by Tim Flanagan
Once again, I smiled to myself, knowing that everything had worked out exactly as I’d planned. If I couldn’t deliver Arthur and the forgery equipment, the next best thing would be to catch Arthur and his cronies with their hands on the fake banknotes.
Now the only people who were missing were the members of Mr Burbridge’s SQUAT team.
Inside the lounge, Arthur picked up the bundle of banknotes and tried to give them back to one of the men, who raised his hands, refusing to take them.
Suddenly, every bush or hedge within a hundred-meter radius of Arthur’s house exploded into activity. The well-trained squatters had been hiding, waiting for the time to pounce. Figures dressed in black camouflage and balaclavas advanced on Arthur’s house. Without any hesitation, they kicked the front door open and stormed into the house.
I watched as Arthur and his five forgery fiends were searched by the masked soldiers, revealing further bundles of fake notes in their pockets, until a healthy stack of notes had been built up on the table. The pensioners were escorted from the house together with the notes, whilst a small group of Burbridge’s team remained behind to search the rest of the house.
I stood up to my full height, no longer needing to hide, despite the branches that protruded from my cap. I watched as an unmarked black van entered Wensleydale Drive. The back doors were immediately opened, and the six pensioners were helped inside. As he sat on a metal bench inside the van, waiting for the others to get in, Arthur glanced back towards his house. His eyes drifted towards me, and a faint glimmer of a smile passed over his lips together with a slight nod of the head. He knew he’d been beaten.
The doors slammed shut, and the van drove away.
Life in Wensleydale Drive returned to normal.
‘Here, have another spinach leaf,’ I said to Barney, who was oblivious to the exciting raid on his neighbour.
I walked up to Arthur’s house.
‘Sorry, sir, you can’t go in here,’ said a tall black-clothed figure that was walking out of what remained of Arthur’s front door. In his hand, he held a folded piece of paper, which he raised to prevent me from going any further.
‘I’m Sam Trowel, Special Patrol Youth,’ I said, trying to sound important.
‘Trowel? Oh yes, we had orders to come and escort you to London Zoo if this raid went wrong. Thank you for your help. What do you make of this?’ he asked, passing me the paper.
Dear friends,
Following the unexpected discovery of our printing business yesterday, please attend an emergency meeting at 3.30 today at my house. Bring all remaining notes with you, and please inform our other friends that they should attend.
Kind regards,
Arthur
‘Don’t know,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders. Of course, I recognised my own handwriting, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
I dropped my skateboard on the pavement and started to make my way home. My first job as a SPY had been successfully completed.
So you might think that no one watches what you’re doing. That you’re an anonymous person in a crowd. But beware—that youth you see on the bus every day, that person on the park bench, the girl handing out leaflets in the street—you never really know who they are. And they could be a member of the MI6 Special Patrol Youth project.
THE END
About the Author
At some point in Tim's childhood, he was abducted by aliens and sent on a voyage of knowledge and discovery across the universe. Eventually the aliens realised how pointless this was and, as a failed student, he was returned to Earth and left with a family who brought him up as a human bean. But, the persistent memories of new worlds, dragons and other creatures, continued to knock at his frontal lobe, desperately trying to break out.
To avoid making a mess and calm his imagination, Tim began writing as a way to communicate with Earthlings. Fuelled by Chilli and Nachos and a bottle of wine, Tim manages to balance a love of loud rock music and fast cars (preferably red!) with emotional chic flicks, smart leather shoes and a well tailored suit. He has successfully infiltrated the humans and hides behind the façade known as a family. He learns from his children, but is regularly told to stop acting like a child by his wife.
Naturally shy and unsociable by nature, he is selective of the human company he keeps, preferring to be around old books, bonsai and art. He cries at 'It’s a wonderful life' but sulks if fed evil vegetables disguised as Parsnips or Peas. He is bored by mundane conversation, excited by architecture and castles and fuelled by Caramel Latte Macchiato's.
Occasionally, he likes to catch up with old acquaintances on Tatooine, Westeros, and Middle Earth, and stare at fantasy and concept art as if it is a window to his childhood adventures. He is always trying to learn lessons from the masters; Mr Charles Darwin and Mr Lionel Ritchie, about life and love. Tim's galactic mission is to translate his brain activity into a language that inspires and entertains you, transports you to different worlds and grants you an audience with the characters you have dreamt about, but never dared to remember. All of this in an attempt to redeem himself with his childhood alien abductors and travel the stars once more.
Follow me at www.timflanaganauthor.com
The Plotting Shed
Sam Trowel: Special Patrol Youth
Copyright © 2016 Tim Flanagan
The right of Tim Flanagan to be identified as the author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.