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You are reading from:
POWER PLAY IN WASHINGTON
(BOOK 16)
by Roy MacGregor
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Blllaaammm!!!!!!
Travis felt as if the explosion had gone off in his chest. He felt it in
his lungs, in his stomach, in the three fillings of his teeth. He felt
it right through his hands clapped tightly over his ears since the
soldiers with machine guns - Soldiers! Machine Guns! At a peewee hockey
tournament? - had told the Owls to lie flat on the pavement.
He could see it with his eyes closed. A sudden explosion of red - his
own blood? - as the pavement seemed to jump.
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One thundering explosion, then quiet, and then the sound of clutter
falling. Something metal in the distance. Something plastic to his
right.
Something soft on the back of his neck!
He opened his eyes, the daylight blinding, the air filled with dust from
the explosion.
Travis took a hand off one ear and reached back to pull the object off
his neck. He was stunned and repulsed by what he saw.
A filthy pair of old boxer shorts!
Nish's!
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Where to begin?
The Screech Owls had left Tamarack the day before to drive down to
Washington, D.C., for the International Goodwill Peewee Championship.
They were one of three Canadian teams invited to this spring tournament,
and one of several teams from outside the United States.
They had been working for weeks for this moment. They'd held bottle
drives and bingos. They'd auctioned off a pair of tickets for a game
between the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Detroit Red Wings.
Mr. Dillinger and coach Muck Munro had taken turns driving on the way
down. Everyone was in a great mood, though the Owls got fed up with
Nish's non-stop tapping on the window -
tap-tap . . . tap-tap-tap . . .
tap-tap - and forced him to sit on an inside seat where he couldn't bug
them any longer. It was always something with Nish. A new yell, a new
way of talking - and now a stupid rhythm he couldn't get out of his head
and soon his teammates couldn't get out of theirs.
Mr. Dillinger had called for a "Wedgie Stop" just after the border so
they could all stretch their legs and loosen up their underwear. And
he'd stopped twice for "Stupid Stops" - Nish stocking up on plastic
vomit and sponge toffee and huge cannon cracker fireworks that weren't
legal at home.
He used the plastic vomit to gross out Simon Milliken and Jenny Staples,
and a couple of hours later, after six straight sponge toffees, grossed
out drivers passing by on Interstate 70 with his own, real-life vomit
while poor Mr. Dillinger stood beside him handing over paper towels -
but that's another story altogether.
The Screech Owls had made it to their very first practice at the MCI
Center, the huge downtown NHL arena where the Washington Capitals
played. The Owls had rarely been so excited to get to a new rink, and it
wasn't just because this was the home of the Caps. Right after the Owls,
the Washington Wall were scheduled to practice. And everyone knew about
the Wall, the team with the most famous peewee hockey player of the
moment: Chase Jordan - the twelve-year-old son of the President of the
United States.
Everything had seemed fine, at first.
Nish, looking a bit green, had got off the bus first and headed up a
back street for a little air. All the other Owls had gone to the back of
the old bus to help Mr. Dillinger get the equipment out.
It was a ritual they could do without thinking. Derek Dillinger was up
at the rear door, helping his dad and Muck toss down the bags. Wilson
and Willie and Andy, three of the bigger Owls, were carting the
equipment bags to the side and stacking them with Fahd's help. Travis
and Jesse got Sam and Sarah to help with Mr. Dillinger's
skate-sharpening machine. Jeremy and Jenny took care of their own
goaltending equipment. Simon and Lars and Dmitri carried the sticks over
to Gordie and Liz, who stacked them and sorted them out according to
players' numbers. Data, working from his wheelchair, ticked off the
equipment on a special sheet he and Fahd had designed to keep track of
it all.
They were almost finished when a large van sped around the back of the
big rink, squealed to a halt, and four men jumped out. They were all
big, all in suits, and each had a small earplug in his left ear with a
clear plastic wire coiling down inside the back of his shirt collar.
They all wore sunglasses, Travis noticed. He also noticed the handgun
that flashed briefly in its holster before one of the men caught his
flapping jacket and buttoned it quickly.
"What do you think you're doing?" the lead man had barked at the Screech
Owls.
Mr. Dillinger, sweat pouring down his face, smiled from beneath his big
moustache.
"We have the ice booked at three for a practice," he said.
The man ripped a sheet of paper out of his vest pocket and studied it.
"Screech Owls?" the man said. It was more accusation than question.
Mr. Dillinger nodded. "We're from Canada."
The man paid no attention. He snapped the gum he was frantically chewing
and flashed his badge at Mr. Dillinger, who had no time to read it.
"Secret Service," the man said. "We have to secure the building."
"President's son?" Mr. Dillinger asked.
The man offered no answer. He turned to where the kids were stacking the
equipment bags.
"Pull those equipment bags over here and line them up!" he shouted.
"We're on in twenty minutes!" Mr. Dillinger protested. "We have to
dress!"
The man paid no attention. He signaled his three colleagues to move into
action. Each one grabbed two bags and half-carried, half-dragged them
over to a roped-off area at the rear of the parking area. They laid the
bags out in a row.
"Get your bags over there and put them the same way!" the lead man
barked.
Muck, who hadn't said a word so far, signaled the kids to do as the man
said. Travis moved his bag over and dropped it beside Sarah's.
"This is ridiculous!" Sarah whispered as they turned back.
"It's like a movie," Travis said.
"A stupid movie."
"Okay!" the lead man shouted when Lars had dropped the last bag in line.
"Now back off against the building. And no sudden movements!"
Sam rolled her eyes at Travis.
"Look!" gasped Sam.
Another van had pulled up. Its doors opened, and this time two soldiers
with large dogs on leashes got out.
"Sniffer dogs," said Fahd.
"What for?" said Sam.
"Standard Secret Service procedure," explained Fahd, who always knew
such things. "They secure any building first where a member of the First
Family's going to be. We better get used to it."
"What a pain," groaned Sarah.
The dogs were frisky. One was a German shepherd, the other a black
Labrador. They seemed more interested in playing with each other and
their handlers, but one sharp hand signal from each handler and the dogs
instantly went to work.
The dogs started at opposite ends of the long line of bags. They sniffed
up and down, in the side pockets and around each bag, then moved on,
with their handlers holding tight to the leashes.
Suddenly, the Labrador's tail stopped moving. The Lab crouched down. The
hair on its back rose. It lay down, muzzle pointing towards one of the
bags.
The lead man now shouted excitedly into his wrist, "K-9 Four! K-9 Four!"
"He's gone off the deep end," Lars giggled.
"It's a wrist radio," Fahd explained. "Code for something."
There were sirens now. And it seemed the temperature had suddenly risen
even further.
The Secret Service men were scurrying. One shouted "Explosives
positive!" into his own wrist radio.
"Whose bag is it?" Dmitri asked.
Travis craned his neck to catch the number stenciled on the side of the
bag.
Forty-four.
Nish's bag.
The firecrackers from the Stupid Stop!
Travis shouted out to Muck and Mr. Dillinger that it was Nish's bag, and
Mr. Dillinger, understanding immediately, had tried to catch the
attention of the lead Secret Service man - but there was near panic now,
and no one would listen to him.
Within moments the area had been cleared, blocked off, and the Owls had
been told to lie flat on the pavement and not to lift their heads.
But even so, they could still see much of what was happening.
An armored vehicle arrived almost immediately. Soldiers scurried to move
away all the equipment bags the dogs had checked, leaving just the one -
number 44 - in the center of the cordoned-off area.
Another vehicle screeched to a halt and its back door opened.
A ramp extended from the doorway, and a shiny metal robot rolled out.
Directly behind it walked a heavily armored soldier fiddling with a
control box.
"A bomb robot!" whispered Fahd.
"What for?" asked Wilson.
"They're checking the bag for a bomb!"
"Maybe they should be checking it for poisonous gas!" giggled Sarah.
"Shut up over there!" barked the lead Secret Service man. He was still
furiously snapping his chewing gum.
The Owls went silent. They watched, helplessly, as the robot whirred
over to the bag, seemed to take photographs of it, then backed off.
Soldiers gathered around the man with the control box, studying its
screen.
Yet another armored vehicle arrived. Two soldiers, also heavily armored,
scurried out. One held a huge, bazooka-like gun. Several other vehicles
backed away quickly.
The two soldiers took up position, one holding the weapon, the other
aiming it.
"They're going to blow up Nish's bag!" Sam said, her voice skipping
between a scream of terror and one of absolute delight.
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