Wake Up Missing (12 page)

“Those e-mails you saw . . . Do you understand the connections here? Do you know who Mark Ames is?”

“He's in charge of the clinic,” Quentin said. But that wasn't what she meant.

“Mark Ames is the nephew of R. J. Wiley. United States
Senator
Robert Jacob Wiley,” she went on. “The most powerful politician in the state of Florida
and
the head of the Senate Armed Services Committee. We need to get you out of here before anyone else finds out about this. If the wrong people find out that you know—”

“Can't you call the police?” Quentin asked, and Molly looked at him as if he had three heads.

“Half the police around these parts are crooked as a gnarled mangrove root.” Her eyes darted down the hallway. “Until you're in a safe place, we can't risk—”

“Who's there?” a deep voice called from the main hangar. The echo off the concrete made it sound supernatural. But I knew who it was.

“Dr. Ames!” I whispered.

Molly cursed under her breath and looked around frantically, but we were at the end of a long, windowless hallway, in front of its only door, and that door was locked, with Trent inside.

“Stay here,” she hissed. “And don't come out. No matter what. I'll take care of this.” She took off running down the hall.

Sarah squeezed my arm, and she clung to Quentin's hand on the other side. We crouched down low along the wall, even though there was no place to hide, and we listened.

“Hello, Mark!” All the fear was gone from Molly's voice. “I'm so glad you're here. I've got a broken fan engine on the airboat. Figured there might be some spare parts around the old hangar.”

“Where have you been?”

“I was about to head down the hallway when I heard you. Wasn't there an old storage room around?”

“Who were you talking to?”

My stomach twisted. A dagger of pain shot through my right eye. I squeezed my knees to my chest and tried not to throw up.

But Molly laughed. “Ah, just the mosquitoes and the sky. So many years in the swamp, you get to be pretty good company for yourself.”

Dr. Ames said something I couldn't hear. There were footsteps, and finally, the door to the hangar slammed shut.

We waited until we heard the roar of an airboat fan starting, and then we crept down the hall, back into the plane room, and peered out a dusty window.

Both Dr. Ames and Molly were on board, pulling away from the dock on an airboat that quite obviously worked just fine.

Nobody could eat, but we sat in the cafeteria because it was lunchtime, and there was nothing else to do. Dr. Ames was gone with Molly. Dr. Gunther was in the lab with Ben. Both their office doors were closed and locked—Sarah checked. Now she sat turning a turkey sandwich over and over in her hands as if the bread might have answers printed on its crust.

“We need to get back on that computer.” Sarah tipped her head. “Do you hear that?” She dropped her sandwich and ran to the half-open window that looked out on the lawn.

We followed her. The dock was still empty except for the kayaks, but the unmistakable hum of an approaching airboat cut through the afternoon haze.

“Molly!” Sarah started for the door.

“Wait.” Quentin stepped in front of her. “Dr. Ames probably came back with her. If we go rushing up to the boat and he's on it . . . and he's still angry . . .” Quentin shook his head.

“But we need her,” Sarah argued.

We did. But Quentin was right. “She's no good to us if Dr. Ames is still with her.” My eyes fell on Sarah's ever-present Frisbee, resting on the table by her sandwich. I'd taken headache medicine at lunch, and it was starting to kick in. I could do this. “Let's play Frisbee.”

“
Now
?” Sarah said.

“Perfect.” Quentin pointed out the window to the lawn near the dock, and Sarah understood. She grabbed her Frisbee, and we went outside, heading for the lawn as the airboat rounded a bend in the trees.

Sarah stopped. “That's not Molly.”

This boat was bigger and older looking, with a tall, stocky man at the control panel. It had fewer seats—most of the deck was open, as if the boat was meant for cargo, not people. The man at the controls killed the engine and tied a rope to a cleat so Dr. Ames could climb onto the dock.

“Where do you think—”

Quentin gave me a light shove and motioned across the grass. He held up the Frisbee and I realized we'd been staring. The strange airboat was already starting up again, its driver easing away from the dock. And Dr. Ames was striding across the lawn.

“Monkey in the middle!” I shouted, jogging in the other direction, and Sarah sent the Frisbee soaring over Quentin's head. I caught it, tossed it back, and snuck a glance toward Dr. Ames. He marched toward the clinic door, clutching a thick Priority Mail package in one hand. His other hand was clenched in a fist.

“Cat! Get it!” Sarah called, but Quentin rushed past me and snagged the Frisbee before I even remembered we were playing.

“You're in the middle,” he said, then passed close beside me and whispered, “Did you see that? He's even madder now.”

“He had a package. He must have gotten the mail in town,” I said, staring up at the clinic. What could have made him so furious?

I backed away from Quentin toward the clinic wall where I thought Dr. Gunther's office must be. The window was open halfway, like always.

“Hey, aren't you in the middle?” Sarah hollered.

“Let's just toss it around, okay? We can make a triangle.” I pointed out the shape on the lawn, leaving Sarah where she was, putting Quentin by the sidewalk that led from the clinic to the dock in case Dr. Ames came back, and ending with me . . . right outside the open window.

“Sore loser,” Quentin said, but he nodded and jogged over to his spot while I inched toward the window. I didn't want to look sneaky, but I also didn't want to make enough noise that Dr. Gunther might notice and close it. Because if my guess was right . . .

“What in the blazes is wrong with you!” Dr. Ames's voice bellowed out the window over the lawn; we all heard. Dr. Gunther must have answered because then Dr. Ames shouted, “I'll tell you what I'm talking about!”

But he didn't. It was quiet, except for my heart thumping in my ears.

“Catch!” Quentin tossed the Frisbee. It sailed high and to my left. I thought it was a terrible throw until I realized that going to pick it out of the flowers put me right underneath the window.

I bent down to grab the Frisbee, then squatted in the mulch holding my breath. No more words came out the window, but
there was a clicking sound. Someone typing on a keyboard, maybe. Typing
hard.

I glanced at Quentin. He mouthed the words “Can you see?” He made imaginary binoculars out of his hands, then pointed to the window.

I left the Frisbee where it was, put my hands on my knees, and pushed myself to stand on one side of the window. The keyboard sounds had stopped. I held my breath and leaned toward the window, close enough to see the backs of both of their heads. They were facing Dr. Gunther's computer—or Dr. Ames was, anyway. Dr. Gunther leaned on the desk, with his head tipped down, palms covering his face.

Dr. Ames leaned past him and attacked the keyboard again.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me about this? And this?” More fierce keyboard tapping. “And this! Three illegal butterflies in the clinic's PO box in Everglades City, and who's standing by the counter but that reporter, Kendall or Kenyon or whatever his name is. ‘Would you have a few minutes to talk with me?' he says. Says he's doing an investigative piece on poaching in the areas bordering the national park. ‘You know, gators, butterflies, things like that,' he says. And would I know anything about correspondence between an online dealer who's known to traffic in illegal specimens and someone named Rudolph Gunther?”

Dr. Gunther's hands shook as he reached for the package at the corner of his desk. Dr. Ames knocked it to the floor and whirled around so he was facing both Dr. Gunther and the window.

I dropped down in the flower bed just in time. At least I didn't think he saw me. Bits of bark dug into my knees, but I stayed
frozen, my breath catching in my chest. I glanced up at Quentin and Sarah. They were sprawled on the lawn, making whistles of grass blades. But their eyes were locked on me.

More angry words soared over my head, loud enough to be heard across the lawn.

“Do you have any idea—any
idea
—what kind of danger this puts the project in? You and your ridiculous insect fetish. We could be ruined!”

Dr. Gunther's voice was quieter. “I have done everything you've asked me to do, God help me, and it is almost done. Leave my butterflies out of this. I've only ever dealt with reputable sellers, and—”

“They're poachers, for God's sake, Rudolph. Fish and Wildlife is all over them. This asinine reporter is all over them—and now they're after us. And on top of that, I caught Molly snooping around the old hangar. I don't know if she saw him, but either way, I'm going to take care of it.
And
I have a phone message from Kaylee Enriquez's parents.”

Dr. Gunther didn't say anything about Kaylee. Or if he did, it was too quiet for me to hear. Then Dr. Ames exploded.

“You called them, didn't you?
Didn't you!
”

“They called me.” Dr. Gunther's voice was pleading. “They asked how she was doing. They asked to speak with her, Mark, and she can barely speak. What was I to say?”

“That's it.” I heard a loud thump, like a hand slapping wood. “We're moving everything up. Look, R. J. already chartered a private plane, and—”

“For next month.” Dr. Gunther sounded like a little kid
trying to answer a teacher's question right. “May seventh, yes? I got the e-mail. It will all be done by—”

“It will be done
now
! We're rescheduling for next week.” In that second, Dr. Ames's voice dropped from screaming loud to chillingly calm. “You have until Friday to finish the procedure—complete Phase Three for all four of them—stabilize the subjects, and remove every shred of evidence from this facility before that plane leaves.”

I heard footsteps, heard Dr. Gunther's office door open and slam shut. And finally, I rose to my feet and started back to Quentin and Sarah, my hand clutching the Frisbee, my head swimming with words.

Molly snooping . . .

Finish the procedure . . . Complete Phase Three . . .

For all four of them.

By the time I handed Sarah the Frisbee, one thing was clear to me.

“We have to get away from here.”

Quentin nodded. “Fast.”

Outside seemed like the safest place for us to talk, so we went back to tossing the Frisbee. Every time I came close to Sarah and Quentin, I told them more of what I'd heard.

“So what's the deal with the airplane?” Sarah asked.

“I'm not sure.” I backed up a little so she could throw the Frisbee to me. “It sounds like the same thing as the Moscow trip we read about in Dr. Gunther's e-mail. Now it's next week.” I threw to Quentin, way short so he'd have to come closer.

“We're supposed to be
done
with treatments by next week?” Sarah's face looked pale.

“By Friday, he said.”

Quentin turned the Frisbee over in his hands, thinking. “We have to get out
before
they start Phase Three. I'll talk to Ben; he'll come around.”

“They could start tomorrow.” I thought of Trent, locked up with his batteries and wires and somebody else's thoughts.

“I know.” Quentin nodded, backing up. “So we need to leave
tonight.” He threw the Frisbee way over our heads, and when Sarah and I turned to get it, Dr. Gunther was shuffling out the clinic door.

“Have you seen Molly?” He looked even frailer than usual. “I was hoping for a ride into town.”

Dr. Ames appeared behind him in the doorway. “Molly's no longer with us,” he said briskly. “She quit this afternoon.”

“Quit?” I blurted. “Why?”

Dr. Ames tipped his head and looked at me in a way that chilled my insides, but I forced my voice to stay calm. “I mean, I thought she really liked driving that boat.”

“I'm sure she does. But she's no longer driving for us.” His face relaxed into a smile. “No worries. I've already found a replacement. But he's not available again until tomorrow. Until then, I'm afraid you're stuck with the kayaks if you want to get out and do any bird watching.”

“Oh! Well . . . that's okay.” I made myself smile, forced myself to meet his eyes, even though they made me want to run. “You can get closer to the birds that way anyway.”

After dinner, we walked down to the docks. Sarah wore my binoculars around her neck. We told Dr. Ames I was taking everyone bird watching, and he laughed.