We look around to make sure no one is watching. Then we sidle over to the phone box and peek inside.

‘What’s that curly thing?’ I ask, pointing at the phone. ‘A tail?’

‘And where’s the screen?’ asks Gilleon.

‘And why’s it so big?’ asks Hunter.

Old-timey things are weird.

We all squish inside the box.

‘What now?’ says Gill.

‘Try picking up the phone,’ says Hunter.

I’m the closest, so I pick the receiver up and hold it to my ear. A strange beeping sound screeches out. ‘I think it’s broken,’ I say.

‘Hmm,’ says Hunter, whipping out the business card we found in Gnash’s room. ‘There’s something written under Agent Chip’s name. Try entering the code 4-2-1-1.’

I stare at the phone. ‘Er – how do I do that?’

‘Press the numbers in those little circles?’ suggests Hunter.

I try that. Nothing happens.

‘I think I saw one of these phones on ChewTube once,’ says Gilleon. ‘Let me try.’

For each number in the code, he sticks his fin in the little number hole, twists it around to the stop, then lets go.

Bzzzz, click, a-tikka-tikka-tikka.

Bzzzz, click, a-tikka-tikka-tikka.

Once the code has been put in, I put the phone back to my ear.

‘Someone’s talking!’ I gasp. ‘Hello? This is Finley. We’re looking for our friend Gnash.’

A woman’s voice answers. ‘Good morning, agent. Prepare to enter the suction chamber.’

‘The what?’ I say, alarmed. ‘No, no, I said we’re looking for Gnash—’

‘Keep your fins at your sides at all times,’ says the voice. ‘Flash photography is strictly forbidden. Have a safe trip!’

‘But I—’ Uh-oh. I don’t think I’m talking to an actual shark.

‘It’s a recording!’ I say to Gilleon and Hunter.

Before I can warn them, the bottom of the phone box slides open and we get sucked underground.

WHOOSH!

‘AAAUGH!’ I scream.

‘Do all phone boxes do this?’cries Gilleon.

We zoom through and underground tunnel. It twists and turns and loop-the-loops.

‘I hope so!’ yells Hunter. She throws her fins up and squeals in delight. ‘Sharks in the olden days were FUN!’

We reach the end of the tunnel and shoot out into a strange room. On the walls are giant screens with maps and codes and photos of mean-looking anglerfish.

Below the screens are sharks in suits hovering over computers. On the wall is a big sign reading F.I.S.H. HEADQUARTERS.

The sharks all stare up at us with their jaws hanging open.

‘Um,’ I say, looking at the sharks in suits. I hold up the business card we found in Gnash’s bedroom. ‘So... anyone here named Agent Chip?’