by Andrew Cope
‘Who’d have thought it? Chicken snot. The secret weather-changing ingredient,’ breathed Soop sinisterly. It was time for the second phase of the operation. ‘I created the problem,’ he purred, ‘and I just happen to have the solution!’ If that wasn’t evil genius, he didn’t know what was.
Stepping out of the warehouse, an enormous truck idled on the forecourt, its engine growling noisily, with thick plumes of diesel smoke belching into the sky. The monster lorry had darkened tinted windows in the cab, shrouding the identity of the driver, but the huge letters on the side of the wagon gave a big clue: KEN SOOP’S CHICKEN SOUP.
Nodding in appreciation of his own evil brilliance, Ken Soop wandered to the truck and opened the passenger door. ‘Up you go, Mr Campbell,’ he said. ‘And you too, Mr Heinz.’
The Great Danes leapt into the cab, leaving a trail of slobber, before Ken Soop slammed the door. He walked round to the driver’s door and hauled himself aboard. He revved the engine, revelling in the power of the throaty roar. This was to be the third delivery and Ken Soop wanted to make sure it was done properly. So: he was in control, he’d invented the soup, he’d made the soup, he’d canned the soup and he was now delivering the soup. In fact, he was a total control freak. The only other person who knew of the plan was Mr Dewitt, but he just wanted to be noticed again; that and an endless supply of egg sandwiches.
Ollie was fed up. He wanted to go outside but the rain had been pouring non-stop for two days now. He liked to take shots at Lara – she was quite a handy goalkeeper. Alas, Mrs Cook had said ‘no’. She didn’t want to deal with a trail of muddy kit.
Mr Cook sat in the kitchen reading the newspaper. He’d not managed to get out for a jog in this weather – a little rain was OK, but not a downpour.
‘Well, at least you won’t lose much fitness,’ Ben had chimed rather unkindly. ‘You weren’t very fast to begin with.’ Mr Cook had taken offence at this and decided to confiscate the computer console – which Sophie had just happened to be playing on at the time.
‘That’s not fair, Dad!’ she exclaimed. It wasn’t long before all three children were sitting in their rooms in a huff.
Lara sat in the conservatory, meditating. Her legs were crossed in the lotus position and paws clasped in front, helping to clear her thoughts. Around her, Spud and Star bickered.
‘A Spy Dog needs brains,’ Spud yowled at his sister, ‘any old dog can learn a few tricks.’
‘I guess that counts you out then,’ retorted Star, scowling at her brother, ‘because you’re always barking up the wrong tree …’
Lara slowly opened one eye. Amidst the commotion she could hear the rain clattering against the plastic roof. That cloud hasn’t moved for two whole days and this is supposed to be summer. The Cooks’ home is normally such a happy household. Something’s not right …
6. Feeling Flushed
The rain still hammering down, Ollie had resorted to playing with the craft set he had received last Christmas. He was actually quite enjoying it, and was currently sticking the sequins and feathers on to a piece of red card with rather a lot of glue. It held together OK, but unfortunately seemed to be firmly attached to the bedroom carpet. He frowned.
Everyone in the Cook house was feeling a bit down in the dumps.
‘I know,’ ventured Mum, ‘I fancy some of that Soop’s Chicken Soup. That’ll make us feel better – it always does.’
Dad wasn’t convinced, but decided better than to comment. Sophie and Ben both wanted a takeaway, but then again, Sophie and Ben always wanted a takeaway.
Mum opened the kitchen cupboard.
‘Oh, we’ve run out. I’ll have to get some more.’
‘Oh – woof,’ Lara was already at the front door, signalling to the pups. We’ll go. It’ll give me a chance to investigate.
‘We will?’ spluttered Spud, looking at the weather with his tail between his legs. Lara gave him a look which said it all.
While the rain had abated a little, the dark black cloud still loomed ominously above them. Lara trotted along the pavement flanked by Star and Spud, the latter wearing his MP3 headphones and strutting slightly. Brickfield was usually a fun and friendly place to live, but today it felt pretty miserable. The people they passed didn’t smile or acknowledge them, but instead hurried about their business with their heads down. Strange, thought Lara. There really is a cloud hanging over everyone.
When they finally reached the supermarket, it was pandemonium. Large queues had formed at the tills, with people jostling each other for position. Shoppers stood with arms, trolleys and baskets crammed full of tins of Ken Soop’s Chicken Soup, completely jamming the aisles. One man accidentally dropped a tin, which was immediately pounced on by a lady with a pushchair and another man who had arrived a minute ago by mobility scooter. A short scuffle ensued, the lady with the pushchair emerging victorious with the (slightly dented) tin of soup.
By now the slightly panicky store manager had appeared attempting to calm the situation.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please. We have other varieties on the shelf.’
‘We don’t want any other make,’ yelled a lady. ‘We want Soop’s soup. It’s the best. My daughter won’t eat anything else!’
‘Then please be patient, madam,’ urged the store manager. ‘We’re due to receive another delivery of chicken soup any minute – please rest assured there’ll be enough for everyone.’ The announcement just seemed to further inflame the situation, as the public braced themselves for a battle over the next batch.
‘Are we going to wait for some, Ma?’ enquired Spud, starting to feel decidedly uneasy.
‘No, son. I don’t think we will. Chicken soup’s supposed to make you feel better, and I’m not sensing much of a feel-good factor right this minute.’
The dogs left the supermarket commotion empty-pawed and began the journey back home. It’ll just have to be smiley faces for dinner.
At that moment Kenneth Soop manoeuvred his enormous truck around the corner of Brickfield High Street and headed for the supermarket. He glanced through the tinted window at the three dogs walking by and deliberately steered his truck slightly to one side in order to splash them with a large, muddy puddle. Mr Campbell and Mr Heinz approved, wagging their tails hard, swishing their boss in the face. Chuckling, Soop checked in his side-mirror. All three were soaked from head to paw. Serves them right, looks like they needed a good shower anyway – mucky pups!
Lara, Spud and Star all stood dripping wet, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The spy trio looked as sick as a dog. Even Spud seemed to have temporarily lost some of his swagger.
Lara read the name on the side of the truck: Kenneth Soop – the very same name that was causing all the fuss in the supermarket. GM451 was experienced enough to sense it wasn’t just a coincidence. When there was bad stuff going down, there was usually a baddie going around …
Lara turned to Star.
‘Do you think you could snap the driver’s mugshot? Something tells me it might help us to shed a little light on what’s going on and who’s behind it.’
The truck had momentarily halted at the traffic lights down the road, but Star knew they could change at any minute. She sprinted a dozen steps along the pavement before completing a triple somersault that left her swinging from the top of an overhanging lamppost. After a couple of rotations to increase her forward momentum, she leapt on to the branch of a nearby tree before leaping on to the roof of a handily placed four-wheel drive. A couple of athletic cat-style leaps on to neighbouring cars brought her level with the lorry’s tinted cab, just as the lights began to change. A not-so-athletic nearby cat raised its eyebrows. Star twisted the tag on her collar around and pressed it three times. The collar-cam flashed, illuminating the driver for a split second.
‘Not bad,’ acknowledged Spud casually on his sister’s return.
Lara turned to Star.
‘Forward the pics to Professor Cortex ASAP. Come on, let’s go.’ She took thre
e steps forward before stopping and turning. ‘Oh – and well done, you two,’ she winked.
Lara and the twins split up on the return journey. GM451 had someone she needed to see. The twins continued home empty-handed to report the soup shenanigans, while Lara made certain she wasn’t being followed, doubling back a couple of times. When she was satisfied, she discreetly made her way across the village to the site of the new residential building development – or more specifically, the blue, plastic portable toilet cubicle adjacent to the skip. Lara waited for a minute – three to be exact. Just as she suspected, a large gentleman wearing a yellow hardhat emerged carrying a magazine. Checking the coast was clear, she darted over. Bracing herself, she opened the door and stepped inside. Ughh! Surely builders could use air freshener!
Holding her nose, Lara sat down on the toilet seat and engaged the door. She knew that the concealed entrance was activated by her exact body weight and waited expectantly. Nothing happened. Lara sighed. Not again, this is so embarrassing! She obviously weighed a fraction too much. Concentrating for a moment on the rain trickling down outside, she managed to squeeze out a small wee before washing her paws and sitting down again. Evidently she was slightly lighter this time, as the ‘special flush’ was activated and Lara found herself spiralling down a familiar underground water chute leading to one of Professor Cortex’s top-secret underground laboratories.
Lara came to a halt, cushioned by a large, plush, purple pillow, which automatically activated several hair-dryers trained in her direction. When she looked up, the professor was standing over her.
‘Ah, GM451, I’ve been expecting you. What took you so long?’ he quizzed, before turning about and heading in the direction of his laboratory.
Nice to see you, too, Prof, thought Lara, before following with just a hint of trepidation. The professor walked over to a large white table where two test tubes stood supported by vertical clamps.
‘We have a serious situation, GM451,’ he said gravely. ‘A situation that I can’t quite piece together.’
He bent over the test tubes, peering closely at both of them, the murky contents magnifying his slightly bloodshot left eye.
‘The first contains a sample of rainwater collected from the storm cloud that’s been hanging over the town.’
Lara raised her eyebrows. OK, so what’s the big deal?
The professor continued. ‘The second contains a sample of the chicken soup that currently seems to be in such demand.’
Lara looked at him. She was starting to see where he was going with this. Are the two somehow connected?
The professor went on, this time looking directly at Lara, ‘Ken Soop’s feel-good soup,’ he said unerringly. ‘Doesn’t create much of a feel-good factor.’
Lara paused, letting the words soak in. Yes, thought Lara … Chicken soup is supposed to pick you up when you’re feeling down.
Professor Cortex walked over to the printer, where the photograph of the lorry driver Star had just emailed had finished printing out.
‘Just as I thought – he hasn’t changed much. This is the man we’re after.’
He handed Lara the photo. She tilted her head to one side, unsure what to make of him.
The professor smiled, reading Lara’s expression.
‘Kenneth and I go back a very long way. He is no ordinary gentleman. In fact, he is no gentleman. And this is no ordinary weather. And this is no ordinary chicken soup.’
Lara looked at the professor, waiting for him to explain further. C’mon, Prof – spill the beans.
‘I’ll start with the rain,’ said the professor, picking up the test tube and gently flicking the bottom of it to cause a stir. ‘It is ninety-nine per cent rain. That is, a mix of H2O plus various trace elements of oxides and pollutants. But there’s one particulate per billion that I haven’t been able to trace. Something highly unusual that is, perhaps, a secret ingredient,’ he mused, thinking back to Kenneth’s show-and-tell all those years ago.
So we have rain with a secret ingredient, nodded Lara.
‘And as for the soup …’ Professor Cortex wandered over to a green plant perched on top of his cluttered desk and snapped off a stalk. ‘My tests show that this chicken soup contains a little additional flavouring.’ He paused. ‘But this, we do know, is a herb. Thyme to be specific.’
Lara didn’t get it. What’s the big deal about a little soup flavouring? She cooked a mean Thai green curry and that contained all sorts of different herbs and spices. The professor was already a step ahead, however, and placed a hefty, dusty encyclopaedia in front of her with a thud.
‘Page two hundred and forty-one,’ he indicated with a flourish.
Lara leafed through the weighty tome and arrived at the correct page. Her eyesight not being quite as good as it was, she extended her arms a little to help focus the tiny print. Thyme is a herb used to flavour cooking dishes … I know all this. Then she saw it: Down thyme: a particularly rare form of the variety that can cause sadness, unhappiness and mood swings …
‘What’s more, GM451, down thyme has addictive properties. If you eat one bowl of soup, you will feel depressed. But you’ll immediately want more soup. In fact, you’ll need it.’
Lara looked up at the professor. Kenneth Soop is deliberately trying to make the town feel miserable! And when they turn to the remedy – good old chicken soup – they get addicted? She shook her head in disbelief, picked up a pencil in her paw and scribbled: But why would he do such a thing?
The professor pointed to a framed black and white picture on his desk. Lara looked at the cute white-coated boy with the wonky spectacles and cheesy grin. He seemed very cheery compared to the gaunt boy who stood next to him. The taller boy was holding a metal dish with an antenna.
‘That’s a younger me and a younger Kenneth Soop with Mr Dewitt our old head teacher. Liked egg … from what I remember.’ He paused while Lara compared the photo of a slightly podgy small professor to the slightly podgy big professor, stifling a doggie laugh and attempting to disguise it as a cough. ‘It really is no laughing matter, GM451,’ he said sternly. ‘Kenneth was different, but not in a good way. He wasn’t normal. He wasn’t like the rest of us …’
Lara stifled another canine snigger. You, Prof? Normal?
‘That contraption he’s holding is the Climacto-sphere 1960. A cloud-making device. Kenneth is the man we’re looking for. The trouble is, we can’t seem to find him. All this cloud has made it impossible for our spy satellites to locate him. And that, GM451, is where you come in …’ Professor Cortex opened the palm of his hand to reveal a small silver disc with a hole in. ‘Your new “smart” dog tag: soon to be standard issue for all our animal agents. It contains a minuscule transmitter that will track wherever you go and hopefully lead us to Soop.’ The professor flipped the ‘smart’ tag as if he were tossing a coin. ‘Heads or tails?’ he grinned.
Lara watched the coin spin through the air. I don’t mind head or tails, she thought. If the mission is to catch a baddie, I’m feeling lucky!
7. Shady Dealings
Ken Soop was unhappy; he wasn’t happy unless he was unhappy. For as long as he could remember, he’d always preferred to be miserable. Laughing, joking and smiling tended to make him feel nauseous. In fact, you could say that happiness made him feel sick.
Finally he’d found a way of ridding the world of sunshine; life was far better under a dark cloud. Everyone was starting to see things his way – his glass wasn’t just half empty, it was bone dry. Of course, when the time was right he’d bring a little sunshine back into people’s lives. That’s if the price was right …
Mr Dewitt shuffled across the floor and pulled the lever. With his ‘egg-spert’ know-how, the chickens were producing more snot than ever. The glass dome retracted. Soop plunged the large red button, activating the Cloud Maker once more. Streaks of black lightning shot into the already darkened sky, adding to the vast black cloud overhead. The smell of burnt chicken slime filled the warehouse; it would s
oon be raining down all over town, further adding to people’s unhappiness.
Outside in the courtyard, another truck was loaded, ready to deliver the next consignment of Ken Soop’s Chicken Soup. Demand was rising hourly, exactly according to Soop’s plan. The giant Great Danes were clambering behind the tinted windows of the cab, getting ready to accompany their master on his mission to spread the bad news even further.
Soop placed a long, skinny forefinger up his right nostril and rummaged around. His finger withdrew with something green and glistening on the end. After close examination, Ken Soop carefully relocated it, this time to his left earhole. A chicken sneezed. Pointless, flightless creatures. They should be grateful I’m putting them to good use …
Back in the professor’s secret lab, the elevator dropped like a stone. Lara and the professor were rapidly making their way even further underground, from ‘top secret’ to ‘bottom secret’. The prof’s eyes were dancing. He had a brilliant mind, and enjoyed demonstrating the ‘edge’ he hoped his inventions would give the agents. From experience, Lara knew that his gadgets didn’t always have the desired effect, but they’d saved her life on more than one occasion. A funny feeling in her tummy signalled that the elevator had come to an abrupt halt.
They exited the lift into a bright, white laboratory containing an assortment of objects, some looking rather mundane and others far less ordinary. Resting on top of a mannequin positioned in the corner was a rainbow-coloured woolly hat. The professor placed it on his smooth, bald head and grinned at Lara. Lara tipped her head to one side. Err … Very nice, Prof. But where’s the spy gear? The professor continued, undeterred by Lara’s expression.
‘They say that every dark cloud has a silver lining, GM451 – and this is it!’ Professor Cortex removed the beanie and turned it inside-out to reveal a shiny, reflective material. ‘That cloud brings bad news. Spend too long underneath it and you become soaked – literally saturated in sad thoughts. The inside of this hat is made from pure, woven sunbeams, condensed to provide a protective layer. Collecting sunbeams is a tricky business, GM451. And weaving them even trickier. It’s their wavelengths, you see. They arrive as long waves but rebound off the earth much shorter. Catching them as they come in is the key …’ He looked at Lara’s glazed eyes. ‘You don’t need to know the ins and outs. In short, it’ll make sure you stay thinking clearly – whatever the weather.’
