Ends of the Earth (16 page)

With a curt nod, the tall spy strode down the right-hand hall. They had nearly reached the staircase, when a bulky, muscular figure emerged from a side room.

“Ebelskeever,” said Max's father.

“Segredo,” said the LOTUS agent. His shoulders flexed.

For a millisecond, they froze, wolfish grins on their faces.

As Mr. Segredo raised his pistol, Ebelskeever moved with startling swiftness. He struck the Beretta from the tall spy's grip and seized the hand that held the Taser, slamming it against
the wall. The weapon fell to the carpet.

The two agents grappled, swaying. In a judo throw, Mr. Segredo tossed the bigger man over his hip, but before he could recover his weapons, Ebelskeever landed lightly and aimed a sweep kick at
him. Max's father dodged. When the LOTUS agent reached for the Taser, Mr. Segredo blasted a roundhouse kick at his head, driving him back.

Although Ebelskeever was larger and heavier, they seemed evenly matched in skill. The men raged up and down the corridor, punching and kicking. Snatching up the Taser, Wyatt tried to pass it to
Mr. Segredo, but Max's father couldn't look away from the other man for even a split second. Cinnabar balanced on the balls of her feet, seeking an opening to join the attack on the
enemy spy.

“Find the asset,” Mr. Segredo snapped. “Go!”

Wyatt hesitated, then jammed the Taser into his belt and yanked on Cinn's sleeve. Reluctantly, she came away, and both of them dashed for the stairs. Up and up they pounded, footfalls
whispering like secrets on the plush ivory carpet.

At the third floor, Cinnabar took the lead. Closed doors lined the wide, quiet corridor.

“Which one?” she asked.

“Fourth door…on the left…I think,” Wyatt panted.

Cinnabar tried the knob. The door swung open to reveal a small sitting room, as empty as a gambler's bank account.

“Wyatt…”

“Or was it…third door…on the right?” he wondered aloud, planting his hands on his knees and wheezing. He really had to start exercising more often. Or at all.

Cinnabar threw up her hands. “You mean you don't know where he is?”

Wyatt shrugged. “A GPS isn't…all that accurate.”

“And you waited until
now
to mention it?”

Hands still resting on his knees, Wyatt swung his head, examining the nearby doors. Among those he could see, only one of them boasted a newly installed dead bolt on the outside.

“There.” He pointed.

With a soft cry, Cinnabar rushed to the door. By the time Wyatt joined her, she'd already broken out her picks and was working on the dead bolt.

“Hurry,” said Wyatt helpfully. He glanced down the corridor. They were still alone. So far.

“You want this to go faster?” Cinnabar said around the pick between her teeth. “Tackle that second lock.”

“On it,” said Wyatt. He broke out his own set of tools and began tinkering with the doorknob.

“Who's there?” came a faint voice from the other side of the door.

Cinnabar pressed her cheek to the wood. “Max, it's me—Cinnabar.”

“And Wyatt,” Wyatt added. “Come to spring you, mate.”

“Brilliant!” Max sounded relieved. “Get me out of here!”

“Happy to,” said Cinnabar, “if you'll stop distracting us.”

“Oh, right,” said Max. “Sorry.” After a pause, he added, “Do hurry, though.”

Wyatt and Cinnabar focused on their work, and in another few minutes, the locks clicked open. Turning the knob, Cinnabar hurried into Max's arms for a fierce hug. This went on for several
heartbeats longer than was comfortable for Wyatt to watch, so he shuffled his feet and studied the carpet.

“You came for me,” Max said at last, stepping free of the embrace and looking from one friend to the other. His eyes shone, and he gripped Wyatt around the top of the shoulders in a
manly clinch.

“Well, yeah,” said Wyatt. “Didn't want you to have all the fun.”

“But how—?”

“Let's go.” Placing a hand on each of their backs, Cinnabar propelled them into the hall. “It's a long story. And in case you hadn't noticed, we're in
the bad guys' house.”

They jogged for the staircase. “But how did you get in?” asked Max. “And why are you dressed like that?”

“We met your dad, we raided a safe house, he made a plan, we broke in,” said Wyatt as the trio scrambled downstairs.

“Huh,” Cinnabar mused. “I guess it's not
that
long of a story.”

They hit the second-floor landing and pressed on, ever downward, the thick carpet swallowing their footsteps.

“Wait, my father's here?” said Max.

“Too right he is,” said Wyatt. “We left him fighting Ebelskeever, and—”

Max seized Wyatt's arm, yanking him to a stop. “Where?”

“First floor,” said Wyatt.

“And he's fighting
Ebelskeever
?” Max raked a hand through his hair. “Do we have any weapons?”

Wyatt struggled to tug the Taser out of his belt. “There's this, for starters.” Max accepted the weapon and pushed ahead.

Cinnabar caught at Max's shoulder. “He told us to get you out,” she said. “We should go.”

An unreadable expression crossed his face. “Not without my dad.”

Wyatt noticed that it was the first time Max had referred to his father as “dad.” He wondered if it meant anything.

“Your father wants you out of here,” said Cinnabar.

“And what, I just leave him behind? I didn't notice you abandoning your sister when things got tough.”

Cinnabar sized up their friend, her lips clamped tightly. She nodded once. “Okay. We'll take a quick peek around.”

When the little group reached the ground floor, Cinnabar and Wyatt headed left, toward where they'd left the combatants.

The hallway was deserted.

“Not good,” said Wyatt.

In fact, now that he noticed it, the whole place was quiet. Too quiet. No more wailing smoke alarms, no more shouting agents.

“Where is he?” Max asked.

“Dunno.” Cinnabar reversed direction and headed back toward where they'd entered the mansion. “Come on, we don't have time to look.”

“Wait,” Wyatt said. “We should take a different way out.”

Cinnabar put her hands on her hips. “Don't be daft.”

“No, listen to me,” said Wyatt, surprised at how forceful he was being. “By now, they know we caused the smoke, and they know where we broke in. They'll be expecting us
to use the same route. Won't they?”

He could read his friends' faces, almost as if he were reading their thoughts.
Wyatt's the tech guy—what does he know about operations?

Max shook his head. “Wyatt, I have to find my dad.”

“Too late,” said Cinnabar, planting her feet in a wide stance. “We need to take the escape route we know.”

Wyatt's jaw clenched. Ten minutes into their rescue, and already things were falling apart.

Sudden heat rose from his gut, as if he'd just chugged a lava milk shake and it didn't want to stay down. These were supposed to be his friends. Why wouldn't they listen to
him? Why did they always treat him like a total dill?

“Fine!” he roared. “Find your own way out.” And he whirled and stomped off down the hallway, the image of their stunned faces seared into his mind.

Wyatt's skin buzzed. His brain churned. He couldn't believe he'd done that; he also couldn't believe he'd waited so long to do it. It felt liberating; it felt
awful. Finally, after a minute, he could resist no longer. He glanced back for his friends.

They hadn't followed.

Doubt washed over him. Had he been too harsh? Or worse, had his idea been a bad one?

Around the corner, footsteps scuffed against the carpet. Rough voices echoed. Slipping into the nearest room, Wyatt closed the door nearly all the way, and peered through the crack.

Two hard-faced men in midnight-blue suits raced past. Their voices reached him like words blown from a speeding car.

“—trying to steal the device?” one was asking.

“They couldn't,” the other replied. “It just got here. Still, we have to…”

After they'd gone, Wyatt peeked outside. If those two agents were chasing Max and Cinnabar, he had to do something. He couldn't let LOTUS take his friends, no matter how pigheaded
they were acting.

Wyatt crept along the hallway after the two spies, hugging the wall and prepared to duck into hiding at any time. When he reached the intersection they'd passed on their way into the
mansion, he sank to the carpet and peered around the corner.

Good thing he did, too.

Because what Wyatt saw left him as dazed as a stunned mullet.

IF MAX SEGREDO
had been asked to list the least favorite moments of his life so far, this particular moment would definitely rank among the top
five.

His father, Simon Segredo, stood battered and bleeding in handcuffs, surrounded by LOTUS agents. More of these very same agents leveled large, no-nonsense guns at Max and Cinnabar. And off to
one side, beaming like she'd just been handed the keys to the city and a brand-new Rolls-Royce, stood none other than Mrs. Frost.

“Well, well,” she cooed. “Such a touching scene. Father and son, back together again.”

Eyes as steely as a boxful of knives, Simon Segredo met her gaze. “Let him go,” he said.

Ebelskeever sniggered, a sound like a grizzly bear choking on a ham bone. “Seems to me, you're in no position to make demands,
mate
,” he said, giving the last word a
sarcastic twist. Max was pleased to note the big goon's bruised face and right eye swelling shut. His father had clearly given Ebelskeever as good as he'd gotten.

Simon ignored the man. “Max served his purpose,” he told Mrs. Frost. “He brought me here. Now let them go.”

The LOTUS chief tugged on her sleeves with an amused smile. “Just when things are getting interesting? I think not.”

An ache clutched Max's heart at the beaten expression his father tried to hide. No matter what Simon might have done in the past, no matter how mixed up Max's feelings about him, the
man's pain was impossible to ignore.

“I won't fight it,” Max blurted.

“How's that?” Mrs. Frost's eyebrows lifted.

Max felt like he'd swallowed lead weights. “The adoption.” He couldn't look at her. “I'll agree to it, if you let them go.”

Cinnabar gasped. Simon's fists clenched, his stare was wounded.

Chuckles percolated from Ebelskeever and the other agents. “Ooh, how noble,” the big man crooned. “A bloody pair of martyrs, the both of you.” His gaze swung to Cinnabar.
“How 'bout you, girlie? Where's your noble gesture?”

“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.