Molly Moon Stops the World by Georgia Byng

commanders, and politicians.
    “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to hypnotize the president of the United States,” said Rocky.
    The documents were in alphabetical order, and Molly noticed there were lots of empty pages with names on them, but no photograph. Were these the people Primo Cell
planned
to hypnotize? On a few of these the red ink said ACTIVATE BEFORE E DAY.
    “What
is
this E Day?” Molly asked again.
    “A day he’s planning something big. We’ll have to find out what it means.”
    The worst sheet they found was Davina Nuttel’s. She stared out of the picture like someone who’d just seen a bomb go off. A bloodred cross traversed her page like a murderer’s mark.
    “Oh,” Molly gasped. “You don’t think he’s …”
    Rocky stared in horror. “So Primo Cell really did have something to do with her kidnaping.”
    “But why?”
    “All I know is that we’re playing with fire and we should get out of here as fast as we can.”
    Rocky and Molly worked as quickly as possible. They crouched on the floor, hoping that flashes from the camera wouldn’t be seen from the street. Nockman sat on a velvet chair, occasionally muttering “Tick, tick,” or “Click, click,” or “Hmmmm,” and picking at his thumbs.
    An hour later, Molly had taken 760 pictures and the magpie picture was back in its place.
    “He’ll never know we’ve been here,” said Molly.
    “Unless he’s watching us.”
    “Don’t give me the creeps,” said Molly.
    The building was quiet as a tomb, the street outside silent as a graveyard except for the distant horns and sirens of the Los Angeles traffic. Molly instructed the security guard to order them a cab and then, after they’d gone, to completely forget that they’d been thereat all. Petula was still waiting outside the building. Molly picked her up and gave her a hug.
    “You’re a naughty monkey, Petula.”
    Back at the Château Marmont, Nockman was instructed to forget the evening too.
    “You can tell Mrs. T. that we spent the evening at the Benefactor’s house, which is very fine, er, you know—very posh and full of expensive furniture and thick carpets. You can say you met the Benefactor, but only for a moment, as he was off to a business dinner. Say he looked like …”
    “Like a kind old man,” suggested Rocky.
    “Yes, with gray hair, and with a mustache, and wearing …”
    “A pink suit?”
    “Yes, say he looks like Father Christmas in a pink suit. If Mrs. Trinklebury asks you any other details, say you don’t remember.”
    Molly couldn’t help adding, “And, er, Mr. Nockman, well done for the way you’ve improved. You’re a much nicer person than you were. Everybody really likes you.”
    Nockman nodded. Then Molly snapped her fingers and woke him from his trance.
    They went back to their bungalow and hid the camera and rolls of film in a drawer in Molly’s bedroom. Molly found Lucy’s telephone number in thebriefcase and dialed her number.
    “Lucy will be amazed,” she said.
    “Hope her phone’s not bugged,” said Rocky.
    At the other end of the line the hollow ring tone continued.
    “She must be up—it’s ten in the morning in Briersville,” said Molly. But there was no answer from the cottage.
    “I suppose it takes her ages to do her shopping on crutches,” said Rocky, yawning. “Call her tomorrow.”
    Molly longed to tell Lucy about Davina and the hypnotized stars. She wanted to ask her what they should do next. She put the phone down reluctantly.
    “See you in the morning, Marshmallow,” Rocky said, trying to make them both feel less scared.
    Molly had never felt more like a marshmallow—soft, squashy, and lightheaded as a cloud. She was so exhausted that she hardly had the energy to get undressed. She went to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Fourteen
    T he second day at the Château Marmont was hotter than the first. In fact, the temperatures were breaking records. Fans whirred in the lobby, where people sat