by James Ponti
“Wow,” said Paris. “That’s stunning.”
“Isn’t it?” said Monty.
Mother looked at her, his mind at work figuring out his next step. “You really know how to make a first impression, Sara.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like it better if everyone started calling me Brooklyn.”
11. Sydney
Sydney, Australia—Three Years Earlier
COUNTING THE LAYOVER IN HONG Kong, it took Mother twenty-three hours to fly from London to Sydney. And, as if the jet lag wasn’t disorienting enough, in crossing the equator he’d gone from winter to summer. So it wasn’t surprising that he was off his game when he arrived at the Wallangarra School for Girls.
Wallangarra was the fourteenth different boarding school he’d visited in the three days since he’d landed, and they were all beginning to blur together. To clear his mind, he looked into the rearview mirror of his rental car and recited one of his own Motherisms. “You don’t need any hocus-pocus. All you need to do is focus.”
That did the trick, and after wiping the sweat from his forehead, he was ready to go.
“Good afternoon,” he said with a flawless Australian accent to the receptionist in the main office. “I’d like to speak to …” He checked a name in a thin spiral notebook. “… Ms. Madeline Cooper. I believe she’s the head of the school.”
“That’s Dr. Cooper,” the woman corrected with a raised eyebrow. “May I ask what this is in reference to?”
“Police business, I’m afraid.” He flashed an Australian Federal Police badge and said, “I’m Detective Sergeant Nicholas Henderson with the AFP.”
Her tone changed instantly. “Of course, Detective,” she said respectfully. “Please have a seat, and I’ll let her know you’re here.”
Mother had come to Australia on short notice after receiving word that a woman resembling his wife had been photographed at Sydney Airport. She’d arrived on a flight from Kuala Lumpur only to leave seventeen hours later for Manila. She wasn’t detained, because the facial recognition software only scored her as a 31 percent match: possible but unlikely.
Mother, however, knew it was her the instant he saw the video. She’d altered her appearance with makeup and possibly surgery, but she couldn’t hide her mannerisms. He recognized the way she adjusted her glasses and her tendency to hold each hand in a fist, a habit she developed as a child to keep from biting her nails.
MI6 sent agents to Kuala Lumpur and Manila in hopes of picking up her trail, but Mother focused on her midway destination. She was in Australia too long for it to be a layover, but not long enough to really do anything. What if that’s where she hid the children? he wondered. What if she went to Sydney to check on Robert and Annie?
“Detective Sergeant Henderson, is it?”
Mother looked up and saw an impeccably dressed woman in a dark blue pinstripe suit.
“You must be Dr. Cooper.”
She led him to her office, which was impressive though not at all welcoming. There was a formal sitting area with a couch and two stiff-backed chairs around an antique coffee table. The walls were covered with pictures of smiling students in blue-and-yellow blazers with matching boater hats.
“It’s a lovely campus.”
“We’re proud of it,” she said. “Wallangarra girls have been going on to great things ever since Mrs. Hobart founded the school in 1901.”
“And I see that you were one of them.” He pointed to a picture on the wall. It was Dr. Cooper when she was a teenaged student at the school.
“Very good eye,” she said, impressed. “No wonder you’re a detective. Now, what brings you here today?”
“Two missing children.” He made sure to sound like a hardened police officer and not a desperate father. “We have reason to believe they enrolled in area boarding schools sometime in the past eighteen months and wondered if the girl ended up here.”
He handed her a picture of his daughter and son.
“Pretty girl,” she said. “But I’m afraid she’s not one of ours.”
“You’re certain? The photo’s two years old.”
“We have six hundred forty-seven girls at Wallangarra,” she replied. “And I know each one.”
“Maybe she didn’t enroll but visited as a prospective student. Is there someone else she might have spoken to? Someone who might’ve given her a tour?”
“I insist on meeting all candidates myself,” she said. “If she was here, I would’ve seen her.” She handed the picture back to him. “Sorry.”
Even though it had been a long shot, Mother’s heart still sank at the news. There were only three more schools to check. A once-promising lead looked more and more like a dead end.
“Thank you for your time.”
“Always a pleasure to help the AFP,” she said. “If you’d like, I can send the picture around to other schools. It would save you the trouble of going to each one.”
“No, thank you,” he said. “It’s sensitive, and we want to control the flow of information.”
“Well, good luck, then.”
They were interrupted by an explosion that was so unexpected, Mother initially thought his ears were playing tricks on him. Then came the scream, and he knew it was real.
The originator of the scream was a teacher standing in the quad in the middle of campus. She had a stunned expression and held her hand over her mouth when Mother rushed onto the scene with Dr. Cooper.
“Heaven’s sake, Alice, what happened?” Dr. Cooper asked anxiously.
“It’s Mrs. Hobart!” shrieked the teacher. “Look what they’ve done to her.”
In the center of the quad stood a bronze statue of the school’s founder. Or rather, stood most of a bronze statue of the school’s founder. The statue’s head had apparently been blown off in the explosion and now sat upside down in a nearby flower bed. There was still some residual smoke emanating from Mrs. Hobart’s neck.
The aura of effortless perfection that Dr. Cooper had conveyed up until that point began to falter. Her left eye started twitching, and crimson blotches formed on her neck and cheeks. “That girl,” she muttered. “That foul, wretched girl!”
She trembled and seemed on the verge of erupting when she was struck by inspiration.
“Wait a moment!” she exclaimed. “This. Is. Perfect.” She turned to Mother. “Look at the damage. Someone could’ve been injured. Someone could’ve been killed. And you’re a witness. This is now a police matter.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, utterly confused.
“You’re coming with me,” she said to him. Then she turned to the teacher. “Go get her.”
“Who?” asked the woman.
“You know who,” sneered Dr. Cooper.
They returned to her office, and while Mother tried to figure out what was happening, Dr. Cooper riffled through a filing cabinet, mumbling to herself. She was possessed, but with what, he wasn’t sure.
“Look at this,” she said, pulling out a thick file. “I’ve documented everything she’s done.”
“Who?”
Just then the door flew open, and Mother laid eyes on Sydney for the very first time. Only, she wasn’t Sydney yet. At that moment she was still Olivia. She plopped down on the couch, put her feet up on the antique coffee table, and took off her school hat to reveal a short, cropped purple Mohawk.
“Hello, Madeline,” she said with a grin. “What seems to be the problem?”
“You know what the problem is,” snapped the principal. “You desecrated the statue of Mrs. Hobart, and you’re going to pay for it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the girl said with total innocence.
“Just like you don’t know who took my car apart and reassembled it in the library,” said the principal. “Or like you don’t know who let a swarm of frogs loose in the chapel.”
“An army,” said Olivia.
“What?” asked Dr. Cooper.
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br /> “A group of frogs is called an army, not a swarm,” Olivia answered with a smug smile. “We learned that in Ms. Helton’s biology class.”
“Aren’t you clever?” the principal said as she swiped Olivia’s feet off the table. “Well, this time you were too clever for your own good. You made the mistake of breaking the law with him here.”
She pointed to Mother.
“And who are you?” Olivia asked.
“He’s a detective with the AFP,” Cooper answered for him. She turned to Mother. “Go ahead! Show her your badge.”
Mother was reluctant to be pulled into the dispute but didn’t see a way out, so he showed his badge to Olivia.
“Nice to meet you, Detective Sergeant Nicholas Henderson,” she said as she examined it. “How do you fit into this little drama?”
“That’s a good question,” answered Mother.
“He’s going to arrest you,” said Cooper.
He was too cool to show it, but this was when Mother began to panic. Posing as a police officer was one thing, but faking an arrest was something totally different. He’d come to Australia on his own without notifying MI6 or local authorities.
“That’s not really my area,” he said, trying to talk his way out of it.
“Aren’t you with the AFP?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said cautiously.
“Well, she just exploded a bomb in the middle of a school. How can that not be your area?” She shoved the file into his hands. “Look at this. It documents everything she’s done.”
“Allegedly,” Olivia corrected. “Things that I’ve allegedly done.”
Cooper glared at Mother, who pretended to look through the file while his mind raced, trying to come up with an escape strategy.
“Either you arrest her,” she demanded, “or you stay with her until I have the local police come down here. Then you can explain your reluctance to them.”
Involving the actual police was the last thing that he wanted. They didn’t take kindly to people pretending to be officers of the law.
“No, no, there won’t be any need for that,” he said. “I’ll take her in.”
Rather than protest, Olivia smiled. She even held her hands up for him and asked, “Want to cuff me?”
“There won’t be any need for that,” he said. “I doubt you’re a flight risk.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Cooper.
Mother desperately wanted out of the situation but couldn’t figure out how to do it without taking the girl. “Come on,” he said reluctantly. “Let’s get you down to the station.”
The principal gleefully escorted them to the door as Olivia followed Mother to his car.
“You want me in the backseat or front?” Olivia asked.
“Front’s fine,” he said as he opened the door for her.
No matter how long he tried to stall, inspiration failed to come. A few minutes later he was driving past the guard gate, furious at himself for getting into this situation. He was still trying to think of what to do when Olivia broke the silence.
“Well, DS Henderson, this is quite the pickle,” she said as they drove away from campus.
“How do you mean?” asked Mother.
“Me being in your custody,” she answered, “and you not actually being a police officer.”
Mother gave her a look. “What makes you think I’m not a police officer?”
“First of all, the badge you flashed is out-of-date,” she continued. “The AFP switched the crown about three years ago. It’s not something Dr. Cooper would notice, but then again she’s never been arrested.”
“Unlike you, I suppose,” said Mother.
“Let’s just say, it’s not my first time in a police car.” She smiled. “Of course, this isn’t really a police car.” She pointed at a sticker inside the windshield. “It was rented at Sydney Airport. That was giveaway number two.”
She let him stew for a moment before continuing. “Don’t worry about it, though. I’m not going to blow your cover. Just head for the beach. I know some people who will take me in.”
“Your family?” he asked.
“Hardly,” she laughed. “Mum’s dead and Dad’s, well, I have no idea where Dad is, but I know he’s not waiting somewhere to welcome me with open arms.”
“If you don’t have a family, how can you afford to go to a fancy school like that?”
“It was stipulated in my grandmother’s will,” she said. “She was a Wallangarra girl and hoped I would follow in her footsteps. It’s probably best that she’s no longer with us or all of this might have killed her.”
Despite the situation, Mother couldn’t help but like Olivia. She was fresh and honest. As they drove down Pacific Highway, he said, “I have a question for you. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Dr. Cooper’s car in the library? An army of frogs in the chapel? The headless Mrs. Hobart?”
“Oh, you mean my alleged wrongdoings,” she said. “There’s no way I’m confessing any of that to a copper. Even a pretend one.”
“I can’t tell anyone without getting myself into much bigger trouble than you,” he said. “Besides, we’re not talking random mischief here. These were very intentional acts, and I’m guessing they were meant to convey specific messages.”
“That’s the drawback with being an anonymous vigilante for justice,” she admitted. “You don’t get to explain your intentions, and sometimes the general public misses your true artistry.”
“Explain them to me,” he said. “I’m fascinated.”
“Well … if you’re fascinated,” she said. “Let’s start with Ruby Carlisle.”
“Who’s she?”
“A girl in year eight,” she responded. “She’s got the voice of an angel, and she auditioned for the school musical. They were doing The Frog Princess. She was amazing, a shoo-in for the lead role. But, when the cast was announced, Ruby didn’t have the lead, or a supporting role, or even a single solo. She was at the bottom of the list in the chorus. Now, there’s nothing wrong with singing in the chorus, but everyone knew she should’ve been top of the cast. Even the girl who got the part thought it should’ve gone to Ruby.”
“Why didn’t she get it?” he asked.
“Dr. Cooper didn’t think she ‘had the right look’ for such a prominent role. She actually said that. Then Cooper makes it worse and tells her, ‘Maybe if you had fewer desserts you’d be more princess and less frog.’ Un-freaking-believable.”
“And your response?”
“I got on the phone and impersonated Ms. Helton,” she said.
“She’s the biology teacher you mentioned,” said Mother.
“Very good,” she said, impressed. “I called the company that provides specimens for our lab projects and ordered fifty bumpy spotted frogs. Then I let them loose in the school chapel.” She laughed at the memory. “It was like one of the plagues of Egypt in there.”
“What about taking her car apart and putting it back together in the library?” he asked.
“That was in response to Dr. Cooper canceling the Robotics and Engineering Club and then using the money to create a school pageant,” she said, shaking her head. “A bloody beauty pageant with girls in sportswear answering questions about saving the planet. I was beyond livid. So, I did my little car trick and put a note on the windshield that said, ‘Bet you’d like an engineer now, wouldn’t you?’ ”
Mother laughed at this. “And the decapitated Mrs. Hobart?”
“My masterpiece, if I say so myself,” she said.
“Inspired by?”
“The school’s systematic mistreatment of aboriginal students,” she replied. “We’ve got a handful of girls who come from indigenous tribes. Not that you’d ever see one in a brochure or in a picture on the wall in her office. And every time these girls try to do something that embraces their culture, like sponsor a native dance demonstration or celebrate Harmony Day, Dr. Cooper stops it.”
“Why?”
“Because, beloved Mrs. Hobart, founder of the school, was a notoriously racist cow. Amazingly ironic considering she named the school Wallangarra, which is an aboriginal word.”
They drove in silence for a moment while he considered her reasons.
“Out of curiosity,” he said, “did you audition for the musical?”
“No. I sing like a duck.”
“Were you in the Robotics and Engineering Club?”
“Also no.”
“Are you a member of an indigenous tribe?”
“No,” she said. “But you don’t have to be part of a group to understand that they’re being mistreated.” She paused before adding, “Justice doesn’t require a membership card. Just a sense of right and wrong.”
That’s when he knew. He’d failed in his search for his children, but he’d unexpectedly found another spy. They rode in silence together, the sound of the tires thumping on the road.
“Now it’s your turn,” she said. “Why are you pretending to be from the AFP?”
He smiled. “Funny you should ask. First, though, I’ve got one more question. What do you think of Scotland?”
12. Basic Training
Aisling, Scotland—Present Day
THE PURPLE MOHAWK WAS LONG gone, but Sydney still felt like the same person who’d tormented the faculty at Wallangarra. Being a troublemaker had been fun, but she’d never done it for the sake of being difficult. It was always about justice.
At Wallangarra, fighting injustice meant battling Dr. Cooper. But now MI6 let her fight on a much larger scale. Even better, it had given her teammates to fight alongside, and it was time to train a new one.
She shivered from the cold as she climbed out of bed. That was one of the problems with centuries-old Scottish manor houses. They were designed to repel attacking armies, not to keep you warm and cozy.
After putting on running tights, a long-sleeve T-shirt, gloves, and a hoodie, she crossed the hall to Brooklyn’s room and gave the door three hard thwacks with the bottom of her fist. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
