Disappearing Act

by Jacqueline Harvey

  The Santa-patterned paper was crumpled and torn in places where the girl had clearly encountered difficulty. Kensy appeared to have used several rolls of sticky tape and undertaken the task wearing oven mitts. While she wouldn’t win any prizes for presentation, Max appreciated the effort.

  Kensy tore the paper off her present and was surprised to find another box to open. Max, meanwhile, took his time hunting for the end of a piece of sticky tape. Kensy lifted the lid and pulled out a gilded birdcage with two miniature robins inside it. One was sitting on a swing and the other was on the floor. Kensy held it up and examined it closely, turning the object in her hands until she spied the mechanism.

  ‘Oh, Max, it’s an automaton! It’s like Granny’s elephant downstairs but tiny.’ She wound the key and gasped as the birds began to flitter and chirp. The one on the floor flew up and around the cage while the other did loops on the swing.

  The boy grinned at her. Max knew she would be itching to pull it apart to see how it all worked. ‘Promise me you’ll leave it in one piece for today at least.’

  Kensy wrinkled her nose. ‘Only if you insist. You know I’ll put it back exactly as it was – if not better.’

  Max nodded and finished opening his present. He was awestruck when he realised what it was. ‘How on earth did you manage to get this?’ he asked her.

  ‘Fitz and Song helped me. We found it in an antiques shop on Portobello Road,’ Kensy said proudly. ‘It’s way better than the bag of rocks you collected for me when I was six, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Really?’ Max laughed at the memory, and it felt good to remember happier times. ‘I thought you loved them. Dad said they were magic.’

  ‘Magic my eye.’ Kensy shook her head. ‘I believed anything back then.’

  ‘You should consider that payback for the handle you unscrewed from our bedroom door and tried to convince me I could use as a portal to another world the Christmas before.’ Max placed his gift onto his lap and began tapping away on his very own enigma machine. It was a contraption invented by a German engineer, Dr Arthur Scherbius, at the end of World War I. Said to be the most sophisticated cipher machine ever developed, it looked much like a typewriter but used a series of rotors and electrical currents to randomly assign a code. During World War II, a clever Englishman called Alan Turing managed to crack the German’s cipher. It has been said that Turing’s work shortened the war by two years and probably saved over fourteen million lives.

  Kensy returned the automaton to its box and walked over to the window. ‘Have you seen the garden yet? Autumn said it would snow. It’s beautiful . . . Mum and Dad would love it here.’

  In the early-morning light, the estate sparkled. The lollipop trees along the top of the wall closest to the house looked as if they’d been dusted with icing sugar, and the Atlas fountain was frozen solid. Autumn had only told Kensy the week before that the fountain was another one of the estate’s treasures, with a strongroom beneath it containing yet more secrets to be discovered. Apparently, none of the junior agents had ever been inside – it required top-level security clearance – so they weren’t even absolutely sure it existed. Kensy couldn’t wait to investigate further.

  A line of black taxis could be seen heading for the main gates. Kensy frowned, not recalling anything in the itinerary about off-site activities this morning. She hoped they hadn’t missed an important instruction. While it wouldn’t have been unusual for her, it would be highly out of character for Max. She didn’t have to wait long to find out as her train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  ‘Good morning, children, and a very merry Christmas to you,’ Song said, entering the room with a bow. Unlike the twins, who were still in their pyjamas, Song was dressed in his customary black dinner suit. Over the past few days, the butler had donned a variety of outfits ranging from casual clothes to last night’s ugly sweater. It seemed a bit glum now that he was back in full work mode – especially today.

  ‘Happy Christmas to you too, Song,’ Max said.

  ‘Where’s everyone going?’ Kensy asked, pointing out the window.

  ‘All will be revealed in due course. Your grandmother wishes to see you in her suite,’ Song replied. ‘I cannot tell you any more, Miss Kensington, no matter how hard you try to get it out of me. Not even if you bought me the complete collection of Johnny Cash for my Christmas present.’

  Kensy giggled. ‘As if that would ever happen.’

  Max shrugged on his dressing-gown and slippers and together the children followed Song to their grandmother’s suite. The butler gently tapped on the door and, after a generous pause, ushered the children inside, where they found Cordelia on the phone. She mouthed her apologies and gestured for them to make themselves comfortable. Max noticed that she was also still in her pyjamas, which he found oddly comforting.

  ‘Thank you, Gabriel, and a very happy Christmas to you and the family,’ she said warmly. ‘Oh, and please tell Catherine I’m looking forward to seeing her at the fundraiser next week. Goodbye, dear.’ Cordelia put down the phone and sat back with a sigh. ‘Sorry, darlings. The Prime Minister doesn’t like to be ignored.’

  Kensy and Max smiled wryly at one another. Of course their grandmother would be exchanging Christmas greetings with the Prime Minister of England. Didn’t everyone? Max had been gobsmacked to read some of the cards that had arrived from dignitaries around the world. Among them had been a beautiful hamper sealed with the royal warrant, which had been sent directly from Her Majesty. Cordelia held out her arms and the twins rushed into them.

  ‘Where’s everyone off to?’ Kensy asked. She couldn’t help but feel she was missing out on the fun.

  ‘A major mission went live late last night,’ Cordelia said, stifling a yawn. ‘It appears that those who wish to do the world harm do not have any consideration for public holidays or celebrations. It’s to be expected, I suppose. Quite a few of our guests left straight after the party and everyone else is setting off now.’

  Kensy’s chest tightened. ‘Does it have any thing to do with Mum and Dad?’

  Cordelia shook her head. ‘A world leader is in peril, along with several hundred thousand civilians should our people fail.’

  Kensy felt a pang of relief followed by a stab of guilt. She was glad her parents weren’t involved, but so many other people’s loved ones were. All of a sudden it didn’t feel much like Christmas.

  ‘Has everyone gone?’ Max asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

  Cordelia nodded and touched his chin. ‘I’m afraid you’re stuck with me and the household staff,’ she said with a wink. ‘The operation is all hands on deck for now. Your friends and teachers will, however, be on your three o’clock flight to Rome tomorrow.’

  ‘Why couldn’t we go on the mission? We’re ready,’ Kensy huffed. She immediately remembered who she was speaking to and looked down at her slippers, chastened. Although Cordelia was their grandmother, she was also the head of Pharos and important enough to receive hampers from the Queen. It wouldn’t do her cause any favours to behave like a stroppy child – even Kensy knew that. It was just so frustrating to be mollycoddled all the time. She was burning to be able to help.

  ‘Oh, darling, we don’t ever use the children on assignments unless we absolutely have to,’ Cordelia said.

  Kensy bit her lip. ‘So, we’re not up to scratch?’

  ‘I didn’t say that at all.’ Her grandmother raised an eyebrow. ‘You are both doing incredibly well, but, believe me, fieldwork is not for the faint-hearted and you have years of excitement ahead of you. Besides, I wish I was going to Rome with Mr Reffell – the man’s a walking history book. You’ll have a wonderful time.’

  ‘Granny’s right,’ Max said. ‘We’ve only just started training. What if we messed up? We could endanger a lot more people than ourselves.’

  Kensy rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, let’s not sit around and mope,’ Cordelia said, springing to her feet. ‘I think there might be something special
for both of you under that tree over there and after lunch we’re going to deliver gifts to all of the children who live on the estate – and take dinner for their families too. We can’t let Mrs Thornthwaite’s feast go to waste.’ Cordelia’s phone rang. ‘But I think there’s someone who’d like to wish you both a happy Christmas first.’ She lifted the device so the children could see the caller.

  ‘Fitz!’ the twins gasped. Kensy pushed in front of her brother, who had to manhandle her to the side so Fitz could see them both.

  He was clearly holding the phone in one hand away from his face – although every now and then he forgot and they had an up-close image of the inside of his (very clean) nose. ‘Hi kids, are you having a good morning?’

  Max took the phone from Cordelia and held it out in front of him.

  ‘Where are you?’ Kensy asked. ‘Have you found –’ She stopped and checked herself. ‘I mean, happy Christmas.’

  The children chatted to Fitz for several minutes, regaling him with all the stories from the night before. He said he’d heard about their accident too and was very proud of the way they’d handled themselves. When their grand mother left the room to check on breakfast, they told him about their latest message from their parents.

  ‘Have you found anything?’ Max asked. His eyes searched the screen for clues as to the man’s whereabouts, but all he had to work with was the image of Fitz standing in front of a window covered by a sheer curtain.

  Fitz shook his head. The twins told him about everyone leaving and what the day had in store. Max also thanked him for helping Kensy find the best present ever. Just as they were saying their goodbyes, the curtain behind Fitz flapped in the breeze and the sun lit up the view. The children could see a silhouette of rooftops and a large dome.

  ‘You have a great time in Rome,’ Fitz said with a smile. ‘And I’ll see you soon. I promise.’

  Once the call had ended, Max looked at Kensy, a glimmer of hope in his blue eyes. ‘Perhaps sooner than we think.’

  Vittoria Vitale stared daggers at the uniformed man before her. ‘Are you telling me there is no sign of my son?’ she said through gritted teeth.

  The fellow shifted awkwardly under her gaze. ‘I am sorry, Prime Minister. It is as if the boy has fallen off the face of the earth. My men and I have looked everywhere. We have searched the railway and bus stations, and an entire team is reviewing all of the closed-circuit television footage within the city limits. We have also knocked on every door of every household and business for miles. I am afraid that, if he has not returned by this evening, we must alert the media and appeal to the public for their help.’

  ‘The public help me?’ Vittoria scoffed, fiddling with the pear-shaped diamond on her ring finger. ‘They hate me enough as it is – and will revel in my failure as a mother.’

  ‘Mia cara.’ Her husband hurried to her side. Although in his late forties, the man was striking with thick dark hair, olive skin and eyes like pools of black ink. ‘If anyone is to blame, it is me,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her. ‘I should have paid more attention to the boy.’

  But how? Vittoria knew nothing would have appeased her son, who only wanted to return to their hometown to be with his grandfather. Ever since they had moved to Rome, he had been near impossible, arguing with her and Lorenzo constantly. It was lucky her husband had the patience of a saint. In truth, she had on more than one occasion investigated boarding schools in Switzerland and England. Life was complicated enough trying to run the country without familial drama adding to her load. But now that her worst nightmare had been realised, the only thing she wished for was to be reunited with her little boy.

  Nico rubbed his pounding head and squinted into the darkness as a mustiness enveloped him. The last thing he could remember was running across the rooftops, away from that lout Fabrizio.

  The aroma of garlic and herbs hung in the air, making his stomach grumble. Nico sat up gingerly. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Is anyone there?’

  Outside, the floorboards squeaked. Someone was coming. The handle turned and the door creaked open to reveal a silhouetted figure.

  ‘H-Hello, could you tell me where I am? I seem to have forgotten . . .’ Nico trailed off as a man wearing a black balaclava deposited a tray of food by the door.

  ‘Buon Natale,’ the man said over his shoulder then left.

  Nico heard a key turn in the lock and, ignoring his aching limbs, ran to the door. ‘Please come back! I need to go home,’ he yelled, banging his fists against the door. ‘Let me out! Please!’

  The boy shouted for what felt like an eternity before he gave up and sat down on the bare floorboards. Through the haze in his head, he remembered. It was Christmas Day, but he had a horrible feeling that there would be no celebrations here.

  Max stared out the window as the plane descended through a patch of clouds into Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport, some sixteen miles from the centre of Rome. It was strange to think that only a couple of days ago they were in full training mode at Alexandria and now they were back to being regular kids on a school trip, with not a word of the past week to be uttered aloud. Max wondered how the others never slipped up, but supposed that the longer one led a double life, the easier it might become to lie. He hoped he wouldn’t make any mistakes. Granted, it was more likely that Kensy would blurt out something. Indeed, several rows in front, his sister had tried everything she could to extract information about the Christmas mission from Autumn. Each time, Autumn managed to steer the conversation in a different direction. That girl was effortlessly polite and a seasoned professional.

  In no time flat, the children, along with Mrs Vanden Boom, Mr Frizzle, Miss Ziegler and Mr Reffell, had disembarked, cleared immigration and boarded a minibus. Mr Reffell sat at the front, commentating their journey into the city and pointing out various landmarks. It was a noisy ride among the beeping horns as cars and scooters darted in and out of the traffic. Their driver, Franco, cheerfully bore the brunt of much abuse, to the children’s great amusement – particularly among those who knew an Italian swear word or two.

  ‘Are we going to the Colosseum this afternoon, sir?’ Alfie called out.

  ‘If you care to consult your itinerary, you’ll see that we have a half-day tour there tomorrow.’ The man raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s going to be amazing – just wait until you see what I have planned.’

  Romilly Vanden Boom blanched. A statement like that from Monty set her teeth on edge – heaven knew what the man had up his sleeve.

  ‘When are we going to the Vatican?’ Lola asked. ‘I want a blessing from the Pope.’

  Autumn looked at Kensy and whispered, ‘She needs more than a blessing.’

  Kensy snorted with laughter, garnering a glare from the girl.

  Monty Reffell sighed audibly. ‘Might I suggest that you all have a read of the detailed pages that were included in the folder that I gave out to each and every one of you before we boarded the plane?’

  ‘But I left mine in my seat pocket,’ moaned Graham Churchill. He was always forgetting things and quite literally scratching his head.

  ‘Good heavens, man, we’ve only been here a minute. How could you have lost something already?’ Monty frowned. ‘It’s just as well I made extras, although I’m not giving you another one until tomorrow. You can share with someone else for now. Actually, share with Lola – she doesn’t seem to know what’s going on either. I’m sure you two will love being buddies for the afternoon.’

  Lola Lemmler looked as if she might throw up. ‘But Graham’s gross! I’m not sharing with him. Misha’s my buddy.’

  Eyes widened around the bus and there was a flurry of whispers.

  ‘Lola, you will apologise to Graham at once and you will be his buddy for the rest of the day,’ Monty declared.

  ‘It’s okay, sir. I’d rather not. Lola’s a nasty cow,’ Graham retorted, to the muffled guffaws of his classmates.

  Lola leapt up, almost strangling herself with the seatbelt in the proc
ess. She wrestled free, then marched over to the lad, who was sitting across the aisle two rows back. ‘What did you say?’ she demanded. Although small in stature, Lola possessed an intimidating air and had been known to reduce senior students and even teachers to tears.

  ‘You heard me,’ the boy said, jutting out his chin. ‘Unless those dainty ears of yours are full of wax.’

  Mr Reffell yawned theatrically. ‘Lola, sit down before I instruct the driver to turn around and deposit you back at the airport.’

  ‘But he called me a cow.’ The girl’s long lashes fluttered as her eyes filled with tears.

  The man sighed again. ‘And you said he was gross.’

  ‘So? He is,’ Lola sulked. ‘Everyone knows he’s got nits!’

  At the mention of the critters, half the bus scratched their heads. Kensy and Max hated to indulge the upstart, but they couldn’t help themselves and began itching their scalps too. Mr Reffell was no exception, much to his own annoyance.

  ‘Right,’ Romilly Vanden Boom barked, standing up from her seat in the middle of the bus. ‘You will both apologise or I’ll gladly send you both home. This is hardly an auspicious start to what should be a wonderful week.’ The woman’s voice reverberated through the bus, causing even the driver to shiver in fear.

  ‘But my parents are here in Italy,’ Lola grouched under her breath.

  Misha looked over at the girl. This was news to her. Lola hadn’t mentioned a thing about it before and she was usually quite the open book.

  ‘Well, in that case,’ Mrs Vanden Boom replied, arching an eyebrow, ‘I’d imagine they’d be very happy to collect you right away.’

  Lola gulped, knowing that wouldn’t be the case at all. Her father had spent Christmas away and her mother had flown out yesterday evening to join him. She had been left at home with her nonna, who had accompanied her to the airport.

  Lottie Ziegler and Elliot Frizzle, who were sitting at the back of the bus, snickered like schoolchildren. Truth be told, neither of them would have minded the girl being sent home. Misha had her work cut out for her, that was for sure, and the girl pulled it off with poise. At times it was difficult to discern where her undercover persona ended and the real Misha began, which earned her the respect of her teachers as well as her Pharos peers.