Read Online The Mystery of the Russian Ransom by Roy Macgregor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Roy Macgregor
Ads: Link
Russian girls had stolen from her.
Reluctantly, Travis moved on, slipping carefully down the long corridor until he came to the exit back into the rink. He checked for anyone on the other side, turned the handle, stepped through, and slipped in under the stands, then made his way back to where the Owls had been.
Sam and Nish were already back.
“Anything?” Sam whispered as Travis made his way into their little hiding place. “We found nothing.”
“I found her!” Travis said, trying to suppress his excitement.
Sam screeched and instantly clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Where?” asked Fahd.
“There’s some laboratory set up in another part of the rink,” Travis said. “They’re doing tests on her. She’s okay, though.”
“You spoke to her?” asked Fahd.
“No, of course not – just saw her. She looked okay.”
“We’ve got to get her out of here,” said Sam.
“Can we tackle the guys who’ve got her?” Nish asked.
Travis looked at Nish and shook his head. “This isn’t a movie, Nish. It’s real. We can’t risk her getting hurt.”
“How do we tell her we know she’s here?” asked Lars.
“If we could only get a message to her,” said Sam.
Travis shook his head. Then he had an idea.
“I know,” he said.
“What?” the other Owls all said at once.
“Fahd, give me the phone.”
Fahd recoiled. “I can’t. Data’d kill me.”
“Give me the phone,” Travis repeated. “This is much more important.”
“More important than me getting killed?” Fahd said, looking shocked.
“You can’t
phone
her,” Nish said.
“I’ll leave her the phone,” Travis explained. “I saw her pack. I know where it is.”
“But she might not be able to phone us,” said Sam. “They could hear her. They probably have a guard on her at all times.”
“She can text,” Travis said. “And we can text her.”
“How?”
“Jenny has her phone,” Travis explained. “She won’t turn it on because the charges would be so high, but we can help pay.”
“Let’s do it!” Sam almost shrieked.
“Data’s phone,” Travis ordered, holding out his hand toward Fahd.
Fahd looked as if he might cry. He hesitated, then slowly handed it over.
Travis grabbed it and immediately headed for the locker area and Sarah’s backpack.
He’d hide it in the pack. She’d find it.
Wouldn’t she?
20
N ow I know what a laboratory rat feels like. I’ve been prodded, poked, measured, wired-up, tested, and examined so much I bet they have enough information to build a brand-new Sarah Cuthbertson out of titanium.
Hey, you don’t suppose?
No, I can’t see that. It would be some sort of Sarah Zombie. That’s for science fiction movies, not peewee hockey teams.
I have some sense of what they’re doing. Whyme, I don’t know, but it has to be measuring how quickly I recover from exercise and how I move around the ice. Maybe the little attachments to my brain and that camera in my helmet have something to do with how I see the ice. I don’t know. I’m getting sick of this. I want to see my mom and dad and the team – but there’s not much I can do about it. I can’t stomp my feet and yell and scream until they let me go.
But that’s the point, isn’t it? When will they let me go? And how will they let me go? They’re very sophisticated, with their science and their tests, so they can’t be so foolish as to think what they did is all right. They must be pretty confident that they can drop me off as safely as they grabbed me in the first place. And they must be pretty sure that I won’t be able to tell the police anything about them.
I could describe Olga, but she’s hardly the brains behind this. I could identify some of the researchers – and Sacha and Pavel – but they aren’t behind it, either. Certainly not Pavel – he seems like he couldn’t hurt a fly.
I just wish I could get a better look at that tall man who comes and stands at the back of the benches some days. He’s
Reluctantly, Travis moved on, slipping carefully down the long corridor until he came to the exit back into the rink. He checked for anyone on the other side, turned the handle, stepped through, and slipped in under the stands, then made his way back to where the Owls had been.
Sam and Nish were already back.
“Anything?” Sam whispered as Travis made his way into their little hiding place. “We found nothing.”
“I found her!” Travis said, trying to suppress his excitement.
Sam screeched and instantly clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Where?” asked Fahd.
“There’s some laboratory set up in another part of the rink,” Travis said. “They’re doing tests on her. She’s okay, though.”
“You spoke to her?” asked Fahd.
“No, of course not – just saw her. She looked okay.”
“We’ve got to get her out of here,” said Sam.
“Can we tackle the guys who’ve got her?” Nish asked.
Travis looked at Nish and shook his head. “This isn’t a movie, Nish. It’s real. We can’t risk her getting hurt.”
“How do we tell her we know she’s here?” asked Lars.
“If we could only get a message to her,” said Sam.
Travis shook his head. Then he had an idea.
“I know,” he said.
“What?” the other Owls all said at once.
“Fahd, give me the phone.”
Fahd recoiled. “I can’t. Data’d kill me.”
“Give me the phone,” Travis repeated. “This is much more important.”
“More important than me getting killed?” Fahd said, looking shocked.
“You can’t
phone
her,” Nish said.
“I’ll leave her the phone,” Travis explained. “I saw her pack. I know where it is.”
“But she might not be able to phone us,” said Sam. “They could hear her. They probably have a guard on her at all times.”
“She can text,” Travis said. “And we can text her.”
“How?”
“Jenny has her phone,” Travis explained. “She won’t turn it on because the charges would be so high, but we can help pay.”
“Let’s do it!” Sam almost shrieked.
“Data’s phone,” Travis ordered, holding out his hand toward Fahd.
Fahd looked as if he might cry. He hesitated, then slowly handed it over.
Travis grabbed it and immediately headed for the locker area and Sarah’s backpack.
He’d hide it in the pack. She’d find it.
Wouldn’t she?
20
N ow I know what a laboratory rat feels like. I’ve been prodded, poked, measured, wired-up, tested, and examined so much I bet they have enough information to build a brand-new Sarah Cuthbertson out of titanium.
Hey, you don’t suppose?
No, I can’t see that. It would be some sort of Sarah Zombie. That’s for science fiction movies, not peewee hockey teams.
I have some sense of what they’re doing. Whyme, I don’t know, but it has to be measuring how quickly I recover from exercise and how I move around the ice. Maybe the little attachments to my brain and that camera in my helmet have something to do with how I see the ice. I don’t know. I’m getting sick of this. I want to see my mom and dad and the team – but there’s not much I can do about it. I can’t stomp my feet and yell and scream until they let me go.
But that’s the point, isn’t it? When will they let me go? And how will they let me go? They’re very sophisticated, with their science and their tests, so they can’t be so foolish as to think what they did is all right. They must be pretty confident that they can drop me off as safely as they grabbed me in the first place. And they must be pretty sure that I won’t be able to tell the police anything about them.
I could describe Olga, but she’s hardly the brains behind this. I could identify some of the researchers – and Sacha and Pavel – but they aren’t behind it, either. Certainly not Pavel – he seems like he couldn’t hurt a fly.
I just wish I could get a better look at that tall man who comes and stands at the back of the benches some days. He’s
Similar Books
