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Chapter Two

The Cresenti Bungalow, Cambridge

“Elvine?”

Elvine Cresenti, to give her full name. The only child of the late Eric and Avaline Cresenti, both former MI6 spies. The only sixteen-year-old MI6 spy who could drive just about anything on wheels you could care to name; break a concrete block with her head; speak fluent French, Spanish, Italian, and Chinese (as well as English, of course); and had finished university online. Small wonder MI6 considered her a top spy.

This little wonder girl was currently reclining on her back porch: it was a lovely, sunny autumn day. The sun felt just right on her face and she appreciated the light and warmth it provided. Deep down inside she knew what global warming was doing to the environment, but at that moment she couldn’t care less.

Elvine’s back garden was neat and full of the tamed exotic flora that had once been her mother’s passion. Her father had built a garden terrace, now surrounded by climbing roses, and a marble gazebo-like structure, no doubt paid off by their MI6 wages. An orderly yet lush green lawn framed the paved garden path; bees buzzed around the flowers. The garden seemed like an escape from reality, a small square of paradise.

“Elvine!”

The voice was calling from a white-washed bungalow. Elvine rose from her chair, responded with a “coming!”, and headed inside to the kitchen. The room was light and airy: elegant sliding glass doors welcomed her in. Bulletproof, she thought as she walked through them. Her house was lovely, sure, with its creamy wallpaper and fresh atmosphere, but it always had that sneaking, infectious sense of paranoia in it.

A long oak table stretched across the space. Elvine sat herself down at a white chair next to the table while Poppy Harrison was preoccupied with the utensils hanging from the walls. She banged her head on a white, glassy cupboard and laughed delightedly at her own blonde moment.

Poppy Harrison was Elvine’s guardian, housekeeper, friend, and the best friend of her late mother and father. She had moved in with the MI6 spy after the accident; although she had a job working as a fashion designer, most of her time was spent at home, and she only went out to board meetings around once a month. Poppy was well paid for her job, and Elvine hadn’t had any money troubles for a long time, what with her parents’ money, as well as her own wages.

“Yes, Auntie Poppy?”

“There’s a call for you.” Poppy neglected to say who from but her fist tightened on the spoon she was holding: clue enough for Elvine. She had never liked MI6 and still blamed them for Avaline’s death, but what had used to be long, drawn-out arguments with Elvine had now subsided to occasional minor spats: Elvine was as headstrong (and obnoxious) as her mother.

Elvine stretched. Criss-crossed scars upon her left hand were barely visible in the light. The chocolate incident was to blame.

“Oh, so soon? I haven’t even had time to recover from the last mission.”

“Someone is coming to collect you,” Poppy said in way of reply, staring intently at the muffin mixture she was pouring into cases.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

Elvine stood to answer it. “Do I even have time to pack?”

Poppy shook her head, her blonde curls flying as she did so. “Just a briefing, I should think.”

The spy hurried to the front door, almost immediately opening the door before she checked herself and remembered the procedure.

“Password?”

“Midday moon.”

She opened it cautiously. A man dressed entirely in black and also wearing sunglasses stood, dominating the doorway. Elvine could practically hear her neighbours whispering away already, but she paid them no heed.

“Midnight sun,” she replied, with a slight nod.

The man saluted. “Agent Cresenti.”

“No need for saluting. And just ‘Elvine’ is fine.”

“Yes, Agent Cresenti.” A smirk played upon his lips. Elvine grimaced, wondering if all bodyguards/chauffeurs were like this, or if she just happened to get the weird ones. No point dwelling on it, in any case. She walked towards the car, and the man in black opened it for her in such a stylish manner she wondered if it had been rehearsed.

“Thanks,” she said with a wavering voice.

Poppy waved from the front door: “Stay safe, girl! Avaline will cough up blood from up there if you get hurt, and so will I!”

Elvine opened a window and stuck out her head.

“Auntie Poppy, you know it’s impossible for me ever to be safe,” she grinned.

“At least try!”

“Okay, sure!”

The man in black glared at her in the rear view mirror, his eyes burning into her face.

“We have a deadline to meet, Agent.”

Elvine winced at the reprimand and waved a last goodbye to Poppy before leaning back in her seat. She found a laptop had been supplied for her entertainment: however, to her surprise, it contained no new files from HQ. She supposed whatever they had to tell her had been too classified to put on a mere computer. So she went onto the internet and, immature as she was, had another crack at the Impossible Quiz.

~~~~ Sometime later ~~~~

Elvine was on Question 58 when the car pulled over at the Millennium Icelandic bank – the cover MI6 HQ in Cambridge.

“We’ve arrived, Agent.”

She nodded, knowing it was useless to argue, and logged off the laptop. Unclipping her seatbelt, she stepped out onto the cement pavement. The driver, ever the gentleman, had opened the door for her and shut it smoothly as soon as she stepped out. Elvine looked up, squinting and shading her emerald-green eyes with her hand. The building was around 300 metres high, with over a hundred floors, and the tightest security she’d ever seen – and as a spy, she’d seen quite a bit. There were no blind spots in the CCTV system, and every door and window had a motion sensor; the air vents were fitted with new steel grills; armed guards patrolled the premises in pairs: real security, not just frightening, bulky idiots.

Her chauffeur – though perhaps ‘bodyguard’ could have been more accurate – accompanied her down to the reception. The pair stepped inside the air-conditioned room and the glass automatic doors slid closed soundlessly behind them.

The blonde receptionist did not bat an eyelid at the odd pair. Elvine and codename Midnight Sun stepped into a lift, the doors sliding closed behind them. Elvine wondered if having automatic doors made MI6 feel more powerful. She found it rather laughable, truth be told.

Her companion opened the panel of switches and placed his hand flat on the palm scanner. His hand was surrounded by a mix of different green lasers, reminiscent of the Matrix, and a light beeped green. The lift descended for several seconds and the doors opened again.

They were at the entrance to a sleek, clean, and sterilized Corridor Lab that had a strangely artificial air about it. Assistants in white coats bristled past with laptops and various scientific apparatus. Midnight Sun lead Elvine to a plain steel door and once again used his hand to open the door. What awaited them was a large conference room with an obsidian glass table, leather chairs, a lifetime’s supply of coffee in the corner, and a black wall.

Elvine recognized the figure waiting for her immediately.

“Agent Yanlyn,” she acknowledged. The director of undercover field operations nodded at her as a way of greeting, her frightening hazel eyes strict. Elvine thanked whoever there was to thank that the brunette in her thirties wasn’t angry at her, else she would be sliced in half by her scornful gaze.

She nodded curtly at the man in black, who departed instantly. “H sends his congratulations for the chocolate incident.”

Elvine accepted the praise: it wasn’t as if she would get any for the rest of this meeting.

“I take it I’m here for the debriefing?”

“Incorrect. You are here for your next mission – assignment, if you will.” The wall buzzed into life and Elvine quickly withdrew her hand, although it still wasn’t fast enough to avoid being shocked. She rubbed her hand and gazed at the picture of the white, snowy, pure Salzburg mountainside, sinking into a chair.

“What do you see?”

Elvine scanned the picture quickly with expert eyes.

“A missile launch centre.”

“Correct.” Agent Yanlyn zoomed in: what were shadows in the mountain were in fact white missile holds. “We have intercepted a coded message from the Mafia: this is a nucleic branch of a CERN research centre. We are guessing that they’ll attempt to take it over, and if they do, it’ll be the start of another Cold War,” she said grimly.

“What can we do?”

“This CERN branch happens to be owned by the British government: there are whispers that the Mafia will try an ‘exchange’. The stakes are that nuclear lab.”

“An exchange? With what? They have nothing we could want.”

Agent Yanlyn sighed, somewhat exasperated that Elvine had been so slow to pick up on the situation. “No, they don’t...yet. What do you know about the Crown prince of England?”

“Prince Oscar Lywelln, the only heir to the monarchy -”

“Where does the prince go to school every summer?” cut in Agent Yanlyn. Elvine sank deeper in to her chair.

“St Celia’s Academy in the Salzburg mountain range...oh.”

“Precisely. Can you guess your assignment yet?”

“To infiltrate the Academy and guard the Prince as well as to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity. It’s obvious.”

“Of course. You are the only agent that is young enough – age-wise as well as personality-wise (this made Elvine blush) – to infiltrate a school. There’s already an agent there, so you are merely back-up, do you understand? No rash decisions.”

Elvine despised Agent Yanlyn’s patronizing manner. Sometimes she felt like crossing the boundaries just to spite her.

“This mini disk contains the blueprint of the building and background info on the prince. You are to remain unnoticed and watch him from a distance. Do not reveal to him your identity: MI6 have arranged you to be under the cover name of Lady Elvine Lynette. The Lynette Family have agreed to house you for the next week until you go to school.”

Elvine nodded. Agent Yanlyn handed her the micro disk.

“Memorise and destroy, you know the drill.” She pressed the bell to summon the man in black, who appeared out of seemingly nowhere.

“Midnight Sun will see you kitted out. You start the autumn term next week, first of September. Try not to do too badly at school, won’t you?”

“Yes, Agent Yanlyn,” Elvine muttered, gritting her teeth. She stood and the elder agent turned back to her laptop.

“Oh, and Agent Cresenti?”

“Yes?”

“Good luck, and don’t screw up.” She didn’t look up.

“Thank you.” Elvine walked out of the conference room escorted by the man in black, still feeling irritated. He led her down a different corridor and she almost walked into him when he made to open the door.

“Thank you,” piped Elvine politely but he did nothing to alleviate her frustration.

The gadget master, George Evans, sat waiting. Evans was a sixteen-year-old technical genius. He had attended the spy academy together with Elvine and had the strange tendency to ask her out every month. She had agreed to do so – but only as a friend. He agreed because Elvine was highly short-tempered and body-slammed people who didn’t do as she asked – not a very good personality trait. However, after several sessions of their usual banter, Elvine found herself becoming more affectionate towards the nerd. Still, he was too fond of his torso to call Elvine a girlfriend, so he chose a nickname for her, which, by an unfortunate TV-related incident, was Pinky.

“Brain! Long time no see.”

“Ah, Pinky. Back to school again? I’m not surprised, considering your IQ and all...”

Elvine punched him playfully on the shoulder.

“Excuse-moi? I have finished university thank you very much!”

“Finishing university online doesn’t count. Any idiot can do that.” Evans pulled out a black suitcase, motioning for Elvine to sit down. The first thing he held out was a black pencil case with the Lynette family crest.

“A pencil case. Wow. What a true genius you are, Brain.”

“Ha. ‘A pencil case’? I now understand why they’re sending you back to school.” He emptied the contents onto the table: two fountain pens, a mechanical pencil, refills of lead, a ruler, an eraser, a compass, a pair of scissors, and a laser pointer.

“Okay, Miss Simpleton, repeat after me.” He held up the fountain pen. “This is not a fountain pen.”

“Oh, you’re kidding me.”

“No need for sarcasm, Pinky. Just don’t draw on your laser pointer, because this beautiful ink melts straight through metal. It has no effect on paper, of course.”

“You astound me.”

“Now, now. Be nice and appreciative, or I may decide not to give you any spare cartridges.”

“Oh, no. What would I do without cartridges of metal-melting ink?”

“If you don’t want it, you give it back,” Evans told her, staring pointedly at the fountain pen. She glared and swiped the little bag of tiny ink cartridges out of his hand.

“Let me guess,” Elvine said, picking up the pencil. “This is a taser, right?”

He sighed. “Dear, dear Pinky, so inexperienced. A taser? As if. No, young padwane, this is a hypodermic dart shooter. No trace, two hours of sedative, ten shots. I know it may be tempting, considering your attention span and short temper, but you are not allowed to use it on the teachers. Even if they bore you.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not a kid and I’m not a Jedi. Does this compass double up as a lock-picker?”

“Of course not. That’s so crude. These pencil refills here are mouldable graphite. It’ll set in twenty seconds once it’s removed from the container, so any experienced agent should be able to use this as a lock picker. Want a crash course?”

“For your information, I am a great spy, MI6 loves me, and you are an asshole. Now why don’t you give me some actual school supplies so I don’t turn my paper to graphite every time I try to actually replace the lead in my hypodermic dart shooter?”

He winked. “Right back atcha, Pinky, and for your information – and you need a hella lot more information than I do – the ruler, eraser, compasses and scissors are just normal, run-of-the-mill school stationery. Don’t stab anyone to death, even though you do have serious mental issues.”

Elvine picked up the compasses and flexed them around a little, getting used to handling them. “Watch it, or you’ll be the bane of my ‘serious mental issues’. Now hurry up and explain all of your useless gadgets, as per your job description.”

“Useless gadgets? Don’t be an idiot.” His tone suddenly grew harsher. “Without my ‘useless gadgets’, you’re just an uppity overconfident rash teenager. But I’ll let it slide for now.” He held up a blue iPod and head phones. “Now, how can a teenage girl manage without these?”

“Oh, spare me. An iPod? You’re meant to be a technological genius, Brain. I have an iTouch, you know.”

“Does your iTouch double as an x-ray scanner?”

“Does your ‘iPod’ actually work? Or is it going to break down five minutes into the mission, like most of your tools?”

“That’s for you to find out. No skin off my neck.”

Elvine sighed. “You always have to do everything in the long drawn-out way. Just give me the next thing already.”

Evans held up a glittering chunk of crystal on a length of fine silver chain. “This little baby is a prototype, so treat her nice. HC47 Diamond. It cuts through anything. Put a laser through it and it’ll stun, kill, or a range of effects in between, depending on the angle.”

“You actually made something that has the remote possibility of being useful, Brain. Congratulations.”

“Next up: a dress for St. Celia’s annual winter dance.” Evans offered a black Harrison bag. “Designed by your aunt. It was going to be released next year in the Princess collection: consider it a privilege of MI6.”

She took the bag. “Okay, but you know as well as I do that there are no privileges in MI6.”

“Well, you’re talking to me, ain’t cha?”

“Cut it out before I slam you into a wall.”

Evans snickered. “I’d like to see you try. You’ll be sleeping like a baby before you even get closer to a metre.” He cleared his throat. “In any case, this dress has been modified. Feel the weight? It’s got an extra layer of Kevlar, so it should protect you from bullets at close range.”

Elvine nodded. She despised shopping: it was just as well her aunt was a fashion designer and chose her clothes for her, or she’d get very odd looks walking down the street.

“There’s more, so don’t go yet.”

“Of course. The Watch.”

How many The Watches had she received over the years? Evans had completely lost count. Smashed, broken, stepped on, exploded, even friggin’ cooked in chocolate. Sometimes Elvine just didn’t appreciate technology enough.

“Missile proof, water proof, chocolate proof, shock proof...but still not Elvine proof, eh? You’ll probably drop in a vat of uranium or whatever. Until that inevitably happens, take good care. Sedative darts, piton cords...” He flipped open the top layer, revealing a digital mish-mash of letters and numbers. “Distress signal and locator. Just scream into it, nice and easy. Even you should be able to understand.”

He strapped it onto her wrist. “Magnetic clips, no fiddly parts. Just for once, appreciate my genius like a good little girl, won’t you?”

She tutted. “You wish.”

“And here, as an extra. Contacts.”

Contacts meant iris cams. Elvine opened the small case. They were rather heavy and...

“They’re purple, Brain.”

“You don’t say.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my eyes are green.”

He shrugged. “Like I care. Purple are the only ones out right now. They’ve got night vision as well as video.”

“I’m not having you change the colour of my eyes, okay?”

“Must you always over-dramatize things? I’m not changing the colour of your eyes. Just the colour of your contacts.”

Elvine muttered something obscene under her breath.

“And, lastly. My gift to you, designed by me, invented by me, created by me (at a lot of personal expense, financially and time-wise, you know), straight to you.”

It was a white Lycra note book bound in a silver ribbon. The fabric shimmered with a pearlescent sheen. Elvine stroked it, appreciating its soft touch. She was quite good at hiding it, but she was impressed. A leaving gift – and a pretty one at that.

Evans knew her too well. The more disdainful and blasé she acted, the more grateful she actually was. “The second page has been replaced with an E-book page: it connects to the internet and your mechanical pencil will work as a ‘stylus’ of sorts. It’s also thumb-print locked, so don’t burn off your prints in some nuclear reactor somewhere. The other pages are normal.”

“What should I do with them?”

“It’s a notebook, Pinky. Write what you want, or tear out the pages and make paper aeroplanes. I don’t care.”

“...Thanks, Brain.”

Sincerity? Are you being serious? Evans bit back a sarcastic retort. “You’re welcome.”

Her escort called from the other side of the door and she made to leave.

“Hey, is that it? Nice way of showing your gratitude.”

“Thank you is the traditional form, you know. What were you expecting?”

“Well...” Evans packed the gadgets away into the black Harrison bag. “You know.”

Elvine gazed at him darkly. She knew what was coming, but watching him suffer was fun, and he was sweet, fumbling around like that.

“A kiss? On the cheek, nothing more...please?”

The man on the other side of the door knocked impatiently.

Elvine leant in, took the bag, and brushed Evans’ cheek with her lips before hurrying out, hiding the blush on her face.

“Don’t go falling in love with any princes!” Evans shouted after her. He sank back into his chair, contemplating what had just happened, and continued in this dazed state for the rest of the day.