Through the window I see the horrified faces of the police officers as they realize what’s going on, and the massive grin on Clem’s face. He raises his handcuffed wrists in salute and says, “Yaaaay!” as the van, with its unlikely collection of passengers, bumps off across the grass, over the pavement, past the angry drivers of the two cars that collided, and joins the thin line of traffic headed to Whitley Bay. Behind us, the police car’s siren whoops angrily.

“The police!” I shout. “They’ll catch us easily. What are…”

But Dr. Pretorius is shaking her head, making her hair bobble furiously. “No, they won’t, thanks to our buddy Mr. Rahman and his screwdriver.”

Ramzy is smiling shyly. Behind us, I can see the police officers outside their car, examining its rear wheels. The car had gone a short distance, then stopped.

From his pocket, Ramzy pulls a short, sharpened screwdriver that had been rolling around on the floor of the van.

“I did it before, back home. I was only six. They’d send the littlest kids out to stab the tires on the rebel soldiers’ trucks. If they caught you, they’d beat you. So we became good at not being caught.”

I stare at Ramzy in disbelief. “You never told me about that!”

He shrugs. “You never asked.”

We have about a half mile left till we get to the Spanish City. Dr. Pretorius is gunning the engine hard, passing cars where she can, and a foul smell is filling the inside of the van.

“Oh, Mashie!” I protest. “Not now!”

He looks at me with his big eyes as if to say, Not me. Not this time!

“Open the windows, folks!” shouts Dr. Pretorius between coughs. “That’s gas fumes and an overheating cat converter. You don’t wanna breathe much of this.”

As I open the sliding window, I glance over at Ramzy, and he’s chuckling to himself, actually laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I snap. He doesn’t seem to be taking this seriously at all. He shakes his head in wonder.

“Look!” he shouts, pointing at us all. “One, two, three, four of us. And a dog. On an adventure. We’re the Famous Five!”

“Ramzy! Have you any idea how serious this is? This is not some…”

But I stop because, at the exact moment that the dome of the Spanish City appears, creamy white in the distance, the engine splutters, shudders, and dies. My words fade with the sound of the motor. Gradually and agonizingly, the van rolls to a halt in the middle of the road, causing our second traffic jam in about ten minutes. Again the car horns sound in protest.

We’re a hundred yards away, maybe a little more.

“Oh hell,” moans Dr. Pretorius. “Did no one think of puttin’ gas in this darned thing?”