Get Smart-ish (9 page)

“Shells?”

“Yeah, Johno?”

“Will you please just tell me what you were thinking?”

“We should pay Nina's grandma a visit. They seem close; she could know something.”

“That's
actually
a good idea.”

Shelley smiled and then playfully punched Jonathan's shoulder. “Don't feel bad. I'm sure one day, you'll have one too.”

OCTOBER 24, 2:35 P.M. MRS. MITFORD'S HOUSE. CASTLE COMBE, ENGLAND

“I hope you don't find this inappropriate,” Shelley said to Mrs. Mitford, Nina's well-maintained grandmother, over tea in the sitting room. “But you smell really good, like butter cookies and cinnamon.”

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Mitford responded as she fiddled with a loose string coming out of the sofa. “I must admit I have something of a sweet tooth, always have. I can't quite explain it, but biscuits and cakes bring me such happiness.”

“You know what makes me happy? Popping open a Coke and jamming on my air guitar,” Shelley said.

“I don't follow,” Mrs. Mitford said, clearly confused by Shelley's ramblings.

“No one does,” Jonathan interjected. “Now, about Nina. Was she always passionate about the environment? Or was this a cause she took up recently?”

“The environment? You mean the outdoors?” Mrs. Mitford chuckled. “Nina loathes nature. She's absolutely petrified of spiders and insects. As a child she used to cover her room in insect repellent. The whole house smelled like a chemical plant.”

“So Nina's not into camping, but she's dedicated, maybe even a little extreme, when it comes to protecting the planet from pollution and deforestation?” Jonathan pressed on.

“Nina would never help a corporation destroy the rain forest or drop chemicals in a river, but that's not to say she gives much thought to such things,” Mrs. Mitford said, pausing to smile. “It was nothing short of a miracle when I finally convinced her to put her water bottles in the recycling and not the bin. Teenagers can be very lazy, as your parents will soon learn.”

“I know how you feel. My parents are actually pretty lazy themselves,” Jonathan added.

“So Nina wasn't a tree hugger? She didn't yell at people who wasted paper or left the tap running while they brushed their teeth?” Shelley asked, clearly confused by the conflicting reports on Nina.

“Oh, the shower! Nina leaves the water running for five minutes straight before getting in. She likes it to feel like a steam room,” Mrs. Mitford said with a laugh. “She really is such a wonderful girl—but a conservationist she is not.”

Jonathan couldn't help but furrow his brow. The situation was starting to give him a headache. How was it that Nina's coworkers and family had such different ideas about the girl? Who, if anyone, knew the real Nina?

“And just to be clear, you're close to your granddaughter, right?” Jonathan asked.

“Very close,” Mrs. Mitford answered before adding, “These are most peculiar questions. Where did you say you were from again?”

“The Evergreen school paper. We're doing a profile on Nina in our next issue,” Shelley explained.

“Well then, you ought to interview that boy she's always talking about…Charles…no…David…no…Darwin, yes, that's it. Darwin, like the evolutionist.”

Jonathan nodded apprehensively. “We'll be sure to do that.”

OCTOBER 24, 4:48 P.M. TRAIN STATION. LONDON, ENGLAND

“Maybe the old lady just thinks she's close to her granddaughter,” Shelley said to Jonathan as they stepped off the train and into a crowd of commuters trying to make their way home. “After all, teenagers hide things from their parents, so why not their grandparents?”

“Teenagers hide
bad
things, not recycling and trying to save the planet.”

“But Nina's a spy. Spies are not just professional liars, they're professional secret keepers,” Shelley reasoned.

“I don't know, Shells. There's something about this that doesn't feel right.”

Shelley lowered her glasses and looked Jonathan in the eye. “When something smells funky, check the aquarium, because your fish is probably dead.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that when you think something's wrong, it probably is. Or it just means that your fish is dead and it's time to flush it,” Shelley explained as she stepped out of the way of a particularly fast-walking commuter.

“Your fish died? Would you like me to perform an autopsy?” a familiar voice interrupted from behind, prompting Jonathan and Shelley to turn around.

Nurse Maidenkirk was nearly unrecognizable in a sleek black pantsuit. Next to her, dressed in his usual pin-striped double-breasted suit, was Hammett.

“Wouldn't it be easier to text us when you want to meet instead of constantly popping up?” Shelley wondered aloud.

“Text messages are a dangerous game. They're easier to hack into than a box of mac and cheese. Now, follow me, kiddos,” Hammett said, leading them to a quiet corner, away from the hustle and bustle of the station.

After catching Hammett and Nurse Maidenkirk up on the latest developments, Jonathan and Shelley relaxed. There was something comforting about Hammett, almost parental. They could rely on him, they could trust him, and right now they couldn't say that about anyone else. Not in England, anyway.

“Go back to the origin of the environmentalist story,” Hammett said, pulling a toothpick from his mouth. “Who told you Nina was an environmentalist?”

“Prime Minister Falcon,” Shelley answered.

“And who told the prime minister?”

“Randolph,” Jonathan replied.

“And who told Randolph?”

“Darwin, Oli, and Hattie,” Jonathan responded.

“So someone misunderstood?” Hammett proposed.

“These aren't the type of people to misunderstand,” Jonathan pointed out. “They're annoyingly detail oriented.”

“It's true. They're even worse than Jonathan,” Shelley added.

“So maybe there's more to this case than meets the eye,” Hammett declared as he popped the toothpick back into his mouth. “You need to find out. And fast. LIQ-30 is one scary virus, especially for your lot. Average, unexceptional kids can't afford to lose focus or intelligence. Bottom line, you don't have enough to spare.”

“What a long and interesting history we've had with viruses,” Nurse Maidenkirk mused. “Did you know the Spanish flu killed fifty million people?”

“No, I didn't,” Jonathan answered flatly.

“Did you know that smallpox killed three hundred million people up through the twentieth century?”

“Nope,” Shelley responded. “And to be honest, I could have easily gone the rest of my life without knowing those facts.”

“Listen here, kiddos,” Hammett said as he placed a hand on both Jonathan's and Shelley's shoulder. “The nobodies of this world are counting on you. Don't let them down.”

OCTOBER 24, 6:01 P.M. RESTAURANT. LONDON, ENGLAND

After talking to Hammett, Jonathan and Shelley realized that the only surefire way to get to the bottom of things was to spy on the spies, i.e., Oli, Hattie, and Darwin. And though Jonathan and Shelley were not even fractionally as well versed in espionage as the BAE agents, their forgettable nature made trailing targets a cinch.

“What are you thinking?” Jonathan asked Shelley as they peered into the restaurant's main dining room, where Oli, Hattie, and Darwin were seated.

“The coat closet,” Shelley said as she motioned toward a nearby door. “We'll be out of the way and yet still able to keep an eye on them.”

“Good thinking,” Jonathan responded as the two slipped into the closet.

Crouched on the floor, peering out from behind the coats, Shelley whispered, “I don't mean to be a pain, but I feel like spotting this location was more than
good
thinking, it was
great
thinking.”

“You know what I like about you, Shells?”

“Everything.”

“You're not afraid to give yourself a compliment,” Jonathan said.

“What choice do I have? I'm an unexceptional. Who else is going to compliment me?” Shelley said as she watched a waiter approach Darwin, Oli, and Hattie's table with a basket of bread and a bottle of olive oil.

Jonathan gasped. “Did you see that?”

“Of course I did!” Shelley replied. “But just in case I missed it, why don't you tell me anyway?”

“Hattie laughed at the same time as Darwin when Oli finished speaking—she understood a joke. How could she understand a joke that quickly? Post-contamination, she's averaging a two- to three-minute lag time for anything more complicated than a knock-knock joke, and that's if she can concentrate long enough to even listen to the joke!”

“Maybe Hattie's future laughing,” Shelley suggested.

“That's not a real thing. We made it up to explain why you were laughing when you didn't know who Neville Chamberlain was!”

Shelley nodded. “Oh yeah, that's right.”

Jonathan suddenly grabbed hold of Shelley's shoulder. “What if Hattie wasn't contaminated with LIQ-30 at all? What if she's faking it?”

“Johno, you know I love jumping to a conclusion more than just about anyone. It's actually listed on my résumé as a hobby. Okay, that part's not true, but you get the idea. My point is, so she laughed; is that really enough to say she's faking LIQ-30 contamination? She might have been laughing at a joke Oli told five minutes earlier for all we know. Since we can't hear them, it's hard to say anything for sure.”

“You're right.”

Shelley smiled. “Those three words never get old, do they?”

“It's actually only two words because
you're
is a contraction.”

“Enough with your details!”

“Don't you mean meat tails?”

“They're on the move,” Shelley noted as Oli, Darwin, and Hattie walked away from the table.

Jonathan and Shelley dashed out of the restaurant just as the trio stepped into a taxi.

“Come on,” Shelley said as she pulled Jonathan toward a waiting black cab.

“But we don't have any money!”

“So we'll give the driver an IOU!”

“No one accepts IOUs in the real world!” Jonathan cried. “I don't even accept them in Monopoly!”

“Oh, forget it!” Shelley groaned as the taxi carrying the BAE agents pulled away. “It's too late. They're gone.”

OCTOBER 24, 8:00 P.M. 10 DOWNING STREET. LONDON, ENGLAND

Seated at the kitchen table, Mrs. Cadogan smiled kindly at Jonathan and Shelley as she scooped large helpings of stew onto their plates. “I gave Piper the cat a taste of the meat an hour ago. Poison usually takes effect in less than sixty minutes.”

“And Piper's still alive?” Shelley asked.

“She most certainly is,” Mrs. Cadogan confirmed as she squeezed her plump frame into a chair and then quickly shoveled a large spoonful of food into her mouth.

After swallowing his first bite, Jonathan looked at Mrs. Cadogan and smiled. “This is really delicious.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Cadogan said. “Now then, children, did you think of any more questions?”

“Questions?” Shelley repeated.

“You've had so many questions lately.”

“We have?” Jonathan replied.

“Popping up at all hours to question me. In my time, children were taught to respect their elders! Not interrogate them!” Mrs. Cadogan said before abruptly pausing to look around the room. “Is anyone hiding in the cupboards?”

Jonathan shook his head. “No, Mrs. Cadogan, they're not.”

“If you find anyone hiding in the cupboards, you mustn't trust them, children! They're not who you think they are.”

“I once spent three hours locked in a cupboard,” Shelley said, closing her eyes as if to recall the memory. “My sister thought I deserved jail time for cutting the heads off her dolls.”

Jonathan released a long sigh, shook his head, and then asked, “Why, Shells? Why?”

“The dolls had a superiority complex. They thought they were better than me, but I showed them, didn't I?”

“They're coming,” Mrs. Cadogan said ominously. “They're coming for you. Tonight.”

“Good to know,” Jonathan responded casually. “Could you pass the salt?”

OCTOBER 25, 1:02 A.M. 10 DOWNING STREET. LONDON, ENGLAND

Jonathan sat straight up in bed, sickness rising in his throat. He was shivering, nauseated, and weak. An unfamiliar feeling took hold, one that Jonathan had rarely if ever experienced—homesickness. Never mind that his mother and father's idea of nursing him back to health usually involved copious amounts of candy bars, soda, and video games. In that moment, Jonathan felt so sick that he actually missed his parents.

Slumped against the doorway, Shelley moaned, “I don't feel so good.”

“Neither do I,” Jonathan groaned.

“They've poisoned you!” Mrs. Cadogan hollered from behind Shelley.

Jonathan turned his head to look at the old woman. “Are you and Piper okay?”

“We're fine,” Mrs. Cadogan answered, holding the cat in her arms.

“How is that possible? We ate the same things,” Shelley said.

“No! The cake. Our
favorite
cake!” Jonathan said in between moans.