Confessions of a Teen Sleuth (7 page)

"What do you suggest?"

"I plan to send Kingston One and Two here to the Congo with the puppet, where they will confront Lumumba."

"But it's my puppet."

"Surely you recognize the importance of this mission."

"Of course." I took a step forward. "That is why I want to go," I declared confidently. "Send me, Mr. Q. Send me to the Congo."

"What?" cried Chris and Bess in unison.

Q's face lit up. "Fantastic! I was hoping you'd offer. A sleuth of your stature would be welcome. Of course you'll have to
take Kingston One and Two here with you. It will be good training for them."

Chris paled. "You want us to take orders from her?" he inquired, glancing over at me dubiously. "She's old."

"I'm experienced," I corrected him.

"What about me?" Bess asked. "Can I come?"

"You must come!" I urged, already excited by the prospect of an international caper.

Bess gazed seductively at Chris. "I so enjoy the company of young people," she purred.

We flew with the puppet by military transport to Leopoldville. It was the middle of the night when we touched down. A red
Jaguar was waiting in the airport parking lot with the keys in the ignition.

"Shouldn't we have a jeep or something?" asked Bess.

"I always drive a Jaguar," barked Chris. "We'll want to go straight to the meeting place," he added, shaking the wrinkles
out of his suit jacket. "Give the boys a heads-up, Gerry—Geronimo."

Geronimo nodded, expressionless. "Do you want me to use the wristwatch communicator or the radiotelephone, oh wise white man?"

Chris sighed deeply. "Will you just stop it?" he demanded.

"Injun so sorry, Kemo Sabe."

"We'll talk about this later."

"Red man very patient."

"Stop it."

"Come on, Nancy, let's you and I ride in back," suggested Bess. We got in the Jag and Chris took the wheel and Geronimo climbed
into the passenger seat.

Chris steered the Jag out of the parking lot and onto a quiet highway that led into the countryside. After twenty minutes
we pulled to a stop outside a small tarpaper shack. A light was on inside and I could see movement.

"Do you have a zip pen that fires anesthetic barbs?" Chris asked me.

"Uh, no," I answered.

Chris looked concerned. "A fraternity pin with an adrenaline hypo?"

"No."

"What do you have?"

I lifted my heavy magnifying glass out of my purse. "This."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Let's go," he declared. "The Indian and I will watch your back." He turned back to Bess.
"You stay out here behind the wheel in case we need to make a quick getaway."

"It's because I'm fat, isn't it?" Bess asked accusingly.

Chris looked confused. "No."

"It's okay," Bess allowed. "I understand if you're embarrassed."

"You're not fat," Chris told her emphatically. "At all. We just need someone in the car. Behind the wheel. In case we need
to make a quick getaway."

Bess blushed. "You can count on me."

When we got to the door, Chris rapped on it three times in quick succession. It opened slowly, and a tall African man dressed
in a black suit appeared. He was carrying a submachine gun. He ushered us into the room. Two more men stood leaning against
the wall, their guns hanging casually from their hands. Another man, clearly the leader, sat at a small table. He was wearing
gray pants and a leopard-print tunic.

"Colonel Joseph Mobutu," Chris Cool stated flatly.

Mobutu smiled broadly, his white teeth a startling contrast against his dark skin. "Christopher Cool," he declared. "The cool
cat himself. The big daddy. The wolf man."

"I need a favor."

"I will do anything I can to help TEEN."

"I need to find Patrice Lumumba."

"What makes you think I know where Lumumba is?"

"Because he is your enemy. And you are a smart man."

Mobutu laughed and waved a finger playfully at Chris. "You are pretty smart yourself. For a teenager."

"I'm twenty," Chris insisted through clenched teeth.

Mobutu glanced over at me. "I know who the Indian is, but who's the schoolteacher?" he asked.

I stepped forward. "I'm Nancy Drew."

His eyes widened in recognition. "I am reading
The Mystery
of the Tolling Bell
."

"Any good?" I asked.

"It is very exciting." He looked at Chris and then at me and back again. "I'll tell you what you want to know. But then TEEN
owes me a favor."

Chris nodded slowly. "Yes."

Mobutu gave us directions to a church in Leopoldville where Lumumba was said to be preparing his independence movement. We
drove there in silence.

When Chris pulled the car to a stop outside the stone structure, I cleared my throat. "I think I should go in by myself,"
I offered carefully.

"It's too dangerous," Chris replied. "You're fifty. You're out of shape. You don't even know aikido."

"I can fake it," I assured him. I got out of the car before he could protest again and, carrying the puppet in a burlap bag,
walked quickly to the side door of the church. It was unlocked, so I entered. The door opened onto a stairway that led to
the church basement. I closed the door behind me and descended the stone stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, another door
led to a hallway. At the end of the hallway was another door, this time open. I entered it. A bearded African man with horn-rimmed
glasses stood waiting for me.

"Lumumba," I greeted him.

"Nancy Drew," he replied, nodding.

"You knew I'd come?"

"I knew that you would come looking for who had sent the puppet."

"It was you, then?"

"No."

"Then who?"

"You have met Mobutu?"

"Yes."

"He is a bad man. Our colonial days are coming to a close. The country will be in chaos. Mobutu seeks to profit from our misery
both in power and in riches."

"I think I should go in by myself," I offered carefully.

"And what do you seek?"

"The only thing I want for our country is the right to a decent existence, to dignity without hypocrisy, and to independence
without restrictions."

"And the puppet?"

Lumumba approached the bag, opened it, and withdrew the puppet. Then he twisted off the puppet's head and poured the contents
of the hollow skull into his cupped hand.

"Diamonds!" I exclaimed.

"They are Mobutu's stolen bounty. They were stolen from him three weeks ago."

"By?"

"By a TEEN agent called Spice."

"Why would a TEEN agent called Spice steal Mobutu's diamonds?"

"To make him think that I did."

I was still having trouble following. "You're accusing a teen sleuth of having acted unethically?"

"I know that this will be hard for you to hear," he declared gently, "but the CIA has been manipulating teenage agents for
years. It was clear from your exploits and those of the Hardy brothers that teenagers were capable of great sleuthing. The
CIA immediately put a program in motion that would train teen agents to carry out government actions. That program became
the Top-secret Education Espionage Network. They know that Mobutu is a fan of yours, and now he thinks that you also work
with TEEN. He has heard that the puppet was sent to you. Because you went to him and asked him how to find me, and knowing
that you are an ace sleuth, he now thinks that I stole his diamonds and sent them to you to get them out of the country. He
will stop at nothing to destroy me. Just as the CIA planned."

I was stunned. Was it true that I had been manipulated into upsetting this delicate power balance? I had once been in a very
similar situation involving a circus ninja and an evil child soothsayer. I did not like revisiting it. "You must tell TEEN
superagents Christopher Cool and his Apache Indian roommate Geronimo Johnson everything that you've told me," I urged.

"It's too late for that." Lumumba sighed, shaking his head. "TEEN and the CIA believe that Mobutu will be an ally. I have
too many friends in the Soviet Union. I can only delay the inevitable now."

"What about the diamonds?"

"They are fakes," he declared, straightening up and pushing the puppet into my arms. "Your friends have already returned the
real diamonds to Mobutu. He grows more powerful as we speak."

"Chris Cool is a brilliant agent," I persisted. "I just know that he can help."

"Is he brilliant?" Lumumba muttered, with a faint, melancholy smile. "Then perhaps he will be the one they send to assassinate
me."

There was nothing more to say.

Lumumba gestured at the door. "Go," he ordered. "You are in danger every moment that you are here. The rioting is going to
start soon."

I backed out of the room and left him there. The grim look of futile determination on his face never left me. I ran all the
way to the car, clutching the Congolese puppet to my breast.

Back at TEEN headquarters in New York City, I rushed into Q's office with Chris, Geronimo, and Bess on my heels. "Tell me
it's not true!" I demanded.

Q sat with his hands neatly on his desk. His face was impassive. "Thank you for your help, Mrs. Nickerson."

The realization of my unwitting participation in TEEN's plan was a bitter pill. I shook my head sadly. "It is true."

"What's going on?" asked Bess.

I held the puppet out toward Q. "Are the diamonds in here even real, or have the real diamonds already been returned to Mobutu?"

"You should join the CIA," Q smiled. "You're very intuitive."

My blood was boiling. "You have to do something," I declared grimly. "You have to tell the truth about what happened. Tell
Mobutu that Lumumba did not steal his fortune."

"You may go now," Q retorted.

"What's going on?" Bess asked again in a small voice.

I clenched my fists in frustration. "We were used," I told her. I gestured at Chris and Geronimo. "We were all used." I glared
at Q, my jaw jutted out, my blue eyes on fire. "Adventures are supposed to be fun," I announced indignantly. "Finding a hidden
message in a tapestry, recovering a lost inheritance, thwarting a kidnapping—these all make the world a better place. But
what you do isn't fun at all. You manipulate world events. You take sides." I gave him my most accusing stare. "You're using
TEEN to carry out the CIA's dirty operations, and in the process you're making a mockery of good, old-fashioned teen adventures.
You, sir, give sleuthing a bad name."

I could see Chris stiffen, and Bess put a hand over her small mouth in distress.

Q raised a bushy eyebrow. "I should think you would be proud of all we've accomplished."

I shook my head in disbelief. "If the CIA ever needs help tracking down a lost locket, give me a call. Otherwise I never want
to hear from you again." I thrust my chin out defiantly. "One more thing," I added. "If anything ever happens to Lumumba,
I'll make sure that history knows who was behind it."

"Come on, Nancy," Chris broke in. "I'll take you to the airport."

I let him lead me out of the office.

"What about you?" I asked him once we were in the hallway.

He looked chagrined. "Things are a lot different from when you were young. Lying, assassinations, duplicity—it's just how
the world is now."

"You plan to stay on with TEEN?" I was incredulous.

"Well," Chris replied, "I do have a school break coming up, and I was thinking of taking a vacation." He shyly reached down
and took Bess's hand. "Would be you interested in accompanying me?" he asked her.

Bess's free hand fluttered to her chest. "You bet I would."

"You're jetting off on a vacation," I stammered, "when there is injustice and treachery in the world?"

"I'm Chris Cool," he sighed. "I won't even be declassified until 1967. So in the eyes of the world, none of this has happened."
He put his arms around my shoulders. "That's another thing that's changed since your day. We've learned a lot about publicity."
(I couldn't argue with that.) "Go back to River Heights, Nancy Drew," Chris urged, "and be glad that your teen sleuthing
days are over."

I said good-bye to Chris, Geronimo, and Bess and flew home to River Heights alone, my spirits decidedly low. When I got back
to our spacious ranch-style home, it had been two days since Bess and I had left to see my father. Ned was sitting on the
sectional watching
Gunsmoke.
He didn't look up.

"The bomb shelter is finished," he told me quietly. My soul felt empty and my hair felt flat. "I'm sorry."

"Where were you?"

"Africa."

He looked up at me. He had been crying. "You have to stop doing this. You can't keep disappearing for days on end without
any explanation. What am I supposed to tell Ned Junior when you vanish without a word? He cried himself to sleep last night.
I caught him cuddling with a copy of
The Clue
in the Jewel Box.
Don't you care about us at all anymore?"

"Of course, I do," I sighed, sinking down on the sofa beside him. "It's just that sometimes I feel like I'm drowning. Like
I'm trapped in one of those secret rooms and I can't get out." My heart filled with sorrow as I touched his familiar face.
"I long for adventure, Ned. I want to fall down staircases and elevator shafts. I want to explore caves and wear disguises
and be left for dead. I want to use my skills for good. I thought that if I ignored these longings, they would wither and
die, but they haven't. The last few years I've been trying to be something I'm not, and it has nearly destroyed us."