As shouting and the revving of a car engine rang out from the field behind him, Gideon Flynn flicked the Invisibubble switch and made for the M3 motorway.
‘Sorry, Blonde,’ he muttered.
Not only had he made off with the most exciting bit of kit they’d had in many a year - he’d actually stolen their ride home. Jane Blonde would have to find another way to get back.
It was very, very lucky that the people he’d selected for SWAG were unusually resourceful.
He relished every second of the journey until the Wower power began to wear off. It didn’t take long for that to happen in his state. His extremities numbed, first the tips and then the rest of his fingers, and he realised he would soon lose control. Panicking, he pressed the brakes as hard as he dared before his feet gave out too. The van slewed around, flinging him against the window and then the dashboard as it collided with a lamppost. At least it was in the right street, he thought as he stumbled from the cab and made for the trees – and still mostly invisible. The repairs could be paid for and organised in a jiffy.
As for the repairs to his own body – well, they’d been less successful. Clutching his burning fingers, he hid among the shadows to check for the safe return of the spies.
Deep in the shadowy blackness.
Back where he belonged.
‘So what exactly are you planning?’ Janey had cried to Jack Bootle-Cadogan as he seized each of their shoulders.
‘Not a lot of planning goes on, to be honest.’ Jack tightened his grip so much that G-Mamma squealed, causing Trouble to hiss violently in Janey’s arms. ‘It’s more instinct.’
‘What is?’ she said, even though she already knew what he meant. Instinct was what guided her spy work a lot of the time – that bubbling feeling in her gut that told her she was onto something, and she simply had to … trust, like Jack had said.
Jack’s fur-covered face wrinkled up with concern. ‘I don’t know how to explain it.’
But Janey understood now. It didn’t matter what it was. It was something that had worked for him before, and they all had to believe in his ability to follow his shiny, wet nose if they were going to get anywhere.
She patted the massive hand that was gripping her shoulder and took a tighter hold of Trouble. ‘It’s all right,’ she told him. ‘Just do it.’
Complete with her fake yellow eyelashes, G-Mamma’s eyes goggled like snooker balls. ‘Thanks for asking me, Blondette! What if I –'
But whatever G-Mamma might have been about to say was lost to the wind as Jack curled his fists over their shoulders and … tobogganed.
That was the only word Janey could think of to describe the sensation of what Jack was able to do. It felt as though they were in an Olympic bobsleigh, rocketing along an ice tunnel with sides so smooth that there was no resistance to their supersonic speed, and so clear that she was able to see the world rush by on either side of them … and below their feet … and above their heads. Her insides twisted with nausea, in the same way as they had whenever she SatiSPIed up to the satellite in the sky before bouncing down to earth in some other spot, but this was a little easier. More comfortable. It felt grounded, somehow, being able to identify trees and cars and trucks and buildings as they ploughed headlong through them, stopping for nothing, slicing through brick and concrete, wood and earth, metal and plastic and upholstery as if it were oxygen.
She risked a glance behind them as they passed effortlessly along the exact centre of a family car – across the boot, zipping through the back seat in the armrest between two child-seats, each containing a child who seemed to feel but not see them, and then along the handbrake between the parents and on through the dashboard, the bonnet, the engine and out through the front registration plate. Nobody in the car seemed to have much idea that three people (mostly) and a cat (again, mostly) had just whipped through the entire car. Furthermore, the car was perfect. There was no sign that anything at all had just happened.
And why would they have noticed anyway? It had all taken less than quarter of a second; Janey was sure of it. It was so fast that the car with the family in it had already fallen way out of sight, and they were zinging through fields and office blocks and libraries and stations, then gardens and conservatories and kitchens with dressing-gowned adults making early morning cups of tea – until Janey realised with a lurch of her heart that the adults she’d just seen as she slid by were her actual parents, her own Boz and Gina, making early morning cups of tea - one of which they’d be delivering to her at any second.
How did she stop the Jack-train? She’d trusted him to set off, but she hadn’t told him where to go other than by showing him a picture, and he certainly wouldn’t know when to slow down. If he carried on at this speed they’d be on the way to the English Channel before they knew it.
She was just about to attempt to snap one of his fingers off her shoulder when Jack let go anyway. Passing together through the wall of the living room, G-Mamma, Janey and Trouble slammed into the hedge between her own house and the SPI:KE’s, trying not to screech as twigs poked into their eyes and ears and lacerated their limbs.
‘Sorry,’ said Jack, hardly even breathing heavily. ‘Haven’t tried braking with a couple of hitchhikers before.’
Trouble yowled nastily.
‘And a cat. Sorry.’
Janey leapt to her feet. ‘My parents …’ she squeaked by way of explanation.
‘Oh, right!’ Jack cottoned on quickly. ‘Hold on a moment.’
He unfurled his gigantic hand as if he was rolling out a carpet, his round, black eyes glinting in the weak dawn sunlight. Janey grabbed it, and instantly they bob-sleighed through her front door, up the stairs and into her room. As he let go and they separated, Janey landed on her bed with a bump.
‘Don’t say sorry!’ she said quickly.
Jack’s canine face grinned back at her. ‘Okay. It’s annoying, I know.’
‘No,’ said Janey, although it was a bit annoying. ‘It’s just that you have nothing to apologise for. I’m back in my room before my parents arrive.’
Jack’s left ear pricked up and changed position like one of the satellite dishes in the Octobus. ‘Your dad, by the sound of it.’
He sounded glum.
‘Sorry,’ said Janey.
‘Don’t say sorry!’ he shot back easily. ‘Not your fault.’ He pointed to the window. ‘Do I go this way? I can’t use the stairs at the moment unless you want me to zip through your father.’
‘Eugh! No, go through to G-Mamma’s Spylab. I’m sure she’ll want to de-brief anyway, and line things up for our first mission.’ She stood up, about to press the button on the fireplace.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll just …’ and Jack mimed sliding through the wall.
‘Right! Of course.’
He was half-way through the chimney breast when Janey thought of something. ‘Jack!’
He turned around, half of his body blending with bricks.
‘How did you know where we live with just a picture? We didn’t give you an address or anything. Was that instinct too?’
Jack shifted a little, embarrassed, then pointed to his vast snout. ‘Dog skills,’ he said simply.
‘You … you smelt us home?’
‘Yeah.’ The boy – albeit a boy as big as a wardrobe with the head of a dog – held up his hands. ‘It’s very unpleasant. Lots of what I do and am is very, very unpleasant. Gross, really. Sorry.’
She let that one go. He just did what he had to do, using the gifts he’d been given. How many times had she done that too, using her instincts or her gadgets?
‘It’s fine. See you later, Jack.’
He looked incredibly pleased about that as he disappeared through the wall into the Spy-lab. It was probably a long time since he’d had anything fun to do later, or anytime at all.
Deep within her, Janey’s spy senses whirred into sharper perspective. It was the same for her. Exactly the same for her.
And now she was ready fo
r action.
Chapter 6 - X Marks the Spot
‘The Octobus is back,’ announced G-Mamma gleefully as Janey checked in with her after a long and agonising day at school. Much as she enjoyed them, no amount of quadratic equations and scientific formulae was ever going to compete with the prospect of a new mission with her old SPI:KE, and a new team member with ears like a border collie.
Janey stared out of the spy-lab window, which were carefully disguised so that nobody could look in but any spies inside the lab could gaze out, unseen. ‘Where is it?’
‘Right there.’ G-Mamma pranced over to her side and stabbed a bejazzled finger towards the front garden. ‘It’s been Invisibubbled and disguised all over, and so have its spy-buys. Even if someone does spot it and get inside, they’ll still think it’s a camper van. Just two bunks, a teeny-weeny sink and kettle.’
‘When really it’s two bunks and a teeny-weeny Spy-lab,’ said Janey, shivering with anticipation, or was it something else, like … anxiety? ‘Gideon Flynn seems to really know what he’s doing.’
‘And apparently he has endless funds to do it with!’
‘True,’ said Janey with a frown. ‘Which makes me wonder why he needs this stuff back to start with, and why he can’t pay to get whatever it is he needs to cure his condition.’
G-Mamma scratched the dazzling nail down the window, creating a horrible screech as if she’d done it on a blackboard. Dragging her finger round in a circle, she drew a ring about the size of an egg cup and then tapped it lightly. A disc of glass pinged out of the pane and dropped onto the lawn outside, much to the surprise of Trouble who was sitting on the grass licking his paws like any normal cat. Without further ado, however, he fluffed out his tail and laid it over the glass circle so that no passers-by would see it, then continued with his paw-licking.
Inspecting her finger, G-Mamma turned to Janey. ‘And that’s without a Girl Gauntlet. Imagine what that poor young man must go through every day if he can’t use his hands properly. I lerrrrv my andy-pandies.’
Janey grinned. ‘I see what you mean. But you’ve just drilled a hole in the Spy-lab window.’
‘Darn and dash it all,’ said G-Mamma, glaring at the hole as if it had put itself there. ‘Now I’ll have to explain it to Gideon Flynn and get it replaced. Oh! Hang on.’ She rummaged around in one of the Spy-lab drawers. ‘There.’
She’d stuffed a purple eyeshadow into the space; now it winked, the light streaming through it like a stained-glass window.
It looked very much as if she was up to something.
Janey watched her for a while with narrowed eyes, hoping to work it out for herself, before her curiosity got the better of her.
‘Okay. What’s going on?’
‘Yee-hah, Janey Zaney! Got you there eventually. As if I’d deliberately destroy Spy-buys!’
Actually, she’d destroyed plenty accidentally and then quaked at the thought of how much trouble she’d be in for wasting money and ruining gadgets, but Janey thought maybe this wasn’t the moment to remind her of that. Anyway, this time, it appeared, she’d sliced through the spy glass on purpose.
But why? Janey followed the shaft of pale purple light that slanted across the laboratory to the bench in the middle of the room. It was the most unremarkable of all the tables in there, mostly used by G-Mamma to lie on while she was getting pedicures.
Right now, though, there was something lying on it.
A newspaper.
‘Is that our mission?’ said Janey, feeling a little breathless.
‘I do believe so, Super-Blonde. It arrived while you were out, and I’ve been trying to de-code it all this time.’
Janey raced over to the bench and picked up the paper with a finger and thumb, holding it carefully across the corner so as not to smudge or obscure any clues. This was almost her favourite thing about spying – apart from the gadgets and the space travel and the massive adventures, of course. Puzzles, dingbats and crosswords had formed her introduction to the world of spying, and she loved nothing better than trying to piece together some odd or innocent-looking piece of information in a logical and precise way, and make some sense of it somehow.
Spy sense.
Poring over the headlines, she read aloud to help herself think more clearly. She often spotted tiny typos and errors by voicing the words, and had discovered more than once that sometimes those little slips were not accidental.
‘World Community Games countdown,’ she said, scanning the main headline.
‘Only three days to go until the inaugural session of the World Community Games takes place - with plans to incorporate the Olympics and Commonwealth Games, both winter and summer, into one united event in the future, if it proves to be as successful as the sponsoring company hopes.
Oscar Sullivan, CEO of the philanthropic HOST organisation (Helping Others Save Time), commented: “The Board very much sees the World Community Games as a way to bring all the nations of the world together for fun, recreation and competition, while also minimising financial and time constraints and concerns for all. Wherever you are in the world, it’s daytime or winter somewhere, and we’re going to capitalise on that to the advantage of all.”
Leading edge technology will be used to live-stream all key events simultaneously using special (and secret) virtual locations and web-platformed, forum-led fan gatherings.
Sullivan declined to comment further on recent allegations that veteran high-jumper, Vance Kettering, is suing the HOST organisation, after their claims that he was too old for the digital generation caused him to withdraw from the Games. ‘Vance’s issues are to do with his age, not with HOST. Regretfully, his career was already over. These Games are what the current generation have been waiting for.’
Concerns that the games would be postponed in light of the recent death of HOST co-founder, Trent Varley, were cast aside by Wentworth and by Varley’s wife, Simone. “Trent wanted more than anyone for this new community to come together. We’ll be pressing on, knowing that this was his wish.”
Janey paused for a moment, letting this sink in. ‘So they’re going to have athletics competitions happening all over the place and at different times, all brought together by technology so nobody but the athletes need to travel. Is that what this is about?’
‘Maybe.’ G-Mamma gazed at her and then looked innocently around the room, so Janey knew there was more.
She skimmed through the other articles on the page. There was more about the new games, and a piece on the death of Trent Varley accompanied by a photo of his weeping widow. Another column was discussing the US economy, with so many words that Janey didn’t understand that she switched off almost immediately.
Finally, tucked away at the bottom, there was a small and insignificant-looking snippet about a theft in a museum in Venice. Feeling G-Mamma’s eyes boring into her, Janey read the headline aloud.
‘Guard Apprehends Relic Burglar One-handedly. Yesterday, a museum curator in Venice’s Cantalo Museum prevented the theft of an ancient toy which is believed to come from a Roman villa in Cirencester, England. While having no intrinsic value, the relic is part of a collection bequeathed by a famous benefactor in the 1960s, possibly one of the Beatles, and the museum was very glad to retain it. The guard has been commended for his observational skills and timely actions.’
Janey read it again, just to get the feel of it. Her instincts were buzzing, and without knowing quite why, she understood that this was the article to concentrate on.
‘It’s weird,’ she muttered. ‘It’s a very tiny article about a theft that’s not very important, and it … it has no real facts in it! Nothing about what the relic or the object actually was, or how the guard stopped the burglar, and who the benefactor was, and …’ Her eyes swept across the headline again. ‘And that headline is the most peculiar thing. For a start, don’t burglars go into houses? We’d call someone a thief if they stole from a museum, wouldn’t we?’
‘We probably would, Girly-Girl,’ agre
ed G-Mamma, tapping out a rhythm with her fingernails. ‘What else?’
‘Well, ancient toy sounds a bit like ancient boy, as in Gideon’s haiku. And then … that headline. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s not just the burglar bit, it’s … I know! One-handedly! We would say single-handedly, wouldn’t we? So either it’s been poorly translated from the Italian version, or …’
G-Mamma squeaked, no longer able to contain herself. ‘Or it’s deliberate! Deliberate misinformation.’
‘Misinformation?’
‘Something that’s designed to be misleading and send people down the wrong path. The world’s most brilliant double-agent was a master at it, and do you know what you just helped me to work out? His name is in the title.’
Janey stared at the headline. ‘Oh! Was he called Burglar? Or … wait a minute …’
Then she saw it, shining up at her from the strange wording of the header.
‘Guard Apprehends Relic Burglar One-Handedly. That’s really clumsy phrasing, and the words all start with capital letters. So … G, A, R, B and O. Was the double agent called Garbo?’
G-Mamma punched the air. ‘Yesss! Well, that was one of his names; he had many, being a brilliant double agent with a whole network of made-up spies. Your uncles were definitely inspired by him when the news came out about him in 1972.’
‘What news?’
‘During the Second World War,’ said G-Mamma in an undertone, speaking in such a reverential whisper that Janey knew he must be one of the SPI:KE’s heroes, ‘Garbo sent so much misinformation to the Germans that they sent troops to the wrong places, away from where the allies were actually landing. Eventually, Garbo’s work made the Nazis lose the war. And he always did it the same way: he’d send a letter that looked normal, and then in the spaces between the lines he’d write a message in invisible ink.’
And suddenly the eyeshadow in the window pane made sense. ‘Which could be read--with—' She checked the name on the eye shadow. ‘- Ultra Violet light?’
‘Exactly, Blondelicious!’
S*W*A*G*G 1, Spook Page 6
