“We’re somebodies, Johno, even if nobody knows it.”
OCTOBER 23, 6:18 A.M. STREET. LONDON, ENGLAND
“Hey, shorties,” Hammett’s unmistakable voice called out as Jonathan and Shelley walked home, dripping wet with prune-like skin and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the simple fact that they were alive.
“Technically speaking, I’m tall for my age,” Shelley responded as she turned to see Hammett step out of a doorway.
“No, you’re not; you’re average,” Jonathan chimed in.
“This guy,” Shelley said, shaking her head. “He’s the wrecking ball of dreams. Just knocking them down one by one. You think you’re tall, Shells? Think again!”
“Come on, kiddo, don’t tell me you actually thought you were tall for your age? You’re not that bad a detective, are you?” Hammett asked, looking Jonathan and Shelley up and down. “You two were put through the ringer tonight, weren’t you?”
“We almost drowned. My whole body looks like a raisin from being locked in a pit of water. Hattie was infected with LIQ-30. And as if all that wasn’t bad enough, then Nina stole the boat, forcing us to walk home,” Jonathan ranted.
“He’s a real ray of sunshine, isn’t he?” Hammett muttered to Shelley, toothpick dangling from his lips.
“Only if by sunshine, you mean that Johno burns your eyes, leaving you blind and in the dark,” Shelley responded.
“Quite the smart aleck, aren’t you?” Hammett said, winking at Shelley.
“I knew a man named Alec once,” Nurse Maidenkirk said, stepping out from behind a nearby kiosk. “His left foot was removed due to gangrene. Then his right foot. Then his left hand. Then his—”
“Okay!” Hammett snapped. “We get the picture. They trimmed him nice and good like a rotten head of broccoli.”
“Alec had peripheral artery disease, which stops the blood from reaching the limbs,” Nurse Maidenkirk continued.
“And I thought I had a difficult partner,” Jonathan mumbled to Hammett, who was looking unusually tense.
“These BAE operatives are like cough syrup; they might be helpful in the long run, but they leave a terrible taste in my mouth,” Hammett grumbled. “The way they look at you two, like a couple of interlopers—”
“Is that a baby antelope? Because I hate it when people call baby animals by different names. Why aren’t lambs called baby sheep? Or fawns baby deer? Why come up with a whole new name for them? It’s like they’re trying to confuse us!”
Jonathan and Hammett stared at Shelley, unsure what to make of her latest comments. As if suddenly understanding, Shelley nodded and smiled. “I see where you guys are going with this and I like it! Online petition to stop the use of baby animal names!”
“That is definitely not where I was going,” Jonathan responded.
“Look here, kiddo, the only petition I’m signing is one that limits the amount of time we let you talk each day,” Hammett said. “I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got a case of gum-flapping disease. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“I’m sensing you’re not going to sign the petition, which means Khaki over here gets to be the first signature,” Shelley said while turning animatedly to Jonathan.
“It’s pretty unlikely I’ll sign your petition,” Jonathan said.
“How unlikely?” Shelley questioned.
“Joining-a-boy-band kind of unlikely.”
“A boy band? No way. I’ve seen you dance. You’re terrible. I’d start a petition to stop that from happening,” Shelley said.
“Time’s a-ticking here, kids,” Hammett said, looking at his watch. “I’ve got someplace to be.”
“As the saying goes, ‘The early bird gets the sunburn, so take your time and be a little late…or wear a hat.’”
“That is definitely not a saying,” Jonathan said.
“Chocolate, anyone?” Nurse Maidenkirk interjected, offering Jonathan, Shelley, and Hammett a piece of her candy bar. “I once saw a dog drop dead seconds after fishing a box of chocolates out of the trash.”
“Seconds?” Hammett questioned Nurse Maidenkirk. “I’ve never heard of chocolate affecting a dog so quickly.”
“Well, it was either the chocolate or the car that jumped the curb and ran over the dog. They happened one after another, making it impossible to say for sure.”
“This woman here, she’s a certifiable wack job, you know that?” Hammett said fondly. “She spends her free days looking for bird bones in the park. But I keep her around; you want to know why? Because she’s loyal, through and through. If I need her, she’ll be there. She’ll probably have a dead squirrel in her pocket, but she’ll be there nonetheless.”
Jonathan shrugged. “I guess you could consider that helpful.”
“The being-there part or the dead squirrel?” Shelley asked.
“Listen up, this is serious!” Hammett instructed Jonathan and Shelley as he snapped his fingers. “You two are so alone in the world; not even the floor’s going to be there if you fall.”
“That’s cold…colder than Antarctica…colder than Santa Claus’s toes in the North Pole…although I bet Santa has pretty good boots,” Shelley babbled.
Jonathan sighed. “Shelley’s allergic to staying on topic.”
“Hey,” Hammett snapped. “Shelley may talk a lot of nonsense, but she’s your partner and you need her.”
“Did you hear that, Khaki? You need me!” Shelley said with a smug smile.
“And you need him. Average nobodies can get lost real easy in this world. And when they do, no one comes looking for them. Why? Because no one remembers they exist.”
“Except our parents,” Jonathan corrected Hammett. “They know we exist. They’d come looking for us.”
“Your parents have been talking to a stuffed animal for the last two days thinking it was you. Sure, you told them you were going away, but you think they remembered? Not a chance, kid. Not a chance.”
“As the sunshine of my grandparents’ lives,” Shelley said, peering over her glasses to look at Hammett, “I can’t imagine how lonely they are without me.”
“Here’s the bottom line, kid. Your grandparents know you’re out of town. They just can’t remember where you went. Your granddad suspects it has something to do with being dishonorably discharged from the Girl Scouts.”
“Grandpa can’t remember where I went, but he remembers that I was kicked out of the Girl Scouts for buying badges on the black market?” Shelley sputtered. “What is wrong with my family?!”
OCTOBER 23, 10:09 A.M. 10 DOWNING STREET. LONDON, ENGLAND
After arriving back at Downing Street at just past 6:30 in the morning, Jonathan and Shelley had quickly changed into their pajamas and climbed into their beds. However, less than four hours had passed when Jonathan awoke with a start. Sure that he was still dreaming, he rubbed his eyes. But the face remained. Wrinkled, with a steady breath that smelled of strong tea and liquor. The woman was mere inches from the boy’s face when she whispered.
“We’re in the company of turncoats, I’m certain of it. They’ll kill us if we stay. And they know how to make murder look like an accident.”
“As much as I enjoy our little chats, Mrs. Cadogan, what do you say we limit our interactions to mealtimes?” Jonathan asked, the woman still inches from his face.
“They’ll poison the food next.”
“Have you woken up Shelley yet?” Jonathan asked.
“Who?”
“You know, my little blond friend?”
“You mean Gertrude? Poor thing, she was so terrified, she bit my arm and pushed me out of the room,” Mrs. Cadogan explained.
“She bit you?” Jonathan said, barely containing his horror.
“That is not what happened,” Shelley said with a huff, standing in the doorway.
“All right, then, what happened?” Jonathan responded, gently pushing Mrs. Cadogan away from his face.
“The old lady woke me from a very deep sleep,
and as you can imagine, I was more than a little surprised to see that face,” Shelley said, motioning toward Mrs. Cadogan. “At which time I might have accidentally placed my mouth on top of her arm in an effort to get her to leave my room.”
“Children, you mustn’t trust anyone. I’ve heard that there are enemies on our soil, enemies who are trained in the art of deception,” Mrs. Cadogan said ominously before pulling a piece of bread from the pocket of her dress.
“Nice breakfast,” Shelley joked, pointing at the bread.
Eyes bulging, Mrs. Cadogan answered firmly, “We must all ration in wartime. It’s our duty to the country.”
“For someone who’s supposed to be living off rations, you’re looking a little on the plump side.”
Clearly scandalized by Shelley’s comment, Mrs. Cadogan gasped and then barked, “Are you insinuating that I am stealing other people’s rations?”
“Shells, let’s not upset the old lady with dementia.”
“Fine,” Shelley acquiesced. “I’ll issue a retraction.”
OCTOBER 23, 2:08 P.M. BAE HEADQUARTERS. LONDON, ENGLAND
Randolph stood in the center of the austere room, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed, and his mouth frowning. The news of Jonathan and Shelley’s near-death experience had rattled him. He knew the truth: They were nothing more than a couple of kids whose strongest asset was that they were forgettable. Was it possible that they were in over their heads? That President Arons had misjudged their abilities?
“Good afternoon, Teeth. Khaki and Glasses aren’t in yet?” Darwin called out as he walked into headquarters.
“Khaki and Glasses?” Randolph repeated.
“Come on, Teeth, you know who I’m talking about. Bob and Sheila.”
“Who?” Randolph responded.
“The American operatives.”
“I believe the names you are looking for are Jonathan and Shelley,” Randolph informed Darwin, motioning toward the left side of the room.
“We’re right here,” Jonathan said, standing up.
“That’s weird. I mistook you two for chairs,” Darwin said.
“Unfortunately, being mistaken for office furniture happens more often than I care to admit,” Jonathan said as Shelley shook her head.
“I’ve been mistaken for a bench, sure. A desk once or twice, but your common office chair? Never!” Shelley said with a huff.
“My sincere apologies, Glasses,” Darwin offered with a smirk.
“So you’re sticking with Glasses. Are you sure you don’t want to give Super Shelley or Shelltastic a try?”
“I don’t think so,” Darwin responded as Oli entered the room, Hattie trailing behind him with a newspaper in hand.
“A three-letter word for feline?” Hattie mumbled to herself as she took a seat. “This chair is terribly uncomfortable. Personally I’ve always been fond of hard beds and soft chairs. And ice cream. I love ice cream.”
“Look at her, Teeth!” Darwin blustered. “She’s struggling to do the crossword and it’s not even the weekend edition!”
“Hattie was a million times smarter than we are and now look at her,” Jonathan whispered to Shelley. “If Nina infects us, we’re pretty much done.”
“If I become any less focused than I already am, I’m pretty sure my parents will downgrade me to niece or cousin. Just to save face,” Shelley admitted.
“It’s not easy being the only non-genius in a family of geniuses, is it, Shells?”
“It’s like riding a bicycle when you only have one leg. Seriously hard,” Shelley said solemnly before breaking into a smile. “Although, if everyone in my family were infected with LIQ-30, I would be the smartest one. The top of the food chain, not that I would eat them, because I’m not a cannibal. Although, if you leave me in the woods long enough with a dead body, I could be swayed. But only if there was barbecue sauce.”
“This conversation just got really weird. And not in a good way. In an I’m-definitely-going-to-lock-my-bedroom-door-tonight kind of way,” Jonathan said as Randolph huddled with Darwin and Oli in the corner.
“Relax, I would never eat you. You’re too skinny. It wouldn’t be worth all the effort to make a fire, marinate you. Okay, I’m starting to see what you were saying about the conversation getting weird.”
After a few seconds, Randolph stepped away from Darwin and Oli, who then lured Hattie down to the cafeteria with the promise of milk and cookies.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I asked them to step out for a moment so that we might have a talk,” Randolph said, motioning for Jonathan and Shelley to take seats at a nearby table.
“I must admit that after hearing of your near-death experience last night, my first reaction was to pull you from the field. To send you back to America on the next plane. But then I got to thinking about President Arons’s great faith in you and your ability to move through life without registering on anyone’s radar,” Randolph explained.
“That’s what we’re known for, by the few people who remember us, anyway,” Jonathan said.
“It’s true that there is something about you two that makes you slip one’s mind,” Randolph admitted.
“What are you guys talking about? Tons of people remember me,” Shelley interjected.
“Unfortunately, the truth hurts Shelley so much that she refuses to accept it,” Jonathan explained to Randolph. “It’s not an easy road to walk, that of the forgotten child.”
“Forgotten child? More like forgotten young lady!” Shelley corrected Jonathan.
“So now you’re admitting you’re forgettable?”
“What does it matter if I admit it or not? Can’t you just let me be happy for a minute? There’s no reason to blow out the candle inside me.”
“The candle inside you?” Jonathan repeated with a chuckle.
“What? You’re the only one who gets to talk like some lame poem inside a greeting card? The forgotten child!”
“All right now,” Randolph interrupted, sensing that the situation was snowballing out of control. “After much consideration, we have decided to use the two of you to collect updates from our eyes, that is, our informants, around the city.”
“You mean undercover operatives?” Shelley asked.
“No. These are people who have either come forward of their own volition to help us with tips, or, more likely, they were caught committing a crime and have agreed to act as informants as a means to avoid jail time. Either way, it’s crucial that they remain undercover, which is where you two come in. Since you’re rarely, if ever, noticed, we thought you perfect for the job.”
Shelley nodded and then pushed her smudged glasses up the bridge of her nose. “This is good to know in case I’m ever arrested. Not that I’m planning on doing anything illegal. Not this year, anyway.”
“In order to protect the identities of our informants, we do not maintain photographic records of them, instead giving each one a unique signal by which our operatives can identify them,” Randolph said as he pushed a pen and paper across the desk to Shelley.
“Pen? Paper? What is this, 1995? All I need is this up here,” Shelley said, tapping the side of her head. “You’re looking at a state-of-the-line computer.”
“Shells, why don’t we write it down—”
Shelley threw up her right hand to silence Jonathan. “Every five minutes, you know what my brain is doing?”
“I’m afraid to even ask,” Jonathan muttered.
“Autosaving, just in case the computer crashes.”
OCTOBER 23, 3:07 P.M. STREET. LONDON, ENGLAND
“I’m sensing someone could use a hug,” Shelley offered, arms extended as she walked down the street next to Jonathan.
“No thanks.”
“And by someone, I mean me,” Shelley said as she pulled Jonathan in for a painfully close hug. “I’m petrified. I’m sweating like a pig about to go to slaughter.”
“That’s graphic,” Jonathan said as he pried himself from Shelley’s grasp.
; “I know how much you look up to me, Johno, so I’ve been trying to be strong for you,” Shelley said, her voice crumbling. “But I don’t think I can do it anymore.”
“First of all—”
“What did I tell you about saying things like ‘first of all’?” Shelley cut in.
“Fine,” Jonathan grumbled. “What I was trying to say is, I don’t look up to you, which isn’t to say that I look down on you. I just look at you.”
Shelley nodded.
“But I get being scared,” Jonathan admitted. “Trust me, I’m terrified. What if Nina infects us and then we’re too dumb to be spies?”
“Never speak those words again! We’re going to find her and stop LIQ-30 before it goes viral…and not in a cool video way…but in a scary outbreak way….”
“Yeah, I got that.”
OCTOBER 23, 3:47 P.M. BUCKINGHAM PALACE. LONDON, ENGLAND
Buckingham Palace, home to the queen of England, was surrounded by a tall and imposing gate that was monitored twenty-four hours a day by guards. Ten feet from the gate, amid the throngs of tourists, Jonathan and Shelley eyed the lineup of guards carefully.
“Randolph said the informant would be wearing a black furry hat,” Shelley recalled as she racked her brain for more information.
“Shells, all the guards are wearing black furry hats.”
“And a red jacket!” Shelley screeched excitedly.
“Are you looking at the same people I am?” Jonathan asked. “They’re all in red jackets. Every single one of them!”
“I guess we have no choice but to go up and ask which one of them is the undercover informant,” Shelley suggested. “Sometimes, honesty really is the only policy.”
“Undercover informants do not tell people they are undercover informants!”
Shelley paused. “You might be right about that,” she accepted, rubbing her chin.
“Plus, my guidebook says the guards are forbidden to speak to anyone.”
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