“Will somebody turn off that stupid alarm?” Constance moaned in her sleep.
“Shush! No, don’t shush! Constance, wake up! We’re being signaled!”
But Constance, lost in a sleepy fog, only buried her head under her pillow.
The code kept coming. Kate struggled to decipher it. “I hope the boys are getting this,” she thought. “Sticky will know it for sure.” After a pause the message started to repeat, and Kate studied what she’d jotted down: k and c to flauto were now. Good grief! It made no sense at all. “K and C” stood for Kate and Constance, obviously. But what did “flauto” mean? Was it Spanish? Latin? Again she hoped Sticky was listening — he knew every language in the book. Here came the message again. Kate paid close attention, careful not to mistake short for long or vice versa, making sure to recognize pauses. She came up with this: k and c to flau tower now. What in the world? What was a “flau tower” anyway?
“Flag tower!” she exclaimed, realizing her mistake. “Good gravy, Kate! The boys are in the flag tower already! Constance, wake up!”
“Quiet down!” came the muffled voice from beneath the pillow.
Kate threw on her shoes, fastened her bucket to her belt. Who knew how long they’d been up there? Who knew what sort of danger they were in? What if she was too late? She’d have to —
Kate stopped in mid-thought, staring at the tiny lump of bedclothes that was Constance Contraire. How could she possibly make it with that belligerent girl along? Kate would have to carry her, assuming she could even get her out of bed. What if Constance slowed her down so much she couldn’t help the boys in time?
It occurred to Kate to leave her behind. An inviting thought — so inviting she almost did just that. She went to the door. Hesitated. Looked back. The plan had called for all four of them. That was what Mr. Benedict had said mattered most, and it was what they’d agreed upon only yesterday. All four of them. That was the plan. No way would she be the one to mess it up. In a flash Kate was at the bedside, shaking Constance like a maraca. “Wake up, Constance! It’s an emergency!”
Even with the shaking and urging, it took Kate a minute to get Constance fully awake. Dawn had broken, daylight grew stronger by the second, and with it her fear that she’d be too late. By the time Constance understood what was happening, Kate had jammed her shoes onto her feet. “Get on my back!” she ordered, ignoring Constance’s whining that her toes hurt (Kate had forced the shoes onto the wrong feet). Constance climbed on — still grumbling — and Kate dashed from the room.
In the corridor they passed several students clinging miserably to paper bags, standing in line for the overcrowded bathroom. There were slick spots here and there on the floor that the Helpers hadn’t mopped up yet, and Kate nimbly avoided these, trying not to think about them. When a queasy-looking Executive approached to ask their business, Kate cried, “Get back! She’s about to barf her Brussels sprouts!” The Executive, who had already seen more of this sort of thing in one night than she cared to see in a lifetime, stepped aside without another word.
Faster and faster Kate ran, catching her pace, her bucket bouncing against her hip and Constance clinging desperately to her shoulders. Past exhausted Helpers with their buckets and mops, out of the dormitory, and straight for the secret entrance behind the Institute Control Building. With the help of Mr. Curtain’s elevator, Kate figured they could be outside the Whispering Gallery in thirty seconds or less. “Provided we get lucky,” she thought, “and the entrance isn’t guarded.” She rounded the boulders, kicked the door open, and burst through the foyer into the secret passage.
The entrance was guarded, unfortunately. And by none other than Martina Crowe.
Kate drew up short, trying to think of what to do.
Martina was so astounded by Kate’s sudden appearance, she almost looked afraid, as if Kate had come to deal her some blow. But she quickly grew haughty. “How did you two get down here? You’re in serious trouble now, do you realize that?”
Kate scarcely heard Martina. Her mind was racing. Could she get past Martina? Alone, maybe, but with Constance on her back? Martina would call for help, and the Recruiters guarding the computer room would come running. All Martina had to do was hold Kate off a few short moments. No, they’d never make it. They would have to try another way.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?” Martina snarled, advancing threateningly.
Kate bit her lip, clenched her fists, and for once, said nothing. Instead she whirled on her heel, hitched Constance higher on her back, and ran away.
Martina stared after the girls, extremely confused. It was not like Kate Wetherall to back down like that, not like her at all. And why had they come into the secret passage in the first place? They’d been in a hurry, clearly rushing toward some urgent business. Her face darkened as she contemplated the possibilities.
Just then Jillson rounded the corner. She’d spent a dreadful night in the bathroom making sounds like a sea lion, but now that she was feeling better she was coming to relieve Martina from guard duty. “Jackson told me to take over for you. If Mr. Curtain doesn’t finish the job with Reynard and George, you may be having another session in a few hours. Go get some rest.”
Martina wasn’t listening. Her mind was awhirl with speculations about Kate. The wicked little snoop must know this was the way up to the Whispering Gallery, she thought. Why else would the girls have come here? And what had they been in such a hurry for? And . . . and what was that infernal beeping sound in the distance? Martina was finding it difficult to concentrate.
“Jillson, did you pass Kate Wetherall in the foyer just now?”
“And that little squirt Constance? You bet I did. I sent them straight back to their room. Some kids never learn. It’ll be a brainsweep for those two, no doubt about it.”
“They aren’t going back to their room,” said Martina. “Something’s going on.”
Jillson frowned. “Is that so? Do you think it has anything to do with that maddening honking sound? What is that, anyway?”
“You’ve noticed it, too, then. I don’t know. It almost sounds like — no, it definitely sounds like a code. Yes, it’s a code! Morse code. Jillson, you don’t know Morse code, do you?”
“Why on earth would I? Nobody uses Morse code anymore. But you know, Mr. Curtain keeps all sorts of code books in his office cabinet. We could take a look. I have the cabinet key with me — privilege of a senior Executive.”
Moments later the two of them were in Mr. Curtain’s office, poring over a chart of Morse code, hastily scrawling a transcription of the distant honks.
“What’s a ‘flauta’?” Jillson asked, scratching her head.
Martina corrected the mistake. Not short short long, but long long short — not U but G. Flag tower. “I knew it! Let’s go find Jackson. We have two more spies to catch!”
The spies in question were at that very moment hurrying down a corridor in the Helpers’ barracks, where Kate had just burst into a storage room and snatched a ladder from an alarmed Helper. Now they were tripping and stumbling toward the exit. Kate stumbled because of the unwieldy ladder. Constance stumbled because it was her natural method of locomotion, and because her feet hurt from being in the wrong shoes.