Free Confessions of a Teen Sleuth by Chelsea Cain Page A

agent?" I asked.
    "Actually I'm twenty. I work for TEEN, the Top-secret Education Espionage Network. We're so top secret the world won't even
     hear about us for another ten years!" He grinned affably. "I'm a sophomore at Kingston U."
    "Never heard of it."
    "It's Ivy League," Chris replied defensively.
    "Why are you following us?" I asked.
    "That's classified, I'm afraid."
    "What do you want?"
    "We want the puppet."
    Bess leaned forward. "I dig your skinny tie," she purred.
    Chris Cool's cheeks flushed. Though Bess was nearly fifty, she could easily pass for forty-five. "Thanks, ma'am."
    My head was spinning. How did he know about the puppet? Why was it so valuable? And what did it all have to do with my mother?
    "What does TEEN want with a Congolese puppet?" I stammered.
    Chris looked uncomfortable. "So you know it's Congolese?"
    "It's obvious to anyone who knows anything about sub Saharan folk puppetry," I answered smartly.
    "Both of you and the puppet are going to have to come with me," Chris ordered, brushing a blond forelock off his forehead
     in frustration.
    "Okay!" exclaimed Bess brightly, hopping out of the car.
    "If we come with you, will you explain what this is all about?" I asked.
    Chris sighed. "I'll do what I can," he promised.
    We left the station wagon in the parking lot and took Chris's Jag to the River Heights temporary TEEN headquarters, located
     in the basement of Wishing Well Shoes. The room was empty except for a small oak table and a dark-haired young man with high
     cheekbones and obsidian eyes. He stood when we entered.
    "This is my Apache Indian roommate, Geronimo Johnson," Chris announced, introducing us.
    "Your roommate?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
    Chris cleared his throat. "At school."
    Bess heaved a small sigh of relief.
    The Apache glanced at Chris with humor in his eyes. "You were just supposed to bring back the puppet, choonday."
    "They know it's Congolese," Chris explained.
    "So what's this all about?" I demanded steadily.
    "Better get TEEN Control on the phone, Gerry," Chris barked to his roommate, ignoring me.
    Chris's youth was charming, but his manners weren't. "I thought his name was Geronimo," I observed.
    Chris bit his lip. "It is Geronimo. Gerry for short."
    "You could try to be a little more respectful of his Apache heritage," I suggested.
    "I am respectful!" Chris exclaimed.
    Geronimo nodded thoughtfully. "You know, she's right," he agreed. "I do prefer my full name."
    "You've never said anything," Chris floundered.
    "You never asked."
    They stared at each other in stony silence.
    "So listen, what's the deal with the puppet?" I tried again.
    Chris sighed. "I just know that we're supposed to recover the item and report with it to the River Heights airport." He raised
     his head slightly. "It's a matter of extreme international importance."
    Bess slid next to Chris, pressing her ample, if slightly sagging, bosom against his chest. "So, if you're twenty, when do
     they let you join the real CIA?"
    Chris took a small step back. "TEEN is a unit of the CIA, ma'am. And it is an honor to serve my country as a TEEN operative."
    "I'm sure it is," Bess whispered huskily.
    "I demand that we be taken to your leader," I announced.
    "Excuse me?" Chris's eyebrows shot up in alarm.
    "Your boss. The head honcho. The big enchilada. I am a citizen and my personal property has been confiscated and I want to
     speak to the man in charge."
    Chris swallowed hard. "Please, ma'am."
    "I am Nancy Drew," I declared, "and I smell a mystery." My blue eyes flashed. I may have been middle-aged, but I was still
     a teen sleuth at heart. "About such things I am never wrong."
    TEEN HQ was located on a secret floor of the Luxury Motors Building on Broadway and Fifty-sixth Street in Manhattan. We flew
     to New York, where we picked up another black Jag and drove to the building's service garage. Chris and Geronimo led us through
     several checkpoints, past several men with submachine guns and several pretty