Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

81

You know the other strange thing about Europe? It's weensy. It was like, oops, I blinked, there goes Belgium! All of Western Europe could fit into America, east of the Mississippi. Flying from England to France took about thirty minutes. Crossing over France took about six hours. It had taken us almost eight hours to cross Texas, back in America.

Anyway. Here's my one-note take on Germans: They're scrubbers. Hoo, boy, we're talking a tidy little country. France? Not so much.

"Okay, no one leave their socks lying around," I instructed, as we drifted to a landing outside a town called Lendeheim. "That would send them right over the edge."

Lendeheim seemed to have been designed by the "Germany" team at Epcot. I kept expecting Bambi to pop out from behind a bush. There was so much carved gingerbread on the houses that my stomach growled.

The one main road through town led uphill to an incredible medieval castle. You guessed it: Itex. Still lording it over the peasants, in their way.

"This is too cute," said Total, hopping down from my arms. "I want to start planting window boxes or something."

"The hiiillls are aliiive," Nudge warbled, spreading her arms wide, "with the sound of-"

"Okay, listen up," I broke in. "The castle is through these trees. Let's do a quick recon and then decide what to do next."

I set off into the woods, pushing aside the picturesque German underbrush. Frankly, I'd expected a German forest to be a little tidier than this.

"Wait, don't tell me," Total said, trotting after me. "We're gonna break in, steal some stuff, break some stuff, almost get caught, and then escape in some dangerous, dramatic way."

I set my jaw, trying to ignore Nudge's giggle. "Maybe," I said tightly. "You got a better plan?"

He was silent for a few moments. "Well, no."

I know you might not believe this, but slogging through a foreign European forest in the dead of night with an ex-Eraser, a talking dog, and two kids who depend on you for their lives-well, not as much fun as you'd think. But maybe that's just my negativity talking.

Once again, I was forcibly reminded of what slooow and hard work walking is, compared with flying. But I didn't want to take a chance of being seen, not this close to the castle. For all I knew, they had watchtowers or radar or searchlights. Possibly all three.

But we finally made it. Standing at the edge of the woods, looking across the moat at the thick, high castle wall, I felt like this was the most castley castle I'd ever seen. It was all pointy and chock-full o' turrets, with narrow slits for cute Robin Hood arrows, and other windows with many tiny panes of glass. Of course, the floodlights and razor wire at the top of the wall detracted a bit from its charm, but if you squinted, they faded a little.

"There's an iron gate," whispered Nudge, pointing. "We can see through it."

"Yep." Sticking to the shadows, we half crouched, half crawled toward the castle, checking carefully for trip wires or hidden traps. When we were within thirty feet of the gate, the sound of marching feet made us freeze, bellies to the ground.

My raptor vision showed me the next generation of Erasers goose-stepping in the courtyard. I saw just as clearly lines of people marching after them, fierce expressions on their faces. But there was something odd about them-something not entirely human. And then I saw my old clone double, Max II, who had tried to replace me, who Jeb had tried to make me kill. She was back.