The Millennial Box, Julie Steimle [classic books for 12 year olds .txt] 📗

you can go pose as a pizza boy," Jeff said with a smile. "Pretend it is one of those prank pizza deliveries and insist they have to pay for it. Be really belligerent. You're good at that,"

Agent Keane scowled, his ears hot at the personal jab.

Jeff smirked. "Just make sure they take the pizza inside."

"And the disk? What if they eat all the pizza and find the bug?" Keane asked, still irritated by Jeff's remark.

Zormna smiled back. "The bug, as you call it, will be inside the cardboard. They won't find it."

Jeff pointed the disk in Agent Keane's hand. "This disk is razor thin on the sides. It will slip right inside the corrugated cardboard. They won't see a thing."

The FBI agent glanced back at Jeff with an unusual sensation of admiration coupled with discomfort - as this was truly clever. "You do this a lot, don't you?"

Jeff merely smirked. "Once or twice, occasionally. But not here." He walked back to the backpack on the table and rifled through it some more. "This thing will transmit through solid rock and metal. So we won't have a problem getting a reading."

The room had gone silent, everyone listening. They could hear the low hum of the electric lights and the small fridge that sat in the corner of the room. They all nodded. It was a decent plan.

"Then what?" Agent Sicamore asked, still uneasy. "You know these people, or at least, you know what they would do. What next?"

Jeff nodded, meeting his gaze. "Once we have a good reading, we decide whether we want to barge in and take the box," He pulled out a cord that would attach to the game machine so they wouldn't have to go off of the batteries. "Or if we want to, we can play it safe and have an official FBI investigation."

"What do you mean?" Agent Simms broke in. He had been listening without speaking for some time, perhaps on the orders of Agent Sicamore to avoid another angry confrontation.

Looking him straight in the eye, Jeff said, "I mean, if we want to take the box, we have to have multiple plans. You want to catch the killers - so an official FBI investigation would make all this legitimate, and it would reach that end. But we also want the box. ...Because it is most likely someone will escape with it when the FBI enter into the building. They would have an escape plan - just in case." Looking at Sicamore plainly, Jeff explained, "They have a tendency to." Jeff then turned his gaze back onto Agent Simms and continued. "We have to set off the alarms in the place to keep them distracted so someone can bust into the upstairs and get to the box before one of them runs off with it."

Jeff sat down as he continued his train of thought. "Now I propose we run all three plans at once. We can have some official FBI guys do their duty. You will meet some resistance. We can also have crooked little me, and maybe even Steele, break in the building to set off the alarms, and then we have backup waiting, just in case they want to fight and we're outnumbered - which is most likely." He picked up his juice to finish it off, still thinking out loud. "And I figure Zormna can stay behind because she is a dead giveaway about what we're here for. That, and she can be our last resort."

"Her? How?" Agent Palmer broke in, looking back at the small teen girl that was sitting rather patiently, more than what was usual for her nature. Zormna smirked, hiding a sly glimmer in her eye.

Jeff smiled as if the answer was obvious.  

They both looked at Agent Sicamore who flushed, but did not quite get the meaning of their looks. His mind had only gone back to his parents, wondering if the two were thinking about them.

Agent Keane however, did understand. "You mean her military connections, don't you?"

Agent Hayworth drew in a breath, staring. "But she can't call them up, can she? I read the report. We all know she's in hiding."

"Hiding?" Steele's voice broke in. "Who's in hiding? That girl?"

They all turned around, remembering the bounty hunter. He still had not been told the whole story. He also had just barely come up the stairs.

Zormna nodded to him, her eyes harsher in her gaze on that man. "Yes, I am. But those inside that building don't know that." Then she smirked with a peek to Jeff. "And who's to say I can't get help from them if I need it? My subordinates believe I am on special projects."

"Them? Them who?" Steele asked, stepping forward.

Agent Sicamore flushed again. They had modified the story they had told him by just a little. Steele's lack of knowledge complicated matters, but Agent Sicamore was sure if their bounty hunter heard anything about their belief in Martians it would only make things difficult.

"Zormna's military academy. I told you about them, didn't I?" Agent Sicamore said to Steele, looking at him plaintively.

"A scarce little. Are they the ones who threatened you?" Steele asked.

Relieved, Sicamore nodded. "Yes."

Smirking still, Zormna said, "The point is, we can use that, just in case things go wrong in there." She pointed out the window toward the warehouse.

The four agents nodded. Palmer and Powell shared looks and exchanged glances with the Browns, all of which knew better. Steele seemed tetchy, but he held his tongue for a later argument. Jeff masked his amusement at the entire scene, as it protected his alibi beautifully.

They had agreed.

Agent Keane left immediately to change his clothes and pick up the pizza. Jeff insisted they order one with pineapple and anchovies, just to make it the perfect prank call pizza. That, and he had him order three boxes, hinting that he could bring back a fourth for them to eat if he wanted. The trip to the closest pizza delivery place took a while. Agent Keane also had to take one of the delivery cars and borrow a uniform.

The pizza delivery scheme went without a catch. In fact, when Agent Keane got to the door of the club's building, the guard called in to see if anyone ordered a pizza. But when he found out that no one had, he just shrugged and paid for it anyway, taking all three boxes in. While Keane returned to the pizza parlor to drop off the car and uniform, Jeff and the rest activated the computer game gizmo. Zormna reached over his shoulder and pressed a few buttons, fine-tuning the receiver. A small thermal picture appeared on the tiny screen. They read at least twenty bodies on the ground floor, and a possible ten more upstairs.

"Doesn't it give a more accurate reading than that?" Agent Simms remarked.

Jeff glanced back at him, but Zormna spoke in their defense. "You can only do so much with a children's game. Besides, it is accurate enough."

"They've got weapons," Jeff remarked, pointing at the new reading he had asked for. The machine actually could read metal content, thermal bodies, and toxic chemical content. Jeff had asked for a reading of gunpowder, most likely in bullets, and small metallic objects.

"The computers are all on the upper floor. Three are in that small room, and I think they even have their own server there." Jeff typed in for another scan. He sighed. "Good. They only have Parthan weapons. No lasers or concussion bombs."

Zormna also sighed.

"Parthan weapons? What does that mean?" Agent Maya Brown asked.

"Guns. And only handguns too. Nothing automatic. That's good." Jeff turned the scanner off. "We can take them."

The other agents nodded and peered at Jeff.

Agent Sicamore stood up. "Ready?"

They all nodded again. The three marched down the wooden stairs, checking their sidearms and badges and straightening their suits.

"Let's go."

Jeff smirked with a shared look with Zormna. She shook her head and punched on the computer game to watch.

Chapter Thirteen: Tone Deaf

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fire you kindle for your enemy often burns you more than him.  - Chinese Proverb -

 

 

 

 

The three FBI agents marched back to their distant parked cars. They decided that in order to look official they had to do everything perfectly. Taking care to keep up the image, they drove right up to the warehouse, parked on the road near the front doors, and stepped out wearing dark sunglasses. They stood formidably at the door when Agent Sicamore knocked.

The guard at the door answered the knock holding one of the pineapple and anchovy pizza slices in his hand. He was chewing contentedly, staring coolly at their faces.

"Good afternoon. I'm Agent Sicamore, this is Agent Simms and Agent Hayworth." Sicamore showed his badge, as the others likewise did.

The guard wiped his chin pleasantly with a napkin, listening to the agents' spiel unconcernedly. However, in the upper room in the warehouse across the street, Jeff and Zormna were watching those inside the building scramble to their posts to defend their building.

<<They're getting ready for a fight. Be on your guard,>> Maya reported into their earpieces.

"May we come in?" Agent Sicamore asked.

The guard shook his head, staring out to see if there were others around.  "Sorry. Only members of the club are allowed in."

"We're sorry to hear that," Agent Simms said, stepping forward.

"Good day to you," the guard said, attempting to close the door.

Placing his foot inside the gap, Agent Sicamore stopped him. "Pardon me, but if that is the case, then we must inform you that we have a search warrant."

Agent Hayworth pulled it out and showed it to the guard.

The guard's pleasant smile faltered. He hung at the door, waiting, yet knowing he would have to let them in.

<<They are in position. Expect them to ambush you, but don't offer resistance. The boy says you had better let them know ahead of time that you are expected somewhere. He says it will make it so they are less likely to kill you.>> Maya's voice buzzed in their ears.

They could hear Jeff's voice from behind telling Zormna that he had better go now with Steele to distract the other guards and set off the alarm. Palmer and Powell's voices were joining him, ordering their backup to stand by.

"Alright. Come in," the guard said. He opened the door wide, letting all three men pass by. When they entered the warehouse, they saw a few men in the room. The main garage space on the ground floor had only a little room for a truck. The sides near the front door were lined with huge crates and boxes, stacked to the ceiling, or near to it. The back of the huge warehouse hall had a nice maroon carpet that ran along length of the rear wall eight feet wide and a pool table sat on it to the right and an office desk with several chairs sat on the left. There were also filing cabinets and a few lamps on that end. Around the right corner they could hear a television playing. The entire space faintly smelled of cheese and old coffee.

At the desk, a formidable auburn-haired, waxy-pale man sat, typing on a laptop. He was dressed in a classy gray three piece suit and wore a deep blue