Sorted!

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

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.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.