Текст книги "NERDS: National Espionage, Rescue, and Defense Society"

Автор книги: Michael Buckley

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Dr. Jigsaw said it would be simple. All the Hyena had to do was to storm the lab, kidnap the scientist, and go, but did it turn out like that? No! Nothing was ever simple when you worked for a crazy person.

It was, of course, her own fault, because she should have known better. She should have quit the moment she saw Dr. Lunich die in a fiery inferno. She should have quit when she saw what Jigsaw’s continent-moving machine could do. She should have quit when she discovered Jigsaw had been in a mental hospital for a nervous breakdown, but she realized that if she quit every job because the boss was a lunatic, she would never work again. But now he had gone too far. He had saddled her with a team of morons who were heavy on weaponry and short on attention span.

As goons went, they were really quite useless. If she hadn’t reminded them to show up at the airport at a certain time, they would never have gotten on the plane. If she hadn’t personally made wake-up calls to get them out of bed on time, they would have slept through the mission. And meals—oh, the meals on the mission were the worst. Picking a restaurant to eat in took hours and usually ended in an angry squabble. One wanted fried chicken; another had to have chili. One was on a special no-carb diet. The other was allergic to wheat and eggs. There was no making them happy.

But the morning of the actual kidnapping, the Hyena thought she had whipped them all into shape. Everyone was showered, dressed, and ready when the helicopter landed. Everyone had had breakfast. No one had to go to the bathroom at the last minute, and best of all, they had remembered to bring their weapons with them.

When they landed on the roof of the doctor’s building, she led the goons down to the lab, where they found a locked door. There are many ways through a locked door. One can pick the lock. One can slide a credit card along the crack where the door and the frame meet. One can use a crowbar and pry a door open. One can even knock. But the goons had another method—kicking a door off its hinges. They dashed in, fully prepared to snatch a screaming scientist, when the Hyena saw something she didn’t expect. Standing with mouth agape was a chubby African American boy dressed in a black jumpsuit. He was clutching Dr. Badawi’s arm as if he were preparing to drag her away.

“Who are you?” the Hyena demanded.

The chubby boy thrust out his hands and a thick, yellow substance squirted out of the tips of his fingers. It landed all over her boots and the floor.

“Hey! Watch the boots. They’re new!” she cried, but the boy was already on the move. He hoisted the tiny scientist onto his shoulder like a sack of apples and then did something the Hyena would not have thought possible if she hadn’t seen it herself. He ran up the side of the room and onto the ceiling like a human fly. Each step left more of the gooey yellow glop behind. Soon he and the scientist were racing across the ceiling and out of the lab.

Once the Hyena came to her senses, she attempted to chase after them, but her feet held fast to the floor. In fact, she couldn’t move a pinky toe in any direction. The stuff the fat kid had squirted on her was some kind of super-powerful glue.

“What should we do?” one of the goons asked.

“Um, you could go after them,” the Hyena suggested sarcastically.

A moment later the goons were piling out through the lab door and she was struggling with her boots.

“Not again!” the Hyena muttered as she reached down to unzip them. She slid her feet out and gave her boots a strong tug. It did no good. The weird kid’s glue was like concrete. Another six hundred dollars down the drain!

Furious, she turned and raced barefoot into the hallway. The kid and the scientist were nowhere in sight, but another boy had appeared in front of her. This one, unlike the sticky weirdo, was cute, though he had a set of braces that appeared to be made from battleship scraps.

“Give up,” the boy said. “We’ve got her now.”

The Hyena frowned. “My boss doesn’t pay for me to give up.”

She was about to push past him when something crazy happened. The boy opened his mouth and strands of his braces sprang out, formed a giant hand, and latched onto her arm. She tried to pull away, but the braces wouldn’t allow it.

“Let me go, you carnival reject,” she demanded.

“Not until you call off your goons,” the boy said.

The Hyena had had enough. Cute or not, this boy was in her way. Her arms weren’t free, but her feet were. She aimed a kick at the boy’s chin. His weird braces loosened their grip, and the Hyena slipped out and raced for the stairs.

Unfortunately, when she got downstairs to the street, she found her so-called crack team of mercenaries getting their butts handed to them by another eleven-year-old boy. He was dressed in a weird harness and was tossing the goons around like rag dolls. He was scrawny, but had unbelievable strength. She watched him punch one of her goons, a man three times his size, sending him tumbling thirty yards down the street. But he wasn’t the only obstacle. Flying above them was an Asian girl—were those inhalers in her hands?—who kept buzzing by the goons, distracting them. Then there was another boy with bright red hair and the biggest set of front teeth she had ever seen on a human being. She couldn’t be sure how he was doing it, but he had somehow convinced half of her team to turn on itself. Soon the goons were in the midst of an all-out brawl. The Hyena raced into the melee, dodging flying fists and angry elbows. The sticky boy and the scientist were weaving through the crowd ahead of the Hyena, but her agility and speed would allow her to catch up to them fast. She was within hands’ reach of her prey when the boy with braces materialized again.

“You’ve got my scientist,” the Hyena said to him.

“Sorry, finders keepers,” he replied as four long metallic arms crept out of his mouth, planted themselves on the ground, and lifted him up like a spider.

“OK, that’s cool in a very disgusting kind of way, but I recommend you move,” she said.

“Can’t do that,” the boy said.

“Your mistake,” she said as she leaped into the air. She planted her hands on his shoulders and used him as a springboard to flip herself over his body. She kicked him in the back of the head in the process. He fell hard on his face, but she didn’t stick around to see if he was hurt. Glue boy and the scientist were climbing aboard a camel and racing off down a back alley. She’d never catch them on foot. Spotting another camel nearby, she climbed into its saddle, took the reins, and dug her heels into the animal’s ribs. It roared and took off like a rocket.

The Hyena had ridden many horses in her day; equestrian talents were a major plus in the world of beauty pageants. But a camel is only similar to a horse in that it has hair and four legs. Riding a horse is like floating on smooth waves. Riding a camel is like riding a barrel over a waterfall: bouncy, uncomfortable, and, factoring in camel saliva, very wet. Still, the Hyena would rather face camel spit than go back to Jigsaw empty-handed. She was not going into the fire pit like Dr. Lunich!

They raced down back alleys, weaving through hidden neighborhoods and causing panicked people to leap out of their way. An old woman tossed a pail of brown water out of her window right on the Hyena’s head. A man dragged a cart with a broken wheel across her path. After much shouting, she got around him and continued her pursuit. Her target made a left turn onto a long stretch of lonely road that crossed over an empty riverbed. The Hyena dug her heels into the camel again and soon the distance between her and the sticky boy had shortened.

She was seconds away when the odd boy with the mechanical mouth came stomping past her. He sidled up to the chubby boy, then a fifth limb crept out of his mouth and pulled Dr. Badawi away from Glueboy. Glueboy shouted angrily at Metalmouth, but in the process, he fell off his camel and tumbled end over end down the embankment to the dry riverbed below. Metalmouth, however, just kept running. If he noticed that his companion had taken a nosedive into the dust, he didn’t seem concerned.

The Hyena raced after him, but his machine legs outpaced the camel two steps to one, and in no time he was out of the city proper and into the hot, brutal desert. As he slipped farther and farther away, the Hyena began to feel Dr. Jigsaw’s trap door sliding out from under her. She was nearly resigned to a fiery death when a miracle occurred. As she chased the boy up a sandy embankment, she saw an army of men on horseback approach. Each was brandishing a huge sword and screaming angry threats into the air. The men surrounded them all.

The leader of the militia pointed his sword at the boy’s neck and shouted angrily.

“Friends of yours?” the Hyena asked him.

“A few of them had me surrounded this afternoon. I think he’s still angry about the beating I gave him,” the boy replied.

“You’ve disgraced his manhood,” she said. “You should apologize before he chops off your head.”

“I don’t speak Arabic,” the boy said.

“I do,” the Hyena said. “Give me the doctor and I’ll get you out of this.”

The boy frowned, but a moment later his tentacles were easing the poor doctor onto the back of the Hyena’s camel.

“Thanks,” she said, as she turned the camel in the opposite direction.

“Hey! I thought you were going to help me!”

“Yeah, about that. I don’t really speak their language. But good luck,” she said, then clomped off into the night. She heard an enormous roar from the crowd and the sound of swords clanging.

“I’M sensing that you’re angry,” Jackson said as Agent Brand paced back and forth. The spy said nothing. Neither did the scientists hovering about in the Playground. Jackson had never heard headquarters so still.

“I think it’s clear that he’s not cut out for this,” Ruby said before Brand could answer.

Flinch turned the knob on his harness. “He really blew it.”

Jackson was livid. “What did you think—I was going to be some superspy right out of the box?”

“What I thought was you could follow simple orders!” Agent Brand shouted. His words were so loud, Ms. Holiday yelped. “I told you to observe, not get involved.”

“The team needed my help!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Heathcliff muttered. “We had the situation under control. We’ve faced bigger problems than a dozen armed goons.”

“Heathcliff is right,” Brand said. “Your teammates are more than capable. You, however, are not. You are responsible for Dr. Badawi’s kidnapping.”

“Technically, she was supposed to get kidnapped,” Jackson said.

“By us!” Heathcliff cried.

“Plus, you let the enemy know that we are onto them. We’ve lost the element of surprise,” Matilda said.

Jackson shook his head. Badawi would have been snatched by the girl and her goons whether he had tried to help or not. Wasn’t anyone going to point out that little nugget of information?

“We should wipe his mind and send him back to class,” Heathcliff said.

Jackson turned to Duncan. The boy had shown signs of sympathy toward him. Maybe he’d speak up, but Duncan was silently rubbing a bruise on his behind and scowling angrily.

“I agree,” Flinch said.

“So do I,” Ruby said. “As team leader, I’m calling for a vote. All those in favor of expelling Joe Quarterback here, say—”

Brand slammed his hand on the table. Somewhere a guinea pig camera squeaked in fright. “You’re as stubborn as Jackson!” Brand cried.

Ruby started furiously scratching her legs.

“What’s wrong with you?” Brand asked the girl.

“She’s allergic to criticism,” Matilda said.

Brand groaned. “What has happened to my career! I used to drive an Aston Martin. I used to play high-stakes card games for the fate of the world. I used to date beautiful women.”

“Gross!” Flinch said.

“Now look at me.” The spy threw up his hands in exasperation and stormed out of the room.

Ms. Holiday brushed the wrinkles from her skirt and stepped forward. “Pufferfish, I’m very disappointed.”

“What did I do?”

“That man is one of the greatest secret agents this country has ever seen,” Ms. Holiday said. “He lost part of his leg trying to save the world. The Powers That Be have put him in charge of this group. Perhaps they know something about him that you don’t?”

“I don’t need to know anything about him,” Ruby muttered.

“I want all of you to get to work now with Benjamin. Load any information about this mysterious girl you encountered and try to build a three-dimensional model of her so we can search for face matches,” Ms. Holiday said.

“What about me?” Jackson asked.

“I said all of you, Braceface,” the librarian replied.

“So you’re not firing me?”

“Not today.”

“Why not?” Heathcliff begged.

Ms. Holiday flashed Jackson a sympathetic smile as she walked off in the direction of Agent Brand.

“You’re running out of chances,” Heathcliff said to Jackson.

“It’s just a matter of time before you’re gone,” Matilda added.

Jackson was about to argue, but something dawned on him. “Time! What time is it?”

Duncan looked at his watch. Apparently it did more than shoot lasers. “It’s four thirty.”

“Four thirty!” Jackson cried. “I’m late for detention!” Dehaven was going to kill him!

Jackson raced toward the secret entrance that led him out of the lockers. When he was back in the school hallway, he took off at a sprint toward the detention room. He rounded the corner and threw the door open, but the room was empty. There wasn’t a soul waiting inside, only a note written on the chalkboard. It read:

YOU MESSED WITH THE BULL, JACKSON. NOW IT’S TIME FOR THE HORNS.

LEVEL 7 CLEARANCE IS

NEXT, AND YOU’VE EXCEEDED

EVERYONE’S EXPECTATIONS.

STILL, FURTHER DNA SAMPLING

IS REQUIRED. DON’T COMPLAIN.

I HAD TO GO THROUGH THE

SAME PROCESS WHEN I BECAME

A MEMBER OF THE TEAM. IF

YOU WANT TO BE A SECRET

AGENT, YOU HAVE TO MAKE

SACRIFICES. SO INSERT

YOUR ELBOW IN YOUR EAR,

REMOVE SOME WAX, AND

APPLY IT TO THE SENSOR.

NO, I’M NOT KIDDING. WHY

WOULD I MAKE THAT UP?

ELBOW.

EARWAX.

NOW!

LEVEL 7

ACCESS GRANTED

BY THE WAY —

THAT WAS THE FUNNIEST

THING I’VE EVER SEEN.

YOU LOOKED RIDICULOUS.

THE FOLLOWING ARE RECORDED

TRANSCRIPTS OF CALLS MADE

FROM THE HYENA’S DIGITAL

PHONE TO UNKNOWN PERSONS.

September 30, 13:05

Unknown:

Hello.

Hyena:

Hey, my name is the Hyena. I’m a professional assassin and I was wondering if you guys need anyone killed over there. I do a lot of freelance work.

Unknown:

Uh, what did you say your name was?

Hyena:

The Hyena.

Unknown:

Yeah, well, thanks for your call, but we do our killing in-house.

Hyena:

Well, could I at least send my résumé? You never know when problems might spring up.

Unknown:

How old are you?

Hyena:

I’m twelve ... almost thirteen.

Hyena:

Hello? Hello?

September 30, 13:20

Unknown:

Secret Lair. How can I help you?

Hyena:

I was wondering if you’re hiring contract killers.

Unknown:

Hmmm, I don’t think so. I know we’ve got plenty of positions open for goons.

Hyena:

No thanks.

September 30, 13:28

Unknown:

Fortress of Doom. How can I direct your cell?

Hyena:

Yes, I saw your ad for the assassin job.

Unknown:

Let me transfer you our human resources department.

Unknown HR:

Human Resources.

Hyena:

Yes, I was calling in regard to the ad I saw on Craigslist for the assassin job.

Unknown HR:

Yes, I’m afraid we filled that position.

Hyena:

Fudge.

Unknown HR:

But the boss just went on a killing spree yesterday and a dozen henchmen were cut in half by our giant saw.

Hyena:

Henchman, huh? What’s the costume?

Unknown HR:

Bumblebee.

Hyena:

(Sighs) How bad is it?

Unknown HR:

(Whispering) Between you and me, it’s horrible. The suit is yellow and black and makes you look fat. Black tights, black turtleneck, goofy hat with bouncy antennas, but the worst part is the stinger on the bum. The boss has a thing about hives. Calls himself the Yellow Jacket. Looks like a complete moron ...

Unknown HR:

Hey! Let go of me!

Hyena:

What’s going on?

Unknown HR:

No, I won’t go. No! Oh, help me. They’re taking me to the saw!

September 30, 13:30

Unknown:

Domino’s Pizza.

Hyena:

Yeah, how far north do you deliver?

Unknown:

How far north are you?

Hyena:

By the pole.

Unknown:

What pole?

Hyena:

The North one.

Hyena:

I hate this crummy job.

When Jackson arrived home, he weighed his options. Should he tell his father about his secret life? Or keep silent? He had promised never to reveal the existence of NERDS, but he began to wonder if it was a promise he could keep.

As he opened his front door, he made a decision. “Dad! I have something important to tell you,” he shouted as he entered the house and walked down the hall. In the dining room, he saw something that shocked him to the core. Mr. Dehaven was sipping a cup of coffee. Jackson’s father was sitting across from him. Butch was in a chair too. Jackson wasn’t sure which of the three had the more disapproving look.

“Good evening, Mr. Jones,” Mr. Dehaven said. “You missed our appointment today, so I took the liberty of making a personal visit to find out why. Your father and I have had a chat about your grades and attitude.”

“Have a seat, buster,” Jackson’s father said.

The lecture that followed this request was peppered with words like “disappointed,” “astonished,” “surprised,” “furious,” and “flabbergasted.” All the while, Dehaven sat idly by with an amused smile.

“Jackson, do you have an explanation for all of this?” his father demanded.

Jackson felt like standing up and shouting, “Yes! I have an explanation. I’m a secret agent and all day long I work with a team that saves the world from bad guys. We have a rocket and laser watches and a nose walkie-talkie and guinea pig cameras, and it is eating up every moment of my life!”

But he didn’t. Instead he dropped his head and apologized.

“Well, you can forget the marching band and all the other extracurricular activities you’re involved with. Plus, no TV or video games until your grades are back up to snuff.”

“Mr. Jones, I think those are all very good starts, but I’m afraid I have to send a clear message, not only to Jackson but to the other troublemaking students at Nathan Hale. I’m going to have to suspend Jackson for three days.”

Jackson’s father took a deep breath and pointed upward. “To your room!”

As Jackson backed out of the room, he saw Dehaven make little bull horns on the sides of his head.

Jackson climbed the stairs to his room and closed the door behind him. He flopped down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He could still feel sand between his toes and was sure there was a pound of it trapped in his underwear.

Just then, his bedroom door opened. Chaz poked his head inside. “What’s all the commotion, Nerdbot?”

“I got suspended from school,” Jackson explained.

“Duh! People on the next block know that,” his brother said. “The way dad was shouting, I wasn’t sure you were going to survive. Does this have something to do with your new friends?”

Jackson nodded.

“How could you hang out with those losers?” Chaz’s face curled up like he had just smelled something foul.

“No one else wanted me,” Jackson said. The truth was sour in his mouth.

“I’d rather be alone than hang out with those dorks,” Chaz said. “Tell Dad I went to practice.”

A moment later, he was gone.

Jackson looked over at the desk in his room. There he saw a picture of his father, Chaz, and him. His mother had taken it at a Washington Redskins game. The three of them had their arms around each other’s shoulders, and they were grinning. That day seemed like a million years ago. The next day Jackson awoke to find a strange woman standing over him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and realized she was Mrs. Pressman, an elderly neighbor. Mrs. Pressman was a cranky woman with thick glasses and an aroma of vegetable soup that followed her everywhere. Jackson wondered if it was her natural smell or if she was buying perfume from the Campbell’s Soup Company. Regardless, it didn’t explain why she was in his bedroom.

“Your father has left for work. He asked me to keep an eye on you,” Mrs. Pressman replied. “I don’t cook, clean, hold hands, kiss boo-boos, change diapers, or read bedtime stories.”

“Mrs. Pressman, I’m eleven years old.”

The old woman lifted her glasses and squinted. “So you are. Your dad gave me this to give to you.”

She handed him a note. His father had scheduled out his day, minute by minute. He wanted Jackson to clean out the garage, organize the basement, clean Butch’s doghouse, rake leaves, and trim the hedges. Apparently, being suspended was not punishment enough. Jackson sighed and got dressed. He’d start with the garage.

But when he opened the garage door, he found something other than old junk inside. All five of his teammates were waiting for him.

“You are a complete loser, bro,” Flinch said.

“Who gets suspended in the fifth grade?” Matilda asked.

“It’s all your fault!” Jackson cried to his angry teammates. “If I wasn’t busy flying off to Egypt, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

“Well, your inability to manage your life is not going to affect ours. Brand sent us here to train you,” Ruby fumed.

“Train? I’m in deep trouble with my dad. I’ve got a list of chores a mile long, and if they aren’t done by the end of the day, he’s going to put me up for adoption.”

Duncan reached out and took the list of work from Jackson. “We’ll help you with this. Training is more important.”

“What about Mrs. Pressman?” Jackson asked. “My dad hired her to babysit and she’s going to notice if I’m not working.”

“I’ve taken care of her,” Heathcliff said, gesturing to the front yard, where they could see the old woman doing jumping jacks. Her eyes were spacey—Heathcliff had unleashed his teeth on her.

“If she has a heart attack, it’s all your fault,” Jackson said.

Matilda went first, fighting Jackson with a variety of silly weapons she found in the garage, including a bucket, a pogo stick, and some old Hot Wheels race car tracks. In the meantime, the others started on Jackson’s chores. Jackson watched from the garage as Flinch stood over a pile of leaves and clapped his hands. There was a sonic boom and leaves were blasted into the neighbor’s yard.

Despite their long morning together, only Duncan would eat lunch with Jackson.

“I get that I’m not good at this,” Jackson said to the sticky boy. “I get that you don’t trust me ’cause I used to be cool. I also get that I’m not the ideal member for the team. But why do you all hate me so much?”

Duncan blinked in bewilderment. “You truly don’t know?”

Jackson shook his head.

Duncan reached into his pocket and took out a blue sphere. He pushed a button on its side and it began to spin. A moment later Jackson heard Benjamin’s voice.

“What can I help you with, Gluestick?”

“Could you pull up some surveillance tapes of Nathan Hale Elementary?”

“Anything specific?” the computer asked.

“Yes. Show us the file labeled ‘Jackson Jones.’”

There was a strange humming sound and then holograms appeared. This time, instead of a three-dimensional landscape, Jackson saw a square floating before his eyes. A moment later it flickered to life—showing video footage recorded in a busy hallway. Jackson recognized it as the hall where his locker was and quickly spotted himself in the crowd. The video was taken at the height of his popularity.

“You guys have been taping me?” he asked.

“Just watch,” Duncan said.

Suddenly, Flinch walked down the hallway. Jackson watched himself knock the boy’s books out of his hand so that they scattered all over the floor. Brett and the rest of his friends laughed.

Then the image jumped to another day when Jackson gave Duncan a wedgie. The image jumped again, and he saw himself tripping Matilda so that she fell to the floor. Then he saw himself tape a KICK ME sign on the back of Ruby’s jacket. Then he saw himself dumping a soda on Heathcliff’s head. The video went on and on, but it was always the same—Jackson tormenting nerds, his teammates in particular. He stuffed them in lockers, flicked their ears, forced them to kiss his feet, dipped their faces into the drinking fountain, pulled their hair, gave them wet willies, and put them into full nelsons. All the while, he and his stupid friends giggled like idiots.

“Do you see?” Duncan asked. “I have about twenty more hours of this if you don’t get it.”

Jackson was speechless. He didn’t recognize the Jackson in the video.

“They hate you, Jackson, because you’re mean. You think you were popular, you think you were well liked, but you weren’t. You were a bully.”

There was that word again. Bully. Jackson remembered the events in the video clearly, but not the faces of his victims. They all melted into a single, awkward, misfit kid. Teasing nerds had been fun, a joke. He had never once thought of it as bullying.

“We all got our fair share of it,” Duncan continued.

“But you guys are awesome fighters. You could have put me in my place easily.”

“If we fought back, you might have been seriously injured, and it would have blown our covers as spies. But there’s another reason why we took it, Jackson. It’s because we know that what the popular kids have to offer the world is so tiny and unimportant compared to what the nerds will do. The dorks, dweebs, goobers, and spazzes that you picked on are the ones who will grow up to discover the vaccines, write the great novels, push the boundaries of science and technology, and invent things that make people healthier and happier. Nerds change the world. Kids like you and Brett, and that gang of lunatics you called friends—well, you never amount to much. Knowing I have a bright future helps when I’m pulling my underpants off my head.

“I don’t hate you, though I do think you are way too arrogant for your own good. The others, however, hate your guts. I know Ruby resents you because Brand brought you in without discussing it with her. Flinch and Matilda think you don’t have what it takes in the brains department. And Heathcliff, well, he has a special place in his heart for the hate he feels for you.”

“Why?”

“You took particular delight in abusing him. He got the worst of it,” Duncan said.

Jackson watched as the video showed him dragging Heathcliff down the dirty hallway by his feet. Ashamed, Jackson looked across the lawn at his teammates, and for the first time he wasn’t annoyed that they didn’t want to be his friend. He suddenly understood. He didn’t deserve their friendship.