“Oh my God. A person’s head is likely to explode these days? Is it heat rays? I need a brandy, miss, upon my life.”

Chevie punched the last three numbers into her keypad. “You don’t need a brandy, Riley, you need an outhouse.”

“You are not in the wrong there,” agreed the boy. “It seems like a hundred years since I last went.”

Chevie held the phone to her ear. “Not that kind of outhouse.”

The FBI had several safe houses, apartments, and hotel rooms spread across London in case one of their agents got into hot water during an operation and needed a place to lie low and wait for the cavalry to gallop across from the U.S. embassy.

These safe houses were officially known as secure facilities, but the agents had referred to them as outhouses (out as in Officer Under Threat) since the term was popularized by a seventies spy series Double Trouble, starring the English actor Sir Olivier Gamgud and his faithful Yorkshire terrier.

The closest outhouse to Chevie’s location was a suite in the Garden Hotel, an understated boutique hotel on Monmouth Street where movie stars and models could be found enjoying the famous breakfast on any given morning. Bureau rumor had it that the section chief chose the Garden because of its proximity to the Monmouth Coffee Company café, which served arguably the best espresso outside São Paulo.

Chevie called the desk and asked for Waldo.

“Hello, this is Waldo,” said a deep voice. “How can I help you?”

Chevie spoke slowly, sticking to the code. Waldo was a notorious stickler for protocol and would hang up if she strayed from the correct wording.

“I would like to speak with my Uncle Sam, Waldo,” she said. “He’s in room one-seven-seven-six.”

Waldo was silent for so long that Chevie thought he might have disconnected.

“I’m sorry. What room did you say your Uncle Sam was in?”

Chevie fumed, and silently vowed to kick Waldo really hard somewhere soft at a later date. “I’m sorry, Waldo. My Uncle Sam is in room seventeen seventy-six.”

Another pause, but this time Chevie could hear a keyboard being tapped. “And what did you say your name was, miss?”

“My name is Chevron, but Uncle Sam has always called me...” Chevie crossed two fingers, hoping she had the right code name for today. “Spiderwick.”

“Spiderwick. Yes, I do have you on the visitors list.”

“Good. Great.”

“Your Uncle Sam is not in residence at the moment. Perhaps you would like to wait for him in the suite?”

“I would like to wait. We both would.”

More tapping. “Ah... both. The hotel has excellent facilities; would you care to make use of them while you are waiting?”

Chevie looked at Riley. “I think a wardrobe and some first aid are definitely needed.”

“Very good, Spiderwick. How soon can we expect you?”

Chevie checked the street. “ETA two minutes, Waldo.”