Code tb-3 Read online

  But it was. We’d solved the clue. But now that seemed meaningless.

  A man was dead. This was no game.

  Not dead. Murdered. The Gamemaster killed this man and placed him here.

  Something beeped inside my backpack. The boys jumped, but I knew instantly.

  Removing the iPad, I wasn’t surprised to see a new message.

  A single line crossed the screen: Please enter code. A cursor blinked, ready for input.

  “Sick bastard,” I whispered.

  “We have to call the cops!” Hi sputtered. “No excuses!”

  Shelton nodded vigorously. “We’re in way over our heads.”

  I was about to agree when a disturbing thought struck me.

  “He knows we’re in here.” I stared at the iPad. “The message changed without us doing anything.”

  “The guy on the bridge!” Shelton gasped. “Was it the Gamemaster?! We could be trapped! I bet he’s watching us right now!”

  Eyes wide, Shelton began frantically searching for cameras. He squatted to investigate the far corner, running his hands along the ground. Then he jerked his fingers back, no doubt abruptly remembering that a poisonous reptile was still at large.

  “How’d that wacko get a body into this coffin?” Hi began pacing. “All the way out here, in the woods? Past the monks, through all those gardens? That’s incredibly far to carry so much dead weight. And how’d he move the lid?”

  Ben opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He seemed dazed.

  I had a second terrible notion.

  Though awful to contemplate, I had to be sure.

  Moving to the sarcophagus, I aimed my flashlight at the poor soul crumpled within. Then, gathering my courage, I reached down and began rolling up one of his sleeves.

  “What are you doing?” Shelton was close to hysterical. “Tory, stop it!”

  I met Shelton’s eye. “It’s important. I promise.”

  “Then please, please be careful. We shouldn’t tamper with the scene.”

  Moving deliberately, I pressed two fingers against the man’s exposed forearm. Was the skin still warm? I couldn’t be sure, but it definitely wasn’t cold. After a three count, I removed the pressure and examined the contacted area.

  The spot I’d pressed was now bone white. As I watched, color flooded back, as blood refilled the subsurface capillaries. In seconds the white spot was gone.

  I nearly fainted.

  My flare withered and died.

  Ben must’ve read my expression. “What is it?”

  “Blanching,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “Blanching.” I cleared my throat, unable to process my finding. “I was checking to see if blood would return to the soft tissue where skin is pressed and released. It did.”

  Hi looked confused. “So?”

  “The phenomenon only occurs for a short period after death.” I wiped shaky hands on my jeans. “Within thirty minutes, Hiram.”

  “Oh Lord.” The yellow glow died in Shelton’s eyes. “So this man was alive—”

  “A half hour ago,” I blurted. “Maybe less.”

  Ben whirled, slammed both fists against the wall. He swore. Punched again and again until his knuckles ran bloody. His flare died. I’d never seen him so shaken.

  “The Gamemaster probably walked this poor bastard here!” Hi’s voice rose in panic. “Made him push open his own grave!”

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  This killer wasn’t merely heartless and cruel.

  The Gamemaster was a thrill seeker. A risk taker.

  “He murdered this man while we toured the grounds.” I had to say it out loud.

  Shelton shuddered. “Unthinkable. Insane!”

  “The message,” Hi said. “Should we open it?”

  I retrieved the envelope, careful not to further disturb the victim inside the coffin. Using my flashlight, I examined its exterior.

  Printed on the flap was a string of numbers: 123456.

  The code.

  I handed the letter to Hi.

  No one protested as I input the digits. Everyone seemed numb.

  The screen turned white. Bells pealed from the iPad’s speakers.

  Orange letters appeared on a field of green:

  Task complete!

  Now it’s time for the

  Final Challenge

  . Combine what you’ve learned to uncover The Danger. But don’t dally! Fail this time, and you lose The Game for good

  .

  You have until Friday at 9:00 p.m. Tell no one, ever, or suffer The Consequences

  .

  Good luck!

  The Gamemaster

  “Screw you!” Chest heaving, Shelton slammed the iPad to the ground. “The police can deal with this psychopath now!”

  Hi drew in a short, quick breath. His knees wobbled and he nearly collapsed.

  I grabbed his arm. “You okay?”

  “No cops.” Hi was shaking uncontrollably. “Not now.”

  “What are you talking about?” Shelton demanded. “Why not?”

  Hi had opened the envelope. He handed it to me.

  Bold letters adorned the outside flap: The Consequences.

  Heart hammering, I pulled a stack of papers from inside.

  One look, and my knees wobbled, too.

  I may have gasped.

  The envelope was stuffed with pictures. Ben and I walking to the dock. Shelton and Hi exiting Bolton’s front gates. The four of us preparing Sewee for a cruise.

  And those weren’t the worst.

  There were photos of Kit and Whitney in a Folly Beach café. Of Ruth Stolowitski taking out the trash. One showed Ben’s mother reading on her porch in Mount Pleasant. Another caught Nelson Devers sneaking a cig behind his garage.

  The pictures were of excellent quality. Many from close range. There were shots of our front doors, our parents’ cars, even one of Coop, bounding through the dunes.

  The message was crystal clear: I know where you live. I know your families. I can get to them at anytime.

  Play The Game, or your loved ones will suffer.

  Hi was right. We couldn’t talk. Had no choice but to keep going.

  Once again, the Gamemaster was a step ahead.

  I’d never been more afraid.

  PART THREE:

  COTILLION

  CHAPTER 32

  “THIS IS SERIOUS, Tory.”

  I shrugged, staring into my cereal bowl.

  “I’m not kidding,” Kit flipped a page of the Post and Courier. “We’re smack in the danger zone.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  His words barely registered. A sleepless night had done nothing for my nerves.

  Or my guilty conscience.

  “The projected path has Morris taking a direct hit.” Kit set the newspaper aside. “Let’s pray they’re wrong and the storm tracks out to sea.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sunday morning. Kitchen. Oatmeal. The normalcy jarred my brain.

  Yesterday we’d broken into a crypt, dodged a venomous snake, and discovered a fresh corpse. A madman was threatening the city, and our families were smack in his crosshairs.

  Yet I couldn’t tell a soul.

  We’d left the body inside the sarcophagus. Even muscled the lid back into place. Sneaking from the tomb, we’d found ourselves alone in the cemetery. Unobserved. We’d stumbled to the parking lot and simply driven away.

  What else could we do?

  The Gamemaster was in control. If we didn’t follow the rules and finish his sick game, everyone we loved was at risk. The stakes had skyrocketed.

  So we’d hidden the hideous crime and fled.

  Shame burned inside me, so powerful I actually shuddered.

  “You okay?” Kit was eyeing me with concern. “You look a little peaked.”

  “Fine.”

  “Don’t stress.” He misread things, as usual. “Category Four is a major hurricane, no question, but it’ll probably miss like all the
rest. If ol’ Katelyn actually decides to visit lovely Charleston, we’ll evacuate well ahead of her.”

  Robotic nod. “I’m just worried about the animals on Loggerhead.”

  “My first order of business.” Kit carried his bowl to the sink. “I’ll remove the barriers blocking those caverns south of Dead Cat Beach. Along with the old mines, that should give the monkeys plenty of shelter. And the wolf pack can hole up in their cave under Tern Point.”

  I felt a pang for Whisper and her brood, but pushed it away.

  I had more pressing concerns.

  Kit grabbed his keys and slipped on his jacket. “You sure everything’s good?”

  “Never better.” Forced smile. “See you tonight.”

  I was texting before the door clicked shut. My phone soon buzzed with replies. Three affirmatives. I threw on jeans and a LIRI sweatshirt, whistled to Coop, and headed for the driveway.

  Drizzle was falling from a slate-gray sky, slicking the blacktop behind our complex. The gusting winds made ocean travel dicey, so we’d pedal to the bunker instead of taking Sewee.

  Two Virals were already mounted and waiting: Shelton on his black BMX and Hi on his trusty Schwinn ten-speed. I rolled my Trek from the garage and joined them.

  Ben appeared, jumped on his beat-up mountain bike, and took off without a word. We followed, far enough behind to avoid his tire spray. Coop loped beside us for a stretch before disappearing into the dunes.

  “I see Ben’s still a ray of sunshine.” Hi’s poncho hood was cinched tightly around his face. “Should be great company.”

  “The stiff freaked him out.” Droplets beaded on Shelton’s glasses. “I’ve never seen Ben so spooked. Can’t say I blame him.”

  Coop burst from behind a sand hill and cut across our path, forcing me to brake.

  “Watch it, dog face!”

  We finished our ride in silence.

  At the bunker’s entrance I quickly checked our precious solar array. Despite the foul weather everything seemed in order.

  If the hurricane strikes, we’ll have to shelter this somehow. Ugh.

  Inside, I found Shelton manning the computer and Hi pawing through the mini-fridge. Ben sat staring out the window, silent and brooding.

  Coop bumped my legs as he trotted into the back room. I pictured the sodden dog shaking himself dry beside our expensive network components. Mental note: relocate doggie apartment.

  I reached behind me into the crawl, shut the portal, then crossed and took a seat at the table. “We need a plan.”

  Hi joined me, popping string cheese into his mouth. “Does the iPad still work?”

  “It’s toast.” I set the hateful thing in front of me.

  Shelton swiveled, tapped his chest. “My bad. All pumped up and flaring, I kinda freaked out.”

  Back in the crypt, Shelton had spiked the iPad in anger. Moments later smoke had begun oozing from its sides. There’d been a burst of static before the screen went dark. Charging had failed to revive a signal. I had a feeling the tablet was dead for good.

  “Do we need it anymore?” Shelton took a chair and placed the Gamemaster’s most recent letter before him. “This note doesn’t mention another clue. Only that we’re supposed to—” he read aloud, “—‘combine what you’ve learned to unlock The Danger.’ Whatever that means.”

  I had no answer.

  Was the iPad’s demise irrelevant? Or had it fizzled before revealing our last hint?

  Too late to worry about that now.

  “We’ll proceed as if there are no more clues,” I said. “That leaves this message.”

  “Okay.” Hi placed the surveillance photos next to the iPad. Just thinking of them gave me chills. “So let’s combine what we’ve learned.”

  “How?” Shelton gestured at the items on the tabletop. “Where do we even start?”

  My gaze flicked to Ben in the corner. “Will you join us?”

  After a long pause, he shoved to his feet, slouched over, and dropped into the last empty chair.

  “Let’s examine our finds, cache by cache.” I grabbed a notebook and began a list. “First was the Loggerhead box. Inside was a coded letter and the disguised image of Castle Pinckney.”

  “Our first direct message from the Gamemaster.” Hi retrieved the pages from our workstation and added them to the collection.

  “Weak-ass code.” Shelton brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder. “Cracked it in no time.”

  “Don’t forget,” Hi said, “it was all locked in that Japanese puzzle doohickey.”

  “Himitsu-Bako,” Shelton corrected. “It’s called Himitsu-Bako.”

  “Whatever.” Hi rummaged the desk until he located the box. “We solved it.”

  Shelton elbowed me, then mock-whispered, “I solved it.”

  He winked. I rolled my eyes.

  “The altered coordinates,” Ben added quietly. “That’s what led us to Pinckney.”

  “Right.” I wrote “puzzle box” and “Castle Pinckney” on the next two lines. “At Pinckney we found the iPad. The first clue it displayed was the eighteenth-hole pictogram.” I added my copy of the image to the assemblage.

  “The Pinckney cache freaking exploded.” Hi shrugged. “Might be relevant, might not.”

  “Good.” I recorded the details. “The accelerant used was diesel fuel.”

  Ben looked startled. “What?”

  “That’s what Dr. Sundberg swabbed from the scorch marks on the container. Marchant said so.”

  “You never mentioned anything about diesel.” Ben looked at me oddly.

  I realized Ben was right. After Kit and Whitney’s beach blanket ambush, the swab results had slipped my mind. We’d gone straight to Jason’s party instead.

  “Sorry. Does it mean anything to you?”

  “What? No.” Ben looked annoyed. “Why would it? I just don’t like being left out of the loop.”

  “Ben, I’m sorry.”

  “No big deal,” Hi interjected smoothly. “Next, we found Saint Benedict.”

  Shelton retrieved the statue and positioned him in line. The black-and-white cloth was still draped across his holy shoulders.

  “On Kiawah.” Shelton helped Hi get us back on track. “Ocean Course, hole eighteen, guarded by a wicked snare gun. The chemical equation in the pictogram was the key to finding it.”

  “Bromomethane.” I scribbled. “The cloth resembled a monk’s robe, and was embroidered with a rising sun. That led us to Mepkin Abbey, the cemetery, and … what we found last.”

  “The dead body,” Ben spat. “And the pit viper. And the envelope full of threats.”

  I nodded. Wrote it all down.

  “That’s it?” Hi grabbed my notebook and read out loud. “Castle Pinckney. Diesel fuel. Bromomethane. Kiawah Island. Saint Benedict. Mepkin Abbey. Not exactly hot leads.”

  “Worthless.” Ben slumped back, arms across his chest. “Random useless facts.”

  I sighed. Was he right?

  Coop emerged from the back and padded to his corner. One more set of eyes watching me.

  A very long moment passed.

  Hi broke the silence. “Anyone think it’s odd that the final deadline is so specific?”

  “What do you mean?” Shelton asked. “The timer was pretty specific, too.”

  “But that just counted down.” Hi scooped up the Gamemaster’s most recent letter. “This message states a precise day and time—Friday at nine. Why the change in format?”

  I wasn’t sure I saw Hi’s point. “We need to examine everything we know about the Gamemaster. Look for patterns, or common threads. Dots that we can connect.”

  “No, we need to ID the corpse.” Shelton raised both palms. “That’s why you took the photo, right?”

  “Of course.”

  Just before bolting the crypt, I’d had an idea. It was a long shot, but a Hail Mary beats no play at all. Reaching into the sarcophagus, I’d turned the dead man and taken a picture of his face.

  “We’ll do both,
” I said. “Connect the dots, and find out who the victim is.”

  “Both?” Hi looked skeptical. “How do we accomplish either?”

  Though stumped on the first issue, I had a plan for the second. “There might be a way to figure out who’s in that coffin.”

  The boys waited.

  “Time for another trip to Loggerhead.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “WHY CAN’T WE just ask permission?” Shelton complained.

  “Because there’s no good excuse.” I led the Virals along the trail from the dock to the LIRI compound. “Plus, I think Kit’s suspicious. Last time he sent Sundberg to spy on us. We can’t risk it.”

  “We need full network access,” Hi pointed out. “Lab Six has a dedicated terminal, but without a valid password we can’t tap into the mainframe.”

  I glanced at Shelton, who dodged my eye.

  Just as I thought.

  “Hi, you’re forgetting!” I clamped a hand on Shelton’s shoulder. “Our hacker friend here happens to be the son of LIRI’s IT guru. I bet he knows a backdoor code or two.”

  “He does.” Ben’s voice came from behind me. “We’ve done it before.”

  Shelton groaned. “Even so, our session will be logged. I can’t prevent that.”

  “Security doesn’t checks those reports,” I assured him. “Not without a reason. We’ll be careful not to give them one.”

  “They didn’t used to check,” Shelton countered. “We don’t know what Hudson does now.”

  Good point.

  I brushed it off. My plan was all we had.

  Approaching the front gate, I got down to business. “Once inside, head straight for Lab Six. If anyone’s watching we walk right by, hit the annex vending machines, then double back.”

  Our luck was good: the courtyard was empty. We beelined to our target and slipped through the doors. Inside the building, the lobby was dark. Even LIRI scientists hate working Sundays.

  As I flipped the light switch, memories flooded back. Rusty dog tags. A whirring sonicator. A thick metal door.

  Coop, locked in a cage, tubes running from his paw.

  From their faces, I could tell the boys were thinking the same.