Kensy & Max: Freefall

by Jacqueline Harvey

‘Good afternoon, Miss Kensington,’ a voice crackled through an unseen speaker and a line depicting the soundwaves appeared on the biggest screen.

  ‘Who’s that?’ The girl’s eyes darted around the room.

  ‘My name is Alex and I am at your service,’ the voice replied.

  Curtis swallowed hard and looked up at the screens. ‘Are you a computer?’

  ‘Yes, Master Curtis,’ the voice said.

  ‘Alex? Who are you?’ Kensy asked.

  ‘And why haven’t we ever spoken to you before?’ Max added.

  ‘I’ve only recently come back online following an extensive upgrade,’ the computer said. ‘My full name is Alexander the Great – the name given to me by your grandmother, but we decided some time ago that Alex was easier.’

  ‘Are you called Alexander the Great because he was the person who discovered Alexandria, where Pharos was located?’ Curtis asked.

  ‘You are very sharp, Master Curtis. Dame Spencer will be impressed.’

  Kensy felt a twinge in her stomach. She knew that too and wished she’d said it first.

  ‘What may I help you with, children?’ the computer asked.

  Kensy walked along the bench, running her hand across the top.

  ‘How do you even know that we’re Pharos?’ she asked.

  ‘Your DNA is on the mirror. You are a direct descendent of the founders of the organisation. It is your birthright to one day take over from your forebears.’

  Max’s ears pricked. That word. Birthright. It was in the note he’d found in Magoo’s office.

  ‘What about Curtis? He’s not related to us,’ Kensy said. ‘And he didn’t touch anything. So how do you know him?’

  ‘Facial recognition,’ the computer replied. ‘Your grandmother has an extensive dossier on Curtis and his parents in the system.’

  ‘What’s through there?’ Max pointed at a door at the opposite end of the room.

  ‘Please take a look,’ Alex said.

  Max scampered towards it, but realised there was no handle. He pressed his hand in the centre, wondering if the door would disappear the way the mirror did, but nothing happened. He then looked for a retinal scanner or a secret keypad but couldn’t find anything.

  ‘How do you open the door?’ he asked.

  ‘Ask nicely,’ Alexander said.

  ‘Open door,’ Max commanded, but nothing happened.

  ‘Master Maxim, perhaps you have forgotten the magic word,’ the computer said with a chuckle.

  ‘Open door, please,’ Max said and was stunned when this time it worked.

  He walked through into a huge sitting room with a kitchen and couches and a television. There were more doors leading to bedrooms and bathrooms. But the décor was utilitarian – more practical than panache. Curtis and Kensy had followed the boy inside and were exploring too.

  ‘You could live down here,’ Kensy said as they walked back into the command centre.

  ‘Yes,’ Alex replied. ‘This is a secure reinforced bunker. Your grandmother could run the entire organisation from this location if necessary.’

  ‘Do we have something similar at Alexandria?’ Max asked. They’d seen loads of amazing things there, but he didn’t remember a purpose-built bunker – though to be fair, given the size of the place, they might well have missed it.

  ‘Yes, but only your grandmother is able to divulge that information. I am sure she will in due time.’

  Max couldn’t help feeling as if Alex was more than just a computer. The way he spoke – he had empathy and made jokes. It was the strangest thing. Obviously Pharos had made great gains with artificial intelligence.

  ‘What’s through the other side?’ Kensy asked. But before Alex had time to answer, she’d already commanded the door to open, remembering her manners of course, and was inside a workshop not unlike the one they had in the basement at Ponsonby Terrace in London.

  ‘Awesome!’ she called.

  Curtis hurried in behind her to take a look. ‘Wow!’ He peered up at a row of clear plastic drawers, all labelled and containing a myriad of different gadgets and equipment. ‘Mini parachutes? Amazing.’ He moved further along the line and spotted a drawer full of what looked like inner soles, except that the label said ‘Outer soles for mountaineering’. ‘What do they do?’

  Alex’s voice came through another speaker.

  ‘Those are excellent for mountain climbing or extra grip when scaling tall buildings. You stick them on the soles of your shoes and they act like magnets.’

  ‘But magnets only work when there’s metal,’ Max said.

  ‘Well, the clever scientists who work for your grandmother have found a way to magnetise concrete and rock and all manner of other substances,’ the computer said. ‘I could explain the science behind it but that would take approximately nine hours including algorithms.’

  ‘No need.’ Max shook his head.

  ‘That is so cool.’ Curtis was in awe.

  ‘Is there anything I may assist you with today?’ the computer prompted.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Kensy said, remembering the reason they’d come down in the first place. ‘Can you check a licence and cross-reference some photographs?’

  The children headed back to the command centre and Max fished about in his pocket, pulling out the driver’s licence.

  ‘Can you see this?’ he asked, placing the card onto the benchtop.

  ‘Yes, scanning now,’ Alexander said.

  A copy of the licence appeared on the screen. Curtis pulled out his phone and seconds later the photographs of the man who attacked them that afternoon were on the screen too.

  It wasn’t more than a minute before Alex had some answers.

  ‘The photographs and the picture on the licence are matches – it is the same person in both,’ the computer said.

  ‘We should stake out his apartment,’ Kensy said. ‘Find out more about him and his evil intentions.’

  ‘That will be difficult, Miss Kensington,’ the computer said.

  The children looked at one another. ‘Why?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Because the man in the photographs is not Nick Thomas of Lexington Avenue, East Harlem.’

  ‘What?’ Max reeled. ‘You said that the photographs were of the same person.’

  ‘Nick Thomas, resident of Lexington Avenue, East Harlem, was killed in an accident last year. The man in the photographs is not him. Someone has stolen his identity.’

  Another picture appeared on the screen, along with an obituary and a newspaper article reporting the man’s death. There was no mistaking it – the two were not the same person. The real Nick Thomas was a portly man with a receding hairline, while the man they had encountered today had thick curly hair and was tall and lean with a droopy left eyelid.

  ‘Are you sure there aren’t two people called Nick Thomas who live in the same building perhaps? It’s not that unusual a name,’ Max said.

  ‘That would be a rare circumstance,’ Alex said.

  ‘If he’s not Nick Thomas, then who is he?’ Kensy asked.

  ‘I have no record of the man you photographed in the database,’ Alexander said. ‘He is a ghost.’

  ‘No, he’s real. Believe me – I touched him,’ Kensy shuddered.

  ‘Miss Kensington, have you washed your hands since then?’ Alexander asked.

  ‘Of course,’ the girl said. ‘He was gross.’

  ‘That is a pity. If we had his DNA, then perhaps we would be able to match him in the database.’

  Curtis was on it. ‘It’s in my backpack. I grabbed some of the duct tape when he tore it off. I couldn’t just leave it lying on the ground. I’m sure it was covered in hairs from his arms.’

  Kensy ran and hugged the boy. ‘Curtis, you’re a genius! Now go and get it, quick!’

  The boy’s face lit up as he prised Kensy’s arms from around his neck.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Max offered. ‘You stay here, Kens, and see what else Alex can find out about the real Nick Thomas.�
�

  The refrigerator doors slid apart and Kensy hurried out, followed by her brother and Curtis. The boys had managed to get upstairs and back to the workout room without encountering Song, which was good news. All the while Kensy had enjoyed a long discussion with Alex, ranging from the dead man and his mundane life to whether computers had feelings. He’d also suggested a handy upgrade to Ferdinand’s sound capabilities.

  Alex had explained to the children that it may take a while to get a hit on the DNA from the hairs on the duct tape – if it was possible at all. Kensy was dubious, but then who knew that mirrors could dissolve either. She’d done as Alex instructed and placed the material on the bench for him to scan. Curtis then covered it in cling wrap and returned it to his backpack for safe keeping. Why the boy carried a roll of cling wrap around with him was another mystery – though it had come in undeniably handy.

  The children hoped to escape the kitchen without Song’s notice a second time, but that was not to be. They turned the corner out of the butler’s pantry and narrowly avoided a head-on collision. Song was balancing a casserole dish containing the coq au vin he had prepared for dinner, which he was about to place into the oven. He’d also taken the opportunity to watch one of his favourite soap operas while he was working and the television was still blaring in the background.

  ‘You don’t look at all sweaty,’ he said, eyeing the three of them warily as he deposited the dish and closed the oven door.

  ‘We got changed downstairs,’ Kensy replied. ‘And don’t worry, we’ll wash our own gym clothes. You have too many other things to do.’

  The man narrowed his eyes. ‘You must think I came down in the last shower, Miss Kensington.’

  The girl frowned. ‘No.’

  ‘What have you really been doing?’ he asked. ‘Did you find the magic mirror?’

  Curtis began to nod until Kensy stamped on the boy’s foot.

  His nodding immediately changed to shaking his head from side to side.

  Max grinned. ‘Yes, we did. Why didn’t you tell us about it? That place is incredible. And we should all know anyway in case the house is ever under threat – or the city for that matter.’

  ‘It was a test,’ Song said. ‘To see if you could work it out for yourselves. And you have passed. Well done.’

  ‘Is Granny back yet?’ Kensy asked.

  Song shook his head. ‘She telephoned to say that she has been called away overnight.’

  ‘Really?’ Kensy said. ‘This morning she told us that she was on holidays and she wanted to spend some time with us and now it’s all work, work, work again.’

  ‘Your grandmother is a very busy woman. She is often travelling,’ Song replied. He fidgeted and looked down at his pocket.

  The evening news had come on and Curtis was distracted by the first story.

  ‘There has been another victim of the person the authorities are now calling the Postal Assassin. This time it was a woman from Soho. She is currently in isolation in hospital and doctors are frantically searching for an antidote.’

  ‘That’s four now,’ Curtis said. ‘I hope they catch whoever’s behind it soon. I mean, who knew that opening a letter could potentially kill you?’

  ‘It is indeed a dreadful thing, Master Curtis,’ Song nodded then pulled a large mixing bowl from one of the cupboards. He was planning to whip up a cheesecake for dessert.

  ‘And now to other stories. This morning we ran a positive news piece, but still we haven’t been able to locate these good Samaritans who helped our very own reporter, Annika Bailey, when she was mugged on the Upper East Side yesterday.’

  The children all turned to the television set where CCTV footage of their heroics on top of the scaffolding was now screening. ‘That’s us, Max!’ Kensy exclaimed. ‘So the whole of New York knows that we’re here – even if they don’t know who we are.’

  ‘But in news to hand,’ the anchor said, as the shot zoomed in on the twins’ faces, ‘two of the children have been identified as the grandchildren of Dame Cordelia Spencer, owner and CEO of the Beacon newspaper and media group. The youngsters have only recently become known to their grandmother. The man and other boy remain a mystery.’

  Max sighed. ‘Great. Now the whole of New York is looking for us.’

  ‘Well, maybe that’s a good thing. He said that they ran the story this morning. Perhaps that guy at the carousel recognised us and wanted to say thank you,’ Curtis said.

  Kensy gave him a death stare. ‘You are kidding, aren’t you, Curtis? I mean if he was there to tell us what a great job we’d done, I would hate to see him when he was upset.’

  ‘What man at the carousel?’ Song asked.

  ‘It was nobody,’ Max said. ‘Curtis is only messing around.’

  But the thought wasn’t lost on him or Kensy that if the story had already gone global, potentially the world now knew their whereabouts – not just Dash. That meant whoever had been trying to kill them and their family quite likely knew too.

  Kensy eyeballed her brother and motioned for the boys to go upstairs.

  ‘What time’s dinner, Song?’ Max asked.

  ‘We will eat at half-past six,’ he said, glancing at the clock. It was a few minutes to five. ‘And please do not make too much noise. Your grandparents and Mim are resting after their museum tour.’

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ Max said.

  The children were about to leave when Kensy noticed the agitated look on Song’s face. She looked down and saw something move in his trouser pocket.

  ‘I think your leg is ringing. Maybe it’s your heart calling again,’ the girl said.

  Kensy couldn’t help noticing the blush of pink that had risen from the man’s neck to his cheeks.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Kensington. My private phone calls are exactly that – private,’ he barked and retreated into the butler’s pantry.

  ‘It was a joke,’ Kensy called after him. ‘Maybe it was someone calling to say they’ve found your missing sense of humour.’ She sighed and hurried away with the boys.

  The children retreated to Kensy’s room.

  ‘I think my brain is going to explode,’ the girl said as she collapsed onto her bed. ‘And what’s with old cranky pants, Song?’

  ‘Something’s up,’ Max said. ‘He’s snappier than that angry grey goose at Alexandria. The one who always kisses the bronze crane statue. I’m sure he thinks it’s his girlfriend.’

  Curtis fished the notebook that Dame Spencer had given him from his backpack along with a pen.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Max asked.

  ‘I think we should note all the weird things that have been happening since we arrived,’ Curtis said, opening to a fresh page.

  Kensy eyeballed her brother, who gave her a nod.

  ‘So there’s something you don’t know, Curtis,’ Kensy said.

  ‘Only one thing? I’d have thought there would be a lot more than that,’ the boy replied.

  ‘Well, this has only happened since we arrived,’ Kensy said.

  Max indicated that Curtis should sit down.

  ‘I saw Tinsley Chalmers when we were at the Top of the Rock,’ Max explained. ‘At least, I’m pretty sure that it was her.’

  Curtis scratched his head. ‘So what we overheard at Alexandria about the eagle’s nest – do you think that’s here in New York?’

  Max nodded. ‘It has to be. Probably somewhere up high, don’t you think? That would make the most sense.’

  ‘Well, that only gives us about ten thousand options,’ Kensy said. ‘It will be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘Maybe if we knew who Granny was talking to that night, it would make things easier,’ Max said. ‘Who this mysterious “Bear” is?’

  ‘Did you say “Bear”?’ Kensy looked at her brother. ‘You never told me that part of the conversation. You only said that she was talking about an eagle’s nest.’

  ‘She called whoever she was talking to Bear. Why? What do you know?’ the b
oy demanded.

  Kensy walked to the bookshelf at the other end of the room. ‘Last night I was trying to find something to read that was more exciting than the book I brought with me and I opened this one. It wasn’t my cup of tea, but I noticed the handwritten message in the front.’

  The girl pulled down the text – a hardback edition of The Wizard of Oz – and flipped it open. There on the inside page were the words, ‘To our darling Bear, Happy Birthday, lots of love Mummy and Daddy xxx.’

  ‘How long has your grandmother owned this house?’ Curtis asked.

  ‘I’m pretty sure it’s been in the family for years,’ Max said. ‘Edward. Sometimes people named Edward get Teddy for short, maybe Granny and Grandpa called Dad Bear because of Teddy – as in teddy bear.’ He jumped up to investigate whether there were any more books with messages in the front, pulling them in and out until he came up trumps. ‘Yes!’ the boy exclaimed as he read the title.

  Kensy and Curtis rushed over to see what Max was talking about.

  ‘The Rupert Bear Annual,’ Kensy said. ‘Looks thrilling.’

  Max opened it up and found another inscription. ‘To our own darling Rupert Bear, Happy Christmas. All our love Mummy and Daddy xxx. So he was lying to us about Tinsley.’

  ‘Uncle Rupert must know exactly where she is and the kids too,’ Kensy said. ‘But why would he lie?’

  ‘Clearly he doesn’t trust us,’ Max said.

  ‘Well, the feeling’s mutual,’ Kensy sighed.

  ‘Have you seen him? Your uncle?’ Curtis asked. ‘He was the guy who arrived with Song at the shed when we found your grandparents, right?’

  Max nodded and explained that Rupert had popped in the other night, but when the twins had told him what they’d seen, he denied any knowledge of Tinsley’s whereabouts.

  ‘What else is there?’ Curtis asked. ‘You know, apart from the mystery man at the carousel?’

  ‘Dash Chalmers is obviously here in the city,’ Max said. ‘And he likely knows we are too.’

  ‘So maybe he is the letter guy? The one killing all those people?’ Curtis said.

  Kensy bit her lip. ‘We should find out more about the victims. See if there are any links – even if it isn’t Dash, whoever is behind it needs to be caught before anyone else dies.’