After their original secret meeting place had burned down, they’d rebuilt it in the same spot. They’d nailed the walls together using old billboard panels, sealed the corners with duct tape, and covered the top with a camouflage parachute they’d bought at the Army-Navy Surplus Store. The makeshift door was padlocked on the outside and only the Code Busters had keys. But if one of the members got to the clubhouse first, he or she could unlock the door and then bolt it from the inside. When the others arrived, they’d have to give the secret knock—their initials in Morse code—and the password—the day of the week said backward, like “yadseut.” There had been a couple of times when intruders had tried to break in, so the locks and bolts and knocks and passwords were definitely necessary. After the kids removed their backpacks and settled onto the carpet-covered metal floor, they took out their homework assignments. The girls shared their newly learned Japanese numbers with the boys, who copied them into their secret Code Busters notebooks.
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