Mabel Opal Pear and the Rules for Spying

by Amanda Hosch

  “Wait.” I weighed my choices. Follow the angry woman’s orders? Or protect Stanley while hiding the New Orleans collection? It was a no-brainer according to Rule Number 25: Never leave a fellow agent behind. You’re in this together. Go team Secret Agent! I snapped the lights on. The choice was easy. “I’m in.”

  23

  Everyone else could be the enemy. Or they could be working for the enemy. Or they could be under the influence of the enemy. Or they could just not like you.

  — Rule Number 4 from Rules for a Successful Life as an Undercover Secret Agent

  We practiced in my room, Victoria holding the flashlight under her chin so that her face was properly lit while I filmed on her cell phone. She must have done her signature gasp and shocked expression ten times until she said it looked real enough on camera. “This isn’t your first time making this type of thing?” I asked.

  “Nope.” Victoria grinned. “I told you. I know what I’m doing.”

  “You broke into museums in Nome?”

  “There’s only one museum in Nome, with exhibits about the gold rush and how Siberian huskies were bred as sled dogs,” she said. “I gotta say, it was a lot more interesting than spoons.”

  I thought about mentioning how we might have the soup spoon of the pirate Jean Lafitte, but Victoria was right. Huskies were more interesting than spoons. “So where did you illegally enter?”

  “Someplace even more boring than your spoon museum, if you can believe it — school.” She shook her head and her ponytail swung from side to side. “That stupid school never proved a thing. Mom was sure I was the poor victim, bullied into it by those terrible middle-school boys and girls.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was August — summer was almost over. My friends and I were just hanging out in the apartment building. Mom and Dad were busy doing whatever it is they do,” Victoria said. “I don’t remember who showed us the Exploring Locked Places website, but I knew if I got picked that it could be my way out of Nome.”

  “So?”

  “We got a reply the next day. But the Exploring Locked Places guys said hiding until night in a school bathroom was boring. Everyone does it. And destroying the desks and books was actually criminal, so they would never air the clip. Mom didn’t want me to start the school year with the rumors that I was a juvenile delinquent.”

  Start the school year? A sinking sensation grabbed hold of me. “When did you guys leave Alaska?”

  “Whenever Mom said.” Victoria looked down quickly and tapped her smartphone. There it was, a video of me removing the sunflower picture from Principal Baker’s wall. The fire alarm shrieked in the background. She clicked it off. “Now, back to our plan for this evening. Can you get us into the museum without setting off the alarm?”

  All I could think of was how this might be a trap. What if Victoria was a double agent, pretending to befriend me in order to help her parents get into the museum?

  A muffled ring-ring interrupted my thoughts.

  Victoria raised one eyebrow in question. “Where’s that ringing coming from?”

  The clock read 7:02.

  I pounced on my alarm clock and acted as if I was fumbling with the buttons. “I must have messed up the a.m. and p.m. switches,” I lied, returning her quizzical raised eyebrow with one of my own. I guess that genetic quirk was something else we had in common. The ringing stopped. But I knew that it would start again soon, and my lie about the alarm clock would not hold up if Victoria stayed in the room.

  “Make sure your parents are busy. I know how to get into the Spoon. We’ll sneak out in ten minutes.”

  “You’re sure you can get us in without setting off the alarm?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have the key?”

  “No.”

  “You know the code?” Victoria looked impressed.

  “No. No. Just go.”

  “Nine minutes, Moppet,” she said, walking out of the room. “Don’t be late.”

  As soon as I heard her feet on the steps, I yanked An Abridged History of the United States off the shelf and opened it to the hiding spot. The shrill ringer pierced the air. Since I had to wait the usual number of rings, I held the phone under my pillow to muffle the sound. When the phone had gone through the normal cycle of ring-ring, silence, ring-ring, I opened it. “Tweedledee.”

  “Tweedledum,” Roy’s deep voice answered. “Sunflower, we’ve got good news and bad news.”

  “How bad?” I whispered into the phone.

  “Your Uhms are not in Vietnam.”

  I breathed in slowly. “Where are they?”

  “Good news. Paraguay.”

  “Impossible.” The sunflower cipher was all wrong. Either Mom misled me or something had happened to them.

  “We know.” Roy’s voice was calm, probably due to years of training. “However, a set of their passports has been tracked there.”

  “So, the Agency did, in fact, lose them?”

  “No.” Roy cleared his throat. “We just weren’t informed of their movements beforehand.”

  “You’re searching for them?”

  “Of course, Sunflower.” Roy whispered something I couldn’t make out. “The Agency is on full alert. Once there is a positive, in-country sighting, we are positioned to take appropriate action.”

  I didn’t like the way that sounded. “By action, what do you mean?”

  “Don’t worry, Sunflower. Allow the professionals to do their jobs.”

  Sure, but where the heck were the professionals when I was being blackmailed in my own home?

  “Sunflower, whatever happens, do not let your uncle or aunt into the museum.”

  “Sooner or later, I’ll have to open it for visitors.” Keeping the Spoon operating on its normal hours was protocol. An idea hit me. “Unless you want to share with me exactly why I should not?”

  “No can do.” Roy’s shaky voice betrayed his anxiety. I had never heard him nervous before. “This is a direct order from the highest link in the command chain. You must obey.”

  “Roy,” I pleaded. “Things are not good here. I have to do something. Starfish has been moved to a jail three hours away. I am alone.”

  “I know, Sunflower.” Roy lowered his voice. “I’m trying to convince the higher-ups to send you backup.”

  “Like the Cleaners that put the alarm on the museum?”

  “No agents have been assigned to Silverton.”

  “Who is PNW Security, then?”

  Roy ignored my question. “I’m trying to get you extracted from the situation before it spirals out of control.”

  “It already has.”

  A good spy did her preparation (Rule Number 35). I needed to see for myself what was so important in the Spoon. “What if I let someone into the museum or went in myself?”

  “The consequences will have a far-reaching impact.”

  “Can you be more specific?” Dad had drawn a sketch of the museum. Why hide it?

  “You have to trust us and obey the command.” He hung up and I was left alone to live with my choices. I grabbed some of my not-secret spy gear from the bookshelf. It seemed I wasn’t the most trusting or obedient kid in the world.

  24

  If you’re working with a co-agent, never look for him/her. Never acknowledge the other agent unless it is appropriate to do so. When leaving an operation, never look back.

  — Rule Number 19 from Rules for a Successful Life as an Undercover Secret Agent

  We stood on the back porch of Le Petit Musée of Antique Silver Spoons, and Victoria spoke directly into her smartphone’s camera. We were getting ready to break in, and all she cared about was how her hair looked. One thing was certain: Victoria would never make it working for the Agency. And the way I had been piling up the illegal activities, my future was none too bright, eit
her.

  Because of the way the ground sloped, the back of the old house was on raised brick pillars, about a foot and a half off the ground. The blinds were halfway down, yet I was sure I’d closed them on Sunday afternoon. That was the protocol. On the back window, there was a new sticker that proclaimed, This business is guarded by PNW Security. The words were printed over an outline of Mount Rainier. I touched the glass pane, but the sticker was on the inside. The security alarm’s flashing red light pulsed every two seconds through the window. Victoria aimed the flashlight through the window, illumining a little white box, about two inches long and one inch wide with wires sticking out. One wire was connected to the glass and another snaked out of sight.

  “OK, genius,” Victoria said as she pointed to the other window, which also had a wired box on its inside frame. “How are we getting in without setting those off?”

  I clicked on my headlamp. “Watch and learn,” I said as I walked down the steps and knelt next to them. I parted a massive clump of three-foot-tall western sword ferns, which grew sporadically around the museum. I’d never shown anyone this trick before, not even Stanley. I was saving it for a day when he really needed cheering up.

  The last time Stanley and I sat on the Spoon’s back porch, he’d photographed the ferns and wondered how anyone with pteridophobia (he informed me that meant a morbid fear of ferns) could live in the Pacific Northwest since ferns thrived in the sodden, dark, and mild climate. I wished Stanley was here now. Instead, all I had was Rule Number 21 to guide me: Assume every agent is a double agent. I was going into an unknown situation with an agent of unknown loyalty.

  The steps were hollow underneath, so I removed the small plywood boards that kept animals out. I dropped onto the cold, damp ground, squeezing my way under the back steps.

  “Seriously?” Victoria said as she knelt.

  “It’s the only way in without setting off the alarm,” I said.

  “This is too realistic,” Victoria said as she followed me in. “Make sure you show the dirt on my legs.” She kept stopping to brush the dirt off her hands, which was ridiculous since we still had lots of dirt to crawl over.

  I army-crawled under the museum until I was in the right area. I started pushing against floorboards until one popped up with a creak. The next two boards lifted up easily, making a hole about eighteen inches long and twelve inches wide.

  Some of the original flooring had rotted away years ago. Whoever put in the new floorboards hadn’t nailed them down. As a kid, my mom found that she could crawl under the museum and push the three short boards up, gaining entrance between two display cases. She’d showed me the trick once so we could scare Aunt Gertie. Luckily, silver spoons don’t break when they’re dropped.

  “Nice,” Victoria said when she saw how we’d be entering. “We’re going to have to do that again so you can film me.”

  So we did. I took video of Victoria as she knelt next to the ferns, squished them down, removed the boards, and then crawled underneath the building. Then I had to inch my way in front so I could film her in the dark, enclosed space as she made her way toward the entrance. The ground was cold, and my hoodie wasn’t warm enough. All the while, Victoria kept up a constant stream of comments: “I’m so scared. What’s that noise? Oh, I hope I don’t get caught. Yuck, I think that was a bug. Oh no, it slithered. It must be a snake.” She timed her reactions perfectly. In fact, she was so convincing, I was starting to get seriously creeped out, even though I knew there wouldn’t be any snakes out and about so late in the year.

  I filmed Victoria entering the museum twice. The first time I was on the ground, so I got a great view of her legs going up into a dark hole. Then we had to film it with me already in Le Petit Musée so I could capture Victoria as she squeezed through the tight space where the floorboards had been.

  While I felt guilty about disobeying Roy’s direct command, I had things to take care of — namely, protecting Stanley and hiding the New Orleans collection.

  Once inside, I double-checked the locks on all the doors — front, back, and the side office door, which opened up into the alleyway between the museum and the Star’s Tale. The three deadbolts were all locked. All of the windows and doors had white boxes with wires on them.

  Victoria picked up a bunch of spoons that were on display and tapped them on the glass case, making a clank-tink sound.

  “Please don’t move any of the spoons,” I said. “I just arranged those by the harvest theme on Sunday afternoon.”

  “Mabel, chill. I don’t give a rat’s tail about some old spoons, no matter how fancy they are. Now give me my phone and stay out of my shot.” Victoria started talking to her camera, making excited noises.

  I grabbed an empty box from the office and lined it with paper towels. I opened up the New Orleans spoons display case and started placing them in the box, layering paper towels over each bunch of spoons. When all seventy-fives spoons were in the box, I stuffed more paper towels on top to prevent them clanking together. I also packed the info card. As quickly as I could, I rearranged the other spoon collections, spreading them out so it wouldn’t appear like anything was missing from the display.

  I carried the box into the office, struggling under its weight, and hid it behind rolls of paper towels in one of the cabinets. It wasn’t the best spot, but it would have to do for now.

  “Silverton sucks rotten eggs.” Victoria marched into the kitchen, grabbed me by my arm, and pulled me to the other side of the big display room. “Nothing works in this town.”

  “What now?”

  “See this,” Victoria said as she stepped onto a chair, then climbed onto a tall black filing cabinet that was half-hidden in the back corner. She perched up there, legs crossed and smiling, perfectly positioned under the Spoon sign made of spoons.

  Victoria snapped a photo of herself and then handed the phone to me.

  “It’s fuzzy,” I said.

  “Exactly. Which is why I want you to take it.”

  I stayed absolutely still as I snapped the photo, but when I looked at it, I found this one was also fuzzy. Not blurred like she had moved or out of focus like the camera wasn’t working — just fuzzy.

  “I can’t believe this. First my computer cannot connect to the Internet, and now this.” Victoria hopped down. “It’s the perfect shot to prove I’m inside.” She grabbed the phone from me, walked across the room, and snapped another picture. This photo of the Spoon sign came out fine. “Maybe it’s too dark. Can we move the cabinet?”

  I pulled on the handles of the filing cabinet. They didn’t budge. “Mom lost the keys ages ago.” Hmm. The locks look small. Not small enough for the skeleton key on my pocketknife, but maybe small enough for the key I found next to the red case. However, I’d left it in my desk drawer.

  “Do you hear that?” Victoria tried to open the drawers too, but was unsuccessful. She leaned toward the cabinet, a puzzled expression on her face.

  “Seriously? Save your ‘I’m scared’ bit for the camera,” I said. I wasn’t sure what her new game was, but I was too tired to play. Did she think I was that gullible?

  Victoria placed her ear on the side of the filing cabinet. “Moppet, listen to this.” She pulled me toward her so hard that I banged my head on the metal.

  Then I heard it — a low humming sound. I moved around, listening from different spots. The lower I went, the louder the hum. “What is that?”

  “Not old paperwork.” Victoria straightened up. “Your museum, your problem.”

  I’d spent my whole life in and out of the museum, but I’d never noticed a humming sound. Was it new? Was it important? Would the small key fit the cabinet locks? I pressed my ear against the cabinet again. I had heard the soothing hum somewhere before. I closed my eyes to try to remember where. For some reason, I thought of the time in science class when Mr. Baker substituted. He had us build electrical circuits and th
en blow the fuses. We were supposed to use a wooden stick to press the button, but Emma H. used her finger, and instantaneously singed off her arm hair. The smoke detectors sounded, the sprinklers soaked us, and the fire trucks came. This hum seemed to be at the same frequency. But what would an electric circuit be doing in this filing cabinet?

  While Victoria took more videos of herself, I pushed Mom’s old wooden desk in front of the back door to act as an additional barricade. I also checked — again — that the deadbolts were firmly set. To block the front and side doors, I jammed chairs under their doorknobs, just like I had seen in the movies. Now, even with a key, there were physical barriers against intruders. The only way in or out of the museum was through the loose floorboards or smashing a window.

  Our luck had held so far, but I didn’t want to push it, so I said, “We should get back home.”

  “One more shot,” Victoria said. Of course, she took three before finally jumping into the hole. I followed, pulling the wooden floorboards into place.

  As we crawled out, Victoria kept up her patter about how afraid she was. I replaced the outside plywood boards, and the ferns sprung back, hiding all evidence of our covert ops. We walked the few yards to my back door in silence. The only light on the first floor was from the television room, so we sneaked in through the kitchen.

  Once there, we waited until we heard Stella and Frank’s guffaws drown out whatever show was on, then we tiptoed upstairs to my room.

  We did it! I thought, my heart still beating double-time. My grin matched Victoria’s. After changing out of our dirty clothes, we sat on my bed. Victoria plugged her phone into her laptop to transfer the videos, then replayed them, pointing out what she liked and didn’t like about each take.

  “You know your parents are going to be upset with you when they find out?” I whispered, not sure how I felt about what we had done.

  “I know.” Victoria shook her head. “I just like to remind them that I’m here.”