Curtis shivered. ‘I’m really looking forward to summer,’ the boy said. ‘Winter here is a lot colder than in Sydney.’
‘Oh you’ll love an English summer. It’s usually a nice day or two in July or August,’ Carlos quipped. ‘Although last year it was pretty abominable the whole time. You have to go to the continent to get some proper heat – my pick is definitely Spain.’
‘Of course it is,’ Dante said with a scoff in his voice. ‘Italy is far superior for a summer holiday. My family loves . . .’
Before the boys could begin a proper argument over whose homeland had the better weather, Gordon Nutting blew his whistle and motioned for the students to join him in the middle of the pitch.
‘Right, I hope everyone’s warmed up,’ the man said, wrapping his scarf around his neck and checking the game plan on his clipboard.
‘Sir, it’s freezing out here,’ Sachin whined.
The man rolled his eyes. ‘Suck it up, Varma – you’ll live.’
Curtis was still getting used to soccer being called football. He always associated the word with rugby league or union. But he was happy to have made the team and had surprised himself with more natural flair than he’d imagined.
The boys were playing in a city-wide knockout competition comprised of schools from every sector. This afternoon they’d taken the bus to Edgewater School in North London, which reminded Curtis quite a bit of Wentworth Grammar, where he used to go in Sydney. There were endless green playing fields surrounded by high hedges and a pavilion that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Lords, as well as a main school building that was once a stately home. While on the surface it might have been a lot flashier than Central London Free School, Curtis wouldn’t have traded places with the kids here for all the money in the world.
The referee was jogging up and down on the spot in the centre of the field and had just blown the whistle for the teams to run out. A minute or so later the game was underway and the lads from Central London Free were looking every bit the underdogs for the first ten minutes or so, with almost one hundred per cent of the possession going to the boys from Edgewater. Sachin was doing a good job defending the goals until one of the opposition unleashed a screamer that ricocheted off the left side rail and bounced into the net behind him.
‘Come on, Free! What are you doing?’ Carlos yelled.
The boys ran into a huddle for some serious pep talking from their captain, Dante.
‘We’re better than this, lads. And I’m Italian – football is in my blood. I’m not losing to this bunch. Change of tactics – we’re going to play man on man. That kid you’re defending, Max – he looks about ten and he’s not very fast. And your guy runs past the ball all the time, Sachin. I think he’s forgotten to wear his glasses. We need possession and then we’ve got this!’
The boys high-fived and raced back to their positions.
No one was more surprised than Dante when his strategy worked and Max booted the ball into the goals a minute after play restarted.
Gordon Nutting barely reacted, but the boys knew he was pleased when they saw his subtle nod. Unlike the Edgewater coach who was yelling and carrying on like a man possessed. When he shouted that his boys should be ashamed of themselves being outplayed by a bunch of losers from a state school, he obviously didn’t realise the effect the slight would have. The lads from Central London Free upped the ante and by half-time were in the lead four goals to one.
The boys huddled to discuss tactics for the second half, Dante encouraging them to double that score and really let Edgewater have it.
Gordon Nutting pulled Max aside. ‘Would you mind sitting out for a few minutes so I can give Angus a run?’
‘Sure, sir, no problem,’ Max replied. He was hoping the kid would get some pitch time. Angus had started at the beginning of the new school year, having moved down from Manchester. He was super shy and barely said two words to anyone most of the time. He wasn’t the best player, but he was dogged and determined and for that alone he deserved a go.
‘Dante,’ the coach called the boy over and explained what he was doing.
The referee blew the whistle and the teams took to the field. Max sat at the end of the bench. At the opposite end an Edgewater boy jiggled his leg up and down – perhaps from nerves or, more likely, he was trying to stay warm.
‘Hi,’ Max said. He wasn’t sure if the kid would speak to him, but the lad gave a wave.
‘I’m Max,’ he said and stood up, moving to sit closer.
‘Nathaniel,’ the kid replied.
‘You getting a run today?’ Max asked. He hadn’t remembered seeing the boy on the field.
Nathaniel rolled his eyes. ‘I doubt it. I’m officially classed as useless and our coach isn’t as benevolent as yours. I haven’t had more than ten minutes game time all season. I’m only on the team because my dad gave the headmaster an earful and threatened to withdraw me from school. Honestly, I wouldn’t have cared if he did.’
‘Sorry,’ Max said. ‘We’re lucky. Our coach Mr Nutting’s a good guy and we’re competitive, but we’d rather look after our mates than win at any cost.’ Though Max was secretly very pleased that his team was now in a commanding lead. He’d only been thinking a few minutes ago how weird his life was these days. One minute he was playing football and yet anytime soon he and his sister would be leaving on a mission that would no doubt put them in some dangerous situations. It was all a bit surreal. And then last night he’d pulled out that note he’d taken from Magoo’s study months ago. He was glad he’d told Kensy about it while they were in New York, but between the two of them they still hadn’t got any further. Maybe one day they’d crack it, but it was the most puzzling and frustrating thing they’d come across yet.
Max’s team had just scored again and were celebrating while the coach from Edgewater was bellowing at his boys to get their blasted act together.
‘I wish I went to your school. Sounds like a good place,’ Nathaniel said with a grin. He looked across the field and blanched. ‘Oh blast, what’s he doing here?’
‘Who?’ Max followed the boy’s gaze.
‘My father. He said he might drop in this afternoon. He’s been harassing the coach all season, but to be honest I don’t care that much. I’m not really the sporty type – unlike Dad who was a champion at everything when he was my age and likes to remind me at any opportunity.’
Max squinted. The man striding across the field looked familiar. It suddenly dawned on him. ‘Your dad’s James Strawbridge?’
The boy blinked. ‘How would you know that?’
‘I’m a bit obsessed with Scotland Yard. I’d quite like to work there when I’m older,’ Max lied. He couldn’t help thinking how easily untruths came to him these days – simply rolling off his tongue.
The man strode towards them, a look of thunder on his face.
‘I see you’re playing your normal position of left right out,’ he said sarcastically to his son.
Nathaniel ignored the man, hoping to deflect his obvious ill temper. ‘Dad, this is Max. He’s a big fan of yours.’
Max stood up and held out his hand. ‘Good afternoon, sir.’
James Strawbridge was immediately impressed by the lad’s forthrightness. ‘Hello Max,’ the man replied. ‘You keeping the bench warm too, I see.’
‘Mmm.’ Max nodded. ‘Sir, I wonder if I could ask you something?’
‘Of course. Whether or not I can answer is another thing,’ the man replied, a smile creeping to his lips.
‘I’m curious about what happened at Westminster this week,’ Max said.
James Strawbridge looked at the boy with a frown. ‘An accident – there was a gas leak. The contractors working in the basement should have been more careful. Why?’
‘I was there,’ Max said. ‘It was my history class who was on the excursion in the chamber when it all happened.’
Nathaniel Strawbridge’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh wow, that must have been scary.’
‘A
bit,’ Max said. ‘Especially when we realised that all of the exits had been locked.’
James eyeballed the boy. Max wasn’t sure if the man was threatening him not to say anything else, but this was his chance. His father had said that Strawbridge had a huge ego, but Max wasn’t scared of him. That fake firefighter with the black eyes on the other hand. He shivered just thinking about that guy.
‘What do you mean locked?’ Nathaniel said.
‘No one could get out,’ Max replied.
‘There was a fault with the automatic shutdown system. It’s been fixed,’ James said bluntly.
But Max sensed that he was lying.
‘I saw something else that was really strange,’ Max said.
James Strawbridge inhaled deeply. ‘Well, perhaps you should come into my office then and we can have a chat.’
‘Or I could just tell you now,’ the boy replied.
‘What did you say your name was again?’ James asked.
‘Max,’ he replied, deliberately leaving out his surname. ‘There was this firefighter. I saw him –’ Max began but was cut off mid-sentence.
‘Max!’ Carlos yelled at his friend. ‘You’re on.’
The boy bit his lip.
‘Go on.’ James Strawbridge seemed interested now. ‘What were you going to say?’
‘Max!’ Carlos yelled again, as Angus limped towards him and Mr Nutting ran to get the first-aid kit.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Max said.
But clearly it did to James Strawbridge. His face was stern and his eyes narrow. ‘You need to come and see me on Monday after school. I assume you know where my office is,’ the man called as Max ran onto the field.
Max wondered if what he had done was wise, but this had been too good an opportunity to pass up.
James Strawbridge felt sick to his stomach. A mistake, a stupid mistake all those years ago and now his whole life could implode because a nosey twelve-year-old child thought he saw something. James had to put an end to it – now.
Thick snow sparkled on the rooftops across the resort as the lights began to come on in the chalets and hotels that dotted the village and surrounding hillsides. Kensy thought it looked like an icy fairyland and she couldn’t wait to get out and explore. The family had arrived at the Bahnhofplatz Zermatt via train from Geneva, having stayed in the city the night before. They were met by a driver who ushered them to a little green electric taxi, which more closely resembled a miniature bus, to be driven to the chalet they were about to call home for who knew how long.
On Friday evening Cordelia Spencer had called in at 13 Ponsonby Terrace, but this time her visit wasn’t social. The family was given their travel arrangements and told they would be fully briefed upon arrival at their destination. Max debated whether to tell his grandmother about his run in with James Strawbridge earlier in the day, but in the end had decided against it, given his father had said how much his grandmother revered the man. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to visit Scotland Yard on Monday now anyway and surely someone as important as the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police had better things to do than waste time chasing up on the fanciful notions of twelve-year-old boys.
Max hadn’t told anyone else about their encounter either – he wasn’t sure why, but there was something that made him uneasy about what he’d done. Perhaps he’d acted hastily – and that was the last thing someone who was training to be a spy should do. He hated to think that some of his sister’s impetuousness was starting to rub off on him.
The pair had conference called Autumn, Carlos and Curtis to let them know they’d be away for a while. The twins didn’t go into details and their friends didn’t ask – although they could see that Carlos was dying to. The trio said they would go ahead with their investigations of the incident at the Houses of Parliament and see what else they could learn about the fake firefighter.
The official line for the twins’ absence from school was to be a family issue. Fortunately the other Pharos students wouldn’t ask questions, but there would no doubt be some nosey parkers like Blair; however, the teachers would put an end to her speculations quick smart as the children’s whereabouts were none of her concern.
‘It’s so pretty,’ Kensy remarked as their vehicle passed half-a-dozen horse-drawn carriages that were lined up waiting for their next passengers. ‘At least this time we’ll get to have a proper look around.’
She grinned across at her brother who raised his eyebrows. It seemed almost unreal that they were here now as trainee spies on a mission for Pharos, instead of just spending a ski season while their parents worked.
Anna Spencer clenched her gloved hands together.
‘Come on, darling,’ Ed whispered. ‘You know why we had to do this. We’re on a family holiday and it wouldn’t have been as convincing if we’d left you back at home. Besides, if we happen to run into some new friends, I need you to be a charming hostess.’
‘Fine,’ the woman whispered through gritted teeth.
‘I hope our accommodation’s a bit roomier than that flat we were meant to live in last time,’ Kensy said.
Max nodded. ‘It was a shoebox, with possibly the ugliest yellow and brown kitchen I’ve ever seen.’
Fitz chuckled. ‘I’m surprised you remember anything about it given we were in and out in record time.’
‘I think you will find the chalet very comfortable,’ Song said. The man had been dispatched to accompany the family, along with Fitz.
‘Is it . . . secure?’ Kensy asked. She’d been thinking about that on the journey.
‘Yes, perfectly,’ Ed replied. ‘And brand new. We’ll be the first people to stay there.’
‘Does Granny own it?’ Max frowned.
Their father gave a slow nod. Seriously the woman’s real estate portfolio just seemed to get bigger and bigger. But that was a relief to Kensy. If Granny’s builders were as innovative up here as they were in all her other homes, then this was something to look forward to.
The electric buggy hummed along the Bahnhofstrasse – the main thoroughfare in the village – past shops, restaurants and hotels like the gorgeous old Grand Hotel Zermatterhof with its twinkling lights on the balcony railings and cypress pines laden with snow. There were people out walking and children playing. Max couldn’t help wondering if they might have ended up friends with some of them if they’d stayed last year.
The driver made a left turn past the Mountaineers’ Cemetery and crossed the bridge over the freezing river where he turned right and followed the waterway. He made another left turn into a narrow street that wound higher up the mountain side then stopped outside a beautiful timber chalet.
‘This okay?’ Ed said to his wife.
Anna rolled her eyes. ‘I suppose it will do.’ But the children could see their mother trying to bite back a smile.
The family hopped out to help the driver with the luggage. Song then tipped the man who promptly drove away while the family steered their suitcases to the front door. Ed punched a series of numbers into the touch screen to give them access.
‘Well, this is lovely,’ the man said as they entered the lower level of the house.
Kensy and Max left their bags and took off to explore, quickly discovering a drying room, gym, spa and sauna and a cinema room as well as extensive storage areas including a garage with two very cool-looking snowmobiles. They’d already been told that the machines were only allowed to be used on the mountain side and not in the village. There were no obvious secret rooms, but they could search for those later – surely they had to be there. The twins raced upstairs to find another two floors of bedrooms and then on the top level was the living and dining area and the kitchen. The roof boasted a hot tub with views of the mountains.
‘I know what I’m doing tonight!’ Kensy swished her hand into the steaming water.
‘Me too,’ Max said as the pair dashed back down to the living room where Song was busy inspecting the fully stocked fridge and pantry and working out what he might
make for their evening meal. ‘Song, do you know which rooms are ours?’
The butler nodded. ‘Yes, Master Maxim. You and your sister are on the next level down with your parents. Your rooms are identical so there is no need to squabble over who has the best space. Please unpack your bags – I am sure that will improve your mother’s mood.’
‘Thanks,’ the boy replied.
Kensy charged off ahead of him and located her room.
Max was right next door. The decor had a Scandi vibe with lots of light wood and sleek lines – nothing like anywhere they’d lived on the snow before.
The boy quickly unzipped his bag and began to unpack, meticulously folding his clothes and putting them into one of the timber chests of drawers.
Fifteen minutes later their mother called out from the top of the stairs. ‘Children, Song’s made hot chocolate and whipped up some cheese fondue. I’d be quick if I was you – it’s your father and Fitz’s favourite.’
Max had just hung up the last of his clothes in the wardrobe when he walked out into the hallway and glimpsed inside his sister’s room. ‘Was there an accident in here? Like a bomb or something?’ The lad grinned, wondering how on earth she could have made such a huge mess in so little time.
Kensy huffed. ‘No, I’m unpacking.’
‘What’s that?’ Max spotted a silver case that was sitting on Kensy’s bedside table.
The girl bit her lip. She’d only just pulled it out from the inside of one of her ugg boots and had meant to stow it safely – though maybe she’d actually left it out slightly on purpose. Ever since the devices had come into her possession she’d been wrestling with the idea of telling her brother. Besides, they could come in super handy on the mission.
Kensy picked it up. ‘If I tell you, you absolutely cannot tell anyone else, okay? Mrs VB made me promise, but keeping secrets, especially from you, doesn’t always work out well so I’d rather you know.’
Max walked into the room, intrigued.
Kensy opened the case, displaying the two patches of material and the earpieces.
‘They’re mind-readers,’ the girl said, watching her brother’s reaction, which was pretty much as she expected.
Full Speed Page 6