Blackout

by Andrew Cope

  Nobody heard his muffled yowling as he was carried on to the top deck. But Maude was on a mission too. There was no way she was going to let the cat out of the bag. The pensioner was alone on the top deck. She took a small torch from her handbag and gave three flashes towards Westminster Bridge. The cruise boat sailed on, the lights of the central London riverbank lighting the scene. As the boat passed under the bridge, Maude raised the cat bag above her head. A hook attached to the end of a long piece of rope caught it and the bag left her hands, hauled upwards by Ernest and Albert.

  Maude returned to the lower deck, her part of the mission accomplished. She let herself back into cabin 5 and got into her nightie. The professor was fast asleep in the bar. The Cook family had bedded down for the night.

  Everyone was going to have a good night’s sleep. Except Spy Cat. He crouched in the darkness of the bag, hoping someone would hear his muffled yowls for help. He felt himself being hauled across London and then upwards, to somewhere very high indeed.

  This mission has gone from warm to red-hot!

  Shakespeare had been left in the bag. He was furious with himself. Catnapped! Double-crossed by a pensioner. Not quite what we planned.

  He’d stayed awake in the darkness, attempting to keep track of time. Eventually some light crept through the tiny holes in the zip so he assumed it was sunrise. He crouched low as he heard muffled voices. ‘You’re going to have to be quick, Lenny,’ he heard someone say. All of a sudden the zip was ripped apart and a man’s bony fingers expertly pinned him down. Another man used a pair of wire-cutters to snip through Shakespeare’s diamond collar. Shakespeare struggled and hissed, but to no avail. The diamond collar fell away and the cat struggled until the pressure was released and he flew across the room, hair raised, ready to do battle.

  At least my translating collar is intact, he thought, seeking refuge under a table.

  ‘He’s just frightened,’ he heard a lady say. ‘Let’s find a saucer of milk. He’ll be fine when he settles in. And, when this escapade is all over, he can come home with me.’

  Settle in? Come home with you? I’m not planning on either, madam! I’ve got a perfectly good home with a family I love.

  Shakespeare peeped out from under the table. Old people. Everywhere. His eyes were drawn to the man who had his diamond collar. He clamped the collar in a vice, slipped a dark mask over his eyes and took a burning flame to it. Before long the diamond fell away from the collar and the man removed the mask. He picked up the diamond in a gloved hand and held it to the light.

  ‘The final piece,’ he announced to the room full of old people. ‘This day will go down in history. When the satellites align at midday today, we will be going back to the good old days.’

  There was a warm round of applause from the old folks.

  The good old days? thought Shakespeare. Old people, diamonds and satellites? He remembered the professor’s theory that the three were somehow linked. His paw went to his translating collar. He felt calmed by the flashing light. He knew that his translating collar also had a tracking device. He thought of the family waking up and realizing their cat was missing. Help will be on its way, he thought. I will infiltrate the gang and pick up a few clues. Eyes and ears alert.

  He jumped effortlessly on to a kitchen table. A man stroked him and a woman laid down a saucer of milk. No thanks, he thought. I’m here to spy.

  ‘Shush,’ hissed one of the old men. ‘We’re on the news.’

  The TV was turned up full volume as the newsreader looked gravely at the camera. ‘Panic has set in across Scotland,’ he announced. ‘We are unable to bring you any pictures because all communication channels are down. Reports indicate that there is no Internet and that TV and radio connections have also failed. There are reports of people getting terribly lost because their satnavs have stopped working and they no longer have the ability to read a map.’

  ‘We didn’t have satnav in the war,’ Reg pointed out, ‘and we never got lost once.’

  ‘But you did bomb the wrong town, dearest,’ reminded Ivy.

  The news item continued, but Shakespeare’s attention was drawn to the map. Scotland is crossed out? And they said ‘we’re on the news’?

  He looked down at a huge piece of paper that was unfurled on the table. His translating collar allowed him to unscramble the words and pictures. It’s a diagram of that machine, he thought, glancing at the contraption that sat in the middle of the floor. There were masses of calculations that he couldn’t understand. His eyes fell on a sentence that had the word ‘precision’ underlined and one that he had to read twice. ‘When the machine is started, there will be thirty-six seconds before the lasers ignite.’

  Shakespeare was puzzled. His brain was working on an idea that he didn’t think was possible. Especially not by old people. But I suspect I’ll have thirty-six seconds to save the world.

  12. Room with a View

  The morning sun glittered on the Thames. The plan was for the family to enjoy breakfast on board the boat and then do some sightseeing in the capital city. Mum and Dad had a lie-in so Ben, Sophie and Ollie skipped into the restaurant, only to find Professor Cortex slumped at the breakfast table, snoring like a tractor.

  ‘He’s been here all night,’ explained the waiter. ‘He must have got very drunk.’

  ‘He doesn’t really drink,’ said Sophie, picking up his empty champagne glass and sniffing it.

  Ben slapped the professor on the back. Then again, much harder, and the old man grunted. ‘Prof,’ he said, aware that the other diners were looking their way, ‘it’s morning.’

  The professor raised his head from the table, a piece of last night’s pepperoni stuck to his cheek and the pattern of a napkin imprinted on his forehead. ‘What morning?’

  ‘Our final morning. Before we go sightseeing,’ said Ollie enthusiastically. ‘And it looks like there was no diamond thief.’

  ‘You look terrible,’ remarked Sophie. ‘Where’s Shakespeare?’ She lifted the tablecloth and looked under the table.

  The professor’s head hit the table once more and he groaned. ‘Oh dear. She’s cleverer than I thought. I think something terrible has happened to Agent CAT,’ he announced into the tablecloth.

  Shakespeare wasn’t sure how to play it. The diamond collar had been removed from his neck, but his translating one was still intact. He’d spent ten minutes sulking under a table, hissing at the pensioners. But he’d cleared his head and come to his senses. What would a Spy Cat do? I need information.

  He’d peeped from his hiding place and had counted fifty-five old people, mostly sitting in comfy armchairs, chatting or doing crosswords. One group of old ladies was engrossed in a jigsaw. A couple of elderly gentlemen were gluing model aeroplanes together. Maude, the old lady who had snatched him, was brewing some fresh tea.

  None of them look very dangerous, thought Shakespeare. I have a big advantage over them. They don’t know that I’m a ginger ninja. They don’t know that I’ve got a translating collar. I can be the professor’s eyes and ears. I’m sure my family will have noticed I’m missing and are on their way. A Spy Cat would mingle, eyes peeled and ears alert. A Spy Cat would find out what the plot is. I’ve heard them talking about ‘Mission GoD’ which is taking place at midday today.

  Shakespeare glanced at the grandfather clock ticking loudly in the corner.

  8 a.m. Exactly four hours to save the world.

  Sophie was the one who’d brought the professor to his senses. Three strong black coffees had dilated his pupils and his brain was groggy but functioning. ‘We are going to find my cat,’ she ordered. ‘And we’re going to find him now.’

  All of a sudden the professor could see Sophie as a young Mrs Cook. Resistance was futile. He nodded wearily. Sophie had rummaged in his pockets and found his mobile. ‘His translating collar,’ she reminded him, ‘has a tracking device. So track him!’

  Professor Cortex stabbed at a few buttons and a map appeared. ‘Agent CAT is close,’ he sa
id, a note of surprise rising in his voice. ‘Within half a mile in fact. That way.’ He pointed across the river. ‘But it’s very strange,’ he said, shaking his mobile to see if he could get a different reading.

  ‘What’s so strange, Professor Calamity?’ urged Sophie.

  ‘Agent CAT is three-hundred metres above sea level.’

  ‘On a plane?’ panicked Sophie. ‘Someone’s catnapped poor old Shakespeare and they’re flying him out of the country!’

  ‘No, Sophie,’ said the professor, looking at the tracking device and shaking his head. ‘Agent CAT isn’t moving. He’s three-hundred metres in the air, that-a-way.’ The scientist turned and pointed towards the red dot. The children followed the line of his finger.

  He was pointing at the Shard.

  13. No Lives Left?

  The children had decided not to ask Mum and Dad. ‘They’ll just say no,’ decided Sophie, ‘and “no, you can’t go and rescue Shakespeare from the diamond thief” is absolutely the wrong answer.’

  They had marched the confused scientist off the boat and along the Thames embankment. Ben had Googled ‘the Shard’ and was checking the details on his mobile phone. ‘Viewing platform on level seventy-two. But there are eighty-seven floors. Wikipedia says the top two floors are residential,’ he read. ‘But it doesn’t say who owns them. Three-hundred metres. That must be the very top floor.’

  Sophie led the way. She marched forward, a frown fixed on her freckled face. Ben, Ollie and the professor scampered behind.

  ‘Soph,’ yelled her big brother. ‘We need a plan.’

  ‘I’ve got a plan,’ she thundered, marching faster. ‘I’m going to the top of that building to rescue my cat.’

  The small gang approached the foyer. A guard in a peaked cap looked them up and down. ‘We’ve got a booking at one of the restaurants,’ fibbed the professor, regaining some composure. ‘Me and my, erm, kids?’

  ‘Your name, sir?’ asked the guard, his eyes scanning a computer screen.

  ‘His name is Professor Cortex,’ snorted Ollie. ‘And we’re here to get to the top floor to rescue our cat. It’s all of our’s cat really, but Sophie’s the most. We’ve got some dogs too,’ he offered, smiling. ‘But they couldn’t come to London because we’ve been on a boat and so we only brought our puss. We’ve tracked him down to here. Well, up there actually.’ Ollie pointed his finger skywards. ‘He’s got a translating collar, you know.’

  The professor saw that the security guard was confused. ‘We’re here for Shakespeare,’ he explained.

  ‘Then you’ll need a theatre, sir,’ advised the guard, feeling one of his headaches starting to pound.

  ‘If you could just let us up to the top floor, we’d be very grateful,’ said Professor Cortex, pressing a £20 note into the guard’s hand.

  The man pocketed the crisp twenty. All of a sudden he looked interested. ‘The top floor, sir,’ he said, ‘is out of bounds. It’s reserved. To be honest, sir, even I don’t know what goes on up there. But there have been some strange goings-on,’ he confided, lowering his voice.

  ‘Such as?’ asked the professor, rummaging in his wallet for another £20.

  The security guard waited for the note to land in his palm before continuing. ‘The top two floors, sir,’ he said, ‘are residential. The most expensive apartments in the world.’

  ‘And with the best view,’ suggested Professor Cortex, attempting to hurry the man along. ‘So what kind of strange goings-on?’

  Another £20 was pocketed. ‘There’s a special lift that goes up to the very top floors, sir. Highly restricted access. I’ve never been up there personally. I can only go as far as the restaurant, that’s the thirty-third floor. But there have been a lot of people using the private lift. Strange people, if you know what I mean?’

  Sophie’s cat had been abducted and she couldn’t wait any longer. She snatched the professor’s bulging wallet and wafted it in front of the security guard’s wide eyes. ‘What kind of strange people? We want to get up there.’ The little girl waved the wallet around and the man’s eyes tracked it, like Spud did with a chocolate éclair.

  ‘Old people,’ he said, mesmerized by the chunky wallet. ‘Loads of very old people. They go up and they never come back down. A community of pensioners.’

  ‘There, told you,’ said Sophie, turning to the others. ‘Shakespeare has been catnapped by a bunch of evil diamond thieves who just happen to be pensioners. And somehow they’re intending to destroy the Internet. It makes perfect sense.’

  ‘It does?’ asked the guard, his eyes still on the professor’s fat wallet.

  ‘Get us up there,’ ordered Sophie.

  ‘I c-can’t,’ stammered the guard, fearing his easy cash bonus would disappear before his very eyes.

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’ frowned Sophie.

  ‘I can only get you as far as the restaurant,’ he said. ‘After that, you’d have to take the, ahem, secret stairs.’

  In pride of place, in the middle of the room, sat a strange-looking contraption. Shakespeare eyed it curiously. The bottom half looks like the lawnmower that Dad keeps in the shed. And then there’s a series of pipes and tubes. And what on earth is that sparkly thing swinging above it? He cast his mind back to the school disco when he’d popped by to fetch Sophie. It looks like a glittery disco ball, he thought, remembering the one that had been suspended from the school ceiling. How odd. Maybe the old people are going to be doing some disco dancing. Shakespeare gulped as the realization hit him. The glittery things on the disco ball are diamonds!

  A man was kneeling next to the contraption. He had opened the panel on the lawnmower and seemed to be fixing the diamond – my diamond – inside. He closed the panel and dusted his hands together. ‘Precision engineering,’ he announced. ‘Everything is sorted, right down to the last thousandth of a millimetre. The satellites are nearly aligned. Our time is coming.’

  Shakespeare hoped his family were tracking him through his translating collar. He glanced at the grandfather clock ticking its way past 11.30 a.m. Whatever’s going to happen is going to happen soon! Shakespeare’s previous scrapes had used up a few of his nine lives. I just hope I’ve got enough left to save the world.

  14. Getting Carried Away

  Ten minutes later the children were skipping up the stairs towards the very top of the Shard. Professor Cortex was puffing behind. If they’d had time to look at the view, they’d have noticed the whole of the capital city spread out below, a giant Google map that was about to go offline.

  Sophie was first to the top. She caught her breath and waited for her brothers. The professor’s footsteps were at least two floors away and she didn’t have time to wait. ‘Shakespeare is in here,’ she said, turning the handle, and burst into the top-floor apartment.

  Dozens of old people’s eyes looked their way, many over the top of their spectacles. Already furrowed brows became even more creased. Jigsaws and crosswords ceased.

  The grandfather clock ticked towards midday and the kettle boiled in an otherwise silent stand-off. The children stared at the small army of pensioners and the pensioners blinked back until the kettle boiled violently and clicked itself off.

  ‘Young people,’ said a voice, breaking the silence.

  ‘I would imagine you’d like a biscuit?’ suggested a helpful old lady.

  Ben stepped forward first, his protective instinct taking over. ‘We don’t want your biscuits. We just want our cat back,’ he demanded.

  ‘And our diamond,’ gasped the professor, stumbling into the room. ‘The big one that was round the cat’s neck. Long story, but it’s not really ours …’

  ‘Maximus,’ smiled Maude. ‘So good to see you again. But I’m afraid you’re too late to save the world. Maybe you’d like a nice cup of tea instead?’

  Shakespeare ran to Sophie and leapt up into her arms, the little girl squealing in delight.

  ‘Where’s the diamond?’ demanded the professor. ‘And can you please tell me why there a
re dozens of pensioners at the top of the Shard?’

  ‘We’re having a bit of a do,’ said one of the old ladies. ‘Aren’t we, Gladys?’

  ‘We’re going back to the good old days,’ agreed Edna. ‘When I was your age,’ she said, looking at the children, ‘television was called books. The world today …’ she began, before cutting herself off with a sigh, ‘… is ruined.’

  ‘The world isn’t ruined,’ said Ben. ‘It’s just different.’

  The man who was tending to a machine stood up and everyone fell silent.

  He’s clearly in charge, thought Shakespeare.

  ‘We rather like the world as it was,’ he said calmly. ‘In the good old days. So I’ve invented a time machine that is going to take us back to the last millennium.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ spluttered Professor Cortex. ‘You’ve worked out a way of distorting the space-time continuum? Did you have to reverse the polarities of the modulating flux capacitors or did you …’

  ‘A sort of time machine,’ interrupted the old man. ‘But Maude’s right. You are too late.’ His bony fingers stretched towards a big red button. The room began to shake as the huge glass windows started to slide apart and the top floor of the Shard opened up like a tulip on a summer’s day. In less than a minute the sides had slipped away and the top floor had become an open-air apartment.

  The wind whipped up and Edna lost her wig. Hundreds of jigsaw pieces scattered upwards and away into the London sky.

  Barry had received the nod. He bent down and yanked at the lawnmower cord. The engine spluttered but failed to start. The Past Master looked frustrated. He nodded again and Barry yanked even harder; this time the engine spluttered into life and the Past Master fiddled with the machinery while it whirred into action.

  Professor Cortex and the children had no idea what was going on. This is my moment, thought Shakespeare. I have thirty-six seconds to save the western world from an Internet blackout. The wind was howling and the old people were hanging on to their hats and dresses. Dorothy pulled her cardigan tighter.