Get Smart-ish, Page 3

  Hattie raised her left hand, cloaked in a pristine white glove, to indicate that she was prepared to speak first. “Such an odd bird, that Nina. She used the name of her neighbor’s pet rabbit as the password for her e-mail, and we all know she doesn’t even like rabbits. Not that she needed a difficult password; there’s nothing to protect. The whole account has been wiped clean except for a few e-mails from her grandmother requesting cakes from a local bakery,” Hattie finished with a huff. “Shameful, isn’t it? A grandmother who doesn’t bake.”

  Sensing that Hattie might be tempted to continue her condemnation of Nina’s grandmother, Randolph spoke up. “And Operative Mitford’s room at boarding school?”

  “A dead end. No explosives residue. No interesting gadgets. Just a few ferns and a couple of pictures,” Darwin answered.

  “And her cell phone?” Randolph continued.

  “Turned off,” Oli jumped in, clearly eager to take part in the briefing.

  “We’ve installed facial recognition software at Heathrow, Gatwick, and City airports on the off chance she tries to flee the country on a fake passport,” Hattie said.

  “So what do we do now?” Jonathan asked.

  “We wait,” Randolph answered.

  “In the words of William Faulkner, ‘And sure enough even waiting will end…if you can just wait long enough,’” Oli stated with dramatic flair.

  “Forget the waiting—the real question is, will the quotes ever end?” Darwin grumbled.

  “I must admit they are a bit tiresome, Oli,” Hattie offered quietly.

  “You mean like your stories about making blood sausage and Yorkshire pudding aren’t?” Oli hit back.

  “Dear boy, you clearly do not understand that blood sausage and Yorkshire pudding are an important part of the British culture! What’s next, an attack on tea?”

  “If this is how they treat each other,” Jonathan whispered to Shelley, “what are they going to do to us?”

  OCTOBER 22, 4:07 P.M. CLARIDGE’S HOTEL. LONDON, ENGLAND

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” Hattie said as the five young spies walked into the foyer of London’s famous Claridge’s hotel. “A most impressive establishment. They’ve been serving afternoon tea here for over a century.”

  “During the Second World War, the kings of Norway, Greece, and Yugoslavia stayed here. As a matter of fact, Prime Minister Winston Churchill went so far as to designate room two-twelve Yugoslavian domain so that Crown Prince Alexander the Second could be born in his own country,” Oli recounted as Darwin feigned snoring.

  “Sorry,” Darwin said as he placed his hand on Oli’s shoulder, “but the only thing more tiresome than your love of historical trivia is Hattie’s obsession with the difference between clotted cream and whipped cream.”

  “An Englishman who does not know the difference between clotted cream and whipped cream is not an Englishman,” Hattie stated decisively before motioning toward the other side of the room. “I’ve booked the corner table so that we may have a bit of privacy.”

  “So this is how BAE operatives roll,” Shelley said as they arrived at the elegant table, complete with well-polished silver and hand-painted plates. “I could get used to this.”

  “As this is your first trip to London, we thought you might enjoy seeing a few of the sights,” Darwin said as a selection of crust-free sandwiches, scones, jams, and clotted cream arrived on a tiered serving tray.

  “Thank you,” Jonathan said, unsure what to make of the trio of operatives, who, in a very short period of time, had shown both their flair for insulting one another, as well as minding their manners.

  “I can’t lie—” Shelley began.

  “And yet you do it so often,” Jonathan mumbled.

  “I’m a little disappointed there isn’t any carrot cake. It’s our favorite,” Shelley said.

  “Strange that you should mention carrot cake; Nina absolutely loved it. Last year she even brought one into headquarters to celebrate her birthday,” Darwin added, and then looked to Hattie for confirmation.

  “A most delicious cake. Very moist,” Hattie responded.

  “So you guys knew Nina well?” Jonathan inquired seconds before shoving the remaining half of a sandwich into his mouth.

  “We were all recruited within months of one another. We trained together. We struggled through our first assignments together,” Darwin answered before turning to Oli. “How long has it been now?”

  “Almost three years.”

  “And you didn’t see this coming?” Shelley asked while silently rejoicing in the fact that these prodigies, these espionage exceptionals, had clearly missed all the signs.

  “‘When people talk, listen completely. Most people never listen.’ Ernest Hemingway. Which is to say, perhaps we weren’t listening as closely to what she was saying as we should have been,” Oli admitted.

  “The poor thing. She set out to change the world, and in the end it was the world that changed her,” Hattie said as Darwin signaled the waiter to bring the check.

  “If you have time, there are a few places we’d like to show you,” Darwin said to Jonathan and Shelley. “We think they might help you understand where Nina went wrong.”

  OCTOBER 22, 4:49 P.M. STREET. LONDON, ENGLAND

  On a narrow one-way street lined with small mews houses painted a flurry of colors from pale pink to sky blue, Darwin stopped and motioned for Jonathan and Shelley to come closer.

  “I know the Easter Bunny isn’t real…” Shelley whispered to Jonathan.

  “You’re talking about the Easter Bunny?” Jonathan asked, shaking his head at the randomness of the topic.

  “But if he was real, and he lived in London, he would totally live here,” Shelley said, motioning toward the candy-colored homes.

  “Closer,” Darwin insisted, pulling Jonathan and Shelley so close that they were momentarily distracted by the boy’s perfectly straight, glossy white teeth. “Nina, like the rest of us, grew frustrated standing on the sidelines watching crimes happen. Why? Because the police, Scotland Yard, BAE—we don’t have the power to stop people before they commit the crime, not without a mountain of proof. So instead we wait for it all to go wrong just so we can step in and try to fix it.”

  “Take number forty-four for instance,” Oli said as he pulled at the sleeves of his corduroy jacket. “A man named Victor Welsh used to live here. Divorced and going through a bitter custody dispute, his wife called the police five times warning that he was planning to kidnap their child, but the police couldn’t do anything about it, as they lacked concrete evidence. Two days after the mother’s last call to the authorities, Victor disappeared with their daughter. And seven months later, we still haven’t a clue where the man is.”

  “Such a dreadful, horrid fellow,” Hattie remarked as she pulled a crumpled tissue from the sleeve of her dress and dabbed her eyes. “I should like to see him squeezed through a meat grinder for what he’s done to that poor woman and her child.”

  Jonathan stared at Hattie, brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.” It was a sentiment he had expressed countless times in his life and yet somehow, at this moment, it felt different. The weight of the story pressed down on him. “How could you just stand by and let someone kidnap a child?”

  “It’s the law. You cannot arrest someone based on a hunch or gut feeling. You need actual proof,” Oli explained.

  “This next one was a personal favorite of Nina’s,” Darwin announced as he turned the corner, entering a well-manicured square. “The CEO of Felton Oil lives here. One of England’s richest men. And for a good reason. He’s a notorious miser, willing to push everything to the limit just to save a penny.”

  “A most wicked man!” Hattie snapped. “He wiped out entire ecosystems. And all because he thought that faulty old oil tanker could make one last run. But of course it couldn’t. And the next thing you know, Mr. Felton was on television, apologizing for the terrible accident that had taken place. An accident? Hardly! Anyone with half a brain knew
that tanker had less than a twenty percent chance of crossing the Atlantic without a spill.”

  “As it turns out, a heavy burden of proof is not just the innocent man’s friend, but the criminal’s as well,” Oli added.

  “We do not agree with Nina’s tactics, but we understand her frustration,” Darwin explained. “After all, the bad guys do appear to be winning more and more these days.”

  “Maybe Nina has a point; maybe someone should take the law into their own hands,” Shelley mused aloud, prompting Oli, Darwin, and Hattie to exchange quick glances.

  “Is that what you believe?” Darwin asked Shelley. “That the end justifies the means?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Shelley finally answered. “If everyone took the law into their own hands, the world would go crazy.”

  Darwin nodded and smiled faintly. “Good to hear. For a second there, I thought we might have another Nina on our hands.”

  It was only because Shelley was standing so close to Darwin (a requirement for being heard) that she noticed the boy’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something unconvincing about his reaction, something that nagged at Shelley. However, before she could figure out what it might mean, Oli jumped in.

  “As you have most likely ascertained by now, we know Nina very well, which means we are going to catch her, and we are going to stop her,” Oli stated confidently.

  “But we prefer to work alone,” Darwin interjected bluntly. “Please know it’s nothing personal.”

  It sure feels personal, Jonathan thought. How was it possible that they were being rejected as spies before they even had a chance to start?

  “Plus, there are so many splendid sights to see in London—Big Ben, Parliament, the National Gallery—why waste your trip working? We can easily cover for you two with Randolph,” Hattie added.

  Shelley ripped off her glasses and shook her head. “Not a chance! Once we’ve been assigned a mission, nothing can stop us. Except for a tsunami or falling into a coma or being thrown in prison or—”

  “There’s something off about you two,” Darwin interrupted. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you’re not like any other operatives we know.”

  Jonathan and Shelley stared blankly at Darwin as they silently reviewed their options. Telling the truth was off the table, as President Arons had explicitly instructed them not to speak of the League of Unexceptional Children. However, hiding their incompetence and lack of training was near impossible.

  “Interesting,” Shelley stalled, rubbing her chin. “We’re not like other operatives? How so?”

  “The two of you have an air about you, an air of inability. Dare I say, you seem to be the Neville Chamberlains of espionage,” Oli declared, and then broke into a fit of laughter along with Darwin and Hattie.

  Eager as ever to fit in, Shelley joined the raucous laughter. However, the second she did, the trio abruptly stopped.

  Oli leaned in, mere inches from Shelley’s smudged glasses, and asked, “Am I to take it that you actually know who Neville Chamberlain is?”

  Shelley rolled her eyes at Oli and confidently replied, “Shelley Brown knows all about Neville Chamberlain.”

  Brow furrowed, sweat pooling along his upper lip, Jonathan did the only thing he could think of—he sighed loudly.

  “Go on, then,” Darwin prompted Shelley. “Tell us about Mr. Chamberlain.”

  Again, the voice of doubt in Shelley’s head appeared. Run! Get out! They know you’re nothing but a fraud!

  Don’t you dare run! You can do this! You’re nothing short of a genius on your feet, Shelley’s voice of confidence countered.

  After banging her palm against her forehead, Shelley broke into a goofy smile. “Wait, when I said Shelley Brown, you thought I was talking about myself? I can see how that could have been confusing, but I was actually talking about my fourth-grade history teacher. She just so happens to also be called Shelley Brown. What can I say? It’s a popular name.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow. If you were not in fact referring to yourself when you said ‘Shelley Brown knows all about Neville Chamberlain,’ then why were you laughing?” Hattie inquired.

  “Quite the detective, aren’t you?” Shelley offered through a tense smile.

  “Dear girl, have you forgotten that I’m an operative?” Hattie replied.

  “My mother always said that if my brain were a cheese, it would be Swiss, because of all the holes in my memory,” Shelley rambled awkwardly, all the while searching her mind for some way, any way, to bring this conversation to an end.

  “You still haven’t explained why you were laughing,” Darwin interjected.

  “That’s what’s known as…a future laugh. As in, I’m laughing now so that in the future when I understand the joke, I don’t need to waste any time actually laughing,” Shelley explained.

  “Future laughs are very popular in the United States,” Jonathan lied, and then whispered to Shelley, “I’m pretty sure Neville Chamberlain’s a character in Harry Potter.”

  “That’s Neville Longbottom! Even I know that,” Shelley whispered back.

  “Neville Chamberlain was Britain’s most ineffective and inept prime minister. He was the man who famously supported appeasement with Hitler before the start of the Second World War,” Oli explained.

  “You have heard of Hitler, haven’t you?” Darwin asked with his trademark sly smile.

  “Yes!” Jonathan and Shelley answered in unison.

  “Good. For a second there I was starting to wonder whether Glasses and Khaki were duds in the brains department,” Darwin responded. “Because we don’t work with duds.”

  “Neither do we,” Shelley retorted.

  “And you’re quite certain that you’re up for the mission?” Oli inquired.

  “I’d say we’re more like sort of certain,” Jonathan answered.

  “Very well, then. No time to waste. We’d best start back toward Downing Street—it’s a bit of a walk from here,” Hattie said as she led the charge down the street.

  OCTOBER 22, 6:03 P.M. STREET. LONDON, ENGLAND

  “You see, it was a Sunday in mid-November, which is, of course, prime partridge season,” Hattie explained to Jonathan as the two walked side by side, the others trailing behind them.

  “I’m sorry, what season?” Jonathan asked.

  “Partridge season. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of partridge season?”

  “Unfortunately, I’m only familiar with the basics—summer, fall, winter, and spring,” Jonathan answered honestly.

  “Partridge season, not to be confused with pheasant or grouse season, is September first to February first,” Hattie continued.

  “Excuse me, but may I interrupt?” Oli said, approaching from behind.

  “Yes, of course!” Jonathan answered a little too enthusiastically.

  “Hattie, you simply must hear what Shelley just said,” Oli shrieked, barely controlling his laughter.

  “I don’t know what the big deal is. ‘Life’s in the meat tails’ is a pretty common saying,” Shelley said with a shrug.

  “Life’s in the details,” Jonathan corrected Shelley.

  “No, it’s meat tails. As in life is full of surprises, like finding really good meat on an animal’s tail,” Shelley said, and then stopped to rub her chin. “On second thought, maybe it is details?”

  “Will she ever learn?” Jonathan wondered aloud as the group approached the heavily guarded gate in front of 10 Downing Street.

  “We do hope you both sleep well, safe and sound in your beds,” Hattie said to Jonathan and Shelley, waving good night.

  “Safe?” Darwin asked. “Is an operative ever really safe?”

  “Not until they’re dead,” Oli answered, as the trio walked into the night.

  OCTOBER 23, 2:06 A.M. RIVER THAMES. LONDON, ENGLAND

  It was a most unusual sight. A speedboat carrying five kids, cutting through the river Thames at just past two in the morning. Seated on a bench at
the back of the boat were Jonathan and Shelley, huddled together, the wind chilling them to the bone. Seemingly unaffected by the briskness, Oli and Hattie flanked Darwin as he moored the boat in front of the Tower of London, a royal fortress that had been used as everything from a mint to an armory to a prison and torture chamber, and much more.

  “As we said earlier, Nina turned on her cell phone for less than six seconds tonight,” Darwin explained as they disembarked from the boat.

  “But six seconds was all I needed to track her signal,” Hattie said, pulling a tissue from her sleeve. “What a terrible pest the cold is for my sinuses!”

  Oli stood staring at the Tower of London, index finger tapping his temple. “It makes perfect sense, now that I think about it. For just last week I saw Nina reading a book on Anne Boleyn.” He then turned to Jonathan and Shelley. “You know who Anne Boleyn is, don’t you?”

  “So this is going to be a thing now? Asking us who everyone is,” Jonathan grumbled. “Great.”

  Annoyed by the smirk on Darwin’s face, an overwhelming desire to prove the smug boy wrong took hold of Shelley. “As a matter of fact, we’re friends on Facebook.”

  “You’re friends with Anne Boleyn on Facebook?” Darwin repeated, breaking into uncontrolled laughter.

  Shelley’s face contorted as her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Okay, fine. We’re not friends on Facebook. I’m going to need to retract that whole statement.”

  “Dear girl, another retraction?” Hattie noted, shaking her head.

  “Trust me, it’s easier to nod and accept than to question,” Jonathan offered before releasing an epically long sigh.

  “Nod and accept that your partner claimed to be Facebook friends with Henry the Eighth’s wife Anne Boleyn? I don’t think so,” Darwin replied haughtily.

  “Henry the Eighth was the king of England from 1509 to 1547. He’s rather notorious for having six wives, two of whom he had executed, Anne Boleyn being one of them. And it just so happens that she was tried and executed here at the Tower of London,” Oli explained. “Don’t they teach history in the United States?”