Golden Gate

by James Ponti

  Interestingly, the person who was becoming most identified with the hijacking wasn’t even someone who was on the ship. It was Judy’s mother. Mary Somersby was using her position in Parliament to attack MI6, which she blamed for not preventing the assault. She made appearances on every network and, without naming her daughter, confided that someone close to her family had been on board. She cried during one clip that was frequently replayed and promised a thorough investigation into what went wrong.

  “Isn’t that just classic?” Rio complained. “She’s attacking MI6, when it was a pair of MI6 agents who saved her daughter.”

  “Doesn’t she know that?” asked Paris. “She’s a high-ranking MP.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” replied Monty. “Everything this team does is behind the highest level of security. There’d be no way to explain that a pair of girls saved her daughter without her wanting to know more about that pair of girls.”

  “You’d think maybe her daughter would give her a little hint,” Rio offered.

  Sydney laughed. “You don’t know this girl. She’s concerned about her reputation and her reputation only.”

  “Do you think there could’ve been someone on the ship working with the hijackers?” asked Kat. “What about the captain? They seem to think she might be involved.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Sydney. “She’s pretty awesome.”

  “I agree,” said Brooklyn. “But there were two strange incidents that happened between her and Blix. Twice she yelled at him, and he just kind of took it. He didn’t snap back at her.”

  “What did she say when she yelled at him?” asked Paris.

  “I don’t know,” answered Brooklyn. “She yelled in Norwegian. I couldn’t understand a word.”

  As they continued watching, they were relieved to see that the legal threats seemed to have worked. No channel had footage of Sydney and Brooklyn being chased through town. There was, however, an eleven-second clip shot on someone’s phone that made it onto social media. But it wasn’t of the two of them. Instead, it showed Paris standing firm like a brick wall as a camera operator slammed into him at full speed, only to comically crumble and crash to the ground. The user had added music and a bug splat sound effect, along with a banner that read STOP-ARAZZI!

  That night, as everyone helped prepare dinner, Sydney the Sea Lion and Paris’s budding online celebrity were the main topics of discussion.

  “You just went over a thousand likes,” Sydney said, checking her phone. “You’re going viral!”

  “You know,” said Kat, “just like a disease.”

  The two girls traded fist bumps.

  “What comes next?” asked Brooklyn. “Memes? A fan club? Stop-arazzi T-shirts?”

  “Enough already,” said Rio. “Can we just focus on dinner? I’ve already pushed this meal back a day. I will not have it ruined because of some stupid YouTube video.”

  “Stupid YouTube video?” Sydney said as she stirred a pan of rice. “Sounds like someone’s got a case of the jellies.”

  “Jealous? Me?” protested Rio. “Of what? All he did was… stand there.”

  “Right,” said Paris. “I guess no one thought to shoot any action footage of you hiding behind a car.”

  “I wasn’t hiding,” he said defensively. “I was… getting out of the way to avoid injury.”

  “How is that different from hiding?” asked Kat, bringing everyone to laughter.

  Everyone, that is, except Rio.

  “Just cook, okay?” he said.

  Food on the FARM tended to have an international flavor, as both Monty and Mother felt it was important that the menu include dishes from everyone’s homeland. As a result, the kitchen was a cultural melting pot, often filled with inviting aromas from around the world, like the smell of curry and saffron from a delicious Nepali dinner or the savory scent of piping hot Australian meat pies.

  These so-called home table meals were prepared entirely by the kids and usually made on Sundays. But with all the craziness, this week’s dinner had been pushed back a day, not unlike Brooklyn’s algebra test. They were making Rio’s favorite, a giant pot of feijoada, a beef, pork, and black bean stew that was served over rice with smoked sausage.

  “This looks and smells amazing,” Monty said as they sat down for dinner.

  “Thank you,” said Rio.

  “The question is, how does it taste?” said Mother. He got a spoonful and was about to take a bite when the doorbell rang. “Hold that thought,” he said, comically stopping the spoon inches in front of his mouth.

  “I wonder who that is,” said Monty.

  “Probably a weather weirdo,” Brooklyn answered as she got up and headed to the door.

  Because the FARM was officially a weather research institute, people interested in meteorology would sometimes show up at the door at odd hours. The kids usually referred to them as weather weirdos.

  “Wait,” Mother said. “Let me answer. I want to make sure that no one from the media has tracked you down.”

  “If they have,” said Sydney, “tell them we’re not here.”

  “And if it’s someone from my fan club, tell them I’m not here either,” joked Paris.

  Moments later, Mother returned and said, “It is neither a weather weirdo nor a reporter. Rather, it’s a high-ranking official from MI6.”

  Into the room walked Gertrude Shepherd, known to everyone as Tru, a legendary spy who stood nearly six feet tall, walked with a limp, and was missing her left pinkie. After a long career as a field agent, Tru was now a command officer at Vauxhall Cross and was Mother’s direct supervisor. She was also one of only a handful of people at MI6 who knew about the quintet of young operatives known as the City Spies. She was accompanied by her personal assistant, an agent in his late thirties wearing a coat and tie.

  “Good evening, everyone,” she said with a broad smile. “Smells delicious. Is there enough for two more?”

  14. Tru

  MI6 DIDN’T PLAN ON CREATING a team of underage spies. No right-thinking intelligence officer would ever consider such a thing. But that unlikeliness was part of why the squad had become so successful. It had grown organically as the accidental byproduct of a series of random events, beginning with the fire that almost killed Mother.

  As far as the rest of the world knew, Mother died in that fire just as Umbra intended. But the unexpected wild card was Paris. He was a homeless ten-year-old who lived alone in the warehouse. He was used to hiding in the shadows and was able to free Mother and lead him to safety without anybody realizing. There was no way Mother was going to leave his rescuer behind, so he took him back to Britain and late one night they both showed up on Tru’s doorstep.

  Tru instantly realized that there was no more effective spy than a dead one. If the spy world thought Mother had perished, that would make it all the easier for him to continue pursuing Umbra. It was her idea to hide the two of them in a remote cryptography station in northern Scotland, which is how they came to Monty and the FARM. In addition to studying Umbra, Mother began searching the world for his children. Along the way, he came across other amazing children in need who he could not abandon. He brought them back to the FARM, and soon the City Spies were born: a team of young, skilled agents who could move unnoticed in situations where adults would stand out.

  Keeping the team a secret was vitally important to both the team and the Secret Intelligence Service. As far as their effectiveness and safety were concerned, it was essential that as few people as possible knew about their existence. And as far as MI6’s credibility was concerned, they simply could not let anyone know that they were using a team of kids aged twelve to fifteen.

  Only four people at MI6 actually knew what was going on with Project City Spies, and only two of them were aware of Mother’s true identity. Tru’s assistant was not one of those people, which made the dinner conversation a little tricky.

  “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my assistant, Jack Fissell,” she said. “It’s easy to rem
ember: ‘Fissell’ rhymes with ‘whistle.’ ”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jack said. “Tru’s told me all about you.”

  “She has?” Sydney asked, surprised.

  “Absolutely,” Tru interjected. “I told him how you’re all part of a special scholarship program run by the Foundation for Atmospheric Research and Monitoring.”

  “Oh,” said Sydney, realizing that she hadn’t really told him all about them. “Right, FARM.”

  “It’s fascinating,” Jack said. “You all hope to become climate scientists?”

  “Or something in a related field,” Paris said.

  “FARM is dedicated to climate research,” said Monty. “We have the FARM Fellows Program to give kids practical scientific experience no matter what career paths they choose to follow.”

  “Full confession,” Tru said, directing the conversation again. “As my assistant, Jack is fully aware that Monty sometimes consults with MI6 with regard to issues of cryptography.”

  “You all know that too?” Jack asked the kids.

  “It would be kind of hard to keep it a total secret,” Sydney offered. “We live together.”

  “But we don’t really know any specifics,” added Brooklyn. “Just that her work involves Beny.”

  “Who’s Beny?”

  “That’s what we call the Cray XC40 supercomputer that’s the key to what we do here,” answered Monty. “The reason that I sometimes consult for MI6 is because the exact model of computer used to make predictive weather patterns is ideal for cryptography.”

  As they ate, Tru explained that they were in the area for business and that she wanted to stop by and check in with Sydney and Brooklyn about the Sylvia Earle. “As you know, there’s a lot of talk about MI6’s role in responding to the hijacking, and I’m trying to piece together information from as many of the passengers and crew as I’m able.”

  Brooklyn started to tell her, but Tru waved her off.

  “Not yet, sweetie,” Tru said. “We can talk later. Now let’s just enjoy the excellent company and this feijoada, which smells amazing. By the way, if you like, I can give you a little spy lesson.”

  “Really?” said Paris. “That’d be awesome.”

  “What is it?” asked Sydney.

  “Feijoada is the national dish of Brazil, beloved across the country,” Tru said. “But even if I didn’t know where our friend here was from, I could tell you that this was a recipe specifically from Rio de Janeiro.”

  “How?” asked Brooklyn. “Because of the ingredients?”

  “It’s the meat,” guessed Sydney.

  “The rice?” said Paris.

  “The beans?” suggested Kat with a shrug.

  “No, no, and no,” Tru responded.

  “Then what is it?” asked Brooklyn.

  Tru winked at Rio and he answered, “The orange slices.”

  Sydney had a confused look as she said, “But there aren’t any orange slices.”

  “Exactly,” said Tru. “In every other part of the country, they serve this with orange slices. But in Rio they steadfastly refuse to do so.”

  “Why?” asked Paris.

  “I have no idea,” said Tru. “That is one of life’s great mysteries.”

  “I don’t know either,” said Rio. “I just know that it’s true.”

  “How is that a spy lesson?” asked Brooklyn.

  Tru smiled and said, “It’s a reminder that sometimes when you’re reading a situation, the answer lies not in what you see, but in what is missing.”

  The dinner was great. Tru told some amazing stories. And everyone had fun with the Stop-arazzi video of Paris and the cameraman.

  “That’s grand!” Tru said with a chuckle as she watched it on Sydney’s phone. “Absolutely grand!”

  She shot Paris a wink, and he smiled at the recognition.

  After the meal, Tru suggested that they go down into the priest hole to discuss the hijacking. Jack Fissell started to follow, but she stopped him.

  “Actually, I’ll handle this on my own,” she said.

  “Don’t you want me to take notes?” Jack asked.

  She shook her head. “I want it to be a little less formal than that.” She turned to the kids. “How about you three show Jack around this facility of yours. Give him the same tour you give to the weather weirdos who arrive unannounced.”

  “Gladly,” answered Paris.

  Jack looked wounded, but he didn’t protest. He knew better than to contradict his boss. Tru went down into the priest hole with Sydney, Brooklyn, Mother, and Monty and made sure they secured the door once they were inside.

  “First of all,” Tru said as they sat around the conference table, “I want to tell you two how proud I am of you. You did amazing work on that ship, and you no doubt saved the lives of those girls.”

  Sydney and Brooklyn both thanked her.

  “Now, I want you both to walk me through what happened,” she instructed. “Go step-by-step and try not to leave anything out.”

  Each girl recounted her version of the events, careful to include as many details as she could remember. Sydney was honest about where she was and why. She was surprised that Tru didn’t seem to mind that she’d broken some rules.

  “The truth of the matter is this,” Tru said. “If you hadn’t gone scuba diving, the outcome might have been much less positive, so let’s be happy this time that you’re not so great when it comes to following rules.” Sydney smiled and Tru added, “Although, in the future…”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll be better.”

  Tru had a briefcase and pulled a file from it.

  “Can you confirm that this is the man who was in charge?” she asked as she handed a photograph to Brooklyn.

  “Yes,” Brooklyn said. “On the news they said his name was Blix, right?”

  “Unfortunately,” Tru responded.

  “Why is that unfortunate?” asked Mother.

  “Because he was once one of us.”

  “Blix was MI6?” asked Monty, surprised.

  “Before he was turned by Umbra,” said Tru. “Just like Clementine.”

  Sydney flinched almost imperceptibly at the mention of Clementine.

  Tru turned her focus back to Brooklyn. “You say the captain yelled at him?”

  Brooklyn nodded. “Twice.”

  “And all in Norwegian?”

  “Yes,” said Brooklyn. “I couldn’t understand a word.”

  “What about her tone? Could you read that?”

  “Angry. I’d probably call it defiant.”

  “Could she have been giving him orders?” asked Tru. “Working together with him?”

  “She could’ve been,” said Brooklyn. “But that’s not what it sounded like.”

  “I don’t think the captain was involved,” said Sydney.

  Tru gave her a raised eyebrow and asked, “And you’re basing this on what?” Then she leaned in and added, “Considering you weren’t there when this happened.”

  Sydney pulled back a bit and said, “Based on the fact that I spent time with her on the trip and…”

  “You liked her?” Tru said sarcastically.

  Sydney stopped talking and nodded.

  “I’m willing to accept an agent who breaks the occasional rule,” Tru said. “After all, rule breaking’s kind of at the heart of what we do. But I cannot accept an agent who judges someone’s potential guilt based on that person’s likability. Despite what you’ve seen in movies, the villains don’t all have scars and eye patches.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Sydney.

  “I have a question,” said Brooklyn.

  “What is it, dear?” asked Tru.

  “What did the other agent say?” she asked. “Or better yet, who was the other agent?”

  “Yeah,” said Sydney. “When we planned the op, you said there’d be another agent on board the ship.”

  “And did I give you her name then?” asked Tru.

  “No,” said Brooklyn.

  “
So, I’m not going to give it to you now,” she replied. “Just as she has no idea that you two were anything other than students on the trip. Anonymity is the key to everything we do. As to what she said, I haven’t had the chance to debrief her.”

  “I think we know who it is anyway,” said Sydney with a wry smile.

  “Really?” said Tru. “Who?”

  “The second mate,” she replied. “Hannah Delapp.”

  “And what makes you say that?” Tru asked. “And please don’t tell me it was a gut feeling.”

  “No,” said Sydney. “The way she studied people. The fact that she had the night watch on the bridge yet still stayed up most of the day keeping an eye on things.”

  There was a long pause as everybody studied Tru’s reaction, which gave away nothing. Finally she smiled and said, “Did you think I was going to tell you if you were right or wrong?”

  They all laughed when they realized that she was not about to give them the slightest hint.

  “What do you call those sayings of yours?” Tru asked Mother.

  “Motherisms,” he said.

  “Here’s the one that I live my life by,” she said as she turned back to Sydney and Brooklyn. “No matter what, my lips are sealed. My secrets will never be revealed.” She let that sink in for a moment before saying, “Which brings me to the next topic. Mother thinks of you all first as children, and that’s good. He should do that. But it’s my job to think of you first as agents. And the two of you are very good agents.”

  They both smiled at this.

  “But you’re about to face something that will be very difficult.”

  For the first time that evening, Mother interrupted.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Not what, who,” said Tru. “Bloody Mary.”

  “Who’s Bloody Mary?” asked Brooklyn.

  “Mary Somersby,” answered Tru.

  “Judy’s mom?”

  “Who also happens to be an MP who dreams of one day becoming prime minister,” Tru said. “She plans on using this incident to make herself a star. In a day or two she’s going to announce that she’s leading a special Parliamentary inquest into the events that transpired. Everyone who was on the ship will be called to testify.”