Goldwhiskers by Heather Vogel Frederick

for quite some time now. Currently, they had to rely on human computers, which the gymnasts could only use after hours at the museum to lessen the risk of being spotted by museum employees. Being spotted was forbidden; it could mean a visit from the exterminator. Besides rats, there was nothing that any mouse feared more than a visit from the exterminator.
    Foraging the right parts for AMI had been slow – a microchip here, a microprocessor there – but just this past week Glory’s brother Chip had scored a small, collapsible keyboard (tossed into a rubbish bin outside a dormitory at Georgetown University), and Bunsen himself had finally solved the monitor problem. This had been their biggest hurdle. Even the smallest laptop monitor, had they been able to forage one, would be too tall to fit in the agency’s headquarters beneath the floorboards of the Spy City Cafe. Bunsen had been the one to suggest hot-wiring AMI’s hard drive to a hand-held game player and using its screen. His ideahad worked beautifully – at least in initial tests.
    Julius put in a call to the typing pool, and in two shakes of a cat’s tail Miss Eiderdown reported back for duty.
    â€˜You have Paws Only clearance?’ Julius asked. The computer gymnast nodded.
    â€˜And you’ve had practice on AMI?’ Bunsen added.
    The computer gymnast warily eyed the laboratory ceiling to which a thick layer of padding had been stapled – and nodded again, reluctantly this time.
    â€˜Good,’ said Bunsen, handing her a safety helmet. Similar to the one he used on his skateboard, it was fashioned from a bottle cap. Inside, however, it contained an extra-thick layer of foraged sponge. Miss Eiderdown fastened it securely and gave him a nod.
    â€˜A message to Sir Edmund Hazelnut-Cadbury, MICE-6, London,’ Julius began, clasping his paws behind his back and pacing back and forth. ‘Just heard the news, stop. Agents in peril, top priority their release, stop. Our full resources at your disposal, stop. Please advise, stop.’
    As he rattled off his message, the computer gymnast sprang onto the small keyboard, flipping and tumbling and diving from one letter to the next.She squeaked twice – first when she banged her head against the ceiling while leaping for the
C
in ‘Cadbury’, and the second time when she did it again while performing a triple somersault on to the
p
in the final ‘stop’. Working on AMI was hazardous duty, for unlike the spacious human offices upstairs in the museum, the agency’s own ceilings were low, wedged as its offices were beneath the floor of the Spy City Cafe. There had been one concussion already this week, along with several slightly dazed gymnasts.
    â€˜Well done, Miss Eiderdown,’ said Julius after she finished.
    His employee smiled wanly, rubbing her forehead. ‘Anything else?’
    â€˜Google, please,’ said Bunsen, and Miss Eiderdown again leaped and twirled. ‘Scotland Yard.’
    Once the home page for Scotland Yard appeared, Bunsen issued a series of crisp orders, keeping a close eye on the screen. Miss Eiderdown obediently tapped in various strings of code, hacking into the website. It didn’t take Bunsen long to find the file about the missing jewels – and the two human suspects.
    His pink eyes narrowed as he scanned the report on the screen. Beside him, Julius read along, stroking his tail thoughtfully.
    â€˜â€œKoh-i-Noor diamond and Sovereign’s Ring missing,”’ Bunsen read aloud. ‘“Well-planned theft of detachable gem and small, portable ring most likely carried out by two American children.”’ He shook his head glumly. ‘Look here,’ he continued, tapping the screen. ‘They found the secret compartment in Oz’s shoe. They think he planned to hide the Koh-i-Noor in it.’
    â€˜And they found his CD player as well,’ added Julius. ‘That must be how Oz got