Ms. Holiday opened the locker door and peered inside. “This won’t be so bad.” She squeezed into the tiny compartment and closed the door. When Brand opened it a moment later, she was gone.
Now it was his turn. But he was larger than Holiday and had an injured leg. He cursed quietly during the entire humiliating experience, praying some child would not walk out of a classroom and see the new janitor struggling to fit into a box half his size. When he was completely inside, Benjamin darted in with him, filling the tiny amount of space left over. Brand closed the door, plunging them into darkness.
“Cozy,” Benjamin chirped.
Brand grumbled. “File another request, Benjamin. Pronto.”
“Will do, boss.”
The locker was suddenly illuminated in green light, and a computerized voice said, “Identity scan. One moment, please. Identity confirmed. Director Alexander Brand. Prepare for delivery to the Playground.”
The floor beneath Brand vanished, and he tumbled down a narrow tube like some kind of secret agent Alice in Wonderland. He was right side up, then sideways, then diagonal, then upside down. There were blasts of bright light and frosty air, but they were brief and he was in the dark more often than not. He braced himself for an ugly crash, but then gusts of air as powerful as those of jet engines roared from below. Now he was no longer falling to his death but floating gently down, as delicately as a flower petal. He fluttered through a hole at the top of a huge glass dome and marveled at what he saw.
The dome’s walls acted as one enormous television screen, airing thousands of images from all over the world. Desks and tables, each covered with strange inventions and space-age weaponry, filled the floor of the dome. An army of lab coat–wearing scientists hovered over their projects like worker bees. Ms. Holiday watched as Brand floated down to join her. She was no longer wearing the pretty pink cardigan and gray skirt of a librarian but rather a formfitting black bodysuit with boots and a belt. It was then that Brand realized his own janitor’s uniform was gone, replaced with a sleek black tuxedo complete with a bow tie and cuff links.
When his feet touched ground, the wind stopped. “Well, that was different.”
“Welcome to the new Playground, agents,” Benjamin said, appearing from above. “Maintenance crews have kept the place quite tidy as we waited for our team to arrive in middle school, and our scientists have outfitted it with all the latest technology. My recent diagnostics have shown every system is fully operational and online, ready to be put to use saving the world.”
“And the head?” Brand didn’t care about gizmos and gadgets. He had one worry and it was a gigantic head—Heathcliff Hodges.
Benjamin twittered. “Heathcliff’s transfer to this facility went as planned two weeks ago. He is heavily sedated and safely secured in holding cell 4A. He is under constant medical and security surveillance to keep him from waking up and will remain that way until his condition can be reversed.”
Benjamin’s assurances did little to ease Brand’s mind. Heathcliff was dangerous and had been since the day Brand met the boy, who back then was known as Agent Choppers because of his enormous front teeth. He had the unique ability to draw attention to his teeth, and with the help of some hallucinogenic toothpaste, could bring any person or animal under his complete control.
But being a hero in secret was hard for the boy. Like most nerds, he was picked on and humiliated, and one day he decided he wanted revenge. He spiraled into a power-hungry maniac, with an endless stream of plans to take over the world, and soon he turned his back on the team and started a new life as a supervillain. Choppers became Simon, then Screwball, then Brainstorm—his identity changed with each new plan to conquer the world, which were all foiled by his former teammates. During a violent confrontation with the NERDS, his teeth were knocked out of his mouth, and he became obsessed with getting them back. What he got instead was a million times more dangerous—a brain with unlimited potential and a skull to match. His new mental strength had proved to be nearly impossible to stop, and it was only by luck that he had been captured and sedated. Heaven help the world if he woke up again.
“Keep me posted on his status at all times, Benjamin. He’s too dangerous and too clever to underestimate—even if he is asleep.”
“Will do, sir,” Benjamin clicked.
“Now, where is my team?” Brand asked. “I thought the kids would be down here first thing, exploring the place.”
“The children are on a mission,” Benjamin twittered.
“A mission?” Brand cried. “By whose authorization?”
“I have General Savage with an incoming message,” Benjamin said. “May I transfer it to the dome screen?”
Brand nodded, and in a flash the giant, meaty head of General Savage looked down on the spies. There were stories about the General’s toughness that would have made a professional wrestler wet his pants. Savage was even more intimidating as a hologram with a noggin over thirty feet tall.
“Hello, sir,” Brand said.
“Brand, Holiday. I trust you are settling in at your new headquarters.”
Just then, there was a huge explosion, and a team of security guards raced across the massive room with fire extinguishers. Smoke was drifting from flames that engulfed a workstation. One of the scientists was dancing around in a panic.
“It’s just like home, sir,” Brand said.
Savage had one eyebrow that spanned his forehead, and his eyes were sunk deep into his face. It often made him look as if he had no eyes at all, especially when he was concerned about something, as he was now. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to work out the kinks later, agents. We have a situation under way in Paris.”
Savage’s head was replaced by the image of a man dressed in a black trench coat. Attached to his coat were probably fifty ticking alarm clocks, and he had a smile that you didn’t need a psychiatric degree to call crazy.
“This joker is calling himself Captain Kapow.”
Brand rolled his eyes. It always seemed as if the bad guys they encountered had goofy names: the Savage Scooter, Monkey in the Middle, the Ant Queen, Mrs. Jeopardy, Oilslick, Commander Canine, Heat Miser. And who could forget Dr. Wind and his toxic fart-making machine? (Detroit would never be the same.) These fools spent so much time on their costumes and weird names that they neglected their master plans—which made stopping them a lot easier.
“But his plan is not so funny. He’s about to blow up half of Paris,” Savage growled. “I went there on my honeymoon. That would really ruin the photo album. So I scrambled your team, and the lunch lady has already delivered them to the scene. There was no time to wait.”
“The children are in Paris? Right now?” Ms. Holiday said.
Agent Brand was stunned. “General Savage, with all due respect, I direct this team. I know their strengths and weaknesses. The children need to be prepped and equipped with—”
“I didn’t intend to step on your toes, Brand, but this was an emergency. Our intel says that if the bombs aren’t deactivated in the next half hour, half of Paris will be in ruins.”
“Understood, sir. Who’s leading this mission?” Brand asked.
“The hyper one. What’s his name? The one who can lift a car over his head.”
“Flinch is on point?” Brand cried. He had never put Flinch in charge of anything. The boy was so high-strung and jumpy. Most of the time Brand couldn’t understand a word the kid said. Young Julio Escala had as much leadership experience as a roomful of excited puppies.
“Yes—Flinch. He and the team have located the bombs and are working on dismantling them as we speak,” the General said. “I’m turning the mission over to you now. I have the fullest confidence in your team.”
The dome went black, leaving Brand and Holiday alone, and stunned again.
“He put the hyper one in charge,” Brand said. “Heaven help Paris.”