged the monitor and
brought it to life.

On the screen is a list of folders, filed alphabetically:

The names in regular font are famous scientists and mathematicians. I click on Robert Winston and find his folder full of speeches he’s made and articles he’s
written. One of the italic names is familiar too.
Alexander West
is a fellow Remarkable Student. Maybe we all have student folders. Curious, I hit the arrow key and scroll up to
“H”.

There I am. I insert my memory stick and copy the file.

I recognise Gemma Gold’s name too – the girl who forgot her comfort blanket.

It’s not a big surprise to find Dad on the list. He’s a well-known figure – the wacky scientist TV people call when they want to make their programme more controversial. But
then I register the name between Dad’s and mine – “Hawkins, Madeleine”.

Mum?

Mum has never written a book or appeared in a television documentary. Mum’s not a scientist. This makes no sense.

I try to stop my hand shaking so I can select Mum’s folder, but just as I’m about to copy it I glance at the two-way mirror and see the door to the Mental
Conditioning Room swing open.

Isaac Newton!
Ms Grimm is back!

I check the clock at the bottom of the computer screen. Seven minutes have passed. Porter kept his side of the bargain. I’m the one who messed up. And Ms Grimm is going to mentally
condition me to death as a result.

I whip out the memory stick without following the proper ejection procedures and run as fast as my PE-hating legs will carry me. Halfway down the corridor, I see Short Trousers Jangly Keys Guy
heading my way and dart into the girls’ toilets.

Toilets! Brilliant! The perfect excuse for not being in the Mental Conditioning Room. Everyone has to wee. After washing my hands to support my story, I leave the loo and head back towards Ms
Grimm.

Perhaps today isn’t my day to die
. Hey, maybe that counts as a positive thought.

I seem to have got away with it. Ms Grimm only stays in the Mental Conditioning Room long enough to tell me she can’t stay in the Mental Conditioning Room.

“I need to deal with Porter,” she snaps. “Wait here until the bell rings for Science Hour.”

I want to find Porter and help him. It’s partly my fault he’s in trouble. But I’m convinced Short Trousers Jangly Keys Guy is on the other side of the mirror, so I flick
through the science journals, giving the odd fake laugh as if I’ve spotted a particularly funny scientific anecdote, until the bell finally rings.

After that, I race to the Science Lab. Porter’s not there either. Where is he? What’s the Grimm Reaper doing to him?

I set up my combustion experiment and picture myself pointing the Bunsen burner at Mr Kazinsky, forcing him to reveal Porter’s whereabouts. In my enthusiasm, I accidentally burn a hole in
the workbench.

Mr Kazinsky confiscates the Bunsen burner, gazing into the flame with a strange, absorbed expression before handing me an electromagnetism worksheet. Considering I’ve only been at LOSERS
for two days, I’ve spent a lot of time completing electromagnetism worksheets. Is this another coincidence?

The design sketches for the brain ray included notes on using electromagnetic energy to increase intelligence. Dad said we were on the verge of a huge discovery. And then he disappeared.

Did LOSERS build their brain ray using the plans Fake Insurance Man stole? Or have they tortured the details out of Dad?

I pick up the pen to fill in the electromagnetism worksheet. My hand shakes as I remember how I was tricked into calculating how to blow up a portaloo-sized box. Just because I
can
work
out how to do something, that doesn’t necessarily mean I
should.
I put the lid back on my pen and refuse to complete the worksheet.

But it may be too late. What if Ms Grimm has already figured out how to use electromagnetic waves to alter IQ levels?

Mr Kumar announces Porter is unwell and won’t be joining us for dinner. I’m desperate to leave the dining room and find him – partly to check he’s okay,
partly to keep my promise about updating him on the secret spy room, but mainly to escape yet another fish supper.

Tonight’s fish has its head attached and the big, bulgy eye follows me all the way to top table, where Ms Grimm’s gobbling up her dinner, bulgy eyes and all.

“I feel sick,” I say truthfully. “Can I lie down in the dorm?”

Ms Grimm dribbles fish juice. I take that as a yes and I run from the dining room, gulping in non-fishy air. I find Porter lying on the sofa in the sitting room, reading a book called
Tracing Missing Persons
.

He drops it when he sees me. “So? What did you find?”

I describe the room behind the mirror with its still-warm chair, its computer files and its real-life brain ray. Porter listens closely, nodding as if it all makes perfect sense. His head shoots
up when I mention Gemma Gold.

“Did you get copies of the files?”

I pull my memory stick out my pocket and confess, “Only my own.
Fibonacci!
I should have copied yours too, shouldn’t I? Especially when you were the one doing the risky
stuff. Sorry, Porter, I wasn’t thinking and then I ran out of time.”

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t
my
file I wanted. And there was no risk. My mother wouldn’t hurt me. I can’t believe she took my phone.”

“I can’t believe she let you keep it in the first place. I’ve seen how seriously they take the no-phone rule here. No mobiles. No internet access. Only one call home a day and
you have to have a teacher in the room.”

“Mother trusts . . . trusted me.” Porter squeezes the sofa cushion until his knuckles turn white. “And I trusted her. Also past tense. I can’t believe
she took my phone.”

“If it’s so important to you, why were you waving it about in front of her?”

“I was creating a distraction. I saw Mother take you into the Mental Conditioning Room and I didn’t want her to plug you into anything. There’s something wrong with that room.
A few kids come out super-bright. Others not so much . . .”

“What do you mean?”

Porter glances over his shoulder, even though we’re the only people in the room. “I’ve said too much already.”

“You haven’t said anything,” I protest. “And you know what’s going on around here, don’t you?”

“I thought I did.” Porter frowns. “I thought this was a money-making scam where Mother got geeks – no offence – to do complicated calculations for big businesses
and try out new products for weirdos like Kazinsky. But there’s something else going on. Something no one’s talking about. Something that makes people vanish.”

“Do you mean Dad?”

“Among others.” Porter scans the room, checking the exits. “We should listen to your file, Noelle. Who knows how long we’ve got before they come for us?”

“But you haven’t explained . . .” I pause as the recording starts.

“
Don’t let others drag you down. It’s not enough to have a good mind. The important thing is to use it. Nobody remembers who came in second. The first man
gets the oyster; the second man gets the shell . . .

Whoa. This sounds familiar. I can see Porter recognises it too. The recording in the in LOSERS’ brainwashing file matches the one in Dad’s shoes.

I yank out the memory stick, failing to follow the correct removal procedures for the second time today. I’m turning into a cyber-rebel.

“Talking shoes and two-way mirrors?” Porter frowns. “Meals aren’t the only fishy things around here. I don’t understand half of what’s going on any
more.”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t understand
any
of what’s going on.”

It doesn’t make Porter feel better because he’s not listening.

He pauses, halfway through the door. “Remember that locked room I wanted to get into earlier?”

I nod.

“It’s full of screens showing CCTV footage from secret cameras they’ve set up here and in other places around town. If we can get in, we’ll find out more about
what’s going on. You up for it?”

“You are joking? You’re already in trouble for the mobile phone thing. Wait . . . Did you say CCTV footage?”

“Yup.” Porter keeps walking, forcing me to jog down the corridor behind him. “Come on. Best time to break a rule is straight after you’ve been punished for breaking the
last one. No one suspects you’re still up to no good.”

It sounds logical, but the glint in Porter’s eye makes me nervous. I consider the possibility that he’s gone completely mad.

“Besides,” he adds, “you want to see the CCTV footage.”

“No,
you
want to see the CCTV footage.”

But Porter’s right. I do want to see it – because I haven’t forgotten CLUE 17:

Porter slows to a halt outside the CCTV Room. He tries the handle.

“Still locked?” I’m torn between relief and disappointment.

“Don’t worry. I made a deal with the IT bloke while he was ‘keeping an eye’ on me earlier.”

“Short Trousers Jangly Keys Guy?”

“I call him Dave.” Porter knocks on the CCTV room door.

The door creaks open and an arm shoots out, pulling us into a small, dimly lit room that looks just how I’ve always imagined the New Scotland Yard CCTV room must look. A heavy desk runs
the entire length of one wall. Above it are rows of box-shaped shelves. Each gap contains a laptop, creating a wall of monitors. I count quickly – ten along, two up: twenty in all. A mirror
on the opposite wall gives the impression the screens go on forever.