Chapter One

I swooped low.

This had to be it. Plane at the far gate. Two Marine guards, trying to look casual. Well, as casual as you can get wearing combat boots and a pistol strapped to your chest.

I circled, flapped my wings to gain altitude.

An armored truck rumbled toward the plane. The driver stopped, showed one of the guards a clipboard, then backed up to the cargo hold. The rear of the truck opened. Two guys in hooded yellow coveralls climbed out. Pulled oxygen masks over their faces and unlatched the plane’s cargo door.

Okay. These guys definitely weren’t unloading souvenirs from Disneyland. If somebody was transporting a chunk of Bug fighter wreckage, it had to be on this plane.

I caught a thermal and rose above the airport. A baggage cart trundled across the tarmac. A jet screamed in for a landing. Guys in jumpsuits and headsets scrambled around, trying to keep the 747’s from mowing down the commuter planes.

And everywhere I looked—seagulls. On the roof, on the tarmac, against the fence. Seagulls are perfect cover. Part of the landscape, just like pigeons. Nobody even notices them. My own seagull morph blended right in.

Unfortunately, Jake, Rachel, Marco, and Ax blended right in, too. I spotted a lone gull flitting back and forth beside a hangar at the far end of the runway. Beyond it, a red-tailed hawk sat perched on a chain-link fence. No answer. I didn’t really expect one. Thought-speak is sort of like a radio signal, and the hawk was too far away to get decent reception. I pulled my wings back and soared toward the hawk—then banked and wheeled around.

A long black car shot from the hangar and sped toward the guarded plan. It swung around the Marines and screeched to a sideways stop in front of the armored truck, blocking it in. The car doors opened, and four men in suits got out. I circled, flying as low as I could without drawing attention to myself. Below me, the oxygen-masked guys were loading a crate from the cargo hold onto the armored truck.

The suits strode across the tarmac. The leader, a tall guy with a bald spot, headed directly for the crate, the other three suits close on his heels. “Sir. Step away from the vehicle.” The Marines weren’t quite as casual now. They planted their feet wide apart and reached for their pistols.

Bald Spot ignored them and poked his head inside the back of the armored truck. Either the guy was too stupid to be afraid of weird alien diseases, or he already knew the wreckage wasn’t dangerous. Which meant one thing.

He was a Controller. “I repeat, step away from the vehicle.” The Marines unsnapped their holsters. “Relax, boys.” Bald Spot left the truck and strolled toward the guards. Flashed a badge. “CIA. We’ll take over from here.” The Marines didn’t budge. “We’re not leaving our post, sir. We have orders.” “Well, you have new orders now”—Bald Spot squinted at the two black stripes on the Marine’s collar—“corporal.” “With all due respect,” the corporal answered, sounding anything but respectful, “we don’t take orders from… civilians.” The Controllers glanced at each other. Bald Spot nodded. “Fine.” He slid his badge into his pocket. “We’ll have a Marine colonel here in a few minutes.” Yeah. They would. A Yeerk-infested colonel who would destroy the Bug fighter wreckage before NASA or the news media had a chance to get to it. I needed a diversion. Had to buy some time. The guards glanced sideways at one another. “Did you say something, sir?” the corporal called out. Bald Spot turned. “You talking to me?” “Yes, I am. I believe you called us wimps, sir.” Bald Spot frowned and turned away again. “You’re hearing things, son.” The Marines shook their heads. I said. The Marines rolled their eyes. That got them. I could see the muscles of their faces knotting up. The corporal clenched and unclenched his fists. “Suits,” he muttered. “Too bad I can’t leave my post.” The other Marine, the one with only one stripe, shrugged. “Ignore them.” Great. Marines with self-control. The CIA guys were huddled beside their car, talking in low voices. Bald Spot pulled a cell phone out of his jacket. I had to do something! Fast. No answer. Where were they? I scanned the scene. Below: two pumped-up Marines, four alien-infested CIA guys, and at least six guns between them. Above: an unarmed seagull. Well, maybe not completely unarmed.

I flapped my wings to gain altitude. Bald Spot flipped open his cell phone. I zeroed in on my target. He punched some numbers. I dove. He pushed SEND, and I dropped my bomb.

Bird poop splattered over the phone and down one side of Bald Spot’s head. “Aagghhhhhh!” He wiped at his face, then glared up into the sky. “Andalite!” he hissed as he hurled the phone to the pavement and pulled a pistol from his jacket. Oooo-kaaay. Not exactly what I had in mind. I motored upward. BAMBAMBAMBAM!

Bullets sailed past me. I searched for a place to hide. Something to shield me. Nothing. Empty tarmac and runway. I was a gleaming white target against clear blue sky.
BAMBAMBAMBAM!

I pumped my wings, darted up and back, trying to throw his aim off. It was all I could do. He wasn’t going to stop shooting. Until he hit me. BAM! One last shot. Then the bullets stopped. Silence. I spilled air from my wings and dove toward the runway. “Drop your weapon, sir.”

The Marines! I thrust my wings forward and spiraled around. They were standing with legs outspread, gripping their pistols with both hands. The oxygen-masked guys dove insid the armored truck. Smart.

“Drop your weapon, sir,” the corporal repeated. Bald Spot turned. “I don’t think so.” He extended his arm. “Here are your new orders, boys.” Oh, God. Ka-CHIK. He cocked his pistol. Ka-CHIK. Ka-CHIK. Ka-CHIK. The other Controllers cocked their pistols. For half a second Marines and Controllers stood frozen. Then— BAM! BAM! BAM! Bullets flew. The Marines dove behind the plane’s landing gear. The Controllers dropped back behind their car.

Okay. Okay. Think, Cassie. You have to get them to stop shooting. You’ve got to keep them from killing each other. <JAKE, WHERE ARE YOU? RACHEL? I CAN’T DO THIS BY MYSELF!>

BAM! BAM! BAM! Choooong. Kachooooong.
Bullets sprayed off metal. I swung around the tail of the plane, looking for cover. An engine roared to life at the next gate. A baggage cart, lurching toward the plane!

The cart kept coming, full speed. It careened past a food service truck and ricocheted off a cargo bin. Fishtailed around the nose of the plane. Skidded to a stop between the Marines and the Controllers.

BAM! BAM! Kachooooong. The baggage cart quaked. Suitcases erupted. “Rrrrrooooowwwwrrr!” And a thousand pounds of grizzly bear exploded from the rubble. ————