Is it perchance a temperature gauge?” Michael Jamison asked warily, nodding toward the dash panel of the speeding Mercedes. “Yup,” Josh murmured. Even though he'd checked the radiator and knew it still held plenty of water, the heat was climbing way too high. Small wonder. In the past hour and a half they'd traveled at breakneck speeds. Edmund leaned forward from the back seat and yelled over the noise of the engine, “Crikey, does that mean we can go even faster?” He sounded delighted at the prospect as he gazed curiously at the various knobs and gauges on the complex piece of machinery. Michael just sat stoically, his hands braced against the dash panel as the wind whipped his straight black hair about his face. Oddly enough, the coolly imperturbable spy was more frightened than the timid Edmund by hurtling along at speeds nearing fifty miles an hour. Then again, Josh thought, Eddy's such a fool kid, if he fell down, he couldn't hit the ground.
