Code tb-3 Page 8

  The music had stopped. A low ringing filled the room.

  “Great.” Shelton backed toward the door. “Round two.”

  Furious, I stormed across the room and kicked the box. The boys flinched as it ricocheted off the wall and broke into pieces.

  Something flat, black, and rectangular lay inside the wreckage.

  “Are you insane!?!” Shelton shrieked. “It already exploded once!”

  “That piece of crap injured my dog!” I nearly shook with rage. “When I find out who built it …”

  “We won’t get anywhere by breaking the thing,” Hi said. “So how’s ’bout getting a grip, huh?”

  I nodded, blood still boiling.

  Gamemaster, you’ve made an enemy.

  “An iPad.” Ben stood over the wreckage, light in hand. “That’s what’s ringing.”

  “Seriously?” Shelton inched toward Ben’s side. “This guy left a freaking iPad? Is that normal?”

  “Not even close.” Hi joined the huddle, smacking dirt from his shorts. “An iPad’s way too valuable to cache. The first to find it would steal it for sure.”

  Ben tapped the screen. A yellow background appeared, framing four words written in scrolling, purple calligraphy. Welcome to The Game.

  Shelton groaned.

  “The Game again?” I was reading over Ben’s shoulder. “That’s my last nerve.”

  A swipe bar appeared below the message.

  “Should I unlock it?” Ben asked.

  “No way,” Shelton said. “Whatever game this is, I ain’t playing.”

  “Do it.” I wasn’t making a suggestion. “We’re tracking this wacko down.”

  “I’m with Tory,” Hi said. “We need intel, and the iPad’s our only lead.”

  “Here goes.” Ben finger-swiped the screen.

  A medieval scroll appeared, smoking purple letters affixed to its surface. A familiar signature flowed across the bottom of the page.

  Valiant Players

  ,

  I’m disappointed. You failed at this task. Fortunately, the first round was mere practice. But now The Game has truly begun! From here forward the stakes increase, and there’s no turning back

  .

  To wit: I’ve hidden a bomb somewhere in Charleston. Unlike the first, this one is very real. To disarm the device, you must follow my clues and complete the tasks

  .

  Fail at a task, the bomb goes off. Break a rule, the bomb goes off. Refuse to continue, the bomb goes off. Reveal The Game to anyone, the bomb goes off

  .

  Accept my challenge and complete The Game, or innocents will die. Lives are in your hands. The clock is ticking!

  Sincerely,

  The Gamemaster

  “When we find this assclown,” I fumed, “I’m going to break his freaking—”

  “It’s a joke, right?” Shelton was tugging his lobe double-time. “A sick prank?”

  “Of course.” But Hi’s face was uneasy. “Sorry I got us into this nonsense.”

  “A bomb?” Ben was shaking his head. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Look!” I pointed to the screen.

  The scroll dissolved, replaced by a grainy, green-tinged image.

  Four figures, huddled close inside an empty room.

  “This is stupid.” Shelton started toward the doorway. “Let’s bounce. We can toss that iPad in the freaking harbor.”

  “Wait!” My heart skipped a beat. On-screen, one of the figures was moving to the right. “Shelton, walk back over here.”

  He grumbled, but rejoined the group. The figure on the iPad did the same.

  Goose bumps. Boatloads.

  “It’s a video feed!” Hi spun, eyes darting to the ceiling.

  I’d observed the screen as Hi moved. Sure enough, when he’d turned, so had one of the eerie green figures.

  “It’s live,” Ben whispered. “The Gamemaster could be watching us, right now.”

  “There!” Hi aimed his flashlight at the far corner of the chamber. Where ceiling met wall, a tiny red light winked. “Sonofabitch!”

  “It must be a night-vision lens,” Shelton said. “That’s why the image is so clear.”

  Ben handed me the iPad, scooped a rock, and fired. Coop yipped at the sound of impact.

  The red light continued to wink. Ben grabbed a handful of stones and tossed them like buckshot. The rain of projectiles must’ve connected. I heard the tinkle of breaking glass, then the iPad went black.

  “Can we please get out of here?” Shelton repeated. “This is way too weird.”

  Not waiting for comment, he ducked back into the first chamber. Hi hurried after, followed by Ben, Cooper, and me. We regrouped by the window through which we’d entered.

  Dusky light poured through the opening. The salty harbor breeze was a welcome change from the fetid, musty air inside the castle.

  “Ladies first,” said Hi.

  I was about to hoist myself onto the sill when I glanced at the iPad. “Crap.”

  “What?” Three voices.

  A new image had filled the screen—a large red circle on a white field, dancing yellow letters inscribed on its face.

  Two words. Press me.

  Shelton was not interested. “Does the clown think we’re idiots, or—” Hi’s finger darted forward and tapped the button.

  “Hi!” I shouted. Things were happening too fast.

  “You moron!” Shelton screeched.

  “I couldn’t help it.” Hi shrugged. “How do you not press a button like that?”

  Shelton’s fingers found his temples. “We don’t know—”

  BOOM.

  This blast was larger than the first, trembling the castle walls. Dirt and ancient mortar rained down on our heads. Behind us, a stone block fell to the floor.

  “Out!” I yelled.

  Ben tossed Coop through the window. We scrambled after, then booked it to the shoreline, getting as far from the building as possible.

  There was a rumble, followed by a series of booms. I turned to see dust billowing from every window.

  “Holy crap!” Shelton panted. “Did Hi blow up the castle?”

  “No.” Ben’s voice was tight as he peered back at the fortress. “The walls are still standing. Something else must’ve happened.”

  “Good God.” Hi’s voice shook as he pointed the opposite direction. “Look.”

  My gaze followed Hi’s finger. Across the harbor. Downtown.

  A pillar of smoke was rising from Battery Park. Below it, trees were burning like torches soaked in pitch. As I stared in horror, sirens began to wail.

  “You don’t think …” Hi trailed off.

  No one responded.

  But I knew. My gaze dropped to the iPad, waiting.

  In moments a new message appeared on-screen: Understand?

  Two options took shape below the question: a white circle with gold writing, and a black square lettered in red.

  The white circle read: Yes. Time to play The Game.

  The black square read: No. I need another demonstration.

  The image of a stopwatch formed. Began counting down from ten.

  A hollow feeling welled in my gut.

  Nine. Eight. Seven …

  “Guys,” I whispered, “I don’t think this is a joke.”

  I held up the iPad.

  Six. Five. Four …

  Hi paled. Shelton swallowed. Ben clenched his fists.

  The Gamemaster’s warning flashed in my mind.

  Accept my challenge and complete The Game, or innocents will die.

  “We have no choice,” I said quietly.

  The boys nodded.

  Three. Two …

  Feeling helpless, I pressed the white button.

  The display cycled through a series of colors before fading to white. Trumpets sounded. Then a snarling clown face filled the screen.

  Black letters appeared in the now-familiar script: Clues to Follow!

  I wanted to scream
in frustration.

  Whoever this Gamemaster was, he was toying with us. Shoving us around like his personal playthings.

  The clown glared up at me. Sneering. Taunting.

  We’d become pawns in a madman’s game.

  PART TWO:

  CLUES

  CHAPTER 14

  I LEANED AGAINST one of Bolton’s granite lions.

  Across the courtyard, a crowd of students lounged on wooden benches lining the central walk. The morning was sunny, a balmy sixty-five. No one was in a hurry to trudge inside.

  The boys were bunched beside me, tapping their phones, searching for coverage of last night’s explosion on The Battery.

  I left the legwork to them. I just wanted answers.

  “No one was hurt!” Relief was evident in Hi’s voice. “But the wedding gazebo went up like a Roman candle.”

  “Lucky.” Shelton pushed his glasses back into place. “Usually that thing is crawling with people. It’s practically a landmark.”

  “Someone could’ve been killed,” I said. “The Gamemaster clearly didn’t care.”

  Ben frowned. “Do the police know what happened?”

  “It was a bomb all right.” Hi scrolled his iPhone. “This story calls the blast an act of terrorism.”

  Terrorism. Great. We’re entangled with a freaking fanatic.

  “So what now?” Hi glanced at his watch. First bell would ring any minute.

  “Cops?” Shelton suggested.

  I shook my head. “Against the rules, remember?”

  “We care about that?” Shelton snorted. “Hi just blew up Battery Park.”

  “Accident!” Hi protested. “I didn’t know what would happen! You see a button, you push it. That’s practically a law of nature.”

  Level stares.

  Hi waved away our skepticism. “The Gamemaster would’ve set it off anyway.”

  On that point, I agreed. “The bomb was a warning: Play the game or people die.”

  “Okay, no police,” Ben said firmly. “And no talking to anyone else, either.”

  “Maybe.” I’d been thinking about that. “Maybe not.”

  “The rules were clear,” Ben argued.

  “We can’t go to the cops, reveal the clue, or talk about the game.” Ticking fingers as I spoke. “But we don’t have to be led around by our noses.”

  Shelton sighed. “Meaning what?”

  “We turn the tables.” I thumped my bag, which contained both the Gamemaster’s iPad and what remained of the second cache.

  Yesterday, watching the smoke rise, I’d made a decision. We needed a way to fight back. An edge our adversary didn’t expect. That meant evidence.

  Swift as thought, I’d slipped back inside Castle Pinckney. The boys hadn’t been quick enough to stop me. A risky move, but worth it—I’d retrieved the scorched container and escaped unscathed. I’d even smiled through the berating they’d delivered back on the beach.

  “The rules say we can’t talk about—” I made air quotes, “—‘The Game,’ but they don’t mention the Gamemaster himself. We’ll use his own materials to track him down.”

  “How?” Ben’s face was unreadable. “All we’ve got are the puzzle box, the two-page letter, and a blown-up cache.”

  “Don’t forget the iPad.” I pulled the tablet from my backpack. “Right now it only shows the clue that appeared last night, but we might eventually unlock more.”

  At midnight the night before, a pictogram had suddenly filled the iPad’s screen. I’d spent an hour trying to make sense of it before giving up, snapping a pic, and forwarding it to the boys. Daylight wasn’t providing additional inspiration.

  “The image is incomprehensible.” Hi examined the display with dubious eyes. “I stared at this all morning, and it’s still nonsense. We’ll never crack it in time.”

  Hi wasn’t kidding. I couldn’t even fathom a guess.

  The picture was deceptively simple—the number 18, encircled by a long string of characters: CH3OHHBRCH3BRH2O. Surrounding that arrangement was a solid black circle, which, in turn, was surrounded by a larger blue one. A capital K crowned it all.

  Beneath the image was a digital stopwatch. Sixty-four hours, counting down.

  Shelton shuddered. “I don’t like thinking about what happens at zero.”

  “Me either.” I shoved the iPad back into my bag. “Which is why we have to find the Gamemaster first. We can work the clue and try to catch him at the same time.”

  “Sounds fantastic,” Hi deadpanned, “but how do we do it?”

  “Analyze everything. Every scrap of material we have. Hope the Gamemaster made a mistake.”

  First bell pealed. Students began filing into the building.

  “Shall we?” I headed for the doors, the boys at my heels.

  Classmates pressed close as we funneled through the entrance. Without warning, I found myself shoulder to shoulder with Madison.

  Startled, I nodded and smiled, as if greeting her was the most natural thing in the world.

  Madison’s eyes widened. She rabbit-stepped backward, expensive jewelry rattling as she bumped the students behind her. Then she lowered her head and wormed through the mass of bodies with undignified haste. Casting one backward glance—red-faced, eyes nervous—her brunette curls disappeared into the river of identical Bolton Prep uniforms.

  I suppressed a sigh. Maybe things were better this way.

  “She’s still not over that beat down,” said a voice behind my ear.

  This time, the sigh escaped. “Hi, Jason.”

  I turned left down the hallway. Jason hustled to walk beside me, bumping into Ben, who had moved to occupy the same space.

  The boys glared like stray dogs squaring off in an alley. Shelton and Hi kept moving past us, oblivious, or choosing to avoid the awkward scene.

  “Watch where you’re going,” Ben snapped.

  “I am,” Jason said dryly. “I’m going to chat with Tory.”

  Ben snorted. “I’m sure that’ll make her day.”

  Jason’s eyes flicked to me, momentarily uncertain.

  “Enough, both of you.” What was it with these two? Oil and water. “Jason, I need something from my locker before class. Talk later?”

  “Sure, Tor. I just thought you’d want to know first.”

  That stopped me. “Know what?”

  “That Chance will be back at school this week,” Jason said. “Probably tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh.” Oh my. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. See you later.”

  Jason straightened his tie, then turned and reached as if to fix Ben’s. Ben flinched, then flushed scarlet, eyes growing hard.

  Jason smirked as he headed off down the hall, ignoring Ben’s icy look.

  My legs resumed walking, but my mind wandered. Chance. Back tomorrow. A plan was needed.

  Ben stomped at my side, his face a thunderhead. I knew that flinch was gnawing at him. He’d lost that round. Meatheads.

  Shelton and Hi were waiting outside class.

  “Everything cool?” Hi asked, eyeing Ben.

  “Fine,” I said. “But we have to make a stop after school.”

  Ben’s head whipped my way. “You can’t be serious.”

  Shelton frowned. “Serious about what?”

  “Claybourne Manor.” I ignored their protests. “It’s past time we settled our debt.”

  “We’ll have to hit the bank first.” Hi sounded despondent. “Raid our deposit box.”

  “It’s his share, guys. We’d never have done it without him. Plus, Chance saw way too much last summer. We need to feel him out. Find out how much he remembers.”

  No one bothered to protest. We’d had this out before.

  “Who knows,” I said hopefully, “maybe he can help ID the Gamemaster.”

  Three incredulous faces.

  “Not directly, of course. But we need a forensic examination of the cache. Chance has serious connections. He might help.”

  To say the bo
ys were unenthused is an understatement.

  “Help screw us again?” Shelton snarked.

  “Did you get hit in the head?” Hi asked.

  “Dumb dumb dumb.” Ben wagged his head slowly.

  “Whatever,” I snapped. “We’re going, so man up.”

  The second bell sounded.

  We trooped into class and found our desks. I dove into my calculus book, hoping to conceal my own uncertainty.

  Last time, I’d barely escaped Claybourne Manor with my life.

  Was I making a huge mistake?

  CHAPTER 15

  WE MET BY the gates after last bell.

  Though reluctant, the boys offered no further argument. They knew it was pointless once I’d made up my mind. Leaving our jackets in lockers, we headed east down Broad Street.

  The guys sulked through our quick stop at the bank.

  At Meeting Street we turned left. Claybourne Manor was a few blocks ahead, in Charleston’s prestigious, hoity-toity quarter known as South of Broad. The neighborhood screamed of privilege, old money, and tradition. Ostentatious wealth. We couldn’t have been more out of place.

  Hi whistled, pointed to his right. “Look at that palace. Four stories, maybe five.”

  “These houses are insane.” Shelton’s head was swiveling nonstop. “My dad couldn’t afford a parking space down here.”

  “He’s better off.” Ben’s scowl was firmly in place. “The less time spent around blue-blooded jerks, the better.”

  Even among its elegant neighbors, Chance’s ancestral home stands out. A registered historical landmark, Claybourne Manor is the largest private residence in South Carolina. Modeled after a nineteenth-century Italian manse, the main building has forty rooms, twenty-four fireplaces, and sixty bathrooms, and occupies over two acres of prime downtown real estate. A home fit for royalty.

  We halted outside a ten-foot, spike-topped wall split by an ornate iron gate. Twisting metalwork displayed the Claybourne family crest: a gray shield with three black foxes, encircled by black and red vines.

  “My family needs a coat of arms,” Hi mused. “Something that conveys what it means to be a Stolowitski.”

  Shelton chuckled. “What, like a stuffed-crust pizza?”

  I held up a hand. “Everyone ready?”

  No replies. At least they weren’t complaining again.