Operation Gadgetman!

by Malorie Blackman

‘I think I’ll make you a nice cheese omelette,’ Gran said firmly, after a few moments. ‘You must eat to keep up your strength.’

  ‘Gran!’ Beans exclaimed. ‘How can you think about cooking at a time like this?’

  ‘Nonsense. You’re a growing girl. You must give your body something to grow with,’ Gran said, already heading for the kitchen.

  ‘But Gran, I couldn’t force a thing down,’ Beans called after her.

  ‘Nonsense, Beatrice. You’ll eat,’ Gran called back.

  Beans didn’t know whether it was a threat or a warning or a promise. She did know, however, that it was useless to argue with Gran once she’d made up her mind on something. Beans silently followed Gran into the kitchen, resentment on her face. What was wrong with Gran? Didn’t she care?

  ‘Beatrice, you have no eggs,’ Gran called out, her head buried in the fridge. She straightened up. ‘And where are the fresh vegetables and fruit?’

  ‘There’s not much in the fridge, Gran, because Dad and I were due to go shopping tomorrow,’ Beans explained through gritted teeth.

  Gran was not impressed. ‘Your father should make sure the fridge is always well stocked. I do. Hhmm! At least there’s milk and cheese. I’ll make a lovely macaroni cheese.’

  Beans shuddered. Macaroni cheese was about as appetizing as a plate of slithery, slimy worms. She scowled at her gran. Dad was missing and all Gran had on her mind was macaroni cheese.

  ‘But before we cook anything, we’re going to have to tidy this kitchen,’ said Gran. ‘You know I can’t cook in an untidy kitchen.’

  Beans didn’t say anything, but she didn’t stop scowling. She would never have believed that her gran could be so unfeeling. And she’d never forgive her for it. Never.

  ‘I’ve got to do . . . do my homework first,’ Beans said icily. ‘I’ll help you when it’s finished.’

  She turned round and marched out of the kitchen. Gran didn’t care about anyone but herself. Here Beans was, worried sick about Dad and not knowing whether to cry or smash things up or laugh with disbelief or maybe all of them, and what was Gran doing? Making macaroni cheese!

  Beans was halfway up the stairs when she paused abruptly. Was she unfair . . . ? Hadn’t Gran hugged her in the sitting-room? And Beans remembered the look on Gran’s face when she was talking to Detective Warner.

  Slowly, Beans walked downstairs and back to the kitchen. Gran was bent over, taking a saucepan out of the cupboard. All at once she straightened up, her back still towards her granddaughter. She sniffed and her hands moved to her face. Beans swallowed hard. Unhappily, she realized that Gran was just as upset and worried as she was, only Gran handled it differently. Why hadn’t Beans worked that out for herself?

  ‘Don’t worry, Gran. Dad will be all right,’ Beans said softly.

  Gran spun around. ‘Beatrice, child! You frightened the life out of me. Now scat! I don’t need you under my feet.’

  Beans understood. She smiled faintly. ‘No, Gran. My homework can wait. What d’you want me to do?’

  Twenty minutes later, Beans was sent out to dump the rubbish in the dustbin in the front garden.

  After dinner I’ll try and get some of Dad’s fingerprints, she thought.

  Dad’s bedroom would be the best bet. Beans walked out into the front garden and headed for the dustbin which was just by the front gate. She took off the dustbin lid and had almost dumped her bag of rubbish into it when she jumped back, nearly losing her grip on the bag in her hand. There was something on top of the other sealed bags of rubbish in the bin. Something that hadn’t been there before. Something that could be important.

  An empty cigarette packet.

  Chapter Seven

  Gran, I’m Frightened

  ‘Gran, can I go and do my homework now, please?’ Beans asked.

  ‘My! Such enthusiasm!’ Gran pursed her lips. ‘So you’ve finished pushing your macaroni cheese around your plate then?’

  Beans nodded.

  ‘Scoot then!’ Gran waved her hand. ‘I’ll clear up by myself.’

  Gran had barely finished her sentence before Beans was out of the sitting-room and halfway up the stairs.

  ‘Thank you, Gran! You’re welcome, Beatrice!’ Gran said to herself.

  ‘Gran, I heard that!’ Beans called out, not stopping.

  Beans ran into her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her. Lying flat on the carpet, she retrieved her spy-kit briefcase from under the bed. She’d put it there after Louisa and Ann had left, not wanting her gran to see what she was up to. Beans sat on her bed, her spy kit in front of her, before opening the case. On top of everything else was the folder. Above the words TOP SECRET, Beans wrote: ‘OPERATION GADGETMAN’. Then she opened the folder. What did she have? Ann and Louisa’s fingerprints, a partial palm print (anonymous, probably useless), some other fingerprints (anonymous), a piece of material (also probably useless), some cigarette ash and now a cigarette packet – the last three items in evidence bags. Not much to go on. Still, it was a start. Beans held up the evidence bag which contained the cigarette packet, and frowned at it. This packet might have been dropped in their dustbin by any passing stranger. How could she tell? Still, until she checked it out thoroughly, it was a potential clue. So where did all these so-called clues get her?

  Answer – nowhere. Yet.

  With a sigh, Beans sprinkled light fingerprint powder on the black cigarette packet, then carefully brushed off the excess. She examined the box with her magnifying glass. There were fingerprints there all right, but they were so smudged and creased that it was hard to tell where one fingerprint ended and the next one began.

  ‘I’ll still keep the packet,’ Beans said to herself after a moment’s thought.

  After all, there might be some other clues on it that she had missed. It might even . . .

  ‘Wait a second . . .’ Beans stared down at the box.

  She’d just had an idea – an ace idea! She’d dusted the outside of the box, but what about the inside?

  Using her tweezers, Beans opened the top of the cigarette packet. She tried to think about how she’d hold the packet if she was trying to get out a cigarette. The only likely places for fingerprints were the top or the sides of the inside of it. As the inside of the box was lined with white, tissuey paper, Beans dusted around with the dark fingerprint powder. Carefully brushing off the extra again, this time she examined the inside. Her heart began to sledgehammer. There it was – a single fingerprint on the inside top of the packet.

  ‘A thumbprint?’ Beans wondered.

  She searched through her bedside table for some Sellotape. Removing the print would be extremely tricky, and she’d only get one chance to do it right. If she made a mistake, she’d smudge it for sure and then it would be lost for ever. Beans wiped her forehead and pulled her blouse away from her sticky back. She took a deep breath and held it, before placing the Sellotape over the print. It felt like she was shaking all over, as if even her blood was trembling, but her hands moved slowly and steadily. The moment the Sellotape was over the fingerprint, Beans peeled it straight off again before it had a chance to really stick to the paper. She placed the thumbprint under the other prints she had got that day. Only then did she exhale, breathing deeply to catch her breath. She had done it!

  In her best handwriting she added details to each of her labels for each set of prints:

  ANN’S PRINTS LEFT HAND: THUMB INDEX

  MIDDLE RING LITTLE

  RIGHT HAND: THUMB INDEX

  MIDDLE RING LITTLE

  LOUISA’S PRINTS LEFT HAND: THUMB INDEX

  MIDDLE RING LITTLE

  RIGHT HAND: THUMB INDEX

  MIDDLE RING LITTLE

  MY PRINTS LEFT HAND: THUMB INDEX

  MIDDLE RING LITTLE

  RIGHT HAND: THUMB INDEX

  MIDDLE RING LITTLE

  PALM PRINT(ANONYMOUS) FOUND ON OUTSIDE OF DOOR HANDLE TO DAD’S WORKROOM

  FINGERPRINTS (PARTIAL: ANONYMOUS) FOUND ON INSIDE OF DOOR
HANDLE TO DAD’S WORKROOM

  FINGERPRINT (THUMB? ANONYMOUS) FOUND ON INSIDE OF CIGARETTE PACKET IN OUTSIDE DUSTBIN

  The next job was to try and find something which would have a good set of Dad’s fingerprints on it. Beans went out on to the landing and leaned out over the banister. Gran was downstairs, clattering about in the kitchen. Beans tiptoed into her dad’s bedroom and closed the door before switching on the light. Fear, deep and icy-cold, bit into her. She was trembling. Here she was in her dad’s bedroom – but where was he? Beans had never felt so worried. It was a horrible feeling. It ate away at her until she wanted to scream, to let it out.

  She took a deep breath and looked around slowly. The state of Dad’s bedroom was almost as bad as his workroom. Beans couldn’t help but smile. Gingerly, she stepped over coiled wires and plugs and cables and PC keyboards and screwdrivers, scattered all over the carpet. They were all likely places from which to get fingerprints, but there had to be something that would have a good set of fingerprints which wouldn’t be smudged from constant handling. And what about Dad’s kidnappers? They must have searched in here for the oscillator. Dad said in his letter that they searched all over the house. So how could Beans be sure to get something with her dad’s fingerprints on it? Beans licked her lips as she looked around the room again. There had to be something . . .

  The light switch on the wall? No, those prints would be smudged for sure. One of Dad’s books? No . . . those prints would probably be smudged too.

  There must be something . . .

  Then Beans saw it.

  The light bulb in the bedside lamp! Of course! Dad would only need to put the bulb in once and he wouldn’t touch it again until it needed changing. And it was the bayonet kind, not the screw-in kind, so any prints were a lot less likely to be smudged. The only trouble was, how could Beans take it out of its socket without getting her fingerprints all over it? She could wear gloves, but wouldn’t that just smudge any prints there might be?

  Beans walked over to the bedside lamp. If she was careful, it should be all right. She’d just have to risk it. Using only her palm, Bean pushed the bulb down and twisted it, making sure she was only in contact with the bottom of the bulb and not the sides. It sprang out of its bayonet fixing and only her palm, pressing down on it, kept it from falling on to the table. Using the thumb and index finger of her other hand, Beans grasped the bulb lower down towards its fixing and lifted it out of the lamp.

  Ten minutes later she had another set of prints to add to her TOP SECRET file. Underneath the prints she wrote:

  FINGERPRINTS (DAD’S) FULL SET, PROBABLY FROM LEFT HAND BECAUSE DAD IS LEFT-HANDED. TAKEN FROM BEDSIDE-LAMP LIGHT BULB.

  Beans compared her dad’s fingerprints to the print she’d recovered off the cigarette packet. There was no match – in fact, none of the prints came close. But to make sure, she’d have to find something with a set of prints from Dad’s right hand. Beans went once more through the OPERATION GADGETMAN file. No new ideas sprung to mind. After that, all Beans wanted to do was sleep. It had been a long, long day and she’d be no good to her dad if she was too tired to think. After cleaning her teeth and going to kiss her gran goodnight, Beans went back to her room and fell into bed, hugging her OPERATION GADGETMAN folder to her.

  Saturday morning turned out to be another beautifully warm day, with hardly a cloud in the sky. Beans quickly had her shower and got dressed. She had a lot to do today and she didn’t want to waste a second of it.

  It was only when Beans came out of the shower that she realized what it was that had been bothering her ever since she set foot out of her bedroom. The landing was tidy! No capacitors, no cathodes, no insulating tape – nothing on the landing carpet for her to pick her way through on her way to her bathroom. Gran had been busy! Pausing on the landing, a horrible thought entered Beans’s head. She ran to her dad’s room.

  Spotless!

  You could actually see the carpet, the bed was tidy, and all the knick-knacks that had littered the floor were now in a box in the corner of the room.

  ‘On no!’ Beans groaned.

  How was she going to get a set of prints from Dad’s right hand now? She wouldn’t know which prints were Gran’s and which ones were Dad’s. She could always fingerprint Gran – but no . . . Gran would never allow it!

  ‘I’m going to end up fingerprinting the whole street at this rate,’ Beans mumbled with annoyance.

  She looked around the bedroom again. Dad wouldn’t be able to find a thing in all this neatness! He was going to hit the ceiling when he saw it.

  ‘But you will see it, Dad,’ Beans whispered. And she went downstairs.

  As she suspected, the whole house was spotless. Every surface had been wiped and dusted and vacuum-cleaned, every stray nut and bolt had been put away.

  It’s like being in a completely different house, Beans thought, as she sat down for her breakfast.

  Gran joined her, a bowl of wheat flakes in hot milk in front of her. Beans wrinkled up her nose at it. Thank goodness Gran didn’t insist on her having to eat the same thing for breakfast.

  ‘I hardly slept a wink,’ Gran sighed. She lifted her spoon up to her mouth before letting the spoon drop with a clatter back into the bowl. She pushed her breakfast away, eyeing it with distaste. Surprised, Beans looked at Gran.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ Gran said tersely.

  Beans bent her head. She studied her sausages and beans on toast. She wasn’t hungry either.

  ‘He’ll be all right, Beatrice,’ Gran said.

  Beans looked up. Her gran was smiling at her. Beans smiled back.

  Just at that moment, the doorbell rang.

  ‘Now who can that be so early in the morning?’ Gran’s eyebrows almost met in the middle as she frowned.

  She stood up and went to answer the door. Beans followed her. The silhouette she could see through the glass panel in the front door looked familiar. Gran opened the door. It was Detective Warner. He had on navy-blue cords and a light blue shirt and the same leather jacket as he had worn the day before.

  ‘Hello. I’m sorry to bother you. You must be Mrs Conran, Beans’s grandmother?’ Detective Warner said.

  ‘That’s right. Can I help you?’ Gran frowned.

  ‘I’m Detective Warner. We spoke on the phone yesterday. I wonder if I might come in? I’d like a word with Beans,’ the detective said.

  ‘You’ve found Dad?’ Beans asked eagerly.

  ‘Er . . . not as such. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ Detective Warner craned his neck to see past Gran. ‘Beans, I wanted to talk to you about the induction oscillator.’

  ‘You haven’t found my son?’ Gran questioned. ‘Just what are you police doing? Sitting down drinking tea and playing cards whilst my son could be anywhere, in any condition.’

  ‘We’re doing everything we can, madam. If I could just come in . . .’ said Detective Warner.

  Gran took a deep breath. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry,’ she sighed. ‘This way.’

  Beans led the way into the sitting-room. Gran stood by the door as Detective Warner stood in front of Beans.

  ‘Beans, did you find any information on the induction oscillator?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ Beans dismissed. ‘What about Dad? Have you found out anything yet?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. We still have him listed as missing,’ Detective Warner said.

  ‘Missing?’ Gran said from behind the detective. ‘Cats go missing. Umbrellas go missing. My son has been abducted.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mrs Conran,’ the detective soothed.

  ‘Hhmm!’ Gran folded her arms across her chest.

  Detective Warner turned to Beans again. ‘I was passing this way so I just popped in on the off chance that you might have found some written details about the induction oscillator,’ Detective Warner said. ‘It’s important that we take custody of all your father’s notes and blueprints on his invention as soon as possible – assuming, of course, that your
father doesn’t tell his abductors what they want to know.’

  ‘Never,’ Beans and Gran spoke in unison.

  ‘Hhmm! Have the kidnappers been in touch?’ asked Detective Warner.

  Beans shook her head. ‘We haven’t heard a thing, have we, Gran?’ she replied. ‘But the kidnappers have what they want. They’ve got Dad and his induction oscillator. Why should they want to get in touch with me or Gran?’

  ‘We’re working on a few theories,’ was all Detective Warner would say. ‘Beans, I want you to contact me if you hear anything from your dad or his kidnappers. Don’t forget. And if you find any information on the oscillator, get in touch immediately. You have my phone number. Don’t forget now.’

  ‘I won’t forget,’ Beans nodded. ‘Er . . . Detective Warner, have the police told other banks or building societies about Dad’s oscillator?’

  ‘No. We wanted to get more information about it or speak to your father first,’ Detective Warner frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘No reason. Just wondered.’ Beans shrugged.

  Gran escorted the policeman to the door. Beans stayed where she was. She couldn’t believe that Dad would tell his kidnappers a thing about the oscillator – so what would they do then? Would they hurt him? Gran walked back into the sitting-room.

  ‘Gran . . . Gran, I’m frightened,’ Beans admitted with a whisper.

  Her gran came over to her, hugging her tightly. ‘So am I, Beans,’ Gran said. ‘So am I.’

  Chapter Eight

  The Giveaway

  ‘I want to go to the building society,’ Beans announced. ‘It suddenly occurred to me this morning that if only the building society and the police are supposed to know about Dad’s induction oscillator, then how did the kidnappers find out about it?’

  ‘Good point,’ Ann said, surprised.

  ‘I thought so!’ Beans grinned. ‘So I thought I’d have a word with the building-society manager to see if he or she spoke to any reporters or told any other banks or building societies. I know the police haven’t.’

  ‘Let’s get down there then,’ said Louisa firmly.

  Ann and Louisa had arrived together only a few minutes before. Beans had waited for them by her gate. She was eager to be off and doing things. Sitting around the house gave her too much time to think.