Spy Cat

by Andrew Cope

  Contents

  1. Preying Pray

  2. Panda-monium

  3. Professor Caught-X

  4. Huntingdon Hall

  5. Bottom Secret

  6. Gone Walkies

  7. The Missing Link

  8. Bob

  9. Mission Control

  10. The Journey

  11. Triple Crossed

  12. Hunted

  13. The Hunting Party

  14. Fight or Flight?

  15. Crash Landing

  16. Hunters Gather

  17. Double Bogey

  18. Stuffed!

  19. Closing In

  20. A Shocker!

  21. A Cat’s Life

  22. Lie Detector

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Science. Cats always land on their feet. That’s pretty much a fact, right? And toast always lands butter side down. I mean, everyone knows that. So, to push the boundaries of science right to the limit, what would happen if you strapped some buttered toast to the back of a cat and dropped it from a first-floor window? One day I will write a science book that delves into mysteries that have baffled scientists for millennia. Meantime, here’s another cat book.

  If you want Andrew Cope to visit your school, please email andy@artofbrilliance.co.uk. He might be able to bring Spy Dog, but there’s no way he’s bringing a moggy!

  For George Edmund Cook. ‘Eddie’. Who put

  the ‘great’ into ‘great-granddad’

  1. Preying Pray

  The New Forest, Hampshire, England

  The professor waded through the river to try and lose them but he could still hear the dogs. He paused for a moment, listening intently. He imagined them, tails raised, noses to the ground, slobbering in pursuit. They were getting closer. He ran for the safety of the trees, his feet squelching. He was trying to stay low in case the enemy was close. The professor wasn’t cut out for this. He was the wrong side of middle age and his liking for late-night snacks meant his midriff was rounder than it should be. He trained spy animals but wasn’t spy material himself. Yet here he was, being hunted.

  He slumped at the base of the tree, chest heaving. The lens in the left eye of his spectacles was shattered, the frame bent. Sweat seeped from his eyebrows, blurring his vision even more. He tugged the lab coat from his shoulders.

  ‘It’s making me an easy target,’ he cursed, noticing that it was now more red than white. The professor winced, wondering how many times he’d been hit. He pressed his hand against his upper arm. Red. ‘These enemy agents are good,’ he grimaced, suspecting the end was near.

  Professor Cortex peered round the tree, squinting into the forest. He covered his left eye to help him focus. He remembered the map and was fairly sure that if he could just get through the clearing, there was a cabin.

  Maybe it’s got Wi-Fi or a phone, he thought. It’s my only chance.

  His thinking was dulled by a sudden pain in his chest. He rummaged for his pillbox, opened it and scoffed a handful. He coughed as the pills got stuck in his dry throat.

  The enemy agent pricked his ears. A cough was enough. He settled into position, eye pressed to the sight of the gun. He was hidden halfway up a tree.

  Perfect for a sniper, he breathed. He scanned the clearing. He’d hit him once and knew the old man was struggling. Chances are he’ll be making for the cabin. I can wait, he thought, scanning again through the sights of the rifle. The cross picked out a white lab coat and his body stiffened. ‘Bingo!’

  The professor swallowed hard, three times, and the pills finally disappeared. The barking was getting louder. He liked dogs, but not these dogs! He took one last squint into the clearing and went for it. He’d seen Spy Dog run from baddies and he knew that he had a better chance if he zigzagged. For some reason, he couldn’t help yelling.

  The agent in the tree relaxed. He’d been taught by the best. The old man was doing the slowest zigzagging run in history. And all that noise? Tut tut – big mistake, old man.

  The sniper eased the trigger and Professor Cortex fell, clutching his leg. The assassin smiled. Down but not quite out. This is fun! The man was up again, staggering across the clearing, red footprints in the dirt. The second shot caught him on the shoulder and he reeled in agony.

  ‘No more!’ he yelled. ‘Please. Enough!’ He was on his knees, hands held high, shouting into the trees. ‘See? No weapon. I’m unarmed. Have mercy.’

  The hunter licked his lips, his eyes unblinking. His mission was clear. Eliminate the professor. I can’t remember any instructions about second chances and there was never any mention of mercy. The cross moved to the man’s forehead and the trigger was pulled one final time.

  Professor Cortex fell face first into the dirt.

  2. Panda-monium

  Edinburgh Zoo, Scotland – the same day

  Pandas aren’t known for their speed, so catching them wasn’t the problem. Lifting them out of their enclosure was going to be the tricky part. And as Gus had already noted, ‘Without anyone noticing? Almost impossible!’

  Everyone knows that owners look like their dogs. If zoo-goers looked like animals then Gus was a silverback gorilla, his nose broken so many times that their profiles matched exactly. His shoulders were almost double the width of his waist, and his hands were like clubs. Tattoos oozed brazenly out of each shirtsleeve, trouser leg and a few other places besides.

  Archie was also a primate lookalike. He was small-framed and hairy with slumped shoulders and low-hanging knuckles. Tufts of black hair peeped out of the top of his shirt and his eyes darted nervously from beneath one long eyebrow.

  ‘It’s a good job you don’t have a big red bottom,’ joked Gus, ‘otherwise they’d keep you in a cage.’

  Archie pursed his lips and frowned.

  The men had a plan. Or, as Archie kept reminding his partner in crime, ‘It’s my plan. You are just the muscle. Don’t forget that.’

  Gus was happy to play to his strength – which was … his strength. If these pandas got ugly, he would sort them out. The men had spent a lovely day wandering around Edinburgh Zoo. If anyone had watched them closely they’d have noticed that most of the day was spent loitering and observing outside the panda enclosure. But nobody did notice because the majority of visitors were doing exactly the same. As the tour guide kept explaining, ‘These are the only two pandas in the whole of the British Isles.’

  Archie checked his watch. He wanted to be sure that he and Gus were hiding in the reptile house at closing time. It was dark and warm and Archie had been right – nobody disturbed them. By 10 p.m. the zoo was locked and all the staff had gone home. The men emerged at midnight when everything was quiet except for the occasional squealing and howling of a few nocturnal residents. Gus’s teeth chattered – a mixture of cold, excitement and fear. He kept reminding Archie that these weren’t ordinary pandas.

  ‘They’re called giant pandas!’

  And Archie kept reminding Gus that he wasn’t a normal human being, he was a giant human being. And that was why he was there.

  The shady pair spent an hour assembling their pulley. Archie looked satisfied as they finally manoeuvred it right up to the glass wall of the panda enclosure.

  ‘In you go, big man,’ urged Archie.

  ‘But …’ began his partner, losing his nerve. ‘What if the pandas get angry?’ It didn’t seem quite so black and white any more.

  ‘Stop being such a wuss,’ hissed Archie. ‘These pandas aren’t angry … they’re hungry. And you’ve got a sack of their favouritest snack.’

  Gus patted the bag. ‘Bamboo,’ he reminded himself. ‘They eat bamboo, right? Not people.’

  Archie rolled his eyes in the darkness. He slapped Gus as he ushered him into the cage. ‘They never eat people,’ he said as he slid the bolt int
o place. ‘Well, hardly ever.’

  Gus rattled the cage door nervously. A small squeak of wind escaped from his bottom.

  ‘Right, I’m lifting you in,’ said Archie, cranking the handle of what looked like a giant fishing rod with a cage suspended on the end. Gus whimpered a little as the cage was elevated. When he was higher than the glass wall Archie swung the contraption until Gus was hovering on the other side of the panda enclosure.

  ‘Now doooown you go,’ said Archie, turning the handle the other way. There was a larger blast of nervous gas from Gus’s bottom as the cage landed softly on the grass, on the pandas’ side of the enclosure.

  Gus’s flashlight shone around. ‘Tian Tian,’ he whispered hesitantly. ‘Yang Guang. I have a midnight snack for you.’ Gus opened his bag and held a branch of bamboo out in front of him. ‘Snackeroony. Bamberoony. Come and get it.’

  The pandas were grumpy. They’d been up all day entertaining the crowds and now their sleep was being rudely interrupted. The male panda, Yang Guang, wandered out to see what all the noise was about. His eyesight wasn’t great but his sense of smell told him there was some bamboo to be had. He beckoned to his mate and they lumbered towards Gus, their white patches looming out of the darkness.

  Gus gulped and stepped backwards. He was a big and wild man but pandas were even bigger and considerably wilder. There was another high-pitched squeak of gas as he nervously enticed the bears towards the cage and tossed the bag inside. The pandas first sniffed Gus and then the cage. Their decision was easy. The sleepy bears climbed into the cage and started chomping.

  Gus quickly shut the door and fumbled the bolt into place. ‘Go, go, go!’ he whisper-shouted, trying to keep his excitement under wraps.

  Archie did the rest, reeling in the giant catch, the pandas landing on the freedom side of the enclosure. He was sorely tempted to leave Gus inside the zoo as he looked quite at home there. Gus thought otherwise, however, and wandered back through the side door before bolting it behind him. The bears were collared and silently led away, happily munching, through the main entrance and out into the car park. Once inside the van, Archie looked over at his big-boned and small-brained accomplice and shook his head once more.

  Next day’s security footage showed white patches in procession, headlights flickering on and a van leaving the car park. Darkness had been the criminals’ only weapon. One of the newspapers gleefully reported that it had been ‘Panda-monium at Edinburgh Zoo’.

  3. Professor Caught-X

  Meanwhile, back in the New Forest, Spy Dog and the pups had given up searching for Professor Cortex. They were making a hot chocolate in the cabin when there was scratching at the door. Lara put her paw to her mouth to signify ‘shush’. She grabbed her weapon, stood on her hind legs and peered out of the window. She beckoned to Spud and Star to open the door.

  ‘Quickly, guys. It’s him!’

  Star was the smallest and therefore the lightest of the puppies. She knew the routine. Her brother squatted and she climbed on to his shoulders. Spud took a deep breath and eased himself to his feet, holding his sister high enough to reach the door handle. Star pulled the handle and the door swung open.

  Professor Cortex fell into the cabin. His breathing was shallow and rattling. His spectacles were gone, smashed by the same bullet that had smeared his face in red.

  ‘I need help,’ he gasped.

  ‘Quickly, pups, get him in and lie him down on the sofa. He’s in a bad way. Help me find his tablets.’

  4. Huntingdon Hall

  The very north of England. In fact, pretty much in Scotland

  Lord Large of Huntingdon smiled for the camera. They’d already done the outside shots of the gardens and rolling hills. Now they were inside, surrounded by the grandeur of the main hall. A chandelier hung low. A stag’s head adorned the wall, looking somewhat unimpressed, and a stuffed beaver sat on the mantelpiece. Looking a bit more closely, however, it was all a bit shabby. The furniture and carpets were threadbare in places.

  ‘My aim is to restore Huntingdon Hall to its former glory. Currently it’s an estate in a state. But my aim is to make it stately once more,’ he smiled, his brand-new teeth glinting at the reporter from the Berwick Chronicle. ‘At the moment the roof leaks, the gardens are wild and the bedrooms are damp. It’s heartbreaking that a house of such historical importance has been allowed to become so run down.’

  The reporter was scribbling furiously. ‘So what are your plans, Your Lordship?’

  ‘I’m very interested in local history. As you are probably aware, this old house was at one time used as a game reserve. My wonderful staff and I will be returning it to its former glory. A century ago, this estate was famous for deer stalking and grouse shooting. My goal is for it to be a thriving hunting ground once more. My plan is to put the hunt back into Huntingdon Hall.’

  No sooner had the reporter disappeared to file his story about the new owner of Huntingdon Hall, than the work began. Heavy lorries arrived and yellow diggers tore up the land. Within a month the 500-acre estate was circled by a six-metre-high electric fence. Just to be sure, a line of razor wire sat atop, alongside dozens of signs that shouted DANGER OF DEATH. Outside the fence was a sheer three-metre-deep moat full of swampy water. There was only one way in – an imposing iron gate, guarded by two burly men. Cameras dotted the estate so Lord Large could keep an eye on proceedings.

  After all the work was completed the lord of the manor declared himself satisfied. ‘Nobody gets in and nobody gets out. Not without me knowing.’ He thrust a lever in his office and the electric fence buzzed into life.

  5. Bottom Secret

  The professor’s lab. Location CLASSIFIED

  No matter how often they’d visited, none of the children were particularly comfortable with this part. The entrance to the professor’s top-secret laboratory was always well hidden and this time it seemed especially well disguised. And after his recent scare in the New Forest, the children were concerned that the old Professor Cortex would be back, fit and well again.

  Ben looked at the printed sheet and shrugged. ‘This is it,’ he said, beckoning to the small blue Portaloo.

  ‘Maybe it’s like a TARDIS,’ beamed Ollie. ‘Massive on the inside.’

  One by one, taking care not to be seen, each of them had sidled into the small blue cubicle. There they all stood, somewhat squashed, huddled round the beckoning toilet.

  ‘It might be where Dr Who does a poo,’ suggested Ollie.

  Sophie and Ollie both looked towards Ben, who let out another shrug.

  ‘Three flushes,’ he said, tapping the instructions. The boy’s hand reached for the handle and the toilet flushed, dark blue water gushing down the hole. All eyes went back to Ben. He pulled the handle and got that empty sound when the toilet hasn’t yet refilled. ‘And one for luck,’ he said, yanking the handle a third time.

  There was a humming sound as the floor started to descend. A minute later the toilet cubicle came to a halt and Sophie reached for the door handle. The children stepped out into the professor’s secret underground laboratory where a young man was waiting. He ushered them along several brilliant-white corridors to a door marked Inventing Room. The children looked at each other but no one said anything. They all hoped that Professor Cortex hadn’t been replaced – or worse …

  For his part, the scientist had spent an hour in the bath, soothing his aching limbs and wiping the paint off his body. He stood, ruddy-faced, wearing a crisp new lab coat, replacement spectacles and a very wide grin. The only evidence of the paintballing was a swollen left eye. The professor tapped the new bottle of indigestion tablets in his lab coat. He let out a small burp.

  ‘Pardon me,’ he beamed, as the children came into view.

  The children were relieved to see the professor’s smiling head, and the three wagging tails.

  It was only the cat that looked downbeat. Shakespeare sensed he’d played his part well in the training exercise – maybe a bit too well. Professor Cortex
was evidently more suited to operating behind the scenes and had become a little flustered.

  The cat stood up and stretched his paws. When humans say try your best they don’t always mean it. Shakespeare sighed. He still had a lot to learn about being a spy cat.

  ‘Come on in, kiddie-winks,’ smiled the scientist. ‘And no need to feel bad, Agent Cat. You were excellent. In fact,’ he coughed, ‘puuurfect. You outperformed the dogs in the paintballing exercise.’

  It was the cat’s turn to look bright and the dogs’ to sag. The pups had been teasing the new recruit about dogs being better than cats so it was nice to score a victory. Shakespeare’s mission had been clear. He recalled the conversation from this morning. ‘I’m a great believer in making things as real as possible,’ the professor had said. ‘You can learn about weapons from reading books but the best way is to get hands-on, or, ahem, “paws-on” experience.’ And that was that. The professor and the spy-pet team had arrived at the paintballing centre and each animal had been issued with a weapon. It had been difficult at first with paws instead of fingers but the professor wasn’t one for excuses. ‘Deal with it,’ he’d said dismissively with a wave of the hand. ‘I’m the hunted. You give me twenty minutes’ head start and then you come after me. We meet back in the cabin – here,’ he said, jabbing his finger somewhere on the map, ‘in two hours. And the winner will be the one who shoots me the most times.’

  GM451 was a product of the professor’s elite spy-dog training school. She was the original Licensed Assault and Rescue Animal, affectionately named Lara, the world’s first ever qualified spy dog. She’d captured more baddies and been on more missions than Shakespeare had had catnaps at the Cooks’ house. Lara was issued with blue paint bullets. She fully intended to blue away the competition.