Thunder Raker (3 page)

On the way to lunch, Jack suddenly grabbed Alfie and pulled him to the side of the corridor.

“Look out!” he hissed.

Alfie struggled to see what was going on, but the corridor was empty—apart from the rest of his class pressed against the walls, and a harmless-looking lady with greying hair who was walking slowly towards them.

“It's Miss Fortune,” Sam explained,
keeping his wheelchair as close to the wall as it would go. Up close, Alfie could see there were buttons arranged along both arms. Sam pressed one, and the chair scrunched up so that it took up less room.

“Miss Fortune teaches Assassination Techniques,” Chloe said. “Why don't you go and say hello to her?”

But before Chloe had finished speaking, the harmless-looking lady let out a highpitched wail: “Hai-char!” and leaped suddenly into the air. Her right foot lashed out and Alfie saw that there was a hollow tube extending from the point of her shoe. Smoke and flame erupted from the tube—a gun barrel—and a chunk of wall close to where Alice was standing exploded into dust and fragments.

Miss Fortune settled back on her feet, the gun barrel shrank out of sight and she walked slowly past the children of Class 3D.

“Good afternoon,” she said in a frailsounding voice. Then she spun round on her heel, smacking a fist out rapidly at Harry, who ducked just in time.

“It's best to keep out of her way,” Beth said to Alfie. “Whatever Chloe says.”

“What are her lessons like?” Alfie wondered as Miss Fortune disappeared round a corner in the corridor.

Jack waited for the blood-curdling sound of a ninja attack cry to fade before he said: “No idea. We don't do Assassination Techniques until the sixth form. But the Major once told me her classes always seem to be short of pupils.”

“She sent Felix Hamilton to get something from the stock cupboard and he never came back,” Alice said darkly. “And Sarah Middlesworth.”

“I heard it was Lester Bigmore,” Sam said.

“Yeah. Him too,” Alice said.

“Who's the Major?” Alfie asked.

“You need to keep out of his way as well,” Jack said. “He teaches Sabotage. We have that on Wednesday afternoon. Just before Maths.”

Alfie met the Major at lunch. No one seemed to know what his name was—he was just “The Major”. He was a straight-backed, militarylooking man with a bushy white moustache that stuck out beyond his cheeks in a way that defied gravity. He also had his left arm in a sling and several plasters stuck on his cheek.

Jack pointed out the Major as he was getting a plate of stew to take to the table where the staff were having their lunch. Alfie watched each of the teachers sit down and take it in turns to introduce themselves to Mr Trenchard as if he'd never met them before.

But the Major didn't get that far. As he turned from the serving area, his sling caught on one of the metal struts supporting the raised shelf where the plates were kept warm. The strut fell away and one end of the shelf dropped with a loud clang. But it was nothing like as loud as the plates as they slipped down the shelf and crashed to the floor.

“Sorry!” the Major said loudly to no one in particular as he knocked a small girl flying, then bumped into a table. Which collapsed,

sending dinners and drinks into the air.

“Uh-oh—me again!” the Major said, so loudly that a passing boy stumbled and clutched his ears, dropping the jug of water he was carrying.

“That wasn't me,” the Major said, looking down at the puddle and the broken glass. “Er, was it?”

“Like I said,” Jack whispered to Alfie, “the Major teaches Sabotage.”

“I see,” Alfie replied, watching the Major set his dinner down carefully on the table. There was
a crack as the plate broke. The Major sat down. His chair fell apart beneath him.

There was only one lesson in the afternoon before the class returned to Miss Jones. It was Surveillance. This was taught by Mrs Nuffink, and Alfie found it the hardest lesson of the day.

This was partly because Mrs Nuffink seemed to be able to tell if anyone whispered or wasn't paying attention, or mucked about. Even when she was facing the other way, writing on the board, she called out: “Beth—
don't do that,” as an expertly designed paper plane glided across Alfie's desk.

Alfie also found it hard because the subject was quite difficult. They spent a lot of time examining photographs and trying to spot where people could be hiding, or watching a video of the outside of a house where nothing seemed to be happening.

“There—did you see it?” Mrs Nuffink shrieked at one point. “Nobody? None of you saw anything? I despair, I really do. Class 3D, what were you doing?”

As far as Alfie could tell, nothing had happened.

But then Mrs Nuffink rewound the DVD. “I'll play it forward very slowly,” she said with a sigh. “Look out for the boy delivering a secret letter.”

There was a slight blur on the picture for a moment, but otherwise nothing changed.

“I didn't see anything,” Alfie said.

“You wouldn't,” Chloe said. But the others all agreed they had seen nothing either.

Mrs Nuffink shook her head sadly. “You'll never pass your SATS at this rate,” she said. “Special Agent Training Standards are very important, and you need to get Level 3 this year. Now—one frame at a time then.”

This time, they did see it. On one frame there was nothing, then on the next a boy was clearly in view. He was only in three frames. In the first, he approached the front of the house. In the second he threw a letter towards

the door. In the third, Alfie could see that the letter was attached to a tiny model helicopter that flew it straight into the open letterbox. He could also see that the boy was on a skateboard. Flames erupted from the rocket
motors on the back of the board as the boy whizzed past.

By the fourth frame he was gone.

“You see?” Mrs Nuffink said. “You just have to pay attention. Now then—any questions about that?”

Beth's hand shot up. “Yes, Miss. Where did he get that skateboard?”

“How was your first day, Alfie?” Miss Jones asked as she dismissed Class 3D at the end of the afternoon.

“I like the other children in Class 3D,” Alfie said, though he was sure that Chloe didn't like him very much. “But some of the lessons are a bit strange.”

“You'll get used to it,” Miss Jones said.
“Probably. See you tomorrow. Oh, and you have PE in the afternoon, so don't forget to bring in your towel, your trainers, and your bullet-proof vest.”

Mum wanted to know if Alfie needed any help with his homework. He told her he could manage, thanks, but he needed a bullet-proof vest for PE the next day.

“Funny boy,” Mum said, and ruffled Alfie's hair.

“It's an odd school,” Alfie told his parents as they sat down for tea.

“You've only been there a day,” Dad said. “It's bound to seem a bit strange.” “I suppose.” But Alfie wasn't sure. “Do you
think they have special schools where the children of secret agents and spies and people like that go?” he asked.

“To keep them safe from the enemy?” Dad said. “And teach them all the secret stuff they might need to know to survive in the dangerous undercover world of international espionage?”

“Well, yes.”

Alfie's dad paused. “I doubt it,” he said.

“But if we hear of a school like that,” Mum said, “we'll be sure to put your name down for it.” And she winked at Dad, thinking that Alfie couldn't see her.

“For my homework,” Alfie said slowly, “I have to draw up a plan for infiltrating a secret enemy military base, sabotaging the tracking
system, stealing some vital plans and escaping through the minefield. Before the guard dogs get me.”

“That's nice,” Mum said.

“Good morning, Mrs Prendergast,” Alfie called as he walked past the old lady's cottage the next morning.

Mrs Prendergast stood in the garden holding a tray with a teapot and milk jug on it. As she turned and waved to Alfie he just caught sight of a tall man in dark overalls and sunglasses disappearing into the bushes behind her. The man was holding a mug.

If Mrs Prendergast called back to Alfie, he didn't hear. It sounded like a rocket was fast approaching, as a swirl of smoke raced
towards him. He hurried to the side of the road to let Beth shoot past.

She skidded and screeched to a halt just past Alfie and he ran to catch her up. She wasn't wearing roller skates today, but was on a skateboard like the boy had on the surveillance video.

“I thought it looked neat, so I made this one last night,” she said.

“Didn't you do your homework?”

Beth grinned. “Chips did it for me.”

“Is he your brother?” Alfie wondered.

“No, silly. He's my computer. Do you have a computer?”

Alfie shook his head. “Dad lets me use his if I need to. I don't even have a games console.”

“Don't tell Chloe,” Beth said. “She has all the latest kit. She's got a Playstation 7, a Z-Box, a Wii Mark 9, and the new Omni-Processing Decryptotron. Lucky thing.” Beth adjusted her helmet strap. “See you.” And in a blur of speed and a curl of smoke, she was gone.

Alfie passed three more men in dark
overalls hiding in the hedges outside the school. He pretended not to notice them as they whispered and murmured into radio handsets and drank tea. Sergeant Custer opened the gates for Alfie and snapped a neat salute.

“Dad says you can come and play after school one day if you want,” Jack told Alfie as soon as he got into the classroom. “Once you've been positively vetted, of course. There's a form you need to fill in.”

Miss Jones arrived before Alfie could reply. “There's a special assembly this morning,” she announced. “Mr Trenchard has some important information.”

They went to the school hall but Mr Trenchard
Agent Alfie 19/6/08 14:09 Page 81 told them he didn't know who they were or why they were there, and could they all please go away and leave him in peace.

“Ah, no, hang on a minute,” Mr Trenchard's voice boomed down the main corridor as they left.

No one seemed at all surprised by this, but simply turned round and trooped back into the hall.

“Right, good,” Mr Trenchard said. He was holding a piece of paper and staring at it over the top of his spectacles. He stood at a lectern on the stage at the end of the hall. The other teachers sat on chairs behind him. “Important information here. Everyone pay attention.”

“We're lucky he can remember how to read,” Sam said as he edged his wheelchair
into the gap between Alfie and Harry.

“Now,” Mr Trenchard was saying, “we all know that SPUD has been trying to infiltrate the Service and get hold of our advanced technology.” He paused and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Do we know that? Yes, I suppose we do. Might have slipped our minds but yes, indeed.” He cleared his throat and went on: “Now, those boffins at the Government Inventing Taskforce…”

“GIT!” someone shouted from halfway down the hall.

“Absolutely,” Mr Trenchard agreed. “Those boffins at GIT have got a spy satellite in a spot of bother up in orbit. Or rather, out of orbit.” He paused to check his sheet of notes. “That is to say, it crashed to earth. Yesterday. And SPUD would

like nothing better than to get their hands on it.”

“Why is that?” the Major asked.

“Because it's secret, that's why.”

The Major nodded. “I see.” His chair lurched precariously to the side as one of its legs fell off.

“Now the GIT chappies did manage to arrange for their satellite to crash just about…

here.” Mr Trenchard frowned and re-checked his notes. “Well, not
here
exactly, in this hall, but somewhere in the local area. So it's up to us to recover it before SPUD agents move in and find it.”

“Terrific,” Jack whispered. “A real mission at last.”

“Could be dangerous,” Harry said quietly.

Jack nodded excitedly. “I know!”

“Each class will be given a different area to search,” Mr Trenchard said. “If the satellite turns out to be in your area, your task is to recover it and bring it back here at once. Now, any questions?”

“What's it called?” a tall boy near the front asked.

“Apparently it's called Nigel,” Mr Trenchard said. “Oh, no, hang on—that's the man who sent me this email. Who'd call a satellite by a person's name? What a silly idea.” He inspected the sheet more closely. “Ah, here we are. It's actually our new Remote Orbital Satellite Information Equipment. Or ROSIE, for short. Any more questions?”

Mr Cryption cleared his throat, and asked: “Flammable geography rewind heart-shaped cashflow butter antelopes?”

Mr Trenchard nodded. “Very good question. The answer, without a shadow of doubt, is
Wednesday
. Now then, everyone back to your classrooms where your teachers will handle your mission briefings.”

He had almost finished speaking when Miss Fortune leaped from her chair, clenched her fists, and with a cry of “Geronimo!” threw herself off the stage into the unsuspecting audience. The hall cleared very quickly.

There were groans of disappointment when Miss Jones told Class 3D that the Upper School would be doing most of the work to find the satellite.

“But we've got PE this afternoon,” Harry complained. “Can't we look for it then?”

“Well, there's nothing to stop you, although the Chaplain would have to agree.” Miss Jones clapped her hands together. “But first we have double Science. I'd like you to
carry on with your projects, please. Alfie—you can help Beth.”

The other children in Class 3D were attaching wires to light bulbs and batteries and buzzers. The lights lit and the buzzers buzzed. But Beth was working on something rather more complicated.

She tipped a mass of wires and cables and circuits and electrical components out of a shoebox and started to plug them all together.

“What are we making?” Alfie asked as he held a wire for her.

“It was going to be a machine to tell you when your toast is done,” Beth said. “When it's ready, a buzzer sounds and a light comes on. Miss Jones said we had to build something with buzzers and lights.”

“Why not just use a toaster?” Alfie asked. “The toast pops up when it's done.”

“Because it doesn't flash and buzz,” Beth pointed out. “Anyway, I'm changing it. It's not going to be anything to do with toast.”

“Then what is it?” Alfie asked. But when he saw Beth's wide grin, he guessed: “It's a satellite detector, isn't it?”

“Don't tell Miss Jones,” Beth said quietly. “Or the Chaplain. We'll test it in PE.”

“Won't the Chaplain notice?” Alfie asked.

“We'll have to hide it. Though it will be a bit big. And it will only detect the satellite when it's very close, so we need to make it portable.”

“Too big and heavy to carry?”

Beth nodded.

Looking at the device that was starting to take shape, Alfie had an idea. “Why don't we build it into Sam's wheelchair?”

If the Chaplain noticed that Sam's wheelchair now had various wires and attachments added, along with a tall radio aerial, he didn't mention it. He was probably too busy talking about how children today had it easy and it
was never like this in Bomber Command.

“I thought you were a fighter pilot not a bomber, sir?” Harry said.

“That too,” the Chaplain barked. “Intrepid pilot. Went on a hundred and three sorties in one month alone. Survived 97 of them. Jerry never knew what was going to happen to him next, I can tell you.”

“Jerry?” Alfie said.

“My co-pilot, Jerry Atkins,” the Chaplain explained. “Right then, today I've arranged a short assault course for you.”

Several people groaned.

“It won't be difficult,” the Chaplain went on. “Just twice round the field, then climb over those bales of hay over there. It'll make men of you.”

“I don't want to be a man,” Alice said.

The Chaplain peered at her. “Ah, yes. People then. Oh,” he remembered, “and you'll have to crawl under that wire mesh over there.”

“Doesn't sound too bad,” Alfie whispered to Jack.

“Avoiding the machine gun fire,” the Chaplain continued. “Then it's a quick swing over the pond on the rope I've attached to that overhanging branch.”

“Well, at least that should be all right,” Jack said.

“Being careful not to fall in and get eaten by the hundred or so piranha fish I've put in the pond.”

As Alfie and the others watched, a duck flew down towards the pond. It hovered
just above the water before landing, and gave out a contented quack. Then a blue lightning bolt of electricity zapped up and hit the duck, which fell lifeless into the water.

“And the electric eel,” the Chaplain went on. He hesitated as he saw Class 3D was looking past him, their mouths open. “Problem?”

The skeleton of a dead duck was tossed out of the pond and landed on the grass nearby.

“Good,” said the Chaplain. “Right—off you go then.”

Sam was allowed to whiz round the course in his wheelchair, since he couldn't crawl under the mesh or swing on the rope.

Beth's satellite detector bleeped and booped as he moved.

Alfie and Beth kept close to Sam. “Any sign of it yet?” asked Alfie.

“Nothing so far.” Sam waited while Beth and Alfie ducked under the mesh and crawled quickly through. The ground exploded round them.

“See if you can move out a bit,” Alfie suggested. “Cover a bigger area.”

After they'd swung successfully over the pond, Alfie turned to Beth. “How close does the detector need to be to find the satellite?”

Beth sighed. “It's not easy to get long range with a portable, battery-powered detector you know.”

“How close?”

“About a metre.”

Alfie frowned. “But that means Sam will have to run over it.”

“Maybe.” Beth looked a bit embarrassed.

“Wouldn't he see it first?”

“Maybe,” she said again.

As he watched Sam whizzing back and forth across the playground at twenty miles an hour, Alfie wasn't sure that Beth's detector was going to be the best way to find the satellite after all.