Club Dread Page 2

  “Congratulations and thank you for entering the American Teens for Animal Conservation’s annual Animal Adventure contest. As our grand prize winners, you have been awarded an all-expenses-paid weeklong vacation at the beautiful eco-resort, the Wetlands.”

  Frank held up two airline tickets and a brochure with a picture on the cover of the biggest pool I’d ever seen. Lounging around the pool was a number of cute girls in bathing suits. Did I mention that being in ATAC is awesome? I couldn’t help grinning at the thought of our new mission.

  “Wow!” Mom beamed at us. “How did you win that?”

  “We entered a raffle,” I said.

  At the exact same time, Frank said, “We wrote an essay.”

  Mom looked at us in confusion. Frank said quickly, “We entered the raffle by writing an essay. About dolphins. And pandas.”

  Good save, Frank, I thought.

  “That’s great,” said Dad. “So long as you guys make sure you call home every day and let us know how you’re doing.”

  I was always amazed at how good Dad was at acting surprised. He knew all about our missions, but he never let on. I guess that’s part of what made him such a good police officer back in the day. Now he spends most of his time recruiting and training new agents for ATAC. We were the first, but ATAC has grown over the years. Now there are agents we’ve never even met. And they’re even thinking about going international.

  Frank pulled a DVD out of the envelope and gave me a nod. I knew what that was. ATAC always put our mission briefings on DVDs and video games. I hoped that whatever it was, it involved a lot of time at the beach. And the pool.

  “They’ve included a ‘virtual tour’ of the hotel. Is it okay if we watch it before we get started on the cleaning?” Frank asked.

  If we’d had to wait until lunch to get the word on our mission, I think I might have exploded. Thankfully, Mom let us go.

  “Be quick,” she said, but Frank and I were already jumping up from the table. I snagged one more doughnut, and we scrambled up the steps to his room.

  I slammed the door behind us, and Frank flipped the DVD into his video game player. The briefing would only play once, and then the DVD would turn back into a normal tour of the hotel. Our missions always erased themselves at the end, just to keep them from getting into the wrong hands. We sat down to watch.

  The picture opened on a group of alligators resting in the swamp. Man, I’d hate to run into those things in a dark alley, I thought. The camera trailed through the swamp, focusing in on a bird here or a flower there, getting closer and closer to a complex of buildings in the distance that must have been the Wetlands. The ATAC logo appeared briefly on the screen, and a voice over started.

  “The Wetlands resort is the premier eco-destination in the country. Since it opened last year, celebrities, politicians, and environmental activists from around the world have stayed there, enjoying its complex of pools, spas, restaurants, and roof gardens, as well as its unparalleled beaches, scuba diving, and swamp tours. Environmentalists love it for being carbon neutral, the community loves it for supporting the local economy, and the guests love it for being so luxurious. But someone isn’t happy.”

  Black-and-white footage from a security camera appeared on the screen. A guard lifted up a purse to show where the bottom had been slit open. It would take a practiced thief to get away with that trick! The voice over continued.

  “About six months ago, a rash of robberies began at the hotel. They started small—wallets, watches, purses. The situation quickly grew to include break-ins and a raid of the hotel’s own safe.”

  Another image flashed on the screen—an empty wall safe. It didn’t look like it had been blown open. Whoever did that knew how to pick a lock. We were dealing with an expert.

  “Recently, things have grown worse.”

  A poster of a young girl with long pitch-black hair and dusky skin appeared on the screen. Her eyes were a warm liquid brown, and I swear she was looking right at me.

  “Wow,” I said.

  Frank’s jaw dropped. She was beautiful. She was singing onstage in a huge stadium, wearing a heavy gold necklace, bracelet, and earrings. Across the top of the poster was the name JASMINA in purple and silver.

  “International pop sensation and winner of the reality TV show America’s New Big Thing, Jasmina was recently assaulted and left in a coma during a robbery at the Wetlands. Her jewelry, a priceless collection given to her by the princess of Monaco in return for a private concert, was stolen and remains missing. We’ve been keeping a watch out for the jewelry in known smuggling rings and pawn shops, but to date nothing has shown up. We suspect the culprit still has it.”

  The DVD showed a close-up of the jewelry. I let out a low whistle. It had to be worth millions—thick gold chains with diamonds and rubies studded all over them. The voice over cut in again.

  “If these robberies continue, the Wetlands will be forced to close. Already there is speculation that the buildings will be purchased and converted into a sewage treatment plant, a move that will almost certainly destroy the surrounding environment. The tourism industry is watching closely to see if an ecologically friendly resort can survive. If the Wetlands fails, it could have a dire impact on the Florida Everglades and the future of the environmental movement as a whole.”

  Now a smiling brown-haired guy appeared on the screen. He was big and preppy looking, kind of like a Ken doll come to life. A muscley Ken doll. He looked vaguely familiar. He waved and smiled like a candidate for prom king.

  “Matthias Dunstock, another ATAC agent, is already on scene at the Wetlands. He is the lead agent on this case. You will make contact with him and follow his direction. We suspect that this may be an inside job, so do not disclose your identities as ATAC agents to anyone at the hotel. Your first priority is to catch the person responsible for these robberies. Recovery of stolen property—especially Jasmina’s jewelry—is also advisable.”

  Sometimes, I thought, the voice-overs in these briefings sound so strange. Like out of the 1800s or something.

  A final shot of the pool from the brochure appeared. Girls everywhere.

  “This DVD will reformat in five seconds.”

  Frank and I turned to each other. This was going to be our best mission yet—bikinis, beaches, celebrities. If we wrapped it up fast, we could spend the rest of our week down on the beach.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Frank.

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “Imagine how much school we would have had to miss if this mission had happened during the school year!”

  Sometimes my brother can be a total dork.

  CHAPTER 3

  NANCY

  WELCOME TO CLOUD NINE

  We stepped off the plane into an incredibly beautiful, perfect, sky blue Florida afternoon. Bess could barely contain herself.

  “I was meant to live by the ocean, I just know it. I’m a beach girl at heart.” She did a little twirl. George picked up a fallen leaf from one of the giant palm trees (palm trees…indoors…at the airport…I couldn’t believe it) and began to fan her cousin. Then she gave up on that and began to chase Bess with the leaf instead, until a security guard gave us a look that made them stop.

  It was hard not to be giddy with excitement, though. We were finally here, and the weather report predicted clear skies and warm temperatures for the entire week. Even the airport felt tropical, with giant windows and skylights that let the sun in from every angle. There were bright colors everywhere: bursts of flowers dangling from hanging pots, purple and turquoise tiles along the walls, displays of sunglasses and beach balls. Everyone seemed at least 23 percent happier here than in River Heights.

  “So what’s the plan, girls?” I asked, as we carried our luggage out to find the car Mr. Thorton had sent for us.

  “I’m heading right to the beach,” Bess answered.

  “I read that they’ve got these hover boats you can take out into the swamp,” said George. “I’m going to
see if I can get a look at one of them. How about you, Nancy?”

  “I’m going to take a kayak out to one of th—” I broke off midsentence. I could not believe my eyes. Bess and George looked at me in confusion for a second, and then they saw it too.

  “Wow!”

  Standing in front of us, holding a sign with our names on it, was a beautiful surfer boy with long black dreadlocks. He was barefoot, tan, and wearing a necklace made of seashells, and was grinning from ear to ear.

  “G’day,” he said. “I’m Thatcher. You wouldn’t happen t’be the three VIP guests Mr. Thorton asked me to wait for, would you now?”

  I could tell by his accent that Thatcher was from Australia—or maybe New Zealand. He cocked his head to the side, and his eyes twinkled in the sun. I could feel Bess melting—she has a thing for guys with accents.

  “I guess we would be,” she said.

  “Ace!” Thatcher said. “Hop in while I get my shoes on.”

  Behind him was a cherry red convertible with the top down and an all-white interior. A classic beach-movie car, the kind Marilyn Monroe or Lana Turner would have been driven around in. Bess let out a gasp—she also had a thing for nice cars. We all leaped in.

  We hadn’t gone very far before I noticed something strange. The car didn’t make any noise when we stopped at a light. No idling engine sounds, nothing. I wondered…

  “Thatcher, is this a hybrid-electric car?”

  “Yep. Mr. Thorton had a special fleet of them made for the Wetlands. The only hybrid convertibles in the country. How could you tell?”

  “I drive a hybrid car at home. It’s quiet, just like this one.”

  “You’re very observant.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled. Forget diamonds—good powers of observation are a girl detective’s best friend.

  Bess and Thatcher chatted about the beach the rest of the way to the hotel, and he offered to take her out surfing sometime. Guys are always offering to take Bess out. She has a way about her.

  When we finally arrived at the Wetlands, it was ten times as beautiful as the photos in the brochure. The entire building was built out of recycled metals, and it glowed in the Florida sun. On one side it bordered the ocean and the beach, on the other side, the tip of the Everglades. The lobby had a fifty-foot ceiling, with a bamboo grove growing in the very middle of the room. Guests from all around the world lounged on sofas and chairs, dressed in bathing suits, saris, and skirts. Tropical birds flitted around the ceiling, and a butterfly nearly landed on George’s head as we stood waiting to check in.

  “Hi,” I said to the large man behind the counter. He was so tall, I nearly had to crane my neck to look him in the eye. “I’m Nancy Drew. I think I have a reservation.”

  “Ah yes, Ms. Drew, of course! We’ve been waiting for you. And your friends. I was told there were three of you, but Mr. Thorton did not warn me about how beautiful you all were.” He smiled, but it was one of those plastic smiles that adults give to small children. I thought he might have had a hint of an accent, but I couldn’t be sure.

  He shook each of our hands, called another person over to watch the front desk, and then motioned for us to follow him. We walked quickly to keep up with his long strides.

  “I am Andrew Nikitin, manager of the Wetlands. Mr. Thorton apologizes for not being able to meet you today, but he is away on business. He will be back in a few days. Until then, he asked me to be your personal guide. Allow me to show you to your room and give you a quick tour of some of the more unique aspects of our hotel.”

  Andrew seemed like a nice enough guy, if a little pretentious. He said everything in such a solemn manner, it was hard to take him seriously. I had to stifle a little laugh when he held open the elevator door and gave a slight bow as each of us walked in.

  The elevator was on the side of the building. It was encased entirely in glass, giving a great view of the resort and the surrounding area. You could see out across the water in both directions. The swamp looked dark and mysterious; the ocean sparkling and bright. I couldn’t wait to explore both!

  “As you can see,” Andrew started in, “the Wetlands is built in a hexagonal design, meant to bring to mind the hive of the honeybee, the most collaborative and highly evolved of all insects. The central courtyard area has a swimming pool, a natural hot spring, a one-point-two-mile-long jogging trail, and the Courtyard Café, which serves breakfast all day. I recommend the pecan waffles with our organic Wetlands brand honey on top. The second floor, which we are passing now, has our hundred-and-fifty-machine gymnasium, which is free for all guests. The third floor…”

  I tuned Andrew out, preferring just to stare out the window at the beautiful courtyard below. It was full of people laughing, swimming, and enjoying the sun. The Wetlands seemed like a magical place.

  Finally, the elevator reached the top floor. We stepped out into a small room with four doors, not the long hotel hallway I was expecting.

  “Mr. Thorton has placed the three of you in one of our unique penthouse suites. This particular suite is called Cloud Nine. I trust you will find it adequate to your needs.” With a flourish, he produced a gold card, which he held up to a sensor on the door immediately to our right. We heard the lock click open. Then he handed each of us a similar card.

  “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me.” He stepped back into the elevator and we entered our suite.

  Floor to ceiling, the room was painted to look like the sky. Watercolor clouds nestled against flocks of birds, and it was hard to tell where the walls ended and the windows began. In the center of the room hung a golden sphere with many metal bars coming off it, each tipped with a lightbulb. The sun! There were three doors leading out of the room. Each opened onto a separate bedroom and bathroom. Even the beds were made to look like giant fluffy clouds.

  “Nancy, have I told you how much I love your dad?” said George in awe.

  “Seriously!” Bess added.

  Our bags were already there waiting for us, with a note from Thatcher telling Bess to join him down on the beach after we settled in. We made a plan to meet back up at the Courtyard Café for dinner, then changed into our bathing suits (and our matching sunglasses, of course) and headed out.

  In the lobby, we split up. Bess went down toward the beach, while George and I headed off toward the swamp. A sign explained that the hover boats were restricted to an area where the ecosystem was not quite as fragile and could handle motorized vehicles, while the kayaks were for exploring the deeper, more secluded parts of the Everglades. Proper safety equipment, including a life jacket and an emergency walkie-talkie, was required at all times. If you wanted to use one of the hover boats, you had to take a lesson first. George and I said good-bye, then she went down to the hover boat area directly below the hotel, looking to find one of the boat instructors, and I left the hotel and headed out to the kayak dock.

  It was a quick walk. Within ten minutes, I was deep in the wilderness. Inside the swamp the temperature was cooler, and I got goose bumps along my arms. It was quiet and dark. The dense underbrush blocked out the noise from the nearby resort, and the hanging Spanish moss made the area both spooky and beautiful. The songs of hidden birds filled the air.

  The kayaks were tied up to pylons in the water, with paddles and life vests waiting inside. Some were built for two people and some were built for solo rides. I looked around for an instructor, but the area was empty. I climbed into a one-person kayak and tied the bright orange safety jacket over my swimsuit. With a quick push, I launched the kayak into the water.

  I went slowly at first. I’d used a kayak before, but not in a while, and I needed to relearn the rolling motion of paddling from side to side. Soon it came back to me though, and before long I was moving swiftly through the water, heading deeper into the swampland.

  I watched a white heron balancing on one leg, stabbing into the water with its beak, fishing for its dinner. I thought about what we’d seen of the Wetlands so far. Everything was so b
eautiful. All of the employees I’d met seemed open and friendly. I couldn’t imagine a more wonderful place to spend a week’s vacation. As soon as I got back to the hotel, I would call Dad and tell him all about it.

  The path of the water split in two in front of me, going to either side of a large island. I hesitated for a moment, trying to decide which way to go. Off to the left, I heard the telltale sound of another kayak, the splash-splash of paddles hitting the water. I rowed faster to try and catch up with them.

  As I got closer, I saw that there were, in fact, two kayaks ahead of me—one with two people and one solo. The two-person kayak was in front. Something about the people in it looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. They were two guys, teenagers (to judge from what I could see of them), one blond and one brunet. The other kayaker was a larger man with sandy brown hair and tanned skin.

  The solo kayaker began to paddle quickly forward. The two guys in front were obviously distracted, talking to each other. The second kayaker was directly behind them now. He lifted his paddle out of the water and put it back over his shoulder, as if it were an extra-long baseball bat. He swiveled a little in his seat, and I realized he was about to hit one of the boys in the other kayak in the head! With a heavy fiberglass paddle, a blow like that would surely be deadly.

  “Watch out!” I screamed.

  CHAPTER 4

  FRANK

  A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER

  A woman’s scream ripped through the air behind us, and both Joe and I leaped into action. Years of ATAC training had conditioned us to react quickly in an emergency.

  Joe spun around to the left. I spun around to the right. And the kayak spun around, sending us both into the thick black water of the swamp. As I descended deep into the muck, I heard a third splash somewhere behind us, which I guessed was Matthias. I made a mental note to recommend to Dad when I got back home that they give ATAC agents more aquatic training.