‘Here it is.’
At stand number thirteen Max took out a bus timetable from her pocket while Linden reached into his backpack for a tourist map. Both their eyes hovered just above the borders of their leaflets as they searched the area around them.
‘Do you see our contact?’ Max’s eyes sifted through the chaos.
‘No-one who sticks out.’ Linden’s eyes landed on a cake stall. ‘But if I had one of those almond biscuits, I’m sure my eyesight would improve.’
Max was about to answer but was interrupted by a quiet, ‘Psst.’
‘Did you hear that?’
‘Psst.’
Linden turned and saw a cylindrical garbage bin nestled beneath a tree. The two spies slowly moved beside it and Linden leant towards the bin mouth at the side. ‘Agent 31?’
‘No, Agent 32,’ a voice in the bin answered.
‘Where’s Agent 31?’ Max asked from behind her timetable.
‘After his treatment at the hands of Antonelli’s thugs in the Venice mission, he’s been temporarily ordered out of undercover work to more regular spy activity until he’s fully recovered.5 I’m his apprentice.’ Agent 32’s chest puffed up as much as it could in a garbage bin. ‘He’s taught me everything I know.’
‘How did you get in there?’ Linden asked.
‘There’s a hatch at the back. It’s actually quite roomy. There’s even space for my lunch box.’ Agent 32 pulled out a honey date biscuit. ‘Very nice. Homemade. These Maltese people really know their sweets.’
‘Oh, oh.’ Linden winced and lifted his map higher.
‘What is it?’ Agent 32 asked.
‘Incoming.’
Agent 32 squished himself against the back of the bin and missed most of the half-chewed, soggy ice-cream cone that flew his way. He looked down. ‘I guess I shouldn’t have worn a new shirt, but I wanted to look good for my first solo mission. How do you get chocolate stains out?’
‘It’s a tough one.’ Linden frowned. ‘But my mum used to –’
‘I’m sorry about your shirt, Agent 32.’ One of Max’s eyebrows snaked up her forehead. ‘Not that anyone can see it, of course. But do you have any information for us?’
‘Oh, yes.’ He put his biscuit back in his lunch box. ‘Firstly, Steinberger has contacted me.’
‘He’s identified the two men from last night?’ Max asked.
‘No, I’m afraid the voice recording didn’t match any suspect Spyforce has on file, and the vision was too dark for the lab to make out any features. They’ve wired other agencies throughout Europe to see if they can come up with a positive voice ID. Meanwhile, Spyforce have increased security around Alfonzo, so if anyone makes a move, we’ll know about it immediately.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Max replied. ‘We’ll stop them before they do. What else do you have?’
‘There’s a man at the conference called Straussmann.’
‘Mr Happy,’ Max sneered. ‘I should have guessed.’
‘He’s a fellow leech expert who has been researching leeches for over twenty years. He’s notoriously jealous of Alfonzo’s fame. His research is very well-respected, but for some reason fame hasn’t followed him as it has Alfonzo.’
Linden opened out the map and pretended to study it further. ‘Do you think he’s behind the attacks?’
‘We’re not sure; we’re still checking that out.’
‘I didn’t know the world of leeches was so ruthless,’ Max said.
‘It’s worse than ruthless. The competition is so fierce, there’s great danger rivals may bleed their colleagues of all their research and suck them dry.’
Linden and Agent 32 sniggered.
‘What’s so funny?’ Max asked.
‘Ah … nothing.’ Agent 32 bit down on his lip. ‘Who wouldn’t want the fame, the fortune … the girls?’ Agent 32 sighed. ‘That’s one of the main reasons I got into spying.’
‘Me too.’ Linden nodded seriously.
Max ignored them. ‘Anything else we need to know?’
‘Spyforce have managed to track down a junior assistant who was working with Alfonzo and his scientists at the Futura group. He told them that Straussmann turned up at the lab uninvited on more than one occasion.’
‘Why does the word “uninvited” not surprise me?’ Max scowled.
‘He’d enter the building demanding to be part of their group.’
‘They wouldn’t let him in?’ Linden asked.
‘There were many efforts to steal Futura’s ideas by all sorts of groups and individuals, so secrecy was of the utmost importance. Straussmann loved the idea of being famous, and the group agreed that he couldn’t be trusted not to talk to the media and release their secrets before projects were ready to be launched. This made him furious and there was even a physical altercation with one of the scientists.’
‘He hit someone?’
‘Apparently it got quite heated until he was escorted out.’
‘That’s it, I’m not inviting him to any of my parties,’ Linden resolved.
‘One thing is clear.’ Agent 32 squinted through a knowing look. ‘Whoever attacked the Futura scientists is probably after Alfonzo and isn’t working alone, but is more likely a pawn in someone else’s bigger plan.’
‘That’s what it sounded like last night in the gardens.’ Max looked up to see a man sitting on the stone border of a fountain in the centre of the terminus. He seemed to be speaking into his palm before he slipped quickly behind a newspaper. Max began pointing at Linden’s map, pretending to discuss it.
‘I think we’re being watched.’
‘By who?’ Linden asked.
‘The guy opposite us, sitting by the fountain.’
Linden casually looked up as two buses clanked into gear and drove off, obscuring his view. When they’d gone so had the man.
‘Can you see him?’ Agent 32 asked.
‘Not anymore.’ Max folded up her timetable and put it in her pocket.
‘Are you sure he was watching us?’ Linden asked. ‘This place is pretty busy.’
‘I’m not sure. I only saw him for a second.’
‘Don’t take any chances,’ Agent 32 warned. ‘While we don’t know who may be after Alfonzo, we’ve also seen how dangerous they’re prepared to get.’
‘Thanks, Agent 32.’ Linden put his map away and turned away from the bin. ‘And good luck with the shirt.’
Linden and Max wove their way through the crowd and back to Stefan, who quickly folded up his newspaper. ‘Mission accomplished?’
‘Mission accomplished.’ Linden nodded and climbed into the carriage followed by a wary Max.
‘Excellent!’ Stefan threw the carriage into a tight spin, cutting off a bread van before heading into the bustling early morning throng.
‘Do you mind if we walk next time?’ Max whispered.
‘Sure,’ Linden answered, trying hard not to look like he was enjoying the ride so much.
‘I don’t mean to make you worried,’ Stefan called over his shoulder, ‘but I think someone may be watching us.’
Max leant forward. ‘How do you know?’
‘Just a feeling. I have this sixth sense that I inherited from my Great Aunt Mary.’
‘Do you have anything more concrete than that?’ Max cried.
‘No, but Aunt Mary’s sixth sense was as good as concrete.’
‘Right.’ Max had just flopped back in her seat, when a whistling explosion detonated behind them. Henry reared up on his hind legs and leapt forward into a panicked gallop. Linden flung himself over Max. The two spies huddled on the floor, gripping the sides of the carriage as it careered wildly from side to side as Henry tore through the narrow streets. Cars skidded into kerbs and over sidewalks into walls and garden fences, while others slammed into each other in a series of screeching metallic crashes.
‘Whoah! Whoah, Henry!’ Stefan pulled hard on the reins in an attempt to control his frightened, stampeding horse. Henry galloped on, his carriage slamming
into apple carts, souvenir stands and into glass windows of shop fronts.
‘Henry!’ Stefan screamed. ‘Whoah!’
With each swerve of the carriage Max and Linden clung harder to the sides, desperately trying to avoid being flung out. It wasn’t until Stefan directed Henry into a square at the opposite end of the city that the horse found himself trapped and slowed to a trot before eventually coming to an unsettled stop.
Stefan jumped out of his seat and grabbed the bridle around Henry’s face. ‘There, there, boy. Shhhh. It is finished now.’
‘Am I still alive?’ Max mumbled into her scrunched self.
‘Seems so.’ Linden looked up.
‘Then I guess that means you can get off me,’ Max said through clenched teeth.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Linden got to his feet. He and a squished Max scrambled out of the carriage.
‘I thought you said Henry was the best-behaved horse I’ll ever meet.’ Max wiped a grubby hand across her even grubbier face.
‘He is.’ Stefan stroked Henry’s panting chest. ‘That explosion really scared him.’
‘What caused it?’ Max asked.
‘I am not certain,’ Stefan shrugged and rubbed his face against Henry. ‘I nodded off while I was reading the paper.’
‘You nodded off! What kind of special agent nods off on duty?’
Stefan’s chest collapsed beneath him. ‘I … I …’
‘Maybe it was this?’ Linden held up a burnt and frayed cylinder. ‘It was taped on the back of Henry’s carriage.’
‘Fireworks,’ Stefan sighed.
‘Fireworks?’ Max frowned.
‘They’re very popular in Malta for festivals and celebrations.’
‘Why would someone tie one to your carriage?’ Max asked.
Linden searched beneath the vehicle and grasped a white envelope that was hanging on a short length of string. He slipped out a note.
‘What does it say?’ Max asked
‘“Stay away from what doesn’t concern you”,’ Linden read. ‘“Or next time expect more than fireworks.”’ He looked at Stefan. ‘I guess Great Aunt Mary’s sixth sense was right.’
‘It usually is,’ Stefan nodded. ‘Ow!’
‘Are you okay?’ Linden asked.
‘I don’t think that ride was so great for my back. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.’ Stefan shook his head and said dramatically, ‘Oh ’tis but an ill wind that does blow through this house tonight.’
Henry let loose a very smelly, very disgusting fart. ‘Sorry,’ Stefan apologised. ‘He does that when he’s nervous.’
Max clamped two fingers on her nose. ‘Ill wind or not, whoever sent this is about to learn that we are not going to be scared off by threats.’
A crowd of kids had gathered around, pointing and whispering, while above them heads were poking out from upstairs windows and balconies.
‘We go.’ Stefan gave Henry one last hug before climbing into the carriage. ‘There is a special lunch in honour of Alfonzo.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And time enough for you to clean up before I take you there. Our leech friend is going to need us to watch for him even more carefully than before.’
As Stefan gently coaxed Henry to move, a small, battered truck rumbled up to the mouth of an alley leading into the ancient stone square. A pair of miniature binoculars scanned the view, before they landed on the determined face of Max Remy.
‘You’d better pay attention to that note, little girl, or you and your friends will have your trip to Malta cut unexpectedly short.’
Stefan called to Henry and the carriage slowly pulled out of the square. The binoculars lowered and the sound of a cracked neck reverberated into the air.
‘There he is.’
Max and Linden sat at their table and watched Straussmann take his seat during Alfonzo’s special luncheon at a rooftop restaurant in Valletta. His face had the look of a man with a bad case of diarrhoea as fans and organisers lavished his rival with gifts, smiles and requests for autographs.
Straussmann growled and snatched the serviette a waiter was about to lay on his lap. He demanded a drink and flicked him away like an annoying fly.
‘As charming as ever.’ Max shook her head and pushed her backpack beneath the table.
‘Maybe this is as happy as he gets.’ Linden shrugged and pushed his bag next to hers.
‘Even I could teach him to be happier than that.’
Linden smiled – one of those big, Linden, Mindawarra smiles that lifted right from the corners of his lips. ‘That’s good.’
‘I can be funny sometimes.’ Max grabbed a bread roll from the table and munched into it.
This was more like it, Max thought. The old Max and Linden. The one person she felt more comfortable with than anyone else she’d ever met. The one she didn’t have to worry would lean over and kiss her in some strange fit of dreamlike ridiculousness. She picked up her glass of Kinnie for a celebratory sip.
‘You look really nice in that dress.’ Linden smiled.
‘Sorry?’ Max stopped as the glass was about to reach her lips.
‘That dress really suits you,’ Linden said. ‘You look pretty.’
Max’s ease with Linden was sucked out of her like a tornado. She tried to look in control and continued with her sip, but it bubbled and went down the wrong way. ‘It’s not that pretty,’ she coughed. ‘And I don’t think it suits me actually.’ Max spluttered and tugged at the neck of her dress like it was a piece of chewing gum. ‘And it’s not really practical for spy work,’ she wheezed. ‘I mean, what was Quimby thinking when she packed it?’
Max’s voice finally gave in to a fit of coughing. Turn off your mouth now, she warned herself, or I’m going to have you locked away.
‘Good afternoon, madam and sir, welcome to the Hotel Valletta Rooftop Restaurant, home of Malta’s greatest chef.’ The waiter laid two plates on the table. ‘For your lunch today we have one of Malta’s specialities – Lampuki pie.’ He laid it on the table in front of Linden. ‘Lampuki is a fish caught in the waters off Malta, and I can assure you, your taste buds will not know the true joy of food until they have tasted this dish.’
Linden breathed in the smell of the pie. ‘Sounds like this Lampuki and I should have met long ago.’
The waiter’s face stretched in a wide grin, and he laid Max’s plate down and moved to the next table.
‘How can you be so hungry all the time?’ Max asked.
‘You’ll have to ask my stomach. It does what it wants and I follow.’
Linden tucked into his Lampuki pie and Max surveyed the room. Everything seemed as it should be. Guests, waiters, more autographs and Alfonzo blushing as an old lady who looked over a hundred reached up, squeezed his face between her hands and kissed him on the lips.
‘More kissing,’ Max muttered. ‘It’s like an epidemic in this country.’
‘Sorry?’ Linden looked up from his pie.
‘Nothing.’ Max’s eyes settled on Straussmann as she picked up her fork and stabbed it into the pie.
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ Linden waited for her reaction.
Max’s eyebrows wriggled together. ‘It’s a bit chewy. Er …’
She spat out a half-munched piece of paper. ‘I thought the food was supposed to be good here.’
Linden looked closely. ‘I don’t think that is a normal part of the recipe.’
Max saw a few scribbled words. She unwrapped the note and wiped off the fishy pie with her serviette.
‘Be at Fort St Angelo. Midnight tonight. There’s something you need to know.’
Max looked up to see if anyone was watching them. The room was in busy luncheon mode. Food, plates, waiters darting everywhere. Nothing suspicious. Except the note.
‘How did it get there?’
‘Not sure, but I’m going to find out.’ Max stood up and headed to the kitchen. Linden quickly took another bite of pie and followed her through the swinging doors. Max was directed to the chef and showed him the
soggy note. ‘I found this in my pie.’
Max may as well have told the small, curly haired man his food had poisoned the entire country. His face seared lobster red and he fumed around the kitchen, screaming in Maltese, throwing pots to the floor, demanding to know whose fault it was. After a few muttered answers and wide, innocent looks, he said, ‘My staff say they sent the fish out without any note. I will replace it with a new one and will personally check that it is perfect.’
‘Thanks.’ Max gave the room one more sweep, meeting the eyes of everyone there to see if she could detect any dubious behaviour or guilty looks. She slipped the note into her pocket.
Outside the kitchen, Max turned to Linden. ‘I think I’ll move around the room and keep an eye out for anything suspicious,’ she whispered and turned quickly, slamming into a fishmonger carrying a foam box of fresh seafood, most of which slimed all over her.
Octopus, fresh lampuki and sardines slithered down her head and dress and landed squarely on her shoes.
‘What is it about me needing to smell like an old fish on this mission?’
The fishmonger offered a muffled apology and dropped to the floor to collect his sea creatures as two waiters descended on Max with white cloths.
‘It’s okay.’ Max held up her hands. ‘I’m used to it. I’m going to go to the bathroom to clean up and find some of my lost dignity.’
‘I’ll keep a lookout until you and your dignity return,’ Linden smiled warmly.
Max walked off, her teeth clenched. ‘You can be so classy, Max Remy.’
She picked a sardine from her shoulder and threw it into a nearby fish tank as she made her way through the crowd.
‘Ladies and gentlemen … er … thank you all for coming today.’
Alfonzo stood on a podium in front of the crowd, smiling awkwardly, as if he had a rock in his shoe. He looked troubled and relaxed at the same time. ‘I want to thank you all for attending this … er … special luncheon. It has been a dream of mine since I was a small boy to make a difference in this world, to somehow make it better, and now, with the help of my beloved leeches, that small boy’s dream may be about to come true.’
Mission In Malta Page 8
