Spy Cat (9 page)

The umbrella parachute had worked remarkably well. There had been one or two scrapes as the brolly hit the side walls of the shaft, but Shakespeare landed safely, if not gracefully, wincing as pain shot through his thigh. His eyes widened, quickly adjusting to the pitch darkness. He pricked his ears and listened. Voices and footsteps echoed to his left. He hobbled after them.

Shakespeare's footsteps were silent and the soot was helping him blend into the darkness of the cave. He'd positioned himself as close as he dared and listened in, his paw over the blinking red light of the professor's collar. Shakespeare stifled a miaow as he heard the plan. Not only was Ben ‘security', but there was someone else down there with Jess
threatening his safety. And it was the man that Shakespeare had trapped down the mine.
So he was an evil criminal after all! Double trouble!

Shakespeare wasn't sure what ‘security' meant but he was pretty sure he didn't like it. He hoped Sophie and Ollie might have woken, realized their brother was missing and been brave enough to walk to the farmhouse in the dark.
But Ben has the only torch. The chances of the younger kids braving the storm, darkness and the risk of meeting an escaped prisoner are remote. Nope
, thought the cat
. I've got to come up with a Spy Cat solution.

Mr and Mrs Cook were in the pub. Mr Cook was especially jolly, his face shining a rosy red. It wasn't often that he and his wife had a night out without the kids and it was nearly midnight. Mrs Cook sat at the table. She checked her mobile, although it was unlikely she'd receive a text from the children at this late hour – they'd all be asleep by now. She'd had no reply from her previous two texts earlier that evening, though, which she found a bit odd – it was unlike them. Trapped in the tent by all this miserable rain? Mum imagined they had all been too busy bickering!

Mr Cook was waiting at the bar, unaware that he would never have the chance to drink the beer he was about to pay for. Mrs Cook looked at the huge TV screen above her husband. The face of a very stern young lady peered back at her. The number at the bottom made it clear she was a prisoner. The TV was muted so Mrs Cook followed the subtitles.
Escaped prisoner
, she read. Her face fell as she realized the prison was just down the road from the village.
Police have secured ports and airports
, continued the subtitles,
and there is no sign of Jessica Redmond. The authorities have described Redmond as ‘very dangerous' and have asked the public to stay alert.
Mrs Cook frantically looked again at the mobile she'd checked just a few seconds ago. The footage cut to a silent policeman, his words printed at the bottom of the screen. Mrs Cook's horror showed on her face. She shook her mobile in case that would make a text appear.
We're asking the public to stay calm
, she read.
But it's likely that Redmond is still in the area.

Shakespeare was pleased that the tunnels were very low in places.
It slows the humans down
, he
thought, limping along behind them. He figured that most cats would have given up.
I've not slept or eaten in ages
,
he thought.
This is most un-catlike behaviour.
But adrenalin kept Shakespeare going. It was so dark that he felt safe to stay quite close to the group.

 

 

Plus
, thought the cat,
I really need to attract Ben's attention.
The group came to a halt. The tunnel was so low that the three humans were all crouched down, the man examining Jess's arm map. ‘Time's running out,' he grunted in frustration. ‘Are you sure you know where the cash is?'

‘We're here,' hissed Jess, jabbing her forearm. ‘So we need to go left,' she said, ‘and then it's a tight squeeze into the cavern.'

The torches danced left and the man cursed as he saw a pile of rubble. ‘Road-block,' he said. ‘Boy, start clearing it,' he ordered, waving his pistol at Ben.

Ben had no choice. He started to scrabble in the darkness.

Mum and Dad were out of breath as they reached the farm. Dad was too tipsy to drive so Mrs Cook grabbed the car keys from the kitchen table and they jumped into the family car. The engine roared into life. Mrs Cook switched the headlights to full beam, white rain dazzling her, as the car sped out of the farmyard and across the road, then bounced into the field.

Ben had cleared enough rocks to reveal a small gap they could scrabble through. Malc went first, squeezing his chunky frame through the tight hole. Ben was forced through second and Jess after him. The adults were marvelling at the cave, their torches lighting the scene. Ben's mind was elsewhere, looking for an opportunity to escape. Jess had him gripped by the upper arm but he turned back to look at the hole he'd just made. He blinked in confusion. He wasn't quite sure what it was but a red light was flashing in the gap.

‘So where is it?' snarled Malc. He figured this was the business end of the mission, so he made sure the others knew he was the one in possession of the gun. Jess lit up her tattoo one more time. She wandered into the centre of the cavern and raised her arms in triumph. ‘We've made it,' she said. ‘Riches beyond our wildest dreams.'

‘Where exactly?' barked the man, his seriousness echoing round the cave.

‘Keep your hair on, Malc,' shouted the robber. ‘Over there. There's a hole in the cave wall. Seven years ago I remember thinking it was a perfect place to hide my loot.' She cast
her torch to the cave wall and the man was away, stumbling in the darkness, scrabbling greedily at the patch of light.

 

 

Everyone knew what was coming except the retired police officer. He'd spent a career dealing with evil people, but he wasn't really evil himself. He could forget eighty–twenty or fifty–fifty. A hundred per cent of the loot would be going to Jess.

Shakespeare watched in silence from just inside the hole he'd crept through, as Jess approached the man from behind.
Ouch!
thought the cat as the torch made a clonking sound on the ex-policeman's skull. The torch went out and they heard a slump as Malc fell to the floor.

Jess scrabbled for the gun and the torch came on again. ‘Thank you, Malcolm,' she laughed. ‘Too greedy for your own good.' Jess beckoned to Ben. ‘Over here,' she said. ‘I need your muscles.'

The torch shone in Ben's face. Shakespeare could see from his frightened expression that he probably thought the gun was pointed his way too. Ben shuffled forward, white with fear. Shakespeare knew that once Jess had the money
she would have no use for Ben, but the boy had to do as she told him.

Shakespeare needed Ben to know that he was there and that it could be OK. He took a paw carefully from over the flashing red light of the collar and let it wink in Ben's direction. Shakespeare couldn't be certain, but he thought he saw a flick of Ben's eyes in his direction. Hopefully, that would be enough to keep him calm.

Ben and Jess heaved at a heavy rock. ‘The money's under this rock,' she said to the boy, ‘so put your back into it.'

Shakespeare's paws trembled with adrenalin. He was pretty sure that no cat had ever been in this kind of scrape before.
We sleep a lot
, he thought.
And eat a lot. And treat our chosen house like a hotel.
He thought back to lazy days by the TV, his white paws curled under his warm body, his eyes half closed as the little girl stroked his back. If he ever hoped to have that kind of life again, his next action would be crucial.

While Ben and Jess heaved at the rock, Shakespeare took his chance, hoping that Ben might have seen his collar. He needed to kill the torch.

‘Put your back into it, Ben,' echoed the lady's
voice as Shakespeare leapt for the torch. He flicked it with his paws and the light somersaulted across the cave, before smashing against a rock. There was a tinkling as the lamp smashed. Ben had never been anywhere so dark but something told him this was his chance so, with arms instinctively out in front of him, he ran for it. He cut a yell short as his shin cracked against a rock. There was a flash of red light to his right so he went that way, trusting it was a ray of hope.

‘This way, Ben,' yowled Shakespeare, standing tall and letting the red light shine.

Jess screamed in frustration. Her hand gripped the rucksack she had planted all those years ago. She tugged hard and it came away from its hiding place. It was satisfyingly heavy. She secured the bag on her back and followed the sound of Ben's footsteps as he scrabbled towards the blinking red light.

Shakespeare's expert night-vision struggled to make sense of the blackness. He had taken advantage of the confusion and grabbed the pistol between his front paws. There was a scraping noise as he dragged the weapon towards the escape route.

‘Here, Ben,' he wailed, an eerie miaow rolling round the cave. Ben was nearing the red light, grappling in the darkness, stumbling over the rocks.

 

 

His hand stretched out and he felt fur. ‘A cat?' he said in surprise.

‘Miaow,' admitted Shakespeare. The pair could hear Jess scrabbling towards them in the
darkness. Ben felt the cat and his hands came across the gun. He grabbed it. ‘
Yikes!
' he said. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?'

Shakespeare ran for the back of the cave, his flashing collar light leading the way. Ben followed. The cat disappeared back into the hole that Ben had made earlier.

‘Stop, Jess,' warned Ben. ‘I've got the gun.'

‘You wouldn't,' echoed the lady's voice. ‘You're just a boy.'

Ben aimed the pistol at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. A deafening shot rang out, and sparks lit the cave as the bullet ricocheted round the walls. The noise dislodged some rocks from above. The terrified boy threw the gun away and covered his head as rocks fell all around him and he backed into the small hole.