by Rob Stevens
Already a mile away, Archie and Barney were pumping the pedals on their bikes as hard as they could, steam piping through the holes in their helmets. Having disguised the mannequins in their sweatshirts, they had watched their stalker approach before heading straight for the exit. Now, dressed in soaking T-shirts and jeans, their cheeks were bright pink and their arms blotched by the wintry air.
‘Nearly there,’ said Archie, sensing Barney was slowing down.
‘Copy that,’ Barney wheezed, his tight blond curls glistening with sweat under his helmet. ‘I think Operation Blind Mice has been successful, don’t you?’
‘Operation Blind Mice?’
‘Yeah.’ Barney heaved a couple more breaths. ‘That’s what they call losing your tail – Operation Blind Mice. Because the farmer’s wife cut—’
‘Yeah, I get it,’ said Archie. ‘I just don’t remember that from any of our training exercises. Are you sure you didn’t just make it up?’
‘Negative.’ Barney sounded offended. ‘Check your manual, Agent Yankee.’
‘Anyway, I think we gave him the slip,’ Archie said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘He’s probably still looking for us in the clothes department. Unless he’s decided to jacket in.’
‘I’d have thought he’d want to hanger round for a while,’ Barney puffed. ‘He probably thought he had us hemmed in.’
‘Soon he’ll realise he’s been short-changed though,’ Archie added. ‘And his boss is gown to be really shirty.’
The boys swung into Stour Gardens and skidded to a stop outside number sixteen. After parking their bikes out of sight behind a side gate they went to the front door and rang the bell.
A teenage girl with black hair cut into a slanted fringe opened the door a couple of inches, keeping the security chain on, and peered out. She was wearing skinny black jeans and a black T-shirt.
‘Girls go to college to get more knowledge,’ she said evenly.
‘Come on, X-ray, you know it’s us,’ Archie implored. ‘Just let us in.’
The girl held his stare for a moment, then repeated, ‘Girls go to college to get more knowledge.’
Archie and Barney exchanged a brief glance. Archie sighed and flatly recited the accepted response: ‘Boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider.’
The girl smiled briefly, the caramel flecks in her blue eyes shining for an instant. The door closed momentarily then it opened wide and she ushered them inside, quickly shutting and locking it behind them.
She looked the drenched boys up and down, then, with mock concern, she asked, ‘Is it a bit wet outside?’
‘Isn’t it about time we got a new passcode?’ asked Barney.
The girl shrugged. ‘I quite like this one. It’s so . . . true.’
‘Come on, Gemma,’ Archie pleaded. ‘It’s not fair that you get to choose all our passcodes.’
‘Of course it’s fair.’ She folded her arms. ‘I joined the agency four months before you two drips, so technically I am the senior agent here. Plus I’m two years older. What are you doing here anyway? You’re not due any new training until next weekend.’
‘We missed you, Agent X-ray, didn’t we, Agent Yankee?’ Barney nudged Archie as Gemma rolled her eyes.
‘Very funny,’ Archie sneered, trying desperately not to blush.
Helen Highwater appeared at the far end of the narrow hallway. With her blunt bobbed hair, tailored grey suit and grey silk blouse she exuded authority.
‘Well why are you here then?’ she demanded. She approached the boys and peered at them through the slender lenses of her glasses. ‘This is a government safe house, not a youth club.’
‘We picked up a tail,’ replied Archie. Then, hoping to impress both females, he added, ‘As soon as we’d identified the suspect’s behaviour we successfully invoked an Operation Blind Mice.’
A loud snort of amusement escaped Gemma’s mouth before she clamped her hand over it. ‘More like an Operation Drowned Rat,’ she muttered.
Highwater removed her spectacles and fixed Archie with her flinty eyes. ‘You invoked an Operation what?’
Suspecting his confidence in Barney had been misplaced Archie adjusted his spectacles nervously. ‘Erm . . . we invoked an Operation, uh . . . Blind Mice?’
‘It means we lost our tail,’ Barney added helpfully. ‘Just like the three blind mi—’
‘Thank you Agent Zulu,’ Highwater snapped. ‘I had guessed what the term referred to but it is not official MI6 terminology. I think we’d better go downstairs to the Ops Room for a full debrief, don’t you?’
‘Yes, IC,’ the boys mumbled as one.
Helen Highwater led the way to the end of the corridor and down a flight of stairs into the basement. Gemma tagged on behind her and the two boys brought up the rear.
‘Pssst,’ Archie whispered to Barney. ‘I think an apology is in order, don’t you?’
Barney glanced at him and grinned. ‘Don’t sweat it – you weren’t to know.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You didn’t know that you were divulging classified data.’ Cupping a hand over his mouth, Barney mumbled earnestly, ‘Highwater’s security clearance level obviously doesn’t give her access to certain operational protocols. Blind Mice ops must be above her pay grade.’
Archie realised his mouth was hanging slightly open. ‘And yet you are in the know?’
Barney shrugged enigmatically.
Archie let out a short laugh. ‘Sometimes you are unbelievable.’
Barney accepted the comment with a modest shrug. ‘Just doing my job.’
The Operations Room in the basement of the Stour Gardens safe house was fortified by steel plates embedded within its ceiling and external walls. The only point of entry – the door at the foot of the stairs – looked like a typical domestic door but was actually constructed of solid steel with a wood-look veneer on the outside.
The room was dimly lit with tiny LED spotlights that created a low glow around the workstations. One wall was covered in rows of flat-screen monitors and beneath them was a long marble counter covered with numerous keyboards and laptops. The far end of the room was devoted to some sort of workshop, with soldering irons and blowtorches hanging from racks on the wall and a bench piled high with countless mechanical components.
At the other end of the basement stood a large chrome desk with a smoked glass surface, behind which sat Helen Highwater in a black leather chair. Archie, Barney and Gemma stood side by side in front of the desk.
‘OK,’ Highwater announced. ‘Tell me – with minimal use of made-up jargon – what happened.’
While Archie described the sequence of events preceding their arrival at the safe house, Highwater listened intently, tapping a silver pen on her teeth and occasionally using it to write notes.
‘Can you describe the appearance of the man who was following you?’ she enquired.
‘That’s affirmative,’ replied Barney.
‘A simple yes or no would suffice,’ Highwater sighed.
‘Yes, that’s affirmative.’ Barney cleared his throat. ‘He was a male . . . er . . . in fact he was a man . . . who was wearing . . . some sort of . . . coat.’ Barney screwed his face up and studied the ceiling.
‘Agent Yankee?’ asked Highwater after a lengthy silence. ‘Do you have any more to add to Agent Zulu’s incredibly insightful account of a male man in a coat?’
‘I’d say he was six foot and pretty skinny – about a hundred and forty pounds,’ Archie stated. ‘He was wearing a green cagoule, brown cords and brogues. His hair was short and dark and he had a straggly moustache although he might have been wearing a disguise.’
‘Age?’
‘Hard to say. He looked about mid-forties but something about the way he walked made him seem older. He sort of stooped a bit.’
‘Interesting,’ Highwater said pensively.
‘Would you recognise him if you saw him again?’ Gemma asked, folding her arms and cocking her head to one side.
‘In
a moment, Agent X-ray,’ Barney nodded, tapping his temple. ‘Every detail of that dude is filed away in my photographic memory. With my perfect recall I’d remember him even if I saw him in ten years’ time. And I’m talking tiny details – not just his blue cagoule . . .’
‘Green,’ whispered Archie.
‘Sorry?’
‘His cagoule was green, not blue.’
‘Really?’ Barney frowned. ‘I could have sworn it was blue. Maybe it was a sort of bluey-green?’
Archie shook his head almost imperceptibly.
‘Anyway,’ Highwater said, bringing the dispute to an end. ‘It’s good to know you would recognise this man if you ever met him again. Forewarned is forearmed. If you provide Intel Branch with a full description they can run a search on the database.’
‘Do any suspects spring to mind?’ Archie asked.
Highwater nodded grimly. ‘One in particular. Sounds like you followed protocol to the letter though. Any time you’re pursued by a potential hostile it is imperative that you evade and shelter.’
A series of high-pitched beeps from the other side of the door signalled someone typing the entry code into the hidden keypad.
Six bleeps, a pause then a clunk and the door opened outward. In walked an elderly man in a tweed jacket with the sleeves pushed up to his bony elbows. He had a thin white moustache and his fine silvery hair was gelled up into a quiff at the front.
Holden Grey was STINKBOMB’s experienced Tech Branch Specialist. Having retired from MI6 twenty-odd years ago his technological knowledge was hardly up to date but he had returned to active duty to kit out Agents X-ray, Yankee and Zulu for their mission to track down Dr Doom. Keen for the young agents to like him, he was desperate to show them he wasn’t too old to be cool.
‘Hey posse,’ he said brightly, his eager blue eyes pausing on each of the kids in turn. ‘What’s going downwards?’
‘Hello, Mr Grey,’ the three children replied together, a note of amused affection in their voices. The old man high-fived each of them in turn.
‘Where have you been?’ Highwater asked in her customary curt manner.
‘Upstairs, in the kitchen,’ Grey replied. ‘Just making a snack. I’ve been so busy in the workshop since nine a.m. I forgot all about lunch. A chap, I mean a dog, can’t think straight on an empty stomach, you feel me?’
‘Quite right, Mr Grey,’ said Highwater. ‘Anyway you’re just in time – I was about to brief the team on Operation Gumshield.’
Archie felt his spine tingle at the mention of a new mission. Over the last six months he’d spent most of his spare time secretly learning spy tradecraft and he was excited about putting his training into action.
Helen Highwater waited while Holden Grey took up his usual position, standing at her shoulder, then she began. ‘As you may already know, next weekend the British Student Games are being held in London. The athletics will take place in Crystal Palace and there’ll be a swimming gala at the K2 in Crawley as well as rowing at Dorney Lake. But your only concern is that on Saturday this young man will be competing in the boxing at the O2 Arena.’
Holden Grey unfolded his spindly arms and pointed a remote control at one of the wall-mounted monitors. A picture of a boy filled the screen. He looked about fifteen years old, with cropped blond hair and a strong jaw line.
‘Who is he?’ asked Barney.
‘He’s fine,’ enthused Gemma.
‘I don’t know,’ Archie mumbled casually. ‘He looks like a meathead to me.’
‘He is Toby Winchester,’ announced Highwater. ‘Son of Adam Winchester – our very own Prime Minister.’
‘Ordinarily these games wouldn’t make the headlines,’ Grey added. ‘But Toby Winchester’s involvement ensures the ears of the world will be watching very closely indeed.’
‘MI5 and MI6 will be running a joint operation at the event,’ Highwater explained. ‘There will be a huge uniformed presence, as well as scores of undercover agents covering every conceivable angle, be it terrorist attack, kidnap attempt or even just some wacko looking for attention.’
‘So what do you need us for?’ asked Archie.
‘We need you three to be on the inside, mixing with the athletes,’ said Highwater. ‘As kids you can get closer to Toby Winchester than any adult MI6 agents. We want you to watch him closely – twenty-four-seven.’
‘You got it,’ said Gemma. ‘I won’t take my eyes off him. That’s a promise.’
As Holden Grey strode across to one of the laptops, his shoes squeaked on the marble floor. Archie looked down instinctively and saw the old man was wearing a spotless pair of bright white Nike basketball boots with the thick orange laces left untied. The old man tapped a couple of keys and an inkjet printer whirred into life at the end of the counter. Retrieving three sheets of paper from the printer he handed one to each of the agents.
‘These are your undercover identities,’ Highwater informed them. ‘You are to memorise the profiles until the information is second nature. Mistakes can cost lives.’
‘Wicked,’ cooed Barney, his hand trembling as he studied his sheet.
Grey stroked his moustache pensively and said, ‘BWT, guys, these profiles are FYOE, aka for your eyes only.’
‘We’ll rendezvous here next Friday after school,’ Highwater announced. ‘Your cover stories will be tested so make sure you’re up to speed. The boxing competition is scheduled to take place over the weekend. On Saturday we’ll travel to London early – get you all embedded in your roles before the games begin.’
‘So I have to come all the way down here again next Friday?’ Gemma groaned, folding her arms. ‘Why can’t Yankee and Zulu come up to London instead?’
Helen Highwater removed her glasses and studied the young girl for a moment. ‘Agent X-ray,’ she said coldly. ‘The locations of our meetings are decided by me, and me alone. I’m sorry that you consider travelling to this safe house to be so inconvenient but its location on the south coast makes it ideal for our covert operations. Apart from not attracting the attention of hostile organisations – and I include the national press in that category – STINKBOMB can operate from this base without the continuous scrutiny of MI6 central command. Essentially it gives us almost total autonomy as an agency and for that alone I’d have thought the hassle of your train journey was a small price to pay. Do I make myself clear?’
Gemma’s jaw jutted forward slightly but she said nothing, nodding once, slowly.
‘Besides, all my gear is here,’ added Grey jovially. ‘And I’ve got a couple of fierce gadgets that should be ready in time for your assignment.’
Barney barely suppressed a yelp of delight but Archie’s mind was elsewhere. Something had been niggling him for the last few minutes and he’d suddenly realised what it was. His heart was pounding as adrenalin coursed through his body.
‘Agent Yankee,’ said Highwater. ‘Do you have anything you wish to add?’
He was sure he was right, yet the prospect of making a fool of himself had kept his mouth shut.
‘Agent Yankee!’ Highwater repeated irately.
Archie felt his conviction swelling like a balloon inside him. If he was wrong he would look stupid for a while, but if he was right and said nothing he would never forgive himself.
‘It was you.’ His nervousness pushed the words out more forcefully than he’d intended. Pointing at Holden Grey, he took a calming breath and said, ‘You were the man in the green cagoule. You were following us in the shops.’
A chilled silence filled the room.
All eyes were on Archie.
‘Agent Yankee, that is an extraordinary accusation,’ said Highwater. ‘I think you’d better explain yourself. And it had better be good.’
Archie immediately regretted airing his suspicions in front of everyone. Perhaps a quiet word with Helen Highwater would have been a more tactful way of expressing his concerns but it was too late for that.
Eight eyes scrutinised him as he took a moment to mental
ly organise his evidence.
‘OK,’ he said, his voice barely a croak. After clearing his throat he started again. ‘OK. The man following us was about six feet tall and weighed about a hundred and forty pounds. I estimate Mr Grey fits that description pretty closely.’
‘Mr Grey?’ Highwater enquired.
‘I must say I find Agent Yankee’s insinuation most outrageous. It’s totally whacked.’ Holden Grey’s eyes narrowed. ‘It just so happens I’m six feet exactly in my socks and a hundred and forty three pounds.’
‘This proves only that you can evaluate physiques with reasonable accuracy.’ Highwater sat back in her chair. ‘I’m sure many thousands of men in this country fit that profile.’
‘Mr Grey’s posture matches the man who followed us too.’
‘Lots of people of Mr Grey’s age experience slight curvature of the spine,’ Highwater stated.
Archie conceded the point with a nod, then countered, ‘But how many of those men wear brown corduroy trousers?’
Helen Highwater remained unimpressed. ‘I hardly think his possession of a pair of brown cords is conclusive evidence that Mr Grey followed you this morning.’ Sitting forward, she leaned her elbows on her desk and rested her fingertips together. ‘I do hope you’ve got something more substantial to back up your theory, Agent Yankee.’
Archie felt his confidence wobble. He’d expected Highwater to find his evidence so far much more convincing. He took a moment to gather his thoughts.
‘Agent Yankee,’ Highwater barked. ‘We’re all waiting.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Archie said with a shrug. ‘Lots of men share Mr Grey’s build and posture as well as his taste in trousers. And the man who followed us was obviously wearing a false moustache and probably a wig so it’s almost impossible to identify the culprit facially.’
‘Are you now saying you’re not sure it was me following you?’ asked Grey a hint of pleasure in his voice.
‘No.’ Archie shook his head slowly. ‘I’m saying that my reasons for suspecting you are nothing to do with your choice of trousers but everything to do with the state your trousers are in.’
