SPY LIFE

So What do You Say

“Wait a minute—”

“You‟ve already shown yourself to be extraordinarily brave and resourceful,” Spencer said. “For the past 2 years you have been skillfully avoided the entire country, and SURVIVED. How did you manage ?” Alan didn‟t answer so Spencer went on. “And then there was that little test we arranged for you at the bank. Any boy who would climb out of a fifteenth floor window just to satisfy his own curiosity has to be rather special, and it seems to me that you are very special indeed.”

“What we‟re suggesting is that you come and work for us,” Mrs. Sami said. “We have enough time to give you some basic training—not that you‟ll probably need it— and we can equip you with a few items that may help you with what we have in mind. Then we‟ll arrange for you to take the place of this other boy.

We‟ll pack him off to Florida or somewhere … give him a holiday as a consolation prize. You‟ll go to Mantis holdings on March twenty-ninth. That‟s when the Lester boy is expected. You‟ll stay there until April first, which is the day of the ceremony. The timing couldn‟t be better. You‟ll be able to meet Herod Sayle, keep an eye on him, tell us what you think. Perhaps you‟ll also find out what it was that your uncle discovered and why he had to die for it. You shouldn‟t be in any danger. After all, who would suspect a fourteen-year-old boy of being a spy?” “All we‟re asking you to do is to report back to us,” Spencer said. “April first is just three weeks from now. That‟s all we‟re asking. Three weeks of your time. A chance to make sure these chips are everything they‟re cracked up to be. A chance to serve your country.” Spencer had finished his lunch. His plate was completely clean, as if there had never been any food on it at all. He put down his knife and fork, laying them precisely side by side.

“All right, Alan,” he said. “So what do you say?”

There was a long pause. Alan put down his own knife and fork. He hadn‟t eaten anything. Spencer was watching him with polite interest. Mrs. Sami was unwrapping yet another peppermint, her black eyes seemingly fixed on the twist of paper in her hands.

“No,” Alan said. “I‟m sorry?” “It‟s a dumb idea. I don‟t want to be a spy. I want to play soccer I have wanted to come out into an open life. For the past 2 years ive been hiding Anyway, I have a life of my own.” He found it difficult to choose the right words. The whole thing was so preposterous he almost wanted to laugh. “Why don‟t you ask this Felix Lester to snoop around for you?”

“We don‟t believe he‟d be as resourceful as you,” Spencer said. “He‟s probably better at computer games.”

Alan shook his head. “I‟m sorry. I‟m just not interested. I don‟t want to get involved.”

“That‟s a pity,” Spencer said. His tone of voice hadn‟t changed, but there was a heavy, dead quality to the words. And there was something different about him. Throughout the meal he had been polite—not friendly but in an instant that had disappeared. Alan thought of a toilet chain being pulled. The human part of him had just been flushed away. “We‟d better move on then to discuss your future,” he continued. “Like it or not, Alan, the Matrix Insurance Company is now your legal guardian.”

“I thought you said the Matrix Insurance Company didn‟t exist.”

Spencer ignored him. “ALEX GUNNER has, of course, left the house and all his money to you. However, he left it in trust until you are twenty-one. And we control that trust. So there will, I‟m afraid, have to be some changes. We propose to put the house on the market. Unfortunately, you have no relatives who would be prepared to look after you, so I‟m afraid that also means you‟ll have to leave Brookland. You‟ll be sent to an institution. There‟s one I know just outside Birmingham. The Saint Elizabeth in Sourbridge. Not a very pleasant place, but I‟m afraid there‟s no alternative.”

“You‟re blackmailing me!” Alan exclaimed. “Not at all.”

“But if I agreed to do what you asked …?” Spencer glanced at Mrs. Sami. “

Help us and we‟ll help you,” she said.

Alan considered. He had no choice and he knew it. Not when these people controlled his money, his present life, his entire future.

he remembered his time in school when his dad was alive....Brookland was a modern school, all redbrick and, to Alan‟s eye, rather ugly. He could have gone to any of the exclusive private schools around Chelsea, but Alex Gunner had decided to send him here. He had said it would be more of a challenge. The first period of the day was algebra. When Alan came into the classroom, the teacher, Mr. Donovan, was already chalking up a complicated equation on the board. It was hot in the room, the sun streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, put in by architects who should have known better. As Alan took his place near the back, he wondered how he was going to get through the lesson.he was lost in thought when “Alex?” Alex looked up and realized that everyone was staring at him. Mr. Donovan had just asked him something. He quickly scanned the blackboard, taking in the figures. “Yes, Sir,” he said. “X equals seven and Y is fifteen.” The math teacher sighed. “Yes, Alex. You‟re absolutely right. But actually I was just asking you to open the window…”

“You talked about training,” he said. Mrs. Sami nodded. “Felix Lester is expected at Port Tallon in two weeks,” she said. “That doesn‟t give us very much time. But it‟s also why we brought you here, Alan. This is a training center. If you agree to what we want, we can start at once.”

“Start at once.” Alan spoke the three words without liking the sound of them. Spencer and Mrs. Sami were waiting for his answer. He sighed. “Yeah. All right. It doesn‟t look like I‟ve got very much choice.” He glanced at the slices of cold lamb on his plate. Dead meat. Suddenly he knew how it felt. Spencer and Mrs Sami smiled, they knew he had no choice. The maid came in and took him away.