I sleep well in my dim-witted western swamp tortoise pyjamas and join Chase at the kitchen table for a morning meeting.
‘First, the bad news,’ he says. ‘My fifty million dollars has been frozen by the people chasing Dad’s money, because they think it’s their money. So we have very little cash for anything.’
‘I have eighteen dollars in my purse.’ Clemmy applies lipstick, holding a small mirror. ‘But I’m shooting a toothpaste commercial this morning, so I’ll ask them for an advance.’
‘I’ve got twenty Australian dollars,’ I offer. ‘So if you two like rolled oats for porridge, we’d be right for a month at least.’
‘Save it, Georgie.’ Chase taps a finger on the table. ‘This afternoon you and I visit Isobel in hospital. How’s your medical knowledge coming on? I’ll need a diagnosis and prognosis for the next critical phase of Operation Isobel.’
Operation? ‘Those neurosurgery books are big,’ I explain. ‘I’m only halfway through the third, Chase. If I were to operate, I’d really be just blundering around in the dark.’
Chase leans forward. ‘Operation, George, as in what we intend to do regarding the entire Isobel situation. Not operation as in I want you to poke anyone with a scalpel.’
That’s a relief!
‘So,’ Chase slaps the table, ‘let’s go out for breakfast!’
‘But rolled oats are—’
‘Disgusting,’ Chase says. ‘No, we’re going to an American diner. Let’s hit the trail.’
‘One problem.’ I circle a finger. ‘Those rotating stools could go very wrong for me.’
Chase stops mid-step. ‘George,’ he says, lowering his foot. ‘I’ve just re-wound time so I cannot hear what you said, okay?’
What?
Now Chase has got me doing the damn what thing!
‘Pardon me, Chase.’ I am a little angry. ‘If you think the danger of rotating stools is ridiculous, then your whacky statement about reversing time is a slap in the face to quantum physicists worldwide! With that kind of nutty talk, you’ll only end up looking like a crackpot. And that is a situation I have so far successfully avoided in my short but uneventful life!’
Chase and I go to a noisy Manhattan diner called the Stackery. Upon entering, I smartly select a red vinyl booth and a waitress appears. She’s chewing gum or tobacco and has a rose tattoo on her arm, which looks somewhat botanically incorrect. Above her elbow, an anchor floats in mid-air, which just makes no sense at all.
‘Pancakes and maple syrup, George.’ Chase shuts the menu. ‘Let’s do it. Big stacks and big coffees all round, thank you, madam.’
‘I’m not sure about coff—’ Before I can explain my total lack of experience drinking coffee, the waitress leaves. Chase shrugs.
‘This is New York, GP. We’ll need kilojoules and caffeine. Now here’s the plan. We eat, we go back to the apartment, have lunch, then visit Isobel. Then we decide if we rescue her and how we leave New York City. And where we actually go from here.’
‘Thatsoundsstraightforward,Chase.’
‘Why are you talking like that, Geepy?’ Chase peers at me.
‘Because,’ I add, ‘if I say things really fast, then I won’t realise how stressed I am.’
Chase smiles. ‘Relax. Really. Because compared to the stress that’s going to kick in later today, this is nothing!’
I would give Chase a dirty look, but the pancakes and coffees have arrived, and I can’t see over or around them.
‘If I turn into a caffeine addict, Chase . . .’ I’m not sure how much Chase can hear, as I’m speaking directly into a stack of sound-absorbent pancakes. ‘You can pay for the re-hab. Our family is in total agreement that a brisk walk, a crisp apple, or a cold cotton face washer is far more beneficial health-wise than anything that arrives in a cup.’
There. That should keep him quiet!
We leave the diner and hit the street. I feel rather full and a bit jumpy. Correction: I feel really, really full and extremely jumpy.
‘Don’t look now,’ Chase whispers. ‘But there’s a dude in sunglasses and a black overcoat trailing us.’
I swing around so fast that I feel dizzy. ‘Who!? Where!? What!? Let’s go! Hit the wire, men! Roll!
Jump! Run! Hide!’ Boy, I don’t even know where this stuff is coming from. ‘Fire teams Alpha and Delta, go, go, go!’
Chase pushes me up hard against a brick wall.
‘Calm down,’ he hisses. ‘Be cool. Just do what I do, and everything will be fine. Now run!’
I take off after Chase, dodging around people like a pancake-filled pinball. He cuts across the road, horns blasting at him, then we sprint down an alley, past dumpsters (I cover my mouth) and along another narrow street between tall buildings criss-crossed with rusty fire escapes.
‘In that blue doorway and up the stairs, George!’
This is more PE than I’ve done in my whole life. But as I’m currently a caffeine-fuelled pancake-powered crazy man, I pound up the steps, my knees going like pistons. Then I follow Chase into a shop selling the strangest underwear I’ve ever seen.
Correction: I’ve never seen it, but it looks to lack support where you’d need it most. And in my candid opinion, it would be a nightmare to wash and fold.
‘In there!’ Chase points to a sign saying, Vintage World. ‘Quick.’
We’ve plunged into a place that smells like my Great Grandma Edith’s lounge room, which doubled as an indoor exercise space for her prize-winning ferrets and a drying room for recycled wheat bags. There are racks and racks of old clothes everywhere.
‘Grab an outfit, George!’ Chase whacks a yellow cap on his head. ‘And put it on!’
I snatch a rather nice outfit in dark brown then dash behind a red velvet curtain. Chase is in the cubicle next door.
‘Ready, George?’
‘Almost,’ I say, doing up the buttons of my woody-coloured knee breeches. ‘I’m all set for a round of golf in 1910!’ From head to toe, I am a picture of old-fashioned, brown, golfing elegance.
‘Get out here, then!’
I shove my own clothes in a bag and step out. Chase is now a jockey wearing shiny black boots, white silk pants, a green shirt, and a yellow cap.
‘Tally ho, old chap,’ he says, ‘let’s—’
From behind another curtain appears a tall thin man. He’s dressed as an old-style ship’s captain, possibly from the Titanic, because he looks as if fish have been nibbling at him for the last one hundred years.
‘Hello, darling boys!’ He rests one pale spidery hand on his chin. ‘Would you like to stay for tea? Or just give me—’ he growls like a maniac, ‘—one hundred bucks right now.’
Chase pulls out his leather jacket from my bag.
‘This is worth a thousand dollars,’ he says. ‘Throw in a couple of those sailor suits and call it a deal.’
The captain’s blue eyes glint like cut glass. ‘Done!’ Somehow the jacket disappears and we are holding two white sailor suits, complete with round caps and silver whistles. ‘See ya soon, boys.’
‘Not if we see you first.’ Chase taps his cap with his whip. ‘Ta-ta, Captain Creepy.’
‘Toodle-ooh,’ I add, which I would never say if I hadn’t drunk two litres of black coffee with seven sugars. ‘Goodbye to you.’
Then we go down the steps and sneak out onto the street. In my dark-brown golfing outfit, I feel nicely disguised, although people seem to be staring at us. Chase laughs, swinging along, smacking his whip against his boot. Suddenly, the guy who was chasing us is directly in front of us.
‘Excuse me, ah, young gentlemen.’ His sunglasses reflect our faces. ‘Have you seen two boys about your height around here? They’re Australians. And they’re lost. Their mothers are worried sick.’
I see a black gun in a black holster under the guy’s arm. Pulse rate one-ninety and climbing!
‘We ain’t seen no Orstralians,’ Chase says. ‘But if we do, sir, whot? Give ’em a meat pie or somefink?’
The man reaches into his coat – pulse rate two hundred! – and hands Chase a white card.
‘There’s a reward,’ the man says. ‘Five hundred thousand dollars. Call this number.’
‘I will, good sir.’ Chase takes the card. ‘You can count on me.’
The man is gone. We shakily walk on. Chase dumps the card.
‘If they catch us,’ he says, ‘they’ll hold us to ransom for two hundred and fifty million dollars. Which my dad can’t pay. Then bang! We’re off to the big country club in the sky.’
Gulp!
‘But!’ Chase drags me up the street. ‘Perhaps we can get enough money to give my dad a chance to make back what he lost.’
Or lose some more!
We make it back to the apartment and rest on the couch. To take my mind off the kidnap threat, I think about my home-grown algae project, which is going alarmingly well, according to an email sent by our next-door neighbour, Bob Bobbington. He says that it has taken over the entire backyard.
‘Any shares you fancy on Wall Street?’ Chase asks. ‘Anything that’ll go up by ten thousand per cent in twenty-four hours or less?’
‘None,’ I answer. ‘Besides, we haven’t got any money anyway, have we? That fifty million’s been frozen.’
Chase nods. ‘But we have to keep thinking, Georgie. Come on, kid. Hit me with something!’
I take a deep breath. ‘Well, my home-grown algae project needs investment, Chase. If my dad’s theory’s right, algae can power every car on the planet. And our algae, the Parker Super Algae 2000, we estimate, can grow one hundred times faster than all other algae ever seen.’
Chase shifts a silk cushion. ‘How much money do you need?’
That’s a very good question. ‘I did hear my dad say seven hundred and fifty, Chase. Which is a lot, I know. But we’re in a race with the Russians, although theirs is frozen over for winter.’
Chase nods. ‘Seven hundred and fifty thousand? Or seven hundred and fifty million?’
I’m in shock. ‘No, Chase. Seven hundred and fifty dollars. For a new plastic pond, a longer hose, and a scoop net.’
Chase claps once. ‘When we get cash, we’ll do it, definitely.’
Wow! When people even look at our algae, they generally just hold their noses and slowly back out the side gate.
‘We’ll go to the hospital after lunch,’ Chase says. ‘And we’ll go in these outfits. Best to keep the kidnappers guessing.’ He stretches. ‘Otherwise they might grab Isobel instead of us. Now, some pizza, because we’ve got big things ahead of us.’