Ends of the Earth (19 page)

Could it really be this easy? Wyatt's life in foster care told him, not bloody likely.

And what do you know? Wyatt was right.

Hantai Annie slid her key card through the scanner, they stepped out the door, and they nearly bumped into the looming figure of Styx.

The huge man lowered his buzz-cut head and stared. “What are this lot doing out?” he growled.

“Orders,” said Hantai Annie in her bored Dijon voice.

Wyatt chewed his lip. Would their bluff work?

“Where you taking them?” said Styx.

Annie jerked her head to the right in a vague manner. “Out back.”

“To the cages? That's daft.” Styx's thick hand came up to scratch his bull neck. “Whose orders?”

“All the way from the top,” said Dijon/Annie. “You want to argue with the guv'nor, be my guest.” She kept her face bland, her manner casual and cruel.

Styx scowled, peering between her and her captives, like he knew something was dodgy, but couldn't put his finger on it. “Your face looks funny,” he said.

“That's rich, coming from someone who used to model for Halloween fright masks,” sneered Annie-as-Dijon.

Mr. Segredo tensed, readying for action. Wyatt rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants legs. Would the turncoat agent buy their lie?

Drawn to the movement, Styx's eyes widened. “Here now, this one's got loose.”

Too late, Wyatt realized he'd separated his hands to wipe his palms. The handcuffs dangled from one wrist. “Heh.” He offered a nervous smile. “No worries. I'm
supertrustworthy.”

Styx's hand strayed to his holster, where it hung under his arm.

Before the spy could draw his weapon or shout an alarm, Max whipped out his pepper spray and gave Styx a full blast, squarely in the face.

“Gaack!” The bearlike man staggered backward, arms raised for protection. Simon Segredo punched him in his undefended gut.

Then, in a lightning-fast sequence of kicks and strikes, Hantai Annie had Styx on the ground gasping for air. She crouched over him, eyes blazing.

“Omae,”
she spat. “You always were slow learner.”

“Ah—Annie?” coughed Styx. His pale skin went even paler.

“Night-night,
traitor
.” And with that, she punched him in the temple.

Styx's head lolled. He was out cold.

“Quickly,” Mr. Segredo said, stepping forward. “Help me truss up this stonking great rhino and hide him.”

Working together, they cuffed Styx hand and foot. It took all five of them to lug his limp form into the shadows behind a hedge.

“Whatever else he's been doing here,” grunted Wyatt, “he sure hasn't skimped on meals.”

“They'll be sounding the alarm soon,” said Mr. Segredo. “We should—”

“Wakatta,”
said Annie. “We go.”

She took the lead, slipping along the hedge line, staying low. Wyatt was sure that LOTUS had plenty of cameras covering the grounds. They were, after all, an ultra-high-tech outfit. Idly, he
wished that S.P.I.E.S. had as many fancy toys for him to play with.

From the other end of the property, dogs barked.

Max's eyes widened. “Let's get cracking,” he said. “We don't want to meet up with Wynken and Blynken.”

“I like dogs,” said Cinn.

“Not
these
mutts,” said Max. “They're more like killer whales with legs.”

Annie picked up the pace, and now they were nearly trotting, past a fountain and across a wide swath of lawn. At the rear of the group, Wyatt kept glancing behind them, not wanting to be
surprised by snapping jaws and white fangs.

The wind shifted, and a familiar odor teased his nose. The tang of wet hay, overlaid with a musky scent and the hint of something even stenchier.

Wyatt slowed. “That smell. I know I've smelled it before.”

Taking his arm, Max hurried him along. “Yes, it's the smell of your dirty laundry. Let's pick up the pace.”

“No,” said Wyatt. “It reminds me of the circus.”

“The circus?” Now Cinnabar slowed too. “Your fosters took you to the circus? I'm jealous.”

“It's probably Mr. Schnickelfritz,” said Max. To their blank looks, he replied, “Mrs. Frost's pet tiger.”

Hantai Annie glanced back and saw they'd fallen behind.
“Isoge!”
she snapped. “Move it!”

The dogs' barking grew louder, deep and rough. These were not happy puppies. Wyatt, Max, and Cinnabar broke into a run, following the adults.

“Actually,” Wyatt panted, “when I was a…little ankle-biter, my gran…worked in the circus. I was so…good with lions and tigers, everyone…called me the Cat
Whisperer.”

“Are you a dog whisperer too?” asked Cinn.

“Sorry, no.”

“Then get your skates on, mate,” said Max, lengthening his stride.

Hantai Annie led them through a stand of trees. Wet leaves squished underfoot, and Wyatt slid, banging his knee on an unseen trunk. When they emerged from the other side of the grove, they
fetched up against the brick wall—tall, forbidding, and topped with razor wire.

“I don't suppose you've got a spare ladder?” said Simon Segredo, glancing down the path.

Distant shouts echoed from the mansion. Sweat drenched Wyatt's brow. They were up a gum tree for sure; the alarm was well and truly raised. He checked out the wall. No friendly tree
branches overhung it, no mini-trampolines waited patiently.

How would they make it over?

“This way,” said Annie, dashing to the left. The other four followed in her wake, pounding along the path between wall and trees. Wyatt sincerely hoped the spymaster had a plan.

Just when he began to get a wicked stitch in his side, Hantai Annie called a halt. Wyatt didn't like the worried light in her eyes.

“What?” asked Mr. Segredo.

“Doko da?”
Annie mused. “Where is it?”

“Where's what?” said Cinnabar.

The spymaster scowled. “Rope ladder,” she said. “Should be here.” As she dug in a pocket for her cell phone, a funny expression crept across Max's face.

“Half a tick.” He patted the straps of his jet pack. “Why don't I just fly everyone over?”

“Max,” said Mr. Segredo. “I'm not sure…”

Cinnabar eyed the jet pack dubiously. “On that? Didn't you say you crashed it in the command center?”

“Well, yeah,” said Max. “But that was my first flight. I'm loads better now.”

“Because of all the practice you've had since then?” Cinnabar cocked her head.

“Here, I'll prove it,” said Max. “Wrap your arms around me. You'll be my first passenger.”

She backed away. “No, thanks.”

“Wyatt?”

On the phone, Hantai Annie was asking Mr. Stones about the rope ladder. Mr. Segredo had trotted farther down the path, looking for another way over. Wyatt noticed the dogs' barks had
changed pitch, from a deep
woof-woof
to the sort of bellowing cry that hunting bloodhounds made in old prisonbreak movies. They were on the move.

“Beauty,” said Wyatt. “Let's do it.”

He stepped close and awkwardly clutched Max in a bear hug. They were best mates, but it still felt weird to grab a guy like this. Max craned his neck around to see the controls.
“Okay,” he said. “Blast off in…three…two…one!”

The jet pack's engines roared like angry surf on a reef. With a sudden jerk, they were airborne.

Wyatt's feet dangled. A laugh erupted from him. “Hey! You did it!”

“See?” cried Max. “I told you—”

Before his friend could finish that thought, Wyatt felt himself traveling more backward than upward.

And just like that,
wham!
His back slammed into the brick wall, he lost his grip, and he plummeted to the ground.

As he lay flat on the path, Wyatt woozily watched Max and his jet pack zip back in the other direction, straight into a spreading oak tree.

“Baka yarou!”
barked Hantai Annie. “Stop playing foolish!” She helped Wyatt stand and made sure he was okay.

“I'm not playing!” said Max, trying to disengage himself from a branch as the jet pack whined. He bobbed up, down, and around, like a hooked marlin fighting a fishing line.
“I'm trying to—
ungh!
” With a last jerk, he wrenched himself free and whirled back into the air.

“Careful, Max!” cried Mr. Segredo, rejoining the group.

At that instant, floodlights flashed on, bright as a Barbados sunrise. Wyatt blinked, temporarily blinded. Shouts rang from behind them and from the right, as if two teams of guards were
converging on the escapees.

“There!” cried Cinnabar.

When Wyatt's vision cleared, he saw what she was talking about: a heavy carpet had been tossed atop the razor wire. It was followed by the
whump
of a rope ladder being flung
across the wall.

“Bloody thing!” Mr. Stones cursed from the other side.

Wyatt noticed that the ladder had missed the carpet entirely and now dangled across razor wire. He sure didn't fancy climbing that.

Stones tugged from the other side, but the rope was stuck fast. The team couldn't escape until their route was secure.

“Max-
kun
!” cried Hantai Annie. “Some help?”

IN THE GLARE
of the floodlights, Max's golden-brown face seemed a little green around the gills. He wrestled with the jet pack's controls,
first soaring too high, then nearly impaling himself on a wall spike.

“Watch it!” yelled Mr. Segredo.

Cinnabar's heart tried to crawl out of her throat. Would brave, reckless Max kill himself trying to save them?

At last, he managed to hook a foot under the ladder and lift it straight up, off the barbed wire. With a kick, he flipped it over so it lay on the protective carpet.

“Go, go, go!” cried Annie.

Wyatt leaped for the ladder and scrambled up the rungs.

“Whatever happened to ladies first?” Cinnabar asked.

“Sorry,” called Wyatt over his shoulder. “Like I told you, I'm a cat person, not a dog person.” Deep baying from the approaching watchdogs underlined his
remark.

An amplified voice boomed from concealed speakers. “It's useless to run.” Mrs. Frost's clipped, sneering tone was instantly recognizable. “My team will be on you in
seconds—you can't escape.”

“Just watch us!” shouted Max, and he spiraled like a dizzy butterfly, right over the wall and out of sight.

“You'd better not damage my jet pack!” snapped the LOTUS chief.

Cinnabar shook her head as she followed Wyatt up the ladder. “Too late.”

At the top of the wall, she glanced back. Her stomach churned. A half-dozen LOTUS agents were racing down the pathway, around the bend. In seconds, they would spot Mr. Segredo, covering their
backs, and Hantai Annie, who had just stepped onto the lowest rung.

“Enemy agents!” she called down, pointing at the onrushing spies.

Mr. Segredo brought up his pistol and squeezed off three shots as the first LOTUS agents hove into view. A couple of the spies ducked behind tree trunks to return fire while the rest crashed
into the brush.

“They're circling behind you,” Cinnabar cried.

One of the enemy agents shouted, “The brat on the wall is spotting for them.”

“Take her out!” cried another.

A bullet whined, pinging off the iron spike beside Cinnabar. At the near miss, her innards turned to custard.

“Down!” cried Hantai Annie.
“Isoge!”

“Gladly,” muttered Cinnabar, swinging her legs over the other side. The last thing she saw was Hantai Annie pitching a smoke bomb toward the shooter.

Rough hands helped her down the last rungs.

“All right, then, sunshine?” Mr. Stones's brown skin blended into the shadows, but his smile gleamed, a jack-o'-lantern grin.

“Never better,” she said, giving him a quick hug.

Cinnabar noted that Tremaine and Nikki were helping disentangle Max from a gorse bush, mostly unharmed. “What about Annie and Mr. Segredo?”

“Don't worry your head about it, pumpkin cake. They're aces.” Stones scowled. “What I'd give to be with 'em, handing those dirty buggers a bit of
what-for, but the boss said to keep you lot safe.”

A crafty look crossed his face. “Still, maybe I could lend a hand.” The short, burly agent fished a smoke bomb from his jacket pocket. He cocked an arm to hurl it, but winced at the
pain. “Bugger and blast!”

“Here, let me,” said Cinnabar.

Grimacing, Mr. Stones passed over the device. “The shoulder's not quite up to snuff since I got shot. Bloody Styx—if I ever get my hands on that ratbag…”

“Right now he's knocked out and handcuffed.”

Stones's smile returned. “That's my girl.”

Cinnabar chucked the smoke bomb over the wall in the same direction Hantai Annie had thrown hers, narrowly missing the spymaster's head as it popped into view. Hantai Annie merely grunted
and dodged. She swung one leg over the carpet and, producing a pistol, lay down a covering fire for Mr. Segredo.