Deep Trouble

by Rob Stevens

  Sensing the enormous disappointment in the room, Archie frantically searched his mind for a substance Grey hadn’t included on his list. ‘You didn’t mention rubber,’ he offered brightly. ‘So the particle vibrating thingy isn’t completely powerless on rubber?’

  ‘Heavens no!’ Grey said dismissively. ‘In fact quite the reverse.’

  ‘What does that mean, exactly?’ pressed Gemma.

  ‘Interestingly the atomic bonds within some rubber composites are precisely eighty picometres which is exactly the right length to resonate perfectly with the HFO beam.’ Holden Grey raised his eyebrows as if hearing this surprising fact for the first time himself. ‘If exposed to the beam for even a split second the bonds disintegrate completely.’

  ‘So what happens to the rubber?’ Barney asked.

  ‘Ppff.’ Holden Grey spread the fingers on one hand. ‘It melts. Then it’s vaporised into, well, vapour.’

  ‘So the HFO beam is useless against most solid objects,’ Barney surmised dejectedly. ‘And it vaporises some rubber polymers in seconds. Are there any substances it can actually see through?’

  ‘Of course,’ Grey replied positively.

  ‘Which ones?’ Barney said eagerly.

  Holden Grey cleared his throat. ‘Glass.’

  ‘Glass!?’ the three agents chorused.

  Holden Grey nodded apologetically. ‘Provided it’s not smoked or pebbled.’

  Archie smiled warmly at the old man. ‘So, is it fair to say that the only material the X-ray camera can see through . . . is see-through already?’

  Holden Grey looked thoughtfully at his invention for a moment. ‘I suppose so, yes,’ he said with a slight laugh. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it like that.’

  During the long uncomfortable silence that followed, even Archie couldn’t think of anything positive to say.

  ‘OK, STINKBOMB,’ Highwater announced, breaking the silence. ‘I think we’re all up to speed now on the various shortcomings of the spiPhone’s X-ray camera function. As Mr Grey mentioned it is a work in progress and I’m sure there’ll be a software upgrade to download sooner or later.’ She forced her lips into the briefest smile before continuing. ‘Anyway time is short so let’s draw a line under that for the time being.’

  Archie nodded, thinking it might be better just to draw a line through it.

  ‘Do you have anything else for us, Mr Grey?’ asked Barney with a hint of desperation.

  ‘Oh yes, I almost forgot!’ Holden Grey’s eyes popped open and he held up one finger. Patting himself down he reached inside his hooded sweatshirt and produced a slender black ballpoint pen, which he handed to Barney.

  ‘OK.’ Barney nodded, his full cheeks colouring again. ‘I’m not going to make the same mistake as last time. This isn’t a gadget, is it? It’s just a normal pen, and you want us to sign for the spiPhones, right?’

  Holden Grey smiled kindly. ‘Wrong,’ he said. ‘You are holding a magno-pen – a stun-gun capable of immobilising any human, animal or indeed electronic equipment within a ten-metre range for thirty seconds. It’s based on a classic MI6 gadget that was commonly issued to spies during the Cold War. You simply twist the pen barrel to arm the device, then when you click the button to extend the ballpoint, the electric charge starts building. A second click retracts the nib which then dispenses the charge at the target. It’s very accurate and very powerful.’

  ‘So you just twist and click twice?’ Barney asked mischievously turning the pen’s barrel and pointing it at Gemma.

  ‘You dare, Zulu,’ she warned.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Agent Zulu,’ Grey advised. ‘Operating the weapon is not quite that simple.’

  Barney wasn’t listening. With a wicked grin on his face he clicked the button on the end of the pen to extend its nib.

  ‘Seriously, Barney. I’m warning you!’ Gemma threatened.

  Barney savoured the look of dread on her face for a moment, then spun and, aiming the pen at a digital alarm clock on a table behind Holden Grey, retracted its point.

  There was a loud crack like a bullwhip, and a flash.

  Archie was staring expectantly at the digital clock when he heard a dull thud that sounded like someone had dropped a sack of potatoes on to the floor right next to him. Turning sharply and looking down he saw Barney spreadeagled on the floor, his mouth lolling open and his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

  ‘Barney!’ he yelped, dropping to his friend’s aid.

  ‘Don’t worry, Archie,’ Holden Grey said reassuringly. ‘He’s just stunned. He’ll be fine in about thirty seconds.’

  Gemma dragged over a plastic chair and Archie grabbed Barney under his armpits, pulling his friend to his feet and dumping him into the seat.

  Everyone watched anxiously for a while until Barney blinked hard a couple of times and opened his eyes.

  ‘What happened?’ he slurred groggily scratching his hair, which was standing on end, crackling with static.

  ‘I think your little joke backfred,’ Gemma said drily.

  ‘I – I don’t get it,’ Barney said sleepily. ‘I just wanted to take out the clock. I followed the instructions. Twist, click, click. Simple.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Holden Grey countered. ‘With this model you must wait ten seconds between clicks to allow time for the electric charge within the pen to build. Otherwise . . .’

  ‘The pen itself is electrifed,’ Barney said sheepishly. ‘And whoever’s holding it gets the shock of their life.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Gemma protested. ‘How come our pens don’t work like the originals?’

  Holden Grey wagged the pen gently between his thumb and forefinger. ‘The electromagnetic components in these pens are highly specialised parts that are incredibly difficult and expensive to manufacture. It would certainly prove well beyond STINKBOMB’s limited resources to finance such equipment.’

  ‘So where did that one come from?’ Gemma asked, nodding at the pen as Grey dropped it into a plastic bag.

  Grey smiled. ‘The magno-pens you will be issued with have all been salvaged from the MI6 Decommissioned Field Equipment Storage Facility. Aka and also known as the scrapheap.’

  ‘So our pens are duds?’ Gemma protested. ‘You’re issuing us with broken stuff?’

  ‘Not really,’ Highwater explained. ‘Mr Grey has found a brilliant way of re-energising the old magno-pens to enable them to generate one more electromagnetic shock. You just need to know how to use it safely. I’m sure you’ll agree the weapon will provide you with an invaluable means of protection if you find yourself in close quarters with Miss Tension.’

  Great, Archie thought. I suppose we just ask her nicely if she wouldn’t mind not killing us for ten seconds while we charge up our secret weapon.

  ‘Does anyone have any questions?’ Highwater asked.

  Barney’s hand shot up.

  ‘Nobody?’ Highwater asked.

  ‘I have one,’ Barney called out.

  ‘Good,’ Highwater said conclusively. ‘In that case let’s run through everyone’s responsibilities for tomorrow’s mission.’

  For the next two hours Highwater briefed the team on the layout of the venue for the Student Games, drilled them again on their cover stories and ran through the MI6 files on Evelyn Tension one more time.

  ‘Finally here are your passwords and go codes for the operation,’ Highwater said, handing each child an A4 folder. ‘Agent X-ray has devised the terminology which you will all have committed to memory by the morning. Shred the documents when you have done so. Agent X-ray will spend the night here in the safe house with Mr Grey and me. Tomorrow morning at oh-seven-hundred hours, sharp, Agents X-ray, Yankee and Zulu will rendezvous at Number One, Cliftops.’

  ‘That’s my house,’ Archie said, surprised.

  ‘Well then, Agent Yankee.’ Highwater smiled. ‘You’ve got no excuse for being late, have you? You will all be met by Mr Richard Hunt who will brief you on the modifications that have been made t
o the transportation solution he has kindly donated to STINKBOMB.’

  ‘Transportation solution?’ Archie repeated.

  Highwater nodded. ‘A brand new customised plane designed specially for STINKBOMB’s use on secret missions – the Dragonfly X.’

  ‘Archie’s dad’s given us an aeroplane?’ Gemma said. Wicked!’

  ‘Is my dad flying us to London?’ Archie asked, beaming.

  Helen Highwater shook her head. ‘No, Archie. The Dragonfly X is an official STINKBOMB vehicle and, as such, only official STINKBOMB agents are authorised to operate it.’

  Archie felt a buzz of excitement at the prospect of flying the Dragonfly solo again. Since STINKBOMB’s first mission, when he’d proved his skill as a pilot, his father had given him intensive training in flying the Dragonfly – concentrating on hovering, high performance manoeuvres and low-level flying. Although his father had given him plenty of praise, he’d never suggested that Archie should fly the plane solo. And he hadn’t so much as hinted at his intentions to donate a customised Dragonfly to MI6.

  No matter how dangerous the flying training he’d done over recent months, Archie had always known that his father could take the stick if things started getting difficult. Knowing he was going to be in sole control of the aircraft again was both thrilling and terrifying.

  ‘Your father has been reporting to us after each of your training flights,’ Highwater said. ‘He thinks you’re ready.’

  Archie smiled proudly.

  ‘Briefing over,’ Highwater anounced. ‘Mr Grey and I will travel to the sports stadium by car. We will all RV at the south-east car park of the arena at oh-nine-hundred hours for a final mission brief before going undercover. Get a good night’s sleep, everyone.’

  It was five past seven on Saturday morning – still an hour before dawn. Archie had slept badly, unable to switch his mind off from thinking about today’s mission – Operation Gumshield. Nervous but excited he strode wearily with his dad towards the private hangar in the grounds at the rear of their house. Thick frost coated the grass and trees and the cloudless black sky was peppered with tiny dots of brilliant light. Spotlights along the edge of the path highlighted the dense white plumes that billowed out of his mouth as his warm breath mixed with the sub-zero air of the early winter morning.

  ‘I can’t believe you never told me you were customising a Dragonfly for STINKBOMB,’ Archie enthused, still on a high after hearing he’d be flying solo again.

  ‘You’re not the only one who can be secretive round here.’ Archie’s father smiled to himself. ‘The Dragonfly X only came out of the factory yesterday – I picked it up while you were at school.’

  ‘So what modifications does it have?’

  ‘You’ll know everything in a few minutes.’

  Barney and Gemma, who had been following a few paces behind, broke into a jog to catch up with Archie and his father.

  ‘Does it have a button that converts it into a submarine?’ Barney asked eagerly.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Barney.’ Richard Hunt laughed.

  ‘What about weapons?’ Barney suggested excitedly. ‘It could have a ray-gun that cuts through steel, or a smart bomb that takes out any vehicle within a three-mile radius.’

  ‘It could . . .’ Richard Hunt said mysteriously, ‘. . . but it doesn’t.’

  The four figures cut across a wide lawn and headed into a bank of densely planted fir trees. Beyond the copse was a large grass quadrangle about half the size of a football pitch, hemmed on all sides by a thick wall of firs. They marched across the secluded field and stopped in front of a large metal structure with double doors and a shallow pitched roof.

  ‘Maybe it has some sort of invisibility cloak?’ Barney said, his chubby cheeks almost glowing in the cold.

  ‘Er, you’re thinking of Harry Potter,’ Gemma offered, her voice muffled by the black and white desert scarf she’d pulled up over her mouth.

  ‘I meant like an electronic cloaking device,’ Barney countered. ‘Not an actual cloak. That would be crazy.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Gemma nodded. ‘I’m the crazy one.’

  ‘To be fair, Barney’s predictions have been more accurate than ours,’ Archie pointed out.

  ‘How about supersonic rocket boosters?’ Barney turned to Richard Hunt. ‘Or anti-aircraft-missile jamming lasers? Oooh, I know – you could have redesigned the fuselage so it floats and given it retractable wings to convert it into a speedboat.’

  ‘It’s not the Batplane,’ Gemma laughed.

  ‘Actually Barney’s on the right lines,’ Archie’s father announced.

  ‘Told you so,’ Archie whispered to Gemma.

  ‘But instead of playing this guessing game for another half-hour,’ Richard Hunt continued, ‘fun as it is, how about we go inside the hangar and take a look?’

  He produced a small silver key fob from his pocket and pressed one of its buttons. A motor purred into life and the hangar’s double doors slid open, their well-oiled wheels trundling smoothly on their runners. Richard Hunt stepped into the building and flicked a couple of switches on the wall inside.

  ‘OK, guys,’ he said, as the fluorescent tubes overhead buzzed and flickered. ‘This is the Dragonfly X.’

  At that moment the hangar was lit up with a steady hum and Archie, Barney and Gemma stared silently at the jet plane housed within. The Dragonfly X shared the same basic features as the previous Mark 600, plane. It had a sleek torpedo-shaped nose and the familiar swept wings, each underslung with a vectored-thrust jet engine. Archie thought the glass dome encompassing the four-seater cockpit was more streamlined than before and the slight upturn of the plane’s wingtips seemed more pronounced. But the most striking difference was that the Dragonfly X was not silver as its predecessors had been – it was rendered altogether more rugged and imposing by being painted all over in matt black.

  ‘It’s awesome,’ Archie said, running his hand over its curves.

  ‘OMG, Mr Hunt,’ Gemma enthused. ‘It’s totally fly.’

  ‘Why the new colour scheme, Mr Hunt?’ Barney asked, frowning and scratching his chin. ‘I’m assuming the paint contains grains of H2C3PO or some other compound designed to diffract enemy radar?’

  ‘No,’ Richard Hunt shrugged. ‘We just thought it looked cool. Although our designers predict the slight roughness of the skin will improve boundary layer adhesion resulting in a reduced fuel burn of about two per cent.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Barney agreed with a nod. ‘It’s simple aerodynamics, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’ll be pleased to know we’ve done a little more than just tweak the plane’s profile and give it a mean paintjob. Follow me.’ Richard Hunt circled the aircraft slowly, ducking underneath the aircraft’s wing and patting its belly.

  ‘The Dragonfly X is fitted with an auxiliary fuel tank that increases its endurance by sixty per cent so you could easily drop in on an evil genius two thousand miles away. At the same time the engines now produce an extra ten per cent of thrust so your take-off performance won’t be hindered by the weight of the extra fuel.’ Slapping one of the plane’s tyres he added, ‘Plus we’ve strengthened the undercarriage ready for any rugged terrain you might want to land on.’ Completing his circuit of the plane, Archie’s father paused and placed his hand on its rear fuselage. ‘As per the Mark 600, the X comes with desert, urban and woodland camouflage nets as standard.’

  ‘Ahh,’ Gemma whispered into Barney’s ear. ‘Those must be the invisibility cloaks you were going on about?’

  Richard Hunt placed a foot in the small recess just below the glass canopy and pulled himself up on to the outside of the Dragonfly. Unlatching the dome he slid it back and climbed into the right-hand front seat. ‘Hop in,’ he said. Barney and Gemma climbed into the cockpit’s two back seats while Archie climbed into the left-hand front seat. Immediately he noticed a switch on the front instrument panel that he’d never seen before. Next to the lever used to raise and lower the Dragonfly’s landing gear was a sma
ll red toggle.

  ‘What’s that for?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘That operates the ATLAS.’

  ‘ATLAS?’ Archie echoed.

  His father nodded. ‘The Aquatic Terrain Landing Assistance System,’ he said, touching the toggle. ‘If you flick the ATLAS switch down before lowering the undercarriage, your wheels won’t come down.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Instead, two canoe-shaped floats will be lowered from the undercarriage bay on hydraulic struts.’

  ‘You mean the Dragonfly X can be used as a float plane?’ Archie asked, grinning.

  ‘Three-quarters of the world’s surface is covered by sea,’ his father replied. ‘It stands to reason you may be forced to land on it sooner or later.’ He turned and pointed past the back seats to a hatch in the rear bulkhead. ‘In there is your sea survival equipment – sea anchor, life raft, desalination packets . . .’

  ‘Chocolate?’ Barney suggested.

  Richard Hunt smiled. ‘Oh don’t worry, Barney, there’s plenty of chocolate in there. Plus three sets of scuba gear in case you have to swim to safety undercover. I understand you’ve all completed the MI6 Deep Water Survival course?’

  The three agents nodded. Archie smiled wryly, remembering the ribbing he’d been given by Harvey Newman, who’d overheard him talking to Barney about their weekend swimming lessons.

  Hey everyone – Hunt and Jones are having extra swimming lessons, Newman had scoffed. What a couple of wusses.

  Archie had endured days of ridicule from most of his classmates and someone (probably Harvey Newman) had placed a child’s rubber ring on his chair every morning for weeks.

  Of course, Archie never mentioned that he’d actually been undergoing an intensive Scuba course and underwater combat training with experienced Special Boat Service (SBS) commandos.

  Richard Hunt turned to address Gemma. ‘As you’re the computer whizz in the team you’ll be most interested to know that Dragonfly X is equipped with a full Mode F comms kit.’