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The boss would not be happy. His little face would turn bright red and his teeth—oh, those horrible teeth—would glow. Then some horrible cage full of dangerous animals would be rolled out and he would be tossed inside to his doom. Simon had shoved the pizza delivery guy into the komodo dragon tank when he was five minutes late delivering the Crazy Bread.
Still, Albert couldn’t help but think his untimely death might be a blessing. He had more than his fair share of doubts about a world controlled by Simon. Mama had negotiated the partnership so that Albert would rule a little less than half of the planet, but most of it was ocean. He had never wanted to rule the world, not even half. All he wanted to do was be a hero. Dying might be a merciful substitute to living in a world he helped destroy.
“What’cha working on, honey?” Mama asked as she climbed up the rope ladder. The goon was behind her carrying a sack of groceries.
Albert shook his head. He didn’t trust his mother any more than he trusted the devil. “I was on a Captain America message board arguing about the Super-Soldier serum.”
Mama scowled. “Son, when you rule the world you can read all the fu
“Graphic novels!”
“Whatever you call them. You’ll have all the time in the world once you’re in charge. Until then, you really should be working on our doomsday device.”
Albert could see the hope in his mother’s eyes and it made him angry. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Mama, but there isn’t going to be a doomsday device.”
“Oh!” Simon said as he fell out of a branch above and landed on his feet. A half dozen of his furry friends followed. “And why is that?”
Albert gulped but stood his ground. “To operate the machine the way you’re hoping, we need processors and microchips.”
“They shouldn’t be difficult to acquire,” Simon said.
“We need millions of microchips,” he said.
Simon frowned. He seemed to understand that there would be no way to buy that many.
“We could make more of the smaller models,” Albert said, gesturing to a new one he had recently constructed.
“So I can rob banks?” Simon roared. “I am not a bank robber. I’m an evil genius. Evil geniuses take over the world. That’s what we do!”
Mama glared at Albert. “Young man, I’m disappointed.”
“Listen, maybe we can reconfigure something so it takes over the entire Internet,” Albert stammered.
“The Internet? Do you think I can bring the world to its knees by seizing control over a bunch of blogs about Twilight and cats playing the piano?” Simon sighed. “Friend, would you show Mr. Nesbitt the extent of my disappointment?”
The goon stepped forward, his hook gleaming in the sun.
“Wait!” Mama cried. “Why can’t we just make our own microchips? It might be a pain, but it could be done.”
“She’s right! Most computer chips are made from silicon,” Albert stammered. “But if we made the chips from gallium arsenide and arsenic we would need only a thousand or so. They could conduct the information the ray gun needs.”
“I’m aware of arsenic chips,” Simon said. “My former teammates have a supercomputer that uses them. They have a staff of scientists who make them.”
“So we’ll just get some of this gallium stuff and make our own too!” Mama declared.
Simon smiled. “Clever woman, your mother. Albert, where would we get those ingredients?”
Albert looked up at the goon’s hook. “I have no idea,” he said. “They’re both minerals. You’d need to find a huge deposit of them.”
“I know where you can get this arsenic stuff,” Mama said.
“Albert’s father, bless his soul, took me on a vacation to Hawaii. While we were there we went on a tour of the volcano they have on the Big Island. The tour guide said it was a natural arsenic source.”
Simon looked skeptical. “And where would we manufacture the chips?”
“That will be easy. I know of several shady factories in New Jersey that can process them with . . . enough pressure exerted in the right place,” the goon said.
“See what a great team we are?” Mama said. “Problem solved.”
“Should I pack your grass skirt, boss?” the goon asked.
YOU ARE BECOMING QUITE
THE CODE CRACKER. EVERYONE
IS IMPRESSED . . . EXCEPT
ME, OF COURSE. I STILL HAVE
SOME SERIOUS DOUBTS ABOUT
THE THING INSIDE YOUR HEAD
YOU CALL A BRAIN, BUT THE
PEOPLE IN CHARGE TELL ME
YOU HAVE A LOT OF POTENTIAL.
UNTIL I CAN CONVINCE THEM
OTHERWISE, I’M FORCED TO KEEP
YOUR TRAINING MOVING ALONG.
YOU MIGHT ACTUALLY MAKE IT
THROUGH MY RIGOROUS TESTS.
WE SHOULD PREPARE FOR THAT
HIGHLY UNLIKELY EVENT.
THE NEXT CODE IS SO
SIMPLE, YOU’LL WONDER HOW
ANYONE COULD BE FOOLED
BY IT, BUT TRUST ME, KID,
LOTS OF PEOPLE HAVE BEEN.
IT’S CALLED A TRANSCRIPTION
ROUTE CODE, AND EVERY GOOD
SPY KNOWS HOW TO DECIPHER IT.
FIRST YOU NEED A MESSAGE THAT
CONTAINS THIRTY LETTERS, LIKE:
BEANPOLE WAS THE
GREATEST NERD EVER.
(THIS, BY THE WAY, IS NO
SECRET.) NOW, TO PUT IT INTO
A ROUTE CODE, FIRST
TAKE OUT THE SPACES:
BEANPOLEWASTHEGREATESTNERDEVER
THEN ESTABLISH A
ROUTE TO READ IT:
S E T A E R
T L O P N G
N E B E A E
E W A S T H
R D E V E R
YOU CAN SEE THE “B” NEAR THE
CENTER. READ TO THE RIGHT LIKE
YOU’RE RUNNING A MAZE, THEN UP,
THEN TO THE LEFT, THEN DOWN,
AROUND AND AROUND UNTIL