Ends of the Earth (22 page)

He hoped it would be in time. Wyatt had a bad feeling that Mrs. Frost would use her dangerous new toy sooner rather than later.

And he really didn't want to witness the results.

Switching on the heat under the kettle, he dumped the old tea leaves into the sink and added some fresh Earl Grey to the brewing basket.

“Any progress?”

Wyatt wheeled about to see Cinnabar enter the kitchen. “Oh, I cracked LOTUS's private network,” he said in what he hoped was an offhand way. “You?”

“Wyatt, that's brilliant!” Cinn rushed over and grabbed him by both hands.

His cheeks warmed at her praise. “Yeah, well. It's all encoded anyway.”

“Even so,” she said. “Well done, you. We've been trolling the government Web sites for hours, and so far, nothing about LOTUS, and no luck with the hacking.”

Wyatt's gaze dropped to the soggy tea leaves in the sink. “Cinn, what if we're too late?”

“What do you mean?”

That tickle of dread in the pit of his stomach sharpened. “They've got all the money, all the manpower, all the connections. What if we can't stop LOTUS in time?”

She gripped his hands tighter and gave Wyatt a little shake.

“We'll just have to, that's all,” she said lightly. But the false cheer in her voice was as obvious as a preschooler's lie.

Mr. Stones called from the next room. “Wyatt? Get your bucket in here.”

Wyatt's eyes met Cinnabar's, which were as mystified as his own. They hustled into the living room, where Stones and Nikki stood over Wyatt's laptop.

“Problem?” said Wyatt, joining them.

Stones only pointed.

On the screen, one of the deciphering programs had finally stopped its work. A pop-up message blinked in blue letters:

With quivering fingers, Wyatt typed his password and tapped the key. Two lines scrolled across the screen:

“Brilliant,” said Cinnabar with a wide smile. “So where's Location One?”

If the shabby safe house had been a beehive of activity earlier, this news amped things up to a whole new level. While Wyatt continued to search for and decode other LOTUS
messages, the rest of the crew set their sights on pinning down Location I.

With only six and a half hours to go, this task took on a certain urgency.

Stones and Mr. Segredo barked orders, hurrying back and forth between computers and phoning all their contacts for leads. Tremaine, Cinnabar, and Nikki hacked for all they were worth. Hantai
Annie and Max were headed back in, Max having managed to scatter a few more of Wyatt's Trojan horse drives in Parliament's employee parking lot.

Everyone focused on that seven thirty deadline. Everyone tried to discover where the meeting would take place.

Had LOTUS lured the top ministers with a conference on some vital topic—national security, perhaps? Wyatt wondered. Or was Mrs. Frost's group planning to crash some other gathering
that had already been slated?

No seven thirty ministerial meetings of any sort showed up on the publicly accessible schedules. But many sensitive discussions weren't listed. Despite pleas, complaints, and veiled
threats, the offices of Mr. Stones's and Mr. Segredo's MPs were of no help whatsoever.

Through it all, Wyatt was impressed at how well Max's dad was able to work with the rest of the S.P.I.E.S. team. For a lone wolf and man of mystery, he displayed surprising patience and an
ability to operate within the group. True, Mr. Segredo and Stones occasionally had their differences, but so far they'd been able to iron things out without having to resort to biting and
punching.

At last, Hantai Annie arrived with Max in tow, and everyone crowded around them, talking at once.

“Director, there's only five hours left!”

“Come and see what we did with LOTUS's e-mail system.”

“I can't work with Nikki any longer—she's driving me bonkers!”

Hantai Annie held up a hand.
“Oi! Shizukani shiro!”
she barked. “Everybody shut you mouth!”

Finally, the living room fell silent.

“One at a time, make report.”

Taking turns, the team members filled her in on their progress. After a brief huddle with Stones and Mr. Segredo, Hantai Annie addressed the group.

“Time is short, and we don't know location,” she said. “So we play odds.”

“Play odds?” asked Max. “Like with horse racing?”

“Atari,”
she said. “You got it. Odds are, meeting is somewhere in Parliament. So, we keep searching for site, but we prepare for meeting to happen there.
Wakatta
ka
?”

“Loud and clear,” said Tremaine.

“No time to plan fancy break-in,” said Hantai Annie.

Stones screwed up his face thoughtfully. “How about staging a diversion?”

“No good,” said Mr. Segredo. “One whiff of any threat, and the whole place goes into lockdown.”

Mr. Stones shot him a dirty look, but said nothing.

“So, how do we get inside?” asked Wyatt.

Hantai Annie arched an eyebrow. “Only way a group of kids can get in,” she said. “School tour.”

IT TOOK
some quick scrambling and a fair amount of arm-twisting on Lady Sallow-Dankworth (not literal arm-twisting, though Annie was sorely tempted),
but in the end, the Merry Sunshine Orphanage School was able to arrange a last-minute parliamentary tour at four fifteen that same day.

Now all they had to do was sneak away from their guide, hack into the massively protected computer system of one of the world's most developed nations, and save that nation's
government from a diabolical plot—all by seven thirty that night.

No pressure there, thought Cinnabar.

There wasn't time to hunt down private-school uniforms before they left, for which Cinnabar was eternally grateful. (It's hard to rock a boring blue-and-gray outfit with dorky school
tie, after all.) So instead, the S.P.I.E.S. crew ended up wearing street clothes and going as themselves—an unusual and uncomfortable situation for a group of spies.

Thanks to the security screening process, they had to leave nearly all weapons behind. Still, the group managed to smuggle a few useful items into the building. A bad moment came when the police
challenged Mr. Stones's “cane,” but when he loudly griped that he'd received his “injury” defending the country in the last war, the duty sergeant waved him
through. At last, the team reached its appointed rendezvous and discovered Lady Sallow-Dankworth's aide, Kevin Chopra, waiting for them.

“Welcome to all you Merry Sunshine students and—” the Indian man began, and then he caught sight of Max and Annie. “Er, hang on. Didn't I see you two
earlier?”

Max grinned and held up his palms. “Busted,” he said. “We wanted to find out whether our school would enjoy the tour.”

Cinnabar admired how he could turn on the charm like that, and it seemed to be working—mostly.

“But why did you book your tour at the last minute?” Mr. Chopra asked.

“Because…” Cinnabar lied, “our, um, mock Parliament debate is tomorrow, and we simply
must
see the real thing first.” She gave him a dose of her own
charm, batting those golden eyes that many said were her best feature.

Mr. Chopra's forehead creased. “Are you all right, miss? Something in your eye?”

Suppressing a flicker of irritation, Cinnabar assured him she was fine. Her charm might not have worked as intended, but at least it helped distract their guide from uncomfortable subjects.

“Everyone stay close, please,” said the aide. “At this late hour, we may not be able to offer the full tour, but if we move smartly, we can hit at least some major highlights.
This way to the Central Lobby.”

Max leaned close to the spymaster. “I can't believe you got us in. Exactly what do you have on Lady Sallow-Dankworth?”

“Kept her son's story out of media,” Annie whispered. Her index finger went to her lips in a
shush
gesture. “
Very
embarrassing.”

As Mr. Chopra led them off, Hantai Annie gave a tiny nod to Cinnabar and Wyatt.

“Sorry, mate,” said Wyatt, “but I need to make a pause for the cause.”

The aide glanced around, frowning. “Beg pardon?”

“You know,” said the blond boy, tilting his head toward the toilets. “See a man about a horse? Punish the porcelain? Drain the—”

“Yes, me too,” Cinnabar cut in. “Don't worry, we'll catch up to you in the er, Main Lobby.”

Mr. Chopra handed them a doubtful look, but Hantai Annie barked commands, hustling the little band forward, and she was a force of nature that few could resist. Cinnabar and Wyatt entered the
respective ladies' and gents' rooms, waited for couple minutes, and then peeked outside.

The coast was clear. Their team had marched out of sight, and this late in the day, only a group of French tourists could be seen, making its way toward the exit.

Cinnabar jerked her head at Wyatt and mouthed, “Let's go.”

Strolling casually, they headed along the hallway. A passing pair of constables glanced at them curiously, but didn't break stride or stop their conversation. When a narrow corridor
appeared on the right, Cinnabar and Wyatt ducked into it.

“According to the map, there are loads of offices down this way,” said Cinnabar. The air felt stale and musty, like nobody had ever opened any windows and people had been breathing
the same oxygen over and over since Shakespeare's time. Everything smelled like old leather and dust.

“All we need is one open computer,” said Wyatt. “Shouldn't be too hard this late in the day.”

“Assuming Mr. Chopra doesn't come searching for us,” said Cinnabar. “Or security doesn't get suspicious.”

Wyatt cocked his head. “Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine?”

She shot him a glare. Maybe she was being overly pessimistic, but Cinnabar couldn't shake a sense of unease. This spying mission carried serious consequences if they were caught.

Unlike the grander main passageway, this hallway seemed narrow and dingy, designed to impress no one. Offices crowded together like shoe boxes on a hoarder's shelf. At the first few doors
they surprised startled-looking secretaries who wondered aloud what kids were doing in this wing.

“Hunting for my dad's office,” said Wyatt, employing his big-eyed, innocent-baby expression. “Sorry to trouble you.”

Cinnabar was irked to see that his goofy brand of charm was more effective than hers. Not that they were having a charm competition or anything.

Finally, near the end of that long corridor, she and Wyatt came across the perfect candidate: an office that was both unoccupied and unlocked.

“You stand guard, I'll go hacking,” said Wyatt.

“No,
you
stand guard, and I'll hack,” said Cinnabar.

They glared at each other for a few beats, then simultaneously seemed to realize that their search time was limited.

Wyatt shrugged. “Okay, we'll both go in.”

Once through the door, Cinnabar turned the bolt to give them a bit of warning, and Wyatt took advantage of her delay to scoot in front of the room's only computer.

“Hey!” she said.

“Snooze, you lose,” he crowed, plugging a thumb drive into the USB port and beginning to work on cracking the password.

Cinnabar put her fists on her hips and blew out some air, considering. Time was tight; she couldn't waste it arguing with Wyatt. She'd have to be the mature one—like
always.

Giving the cubbyhole-size office the once-over, she noted details: the stacks of papers piled on every horizontal surface, the dusty old fan, assorted keepsakes, and the many framed photos of
the MP (a tired-looking blond man) smiling phony smiles with various other people in dark suits. On the wall above the MP's desk, a poster featuring a crowned vulture declared
KEEP CALM AND CARRION
.

Did people lose their sense of humor when they entered politics? Cinnabar wondered.

On the hunch that maybe not everyone kept their schedule on the computer, she rooted around the messy desk for a calendar or appointment book. No luck. She did encounter a cup of lukewarm
coffee, stacks of complaint letters, an engraved invitation to some kind of event called Cirque du Chat that evening, and notes on a civil service committee meeting that were dull enough to put a
sugar-crazed kindergartner to sleep in the blink of an eye.

The doorknob rattled.

“Thought you didn't lock up,” said a male voice outside.

“Must have done it on autopilot,” a female voice replied. The key scraped in the lock.

Cinnabar and Wyatt shared a worried glance. He pocketed the thumb drive. She scanned the tiny office. Nowhere to hide—they'd simply have to brass it out.