Ends of the Earth Page 12

  “How’s this?” she said, making a rude hand motion. “Get stuffed.”

  The LOTUS agents roared with laughter, which cut off like a light switch at Mrs. Frost’s glare.

  “Really,” she huffed. “There’s simply no excuse for vulgarity.” The corridor full of evil spies looked like a pack of school pranksters being chastised by a headmaster.

  Order restored, the LOTUS chief regarded Max. “We won’t be taking you up on your generous offer—”

  “But—” Max began.

  “It’s clear you’ll never come around to our way of thinking—although I may have another way for you to be of use. And now…” Her attention shifted to Simon Segredo. “You know what I want. Let’s have it.”

  He shook his head. “Release them first.”

  “You don’t listen very well, do you?” She rubbed her hands together briskly. “A common problem with people of your generation. But perhaps a round or two of torture will help focus your mind.”

  “I can take whatever you dish out,” said Simon.

  Mrs. Frost’s cheeks dimpled. “Who said we’d be torturing you?”

  Max gulped but tried to hide his fear. His father hadn’t even flinched.

  “Ronnie, would you please?” said the spymaster.

  At a shooing motion from Ebelskeever’s pistol, two dark-suited agents gripped Simon’s biceps and frog-marched him down the hall. A broad-shouldered blond woman gave Max a shove to encourage him to follow.

  As he and Cinnabar fell in behind his father, Max caught her eye and mouthed, “Wyatt?”

  But Cinnabar only lifted her eyebrows and shrugged.

  The chill of their subterranean cell penetrated all the way to Max’s bones in the first ten minutes. But that discomfort was nothing compared to his conversation with his father.

  They sat on facing cots in the cramped, harshly lit room while Cinnabar paced, inspecting their prison.

  “I can’t believe you offered to let that witch adopt you,” she said. “Have you gone over to the dark side, or are you completely mental?”

  Max just shook his head.

  “That was brave,” said Simon, “offering to trade yourself for us.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” said Max. “You did the same thing.”

  Max was having a hard time focusing on his father’s words. Conflicting feelings bound up his mind and heart like battling pythons. On the one hand, Simon had put himself in danger to come rescue him—that counted for a lot. But on the other hand, he’d worked with LOTUS before and didn’t exactly have a sterling record of loyalty and reliability. Was he truly on their side this time?

  Plus, some older, deeper issues bubbled beneath the surface….

  “Son, it wouldn’t have made any difference,” said Simon. “No matter what you offer, Frost will never let me go. I’ve got something she needs.”

  “Charm?” said Max. “A warm-blooded body?”

  “Information.” Max’s father leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. The stark overhead light turned his eyes and cheeks into pockets of shadow. “When I worked with them, I stole evidence of various crimes they committed, as insurance. Should something…unfortunate happen to me, it would be released. And when that evidence finds its way into certain hands…”

  “I get it,” said Max. “Bye-bye, LOTUS.”

  “Precisely.”

  A sour taste filled Max’s mouth as he remembered the compliments Mrs. Frost had paid him. You’re the best natural spy I’ve seen. “So all of her flattery, the whole adoption thing, that was only a ruse to flush you out?”

  “That’s how she operates.”

  “What a sweetheart,” said Cinnabar, glancing over from her inspection of the door.

  “Tell me the truth,” Max asked his father. “If you hadn’t heard she was trying to adopt me, would you still have come after me?”

  “Of course.” A bolt of pain flashed through his father’s eyes. “To the ends of the earth, Max. I hope you know that.”

  “Really?” Max’s head throbbed and his jaw felt tight. Suddenly he couldn’t bear to sit still, so he jackknifed to his feet. “And how would I know that?”

  “Max, I—”

  “You’ve been gone over half of my life. When you finally show up, you trick me into betraying my friends and try to get me to join LOTUS. And you think that makes you Father of the Year?”

  Cinnabar’s lips pursed in an O. As the words were leaving his mouth, a part of Max was horrified by what he was saying. He didn’t want to talk about all this in front of Cinnabar. But he couldn’t stop.

  “If I know anything, it’s that you can’t be trusted,” he continued, waving his hands. “Every time you’re up against it, you chose yourself first—not me.”

  Simon looked like he’d been gut-punched. But his voice came out low and steady. “Every time but this time.”

  He was right. Max hated that he was right, but his father really had risked everything to save him tonight. His fists clenched, then relaxed.

  “Max, I’ve not been the world’s best father—”

  “Understatement of the year,” Max muttered, sitting back down and turning toward the wall.

  “—but I want to be,” said Simon. “If you’ll give me another chance.”

  For a score of heartbeats, Max rested his forehead against the cool metal surface, sorting through his feelings. At last he said, “You want to be a good father? Start by telling me the truth.”

  Simon Segredo’s glance went from Cinnabar, to the security camera above them, then back to Max. He took a deep breath and spread his hands. “I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”

  Did he really mean it? Max spun back to face him, mouth as dry as ashes. The question he’d never gotten answered found its way to his lips. “My mum…how—how did she die?”

  Openmouthed, Cinnabar looked from one of them to the other, her search of the cell forgotten.

  Max’s father blew out a sigh. He rubbed his face and stared at the floor. “Max, I wanted to spare you that.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore,” said Max with some heat. He waved a hand at their prison. “If I’m old enough to be locked up by enemy spies, I’m old enough to know the truth.”

  Simon regarded him with a new light in his eyes. “You’re right. You’re not the little boy I left behind. Sometimes I forget.”

  “So?”

  Max’s father shook his head and winced. He sighed again, heavily.

  “Mrs. Frost…” Max cleared his throat. “She says you were responsible for Mum’s death.”

  “In a way, she’s right.”

  Max stiffened. “What?”

  Cinnabar stepped to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  Max’s insides felt like a shaken-up Coke can, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

  “Your mother was a spy,” said Simon, his voice flat. “Like us.”

  “No way!” burst from Cinnabar’s lips.

  Max sat frozen in place. “But…”

  A sad smile played across Simon’s face. “That’s how we met. She quit active duty just before you were born, but she was a top agent.”

  So many questions raced through Max’s mind. Who did she spy for? How did they meet? But one question overrode them all. “If she quit, then how…?” he asked.

  Simon glanced up at Max, then down at his palms. “I, er…” He coughed. “I took an important assignment that drew the attention of LOTUS. They tried to stop me from completing my mission, by any means necessary.”

  “They—they killed her to stop you?” Max’s throat muscles clenched so tightly he could barely get the words out.

  His father grimaced, staring at the wall beside Max as if watching a movie play on it. “She was out of the game, safe at home. Our boss thought I was too hot, so he asked her to make a simple pickup from a dead drop. He thought she’d be off their radar, you see?”

  “And…?” Cinnabar prompted, caught up
in the story.

  Simon’s gaze flicked over to her, but the past had him in its grip. A single tear welled up in his eye. “She was so beautiful, your mother. And selfless—” He choked up, and the tear rolled down his cheek. “I begged her not to go, but she wanted to protect me. She wanted you to grow up knowing your father.”

  The knot in Max’s throat now felt like a fist. He was rooted in place, only dimly aware of Cinnabar’s hand on his shoulder.

  “How, er, did it…?” he managed to say.

  “It was raining,” said his father. “She kissed me, and she went to make the pickup. I couldn’t bear the thought of her out there alone, so I left you with a friend and followed. I arrived too late.”

  The sides of Max’s mouth tugged down. He almost forgot to breathe.

  Fresh tears leaked from Simon’s eyes, and he made no effort to wipe them away. “By the time I reached the rendezvous, she…” He gulped. “She was gone. Floating in the river.”

  “LOTUS?” said Max.

  “LOTUS.”

  A sudden rage swept through Max like a forest fire. His pulse pounded in his ears and his fists clenched, but he found himself curiously still, his senses heightened.

  Outside their cell, a machine hummed faintly. Somewhere in the mansion, water gurgled through pipes. The moment felt fragile, like the tiny robin’s egg Max had found in one of his fosters’ backyards, ages ago.

  “I—” he began, but the snick of a card reader and the scrape of keys in the lock cut him off.

  The door swung open. Ebelskeever and Humphrey stepped inside, guns drawn. Two other agents flanked the door. The burly spy motioned Max, Cinnabar, and Simon toward the back wall with a wave of his pistol.

  And in stepped Mrs. Frost, wearing a mock-solicitous expression. “Awfully sorry to intrude on family time.”

  Max’s jaws clamped together so tightly he thought his molars would grind to dust. More than anything, he wanted to wipe that expression off her face. He glanced at Simon, expecting the same reaction.

  In a blink, his father transformed from grieving widower into impassive secret agent. The bland mask was back in place.

  “Make yourself at home,” said Simon, gesturing to the crowded cell. “Mi casa, su casa.”

  Mrs. Frost stood inside the doorway, head slightly cocked, an agreeable smile on her face.

  With a supreme effort, Max hid his rage behind an ice-cold wall. “Can we get you something?” he said, taking the cue from his father. “Stale bread and water? Cobwebs?” His mind was still reeling from the revelations about his mother.

  “Actually, I have something for you,” said Mrs. Frost, snapping her fingers. “Remember I was saying we’d find a way for you to prove your usefulness?”

  “Yeah?” said Max guardedly.

  Vespa stepped into the doorway, wearing an expression that said Sorry about this. In her hands she carried a familiar blue cube and high-tech headset.

  The mind-control device.

  “Here it is,” said Mrs. Frost. “And all you have to do is test-drive our newest toy.”

  Max flinched. “You want to brainwash me?”

  “Au contraire,” said the grandmotherly spymaster. “That’s not my intention at all.”

  He relaxed a little.

  “I want you to brainwash Cinnabar.”

  MAX WAS utterly gobsmacked. He stared at the placid, white-haired woman as if she’d suddenly sprouted horns and started singing pop tunes in Urdu.

  “Brainwash…?”

  “Your young lady friend there,” said Mrs. Frost. “I would ask you to try it on your father, but we haven’t yet calibrated the machine. And I would be truly vexed if certain information was accidentally erased from his mind. That would be tragic.”

  “Tragic,” said Max woodenly.

  She raised her eyebrows. “So you’ll comply?”

  “You can’t force him to,” snapped Simon Segredo.

  “Certainly not,” said Mrs. Frost, as if addressing a simpleton. “That’s why I’m giving him a choice—one that will affect his future. So, Max? What do you say?”

  Vespa bit her lip.

  Cinnabar hugged herself. Her eyes were wide and wary.

  “For you?” said Max to the spymaster. “Absolutely not.”

  Mrs. Frost folded her arms. “This is a onetime offer,” she said. “Refuse it, and you’ll meet the same fate as your fellow prisoners.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Max felt a sudden lightness at the abandonment of his double-agent status. “They’re family, and family members should all be treated equally. But I guess you wouldn’t know about that”—he cut his eyes toward Vespa—“would you?”

  Vespa glanced away. Mrs. Frost bared her teeth in a caricature of a smile.

  “Stooping to personal attacks is a mark of low breeding,” she said in a pitiless tone. Her eyes were gray marbles.

  Max barked a laugh. “And beating up my father and forcing me to brainwash my friend is how the posh people do it? Then I’m a peasant every time.”

  The only sign of Frost’s displeasure was a slight flaring of the nostrils. “You are unforgivably rude and should be punished. But I would never strike a child.” She glanced at Ebelskeever. “Strike this child.”

  Whap! The big man’s open-handed slap snapped Max’s head around and sent him tumbling onto the cot. His cheek felt like it was aflame.

  With a growl, Simon lunged at the agent. Humphrey stepped in the way, jamming his pistol up under Simon’s chin.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” said Mrs. Frost. “Temper, temper.”

  Simon’s glare could’ve melted diamonds, but his voice stayed smooth. “You haven’t even seen me lose my temper yet.”

  The whole side of Max’s face throbbed with a dull ache. He couldn’t believe Ebelskeever had struck him. The gloves were truly off now—on both sides. He began contemplating how he would avenge his mother and burn LOTUS to the ground.

  Mrs. Frost tossed Max a dismissive glower. “I’m done with you, boy. You’re still willful and misguided, despite all my best efforts.”

  Max sent up a silent thank-you for his natural rebelliousness.

  “But you…” Mrs. Frost’s gaze lasered in on Simon. “I’ve got a proposal for you.”

  “Can’t wait,” said Cinnabar.

  Frost ignored her. “Give me what you took, and I’ll let Max go free.”

  Simon glanced from his son to the white-haired woman. “And what guarantee do I have?”

  “My honor as a lady,” said Mrs. Frost stiffly.

  Max’s father arched an eyebrow. “Knowing that you have personally been responsible for hundreds, maybe thousands of deaths, and countless crimes? You’ll have to forgive me if I can’t quite trust that guarantee.”

  Clenching her jaw, Mrs. Frost snapped, “This is becoming tiresome. We shall have to calibrate this invention, and then we shall return. At that point, you will give me what I desire, or I shall begin brainwashing the entire lot of you—starting with you.” She scowled at Max, and he somehow managed not to spontaneously combust at her wrath.

  With that, LOTUS’s chief spun on her heel and strode from the room, chin held high. Sending Max a worried glance, Vespa trailed after her aunt.

  “Pity about the brainwashing,” sneered Ebelskeever. “I hear tell it sometimes goes squiffy, leaving the subject a total cabbage. Though with you three, the hardest part will be telling before from after.”

  The other agents snickered as if this was the height of wit, and they swaggered out, relocking the cell securely.

  “Charming bunch,” said Max. He tried for a carefree expression, but a chill like snowmelt trickled down his spine.

  “And what a delightful proposition,” said Simon. “Any thoughts?”

  “Just one,” said Max. “Let’s be long gone when they get back.”

  “Agreed,” said Simon and Cinnabar together.

  “And how exactly do we accomplish that?” Cinnabar asked.

  Max scanned the
cell. “There’s got to be a way out of here.”

  Simon shared a conspiratorial look, glanced at the security camera in the upper corner, and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Every prison has its weaknesses. It’s merely a matter of finding them. Cinnabar, what did you notice during your inspection?”

  “The locks aren’t accessible from this side,” said Cinnabar. “And the vents are too small for any of us to fit through.”

  “Are the hinges exposed?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but they’re sealed. It’s not like we could pull the pins out.”

  “The ceiling is solid concrete.” Max rapped a knuckle on the cold steel floor. “And we won’t be tunneling either. So what does that leave?”

  Simon reached into his pocket and plucked out a small package, which he held up. “Gum,” he said.

  “Gum?” Max echoed.

  His father shook loose a couple of sticks and passed them to Max and Cinnabar. “Luckily, the bullyboy who searched me hadn’t seen this before.”

  “Did he grow up on Neptune?” said Max, unwrapping his stick. “Everybody knows what gum is.”

  “Not this gum,” said Simon. “It’s an experimental prototype—very hush-hush. A mate of mine in Shanghai sent it along.”

  “Mmm, cherry,” said Cinnabar, who’d popped her gum into her mouth and was chewing vigorously.

  Simon raised a warning hand. “Careful. It’s got a bit of a kick.”

  Cinnabar’s eyes went round as saucers, and she spat the wad into her palm. “How’s it work?”

  “First, we need a spot of privacy.” Simon chomped his own gum, then stood on his cot. By stretching to his full height, he was able to place the chewed-up lump over the security camera’s lens. “With any luck, they’ll think we’re merely being difficult.”

  Max munched on his own stick of gum, removed it from his mouth, and squinted at it. “Okay, it can disable a camera. Anything else?”

  His father smiled a roguish smile. “Wait and see. Why don’t you and Cinnabar put your gum on the door hinges?”

  They did as he suggested.

  “Now take your wrapper and rub it between your fingers, hard and fast, like this.” Simon demonstrated. “It’s friction paper.”