Mabel Opal Pear and the Rules for Spying

by Amanda Hosch

  “Roy?” I asked.

  “Tweedledee,” he whispered.

  I breathed in deeply. “Tweedledum.” I handed Victoria’s purple smartphone to Roy. “I recorded everything.”

  “Sunfl—” Roy started to say. He glanced over at Victoria sitting on the museum floor amid shards of glass. He led me outside to the front porch. “Mabel. I am so proud of you. Your parents will be so proud of you.”

  “You found them?” I asked.

  “Thanks to you,” he said. “Yes, we did.”

  The bewildered look on my face made Roy laugh.

  “The phone your mother hid in the basement is actually a tertiary emergency distress beacon,” he said. “Like a third wall of defense.”

  “A what?”

  “When other systems fail — which they did this time — that phone automatically calls for help when you dial the Agency’s normal operative number for dependents,” Roy said. “Your father rigged that phone so that it not only activated the Agency’s highest priority distress signal, it also began the emergency extraction protocol for your parents.”

  “What took so long?” I asked.

  “It was rather weird,” Roy said. “Once the beacon started the emergency extraction protocol, someone — we don’t know who yet — tried to stop it. However, your father had a password protection on the computer code so the beacon immediately kicked itself up to the top commander of the Agency. And the commander wanted answers before she’d send us, especially since your parents were not supposed to be in the field.”

  “Montgomery did it,” I said, feeling certain, even without a shred of evidence. “He’s a double agent.”

  Roy looked confused, so I repeated myself.

  “Montgomery said he works for the Agency. He claims he sent Mom and Dad to Paraguay and then somehow erased their orders so that it will look like they went on their own accord. And he said he knew Grace K.’s father from a long time ago.”

  Before he could question me further, Roy’s phone rang. As he listened to the person on the other line, his shoulders sagged. After hanging up, Roy said to me, “Montgomery, or Cedric Hawkins from the fingerprints, is the mastermind of an international smuggling organization that deals primarily in early American artifacts.”

  A sheriff’s officer wrapped a quilt around Victoria and escorted her out of the museum.

  “Victoria, wait. Where are you going?” I asked. I may not have been her biggest fan in the past, but she was family now.

  “Just to the hospital,” she said, pointing to cuts on her arms and knees. “Relax. I’m not being arrested.”

  “You’re right, Mabel,” Roy said once Victoria was out of hearing range. “He’s a double agent. Instead of working for another government, he was working for himself.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said.

  “Gets worse,” Roy said. “Somehow, just minutes ago, Montgomery escaped from custody.”

  “What?” I almost shouted. “I practically handed Montgomery over to the authorities — handcuffed and tied up — and they let him escape?”

  “They thought he was unconscious, and they assumed he was a Washington State Border Patrol Officer named Al Montgomery,” Roy said, “so they uncuffed him to lay him on the hospital gurney. He was gone without a trace within seconds.”

  “How?”

  “Cedric Hawkins is a known mastermind of escape — he’s broken out of three maximum-security prisons without ever leaving a clue behind.”

  “Whoever he is, he told me that he was part of the gang my grandparents, Carl and Mabel Baies, belonged to. He said he was a courier at the time. That’s why he came back to Silverton. He was looking for forgotten items.”

  “And now he’s the boss,” Roy said.

  “What about the helicopter?” I asked. “After you dust it for fingerprints, can you track its registration to the Agency or one of its shell companies?”

  “What copter?” Roy asked.

  “The blue Robinson R22 Beta II behind the warehouse,” I said.

  Roy got back on his phone. Within a minute, he was shaking his head. “It’s gone.”

  I tried to recall exactly what Montgomery looked like so that I could describe him to a sketch artist, but I had a feeling capturing him again would be difficult even so — especially if he was an Agency-trained spy. “What else do you know about him?”

  Roy looked at his little flip notebook. “Montgomery was known to make counterfeit copies of rare letters that he would sell to private collectors for extra profit.”

  “Mementos from presidents.” I pointed to the red suitcase. “Thomas Jefferson’s gold-handled spoons are in there. And some of his letters.”

  “How many?” Roy asked.

  “Sixteen spoons.”

  “No. Letters. How many?”

  I shrugged, trying to recall the wad of papers. “Maybe ten or fifteen.”

  Roy let out a low whistle. “If they’re authentic, each letter might sell for $100,000 at auction.”

  I felt a little lightheaded for second. “I used more than a million dollars worth of American history to hit Stella?”

  “You saved more than a million dollars worth of American history.” Roy grinned.

  “Why was the silverware case in our basement in the first place?”

  “Your dad found it a few months ago in your attic when he was installing —” Roy stopped talking suddenly.

  “The satellite dish.” A thought hit me. “Dad installed a second dish on the Spoon’s roof in July, mumbling something about better reception.”

  “Did he?” Roy looked uncomfortable. “The silverware case was hidden in your rafters for decades.”

  “And there’s more stuff in our house too.” The blueprint would pinpoint all of the secret nooks. “It’s from my grandparents, right?”

  “Tracking the last known legal owners has been a low priority item for the Agency,” Roy said. “Your parents received permission to do it during quiet periods and return the goods as unobtrusively as possible.”

  The Great Reverse Heist.

  Montgomery must have been waiting to get his hands on the stuff all this time. He’d even used Grace K. to track my movements. That must’ve been how Frankenstella knew that I’d jumped off the bus. I owed Victoria an apology.

  “The important thing is that you kept the museum safe from prying eyes,” Roy said.

  Did I? I wondered. “When Victoria and I were in the Spoon, she couldn’t take a clear photograph next to the black file cabinet. It buzzed, like a transmitter.”

  Roy said nothing, but thoughts churned in my head. “The museum’s satellite is for that, not television shows,” I said. “All of those black boxes that lead to the warehouse — it’s all connected to Mom and Dad’s work for the Agency, right?”

  Roy looked at me in amazement.

  “That’s why the Agency didn’t want anyone in the Spoon,” I said.

  “I can’t tell you much, except it’s a top secret prototype of a brand new way to transmit highly classified intel. The computer software was designed by your father.”

  “I was in the Spoon all summer long and never noticed it,” I said. “How long has it been there?”

  “Your parents began testing it about eight weeks ago,” Roy said. “There’s a transmitter — looks like a weathervane — on top of that supposedly abandoned warehouse.”

  That’s what the topological map was really showing — Dad’s work for the Agency.

  “The transmitter didn’t appear to be the target of Frank and Stella’s theft,” Roy said. “Montgomery’s smuggling ring, however, could have recognized it for what it was.”

  “What’s his real name?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Roy shook his head. “Not Cedric Hawkins, even though he’s used that for years. Is Montgom
ery real or code? Who knows? We should all be grateful he didn’t discover the transmitter. With his Agency training, he could have used it for his own illegal operations.”

  And I was the one who came close to doing just that. “How does the transmitter work?”

  “That’s classified,” Roy said. “Way above my level.”

  “How did Frank and Stella get involved with Montgomery?” I asked.

  “Montgomery is clever. He ran into Frank some years back and must have realized Frank didn’t know where the red suitcase ended up. More than anyone else alive, Montgomery knew the museum, or the house — had unknown gems. After the June visit, which was instigated by Stella’s greed, Montgomery investigated your parents. Their odd traveling schedules tipped him off that they were smugglers like him. Or Agents. He must have been straddling both worlds for a long while.”

  “And no one ever noticed that Montgomery was an odd sock?”

  “I guess not,” Roy said.

  “My parents —” I paused, not sure exactly what I wanted to ask.

  “Montgomery sent them on a real Agency mission, which they successfully completed. He just wanted them out of the way for a while so he could install Frank and Stella in the house.”

  “The documents giving Frankenstella legal guardianship over me and the warrant for Aunt Gertie’s arrest were counterfeit, right?”

  “First-class forgeries.” Roy whistled again. “We’re going to learn a lot from this case. Sunflower, you played a huge role in cracking this smuggler’s ring wide open. And it will lead us to Montgomery — whoever he really is.”

  “How will we explain this to the sheriff?” I asked. “And Victoria? And my friends?”

  “Stick as close to the truth as possible,” Roy said. “Frank and Stella Baies were trying to steal the museum’s silver spoon collections with help from Montgomery.”

  “Who’s PNW Security?” I motioned to the control panel, which someone had finally ripped out of the wall, making the alarm stop.

  Roy scratched his head. “I don’t know. Local company, maybe?”

  “If PNW Security isn’t from the Agency, and it wasn’t Montgomery, then who is it?”

  “You can ask your parents when they return from their Monaco spoon-buying trip.” Roy winked. “In fact, they are on a plane right now.”

  “They’ll be here by tomorrow?”

  “On your eleventh birthday.” Roy grinned. “Happy early Halloween.”

  35

  The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Well, my not-enemy for today, at least.

  — Rule Number 32 from Rules for a Successful Life as an Undercover Secret Agent

  On Saturday afternoon, Aunt Gertie sat up on her hospital bed, chatting with Victoria. Containers from Mai’s Diner covered the small rolling hospital table. My aunt stretched her arms out to me.

  I hugged her as gently as possible, not sure where she was sore. “I tried to hurry on Thursday.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Aunt Gertie said. “I was just a little dehydrated. Doctors say I’m as good as new.” She patted my hand. “I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to make you cinnamon buns for your birthday breakfast, Mabel.”

  “That’s OK, Aunt Gertie.”

  Victoria nibbled thoughtfully on a piece of fried chicken.

  “Any more drumsticks?” I asked. They were my favorite.

  “Sorry.” Victoria pointed to the trash. “I ate them all.”

  “So tell me about your birthday,” Aunt Gertie said.

  What could I say in front of Victoria? I couldn’t reveal that early yesterday morning, way before the sun peeked out on the horizon, Roy brought me to Sea-Tac International Airport. I’m not ashamed to say I threw myself into my parents’ arms. Mom and Dad said they were very proud of me, and that I was one of the best agents-in-training they’d ever seen. Roy, driving crazier than Bus Driver Mark, got me to school before the first bell.

  Admitting Monaco was a cover story wasn’t an option. I certainly couldn’t tell them that Dad said we’d rewrite Rules for a Successful Life as an Undercover Secret Agent with a brand new type of invisible ink and new parchment. He even bought a frame with unbreakable glass.

  I guess the only thing I could say out loud was, “Mom and I went grocery shopping after school and we made the traditional birthday carrot cake with cream cheese icing. I saved some for you.”

  “That’s so sweet,” Aunt Gertie said. “How was Halloween?”

  “Fun! We trick-or-treated with the HEGs and Stanley,” I said. “Hannah was the Pied Piper and we were her rats.”

  Victoria rolled her eyes, but she didn’t fool me. She had a great time parading around Bluewater and loved it when people took pictures of us.

  We didn’t stay for the sleepover. That would’ve been like diving into a pool of glitter without a safety rope securely fastened. My excuse was that we had to drive Stanley back home. Really, I wanted to be in the same house as my parents, for a change. Who knew when they’d be called upon to save the world — or pick up a document — again.

  “Victoria and I have good news for you, Mabel.” Aunt Gertie took Victoria’s hand in her own. “Your cousin is going to stay with me for the rest of the school year. And maybe longer.”

  “Oh.” I had been so happy to get my parents back, I hadn’t considered what would happen to Victoria. The thought of her staying didn’t upset me at all, like it would have a week ago. In fact, knowing Victoria was going to be around gave me a warm, bubbly feeling, like I wanted to laugh for no particular reason. “Welcome to Silverton, Cousin.”

  “Thanks, Cousin,” she said as she spread butter on a biscuit.

  I poked around the containers. “Any more biscuits?” They were my second favorite thing.

  “Nope.” Victoria took a bite. Aunt Gertie pushed Victoria’s bangs out of her eyes.

  I settled for some coleslaw, which wasn’t my favorite, but I couldn’t begrudge Victoria a hot meal. She had lived in that warehouse for months without heat or running water.

  My parents were in the hospital lobby, filling out paperwork for my aunt’s release. While Montgomery (or Cedric Hawkins or whoever he was) was on the run, his state capital gang had been rounded up by the good guys. Hopefully, the Agency would find Montgomery soon and deal with one of their own gone bad. Frankenstella, my archenemies, were in police custody.

  My plans for this Saturday evening — after we got Aunt Gertie and Victoria settled at her house — included my favorite meal: tuna noodle casserole, steamed broccoli, and more carrot cake.

  Except for the fact that I still didn’t know who or what PNW Security was, everything seemed normal again. I was too happy to deal with the far-reaching impact of Victoria living full-time in Silverton. Maybe we would be friends, even if our parents were foes. I could wait a while to see how things would be. I wasn’t ready to trust her with all my secrets, but I didn’t distrust her, either. She had been there when I’d needed her, after all.

  “I have a question,” I said to Victoria. “I thought you hated Silverton.”

  “That’s a statement, not a question, Moppet.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “I will be a famous actress someday.” My cousin nodded. “I want to live in Los Angeles, just not right now. It’s nice being somewhere with decent food. And family.” She squeezed Aunt Gertie’s hand.

  “You belong here with us,” Aunt Gertie said.

  “Plus, all the girls in the class — the Hannahs, the Emmas, and the Graces — have been so welcoming and kind.” Victoria patted the orange and black hair ribbon on her head, just like the one I was wearing, courtesy of the HEGs. “They make me feel like I’ve lived here forever, Moppet.” She reached for the last chocolate chip cookie, but I got it first.

  Victoria exhaled, raised an eyebrow in question, and looked like someone had rep
laced her favorite breakfast with a row of dead fish. Remembering Rule Number 32 — The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Well, my not-enemy for today, at least — I broke the last cookie in half.

  Rules for a Successful Life as an Undercover Secret Agent

  Live in a quiet and remote small town where everyone thinks they already know the real you. Don’t give them a reason to change their minds.

  Just be around a lot. The enemy will get so used to seeing you, they’ll no longer notice you.

  Trust your instincts. Your gut wants you to stay alive. Listen to it.

  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.

  Never blow the cover of a fellow agent. Deny all knowledge of their work. Deny all evidence. Deny, deny, deny.

  Don’t stand out. Follow the crowd. Never call attention to yourself. Shop, eat, and act like the locals.

  Act natural. Be consistent in your cover story. Simple, true statements work best. Don’t get fancy.

  Change up your routine so that the enemy has a harder time tracking you. They will follow you, but make them work for it. Don’t ever rush. Unless you have a bus to catch. Then run.

  Any operation can be terminated at any point. If something feels wrong, stop. Remove yourself from the situation.

  Try to be pleasant to the enemy. Don’t be rude. Use polite manners.

  Never trust anyone who works hard to befriend you. Watch carefully for anyone who does special, unasked favors. Try to figure out what they might want from you.

  Always have an escape plan. Always.

  Use technology, but don’t count on it. Batteries die. Signals fade. Web pages can be faked. Email can be hacked.

  Most people believe what they want to believe, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Don’t be most people.

  Be in control. Act. Be the one who chooses the time and place for action. Only retaliate if absolutely necessary. Know the difference between reacting and responding.

  Always have a Plan B. And a Plan C. A Plan D would be good too.