by Anna Dale
‘Are you sure it’s wise to go behind her back like this?’ said Izzie. ‘The Chief is going to go ballistic if she finds out what we’re up to,’
‘What do you mean “if”?’ said Jagdish, turning his mournful eyes on his colleague. ‘Philippa will get wind of it, sure enough – and when she does we’ll all be out of a job.’
‘It could come to that, anyway,’ said Red, ‘even if Operation Question Mark doesn’t go ahead.’
‘Whaaat?’ said Izzie.
‘This department’s in trouble,’ said Red gravely. ‘We haven’t caught nearly enough scheming spies and traitors this year, and our funds are almost gone – I had to use the rest of our biscuit allowance to pay for Dawn, and we’ve got less than a fiver left in our gadget budget. Philippa Killingback wants me to make big cutbacks, and by that she means redundancies.’
‘So, who’s for the chop?’ said Socrates gloomily.
‘No one,’ answered Red, ‘if I’ve got anything to do with it. Just think – if Murdo Meek is in that village and we can bring him in, he’ll be the biggest fish we’ve ever caught. Imagine how pleased that will make the Chief. I doubt she’ll be mentioning cutbacks ever again.’ Quite suddenly, Red’s face assumed a startled look. ‘Why, Peebles – whatever’s the matter?’
The black cat, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, had sprung on to the table and launched himself at Red. His claws gleamed like pearls as he sailed, spreadeagled, through the air; then he landed with precision, sinking each claw into Red’s checked shirt – and into his skin, going by the massive yell that escaped from Red’s mouth.
‘Blimey,’ said Socrates. ‘I’ve never seen Peebles act like that before.’
‘There’s something wrong,’ said Edith, rising out of her chair.
‘Look! He’s brought a letter!’ said Dawn, pointing to a slip of paper which had been tucked into the cat’s harness and was just visible underneath his tummy. She ran round the table and tweaked it free while Emma unhooked Peebles’s claws with great care. While she was doing this, Red said ‘ouch’ at least twelve times – and a few other words besides.
‘Who’s it from?’ said Socrates impatiently as Red took the letter from Dawn and unfolded it. This did not happen quite as fast as it could have done because Red kept fingering his chest and wincing.
‘Poor little cat,’ said Emma, holding Peebles in her arms. ‘His heart’s beating nineteen to the dozen … and look at his poor tail.’ The cat’s tail was twice its normal size, twitching and curling like a huge, hairy caterpillar.
Red breathed in sharply and held the note aloft so that everyone could see it.
On first glance, Dawn thought that an insect had been squashed in the centre of the page. However, when she looked again, she realised that it was a single word, scrawled very messily in black ink. It read:
EMERJENCY!
‘Nathan,’ said Edith instantly, making for the door. ‘That boy can’t spell for toffee. Everyone stay here. I’ll find out what’s going on …’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Red. ‘You mightn’t be able to handle things on your own …’
Edith’s back stiffened. Dawn watched with bated breath as Edith tilted her head and gave Red the sort of look that Medusa the Gorgon might have used in ancient Greece to turn people into stone. Instead of telling Red, in no uncertain terms, that she was perfectly capable of sorting out any situation single-handedly (which was the speech anticipated by Dawn and, most likely, everyone else in the room), she nodded politely and said, ‘Thanks, I’d welcome your assistance.’
Uneasy glances were cast all around the room, but no one spoke a word until the footfalls of Red and Edith had died away.
‘Oh, my,’ said Izzie, wringing her hands anxiously. ‘Whatever do you suppose has happened? You don’t think this is the laddie’s idea of a practical joke?’
‘Don’t be nuts,’ growled Socrates. ‘Give the boy some credit. Nathan might be a bit of a twit but he’s not a complete turnip-brain. It must be a genuine crisis.’
‘Well, a fire can’t have broken out,’ said Jagdish, ‘or he would have set off the alarm.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Trudy, ‘the Chief has just arrived on one of her “impromptu visits”. You know how she likes to turn up out of the blue and catch us all off guard.’
‘Do you think she’s been tipped off about Operation Question Mark?’ said Emma fearfully.
‘Nah. Whatever Nathan’s panicking about – it’s not the Chief,’ said Socrates. ‘Let’s face it: a visit from Her Highness is a bit of a headache, but it’s not something you could really class as an emergency, is it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Trudy. ‘Nathan’s scared to death of her. I am, too, come to that.’
‘It’s not her, I tell you!’ said Socrates. ‘It’s something else.’
Dawn was only half-listening to the theories of her P.S.S.T. colleagues. She had got up from her chair and was hovering by the door, which Red and Edith had left ajar. If she listened very carefully, she found that she could hear something. Although it was muffled and far away, the urgency of the sound was plain.
Unnoticed by the other members of P.S.S.T., Dawn stepped out of the room. She moved along the corridor, as sure-footed and glassy-eyed as a sleepwalker, her ears straining to catch the distant, unceasing hollering. The door leading into Trudy’s workspace was open, and once she had entered the room the sound became much clearer. Every couple of seconds, she heard a plaintive sort of yell. Were they calls for help? Dawn could not be sure. In fact, the closer she drew to the window the less they sounded like the cries of a human and the more they resembled …
Dawn unlatched the window and heaved it upwards. Forgetting to be inconspicuous, she stuck her head out and looked down. There he was! Sitting on the pavement below her with his lead knotted round a railing. It was the scruffy dog from earlier – and he was barking non-stop.
From such a height, Dawn thought the dog looked like a heap of old rags. All she could see was a tangled mass of charcoal-grey fur and, occasionally, a flash of pink and white when he raised his muzzle to the sky and produced a particularly ear-splitting yelp. Dawn glanced nervously up and down the street. People were stopping to stare at the dog and a number of curtains were twitching. She could not see any sign of the boy with the skinny legs whom she had taken to be the dog’s owner.
‘Hey!’ called Dawn to the dog. ‘Shh! Stop making so much noise!’
Her pleas were ignored – as were several less polite requests from other people in the street. As well as delivering a volley of woofs, the dog had now got to his feet and was wagging his feathery tail. Clearly, he was enjoying all the attention.
‘Enough!’ said a voice that expected to be obeyed and, briefly, Edith appeared in the street below, untied the dog’s lead and yanked him inside. The dog stopped barking immediately probably because Edith had clamped a hand around his muzzle, which, thought Dawn, was quite a brave thing to do.
Silence was not restored, however. Before Edith could close the door of the Dampside Hotel, a number of shouts spilled out on to the street. There could be no mistake this time. The voice was definitely human – and young and male and very, very angry.
‘Not another one,’ said Trudy.
Dawn raised herself on to tiptoes and craned her neck, but she could not manage to see what Trudy and the rest of P.S.S.T. were looking at. As soon as the tread of feet had been heard in the corridor, everyone had rushed out of the Top Secret Missions room to find out what was going on. Dawn had been the last to emerge into the corridor and she had been dismayed to find that her colleagues had completely blocked her view. They were so tightly packed that she could not manage to squeeze past their hips – and glimpsing anything over their shoulders was nigh on impossible. Eventually, she got down on her hands and knees and crawled between their legs.
The first thing she saw (apart from the carpet at very close quarters) was a pair of brown leather shoes a bit like moccasins and tw
o bronzed legs as slender as broom handles. She raised her head, which enabled her to see the whole boy all at once.
He was probably not much older than thirteen, Dawn decided. Most of the boys in her neighbourhood dressed in football gear when they weren’t at school, but this boy was clothed in a rugby shirt and long, buff-coloured shorts with lots of pockets. He had dishevelled, black curly hair which flopped over his forehead, and his skin was the same shade of orangey-brown as holiday presenters on the television. His mouth was all pinched and puckered into a scowl, but its fierceness was difficult to judge because she could not see his eyes. They were hidden behind a handkerchief which had been fashioned into a blindfold.
‘Who’s this young scrap, Red?’ demanded Socrates. ‘And what’ve you brought him up here for? What’s going on, eh? Dawn said something about a dog –’
‘First a girl – and now, a boy,’ said Trudy who was positively fuming. ‘What other surprises have you got in store for us, Red? Don’t tell me! Next week we’ll be opening our doors to school parties …’
‘My name is Felix Pomeroy-Pitt,’ said the boy, trying to do his best to free his arm from Red’s tight grasp, ‘and as soon as I get out of here I’m going straight to the police!’
‘There won’t be any need for that,’ said Edith, appearing at the top of the stairs. She was struggling to restrain the scruffy dog whose ears had pricked up at the sound of the boy’s voice. The dog was the hairiest creature that Dawn had ever seen. His coat was the colour of mud and soot mixed together and it looked as if it hadn’t been brushed for months. He was smaller than Dawn had presumed him to be, with a big wet nose, a short, grizzled snout and a tongue the length of a strip of bacon.
‘Haltwhistle!’ said Felix delightedly as the dog careered into his owner. ‘Are you all right?’ he said, reaching out blindly and finding a shaggy ear. The dog sat down and scratched himself. ‘Have they hurt you? Remember what I taught you one bark for “yes”, two barks for “no”.’
Haltwhistle didn’t seem to be able to decide. He yawned, lay down on the carpet and nibbled at one of his paws.
‘What a mangy fleabag,’ observed Socrates.
‘How dare you!’ Felix was incensed. He tried to hurl himself at where he imagined Socrates to be standing but Red held him in check. ‘I’ll have you know that Haltwhistle is a pure-bred Tibetan terrier with a very fine lineage,’ said Felix, shaking with fury. ‘His grandfather almost won Crufts.’
‘Pull the other one!’ said Socrates, his voice full of scorn. ‘No one in their right mind would stick a rosette on a mutt like that.’
‘Whichever breed he is,’ said Edith, cutting in quickly before Felix could retaliate, ‘your dog is quite unharmed, I assure you.’
‘He’d better be,’ said Felix, tearing at his blindfold with his free hand. It slipped down his nose, revealing a pair of chocolate-brown eyes and thick, dark brows that very nearly met up in the middle. He blinked for a few moments; glanced at his dog; then stared at the small crowd of people in front of him. Dawn got to her feet and smiled. Although he was frowning furiously, she thought he had a rather nice face.
‘Who are you people?’ said Felix. His darting eyes seemed to skim over Dawn, although she was standing directly in front of him. ‘Hey!’ He prodded Red accusingly. ‘You said if I came with you, you’d tell me what was going on. I demand to know what you’ve done with my granny!’
‘The boy’s got a screw loose,’ said Socrates.
‘She’s here somewhere, isn’t she?’ insisted Felix. He took a deep breath and bellowed loudly, ‘Granny? Can you hear me? It’s John! Don’t worry I’ve come to rescue you!’
‘Goodness me,’ said Jagdish. ‘The boy is very muddle-headed. Now he’s forgotten his own name.’
‘Poor flower,’ said Izzie. ‘He can’t be well.’ She approached Felix and gazed at him pityingly. ‘There, there … we haven’t got your granny, dear–’
‘Yes, you have,’ said Felix, though not as brashly as before. His frown had changed to one of bewilderment rather than anger. ‘You have,’ he repeated, his voice beginning to waver. ‘Old Mrs Mudge saw Granny from the bus … so we walked and walked … then Haltwhistle picked up her scent …’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Emma, whose cheeks had been growing pinker and pinker. She looked pleadingly at Red and put her hands on her hips. ‘I really don’t understand what’s going on. Why have you allowed this boy up here? It seems a bit … well … reckless to me. Surely you’re taking an awfully big risk. I think we’re entitled to an explanation, sir … if … um … you don’t mind.’ She bit her lip as if she was embarrassed by her outburst.
‘You’re absolutely right,’ said Red. He heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead wearily. ‘I brought the boy up here because I couldn’t think what else to do with him. Together, he and his dog were making enough noise to alert the whole of Pimlico.’ Red shrugged in a helpless sort of way. ‘You know as well as I do that we can’t afford to attract that kind of attention. The only way to quieten him down was to give him what he wanted.’
‘A guided tour of P.S.S.T.?’ said Socrates contemptuously. He turned to Edith. ‘Some Head of Security you are! I can’t believe you let Red talk you into this!’
‘No,’ said Red. ‘You’ve misunderstood. What Felix wants is the truth.’
‘Pomeroy-Pitt,’ muttered Trudy, who hadn’t spoken for several minutes.
‘The name was familiar to me, too,’ said Red. ‘I realised pretty quickly who he was.’
‘So, who is he?’ asked Socrates.
‘He’s the grandson of Angela Bradshaw.’
The corridor fell silent.
‘I’m afraid,’ said Red, gripping the boy’s shoulder tenderly, ‘there’s something you don’t know about your grandmother. For nearly forty years she’s been a spy.’
Chapter Ten
The File on Murdo Meek
‘You can’t be serious,’ said Felix, accompanying his comment with a snort of disbelief. ‘That gormless-looking girl … the one who gave me the cup of tea … you’re sending her to find my granny? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!’
Dawn was rather relieved that she could not see the look on the boy’s face. His words were hurtful enough. She had fetched him a hot drink because she felt sorry for him. He had been so shocked when Red had revealed that his grandmother was a spy (and not an author of books on teashop walks as he had been led to believe). Now, she found herself wishing that she had tipped the contents of the china cup over his horrible head.
When Red began to speak again, Dawn twisted her neck slightly so that her one-eyed gaze fell upon his face. The keyhole felt uncomfortably cold and knobbly against her cheekbone but she was far too interested in what was being said to worry about any discomfort. Red was sitting, facing her direction, in his green leather chair. He had his arms folded and was staring across his desk at Felix with a look of barely concealed frustration.
‘Dawn’s the best person for the job,’ said Red shortly. ‘Take my word for it, young man.’
‘I want you to send a grown-up!’
Dawn switched her attention back to Felix. She saw him toss his black curls arrogantly.
‘I don’t think you realise quite how much I love my granny. I don’t want some dopey girl making a mess of her rescue. How about that pretty blonde woman, or better still the grumpy old guy who looks like a criminal. He’s not exactly James Bond, but he’d do.’
Dawn felt affronted. She did not appreciate being referred to as ‘some dopey girl’ any more than she had liked being called ‘gormless’.
Since she had arrived at P.S.S.T. she had been feeling rather good about herself. It was nice to be praised and held in high esteem for a change. The boy’s belittling words had made her feel as if her insides had been sucked out – and she was disturbed to realise that the feeling was horribly familiar. It was the same miserable, hollow sensation that she’d felt every time she’d ever been ignored or overlooked. Du
ring her short lifetime, she had become well acquainted with the unpleasant twinge – so much so that it had started to feel as comfortable as her old, battered plimsolls. Having been free of the feeling for a few days, however, Dawn found that she was not in any hurry to welcome it back.
‘My mind’s made up,’ said Red in an unusually gruff voice. ‘Despite her tender years, Dawn is more than capable of being a first-rate spy. She got an excellent mark in her test the other day.’
‘What sort of test?’ said Felix keenly. ‘I’m top of my class in almost every subject. I bet I could do better than her.’
Felix sprang to his feet and Dawn lost sight of him for a second as he dashed round to Red’s side of the desk.
‘If you’re so determined to send somebody young on this mission,’ said Felix, breathless with excitement, ‘why don’t you choose me? She’s my granny! I should go! I could show you my school report – then you’d see how smart I am. I’m good at games, too. Haltwhistle could be my sidekick. He’s a really intelligent dog and I’m sure we’d find my granny in a flash.’ Felix was smiling from ear to ear. He gazed hopefully at Red.
‘No!’ said the Head of P.S.S.T. sternly. ‘Not in a million years.’
‘But why?’ Felix looked flabbergasted.
‘You wouldn’t be … you haven’t got … you’re just not suitable,’ said Red finally. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘What are you talking about? I’d be great! I’ve seen hundreds of spy films. I’d know just what to do.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ said Red with certainty.
‘I would! And I’ve proved it already!’ said Felix. ‘Look at this!’ He put his hand into one of the many pockets in his shorts and fished out a crumpled postcard. He slapped it down on the desk. ‘This arrived on the sixth of July. It says it’s from my granny, but it isn’t. See,’ he said, jabbing at the postcard with his finger, ‘it says “Dear Felix”. That immediately struck me as suspicious.’
‘Did it?’ said Red, blinking tiredly.