Ends of the Earth (9 page)

Sprinting toward the van, he managed to work the grenade free. Over the hubbub in the square, it sounded like the shadowy driver was shouting something. Wyatt cocked his arm.

At that moment, a stray beam of streetlight caught the man's face—the thin lips, the long jaw. Simon Segredo! And just as the grenade left Wyatt's hand, he heard Max's
father's words: “Get in the van, you moppets!”

An hour later, after a chilly ride with all the windows down and multiple apologies from Wyatt, they returned to Mr. Vazquez's Chinatown hideout to regroup. Along the
way, they dropped Rashid at the hospital. His shoulder wound was painful but not critical, and Mr. V promised to come back soon to stay with him.

The teens and the two adults spread out in the living room of the shabby flat over the Soon Fatt restaurant. Time to enjoy their takeout meal and see whether the eatery lived up to its name.

“This is—mmmf—
so
yummo,” Wyatt mumbled, assaulting a plateful of lemon chicken-y bliss. He felt like he hadn't had a decent meal in donkey's
years.

“Keep your hands and arms well back, ladies and gents,” said Nikki. “The rare Tasmanian warthog has been known to munch stray fingers.”

“Ha-ha,” said Wyatt. But with his full mouth, it sounded more like “hng-hng.”

Mr. Segredo wiped his lips on a napkin. “First things first. Before we begin this reckless and possibly suicidal mission, we'll need all the help we can get. Where's the rest
of your group?”

Mr. V set down his chopsticks. “Stones, Madame Chiffre, and the other students are back in our town, not far from the orphanage—or what's left of it.” He grimaced.

“And how many are reliable operatives?”

Mr. Vazquez gave an expressive shrug. “Stones, for certain. Chiffre, Catarina…maybe Jazz.”

“If my sister's up for it,” said Cinnabar. Her expression put the issue in serious doubt. Wyatt knew Jazz was still dealing with the psychological aftereffects of being
imprisoned by LOTUS. He shuddered in sympathy.

Max's father rose and began to pace the long room—just like Max did when he was working through something, Wyatt noticed. “We'll need to scout the place more
thoroughly,” Mr. Segredo mused. “Maybe Stones can cover for you while you're with Rashid. What about Hantai Annie?”

Mr. Vazquez shook his head. “In the wind. I can't raise her on mobile phone or any of our other contact methods. I'm afraid…”

The teens' chopsticks slowed to a halt, an even truer sign of their emotional state than the glum expressions on their faces.

“She's out there somewhere,” said Wyatt staunchly. “Takes more than a little midnight raid to knock our Annie out of the action.” But his optimism was as hollow as
a lead pipe and the chicken felt like a gluey lump in his gut.

Max's father glanced out the window at the neon-tinged night, then turned to the group. He clasped his hands behind his back like a general surveying his troops. “So what are our
assets?”

Mr. Vazquez made a wry face. “A couple of weapons, that laptop”—he indicated the computer on a side table—“and the clothes on our back. You?”

“My deadly wit, a gear bag full of all the goodies I could muster, and my trusty Beretta,” said Max's father. “If Stones joins us, we've got six agents, four of
them kids. That's on our side of the equation.”

“And on the other side?” Wyatt asked.

“The latest security equipment, oodles of cash, enough weapons to arm several militias, squadrons of crack agents, and total ruthlessness—in short, all the might and majesty of LOTUS
in their own stronghold.”

“Cho!” Tremaine chuckled. “Frost won't stand a chance, mon.”

MAX'S HEART
threatened to pound its way out of his chest like a Rock'em Sock'em Robot. He froze, pinned in place by Vespa's
stare.

“What are you doing in my toilet?” she said, standing in the doorway to her bathroom. One hand rested on her sweater-clad chest and her eyes were wide, though she didn't seem
scared, merely surprised.

“I, er,” Max said. Involuntarily, he glanced back the way he'd come, at the door that led to Mrs. Frost's office, then caught himself.

Vespa's lips parted. “You went in
there
?” she breathed.

As Max saw it, he had two choices: lie like a broken watch and hope she believed it, or tell the truth and hope she didn't expose him. Given their history, he chose the lie.

“I had to talk,” Max said, feigning embarrassment. “I, er, felt bad about how I've been treating you, so I came in here to wait, and—”

She arched an eyebrow. “To wait in my loo?”

“Er, no. In your bedroom. And then I…”

Vespa cocked her head. “Have you stalked many girls?”

Max blushed and looked away. “No. Never.”

“Sneaking into someone's bedroom when they're away? Stalker move,” she said, the ghost of a smile playing about her lips. “I won't say I'm not
flattered, but…”

Vespa stepped in so close, Max could feel her breath on his face. He noticed flecks of gold in her brown eyes, and in a rush of guilty feeling, that gold reminded him of Cinnabar's
eyes.

“Uh,” he said. His cheeks felt warm.

“You and I both know the truth,” she whispered.

“We—” Max's voice broke. “We do?”

She nodded, and Max felt like he was standing in a garden, the smell of flowers was so strong. “You broke into my aunt's office to spy on her,” she breathed.

“That's ridic—” His denial died off when Vespa laid her index finger on his lips. He'd never met a girl who did that before.

“Shh,” she whispered. “My room is bugged. If we whisper, they'll just think we're having an intimate conversation. In my bedroom.”

Max's cheeks grew warm. “I—I'm not spying on your aunt,” he whispered, trying to stay focused.

“For a good spy, you're a terrible liar,” said Vespa. “But don't worry, I'll keep your secret.”

Max stared into those big brown eyes. A whirlpool of feelings coursed through him—doubt, hope, worry, relief, and something else he couldn't put a name to.

“Max, I'm your friend.”

“Friends don't betray each other,” he spat, before he could stop himself.

She winced. “They don't. What happened before won't happen again. I promise.”

Max's lips pursed. Could he really trust her? At this point, he had no choice but to pretend he could. He nodded.

A relieved smile lit her face like sudden sunshine. “Good. Now play along with me. I don't know if she's got cameras in my room, but I know there's a bug or
two.”

“Okay,” said Max.

“You're so fresh!” Vespa's voice grew louder and she assumed a flirty tone. “I can't believe you said that.”

Max followed her back into the bedroom. He tried for a suave attitude. “Believe it, baby.”

They both grimaced at his clumsy attempt to be Joe Smooth.

But Vespa kept up their cover. She giggled. “That's enough out of you! Better scoot before my aunt finds out.”

“Later, then,” said Max, reaching for the knob. With the door half open, he veered back to make some parting comment. But the impact of two warm lips on his cheek left him
stunned.

“For the cameras,” Vespa murmured.

“Uh,” said Max. And he stumbled from the room into the hallway.

“
There
you are,” said Humphrey, rounding the corner. His gaze flicked over Max's shoulder, then back to his face, and he grinned wolfishly. “Lover
boy.”

Max looked around. Vespa was shutting the door, and she blew him a kiss.

“That's me,” said Max. “Lover boy.”

Humphrey shook his head, chuckling. “The guv'nor won't be pleased when she hears of your shenanigans.”

“Don't tell?” Max pleaded.

“Boy,” said the agent, “ain't no secrets in this place.”

Max crossed and uncrossed his arms, thinking of what he'd actually been up to. For the sake of his mission and his life, he sincerely hoped Humphrey's statement wasn't
true.

Later that night, as he tossed and turned, waiting for sleep, all Max could think of was escaping from LOTUS by any means necessary. (Well, that, and the touch of Vespa's
lips on his cheek.) Maybe he was disappointing Hantai Annie by not continuing as a double agent, but he just couldn't—not with the threat of Mrs. Frost's adoption hanging over
him. No, he had to escape at the first opportunity.

He'd take one more stab at searching the hidden command center for information on his friends' whereabouts, and if that failed, well, he'd simply have to bolt. Maybe Max could
avoid cops, LOTUS, and truant officers long enough to find his friends and warn them that LOTUS was plotting against the government. Maybe not. But at least he wouldn't be sitting around on
his behind, waiting for the ax to fall.

That decision made, he drifted at last into an uneasy slumber.

At breakfast the next morning, Max toyed with his eggs and toast. The part of his mind that wasn't worrying about Vespa—and wondering about that kiss—brimmed with escape plans
and ploys for revisiting the secret chamber. At the same time, he also speculated on what beef LOTUS's chief had with the government. Tax problems? Passed over for some high honor?

So lost in thought was he that Max jerked when he realized Mrs. Frost was addressing him.

“Er, how's that?” he asked.

“I said,” Mrs. Frost repeated tartly, “what did you get up to last night?”

“Up to?” Max suppressed a guilty cringe. “Not much,” he said. “Playing video games, snacking, plotting world domination. The usual.” He carefully avoided
Vespa's gaze.

“Really?” said LOTUS's chief with mock innocence. “A little bird told me you had romance on your mind.”

Max could feel his ears getting warm. There truly
were
no secrets in this house. “Your bird was confused,” he said. “I, er…”

The spymaster chuckled. “Can't say as I blame you. She is lovely, my niece.” Now Vespa blushed and stared at her plate. “But we do have certain standards to uphold in
this family. There will be no hanky-panky under this roof, do I make myself clear?”

“Auntie!” said Vespa. “We would never—”

“See to it that you don't, my girl,” said Mrs. Frost. The white-haired woman leveled her penetrating gaze on Max. “Now then, have you reached a decision about our
new…living arrangement?”

Bozzini and Vespa both shifted to watch him. Max clenched a hand on his leg under the table. This would require some finesse.

“Not yet,” he said carefully. “I…feel so honored that you're willing to give me a permanent home. There's nothing I want more,” he said, with perfect
sincerity.

“But?” Those gray eyes pinned him in place like a moth on a corkboard.

Max focused on cutting a bite of his fried eggs. “Well…I'd feel better about it—more complete—if I knew what happened to Hantai Annie, Wyatt, and the rest.”
He managed a shrug. “Easier to let go, and all that.”

He chewed slowly, wondering if Mrs. Frost might actually let slip the info he needed.

“Dead,” she said, her voice as unemotional as if she were describing the weather.

Max nearly choked on his egg. He'd worried, of course, but never in his worst imaginings had he believed them to be gone.

“They're dead to you,” said the spymaster. “No matter where they are. If you're truly to become one of us, no more attachments to anyone in your old
life.”

A roaring filled his ears. With an effort, Max kept his fists from shaking. How
dare
she toy with him like that. “Not even my dad?” he asked, throat tight.

“Your
father
.” Mrs. Frost's voice was as cold as a year's worth of Januarys. “After he abandoned you for so long, after he caused your mother's
death—still you hold out hope? Your father,” she said, beheading a sausage, “is no one's idea of a father.”

Although he wanted to slap the woman for her cruelty and stand up for his dad, something inside Max withered at her words. The truth stung. Yes, Simon Segredo had disappeared when Max was little
more than a toddler, only to resurface last month. And yes, in their few encounters since then, he had lied, manipulated, and persuaded Max to betray his friends. Not exactly Father of the Year
material. But still…

“I need more time,” said Max. “This is a big decision.”

Mrs. Frost tore a scone in half with a twist of her wrist. “I am a patient woman. But I will not have my generosity taken for granted. You shall give me an answer by tonight.
Understood?”

Max nodded, afraid to trust his voice.
Tonight?
This called for drastic measures. He wolfed down the rest of his breakfast, but then the tureen of porridge caught his eye, and a sudden
inspiration struck.