License to Thrill (15 page)

As she wove between vehicles Jo saw red lights flashing on and off in the distance. Jo squinted to make out the sign below them: Train Crossing.

“Oh no,” she muttered, stepping on the gas even harder.
That was all she needed—to be trapped behind a who-knows-how-long train with nowhere to run or hide. If that happened, she'd be dead in no time.

She looked back at Antonio and swore she saw him smiling. “You jerk!” she muttered. “I might be in a VW, but I can outdrive you any day of the week!”

She heard the engine chug slightly and looked down at the dash in alarm. “Engine—fine,” she read aloud. “Pressure—fine. Gasoline—
empty
?” Goose bumps covered her arms as she realized she might not even have enough gas to make it across the tracks.

The black-and-white barriers were descending, and the flash of silver on the track was coming closer and closer. She looked down again at the gas gauge—below
E.
A glance in the rearview confirmed her worst fears—Antonio's Porsche was just inches behind. It was now or never time: Should she gun it and risk getting killed or brake and risk getting killed?

Jo held her breath, closed her eyes, and floored it. She felt the tracks bump under the wheels just seconds before she heard the train whoosh by, the brute force of its speed
rocking the little VW. The engine coughed and sputtered, but she'd made it.

She opened her eyes and checked the rearview. Only a blur of silver could be seen—no Antonio. He was behind the train, eating her dust.

Trembling, she breathed a deep sigh of relief and turned down the nearest side street. Sputtering along, she was shocked to feel tears run down her cheeks. Tears of rage over Antonio's relentless pursuit. Tears for her father, who had been taken away before his time. And tears for the mission, which she feared might not be solved despite all the efforts of her and her friends. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, forcing herself to get it together. After all, she had gas to get, a car to ditch, a hotel to return to, and a major score to settle. There was no time to waste.

•  •  •

“So then I made sure I left no prints on the car and left it a few blocks away from the post office,” Jo told Uncle Sam a few minutes after she'd arrived back at the Ritz, safe and sound.

“I can't believe you survived that,” Theresa said, completely blown away.

“I can,” Uncle Sam said. “The conference is only three days away, and things are coming to a head. With that in mind, Theresa—go to the laptop right now. I'm sending a photo of someone I'd like you to identify.”

Theresa ran to the desk, where a blurry black-and-white photograph was coming up on the laptop screen.

“Does this man look familiar to you?” Uncle Sam asked.

Theresa studied the image on the screen. Her blood ran cold. “Ohmigosh—that's him! The guy who chased me on the train! But what—I mean, how—”

“Thanks to the description you gave me, this man was detained yesterday when he entered Heathrow under an alias. However, he somehow managed to escape custody when customs detained him for a passport check.” He paused, and Theresa shook slightly. “We believe he's the infamous Alfred.”

“Alfred?” Theresa repeated in disbelief. Not only had she escaped a madman on the train that day. The madman was also an international terrorist in cahoots with
Jonathon! “We believe he is Alfred, yes,” Uncle Sam replied. “His passport was falsified, but when they searched the airport for him, he was nowhere to be found.” Uncle Sam paused. “This means he could very well be in your neck of the woods, and judging by Antonio's actions, they might very well think you have the disc. You all could be in grave danger.”

“I think I'm gonna be sick,” Theresa said, hauling full speed to the bathroom. Before anyone could react, she was puking her guts out into the marble toilet. This is where our mission seems to be right now, she thought between hurls. Right down the toilet.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, discie,” Caylin muttered as she combed through a filing cabinet Saturday afternoon.

She'd had to scheme and scam to be able to fill in for the weekend cleaning woman, and at the very least she hoped her efforts would pay off.

But wherever she looked—under phones, through trash cans, in drawers—no disc. She even pulled out seat cushions in her mad search, but found only nada.

As Caylin glanced at her reflection in a nearby window she took a deep breath. She looked totally tired. And she
was
tired—tired of not finding the disc, of feeling inadequate, of doubting her abilities. She was used to savoring the thrill of victory, not choking down the agony of defeat.

•  •  •

Disheartened by Caylin's unsuccessful search, Jo dragged her feet back to the embassy on Sunday to finally perform her special music assignment. When Jo arrived, Sandra led her straight to the door marked Private—the one she had unsuccessfully tried to open her first day on the job. Jo was amazed that almost three weeks had passed since that day; she wasn't any closer to recovering the list of nuclear warheads than she had been then. The realization was beyond discouraging.

“Here's where all the CDs are kept,” Sandra said as she unlocked the room. “You'll need to pull enough music for four hours—an hour and a half of dinner music, and two and a half of dancing music.”

The room—maybe fifteen feet by fifteen feet—was wall-to-wall CDs. “Where did all these come from?” Jo asked. “Why not go digital?”

“You'll notice all the CDs are marked with stickers saying Property of BLC, British Radio,” Sandra said. “That used to be Mr. Nicholson's radio station. He sold it to a chap a few years back, turned it into chat radio—you
know, no music. So Mr. Nicholson donated the CDs to the embassy. Digital is great, but we wouldn't turn down all of this free music.”

Jo nodded, still thinking that digital would be a smarter choice. But on the bright side, at least this would be a distraction from the mission. Seeing the room made her realize the dozens, possibly hundreds, of nooks and crannies the girls hadn't even checked yet, and would maybe
never
get the chance to check. They were running out of time, and she was all out of ideas.

•  •  •

Later that evening the girls sat on the floor of their suite, surrounded by every note and scrap of paper they'd accumulated over the past three weeks, totally at wit's end.

“What could we be missing?” Caylin asked as she picked up the green room stat sheet and stared at it in vain.

“It has to be right under our noses,” Theresa said, raking her fingers furiously through her brown hair.

“But the question is—where?” Jo inquired. “There are probably a million places we haven't even looked at—”

The video chat beeped, cutting Jo off. “Hold that
thought,” Caylin said, grabbing the TV remote and pushing talk. “Hello?”

“Uncle Sam here, ladies,” he said, his voice accompanied by a black screen. “How are you holding up?”

“Not so good,” Jo replied in a decidedly glum tone.

“Well, you've still got tomorrow,” he reminded them. “You've been e-mailed the address of the FBI safe house, which is two blocks from the embassy. Go by there as soon as possible just so you know where it is. You're to report there at six p.m. sharp whether you've recovered the disc or not.”

“But we don't want to go without the disc!” Jo cried.

“If you don't have it by six, you'll have to accept that sometimes a mission is successful simply because you survived it,” he said. “But you can all rest easy knowing you've given it your best shot, no matter what happens.”

Caylin sighed deeply. The sigh echoed hollowly in her throat. She felt powerless, as if she'd just lost a kickboxing title. When she looked over at Theresa, she noticed tears were glistening in her eyes. Uncle Sam wished them the best of luck and signed off quickly.

“What are we going to do if we don't find it?” Caylin wondered aloud. “I can't handle failing at our first mission.”

“Me neither,” Theresa said. “We've passed so many tests along the way. It's hard to believe we might flunk the final.”

“Especially when there's who knows how many places we haven't even had access to in that embassy,” Jo said. “That's what I was going to tell you before Uncle Sam called. Today I had to go through the music in a little closet off the ballroom. That room, which is pretty much locked twenty-four-seven, was a total reality check of how much of that embassy we probably haven't even explored.”

Caylin took a deep breath. “Pretty discouraging, isn't it?”

“You can say that again,” Theresa said. “But we're all worn-out. Maybe we'll feel fresher in the morning after a good night's sleep.”

“You're right,” Jo said, pulling herself up off the paper-covered floor. “I can't think about this another second.”

“It's probably a good idea to get some rest,” Caylin agreed. “It's going to be a big day tomorrow, no matter what.”

•  •  •

A few minutes later Theresa shrieked loudly.

“What's wrong?” Caylin said, dashing into Theresa's room.

“Ohmigosh, what is it?” Jo screeched, hot on Caylin's heels.

“Jo! The room you were in earlier, with the music. Was it digital?”

Jo shook her head, looking perplexed. “No, they were CDs.”

“CDs!” Theresa said excitedly. “Compact discs.”

Caylin's eyes suddenly lit up. “Ohmigosh, could that be it?”

Jo's mouth dropped. “I didn't even make that connection. I was so focused on our possible failure, and how weird it was that the music wasn't saved digitally, that I forgot I was in a room full of discs!”

“The only thing is,” Theresa said, “how many CDs were there?”

“Like a thousand,” Jo replied in a dejected tone. “How would we know which one to look in?”

The girls fell silent for a moment.

“How about ones with
green
in the title?” Theresa asked, head spinning. “Like
Green
, by R.E.M., or the Jam's ‘Pretty Green'?”

“Or the
Green Acres
theme!” Jo suggested with a laugh. “Or how about that wiggy old psychedelic song—you know, ‘Green Tambourine'?”

“Green Day!” Caylin exclaimed, smiling hugely. “Or
Green Mind
, by Dinosaur Jr.”

“Yeah!” Theresa clapped. “Or maybe that Kinks album—
The Village Green Preservation Society
!”

Jo and Caylin stared at her questioningly.

“Hey, my mom played that all the time when I was a kid.” Theresa rolled her eyes. “Look, whatever, there are tons of possibilities.” She smiled, her heart swelling with pride.

“Wait, how about CD covers that are green, too?” Jo asked. “That could be what he meant.”

“Oh, that's good!” Caylin exclaimed. “I can hardly wait to get in there! What time could you get into the closet, Jo?”

“Sandra has to pick up some dignitaries, so she won't
be in until around three,” Jo said. “But we could meet there then. I'll just tell her I need to grab more music for the ball.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Theresa sang, eyes shining with hope. This was the first time in a while she'd actually felt as if they could solve this sucker. And maybe her lead was going to be the one they'd been waiting for!

“Man, if this theory is right,” Caylin said, “we're going to love you forever, Theresa.”

“Well, I would have never come up with it if it hadn't been for Jo going there today,” Theresa replied modestly.

“Wow—mutual admiration society!” Caylin laughed. “I guess that means we're a good team.”

“You guys know that and I know that,” Theresa said. “But I hope we get the chance to prove it to the world tomorrow.”

“Okay, so, Caylin, you go through the green CDs on the south wall, I'll take the north wall, and Theresa take the west wall,” Jo instructed as she unlocked the door to the CD closet on Monday afternoon.

“Then we'll all go through the ones on the east wall, right?” Caylin asked.

“Yep,” Jo replied, oozing with confidence. “And after that, if we still haven't found it, we'll go through the green names.”

“But that could take a little longer since it's more abstract,” Theresa noted. “And if all else fails, we'll just go through every single one until we find it.”

When Jo opened the door, Caylin and Theresa gasped.

“Whoa,” Caylin said, sounding overwhelmed.

“Whoa is right,” Theresa said. “There's way more than
a thousand CDs in here. More like
ten
thousand!”

“Really?” Jo asked, heart sinking. “I'm just horrible with numbers.”

Caylin sighed. “It's okay, it's okay,” she murmured reassuringly. “We've just got to take it disc by disc and not look at the big picture. So let's do it!”

•  •  •

“This is a lost cause,” Theresa muttered two and a half hours later, her hair sticking up every which way and little cuts from the sharp CD cover corners covering her fingers.

They'd already gone through all the discs with green covers and with
green
in a song or band title with no success and were now going through what was left in this, their final hour. CDs were flying everywhere, the room was a wreck, and claustrophobia was kicking in. Caylin and Jo looked discouraged, and Theresa was pretty much resigned to the fact that her hunch had been wrong after all.

A sudden pounding on the door made everyone jump. “Don't answer it—it could be Antonio,” Jo whispered.

“Or Jonathon,” Caylin added.

“Or Alfred,” Theresa realized out loud, her blood
running cold. She pushed the possibility aside and got back to brass tacks. “Are you totally sure we checked that R.E.M. CD, Jo? I can't believe it wasn't in there.”