S.T.I.N.K.B.O.M.B. (8 page)

As the boys tagged along, Barney tapped Archie’s arm with the back of his hand to get his attention. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sure you’ll get a
codename soon.’

Archie cast his eyes around the house, which was a small semi-detached decorated with floral prints and frilly curtains.

‘So are we supposed to believe this is MI6 headquarters?’ he said cynically. ‘I mean, it’s very
convenient
that it’s only a couple of miles from my house,
don’t you think?’

The girl turned round. Dropping one hip and folding her arms she huffed irritably. ‘No, this isn’t MI6 HQ. Obviously. It’s a safe house, OK? They use it to hide witnesses and
foreign operatives from enemy assassins and stuff. And no, it’s not a
coincidence
that it’s close to your house. We have safe houses all over the country – there’s
probably one within a few miles of everyone’s house. Now, does anyone else have any
clever
questions?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got loads,’ announced Barney keenly.

‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,’ the girl replied, catching Archie’s eye.

Thinking he detected the faintest of smiles on her lips, Archie suddenly started laughing much too loudly. ‘That’s really funny,’ he wheezed.

The girl frowned.

‘Dude, what’s the matter with you?’ asked Barney.

‘Nothing,’ Archie replied, wondering why his stomach was fluttering.

The boys followed the girl to the bottom of a flight of stairs where a wooden door blocked their path. As he watched her type a series of digits into a keypad, it occurred to Archie that this
was an awful lot of trouble to go to just to make fun of him. Nevertheless, as the girl swung the door open he was prepared for a chorus of jeers from whoever was in the room beyond.

To Archie’s relief and surprise there was no explosion of ridicule to greet their arrival, just the faint whirr of computer cooling fans. As the girl closed the door,
Archie noticed that it was constructed from steel and six inches thick, the wooden veneer on the outside preserving a facade of suburban normality.

For the first time Archie considered seriously the prospect that Agent X-ray might actually be who she claimed to be. With a sense of nervous excitement he stepped into the room and looked round
the vast underground chamber.

The walls and ceiling were made of smooth concrete and the floor was clad in black marble. Low lighting was provided by a combination of spotlights and steel anglepoise lamps. A bank of computer
terminals lined one wall, each one scrolling through endless websites apparently at random. On another wall hung eight flat-screen TVs, all muted and tuned to a different twenty-four-hour news
channel.

At one end of the room was a large desk constructed of chrome and glass, on which stood two flat-screen computer monitors and a slender wireless keyboard. Behind the desk sat a woman Archie
guessed to be about forty to forty-five – pretty old anyway. She had short dark hair and wore a black suit over a grey blouse. Her thin lips were tinted by plum-coloured lipstick and a gold
chain draped from her horn-rimmed spectacles.

Standing behind the woman, with his back to the room, was a gangly man in a tweed suit who was wearing headphones over his untidy white hair. He was totally engrossed in a programme showing on
yet another TV. Archie could see the man was watching reruns of
MTV Cribs
, a programme that gave the viewer a look inside the extravagant homes of celebrities. Archie recognised the
Brazilian footballer Caesar Romario gesturing to his huge mountainside swimming pool that overlooked a glistening ocean below.

The presence of adults dispelled Archie’s doubts once and for all and he felt a surge of adrenalin. ‘This isn’t a wind-up,’ he whispered. ‘They
must
be
MI6.’

‘Copy that,’ Barney squeaked. ‘Looks like some sort of splinter cell to me.’

When the girl approached the glass desk the woman looked up from her work.

‘Ah, Agent X-ray,’ said the woman. ‘And who do we have here?’

‘This is Archie Hunt,’ said the girl. ‘And his . . . friend.’

‘The name’s Jones,’ Barney drawled. ‘Barney Jones.’

The woman looked them up and down and cleared her throat like a judge about to pass sentence. ‘Sit down, both of you.’ Her unnatural smile came as an afterthought.

Archie and Barney lowered themselves into the two chairs in front of the desk. The girl stood to their side.

‘My name is Helen Highwater,’ the woman announced sternly. ‘I am the Initiative Commander of an MI6 project to recruit, train and run kids as undercover surveillance agents in
matters of national security.’

Archie thought he heard a faint yelp of pleasure escape from Barney’s lips.

‘You have already met our Computer Technician and Data Analyst, Agent X-ray.’ Highwater gestured to the girl; her expression remained unchanged but she lifted her chin almost
imperceptibly. ‘Next, allow me to introduce you to our very own Tech Branch Specialist. He had been retired for some considerable time but fortunately for us he’s agreed to pick up his,
er, scientist’s tools to join our brand new operation.’ Spinning her chair and gesturing at the man behind her with a flourish, she announced, ‘This is Tech Branch Specialist
Holden Grey.’

Everybody waited in silence for the man to react but he didn’t flinch. Instead he remained transfixed by the TV, mumbling something over and over to himself. Each time he gave the words
new emphasis and stretched the vowels in different directions as if trying to master the pronunciation of a foreign phrase.

‘The
pool
is well fierce, isn’t it? Tha pool is
well
fierce, innit? Da poo-al eez well fee-arce, innit?’

Huffing loudly, Highwater picked up a remote control from her desk and, aiming it at the offending screen, killed the picture. Removing his headphones the man spun round, his pale blue eyes wild
with glee.

‘I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t realise we had company,’ he said. His voice was crisp and enthusiastic but modulated by the warble of advancing years. Turning to the boys
he added, ‘Yo, dudes,’ and shot them with his index fingers.

‘This is Archie Hunt and Barney Jones,’ Highwater announced.

‘And I’m Holden Grey.’ The man approached the desk with a limp. ‘Welcome to our cot.’

Archie and Barney looked sideways at each other.

Agent X-ray sighed wearily. ‘Er – you mean welcome to your crib,’ she corrected. ‘Besides, I think the whole MTV vibe is a bit over their heads.’ She jabbed a thumb
at Archie and Barney. ‘You might have more luck with some CBeebies jargon.’

‘What is up?’ Grey asked, pronouncing each syllable clearly. ‘I mean, wassup, brothers, I mean bros?’

Archie shrugged. ‘Er, not much. Sir.’

Barney shook his head eagerly.

‘OK, introductions over, let’s get down to business,’ Highwater said brusquely. ‘For years we have used a computer program called SPADE – the Secret Potential Agent
Data Evaluator – to identify individual children with the necessary attributes to make excellent field agents at a later date, i.e. when they are adults. SPADE quantifies the school record,
medical history, genetic pedigree and sporting achievements of every child in the country and assigns them a score from one to one hundred according to their potential suitability for field ops.
Your score was very impressive, young man.’

‘You’re too kind,’ Barney grinned.

‘Not you, sport,’ Highwater snorted. ‘Him.’

‘Me?’ Archie asked incredulously.

‘Please can you check mine too?’ Barney beamed.

Peering through the spectacles perched on her nose, Helen Highwater typed Barney’s name into the SPADE database and waited for his score to be displayed. Grimacing, she sucked sharply on
her teeth then smiled apologetically. ‘Well, I’m sure you have plenty of potential, Mr Jones,’ she said, ‘but field ops is not where your strengths lie. Perhaps we’ll
give you a call if we’re ever looking to start our own circus?’

Through the corner of his eye Archie saw Barney’s whole body sag as if he was physically deflating.

‘Well, Mr Hunt?’ Highwater demanded. ‘Do you have anything to say?’

Archie thought carefully about his options then said, ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

‘Oh, Mr Hunt,’ Highwater said wryly. ‘I’ve learned the hard way that National Security is no joking matter.’

As she spoke Helen Highwater was thinking back to the recent MI6 policy meeting when the Director General had asked Team Leaders for suggestions on how to improve operational surveillance
techniques. As an Assistant Team Leader the question hadn’t even been addressed to her, but for some unfathomable reason she had chosen to fill the awkward silence that followed the
DG’s request with a joke.

‘Well, given that ninety per cent of surveillance entails hanging around and scrutinising people, then we ought to get kids to do it,’ she had quipped. ‘I mean, nobody gives a
second thought to a group of teenagers loitering on the street and eyeing up every passer-by, do they? That’s all kids seem to do these days.’

There had been a couple of stifled titters. Highwater’s direct boss, Hugh Figo, whom she secretly called Huge Ego, had scowled at her disapprovingly. The DG had looked pensive and for a
moment Highwater had been concerned that she had insulted the most powerful man in MI6 until he’d boomed his one-word response. ‘Brilliant!’

‘Excuse me?’ Figo had blustered.

‘It’s about time we started to think outside the box, man,’ the DG had enthused. ‘Who’s going to suspect a kid of being an MI6 agent? Nobody.’ The DG had a
habit of answering his own questions. ‘Kids can nose around and explore wherever they like. And what if they do get caught? It’ll just be put down to youthful exuberance. It’s a
superb idea!’

The DG had got so carried away that he had appointed Highwater Initiative Commander and promised her promotion to Head of Surveillance, two grades senior to Figo, if her idea proved a success.
That was the point at which she should have politely declined the DG’s invitation, but she had been enjoying the look of utter horror on her boss’s face so much that she’d
accepted the role just to spite him.

‘What about my dad?’ Archie asked, bringing Highwater back to the present. ‘Your message said you’ve got information about him.’

‘Come this way,’ said Highwater.

Followed by Holden Grey, Helen Highwater led the boys to the bank of computer terminals where Agent X-ray had taken a seat at a smooth white desk with a white keyboard and mouse on it.

Highwater turned to face Archie and Barney, gave them a cursory smile that was so brief she might have just been stretching her cheek muscles, and began. ‘With the dawn of the Internet
almost anyone in the world can publish whatever they wish.’

‘That’s right.’ Holden Grey gestured to screens with his almost telescopic arms, and said, ‘Any of these social networking sites – you know, Twitbook or Facetweet
or whatever – gives a platform for anyone to communicate with millions of people all over the world. MI6 Cipher Branch annually spends tens of thousands of man hours every year filtering the
world wildlife web for any potentially sinister communications. Our sophisticated mainframe computers scan thousands of web pages every minute, looking for any one of hundreds of tagged words as
well as highlighting unusual patterns or repetitions of words or letters.’

Highwater allowed the boys a moment to watch the filtration process on the screens before continuing. ‘If the computer senses some kind of suspicious activity it will be flagged and a
Cipher Branch agent – a codebreaker – will be assigned the task of analysing the site for any hidden messages.’

While Archie listened in awed silence, Barney was nodding knowingly, as if to confirm the accuracy of Highwater’s information.

She continued, ‘Following certain leads, we have reason to believe that a particular individual is plotting to undermine the very fabric of our society.’

‘For actual,’ Grey chimed in. ‘His activities threaten to . . . threaten . . . the national security of our nation.’

‘A little over a week ago the Cipher Branch computer program flagged the following message on someone’s Facebook page.’ Highwater nodded to Agent X-ray who tapped a few keys,
displaying the same short paragraph on every monitor.

‘I’m sure you will agree,’ Highwater asserted, ‘this is somewhat bizarre but not necessarily sinister?’

Archie shrugged. ‘I guess.’

‘However, if we isolate every fourth word, we get a more chilling message altogether . . .’

Agent X-ray tapped some more keys and a single line of text appeared on the screens.

Highwater fixed the boys with a sombre stare. ‘I can confirm that at approximately midnight on the night this message was posted, a young Norwegian biathlon champion
disappeared from his family residence and has not been heard from since.’