Kingdom Keepers V(48)
“You there!” called out one of the security men to the boys.
“Who else?” Philby said, indicating it was only him and Finn standing there.
Finn waved. “Hey!” He looked down, making sure his red VIP lanyard and special Captain Mickey key card showed in the lanyard’s plastic sleeve.
The security guy knew his stuff. He appraised Finn’s credentials from a distance and altered his tone of voice from accusatory to cooperative.
“Welcome aboard!” the man said. “Anything we can help with?”
The other security guy approached the studio door and pulled, ensuring it was locked. He then unlocked it and went inside.
“I was scheduled for a radio interview,” Finn said. “I’m DHI. A guest—”
“A Kingdom Keeper. Yeah. I know,” interrupted the big man. “We’ve all been looking forward to this cruise.”
The men shook hands with both boys.
“If you need anything,” the security man offered, “it’s Steven.”
“Absolutely,” Finn said.
“I hope they give you time so as you can enjoy the cruise,” said the other.
“No doubt!” Finn said.
The security men indicated the stairs and followed the boys down.
* * *
At nearly the same moment, Maybeck, Willa, and Charlene, all in their staterooms with a parent (or in Maybeck’s case, his aunt), switched out their Captain Mickey room keys and red VIP lanyards for Cast Member identification cards and blue employee lanyards. Wayne had supplied the fake IDs. Maybeck and Charlene could easily pass as eighteen-year-olds, the minimum age requirement for Cast Members. Willa was borderline. Because of this she added a minor amount of makeup, giving herself the few years she needed.
Using a Dream brochure, Philby had tutored and quizzed all the Keepers about the physical layout of the ship, its decks, pools, hallways, restaurants, stairwells, elevators, theaters, staterooms, cafés, bars, and the spa. He’d built a virtual Dream simulator on his laptop—he would flash an animation of a particular hallway or atrium or balcony and ask a Keeper to name exactly where it was. He repeated the exercise with each kid until they had the drill perfected. There could be no second-guessing if trouble erupted; the Keepers had to be able to move quickly and confidently through the floating labyrinth.
Maybeck caught a glimpse of Willa descending below him on the mid-deck stairwell. He slowed, not wanting to arrive to Cast Member laundry at the same time she did. Everything they were about to do had been carefully planned and rehearsed. The Keepers were like a SWAT team, each performing specific duties to infiltrate the ship and ferret out the Overtakers, if present, all the while appearing to be five VIP kids enjoying a two-week cruise with passage through the Panama Canal.
Willa arrived at the Deck 1 landing of the ship’s central staircase and turned toward the double doors she knew to be the entrance to I-95—the administration offices and crew members’ central corridor on the port side of the Dream. She could not appear to hesitate. She strode to the doors, leaned into the sensor close enough for her card to read, and heard the latch free up. As instructed, she pulled open the left door, blessing Philby with each step.
The I-95 corridor was a surprise at first. It lacked the plush appointments of the guest areas of the ship. Instead it was an incredibly long stretch of pale gray vinyl flooring and hard, steel walls painted enamel white, with pipes and wires running overhead, all brightly lit. Here and there the walls were interrupted by a bulletin board or a safety poster. Doors—so many doors—leading off both sides, some marked by overhead exit signs, others carrying titles like Safety Officer, Human Resources, and Medical. Willa joined the other crew and Cast Members, her head slightly down in hopes no one would recognize her.
She turned left at the first overhead exit sign and descended a steep, ladderlike gleaming white stairway. She passed bigger pipes and valves and fire-fighting boxes and more safety posters. Now a floor below sea level, she turned toward the laundry. Fifth door on the right.
She turned into the open door and stopped at the counter where an Indian Cast Member wearing a head scarf manned a computer terminal.
“Yes?” the woman said.
“Sarah Sandler,” Willa said, using the name on her Cast Member ID.
The woman typed busily, ran a fingernail along the screen, then turned and disappeared into racks of vertical shelving, returning a minute later with some clothes on hangers. Willa thanked her, accepting the galley uniform—the clothes of a kitchen worker. She went down a hall and into a women’s locker room. She found a locker with a key, changed into the uniform, and locked her belongings away. She let out a deep sigh, letting go of the stress of the past few minutes. Now she’d be looking over her shoulder for Maybeck.