The Inside Job Read Online Free PDF Page A

you.”
    â€œFine,” Otter said. “But hurry please. Like I said, we’re in a rush. I need to get this deposited before my son breaks anything else.” He waved an envelope—which we’d stuffed with clipped coupons, since we didn’t have hundreds of dollars—in the air. Leonie looked hurt on my behalf and then scurried away.
    â€œI can’t believe you broke her phone,” Otter said. “Really, Georgie. See if you can fix it.” No one could hear this, but it would be a decent show for the security officers if they were watching us. I rolled my eyes and fidgeted with the phone for a minute, then pulled on the cord. I lifted it to show Otter—and the security cameras—it was unplugged, and then circled Leonie’s desk. I jammed the phone cord back into its socket and, as I rose, snapped a picture of the computer screen. We didn’t have time to check it—there was no telling how close or far Markus Hastings’s desk was from Leonie’s. I made eye contact with Otter.
I’ve got the photo.
    Otter shoved his hands in his pockets, looking bored. We couldn’t just bolt for the door; it would attract attention. He waited another beat and then lifted his cell phone—which didn’t even work—to answer an imaginary call.
    â€œWhat? No! Tell the pilot we’ll be there momentarily. My god, I pay his salary—he’ll wait there all day if I wanthim to!” Otter grunted into the phone. He rolled his eyes, looked at the envelope of “money” in his hands, then at Leonie’s empty desk. “Fine, we’re on our way. Let’s move, kids,” he said to us as he stormed off. We followed behind, Kennedy still hopscotching. A few other bankers looked up as we stomped through the doors, but their faces said,
What a rich jerk
! rather than
Oh no, spies!
so I didn’t panic. I turned back to look just as Otter and Kennedy breezed through the door.
    There was Leonie, at the top of the staircase, with a man who I assumed was Markus Hastings. I couldn’t tell you a thing about his height or weight or even his hair, because in the split second our eyes met, all I really noticed was this: Markus Hastings looked terrified.
    And terrified people? They’re the most dangerous.

CHAPTER FOUR
    The place where we were staying in Geneva was really nice. This was pretty surprising, since we couldn’t exactly
pay
for a fancy hotel or anything. But apparently, Clatterbuck’s old spy days meant he and The League still
did
have contacts around the world. His contacts, however, were a little different than what I expected. When the SRS says it has contacts, they mean oil barons and CEOs and mob bosses. Clatterbuck’s contact? A farmer.
    Well, technically a horse breeder. Small horses. Or rather, (in French),
poneys.
    The miniature-horse breeder—a very old man and his wife—had a house on their property they rented out to travelers, and Clatterbuck secured it for us for three weeks. (“If all this SRS business takes longer than that, maybe we can offer to feed the horses to stay?”) Unfortunately, the oldcouple spoke only Romansh, which was the only language in Switzerland I
didn’t
know. Neither did Clatterbuck, so we made do with lots of smiling and thumbs-ups to convey our gratitude.
    â€œAnd how do you know them, again?” Otter asked. He was so amazed, I think he forgot to look irritated.
    â€œI had to go in disguise as a circus animal trainer once. They lent me the ponies,” Clatterbuck said. “I guess you could say we hit it off.”
    â€œBut . . . you don’t even speak the same language,” Beatrix said, shaking her head.
    â€œNo, but I brought them chocolate and made the bed when I left. It went a long way,” Clatterbuck said happily, like this explained everything. He turned and went into the house, leaving the rest of us outside, staring at the darkened