S.T.I.N.K.B.O.M.B. (29 page)

‘Thank you, Mr Grey.’

‘FIY, STINKBOMB has been awarded official MI6 agency status so next time an odious mastermind comes knocking we’ll be looming large and lying low – you get me?’

‘I think so,’ Archie said uncertainly.

‘In that case you have a safe landing and we’ll see you when you’re on terra cotta. Laters.’

Archie sensed Jason staring at him, his mouth slightly ajar.

He grimaced and shrugged. ‘Don’t ask.’

Snapping the control column to the right he rolled the plane on to its wing tip and smiled to himself. The sea was glistening in the afternoon sunshine that was bathing the coastline in warm
golden light. All of Dr Doom’s hostages were safe and the madman’s evil plot had been thwarted.

‘Mission accomplished,’ he said to himself.

Suddenly a blurred black shape flashed over his shoulder and he was slammed against the side of the cockpit. He immediately recognised the searing vice-like grip squeezing his wrist and an awful
realisation dawned on him.

The pincer attached to his hood! he thought. It had regenerated into another crabman.

The crabman was grappling with the aircraft’s controls. Archie’s face was buried in his attacker’s body but he could feel the plane bucking and weaving as he
battled to maintain a safe flight path. But it was no good. The crabman was too strong and Archie could feel his grip weakening.

He felt the plane lurch into a vertical climb and knew he had only seconds to do something before the Dragonfly ran out of energy and tumbled back to earth.

Wriggling one hand free, he reached up and twisted the red latch over his head. Easing the other arm under the crabman’s body, he felt about until he’d located the control stick but
he didn’t try to seize it.

‘Listen, Claws,’ Archie grunted. ‘You really should have your seat belt on, you know. As you told my friend earlier, if you’re not strapped in you could end up getting
hurt, and we wouldn’t want that now, would we?’

Claws reacted to Archie’s comment with a moment’s confusion during which he inadvertently relaxed his grip on the control column. Seizing his opportunity, Archie grabbed the stick
and shoved it forward immediately, slamming it to one side.

The Dragonfly’s nose dropped sharply then it flipped upside down. When the plane was inverted Archie checked the roll and held the plane level, feeling the pressure on his shoulders as he
hung in his harness.

In the blink of an eye the black mass pressing Archie to his seat fell out of his lap and tumbled through the open canopy above his head. He looked up to see the crabman flailing helplessly as
he accelerated towards the sea, receding to no more than a speck at a blistering rate.

‘That’s what you get for being so shellfish,’ Archie muttered, rolling the Dragonfly the right way up.

The plane’s speed was dangerously low so he poured on full power but it was too late. The nose kicked up as the Dragonfly flipped on to its back and corkscrewed earthward in a tightening
spiral dive.

Archie cut the power and squeezed on the left rudder pedal to arrest the spin.

The aircraft plunged through eight thousand feet, rotating fast. The outside world was still turning as the altimeter wound past four thousand feet.

‘Do something!’Jason yelped.

‘In a moment,’ Archie replied calmly.

One thousand feet. Finally the spinning stopped.

Archie pulled on the control stick, gently at first but steadily increasing the back-pressure. He felt the wings start to shake. The Dragonfly was dangerously close to a high-speed stall, but
Archie had no choice but to maintain his pull. Reluctantly the aircraft raised its nose slightly but they were still plunging. More pressure on the controls made the plane judder like a car racing
over a cattle grid.

At last the aircraft was showing signs of coming out of its dive. Shaking violently, its plummet began to flatten as it swooped towards the pebbly beach below.

‘One hundred feet,’ announced the radio altimeter.

Archie kept pulling.

‘Fifty feet.’

There was nothing else he could do.

‘Thirty feet.’

He screwed his eyes shut.

Silence.

Archie waited.

Then, ‘Fifty feet . . . One hundred feet . . .’

‘Yee-haa,’ Archie screamed, gradually feeding on the power as the Dragonfly speared upward over the shoreline. ‘We did it!’

Jason said nothing but a weary smile spread across his bloodless face.

‘Archie, where are you?’ It was his father on the radio. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Coming, Dad,’ Archie replied easily. ‘I just had to drop someone off. Then I thought I’d take Jason for a quick spin.’

Archie banked the plane out to sea, beginning a wide circuit round to the helipad at Nice airport. He set the Dragonfly down about forty yards from the helicopter, killed the engines and slid
back the canopy. As he and Jason crossed the tarmac, he saw Gemma’s slight frame climb out of the helicopter and start walking towards them. Within a few strides she had broken into a run and
Jason immediately ran off to meet his sister, who threw her arms round him and lifted his feet off the ground.

Archie kept walking, sharing a brief smile with Gemma over Jason’s shoulder. He could see Barney beaming at him and giving him a thumbs up through the helicopter’s rear window, then
his father appeared round its nose.

Richard Hunt approached Archie and gave him a warm, tired smile.

‘Good to see you, kiddo,’ he said, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Nice flying, by the way. I knew you’d turn out to be an ace.’

‘Really?’ Archie asked, wrinkling his nose. ‘How come you grounded me then?’

‘I didn’t ground you,’ Richard laughed. ‘As I was trying to explain before we were run off the road – I couldn’t take you flying while I was helping Cranfield
with its study because they constantly monitor the Dragonfly’s flight data recorder.’

‘So they would have known you were letting me fly the plane,’ Archie concluded, blushing a little at the thought of his tantrum. ‘And you would have been in serious
trouble.’

‘What did you think? That I didn’t believe in you?’

Archie studied the ground and shrugged.

‘You wally,’ Richard laughed, ruffling Archie’s tangled hair. Then he pulled his son towards him and wrapped both arms round his ribcage, holding him tightly against his body.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ he whispered into Archie’s hair.

Archie closed his eyes and squeezed his father as tightly as he could. Then he looked up at him. ‘If you’re really proud, you could show it by letting me fly the Dragonfly round here
for a few days?’ he said hopefully. ‘The views are awesome.’

Richard gave his son a wry smile. ‘Nice try, kiddo. Unfortunately, I think you’re about to be debriefed by MI6, then we’ll have to fly straight home.’

‘Can’t we even go for a pizza in town?’

‘You know the rules,’ Archie’s father said, shaking his head apologetically. ‘Even for STINKBOMB agents, bedtime is nine o’clock. Especially on a school
night.’

The classroom window was intensifying the afternoon sun and Archie was struggling to stay awake. He hadn’t made it to bed until 1 a.m. and then he’d lain awake for
hours having drunk too much Coke on the British Airways flight home from Nice.

As his eyes drooped he mentally replayed the events of the last few days. Moore the Bore’s nasal voice was droning in his ears as he remembered his conversation with Highwater and Grey who
had arrived at Nice airport about fifteen minutes after he’d landed the Dragonfly on the helipad. They had taken him, Barney and Gemma to a quiet corner of the Business Class departure lounge
to debrief them on the mission.

They were told not to tell anyone else anything about their activities over the past few days, which seemed pretty obvious really. Highwater confirmed that STINKBOMB was to be made an official
agency within MI6 and, given the success of its first assignment, its personnel were to remain unchanged.

As promised by the DG, Highwater had been offered a promotion to Head of Surveillance. But to Archie’s surprise and delight she had turned it down – preferring to remain in her
present position as Initiative Commander of STINKBOMB.

Secret training details were to be arranged after school and at weekends to sharpen the agents’ trade craft in readiness for their next mission, whenever and whatever that might entail. On
Saturday, Archie and Barney would spend the day at an MI6 safe house learning surveillance recognition techniques and taking part in memory training exercises.

‘Mr Hunt.’ Moore the Bore’s voice was weirdly close and yet distant at the same time. ‘Mr Hunt! Are you on the planet?’

Archie sort of knew his head was lolling and he could feel a string of saliva running down his chin but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. Only now was the stimulating effect of
the caffeine in his system wearing off and he
really
needed a sleep.

THWACK!

The sudden stinging sensation in his right ear snapped Archie out of his cosy slumber and deposited him rudely back in the classroom, where every pair of eyes stared at him. Pressing his palm
against his burning ear, he twisted to glare angrily at Harvey Newman, who was flexing a shatterproof ruler and grinning at him.

‘There you go, Miss,’ Newman giggled. ‘Sleeping Ugly is awake now.’

‘Thank you, Mr Newman,’ Miss Moore said in her dreary monotone. ‘Although I would advocate a slightly gentler approach to waking a fellow classmate in future.’

Archie turned and faced his teacher, who was now standing right in front of his desk. ‘Mr Hunt,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m so sorry to keep you awake. You’ll be
relieved to hear it’s just about home time and I would recommend you have a very early night.’

‘Sorry Miss,’ Archie offered contritely.

‘Why are you so tired anyway?’ Miss Moore persisted. ‘Spent the weekend flying your plane around saving the world, I suppose.’ The teacher allowed herself a small smile
at her own witty comment.

‘He’s actually Buzz Light-thingummy,’ Newman interjected, buoyed by the positive reaction to the ear-flick incident. ‘He’s probably been fighting off some sort of
evil emperor or something.’

‘Is this right, Mr Hunt?’ Miss Moore enquired playfully. ‘Are you really a secret superhero? Did you spend the weekend keeping us all safe from devilish individuals who want to
take over the world?’

Yes I did, as it happens, Archie thought, nervously pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. ‘No, Miss,’ he said. ‘I was just out playing with Barney.’

‘Ah yes. Mr Jones.’ Miss Moore turned, arms folded, and regarded Barney as if she was analysing a statue in a gallery.

Barney was slumped over his desk, forehead on his exercise book, snoring gently like a contented horse. Miss Moore tiptoed over to his side and leaned over so that her mouth was just inches from
Barney’s ear.

‘Come in, Agent Jones!’ she shrieked.

Instantly Barney sprang out of his seat and swung round, adopting a combative karate stance. ‘Doctor Doom is dead,’ he recited. ‘Genetic disaster has been averted . . . Mission
accomplished. Stand down all units.’ As reality dawned on him his words ground slowly to a halt and he stood in silence, blinking at the class.

‘Well, well,’ said Miss Moore with mock admiration. ‘I can see you and Mr Hunt have had quite a weekend, saving us all from the terrible Doctor Doom!’

‘Yeah,’ heckled Newman. ‘They’re a right pair of Super Zeroes!’

When the wave of laughter had died Miss Moore asked, ‘So what’s your next mission, boys? Any more masterminds on the horizon?’

Archie said nothing but Barney couldn’t quite stop himself mumbling, ‘That’s classified,’ to which the class howled in amusement again.

‘Well, as it happens I have a special assignment for you,’ said Miss Moore.

Archie groaned inwardly while Barney’s eyes lit up. The teacher continued. ‘Your assignment is a one-thousand-word essay entitled “Why I must not sleep in Miss Moore’s
Biology Lessons” – to be on my desk by Friday morning. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, Miss,’ Archie and Barney replied dejectedly, although their replies were drowned out by the school bell.