Mission In Malta (10 page)

Stefan jumped out of his seat and grabbed the bridle around Henry's face. ‘There, there, boy. Shhhh. It is finished now.'

‘Am I still alive?' Max mumbled into her scrunched self.

‘Seems so.' Linden looked up.

‘Then I guess that means you can get off me,' Max said through clenched teeth.

‘Oh, yeah.' Linden got to his feet. He and a squished Max scrambled out of the carriage.

‘I thought you said Henry was the best-behaved horse I'll ever meet.' Max wiped a grubby hand across her even grubbier face.

‘He is.' Stefan stroked Henry's panting chest. ‘That explosion really scared him.'

‘What caused it?' Max asked.

‘I am not certain,' Stefan shrugged and rubbed his face against Henry. ‘I nodded off while I was reading the paper.'

‘You nodded off! What kind of special agent nods off on duty?'

Stefan's chest collapsed beneath him. ‘I … I …'

‘Maybe it was this?' Linden held up a burnt and frayed cylinder. ‘It was taped on the back of Henry's carriage.'

‘Fireworks,' Stefan sighed.

‘Fireworks?' Max frowned.

‘They're very popular in Malta for festivals and celebrations.'

‘Why would someone tie one to your carriage?' Max asked.

Linden searched beneath the vehicle and grasped a white envelope that was hanging on a short length of string. He slipped out a note.

‘What does it say?' Max asked

‘“Stay away from what doesn't concern you”,' Linden read. ‘“Or next time expect more than fireworks.”' He looked at Stefan. ‘I guess Great Aunt Mary's sixth sense was right.'

‘It usually is,' Stefan nodded. ‘Ow!'

‘Are you okay?' Linden asked.

‘I don't think that ride was so great for my back. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right.' Stefan shook his head and said dramatically, ‘Oh
'tis but an ill wind that does blow through this house tonight
.'

Henry let loose a very smelly, very disgusting fart. ‘Sorry,' Stefan apologised. ‘He does that when he's nervous.'

Max clamped two fingers on her nose. ‘Ill wind or not, whoever sent this is about to learn that we are not going to be scared off by threats.'

A crowd of kids had gathered around, pointing and whispering, while above them heads were poking out from upstairs windows and balconies.

‘We go.' Stefan gave Henry one last hug before climbing into the carriage. ‘There is a special lunch in honour of Alfonzo.' He looked at his watch. ‘And time enough for you to clean up before I take you there. Our leech friend is going to need us to watch for him even more carefully than before.'

As Stefan gently coaxed Henry to move, a small, battered truck rumbled up to the mouth of an alley leading into the ancient stone square. A pair of miniature binoculars scanned the view, before they landed on the determined face of Max Remy.

‘You'd better pay attention to that note, little girl, or you and your friends will have your trip to Malta cut unexpectedly short.'

Stefan called to Henry and the carriage slowly pulled out of the square. The binoculars lowered and the sound of a cracked neck reverberated into the air.

‘There he is.'

Max and Linden sat at their table and watched Straussmann take his seat during Alfonzo's special luncheon at a rooftop restaurant in Valletta. His face had the look of a man with a bad case of diarrhoea as fans and organisers lavished his rival with gifts, smiles and requests for autographs.

Straussmann growled and snatched the serviette a waiter was about to lay on his lap. He demanded a drink and flicked him away like an annoying fly.

‘As charming as ever.' Max shook her head and pushed her backpack beneath the table.

‘Maybe this is as happy as he gets.' Linden shrugged and pushed his bag next to hers.

‘Even I could teach him to be happier than that.'

Linden smiled – one of those big, Linden, Mindawarra smiles that lifted right from the corners of his lips. ‘That's good.'

‘I can be funny sometimes.' Max grabbed a bread roll from the table and munched into it.

This was more like it, Max thought. The old Max and Linden. The one person she felt more comfortable with than anyone else she'd ever met. The one she didn't have to worry would lean over
and kiss her in some strange fit of dreamlike ridiculousness. She picked up her glass of Kinnie for a celebratory sip.

‘You look really nice in that dress.' Linden smiled.

‘Sorry?' Max stopped as the glass was about to reach her lips.

‘That dress really suits you,' Linden said. ‘You look pretty.'

Max's ease with Linden was sucked out of her like a tornado. She tried to look in control and continued with her sip, but it bubbled and went down the wrong way. ‘It's not that pretty,' she coughed. ‘And I don't think it suits me actually.' Max spluttered and tugged at the neck of her dress like it was a piece of chewing gum. ‘And it's not really practical for spy work,' she wheezed. ‘I mean, what was Quimby thinking when she packed it?'

Max's voice finally gave in to a fit of coughing. Turn off your mouth now, she warned herself, or I'm going to have you locked away.

‘Good afternoon, madam and sir, welcome to the Hotel Valletta Rooftop Restaurant, home of Malta's greatest chef.' The waiter laid two plates on the table. ‘For your lunch today we have one of Malta's specialities – Lampuki pie.' He laid it on
the table in front of Linden. ‘Lampuki is a fish caught in the waters off Malta, and I can assure you, your taste buds will not know the true joy of food until they have tasted this dish.'

Linden breathed in the smell of the pie. ‘Sounds like this Lampuki and I should have met long ago.'

The waiter's face stretched in a wide grin, and he laid Max's plate down and moved to the next table.

‘How can you be so hungry all the time?' Max asked.

‘You'll have to ask my stomach. It does what it wants and I follow.'

Linden tucked into his Lampuki pie and Max surveyed the room. Everything seemed as it should be. Guests, waiters, more autographs and Alfonzo blushing as an old lady who looked over a hundred reached up, squeezed his face between her hands and kissed him on the lips.

‘More kissing,' Max muttered. ‘It's like an epidemic in this country.'

‘Sorry?' Linden looked up from his pie.

‘Nothing.' Max's eyes settled on Straussmann as she picked up her fork and stabbed it into the pie.

‘It's good, isn't it?' Linden waited for her reaction.

Max's eyebrows wriggled together. ‘It's a bit chewy. Er …'

She spat out a half-munched piece of paper. ‘I thought the food was supposed to be good here.'

Linden looked closely. ‘I don't think that is a normal part of the recipe.'

Max saw a few scribbled words. She unwrapped the note and wiped off the fishy pie with her serviette.

‘Be at Fort St Angelo. Midnight tonight. There's something you need to know.'

Max looked up to see if anyone was watching them. The room was in busy luncheon mode. Food, plates, waiters darting everywhere. Nothing suspicious. Except the note.

‘How did it get there?'

‘Not sure, but I'm going to find out.' Max stood up and headed to the kitchen. Linden quickly took another bite of pie and followed her through the swinging doors. Max was directed to the chef and showed him the soggy note. ‘I found this in my pie.'

Max may as well have told the small, curly haired man his food had poisoned the entire country. His face seared lobster red and he fumed
around the kitchen, screaming in Maltese, throwing pots to the floor, demanding to know whose fault it was. After a few muttered answers and wide, innocent looks, he said, ‘My staff say they sent the fish out without any note. I will replace it with a new one and will personally check that it is perfect.'

‘Thanks.' Max gave the room one more sweep, meeting the eyes of everyone there to see if she could detect any dubious behaviour or guilty looks. She slipped the note into her pocket.

Outside the kitchen, Max turned to Linden. ‘I think I'll move around the room and keep an eye out for anything suspicious,' she whispered and turned quickly, slamming into a fishmonger carrying a foam box of fresh seafood, most of which slimed all over her.

Octopus, fresh lampuki and sardines slithered down her head and dress and landed squarely on her shoes.

‘What is it about me needing to smell like an old fish on this mission?'

The fishmonger offered a muffled apology and dropped to the floor to collect his sea creatures as two waiters descended on Max with white cloths.

‘It's okay.' Max held up her hands. ‘I'm used to
it. I'm going to go to the bathroom to clean up and find some of my lost dignity.'

‘I'll keep a lookout until you and your dignity return,' Linden smiled warmly.

Max walked off, her teeth clenched. ‘You can be so classy, Max Remy.'

She picked a sardine from her shoulder and threw it into a nearby fish tank as she made her way through the crowd.

‘Ladies and gentlemen … er … thank you all for coming today.'

Alfonzo stood on a podium in front of the crowd, smiling awkwardly, as if he had a rock in his shoe. He looked troubled and relaxed at the same time. ‘I want to thank you all for attending this … er … special luncheon. It has been a dream of mine since I was a small boy to make a difference in this world, to somehow make it better, and now, with the help of my beloved leeches, that small boy's dream may be about to come true.'

There was volcanic applause as Max reached the bathroom door, but before she entered, she saw that Straussmann's seat was empty. She searched the rooftop, eyeing off tables filled with captivated leech fans and waiters silently handing out the last of the lampuki pies, all against the backdrop of a
warm breeze, a clear sky and the blue waters of the harbour.

And Straussmann.

He was leaning against a stone column, not far from the podium. His head lowered, eyes searing into Alfonzo's every move.

Max slowly made her way towards Straussmann, crouching behind trays of fresh bread rolls, layers of Maltese pudding and glass cabinets of date and honey cakes.

When she was in position behind a giant palm, Max saw Straussmann sneering at Alfonzo as if he was a pestering mosquito that he intended to shoo away.

Or kill.

And in his hand was a cupcake.

The crowd laughed at Alfonzo's leech-sucking-you-in joke. He was right. It worked every time, but it had the effect of twisting Straussmann's face into a mangled picture of fury. He raised the cake to his face, but instead of biting into it, he held it up to his eye, aiming it directly at Alfonzo.' Max lifted her watch to her lips. ‘Linden. Straussmann's about to make a move.'

‘During Alfonzo's speech?' Linden radioed back. ‘That's not very discreet.'

‘Maybe he's not aiming to be discreet.'

Linden moved along the edge of the restaurant closer to Max. ‘I'm coming over. What is he doing?'

‘He's aiming a cupcake at him.'

‘A cupcake?' Linden's confusion could be heard in his voice. ‘Max, I don't think …'

‘Can you see him yet? He's holding the cake to his eye.'

Linden could only just make out Straussmann through the crowded room. ‘Max, the only thing that's suspicious is that he is staring at the cake and not eating it.'

‘Because maybe it's not a cake,' Max whispered into her watch. ‘I think there's a gun in that cupcake.'

‘A gun in the cupcake?' Linden asked.

‘Yeah. Like Spyforce's Exploding Cupcake, only this is a cupcake gun or maybe a cupcake tranquilliser?'

With the cake held before his eye, Straussmann lowered his head on an angle and began to raise his other hand, slowly, carefully.

‘I'm moving in.' Max crept even closer to Straussmann. His broad back squarely faced her as he focussed on Alfonzo.

‘Max, it's not what you think. It's …'

Max turned off her watch radio so that Straussmann wouldn't hear her approach.

‘Think you can just shoot innocent leech experts and get away with it, eh?' She whispered to herself and stepped carefully forward until she almost smelt the sugary sweetness of the weapon. ‘Not while I'm around.'

Max leapt forward. She sailed through the air, arms outstretched, ready to save Alfonzo.

‘Oooph!' Straussmann hit the floor with a pained thud as Max crash-tackled him in front of the luncheon crowd. She sat on his back as security guards surrounded them.

‘This man has a weapon,' Max announced to the stone-faced, gun-wielding guards, ‘and he was about to use it on Mr Martina.'

A swarm of gasps dominoed around the restaurant as Alfonzo poked his head out from behind a wall of dark-suited men with sunglasses.

‘Get her off me,' Straussmann mumbled into the floor.

‘I won't get off you until you hand over the cake,' Max demanded.

Straussmann lifted his fist and handed over the squashed sweet. ‘Here.'

Max pushed her hands into Straussmann's back
and nodded to Linden. ‘Check that, will you?'

Linden broke apart the cake with his fingers. ‘It's a cupcake, Max.'

‘No it isn't. I saw it. He had a miniature gun concealed inside.'

‘You saw it?' A burly guard stood over the young spies with a chest that looked like it had been stuffed with overfluffed pillows.

‘Well,' Max faltered, ‘I didn't exactly see it, but it was there. Maybe that one's a decoy and the real weapon is hidden in his jacket.'

‘We'll take over from here,' the guard said.

Max climbed off Straussmann's back as the big-chested man nodded at two other guards who helped him from the floor.

‘Mr Straussmann, we're going to have to search you if that's okay.'

‘You don't have to worry about being polite,' Max crossed her arms against her not-so-pillow-stuffed chest. ‘He's a criminal, and in a few seconds he's going to have a lot of explaining to do.'

The luncheon crowd gathered closer as the guards patted Straussmann down.

Max gave Linden a ‘watch this' nod, which changed the moment one of the guards said, ‘He's clean.'

‘Clean?' Max spluttered. ‘He can't be clean.'

‘Sorry for the disturbance, Mr Straussmann.'

‘Is this the kind of company you keep, Alfonzo?' Straussmann yelled. ‘Two delinquent children pouncing on innocent members of the public? Maybe you should choose differently next time.'

‘What would you like us to do with them?' Mr Big Chest asked.

‘Throw them out!' Straussmann declared with a delighted grin. ‘Both of them. We're trying to have a civilised luncheon here, and these two brats and doing their best to make sure that doesn't happen.'

‘But Alfonzo?' Max protested.

Alfonzo's eyes cast downwards. ‘I'm afraid we're going to have to do what he says.'

‘But he –' Max was cut off by the strong fingers of two guards latching themselves onto her arms. They led her to the door of the restaurant.

‘I'm not leaving until we get our bags.' Max flicked back her fishy hair and nodded. ‘They're under that table.'

The two guards looked at each other before one of them shrugged and made his way back into the room.

As they were handed their backpacks and were led outside, Max turned in time to see the slippery grin of Straussmann as he raised his hand in salute and bit into a fresh, icing-covered cupcake.