I Think My Dad Is a Spy (8 page)

“Open it,” she prompted. “It's autographed,” she said looking quite pleased with herself. I slowly opened the book to the page with the inscription, it read, Always a pleasure to meet a fan, Yours truly,
Georgina George.

Words escaped me
—i
t was already
p
re-signed.

She didn't even bother to sign a new book with something like, To my darling Granddaughter!

WHAT'S UP WITH THAT!!!

I didn't mean to seem ungrateful but I could only keep up the fake smile for a short time before my face started to ache.

So I made the excuse I was tired and was going
bed
!

GOOD NIGHT!!!

Journal entry:
Saturday, 10:10pm

I've got stacks to write today!
I woke early to the familiar sound of Dad cooking his weekend breakfast in the kitchen. Then I remembered that today was Theo's dance competition, so I was super excited.

As I walked quickly along the hallway, I heard a buzzing sound in the lounge room. Buzz, buzz, buzz…

I followed the sound; it was coming from the side pocket of Dad's airline bag. As I pulled his vibrating phone out from the pocket I must have accidentally pressed the answer button. Instantly I heard a woman's voice on the other end, “Darlink, is that you? Darlink, can you hear me? I must speak wid you its terrrrribly imporrrt-ant! Hello are you there Yorj?”

The woman sounded Russian. At first I thought it must have been a wrong number but then it clicked—this had to be Zoe, Grandma's assistant.

A thought crossed my mind, if it was Zoe, why was she calling Dad's mobile and not Grandma Georgina's?

I also noticed there were other several missed calls all from the same number and there were also two text messages. I held the sleek mobile in my hand and realised I was in a dilemma. What would a real spy do? I thought holding the mobile up to my face. I really wanted to trust my dad but at the same time with all these weird things going on, I just didn't know who to trust or who to believe any more.

(Spy rule 127: Go with your first instinct!)

Without giving it another thought I pressed the ‘read text messages' button on the mobile with my thumb. Several messages popped open and most of them read, You have a voice message please call 456. As I scrolled down the list one message caught my eye it read:

Please call me, problem with Russian embassy. Need passport number A.S.A.P., Z.

Not knowing what I had just learned, I quickly reset the phone back to the way it was and dropped it into the side pocket of the bag. Taking a moment to compose myself I looked around the room and took a few deep breaths in and out, making a slow whooshhh sound every time I exhaled. Yoga people on TV said that making the whooshing sound helped calm you down. I hoped this would work for me too because I felt so nervous and confused. I began to slowly walk up the hallway towards the kitchen.

As I got closer to the kitchen I thought I could hear voices laughing and chatting. I stopped just outside the doorway when I saw Grandma, Chelsea and Michael cozily sitting around our tiny kitchen table, while Dad was busy laying out a buffet style breakfast.

“Ahhh there's the sleepy-head now,” said Dad acknowledging me standing in the doorway.

For a second or two I couldn't move. Why were all these people here and why so early on a freaking Saturday?!

“Are you going to join us or are you going to stand there like a statue?” Dad asked me.

I warily walked over to my empty seat; apart from being shocked by the crowd of people in my kitchen before 9am, I was infuriated that Dad hadn't
bothered to wake me or even tell me we were having people over for breakfast.

This sucked more than grapes, I thought grumpily as I tried pulling my chair out from the overcrowded table.

I plonked down hard into my seat between
G
randma and Idiot-Boy, folded my arms and sighed heavily in protest.

The meal was an awkward one. I only spoke if I had to and pretty much just grunted at everyone. Dad joked I was usually just a grumpy-head in the mornings and once I showered I would be back to my chirpy self. Everyone laughed, but I shot a nasty glare at Dad; he got the hint that I didn't find his comment funny, and so his grin quickly turned into an apologetic frown.

Dad was right though, after my shower I did feel much better.

I was getting ready to go to Theo's dance recital when I thought I should try and talk to Dad alone before I left. I was hoping everyone would have left by now…but that was certainly not the case.

Without even asking me what important plans I had on today, Dad had gone ahead and arranged a ‘surprise' family photo shoot outside in the garden at 11:00 am.

“But Dad, I can't be in any photo shoot, I promised Theo I would go to his ballet recital this morning at 10:30,” I complained like a sookie child.

“I'm sorry Sophie but I have already arranged a family day with a portrait and a big surprise that I know you won't want to miss. You can have your friends come over after,” he said. It was obvious Dad hadn't heard a word I had said.

“But it's Theo's ballet finals,” I tried explaining again this time fighting back tears; I really disliked it when he didn't take my friends and my promises seriously.

“I'm sorry Sophie but I already have the day planned and you are just going to have to cancel your plans today. I'm sure Theo will understand,” he said smiling widely so no one could tell he and I were having heated words.

With that said Dad sent me back into the house to go and put on some ‘nicer clothes'.

I stormed off into the house mumbling rude words under my breath and slamming the back door as hard as I could—so hard I half-expected the side of the house to fall down.

I didn't want to get re-dressed, so instead I snatched the cordless phone from its cradle in the hall and locked myself in my bathroom and called Janice.

“Do you want me to come right over? I can,” she said enthusiastically.

“Nah, you better not. At least one of us should go and support Theo,” I said miserably.

“Yeah, you're right, but hey, Theo and I will come over as soon as he's done. All right?” she said cheering me up.

“Yeah okay,” I grumbled.

“I wonder what your dad's surprise could be. Do you have any ideas?” asked Janice, she sounded more excited than I was.

Suddenly someone banged loudly on my bathroom door, and I jumped with fright.

“I gotta' go, bye!” I whispered quickly hanging up before Janice replied.

“Sophie, are you in there? I need to use the bathroom!”

Oh, it was only Michael. I quickly pressed the call button to see if Janice was still on the line, but she wasn't.

Michael banged on the door again. “Are you going to be long?” he shouted.

“Y-E-S spells ‘YES'!” I taunted.

“Oh c'mon how long are you going be?” I could tell he needed to go bad.

“I dunno, as long as it takes you to pee your pants!” I said spitefully.

“SOPHIE GEORGE! You get out here right now and apologise for that terrible comment!” Dad hollered through the door.

Uh oh!

I didn't know my dad was out there as well. I stood up and slowly opened the bathroom door into the hallway. Dad's angry red face was glaring at me.

Michael was standing behind him dancing some sort of victory jig and pulling a stupid face at me. I wanted to punch him so bad. It was a shame he didn't get caught when Dad quickly turned around and offered him the free bathroom. I went to protest but Dad took me tightly by the arm and ushered me along the hall and into the lounge room where he sternly told me to “SIT!”

“Sophie I don't know what has gotten into to you today but this attitude of yours has got to stop,” he said scratching his head. “You and Michael really have to try to get along.”

“But I don't like him, he's an idiot,” I protested folding my arms tightly to show Dad I was never going to change my mind about him.

“It's about time you took other people's feelings into consideration,” Dad scolded.

“I DO!” I shrieked in protest. I wanted to tell him I have done nothing but put Chelsea's feelings first throughout all this confusion he's made. I was so angry at my father and really wished I could confront him about all his odd behaviour lately. Then I realised something—I could confront him. We were alone and here was Dad lecturing me about my behaviour, but I had a bazillion questions about his strange behaviour. I decided it was now or never to ask him what I wanted to know.

(Spy rule 111: Take the enemy by surprise!)

“WHO IS THIS ZOE WOMAN REALLY?” I blurted, interrupting his speech on the importance of getting along with Michael.

Suddenly Dad stopped pacing, he said nothing nor did he look up at me. Instead he just calmly turned and faced the window. I could see him looking at Chelsea, who was talking to the photographer as they set up underneath the willow tree Mum had planted the day I was born.

“Um, she's your grandmother's assistant,” he answered casually (too casually if you asked me).

“Really, is that all she is?” I asked knowing better.

“Why would you doubt me?” he said turning around looking puzzled.

“Because… Chelsea mentioned her to me,” I said openly, this time it was me who searched his face for clues.

“Oh r-really,” he said shakily, “Wh-what did she say about her?”

“Only that she thought you had run off to New York with another woman!” I said with a smirk.

Dad was taken aback with this statement. He walked away from the window and slumped into his black leather armchair, burying his face in his hands.

For once I didn't burst out laughing when his chair made its usual loud faaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrt sound whenever somebody sat in it.

Dad looked up at me sitting opposite him and asked in a soft whisper, “What else do you know Sophie?”

This time it was me who was lost for words.

“I know that you know more,” he said looking at me warily. Dad's face looked different, almost unpleasant…

(Spy rule 101: Always weigh up your options!)

I realised it was now or never to share with him what I knew fully. I quickly made a mental note in my head of what the consequences could be:

1. If Dad was a spy and I had blown his cover, I could be handed over to his agency and they could interrogate me into telling them everything I knew.

2. They could send me off to some remote country like Siberia and leave me there…maybe forever.

3. They could recruit me as a spy and then maybe Dad and I could work together.

4. Or if my father wasn't a spy I could be grounded for the rest of my life!

I thought the last option was the most likely.

(Spy rule 100:
Sometimes you just have
to go with your gut!)

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and thought what the heck! I stooped over and reached into Dad's hand luggage which was still leaning up against the couch.

“It was ringing this morning and I answered it. On the other end was a Russian woman—I'm guessing it was Zoe?” I said handing him his mobile. I was shaking. Dad reluctantly took the phone out of my hand, like I was handing him a bag full of dog poop. There was an uncomfortable silence while he scoured through the texts and voice messages.

After a long silence, other than Chelsea's voice telling the photographer where she thought the best spots were in the garden, I realised Dad wasn't going to threaten to kill or even ground me. I decided to sit back down on the long sofa and pick off the tiny fluff balls that had accumulated on my favourite shirt. As soon as Dad finished listening to his phone messages he promptly re­dialled a number and began speaking fluent Russian!

(Spy rule 300:
Whatever you do try
to STAY CALM!)

My stomach had that horrible sick feeling again, I
felt nervous and confused. I hadn't a clue to who he was talking to or what he was saying, but I was pretty sure he never knew how to speak fluent Russian or any other languages. A strange notion popped into my head—what if this man sitting in front of me wasn't my real father but an imposter!

Dad was still on the phone and talking Russian when Chelsea popped her head into the lounge room and scared the bejesus out of me.

“Oh, here you both are! Will you be long? The photographer
i
s waiting?”

Then all of a sudden Dad or the ‘imposter Dad' did
t
he strangest thing
…

“I will see what I can do
from this end but I can't promise anything,” he said now speaking in English to the stranger on the other end of the phone. Then the imposter raised his hand, smiled and made a gesture to Chelsea, to just give him a couple more minutes.

But I didn't need a couple of minutes; I wanted to run out of the house screaming, “THERE'S AN IMPOSTER IN OUR LOUNGE ROOM!”

Chelsea went to leave but then she looked at me and whispered, “Is everything all right, you look awfully pale?”

I was still in shock and taken completely by surprise about Dad's Russian conversation. Even if I could open my mouth and talk I didn't know what to say or quite how to say it. My first instinct was to scream and run.

I could feel Dad's eyes boring a hole into the back of my head, reluctantly I answered, “Yes, I'm fine”.

“Okay then, well I'll guess I'll see you two out in the garden soon, shall I?” she asked as she turned and walked out of the lounge room.

I wanted to answer, Yes I may see you again as long as this imposter Dad isn't about to kill me!

I listened as Chelsea's high heels click-clacked along the floor boards and out the back door. Dad promptly finished his phone conversation speaking in hushed Russian again.