“Hardly.”
“Monkey business?”
“Close.” Judy laughed and cranked the ignition. “You’ll see. Next stop—the Hanging Hill Playhouse, Chatham, Connecticut.”
Zack gave the hotel one last look.
Buh-bye, Mad Dog. See ya! Wouldn’t want to be ya.
As soon as they pulled out of the hotel parking lot, Zack heard a strange sizzling sound.
He turned around. Saw a fountain of electrical fireworks shooting out the top of the Marriott sign.
“Wow,” said Judy, glancing up at the rearview mirror. “A lightbulb must’ve blown out. A big one!”
“Yeah,” said Zack.
Either that, or Old Sparky wanted to say “buh-bye,” too.
7
The withered 105-year-old man sat slumped in his wheelchair near the cell door.
His ankles were shackled together. A heavy chain drooped in a loop between the rolling chair’s footrests. A turban, fashioned from a faded violet bath towel, was wrapped around his skull.
The shriveled old man spoke in a scratchy whisper: “It is time, Hakeem.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Take this.” He produced a tiny key. “It will open the final compartment. See to it that the anointed one has all that he requires.”
“As you command, Exalted One. The boat left Tunisia three weeks ago and arrived safely. The truck from the harbor will arrive tomorrow.”
“And the other necessary arrangements?”
“Nearing completion, master.”
“Excellent. Well done, Hakeem.”
“Thank you, Exalted One.”
The professor reached into the tattered pocket of his frayed robe and removed a small slip of paper.
“More names I would add.”
Hakeem glanced at the list. “Who is this Mad Dog Murphy you have placed at the top?”
“One who should prove most useful to our cause.”
Hakeem tucked the paper away. “Your will shall be done.”
“Do not despair, my friend. We two shall meet again. Soon.”
Now Habib stepped forward. “When?” he asked. “When are you two meeting again?”
The old man narrowed his milky eyes. “Hakeem, who is this person?”
“His name is Habib, Excellency. He is newly arrived. From Tunis.”
“Is he one of us?”
“Of course.”
The old man grunted.
“I cannot begin to tell you what an honor it is to finally meet you, sir!” Habib prattled. “I am grievously saddened to hear of your impending death.”
The old man gestured with a gnarled claw. “Please. Come closer, Habib. This solitary candle casts but a dim and wavering light. I desire to see your face more fully.”
Habib stepped closer to the wheelchair.
“Is this better, Exalted One?”
“Oh, yes. Much.”
The withered old man reached up into the cuff of his bathrobe and extracted the bone-handled magician’s knife he kept hidden there at all times—a weapon Hakeem had easily smuggled into the prison one day when the ancient guard had been on duty.
“What’s that?” asked Habib.
“An omen of your impending death.”
Hakeem watched in awe as the professor—still possessing the fierce strength of a man eight decades his junior—lurched forward and, with a grunt, jammed the knife blade into Habib’s stomach. He twisted it sharply to the right.
Habib crumpled to the floor.
The inmates in the other cells hooted and cheered. Hakeem knew guards would soon be racing up the stairs to investigate the commotion.
The shackled old man rattled chains as he kicked at the limp body.
“Imbecile! Bring me no more such as this one, Hakeem, or next time, I swear by all that is sacred, my blade will find its resting place in your belly!”
Hakeem bowed. “Yes, master.”
“We two shall speak again. Soon. When the August moon grows full.”
“Yes, master.”
“Go. It is time.”
And suddenly, the old man’s head flopped forward as he rattled out his final breath.
“Master?”
There was no reply.
Hakeem grabbed the knife and slipped out of the cell before any guards arrived.
He knew the professor had died happy with much to look forward to.
8
Zack, Judy, and Zipper were flying across the state of Connecticut.
Actually, they were on the interstate in Judy’s Saab—a type of car built by Swedish guys who also designed jets. North Chester was located in the northwest corner of Connecticut, while Chatham and the theater were over on the east coast—down where the Connecticut River emptied into the Atlantic Ocean. It would take them about two hours to drive across the state.
Judy had a stainless steel tumbler of black coffee in one cup holder and a thermos bottle full of it in the other.
Zipper had the backseat all to himself and was fast asleep.
Zack, riding shotgun, was happy to be leaving Mad Dog, Doll Face, and Old Sparky behind for their Extremely Extended Stay at the Marriott. He didn’t think the ghosts would bother his dad. They usually left nonbelievers alone, picked on people like Zack instead.
He let his mind wander.
He imagined the Saab was a real jet.
No, a rocket ship. An intergalactic space cruiser. Cool—because the inky night sky sparkled with stars.
“There’s our destination,” Zack thought. “Third star on the left! Blast off!”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
He fingered what others might call the window button but what he knew to be the toggle switch to initiate the launch sequence. The window opened a half inch. Zack heard the air whoosh, whine, and whistle. Yep. The rockets were fully operational.
He eyed Commander Judy’s control console.
The digital readout behind her circular yoke (which looked sort of like a steering wheel) glowed with a green 65.
Judy certainly knew how to pilot a rocket ship: sixty-five times the speed of light! Incredible. They’d zip past the moon in about a minute. Faster if nobody needed a bathroom break.
Now Zack observed an obstacle—dead ahead.
“Houston, we have a problem,” he thought.
“This is Houston.” He imagined a different voice to keep the dialogue rolling in his head. “We see it. Appears to have eighteen rotating drive mechanisms. What in blazes is it, man?”
“Some sort of cargo vessel,” navigator Zack shot back. “The markings on its tail fin flaps suggest it’s an intergalactic grocery hauler from the planet Krogerus. How ever, I suspect it’s actually a pirate ship carrying concealed contraband from the mining colony on Melkior Six.”
Judy flicked on her turn signal and, increasing speed, eased into the passing lane.
“Houston, we are initiating aggressive counter-measures.”
“Careful, man!”
“Careful? Ha! I laugh in your general direction. Ha, ha, ha!”
“You might run into a meteor shower,” said the nervous radio voice back on earth.
“No thanks,” the cocky space cadet voice snapped back. “I already washed my hair.”
Zack knew every good space movie needed a couple corny jokes. They called it witty banter.
Suddenly, a glowing missile came flying out of the truck.
A cigarette butt.
Its tip flared red as it left the driver’s window and flew like a hot coal shot from a cannon. It would’ve scored a direct hit on their windshield, but the small car’s sleek aerodynamic design sent it up and over the roof!
Ha!
The invisible force field had once again proven to be an excellent defense against sneak butt attacks!
Zack checked out the side-view mirror and saw the cigarette smack into the pavement, where it exploded into a shower of a thousand tiny sparks.