The Return: Disney Lands (19 page)

“Sounds lofty.”

“And you sound bitter.” Said with a purse of the lips.

“I’m used to it.”

“A jump to a conclusion can be the last jump you ever take. Be careful, Jessica. I ask you only to think about it. To listen to what I’m saying and give it proper consideration.

“And remember: the Tink Tank and the offer to join it are to be kept secret
from everyone
, including other instructors, Imagineers,
and your fellow students. That’s the
agreement you signed.”

“You mean Amanda.”

“That would include her. Yes. It’s asking a lot, I know. But it’s an imperative.”

“I only talk to you about it.”

“For now. Correct.”

“I guess I don’t actually understand what it is you’re offering.” Jess was finally meeting Peggy’s eyes, striving to determine what she saw there.

“This is a
big deal, Jessica. I’m not part of the Tink Tank, but I’m lucky enough to know about it, to be trusted to know about it, and to occasionally serve as a
go-between.”

“You’re not a counselor. You’re not even Victoria Llewelyn.”

“I never introduced myself as such.”

“The nameplate on the door says Victoria Llewelyn. That’s not you.”

“No.”

“You’re a lawyer.”

“I am. I’ve borrowed
this office for our meeting, as I don’t typically work here at DSI.”

“You work for the company.”

“We all work for the company, dear.”

“You tricked me.”

“I never lied to you. Nor will I ever do so.”

“You pretended—”

“Nothing. I made no pretense whatsoever. Had you asked, I would have gladly informed you of my name and position.”

Jess studied her with heated eyes.

“Well, are you going to ask me?”

“No.”

“I’ve upset you. Please accept my apology.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?” Jess said. To her dismay, her voice sounded whiny—weak.

“Until you signed the NDA, it wouldn’t have been prudent. Once it was signed, you didn’t ask, and the opportunity seemed to have passed.”

“I don’t like being lied to. I’ve been lied to my whole
life.”

“From what I’ve read, you’ve had an extraordinary life, one you have never allowed to break or destroy you. That resilience is part of why we’re making you this
offer.”

“How many?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How many of us are asked to join this thing?”

“Four,” she answered.

There was silence. The words hung in the air between them. Jess’s palms were sweating again,
but for a different reason this time.

“Just four?”

“Yes. Four…in the past twelve years.”

Jess couldn’t speak.

“I don’t imagine it’s a terribly large group. Perhaps larger than six, fewer than ten. But I have no way of actually knowing. I just make the contracts.”

“Between six and ten people,” Jess’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Out of everyone in the entire company.”

“Correct.”

“Me?”

“You.” The unidentified woman nodded. Her expression implied envy. “You see? I’m afraid I have to remind you, any mention of anything said here may result in the filing
of a lawsuit. And expulsion, of course.”

“You’ll sue me.”

“The Tink Tank will take precautions to protect itself. The language is far stricter should you agree to join.”

“More paperwork.”

“Much.”

“Me? Not Amanda?”

“Only you,” the woman said. “As far as I know.

A
MANDA
’
S E-MAILED LINK TO
a folder
containing the scanned documents from the
basement vault launched the Keepers into action.

Even though it had been at Philby’s request, Finn swelled with pride over how quickly Amanda had come through for them. She’d located, copied, and transmitted the IAV-471s in under
twenty-four hours.

Because of her effort, Finn and Maybeck crossed over as DHIs into Disneyland’s Central Plaza
two nights later. Each carried a folder of printed pages sealed in a manila envelope, tucked
into his back and covered by his shirt. DHI transmission of foreign objects on crossover was fairly reliable. The hope was that the files would cross over with Maybeck and Finn as holograms, and
that splitting the folders into two would improve the chances of transmission.

What the boys were to
do with this information once crossed over remained a mystery. The confusing instruction, “set to 1313,” took Philby and Willa all of the first day and most of
the second to figure out.

The key, they both agreed, was the verb, “set.” Philby decided the most obvious device that could be set to the number 1313 was an AM radio. However, Willa could find no online
reference to a radio in Walt’s
apartment. Stymied, Finn e-mailed Becky Cline at the Walt Disney Archives and received a note back from Kevin Kern, one of the archivists charged with
preserving historical items of Disney interest.

In the family apartment, it seemed, Walt kept a telephone, phonograph, and music box. No radio, Finn was told, though transistor radios had become popular in 1957, so a handheld set was not out
of the question.

Just in case, Finn crossed over with his father’s AM band Storm-Cast radio in his front pocket and Philby’s jailbroken Return in his other. He and Maybeck made their way separately
to Walt’s apartment in Disneyland, meeting a few minutes past nine p.m., or twelve a.m. in Florida, where they slept.

Their first task was to remove the folders from the envelopes and inspect
them. Sure enough, all but a few of the printed pages had crossed over intact—a major success. The radio proved to
be a dud, however. KAZN, 1300 on the AM dial, was an Asian language station, and KWKW, 1330, was Spanish.

“Willa speaks Spanish,” Maybeck said, looking at the set. “You should have crossed with her.”

“We’re fine,” Finn said. “The backup plan is the gramophone and the music
box. Philby said to check every square inch of both.”

Finn inspected the gramophone. It had a control dial to adjust the speed, but no numbers beyond 78. The hand crank was just that, a crank, and he couldn’t find any number 1313 on the
needle head, serial number, or model number.

“Dude.” The inflection Maybeck used when voicing the one-syllable appellation could convey disgust, irritation,
snobbery, inquisitiveness, scorn, awe or, as was the case here,
enthusiastic proclamation. He’d found something, and it obviously had to do with the standing lamp he held in his hand. Finn hurried over, kneeling beside Maybeck, facing the music
box’s side panel and its two controls.

One was a small lever: on/off. The other, an arcing metal band, allowed speed adjustment. The numbers corresponded
to metronome settings, from 40 thru 208.
Grave
to
Prestissimo
.

“What am I missing?” Finn asked.

Maybeck waved the standing lamp across the side of the box. Light and shadows moved like a time lapse across the polished wood surface, dully reflecting back Maybeck and Finn’s searching
expressions from the polished wood.

“I’ve got nothing,” Finn said.

Maybeck’s long index finger
tapped the far end of the curving scale, just past 208. “Look again.” He moved the light more slowly.

A flash of brass-colored light caught Finn’s eye, and he almost choked on his indrawn breath.

“Now you’ve got it!” Maybeck said.

Finn leaned in, rubbing DHI shoulders with Maybeck.

“How did you ever see this?”

“Artist’s eye, dude.” That particular use of
dude
was arrogance,
but Finn didn’t mind, because Maybeck had earned it. Carefully scratched into the metal with a
pin or some kind of sharp tool, written not just by hand, but by the hand of an older man, was the number they’d been looking for.

1313

“‘Set to 1313,’” Finn quoted. He didn’t always feel his hologram heart’s steady thumping, but he sure did now.

“Full throttle,” Maybeck said. “There’s
no number past that one.”

“So we set it to the max.”

“Exactly.”

“The carousel,” Finn said, his voice the barest whisper. “Jingles.”

“If Philby’s right, you know what this means? We’re going to time travel.”

“We? You mean me.”

“Oh, yeah. We,” Maybeck said. “Giddy-up-go, Jingles. Yee-hah!”

“You
are
crazy.”

“Yeah, well, before we start tripping through time, I’m going
to write a little sonnet on your arm. Whatever we do, we’ve got to remember what got us here. There.
Whatever.”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.” Finn almost laughed at their role reversal, but spoke the words anyway, the words he’d heard so often over the last few days.
Words he no longer believed because
he’d been there.
“There’s no such thing as time travel.”

“Says the
kid with a pen drawn on one arm and a message on the other. You’re afraid.”

“Oh yeah,” Finn said, his finger on the on/off switch, the speed set to 1313. “I’m terrified.”

“W
HAT THE—
?” The inappropriate last
word Maybeck used to end the sentence went unheard,
thanks to rousing applause from a smattering of people. “Finn?”

“Yeah. Hang on,” Finn said, inspecting his own black-and-white arms. “Okay. I’ve got this.”

He clearly remembered being
inside
the television on the stage of Carousel of Progress. The fuzziness of his earlier attempt at memory was gone. It was as if the hypnotist had snapped
his fingers, bringing Finn back—he remembered everything from his first ride on Jingles until now.

This picture tube felt even smaller, but basically the same. It was facing a busy Town Square, not a live audience. He also remembered the circus music playing on King Arthur Carrousel as he and
Maybeck had arrived out of breath. The same music from Walt’s apartment. He remembered people’s
faces trained up into the canopy of the carousel wondering about the sudden change in
background music. He remembered timing his climbing onto the back of Jingles so that he and Maybeck arrived at the same instant.

Taking Maybeck by the arm, Finn turned him. “We’re going to take three giant steps sideways, and jump. We’ll land hard, so be ready for it. Follow my lead once we’re
out.”

“Out?” Maybeck seemed paralyzed.

“Terry! Focus! Three steps. Shoulder to the glass.”

“What glass?”

“Trust me.” Finn pulled Maybeck back, stepping carefully. Then they spun to the side, and jumped through—and out!—of the television. Landing on and rolling across some
asphalt, they got up and ran. They were full-size, though black-and-white.

Hordes of people milled around them,
but none struck Finn as park guests. No, these were
workers
. Not Cast Members, but construction men. Even stranger, he didn’t see a single
female worker.

“This way!” Finn followed his instincts, leading Maybeck backstage near the firehouse. A moment later, they ducked beneath a fire escape, and Maybeck stopped to examine his
black-and-white arms.

“Welcome to the world of two-dimensional
DHIs,” Finn whispered.

“Seriously old-school.”

“I think we’re looking for someone with a sign.”