Get Smart-ish (5 page)

“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?”

Jonathan and Shelley stared at Oli, as they did any time they were unsure of what to do next.

“Of course they teach us history,” Jonathan finally responded. “They just prefer to focus on the United States.”

“Exactly!” Shelley concurred. “We're just really into ourselves, so we don't have time to study your dead kings and their wives.”

“I do loathe to interrupt this history lesson, but it's been just over an hour since I picked up Nina's cell signal,” Hattie said urgently. “We must move quickly or we're liable to lose her.”

OCTOBER 23, 2:18 A.M. TOWER OF LONDON. LONDON, ENGLAND

Standing in front of one of the many service entrances to the Tower of London, Hattie, Darwin, and Oli carefully assessed the situation by scanning the area with infrared binoculars and checking for radio signals on their phones.

“We're coming up clean. There aren't any guards close by, making this as good a moment as any to break in,” Darwin announced to the group.

“Break in? Don't we have permission to be here?” Jonathan asked.

“Permission really slows us down. We don't see the point,” Darwin answered casually.

“Why am I always winding up in situations like this?” Jonathan mumbled under his breath.

“Because you're a spy,” Shelley answered firmly as she grabbed hold of Jonathan's arm.

“Right,” Jonathan reminded himself. “I'm a spy.”

“Hattie, we need the code,” Darwin said as he pointed to the number pad attached to the door's lock.

“So it appears,” Hattie said as she removed her gloves, headband, and clip-on earrings before pulling out her cell phone and typing in nearly one hundred different numbers.

“Amazing, isn't it?” Oli whispered to Jonathan and Shelley. “All she talks about is clotted cream
and partridges, and she can break into the government's mainframe in less than thirty seconds.”

“What's with Hattie taking off her gloves, earrings, and headband?” Shelley asked.

“It's just one of her quirks. And much like her interest in tartan, we think it best not to ask,” Oli answered.

“Honestly, how dim can the security team be?” Hattie remarked as she disarmed the alarm. “It took me all of twenty-two seconds to retrieve the code. They ought to be ashamed of themselves. Utterly ashamed.”

Once through the door, the group met with yet another obstacle—a metal gate, secured with a thick lock and chain.

“It's bomb time,” Oli said, motioning toward Darwin.

“Wait—did you say
bomb
?” Jonathan screeched.

“It's not a bomb; it's an explosive with a low volume,” Darwin corrected Oli.

“That sounds a lot like a bomb to me,” Jonathan mumbled.

“You needn't worry,” Oli said to Jonathan. “Darwin knows what he's doing. Blowing things up is his favorite pastime.”

The so-called explosive with a low volume detonated, creating a sound similar to a balloon bursting, which was immediately followed by a thick plume of sulfurous smoke.

“Glasses? Khaki? Are you sure you're up for this?” Darwin asked. “Nina was our friend. She's far less likely to lash out at us than you.”

“To put it bluntly, if she's going to infect anyone, it will be one of you, if not both of you,” Oli clarified.

The thought of being more confused and less intelligent was nothing short of petrifying for Jonathan. And yet he knew that if he turned and hid in the boat, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

“We're coming with you,” Jonathan answered softly.

“See that, right there,” Shelley said proudly, pointing to Jonathan. “That's why this guy is my hero eleven percent of the time.”

“And the other eighty-nine percent of the time?” Hattie asked.

“Not even a little bit.”

And on that note, Darwin motioned for the group to follow him down the cavernous black corridor into the Tower of London.

OCTOBER 23, 2:42 A.M. TOWER OF LONDON. LONDON, ENGLAND

Cold and drafty. The air thick with dampness and the faint smell of mildew. Soft scratching sounds reminded them that they were not alone. Scurrying through the corridors was nothing short of a parade of rodents. All in all, it was hardly a hospitable start to their journey.

“Good evening, sir,” Darwin called out upon spotting a fast-approaching security guard. “I'm sure you're wondering what we're doing here. The answer is simple. It's none of your business.” And with that, he lobbed what appeared to be a water balloon at the man's feet.

Splat.

The balloon exploded against the stone floor, mere inches from the guard's shoes. Seconds passed. He swayed back and forth. He stumbled. And finally, he collapsed.

“CHCl
₃
. The organic compound commonly known as chloroform knocks people unconscious rather rapidly,” Darwin stated proudly before turning to Oli. “Would you be a gent and tie him up for me?”

“Tie him up? Absolutely not. I'm a historian, not a thug,” Oli delivered dramatically.

“Such nonsense,” Hattie said as she once again removed her gloves, earrings, and headband. “Personally, I've always found tying people up quite enjoyable.”

“Um, I hate to break up the fun—” Jonathan interrupted.

“Total lie,” Shelley chimed in. “Jonathan loves being a fun killer; it's part of his khaki personality.”

“First of all, Shelley, I'm not a fun killer. And second of all—”

“Anyone who starts a sentence with ‘first of all'… total fun killer… no question about it,” Shelley stated confidently.

“What I was trying to say is, are we sure we want to tie up the security guard? What if we need help with Nina?” Jonathan asked.

“You cannot be serious! This lump of a man would be utterly useless against Nina. She's a trained operative; he's just some nobody!” Hattie responded. “Honestly, the only thing he could do for us is fetch us a cup of tea, although on second thought, I doubt he could even do that. Very few people these days know how to make a
proper
cup of tea.”

“‘Tea is one of the mainstays of civilization in this country and causes violent disputes over how it should be made,'” Oli quoted George Orwell while looking expectantly at the others, eager for someone to acknowledge his statement.

“Don't feel bad, it's a tough crowd,” Jonathan whispered to Oli.

“I think it's best we split up so we can cover as much ground as possible,” Darwin announced to the group as they approached an intersection of four hallways, each leading in a different direction. “Although, Khaki and Glasses should stay together. If they find Nina, they're going to need two brains just to stand a chance.”

“I don't mean to be annoying, but I'm not really feeling the nickname Glasses,” Shelley said with a
playful shrug. “I've always been more of a Super Shelley or Shelltastic kind of girl.”

“Here's the thing: I don't really care what you want to be called. I'm calling you Glasses, got it?” Darwin said, and then pointed at a nearby hall. “I'll take the northwest.”

“Very well, then. I'll handle the southwest,” Hattie said before pausing to adjust her headband and then disappearing down a dark corridor.

“I suppose the northeast is as good as any,” Oli declared as he faded into the shadows.

“No problem, so I guess that means we're taking the… Wait, what's left? This is beginning to feel like one of those word problems that make my brain hurt,” Shelley grumbled.

“This is the only corridor left, which means it's ours,” Jonathan said. “Although, if I'm honest, I'm hoping we don't find Nina.”

“Retract that statement right now, Johno! This is our time to shine! To show those book snakes what we're made of!”

“Book
worms
, not snakes,” Jonathan corrected Shelley.

“I knew it was something that slithered.”

“But what if Nina uses LIQ-30 on us?” Jonathan wondered aloud. “What would happen if we couldn't focus? We would be even more confused than we already are!”

“We'd be fine, just fine,” Shelley lied as they started down the hall. “Is it just me or is it getting darker in here? Not that I'm afraid of the dark. Because spies can't be afraid of the dark. Can they? No, of course they can't! Although I'm starting to think
you
might be afraid of the dark. Don't worry, I'll slip my arm through yours to help keep you calm.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Shells. Your arm is bringing me more comfort than you'll ever know.”

“Did you feel that?” Shelley yelped.

“What? Did something bite you?”

“Bite me? You mean like a vampire? Do you think there are vampires in here?” Shelley asked.

“I meant like an insect,” Jonathan clarified. “Vampires are not real.”

“I have it on good authority that President Arons eats two cloves of garlic a day, just in case.”

Jonathan sighed. “Please define what you mean by good authority.”

“Well, if you really want to know—wait! What about
that
?”

“What?”

“The burst of cold air. Or as it is more commonly known, a ghost!”

“Ghosts, like vampires, are not real. Rogue teenage spies, however, are, so will you please start paying attention to the here and now and stop imagining supernatural visitors?” Jonathan implored Shelley as two hands grabbed hold of his shoulders and pushed him straight into a nearby pit.

“Shell—” Jonathan shrieked, although before he could even finish saying her name, she had landed on top of him.