Spy Cat

by Andrew Cope

  The reporter tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Bob is certainly an amazing find. A Picasso primate indeed. But enough monkey business,’ she smiled. ‘Back to the studio.’

  The news anchor man grinned on the outside, masking his irritation that such a junior reporter could steal his monkey-business line. ‘Monkey business indeed,’ he grimaced, thinking hard about the next link. ‘In fact, totally bananas,’ he smiled, pleased at his rapid recovery. ‘The question is, is it going to be sunny enough to swing through the trees this weekend …?’

  Archie cut the weather lady off before she’d spoken. The TV went blank just as their boss strode in.

  ‘My night off’s cancelled, ain’t it, guv,’ sighed Gus.

  ‘I want that monkey by first thing tomorrow,’ growled the large figure. ‘It’s what I’ve been waiting for. It’s the missing link.’

  8. Bob

  Lara and the spy pets watched the news, the dogs’ tails wagging in great excitement. Shakespeare was swishing his tail, a little annoyed. It’s not fair that I’m not allowed to go along, he thought. But he was trying to look on the bright side. At least I’m part of the mission, even though from the sidelines. It could have been worse – the children have been banished altogether.

  The professor ran through his plan one last time. Shakespeare was new to the spy pets’ team but he had already worked out that it was a typical Cortex plan – slightly bonkers but kind of just about makes sense. There was a method in the madness.

  ‘We’ve made the news so it’s a guaranteed certainty that the baddies will come after me … I mean Bob. Whoever is stealing special animals will surely want our super-special gorilla. So here’s the plan and, like all the best plans, it’s deadly simple. I’ll allow myself, or Bob will allow himself, to get gorilla-napped. What the baddies don’t know is that I’ll be wearing a tracking device inside the suit. GM451 and the pups, all you have to do is follow me and that will lead you to the baddies’ hideout. And, bingo, I reckon we’ll find all the other captured animals. We simply alert the authorities and, voilà, we arrest the baddies and the animals are rescued. Mission accomplished.’

  Sounds exciting, wagged Star.

  Lara was less enthusiastic. It seems fairly straightforward, she thought. But I have enough experience of the professor’s hare-brained schemes to know that things don’t always turn out as planned. She winced as she recalled another seemingly simple adventure in a museum and a recent escapade in which Sophie took a death-defying trip in a flying wheelchair. She was pleased that the children had been banished. Ben, as always, had put up a very strong argument but it was a no-brainer. There is no telling what Mrs Cook would do if the professor accidentally lured her children into another mission.

  It all sounds exciting, thought Shakespeare, except for my bit! He swished his tail a little more violently so that the professor would be sure to see his dissatisfaction.

  ‘I’ve noticed the tail-swishing thing and I understand what you’re saying, Agent Cat,’ soothed the scientist. ‘But I think this is a dog mission. GM451 is an experienced veteran of many missions and the pups are quick across the ground.’

  Spud looked down at his paws momentarily, aware that everyone was probably staring at him.

  ‘Well, quickish,’ corrected the professor, ‘and, er, well grounded. Besides, we think there might be water involved,’ he continued, looking over at the cat.

  Shakespeare stopped swishing immediately. He wasn’t too keen on the prospect of taking a dip.

  ‘The dogs have cameras in their collars so everything, the whole mission, is relayed back here to this room, where we need a special agent to monitor the situation; someone with sharp eyesight who won’t miss a thing.’ Everyone knew that Shakespeare could see perfectly, even at night-time. ‘As soon as you find out where the baddies are, you simply send an email to the police and Bob’s your uncle. Well, Bob’s actually me in disguise, and I’m not your uncle. And I’m not saying you have any gorillas that are actual uncles, but you know what I mean. Your uncle would of course be a cat. I don’t actually know who the original Uncle Bob was. I would hazard a guess that it’s a saying from the olden days when Robert was a particularly common name. And Robert, shortened to Bob was so familiar that it became the common vernacular for –’

  Lara woofed for quiet, sensing the professor was beginning to ramble, which usually meant he was stressed. ‘Paws up if you get the plan?’ she barked.

  The pups and cat raised their right paws. ‘Excellent. Prof, I suggest you get into your hairy suit,’ woofed Lara, nosing the furry outfit, ‘and we get ready for a little monkey business.’

  9. Mission Control

  The professor’s monkey suit had a tracking device fitted, but Lara and the pups weren’t taking any chances. Their aim was to keep him in sight if possible, so the pups were hiding in a bush and Lara was in a flower bed, nose twitching and bullet-holed ear cocked.

  Shakespeare was struggling to stay awake. ‘It’s much less exciting at Mission Control,’ he yawned, sipping his espresso and keeping his blurry eyes on the TV monitors. The dogs’ collar-cams were streaming live pictures back to base and he also had a radio link to Lara so they could communicate if need be. Shakespeare remembered the professor telling him that a lot of secret-agent work was just a matter of sitting tight, watching and waiting. I guess this is what he meant, thought the cat, stretching his tired legs and arching his back.

  The professor had taken care to make sure being gorilla-napped was easy, but not so easy as to arouse suspicion.

  Gus yanked on the handbrake outside 132 Ambleside Road. All was quiet as was usual at that time of night. The men got out of the wagon and stretched away their fatigue, Gus breaking the silence with a huge release of wind.

  ‘Sssshush,’ whispered Archie. ‘You’ll wake the neighbourhood!’

  Gus chortled as he wafted his huge hand across his face. ‘I’ll poison the neighbourhood,’ he choked.

  They fixed their night-vision goggles into place and the world went green. Archie reached for his rifle and checked the dart was in place. He was fairly sure he’d only need one but he put the tin of sleeping darts into his jacket pocket just in case. The gates to 132 creaked open and the night-vision glasses picked out a cage in the garden. Gus gave Archie the thumbs up and the men silently crept across the lawn. The dogs were on full alert, crouched and ready to pounce if things didn’t go according to plan.

  Back at Mission Control Shakespeare was suddenly wide awake, sitting upright. We have visitors!

  Professor Cortex had heard the van and Bob was pretending to be asleep in the corner of the cage. Inside the disguise the professor’s heart was racing, but not for long. Archie was taking no chances. He aimed the rifle at the gorilla and there was an almost silent hiss as the sleeping dart sent the professor’s heart from racing to deep sleep. He slumped to the floor of his cage.

  Gus used bolt cutters to sever the padlock and the professor’s body was dragged out. Gus put his hands under the gorilla’s armpits and did the heavy stuff. The gorilla was dragged across the lawn and secured inside the back of the van.

  Shakespeare watched from the safety of Mission Control. While the professor was being drugged and gorilla-napped, Lara and the puppies were busy scampering under the cover of darkness. The spy cat could see that Lara was on top of the van, spread flat, one ear up, gripping the air vent. The pups were in the back, hiding in the straw. The tailgate was lifted and the engine rumbled into life. The spy dogs and the professor were on their way. Shakespeare was excited – this was more like it. He rather liked being in control.

  10. The Journey

  Shakespeare scanned the various TV monitors, his green eyes flicking deftly from screen to screen. Lara’s collar was showing daylight as the van trundled north towards the Scottish border.

  The pups’ cameras were showing darkness inside the vehicle.

  Lara was hanging on, her paws frozen, as they made their way north.

&n
bsp; Wherever possible she pointed her collar-cam at the road signs so that Shakespeare could monitor their position.

  The spy cat was using a pencil in his mouth to tap out the towns and roads on his iPad. A right turn off the A6105. Almost in Scotland.

  It was mid morning by the time Lara’s camera showed the van pulling up at some huge iron gates. The spy dog dared to peep over the edge and Shakespeare saw DANGER OF DEATH signs atop the fence, which was at least six metres high and seemed to stretch for miles. A burly security guard opened the gate and the cat watched as the wagon approached a huge stately home.

  Lara tried to press herself flat on top of the roof of the vehicle as the drugged scientist was dragged from the back of the wagon and carried into the house.

  Shakespeare then watched some frantic video action as Lara nimbly climbed down from the roof and collected the pups from inside the van.

  That’s better, thought the cat as the three video screens lit up.

  The dogs sprinted to the safety of some bushes and all three cameras were trained on the stately home.

  ‘Are you receiving, Spy Cat?’ woofed Lara quietly.

  ‘Loud and clear,’ purred the control puss. ‘I have your location. Shall I send the email and alert the authorities?’ There was radio silence for a minute. ‘I repeat, shall I notify the police?’

  ‘Negative,’ woofed Lara. ‘Will investigate further.’

  Lara and the pups discussed the plan. ‘There’s no point alerting the police yet,’ she explained. ‘We’ve seen the professor being dragged inside but we need more evidence before we call for help.’

  ‘Plus we might be able to solve the whole mystery ourselves,’ wagged Star, clearly enjoying the adventure. ‘We might not need the police at all.’

  Lara nodded. It was probably bending the rules a little but she was excited to be part of the action, and it would be nice for her and the pups to chalk up another victory for dogged determination. Plus, Agent Cat was watching and listening in case there was an emergency.

  ‘So I suggest we enter the building, locate the professor and assess the situation from there.’

  ‘Roger,’ woofed Spud. ‘I hope he’s in the kitchen. My tummy’s rumbling. I think we’ve missed a meal!’

  Star raised her eyebrows.

  There was a rustling in the trees and Spud thought he saw an iguana. He shook his head and looked again. The leaves were rustling but no reptile.

  Must just be the hunger playing tricks on me, he thought before continuing.

  Lara was the eldest but still the fastest. She checked that no one was around and sprinted for all she was worth. The blur of black and white sped across the grass towards the next bush.

  She stopped, panting hard, before beckoning to Spud and Star. The pups joined their mum.

  ‘Next stop, the front door,’ she woofed. Before long, the three dogs were at the huge front door. Lara jumped on to her hind legs and pushed. ‘Easy-peasy,’ she wagged as the door creaked open.

  Star peered in. ‘The coast is clear,’ she whined. Everything seemed to be going to plan.

  Shakespeare was starting to enjoy being in Mission Control. ‘The estate is owned by a guy called Lord Large,’ explained the mog. ‘But I don’t think that’s his real name.’

  The cat had downloaded a plan of the house to his iPad.

  ‘Right turn,’ meowed the puss, his fur tingling with excitement. ‘The professor’s tracking device says he’s three rooms away.’

  Lara went first, creeping along the wooden corridor, trying to keep as quiet as possible.

  ‘Third door on the left,’ instructed Shakespeare, watching the TV screens as live pictures were beamed back to Mission Control.

  Lara stopped at the door, her ears pricked and senses alert.

  ‘He’s in there,’ urged the cat, looking at his tablet. ‘The blue dot, the professor, is in that room. From the plans of the building, it looks like it might be an office.’

  Lara eyed the pups. ‘All clear,’ she nodded. There was a tiny pattering of paws as the pups sprinted to join their mum. ‘Careful.’

  The retired spy dog was enjoying herself.

  She nosed the door. ‘It’s open! So simple!’

  She eased through with her nose and there, on the floor, was the professor. He was in his gorilla suit but the head had been removed. He was gagged and tied with his back to them, and seemed very much awake.

  11. Triple Crossed

  Shakespeare was suddenly beside himself with worry. He’d googled the location, a blue dot showing the dogs were in the middle of nowhere – somewhere on the Scottish– English border. He’d zoomed in. Huntingdon Hall. He googled the history … and the owner. He downloaded a news report from last year when the new owner took over. Lord Large? He’d googled the name. Almost nothing. One brief entry in Wikipedia. Shakespeare had done some digging. It seems the Wikipedia entry about Lord Large has been added by Lord Large himself. There doesn’t appear to be any such person, other than the ‘Lord Large’ that he’s invented. Strange, thought the spy cat. He was gathering information on Post-it notes that were stuck all over the wall. I’ve seen them do it in crime dramas on TV. He added a yellow note that said Lord Large. No such person? His green eyes scanned all the clues. Stolen animals. Special animals. Huntingdon Hall. Electric fence. There was also a grainy photo of Gus and Archie with the word animal-nappers written above. He scratched his head and blinked, hoping the pieces of the jigsaw would eventually fit together.

  Shakespeare spun his chair back to the TV screens where the action was unfolding. Eleven a.m. Looks like the dogs have found the professor.

  Shakespeare held his breath. His green eyes were focused, whiskers twitching nervously. Something’s not right. This is too easy. All three collar-cams were pointing at the professor and there was panic in his eyes. His head was shaking from side to side and he was desperately slobbering through the socks that had been stuffed into his mouth.

  Spy Cat’s feline instincts screamed danger. The van had been waved through the high security gate without being searched. The front door of Huntingdon Hall was open. The office door was open. No guards? It’s not right.

  ‘Abort,’ he meowed, staring into the professor’s panicked eyes. ‘I repeat, abort the mission. And get out of that room!’

  Shakespeare almost jumped out of his fur as he heard a massive bang. Like a slammed door? All three dogs turned and there was a man. Three men! With huge guns! They’re the kidnappers who took Bob. Plus another man. Lord Large?

  ‘Spy Dog. We meet again,’ snarled Lord Large. ‘Remember me?’

  Shakespeare averted his eyes as the man dropped his trousers and showed teeth marks on his backside. There’s no need for that, he thought from behind his paws.

  ‘It’s not Large, it’s Big,’ woofed Lara. ‘My arch-enemy, Mr Big!’

  Spud and Star were yapping but one of the men had moved towards the professor and pointed a gun at his head. ‘Down, doggies,’ sneered Mr Big. ‘The mad scientist has awoken from the sweetest of dreams into his very worst nightmare.’ He laughed, pausing to spit a large black globule of phlegm on to the ground next to the professor.

  Spud was sure Mr Big was evil but surely missing two meals would be even more of a nightmare? His tummy rumbled in agreement.

  Cortex managed to spit the socks out of his mouth. ‘This is quite outrageous!’ he began. ‘Completely unacceptable. I’m sure we can work things out logically. This evil man has lured you here, GM451. I’ve heard of some double-crossing in my time but we’ve been triple-crossed. Possibly even quadrupally so!’

  The dogs replaced barking with snarling and Shakespeare strained to hear what was being said. Mr Big kept his gun pointed unwaveringly at the professor. ‘Quadruple-crossed,’ he purred. ‘I like the sound of that. Twice as clever as double-crossed.’

  He motioned to Gus, who yanked Spud by the collar, lifting him high. The puppy wriggled and kicked as his oxygen supply was cut short. Lara bared her tee
th, her eyes fixed on the men. Shakespeare sat bolt upright as the man produced a sharp knife. He sliced the collar off, the puppy falling to the ground with a yelp. He tossed the collar to his boss. Mr Big looked directly at the camera. Shakespeare could almost see up his nose.

  ‘If you pesky kids are watching this, be warned. If you call the police, the professor and his doggies will be killed. Instantly.’ The evil man left a dramatic pause. He smiled, but was deadly serious.

  The professor continued jabbering. ‘It … it was all a trap. He knew I wasn’t a real monkey all along. He knew you’d come after me, GM451. He’s not after me. He’s after you and the pups …’

  Shakespeare’s green eyes grew wide in horror as he absorbed the TV images. A small hairy man started stuffing the socks back into the professor’s mouth. ‘Tomorrow we’re going to be hunted. Help, Agent Cat. Heeeellll–’

  And all three TV screens went black.

  12. Hunted

  Hunted? What does he mean hunted? Shakespeare’s head was buzzing and adrenaline was rushing through his body. He caught his reflection in the mirror and noticed his fur was on end and his tail swollen. Ready for a fight! He remembered his mindfulness classes and breathed deeply. He knew he had to clear his head before any decisions were made. Stay calm.

  Shakespeare forced himself to have a break. He made a cup of mint tea and enjoyed a sardine. Oily fish. Brain food. I’ve been up all night, he thought, cleaning his whiskers. And the whole mission now rests on me. I must think like a spy cat to act like a spy cat.