Free The Boston Breakout by Roy Macgregor Page B

“Michael is the saint who’s supposed to weigh the souls on Judgment Day and decide who was good and who was evil.St. Francis was devoted to him and asked his followers to pray to St. Michael so they’d be ready for Judgment Day.”
    “Sounds weird,” Travis said.
    “Not to lots of people,” said Sarah. “My grandmother has a calendar with all the saints’ days marked.”
    “But
this
is weird,” said Travis. “Put it all together. We know about her ‘Free the Penguins’ demand. But her texts talk about Judgment Day, say everything has been arranged, and even mention an alarm. They are planning something, aren’t they?”
    Sarah turned to Sam. “Are they?”
    Sam’s lip quivered. She had tears in her eyes again. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t! I like Frances a lot and believe in her cause – but this scares me.”
    “Me, too,” said Travis.
    “What do we do?” asked Sarah.
    “What
can
we do?” Travis answered. “There’s nothing here but talk. No one would listen to us. I say we go to the aquarium early and see if this is really the day they do the census.”
    “Maybe we can slip out right after breakfast,” said Sarah. “We don’t play until the afternoon.”
    “Okay. Just the three of us,” said Travis. “If we see her and her group, and if we find out today’s the day they do the census, we’d better tell someone.”
    “But tell them what?” said Sarah.
    “Exactly,” said Travis. “Which is why we’d better check things out before we make fools of ourselves. These texts are probably just gibberish.”
    “Or maybe not,” said Sam. She started shaking again.

17
    I mmediately after breakfast, Travis, Sarah, and Sam slipped away. It wasn’t difficult. Nish was telling a bunch of the other Owls that he and Data had a new invention: a hockey bag on wheels that you ran by remote control. Sarah didn’t even waste time rolling her eyes as she hurried to the revolving doors on the side of the hotel closest to the New England Aquarium.
    It was already 9:00 a.m., and the ticket line was lengthy. It was still the height of tourist seasonin Boston. A juggler was performing on the boardwalk, surrounded by a large group of tourists who frequently applauded, but nowhere else could the three Owls see any sort of gathering.
    They quickly rounded the back of the aquarium. Nothing there, either. Frances Assisi’s text had said nothing about a specific place, just that they should meet at 9:00 a.m. sharp – that “arrangements” had been made.
    They lined up for tickets. The line moved slowly, and Travis was glad of the distraction of the juggler. The juggler was extremely talented, but Travis could think of nothing but those cryptic messages received by Sam. What did they all mean? What was Judgment Day?
    “We’re next,” Sarah said. She sounded out of breath, though for fifteen minutes they’d been almost standing still as the tourists – many of them in large groups – picked up their tickets.
    “We’re also late!” said Sam, who’d been growing ever more nervous.
    “But for
what
?” Travis reminded them.
    “Maybe nothing,” said Sam. “I hope nothing.”
    So did Travis. From the moment he had met her, he hadn’t liked this Frances woman. He didn’t like the way she spoke to them, as if she was talking to people who weren’t very bright and needed everything carefully explained. He didn’t like the way she seemed to manipulate Sam, who had simply shown a love for the little penguins and now wouldn’t eat meat of any sort and preached to the other Owls about animal cruelty. And he particularly didn’t like the way Frances smiled with just her mouth while her eyes looked cold and cruel and calculating.
    “Let’s move it!” Sarah said, as she handed the tickets to her teammates. She turned and ran from the ticket booth to the aquarium’s front doors, skirting ahead of a few slow-moving tour groups.
    The three Owls were quickly inside.
    It seemed a normal day