Code

CHAPTER 2

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Hi’s shovel thunked something solid.

“Finally!” Dropping to a knee, he used his fingers to trace an object at the bottom of the hole we’d dug. “Why bury it so freaking deep?”

“About time.” Shelton tossed his spade aside. “How many of these—” his hand rose, “—things have you found, anyway?”

“They’re called geocaches, and this is my third.” Hi was carefully prying a grime-covered mass from the earth. “The other two weren’t buried, just hidden. The first was on Morris, near the bridge. The second was jammed in a hedge next to the Folly Beach post office.”

“The post office?” I peered over Hi’s shoulder, trying to get a look. “That’s so random. Why put something there?”

“That’s how it works.” Working methodically, Hi teased our find from the soil. “You hide a cache somewhere, anywhere, and post the GPS coordinates online. Then other players download the info and try to find it.”

“This game is popular?” Ben was sitting on his tackle box in the shade of a large elm. “Sounds pretty nerdtastic to me.”

“We can’t all practice birdscalls like you.” Hi brushed dirt from what appeared to be a plastic container. “There are millions of geocaches hidden worldwide, and dozens of websites listing where to find them. So, yeah, the game’s kind of a hit.”

“Back off, Blue.” Shelton flashed a toothy grin. “Hi found more buried treasure. We’re in business. I knew this was a good idea.”

My eyes rolled at Shelton’s abrupt one-eighty.

“The contents won’t be valuable,” Hi warned. “The point is the finding, not the getting. What’s inside is usually trivial.”

“That I can believe,” Ben quipped. Shelton threw him a long-distance high five.

Ignoring their trash talk, I helped Hi wipe away the remaining grit. “Looks like some work went into this one.”

The cache was roughly the size of a shoebox and carefully sealed with masking tape. The exterior was bright purple, and covered with dancing clown stickers. Wide grins stretched their contorted, cartoonish faces.

“Clowns,” Shelton mumbled. “I hate those goofy bastards.”

Hi nodded sagely. “I read It last summer. Stephen King. Never trust anything that paints on a smile.”

“You guys are such dopes.” Ben pulled a pocketknife from his cargoes and tossed it in Hi’s direction. “Let’s see what Bozo wanted you to find.”

Hi made a fumbled catch, then flipped out the single blade. Four strokes cut the tape and freed the lid.

“More gold, perhaps?” Shelton winked. “There’s a new X-Box due out this year.”

“It won’t be valuable,” Hi repeated. “Just enjoy the sense of accomplishment.”

“Right.” Ben, straight-faced. “Accomplishment.”

“Enough.” I snapped my fingers. “Open sesame.”

The container held two items: an envelope and a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.

Hi handed me the former and focused on the latter. “Here goes nothing.”

The bundle contained a second rectangle composed of small, inter-locking pieces of plum-colored metal. Cigar box–sized, the object had been hand painted with more leering, cavorting clowns.

But these clowns didn’t smile. They scowled. Snarled.

The effect was eerie.

“Creepy.” Hi rotated the box in his hands. “And no way to open it.”

Coop nosed forward to sniff the box. I reached down to scratch his ears. Felt them flatten beneath my fingers.

A low growl rose from the wolfdog’s throat.

“What’s wrong, boy?” I tried to stroke his muzzle. “Something got you spooked?”

Coop whined, clearly agitated. His gaze flicked to Hi. To the box. Back to Hi.

“I don’t like how Bow Wow is looking at me.” Hi took a nervous step back. “I come in peace, soul brother.”

“Coop, heel!” I ordered. “Be good.”

The wolfdog yapped twice, eyes never leaving Hi. Then he circled to sit by my side.

“Read the letter,” Shelton suggested. “It must explain the box.”

My fingers rubbed the envelope. The stationery was thick, cream-colored, and obviously pricey. The flap was sealed with scarlet wax. The only marking was a majestic capital G penned in ornate calligraphy.

“G?” I glanced at Hi. “Does that mean anything?”

“For geocache, maybe?” Hi shrugged. “All I know is, whoever buried this went to a lot more effort than most players. It’s gotta be a good cache.”

“So open it,” Shelton pressed.

Breaking the seal, I parted the envelope and removed two sheets of lilac-colored paper. High-grade bond. Excellent quality.

The first page was decorated with another elaborate, whirling G that ended with a single line running horizontally across the page.

“I guess that’s the log sheet,” Hi said.

I checked the back, but it was blank. “So we’re the first to find this cache?”

Hi nodded. “There wasn’t much info online. No clues, no past history, not even a record of who buried it. Just coordinates. It’s the first cache ever listed for Loggerhead, so I’m not surprised it’s never been logged before.”

“And the other page?” Ben asked.

The second sheet contained a single phrase written in the same grandiose style: Himitsu-Bako.

“Himitsu-Bako,” I read aloud. “Anyone?”

“Chinese?” Hi mused. “Japanese? Burmese?”

Blank faces. No one knew.

“What now?” Shelton asked. “Sell it on eBay?”

Hi hefted the delicate box in one hand. Something rattled inside.

“I think this thing opens,” Hi said. “We’re supposed to figure out how.”

“Then bag it.” Ben yawned loudly. “This sideshow has been a snooze from the start.”

“Philistine.” Hi removed a wrinkled Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue from his backpack. “It’s all I have to trade,” he said with a shrug.

“Do we sign these or something?” I held up the first page from the envelope.

Hi considered. “Sign the G and put that sheet back, but keep the second one. The phrase is probably some kind of clue.”

Pulling a pen from my pocket, I scribbled my name on the horizontal line and placed the paper inside the container next to the magazine. “Not exactly a fair trade, Hi.”

“I know. Anyone have something to add?”

“Here.” Shelton walked over and dropped in his battered green Timex. “This watch is low-rent. Plus I’m getting a new one for my birthday anyway. But you owe me, Stolowitski.”

“Owe you what?” Hi said. “Who wears a wristwatch anymore? Cavemen?”

Satisfied with our swap, I closed the container and dropped it back into the hole. Ben and Shelton grabbed the shovels and quickly reburied it.

Hi was sticking the metal box in his bag when another growl caught his attention.

Cooper. Inches away. Teeth exposed.

“Yikes.” Hi dropped the pack. “I thought we were bros!”

“No. Look.” I pointed. Coop’s attention was focused on the backpack.

Muscles tense, the wolfdog snuffled the bag, whined, sniffed again, and then began to growl.

“Must not be a geocache fan,” Shelton cracked as he scooped up Hi’s metal detector and switched off the power.

“The mutt’s not alone,” Ben mumbled.

“You guys are a riot,” Hi said. “Laugh a minute. Now someone call off the attack dog.”

I whistled for Coop’s attention. “Here.”

Reluctant, Coop gave Hi’s bag one last pass, then trotted to my side.

“Coop really doesn’t like that box.” I knelt and rubbed the edgy wolfdog’s snout. “It better not be stuffed with dead squirrels or something.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Ben grumbled, but he shot me a wink. He was just winding up Hi.

“It’s not a rodent coffin!” Hi huffed. “This cache is legit. You’ll see, haters.”

“Okay, kids.” I hoisted my fishing gear. “Let’s call it a day. Kit wanted me back at LIRI a half hour ago.”

“Can’t upset the Big Boss Man,” Shelton said. “Let’s hustle.”

One by one, we trooped from the clearing.