Hamish X and the Hollow Mountain Read Online Free PDF Page B

skulls like bizarre multi-hued wigs. He sensed the presence of others, a silent multitude watching out in the darkness beyond the lights.
    A third face leaned in. He wore a surgical mask covering his mouth and nose suspended by strings looped around his prominent ears. The eyes behind the thick glasses were watery and bloodshot.
    Hamish X looked up into those eyes. “Help me,” he pleaded. It came out as a croak, his voice raw from the screaming. “Where’s my mother?”
    The third man, the boy assumed it was the Professor, opened his mouth. “I’m sorry—”
    Mr. Sweet cut him off. “He’s asking for his mother, Mr. Candy.”
    â€œFascinating. He doesn’t realize what has happened to him. Should we tell him?”
    â€œWhy bother? He’ll forget everything after we initiate the memory suppression therapy.”
    â€œMommy. I want my mommy,” Hamish X sobbed, a tear rolling down his cheek and into his ear.
    â€œYour mommy doesn’t want you.” Mr. Sweet leaned in close, his breath faintly metallic. “You’ve been a bad boy and gone out too far in the ocean. You didn’t stay close to the beach like she told you. You are no use to anyone but us …”
    â€œJust do the wipe!” The Professor’s voice broke into a sob. “Just do it.”
    Mr. Sweet and Mr. Candy exchanged a glance and nodded. Mr. Candy leaned in closer. The metallic stink of his breath washed over the boy’s face. “She gave you up.” Mr. Candy smiled, a hideous parody of kindness. “You have no mommy now. Except this one …”
    A beautiful female voice filled Hamish X’s head. “Hamish X. That is your name. I am Mother. Initiating memory suppression sequence.”
    Hamish tried to struggle but his whole body shut down. He felt a wave of nausea, and then darkness rolled over him.

Mr. Candy and Mr. Sweet
    â€œMister Defence Secretary,” Mr. Candy said, addressing the man at the far end of the table. “Are you telling me that the most sophisticated satellite reconnaissance system in the world cannot manage to detect one slow-moving aircraft?”
    The defence secretary, one of the most powerful men in the government of the most powerful country in the world, swallowed hard. He wasn’t used to being called to account, especially in his own bailiwick. 18 He looked down the long table, casting his eye over the generals, admirals, and colonels who were his advisers and who studiously avoided his gaze. At last, he gulped and cleared his throat. “Of course, we have been thorough but we have not tracked an object of the configuration you described, Mr. Candy.All our assets are being focused on the task but so far … nothing.”
    The Situation Room in the basement of the White House in Washington, D.C., is usually a very busy, noisy place. Today, it was tensely quiet. The sound of computers humming and the faint purr of phones served to underline the silence as Mr. Candy and Mr. Sweet stood at the end of the long table, tall and cadaverous as they stared down the collected commanders of the United States Armed Forces. On any given day these men and women could decide the fate of the world, move nations, command vast numbers of troops and a massive arsenal. Today they fidgeted like schoolchildren under the gaze of the mysterious Grey Agents.
    â€œGentlemen and ladies,” Mr. Sweet said, cocking his head to the side. “We have been of considerable assistance to the government of the United States over the years, providing our boundless mechanical and electronic expertise in return for your … cooperation. Now, at last, we need you to perform one simple task using the technology we have greatly assisted in providing. And you can’t seem to give us any satisfaction.”
    One of the younger generals, new to the job and appalled by the intrusion of these strange men into the hallowed corridors of