Feel the Fear

Hitch rolled his eyes. ‘Good going kid.’

‘OK, OK,’ said Ruby gathering up the pens and plonking them back in their pen pot. ‘Don’t have a total baby about it, man.’

HITCH: ‘It’s not me who’s going to have the “baby”. Mr Barnaby H. Cleethorps is a very particular man.’

RUBY: ‘What’s he gonna do, dangle me out of the window by my toes?’

HITCH : ‘Probably.’

RUBY: ‘Boy this guy must really like his pens tidy!’

HITCH: ‘You better believe it Redfort.’

RUBY: ‘So what are you doing here? You back from summer vacation?’

HITCH: ‘Something like that.’

RUBY: ‘Where have you been anyway?’

HITCH: ‘It’s classified.’

RUBY: ‘Your vacations are classified?’

HITCH: ‘I wasn’t on vacation.’

RUBY: ‘But you just said you were.’

HITCH: ‘No I didn’t, you did.’

RUBY: ‘Boy, have I missed small-talking to you. So where are we going?’

HITCH: ‘Elevator.’

RUBY: ‘You know I can’t leave, my dad won’t let me out of his sight.’

HITCH: ‘I’ve cleared it, your father has entrusted me with your safety.’

RUBY: ‘He clearly doesn’t know your safety record – so what are we doing?’

HITCH: ‘I’m going to have a cup of coffee and you are going to be grilled.’

‘Huh?’

HITCH: ‘Our boss, she wants to talk to you.’

To the outside world, Hitch was the Redforts’ household manager, but to the few in the know he was actually a highly trained Spectrum agent, living undercover at the Redfort home, stationed there to mentor and protect Ruby Redfort, Spectrum’s youngest recruit. Their boss was LB, head of Spectrum 8.

They took the elevator down to street level. It wasn’t the quickest ride since the building was an old one and the elevator cars were far from state of the art.

‘I thought I was on sick leave,’ said Ruby.

‘Not any more,’ said Hitch.

‘Anything going down at Spectrum?’ asked Ruby. ‘A new case?’ Ruby had been a Spectrum agent and expert code breaker since April, and in that time she had worked on three cases. All three had nearly got her killed. But then evading death sort of went with the territory.

‘Don’t ask me, I’m just the bozo driving the car,’ replied Hitch.

Ruby gave him a look, aware that if anyone was going to know anything then it was Hitch. But that said, there was no point trying to get him to talk; if he didn’t want to then he never would. That was the thing about Hitch: he kept his mouth shut.

SPECTRUM RULE 1: KEEP IT ZIPPED. He had to: as one of the highest-ranking agents at Spectrum 8, he was trusted with heavily classified information. He didn’t squeal for anything or anybody.

So how had a top-notch spy wound up working undercover as bodyguard to a thirteen-year-old kid? Hitch, for one, asked himself this question practically every day.

They strode out of the Sandwich Building to see a meter maid busy studying Hitch’s car.

Where to start? He was parked in a tow-zone, facing in the wrong direction, one of the wheels up on the sidewalk, the vehicle abandoned for twenty-one minutes. This was going to be one long ticket.

Hitch just raised an eyebrow. ‘Wait here kid.’

The meter maid had her hands on her hips, like she meant business. She looked ready for a fight, like she was thinking, Here he comes, another bozo who doesn’t want to take responsibility for his own dumb actions.

Hitch strolled over and the meter maid crossed her arms – a defensive move.

Hitch leaned against his car and began talking – well not so much talking as chatting. The meter maid shifted her weight and relaxed her arms so she now stood with one hand on her hip – was she actually smiling?

Man, you’re good, thought Ruby. Hitch could talk his way out of a maze.

The conversation, for that’s what it had become, went on for some time. What is he telling her?

The meter maid looked over to where Ruby stood, then she stuck her ticket pad back in her pocket. She laughed and nodded her head.

She raised an arm as if to high-five Hitch. He wasn’t the high-fiving type, Ruby knew that, so instead he gave her a kind of salute. Happy with that, the meter maid walked off whistling a merry tune.

Ruby climbed into the car. ‘What did you say to her?’

‘Just explained what a great kid you are,’ replied Hitch as he slid into the driver’s seat.

‘Yeah, right – apart from that?’ said Ruby.

‘I said I could get her courtside tickets to the Twinford Sneakers play-offs.’

‘And can you?’

‘Sure, the organiser is an old friend of mine.’

‘I thought you secret agents didn’t have friends?’

‘No, you’re thinking of tax inspectors,’ said Hitch, starting the engine. ‘I’ve got more friends than I can handle.’

‘Funny,’ said Ruby, ‘I’ve never met any of them.’

‘They’re all the shy and retiring type,’ said Hitch.

Ruby looked at him. ‘You sure they’re not the invisible, imaginary type?’

‘Oh, they’re just quiet,’ said Hitch. ‘A game of cards and an early night.’

‘Sounds like a hoot, wish I could meet ’em.’

‘Ah, you wouldn’t like ’em kid,’ said Hitch. ‘Not one of them has an interest in bubblegum.’

Chapter 3.

IT WAS NO REAL SURPRISE TO RUBY that Hitch himself was bringing her into HQ today. Sure, she had been into the building’s hub many times and worked endless long hours in its secure surrounds, but even so knowledge of the ‘way in’ was not a given. The Spy Agency’s entrance moved frequently and Ruby was not among the privileged few informed of Spectrum 8’s plans and architectural changes. Hitch was her link to this underground world and without him she could very easily find herself shut out in the cold. You mess up, you’re out for good.

Last time Ruby had visited was by way of the little kid playground in the middle of Central City Park, and to Ruby’s huge annoyance and humiliation Vapona Begwell – fellow pupil, schoolyard enemy and major irritation – had observed her crawling into the kids’ caterpillar tunnel. Ruby still hadn’t lived it down and Bugwart (as Ruby called her) wasn’t about to let anyone forget it – ever.

Of course, Vapona had no idea what “Little Red Ridingfort” was actually doing in the caterpillar tunnel and she never would. To tell the secret of Spectrum was forbidden. That said, there was one person outside the organisation who did know, and he was Clancy Crew, the most loyal ally a school kid could have, and Ruby Redfort’s closest friend. He would part with body parts before divulging a sworn-to secret.

‘So where is the Spectrum portal this time?’ asked Ruby.

‘If I told you it was the toddler playground, what would you say?’ replied Hitch.

‘You have to be kidding!’ said Ruby. ‘You’re telling me I have to walk into the little kid playground and crawl into that activity fun tunnel again?’

Hitch said nothing.

‘Man, I bet this was your idea, you get a big kick outta this don’t you; humiliate the kid, watch her street credibility sink below zero. . . I bet you’re laughing all day long.’

Hitch looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

‘You really serious about this?’ asked Ruby.

‘Nah, I’m just messing with you Redfort. You should see the look on your face. You know, you can really whine when you want to.’

‘You shouldn’t kid around with people that way. It interferes with a trusting relationship.’

‘You shouldn’t get wound up so easily Redfort. You’ll get a reputation for being flappy.’

Ruby glared at him.

It had been around five months now since Hitch had walked through the Redforts’ front door and taken up work in their stylish modern home under the guise of ‘household manager’. Ruby’s mom still insisted on introducing him as the butler, even though Hitch had on many occasions more than hinted that he would prefer her not to.

This kind of undercover work would ordinarily be beneath someone of Hitch’s status, but Ruby Redfort was no ordinary assignment. The reason: she was the brightest code breaker to step into Spectrum since the late Bradley Baker. Bradley Baker had begun his career as a boy, had died a man, and was to this day a hero mourned by every agent at Spectrum. Bradley Baker was a legend and – to Ruby – a pain in the derrière.

It was hard to outdo a dead super-agent, but Ruby was certainly in the business of trying. She was ambitious; not just determined to outclass Baker’s code-breaking ability, but also to become at least as good a field agent. Whether she would or not remained to be seen.

So Hitch, for now, was her official protector. He had been a field agent for a long time now and was highly trained in many disciplines. It hadn’t exactly been his idea of a whole bunch of fun. Watching over a school kid was not without its frustrations, particularly a school kid with a big mouth. But Ruby grew on him. That was the thing about her – you just found yourself wishing she were there even when you wanted her to go jump in a lake.

She was sharp as a tack and keen as a knife; determined, hardworking, loyal and – luckily – pretty funny with it. There were few Spectrum agents Hitch could say all that about.

Hitch got a beep on his watch. He took the call through his earpiece and Ruby had no idea what was being said. All she knew was that three seconds later they were heading back in the direction they had come and were now making their way once again to the downtown city centre.

‘What’s the deal?’ asked Ruby.

‘I guess Spectrum are ramping up security,’ said Hitch. ‘They’ve moved the “way in” again.’

‘Something happened?’ she asked.

‘Something’s always happened,’ he replied.

Downtown all the buildings were tall, even the short ones. Imposing heavy-stone department stores, offices, government buildings, banks and apartment blocks. Skyscrapers rose up hundreds of feet, and when you looked up the city tapered away into blue. The older Twinfordites often referred to this part of the city as Mini Manhattan or Little-L.A., because it bore a certain resemblance to both; a sort of mixture of uptown New York and downtown L.A. Although in terms of square mileage it was not on the same scale as either.

The buildings were by and large attractive, many dating back to the 1920s and 30s. There were newer ones of course, all glass and steel, but when one stood in just the right spot and looked upwards beyond the modern street signage and billboards, one could imagine Twinford City past. This was why downtown Twinford was often used for feature films depicting another age, when 1930s mobsters screeched through the streets and elegantly dressed couples danced through the night.

This part of town was an area that Ruby loved – it was exciting somehow to lose one’s self, to become anonymous, in the crisscrossing streets; ant-like to someone looking down from the top of the gargantuan architecture.

Hitch parked underneath the building known as the Schroeder, in a single empty space among the seemingly endless rows of stationary cars. There was nothing to indicate that this one lone parking spot had been reserved for Hitch’s silver convertible, but Ruby got the impression that somehow it had. The car park ramps spiralled down below them and Ruby wondered just how many vehicles were sitting under this vast building.

‘1,500,’ said Hitch, as if reading her thoughts. ‘1,517 if you count the maintenance team’s trucks. All parked on three underground levels under seventy-seven floors of concrete, steel and glass. Makes the mind boggle, doesn’t it?’

‘Makes the mind wonder if you shouldn’t get out more,’ said Ruby. ‘Maybe call up some of those “fun friends” of yours, live a little.’

They climbed out of the car and walked across to the elevator. Someone had scratched a tiny image of a housefly next to the ‘down’ button, and there was a trail line etched into the steel of the doors as if the fly had just buzzed out. The doors opened and Ruby and Hitch stepped in. Hitch snapped open what seemed to be an invisible panel, pressed some digits and the doors behind them closed and the doors in front of them opened. They exited. On the other side was a dusty old service elevator. Hitch clanged open the concertina metal gate and they stepped into the rough wide box, punched the button marked “−8” and a second or seven later they began to move unsteadily towards the bottom of the elevator shaft, the dark lit up by a single naked light bulb that swung above them, casting eerie shadows as they descended.

How many would guess that this tired-looking elevator with its mean light source might lead to one of the world’s most sophisticated intelligence operations? Well, Ruby Redfort might; she had seen it all before.

Chapter 4.

WHEN THE DOORS OPENED THEY WERE IN A VERY DIFFERENT SPACE: huge, subterranean and sleek. No dust, no cobwebs, no bugs – of either variety.

‘So what exactly does our boss want to talk to me about?’ asked Ruby.

‘It’s not my business to say,’ said Hitch.

Ruby hadn’t seen LB, the head of Spectrum 8, since before the whole Blue Wolf mission had kicked off.

The thing was, by the time Ruby had been helicoptered off Wolf Paw Mountain and rushed to the emergency room, LB had had her own crisis to take care of; she’d been called away on urgent duty and unable to attend Ruby’s official debrief. That task had been passed to another agent.

‘Will she be in a good mood dya think?’ said Ruby, knowing this was about as likely as LB showing up in a pink trouser suit – LB only ever wore white.

Hitch didn’t answer. He just pointed to a waiting area, with sleek white chairs.

HITCH: ‘Wait here kid.’

RUBY: ‘OK.’

HITCH: ‘Here? You got that?’

RUBY: ‘Uh huh.’

HITCH: ‘That’s a yes, right?’

RUBY: ‘Uh huh.’

HITCH: ‘You’ll be called in about fifteen, OK?’

RUBY: ‘OK.’

HITCH: ‘Don’t move.’

RUBY: ‘Got it.’

Fifteen minutes, thought Ruby. Enough time to drink a soda. And, she walked off in the direction of the Spectrum canteen.

She got herself a can of Fizz and sat down on one of the stylish chairs arranged around one of the many cool-looking tables, all lit by low hanging lights. The effect was cosy and conspiratorial. The Spectrum canteen was no ordinary work cafeteria – like all things Spectrum, it gave the impression of being very pleased with itself.

Ruby took out her book of Rules, a small magenta pink notebook with the word RULES printed in bright red letters across the front.

She’d had this book of rules since she was four years old and it had grown into quite a list over the years. Seventy-nine of them in fact. Now she had a new rule to add.

DON’T STAND ON A WINDOW LEDGE IF YOU AREN’T COMPLETELY SURE WHETHER THE WINDOW OPENS INWARDS OR OUTWARDS.

OK, it was quite a specific rule. But a useful one. She’d improve on it later, give it a bit more pizzazz.

‘You look better.’

Ruby looked up to see Dr Harper, the Spectrum medic who had treated her when she was brought in from Wolf Paw Mountain.

‘Better than what?’

‘Better than what you looked like the last time I saw you.’

‘Yeah, well last time you saw me, I had the flu, plus an injured foot, a broken arm and I’d nearly died of being burnt to death.’

‘Yes, your hair doesn’t look so good,’ said Harper, making a face. ‘Still a bit. . . crispy. So is the arm giving you any trouble?’

‘Nah, not really,’ said Ruby. ‘But it itches like crazy.’

‘Yes, that’s healing for you,’ said Dr Harper. ‘Itchy.’

‘Anything you can give me for it?’ asked Ruby hopefully.

‘Yes,’ said Dr Harper reaching into her top pocket. ‘This.’ She handed Ruby a yellow pencil.

‘Thanks,’ said Ruby, ‘does it come with any directions?’

‘Yes, avoid the sharp end,’ replied Dr Harper.

‘How about my foot?’

The doctor gave it the once-over and declared it ‘good to go’.

‘You sure?’ asked Ruby.

‘Trust me, I’m a doctor,’ said Harper.

‘And there I was thinking you might be a comedian. What about my arm?’

‘Oh,’ said Dr Harper, ‘that’s healed too. I’d cut you out of that cast right now but I got to be somewhere.’ She looked at her watch anxiously.

‘A medical emergency?’ asked Ruby.

‘A table for two at the Twinford Grand,’ said Dr Harper.

‘You won’t help me out of this thing because you got a lunch date?’

‘Did no one ever tell you lunch is the most important meal of the day?’

‘That’s breakfast,’ said Ruby.

‘Oh dear, I missed breakfast,’ said Harper. ‘So, I guess twice as important that I don’t miss lunch.’

‘I’m glad I’m not dying,’ said Ruby.

‘No one dies of an arm cast,’ said Harper.

‘And you say you’re not a comedian,’ said Ruby.

‘See you next fall,’ called Dr Harper as she made her way out of the canteen.

Before Ruby had a chance to get back to her thoughts, a voice came through the cafeteria intercom system. ‘Redfort, Ruby, report immediately to Spectrum 8. Agent in charge, office situated on black and white level. HQ.’

The voice belonged to the Spectrum information announcer, a person Ruby had never actually laid eyes on, but imagined would not be someone you would want to land up on a desert island with.

She guessed the owner of this voice resided in the same general department as Buzz, the mushroom-like woman who manned the fifty-plus telephones in an office just off the central atrium. Why he couldn’t just say, ‘Ruby Redfort to LB’s office, pronto,’ Ruby didn’t know.

She finished her drink and slowly got to her feet, then she sauntered off to find LB.

‘Howdy,’ she said as she passed Buzz, who was as usual on the phone and talking to who knew what. Buzz blinked at her, pointed to her watch and continued her call.

As Ruby approached LB’s office she could see the door was slightly ajar and as she got nearer she could hear fragments of a discussion; the voices semi-hushed, she could only pick up words at intervals so they were separated from their meaning:

‘apparently removed without authorisation. . .’

‘. . . from the department of defence?’

‘that’s what we’ve been told’

‘highly classified?’

‘affirmative. . .’

‘but how could anyone make it in?’

‘entered via an air vent. . . I know it seems impossible’

‘nothing else tampered with?’

‘No sign of anything else missing, no sign of anyone or anything anywhere else in the building.’

‘You worried about our security?’

‘Always. I’m. . .’

‘. . .but only an idiot would attempt—’

She knocked and the conversation stopped dead.

‘Come in,’ said LB, her voice sounding even more gravelly and drawn-out than usual. ‘And close the darned door Redfort.’

Ruby pushed it shut behind her and walked over to the empty seat next to Hitch. He tapped his watch and gave her a look to say, why in the world of reason can’t you follow orders? She slung her satchel across the back of the chair and slumped down. Then she looked from LB to Hitch.

Hitch’s brow was ever so slightly furrowed; LB seemed not quite as composed as usual. In her hand was an object which she was turning over and over in her palm: a smooth rectangle of clear plastic or Lucite, the shape and size of a key tag perhaps. But the thing attached to it was no house key, or at least if it was, it was a pretty state-of-the-art locking device. When LB caught Ruby’s gaze she frowned, and slipped the thing into the pocket of her white jacket.

‘What’s with you guys?’ asked Ruby. ‘Did your kittens get run over or something?’

Hitch raised an eyebrow. ‘I wish the problem were a simple case of a couple of flat cats,’ he said, ‘and I speak as a cat lover.’

‘Must be serious then,’ said Ruby. ‘So you gonna tell me about it?’

‘No,’ said LB.

Ruby shrugged. ‘OK. So anything you do wanna share?’

LB gathered her papers into a neat pile and then peered at Ruby through her large white-rimmed soft-tinted glasses. Today she looked tired. Working late? Or is she not sleeping so good?

‘So. You did well Redfort. It’s a pity that you couldn’t manage to secure the wolf, but you prevented the suspect acquiring it and that is something.’

LB was referring back to the previous case Ruby had been assigned to, when she had indeed done well, albeit in a messy, skin-of-her-teeth sort of way. She had used her code-breaking and detective skills to figure out who had let loose a load of rare and wild animals from a zoo owned by a private collector. She had discovered the zookeeper was to blame, though he had later been murdered by those who had commissioned the crime.

The perpetrators had been a young woman, believed to be a perfumer, named Lorelei von Leyden, and her mysterious sponsor about whom they knew nothing other than that – from her accent and the location of her initial coded message – she was Australian. Both were prepared to kill more than once to get their hands on the Cyan scent – an intoxicating perfume extracted from the near extinct Cyan wolf. The scent was the stuff of myth and legend; a few drops were worth a small fortune.

The only problem was some of this scent had been successfully stolen.

‘Unfortunately,’ said LB, echoing Ruby’s thoughts, ‘they got away with it. So while I can congratulate you for cracking the case, I can’t help but feel it is a shame that you managed to let the vial of Cyan get into enemy hands, and the two main assailants disappear into the wide blue yonder. But there we are, amateur hour I dare say comes to us all.’

LB had an unfortunate way of turning what might first be construed as praise into something rather more approaching a dressing-down. Fortunately or unfortunately, Ruby had become accustomed to it and didn’t let it bother her.

‘Going back to the events of that particular encounter, can you repeat again exactly what it was that the Australian woman said to you before she encouraged you to walk off that cliff?’

‘I’m unlikely to forget,’ said Ruby. ‘I thought they were gonna be the last words I ever heard.’ This was no lie.

Ruby paused for a second, concentrating so she might recall it perfectly, and then said, ‘She asked me to hand over the vial of Cyan – she had a gun, so I did. I guess I thought she was intending to sell it for its perfume value, since it’s worth a lot – so I said, “All this so you can make some money out of some stupid fragrance.” And she said, “Is that what you think this is about? No sweetie, this is not about some high-end perfume counter cluttered up with rich folk wanting to waste their money. This is about something important, more important than you could ever imagine.”’