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

by Rob Stevens

  ‘Good afternoon, Hoverbird zero one.’ Archie found the air traffic controller’s calm tone strangely reassuring. ‘Route direct to Southampton VOR to join the Upper November eight-six-six to Brookman’s Park then as filed. Climb flight level two, two zero.’

  Archie read back his instructions and banked the aircraft hard left to head for the Southampton radio beacon.

  ‘Next stop Hamburg,’ he said. ‘Let’s take in a gallery – and stake out some bad guys.’

  As they cruised over Amsterdam at thirty thousand feet, Archie was getting the feel of the plane and starting to enjoy the sense of exhilaration he got from being in command. Barney was getting hungry.

  ‘Zulu to Yankee,’ Barney announced excitedly into his intercom. ‘Come in, Yankee, do you read, over?’

  Archie looked at his friend who was no more than two feet away. ‘Uh, I’m right here, Barney,’ he said. ‘Of course I read you. What is it?’

  ‘Zulu to Yankee, would you like something to eat, over?’

  ‘Barney,’ Archie explained gently, ‘you don’t have to keep saying “over”.’

  ‘Roger, wilco and copy that, over.’ Barney was frowning earnestly. ‘I say again – would you like something to eat, over?’

  ‘What have you got?’ asked Archie.

  Barney pushed his face into the open rucksack on his lap. ‘Mars bars, Twix, Dairy Milk, Jaffa Cakes …’

  Archie smiled. ‘Have you filled that entire bag with chocolates and biscuits?’

  ‘Negative, over,’ Barney said, sounding offended. ‘I brought two packets of crisps, over.’

  ‘That’s what I call a balanced diet. Twix then, please.’

  ‘Roger that. One Twix coming over, over.’

  As Archie bit into his chocolate bar the clipped accent of the German air traffic controller came into his headset. ‘Hoverbird zero one, descend to flight level one hundred, fly direct to Lima Bravo Echo.’

  Archie repeated the instructions then chopped the power and lowered the aircraft’s nose two degrees, putting the Dragonfly into a glide descent towards Hamburg.

  Passing ten thousand feet the details of the landscape below were beginning to emerge. The rectangles of green, brown and yellow that covered the flat countryside developed different textures that seemed to breathe in the gentle easterly breeze. The cars that dotted the straight grey autobahns were beetling along, carrying the residents of northern Germany about their daily routines. And ahead, beyond the shimmering silver swathe of the river Elbe, lurked the buildings of Hamburg – shrouded in a pale haze.

  Archie clicked his transmit switch and spoke to the controller. ‘Radar, Hoverbird zero one request.’

  ‘Go ahead, Hoverbird zero one.’

  ‘We’d like to leave controlled airspace and continue visually for some general handling before landing at Finkenwerder.’

  ‘That is approved, Hoverbird zero one. Remain outside controller airspace at all times, not above five thousand feet.’

  ‘What’s going on, over?’ asked Barney, swallowing the last of his snack. ‘I thought we were going to Finkenwerder, over.’

  Archie pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘If we land at an airfield we’ll have to deal with customs and passport control. I have a feeling they might have a problem with me flying this plane on my own.’ As he spoke he glanced at the digital clock on the Dragonfly’s instrument panel. It was three fifteen. ‘Our only chance is to find a landing site close to the gallery.’

  ‘When you say “landing site” …’ Barney probed, ‘what exactly do you mean, over?’

  Archie shrugged. ‘Some sort of field, I suppose.’ As he spoke he pushed the plane’s nose down and, reaching across the centre console, switched off its transponder. He glanced at his friend. ‘Get ready – we’re going in under the radar,’ he said. Switching off his radio he added, ‘And we’re going dark on comms.’

  For a moment Barney looked terrified, but then his cheeks reddened as he broke into a wide grin. ‘Sweet,’ he said. ‘Over.’

  Archie pulled the thrust levers back to slow the plane to two hundred knots as they crossed a motorway running north to south, parallel to a railway line. Just to the east of the track was a small housing estate, beyond which Archie spotted a large rectangular field.

  He slowed the plane to one hundred and forty knots and, extending some wing flap, positioned the aircraft about a mile to the south-west of the landing site.

  ‘OK, wish me luck,’ Archie gulped, gently easing the nozzle lever backwards.

  ‘We’re all counting on you, over,’ said Barney.

  By the time Archie had fully engaged ‘hover mode’ and the aircraft’s forward momentum had dissipated, the plane had drifted to the far end of the field. Gently Archie tweaked the control stick backwards. The plane’s nose bobbed up a few degrees and it began to reverse while Archie peered downward over his shoulder to judge his position.

  When the wings were over the middle of the field he nudged the stick forward briefly, before holding it neutral.

  The plane hung motionless, two hundred feet in the air.

  ‘We’re hovering!’ Archie laughed. ‘We’re actually hovering!’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Barney. ‘Now put us down – we haven’t got time to hang around.’

  Very slowly Archie eased the thrust levers back a short way, freezing his hand when he felt the aircraft start to descend. Looking ahead, he watched the lush grass rising to meet him, as if he was riding a glass elevator down to the field. A moment later there was a jolt as the undercarriage hit the ground.

  ‘Welcome to Hamburg.’ Archie’s front teeth protruded over his bottom lip as he beamed with relief. ‘I hope you enjoyed your trip. Please take all your personal belongings with you when you leave the plane.’

  He taxied the plane to the edge of the field and swung it under the overhanging bough of a large beech tree before cutting the engines and shutting down all the aircraft systems.

  Archie stepped out of the cockpit and jumped to the ground. Opening a small hatch on the plane’s rear fuselage that contained three Gortex bags, he removed the one labelled ‘Jungle’ and tore it open. The other two bags were labelled ‘Desert’ and ‘Urban’.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Barney.

  ‘A camo’ cover,’ Archie said, shaking out a large green net festooned with canvas leaves in various shades of green. ‘Come on – help me throw it over the plane. We have to be quick.’

  The Dragonfly’s standard spec included three camouflage covers designed for different environments. The Red Cross used them in the field and they’d been included as a bit of a gimmick for private owners.

  Archie and Barney stretched the mesh out and hurriedly draped it over the jet plane. When they had finished the aircraft’s distinctive silhouette merged with the trees and hedges behind it, rendering it invisible to all but the keenest observer.

  A minute later Archie and Barney were sprinting across the field towards the edge of the housing estate. Finding themselves on Kirchdorfer Strasse, they headed north towards the city.

  ‘What’s the time?’ Barney wheezed, lagging ten yards behind Archie.

  ‘Quarter to four,’ Archie replied.

  ‘We’ll never make it.’

  Archie reached a T-junction and scanned the road in both directions. ‘Taxi!’ he yelled.

  A cream Mercedes pulled up next to the kerb and both boys jumped in, sliding across the black leather seat.

  ‘Guten tag,’ said Archie. ‘Aus Glashuttenstrasse, bitte, der gallery Atomic Salon.’

  The taxi dropped Archie and Barney outside number nineteen Glashuttenstrasse and pulled away.

  The Atomic Salon gallery was a narrow building in the middle of a tall terrace of shops and restaurants. Hanging in the window was a collage of iconic faces, including Batman and an astronaut who Archie assumed was Neil Armstrong.

  ‘Bingo,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘And we’ve still got five minutes to spare. Let’s go.’


  Barney grabbed Archie’s arm and pulled him back.

  ‘What’s up?’ Archie asked.

  ‘We need to brief the op,’ Barney whispered, scanning the street furtively.

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Archie. ‘Here’s the plan. We go in. We look around pretending to admire the paintings, and when someone gets kidnapped we try and get a good look at the bad guys.’

  Barney had already started shaking his head before Archie was even halfway through his idea. ‘Negative,’ he muttered. ‘Before we go active we need to establish our entry point and exit strategy.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ said Archie, glancing at the gallery and back to Barney. ‘But I was sort of planning to use the front door – for both.’

  ‘In and out through the main door, copy that,’ Barney said with an air of faint disappointment.

  The door was locked so Archie pressed the buzzer. After a short wait it was opened by a tall man with a shaved head and a large tummy that strained against a tight pink T-shirt.

  ‘Guten tag,’ Archie said in an obviously English accent, adding slowly. ‘Can we come in?’

  ‘Membership cards, please,’ the man whined, twirling an outstretched hand towards the boys. Anticipating the likely response, he stepped forward, as if to plug the entrance with his tummy. ‘Vee are having a friends and invited guests day at the gallery. If you are not members then I’m afraid you cannot enter herein.’

  ‘No worries,’ Archie replied, thinking on his feet. ‘We’re from Saint Peter’s school, yeah? We just want to catch up with the rest of our class.’

  The man tilted his head back while he considered the boy’s claim, his eyes widened and his nostrils flared.

  ‘This I vill have to check,’ he said at last. ‘You vill vait here.’

  The door closed and the boys watched through the window.

  ‘Man, he’s bringing a teacher over,’ Archie groaned.

  ‘We’re toast,’ muttered Barney.

  Before the boys had a chance to formulate a plan, the door swung open and the man gestured to them with a flamboyant sweep of his arm. ‘Here they are.’

  A woman with frizzy grey hair and ruddy cheeks looked at them inquisitively.

  ‘Hello, Miss,’ Archie said brightly.

  ‘Er, hello,’ the woman answered with a frown. ‘What are you doing here, boys?’

  While he tried to think how to answer the question Archie smiled angelically at the lady. Perhaps used to asking unanswered questions, the teacher tried another. ‘Are you from Saint Joseph’s – in Mr Jenkins’s group?’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ Archie replied.

  ‘And you’ve finished your tour already?’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ Barney piped up. ‘It was hilarious fun.’

  ‘The war museum was hilarious fun?’

  ‘He means we learned a lot about the sacrifices people made during the war,’ Archie offered. ‘Anyway, the two of us went to the loo and when we came out our group had left. Luckily we remembered your group was coming here.’

  ‘I see,’ the teacher said curtly. ‘Naturally I’ll have to talk to Mr Jenkins about this matter.’ Feeling the need to justify her ignorance she said to the man from the gallery, ‘We’re on a joint trip with forty kids from another school, you see. How on earth they expect us to learn everyone’s name …’

  The man said nothing but his eyes and nostrils expanded while his lips tightened.

  ‘So, what are your names, boys?’ asked the woman.

  ‘Erm …’ Archie’s eyes flicked to the painting in the window. ‘I’m Armstrong.’

  ‘And you?’

  Barney paused before answering. Sensing what was going through his friend’s mind Archie gave him a narrow-eyed glare, but there was no deterring Barney, who raised one eyebrow and said, ‘The name’s Bond.’

  ‘If you say so,’ the teacher said wearily. ‘All right, Armstrong and Bond, come in and join the rest of the year group – and for heaven’s sake don’t get lost again.’

  ‘No, Miss,’ the boys mumbled as they entered the gallery.

  The teacher rolled her eyes at the man. ‘Kids!’ she exclaimed.

  Apart from the throng of schoolchildren sprawled across the room, a handful of adults were scattered around the gallery, studying the collection of paintings, sketches and cartoons that filled every available inch of wall space.

  Archie and Barney positioned themselves at the far end of the school group, frowning appreciatively at the pictures on display as they tried to discreetly assess everyone else in the room.

  Perusing one wall was a smartly dressed elderly couple. Further along a young couple, wearing denim jackets and carrying motorbike helmets, were admiring a portrayal of David Beckham as a saint, complete with gold-leaf halo.

  Three people were looking at the display on the opposite wall. Judging by his posture and size, one was a teenager with the hood of his grey sweatshirt covering his head. Next to him stood a young man with a ponytail and straggly beard, the sleeves of his orange fleece pushed up to show his strong sinewy arms. The third character wore a black leather trench coat belted tightly round his impossibly small waist, the collar turned up to meet the baseball cap on his head. He was clutching a polythene bag in one hand and holding a chocolate bar in the other.

  ‘Man, I’m starving,’ Barney groaned.

  ‘Let’s try and concentrate on the mission,’ Archie whispered. ‘We’ve got about thirty seconds.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure who the target is,’ Barney replied, ‘but that couple in denim look well dodgy. I mean, you have to ask yourself what they’re doing carrying those helmets.’

  ‘It’s a long shot but maybe they came on a motorbike,’ Archie whispered. ‘Like the one parked outside?’

  Barney glanced through the window and saw a petrol blue Yamaha 950 tourer standing next to the kerb. ‘Boy, they’re good,’ he whispered knowingly. ‘The fox is going to stalk the ugly ducklings and see if they’re really swans.’

  ‘Right-oh,’ said Archie. He watched Barney cross the gallery and stand unnaturally close to the female biker.

  Sensing his presence, she turned and asked sharply, ‘Kann ich ihnen helfen?’

  Cheeks glowing, Barney smiled innocently and said, ‘Na, ich just looken aus die picturos.’ As the couple edged away from him Barney turned and gave Archie a furtive thumbs up.

  ‘Way to keep a low profile, Barney,’ Archie muttered to himself. Turning to take in his surroundings, he felt a strange sense of unease creeping up his spine. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t for the life of him pinpoint exactly what it was. It was as if he was looking at a photograph that was slightly out of focus.

  Once again he studied each person in the room, his stomach tightening with the growing feeling that he was missing something obvious.

  ‘The bag!’ Archie said aloud as the blurred picture pulled into focus.

  The plastic bag carried by the skinny figure in the leather trench coat bore some nondescript green writing. The words were all creased up because he was clutching the bag by its neck but in a flash Archie had just realised that the scrunched-up letters spelled the words Bure Stores – the name of the newsagent less than a mile from his father’s house. The brightness of the bag’s coloured lettering suggested it had probably been pulled off the roll at the checkout within the last seven days. What were the chances of this man having been to Archie’s local shop less than a week ago? Either it was a pretty unbelievable coincidence, or he was looking at the person who’d run his father’s car off the road a couple of days ago. Archie didn’t believe in coincidences.

  His heart racing, he spun on his heel and saw instantly that his suspicions were correct.

  ‘Barney!’ he yelled. ‘Look!’

  Barney turned and followed his friend’s pointing finger towards the front of the gallery. The figure in the grey hoody was holding the door open while the skinny guy in the black trench coat was backing out on to the street. And he was drag
ging the bearded man in the orange fleece with him!

  No one else had noticed what was happening. Realising he was the only one who could stop the kidnap, Archie rushed for the door. Immediately Barney followed but he was still at least fifteen metres away.

  Nimbly Archie sidestepped a teacher and weaved between two pupils. But then he was engulfed by a group of schoolkids.

  All he could do was watch as the skinny man abducted the target. One exceptionally long leather-clad arm was clamped around the bearded man’s chest, the other over his mouth to stifle his protests. The figure in the hoody followed them through the door, which slammed shut behind them.

  ‘They’ve got him!’ Archie despaired as he broke through the crowd. ‘Right from under our noses.’

  ‘Why didn’t anyone stop them?’ Barney gasped.

  Archie nodded to the two bikers who were facing the door, smiling and clapping politely. ‘They think it was some kind of show, like a play or something.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that famous play Man Kidnapped from Gallery.’ Barney sighed. ‘We need to call this in to IC.’

  Archie looked thoughtful for a moment.

  ‘Or … we could go after them ourselves,’ he suggested. ‘Come on!’

  Archie pelted across the tiled floor, yanked open the gallery door and rushed out on to the pavement where the two kidnappers were manhandling the bearded man along the street. The victim was bucking and thrusting furiously but the man in the trench coat had a vice-like grip on his torso. The hooded youth was holding the man’s ankles together and wrapping duct tape around them. The victim’s wrists were also bound tightly with tape.

  As Archie started running towards the car he heard Barney exiting the gallery behind him.

  ‘Do not engage,’ Barney wheezed. ‘I repeat, do not engage.’

  But Archie was sure the kidnappers were the same people who had run his father off the road and he had only one thing on his mind as he sprinted along the pavement.

  ‘Stand down, Agent Yankee,’ Barney puffed half-heartedly, before throwing his hands up in despair and joining the chase.