Spy Cat (7 page)

Ben eased himself out of the safety of his sleeping bag. He felt for his own powerful flashlight and tumbled into the main tent area. The other pod was open. He peered inside. Jess's sleeping bag was empty.

Where has she gone?
He felt inside.
Still warm.
He rummaged for the mobile phone and switched it on.
Still nothing.
He shook the phone in frustration, hoping it might miraculously spring to life, but instead the back fell off. Ben turned the mobile over and saw an empty hole where the battery should have been. ‘Strange,' he said to himself. ‘The battery's not dead. It's missing!' Ben frowned. Someone had removed the battery.
When? And why? And who?
he thought. Ben noticed the umbrella they had brought was missing too.
Nothing makes any sense. Why has Jess gone outside when the police ordered us to stay put?
He wished Lara was with him
. She'd know what to do
, he thought.

Ben waited a couple of minutes, hoping to see Jess come back. The only thing he could imagine was that since the police hadn't turned up, she had decided to be a hero and go for help – probably to Mum and Dad's farmhouse.

Suddenly, Ben spotted the map lying on the tent floor. Jess would never be able to navigate her way to the farmhouse without it – she would be in real danger! Without thinking, Ben grabbed the map and followed Jess out into the sodden blackness.

Shakespeare managed to right himself. If cats have nine lives, he was sure one was already gone. There was ringing in his ear where the dog had clipped him. His wet fur stood on end and a vicious growl came from his throat. The dog was black and so was the night. It came at him again and this time Shakespeare heard the beast before he saw him. Instinctively he raked his claws into the darkness on his right and heard the dog yelp as he cut into the side of its
face. Now they were face to face. The dog was big,
probably a Rottweiler
, thought Shakespeare
. My worst nightmare!
He recalled all he'd learnt about dogs.
Rottweiler strengths – fierce, strong and powerful.
He knew they were often kept for security and they could be very dangerous indeed.

And weaknesses?
he thought, the noise in his ear crowding out his memory.
All I can remember is that they're not terribly fast. I'm out-muscled
, thought the cat,
so I'll have to out-run my opponent.

‘What you doing in my garden, kitty?' growled the dog, slobber dripping from its jowls.

 

 

‘I'm having a bit of a personal crisis,' miaowed the cat.

‘You most certainly are,' growled the dog, ‘of the deathly variety.'

‘No,' miaowed Shakespeare, ‘you don't understand. Some children are camping near here. And there's an escaped prisoner. I came to warn their parents. I need your help. This is your opportunity to be a hero, dog.'

But the Rottweiler came at Shakespeare again, a huge wet mass of aggression. The cat leapt, claws out, scoring more points as the dog banged into the garden gate.

The dog is now beyond reason. Aggression clouds the brain
, thought Shakespeare, remembering some of the scraps he'd had on the street with other bullies like this slobbering mass of muscle
.
The
dog's shoulders lowered in readiness for another charge. Shakespeare hissed his most menacing hiss, his wet fur standing on end like a toilet brush. He knew he was no match for such a huge dog. His mind thought fondly of Archie, programmed to please.
This one is programmed to kill!
Shakespeare's eyes darted left and right, looking for an escape route. The dog leapt again and Shakespeare darted across the garden, claws gripping the trunk of a tree, coming to rest out of harm's reach. The dog barked furiously below. Shakespeare crept higher. He sat in a branch and looked down at the dog. ‘One nil to the feline,' he yowled, licking his wounds. There was a gash in his thigh but otherwise he was in good shape.
Shaken but not stirred
, he thought. He was at first-floor level. He scrambled higher and measured up the jump to the roof.
No problem
. He climbed to the rooftop, buffeted by the wind and rain. There was only one way into the house. He didn't know if this was where Mum and Dad were staying but he knew humans would be present. And he could warn them. He hadn't worked out how he was going to do that yet.
Just somehow.
He peered down the chimney. He knew Santa used it
. How about Santa Paws?
Shakespeare knew there was no choice. A killer dog was waiting at the foot of the tree. The escaped prisoner was waiting at the bottom of the mine. And the children were waiting for someone, or something, to rescue them.

He took a deep breath and jumped down the chimney.

Ben wasn't sure why Jess was going back to the mine. He assumed it was to check the baddie was still trapped. Or maybe to make sure the police had arrived and everything was under control. He'd seen her torchlight disappearing into the distance and had shouted, but his voice was carried away in the storm. He picked up speed, his soaking wet feet running through the long grass. He reached the hole in the ground and flashed his torch around the scene. He shouted again. There was no sign of Jess. Ben suddenly felt a chill of fear. He switched off the torch so that the criminal wouldn't be able to see him. The boy stumbled around the area. He found a rucksack. It was drenched. He opened it and dared to switch his torch on again. Ben gasped in amazement. ‘A prison uniform! The escaped prisoner is right here. Right now!'

 

 

Ben wasn't sure what to do. He hoped the man was still down the mine but he couldn't be certain. And now Jess was in danger too! He switched on his powerful torch and swept the scene. There was nothing in front of him. He turned to look behind and nearly jumped out of his skin. A white face leered at him out of the darkness.

Shakespeare landed in the fireplace with a thump. A cloud of ash filled the living room. There was a lady on the sofa but Shakespeare's undignified arrival hadn't woken her and she kept snoring.

The cat stepped out of the hearth and shook, water and soot splashing the walls and furniture.
Whoops, sorry
, thought the cat. He noticed he was shivering but wasn't sure whether it was the cold or fear. He was glad to be somewhere warm and dry. It was a comfortable lounge, just like the one he had at home, and he knew he had to wake this lady and get her to understand there was an escaped prisoner trapped down a disused mine. And that the children were camping nearby. And Jess was in danger too.
That's a lot of information, especially for a cat!

He approached the woman, black footprints staining the cream carpet. The TV news continued in the background. He jumped on to the lady's knee, blackness staining her dressing gown. ‘And the main news again,' began the newsreader. ‘A dangerous criminal remains on the loose.' Shakespeare turned his head to listen, thinking his translating collar was the best gadget the professor had ever invented.
Too right
, thought the cat.
And I know exactly where he is! He's too close for comfort!

‘And this is the retired police officer who is believed to be hot on the heels of the prisoner,' announced the newsreader, as a picture of the man Shakespeare had trapped down the mine flashed up.

Shakespeare did a double take.
Police officer?

‘The prisoner, Jessica Redmond, is believed to be armed and dangerous,' said the newsreader in his gravest late-night voice. Shakespeare nearly fell off the chair as a black and white picture of Jess appeared on screen. Her hair was scraggly, her eyes sunken, and there was a prisoner number underneath the picture.

 

 

‘She escaped the high-security women's prison late last night. Police have warned the
public that the prisoner is not to be approached.' Shakespeare stared into Jess's sunken eyes, his translating collar blinking in the semi-darkness. ‘The escaped prisoner has distinctive tattoos on her arms.' Shakespeare trembled as he thought about Jess sharing a tent with the children. The newsreader's eyes narrowed and
his voice took on an air of extra gravity. ‘I repeat. This woman is highly dangerous.'

‘You scared the life out of me,' Ben shouted at Jess.

‘What are you doing out here?' Jess yelled into the wind.

‘Bringing the map you'll need to get to the farmhouse safely,' shouted the boy. ‘Where are the police? You phoned them ages ago.'

‘I think they've been and gone,' said Jess.

‘What do you mean?' yelled Ben, confused. ‘Are they on the way to the tent now? Do they have the criminal? I found the bag with the uniform in …'

There was an awkward pause. ‘You know, don't you, Benjamin?' said the lady, her face as wild as the night.

‘Know what?' asked Ben, some horrible thoughts beginning to dawn on him.
Why was Jess alone on the moor? Why did she take the battery out of the mobile phone? Did she really phone the police or was it all fake? Why is she prowling around the disused mine in the middle of the night? And, come to think of it, if she'd spent the last two days exploring the mines, how had she seen an escaped prisoner on TV?

‘You have to come with me,' she said. ‘You don't have a choice.' Jess reached out and grabbed the boy. Her grip was too firm to be friendly. He noticed tattoos on her arm.

Ben's shoulders sank and he felt a leaden weight in his heart. The rain dripped down his back. He'd come to help Jess and all of a sudden he realized he was the one in mortal danger.