Dadâs hair grease.â But the look on Maxâs face told him it didnât do much good. âMum used to say Iâve got hair with a lot of personality, what can I do? And besides, you canât keep a good strand down.â
He giggled at his own joke. Max tried to ignore the joke and his hair and walked on.
âWhere should we wait?â asked Linden.
âNot sure. I guess we should just go somewhere in the middle,â Max answered, starting to feel nervous about the whole thing and hoping she didnât mess up.
They walked a little further as Linden started to guess how they might get to London.
âMaybe theyâre going to send some little green men in a super-advanced spaceship to take us away?â he suggested.
Maxâs nerves got worse. She pictured herself walking into Spyforceâs plush secret headquarters and at the earliest possible chance, falling down in front of everyone.
âOr maybe theyâre going to use a high-density matter scrambler to dismantle the atoms from our bodies, fling them through space at the speed of light and reassemble them in London.â
Linden was getting more excited at the possibility of what might happen. Max, on the other hand, wasnât. Her head jammed with images of disaster, like the one where she was being introduced to the head of Spyforce and accidentally knocked hot coffee from the table all over him. Or the one where she attempted to clip on her fingerprint-sensitive identity pass and accidentally flicked it across the room, breaking the invisible laser beam that set off a high security alert. She could see the chaos as she tried to apologise among the running feet and barked orders of Spyforceâs top security agents.
Linden, oblivious of her panic, talked on.
âOr maybe weâll be sucked into space at a million miles an hour in a giant straw-like transporter tunnel and spat out at Spyforce headquarters.â
Max had had enough of Lindenâs speculating.
âOr maybe you should just keep quiet so they donât hear how much you talk and decide not to meet us at all.â
Linden stopped abruptly like an enormous cement wall had suddenly dropped in front of him. He thought it was fun trying to work out what might happen.
Max walked on until she found a place that looked like all the others and decided to stop.
âI think here is a good spot,â she announced, and sat down and checked through her pack to see if she had everything.
Linden followed her wondering what it was about Max that made her so hard to understand. One minute she was fine, the next she wasnât. He sat down beside her, deciding it was best not to think too much about it.
âWhatâs that?â
Max flinched as a muffled ringing sound was heard from somewhere close by.
âI brought the CTR just in case we need it,â Linden explained as he rummaged through his pocket.
âGreat,â said Max, not sounding at all like she thought it was great.
âHello?â Linden asked, followed by a quick and surprised, âElla!â as if it could have been anybody else. âHow are you?â
The CTR was a Communication Tracking and Recording device that Ella had given Linden on their last mission in London. Max knew it could come in handy, but refused to like anything about Ella so she wasnât about to admit it. She sat slightlyaway from him as he blahed on and on with a lot of reallyâs and no wayâs and thatâs greatâs.
After a few minutes, Max couldnât stand it anymore. She snatched the device from Lindenâs hand, spied a large rock nearby and threw the CTR so hard it fireworked into the sky in a million pieces. She watched as it all happened in slow motion. First the throw, then the flying curve through the air and finally the impact, sending sparks and CTR bits everywhere in an impressive, airlifted shower.
âThanks for calling. Iâll speak to you
He giggled at his own joke. Max tried to ignore the joke and his hair and walked on.
âWhere should we wait?â asked Linden.
âNot sure. I guess we should just go somewhere in the middle,â Max answered, starting to feel nervous about the whole thing and hoping she didnât mess up.
They walked a little further as Linden started to guess how they might get to London.
âMaybe theyâre going to send some little green men in a super-advanced spaceship to take us away?â he suggested.
Maxâs nerves got worse. She pictured herself walking into Spyforceâs plush secret headquarters and at the earliest possible chance, falling down in front of everyone.
âOr maybe theyâre going to use a high-density matter scrambler to dismantle the atoms from our bodies, fling them through space at the speed of light and reassemble them in London.â
Linden was getting more excited at the possibility of what might happen. Max, on the other hand, wasnât. Her head jammed with images of disaster, like the one where she was being introduced to the head of Spyforce and accidentally knocked hot coffee from the table all over him. Or the one where she attempted to clip on her fingerprint-sensitive identity pass and accidentally flicked it across the room, breaking the invisible laser beam that set off a high security alert. She could see the chaos as she tried to apologise among the running feet and barked orders of Spyforceâs top security agents.
Linden, oblivious of her panic, talked on.
âOr maybe weâll be sucked into space at a million miles an hour in a giant straw-like transporter tunnel and spat out at Spyforce headquarters.â
Max had had enough of Lindenâs speculating.
âOr maybe you should just keep quiet so they donât hear how much you talk and decide not to meet us at all.â
Linden stopped abruptly like an enormous cement wall had suddenly dropped in front of him. He thought it was fun trying to work out what might happen.
Max walked on until she found a place that looked like all the others and decided to stop.
âI think here is a good spot,â she announced, and sat down and checked through her pack to see if she had everything.
Linden followed her wondering what it was about Max that made her so hard to understand. One minute she was fine, the next she wasnât. He sat down beside her, deciding it was best not to think too much about it.
âWhatâs that?â
Max flinched as a muffled ringing sound was heard from somewhere close by.
âI brought the CTR just in case we need it,â Linden explained as he rummaged through his pocket.
âGreat,â said Max, not sounding at all like she thought it was great.
âHello?â Linden asked, followed by a quick and surprised, âElla!â as if it could have been anybody else. âHow are you?â
The CTR was a Communication Tracking and Recording device that Ella had given Linden on their last mission in London. Max knew it could come in handy, but refused to like anything about Ella so she wasnât about to admit it. She sat slightlyaway from him as he blahed on and on with a lot of reallyâs and no wayâs and thatâs greatâs.
After a few minutes, Max couldnât stand it anymore. She snatched the device from Lindenâs hand, spied a large rock nearby and threw the CTR so hard it fireworked into the sky in a million pieces. She watched as it all happened in slow motion. First the throw, then the flying curve through the air and finally the impact, sending sparks and CTR bits everywhere in an impressive, airlifted shower.
âThanks for calling. Iâll speak to you
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