En route to downtown Ferdinand, MO
Saturday, August 7, 1971
Day – 11,105

Since the first day of school was the following Wednesday, Mrs. Sutterfield had sent the men in her life to run errands and buy school clothes for Daniel.

Now that I'm thirteen and starting eighth grade, Mom said I'm too old for her to pick out my clothing… but I'm not old enough yet to choose for myself… maybe I should find a part-time job so I can buy what I want to wear….

Current fashion was a sticking point between Daniel and his parents.

They want me to be look like everyone else… right now, that's bell-bottoms, polo shirts, and penny loafers with no pennies… it changes every few months… I want to wear slacks, starch in my shirts, and ties… school is my work and I want to look professional... sure, I get some kidding, but everyone knows I'm a geek so no one really cares if I dress the part… but Mom and Dad want me to fit in… it's part of the protective coloration required for Midwestern spy families….

Daniel spent the first few minutes of the drive into town wondering when his father would start another round in the flared jeans argument. To his surprise, Mr. Sutterfield instead complimented him.

"I heard from Mr. Lukin last night," he told Daniel. "He said the top man on the Committee's totem pole, the one you called 'the root node,' was very impressed with the communication structure you thought up for foreign agents."

Daniel grinned at the praise.

All I did was devise a better reporting structure… I hated to point it out, but Mr. Lukin and his people—and that includes Mom and Dad—are acting more like a family than a spy network… dropping by for dinner, cook-outs in the backyard… I know we have to blend in and act like average suburbanites, but everyone knows everyone else… if an agent were caught, the entire organization could be compromised… the Committee needs to switch to a compartmentalized structure—one that permits agents to communicate without unnecessary risk... one that has a way to route emergency contact around compromised agents… I devised a network of interlinked cells that will provide both security and flexibility… it's based on open pyramids of tetrahedrons….

"That's great, Da—"

His voice cracked on the "Dad." Daniel clamped his mouth shut. Mr. Sutterfield chuckled.

"Told you that was coming," he said. "First you outgrow your clothes, then your voice changes, then you sprout facial hair and have to spend the rest of your life shaving."

Daniel felt his face warm.

I wish that was all there was to it… my voice and body changing and the dreams—they're getting really strange… and it's a good thing Mom taught me how to do my own laundry… I'd hate for her to see my bed linen….

"Don't worry too much about it," his father continued. "Half the human race goes through what you're going through. They survive it, and so will you."

Daniel swallowed before speaking in the hope that it would help.

"Okay, Dad. I'll try not to."

"I know we've been over this subject a few times, but I'm here if you have any questions or just want to gripe about not being born a girl."

Daniel shook his head so hard his glasses bounced.

"No way would I want to be a girl," he replied. "Shaving looks easy compared to what they have to do."

Not to mention they change more than boys do… not that I'm complaining… I saw Shelly Morrison last week at Pete's ball game… first time since school let out and wow—she looked hot….

The memory of Shelly, clad in hot pants and a rather tight olive green Hang Ten shirt, sitting in the bleachers two rows above Daniel triggered a number of physiological reactions, the least of which was extreme embarrassment.

Stop thinking about her… look out the window… talk to Dad… talk to him about… about… about what we were talking about….

"I'm glad the Committee liked my idea," he told his father. "I based it on the junctures of an open pyramid of tetrahedrons so it has the redundancies necessary for security. I know it will be a hassle to implement it, but compartmentalizing the agents this way is worth the additional security."

To Daniel's surprise, his father frowned before replying.

"I didn't say your system would be used," his father told him. "I said you impressed everyone with your work. That's no small feat, son."

"But, why not use it?"

"Because," his father replied, "restructuring the entire North American continent would not only be prohibitively expensive, it also would be a security risk in and of itself. Too many new phone numbers, too many people changing their habits and ways of doing business. We're better off hiding in plain sight, happy and lucky that the U.S. of A. has little to no interest in spying on its citizens."

Daniel slumped in his seat and folded his arms across his chest in a show of annoyance.

Stupid Committee… serve them right if the Feds busted a few of their agents—not Mom and Dad, of course… but they need to be shaken up… when I'm running my own company, I won't let my people get so sloppy… I'll run things efficiently…

His father's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"I know it stinks, Daniel. I can't count the number of good suggestions I've made in my life that were turned down. How about a treat to help the bad taste go away?"

Daniel sneered at the offer

First you're talking about me shaving—now, you're acting like a lollipop will make everything better… c'mon, Dad… I'm not a kid anymore….

He said nothing in reply. His father signaled a left turn onto Maple Avenue then he drove three more blocks before pulling into an open parking space on the street.

"We're here," he announced.

Daniel checked his surroundings, noting the shops on the street.

Lanie D's Ice Cream Shoppe… LaGrange Insurance Agency… Callie's Beauty Salon… Oxford Stationery Supply… across the street is Ferdinand Men's Shop, Oldham's Florist, and Bon Ton Beauty Parlor with Café d'Paris Bakery on the corner….I

Puzzled, he turned toward his father.

"I thought we were going to Penny's for school clothes."

His father undid his seat belt.

"We are, but Mr. Egorov is only open until noon today."

Daniel's head swiveled back to the tailor shop.

Ferdinand Men's Shop, A. Egorov, Proprietor… does that mean no bell-bottoms?

"After all," his father continued, "eighth grade is when you start going to school dances and other important functions. You'll need a suit."

Daniel hurried to get out of the car and into the store. Ferdinand Men's Shop was small, but well-furnished with racks of jackets and slacks awaiting their purchasers. One wall was devoted to shirting and accessories: belts, ties, suspenders, and pocket squares while a raised mirrored alcove at the back allowed the tailor to fit his customers while they watched him work his magic.

Turned out that Dad and Mr. Egorov knew each other… Dad greeted him in really bad Russian and Mr. Egorov told him in English to stop abusing his ears… when Dad introduced me, I gambled that the tailor and Dad were both Committee members and greeted him as 'Tavarishch.…'

"It's a good thing no one else is in the shop, young man," Mr. Egorov chided him. "However, you are correct; your father and I are poputchika, fellow travelers. Now, what may I do for you?"

What he did for me was a suit… it wasn't bespoke, but it was tailored to fit me—four feet, ten inches, ninety pounds… a charcoal gray solid with a two-button jacket in a very classic design… Mr. Egorov recommended I wear white Egyptian cotton long-sleeved dress shirts with it then he handed me a muted blue Paisley tie….

"A bit of color and pattern never hurts," he told Daniel, "and a nod to modern fashion tells the world you know what is current even if you don't care to follow trends. You wear this and even the most hippy-chick of girls will wink her eye at you."

Daniel blushed at the idea of girls noticing him. His father cleared his throat.

"Alexei, if you don't mind, I'd like those girls to hold off for a year or two."

"They will hold off," Mr. Egorov said with a smile at Daniel, "but only until next Saturday, when your son's suit will be ready. After that, I make no promises for his safety except to say that there are worse fates than being kissed to death."

It's a good thing Dad and left when we did… I felt like I was going to melt from embarrassment… but, I was getting a real suit—an adult suit… I told Dad how happy I was… and I told him how impressed I was by Mr. Egorov—he was precise, meticulous, and extremely knowledgeable….

"You should think about working for him," his father said as he and Daniel walked toward their car. "His son helps him now, but Sergei will be heading for college about the time you're old enough for a part-time job. Since Alexei likes you, and you like suits, it might be a good fit, so to speak."

"Okay, Dad. I'll do that."

Daniel expected they would next head to the department store for his school clothes...

I guess I can let Dad talk me into some jeans… it's the least I can do since he's getting me a suit and shirts and two ties….

… but Mr. Sutterfield stopped on the sidewalk before reaching the station wagon.

"I need a couple things from the hardware store," he told Daniel, "and it's gorgeous out today. How about a little Fox and Goose?"

Daniel greeted the suggestion with a grin.

We haven't played that game in months… Dad used it to teach me how to tail people and how to shake a tail… basically, the fox has to catch the goose before the goose gets to the goal… we started with the fox having to lay a hand on the goose like in Tag… when I got better at it, Dad changed the rules… now, the fox only has to see the goose… it makes it so much harder this way….

"Sure, Dad," he replied. "Can I be the goose?"

Mr. Sutterfield nodded.

"I'll close my eyes and count to twenty by hippotamuses then give you thirty minutes to get to Kinloch Hardware. If I spot you or if you're even a second late, I win."

"No way you're winning, Dad," Daniel told him.

The two synchronized their watches then Mr. Sutterfield counted down to the start of the game.

"… three, two, one—go!"

Daniel took off down Maple Avenue, hurrying past the first two shops then ducking into the third.

Lanie D's Ice Cream… the owner is Mr. Clemens, my assistant scout leader… his kids work the counter on the weekends… according to the rules, Dad has to stay between the starting point and the hardware store while I can go anywhere I want… I could even take a cab—if we had cabs here in Ferdinand, which we don't… the hardware store is six blocks away and it has two entrances—front and back… doesn't matter if he's inside or outside—Dad can't watch them both at once… all I have to do is see which door he's watching then avoid him and use the other one….

Daniel waved at Meg Clemens, a nine-grader who was best friends with Pete's sister Karen. She was scooping tangerine sherbet into a waffle cone for a customer.

"Dad and I are coming in later," he told her. "Can I use your restroom?"

Meg sighed as she reached for another scoop of sherbet.

"Sure," she said, "so long as you come back and buy something. You know the restroom is only for customers."

Daniel bit back a retort.

Bossy ninth-grader… Pete's sister is the same way….

After promising to return, Daniel bypassed the restrooms and opened the door to the back of the shop. No one was present to see him hurry through the rear exit to the alley beyond it.

Okay, now to double back so I can see which route Dad is taking….

He jogged to the end of the alley then turned left at First Street. Before he reached the corner at Maple Avenue, he paused to look through the display window of the bakery at the spot where the game had begun. Mr. Sutterfield was no longer on the sidewalk where Daniel had left him.

He's wearing a red Madras shirt and jeans… all I have to do is find him then stay out of his field of view….

No one matching his father's description was in sight. Daniel remained where he was, observing as people entered and exited the shops he could see.

There—a man stopped on his way into Tony's Barber shop… looks like he's talking to someone… now, he's gone inside, but no one has come out… maybe Dad is hiding there, waiting to see if I'll double back….

Daniel's suspicion paid off two minutes later when Mr. Sutterfield emerged from the doorway of the barber shop. The boy pressed himself against the bakery window, but his father turned left, the direction of the hardware store. He waited until his father had walked to the next intersection and turned left onto Oak Avenue before heading in that direction.

Following people is harder than it looks… you have to watch in case they turn around or stop… and you have to be aware of everyone else around you… I have to remember not to get distracted… losing my quarry is bad… running into someone is bad, too.…

Daniel turned the corner onto Oak Avenue, slowing his pace as he looked for a man in a red plaid shirt.

And I've lost him… better double-back and change direction… Dad could be lying in wait for me….

Daniel retraced his path to First Street then walked the five blocks to Sycamore Avenue, one block past the hardware store. There, he ducked behind a parked car, peering through its windows to survey the area.

The hardware store is behind Murphy's Auto Repair across the street… I don't see Dad, but I have eight minutes to figure out where he is and then around him and inside….

Murphy's Auto Repair was three doors from Daniel's hiding place; it shared the rear property line with Kinloch Hardware. Daniel made his way along the line of parked cars, casing each store front then pausing to make sure his father wasn't inside the repair shop's service bay.

Don't want any of the mechanics to see me, either… Dad might have asked them to look out for me… it's not in the rules, but it's not forbidden… sometimes Dad gets tricky….

No one at the repair shop was paying the boy any attention so Daniel quickly crossed Sycamore Avenue and headed for the outside back corner of the shop. From there, he saw the rear of Kinloch's, the chain-link fence that separated it from the auto repair, and a white Ford F600 wrecker backed against the fence.

I can use that truck for cover while I see if the coast is clear….

After another check of his surroundings, Daniel ran to the truck. He pressed himself against the truck's rear fender as he peered past its wrecker bar at his goal.

I can see into the two sheds that hold Kinloch's mulch and animal feed… no sign of Dad in either one… no sign of him by the back door… and he's not at the gate on Sixth Street… I think I'm good… all I have to do is jump the fence and head inside….

He grabbed the top of the fence and stuck his the toe of his sneaker through the mesh. Just as he was about to swing himself over the top, he heard a word that froze him on the fence.

"Gotcha."

Daniel twisted frantically as he sought his father's hiding place.

I can't see him… he's not in the shop… he's not on the other side of the fence… he's not—oh, crap….

There, not ten feet behind the boy, was Mr. Sutterfield, his head stuck through the open window of the truck cab. His wide grin made Daniel's loss that much more galling.

I didn't check to see if anyone was in the truck… I know better—which is what Dad's about to tell me….

"You should have looked in here, son," his father admonished him. "Always check the interior of vehicles. Someone may be hiding in a back seat or a truck cab."

Daniel groaned at the advice.

"I know, Dad. I know."

Mr. Sutterfield swung the driver's door open then he jumped out, giving a 'oof' as his feet hit the ground."I know you know, which is why you shouldn't have lost."

Daniel bore the criticism with good humor.

Can't say I don't deserve it… and it's a good thing this was only a game…

Residence of the Bennett Family
Sunday, August 8, 1971
Day – 11,104

Daniel and Pete were sitting on the grass, backs against the largest oak in the Bennett's backyard, its dappled shade and two large plastic tumblers filled with iced lemonade keeping the afternoon heat at bay.

We were comparing school clothes… Pete got new Levi's and some Izod shirts and a pair of cordovan penny loafers… I managed to convince Dad I didn't need new shoes yet, thus avoiding the dreaded slip-ons… as my penalty for losing at Fox and Goose, Dad bought me two pair of Wranglers, which he made me promise not to leave hanging in my closet—but he didn't say how often or how long I had to wear them… here's hoping I have P.E. first period so I can switch to slacks afterward….

"And," Daniel told his friend, "I got three pair of khaki slacks, a pair of running shoes and some sweats so I can practice for the cross-country try-outs, and a suit from the men's shop over on Maple."

Pete's look of dumbfounded shock bordered on jealousy.

"A real tailor-fitted suit? Hell, Mom bought my suit at Sears and she hemmed the slacks herself."

"Well, your mother can sew," Daniel noted. "I've never seen my mom with a needle. She takes the mending to the dry cleaners and has them do it."

"Yeah, I remember the job she did on your badge sash for our first court of honor. It was really gnarly."

"Yeah, I guess it was, but hey—she tried."Not wanting to say anything else against his mom, Daniel took a gulp of his lemonade and let silence signal the need for a new topic of conversation. After a minute and a swallow from his own glass, Pete changed the subject.

"Did I tell you my uncle Luke lives here now?"

Daniel shook his head.

"Yeah, he moved last month from Buffalo. He started a new job doing Braille proof-reading for a company that prints books for the blind."

"Your uncle's blind?"

"Has been all his life. Thing is, he asked me to help him with something and I'm not sure it's legal. Do you think you could go to his place with me tomorrow?"

Daniel stared at his friend.

"What kind of illegal?" he asked.

"Uh—"

Pete drew the single syllable out until he ran out of breath. Daniel leaned closer.

"Drugs? Stolen cars? Counterfeit Boy Scout badges?"

The joke broke Pete's tense mood. He broke into a grin then said, "No, nothing like that. Do you know that some people know how to make free long-distance calls?"

"No, but I bet I know how they do it," Daniel replied. "There's a set of twelve tones at that the phone company uses to control its switching equipment. If you know what those tones were, you probably could make the switching equipment do anything you wanted."

Daniel halted his explanation because Pete's mouth had dropped open.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Someday," Pete said with a smile. " I'm gonna stump you with a question. How do you know this?"

"Dad brought me a stack of old Bell System Technical Journals he'd gotten from someone at work. One of the articles was titled 'In-band Single-Frequency Signaling,' which explained how telephone calls are routed through Ma Bell's trunk lines. It didn't describe the frequency of the tones used so I couldn't try it for myself."

"Well, my uncle says there was a man he knew in Buffalo who would whistle into the phone then he could call anyone anywhere and he never got billed for the calls. He helped Uncle Luke call and talk to Dad on Sundays."

Pete looked over his shoulder at his house then he checked Daniel's house before lowering his voice.

"When he moved here, my uncle ordered a device that's supposed to make the same sort of free calls, but he said it's hard to use and poorly made. He wants me to help him make copies of it—sort of a 'build a better mousetrap and you'll make lots of money' deal. That's why I asked you. You know more about electronics than I do."

Daniel considered the idea while sipping his lemonade.

I can see why it's probably against the law—the phone company loses money every time their phone lines get hijacked like that… I should say 'No,' because Mom and Dad will freak if I get in trouble with the FBI again… but I'd like to know how if it's really possible to make free phone calls… Dad said the reason the Committee wouldn't implement my cell structure was the expense—too many new phone numbers… if we could use the phone lines for free, it would eliminate that objection….

He set his glass down, screwing it into the grass to keep it upright.

"Sure," he told Pete, "I'll go with you. Sounds like fun."

1251 Linden Avenue, Apartment 102
Monday, August 9, 1971
Day -11,103

1251 Linden was an old Victorian house that, judging from the four black mail boxes mounted by the ornate front door, had been divided into four apartments.

The driveway led to the rear of the building… Pete and I left our bikes at the side of the house… Apt. 102 had a covered porch and a set of French doors with a doorbell on the right of them…

Daniel took a canvas roll that held an assortment of screwdrivers and sockets from his bike bag.

Dad gave me that to hold my small tools… he prefers them to tool boxes—says they're quieter and easier to stash…

He followed Pete up the two steps to the porch. While Pete pushed the doorbell, Daniel peered through the panes of the French door.

One large room with a corner kitchenette... lots of windows on the right and left walls and two interior doors opposite me—bathroom and bedroom, maybe? Furniture was a couch that faced us and an easy chair that faced away from us… between the two was an end table without a lamp… near the kitchenette was a wooden table and four chairs… there were lots of bookcases filled with sets of books—they all looked taller than normal books… and there's a white cane leaning to my right inside the door….

At the doorbell's chime, someone rose from the easy chair.

"That's Uncle Luke," Pete whispered. "He's my dad's youngest brother."

Lucas Bennett was in his late twenties. His blond hair curled up on his shirt collar and the only sign of his blindness was a fixed, distant gaze that was heedless of whomever was addressing him. When he opened the door, he stared over the boys' heads as though expecting taller visitors.

"Talk to me," he said.

"It's me, Uncle Luke," Pete told him. "I brought my friend Daniel with me."

The young man tipped his head then smiled.

"Hello, nephew, Daniel. Come on in. You want some pop?"

He stepped back from the door, giving the two boys room walk past him. When both boys took him up on his offer, Mr. Bennett fetched cans of generic cola from his fridge while Daniel and Pete took their seats at the table.

"I'm told the windows let in plenty of sunlight," he replied, 'but I do have a flashlight if you need it."

"Thanks," Pete told him, "but we're fine."

"Did you tell your friend what I want to do?"

"I did," Pete replied. "Turns out Daniel knows a whole bunch about telephone switching because he reads tech journals for fun."

Daniel felt his cheeks warm as Mr. Bennett chuckled.

"I hope you read them for fun and for profit," he told Daniel.

He then returned to the kitchen counter to pick up a blue plastic box, which he set in between the boys before taking his seat. The box was the size of an large index card and just over two inches thick. Its face was covered with twelve push buttons set in four rows of three. Four screws, one in each corner of the plate with the buttons, held the box together. A foot of plastic-coated wire connected the box led to a metal disk that Daniel recognized as the speaker from a telephone handset.

"I ordered this," Mr. Bennett told the boys, "from a place out West. It works, but it's feels cheap—not well made."

Daniel picked up the box, holding it out so that Pete could also examine it.

"Somebody put it together with a hot screwdriver," Pete noted. "One of those screws is crooked."

Mr. Bennett nodded his agreement with his nephew's assessment.

"I felt that first thing," he said. "Can you open it up and see what the guts look like for me?"

Daniel untied his tool roll.

"All I can do is describe what's inside. I didn't bring a meter to test the components."

Mr. Bennett stared at Daniel for a moment.

"You know how to test circuitry?"

Daniel nodded. When Pete elbowed him in the arm, the boy realized his mistake. Before he could reply aloud, his friend spoke.

"Daniel's the smartest guy I know, Uncle Luke. He aces all the classes at school, and he has twice as many Scout badges as anyone in our troop. He knows German and French, he has his amateur radio license, he can develop photos, and he fixed Kathy's record player when Prince peed on it."

The man's 'hmm' sounded very impressed.

I guess, when what I can do is listed like that, it is impressive, but it's not that big a deal… it's thanks to Mom and Dad that I'm well-taught….

Daniel picked up a Phillips-head screwdriver.

Time to get to work….

"Would you like me," he asked, "to tell you what I'm doing as I do it?"

"That would be helpful."

"Okay."

As Pete watched and his uncle listened, Daniel removed the face of the box, exposing its guts: a circuit board with the twelve push buttons and an assortment of capacitors, diodes, and resistors. The ends of the telephone wire were attached to a capacitor and a ground. A nine-volt battery provided its power.

"I've taken the front off," he announced, "and I'm taking the circuit board out of the box."

Daniel used a flat-head screwdriver to lift the edge of the board. To his surprise, it was not attached and came out easily. He flipped it over to show Pete its underside.

Whoever assembled this should never be allowed within a mile of a soldering iron….

"You're right about the workmanship," he told Uncle Arthur. "Calling it crap is being polite."

For Pete's benefit, Daniel used his screwdriver as a pointer as he explained.

"The dull color on these solder cones means the solder never got hot enough to bond to the component leads. That means there's a chance those joints could fracture, making the component lose electrical contact. Now, on the underside—"

Daniel flipped the board over.

"There's a bluster in the board's surface by that through-hole. That's where the tip of the iron rested too long and overheated the pad."

"Is that bad?" Mr. Bennett asked.

"Yes, and it's proof that whoever made this is a cack-handed imbecile," Daniel replied.

Pete choked back a laugh.

"A what?"

"It's what my mom says when she sees bad workmanship," Daniel explained, "and when she thinks I'm not in hearing distance."

"If it's as bad as you say," Mr. Bennett noted, "then you're free to call him whatever you want. Is there anything else?"

Pete picked up the litany of problems from Daniel.

"There's something that might be old mayonnaise by that five–volt regulator. None of the leads are trimmed right, and the board should be fastened inside the box, not flopping around loose."

"It's clear that someone slapped this together," Daniel added. "May I asked what you paid for this?"

"One hundred and seventy, plus shipping and handling," Mr. Bennett replied.

Pete gasped.

"That's a lot of money, Uncle Luke."

It sure is—the average national weekly wage is only twice that…

Mr. Bennett folded his hands before him then he stared at the air above Daniel's head.

"That's why I expected a quality product. Even crooks should have some standards. Now, if you wanted to sell something like this, how would you build them?"

Daniel pondered the question for a moment then he replied, "First of all, I'd dig out those tech journals Pete mentioned so I could make sure that what this box does conform to the specs the phone company uses. Then, I'd draw a schematic for this circuit board."

He then picked up the board.

"I'm certain I could improve on this—low-profile buttons and more robust components in a more efficient layout. After I drew up new schematics, I'd do some research to source the best parts at the lowest price. As soon as I knew what it will cost to build a given quantity of the new design, I'd see how other people price their products to help me determine what I should price mine at. At that point, it's a matter of marketing the device to the right consumer demographic: those who make a lot of long-distance calls and who will use the device correctly to minimize the risk of getting caught."

Mr. Bennett drew back as though surprised at Daniel's answer. His gaze shifted to the space over his nephew's head.

"Pete, are you sure your friend isn't the CEO of IBM in disguise?"

Pete laughed.

"Daniel talks like that all the time, Uncle Luke. You get used to it."

Daniel raised an eyebrow at his friend.

Used to it? I'm going to remind you of this next time you need your math homework explained….

Pete ignored Daniel as he asked, "You only use this box at payphones—right?"

"Usually," his uncle replied. "Ma Bell gets nasty when her customers don't pay for her services. It's safer to use this where it can't be traced back to me."

Daniel hid a smile.

Mr. Bennett sounds like my Dad… he says the prime directive isn't 'Do no harm'—it's 'Don't get caught….'

"So," Pete continued, "we should also come up with a way to disguise it—make it look like something not used to make phone calls. That way, you won't look like you're doing what you're actually doing."

Daniel blinked at his friend.

And I'm supposed to be the spy kid...

To cover his dismay at missing the obvious, Daniel asked, "Do you have any idea how many of these boxes we can sell?"

Mr. Bennett pursed his lips as though deep in thought.

"I did some nosing around. If you take into account foreign students, people with relatives overseas, people who do business in other countries, et cetera—I'm thinking at least two thousand, maybe more."

Daniel quickly did the math.

At two thousand units sold at $170 each, that's $340,000 in gross income… if we can keep the production costs under $50 per box, that's almost a quarter-million in profit… split it three ways and we each get $80,000… that will definitely cover going to college wherever I decide to go—Stanford, MIT, even that technical university in Vienna Mom keeps talking about….

Pete's slack-jawed expression showed he had reached the same conclusion.

"Two thousand," he repeated. "Wow."

His uncle said, "I figured you and I would make some copies of this box and sell them locally but, with both you and Daniel working with me, I think we can handle that number. Now—"

Mr. Bennett drew in a deep breath. Both boys leaned across the table, eager to hear what he would say.

"—as far as I know, building and selling these boxes isn't illegal, but using them is. Since you're both kids, I don't think the police will concern themselves with you even if they do crack down on these boxes. I'm willing to take the risk, but are you willing to work with me, even if it means fibbing to your parents?"

Daniel caught Pete's gaze.

He's chewing it over… I know I'm in—if only because that box is a sin against quality craftsmanship… it's not like my parents can complain about me doing something shady… except they'll freak if the FBI comes after me again… so I better do everything I can to avoid getting caught….

He bit back his answer to let Pete speak first.

He's really chewing this over….

Finally, Pete reached a conclusion.

"That kind of money," he said, "means Dad and Mom won't have to worry about paying for college. That's worth it to me. Uncle Luke, I'm in."

"So am I," Daniel added.

Mr. Bennett's smile was a slow, crooked curve as though he rarely had opportunity to use it.

"Thank you," he told them. "Now, shall I get us another round of pop so we can toast our new venture?"

Over fresh cans of cola, the three of them agreed on some basic details.

We decided to call our endeavor LPD Enterprises… our initials, of course… Mr. Bennett said he'd arrange a bank account and a P.O. box… I couldn't offer to do it because I'm not supposed to know about renting boxes and phony addresses… Pete's going to come up with a good exterior for our product and a catchy name… he's not much with numbers, but Pete has a knack for slogans and stuff like that… so we made him the advertising and marketing manager… I'm the production manager… and my first job is to design a better blue box… let's hope the world beats a path to our door—but not the Feds… let's hope they stay the heck away from us….