by Andrew Cope
Lara put her book down and trotted over to the mantelpiece. She sniffed the packet and closed her eyes with pleasure. One won’t hurt. And I only had a small slice of cake, she thought as she clawed open the packet. Her doggie nose sniffed again. Oh boy, she drooled, licking her chops. They smell so gooood.
Lara gobbled a biscuit. Oh yes, she thought, they taste as good as they look. Another followed. And another. Lara crunched her way through half the packet and then stopped to think. She brushed the crumbs off her book. Half gone now, she considered. I should probably destroy the evidence. With some furious chomping and a flurry of crumbs Lara polished off the rest of the poisoned biscuits before returning to her book.
5. A Big Plan
It looked as though Gus would fall through the top bunk. His huge frame hung down, restricting Archie’s space in the bed below. The cell door opened and Mr Big strode in. Archie poked a bony finger into the saggy shape above. ‘Boss is here, big man,’ he shouted, and Gus sat up, dangling his legs over the side of the creaky bed.
‘Is it time?’ he asked.
My Big opened the cupboard and pulled out a laptop and a box of expensive cigars. He lit one and puffed out a cloud of grey smoke.
Archie started dancing about with excitement. ‘I don’t know how you do it, boss, but you always come up trumps. You’ve managed to smuggle a laptop into prison. Quick, let’s get the recording done.’
Mr Big lifted the lid and took the script from his pocket as he waited for the laptop to boot up. The end of his cigar glowed brightly as he sucked in another lungful of smoke. He looked at the box on the table. Smoking is bad for your health read the warning. ‘And if you’re a dog, so am I,’ he chuckled to himself. Mr Big inserted a memory stick into the laptop and nodded to the others. ‘Check the corridor,’ he said. ‘Here goes.’
Archie and Gus stood by the cell door while Mr Big got to work.
‘Hello, doggie,’ they heard him say. Gus cringed as Mr Big began to sing a tone-deaf version of ‘Happy Birthday’.
‘Many happy returns,’ he soothed. ‘I hope you had a lovely day. And I hope you know who this is?’ His cigar glowed again. ‘You want a clue? I am your BIGGEST admirer.’ Mr Big disappeared into a fit of laughter, cut short by his smoker’s cough. He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, poochie, I hope you enjoyed my pressie? Yummy biscuits. Your favourite, I believe? Me and the boys enjoyed making them. The biscuits are special, you see. They may smell like biscuits and look like biscuits. They even taste like biscuits. Do you know why?’ Mr Big drew on his cigar before continuing. ‘Because they are biscuits!’ All of a sudden Mr Big’s tone changed. He left a dramatic pause. ‘Poisoned biscuits,’ he added in a cigar growl. ‘We call them Killer Custard Creams.’
The evil criminal blew a smoke ring at the laptop. ‘Here’s the deal, poochie. You have three days – that’s seventy-two hours – before the poison takes over completely. In that time you will break me and my boys out of this prison. I have the antidote. I am the only one who can save you. If we’re not out in that time you will suffer a horrible, painful, glorious death and the world will be rid of Spy Dog. So,’ he rumbled in his most gravelly voice, ‘break me out and live. Or fail and die.’
Archie started jumping about. ‘Guard coming, boss,’ he hissed nervously, pointing out of the cell. ‘Coming right this way.’
Mr Big stayed calm and finished his recording. ‘I look forward to seeing you very soon,’ he said, before adding a sentence he’d always dreamt of saying. ‘Oh, and by the way, this message will self-destruct in fifteen seconds.’
‘Quick, boss,’ worried Archie, his hands waving in the air.
‘Archie, calm down,’ barked Mr Big. ‘Gus, take care of it.’
The huge convict lumbered out of his cell and deliberately bumped into the prison guard, knocking him off his feet.
‘Sorry, sir,’ lied Gus, his gold teeth glinting. He reached a hand down to help up the warden.
‘You will be, idiot,’ snapped the guard, getting to his feet and smoothing his uniform. ‘Out of my way,’ he glared, ‘I want to check your cell. Someone’s stolen a laptop from the office.’
Gus stood tall, his barrel chest blocking the entrance.
‘I said, out of my way!’ repeated the guard, reaching for his truncheon.
‘It’s OK, Gus,’ shouted Mr Big. ‘Let him past. We’ve nothing to hide. In fact, we’ve got something to show him.’
Gus stood aside and the officer pushed past and into the cell. His nostrils flared at the smell of tobacco. ‘This is a no-smoking prison, Big,’ he reminded. ‘I hope you’re not being a bad boy?’ The guard shuffled nervously. Even the prison officers were afraid of Mr Big.
‘A bad boy?’ repeated the criminal, forcing a smile. ‘Me? Far from it, sir. We found this,’ he said, holding out the laptop. ‘And we’d like to do the right thing and hand it in.’
‘But –’ began Gus, before being cut short by his boss.
‘No buts, Gus,’ soothed Mr Big. ‘We’re in prison because we’ve been naughty. Now we’re learning to be good boys,’ he growled. ‘And then they’ll let us out. Isn’t that right, sir?’
‘You’ll never be let out,’ said the warden bravely. He snatched the laptop and turned to leave when he had a thought. Mr Big was the most evil prisoner in the world’s most evil prison. Why would he be giving the laptop back? He turned round. ‘You’d better not be up to something, Big,’ he warned. ‘Nobody’s ever escaped from here.’
The cell door slammed and the guard hurried away with the laptop.
Mr Big took the memory stick from inside his sock. ‘Well, we like a challenge,’ he grinned. ‘Nobody’s ever escaped because nobody’s ever had a spy dog working on the outside,’ he smirked. ‘This goes in the post this afternoon and we’ll be free by the weekend.’
6. The Race
It was the morning after Lara’s birthday. Mr and Mrs Cook went to work and the children to school. Lara wasn’t feeling well so she asked the puppies to run the morning pet neighbourhood-watch meeting. ‘I’ll have a bit of a lie-down,’ she told them.
Lara had the house to herself. She nosed through the post and was surprised to see a letter with her name on the front. Unusual, she thought. Lara chewed open the envelope and a computer memory stick dropped out. She rummaged in the package and fished out a piece of paper. Play me, it read.
Lara shrugged. She felt strangely weary. I can’t be bothered to turn on the computer, she thought. I’ll play this later.
Then she curled up on the sofa and fell into a deep sleep.
The puppies were having a fabulous time. The animal neighbourhood-watch team gathered expectantly. They were in awe of Lara so her offspring were held in equally high regard.
‘Our mum’s feeling a bit under the weather,’ woofed Star, ‘so she’s asked us to step in and run this session.’
Spud did the feline sign language to translate for the cats. They nodded approvingly.
‘So what are we doing today?’ asked Mindy, bouncing excitedly.
‘Racing!’ barked Star, watching her brother running on the spot for feline translation.
The cats hung their heads. They hated anything competitive.
George the tortoise disappeared into his shell. Racing wasn’t his idea of fun either.
‘We’ve decided to test out some new gadgets kindly donated by Professor Cortex. Dogs versus cats, versus George. We’re going to see who can get into town and back the quickest.’
George’s legs came out and he turned to go home. ‘No point staying,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Town and back! That’s a two-year trek for me!’
‘Hey, George,’ woofed Spud, ‘don’t give up so quickly. We have a surprise for you.’
George hesitated. He decided to give the puppies a chance.
‘Who’s the fastest dog?’ woofed Star. ‘Quickest in the neighbourhood? After me, of course.’
Danny Boy raised a paw. ‘My mum was a greyhound,’ he said proudly. ‘So
I’m pretty swift.’
‘And puss cats?’ woofed Star, her brother explaining in sign language once more. ‘We need a volunteer to try these,’ she said, holding up a pair of specially designed Rollerblades. ‘And we’ve only got one cat crazy enough to try this,’ she yapped, as her brother put his paw to his head to demonstrate.
Connie stepped forward importantly. She’d already used several of her nine lives, including the loss of half an ear in a cycling accident. ‘They look fabulous,’ she purred, lying down while Spud slipped the wheeled boots on to her tiny feet. Connie stood gingerly. ‘Easy peasy,’ she mewed, wobbling across the grass. She reached the concrete path and her legs went in four different directions, sending her to the ground in a furry starfish shape.
The other cats gathered round and helped her up. There was no way they were going to lose to a dog!
‘And you, George,’ woofed Star, ‘have had your skateboard upgraded!’ Star produced a skateboard with a harness. George’s neck stretched in excitement. ‘It’s… got… a…’
‘Rocket on the back,’ said Star, finishing his sentence. ‘Which makes you the fastest tortoise in the world!’
‘Probably the universe,’ added Spud as the animals crowded round to examine the professor’s invention. ‘Nought to sixty in three point seven seconds,’ explained the spy pup. ‘Controlled by George’s head movements. This will transform tortoises the world over. And George is the guinea pig.’
Bullet the guinea pig raised his paw in objection as George was strapped into the harness. Spud clipped a small helmet to the reptile’s bony head. ‘Just in case, old fella,’ he woofed.
‘This is sooo exciting,’ barked Danny Boy. ‘Greyhound versus Rollerblading puss versus rocket-propelled tortoise! What are the rules?’
‘No rules, guys,’ yapped Spud. ‘First to the marketplace and back is the winner. Simple as that. We’ve got Polly up there watching.’ Everyone looked up at the parrot flying overhead. ‘She’ll be providing the commentary. And here’s something else from the professor,’ he woofed. ‘GPS watches for all the competitors, so you don’t get lost if… erm… you suddenly take a new direction,’ he added, eyeing George’s skateboard.
There was a murmur of excitement in the assembled crowd. This was a much more exciting meeting than Lara usually ran!
‘Are you guys ready?’ woofed Spud, switching on George’s rocket and standing well back.
The animals nodded. ‘Then off you go!’ barked Star, waving a handkerchief to signal ‘go’.
Danny Boy was away first. No gadgets or gimmicks – he was pure four-legged canine speed! Connie wobbled to the gate, hanging on to the fence like a beginner ice-skater. She let go and accelerated down the road, screeching in terror as she went.
George stalled his engine so had to be restarted. He chugged a little and some smoke blew out of the back. He worked the lever with his head and off he went, cautiously at first and then more confidently as he got on to the straight bit of road.
The race was on!
Lara was woken by a noise outside. I feel awful, she thought as she dragged herself over to the window. She watched as George spluttered by in a cloud of smoke.
That definitely looks like the work of the prof. She knew the pups shouldn’t really be encouraging the pets to use gadgets in public. Normally Lara would have bounded outside and put a stop to the race.
I’ll tell them off later, she thought. I feel deathly. I think it was a mistake to eat so much cake and a whole packet of biscuits yesterday. But right now I’d better get to the bathroom. And quick!
7. An Evil Message
Outside, the race was well and truly underway. Grandma Cook was walking up the cul-de-sac as Danny raced by.
‘Hello, Danny Boy,’ waved the old lady. ‘And goodbye again,’ she said as her favourite dog blurred past. Then from round the corner came a Rollerblading cat. ‘Connie,’ she said, dropping her shopping bag, ‘is that you?’
‘Meeeoooeow,’ wailed Connie, unable to stop.
‘You do see some amazing things nowadays,’ muttered Gran, picking up her basket and setting off again. The old lady hadn’t gone three steps before George hurtled round the corner. He’d taken it too fast and was clipping the hedge as he went.
‘George?’ said Gran, dropping her shopping again. The old lady leapt out of the way as the rocket-propelled reptile whizzed past in a cloud of smoke.
‘Danny Boy is at the marketplace,’ screeched Polly from above. ‘George has just nudged into second place. Connie’s crashed into a wall but looks OK.’
The dogs cheered. The cats hissed and sharpened their claws.
Danny was slowing. He might be half greyhound but his other half was Rottweiler – slow and ponderous. His muscles ached. He could hear George’s engine spluttering behind.
Connie righted herself. She’d lost half of her other ear but it wasn’t going to stop her. She desperately wanted to be the fastest pet. Lara would be so proud. The Rollerblading cat was growing in confidence and she was definitely gaining on Danny Boy. The pavement whizzed by as she caught up with the dog.
‘Toodle pip, old fella,’ waved Connie, looking back and smiling at the exhausted dog. ‘Power to the felines –’
Slam!
Connie hit a tree – another of her lives gone – and Danny nudged back into second place.
George’s engine was overheating. He could see the finish line but his shell was getting hot. The engine started to cough. Fifty metres to go. It felt like his shell was melting. Forty metres. The engine stalled and he was freewheeling the rest of the way. His skateboard wheels trundled across the tarmac but he was slowing. The tortoise swung his legs in a breaststroke motion to maintain momentum. He could hear Danny Boy’s panting. He looked up to see the animals cheering. The dogs were wild, the cats wilder. George glided to a halt just before the line and the Rollerblading cat whizzed by, winning the race by a whisker.
There were joyous celebrations from the feline community and Connie was held up like the FA Cup. Danny Boy was a proud second. ‘No gadgets,’ he panted. ‘Just sheer dog power.’
Polly flew down and nudged George over the line. Everyone agreed it was an excellent time for a tortoise.
‘A tad more fuel, George, and the championship could have been yours!’ she squawked.
Star and Spud brought drinks into the garden and the team slurped for a while before disappearing back to their respective homes. Connie took her skates, the cats plotting some extra practice.
The puppies scampered indoors, proud at having chaired their first ever meeting of the pet neighbourhood-watch team. Their mum was fast asleep so they busied themselves in the kitchen.
Spud made himself a jam, ham and salami triple-decker sandwich while Star emptied the dishwasher. ‘Hey, check this out,’ she said, shutting the cutlery drawer. ‘A memory stick and a note saying Play me.’
‘Let’s see what’s on it,’ barked Spud, spitting bread as he spoke.
The puppies galloped upstairs and slotted the stick into the family computer. Spud was the expert at holding a pencil in his mouth and he clicked a few keys to open up the correct software. ‘It’s an audio file,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what it says.’ He clicked the Play button and swivelled in his chair.
‘Lovely but a bit out of tune,’ woofed Star, listening to ‘Happy Birthday’.
‘Mum’s got an admirer,’ giggled Star.
Spud stopped swivelling and Star’s wag died as Mr Big’s message boomed from the speakers. Their mouths fell open as the evil laugh turned into a choking cough. ‘So, break me out and live,’ they heard him say, ‘or fail and die.’
Spud’s teeth were chattering as Mr Big finished his short message. ‘Oh, and by the way, this message will self-destruct in fifteen seconds.’
Star was frozen with fear. ‘Mum,’ she whimpered. ‘This evil man has poisoned her.’
Spud sprang into action. ‘Fifteen seconds, sis!’ he woofed ‘What did he mean “self-destruct
”?’
‘What if Mum dies?’ whined his sister, shocked at the message.
‘If this self-destructs, we might die too!’ woofed her brother, counting down in his head. ‘Twelve, eleven, ten…’
Spud took the memory stick in his mouth and looked around frantically. He sprinted for the stairs. ‘Eight, seven, six…’ He half ran and half fell to the bottom, sped through the kitchen and outside to the wheelie bin.
‘Three, two, one –’
He flipped the lid and tossed the memory stick inside. The lid banged shut and a small explosion raised it again, potato peelings and last night’s curry spewing out.
Mmm curry!
Then smoke.
Then nothing.
8. A Puppy Plan
The Cook children gathered in Professor Cortex’s lab. Ollie yawned loudly. It was very late but this was an emergency.
Lara lay with her head on her paws while Ben explained the story to the professor. ‘It’s Mr Big,’ he said. ‘Lara’s arch-enemy. She’s already captured him twice and it seems he’s intent on revenge. He sent her some poisoned biscuits.’
‘Which she scoffed in one go,’ added Ollie a little too enthusiastically.
Lara hung her head, partly in shame and partly because she didn’t have the energy to do anything else.
‘And he’s sent us a recording from prison saying she has seventy-two hours to live unless we break him out,’ said Ben.
‘Of the world’s most maximum security prison!’ added Sophie.
All eyes fell on the retired spy dog, her sad eyes half shut. She was obviously unwell but the professor couldn’t help asking. ‘How are you feeling, GM451?’
The professor still found it hard to call Lara anything other than her code name.
How do you think? thought Lara, working hard to find the energy to lift a surprised eyebrow. I didn’t just nibble one poisoned biscuit, I wolfed the whole lot. Poorly tum. Headache. Dry nose. Plus I ate them yesterday, which means twenty-four hours have already gone.
