“Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s Miss Information.”

“Are you here to kill me?”

“Not today.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I’ll be honest. I fully intend to kill you and take control of the organization, but only when you are at the height of your power. At the moment, this evil empire of yours is heavy on evil, but coming up short in the empire department. Although it does have the necessary bones to grow into something that will control the world. On that day I will strike at you with the speed and viciousness of a king cobra, but until then I’ll bide my time.”

The Antagonist considered this proclamation. Everyone else who worked for him smiled to his face as they tried to slide a knife in his back. Miss Information was someone whose directness he could respect, even if he couldn’t tell whether her smile was wicked or sincere. He unlocked the door and found her on the other side—unarmed.

“Just so you know, one day I will push you into a pit filled with mutated spiders that will lay their eggs under your skin,” the Antagonist told her.

“And someday I will subject you to a horrible medical procedure that will make you my mindless cyborg,” she said. “You look tense. I mean … I bet you look tense under your mask. Sit down.”

He sat in his desk chair and she stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders and releasing the stress that had been building for days.

“You really need to take better care of yourself, boss,” she said. “Stress is not good for your heart. It raises your blood pressure, affects your sleep, and makes you prone to heart disease. I can’t have you die before I get a chance to kill you myself. If you want a book on how to calm down, I can recommend one.”

“Who are you?” he said, turning in his chair to face her.

The woman shook her head. “That would be telling, and besides, we have a bigger problem on our hands. It’s a henchman.”

The Antagonist gestured to all the bodies in his office. “It appears we have a situation with a lot of the henchmen.”

“Yes, they do seem eager to kill you, but this one is a bit different. His name is Dirk Trappings,” Miss Information said.

“Dirk Trappings? Which one is he?”

“We met him at the supermarket. He’s the one who locked his manager in the freezer and then forcefully conquered the cereal aisle.”

“Oh, yes. There were corn flakes everywhere. What has he done?”

“Well, he’s built a doomsday machine and he’s taken it to New York City,” she said.

The Antagonist was enraged. “IS EVERYONE IN THIS ORGANIZATION BUILDING A DOOMSDAY MACHINE?”

Miss Information shrugged.

“Are you building one, too?”

“Just a little one,” she replied sheepishly.

“What does Trappings’s machine do? I hope he’s not a repeat of that idiot Captain Kapow.”

“All we really know is that he’s now calling himself Mr. Miniature.”

The Antagonist sighed. “It’s official. I’m surrounded by crazy people.”

Flinch’s sneeze rocked his science class. Every face turned to see if the poor boy had accidentally blasted his brains out through his nostrils. He smiled and assured everyone he was OK. A moment later he heard Agent Brand’s urgent voice inside his head.

“I need the team in the Playground, now. Lunch lady, get the School Bus fueled and ready for a trip to New York City. Ms. Holiday, prep the agents for skydiving. We can’t land a rocket in midtown Manhattan.”

Just as he’d done a thousand times before, Flinch stood up and gathered his things. He was halfway to the door when he heard his teacher’s voice.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Reinhold said. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Flinch stopped in his tracks. What was he doing? He couldn’t just get up and walk out of a class anymore. He was so used to leaping into action after a big sneeze that he couldn’t help himself.

“Um, I have to go to the bathroom,” he stammered.

“There’s plenty of time between classes to use the bathroom,” Mrs. Reinhold said. “Please take your seat, Mr. Escala.”

Flinch knew that when an adult used your last name with Mr. or Ms. in front of it, they meant business. He slinked back to his chair and buried his head in a book. Once Mrs. Reinhold had stopped staring at him, he gave his nose a good squeeze so he could activate the two-way communication device. “I’m stuck,” he whispered.

“What do you mean you’re ‘stuck’?” Brand said. Flinch could hear the impatience in his voice.

“The teacher won’t let me go.”

“Mr. Escala, your job is to save the world. If you’re going to be a secret agent, you can’t let a sixth-grade science teacher get in your way.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Flinch asked.

“Find a way, Agent Flinch. You’re a spy. You’re supposed to be resourceful!”

“Maybe you guys should go without me. I mean, I did destroy Paris,” he whispered.

“GET DOWN HERE!” Brand shouted.

Flinch scanned the room. What would get him out of class? Hmmm … The fire alarm! Back at Nathan Hale Elementary, the fire alarm was used all the time to get out of classes. He turned the dial on his harness and felt the sugary energy rush through him. Like a bolt of lightning, he zipped out of his seat and down the hall toward the alarm—only to find Ms. Dove standing right next to it. He nearly slammed into her, but he managed to turn at the last second and race back to his seat in class. No one noticed he had been gone, but the blast of wind that followed him into the room sent papers and books flying in all directions.

He needed another plan. He could always just leave. At superspeed he could be gone before anyone knew it, but they would eventually notice there was no one in his seat, and that was a sure way to get another detention. He didn’t want to disappoint Mama Rosa again. He had to try to get permission to be excused.

“Mrs. Reinhold?” Flinch cried, waving his hand wildly.

The teacher turned to him with an angry look in her eye. “Yes, Mr. Escala?”

“I really need to use the bathroom. It’s an emergency.”

The angry look turned furious. “My answer is still no.”

“But if I don’t go now I’m going to—”

“NO!”

Brand’s voice rang in his ears, too. “Agent Flinch, the rest of the team is here. We need you now!”

Flinch growled. “I’m doing the best I can!”

Mrs. Reinhold marched down the aisle toward Flinch and stood over him. “Do we have a problem, Mr. Escala?” Flinch was so stressed he was shaking.

“Yes, we have a big problem. If you don’t let me go to the bathroom, I’m going to … to just go right here in my pants.”

The class erupted into laughter, but Mrs. Reinhold looked as if she had just discovered a mouse in her jar of mayonnaise.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Mrs. Reinhold said.

“Uh-oh, here it comes.”

The teacher stomped her foot. “Mr. Escala, take yourself to the office right now! Principal Dove can deal with you.”

Flinch grabbed his books and darted out of the room. Instead of heading to Ms. Dove’s office, he rounded the corner and leaped into Locker 41. A few seconds later, he was in the Playground and Ms. Holiday was helping him into his flight gear.

“I’m in trouble,” he said. “She sent me to the office, and I didn’t go. I’m going to be in detention until I’m an old man.”

Brand scowled. “I understand. That woman hounded me all day to clean up after the pack of mongrels she calls students. Have you ever had to scrape snot rockets off a library door? We will deal with her later.”

He and Ms. Holiday hurried Flinch to the School Bus docking bay, where the rest of the team waited. The bright yellow ship was lying on its side like a plane, and it had been modified to ride on two tracks that led into a dark tunnel. The lunch lady stood near the open hatch.