The Amazon Experiment

by Deborah Abela

  Quimby held onto the steering wheel, her smile as wide as the windscreen, which was filled with all sorts of fish and other non-roadworthy creatures.

  ‘Max, you’ve got to see this,’ she cried.

  Realising she was still dry and not gasping for breath, Max squinted open her eyes just in time to see a giant catfish swim by.

  ‘What do you think of the Aqua Buggy?’ Quimby enthused.

  Max stared quietly, relieved she wasn’t going to become a muddied fossil in the bottom of the lake.

  ‘It’s the first of its kind. I’m very proud of it.’

  They navigated their way around rocks, passing schools of fish and swaying reeds. After the thump of Max’s heart had calmed down, it was actually quite peaceful.

  ‘It’s really good,’ she finally managed.

  ‘It’s watertight, temperature-controlled, and runs on a super-concentrate plant fuel that will last for up to ten days underwater. On land, its super-grip wheels and powerful engine enable it to handle all terrains. Sand, mud, gravel. Anything. Hold on.’

  Quimby turned sharply and manoeuvred the Aqua Buggy up a muddy bank and back to the others.

  ‘How was it?’ Linden asked. Max was about to answer when she saw Alex laughing at something smarm-boy had said.

  ‘I think we did okay,’ Quimby answered for the young agent.

  ‘Excellent!’ Steinberger said before he was interrupted by a light on his palm computer. ‘Excuse me.’ He stepped away to take the message.

  Max kept her eyes on Alex and Suave as she opened her door, but as she stepped out, she tripped on the side of the buggy and fell headlong onto the pier. Right at Suave’s impossibly shiny shoes.

  ‘Let me help you there, Max,’ he offered.

  He began to lean over but Max stood up before he could touch her. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, reeling from having made a fool of herself once again.

  ‘Thanks for the demonstration, Quimby,’ Alex said. ‘I have been requested to show Suave the Library and talk him through previous Spyforce missions.’

  ‘And I couldn’t think of a finer guide.’ Suave let rip another toothpaste smile.

  And the worst thing was, Alex fell for it! She blushed. Again. This was too much.

  ‘That’s fine,’ Quimby said. ‘Max and Linden have quite a few more vehicles to test before they leave.’

  ‘Good to see you again, Max and Linden,’ Alex smiled.

  Okay, brain, thought Max, here’s your chance. It’s time to show Suave you can be just as cool, calm and confident as he is.

  ‘Ahhh … it was … yeah,’ she said out loud.

  Good one, brain. That showed them. Max cursed her brain for never working when she really needed it to.

  Suave stepped aside in an after-you gesture that Alex accepted and the two walked off with conspiratorial whisperings as if they were long-time spy partners.

  Quimby pushed a piece of hair under her scarf and pulled out her notebook to decide which vehicle to test next.

  Max stared after Alex and Suave. ‘Why can’t Alex see he’s a jerk?’

  ‘He seems all right.’ Linden took a cheese stick from his pocket. ‘Want some?’

  Max kept staring, not noticing Linden’s offer. ‘Just look at him. Anyone can tell he’s a fake. The accent, the swagger, the overpowering cologne —’

  ‘The fact that he’s so good at everything?’

  ‘Yeah, the fact that he’s …’ Max stopped. Sometimes it was a pain that Linden could read her thoughts so well.

  ‘Nothing tells you that you’re being a little harsh?’ he suggested.

  ‘Yes, but I’m choosing to ignore that for now.’

  Linden laughed. There was a time when Max and a sense of humour were as close as the north and south poles, but she seemed to be getting the hang of it.

  Steinberger came back towards them, his face downcast with fear.

  ‘What is it, Steinberger?’ Max asked.

  ‘Alex. Suave.’ The two agents were about to leave the testing area, but rushed back at Steinberger’s nervous call.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Harrison has summoned us.’ His previous excitement had been replaced by an air of disbelief. ‘He said it’s urgent.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Suave straightened up.

  Steinberger stared at his miniature computer like he had no idea how to say it.

  ‘Harrison will explain when we get there.’

  There was an air of un-Steinberger-like nervousness about him as Linden, Max, Suave and Alex followed the gangly legs of the Administration Manager out of the testing area towards the office of the Chief of Spyforce.

  Harrison’s office was buried deep within the subterranean levels of the agency. It was a top secret area accessible by a system of terracotta pots that doubled as elevators. Usually. But this time Steinberger bundled the agents into a tiny cupboard filled with musty clothes.

  It was a tight fit and to make it worse, Max was squeezed between Suave and his cologne and a bunch of mothballed coats, scarves and trousers, all of which were starting to cut off the circulation to her brain.

  ‘Where are we?’ Max gasped through the strangulating smells.

  Steinberger entered a code into a silver panel above the door handle.

  ‘Harrison’s wardrobe. It’s the express route to his office that only a few people know about.’

  Max sneezed as the mothballs ate into her nostrils like stink bugs.

  Steinberger finished entering the code and the wardrobe jolted to life. The agents were flung downwards at full speed. After a few cramped plummeting moments, the wardrobe came to an abrupt standstill, sending the five agents tumbling into the gloomy atmosphere of the chief’s office.

  It was the same darkened room Max and Linden remembered from their first visit to Spyforce. Tall ceilings, long stained-glass windows leading to nowhere and deep leather lounges crowded with cushions. The walls were filled with paintings, certificates and awards, the odd tennis racquet and fishing rod, and imposing shelves of books. Max smiled as she spotted the garden gnomes and multi-sized terracotta pots.

  And then there was Harrison, sitting behind his heavy oak desk. He seemed weighed down by a sad and disoriented look.

  ‘Sir?’ Steinberger asked with trepidation as he edged towards the desk.

  Harrison didn’t move. Max and Linden looked at each other as their bodies tingled with dread. Something was very wrong.

  ‘Sir?’ Alex tried this time.

  ‘Yes? What? Ah, Alex dear … you’re here.’ Harrison tried to feign an air of interest but it quickly became hidden under a blanket of gloom.

  ‘What’s happened, sir?’ Alex had never seen her boss like this.

  ‘Come with me.’

  With heavy footsteps he led them out into the red carpeted foyer. Max tried to push down a deep black fear.

  Harrison stopped before a tall glass cabinet, filled with a blue silken cloth nestled in a dim glow. In the centre of the cloth was a hollow imprint.

  ‘It’s gone.’ Harrison flinched as if even the reminder of the crime was painful to him. ‘The original Spyforce manual has been stolen.’

  Linden remembered the first time they’d seen the cabinet and what Steinberger had told them about it. ‘It contains the very essence of the Force itself,’ he repeated from memory.

  Steinberger offered Linden a small smile that quickly faded as the seriousness of what had happened fell even more heavily upon them.

  ‘Only a few people know this, but if that book falls into the wrong hands, it could be disastrous.’ Harrison suddenly stiffened. ‘It must be found.’

  ‘Can’t you have another one made up?’ Max was hoping to ease the chief’s distress, but he just looked lost, like someone who’d been drained of all their energy.

  ‘What? Sorry … another one made up? That’s impossible, Max. The original Spyforce manual had secret experiments fixed into the very fibres of its pages that are c
apable of transforming human existence as we blow it.’ Harrison sighed. ‘I mean, as we know it. It is written in an invisible ink developed by Frond and can only be read using a special lamp with a pink light fixed at a certain temperature level.’

  ‘Maybe the person who stole it is unaware of this?’ Suave offered.

  ‘Thank you for your optimism, Suave, but whoever took the book knew the value of what they were doing.’

  Harrison pointed to a piece of paper lying on the floor next to the cabinet. It read:

  Thank you for your hidden secrets.

  We promise to take good care of them.

  ‘We must find it.’ Although Harrison was trying to maintain a calm demeanour, a nervous edge had crept into his voice.

  ‘What do we know about how it happened?’ Alex’s voice remained firm.

  ‘Nothing yet. This glass cabinet is fingerprint sensitive, like your packs, and will only open to those with approved and programmed prints.’

  ‘Whose prints, sir?’ Linden asked warily.

  Harrison looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Myself, Steinberger …’ Here he baulked. ‘And Dretch.’

  Max gave Linden a knowing look. She’d never liked Dretch, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want them to be part of Spyforce. On one mission, Max had even suspected he’d sabotaged her equipment, hoping to bring about her premature end.4

  Besides, with only three possible suspects, she could never believe it was Steinberger or Harrison who were to blame.

  ‘I’ve ordered CRISP and the heads of each department to enforce a total lock-down. All agents have been told not to leave the Force tonight and to remain on full alert. Max, Linden, can you stay and help us out?’

  Max straightened her spine and swept her shoulders back.

  ‘We’re ready to help out in any way we can.’

  ‘Linden?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Linden looked down at his watch and whispered to Max. ‘You think it’ll all be over in time for Ben’s lasagne?’ Max’s scowl instantly made him reconsider. ‘Not that it matters, of course.’

  Four agents with the word CRISP stamped in white across their dark blue overalls jumped out of the terracotta pot elevator and ran into the foyer. They were from the Central Response Investigative Safety Patrol and were responsible for the internal security of Spyforce. They held stun guns firmly before them and scanned every corner of the foyer. When they were satisfied all was secure, they each took a place guarding each possible entry point. One of them turned to the elevator pot and gave a brief hand signal.

  Another two agents then leapt out of the pot. They were wearing white jumpsuits and full headgear and were carrying box-shaped silver briefcases. After offering Harrison a brief nod, they got to work examining the cabinet. They put on huge magnifying eyewear, waved around small Geiger counters and held out fingerprint analysers.

  Harrison looked anxious, as if he was watching his favourite pet being operated on.

  ‘Steinberger,’ he said carefully. ‘Organise the rosters for tonight and tomorrow. Ensure each department is taking all the necessary precautions and …’

  It was like he’d run out of knowing what to do. Steinberger stepped in.

  ‘And get Irene on the case ready to feed everyone.’

  ‘Yes … Irene.’ Harrison’s eyes rested on the two identification experts and his beloved glass cabinet. He stooped with weariness, and for the first time, Max thought he looked old.

  A fiercely chilled wind tore through the Old Town Square in the noble city of Prague, sending a whorl of sharpened ice and snow into a frenzied squall. The town shivered under its twisting, turning bursts as it forced its way into ancient castle turrets, beneath splintered roof beams and along icy walls of huddled apartment blocks.

  Weeks of unrelenting snow had cemented into thick white mounds beneath frosted windowsills, in narrow alleys and on statues of important men. Above it all, the double spires of Tyn Church loomed like ornate, blackened spearheads. The church’s stone walls and spires had withstood the winds of many winters, but this was one of the cruelest.

  Max Remy fought against the wind that stormed into her, soaking a painful cold into her bones, but when she stopped and saw the spires, a grasping fear wrenched at her heart.

  ‘Linden.’ Her friend hung suspended between the spires.

  Removing her thermal mitts, Max put on her super-grip gloves and began climbing the imposing building. She repeated their pact over and over, to drive away her fear of heights and the very real possibility of Linden being tossed into the last moments of his life. The climb was slow and laboured, each move sending a stabbing pain into her frozen hands.

  When she reached one of the spires, she gripped its steel and only just managed to hold on against a vicious wind gust.

  ‘Linden!’

  His face was edged with a frozen blue and his eyes were dazed as his body fought to keep from passing out. The rope had been badly frayed and there was no way of knowing how long it would last.

  She reached the top of the spire and held one arm out to him. With her super-grip gloves and her Abseiler, she’d be able to get them both to safety. But before she could move any further, the rope snapped. For a tiny moment their eyes locked.

  ‘Linden!’

  Her voice was swallowed by the wind, the same wind that buffeted Linden’s body as he fell. Tumbling and falling … plunging headlong to

  The terracotta elevator came to an abrupt stop, flinging Max to the floor and the other agents on top of her.

  ‘Have a nice … thank you for … please come again,’ the melodious elevator voice stammered.

  ‘Sorry about the ride.’ Steinberger pulled himself up. ‘The terracotta elevators have been playing up. The maintenance team have been called to repair them.’

  ‘They’d better make it quick before someone gets killed.’ Linden lifted himself from the floor and noticed Max’s drained and frightened face.

  ‘Max?’

  He leant down to help her up.

  ‘Yes?’ She saw his outstretched hand and for a second she thought they were back at the double spires of Tyn Church.

  ‘You need a hand?’

  ‘Oh. Yeah. Thanks.’

  With the news of the theft of the Spyforce manual, Max’s head had filled with a daytime vision of her eerie nightmares. She wondered if she’d ever shake the terrible images and the sick feeling she got when she remembered she’d almost caused the death of her best friend.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Max took Linden’s hand and stood up. ‘Wasn’t expecting the rough landing.’

  Linden smiled, but he could tell there was something else worrying her.

  They slipped through the partially opened doors of the elevator into a flurry of agents moving in all directions and standing in dark corners talking to each other in whispers. The air was goosebumped with unease.

  Steinberger led them to the canteen, where Max and Linden would stay with Irene while he, Alex and Suave went to check on the lock-down.

  ‘We’ll come with you,’ Max offered.

  ‘That’s kind, Max, but when we’ve worked out our next move, we’ll come and get you both. For now I’ll leave you in Irene’s hands. She knows you’re coming and has prepared something special for you.’

  Steinberger tried to smile, but the corners of his lips refused to curl upwards. He turned and left with Suave and Alex, saying no more. Max and Linden sat down at the nearest table.

  ‘If I even think about food, I guarantee my stomach is not going to stay where it is.’ Max breathed deeply, hoping to get rid of her queasiness.

  ‘When I’m nervous the best thing to calm me down is food.’ Linden shrugged a little guiltily.

  Max gave him a half-smile. ‘Yeah, I can see that.’ Suddenly she felt like she’d been covered in a blanket of ice. ‘Is it me or is it cold in here all of a sudden?’ She rubbed her arms and looked at Linden, who didn’t answer. ‘Don’t you feel
cold?’

  ‘A little.’

  She heard the words, but Linden’s mouth hadn’t moved. Max was hoping the voice hadn’t come from who she thought it belonged to. But it did.

  Dretch!

  The only agent in Spyforce who could cause Max to experience her own personal arctic winter. He stood beside her with his spaghetti hair drooping over his eyes, his bent body covered by its crumpled maroon coat.

  Max opened her mouth but nothing happened. There was a deathly pause as Dretch stroked his cat, Delilah, with his long chicken-bone fingers. Delilah soaked up the attention while offering Max a steadfast glare.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Dretch growled.

  ‘We, er, Steinberger said I … ah …’

  Max stumbled over her words just as Irene walked into the canteen and offered one of her best doona-warm smiles. ‘There you are, you two. Steinby said you were coming. And Dretch, lovely to see you as always. Freezer fixed?’

  Dretch offered a small groan and a nod.

  ‘Knew you’d do it.’ Irene clapped her hands.

  ‘Now all three of you will have the honour of sampling a few new recipes from the kitchen. I’ll just go and get them.’

  Irene walked to the kitchen, leaving an awkward Dretch standing by Max. She could tell he wanted to leave, but the temptation of Irene’s food held him back.

  ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this business.’ Dretch pulled out a chair and grudgingly sat next to them. Max shivered even more, as if a glacier had been shipped in and parked beside her. ‘There’s something about this business that has inside job written all over it.’

  Of course it was an inside job, Max thought, and with what we know about the fingerprints, I bet I’m staring at the guy on the inside right now.

  ‘Do you think so, Dretch?’ Linden asked.

  ‘It’s too clean a job. Too thorough,’ he rasped. His head spun around so Max faced the jagged scar that ran from his chin down his neck. ‘What do you think?’

  She flinched. ‘I think … it seems … it was probably …’ She had hoped if her mouth started saying something her brain would come up with the rest. It didn’t.