Blink and You Die. Lauren Child

corridor. She moved away from the table and listened, but whoever it was walked right on by. She continued to peruse Froghorn’s papers. There was a whole hand-written list of what must be ideas for locking devices: swipe card, iris lock, thumbprint, keypad, image lock, bolt key, 5 key, pressure key, voice key.

      It rather looked like he had been working on some sort of multi-coded security system, because there was a diagram which was basically three squares arranged like an upside-down L, with letters and numbers marked at particular intervals, and to the side of each of the blocks: E1 E2 E3. In the middle of the third square he had written FC1 FC2 FC3. Next to these were six small pieces of coloured paper; each one was labelled with one of the sets of letters on the diagram, E1, E2, E3 etc., and on each paper was written a word or words, some crossed out, some replaced. E1, for example, said: MUSCA. E2: SWAT; E3: TRANSMISSION, F1: THE SPECTRUM. FC2 said: ROTOR MACHINE and then this was crossed out and had been replaced with CHROMATIC. FC3 was just a?

      It looked as if he had been trying to figure out the best method of securing each part of a building, or series of rooms.

      There was a beep on Ruby’s watch and she very nearly jumped out of her skin. A YELLOW FLY, meaning ATTENTION! A message flashed across the screen.

       HUGE MISTAKE, I MEANT TO SAY MEET ME IN FROGHORN’S OFFICE! IF YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE MADE IT INTO HIS CODING ROOM THEN GET OUT!

       PS MEETING CANCELLED.

      Ruby did as instructed and got out of there quick, just in time as it turned out, because as she speed-walked along the corridor she ran into Froghorn coming the other way.

      ‘Oh, you’re back,’ he said slowly, drawing the words out as if he’d just found something unpleasant on the underside of his shoe.

      ‘Hey, Froghorn,’ she said, deliberately ignoring the silent G so the word ‘Frog’ sounded out very clearly. His irritation could not be missed.

      ‘What a shame, did kiddie camp not work out for you?’

      ‘Genius Camp, you mean?’ said Ruby. ‘Yes, that was fun, but you know what they say, too much fun can get you bored, so I guess it’s good to run into you.’

      ‘I thought it was going to be a bad day,’ said Froghorn. ‘Viridian days are always a total drag.’

      ‘What are you bleating on about – viridian days? Jeepers, Froghorn, maybe you need to leave the building for an hour or two.’

      ‘I would if there was anyone who could possibly handle my job, but since we lost Lopez we’ve had a tough job recruiting anyone with half a brain.’

      ‘I’m surprised you didn’t bring up Bradley Baker again, you guys seem to think the sun shone out of him.’

      ‘The sun did shine out of him,’ said Froghorn. ‘That’s exactly it, he was a sun ray. And even though he’s dead and gone to grey he never was and never will be some pale imitation of an agent, some little girl living a little pastel-pink life.’

      ‘Boy, Froghorn, that’s a very colourful picture you paint. So if you’re saying Baker was sunshine yellow and I’m insipid pink – which, by the way, I take great exception to – then what are you? Potato-head beige?’

      ‘I’m someone authorised to be here, what are you? Some little girl who needs to go back to school?’ He checked his watch theatrically.

      ‘No one said that about Bradley Baker and wasn’t he just some little kid when he started out?’ said Ruby. Her comment had the desired effect.

      ‘Bradley Baker was never just some little kid. He was extraordinary, a talent the like of which we will never see again.’

      ‘What is it with you guys and Bradley Baker? I’ve yet to hear one actual thing which makes this bozo so different from anyone else.’

      Froghorn stepped back like he’d been slapped. ‘What?’ he said.

      RUBY: ‘You people talk about him like he’s some kinda super-agent, but he took orders same as you, same as me, same as every agent in this building.’

      FROGHORN: ‘Baker took orders because it was his job to take orders. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t capable of making his own decisions.’

      RUBY: ‘So you’re saying he did make his own decisions?’

       FROGHORN: ‘Of course he did, he was highly qualified, lived by his own rules.’

       RUBY: ‘So he was a maverick, a renegade … took authority into his own hands, that sorta thing?’

       FROGHORN: ‘No! That’s not what I’m saying, not at all! He never did anything to undermine the agency.’

      RUBY: ‘I don’t get it, now you’re telling me he was a zip-it and toe-the-line type of a guy? Make your mind up, Froghorn, either he had guts and initiative or he was just another listen-up-and-do-as-you’re-told team player.’

      FROGHORN: ‘The sheer magnitude of what you don’t know about Agent Baker’s guts and heroism would fill this atrium. Baker was an agent in a million.’

       RUBY (YAWNING): ‘Yeah, right, so everyone keeps telling me, but it all sounds like a lot of hot air if you want my opinion.’

      FROGHORN: ‘No one wants your opinion.’

      RUBY: ‘Yeah, and why is that? I’m guessing because no one is tough enough to hear the truth.’

       FROGHORN: ‘And what is that “truth”?’

      RUBY: ‘Simply that there are other agents just as talented as him.’

      Froghorn narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you actually suggesting that you are even close to being in the same league as Agent Baker?’

      Ruby made a face to suggest, maybe she was. Froghorn’s reaction was as she’d hoped – very gabby. ‘Come with me,’ he said.

      ‘Where are we going?’ They were heading in the opposite direction now and Ruby had a job to keep pace with him. When he reached his office he opened the door and waved her in with an irritated gesture.

      Her visits to this room were rare and usually very brief, so it wasn’t perhaps so surprising that she had never before noticed how everything was colour-coded, and not just in a Spectrum way, but in a Froghorn way. His calendar for instance: Mondays green, viridian green, Tuesdays yellow. December dark blue.

      Froghorn looked like he was wearing a brand-new suit. It was ever so slightly shiny and he had a new shiny steel pen to match; it was attached to a silver cord which hung around his neck. Who does that? she thought. Who actually wears a pen? OK, Mrs Drisco does, but she’s Mrs Drisco, what else would you expect? But this guy should know better. Boy, is he ever a potato head.

      FROGHORN: ‘You think that cracking a five-way-thought code which led us to prevent the leaking of secret government dossiers isn’t of value?’

       RUBY: ‘Of course it’s of value, I’m just saying, is it remarkable? I mean he was a code cracker, right, so wouldn’t that be all in a day’s work to someone of his agent rank?’

      FROGHORN: ‘So how about confronting the Count when he was a junior agent, getting up close and personal with this monster and