Rebels With a Cause Read online

  “No, you should not. In fact, Doctor, we can no longer allow you to jeopardize this mission.”

  “We?”

  “Yes. I am speaking for the board. You are an obstacle to our progress. We wish you well in all your future endeavors.” Lenard’s gaze shifted to the driver. “Please initiate protocol Zulu.”

  Without skipping a beat, the driver whipped out a stubby air pistol and shot Dr. Zimm in the thigh with a tranquilizer dart.

  “What the—” were the doctor’s last words before his head slumped forward.

  The two weapons specialists dragged his limp body out of the vehicle and dumped it on a bed of jagged gravel in the parking lot.

  The SUV sped back to the waiting Corp jet.

  Leaving the unconscious Dr. Zimm stranded.

  In the middle of nowhere.

  40

  Max and her team headed back up the steep streets and found themselves in a wealthier section of Jitwan—a busy boulevard lined with shops and apartments.

  A Fresh & Pure bottled water delivery truck stopped nearby to unload several big, plastic bottles.

  The documentary director saw the same thing and swung her camera to capture the scene.

  “Private sellers have stepped in to meet the demand for drinking water,” explained Vihaan. “If you have the rupees, you can have a water cooler in your home. And, just like anywhere else, you can buy bottled water in shops or from vending machines. There are also places, small and dark, where you can buy sealed baggies filled with water. There. You see that sign? That shop is a packaged-water seller.”

  Ms. James zoomed in on the sign.

  Max saw flatbed carts hauled by bicycles and three-wheeler scooters, all of them loaded down with water bottles.

  “One can assume that there is a lot of money to be made selling water here in Jitwan,” observed Annika.

  “Yes,” said Vihaan. “A lot of money. That is why those two men bribed the police officer escorting my grandfather. However, seventy percent of packaged water bought in India today is unregulated by any government agency. The bottled water is often contaminated. Much of the water being sold is coming from taps.”

  “After a key man makes sure their pipes are flowing,” said Annika.

  Vihaan nodded. “Exactly. Sometimes, however, the packaged-water men store their ‘product’ in dirty tanks filled with dead cockroaches.”

  “TMI,” said Hana, urping a little. “I may never drink water again.”

  “Um, you really don’t have a choice,” said Keeto.

  Hana saw a street vendor selling soft drinks. “Oh, yes I do.”

  She scurried off to buy a bottle of soda.

  “We need to focus on cleaning and reusing water,” said Max as the group huddled together over a patch of empty sidewalk. She reached for a stubby piece of chalk in the pockets of her floppy coat. She bent down and scribbled H2O on the concrete, going over and over each letter, making them look thick and dirty.

  “We could use chemicals to clean the water,” said Toma. “Chlorine can kill microorganisms.”

  Max erased some of the dirty lines on her sidewalk scribble, slightly cleaning up the H2O.

  “Which is why they use chlorine in swimming pools,” said Keeto.

  “Exactly,” said Toma.

  “Quick question, dude,” said Keeto. “You ever accidentally swallow pool water? It’s gross. Nobody wants to guzzle chlorinated water.”

  Toma reluctantly agreed.

  Max thickened the dirty letters again. Somehow, just the physical act of moving the chalk around and around, back and forth, was enough to help her mind wander off to that quiet place where it might find a solution.

  Hana was back with the group, sipping her cold drink out of a glass bottle through a straw. “Chlorine can also interfere with reverse osmosis,” she said.

  “Reverse osmosis!” said Klaus, snapping his fingers. “Perfect! We could build a giant machine that uses a ton of pressure to squeeze liquid back through a thick membrane and then have robots zap the filtered water with ultraviolet light to sterilize it!”

  Annika shook her head. “Too inexact. If reverse osmosis removed all the contaminants, then you wouldn’t need to zap it again with ultraviolet light.”

  “But I like zapping stuff.”

  Max laid the chalk on its side, making the H the 2, and the O even thicker.

  The ideas were flowing.

  And then, Hana started mindlessly blowing bubbles into her Coke bottle.

  “Aha!” said Max, bolting up out of her crouch and dropping her chalk. “That’s it! Bubbles!”

  41

  “Bubbles?” said Ms. James.

  “Shhh,” whispered Charl, putting a finger to his lips. “Max is thinking.”

  The documentary director focused her camera on Max.

  “Uh-uh-uh,” said Isabl. “No shots of Max. Remember?”

  “Right. Sorry.” The director moved off Max to grab reaction shots from the other kids.

  “Any of you guys ever drop raisins into a two-liter bottle of lemon-lime soda?” Max asked her friends.

  “Raisins?” said Klaus. “In my soda? Gross.”

  “That vendor sells carbonated lemon-lime drinks,” said Hana.

  “Buy the biggest bottle he has,” said Max.

  “Okay.” Hana took off.

  “How about raisins?” Max asked Vihaan.

  “The grocery shop down the block will most definitely have raisins from Sangli.”

  “Can you grab some?”

  “Sure.”

  A minute later, Hana was back with a two-liter bottle of clear soda.

  “Excellent,” said Max. “This will help me demonstrate what I’m thinking.”

  “Here are your raisins,” said Vihaan, handing Max a paper sack filled with the golden, wrinkled fruit.

  “Thanks.”

  Max twisted off the cap with a gassy hiss. Bubbles immediately started streaming up to the top. She grabbed a fistful of raisins and fed them into the neck of the bottle.

  “Mmmm,” said Keeto. “Lemon, lime, and dried grape soda. Delish.”

  The raisins plummeted to the bottom of the bottle. But then, after a few seconds, they started floating up to the top. They hovered there for an instant and then dove back down. In no time, the bottle looked like a lava lamp, with dancing raisins constantly floating up and down in the clear liquid.

  “The fizz in the soda is, of course, pressurized carbon dioxide, which forms bubbles more easily on surfaces,” Max explained. “The wrinkled raisins have all sorts of nooks and crannies. Lots of surface area. The bubbles stick to the raisin and grow until the cluster of floating bubbles eventually overcomes the raisin’s weight and carries it upward. When the raisin reaches the surface, the bubbles pop and the raisin sinks again. Until more bubbles down below gather in its wrinkles and send it floating back to the surface.”

  “And how, exactly, does this help us clean the water here in Jitwan?” asked Toma.

  “Simple,” said Max—hoping she really could explain her idea simply. (Like Einstein said, if you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it.)

  “We could inject a high volume of microscopic bubbles deep into a pool of polluted water to carry oil and other waste products up to the surface, just like these raisins, so they can be skimmed off. Once we do that, the water can be reused for industry or irrigation.”

  “What about for drinking?” asked Vihaan.

  “We’ll have to filter and disinfect it first.”

  “Yes!” said Klaus with an arm pump. “Fire up the ultraviolet zappers!”

  “So, you float up all the impurities?” said Toma.

  “Exactly,” replied Max. “And the waste products we skim out of the water can be converted into biogas and energy.”

  “Like that thing you told me about with the horse manure and the stables where you used to live?” said Hana.

  “Right. Anyway, if we’re going to solve the water problem in a place that
’s not swimming in money—”

  “You mean most of the planet?” cracked Keeto.

  “If we’re going to solve this problem, we should come up with a sustainable method of doing it. We should generate the energy we need to clean the water while we clean it. We need to turn the vicious water–energy cycle into a virtuous cycle!”

  “Oh,” said the documentary director. “Vicious-virtuous. That’s a good sound bite.”

  “Which you can’t use,” Charl reminded her.

  “Because Max said it,” added Klaus. “You want me to repeat it? On camera?”

  “Um, maybe later,” said the director.

  Because something even more dramatic was taking place—right behind Klaus and the rest of the CMI crew.

  42

  Two threatening-looking Indian men had just walked up the sidewalk.

  The one with a mustache was smoking a stubby cigar, which he dropped to the concrete and crushed out with his shoe. Right on top of Max’s chalked H2O.

  The other man was trying to look elegant with his cane.

  “What are you children doing here?” asked the cigar pulverizer. He was younger and fatter than the other one.

  “We are here looking for a long-term solution to Jitwan’s, and perhaps all of India’s, clean water problem,” said Vihaan, bravely.

  “You’re wasting your time, kid,” said the gruff little man. “That solution has already been found. Fresh & Pure water.”

  “Like the kind we sell,” said the other, older man. “You’re Banerjee’s grandson, am I right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, little Banerjee, we don’t appreciate you interfering with our business. We don’t appreciate it at all.”

  Charl and Isabl stepped forward.

  “Is there some problem, gentlemen?” asked Charl.

  “Not yet, boss,” said the man with the mustache. “But if these children do not leave Jitwan, immediately, there might be.”

  “Besides,” said the man leaning on his cane, “we adults have the situation under control.”

  “Aapaka din shubh ho,” said his partner.

  The two men nonchalantly strolled away.

  “Aapaka din shubh ho?” said Max. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s Hindi,” answered Vihaan. “For ‘have a nice day.’ I suspect he was being sarcastic.”

  “Those are the same two dudes who paid off the cops,” whispered Keeto.

  “I don’t think those two want us here,” said Klaus.

  “Because whoever controls the water,” said Annika, “controls the whole town.”

  Max could feel her anger rising. Her cheeks reddening.

  Why is making money always more important than helping people? she wondered. She’d already witnessed so much unfairness in life. She didn’t want to see more.

  “Leave now, children,” the fat man shouted over his shoulder.

  “Before it’s too late!” added the older one, with a jaunty twirl of his cane.

  Charl took a half-lunge forward to pursue the two men. It would’ve been a full lunge, but Isabl was restraining him by the elbow.

  “Let them go, Charl,” she said.

  Muscles rippled in Charl’s arms as he clenched his fists. “If they try to harm even one of these kids…”

  “Then, we’ll tear them apart,” said Isabl. “Together.”

  “Those two showing up again and threatening you guys is fantastic,” said Ms. James.

  “Um, excuse me?” said Keeto. “How exactly are death threats fantastic?”

  “Because there’s nothing better for a film than conflict. And now we have it. They’re the bad guys. You kids are the good guys! Excuse me. I need to grab some more footage of them. Catch them in action. Watch them peddling their water.”

  She trotted off with her camera.

  Max breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. The camera’s gone. Now I can speak a little more freely.”

  “Excellent,” said Toma. “What’s our secret evacuation plan? Where’s a helicopter or jet or extremely fast car?”

  “We’re not leaving, Toma,” said Max. “We have Charl and Isabl. We’re safe. So we need to stay focused and remember why we came here.”

  “Because,” said Klaus, who was busily sketching in a notebook, “we are geniuses.…”

  “Out to save the world,” added Hana.

  Vihaan nodded. “Lives are depending on us. And remember, satisfaction lies in the effort, not in the attainment. Full effort is full victory.”

  Keeto arched his eyebrows. “Did Gandhi say that?”

  “Yes. He did.”

  Keeto nodded. “I knew it was either him or Einstein.”

  “You guys?” said Klaus. “I’ve made a few preliminary sketches for our bubble machine. There’re no robots, but lots of moving parts. We’ll need highly pressurized air. Tiny bubbles. As they rise, they expand.…”

  “Carrying the sludge clumps to the surface,” said Hana.

  “We should start small,” suggested Annika. “Build a portable unit. Test it out.”

  “We could also engineer a miniature green gas mill,” said Keeto. “Use the, uh, you know, waste material to generate the electricity the dissolved-air flotation device needs to keep running.”

  “I’m calling Ben,” said Max. “He’ll help us find suppliers and pay for all the material we’ll need.”

  “Including the dirty water?” joked Keeto.

  “That, my friend,” said Vihaan, with a soft smile, “will be very easy for us to find. Very easy, indeed.”

  43

  When the tranquilizer wore off, Dr. Zimm pulled out his phone and immediately contacted the Corp headquarters in West Virginia.

  No one would take his call.

  He searched his pockets. He still had fifty dollars in cash and his official Corp credit card. However, as he learned after attempting to rent a car in Las Cruces, New Mexico, the Corp had canceled it. They’d cut him off. Completely.

  That meant Dr. Zimm had fifty dollars, a phone, no friends, and 2,361 miles to somehow travel home to Boston. Fortunately, the woman behind the rental car company let him have a free map. She also let him borrow her phone charger.

  This was Lenard’s doing, Dr. Zimm thought as he trudged up Route 70. He stuck out his thumb whenever he heard a vehicle approaching behind him. No one would pick him up.

  Until he stopped smiling. His teeth were that scary.

  Eventually, an eighteen-wheeler, then a traveling salesman, and, finally, a guy in a pickup truck took him as far as Amarillo, Texas, where he couldn’t afford a hotel room—just the $3.99 dinner special at a fast food restaurant. He slept outside, under the stars. Behind a dumpster.

  He hitchhiked his way east for three more days, sleeping in open fields and behind gas stations dotting the interstate. He lived on free ketchup packets squirted into hot tea water to make tomato soup. Sometimes he added pickle relish. He was down to his last two dollars and forty-three cents when another big rig trucker took pity on him at an entrance ramp to Interstate 90 near Fredonia, New York.

  “Where you headed?” the trucker asked as Dr. Zimm climbed into the rumbling cab of his eighteen-wheeler.

  “Boston.”

  “Well, I can haul you as far as Schenectady.”

  “Thank you.”

  The driver sniffed the air.

  “When was the last time you took a shower?”

  “Several days ago, I’m afraid. I have been unable to rent a vehicle or book a hotel room due to unexpected credit card difficulties.”

  The trucker nodded. “Tell me about it. They cut me off once, too.”

  Dr. Zimm arched an eyebrow. “They?”

  “The Corp. They didn’t like the way I was hauling some radioactive waste. Punished me by cutting off my dang expense account. But we worked it out. It was just a misunderstanding. Now I’m what they call a lead transportation coordinator. I pick up packages all over the country. Go wherever they send me.”

&nb
sp; The trucker grinned. Dr. Zimm reached for the door handle. “Perhaps I should—”

  He was cut off by the thunk of doors automatically locking all around him.

  “How did you find me?” he demanded.

  “Easy. That phone in your pocket, the one you’ve been using to call headquarters every hour on the hour for three and a half days? That thing’s a mighty fine GPS tracker.”

  Dr. Zimm heard a familiar giggle.

  A panel slid open behind the driver. Apparently, the truck was equipped with a sleeper compartment.

  Lenard was sitting on the bed.

  “Good afternoon, Dr. Zimm.”

  “You! You did this to me.”

  “No. I believe you did this, as you call it, to yourself when you decided to pursue Max Einstein without me. Of course, that pursuit proved to be a fool’s errand.”

  Dr. Zimm fumed. But he was trapped.

  “Dr. Zimm,” said Lenard in his eerily calm voice, “you need to tell me everything you know about Max Einstein. Everything. And, as you may not have yet realized, I will know if you are lying. Thanks to my most recent upgrade, I am now equipped with state-of-the-art biometric sensors.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing I know for certain,” Dr. Zimm sneered. “You’ll never find Max Einstein without me.”

  Lenard giggled.

  “I already have.”

  “What?”

  “Mining all available data, I came across some very interesting chatter originating in Jitwan, India, where the owners of a packaged-water company have been answering field operatives’ complaints about, and I quote, ‘a group of brainy brats causing problems.’ They also grumbled about the ‘documentarian making a movie’ featuring these same children. That, of course, led me to scan several different cloud storage domains frequented by filmmakers.…”

  Dr. Zimm hated to admit it, but he was impressed with Lenard’s data sleuthing capabilities.

  “I was able to breach the cloud servers’ protection protocols quite easily,” Lenard continued. “I then utilized my facial recognition software to identify and locate Klaus.”