Secret agent Johnny Danger, the world’s greatest prankster and most outrageous off-the-wall D.I.Y. spy, ran for his life across the slippery tiled roof while his ruthless nemesis Evil Ian pursued him at speed on the ground below. Johnny had already survived being attacked by man-eating piranhas, maniacal villains and a forty-foot-long killer python, but nothing had proved as terrifying as this hair-raising escape attempt.

‘Hey, Johnny,’ his older brother shouted, doing a wheelie on his BMX bike, ‘be careful up there, bro – your next step might be your last.’

Johnny shuddered to a halt as the path ahead was blocked by a large, rusty air-conditioning duct. He looked left and right and then jumped two metres through the air to land heavily on a nearby flat tin roof. He tumbled over in a forward roll then sprang back up to his feet and sprinted ahead.

‘Please work, please work . . .’ he puffed, pulling his MI6 super-hover umbrella out of his backpack. He pressed its release button and ‘Geronimo!’ launched himself off the edge of the roof, floating safely down three storeys to the alley below. He hit the cobblestones hard and tapped his watch communicator to contact his spy team members, Penelope and Tim. ‘Code red. I could be cornered. Activate bear trap,’ he said, catching his breath and looking around the alley behind his school.

‘Roger that,’ Tim replied. ‘Activating trap.’

Johnny closed his communicator, and moments later a large red door flew open right in front of him and his scowling pimple-faced brother stepped out.

The trembling spy loosened his backpack, dropping it and the hover umbrella on the ground.

‘Gotcha,’ Ian grunted, pacing forward. ‘That’s the last time you prank me with your stupid Glad Wrap hidden under the toilet seat joke. You’re going to hang by your undies for your crime.’

Ian picked up Johnny’s schoolbag and tipped out the contents.

‘And don’t bother trying out any of your spy stunts on me. I’m recording your every movement on my hidden belt camera. The principal would be very concerned to discover that one of his students is secretly an undercover agent, wouldn’t he?’

Johnny growled defiantly and shuffled backwards.

Ian picked up a high-tech black cylinder with an LED keypad security lock and leant over, grabbing his younger brother by the neck and squeezing hard. ‘Give . . . me . . . the . . . code to open this thing!’ 

Johnny reluctantly pinched two of his fingers together twice to sign a double ‘0’ then held up seven fingers.

‘Hah,’ Ian said, tapping in 007. The black lid of the cylinder flipped open, releasing a small misty cloud of dry ice. ‘Let me guess – a nuclear-­powered laser blaster or a guided missile launcher?’

‘Nup.’ Johnny yanked himself away from his brother’s choking grasp. ‘It’s a drink chiller.’

‘Cool . . . Ian pulled out a bottle of ice-cold Coke Zero Cherry, unscrewed the lid and took a large swig. ‘Chasing spies is thirsty work. Thanks for the gadget, too – it’s mine now.’

Johnny rolled up his sleeves. ‘You’re so going to regret doing that.’

‘Why?’ Ian burped.

A wry smile rippled across Johnny’s face. ‘Because you’ve just swallowed a dose of my new Thunder Down Under super-cyclonic laxative.’ He held up a small blue pill. ‘Unless you take this antidote within thirty seconds you’re going to trigger a volcanic underpants explosion.’ Johnny set the timer on his watch. ‘If we call a truce, the pill is yours.’

‘Hah. You’re lying,’ Ian grunted. ‘There’s no chemicals in my drink. I’m not that stupid – not like those dummies at MI6 who believe every lie you post on your fake spy website.’

‘Fine – your funeral then.’ Johnny kicked Ian hard in the shins and bolted toward the red door.

‘Oi, come back here,’ Ian bellowed. ‘You’re wasting time trying to outrun the school’s one-hundred-metre sprint champion. Nothing around here moves faster than me!’

Johnny barrelled through the red door and into the school janitor’s cluttered workshop. He burst out into the courtyard and glanced over his shoulder to see Ian right on his heels. ‘Oh yeah? There is one thing that moves faster than you,’ Johnny laughed.

‘What?’

‘Your bowels.’

‘Huh?’ Ian stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed his guts, moaning like a sick dog. ‘Ooowwfff,’ he gagged. He turned and made a desperate beeline for the toilet block.

Johnny whispered into his communicator. ‘Incoming hostile target . . .’

‘Roger that,’ Tim replied. His best friend raced into the boys’ toilet block and locked the door shut from the inside.

A second later, Johnny’s MI6 partner Penelope removed the ‘Out of Order’ sign from the girls’ toilets and slapped it on the boys’.

Ian surged up the steps. ‘No way!’ he wailed, pounding on the locked door. He quickly darted to his left and stormed towards the girls’ toilet.

‘You can’t go in there,’ Penelope cried.

‘Watch me,’ Ian coughed, disappearing inside.

A few moments later Johnny jogged up the steps with an impish grin on his face. He held out his wristwatch timer. ‘Four, three, two, one . . .’ he counted down theatrically.

‘AAAAAAAAAARGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!’

A bloodcurling howl exploded from the girls’ toilets.

Penelope rolled her eyes and handed back the roll of Glad Wrap Johnny had given her earlier. ‘I cannot believe that MI6 is paying me good money to help you play revolting pranks on your brother at school.’

‘Play?’ Johnny guffawed. ‘This isn’t play. This is research. Now I know exactly how effective my Thunder Down Under laxative works on evil villains. Our research could save lives.’

Tim leapt out of the boys’ toilets, fizzing with excitement. ‘Man, we nailed him, didn’t we? Hook, line and stinker.’

Penelope shook her head. ‘I’m having nothing further to do with this disgusting torture. I know your brother is a savage bully, but no human being deserves to be humiliated like this.’ She strolled off. ‘I’ll see you two later in class.’

Tim saluted Johnny. ‘Mission accomplished – another sinister fiend bites the dust.’

Johnny looked a little hesitant. ‘Dude, do you think we crossed the line this time?’

Tim shook his head. ‘Nope. Remember our motto: Serve it to those who deserve it.’

Johnny offered his best friend a high five. ‘You said it, my man.’

The grinning spy poked his head into the girls’ toilets. ‘Okay, Ian, shall we call a truce now?’

‘Uaaaaargggggggggghhhhuuuuuuuhh,’ came a pathetic sobbing gurgle from one of the stalls.

‘Ah, I’ll take that as a yes,’ Johnny smiled.

He joined Tim and they headed back down the steps. ‘But just to be safe – if Ian ever turns nasty again, there’s some very incriminating toilet-vandalism footage on his belt-cam that I’m sure the principal would be concerned to see.’