by Lauren Child
“Well, if you must have a label — Spectrum.”
“Nope,” said Ruby. “Still means nothing to me.”
“And nor should it,” said the woman. “Spectrum is a secret agency — a very secret agency.”
“Well, nice going,” said Ruby, “’cause I never heard of you. So who do you work for, the government?”
“To put it simply, we work outside the government but not against the government, if you know what I mean.”
“So what you’re saying is, you’re the good guys.”
“We like to think we are the good good guys, but good guys will do.”
“Everyone always thinks they’re the good guys,” said Ruby.
“Yes they do,” said LB. “But happily for us, we are.”
“Well, you might know that, but how do I?”
LB took a deep breath. “As I understand it, part of your ‘intelligence’ lies in your almost impeccable instincts. Ask yourself one thing: something led you here, but was it your good instincts or just simple curiosity? Would you take the risk of crawling through a suffocating black tunnel if you thought we were the bad guys?”
It was a good point.
“So what does LB stand for?” asked Ruby.
“None of your beeswax, as someone your age might say,” replied LB.
“No one my age would say that — not unless they were pretending to be someone your age.”
LB didn’t seem bothered by this remark, but instead opened a drawer and selected a shiny red file. “Are you curious to know why we had you crawl through a tunnel?”
“Pretty eager,” Ruby drawled, as if she couldn’t care less.
LB opened the file. “We first became aware of you five years ago. We took a look at that code you created for the Junior Code-Creator Competition, and we heard about the Harvard offer. I imagine you remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Ruby mumbled. It was an experience she had tried hard to live down. She had not relished the attention.
“We were interested, but when we discovered exactly how old you were, that you were just some little kid, we thought again.”
“So, what? You don’t think I’m ‘just some little kid’ now?”
“Well, since you’re asking, yes, but now we’re desperate,” replied LB.
“Wow, you sure know how to pump up a person’s ego.”
LB gave her a hard stare. “We’ve been watching you for a number of years. Since you appeared on our radar we have had access to your grades and school assignments. You’re not normal.”
“That’s you paying a compliment, right?”
“I wouldn’t take it that way.”
Ruby shrugged. “So why’d ya call?”
“I need to know if you are willing to work for us — just the one job, you understand.”
“Doing what?” asked Ruby.
“We’ll get to the details in due course but I need to know, are you in or are you out?”
“You must have a lot of confidence in me.”
“That, or I’m crazy,” said LB, shuffling her papers.
“But can I be trusted?” said Ruby.
LB stopped shuffling and looked up. “We think so. One thing you seem good at is keeping your mouth shut.”
“And if you’re wrong?” said Ruby.
“And if we’re wrong,” said LB, leaning forward. “And you do turn out to be a blabbermouth, then who’s going to believe you?”
It was true, a schoolgirl was going to have a hard time convincing anyone but Clancy Crew that there was a secret agency situated beneath the street if you only took the trouble to lift the manhole cover just underneath the sign for Lucky Eight gas.
“So, are you willing to take the assignment?”
“I have no idea what it is.”
“You’ll be briefed once you have taken and passed the required Spectrum test and been cleared by security.” LB paused. “I should make clear that this will be a desk job: there will be no car chases, no jumping out of airplanes in black turtleneck sweaters, and it will not make you one of us, you will not become an agent, you will simply be carrying out this one task, and when it’s over you will go back to your boring humdrum schoolgirl life.”
“Gee, lady,” Ruby exhaled. “It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes.”
“Oh, I forgot,” said LB. “There is a small fee.”
“Do I pay you or do you pay me?”
LB ignored this last comment. “Your decision?”
“But you haven’t told me what I have to do.”
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Yes or no?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Ruby, chewing on her fingernail. “There is this biology assignment I’m working on. You see I have to imagine my life as a plankton, and I reckon thinking like a plankton is going to take time. I mean, gee, I’m not sure I can spare the hours.”
“Look, plankton girl,” drawled LB. “Cut the baloney and let’s get things straight, are you in or are you out?”
Ruby gave LB one of her sideways stares before answering. “I guess the plankton can wait.”
“Good, glad to have that sorted out. We will arrange for you to be excused from class. Other than that, don’t call us we’ll call you.”
“Anything I need to know?” said Ruby.
“Uh-huh. RULE ONE: KEEP IT ZIPPED.”
Ruby lifted the drain cover and felt a large hand grab her by her jacket collar.
She shrieked in a most un-Ruby-Redfort-like way.
“Take it easy kid. I thought you might like to throw your bike in the trunk and get a ride home.” Ruby looked up to see the tan face of the Redfort household manager.
“How’d you know I was here?”
“I guess you just struck me as the kind of girl who likes to spend her evenings crawling down drains.”
Ruby looked at him hard. “Who exactly are you?”
“Spectrum sent me to babysit you,” said Hitch, wiping dust from his hands.
“Well, sorry to put you out of a job,” said Ruby. “But I’ve been putting myself to bed since I could climb into my cradle.”
“Well, Ms. All-grown-up, what you’ve got to understand is that this isn’t just any job, they’re trusting you, kid — trusting you with things no one gets trusted with.”
“So what you are saying is, you work for them?”
“Yeah, I work for them.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a spy too,” said Ruby.
“Agent,” corrected Hitch.
“Right, so you’re not even slightly an actual household manager?”
“No, I am just looking out for you while my arm heals. I needed an assignment without the action — though you can’t deny I keep a pretty clean kitchen.”
“Should I believe you?” asked Ruby. “The truth isn’t exactly your strong point — how’s your housemaid’s elbow, by the way?”
“Getting better, thank you.”
“Good. So what actually happened?”
“I got shot.”
“Who by?”
“Someone.”
“I had no idea butlering could be so dangerous. What did you do, break one of the Wellingfords’ Ming vases?”
“There are no Wellingfords.”
“I didn’t think so. Who shot you, then?”
“Trust me, kid, you don’t want to know.”
“And why would I trust you?”
“I’ve got an honest face.”
“A pretty one maybe, but I wouldn’t call pretending to be a butler honest.”
“Well, I can assure you it doesn’t feel like pretending to me — feels like hard work. Your parents are kind of persnickety.”
“Maybe you aren’t as good as you think you are. Clancy had a hunch that there was more to you than the whole butler thing.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I wouldn’t. I thought you were a bozo. What normal person travels with his own toaster?”
“Communication d
evice actually — it sends and receives written messages.”
“That figures,” said Ruby, recalling the image of Hitch examining his toast. “So how does this whole undercover thing work?”
“Well, your parents must never suspect a thing; no one must ever suspect a thing — and that includes your pal Clancy Crew. That’s RULE NUMBER ONE: KEEP IT ZIPPED.”
“So I heard,” said Ruby dryly.
“So you’re clear on this?”
“Yeah, don’t blab — sounds pretty simple to me.”
“No, kid, that’s where you’re wrong — that’s the difficult part. Code breaking and all that other stuff — that’s easy compared to keeping a secret like this.”
She had investigated her surroundings and discovered that although she was trapped — nothin’s gonna budge these locks — in what amounted to a giant warehouse, she was at least very comfortable.
So this is how it feels to be a Redfort, she said to herself as she stretched out in Brant Redfort’s designer lounge chair. She was by now attired in one of Sabina Redfort’s evening gowns — it was a full-length silver sequined affair and rather dressy for kicking about an old warehouse, but Mrs. Digby had always wanted to try it and besides, who was ever going to know?
Mrs. Digby, ever practical — my ancestors were pioneers, they panned for gold, survived eating boiled raccoons and raw berries, sometimes boiled berries and raw raccoons — had managed to find a long extension cord and had powered up the well-stocked refrigerator. She wasn’t going to starve anytime soon, that was something.
The Digbys have always survived and always will because we’re not afraid of a little hard work and a little discomfort, said Mrs. Digby to herself as she arranged Mrs. Redfort’s faux mink stole around her shoulders.
Now, if I could just find a way of getting reception on this TV.
“SHE WILL BE IN MIAMI,” said Brant Redfort.
“Who will be in Miami?” repeated Sabina.
“Mrs. Digby,” said Brant. “Remember that time she got so mad at you for putting us all on that pickle diet? Said it would pickle us from the inside out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, what did she do? She took off for Miami, stayed there till you saw sense.” Brant folded his arms like a man who had just successfully completed the cryptic crossword.
“You know what, Brant? You’re a genius!” She turned to Ruby. “Your father’s a genius, Ruby!”
Ruby thought this unlikely but said nothing.
“Miami! That’s exactly where she is,” continued Sabina. “Playing poker, I’ll bet. Thank goodness for that.” She poured herself another tomato-celery health juice. “She loves to gamble!” Sabina picked up her magazine, Faces of the Absurdly Rich. “Well, this is going to make old Freddie happy. It says here that security has been stepped up to record levels. Twinford City Bank now has the safest bank vaults in the whole of the country.”
“Well, I’m relieved to hear it,” said Brant. “I just deposited my latest paycheck! I certainly don’t want to gamble with that!”
Sabina laughed like he had just cracked the joke of the century.
Ruby, who despite appearances had actually been paying attention to this conversation, thought about what her father had said — not about the gold, but about Mrs. Digby. Gambling in Miami — it was certainly a possibility.
She was roused from her thoughts by a piece of toast freshly delivered to her plate. It was telling her something:
Be ready in ten. Wear your sneakers.
Mrs. Bexenheath, the school secretary, looked up to see what at first glance she imagined must be some Hollywood film star. It was as if he had accidentally strayed off the Walk of Fame and wandered unwittingly into the shabby halls of Twinford Junior High — so entirely out of place was he. However, this handsome man struck up an easy conversation with her, and before a minute had passed Mrs. Bexenheath had found herself agreeing to excuse Ruby Redfort from all lessons for the foreseeable future. She had concentrated carefully, all the while staring into his Hollywood eyes, wondering if they were brown or hazel. And although after he had left she couldn’t exactly remember why she had excused Ruby from classes, she did find herself very sympathetic.
“Of course! Of course, she must take all the time she needs,” she had gushed.
“Just remember, Mrs. Bexenheath, keep it hush-hush — oh, and don’t bother Mr. and Mrs. Redfort, if you need to ask anything then be sure to bother me.”
“Oh, I will, I will,” said Mrs. Bexenheath sincerely.
Hitch thanked the school secretary for her warmth and kindheartedness, and promised that yes, he would make a point of visiting the school again soon. Then he said good-bye and returned to the car where Ruby was waiting.
“So?” said Ruby when Hitch got back into the driver’s seat.
“Mrs. Bexenheath sends her warmest wishes and insists you take all the time you need.”
“Really? What did you tell the old crab apple?” asked Ruby.
“Well, it seems that your grandmother has contracted a rare but not infectious virus while bird-watching in the Australian Alps — condition, serious,” Hitch said, turning the key in the ignition.
“There are no Australian Alps,” said Ruby.
“Well, someone should have told your grandmother that because now look at her.”
“I can’t, she’s in New York — probably all tucked up in her penthouse apartment,” said Ruby.
“Let’s not tell Mrs. Bexenheath that, or she might get really upset.”
“You know what, man, you’re some butler.”
“I prefer household manager, but thanks, kid. Now, I think we should pay our friends at Spectrum a little visit.”
“Why is it called Spectrum?” asked Ruby
“You’ll see,” said Hitch as he sped out of the parking lot.
Ruby sat back. Maybe this guy wasn’t so bad. He certainly knew how to concoct total nonsense. Perhaps they were going to get along after all.
When they entered HQ it wasn’t via the manhole cover that Ruby had previously used. No, this time they had to climb along the side of the Twinford Bridge. She now understood why the toast had recommended sneakers.
They stopped when they found a tiny rusted metal doorway covered in graffiti — nonsensical words and sprayed-on images, including one of a fly. Different from the one on the manhole cover but a fly nonetheless.
“How come we’re not going down through that old drain?” she said.
Hitch smiled. “There’s a saying at Spectrum: ‘If you want to lead the enemy straight to your door, just keep using the same one.’ That’s why there are many ways to enter Spectrum. We are always sealing one up and opening another. We have to. We can’t risk anyone finding our true location.”
“But how do they construct all of this?” said Ruby, peering into the gloomy passageway. “All these passages and corridors? And how do they link up? I don’t get it.”
“And nor should you, kid,” replied Hitch with a wink.
Hitch and Ruby were greeted by a dowdily dressed woman who introduced herself simply as Buzz. She was the least buzzy person Ruby had ever seen.
“Buzz?” repeated Ruby.
“It’s a nickname,” said Buzz, by way of explanation. It was clear she wasn’t the chatty type. The reception area was light and glossy, spacious in a way that made you wonder where they got all the space from.
“Give us a minute, will you, kid?” said Hitch.
Ruby wandered across the hall-like room, her eyes darting from object to object, her brain trying to make sense of the place. Buzz and Hitch were talking way over on the other side of the room. Ruby could make out every other sentence, or just about — most of it was pretty dull but one thing she heard intrigued her.
“How do you think she measures up to you know who?”
“Bradley Baker? Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Well, if she even comes close I’ll be amazed.”
“Perhaps she’ll
surprise us all.”
Ruby had no idea what they were talking about. Bradley Baker? Who was he and why did she have to measure up to him?
“Ready, kid?” called Hitch.
She stopped pretending not to listen and walked over to where they were standing. “What now?”
“You need to be security cleared and then you can take the ninety-nine-second test.”
“What’s the ninety-nine-second test?” asked Ruby. “And why do I need to take it? I thought I already passed.”
“Kid, everyone who walks through the Spectrum door has to take the agency test — it’s protocol.”
Before Ruby could argue further, they were interrupted by a middle-aged man with wild-looking hair and a slightly stupid grin.
“Come on, Ms. Redfort, time for your close-up,” he said. “Just got to get all your security details: a nice mug shot, a couple of paw prints, footprints, height, weight, hair color, eye color, teeth color, nail color, you name it, I need it.”
A comedian, thought Ruby, but it turned out he wasn’t joking.
After all the checks had been made and every hair on Ruby’s head had been counted — at least that’s what it felt like — there was some time to kill before she had to take the Spectrum test.
“Buzz, give the kid a little tour of the gadget room,” said Hitch. “That’ll keep her out of trouble.”
He was wrong about that.
Buzz matter-of-factly acted as tour guide, pointing out this and that as they walked. Corridors peeled off in every direction and staircases wound up through various rooms. It wasn’t like any spy agency Ruby had seen on TV — it was much more interesting. For a start, with the exception of LB’s office, everything was in color. Ruby had imagined the whole of HQ would be black, white, and chrome — that was how a spy agency was meant to look. But this was unexpected — each department was painted in shades of a different color; corridors gradually melted from blue to indigo to violet.
“Oh, I get it,” said Ruby. “That’s why you guys call this place Spectrum — it’s the colors, right?”
“Uh-huh,” said Buzz, nodding.
When they got to the gadget room, Ruby’s pulse started to race. Ever since she was tiny she had always dreamed of having special powers. What had attracted her to the Agent Deliberately Dangerous graphic novels were the gadgets. There was always a gadget which Agent Deliberately would pull out in the nick of time — thus saving his life and often the lives of many others.
