“Get out!” Jax bellowed at the driver.
The sanitation worker slithered out the window of the cab and hit the street running.
There was a strangely quiet click as the mechanism holding the wrecking ball in place let go.
Jax turned to Braintree, his face ghostly white. “Axel —”
There was no time left, not even for last words.
With surprising strength, Braintree pushed Jax down to the floor of the cab, and threw himself on top of him.
Two tons of solid steel dropped from the boom of the crane onto the cab.
Jax knew a devastating impact, followed by darkness.
The flash was brilliant, like a supernova. Jax squeezed his eyes shut, but the light reached him anyway. Another burst went off, followed by another — steady staccato flares.
What’s going on?
The smell was next.
Garbage?
Then the sounds — voices, traffic, noises of the city.
New York?
He forced his eyelids open and found himself staring directly into the flasher of a parked police cruiser. It all came back to him — Quackenbush’s death. Sentia. The kidnapped sandmen. The chase. He was on Lexington Avenue — actually on it, sitting on the pavement. The street was cordoned off, and officers were diverting traffic. Trash was everywhere. There was the garbage truck, its cab flattened as if some evil giant had stomped on it.
The wrecking ball!
“Axel?”
Jax leaped to his feet, and was immediately yanked back down again, a sharp pain exploding in his wrist. He was handcuffed to somebody — a tall man in a rumpled suit.
“Easy, son,” said Special Agent Frobisher. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.”
“Where’s Axel Braintree?” Jax demanded, looking around frantically. “He was in the truck with me! An old guy with long gray hair!”
“He saved your life,” Frobisher said gently.
“Where is he? I have to talk to him!”
The FBI man glanced over to a black NYPD van, where two attendants were placing a body bag into the cargo hold.
“I’m sorry, Jackson. Your friend didn’t make it.”
The world blurred. Not just from the tears that filled Jax’s eyes, but from the crushing mass of his guilt.
Axel wouldn’t have come to New York if I hadn’t gone to Sentia. This is my fault!
His grief was paralyzing. Braintree had never shown him anything but loyalty, kindness, and support. He had dropped everything to help the Opuses go into hiding. He had stuck with them, even when his sandmen had begun disappearing. He had come to rescue Jax, understanding full well that he’d be putting himself in danger. And, at the last moment, knowing that a two-ton wrecking ball was about to descend on them, he had placed himself between Jax and certain death.
He ran his sleeve over his eyes, and the scene around him came back into focus. There, in the back of a squad car, was an all-too-familiar Roman nose and shock of black hair. It was Mako, in handcuffs.
“He did it!” Jax exploded, the poison in his voice surprising even him. “He killed Axel! I’ll testify against him in court! I saw the whole thing!”
“Relax,” Frobisher soothed. “NYPD has him. He won’t get away with anything.”
“Yes, he will!” Jax insisted. “He can hypnotize people and make them do whatever he wants!”
Frobisher cast him a long, searching look. “I’ve heard that about somebody else.” He reached into his suit pocket, took out a piece of paper, and unfolded it. It was the screenshot from the video virus.
For the first time, Jax had a sense that something might be going on beyond the mayhem on the street that had killed his mentor. “Are you a police officer?”
Frobisher flashed his ID. “Special Agent Frobisher, FBI. I investigate cyber crimes. So why don’t you tell me about this picture.”
Jax’s eyes traveled to the police wagon where Braintree’s body lay. Axel had always been his guide for situations like this. He would have known what to say.
Jax couldn’t believe he would never hear that peculiar wisdom again.
“I want to phone my parents.”
“You will,” Frobisher assured him. “But first I need to know about that video you made.”
“Not until I talk to my parents.”
The agent pressed harder. “Have you ever heard of election tampering? It’s a federal crime, and your face is all over the evidence. You have to explain your side of the story, or you could be my age by the time you get out of prison.”
Jax bristled. “Do you think you can scare me? Where did you just find me? Under a two-ton wrecking ball dropped by somebody who wanted me dead! And my friend …” He was blubbering now, the tears returning in force. “My very good friend is dead! I’ll — I’ll have to live with that! Forever!” He steeled himself and fairly spat the rest. “So take your best shot!”
Frobisher was momentarily silenced by this speech, amazed by the bitterness of Jax’s emotions. As he fumbled for his next words, a police lieutenant approached and announced, “Sorry, Frobisher, we have to take the boy.”
“What are you talking about?” the FBI man exploded. “He’s my suspect! This is a federal investigation!”
The lieutenant shrugged. “This comes straight from the commissioner. The military wants to talk to the kid.”
Jax was alarmed. “The military? What does the military want with me?”
“All I know is they flew a brass hat up from the Pentagon just for this.”
Frobisher was sullen as he unlocked the handcuffs. “What about my case?”
“Take it up with the army,” the lieutenant suggested. “But be careful. They’ve got bigger guns than we do.”
A squad car drove Jax to the Nineteenth Precinct house, where a desk sergeant escorted him down a long corridor into the depths of the building. Passing cops raked him with their eyes. He tried to read their expressions. Was it sympathy? Curiosity? Accusation? In the past few hours, he had lost Avery Quackenbush and Axel Braintree. In a way, he’d lost Liam, too — not that Liam had ever existed. He’d been captured by Mako, picked up by the FBI, but somehow, that was not enough for one day! No. A final plot twist still awaited him at the end of this hall.
The desk sergeant opened the door and ushered him inside. Standing at the far end of the gray concrete room, wringing their hands with worry, were his parents.
He ran to them, literally threw himself at them. He was so relieved to see them at last that it released all his pent-up emotion.
“Mom, Dad, Axel’s dead!”
“We heard, Jax,” his father said in a husky voice. “We’re so sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too! Mako got into my head! He had me thinking all kinds of crazy things, and I blamed you!”
His mother hugged him. “Never mind about that. We’re just happy you’re safe.”
“I don’t even know what safe means anymore!” Jax said helplessly. “The FBI knows about me! And what about Sentia? Mako’s caught, but what if he bends his way out of it?”
“You don’t have to concern yourself with any of that anymore,” put in a gruff voice behind them. “As of now, you’re in the custody and protection of the United States military.”
Jax wheeled to stare at the fourth occupant of the room, a uniformed army officer with a buzz cut, ramrod-straight posture, and the silver eagle of a full colonel on his uniform.
“ ‘Custody and protection’?” Jax repeated. “What’s going to happen to us?”
The colonel tried to appear reassuring, which only made him look scarier. “Well, for starters, your life is about to change.”
Every time Felicity Green passed the house on Gardenia Street, the FOR RENT sign made her frown.
Why would a family just up and move without so much as a good-bye to anybody? One day, Jack, his parents, and that weird uncle were settled in and making their lives here in Haywood; the next, they were gone without a trace, no forwarding addres
s, nothing. What kind of people would do that? She’d thought she and Jack were good friends.
It had happened on the same day as that spooky experience — when Felicity had woken up in New York with no idea how she’d gotten there. A temporary blackout, their pediatrician had called it. Scary, but there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. She’d been anxious to tell Jack about it, to see what he thought. But by the time she’d arrived home, the Magnus house was empty.
Too bad. Somehow, she had a feeling he was the kind of person who’d understand.
GORDON KORMAN is the #1 bestselling author of four books in The 39 Clues series as well as six books in his Swindle series: Swindle, Zoobreak, Framed, Showoff, Hideout, and Jackpot. His other books include This Can’t Be Happening at Macdonald Hall! (published when he was fourteen); The Toilet Paper Tigers; the trilogies Island, Everest, Dive, Kidnapped, and Titanic; and the series On the Run. He lives in New York with his family and can be found on the web at www.gordonkorman.com.
Look for more action and humor from
GORDON KORMAN
The Hypnotists
The Swindle series
Swindle
Zoobreak
Framed
Showoff
Hideout
Jackpot
The Titanic trilogy
The Kidnapped trilogy
The On the Run series
The Dive trilogy
The Everest trilogy
The Island trilogy
Radio Fifth Grade
The Toilet Paper Tigers
The Chicken Doesn’t Skate
This Can’t Be Happening at Macdonald Hall!
Copyright © 2014 by Gordon Korman
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Korman, Gordon, author.
Memory maze / Gordon Korman. — First edition.
pages cm. — (The hypnotists ; book #2)
Summary: Jackson Opus and his family have been forced into hiding because his identity as a powerful young hypnotist has been leaked out — but his enemy Dr. Mako is still out to find him to use his mesmerizing skills for evil purposes.
ISBN 978-0-545-50329-7 (jacketed hardcover) 1. Hypnotism — Juvenile fiction. 2. Mesmerism — Juvenile fiction. 3. Identity (Psychology) — Juvenile fiction. 4. Paranormal fiction. [1. Hypnotism — Fiction. 2. Mesmerism — Fiction. 3. Identity — Fiction. 4. Supernatural — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.K8369Mg 2014
[Fic] — dc23
2013032043
First edition, August 2014
Cover illustration by Tim O’Brien
Cover design by Nina Goffi
e-ISBN 978-0-545-50333-4
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Gordon Korman, Memory Maze
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