Blue's Revenge
Authors: Deborah Abela
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Max Remy Superspy 06: Blue's Revenge
ePub ISBN 9781742745114
Random House Australia Pty Ltd
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First published in 2004
Text copyright © Deborah Abela 2004
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
Abela, Deborah.
Max Remy super spy: Blue's revenge.
For children aged 8+.
ISBN 978 1 74051 913 7.
1. Spies-Juvenile fiction. I. Title.
A823.4
Photograph of the author by Todd Decker
Cover and internal illustrations by Jobi Murphy b d / d
For Phoebe, Olivia, Allie and Tony
The midday sun burned down on the winding, narrow streets of Fez. Like an invisible blanket of fire, it scorched the air and ground, making it hard to move and even harder to breathe. A sluggish breeze, singed with heat, blew dry and stale into the sweating faces of shoppers and merchants alike, so that the haggling over carpets, jewellery and finely crafted silverware lost the gusto of the early morning trade.
Max and Linden were in the Old Medina, an ancient walled part of the city crisscrossed by dusty, crooked alleys, at times no bigger than two outstretched arms. It was filled with covered bazaars, workshops, food stands and restaurants as small as cupboards, all huddled together under the scorching North African sun.
Small clusters of robed people swished past, their feet kicking up the dirt of the alleyway. Young boys carrying trays with glasses of mint tea stopped and sold them to anyone who would listen. Carpet sellers sat on the steps of their small, crowded shops, their rugs and carpets dripping down the walls around them as they fanned themselves with newspapers or postcards.
âThink this looks any good?'
Linden picked up a red, tasselled fez from a
table in front of them and pushed it onto his tornado-style hair.
âThe girls won't be able to hold themselves back,' Max said with a wisecracking smile.
Max and Linden were working undercover as tourists in Morocco. While they pretended to shop and sightsee, they were really trailing the movements of Levi Haddock, a tub-bellied ball of a man with no neck, googly eyes and an unfortunate, death-inducing case of body odour.
Spyforce had been keeping an eye on Haddock for the past twelve months. He had been caught by the Moroccan police for a few minor misdemeanours, like evading import taxes and not keeping his camels properly tied up at night, but the police knew he was guilty of bigger crimes only they lacked the evidence to prove it.
Spyforce had used their wider contacts and internationally trained agents to delve deeper into Haddock's activities and soon found he was implicated in several very crooked schemes. He'd laundered money through phoney dry cleaning businesses in Berlin, smuggled uncut diamonds out of Saudi Arabia in tins of sardines, and had been responsible for acts of karaoke in Japan that, while not illegal, deserved to be listed as crimes.
It was now up to Max and Linden to find firm proof of Haddock's criminal activities and lead him to his capture.
They'd been spending their weekend with Max's Uncle Ben and Aunt Eleanor at their farm in Mindawarra when Spyforce contacted them about the mission. Steinberger, the Administration Manager of the Force, assured them that with their skills as spies, it would take no longer than twenty-four hours to bring Haddock in, leaving them plenty of time to be ready for school on Monday morning.
Max and Linden happily accepted the mission, partly for the excitement but also because it gave Max something to think about other than her mother's wedding, which had taken over their lives and was happening in only a few days.
Linden decided against the fez and took a mouthful from his water bottle, and just as his head tipped back, he saw him. The round-bellied man was standing on a veranda directly above them, stretching and yawning after his afternoon nap.
âMax, it's Haddock.'
But when Linden turned around, Max had walked to another stall and was haggling over the price of a large teapot.
âMax,' he whispered.
Haddock disappeared inside and the door closed behind him. Within minutes he was on the street, carrying a small suitcase and walking away from them.
Linden thought about the quickest way to get Max's attention and, even though he knew she wouldn't like it, raced over and grabbed her, making sure his hand was across her mouth. He ran with Max flung beside him, hoping her muffled protests wouldn't attract attention.
Then Haddock stopped.
Linden looked around quickly before pulling Max into the doorway of an antique shop and looking her in the eye.
âIt's Haddock.' He took his hand away from her mouth.
âHaddock?' Max almost choked. âWhat are we doing here? We should be after him!'
Linden sighed. âWhy didn't I think of that?'
Max peered out from the doorway to see Haddock sipping tea from one of the young sellers. âWe have to be discreet,' she cautioned, âso don't do anything that's going to attract attention.'
But as she stepped out of the doorway, Max became entangled in a piece of rope strung from
the roof, which was holding up a tangled cluster of silver pots and jugs.
âUh-oh.' Linden watched as the pots fell towards them like a collapsing silver tent. He apologised briefly to the owner, who was standing in silent shock, and pulled Max outside, pushing her beneath a nearby stall that was covered with woven baskets and pointed leather slippers.
Max crouched guiltily beneath the curtained table, avoiding Linden's pointed stare and desperately hoping Haddock hadn't noticed the scene she'd caused.
âI've seen you be more discreet, you know.' Linden snuck a look outside.
Haddock sipped the last of his tea, offering a scant look over his shoulder at the hand-waving owner and the sudden debris of antiques, before leaving coins on the boy's tea tray and walking away.
âLet's go.' Linden shot out from beneath the table and slowed into the casual stroll of a tourist shopping. Max was soon beside him as Haddock turned into an even narrower alley.
Linden slid down a wall opposite, keeping Haddock in sight. He took out a tatty, dog-eared book called
The Tourist Guide to Morocco
, which
secretly concealed an Electronic Positioning Finder or EPF.
Haddock ducked his head slightly as he pushed aside a beaded curtain and stepped into a small, sand-coloured shop. Linden studied the EPF. âIt's the entrance to a jeweller.'
Max slid down beside him and winced at the fiery grill beside them, packed with smoking skewers of goat. Max's vegetarian nose still wasn't used to the many food stalls that lined the streets, all selling sizzling meat.
She took out her X-ray Spectrogram, a device that looked like a pocket computer game but was able to look through walls and inside buildings. For anyone who was watching, they were just two kids, taking an innocent break in the shade of a small street, playing games and reading books.
âWhat's he doing?' Linden turned a page of his guide, pretending to read.
Max looked at the grainy picture on the Spectrogram. âHe's talking to a large man with a beard who is wearing more jewellery than my mother.' Max adjusted the parameters of the Spectrogram to get a better view of where Haddock was. âThey're surrounded by lots of cupboards and glass cabinets filled with all sorts of jewellery.'
âCan you see any other rooms?'
âThere's a door that leads to one with a sink and a small stove. Looks like a regular kitchen, though.' Max looked further and smiled. âThere's a secret passage concealed behind a wall rug and it's full of metal crates.'
âCan you get a read on what's in them?'
Max zeroed in on the contents of one of the boxes and programmed the Spectrogram to give her an object ID. âIt's doing it now ⦠Hello there.'
âWhat's happening?'
âMr Jewellery is showing Haddock inside the hidden room. He's opening a box and handing Haddock a small metallic cylinder. Haddock's looking at it closely. Now he's giving it back, along with his suitcase.'
âWhich is full of cash,' Linden guessed.
Max watched as Mr Jewellery opened the case, revealing wads of bills. âBingo, Einstein.' Her screen lit up with the words:
She read from the screen. âIt's a detonator device for bombs. Highly sophisticated bombs that are capable of â'
A hand reached down from above and snatched the Spectrogram out of Max's hands. She looked up to see a huge robed man, smiling through crooked, yellow teeth. His bowl-sized hands crushed the device as if it was made of cardboard.
âSomething tells me he's not happy to see us.' Linden closed his guidebook as the man dropped the useless chunk of ex-Spectrogram beside Max.
âUh huh.' Max gulped.
The man then spoke into his sleeve, as if he was talking into a two-way radio.
Linden snatched his water bottle from his pocket and squirted it into the man's face. The man recoiled backwards, giving them a few seconds to make a run for it. Linden darted into the crowd, with Max following close behind, just as Haddock came running from the jeweller's shop, his eyes ablaze, looking frantically around. He saw the young spies and bounded towards them.
The streets were beginning to fill again after the traditional midday sleep and Max and Linden dodged and wove between small children playing games, men carrying wooden carvings and an old woman leading an overloaded donkey. They jumped over the hunched body of a young girl drawing in the sand and only just managed to
limbo under a thick roll of carpet being carried by two small boys.
Haddock, for all his bulk, was still close on their tail.
âDown here.' Linden led Max down a dusty back alley. It twisted and turned at sharp angles.
They dived through a small archway lined with washing and almost collided with a man carrying a basket full of tomatoes. The man held his basket high and turned on his heels so he wouldn't lose his precious load, but his relief was short-lived when he was railroaded by Haddock's bulky frame tearing in behind them. The two men clashed and the tomatoes fountained into the air before raining down like paint-bombs. The owner began a stream of curses and wailing. Haddock merely snarled at him, wiped tomato goo off his face and turned to see Max and Linden continue their flight.
âYou won't escape me in here.'
He followed them up an old splintered ladder that led him onto the lip of what looked like a giant paintbox. These were the mudbrick pools of the tanneries. Deep round vats were filled with brilliant reds, oranges and deep browns for dyeing leather. Surrounding them was a maze of wooden beams dripping with newly dyed animal skins.
âCould this place smell any worse?' Max took short, shallow breaths to minimise the strong-smelling odours that were itching her nose.
Max and Linden ran along the narrow rims. They sped past men with their robes wrapped around their waists like billowing shorts, their fingers and hands stained as they slushed the skins in and out of the coloured vats.
Linden turned round. âHaddock's still following.' He gingerly pushed aside a large, dripping red skin, which slipped out of his hand and slapped into Max's face.
âEuwww.' She pushed away the bright red curtain, which left lines of red dye on her like a bad case of streaky sunburn. âMum's going to kill me if this stuff doesn't come off in time for the wedding. It washes off, right?'
Linden didn't have time to answer. Haddock was almost on top of them. âQuick. This way.'
Max wiped dripping dye from her face as Linden headed off along a narrow ledge, but when they rounded a bend, they found themselves trapped in a dark and inescapable corner.
âThat's enough of the games now, eh?' Haddock wheezed as he stumbled to a stop behind them.
Linden discreetly pressed a recorder button on
his watch before the two spies slowly turned to see their grinning pursuer. Haddock took a hanky from inside his robe and dabbed his sweating brow and cheeks. What he took out next, though, was less innocent. He pushed back his robe and revealed a long metal sheath hanging from a leather belt.
âLet me introduce you to my sword. It has been in my family for three hundred years and has been victorious in many battles against intruders.'
The sound of the sword being torn from the sheath echoed around them. He ran the ancient blade across his palm and drew instant blood.
âJust to let you know how good it is.'
âOh, we believe you.' Max wasn't sure if it was the airless heat, the smells of the tannery or the drips of blood falling from Haddock's hand that were making her feel woozy. âWhat do you want with the detonators?'
Haddock eyed her hungrily. âAs if I would tell a couple of puny brats.'
He laughed as he raised the blade above his head, both hands gripping the ornamental handle, and took one step towards them. Max and Linden looked down at the large dyed skin he now stood on and only just held back two victorious smiles.
Haddock gathered a lungful of air to prepare for
his strike, but as he was about to bring the blade down, ropes tied to each corner of the animal skin beneath him jerked upwards towards a wooden pulley, knocking the sword from his hands and lifting him into the air like a sack of cargo being loaded onto a ship.
âNow, Haddock, tell us about the detonators,' Max ordered.
âNever!' Haddock's reply was muffled but furious.
Three robed Spyforce agents appeared before Max and Linden, the obvious creators of the smelly trap. A fourth stood beside them, surveying their handiwork.