The Return: Disney Lands Page 12

“Detailed specifications of color television transmission.”

  “Meaning?”

  “It’s a paint-by-numbers plan for setting up radio towers and broadcasting tri-band color signals. I’ll have to check the dates, but by the look of it, it’s way ahead of its time. That means the rumors are true!” Tim’s eyes glowed triumphantly. “The Imagineers were onto this stuff way ahead of anyone else.”

  “Jess!” Amanda called out, seeing her for the first time. Across the room, her fellow Fairlie gave an awkward wave, tossed back her pale hair.

  Behind Jess, Langford and Dirk were approaching. Amanda struggled out of the beanbag.

  Jess reached Tim, bent as if to kiss him on the cheek, stunning Amanda—totally unlike her!—and, clearly, Tim. Jess moved past Tim to be a spectator of the foosball match.

  Amanda had never seen Jess kiss anyone, never mind a virtual stranger, never mind as theatrically as she just had. It had been a performance. Why?

  Casting her eyes down, she saw that Tim no longer held the two folders. What had he—

  “Mr. Walters! A moment?” Langford’s authoritative voice stopped both the Ping-Pong and foosball games. Everyone in the room froze, looking at Tim.

  Jess had used the fake kiss to get close enough to Tim in order to snatch the folders away from him. She’d done so just moments ahead of Langford’s unannounced arrival. Jess kept the files hidden, her back to the two men.

  “Yes, sir?” Tim pulled himself up. He stood a full three inches taller than Langford.

  “We’d like to take a look at your closet prior to your boarding the shuttle.”

  “My closet?”

  “Do we have a hearing problem, Mr. Walters?” Langford said distastefully.

  “Them blue shoes,” said Dirk, and won a belittling look from Langford.

  “No problem,” Tim said. He glanced at Emily, then Amanda. Panic.

  Forcing a smile, Tim joined the two men.

  Clearly distressed, Langford next addressed Emily. “Miss Fredrikson? How’s that cloaking project of yours coming along? Extra credit, wasn’t it?”

  “It was—is—yes, extra credit,” Emily croaked out, adding awkwardly, “Bernie’s my adviser.”

  “Yes. I hear it’s coming along nicely. Very nicely.”

  Recovering herself, Emily said, “I guess. It isn’t fully operational yet.”

  “Oh, really? I’ve heard differently.” Langford smiled tightly, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Bernie is quite impressed. I think I’d appreciate a demonstration. This evening, perhaps, after classes. Before dinner?”

  Dirk’s intense stare had not yet left Emily. Amanda shuddered; it was so disturbing.

  And Langford’s scrutiny swung finally to her.

  “You, young lady, are aware that certain areas of the hotel, the dorm, are out of bounds without passes, yes? That venturing into these areas without permission can, and will, result in immediate expulsion.”

  “Yes, sir,” Amanda said. “We were told the rules during orientation.”

  “Being told is one thing. Hearing quite another. I suggest you learn to listen, Miss Lockhart.”

  Amanda nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

  “I needn’t remind you that there’s a long line of well-qualified applicants on our waiting list.” His gaze swung back to Emily. “That goes for you, too. Seniority in the program will not protect you.”

  “No, sir,” Amanda and Emily said, speaking almost in unison.

  “Enough. ‘Toby’ will do. Remember, Amanda, we’re all colleagues here at DSI.”

  In stark contrast to Langford’s words, Tim walked off with the two men like an inmate being escorted down Death Row.

  LATER, AS THEY WALKED TOGETHER down the central hallway of DSI’s Technical Resources and Applications department, Amanda pulled Jess aside and into an empty classroom. Jess untucked her shirt and handed Amanda the two folders.

  “I had no idea what you were doing.”

  “It was an air kiss, nothing more, I promise you.”

  “It was brilliant!”

  It was the first chance they’d had to talk since arriving at the school building; Jess had jumped onto the dorm shuttle van seconds before its door had closed. She’d ridden in the front with girls Amanda didn’t know.

  “Why did you disappear like that?” Amanda inquired.

  “To get rid of his blue Converse,” Jess said, as if it were obvious. “I found Tim’s sneakers and disposed of them. Threw them out the window. I ended up out there, too, on the fire escape, but I got rescued by Miles. Do you know him? Tallish, red-brown hair, cute? He let me use his room to make my exit.”

  “You saved Tim, Jess! I had no idea.”

  “That’s a bit overly dramatic.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to get involved?”

  “I thought you and Finn were a thing.” Jess narrowed her eyes—and then abruptly looked away, her lips twisted bitterly. Amanda blinked, confused.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jess stared fixedly at the wall clock. “Whatever. Look, I don’t want to be late for class.”

  “Jess! What is that supposed to mean?”

  Jess had tried to dismiss it, telling herself that Amanda and Tim were just new, instant friends. But that had all changed when they’d returned from the basement. Amanda was all best buds, all flirty with Tim, keeping Jess out of it because she’d refused to play along.

  For the first time in their shared lives Jess had seen Amanda as competition, and it felt awful. She knew what Amanda was trying to do: punish her for not agreeing to break the rules.

  Emotions flooded her. Hate and love. Clarity and confusion. And anger, strongest of all. It bubbled up inside of Jess until she was ready to explode. The only way her body had found to express the pent-up bitterness and resentment was through a single tear that traced its way down her cheek unexpectedly. She felt humiliated for letting that happen.6

  “Jessie?” Amanda said, seeing her crying.

  “Don’t.”

  “What did I do?”

  “Really?”

  “Really!”

  “It’s not the first time, you know. It’s just the first time it mattered.”

  “The first time?” Amanda blinked once, then again, finally getting it. “Tim? Oh, come on, Jess! Seriously? Me and Tim? No, no, no! You made a point of not going with us! And you were the one who saved him by tossing the sneakers. I can’t compete with that!” She blinked again, almost laughing from her sheer bafflement. “I don’t want to compete with that.”

  “Have you happened to see the way he looks at you?”

  “Gimme a break. I could say the same thing.”

  “You get all the breaks, Amanda. Believe me! All.”

  “You are totally wrong about this, Jessie.”

  “Do not call me that! I’m not taking anything any way. Stuff like this, it can’t be undone, you know? You can’t push it back into place.” Jess stole another look at the clock. “Whatever. Look, we’re going to be late for class.”

  “Jess! Please!”

  Jess left the room, simmering with rage. Amanda repeatedly called out her name through a tight throat, but the door eased shut on its automatic hinge.

  Leaving her alone.

  JESS STOOD OUTSIDE THE DOOR marked VICTORIA LLEWELYN–STUDENT COUNSELING. Convinced the summons resulted from her disposing of Tim’s sneakers, Jess considered saving everyone the trouble of her being formally expelled and just returning to her room and packing.

  “Miss Lockhart?” A woman’s voice flowed smoothly from the office.

  Jess apologized and entered, taking a chair across from the desk.

  The woman surprised Jess by taking a chair in front of the desk alongside her. Tentatively, they turned to face one another.

  “How’s it going?” the woman asked.

  “Excellent.”

  “Are you nervous, Jessica?”

  “A little, I guess,” Jess lied. She was
terrified.

  “Because?”

  “You know,” Jess muttered.

  “Tell me.”

  “Look, the only way I’ve managed to survive is by sticking up for others.” Jess’s hands were sweaty; she tried to wipe them surreptitiously on her jeans. She couldn’t meet Peggy’s eyes.

  “Commendable.”

  “If you don’t understand—Wait? What?” Jess registered the woman’s positive tone a little late.

  “We encourage teamwork, Jessica. For many years, every executive position within the company had both a creative and a business side, each with its own employee. The system was modeled off the relationship between Walt and Roy. Teamwork leads to success in all avenues of life. Teamwork like that displayed by you and Amanda, for instance.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess.”

  “Before we continue, I must ask you to read this and, if you’re agreeable, sign it.” The woman pushed a sheaf of papers forward and smiled encouragingly. “It’s a nondisclosure agreement. NDA, for short.”

  “I thought I signed everything already.”

  “You have signed a good many contracts, haven’t you?” She had a warm smile; it seemed to stretch fully across her face. “In fact you signed a document very similar to this upon admittance. But this particular NDA is different. You must read it closely. It states that anything and everything said between us here today will never be spoken of again. Ever. It’s to remain a secret, between us.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Not at all. It just means we can talk openly and freely and that nothing said here gets repeated.”

  “Did Amanda sign one of these?”

  “I couldn’t tell you if she did, could I?” Another smile. “Let me ask you this: why do you think you’re here? Why are we having this conversation?”

  “If I don’t help someone,” Jess said tightly, looking back at her lap, “how can I expect anyone to help me?”

  “Jessica, perhaps we should start over.” Victoria “Peggy” Llewelyn gathered and composed herself.

  “I’m not accusing her or you of anything.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “Why don’t we start with the agreement. If you don’t want to sign it, that’s no problem. Meeting over. No harm done.”

  Meeting over? No dice; she wanted to know what was going on. Jess skimmed the document and signed. Peggy thanked her, and framed it deliberately into a stack of papers on her desk, careful to line up the corners with surgical precision.

  “Jessica, our school seeks to foster accelerated development in certain individuals.”

  “No need to recruit me. I’m all in.”

  The woman’s face was expressive as well as kind, and she was given to pursing her lips to prevent a full smile and squinting to imitate amusement. It felt practiced. Oddly, she was nothing like the Peggy Amanda had described to Jess.

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about. Being ‘all in.’” Her eyes never left Jess’s as she spoke. “The Imagineers would like to invite you, Jessica, to join a group, an elite group of outstanding thinkers. It amounts to a think tank, but because we’re Disney, we call it the Tink Tank.”

  Jess grinned. “Are you serious? I love it.”

  “The objective of the group is, paraphrasing Walt, ‘To dream the future.’”

  “Aha…my dreams.”

  “Your dreams. Yes.”

  “You aren’t the first.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “To want my dreams,” Jess said, upset.

  “Again, I believe you’ve misunderstood me, Jessica. No one wants to use you. We’re familiar with your past, and we’d never repeat the trauma you and Amanda endured. We want to team you up with other extraordinary minds to explore opportunities in the present—and the future. Imagineers, DSI instructors, a few gifted personalities like yourself, all in the hope of bettering the company’s future and, we hope, mankind’s.”

  “Sounds lofty.”

  “And you sound bitter.” Said with a purse of the lips.

  “I’m used to it.”

  “A jump to a conclusion can be the last jump you ever take. Be careful, Jessica. I ask you only to think about it. To listen to what I’m saying and give it proper consideration.

  “And remember: the Tink Tank and the offer to join it are to be kept secret from everyone, including other instructors, Imagineers, and your fellow students. That’s the agreement you signed.”

  “You mean Amanda.”

  “That would include her. Yes. It’s asking a lot, I know. But it’s an imperative.”

  “I only talk to you about it.”

  “For now. Correct.”

  “I guess I don’t actually understand what it is you’re offering.” Jess was finally meeting Peggy’s eyes, striving to determine what she saw there.

  “This is a big deal, Jessica. I’m not part of the Tink Tank, but I’m lucky enough to know about it, to be trusted to know about it, and to occasionally serve as a go-between.”

  “You’re not a counselor. You’re not even Victoria Llewelyn.”

  “I never introduced myself as such.”

  “The nameplate on the door says Victoria Llewelyn. That’s not you.”

  “No.”

  “You’re a lawyer.”

  “I am. I’ve borrowed this office for our meeting, as I don’t typically work here at DSI.”

  “You work for the company.”

  “We all work for the company, dear.”

  “You tricked me.”

  “I never lied to you. Nor will I ever do so.”

  “You pretended—”

  “Nothing. I made no pretense whatsoever. Had you asked, I would have gladly informed you of my name and position.”

  Jess studied her with heated eyes.

  “Well, are you going to ask me?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve upset you. Please accept my apology.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?” Jess said. To her dismay, her voice sounded whiny—weak.

  “Until you signed the NDA, it wouldn’t have been prudent. Once it was signed, you didn’t ask, and the opportunity seemed to have passed.”

  “I don’t like being lied to. I’ve been lied to my whole life.”

  “From what I’ve read, you’ve had an extraordinary life, one you have never allowed to break or destroy you. That resilience is part of why we’re making you this offer.”

  “How many?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “How many of us are asked to join this thing?”

  “Four,” she answered.

  There was silence. The words hung in the air between them. Jess’s palms were sweating again, but for a different reason this time.

  “Just four?”

  “Yes. Four…in the past twelve years.”

  Jess couldn’t speak.

  “I don’t imagine it’s a terribly large group. Perhaps larger than six, fewer than ten. But I have no way of actually knowing. I just make the contracts.”

  “Between six and ten people,” Jess’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Out of everyone in the entire company.”

  “Correct.”

  “Me?”

  “You.” The unidentified woman nodded. Her expression implied envy. “You see? I’m afraid I have to remind you, any mention of anything said here may result in the filing of a lawsuit. And expulsion, of course.”

  “You’ll sue me.”

  “The Tink Tank will take precautions to protect itself. The language is far stricter should you agree to join.”

  “More paperwork.”

  “Much.”

  “Me? Not Amanda?”

  “Only you,” the woman said. “As far as I know.

  AMANDA’S E-MAILED LINK TO a folder containing the scanned documents from the basement vault launched the Keepers into action.

  Even though it had been at Philby’s request, Finn swelled with pride over how quickly Amanda had come t
hrough for them. She’d located, copied, and transmitted the IAV-471s in under twenty-four hours.

  Because of her effort, Finn and Maybeck crossed over as DHIs into Disneyland’s Central Plaza two nights later. Each carried a folder of printed pages sealed in a manila envelope, tucked into his back and covered by his shirt. DHI transmission of foreign objects on crossover was fairly reliable. The hope was that the files would cross over with Maybeck and Finn as holograms, and that splitting the folders into two would improve the chances of transmission.

  What the boys were to do with this information once crossed over remained a mystery. The confusing instruction, “set to 1313,” took Philby and Willa all of the first day and most of the second to figure out.

  The key, they both agreed, was the verb, “set.” Philby decided the most obvious device that could be set to the number 1313 was an AM radio. However, Willa could find no online reference to a radio in Walt’s apartment. Stymied, Finn e-mailed Becky Cline at the Walt Disney Archives and received a note back from Kevin Kern, one of the archivists charged with preserving historical items of Disney interest.

  In the family apartment, it seemed, Walt kept a telephone, phonograph, and music box. No radio, Finn was told, though transistor radios had become popular in 1957, so a handheld set was not out of the question.

  Just in case, Finn crossed over with his father’s AM band Storm-Cast radio in his front pocket and Philby’s jailbroken Return in his other. He and Maybeck made their way separately to Walt’s apartment in Disneyland, meeting a few minutes past nine p.m., or twelve a.m. in Florida, where they slept.

  Their first task was to remove the folders from the envelopes and inspect them. Sure enough, all but a few of the printed pages had crossed over intact—a major success. The radio proved to be a dud, however. KAZN, 1300 on the AM dial, was an Asian language station, and KWKW, 1330, was Spanish.

  “Willa speaks Spanish,” Maybeck said, looking at the set. “You should have crossed with her.”

  “We’re fine,” Finn said. “The backup plan is the gramophone and the music box. Philby said to check every square inch of both.”

  Finn inspected the gramophone. It had a control dial to adjust the speed, but no numbers beyond 78. The hand crank was just that, a crank, and he couldn’t find any number 1313 on the needle head, serial number, or model number.