Riley Mack Stirs Up More Trouble by Chris Grabenstein Page A

Riley. “Did the enemy sneak into the mess hall and put poison in all your food or something?”
    â€œToo early to speculate, Riley. However, your father is determined to uncover the truth, no matter who tries to stop him. He will not rest until this issue is resolved.”
    Riley grinned. Like father, like son.
    â€œIs there anything I might be able to help you with tonight?” asked the sergeant. “Do you have homework? I’m quite good with algebra. Very bad with spelling and punctuation.”
    â€œSchool’s out for the summer.”
    â€œOutstanding.”
    â€œThere is one thing.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œYou ever hear of a General Joseph C. Clarke?” Riley had hoped to ask his father that question.
    â€œHang on,” said Sergeant Lorincz. He swiveled away from the laptop at his end to tap on a keyboard attached to a second computer. “I’m checking our personnel database via a secure satellite uplink,” he said over his shoulder. “Here we go.” The sergeant swiveled back to face Riley. “Can I ask why you need to know this information, Mr. Mack?”
    â€œIt’s for a, um, a project.”
    â€œI thought you said school was out for the summer.”
    â€œYeah. It is. This is more like a personal project. For my mom. She has to meet this General Clarke at a ‘salute the troops’–type dinner at Brookhaven Country Club this weekend.”
    â€œAnd you want to help her out, let her know how she can make table talk with the general?”
    â€œYeah. Something like that.”
    â€œI see now why your father is always bragging about you.”
    â€œHe is?”
    â€œTwenty-four/seven.”
    Riley blushed. Just a little.
    â€œTell your mother that General Joseph C. Clarke serves out of the Pentagon as chief procurement officer for the United States Army’s Near East military operations.”
    â€œWhat’s that mean?” asked Riley.
    â€œHe’s an extremely important pencil pusher. Buys all the stuff we need out here in the field. Blankets, uniforms, tents, food. Everything. If you want to do business with Uncle Sam, you need to do business with General Joseph C. Clarke first.”
    â€œOh. Okay. Cool. Thanks, Sergeant Lorincz.”
    â€œMy pleasure. One more thing, Riley.”
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œI have the unwelcome duty of informing you that your father will be unable to link up with you or your mother for a period of several days; not until, as he put it, he ‘gets to the bottom of this mess hall mess.’”
    â€œI understand. You guys have enough to worry about over there. You shouldn’t have to worry about your food trying to kill you, too!”
    â€œRoger that. Will you pass on word to your mother as to our situation?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œAppreciate it.”
    Riley saluted the computer screen as the soldier’s image faded out of view.
    â€œPoor Dad,” he mumbled.
    It sounded like the food over in Afghanistan was even worse than the slop in the school cafeteria.

22
    EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, RILEY and his crew gathered once again in Jake Lowenstein’s basement.
    The heavy rains had stopped around two or three in the morning. Now the sun was out and shining bright.
    â€œI’ve cooked up a little scheme I call Operation Water Hazard,” Riley said to his assembled troops.
    â€œLay it on us,” said Jamal.
    Riley untied the string clasp on an interoffice envelope his mom had brought home from her job at the bank and dumped out its contents on a worktable.
    â€œI wrote down everybody’s assignments on index cards.” He handed one to Briana. “Work on your imitation of Mr. Paxton. Jake?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI need you and Jamal to help Bree out.” He handed them both cards. “Search the internet. See if you can find voice recordings of Mr. Paxton.”
    â€œShould be easy,” said Jamal.