Mac Undercover Read online

  Jewels?” I gestured to the case full of treasures. “Also, I thought you said somebody had stolen the Crown Jewels.”

  “I did.”

  “But …”

  I gestured to the case again.

  “But what?”

  “But … there are a bunch of jewels here.”

  “Mac, there are one hundred and forty objects in the Crown Jewels. They weren’t all stolen.”

  “I see,” I said.

  I pulled out a notebook so I could take down a description. “So what was stolen?”

  “My spoon,” said the Queen.

  “Your what?”

  “My spoon,” said the Queen.

  I started laughing.

  I could tell from the Queen’s face that I shouldn’t laugh, so I stopped.

  The room was quiet.

  The Queen cleared her throat.

  I bowed again, just to be safe.

  Then I said, “Tell me more about this spoon.”

  “This spoon is quite special. It is used in the coronation of kings and queens. It is called,” said the Queen, “the Coronation Spoon.”

  “Good name,” I said.

  “The Coronation Spoon has been in the royal collection for more than eight hundred years.”

  “That’s an old spoon!” I said.

  “Indubitably,” said the Queen. “It is made of silver and covered in gold. It is engraved with leafy scrolls and the faces of monsters. Four freshwater pearls are mounted in its stem.”

  I wrote this down.

  “How big is it?” I asked.

  “It measures ten inches.”

  “That’s a long spoon!” I said.

  “Indubitably,” said the Queen.

  I set down my pencil. “Look, this seems like a very nice spoon—”

  “Indubitably,” said the Queen.

  “—but why the big fuss? It’s a spoon.”

  “I shall tell you a story,” said the Queen.

  “For more than one thousand years—”

  “Oh boy,” I said.

  “For more than one thousand years,” said the Queen, “there has been a king or queen on the throne of England. Except for a brief interregnum.”

  “Interregnum?” I said.

  “From the Latin,” said the Queen. “You do not speak Latin?”

  “I have an A in Spanish!” I said.

  “Hmmm,” said the Queen. “Inter meaning ‘in between.’ Regnum meaning ‘reign.’ Four hundred years ago, there was a little break between kings.”

  “Why?”

  “England had a civil war. One side fought for King Charles I, one side was against him. Things did not end well for the king.”

  “What happened?”

  “Regicide.”

  “Regicide?”

  The Queen sighed.

  “From the Latin. Reg meaning ‘king.’ Cide meaning ‘kill.’ ”

  “Regicide!” I said.

  “Yes,” said the Queen. “It is my least favorite type of ‘cide.’ ”

  “This is dark,” I said.

  “This is history,” said the Queen. “King Charles I was executed. For eleven years, England had no king. A man named Oliver Cromwell named himself Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Cromwell hated kings. He hated queens. And he hated fun. He shut down the theaters. He outlawed pretty dresses. Instead of feasting on Christmas, people fasted. If Game Boys had been invented, he would have taken those away too. A terrible man.”

  “But you just said video games are rubbish.”

  “There is a considerable difference between believing something is rubbish and believing it should not exist,” said the Queen. “Remember that.”

  I never forgot it.

  “It was like the whole country got grounded,” I said.

  “Indeed,” said the Queen. “Times were grim. For money, Cromwell melted the Crown Jewels. He sold off the gold, the silver, the gems to fill his own coffers. Every crown, every scepter, every sword was destroyed. Only one thing survived.”

  “The spoon,” I said.

  “The spoon,” said the Queen. “When King Charles II returned to the English throne, he ordered his goldsmiths and jewelers to remake the lost treasures. Some of those replicas stand behind you right now. And King Charles II tracked down the spoon, and when he was crowned, a bishop used it to pour oil on his hand.”

  “What?”

  “King and queen stuff,” said the Queen.

  “OK,” I said.

  “You asked why this spoon is so valuable,” said the Queen. “What do people want more than anything else? Tradition. This spoon may be only ten inches long, but it reaches all the way to England’s misty past, through times that were dark, and times that were glorious, and my goodness your handwriting is terrible.”

  I’d been writing all this down, and the Queen was now looking over my shoulder.

  “I’m working on that!” I said.

  “As you should be. What does that say?”

  “It says ‘glorious.’”

  “I can’t tell if that’s a ‘g’ or a ‘q.’ You need to put the little curve on the bottom of your stems.”

  “My mom always tells me that too,” I said.

  “She is right.”

  “OK,” I said. “Well, I’m going to search this place for clues.”

  “There is no need,” said the Queen. “I already know who took my spoon.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it the KGB?”

  “The KGB?” said the Queen.

  This seemed exactly like something the KGB would do.

  “No. It was not the KGB. It was the President of France. He left a note.”

  The Queen reached into her handbag and took out an envelope. She handed it to me, and I opened it.

  “Wow,” I said. “The President of France has terrible handwriting too! Some of these letters are backward!”

  “So what?” said the Queen.

  “So, even if I do have terrible handwriting, I could grow up to be president!”

  “Yes,” said the Queen. “Of France.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “Just read the letter,” said the Queen.

  “You stuck your tongue out at the President of France?” I said.

  “I thought his back was turned!” said the Queen.

  “Hmmm,” I said.

  “He was being rude!” she said.

  “OK … ,” I said.

  “In any case,” said the Queen, “I want you to take the hovercraft to France tonight and fetch my spoon.”

  “OK,” I said. “Do I get any spy gear?”

  “Spy gear?” asked the Queen.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Like James Bond.”

  The Queen sniffed.

  “Mac, James Bond is a made-up character in a made-up story. This is totally real life.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Right.”

  “Of course you get spy gear,” said the Queen.

  She reached into her giant handbag and removed a pair of what looked like ordinary sunglasses.

  “These may look like ordinary sunglasses, but they are in fact night-vision spectacles. Wear them and you can see in the dark.”

  “But won’t I look funny wearing sunglasses at night?” I said.

  “Not if you have confidence!” said the Queen. “Confidence!”

  She reached into her handbag again and pulled out a box.

  “This is a secret identity kit. You won’t be able to check into a hotel or drive a car if people think you’re a kid.”

  I opened the box.

  “Your name is Hugh Anthony Cregg III, and you are a piano tuner from Kalamazoo, Michigan. Got that?”

  “But aren’t I a little short to be an adult?”

  “Yes.” The Queen frowned. “I did expect you to be taller.”

  “I’m the shortest boy in my class,” I said.

  “Well,”
said the Queen. “Confidence! People probably won’t ask you about your height. It’s rude.”

  “OK,” I said.

  “Of course,” said the Queen, “there are a lot rude people in France. On the other hand, there are a lot of short people in France, so you should be all right.”

  “Hmmm,” I said.

  “Here is a top secret report on the President of France. It may contain information vital to your mission.”

  “But most of the words are blacked out.”

  “Yes. It’s redacted. The best information is always blacked out of top secret reports. It’s top secret.”

  “But this is unreadable,” I said.

  “Finally,” said the Queen, “I will loan you one of my dogs to take on your mission. You may select your favorite. Corgis, line up!”

  The Queen’s dogs stopped nipping one another’s tails and arranged themselves into a tidy line, shoulder to shoulder. I studied them carefully.

  “Are these dogs trained assassins?” I asked.

  “Of course not!” said the Queen. “How dreadful.”

  “Are they robots?” I asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said the Queen.

  “Then why are you giving me one?”

  “Loaning you one,” said the Queen. “The life of a spy is lonely. It’s nice to have company.”

  I pointed at a little dog on the end.

  “That one,” I said.

  “Freddie?” said the Queen. “But Freddie is a runt.”

  “That’s what everybody calls me at school!” I said.

  “Freddie?” said the Queen.

  “No! Runt!” I said.

  “Ah,” said the Queen.

  She picked up Freddie and placed him in my arms.

  He began licking my face.

  “No licking, Freddie,” said the Queen.

  Freddie kept licking.

  “Well,” said the Queen. “You’d better get going. The hovercraft leaves soon.”

  Freddie and I walked to the door. But I had one more question.

  “Just one more question,” I said.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” said the Queen.

  “How long do you think this mission will take?” I asked.

  “It will take as long as it takes,” said the Queen. “Why?”

  “It’s just that this weekend Derek Lafoy is having a karate birthday party.”

  The Queen gave me a serious look. “And were you invited to Derek Lafoy’s karate birthday party?” she asked.

  “No, but—”

  “Good luck on your mission,” said the Queen.

  The channel of water in the middle of England and France is called the English Channel. (Good name, if you’re English.)

  In 1066, William the Conqueror crossed the channel in a boat to take England’s crown.

  In 1989, I crossed the channel in a hovercraft so I could take back England’s spoon.

  In case you couldn’t tell, that’s me at the front of the hovercraft, in disguise.

  In this picture I am thinking: How can I get the President of France to give me back the Queen’s spoon?

  The salty air blew through my mustache.

  Seagulls cried.

  Freddie licked my ankle.

  By the time we reached France, I still had not thought up a plan.

  We took the train into Paris, where the President of France lives.

  I checked into a fancy hotel, using the name Hugh Anthony Cregg III.

  “And what is your dog’s name, monsieur?” the woman at the hotel desk.

  (Monsieur means “sir” in French. You can look it up. That, like the rest of the stuff in this book, is true.)

  “His name is Rockford,” I said, because Freddie looked like he might enjoy having a secret identity too.

  In a grand room overlooking a river, Freddie and I sat on a bed with many pillows.

  Some way, somehow, I had to get that spoon back.

  “Got any ideas, Freddie?” I asked.

  Freddie’s stomach growled.

  Then he licked a pillow.

  I picked up the phone and ordered room service.

  Ten minutes later a man arrived with two silver trays.

  (One for me, one for Freddie.)

  Five minutes after that, the phone rang.

  It was the Queen of England.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Hullo,” she said. “May I please speak to Mac?”

  “Speaking,” I said.

  “Wrong,” said the Queen. “You are traveling as Hugh Anthony Cregg III. Remember that.”

  “OK,” I said.

  “Now,” said the Queen, “what are you doing?”

  “I’m eating a cheeseburger,” I said.

  “Me too!” said the Queen. “Have you found my spoon?”

  “Well,” I said, “not yet.”

  “Mac,” said the Queen.

  “Hugh,” I said.

  “Hugh,” said the Queen, “I am not paying you to sit around eating cheeseburgers.”

  “You’re not paying me at all,” I said.

  “That’s beside the point,” said the Queen. “You are my secret agent! Get to work!”

  The line went dead.

  I ate a French fry.

  The phone rang again.

  “Hello, Your Majesty,” I said. “Hugh speaking.”

  “Mac.” The voice on the other line was muffled and deep. “Forget about the spoon. Go home.”

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  “Abandon this mission if you ever want to see your Game Boy again!”

  The line went dead.

  By now my fries were cold.

  I gave my plate to Freddie to lick.

  So the President of France had stolen my Game Boy too.

  I knew one thing for sure: I knew my mom was never going to buy me another Game Boy. She’d saved up for it. It was my Big Birthday Gift.

  I knew another thing for sure: I knew how I was going to get the Queen’s spoon back from the President of France.

  One more related thing I knew for sure: I also knew how I was going to get my Game Boy back from the President of France.

  If the President of France thought he could go around taking stuff, I would have to speak the only language he would understand. No, not French. I didn’t know French. I am talking about the language of taking stuff.

  Here was my plan: Since the President of France had taken something precious from the Queen (her priceless spoon) and from me (my brand-new Game Boy), I would take something precious from France.

  And then I would make a trade.

  Maybe you’re thinking this is stealing.

  Well, it’s not.

  Remember: My plan was to take something and then trade it back.

  That is more like borrowing.

  Maybe you’re thinking that borrowing involves asking for permission.

  OK. You have a point.

  But if you want stories of pure do-goodery, I suggest you read a different type of story, like Great Deeds of the Founding Fathers, or Kids Open a Rescue Shelter for Owls. This is a Secret Agent Story. And in the next chapter, I am going to break into a museum and steal a priceless work of art.

  This is the Louvre.

  It is one of the greatest museums in the world.

  Inside you will find many priceless works of art.

  The Seated Scribe

  (Good name.)

  The Lion with an Articulated Tail

  (Good name.)

  And this portrait of a woman named Lisa, which might be the most famous painting in the world.

  It’s called the Mona Lisa.

  (Good name.)

  Even the building itself is a work of art, one that people have been working on for more than four hundred years.

  In the 1500s, the King of France built this:

  In the 1800s, the Emperor of France added this:

  And in the 1980s, the President of France hired a man called I. M. Pei to add t
his:

  Today, most people love Pei’s pyramid. But when I was a kid, many people hated it. They thought a sleek glass shape looked silly next to all those old buildings. They thought it was too modern. They thought it was too new. They thought the President of France had built a monument to himself, like a pharaoh of Egypt.

  But I thought the pyramid was great. (I still do.) I thought it was great because I was a kid, and most kids like new things, because kids are new things too.

  I also thought it was great because I was a secret agent, and most secret agents like glass things, because glass is easy to break into.

  And so, late one night in 1989, I found myself perched on the side of I. M. Pei’s great glass pyramid, dressed in black, wearing sunglasses, with Freddie strapped to my back.

  Here is a step-by-step guide to breaking into the Louvre.

  Kids, you should not do this in real life.

  But I did. And here’s how.

  A STEP-BY-STEP GUIDE TO

  BREAKING INTO THE LOUVRE

  STEP ONE: I placed a bath mat I’d taken from the hotel tub on a pane of glass, suction cups down.

  STEP TWO: I pried a diamond off Freddie’s collar.

  STEP THREE: I said, “Thanks, Freddie.” Freddie licked my neck.

  STEP FOUR: Very carefully, I used the diamond to cut a large rectangular shape around the bath mat.

  STEP FIVE: I lifted the bath mat and a piece of glass with it. I said, “We’re in, Freddie.” He licked my neck again.

  STEP SIX: Using a rope made from sheets I’d also taken from the hotel, I lowered myself into the museum.

  STEP SEVEN: Now here’s where things get interesting. Freddie and I lorem ipsum down a flight of steps. lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum the guard house and lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum. lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lo ipsum. remsipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum sleeping lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem