Authors: Jonathan Bernstein
Spy to the Rescue (19 page)
I didn't imagine my trip to New York would end with me fake clog dancing in a park with my best friend to the worst music anyone has ever made, but right now, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
Bridget Wilder: Live Free, Spy Hard
“F
aster, Uber driver,”
Joanna and I both scream at Jesse, whose only crime was his promptness in picking us up the second we fled the Reindeer Crescent Medical Center. Big Log got Joanna an Uber account in case of emergencies. She probably didn't think we'd be using it to rush to our school to stop a hypnotically suggested soccer player from letting a deadly wasp attack the First Lady of the United States of America and my sister, Natalie, the face of the Say Hello campaign. But if this doesn't qualify as an emergency, I don't know what does.
Jesse flinches as we scream at him, and he drives his little blue Mini Cooper toward our school as fast as it is
capable of going on an unusually busy weekday morning. I texted Strike and Irina the shocking details of Klee's scheme, and I tipped off the local police that the dentist was a threat to the First Lady. If Jesse can't get us to the school on time, at least I know I've alerted reinforcements.
“You think T-shirt was under suggestion when he dated Nola?” Joanna asks, breaking my concentration. “She has insectoid features.”
I give Joanna a pained look. Her face is still smeared with tomato sauce.
“Just trying to keep things light,” she says. “We'll get there in time to save the most important woman on the planet. And also Jocelyn Brennan.”
I laugh out loud at that. Joanna, it turns out, is fun to have around on spy missions.
She breaks into our catchy theme song: “Here come the spy twins on another adventure, here come the spy twins coming to your town. . . .” I join in for a reprise of the chorus.
“Uh-oh,” says Jesse.
I stop singing as I see the reason for his
uh-oh
.
A police car signals us to pull over. Maybe they got Klee to confess? Maybe they want me to help them catch T-shirt? Maybe I'll get to ride in the cop car with the siren wailing!
Jesse stops his Mini Cooper and rolls down his window.
A uniformed cop leans inside and looks back at us. “Bridget Wilder?” he says.
“Did you get Klee to talk?” I ask, sounding brisk and businesslike, as if we're fellow law enforcers.
“Step out of the car for me, miss,” says the cop.
I'm getting a ride in the police car!
I climb out. The cop peers down at me. “Dr. Klee made a complaint against you. He says you assaulted him, disrupted his place of business, and caused him emotional distress.”
My mouth opens and closes. “He what . . . I what . . . he what?”
“I need you to come to the precinct.”
“You're taking Klee's side?” I yelp. “Didn't you get my tip? He's a threat to . . .”
This is pointless. Whatever I say next will make me sound like a hysterical nut job. I nod sadly, lower my head, chew on my lip and put my hand in my pocket. I pull out a tissue to dab my eyes.
The officer is kind enough to wait for me to gather my emotions. This is a mistake on his part because, as I reached into my pocket, I also pulled out Klee's vial. I pop the lid and yell, “You're free, you monster, now
attack
!”
Nothing happens.
I shake the vial and a dead fly falls to the ground.
“Klee!”
I howl in frustration.
“Get in the car,” growls the officer. He takes a step toward me and then he freezes to the spot. His face reddens and he lets out a scream of pain.
The officer hops up and down on one foot. I stare at him in confusion and then I realize what just happened. He stood on the dead fly's transplanted stinger which, obviously, was lethal enough to pierce the leather of his cop shoes. Klee's reign of terror has claimed its first victim! I'm not sticking around to let him sting anyone else.
“Call 911,” I yell at Joanna. “That cop's been stung by a marine wasp. He has a one in five chance of survival if treated quickly.”
“One in
five
?” yells the cop. I probably shouldn't have said that out loud.
“What are you going to do?” says Joanna.
“Run!” I shout over my shoulder, as I take off toward the school.
COURTESY OF JONATHAN BERNSTEIN
JONATHAN BERNSTEIN
was never a spyâbut then that's what someone who actually was a spy would want you to believe. Here's what we do know: He writes books, magazine articles, and movies. He was born in Scotland and lives in Los Angeles. Everything else is classified. Except for the information contained at
www.jonathanbernsteinwrites.com
. You can visit him on Facebook or Twitter @jbpeevish.
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.
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BRIDGET WILDER: SPY TO THE RESCUE.
Copyright © 2016 by Jonathan Bernstein. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015947550
ISBN 978-0-06-238269-6
EPub Edition © May 2016 ISBN 9780062382719
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FIRST EDITION
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