Ends of the Earth (18 page)

With that, LOTUS's chief spun on her heel and strode from the room, chin held high. Sending Max a worried glance, Vespa trailed after her aunt.

“Pity about the brainwashing,” sneered Ebelskeever. “I hear tell it sometimes goes squiffy, leaving the subject a total cabbage. Though with you three, the hardest part will be
telling before from after.”

The other agents snickered as if this was the height of wit, and they swaggered out, relocking the cell securely.

“Charming bunch,” said Max. He tried for a carefree expression, but a chill like snowmelt trickled down his spine.

“And what a delightful proposition,” said Simon. “Any thoughts?”

“Just one,” said Max. “Let's be long gone when they get back.”

“Agreed,” said Simon and Cinnabar together.

“And how exactly do we accomplish that?” Cinnabar asked.

Max scanned the cell. “There's got to be a way out of here.”

Simon shared a conspiratorial look, glanced at the security camera in the upper corner, and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Every prison has its weaknesses. It's merely a
matter of finding them. Cinnabar, what did you notice during your inspection?”

“The locks aren't accessible from this side,” said Cinnabar. “And the vents are too small for any of us to fit through.”

“Are the hinges exposed?”

She nodded. “Yes, but they're sealed. It's not like we could pull the pins out.”

“The ceiling is solid concrete.” Max rapped a knuckle on the cold steel floor. “And we won't be tunneling either. So what does that leave?”

Simon reached into his pocket and plucked out a small package, which he held up. “Gum,” he said.

“Gum?” Max echoed.

His father shook loose a couple of sticks and passed them to Max and Cinnabar. “Luckily, the bullyboy who searched me hadn't seen this before.”

“Did he grow up on Neptune?” said Max, unwrapping his stick. “Everybody knows what gum is.”

“Not this gum,” said Simon. “It's an experimental prototype—very hush-hush. A mate of mine in Shanghai sent it along.”

“Mmm, cherry,” said Cinnabar, who'd popped her gum into her mouth and was chewing vigorously.

Simon raised a warning hand. “Careful. It's got a bit of a kick.”

Cinnabar's eyes went round as saucers, and she spat the wad into her palm. “How's it work?”

“First, we need a spot of privacy.” Simon chomped his own gum, then stood on his cot. By stretching to his full height, he was able to place the chewed-up lump over the security
camera's lens. “With any luck, they'll think we're merely being difficult.”

Max munched on his own stick of gum, removed it from his mouth, and squinted at it. “Okay, it can disable a camera. Anything else?”

His father smiled a roguish smile. “Wait and see. Why don't you and Cinnabar put your gum on the door hinges?”

They did as he suggested.

“Now take your wrapper and rub it between your fingers, hard and fast, like this.” Simon demonstrated. “It's friction paper.”

The wrapper quickly heated up in Max's hand. “Brilliant!”

“And before long…”

Fsst!
One end of the paper glowed red, then burst into flame.

“Ow!” Max nearly dropped it, but managed to keep hold.

“Quickly,” said his father. “Before it burns out—”

“I've got it,” said Max, who was practiced in playing with fire. “We touch the flame to our gum.”

“Precisely.”

Gingerly, Max set the flame against his wad as Cinnabar followed suit. “Ow! Couldn't they design a better fuse?”

“Probably,” Simon said. “That's why it's a prototype. Now stand back.”

They huddled on the far side of the chamber. With a high, keening sound, the gum began to bubble and darken. Then a faint pop as the bubbling stopped. And…

Nothing happened.

The thick metal door stood there, same as before, solid and immovable. The hinges appeared untouched, save for the clumps of used gum.

Simon pressed his fingertips to his temples.

“Sorry, Mr. Segredo,” said Cinnabar. “Looks like your mate sent you a dud pack.”

“But he swore it would work,” Max's father muttered, half to himself.

A spark of anger lit up Max like a cheap firecracker. He crossed to the door and pounded a fist on it. “Stupid high-tech spy gum!”

With a groan of complaint, the heavy door sagged in its frame, snapped its locks, and crashed to the floor.

Max gaped.

Cinnabar's face lit up like a geezer's last birthday cake in an incredulous smile. “It worked!”

“Let's go,” said Simon. “That's bound to draw some attention.”

They rushed through the door-shaped hole in the wall, but at the sight of the second cell, Max pulled up short. “Got any more of that gum?” he asked.

“Why?” said Simon.

Max hooked a thumb at the door. “Addison Rook is in there. We can't just leave him—plus, busting him out would really tick off Mrs. Frost.”

“Good enough reason for me,” said Simon, digging in his pocket.

“Um, no need for explosives,” said Cinnabar. She put her hand on the door and pushed, revealing an empty chamber.

“Huh,” said Max. “They must have traded him already.” He shook it off. “Come on!”

Together, they hurried down the short corridor, and into LOTUS's command center. A tan, stocky man with a face like an old boot stepped from around the computer bank, his pistol coming
up.

“Oi, what the devil—?” he began.

Max, in the lead, karate-chopped the weapon from his grasp. Cinnabar staggered the agent with a roundhouse kick, and Simon put him down with a brutal combination of punches.

“Now that's what I call teamwork,” said Cinnabar.

Simon retrieved the agent's gun and made for the weapons locker. “Arm yourself,” he said, then seemed to reconsider. “With nonlethal weapons.”

“That's what we were planning anyway,” said Max. “But I thought you were all about the bang-bang?”

“Your Hantai Annie has a point,” said his father. “Underage kids and firearms don't mix.”

The sight of the locker jogged Max's memory. “Oh, by the way, keep your eyes peeled for a tiger.”

“A tiger?” Max's father frowned.

“Frost has strange taste in pets.”

Cinnabar grabbed some pepper spray and a couple of smoke bombs, and Max was following suit when something in the next locker caught his eye.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said. There hung the jet pack, buffed and polished and good as new.

“Max, leave it.” Cinnabar was hurrying toward the spiral staircase, a few steps behind Simon.

“Uh-uh. This one's got my name on it.”

Max lifted the jet pack from its hook and hustled after them. He couldn't believe this escape was going so well. No hungry tiger stalking them—yet. Only one guard, and he'd
been no challenge. Max allowed himself a glimmer of hope that he might actually escape this loony bin and reunite with the rest of his friends, that everything might be just as it was at the School
for S.P.I.E.S., only better.

And then…

Two figures rounded the curve of the steps above. Dijon LeStrange, pistol in one hand, was leading Wyatt Jackaroo.

“And where do you think
you're
going?” the LOTUS agent drawled.

SIMON SEGREDO
whipped his pistol up in a two-handed grip, and pointed it straight at Dijon's heart.

“Don't shoot!” cried Wyatt, holding out both palms. The LOTUS agent at his side made no move to raise her weapon.

“And why not?” asked Mr. Segredo.

“Yamero,”
said Dijon in a gruff voice that wasn't her own. “Is bad luck to shoot your friends.”

Wyatt watched the astonishment bloom on their faces. Cinnabar's hand flew up to cover her mouth. Max rocked back on his heels. Wyatt knew they were both thinking that the LOTUS agent
sounded exactly like…

“Hantai Annie?”
said Cinnabar.

One side of the woman's mouth twitched. “Well, it's not Easter Bunny.”

“What the—?” Mr. Segredo lowered his weapon, and Wyatt remembered how to breathe again.

Max gasped and struggled to speak. “But you—I thought—” And then, as if a whirlwind of feelings had swept him up, he rushed forward to greet her.

The orphanage director trotted down the last few steps and gathered Max into a bear hug. “I know,” she murmured. “I know.” Wyatt beamed at them. Absolutely nothing beat
tearful reunions—not even dark chocolate Kit Kat bars.

Max and Annie held the embrace for a long moment, and then Cinnabar came in for her own hug. Max's voice went all warbly. “But how…how did you…?” He touched his own face
while staring at Annie's.

“Bonzer disguise, isn't it?” said Wyatt, joining them. “I nearly had a thrombo when she caught me creeping about. Thought I was in the soup, for sure.”

“I can't believe it.” Cinnabar gaped at Hantai Annie's face and touched a hesitant finger to the director's cheek. “You look exactly like her.”

Simon peered at the latex Dijon mask. “That's Ellie Crow's work, isn't it?”

“Best in town,” said Annie. “Now, no more questions.
Ikuzo
—we go!”

As they hustled upstairs, however, Max voiced another concern. “Your voice,” he said. “I thought you couldn't speak English that well?”

The spymaster glanced back over her shoulder at him. “Did you now?” she said, in a note-perfect imitation of Dijon's snide tone. “Perhaps you forgot that I speak seven
languages. Perhaps you forgot what my name means.”

“
Hantai
…means ‘opposite,'” said Wyatt. “Like you do the opposite of what people expect.”

She smiled. “Exactly.”

Wyatt gave the others a look that said,
See? I knew it all along
. But honestly, he'd been just as stunned as they when he learned the truth.

The group reached Mrs. Frost's office without encountering any bad guys or tigers. As Annie worked the statuette to close the secret passage (whose mechanisms Wyatt
really
wanted
to examine), Cinnabar asked, “But how did you know about this?” She motioned at the section of floor sliding back across the hidden stairwell.

“Dijon is very talkative, when I ask her the right way,” said Hantai Annie. “She in New York now. That lady, she lacks job satisfaction.”

Simon clapped a hand onto Max's shoulder. “Not us, eh?”

“Not now, anyway,” said Max.

Wyatt was tickled to see a warm smile unfurl across Max's face at his father's touch. Maybe the two of them had patched up their differences after all?

Then Max frowned. “Hang on. How long have you been disguised as Dijon?”

“All day,” said Hantai Annie.

“Then…you Tased me!”

She shrugged a shoulder. “
Gomen
. I had to stay in character.”

Max shook his head in bemusement. “Sometimes you can be a real pain in the—”

“So,” Wyatt cut in, rubbing his hands together, “what now?”

Hantai Annie scrutinized them. “You my prisoners. Hide weapons and follow my lead.”

“Agreed,” said Mr. Segredo.

After they'd slipped their gear into pockets or waistbands (aside from the jet pack, which Max wore on his back), the spymaster produced three sets of handcuffs. “Attach one side,
but fake the other,” she said. Wyatt and the rest complied, then, after a quick peek through the door, she marched them outside and down the hall at gunpoint.

Aware that the cameras were watching, Wyatt acted the part of a captured agent, slumping his shoulders and dropping his gaze. But inside, he was buzzing like he'd swallowed a bucketload of
fireflies. Could they really walk out of the mansion like this, right under Mrs. Frost's nose? A prickle itched between his shoulder blades at the sight of every camera they passed, but at
least the Three Musketeers were reunited.

His shoulder bumped Max's. “Good to have you back, mate,” he muttered.

Max hid a grin. “It's not totally awful.”

“Just like old times,” said Cinnabar. Despite her handcuffs and haggard air, this was the happiest Wyatt had seen her in ages.

At the bottom of the stairwell, they followed Hantai Annie's escape route—a different route, Wyatt was glad to see, from the one Simon had taken when breaking in. By now, it was past
10 p.m. Wyatt supposed that much of the staff had retired to their own evil flats and houses—wherever bad guys holed up when off duty. The thickly carpeted halls were as empty as a
vampire's hand mirror.

Moving quickly but calmly, Hantai Annie guided them to a side entrance that overlooked a garden. Through the window, the hedges were lit like a museum exhibit. Mrs. Frost and her bullyboys were
nowhere to be seen.