Blackout (10 page)

Shakespeare was gaining. The wheelchair engine had stalled and the chair was falling a little too fast. Most cats weren't aware of Newton's law of gravity. They knew that if they fell out of a window they'd go downwards. And it annoyed them that birds could go upwards. Shakespeare's eyes were watering. Wind billowed into his cheeks, his face ballooning like a Cheshire cat. London was laid out below, the river snaking like the start of
EastEnders
. He tilted his body and started swooping downwards, a feline missile in search of its target.

Sophie was panicking. The ground was getting closer and the odds of a safe landing were remote. Shakespeare swooped by and Sophie screamed. ‘I think he might be dead,'
she yelled, her eyes bulging and her hair billowing. ‘And I'm too young to die!
Help!
'

Flying squirrels are born with flaps of skin. That means, for them, it's normal to launch off trees and glide to the forest floor. Shakespeare had had exactly ninety seconds of practice as he swooped towards the wheelchair, attempting to dock. He recognized the London Eye below. And the Houses of Parliament. He was low enough to notice that London's roads were busy.
Typical London
, thought the cat.
Maybe the old man's right. Maybe there are too many people rushing around
.

Shakespeare zoomed past Sophie, yowling in frustration as he failed to make contact.

He lowered his left legs and turned for another go. Head down was fast. Head up was slower. He dive-bombed the chair, head down, pulling up at the last second, and landed, bat-like, clinging to the back of the chair, legs spread out behind him to cause enough drag to slow the wheelchair's fall.

Sophie looked delighted and terrified at the same time. ‘Now what?' she yelled, her voice trailing away.

Shakespeare had a sinking feeling. He assessed
the situation and there was only one solution. He noticed people pointing upwards, cameras flashing as the makeshift glider plunged towards the capital city.
We're sure to get millions of hits on YouTube
, he thought.
Roads are full. People everywhere. There's only one solution. Water isn't my biggest fear. My biggest fear is losing the little girl I love the most in the entire world
. The River Thames sparkled below.
This calls for a splash landing!

Sophie was squealing. The river was getting
closer and the winged wheelchair was descending too steeply. ‘Tower Bridge is getting closer and we're nosediving straight for it. What are we going to doooo?' yelled the little girl. ‘You can't swim! And what about the old man? He's strapped in. When this hits the water, it'll sink, taking him with it.'

Shakespeare felt calm.
The glider is going to hit the bridge. Guaranteed. If we're aboard when it hits the bridge, we'll all be dead. Guaranteed
.

The old man's eyes flickered open and his grip tightened round Sophie. ‘I'm so sorry, little girl,' he said. ‘This wasn't supposed to happen. We were just trying to slow the world down, so your generation could spend time playing outside.'

‘What, learning to swim!' yelled Sophie, jabbing her finger at the grey Thames. ‘It's a bit late for explanations. We need to get you out of this chair before we hit the …'

Shakespeare knew about the word ‘sacrifice' and he felt calm.
Lives left? Nil
. It was a now-or-never moment.
Rule number one!

Sophie's hands were raised in anticipation of hitting the bridge. He slammed a paw on the belt buckle and it sprang open. He stuck one
claw into the old man's hand and one into Sophie's and extended to full range, raking them across their skin.
Sorry, folks!

Both passengers screamed and let go, falling from the wheelchair and plummeting into the river.

Less
than a second later the wheelchair slammed against the bridge. A thousand camera phones clicked, recording the crunching and scraping of metal. There was an agonizing screech as the chair slid down the wall and splashed into the water.

‘One
million hits in less than a week! That, Agent Pusskins, is quite an achievement.'

Shakespeare watched the video one more time, panic rising in his tummy. He watched the wobbly footage of the old man and his beloved little girl plunging into the water. Their heads bobbed up, Sophie cupping the old man's chin in her hand, her bronze lifesaving skills coming into use. The footage continued, focusing on the humans. Whoever had recorded the video had thought it best to commentate rather than jump in and help. ‘Splash landing, dude,' said an American voice.

The camera phone quickly zoomed to the wreckage, the winged wheelchair sinking fast, and then back to the struggling swimmers. A boat had arrived and Sophie was being hauled
aboard. ‘Women and children first, man,' noted the commentator. ‘And he must be her grand-pappy,' he continued as the old man's limp body was dragged from the water.

Shakespeare swallowed his panic, allowing pride to surface.
I'm not on camera
, he purred. He remembered the moment – the water swallowing him up. He'd heard of doggy paddle.
I guess this must be pussy paddle
, he thought. His legs were kicking hard. His mission had been accomplished. As he hit the water, he knew Sophie was going to be OK.
If I could survive, it would be a bonus
.

And, as a Spy Cat, I've learnt fast
. His body had hit the water with some force.
I had the wind knocked out of me, for sure. But I wasn't going to give up
. He remembered Lara telling him a Spy Cat never gives up!
So I kicked harder than ever. But nobody saw a soggy cat. All the attention was on the people. The rescue boat made the water extra choppy
. Shakespeare gulped as he remembered going under again.
I thought it would be my final time
.

The Internet movie continued and his purring grew louder as he watched Sophie struggle to her feet and point at the water. She stood on
the side of the boat, shouting frantically, jabbing her finger at the Thames. The commentator got excited. ‘There might be another body,' he said hopefully. His lens scanned the grey water and he picked out a speck of ginger. ‘OMG, man, it's a cat.'

It certainly is
, thought Shakespeare, puffing his chest with pride and sitting tall for an ear stroke.
My little girl and me. We're a team
.

He
watched as his frantic body was pulled out by a net and he was reunited with the squealing little girl.

Wet cat, wet girl, happy ending!

‘Of course,' said Professor Cortex, tearing his gaze away from the computer screen, ‘the science was actually quite simple. The Past Master, or “Eddie” as he now likes to be called, had worked on thermodynamics after the Second World War. He was way ahead of his time.'

‘What are those thermal dynamics things?' asked Ollie.

‘Thermodynamics,' repeated the professor, slowly and carefully. ‘Diamond is a form of carbon,' he began, the science sparking him to life. ‘Everybody knows that it oxidizes in air if heated to over seven hundred degrees Celsius.' He chuckled as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. He ploughed on, failing to notice the children's eyes glazing over. ‘But what Eddie had rather cleverly noted is that, in the
absence
of oxygen, diamonds can be heated up to about three thousand degrees Celsius, which, let me tell you, is very hot indeed.'

I know
, thought Shakespeare, licking a bald patch where his fur had singed away.

‘This,
you see, is at the limit of current scientific knowledge,' smiled the professor, peering at the children over the top of his spectacles. ‘And that's where I like to be. Pushing the boundaries and all that.'

‘Hang on, Prof,' snorted Ben. ‘While the Past Master was experimenting on the edges of science, you were inventing a chocolate book.'

‘Yes, well,' stammered the scientist. ‘I'll admit that wasn't my finest hour. But the flying catsuit turned out all right, didn't it, Agent CAT? Anyway, Eddie had cottoned on to the fact that he could superheat the diamonds and use them to power a laser, or series of lasers …'

‘That he would use to shoot down all the satellites that cover Europe …' continued Ben.

‘Plunging us back into what he and his team call “the good old days”. I've read his notes. Quite fascinating. They called it a “time machine”. His plan was to go back to 1950
BC
.'

‘
BC
?' asked Ollie.

‘Before Computers,' grinned the professor. ‘When the world was simpler and the pace of change a little slower.'

‘No Internet,' gasped Ollie. ‘That'd be a disaster.'

‘If
his plan had worked, the world would certainly be a different place,' nodded the professor. ‘Not necessarily any better or worse. Just different.'

Shakespeare had already pieced most of the adventure together, but two questions had been preying on his mind. He took a pencil in his mouth and approached the laptop. He clicked on Word and typed, ‘why the shard?'

‘Presumably,' nodded Professor Cortex, ‘because it was already the highest place in Europe, he was closer to the sky.'

‘Shard is xpensiv. He got money. Where from?' came the letters on the screen.

‘That, Agent CAT, is a very good question. The police report indicates that, although his gang stole diamonds, they didn't ever sell any to fund their plan. Instead he had persuaded his followers, of which there were tens of thousands of old people, to donate their winter-fuel allowance to the cause. So he had millions at his disposal. He'd recruited followers from old folks' homes across the country. Some of them were desperate to go back to 1950 and giving up their winter-fuel payment was a small price to pay.'

‘Just
one more question,' said Ben. ‘What's happened to Eddie and his team? I mean, they're not actually evil as such. They didn't want to hurt anyone. They actually thought their plan would be good for everyone.'

‘It's a difficult one for the police,' agreed the professor. ‘Stealing is most definitely a crime,' he said seriously. ‘But, as you say, their reasons were fairly innocent.'

‘What happened to the diamonds?' asked Sophie.

‘They were returned to their rightful owners. Eddie made sure that hardly any of the old folks were actually involved in stealing diamonds, and the six of them that were have received what the courts call “community service”. One hundred hours each. They've got to go into primary schools and talk to the children about “the good old days”. You know, how life was different before computers and fast cars and ready meals.'

‘Crikey,' said Sophie, ‘that's like an actual
living
history lesson.'

The professor was beaming. ‘And do you know what? The children are loving it. They're learning such a lot. And the old people are enjoying it too!'

‘What
about Eddie? He was the ringleader,' asked Ben. ‘Is he in prison? I mean, he did some bad stuff. Didn't he?'

The professor looked around at the puzzled faces, each trying to work out if Eddie had actually done anything really terrible. ‘He is doing a short stint in prison,' sighed the scientist. ‘He planned all the diamond robberies and he really shouldn't have put Sophie's life in danger.'

The crowd nodded while the professor chewed the end of his spectacles. ‘Although it's interesting that the police weren't sure what to charge him with. There's no law against inventing a flying wheelchair. The best they could do was charge him with criminal damage for shooting down the satellites, plus five diamond robberies and being in charge of a flying wheelchair without a pilot's licence.'

‘I'm sure he'll be on his best behaviour and be out in a little while,' smiled Sophie. ‘He held on to me ever so tightly.'

‘Apparently he's working in the prison workshops, with the younger inmates, on a jet-powered mobility scooter. It seems that popping to the shops may soon be much quicker!'

‘Coolio,'
beamed Ollie, revving his hands like a motorbike. ‘The wheelchairs could do wheelies. Maybe they could do a Fogeys' Formula One?'

‘And,' noted the professor, ‘we all owe a huge debt to the new cat on the block. If it wasn't for Agent CAT here, there would have been nobody to save the day.' He shuddered as he recalled Sophie shooting off into the London sky. ‘Things could have turned out very badly indeed.'

‘He's such a perfect puss,' said Sophie, squeezing her cat in her arms, her love spilling over into a silly scrunched-up face.

‘You're a hero, Agent CAT,' agreed the professor. ‘In fact, “Classified Animal
Trainee
” doesn't seem right any more. I mean, you are now a fully fledged qualified spy.'

Star and Spud wagged like mad. ‘Welcome to the club,' yapped Spud.

‘Proud to have you aboard, Agent CAT,' agreed Star. ‘May you have many more successful missions.'

Shakespeare was busy thinking up a possible new name.
Classified Animal Spy. CAS? Or how about CAP? Classified Animal Puss. CAS is probably better. Or, if James Bond is 007, how about 00CAT?

‘So,' continued Professor Cortex, ‘I've got a more appropriate name for you.'

Agent CAT held his breath, his collar and eyes blinking at the professor.

‘I think we should call you … “Spy Cat”.'