S.T.I.N.K.B.O.M.B. (19 page)

‘I don’t get it,’ Archie mused absently.

‘It’s simple,’ Gemma said as if explaining something to a toddler. ‘I wait to make sure you two clowns go with the police, then I wheel Finn into the service elevator and
we leave the hotel through the back door where a British government official has orders to drive me to the airport.’

‘No, I get
that
,’ Archie said. ‘I don’t get how Doctor Doom knew Karl Schumaker had arranged to meet a friend in the gallery yesterday.’

‘Text,’ said Barney definitively.

‘Sorry?’

‘Schumaker probably made his plans via text message,’ Barney theorised. ‘Having identified him as a target, Doom would have hacked into Schumaker’s phone network and
remotely implanted some cyber spyware that echoes the activity on his mobile back at Doom’s hideout.’

Archie looked at Gemma. ‘Is he right?’

‘May well be,’ she said with a
who would have thought it
? expression on her face.

‘My name was in the rucksack we left outside the gallery,’ Archie recalled, feeling his heartbeat pick up like hurrying footsteps. ‘If he knew my name, could Doom have tapped
into my phone, read the text you sent me and found out that we’re hiding in this hotel?’

‘No way,’ Barney said confidently. ‘MI6 use highly sophisticated software to scramble outgoing messages to field operatives. The text is effectively jumbled up in the ether,
remaining totally unintelligible until it is reassembled by the decryption software loaded on to the agent’s handset. Isn’t that so, X-ray?’

‘Yes,’ Gemma agreed. ‘Except STINKBOMB doesn’t exactly have access to all MI6 counter-espionage technology just yet so I sent you that message on my own
pay-as-you-go.’

‘And I don’t have any decryption software on my mobile,’ added Archie.

‘In that case . . .’ Barney nodded as if considering the situation, ‘we’re toast.’

Gemma shook her head. ‘Not necessarily. It would take Doom considerable time to design the software tailored to latch on to your sim card’s virtual fingerprint,’ she said.
‘By now all he could realistically have managed would be to hack into your network supplier’s database. At worst he might have got your number.’

Remembering his phone had bleeped earlier, Archie pulled it out of his pocket. When he opened his inbox his heart broke into a frantic sprint.

‘I got a text message this morning,’ he exclaimed breathlessly.

‘Ah, bless,’ Gemma teased. ‘I was excited when I got my first text too.’

‘Really? And was yours from an evil mastermind as well?’

Barney and Gemma froze.

‘That’s right.’ Archie nodded and tapped the screen on his mobile. ‘It’s from Doctor Doom.’

Archie cleared his throat, pushed his glasses up his nose and read the message aloud.

Archie read the text to himself twice more then looked from Barney to Gemma.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘Unbelievable,’ said Gemma.

‘I know,’ Barney enthused wildly. ‘He’s actually got his own hideout – how cool is that? He really is a full-on Evil Mastermind, isn’t he? I bet it’s on
a tropical island somewhere or inside a volcano. At the very least it’ll be perched on a rocky mountainside overlooking an ocean. I can picture him sitting in a leather chair behind a massive
desk, stroking his cat and plotting.’ As Barney’s description gathered pace his eyes grew wider and his cheeks shinier. ‘It’ll be in a huge room – like the nerve
centre in a nuclear plant or a NASA operations centre or something. There’ll be banks of computer equipment everywhere operated by lots of blokes in boiler suits, and he’s bound to have
a computerised map of the world on the wall so he can monitor his quest for world domination. Ooh, and there’s always a tank full of piranhas or shark-infested water under the floor with some
sort of trapdoor that he operates from his desk. Whenever someone displeases him, or even just bores him, he’ll press a secret button to open the door and they’ll be gobbled up in
seconds.’

‘Thank you, Barney,’ said Archie, adopting the serious tone of an American news anchorman. ‘That was our Overactive Imagination Correspondent, Barney Jones, reporting from
Cloud Cuckoo Land.’

‘Hey Barney. I’ve got a message for you from Reality,’ Gemma added. ‘He says you really should get in touch.’

‘But even
you
said his message was unbelievable,’ Barney protested, his eyebrows dipping into a frown.

‘Er, hello?’ Gemma said loudly as though trying to get the attention of someone listening to an iPod through earphones. ‘I meant Doctor Doom’s
arrogance
is
unbelievable. He’s so sure Archie can’t find him he’s actually taunting him with clues.’

‘Why’s he contacted me directly though?’ Archie wondered. ‘Why not keep on showing off via his online profile?’

‘Because he’s got your father and he gets a kick out of torturing you,’ Gemma suggested. ‘He’s probably punishing you for trying to stop him snatching Karl
Schumaker at the gallery.’

Barney nodded knowingly. ‘Anyway this dude’s so cocky he’s sure no one can solve his riddle.’

‘So let’s prove him wrong,’ Archie said defiantly.

‘OK, Sherlock,’ Gemma challenged, folding her arms. ‘If you’re so smart go ahead and tell us what the message means. Where is Doctor Doom’s secret lair?’

The most obvious starting point, Archie decided, was the reference to Caesar’s Palace. Of course he’d heard of the famous hotel of that name in Las Vegas, but that seemed far too
obvious and he doubted Dr Doom would kidnap people in Christchurch if his villainous hideaway was far away in Nevada.

Archie reckoned the next most logical meaning was something to do with a Roman emperor. His knowledge of ancient history was fairly sketchy but he was pretty sure there had been loads of Caesars
who had presumably lived in a variety of palaces, not just one. Besides, he wasn’t convinced of the likelihood that Dr Doom would have chosen to set up camp in some historic ancient ruins in
Italy’s capital city.

The phrase ‘Caesar’s Palace’ had to have some other significance
–
but what could it be?

Archie gasped sharply as if he’d been plunged into icy water. ‘Barney who does Romario play for?’ he demanded.

‘The Brazilian? Lyons, I think. Why?’

Without a word Archie began tapping frantically at his mobile’s touch-sensitive screen while Barney and Gemma waited expectantly. For a minute the only sound in the room came from the TV,
then –

‘Gotcha!’ Archie grabbed the air triumphantly.

‘Do you have something you’d like to share with the class, Mr Hunt?’ asked Barney.

‘Yes! Doom’s lair is in Caesar Romario’s house,’ Archie announced. ‘Footballers always have really fancy pads, don’t they? And Romario is well known for his
lavish taste – that’s what he meant by Caesar’s Palace. I’ve just Googled his house and this website – stalkthestars.com – gives you its coordinates and
everything.’

‘Er, excuse me for spoiling the party,’ Gemma interjected, ‘but why would Caesar Romario get involved with Doctor Doom?’

Archie bit his lip and scrunched up his face.

‘Gambling debts,’ Barney said emphatically. ‘Romario’s probably blown all his cash and Doom’s renting his house off him for mega bucks. Or he’s got himself
mixed up with a South American drugs cartel.’ Suddenly Barney’s eyes were as wide as an owl’s. ‘Or – what if Romario himself is one of Doom’s genetic
experiments? I mean, he is freakishly quick on the pitch.’

‘OK, Zulu,’ Gemma muttered sternly. ‘Let’s try not to get too carried away Assuming we go to Romario’s place, what about the code to get in?’

‘I don’t know.’ Archie was almost dizzy with the thrill of the impending chase. ‘Can’t we can work it out on the way?’

Gemma shook her head. ‘We’ve got our orders. You two wait here for the German fuzz, I’ll take Finn back to base as planned. I’ll report your theory about Doom’s
text to Highwater when she’s out of her meeting. She can decide if we pursue the lead or hand it over to MI6.’

‘But we haven’t got time!’ Archie’s voice was shrill with exasperation. ‘Barney and I will be in the police station for hours. Highwater might be stuck in her
meeting all day. By the time we get out Doom will have taken over the world and our chances of saving my father will be smoke.’

‘We have our orders,’ Gemma growled, glancing anxiously at her watch. ‘Finn – I really need you to climb in the laundry basket now. There’s only two minutes until
show time.’

‘Which show are we going to see?’ Finn enquired, turning away from the TV to face her.

‘Just get in the basket.’

Finn obliged without further objection and Gemma draped a bed sheet over his head.

‘If we follow orders we have no chance of stopping Doom,’ Archie pleaded. ‘You are the only chance my father has. You have to try and help him.’

‘And you have to stop telling me what I can and can’t do,’ Gemma snapped. ‘We have orders to follow.’

‘You can’t stop us leaving,’ Archie said impudently as Gemma pushed the chambermaid’s trolley towards the door.

‘Is that so?’ Gemma said, raising one eyebrow. ‘Well, this can of floor polish is actually pepper spray so I wouldn’t do anything stupid if I were you. Besides which, if
you don’t follow orders MI6 will seriously have you on an RAF plane to the Falklands before you can even blink.’

‘Well, maybe that’s a risk I’m willing to take,’ Archie argued. ‘As Highwater herself said, national security is more important than any individual’s welfare
– mine included. If you walk out on us, you’re walking out on your whole country as well as my father.’

‘How many times do I have to remind you, STINKBOMB’s mission is not to rescue your father?’

‘You’re right.’ Archie nodded. ‘Our mission is to save the world – so how are we going to do that from inside a police station?’

One wheel on the housekeeper’s trolley squeaked as Gemma pushed it to the end of the hotel corridor. Its hidden cargo weighed the trolley down and she had to lean into
it, using all her strength just to keep it moving. Stopping at the service elevator, she pushed the button and waited for the lift to arrive. As the double doors slid open, Gemma saw two uniformed
police officers appear at the far end of the passageway, stopping outside Archie’s room and banging on the door. Quickly turning and lowering her head, she pushed her trolley into the lift
and pressed the button for the ground floor.

Her mouth was dry and her heart was fluttering and, as the doors closed, she prayed she had made the right decision.

‘The police have just arrived,’ she said to the bed sheets in a low voice. There was no response.

When the lift doors opened on the ground floor, Gemma heaved the trolley into a hotel corridor. The short passage led to a room piled high with freshly laundered towels and sheets as well as
huge plastic bins containing dirty laundry. Two doors led off the laundry room. Through one she could see the hotel kitchens, through the other a small external courtyard. Gemma rammed open the
swing doors with the trolley and let if freewheel down a short ramp and into the warm morning air.

Agent X-ray immediately identified the vehicle waiting to take her to the airport. It was a silver VW saloon – the type of car commonly used by British Embassy staff on the continent. The
driver stepped out of the car and approached her. He was about twenty-five years old, with short, neatly-parted dark hair and smartly dressed in a plain grey suit. Judging by his nervous
expression, Gemma reckoned he was new to field ops – probably still in training.

It’s warm for the time of year,’ he said.

Gemma nodded and recited her pre-arranged response. ‘One swallow doesn’t make a summer though.’

Without another word the driver grabbed one end of the trolley and helped Gemma haul it over to the passenger door of the car.