Amanda Lester and the Gold Spectacles Surprise

by Paula Berinstein

  “Bite me,” he said.

  Simon was trying to impress Ivy but there was a more urgent reason for his wanting to tail Blair Belize all by himself. He was worried that Lila Lester had told her boyfriend, Banting Waltz, where the metadata was and that Belize was in danger. This was such a sensitive idea that he dared not bring it up with Amanda, who was in such turmoil about her mother’s weird behavior that it would just upset her more. He was also afraid that Blixus Moriarty might be involved, and even though Amanda had tangled with him on multiple occasions he thought he was better equipped to deal with the criminal. Amanda’s connection with Nick might lead her to do something stupid, whereas he, Simon, could keep a cool head. And so he snuck off to London, where he had tracked Belize, without saying goodbye.

  Train trips to London were always an adventure and this one was no exception. Somehow between purchasing his ticket at Oxenholme and finding a seat, Simon had lost the thing, and when the conductor came around to check he couldn’t produce it. That caused him to be put off the train at the next station, even though he had the money and tried to pay a second time. He ended up having to wait an hour for the next one and double pay, which turned out to be even more annoying when he found the first ticket stuck to his NHS card. And so he was not in the best of moods when he arrived at London Bridge Station and set off to find Belize.

  He picked up the man’s trail in a car park off Horseferry Road, a couple of blocks from Thames House—which housed MI5—to the east and New Scotland Yard to the north. The Home Office was right near there too, as well as all sorts of other government buildings. Hm, conundrum. Which was the most likely place for Belize to have gone? Considering that he was a detective, or working with the detectives, anyway, New Scotland Yard seemed the best choice. Surely he wasn’t, he couldn’t be MI5. Simon was doubtful but this time he wouldn’t make the mistake he had at the mall. He wouldn’t go looking for the man. He’d wait till he came back. Whether he’d attempt to speak to him then he wasn’t sure. He’d see what Belize did and then make up his mind.

  But after about an hour Simon knew his plan wasn’t going to work. He had to pee so badly that he would have to go in search of a toilet. But what if Belize came back to the car while he was gone and the entire trip was wasted? He willed himself to hold it. That worked for about five minutes, but then the need became so great that he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to find the nearest gents’.

  He checked Google Maps and saw that there was a Starbucks right across from the Metropolitan Police. Good. He raced up Chadwick Street and blazed into the restaurant, but when he got there he found the toilet locked with a numeric keypad blocking his way. They had to be kidding. Did they really think someone would commit a crime right across from the Met? He tore across the store to the front of the coffee line and said, “Toilet. Code.” The young redheaded barista gaped at him and said, “Um, uh, I think it’s zero.”

  “Just one zero?” said Simon.

  “Yup,” said the kid.

  Simon didn’t have time to question the wisdom of such a dumb combination. He ran back across the store just in time to see a chubby man in a Manchester United t-shirt going into the toilet. Nuts. How did he know the code? Wait, was there a women’s toilet?

  He raced back to the line and said, “Ladies’.”

  “You have to get in line,” said the kid, who was in the middle of pouring.

  “The code to the ladies’,” Simon huffed.

  “You can’t go in there,” the kid said.

  “Desperate. Must go now.”

  The kid sighed, put down his cup, and came around the counter. “You’re causing a lot of trouble, you know that?”

  “Just help me!” Simon screamed.

  The boy gave him a look, led him to the men’s room, and hit the zero key.

  “It’s occupied,” came a voice as he turned the handle.

  “Emergency,” said the kid.

  Simon heard a flush, and two seconds later an extremely annoyed sports fan came out.

  “Him?” He pointed at Simon, but Simon was already through the door.

  Simon had never been so relieved in his life, but as soon as he came out of the gents’ someone grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him out onto the street. It was Belize. He stuck his beautifully shaped nose into Simon’s face and growled.

  “Look, Binkle, you don’t need to keep following me. The metadata is safe. Now off you go. And keep your mouth shut or it won’t be, all right?”

  Simon gawped. How did the man know who he was? “How do you—”

  “How do you think?” said Belize, pulling out his MI5 ID card and shoving it in Simon’s face. “Now be—”

  Just then Simon saw none other than Blixus Moriarty behind the actor. Belize caught his eyes moving over his shoulder. He reached into his pocket and slued around but Blixus already had hold of him. He tasered the agent, shoved him into a double-parked car, and took off, leaving Simon frozen to the spot. Then Simon noticed another car speeding after Blixus, and it sure looked like Banting Waltz was inside. Wait, was that Lila Lester with him? That jarred him out of his stupor and he dialed 999.

  “Blixus Moriarty,” he panted when the dispatcher came on. “In front of the Met. Just now. He’s driving a Mini.” He thought about mentioning Waltz but the guy was a Queen’s Prosecutor and not wanted for anything. There was no point.

  A police car came screeching round the corner and took off in the direction Blixus and Waltz had taken. Simon sure hoped they’d catch Moriarty because now he was in possession of the metadata, or at least the person who could provide it.

  He’d failed. Oh, he’d found Belize all right, his bladder notwithstanding, but he’d failed to keep the metadata safe. He’d let the detectives down, let himself down, and most of all, let Ivy down. He wanted to crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after him.

  When he arrived back at Legatum he headed straight for his room but Ivy waylaid him.

  “You didn’t text,” she said. “Bad news?”

  He nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see. “Mmm.”

  She took his hand. “Tell me.”

  Her hand was so warm and soft. He couldn’t resist her. He circled his thumb over hers. “I screwed up.” She stayed quiet. “Blixus got him. If he’s the one who took the secrets from the bank he’ll be able to read them. It’s bad, really bad.” And then he told her everything, even about the debacle at Starbucks.

  “Simon,” she said softly. “If he’s MI5 he obviously knows what he’s doing. I’m sure other agents are after him as we speak. You shouldn’t worry. And you shouldn’t blame yourself. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.”

  He brightened at that and took her in his arms. She was right. It hadn’t been his fault. He’d just happened to be there at the time. It wasn’t as if Blixus had been following him. He’d obviously been watching Belize and had just seized his opportunity.

  “Good thing too,” he said. “What would you do without me?” He could feel her muscles tighten.

  She pulled out of his grasp. “Simon, please don’t—”

  “I’m just kidding. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ve decided that if you don’t love me by a week from Saturday I’m going to give up.” He didn’t mean it of course. He was just trying to keep her from saying what he feared she was about to.

  “Oh, Simon. You really shouldn’t—”

  “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Saturday week, remember?”

  “Right.” She sounded doubtful but he didn’t care. One way or another, now or someday, she would be his.

  The next morning Holmes stopped Simon in the hall and shoved some papers in his face.

  “What’s this?” said Simon.

  “Translation,” said Holmes matter-of-factly. “Your parcel turned up yesterday. It seems that it ended up in Zimbabwe. Took a while to come back to you.”

  Simon’s jaw dropped. “You got the third Bible page?”

  “Yup, and it’s a
ll translated,” said Holmes. “Something about spectacles.”

  Simon couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re kidding.”

  “It happens,” said Holmes. “My dad once had a letter addressed to Birmingham go all the way to China. It took six months before he found out.”

  “No, not that. The page. You’ve already translated it and it’s about some glasses?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty wild. It seems that old Earful came up with a way to get information in and out of the brain by using these special lenses. He made a pair of glasses with gold rims. I’d sure like to see that.”

  “What happened to them?” said Simon.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” said Holmes. “The page doesn’t say anything about where they might be.”

  “How do they work?” said Simon.

  “Theta waves,” said Holmes. “The glasses manipulate them. Very sophisticated. The man was a genius.”

  “Hm,” said Simon. “I wonder if it’s possible to replicate those glasses.” The idea of detectives being able to store information inside someone’s brain was very appealing. They could input the entire Detective’s Bible that way, assuming they ever found the rest of it, and make as many backups as they liked. Of course there was the risk of the wrong people getting access to it if they got hold of the glasses.

  “It looks tricky,” said Holmes. “It might be interesting to try though.”

  Suddenly Simon had an idea. “They don’t manipulate emotions, do they?”

  “What, like a love potion?” said Holmes. “To make Ivy love you? I shouldn’t think so.”

  That was exactly what Simon had been thinking but he wasn’t about to admit it. “No, of course not. Just in general.”

  “Well, theta waves are responsible for nightmares and fears, so maybe, but love—”

  “I said that wasn’t the reason,” said Simon. “I don’t need to make Ivy love me. She already does.”

  “Could have fooled me,” said Holmes unkindly.

  “Just because you’re miserable doesn’t mean you have to make everyone else unhappy,” said Simon. Holmes was really ticking him off.

  Holmes laughed but his face was twisted and nasty-looking. “You have no idea.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Simon.

  Holmes just shook his head and walked away.

  “Prat,” said Simon under his breath. But he was excited about the spectacles’ potential. He was a little worried about dangerous side effects, though, theta waves being so involved in nightmares and fears. The Bible page didn’t say anything about that, but then it probably wouldn’t. In Earful’s day no one knew or cared about such things. But no matter. He’d learn all about that in his experiments. But other endeavors were more pressing. He had to find Blixus and Belize, not to mention Waltz. And that would be a tall order.

  The same morning the Bible page showed up Amanda received a text from Basilica telling her that the robbers had been described by a witness. She phoned for more detail.

  “Two boys,” said Basilica. “Our neighbor down the block saw them. They were maybe fifteen. Fourteen tops.”

  That was weird. She’d figured Stencil had broken in himself, not sent someone to do it for him. The fewer people who knew about the glasses the better.

  “What did they look like?” she said.

  “One was tall and the other short. The tall one was really skinny with blonde hair and the short one was dark and nervous.”

  The description gave Amanda an idea that she didn’t like one bit. “Go on. There must be more than that.”

  “Well, she heard the tall one say something. He was Welsh. The other one was wearing a belt with a weird buckle.”

  She could feel her body tense. “What do you mean ‘weird’?”

  “She couldn’t tell, but it looked like a big snake.”

  “Gavin!” said Amanda.

  “Sorry?” said Basilica.

  “I said ‘Heavens.’” She did not want Basilica knowing she had a history with the thieves. “I take it they haven’t found them.”

  “No, but our neighbor is going down to the station to look at mug shots.”

  “She won’t find them,” said Amanda.

  “You’re very pessimistic,” said Basilica. “Why?”

  “Oh, well, those kinds of things are hard to solve. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

  “I hope they get them,” said Basilica. “I don’t really care about the glasses but they do have a lot of nerve.”

  “They sure do,” said Amanda.

  Amanda could hardly wait to tell Ivy that Philip Puppybreath and Gavin Niven were the thieves. That meant Taffeta had the glasses for sure. Now she just had to figure out where she was and go get them.

  How had Philip and Gavin found out about the glasses in the first place, though, and how had they known where to look? Surely they didn’t read fashion magazines. Taffeta herself must have seen the glasses in Basilica’s photo and sent them after them. But how did she know about the spectacles in the first place, especially when the detectives didn’t? Did that mean she had been watching Stencil Moriarty? Boy that girl was dangerous. If she had those spectacles she could probe the minds of detectives and rival criminals alike. And that would be a disaster.

  13

  The First Castle

  Learning sign language and practicing his physical therapy gave Nick something to do up in those hills by himself, and he began to feel calmer and more focused. Soon he was feeling so good that he thought he might try a little karate, having learned the basics from Professor Peaksribbon. That made him stronger still, and he decided he wanted to learn more. At first books and the videos he could watch at the library were sufficient, but then he realized he needed a real partner, so he signed up for a class in a nearby town and attended it in disguise.

  He found that he was good at it—extremely good. It would take him a while to get his yellow belt—the first one beyond the beginners’ white one—but he was moving toward it steadily. More important, he was pulling out of his funk.

  Scapulus Holmes was glad that the third Bible page had turned up, but he was more concerned with his game opponent than some theoretical mind-invading spectacles. He was pretty sure his online nemesis was Nick Moriarty and he wanted to punish him, pound him into the ground until there was nothing left of him. Then he would do what he’d dreamed of for months: find the guy in the real world and end him.

  He rubbed his hands together and booted up his laptop. His skin had roughened since he’d begun training and he liked the feel of it, hard and calloused. He’d been too soft before, always sitting around tapping keys, never breaking a sweat or getting dirty. The new Holmes had a body that was as badass as his mind—tough and powerful and impenetrable.

  Nick had some nerve trying to play him. Who did he think he was? Who did he think Holmes was, or Redleaf? He had no idea who he was dealing with if he thought for one moment that he could beat him, beat them. His mum had been tougher than Professor Feeney, and that was saying something. He was proud of her, proud that her blood was circulating through his body, and he would honor her. He would find the blighter and take him out.

  The first thing he needed to do was to lure Nick into a private game where absolutely no rules obtained. You could do more elaborate work there, and it was so much more intimate because it was no longer army against army. Off in this walled paradise the opponents would assume the role of ninjas and play a game of assassination, espionage, and sabotage. The possibilities were endless and deliciously lethal. Holmes salivated at the prospect.

  He entered the regular game and selected his favorite, the Mongols. Within minutes Nick appeared on the other side, Alexander the Great’s army, one of the most fearsome and best trained the world had ever seen. He was clad in bronze, carried a xyston, and sat on a magnificent stallion with a head as massive as that of Alexander’s own horse, Bucephalus. He would choose a horse like that. He really had delusions of grandeur.

 
Holmes studied his own steed and smiled. Mongol horses were small, almost pony-like, but they were the toughest in the world. Capable of thriving in extreme temperatures, they were swift and strong. Mongol soldiers typically kept three or four each, which allowed them a range far in excess of other cavalries. He wouldn’t trade his Mongol horses for ten of Moriarty’s.

  Most Mongol soldiers were archers, but Holmes was always a lancer. He loved riding in after the archers had paved the way, thrusting and slashing with his lance, scimitar, or ax. He wielded his weapons skillfully and was the top-rated Mongol soldier in the game, even surpassing Nick.

  Now the two armies faced each other, Greeks and Mongols. Holmes could see Nick at the rear, waiting for his opportunity. He opened a chat window and typed, “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  His opponent waited a moment, then responded. “I am your worst nightmare.”

  Holmes typed, “You are a mare. I am a stallion.”

  “Stalled is more like it. I dare you to come get me.”

  Holmes typed, “I don’t pick up trash.”

  “And I don’t fight children.”

  That was weird. Nick and Holmes were the same age. Well almost. Nick was a few months older. Was that supposed to make him superior or something. Holmes typed, “I am ageless and timeless. You cannot touch me.”

  “Care to test that assertion?”

  Holmes could feel his heart speed up. Nick was on the hook. Now he just had to reel him in. “I welcome it.”

  “A private game then?”

  Aha! He’d done it, got him right where he wanted him. Boy, Moriarty was stupid to have fallen for that. “Shall we say one hour?”

  The answer came at once. “I look forward to it.”

  Holmes had one hour to prepare himself, his character, and the ground. He planned to use it wisely. He was not allowed to survey the setting, but he could imagine it and plan for contingencies.