by Jess Keating
She hadn’t just left me with one message. She’d left me with two. Could she have meant that literally? I could still practically feel the squeeze of her hands on my shoulders …
Sitting taller in my chair, I craned my torso to the side, scooting my butt forward as I leaned my back against my left hand. The handcuffs dug into my wrist as I groped around the middle of my back with the back of my hand.
Hair. Shirt. Fuzzball.
There!
My fingers clamped around a small hard object attached to the back of my shirt. Martha must have stuck it there when she’d grabbed me. I edged back up in my chair to a normal sitting position to examine my find. Was it the key to my handcuffs? A secret weapon that would thwart my captors?
Fat chance.
“A hair clip?” I muttered. “Seriously, Martha?”
That’s right. She’d left me a secret weapon all right, but it wasn’t one I was expecting. I turned the small metal hair clip over carefully in my hand. If she’d left it with me, it was sure to be no ordinary hair clip. Was it a transmitter or a communicator? Right now, that didn’t matter to me. Instead I focused on the small metal prongs that formed the thinnest part of the clip. Holding the back firmly with three fingers, I pried the metal away from the rest of the clip. Maybe I didn’t need a key, after all. The prongs were thin enough, but would they do the trick?
I groaned with pain as I forced my hand to twist awkwardly so I could shove the metal prongs into the tiny hole in my handcuff. Then I began to jiggle them as if my life depended on it.
Almost.
Almost …
There!
I sucked in a deep breath and turned to make sure nobody had seen anything. Surveillance cameras were on me, but I could only hope that the guards who were supposed to monitor them were on a coffee break or didn’t think I was important enough to watch at all times.
With one hand free, it was easy getting my other hand out of the cuff.
“Thank you, Martha,” I breathed.
One step down.
Now how was I going to get out of this room—this building—without anyone noticing? Keeping my hands positioned on the arms of the chair in case anyone was looking, I aimlessly turned the mangled metal hair clip in my hand, searching my mind for a possible solution.
That’s when I saw it. A small pink flash, smiling up at me from the underside of the clip.
“What the …?” A tiny vial of pink liquid was held there by a thin line of transparent glue.
Pulling the vial free, I stuck the clip back in my hair, in case Agent Donnelly returned. Lifting the vial to my nose, I took a sniff and was instantly hit with a wave of sharp nausea.
Whatever was in the vial, it sure didn’t smell good.
“Okay, Martha,” I whispered to myself. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
I rattled through the list of possibilities in my head. There wasn’t much liquid—less than half a teaspoon. Was it reactive? Maybe if I threw it on the ground, it’d explode like Martha’s cartridges and cause a distraction so I could make my escape. Or maybe it’d just catch fire and kill us all.
That would be counterproductive.
Was I meant to pour it inside the lock on the door? Or in Agent’s Donnelly’s drink? None of my options really jumped out at me. How on earth was I supposed to get out of here with nothing but this pink stuff?
I licked my lips, the dry grit of my tongue like sandpaper. Martha was right—I was dehydrated. I looked to the locked door, suddenly picturing Agent Donnelly returning with that glass of water Martha had mentioned.
And then her words came back to me: “Would you please get her something to drink?”
I stared forward, battling the voice in my head.
That’s what she wanted me to do. The metal hair clip had been a message, but she hadn’t wasted a word either.
I wasn’t supposed to throw the vial, or use it against Agent Donnelly.
Martha wanted me to drink it.
With desperate fingers, I removed the teensy plastic cap from the vial, taking another quick smell of the pink liquid inside. Was it possible I’d misunderstood her clues? I hoped I wasn’t about to drink poison. But while I wasn’t sure what exactly this stuff would do to me, I had to take the chance. I couldn’t sit here like a lump, waiting for Agent Donnelly to return and lock me up for good.
Even action you’re not sure about is better than zero action, right?
“This better work,” I muttered to myself. Before I could chicken out, I lifted the vial to my lips and tipped it back, draining the liquid onto my tongue.
I swallowed the mouthful and shuddered at the tart, metallic flavor. “Echh!” I smacked my lips loudly and shook my head. The taste was even worse than the smell—like spaghetti sauce with a side of rotten banana. What the heck was in that stuff?
Breathing slowly and deliberately, I waited for something amazing to happen. Come on, superpowers! Come on, shrinking ability! Come on, magic potion from Martha!
Unfortunately, the only sensation I felt was a gurgle in my stomach. A loud gurgle.
“Oh, ew,” I said, clutching my abdomen.
I must have spectacular timing, because Agent Donnelly stepped back into the room while I was doubled over, cursing Martha. Whatever I’d drunk, it must’ve been expired, because the only thing it’d given me was the urgent need for a restroom.
“Whoa,” Agent Donnelly exclaimed. “What happened here? What did you do? And who let you out of your cuffs?”
I continued to grab my stomach while tears streamed from my eyes. They weren’t from sadness; they were from strain. I was about four seconds away from losing my lunch all over the table.
“Someone … another agent came in … I … I don’t know!” I cried, hoping my lie was convincing. I couldn’t explain the cuffs, but at that point, all I could think about was that I really had just swallowed poison.
I was getting more scared by the second, and I knew it must have showed on my face because Agent Donnelly looked seriously worried.
“Can I go to the bathroom? Please?!” I begged. “I’m gonna …” I stopped short, gagging on my words. My hand whipped over my mouth to prevent the worst from happening.
Oh God, why did I drink that stuff?!
Agent Donnelly hesitated. I knew he’d be wondering if this was some sort of ploy for me to get out of this room. But honestly, I was feeling pretty lucky right now to be upright, and escape was the last thing on my mind.
“Kid, you’re green,” he said. He stooped over to help lift me from my near-fetal position on the chair. “Come on, let’s get you sorted out. Don’t try anything though, okay?”
If he didn’t believe me before, the fact that I clutched onto him desperately with clammy hands as we shuffled to the bathroom down the hall probably helped.
“Wait a second,” he instructed. He grabbed an extra set of handcuffs and gripped my wrists, locking them into place with a solid click. “I’ll be waiting right here,” he said, holding the door open for me.
“Mmhphhf,” I answered, still trying to hold in my breakfast. If I hadn’t been so worried about puking all over him, I’d probably have cared more about the cuffs. But right now? I needed a toilet, and fast!
I barely noticed my surroundings as I lurched toward a stall.
“Acckkk,” I cried, clutching my roiling stomach. “Martha, whyyy?”
After a couple of long, disgustingly memorable minutes, my stomach started to return to normal, and my frantic heart began to settle back to a normal rhythm. I tore some toilet paper from the roll and wiped my mouth. Now that the horrible pink stuff was gone from my system, my head began to clear. I shifted on my knees and leaned against the side of the stall.
How could I have misread Martha’s signals so badly? Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to stand, rolled my tight shoulders back, and braced myself for the inevitable pang of returning tummy trouble, but it never came.
“Huh,” I said aloud. I wiped my mo
uth with another ribbon of toilet paper.
In fact, I felt ridiculously fine for someone who’d poisoned herself on purpose. Was it possible …?
Hauling myself to the spotless mirror by the sink, I tilted my head and stared at my reflection. I could practically see Martha in the mirror, giving me that knowing glance, her eyebrow slightly quirked.
Think, Tesla. Use your brain.
Maybe I hadn’t misread her signals at all.
The sink reflected the bright fluorescent lights above me, reminding me of the sun. It had to be setting outside by now, near twilight.
Martha had said out loud that I needed a drink. And planted the vial in the hairclip. I caught my expression in the mirror once more.
There was no way of escaping the building from that tiny locked room Agent Donnelly was keeping me in. But Martha had given me a way out of that particular room.
Now I was alone in what had to be a much less secure room—with no surveillance and no guards in sight.
That meant that the way out of the building was in this room.
Agent Donnelly knocked lightly on the door. “Everything all right in there, Nikki?”
I sucked in a breath, jumping at his voice. “Yes!” I made myself sound as croaky and ill as possible. “I’m sorry, I’ll be right out!” I kept it up with a few more puking sounds and jumped back in the stall to flush the toilet again.
Then I got to work.
There were two high-set windows in the restroom, and a look outside told me that we were well above the first floor. Probably more like the fourth or fifth. But if Martha had directed me here with the barfing juice, there had to be roof access. If I could get out a window, maybe I could make a run for it before Agent Donnelly knew what hit him.
But …
My hands reflexively tugged against the handcuffs. These stupid things! There was no way Donnelly would let me out of his sight without them on. Luckily, I still had my handy hair clip tucked in my—
What?! No!
I cupped my hands over my whole head, searching desperately for the clip. It must have fallen out somewhere in the hallway while Agent Donnelly helped me limp to the bathroom. My stomach turned again, but this time it was from my own stupidity.
But I couldn’t let something as mundane as handcuffs stop me from escaping. Keep moving, Tesla.
Bolting from stall to stall, I began to inspect everything: the toilets, the paper holder, the garbage slots. Martha was all about backup plans. There was a chance that Agent Donnelly would have confiscated the clip anyway. She had to have hidden a key somewhere in here for me. While I was searching, I threw out the odd cough and gag, so Agent Donnelly would think I was still sick.
I flushed a random toilet again and stood back. Drumming my fingers together, I could feel that I was right about the key but clearly wrong about where she’d hidden it.
“Come on, Martha …” I whispered. “Help me out one more time.” I replayed every single interaction we’d had since this awful mission had begun.
“Nikola?” Agent Donnelly called out again. The only reason he wasn’t barging in yet was because he thought I was contained. I had to keep him believing that.
“Just getting some water!” I yelped. “I’m still here!”
Get her a drink.
There it was. It was like Martha was talking in my head now, which was equal parts scary and awesome. There was only one place to get a drink in this restroom. Once again, Martha had given me many clues in one simple sentence. She hadn’t only been talking about the vial, after all.
Turning back to the sink, I knew exactly where to look. The faucets were motion-activated, which meant nobody ever really had to touch them. Craning my neck and poring over each one with my fingers, I nearly leaped for joy when I felt the small metallic key.
“I’ll be right out!” I yelled. “I’m feeling a little better. I think it’s almost out of my system!”
Oops. I should have sounded sicker when I said that.
“Hurry up,” Agent Donnelly’s patience was quickly waning.
I let out another fake barf noise and started running the faucet in the sink. Agent Donnelly would think I was washing my hands, but what I was really doing was disguising any clinking sounds the handcuffs were making as I twisted my arms into a pretzel to get the stupid things off me.
“Coming! Coming!” I swiped my hand under the hand dryer, setting it off. Grateful for the incredibly loud whooshing that rushed from it, I used the sound as a cover to take a running start at the wall with the window, hurling myself up to grip the sill and yank it open.
Would you believe MI6 doesn’t lock their windows?
That was a big mistake. Huge.
Seconds before I hurled myself out of the building, a brief moment of hesitation stopped me short. I didn’t want to leave the others behind, but no matter how I worked the equations in my head, there was no way to help them escape that didn’t end with me back in those cuffs. And Martha had given me pretty clear instructions, hadn’t she?
I was to regroup at the safe house first, then find a way to help them get out of here.
I tucked my sweatshirt hood over my head and popped the collar of my jacket up to brace against the growing chill in the air.
“Two Twenty-One B, Baker Street.” I said the safe house address aloud to myself as I peered down at the rooftop below. Beyond that, the skyline of London was waiting for me. “Go.”
If you’ve never been unlucky enough to need a place to hide from the secret service in a foreign country, let me say this: It is not as glamorous as it sounds. In every movie I’d seen, the good guys always showed up at a mysterious—not to mention luxurious—untraceable home where a collection of passports, wigs, colored contacts, and various gadgets and technological wonders waited for them.
But when I picked the lock of the safe house on Baker Street, all I got were spiders. There were webs hanging from the corners of the front door, along the mail slot, and all over the welcome mat, like outdated Halloween decorations.
Oh, and one more thing …
“What took you so long?”
The makeshift lock pick I’d scavenged from the garbage bins outside clattered to the floor.
Here’s the thing: I’d spent the entire journey to the safe house feeling guilty. Like, overwhelmingly, gut-wrenchingly guilty. I’d left all my friends behind to fend for themselves, in the clutches of an organization that hated them and wanted to lock them up for the rest of their lives. Every step on my way to the safe house, I was devising how I’d find a way to break them out.
Little did I know, it was all a wasted effort.
Because my team wasn’t handcuffed and desperate, tears rolling down their cheeks while they pleaded for help.
They were in front of me, with bowls of macaroni and cheese on their laps, leisurely watching the nightly news.
All six of them. Even Pickles was sprawled out on the floor in front of Charlie’s feet, with her own bowl of food. A goopy mustache of melted cheese covered her snout.
“Wait.” I held up a hand. The scene in front of me began to sink in. I bent over to snatch my lock pick. “I’m the last one here? Seriously?” I let my shoulders drop with annoyance. “I spent the last hour trying to figure out how to help you all escape!”
“Well, that was awfully kind of you,” Bert said, his smile beaming widely. There was a chunk of noodle stuck to his lower lip. “But we had it covered!”
I plunked down on a musty chair, batting away the cloud of dust that erupted under my nose.
I suppose I should have known. My friends had been in the world-saving business for longer than I had, so it made sense they’d all be master escape artists by now. But still. Why did I have to be the last one? I slid down in my chair, trying to hide my disappointment. “How did you all get here so quickly?”
Leo spoke first, arcing a bottle of fruit punch through the air toward me. “Charlie and I got away before the car actually made it to MI6 headquarters
,” he explained. “We’ve been here for hours. That’s why we made dinner for everyone.” He held up his bowl in celebration. “To freedom!”
Bert laughed, lifting his forkful of noodles to salute Leo. “To cheese and freedom!”
“And how did you get out, Einstein?” I asked him, crossing my arms over my chest. I was starving, and the macaroni and cheese did smell delicious, but I was too miffed to feel like celebrating yet.
Bert set his fork down. “You know, Nikki. Sometimes you really need to use your brains to escape a situation …”
“We set off a stink bomb and escaped through the air ducts,” Mo said flatly.
I sniffed the air dramatically. “I thought I smelled something off in here.” I looked back to Bert, who was thoroughly annoyed that Mo had spilled the beans about their escape. “Some brains you’ve got there. No wonder you reek.”
I turned to Mary. She was the only one with the decency to look guilty.
“Sorry, Nikki. We wanted to go back and get you, too, but Martha gave us strict instructions. Any attempts to coordinate our escapes would have meant risking them entirely. She trusted you’d get out okay. You know we’d have helped you if you hadn’t made it out tonight on your own.”
“I escaped fine!” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “How did you get out?”
“The agent who was interrogating me has three daughters,” she said, like that answered my question. “I asked if I could make a phone call to my mother, and he let me. He should not have. It was only a bobby pin and a couple of rooms away from the exit.”
A smirk crossed my face. “Are you telling me you manipulated him into feeling sorry for you? Using the love of his daughters to play him like a fiddle?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes I am. And it worked.” She took another big bite of her dinner and pet Pickles with the tip of her toe.
“All right, Grace. Let’s hear it.” I asked. Grace was chewing her mac and cheese quietly, surveying the rest of us.
Shrugging, she lifted her chin defiantly. “Me? I asked nicely.”