ON THE SENSOR.
REALLY, RUB YOUR
PIT ON THE SENSOR.
ACCESS DENIED!
HMMMM,
SENSOR MALFUNCTION.
TRY THE OTHER PIT.
ACCESS GRANTED.
(I NEED A SHOWER.)
The halls of the Milwaukee Mental Hospital were a creepy place late at night. They were dim, with ominous shadows that slithered about in the moonlight. The rooms that lined the hallway were filled with the criminally insane—certifiable lunatics responsible for mayhem, murder, and quite a number of maimings. The patients were the incorrigiblest of the incorrigible, and if one were to break out of his room, there would be no predicting what kind of chaos would follow. The possibilities unnerved Denny Parsons. Sure, he was a trained security guard. He had a badge. He had a nightstick. But crazy people were crazy people and it didn’t help that his partner, Tommy Newton, was a complete idiot.
“Look at this guy!” Tommy shouted as he peered through a window in one of the doors. “This guy is crazy.”
“That’s why they call this a mental hospital,” Denny said.
“I know that,” Tommy snapped. “But this one is real crazy. He’s in there flapping his arms like a duck. Hey, man, you ain’t no duck! You can’t fly!”
Denny wondered if Tommy would be missed if he were to somehow find himself locked in one of the rooms—maybe one of the soundproof ones with padded walls.
“Check this loony tune out,” Tommy said as he moved to another room. “He’s in there talking to himself. Hey! Ain’t nobody in there talking to you! I tell you, Denny, they should just let me sit down with some of these folks. I’d get their heads on straight.”
“Perhaps you should suggest that to the doctors,” Denny muttered as he aimed his flashlight farther down the hall. “Leave him be, Tommy. We’ve got a lot of halls to patrol.”
Suddenly, Denny heard a painful groan. When he turned around, Tommy was curled up in a ball on the floor, and a young woman, no … a girl, dressed entirely in black, was standing over him. Denny didn’t know whether to run for help or give the attacker a hug.
“I took a chance,” the girl said. “I’m hoping you’re the smart one.”
“Yes, that would be right,” Denny said.
“Tell me about Felix Jigsaw,” she said.
“The Jigsaw Puzzle King?” Denny said.
“The what?”
“The Jigsaw Puzzle King,” the guard said. “Don’t you read the papers?”
“I’ve been a little busy being twelve years old,” she replied.
“Felix Jigsaw was a brilliant scientist, or so I read. He specialized in tectonic plate theory, you know, the movement of continents. He was famous for his work on the Pangaea theory.”
“Huh?”
“He dedicated his life to proving that all the continents had once been one big island, which broke into pieces. He was also famous for being a star in the competitive jigsaw puzzle circuit. Some called him the Tiger Woods of jigsaw puzzles, but if you ask me it was the puzzles that drove him crazy. The moment he was locked up in here it was all puzzles, day and night. He was obsessed. Still, he wasn’t a criminal so they couldn’t keep him. Someone signed him out and that was the last I saw of him.”
“They let him go? Does that mean he was cured?”
Denny chuckled. “You don’t get cured of what Jigsaw has. No, someone agreed to look after him.”
“Who?”
Denny led her to a dark office. He tapped a few keys into a computer and pulled up a file. Scrolling down, he found what he was looking for. “Here, this is who signed him out. A guy named Simon. Can’t tell you if that’s his first or last name.”
The Hyena frowned.
“Why are you so curious about this nutcase?” Denny asked.
“I work for him,” she said.
Jackson was curled in a ball on the floor of the rocket breathing in and out into a paper sack. Ms. Holiday knelt over him, rubbing his back and squeezing his hand to comfort him. “Just relax, Jackson.”
“Relax?” Jackson cried through his hyperventilation. “I’m in outer space. I signed up to be a spy, not an astronaut.”
“How pathetic,” Heathcliff said.
“Yeah, maybe we should call him Wheezer,” Matilda added.
“Be nice,” Ms. Holiday scolded.
“Jackson, this is the most efficient method of transport,” Mr. Brand explained.
“He’s right,” Duncan said. “Instead of flying across the globe for hours, the School Bus flies up into the stratosphere and then back down where we want. It shortens a flight from several hours to no more than thirty minutes, allowing us to get back to school before the end of the day.”
“If the new guy’s nervous breakdown is over, perhaps we should get into our gear,” Ruby said.
The children snatched the packs from the front of the rocket. Jackson found the one with his name on it, opened it up, and pulled out a heavy wool shirt and pants, a thick lamb’s wool coat, and a small cotton hat.
“Uh, this is just a bunch of clothing. Where’s the secret agent stuff? Where’s the exploding bow tie and the camera pen?”
“Everyone’s pack is assembled for their specific needs,” Ms. Holiday said.
“How am I going to do spy stuff with all this?” he cried.
“You’re not,” Brand said. “You’re observing on this mission.”
“What?” Jackson cried. He felt the rocket turn back toward Earth, and his belly did a flip. “I’ve been training for weeks. I’m ready.”
“How many people think Braceface is ready?” Ruby said to the team. None of them raised their hands.
“The desert is sparsely inhabited, and we don’t expect you’ll meet many locals,” Ms. Holiday said. “But if you do, they will probably be of two types—sheepherders or armed tribal fighters who won’t take kindly to trespassers. Do your best to avoid them.”
“Once you get into the city, you’ll pose as street kids peddling wares in the market,” Agent Brand said. “Each of you has been briefed on your specific tasks once you’ve found Dr. Badawi’s lab.”
“Briefed? I wasn’t briefed.” Jackson said.
Brand ignored him. “Ms. Holiday, what can you tell us about the good Dr. Badawi?”
“Dr. Badawi is married to American diplomat Omar Badawi, who is currently the United States ambassador to Egypt. Her lab is in a bustling tourist corridor of Cairo called the Spice Market. To get there, you’re going to travel through the Sahara desert. The sun will be brutal, and the clothes I packed you will protect you from burning, but will also keep you warm at night, in case this mission takes longer than expected. Pufferfish, Wheezer, you’ll find extra sets of clothing in your packs, as we discussed.”
“Got ’em,” Wheezer said.
“Flinch, I’ve packed a dozen marshmallow pies and a case of juice boxes, if you need them.”
Flinch licked his lips. “You are a beautiful person, Ms. Holiday.”
“What’s this?” Matilda said as she pulled a chocolate chip cookie out of her pack.
“Oh, that’s from me,” Ms. Holiday said. “I wanted to give you all a good-luck treat.”