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Previously in the Agent Alfie series:
Thunder Raker
Illustrations by Jim Hansen
For Julian—Senior Agent.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Become a Secret Agent
Hedgehog Slab Illusion
Other Books By
Copyright
About the Publisher
Introduction
Welcome to Thunder Raker Manor
An Introduction to the School by Mr. Trenchard, Head Teacher
Thunder Raker Manor is an exclusive school for boys and girls from 8 to 18. Some of the children come daily, some are boarders. Some of them I remember, some of them I—er, what was I saying?
Anyway, all our students are here because their parents or guardians are connected with the Security Services. Spies and agents are happy to send their children to Thunder Raker Manor secure in the knowledge that they will be safe from any possible threats.
We teach a full curriculum at Thunder Raker, fully compliant with the National Thingummy. And alongside the English and Maths and History and Geography, our students learn skills that may just come in handy back home or in their future careers —if they have inherited their parents’ inclinations and aptitudes.
As well as being an honorary CT (Classified Training) Academy, Thunder Raker is especially pleased with its latest SATS results. We take the Special Agent Training Standards very seriously indeed and have achieved excellent levels in Surveillance, Code Breaking and Sabotage.
And if the Security Services need a bit of help from some youngsters for a special mission, or if the villainous agents of that dastardly organisation known only as the Secret Partners for Undertaking Destruction (SPUD) try to take over the school or kidnap one of the teachers—rest assured, every one of our students is ready and prepared.
Mr. Trenchard has been the Head Teacher of Thunder Raker Manor since Mrs Muldoom’s unfortunate accident on the assault course all those years ago. He is superbly qualified and takes great pride in his work. When he can remember what it is. Very good—carry on. Um. Yes…
Mr. Trenchard
Colonel Hugh Dare-Swynne’s Class of the Week This week the Colonel focuses on Class 3D, which is taught by Miss Jones.
Miss Jones
Miss Jones says:
3D is a lovely class and works hard. This year was especially exciting for everyone as we had a new student start—Alfie (surname classified). Alfie is already settling in very well, and even has his own cover story—some nonsense about his father actually being a postman. As if!
Alfie
Alfie fits in well with the other children. He is nine years old, and he’s a clever, practical boy with lots of common sense. He’s brave and loyal and fun. Though I have to say he doesn’t always quite understand some of the lessons or the way we do things here at Thunder Raker. But his common sense approach is a breath of fresh air and he sees the world—and our problems—in a much less cluttered and complicated way than the other children.
Jack
Next up is Jack. Jack’s dad is head of the Secret Service, though of course we don’t mention that. But it does explain why Jack’s a bit full of himself. He is always coming up with terrific ideas and plans, though usually they are rather impractical and just too involved ever to work.
Harry
Harry’s dad has infiltrated SPUD and sends him strange, coded text messages and letters written in invisible ink. Sometimes the children have to go and rescue or help him, which cuts into the school day. Harry isn’t the brightest of the bunch by a long way, but his questions often throw up problems with Jack’s ideas. He is brave and loyal and willing and likes doing PE—on the school assault course.
Sam
Sam’s mum works in Whitehall for Hush Hush, designing equipment for agents and spies. Sam uses a motorised wheelchair—which looks ordinary but has amazing gadgets built into it. Sam’s mum made him his wheelchair because the NHS one didn’t have a very good anti-missile protection system. And one of the wheels was wonky.
Chloe
Moving on to the girls, Chloe is the daughter of a renowned spy (and doesn’t she know it). If you thought Jack was a bit full of himself, he’s got nothing on Chloe. She just has to be the centre of attention, wearing the latest fashion—and spying—accessories. At home she’s got her telly wired up with a Playstation 3, a Wii, and the very latest omni-processing decryptortron. Unfortunately Alfie isn’t terribly impressed by all this, so he and Chloe haven’t really hit it off.
Alice
Alice’s dad is a double agent (but it’s a bit unclear which side he’s actually on). You never know where you are with Alice—she says one thing then does another. Her moods are volatile and she’s got a temper like a tank-buster missile when it goes off.
Beth
Beth is a swot and a techie. Her dad is a super-boffin who runs the Government’s Inventing Taskforce (GIT). She’s inherited his absented-minded braininess. She’s not so hot on the practical side of things though—she can design a robot to tie your shoelaces, but she’s always tripping over her own feet. She comes to school on her rocket-powered rollerblades.
A Passion for Excellence
Miss Jones
Miss Jones is responsible for teaching Class 3D the ordinary everyday subjects like Maths and English and History. She’s newly qualified, quiet and unassuming. Like Miss Jones, all the subject teachers at Thunder Raker Manor are fully qualified and at the very peak of their profession. Many of them are former agents and spies, so together they bring a wealth of experience to the school.
Mr. Cryption
Mr. Cryption teaches Codes. He’s tall and thin and no one understands anything he says.
Miss Fortune
Miss Fortune teaches Assassination. Her classes always seem to be a few pupils short—they get sent on errands or asked to help fetch something, and never come back…Note, though, that Class 3D is too young for Assassination, which is only taught in the Sixth Form.
Sir Westerly Compass
Sir Westerly Compass is in charge of Tracking Skills. He’s always late for class, and his lessons are often moved at short notice.
The Major
The Major—that’s all he’s ever called—is in charge of Sabotage Training. He has an enormous moustache and he’s rather accident prone. Everything he touches breaks—even the plate he gets his school dinner on…
Mrs Nuffink
Mrs Nuffink teaches Surveillance. Don’t mess around in her class—she’s got eyes in the back of her head. No, really.
Mr. Trick
Camouflage is supposed to be taught by Mr. Trick. But no one can find him.
Reverend “Bongo” Smithers
The Chaplain is Reverend “Bongo” Smithers, a former fighter pilot more interested in war stories than Bible stories. He also teaches PE. Ruthlessly.
Peace of Mind
So whatever your parental requirements or security clearance, you can rest assured that Thunder Raker Manor will provide a first-class education for your child in every respect. We can’t tell you how much the children enjoy being here. No, really—we can’t. It’s an official secret.
Chapter 1
Every day, Alfie’s dad went to school. But he wasn’t a teacher and he didn’t go there to learn Maths or study History.
No, Alfie’s dad went to Thunder Raker Manor School to deliver the post. That was how Alfie got to go to the school in the first place—his dad saw it when he was doing his rounds and thought it would be just the place for his son.
It took Alfie a few days to settle in, but soon he thought it was just the place too. Which was strange because it wasn’t like any other school Alfie had ever been to or heard about: everyone who went to Thunder Raker had parents or close relatives who worked in the Secret Service or as Special Agents.
Alfie was in Class 3D, taught by Miss Jones. There were three other boys and three girls in the small class. Jack’s dad was head of the Secret Service and Harry’s dad had infiltrated the dastardly SPUD organisation. Sam’s mum worked for Hush Hush and had built him his special gadget-laden wheelchair.
Chloe’s mum was an ace spy and Alice’s dad was a double agent. Or maybe a triple agent—it got a bit confusing. Beth’s dad was in charge of the Government’s Inventing Taskforce—known as GIT for short.
And Alfie’s dad was the local postman. The other children thought this was fantastic. How cool that Alfie’s dad had such a great secret identity! But Alfie knew the real secret: his dad was the local postman. It was all a mix-up and Alfie shouldn’t really be at Thunder Raker Manor at all. But at a school where you were taught how to keep secrets (and how to read codes, keep watch, disguise yourself as a garden shed and sabotage dangerous enemy wheelbarrows) he thought he could get away with it…
Usually Alfie was excited about going to school. But this week his class had their SATS exams. Alfie wasn’t worried about the exams…well, not really. But he knew he needed to do his best. The Special Agent Training Standards were really important—if you didn’t pass, you couldn’t go on to take your GCSEs. And where would you be without the General Classification in Surveillance and Endurance? Well, you’d be in the same place probably. But you wouldn’t be a spy.
Alfie was determined to pass first time. He’d revised all the longest rivers in the world, the date of the Spanish Armada and how to blow up secret weapons factories. He just hoped he could remember it all.
By the time Alfie walked to school, it was getting light. As he walked past old Mrs Prendergast’s cottage, he saw her standing outside holding a tray of teacups. Mrs Prendergast liked making cups of tea. She took pity on the SPUD agents whose job it was to keep watch on the school, and provided them with tea and biscuits when they took their breaks.
“I saw your dad come by with the post earlier,” Mrs Prendergast told Alfie, offering him a rich tea finger. “He must get up very early. I didn’t even have the kettle on.”
Alfie’s reply was drowned out by the sound of an armoured tank as it roared past. He recognised it at once—it belonged to one of the Sixth Formers.
Mrs Prendergast was not amused. “Nasty, smelly thing,” she complained. “It’ll make the tea taste of oil.”
Unlike the tank, the huge stretch limo that purred past Alfie made almost no noise. He only noticed it when it beeped its horn for him to move out of the way. Alfie could see Chloe’s face pressed up against the darkened glass as it went past. Alfie waved and smiled, but Chloe just glared. She didn’t seem to like Alfie much. The limo was bright pink.
Next to pass Alfie was a girl on a scooter. It was a push-along scooter with little tiny wheels. But welded on the back was a large jet motor and the girl was wearing a yellow crash helmet.
“Hi, Beth!” shouted Alfie above the whoosh of the engine as it sped erratically towards him. He moved to the left, but the scooter moved the same way—heading straight for him. Alfie jumped to the right—just as the scooter lunged that way too.
“No brakes!” Beth shouted as she screamed past. She narrowly missed Alfie and zigzagged her way towards the school gates up ahead.
The uniformed figure of Sergeant Custer, the school’s security guard, leaped out from his hut beside the armoured metal gates. He dragged them open just in time for Beth’s scooter to hurtle through.
As Alfie approached, Sergeant Custer saluted and smiled. “Morning, Alfie.”
“Good morning, Sergeant Custer.”
Alfie was just walking past the gates when the noise started. It was so sudden and so loud it made him jump. It was louder than the tank and Beth’s scooter put together.
“Woof! Woof!”
Alfie backed away. An enormous guard dog
was straining at a lead tied to Sergeant Custer’s hut, struggling to break free. It snarled and barked and snapped its huge jaws.
“Oy—quieten down!” Custer shouted at the dog. “It’s just because he likes you,” he assured Alfie.
“Right…” Alfie wasn’t convinced. He watched while Sergeant Custer calmed the dog down and managed to wrestle it back inside the hut.
“Sorry about that,” panted Custer as he staggered out again, “but he’s new to the team. Got to be a bit careful. He’s a savage beast, trained to take out the enemy like that: wham!” Custer demonstrated with a punch in the air. “Or rather, snap! Have your arm off as soon as look at you if he thinks you’re on the wrong side.”
“The wrong side of what?” asked Alfie.
Custer shrugged. “Don’t know. Didn’t ask. These gates maybe? But you’re inside now, so you should be safe from the fierce, highly trained killer guard dog.”
“That’s good,” said Alfie. “What’s his name?”
Sergeant Custer grinned with pride. “Gerald,” he said fondly.
The other children were already in their seats when Alfie arrived. Usually they were racing round and having fun, so Alfie guessed they were a bit nervous about the SATS exams too. Sam had his wheelchair close to his desk. The arms of the chair opened to reveal an impressive collection of pens, pencils, sharpeners, rulers, erasers and a small can of oil.
“For the exams,” he explained.
Alfie frowned. “We need oil for the exams? I haven’t got any.”
Oh no, he thought. I haven’t even started and I’ve already failed by not bringing the right equipment…
“No. One of my wheels gets squeaky,” explained Sam. Alfie breathed a sigh of relief.
“Don’t be nervous,” said Jack. “I’ve arranged a code with Sam so we can tell each other the answers by flashing torches.”
“That’s cheating,” declared Alice. “Anyway Miss Jones will see you.”
“She won’t see me,” Sam said. “I forgot my torch.”
“Are the tests hard?” Alfie asked, slightly nervously.
Chloe laughed. “They’re Level 3 SATS. Course they’re hard.”
“Don’t worry,” said Beth. “They won’t be that difficult.”
“Not for me they won’t,” declared Chloe. “My dad got me a Teach Yourself SATS program for my GameStation X. It’s called SATS In Lessons Learned Yourself.”
Alfie worked out the initial letters. “SATSILLY,” he said.
“Not as silly as you,” said Chloe crossly.
“I didn’t mean…” began Alfie, but Chloe had turned her back on him in a huff.
Good one, Alfie, he thought. As if she doesn’t hate you enough already…
Just then, Miss Jones arrived. Their class teacher was holding a bundle of plain brown envelopes.
“Right, I have your test papers here for the Special Agent Training Standards,” she said. “Each of you will be given a different paper specially chosen to test how you are getting on.”
“Bet mine’s the hardest,” Jack said.
“Not as difficult as mine,” sniffed Chloe.
“Everyone’s is equally difficult,” Miss Jones said as she handed them out. “Just different sorts of difficult, depending on what you’re good at.”
When everyone had a brown envelope, a pad of paper and a pen on the desk in front of them, Miss Jones told them they had one hour to do their best. “You should do the test in silence. If there’s anything you need to ask, you can put your hand up, but it really must be an emergency, something completely extraordinary that you genuinely can’t deal with yourself.”
The children opened the envelopes and took out their papers. They stared at them, puzzled. Then Harry grabbed his pen and started to write frantically. The others all raised their hands.
Chapter 2
Miss Jones sent for Mr. Trenchard, the Head Teacher. Five minutes later, he was standing in front of Class 3D. None of them had even begun their SATS, apart from Harry, who was still scribbling away feverishly.
“What’s wrong?” Mr. Trenchard asked Miss Jones. “Why aren’t they writing? Slightly thick, are they?”
Miss Jones explained the problem: when the class had opened their envelopes, the papers they found inside were not their exam papers at all. “Without the proper question papers,” she concluded, “Class 3D can’t possibly do their SATS.”
“Sorry,” Mr. Trenchard said when she had finished. “Got a terrible memory. Trained myself to forget things you know. Can’t quite remember why, but it did seem very useful at the time. Now, what was it you were going to tell me?”
“You can’t expect me to answer this!” said Chloe indignantly, waving her exam paper. “It’s an advert for a holiday on a cruise ship.”
“I’ve got a leaflet about washing machines,” said Jack.
“Any good?” Beth asked.
“Not really. No drier. What did you have?”
Beth sniffed. “Chance to win a laptop computer. Except it’s a rubbish one.” She turned to Alfie. “What about you?”
Alfie held up the paper that had been inside his envelope. “It seems to be a form to fill in if I want someone to send me a different saucepan each month.” He checked the details. “You can collect a matching set of twenty. Non-stick.”
“Who’d want saucepans?” Jack wondered.
“I’ve won second prize in a beauty contest,” said Alice.
“Well, that’s good,” said Sam.
She glared at him. “Second prize?”
“I came first,” said Sam. “Only kidding,” he added quickly, as Alice opened her mouth, looking cross. “Actually I got a postcard from Aunt Tabitha.” He paused. “Only I don’t have an Aunt Tabitha.”
“This Tabitha woman is clearly behind it all,” Mr. Trenchard decided. “We must track her down.”
“The postcard’s from Holloway Prison,” Sam said. “Aunt Tabitha wants us to post her a cake. With a file inside.”
“Ah, a top-secret file!” exclaimed Mr. Trenchard. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”
Miss Jones sighed. “I don’t think it’s that sort of file,” she said wearily.
But Mr. Trenchard was looking round the room. His eyes settled on Harry, still leaning over his desk. “Why is that boy writing?”
“What are you doing, Harry?” Miss Jones asked.
Harry looked up, surprised. “I’m doing my test,” he said. “It’s really good. Not nearly as difficult as I was expecting. I just have to fill in my name and address and if I get it right, they send me matching saucepans.”
The SATS weren’t completely ruined though. As well as the written tests, there was also a field trip during which students could earn points towards their qualification.
“So all is not lost!” said Mr. Trenchard. “I’ve got the trip all arranged and I’m just waiting for final permission. I’ve sent off the booking form for the special assault course at the British Army Training Site. As long as the Risk Assessment is OK, we’ll be going BATS next week. But for now, I think you’d better carry on with your normal lessons.”
Alfie wasn’t sure any of his lessons were “normal”. But he and the others set off for their Surveillance class with Mrs Nuffink.
As soon as they were settled, Mrs Nuffink announced, “Today we are going to be learning how to write Field Reports.”
“Like farmers do?” asked Sam.
“Do we have to count daisies?” Alice wondered.
“Or maybe identify different types of grass through an electron scanning microscope,” suggested Beth.
“I’ve got one of those,” said Chloe smugly.
“Field Reports,” said Mrs Nuffink loudly, “are what agents send back, describing what they have observed. I have one here that has just arrived from a very good agent who keeps watch for me on the car park at the back of the bank.” She held up a large envelope.
“Cool!” said Jack. “Does he keep a lookout for gangsters?”
“Are you expecting a robbery?” asked Alfie.
“No,” said Mrs Nuffink. “He lets me know when there’s a parking space. It’s also handy for the greengrocer.”
She opened the envelope and stared openmouthed at the sheet of paper inside. “Congratulations,” she read out. “You have won third prize in a beauty contest.” She looked round the class. “Do any of you know anything about this?”
“Yeah,” said Alice proudly. “I know I came second.”
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