Chapter Nine

The Sowing Unravels

By Melinda Szymanik

The door shut behind them with a definitive click. Mote rubbed at his eyes, but now they were all inside the well lit security office there was no mistaking the identity of the person with the pistol.

“You,” he squeaked.

“Is that a polar bear…costume?” Deb gasped.

“Yes it is and it stinks of red herring,” Bizet Finnegan said. “And I’m jolly annoyed that your father shot me with a tranquilizer dart.” She massaged an angry looking puncture wound on her forehead.

“Bizzy?” Mendelssohn said coming up behind Mote and Deb. “What are you doing here? And who’s minding the farm? And what’s that on your forehead?”

“Kate! So good to see you here.” Bizzy waved at Captain Pejalmer who stood just behind Mendelssohn with a very grumpy expression on her face.  “And Mendelssohn, in answer to your question - you shot me, darling. Don’t worry. I’ve locked up at the farm. Fred and Trev are down at the cow cockies cottage watching over everything. And I’m here because I had a phone call saying things were getting out of hand and you needed my help...And what’s with these straw guards? That’s terribly dangerous with so many fireworks going off all the time around here. They’re highly flammable you know.”

As if her words were sparks, the smell of smoke began drifting in through the air conditioning ducts.

“It’s a bit warm in here,” Bizzy said, pulling at the neck of the polar bear suit.

“Mum, why have you got a gun?” Deb said.

“What this old thing?” Bizzy waggled the pistol around haphazardly. “I couldn’t find my semi-automatic so I had to bring this instead. Don’t worry. It’s not a real gun.”

“I think we’re on fire,” Mendelssohn shrieked.

“Oh darling, yes we are a great couple,” Bizet Finnegan purred.

“No Bizzy! The building’s on fire. Someone’s trying to burn us alive,” Mendelssohn cried pointing at the window. They could all see long tongues of flame leaping up outside, even one storey up. Mendelssohn yanked on the door handle but it seemed to be locked.

“Well that makes a mockery of the idea of a fire exit, don’t you think?” Bizzy said.

Deb rushed over to the fire alarm and breaking the glass, reached in and flicked the switch. An ominous click was followed by an even more ominous silence. She glanced over at the bracket on the wall where the fire extinguisher should be but the bracket was empty.

“The hose,” Mote called. He ran out into the corridor and walked back in seconds later holding the fire hose nozzle in his hands, the hose itself just a few wisps of shredded rubber hanging off the nozzle. Bizzy started fanning herself with a manila folder she’d grabbed off the top of a filing cabinet.

“Sabotage” Mendelssohn said bleakly. “Kate you were right. I should have used the security company you suggested. You get what you pay for.”

“More like you reap what you sow,” Deb said drily.

“What are we going to do?” Mote said.

“We’re all going to die,” Kate Pejalmer said. “Because you were too cheap to hire proper security guards.”

Mendelssohn hung his head.

“Don’t talk to my dad like that,” Mote said. “You stay away from him.”

“Not to worry,” Bizzy said, extracting a cell phone from the pocket of her bear suit. She flipped it open and stabbed at the keypad.

“Fred, I need you and Trev to scramble the Blue Angels,” Bizzy barked into the phone. “Full payload. Get them good and soaked pronto and let them out over the the north corner of the Main Stadium....”

The flip phone squawked back at Bizzy.

“Yes. All seventy. At the same time,” she replied. “Use the special net parachute.” 

Bizzy closed her phone and turned back to her family, and Kate Pejalmer. “Right. They’re on their way.”

“What are the Blue Angels?” Mote asked.

“Just some sheep I bred specially. Their wool is blue. And fire retardant. You’ll see...Anyway, so what’s all this about then?”

Deb pulled the notes out of her pocket. All the clues and red herrings. She checked they were all there and handed them to her mother.

“Someone’s been trying to kill us,” Deb said. “And sabotage the Titanic Games. You know Mum, for a minute when I saw you in the polar bear suit holding a gun, I thought it was you.”

“Me? I’m just a sheep breeder,” Bizzy said.

“And a part time ninja,” Mendelssohn muttered.

“Well yes, true,” Bizzy said smiling. “But it’s the genetic engineering that takes up most of my time.”

“Did you say genetic engineering?” Deb asked.

“Of course honey. But it’s all a bit top secret. And I do it under the name I had before I married your father – Bizet Wolf.”

Deb turned and stared at Mote. “It all makes sense.” She grabbed the scraps of paper back.  “What was the first message, shorn into the sheep?”

Mote frowned. “Um ‘To protect the sheep, you um... have to catch the wolf?”

“That’s right,” Mendelssohn gasped.

“Here, look,” Deb held out one of the clues. She read it out. “It takes a wolf to catch a wolf. And then there was the jar of wolf spiders. And then there was this, A sheep for a sheep, A scrambled surprise, Is an egg just an egg, Or GrenadE in disguise. They didn’t mean like a chicken’s egg at all. And the G and E are capitals because it’s all about genetic engineering.”

Without warning Kate Pejalmer lunged at Bizet.

“Oww,” Bizet cried.

“That’s right, little miss clever clogs,” Captain Pejalmer now stood with her back to the fire exit, Bizet Finnegan’s gun in her hand, pointed at the Finnegan family. “Genetic engineering is wrong! These stupid games are wrong. Blindfolded cake-decorating? Belly flopping? Floss flicking? Are you kidding me? Actually, no, I get the floss flicking. That stuff is always getting caught in my teeth...Anyway. I’ve always disapproved of what you do, Bizet. Genetic engineering isn’t natural. And the last straw was when your husband wouldn’t see sense and hire my security company to cover the games. Even the members of my spy team, Le Zard, Byrd and Barker, all victims of Wolf Laboratory engineering, were a huge clue and you couldn’t see it. When I’ve disposed of you lot I’m going to set fire to all those carefully placed scarecrows and these games will be a full-fledged disaster. Games over.” She cocked the gun and aimed at Bizet. “You first,” she hissed.

Suddenly the fire exit flew open and a soaking-wet, blue woolled sheep wearing a crash helmet rolled in the doorway and into the back of Captain Pejalmer like a bowling ball hitting the last skittle in a bowling alley. As Pejalmer fell her finger grasped the trigger and a shot rang out, a trickle of water dribbling from the end of the barrel.

“It’s my water pistol,” Bizzy said, picking it up off the floor as she prodded the unconscious captain with the toe of her shoe. “I did say it wasn’t real. You villains never listen. Well at least the fire’s out. And I’m really surprised you didn’t figure this out sooner Mendelssohn. Something … or someone must have been distracting you.”

Mendelssohn looked a little sheepish.

The End

Chapter Three

TO CATCH A WOLF

By Michele Powles

Mote recoiled, holding his hand to his mouth and trying not to be sick.

“Wuss,” said Deb, taking in his pallor even as she leaned in closely over the sheep.

“Don’t. Like. Blood.” Was all Mote could manage before he had to turn away.

“It’s not blood, it’s a bit of red balloon.” She pulled the limp red streak off the sheep’s belly and waved it in front of him.

“I knew that. Didn’t want you to…you know, get scared or anything.”

Deb rolled her eyes.

“I’ll take that thank you. Might be evidence.” As if he’d been there the whole time, Inspector Barker loomed over them and snatched the balloon fragment, secreting it away in a plastic bag. Mote shivered as the Inspector’s sleepy eyes seemed to scan him like a barcode.

 “I’m not sure this is the place for children. Shouldn’t you be…I don’t know. At school or something?”

Deb narrowed her grey eyes, the steel in them glinting like polished metal. When she added an arched eyebrow, Mote groaned inwardly.

Deb pursed her lips and used the tone that got their father totally riled. “It’s a hol-i-day. And our dad is in charge. I don’t see you solving much. In-spec-tor.”

Inspector Barker swivelled his eyes away and to Mote it felt as if a nasty buzzing had stopped in his ear.

“Debussy, that’s quite enough thank you,” Mendelssohn Finnegan said even as he reached for his ringing cell. “I have to go. Carry on Inspector. Don’t get in the way, and get back to the grandstands. Your mother will meet you there.” He scurried off.

“Bring him this way.” The Inspector demanded of the stretcher bearers and started off up the corridor.

“Hang on.” Deb’s eyebrow was still up and Mote put a hand on her arm but she shrugged him off. “Where are you taking him?”

The Inspector’s eyes lost their sleepy look for just a moment and Mote felt a cold rush wash over his body as if the corridor had turned into a fridge. “I’m taking him to the hospital.”

“What about the sheep?”

“Evidence. It’ll go to Scotland yard.” The Inspector waved his hands at the stretcher bearers and the lot of them shuffled up the corridor and around a corner. Mote turned to his sister. “Are you mental? He’s from Interpol. He could have you arrested.”

Deb shrugged her shoulders and put her hand in her pocket. “Not very good at his job then.” She pulled out a curled up piece of paper.

“What did you…where did you get that? You’ll have messed the fingerprints.”

“Almost impossible to get fingerprints off paper. But I’ll be careful.”

“ Shouldn’t we give it to the police?”

“Sure. And we will. As soon as we’ve worked out if we can trust them.”

“What about Inspector Barker then. Interpol is like…police times ten. Or maybe even times a hundred.”

“I don’t trust him. He makes me feel all…” she shivered and rolled her eyes back in her head.

It felt strange to agree with his sister twice in one day but that was exactly how the Inspector made Mote feel. He shook himself to get rid of the last remains of the corridor fridge feeling.

“It takes a wolf to catch a wolf.” Deb had unrolled the paper and was holding it carefully by the edges.

“Oh man. Wolves have big teeth.”

“Yeah, and their bite is twice as powerful as a dog’s.”

Mote thought through the day’s events. “The wolf-whistling contest. Do you think…”

“Don’t be dumb. That’s way too obvious.” Deb chewed on her finger. “To protect the sheep, you need to catch the wolf.” Her eyes lit up. “Wolf pack leaders have to fight to keep their position. Maybe there’s someone trying to get the top job and this is their way of getting rid of their opposition.”

“Which top job?”

“Exactly.” Deb frowned. “Who would benefit from the opening ceremony going wrong?”

“Someone who wanted Dad’s job? Or to be Head of Security,” Mote suggested.

“Or top of police, the head of SAS or the SIS. Pretty much anyone who was in the room with us for the opening.”

“We should tell Dad that there’s a wolf out to get him.”

“We don’t know for sure. But we do know that whoever did this isn’t going to stop. You reap what you sow, remember. This could get really nasty.” She pulled something small out of her pocket.

“Hey, what’s that?” Mote took it and turned it over in his hand. “Could be a piece of a flash drive.”

“Definitely a clue,” said Deb. “But it’s not helping now. This wolf is leaving plenty of clues but we’re no closer to solving any of them.”

They were both silent a moment. Then Mote pulled out the day’s Titanic games program from his back pocket.

“What are you thinking?”

Mote held up a finger and incredibly, Deb was quiet. “The pool,” he said finally.

“We don’t have time to watch events,” Deb said but the spark in his eyes must have been as hot as it felt and she didn’t nag him further.

“We won’t be watching the events,” Mote said. “The Byrd lady said she was going to the opening of the Titanic pool tonight, and the Tuatara said he’d go with her.”

“That’s two wolves,” Deb said, getting his drift. “I think I heard Captain Pejalmer say she would go with them too. But what about the Inspector? He gives me the creeps.”

“I didn’t hear him say where he was going. But three out of four is a good place to start.”

“True. You think they’ll still go, after this?”

“I think Dad will make them. Keep up appearances and all that.”

“Good point. Right, come on then.”

The Titanic swimming complex was connected to the main stadium by an underground tunnel with a travellator running the whole distance and illuminated blue koru patterns set into the curved walls and ceiling.

                “Check me out,” said Mote, doing an almost perfect moonwalk as they glided alone.

                “Nice,” said Deb, not even looking as she gazed at the Titanic games venue map she’d grabbed on the way down.

                “Deeeebussy.”

                “Shhh, I’m concentrating.”

                Mote sighed and looked up at the blue ferns they were passing. “Um, Deb.”

                “I said, I was concentrating.”

                “You’ll want to see this.”

                They’d just reached the entrance to the swimming complex and in front of them the blue koru patterns from the ceiling swooped down to twine around the door. Only they didn’t. They swooped fine, they just didn’t twine around the door because where the door should have been was a gaping hole.

                “Holy floating polar bears,” said Deb.

                “I know,” said Mote. “What could have done that to the door?”

                “No. I mean holy floating polar bears,” said Deb.

                Mote followed her finger and wished he hadn’t. Floating in the pool was a lump of ice and standing on it, its teeth dripping with something that didn’t look like a red balloon, was a large and very crotchety polar bear. 

                                                 *************************

Now it's your turn to write chapter four. In chapter four, the kids get deeper into their own investigation but now they are in danger themselves.

You can read the winning child's chapter and the judge's report at Winning Writing

Chapter Two

GOLDEN TICKETS AND CHOCOLATE SHEEP

By Kathy White

“Get Jacko to the generator room now. We need those lights back on,” Mendelssohn said into his cell. “And Michael, you need to broadcast my voice from this phone. We’ve got seconds, not minutes.’

He paced next to the window. Small beads of sweat began to slide down the creases in his face as the seconds ticked by.

Deb pressed her face against the glass, just as Mote had done earlier, but all she could see were murky shapes moving in the darkness. It was like one of those bad dreams where everyone’s voices were muffled, everything was blurred around the edges, and you had no control of what was going to happen next.

There was a loud thud, followed by a scream down on the field.

Mendelssohn got the green light from his IT man, Michael. As he spoke, his voice boomed across the stadium, as crisp and clear as a granny smith apple. “There’s no truer statement than that, Ladies and Gentlemen. You reap what you sow. These athletes are finally getting the rewards they deserve for their hard work and dedication. That’s what the Titanic Games are all about.”

There was a small, confused cheer from the crowd.

Mendelssohn gestured to Mote and Deb that they were to stay put, then he disappeared down the corridor, heading towards the field.

“I’m Mendelssohn Finnegan, the head of the Titanic Games organising committee and tonight we’re celebrating unity. In Sport We Are One. That’s the motto of these Games. So in these moments of darkness, I’d like you to reach out to hold the hand of the person next to you.”

 Mote groaned. He hated it when his dad did the touchy feely stuff.

 “I’m not going to sit here waiting,” Deb hissed. “We have to do something. Dad needs our help.”

Mote didn’t normally agree with his sister but this time, he couldn’t help it. “We need to get the lights back on, ba-by. Let's kick this guy’s butt. ” 

 “If Dad finds out you’ve been watching his Austin Powers DVDs, you are sooooo in trouble,” Deb whispered. She noticed Le Zard staring at her. "Um, we're just going to the toilet." 
She nudged Mote through the doorway and down the hall toward the Communications Hub.  They called it the Hub because their dad's trusted team met there every morning for strong coffee and 'power talks'. 
“Why are you so sure it’s a guy who’s doing this?" Deb asked. "Maybe it’s a scorned ex-girlfriend from when Dad was 17.”

“Aw, come onnn, De-bussy. Girls aren’t capable of really nasty stuff,” Mote snorted. He took a short-cut by ducking under the security barrier near the stairs.

“I used to lock you in the hallway cupboard when you were three, remember?” Deb said.

“Yeah, but …”

“I ate your stash of Easter eggs that you hid in the attic …” she said.

“Yeah, but …”

“And I was the one who put glad wrap under the toilet seat so that you got pee all over yourself when it splashed …”

“You said it wasn’t you.”

Deb smirked. “I lied.”

Mote opened his mouth to protest but he didn’t get a chance. They flattened themselves against the wall near the entrance to level two as someone walked past, whistling. As soon as the man had gone, they slipped across the corridor and opened the door to the Communications Hub.

 “How come the lights are out but the computer’s still on?” asked Deb, scanning the room for signs of an intruder.

“They’ve got an isolated security power supply for their computer system,” Mote said.  “Hey, come and look at this. It’s an audio file. See the sound waves. And look, it’s got a timer in the programming code. It was set to come on two minutes after the lights went out.”

Deb gasped. “Dad’s broadcast must have prevented it from activating.”

“This dude won’t be happy about that.”

Mote reached out to touch the mouse, but Deb stopped him.

“The security team will want to dust for fingerprints,” she whispered.

 “He could have done it remotely if he was a hacker,” Mote said.

“It’s just as likely to be an inside job,” Deb said, scooping a pair of tweezers out of her pocket to pick up what looked like a broken piece of a dog tag wedged into a loop of carpet fibre.

Their father’s voice interrupted through the sound system. “We’ve got a special surprise for you tonight. As soon as the lights come back on, I’d like you to check for an envelope on the underside of your seats. There are three golden tickets worth $10,000 somewhere in the stadium.”

A deafening roar filled the air.

Mote sighed. “Damn, Dad wasn’t supposed to announce that until later on tonight. I had plans.”

“Yeah, well, he’s probably desperate to keep people in their seats where it’s safe,” Deb said. The fluorescent lights flickered and then started to glow weakly. “I’m going to send him a text. He can pick up a fingerprinting kit and meet us down here. I want to know what’s in that audio file.”

“Have we got time to find a loo?” Mote said, grabbing at his shorts.

Deb pulled a face. “Euuuuww. Why do you always do that?” She looked around. “Maybe we should leave a sign on this computer saying DON’T TOUCH.”

“We’re only going to be gone for a few seconds,” Mote groaned. “I’m really busting.” 

They raced up the hallway to the toilets next to the Titanic portholes. Mote said they were the port-hole loos, and then got grumpy when Deb didn’t get the joke.

“It’s not that I don’t get it,” she called to him from outside the cubicle. “They had portaloos at the Bloom Festival last year. What I don’t get is why you’re making jokes when there’s a madman out there somewhere trying to cause a riot in the stadium. Aren’t you worried about Dad?”

Mote shut the door behind him. “There are always things to joke about,” Mote said. “Hey, look!” 

The lights were coming back on out in the stadium. A spectacular Mexican Wave of light was spreading through the crowd, like some kind of extraterrestrial spacecraft landing. It was almost like it had been planned as part of the show.

“That’s awe-some!” Mote said.

A woman shrieked in the stand above them. “I’ve got a golden ticket,” she yelled, waving it in the air. “I’ve won $10,000 AND a box of white chocolate sheep.”

“She won the white chocolate sheep with sherbet sprinkles,” Mote sighed. “Sometimes life is bitter and cruel.”

 Deb, glanced at her vibrating phone. “Dad says he’s seconds away. Let’s get back to the Hub.

Mendelssohn was already at the Hub when they arrived. He stood tall and silent, his arms hanging limply by his sides. Jacko, the head engineer at the Games, was also silent. He lay awkwardly across the mainframe keyboard, like a giant sack of potatoes. There was a smoky bacon smell, which made Mote’s stomach gurgle, until he realised the smell was coming from Jacko.

“Don’t touch him,” their dad said, slumping into one of the swivel chairs. “He’s been electrocuted. The computer was booby-trapped.”

 “But we were just in here ten minutes ago.” Deb said. 

“Wow!” Mote said, pointing to the rust-coloured scorch mark on Jacko’s fingers. Even the hair on the back of his arms and head was singed.

Their dad pressed the palms of his hands against his forehead as he thought. “This is my fault,” he said. “I should have told them everything. I'm putting your lives at risk.”

Deb patted him on the shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Dad. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Told who?” Mote asked. “Told them what?”

Daniel, one of the senior field paramedics knocked on the door and poked his head around. “Sorry to interrupt, Boss, but we’ve got something you need to look at out here.”

Mendelssohn followed him into the corridor. The other paramedics stopped whispering when he appeared. Lying on the ambulance stretcher in the corridor was Benedict - one of New Zealand’s most popular gold medal prospects for belly-flopping. And on top of Benedict was a large woolly sheep.

“It appears that one of the sheep lost its parachute,” Daniel said. He gave a strained smile. “They both died on impact.”

“So was that the thud that we heard?” asked Deb. 

Daniel nodded. “Benedict was doing some stomach crunchies at the time. It was dark. He probably didn’t see it coming.”

“The poor … sheep,” Mendelssohn murmured, looking at the contorted angle of the sheep’s legs.

“The poor MAN,” Deb and Mote said together.

Daniel made sympathetic noises, and then went red. “The thing is … well, I think it’s best if you see this for yourself.”

He motioned to Julie, the paramedic on the other side of the stretcher, to roll the sheep towards him. She got down on her knees, braced herself, and pushed.

Deb gasped.

There, shorn into the matted wool were the words.

“To protect the sheep, you need to catch the wolf.”


THE END




                                                   ************


Now it's your turn to write chapter three. Two things need to happen in chapter three. The story needs to turn in a new direction. This is a logical place to reveal that the villain had to have been one of the people in the room at the beginning.


You can read the winning child's chapter and the judge's report on the Winning Writing Page.