Simple Genius

“That sounds like voices,” Michelle said. She pulled her gun and headed to the house with Sean right behind. Inside, Michelle slid a flashlight out of her backpack and shone it around.

The corridor they were on was long, the floors rotted, the walls coming down in chunks. The air was dank with mold and Sean began to cough. The noises they heard started up again, like hurried whispers. Then a tiny scream seemed to come from right next to them. They both jumped and Michelle swung both her light and pistol in that direction. A blank wall looked back at them and yet they still heard what sounded like buzzing.

She looked at Sean searchingly. “Hornet’s nest?” she said. He looked puzzled and then stepped toward the wall and tapped on it. All noise instantly ceased.

He looked at her and shook his head. “Human nest.” His fingers probed around the wall until they found what they were looking for: a small loop of metal. Sean pulled on it and the section of wall opened up.

Something hit him around the legs, and something else around the chest. He fell backward, landing on his butt. Running feet echoed down the hall.

As Sean got up he heard other sounds: screams and laughter.He looked over his shoulder. The screams were coming from a little boy, about eight years old, that Michelle had a tight hold of. The laughter was coming from Michelle and it was clearly directed at Sean.

After Sean had dusted himself off, Michelle said in a fake stern voice to the boy, “Okay, name, rank and serial number, mister.”

He was looking fearfully at her and Michelle noticed she still had her gun out. “Whoops, sorry.” She holstered her pistol and said, “Come on, talk. What were you doing here?”

Sean said, “You can get hurt in a place like this, son.”

“We come here a lot,” the boy said defiantly. “We never get hurt.”

Sean peered inside the hidden space. “A secret room. How’d you find it?”

“My brother, Teddy. He used to come here when he was my age with his gang. Now it’s my place. All these old places have secret rooms.”

Sean stiffened and looked at Michelle. He pulled out his wallet and handed the boy a ten-dollar bill. “Thanks, son.”

After the little boy ran off, they walked outside and sat on an old stone bench.

“So we search Babbage Town for a secret room?” Michelle asked.

“Yep.”

“Can I ask why?”

“It’ll give us something to do. And if there is a spy at Babbage

Town…?” His voice trailed off.

“You really think a spy will be using a secret room? What, he sneaks out at night on his traitorous rounds? Give me a freaking break.”

“What do you know about Camp Peary?”

“Other than what I told you, not a lot.”

“If you research the place online, there’s nothing. Only the same few articles come up.”

“And you’re surprised?” she said.

“The guy who picked me up when I got off the plane, he said the Navy owned the land during World War II and trained Seabees there. Then they left but came back in the Fifties and kicked everybody out.”

“Everybody? Everybody who?”

“There used to be two towns over there. Magruder and another one I can’t remember the name of. Apparently the homes and everything are still there.”

“What’s that got to do with our investigation?”

“Nothing. I’m just killing mental time until I do think of something relevant,” he admitted.

“Speaking of relevant, how well did Rivest know Monk Turing?” she asked.

“According to Rivest not very well. When we were drinking together though he opened up a bit and said something interesting.”

“What?”

“He mentioned that he and Monk had gone fishing together one day on the York River. They were out in a little boat just drinking beer and throwing lines in the water, not expecting to catch anything.”

“And?”

“And Monk looked over at Camp Peary and said something like, ‘It’s really ironic them being the greatest collector of secrets in the world.’”

“What was really ironic?” Michelle asked.

“According to Rivest, when he asked him about it, Monk just clammed up.”

“I don’t see how that helps us.”

“I never met him but I don’t think Monk Turing would say something without a good reason. Come on.”

“Where to?”

“Remember I said there were only a few articles about Camp Peary on the Internet?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well two of them were written by a guy named South Freeman who lives in a little town near here called Arch. He runs the local newspaper and he’s also the resident historian for the area. I figure if anyone can fill us in on Camp Peary, he can.”

Michelle slapped her thigh as she rose off the bench. “South Freeman? Monk Turing? Champ Pollion? What the hell is it with this case and freaky names?”

CHAPTER 47

ARCH WAS A TOWN of few streets, a single traffic light, a number of mom-and-pop stores, a line of abandoned railroad tracks grafted onto

Main Street like ancient sutures and a one-story brick building badly in need of restoring that housed the Magruder Gazette. Another small rusted sign stated that the Magruder Historical Society was also housed in the same building.