Spy Cat (10 page)

Dad's head whacked the roof as Mum bounced the car through a hedge. There was a scraping sound as the car lurched through a ditch, the wipers smearing mud across the windscreen. Mum had never broken so many laws in one go. Speeding across the field, no seat belt and her mobile stuck to her ear.

‘Police,' she barked. ‘Emergency. My kids are camping and there's a lunatic on the loose.'

Dad's nose nearly smashed on the dashboard when the car crashed through a gate and skidded on a cowpat as Mrs Cook slid the car left, then right, towards where they'd left the kids. The wipers were on double speed and the headlights full beam.

‘Watch out!' yelled Dad as two pyjama-clad children came into view. Mum slammed her
foot on the brake and her husband pulled the handbrake so hard it came away in his hand.

Sophie and Ollie shielded their eyes as the car skidded towards them.

 

 

Ben wriggled backwards through the tunnel, his knees and elbows raw and bleeding. He struggled out the other side and crouched, shaking with fear and excitement. He stood up
and cracked his head on the rocky roof of the tunnel. A red light blinked in front of him.

‘A cat?' he repeated, reaching out his hand and touching the fur.

Shakespeare breathed a sigh of pleasure.
It's been an age since someone stroked me
, he thought, putting on his loudest purr to calm himself and the boy.

‘I've been rescued by a cat?' murmured Ben. ‘With a flashing collar.'

‘Miaow,' replied the cat.
Agent 009 at your service.

‘I think the rock fall might have bought us some time, puss,' said Ben. ‘But here we are, stuck down a mine in total darkness. How are we ever going to find a way out?'

The cat led the way, Ben following the blinking red light. ‘But you're a cat,' he said, thinking aloud. ‘And cats don't rescue people from abandoned mines. And they don't wear flashing collars.' Ben had a sudden thought. ‘I've got a dog like you at home in fact,' he said carefully. ‘She's a special dog, called Lara. She's actually a Spy Dog. And she has two pups, also in the Secret Service!'

‘Miaow,' yowled the cat from up ahead.
I
know! They're on their hollies. So you got me. Rule number one and all that.

‘They're away on a training course with the prof. It's the first time Lara's ever left us,' commented Ben, all sorts of thoughts running through his mind. ‘She doesn't even know we've gone camping by ourselves, but I know she would have worried about leaving us unprotected,' he said, the thoughts beginning to piece together. ‘Stop right there, puss,' said Ben. Shakespeare stopped, right under the shaft of light where the rope hung down. Ben could see the cat for the first time. ‘Unless Lara had asked one of the other animals to keep an eye on us.'

The cat nodded.

‘No way,' yelled Ben, his eyes growing as wide as his mouth. ‘Lara has assigned you to look after us! You can understand me?'

Half right
, thought Shakespeare.
Technically, it wasn't me that was nominated. But, yes, I can understand you. This cool collar is the cat's whiskers.

‘You're a Spy Cat!' gasped Ben, punching the air. ‘Sent to protect us while Lara is away!'

It's a cool collar
, thought Shakespeare.
I can understand but I can't speak. Give me ‘yes' or ‘no' stuff and we can communicate.

‘Are you a Spy Cat?' asked Ben

The cat shrugged.
Sort of.

‘Can you understand me? Silly question,' he corrected. ‘You just shrugged! Is that collar one of the prof's inventions?'

Enthusiastic nod.
One of his best!

‘So you're like Lara,' suggested Ben. ‘You can understand but can't speak.'

Nod.

‘And you're hurt,' said Ben, approaching the cat and seeing blood on his face and leg. ‘And that eye looks kind of painful.'

Er, yes
,
Shakespeare nodded.
But we can sort that out later. Right now, you need to get up that rope
, thought Shakespeare, jabbing a paw at the dim light above.

Ben looked up and then back at the cat. ‘Coming down the rope was easy enough,' he said. ‘But climbing back up is a different matter.'

No choice
, thought the cat, his sensitive ears picking up the sound of Jess bumbling through the dark tunnel.

‘What about you, puss?' asked Ben as he grabbed the rope.

I'll look after myself.
Hadn't that been the story
of Shakespeare's life? But he couldn't deny it to himself any longer: the Cook children had become important to him, despite all his best efforts to the contrary. And he needed Ben to climb up that rope and get back to his brother and sister – quickly!

Shakespeare jabbed his paw up towards the top of the tunnel with more urgency. Ben understood. He grabbed the rope in both hands and hauled himself upwards, his feet walking themselves up the wall, but it was exhausting work. He stopped at 10 metres to regain some strength.

 

 

Hurry!
thought the cat.
Get out of here, Ben. Go and get some help!

Shakespeare was delighted when the rope started disappearing upwards, a sign that Ben had reached the top and was pulling the rope up and out of Jess's reach. Dawn was sending a tiny glimmer of light down the mineshaft. Shakespeare tried to calm the ringing in his head.
What would Lara do? I can't go that-a-way
, he thought, cocking an ear back towards the sound of Jess's impending footsteps.
Or that-a-way
, he thought as the rope disappeared from view. Shakespeare knew nothing about mines. If he had, he would have recognized the old rail track that wound its way through the tunnel. He hobbled along the rusty track for a few metres before finding a good hiding place behind a rock.

Jess stumbled her way as far as the patch of
light. She stood in the spotlight and looked up. She clearly didn't need her watch to tell her it was first light, 6 a.m. She cursed. Shakespeare saw the realization dawn that Ben had removed the rope. ‘Trapped in this hole,' she hissed in anger.

Jess removed the pistol from her belt and placed it on a rock. She eased off her backpack and Shakespeare noticed wads of cash poking out of the top. The woman seemed deep in thought as she munched on some chocolate.

It's not much of a plan
, thought the cat,
but it's the only one I have.
Shakespeare crept silently from his hiding place, controlling the urge to wince. Jess was looking the other way. He chose a pebble and got his whole body behind it, like a hockey player taking a penalty corner. Shakespeare flicked the pebble with his front paws and it skidded across the rocky surface. Jess jumped. She reached for her pistol and shot wildly in the semi-darkness, the noise hurting Shakespeare's sensitive ears.

Another pebble flew across the floor. ‘Who's there?' the criminal shouted, the gun held out in front of her. ‘Is that you, Malc?'

Shakespeare hid in the shadows as Jess walked
by. As soon as she was gone, he silently took up another position further into the darkness and repeated his trick, luring the woman further away from the money.

It's now or never
,
Shakespeare thought, silently hobbling back to the shaft of light where the bag of money lay. The bag was heavy and his injured leg was throbbing, but Shakespeare grabbed the bag and heaved.
Too heavy!
He opened the top of the bag and pulled out some wads of fifties, scattering them in the cave. He tried again, this time managing to sink his teeth into the canvas and wrap a paw around one of the handles. The bag shifted.
And some more.
Centimetre by centimetre, Shakespeare was stealing thousands of pounds of stolen cash. His body ached. Twenty-four hours without food or sleep was taking its toll.
But I have to keep going
. He managed to drag the bag as far as his hiding place and was satisfied that the bag was hidden completely
.

Jess was marching back to the light. Her footsteps were angry. ‘Whoever you are,' she yelled, ‘you won't get away. And when I catch up with you, there's going to be some serious trouble.'

Shakespeare gulped. Sending Jess on a wild goose chase down the tunnel had made her cross.
Imagine how grumpy she's going to be when she discovers her money is missing!
Shakespeare crouched low. He smirked as he heard the scream of anguish. Then his blood chilled as he heard the gun cock into action.

‘OK,' said the lady, ‘whoever it is had better come out. You can't have gone far. I'm going to count to three. You bring back my money and all will be forgotten. If you don't? Well,' she said, circling in the faint light, gun pointing out in front, ‘there will be no mercy.'

Shakespeare's mouth was dry. The lady's footsteps were getting closer to his hiding place.

‘One …' Jess began to count, slowly and surely.

Shakespeare didn't dare peek. His ears were folded tightly and his paw was covering the flashing light on his collar, in case it gave his position away.

‘Two,' said Jess, equally menacingly.

Shakespeare's feline brain was whirring.
Sit tight or run?
The escaped prisoner was just a metre away.

‘Two and a half,' growled Jess.

Shakespeare wasn't sure how many of his nine lives he'd used up on this mission.
Probably ten
,
he thought as he darted from behind the rock.
So 009 is now 00 minus 1.
His last life passed before him as he threw himself at Jess, a furry mass clawing its way up her legs and tummy before fixing itself to her face.

A shot rang out. And a muffled scream.

The lady dropped the weapon and used her hands to tug at the furry intruder. Shakespeare dug in, his claws sinking into the back of Jess's head. He was thumped.
Ouch.
And again, this time much harder. All the breath was knocked out of him and Shakespeare was forced to let go of Jess's face. He landed on the floor, gasping for breath. Jess kicked out, catching him on his already bad leg and Shakespeare gave an agonized yowl.

‘A cat!' screeched the woman, fumbling for her pistol. ‘Soon to be a dead cat!'

Shakespeare was away, his back leg trailing. He followed the rail track down a slope and sprang into a rusty carriage. A shot rang out, sparks flying from the cave wall. And another, this time pinging against the metal carriage.
The bullet ricocheted and the carriage shunted forward, slowly at first but gradually gaining speed. The screeching of the wheels on the rusty track was like a hundred cats yowling at midnight. Jess was sprinting, trying to get aboard. Shakespeare peered over the back of the truck, willing it to speed up.

The prisoner was gaining. She shot at the blinking red light of Shakespeare's collar, thankfully missing again. The wheels screeched as the carriage gained speed.

Suddenly, she caught the back of the rail truck. Shakespeare sank his claws into her flesh in desperation. The lady looked at him and smiled, their eyes too close for comfort.

Not good
, he thought.
They are seriously evil eyes. She's gone beyond crazy.
The truck was still gaining speed as it wound down into the mine.

 

 

Jess heaved herself aboard, first one leg and then the other, climbing menacingly into what had been the safety of Shakespeare's speeding carriage. It was dark, but Shakespeare could make out her shining eyes and white teeth. Her hand swiped at the cat.

‘Where's my money?'

Shakespeare ducked.

She closed in on the flashing red light and swiped again. ‘My money, evil cat! Where is it?'

She missed again!
But she won't miss a third time
.

The evil criminal closed in on the injured cat. Shakespeare knew that a cat's eyes were better
than a human's so he decided to take advantage of the dark. He reached with his paws and unclipped his collar. The light stopped flashing. He removed it from his neck and re-clipped it shut. The flashing light started blinking as the carriage tore downwards and round a bend. Shakespeare dropped the collar at the back of the carriage. Jess leapt at the light and Shakespeare used every ounce of effort to leap up and out, landing in a crumpled heap on the track.

Shakespeare lay on his side, pain shooting though his head, mouth and leg. Even his good eye was blurred. All he could see were sparks flying and Jess shaking a fist as the carriage disappeared round the corner.