City Spies Page 12

  Brooklyn reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of Scrabble tiles, which she spread out on the table. “So I decided to do that with the Slater Loan Company. This is how it’s spelled on the document, ‘Company’ abbreviated as ‘Co.’ ”

  She arranged the tiles so they spelled:

  THE SLATER LOAN CO

  “Now, look at this,” she said. She rearranged them so they spelled:

  ALTON H SLATER CEO

  “They’re the exact same letters,” she said. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “So, what does that tell you?” asked Mother.

  “That the Slater Loan Company and Alton H. Slater, CEO, are fake,” she said. “They’re anagrams. Someone’s playing a word game, but they’re playing it with real banks and real money. The question we need to ask ourselves is who’s playing the game.”

  She rearranged the letters again so that they now spelled:

  CHARLOTTE SLOANE

  Mother let out a deep sigh. “And what does that tell you?”

  Brooklyn looked up and locked eyes with Mother. “I think Charlotte created a fake company so she could build online relationships with banks and access them without them knowing. I think she either stole or was about to steal a lot of money. That’s what it tells me.”

  Mother sat there for a moment and shook his head. “Yes,” he said with a heavy sigh. “That’s exactly what happened. And it wasn’t the first time. She’d done something similar in the States.”

  “What?” she exclaimed.

  “Charlotte was understandably angry at the world when her parents died,” he replied. “She expressed that anger with behavior that became more and more criminal. First she hacked some businesses, and then she moved on to banks. It took quite a negotiation with the FBI to get her released into my custody.”

  “Why’d you go to all that trouble?” Brooklyn asked.

  “For one thing, I know exactly what it’s like to suddenly lose your entire family,” he said. “I thought I understood her. I thought if we put her in a supportive and caring environment, she’d do better.” He looked up at Brooklyn. “I was wrong. And, when I realized that, I told her she could no longer be part of the team.”

  “You kicked her off,” said Brooklyn.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you tell everyone she quit?”

  “To protect her,” he said. “And to protect the team. Monty and I caught her before she actually stole any money, thank goodness. That could’ve destroyed everything. And she really is a good person. She has so many wonderful traits. But she couldn’t be part of all this. And, when I let her go, I thought we’d have to cancel this mission. The contest requires five people per team. But then fate delivered us a solution.”

  “Me?” said Brooklyn.

  “You,” he said. “I came across the file of a twelve-year-old girl who’d hacked into a government agency, and why? To bring justice.” He shook his head in amazement thinking about it. “There were these two astonishing girls who both did the same thing, but for very different reasons.”

  “So, if you hadn’t been one person short for the competition, I’d be in some supervised group home right now?” she asked, slightly wounded.

  “I knew the moment I saw your file that you belonged with us,” he said. “Nothing would’ve kept me from being in that courtroom that day.”

  “How’d you happen to find it?” she asked. “The file with my case?”

  “The same way I found Charlotte’s,” he answered. “I was looking for Annie. My daughter’s quite the computer whiz, so I always keep an eye out for any young female hackers who get in trouble.”

  Brooklyn weighed this for a moment.

  “Do you want me to keep this secret from everyone?” she asked. “The part about you kicking Charlotte off the team?”

  “I won’t ask you to lie to them,” he said. “But I’m not sure it does anybody any good if they find out.”

  “Me neither,” she said. “We’ll just keep it between us.”

  “Thank you,” he answered. “Now we have to get moving.”

  Ninety minutes later a twin-engine turbo-prop Beechcraft King Air B200 with no flight markings landed in total darkness on the grass airstrip that was once RAF Aisling. It was on the ground for less than ten minutes as seven passengers boarded. The last one on was Mother, who pulled up the stairs, locked the hatch, and signaled the pilot that they were ready to go.

  The interior of the plane was small enough that Brooklyn could almost reach from side to side. There were a total of eight seats, and she took one in the back row, staring out the window as the plane took off and soared into the moonless night.

  When they encountered turbulence above the North Sea, she clutched her armrest and told herself not to panic. She took a deep breath and counted to ten. But the nervousness didn’t fade.

  She had no idea what to expect, but she was positive that the whirlwind of first-time-evers was just beginning.

  17. Goldfinger Avenue

  THE BANK ROBBERY TAKING PLACE twenty miles west of central London was nothing like the cyberattacks committed by Brooklyn and Charlotte. This was an old-fashioned heist, complete with bad guys who carried guns and wore ski masks to hide their faces.

  The fact that Brooklyn and the rest of the team witnessed it in person was just a case of being in the wrong place at the right time. They were on their way to training but the street had been blocked off, so all they could do was stand a safe distance away and watch the drama unfold from behind a line of wooden barricades.

  “I can’t believe we’re actually seeing this,” Brooklyn said to Monty. “How’s it even possible?”

  Before them four police cars were fanned out in a semicircle in front of the bank entrance. The officers had taken cover behind their vehicles, and everything was at a standstill until one of the robbers leaned out the front door holding a hostage.

  He shouted something at the cops, but Brooklyn couldn’t make it out. She noticed a police sniper crawling into position on a rooftop across the street and pointed it out to Sydney and Kat who nodded silently, as if speaking aloud might alert the criminals.

  “Give up now! Before somebody gets hurt!” an officer called over a bullhorn.

  The robbers responded to this demand with a hail of bullets, and soon shots were fired from both sides. Even at this distance, Brooklyn reflexively stepped back to avoid getting hit by any stray gunfire.

  Suddenly the shooting stopped as a silver Jaguar convertible came racing down the street. The driver slammed on the brakes, and the rear of the sports car fishtailed all the way around until it slid to a screeching halt against the curb.

  Out stepped the driver, dressed in a slick black suit and tie. He deftly pulled a pistol from his shoulder holster, pointed it right at the door to the bank, and … froze. He just stood there for what seemed like an eternity until he finally put his gun back in the holster, turned in the opposite direction, and asked, “What’s my line again?”

  “Cut!” yelled the director as an entire film crew let out a groan of exasperation. This was their third try, and there was no reason to think he’d get it right on the fourth.

  “ ‘I’m here for queen and country, and I’ve come to make a withdrawal!’ ” the director said into his bullhorn.

  “That’s it, that’s it!” said the actor. “I’ll get it this time. I promise.”

  “We’ll pick it up on the reverse angle when we come back,” the director said, seething with frustration. “That’s lunch!”

  A bell sounded, and crewmembers suddenly materialized from everywhere. Brooklyn was amazed at how many people were involved in shooting a movie. It was jarring in a humorous way to watch the men who moments before were playing bank robbers take off their masks and make small talk with the cops who’d just been pointing guns at them.

  The woman showing the team around the film studio turned to Mother and shook her head. “You’d think he’d be able to remember one
bloody sentence,” she said, incredulous. “The name of the movie is Queen and Country. That’s half the line.”

  Their guide was unlike anyone Brooklyn had ever met. Nearly six feet tall, she had a shock of silver hair, was missing her left pinkie, and walked with a slight limp. Her name was Gertrude Shepherd, but to everyone at Vauxhall Cross she was known simply as Tru. A legendary MI6 operative, she’d served as a field agent for more than twenty-five years, and rumor had it the missing finger and limp were the results of a back-alley knife fight in Bangkok. In reality she lost the finger gardening and the limp was an old skiing injury, but she never let the truth get in the way of her own mythology. Besides, she really had been in a Bangkok knife fight but walked out of that alley unscathed, although the same couldn’t be said of the Chinese spy who’d lured her there.

  Tru was now a command officer, and among other duties she was Mother’s direct supervisor. She was also the technical advisor for the upcoming spy thriller Queen and Country, which is why the team was at Pinewood Studios just outside of London in the town of Iver Heath.

  “Is that Jonny Lott?” Paris asked excitedly when the forgetful movie star walked past them, headed for his trailer.

  “Tragically, yes,” said Tru.

  “Who’s Jonny Lott?” asked Brooklyn.

  “One of the best footballers in the world,” said Rio. “He’s the star of Man U. He’s a star on the national team too.”

  “And unfortunately, he’s the star of this cinematic masterpiece,” said Tru. “That’s what you get when you try to turn a footballer into an action hero. Wonderful to look at. Thick as a post. I imagine you’d have the same level of success if you took the lead from some West End play and put him in goal for Arsenal.” She turned to address the whole group. “Back to the buggies.”

  They climbed into a pair of golf carts and, with Tru driving one and Mother the other, resumed their caravan across the studio lot.

  Ever since the 1930s, Pinewood had been home to movies ranging from early Alfred Hitchcock mysteries to massive Star Wars blockbusters. But the series most associated with the studio was evidenced by the fact they drove along 007 Drive before turning onto Goldfinger Avenue.

  “Every James Bond movie has filmed on the lot going back to Dr. No in 1962,” Tru said while she drove. “So Pinewood holds a special meaning for creaky old birdwatchers like me. As a goodwill gesture, MI6 makes a senior agent available to offer technical expertise on any films that feature the Secret Intelligence Service.”

  Sitting next to her, Brooklyn was awestruck as they passed the different soundstages. Each had a sign on its door with the name of the movie that was shooting inside. Tru listed off the stars of the films like they were old friends. She parked the buggy by the entrance to Soundstage D next to the props building in the middle of the lot.

  “City of Light,” Brooklyn said, reading the name of the production off the door. “Who’s starring in that?”

  “You are, dear,” said Tru.

  “What?” asked Brooklyn.

  “I’ll show you,” she responded.

  Tru led them through a green door into a cavernous room 165 feet long by 110 feet wide. There were four large sets on the stage, but it was impossible to tell what they were from behind. All the team could see were the backs of fake walls spray-painted with the words PROPERTY DEPARTMENT—PINEWOOD STUDIOS.

  “Welcome to Stage D,” said Tru. “Countless films have been shot in this room. If you lift up the floor, you can see the water tank that was turned into the Miami Beach swimming pool for Goldfinger. This is where they built the entrance stairs to Hogwarts and King’s Cross station for one of the Harry Potter movies. And, for the next seven days, it’s where you’ll conduct your training.”

  “Let me get this straight,” said Mother, disbelieving. “After years of admonishing me to maintain a low profile and take every possible precaution to mask my identity as a spy, you’re training my team on Goldfinger Avenue in a soundstage where they literally make James Bond films.”

  Tru flashed a wide grin, revealing a gap between her middle teeth. “Ingenious, isn’t it?” she said. “Come now, I’ll show you.”

  She motioned them to follow her around to the other side of the sets and continued talking as they walked.

  “The set designers have re-created key locations you’ll encounter in Paris, and you’re going to spend the next week learning every inch of them,” she said. “Now, if we wanted to do this somewhere else, say, an empty warehouse in Milton Keynes, we would’ve had to haul everything over there in lorries, which would’ve taken time and attracted attention. Then we’d have a group of children going into the warehouse every day alongside hulking Special Forces commandos, which also would’ve attracted attention. But here on the lot, the props were all next door, and anyone walking by will just think you’re making a film. And, to be blunt, since none of you are famous, no one’s going to give you a second look.”

  “That works for anyone walking by,” said Brooklyn. “But what about the people at MI6, with the studio, and whoever’s working on the soundstage? Won’t they find out who we are? Aren’t we supposed to be a secret?”

  “There are exactly four people at MI6 who know about this team,” said Tru. “And only two of us know Mother’s actual identity. Everyone else at Vauxhall Cross thinks we’re making an educational film to be shown in schools across the UK. As for the commandos, they think you’re training for a reality television series called The Spy’s the Limit.” She glanced at Mother. “I came up with that one myself.” She turned back to Brooklyn and said, “Trust me when I say that your anonymity is secure.”

  Monty marveled at the cleverness of it all. “That’s bloody brilliant.”

  “Anyone can hide under darkness of night, but the cunning one hides out in plain sight,” recited Tru.

  “Ooh,” said Paris. “Is that another Motherism?”

  “Motherism?” Tru turned to Mother. “Have you been taking credit for my sayings?” She laughed and turned to the others. “That’s a Truism!”

  Tru showed them three separate sets: a small auditorium, a laboratory, and a ballroom, each of which was a meticulous copy of a room in the Paris headquarters of Sinclair Scientifica.

  “These are the rooms where Stavros Sinclair is scheduled to make appearances during the summit,” said Tru. “If you advance through the competition, you’ll be with him each of those times. That means you’ll be our eyes and ears in these rooms, and I can’t emphasize enough how vital that will be.”

  “What happens if the Purple Thumb attacks?” asked Paris. “Are we supposed to stop them?”

  “No,” Mother interjected. “You’re to alert us to anything that’s going on so that we can come crashing in. They’ve already killed two agents. We’re not putting you in harm’s way for Stavros Sinclair.”

  “But you are our first line of defense,” Tru said, sounding much less protective than Mother. “This week we’ll run through a wide variety of simulations, and you’ll see there are scenarios where we think you can protect Stavros without putting yourselves in too much danger.”

  Mother and Tru shared a look but neither said anything, and the phrase “too much danger” hung in the air for a moment.

  “The auditorium is where Sinclair will deliver his address opening the summit,” said Sydney. “And the lab’s where we’ll be working on the weather models, but what’s happening in the ballroom?”

  “On the final night of the summit, the ballroom’s where the top ten teams will assemble so he can announce the winner of the Stavros Challenge,” said Tru.

  “That explains these three rooms,” said Paris. “But what’s that one?”

  He pointed to the fourth set, which they hadn’t yet entered.

  “Let’s have a look,” said Tru. “Now, you have to understand that Stavros Sinclair is extraordinarily secretive,” she said as they walked. “It took endless arm-twisting to get the French authorities to release the blueprints to make thes
e sets. And while we believe they are exact, we don’t know for certain what’s in here.”

  They entered the set, which was made up as a computer server room.

  “Why don’t you know?” asked Paris.

  “Because the blueprints only show its structure, not what’s inside,” said Tru.

  “Then what makes you think it’s a server room?” asked Brooklyn.

  “Air-conditioning,” she said. “There’s an excessive number of vents coming into the room, as well as a pair of emergency air-conditioners directly above it on the roof. Sinclair Scientifica uses massive computers that constantly need to be cooled, so a server room makes the most sense.”

  “Either that or they’ve got a penguin habitat,” joked Monty.

  “Penguins are cute,” said Brooklyn, “but I’m hoping it’s computers.” She turned to Tru. “What’s our mission in here?”

  “Not ours, pet, just yours,” she answered. “We want you to break in, hack into the mainframe, and insert a program our top coders are concocting as we speak.”

  “That’s barmy!” said Mother. “This was never part of the plan.”

  “It is now,” said Tru. “In fact, it may be the most important part.”

  “So now MI6 spies on companies?” said Mother.

  “This one, yes,” said Tru. “We’re quite concerned about some of the people Sinclair Scientifica has been doing business with. We think they’ve been working alongside Umbra in some instances. If we can get inside the mainframe, then we’ll know more about these people and be able to do our job better. As secretive as the company is, this might be our best chance.”

  “Brooklyn’s only been here a few weeks,” Mother said. “She doesn’t have the training for something like this.”