Spyforce Revealed (9 page)

‘That's excellent!' Linden exclaimed. But Max was dubious as she looked down at the arrangement of dark tiles at her feet.

‘Would you like to go first?' Steinberger asked her like he was granting her some great wish.

Thinking she'd probably regret it, Max stepped
carefully onto the tiles. As soon as she did, they lit up in a rich, pulsing red colour like burning hot coals. She became nervous, but when she tried to jump off, her shoes felt like they were glued to the floor. She was about to scream when a gentle buzz trembled inside her like a million soft drink bubbles making their way up her body.

Then … Ping! The red pulsing light faded and the process was finished.

‘Now anywhere you go in Spyforce you can be positively identified. Linden?'

Linden jumped on quickly as soon as Max got out of the way, ready to experience the full force of the Vibratron 5000.

The tiles lit up again and Linden's face broke into a wide smile as the bubble effect tingled throughout his body.

‘Good, isn't it?' asked Steinberger, remembering his first experience of the device. ‘It's never quite the same after the first time. Now, on with the rest of the tour.'

Steinberger turned down a corridor that seemed to go on forever. Small lights on either side of the floor and ceiling disappeared far away, so that it looked like they were walking in space. He marched quickly ahead, blathering away and
pointing out other special characteristics of the building.

Suddenly a small, bent man appeared in front of Max and Linden stopping them dead in their tracks. His eyes burrowed into them from behind half-closed lids and a long grey fringe that sagged in front of his face like stringy old washing. A ragged scar ran the length of his cheek and down past his grey stubbled chin before it disappeared into the collar of his shirt. His hands were buried in a deep maroon coat that hung limply over two spindly, insect-thin legs and long white socks like chalk sticks that crept up to his buckled knees.

‘What are you doing here?' he snarled at them as Delilah appeared from nowhere and jumped into his arms.

Max and Linden felt the temperature around them drop as Steinberger walked on prattling merrily to himself, oblivious of the mysterious stranger's sudden and unexpected appearance.

Max tried to explain.

‘We're—'

‘I know who you are,' the old man snapped, running his bony fingers along the length of the purring feline. ‘I know everything that goes on around here. Just don't think you're anyone
important because you've been given some kind of special invitation to this place. Others like you have come before and have never been seen again. So be warned. Stay out of my way and you'll stand a chance of getting out of here in one piece … if you get out at all.'

‘Ah, Dretch,' Steinberger called from down the corridor, turning to see where Max and Linden were. ‘I see you've met our two guests.'

Steinberger clopped gaily towards them as Dretch leant down and whispered an icy caution.

‘I've got no intention of playing nursemaid to you two, so don't come looking to me for help when you get into trouble,' he spat, like he'd had more than his fair share of meanness handed out to him at birth.

By this time Steinberger was standing next to them.

‘Let me introduce you properly,' he said. ‘My guess is Dretch has been too modest about himself and has neglected to tell you that he is one of the best agents Spyforce has ever known. He now works exclusively on-site as our maintenance expert at the agency and I can tell you, if it wasn't for him, this place would have fallen apart a long time ago.'

Dretch looked away. Whether because it wasn't true or because he had something to hide, Max couldn't tell.

‘And of course you already know Delilah. Here kitty,' cooed Steinberger, but as he tried to pat her, she offered a disgruntled hiss and turned her head away. ‘Well, ah, we must keep moving. There are a few more things we need to do before we meet Harrison,' he said, ticking something off on his notepad.

Max thought she saw Dretch flinch when he heard the name Harrison, but after what he'd said to them, she thought it also could have been because of his instant dislike of them.

Steinberger walked down the corridor. Before Max and Linden could follow him, Dretch left them with one final word of warning.

‘Watch your backs, kiddies. Because if you don't, something bad might happen and it would be a terrible shame to lose our new guests so early on in their visit.'

He stepped aside for them to catch up to Steinberger.

Max and Linden's heads swam with a mixture of fear and curiosity as they moved past the crooked old man. Who was he and why was he so mean?
And what did he mean when he said others had come before and had never been seen again? And what happened to change him from a top agent to a maintenance man?

Max and Linden stuck close to Steinberger, deciding to avoid Dretch as much as they could, but something about what he said echoed in Max's mind like a beacon warning ships of treacherous rocks ahead.

‘Go on, try it.'

Max and Linden sat in the glare of the Spyforce canteen lights. Black-suited adults moved around them ordering multicoloured muffins, crunching on striped toast and sipping hot pink coffee. It was morning tea time and the canteen was busy. They sat beside Steinberger and looked at the lumpy green concoction in front of them and tried to think of a way of getting out of having any.

‘It looks really lovely,' Max fibbed. ‘But I'm still full from the banana smoothie I had on the jet.'

‘Yeah,' added Linden, rummaging through his brain for his own excuse. ‘That ice cream really filled me up too.'

Steinberger tucked into the cake like it was made with the best-tasting ingredients in the world.

‘I don't know what it is, but I just can't get enough of Irene's sponge cakes. Take my word for it, you won't regret it.' He pushed the bulging, baked mess on the platter closer to both of them. ‘Go on. Just try a bit. If that's not the best piece of cake you've ever had, you can stand me on my head and call me Charlie.'

Steinberger was getting stranger and stranger by the minute, and pouring another helping of fluorescent blue, gooey stuff over the slime green
muck on his plate only proved it further. Max and Linden didn't want to offend him, especially as they may need his help if they ran into Dretch again. They reached for a spoon and squelched out two miniscule portions.

The spoon made a kind of sucking sound as it made its way out of the gloopy frog-coloured mess. Maybe that's what gave it its colour, mashed frogs, Linden thought as he stared at the Kermit-tinted spoon in front of him. Max looked at hers and held her breath, thinking that at least if she blocked her nose she wouldn't taste very much of it. They took one last look at each other and in a silent countdown to three, closed their eyes and prepared to sample the chunderful paste. As soon as the spoon touched their mouths, however, something wonderful happened. It was like their tongues were being zapped by the yummiest tastes ever.

‘Wow, these spies really know their food,' Linden squished through another mouthful of cake. ‘Even if the colour scheme's a little bizarre.'

‘What's even more bizarre is a life that's got no colour in it at all,' boomed a voice behind them, velvety and smooth like a rich chocolate sauce.

‘Ah, Irene,' said Steinberger, wiping away two splodges of fluorescent blue gunk lighting up the
corners of his mouth. ‘Max, Linden and I were just admiring your latest work of art.'

‘So these are our two little visitors, eh? Welcome to Spyforce and to my newest creation — the Slimy Toadstool.'

So this was Irene. The inventor of the invisible jet formula. She was a rounded woman wearing almost every colour imaginable so that she looked like a human carousel. She had bright orange hair, red glasses, rosella earrings and a bright dress that raced around her curves like the blurred colours of a Formula One track. Her apron was decorated like a tropical greenhouse and her shoes were made in the shape of green tree frogs. Irene obviously wasn't asked to do any undercover work.

‘Everything our Irene touches is always original and always tasty,' declared Steinberger. ‘Why, she used to be one of London's finest chefs before coming here.'

‘Yeah, but I got sick of making tasty meals for skinny girls worried about being fat when they should have been more worried about being blown over in the wind,' complained Irene, waving her hands all over the place and just missing a spy carrying a plate of blue sausages balanced on a pillow of red mash. ‘And men whose clothes cost
more than a small country makes in a year with no interest in anyone's conversations but their own. Oh, the fame was good. Lots of perks and all. Even got invited to afternoon tea with the Queen once. But I'm not as young as I used to be and didn't want to waste any more time with people like that, so I joined Spyforce. Haven't looked back since. Anyway, got to get on. Harrison's got a do with some important people from Brazil later and needs something special whipped up.'

And with that Irene was off along the steaming bain-maries crammed with their unusual creations before swooping through the swinging kitchen doors like a toucan nose-diving for her next meal.

Steinberger finished off his last piece of Toadstool and wiped his mouth.

‘Ah,' he sighed. ‘That hit the spot. Now we're ready to meet the rest of the team. Come with me.'

Max and Linden hurriedly scraped their plates clean of green-blue cake, not wanting to waste a morsel, but as Max stood up, her head thumped into something hard above her, sending plates, cutlery and a wobbling, orange concoction flying through the air. Now normally everything would have landed all over her, covering her with some kind of muck, so she flung her hands over her head
ready to be slimed. But when the crashing stopped and she realised she was fine, she opened her eyes and turned to see what damage had been done.

Crouching on the floor near her was a small man with his hands pressed against his ears. The wobbling orange concoction slithered down his hair and what was once a crisp, white labcoat.

‘Everything's fine, Plomb. Just a simple accident.'

Steinberger was kneeling next to the man, looking into his eyes and talking slow and weird like he had peanut butter stuck to his teeth and he was trying to get it off.

‘These are our two guests I was telling you about. Max and Linden.'

The man looked around but didn't take his hands away from his ears.

‘Pleased to meet you,' he said in a voice so soft Max and Linden could hardly hear him. He then gave a small smile before quickly standing, stepping over the broken pile of fallen plates and hurrying out of the place.

‘Who was that?' asked Linden.

‘That was Professor Plomb, our bomb expert.' Steinberger stood up and wiped some orange goop from his shoulder.

‘Why did he look so scared?' asked Max, feeling bad because she'd made him run off so suddenly.

‘He doesn't like loud noises.'

‘Isn't that a bit of a disadvantage for a bomb expert?' Linden frowned.

‘It actually works out quite well,' Steinberger pointed out as he made his way towards the canteen exit. ‘His father was a bomb expert and his father before him. Plomb had always wanted to be a world class surfer until he realised he had an extreme case of hydrophobia, which left him with an unfortunate inability to go in the water. No good for a world champion surfer, of course, so he said goodbye to his watery ambitions and followed his father's footsteps making bombs. But he did it making his own special mark. All the bombs he makes are silent.'

‘Silent bombs?' Max and Linden asked together.

‘Yep. He's brilliant at them. Great for enabling Spyforce to infiltrate places without being heard. He makes all kinds too: stink bombs, tear bombs, coloured fart-gas bombs. He normally doesn't come out of his foam-walled lab but it looks like Irene has her orange and pumpkin mousse on today. He can never say no to that.'

Black-suited agents slid past them in the corridor like silent shadows, speaking in quiet mutterings into small palm-sized gadgets, whispering to each other in darkened corners or quietly hurrying by like they were on their way to an important mission.

Steinberger pulled out his notepad and looking down his list, gradually came to a slow stop.

‘Ah,' he said with a withering look. ‘Frond is next.'

His pen slowly circled the name as his expression became all glazed and dreamy-eyed.

Max and Linden gave each other a quick look. Max had seen this kind of behaviour before. She sighed and screwed up her face into an annoyed grimace.

‘Um, Mr Steinberger?' she said, trying to snap him out of it so they could get on with the tour.

Steinberger didn't budge. He was now drawing flowers and hearts around Frond's name and humming some kind of off-key love tune.

‘Mr Steinberger?' she said a little louder.

Still nothing.

Max pursed her lips. She'd had enough of this schmaltzy drivel.

‘Quick! Fire!' she yelled as loudly as she could.

‘Where? What? Who?' stammered Steinberger as he spun around and tried to work out what the emergency was.

Agents near them stopped in their tracks. They stared at the two young strangers and rested their steady fingers against their jackets ready to reach for the secret weapons concealed inside.

Steinberger stopped spinning and seeing everything was fine, realised he'd possibly been a little preoccupied.

‘Sorry about that.' He blushed. ‘All seems under control now, everyone,' he said to the agents who lowered their hands and cautiously continued on their way.

Linden made a bad attempt at hiding a smile as Steinberger pushed his hair back into place and tried to look a little more normal.

‘Let's get on with it, shall we?' He was doing his best to sound professional. ‘Otherwise we'll be late for our meeting with the boss himself.'

Harrison! Max and Linden's faces wiped clear of grimaces and smiles as they followed Steinberger down the hall and remembered their meeting. What would the head of a major spy organisation be like? And what did he want with them when he had the responsibility of the
whole world to look after? Whatever the answer, if he flew them halfway across the world, it must be important.

At the end of the corridor they stopped and faced what Max and Linden quickly worked out was the end of the corridor.

No doors. No windows. Nothing.

With her hands firmly placed on her hips, Max swung around to face Steinberger.

‘And now?' she asked in a voice that couldn't be described as her most polite.

‘Now for the best part.' Steinberger was unable to contain his excitement and missed the Max attitude altogether. ‘This is called the Wall of Goodness. There isn't another wall like it in the entire world,' he said importantly.

‘The Wall of Goodness? What happens here?' Linden was drawn into Steinberger's enthusiasm and was keen to have another Vibratron 5000 experience.

‘This is the entrance to the part of Spyforce that is restricted access and requires a further level of identification. As you will know, the location and layout of Spyforce is a heavily guarded secret from most of the outside world. Other areas of our agency such as the canteen, the sleeping quarters
and the Finance Department, are low-security areas, but where we are about to enter, is the inner sanctum of the force,' he said grandly, like he was in the middle of an important scene from
Star Wars
.

‘What about the Vibratron 5000? Isn't that enough to identify who we are?' Max was getting a little impatient and wasn't sure all this drama was necessary.

‘To a certain extent, yes,' Steinberger's
Star Wars
voice continued. ‘But the Wall of Goodness acts as an advanced form of the old-fashioned lie detector. It has been made with a super-malleable substance that has been programmed to read bodily reactions to establish a person's current state of goodness. Only if it recognises you as a good person will it permit you entry.'

‘Has it ever recognised anyone as being bad?' Linden was intrigued.

Steinberger's face fell into a hurt scowl as though he was remembering something painful.

‘Only once.'

‘Who was it?' Linden breathed, hanging on every word of the story.

‘An agent who was expelled from the Force in “unhappy” circumstances.'

‘A Spyforce agent?' gasped Linden.

‘Yes. He'd stolen someone's vibrations, got past the Vibratron and was headed for the nerve centre of the Force when the Wall of Goodness raised the alarm and one of the most dangerous infiltrations of Spyforce was narrowly averted.'

Linden was stupefied. This was better than any spy story he'd ever read.

A few seconds of silence passed as Max stared at the two star-struck goons she was standing with.

‘I really hate to break up this beautiful moment but do you think we could get on with it before I reach my next birthday?'

‘You're right.' Steinberger collected himself and looked at his watch. ‘Time is running a bit thin. This next step we can all do together to save time. Just stare directly at the Wall of Goodness and stand as still as you can. You will notice it start to move like jelly. That's the wall's atoms reconfiguring at the approach of a human being and going into identification mode. It will then reach out and envelop you. Nothing more spectacular than
Terminator
I'm afraid, but it's still pretty good when you see it up close. After a few moments it will take a reading of your vital signs and your level of goodness before totally surrounding you and absorbing you into the heart of Spyforce.'

Great, thought Max. Why does everything in this place have to be so complicated?

Max, Linden and Steinberger stared at the wall in front of them. After a few seconds, everything happened just as they were told, except that when the wall oozed out and wrapped itself around them, it felt like warm, sticky custard. It squelched all over them and within a few seconds, Steinberger was sucked into the squishy structure in one quick slurp.

Linden's eyes widened like they'd suddenly doubled in size.

‘Wow! Did you see that?' he gasped, finding it hard to speak while the wall kneaded him like a ball of human dough.

‘Despite the fact that I'm being mauled by a half-crazed wall, I can still see, you know,' Max retorted.

And then, just as the words were out of her mouth, Linden also disappeared in a guzzling splurt.

As the gooey body search continued, Max was definitely running out of the tiny scrap of patience she had left.

‘Look, Wall. Let me save you the trouble. I'm good, okay? So can I just go in now?'

The Wall of Goodness seemed to be having
trouble deciding whether to let Max pass. It made choking, gurgling noises and jostled her around even more so that the massage became more like the spin cycle of a washing machine.