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Authors: Jackson Pearce
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Walter, and our clever idea to build a full-size catapult in the SRS sparring ring.
I swung into the nearest officeâwhere the guy was playing golf with a putter and a coffee cup. He stared at the fire alarm, frowning, like it was a radio turned up too loud. I shook my head at him, grabbed the putter from his hands, and ducked back out before he had a chance to react.
Beatrix pushed the stairwell door open just in time to see me swing the putter hard at the sprinkler head.
The sprinkler head cracked off the ceiling, breaking the red glass. Beatrix and I stared in unison for a brief second and then, just as the golf club owner whirled around his door, water began to gush down. The other sprinklers obediently kicked in.
Now, finally, there was action. Screaming, shouting, and squealing rang out. People dashed from their offices, papers or purses above their heads. From the end of the hall I couldhear the receptionist shouting for people to ârun for their lives!â
I questioned this receptionistâs threat-response training.
I dropped the golf club and sprinted back toward the stairwell, brushing past Beatrix, who looked dumbfounded and maybe a little impressed. The door slammed behind me as I slogged upstairs, leaving a trail of puddle-footsteps. My street clothes were slowing me down; I shimmied out of them as I ran, darkly grateful for the waterproof SRS uniform underneath.
Now I needed a hiding spotâany hiding spotâwhere I could wait until I figured out where intake was. I reached the next floor and grabbed the door handle.
Locked.
I tried the next floor.
Also locked. Wheezing, I leaned back against the railing and looked straight up. The stairwell wound up and up and up above me so high, it made me dizzy.
The bottom door flung open and staring up at me were Ben, Beatrix, and two adults. One was tall and skinny and looked like a stretched-out version of Ben. The other was a tall blond woman wearing a pantsuit that was dripping water. She pointed to me.
âAn SRS uniform, I see. Grab him, Clatterbuck,â she said.
âUh . . . okay,â said the tall manâClatterbuck, I guessedâsounding like heâd been woken from a nap andthought he might still be dreaming. He blinked back the water from his eyes and started toward me.
I swallowed. I couldnât even beat my own classmates in a fistfight. I didnât stand a chance against a real agentâmuch less a League agent. I tried not to look terrified as Clatterbuck approached. I had to say something, anything to stall them, to confuse them.
âGroundcover! Iâm working on Project Groundcover!â I shouted, saying the first mission name that came to mindâthe only mission name on my mind lately.
Behind Clatterbuck, the suit lady froze.
âWhat did you say?â she whispered. Clatterbuck stopped. He tried to look back at his boss without taking his eyes off me, which only caused his eyes to cross.
âGroundcover,â I repeated, trying to puff my chest up. I deflated when the seams of my uniform sounded seconds from popping.
The suit lady smiled, the kind where it was all glossy lipstick lips and no teeth. She folded her hands at her waist.
âRelax, Clatterbuck,â she said. Then to me: âDo you like pepperoni pizza?â
âI . . . what?â
âPepperoni,â the suit lady repeated. âWe can order whatever you like. Just so long as youâre telling us everything we want to know about Project Groundcover.â
Chapter Nine
Clatterbuck was Beatrix and Benâs uncle. He didnât look impressive, but I opted to believe that he wasâfor all I knew, he was one of those assassin-type guys who could kill me with his pinkie or something. Those guys always looked weird. The suit lady didnât introduce herself, so it wasnât until theyâd escorted me through the waterlogged hallway and back to her office that I read her name off the door:
I swung into the nearest officeâwhere the guy was playing golf with a putter and a coffee cup. He stared at the fire alarm, frowning, like it was a radio turned up too loud. I shook my head at him, grabbed the putter from his hands, and ducked back out before he had a chance to react.
Beatrix pushed the stairwell door open just in time to see me swing the putter hard at the sprinkler head.
The sprinkler head cracked off the ceiling, breaking the red glass. Beatrix and I stared in unison for a brief second and then, just as the golf club owner whirled around his door, water began to gush down. The other sprinklers obediently kicked in.
Now, finally, there was action. Screaming, shouting, and squealing rang out. People dashed from their offices, papers or purses above their heads. From the end of the hall I couldhear the receptionist shouting for people to ârun for their lives!â
I questioned this receptionistâs threat-response training.
I dropped the golf club and sprinted back toward the stairwell, brushing past Beatrix, who looked dumbfounded and maybe a little impressed. The door slammed behind me as I slogged upstairs, leaving a trail of puddle-footsteps. My street clothes were slowing me down; I shimmied out of them as I ran, darkly grateful for the waterproof SRS uniform underneath.
Now I needed a hiding spotâany hiding spotâwhere I could wait until I figured out where intake was. I reached the next floor and grabbed the door handle.
Locked.
I tried the next floor.
Also locked. Wheezing, I leaned back against the railing and looked straight up. The stairwell wound up and up and up above me so high, it made me dizzy.
The bottom door flung open and staring up at me were Ben, Beatrix, and two adults. One was tall and skinny and looked like a stretched-out version of Ben. The other was a tall blond woman wearing a pantsuit that was dripping water. She pointed to me.
âAn SRS uniform, I see. Grab him, Clatterbuck,â she said.
âUh . . . okay,â said the tall manâClatterbuck, I guessedâsounding like heâd been woken from a nap andthought he might still be dreaming. He blinked back the water from his eyes and started toward me.
I swallowed. I couldnât even beat my own classmates in a fistfight. I didnât stand a chance against a real agentâmuch less a League agent. I tried not to look terrified as Clatterbuck approached. I had to say something, anything to stall them, to confuse them.
âGroundcover! Iâm working on Project Groundcover!â I shouted, saying the first mission name that came to mindâthe only mission name on my mind lately.
Behind Clatterbuck, the suit lady froze.
âWhat did you say?â she whispered. Clatterbuck stopped. He tried to look back at his boss without taking his eyes off me, which only caused his eyes to cross.
âGroundcover,â I repeated, trying to puff my chest up. I deflated when the seams of my uniform sounded seconds from popping.
The suit lady smiled, the kind where it was all glossy lipstick lips and no teeth. She folded her hands at her waist.
âRelax, Clatterbuck,â she said. Then to me: âDo you like pepperoni pizza?â
âI . . . what?â
âPepperoni,â the suit lady repeated. âWe can order whatever you like. Just so long as youâre telling us everything we want to know about Project Groundcover.â
Chapter Nine
Clatterbuck was Beatrix and Benâs uncle. He didnât look impressive, but I opted to believe that he wasâfor all I knew, he was one of those assassin-type guys who could kill me with his pinkie or something. Those guys always looked weird. The suit lady didnât introduce herself, so it wasnât until theyâd escorted me through the waterlogged hallway and back to her office that I read her name off the door:
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