S.T.I.N.K.B.O.M.B.

by Rob Stevens

  For Clare, Dylan and Charlie again – always

  Thank you to all the members of the squadron at RAF Wittering for kindly allowing me to fly their Harrier simulator. The experience left me in no doubt about the skill required to hover a jet aircraft, and full of admiration for the pilots who do it in the line of fire. I have had the pleasure of working with some top agents over the years and would like to thank them all for the back-up they provided, especially Julia, Becky, Zoe and of course Maddie and Clare. I am immensely grateful to my parents, my sister Amanda and brother Andrew for their tactical support and for always watching my six. Secret operatives Atkinson, Cook, Purcell, Redding and Schomberg provided invaluable intel on highly classified subjects, while Trisha and Keith offered crucial feedback on preliminary documents. Finally thank you to my editor, Emma Young, without whom this book would have been twice as long and half as good.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Helen Highwater gazed across the Thames from her office in MI6 headquarters, swivelling her leather chair from side to side as she considered how to conduct her imminent meeting. Standing beside her, dressed in his customary tweed suit with his spidery arms crossed, was her Tech Branch Specialist, Holden Grey.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re worried about,’ he said, stroking his white, pencil-thin moustache with thumb and forefinger. ‘You’ve been dealing with field operatives for years.’

  ‘They were adults,’ Highwater countered, tapping a silver pen against her teeth. ‘Need I remind you that Agent X-ray is only fourteen years old?’

  ‘I say we play it cool,’ said Grey. ‘Hip, even.’ He unfastened the top button of his shirt and loosened his knitted tie.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a wise—’ Highwater was interrupted by a knock at the door. Her sharply bobbed hair kicked outward as she spun her chair round. ‘Come in,’ she commanded.

  Holden Grey quickly ruffled a hand through his hair and pushed up the sleeves of his jacket. ‘Trust me,’ he murmured, partly untucking his shirt. ‘I think it’s time to show Agent X-ray we’re not too old to be down on the kids.’ The door opened and the teenager approached the smoked-glass desk.

  ‘Good afternoon, X-ray,’ said Highwater.

  ‘What’s up, partner?’ added Grey, holding up a fist as a salute.

  ‘Partner?’ the young agent sneered. ‘What is this, like, the wild west or something?’ Noticing Grey’s dishevelled appearance, X-ray added, ‘OMG, Mr Grey, have you been mugged or something?’

  ‘No, no, nothing like that.’ The old man affected a dismissive laugh. ‘This is just me – being my casual, groovy self.’

  ‘Groovy?’ Agent X-ray repeated dubiously, as if reading some obscure Shakespearean text.

  ‘Sit down, X-ray,’ Highwater said sternly.

  ‘Yeah,’ Grey added. ‘Like, just chill off for a while.’

  ‘Er, I think you mean chill out,’ mumbled the agent, dropping into the leather chair positioned opposite the desk.

  ‘Oh, well.’ Grey cleared his throat. ‘I say tomato …’

  Highwater glared at her colleague.

  The clock on the desk ticked.

  Agent X-ray looked absently round the office, taking in the plush black carpet, angular leather sofa and sleek grey walls adorned with colour-coordinated abstract paintings. The room was tastefully dressed with an assortment of vases in highly polished ceramic, and metallic vertical blinds were drawn back to reveal a stunning view of London.

  ‘We have our first mission,’ announced Highwater at last, persevering with her authoritative approach. ‘There’s been a disappearance. A young man in Norway has gone missing from his own bed. Local police are treating him as a runaway but we have information suggesting he was kidnapped.’

  Agent X-ray’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is there any connection with—?’

  It’s too soon to tell,’ interrupted Highwater.

  ‘For real,’ Grey agreed, ‘but we’ve got the green light on the go-ahead to investigate.’

  ‘Do we have any leads?’ asked X-ray

  ‘Affirmative,’ stated Highwater.

  Holden Grey grabbed a chair and straddled it backwards, trembling slightly as he lowered his ageing frame into the seat. ‘We’ve just cracked a coded message on the Internet that foretold this latest kidnapping before it happened … obviously. It seems our mysterious kidnapper thought we wouldn’t be smart enough to decipher his clue. Well, how wrong he was!’

  ‘I’m not being funny,’ X-ray sneered, ‘but solving the riddle after the crime has taken place is about as useful as party poppers at a funeral.’

  Highwater nodded as though she appreciated Agent X-ray’s input but she was really thinking how much she missed working with grown-ups. At least adults pretended to respect her, unlike these kids who said exactly what they thought.

  ‘In some ways you’re right.’ She frowned thoughtfully. ‘The point we’re making is that the Internet is so vast that identifying a code is usually much trickier than deciphering it. To be honest, the code itself is so simple even a child could solve it … no offence.’

  Agent X-ray shrugged.

  Highwater removed her rectangular spectacles and thought for a moment. ‘Look, X-ray, this is serious,’ she said grimly. ‘I don’t know what his intentions are but my instincts tell me we might have an EMU on our hands.’

  ‘EMU?’

  ‘Yes, Emu.’ Highwater pressed her palms on to her desk and, leaning forward purposefully, whispered, ‘Evil Mastermind Uprising.’

  ‘So what’s the plan then?’ said Agent X-ray. ‘Do we go and stake out his house or whatever?’

  Holden Grey grimaced. ‘The exact location of his precise … er … location is, presently at this moment in time, unknown to myselves – I mean ourself. That means we must monitor and filter the suspect website twenty-four-seven. Seven days a week. And that means round the clock.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what twenty-four-seven means.’

  Grey continued, ‘Next time our Evil Mastermind brags about his impending crime we’ll be one step ahead and stay right on his tail. Although, when I say “we”, I do of course mean you, X-ray.’

  Agent X-ray nodded.

  ‘Naturally you’ll need a partner,’ said Highwater.

  ‘What about Agent Hotel?’

  Highwater shook her head. ‘Unfortunately Agent Hotel will be spending the next six weeks in plaster following an injury sustained in the field.’

  ‘The field?’ Agent X-ray frowned. ‘But this is our first missio
n!’

  ‘Not that sort of field,’ said Highwater wearily. ‘The playing field. The silly boy broke his ankle playing football yesterday lunchtime. And Agent Kilo won’t be available to us for months unless he’s released from house arrest for exceptionally good behaviour.’

  ‘House arrest?’ Agent X-ray was horrified, imagining some sort of military coup in far-off lands.

  ‘Yes, he’s been grounded indefinitely for crashing his father’s new BMW while showing off to his friends.’

  ‘I didn’t even know Agent Kilo had a licence.’

  ‘He doesn’t,’ said Highwater with a snort of disapproval. ‘In fact, with Agent Alpha suffering from chickenpox and Agent Uniform having her tonsils out we don’t have a single existing agent who’s eligible for this assignment.’

  ‘I’ll handle it then,’ said Agent X-ray.

  ‘Don’t be foolish,’ said Highwater. ‘You know agency protocol forbids underage operatives engaging in field ops alone. We will simply have to recruit a fresh agent.’

  ‘Who?’

  Helen Highwater stood, picked up two pieces of A4 paper and walked round her desk until she was opposite Agent X-ray Handing over one sheet, she perched on the edge of the glass desktop and folded her arms. ‘We ran SPADE again,’ she said.

  SPADE stood for Secret Potential Agent Data Evaluator – a computer program used by MI6 to identify people who possess the right skills and aptitude to make good future agents. The school records, SATS test results and sporting achievements of every child in the country were recorded alongside their medical records and genetic make-up. All the data was fed into SPADE, which analysed and quantified it before allocating each child a score from one to a hundred depending on their potential suitability for field ops.

  ‘Ninety-eight,’ said Agent X-ray, casually scanning the SPADE printout. ‘Could do better.’

  ‘Not much,’ Highwater retorted.

  At the top of the page was a photograph of a young boy with a lean oval face framed by a messy thatch of mousy hair. His shy smile revealed two front teeth with a slight overbite and his eager brown eyes peered keenly from behind small spectacles.

  ‘He looks like a bookworm to me,’ sneered Agent X-ray.

  ‘Don’t judge a bookworm by its cover,’ laughed Grey.

  ‘So why does SPADE rate him so highly?’

  Highwater slid her glasses on and peered at her own copy of the printout. ‘He has an impeccable school record and his SATS are exemplary. He is highly intelligent with a particular flair for lateral thinking, languages and verbal reasoning and he is potentially an expert at hand-to-hand combat, which might come in very handy if your cover gets blown.’

  It doesn’t say anything here about any martial-arts training,’ Agent X-ray interjected. ‘I’m not being funny, but watching The Karate Kid doesn’t make him a lethal weapon.’

  ‘We have reason to believe that he is genetically predisposed to be able to look after himself,’ stated Highwater. ‘Besides which his father was a military test pilot and we know that he has inherited his piloting skills too. In fact my only reservation is based on his age.’

  ‘I hate to break the bad news but all your agents are teenagers, you know,’ said Agent X-ray.

  ‘Exactly,’ Highwater agreed. ‘This one isn’t. He’s twelve.’

  X-ray started to laugh but, realising that Highwater was serious, protested instead. ‘That’s crazy. You can’t catch evil masterminds with babies.’

  ‘SPADE says he’s the best available.’

  ‘Well, I say you’ll be digging a deep hole for yourself if you use SPADE on this one.’

  ‘Time will tell,’ Grey mused, ‘in the fullness of … er … time.’

  ‘His youth may have certain advantages,’ Highwater suggested. ‘He probably won’t be tempted by the sort of stunts that got Agent Kilo into trouble.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Agent X-ray shrugged. ‘So what’s his name, this new boy wonder?’

  Highwater removed her glasses and smiled.

  ‘Hunt,’ she said emphatically. ‘Archie Hunt.’

  Archie Hunt was struggling to stay awake. The afternoon sun was streaming through the classroom window and bathing him in warm yellow light while his teacher, Miss Moore, who was known as Moore the Bore, had been droning on about lizards or frogs or something for over an hour.

  Archie allowed his eyelids to close – just for a moment – while he listened to his teacher’s nasal monotone.

  ‘Like many reptiles, lizards have a keen sense of smell which they use to detect the presence of any potential predators. Interestingly, they actually smell using their tongues.’ The flat whine of Miss Moore’s voice washed over Archie, gradually receding until it was no more than a faint hum, like a distant jet plane. His head began to nod.

  Soon he was flying his own plane – soaring through the clear blue sky above. He was on a dangerous bombing mission, diving low over enemy territory, rocking his wings this way and that as he avoided enemy gunfire. Amidst the scream of his jet, the chatter of machine-gun fire and the drumbeat of explosions, he could hear mission control trying to contact him.

  ‘Calling Mr Hunt. Come in, Mr Hunt.’

  ‘This is Hunt,’ he replied. ‘Pass your message.’

  ‘Will you be back with us soon?’

  ‘Just as soon as I’ve taken out the enemy base.’

  ‘Excellent. Will that be before or after PE?’

  ‘PE?’ Archie wondered. What was mission control talking about? But in that moment of reflection, the bombs faded away and his screaming jet plane evaporated. With a swelling sense of discomfort Archie opened his eyes.

  Everyone in the class was looking at him. Some were wide-eyed with astonishment, others were grinning with malicious delight. Miss Moore was standing over Archie’s desk, her lips pursed in an expression of disappointment.

  ‘Now you’ve come back down to earth,’ she said, ‘I think you can safely put those wings away don’t you?’

  As the whole class exploded with laughter Archie realised his arms were outstretched like a five-year-old playing planes. His cheeks burned furiously as he tucked his hands under his desk in case they should embarrass him again.

  ‘Oh dear,’ growled Harvey Newman, the class hard man, under his breath. ‘It looks like Mr Goody Two Shoes himself is well and truly in the doghouse.’ A handful of his cronies made a show of stifling their chuckles.

  ‘I’m surprised at you, Mr Hunt,’ said Miss Moore, placing her hands behind her back like a barrister cross-examining a witness. ‘I hope, for your sake, you weren’t actually daydreaming in my class?’

  ‘No, Miss.’ Archie did his best to sound surprised by the very suggestion.

  ‘Good.’ Miss Moore sounded so pleased that, for a moment, Archie thought he was off the hook. ‘In that case,’ she continued, ‘perhaps you would be so kind as to remind the class what animals prey on lizards?’

  Archie felt a rock drop into his stomach. ‘Well … that would be … obviously …’

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  Miss Moore tapped her foot impatiently.

  ‘If you can’t give me an answer I’ll have to conclude that you have been paying no attention whatsoever and refer the incident to Mr Head.’

  Archie sighed. The headmaster, Head the Head, who was renowned for his merciless approach to classroom discipline, had once given a boy detention for a whole term for sneezing in assembly. Just as Archie was beginning to accept his fate he noticed his best friend, Barney Jones, who was sitting at the front of the class and holding up a sheet of A4 behind Miss Moore’s back.

  Surreptitiously Archie pushed his glasses up his nose and peered at the words Barney had scrawled on the paper.

  ‘Five seconds,’ barked Miss Moore.

  ‘Birds of prey!’ Archie blurted out with a mixture of relief and triumph.

  ‘Yes,’ Miss Moore conceded with grudging surprise. ‘What else?’

  ‘Most bigger animals like wolves … foxes an
d …’ Archie squinted at the last word that Barney had squeezed into the bottom corner of the page.

  ‘Coy … oats?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Quickly Archie realised his mistake. ‘Coyotes,’ he said hurriedly ‘I meant to say coyotes.’

  ‘Correct,’ Miss Moore said, studying him suspiciously

  Archie smiled innocently.

  ‘OK, class,’ continued the teacher. ‘Get your textbooks out and turn to page two hundred and thirty-four.’

  As she turned and strode to the front of the class Barney spun in his seat, screwed his cheat sheet into a tiny ball and pushed it into his rucksack.

  ‘Thanks for helping me out with Moore the Bore,’ Archie said as he and Barney walked along B-block corridor. The aroma of disinfectant and musty sweat filled the air. ‘I owe you one.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ said Barney, pushing a Bounty bar into his mouth. He was a tubby boy with tight curly blond hair and wide blue eyes that gave him an expression of permanent wonderment. ‘I saw a fellow agent under interrogation and I acted. It’s what I’m trained for.’

  ‘Sure.’ Archie smiled.

  Barney spent his whole life playing a game in which he was an undercover agent, teachers were evil villains and some other pupils were double agents. He pretended his parents were his MI6 handlers and his bike was a supercar loaded with gadgets.

  ‘I could see the Bore was about to break you and that would have compromised our mission,’ Barney continued, speaking through one side of his mouth while chomping his chocolate bar on the other.