Get Smart-ish (2 page)

OCTOBER 22, 9:32 A.M. 10 DOWNING STREET. LONDON, ENGLAND

The man was thin and wiry. He wore a pristinely tailored navy suit and an expensive yet understated wristwatch. Stuck in a perpetual state of scowling, Prime Minister Falcon was exactly what Jonathan and Shelley expected of a government official—serious and imposing.

“President Arons informs me that you are the team responsible for recently stopping the sale of classified government information, as well as bringing the vice president's kidnapper to justice,” Prime Minister Falcon said in a stiff and formal manner befitting a conversation with the queen.

“To you he may be the vice president, but to me he's just Carl, a close personal friend,” Shelley stated proudly while seated before the prime minister's desk.

“In the spirit of full disclosure, I feel you should know that Shelley has an incredibly low bar for what constitutes a friend,” Jonathan chimed in. “If you so much as wave at her, she'll consider you a bestie.”

“But am I correct in assuming that you two were responsible for the success of the aforementioned mission?” Prime Minister Falcon pressed on.

“You are, sir,” Jonathan confirmed, and then quickly bit his tongue to stop himself from adding, “
But I'm pretty sure the whole thing was a fluke
.”

“Good,” the prime minister responded with a nod. “I do not ask for foreign aid easily. Only the most grave and dangerous of situations has brought me to do so today.”

“PM—may I call you PM?”

“Please don't,” Jonathan whispered to Shelley.

“You needn't worry,” Shelley went on, “because while my middle name isn't ‘Grave and Dangerous,' it would be if it weren't illegal for minors to change their names without parental permission.”

Prime Minister Falcon's stiff expression grew strained as he looked from Shelley to Jonathan expectantly.

“Oh, me? I don't have a middle name, which is actually a good thing when you hear the ones my parents were considering…Flash, Boon, River…I mean, what were they thinking? I could never pull off any of those names.”

“No way. Frank or Larry, maybe,” Shelley added.

“I do not wish to offend you two, but—” the prime minister began.

Shelley held up her left hand. “Don't worry, it takes a lot to offend us, right, Johno?”

“Right. It's actually one of our strongest assets.”

“You two seem terribly inept, rather shockingly so,” Prime Minister Falcon declared unapologetically.

“Inept? You mean like we don't know what we're doing?” Shelley asked.

“Exactly,” the prime minister answered.

“That's because we don't know what we're doing. And we're pretty much not good at anything,” Jonathan explained.

“I hate to disagree with my partner, but I actually have quite a few hidden talents.”

“She doesn't,” Jonathan stated emphatically. “But what we do have is an ability to blend in, to go through life without registering on anyone's radar. Why? Because we're average, forgettable, normal. In the words of the League's chief operating agent, Hammett Humphries, we live in the world's blind spot.”

“And that blind spot gives us access to just about everything,” Shelley said as she removed her glasses and looked the prime minister straight in the eye. “You may not believe it now, but in the end, you'll wish all your spies were as unexceptional as we are.”

“This is a most interesting theory. It is not the talent of the operative that matters, but the operative's ability to go unnoticed,” the prime minister pondered quietly.

“We saved our government from some pretty scary stuff, and if you'll let us, we'll do our best to help you too,” Jonathan said.

The prime minister stared at the boy for a few seconds before turning to Randolph and nodding.

“Two nights ago a BAE agent—that's the Bureau of Adolescent Espionage—named Nina Mitford went AWOL,” Randolph said while placing a photo of the teenage girl on the table in front of Jonathan and Shelley. “She disconnected her tracking device, turned off her cell phone, and then broke into a laboratory that handles low-security experiments…with one very important exception.”

“Ooooh,” Shelley said, leaning in, “I'm sensing this is about to get good.”

“To fully understand this story, I must first tell you about the chiropterologist,” Randolph began before pausing. “That is someone who studies bats.”

“No need to state the obvious, Randolph,” Shelley interjected while Jonathan rolled his eyes.

“The chiropterologist, Dr. Kashef, was well known in the research community for a variety of reasons, one of which was that he was a certified genius with an IQ of one sixty. However, a few months ago, while on a research trip in Africa, he was bitten by a previously unknown mutation of the common fruit bat. Within weeks he was a changed man—easily distracted, confused, unable to focus for more than a few seconds at a time and, as such, less intelligent—by thirty IQ points, to be exact. You see, this mutated group of bats carried a virus that attacks the brain's frontal lobe, permanently affecting a person's ability to focus and therefore their intelligence. The virus spreads via saliva. And though this small colony of bats was destroyed, one vial of the virus was brought back to the United Kingdom for research.”

“Dr. Kashef kissed a bat, didn't he? Listen, I'm not judging; weird things happen in the dark. Once during a blackout, I let my sister's hamsters out of the cage, only to hunt them down like a lion would rabbits….I turned into a real animal…until the lights came on. Then I went back to watching reality TV,” Shelley said, prompting the prime minister to whisper to Randolph, “It is not just the loss of great minds that scares me, but what will happen to those already lacking.”

Randolph nodded as a creaking sound began to emanate from the closet to the left of the prime minister's desk. The faint noise morphed into a raucous shuffling, prompting all in the room to turn.

“Don't tell me we have another rodent infestation,” the prime minister remarked as the door flung open, revealing a tall man in a double-breasted gray pin-striped suit, with a well-oiled head of black hair.

“Randolph, call security!” Prime Minister Falcon shrieked as he pushed his chair away from the desk.

“Hammett!” Shelley and Jonathan cried in unison as the man popped a toothpick into his mouth and sauntered into the room.

“No need for security, Prime Minister,” Hammett said as he approached the desk, right hand extended. “The name's Hammett, with two
t
's, Hammett Humphries.”

“The chief operating agent for the League of Unexceptional Children?” the prime minister asked.

“That's me, live and in the flesh,” Hammett said as he pulled the toothpick from his mouth.

“Yes, but what on earth were you doing in my closet?” Prime Minister Falcon demanded as he banged his fist against the desk.

“You're a feisty one, aren't you?” Hammett said with a sly smile. “Let me give it to you short and simple. These two here, they might not look like much, or talk like much, or even know much, but they're going to save you, I guarantee it. However, unexceptionals are like porcupines in a cage full of gorillas. They need special handling, so President Arons thought it best I was on the ground in London, just in case.”

“Very well, we can accept that your spies need a chaperone, but that still doesn't explain what you were doing in the closet,” Randolph snapped brusquely.

“What can I say? I like to make an entrance,” Hammett said just as a red-haired woman dressed in a traditional white nurse's uniform exited the closet.

“The Thames flood of 1928 killed fourteen people. Gray and bloated; that's how the bodies looked when they pulled them from the river,” the stern-faced woman announced to the room.

“Who in the bloody heck is this?” Prime Minister Falcon griped, clearly frustrated by the stream of visitors in his office.

“This here's my colleague Nurse Maidenkirk. She's a great broad, but she never has anything cheerful to say; it's just one horror story after another,” Hammett explained.

“Charming lot, you Americans,” the prime minister grumbled sarcastically as he eyed the motley crew. “Now, unless there are any other people hiding in the closet, may we please get back to the rather pressing matter at hand?!”

Randolph nodded and quickly resumed his briefing. “After interviewing Operative Mitford's friends and colleagues at BAE, we've learned that she is a passionate environmentalist. One who has grown increasingly disillusioned by our government's failure to support legislation that would protect England's nature preserves. And with an initiative to allow oil drilling in protected areas coming before Parliament next week, we believe she plans on using LIQ-30 on select ministers to sway the vote in her favor.”

“For as you can imagine, the more confused a person is, the easier he or she is to manipulate,” the prime minister added.

“Trust me, I know,” Shelley said, motioning toward Jonathan. “I've seen this one manipulated by squirrels in the park; they worked him over for every last piece of popcorn he had. It was pathetic.”

“Once LIQ-30 is out there, there's no stopping it. It will be a plague more destructive than any we've ever known: a plague of dimming intelligence,” Prime Minister Falcon continued, completely ignoring Shelley's comments.

“Not to worry, PM, we're on it like white on rice or brown on rice, depending on what kind of rice you prefer to eat,” Shelley babbled, then extended her arms. “What do you say we seal the deal with a hug?”

“I don't think so,” Prime Minister Falcon responded coldly.

“Hugs have helped many a world leader deal with the pain of childhood. A few seconds in these bad boys and you forget all about the time your parents left you at the rest stop in Yellowstone.”

“And on that very uncomfortable note, I think we're done,” Jonathan announced as he pulled Shelley away from the prime minister.

“On that we agree,” Randolph said. “Mr. Humphries, Nurse Maidenkirk, as the operatives will be at BAE headquarters this afternoon, I do not believe we will be needing your services any further today.”

“Is that your polite way of saying we don't have clearance?” Hammett asked as he popped a new toothpick into his mouth. “Not to worry, we can take a hint. Can't we, Maidenkirk?”

“There was a dead bird near the gate,” Nurse Maidenkirk said, eyes twinkling with excitement. “It probably flew into a window and broke its neck. I think we ought to have it stuffed by a local taxidermist as a souvenir from the trip.”

“I feel it my duty to tell you that this woman isn't an actual nurse, so don't let her give you any shots, okay?” Jonathan whispered to Randolph.