ONE IF BY LAND, TWO IF BY SUBMARINE

CHAPTER 6

Ignoring Annie's order to stay put, the team put their plan into action. Kep slipped through the hangar-sized building along a walkway that led to the transport. His goal: Scout out a stowaway spot for T.J.

Max had insisted it could be done. He'd read about East Germans escap- ing communist rule through Checkpoint Charlie in cars with all sorts of hiding spaces. He'd also read about failed attempts—border guards wheeling mirrors under vehicles, pushing out back seats, and inserting wire probes into gas tanks to check for concealed escapees. "But there're no border guards here," Max said. "And no reason for Querishi or Annie or anyone else to suspect we're sneaking T.J. aboard."

To make Kep's job easier, T.J. had volunteered to attract the spotlight. Starring in his personal drama, he paced, flailed his arms, and ranted at reach-the-cheap-seats volume about rigged contests, double standards, and backstage demotions.

Confident that T.J.'s act drew any wandering eyes from lab-coated sci- entists bustling around the building, Kep slipped past a sign reading NO UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS. To his right, an adjoining walkway had an additional, smaller sign that required hard hats, hearing protection, and dust masks beyond that point. Fifty feet down another catwalk, a dozen workers wearing the required safety equipment worked intently on a set of wires attached to a wall as if they were performing brain surgery. 

Kep booked it the final five feet to the transport. He'd nearly made it to the door, which stood open like a subway car, when a worker swung around.

"Hey, kid!" he yelled.

Gotta hurry. Kep darted inside and eyeballed the transport's interior. It looked like an airplane cockpit crammed with computer screens, lighted dials, and switches. In the center, four seats were bolted to the floor. Nothing else. No lockers, overhead compartments, closets or handy hideout bathroom. He blew out a frustrated breath. 

"Kid!" The worker poked his head into the transport and pulled down his mask. "No one's allowed in here."

Kep's fingers curled. He didn't want to let T.J. down, and just as important, he suspected the team's odds of winning were way higher with him on board. But at this point, unless T.J. could disappear into the walls, the plan was a bust. 

As Kep headed to the transport exit, shoulders slumped, a blast of cold air hit him from a large wall vent under a series of computer screens.

"Hold on a sec." Kep dropped to a knee and fiddled with the buckle on his stiff leather boot while he studied the vent's smuggle space potential. Two- by-three feet, definitely big enough to wiggle into. Four screws held the heavy grill cover to the wall. That could be tricky.

"Hey, kid. You gotta go. Now." The guy stepped inside the transport. 

"No need to set your hair on fire." Kep got to his feet, forcing himself to look anywhere but the vent. He strode past the guy, exited the transport, and hoofed it back to where he'd left the team. They'd drifted down a side corridor, probably to avoid Annie and Querishi, and waited in front of a row of tall cloth baskets, the type made to hold used medical gowns.

"There's a wall vent big enough to squeeze into," Kep said. "But we need a screwdriver."

Another announcement crackled from the speakers. "T-minus fifteen minutes and counting."

Tela slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a nail file. "This might work."

"Nothing but net, Animal Rights Girl!" T.J. grinned. "Way to put personal grooming ahead of Bombast's crazy rules." He sidled toward a basket marked SOILED COATS, snatched one, and stuffed it in his haversack. "First rule of disguise—blend into your environment."