He scanned it. “You want your son to control half the United States, including Arlington, Virginia?”
Mama nodded. “Yes.”
“Why Arlington?”
“What’s the point of having a son who helped take over the world if you can’t brag to the neighbors?”
Duncan’s fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Pfeiffer, was not good at his job. He spent too little time teaching and too much time talking about his personal life. He rambled on and on about lifting weights, his steady stream of girlfriends and how he had been in a commercial for toilet paper when he was a baby. He knew nearly nothing about anything. He once told his class Abraham Lincoln had died when he slipped in the shower. Most of his students and, if he was honest, he himself, wondered how he had gotten a job as a teacher. After all, he didn’t even have a teaching certificate. But Duncan and his teammates knew that it was Pfeiffer’s lack of focus that made him the perfect man to teach a group of secret agents who were frequently absent from his class.
“The key to looking strong is not about lifting heavy weights, kids,” Pfeiffer said as he rolled up his sleeve to show his biceps. “It’s lifting light weights and doing lots of repetitions. Also, you can’t forget the three magic words—protein, protein, and protein.”
As Duncan struggled to stay awake, he heard a familiar voice in his head. Mr. Brand was calling. “Team, we need you in the Playground on the double.”
Duncan looked over at Matilda. Now that Heathcliff and his mind-bending incisors were gone, it was up to her to come up with a way to distract the class.
“Hey, everybody!” Matilda cried. “There’s a pony outside!”
The entire class, with Mr. Pfeiffer in tow, raced to the windows to see. Matilda always found a clever way to get them out of their seats. Duncan marveled at her imagination as he raced with the others to the lockers.
In no time, the team was plopping into their leather chairs, present and accounted for in the Playground.
“We’re sending you out,” Agent Brand said.
Duncan could feel panic rising in his belly. “Out?”
“Yes, nothing too dangerous. Just a little evidence collecting,” Brand said. “Your and Flinch’s tip about our mystery villain appears to be correct. After Ms. Holiday and I spoke to his mother, our suspect flew the coop. We need you to go and search his place for anything that will lead us to Simon.”
“But—”
“Yes, Gluestick?”
“Our upgrades are down,” Duncan cried.
Agent Brand looked as angry as Duncan had ever seen him. “You’ve been trained as secret agents, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been on evidence-collecting missions before, correct?”
“Yes.”
“This will be easy, D,” Flinch said.
“It’s just, our upgrades make us—”
Brand leaned in closely. “If you need some fancy gadgets to make you feel better, we have a whole room full of them. Otherwise, take your team to Albert Nesbitt’s house and collect some evidence.”
“Albert and his mother must have disappeared in the night,” Ruby said as she and the rest of the team walked down into Albert Nesbitt’s basement lair. “Ugh, this is where he slept. My whole body is itchy. I’m allergic to sweat and desperation.”
“Well, I’m humiliated,” Matilda said as she used a broom handle to move a pair of dirty socks. “Now that we’re off-line, Brand’s giving us jobs for babies. How many times do we have to save the world before we get a little respect?”
Duncan was too busy navigating the stairs to speak. He was loaded down with gizmos. He had taken Agent Brand’s advice seriously and packed his pockets with all manner of electronic tools. He needed Flinch’s help down the stairs, but he was ready for whatever might occur.
“Gluestick, can I have a chat with you?” Braceface said as he pulled the boy aside.
“Sure, what is it?”
“That little speech Brand was giving in the Playground before we left. You know he was trying to teach you something, right?”
Duncan blinked. He had no idea what his teammate was telling him.
Jackson smiled sympathetically. “Pal, that speech was what we used to call the ‘man-up’ speech when I played peewee football.
“Man up?”
“Yeah, it’s a speech coaches give players who are crying and whining.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were,” Jackson interrupted him. “He wasn’t telling you that you should carry off every device they have in the HQ. He was telling you that you didn’t need them to do your job. In fact, he was telling you that you are perfectly fine to do this mission and that you should stop blubbering about your upgrades.”
“Oh.”
“It’s OK,” Jackson said. “Everyone gets the man-up speech once or twice in their lives. I’ve just never met anyone who didn’t understand it was a man-up speech.”
Duncan looked at his teammates. They were all nodding in agreement.
“I’ve disappointed him, then,” Duncan said as he looked down at all his gadgets.
“A little,” Matilda said.
“And I’m going to give you my own man-up speech, right now,” Ruby said. “Brand is nervous about sending us to do anything. Heathcliff’s betrayal hit him like a ton of bricks. He’s questioning his decisions and his leadership now. On top of that, the big mistake at the Bank of Scotland has him wondering if we can get the job done. He has the power to dismantle this team, Gluestick. He could refuse to replace our upgrades and send us back to class to be normal. If we want to continue to be the coolest geeks in the world, we all need to show him that we can get the job done, powers or no powers.”
Duncan frowned. “But technology is part of what we do. Without it, we wouldn’t be able to do half of the cool stuff we’ve done. Without technology we wouldn’t have the Schnoz Projector.”
Duncan took out what looked like a pair of novelty glasses complete with a big, goofy nose and bushy mustache. He slipped them onto his face.
“Gluestick, sometimes I worry about you,” Matilda said.
“This is no joke,” Duncan said. “This is the latest in sensory data collection.”
“Sensory what?” Jackson asked.
“It’s a new science in which you can collect one sense and transform it into another. The Schnoz Projector collects smells and transmits them into images.”
“So if I farted, you would be able to see it?” Flinch cried.
“Um, sadly, yes,” Duncan said. “It detects things like perspiration, perfumes, deodorants—any kind of body smell either natural or manmade—and it can show us a crude representation of who it belonged to. It can track the trail of scent around this room, and maybe show us what Albert was doing down here. I’ve seen the prototype in the Playground and it’s amazing. Watch!”
Duncan flipped a button on the side of his glasses and the lenses glowed. A moment later the group heard loud sniffing and then a bright beam of light appeared, revealing a shaky image of Albert.
“Awesome!” Flinch said.
Another wavy figure appeared in the room. She was short with a bun of hair. “Albert’s mom wears a lot of perfume and her clothes are dried with fabric softener sheets. She produces a smell that we can trace and, now, even see,” Duncan said.
The team watched the two holograms moving about the room. Though it wasn’t a perfect image, you could see they were arguing. Then something unusual happened. Albert rushed to an empty desk and lifted something metallic. Duncan knew it at once. It was the weapon Albert had used on him.
“That’s the ray gun! Albert must have built it down here,” Matilda said as she watched the images flicker around the room. “His mother doesn’t look too happy about it. Look! She’s pulling suitcases out of the closet. She’s forcing him to pack.”
Ruby shook her head in disgust. “She should have turned him in—he’s dangerous.”
“What’s he doing?” J
ackson said. The holographic Albert had rushed to a table and appeared to be snatching something from it, but his mother stomped over to him and ripped it from his hands.
Flinch crossed the room to where the two figures had once stood and picked up a stack of comics. “Looks like mommy wasn’t happy about what her son wanted to pack.”
“Too bad the Schnoz Projector doesn’t let us hear what they were saying,” Matilda replied. “Is there any chance it will show us where they went?”
“Sorry, the Schnoz Projector works best in enclosed spaces. The wind outside has probably blown away their scents.”
“Well, we know for sure that his mother helped him escape,” Jackson said as he looked under the bed. “And we know that they packed, so they aren’t coming back. Looks like we can turn off the fancy gadget. This is going to require some old-fashioned detective work. Nothing under here but cupcake wrappers and empty juice boxes.”
“Any unopened?” Flinch said. “I’m starving!"
Duncan shook his head. “Remember what Benjamin told you: Cut down on the sweets until your upgrades are working again.”
Flinch frowned.
Matilda looked through Albert’s closet. “I have never met anyone who had so many T-shirts with superhero logos on them.”
Ruby searched the dresser drawers. “He’s not the cleanest guy. I think he wears his clothes and shoves them back into his drawers.”
“Wait, what’s this?” Jackson said. He stood up holding a tube of paper in his hands. He took it over to a small table and unrolled it. There was a drawing of Albert in his black-and-green Captain Justice outfit. Unlike the real Albert, this one was muscle-bound and handsome. In his hand was the weapon he had turned on the children.
“This guy has a huge imagination,” Matilda said.
“Or there isn’t a single mirror in this house,” Ruby said.
“He’s not a bad artist,” Jackson said. “That ray gun looks just like the real thing.”
Duncan sighed. “There’s so much stuff back at the Playground that could help us. I know one of the scientists was building a device that detects footprints. Benjamin could also track the last days’ worth of phone calls.”
Ruby frowned. “Come on, Duncan, use your eyeballs for once!” she snapped.
Duncan was stunned. It was clear she was fed up with him. Ruby was often annoyed with Flinch and couldn’t stand Jackson, but she’d always treated Duncan with respect. It felt like the whole world had suddenly turned on him.
As the other children searched every nook and cranny of Albert’s room for a clue to where the man went, Duncan hesitated, unsure of where to start. He was about to give up when he glanced down at the stack of comics that had meant so much to Albert. His gaze caught on the cover of the comic on top. He snatched it off the pile and stared at it, hardly believing his eyes.
“Look!”
When his teammates turned, he flashed the comic’s cover at them.
“Ultraforce 119. I haven’t read that one,” Flinch said.
“No! Look at the guy on the cover. Look at what he’s holding in his hand.”
Ruby peered at the cover and her eyes got big. “It’s Albert’s ray gun. He got his idea out of a comic book!”
SO FAR, YOU’VE LEARNED
TO CREATE AND DECIPHER
YOUR OWN CODES, AND IN
THE PROCESS YOU’VE LEARNED
SOME VALUABLE LESSONS
ABOUT PERSONAL HYGIENE.
BUT THERE’S MORE TO CODES
THAN LETTER WHEELS. IN FACT,
THERE ARE LOTS OF WAYS TO
SEND A SECRET MESSAGE. SOME
SPIES USE INVISIBLE INK, AND
I’M GOING TO SHOW YOU HOW
TO MAKE IT. ISN’T THAT COOL?
WHY, YOU PROBABLY THOUGHT
THE PRICE OF THIS BOOK WAS
OUTRAGEOUS, BUT LOOK AT
ALL THE PRACTICAL STUFF
I’M TEACHING YOU!
HMM, MAYBE WE SHOULD CHARGE
MORE . . .
OK, TO MAKE INVISIBLE INK
YOU’RE GOING TO NEED SOME
INGREDIENTS. UNFORTUNATELY,
THE INGREDIENTS ARE ALSO
INVISIBLE.
WOW, YOU ARE GULLIBLE.
HERE’S WHAT YOU’RE GOING
TO NEED:
• A PAN AND A STOVE
• CORNSTARCH
• WATER
• COTTON SWABS
• PAPER
• IODINE
• A SMALL SPONGE
NOW, BEFORE WE MAKE
THE INVISIBLE INK, I NEED TO
TEST YOU TO MAKE SURE YOU
HAVE THE BRAINPOWER
TO ACTUALLY DO THIS.
QUESTION 1:
IF I USE THE STOVE WITHOUT
MY PARENTS’ SUPERVISION,
I COULD:
• BURN THE HOUSE DOWN
• BURN THE HOUSE DOWN
• BURN THE HOUSE DOWN
• ALL OF THE ABOVE
IF YOU GUESSED ANY OF THE
ANSWERS ABOVE, YOU ARE NOT A
MORON AND THUS WILL KNOW TO
MAKE SURE YOUR PARENTS ARE
WATCHING YOU WHILE YOU COOK
ON THE STOVE. IF YOU GOT THIS
QUESTION WRONG, YOU ARE A
MORON. YOUR PARENTS PROBABLY
ALREADY KNOW THIS. YOU SHOULD
STEER CLEAR OF THE STOVE, AND
FIRE IN GENERAL.
ALL RIGHT, BRAINIAC, LET’S
MAKE US SOME INVISIBLE INK.
MIX 3 TABLESPOONS OF
CORNSTARCH AND 1/4 CUP OF
WATER IN A PAN AND STIR UNTIL
THE CORNSTARCH IS DISSOLVED.
COOK ON LOW HEAT UNDER
A PARENT’S CAREFUL EYE.
ARE YOUR PARENTS AROUND? GOOD.
LET IT COOL FOR A FEW MINUTES,
THEN DIP A COTTON SWAB OR Q-TIP
INTO THE SOLUTION AND WRITE A
SECRET MESSAGE ON A PIECE OF
PAPER. NOW, IN A BOWL, MIX 3
TEASPOONS OF IODINE WITH 2/3 CUP
OF WATER. DIP YOUR SPONGE INTO
IT, MAKING SURE TO SQUEEZE OUT
EXCESS WATER. NOW WIPE THE
SPONGE ON YOUR MESSAGE.
IF YOU FOLLOWED THE
DIRECTIONS EXACTLY,
THEN YOU SHOULD SEE
YOUR MESSAGE IN
PURPLE. IF NOT, WELL,
I DON’T KNOW. I MEAN,
I CAN ONLY DO SO MUCH.
Spencer de La Peña was a novelist. For the last five years of his life, he got up in the morning, ate an egg-white omelet, and bicycled to the local coffee shop on the corner of Wykoff Avenue and Smith Street in Brooklyn. All day long he drank from a bottomless cup of coffee and worked on a sweeping epic about the last days of feudal China. It was a complicated and demanding story with hundreds of characters and thus far had not found a publisher—but it would! Spencer was convinced.
He would write the whole day, and at five o’clock sharp, with his hands so shaky from the caffeine he could barely type, he would file away his novel and go to work on the job that paid his bills—writing comic books.
Spencer was currently working on three titles at the same time: Sgt. Blast, Ultraforce, and Clash of Heroes. Each one was filled with costumed guys who punched one another in the mouth a lot. He had come to comics hoping to give them some depth, but after only a few issues of his retelling of Medea, his editor informed him that readers were not interested in depth. They wanted more punches to the mouth. But hey, it paid the bills.
“Are you Spencer de La Peña?” a voice asked now from beyond his laptop screen. Standing before him was one of the most awkward kids he had ever seen—chubby, short, with purple pants and a clashing shirt. Spencer knew something about awkward kids. He had a huge audience of young readers, all of whom were nervous, ill-adjusted, and destined for a lifetime of bullying.
Spencer frowned. “Sorry, kid, I’m busy writing. I don’t have time for
autographs.”
“I’m not interested in getting one. Are you the guy who writes Ultraforce?” the boy said. He held out a copy of the comic.
“Yes, and—”
“Did you write this one?”
The writer eyed the cover. It was an issue he had written featuring a character he had created himself—the Machine Master.
“Yeah.”
The boy pointed to the villain’s weapon—a space-age ray gun that made machines bend to the villain’s every whim. “How does this work?”
Spencer rolled his eyes. He scooped up his computer and snatched his jacket. “Kid, I know all this stuff is very interesting, and I admit to being a bit of a fanboy myself, but nothing in those pages is real. That ray gun doesn’t exist, and if you built it it wouldn’t work. I made it up. It’s imagination. So, I’ve got to get going. It was nice to meet you, but I have a deadline.”
“But—”
“I’m sure there’s some online community about this comic. Perhaps if you all put your heads together, you can figure it out for yourselves.” He walked out of the shop. Unfortunately, his path was blocked by four more equally geeky kids.
“I don’t think you answered my friend’s question,” a jittery Mexican kid said.
“What is this? Are you kids part of some fan club?”
“Something like that,” the boy from inside the coffee shop said as he joined them. “And we need your help.”
Suddenly, Spencer felt a little sting on his hand. When he looked down, he noticed that a boy with huge braces had given him an injection. Before he could complain, he felt a tremendous wave of sleepiness and then everything went black.
When he woke up, Spencer had no idea how long he had been asleep. He also had no idea how he had strapped himself into a leather chair on what looked like a very fancy airplane. He also had no idea who the beautiful woman was who was standing over him, but she made the first two mysteries seem like a lot less of a problem.
“Good evening, Mr. La Peña,” the woman said. “My name is Ms. Holiday, and you’re on board the School Bus.”
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