The Spy

The fifth clue. He pulled out the plain paper and read the message.

Everything will fail unless you say the word related to open sesame exactly correctly. It behoves me to remind you that I can't tell you the word, nor will I in the face of any amount of undue pressure you may apply towards me. Of course, it would be hard for you to do since you don't know who I am and since I live in a place you cannot go to.

Best of luck to you, old chap.

Tom read the clue a couple more times, then glued the plain paper into his diary. He thought about the trick used in the fourth clue with the word "between."

Something similar could be happening here.

Everything will fail unless you say the word related to open sesame exactly correctly.

Say the word related to open sesame correctly. Could "exactly correctly" be the word related to open sesame? Tom thought it would be really dumb if that were the answer; plus, he'd been told the first letter from M.S. would reveal the special words, not one of the later clues.

Tom closed the book, frustrated. This new message told him nothing he didn't already know, only that he had to say something specific when the day came, something related to open sesame. Other than that, M.S. just seemed to be rubbing it in that he wouldn't tell Tom what the word was—blah, blah, blah.

Disappointed, wondering if he was missing something obvious and still baffled at how the letter had gotten into the clothes, Tom went downstairs and e-mailed Hana about the fifth clue. Knowing she probably wouldn't respond for awhile, he joined his dad in the kitchen, sharing the news as he started snacking on everything in sight.

                                          ~

Hana wrote him back that night, which would have been early the next morning in her time. His heart lifted when he saw her name in the inbox, and he quickly clicked on the message.

Dear Tom,

        I got the fifth clue, too. It doesn't say much, does it? I think your idea that the word related to open sesame is "exactly correctly" is just what you say. Stupid. No way, that's too simple.

I'm sure you're excited about the big trip to Alsace with your dad. You'll probably get lost and eaten by a brown bear. Your funeral will have the coffin closed because all that will be left is your right pinky finger. Just kidding. I hope you escape alive.

I thought I saw a man spying on me yesterday. He looked mean, but disappeared before I got a look. Not good.

Have a good time in France. Write to me as soon as you return.

  Sayōnara, 

     Hana.

Tom reread the sentences about the man spying on her. Hana threw that in like she was telling him she'd bought a new pair of socks. If some creepy looking dude was watching her, chances were he'd be coming after Tom next. Unless someone was already spying on Tom and he hadn't noticed. He felt the familiar shiver of fear run up and down his spine, once again reminding him that this M.S. mystery business wasn't all fun and games.

He wrote a quick note back to Hana, telling her to be careful and that he'd write her again the second he got back from Alsace. He was just about to log off when he heard the notification sound of his email program. When the new email popped up, Tom felt like an icy fist had smashed his heart into pulp.

FROM: THE GHOST

    Subject: (no subject)

His stomach turning sour, Tom clicked on the email. It had only one line of text.

We'll see you in Alsace.

                                      ~

Two days later, Tom and his dad sat in their seats on the airplane, thirty thousand feet in the air, soda and stale pretzels making them look forward to a much better meal once they landed in Haguenau. Tom sat by the window, his dad's oversized body wedged into the aisle seat like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon stuffed into the back of a pickup truck. The steady roar of the plane's engines made Tom feel like his ears were stuffed with cotton.

The two of them had discussed the fifth clue and the strange email from "Ghost" many times over, with no progress. Tom didn't know who was more determined to figure everything out—him or his dad. They'd grown braver—or dumber—by the day, to the point where they were willing to disregard an obvious and outright warning like the one they received in the email. They were going, and that was final.

"We need to keep a sharp look out," his dad said through a mouthful of pretzels. "If either one of us sees something suspicious, yell it out quickly. When in doubt, run. And we need to stay in public as much as possible."

"Dad, I'd say you sound like a paranoid freak, but I agree one hundred percent." Tom took a sip of his drink. "I think I am half excited and half scared to death."

"Hey, we are committed, right? There's no turning back now. "

"Cheers." They clicked their plastic cups together.

In two hours, they would be in Alsace.

                         ~

Seven rows back, a tall man with blonde hair and razor-thin eyebrows crouched in his tiny seat as best he could, reading the ridiculous in-flight magazine, which was full of nothing but advertisements and stupid articles about places he'd never care to visit. This spying business was deathly boring, and he hated it. No action, no results, boring, boring, boring.

But all of that will change very soon. The spy would become the hunter.

His name was Davy Hans, and he'd worked more than twenty years for Mistress Christine. He despised the woman, loathed her, in fact.

  She was the cruelest, most selfish, despicable, horrifying creature he'd ever met, and yet, his devotion to her was absolute. An odd mixture of feelings, but that's how it had to be when you served someone who planned to take over the whole Multiverse itself. They needed a leader like her, ruthless and without conscience. He didn't have to like her—he only needed to pretend to like her.

  Because someday he planned to replace her.