Spy Dog Unleashed Read online

  Andrew Cope

  SPY DOG UNLEASHED!

  Illustrated by Chris Mould

  PUFFIN

  Contents

  1. A Well-earned Break

  2. A Cunning Plan

  3. A Perfect Catch

  4. The Great Escape

  5. Ready, Steady, Cook

  6. Breaking News

  7. Neighbourhood Watch

  8. A Menacing Mutt

  9. A Canine Crime Wave

  10. Dognapped

  11. Community Service

  12. Identity Fraud

  13. Emergency Action

  14. Visiting Hours

  15. Detective Ben

  16. Paper Poisoning

  17. Dr Who?

  18. Bomb Squad

  19. Crime Time

  20. A Sparkling Performance

  21. A Gem of an Idea

  22. Stress City

  23. Priceless

  Acknowledgements

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  SPY DOG UNLEASHED!

  Andrew Cope lives slap bang in the middle of England, near a wonderful place called Derby. He supports his local footy team, even though they’re rubbish. Three years ago he visited the RSPCA and adopted a cute puppy called Lara. She looks a bit like the dog on the cover and she really does have one sticky-up ear. Andrew suspects she might be a highly trained super spy who has gone undercover as a family pet. He thinks she could be the world’s most top secret spy, which explains why he’s never actually seen her on a mission.

  Books by Andrew Cope

  Spy Dog

  Spy Dog 2

  Spy Dog Unleashed!

  For Gonny and Great-grandad

  1. A Well-earned Break

  Mr Peacock was thoroughly enjoying his holiday. It was great to be away from the stress of work. He was still struggling to switch off but was enjoying getting up early, sitting on his balcony and watching the sun rise.

  He poured himself a coffee and took in a lungful of crisp dawn air. He could see an early-morning waterskier skimming across the lake. He smiled. ‘Someone else who can’t sleep.’

  Even at this distance he could tell the waterskier was excellent. First they expertly twisted and turned, pulling out wide and accelerating through the churning water. Then he watched in awe as the speedboat reached top speed and the skier shot up a ramp, somersaulted in the air and landed perfectly on the water.

  Mr Peacock nodded in admiration as he sipped his coffee. ‘I wish I could do that,’ he sighed. The boat was now speeding towards him. He focused on the skier, who seemed to be waving to someone on the shore.

  Mr Peacock rubbed his eyes. ‘It can’t be,’ he muttered. He stood up and gripped the balcony rail, squinting into the distance. ‘It can’t be, but it is!’

  He reached for his binoculars and fixed them to his eyes. The skier was now in focus and there was no doubt. He lowered the binoculars and took a deep breath before fixing them to his eyes once more. He could clearly see a waterskiing dog! It was weaving back and forth behind the speedboat, then up the next ramp, high into the air … and smack on to the water. He watched the dog wobble a bit before it waved once more to its friend. He was sure the mutt was smiling! He watched as the canine skier blew imaginary kisses to the boat skipper.

  Mr Peacock’s heartbeat had risen and he was beginning to feel the same stress as at work. ‘A waterskiing dog? Am I going mad?’

  He strode into his apartment and shook his wife awake.

  ‘Margaret,’ he hissed. ‘You’ve got to get up. There’s something strange that I want you to see.’

  His wife stirred slowly. Her eyelids opened a fraction.

  ‘Clive,’ she croaked, glancing at the clock, ‘it’s four thirty in the morning. Just because you can’t sleep doesn’t mean you have to wake me.’

  ‘But, Margaret, there’s something important, outside. Come quickly.’

  His wife reluctantly pulled on her dressing gown and followed him out on to the balcony. She had rarely seen her husband so excited. He bounced up and down and pointed to the lake.

  ‘Look, Margaret. Look over there at that waterskier and tell me what you see,’ he gabbled.

  His wife pulled her dressing gown tight against the cold morning air and frowned. She screwed up her eyes, squinting at the dot of a waterskier.

  ‘Here, you’ll need these,’ Mr Peacock said, handing her the binoculars.

  His wife put the binoculars to her sleepy eyes and scanned the lake, searching for the waterskier. She swept across the vast expanse of water until she found him, magnified greatly by the binoculars. Her eyes focused on the boy as he attempted a jump. She watched him land flat on his face and then float in his life jacket while the speedboat circled to pick him up.

  ‘Excellent,’ she murmured. ‘But he does look like he needs a bit more practice.’

  She watched as the skipper heaved the boy back into the boat. There was a black-and-white dog in the boat and Mrs Peacock smiled as it licked the boy enthusiastically.

  Her husband grabbed the binoculars. He watched the boy high-fiving the skipper. Mr Peacock lowered the binoculars.

  ‘But …’ he began, ‘it wasn’t the boy who was skiing. A minute ago it was the … the … thing,’ he said, his voice trailing away.

  ‘What thing, dearest?’ asked his wife, a worried smile fixed on her lips.

  ‘The thing … you know … the dog,’ he said, knowing he sounded ridiculous. ‘It really was.’ His eye twitched like it always did when he was stressed.

  Mrs Peacock was sympathetic. She knew how hard he’d been working before she had persuaded him to take a holiday and she knew that twitch.

  ‘The dog was skiing? Of course it was, dearest,’ she smiled. ‘But we’ve come here for you to rest. I think you need to unwind and try and catch up on some sleep,’ she soothed. Things were obviously worse than she’d imagined. She led him back inside and tucked him up under the duvet. She watched her husband lying there, his twitching eye working overtime.

  He kept muttering to himself, ‘A waterskiing dog …?’

  In the boat, Ben and his dad high-fived again.

  ‘Great effort, mate,’ praised Dad, ‘Not quite as good as Lara yet, but you’re getting there.’

  Lara wagged her tail proudly.

  I agree, she thought, licking Ben affectionately. A bit more practice and you’ll be able to do those tricky jumps. It’s a shame we have to ski so early, but it’s the only time I’m allowed to practise. We don’t want anyone knowing my secret identity. And there’s little chance of anyone seeing us this early in the morning.

  The pet steered the speedboat back to shore where the rest of her family was waiting.

  ‘Brilliant, Lara!’ shouted Sophie as they approached the wooden jetty. ‘You are one amazing pooch!’

  I was pretty good, wasn’t I? thought Lara, wagging her tail vigorously as she climbed out of the speedboat.

  ‘Hey, what about me?’ said Sophie’s older brother. ‘I did pretty well too, don’t you think?’

  Sophie smiled politely. ‘Getting there, Ben,’ she agreed. ‘I don’t know about you skiers but I’m starving. Can we have breakfast now?’

  Lara nodded and wagged enthusiastically. There’s nothing like a bit of early-morning waterskiing to work up an appetite. Mine’s a full English, she thought as the family wandered off to find a cafe. With extra sausages. Don’t you just love holidays?

  2. A Cunning Plan

  Mr Big sat in his prison cell trying to act as if it was just another day. He couldn’t help fidgeting with excitement. Tonight was the night he was going to escape. It was all set for midnight. He sat on his chair and threw a dart at the dartboard. And another, this time much harder. It hit the black-and-white dog in
the picture right between the eyes, and he smiled.

  At nine o’clock the guard did his last patrol and Mr Big heard the familiar clunk as the bolt on the door to his cell slid into place.

  ‘Sweet dreams,’ the guard smirked through the grille. ‘Be a good boy and don’t get up to any mischief. Be seeing you in the morning as usual.’

  ‘You may be surprised,’ murmured Mr Big as the lights went out. He lay and thought about how things had changed since he’d been in prison.

  ‘It’s all that dog’s fault,’ he told himself. ‘It destroyed my wonderful life. Everything I worked so hard for is now gone. I’ve lost my homes, my yacht and my freedom. Spy Dog, they call her. Dead Dog, more like.’

  The master criminal lay on his hard mattress and looked at the luminous dial on his wristwatch. Two hours, fifty-eight minutes and eighteen … seventeen … sixteen seconds to go. Once he was on the outside he would find that dog. Mr Big lay wide-eyed, watching the seconds ticking away and planning his revenge.

  3. A Perfect Catch

  The Cook family was having a fabulous time. Mum had insisted on a proper holiday where nothing could go wrong. Since they had adopted Lara from the RSPCA, the children had got involved in all sorts of adventures so Mum was delighted that, for once, this holiday was going according to plan. Ben had persuaded her that it would be OK to go to the Lake District.

  ‘It’s the most boring place in the world, Mum,’ he’d said, ‘I mean, what trouble could we possibly get into?’

  Mum and Dad were now aware of Lara’s secret identity. Their adopted family pooch had turned out to be a highly trained Spy Dog, the government’s first-ever Licensed Assault and Rescue Animal. In fact, they hadn’t adopted Lara at all – she had chosen them as part of her escape plan from the RSPCA. Her Secret Service owners called her by her code name, GM451, but the family preferred to call her Lara – it was cute and it suited her.

  Mum and Dad relaxed while they watched Lara playing with Ben, Sophie and their little brother Ollie. Lara was joining in with a game of cricket, fielding at silly point. She was now firmly part of the family and they all loved having her around. Everyone was very careful to keep Lara’s special abilities secret. The children knew that if her identity were ever revealed she would have to leave them, so activities like water-skiing were arranged for early morning, when most people were asleep.

  Their game of cricket was played well away from the main group of holidaymakers. Lara was an excellent fielder. Like all dogs, she could catch with her mouth. However, she’d recently discovered that by wearing a baseball mitt she could also catch with her paws and she soon had Sophie out, taking a spectacular diving catch in her left glove.

  How’s that? she howled as she threw the ball into the air in delight. Another result for the marvellous mutt.

  Mum and Dad watched as Lara took her turn at batting. The dog gripped the bat firmly in her mouth and went through a couple of practice strokes.

  I’ve seen cricket on the telly, she thought. I’m sure it can’t be too difficult.

  Ben waited patiently as his dog went through another couple of practice strokes like she’d seen the England cricketers do.

  OK, ready, Lara indicated to Ben the bowler.

  He glanced around to check nobody was watching. There was a couple walking along the path but they were a long way off, so he galloped up to the wicket and released an excellent ball which zinged towards Lara at alarming speed.

  Yikes, a fast one! No wonder they wear helmets.

  The family pet had very little time to react. She instinctively swung the bat and belted the ball back over Ben’s head.

  Looks like a six. Lara held her breath. She had hit the ball too well.

  The family watched in open-mouthed silence as the tennis ball arced through the air towards the couple on the path. At the last moment the man saw the ball coming. He dropped his ice cream and caught the ball. His eye twitched as he looked up and saw the dog, bat in mouth, guilty look on its face.

  Woops! Sorry about your ice cream.

  It was the same dog he’d seen waterskiing earlier that day. Now it was playing cricket!

  ‘Margaret,’ Mr Peacock began, ‘did you see that?’

  ‘Yes, a terrific catch, dearest,’ she smiled. ‘Very well done.’

  ‘No, did you see who hit the ball, Margaret?’ he said pointing to the beach.

  Lara had quickly dropped the bat and Sophie was now standing at the wicket. Lara was digging a hole in the sand, like she thought normal dogs did.

  Just be normal, dig, dig, dig, she thought.

  Mrs Peacock looked down at the beach and saw the bat in Sophie’s hand. ‘Great shot, young lady,’ she shouted, throwing the ball back to the players.

  ‘But it wasn’t the girl, Margaret,’ insisted her husband. ‘It was the … the … thing like last time.’

  He pointed frantically to the digging dog. His wife linked arms and guided her husband back towards the hotel.

  ‘The dog hit a six,’ he explained.

  ‘Of course it did, dearest,’ soothed his wife. ‘Dogs do that, don’t they.’

  Mrs Peacock was determined to make her husband take things easy for the rest of the week.

  4. The Great Escape

  The seconds ticked away until all three of the luminous hands on Mr Big’s watch pointed to midnight. He rose from his bed and tucked his pillow under the blanket so it looked like a sleeping prisoner. He shivered as he strode over to the portrait of the queen hanging on his cell wall. Quickly but silently he took a screwdriver from its hiding place and removed the portrait. The hole in the wall was even darker than his cell. He squeezed through the blackness and felt his way down the hand-made steps before jumping into a wider opening – his ‘tunnel of revenge’. He found the water pipe and tapped on it three times with the screwdriver. He waited impatiently.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ he whispered.

  He heard three taps echoing back up the pipe and knew the coast was clear. Mr Big crawled through the darkness and into the next air vent, before dropping into the prison officers’ changing room.

  ‘This is so easy,’ he whispered, spitting dirt out of his mouth and dusting himself down.

  He struggled out of his filthy prisoner’s clothes and into the neatly folded officer’s uniform that had been conveniently left for him. At that moment the door opened and in strolled two men, dressed smartly in similar officer’s uniforms. Mr Big broke into a huge smile.

  ‘Good to see you, boys,’ he said, slapping them both on the back. ‘And don’t you look fabulous in your new clothes.’

  ‘Thanks, boss,’ grinned the first prisoner, who was as big as an ape. ‘Are you sure this is gonna work?’ he asked nervously

  ‘You’re out of your cells, aren’t you?’ smiled Mr Big. ‘Trust me. Soon the three of us will be on the other side, free as birds. Follow me. And, whatever you do, don’t look worried.’

  The three prisoners walked down the corridor: Mr Big striding confidently and his accomplices following gingerly. The ape-like man was lolloping along, his body almost splitting his uniform. The smaller man scampered beside him, tripping over his trousers, which were too long for his short legs. They heard voices up ahead and Mr Big swung the trio into a laundry room. It was humid and the drone of the washers and dryers made it difficult to hear as some real prison officers went by. Mr Big put his ear to the door, listening hard.

  All three prisoners jumped as a voice piped up from behind them, ‘Yes, officers, what can I do for you?’

  The three criminals turned to look. It was Dave ‘Dirt Bag’ Smith, a fellow prisoner assigned to work in the laundry room. Dirt Bag looked at the uniforms and then at the faces. Something wasn’t quite right. He twigged almost immediately.

  ‘M-Mr B-Big,’ he spluttered, saucer-eyed. ‘And Archie. And Gus. What are you guys doing dressed as prison officers?’

  No answer was required. Dirt Bag’s eyes opened even wider as he realized they were about to
escape. His mind whirred into action. He was serving a life sentence and wanted to escape too.

  ‘Guys,’ he pleaded, ‘take me with you. I want out.’ He looked at their blank faces. ‘I’m beggin’ you, please.’

  Mr Big mulled it over for less than a second. His plan involved only three people. They had only three uniforms. He couldn’t risk it.

  ‘Sorry, Dirt Bag,’ he growled. ‘No can do.’

  ‘I’ll raise the alarm,’ said Dirt Bag defiantly. He knew not to mess with Mr Big, but he was desperate. A life sentence sure was a long time. ‘If I can’t go over the wall, neither can you,’ he gambled.

  Mr Big looked at his watch. He had no more time to waste. If he was to escape tonight, as planned, he needed to move now.

  ‘Then I have no choice,’ he said menacingly. ‘Boys, please clean the Dirt Bag.’

  Gus smiled, his gold teeth glinting, as he grabbed Dirt Bag Dave and expertly hauled him over to a washing machine.

  ‘No. Please, no,’ begged Dirt Bag. ‘I was only joking. I’d never grass you up, really. Have mercy’.

  Mr Big looked puzzled. He didn’t do mercy and, besides, he couldn’t take the chance. He nodded at his two helpers. ‘Do it.’

  Dirt Bag went into the machine. It was a big machine but it was still a tight squeeze and he put up a fight. Finally his kicking legs were stuffed in and the door slammed. Mr Big and his helpers looked at Dirt Bag, scrunched up inside the washing machine. He looked very uncomfortable. They could see his face and a foot jammed against the round window. His pleading cries were muffled.

  ‘What now?’ asked the smaller man. ‘Do we just leave him here?’

  Mr Big shrugged. ‘By the time they find him we’ll be long gone,’ he smiled.

  He took a moment to study his map before the three fake officers straightened their uniforms and boldly strolled out of the laundry room, through the officers’ quarters, and into the prison car park.