Ends of the Earth by Bruce Hale Page B

narrowing.
    Mentioning Annie’s name triggered something in Max. It reminded him of the way she used to tell him to hang in there—or
gambare
, in her fractured Japanese English. Wait,
gambare
? What if the letters
G-A-M-B-A-R-E
weren’t
gamebear
, but a message from Hantai Annie herself? Had she somehow made it over the wall? Was she even
now—
    A dog snarled. “Oi,” said Styx, prodding Max. “Pick up your feet, Segredo.”
    Max came back to himself, discovering he’d stopped dead. He couldn’t let Styx know what he suspected. What on earth had they just been talking about? Oh, right.
    “Maybe Mrs. Frost doesn’t give us responsibility because she’s afraid we’ll betray her to S.P.I.E.S,” he said, trying to keep his face neutral.
    The massive man snorted. “Nothing left to betray her to. My team nearly rounded up Vazquez with some of the last dregs.”
    Max’s stomach gave a flutter at the mention of his friends. Although starved for word of them, he kept his gaze on the mansion and maintained a casual tone. “Oh, yeah?
Nearly?”
    “Your blasted girlfriend got in the way.”
    Max turned a chuckle into a cough. “That’s a shame.”
    “Wait till I catch up with her,” the big spy snarled. “I’ll teach her not to mess with Styx.”
    With a rush of protective feeling toward Cinnabar, Max’s next words came out sharper than he’d intended. “Sounds like
they
taught
you
a thing or two. Everyone
got away, eh?”
    They crunched across the gravel, the dogs herding Max up to the mansion’s side entrance.
    “Not for long,” said Styx. He fed his key card into the reader, and the door clicked open. “We got teams out searching. A handful of kids and a lone techie? They’re
sitting ducks.”
    Styx worked the doorknob and gave Max a none-too-gentle shove into the house. “Stay inside,” he rumbled. “Next time, I unleash the dogs.”
    As if they’d picked up on the threat, Wynken and Blynken rumbled a parting growl, their amber eyes glaring daggers at Max.
    “Something to look forward to,” he said, shutting the door in their furry faces.
    Max drew a long breath and blew it out, a floating sensation spreading through him. Was Annie really on the grounds somewhere? And if so, should he proceed with his escape plan or start hunting
for her? Lost in thought, he wandered down the hall until a slender figure blocked his path.
    “You,” said Dijon. “You think you’re so smart.”
    “Me?” said Max. “A little above average, maybe.”
    She leaned closer, hands fisted on hips. Her black eyes drilled into him. “Well, I know what you’re up to, little man.”
    “Really?” said Max. A chill rippled through him, but he kept up a bland front. “I wish you’d tell me. I rarely know what I’m up to.”
    “Nobody believes you’ve come over, not even the guv’nor.” A cold smile appeared on her lovely face. “I’ve got my eye on you, and when you slip up…”
Dijon snapped her fingers.
    “You’ll click your fingers at me?” said Max.
    “I’ll break your neck like a breadstick,” said Dijon, and she sauntered off down the hall as if she owned the whole darned place.
    Such lovely people here, thought Max. Can’t imagine why I’d want to leave.

CINNABAR’S BUTT felt deader than a zombie’s conscience, deader than disco, deader than Julius Caesar’s pet goldfish. She’d
been sitting in the crowded backseat of the nondescript van for what seemed like days, but was only hours. Her back was stiff, the stale air smelled of body odor and bean farts; she was cold,
crabby, and beginning to be seriously cheesed off at Nikki.
    But none of that mattered.
    Well, not much, anyway. Because they were parked down the street from LOTUS HQ, where Max was being held captive, and because tonight, they would rush in and save his narrow behind from a fate
worse than death.
    She elbowed Wyatt, sitting beside her. “What’s happening now?”
    “Still nothing,” he said, continuing to monitor