Code

CHAPTER 21

“GIVE ME YOUR secrets, dammit!”

Hi slapped the iPad in disgust. Cooper’s ears perked, then he returned to gnawing his Greenie bone.

Two hours had gotten us nowhere. Time was slipping away.

“We’re done.” Shelton sat across the table from Hi and me. “Let’s bring in the law dogs before it’s too late.”

“We can’t break the rules.” Ben spun the computer chair to face us. “Talk, and the Gamemaster will detonate.”

“Since when do you care so much about rules?” Shelton huffed. “And the bomb’s going off anyway, if we can’t crack the puzzle. This picture could be anything!”

I stared at the image: the figure 18, surrounded by letters and numbers, inside a black circle. All within a blue circle, and topped by a K.

What does it mean? What are we missing?

“We need to try something else.” I stood and began to pace. “Another approach. Some new way of looking at the problem.”

“I’ve tried everything,” Shelton said. “There’s no structure. How are we supposed to decode words without a pattern?”

Hi’s gaze found the ceiling. “This is killing me.”

Ben swiveled back to the computer and resumed surfing.

I stopped. “Maybe there isn’t a pattern.”

“No pattern?” Shelton sounded at a loss. “Then forget decoding the message.”

I shook my head, unsure where I was going. “Maybe it’s not a message. At least, not a straightforward one like last time.”

Retaking my seat, I scribbled the letters and numbers on a blank sheet of paper: CH3OHHBRCH3BRH2O. And got nothing. Inspiration failed to arrive. “We should’ve skipped class.”

Hiram shot to his feet. “Chemistry!”

“Relax,” Shelton said. “The paper isn’t due till Monday.”

“No! No!” Hi finger-jabbed my notepad. “Look at the last three characters. H2O! What are we, idiots? That’s the chemical formula for water!”

“You’re right!” Shelton got it instantly. “It’s not a message, it’s a chemical equation!”

“Then let’s solve it.” Digging for my chemistry text. “This must be a list of different compounds. We need to identify them.”

Ben joined us at the table. “Finally, some progress.”

“Sixteen characters.” I drew a line creating two groups of eight. “If you cut the sequence at its midpoint, both halves start with CH3.”

“Methyl,” Hi said confidently. “But it’s usually bonded with something else.”

“O is oxygen, and H is hydrogen. Then another H.” I bit my lower lip. “That must begin a new compound, or else it’d be H2 instead.”

I drew a second line through the first group, dividing CH3OH and HBR.

“The equation has to balance.” Hi was pointing to the second grouping: CH3BRH2O. “Nothing’s lost in a chemical reaction.”

“And we know the last part is water,” Ben added. “H2O.”

Nodding, I drew a third line. “Then that’s it. CH3OH. HBR. CH3BR. H2O. The first two compounds must react to form the second two.”

“Balanced,” Hi agreed. “On paper, it works.”

“First is CH3OH.” I scanned the index of my textbook. Bingo. “Methanol. A simple alcohol—light, colorless, flammable. Used as an antifreeze, a solvent, and fuel.”

Shelton took notes as I spoke. “Next?”

HBR. “Hmmm. Not listed.”

“That’s hydrogen and bromine.” Hi ran a search on the computer. “Together they produce hydrogen bromide, a nonflammable gas. Forms hydrobromic acid in water. It’s used to make lots of stuff.”

“Methanol. Hydrogen bromide.” I tapped the last two groups. “These chemicals must result from combining them.”

“Exactly,” Hi answered. “Otherwise the equation doesn’t work.”

“CH3BR and H2O.” Shelton circled them both. “Same elements, just reorganized.”

“Those two chemicals are the products,” Ben said.

“H2O is easy,” Shelton said. “We all know that stands for water.”

“So the third compound must be the point of the reaction,” Hi concluded. “It’s what you’re trying to make by adding methanol to hydrogen bromide, with water as a byproduct.”

“CH3BR.” I tapped the sheet with my index finger. “That’s the answer.”

“BR is still bromine, and I know CH3 stands for methane.” Hi’s forehead creased in thought. “Together, what? Methabromine? Bromethane?”

I rifled the index a second time. Gotcha. “Bromomethane.”

“Nice.” Hi started popping head nods. “Wassup, bromo. Sup, bromo.”

I read aloud. “Bromomethane, known as methyl bromide, is a tetrahedral-shaped, odorless, colorless, nonflammable gas formerly used as a pesticide. Recognized as an ozone-depleting chemical, the widespread use of bromomethane was phased out in most First World countries by the early 2000s.”

“Bugs? That’s all it was used for?” Shelton asked.

“There’s nothing more here.” I bit my lower lip. “Check the interwebs.”

“On it,” Hi called.

Minutes passed, then Hi spoke slowly as he skimmed. “Bromomethane was used to sterilize soil, mainly for seed production … and for things like strawberries and almonds.” Quick glance our way. “Almonds are a crop? Man, I don’t know anything about nuts.”

I considered what we’d learned. “I’m not sure this helps. Anything else?”

Pause. Then, “For a while they used bromomethane in specialty fire extinguishers for electrical substations. On airplanes, too.” Another pause. “That’s all I can find.”

“We’re still missing something,” Shelton said.

“Don’t forget, this equation circles the number eighteen.” Ben pointed to the maddening image on the iPad. “That has to factor somehow. And the K at the top, too.”

I looked to Hi, at a loss.

“Nothing else here,” he said glumly. “I’m stumped.”

Shelton shook his head in frustration.

Then I had an idea.

“If you can spell the last name of the party you are trying to reach, please press one, otherwise, stay on the line and—”

Beep.

I began punching keys. S. U. N. D. B. Shoot. Was the next letter E, or U?

The voicemail system saved me from a guess. “If you are trying to reach ‘Dr. Anders Sundberg’—” his voice interjected, “—press one, now.”

Beep.

“One moment, please.”

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

“We’re not allowed to ask for help,” Ben argued. “It’s against the rules.”

“This is different,” I insisted. “We aren’t revealing anything about the game.”

Shelton looked uneasy, but Hi nodded his agreement.

“I’m just going to ask about the chemical.”

“What chemical would that be?” a voice inquired on the other end of the line.

I nearly squeaked. “Dr. Sundberg! I’m so glad I caught you in your office.”

“A rarity, but you did just that.” Pause. “This is …?”

“Tory Brennan. Sorry.”

“Tory?” Mild surprise. “What can I help you with?”

“Just a quick question. Regarding our school project.” I wasn’t handling this very smoothly. “Have you ever heard of a chemical known as bromomethane?”

“That’s what we found?” The surprise turned to alarm. “Tory, methyl bromide is a highly toxic substance. You need to trash the swab, then wash anything that—”

“Oh no, sorry again! That wasn’t the substance we pulled off the box. We’re still working on identifying that.”

“Well, thank goodness. Bromomethane is tough stuff. What’s your interest?”

“A case study.” Thinking on my feet. “We’ve been charged with figuring out the possible origin points of a localized contamination.”

“Ah! I see. Interesting project. My high school never did cool stuff like this.”

“Go Griffins,” I said lamely. “So, any ideas?”

“Better. I think I know the answer.” I heard a creak, as if Anders had leaned back in his chair. “Bromomethane was widely used in the Charleston area fifteen years ago, but almost solely for one purpose—golf course maintenance.”

“Golf? Seriously?”

“You bet. It was very effective at controlling Bermuda grass. Especially on the greens. But the pesticide seeped into groundwater, creeks, rivers, and estuaries, resulting in some pretty severe ecological damage. Bromomethane is now banned—the side effects are just too dangerous.”

A bell dinged somewhere deep in my brainpan. What was I missing?

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

“I’m a marine biologist, remember? In 1998, we traced a massive fish die-off to pollution by methyl bromide.” Satisfaction coated Anders’ voice. “Not to toot my own horn, but I helped get it banned.”

I paused to digest this info. “Anything else you can think of?”

“Off the top of my head, no. But if that’s your chemical, I’d be surprised if your assignment was pointing anywhere else.”

I thanked Sundberg and hung up. Three faces beamed from across the table. Even Coop seemed to sense excitement. He rose and padded to my side.

“Locally, bromomethane was used to treat putting greens.”

The boys had been listening. In fact, Hi looked pumped enough to wet himself.

His arms spread wide. “And how many holes make up a golf course?”

“Eighteen!” Shelton aimed two shooters at the iPad.

Of course. 18. The centerpiece of the Gamemaster’s image.

Ben’s fist struck the table. “We’re getting close.”

“Golf must be part of the answer!” Shelton insisted.

“Shhh!” I ordered. “Let me think.”

The boys exchanged glances, but complied. I needed to do my thing.

Pesticide. The number eighteen. A golf course. Those parts fit together. Staring at the puzzle with a fresh outlook, I willed other pieces into place.

“The eighteen is within a circle.” I traced it with one finger. “Black, like a hole.”

“Golf again!” Hi interjected. “The eighteenth hole!”

I hand-shushed him. Hi rolled his eyes. Shelton rose and began dancing on the balls of his feet. Ben just watched me.

“The eighteenth hole of a golf course.” My finger moved to the top of the image. “So what does this K mean?”

“A strikeout,” Hi offered. “Or a symbol for the Ku Klux Klan—sorry, Shelton. Maybe a very ‘special’ breakfast cereal?”

Shelton squinted, thinking hard. I cycled the data in my brain, but came up blank. K? Alone? What could it mean?

“What about Kiawah,” Ben offered quietly.

“Could be,” Hi said. “Kiawah Island has incredible golf courses.”

“Maybe.” But I wasn’t sure. Could it be that simple? “We need more to go on.”

Shelton bumped his fists together in a rapid tattoo. “We’re running out of time.”

“Kiawah’s Ocean Course is supposed to be dope,” Hi commented. “It’s hosting the PGA Championship soon. That tourney is extremely hard to get.”

Something clicked.

My gaze dropped to the iPad screen. One element remained.

Surrounding the black circle. A larger, blue circle.

“Like the ocean,” I breathed.

“What the what?” Shelton asked.

Ben smiled for the first time all afternoon. It was nice to see. When he deigned to flash his pearly whites, Ben went from sullen boy to charming young man. I much preferred the latter.

“Guys, we did it.” My hands popped into a roof-raising celebration dance. Even Coop was impressed, and started spinning in little circles.

We’d broken the Gamemaster’s clue. We could still win.

“Kiawah Island,” I proclaimed. “And I know just where to look.”