by Chelsea Cain
I stepped forward. "I am Nancy Drew," I explained, "and I demand to know what you want with my puppet."
The man's angry expression melted immediately. "The Nancy Drew?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied, flustered.
He picked up a book and came rushing around the desk. "Will you sign a book for my granddaughter?"
"Of course," I cooed, opening up a copy of The Hidden Staircase. To whom shall I sign it?
"Katherine."
"With a K?"
"Yes."
"What's going on?" broke in Chris.
The man's face flushed again as he glared at the TEEN agent. "You mean to tell me that you don't know who Nancy Drew is?"
Chris looked as if he was about to cry.
"She is only the original teen sleuth. The prototype. The inspiration for this whole business."
"They had teen sleuths in the twenties?" asked Chris, confused.
Chris's boss ignored him and stepped forward, thrusting his hand out toward me. "I'm Q," he declared. His lips peeled in an effort to smile. "It is an honor and a pleasure, madam."
I introduced Bess. She vamped nervously.
"Now that we all know whom we're dealing with, Q," I continued, "how about telling me what exactly you and TEEN are up to?"
"Of course," Q stated. "We traced the puppet from Leopoldville, the capital of the Belgian Congo. It was mailed by an associate of Patrice Lumumba's. Belgium, as I'm sure you know, is losing control of the Congo at an alarming rate. We suspect that the Belgians will grant the Congo independence this summer and that Lumumba will be elected prime minister. Because Lumumba has Communist ties, the CIA has an interest in transitioning control of the country to someone more"—he searched for the word—"amenable. We want to know why the puppet was sent and what significance it has."
"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 hypocr
isy, 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."
We were silent for a long moment and then Ned asked, "So what now?"
I considered this. "We take some time. We reevaluate."
He nodded, and I could see all of our youthful dreams in the reflection of his eyes. "I still love you."
"I love you too," I told him. But I wasn't sure I meant it.
VII THE HAIGHT-ASHBURY MYSTERY, 1967
Nancy, you did it again!" exclaimed Captain Tweedy admiringly, as he led away another shoplifter from Burk's Department Store. I smiled winningly and, with a self-effacing shake of my bottle-titian hair, retorted, "Just doing my job, Captain!"
I had been working as a store detective at Burk's for almost three years and had single-handedly apprehended more than five hundred shoplifters. In those days no one paid much attention to an
yone over thirty, so as a woman in her late fifties, it was easy for me to follow suspects unnoticed. Despite my efforts, theft in the store continued to be a problem, as long-haired youths streamed through town on their way to counterculture hubs such as Indian City and Ann Arbor.
It had been six years since I had finally left Ned and Ned Junior. We had tried couples therapy, encounter groups, and even a Masters and Johnson seminar. In the end nothing had helped me overcome the feeling that I just didn't have what it took to be married. I had broken Ned's heart, and in exchange I granted him primary custody. He loved Ned Junior as much as I did, and in the end I could not bear to leave my devastated special friend alone. I eventually purchased the industrial flat that George had been renting out since she had left town in 1955 to get her doctorate at the University of Chicago. It was here I began my late-middle-age renaissance. I even bought a 5th Dimension album and learned how to macrame.
Ned Junior had graduated from Berkeley and chosen to remain west, settling in an area of San Francisco called Haight-Ashbury. Our relationship had been somewhat strained during his late teen and college years, as I tried to make a career in store detecting, but we had ultimately remained close. My analyst said that I had an unusual interest in people and situations that promised mystery and adventure, and that this led to trouble coping with the mundane activities of ordinary existence. He called it "teen sleuth syndrome" and even wrote a paper on it that was well received at several national conventions. The heart of the matter was this: I was obsessed by mystery. Because of this, I found it difficult to take time off from store detecting, which offered me a multitude of small capers in need of solving. As a result, though I spoke to Ned Junior often by phone, I had yet to visit him in California. George, who had always taken an interest in Ned Junior, became convinced that I should tear myself away from my job and surprise Ned Junior with a visit.
"There is more to life than shoplifting!" she had exclaimed over the phone. "And much of it is in San Francisco."
I liked the idea of a surprise visit. It seemed as if it might have the potential to be thrilling, while allowing me to be secretive and maintain an aura of mystery. I was also a little sore from being on my feet all day. So I agreed.
