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Chapter 5

On Monday, after school, Ben and Kirsty met outside the council buildings.

‘This is exciting!’ Kirsty said. ‘Like a spy mission.’

Ben grinned. ‘Yes. We should hide. Do some surveillance.’

‘Cool. In there.’ Kirsty pointed towards a phone box opposite the main doors. It was a tiny space, with just enough room for the phone, a small ledge and the two of them wedged one on top of the other. It smelled bad. Kirsty shoved Ben’s arm out of the way so she could get a clear view of the staff leaving. The men were wrapped up in woolly coats, scarves muffling their heads. The women looked exactly the same but smaller.

‘You’ll never recognise him,’ Ben said.

‘Yes I will. His image is burned into my brain for ever. He’s the one that looks like a matchstick.’

The crowd thinned; some staff unchained their bikes and sped off in Day-Glo jackets; trams pulled up and whisked others away. Soon there was hardly anyone else left.

‘We’ve missed him,’ Ben said.

‘No, no, there he is!’

Mr Thomas strolled down the stone steps, his umbrella clipping the edge of each one with a satisfying thwack. He smiled as the crisp winter air hit his cheeks. His face was as rosy red as ever.

‘Come on,’ Kirsty said. She pushed open the door.

Ben grabbed her arm. ‘Not so fast. Don’t you know anything about spying? He’s our target, but we don’t know anything about him. What makes him tick? If you want something from someone you have to ask in the right way.’

Kirsty grinned, then nodded. ‘I know. Like, if I wanted some money from Mum, I’d tell her how important it is for my future. If I wanted money from Dad, I’d tell him that Mum says it’s OK.’

‘Exactly. We need Mr Thomas to change his mind, but we haven’t got a clue about what will make him do that.’

Kirsty rolled her eyes. ‘Well, 007, you’d best be quick. He’s leaving.’

Ben nodded, then raised a finger to his lips. He crouched low and pushed open the door. Kirsty dropped down behind him. They were a commando unit, silent, deadly, with a licence to kill. Ben ran forwards, bent double. He stopped behind a postbox. He peered around it, a short, decisive glance, just to keep Mr Thomas in view. Then he tapped the air with two fingers of his left hand: move out. Kirsty obeyed, running behind him, silent as an assassin. They kept to the shadows, hid behind lamp posts, slinked through crowds – always keeping Mr Thomas in view. He led them through the Old Town, down dark alleyways. Ben and Kirsty kept out of sight, but never lost their target.

Mr Thomas turned left down one of the closes. It was a narrow lane, still cobbled, not tarmacked. It was a short cut through to Cathedral Square.

‘He’s going to church!’ Kirsty hissed.

‘Perhaps. The museum is down here too. Or he might live in one of those funny old buildings next to the cathedral.’

Mr Thomas was swinging his umbrella now. They could hear him whistling as he walked. He glanced up at the stone monsters that swarmed over the west front of the cathedral, but he carried on past. When he reached the museum he practically skipped up the worn steps, passed the thick columns and then disappeared inside. Kirsty was ready to chase him, but Ben grabbed her arm again.

‘Hold up, 006. We need to debrief, to look at our intelligence. What have you discovered about our target?’

Kirsty thought hard. ‘Well, sir. He’s gone to the museum. He likes whistling.’

‘Is that it?’ Ben was smiling now. ‘We’ve learned loads. For example, think about his beige coat. Bit strange for a gardener. Beige isn’t very practical. Grandad always wore his manky, old clothes. And did you see the way he was smiling when he came out of work? It was like he’d been given his freedom. I don’t think that Mr Thomas likes gardening. I don’t think he likes his job at all. Also, look at where he goes to relax – the museum! Mr Thomas likes culture. Did you hear what he was whistling?’

Kirsty frowned. ‘No.’

‘Oh dear, 006. That was a violin concerto by Vivaldi.’

‘You what?’

‘My mum plays it in her salon when she does manicures. Mr Thomas might look like a matchstick, but inside he’s posh. He won’t like being harassed by a lout. You’re going to have to be polite. Sweet, even. Do you think you can do that?’

‘Thould I have a lithp?’

‘No. That’s too much. Just be sweet and nice.’

‘OK.’

‘It’s best you go alone, so he doesn’t feel bullied. I’ll wait for you out here. Are you ready to go and whine at him?’

‘Ready as I’ll ever be, 007.’