Zeke Bartholomew Read Online Free PDF Page A

lip.
    â€œIs this a joke?” he said.
    â€œUm…no. No joke,” I said. I was getting nervous. Being Derek Lance wasn’t what I’d expected.
    â€œDon’t play stupid with us, Agent Lance.”
    â€œI’m not playing,” I said.
    â€œWe all know that the codes for SirEebro are numeric.”
    The codes for SirEebro were numeric. Of course they were.
    â€œAgent Lance,” one of the men in front said angrily, “what are you trying to pull?”
    â€œIs it about the money?” the man next to me said. “You’re being compensated quite handsomely for Operation Songbird.”
    Okay, it was time to end this charade. I didn’t know what Agent Derek Lance was involved in, but it didn’t seem like it would be too good for my Zeke Bartholomew.
    â€œIt’s not the money,” I said. “It’s just that I don’t have the codes.”
    â€œAgent Lance, we are not playing a game,” one of the men said, anger rising in his voice. “If you are unable to give us the codes, you are worthless to Mr. Le Carré. And since you know what the codes are being used for, since you know about Operation Songbird, and since so much and so many lives are at stake, if you cannot give us the codes, we cannot let you leave.”
    â€œIf you can’t give us the codes for SirEebro,” the agent next to me said coldly, “we have no choice but to kill you.”
    My heart hammered in my chest. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. Kill me? Lives at stake? Even if they believed I wasn’t Derek Lance, they’d already said too much. They wouldn’t let me live. Suddenly, playing Derek Lance wasn’t so much fun anymore. Suddenly, being a spy wasn’t such a glamorous idea.
    â€œWhat if I weren’t Agent Lance?” I said nervously. The driver laughed.
    â€œRight. We just happened to pick up a random kid standing in front of Derek Lance’s house. Besides, I’d recognize those sunglasses anywhere, Agent Lance.”
    Those stupid sunglasses! This didn’t sit too well. In fact, it really didn’t sit too well with my stomach. Then I remembered. The ipecac.
    â€œI think I’m going to be sick,” I moaned.
    â€œEnough games, Agent Lance,” the agent next to me said. “We’re not in the mood…”
    I leaned forward, pretended to cough, and quickly slipped the ipecac pill into my mouth. It lodged in my throat. Of course it did.
    â€œDo you have any water? Bit of a scratchy throat.”
    The agent next to me handed me a bottle of water. I drank it and felt the pill slip down into my belly. I smiled. It worked.
    Then my smile vanished. Within five seconds my stomach felt like it was rolling and pitching on the high seas. And this storm wasn’t about to end well.
    â€œOh, no,” I whimpered. “Spaghetti and meatballs…”
    Suddenly I lurched forward and puked up my spaghetti-and-meatball dinner all over the driver. He shrieked and lost control of the wheel. The sedan skidded across the road, the tires making an awful rubbery screech. I upchucked all over the three agents, who screamed and tried to dodge the mess. No such luck. I’d had a big dinner.
    Then I felt a huge jolt as the car slammed into something. Sparks flew up around us. My teeth rattled, and my shoulder slammed into the door hard, sending pain searing through my body. The seat belt kept me from being thrown into the windshield. Then we were spinning, around and around and around. If I hadn’t already puked, this spin cycle would have done it for sure.
    The four of us held on for dear life as the car rotated again and again, finally coming to a stop after about ten spins. I opened my eyes. The car was a complete mess. The agents were groggy, preoccupied with the grossness. This was my only chance.
    I unbuckled my seat belt, threw open the door, and ran out into the night. The car had stopped on the