Get Smart-ish (6 page)

Clink. Clink. Smash!

And just like that, a metal grate crashed down, imprisoning Jonathan and Shelley in a medieval pit.

OCTOBER 23, 3:17 A.M. TOWER OF LONDON. LONDON, ENGLAND

“Nina? Or should I say Friend-I-Haven't-Met-Yet?” Shelley called out.

“If you'll talk to us, I think you'll realize that we're not even worthy of being locked up,” Jonathan said, his voice echoing from the bottom of the deep stone pit, the sides smooth from centuries of hands clawing at them in a desperate attempt to escape. “We're just two nobodies!”

The sound of water diverted Jonathan's attention. One then two then three then four and finally five streams slowly trickled into the pit, the flow growing stronger with each second that passed.

“Where's the water coming from?” Shelley shrieked. “We need to stop it or we'll drown!”

That's the idea
, Jonathan thought. Nina, a girl he had never even met, was going to drown them. For what? For trying to stop her from poisoning ministers with LIQ-30. Did she really think them worthy of a watery grave? Jonathan began to shiver. His teeth chattered. His eyelids twitched. It was his body's way of revolting, of fighting against the inevitable—death.

Next to Jonathan, Shelley was jumping up and down as water pooled around their feet. “Please don't do this, Nina! We're good people! We recycle! We even bring our own bags to the grocery store!”

A dark figure moved through the room, jumping from shadow to shadow until finally exiting.

“Nina! Come back! Please!” Shelley screamed before noticing that her friend was now shaking uncontrollably as the water passed their knees.

How are we going to get out of here?
Shelley thought as she pulled at her hair, frustrated by the seeming impossibility of the situation.

“I've got it!” Shelley hollered, grabbing hold of Jonathan's shoulders. “Don't worry, I have a plan.”

As the water neared his belly, Jonathan stammered, “I w-wish I could say that m-made me feel better, but your plans usually don't work.”

“We're going to wait for the pit to fill with water, pushing us to the top, allowing us to open the metal grate,” Shelley explained, eyes wide, anxiously waiting for Jonathan's reaction.

“You're a genius, Shelley Brown!” Jonathan exclaimed as he tried to give Shelley a hug.

“For real? Like they would let me into the genius club?” Shelley asked, her eyes alight with excitement as she imagined her parents' and sister's reaction to her becoming a certified genius.

“No, of course not,” Jonathan answered, prompting Shelley to drop her head in disappointment.

“Come on, Shells! Don't be sad, you just saved our lives! Who cares if you're not an actual genius?” Jonathan said as the water continued to rise, bringing them closer and closer to the grate.

“That's easy for you to say. You're considered the smart one in your family!” Shelley responded.

“Can we put a pin in this conversation? Maybe it's the water or the medieval pit, but I'm having trouble concentrating,” Jonathan explained as he extended his arm, his fingers grazing the metal grate. “Almost there!”

Second by second, the water brought them closer and closer, until they were finally able to grab hold of the cold metal bars.

“On the count of three. One…two…three,” Jonathan instructed Shelley.

The realization was instantaneous: They didn't have the strength or momentum needed to push open something this heavy, not while treading water. Maybe not ever.

“It's impossible,” Jonathan quietly admitted as he closed his eyes.

The water continued to rise, each drop bringing them closer to their deaths.

“I can't die, not now, not with the nickname Glasses,” Shelley blubbered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “If I were some old person in a coma I wouldn't complain, and not just because people in comas can't talk! But this isn't fair—I'm too young! I've barely done anything on my to-do list!”

“Nina! Somebody! Help!” Jonathan screamed as Shelley continued babbling.

“Something's wrong…something's wrong…”

“Of course something's wrong—we're about to die!” Jonathan exploded.

“No! People always say that your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die, kind of like a movie,” Shelley said, her teeth chattering from fear.

“And?”

“It's not happening. I only see my future; all the things I'm supposed to do. All the things
we're
supposed to do,” Shelley explained.

“I can't tell you how much I wish my head was filled with thoughts like that,” Jonathan said, his eyes tearing up. “All I can see is my funeral. The empty chairs. My parents crying. The priest calling me Jack. Talk about an unexceptional end to an unexceptional life.”

“Unexceptional? You're going to drown at the Tower of London while working as a spy!” Shelley retorted.

“Yeah, but no one will ever know that.”

“I'll know it,” Shelley responded.

“But you're going to die too.”

It was a most unusual moment to smile, on the brink of death, and yet that's exactly what Jonathan and Shelley did.

“Yeah, I guess that's true,” Shelley said as the sound of a match scratching, followed by a sudden burst of light, seized their attention.

“Dear, dear…this certainly does look like a pickle, now doesn't it?” Hattie announced in a slow, uneven manner as she leaned down over the pit, a candle in hand. “I suppose you are interested in a bit of help.”

“Who, us? No way! We're really enjoying waiting for our lives to end!” Shelley hollered ferociously.

“You are? How interesting?” Hattie responded dreamily. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I made shepherd's pie? It was in August, which of course is a terrible month for vacationing, since everyone else is vacationing. Did we have dinner yet? I do loathe to skip meals. Although, it should be noted that I do not consider toast a meal. What was I saying again? Oh yes, marmalade. I make the best marmalade in England!”

“What's wrong with her?” Shelley asked, although she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

“It appears our only hope for survival has been infected with LIQ-30,” Jonathan answered as the water reached his chin. “It's not going to be easy, but we need to get her to focus.”

“Hattie? I need you to lean down and pull this metal grate up, okay?” Shelley asked as calmly as she could, water sloshing into her mouth.

“You'd like to get out? I guess you have been in there an awfully long time. Say, what is that? A pool? Did I ever tell you about the summer Grandma taught her poodle Mitzi to swim?”

“Please!” Shelley interrupted. “Get us out of here!”

“Very well. I suppose I can try,” Hattie answered, and then paused to remove her gloves, headband, and earrings. “Now then, what was I doing?”

“Opening the grate,” Jonathan reminded the girl. “If you let us out, we could all go and have a cup of tea. Doesn't that sound nice?”

 “Tea? What a wonderful idea! I'll put the kettle on, but it might take me a while, as I'm not at home right now,” Hattie muttered, and exited the room.

“No! No! Come back!” Jonathan and Shelley yelled frantically. “Please! Don't leave!”

“That stupid clay-pigeon-shooting, cucumber-sandwich-eating redhead just left us here to die!” Shelley shrieked, and then paused when she heard the sound of footsteps. “Oh, thank heavens! Sweet, wonderful Hattie has come back for us!”

Only it wasn't Hattie.

“What's going on in here?” Darwin asked as he ran into the room.

“Get us out of here!” Shelley cried.

And that is exactly what Darwin did, freeing Jonathan and Shelley from certain death.

“Thank you,” Jonathan uttered quietly as he and Shelley dragged themselves, soaking wet, from the pit.

“It's freezing in here,” Shelley said, teeth chattering.

“Wait here. We've got dry clothes on the boat,” Darwin said, and then dashed out of the room.

“Shells?”

“Yeah, Johno?”

“I'm really glad we're still alive.”

“Me too. I definitely wasn't feeling the whole death-by-drowning part of my obituary.”

“But if we have to die, I think we should die together,” Jonathan added. “Then at least we'll die in the company of someone who knows what we've done with our lives. Someone who knows we were more than a couple of faceless classmates in the hall.”

“We're somebodies, Johno, even if nobody knows it.”

OCTOBER 23, 6:18 A.M. STREET. LONDON, ENGLAND

“Hey, shorties,” Hammett's unmistakable voice called out as Jonathan and Shelley walked home, dripping wet with prune-like skin and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the simple fact that they were alive.

“Technically speaking, I'm tall for my age,” Shelley responded as she turned to see Hammett step out of a doorway.

“No, you're not; you're average,” Jonathan chimed in.

“This guy,” Shelley said, shaking her head. “He's the wrecking ball of dreams. Just knocking them down one by one.
You think you're tall, Shells? Think again!
”

“Come on, kiddo, don't tell me you actually thought you were tall for your age? You're not
that bad
a detective, are you?” Hammett asked, looking Jonathan and Shelley up and down. “You two were put through the ringer tonight, weren't you?”

“We almost drowned. My whole body looks like a raisin from being locked in a pit of water. Hattie was infected with LIQ-30. And as if all that wasn't bad enough, then Nina stole the boat, forcing us to walk home,” Jonathan ranted.

“He's a real ray of sunshine, isn't he?” Hammett muttered to Shelley, toothpick dangling from his lips.

“Only if by
sunshine
, you mean that Johno burns your eyes, leaving you blind and in the dark,” Shelley responded.

“Quite the smart aleck, aren't you?” Hammett said, winking at Shelley.

“I knew a man named Alec once,” Nurse Maidenkirk said, stepping out from behind a nearby kiosk. “His left foot was removed due to gangrene. Then his right foot. Then his left hand. Then his—”

“Okay!” Hammett snapped. “We get the picture. They trimmed him nice and good like a rotten head of broccoli.”

“Alec had peripheral artery disease, which stops the blood from reaching the limbs,” Nurse Maidenkirk continued.

“And I thought I had a difficult partner,” Jonathan mumbled to Hammett, who was looking unusually tense.

“These BAE operatives are like cough syrup; they might be helpful in the long run, but they leave a terrible taste in my mouth,” Hammett grumbled. “The way they look at you two, like a couple of interlopers—”

“Is that a baby antelope? Because I hate it when people call baby animals by different names. Why aren't lambs called baby sheep? Or fawns baby deer? Why come up with a whole new name for them? It's like they're trying to confuse us!”

Jonathan and Hammett stared at Shelley, unsure what to make of her latest comments. As if suddenly understanding, Shelley nodded and smiled. “I see where you guys are going with this and I like it! Online petition to stop the use of baby animal names!”

“That is definitely not where I was going,” Jonathan responded.

“Look here, kiddo, the only petition I'm signing is one that limits the amount of time we let you talk each day,” Hammett said. “I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure you've got a case of gum-flapping disease. You just can't help yourself, can you?”

“I'm sensing you're not going to sign the petition, which means Khaki over here gets to be the first signature,” Shelley said while turning animatedly to Jonathan.

“It's pretty unlikely I'll sign your petition,” Jonathan said.

“How unlikely?” Shelley questioned.

“Joining-a-boy-band kind of unlikely.”

“A boy band? No way. I've seen you dance. You're terrible. I'd start a petition to stop that from happening,” Shelley said.

“Time's a-ticking here, kids,” Hammett said, looking at his watch. “I've got someplace to be.”

“As the saying goes, ‘The early bird gets the sunburn, so take your time and be a little late…or wear a hat.'”

“That is definitely
not
a saying,” Jonathan said.

“Chocolate, anyone?” Nurse Maidenkirk interjected, offering Jonathan, Shelley, and Hammett a piece of her candy bar. “I once saw a dog drop dead seconds after fishing a box of chocolates out of the trash.”

“Seconds?” Hammett questioned Nurse Maidenkirk. “I've never heard of chocolate affecting a dog so quickly.”

“Well, it was either the chocolate or the car that jumped the curb and ran over the dog. They happened one after another, making it impossible to say for sure.”

“This woman here, she's a certifiable wack job, you know that?” Hammett said fondly. “She spends her free days looking for bird bones in the park. But I keep her around; you want to know why? Because she's loyal, through and through. If I need her, she'll be there. She'll probably have a dead squirrel in her pocket, but she'll be there nonetheless.”

Jonathan shrugged. “I guess you could consider that helpful.”

“The being-there part or the dead squirrel?” Shelley asked.

“Listen up, this is serious!” Hammett instructed Jonathan and Shelley as he snapped his fingers. “You two are
so
alone in the world; not even the floor's going to be there if you fall.”

“That's cold…colder than Antarctica…colder than Santa Claus's toes in the North Pole…although I bet Santa has pretty good boots,” Shelley babbled.

Jonathan sighed. “Shelley's allergic to staying on topic.”

“Hey,” Hammett snapped. “Shelley may talk a lot of nonsense, but she's your partner and you need her.”

“Did you hear that, Khaki? You need me!” Shelley said with a smug smile.

“And
you
need
him
. Average nobodies can get lost real easy in this world. And when they do, no one comes looking for them. Why? Because no one remembers they exist.”

“Except our parents,” Jonathan corrected Hammett. “They know we exist. They'd come looking for us.”

“Your parents have been talking to a stuffed animal for the last two days thinking it was you. Sure, you told them you were going away, but you think they remembered? Not a chance, kid. Not a chance.”

“As the sunshine of my grandparents' lives,” Shelley said, peering over her glasses to look at Hammett, “I can't imagine how lonely they are without me.”

 “Here's the bottom line, kid. Your grandparents know you're out of town. They just can't remember where you went. Your granddad suspects it has something to do with being dishonorably discharged from the Girl Scouts.”

“Grandpa can't remember where I went, but he remembers that I was kicked out of the Girl Scouts for buying badges on the black market?” Shelley sputtered. “What is wrong with my family?!”

OCTOBER 23, 10:09 A.M. 10 DOWNING STREET. LONDON, ENGLAND

After arriving back at Downing Street at just past 6:30 in the morning, Jonathan and Shelley had quickly changed into their pajamas and climbed into their beds. However, less than four hours had passed when Jonathan awoke with a start. Sure that he was still dreaming, he rubbed his eyes. But the face remained. Wrinkled, with a steady breath that smelled of strong tea and liquor. The woman was mere inches from the boy's face when she whispered.

“We're in the company of turncoats, I'm certain of it. They'll kill us if we stay. And they know how to make murder look like an accident.”

“As much as I enjoy our little chats, Mrs. Cadogan, what do you say we limit our interactions to mealtimes?” Jonathan asked, the woman still inches from his face.

“They'll poison the food next.”

“Have you woken up Shelley yet?” Jonathan asked.

“Who?”

“You know, my little blond friend?”

“You mean Gertrude? Poor thing, she was so terrified, she bit my arm and pushed me out of the room,” Mrs. Cadogan explained.

“She bit you?” Jonathan said, barely containing his horror.

“That is not what happened,” Shelley said with a huff, standing in the doorway.

“All right, then, what happened?” Jonathan responded, gently pushing Mrs. Cadogan away from his face.

“The old lady woke me from a very deep sleep, and as you can imagine, I was more than a little surprised to see
that face
,” Shelley said, motioning toward Mrs. Cadogan. “At which time I might have accidentally placed my mouth on top of her arm in an effort to get her to leave my room.”

“Children, you mustn't trust anyone. I've heard that there are enemies on our soil, enemies who are trained in the art of deception,” Mrs. Cadogan said ominously before pulling a piece of bread from the pocket of her dress.

“Nice breakfast,” Shelley joked, pointing at the bread.

Eyes bulging, Mrs. Cadogan answered firmly, “We must all ration in wartime. It's our duty to the country.”

“For someone who's supposed to be living off rations, you're looking a little on the plump side.”

Clearly scandalized by Shelley's comment, Mrs. Cadogan gasped and then barked, “Are you insinuating that I am stealing other people's rations?”

“Shells, let's not upset the old lady with dementia.”

“Fine,” Shelley acquiesced. “I'll issue a retraction.”

OCTOBER 23, 2:08 P.M. BAE HEADQUARTERS. LONDON, ENGLAND

Randolph stood in the center of the austere room, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed, and his mouth frowning. The news of Jonathan and Shelley's near-death experience had rattled him. He knew the truth: They were nothing more than a couple of kids whose strongest asset was that they were forgettable. Was it possible that they were in over their heads? That President Arons had misjudged their abilities?

“Good afternoon, Teeth. Khaki and Glasses aren't in yet?” Darwin called out as he walked into headquarters.

“Khaki and Glasses?” Randolph repeated.

“Come on, Teeth, you know who I'm talking about. Bob and Sheila.”

“Who?” Randolph responded.

“The American operatives.”

“I believe the names you are looking for are Jonathan and Shelley,” Randolph informed Darwin, motioning toward the left side of the room.

“We're right here,” Jonathan said, standing up.

“That's weird. I mistook you two for chairs,” Darwin said.

“Unfortunately, being mistaken for office furniture happens more often than I care to admit,” Jonathan said as Shelley shook her head.

“I've been mistaken for a bench, sure. A desk once or twice, but your common office chair? Never!” Shelley said with a huff.

“My sincere apologies, Glasses,” Darwin offered with a smirk.

“So you're sticking with Glasses. Are you sure you don't want to give Super Shelley or Shelltastic a try?”

“I don't think so,” Darwin responded as Oli entered the room, Hattie trailing behind him with a newspaper in hand.

“A three-letter word for
feline
?” Hattie mumbled to herself as she took a seat. “This chair is terribly uncomfortable. Personally I've always been fond of hard beds and soft chairs. And ice cream. I love ice cream.”

“Look at her, Teeth!” Darwin blustered. “She's struggling to do the crossword and it's not even the weekend edition!”

“Hattie was a million times smarter than we are and now look at her,” Jonathan whispered to Shelley. “If Nina infects us, we're pretty much done.”

“If I become any less focused than I already am, I'm pretty sure my parents will downgrade me to niece or cousin. Just to save face,” Shelley admitted.

“It's not easy being the only non-genius in a family of geniuses, is it, Shells?”

“It's like riding a bicycle when you only have one leg. Seriously hard,” Shelley said solemnly before breaking into a smile. “Although, if everyone in my family were infected with LIQ-30, I would be the smartest one. The top of the food chain, not that I would eat them, because I'm not a cannibal. Although, if you leave me in the woods long enough with a dead body, I could be swayed. But only if there was barbecue sauce.”

“This conversation just got really weird. And not in a good way. In an I'm-definitely-going-to-lock-my-bedroom-door-tonight kind of way,” Jonathan said as Randolph huddled with Darwin and Oli in the corner.