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  Max Remy Superspy 02: Spyforce Revealed

  ePub ISBN 9781742745077

  Random House Australia Pty Ltd

  Level 3, 10 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 206

  http://www.randomhouse.com.au

  Sydney New York Toronto

  London Auckland Johannesburg

  and agencies throughout the world

  First published in 2002

  Text copyright © Deborah Abela 2002

  Illustrations copyright © Jobi Murphy 2002

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  Abela, Deborah.

  Max Remy superspy. Part two: spyforce revealed.

  For children aged 9–12 years old.

  ISBN 174051 766 0.

  1. Spies - Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

  A823.4

  Photograph of the author by Todd Decker

  Cover and internal illustrations and design by Jobi Murphy

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Copyright

  Imprint Page

  Dedication

  Title Page

  What Happened Last Time

  Chapter 1: A Fountain of Youth in the Sky

  Chapter 2: A Mysterious Guest and an Official Invitation

  Chapter 3: Fire Drills and a Mad Strangler

  Chapter 4: Two-headed Princesses and a World Full of Strife

  Chapter 5: Bad Behaviour and a Holiday from Hell

  Chapter 6: Spit-firing Monsters and Holiday Salvation

  Chapter 7: Ralph Attack and a Dismantled Disaster

  Chapter 8: Vomit-inducing Love Songs, Alien Eyes and an Important Message

  Chapter 9: A Giant Windstorm and a Mysterious Landing

  Chapter 10: A Wild Ride

  Chapter 11: VARTs, Vibratrons and Spyforce!

  Chapter 12: Slimy Toadstools and a Wall of Goodness

  Chapter 13: SLOPPP!

  Chapter 14: Meeting the Chief and an Urgent Phone Call

  Chapter 15: Mission: Blue’s Foods

  Chapter 16: Agent 31

  Chapter 17: Meeting the Undercover Agent

  Chapter 18: A Terrible Doublecross

  Chapter 19: A Sticky End

  Chapter 20: Under the Moons of Mars

  Chapter 21: Back at Spyforce

  Chapter 22: Au Revoir Mindawarra

  About the Author

  Max Remy Series

  Jasper Zammit Series

  For Todd

  What Happened

  Last Time

  A letter from Max Remy, Superspy

  Okay, listen. I’m only going to say this once. Just in case you missed what happened last time. My name is Max Remy. I’m eleven, I live with my busy mother while my dad is a famous film director who lives in America with his young actress wife. I hate school, especially the slime- brained Toby Jennings who enjoys making my life a complete misery. To get away from him and the other jerks I have to share this planet with, I’ve invented Alex Crane, a secret spy who works for the international intelligence agency called Spyforce.

  The whole story started when I was parcelled off to the country last summer to stay with my hick aunt and uncle. But guess what? They weren’t the chicken farmers I thought they were, but world famous scientists working on a Time and Space Machine! Trouble was, to finish the machine, Ben needed to find his brother, Francis, whom he hadn’t spoken to in years because of a fight they had while working together in London.

  With my new friend Linden, I used the machine to travel to England where we found Ben’s brother but also met this evil guy, Mr Blue, who wanted to steal the Time and Space Machine for himself to use as part of his sinister schemes to rule the world. Soon, though, we ruined his plans and saved humanity from certain doom.

  But guess what? When we arrived back in Australia, we got a telegram from Spyforce thanking us for our bravery. From Spyforce! And I thought I’d just made them up.

  Anyway, that’s all I have time to tell you. Any other details, you’ll just have to read the first book.

  Now, let’s get on with the story.

  Alex looked out the open exit of the small twin-engine plane as it swooped above the dense treetops of the Amazon jungle. The thick canopy of green hurtled beneath them like an enormous ocean, each treetop another wave in a vast flurry that seemed to last forever. They were flying so close Alex was sure that if she ran a hand along the leaves, she could have scooped up the dew that was sprinkled over the jungle like a giant handful of liquid gold. She fixed her eyes on the landscape below and thought to herself, whoever was responsible for making the world was showing off when they made this part.

  Suddenly the plane lurched sideways as it struck a pocket of turbulence. Alex’s head hit the cold metal wall with a thud as the giant of a man who was in charge of the mission launched another tirade against the pilot.

  ‘Where’d you get your licence from? The back of a cereal box? My three-year-old nephew could fly this plane better than you. I’ve heard they’ve trained chimps that could outdo your aviation skills.’

  Alex was impressed. She’d been dealing with Blue’s thugs for years and ‘aviation’ was the longest word she’d ever heard from any of them.

  The pilot’s face remained unchanged. He’d heard all about this guy from the other pilots and had already filled his ears with cottonwool so that none of his cursing could filter through.

  The suited tough adjusted his seatbelt tighter around his waist before pulling out a floral handkerchief and wiping his brow. The short, fat guy sitting next to him stared.

  ‘Floral?’ he smirked.

  ‘It was a present from my daughter.’ The tough guy said it like a warning, his nerves making him more edgy than usual.

  He’d been nervous since the trip began and if Alex’s guess was right, the pilot was as skilled as they came and was getting great pleasure out of the occasional and ‘unexpected’ turbulence the plane was experiencing.

  Just then, the short, fat guy buried his head in his lap and filled another sickbag with vomit. Alex thought she saw the faintest of grins on the pilot’s face.

  She adjusted the miniature parachute on her back and crawled across the metal floor of the cargo plane between wooden crates that were stacked like bowling pins. Taking out her laser knife, she carefully broke the reinforced seals on a few of the crates before she found it. A small humidifier case that, if she was right, was packed with exactly what she was looking for and it was her job to get her hands on it before the case reached Blue.

  Alex had boarded the plane in a village called Manaus on the banks of the Amazon River. Well, not quite ‘boarded’. She ‘snuck on’ while Mr Blue’s thugs were busy working out new ways to yell at the locals who were about to fly them into the jungle’s deep and mysterious heart. On top of their fear of flying, the thugs were also nervous about their destination. It was said to have been cursed for an
y white person who entered. Stories had been told of only three known attempts to defy the curse and how each of the trespassers had been struck down by a hideous rash that slowly encrusted their skin before they slipped into a deep and fatal coma.

  Alex was taking a big risk going on this mission, but it was a risk worth taking in order to thwart Blue’s latest villainous operation. Blue had heard about an ancient plant that grew in the Amazon and had remained secret for thousands of years except to a few locals. The Tropaeolum majorium, or Fire of Life, was a small, innocent-looking plant with a large orange flower that when combined with a few other green leafy fronds and put through a precise fermentation process, produced an elixir to preserve life for eternity. A veritable fountain of youth. The locals who drank it had been alive for hundreds of years but no one looked over thirty years old. Anyone with half a brain, even a quarter of a brain with slight malfunctions, would know that the potion would revolutionise the world, but would also lead to massive overpopulation and, what’s worse, having to put up with Blue longer than any planet could bear.

  After finding out about the plant by some sneaky, covert scheming, Blue tricked a few locals into selling him the plant, paying them a fraction of what he stood to make. He also made a few grand promises he had no intention of honouring once he’d got what he wanted.

  Thump! The plane hit another air pocket as Alex carefully took the humidifying case from its crate. She knew she was holding something precious, something nature and history had protected for centuries and that if Blue got his hands on it, she was letting down all of that. She looked through the small, glass window in the side of the case and saw it: the leaves and the orange flower. She had to succeed.

  The plane hummed beneath them as she carefully placed the case in her backpack, secured the straps and crawled back to the exit hatch at the side of the plane. Checking her parachute one more time, she readied herself to unhook the rope that was strung across the exit, when the plane struck another jolt of turbulence. Alex lost her grip and was flung into the aisle of the plane in full view of Blue’s thugs. Their eyes only just managed to stay in their sockets. First from fear and then from the shock of seeing her.

  The bigger thug looked at the crates and saw they’d been tampered with. His eyes then slowly moved towards Alex like a shark silently swimming towards its next meal.

  ‘I think you might have something that belongs to us,’ he said in a voice dripping with quiet menace.

  Alex sprang towards the exit and in one smooth move, unhooked the rope. She stood on the edge, said a small prayer to whichever god may have been listening and jumped. But as she did, a strap on her backpack caught on a metal railing, leaving her dangling high above the trees. If she fell, it would mean certain and messy doom.

  The thug moved towards her like she was an annoying insect he was about to crush. A smile crept onto his lips. Alex struggled to release the strap but it was no good, with all her weight hanging from it, she’d never succeed.

  The thug curled one arm around the metal railing while the other held a knife ready to cut Alex free from the backpack and from the living world, leaving the plant to become the unfortunate property of Blue. He worked the blade across the straps as Alex looked down at her feet waving above the jungle and contemplated her possible last moments of life. Just then one strap was cut. Her body was flung sideways through the air and slammed into the plane. A small blue package jolted free from her pocket and silently grew smaller beneath her as it disappeared into the jungle. The thug, despite his fear of heights, laughed a measly, itchy laugh.

  ‘Bye-bye, Ms Crane. I doubt even you could save yourself this time.’

  Is this the end of Alex Crane? Will she free herself from the plane and Blue’s thugs? Will she be able to save the Tropaeolum majorium? Will she escape in time to

  ‘Aow!’

  Max rubbed the spot on her head where the small blue box crashed into it. It lay a few centimetres beyond her feet and was no doubt flung at her by some giant brainhead with nothing better to do with their intelligence than prove to the world they didn’t have any. She looked at the box and read the message on the side: ‘Personality delivery for Max Remy’. She rolled her eyes. It was a wonder the entire school didn’t self-combust from an overload of humour.

  Max scanned the school playground to see who the culprit might be.

  Suspects No 1, 2 and 3: Anthony, Richard and Andy. Also known as the Three Stinkos, not because they smelled, even though that was up for debate, but because they once let off a stink bomb during assembly when Veronica Preston was receiving her ‘Oh You Are So Great At Everything Award’. (Or something like that.) It was pretty funny, except the whole school had to stand in the hot sun as the stink got worse and listen to the principal lecture them on why the world would be a better place if they all liked each other. Why do adults do that when they know kids hate it?

  Suspect No 4: Russell Allen, or Suss Russ. He was a bit of a loner who spent a lot of his time doing weird things like arranging small pebbles on the ground to look like famous musicians. He’d then call kids over and say, ‘Guess which rock star that is?’ Some people said he collected other strange things too, like shoelaces, and that he even had one from some dead prime minister from the 1920s. Weird.

  Suspects No 5 and 6: Antonia Balldalucia and Brigita Stevenson. Max knew they didn’t like her since she accidentally spilt her chocolate milk all over them on the bus one hot afternoon. They never believed it wasn’t deliberate no matter how many times she said it. They just glared at her as the milk spread into long brown stains on their uniforms and looked oddly like a map of Italy. After the forty-minute bus trip, the maps had curdled and their walk home was accompanied by the cries of hungry cats. Max spent most of her time trying to avoid standing near them while she was holding any kind of liquid.

  Prime suspects: Toby Jennings and Co. There they were sitting on the steps of the main hall like they owned the place. All they needed were a few suits worn over some fat stomachs and they would have resembled overstuffed businessmen carving up the world like a Sunday roast. The first time she’d met them, she’d just arrived at Hollingdale (Max’s third new school in five years) and she made the mistake of accepting an apple they offered her. She thought they were just trying to be nice but when she took a bite, her teeth sank into the middle of a plump, unsuspecting and cleverly placed worm. Toby and his mates had dug a long, thin hole into the apple, slid the worm in and corked it up with a small piece of the fruit. Max had to rinse her mouth out for one hour with Mr Fayoud’s mouthwash before she started feeling normal again. Sometimes, out of nowhere, she still got the taste of worm in her mouth. These suspects were definitely not to be trusted. Ever.

  Other suspects: The rest of the playground.

  Max’s shoulders slumped. Anybody could have thrown the box.

  Just then the bell chimed its awful shopping centre drone. Like Tinkerbell caught in a time warp. Ms Peasley, the principal, had it installed rather than a clanging bell because she said it fostered a more harmonious school environment. She actually said that! Where do these people get these ideas from? It might as well have been signalling the end of civilisation, Max thought, as she prepared to face another two hours with some of the world’s undiscovered animal kingdom.

  After she’d packed away her lunchbox, she picked up the small blue box and tossed it in the closest bin before going to class.

  From:

  Max Remy

  To:

  [email protected]

  Subject:

  Things

  Dear Linden,

  Just got your email. Thanks! Everything here is pretty normal … normal for my life anyway. Toby topped the class again in science yesterday and you’d think he’d just won the Nobel Prize the way Mrs Grimshore was going on about it. Dad is still making that big film in LA. And get this! He was having lunch the other day when he met Steven Spielberg. He said he’s a nice guy, too. He doesn’t get a lot of time to a
nswer my email, but that’s okay. Dad’s always really busy. He sent me this great top that I’m wearing now. He has the best taste. Mum got this promotion which means she’s even more manic than ever, so most of the time she hardly even notices I’m here. Oh and she’s got this new obsession with wheatgrass. Every morning she grinds up this bunch of green grass and makes us both drink it. I’m not kidding. She grows it on the windowsill and it looks just like normal grass. I’m not sure what she thinks it’s going to do apart from make me gag and sprout small saplings from my tongue. She said she read that it will make us live longer or get younger or something. I’ll just ride this fad out until she finds another one. But she better make it quick, I don’t know how much more paddock food I can stomach.

  ‘Max, honey? It’s time for dinner.’

  Great! The food guru has just called. Maybe if I stay quiet, she’ll forget I’m here. She’s good at that. I’ve written another Alex adventure I’ll attach. See what you think. She is on assignment in the Amazon. Why can’t my life be like hers? Do you think Spyforce will ever contact us again? I still keep the telegram they sent us in my pocket. Mum put it through the wash once so it looks a little crumpled, but you can still read it.

  ‘Max? Did you hear me? Dinner is on the table.’

  Max sighed and stopped typing.

  ‘Coming!’

  Sorry Linden, gotta go. The wicked witch is calling. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Say hello to Ben and Eleanor for me.