Spy Penguins Series, Book 1 Read online

  Jackson’s mom sighed. “He was talking about how neat an observatory would look, but I didn’t think he was actually going to build one.” She pulled up outside the house and turned off the snowmobile engine, all thoughts of missing crests forgotten. “I hope he hasn’t put in a spiral staircase,” she muttered. “What if the egg falls down it?”

  “Hi, there!” Jackson’s dad appeared on the front porch with the egg (Jackson’s soon-to-be sibling) resting on his feet. “Wait until you see what I’ve done!” He beamed at them. “You’ll be able to see Jupiter tonight.”

  “Great,” Jackson’s mom muttered, grabbing her briefcase out of the trunk and setting off up the path to the front door. “Don’t suppose you had time to fix that leaky faucet in the bathroom?”

  “Oh.” Jackson’s dad frowned. “I forgot. Never mind. There’s always tomorrow.”

  Jackson’s mom bent down to tickle the egg. “Hi, honey.” It wriggled on Jackson’s dad’s toes. “I swear you got bigger today.” She smiled at the egg and gave it another tickle. “And you too, Lundy.” She patted Jackson’s dad’s tummy and grinned. “So what’s for dinner?” she asked, leading them all into the kitchen.

  “Well, me and the egg have gone with a space theme for tonight,” Jackson’s dad said, winking at Jackson. “Pluto pie.”

  “Awesome!” Jackson said.

  “It smells kind of like krill-and-potato pie,” his mom said, sniffing the air. “But whatever it is, I can’t wait. I am so hungry. I haven’t stopped all day. We got this new alarm system fitted and it kept going off and—”

  Jackson glanced at his mom. Great, she’s distracted. He slipped out of the kitchen and headed upstairs to the observatory. Maybe Dad’s installed an emergency exit up here, he thought as he crept up the spiral staircase leading to the glass dome. A rappelling rope outside the window, maybe, or an ice slide down the side of the house. Then I could sneak back downtown to save the fish without Mom seeing. “Wow,” he breathed, gazing through the glass. He couldn’t see an escape route, but it was such a cool view. Wonder if I can spot Quigley’s house from here. Maybe I could send him a message to come and help me get out. They’d practiced sending emergency Morse code messages to each other by shining their flashlights across Frostbite Ridge the previous summer. Maybe I could use the telescope to send Quigley an SOS. Jackson peered through the lens. “His place has to be around here somewhere— Ahhhh!” He jumped back as a terrifying, toothy face came into view. “What the—” He took a deep breath and dared himself to look again. “The shark at Coldfinger’s restaurant!” Coldfinger! Jackson felt his heart begin to roll like one of Finola’s drum solos. The restaurant would be opening soon. Think, 00Zero, he told himself. You need an escape plan, NOW! Somehow, he had to think of a way to get out of the house. But that meant getting over one big hurdle, a hurdle WAY scarier than Coldfinger.

  MOM!

  11

  “Finola!” Jackson’s mom frowned across the table at her daughter. “Can you stop tapping, please? No drumming while we’re eating.”

  Finola rolled her eyes and tucked her drumsticks into her crest.

  “So, tell me about your day,” Jackson’s mom said, passing the seaweed bread across to her daughter. “What did you do today?”

  “Nothing,” Finola mumbled. “Just hung out.”

  Jackson gulped. Any moment now his mom would ask him the same question.

  “You didn’t just hang out.” Jackson’s dad smiled at Finola. “You looked after this little guy for me.” He patted the egg, which was sitting on the table next to his plate. “It kept getting in the way when I was using the sledgehammer. Didn’t you, little one?” He tickled the egg and it wriggled back.

  Jackson’s mom sighed. “We talked about this, Lundy. You know it’s always a good idea to keep the egg WELL out of the way when you’re building.”

  “Sure, but the egg likes to see what I’m doing. It gets so excited when it sees the toolbox coming out. Maybe it’s going to be a builder like me.”

  Jackson sensed an opportunity to keep the conversation away from what he’d been doing today. He nudged his dad. “Maybe Quigley could make you an egg holder to fit inside your toolbox. He’s an ace at making gadgets.”

  Finola snorted. “If it’s anything like that Robo-Drumstick he made me buy from him, then the egg is doomed!”

  Jackson scowled at his sister.

  “What?” Finola scowled back. “That drumstick went nuts! It bashed my drums to a pulp. When I tried to stop it, it nearly took my head off. Quigley’s inventions are dangerous.”

  “You should see his cousin’s,” Jackson muttered.

  “And what’s with your crest?” Finola asked, staring at her little brother’s head. “It looks really lame.”

  Jackson tried to kick her under the table, but as usual her feet were out of reach. He glanced up and caught his mom staring at him—and his crest! Quick, 00Zero, he told himself, divert her attention before she finishes that mouthful of pie and can start asking questions again. “Err—maybe Quigley could come for a sleepover tonight?” Jackson asked his dad. “And we could talk to him about making you an egg holder.” Jackson crossed his flippers under the table. If Quigley came around for a sleepover, it would be so much easier to sneak off down to Coldfinger’s place. Of course, they’d still have to come up with an epic MDP (Mom Diversion Plan). But Quigley always had lots of ideas. Some of them were even sensible.

  “Sure.” Jackson’s dad nodded. “Perhaps Quigley will have some thoughts for my new flipper ball court, too. Did I tell you I’m planning to build one in the bathroom? I always get so bored in the tub.”

  But Jackson’s mom wasn’t listening to his dad’s plans. She was staring at Jackson. “I forgot; you never told me what happened to your crest,” she said, her eyes boring into his.

  Jackson gulped. This time there was no escape. “Well, you see—”

  Just at that moment the egg suddenly set off rolling down the length of the table, knocking over two water glasses and a bottle of brine sauce.

  “Wow!” Jackson’s dad jumped up. “Look, Marina!” he shouted to his wife. “The egg can roll! Oh, I’m so proud. It’s rolling already.”

  Jackson’s mom gave a little gasp as the egg picked up speed and thundered down the table, heading straight for the sheer drop-off at the end. “Stop it!” she cried. “It’s going to fall!”

  Quick as a flash, Jackson leaped up and launched himself across the table like he was diving for a flipper ball, catching the egg just in time.

  “Great save!” his dad roared. “Well played, son.”

  Jackson held up the egg like a flipper ball trophy while his dad cheered and whooped.

  “Thanks, Jackson,” his mom said, taking the egg out of his flippers. “Naughty, naughty egg,” she told it. “You’re very lucky to have a clever big brother to keep you safe.” She looked across the table at Jackson’s dad. “Now that it’s started rolling, you’ll have to build that playpen we talked about.”

  Jackson dad’s eyes lit up. “Ooo, yeah! What shape? I was thinking octagonal walls with a mini ice slide in the center.” He took out a pencil and began doodling a design on the tablecloth.

  “So—um—is it okay for Quigley to come over tonight?” Jackson asked. “For a sleepover?”

  “Sure,” his mom said, wiping brine off the egg’s shell. “Anything for my hero son.”

  “Oh, please!” Finola rolled her eyes.

  “You can call Quigley on my cell,” Jackson’s mom said, passing her icePhone over. “Just make sure his mom knows. Not like last time.”

  Jackson blushed. Two weeks before, he and Quigley had decided to test out their secret-agent survival skills by camping out in a snowstorm on Frostbite Ridge. Only they’d forgotten to tell their parents. Jackson’s mom had gotten the mountain rescue heli-hopper pilots to go out to find them.

  “Wait—I’ve got band practice tonight,” Finola moaned. “I don’t want loads of little hatchlings here.”<
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  But Jackson had already started tapping in his friend’s number. “Quigley? It’s me, Jackson. Want to come for a sleepover tonight?” He paused to listen. “Mom says you should check with your mom.” Jackson waited while Quigley went to ask, then moments later said, “Cool. Come over right away.” He lowered his voice and turned away so no one could hear. “We need to get down to Coldfinger’s place ASAP, so bring transport. Oh, and we’ll have to create the best MDP ever. Start thinking of ideas.”

  Jackson ended the call and stood for a moment lost in thought. His mom might be distracted with the egg right now, but in five minutes’ time she’d be back on his case again. And when Quigley arrived it would be even more dangerous. If his mom asked Quigley anything about their plans for the evening, he’d spill in seconds.

  “Jackson,” his mom called from across the kitchen. “Can you turn down the volume on my phone for me, please? I’m going to go put the egg down for a nap.”

  Jackson stared at the icePhone. An idea was starting to buzz in his brain. That’s it! he thought, the best MDP ever! He slipped his mom’s phone into his pocket and headed for his room. He had some urgent messages to send. All he had to do was get the timing right.

  12

  “Oh, hi, Quigley. Nice to see you again.” Jackson’s mom had beaten Jackson to the front door and Quigley was already squirming under her beady eye. “Your backpack looks kind of heavy,” she said. “Are you boys planning something special tonight?”

  Quigley blinked a few times. He swallowed hard and shuffled his feet. Jackson, who was lurking in the shadows behind his mom, gritted his beak and crossed his flippers. Please don’t cave in, he willed his buddy, but he could tell Quigley was already crumbling. The trouble was, Jackson’s mom had honesty magnets in her eyes. And even though he knew Quigley probably wanted to say, Not very much, thanks, Mrs. Rockflopper. Just the usual—playing a few computer games, maybe eating some rock corn, then an early night, what he started to say was “Well, we’re actually planning a really dangerous secret spy mission to rescue some stolen fish from a super-villain restaurant owner who might catch us and be so angry that she would probably put us in her deep-freeze refrigerated truck, where we could freeze to death. Thanks for asking.”

  But luckily Mom didn’t hear, because a loud PING had suddenly sounded behind her as a text message arrived on her icePhone, which was laying on the hall table. She swiveled around. “So loud! I’m sure I asked Jackson to turn the volume down. Excuse me, Quigley,” she added, hopping over to pick it up.

  Jackson emerged from the shadows and pulled his friend aside. He winked at him, then pointed to his mom.

  Quigley glanced at Jackson’s mom and back at Jackson again and shrugged. He obviously had no idea what was going on.

  “That’s odd,” Jackson’s mom said. “It’s a message from Doreen saying she’ll be here in five minutes.” She frowned. “I don’t remember arranging to meet up with Doreen.” Doreen was Jackson’s mom’s best friend. She was also the chattiest penguin on the planet.

  “Maybe you said something when we saw her in Webbs last week?” Jackson suggested.

  Webbs was the largest grocery store in Rookeryville. Jackson reckoned it wasn’t really a store at all, but instead just a club where parents could meet their buddies. Every time Jackson went there, he seemed to spend several eons just lounging against the shopping cart while his mom and dad chatted to one of their friends they’d just happened to bump into.

  Jackson’s mom nodded. “Maybe. But I’m sure I’d have remembered.” She shrugged. “Well, it will be nice to catch up.”

  Jackson smothered a smile.

  “But this place is such a mess!” She scooped up a pile of dirty socks Jackson’s dad had dropped earlier when he’d gotten distracted on the way to the laundry room.

  “We’ll help tidy up,” Jackson said.

  Ordinarily his mom’s deception detectors would have gone straight into full danger-alarm mode at the tiniest hint of Jackson offering to do chores, but she already had her head in the dishflipper, stacking plates.

  Jackson picked up a couple of coats that had been dumped on the floor. “Quigley, grab those boots and put them in the hall closet,” he said, nudging his friend and winking again. “No, no, not that closet,” he added as Quigley did as he was told. “Dad turned that one into a yoga room. The other one, farther down the hall. Watch out for the egg, though. It’s just started rolling, so it could be anywhere.”

  “Where’s the vacuum?” Jackson’s mom shouted. “Lundy! Have you been vacuuming up ice-brick dust again? Finola! Come and move your schoolbag. Oh, what a disaster this place is.”

  “We’ll clean.” Jackson shoved a cloth into Quigley’s flippers. “I’ll spray, you wipe,” he told his buddy, then under his breath he added: “This is all part of the plan. My best plan ever. Any minute now, things are going to get even more interesting—”

  No sooner were the words out of his beak than his mom’s icePhone pinged again, and again—and again!—as more and more texts arrived.

  “But how— I just don’t understand this,” she said as she scrolled through her messages. “Lundy!” she bellowed upstairs. “Mindy and Drake are on their way over, and they’re bringing their egg with them. We’ll need that playpen!” As she spoke, two more texts arrived. “What? Erin and Bruno are coming, too.” Jackson’s mom scrolled through more messages. “I don’t believe this. Carla, Angel, and Oscar are on their way over. So are Victor and Jeffrey. And Hank. And Humph and Marge, too?” She shook her head. “Everyone seems to think we’re having a party.” Suddenly she looked over at Jackson, her eyes narrowing, her beak tight. Jackson gulped. He tried to drag his gaze away, but his mom’s eyeballs seemed to be probing his brain. Has she figured it out? Please, no! But just then the doorbell rang and Jackson’s mom shuffled off to answer it.

  “Oh, I get it,” Quigley whispered. “You told your mom’s buddies that she was having a party so they’d come over and distract her. Wow! Neat trick. How did you do it?”

  “I sent a text to all her friends from her icePhone,” Jackson murmured. “Of course, I wiped the text as soon as I sent it. So there won’t be any evidence.”

  Quigley whistled in admiration. “Best MDP ever! Legendary proportions.”

  Jackson grinned. “Thanks, Secret Agent Q. But now we need to set up part two of the plan: the backup.”

  There always had to be a backup. The first rule of any FBI mission was to have a backup plan—an alternative entry route, a second getaway vehicle. Or just a safety net when paragliding down from the big tree and into Quigley’s bathroom window. (They’d learned the hard way about the need for that particular backup plan.) If Jackson’s mom figured out that he was attempting to distract her with a never-ending line of party guests, they’d need another scheme to buy them extra time.

  “These might help,” Quigley said as soon as they were safely in Jackson’s room. He pulled two pieces of black-and-white rubber out of his backpack, clicking a switch on the bottom of each. There was a hissing sound and they began to shake and then inflate.

  “Not more balloons?” Jackson groaned, remembering the sled crash.

  “Nah, not just balloons. It’s us, look!” Quigley beamed as the two rubber shapes began to turn into oversize sausage-shaped penguins. “I call them Inflata-Buddies. So you’re right; they are basically balloons, but I’ve modeled them to look like us. Then we prop them up next to your game console and drop the lights down real low, and if your mom puts her head in the door, she’ll think we’re safely in your room playing National League Flipper Ball.”

  Jackson frowned. “You think?”

  “Sure!” Quigley said. “That one looks just like you, see? Oh, and listen to this—” He flicked another switch under the Jackson Inflata-Buddy and a strange robotic voice said: “Awesome shot, Quigley! You are so good at National League Flipper Ball. Want some more rock corn?”

  “Um—okay,” Jackson said, trying to look enthusiastic.
He wasn’t 100 percent convinced his mom would be fooled. In fact, he wasn’t even 1 percent convinced. “What else have you got in here?” he asked, peering hopefully into Quigley’s backpack.

  “Well, there’s this.” Quigley pulled out a large coil of bendy wire connected to a small control box. “See, we attach this end here,” Quigley said, wrapping the wire around Jackson’s bedroom’s doorknob. “Then we unwind it all the way through your room, through your bedroom window, and around to the garbage cans outside, where we attach the end,” he said. “And if anyone tries to open your bedroom door, they will trigger the wire, which will knock over the garbage cans, creating a loud noise to distract them from coming into your room.” Quigley beamed. “What do you think?”

  Jackson actually thought that they’d better get a move on, because if Plan A failed and his mom came looking for them, they would be in major trouble, because Plan B sort of stunk. Like seal pee. Only worse. “I think it’s great,” Jackson said, crossing his flippers behind his back. He picked up the wire and his backpack. “Okay. Let’s do this!” Jackson opened his closet door and parted the clothes inside.

  “Whoa! A secret exit?” Quigley hopped with excitement. “I’ve got to get one of those.”

  “Well, it’s actually the door into my new movie room.” Jackson puffed up his chest proudly. “Only so far Dad’s just built the door. I think he’s forgotten about the actual room. But I don’t mind. A secret getaway door is WAY more useful for a secret agent, especially because Mom doesn’t know about it!”

  Once outside, they carefully unwound the wire all the way around to the garbage cans at the back of the house. As they headed back to the front, they heard laughter and voices. “Let’s take a look,” Jackson whispered.