13
It was just a short walk to get from Green Park to Scotland Yard, located just south of St James’s Park Underground. Its infamous triangular sign rotated rather boringly in the morning light, neither impressive nor foreboding.
Surely they could try a bit harder than that? thought Jonny as he watched the sign rotate at the same slow speed as the plate inside a microwave. Wasn’t this meant to be one of the most daring and enlightened institutions in the world?
The most troublesome part of their journey had been for all four of them to descend from the tree house unnoticed as the park filled up with its regular morning brigade of Londoners, park wardens, dawdlers and drug dealers. Fortunately Katie the dog had come bounding over again, this time chasing a Canada goose, driving it pretty potty, and serving as a distraction while the four of them clambered down, ready for another day’s mischief.
Sophie looked across at the boys as they headed over the granite concourse towards the entrance to Scotland Yard. She began to slow down. ‘Right, you three.’ She tried not to sound nervous as they approached the revolving glass doors. ‘Time for a quick crash-course demonstration in hypnotic induction!’
‘Oh, I’ve been itching to see what this looks like!’ said Jonny, biting his lip.
They entered the revolving door one at a time, emerging into the foyer like eggs plopping out of a hen’s bum.*
Inside, Zack could sense the quiet hum of power. Perhaps the plain sign outside was just a piece of well-placed misdirection – What we do is perfectly ordinary – nothing to see here! – though the building housed more unsolvable mysteries and deceptive ploys than you might expect to find in your standard magic show.
Behind the wide reception desk was a huge glass wall, rising up several storeys high so that they could see into the offices – it was like looking at the cross-section of an ants’ nest, alive with movement as the workers carted files, typed up reports and gave presentations … just like real ants would do if they had the technology.
Sophie looked at the main doors, where two armed brutes stood peering through their visors menacingly, searching for reasons to open fire.
‘I’m going to try good old-fashioned northern charm first,’ she said with a grin. ‘And then, if that doesn’t work, I might have to resort to more … subtle measures.’
‘Wicked!’ said Jonny and Zack in unison, like they used to five years ago when this word was all the rage and could be used as a response to pretty much anything.
Sophie walked confidently over to the desk as Jonny, Zack and Alex flanked her, like a strange form of backup. The woman sat typing, hawk-eyed, before hitting the ENTER key loudly and looking up. If she was surprised to see the faces of three* children staring back at her then she hid it well, though Sophie detected the tiniest quiver in her eye movement, a sure tell that something was awry.
‘Can you not put your hands on my desk, please?’ the woman barked, removing Sophie’s arms with a firm, muscular hand. ‘And what’s that?’ she added, pointing at Alex’s hair. ‘Get it off my desk now! Unless you’ve got DNA evidence that proves Jack the Ripper’s true identity, get out or I’m calling security.’ The receptionist glanced at the guards, who flexed their fingers, ready for action.
Sophie fixed her eyes on her. ‘We’re here to see Detective Inspector Caulfield – it’s a matter of national security.’
‘Wednesday, I think,’ answered Sophie, moving her right hand across the woman’s field of vision. ‘The day after your birthday, remember? It’s always sunny on your birthday.’
Jonny looked down at Zack and Alex. Did this stuff actually work? he wondered.
But the woman now suddenly looked a little … hazy, her eyes unfocused.
Sophie carried on darting her hand in the air, like a conductor without a baton. ‘You were just telling us about your birthday party and how we need to see DI Caulfield. It’s very urgent, you said. He told us to let you through.’ She continued to join up meaningless words and sentences, confusing the woman still further.
All of a sudden the receptionist started to move out from behind her desk.
Jeez, thought Zack, this is actually working!
Jonny was simply gobsmacked.
As the woman approached them, the two guards closed in, suspicious (rightly so!) of her strange entourage. ‘DI Caulfield has asked to see them. Let them through,’ she said.
The guards looked at one another. This was all very questionable, but they didn’t want to challenge the authority of a woman who had once chucked her revolving chair over thirty metres in the air purely because she’d found an unwanted slice of tomato in her egg sandwich – and she’d already asked them once.
‘Let them through,’ mumbled the guard on the left (which was the only way to tell the difference between the two … Well, apart from the fact that the one on the left had lost the nail on his big toe on a stag do). The guard on the right – complete with a full set of toenails – dutifully obeyed, holding his security card to the scanner, which beeped until the doors slid apart with a swish.
Jonny, Zack and Alex smiled at them innocently as Sophie led her friends through, eyes still fixed on the receptionist.
‘Thanks so much,’ she said politely.
And the other three watched, amazed, as the woman shuffled vacantly back to her desk.
The induction would wear off soon, thought Sophie, and when that happened, no one should be within a fifty-mile radius of the woman …
The doors swished shut behind them.
They were inside Scotland Yard …
She had done it!
They headed cautiously down the glass corridor, peering through the windows as the ant workers scurried from room to room.
‘Sophie … Did that really just happen? I don’t know what to say,’ said Jonny.
‘Well then, don’t say anything!’ She picked up the pace, trying to appear confident.
Alex caught the reflection of one of the guards, still watching them ominously from the doorway behind, the gun round his waist scraping noiselessly against the glass. The boy quivered, moving closer to the others as they headed towards a bank of shining lifts.
The doors before them parted automatically and the four filed in, instantly overwhelmed by the sheer number of buttons on display labelling the various departments and sub-departments. Who knew that Scotland Yard had a boutique hair salon? Yep.
‘Can anyone see one labelled DI Caulfield?’ said Jonny, half to himself though clearly just loud enough to activate the inbuilt voice recognition. ‘DI Caulfield’s office,’ the automatic voice announced in a surprisingly upbeat American accent. Immediately the doors swished shut and propelled the four youngsters up through the centre of Scotland Yard.
Well, that wasn’t so difficult!
Zack, Sophie and Alex grinned at Jonny, who shrugged. If only everything in life were that easy. Breakfast – ready! £1,000 – here you go!
‘Are you ready, Zack?’ asked Sophie. ‘Your turn now.’
He nodded as the lift began to slow, giving him that slightly queasy feeling in his stomach – though perhaps this was just nerves.
‘You have reached the twenty-third floor,’ the voice chimed pleasantly. ‘DI Caulfield’s office. Have a great day now – and remember: don’t have nightmares!’
Sophie stifled a laugh as the doors opened. I bet that doesn’t get annoying, day in, day out!
They stared into the bright room before them. A penthouse of gigantic proportions, basking in the morning light, decked out like a show home. In the centre a man sat at a desk, his entire body hidden by a huge computer screen. Zack looked around. Instead of paintings, several projectors presented a montage of images that changed and flickered like an installation at a museum – myriad photos and headlines charting DI Caulfield’s successes. In each and every photo he was smiling smugly.
Zack looked at the others. Jeez, this guy!
The images finally stopped on the Evening Standard photo – now all too familiar: DI Caulfield outside the Bank of England looking utterly baffled (and a trifle jowly). The detective inspector whined from behind his screen as he pushed himself back on his revolving chair, spinning in frustration.
‘Hi!’ hollered Zack.
The man was out of his seat like a shot, cursing, patting down his hair and reaching towards his holster – grappling for a weapon that wasn’t there – before deciding (since he was facing four unarmed children) to make his fingers into a gun, waving it in their direction haphazardly.
‘Whoa!’ said Zack, putting his hands in the air. ‘Don’t shoot!’
‘Wait a second!’ The inspector was clearly not used to being caught out this early in the morning – annoyed that someone should see him before he’d had a chance to properly do his hair and cover any unsightly blemishes with his secret stash of fancy foundation. ‘Who the hell are you? And how did you get through security?’
‘Well, actually, they just let us in,’ Sophie answered simply – which was oddly, completely true.
‘What do you want? You can’t be in here,’ said the inspector, lowering his ‘gun’ and reaching for his chair.
Zack approached the desk and took a deep breath. ‘OK, so … I … We … We think we know how the thieves managed to break into the Bank of England.’
For a while DI Caulfield just blinked, before emitting a loud croaking sound, somewhere between an incredulous laugh and a nasty throat infection. ‘Sorry, but what makes you think that a bunch of kids are cleverer than us here at Scotland Yard?’ The detective went to sit down on his revolving chair, missing the seat completely and falling flat on the floor, bum first, beneath the desk. He immediately tried to style it out, pretending it was a joke but failing hugely.
‘All right, all right, sit down,’ he said curtly – clearly embarrassed and at a loss for words – gesturing towards a brilliant white sofa, still in its plastic covering. They took a seat, Zack perching on the exposed arm. ‘No – not on the arm, for heaven’s sake!’ DI Caulfield rushed over with some antibacterial wipes. ‘I got this from Italy!’
He sat down on a black armchair in front of them. ‘Right, hurry up then,’ the detective said finally, tossing the wipes into a bin designed for sanitary towels. ‘You’ve got exactly one minute to explain why you’re here before I call security. And just don’t touch anything, OK?’
Alex, Jonny and Sophie looked at Zack, who was still standing, not daring to move, in case he upset the feng shui or this guy’s feelings any further.
‘Well,’ Zack said, ‘it might take a bit more than a minute to explain, but I reckon you’ll want to hear us out.’
Zack repeated what he’d said up in Jonny’s tree house earlier that morning, unfolding the grubby set of diagrams and keeping it simple so that the inspector could keep up.
The other three listened attentively, proud of their friend.
DI Caulfield sat on the edge of his seat, not speaking, occasionally sweeping back his slick hair and rubbing his chin, trying not to get too distracted by the muddy shoes on his carpet.
‘And, in a nutshell, that’s how we think they did it,’ finished Zack, handing over the diagrams.
The inspector studied them carefully, avoiding the ketchup stains like they were bloody fingerprints requiring forensic examination. ‘So you’re saying the gold hasn’t actually been stolen and we’re just looking in the wrong vault?’ he queried, getting to his feet and pacing to and fro.
‘Well, it’s what we hope is the case,’ said Zack. ‘But I doubt the thieves will hang around for long … Or at least I wouldn’t, if I were them!’
DI Caulfield gave him a suspicious look. ‘Sorry – who did you say you were again?’ he asked irritably, still trying to make sense of everything. Could these children be right? Surely not – surely it was all way too elaborate, he thought.
‘Well, my name’s Zack,’ said Zack. ‘Over there is Jonny, Sophie and Alex, and we’re –’
‘Magicians,’ Sophie interrupted proudly, standing up.
DI Caulfield stared at her like he’d never heard the word before. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be magicians?’
‘Yes, well, we’re … the Young Magicians!’ said Sophie like this was the name of some well-known emergency service or the title of a much-lauded book.
The other three looked at her, pleased with how easily the name had rolled off her tongue.
‘You’re the what?’ asked the inspector, smirking slightly. ‘So, are you in the Magic Circle, then?’
‘No, we can’t join until we’re of age,’ Jonny told him.
‘Well, isn’t there some adult I can speak to instead? This isn’t the Famous Five!’
‘Four.’
‘I was including myself.’
‘No,’ said Sophie, raising her voice. ‘We’re the Young Magicians. And if you insist on patronizing us any further, then we’re just going to have to tell the whole world how little children managed to get past security at Scotland Yard!’
‘Plus, I did take a sneaky photo of you falling off your chair!’ admitted Jonny, flashing the man a grin and taking another stealthy pic as he spoke. He rotated the camera to look at the screen. ‘Oooooooh dear –’ he winced – ‘I don’t think you’re going to like this one either, mate, your cheeks look really look quite … chubby!’
‘Oh HELL, not again!’ DI Caulfield wiped his brow with a beautifully manicured hand.
Conscious that he wasn’t really doing much to help, Alex suddenly stood up, removed his muddy shoe and held it threateningly over the exposed arm of the fancy sofa.
DI Caulfield reacted like he’d been stung by a hornet the size of a Fiat Bravo. ‘No, no, no, not on the sofa! Please!’
The others looked at Alex as a blob of Green Park mud landed with a plop, sullying the brilliant white arm, probably forever.
‘OK, OK, fine!’ said the inspector eventually. ‘Let me look into it. Just move the shoe away from the sofa. And not a word of this to anyone, do you understand?’
‘Oh, we wouldn’t dream of it, Inspector,’ said Zack, following the others towards the lift, Alex moving a little strangely with only one shoe on.
‘Do you have a business card?’ enquired Jonny politely. ‘Just in case we need to contact you again.’
‘No, I don’t!’ snapped DI Caulfield, but not before Zack had dextrously swiped one from the man’s top pocket, spinning it over to Jonny.
‘Great,’ said Jonny, scrutinizing the card and wrinkling his nose. ‘I’ll send you the photos.’
‘Out!’ screamed the inspector, his good features creasing and contorting further, causing him to look like a distressed gargoyle.
‘You have selected “way out”,’ the computer voice announced as they entered the lift. ‘Doors closing.’
The four watched briefly as DI Caulfield sighed heavily and sank back on to his gorgeous white sofa, his bum remarkably missing the plump cushions and causing him to fall flat on the floor once again, his roar diminuendoing to nothing as the Young Magicians shot back down into the bowels of Scotland Yard, feeling slightly weightless.
‘Well, that all seemed to go rather well!’ said Jonny cheerily.