The Ruby Redfort Collection: 4-6: Feed the Fear; Pick Your Poison; Blink and You Die

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HITCH:‘I wasn’t on vacation.’

RUBY:‘But you just said you were.’

HITCH:‘No I didn’t, you did.’

RUBY:‘Boy, have I missed small-talking to you. So where are we going?’

HITCH:‘Elevator.’

RUBY:‘You know I can’t leave, my dad won’t let me out of his sight.’

HITCH:‘I’ve cleared it, your father has entrusted me with your safety.’

RUBY:‘He clearly doesn’t know your safety record – so what are we doing?’

HITCH:‘I’m going to have a cup of coffee and you are going to be grilled.’

‘Huh?’

HITCH:‘Our boss, she wants to talk to you.’

To the outside world, Hitch was the Redforts’ household manager, but to the few in the know he was actually a highly trained Spectrum agent, living undercover at the Redfort home, stationed there to mentor and protect Ruby Redfort, Spectrum’s youngest recruit. Their boss was LB, head of Spectrum 8.

They took the elevator down to street level. It wasn’t the quickest ride since the building was an old one and the elevator cars were far from state of the art.

‘I thought I was on sick leave,’ said Ruby.

‘Not any more,’ said Hitch.

‘Anything going down at Spectrum?’ asked Ruby. ‘A new case?’ Ruby had been a Spectrum agent and expert code breaker since April, and in that time she had worked on three cases. All three had nearly got her killed. But then evading death sort of went with the territory.

‘Don’t ask me, I’m just the bozo driving the car,’ replied Hitch.

Ruby gave him a look, aware that if anyone was going to know anything then it was Hitch. But that said, there was no point trying to get him to talk; if he didn’t want to then he never would. That was the thing about Hitch: he kept his mouth shut.

SPECTRUM RULE 1: KEEP IT ZIPPED. He had to: as one of the highest-ranking agents at Spectrum 8, he was trusted with heavily classified information. He didn’t squeal for anything or anybody.

So how had a top-notch spy wound up working undercover as bodyguard to a thirteen-year-old kid? Hitch, for one, asked himself this question practically every day.

They strode out of the Sandwich Building to see a meter maid busy studying Hitch’s car.

Where to start? He was parked in a tow-zone, facing in the wrong direction, one of the wheels up on the sidewalk, the vehicle abandoned for twenty-one minutes. This was going to be one long ticket.

Hitch just raised an eyebrow. ‘Wait here kid.’

The meter maid had her hands on her hips, like she meant business. She looked ready for a fight, like she was thinking, Here he comes, another bozo who doesn’t want to take responsibility for his own dumb actions.

Hitch strolled over and the meter maid crossed her arms – a defensive move.

Hitch leaned against his car and began talking – well not so much talking as chatting. The meter maid shifted her weight and relaxed her arms so she now stood with one hand on her hip – was she actually smiling?

Man, you’re good, thought Ruby. Hitch could talk his way out of a maze.

The conversation, for that’s what it had become, went on for some time. What is he telling her?

The meter maid looked over to where Ruby stood, then she stuck her ticket pad back in her pocket. She laughed and nodded her head.

She raised an arm as if to high-five Hitch. He wasn’t the high-fiving type, Ruby knew that, so instead he gave her a kind of salute. Happy with that, the meter maid walked off whistling a merry tune.

Ruby climbed into the car. ‘What did you say to her?’

‘Just explained what a great kid you are,’ replied Hitch as he slid into the driver’s seat.

‘Yeah, right – apart from that?’ said Ruby.

‘I said I could get her courtside tickets to the Twinford Sneakers play-offs.’

‘And can you?’

‘Sure, the organiser is an old friend of mine.’

‘I thought you secret agents didn’t have friends?’

‘No, you’re thinking of tax inspectors,’ said Hitch, starting the engine. ‘I’ve got more friends than I can handle.’

‘Funny,’ said Ruby, ‘I’ve never met any of them.’

‘They’re all the shy and retiring type,’ said Hitch.

Ruby looked at him. ‘You sure they’re not the invisible, imaginary type?’

‘Oh, they’re just quiet,’ said Hitch. ‘A game of cards and an early night.’

‘Sounds like a hoot, wish I could meet ’em.’

‘Ah, you wouldn’t like ’em kid,’ said Hitch. ‘Not one of them has an interest in bubblegum.’