Get Smart-ish

by Gitty Daneshvari

  “I hate to disagree with my partner, but I actually have quite a few hidden talents.”

  “She doesn’t,” Jonathan stated emphatically. “But what we do have is an ability to blend in, to go through life without registering on anyone’s radar. Why? Because we’re average, forgettable, normal. In the words of the League’s chief operating agent, Hammett Humphries, we live in the world’s blind spot.”

  “And that blind spot gives us access to just about everything,” Shelley said as she removed her glasses and looked the prime minister straight in the eye. “You may not believe it now, but in the end, you’ll wish all your spies were as unexceptional as we are.”

  “This is a most interesting theory. It is not the talent of the operative that matters, but the operative’s ability to go unnoticed,” the prime minister pondered quietly.

  “We saved our government from some pretty scary stuff, and if you’ll let us, we’ll do our best to help you too,” Jonathan said.

  The prime minister stared at the boy for a few seconds before turning to Randolph and nodding.

  “Two nights ago a BAE agent—that’s the Bureau of Adolescent Espionage—named Nina Mitford went AWOL,” Randolph said while placing a photo of the teenage girl on the table in front of Jonathan and Shelley. “She disconnected her tracking device, turned off her cell phone, and then broke into a laboratory that handles low-security experiments…with one very important exception.”

  “Ooooh,” Shelley said, leaning in, “I’m sensing this is about to get good.”

  “To fully understand this story, I must first tell you about the chiropterologist,” Randolph began before pausing. “That is someone who studies bats.”

  “No need to state the obvious, Randolph,” Shelley interjected while Jonathan rolled his eyes.

  “The chiropterologist, Dr. Kashef, was well known in the research community for a variety of reasons, one of which was that he was a certified genius with an IQ of one sixty. However, a few months ago, while on a research trip in Africa, he was bitten by a previously unknown mutation of the common fruit bat. Within weeks he was a changed man—easily distracted, confused, unable to focus for more than a few seconds at a time and, as such, less intelligent—by thirty IQ points, to be exact. You see, this mutated group of bats carried a virus that attacks the brain’s frontal lobe, permanently affecting a person’s ability to focus and therefore their intelligence. The virus spreads via saliva. And though this small colony of bats was destroyed, one vial of the virus was brought back to the United Kingdom for research.”

  “Dr. Kashef kissed a bat, didn’t he? Listen, I’m not judging; weird things happen in the dark. Once during a blackout, I let my sister’s hamsters out of the cage, only to hunt them down like a lion would rabbits….I turned into a real animal…until the lights came on. Then I went back to watching reality TV,” Shelley said, prompting the prime minister to whisper to Randolph, “It is not just the loss of great minds that scares me, but what will happen to those already lacking.”

  Randolph nodded as a creaking sound began to emanate from the closet to the left of the prime minister’s desk. The faint noise morphed into a raucous shuffling, prompting all in the room to turn.

  “Don’t tell me we have another rodent infestation,” the prime minister remarked as the door flung open, revealing a tall man in a double-breasted gray pin-striped suit, with a well-oiled head of black hair.

  “Randolph, call security!” Prime Minister Falcon shrieked as he pushed his chair away from the desk.

  “Hammett!” Shelley and Jonathan cried in unison as the man popped a toothpick into his mouth and sauntered into the room.

  “No need for security, Prime Minister,” Hammett said as he approached the desk, right hand extended. “The name’s Hammett, with two t’s, Hammett Humphries.”

  “The chief operating agent for the League of Unexceptional Children?” the prime minister asked.

  “That’s me, live and in the flesh,” Hammett said as he pulled the toothpick from his mouth.

  “Yes, but what on earth were you doing in my closet?” Prime Minister Falcon demanded as he banged his fist against the desk.

  “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” Hammett said with a sly smile. “Let me give it to you short and simple. These two here, they might not look like much, or talk like much, or even know much, but they’re going to save you, I guarantee it. However, unexceptionals are like porcupines in a cage full of gorillas. They need special handling, so President Arons thought it best I was on the ground in London, just in case.”

  “Very well, we can accept that your spies need a chaperone, but that still doesn’t explain what you were doing in the closet,” Randolph snapped brusquely.

  “What can I say? I like to make an entrance,” Hammett said just as a red-haired woman dressed in a traditional white nurse’s uniform exited the closet.

  “The Thames flood of 1928 killed fourteen people. Gray and bloated; that’s how the bodies looked when they pulled them from the river,” the stern-faced woman announced to the room.

  “Who in the bloody heck is this?” Prime Minister Falcon griped, clearly frustrated by the stream of visitors in his office.

  “This here’s my colleague Nurse Maidenkirk. She’s a great broad, but she never has anything cheerful to say; it’s just one horror story after another,” Hammett explained.

  “Charming lot, you Americans,” the prime minister grumbled sarcastically as he eyed the motley crew. “Now, unless there are any other people hiding in the closet, may we please get back to the rather pressing matter at hand?!”

  Randolph nodded and quickly resumed his briefing. “After interviewing Operative Mitford’s friends and colleagues at BAE, we’ve learned that she is a passionate environmentalist. One who has grown increasingly disillusioned by our government’s failure to support legislation that would protect England’s nature preserves. And with an initiative to allow oil drilling in protected areas coming before Parliament next week, we believe she plans on using LIQ-30 on select ministers to sway the vote in her favor.”

  “For as you can imagine, the more confused a person is, the easier he or she is to manipulate,” the prime minister added.

  “Trust me, I know,” Shelley said, motioning toward Jonathan. “I’ve seen this one manipulated by squirrels in the park; they worked him over for every last piece of popcorn he had. It was pathetic.”

  “Once LIQ-30 is out there, there’s no stopping it. It will be a plague more destructive than any we’ve ever known: a plague of dimming intelligence,” Prime Minister Falcon continued, completely ignoring Shelley’s comments.

  “Not to worry, PM, we’re on it like white on rice or brown on rice, depending on what kind of rice you prefer to eat,” Shelley babbled, then extended her arms. “What do you say we seal the deal with a hug?”

  “I don’t think so,” Prime Minister Falcon responded coldly.

  “Hugs have helped many a world leader deal with the pain of childhood. A few seconds in these bad boys and you forget all about the time your parents left you at the rest stop in Yellowstone.”

  “And on that very uncomfortable note, I think we’re done,” Jonathan announced as he pulled Shelley away from the prime minister.

  “On that we agree,” Randolph said. “Mr. Humphries, Nurse Maidenkirk, as the operatives will be at BAE headquarters this afternoon, I do not believe we will be needing your services any further today.”

  “Is that your polite way of saying we don’t have clearance?” Hammett asked as he popped a new toothpick into his mouth. “Not to worry, we can take a hint. Can’t we, Maidenkirk?”

  “There was a dead bird near the gate,” Nurse Maidenkirk said, eyes twinkling with excitement. “It probably flew into a window and broke its neck. I think we ought to have it stuffed by a local taxidermist as a souvenir from the trip.”

  “I feel it my duty to tell you that this woman isn’t an actual nurse, so don’t let her give you any shots, okay?” Jona
than whispered to Randolph.

  OCTOBER 22, 11:03 A.M. BAE HEADQUARTERS. LONDON, ENGLAND

  Barren. Cold. High-tech. These were Jonathan’s and Shelley’s first impressions of the lobby of the Bureau of Adolescent Espionage.

  “Operatives 2397 and 2398 reporting for duty,” Randolph said to one of the many guards standing at attention.

  “Follow me,” a gruff-looking man barked, and then led Jonathan and Shelley to two large metal-and-glass boxes in the corner of the room. “Step inside. We’re scanning for tracking devices and bugs, as well as logging your features for our facial recognition software. At BAE we do not believe in identification cards, as there is always a chance that they can be counterfeited. A face, however, cannot.”

  “Talk about high-tech,” Jonathan mumbled as the two stepped inside the boxes.

  “Sure beats climbing through a fridge of pork products,” Shelley said, thinking of the League of Unexceptional Children’s headquarters hidden behind Famous Randy’s Hot Dog Palace.

  Following the scans, Randolph led Jonathan and Shelley to a door marked SOUTH CORRIDOR while explaining, “Rogue operatives are dreadful for office morale, so we thought it best to set up our central command away from the others. After all, we needn’t flaunt Operative Mitford’s betrayal.”

  “Maybe it’s just me, but traitors actually lift my spirits; they make me feel better about myself. Like, it suddenly doesn’t seem so bad that I cheated off Stefan Lindeman in math class and still managed to fail the test,” Shelley rambled as Jonathan smiled, relieved that Randolph couldn’t hear her soft voice over the white noise pumping through the halls (a security measure to stop operatives from eavesdropping).

  “It’s basic, but it will have to do,” Randolph stated as he opened the door to a stale, windowless room at the end of the corridor with wall-to-wall gray carpeting, a couple of desks, and a map of London.

  “So it’s just Shelley and me working the case?” Jonathan asked as he looked around the empty room. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  Shelley cleared her throat and then grabbed hold of Randolph’s arm to make sure he was listening. “Please ignore my partner. Acting insecure is part of his cover.”

  Jonathan sighed and thought, If only that were true.

  “You needn’t worry. The others are on their way,” Randolph responded to Jonathan. “Now, in regards to your backstories, President Arons has requested that no additional BAE operatives, outside of Vera and Felix, whom you worked with in America, be told of your true identity as members of the League of Unexceptional Children. So we have told the team that you are spies from America—no more, no less.”

  “Got it. Now, what kind of gadgets are you tricking us out with? Because I should tell you, I’m kind of a tech whiz,” Shelley bragged as Jonathan shook his head.

  “After reading your files, we have decided it best to limit your exposure to technology. To be honest, we weren’t even sure we were going to give you cell phones at first,” Randolph explained as he motioned for the two to take seats.

  “I’m reading between the vines here, but it was because of our accents, wasn’t it? You didn’t want to be forced to listen to a couple of Americans on the phone.”

  “Shells, it’s reading between the lines, not the vines,” Jonathan clarified.

  “No, it’s vines, as in it’s hard to read something covered in vines,” Shelley explained.

  “I’m afraid Jonathan is right on this one. And I can assure you the issue was not your accents, but rather your track records,” Randolph stated as he pulled up a file on his iPad. “It appears that you, Shelley, have lost a total of eighteen phones, twelve of which were landlines—as in phones that plug into the wall.”

  “You know, I want to say you’re wrong. But something about this sounds vaguely familiar,” Shelley acknowledged.

  “And as for you, Jonathan. You have only destroyed two phones in your life. But both times resulted in fire. I believe the first incident involved you sticking a slice of bread in your pocket and your phone in the toaster—”

  “And the second a frozen burrito in my backpack and my phone in the microwave,” Jonathan interrupted.

  “So it was nothing short of a miracle that I was able to convince the powers that be to trust both of you with mobiles,” Randolph said as the sound of a door opening distracted Jonathan and Shelley.

  Confident, striking, and exceptional—these were Shelley’s first impressions of the trio of operatives entering the room. Everything from the manner in which they walked, dressed, and stood silently communicated that they were nothing short of espionage royalty. The faint voice in the back of Shelley’s mind, the one she always tried her best to ignore, suddenly erupted. These kids know what they’re doing! Run! Get out as fast as you can! They’re going to see straight through you!

  But just as Shelley prepared to dart from the room without so much as an explanation, another voice appeared. Only this one played fast and loose with the truth, thereby tricking Shelley into feeling important, strong, and confident. A surge of adrenaline whipped through her body as she listened to the voice list her many “talents.” Best puppy cuddler in the United States, sampler of Korean food, break-dancer, air guitar master, snoreless sleeper…

  “Where are Vera and Felix?” Jonathan asked as he looked over the unfamiliar faces.

  “Unfortunately, they had to take a slight detour to rural Mongolia. They’re our only operatives fluent in the Khalkha dialect, so we had no choice but to send them,” Randolph said.

  “What a shame! I was really looking forward to seeing good old Ver and Fel again,” Shelley said, turning to the three operatives. “We had some crazy times with them last week. Wait until you guys hear about it—”

  “Shells, it was a top secret mission, which means we can never, ever talk about it,” Jonathan stated, raising his eyebrows in an effort to drive the point home.

  “Um, I know, Johno,” Shelley covered poorly. “If you had let me finish, I was going to say, ‘Wait until you guys hear about it…when we’re all dead…because when we’re ghosts, security breaches no longer matter.’”

  “Since your deaths are most likely some ways off—although in this line of work you never know—may I suggest we get on with the introductions,” Randolph said, and then pointed to a petite redheaded girl in a blue-and-yellow plaid dress. “Jonathan, Shelley, may I present Hattie Fleming.”

  “Good afternoon, young lady and young gentleman, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance,” the girl offered in a staid, formal tone of voice. “As you will soon learn, I am something of an anomaly—a technology expert who prefers the simpler things in life, such as a fine cucumber sandwich or a weekend shooting clay pigeons.”

  “As a recent convert to vegetarianism, I am staunchly anti–pigeon assassins,” Shelley declared, narrowing her eyes at Hattie.

  “How recent was the conversion? You ate a sausage-and-egg sandwich with a side of bacon for breakfast,” Jonathan reminded Shelley.

  “Darn it! Every time I’m hungry I forget I’m a vegetarian,” Shelley lamented, and then pursed her lips. “In light of what I just heard, I think it’s best I retract the pigeon assassin comment…so please consider it retracted…like it never happened…even though it did…but now let’s all pretend that it didn’t.”

  “They’re clay pigeons, not actual birds. You do understand the difference, don’t you?” Hattie asked.

  “Yet another reason I’m glad I retracted my previous statement, non–pigeon killer,” Shelley said. “And just so you know, Jonathan hates cucumber sandwiches.”

  “She grows on you,” Jonathan added quietly. “Sort of like mold on a piece of fruit.”

  After a few seconds of awkward stares, Randolph pointed to a boy dressed in a beige corduroy suit, with dark brown skin and black curly locks that added an extra inch to the circumference of his head. “This young man is Oliver Lakeshore, although he prefers to be called Oli.”

  The boy nodded h
ello to Jonathan and Shelley before clearing his throat. “I am a historian, which is quite useful in our field because, in the words of philosopher George Santayana, ‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’”

  “And those who quote other people are condemned to bore all those around them,” an extremely tall and muscular blond boy at the end of the line huffed. “I mean, what kind of spy is a historian? It’s utterly ludicrous!”

  “The prime minister doesn’t think so,” Oli answered loudly.

  “And this is our biochemical expert, Darwin Chapman. Equal parts intelligence and nuisance,” Randolph interjected.

  “Come on, Teeth, I’m not that bad,” Darwin said with a wry smile.

  “Do not call me Teeth!” Randolph snapped.

  “And you thought it was bad when I called the prime minister PM,” Shelley whispered to Jonathan.

  “Oh, come on, don’t get your knickers in a twist. It’s not like I’m calling you Eye or anything,” Darwin continued.

  “People of my generation did not get braces. It simply was not done,” Randolph stated impatiently.

  “So what are your specialties?” Darwin asked Jonathan and Shelley as he stepped forward, towering over the two.

  “Mahjong,” Shelley exclaimed without thinking. “And backgammon,” she said, pointing at Jonathan.

  Darwin shook his head and laughed. “You two are experts in old people’s games? Why on earth would we need you to help us track Nina?”

  “Dar? Can I call you Dar? Or would you prefer Win?” Shelley asked.

  “I would prefer Darwin, as that is my name.”

  “It appears there’s a lot you don’t know about Nina, because she was in fact a very dedicated and highly gifted mahjong-ist and backgammon-ist.”

  “And environmentalist,” Jonathan said while pinching Shelley in an attempt to stop her improvising.

  “Now then,” Randolph spoke up, “if we are finished with introductions, I would like an update on Operative Mitford.”