Spy Cat (8 page)

Shakespeare had clawed himself in the ear just to check he was awake and not trapped in one of his bad dreams.
Yup
, he thought.
No doubt about it. It might feel like a nightmare but it's real all right! The kids are in a tent with the most dangerous criminal ever!

There was a phone on a small table next to the lady. Shakespeare reached over with both paws. He managed to lift the receiver. He knew humans used these devices to speak to each other but he wasn't sure how the thing worked. There was a small label on the phone, which his collar allowed him to read.
Emergencies, dial 999
. He took his paw and pressed 9. The phone beeped. He pressed it again and again.
Three nines. What now?
He put his ear to the phone and heard it making a strange purring noise.
The cat dropped the receiver when a tinny voice said, ‘Which emergency service?'

Which emergency service? What on earth do you mean? I want every single emergency service. Now!
he thought
. I've trapped a policeman down a mine and left the children in a tent with a dangerous escaped prisoner.
He wished his collar would allow him to speak! Shakespeare grabbed the telephone receiver in both paws and leapt on to the lady's knee. She snorted but failed to wake up. He noticed an empty wine bottle on the table.
Sorry, lady
, thought the cat as he extended his claws and gave her leg a short sharp stab.
I need you to talk to the police!
She stirred so he dug deeper. The lady exploded awake, sending the sooty cat flying. He hit the wall with a thud, leaving a black mark on the wallpaper. ‘Rat!' shrieked the lady, reaching for a poker in the fireplace. ‘A big black rat!'

‘No, lady,' miaowed Shakespeare, stepping backwards with fear.
Cat. Friendly one
.
And ginger actually.
He darted for the phone receiver and struggled to pick it up from the floor.
Fingers!
he thought.
I need fingers, not claws!

‘Hello,' said the voice on the phone. ‘Is anyone there? Did someone shout about a rat?'

The poker lady also had a poker face. She was half drunk and half asleep, and Shakespeare had learnt that owners were just like their dogs.
A human Rottweiler! Not good!
She swiped her weapon at the cat, hitting a puddle of soot that Shakespeare had left behind as he leapt for the curtains. He clawed his way to the top of the curtain rail, a black streak in his wake.

 

 

This lady clearly doesn't like cats!
He wouldn't get any help here. It was too late to look for more adults now – he had to go back and protect the children.

‘Get out of my house!' shrieked the woman. She opened the lounge door and Shakespeare was away. He bolted up the stairs, into the main bedroom and on to the window sill.

The woman thumped upstairs behind him. There was just enough gap for Shakespeare to sneak out of the window. He leapt into the darkness, claws extended in readiness. He hit the tree harder than expected. His head smashed against a branch and his claws failed to grip. Shakespeare felt wet leaves rushing past his head as he plummeted. He righted his body, falling feet first. He hit another branch, and although it almost knocked him out it was actually the branch that saved his life. It broke his fall so that he hit the grass with less of a thud. The cat lay at the foot of the tree, spread-eagled like a furry starfish. There were two of everything and his left eye was half closed. He could hear the lady bellowing and the dog barking. He staggered to his feet and tried to make sense of what was happening.

That didn't go so well
, he thought, spitting out
another tooth. The dog's barking was getting louder. Shakespeare hobbled across the garden and managed to scrape his exhausted body under the fence just as the Rottweiler launched himself. The fence rattled but Shakespeare knew he was safe.
But what about the kids?

Ben held the torch as Jess tied a rope round the fence and threw it down the abandoned mine.

‘You first,' she said. Rain was streaming down his face as he struggled to put the pieces together. ‘I've spent years in prison,' she shouted. ‘I'm used to hurting people.' Ben looked into her eyes and shuddered. ‘I don't want to hurt you, Benjamin, but I will if I have to.'

Ben gulped. He thought of his sister and brother, and hoped they were sleeping safely in the tent. He wasn't sure what scared him most, climbing down a mineshaft in the dark or being in the company of an escaped prisoner. At this moment, as he grabbed the rope and lowered himself into the pitch-black and freezing cold hole, he decided the mineshaft was top of his list. Jess held Ben's powerful torch and shone it into his face. ‘Wait for me at the bottom,' she said. ‘And no funny business.'

 

 

Ben's hands shook. He gripped the rope tightly and stepped backwards towards the rim of the hole. He took a deep breath and started to lower himself down. There was nothing funny about this at all.

Shakespeare arrived at the tent just as Ben was leaving. He watched as the boy shouted after Jess, his voice trailing away in the wind. The cat's heart skipped a beat when Ben ran after her. He thought about trying to stop the boy but didn't know how.
He doesn't even know I exist
, thought the cat.
He's got no idea that I understand him. And, worst of all, he has no idea that he's hot on the heels of a dangerous criminal!

Shakespeare couldn't keep up with Ben. His hind leg, injured in the fall from the tree, was completely out of action, he was bleeding and he'd lost vision in one of his eyes. By the time the cat reached the mine, Jess was disappearing down the hole. There was no sign of Ben so Shakespeare assumed the worst.
Ben is already down the mine.
He crept to the edge and peered
in. Torchlights were dancing in the darkness.
There's only one thing for it. I have to rescue Ben. And that means I must get to the bottom of that mineshaft. But how?

Shakespeare's one good eye scanned the scene. He picked out an empty rucksack. A prison uniform. He checked the label.
Hurtmore women's prison
, said the label. The rope he'd chewed through was still tied to the post but a new rope was now in place.
Cats are good climbers but they can't climb down ropes.
He considered chewing through that one too, but that would just trap Ben underground.

Then Shakespeare's night-vision picked out an umbrella.
It's Dad's golf umbrella. Nice and big. I wonder?
He remembered a really cool piece of TV when a lady floated out of the sky, holding on to an umbrella.
Mary somebody-or-other. I wonder … If humans can do it
, he thought,
what about a puss?
Shakespeare limped across to the umbrella and fumbled his paws at the button.
Whoosh!
The umbrella exploded into bloom. Shakespeare jumped back in alarm and the umbrella caught the wind, gaining a life of its own. It started to drift off.
No way!
thought the cat, bravely jumping at the brolly and pinning
it down. Shakespeare ignored the pain in his shoulder and grabbed the handle, using both his paws to heave it towards the gaping hole. There was no time to think. He had to act now, before the wind caught the umbrella once more. He hung his paws over the U-shaped handle and jumped into the hole. There was a terrified yowl as the cat plunged into the darkness.

 

 

Ben landed on the floor, dropping the torch he'd held in his aching jaws. As he bent down to pick it up to see where he was, he yelled in fright to see a large figure standing right in front of him.

‘You!' Ben gasped, recognizing the grumpy man from earlier that day. ‘I'm so glad to see you again! There's a lady –' he pointed upwards – ‘she's coming down the rope, right now. I think she's escaped from a prison. Definitely dangerous …' He started to gabble. ‘We need to escape. How are we going to do it? Quick!'

‘Shut up, boy,' barked the man, shining his torch into the boy's face. Ben's eyes were dazzled, but his hearing was in perfect order and he heard the man's pistol clicking into shoot mode. Then the torch went upwards and they watched in silence as Jess's backside came into view. She landed with a thud before examining the rope burns on her hands. The man pointed the gun at Jess, but she didn't seem bothered. Instead she offered her hand to shake. The man refused. ‘Good to see you again, Malc,' she smirked. ‘I thought you'd be waiting.'

‘I had no choice,' growled the man. ‘You cut my rope.'

Jess looked surprised. ‘Not me, Malc. Probably the boy.'

Ben looked confused. He shook his head
. Malc?
Jess knew him. The man knew Jess?

‘I knew you'd hidden it around here somewhere,' said the man. ‘Why did you bring the boy?'

‘Because,' smiled Jess, ‘I figured you might kill me but you wouldn't harm an innocent lad. He's my security.'

Ben didn't know whether to feel relieved or not. He wasn't sure ‘Malc' would feel the way that Jess assumed he would.

‘What's the deal?' asked the man.

‘Fifty–fifty,' replied Jess

‘Eighty–twenty,' barked Malc. ‘I have the gun.'

‘Fifty–fifty,' repeated the escaped prisoner. ‘It's my loot. I stole it. I did the time to prove it! And,' she said calmly, ‘I have the map.'

Ben was confused. Did Jess mean the map he had brought her from the tent? But more to the point – the man was a criminal after all! He and Jess – apparently in it together!

‘What's the loot?' Ben asked, trying to buy himself time to think of a way out of this terrible mess.

Jess purred with pride. ‘I was clever enough to steal half a million pounds and hide it down here –'

‘But stupid enough to get caught,' interrupted Malc. ‘And I'm the copper who did the catching. A fine piece of detective work it was too,' he reminded her.

‘So when you heard Jess had escaped you knew she'd come looking for the money,' guessed Ben. ‘And you're going to share the stolen money between you? Why? Aren't policemen meant to be good?'

‘I've spent thirty-five years on the right side of the law,' snarled the man. ‘This isn't a crime. It's “finder's keepers”. I was in charge of Jess's case. So I knew she'd stashed her ill-gotten
gains in this area. I knew it would be thousands.'

‘Hundreds of thousands,' purred the lady. ‘Don't you dare underestimate me, Malc.'

‘So while she was safely banged up, I retired from the force and I've been searching the mines. Seven long years! It's been driving me mad. And then last night, I heard she'd escaped. While the rest of the police are searching ports and airports, I knew she'd make straight for the treasure. So I've been lurking about. I saw you and your sister and brother pitching the tent. I hid while the police helicopter swooped. I didn't want them seeing me.'

Ben filled in the blanks in his own mind. ‘And you climbed down here. And then Jess turns up so you know you're in the right place.'

‘At exactly the right time,' smiled the man. ‘I've got the gun. Jess has the map. We find the loot and split it eighty–twenty.'

‘Fifty–fifty,' corrected Jess.

‘And then you go your separate ways,' concluded Ben. He thought for a moment. He hardly dared ask. ‘But what about me? Why am I here?'

‘You're a bit of an accident,' admitted Jess.
‘But I couldn't have you blabbing. So think of yourself as security,' she said matter-of-factly. ‘Kids make great hostages.'

The retired police officer looked a little uneasy. ‘Where's his family?' asked the man.

‘Parents are in a farmhouse,' said Jess. ‘Brother and sis are camping in the rain.' She looked at her watch, the luminous dial lighting the cave. ‘It's 1 a.m. They're little kids. Once they realize their big brother is missing they'll start blubbing. But they won't dare make a move until first light. So I reckon we have five hours to find the stash and get away. We need to be long gone by dawn.'

The man grunted. He was comfortable with finders keepers but less so with child hostages. ‘So which way?'

Jess reached for the man's hand and pointed his torch at her arm. She rolled up her sleeve to reveal a complicated tattoo. ‘We're here,' she said, tapping a mark on her arm.

 

 

Ben couldn't believe his eyes. ‘Your
arms
are a treasure map!'

‘These mines are a complicated network,' she said. ‘I've been seven years in prison. I didn't want to forget where my life savings were kept.'

‘Technically, lots of other people's life savings,' corrected Ben.

‘And I didn't want to draw an old-fashioned map. Prison is full of dreadful people … you know …'

‘Criminals?' suggested Ben.

‘Exactly,' agreed Prisoner J969231B. ‘And I didn't want some double-crossing losers stealing my map.' She pulled her sleeve up as far as it would go.

Ben and the retired police officer peered
closely at Jess's arm. She traced her finger along a series of inky images. ‘These serpents represent dead ends. This one with the golden head is the tunnel we're in.'

‘And the money must be here,' murmured Ben, pointing at a picture of a treasure chest.

‘Or here?' suggested the man, pointing at a cross. ‘X always marks the spot.'

Jess shook her head. ‘I didn't want my map to be too obvious.' Her finger moved to a skull positioned almost as high as her shoulder. ‘Bingo,' she whispered, her eyes dancing in the torchlight.