The Smuggler's Perfume

By Gordon Wolf

A spy mission requires training, specialized knowledge, and nerves of steel—or does it? In The Smuggler’s Perfume two brothers, Hank and Alan, stumble on a secret that offers them the training of a master spy in the blink of an eye. Sharing a talent for inventing, Hank and Alan Martin planned on spending their summer creating new gadgets. Their plans quickly change however, when a stranger approaches them. Injured and bleeding, the man gives them a brief case and some advice—“Smell the Rose Petals”. One sniff plunges the two brothers into the center of a major spy operation. Enlisting the help of Danni, the girl next door, they scramble to keep one-step ahead of danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gordon Wolf
• Release date: Jun 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476047188

Gordon Wolf

On a breezy spring day, my mother carried me into the backyard in a laundry basket. To me it was a boat, a flying boat. I left my vessel to explore the hedge maze formed by the linens she hung from the clothesline. My mother's sense of whimsy made such daily chores an adventure. I learned quickly that sometimes a chair was actually a horse or a motorcycle. It was a hot summer day in Hinkley, Minnesota, when went into the house for a drink. I asked my Grandmother for a glass. She searched the cupboards for a particular glass. The bottom of the glass was pressed into a pattern mimicking cut crystal. She held it up to her eye and proclaimed it to be a perfect viewing glass. I took the glass and filled it with water from the tap before returning to my play. Upon emptying the glass, I brought it up to my eye and saw the landscape swirl into a kaleidoscope of light. To weak to sit at the kitchen table, my Aunt rested in her room. Needing a distraction she invited me to sit with her. "Tell me a story," she would say. Sometimes she would ask for a story about a particular animal or some special place. Other times she would ask me to draw something for her suggesting details or miss-matched parts. Although I was told little about her health I had sensed that she was not long for the world. I told the best stories I could, carefully noting all of her favorite things to feature in my next tale. When I had children of my own, I was able to relive the magic of story telling. They also helped me realize how important story telling is to the process of developing a healthy imagination. Moments such as these drove to share stories throughout my life. I would like to thank my mother, grandmother, aunt, and my children for their inspiration. I hope that you enjoy reading my work as much as I enjoy creating it.

Book preview

The Smuggler’s Perfume

By Gordon Wolf

Published by Gordon Wolf at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Gordon Wolf

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Death From Above

Chapter 2 The Calm Before the Storm

Chapter 3 The Spy in the Alley

Chapter 4 In Deep

Chapter 5 Smell the Rose Petals

Chapter 6 Reluctant Spies

Chapter 7 Keeping Secrets

Chapter 8 On a Mission

Chapter 9 Double Agents

Chapter 10 So What's the Plan?

Chapter 11 Storm Shadow and Maxine

Chapter 12 Little Red Riding Hood

Chapter 13 First Contact

Chapter 14 Close Call

Chapter 15 Regroup

Chapter 16 Blueprint

Chapter 17 Leningrad

Chapter 18 Infiltrated!

Chapter 19 Agent Thirteen

Chapter 20 Be Prepared

Chapter 21 Test Flight

Chapter 22 Abandoned

Chapter 23 The Exchange

Chapter 24 Run for Your Life!

Chapter 25 To the Rescue

Chapter 26 Ramrod

Chapter 27 The Race is On!

Chapter 28 Game Over

Chapter 29 What's Next?

About the Author

Other Books By Author

Chapter 1

Death From Above

Here it comes! shouted Hank Martin as he dropped down onto the floor of the loft.

Alan ran around looking for a place to hide. Afraid, he kept his arms wrapped around his head. I hope it just ate, he thought. Wild predators are less dangerous after they’ve had a big meal.

Peering up with blue eyes, Hank began to scan the ceiling of the barn. Then he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He stayed low, scuttling across the floor while trying to keep the creature in his sight.

Hank shouted to his brother Alan, Can you see it?

Taking his arms off his head, Alan glanced about nervously. Nothing here!

Hank stared upward. I think he’s up in the rafters.

Alan dropped onto the floor of the loft and scrambled under a table. The owl swooped in a desperate attempt to find a way out. Trapped in the confined space, the frantic owl became more dangerous.

Great, Alan said. It’s the first day of summer vacation and we’re under attack in our own workshop! I’m just not prepared for something like this! Alan’s jaw began to quiver.

Get out from underneath that table and help me find him, Hank scolded.

How do you know it’s a him? It could be a she.

Just pull it together Alan.

Reluctantly, Alan pulled his shirt up over his head like a hood and slid out from under the table. Slowly he rose to his feet and started to move across the loft. With his attention on the owl he stumbled into a set of metal shelves. Something fell off a lower shelf with a bang and rolled across the floor. Alan froze.

When the rolling object stopped, everything went silent. The boys listened intently.

While scanning for the owl, Hank realized how much junk he and Alan had accumulated in their loft. His eyes scanned through the shelves of plans, spare parts and tools. Then he tried to find movement among the many machines and contraptions that were stored there.

Alan’s mind raced. This is supposed to be a sanctuary, quiet place to focus on my work. I’m an inventor not a big game hunter. I don’t have time for this.

Hank rubbed his eyes and sighed. If it’s not enough that I have to play hide and go seek with a bird! I’ve got to baby sit too!

Stop, drop and roll! No, that’s not it. Duck and cover...still not right, Alan mumbled to himself. He began reciting everything he could remember about owl behavior. Let’s see, they have sharp beak, curved for tearing flesh; Razor sharp talons, and they are often referred to as nature’s silent killer of the night skies. Alan shook his head. That wasn’t very helpful.

Light from the morning sun poured through the windows. It cast shadows in the barn that twisted and turned as if they were alive. In the stillness, Alan could hear his heart pounding. Now I know how a mouse feels.

Woo—woo, woo—woo. A haunting cry cut through the silence. Echoes throughout the barn made the sound impossible to trace back to the owl. A shiver ran down Alan’s spine.

"He could be anywhere!" Alan’s eyes were sorting through the mess trying to spot the owl. Several of the boys’ inventions hung from the rafters. The clutter provided their stalker with plenty of places to hide.

Somewhere above them, the owl lurked in the shadows. All we can do is wait for it to hoot again, Alan said.

Quiet, I think I can hear where he is, Hank snapped. A horrible scratching noise seemed to surround the boys.

We’ll never get out of here alive! Alan whimpered. In his imagination, he saw the owl sharpening his talons on a rusty hunk of metal. The scratching grew louder.

Hank shook his head. Get a hold of yourself.

This is your fault, accused Alan, you left the big doors open!

It wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t have to go back into the house to wake you up! Hank said. Besides, you were the one who closed them when we came back out.

Oh yeah, now it’s my fault, Alan thought. Always blame me...just ‘cause I’m the youngest.

Try opening the window, Hank insisted, he just wants out!

Alan gathered the nerve to make his way over to the window. If he attacks while I’m opening the window, I’ll be a sitting duck, Alan thought. Hey Hank, do owls eat ducks?

No answer.

Alan crawled to the window. He had to stand up to reach the window frame but his legs wouldn’t budge. Are you going to let a little bird scare you? Alan tried to boost his courage but he knew the answer to his question was ‘Yes!’

Finally his stood up and triumphantly grabbed the sash. Once he got the window open, he planned to yell for help. His mother, in the house making breakfast, should be able to hear him. Surely she wasn’t afraid off an owl. Alan imagined her striding out to the barn and smacking the owl over the head with a frying pan. A grin broke out across his face as he played out the scene in his head.

Alan jerked hard on the window frame but it did not move. He tried again but the window refused to budge. Darn, no point to yelling now, Alan muttered. Without the window open, his mother would not be able to hear him.

There it is again! Hank warned.

Alan turned to see the flying menace soaring directly at his face. He collapsed onto the floor a heap of blue jeans and blonde hair. The owl sailed silently through the loft, his sharp beak flashing as he passed through the sunbeams.

Turning sharply, the owl aimed his beak directly at Hank. Instinctively he dodged the sharp talons as they passed inches over his head. Then he quickly scrambled down the ladder and ducked down under the loft.

Hank figured the large doors needed to be open for the owl to get out. That meant he would have to make his way to the far end of the barn. Hank knew the owl would have a chance to strike at him if he ran out in the open.

Alan crawled to the other side of the loft. He positioned his back against a set of shelves. Alan reached into the tangle of junk on one of the shelves and pulled out a tennis racket.

Feeling overwhelmed by the threat Alan missed his dog, Bossy. He always felt safe with her around. Sadly, she passed away last autumn. He felt a little safer with the tennis racket in his hand but he lacked the courage he had with Bossy by his side.

Meanwhile downstairs, Hank made his way to the front of the barn. He pushed hard, sliding one of the large doors along its rusty rails. As it opened, it made a sickening screeching sound spooking the owl.

In the loft, Alan swung the tennis racket as a blur of brown feathers sailed through the loft.

Don’t hit it! I think it’s an endangered species! Hank yelled to his frantic brother.

Well, if it is, it certainly isn’t acting like one!

Can you see where it went?

Alan breath came in quick pants. I think, he gasped, I think it flew down there.

Hank started peering under the loft. Wagons, bikes and other machines filled the space. He looked