Code(14)

“I guess.” So why did I feel like a backstabber?

“He’s a freaking millionaire.” Ben waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine.”

“We’ve got unfinished business with Chance,” I said, “but not today. Let’s hit the bunker. I want inside that stupid clown box.”




Once home on Morris, I changed into a polo shirt and shorts, whistled for Coop, then hurried back down to the dock. The boys were already waiting aboard Sewee. Shelton and Hi pushed off, and Ben wound us through the sandbars leading to open sea.

As we rounded the island’s northern point, Ben throttled down. After glancing around to be sure we were alone, he angled sharply back toward shore and nosed Sewee through a gap in the rocks barely wider than her hull.

Stone outcroppings rose on both sides, creating a circular cove with a white sand beach. Added bonus. The towering projections concealed the cozy anchorage from view by passing watercraft.

As secret places go, this one was killer.

Ben tied Sewee to a sunken post. Shelton dropped the anchor. Hi, Coop, and I hopped ashore and took a steep, narrow path up the sand hill overlooking the hidden bay. Nearing the crest we turned right and circled the hill. I dropped to my knees, and crawled through a person-sized hole cut into the hillside.

We’d reached our clubhouse.

Once a key to Charleston’s harbor defenses, Morris Island is riddled with old military fortifications. The boys and I had discovered our bunker by accident, chasing an errant Frisbee. Practically invisible, it could double as a CIA safe house.

To our knowledge, only we knew of the bunker’s existence.

We intended to keep it that way, though lately that’d been tough.

A soft buzzing greeted my arrival in the main chamber. The air smelled of ozone, dust, and packaging peanuts.

After worming in behind me, Shelton dropped into the ergonomic chair fronting our new computer workstation. Honest to God, the thing looked like something out of Star Trek.

Shelton’s fingers tapped the keyboard, another piece of high-tech wireless wizardry.

“Run the fans when the system’s powered,” I reminded him. “We don’t want the components overheating.”

“I’ll only be a sec.” Shelton reached below the desk and flipped a switch. “I need to check some software I added to the hard drive. This stuff will blow your mind.”

Over the previous weeks, we’d transformed the place.

Pirate gold goes a long way, if you spend wisely.

Indoor-outdoor carpet covered the floor. A retractable window secured the cannon slit facing the harbor. Sleek IKEA units had replaced the rickety wooden furniture. The old bench still ran along the wall beneath the window, but Ben had sanded, polished, and treated the wood with a dark cherry stain. Three lamps glowed with soft white light.

A mini-fridge occupied one corner. Hi had insisted.

The rear chamber had also been overhauled.

The mineshaft and cannon slit were sealed. Days of sweat there. Cables running from the main room snaked metal shelves stuffed with external hard drives, routers, Ethernet switches, AV components, and other hardware, along with a line of rechargeable batteries.

The far corner was now a doggie hotel for Coop: bed, chew toys, and automatic food and water dispensers. He padded over, curled up, and promptly fell asleep.

After weeks of online searching and ordering, secret deliveries, backbreaking transport, and maddening assembly, our clubhouse was as capable as an air traffic control tower. And there was still a decent balance in our checking account.

Thank you, Anne Bonny.

“Did you fix the WiFi?” Hi asked as he rooted through the fridge. “I couldn’t capture an IP address yesterday.”

Shelton nodded. “Loose cord. The router wasn’t drawing power from the gennie. It’s all good now.”

Our prize addition was a solar-powered generator. Outside in the scrub brush, we’d hidden a four-panel array above the bunker’s entrance to collect daylight. With a half-dozen batteries storing the juice, we had electricity 24/7.

I worried about the array constantly—it was easily our most expensive purchase. But so far the system had weathered two storms without a hitch. It was a pricy piece of equipment to leave exposed, unguarded, but what can you do? Solar panels need sunlight to work. Plus, no one else knew it was there.

“Testing new software?” Ben glanced at our workstation’s massive twenty-seven-inch LED cinema display. “More like downloading Crank Yankers.”

“I’m multitasking,” Shelton replied. “All work and no play makes me bored silly.”

“Don’t use up too much drive space,” I warned, watching the screen from over his shoulder. “We bought this stuff to research parvovirus, not so you can watch ‘Boom Goes the Dynamite’ twenty times a day.”

We’d agreed on a specific goal for our funds: learn everything possible about the invader twisting our DNA. Our powers were wild, mostly a mystery. And with Karsten gone, no one else knew the virus existed. Finding answers was on us.

“Who has the box from the geocache?” I was eager to have a look.

“That’d be me.” Hi removed it from his bag and placed it in on the table. We each took a chair. Then, as one, the boys turned to look at me.

“Don’t mind if I do.” I lifted and rotated the odd purple object. There was no obvious top, bottom, or locking mechanism. The snarling clowns were evenly spaced and uniform in size. And in creepiness. When I shook the box, something rattled inside.