Storm Chaser Read online

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  You don’t tend to see many ‘spy pets’ because, basically, they’re undercover. A few bizarre animals crop up on the internet. Surfing dogs, trampolining cats, that kind of thing. I think I might even have seen a baby monkey riding on a pig? But they’re not ‘spies’. Because, like I said, spies are so secret that you never see them doing anything out of the ordinary.

  But I thought I’d set you a challenge. Remember, just because you don’t see spy pets doesn’t mean they’re not there. So, be alert. Keep your eyes peeled. In fact, be a bit of a spy yourself. If you see your pet doing anything unusual, send me a pic and I’ll set up a classified file of ‘spy pets’.

  [email protected]

  Contents

  1. Ken’s Invention

  2. Hoody v. Doggie

  3. Hot Stuff

  4. The Cloud Maker

  5. Secret Snot

  6. Feeling Flushed

  7. Shady Dealings

  8. The Delivery

  9. Under Pressure

  10. Dirty Washing

  11. Prison

  12. Winging It

  13. Spy-jacked

  14. Chicken Run

  15. ‘Whoooof’

  16. Hot Dog

  17. Unfinished Business

  18. Playing Ketchup

  19. The Price of Sunshine

  Books by Andrew Cope

  Spy Dog series in reading order

  SPY DOG

  CAPTURED!

  UNLEASHED!

  SUPERBRAIN

  ROCKET RIDER

  SECRET SANTA

  TEACHER’S PET

  ROLLERCOASTER!

  BRAINWASHED

  MUMMY MADNESS

  STORM CHASER

  Spy Pups series in reading order

  TREASURE QUEST

  PRISON BREAK

  CIRCUS ACT

  DANGER ISLAND

  SURVIVAL CAMP

  Spy Cat series in reading order

  SUMMER SHOCKER!

  BLACKOUT!

  SPY DOG JOKE BOOK

  For Martha and Henry: thanks for making Mondays special.

  1. Ken’s Invention

  Fifty-five years, three months and two days ago …

  Even by old-fashioned standards, Mr Dewitt was old-fashioned. He’d risen to head teacher by insisting things were done the right way. His way. It was a very simple system. He would write on the blackboard, in exaggerated loopy handwriting, and the children would copy it down. Facts mostly. And if it wasn’t done properly then it had to be done all over again. ‘Dewitt Again’ made sure of that.

  6D smelt of egg. In the winter the smell of egg was overpowering. In the summer the stench was even worse. Mr Dewitt ate egg-and-cress sandwiches for his elevenses, egg-and-cress sandwiches for his dinner and egg-and-cress sandwiches if he needed a snack in-between times. It would be fair to say that Mr Dewitt liked egg. He also had a plentiful supply. Every morning for the past fifty years, the headmaster had wandered down to the chicken shed at the bottom of his garden, returning shortly afterwards with half a dozen freshly laid eggs. Every single day. Mr Dewitt knew a thing or two about chickens. In fact, he considered himself to be a bit of an ‘egg-spert’.

  In his classes there were very few questions and absolutely no nonsense. If they weren’t copying things from the board, the general rule was that the children worked in silence. And if they were copying things from the board, the general rule was that the children worked in silence too. Silence ruled while he wandered between the pupils, shoes creaking, occasionally walloping his ruler on to the desk if a child appeared to be slacking.

  Which is why he loved his two top students, Maximus and Kenneth. No ruler was required. In a lifetime of teaching, he had never known ten-year-olds with such keen minds; brain-boxes that soaked up information. For him, Maximus and Kenneth were proof that copying from the board was the way forward. After all, if it worked for them, then it should work for everyone. Even better, the boys seemed to spur each other on, both trying to be top of the class. They excelled across the board – if you discounted sport, that is; they preferred to exercise their brains instead. Maximus was slightly chubby and insisted on keeping his white lab coat on, even in PE. He’d recently received a football in the face and his spectacles were held together with a sticking plaster provided by matron. Kenneth, on the other hand, was tall and gangly. Although he looked built for long-distance running, he often struggled to coordinate his limbs and found himself spreadeagled on the track. He was a running joke.

  But what the boys lacked in PE, they made up for in mathematics and science. And here they were, about to demonstrate their skills at the esteemed end-of-year head-to-head ‘show-and-tell’. Mr Dewitt believed in competition. He’d drummed it into the children that taking part was for wimps. It was the winning that mattered. Kenneth and Maximus had spent the entire Year 5 working on their own top-secret science project that they were about to demonstrate to the class.

  A slightly nervous Kenneth was up first. ‘Ah-hem,’ he began, clearing his throat. There followed a long pause. Everything about Kenneth was long. His long, slender fingers led to overgrown, yellowing fingernails that tapped impatiently on everything he touched. A slightly crooked nose seemed to protrude from the middle of his pimpled forehead and continue down to a thin, pointy chin. Even his own mother probably wouldn’t have considered him a ‘looker’, even if she had really bad eyesight. His nostrils flared with every breath, accompanied by a high-pitched whistling as the air was sucked all the way up. A steady stream of snot continually oozed out; only to be licked from his top lip by a long, lizard-like tongue.

  ‘Thank you, sir, for allowing me to address the class,’ he blurted at last.

  Mr Dewitt nodded. ‘Get on with it, laddie,’ he said. ‘It’s sports day, so we all want to be outside.’ In other words, Mr Dewitt wanted to be outside.

  ‘Err … Yes, sir. As you can see, I have written a few ideas on the board behind me.’

  Forty children gasped at the series of diagrams and equations that filled the entire blackboard. All looked completely bemused, except young Maximus, who sat nodding appreciatively. Chemical imbalances in the barometric pressure of the atmosphere. Impressive. He knew the bar was set high.

  ‘I have been investigating the atmosphere,’ announced Kenneth. He turned to an object on Mr Dewitt’s desk and whipped off the tea towel, revealing a small metal dish with an antenna. ‘This is my Climacta-sphere 1960.’ Mr Dewitt’s left eye twitched: he didn’t like surprises. Unless he had agreed to them first, of course.

  Kenneth was encouraged to hear someone stifle a ‘Golly gosh’. He continued with renewed confidence.

  ‘The Climacta-sphere 1960 shoots particles into the sky.’ He paused for effect, eyes darting around the room. ‘And I have found a secret ingredient that has the power to change the weather.’

  There was an audible ‘Wow!’ among Kenneth’s classmates. The headmaster twitched again. Emily’s hand shot up. Mr Dewitt trusted Emily to ask a good question, so he nodded approvingly.

  ‘Wowee! So you can create sunshine!’ she beamed. ‘You can make it so we don’t have dreary grey days?’

  There was a pause as Kenneth’s feet shifted awkwardly and he looked away. ‘My experiments are in the early stages,’ he mumbled through his nose. ‘At the moment, I can create the opposite. As you know, my father owns a chicken farm and I’ve harnessed the power of chicken waste to create clouds.’ He extended a bony finger, pointing at the left-hand side of the board. ‘This is how it works.’

  His audience looked on, goggle-eyed at the jigsaw of chalked numbers and letters. ‘Small scale at the moment,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘You might have noticed, I’ve managed to create a cloud at hom
e?’

  Forty pairs of eyes grew wider still as they tried to picture the eerie farm on the hill above the town. It sure was dark and thundery up there. Come to think of it, the farm was almost always hidden behind a cloud these days. Emily’s hand shot up once more. She got the nod. ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘What’s the point of dark, grey clouds when you could have nice blue sky?’

  Kenneth Soop’s mouth opened but no words came out. He was devastated. Emily – wonderful Emily, the light of his life, the girl he admired from afar – didn’t get it. What’s more, she was putting the boot into his invention. Emily didn’t like it … His droopy shoulders slumped and his long nose pointed to the floor as he heard the other children mumbling in agreement. Kenneth was only ten years old but he already knew he was different. He loved darkness and clouds. He’d recently experimented with adding more of his secret formula and his hilltop farm had enjoyed thunder and lightning for a whole week. He’d sat in his bedroom gazing through the storm at the sunny town below and had never felt happier. He just didn’t understand why everyone else seemed to like gloriously hot, sunny days. For Kenneth, grey was the new blue.

  ‘A jolly good effort,’ congratulated Mr Dewitt, not sounding particularly jolly. ‘A secret ingredient that changes the weather is, indeed, of considerable scientific importance. Maybe just needs a little refinement before it’s ready to go,’ he barked, with a twitch.

  Young Kenneth tried not to sag on the outside but part of him was shrivelling on the inside. His classmates didn’t get it. Mr Dewitt didn’t get it. He blinked back hot tears and the urge to run and hide. One day, he vowed, everyone would realize just how valuable a dark cloud could be.

  ‘Next up,’ prompted the head teacher, nodding to the ten-year-old in a white lab coat, ‘young Maximus Cortex.’

  2. Hoody v. Doggie

  Today …

  It was far too hot for wearing a hoody, but the boy’s hood was up and his trousers were slung impossibly low, revealing the make of his grubby pink boxer shorts as he sped around the BMX track. Brickfield Town park was just around the corner from the local primary school and kids of all ages enjoyed hurtling around the bends and flying over the dirt humps. Most of the time.

  Children spluttered as the hoody tore past, kicking choking plumes of dust in their faces and scattering the other bikes from the track. He was much bigger than anyone else and obviously liked to throw his weight around. Ollie Cook looked on nervously. It was his first time at the track and he’d been looking forward to trying out his brand new birthday present: a shiny red dirt-bike complete with front and rear stunt pegs. The jumps looked a lot bigger close up, and looking at the hoody he didn’t feel quite so confident any more.

  Ollie wasn’t yet old enough to go to the park by himself. Sometimes his big brother Ben would let him tag along, but today he was having trials for the area football team. His older sister Sophie would have taken him if she could, but she’d been invited to go to the cinema for a friend’s birthday treat. Dad had driven Ben to the trials and Mum was working this afternoon; she was doing an extra shift at the hospital. Ollie didn’t mind, though, because he had Lara, otherwise known as GM451, the world’s number one retired Spy Dog. Lara was like a best friend, parent and sister rolled into one. Shakespeare, the Cook family’s pet cat would have come too but he was currently being put through his paces with the SAS (Special Animal Service) refining his survival skills – having already used up the majority of his nine lives. And of course there were Spud and Star, Lara’s pups, who were always up for a bit of adventure …

  The pups sat on top of the slide overlooking the track, giving them a grandstand view. The black one with a slightly podgy tummy gave a low growl and got to his paws. ‘That boy in the hoody is doing his best to get in everyone’s way. He’s going to cause an accident …’

  ‘Relax, bro,’ soothed his sister, ‘we’ve got it covered. Besides, technically it wouldn’t be an accident if it was deliberate.’ Star smiled; even though she could only bark English, she was pretty good with words. Star was slightly taller than her brother and had inherited her mother’s black and white patches. Spud sat back down. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the village ice-cream van approaching, which immediately made him cheer up a bit. Hmmm … Where’s Mum? With a bit of luck she’d have a few spare pennies for emergencies. Like needing an ice cream.

  Ollie gripped his handlebars and pushed off with a slight wobble. A little shakily, he managed to get his pedals turning and headed for the next jump. He had a good line and knew that he could do it if he really concentrated. ‘Here goes,’ he said aloud to himself as he reached the top of the slope, before plummeting down to gather speed. Faster and faster he went, gritting his teeth as the wind made his eyes water. Ollie was just about to pull the handlebars towards him on the cusp of the jump, when the hoody careered past, knocking him off-balance and making him veer wildly to the left.

  ‘Aaaaargh!’ screamed Ollie, holding on for all he was worth and struggling to keep his balance. His brand-new bike bucked like a wild horse as his front tyre hit a pothole, throwing its rider, who somersaulted through the air. Spud and Star were already on their way, skidding on two paws down the slide before hitting the ground running. Ollie turned a full circle in the air and landed flat on his back in the sandpit with an ‘Ooof!’ Star was the first to reach him, and immediately began running through a series of first-aid assessments. As a trained paramedic she automatically checked Ollie’s vital signs: Pulse rate, breathing, temperature, any fractures?

  ‘How’s my bike?’ wheezed Ollie. ‘Is it still shiny?’ Sounds like he’s OK, just a few bumps and scratches. Good job he was wearing a helmet! Star gave him a reassuring lick.

  Spud wandered over to inspect the damage to Ollie’s new bike. The back wheel was still spinning. The front wheel was horribly buckled where it had struck the pothole and there was now a long, jagged scratch on the paintwork. ‘Err … It just needs fixing up a little,’ he barked, hoping to lessen the blow. Ollie sat up gingerly and stared at his bike. He quickly looked away again, trying to blink away the tears.

  The hoody was now positioned back at the start line, slumped over his bike, resting his elbows on the crossbar. This was his track, and everyone needed to remember that. If some kid was daft enough to get in the way, then they got what they deserved. He removed his hood to reveal a round, pink face with chubby red cheeks. His hair was cut short and he gave the impression of being a little too big for his bike. Tufts of hair protruded through the gaps in his cycle helmet, making him look a little like a skunk. Star thought he smelt like one too.

  Spud was on his paws barking furiously at the hoody. He needs to learn some respect! And he needs to pull his trousers up. Grrrrr!

  ‘Wait.’ Star gently placed a restraining paw upon her brother, ‘Look.’ Sidling seemingly out of nowhere a black and white dog pedalled up alongside the big boy on the small bike. Lara removed her full-face helmet with two paws and turned to fix her attention on the hoody. She raised one ear in consternation, the late-afternoon sun shining through a small penny-sized hole. The challenge was clear.

  Lara surveyed the twists and turns of the BMX track and thought it mirrored her life perfectly. She’d had a few ups and down during her time as the world’s first Spy Dog; that was before she had stumbled upon the Cook family. Ollie, Sophie and Ben had put her on the right path, and made her realize how special it was to be part of a family. She still did her bit to save the world, but these days the children always came first. If they ever needed a helping paw, then Lara would be there. Like now, for instance …

  The skunk-boy had never seen a dog on a bike before, and had certainly never raced one. Despite that, he looked the dog up and down and decided she couldn’t be too hard to beat; this mutt was obviously some way past its best. With a smirk he replaced his hood before spitting a large globule of phlegm that landed in the dust just inches from Lara’s paw. Disgusting, thought Lara. I’m going to have to teach
this kid some manners. She replaced her helmet and carefully secured it with her chin strap. Lara turned to signal the start of the lap, but the hoody wasn’t going to wait. He powered down the ramp, sneaking a valuable few metres’ advantage. While her legs weren’t quite as quick as they used to be, Lara’s mind was as sharp as ever. She reacted quickly and rocketed down the ramp in hot pursuit.

  The hoody was clearly heavier than Lara, enabling him to build up plenty of momentum, but he was also wider. If I can just get a bit closer, then I should be able to slipstream his wide bottom. Lara managed to draw in close behind the hoody’s rear wheel, which sheltered her from the air rushing past. I knew Professor Cortex’s astro-physics lessons would come in handy at some point. A steep banking ahead outlined a tight turn. Lara saw her chance. I need to stay low; I might be in with a chance of under-taking him.

  Ollie, Spud and Star watched, fixated by the action developing in front of them. ‘I can’t look,’ whimpered Star. Spud had already covered his eyes with both paws. Ollie wiped the last few tears from his cheeks, ‘GO, LARA!’ he shouted. He knew how special she was – far more valuable than any bike.

  Lara put her head down and steered into the corner, both of them emerging neck and neck. The finish line was in sight. The hoody was sweating profusely and his trousers seemed to be inching lower as he battled against the panting pooch. Both riders hit the next jump simultaneously and sailed into the air; Lara couldn’t resist a stylish flick of her back wheel before they both hit the ground again.

  The hoody was starting to panic now. Lara was edging into the lead, and he was in danger of losing face as well as his trousers. He swerved into the path of the dog, almost barging her off the track. ‘HEY!’ shouted Ollie, who couldn’t believe anyone would stoop so low. Spud and Star exchanged a nervous glance. They knew their Mum could handle herself, but then again, she wasn’t getting any younger …