‘Why is he still here?’ Soren asked, looking at the dark-haired man sitting to his father’s left. The boy folded his arms.
Axel Gruber had become an almost permanent fixture in their lives about three years ago, recently moving into the family home. Officially he was Fox and Heike’s personal trainer, but Soren suspected he was much more than that. Axel and his father were always locked away in the study or going to meetings. Soren hated that the man garnered far more of his father’s attention than he ever had and things were only getting worse.
‘Soren!’ his mother chided. ‘Axel is our guest.’
But the boy didn’t care.
Fox glared at his fair-haired son. ‘One day you will understand the value of good people, Soren. Loyal people who understand exactly what is required of them. Until then I advise that you keep your mouth closed and your ears open, rather than the other way around.’
Soren caught the sneer on Axel’s tanned face. There was something about the dark-haired man that made him feel very ill at ease.
Sylvie returned with some tongs and a small set of kitchen scales. She was about to lift the steak from Fox’s plate when he stopped her. ‘I will do it.’
Soren noticed how the woman wrung her hands together and wiped a tiny droplet of perspiration from her temple.
Despite having lived with the Van Leers since Soren was a toddler, Sylvie’s nerves still jangled more often than was probably healthy. It bewildered him why she stayed, but he was very glad that she did. Sylvie was kind and fun – everything his parents weren’t. He’d die if she left them.
The young woman glanced across at Soren while Fox weighed the meat. A frown settled on her forehead as she looked back to the screen, which flashed before a long beep.
‘Mmm,’ the man said. ‘Exactly two hundred grams.’ The disappointment in his voice was clear as he then insisted she bring the three other plates to him. With the exception of Heike’s steak that was two hundred and one grams, the others were all spot on.
‘Eat,’ Fox instructed.
There was no apology. Sylvie hovered for a moment, wondering what that miniscule oversight was about to cost her, before she hastily removed the scales and tongs, scurrying away to the kitchen.
‘Fox, Dr Faust will be here tomorrow at two for maintenance,’ Heike said to her husband.
Soren blanched inwardly. It wouldn’t do for him to show an actual expression on his face, lest he too be seen as a candidate for all the ghastly ‘beauty’ treatments Dr Faust practised on his parents. Both of them had made so many changes to their faces that they were beginning to resemble cats and not in a good way.
‘I don’t have time,’ Fox snapped then caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the wall behind his wife. He ran his finger along his left jawline and, though he didn’t think anyone was watching, Soren could see exactly what he was doing.
Heike leaned towards her husband. ‘I can cancel the appointment if you’d like, but in another month that,’ she looked at his face and waved a hand around her own, ‘could be a problem.’
‘Fine, I will make the time,’ Fox said.
Soren finished his meal, glad that the sauerkraut wasn’t as cold as he’d expected. It was far from his favourite dish, though he’d relished the steak and mashed potato. Hopefully his parents wouldn’t discover another new diet anytime soon. He was really enjoying this one.
The boy’s thoughts drifted to the project he’d been working on. His father was a self-professed computer genius, but Soren was determined to match the man – or at least prove that he was capable of big things.
‘Soren!’ his father barked. ‘What do you think?’ The man picked up his glass and took a sip of mineral water.
The boy recoiled. ‘Sorry, Papa. I was contemplating my homework.’
His mother came to the rescue. ‘Your father asked how you are feeling about spending a month in the mountains.’
‘What? When?’ the boy asked, leaning forward in his seat. It was the first he’d heard of it.
‘We are going to the chalet in Zermatt next week,’ Fox said.
‘But what about school and my friends?’ Soren said. ‘I can’t take any time off to go to Switzerland. It’s against the rules.’
‘We will ask the school to send your work and Sylvie can supervise,’ his father said.
‘But I have examinations coming. Sylvie can take care of me here.’ Soren looked into his father’s eyes, silently pleading.
‘You are my son and you will do as you are told. I want you to enjoy the mountain air and spend some time outside, away from that damn screen. It will do you good. Besides, no one will be here,’ the man explained.
‘But you’re always on the computer,’ Soren argued. ‘Isn’t that how you made your fortune?’
Fox’s overblown lip curled like a giant caterpillar. ‘Yes, but you’re not me, Soren. I have more talent in my little pinky nail than you have in your whole body – and if you do not believe that is true, then you must prove it to me.’
‘What about Axel? Why is he coming?’ Soren demanded.
‘Would you leave your right hand at home when you have business to attend to?’ Fox tried to narrow his eyes, but nothing on his face moved.
Soren knew that this was a battle he wouldn’t win. He decided to change tack.
‘Will you ski with me then, Papa?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ the man said. ‘Your mother and I will be out every morning for first tracks and you will join us – not negotiable.’
But that’s not what Soren wanted – to be up at dawn, trekking to the top of the mountain in the dark only to have his father beat him down the slopes every time and take the greatest of pleasure in doing so. If he was allowed to bring a friend with him, or meet some kids his own age, then it would be something to look forward to.
The boy did his best to stop the tears that were threatening. He wouldn’t cry in front of them. It would only make his father angry and he hated when the man ranted. Soren glanced at Sylvie who was standing in the doorway. She gave him a tight smile then pulled a face, to mimic his father’s frozen features. Soren bit his lip to stop from laughing. ‘It’s okay,’ Sylvie mouthed. Soren knew it wasn’t but he was glad that Sylvie was coming with them – at least that was something positive.
Kensy leaned against the doorframe, her arms folded. ‘So what do you think?’ she said, walking into the room where she plonked down on the end of Max’s bed. Her brother was sitting on the swivel chair at his desk with the pages of a workbook open and a pen in his hand.
‘About what?’ he asked. ‘Granny’s surprise news or today’s strange events?’
Kensy shrugged. ‘Both.’
During dinner their grandmother had revealed scant details of an upcoming mission, which was thrilling and slightly nerve-racking at the same time.
‘I wish Granny had given us a bit more information. I mean I’m super excited that we’re going to Switzerland, but we still don’t know exactly where or what we’re supposed to be doing.’
The twins had only been there once before – just over a year ago with Fitz, the day their lives were turned upside down. They’d arrived in Zermatt in the Alps to meet their parents – who were due to start work with the ski patrol and in the hospital clinic. Anna and Ed had taken a holiday en route from Australia after the twins had convinced them that they be allowed to stay on for another month at their school in Jindabyne. Fitz was looking after them and Kensy and Max said it was the perfect opportunity for their parents to have a well-earned break and do some voluntary work in Africa. But when Anna and Ed didn’t show up right on time Fitz had started acting very strangely. He insisted they leave straightaway. The man had then driven non-stop for sixteen hours to Alexandria, their grandmother’s mansion in North Yorkshire (not that they knew it at the time). It had been the weirdest day of their lives – but little did they know then just how much stranger things were about to get.
Kensy pulled out her hair ti
e and began to unravel her long plait. ‘Granny said we should be ready to leave at a moment’s notice – so I gather we should pack a bag, but do we need ski suits or just regular clothes?’
‘Hopefully she’ll tell us soon. And is the mission surveillance? Do we have to cosy up to some more kids like we did with Van and Ellery? Are we going undercover?’ Max pondered.
‘Granny said that we should think of it as a working holiday and that we’re going to love what we’re doing so maybe it is to the snow. That would be amazing. I wonder if that’s why she had the VR skiing room installed here – so we could start training again, even if it is only virtually,’ Kensy said.
Max grinned, still coming to terms with their latest piece of equipment. ‘We should give Curtis a go next time he’s over.’ The boy spun around to face his sister. ‘Did you see the look on Mum’s face when Granny said that she would be part of the mission too?’
‘Blindsided,’ Kensy said as she lay down with her legs dangling over the side of the bed.
‘You’re right about that. I thought Dad’s eyebrows were about to jump off his forehead. He was clearly trying to tell Mum not to engage the enemy and thankfully she didn’t this time,’ Max said.
Kensy sat up again. ‘As for today, it all seems so strange. Granny said that her man at Scotland Yard is adamant it was a gas leak. There’s no reports of anything untoward, which is seriously concerning given that the doors were locked. Seems awfully fishy to have had a malfunction like that at the exact same time that the gas line ruptured.’
‘It might have been a gas leak, but it wasn’t the sort of gas we use for domestic purposes. There was no smell – and you know gas really stinks. I’ve been doing some research about what it could have been,’ Max said.
‘And?’ Kensy looked at her brother. ‘You do know that natural gas actually has no smell and they add the horrible odour so that if there’s a leak it can be detected.’
‘Of course I do, but surely the gas used at the Houses of Parliament is the same sort that gets used all over the rest of London, which smells,’ Max said. ‘Anyway, I have a theory. A few years ago there was a terrorist attack by a group of Chechen militia in Moscow and the authorities pumped fentanyl, which is commonly used for anaesthesia, into the room to try and bring an end to the situation. Unfortunately it wasn’t a great success as they wound up killing loads of the hostages,’ Max said. ‘Fentanyl has no smell and it affects the nervous system. The way that those politicians were dropping like flies definitely suggests something like that.’
‘That’s horrible,’ Kensy said. ‘But I agree, it’s entirely possible. I wonder if the residue stays on your clothes – maybe we could do some tests in the lab downstairs?’
Max was way ahead of her. Given he had used his school jumper as a face mask, he’d already bundled it up in a plastic bag to test tomorrow.
‘Surely there’s CCTV of that bogus firefighter I saw too,’ Max said. ‘There must be cameras everywhere.’
Kensy glanced at her watch. ‘There might be something on the late news,’ she said, grabbing the remote control from Max’s bedside table and flicking on the television set in his bookcase.
The bulletin had just begun. ‘Fortunately no one was injured and Charing Cross Station is set to reopen in the morning. The fire was thought to have started as a result of some welding sparks. In other news Scotland Yard have declared that today’s incident at Westminster was the result of a leaking gas pipe, a build-up of pressure causing a line to rupture following some recent renovations. While several members of Parliament were transported to hospital, everyone has now been released and there is no cause for further alarm,’ the newsreader said. Then he started talking about the cordon around the city and that transport links had reopened.
The footage focused on several MPs being carted off and the Prime Minister speaking to someone, but then there was something else.
‘Pause it, quick!’ Max yelled at Kensy who snatched up the controls and did as she was asked. ‘No, go back a bit – to the firefighter.’
Kensy rewound the footage for a few seconds.
‘There! Stop!’ Max stood up and looked closely at the screen. ‘It’s him – look at the helmet. It has to be. But who’s that he’s speaking to?’
There were footsteps in the hall and their father appeared in the doorway.
‘I thought you two were supposed to be in bed.’ He frowned. ‘I was just coming to say goodnight.’
‘Dad, quick, can you have a look at this? Max thinks that’s the firefighter he saw in the House of Commons – the one who’s not really a firefighter,’ Kensy said. ‘Do you know who he’s talking to?’
Ed Spencer walked into the room and stared at the screen. ‘Well, from this angle it looks like James Strawbridge. Hang on, I’ll take a picture so we can be sure.’ Ed dug his phone from his pocket and held it up.
‘Isn’t he the head of Scotland Yard?’ Max said, his eyes widening.
‘One and the same,’ the man nodded. He glanced at his phone, which had the photo from the screen and a headshot of James Strawbridge with the word MATCH in the middle.
‘So what’s he doing talking to some fake firefighter?’ Kensy said. ‘Pretty weird, don’t you think?’
Ed frowned. ‘Maybe not. How was Strawbridge to know he’s a fake – unless he’d been studying the London brigade uniform like someone else we know.’
‘We need to find out who that man is – because I don’t believe for one second that it was a gas leak in there today, not an accidental one, anyway,’ Max said. ‘There’s something else going on and I’ll bet that firefighter is right in the middle of it. And maybe James Strawbridge is too. He wouldn’t be the first person in high office to be on the wrong side of the law.’
‘Don’t let your grandmother hear you say that. He has a reputation for getting things done – though I’ve also heard he has a massive ego,’ Ed said. ‘Cordelia thinks he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Scotland Yard. I remember the poor chap who was in charge before we disappeared – she used to call him Plod, to his face no less.’
Max grinned. ‘Fancy the idea of Granny being direct.’
‘And rude,’ Kensy chortled.
‘Because you’re never like that at all.’ Max gave his sister a strange look.
‘Not on purpose, most of the time. Anyway, at least now I have someone to blame,’ Kensy said.
‘Okay, Sherlock and Watson, time for bed. We’ll do some more investigating tomorrow. I have to go and convince your mother that we really need her on the mission,’ Ed said. ‘I just wish she liked expensive jewellery – at least then I could offer a bribe.’
‘Well, that’s not Mum, is it?’ Max said. ‘Granny promised that she didn’t have to go back to being an active agent – so it’s no wonder she’s upset.’
‘That’s another thing,’ Kensy said, jumping up off the bed and hugging her dad. ‘We need more details. We don’t even know what to pack.’
‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow,’ Ed said and kissed his daughter’s forehead.
Kensy waved goodnight to her brother and hurried out the door to her room. Ed gave Max a hug.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll find out who that firefighter is,’ the man said.
Max stiffened. ‘There was something about him, Dad. The way he looked at me.’ The boy shivered as if someone had just walked over a grave. ‘His eyes were black – evil. I hope he doesn’t have a good memory for what children look like because I’m really not keen to see him again.’
‘You’ll be fine, mate. Now hop into bed. And wish me luck with your mother,’ Ed said, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts.
The boy crouched lower as he wove in and out of the last three gates and zoomed across the finish line.
‘Go Max!’ Curtis yelled, jumping up and down – his avatar in the crowd at the bottom of the hill was going nuts. The boy brushed some snow from his tingling cheeks, still wondering exactly how this whole thing worked. But
that was the case for most of the inventions he’d become acquainted with since entering the trainee spy program. He spent a great deal of time with his jaw gaping in amazement.
‘Woohoo!’ Max cried, the ski pole dangling from his right hand as he raised his arm in victory. He was glad of the distraction. First thing in the morning before school, he and Kensy had done some tests on his school jumper to see if there was any evidence of fentanyl in the fibres. Unfortunately they’d come up empty handed and not only that, they’d completely ruined the garment. It was fortunate the boy had a spare, but he’d used some of his pocket money savings to purchase another one from the uniform shop that day, in case anyone noticed.
Max’s name moved above his sister’s on the scoreboard in the corner of the screen that filled the wall in front of them.
‘Well done, Master Maxim.’ Song nodded, pulling the hood of his parker up around his ears.
‘You beat Kensy by a whisker,’ Curtis said. ‘But it’s my turn next.’ He pulled on his gloves, glad to have them, given the temperature inside the room was only nudging two degrees Celsius.
Kensy rolled her eyes and unfurled her legs from the bench seat along the wall. ‘Point two of a second – seriously. I’m going to get you on the next run. And Curtis, remember we’ve done this before.’ She hoped that the boy’s confidence wasn’t misplaced – it was harder than it looked and this was his first attempt.
‘I would not be so cocky if I was you, Miss Kensington,’ Song said, giving Curtis a wink.
The boy often spent time training with Kensy and Max after school. It was easy now that he and his parents lived right across the road in the beautifully renovated terrace that had previously belonged to Esme Brightside, a criminal granny who was currently serving a long stint in prison. Some afternoons Carlos and Autumn joined them, but today there was only the three of them with Song on supervision.
The children were downstairs in a small room in the basement off the much larger training area with its boxing ring, built-in boards for target practice, the ever changing virtual parkour course and general fitness facilities. This new room had been part of Granny’s Christmas gift to the twins – an extension to the original renovations. They’d only used it a few times but it was fast becoming their favourite space.
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