City Spies

by James Ponti

  “The day you blew the head off that statue.”

  They both laughed at the memory.

  “Mrs. Hobart, racist cow,” joked Sydney. “What a sorry lot we were. Me with my purple hair. You with your phony copper’s badge.”

  “That girl with the purple hair,” said Mother. “She had something to say. Something important. She still does. Just go out on that stage and be yourself. For a minute forty-five, forget Sydney and MI6, and just be Olivia.”

  She smiled at him. “I can do that.”

  The speaker onstage was a French actor Sydney didn’t recognize, but when he finished, the crowd cheered.

  “I don’t know what he said, but it must’ve been good,” she told Mother. “Maybe I should give my speech in French too.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” he replied. “Especially since you only know about a dozen French words.”

  “Good point,” she said. “Although, on the plus side, I could say them all and still finish under my time limit.”

  A singer-songwriter with a guitar was now at the microphone, and she started to perform a song.

  “You’re up next,” Amelie told Sydney. “As soon as she finishes the song and the audience begins to applaud, start walking across the stage.”

  “Got it,” Sydney said, her voice a blend of fear and admiration.

  Sydney and Mother stood listening to the song for a moment.

  “I’m gutted that I’m not with the team today,” she said. “I hope they’re okay.”

  “At this point they’re just doing a Devon Loch,” he said. “They don’t need any help for that.”

  “What’s a Devon Loch?”

  “Devon Loch was a racehorse owned by Queen Elizabeth, and he was about to win the Grand National,” he said. “He was in the final stretch with a big lead, and for no apparent reason he did a belly flop and lost the race. It’s pretty much what the team’s doing right now as they make sure to finish sixth or lower.”

  “And if the Purple Thumb attacks?” she asked.

  “The place is loaded with secret agents,” he answered. “They couldn’t be more protected.”

  “Why is it loaded with secret agents?” asked Sydney.

  “Didn’t I tell you about the press conference?” he said.

  “No,” she said.

  “Out of the blue, Stavros Sinclair decided that he’s going to hold a press conference immediately following the conclusion of this rally,” he said. “That’s when he’s going to announce the winner of the Stavros Prize.”

  “Why does that make the team safe?” she asked.

  “Because it’s the first time he’s done something truly public in years,” he said. “Every intelligence officer who can make it is going to pretend to be a reporter and attend the press conference. I just spoke to Tru, and she said that MI6 has sent at least seven undercover agents. It got so crowded, they had to stop letting people in.”

  “What about the actual press?” she asked. “Won’t they be mad if there’s no room for them?”

  “Not really,” he said. “I think most reporters are far more interested in movie stars and singers talking about the environment in front of fifty thousand kids than they are in some crackpot billionaire talking about making fake rain.”

  “Crackpot billionaire?” she scolded. “I thought you preferred the term ‘eccentric philanthropist.’”

  This made him laugh.

  “You’re right, eccentric philanthropist,” he said. “Fitting, when you think about it. This press conference is about as well planned as the one Big Bill Maxwell scheduled to coincide with the queen’s coronation.”

  Sydney smiled. “Big Bill, the original magician’s misdirection.”

  Onstage, the singer was nearing the end of her song, and Sydney could feel her heart rate pick up. She tried to calm herself by taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment before exhaling. She did this again. And then she thought of something that really made her heart race.

  “Big Bill,” she said to Mother, worried.

  “What about him?”

  “He was a fraud,” she said. “An actor hired to play a role by MI6.”

  “So?”

  “What if Stavros Sinclair isn’t Le Fantôme?” she asked. “What if he’s just like Big Bill? What if he’s a fake used to keep us looking in the wrong direction?”

  Mother considered this.

  “Brooklyn said that in his biography, everyone who ever knew him and all of his teachers are completely surprised he’s been so successful,” she continued. “They said he was just an average student, not someone you’d expect to revolutionize the tech world.”

  “Which would make him perfect for the part,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If Sinclair Scientifica is a cover for Umbra, they’d need someone to be a figurehead,” he said. “It would have to be someone who’d gone to the right schools and knew how to talk the talk.”

  “But not someone who actually had the talent and drive to change the world,” said Sydney. “Someone like that would get in the way.”

  “Right. They’d want a human puppet like Big Bill,” he continued. “That would explain why he never appears in public or talks to the press. If he talked publicly, then people might figure it out. Just like MI6 didn’t want Big Bill to talk to anybody.”

  Sydney thought about this for a moment. “But if they don’t want him to answer questions, why schedule an actual press conference?”

  The singer was in the final moments of her song.

  A look of total dread overtook Mother. “He’s the nugget.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Sydney.

  “We tricked Brooklyn’s foster parents to get them on the roof by making them think there was money hidden there,” he said. “They’ve just tricked top spies from around the world to come into their headquarters.”

  Now she knew why he looked so nervous. “The virus,” she said. “If they’re all together, they can all be exposed to the virus.”

  “It would devastate intelligence agencies across the globe,” he reasoned. “MI6, CIA, DGSI. All the agents who’ve been pursuing Umbra for years could be wiped out.”

  “Not just them,” said Sydney. “Brooklyn, Kat, Paris, and Rio would be wiped out too. You’ve got to get over there.”

  “There may not be time,” he said. “Besides, they stopped letting people in. We’ve got to call them and tell them to get out.”

  “We can’t,” said Sydney. “Security confiscates all phones when you enter the building.”

  Onstage the singer was done, and the crowd was cheering. Sydney was not where she was supposed to be, and Amelie Bouhaddi was very unhappy.

  “You need to be out there,” she said as she put a firm hand on Sydney’s back and helped move her in the right direction. “I’m taking this out of your time.”

  Her mind was racing as she walked up the steps onto the back of the stage.

  “Sydney!” Mother called out.

  She turned toward him, but Amelie kept her pushing toward the microphone.

  “You can tell them,” he said, raising his voice over the crowd. “They’ll be watching.”

  33. A Change of Plans

  THE TEAM FROM KINLOCH ABBEY was upset. Twenty-four hours earlier they’d had good reason to believe they might win the Stavros Prize and with it a million euros. But for the second day in a row, that chance was being undermined by a series of unexplained computer problems. No matter what Charlotte tried, the weather models that worked so perfectly back home in Scotland failed here.

  It reached the point that one of her teammates took her spot at the keyboard. For Charlotte, this was the ultimate insult. She had unwavering confidence in her computer skills. She was certain that she was better than anyone else in the room.

  And that was her undoing.

  There was in fact one person who was better. Brooklyn sat across the room and smiled as they tried to solve the problems that
she was secretly sending their way. They wouldn’t be able to do it. She’d written this code with the help of a supercomputer, and it would take a supercomputer to unravel it.

  She tried not to smile when Charlotte came over to her.

  “I know you did this,” Charlotte said angrily. “I don’t know how, but I know it was you.”

  Brooklyn smiled innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Sydney’s coming onstage,” Paris called.

  The rest of the team was watching the rally, which was being broadcast throughout the Olympus building.

  “She doesn’t look so good,” Rio said with concern as Sydney approached the microphone.

  “It’s a huge crowd,” Brooklyn replied, coming to her defense. “She’ll be great once she gets started.”

  “I don’t know,” said Kat. “She looks like she’s going to hyperventilate.”

  “Come on, Syd, you’ve got this,” Paris said, willing her to succeed.

  Sydney took a deep breath and started. She had one minute and forty-five seconds to try to save the lives of her four best friends as well as those of countless intelligence officers.

  “My name is Sydney, and I’m fourteen years old,” she said. “I come for queen and country, and I need to … um … um.”

  “Oh no!” said Brooklyn. “This is not good.”

  “I represent a group called the Foundation for Atmospheric Research and Monitoring, which was created by a remarkable man named William Maxwell, the twenty-fourth baron of Aisling.”

  “What’s going on?” said Paris. “This wasn’t part of any of her speeches. And believe me, I had to listen to every one.”

  “This is a train wreck,” added Rio.

  “When he founded FARM, which is what we call it, he delivered an important speech about his vision for the future,” Sydney continued. “And I think there will be a very similar speech delivered today by Stavros Sinclair.”

  Charlotte had been watching on a different monitor but came over to ask the others, “Is this some sort of joke?”

  “Shh,” said Kat, trying to quiet them. “I want to hear this.”

  “Why? Do you take glee in other people’s misery?” asked Rio.

  “No,” Kat replied. “I think she’s sending us a message.”

  “In fact, even though Mr. Sinclair is famous around the world and William Maxwell was not,” Sydney continued, “I think they are exactly alike. Big Bill was worried about the pollution that poisoned our oceans. He said it was like a virus without an antidote and called on all of us to keep that virus from spreading.”

  Sydney looked down at the clock on the podium. She had only seventeen seconds to go.

  “And so I call out to all my brothers and sisters around the world, in places as far away as Rio, New York, and Kathmandu. Just as I call out to all of you here in Paris. You have to stop this virus before it spreads. You have to act now!”

  She had three more seconds.

  “Save the Earth. Save yourselves.”

  She stopped, and there was polite applause. Her speech didn’t make much sense to the fifty thousand young people who filled the Champ de Mars park. It may not have inspired them, but she’d made sure that every word mattered.

  The team knew that Sydney was sending them a message even if the details weren’t immediately clear.

  “Somehow they’re going to release the virus unless we can stop them,” said Paris.

  “Maybe they’re going to let it loose in the ballroom when Stavros announces the winner of the prize,” offered Rio.

  “But they can’t do that,” said Brooklyn. “If they released the virus in the ballroom, then Stavros would be infected too. He wouldn’t infect himself.”

  They considered this, and then Rio said, “Unless he doesn’t know.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Kat.

  “Sydney just said he’s exactly like Big Bill,” answered Rio. “Big Bill didn’t know anything. He was just some actor put up by MI6. Maybe Stavros is a fake too. And if that’s the case, Umbra wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.”

  They stopped talking when Juliette came over to them. “Your friend’s speech was very … interesting,” she said, trying to pay a compliment but struggling to do so. “Tell her I said congratulations.”

  “Thank you, we will,” said Paris. “When are we going to the ballroom to see Mr. Sinclair?”

  “There’s been a change,” she replied. “The announcement has been moved to the Workshop. The auditorium where Mr. Sinclair spoke the first day.”

  “Why did it relocate?” asked Kat.

  “Mr. Sinclair decided to open the announcement to the media,” she explained. “We needed more room, so we’ll be heading there in a few minutes.”

  She left, and they tried to figure out the plan of attack.

  “So we’re not going into the ballroom, which means our mission plan is useless,” said Rio. “We’re just going to have to make this up as we go.”

  “How do you think they’ll do it?” asked Paris. “How do you spread the virus without exposing yourself in the process?”

  They stood quietly, trying to think like Umbra. Then Kat felt a blast of cool air from an air-conditioning vent. It was refreshing, but it was also more than that.

  It was informational.

  “I know how they’re going to do it,” she said excitedly. “They’re going to use the air climate control system. It’s designed to control the temperature and flow of oxygen throughout the building. It’s perfect.”

  “I think you’re absolutely right,” said Paris. “It’s the ideal delivery system.”

  “Do you know what that means?” said Brooklyn.

  “No, what?” asked Paris.

  Brooklyn thought about it for a moment and realized there was only one way to reach the climate system.

  “It means I’m going to have to climb that wall after all.”

  34. The Climb

  EXECUTIVE ELEVATOR—OLYMPUS BUILDING

  ONLY A HANDFUL OF PEOPLE had access to the executive elevator located in the rear of the Olympus Building. One of them was Stanislav Rada, who’d been known as “The Professor” since his days as a top chemistry student at the University of Prague.

  Rada was tall with friendly eyes and a booming laugh. He loved to bake, and his specialty was a type of fruit pastry called a kolach, which he made from a recipe passed down from his grandmother.

  In addition to his baking skills, he was very talented at killing people.

  Paris had first seen Rada five years earlier outside the factory fire and then again seen him with Stavros Sinclair during the competition. According to Rada’s business card, he was the worldwide chief of security for Sinclair Scientifica. In reality, he was the person who took care of Le Fantôme’s dirty work.

  A few weeks earlier, the Professor had killed two French secret agents and dumped their bodies in the Seine. Now he was about to unleash the deadly virus he’d stolen from them. He pressed the button for the fifth floor, and the elevator began to climb.

  According to the software that monitored everyone inside Olympus, the elevator was empty. Rada had programmed it to ignore his movements. There would be no record of where he was today.

  EXTERIOR WALL—OLYMPUS BUILDING

  Brooklyn couldn’t ride an elevator to the fifth floor. She’d have to climb twenty-two feet up a wall. First, though, she needed to crawl out a narrow ladies’ room window and stand up on the sill. As she got into position, she made the mistake of looking down at the courtyard below.

  That looks really far, she thought to herself.

  During her training at Pinewood, Brooklyn’s instructor told her to break down the climb into separate sections. She said it would be less intimidating if she thought of it as several manageable parts instead of one complicated procedure.

  The first step was to make it seven feet up from the window to a small ledge called a cornice. As she looked at the bricks in the wall, it dawned on
her that they formed a pattern. She thought about Kat and tried to view them the way she would.

  Brooklyn looked for any bricks that didn’t quite fit the pattern and noticed that several were slightly uneven and out of place. Each of these stuck out about half an inch farther than the others. These would become her hand- and footholds. She reached for the lowest one and began to pull herself up from the window.

  THE WORKSHOP—OLYMPUS BUILDING

  Of the sixty-three reporters who filed into the small auditorium for Stavros Sinclair’s press conference, more than thirty were actually operatives working for various intelligence agencies around the world.

  Unlike the actual reporters who rushed to the front rows so they’d be able to ask questions, the agents preferred seats near the doorways where they’d have a vantage point to watch for possible threats.

  It never occurred to any of them that the real danger would come from the air-conditioning vents above their heads.

  COMPUTER LAB—OLYMPUS BUILDING

  The team from FARM was standing around the television monitor pretending to watch the rally when Juliette approached them.

  “Where’s Brooklyn?” she asked.

  There was a momentary pause before Paris answered, “I thought she was right here.”

  “Well, she’s not,” Juliette said, irritated. “And she’s supposed to be. We’re scheduled to head to the press conference in three minutes.”

  “Maybe she went to the loo,” said Kat. “I’ll go check.”

  “Quickly,” said Juliette. “We cannot be late.”

  EXTERIOR WALL—OLYMPUS BUILDING

  Brooklyn’s fingertips burned with pain. The coarse granules of the cement mortar cut into her skin as she grasped for the small ledge just beyond her reach.

  You cannot achieve what you cannot believe, she said to herself, her sweaty cheek pressed against the bricks as she hugged the wall. You cannot achieve what you cannot believe.

  She reached again, this time lunging a bit, and managed to grab on to the cornice. She let out a sigh of relief and counted this as a small but significant victory. One step was complete; now she had to cross the cornice over to a drainpipe.