‘What are you doing?’ Jake asked. ‘Those are Millie’s shoes you’re wrecking, you little monster.’
‘I’m not wrecking them. It’s just that if anyone did check, they’d have a different wear pattern from the prints they’ve got from the lab.’
Jake grinned. ‘Smartarse.’
‘Mum says you’re not supposed to call me that.’
‘If Mum was here, she’d call you that, too.’
By lunchtime, Edward Davies was outside the lab again, reporting that the staff had all left and the building seemed to have been shut up. Only the security man who had pulled faces at Millie still appeared to be working there. Another journalist was at Playmatic’s head office in Milton Keynes.
‘It looks evil, that building,’ sniffed Max.
Playmatic still refused to comment on camera, but they had issued a statement which the man read out on air, saying they would never condone or practise any kind of animal testing.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Ben.
A third reporter was outside Arthur Shepard’s home, trying to get an interview from him, but he wasn’t there so they couldn’t get any comment.
Ben wasn’t surprised by this – he had spent some time trying to track Arthur Shepard down with no success. He had no mobile phone registered to him, or to his wife and children, that Ben could discover. He had tried every one of his usual tricks, and some unusual ones too, but to no avail. He kept apologising to Max for being so unhelpful – they all knew every day that went past would surely make it harder to find Celeste, and less likely that they would be able to rescue her. But none of them had any more ideas of where she might be. All they did have was the hope that with so much public attention on him, he probably wouldn’t be moving Celeste anywhere or stealing any more cats, because he would surely be recognised.
They munched their way through every snack Jake and Ben’s parents had in the house as they watched more of the story on TV. A woman interviewed the journalist who’d taken the pictures at the lab before it was shut down. He claimed that he had seen cat hairs all over the top corridor, and that he had removed some for testing. They had identified hair from at least eleven cats. The news programme then showed the photo of Max that Ben had taken, saying there was little doubt this had come from inside the laboratory.
‘This is perfect,’ gloated Ben.
‘I think I could have done a better face,’ moaned Max.
Later that day, Vakkson issued a statement saying that Arthur Shepard hadn’t worked for them for some time and had rented the building for a private project. The cameras outside Playmatic were now trained on several hundred protesters, who were accusing the company of being thieves, torturers and murderers. Playmatic issued another statement saying that this was all a mistake and that they had never worked with Arthur Shepard. The tabloids went crazy and printed copies of the emails Ben had tricked from Arthur Shepard, and the picture of Max. Playmatic called them fakes, but no one believed them. A journalist asked them what their secret Christmas toy was, if not anything to do with these missing cats. They produced a feeble-looking Frisbee substitute that fooled no one.
Scott Bradley’s newspaper was now running a competition – if your cat had gone missing and had recently reappeared, it was worth asking it a few questions to see if it could talk, because they were offering forty thousand pounds for an exclusive interview with one of the kidnapped cats.
‘Forty thousand pounds,’ said Jake hungrily, eyeing Max.
‘Not a chance,’ said the cat calmly. ‘They have all the evidence they need. What kind of publicity-hungry idiot would put himself up for public inspection?’
Chapter Forty
That evening, Millie had left her dad downstairs after dinner, hoping he didn’t think she was avoiding him. Max was lying casually on her chair, and she was sitting reading a book, something she felt she hadn’t done in weeks. She was surprised by the phone ringing.
‘Turn on your TV right now,’ said Ben, and promptly hung up.
Millie flicked on the television. Max had opened one eye when the phone rang, a trick Millie longed to be able to do herself. They both watched as the screen came to life, hearing a familiar voice before they saw the matching face.
‘Obviously, it’s been a very difficult time . . . ’ Millie looked at Max in horror, but it was true. There was Ariston, being interviewed by Patricia Forsyth on the news programme. ‘Yes, of course, I do feel my feline rights have been violated,’ he was saying.
‘Oh no,’ whispered Millie. ‘What if he tells them about us breaking in? We could go to prison. Well, I could. Well, a young offenders’ institution. You’d probably be sent to a home for criminal cats.’
‘Shh,’ said the cat, who was still watching the screen intently. ‘I think you are safe.’
‘How did you escape?’ asked the breathless reporter, her face an image of sympathy and admiration.
‘There are some things which must remain secret,’ said Ariston, sounding more pompous than ever. ‘But, suffice it to say that we would all still be in the laboratory if it hadn’t been for my bravery and cunning.’
‘The cheek!’ said Millie.
‘I knew he couldn’t pass up the chance to say he was the hero,’ said Max. ‘You’ll be fine, Millie. None of the other cats will talk, I don’t think. None of them would want this.’ He jerked his head at the television, where Ariston’s PR agent was explaining that his client had no more time for this interview, as he had to be at a photo shoot in ten minutes.
Arthur Shepard’s house was now being watched by about twenty television crews. Eventually, his wife appeared on the doorstep and told them that he no longer lived with her and their children, so could the media please leave them alone. She had no idea where he was nor, she hastily pointed out, did she especially care. This was apparently connected with the fact that another tabloid had printed a story from one of the Haverham employees saying that they had had no idea what was happening on the third floor, but that Shepard was having an affair with his secretary.
‘He didn’t seem the type to have an affair with anyone,’ said Millie, pulling a disgusted face. ‘I mean, urgh.’
‘Not urgh,’ said Max urgently. ‘Aha.’
‘Aha?’ She was puzzled for a moment, then her face cracked into a smile. ‘Oh, yes. Aha.’
Chapter Forty-One
And so the next morning Millie and Max went back to see Jake and Ben. Finally, they had an idea who might be holding Celeste.
‘It’s his secretary,’ said Millie, as she almost tripped into their hall.
‘Is it?’ asked Jake, alarmed. ‘Where?’ He looked out into the street, expecting to see a woman with a notepad and pencil hoving into view.
‘We think that’s where he’s got Celeste,’ said Max. ‘At his secretary’s house. They were having an affair.’
‘Really?’ said Ben, who’d come to find out what all the noise was about. ‘Urgh.’
‘I know – but it helps us, doesn’t it?’ said Millie. ‘I mean, we don’t think Celeste is at Shepard’s place. We know she wasn’t kept in the lab, because that journalist went in and poked around, and he would have seen her. We know she wasn’t at the houses of his security men, because Max went and looked and couldn’t find any sign of her.’
‘Celeste was not there,’ Max agreed.
‘I reckon they’ve gone away,’ added Jake. ‘I’ve been past their places a couple more times, and I haven’t seen anybody around, or even a car on the driveway.’
‘So, surely it’s possible that Celeste is with this woman,’ said Millie. ‘It’s the best lead we have.’
None of them said it, but they were all thinking that it was, in fact, the only lead they had, so they had better hope it was good.
‘Do we know her surname?’ asked Jake, as they trooped upstairs.
‘No,’ Millie said. ‘She just introduced herself as Elaine to me, and they called her his secretary on the news. Someone must have got her full name by no
w, though.’
They waited patiently as Ben typed various combinations of words into a range of search engines.
‘No good,’ he said, annoyed.
‘Hold on,’ said Jake, and disappeared. He returned ten minutes later with a pile of that morning’s tabloids. ‘These guys make you look like an amateur, mate,’ he said, dropping the papers on the desk.
They all began to pore through the articles, which were indeed full of extraordinary details, until Ben shouted triumphantly. ‘Elaine Peters,’ he said. ‘Now’ – he turned back to his computer – ‘where are you hiding, lady?’
Two minutes later, they were looking at her address. ‘Hold on,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll get us an aerial photo.’ He typed a few more words. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Ooh, she’s got a garden shed.’
‘What better place to imprison a cat?’ asked Max.
‘Exactly,’ said Ben. ‘Shall we go and get her?’
‘Hold on, hold on,’ said Jake. ‘No one’s going anywhere until we’ve got a proper plan.’
Ben wrinkled his nose in disappointment and Max hissed.
‘He’s right,’ said Millie, reaching over to Max and stroking his back gently. ‘We can’t just wander up to her front door, ask ourselves in, sneak into the garden and steal back Celeste – always presuming that’s where she is,’ she added, trying her hardest not to tempt fate.
‘We could threaten her,’ Ben suggested cheerily, eyeing his water pistol again.
‘No,’ said Jake firmly. ‘No one is going to be threatened with guns, even ones that just squirt water. We could be arrested. We’ll have to be a bit more discreet. And a lot more legal.’
‘Could we get over the fence to the back garden?’ asked Millie, scanning the aerial photo.
‘I think so,’ said Ben, looking regretfully once more at the water pistol. It was hardly worth having it at all. ‘She could see us, though, from the back windows.’
‘Hmm.’ Millie thought for a moment. ‘Not if we provide some sort of distraction at the front of the house. Who has the most innocent face?’
‘You,’ said Jake simply.
‘It can’t be Millie,’ Max pointed out. ‘They’ve met, remember? She knows what Millie looks like.’
‘Fair point,’ said Jake. ‘Then it’s Ben. That’s not saying much, by the way.’
‘OK,’ said Millie. ‘Ben provides the diversion, Jake and I steal Celeste. Max keeps a lookout. Agreed?’
‘I hate being the diversion.’ Ben looked sulky. ‘Why do I have to be a diversion?’
‘Jake was the diversion last time,’ said Millie soothingly. ‘You probably won’t even get chased by dogs.’
Ben looked even more disappointed at the prospect of not being chased by dogs, but there was really no alternative.
‘And we’ll need your bike,’ said Millie to Jake.
‘Er, OK,’ he said. ‘You remember it’s broken?’
‘Exactly,’ she said, and smiled.
Chapter Forty-Two
‘It’s too big for him,’ said Jake critically, as they wheeled the injured bike through the streets. Max was once again hiding in Millie’s bag, to avoid attracting attention as they walked along together.
‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t think Elaine Peters will notice, though. She didn’t strike me as much of a cycling expert.’
‘How long were you with her for?’ asked Ben, curious.
‘In total?’ she said. ‘About four minutes, I think.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Jake. ‘Well, you probably know her as well as anyone, then.’
Millie pulled a face. She knew it was a bit of a risk, but Jake wasn’t so much taller than Ben, and the bike was unride-able anyway. They were almost at Elaine Peters’s road, and it was time for them to separate.
‘Are you sure you know what you’ve got to do?’ asked Jake.
Ben nodded.
‘Max?’ said Millie.
The cat jumped out of her bag and nodded too. ‘I’ll be at the front of the house,’ he said. ‘If I see any sign of Arthur Shepard, I’ll yowl like this.’ He gave a blood-curdling cry.
‘Yes, that’ll do it,’ said Jake, jumping visibly. ‘It would certainly get my attention.’
‘And if anything happens to you,’ said Millie to Ben, ‘you have my alarm?’ She had a personal attack alarm that Bill’s overly cautious wife had given her when she got her first bicycle, ‘just in case’, as she had rather unnervingly put it. At the time Millie had thought, rather ungraciously, that a set of lights would have been a more suitable present, but the alarm, which could be heard up to a half-mile away, was something she was now delighted to give to Ben to make sure he could alert them if anything went wrong.
‘And we meet back here in fifteen minutes?’ asked Jake.
‘Yes,’ they replied as one, and looked nervously at each other.
‘Let’s go,’ said Millie.
She and Jake disappeared down a narrow lane which would take them to the fields at the back of Elaine Peters’s house.
Ben and Max, following at a discreet distance, and mostly under hedgerow, went the opposite way. Max settled himself under a large shrub a few houses up from their target. Ben looked around to make sure there were no passers-by watching, although this was a small, residential street, and heaved his rather short legs onto the bike. He hoped that no one was looking out of a window to notice that his feet didn’t come near to reaching the pedals and that his bike was crumpled beyond repair.
He waited patiently for a car to drive past, hoping that it would be soon – he was getting anxious. Although he had longed to be part of the rescue mission last time, he had known that sitting at home, hacking into computer systems, was his real strength. He wasn’t sure he had the necessary skills for what he was about to do. A few seconds later he was rewarded as a delivery van from a supermarket swept past him at high speed. The road was narrow and Ben hurled himself into it as the van sped off, shrieking loudly.
‘Ow! Ow!’ he hollered. ‘Owww.’ Nothing happened. He waited, and shouted again. ‘Owwwww.’
Elaine Peters’s door opened a crack.
‘Oh!’ she cried, and ran out into the street. ‘Don’t move! Are you hurt?’
‘Yes,’ said Ben – not quite lying, as he had obtained some good grazes when he fell onto the gravelly road.
‘Oh dear. Let me call an ambulance,’ she said.
‘No, no,’ said Ben hurriedly, realising that he would be exposed as a fraud in five seconds flat if medical professionals were involved. ‘He . . . er,’ Ben cast around for something to say. He wished he’d practised this instead of the stupid piano. ‘He didn’t hit me quite, just clipped my wheel, and I fell. Nothing’s broken. I mean, except my bike.’
‘Let me ring your mother, then. What’s her number?’ said Elaine Peters.
‘My mother’s dead. Car accident,’ Ben improvised.
‘Oh, no! Your father, then?’
‘He’s away,’ said Ben. ‘At sea.’
Two houses away, a shrub started giggling.
‘Away at sea?’ asked Elaine Peters, appalled. ‘Who’s looking after you?’
‘My brother,’ said Ben. ‘But he’s in, er, London today. He’ll be home later. I don’t want to bother him. He’ll be angry with me for breaking my bike.’
‘Well, perhaps I could take you home,’ she said doubtfully, looking back at her front door.
‘No, really,’ said Ben. ‘You’ve been very kind already. I only live a few streets away – I can walk home. I’ll be able to get up in just a minute.’
He crawled feebly towards the kerb and she bent down to help him.
Chapter Forty-Three
Millie and Jake heard Ben’s shouts from the other side of the house. They were already in place behind the fence and peered quickly through its slats to check the whereabouts of the shed – which looked gratifyingly old, and not at all a state-of-the-art secure facility. This was their cue. Jake gave Millie a boost over the fence,
then leapt over himself. They both had their hoods up, just in case the neighbours were looking out of their back windows, instead of being safely at work as Millie was hoping. They ran to the shed and tapped softly on the door.
‘Celeste?’ whispered Millie, feeling both nervous that the cat wouldn’t be inside and a little stupid talking to a wooden door. ‘Celeste? Are you in there? It’s Millie.’
‘’Allo?’ said an unmistakably French cat.
The door was locked and Jake stood back. ‘Careful,’ he said. He thumped it hard. The damp wood around the lock splintered and cracked. ‘And again,’ he muttered, and hit it a second time.
The door swung open and the eyes of a beautiful tortoise-shell cat met theirs as Millie opened a cage door to free her for a second time.
‘Déjà vu, hmm?’ asked Celeste.
‘I know,’ said Millie. ‘We came as soon as we realised where you were.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Is Max here?’
‘He’s keeping watch at the front,’ Millie replied, as they ran back to the fence. Celeste squeezed under it as Millie and Jake hefted themselves over it once again. ‘Let’s go.’
They ran back to the agreed meeting place, where Ben, limping slightly, and Max were waiting for them.
‘Celeste!’ cried Max. ‘We have found you.’ He ran up to her and they rubbed cheeks, their whiskers entangled.
‘Second time lucky, as I think you say over here,’ she said, looking at Millie, who nodded, not wanting to correct her.
‘Thank you,’ said Celeste. ‘You are a hero, Max.’ She gazed at him. ‘My hero,’ she breathed.
‘Is he blushing?’ Ben whispered loudly.
Max made a dignified swish of his tail. ‘Celeste and I have to do some . . .’ He looked at her, unsure of the phrase he wanted.
‘Catching up?’ she suggested.
‘Some catching up,’ Max continued. ‘I shall meet you at home later, Millie. I shall see you two’ – he jerked his head at Jake and Ben, who were trying, and failing, to contain their sniggering – ‘another day. Perhaps tomorrow.’
The Great Escape Page 16
