WARNING: This chapter contains violence and racial language that may offend.

(Frank's POV)

I feel very woozy when I come round. Overly-bright lights blind me and my mouth wrenches open in a great gasp as I breathe air. I become fully conscious of a tearing sensation in my lungs. It rises like a whirlwind into my larynx and I begin to cough. I cough and cough, the noise of air rushing into my lungs is as loud as an express train thundering into a tunnel.

I feel someone lifting me into a seated position and stroking my back until the coughing subsides.

"It's all right, Frank. We've got you," a voice says.

"Take deep breathes, Frank. Deep breathes," someone else says.

I do what the person says and I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I keep doing it until I'm calm and I feel completely comfortable.

I open my eyes.

Two familiar faces gaze at me. They're all in a fog. I blink and slowly my vision readjusts itself. I recognize the two people in front of me.

"Oscar," I mumble. "Carrie."

"Hi, Frank," she says. "Glad you're still with us. You gave us a bit of a scare."

"Sorry," I whisper.

"You are feeling OK, though, right?" Oscar asks.

I nod. "So, how is everyone? Are they OK? How's Jen?"

Oscar and Carrie exchange worried looks.

"What?" I ask. "What is it?"

"Frank…" says Oscar, "Jenny's not here."

"You mean she was taken? Well, we need to find her! We need to track her phone or her communicator and we need to find out where she was taken to."

"No, Frank, I don't think you understand," says Carrie. "Jen is not here with us."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Jenny is back on the St Katherine with Rose, Blane, Daisy, Lenny and everybody else. Frank, we are the ones who were taken."

I look confused until Carrie and Oscar move away and I see the other captured agents in the room with us. There's about fifty of us in the room – Stark and Director Fairchild are among us – sitting on the floor, their wrists bound together with plastic zip ties. I look down at my hands to see that they're tied together.

"How did this happen?" I say.

"It was those guys," says Oscar, nodding over to the ten guards dressed head to toe in black militaristic uniforms, carrying machine guns.

Then I remember. The lights went out on the yacht and the room was filled with smoke. I tried to protect Jenny from the commando attack, but we got knocked over. I tried looking for her but someone wrapped their arm around my neck and was choking me until I passed out.

"It's all coming back to me now," I murmur. I also remember as I was drifting in and out of conscious the rush of cold air on my face, like I was riding on something fast – like a speedboat, and I remember being dragged and bundled into a van.

I nod, remembering how I got here.

Wherever here is.

I take another look at my new surroundings and notice that we are definitely not on the St Katherine anymore. We're in a very different location. It's a large, square room with three windows. There's a large boardroom table with chairs around it in the middle of the room, a large plasma screen, and a couple of prints on the wall.

I frown. I have a feeling that I've been here before. Then I suddenly realize.

"We're in MI9!" I burst out.

"Hey – no talking!" one of the men shouts, pointing his gun at me. Then he returns to his conversation with his colleagues.

"Oh my God, we're in MI9," I say again – this time, a bit more quietly.

"Yes. Yes, we are, Frank," says Oscar, with Carrie nodding in agreement.

"But… why? Why were we taken here?" I ask.

The door opens and a tall, blond man enters the room. He's dressed immaculately in a tailored black suit. He has two distinct scars on his face – one is underneath his left eye and the other is a thin scar that's running over his face from above the left eyebrow to the right cheek.

"Looks like you're about to get your answer," says Carrie.

The man stands before us.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" he says, "I'm Casper Phillips, and I… will be your host for the evening." He sets his eyes on Director Fairchild. He gives a thin smile and strides over to her. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Director General Francine Fairchild." Phillips stares into her eyes as he stoops down to her eye level, unable to hide the enjoyment of capturing her. "How awesome is this? I mean, come on, I know it's hard for you to admit it, 'cause it's like, you're not really in the best place – you don't have the perspective that you need – but honestly, how spectacular a move is this. That I'm here and you're like… that you're there? I mean what's up? I wanna talk to you, that's the sick part. Catch up and stuff, 'cause so much has happened in the last five years. I mean, you're still hiring spotty, hormonal, juvenile brats to protect the country" – he nods to Carrie and Oscar – "but other than that, this place hasn't changed very much. But you look a little older. Which is good, your hair's good."

Director Fairchild just stares at him. Not in the least bit amused. Phillips' look at the director slightly changes now. Some of the bluster starts to fade. There's an odd touch of vulnerability that starts to emerge.

"You know what the worst part is, being left for dead in Hepojoki? Frannie? Well… you'll learn the worst part. But hey, another part that sucks, especially when you're being held captive by Uttlandish soldiers, which was, like, basically my whole Hepojoki experience, is seeing guys you work with – guys you thought were harder than a diamond – tortured to death. That's no good. The part that was the most ironical for me, is that we'd done the damn job. We blew that chemical weapons facility to hell the first night we landed."

"Do you know this guy?" Oscar asks me quietly.

I shake my head. "But I do know the operation," I murmur in reply. "Back in 2008, Director Fairchild sent a team to Hepojoki to destroy the Nuxvar Chemical Weapons Storage Facility. There were complications… the team was captured by the Uttlandish."

Suddenly, Phillips' attitude shifts – to a confidence that says, "You know me, I'm a glass half-full kinda guy: if that chopper had been where the hell you know it should've been… my life would've taken a different direction. I'd be one of you guys right now. And the truth is? Right now? I'd rather be me."

"What… do you want?" Director Fairchild asks. Her voice is utterly cold.

Phillips stands up. "You know while I was being tortured, I was planning on how I would fix my revenge on you, Frannie. I've been planning on how to crush you and your pathetic little secret service agency. After I was released, I waited for months and months to get back at you. I waited until the time was right. And believe me, this is worth the wait. It's the one night of the year where you let your guard down – the office Christmas party. And it wasn't really that hard finding you – I had some help." He goes to the door and opens it. "Come in, Casey dear!"

A tall girl with short golden hair enters the room. She's dressed in an off-white gown with diamond jewellery. She's looking pale and nervous.

Director Fairchild recognizes her. "Agent Adams?"

"That's right, Frannie! It was sweet, little Agent Casey Adams who told me where you were," says Phillips, putting his arm around Casey's shoulders and squeezing. "Well done, kiddo!"

Casey remains quiet.

"Anyway," Phillips continues, walking up to Director Fairchild, "referring about your earlier question about what I want, there's only one thing that I want: the combination to the MI9 vault. Which only you have."

The director stares at Phillips for the longest time.

"There is not a chance in hell that I'm helping you with anything," she finally says.

I thought Phillips would get angry. But he just stares back at Director Fairchild, looking calm and understanding.

"OK. Cool," he says. "That's fine. You don't have to tell me right now. But you will… eventually." Phillips turns to his team. "Help the lady on her feet."

Two of the armed guards walk over to the director. They break her restrains and force her on her feet. Then, with a guard holding her on each side, they half-drag Director Fairchild across the room and force her to sit down on a chair that's placed in front. One of the guards takes out two zip ties and tightly fastens the director's wrist to the arms of the chair.

"They took us to their base in Jiotekridge," Phillips tells Director Fairchild. "After thirty-eight days of beatings they finally got around to interrogating me. Took me into a room – very simple. Purpose-built. I was tied to a chair – similar to how you are tied up right now. And they asked me questions about the Enigma Rebels. Wanted to know where they were keeping Uttlandish POW's. I told 'em I had no bloody idea. I was just a kid from Nottingham runnin' black-ops for Good Queen Bess. A British citizen. And if they didn't get their cabbage-swilling mugs out of mine, they were begging for an international incident. The senior Uttlandish soldier didn't want a piece of that action… so he had DoI – the Division of Investigation – to contact London through front and back channels.

"MI9 claimed they'd never heard of me." His eyes are ugly, filled with rage. "They denied all knowledge of any operative named Casper Phillips. So when that Uttlandish hung up the phone… he was so pissed off… so… insane with rage… he stabbed me under my left eye and sliced my face open with a combat knife…" Phillips opens his jacket to reveal a holster attached to his belt, and takes out a knife; razor sharp with a smooth edge. He holds it up to his face, his eyes gleaming. "Very similar to this." He takes a step closer to Director Fairchild. The blade flashes, catching light. "Imagine what this could do to that pretty face of yours… Frannie."

The edge of the blade is quivering in front of the director's face, a hair's breadth from her eye. The edge of the blade has actually nicks the skin of her cheek. A trickle of blood slides down her face.

"But…" Phillips yanks the knife away from her face and puts it away, "let's not run before we can walk. We have a long night ahead of us." He now has a bright smile on his face.

"You know there will be other people after me," says Director Fairchild.

"Oh, you mean the other agents we had to leave behind? I very much doubt that, sweetheart. Not with the early Christmas present I left them. It will literally blow them away."

My body tenses up.

"Even if they do deactivate the bomb," Phillips continues, "there's no way they'll be able to restart that floating bucket of a yacht, get here and get past the fifty strong commando operatives that I have stationed around the building, so" – he shrugs – "tough titties. Now… back to the business at hand. Give me the combination to the MI9 vault" – Phillips cracks his knuckles – "or I'm going to get very physical with you – and I don't mean the good, sexual way. And I promise you, Frannie… you don't want me to do that to you."

Director Fairchild clenches her fists. "Do your worst, Phillips. I'll never tell you anything."

"Have it your way, then," he says, and he back-hands her viciously across the face. Then he starts to beat and batter Director Fairchild while everybody in the room looks on.

But I can't bear to watch so I look away, hoping that Director Fairchild doesn't give in to Phillips' demand. At the same time I silently pray that someone on the St Katherine defuses the bomb that's on-board with them and rescues us from this madman.

This is going to be a long night.

(Jenny's POV)

"Oh my God," I whisper as I stare at the decreasing digital timer on the bomb. "Oh, my fucking God." I can barely breathe. "There's a freakin' bomb on the boat. What the hell are we going to do?"

At first, Lenny doesn't reply. He's still staring at the time-bomb. After a few seconds, he says, "First things thing: don't panic. We have to be calm and composed."

"I'm not panicked! Who's panicked? Nobody's panicked!" I say, panicking.

"Calm down. Now is not the time for fear. That can come later. Right now, we need to keep our heads clear and disarm the bomb. We've got plenty of time."

The digital readout on the timer ticks down to one minute.

"I really don't think sixty seconds is plenty of time, Lenny," I say nervously.

"Sometimes that's how long we need," he says. He hands me his cane. Then he digs into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and takes out a Swiss Multi-tool. He opens it up and slides out wire cutters. Next, Lenny carefully removes a panel under the timer. But our faces drop when we see that the five wires inside the bomb are all blue.

"You know, I'd like to take this opportunity to say that this is a very poorly designed bomb, and I think we should say something to somebody about it when we get back," I say.

"Looks like we'll have to guess," says Lenny. "We have to be extremely careful. If the wrong wire is cut, the bomb will explode instantly, killing us and everyone else on the St Katherine."

"No pressure then. Good luck, Lenny."

It's like Countdown now – we only have thirty seconds.

Lenny takes one huge breath and lets it out. "OK, Jenny," he begins, "pick a number between one and five."

"Oh crap," I whisper, staying perfectly still for a few seconds. "Uh… three!"

Lenny cuts the middle wire. "OK, my go. Five." He cuts the fifth wire. "Jenny?"

"Four."

Another wire is cut. The beeping sound is getting faster and angrier, letting us know that we only have fifteen seconds before we get instantly transported to the Pearly Gates in the sky.

"Only two more wires," says Lenny. He's deciding whether to cut the first wire first or the second wire.

My muscles tense as I wait for Lenny to cut a wire. Any wire. My heart is racing like a rabbit's, my pulse so loud in my ears, and my body is trembling.

Come on, Lenny! It's time to make an executive decision.

"Screw it," he mumbles and cuts the first wire. "OK – this is it."

My heart speeds up to a barely manageable pace as I shut my eyes tightly and grip onto the cane. I can feel my pulse throughout my body as the final beeps tick down. I really hope this works…

I hear the final wire being cut.

The beeping has stopped.

I wait for the explosion… but there isn't one.

There's no ka-boom. I don't feel my body burning on fire or torn apart.

There's nothing.

I open my eyes. I'm still in the wheelhouse of the yacht. I'm still standing in the same spot that I've been standing in for the last minute. I'm still in one piece. I look at the bomb and stare in disbelief at the timer. One second. That's the time remaining when the final wire was cut. One bloody second. I stare at Lenny. There's a feeling of reassurance and relaxation on his face to let me know that we did it – we disarmed the bomb.

I let out a whoosh of air. "Oh my God," I whisper. "Oh my bloody God – we did it. We defused the bomb. We're still in one piece."

"Yes. Yes, we're alive," says Lenny. He takes a step towards me and wraps his arms around me, and I can breathe again. "We're OK. We're going to be OK."

Thank God for that. Though I've got to admit as the final was being cut, I peed a little. But I don't tell Lenny that. He doesn't need to know that. No-one ever needs to know that.

I pull away. "We may be OK for now. But we still need to figure a way to locate Frank and the others and…" I say, but stop when a scream cuts through air.

It's coming from the next door. There's the sound of crashes and thumps. Lenny and I head out of the wheelhouse to the reception room to find out what the commotion is about.

There's chaos when we enter the room. Some of the agents – mostly the female agents, Blane and the injured agents – are standing by the cloakroom and the entrance that Lenny and I came through, while the male agents are in some sort of pile on the other side where the bar and dance floor is.

There are groans and grunts as punches shoot through the air before the men move to the sofas. Tables and chairs are being knocked down. Everyone is shouting at once.

"Enough!" Lenny yells, making me jump. Everyone stops shouting and stare at him. "Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on," he says, taking a few steps forward.

"We're sorry, Chairman Bicknall, sir," says one of the male agents. He's well built, and has brown hair and light brown eyes. He and the other agents move aside to reveal two men dressed in black full-body combat armour, panting heavily, seated on the sofa – their hands tied together. "We found these two hiding in the gents toilets. We dragged them out here, disarmed them of their combat equipment and tied them up. We were hoping they would tell us where Director Fairchild and the others were taken to, but… we didn't get that far."

It's not like the hired men will tell anyone anything. The agents were being too rough. What they need is someone to coax the two men into telling us where the other agents are. Someone who can use their attractiveness and wiles to take advantage of them…

And that's when I get an idea.

"Hey Lenny." I go up to him. "Let me have a crack at them. I think I could get them to talk."

"How?" he asks. At one raised eyebrow from me, Lenny's mouth forms a small O, indicating of how I'm going to get our two unwanted guests to talk. "Oh. Right. Well, you better, er, get on with it then."

"With pleasure," I say, taking off my engagement ring and handing it to Lenny. I run one hand through my hair, fluffing it up, and smooth my dress. I throw my hips back and forth as I cross the room to the sofa. "Take a breather, guys. I'm running this show now."

The agents look unsure, but they do what I tell them and move to other side of the room. I turn my attentions to the men on the sofa. One of them is of wide, muscular build, with a slightly tanned complexion, short dark brown hair that's neatly slicked back, blue eyes, and a square-shaped face with a strong jawline. The other man is younger and athletic-looking with spiky blonde hair and clear blue eyes.

"Hello, boys," I say in a sultry voice. "I apologize for those brutes being so rough with you. Those idiots will only think with their fists, not with their heads."

I turn around and bend over, my arse in the air. I pick up one of the overturned tables. I shake my arse from side to side before standing up and facing them again. I perch myself on the table and cross my legs. While sitting down I hike up my gold dress to expose my long curvaceous crossed legs.

I feel completely sick to the stomach as I do these actions because I'm faithful to Frank, but I have to do to get the information I need to find out where these jerks friends have kidnapped Frank, Director Fairchild and the other agents.

I mentally take a deep breath and continue with my charade. "You know… I'm really into muscular guys," I say, biting my lower lip, and shyly looking away. "Nothing turns me on more than startlingly buff men, with highly defined biceps and arms, broad chests, carved abdominal six-packs, and muscular backs."

I can imagine that the male agents have taken a leave of their senses and devolved into a steaming mass of drool, totally consumed by lust.

"Not only are you both handsome men looking strong and muscular," I continue, "but I bet you two are also extremely clever – clever enough to know where your friends have taken my boss and colleagues. So if you two were to tell me… maybe we can make a deal – make it worth your while. I could persuade my boss to… negotiate something with you two – in exchange for you helping me out. First-class plane tickets to any destination around the world, a huge mansion, a new car or boat… maybe even me." I lean forward, sticking my chest out a little. "So, come on, boys… what do you say?"

I wink at them – the icing on the cake.

There's silence in the room. Everyone – including myself – is waiting to see if the hired men will take the bait.

After a minute or so, the muscular, tanned man leans forward, his mouth twisted into a sneer.

"You must think we're a right couple of chumps," he says. "Do you really think we would fall for should a cheap and pathetic performance like that?"

"Er, excuse me?" I say, bemused.

"If you think that fluttering your eyelashes and showing your arse in front of our faces would get us to tell you where your friends are, then you are most foolish and empty-headed bimbo that's ever graced the planet since Kim Kardashian," says the athletic man.

"Besides, I'm not into trampy little jungle bunny hoes like you. So why don't you take your eight ball face out of mine and fly back home to Africa, you slutty black bitch!" says Muscle Man.

Everyone gasps. I'm stunned. I've never heard such offensive language like that. I mean I've been called many things, but for him to use ethnic slurs like that… that is unacceptable. I feel really shaken up.

Muscle Man sits back on the sofa with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, knowing that he has touched a very raw and very sensitive nerve.

"Are you OK, Jenny?" I hear Lenny ask me.

I can feel everyone looking at me, expecting me to fly at this racist c**t.

Instead, I say, "Yes. I'm… I'm fine."

I stand up and stroll over to the bar. I close my eyes and take few deep breaths. When I open my eyes again, I spot their utility belts on the counter. Attached to the side of the belt are holsters – with pistols. I take out one of the guns from the holster and study it. A Glock 26.

What to do? What to do?

I feel like there are two Jennys. There's one that wants to teach this racial bigot a lesson – as well as get the truth out of him. And the other wants to put the gun down, walk to the other side of the room and let someone else have a go on getting these dicks to talk.

As the Jenny twins argue it out, I heard the racialist brute utter, "What's wrong, darkie? I didn't hurt your feelings, did I?"

He and his spiky-haired friend burst out laughing.

I grip tightly onto the handle of the gun, my eyes dark with fury. Guess which Jenny twin won.

"No. No, you didn't hurt my feelings," I say, turning to the bigoted men with my hands behind my back. I make my way over to them. "However, you did piss me right off with those malicious words that spewed out that disgusting mouth of yours. I mean, seriously do you kiss your mother with that mouth? All I wanted to know was where your mercenary friends have taken my colleagues and you have to go and open the racist door. And since flirting with you didn't work, I'm now forced to go into plan B."

I produce the pistol from behind my back and point it at the brawny thug.

Shocked gasps echo around the room. I hear Daisy murmur, "Oh, my God."

"Either you tell me where my friends are, or it's going to get very messy for you," I say, staring the burly loot straight in the eyes, the gun aimed for his head, my finger on the trigger.

The thug looks at the barrel of the gun, he looks at me. He sniggers under his breath. "If you really think pointing a gun at my face will get me to tell you anything, then you must be stupid as well as tarty," he says. "Besides, you don't have the guts to shoot me."

My hand trembles. My eyes flicker. I look away and lower the gun.

"You know what, you're right – I can't shoot you," I say quietly. I can sense the dick smiling in an irritatingly conceited way. "But I can do this."

Holding the handle of the pistol, I hit the beefy bastard with an overhand strike from the side of the gun.

Startled gasps rise up in the room.

I pistol-whip Muscle Man a few more times, drawing a lot of blood with every blow. By the time I'm done with him, the muscular man is looking a lot worse than he really is. His face is covered with laceration marks. The blood is dripping from his face and mouth to his clothes.

Then the strangest thing happens. Rather than groaning in pain and telling me what he knows, Muscle Man throws back his slick back head and hoots with laughter. "You dizzy dame!" he says. "I've taken more hits in the face than a woman in an abusive relationship. Is that the best you can do, coon girl?"

"No." I cock the pistol; point the gun straight at his knee and fire.

Muscle Man cries out, a high-pitched scream of pain, as the bullet tears through his kneecap, leaving a hole the size of a marble in his knee. His face contorts with agony as the blood pours out of his knee.

"That is the best I can do," I say.

Everyone is shouting and crying out in surprise. "Jesus Christ!"

"Holy shit!" I heard Blane exclaim.

Even Muscle Man's athletic friend is screaming. "Oh, my God!" he cries. "Oh, my God! You crazy bitch! Are you insane?!"

I grab hold a fistful of Athletic Man's hair and smash his face down on the table, directly on the bridge of his nose.

The pop is loud, and he cries out and his head is thrown back as blood starts to gush down his face.

"I have had just about enough of you and your racist friend with the name-calling," I seethe. "I've tried being nice with you two but you throw it back in my face, so now I have resorted to violence." I lean closer to Athletic Man. "I could shoot you dead right now… but I'm willing to give you another chance." I pull away. "Like I said before, you are a very clever man. I'm giving you one more chance to tell me where your mercenary friends have taken my colleagues and who ordered you to. Because if you don't…" I place the gun between Athletic Man's legs, "the next bullet that leaves this gun will go into those two marbles between your legs that are probably shrinking its way back into your body right about now."

Big tears course down Athletic Man's cheeks, the blood now dripping off his chin. He looks so insignificant, so pathetic, so helpless.

A few seconds pass. It seems like an hour.

"Fine." I press the barrel on his groin.

"OK – it's Phillips! Phillips! His name is Casper Phillips!" Athletic Man sobs.

"Shut up, Sean!" Muscle Man says through clenched teeth – but Sean, a.k.a. Athletic Man, doesn't shut up.

"Phillips hired us to kidnap the head of MI9 and some of the agents as collateral damage so he could get her to give him the combination code to the vault."

"Combination code to the vault?" Lenny is now by my side. "You mean they're at MI9?"

Sean nods. "After he gets the code, Phillips plans on taking the most dangerous weapons stored in there to sale to the highest bidder…"

"And when he's done," Muscle Man butts in, "he's going to kill your boss and all your colleagues, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

He bursts into a mad laugh. He's really gone beyond pissing me off.

But before I can do anything about it, Lenny twirls his cane and uses the crook handle to whack Muscle Man on the head, instantly knocking him out.

I blink at Lenny, astonished.

"He was becoming ever so bothersome," he says. "You are OK, though, yeah?"

"Well, right now I am," I say, glancing to weeping Sean and the unconscious muscular man.

Lenny holds his hand out. "I think I'll take the gun, if you don't mind."

I hand him the pistol and he places it back on the counter of the bar. I turn to the agents. Some stand in stunned silence, while the others stare in amazement and admiration.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" I start. "I would like to… apologize for what you had to witness there. I really don't know what came over me. My mind went completely blank when I heard what that racist dick" – I sneer the words, as if it's poison in my mouth, a disgusting flavour I want to rid myself of – "was saying about me. And I just couldn't help myself. It was very unprofessional of me and I hope nothing like this ever happens again."

The agents nod in reassurance, but I know that some of them – particularly the ones of ethnic persuasion – want to shake my hand and buy me a drink. I can feel Lenny's hand on my shoulder and squeezing it, knowing that I am sorry and he has forgiven me.

"Anyway…" I rub my hands together, "this Casper Phillips guy. What's up with him? Who is he?"

"He was one of MI9's top agents," says one of the female agents, sporting a very short, silky blue party dress. "Five years ago, he was tasked by Director Fairchild to destroy a chemical weapons facility in Hepojoki, but was captured."

"And now it looks like he's hell-bent on exacting revenge on Director Fairchild," says Lenny.

"Well, it's obvious what our mission is," I say. "Head over to MI9, stop Phillips from accessing the vault and save our colleagues."

"And how exactly are we going to do that?" the dark-haired male agent asks. "None of us have gadgets or weapons on us."

"Because not all of us are going. I'll only need a small team – and when I say small, I mean…" I nod to Rose, Blane and Daisy.

"You mean us?" the trio say.

"You mean them?" the male agent says.

"Now, I know what you're thinking," I say. "They're just kids; they shouldn't be doing a mission as dangerous as this. But I have faith in them. I know that they'll do a fine job with this mission as you would. Besides, you're needed here. We need someone to drive the yacht back to the pier. Someone to attend to the injured, as well as the dining and kitchen staff downstairs, and we need someone to keep the Crybaby and the Giant Racist in check."

The agents look to each other.

"Well…" the male agent shrugs his shoulders, "when you put it like that, you've got a good point there. I'm certainly not going to argue with you on that. OK, I'll take a chance on the spy kids." He turns to the adult agents. "Come on, guys, let's get to work."

The agents get on with the tasks at hand as Rose, Blane and Daisy hurry over to me.

"Wow, Jen. Thanks for putting all your faith in us," says Blane.

"No problem," I say. "Got your Spy Watch, Rose?"

"You know it," she says, producing it from her clutch bag.

Strapping on my watch-communicator, I instantly change my outfit from my gold dress to a black skintight full-body jumpsuit with matching black chest plate with built-in thrusters on the back, and helmet. Rose does the same thing with her Spy Watch.

"Oh, wow!" says Daisy, mesmerized.

"That… is wicked!" says Blane.

"Thanks," I smile. "Now for you two." I position the watch-communicator in front of them and change their outfits to what Rose and I are wearing.

"This is so cool!" says Blane.

"Glad you like it," I say. "Now let's hotfoot it to MI9."

"Wait," says Rose. "Phillips may have set the place in lockdown – meaning we'll have no way in getting into the building."

"That's not strictly true," says Lenny. "It's rumoured that there's a secret entrance to MI9 underneath Lambeth Bridge."

"What – like a tunnel?" I ask.

Lenny nods.

"You mean we have to go through a sewer?" says Daisy, outraged and disgusted. "Ew!"

"I really don't think we have much of a choice," I tell her. "If we have to go through the sewer to save MI9, then that's what we'll have to do."

"There's something else you should know," says Lenny. "There are about ten pounds of C-4 strategically placed within the substructure of the building. Opening the vault will trigger that C-4 – all underground levels will collapse, burying any evidence that MI9 ever existed."

"Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse," says Blane.

"Then there's no time to waste!" I say. "Let's get over to MI9 and save the place."

"Good luck, team," says Lenny. "Also, Jen. Here." He hands me his Swiss Multi-tool. "And be careful."

I smile gratefully, and I lead the young spies out to the outside deck on the lower deck. The night air feels cold against my face. I soon sort the problem out by activating the helmet, covering my face with its clear visor. Rose, Daisy and Blane copy what I do.

"All right, spies, let's save MI9," I say.

On the left hand side of the suit, I press a large red button activating the suit's flight system. After the thrusters are fried up, the team and I take off in the night skies and fly over to MI9.