The Amazon Experiment

by Deborah Abela

Linden had a theory. ‘I think you might be right. With CRISP’s impenetrable security, the theft must have happened with the help of an insider, or at least inside information.’

  ‘The trouble is, if you’re right, we may be in much more trouble than we think,’ predicted Max gloomily.

  Max sat uneasily beside the rumpled agent. In the past, Dretch had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with them, so having him this close to her made her skin itch with tension.

  ‘What do you think happened to the book?’ she tried to ask with confidence.

  Dretch lowered his voice until it resembled low rolling thunder before a storm. ‘CRISP are masters at security as Linden said, and with the Vibratron and the Wall of Goodness, as well as the multiple security cameras and Spyforce agents, it was either someone very clever,’ his voice deepened to a snarl, ‘or someone who knew exactly what they were doing.’

  Irene pushed through the kitchen door and placed a tray of food on the table. ‘That’s one busy kitchen. It’ll be just like the Spy Awards Night all over again.’5

  Max noticed Irene’s shoulders drop a little. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She perked up. ‘There’s a lot to do and with all that’s happened I just don’t feel my usual self. It’s terrible news about the book.’ Linden saw her smile slip briefly and he exchanged a concerned look with Max.

  ‘Why don’t I tell you about these new treats I’ve made?’ Irene, like Linden, believed food helped in any crisis, and they both lightened at the mention of it.

  Max stared at Dretch, looking for any giveaway signs that he was guilty.

  ‘I’ve recently been trying out a new ingredient which I believe will take eating to a whole new level.’ Irene was always in search of new flavours to add to her unusual gourmet creations and Frond from the Plantorium often helped her out from her supply of fresh organic herbs and spices.

  ‘Go on, try one,’ Irene invited them.

  Linden surveyed the trays of food. There were green and purple muffins with silver icing, blue twisting pastries sprinkled with red powder, and some chocolate-covered shapes that resembled ants. He knew they’d taste good — Irene was a whiz when it came to food — but just as he was about to tuck in, Steinberger walked through the canteen door with a face full of bad news. He was followed by four CRISP agents.

  ‘Steinby?’ Irene was no longer able to hide her concern. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Max and Linden could see Steinberger had the words on the edge of his tongue but there was something stopping him from saying them. Linden’s skin prickled as the air filled with a light mist of unease.

  ‘I … I …’ Steinberger began.

  Max was really nervous now. Only Frond, who Steinberger had a crush on, could make him this bumbling and she was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news.’ Steinberger looked at the ground before turning to Dretch. ‘Agent Maximus Dretch, by the authority vested in me by the Chief of Spyforce, I am arresting you for the theft of the Spyforce manual.’

  I knew it! Max thought. He is guilty!

  Irene let out a small snort of incredulity. ‘What are you talking about, Steinby? This is Dretch. Our friend. He’s been with the Force for over twenty years and has been its most loyal agent …’

  She stopped as the CRISP team moved in and handcuffed the maroon-coated agent. Dretch offered no resistance. With only three sets of prints capable of opening the cabinet, he knew he would be singled out.

  The handcuffs were clicked into place and Dretch was firmly positioned in the grip of the CRISP team, who awaited their next command. He locked eyes with Steinberger.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ Dretch muttered.

  I’ll bet you didn’t, Max sniffed silently.

  Steinberger let out a small sigh and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Maximus.’

  Dretch slowly dropped his head. He looked forlorn and small beside the burly CRISP agents.

  Irene’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’ll bring you something to eat, Maximus.’

  Dretch offered no indication he’d even heard her.

  ‘Take him to the cells.’ The order was given quietly and Dretch was marched away. Steinberger watched as one of his best friends was pinioned like a common traitor.

  Spyforce agents began streaming through the canteen doors for dinner. There was a heaviness in the air as if everyone was moving through water. Quiet footsteps made their way to the food counter and low-level whispering circled around them like fireflies.

  Steinberger stared at the palm computer clutched in his hand as if he was waiting for an answer, an explanation to what seemed an impossibility. After Dretch had been handcuffed and taken away he’d stayed completely still.

  ‘Steinby?’ Irene asked quietly.

  He didn’t move.

  ‘Steinby?’ She gently placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘Mmm?’ He looked up.

  ‘What happened?’

  Steinberger drew a deep breath. ‘Dretch’s fingerprints were found all over the cabinet.’ Max could tell he was having trouble believing what he’d just said. For her part, though, she’d always known Dretch was bad.

  ‘Maybe he’d been there recently just to look at the book,’ Irene offered, certain that Dretch was not involved. She turned to see that the line-up for food had grown longer. She stood to go and help. ‘Steinby, you and I know he didn’t do it. It’ll all get sorted out sooner than you know. Now I’m going back to work.’ She paused before adding, ‘At least food still makes sense.’

  ‘Do you really think Dretch did it?’ Linden asked as agents swarmed around them in silent, hungry groups.

  Steinberger let out a long sigh. ‘No.’ He let his forehead fall into his hands. ‘But with the discovery of his fingerprints there was nothing else Harrison could do except order his arrest.’

  ‘What about the security cameras?’

  Steinberger’s palm computer lit up with a message. He looked wary. ‘That’ll be the footage from the cameras now. I asked CRISP to mail it to me as soon as they had it.’

  Steinberger pressed a few buttons to open the attachment. The vision revealed the foyer outside Harrison’s office, with the untouched cabinet sitting solidly in the middle. The view flicked to different angles, all with the book as its central concern. Then they saw Dretch. He walked straight to the cabinet and pressed his hands against the glass for fingerprint identification. After a small green light was seen at the base of the cabinet he lifted the heavy glass, took out the book and tucked it under his arm, then replaced the glass as if it was something he did every day.

  Max and Linden stared at each other.

  ‘So he did do it,’ Max declared.

  ‘But he said he didn’t.’ Linden thought Dretch had sounded sincere, but now that he’d seen the footage, it seemed Dretch was guilty.

  ‘You’d think he’d at least be clever enough to dismantle the cameras,’ Max scoffed.

  Steinberger turned off his computer, his saddened eyes still fixed on the screen.

  ‘I’m sorry, Steinberger.’ Linden wanted to make him feel better. ‘Just let Max and me know what you’d like us to do.’

  Steinberger offered him a weak smile. ‘Thanks, Linden.’ He stood slowly. ‘I’d better get back to it.’

  A metallic clang and crash of crockery was heard from the kitchen. Steinberger, Max and Linden ran to see what had happened. On opening the door, they saw Irene kneeling next to an agent who was lying on the floor, a mess of plates and pots surrounding her.

  ‘What happened?’ Max asked.

  ‘It’s Agent Steeple, my assistant. She just fell down. I noticed she was looking off-colour earlier, but when I asked if she was okay she said it was just the worry about the book. That’s the thing about Spyforce personnel, they never give up.’ Irene looked protectively at her assistant. ‘I’ve called Finch,’ she added as she placed the agent in the recovery position.

  Finch was the Spyforce doctor, and he responded immedia
tely to Irene’s call. Within minutes he and two assistants barged through the kitchen doors, their hands gloved in latex and their white coats flying behind them. Finch swooped to the floor to examine the fallen agent.

  Max, Linden, Irene and Steinberger waited nervously for his diagnosis. Finch worked quietly, checking the patient over, his serious face not giving anything away.

  Steinberger frowned. After what had happened today, a sharp feeling in his stomach told him this latest incident was not unrelated to the stolen Spyforce manual.

  Finch paused in his examination and looked into the expectant faces of the agents surrounding him.

  ‘What is it, Finch?’ Steinberger knew by his expression that the prognosis wasn’t good.

  ‘I’ve seen this only once before while I was working in the jungles of Africa. Of course I will need to do tests, but from what I have gleaned from my initial examination, I’d say it could only be one thing.’

  He looked down at the agent with a forlorn look but before Steinberger could ask what that one thing was, another commotion was heard from outside. Max ran to the door. ‘Another agent has collapsed!’

  Finch ran outside and examined the second fallen agent, then turned to his assistants. ‘Take these agents to the infirmary and place them under quarantine.’ The assistants immediately unfolded portable stretcher beds on wheeled stands and carefully lifted the agents onto them.

  ‘Well, what is it?’ The doctor’s silence was twisting Steinberger’s stomach into impossible knots.

  ‘Come with me,’ Finch called as he followed his assistants out of the canteen. ‘I can tell you when I know more.’

  A stillness fell over the canteen as the agents were left in an ominous silence. Max, Linden and Steinberger hurriedly followed in the stretchers’ wake. Max clenched and unclenched her hands, hoping the sick feeling in her stomach would be driven away by Finch’s diagnosis, but somehow she knew things were about to become very serious.

  The observation room was separated from the rest of Finch’s infirmary by a large, reinforced window. It gave a perfect view of the agent lying on the table. She was young and fit but unmoving, and with a grey pallor sweeping across her lifeless face, it seemed she’d been frozen in time. Since Finch had started his examination, several more agents on stretchers had been rushed into the infirmary.

  Finch slowly lifted his stethoscope from the patient’s chest and exhaled through his surgical mask. He looked up through the observation window towards the troubled faces of Max, Linden, Harrison and Steinberger. He gave instructions to his medical staff before leaving the table and climbing the stairs to join them.

  He lowered his mask, a growing disquiet marking his every move. ‘Her heart is very weak,’ he announced with a grim face. ‘I’d only completed her regular check-up last week. She rated brilliantly in every category.’

  He looked away sadly as if he was somehow to blame.

  ‘What is it, Finch?’ Harrison had left his office the moment he heard the news. He was prepared for the worst.

  ‘It’s either Trypanosomiasis or Chagas’ Disease,’ Finch answered.

  A heavy pause fell between them.

  ‘What’s that?’ Max asked.

  ‘Sleeping sickness,’ Harrison translated.

  ‘Sleeping sickness is a real disease?’ she asked with raised eyebrows.

  ‘Most definitely. And not only is it real, but if left untreated, it can also be fatal.’ Finch took a deep breath. ‘Normally the disease is caused by a blood parasite that is transmitted by bites from the tsetse fly in Africa or the triatoma bug from South America.’ He looked to Steinberger. ‘Have any of the infected agents been near either continent in the last few months?’

  Steinberger looked up the list of agent files in his palm computer. ‘In the last year, the areas covered were the Swiss Alps, the caves of Cappadocia, the Black Forest in Germany and the glaciers of New Zealand.’

  ‘Nowhere near Africa or South America,’ Finch spelt out, almost to himself. ‘This could be more difficult than I thought.’

  Harrison turned to Steinberger. ‘Try and find a link between all the agents who have been struck down so far. Run a search on everywhere they’ve been and ask questions of their families that may give us some clue as to how they may have become ill.’ He softened his voice. ‘And Steinberger … be careful not to alarm them.’

  Harrison felt a loyalty towards each Spyforce member as if they were family, and when any one of them was in peril his heart ached as if a small knife had cut into it.

  ‘It’s also possible that whatever caused the disease has made its way inside the Force,’ he speculated. ‘Contact maintenance and have them check all the air-conditioning units, and have Dretch check all vehicles and equipment for any foreign matter.’

  There was an awkward pause as Steinberger looked up from his note-taking.

  ‘I mean, coordinate Dretch’s team to do it.’ Harrison wasn’t yet used to his friend being detained. He turned to Finch. ‘How many are there now?’

  ‘We have seven agents under our care at present. Three field agents and two more from the kitchen staff.’

  Harrison looked through the glass at Agent Steeple on the observation table. ‘Will they all be okay?’

  ‘They’re stable for now. I’ve given them an injection of one of Frond’s Plantorium products which will stop the symptoms of the disease from getting worse. I’ve also put them on respirators as the illness is very taxing on the lungs, but it won’t last forever,’ he warned. ‘We have to discover the exact cause in order to provide a real cure. Otherwise …’

  His unfinished sentence hung in the air with a deathly quiver until Harrison turned away from the glass and laid out his plan of action.

  ‘Finch, contact Frond and tell her all you know. If there’s anyone who can work out an antidote it will be her. Steinberger, you and I will need to start formulating a mission to locate and retrieve the Spyforce manual and get a brief to Quimby as soon as we can.’ He then turned to Max and Linden. ‘With the spectre of sleeping sickness in our midst, I’m afraid you won’t be able to return home yet.’

  Max stood taller. She wouldn’t have left even if they’d tied her to a seat in the Invisible Jet and tried to fly her away.

  ‘I’ll contact Ben and Eleanor and ask them to cover for you while you’re here.’

  ‘What would you like us to do, sir?’ Max almost saluted.

  Harrison smiled. ‘I know it may not sound very exciting, but with all the kitchen staff who have fallen ill, Irene will need your help.’

  Max’s heart lurched. She would have preferred to have gone with Harrison, to be in the front line for whatever was destabilising the Force.

  Two more patients were wheeled into the surgery. The medical team swept into action as Finch offered a small nod, refitted his mask and went to their assistance.

  Harrison approached the glass again and looked down on the infirmary. Max started to say goodbye but the look of quiet despair on his face stole her words from her. Linden gently touched her on the arm and they left in silence.

  The waterlogged mop came down in a splashing frenzy just as Max entered the canteen doors with Linden.

  ‘That’s not good.’ Linden winced as the grey soapy water soaked into Max’s shoes.

  Irene held the dripping culprit guiltily. Her face was red, her apron damp and her chest heaving with her cleaning effort. She looked tired and rumpled, with her usual Irene shine hidden behind a nervous frown. ‘I’m so sorry, Max.’ There was the smallest crack in her voice that made Max want to reach out and wrap her in a hug.

  ‘It’s okay, Irene. We’ve come to help.’

  Irene breathed deeply. ‘And I’ll be glad to have your company,’ she replied with a flash of her old self as she picked up her bucket and led the way into the kitchen. ‘Max, yours is the tea towel, and Linden, you get to put away.’ Irene turned to a sink loaded with dishes and began a jovial whistle, but Max and Linden could tell her cheerfuln
ess was just a cover.

  ‘What do you think is responsible for all this sleeping sickness, Irene?’ Linden asked.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that so much I think I’ve almost worn out a part of my brain.’ Irene’s attempt at a joke drew a sad smile onto her lips. ‘Those agents are like my own kids. If anything was to happen to any one of them …’ She turned back to the sink and began scrubbing a giant pot even harder.

  ‘Finch reckons it’s something they’ve come into contact with in the last few weeks. Flies or bugs that are normally found in Africa or South America.’ Max picked up a large saucepan and began drying it with her tea towel.

  Linden continued for her. ‘All the agents it has struck have come from different units, have been on different assignments and none of them have been anywhere near those two continents.’

  Irene turned to them with her eyebrows flipped high.

  ‘Then it might be something inside Spyforce?’

  ‘Harrison thinks it might be,’ Max explained. ‘He’s having the place fully checked out.’

  Linden picked up a casserole dish and made for a large shelf. ‘So far they haven’t found any common factor.’

  Irene breathed a deep, resonating sigh.

  ‘Well, at least among all this commotion there’s one thing we can be sure of.’ She took off her gloves and moved towards the ovens. ‘I’m going to make sure everyone has lots of good food to eat.’

  Something struck Max about what Linden and Irene had just said, as if her brain was trying to tell her something but she wasn’t sure what. She watched as Irene took a tray of rich plum tarts from a cooling rack and assembled them on a plate.

  ‘See what you think of these,’ Irene said proudly. ‘I’ve added a little something special to it that I’ll bet my best pair of shoes will knock your socks off.’

  Linden fell into his usual food-zombie mode at the sight of food. His mouth fell open and his tongue ran along his bottom lip wondering which one he should try first. He reached slowly forward and picked up a tart, still warm, full of thick overflowing plummy syrup.