Spyforce Revealed by Deborah Abela

dreamily.
    â€˜How long does the jet take to get to London?’ queried Max, slowly sipping her smoothie to savour each taste-tickling mouthful.
    Steinberger looked at his watch.
    â€˜Should be there … about … now,’ he declared.
    In a flash, the steward reappeared, grabbed their plates and glasses mid slurp and disappeared towards the back of the jet.
    â€˜This is your captain speaking,’ said the voice on the intercom.
    â€˜He loves saying that,’ whispered Steinberger excitedly, putting his notepad in his pocket.
    â€˜We will shortly be arriving in London. Remember what I said about the tray tables and seatbelts and get ready for a smooth landing.’
    Max and Linden tightened their belts and looked out at the city of London below. The jet’s windows were jammed with the bumpy spread ofold buildings, towers, palaces, churches and cathedrals. Roads wound through like ant trails swarming with cars, trucks, motorbikes, pedestrians and lurching black cabs, while the Thames River snaked its way under bridges that crisscrossed over it like antique matchsticks.
    Max looked down at the city and took a deep gulp of air as she tried to take in what was about to happen. In just a little while, she and Linden would be face to face with the world’s top spies.

It was the largest gathering of secret agents the world had never known. A top secret affair with security at its highest level. And with good reason. It wasn’t every day the world’s top spies assembled together under the same roof. In fact, it was only once a year, during the annual Spy Awards Night, a prestigious event that recognised the talents, skills and contributions of spies from all over the world. Spyforce often topped the bill for the night, taking home many of the awards, including the coveted and highly respected Spy Agency of the Year award.
    The rest of the world never knew about these events. If they ever did know, the existence of these intelligence networks would be in grave jeopardy, many would even cease to exist as soon as news got out.
    The location of the ceremony was announced only the day before and even then, just the chiefs of the organisations were informed. As technology could sometimes be tampered with, they were told by specially trained minor birds, the perfect messengers, as they worked in pairs and always delivered. A secret rendezvous point would be arranged where the chiefs and minor birds would meet and the message would be tweeted out in afew short cheeps before the birds would fly innocently away. Very discreet, very professional and very top secret.
    This year was a highly unusual type of award night. This year a new spy had been recruited by Spyforce who was causing a stir throughout the ranks of spies everywhere. She was changing the face of intelligence work with feats of daring and skill the spy world had never seen before.
    This spy’s name was Max Remy.
    But many knew her as Max Remy, Superspy.
    As clusters of intelligence agents hushed over dimly lit tables, spoke in secret whispers and quietly clapped each award winner, most were anxiously awaiting the announcement of who would be Spy of the Year.
    As the head of the Academy of World Spies approached the podium, the room fell silent. In just a few moments, she would announce the Spy of the Year. An honour bestowed on the bravest, most intelligent spy who had, in all their work, made the world a safer, better place.
    â€˜And the winner is,’ the head of the academy began as she pried open the specially sealed gold envelope, ‘Max Remy!’
    Max’s hands sprang to her mouth in shock. She was not only brave and intelligent, she was also a very humble person, not used to such attention. Alex Crane leant over from her seat and gave Max a hug.
    â€˜You deserve this,’ she whispered proudly to her one-time apprentice.
    Max stood up, her legs becoming jelly-like beneath her, and made her way to the podium. She