Ho, ho, ho,” said the small man with the high-pitched voice and the Santa hat. “Wonderful party. Happy holidays to you all . . . and to all a good afternoon. Take the rest of the day off.”
The man waved good-bye to the group of agents at the end of the hall.
The agents waved back.
“Thanks, Chief.”
“Happy holidays.”
“Have a good night.”
The chief smiled and waved until the group had disappeared around the corner. Then he took off his Santa hat. His smile twisted into a sneer. He pressed the nose on the portrait of J. Edgar Hoover.
“Oh, you don’t know what a good night I am planning to have. . . . ”
The secret wall into the chief’s office spun open.
The chief hurried through the dimly lit office. He sat at his desk, his pointy black AAA shoe tips just inches from Agent Umber’s face.
He clicked on his wall monitor. A giant number filled the screen.
“So close!”
6
Umber squirmed under the desk. That voice sounded like the chief’s. Maybe he should just pop out and say hello.
5
“Five.”
But it was too late now.
4
“Four.”
The chief was obviously busy.
3
“Three.”
With some kind of very exciting counting project.
2
“Two.”
It would probably be best to stay hidden.
1
“One.”
And sneak out later.
SPHDZ
“Spaceheadz! Yes! Yes! Yes! The earth’s Brainwave is finally ours!” said the chief, spinning in circles around his office. “Ours! Ours! Ours!”
Umber peeked out from under the desk to see what was going on.
The hands on the chief’s clock were spinning like crazy.
The chief’s pencil sharpener whined like a tiny jet engine.
The pile of paper clips on the chief’s desk whirled around in a micro tornado.
And then Agent Umber saw a sight his brain could not process. With every cheer and jump by the chief, the AEW monitor spiked into the red.
“YES!” said the chief.
AEW spike.
AEW spike.
The aliens had to be right here. Maybe they were invisible. Maybe the chief was in trouble.
Agent Umber pointed Hot Magenta’s GUM recorder toward the center of the room. He would get all of this, capture the aliens, and save the chief.
The chief skipped to a file cabinet on the far wall. He unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled out a small glass globe. It looked like one of those snow globes you get with a little snowman in it. Except this globe didn’t have anything in it. And on the base, instead of “Merry Xmas,” it said: BRAINWAVE.
Umber pointed the GUM recorder at the scene in confused fear.
The chief twisted the globe into a port under the wall screen. He typed a quick command. The numbers on the Spaceheadz counter clicked quickly backward.
The globe glowed with a web of interconnected blue lines.
The chief laughed.
The AEW monitor spiked.
Umber’s GUM recorder blinked its red recording light.
The Spaceheadz counter whizzed backward to zero and broke in half.
The chief unplugged the Brainwave globe, now completely filled with a network of crackling blue light. The chief stared into it like a hungry cat staring at a mouse.
Umber could not understand what he was seeing. But he was afraid. Something about that word the chief had yelled was very familiar. Spaceheadz. He had seen it somewhere before.
Umber decided he would record it all and show it to Agent Hot Magenta. She would know what it all meant.
The chief pocketed the globe and walked over to open his secret door. He stopped and looked around his office.
Umber held his breath.
The chief turned to push J. Edgar Hoover’s nose and . . . Umber’s pocket started yodeling. More precisely–Umber’s Picklephone® started yodeling.
Umber slapped at his phone. Umber poked at his phone. Umber strangled his phone and stopped it.
Too late.
Umber looked up to see the chief’s face right in front of him.
“Agent Umber,” said the chief. “What are you doing under my desk? Why are you dressed like a UUPS man?
“And why are you offering me a stick of gum?”