Born to Spy Page 2

  "I'm sorry, girl. We're out of cat food too," I said, throwing her the last piece of bologna from the empty fridge, then wiped the giant smudge of jelly off my math revision notes with a kitchen towel. "Who needs math, right, Socks?" Kitty meowed in response. I was fed up with being on my own. Time to get on with investigating Dad's secret lair for clues.

  I was still munching when the phone in the hall rang. Danny's voice greeted me on the other end of the line.

  "Did you find it?"

  I knew instantly he meant the password. "Nope." I swallowed the chunk of hamburger in my mouth. "I'm on my last attempt."

  "Phew. Not good. Listen, you know how grown ups always talk about us teens?"

  I nodded, only then realising Danny couldn't see it. So, I said, "Uh-uh. Dad always embarrasses me when he tells everyone how I used to pee in the flowerpots."

  "Maybe you should try your name," Danny said.

  "You mean Thom? That'd be way too easy."

  "Thomasius."

  I cringed. "Please don't say it out loud. It's bad enough Dad put it in my files at school and now everyone knows and thinks I'm a nerd."

  "Yeah, that name sucks. If I were you I couldn't wait to turn eighteen so I could change it. Anyway, it's worth a try."

  "You sure?" I started to chew the inside of my lip. One last attempt, I couldn't mess up.

  Danny hesitated. "Not really, but what else could it be?"

  I hung up again and marched back to the basement, hamburger forgotten on the coffee table in the hall. This time I didn't even sit down because I was too nervous. My brain literally screamed LAST ATTEMPT, LAST ATTEMPT. Sweat poured down my back as I started typing: Thomasius, hesitating over the Enter button. It was too easy. And then I noticed the coffee mug I had given Dad for his birthday a year ago. He'd said it was the best gift ever because he loved coffee.

  Before I could change my mind, I deleted Thomasius and typed coffeemug as one word, no space in between, then pressed Enter. Holding my breath, my heart thumping, I waited anxiously for the pop-up window to appear, telling me I'd be sent to a boring boarding school for being such a bad boy. It didn't. Instead, the computer whirred, the window disappeared together with the black screen, and I found myself starring at a Garfield desktop picture with the caption, Without my morning coffee I might as well be a dog.

  I was in.

  Chapter 3

  Checking Dad's credit card activity proved much easier because I knew the password ever since I turned ten. He called it our emergency plan, just in case things went wrong. At that time, I had no idea what he was talking about. But now, standing in this high-tech room with all those drawers and widgets, I could only imagine the danger he must be facing in every mission and why having an emergency credit card might come in handy one day.

  After retrieving his duplicate card and the stack of cash from the hidden place under the stairs, I browsed to the bank's homepage and logged on, waddling my way through countless transactions. Never figured Dad as a big spender, but apparently he'd kept that part hidden too. Two hundred bucks at Nelly's Barber—a new haircut? And one heck of a tip. Three hundred at Gadget's & Co—hopefully an early birthday present for me. I scrolled and scrolled until I found what I was looking for: an airline ticket to Dublin, Ireland, dated four days previously and marked as business class. We usually flew economy, so unless Dad won the jackpot millions this was just a last-minute booking on an otherwise full plane. I figured if he boarded it and landed in Dublin, then he might still be there.

  I was about to log off again when I noticed the five hundred bucks expenditure marked as art purchase. I clicked on it and gaped. Dad had spent that much money at the local gallery, buying slot number 07013. Whoa! Talk about getting all wrapped up in a new hobby. Hopefully it wasn't another ugly version of the Mona Lisa.

  As soon as I logged off, I examined Dad's surfing history, noticing he'd checked out everything from hotels to car renting companies in Dublin. No websites on sightseeing, which told me most likely he wasn't there on holiday. Clicking my way through, I found the inconspicuous website of an antiques dealer, Mr. Khalim Hussain, specialising in selling both originals and cheap knock-offs for the not so wealthy. That intrigued me. I mean here was Dad, who wouldn't even pay attention to a poster, suddenly shell out a chunk of money for a flight to get to an antiques shop that dealt with artsy stuff. I jotted down the address and a phone number and switched off the computer to plan my next step. Luckily, Danny decided to pay me a visit so I'd have a second brain to help with the plotting part.

  I greeted him at the door and let him in, noting how he pulled a face when his gaze wandered to the now soggy hamburger. Danny's high maintenance, always used to his mum taking care of him.

  He scraped a piece of bologna off the table and cringed. "This is disgusting. You're nothing but a big slob."

  I rolled my eyes. "Well, you'll have to deal with my mess for a change because I have more pressing issues to deal with at the moment."

  "Mum might call to make sure your dad knows the lights need to be out by nine," Danny said, throwing his overnight bag on the floor. I lifted it and carried it into the living room, then started rummaging in search for the usual pack of chocolate chip cookies. And there it lay on top of his neatly folded pyjamas. Realising it was already late afternoon and I didn't have a proper meal for three days, I tore the wrapping off and started munching.

  Danny nudged me in the ribs. "Hey, did you hear me?"

  I glared at him. "In case you haven't noticed there's no grown up around, so that might be a bit of a tricky situation. What's her problem anyway? It's summer holidays."

  He slumped down on the sofa and grabbed a cookie, then put it back. "I figured since you're now a spy and all, you could use one of your Dad's gadgets and do something about it."

  "Like what? I can't send her to the moon so she changes her mind because the long-distance call's too expensive." Danny's mum was into saving big time, which is why she always packed him soggy toast and marmite as lunch. He ended up sponging off whatever I bought with my pocket money. But I didn't mind.

  "What about something like a voice-changing thingy?"

  I shook my head. "Didn't see anything downstairs. You watched one too many James Bond films."

  "Then we're screwed. How am I supposed to help you when you're not really helping me help you?" Danny asked.

  "Huh?" I stared at him. "Your English doesn't make any sense. No wonder your marks are so low."

  "I said—"

  I waved a hand about. "Mate, no explanation, okay? I'll figure it out later. Maybe I'll call a translator."

  "Whatever," Danny said, crossed.

  "When your mum calls, just stall her. Tell her Dad's in the shower or something and you'll let him know."

  Danny shook his head. "She won't buy it in a million years."

  "Then make her believe you. You're the worst liar ever." I helped myself to another cookie and went about recalling what I found out.

  "Too bad your dad didn't buy something cool from the Science museum. With our luck, it has to be art. I'd rather be playing with electricity and watch your hair stick up than snooze in front of some portraits," Danny said.

  I nodded. "Me too."

  Danny started chewing his nails like he always did when he thought. "I'm going to say something that I never thought I'd say in a million years."

  "What?"

  "Ready to see how the other half lives?" Danny asked. "You know, the rich and stuffy?"

  "Huh?" I stared. His English really sucked.

  Danny grinned. "Slip on a cardigan, slick your hair back and put on a Rolex. It's time to pay the art gallery a visit, first thing tomorrow morning."

  "Should I wear a few gold chains?" I asked.

  "Now, let's not go all gangsta, okay?"

  "Got it. We'll save that for Snoop Dogg." I laughed. "No, seriously, mate. Are you kidding? Two teens barging in there, asking for a recently made purchase? Yeah, I bet they'll be running to get i
t for us."

  "Use your noodle for once. We can say your dad sent us to find out whether it's ready for pick-up. That way we might be able to find out what it is in the first place."

  He had a good point there. Definitely didn't see that angle, which made me grateful for having Danny around. "I guess it's worth a try," I said.

  Danny puffed. "Like you have a better idea."

  "I do." It just came to me crystal-clear. We knew what country Dad was in, so why not go directly to the source instead of tracking and tracing his online steps? "I say we fly to Ireland."

  Danny slapped his forehead. "Now you've turned completely bonkers. Mum would never let me go."

  "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

  "Ah, I hate to break it to you but last time I checked I was still just thirteen, and someone has to pay for the ticket." Danny took a deep breath before continuing his rambling. "And then there's the tiny inconvenience that Mum might notice my sudden disappearance. Unless you clone me a twin, a trip to Ireland's not going to happen."

  Suppressing my laughter, I held up a hand. "Okay, I admit the plan's a bit flawed, but I'll figure something out. Besides, I can pay with Dad's credit card. He won't be mad once I save his life."

  Danny peered at me. "What makes you think the worst? He might be climbing Mount Everest or hiking through the Amazon jungle, not hanging upside down from a rainbow as he's reaching for a pot of gold that belongs to a bunch of little elves."

  "You mean leprechauns."

  "Elves. Leprechauns. It's all the same, Thom."

  "No. Leprechauns are from Ireland. Everybody knows that."

  "Maybe there's no phone and he's out in the middle of nowhere. You know he forgot his cell," Danny said.

  "No, I'm not buying it." I slumped deeper into the cushions, hugging my knees tight. "You don't understand. Since Mum died, he's always watched out for me. Call it a gut feeling, but I know he wouldn't disappear unless something happened."

  "So, are we going to Ireland or are we paying the art gallery a visit?" Danny asked.

  I shrugged. "Let's see where the art gallery takes us."

  We penned out our trip to the gallery the following day, and then inspected the spy lab one more time. After dinner—frozen pizza and chickpeas because Danny insisted on having some vegetables even if frozen ones—his mum called. I went to answer because we couldn't afford Danny blowing it. She bought it after a bit of a to and fro, and I was glad to hang up and return to planning our visit. We were so busy, we didn't even play our usual computer games or watch TV, and we hardly slept through the night.

  The following morning, we stood in front of the gallery half an hour before it opened. The director, Mr. Richards, barely paid us any attention when he walked past to unlock the door, closing it right in front of our noses. A skinny, gangly lady with a hawk nose let us in, huffing as she peered over the rimmed glasses on her nose.

  "Why do I have the feeling you're not here for the poetry reading?" she asked.

  Ignoring her, I headed straight for the glass bowl filled with M&Ms and popped a handful in my mouth. She glared from her seat. What? Wasn't that what they were for? I smiled. "The milk chocolate melts in your mouth—not in your hand." I held out my palms to show her.

  "Yet, your hands are covered in chocolate," Danny said. "What's with that?"

  I shrugged. "Cheap slogan, or so Dad says."

  The receptionist aka Hawk Nose handed me a tissue and made a face. "Stay away from the candies, children."

  Danny started humming to the ambiance music. But then it got really embarrassing when he pretended to lead an orchestra. Conductor, my butt. I wished I could just smack his head with that imaginary tuba.

  Danny hummed even louder. "Duh duh duh. Duh duh duh. Duh duh duhhhhh. Beethoven?"

  "Nothing on TV today?" Hawk Lady asked.

  "I've given millions to this museum and that's the thanks I get?" Danny said in a posh voice. He didn't sound sophisticated, more like the bad version of Robin Leach from the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. "We hang out with the upper class, you know, drive fast cars, eat fish eggs, listen to boring stories and lame jokes. We both believe in the finer things in life such as art, wine tasting, limos, chocolate covered strawberries and, last but not least, the softest and strongest Charmin toilet paper."

  Stifling a chuckle, I silenced him by nudging him in the ribs. With his green cardigan and black, ill-fitting bottoms, hair always a bit too long and mismatched socks, he looked like a total geek and didn't like it when grown ups didn't notice his cleverness written on his forehead. But Hawk Lady didn't acknowledge him because she was staring at me through squinted eyes as though she suspected me to shove the entire bowl of M&M's down my throat as soon as she turned away.

  "My dad's sent me to ask about something he bought a few days ago," I said.

  She puffed and stared some more. My hands started to sweat, wriggling behind my back. She reminded me too much of a bird, and I've never liked birds, particularly not the huge ones with noses like hers and those shiny eyes like Aunt Becky's terriers, and—

  "I'll get the director," she said.

  "You do that," Danny said. "And remember, I pay his salary too."

  I breathed out, relieved, as Hawk Lady finally stood and walked to an office on the left side, all the while throwing glances over her shoulder like she expected me to open my backpack and start tossing the M&Ms plus her precious brochures and information sheets in. Honestly, what would I want these for? It's not like I could sell them at the corner shop.

  Danny and I kept silent, our nerves freezing us to the spot. Finally, Hawk Lady emerged with the director on her tracks who motioned us to follow him into his office. As soon as we entered, he closed the heavy mahogany door behind us and I scanned the room.

  It was spacious with barely any furniture. A long narrow glass desk stood in the middle with nothing but a black notebook, a telephone, a pipe and a pair of glasses on its gleaming surface. Near the wide window, two ceiling-high bookshelves lined the walls. Craning my neck, I skimmed the titles on the spines and grimaced. Yet more stuff about painting. How dull.

  "What can I do for you, young gentlemen?" the director asked.

  He towered over us at least a foot, so I peered all the way up until I reached his nervous, beady eyes moving back and forth between us as though he couldn't find anything to focus his gaze on long enough.

  Meanwhile Danny picked up a pair of dark rimmed glasses sitting on the edge of the desk. I was horrified when he put them on. What an idiot. He squinted and tried to focus.

  "Put those down, right now," I said, glaring at him. I thought things couldn't get worse when he put the pipe in his mouth too.

  Danny cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me, sir, would you happen to have any Grey Poupon?"

  I wanted to be mad because he was blowing our cover big time, but instead, I burst out in laughter. "That stuff's nasty. I'd rather have good old cheap mustard on my burger any day."

  "You have a point," Danny said. "I should've said, 'Excuse me, sir, would you happen to have any Grey Poo-poo?"

  "Yeah, on the bottom of my shoe." I laughed so much I almost peed myself.

  The director scowled. "May I have my belongings back?" He didn't understand much of a joke.

  Danny closed his eyes and snored. The pipe looked as though it was going to fall out of his mouth any second. I nudged him, ready to stomp on his foot when he finally jerked straight up.

  "Thanks for waking me." Danny took a fake puff from the pipe and slowly let it out. "I was having a nightmare. There were paintings everywhere. Everywhere, I tell you. I was in an art museum."

  "Does art bore you, young man?" the director asked.

  Danny rubbed his chin and tried to sound like an uptight rich snob. "What is your interpretation of this painting? Uh, the one over your head."

  The director smiled and looked up. "Ah, this is my favourite one. It mixes modern images and indeterminate space with fast, free-flowing
brushstrokes to create a dynamic piece that people will brag about for generations. This artist's multi-coloured, abstract use of paint is brilliant. But I guess everyone has their own interpretation of what art is. What are your thoughts, young man?"

  Danny sucked on the pipe that the director's lip had been on. Ew. More ew. But Danny was lucky because it wasn't lit. If it were I might have thrown up. He motioned to the picture. "Oh, this is elementary, my dear Watson. It looks like a giant bird is soaring through the air—after it drowned and lay dead for a few weeks."

  Great. Now he thought he was Sherlock Holmes with that pipe. What could I do except watch him make a fool of himself?

  "Yes. I can see that too," the director said in an excited voice. "The bird represents freedom and peace."

  "You mean pieces," Danny said. "See the little white balls falling down? Well, that's the bird taking a dump. And since you're sitting underneath it, well, need I go on?"

  I laughed out loud before I could watch myself. Could I fix this? I blew out a breath and cleared my throat. "I think it's wonderful, sir. It's the most beautiful piece I've ever seen. Why, I bet it goes for millions. If I had the money, I'd fill every wall in my house with this incredible talented artist's work. Who is it? Leonardo Da Vinci? Picasso? Michelangelo? Trust me. I know my art...and I know this came from somebody super famous."

  Frowning, the director shook his head. "My five-year-old daughter made it."

  Oh, crap. "She's a star in the making then." I ripped the pipe and the glasses off Danny and handed them to the director. "Uh, don't mind my friend here. He's not all there. Missing a few marbles, you know. He's out on a day pass. I'm supposed to take him back to the loony bin in a few hours."

  The director nodded and I forced myself to stare at him when I continued, "My dad bought slot number 07013 a few days ago and wants to know whether it's ready."

  Measuring me up and down, his eyes narrowed to two tiny slits. "Is your dad here?"

  "Obviously not, unless he's hiding in my pocket," Danny said. I shushed him before I looked at the director and mouthed the words, "DAY PASS."