Free Confessions of a Teen Sleuth by Chelsea Cain Page B

secretaries, until we were face to face with
     a man sitting behind a massive walnut desk. He looked like a crazed yacht enthusiast: blue blazer, yachting cap, unlit pipe,
     grayishblond beard.
    "Your boss is a sea captain?" Bess inquired of Chris skeptically.
    The man rose from behind his desk, his face red and sweating. "What is the meaning of this?" he growled in a decidedly fake
     British accent.
    I stepped forward. "I am Nancy Drew," I explained, "and I demand to know what you want with my puppet."
    The man's angry expression melted immediately. "The Nancy Drew?" he asked.
    "Yes," I replied, flustered.
    He picked up a book and came rushing around the desk. "Will you sign a book for my granddaughter?"
    "Of course," I cooed, opening up a copy of The Hidden Staircase. To whom shall I sign it?
    "Katherine."
    "With a K?"
    "Yes."
    "What's going on?" broke in Chris.
    The man's face flushed again as he glared at the TEEN agent. "You mean to tell me that you don't know who Nancy Drew is?"
    Chris looked as if he was about to cry.
    "She is only the original teen sleuth. The prototype. The inspiration for this whole business."
    "They had teen sleuths in the twenties?" asked Chris, confused.
    Chris's boss ignored him and stepped forward, thrusting his hand out toward me. "I'm Q," he declared. His lips peeled in an
     effort to smile. "It is an honor and a pleasure, madam."
    I introduced Bess. She vamped nervously.
    "Now that we all know whom we're dealing with, Q," I continued, "how about telling me what exactly you and TEEN are up to?"
    "Of course," Q stated. "We traced the puppet from Leopoldville, the capital of the Belgian Congo. It was mailed by an associate
     of Patrice Lumumba's. Belgium, as I'm sure you know, is losing control of the Congo at an alarming rate. We suspect that the
     Belgians will grant the Congo independence this summer and that Lumumba will be elected prime minister. Because Lumumba has
     Communist ties, the CIA has an interest in transitioning control of the country to someone more"—he searched for the word—"amenable.
     We want to know why the puppet was sent and what significance it has."
    "What do you suggest?"
    "I plan to send Kingston One and Two here to the Congo with the puppet, where they will confront Lumumba."
    "But it's my puppet."
    "Surely you recognize the importance of this mission."
    "Of course." I took a step forward. "That is why I want to go," I declared confidently. "Send me, Mr. Q. Send me to the Congo."
    "What?" cried Chris and Bess in unison.
    Q's face lit up. "Fantastic! I was hoping you'd offer. A sleuth of your stature would be welcome. Of course you'll have to
     take Kingston One and Two here with you. It will be good training for them."
    Chris paled. "You want us to take orders from her?" he inquired, glancing over at me dubiously. "She's old."
    "I'm experienced," I corrected him.
    "What about me?" Bess asked. "Can I come?"
    "You must come!" I urged, already excited by the prospect of an international caper.
    Bess gazed seductively at Chris. "I so enjoy the company of young people," she purred.
    We flew with the puppet by military transport to Leopoldville. It was the middle of the night when we touched down. A red
     Jaguar was waiting in the airport parking lot with the keys in the ignition.
    "Shouldn't we have a jeep or something?" asked Bess.
    "I always drive a Jaguar," barked Chris. "We'll want to go straight to the meeting place," he added, shaking the wrinkles
     out of his suit jacket. "Give the boys a heads-up, Gerry—Geronimo."
    Geronimo nodded, expressionless. "Do you want me to use the wristwatch communicator or the radiotelephone, oh wise white man?"
    Chris sighed deeply. "Will you just stop it?" he demanded.
    "Injun so sorry, Kemo Sabe."
    "We'll talk about this later."
    "Red man very patient."
    "Stop it."
    "Come on, Nancy, let's you and I ride in back," suggested Bess. We got in the Jag and Chris took the wheel and Geronimo climbed
     into the passenger seat.
    Chris