Dash had steam coming out of his ears. “What are we waiting for? Can we take this photo already?” he exclaimed. “We’ve got a plane to catch in Toronto!”
Scarlett adjusted the automatic setting and ran over to join the rest of the group.
A moment later . . .
Flash!
The camera immortalized three smiling faces, a white Siberian cat with a big, fluffy tail, and a grumpy, dark-haired teenage boy, hunched over and trying to hide his face under a cowboy hat.
The fame of bumbling Dash Mistery, the young detective who was going to outdo Sherlock Holmes, had spread all the way to Canada!
PRELUDE
The Investigation Begins . . .
Waking up at eight in the morning for a videoconference on Decoding was not at the top of Dashiell Mistery’s wish list. To keep from falling asleep on camera, the Eye International detective student, who was a total night owl, drank can after can of Coke. It gurgled and fizzed in his belly.
But it wasn’t just Agent EP34’s snooze-inducing lesson that made the young Londoner squirm. From the window of his penthouse apartment, he could see a huge mass of dark clouds rolling toward central London: a blizzard was on the way. Dash peered at the thermometer outside the window and let out a gasp. “No way . . . it’s dropped five degrees!”
It was sure to start snowing any minute.
The Storm of the Year, the weather websites were calling it. One of the City’s Top Ten. He had to make his move right away—as soon as that icy snow started to fly, he’d be stuck at home till it was over.
“Um, could be the moment to roll out a few technical difficulties,” he mumbled, running a hand through his mop of black hair. “I’ve been looking forward to a sweet vacation in Paris with my brother, Gaston; why should I let it get ruined before I take off?”
Keeping his eyes fixed on the webcam so none of the other videoconference participants would suspect anything, Dash slowly moved his fingers over the keyboard. He managed to access the settings menu and launched a pirated program with the appropriate name of Electronic Tsunami.
A slight waviness appeared onscreen, followed by a flickering that distorted and fuzzed out his image.
Within moments, the screen looked as though it had been inundated by a devastating tidal wave. The finicky Decoding professor noticed it first, interrupting her lesson. “What’s going on, Agent DM14?” she asked, irritated. Then her tone got more urgent. “Agent DM14? Are you still connected?”
Dash began to simulate audio distortion, twisting the foam microphone cover between his fingers. “I’m . . . FRUSHHHHH . . . losing . . . FRUSHHHHH . . . the signal!” he said, doing his best to sound concerned. “It must be because of the . . . FRUSHHHH . . . storm!”
Seconds later, the whole screen went black. He quickly shut down his computer and took out his earbuds. “You’re the man, Dash!” he cried, pumping his fists and doing a victory dance. “No one can fool them like you can!”
He gulped down the last of his Coke, tossed the can on top of the teetering pile on his desk, and pulled on his winter coat, gloves, and hat. His luggage was already packed and waiting for him by the door, but as Dash strode over to grab it, he paused to look at an unusual cell phone hooked up to its charger.
It was his EyeNet, a valuable high-tech gadget distributed by his detective school.
The sleek device was a treasure trove of technological innovations worthy of a master spy, enabling the students of Eye International to carry out their investigative missions all around the world. Most of the time, Dash didn’t let it out of his sight.
But he didn’t have any assignments to work on right now; he was heading off on a family vacation. He didn’t even want to think about school until after the New Year. He stood for a moment, one hand on his EyeNet. Then he made up his mind. “You’ll be safe here . . . I wouldn’t want to drop you from the top of the Eiffel Tower!”
He put the EyeNet back onto its charger and closed the door, locking it with three different keys. His mother’s apartment was directly opposite St. Pancras railway station, where he would board the Chunnel train—the Eurostar that ran through a tunnel under the English Channel. It could reach speeds of more than 180 miles an hour, and it would take just two and a half hours to reach the French capital. It was the kind of technological advance that sent shivers of excitement up Dash’s spine.
“I’ll get to Gaston’s in time for lunch,” he gloated as he walked across the street, ignoring the first white flakes dancing through the air. “It’s so much better than having to take a plane!”
His thoughts drifted to his beloved cousin Agatha, who had left for Paris at dawn along with her butler, Chandler, and Watson the cat. They were probably already sitting in Gaston’s studio in Paris, and Agatha was probably boring them all silly with her ramblings about French culture and art.
Lost in thought, Dash arrived at St. Pancras in plenty of time. The next train for Paris was leaving in half an hour. As he entered the railway station, he stared at the huge metal arches, the mirrored walkways, and the sleek high-speed trains sitting on the tracks. It looked like a futuristic space port.
“Wow!” he exclaimed, excited.
A voice from behind froze him in his tracks. “Agent DM14? What are you doing here?” Dash didn’t have to turn around to know who that squeaky voice belonged to—his Investigation Techniques professor, code named UM60.
What was the professor doing at St. Pancras station? Had he come to punish Dash for his hasty escape from Decoding class?
Flushing red with embarrassment, Dash began to stammer an apology. “Uh, oh, so sorry about the videoconference, I promise it won’t ever happen again!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, detective,” Agent UM60 replied dryly. “And I don’t really care. I have far more important things on my mind!”
The boy let out a sigh of relief. For the first time, he gathered the courage to turn and face his professor. He had to lower his gaze significantly, since Agent UM60 was about half his height.
Since he was used to seeing his professor on a computer screen, Dash had never realized how much the little man looked like a penguin with a bowler hat on his head. He had to stifle a laugh.
“Something wrong, Agent DM14?” the professor asked, bristling.
“Uh, no . . . hee-hee . . . I swear.”
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
“I see you’ve got your briefcase with you . . . Are you going somewhere?” asked Dash, doing his best to distract him.
“I should think that was obvious.” Agent UM60 sniffed. “I’m taking the next train to Paris. I’ve got a very important case to solve, detective.” He reached up to smooth his waxed mustache.
Dash could hardly contain his laughter. To cover, he grabbed the professor’s briefcase. He barely had time to blurt, “Let me help you with that,” before he took off like a rocket across the platform.
Unfortunately he hadn’t noticed the strong chain from the briefcase to his teacher’s wrist.
And so, with a violent jerk and a scream of pain, detective Dashiell Mistery began one of the longest days of his life—and the most dangerous case of his young career.
The Heist at Niagara Falls Page 6