Ends of the Earth

by Bruce Hale

  But when she noticed how lost and distressed the blond girl seemed, Cinnabar resisted the urge to punch her right in her frog-lipped mouth.

  “Cinnabar!” Vespa cried, reaching out as if for support, then letting her hand fall. “I…are you okay?”

  “Yes, no thanks to you,” snapped Cinnabar.

  “Me?” Vespa’s brown eyes went wide. “But I had nothing to do with all this.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “It’s true. In fact, I’m the one who brought your sister here.”

  “Right.” Cinnabar folded her arms. “You brought Jazz here.”

  “It’s true, sis,” said Jazz, materializing from the crowd. “She wanted to help.”

  Jazz seemed sincere, but Cinnabar wasn’t ready to let Vespa off the hook so easily. “So how did you know to bring her here?” she demanded. “You must have been in on the plot.”

  “I guessed something was going to happen, but I didn’t know what.” The blond girl held up her palms. “I swear. It’s all my aunt’s doing.”

  “Oh, really.” Cinnabar cocked her head.

  “She forced me to come to this,” said Vespa. “I didn’t know what she had planned. She said I had some growing up to do, and that I should watch and learn.”

  “And did you?” asked Jazz gently.

  Vespa’s head drooped, and her soft hair fell like a curtain. For a second, jealousy of the girl’s perfect, tangle-free golden locks wrestled with compassion in Cinnabar’s heart.

  “I learned that just because someone is your blood relative, that doesn’t make them a good person,” she said.

  “Or even sane,” said Cinnabar.

  Vespa nodded. “That too. Blood isn’t everything. But family…” Her eyes grew moist. “I wish I had a family like you two, and Wyatt, and Max.”

  At the mention of his name, Cinnabar’s eyes narrowed. “You keep your paws off Max.”

  The blond girl raised her palms again in surrender and wandered off into the crowd. Jazz laughed and lightly punched her sister’s shoulder. “Possessive much?” she said.

  Cinnabar blushed and looked away. Near the entrance, she noticed Mrs. Frost in handcuffs, surrounded by police, and she wondered what would become of Vespa, what would become of them all.

  S.P.I.E.S. had done it. They had defeated LOTUS, at least in this country. But was this their swan song? Without a home, without resources, could the Merry Sunshine orphans stay together?

  Max joined his father near the entrance, where Simon and Hantai Annie Wong stood talking with several important-looking politicians in expensive suits. His father flashed him a quick smile and draped his arm, warm and heavy, around Max’s shoulder. Somehow, it just felt right.

  “…and with half of Parliament to testify,” a lean, caramel-skinned woman was saying, “I rather doubt we’ll have much trouble locking these villains up.”

  Hantai Annie’s lips tightened. “You don’t know them, Khambaita-san. Mrs. Frost has resources, high-placed connections. She is—dou iiu ka?—slippery like eel.”

  “Deputy Director,” said Simon to the woman, “I have something that may be of use in building a substantial case against them.”

  “Oh?”

  He fished a thumb drive from his pocket and passed it over. “Evidence,” he said. “Evidence of terrorist acts, both here and abroad.”

  The deputy director handed the storage device to an assistant, who produced a compact laptop computer and plugged it in. After clicking and scrolling through one or two files, he wore a smile wide enough to drive a train through.

  “Well?” said Mrs. Khambaita.

  “We’re good,” said the assistant. “Tip-top, in fact. What a pleasure it will be to lock them up and melt down the key.”

  Deputy Director Khambaita inclined her head toward Max’s father. “You have the thanks of MI-5,” she said, “both of you.” Now she included Hantai Annie. “I’m not sure where our government would be without you.”

  “In a tiger’s belly?” said Max.

  Annie scowled at his impudence, but Max’s father smothered a smile and squeezed his shoulder.

  “Er, yes,” said Mrs. Khambaita. “Precisely.” She rounded up her entourage and started to leave, but then wheeled back to say, “Your government won’t forget this, Mrs. Wong. Truly.”

  Hantai Annie gave a gruff nod. When the important-looking people had moved out of earshot, she muttered, “Government promises. Hmph!”

  But the glitter in her dark eyes told Max she was pleased with how things had transpired. Just then, he spotted Wyatt by the big cat cages, and said, “Back in a flash.” Breaking away, he threaded through overturned chairs and small knots of shaken politicians.

  Over by the cages, the musky scent of the huge felines was enough to make your eyes water. But Wyatt didn’t seem to notice. He sat on a bale of hay, humming a little tune and occasionally tossing chunks of meat from a bowl into the nearest cages. The predators watched with what Max would’ve sworn was something like adoration.

  “Cat whisperer, eh?” he said, sitting next to Wyatt.

  The blond boy shrugged a shoulder and cleared his throat. “Something like that.”

  “That was amazing,” said Max.

  “You saw?”

  “A little,” Max admitted. “In between flying around and getting shot at. You’re a real hero.”

  Wyatt blushed. “Nah…”

  Max bumped his shoulder. “Really, truly,” he said. “You’re not a sidekick or tech support like you say. You’re the real deal.”

  The blond boy swallowed hard, glancing away. He cleared his throat again and let his gaze roam around the big top. “What a night,” he said.

  “What a night.”

  Shaking his head, Wyatt continued, “Who would’ve thought, when we first saw that mind-control device, that this is what Mrs. Frost intended.”

  “Yeah,” said Max. “What a raving loon—” He stopped dead, struck by a thought.

  “What?” asked Wyatt.

  “Where is it?”

  Wyatt frowned. “The invention? Dunno, mate. I sort of lost track of it.”

  A tingling began in Max’s chest, and he shot to his feet. Where was it? Had some LOTUS agent managed to spirit away the device, despite the best efforts of the police?

  “Max?” said Wyatt.

  But Max was up and running toward the center ring. The motor controlling the Lions’ Leap structure had jammed after the police arrived, and the constables had used ladders to bring down Mrs. Frost and Hantai Annie. Was the mind-control device still on the platform?

  Powering up the jet pack, Max rose into the air, his breath coming short and fast. At last, his eyes cleared the level of Mrs. Frost’s stand—and there it was, the blue cube that had caused all this trouble. Well, maybe not all the trouble, Max amended. LOTUS had had plenty to do with it as well.

  He reached out his hands, lifted the invention, and pulled it close. Then he very carefully sank to a landing in the center ring. Only when his feet were on the ground did Max let out a gusty sigh of relief.

  “Mr. Elbow will take that, thanks awfully,” said a familiar voice. At his side stood the billionaire, eyes shining and hands outstretched.

  For a few heartbeats, Max hesitated. This was an incredibly dangerous and powerful invention. Why should he hand it over to this bizarre man, who might use it for even worse purposes than LOTUS?

  Because they’d struck a deal, that’s why. And because Mr. Elbow, odd as he was, had helped them defeat Frost and LOTUS.

  “Here,” Max said, passing over the cube. It didn’t seem quite right, but after the exhausting day he’d had, he couldn’t think of what else to do.

  Mr. Elbow cradled the mind-control device like a baby, and Max was reminded of that creepy bloke in The Lord of the Rings who totally obsessed over the ring.

  “Do we get some kind of reward?” Max asked, thinking of Merry Sunshine’s troubled finances.

  “Reward?” The billionaire didn’t ta
ke his eyes off the cube. “You’re alive and free and British—that should be reward enough.” Still gazing at his prized possession, Mr. Elbow headed for the entrance, relying on his bodyguards to clear a path.

  That’s all very well for you, thought Max, but what about us?

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK, he found out.

  Reunited at last, the entire S.P.I.E.S. crew had been staying in temporary quarters, a disused dormitory for the criminally insane. (Nikki had made plenty of jokes at Max’s expense over that—though he’d pointed out that she was living there too.)

  Mr. Vazquez showed up with a still-healing Rashid, fresh from hospital. Even Max’s dad was staying with them. His dad. After all their complicated history, Max found that he finally thought of Simon that way—as Dad—although he wasn’t quite used to calling him that yet.

  One morning, Hantai Annie received a phone call, very hush-hush. She told none of the orphans what was said, only that they had a lunchtime appointment, and that everyone should get ready.

  At the arranged time, the whole crew piled into several gleaming Mercedes SUVs. Max watched out the window as they wound their way deeper into the capital, and then veered into one of the more exclusive districts of posh homes.

  His brow furrowed. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” was all the spymaster would say.

  Streets began to seem more and more familiar. Finally, they turned up a road Max knew quite well.

  “But, LOTUS HQ is on this street,” said Wyatt.

  “Sou da,” said the spymaster mildly.

  And then, their van pulled into the driveway of the sprawling mansion they had rescued Max from only a week before.

  “Um, where are we going?” said Cinnabar.

  “You know where,” said Hantai Annie.

  “But why?” said Max.

  She offered only a sphinxlike smile in reply.

  After parking on the familiar gravel patch, Hantai Annie Wong led her charges inside. As they passed through the spotless entryway, Max couldn’t repress a shudder at the thought of his time here, at the thought that he nearly became a permanent resident.

  And now they were just walking in of their own free will?

  “Hello, sports fans!” called a cheerful voice. It was Vespa, but what a changed Vespa. She wore a tailored silk pantsuit, her hair shone like the sun, and her smile was as broad and carefree as a beach in Brazil.

  “Um, hi?” Max choked out. Suddenly he felt all warm and funny. Vespa really was a knockout.

  Cinnabar scowled and took Max’s hand. He didn’t dare look at her, but his whole arm tingled from the contact.

  When the group had finished the grand tour of the first floor and taken their seats at the imposing dining table, Vespa beamed at them all.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked.

  “Nice crib,” said Tremaine. He leaned back, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “Does it have cable TV?”

  “Why are we here?” asked Max again.

  Vespa aimed her wide brown eyes at him. “You mean, you don’t know?”

  “Um, no?” said Wyatt, blushing furiously. He was easily as tongue-tied as Max around Vespa da Costa.

  Their hostess swiveled to Hantai Annie. “Well, as I told Mrs. Wong—”

  “Annie,” said the spymaster.

  “The government was going to confiscate this house and all LOTUS assets—which would’ve thrown me into foster care.”

  Several of the orphans winced sympathetically.

  Vespa shrugged. “But as it turns out, Mrs. Helen Frost’s only surviving relative is…me. Hantai Annie talked to her government contacts, and, well, I’m inheriting the house and cars.”

  Max gave an appreciative whistle.

  “Big whoop,” said Nikki, eyeing the platters of food being carried in by servers. “Bully for you, Little Miss Rich Girl.”

  “No,” said Vespa with a mischievous wink. “Bully for you.”

  Wyatt’s brow crinkled. “I don’t get it.”

  “Because I’m underage, I need a guardian,” said Vespa. “And what better guardian than the director of an orphanage?”

  Cinnabar squinted at her suspiciously. “You mean…”

  Hantai Annie spread her arms wide. “Minna, welcome to you new home!”

  Gasps of disbelief greeted her revelation. Max gaped. Here? They were going to live here?

  “Today, we sign one-hundred-year lease,” said the spymaster. “This is now officially School For S.P.I.E.S.”

  Cheers exploded from the group. Tremaine and Rashid hooted, banging their cups on the table. Max’s chest swelled with warmth, like a balloon filling with breath. They would have a home, a stable home at last, for as long as they wanted it. He glanced across the table at his father, and a thought struck him.

  “But what about my dad?” he asked, looking between Hantai Annie and Simon. “Will he be here too?”

  Her ebony eyes twinkled. “Just so happens, this school is one teacher short. And if Mr. Segredo is willing…?”

  Simon Segredo’s gaze traveled the table, taking in the ragtag bunch. “To teach these ruffians?” he said. “To put up with their disobedience, incessant quarreling, and insufferable cheekiness?” He frowned, and Max felt his stomach clench.

  The frown transformed into a beaming smile. “It would be my honor.”

  Max met and held his father’s gaze. So this is what family feels like, he thought. How about that?

  After lunch, when the crew had split up to explore the house and all its secrets, Max drew his father aside into one of the many sitting rooms. Everything seemed to be going so well, but something was troubling him.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said.

  “Yes?” asked Simon.

  Max waved a hand at the paneled walls, immaculate fireplace, and posh fixtures. “The whole time I was living here undercover, all I wanted was to be a normal kid, with a normal family. And now…”

  His father nodded encouragingly.

  “Now that we’re all back together, I can’t help thinking that what caused all this trouble in the first place was the whole spy thing,” said Max. He couldn’t look at his father. “It…it drove you away, it killed Mum, and—” He cleared his throat. “And it nearly got me stuck living with a monster.”

  Ever so gently, Simon reached out and touched Max’s arm. “I would never have let that happen.”

  “But my point is, well…maybe I shouldn’t be a spy.”

  His dad’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “What?”

  Twisting one hand in the other, Max forged on. “What if…I dunno, maybe I should try being a normal kid instead. No spying, no secret missions, just school and family. You know, regular stuff.”

  He glanced up into his father’s eyes and the tenderness he saw there made his throat close up.

  “Max,” said Simon. “You are a truly special kid, you know that? And now that we’re together again, I won’t let anything tear us apart.”

  Max nodded. He didn’t trust his voice.

  “If you want to give up spying, that’s your right, and I fully support you in that.” His dad took a breath. “But…”

  “But?” said Max.

  Simon laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Normal is highly overrated.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re not normal,” he said.

  Max winced. “Thanks a lot.”

  “By that I mean you are incredibly gifted at this thing we do—much more so than I ever was. After all, you have a double dose of spy DNA. You can give it up, yes. But if you quit now, you’ll miss out on all the good stuff.”

  Curiosity sparked in Max, despite his intentions. “Good stuff?”

  Slow as melting butter, a smile spread across his father’s face. “Yes, indeed. You’ve learned a bit, but you’ve only scratched the surface.”

  “Well,” said Max. “Maybe I could put off my decision for a little longer.”

  “That’s my boy.”


  A thought occurred to him. “And while I’m still being a spy, maybe you can help me with something?”

  “Name it.”

  Max raked a hand through his hair. “The mind-control device. Even though I agreed to, it’s been bugging me that I just handed it over to Mr. Elbow. It’s a dangerous tool.”

  “It is,” said his father, the light of understanding dawning in his eyes.

  “And I was thinking, maybe we could…”

  “Steal it back and destroy it?”

  “Well,” said Max, “yeah.”

  Simon’s eyes gleamed. “Sounds like a perfect father-son project.”

  They turned as one and set off to rejoin the others. “First thing we need,” said Max’s father, “is a good team….”

  “Funny,” said Max, “but I think I might know where to find one.”

  Popular for nearly as long as spies have been around, a dead drop is a way of secretly passing items between two people. You know those scenes in the movies where two people sit down at a table with briefcases and surreptitiously switch them? That’s not it. Since both people are present, it’s considered a live drop.

  A dead drop, however, means that both agents don’t need to be there to make the exchange. In fact, the two parties don’t even have to know each other—all they need to know is the drop location and signaling device. This offers a way of avoiding personal meetings, which can jeopardize the spy network if the agents are observed or caught.

  Give me a sign

  Whoever plans to pick up your item needs to know when it’s in place. That’s where signals come in handy. A signal could be anything agreed upon by the two agents in advance—a chalk mark on a wall, a Post-it in a window, a shade pulled down, or a statue wearing a goofy hat.

  Bear in mind that everyone and his brother can see your signal, so writing the words “dead drop” with an arrow pointing under the park bench where you’ve hidden your package might be just a tad obvious. Subtlety is key here. In fact, the signal doesn’t even need to appear near the drop—merely in a place where your co-conspirator will see it.

  For example, if you wanted to leave a key to let a friendly agent into your home, you might make a chalk mark on the door, letting them know that the key is under the flowerpot around the side of the house.