Heathcliff smiled. “Lead the way.”

It was late, and the restaurant was closed. The team members were busy working on the various arcade games scattered about the room. Flinch was completely hypnotized by a game called Dig Dug, while Matilda was at a game called Donkey Kong.

“Glad you could join us,” the principal told Heathcliff as he stuffed a fistful of gold tokens into his hand.

Heathcliff found a console called Joust that appeared to be a nonsensical game where knights rode flying ostriches over a river of lava. He sank a coin into the slot and a green light appeared on the screen. Instinctively, he placed his hand on it.

The game vanished, replaced by a list of the computer’s applications. He scanned the list line by line. The game had the most advanced Web-browsing program he had ever seen. He could read through classified materials from the CIA, the FBI, the IRS, and something called Project Blue Book. He could use facial recognition technology, every satellite circling the world, the Hubble Space Telescope, and the onboard computers of the International Space Station. The list went on and on, and for the first time since he had awakened without his memories he felt like a spy—a real spy!

“What’s our priority?” Heathcliff asked.

“We have to find Miss Information,” Ruby said. “She’s within a hundred miles of the White House.”

“How do you know that?”

“I did some calculations on that flying bus of hers. A machine that size and shape could only hold so much fuel. They could get about five hundred miles out of it, assuming it flies as fast as a passenger plane.”

“They flew west, too. I’ve been searching satellites for an appropriate landing site,” Duncan said.

“There’s an easier way to track them,” Heathcliff said. He called them over to his game, where he’d accessed a government weather-tracking site. “We can track their exhaust. The fumes left behind will stay in the air for at least a day afterward.”

He showed them a satellite image of Washington, D.C., at the time of the attack, then ran it through a pollution filter until a green band crossed from one side of the screen to the other.

“Like a trail of bread crumbs,” he said. “We need a higher-res picture, but once I get that, this will tell us exactly where the ship went.”

The principal nodded. “That’s good work, Hodges. Keep us in the loop.”

Heathcliff’s proud grin felt like it was stretching his face so wide it might not return to normal.

“If you find her, we can go home,” Duncan said.

“Who wants to go home?” Flinch cried while munching on cold pizza.

“I’ll automate the search. If we’re lucky, we might have an address by tomorrow morning,” Heathcliff said. “What else can I do?”

The principal smiled. “You can help Ruby with surveillance. Miss Information and Tessa must have been captured on video somewhere. It might help us narrow down their location faster.”

“And what are you going to do, boss?” Matilda said.

“I’m going to make some calls. You and your families are going to need new identities. I have friends in the FBI who will do me some favors.”

Heathcliff took a chair and sat next to Ruby, who was busy on a Ms. Pac-Man machine. “Thanks,” he said.

Ruby cringed. “For?”

“Letting me help. Most of the time you guys won’t even look at me. Nice to know I’m not invisible.”

“You’re not invisible,” Ruby said.

“Are you OK? You look worried.”

“I’ve decided not to tell my parents where I am. It’s going to hurt them a lot, but it’s going to keep them safe, too. I feel terrible,” she said as she flipped through several screens of footage.

“I’m sorry,” Heathcliff said. “Families are important, and it’s hard when you can’t protect them. Especially from something you’re responsible for.”

Ruby looked at him suspiciously. “Jackson told you what you did?”

He shook his head. “No, but I know it was something bad.”

He silently prayed that she would deny it, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned her attention back to the screen.

“Are you monitoring wiretaps, too—you know, cell phone chatter?”

“Yes, and I haven’t heard a peep,” she said. “But I suspect Ms. Holiday’s too smart to use a phone.”

“You’re probably right,” Heathcliff said. There were so many cameras to monitor. It was like trying to find a specific seashell on a beach. “I can make an adjustment that will make all of this much easier.”

Ruby stepped back and let him work. Heathcliff pushed buttons so furiously the game rattled. Being a part of the team again gave him a joy and excitement that made him feel like a pot boiling over with water. When he was finished, the screen had three images on it: Ms. Holiday, with and without the mask, and Tessa Lipton.

“This surveillance program has facial recognition, but it’s sort of lame.”

“It’s state-of-the-art,” Ruby objected.

“I’d hardly call what it does ‘art.’ It takes six facial features and tries to pinpoint them from grainy video. I’m stunned it ever works. I increased its parameters and now it’s searching for one hundred fifteen thousand different elements, as well as vocal cues. I’m accessing Ms. Holiday’s employee files so we can add in her favorite foods, authors, television shows, actors, whatever. We can link these things to the search and cross-reference receipts from every purchase in the world. Getting more detailed actually makes it simpler. Tessa Lipton is even easier. She’s famous. Sooner or later they are going to be seen. They’re girls.”

“So?”

“Girls like to shop.”

“That’s sort of offensive,” Ruby grumbled. “And not true! Not every girl in the world likes to shop.”

“Not every girl. But those two? Absolutely. Ms. Holiday never wore a cardigan twice, and from what I’ve read, Tessa has a thing for high-end fashion,” Heathcliff said.

“You’ve read that Tessa Lipton likes fashion? Where?”

“In People magazine.”

“When do you read People magazine?”

“I’ve been locked up without much to do for three months. I’d read Ladies’ Home Journal if you gave me a copy. There are a few other things we can add to the search, too,” Heathcliff continued as he jammed the joystick back and forth. “Why just video? We can add newspapers, magazines, and social media sites. Our targets could appear in the background of someone else’s photos and this ‘state-of-the-art’ program wouldn’t catch it.”

“I think you’re going a bit overboard,” Ruby said, nudging the boy aside. He could tell he was making her uncomfortable. She still didn’t trust him.

Suddenly, there was an alert and an image appeared on the screen.

“We’ve got a hit!” Ruby said.

It was a black-and-white newspaper photograph of a car crash on a street across town. In the background, they could see Ms. Holiday in her mask, along with Tessa and the rest of the kids who had attacked them the day before.

“They caused some kind of accident,” Heathcliff said. “But wait—this can’t be right. This newspaper article is decades old.”

Ruby glanced at the newspaper’s masthead. It was published August 16, 1987—more than twenty-five years ago.

“I don’t understand. The hard drive should have no problems with this,” Heathcliff said defensively.

“Well, whatever you did is making it screwy,” Ruby said. “Is this one of your schemes?”

“Schemes?” Heathcliff said.

Ruby eyed him closely. “Never mind,” she said as she jumped up from her chair. “I need something to eat.”

Heathcliff’s heart sank. So much for being a member of the team.

If it weren’t for Loudmouth, the BULLIES’ trip through time would have been cut very short and had an extremely painful ending. When they were jerked out of the time stream, they found themselves in the middle of the street with a bus barreling down on them. Tammy huffed and puffed, ranting about boys not liking girls with glasses and overdue library books. Her voice slammed into the bus, bringing it to a violent stop.