"What are you waiting for? Get on to it!"
Stump, true to form, doesn’t wish me luck. Neither does Dr Babbage.
I begin to make my way along the perimeter of the field. I stay near the tree line, under cover, shuffling slowly downwards towards the barracks. I remain in full stealth mode until I'm out of sight of Stump and Dr Babbage, and then I relax slightly. To be honest, stealth seems unnecessary. I can't see anyone patrolling the fence. The only eyes on me are those of sheep and crows.
I soon reach the fence and begin to climb. The barbed wire at the top is awkward—not just because it’s barbed, but also because it overhangs the main fence, requiring me to perform an intricate manoeuvre which involves dangling sloth-like from the wire until I can hitch my legs over it. The fact that the fence is sagging doesn't help. My hands get cut to pieces. Feeling breathless, I drop down onto the grass on the other side of the fence.
I’m in. There are no men with guns, or dogs with razor teeth. Just me and a jumbled cluster of wooden buildings. I know where Lieutenant Ramsbottom’s office is from the map that Stump gave me. I also know where it is because Lieutenant Ramsbottom told me where it is - between the mess building and a small parade ground, at the centre of the barracks. I’m there within minutes, standing in sharp geometric shadows by the door.
The main doors to the building are, of course, protected by a secure electronic keypad, requiring me to swipe the card and enter a six-digit security code. There’s no way that I could have gained access to the code, even if I’d spent a year at Ruby’s house.
It’s a good job that Lieutenant Ramsbottom is waiting inside, ready to let me in.
“Good evening, Frank,” he says. “Glad you could make it.”
His office is dark, and the blinds are down. There’s somebody else in the room.
“If you’ve brought a torch, switch it on,” says Lieutenant Ramsbottom. “They’ll be expecting it.”
I do as he says, reaching into my pocket for the fat rubber torch that Stump gave me. I switch it on, illuminating the office with a sick yellow light.
“Frank, I’d like you to meet Mr Petersen. He’s from MI6.”
Mr Petersen steps out of a dark corner to greet me. He’s bald, quite a bit younger than Ruby’s dad, and dressed smartly, in a creaseless black shirt and suit.
“Your hands,” he says, “what happened to them?”
He doesn't wait for me to answer, not that I can anyway. Instead, he takes my left hand in his and studies it carefully, gently turning and pressing my fingers and palm. “This doesn’t hurt?” he says, squeezing his fingers against a torn flap of skin. I shake my head, and he lets go.
“Lieutenant Ramsbottom has told me all about you, but I still find it hard to believe.” His eyes are piercing, probing, and I feel that lying would be very difficult in his presence.
“What they’ve done to you is fascinating, Frank. Fascinating, but wrong. We want to put a stop to it. Are you still willing to help us?”
I nod and grunt. My mouth is becoming quite dry, and I wonder if I should have had an extra dose of magic juice before I came out. I’m not often up this late.
“I want you to give them this.” He picks up a battered old box file, stuffed with paperwork. “These are the documents kept in my colleague's safe. The ones this Colonel Stump character is after. Considering the nature of some of these documents, we are intrigued to learn how Colonel Stump found out we kept them here, of all places. Their existence and their location were—up until now—a very well-kept secret."
Suddenly there's something I need to know, something that hasn't really been important to me up to this point. I can see a pen and a newspaper on Lieutenant Ramsbottom's desk. I reach across and grab them, and scribble on the back page of the newspaper:
What are the documents about?
The man called Mr Petersen frowns, as if I've asked him what colour his underpants are.
"I haven't got the time to explain right now. Suffice it to say that the documents contain sensitive information that could be dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands."
If he thinks he's fobbing me off that easily, he's got another thing coming.
But you're handing them over to Colonel Stump I write.
"OK," says Petersen. "The information would be dangerous, if it had not been doctored slightly by our security services. About half an hour ago. A few details changed here and there. Not so much as to be noticeable, but it should throw your masters off the scent for a while. Now, are you going to take them or not?"
I take the box from Petersen and push it into my rucksack. In order to make room for it I’m forced to take Stump's explosive device out and place it on the floor. Petersen jumps back, towards the doorway, and encourages Lieutenant Ramsbottom to do the same.
"Christ almighty, Frank, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
I gaze blankly at the little bomb and begin to connect the wires. "Stop immediately, Frank, or I will be forced to arrest you," shouts Petersen, his voice edgy and his look grave. I put down the device and hastily write an explanation for him. He reads it, shaking his head all the while, then shows it to the Lieutenant. They talk to each other in quiet tones for a while, and then Petersen explains that he and Lieutenant Ramsbottom have both got to make some calls to clear this. They won't be long, and I should wait in the office for them to come back. And I should not touch the bomb.
While they're gone, I decide to take the box file out of my rucksack and have a sneaky peek through the documents. I won't have a chance to look at them once I've handed them over to Stump, and I have a feeling that Mr Petersen and his cronies at MI6 will be happy to keep me in the dark for as long as possible. This might be the only chance I have to get some clues as to what this is all about.
My excitement at the prospect is short lived, because I can't really make head nor tale of any of the papers I flick through. There are lists containing codes and lists of prices next to other codes. There are various technical drawings of stuff I've never seen before and can't really make out. There is a map of Alaska with bits circled in red, some smaller scale maps, and plans showing some sort of establishment. A factory, perhaps, or a military base? I'd keep looking but a clammy nervousness has come over me, a fear of being caught in the act. I stuff the papers back in the file and shove it into the rucksack.
As I'm doing so, I accidently kick the explosive canister at my feet, nudging it closer to the safe. It's as if the bomb knows the task ahead of it. I'm just laughing about this and thinking that it's a good job that I haven't connected wire B yet when Mr Petersen and the Lieutenant come striding back into the office.
"OK Frank, we're good to go. As you said, Stump will be expecting an explosion, so he's going to get one."
Lieutenant Ramsbottom is flitting around the office collecting some bits and pieces and putting them into a black plastic bag. I notice that the first thing he picks up is the little photo he kept by his computer, showing a younger version of himself with a short woman who's holding a baby. I'm guessing the baby is Ruby.
"Frank, listen carefully," says Petersen. "To do this, we've had to clear this building and the one next door of all personnel. And that includes us. How long have we got once you've armed the device?"
Twenty seconds. My hands are shaking so much that my writing looks barely legible.
"Twenty seconds? Two zero?"
I give him a thumbs up, and he glares at me like it's the most inappropriate reaction he could ever imagine to his question.
"That's not a lot of time," he continues. "We'll need to be at least three rooms away, down that corridor. Even better if we're out of the building. Are you ready?"
This time I use my head rather than my thumbs to confirm. At his instruction, I tape the device to the door of the safe and connect the second wire. Then the three of us look at each other and Petersen gives me a nod.
I flick the switch.
Petersen and the lieutenant sprint down the corridor and
out of the building as if their lives depend on it (which they do). I can't run very fast, though, so I lag behind. Which doesn’t matter because I've decided that I need to pick up a few marks from the explosion, for authenticity. I stop half way along the corridor and sit down, with my back to the office. I remove the rucksack and put it in my lap, leaning over it protectively. Lieutenant Ramsbottom has noticed that I've fallen behind; he shouts and runs back towards the building. Luckily, he's still outside when the bomb goes off. I feel the blast wave as a cold crackle on the skin of my back, and as a gust that whistles past my ears. Small pieces of debris are thrown into the corridor by the explosion, but nothing very large gets to where I'm sitting. The fact that I was facing away from the shock wave will save me a huge amount of recovery time. Anyway, I've experienced heat and blasts much more powerful in my trials, so this one doesn't bother me too much.
It does, however, seem to bother lieutenant Ramsbottom. He keeps leaning over me and asking if I'm OK, and if I need medical attention. He offers me a hand up, pulling me into a standing position. I'm a bit dazed, to be honest, but it's time I was getting out of here. Stump and Dr Babbage wouldn't expect me to hang around after blowing the safe. Petersen, of course, is all too aware of this.
“In a moment you must escape, Frank," he says, "or at least make it look that way. Give them the documents. Let them think that the mission has been a success. Do exactly what they say and behave as you normally would. We want to get to the bottom of this, Frank. To find out who Stump's contacts are, and what role this Mannequin woman plays. All of this will be easier for us if you agree to wear a tag...”
I stare at him blankly with my bulging eyes.
“A transmitter, Frank. So that we can monitor your location. Are you happy with that?"
I don't really feel that I have a choice.
Petersen asks me to open my mouth wide and tilt my head back. "I’m going to fit the tag to the back of one of your molars," he explains. "It’s so small, you won’t know it’s there.”
He pulls on a pair of latex gloves and reaches in like a dentist, prodding around amongst my teeth and gums. He even has a metal tool with him, which he uses to push and grind his little device into the back of my tooth.
“If for some reason it comes loose,” he says, “then push it under your skin, somewhere out of view. It should keep transmitting for three days. We're hoping that'll give us enough time for them to get you back to Alaska, to the base.”
He takes the gloves off and puts them in his pocket. Lieutenant Ramsbottom is at the other end of the corridor, surveying the wreckage of his office.
“Now, Frank,” continues Petersen, “we’re going to put a bit of a show on for you, during your escape. A little embellishment, to help our cause. There’ll be bullets flying, but they’ll all miss. And the dogs won’t get to you. You can escape over the fence, where you came in. Questions?”
There is one question that’s really digging at me. Lieutenant Ramsbottom hands me a pen and offers his arm for me to write on.
Once it’s over, can I go back to Cheasley High?
Petersen and Lieutenant Ramsbottom exchange looks.
“We’ll see what we can do, Frank,” says the bald man, before glancing at his watch. “It’s ten to eleven. You’d better be going.”
I check the box file is still in my rucksack. then fling the rucksack onto my back. Lieutenant Ramsbottom winces. I suppose the skin on my back is not in the best of states. I hope Dr Babbage has brought some of my balms with him.
Petersen opens the door for me, whispers ‘good luck’, and then recedes into the shadows. Tentatively, with my mind whirring, I step out into the night.
Before I’ve even reached the mess building, I hear raised voices and cries of alarm from somewhere to my left. Dogs begin to howl and bark, and a siren begins its wavering cry. Then suddenly, the night is alive with gunshot. Feeling like the main lead in an action movie, I grit my teeth and lumber towards the fence. Mr Petersen has choreographed a pretty realistic show; the dogs’ snapping mouths come within inches of my ankles as I haul myself onto the fence, and it feels like bullets part my hair. On my way back over the fence my legs become dangerously entangled in the barbed wire, forcing me to literally tear my flesh away from the knotted metal. Warm blood oozes down my legs and soaks into my diapers. Finally, I drop down to the other side, and begin to limp across the field. This time, I don’t keep to the shaded perimeter but head right across the middle.
I hear the gentle growl of the car engine before I even reach the top of the field. Colonel Stump is in the driving seat.
“Hurry up!”
The passenger door is open, and the car is already rolling forwards. I climb in, and pull the door shut behind.
“Did you get it?” barks Stump as the car pulls out, wheels screeching on the narrow road. I give him a thumbs up, and he smiles like a hyena stumbling upon dying prey. Dr Babbage is in the back seat, but he’s not smiling. As I turn, he gives me a nod, but that’s it. He’s clearly in no mood for conversation.
The drive back to 63 Crown Hill is as dramatic as my escape from the camp. Stump floors the accelerator, and speeds down the empty lanes and streets, oblivious to rights of way, and to kerbs and roundabouts. We arrive at the house just before midnight.
“Give me the documents” demands Stump as I climb out of the front seat. I pull the file from my rucksack and hand it over. Stump's leery grin seems as if it's here to stay. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this, Wasdale, but well done. All that training I’ve given you has paid off at last. Now, go with Babbage, and get yourself cleaned up. You look like a bum.”
Dr Babbage takes me inside and tidies me up, silently stitching the cuts in my legs, my back and my hands. I drink a few litres of blue lemonade which picks me up a bit. Then he removes the remnants of my combat shirt and pours oils onto my back, gently rubbing it in like he has done so many times before. Unusually for him, he doesn't speak at all as he's doing this. He seems withdrawn and concerned, and not at all excited that I’ve accomplished the very mission we came here for. Once we’re done, he gathers up all my oils and balms and my remaining juice and stuffs them into his old sports bag.
“Come on, Babbage, quicken things up. Your holiday's over,” shouts Stump, as we trudge wearily down the stairs. He seems impatient to leave. As Stump shoves me out of the door I turn briefly, looking around the house that I've become quite fond of. Wondering if I’ll ever return. Wondering if I'll ever see Ruby again.
Dr Babbage breaks his silence only to tell me that our flight from Heathrow leaves at 5 am. Sitting in the back of the car on the way to the airport, I find myself flicking my tongue over the tiny transmitter behind my teeth. It’s stuck fast and makes me feel like a proper spy. I hope that it’s still transmitting.
Chapter 7 - Back to Alaska
Our flight finally touches down in Anchorage at 10 am local time on Friday morning. Another hire car is waiting for us at the airport, and this time Stump insists that Dr Babbage drives, all the way back. It takes hours and hours. By the time we arrive at the base, my bladder has swollen to the size of a watermelon. The first thing I do when we get back to the house is spend a happy couple of minutes piddling in our little upstairs toilet.
“I might go straight to bed, Frank” yawns Dr Babbage as I emerge from the toilet. “I suggest you should do the same.” I can hear his chest wheezing as he breathes. He doesn’t look very well. “It’s Saturday tomorrow,” he adds, rubbing his eyes, “I’ll tell Linda that you’re coming.”
Linda is Benny’s mum, who’s not his mum. So that means I can play with Benny tomorrow! That’s cool. Even though I’ve only been away just over a week, I find myself getting quite excited at the prospect of meeting up with my old buddy again.
“Oh, and Frank...” Dr Babbage catches my eye, just for an instant, and says something that I’ll always remember. “You did a good job in London. I’m proud of you.”
I stand there staring at hi
m with my bulging eyes, unsure how to react to the compliment.
“Anyway, goodnight Frank. Sleep well. And don’t forget to take your magic juice.”
I don’t forget my magic juice. Neither do I forget the fact that I’m a double agent with a tiny transmitter clamped to his teeth, who’s about to betray the man who’s looked after him all these years. I have a sweaty and troubled night’s sleep, and wake to find that I’m more exhausted than when I went to bed.
*
As I lumber across the short gravel driveway to his front door, I see Benny jumping up and down, waving at me through the big front window. He gives me a hug as I enter his house, wrapping his arms around my skinny waist and squeezing tightly. His Chinese mother scowls at me and orders me to take my shoes off. She seems even more grumpy than usual.
We play with Benny’s toy cars for a while, racing them around his front room, imagining they can fly. Then we play a pretending game, where Benny is a surgeon and I’m the patient. He removes my internal organs one by one and gives them a good wash with soapy water before putting them back in. Then he calls to his mother, asking for a glass of milk. We have bagels and milk in front of the TV, watching one of Benny’s wildlife DVDs. We’re both reduced to tears of laughter by the busy antics of the gibbons, and Benny spills his milk chuckling at one of the apes eating a spider whilst scratching its bottom.
We’re just about to switch the TV off and play with Benny’s action figures when a hard knocking on the front window makes us both jump. I look up to see Colonel Stump glaring through the pane at us. Seconds later the doorbell rings, and Benny’s mother lets him in. Stump comes storming in like an angry schoolmaster, grabs my T-shirt and lifts me straight up off the floor, carrying me out of the house like I’m a bag of trash. Benny runs after us, crying and wailing, but his sobs are cut short by the slamming of the door.
I make a loud groaning noise and begin to wriggle and kick. Dr Babbage is nowhere to be seen. Stump carries me across the road and then across the empty parade square. Then he puts me down on to my feet and begins dragging me along by my shirt. I lash out and kick, but it just makes things more difficult for both of us. It looks like we're heading towards the gymnasium, and for a dreaded moment I imagine this must be the start of another of my trials. He grabs me by the waist and pulls me down into the basement of the gymnasium, a small windowless room that looks like it hasn’t been used for years. There, he throws me down onto the floor, and that’s when I notice the other man in the room. The man is wearing a white coat like the one Miss Bagley the science teacher wore in her classroom. He stoops down and spends a little time rummaging around for something in a black plastic case. Colonel Stump orders me to sit in a chair at the centre of the room.
Frank Wasdale- First Mission Page 7