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  "Yes!" Nudge said happily. "Yes, yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you so much!"

  Ever notice how often people say that right before they say good-bye?

  Part Two

  WE ALL LIVE IN A DEADLY SUBMARINE

  27

  THE ARMORED CAR drove for about an hour through the desert, ending up at a military airfield. Nothing like passing through heavy, barbed-wire-topped gates to make a girl feel secure! And by secure, I mean supertwitchy. At least we could fly out of here if we needed to. I eyed the antiaircraft guns mounted on turrets and hoped they'd be considered overkill for bird kids.

  Despite the fact that we were really tired, really hungry, and really upset about my mom, we did manage to fill John and Brigid in on everything that had happened. John showed me the two faxes they'd gotten. Seeing my mom looking straight ahead, fear in her eyes as some goon held a gun on her, made my blood boil.

  I was going to track down the kidnappers if it meant flying to every single boat in the entire world.

  "We're taking a military jet to San Diego," said John. "The FBI is meeting us at the navy base there. We'll go over all the information we have, and see what we can get out of it."

  I nodded numbly, looking at the soldiers bustling about, each one having somewhere to be. I wondered if Nudge was back at the school yet. I guessed she was.

  The armored car drove right up to a small jet, its stairs already pulled down.

  "Please tell me there's food on board," said Iggy.

  "Yes," said John. "A whole lot of it. I was warned about how much you guys ate on the Wendy K." His tired smile made me think back to our days of living on that boat with Brigid and the other scientists.

  I glanced over at Brigid as she talked quietly to Fang, and my stomach knotted. He was paying attention to her but also looking at me pretty often. The whole thing was complicated and messy, and I hated it.

  But I loved him. And I guess the messiness went along with that.

  "It'll be okay, Max," Angel whispered, patting my hand.

  I looked at her, wondering if she was talking about my mom or Nudge or Fang.

  "Everything," she said softly. "Everything will be okay."

  I managed a tight smile, and then we were all climbing out of the Hummer and walking across hot tarmac to the jet.

  A quick, happy bark made my head snap up. There, at the top of the jet stairs, was Akila!

  "Oh. My. God," Total breathed, stopping dead. He stared up at her as if he were a starving man and she was a Snickers bar. He shook his head. "I know it's daylight, because the sun has started to shine again!" He inhaled deeply. "And the air—the air is suddenly perfumed with—"

  "Jet fuel, hot tar, dirty bird kids, and a Malamute," I said, nudging him forward with my foot. "Just get on the plane." Not everything has to be a Broadway show, you know?

  Total shot me an aggrieved glance as he trotted up the jet's stairs. At the top, he and Akila happily licked each other's faces, their tails wagging. It was—well, actually, I hate to admit—it was kind of sweet. In a slobbery kind of way.

  We were all waiting for Total and Akila to move inside when Total stepped back and, with a flourish, opened his small black wings. Akila blinked. And if a Malamute can look surprised, she looked it.

  "Regard, my princess!" said Total, fluttering his wings. "At last, I might be worthy of your beauty!" He knelt before her and kissed one of her front paws. She licked the top of his head. I glanced around, and everyone was grinning.

  Oh yeah. Love is great, just great.

  28

  THE MAN IN the crisp whites saw us as soon as he came in the door. We were in some building smack-dab in the middle of the biggest naval base on the West Coast. Frankly, I'd rather be at the San Diego Zoo, but at least this place was air-conditioned.

  We were in a conference room, ready to meet with some grown-ups, and I was thinking that I had already played in this scenario more times than I could count. Who remembers any of those situations ending well? Go on, raise your hand. No one?

  Right.

  However, using insidious and irresistible mind-control techniques such as offering us Mountain Dew and a ton of nachos, the naval bigwigs had managed to corral us in this room for a debriefing.

  Unfortunately, every time someone said "debriefing," the entire flock had one image: someone's tighty-whities disappearing in a flash. We were smothering our giggles, but it was getting harder. Coupled with the whole "naval this, and naval that," with its undeniable belly-button connotations, we were essentially turning into a sugar-jacked, sleep-deprived flock of incoherent, silly, recombinant-DNA goofballs. This was not going to end well.

  This guy had come in, and everyone turned to him as if now the party could get started. Tucking a sheaf of papers under one arm, he frowned and looked at the woman in the blazer with all the stars on the shoulders. We'd met her. She was Admiral Bellows. (I am not making this up.)

  "Why are these children here?" he asked brusquely.

  "Thank you for joining us, Commander," said Admiral Bellows. She had short, tidy gray hair and seemed extremely no-nonsense. "These children are integral to our investigation. For one thing, this child, Max, is Dr. Martinez's daughter."

  Huh. She'd called me a child, not a mutant freak. And I was a daughter, not just the result of one of Dr. Martinez's eggs being fertilized in a test tube. It felt weirdly—normal.

  "All the more reason this conference is inappropriate for children," the commander said pointedly.

  "We're very sensitive, you know," said Iggy.

  The admiral shot Iggy a sharp glance, which of course was wasted on him. "These children are different," she told the commander. "Please come in and share your findings, Commander. Time is of the essence."

  I decided I kind of liked her.

  The commander paused as if trying to think of a new way to win the argument but was distracted when Total put both front paws on the conference table.

  "Excuse me," he said, using one paw to brush a nacho crumb from his muzzle. "You think you could scrounge up some pico de gallo? Maybe even some guac? And how about a nice cold Evian for my lady friend here?" He gestured to where Akila was sitting with quiet dignity by Dr. Abate.

  The flock managed to remain straight-faced.

  "It's okay, Commander," I said in the deafening silence. "Like the admiral said, we're different." I shrugged out of my hoodie and extended my wings, all thirteen feet of brown glory. They are stunning, I must say. Even with the still-slightly-visible boo-boo on one.

  Everyone in the room except John and Brigid were mesmerized. The commander's mouth actually dropped open a bit, and I ruffled my primary feathers a little. "So how 'bout we just get on with the show, eh? We're talking about my mom here."

  Between the talking dog and the girl with wings, the commander was pretty much a squashed bug. Wordlessly he gave a DVD to a navy guy working the computer, and the lights were dimmed. A PowerPoint presentation began on the white wall opposite the table.

  The first slide said: THE BIRDS ARE WORKING.

  29

  THE BIRDS ARE working." What the heck did that mean? And what did it have to do with my mom? As you know, I've been kidnapped myself, and let me tell you, "total bummer" doesn't begin to describe it. The thought of my mom going through what I had gone through was making me nuts.

  The slide was followed by a grainy movie.

  "This was filmed yesterday evening at nineteen hundred hours, at twenty-one degrees, thirty minutes north; one hundred fifty-seven degrees, forty minutes west," said Commander Crisp Pants.

  "In the Pacific Ocean, off the coast of Hawaii," the admiral clarified for us civilians.

  The movie started off with an aerial view, like from a plane, then focused lower and lower over the water. Lots of fuzzy action tightened up to reveal… major bird-o-rama. Hundreds, no, thousands of seabirds. Gulls, albatrosses, cormorants, and a bunch I didn't recognize. They hovered just a few feet above the water, covering it t
hickly, and they seemed to be—feeding or attacking in a frenzy or I had no idea what.

  "It's like, free-shrimp day or something!" Gazzy said, awed.

  "What are they doing?" I asked, impatient to get to the part about my mom.

  "We don't know. But wait," said Commander Crisp Pants. The camera pulled back to reveal a small fishing boat, maybe a couple hundred yards away from the bird frenzy. We could see the crew, all watching the birds from on deck, gesturing and looking amazed. Some looked scared. I read the name on the side: Nani Moku.

  All of a sudden, something from beneath the water smashed up through the fishing boat, capsizing it. The boat was literally broken in half. The crew flailed about in the water, trying to cling to debris. What was left of the boat sank within moments. We saw some of the fishermen trying to save their comrades, saw one guy realize his friend was dead in the water.

  "Was that a whale, Commander?" the admiral asked.

  "Unknown. It could have been a whale or a submarine. We've gone over this footage a hundred times with no success. But now, look at this."

  The film ended, and a greenish, dim, very grainy picture flashed up on the screen. I almost yelled: it was my mom. She was looking straight ahead, her brown eyes scared but defiant. It looked like her arms were tied behind her back. Next to her, someone wearing a ski mask held up a New York Times to show yesterday's date. I'd love to know how they got their hands on that.

  My stomach tightened. Fang's knee bumped mine under the table, the equivalent of a reassuring hug. Normally that would be all I needed to chill. But right then it hit me: this was not "normally." Nudge was gone. I hadn't even realized how much I depended on her sympathy in tough times.

  "The camera focused tightly on Dr. Martinez, as you can see," said Commander Crisp Pants. "You can hardly make out any background. Except—" He nodded to the technician, and the picture zoomed in until it was hardly recognizable. The big white blob in one corner was part of my mom's elbow. The commander moved a red laser pointer over the blurred picture. "Except here. To us, this looks like a window frame." He moved over an unrecognizable lightish thing. "Or, more accurately, a porthole. And now look back here."

  He moved the laser pointer, and I saw Total's head whipping back and forth. I made a mental note to never let Gazzy or Iggy get hold of a laser pointer.

  Through the thick, wavy porthole glass, there was another jellylike blob. The commander ran his laser along a slightly darker blob. "Please enhance the sharpness by three hundred percent," he told the technician.

  The next second, the conference room went still and silent. Though still way blurry, we could now make out that the darker blobs on the lighter blob through the blobby window were words. They were words on a piece of wood: Nani Moku.

  The commander stood up, and the room lights were turned on. "We believe this picture was taken on a submarine," he announced. "We think the submarine was in the area, and probably capsized that boat, though we're not certain. But that's a piece of wreckage from that fishing boat, and it's under water. So they must be holding Dr. Martinez under water. And since we know that boat was capsized in the Pacific Ocean, off the coast of Hawaii, we believe that Dr. Martinez is somewhere around there."

  I was ready to leap up and fly to Hawaii. From San Diego, it would take me about six or seven hours, I figured.

  "What does 'The birds are working' mean?" the admiral asked.

  The commander looked at her. "Again, unknown. But there was an audio clip with the bird film, and when we sped up the sound by five hundred percent, that was the phrase we heard."

  "Max, sit down," said John Abate quietly.

  I looked at him, halfway out of my chair.

  "We have a plan," he went on. "We need your help. And that plan does not involve you charging off on your own."

  "I do not charge off!" I insisted yet again.

  "Maximum 'Charging Off' Ride," Total muttered under his breath.

  I gritted my teeth and slowly sat back down. "You have one minute to tell me your plan. Make it good."

  30

  HERE ARE ALL the flies in my ointment:

  1) The phrase "fly in the ointment." Like, yuck. Who came up with that?

  2) We were on a private jet loaned to us by our old pal Nino Pierpont, aka the richest guy in the world. Technically, I was being flown to Hawaii.

  3) I was not busting heads, taking names, or shaking anyone down for information.

  4) Dr. Stupendous was still with us and still had red hair.

  5) Nudge was still gone.

  6) My mom was still kidnapped.

  7) Fang was still Fang.

  Dr. John Abate sat down next to where I was reclined in the schmancy leather chair, unsuccessfully trying to sleep. Not too long ago, I was bunking down on a concrete ledge in an abandoned subway tunnel. Now, here I was on a private jet, in the lap of luxury, covered by a cozy mohair throw… and, basically, I felt like my life sucked pretty much the same as always.

  The main difference being that when I was on the concrete ledge, I actually got some sleep. And my whole flock was together. And I didn't even have a mom. Much less one I cared about. Much less one I cared about and who then got kidnapped, introducing countless new opportunities for pain.

  I opened one eye. "Are we planning to dive-bomb the submarine? Is this plane equipped with marine missiles?"

  John smiled weakly. "No. It's taking us to another U.S. Navy base, in Hawaii. The navy has agreed to help us get Valencia back."

  "Has the CSM agreed to back off big companies?" I asked. Which might make Mr. Chu release my mom, as he promised.

  John looked troubled. "No. We've been in discussions ever since we learned of Valencia's disappearance. We feel that Valencia would never forgive us if she found out they had made us cave. Especially over her. She's one of the founding members of the CSM and one of its most ardent supporters. To have it be dissolved over this—I just think she would hate it."

  I thought for a minute. "You're probably right," I finally said, reluctantly.

  "John?" Gazzy had his face pressed against a window.

  "Yes?"

  "What would happen if a big bird, like a goose, flew into the jet engine?"

  Leave it to Gazzy.

  "It would probably be very bad," said John.

  "What would happen if someone hummed a football into the engine, right when the plane was taking off?" Gazzy looked thoughtful.

  "Is there a point to this line of questioning?" John asked, rubbing his eyes.

  "Just wondering," Gazzy said, his blue eyes innocent.

  "I never thought I'd say this, but I actually miss Nudge's run-on mouth," said Iggy, completely changing the topic.

  "I miss her smile," said Angel, looking up for a minute from where she was playing cards with Brigid. Brigid, thankfully, was smart enough not to play poker with Angel anymore.

  "I miss her brownness," said Iggy, gazing sightlessly out the window.

  "I'm sure she's fine," I said brusquely, trying to ignore the ache in my heart. "She made her choice."

  "I miss her laugh," said Gazzy. "And, like, her, I don't know, girliness."

  Yeah, we all know how lacking I am in that department. Compared to Nudge, I'm completely hopeless. And compared to Brigid, I'm—one of those body bags in boxing or something.

  Just then Fang came over and sat next to me. John smiled at him and got up to go sit with Brigid and Angel.

  Fang reclined his seat. After giving the cabin a casual glance, he slipped his hand under my blanket, finding my hand and holding it. I felt my cheeks reddening and hoped no one would notice.

  "This sucks, about your mom," he said, his voice so low only I could hear it. I nodded, feeling the strength in his hand, the muscles and tendons, the bones, the calluses and scars. "And Nudge," he went on. I nodded again, mutely remembering that night out in the desert with Fang and then coming home to find disaster and chaos. And the next morning, Nudge leaving the flock. Suddenly my throat felt tight, and
my eyelids were heavy. I closed them.

  "I'm here." His voice was so soft, I wasn't even sure I'd heard it. But I had.

  And there, with nine words, Fang had summed up everything I was thinking, everything I was feeling, everything in my past and my future.

  He's your soulmate.

  My eyes shot open. Voice? Are you back?

  31

  WE THINK IT will take at least seven days, possibly more." The woman in the tailored khaki uniform looked at us impassively.

  "No," I said, crossing my arms over my chest, just as Brigid said, "We don't have that much time."

  "Then they can't come," said the woman in khaki.

  Okay, first impressions of Hawaii? We'd arrived at sunset, and it had looked like a movie set, with fake molded plastic islands set into impossibly beautiful blue water. It reminded me of Fang's desire for us to find a deserted island somewhere and just live, peacefully, by ourselves. No world-saving. No 'bot-fighting. Just us, the sand, and the sea.

  Our jet had landed at the naval base at Pearl Harbor, and we were immediately greeted by soft, gentle breezes, unusual floral scents, palm trees with actual coconuts on them, and this pit bull of a woman who was about to make me go seriously ballistic.

  John and Brigid looked at me.

  "I'm going, no matter what they say," I said in the steely voice I usually reserved for extreme circumstances, like when Gazzy had left crayons in his pocket during a rare instance of my running laundry through a dryer. We'd looked like flower children for months.

  But the khaki woman wasn't in the armed forces for nothing. She met my eyes, and I had to admit, we were almost evenly matched in the freeze-out glare category. Now if I could just run her down with a tank, my day would perk right up.