The dome went black, leaving Brand and Holiday alone, and stunned again.

“He put the hyper one in charge,” Brand said. “Heaven help Paris.”

Julio “Flinch” Escala was freaking out. Ten bombs were planted beneath the streets of Paris, set to go off at any minute. The destruction they would cause would be cataclysmic—hundreds of thousands of people would die, and one of the world’s most beautiful cities would be rubble. It was his job to prevent it, but at that moment he was too busy with his freak-out mentioned above. He screamed and kicked and struggled and screamed some more. And then he did it again.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The NERDS had easily located Captain Kapow’s bombs stashed in the Paris catacombs, a series of intertwining mazes that made the French city’s underground resemble Swiss cheese. All the team had to do was go into the tunnels, find the bombs, and deactivate them. Easy, right? Well, it probably would have been if General Savage hadn’t put Flinch in charge.

The General must have thought having the fastest and strongest member of the NERDS in charge made sense, but Flinch was hyperactive and he had a hard time concentrating, especially when he was full of sugar, which was most of the time. Put on the spot, Flinch had flashed through hundreds of plans, all competing for center stage in his mind. It gave him a headache trying to untangle them. So he did what came naturally—he plunged into the tunnels headfirst, all by himself, and was promptly surrounded by a gang of thugs. He fought most of them with ease but one clocked him in the back of the noggin, and then it was lights-out, Flinch!

And when he came to and discovered he was tied up, the freak-out began.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but figured it wasn’t long. After all, the bombs hadn’t exploded and he was still alive—though he had no idea how much time was left before they sent Paris, and himself, sky-high.

Suddenly, Flinch felt a powerful tickle in his nose and he let out one of the loudest sneezes of his life. Aside from the outrageous noise, the sneeze had one other peculiar feature. It activated a tiny communication device buried deep inside his nose. There was a crackle in his ear as a com-link came to life, and soon he could hear a familiar voice inside his head.

“Agent Pufferfish to Agent Flinch, can you hear me? Please respond.”

“I’m here,” Flinch said.

“What are you doing?”

“Having a nervous breakdown!” he cried. “I’m tied up in a tunnel surrounded by bombs!”

“Flinch!” Pufferfish said. “Stay calm. You can’t freak out. Take some deep breaths. Are you breathing?”

“I think so,” Flinch said.

“Good, now use your superstrength to snap the ropes,” Pufferfish told him.

Flinch tried and failed. The more he pulled, the more the ropes dug into his wrists, which meant he had an even bigger problem. His hyperactivity was channeled through a harness he wore at all times. It gave him superhuman strength and speed. If he couldn’t break the ropes, there was only one conclusion—the harness was malfunctioning, which meant he was just an ordinary boy, albeit a very hyperactive ordinary boy.

“No can do, Pufferfish,” he said. “My upgrades are offline.”

He heard the sounds of scratching and itching through his com-link.

“What’s that noise?” he asked.

“It’s me. I’m freaking out,” Pufferfish said. “And I’m allergic to freaking out. You’ve only got fifteen minutes before Paris goes bye-bye.”

The two of them screamed and shrieked—freaking out together—until another voice came on the line. This one belonged to Agent Wheezer. From the sound of the wind breaking up her voice, Flinch guessed she was soaring over the City of Lights, using her inhalers to propel her through the sky. “This is Agent Wheezer, your eye in the sky. Captain Kapow is making his way toward the river Seine, where he has a getaway boat waiting for him. I’ll do what I can to slow him down, but I could really use a hyperactive strongman with superspeed to help out.”

“I’m a little tied up at the moment,” Flinch said as he pulled at the ropes once more. He wished he could see what was bound around his hands. If only it wasn’t so dark. Wait! Hadn’t the scientists given him something special for just this situation? Yes, the contact lenses! But how did they work? If only he had paid attention during the briefing, but there were bear claws in the briefing room and they weren’t going to eat themselves.

“Uh, Gluestick, how do the contacts work again?” he said.

Duncan came on the com-link with a sigh. “I knew you weren’t listening!”

“Bear claws!” Flinch cried.

“The T-477 Contact Bulbs have a nuclear core that—”

“Just tell me how they work!”

“Geez! OK, blink your eyes three times fast and say ‘spotlight,’” Gluestick said.

Flinch did what he was told and suddenly his eyes lit up like the high beams on a Gran Torino. He immediately wished he could go back to not knowing where he was. He was in a narrow tunnel with walls lined from floor to ceiling with bones—hundreds and thousands of bones. Hips, legs, feet, fingers, ribs: all different sizes of bones stacked on top of one another in neat rows. Suddenly it seemed as if the tunnel was getting smaller and the bones were getting closer. The skulls were turning their lifeless gaze on him, and their cackling jaws unhinged to eat his soul.

“MUERTO!” he cried.

“Here comes the freak-out again,” another voice said. This one belonged to Agent Braceface. “I don’t know why Savage didn’t just send me. My braces could have gotten this done fifteen minutes ago and we’d have time to see the Eiffel Tower.”

“Flinch, you must calm down,” Pufferfish said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. This was all explained in the briefing. You’re in the Parisian catacombs, also known as the City of the Dead.”

“City of the Dead!!” Flinch cried.

“Shut up and listen! It’s a big underground cemetery. Nearly six million people were moved there in the late eighteenth century from a place called the Cemetery of the Innocents. The original tunnels were carved out by limestone miners and are centuries old—”

“Less history lesson and more rescuing me from the skeleton people!” Flinch shouted, pulling fruitlessly at his bindings.

“The tunnels are why we have to stop the bombs from exploding. If they go off, every house, business, car, and person above them will collapse into the earth.”

“I didn’t know that!” he said.

“IT WAS IN THE BRIEFING!” his teammates shouted through the com-link.

Duncan’s voice returned. “All right, buddy, take a deep breath and calm down. Try to relax and stay positive. What is it that your grandma always says?”

“De que tocan a llover, no hay más que abrir el paraguas,” Flinch said.

“What does that mean?” Wheezer asked.

“If it’s raining, all you have to do is open your umbrella.”

“So what are we going to do?” Pufferfish said.

“We’re going to find his umbrella,” Gluestick responded. “Now, feel around for something to loosen the ropes.”

Flinch reached out until something sharp jabbed his wrists. Was it a knife? What did a skeleton need a knife for? Were the skeletons not satisfied with scaring him to death, and now they wanted to stab him? He pushed the thought out of his mind and focused on his situation. He had learned in his secret agent training that anything could be a tool—even a pointy thing in a stack of dead people. So he fought the urge to pee his pants and rubbed the ropes against its sharp edge.

“Maybe I need to go in after him,” Braceface said. “I’ll just morph my braces into a motorcycle and zip down there. If we don’t act fast this place is going to be French toast.”