Free Operation Sherlock by Bruce Coville Page B

getting wheels was sufficient reason to postpone starting Operation Sherlock.
    Despite the fact that they were all in high spirits, Trip seemed nervous as they walked along the island’s main road.
    â€œWhat’s bothering you, Highpockets?” asked Wendy after she had watched him slowly tear three large leaves into tiny shreds.
    The tall boy grimaced. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get my parents’ permission to use the dune buggies.”
    â€œWhy not?” asked Ray. “It’s not like there’s a lot of traffic here!”
    â€œThat’s not the problem,” said Trip. “They just don’t like cars very much. Or any kind of personal vehicle for that matter.”
    â€œWell, I can see their point,” said Rachel. “But they must be reasonable about it. I mean, you had a car back in Philadelphia, didn’t you?”
    Trip shook his head.
    â€œThat’s not unusual,” said Ray. “Lots of people in Manhattan don’t own cars. It’s just too much hassle in the city.”
    â€œYeah,” said Trip. “But at least most of them know how to drive. My father doesn’t even have a license! He thinks private vehicles are immoral.”
    â€œBoy, he should talk to my parents,” said Wendy. “One of their conditions for coming here was that Dr. Hwa let them bring their Volkswagen.”
    â€œAre you serious?” asked Rachel. “You’ve got a car here?”
    Wendy nodded. “I think they have some sort of emotional attachment to the thing.”
    â€œWell, I don’t think it would do any good for Dad to talk to them,” said Trip. “He’d probably just offend them by calling their car an agent of environmental destruction.”
    Roger gave a low whistle. “Must be rough living with an artist.”
    â€œDad’s great,” said Trip defensively. “He’s just a little—different. Anyway, it won’t hurt for me to come along for the training. Even if I can’t get permission to drive, I can probably ride around with you guys.”
    The motor pool was located in a long, low building at the south end of the island. Though they had expected to get their training from one of the mechanics, Henry Swenson himself greeted them at the door.
    â€œJust in time,” he said, wiping his hands on an oily rag. “Another ten minutes and I would have been gone.” He examined the five youngsters with a skeptical eye. “I should probably have my head examined for doing this. But Dr. Hwa is dead set on making you kids happy. So—you get to use the dune buggies. The man moves fast when he wants something; he already has written permission from all your parents.”
    â€œAll right!” cried Trip, startling Mr. Swenson with his enthusiasm.
    The others smiled. They were beginning to decide that however angry they might be with Dr. Hwa for dragging them to Anza-bora, he was basically a decent guy.
    â€œThis way,” said Mr. Swenson, heading toward the back of the building.
    When they reached the area where the dune buggies were housed a murmur of excitement rippled through the gang. The sleek little machines were beautiful. It was obvious that they had been maintained with loving care.
    â€œFirst rule,” said Mr. Swenson. “They go out spotless, they come back spotless. My men don’t have time to clean up after you. You’ll find hoses, soap, and buckets in the storage section over there.”
    Rachel made a mental note of the spot.
    â€œNow, gather round while I give you an orientation to these things.”
    He popped behind the wheel of the closest buggy. The kids crowded in close so they could watch as he pointed out the controls and explained their uses.
    â€œI’m going to take you out one by one to give you some personal instruction before I let you take the wheel. You can’t do much damage—we’ll be riding on