Ends of the Earth by Bruce Hale

the windows of a unit next to an abandoned store.
    “Blast,” he muttered. “They’re home.”
    “So,” said Tremaine, “are you gonna explain why Wyatt and I are togged out like Boy Scouts, or do we play Twenty Questions?”
    Max’s father lowered the glasses and nodded at the flat. “That, my young friends, is a LOTUS safe house.”
    “How do you know?” asked Nikki.
    “Duh,” said Wyatt. “He used to work with them.”
    Nikki snarled and tried to reach around Cinnabar to punch him, but the wiry-haired girl blocked her swing.
    “Must you always be an utter git?” said Cinnabar.
    “Get knotted,” snapped Nikki. But she settled back into the seat, arms folded.
    “If you’re all quite finished,” said Simon Segredo stiffly, “I’ll continue.”
    It occurred to Wyatt that Max’s father hadn’t spent much time around kids, judging by how he reacted to the group’s ongoing squabbles. But of course, he’d missed the last
seven or so years of Max’s life. Being on the run from a worldwide organization of evil spies sure puts a kink in your family time.
    Mr. Segredo shifted in the seat so he could face them. “Inside that safe house are all the supplies we’ll need for tonight’s rescue mission.”
    “It’s tonight?” said Wyatt.
    Max’s father raised his eyebrows. “The sooner the better, if we’re to put a stop to all that adoption rubbish.”
    “Brilliant.” Cinnabar clapped once.
    “And these disguises will help how, exactly?” asked Tremaine.
    Mr. Segredo eyed their khaki outfits, striped neckerchiefs, and black berets. “All we need is a little distraction.”
    Nikki snorted. “That’s distracting all right. You look like a right pair of berks.”
    Tremaine ignored her. “So we stroll up to the door in these old-timey uniforms, and then what?”
    Mr. Segredo laid out their course of action. After surveying their target for another half hour and spotting no more than two LOTUS agents through the windows, he finally gave them the
go-ahead.
    Wyatt and Tremaine slipped out of the van on the side away from the safe house. Wyatt began making a beeline for the unit, but Tremaine snagged him by the back of his kerchief.
    “Hold up, Horatio,” he said.
    “What?” said Wyatt.
    Tremaine indicated the safe house. “If they see us going straight to their crib and passing up the houses next door, what will they think?”
    Wyatt winced. “Too right. Let’s start over here.” He indicated a nearby house and together they walked up the steps to rap on the yellow door.
    “Oo is it?” came a quavery female voice.
    “Boy Scouts, mum,” said Wyatt. “Can we have a word?”
    A long pause, then the clatter of three locks being undone. The door swung open to the length of a security chain, and a pale, wrinkly face, like that of an albino mole, squinted through the
crack.
    “Yes?” said the old woman.
    “We’re doing a fund-raiser for our troop, mum,” said Wyatt, lifting his clipboard.
    “What for?”
    Tremaine spoke up. “To raise funds. So that we can go to camp, see?” He waved a sheet of bogus tickets at her.
    Her eyes widened at the sight of a tall brown teen on her doorstep.
    “A fiver will get you a ticket to our big barn dance,” said Tremaine, smiling winningly.
    She slammed the door in their faces.
    “Friendly sort,” said Tremaine.
    “Still and all,” said Wyatt as they retreated down the walkway, “good thing she didn’t buy a ticket.”
    “Why?” asked Tremaine.
    “’Cause then we might actually have to throw a barn dance,” said Wyatt. “And I’m allergic to hay.”
    The tall boy smirked.
    Nobody answered the door of the second house they approached. When they reached the sidewalk again, Wyatt did his best not to react to the sight of Mr. Segredo crouching behind a parked car at
the curb. He and Tremaine veered up the short walkway to the LOTUS safe house. “Reckon they saw us at their neighbors’ place?” Wyatt muttered out of the side of his