Spy Dog Read online

  Children and canines nodded. Star’s tongue hung out in concentration.

  ‘Well, this one creates dark in the light.’

  Star’s tongue hung longer and her doggie brow furrowed as she tried to understand the professor’s logic.

  ‘Found it,’ said the scientist finally, clicking the switch and turning the torch on. It was a lovely sunny day and the professor beamed the torch at the wall. A dark patch appeared, the torch casting a black shadow. ‘Creates darkness. See?’

  He turned the torch on Sophie, beaming it in her face.

  ‘Yikes!’ she yelled. ‘Who switched off the lights?’

  ‘Not sure of its use yet,’ admitted the professor, clipping the torch on to Star’s collar. ‘But I’m sure a use will become clear … or dark … whatever … eventually.’ Star was delighted, beaming her un-torch in her brother’s face.

  And for newly retired canine agents? thought Lara. I don’t want to miss out!

  The professor reached into his case and brought out a small rubber ball. ‘A marble?’ guessed Sophie.

  Lara stretched her neck, allowing Professor Cortex to fix the device to her collar. ‘As you know,’ said Professor Cortex. ‘I have just returned from South America, where I’ve been doing some work with llamas.’

  ‘But what use are llamas, apart from their wool?’ asked Sophie. ‘Spy llamas? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Actually, we’re thinking of using them as guard animals,’ said Professor Cortex. ‘They spit, you know. It comes up from their stomachs.’ He shuddered. ‘Disgusting, smelly stuff. You’d have to be pretty determined to force your way through a herd of spitting llamas.’

  ‘You should try the lunch queue at my school,’ muttered Ben.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Professor Cortex. ‘I discovered that if you mix llama spit with one of my secret formulas, you get an incredibly slippery substance.’

  ‘Like banana skins?’ beamed Ollie.

  ‘Banana skins times a thousand,’ nodded the professor. ‘I’ve invented the most slippery substance known to mankind. And I’ve filled those little rubber balls with it. So, if a baddie attacks, you launch a ball and they’re immediately off balance.’

  The professor looked round at the puzzled faces. ‘Here,’ he said, taking a spare ball from his coat pocket. ‘It works on grass, concrete … any surface.’ The scientist lobbed the ball along the garden path and there was a small puff of yellow smoke as it exploded.

  ‘Look out!’ shouted Mrs Cook as the garden gate swung open, but it was too late; two beefy men had already stepped through, right into the path of the yellow smoke.

  4. Fishy Business

  The first man was short but very, very wide with massive shoulders. The second man was a big-boned giant with a cauliflower face that matched his enormous bashed-up ears. Lara winced. Either of these muscle men would hit the ground very hard indeed if they skidded on the llama spit.

  Professor Cortex winced because he knew what was coming. The first man stepped forward and promptly toppled over like a skittle, making an enormous splash as he landed in the goldfish pond. The second was a step behind – he skidded over and belly-flopped right next to his friend.

  Everyone jumped back from the wall of water that came hurtling their way.

  ‘Help me, Squat!’ bellowed the big-eared giant. ‘I can’t swim,’ he yelled, splashing his arms and gulping slimy water.

  ‘Shut up, Dumbbell! It’s a pond, you idiot,’ spluttered Squat. ‘It’s not deep!’

  Dumbbell heaved himself up before skidding on slimy weed at the bottom of the pond, his feet coming up from under him, and he landed back on Squat.

  ‘GEROFF ME, YOU GREAT LUMP!’ Squat roared.

  Dumbbell hauled himself from the pond, dripping slime. Squat breaststroked his way to the side of the pool and glared at the family.

  Everyone had been frozen to the spot, but now they sprang into action. Mrs Cook ran inside to get some towels and the professor and Mr Cook hurried across to help Dumbbell and Squat. Ben looked at Sophie and stifled a snigger.

  Ollie laughed out loud. ‘Llama spit,’ he said, pointing at the men. ‘Like a thousand banana skins.’

  The men looked a little confused. Dumbbell sniffed a strand of pondweed up his left nostril and pulled one of Dad’s koi carp from his shirt.

  Spud looked at Dumbbell’s green face and big muscles. ‘It’s The Hulk. Don’t make him angry,’ he joked. ‘You won’t like him when he’s angry.’

  ‘Forget about Dumbbell, pups,’ barked Lara. ‘It’s the other one who looks angry!’

  ‘So sorry about that,’ said Mr Cook, holding out his hand to a furious Squat. ‘My wife’s gone to fetch you a towel.’

  Ignoring Mr Cook’s hand, Squat lumbered to his feet and squelched across the garden. He was built like a very short tank. His neck was as thick as his head and Lara figured he was probably as wide as he was tall. Lara raised her hackles, just in case.

  Mr Cook gulped and took a step back. ‘Now, gentlemen, is there something I can help you with?’

  ‘Dumbbell!’ roared Squat, making the giant behind him jump. ‘Leaflets!’

  Dumbbell pulled some slime-smeared pieces of paper from the canvas bag at his side and handed them out.

  ‘Hawk’s Gym,’ said Squat, nodding at the leaflet. ‘Grand opening tonight. Harriet Hawk invites you to –’

  ‘Did you say Harriet Hawk?’ interrupted Professor Cortex. ‘I’ve heard about her. That woman is well on her way to taking over the world!’

  Dumbbell gasped. ‘How did you know tha–OWW!’ He bent to clutch the foot Squat had just stamped on.

  ‘Taking over the world? What do you mean?’ demanded Squat.

  ‘Only that Harriet Hawk has opened gyms all over the country in the last year or so,’ said Professor Cortex.

  ‘Oh. You mean that kind of taking over the world. That’s all right then.’ Squat cleared his throat and continued his sales pitch. ‘Hawk’s Gym. Grand opening tonight. Harriet Hawk invites you to join up and get fit fast!’

  ‘We’ll certainly join,’ said Mrs Cook, hurrying up and handing Squat and Dumbbell a towel each. ‘It’s the least we can do after you both got soaked. What do you think, dear?’

  Mr Cook hesitated.

  ‘We could get rid of that spare tyre of yours in no time,’ said Squat, poking Mr Cook in the belly a bit too hard.

  ‘Are you two personal trainers then?’ asked Mrs Cook.

  ‘No,’ said Dumbbell. ‘We’re – oof!’

  Lara frowned. What had Dumbbell been about to say this time? And why had Squat elbowed him in the belly to shut him up?

  ‘Are you OK, Mr Dumbbell?’ asked Sophie, looking up at the big-eared giant.

  ‘Course he is,’ said Squat, patting Dumbbell’s six-pack. ‘Belly like a board. We personal trainers have to be tough. Don’t we, Dumbbell?’

  ‘Yes, Squat,’ the giant agreed meekly.

  ‘What do you say, dear?’ asked Mrs Cook. ‘Shall we join Hawk’s Gym? It’s just across the field there, next to the school. Practically on our doorstep.’

  ‘All right,’ said Mr Cook reluctantly. ‘We’ll join.’

  ‘See you tonight then,’ said Squat, herding Dumbbell towards the gate. ‘And I’ll make sure you get some very personal training.’

  ‘Can I come too?’ called Ollie.

  ‘No kids,’ said Squat, giving Ollie one last glare over his shoulder before letting the gate slam behind him. ‘Parents only,’ he shouted over his shoulder as he and his mate dripped down the street in search of new recruits.

  ‘They weren’t very nice,’
said Ben.

  ‘No,’ said Mr Cook, rubbing his belly where Squat had poked him too hard. ‘But, like he said, personal trainers have to be tough.’

  Not that tough, thought Lara. There’s something odd about those two knuckleheads. I smell fishy business – and it’s not just our pond! She peered at the leaflet Ollie had dropped. Children might not be allowed, but it doesn’t say anything about dogs. Time for me to ‘get fit fast’ and have a good snoop around Hawk’s Gym while I’m at it!

  5. Brainwashed!

  The press photographer crouched in front of Lara’s treadmill and focused his camera. ‘Cheese!’

  Are you offering? Don’t mind if I do. Lara’s mouth watered at the thought of a thick slice of cheddar on a digestive biscuit. She tried not to dribble as she pounded the running treadmill; flying drool was not a good look for a photograph.

  ‘Could you lean a bit closer to the treadmill, Mrs Hawk?’ asked the photographer.

  From the corner of her eye, Lara saw a face with a hooked, beak-like nose loom up beside her.

  ‘Is that better?’ asked Harriet Hawk, cracking a smile that showed all her teeth.

  Lara shuddered. Harriet Hawk had given her exactly the same smile earlier that evening when she had arrived at the gym with Mr and Mrs Cook.

  ‘Of course Lara can join the gym,’ she had said. ‘The more the merrier. I’ve heard that your dog has had some adventures,’ she cackled. ‘And she’s a local celebrity. Lara has already been in the papers. Oh, how I love publicity.’

  Once they had filled out their enrolment forms, Mr and Mrs Cook had tried out all the gym equipment while Lara had spent the evening doing as much snooping as she could. She had found nothing out of the ordinary except for the door to the basement, which was made of reinforced steel and had a code-operated lock. She had been about to investigate further, when Harriet Hawk had collared her and pushed her on to a running treadmill as a publicity stunt for the newspaper photographer.

  Lara could see the door now, on the far wall, behind the photographer’s head. Nobody installs that kind of security just to protect a bit of cleaning equipment and a pool filter pump. What’s really behind that door, I wonder?

  ‘Can we get your, er, handsome assistants in the picture too?’ asked the photographer.

  ‘Of course,’ said Harriet Hawk, waving Squat and Dumbbell over to join her.

  ‘Perfect,’ said the photographer. ‘Hold still now.’

  Wish I could, Lara thought, pounding the treadmill and trying to suck in her tummy at the same time as the camera flashed. But if I don’t keep moving I’ll fly off the back of this thing!

  ‘All finished, thanks, Mrs Hawk,’ said the photographer. ‘It’ll be in the local paper tomorrow.’

  ‘And on global news the day after,’ she muttered, smiling under her breath. As soon as the photographer turned away, Harriet Hawk switched off her smile and reached for the controls on Lara’s treadmill.

  At last! I really need a breather, Lara panted.

  But Harriet Hawk’s long red nails did not press the Off button; instead they tapped the arrow that increased the treadmill speed. ‘No pain, no gain, mutt!’ she hissed, and let out a shrill, cawing laugh.

  Lara picked up her pace, her chest beginning to heave.

  Squat leant closer to his boss. ‘Have you picked your targets yet, Mrs Hawk?’ he asked, out of the corner of his mouth.

  Targets? Lara’s ears pricked up as she pounded the treadmill.

  Harriet Hawk nodded and held up the gym-membership forms everyone had filled in. ‘There are twenty here who qualify. I’ll go and talk to them while you and Dumbbell get rid of the ones we don’t want.’

  ‘Including this mutt?’ asked Squat, jerking his head at Lara.

  ‘No, she’ll have to stay because I want her owners to stay,’ said Harriet Hawk. ‘They qualify as targets.’

  Mr and Mrs Cook are targets? For what? Lara was so shocked she stopped running, but the treadmill belt kept moving. Her paws flew out from under her and she shot off the back of the treadmill with her bottom in the air.

  Ouch! Carpet burn, she winced as she skidded across the floor on her nose before slamming into a wall with a loud thud. When other gym users looked round to see what the noise was, Lara sprang up with a flourish and did a few stretches. I’m fine! Nothing to look at here!

  Mrs Cook sprinted across to her. ‘Are you all right, Lara?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Cook, no bones broken,’ said Harriet Hawk. ‘We’ll keep an eye on your pooch. You carry on with your exercise.’

  ‘I think my husband’s had enough for one night,’ said Mrs Cook as a red-faced Mr Cook staggered towards them on rubbery legs. ‘Haven’t you, dear?’

  Mr Cook could only nod and wheeze, clutching his side.

  Good decision! Lara headed for the exit with a sigh of relief, but Harriet Hawk stepped in front of her, blocking the way.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame, Mrs Cook. I was hoping the two of you might join my Ultra-Gym Squad. The pooch can stay too, of course. She could lose a little weight around the middle.’

  Cheek! Lara glared at Harriet Hawk. I’m big-boned!

  ‘Did you say Ultra-Gym?’ Mr Cook straightened up and stuck out his chest. ‘That sounds exclusive.’

  ‘Very,’ said Harriet Hawk. ‘Invitation only. A hand-picked special class after the gym has closed. A guaranteed six-pack.’ She looked around as if trying to keep the next sentence secret. ‘And it’s free.’

  ‘Did you hear that, dear?’ said Mr Cook, looking pleased and proud. ‘We’ve been hand-picked.’

  ‘That’s nice, but we told Ollie we’d be back before his bedtime. We should go.’

  Lara nodded furiously in agreement, but stopped when she noticed Squat looking at her oddly.

  ‘Ollie won’t mind,’ said Mr Cook. ‘Not when he’s got Mrs Brown from next door looking after him and spoiling him rotten. A six-pack tummy. And it’s free, dear,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Well … all right. Just this once,’ said Mrs Cook.

  ‘Once is all I need,’ murmured Harriet Hawk, so quietly that only Lara heard her.

  A few minutes later, Squat and Dumbbell had cleared the gym of everyone except Harriet Hawk’s chosen twenty. They were all lined up on the row of treadmills, in front of the big screens on the gym wall. Lara had taken the end treadmill because it was close to the reinforced steel basement door. Mr and Mrs Cook were next to her. As she marched on her treadmill, Lara glanced along the row, trying to spot what made all these people into suitable targets, but they seemed to have nothing in common as far as she could see – just twenty adults of different shapes and sizes.

  ‘Watch the screens, everyone,’ called Harriet Hawk. ‘In a minute they’ll show you what to do.’ She nodded to Squat and he hurried across to the steel door and punched a security code into the keypad. Lara leant over so far trying to see that she nearly flew off the back of the treadmill a second time, but Squat was blocking the keypad with his body.

  Drat! As Lara scrabbled back into the middle of her treadmill, Squat opened the door to the basement, revealing the first few steps of a metal staircase. He clattered down the steps and, a minute later, the screens stopped showing the latest music video. Instead, Harriet Hawk’s face appeared. Her strange bright eyes seemed to pulse and glow. Lara waited for their exercise instructions, but Harriet Hawk just kept on staring out of the screens. ‘Look into my eyes,’ she soothed. ‘And relax …’

  Twenty sets of feet pounded the treadmills, all eyes glued to Harriet Hawk’s pulsing pupils.

  Huh! The DVD must be stuck. Lara glanced sideways at M
r and Mrs Cook. They were marching in step, gazing open-mouthed at the screens as though the eyes of Harriet Hawk were the most fascinating things they had ever seen. Lara looked up at the screen. Harriet Hawk’s unblinking eyes had gone orange and her pupils were pulsating. Lara forced herself to look away. What’s going on? Lara looked past Mr and Mrs Cook along the line of treadmills. Every single person was staring adoringly at the screens as they marched. Their eyes were wide and unblinking. Then, as though they had all been given a signal, they snapped their arms across their chests, fists clenched in a salute.

  ‘WE WILL OBEY HARRIET HAWK,’ they chanted in unison. ‘WE WILL OBEY!’

  Lara gulped. They’re acting like zombies!

  Harriet Hawk, Squat and Dumbbell were moving along the line of treadmills now, staring into each face. Dumbbell clapped his hands centimetres from the nose of a tall fair-haired man, Squat slapped an overweight man’s belly and Harriet Hawk scratched her long red nails down the arm of a friendly-looking dark-haired woman. They all just kept marching.

  ‘It worked,’ said Harriet Hawk. ‘We’ve got them! They’re all brainwashed.’

  ‘What about the mutt? Has it worked on her?’ asked Squat.

  Yikes, thought Lara. Time for some quick thinking and Oscar-winning acting. All three of them walked across to Lara’s treadmill. She stared straight ahead and tried to look as vacant as she could. Dumbbell leant down and blew into her face. Phew! Dog-breath! Squat went behind the treadmill and gave her tail a yank. Lara just managed to stop herself yelping with shock. I’ll get you back for that, she vowed silently. Finally, Harriet Hawk hooked one of her sharp red nails through the bullet-hole in Lara’s sticky-up ear and twisted it back and forth. Tears of pain sprang to Lara’s eyes but she made herself keep on marching as though nothing was happening.