Spy Cat

by Andrew Cope

  Shakespeare’s translating collar blinked, taking it all in.

  ‘Quickly, puss,’ he hissed, ‘I can hear a car.’

  The Lycra-suited cat jumped into the pram and took a deep breath. He held his paw aloft – Go, go, go – and Ben stood back. He pressed his thumb on the start button of the remote control and the small engine spluttered into action. Ben had never flown a remote-controlled aeroplane, but he was hoping his knowledge of computer games would help. He noticed the red roof of a van coming round the corner. ‘Here we go, puss,’ he yelled. ‘Ready for take-off!’

  The boy pushed the lever forward and the plane started to taxi, following the white line of the road. The post van had rounded the corner and was coming straight at them. Ben pushed the lever further forward and the plane accelerated, the pram trundling behind.

  They picked up speed, the pram bouncing dangerously on the tarmac. Shakespeare’s ears were flat, his eyes watering. The van was getting closer. We need lift-off. Quickly, Benjamin!

  Ben wasn’t sure how to make the plane take off. He tried to remember what the professor had said. ‘When it reaches a certain speed the engine will cut out and wind-power takes over’? Or something like that … Ben pushed his thumb against the accelerator stick. The small engine squealed and the boy could hardly watch as the plane sped towards a collision.

  The post lady had been doing this round for twenty-three years. The weather was variable but the routine was always the same. This was the only straight piece of road. She always used it as an opportunity to multitask – scanning the letters while shuffling her playlist …

  She had sorted the letters for the next village and noted that Jamie McCullough had six items. Must be his birthday, she smiled. She glanced up and saw a small aeroplane and a pram careering towards the van. The lady shielded her eyes and slammed on the brakes just as the aeroplane rose into the air, the pram dangling below. She couldn’t be sure but there seemed to be a cat waving at her. And was it wearing a red suit?

  The back wheels of the pram skidded across the windscreen and made a clattering noise on the roof of the van. She swerved. The van hit a ditch, the lady’s seat belt jarring her to her senses. The airbag knocked her backwards and she sat for a few seconds, not quite believing what she’d seen.

  The post lady released her seat belt and heaved the van door open. She fought the airbag and staggered out of the van into knee-deep cold water. The lady crawled up the side of the ditch and on to the tarmac. She looked up and down the straight bit of road. Nothing. And into the sky. Nothing. Apart from a nosebleed she was fine. But at that moment she decided twenty-three years was long enough. Jamie McCullough would be her last delivery.

  15. Crash Landing

  Shakespeare was terrified. His pram was swinging erratically in the wind and he kept looking up at the rope, hoping Ben had tied a good knot. The boy was right about dangling, thought the cat, cocooned in the hood of the pram, his claws fully extended and digging in as he dared to peer below.

  He’d watched the countryside floating by and then, Hey presto, a stately home and some very high fences. Shakespeare looked for a place to make a safe landing. Memories of a previous adventure raced through his mind. He had used the cat suit before. And nearly died! He remembered what the professor had said. ‘It doesn’t allow you to fly but it will enable you to glide.’ He had then shown a wildlife video on his laptop of a flying squirrel, gliding gracefully between the trees.

  The cat was very high and the plane eerily silent. The only sound was the wind howling around his feline ears. He thought he spotted a zebra below. And that large grey lump looks like an elephant! Weird. It’s more like a safari park than a stately home.

  His front legs were aching and he knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. He decided to go for it. With a deep breath and a determined yowl Shakespeare retracted his claws. Whoosh – he was away. The plane continued its silent journey. Shakespeare was a tangle of ginger legs and red Lycra as he started to plunge through the air. He sure hoped he was made of the right stuff.

  The cat was falling fast. His legs were tangled and his tail vibrated as he plummeted towards Scottish soil like a furry comet. His eyes were watering but he could see some trees below.

  ‘And they’re coming at me very faaaaast!’ He remembered the squirrel video and instead of squirming, he extended his legs. All of a sudden, his descent slowed. The spy cat was no longer falling. I’m gliding! He leant left and then right, swooping, looking for a place to land. He meowed at a pigeon, almost scaring it to death.

  He glided over a lake, his white belly skimming the water, before landing in a heap and rolling over in the grass. The cat picked himself up. His right paw was limp and he spat out a tooth. Apart from that, not a bad landing. Shakespeare had gone from Mission Control to missing in action. He decided to do what trained secret agents do best and headed for the nearest tree to do some spying.

  The flying cat was long gone. He looked around and suddenly felt very alone. A chill wind seemed to spring up. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets he took one last look at the horizon before setting off back down the road. It would be a long walk home.

  16. Hunters Gather

  Lara, the pups and the gorilla-clad professor had been released into the grounds. I’ve been in some scrapes, she thought, but this has to be my most dangerous mission. There’s nothing stately about this home. The spy dog led them to some dense bushes where the small group crouched, panting. The professor was already struggling. ‘You go without me,’ he pleaded dramatically. ‘I’ll only slow you down.’

  ‘Professor Bob here is our priority,’ woofed Lara to the pups. ‘He’s trained us to be spy dogs. We owe him. We need to keep our wits about us at all times,’ she added, thinking aloud. ‘There are wild animals out here.’

  ‘And even wilder hunters, with us at the top of their list,’ shivered Star.

  ‘So we work as a team and survive for as long as we can,’ reassured Lara. ‘How about we turn the tables? Instead of waiting around to be hunted, we become the hunters.’ Spud’s tummy rumbled loudly in agreement.

  ‘Do you think help will be coming, Ma?’ woofed Star. ‘Do you think Agent Cat might have called the police?’

  Lara shook her head. ‘Unlikely,’ she woofed gently. ‘Mr Big warned us that would mean certain death. We cannot rely on Spy Cat to rescue us. Look, kids, I don’t want to sound unkind, but this is a serious mission and Shakespeare’s just a cat.’

  Gloria and the men had breakfasted. The overnight stay had given them an opportunity to get to know each other a bit better and suss out the competition. Everyone wanted to win and prove they were the crack shot.

  The American had double-breakfasted. ‘You never knows where your next bellyful’s comin’ from,’ he drawled while loosening the belt on his camouflage trousers.

  He assessed his three competitors. Finishing a croissant was an Arab sheik. Probably a spoilt rich boy who knows next to nothing about this kind of warfare. Desert boy. Camel shooter. The other man, furiously tapping at a laptop, was a British banker who had more money than sense and who was seeking an adventure that got him out of the office for a few days. From desk job to dead job, the American mused. Unlikely. And ‘Glorious Gloria’. All designer labels and no substance – glamorous and stupidly rich but couldn’t hunt her way out of her designer handbag.

  Then again, he thought, you have to be stupidly rich to be invited to this particular safari. He was sure he would win. He’d been brought up in a country where it was OK to own a gun. He had been using rifles before he could walk. The American didn’t feel fully dressed without a gun in his hand – only then was he trigger-happy. He looked again at the score sheet. The pandas don’t seem worth it. Those critters are too darn slow and those white patches make easy moving targets. I’d love to bag that chatty li’l chimpanzee. I wonder what his last words will be? And, for a cool one million poochy points, that MI5 spy dog is my number-one target, he thought to himself. The Ameri
can knew there could only be one winner and he fully intended it to be him – whatever the price.

  Archie, Gus and Mr Big made a dramatic entrance. Each hunter had chosen their weapon and were armed with four darts, each set a different colour to distinguish who had bagged what.

  ‘It’s a competition,’ reminded Mr Big. ‘See who can shoot the highest points score by nightfall. At the end of the day, we will collect the … er … dead animals and assess the colours. One of you hunters will be crowned this year’s crack shot and lift this magnificent trophy.’ Mr Big gestured to Gus, who lifted a slightly dented tin jug. Gus grinned, but it didn’t make the prize look any more impressive.

  Mr Big hastily walked across the entrance hall and swung open the massive oak door of Huntingdon Hall. The hunters filed out, every one of them keen to bag something extra special.

  ‘Let the hunt begin!’

  17. Double Bogey

  It was midday. Shakespeare nosed his way to the top of the tallest tree on the estate. He peered towards the hall and scanned the gardens. Nothing. He turned and looked east towards Huntingdon Hall’s very own golf course. A panda, lying spreadeagled, with blue ink all over it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew you could get an eagle in golf. But a panda? He shimmied down the tree and scampered towards the bear. Shakespeare remembered his first-aid training and checked the pulse. Still alive. In fact, breathing very deeply. The cat scanned the panda for signs of injury. Nothing. It’s rather odd but I think this giant panda is asleep!

  A golf buggy approached from the trees and Shakespeare legged it to the edge of the pond, crouching low, whiskers twitching. He recognized Gus and Archie from last night’s video nasty. The puss peeped as they hauled the sleeping panda on to the back of the cart. As Archie managed a three-point turn, Shakespeare sprinted out of the bushes and jumped on to the trailer. Take me to your leader!

  Mum had been suspicious all morning. Ben hadn’t showed at breakfast time and his brother and sister were acting strangely. She had decided to give them the benefit of the doubt and let the children carry on with their game. That was this morning. This afternoon Mum had decided it was time to open Ben’s bedroom curtains. It was fair to say that she didn’t like what she saw.

  One hour later Mum had reached a state of numbness that was way beyond anger. Dad had telephoned the police and Sophie and Ollie sat in the lounge, sobbing, while the police lady asked awkward questions.

  ‘I went in to draw the curtains and his body was just a bunch of cushions and pillows,’ said Mum, still not quite believing what she was saying. Sophie and Ollie seemed just as upset as Mum. They’d tried to do the right thing and got it very wrong.

  ‘So you have no idea where your brother actually went?’ asked the police lady. She was specially trained to keep calm.

  Sophie shook her head and snivelled. ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘He’s gone a hundred and fifty pounds away,’ wailed Ollie.

  ‘And where on earth did he get a hundred and fifty pounds from?’ gasped Mum, who seemed specially trained to explode.

  Ollie’s eyes darted, just for a millisecond, to Mum’s purse. ‘You have got to be joking!’ she erupted.

  The professor had been deposited in a garage. ‘It’s the safest place,’ Lara explained to the pups. ‘He’s a liability. Remember, not only are there four hunters out there, but there is also a whole herd of wild and dangerous animals.’

  Star gulped. ‘Lions?’

  ‘And a cheetah, remember,’ woofed Spud, sucking in his belly and wondering how fast his little legs could actually go.

  Lara and the pups decided their best course of action was to be hunters rather than wait to be hunted. They figured that at least that way they could see what was coming. They left the professor and, noses to the ground, ventured out into the arena. They did some animal spotting. ‘It’s like a really wild game of bingo,’ wagged Star. ‘Zebras, an elephant, a racehorse.’ Lara hoped their number wasn’t up.

  ‘I saw a crocodile in the lake,’ Spud reminded them. ‘And a tarantula in that bush.’

  The animals approached the perimeter fence. Lara looked at the warning sign. She picked up a stick and threw it at the fence. There was a fizzle and a crack, the stick turning to instant charcoal.

  ‘No escape that way,’ she woofed. ‘Let’s keep exploring.’

  It wasn’t long before Lara’s powerful nose caught a scent. ‘In fact,’ she sniffed, ‘two scents. Two of the hunters are close by. Keep low. Here’s the plan …’

  The Arab sheik and the banker were both stalking the one-million-pound dog. Lara made sure of that. She was walking deliberately slowly, making herself as big a target as possible. She was shaking with fear. I know there are two hunters lining me up in their sights. Timing is everything.

  Spud was watching the sheik, who was creeping in from the east.

  Star was watching the banker crouching in the bushes to the west of Lara.

  Little did they know it, but a rather large lion stood some distance away, watching them all. Lara was right – timing was going to be crucial. Both men settled into firing position, their sights fixed on the top prize. Spud waved his paw towards his mum. Left a bit, he signalled. The target moved and so the men shifted position. Each knew they would only get one shot at the million-pound mutt and were keen to make it count. When they were perfectly lined up Star barked the signal and Lara sank to the ground. The men fired a fraction later, more in panic than accuracy. Both stood. The sheik had shot the banker and the banker the sheik. Both men looked at one another aghast, then at the darts embedded in their legs. And then they fell.

  Lara punched her paw in the air. ‘Sweet dreams!’ she woofed.

  ‘Two down,’ signalled Spud. ‘One man and one lady to go.’

  The lion decided to move in and take a closer look.

  18. Stuffed!

  Shakespeare jumped off the back of the buggy as soon as it became clear what was happening. He scrambled on to a nearby branch, watching and listening as the vehicle pulled up on the lawn and the panda was unloaded. It was placed in a row of exotic animals – all dead or sleeping – and all dotted with coloured darts. Shakespeare grimaced; it wasn’t a pretty sight.

  The men disappeared into Huntingdon Hall and Shakespeare seized his chance. He sprinted over to the animals and checked out his theory.

  Two pandas. A racehorse. A cheetah, white rhino and a very long snake. All asleep. There was no sign of Lara, the pups or Professor Cortex. Maybe they’re inside? Spy Cat’s green eyes scanned the house. I have to get to the bottom of this. And my gut feeling is that I’ll find the answers in there.

  It was Spud’s sensitive nose that first sniffed out the American. ‘Over there, in the long grass,’ he said, jabbing his paw wildly. ‘Yellow darts.’

  ‘I’m the fastest so I’ll handle this part,’ wagged Star.

  The puppy circled the American, slinking low until the time was right. Then with a quick yap she was away, bounding towards the edge of the lake. Star didn’t need to look round to know the man was in pursuit, the ground vibrating with every step as he lumbered after the dog.

  To the man’s amazement, the puppy jumped into a boat, started the motor and sailed off towards the island in the middle of the lake. He’d heard of walkies – but dinghies? A yellow dart thudded into the side of the boat, causing Star to duck while doing her best to keep the craft pointing in the direction of the island.

  The American consulted his price list again. ‘No wonder you’re worth three hundred thousand points, little critter,’ he said. ‘You sure is special.’

  Another boat was handily moored nearby, so the man reloaded his rifle and jumped aboard. The chase was on.

  Star’s boat thudded into the island and the pup leapt ashore. Another yellow dart hissed into a tree. Too close for comfort!

  By now the pursuer had jumped out of his boat and was wading ashore. ‘Here, boy,’ he coaxed. ‘Come on, li’l friend.’

  ‘I�
�m a girl,’ growled Star, attempting to encourage the man a little further on to the island, ‘and most certainly not your friend!’ She lay low in the long grass at the base of a tree as he staggered on to dry land. Star froze, sensing she wasn’t alone. Ever so slowly she turned her head to look directly into the eyes of a cheetah. The cheetah looked scared. Star smiled reassuringly. ‘You’ll be OK. Just stay still,’ she whispered.

  There was a click. The American’s gun was cocked and ready to fire. Star took a stick in her mouth and waited. She heard footsteps squelching closer. Just a little longer. As he walked past her hiding place the puppy jerked her head and the stick sailed through the air. The man aimed and shot, his dart hitting the stick. Good shot, thought the puppy as she darted in the opposite direction, back towards the boats. She didn’t dare look back. I assume he’s reloading; that’ll give me the few seconds I need.

  The puppy bounced into the dingy, pulled the cord with her teeth and the engine spluttered into life. She tried to keep her head down as the boat slowly chugged away from the shore. Star opened her mouth and grabbed the rope attached to the other boat as she sailed by, towing it with her. Another yellow dart whizzed past her ear and hissed into the water.

  She dared to look back. The man was jumping up and down with rage, realizing he’d been marooned.

  ‘Come back here, stupid dawg!’ he yelled. He started wading into the water but retreated fast as one of the crocodiles showed itself.

  Star couldn’t help a silly doggie smirk spreading across her face. He’s probably low on ammo. He’s trapped on an island that is guarded by crocs – not to mention that cheetah. It’s certainly not me that’s stupid. She raised her ears in triumph. I’d say this part of the mission has been a huge success!