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“That’s Bee.”
“Yeah, that much I figured. What is Bee? And don’t tell me it’s a flying pollinating insect.”
A chuckle. “Don’t you first want to know who is Bee? That’s as cool as what he does.”
Marc groaned and slid down in his seat. “I’m never going to get the short version of this. So go ahead. Hit me with an explanation of your toy and the brilliance of its creator.”
“Okay, I will.” Ryan looked as exuberant as a child talking about his first Hot Wheels. “Bee is Bumblebee the Autobot.”
When Ryan saw Marc’s blank expression, his own jaw dropped. “Autobots? The Transformers? The comic books, the TV series, the movies? Hello?”
“Okay, it’s some sci-fi thing. I get it.”
“Are you bullshitting me?” Ryan almost drove off the road. “The Transformers go way back—they’re even older than you are. What did you do as a kid?”
“You mean before TV was invented?” Marc sounded amused now. He was only eight years older than Ryan. “I played with GI Joe and dreamt of being a Navy SEAL.”
Ryan shook his head in utter disbelief. “I’m actually talking to someone who’s never heard of the Transformers. I’m in shock. Okay, I’ll sum it up for you. The Autobots are a faction of sentient robots from the planet Cybertron. Their leader is Optimus Prime, who, as an aside, Bumblebee hero-worships. The Autobots are the good guys; the Decepticons are the bad guys. Good versus evil, and all that neat stuff.
“Anyway, all the A
utobots can transform themselves into different vehicles. Bee can become an awesome yellow Chevy Camaro with black stripes. He’s one of the youngest and fastest Autobots. He’s small, but he’s full of energy and compassion for humans. He gets things done, and he’s a little whirlwind while he’s doing his job. Is that a perfect prototype for my drone, or what?”
Marc’s shoulders were shaking with laughter. “Every time I think you’ve outdone yourself, you prove me wrong. Where it comes to this stuff, you’re the most creative ten-year-old I’ve ever met.”
“A genius ten-year-old,” Ryan amended, not the least bit offended by the description. “Bee is going to kick some serious ass when we’re close to Miles Parker’s location. He can only cover about a five-hundred-foot radius. But once he’s in the zone, his speed, flight ability, and video-recording potential are going to find our guy for us. Wait till you see Bee in action. You’re not going to be able to hide how impressed you are.”
“I don’t doubt it.” The truth was, Marc was impressed. He always was by Ryan’s brilliant ability with robots and gadgets. With a twinkle in his eye, he looked down at the grinning bumblebee. “Welcome to the team, Bee.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Once the FI van reached Upper Montclair, Ryan spent a fair amount of time driving around the numerous smaller business districts looking for the Wi-Fi SSD that was linked to ScoobyDoo’s IP address: TheMysteryMachine—a fitting name, since that’s what the Scooby Doo van was called.
No luck.
That changed in a hurry.
As he headed east on Bellevue Avenue, a block past the intersection with Valley Road and almost where the business district turned residential, the signal strength meter in his Wi-Fi sniffer came alive.
“What does that mean?” Marc asked instantly.
“It means that TheMysteryMachine, a.k.a. Miles Parker, is nearby.” He made a turn, following the signal strength.
“I get your strategy up to this point,” Marc said. “But once your signal strength reaches maximum potential, how exactly do you plan on finding some faceless guy in a thriving town?”
“Easy. He isn’t faceless.” Ryan pulled into the last remaining metered parking spot on the street. “I hacked into the DMV records when I was digging up information on Miles Parker. Got the photo of him on file.”
“Of course you did. Why did I ask such a stupid question?”
Ryan smiled, shifting the van into park and facing Marc. “So, are you ready for some human reconnaissance?”
“My specialty.” Marc tucked his pistol into the waistband of his pants. “I doubt I’ll need this. But just in case Parker is violent, I’ll be ready.”
Glancing in his side-view mirror to make sure he could hop out, Ryan turned off the ignition. “I’ve seen you bring a murderous hulk to tears with your Special Ops training alone. A gun is overkill for you.”
“I’ve needed it in the past—and used it. So, let’s say I’m prepared.” Marc opened the passenger-side door. “Let’s go.”
Ryan got out, locked up, and took care of the parking meter. He switched to the Wi-Fi app on his iPhone, keying in on TheMysteryMachine’s signal strength as he began walking around. Marc strode along beside him. None of the passersby seemed to notice what Ryan was doing. They assumed he was texting someone, just like everyone else.
