A/N: My most sincere apologies for not updating my story. It has been more than six months since that last happened. I had this chapter written up in June 2014, only for writer's block and unfortunately laziness stop me from completing the chapter. I can't make promises, but the next chapter will come along soon - but I will promise you it will not take twice as long a time to complete. Once again, I am so SO sorry. Anyways, happy new year and onwards with the story.
(Jenny's POV)
Today is the last day of school before the Christmas holidays. Today is pretty hectic. But it's fun too, as the Year Elevens are putting on a special entertainment show. They have been practising for two weeks and they'll be performing their talents of singing, dancing, acrobatics, acting, drumming, martial arts, playing an instrument, or other activities to showcase their skills.
Backstage is filled with frantic activity. There's a cacophony of sound and chatter as the musicians are tuning up their instruments, practising and discussing their numbers. The singers are rehearsing their songs. The actors are pacing up and down, practising their lines, and the dancers are going over their routines. I run my eye down the long list, checking that everything is in order – and it looks like it is after I finish ticking off the items from the list. I head over to the stage. The curtain is closed, but I can hear the steady rumble of voices out in the hall. I peek out of the side of the curtain. Every seat is filled. Everyone in the audience is ready to see the show. Let's hope the performers are ready too.
I back away from the curtains and return backstage. "Places! Places, everyone!" I call.
The first act takes their places at the side of the stage. The lights begin to dim. I hear the audience instantly becoming silent. The stage lights go up. The music starts. When the curtain opens, and the audience applauds the set, the first act step out on-stage and start to perform.
The talent show has started!
xxoOoxx
The variety show is a major success! The curtains close, muffling the excited cheers of the audience. They had a great time. They loved it – falling about laughing at the seriously rude jokes and applauding several times. The performers did really well. They did so well that I produce a big carrier bag and I give everyone a little chocolate Santa.
"Well done, everyone! You were all terrific!" I say as I hand the Santa chocolates to every single person.
Most of the others chomp up their chocolate straight away, a gulp of bearded head, a gollop of tummy, a crunch of boots and he's gone. Davina wraps hers up carefully in a hankie and puts him in her schoolbag.
"For God's sake, Davina, one little chocolate isn't going to make you fat," says Donovan.
"I'm saving him for sentimental reasons, not because I'm trying to get slim," she says.
I can't help but overhear. "Oh, go on, Davina. Be a devil," I say. "Tuck into a few mince pies and the Christmas pud and really let rip this holiday. You can always work it off from those daft, Z-list celebrity exercise DVDs in January."
After we stack the chairs away and tidy up, everyone exits the hall and goes to the canteen for lunch. It's a special lunch today, the cook's traditional Christmas dinner treat for the end of term. Old-fashioned roast turkey with fresh herb stuffing, Granny's roast potatoes, Brussels sprout mash (two things – one, why, and two, yuck!), and then the classic Christmas pudding with a blob of double cream. We're talking mega-calories per trayful.
The pungent smell steals along the corridors and invades the hall and just at first my nose twitches, my mouth waters desperately, and my stomach rumbles.
"It sounds as if you're ready for your lunch," says a voice – a voice I know all too well.
I whirl around, my face flushing red. Frank is standing at the door with a grin to indicate that he heard my stupid stomach rumble. Thank God he's by himself – I would have died if anyone was with him and heard it. Frank makes his way over to me while I stand around awkwardly.
"I had a feeling that you may have skipped breakfast this morning and didn't pick up a snack, so I figure I'd get you this." Frank holds up a bag.
I take it from him and see what's inside. My face lights up – it's a Tupperware container, and inside the container is the roast turkey and stuffing, the roast potatoes and the Christmas pudding.
"I know you absolutely hate Brussels sprouts – even in its mashed form – so I left it out," says Frank.
"Aw!" I give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You are an absolute saint, Frank. Thank you."
"I also wanted to give you this." He hands me a small white envelope. I open the envelope and pull out the thick, creamy card – but there's nothing on it!
"Er, its blank," I point out.
"The card is written with invisible ink," says Frank. "You need the Spy-Pod to decode it." He takes out his Spy-Pod from his pocket and separates the two ends of the device to reveal the screen. He hands the device over the card, and I can see the message written on it.
"'Dear agent, you are cordially invited to an evening of Dinner and Dancing at our annual MI9 Christmas Party. The event will take place on-board the luxury steam yacht, the St Katherine, on Saturday, December 21st at 7:00pm (The yacht will depart at 7:30pm). Temple Pier, Victoria Embankment, London, WC2R 2PN'. Oooh, very fancy!"
"The MI9 Christmas parties are always fancy," says Frank. "Last year, we had a Great Gatsby-themed party at the castle where they film Downton Abbey. And the year before that, the rotating restaurant at the BT Tower was reopened to us only so we could have a dinner party."
"Wow. Now I'll be able to celebrate the festive season with you as we'll be wining and dining and dancing on the River Thames – not to mention seeing great views of the glittering lights of London's famous landmarks." I sigh. "What a way to celebrate Christmas. I just hope that no-one isn't going to knock everyone at the party with a tranquillizer dart, drag me away and try and force my sister's hand in marriage."
"They'll have to get past me if they want to do that," says Frank. "I won't let anything happen to you."
I'm touched by what he's said. I give him a warm smile. It's great having an amazing boyfriend.
I check the invitation again. "They certainly don't waste any time with the invite, do they? The party is tomorrow night – and I have nothing to wear!"
"You've got plenty of dresses at home – you can wear one of those."
"Frank! You can't expect me to arrive at an MI9 party wearing just any old thing, do you? I want to make a grand entrance. I want to exude glamour and sophistication in a head-turning evening ensemble. I want to wear a dress that's so dazzling that it will make the women go green with envy and the men to fall head over heels in love with me and fight over me for a dance…"
Frank raises his eyebrows at me.
"Bu-u-ut when they see me with you, they'll think that you are one lucky son of a gun and they'll go green with jealously," I add. "And you know what they say: behind every great man, there's a great and fashionable woman."
"Well, when you put it that way… I'd love to see the look on everyone's faces when they see me arriving with my arm around you," says Frank.
"Then it's settled! After school I'll go dress shopping…" My tummy suddenly rumbles. "Right after I tuck into some Christmas lunch."
So after lunch and school is out (as it's a half day), I head over to Oxford Street to choose a dress. I spend the next few hours scouting the shops, checking out the newest ranges and trying on countless of dresses in search of the perfect one. Many of the dresses I tried on were pretty, but they didn't have that oomph that is needed. I need a dress that is forever stylish and always stunning. I need something that'll knock people off their feet.
It's a just past five o'clock as I wander through Carnaby Street when I see something in small fashion boutique that catches my eye.
The dress is sleek and form-fitting, shining in a luxe metallic gold fabric, with the skirt slitting up at the front. From the golden trim at the halter neck to the floor-length draped hem, this dress delivers drama! This is definitely going to turn heads at the party.
"It's perfect," I whisper as I try it on in the changing room. The gold gown clings to every curve of my body and the daring slit rises just above my left knee. It looks incredible – especially on me. I knew I just have to have it.
I don't intend on showing Frank the dress until the night of the party. But I can tell that he's curious about it – he tries to sneak a look in the bag when I get back to his (I'm staying there for the weekend), but I playfully slap his wrist. In return, he playfully smacks my arse. I'm able to distract him from further prying by slipping into his arms and pulling him into bed. When we finally get out again two hours later he's forgotten all about the dress.
For now.
The next morning – the day of the party – I catch him snooping around the inside of the wardrobe where I hid the dress, but I manage to stop him by throwing a pillow at him.
"Step away from the wardrobe," I say.
"I wasn't trying to get a look-in on your dress," Frank says, backing away. "Honest."
I jump out of bed and take the bag containing the gown out of the wardrobe. "No peeking until tonight," I tell him. "Otherwise you're not getting any of this" – I perform a brief, flowing, sinuous movement with my body – "until the honeymoon. And you wouldn't want to wait five months, would you?"
After that, Frank daren't to try to sneak and peek.
The rest of the day drags on endlessly. We head out to Oxford Street to do our Christmas shopping. We buy all the presents for our families, before splitting up for a bit to buy each other stuff. At the same time, I shop for shoes and accessories to go with my party outfit.
We start to get ready at around 6:30 P.M. Frank goes first and heads up to the bathroom to shower up, and then he gets dressed – looking his absolute best in a midnight blue tuxedo. As I didn't want Frank to see me get dressed, I instruct him to wait for me in living room. After my shower I put on my glamorous gold slitted ensemble. Then I accessorize my gown with the accessories I bought today: gold scalloped teardrop earrings, a golden cuff bracelet and gold strappy heels.
I flick out the ends of my hair with curling tongs and I give it lift and body with the hairspray to accentuate my face and balance the fitted gown for a total look. Next I do my makeup. I start with foundation to make my skin look flawless. Then I apply false eyelashes to make my eyes look bigger, fuller and more inviting, and then I apply black liquid eyeliner along my upper lids, to fill in any gaps between the false lashes and my own to make them look more natural. Finally, I choose a light pink shade for my lips.
At last I'm ready.
After taking one last look at myself in the full-length mirror, I grab my gold clutch purse and close the bedroom door carefully. I'm getting a fluttering and nauseous sensation in my stomach – feeling excited and nervous, all at the same time. But I steady myself and with my head held high, I take a deep breath and walk down the stairs to the living room.
Like I instructed Frank is waiting for me. He's glancing at his watch, wondering if I'll be finished any time soon. He doesn't notice that I'm standing in the doorway until I clear my throat. Frank spins around and his eyes widen as I pose for him, hand on hip, the high slit allowing my strappy golden heels to peek out.
"Well, what do you think?" I ask.
Frank doesn't say anything for a few moments. His eyes are pretty much doing all the talking – he's letting them run over my curves in the gown and my long, slender leg that's revealing itself from the slit of the dress. His finger pulls at his collar, as if the room has suddenly become too warm for him.
It's becoming a little too warm for me, too – I feel myself blush.
"You look spectacular," says Frank after a long silence.
"Really?" I say, blushing even more, averting my head.
Frank steps towards me. He puts his finger under my chin so that I have to look at him. "If anyone looks beautiful in a stunning gown, it's you, Jen. And when we arrive at the party, everyone else will think so as well."
I smile shyly. Then I reach up and gently, softly, sweetly kiss him on the lips. "Thank you," I mumble.
Just then we hear a horn beeping outside.
"Our taxi is here," says Frank. "You ready?"
I nod. We go to the hall to collect our coats and head outside.
xxoOoxx
A short while later the taxi pulls in beside the Temple Pier in Victoria Embankment where the party is being held.
Frank pays for the fare and we climb out of the taxi. Frank holds his arm out for me. I link mine into it, we hand our blank invitations to the doorman. After he checks our invitations, the doorman lets me and Frank through, and together we walk down the pier, following the other MI9 agents that have been granted access to the party and step aboard the yacht.
I feel like I've been transported to the 1920s as we step onto the St Katherine – the inside exudes style and luxury. The lower dining deck has been styled to highlight the stunning, woodwork with its Art Deco influences following through the steamed ash wood chandelier at the fore of the saloon. The lower deck windows is given curved window surrounds, reflecting the upper deck, in a sage and leaf green 'Serengeti' raised velvet which frames London's riverscape perfectly.
The booth seats is covered in a dark grey wool flannel fabric evoking the finest Savile Row suiting contracted with Nina Campbell's dramatic 'Giverny' linen-lined walls and booth scatter cushions. The contrasting prints on each scatter cushion give each booth an individual signature.
"Gorgeous," I murmur.
"Come on – let's head upstairs," says Frank.
I follow him up the stairs to the upper deck where the reception is held. The upper deck bar and lounge is lined with graceful, curved window surrounds in a luxe pale silver, tan and black raised velvet weave – which perfectly complements the nutmeg and cream wool carpeting, tan leather sofas and chaise lounges, oak carpentry, intimate booth seat dining and mirrored 1930s bar with a decorative cast iron grille facade all surrounding the wooden dance floor. The reception also features hundreds of other MI9 agents sipping cocktails and champagne as they talk and mingle – the men wearing sharp and tailored tuxedos, and the women wearing enchanting and glamorous gowns and dresses.
"Welcome, party-goers, to the St Katherine," says a man. He's young, fair and good-looking, dressed in black trousers, a long-sleeved white shirt, and black tie. The outfit is topped off with a black waistcoat and smart black shoes. "From the good food, great entertainment and fabulous views, we hope you have an unforgettable experience on the finest river cruiser on the River Thames. Can I have your coats, please?"
I wait until everyone has taken off their coats and hand it over to the fair man. Then I shrug my coat off my shoulder and let it drop to the floor, revealing my gold, shimmering gown. Frank picks up my coat and hands it to the man.
"Thank you and enjoy your evening," says the man before taking his leave.
I link my arm with Frank's. "Let's head to the bar – I'm thirsty," I say.
All eyes are on me as we walk across the dance floor to the bar. I'm not accustomed to dressing this sexy, but I like the way it makes me feel.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Frank asks.
"I could be asking you the same thing," I reply, looking to him. The self-satisfied smile on his face says it all.
The table at the bar holds flutes filled with champagne; wineglasses filled with white, red, and blush wines; goblets filled with an exotic punch; and cocktail glasses filled with cocktails of different colours – pink, green, white, orange, blue, etc. Frank and I each pick up a glass of champagne and wander over to the window so we can enjoy the incredible view of the South Bank.
"London looks so beautiful at night," I say.
"Romantic for sure," Frank adds.
"This will be a great place to hold a wedding reception. I can just picture it – we and our guests enjoying mouth-watering menus, whilst sipping champagne and taking in stunning views from the River Thames. It'll be such a spectacular setting for the most memorable day of my life. Sorry – our lives."
But Frank doesn't seem to mind my slip of the tongue. He just smiles. "Well, if you want a river cruise wedding reception, then that's what you'll get. I'll make some enquiries with the owners of the St Katherine on Monday, and if the price is good, we can book it."
I smile in response. Like I've said before, it's great having an amazing boyfriend.
Just then, I feel a jolt.
"Looks like we're about to sail," says Frank.
I look out of the window to see London's scenery move with a smooth, quiet motion as the St Katherine slips the moorings and starts to sail. Then the music starts to play from the DJ and a food waiter walks around offering canapés to the guests.
"Here we go," I say. "Get ready for an evening of fine dining while the sights of London glide past us."
"I'll drink to that." Frank takes a sip of his champagne.
"There you are!"
A familiar voice causes me and Frank to look up. It's Carrie – making her way through the crowd and comes straight up to us. She looks fabulous in a one-shoulder cocktail dress that shimmers in printed tones of seafoam green and stuns with a dramatic drape at the neck. Her golden accessories of peep-toe platforms, chandelier earrings and bracelet are simply chic, perfect complements to a lovely look.
"Hey, guys," she says. "Wow, Jen, you look gorgeous."
"Thanks," I say.
Frank clears his throat.
"And you look very dashing, Frank," Carrie adds.
"Thank you," he says.
"Anyway, come on. The others are waiting."
We follow Carrie across the dance floor to the other side of the room where Oscar and Rose are seated. Oscar is handsomely dressed in a well-fitted black suit, and Rose is wearing a gown of green satin with a strapless golden and green jacquard bodice. The skirt is draped to one side and layered with golden glitter encrusted green tulle. Her black hair is pulled back in a low chignon, and the golden dangling earrings and necklace enhance her tan skin.
I see that Rose and Oscar are sitting with a group of agents I haven't seen before. One is a tall, dark-skinned man with a unique afro hairstyle, smartly dressed in a black tuxedo and carrying a cane, while the other two are about the same age as Rose, Oscar and Carrie. The boy is quite well-built for a sixteen-year-old. His hair, styled like he's just got out of bed (but looks neat at the same time), is brown. His eyes are brown and playful, like a puppy. He's dressed in a white dinner jacket with classic black tuxedo pants. The other agent, a girl, has sandy blonde hair and big blue eyes. She's certainly giving Barbie a run for her money – a hot pink mermaid gown that shimmers in a luxe satin material and stuns with an asymmetrical bodice, and striking flares at the bust and waist, with a metallic pink belt that's cinched at the waist. Chandelier earrings, a jewelled cuff and a silvery clutch bag sparkle with rhinestones and glitz, while her long, loose locks – styled in a side-swept wavy hairstyle – are an elegant complement to a glamorous look.
As soon as we approach, Rose, Oscar and the three agents, the dark-skinned man's face lights up.
"Frank!" the man exclaims, coming up to Frank and shaking his hand. "It's been so long."
"It's only been twelve months. We met up at last year's Christmas party, remember, Lenny?" says Frank.
Lenny? Where have I heard that name…? Oh! It's Lenny Bicknall – the man who recruited Frank to MI9 and Rose's old handler. And those two agents must be Rose's old teammates – the ones who secretly like each other but will never admit it.
"Still, though," says Lenny, "it's good to see you after all these months." He turns to me. "And who might I ask is this lovely young lady?"
I turn slightly pink.
"This, Lenny, is the woman who's going to be my wife – Jenny Brownstone," Frank says proudly. "Jen, this is Lenny Bicknall – Rose's old handler, and my old mentor."
"It's very nice to meet you, Lenny," I say, extending my hand.
He kisses the back of my hand. "Very nice, indeed."
"And those two are Rose's old MI High team – Blane Whittaker and Daisy Millar," says Frank, motioning to the two agents.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi," they reply.
Rose's old team seem really nice – practically Blane, who seems to have developed a fast crush on me. Daisy on the other seemed to be annoyed, as well as jealous, that Blane is paying more attention to me than he is to her.
And for the next half an hour, I get to know a little more about Blane and Daisy. Blane is a trained athlete, as well as an expert hand-to-hand combatant and has an older brother, Kyle, who's a Special Forces soldier, serving in Afghanistan. And Daisy is the undercover operative of the group, coming from quite a well off family – who she rarely sees. Her father, Linus, is a politician (for the Labour Party), and her mother, Samantha, is a globe-trotting business woman.
One of the staff of the St Katherine announces that dinner will soon be serving and we should make our way downstairs. When we enter the restaurant and get escorted to our table, Blane and Daisy tell me their adventures that they had when they were in MI High with Rose – from stopping a robot Prime Minister from waging war over the whole of Europe, to an evil fashion designer from turning children all over Britain into half-human, half-clothing freak shows. Rose even tells me the time when Daisy fell for a new member of the spy team – the charismatic teen CIA officer Agent Chad Turner, and Blane's jealousy drove him to take a crazy risk – by putting on the MT-3000 (a device which gives its wearer superhuman strength) and almost getting killed by it. But Chad wasn't the dishy dreamboat that Daisy hoped – as they found out that he was working with the Grandmaster, so they had to stop him.
"But Chad is gorgeous, though," Daisy says dreamily.
Now it's Blane's turn to get jealous and he retaliates by telling me that time that he and Rose had to go undercover to investigate the disappearance of the X20 spy plane and they found out that the person who stole it was Irena Ryfield, the daughter of the engineer of the X20, and when they returned the plane back and MI9 gave Irena a job of teaching people how to fly, Irena asked Blane if he wanted to joined her. But Daisy was quick to decide that he should stay with her and Rose as he's got 'a lot of spy work to do'.
"Face it, Daisy, you like me. Admit it," says Blane.
"I do not!" she says a little too quickly and a little too indignantly.
"She likes me," Blane mouths to me.
I giggle.
Daisy scoffs and crosses her arms.
Lenny clears his throat. "Anyway," he says, "after our last mission where the team stopped an asteroid from destroying Earth, Director Fairchild was so pleased with their teamwork that she wanted to recruit them to help other kids to become spies like them."
"Ah, yes, Rose told me about that," I say. "It's something like Alpha Unit…?"
"Unit Alpha," Lenny corrects me. "It's a branch of MI9. Its agents are aged between ten and seventeen years. They're trained to work undercover. Blane trains them in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat, and Daisy teaches role-play and disguises. They live in a secret facility hidden in the English countryside."
"Ah. So, what do you teach, Lenny?"
"Oh, I don't teach. Ten months ago, I was promoted to chairman to the facility after Gordon Yates, the previous chairman, retired. I now run Unit Alpha."
"Oh, wow, Lenny. Congratulations," says Rose.
"Thank you, Rose," he says. "Anyway, about three hundred kids live on the Unit Alpha campus. The kids are usually recruited between the ages of six and twelve and are allowed to work undercover from the age of ten, provided that they can pass a gruelling hundred-day training programme. Anyway, that's enough about me, Daisy and Blane – I wanna know about you and Frank. How did you two meet?"
Frank and I exchange glances. Normally when people ask us how we met, we just say that we met at school. But when you have an MI9 agent asking you that same question, what do you say then?
"Erm…"
"Well, you see… Um…"
"It's complicated, actually," I say.
"How so?" Lenny asks.
"Uhm…" I sigh. Guess it's time to tell the truth. "Well, Frank and I met at St Hope's – my auntie, the deputy headmistress, got me the job there. But I should tell you that when I met Frank, I wasn't an MI9 agent. In fact, I didn't even know he was a spy."
"What do you mean?" Daisy asks.
"I take it you've heard of the Cat?"
"Only the most attractive and sexiest crime-fighter ever!" says Blane before Daisy can reply. "She's something out of a comic book – she's sassy and vivacious, not to mention a dangerous, clever and resourceful fighter. She's known for her precise, agile attacks and speedy getaways. Her formidable hand-to-hand combat skills are augmented by her cat-like speed, reflexes, balance, and flexibility."
Wow – someone's done their homework.
"I've got posters and newspaper clippings of her on my bedroom wall," Blane continues. "But I haven't heard much of the Cat lately, you know? I wonder what she's doing these days."
"The fact that we haven't heard much of her must mean that she's on a downhill slide recently," says Daisy.
"Actually, I've heard that she's moved on to do bigger things," says Carrie. "Better things."
"Like, I don't know… working for MI9," says Rose.
"In fact, you could say that you've been talking to her all night," says Oscar, raising his eyebrows.
Blane doesn't follow, but Daisy gasps.
"No way!" she says, turning to me. "You're the Cat?!"
I give a shy smile in reply. "Hi."
"Oh, my God!" says Blane. "Are you serious?"
"I'm very serious."
Blane and Daisy gush over me – Blane telling me how he was always a massive fan of the Cat and Daisy compliments my hair looking so glossy and my skin being so flawless and how she wishes her figure was like mine.
As the evening progresses, I tell them about how I started out as the Cat and the missions that I did. Then I tell them the story of how I met Frank, balancing being with him and maintaining my secret identity, until I found out that he was an MI9 agent and I broke up with him. Then Frank explains how he found out I was the Cat and I turned myself in instead of going on the run. And rather than spending the rest of life in jail, Director Fairchild offered me a job at MI9 – which I accepted! – and then him and me getting back together, and my missions as an MI9 spy with Rose, Oscar and Carrie.
"…finally, last month on my birthday, Frank proposed to me – and I said yes!" I finish telling Blane and Daisy as we relax in the upper deck after dinner. I show them the ring.
Daisy gasps. "It's beautiful," she breathes as she admires the gold diamond ring.
"So when is the wedding?" Blane asks.
"We're hoping sometime in May," Frank answers.
"Well, what else can I say then congratulations – both of you," says Lenny.
"Thanks, Lenny," Frank and I say.
I sit back comfortably in my seat as Frank and Lenny engaged in conversation. As do Rose, Carrie, Oscar, Blane and Daisy. I let out a sigh of content. It feels nice to be with my boyfriend, friends and colleagues without it being at HQ or school. I take a sip of my glass of Champagne and stare out the window, at the night sky. It's clear and empty – not completely empty, though. The sky is lit by stars. They're so big and bright and there are so many of them. Not to mention the spectacularly illuminated sights of London's landmark as we glide past them.
It feels magical, taking in the skyline along the Thames from the comfort of the upper deck of an elegant luxury yacht.
I feel someone's fingertips brush at the back of my hand, and then taking it. I turn to find that it's Frank who's holding my hand.
"You OK?" he asks me.
I respond with a smile. "Never felt better," I say, giving his hand a squeeze.
I take another sip of Champagne when 'Last Christmas' by Wham! starts to play. Frank gets up and gives me his hand with a flourish.
"Shall we?" he says with a playful smile.
Playfully smiling back, I set my glass on the table and I take his hand. "Let's shall."
Frank gently pulls me up on my feet and we head to the dance floor, hand in hand. Once we get there, I drape my arms around Frank's shoulders and he puts his arms on my lower back, and we start to sway back and forth to the music.
"So, I was all right tonight, wasn't I?" I ask. "You know, with Lenny, Blane and Daisy. I mean, I didn't wet myself, so we can firmly put that in the plus column."
Frank chuckles. "Yes, we can," he says. "And you were brilliant by the way. Lenny took an instant liking to you. As did Blane and Daisy."
"Yeah?" I tease. "Well, if you must know, I like them, too."
As we dance, I got to thinking about Blane and Daisy. It's so obvious that they like each other. Why can't they confess their feelings to each other?
"Whatcha thinkin'?" Frank sings.
"Huh?" I come out of my daydream. "What makes you think I'm thinking?" I ask.
"You're doing that cute thing when you tip your head and look up. That's when I know when you're thinking – or daydreaming."
"And you find that cute? Man, you are weird."
"And you still haven't answered my question. Now spill – what were you thinking?"
I shrug. "I was just thinking about… Blane and Daisy. I was wondering why they haven't asked each other out. They make a very attractive couple."
"I know," Frank sighs. "I've been asking myself that same question for a long time."
"Really? How long have they liked each other for?"
"Well, when I first met Blane and Daisy four years ago, I asked Rose that very same question when I saw them catching sight of each other all night. Rose told me that it was 'far too long'."
"How long is 'far too long'?"
"Before Oscar and Carrie, Rose was with Blane and Daisy for about… two years."
My mouth drops open. "So you're telling me that Blane and Daisy have been crushing on each other for six years?"
Frank nods. "It would appear so, yes."
"Wow. That is unbelievable. And you or the others haven't done anything about it? You haven't talked to them or… locked them in a room together?"
"We tried to, but Blane and Daisy always get defensive and deny that they like one another. And I highly doubt that locking them in a room together will help. They'll either jump out the window or Blane will kick down the door."
"Right. Well. I guess it's up to me, then."
"What, you?"
"Yeah, me. In fact, I'm willing to bet fifty pounds that I can get those two together by the end of tonight."
"Ooh, a wager." It takes Frank a second to think before saying, "OK, I'm game. What's the forfeit?"
"Loser has to be the winner's slave for a week. And they have to do everything the winner tells to do, whatever it may be."
"Really?" says Frank, raising an eyebrow.
I can imagine that if I lose this bet, Frank would want me to wear a sexy French maid outfit and I'll have to spend the week bending over to clean the bottom shelf with a pink feather duster so he can get a look at my… underthings.
"Well, in that case… I accept your challenge. May the best person win," says Frank. "Now let's shake on it."
"Actually, I was thinking of a more festive way of sealing the deal." I jerk my head upwards. Frank looks up, and above our heads is a sprig of mistletoe.
"Oh, Miss Brownstone… you are really something." Frank smiles, his blue eyes shining. Then he leans in and kisses me softly.
Just as we kiss, Bing Crosby's 'White Christmas' abruptly gets cut off. There are gasps and murmurs from everyone in the room. I pull away from Frank and open my eyes – only to find the room in pitch darkness.
"Hey, what's going on?" someone cries.
"What the big idea!" another exclaims.
"Who turned out the…?" The person's sentence isn't finished due to the sound of rotor blades from above. The blades are so loud I can barely think. It's like the helicopter is directly above the yacht.
And I'm right – the lights come on, flooding the room with a bright, white glow. At the same time, there's a hissing, crackling sound, followed immediately by a cloud of smoke that covers the whole room.
Shouts, cries and coughs fill the air, the agents punching and pushing to stop what looks like a group of men dressed in black – with guns! – from taking them.
Frank pulls me against his chest, his arms tight around my waist, but someone stumbles backwards, knocking me and Frank over.
I scramble to my feet quickly before I get trampled on. I look around the smoked-filled room desperately trying to find Frank.
"Frank, where are you?" I choke. "Frank! Fra–!"
I feel a pair of arms go around me. I struggle the best I can as the person drags me backwards.
"Hey! Let go of me!" I yell. "Let me go, you bastard! Let me…"
The person claps his hand over my mouth, muffling my screams. I bite my assailant's hand.
"Ow!" the man cries out. I spin around and hit him in the stomach. The man falls to his knees, clutching himself. I lash out again – this time I kick him hard, right in the crotch. The man gasps and doubles over, trembling in pain.
Immediately after my assailant keels over, I feel great pain at the back of my head. It's as if someone went and clobbered my skull. Once again I'm correct – I sway, dropping to my knees and falling forwards.
I don't even remember hitting the floor.
xxoOoxx
I feel like a truck has run over my head when I begin to come around. When I open my eyes, everything is slightly blurry. I close them and open them again. My head is thumping when I try to sit up – only for someone to gently push me back down.
"Try and keep still. You took a nasty knock on the head," says a male voice.
"Is she awake?" another male voice asks.
Turning my head slightly to the right, I see Lenny and Blane – coming back into focus – kneeling down beside me, looking as though a great weight has been lifted from their backs.
"Hey there," says Lenny. "How are you feeling?"
"Like someone put rocks in my head," I groan. I sit up, propping my hands behind me on the floor. "What happened?"
"After the smoke grenades were thrown in, I instructed the others to get to safety and went looking for you and Frank. Through the smoke, I saw one of the men in a balaclava knock you out with the handle of his gun. I raced over there as quickly as I could – despite my hip – and knocked him out with my cane. Then I carried you to the cloakroom and waited until it was over."
"Whoa…" I breathe. I give him a smile. "Thanks, Lenny."
I start to get up. I feel a bit dizzy, but otherwise fine. Blane crooks his elbow with mine and with Lenny, we leave the cloakroom.
Everything is a lot brighter when we enter the reception room – supposedly from the flashlight feature from someone's phone. I blink several times so my eyes can readjust at the brightly-lit room. When my vision comes back into focus, I see that as well as the upper deck being brighter, it's also totally trashed.
"What the hell?" I murmur, shocked.
Tables and chairs have been flipped over. Refreshments spilled all over the floor. Drink puddles and smashed glasses on the bar and the floor. But the worst are the agents. Some of them have cuts and bruises. Others have it worse and have got split lips and black eyes, and are been treated by the bar staff or other agents who don't look like they are badly injured. Even Daisy is helping out. She's tending to one of the female agents, cleaning the small cut on the woman's forehead with a white cloth – probably from the bar.
Daisy spots me and she tells her female patient to place the cloth on her forehead to staunch the wound. Then Daisy walks over to me.
"Are you all right now, Jenny?" she asks.
"I'm fine – I think," I reply. "Is Frank OK?"
"You mean you haven't told her?" Daisy asks Lenny and Blane.
"Told me what?" I glance at the two. They don't say anything. "What is it?"
No reply.
Then I realize.
"He was taken, wasn't he?" I say quietly.
Blane, Daisy and Lenny nod.
I nod too. I had a feeling that would happen. I think back to yesterday when Frank told me he wouldn't let anything happen to me. I can imagine when that thug tried to drag me away, Frank tried to stop that man, only for him to be caught and taken away.
"Frank wasn't the only one who was taken," says Daisy. "Carrie, Oscar and several dozen agents on the boat are missing – including Director Fairchild."
"Can't we track them down? Find out where they are," I say.
"Way ahead of you, Jen. Rose is doing just that with her Spy-Pod," Blane replies.
Just as the words are out of his mouth, Rose walks over with a combined look on her face of annoyance, frustration and worry.
"I can't track anyone," she grumbles. "Their phones, Spy-Pods and communicators must be lying at the bottom of the River Thames."
"Well, that's just great," Daisy says sarcastically. "So what are we going to do?"
"Looks to me that we'll have to turn this boat around, return to MI9 and figure out where our missing agents are," I say.
"Don't forget about the men who gatecrashed the party," Blane adds.
"Hm. It's obvious that they are mercenaries hired by someone who has a grudge against MI9. We can find out who that is when we get to HQ."
"I'll have a word with the pilot," says Lenny. He heads out the door next to the cloakroom to the wheelhouse.
"I guess all we can do is wait now," says Rose. She takes a seat on the sofa. Blane, Daisy and I do the same as we wait for the boat to take us back to HQ.
As we do that, one question spring into my mind: how the hell can we track a group of people whose electrical equipment is lying at the bottom of the Thames? We could collect some DNA to find out where they are, but it's difficult to find out who's missing as the glasses are smashed to pieces. I suppose we'll have to wait until we get back to HQ. But that'll take forever. By the time we'll reach MI9, it will be far too late. If only there's a quicker way of using Frank's DNA to find him…
Then it hits me.
"Of course!" I exclaim. "I mean duh!"
"What? What? What is it?" cries Blane, startled by my outburst.
"Why didn't I think of this sooner?"
"Think of what?" Rose asks.
"What is it?" Daisy demands.
Ignoring the young agents, I stand up and hitch up my skirt, revealing a holder strapped to my thigh, giving everyone in the room an eyeful of it – especially the men!
Anyway, I pull out my watch communicator out of the holder. "We can call Zeke!" I declare, pulling down my skirt.
"Zeke?" says Rose.
"Who's Zeke?" chorus Blane and Daisy.
"Don't you see?" I tell Rose, ignoring Blane and Daisy, "If we call Zeke, he can get into MI9's database, download Frank's DNA information into one of the androids and they'll be able to locate him, Carrie, Oscar and everybody else!"
"Oh, my God, Jenny," Rose gasps, "that's genius!"
"Er, hello?" Daisy says impatiently. "I repeat, who's Zeke?"
"He's a former child prodigy and boy genius who trained me into becoming the Cat and he has a crush on Rose," I say in one breath as I contact him.
"He trained you into becoming the Cat?" Blane asks, just as Daisy says, "He has a crush on Rose?"
They're about to bombard me and Rose with questions, but I hush them so I can talk to Zeke – only to find the call has gone straight to voicemail.
"Hey. You've reached Zeke Williams. I'm probably busy doing Sudoku – or building an awesome time travelling device! So please leave your name, number, and a brief message, and I'll get back to you ASAP. Peace out."
BEEP!
"Hey, Zeke, it's Jenny," I say. "I hope you're enjoying Jamaica. Listen, we're in a bit of a pickle back in London. So, please please please call back as soon as you can. OK, bye." I hang up and sigh. "Once again, it appears we'll just have to wait." A thought occurs to me. "Speaking of which, how long does it take for Lenny to talk to the pilot?"
"Maybe he's busy untying the pilot," Blane suggests.
"Or maybe Lenny's starting up the boat," says Daisy.
I look out of the window. "But haven't you guys noticed? We haven't moved in the last five minutes. Something's wrong. I'm gonna find out what's happening. You guys wait here."
Risking frostbite, I head out to the outside deck. The fresh night air is a real shock to my face – as well as the rest of my body! I quickly enter the door to the wheelhouse adjacent to the door of the reception.
"Hey, Lenny," I say, closing the door behind me. "I'm just wondering what's with the hold…?" I trail off, my breath caught in my throat and my question answered.
The room is dark, but thanks (or no thanks) to the shimmering lights of London; the wheelhouse is illuminated in a dim, orange glow. And in the dimly-lit room, this is what I see. It's the pilot of the St Katherine. He's slumped in his swivel chair in the corner of the room. His face is slack and cold. He's sitting completely still, eyes open and staring. He's not breathing. He's not moving. He's dead.
There's a bullet hole in the middle of his chest. A dark puddle of blood has spread on his shirt.
"Oh, my God." My voice is a choked whisper. "He's… he's dead."
"I'm afraid he is, Jenny," I hear Lenny say.
I'm so fixated on the corpse, I forgot about Lenny. I turn to him. He's staring down at the control panels, but in the half-light I can see the serious look on his face that's also filled with concern and worry.
"And forgive my bluntness but the pilot is the least of our problems," he says.
"What do you mean by that?" I ask.
Lenny doesn't answer my question. He's still looking down at the controls. I go over to him to ask what he meant about his comment. But I stand stock still and see why.
It could be a second, a minute, an hour. Time's standing still, even though the timer is ticking away on the digital clock.
"Oh, fuck," is all I can say as I stare at the device that is putting me, Lenny and everybody on this yacht at risk.
A time-bomb.