Dawn Undercover

by Anna Dale

  ‘That Cambridge girl is a thumping good recruitment officer,’ said Red, smiling kindly at Dawn. ‘Only twenty-two. Just graduated from Clandestine College. Wanted to join A.H.E.M. but they turned her down – the dunderheads! Their loss is our gain, don’t you think?’

  Dawn nodded vaguely. She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

  ‘Oh, what a nincompoop I am!’ said Red, scolding himself. ‘There can’t have been time for Emma to tell you very much about S.H.H. and all its departments. I’d better put you in the picture, hadn’t I?’

  ‘Yes please,’ Dawn said eagerly.

  Red rubbed his copper-coloured beard in a thoughtful manner. ‘S.H.H. is, of course, an acronym,’ he began. ‘The letters stand for Strictly Hush-Hush. It’s an organisation that safeguards the security of our country. Its main objective is to gather secret information which will protect Britain against its enemies …’

  Before he could continue, the door to his office gave a creak and started to open slowly. Eerily, it seemed to be moving of its own accord. Dawn watched with widening eyes. Then a feline face appeared at ankle level and Peebles sauntered into the room. He had a look of determination on his face and a small, bulky package attached to a harness around his middle.

  ‘Ah, Peebles,’ said Red. ‘What have you brought, then, eh? I wasn’t expecting a delivery.’

  The cat ignored him and walked over to Dawn’s chair, the package wobbling on his back. He sat down beside her plimsolls and miaowed with feeling.

  ‘It appears to be for you,’ said Red. ‘Did you order room service?’

  Dawn was astounded. ‘Is it … is it my breakfast?’ She bent down and untied the parcel carefully. Then, holding it in her lap, she unwrapped two warm bacon sandwiches. ‘Thanks a lot, Peebles,’ said Dawn. She stroked the cat’s silky black head and a purr rumbled in his throat. ‘Wow,’ said Dawn as she picked up a sandwich. ‘I didn’t expect my breakfast to be delivered by a cat!’

  ‘Needs must,’ said Red. ‘Members of the hotel staff aren’t allowed on this level of the building. Peebles is very useful. He brings the morning’s post and can manage items of stationery, and also light snacks. Unlike us humans, he doesn’t need to use the secret entrances. Finds his way underneath the floorboards, somehow. He can squeeze himself through the tiniest of gaps and scale almost anything. Peebles is a much-valued member of P.S.S.T.

  ‘Now … where was I?’ Red’s brow furrowed. ‘Ah, yes. I was telling you about S.H.H. – it’s divided into several smaller departments and P.S.S.T. happens to be one of them. Each department specialises in something different, but it’s all to do with espionage. You know – spying.’

  Dawn nodded. ‘Mmm,’ she said, her mouth full of soft bread and crispy bacon.

  ‘There are six departments altogether. Three are engaged in what we call “fieldwork”. That is to say they all employ their own band of spies and regularly send them on missions. The other three departments are behind-the-scenes, so to speak. They provide the first three departments with information and all the paraphernalia that the spies need to complete their missions successfully.’

  ‘What kind of department is P.S.S.T.?’ asked Dawn, butter dripping down her chin.

  ‘The “fieldwork” kind,’ said Red, ‘along with A.H.E.M. and C.O.O.E.E.’

  ‘P.S.S.T., A.H.E.M. and C.O.O.E.E.,’ repeated Dawn to herself.

  ‘A.H.E.M. stands for Acquisition of Hugely Enlightening Material,’ explained Red. ‘Their team of spies are responsible for gathering information. Then there’s C.O.O.E.E – Covert Observance and Obstruction of Enemy Espionage. Their spies try to stop enemy agents from finding out secrets about us.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Dawn. She realised that Peebles was drooling on her plimsolls and slipped him a morsel of bacon fat.

  ‘And then,’ said Red, straightening his woollen tie proudly, ‘there’s P.S.S.T. – which stands for Pursuit of Scheming Spies and Traitors. You see, Dawn,’ said Red, his voice dropping to a whisper, ‘not everyone is loyal to his or her own country. Some people are quite prepared to betray their fellow citizens and help our enemies.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’ said Dawn.

  ‘Any number of reasons,’ said Red. ‘Some are disillusioned with the way this country works, some are blackmailed into it … and some are just plain greedy. A huge wad of banknotes dangled under a person’s nose can be extremely persuasive! These people are known as scheming spies and traitors, and it’s our job to sniff them out.’

  ‘What kind of people are they?’ asked Dawn.

  ‘All sorts,’ said Red, gravely. ‘It’s a sad truth, Dawn, but traitors can be found just about everywhere – some have even been known to worm their way into S.H.H.! A traitor in S.H.H. can be a very dangerous thing indeed. Imagine it, Dawn: they could get their hands on classified files, reveal the secret location of their department, and even engineer the failure of a mission.

  ‘Only two years ago we intercepted the Chief of S.H.H.’s own secretary, Mavis Highes, trying to smuggle confidential documents out of the country. She soon found herself banged up in prison, and won’t be seeing the light of day for a very long time. Ah, I tell you, Dawn, members of S.H.H. who have turned bad are the worst type of foe imaginable. They’re devilishly cunning and extremely hard to catch.’

  ‘I think I understand,’ said Dawn. Her brain was beginning to ache. ‘A.H.E.M. spies for the good guys, C.O.O.E.E. tries to stop the bad guys from spying on the good guys and P.S.S.T. tries to catch the bad guys who are pretending to be good guys.’

  ‘That’s it in a nutshell, more or less,’ said Red. He seemed pleased.

  ‘So, what are the other three departments?’ asked Dawn, tickling Peebles under his chin. ‘Is P.U.F.F. one of them? Trudy mentioned it. I think she was writing a letter to someone’

  ‘Deirdre Feathers,’ said Red, smiling fondly. ‘She’s in charge of that department. Deirdre and I were in the same class at Clandestine College many moons ago’

  ‘Clandestine College?’ said Dawn.

  ‘Yup,’ said Red. ‘It’s a university for school leavers who’ve got their heart set on a career in S.H.H. Anyway, Deirdre was something of a swot. Always had her head in a book. Soaked up information like a sponge. I had a hunch that she’d make a name for herself in P.U.F.F. It conducts research,’ explained Red. ‘P.U.F.F. stands for Procurement of Useful Facts and Figures.’

  ‘What about the other two?’ said Dawn.

  ‘C.L.I.C.K stands for the Creation of Ludicrously Ingenious Codes and Keys. Its staff thinks up different ways for spies to send secret messages. Lastly, there’s P.I.N.G – Production of Incredibly Nifty Gadgets. That department’s responsible for inventing amazing devices which help spies to carry out their work.’

  ‘Is it difficult to be a spy?’ asked Dawn, wondering what subjects were taught at Clandestine College.

  Red did not answer. ‘Have you finished your breakfast?’ he said.

  ‘Almost,’ said Dawn. Red waited for her to gulp down the last chunk of her sandwich. Then he called her over to the window.

  ‘Have a gander down there, Dawn. Who do you see?’

  ‘Er …’ Dawn hesitated. She was not used to being put on the spot. ‘A… a man eating a bag of crisps.’

  ‘Good,’ said Red. ‘Who else?’

  ‘An old lady with a shopping bag. A… a woman pushing a buggy.’

  ‘Nice, ordinary people,’ said Red, ‘going about their business.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Dawn.

  ‘Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that’s exactly what they’ll be,’ said Red, ‘but then there’s the other one per cent.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Dawn.

  ‘Any of the people you just described to me could be a spy,’ said Red, settling on the corner of his desk again. ‘Spies are a fiendishly clever breed. Only a very special type of person can slip seamlessly into a neighbourhood and fool everyone into thinking they’re perfectly normal. On the su
rface, spies appear to be regular, ordinary members of the public, but in actual fact they’re completely phoney. All they’re interested in is carrying out their mission.’

  ‘Does it take very long to learn to be a spy?’ asked Dawn. She sat down and lifted Peebles into her lap.

  ‘Ah,’ said Red. ‘Now, there’s a question.’ Creases appeared on his forehead. ‘In my humble opinion, Dawn, spies are born, not made. A person could study all their life at Clandestine College and never make the grade. On the other hand, I could pluck somebody from the street and they could pick up all the skills in no time at all. It would depend on how naturally gifted they are!’ Red made a steeple with his hands and gave Dawn a meaningful look.

  She squirmed in her seat, and felt herself blushing. ‘Emma told me that I’ve been chosen to be a spy.’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ said Red, ‘and there’s no need to look so worried about it. You’ve got bucketloads of talent. In fact, I’ve never seen anyone more suited to the occupation. Now,’ said Red in a business like manner. ‘We’ve got a few minutes before I introduce you to the rest of the team. Are there any questions that you’d like to ask me?’

  ‘Um,’ said Dawn. She stared blankly at Red’s toes, which were poking out of his sandals, and tried to think of something intelligent to ask. If Red thought that she was smart enough to be a spy, she had better not come up with something dumb. ‘Where are S.H.H. and C.O.O.E.E. and P.U.F.F. and A.H.E.M. and C.L.I.C.K and P.O.N.G?’

  ‘Actually, it’s P.I.N.G.,’ said Red.

  ‘Oh …’ faltered Dawn. ‘Well, Emma told me that they’re dotted all over London, in surprising places.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ said Red. ‘They’re concealed in a variety of buildings. C.O.O.E.E., for example, has its home in a West End theatre, and A.H.E.M. is tucked away in a rather famous museum.’ Red tapped the side of his nose, and winked. ‘Keep that information to yourself, though, Dawn. Each address is a closely guarded secret.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  Red’s countenance became grave. ‘The information stored within these walls would be a gold mine to our enemies,’ he said, ‘and the same goes for every other department of S.H.H. At P.S.S.T., we keep files on every single employee, not to mention data detailing every mission that P.S.S.T. has ever been involved in. On top of that, spies visit us regularly. If our enemies knew what they looked like, every mission would be a total disaster. You can’t survive undercover if your face is known.’

  ‘I see.’ Before Dawn could think of anything else to ask, a black Bakelite telephone on Red’s desk began to ring shrilly.

  ‘Would you excuse me for just one moment?’ said Red. He picked up the telephone receiver. ‘Jellicoe speaking,’ he said brightly into the mouthpiece. His face sagged. ‘Of course, Chief. Yup. I take full responsibility. The situation has reached crisispoint? Well, no. I think that’s a touch alarmist.’ Red tried to sound lighthearted. ‘Everything will sort itself out.’

  Dawn felt awkward. Usually she quite enjoyed eavesdropping on other people’s conversations, but only when they had no idea that she was listening in. She gathered Peebles in her arms and walked over to the window.

  On the other side of the road, a boy was trying to drag his dog away from a lamppost. The boy looked hot and bothered as he pulled with all his might on his pet’s lead. Dawn guessed that the dog must be hiding an impressive set of muscles under his straggly coat; either that or he was extremely stubborn, because he was refusing to budge an inch. The boy gave up the struggle and leaned against some railings. Then he looked across at the Dampside Hotel and his eyes found Dawn’s window. She froze. Red would probably not be pleased if a member of the public spotted her. She backed away from the window and stole an anxious glance at Red, who was still talking to the person on the other end of the telephone.

  ‘Now, Chief,’ said Red smoothly, twiddling the telephone cable around his finger. ‘Surely, there’s no need to visit us again so soon. You were only here a few weeks ago. That reminds me – I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about my little request … so it’s still a “no”, then, is it? S.H.H. can’t afford to provide any extra funding … My own fault? Slapdash and negligent? Squandering money like there’s no tomorrow?’ He loosened his collar and swallowed several times.

  Dawn heard a tinny voice blaring from the mouthpiece of the telephone. It sounded rather angry.

  ‘Yup,’ said Red solemnly. ‘Gadget budget? Oh … er … I think we’ve got enough to tide us over … Four pounds ninety. Ah. You’re right, Chief. Yup. That does leave us in a bit of a predicament. I don’t suppose …’ Red pulled a face and held the receiver at arm’s length as a torrent of abuse poured forth from its earpiece. After about a minute, he resumed the conversation. ‘You’re definitely not of the opinion, then, that Murdo Meek … Case closed as far as you’re concerned. Right, I understand. So, how would you suggest I run my department, Chief? … That’s my problem. I see. But the money will have to come from somewhere … Perhaps I should consider what?’ Red leaped off his desk. ‘ABSOLUTELY OUT OF THE QUESTION!’ he fumed. Then he glanced at Dawn and covered the mouthpiece briefly. ‘Be with you in a jiffy,’ he whispered.

  Dawn crouched down and tried to pacify Peebles. He had jumped out of her arms when Red had raised his voice and was squatting underneath her chair, his tail lashing from side to side.

  ‘There certainly won’t be any need for that,’ said Red firmly to the person on the other end of the phone. ‘I’m positive, Chief. In fact – I have something in the pipeline already. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very important meeting … Goodbye. Thank you so much for calling.’

  Red replaced the telephone receiver on its cradle and grinned sheepishly at Dawn. ‘That was the Chief of S.H.H.,’ he said. ‘Philippa Killingback. We … er … don’t always see eye to eye.’

  Yes, thought Dawn. I sort of got that impression.

  Red picked up the clock on his desk. ‘Oops, look at that,’ he said. ‘Five minutes past ten. We’re late for the meeting. Better get a wriggle on, eh? The rest of the team will be waiting for us.’

  Chapter Five

  The Spy Who Didn’t Come Back

  As they approached the Top Secret Missions room, Dawn tidied her hair and did up all the buttons on her cardigan. She wanted to look her best when she was presented to the entire workforce. Having been told that P.S.S.T. was responsible for pursuing all the scheming spies and traitors in England, she presumed that there would be a horde of people congregated in the room.

  By Dawn’s reckoning, the employees of P.S.S.T. would be a disciplined, hard-working, dynamic bunch. Judging from the lack of noise coming from the room, they were probably all sitting quietly, with notepads at the ready, waiting for the meeting to begin.

  Red turned the door handle and, as the door opened a crack, Dawn heard a lone voice pronouncing, ‘Ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three …’ It sounded as if somebody was doing a head count. The door opened wider, and Red and Dawn stepped into the room.

  It was practically empty. The rows of chairs which Dawn had been imagining were not there, and the enormous group of people was also absent. At a table in the middle of the room sat six individuals. Dawn noticed that Emma and Trudy were amongst them. They were both rather rosy-cheeked and seemed determined not to look at one another as if they had argued over something. Instead of notepads, each person was holding a china teacup, all apart from a woman who was doing some knitting and a bald-headed man who appeared to have fallen asleep.

  ‘Ninety-eight, ninety-nine,’ said the elderly woman, counting her stitches as she went. Her needles continued to click briskly until she happened to glance up and see the two new arrivals. Then she abandoned her knitting to prod her slumbering colleague between the shoulder blades. ‘Jagdish, wake up! They’re here. Meeting’s about to start.’

  The sleeping man twitched and gave a loud snort before staring blearily in Dawn’s direction. ‘Is that her?’ he said. ‘She’s not very
big, is she?’

  ‘Good things come in small packages,’ said the woman, eyeing Dawn keenly. She was a hunched little lady with grey flyaway hair, earrings that looked like buttons and a pincushion hanging on a piece of braid in the place of a necklace. ‘Hello, sweet pea,’ she said kindly. ‘I’m Izzie McMinn. I’ve been saving you a seat.’ She patted a spare chair beside her. ‘Emma, dear, is there any more tea in the pot?’

  Whilst Dawn sipped from her cup of lapsang souchong, the people around the table introduced themselves. Izzie McMinn explained that she was the dressmaker at P.S.S.T., and that it was her job to create all manner of outfits for spies to wear on their undercover missions. (She also revealed that the shapeless expanse of wool between her needles was destined to become a balaclava.)

  The bald-headed man who had been slumped on the table in a comatose state identified himself as Jagdish Pappachan. He showed Dawn his long, elegant fingers which were stained with ink and told her that he was a forger, capable of rustling up a fake passport in fifteen minutes and copying any signature in the world.

  A wiry old man with a weather-beaten face and a stubbly chin said that his name was Socrates Smith. He had been a spy up until a few years ago, and was now employed as a tradecraft specialist. His job was to instruct and advise P.S.S.T.’s current crop of spies: showing them how to use newfangled gadgets, the latest codes and other useful devices.

  Dawn had taken it for granted that Emma and Trudy would be present at the meeting, but one person whom she had not been expecting to see was Mrs Oliphant.

  Dawn remembered being told that hotel staff were not permitted on the second floor, but she soon learned that there was one exception to this rule because, as Edith Oliphant explained, she was both the manager of Dampside and the person in charge of security at P.S.S.T. It was her job to decide which people should be allowed on to the premises and she was also responsible for ensuring that the hotel guests did not suspect that P.S.S.T. had its headquarters in the building.