Trixie blinked as she climbed from the station wagon and took in the old diner. It was shabby, and a bit rundown, but she could also see signs of great care taken with it. The glass windows were sparkling clean, reflecting the bright mid-afternoon sunshine with almost blinding intensity. Two large ceramic pots flanked the door with flowering shrubs that brought a touch of color to what otherwise might have been a drab exterior.
Inside, the linoleum floor was worn down from years of use. Though the outer edges revealed a checked, black and white pattern, along the middle there was nothing more than a flat, gray path left. Still, everything was clean and well-kept.
There were three customers sitting at the highly polished counter. A farmer, dressed in a denim work shirt and coveralls, sat with his head bent as he ate his meal and read a newspaper. A few seats away, a middle-aged couple shared a banana split.
Trixie turned and saw Eric sitting alone in a booth in the far corner. His back was to the wall and he nodded as soon as she spotted him. She crossed to him and took a seat.
“You’re earlier than I was expecting, kid,” he remarked, his eyes cutting to Regan as he let himself into the men’s room.
“We’ve been driving almost non-stop for over thirty-three hours,” she told him. “This morning? We took showers at a truck stop. Six dollars for five minutes of hot water. I guess I can check that one off on my bucket list.”
“Were you followed again?”
“We didn’t see anyone. But maybe they’ve gotten better at it? I don’t know. I think when the government agents were tailing us, they didn’t really care that we knew they were there. It’s only the people trying to kill us who’ve been out of sight.”
Eric nodded and waved a hand toward the counter. “The food here’s good. It’s not Wimpy’s, but if you’re hungry, you should order something.”
She glanced over her shoulder before looking back at him. “Why did we meet here?” she asked curiously. “Is this some place you like to use for clandestine purposes?”
He snorted at that and reached out and slid a plain red photo album toward her. “I got the photograph off the aunt’s mantle. There wasn’t any writing on it. But I also found this. Look at the page I marked.”
Trixie flipped open the book and glanced over the four photos on the page he indicated. “Wait. This one. That’s this diner, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Notice anything else?”
She stared at it, then slowly nodded. “Maggie and her husband. They’re wearing the same clothes as the other picture. I remember her scarf and boots. Very 70’s. So are we thinking both photos were taken the same day?”
“It’s possible they weren’t and it was a coincidence, but it’s also possible they were and that they visited that property and this diner on the same day.”
Regan joined them as Trixie carefully pulled the photo from the book. She turned it over and saw it, too, was blank. He took it from her, frowning. “Wasn’t this shot right outside here?”
“Yeah. We think maybe the same day as the other photo.” She scooted over a little more to make room for him. “Is there any chance this is the place you remember? Where you had your ice cream the day you buried Shortstop?”
“It could be. My memories are vague, but the counter seems right. Does this help us though? Where do we go from here? We don’t have a direction or a distance. Do we?”
Trixie shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “Unless there’s more in the album?”
“I didn’t see anything else that seemed relevant,” Eric said. “But maybe I missed something. Go through it, kid. See if something jumps out at you.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“We should leave.”
Trixie glanced up, startled. “Huh?”
“We’ve been here for over an hour,” Eric told her. “We’re starting to attract attention.”
“An hour? For real?”
Regan offered her a half-smile. “Yeah, Wildcat. It’s been… an hour and about ten minutes.”
“Geeze. Right. Sorry.”
“So, no brilliant ideas yet?”
“No. But I appreciate that you said ‘yet.’” She looked down at the paper she’d scribbled random thoughts on. “Ugh! There’s nothing in the photo album and all I’m getting with the gravestones is… nothing. Seriously. I don’t guess either one of you has ever heard of Paky Cola?”
An elderly man walking past their booth, leaning heavily on a cane and moving with slow determined steps, paused to look down at her. “Well, now. There’s a name I haven’t heard in a very long time.”
Trixie’s jaw fell open as she regarded him in disbelief. “Wh – what? Paky Cola? That’s a thing?”
He smiled, revealing several missing teeth. “It’s actually Pa Kelly Cola,” he said, pointing to an old-fashioned sign hanging on the wall across from them, grouped with other advertisements from decades before. “The novelty was its color. Green. The original Pa Kelly had a grandson. Cute little redheaded tyke. When he was barely more than a babe, he used to ride around on his granddaddy’s shoulders while Pa Kelly worked, and he would say, ‘Paw-key Cola!’ every time he saw a bottle. The name stuck and pretty soon everyone was callin’ it that.”
This was it. She knew it. The last piece of the puzzle. “Sir?” She said, trying to keep her voice level and calm. “We’ve never heard of Paky – Pa Kelly Cola. Is there any chance it’s a local thing? Bottled somewhere nearby?”
“Oh, it went outta business ages ago. It was a big seller for awhile, but then it fell out of popularity and eventually shut down. The old bottling plant is just an abandoned building up off County Road 70 now. And I don’t know what happened to the Kelly family. Pa Kelly’s daughter married and she had that adorable little son… what was his name again? Nat? No. It was a good Irish name. Can’t recall now. In any case, aren’t any Kellys around these parts anymore. The old Kelly mansion is out past the bottling plant. It was sold in the 80’s and then changed hands a coupla times. Right now, it’s owned by a flashy young couple from the city. They come out here and host parties from time to time like they were trying to recreate The Great Gatsby.”
Trixie thanked him quickly and he smiled once more before turning away. “Let’s go,” she murmured. “We just have to find the plant and the estate. The bomb is there.”
~~~~~~~~~~
They’d just stepped out of the diner when a large, black SUV raced into the parking lot. Doors opened and three men leaped from the vehicle. Eric froze, but Trixie could see a flare of anger in his expression before he managed to adopt a blank face. “Dom,” he said stonily. “This is a surprise.”
Trixie kept her gaze on the well-dressed man as he approached. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a full head of thick white hair. “Is it? Surely you had to know we couldn’t let you and a couple of civilians actually recover the SADM? You lost us after you left Parson’s Mill. That caused no small amount of worry.”
“And yet you found me again.”
The man’s smile was wide but cold. “Fortunately, I have the clearance to activate the GPS tracker on your phone. Once we determined you were here and the girl was with you, we knew it was time to act.”
Trixie sucked in a breath and straightened. “Eric? Who’s your friend?”
“A boss. A former boss.”
“Oh?” Dom laughed easily. “Is this your resignation, then?”
“I’ll be sure to type up a nice, official letter for you, first chance I get.”
Dom looked at Trixie, his gaze assessing. “If you’ve come back to New York, I surmise you’ve figured out the location of the weapon?”
“And you think I’m gonna answer that… why? Which group do you belong to? The one that threatened my family to force me to do what you apparently weren’t clever enough to do yourselves or the one that killed Aunt Maggie and our pilot and tried to kill us?”
“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you that the first group is a small band of rogue elements operating outside their sworn duties and one we only became aware of after certain parties began making inquiries about Neall Regan and the Sandman Project?” His gaze cut briefly to Eric as he spoke.
“I wouldn’t believe you if you told me the sun is hot,” Trixie ground out.
“Wildcat.” Regan’s tone was low and full of caution.
“Where’s the weapon?” Dom asked sharply. “Tell us the location and we’ll have a team extract it.”
“There is only one way that’s gonna happen,” Trixie told him. “And that’s if someone I know and trust tells me you’re actually one of the good guys.”
Dom raised a brow and looked at Eric.
“Don’t expect a ringing endorsement from me,” he said mildly.
Dom reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “My name is Dominic Carter. I’m a director with Homeland Security,” he said as he presented his badge. “I coordinate with both the CIA and FBI in matters of national interest.”
Trixie barely glanced at it. “That’s nice. If you know anything about me, and it seems like you know at least something, then you know that just because you work for the government doesn’t mean I’m gonna trust you farther than I can spit.”
“Then tell me who you do trust, my dear, and we’ll arrange some kind of meeting.”
Trixie hesitated, uncertain, and at that moment, the sharp crack of gunfire rent the air. A chunk of
the ceramic pot to her left exploded, and she felt a jagged piece graze her cheek.
Chaos broke out around them. Trixie shrieked as both Regan and Eric grabbed her arms, each pulling in a different direction. “This way!” Eric shouted as more shots were fired.
They dodged to the right, running low. One of the glass windows shattered and Trixie cried out again. Somehow, they made it to the end of the building and Eric waved them toward a small, blue Camry sitting in a shady spot near two tall ash trees.
For a moment, Trixie actually thought they might get away, but then suddenly there was a man looming in front of them. He pointed his pistol at them with a steady hand, then cocked his head toward a white cargo van. “Get in,” he said, his eyes on her. “Make any sudden moves and I will put a bullet between your boyfriend’s eyes.”
Trixie knew she was in no position to bargain but she swallowed hard and held up both hands. “If I go, they come with me,” she said, inwardly cursing the way her voice shook.
He considered this, then nodded. “They ride in back. If anyone causes trouble, I will put you down like a rabid dog.”
Trixie started for the passenger-side of the van.
“No,” the man said curtly. “You’re driving.”
As they pulled out of the parking lot, Trixie saw Dom on his cell phone, kneeling down next to his fallen companions. He had one hand pressed to the chest of the younger man and she could see the wide blood stain that soaked his shirt.
“I don’t know exactly where we’re going,” she muttered, not looking at her captor. “We need to find County Road 70, but once we do that, I don’t know if we need to go right or left.”
“What are we looking for? Why that road?”
“There’s an old cola bottling plant and an estate home near it. That’s where we need to go.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket. The conversation he held was short, consisting of a few simple questions. When he ended the call, he pointed ahead. “Make a U-turn there. We need to go about five miles south. When we get to CR70, you’ll take a left.”
Trixie followed his directions, saying nothing. In the review mirror, she could see Regan and Eric. No one moved and the silence hung around them, oppressive and at the same time expectant.
The turnoff led them onto a two-lane road that she suspected got little use. They passed a few dilapidated trailers and a decrepit road-side vegetable stand before the land gave way to rolling forests.
“The bottling plant will be on the left in about three miles. When you see it, turn at the next road. That will take you out to the estate property.”
~~~~~~~~~~
As soon as she guided the van around the large, Georgian-style home, Trixie saw the lake from Maggie’s photograph. She allowed the vehicle to roll to a stop and then cut the engine.
“Is it in the house?”
“No.”
He cocked his pistol and raised it up.
“It’s buried,” she said quietly. “At the base of that tree.”
He turned slightly and nodded to Eric and Regan in back. “Out. And remember. Try anything, and she’s dead. Bring that sack with you. You’ll find a shovel and an ax inside.”
The gunman kept a tight grip on Trixie’s wrist as he waited for the others to walk in front of them. As soon as they were close to the tree, he lifted his hand and struck Regan from behind with the pistol.
“No!” Trixie cried, lunging forward, as Regan dropped to the ground.
He yanked her back with a force that shot a sharp shock all the way up to her shoulder. She tried to pull away, but he wrenched her arm up and back and she gasped from the pain. “Dig,” he ordered, his eyes on Eric. “You have ten minutes before I shoot.” He turned his attention to Trixie, jerking her arm again. “If this is a trick of any kind, I’ll kill your boyfriend. Understand?”
She glared at him, keeping her mouth firmly shut. Her mind was racing. She knew they had little time. Once he was absolutely sure he had the bomb, she knew his next step would be eliminating them as witnesses. At the moment, the only reason they were even alive was because he was worried she might be trying to fool him with the wrong location.
It was probably more than ten minutes before Eric’s shovel struck something hard and metallic. Trixie wasn’t entirely sure. She watched Regan’s still form with tears in her eyes. Why hadn’t he come to yet? Fear gripped her and she knew panic was close behind.
Eric cleared the dirt from around a large, charcoal grey container. The metal around the lock was rusty, but it held as he gently pressed it.
“Break it open.”
“That would be an extraordinarily unwise thing to do,” he said, frowning deeply as their captor pressed his gun to Trixie’s temple.
“Break the lock and open it.”
Eric looked at Trixie. She was crying, but he could still see the strong streak of defiance in her expression. “Sorry, kid,” he murmured.
“Don’t be sorry,” she told him. “I know it’s too risky to open.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He turned and raised the shovel, bringing it down hard on the lock. It cracked and the lid of the container shifted. “I meant I’m sorry if I’m about to blow us all to kingdom come. I’m choosing the maybe of the bomb over the definite of the bullet. And if it goes up? At least we take this ass with us.”
He leaned down and opened the box. There was a soft click and a strange popping noise. Trixie instinctively pulled back.
At first, nothing happened. Inside the container was another, slightly smaller box. As they watched, a red light flickered twice, and then an old-fashioned timer flashed on.
Inside, the linoleum floor was worn down from years of use. Though the outer edges revealed a checked, black and white pattern, along the middle there was nothing more than a flat, gray path left. Still, everything was clean and well-kept.
There were three customers sitting at the highly polished counter. A farmer, dressed in a denim work shirt and coveralls, sat with his head bent as he ate his meal and read a newspaper. A few seats away, a middle-aged couple shared a banana split.
Trixie turned and saw Eric sitting alone in a booth in the far corner. His back was to the wall and he nodded as soon as she spotted him. She crossed to him and took a seat.
“You’re earlier than I was expecting, kid,” he remarked, his eyes cutting to Regan as he let himself into the men’s room.
“We’ve been driving almost non-stop for over thirty-three hours,” she told him. “This morning? We took showers at a truck stop. Six dollars for five minutes of hot water. I guess I can check that one off on my bucket list.”
“Were you followed again?”
“We didn’t see anyone. But maybe they’ve gotten better at it? I don’t know. I think when the government agents were tailing us, they didn’t really care that we knew they were there. It’s only the people trying to kill us who’ve been out of sight.”
Eric nodded and waved a hand toward the counter. “The food here’s good. It’s not Wimpy’s, but if you’re hungry, you should order something.”
She glanced over her shoulder before looking back at him. “Why did we meet here?” she asked curiously. “Is this some place you like to use for clandestine purposes?”
He snorted at that and reached out and slid a plain red photo album toward her. “I got the photograph off the aunt’s mantle. There wasn’t any writing on it. But I also found this. Look at the page I marked.”
Trixie flipped open the book and glanced over the four photos on the page he indicated. “Wait. This one. That’s this diner, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Notice anything else?”
She stared at it, then slowly nodded. “Maggie and her husband. They’re wearing the same clothes as the other picture. I remember her scarf and boots. Very 70’s. So are we thinking both photos were taken the same day?”
“It’s possible they weren’t and it was a coincidence, but it’s also possible they were and that they visited that property and this diner on the same day.”
Regan joined them as Trixie carefully pulled the photo from the book. She turned it over and saw it, too, was blank. He took it from her, frowning. “Wasn’t this shot right outside here?”
“Yeah. We think maybe the same day as the other photo.” She scooted over a little more to make room for him. “Is there any chance this is the place you remember? Where you had your ice cream the day you buried Shortstop?”
“It could be. My memories are vague, but the counter seems right. Does this help us though? Where do we go from here? We don’t have a direction or a distance. Do we?”
Trixie shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “Unless there’s more in the album?”
“I didn’t see anything else that seemed relevant,” Eric said. “But maybe I missed something. Go through it, kid. See if something jumps out at you.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“We should leave.”
Trixie glanced up, startled. “Huh?”
“We’ve been here for over an hour,” Eric told her. “We’re starting to attract attention.”
“An hour? For real?”
Regan offered her a half-smile. “Yeah, Wildcat. It’s been… an hour and about ten minutes.”
“Geeze. Right. Sorry.”
“So, no brilliant ideas yet?”
“No. But I appreciate that you said ‘yet.’” She looked down at the paper she’d scribbled random thoughts on. “Ugh! There’s nothing in the photo album and all I’m getting with the gravestones is… nothing. Seriously. I don’t guess either one of you has ever heard of Paky Cola?”
An elderly man walking past their booth, leaning heavily on a cane and moving with slow determined steps, paused to look down at her. “Well, now. There’s a name I haven’t heard in a very long time.”
Trixie’s jaw fell open as she regarded him in disbelief. “Wh – what? Paky Cola? That’s a thing?”
He smiled, revealing several missing teeth. “It’s actually Pa Kelly Cola,” he said, pointing to an old-fashioned sign hanging on the wall across from them, grouped with other advertisements from decades before. “The novelty was its color. Green. The original Pa Kelly had a grandson. Cute little redheaded tyke. When he was barely more than a babe, he used to ride around on his granddaddy’s shoulders while Pa Kelly worked, and he would say, ‘Paw-key Cola!’ every time he saw a bottle. The name stuck and pretty soon everyone was callin’ it that.”
This was it. She knew it. The last piece of the puzzle. “Sir?” She said, trying to keep her voice level and calm. “We’ve never heard of Paky – Pa Kelly Cola. Is there any chance it’s a local thing? Bottled somewhere nearby?”
“Oh, it went outta business ages ago. It was a big seller for awhile, but then it fell out of popularity and eventually shut down. The old bottling plant is just an abandoned building up off County Road 70 now. And I don’t know what happened to the Kelly family. Pa Kelly’s daughter married and she had that adorable little son… what was his name again? Nat? No. It was a good Irish name. Can’t recall now. In any case, aren’t any Kellys around these parts anymore. The old Kelly mansion is out past the bottling plant. It was sold in the 80’s and then changed hands a coupla times. Right now, it’s owned by a flashy young couple from the city. They come out here and host parties from time to time like they were trying to recreate The Great Gatsby.”
Trixie thanked him quickly and he smiled once more before turning away. “Let’s go,” she murmured. “We just have to find the plant and the estate. The bomb is there.”
~~~~~~~~~~
They’d just stepped out of the diner when a large, black SUV raced into the parking lot. Doors opened and three men leaped from the vehicle. Eric froze, but Trixie could see a flare of anger in his expression before he managed to adopt a blank face. “Dom,” he said stonily. “This is a surprise.”
Trixie kept her gaze on the well-dressed man as he approached. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a full head of thick white hair. “Is it? Surely you had to know we couldn’t let you and a couple of civilians actually recover the SADM? You lost us after you left Parson’s Mill. That caused no small amount of worry.”
“And yet you found me again.”
The man’s smile was wide but cold. “Fortunately, I have the clearance to activate the GPS tracker on your phone. Once we determined you were here and the girl was with you, we knew it was time to act.”
Trixie sucked in a breath and straightened. “Eric? Who’s your friend?”
“A boss. A former boss.”
“Oh?” Dom laughed easily. “Is this your resignation, then?”
“I’ll be sure to type up a nice, official letter for you, first chance I get.”
Dom looked at Trixie, his gaze assessing. “If you’ve come back to New York, I surmise you’ve figured out the location of the weapon?”
“And you think I’m gonna answer that… why? Which group do you belong to? The one that threatened my family to force me to do what you apparently weren’t clever enough to do yourselves or the one that killed Aunt Maggie and our pilot and tried to kill us?”
“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you that the first group is a small band of rogue elements operating outside their sworn duties and one we only became aware of after certain parties began making inquiries about Neall Regan and the Sandman Project?” His gaze cut briefly to Eric as he spoke.
“I wouldn’t believe you if you told me the sun is hot,” Trixie ground out.
“Wildcat.” Regan’s tone was low and full of caution.
“Where’s the weapon?” Dom asked sharply. “Tell us the location and we’ll have a team extract it.”
“There is only one way that’s gonna happen,” Trixie told him. “And that’s if someone I know and trust tells me you’re actually one of the good guys.”
Dom raised a brow and looked at Eric.
“Don’t expect a ringing endorsement from me,” he said mildly.
Dom reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “My name is Dominic Carter. I’m a director with Homeland Security,” he said as he presented his badge. “I coordinate with both the CIA and FBI in matters of national interest.”
Trixie barely glanced at it. “That’s nice. If you know anything about me, and it seems like you know at least something, then you know that just because you work for the government doesn’t mean I’m gonna trust you farther than I can spit.”
“Then tell me who you do trust, my dear, and we’ll arrange some kind of meeting.”
Trixie hesitated, uncertain, and at that moment, the sharp crack of gunfire rent the air. A chunk of
the ceramic pot to her left exploded, and she felt a jagged piece graze her cheek.
Chaos broke out around them. Trixie shrieked as both Regan and Eric grabbed her arms, each pulling in a different direction. “This way!” Eric shouted as more shots were fired.
They dodged to the right, running low. One of the glass windows shattered and Trixie cried out again. Somehow, they made it to the end of the building and Eric waved them toward a small, blue Camry sitting in a shady spot near two tall ash trees.
For a moment, Trixie actually thought they might get away, but then suddenly there was a man looming in front of them. He pointed his pistol at them with a steady hand, then cocked his head toward a white cargo van. “Get in,” he said, his eyes on her. “Make any sudden moves and I will put a bullet between your boyfriend’s eyes.”
Trixie knew she was in no position to bargain but she swallowed hard and held up both hands. “If I go, they come with me,” she said, inwardly cursing the way her voice shook.
He considered this, then nodded. “They ride in back. If anyone causes trouble, I will put you down like a rabid dog.”
Trixie started for the passenger-side of the van.
“No,” the man said curtly. “You’re driving.”
As they pulled out of the parking lot, Trixie saw Dom on his cell phone, kneeling down next to his fallen companions. He had one hand pressed to the chest of the younger man and she could see the wide blood stain that soaked his shirt.
“I don’t know exactly where we’re going,” she muttered, not looking at her captor. “We need to find County Road 70, but once we do that, I don’t know if we need to go right or left.”
“What are we looking for? Why that road?”
“There’s an old cola bottling plant and an estate home near it. That’s where we need to go.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket. The conversation he held was short, consisting of a few simple questions. When he ended the call, he pointed ahead. “Make a U-turn there. We need to go about five miles south. When we get to CR70, you’ll take a left.”
Trixie followed his directions, saying nothing. In the review mirror, she could see Regan and Eric. No one moved and the silence hung around them, oppressive and at the same time expectant.
The turnoff led them onto a two-lane road that she suspected got little use. They passed a few dilapidated trailers and a decrepit road-side vegetable stand before the land gave way to rolling forests.
“The bottling plant will be on the left in about three miles. When you see it, turn at the next road. That will take you out to the estate property.”
~~~~~~~~~~
As soon as she guided the van around the large, Georgian-style home, Trixie saw the lake from Maggie’s photograph. She allowed the vehicle to roll to a stop and then cut the engine.
“Is it in the house?”
“No.”
He cocked his pistol and raised it up.
“It’s buried,” she said quietly. “At the base of that tree.”
He turned slightly and nodded to Eric and Regan in back. “Out. And remember. Try anything, and she’s dead. Bring that sack with you. You’ll find a shovel and an ax inside.”
The gunman kept a tight grip on Trixie’s wrist as he waited for the others to walk in front of them. As soon as they were close to the tree, he lifted his hand and struck Regan from behind with the pistol.
“No!” Trixie cried, lunging forward, as Regan dropped to the ground.
He yanked her back with a force that shot a sharp shock all the way up to her shoulder. She tried to pull away, but he wrenched her arm up and back and she gasped from the pain. “Dig,” he ordered, his eyes on Eric. “You have ten minutes before I shoot.” He turned his attention to Trixie, jerking her arm again. “If this is a trick of any kind, I’ll kill your boyfriend. Understand?”
She glared at him, keeping her mouth firmly shut. Her mind was racing. She knew they had little time. Once he was absolutely sure he had the bomb, she knew his next step would be eliminating them as witnesses. At the moment, the only reason they were even alive was because he was worried she might be trying to fool him with the wrong location.
It was probably more than ten minutes before Eric’s shovel struck something hard and metallic. Trixie wasn’t entirely sure. She watched Regan’s still form with tears in her eyes. Why hadn’t he come to yet? Fear gripped her and she knew panic was close behind.
Eric cleared the dirt from around a large, charcoal grey container. The metal around the lock was rusty, but it held as he gently pressed it.
“Break it open.”
“That would be an extraordinarily unwise thing to do,” he said, frowning deeply as their captor pressed his gun to Trixie’s temple.
“Break the lock and open it.”
Eric looked at Trixie. She was crying, but he could still see the strong streak of defiance in her expression. “Sorry, kid,” he murmured.
“Don’t be sorry,” she told him. “I know it’s too risky to open.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He turned and raised the shovel, bringing it down hard on the lock. It cracked and the lid of the container shifted. “I meant I’m sorry if I’m about to blow us all to kingdom come. I’m choosing the maybe of the bomb over the definite of the bullet. And if it goes up? At least we take this ass with us.”
He leaned down and opened the box. There was a soft click and a strange popping noise. Trixie instinctively pulled back.
At first, nothing happened. Inside the container was another, slightly smaller box. As they watched, a red light flickered twice, and then an old-fashioned timer flashed on.