Fireworks at the FBI Page 3

  “As of now, you’re suspended until further notice,” the FBI director informed the man. “And you’ll have a chance to call a lawyer.”

  Mr. Cellucci gulped. “A lawyer? But I didn’t do anything!”

  “Please come with me,” the FBI director said.

  The two men left the room.

  The president looked at Mr. Rinkel. “Thank you for coming in,” he said. “Tell me, what is your novel about?”

  “It’s a mystery,” the man said. “About spies in Washington.”

  “Sounds good,” the president said as he walked Mr. Rinkel to the door. “Please send me an autographed copy when you get it published.”

  “I certainly will, Mr. President!” Mr. Rinkel said.

  Behind the drapes, KC held her breath. She was afraid to peek out in case someone was still in the room.

  “You two can come out now,” the president said.

  Marshall poked KC in the side. She poked him back. “Nice going,” Marshall hissed. “Siberia, here I come!”

  KC and Marshall stepped out from behind the drapes. The president was sitting in a chair, waiting for them.

  “Did you hear what you wanted to?” the president asked.

  Both kids mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll let you off the hook this time, but I’m serious, KC. Please don’t eavesdrop anymore,” the president said. “Now go get some fresh air. It must have been pretty hot behind those drapes.”

  The president grinned, then walked out of the room.

  KC and Marshall left the White House by the back entrance. They sat on a bench in the Rose Garden.

  “That was terrific, KC,” Marshall mumbled. “We just spied on the president!”

  KC didn’t say anything. She was frowning and her forehead was wrinkled in thought. “Marsh, I kind of feel sorry for Mr. Cellucci,” KC said, after a moment.

  “Yeah,” Marshall said. “Mr. Cellucci seemed like a nice man, not a crook.”

  KC shrugged and dropped the subject. Then she looked at her watch. “You know, if we hurry, we can go to the dog track and pick out a greyhound before lunchtime.”

  “Sure, I think we’ve got this case wrapped up,” Marshall said.

  “It’s weird,” KC said as they headed off the White House grounds. “Usually, I feel happy when the bad guy is caught.”

  On Pennsylvania Avenue, they walked toward the subway station. While they waited for a train, KC studied the printout from the greyhound Web site.

  Marshall was reading an advertisement for a company called Globe Travel. The large ad showed a map of the world. Across the top were small clocks showing what time it was in major cities.

  “Look, when it’s three o’clock in D.C., it’s only noon in California,” Marshall said. “They’re eating lunch!”

  KC laughed. “You just had breakfast!”

  “What time is it?” he asked KC.

  “Ten-thirty,” she said. She lifted her eyes from the Web site printout and glanced at the small clocks that showed different time zones.

  Marshall counted on his fingers. “This is so cool. It’s ten-thirty here, but in Tokyo it’s already eleven-thirty tonight!”

  KC nodded. “They’re thirteen hours ahead of us,” she said. Then something made her check the time in London, England. It was three-thirty in the afternoon there.

  “Marsh, do you remember Mr. Rinkel telling the president about that phone call he was expecting last night?” she asked.

  “Sort of,” Marshall said. “What about it?”

  “He said he was expecting a call from London when it was nine o’clock here,” KC reminded him. “That’s why he used his cell phone to tell Mr. Cellucci to send up the pizza guy.”

  “So?” Marshall said. “He didn’t want to use the FBI’s phone because he was waiting for the call.”

  “But it would have been two o’clock in the morning in London,” KC said. “A weird time for anyone to be calling the FBI, right?”

  Marshall did some more finger math. “Maybe he thought it was five hours in the other direction. That would make it four in the afternoon in London.”

  “Except that’s wrong,” KC said. She pointed at the travel poster in the window. “London is five hours ahead of our time, not five hours behind. Besides that, the FBI must have more than one phone line. So Mr. Rinkel didn’t have to use his cell phone to call down to the lobby.”

  Marshall shook his head. “I don’t get what you’re thinking,” he said.

  A brown train to Rockville came along and slowed in front of the kids.

  “What I’m thinking,” KC said as the train stopped, “is that Mr. Rinkel is lying!”

  7

  A Familiar Face

  The ride to Rockville, Maryland, took a half hour. When they stepped off the train, KC was reading the printout again. “It says there’s a shuttle bus to the dog track,” she said.

  KC and Marshall looked around.

  “There it is!” Marshall said.

  Parked next to the station was a purple van. The words RIVERBANK RACETRACK were painted on the side, over a picture of a racing greyhound. KC and Marshall ran over to it.

  A man was sitting behind the wheel, reading a newspaper.

  “Are you leaving for the track soon?” KC asked.

  The man glanced at her with twinkly blue eyes. “Are you old enough to bet?” he asked.

  KC giggled. “No, I’m going to adopt a greyhound,” she said.

  The man nodded. “Nice idea,” he said. “Those poor dogs have a hard life. Do you have a big yard?”

  Marshall laughed. “It’s huge!” he said.

  The man started the engine. “Have a seat, please,” he said. “We’ll be there in ten minutes!”

  Soon the purple van drove through a gate under a sign that read RIVERBANK RACETRACK. The driver pulled up next to two white tents. In front of one of the tents, people were sitting and eating at small tables. The other tent had a big sign over the entrance that read GREY-HOUND ADOPTION.

  “Good luck!” the driver said.

  “Thanks a lot,” KC said. She and Marshall hopped out. Behind the two tents, the kids saw hundreds of people in grandstands around a large oval racetrack. Greyhound dogs were racing around the oval, and a man’s voice was making announcements over the speakers.

  Inside the adoption tent, a man and woman were working behind a table. Hanging from the top of the tent were posters of greyhound dogs. A large jar on the table had a sign taped to the glass. It said YOUR DONATIONS HELP GREYHOUNDS FIND GOOD HOMES. There wasn’t much money in the jar.

  A long, sleepy greyhound lay under the table. He looked up and blinked. Marshall kneeled down next to the dog and rubbed his head. The greyhound licked Marshall’s hand.

  KC walked over and dropped some change into the jar.

  “Thank you!” the woman said. “Can I help you?”

  “I’d like to adopt a greyhound,” KC told her.

  The woman glanced behind KC. “Are your parents with you?” she asked.

  “They’re home,” KC said. “I wanted to get a dog for my stepfather as a surprise.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not how we place our dogs,” the woman explained. “In order to be sure the dogs go to good, safe homes, we have to know the whole family who will live with the dog. We check the homes thoroughly.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” KC said.

  “But we can put your name on a list,” the man said. “We have another office in downtown D.C. If your parent comes in to fill out papers, we can get started with the process.”

  “That sounds good,” KC said. “I can have my mom come in, and it’ll still be a surprise for my stepdad.”

  “Great,” the man said. “What is your name?”

  “Katherine Christine Corcoran.”

  The man wrote down her name. “And your address?”

  KC said, “1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C.”

  Marshall giggled.

  The woman a
nd man stared at KC.

  “Dear, that’s the address for the White House,” the woman said.

  “I know, and that’s where I live,” KC said. “My mom is married to President Thornton.”

  “Goodness!” the woman said.

  “So this dog would be for the president?” the man asked.

  KC nodded. “He really likes animals. We already have three cats!”

  The woman and man exchanged looks. “I’m sure we can work something out,” the woman said, then handed KC a brochure and a business card.

  “Thank you,” KC said. She slipped them into her daypack. “How do we pick out a dog?”

  “Usually, you would first view one of our videotapes,” the man said. “Then you’d meet the dogs, face to face, and choose the one you like.” He smiled at KC. “But we might make an exception for the president.”

  “Awesome!” KC said. “I’ll have my mom call today!”

  She and Marshall left the tent. They didn’t see the purple van, so they walked over to the restaurant tent and sat down at a table. A waiter came over with menus. “What can I get you?” he asked.

  The kids each ordered lemonade.

  “Got it,” the man said.

  “Did you see her eyes bug out when you told her your address?” Marshall asked.

  KC grinned. “I wonder if they believe me,” she said as the waiter returned with two glasses of lemonade. He dropped straws and a slip of paper on the table and darted away again.

  “Look, Marsh, isn’t that Mr. Rinkel?” KC asked. She pointed her straw toward a man sitting at a nearby table.

  “It looks like him,” Marshall said. “Same pointy nose. I wonder what he’s doing here.”

  Mr. Rinkel was tapping his spoon against a glass of water. He kept checking his watch.

  A man wearing a lime-green tracksuit sat down at Mr. Rinkel’s table. He had bushy black eyebrows and a mustache that looked like a fat caterpillar.

  The waiter went over to their table. The man in the green suit said something, and the waiter wrote down the order.

  The men were talking, their heads bent low. The waiter brought two cups of coffee, then left.

  Suddenly the man with the black mustache slid an envelope across the table. Mr. Rinkel swept it into his lap.

  KC stared at the man in the green suit. She squinted her eyes. “Oh my gosh!” she said, then clapped her hand over her mouth. She leaned across the table toward Marshall. “Marsh, that man talking to Mr. Rinkel,” she whispered. “I think I saw his picture on the post office wall!”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Marshall said.

  “No! Look at him,” KC said, keeping her voice low. “If you take away his mustache, he looks like one of those Ten Most Wanted guys!”

  8

  The Real Crook

  Hiding their faces behind the lemonade glasses, KC and Marshall watched the two men.

  “I wish we could hear what they’re saying,” KC said. “Let’s move to a closer table.”

  “Forget it!” Marshall said. “That guy with the mustache looks really mean!”

  The man in green threw some money down on the table, then he and Mr. Rinkel walked away.

  “Should we follow them?” KC asked, jumping up.

  “No!” Marshall said.

  KC ignored him. She wanted to see where the men were going. She put some money on the table and grabbed Marshall’s arm. Marshall took one last slurp and went with KC.

  “Look, Marsh, they stopped at the dog-track betting window!” KC said.

  “That’s what people do here, KC,” Marshall said. “They bet on the races.”

  KC and Marshall watched Mr. Rinkel open the envelope. He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. KC got a glimpse of more bills in there. Lots more.

  “Why would that man give Mr. Rinkel all that money?” she asked.

  Marshall and KC stared at each other.

  “Come on,” KC said. “We have to call the president! I think they arrested the wrong man!”

  “You think Mr. Rinkel is the one who’s blackmailing those people for a hundred thousand dollars?” Marshall asked.

  “Yes!” KC said. “Otherwise, why would he use a cell phone when he didn’t have to? And why did he say he was waiting for a call from London when it was two in the morning there? And why didn’t he get his pizza when he always got his pizza at nine o’clock? And, especially, why is he taking money from someone who might be on the FBI’s Most Wanted list?”

  KC found a telephone booth near the betting window. “Keep your eye on them!” she told Marshall. Her heart was racing faster than the greyhounds. Her finger shook as she punched in the phone number.

  When the president answered, KC blurted that she and Marshall had seen Mr. Rinkel talking with someone on the Ten Most Wanted list. She told him about the envelope full of money. The president talked for a minute.

  KC listened, then hung up and turned back to Marshall. “What’re they doing?” she asked him.

  Marshall pointed to a row of seats. “Watching a race,” he said. “What did the president say?”

  “He and Mr. Smiley are on their way,” KC said. “He said to stay put and not go near those guys!”

  KC and Marshall found seats several rows behind Mr. Rinkel and the other man. Marshall watched the dogs racing in a blur around the track. KC kept her eyes on Mr. Rinkel. She bit her nails, looked at her watch, then went back to work on her nails. What was taking so long?

  “Those dogs sure are fast!” Marshall said.

  “I wish the FBI were as fast!” KC moaned. She checked her watch for the hundredth time.

  Marshall grinned at her. “Calm down, KC,” he said. “They’ll be here soon.”

  When the race was over, Mr. Rinkel went to the betting window. He came back a few minutes later to join his friend.

  More dogs were brought to the starting gates. At a signal, the dogs charged ahead, sprinting after a fake rabbit. Before the race was finished, KC felt a hand on her back. It was the president. Mr. Smiley from the FBI and two men in black stood behind the president.

  “You made it!” KC said.

  “Where are they?” President Thornton whispered.

  She pointed.

  “They’re all yours, Desmond,” the president told the FBI director.

  Desmond Smiley and his two men walked slowly toward Mr. Rinkel and the man in green. KC couldn’t hear what was said, but she did see handcuffs flash in the sunlight. A few minutes later, the two FBI agents led Mr. Rinkel and his companion away.

  9

  A Surprise for the President

  The president sat down between KC and Marshall and pulled a picture from his pocket. He held it up for them to look at. “Recognize this guy?” he asked.

  “It’s the man with Mr. Rinkel!” KC said.

  Marshall took the photo from the president to look at more closely. “Except he doesn’t have a mustache in this picture.”

  “His name is Bart Framer,” the president said. “One of the nation’s Ten Most Wanted.”

  “I was right! We saw his picture in the post office,” KC explained.

  “What did he do?” asked Marshall.

  “A lot,” the president said. He ticked things off on his fingers. “Counterfeiting, forgery, and extortion.”

  “What’s extortion?” Marshall asked.

  “It means threatening people to make them give you money!” KC said.

  “That’s right,” President Thornton said. “And Bart Framer is probably behind the theft of the Witness Protection Program’s list. I’ll bet a pickle he’s the one who convinced Mr. Rinkel to do the dirty work.”

  Desmond Smiley joined them in the grandstands. He had a big, contented smile on his face. “Great work, kids,” he said to KC and Marshall.

  “Are they on their way?” the president asked.

  “Oh yes. Rinkel sang like a bird even before we stuck them in the FBI van,” Mr. Smiley said. “He’s a gambler and has huge debts, so when B
art Framer came to him with a briefcase full of money, he listened. Framer wanted Rinkel to steal the Witness Protection Program list. With that list, he could extort money from hundreds of the witnesses on it.”

  “And Lawson Rinkel figured out how to get the list while pointing blame elsewhere,” the president said. “He disguised himself as a pizza delivery man, slipped past Joe Cellucci, and hacked into the computers.”

  “Rinkel was clever,” Mr. Smiley said. “He worked late Friday nights to set a pattern. Somehow, he managed to get a key. He wanted Cellucci to assume he was up there last night, but he wasn’t. He was outside getting into his dreadlocks disguise. That’s why he had to use his cell phone to call Mr. Cellucci.”

  “I can’t figure out why he said he was waiting for a call from London,” Marshall said.

  “He had to, in order to have a reason to call Mr. Cellucci on his cell phone,” the president said. “Only he forgot that London time is ahead of ours. You guys figured that out!”

  “So why did Mr. Rinkel shoot the rockets out the window after he hacked into the computer?” KC asked.

  “To create confusion. Rinkel knew what Framer was planning to do with the list of names,” Mr. Smiley said. “Once that first witness got a threatening phone call, Rinkel had to know the FBI would start searching.”

  “He planted that pizza box so you’d look for some mysterious pizza guy,” the president added.

  “But instead they blamed poor Joe Cellucci,” KC said.

  “Yes, I’ve already apologized and invited him to the White House as my guest,” the president said.

  He patted KC’s hand. “And you two will get the FBI reward for finding Bart Framer!” he said. “What will you do with the money?”

  Marshall looked at KC. They both nodded. “I think we’ll give some of it to the greyhound fund,” he said.

  “Great idea!” the president said.

  “I know,” KC said. “Let’s go by that greyhound adoption tent right now.” KC and Marshall grinned at each other.

  When they entered the tent, the woman behind the table stood up and smiled. “Hello, Mr. President, I heard you were at the track,” she said. She held a leash attached to the collar of a beautiful silvery greyhound. “We would like to present you with Natasha. Someone told me you have a big yard and a warm heart for animals.”