Friday Barnes and the Case at the Embassy

When Friday is stuck in transit at Geneva airport, she makes a deal with the Swiss authorities. She'll solve their robbery in exchange for a passport.

Come along to the Book Launch Show for ‘Friday Barnes 14, Nothing to Lose’. I’ll be telling the stories behind the ideas in the book, doing a live reading and probably singing a song about it. Books will be available for purchase and I will be signing them after the show.

Arts Theatre (Adelaide)
20th September 2026, 2pm

Darling Quarter (Sydney)
26th September 2026, 2pm

Powerhouse Theatre (Brisbane)

If you enjoyed the podcast please like, review and/or subscribe!

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:51

Hello and welcome to Bedtime Stories with me, R. A. Spratt. Well, it's super hectic here. I'm in the middle of bookweek season. Uh, this is week two for me. I I'm was up in Queensland last week and I'm in Sydney this week, traveling around. I've just come home for one day, and then I'll be back up in Sydney, and then next week is Sydney, and the week after that is Melbourne. So it's all very, very hectic. I'm going all around. Um, and uh, I just realized that the audiobook of Friday Mars 5 is going to be coming out on the 1st of September 2026. And I got very excited because I thought, oh, that's great. If there's a new audiobook coming out, that means I can do an extract of that on the podcast, and that will give me a week where I don't have to record a new episode. And then uh so I was all excited about that, and then I realized, hang on, I forgot to do that for book four when it came out back in January, because uh the audiobook of uh Friday months four came out in January, and uh that was when this show was on hiatus, you know, so I was doing reruns, so I didn't drop uh an extract back then. So that's what I'm gonna do today. And um, rest assured, next week we will get back to um uh the Iliad, the Trojan War, because I I have I've written a script, so I just have to record it and edit it. So we'll be doing that for next week. But this week we're gonna have an extract from Friday Barnes 4, and this is all part of the big lead up. We're gonna have a bit of a month of Friday Barnes um because the the audiobook of book five will come out, and then on the 22nd of September uh 2026, uh Friday Barnes 14 will come out. It's just a brand new book, so it'll be coming out in paperback, ebook, and audiobook. So, and then of course there'll be the live shows, the live launch shows for that in um Brisbane, Adelaide, and Sydney. So there's a lot coming up with Friday Barnes over the next month, um, as well as I'll be slotting in the Nanny Pickens version of the Trojan War in between those episodes. All right, well, um I'll play the music and then we'll get into the extract. Here we go. Chapter 1: Where we left off. Friday was in a good mood as she entered the dining hall at Highchrist Academy with the headmaster, her best friend Melanie Pelley, and Ian Wainscott, the most handsome boy in school. The headmaster had promised Friday an extra serving of dessert for helping Highcrest avert their latest near disaster. An imposter had impersonated a member of the Norwegian royal family and gone on a school-wide theft spree. But Friday and her friends never got to eat the ice cream. As they walked in, Friday's Uncle Bernie was there waiting for her, and with him were a man and a woman wearing dark grey suits and sunglasses. Who are they? asked the headmaster. The big scruffy man in the Chris suit is my Uncle Bernie, said Friday. Perhaps soon to be Ian's stepdad, added Melanie. He is not, said Ian. And the other two, said Friday, given their suits with a high polyester count and ostentatious wearing of sunglasses. I deduce as some sort of government officials. Oh Friday, exclaimed Uncle Bernie, as soon as he saw her. I'm so sorry. There's nothing I can do. About what? she asked. The woman pulled an identification card from her pocket. I'm Agent Torres from the Department of Immigration. Are you Friday Barnes? Yes, that's me, said Friday. Then you'll have to come with us, said Agent Torres. Why? asked Friday. You're being deported, said Uncle Bernie. Hang on, I'm headmaster here. I'm responsible for this child, said the headmaster. All the paperwork is in order, said Agent Torres. The other agent handed a sheaf of paperwork to the headmaster. He started flicking through it. On what grounds can you deport her? asked the headmaster. She hasn't committed a crime. Well, not one that's been proven anyway. We're deporting her because she's not a citizen, said Agent Torres. Yes, I am, said Friday. Is it true you were born in Switzerland? asked Agent Torres. Well, yes, conceded Friday. And you have never applied for citizenship or even a permanent residency visa? asked the agent. I was a baby, said Friday. I assume that was all sorted out when my parents brought me home. Oh no, my parents. They never filled in the paperwork, did they? No, they didn't, said Uncle Bernie. If I'd known about it sooner, I could have done something. The Department of Immigration has been writing to them, phoning them, and even visiting them repeatedly over the years, said Agent Torres. They have ignored all our correspondence. Dr. Evangeline Barnes and Dr. Rupert Barnes are no longer residents of the country. You are a Swiss citizen who's been illegally residing in this country for twelve years. You will be deported today. But protested Friday. If you want to appeal the decision, said Agent Torres, you'll have to take it up with our embassy in Geneva. But wait until Wednesday, advised Melanie. We've got PE on Tuesday, and we're playing dodgeball. You'll want to miss that. The agents grabbed Friday by an elbow each and started leading her away. Friday got one last glance at her friends before she was ushered out the door. Melanie turned to the headmaster. She will be back, won't she? I hope so, said the headmaster, rubbing his head in anticipation of the headache he knew he was about to get. It's hard enough running this school. Who's going to figure out all the weird hijinks that go on if Friday isn't here? I'm sure it'll all be sorted out in just a couple of days, said Uncle Bernie. Chapter 2. Lounging in Transit Friday Barnes had been living in the transit lounge at Zurich International Airport for three weeks. This was actually nowhere near as unpleasant as it sounds. Usually people loathe time in a transit lounge because they're anxiously awaiting a flight that has probably been delayed and they have an inherent phobia of flying. But Friday had taken up residence. Technically, she wasn't a citizen of anywhere. The Swiss authorities would not let her through border control, so she was stuck. Friday couldn't go home because she didn't have a passport or visa, and she couldn't leave the airport and go into Zurich because the Swiss government didn't acknowledge her citizenship. Again, this sounds like a deeply unpleasant limbo to a normal person, but Friday was far from normal. She was having a very pleasant time. She was able to earn a nice living by acting as a translator for confused travelers. She got plenty to eat in the first-class lounges run by the different airlines because they would each exchange access to their lounge for her translating services or get her to fix their computers. She even received letters care of Mr. Tanaka at the airport sushi bar, so Melanie was able to write to her. Dear Friday, I wish you would hurry up and get yourself re-imported home. School is not the same without you. In biology this morning, Mr. Poshoglian actually asked me a question. He would never do that if you were here. He's normally so busy avoiding eye contact with you that he never notices me. Ian misses you. Of course you can't tell from anything he says or does, but it's true. I think he's up to something. It's a shame you're not here to nip it in the bud before he gets himself into trouble. I've got to go. I can barely keep my eyes open. I don't know how people in the olden days coped with letter writing. Handwriting is exhausting. Bye for now, Melanie. Kiss Kiss Hug Hug. And, unlike Highcrest Academy, the transit lounge had free internet access, so Friday was able to keep in touch with her Uncle Bernie, who was doing all he could to get the embassy to take action. Friday was video chatting with him. You'd think the child of a Nobel laureate would have an easier time getting a passport, grumbled Uncle Bernie. But the hard part was getting someone from the embassy to make the three hour drive from Geneva to Zurich Airport to sort it all out. Petrol is expensive, said Friday reasonably. You're a twelve year old living in an airport, said Uncle Bernie. Where's their compassion? I'm having a perfectly nice time, said Friday. Don't tell them that, said Uncle Bernie. They'll never get you out. I'm fine, said Friday. You're much more upset than I am. I just feel so guilty, said Uncle Bernie. If I hadn't been rude to the receptionist at the embassy the first time I rang up, they wouldn't have put me on the no fly list. I could have travelled to Switzerland to meet with the embassy officials myself. It's all right, said Friday. It's only been three weeks. I'm learning so much here in the airport. It's wonderful to have the opportunity to try out so many of the languages I've been studying. Friday, you're not meant to be enjoying yourself, said Uncle Bernie. If you were hysterical and weeping, it might help motivate some people. Sorry, Uncle Bernie, said Friday. Hysterical and weeping just isn't in my nature. I don't think I'm in touch enough with my emotions. I'd prefer to suppress everything and then let it well out in six or seven years time when I buy a puppy dog. Friday Barnes, please report to Immigration Control. Friday Barnes, said a voice over the airport PA system. I think I'm being paged, said Friday. Entschuldigung Friday, they're calling you, called Alexander the barista from the coffee shop. I hope this is good news for you, yes? Me too, said Friday. She spoke to the webcam. Sorry, Uncle Bernie, I've got to go. I'm being paged by immigration control. This could be it. Oh, that's wonderful, said Uncle Bernie. If they interview you, remember, whatever you do, don't be yourself. Try to act like a normal person. I'm not going to make any promises I can't keep, said Friday. Bye, Uncle Bernie. I'll let you know how it goes. She logged off and grabbed her duffel bag. Here, take a cookie for luck, said Alexander. Thanks, said Friday, as she gathered up her things, grabbed the cookie, and jogged towards the passport checklines. Friday, called Gunther, the immigration official. He waved happily from the kiosk near the security check. They've finally got a bigwig out to see you. Gunther opened a gate so she could enter the office area. What sort of bigwig? asked Friday. Some suited man from the embassy. Perhaps they're going to spring you from here, said Gunther. I'll be happy for you, but I'll be sorry to see you go. Morica's been doing so much better at school since you've been coaching her in maths. Skill in mathematics is so good for a girl's self-esteem, said Friday. Anyway, he's waiting in interview room one for you, said Gunther. He led Friday through a private door into a corridor flanked by interview rooms. Quigley, here she is, said Gunther. You should snap her up for your country quickly. We might have a tough citizenship process here in Switzerland, but it's only a matter of time before someone realizes what an asset she is to any nation. Friday stepped into the room. A serious looking man in a grey suit was sitting at the interview table, checking messages on his mobile phone as he made notes on a writing pad. Friday's files were sitting closed on the table. This was the man who could decide Friday's fate, and everything about him said bureaucrat. He was neat, bland, and conservative. Yes, all right, said Mr. Quigley. Then his phone started ringing. Excuse me, I have to take this. Friday looked at Gunther and raised her eyebrows. Good luck, said Gunther. He patted her on the shoulder before he left. No, no, I'll be back there as soon as possible, Mr. Quigley was saying into the phone. Tell him I'll call him back. Okay, tell her I'll call her back. A four foot tall ice sculpture can't just go missing. It's got to be somewhere. Just tell them I'll call them once I finish this meeting and I'm back in my car. You shouldn't talk on the phone while you're driving, interrupted Friday. Shh, said Mr. Quigley, looking up at Friday for the first time. Then someone on the other end of the phone evidently yelled in his ear because he flinched. No, not you. There's a girl in the room talking to me. When you talk on the phone while you're driving, you're thirty-four percent more likely to have or cause a traffic accident, said Friday. I have a hands-free setup, said Mr. Quigley, holding his hand over the mouthpiece as he spoke to Friday. That's only marginally safer, said Friday. True, you can use both hands to drive the car, but you're still distracted by the conversation. And unlike a conversation with a car passenger, the person on the other end of the phone doesn't instinctively stop talking when you reach a point of critical decision making, such as when you're changing lanes in high speed traffic or making your way through a busy junction. Gotta hang up, Mr. Quigley said to the person on the phone. I think this meeting is gonna be more difficult than I imagined. He put his phone down on the table. Now, Mr Mr. Quigley checked his file. Schonen. Freytag Schoenen. My name is Friday Barnes, said Friday. Yes, well technically that is your alias, said Mr. Quigley, double checking the details in his paperwork. Since you have no passport, your only official record is your birth certificate, and it's got you down as Freytag Schoenen. That's German for Friday Barnes, said Friday. Freytag means Friday, and Schunen means Barnes, as in the large farm buildings. But I'm Barnes with an E. The German version is your official name, said Mr. Quigley. I'll be sure to change it officially as soon as I get home, said Friday. Mr. Quigley's phone started ringing again. Excuse me, said Mr. Quigley, as he picked it up. Hello? Uh-huh. No, I'll speak to him myself when I get back. I don't know. It'll go quicker if people stop calling me all the time. Okay, okay okay, I hear what you're saying. I'm sorry I raised my voice. No, there's no need to file a complaint with human resources. I promise it won't happen again.

unknown 14:15

Mr.

SPEAKER_00 14:16

Quigley put his phone on the table. Why don't you turn it off? asked Friday. We'll deal with my problem quicker, then you'll be able to get back to your crisis at the embassy. I can't turn my phone off, said Mr. Quigley. Why not? asked Friday. It would be irresponsible. I'm secretary to the ambassador. I have to be on call twenty four seven. The phone started ringing again. Friday snatched it up, turned it off, and laid it face down on the table. Hey! exclaimed Mr. Quigley. That's government property. If you're applying for citizenship, this isn't helping you. No, perhaps not, said Friday. But how about I help you? I think it'll be the quickest way to get you to focus on my problems. What? said Mr. Quigley. If you've read my file, said Friday, which I doubt you have, because you're clearly of the belief that you're too important for such a menial task. But if you had read it, you would know that I have been very successful as a private detective. You're twelve years old, said Mr. Quigley. I read that much of your file. Yes, which is what makes my success at solving crime so impressive, said Friday. Tell me about your problem. I bet I can help. I can't tell you about embassy business, said Mr. Quigley. It's confidential. You see, this is an example of why you're deluded about your own self-importance, said Friday. I actually know what your problem is because I've read six different newspapers this morning. They're provided for free in the transit lounge. Friday reached into her bag and pulled out six folded newspapers. All of them, even the English language papers, feature a story about a priceless jade necklace that was stolen from your embassy in Geneva last night. The necklace was originally looted from China during the opium wars of the 19th century. Your ambassador was going to present it to the Chinese ambassador at a formal dinner this evening as a gesture of goodwill to a growing trade partner, said Friday. It's not a secret, it's news. I'm not discussing it with you, said Mr. Quigley. Why not? said Friday. What have you got to lose? I'm not going to tell anyone. I can't even leave the airport. And if I did tell someone, no one would believe me because I'm just a twelve-year-old girl. Let's just fill out your paperwork and I can begin trying to process it, said Mr. Quigley, taking a set of forms out of his briefcase. We've located your parents now. They're at a university in Estonia. Once we have all your information, we'll get them to fill out the forms. If you do find them, you'll never get them to fill out the forms, said Friday. Certainly not properly. They couldn't even give my name to the birth registrar. It would be much better if you simply issued me with an exigent circumstances passport. We can't do that, said Mr. Quigley. That's only for the most exceptional circumstances. For political refugees and defectors. I am exceptional, said Friday. You're certainly not exceptionally modest, said Mr Quigley, with raised eyebrows. I'll prove it to you, said Friday. I'll find the necklace. You're not allowed to leave the airport transit lounge, said Mr Quigley. That will be the bit that proves I'm exceptional, said Friday, with a smile. I haven't got time for this, said Mr. Quigley, reflexively glancing at his phone, even though it was turned off. Really, said Friday. You haven't got time for a fifteen minute conversation with me. That could result in you finding the necklace as soon as you get back to Geneva. Mr. Quigley hesitated. He was clearly warring with himself. I've solved bank robberies, thwarted smuggling operations, and uncovered escaped convicts, said Friday. Your problem is well within my skill set. Mr. Quigley sighed. You're not going to shut up until we do this, are you? No, agreed Friday happily. And we'll leave it there. So that was an extract from Friday Bun's four No Rules. I hope you enjoyed it, and the audiobook is available if you'd like to hear the rest. And next week we'll be back with more of the tales from the Trojan War. That's it for now. Goodbye.