Ruby Redfort 1 - Look Into My Eyes (30 page)

“I blame that old devil, the TV,” asserted Marjorie Humbert. “Quent’s usually glued to it.”

“Having a proper conversation is impossible,” said Freddie.

“Maybe Hitch knows where Ruby might have gotten to,” said Sabina distractedly.

Hitch, meanwhile, was scanning the room.
Just where are you, Nine Lives, and who in all the underworld are you working for?
Who would be insane enough to believe that they could outwit Spectrum, dodge a whole security team, and steal what was considered “more precious than gold?”

The shadowy man walked toward the chair. He seemed to be studying her.

“So,
you
are Ms. Redfort . . . Ms. Ruby Redfort.” The man pondered her name as if placing it in some invisible title sequence. “I am sorry for your discomfort — did Mr. Marshall bind you too tightly? He can be very thoughtless.”

He had a disconcertingly kind voice — soothing, calm, at times barely audible.

“It’s a shame about the temperature. It does seem to stay icy cold in this tower, yet such a mild evening.”

Ruby searched his eyes but saw only blackness: no pupils, no iris.
Shark’s eyes,
she thought — impossible to fathom. He moved over to a table and poured a glass of water from a jug.

“Did Mr. Marshall even offer you a drink? I imagine not, and yet manners, they say, make the man — without them, what are we? Monsters?”

Ruby thought of her father. How often she had heard him say “Manners maketh man.” He was clearly wrong.

“A little consideration goes a long way, does it not, dear Ms. Redfort?”

Ruby wondered when the torture was to begin.

He raised the glass as if in a toast. “You’re sure I can’t tempt you?”

Ruby cleared her throat and tried to gulp back her fear. “Who are you?” she asked.

Why
she asked she did not know; she knew the answer and she had no desire to hear it spoken out loud.

“Forgive me, here I am talking of manners and I have forgotten my own, but then I imagined an intelligent girl such as yourself would already know.” The man smiled and his white teeth glistened. “They call me the Count,” he said calmly, reassuringly even.

But Ruby’s blood had already run ice-cold, her limbs felt all at once very heavy. For she was face-to-face with the archenemy of all archenemies. Perhaps
only
the mysterious Bradley Baker had ever escaped the Count’s chilling clutches — was there really any chance for a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl from Twinford?

She felt for the key ring still clipped to the chain on the back of her jeans — it was a comfort to hold it in her hands. She slid the tiles around nervously, and, without knowing it made a word.

HELP

Hitch looked at his watch, and the little light that was once again flashing; this time, red.

It was beginning to spook him — Bradley Baker was long gone, yet it was as if the
young
Bradley was trying to make contact across time and space. The giant clock on the museum wall was ticking, its huge hands clicking steadily toward midnight and still no sign of anything to lead him to either Ruby or Ruby’s captors.

“Let’s talk about Spectrum,” said the Count.

Ruby didn’t so much as blink.

“You’re going to have to spill the beans sooner or later, Ms. Redfort. I would urge you to do it sooner — I find waiting such agony, don’t you?” He smiled.

But Ruby said nothing.

The Count just laughed. “A bit late for keeping your mouth shut, isn’t it? If only you could have been less
chatty
the other day, then you wouldn’t be in this”— he waved his hand carelessly —“little situation.

Ruby tried to think back. When had she blabbed about Spectrum?

The Count shook his head. “I must say, on the whole you are very discreet — we would never have known you were involved at all if it hadn’t been for that one call to your friend, Master Crew.”

The conversation with Clancy! One stupid phone call had her all tied up and about to die!
Why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut? It was just
one
little rule after all. Why couldn’t she just
keep it zipped.

“You bugged the phones?” whispered Ruby.

She had imagined she was invisible just because she was a kid, but a spy should always assume that someone might be there watching through the keyhole, or listening at the door — it didn’t matter what age you were.
RULE 9: THERE IS ALWAYS A CHANCE THAT SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE IS WATCHING YOU.

“You robbed the house? You took everything but left the phones?” It was all beginning to make sense: those hang-up calls, no one on the line . . . just the bad guys, checking to see who was there.

The Count nodded. “Not me personally, you understand. As a rule I don’t go in for heavy lifting.” He chuckled at that one, but Ruby wasn’t laughing.

“And you stole my parents’ luggage . . . and tried to kidnap my mom?”

“Well, there, my dear, I must confess to being quite deceived by your mother. We have been watching her all these weeks, thinking that she was in some way masterminding the museum security — that she had cunningly met with that mustachioed fellow in Switzerland, thus foiling our plans to silently break in to the museum and take the Buddha of Khotan by stealth.” He paused. “So tell me, how did such a clever girl come up with such — how do you put it? Such dumb parents?”

The little red dot was still flashing. Hitch flicked the watch to radar mode and sure enough it gave a coordinate — the signal was coming from the east wing of the museum, the tower in fact. Should he check it out? He couldn’t, not now.

Don’t get distracted, keep your eye on the ball.

Count Von Viscount was pacing around and around the room; he seemed to be enjoying himself. “So tell me, why has Spectrum once again resorted to using such young agents?”

Ruby was puzzled.
What is he talking about? Young agents?

“Why, surely they have told you about the wonder kid — the
ex
–wonder kid, I should say.”

Ruby stared into his black eyes.
Is he telling the truth?

“Ah, I see from your expression that they omitted to mention the astonishing talent that
was
Bradley Baker.”

“Bradley Baker? He’s a kid?” gasped Ruby.

“
Was.
Many, many light-years ago. He was recruited at seven and grew up to be Spectrum’s finest. I believe I first encountered him when he was around about your age, and what a talent. . . . The only agent to ever make a return visit. Careless of me? Or clever of him? Who can say? But I’m afraid Spectrum lost him in the end.”

“You killed him?” whispered Ruby.

“Oh, goodness me, no. Haven’t you heard? Bradley Baker died in a plane crash while flying over a mountain range — I saw it with my very eyes. Plane burned to a cinder, his handsome face never to be seen again. Poor LB, how she mourned him.”

“So LB and Baker were close?” Ruby’s curiosity outwitted her fear for a moment.

“Oh, more than that. They were engaged — in love I believe.” The Count said this with some distaste. “It was all very unfortunate — to see Spectrum’s most talented code breaker and daring agent go up in flames.”

“So that’s why Lopez wasn’t allowed to go on missions?”

“Lopez? Ah yes, Lopez. We weren’t exactly sure where she fit in, she covered her tracks well — no link to Spectrum at all, until we heard
you
blabbing about her. Not that it made a difference to her fate.”

Ruby winced.

“So Spectrum keeps its code breakers indoors these days. Foolish. There is no such thing as safe. Better to be prepared for danger than to close our eyes to the possibility of it.”

Ruby could see that he was right. She was just about living proof of it.

“My friend Madame Erhling,” he continued, “spotted Ms. Lopez at the Fountain Hotel.”

Madame Erhling — the woman in the veiled hat,
thought Ruby.

“But of course we had no idea she was involved with such a prestigious spy agency. She was no more than a rank amateur. If they had only trained dear Lopez,” he continued with a theatrical flourish, “perhaps
she
would be sitting here today — instead . . . of . . .” The Count laughed. “Well . . . you.”

Ruby shivered.

“But avalanches are such unpredictable things. And loud noises — dynamite for example — do tend to set them off. What a shame. Such a smart lady: I think her brain was almost equal to mine, and I am considered
quite
the genius.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Some genius. You left her with the code, which is the reason we caught on to you,” she said. “You gotta learn to look — check, check, check.”

The Count narrowed his eyes. “Talking of which, let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”

Ruby gulped.

“Just tell me where it is and I’ll leave you in peace.”

“Where what is?”

“Ms. Redfort, let’s not play games, not you and me. We are above all that surely.”

“But look at me, what could I possibly have that you could want?” But Ruby’s heart wasn’t in the lie —
RULE 26: NEVER KID A KIDDER
, she thought.

He stared at her with his cold black eyes.

“OK,” she ventured. “I give you the key, you let me go?”

The Count shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid that’s just not how it works. You see you are in the worst possible position to make a bargain.”

Ruby swallowed — her mouth was very dry and beads of sweat were forming on her brow.

“Speak up, Ms. Redfort.”

But Ruby said nothing.

He stamped his foot. Ruby jumped and felt a heavy lock of hair fall across her right eye. And her barrette — her barrette slipped slowly, very slowly past her nose. She held her breath.

Will he see? Of course he will.

The Count reached his long elegant hand out, slipped the barrette from her hair, and just like that . . . the glass
K
was his.

“Good, no need for torture today — you see how pleasant things can be?” he said. “Poor little Dorothy, doesn’t look like you are going to make it to the Emerald City after all.” He looked at her clogs. “Not even your ruby slippers can save you now.”

“Never mind, I’m not really dressed for a party,” said Ruby with a weary smile.

The Count looked at Ruby’s T-shirt, which read,
in deep trouble.

“No, I dare say you are right, though the sentiment is perfect for the occasion,” said the Count with a wink.

“What now?” Ruby’s voice was almost a croak.

“Quite right, let’s move on, no more chatter,” said the Count. “I have devised something rather splendid for you — it’s straight out of
The Wizard of Oz.
What a wonderful film
that
could have been, if only someone with a little
imagination
had directed it. My favorite scene is the one where the witch turns over the hourglass — Dorothy will die when all the sand has fallen. What a shame, I always thought, not to put little Dorothy
inside
the hourglass. So much more dramatic, far less chance for error . . . So consider this a remake, the version Hollywood would not dare to screen!”

Ruby’s eyes grew very big and she could no longer be sure that her heart was still beating.

“Well, now my pretty,” said the Count, adopting the Wicked Witch of the West’s mocking tone. “When the clock strikes half past eleven, the tower you are sitting in will begin to fill with jade-green sand like a giant hourglass.”

Ruby winced — she had never liked sand in her hair, but to be buried alive in it was gruesome beyond anything she had seen in any of Mrs. Digby’s thrillers.

“You can kill me if you want,” said Ruby, her voice beginning to crack, “but that won’t help you get past all the museum security, all the alarms, all the guards. You haven’t a chance of getting anywhere near the Jade Buddha of Khotan.”

“It’s sweet of you to show your concern but I have it all beautifully choreographed, and I have the perfect little distraction for the good folk of Twinford — a power cut and an explosion all in one. It really will be very exciting. Total blackout, so dramatic. Blow up the bank and watch all those pretty green dollars float up into the sky. And of course once the power is cut they can forget about all their clever little lasers — they will look like they are activated but I can assure you, they won’t be!”

Count Von Viscount looked at his watch — it was an old-fashioned timepiece, kept in his pocket, secured by a chain. “Time marches on, however, and now I regret I must leave you. I am glad we had a chance to meet, too bad I will not have the pleasure again.”

And with that, he was gone.

Ruby couldn’t be sure, but as the door closed, she thought she heard the sound of a woman’s voice — one she almost recognized. But before she had a chance to search her mind, she heard another.

Is that singing?

Ruby looked up, and there perched on a ledge was a reel-to-reel tape player, playing a tune she knew very well.
Mr. Sandman
— her father sometimes whistled it before bedtime. She shivered. Would this be the last time she ever heard that song?

Think like that, Ruby, and you’re already dead.