Kitabı oxu: «Feel the Fear»

Copyright

First published in hardback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2014 First published in paperback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2015 HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd, HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is www.harpercollins.co.uk

Visit Lauren Child on the web at www.milkmonitor.com www.rubyredfort.com

Text copyright © Lauren Child 2014 Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015, Cover photography © Sandro Sodano

Lauren Child asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Based on an original series design by David Mackintosh

Inside illustrations by David Mackintosh

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Source ISBN: 9780007334131

Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2013 ISBN: 9780007586806

Version: 2019-07-17

Don’t miss the previous Ruby Redfort adventures:

Ruby Redfort: Look Into My Eyes

Ruby Redfort: Take Your Last Breath

Ruby Redfort: Catch Your Death

Dedication

For cousin Phoebe

and cousin Lucy

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Fall

An Ordinary kid

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Epilogue

Epilogue 2

From the Twinford Echo. . .

How Ruby decoded Claude’s touch code

Traille

A note on parkour

A note on

A note on the Gorilla Test

Read More from Ruby Redfort

Acknowledgments

About the Publisher

‘Fearlessness is often regarded as one of the keys to freedom. But does fear not serve a purpose? Is this deeply primal emotion not there to guide us, to help us sidestep danger and prompt us to take a safer path?

The question should be asked: is it always a positive quality to be fearless?

Why do we fear fear?’

DR JOSEPHINE HONEYBONE, founder of the Heimlich Good Emotion Institute, from her thesis, The Worthy Emotion.

ONE BRIGHT SUNNY DAY IN OCTOBER, a woman looked up to see a five-year-old girl wriggle out of a tiny fifteenth-storey window. As far as the woman could make out, the child was lured by the desire to reach a yellow balloon that had become snagged on the ironwork of the building’s fire escape. The girl seemed unaware of the life-threatening drop that yawned beneath her and, without concern, edged forward on hands and knees. She paused when she encountered a hole in the rusting metal walkway – then put her hand through it as if to make sure the gap was real.

The woman on the sidewalk held her breath.

The child reached out across the void but could not quite grasp the long pink ribbon that tethered the balloon, and it gave a mocking nod, turning to reveal its printed smiley face. The girl, who was attending her cousin’s birthday, wondered if the balloon had floated in from some other celebration. Because this balloon was different from most: attached to its string was a brown paper tag, like an old-fashioned luggage label. The child began to wonder if the tag was a message, a greeting from some far-away place.

What was it trying to tell her?

All at once the little girl stood up quite straight – then she confidently stepped onto the metal beam that had once supported the fire escape floor, her fingers almost within touching distance of the balloon now, but not quite. For one whole minute the child stood completely still and then, very slowly, she took her hands from the safety rail, spread her arms wide like a tightrope walker might, and continued to pursue the balloon by stepping one foot exactly in front of the other along the narrow iron strut that jutted from the building.

The woman on the sidewalk gasped, unsure if she should call out, or if her cry might cause the girl to lose her balance and fall. She could neither run for help nor warn the child – so she just stood there rooted to the ground, waiting for tragedy to play out.

The girl, unaware of the woman’s dilemma, was interested only in the label tied to the balloon’s string. What did it say?

She grabbed for it but as she did so her foot slipped, she toppled forward and, with yellow balloon in hand, fell towards earth.

The woman on the sidewalk covered her eyes and screamed and a man walking his dog froze.

As the child fell she thought about Agent Deliberately Dangerous and his amazing floating cloak – a gravity-defying garment that always brought him safely back down to earth. She thought about what she had eaten for breakfast: a bowl of Puffed Pops and two whole glasses of banana milk. Was this enough to make the difference between floating like a leaf and plummeting like a stone? She thought about what noise she would make when she hit the sidewalk. Would it make a boing sound like that Looney Toons dog, or would she land, cat-like, on her feet?

And just as it seemed she was going to smack down hard on the tarmac, something amazing happened. A truck drew up – it belonged to the Twinford featherbed company – and the little girl landed with a puff, plumb-square in the middle of it. Of course all of this happened in the space of 3.2 seconds but it played out in cartoon time.

A couple of blocks away, when the truck stopped at a red light, the child climbed out unnoticed and walked back to the party, balloon in hand.

When she got to the street corner she paused to examine the tag. Disappointingly, there was no message; it was entirely blank, save for an image of two eyes tightly shut. Still, she untied it from the balloon’s string and tucked it in her pocket. She had gone to a lot of trouble to get it and in any case who knew when a brown label might come in handy?

She let go of the smiling balloon and it climbed back into the sky until it was so high it was no longer visible.

The woman from the sidewalk searched and searched but there was no sign, no visible trace of the girl who had fallen from the sky.

WHEN RUBY REDFORT WAS EIGHT SHE TOOK PART IN AN EXPERIMENT. She and thirty-three other participants were asked to watch a piece of film which showed six people – three in white T-shirts and three in black T-shirts – throwing basketballs to each other. The task was to count the number of times the players in white passed the ball.

Ruby counted sixteen passes.

This was the correct answer.

She also noticed the gorilla.

Or more accurately, the man in the gorilla suit who walked across the basketball court, stopped, beat his chest and strolled out of shot.

Fifteen of her co-watchers noticed this too.

Ruby also noticed that one of the three players dressed in black departed the game when the gorilla appeared.

Five of her co-watchers noticed this too.

Ruby noticed the curtain in the background change colour, from red to orange.

Zero of her co-watchers noticed this.

The psychologists conducting the experiment declared that Ruby was a remarkably focused individual, but also had an extraordinary ability to see everything all at once.

Aside from the things Ruby had spotted in the content of the film, she had also noticed one of her co-watchers (the one with the mole on her left cheek) sticking a piece of chewing gum (the brand was Fruity Chews) under the adjacent seat, another (the guy with the hayfever) knocking over his glass of water, and a third (a woman with a Band-Aid on her fourth finger) anxiously twisting her earring (she was wearing mismatched socks, very slightly different shades of green).

Not that any of these three observations had anything to do with the experiment Ruby was taking part in.

Some several years later. . .

Chapter 1.

RUBY REDFORT LOOKED DOWN.

She could see the traffic moving like little inching bugs, far, far beneath her feet. She could feel a hot breeze on her face and hear the muffled sounds of car horns and sirens. It was a day like most of the days had been that summer – too hot to be comfortable; the sort of heat that brought irritability and rage and left a sense of general malaise.

Ruby surveyed the whole beautiful picture that was Twinford City – all detail gone from this height, just the matrix of streets and building blocks; huge skyscrapers punctuating the grid. Outside the city, the big beyond: desert to the east, ocean to the west and mountains marching north. From up here on her ledge she could see the giant blinking eye that was the logo of the city eye hospital, with its slogan beneath it: “the window to your soul”.

The eye-hospital sign had been there since 1937 and was something of a landmark. People actually travelled downtown to have their picture taken with the neon eye winking above them.

As Ruby sat there on the ledge of the Sandwich, she was contemplating recent events, and the various ways she had almost met her death – the past couple of months had offered a range of possibilities. Death by wolf, death by gunshot, death by exposure, death by cliff fall, death by fire. In one way it didn’t make for happy reminiscing, but in another it sort of did. She was alive after all, because somehow she had dodged bullets – metaphorical and literal – and was now sitting calmly watching the world go by. It was unlike Ruby to dwell on things, but Mr Death had come so close to knocking at her door that she found herself fascinated by the very thought of it.

Now here she was sitting on the window ledge of a skyscraper, with news of an approaching storm on its way. Some would regard this as a risky activity. Ruby did not. Disappointingly, as far as she was concerned, at this exact moment there were no gusting winds, no adverse weather conditions, not even a stray pigeon looking to take a peck out of her. She judged her spot on Mr Barnaby H. Cleethorp’s windowsill to be no more dangerous than sitting on a park bench in Twinford Square. Well, that wasn’t quite true; there was the danger that Mr Cleethorps would finish his meeting with her father early and they would both give her grief for parking her behind on the ledge of his seventy-second-floor window and playing fast and loose with gravity. But it was hardly the high-octane excitement Ruby had become used to during the past five months as a Spectrum Agent.

Ruby was in the Sandwich Building – or rather sitting on the outside of it – because her father had insisted on bringing her to work with him.

‘Until that cast comes off your arm honey, I’m not letting you out of my sight.’

Her father had become rather over-protective since Ruby’s accident, and he would now only trust her care to his equally jittery wife, Sabina, or the housekeeper, Mrs Digby. A broken arm, an injured foot, singed hair – how close his only child had come to being burnt to a cinder!

Forest fires are very unpredictable, what was she even doing out there on Wolf Paw Mountain? Brant Redfort had asked himself, and indeed anyone and everyone who had walked through the door in the days after the incident.

Brant, as a consequence, was now plagued by fear: he was waking up at four am contemplating the horror of life without his girl. The thought was making him crazy. His fearfulness spread to his wife like a contagious disease and now for the very first time in Ruby’s thirteen years her parents wanted to know exactly where she was and exactly what she was doing at all times. Ruby was going ‘nuts’ as she so delicately put it.

‘Let them worry,’ advised Mrs Digby, a wise old bird who had been with the family since Mrs Redfort was a girl. ‘They’ve never had the sane sense to worry before, it will do them the power of good to employ a little imagination.’

‘Why?’ asked Ruby. ‘What’s the point of them getting all torn up with terror. What benefit is it gonna do them?’

‘They’re too trusting,’ replied Mrs Digby. ‘They don’t see the bad in things like I do.’ Mrs Digby was a big believer in seeing the bad in things – think the worst and you will never be disappointed. It was a motto that had stood her in good stead.

So for now Ruby was doing what her parents wanted; she was biding her time and looking forward to the day when she could lose the arm cast and get her parents off her case.

Ruby’s father was in advertising – the public relations, meet ’n’ greet, shake-you-by-the-hand side of the business. Being friendly to the big important clients was an important job and Brant Redfort was very good at it. Typically, therefore, Brant searched for a tie that might appeal to the client – in this instance, Barnaby Cleethorps, a conservative fellow but a jolly sort. Brant had picked out one that was patterned a little like a red and white chequered tablecloth, scattered with tiny picnic things. Just the ticket, he had winked at himself in the mirror.

As Brant came down for breakfast that morning, he caught sight of his daughter, lounging on the patio table, banana milk in one hand, zombie comic in the other, her T-shirt bearing the words what are you looking at duhbrain?

He sighed. It seemed unlikely that Ruby would be following him into a career in public relations.

‘Now be careful Ruby,’ warned her mother. ‘There are some unsavoury types downtown.’

‘You do know I’m going to Dad’s client’s office, don’tcha?’ said Ruby, sucking down the dregs of her banana milk.

‘Say no more,’ muttered Mrs Digby, who had a notion that the advertising business was rife with unsavoury types.

Brant kissed his wife on the cheek, ‘I’ll keep an eye on her, honey, never fear. What possible harm can come to her in the Barnaby Cleethorps offices?’

Sabina kissed her daughter and hugged her as if a month might pass before seeing her again.

‘Mom, you gotta chill,’ said Ruby, disentangling herself from her mother’s embrace and stepping into the chauffeur-driven, air-conditioned car.

They arrived on 3rd Avenue and took the elevator up to the seventy–second floor. Mr Cleethorps greeted them – ‘nice to meet you young Ruby’ – and he pumped Ruby’s good hand so hard she thought it might come loose from its socket. ‘I see you have been in the wars, but I understand from your father that you’re quite the brave little lady.’

Ruby smiled the smile of a five-year-old, which was obviously what Mr Cleethorps had mistaken her for. ‘How about a drink for our small guest,’ he said. He turned to his assistant, who nodded and smiled and went off to find something suitable – Ruby suspected milk.

As it turned out she was right. She rolled her eyes. Ruby was not a fan of milk, unless flavoured with strawberry, chocolate or her particular favourite, banana.

Once alone Ruby set about finding a good place to dispose of her beverage. There were no plants in the reception area and it didn’t seem good manners to tip it into one of the ornamental glass vases. She scanned the room further and that’s when she noticed that a section of the window in the waiting area could be opened. She stood on a stool, reached up and pulled on the latch. She pushed the window open and a fresh breeze blew in and Ruby couldn’t help wondering how nice it might feel to sit out in that pollution-free air . . .

And that’s how Ruby came to be sitting on the ledge of a very tall building, six hundred feet above street level, wiggling her toes and contemplating the whole big picture. She felt truly calm sitting here on the edge of nowhere. Ruby Redfort had no issue with heights; she’d never suffered vertigo, never felt that strange desire to let herself fall. Fear had never dominated Ruby’s actions, but now fear wasn’t even playing a part. It seemed she had reached a state of fearlessness.

Ruby picked up the glass and flung the milk from it, watching it disperse into tiny droplets that disappeared into the air. She placed the empty glass carefully on the ledge and decided she wouldn’t mind taking a little wander round the building, see her dad schmoozing Barnaby Cleethorps – why not?

The ledge was relatively wide and it was easy to walk to the south corner window and peek into Mr Cleethorp’s office. A slide presentation was obviously in progress, since the slatted blinds were all pulled down, and Ruby could only observe what was going on by peeking through the gaps. A number of the Barnaby Cleethorps team were gathered round looking at designs prepared by the creatives at her father’s agency. There, projected onto the screen, was the slogan the ad agency had spent weeks fine-tuning: “You Have to Feel it To Believe It!”

Ruby could see Mr Barnaby Cleethorps’ face and it was not a happy one. She adjusted her position on the ledge so she could see her father’s expression. As always, he looked remarkably cool, not in any way flustered, but she knew he must be feeling the strain because he was heading towards the window, and when her father was feeling tense his response was usually to let in some air. Tension brought on a sort of claustrophobia – too much stress in one room made it difficult for him to breathe.

Ruby ducked down, making herself as small as she could. Not that Brant could have seen her through the Venetian blind, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

The opening of the seventy-second-floor window might have helped Brant Redfort regain his calm, but for his daughter it had entirely the opposite effect. The problem was that Ruby had not anticipated how the window might open; she was expecting it to hinge in the middle when in fact this huge window was of the pivoting variety, and as her father yanked it open Ruby was flung out into thin air. She landed in – or, more accurately, dangled from – one of those window-cleaning cradles that travels the length and breadth of skyscrapers, allowing maintenance guys to squeegee the acres of glass. Luckily there were no maintenance guys in it now, though unluckily it meant there was no one to pull Ruby back in.

Now, suspended six hundred feet above the downtown traffic which crawled and tooted beneath her, she could see the irony of the situation – her father, intent on keeping her safe, had almost brought about her demise.

But at this precise moment she was struggling to see the funny side.

Chapter 2.

HANGING THERE BY HER FINGERTIPS, Ruby looked down at the map of streets. She could see the city’s famous old movie theatre, the Scarlet Pagoda; the Japanese garden in front of it, the lampposts decked in bunting and lights to celebrate this year’s Twinford Film Festival: A Date with Thrills.

The festival was to be a celebration of romantic thriller movies of the kind that she and Mrs Digby loved, and the situation Ruby currently found herself in was no doubt one seen in many of these pictures.

Only for Ruby this was no stunt, there was no safety net, and she needed to get a grip before someone raised the alarm. She heaved herself into the window-cleaning cradle and found the controls that would carry her back to her original window. She knew which one it was because it had an empty milk glass sitting in front of it.

She was just clambering out of the cradle when she heard a voice.

‘Hey kid, would you come in from there?’

Ruby looked up to see a tall, well-groomed man in a well-cut suit standing in the room. He appeared moderately anxious.

‘Am I making you nervous?’ asked Ruby.

‘The only person making me nervous is the meter maid on 3rd Avenue where I’m double-parked.’

‘Geez Hitch, why don’t you just find a parking spot like a normal person?’

‘You think it’s easy parking in this city?’ Hitch replied.

Ruby sighed, swivelled herself round and dropped back in through the window. She landed on the long elegant coffee table, the main feature of the sleek reception room. Pens went skidding across its surface and a bowl of marbles upturned, contents spinning in all directions and disappearing under furniture.

Hitch rolled his eyes. ‘Good going kid.’

‘OK, OK,’ said Ruby gathering up the pens and plonking them back in their pen pot. ‘Don’t have a total baby about it, man.’

HITCH: ‘It’s not me who’s going to have the “baby”. Mr Barnaby H. Cleethorps is a very particular man.’

RUBY: ‘What’s he gonna do, dangle me out of the window by my toes?’

HITCH : ‘Probably.’

RUBY: ‘Boy this guy must really like his pens tidy!’

HITCH: ‘You better believe it Redfort.’

RUBY: ‘So what are you doing here? You back from summer vacation?’

HITCH: ‘Something like that.’

RUBY: ‘Where have you been anyway?’

HITCH: ‘It’s classified.’

RUBY: ‘Your vacations are classified?’

HITCH: ‘I wasn’t on vacation.’

RUBY: ‘But you just said you were.’

HITCH: ‘No I didn’t, you did.’

RUBY: ‘Boy, have I missed small-talking to you. So where are we going?’

HITCH: ‘Elevator.’

RUBY: ‘You know I can’t leave, my dad won’t let me out of his sight.’

HITCH: ‘I’ve cleared it, your father has entrusted me with your safety.’

RUBY: ‘He clearly doesn’t know your safety record – so what are we doing?’

HITCH: ‘I’m going to have a cup of coffee and you are going to be grilled.’

‘Huh?’

HITCH: ‘Our boss, she wants to talk to you.’

To the outside world, Hitch was the Redforts’ household manager, but to the few in the know he was actually a highly trained Spectrum agent, living undercover at the Redfort home, stationed there to mentor and protect Ruby Redfort, Spectrum’s youngest recruit. Their boss was LB, head of Spectrum 8.

They took the elevator down to street level. It wasn’t the quickest ride since the building was an old one and the elevator cars were far from state of the art.

‘I thought I was on sick leave,’ said Ruby.

‘Not any more,’ said Hitch.

‘Anything going down at Spectrum?’ asked Ruby. ‘A new case?’ Ruby had been a Spectrum agent and expert code breaker since April, and in that time she had worked on three cases. All three had nearly got her killed. But then evading death sort of went with the territory.

‘Don’t ask me, I’m just the bozo driving the car,’ replied Hitch.

Ruby gave him a look, aware that if anyone was going to know anything then it was Hitch. But that said, there was no point trying to get him to talk; if he didn’t want to then he never would. That was the thing about Hitch: he kept his mouth shut.

SPECTRUM RULE 1: KEEP IT ZIPPED. He had to: as one of the highest-ranking agents at Spectrum 8, he was trusted with heavily classified information. He didn’t squeal for anything or anybody.

So how had a top-notch spy wound up working undercover as bodyguard to a thirteen-year-old kid? Hitch, for one, asked himself this question practically every day.

They strode out of the Sandwich Building to see a meter maid busy studying Hitch’s car.

Where to start? He was parked in a tow-zone, facing in the wrong direction, one of the wheels up on the sidewalk, the vehicle abandoned for twenty-one minutes. This was going to be one long ticket.

Hitch just raised an eyebrow. ‘Wait here kid.’

The meter maid had her hands on her hips, like she meant business. She looked ready for a fight, like she was thinking, Here he comes, another bozo who doesn’t want to take responsibility for his own dumb actions.

Hitch strolled over and the meter maid crossed her arms – a defensive move.

Hitch leaned against his car and began talking – well not so much talking as chatting. The meter maid shifted her weight and relaxed her arms so she now stood with one hand on her hip – was she actually smiling?

Man, you’re good, thought Ruby. Hitch could talk his way out of a maze.

The conversation, for that’s what it had become, went on for some time. What is he telling her?

The meter maid looked over to where Ruby stood, then she stuck her ticket pad back in her pocket. She laughed and nodded her head.

She raised an arm as if to high-five Hitch. He wasn’t the high-fiving type, Ruby knew that, so instead he gave her a kind of salute. Happy with that, the meter maid walked off whistling a merry tune.

Ruby climbed into the car. ‘What did you say to her?’

‘Just explained what a great kid you are,’ replied Hitch as he slid into the driver’s seat.

‘Yeah, right – apart from that?’ said Ruby.

‘I said I could get her courtside tickets to the Twinford Sneakers play-offs.’

‘And can you?’

‘Sure, the organiser is an old friend of mine.’

‘I thought you secret agents didn’t have friends?’

‘No, you’re thinking of tax inspectors,’ said Hitch, starting the engine. ‘I’ve got more friends than I can handle.’

‘Funny,’ said Ruby, ‘I’ve never met any of them.’

‘They’re all the shy and retiring type,’ said Hitch.

Ruby looked at him. ‘You sure they’re not the invisible, imaginary type?’

‘Oh, they’re just quiet,’ said Hitch. ‘A game of cards and an early night.’

‘Sounds like a hoot, wish I could meet ’em.’

‘Ah, you wouldn’t like ’em kid,’ said Hitch. ‘Not one of them has an interest in bubblegum.’

Chapter 3.

IT WAS NO REAL SURPRISE TO RUBY that Hitch himself was bringing her into HQ today. Sure, she had been into the building’s hub many times and worked endless long hours in its secure surrounds, but even so knowledge of the ‘way in’ was not a given. The Spy Agency’s entrance moved frequently and Ruby was not among the privileged few informed of Spectrum 8’s plans and architectural changes. Hitch was her link to this underground world and without him she could very easily find herself shut out in the cold. You mess up, you’re out for good.

Last time Ruby had visited was by way of the little kid playground in the middle of Central City Park, and to Ruby’s huge annoyance and humiliation Vapona Begwell – fellow pupil, schoolyard enemy and major irritation – had observed her crawling into the kids’ caterpillar tunnel. Ruby still hadn’t lived it down and Bugwart (as Ruby called her) wasn’t about to let anyone forget it – ever.

Of course, Vapona had no idea what “Little Red Ridingfort” was actually doing in the caterpillar tunnel and she never would. To tell the secret of Spectrum was forbidden. That said, there was one person outside the organisation who did know, and he was Clancy Crew, the most loyal ally a school kid could have, and Ruby Redfort’s closest friend. He would part with body parts before divulging a sworn-to secret.

‘So where is the Spectrum portal this time?’ asked Ruby.

‘If I told you it was the toddler playground, what would you say?’ replied Hitch.

‘You have to be kidding!’ said Ruby. ‘You’re telling me I have to walk into the little kid playground and crawl into that activity fun tunnel again?’

Hitch said nothing.

‘Man, I bet this was your idea, you get a big kick outta this don’t you; humiliate the kid, watch her street credibility sink below zero. . . I bet you’re laughing all day long.’

Hitch looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

‘You really serious about this?’ asked Ruby.

‘Nah, I’m just messing with you Redfort. You should see the look on your face. You know, you can really whine when you want to.’

‘You shouldn’t kid around with people that way. It interferes with a trusting relationship.’

‘You shouldn’t get wound up so easily Redfort. You’ll get a reputation for being flappy.’

Ruby glared at him.

It had been around five months now since Hitch had walked through the Redforts’ front door and taken up work in their stylish modern home under the guise of ‘household manager’. Ruby’s mom still insisted on introducing him as the butler, even though Hitch had on many occasions more than hinted that he would prefer her not to.

This kind of undercover work would ordinarily be beneath someone of Hitch’s status, but Ruby Redfort was no ordinary assignment. The reason: she was the brightest code breaker to step into Spectrum since the late Bradley Baker. Bradley Baker had begun his career as a boy, had died a man, and was to this day a hero mourned by every agent at Spectrum. Bradley Baker was a legend and – to Ruby – a pain in the derrière.

It was hard to outdo a dead super-agent, but Ruby was certainly in the business of trying. She was ambitious; not just determined to outclass Baker’s code-breaking ability, but also to become at least as good a field agent. Whether she would or not remained to be seen.

So Hitch, for now, was her official protector. He had been a field agent for a long time now and was highly trained in many disciplines. It hadn’t exactly been his idea of a whole bunch of fun. Watching over a school kid was not without its frustrations, particularly a school kid with a big mouth. But Ruby grew on him. That was the thing about her – you just found yourself wishing she were there even when you wanted her to go jump in a lake.

She was sharp as a tack and keen as a knife; determined, hardworking, loyal and – luckily – pretty funny with it. There were few Spectrum agents Hitch could say all that about.

Hitch got a beep on his watch. He took the call through his earpiece and Ruby had no idea what was being said. All she knew was that three seconds later they were heading back in the direction they had come and were now making their way once again to the downtown city centre.

‘What’s the deal?’ asked Ruby.

‘I guess Spectrum are ramping up security,’ said Hitch. ‘They’ve moved the “way in” again.’

‘Something happened?’ she asked.

‘Something’s always happened,’ he replied.

Downtown all the buildings were tall, even the short ones. Imposing heavy-stone department stores, offices, government buildings, banks and apartment blocks. Skyscrapers rose up hundreds of feet, and when you looked up the city tapered away into blue. The older Twinfordites often referred to this part of the city as Mini Manhattan or Little-L.A., because it bore a certain resemblance to both; a sort of mixture of uptown New York and downtown L.A. Although in terms of square mileage it was not on the same scale as either.

The buildings were by and large attractive, many dating back to the 1920s and 30s. There were newer ones of course, all glass and steel, but when one stood in just the right spot and looked upwards beyond the modern street signage and billboards, one could imagine Twinford City past. This was why downtown Twinford was often used for feature films depicting another age, when 1930s mobsters screeched through the streets and elegantly dressed couples danced through the night.

This part of town was an area that Ruby loved – it was exciting somehow to lose one’s self, to become anonymous, in the crisscrossing streets; ant-like to someone looking down from the top of the gargantuan architecture.

Hitch parked underneath the building known as the Schroeder, in a single empty space among the seemingly endless rows of stationary cars. There was nothing to indicate that this one lone parking spot had been reserved for Hitch’s silver convertible, but Ruby got the impression that somehow it had. The car park ramps spiralled down below them and Ruby wondered just how many vehicles were sitting under this vast building.

‘1,500,’ said Hitch, as if reading her thoughts. ‘1,517 if you count the maintenance team’s trucks. All parked on three underground levels under seventy-seven floors of concrete, steel and glass. Makes the mind boggle, doesn’t it?’

‘Makes the mind wonder if you shouldn’t get out more,’ said Ruby. ‘Maybe call up some of those “fun friends” of yours, live a little.’

They climbed out of the car and walked across to the elevator. Someone had scratched a tiny image of a housefly next to the ‘down’ button, and there was a trail line etched into the steel of the doors as if the fly had just buzzed out. The doors opened and Ruby and Hitch stepped in. Hitch snapped open what seemed to be an invisible panel, pressed some digits and the doors behind them closed and the doors in front of them opened. They exited. On the other side was a dusty old service elevator. Hitch clanged open the concertina metal gate and they stepped into the rough wide box, punched the button marked “−8” and a second or seven later they began to move unsteadily towards the bottom of the elevator shaft, the dark lit up by a single naked light bulb that swung above them, casting eerie shadows as they descended.

How many would guess that this tired-looking elevator with its mean light source might lead to one of the world’s most sophisticated intelligence operations? Well, Ruby Redfort might; she had seen it all before.

Chapter 4.

WHEN THE DOORS OPENED THEY WERE IN A VERY DIFFERENT SPACE: huge, subterranean and sleek. No dust, no cobwebs, no bugs – of either variety.

‘So what exactly does our boss want to talk to me about?’ asked Ruby.

‘It’s not my business to say,’ said Hitch.

Ruby hadn’t seen LB, the head of Spectrum 8, since before the whole Blue Wolf mission had kicked off.

The thing was, by the time Ruby had been helicoptered off Wolf Paw Mountain and rushed to the emergency room, LB had had her own crisis to take care of; she’d been called away on urgent duty and unable to attend Ruby’s official debrief. That task had been passed to another agent.

‘Will she be in a good mood dya think?’ said Ruby, knowing this was about as likely as LB showing up in a pink trouser suit – LB only ever wore white.

Hitch didn’t answer. He just pointed to a waiting area, with sleek white chairs.

HITCH: ‘Wait here kid.’

RUBY: ‘OK.’

HITCH: ‘Here? You got that?’

RUBY: ‘Uh huh.’

HITCH: ‘That’s a yes, right?’

RUBY: ‘Uh huh.’

HITCH: ‘You’ll be called in about fifteen, OK?’

RUBY: ‘OK.’

HITCH: ‘Don’t move.’

RUBY: ‘Got it.’

Fifteen minutes, thought Ruby. Enough time to drink a soda. And, she walked off in the direction of the Spectrum canteen.

She got herself a can of Fizz and sat down on one of the stylish chairs arranged around one of the many cool-looking tables, all lit by low hanging lights. The effect was cosy and conspiratorial. The Spectrum canteen was no ordinary work cafeteria – like all things Spectrum, it gave the impression of being very pleased with itself.

Ruby took out her book of Rules, a small magenta pink notebook with the word RULES printed in bright red letters across the front.

She’d had this book of rules since she was four years old and it had grown into quite a list over the years. Seventy-nine of them in fact. Now she had a new rule to add.

DON’T STAND ON A WINDOW LEDGE IF YOU AREN’T COMPLETELY SURE WHETHER THE WINDOW OPENS INWARDS OR OUTWARDS.

OK, it was quite a specific rule. But a useful one. She’d improve on it later, give it a bit more pizzazz.

‘You look better.’

Ruby looked up to see Dr Harper, the Spectrum medic who had treated her when she was brought in from Wolf Paw Mountain.

‘Better than what?’

‘Better than what you looked like the last time I saw you.’

‘Yeah, well last time you saw me, I had the flu, plus an injured foot, a broken arm and I’d nearly died of being burnt to death.’

‘Yes, your hair doesn’t look so good,’ said Harper, making a face. ‘Still a bit. . . crispy. So is the arm giving you any trouble?’

‘Nah, not really,’ said Ruby. ‘But it itches like crazy.’

‘Yes, that’s healing for you,’ said Dr Harper. ‘Itchy.’

‘Anything you can give me for it?’ asked Ruby hopefully.

‘Yes,’ said Dr Harper reaching into her top pocket. ‘This.’ She handed Ruby a yellow pencil.

‘Thanks,’ said Ruby, ‘does it come with any directions?’

‘Yes, avoid the sharp end,’ replied Dr Harper.

‘How about my foot?’

The doctor gave it the once-over and declared it ‘good to go’.

‘You sure?’ asked Ruby.

‘Trust me, I’m a doctor,’ said Harper.

‘And there I was thinking you might be a comedian. What about my arm?’

‘Oh,’ said Dr Harper, ‘that’s healed too. I’d cut you out of that cast right now but I got to be somewhere.’ She looked at her watch anxiously.

‘A medical emergency?’ asked Ruby.

‘A table for two at the Twinford Grand,’ said Dr Harper.

‘You won’t help me out of this thing because you got a lunch date?’

‘Did no one ever tell you lunch is the most important meal of the day?’

‘That’s breakfast,’ said Ruby.

‘Oh dear, I missed breakfast,’ said Harper. ‘So, I guess twice as important that I don’t miss lunch.’

‘I’m glad I’m not dying,’ said Ruby.

‘No one dies of an arm cast,’ said Harper.

‘And you say you’re not a comedian,’ said Ruby.

‘See you next fall,’ called Dr Harper as she made her way out of the canteen.

Before Ruby had a chance to get back to her thoughts, a voice came through the cafeteria intercom system. ‘Redfort, Ruby, report immediately to Spectrum 8. Agent in charge, office situated on black and white level. HQ.’

The voice belonged to the Spectrum information announcer, a person Ruby had never actually laid eyes on, but imagined would not be someone you would want to land up on a desert island with.

She guessed the owner of this voice resided in the same general department as Buzz, the mushroom-like woman who manned the fifty-plus telephones in an office just off the central atrium. Why he couldn’t just say, ‘Ruby Redfort to LB’s office, pronto,’ Ruby didn’t know.

She finished her drink and slowly got to her feet, then she sauntered off to find LB.

‘Howdy,’ she said as she passed Buzz, who was as usual on the phone and talking to who knew what. Buzz blinked at her, pointed to her watch and continued her call.

As Ruby approached LB’s office she could see the door was slightly ajar and as she got nearer she could hear fragments of a discussion; the voices semi-hushed, she could only pick up words at intervals so they were separated from their meaning:

‘apparently removed without authorisation. . .’

‘. . . from the department of defence?’

‘that’s what we’ve been told’

‘highly classified?’

‘affirmative. . .’

‘but how could anyone make it in?’

‘entered via an air vent. . . I know it seems impossible’

‘nothing else tampered with?’

‘No sign of anything else missing, no sign of anyone or anything anywhere else in the building.’

‘You worried about our security?’

‘Always. I’m. . .’

‘. . .but only an idiot would attempt—’

She knocked and the conversation stopped dead.

‘Come in,’ said LB, her voice sounding even more gravelly and drawn-out than usual. ‘And close the darned door Redfort.’

Ruby pushed it shut behind her and walked over to the empty seat next to Hitch. He tapped his watch and gave her a look to say, why in the world of reason can’t you follow orders? She slung her satchel across the back of the chair and slumped down. Then she looked from LB to Hitch.

Hitch’s brow was ever so slightly furrowed; LB seemed not quite as composed as usual. In her hand was an object which she was turning over and over in her palm: a smooth rectangle of clear plastic or Lucite, the shape and size of a key tag perhaps. But the thing attached to it was no house key, or at least if it was, it was a pretty state-of-the-art locking device. When LB caught Ruby’s gaze she frowned, and slipped the thing into the pocket of her white jacket.

‘What’s with you guys?’ asked Ruby. ‘Did your kittens get run over or something?’

Hitch raised an eyebrow. ‘I wish the problem were a simple case of a couple of flat cats,’ he said, ‘and I speak as a cat lover.’

‘Must be serious then,’ said Ruby. ‘So you gonna tell me about it?’

‘No,’ said LB.

Ruby shrugged. ‘OK. So anything you do wanna share?’

LB gathered her papers into a neat pile and then peered at Ruby through her large white-rimmed soft-tinted glasses. Today she looked tired. Working late? Or is she not sleeping so good?

‘So. You did well Redfort. It’s a pity that you couldn’t manage to secure the wolf, but you prevented the suspect acquiring it and that is something.’

LB was referring back to the previous case Ruby had been assigned to, when she had indeed done well, albeit in a messy, skin-of-her-teeth sort of way. She had used her code-breaking and detective skills to figure out who had let loose a load of rare and wild animals from a zoo owned by a private collector. She had discovered the zookeeper was to blame, though he had later been murdered by those who had commissioned the crime.

The perpetrators had been a young woman, believed to be a perfumer, named Lorelei von Leyden, and her mysterious sponsor about whom they knew nothing other than that – from her accent and the location of her initial coded message – she was Australian. Both were prepared to kill more than once to get their hands on the Cyan scent – an intoxicating perfume extracted from the near extinct Cyan wolf. The scent was the stuff of myth and legend; a few drops were worth a small fortune.

The only problem was some of this scent had been successfully stolen.

‘Unfortunately,’ said LB, echoing Ruby’s thoughts, ‘they got away with it. So while I can congratulate you for cracking the case, I can’t help but feel it is a shame that you managed to let the vial of Cyan get into enemy hands, and the two main assailants disappear into the wide blue yonder. But there we are, amateur hour I dare say comes to us all.’

LB had an unfortunate way of turning what might first be construed as praise into something rather more approaching a dressing-down. Fortunately or unfortunately, Ruby had become accustomed to it and didn’t let it bother her.

‘Going back to the events of that particular encounter, can you repeat again exactly what it was that the Australian woman said to you before she encouraged you to walk off that cliff?’

‘I’m unlikely to forget,’ said Ruby. ‘I thought they were gonna be the last words I ever heard.’ This was no lie.

Ruby paused for a second, concentrating so she might recall it perfectly, and then said, ‘She asked me to hand over the vial of Cyan – she had a gun, so I did. I guess I thought she was intending to sell it for its perfume value, since it’s worth a lot – so I said, “All this so you can make some money out of some stupid fragrance.” And she said, “Is that what you think this is about? No sweetie, this is not about some high-end perfume counter cluttered up with rich folk wanting to waste their money. This is about something important, more important than you could ever imagine.”’

LB said nothing, but stared straight ahead into the middle distance as if trying to focus on something that was too far away to see. No one spoke and the silence was only broken by the sound of Buzz’s voice coming through the intercom.

‘Agent Farrow from security is here to see you.’

LB nodded. ‘I’ll be one minute.’ She turned back to Ruby. ‘Well Redfort, I recognise that you showed great initiative and courage when you went into the mountains to recover the Cyan wolf, but. . .’

She paused. Ruby looked over at Hitch, his face betrayed nothing.

‘But,’ continued LB, ‘you also headed into the field, alone and without backup. You ignored direct Spectrum orders. And you would not be alive today if one of our agents hadn’t risked his life to haul you out of there.’

Ruby opened her mouth to protest.

LB raised her hand. ‘As I said, you displayed good qualities. But you also took unacceptable risks. So as of this moment, you are off the field agent programme. To put it in terms you might understand, you’re grounded Redfort.’

‘You have to be kidding,’ said Ruby.

‘You think I have time to kid around?’ said LB. Her eyes were steel – nothing about her suggested that she ever kidded around. ‘You will be permitted to take one further test, and your results will be evaluated. The outcome will determine your future field agent suitability.’ She looked over at Hitch. ‘You can thank your colleague here for this chance. Be ready for it. There will be no warning, you fail to show, you fail the test.’

LB stood, gathered her papers and exited the room. Not another word spoken; silence but for the swish of her elegant white skirt as she padded barefoot down the corridor.

When they were alone, Ruby turned to Hitch. ‘Grounded?’

Hitch looked her square in the eye. ‘Be more grateful,’ he said. ‘LB was ready to kick you off of the field training for good and always.’

‘Why? I cracked the case.’

‘You solved part of the case,’ said Hitch. ‘But you let the bad guys get away. And you nearly died in the process.’

‘Nearly dying is a sackable offence?’

‘Redfort, we can’t afford to lose good code breakers, nor for that matter agents. A lot of investment goes into training you up, plus you play fast and loose with your life and every last one of our lives is at risk.’

Ruby said nothing.

‘Besides,’ he said, ‘do you have any idea how difficult it is to find thirteen-year-old school kids who can crack a code?’

She looked at him. ‘Yeah right,’ she said.

They left Spectrum, and rode the elevator back to ground level and were once again in the Schroeder car park. They climbed into the car. ‘So who’s the idiot, anyway?’ asked Ruby.

‘What idiot?’ asked Hitch.

‘The idiot you were talking about when I arrived.’

‘You are if you think I’m blabbing to a school kid.’

‘Worth a shot,’ said Ruby.

‘Which is what Spectrum might think if I go ahead and repeat classified information without authorisation.’

‘They’d shoot you?’

‘They might consider it.’

‘Really?’

‘No Redfort, not really, at least I doubt it, but they might fire me.’

‘That would suck,’ she said.

Hitch nodded. ‘Yes, it would. I’d have to go and get a real job.’ He shuddered.

‘I’m sure my parents would keep you on.’

‘Yes,’ said Hitch. ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.’

Meanwhile,

via a secure transmitter line,

a man and woman were

talking. . .

‘So you have the 8 key?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘It can’t be done.’

‘Everything can be done.’

‘You don’t understand, the subject has kept it safe. Security has been increased since I acquired the other two items—’

‘Why two items? I only instructed you to bring back one.’

‘I took something for myself. I saw it in their lab as I was leaving and thought I could use it.’

‘Use it for what?’

‘It’s personal.’

‘I’m not paying you to steal “useful” items for yourself, I don’t want you attracting attention by busting into labs and taking what you want.’

‘Relax, they won’t even know I took it, they won’t even know I was there.’

‘Just don’t get distracted Birdboy. You need to keep your eye on the ball.’

‘I’ll get what you want but you need to give me time.’

‘I don’t have time, I need it now!’

‘It’s not easy to access.’

‘Of course not, I wouldn’t need you if it was.’

‘It’s more difficult than I thought.’

‘I thought you were supposed to be brilliant?’

‘I thought you were supposed to be dead, Valerie.’

‘You see? Everything’s possible.’

‘Becoming undead is possible?’

‘It would seem so.’