After a Saturday spent with Ginny hiking along forest trails, eating pizza, and window-shopping, Heather was thinking of sleeping half the day on Sunday.
To her surprise, the entire P-Seventeen team began arriving shortly after ten o’clock, including Maria the new cook. They pretended to ignore Heather, still in pajamas, as they carried bags and boxes to the dining room, but she noticed barely-suppressed grins. She slipped away and quickly dressed, wondering what was up.
When she returned to the main room, everyone was lounging around on couches, but she noticed something new. The little four-drawer mailbox that used to perch on the corner of Sarah’s desk had been replaced by a huge new one with at least a dozen drawers.
With a smile, Major Ma-soran dangled a shinny new key.
Heather came near. “Mine?”
Sarah
nodded.
With slightly-nervous fingers, the girl took the key, then approached the new mailbox with some hesitation.
The officers all had drawers, and Maria even had one. But none of them said Heather or Priscilla. Part of her — the seven-year-old part — wanted to pout.
Then she noticed a tiny label on the bottom drawer that bore the single letter H, and realized the possible danger of displaying her name — any of her
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 59
names — when people without clearance were in the building.
She put her key in the bottom lock, and it opened.
Then she nearly jumped through the ceiling as party horns and poppers started going off behind her. She turned to see Maria entering the room with a platter bearing a small cake, upon which danced three little candles. Lisa, Ben, and Ginny came behind with bowls of ice cream.
“Wow! Every kid’s dream — cake and ice cream for breakfast!”
“Not
every kid,” the general began, “gets the things in their mail drawer that you just got.”
Heather turned back, and indeed there were two envelopes in her drawer.
The first said Priscilla Ka-mentha. She opened it to find a check for half her first month’s pay, and an I.D. card.
When she looked at them again, her eyes were no longer dry. “You . . .
really do . . . believe in me.”
The ladies in the room were grinning and nodding, but the general cleared his throat. “Of course, there is another side to getting a check for more than two grand.”
Heather blinked to clear her eyes, then looked at the second envelope, labeled P-17 — Topic 3 — 22 October 3662. “That’s tomorrow.” She opened it, read the type-written sentence, and noticed Sam’s and Sarah’s initials underneath. “Oh, that’ll be interesting, and not too deep, but slightly challenging for the team. Good choice.”
“Now I’m absolutely sure you’re the real deal,” Major Ma-soran declared,
“as no seven-year-old, and few adults, would have the slightest idea what that topic was about.”
Heather smiled, slipped the sheet back into its envelope, and went to blow out her three candles, then eat cake and ice cream for breakfast.
After the party wound down, Maria made Heather and the security guards some scrambled eggs and toast. Even as the girl nibbled on her eggs, she became distant and thoughtful.
The officers and cook departed, except Major Ka-markla, on duty that day.
She noticed Heather get a note pad and wander into the back of the building.
About an hour later, the new man on the security team found Heather
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 60
sitting on the table in the inspection room, several sheets of notes spread out in front of her.
“Hi,
Matthew.”
“Is this a good thinking room?”
“Yeah. Very quiet, cooler than upstairs.”
He left her to her work.
Two hours after that, Lisa finally discovered Heather in the bomb shelter, on a bunk, scribbling away, with seven or eight sheets scattered on the floor.
“Hi,
kid.”
“Hi, Lisa,” she said while continuing to make notes.
“I didn’t realize your preparation time would be so intense.”
“Neither did I. I think it’ll get easier as we go, but there’s so much the team doesn’t know yet.”
The major swallowed. “Um . . . we have a request. We want you to tell someone when you’re coming downstairs. I know you want the run of the place, and I can understand that, but we’re supposed to be protecting you, and that could be hard if we don’t know where you are.”
“Yeah, sorry. That’s reasonable. I will.”
“Thanks.”
Heather suddenly tossed the note pad aside. “I think I’m about as ready as I can be, except, you know, lots of dancing to clear my head. What’s for dinner?”
The next morning, after several dances in the recreation room while the security people arranged the couches for the meeting, Heather pranced into the dining room to find Maria serving a hearty breakfast. She filled her plate, then noticed the general sitting with two people she didn’t recognize.
“Good morning, Sam. May I sit with you guys?”
The young woman of about twenty-five on the general’s right looked a little timid, almost mousy, but made friendly eye contact. The man on the general’s left, maybe forty, had an angular face and didn’t look directly at anyone.
“Sure, Heather! I heard music coming from the rec room. Was that you?”
She smiled. “Who else?”
He laughed. “Heather, this is Susan Bo-kamla, psychologist, and Richard
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 61
Tu-feltin, historian.”
“And you must be . . .” the man began, not quite looking at her, “. . . let me guess . . . the general’s daughter.”
Sam laughed again. “Thanks, Richard, but I have grandchildren older than Heather!”
“I’m not related to Sam,” she revealed, “but he’d be a wonderful father or grandfather to have.”
“Why, thank you, Heather!”
Between bites, Heather experimented by silently stretching her arms over her head. She noticed Sam and Susan glance up, but not Richard.
“So . . .” the historian continued the guessing game, “. . . you must be the daughter of one of the other officers.”
Heather chuckled. “Mmm! These hash browns are delicious!”
At the end of breakfast, the general had to confer with his executive about something, and the new psychologist busied herself collecting all the dirty dishes on the table, so Heather stepped beside the historian and offered her arm. “May I guide you to the meeting circle?”
“You’re very observant, young lady,” he said, taking her arm lightly, “but I don’t understand how a little girl could be in the building during a top-secret meeting. They practically went to the cemetery to interview my dead parents before letting me come!”
Heather chuckled again.