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poodle whose miniature jaws had clamped onto her pants. ‘Get him off me!’
    Linden, Max and Toby were standing on the front steps of a palace-like Parisian house. It was surrounded by a thick garden; tall, looming trees; a swirling pebbled drive and, only in the last few seconds, the echoing cries and snarls of Max and the chomping poodle.
    Linden tried to coax the furry animal away with a ball he found in the bushes, while Toby tried logic. ‘Come on, girl. You haven’t even met Max yet. How can you know so soon you don’t like her?’
    â€˜Fifi? Where are you?’ A voice came from inside the house.
    The dog stopped growling and tugging.
    â€˜Fifi?’
    Fifi gave one last wrench that tore the seam of Max’s pants before unhitching herself and running inside the mansion.
    Max looked down at the damage. ‘That slobbering mutt ripped my pants!’
    â€˜You’re lucky we were here to save you.’ Toby wiped his brow. ‘Otherwise she could have ruined more than just your pants.’
    Max stood, her face within centimetres of Toby’s. ‘Next time I need rescuing, remind me to call someone else.’
    She walked to the house and followed the cooing sounds of, she guessed, Fifi’s owner. ‘There there, ma chère . It’s okay now.’
    Max walked through a foyer that looked like a mini-museum stuffed with paintings and artefacts and followed the voice into an equally over-stuffed sitting room. It was crammed with glass cabinets of old pots, vases and jewellery, stone plinths holding busts of ancient rulers squeezed next to settees, lounges and coffee tables. There were softly lit papyrus paintings lining the walls beneath a lofty ceiling painted with floating clouds and plumpish angels.
    And seated on an antique lounge, a girl cradled the mauling pup on her lap. ‘Ah, the babysitters are here.’ She had long dark hair, a deep, sunbaked tan and a flowing shirt hanging loosely over a pair of designer jeans.
    â€˜Actually,’ Max said, ‘we are secret agents who –’
    The poodle sat up and snarled. ‘What’s wrong, Fifi?’ The girl nuzzled into the animal’s curly white coat. ‘You never behave like this with anyone.’
    â€˜It is strange.’ Toby sat on the lounge beside her. ‘Animals usually love Max.’
    The poodle leant forward and licked his hand.
    â€˜She likes you,’ the girl cooed again. ‘Fifi has an excellent sense for picking good people.’
    â€˜He came at me from nowhere and tore my pants.’ Max pointed at her ragged-edged trouser leg covered in poodle slobber.
    â€˜He’s a she.’ The girl’s eyes sailed over Max’s clothes. ‘And it’s lucky you weren’t wearing anything stylish.’ She turned away and looked at the boys. ‘I am Veronique Marceau.’ She gave them a kittenish smile. ‘It is charming to meet you both.’
    Max looked down and took a careful glance at the clothes she was wearing. Baggy pants, regular shirt – a little faded – and trainers. It might not impress anyone, but at least she was comfortable.
    â€˜You speak English,’ Linden said.
    â€˜And German, Japanese, Finnish and Spanish. I’m learning Arabic too, but I’m not very good yet.’
    Fifi raised a fluffy eyebrow at Max and bared her teeth revealing an almost snarling smile on her doggy jowls. Max scowled back.
    A tall man in a black suit stood at the door holding his hat before him. As he spoke to Veronique, the three agents’ Descramblers went into action, translating his words into English.
    â€˜Your car is ready.’
    Veronique stood up. ‘It’s time to go.’
    â€˜Go where?’ Max asked.
    â€˜An audition for a television show that is looking for new talent.’ She held up a gold-framed mirror and teased her hair with her fingers. ‘And I think I’m exactly what they are looking