CONTENTS 

1. CAPTIVE

2. STRANGE DISCOVERIES

3. NOT TOO GOOD

4. DEAD MAN WALKING

5. FATHER AND SON

6. TRUTH

7. 'WILL YOU HELP US?'

8. DOUBLE CROSS

9. UNDER ATTACK

10. TOYS FOR SCHOOL

11. CLARKE'S ACADEMY FOR DISTURBED CHILDREN

12. NIGHT CHAOS

13. A GAME TO THE DEATH

14. TAKEN

15. TENSION

16. A NEW CHAPTER

    CAPTIVE

    Sometimes, life seems very unfair. My life is a lot like that. Before you know about how wrong my life started going, let me tell you a bit more about myself.

    My name is Samuel Henders, but everyone calls me Sam. I’m fourteen years old. My dad is dead and my mom doesn’t care about me. When I was three, she got a new job and moved out, leaving me with my father’s brother, Robert, and became a pretty well-known fourth rate actress. Uncle Robert raised me with his son Matt, who was three years older than me.

    Then two years ago Uncle Robert got a job in America. He didn’t want to leave us, but we convinced him to. He found his younger brother’s (one of my other uncles, by the name of Edward) twenty-one-year-old daughter, Jane,

to look after us. We made our own makeshift family and live in our house in Chelsea. Uncle Robert visits us every summer. 

    My life began going downhill pretty unexpectedly. It all started when I decided to take a walk on a bright Sunday afternoon in March. The whole of next week would be half term and I’d be free of lessons. I kept a wary eye out for the two local bullies, Zach and Bert. When I heard footsteps behind me, my instincts told me to duck into an alleyway. That was my mistake. Without me knowing, something snuck up from behind. A cold, sharp pain exploded in the back of my head and my vision dimmed. My legs buckled suddenly beneath me and I lost consciousness, the world spinning as I fell to the ground. 

    *   *   *

    When I came to my senses, I was in a strange room, tied to a chair with my arms behind my back. The room was completely bare and smelt vaguely of damp. I wondered how I could escape – but first I had to get out of the stupid chair. I leaned sharply to the right and crashed to the ground. Twisting furiously, panic seeping into my head, I struggled until the cords were somehow loose enough for me to pull my wrists free. Somehow I twisted my arms to my front – it really hurt – and stood up. I was dirty and tired; my left arm felt strangely numb.   

    I stared around me. The walls had no doors and no windows, only ventilation holes to give me air. Realization dawned on me, cold and hard.

    I was a prisoner. Although the question of who would want me captive remained unanswered. 

    I scanned the walls and caught sight of a big ventilation grille. If I could balance myself on top of the chair, I might be able to climb into the vent and escape. I kicked the chair under it and started setting it up. Somehow I raised myself onto it. A jagged spike of metal protruded from the frame of the vent and I rubbed my bound wrists against it, cutting the ropes. 

    The door to the vent was securely fastened in place, but in places it was weak. I brushed my fingertips against the rust and the brown smeared itself on to my palm. Wobbling dangerously on the chair, I managed to utilise my penknife into helping me open the vent. At long last, the grille gave way and clattered to the ground, causing me to lose my balance as it clattered to the floor. I landed on the ground with a bump. 

    In the distance, I heard the ferocious growls and vicious

barking of dogs. My heart pounding against my chest, I sat up gingerly and climbed once more onto the chair. The barking grew louder and at the same time I heard the soft padding of footsteps outside. I had no idea how a dog could get into this strange room, but I didn’t wait to find out. Panic singing in my ears, I grabbed the edge of the vent and hauled myself in. 

    STRANGE DISCOVERIES

    I crawled through the large tube until I reached the end, which was yet another vent-hole. I pushed but it remained where it was. despair flooded through me. Had I put all my effort into escaping only to be met by a blank wall? 

    Frustrated, I shoved stubbornly against the grille. It rattled. I felt a sudden surge of hope, though it didn’t last long. Once again I flicked open my penknife and used its sharp blade to loosen the grille. I shoved the full weight of my shoulders onto it and, at last, felt it give way. With the force of yet another push, the grille slipped away

from the frame and fell to the ground. 

     I peered down. I was really high up. Below me the pavement looked far away. But I had to escape; if I didn’t all my previous effort would go in vain. I took a deep breath. And I jumped.

    As I fell, I flexed my limbs to try and absorb most of the impact. I must’ve twisted my ankle, since it started throbbing as I walked home. My numb arm started hurting too.

    The streets seemed strangely deserted. I glanced at my watch and saw that the time was three twenty-five. My stomach gave a funny sort of jolt. It had been eleven when I'd began my walk. I felt sick and gloomy, a sense of loneliness hovering around me. I pushed my unpleasant thoughts away and picked up my pace.

     Twenty minutes later I was back home. I pushed open

the door and went in. The house was quiet – too quiet. I explored the rooms upstairs, then downstairs. I went into the guest room and looked around. Suddenly, just on the edge of my vision, I saw something glittering in the sunlight under the bed. I knelt down and reached for it. My fingers closed around something cold and I yanked it out. My heartbeat stumbled at what I now held in my hand.

    A knife. 

    My phone rang suddenly. I'd forgotten it was in my pocket. It was Jane calling. I answered. ‘Hello?’

    ‘Sam? Is that you?’ 

    ‘Yes. Where are you?’

    ‘At the Police Station, to report your disappearance. You've been gone for ages!’

    My stomach lurched with guilt. I hadn’t meant to worry anyone. ‘Jane, I'm at home,’ I said, trying to make light of this bad situation.  ‘Don't worry. But I'd like it if you could come – as quick as you can, please.’ She said she'd be there in ten minutes and then hung up.

    I went to my room and waited, taking the knife with me. I laid it down on my bedside table and sat on the bed with my head in my hands. Slowly, my eyes felt heavy, and before I knew it, I slumped sideways, my head landing squarely on the pillow, and I fell asleep.

I woke up three hours later and went downstairs, still feeling rather drowsy. Jane was in the kitchen and she

gave me a meal of fried bacon and bread for supper.

     After that, Matt invited me to the sitting-room to have a game of cards. After he'd won two whole games, he asked me what had happened.

    I lied rather deliberately, hoping not to alarm him. He seemed to buy the story. 

    ‘But how’d you suddenly just collapse like that?’ he asked. ‘Were you hungry or something? Did you just faint normally?’

    ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘I don’t usually faint like that. And my head started throbbing before I hit the ground. I don’t think this was natural, Matt. Someone knocked me out.’

    ‘But have you any proof of that?’

    ‘No,’ I said after a pause. Another thought struck me. ‘Did you and Jane lock up before going to the police station?’

    Matt shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I can’t remember.’

    That explained a few other things. Whoever it was the knife belonged to had entered the house in the hope of finding something, and had probably left his knife behind. 

    ‘What are you thinking about?’ Matt asked. 

    Without answering, I showed him the knife. He looked taken aback and afraid. 

    ‘Where’d you find that?’ he asked, his voice quivering

slightly. I wondered whether the knife belonged to him, but that couldn’t be possible. My eyes locked onto what he was seeing and my heart nearly stopped beating. I swallowed hard, thinking that surely my eyes were deceiving me. I understood Matt’s fear now. Engraved on the handle of the knife were the words John E. Henders.

    NOT TOO GOOD

    I murmured excuses to Matt and exited the room. I went to my room, a wide area with a high ceiling. It was the typical room of yours truly. On a table in the corner was a pile of LEGO blocks. My desk was not too messy – not as messy as Matt's anyway – and my bed was made. My room was my own private cave. 

    I went in and stared at the knife in my hand. John E. Henders – in other words, my dad. The knife didn't even look old. 

    I glanced at the wall, at the only two pictures of my dad that I had. One was a picture of a well-built man in a brown aviator's jacket and a helmet, standing a few feet

away from a large old war plane, probably a Hurricane. The second was the same man, but his features were clearer: his close-cropped, light brown hair, clean-shaven face and his intelligent brown eyes. He was dressed in military uniform and was standing with his arm around my mother. My mother was smiling, her wavy blonde hair pulled back. She had always been pretty. I couldn’t say she looked like me, though; I looked more like my dad. 

    Looking at the photographs, I felt a crater open up in my chest. 

    I didn’t know anything much about my father. From what Uncle Robert had told me, he had been in the army before marrying my mother. My gaze drifted towards the

photographs on the wall and, not for the first time, I found myself thinking about how alike Dad and I looked. We had the same hair colour and eye tone, the same square-shouldered and athletic build, the same stiff posture – shoulders firm and arms rigid. 

    I looked down at the knife and shook my head. It was too much of a puzzle.

    Growing ever more puzzled, I sat down on the bed and picked up a book – Northern Lights – and began reading. I didn’t want to read the book, but we were doing it for English lit and really, I didn’t have anything else to read. 

    I tried to maintain my focus, but my thoughts kept slipping back to the knife. As I read, the words began to swim on the page. There was a shooting pain behind my eyes and I could feel a dull throbbing in the back of my

head. I stood up and tried to walk to the bathroom to wash my face. But my limbs wouldn’t obey me. I took a few painful steps forward, but my body was stiff and brittle; it didn’t want to be moved. I felt a sour taste in my mouth. My throat felt dry.

    I took another step forward; the room spun around me. Part of my conscience tried to will me back to the bed, but the other part, the stubborn part, refused. In the end I simply allowed events to take their turn. After one more step forward, I staggered, my feet swayed beneath me and I fell with a thud to the thickly carpeted floor.

I woke up in my bed, still fully dressed. Outside, the sun was beginning to set. I looked around. Dr Carter was standing down the edge of the bed, watching me with concern. Jane and Matt were there, too, looking anxious.

‘What – what happened?’ I asked hoarsely. ‘Why am I in bed?’

    ‘Sam, you were unconscious on the floor, so I called Dr Carter,’ Jane replied. ‘We were worried about you!’

    I swallowed. My mouth felt like sawdust. ‘I – I don’t know what happened,’ I said, but broke off as a fit of violent coughing took over, and afterwards I sat there gasping. 

    ‘Hmm. It appears you have been heavily drugged, Sam,’ said Dr Carter. ‘I am still unsure about what type of drug it is, but an overdose could have killed you. You are fortunate it was very little.’ 

    I said nothing. I’d been knocked out twice today, and I hadn’t felt good about it either time. I felt a bit feverish. Dr Carter said nothing as he did a thorough examination on me. Once he was done, he handed Jane a bottle of

pills. Then he walked briskly out of the room. 

    Jane gave me a plate of toast. ‘Eat it,’ she said, ‘and then you can have your medicine and go to bed. You need rest.’ I didn’t argue with her. I ate the toast, chewing it for a long time before swallowing it. Then Jane gave me the pills and a glass of water. I swallowed the pills. Then Jane helped me put on my pyjamas, and after that I got into bed and hoped I’d be able to fall asleep. Mercifully, I could. But my comfort was short-lived.

DEAD MAN WALKING

    I slept until ten thirty, which was about three hours of

sleep. I wondered why I'd woken up when I heard the sound of footsteps outside my door. I tensed. 

    Once the footsteps died away, I crept out of bed and out into the hallway. I snuck after the sound, the soft thud of footfalls on the carpet. The trespasser was in the spare room down the hallway. I crouched into a small niche in the wall. When the figure started down the hallway again, I pounced. 

    We wrestled on the ground for a few minutes, but I finally got the man in a headlock. When he stopped squirming, I looked at him. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him more clearly. The close-cropped, light brown hair, the athletic figure, the intelligent brown eyes. 

    ‘Dad?’ I blurted out before I could stop myself. I loosened my vice-like grip. 

    The man – my dad – looked at me and grinned. ‘Hey, Sam. It’s been a while since I last saw you.’ 

    I was so shocked I almost fainted on the spot. My legs felt funny and I fell, but Dad caught me. ‘I – I thought you were dead!’ I said. ‘I honestly thought you were!’ 

    ‘Sam, I'll try to explain things as much as possible, but you don’t look too good,’ he said, his tone almost casual. ‘How about I take you to see a doctor? I know a pretty good one.’ All the questions I wanted to ask refused to pour out of my mouth. The most I could do was nod. 

    ‘Good.’ Dad patted my shoulder. ‘I'll let you get dressed, and then you can come. I'll be downstairs.’ 

    I staggered to my room and pulled on some clothes: jeans, a T-shirt, trainers and a jacket. I slung my backpack onto my shoulder and went downstairs to Dad. He unlocked the door. Parked outside on the sidewalk

was a silver BMW. I climbed into the front passenger seat beside him. Then we drove off.

    We drove for about twenty minutes. Dad parked just opposite a large building. He walked close to me, as if he were afraid I'd pass out at any moment. We went into the building and got into a lift that went two floors up. The door opened into a wide reception area with a desk and a middle-aged woman sitting at a computer behind the desk. ‘Sam, I have to speak to someone else first, so would you mind waiting a bit?’ Dad said.

    ‘Sure,’ I replied. He led me to an office room. It was empty. Dad frowned. ‘I should probably go speak to him in the other room,’ he said. ‘Could you wait here for a bit?’ I nodded. 

    I sat down in an armchair by the window. After about five minutes the door opened, but I felt a sense of

unease. The door glided open slowly, giving me just enough time to jump behind the armchair. A man came in. He was dressed from head-to-toe in black: black trousers, black hooded shirt, and black mask. Even his eyes were black.

    The imposter slowly crept along the room towards the desk. He began rummaging through the neatly filed paperwork. I edged away from the cover of the armchair and stood up, brushing off my clothes. I padded silently across the room and grabbed him by the scruff of his shoulders, yanking him down as hard as I could. 

     He turned his head round and made a frustrated noise in his throat. He thrashed vigorously, lashing out at me with his elbows and legs. I pulled him to the ground and the two of us started wrestling against each other. Finally, he pulled me to my feet and shook my shoulders

so hard I could practically feel my teeth rattle. 

    My instincts kicked in automatically. I'd been learning karate for nearly seven years now, and I wasn’t at all that bad. I hit him with a kick that connected to his stomach. He groaned and hit back. His hand gripped my left arm and slightly twisted my elbow joint. I winced and punched him with my free hand; then got him with an uppercut. He went sprawling, which gave me enough time to throw open the door and yell into the corridor. He was up again just as a swarm of security guards entered. He spat and swore. He lunged after me but I blocked him, grasping his wrists and twisting them until two guards ran forward and seized him. Dad came in just as the man was dragged out of the room. He saw me nursing my arm and came over.

     ‘What happened? Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘I

shouldn’t have left you alone. People are always trying to break in. Come on, I'll take you to see Dr Sharp.’

    We walked to the elevator and took it down to level -3, my arm throbbing and my head aching.

    FATHER AND SON

    The lift opened onto a large, sterile room like a hospital. There was a curtain pulled back to reveal a small hospital bed at the back, and a desk in the corner. Seated at the desk was a young man with a crop of dark hair and a stethoscope around his neck. He was dressed in a white coat and was studying a pile of papers. He looked up as we entered. 

    For some reason, I've always had a horror of hospitals.

Everything was so utterly sterile and half the things doctors did to you hurt. So I hope you won’t blame me if I tell you I almost collapsed on the floor, and Dad caught me. 

    I was dragged over to the bed, where I sat trying to calm down. I took several deep breaths, hyperventilating. ‘I'm er – not exactly very fond of hospitals,’ I managed to say. Dad patted me on the back. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘if you can single-handedly defeat a criminal, there isn’t anything about a hospital you have to be scared of.’ 

    Dr Sharp came over. He tapped my chest and back with his stethoscope, then looked into my eyes. I winced when he touched my elbow. 

    ‘Hmm,’ he murmured. He grabbed hold of my elbow and twisted it back into place. I yelped – it hurt, especially when he set it properly. Dad had his hand on my

shoulder, and it tightened as Dr Sharp pulled my elbow.

     ‘That should do it,’ said Sharp. ‘Now, according to the symptoms you show, I think you’ve been drugged. I may be able to fix that.’

    He went to his desk and came back with a hypodermic syringe and a bottle of transparent liquid. He inserted the syringe into the bottle and held it up to the light. I felt nervous. My instincts took over and I began to struggle, trying to escape, but Dad now had both his hands firmly on my shoulders, preventing me from moving. I flinched as the needle stabbed into my arm. It hurt for a whole minute before subsiding and going numb. Dr Sharp put a plaster on it and walked away, murmuring something about sleep.

    ‘You should go to bed, Sam,’ Dad said. ‘I'll wake you up after an hour or so.’ I glanced at my watch. Elven thirty. I

could do with the sleep…

    Soon I was lying down on the bed, breathing heavily as I slept, my arms hurting as if they were on fire. 

I woke up feeling stiff. My left arm – the one that had been twisted – was still hurting; my right arm hurt only when I touched it. 

    ‘Ready to go?’ Dad asked. ‘I'll drop you home, if you want.’ I nodded eagerly. The radio blared music as we drove through the empty streets. 

    ‘Sam,’ Dad said when we reached home, ‘I didn’t get a chance to explain why you thought I was dead. But I can tomorrow, if you’ll come at night.’

    ‘What time?’

    ‘Same as today. But if you don’t want to –’

    ‘I'll be there,’ I said, smiling. ‘Don’t worry. Oh, and I'll

bring your knife.’ He smiled and said goodnight. Then he drove off.

    I stood on the doorstep, watching the BMW before it disappeared. Then I pushed open the door and went in, still in shock about everything that had happened.

    TRUTH 

    ‘Sam!’ Jane yelled. ‘Wake up!’ I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and glanced at my alarm clock. 10.02 AM. I got out of bed and showered, careful not to wet the plaster on my right arm. 

    After breakfast, I went upstairs to the loft, which was a clutter of boxes and crates. I searched around until I found a wooden crate labelled “John”. I opened it and peered inside. There was a large leather-bound book – probably an album. I ignored it and explored the crate more. I was finally able to uproot a laptop.

    I took it to my room and plugged it in. I booted it up and the screen flickered into life. It was updated with a Windows 11 operating system. The desktop background was a picture of my father holding a one-year-old baby –

me. I smiled at the picture. It had, after all, been thirteen years ago. I opened the Windows Explorer and scanned the contents. Nothing much. Then I scanned the subfolders. Nothing again. Finally, I had an idea. I typed “Helen” – my mother’s name – into the search box. Nothing.

    I scrolled up and down about three times. On the last time, I was lucky enough to catch sight of a subfolder tucked in amongst some documents. It was labelled “TOP SECRET”, which made me all the more curious to read it. I double- clicked it, but the folder was empty except for a video file also saved as “TOP SECRET”.  

    I clicked on it and the video filled the screen. The scene was two men rolling in the ground in a fight. One of them was my dad. Then the video shifted. The other man was holding Dad at gunpoint, the muzzle pointing at his

chest. 

    ‘You always were weak, John,’ the man said. ‘You’ll never find the girl.’

    ‘Maybe not,’ Dad answered, ‘but at least we caught the rest, Mark.’

    The scene shifted. This time, Dad held the other man, Mark, at gunpoint. ‘Looks like we caught you,’ said Dad. ‘Now tell us where the girl is or you’ll be in jail for the next five years of your life.’

    The man squirmed. He murmured something under his breath that I couldn’t hear, then said, ‘All right, John, I’ll tell you. The girl’s in the basement of the house. Now go do your job. I don’t think I ever want to see you again.’ The screen went black. I stared. I hadn’t the faintest idea what they’d been talking about, but I didn’t like the sound of it.

    I spent the rest of the day reading and playing cards with Matt. Then, when the sun set, Jane sent me up to bed. I showered, but I didn’t put on my pyjamas. I got dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans. I brushed my untidy hair until it looked presentable, then got into bed. I slept for about an hour before my phone began to buzz.  

    I pulled on my socks and trainers, then went downstairs. I swung open the side door and stepped out into the night.

    I walked down the road until I spotted Dad’s silver BMW. He grinned at me and I got in. I handed him his knife. After that Dad and I talked about our lives; I told him about school and my karate lessons; he told me about his life, which involved him doing exciting things – and sometimes what he did seemed dangerous. Then we

lapsed into silence.

    ‘Sam, you asked me questions,’ Dad said suddenly, breaking the silence. ‘I'm afraid I didn’t answer all of them. That’s mainly because I was sworn to secrecy, but I’ve gotten permission to tell you.’ He paused, and I looked at him intently, trying to hide my curiosity. He swallowed and continued. ‘Almost a year before you were born, I was sent on an assignment to find a girl that had been kidnapped. I managed to find the criminals, but most of them got away, though they were later caught. The ringleader of it all was a notorious man by the name of –’

     ‘Mark?’ I interrupted. Dad stared at me. 

    ‘How did you know?’ he asked. I told him about the video I’d seen, and he nodded. ‘Yes, that was his name. Well, they tried to kill me many times, and I survived. But

it was getting dangerous. Your mother was about to have a baby – you. I had to do something. So I pretended to die, and then your mother got cross with me. We separated, but I couldn’t stand to be without you. So every day we took turns to look after you. When you were one, your mother said I couldn’t spend time with you. It left me heartbroken, Sam, but I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t want to involve anyone, not even my own lawyer.’ His voice cracked. 

    ‘But even Uncle Robert thought you were dead!’ I exclaimed in disbelief. ‘Did he know?’ 

    ‘Yes, Sam,’ he said quietly. ‘He did know, but that was because we both worked for the same company.’ I stared at him.

    ‘You’re a spy, aren’t you?’ I said softly, realizing at last. Dad nodded.

    I was surprised, but I was glad to have the truth at last. I sighed contentedly and turned on the radio, and we drove on. 

    ‘WILL YOU HELP US?’

    It only just occurred to me I hadn’t the foggiest idea where we were going. I gazed out the windscreen, trying to get my bearings. Dad must have understood my confusion, because he said, ‘We’re going to the place we went to last night.’ 

    ‘Where did we go last night?’ I asked. 

    ‘A block of flats,’ Dad answered shortly. I remembered what he’d said:  I was sworn to secrecy. 

    I didn’t say any more as we drove on. In the moonlight, the building we parked across from did indeed look like a regular block of flats. Little did anyone else know that it had nothing to do with accommodating people. Dad

pushed open the door and we stepped inside. The lift took us to the room I'd been in yesterday. A man sat at the desk. He looked in his forties, with dark hair and an expressionless face. His eyes were completely empty. He forced a smile and welcomed us in. 

    ‘Good evening, Sam,’ he said. ‘My name is Milton Faust. I am the head of a branch of MI6. I will not go into the details, but basically we deal in international affairs. Sometimes in Britain, too. We are very busy, and your father is one of our best agents.’ He paused; I stared at him.

    ‘A while ago, we were informed of some hostile activity taking place at a school called Clarkes’ Academy for Disturbed Children. We sent in an agent immediately, but the best he could get was a maths teacher in the primary section; although he did find out that children in year

nine keep disappearing mysteriously.’ I drank everything in. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to close my eyes and convince myself I was dreaming; that none of this was really happening. But, sadly, it was real.

    ‘We considered sending your father, but we decided it wouldn’t work,’ Faust continued. ‘Although he is a good agent, he wouldn’t be right for this sort of job. We did know about you, of course, and when we saw your potential yesterday, we thought we could send you. You will need –’

    ‘But I'm only fourteen!’ I cut in. ‘How am I supposed to spy?’

    ‘You are a remarkable boy, Sam,’ he answered. ‘As I was saying, you will need training for about five days at the least. You’ll be away for roughly a week. So will you help us?’

    I looked at him. ‘I'm not sure if I'm ready,’ I admitted. ‘I can’t really do anything apart from karate.’ 

    Faust waved his hand dismissively. ‘You’ll be given basic training. You don’t have to worry.’

    ‘And what happens if I don’t agree?’

    ‘You'll go back to your normal life. But that also means you won't be able to see your father.’ There was a heavy, dead quality to the words and I knew at that moment that I had no choice. 

    I looked at Faust, then at Dad. Their faces were expressionless. 

    ‘Oh, all right,’ I said. ‘I'll do it.’

    DOUBLE CROSS

    For about the millionth time that day, I cursed at Milton Faust for sending me here. It was only my third day at

the training centre; I already hated it. I was somewhere in the Welsh countryside. In all directions, the dull and hazy countryside stretched endlessly. The rain fell lightly. I swore to myself, then made my way back to my cabin, Cabin 10.

    I'd been driven there early morning, at about six o’clock. A smiling woman, Nurse Flint, introduced me to my mates in Cabin 10. Everyone had a code name; mine was Fox. The rest of them were called Eagle, Hawk and Snake. Hawk and Eagle were brothers, and they looked almost exactly alike. 

    Snake despised me the moment I walked in. I didn’t know why, he just wanted to make me miserable. He was head of Cabin 10, and that meant he had control over all of us. He gave me patrol duty when the weather was at its worst. And whenever I messed up, he'd tease me

about it. I'd failed a challenge with the climbing wall only once – on my first try, too – and he still called me butterfingers. I clenched my fists when I saw him, casually dressed and lying on his bunk. ‘Hey, butterfingers,’ he said. 

    I ignored him and marched over to my bunk, snatched up some clothes, and went to the bathroom. 

    Throughout the day, I got to know Eagle and Hawk better. Hawk was eighteen, a year older than Eagle. They were both really friendly, and didn’t resent me or feel personally offended around me. 

    The next morning, we were all paired up for a mountain climbing challenge. It wasn’t really a mountain we were climbing, just a hill, but there wasn’t a proper slope, so it was tough to climb. I was paired with Eagle and I was pleased. He smiled at me and helped me put on my

safety harness. 

    ‘Ready, Fox?’ he asked. I felt reassured by his confident attitude. He brushed a strand of his fair hair away from his forehead. 

    ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Let’s do it!’

    Climbing was slow work. We helped each other out, and slowly we made it to the top. We grabbed our flag – it was bright red – and started going down the hill. Eagle reached the bottom first. I was nearing the ground too, but suddenly I saw that the rope was frayed; it could snap at any moment. I froze, and tried to get down slower. Snap! The rope broke suddenly and I fell the last few meters to the ground. 

    ‘Fox! Are you okay?’ Eagle asked. ‘That looked rough.’

    I nodded. ‘I'll be fine, Eagle, don’t worry. I wonder why the rope broke, though.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I

saw Snake smiling slyly. I gritted my teeth.

    Later that evening Eagle and I were awarded second place for the climbing challenge. I went to bed feeling pleased with myself. It must have been about midnight when I suddenly awoke to a loud sound, a sharp crack that obliterated the silence around the training centre. I had no idea what was going on until Eagle crept over to my bed.

    ‘Gunfire,’ he whispered. ‘Somebody’s helping our enemies. I've woken up Hawk, but Snake isn’t anywhere. Come on, get dressed – quick!’  

    Hastily I grabbed some clothes and put them on. The two brothers picked up their weapons – Eagle had a knife, Hawk had a pistol – and we all walked stealthily to the door. I opened it, and, standing there with a smile on his face, was Snake. ‘Well, well,’ he mused, a cold smirk

playing to his lips. ‘Ever had the feeling you’ve been double-crossed?’

    UNDER ATTACK

    A surge of anger coursed through me. I wanted to

strangle Snake. Of course, he was the one who had cut my rope. That was why he made my life worse than it already was: he was helping our enemies – whoever they were. I was so angry with him I spun around and got him with a side kick. He crumpled and I struck him again with a punch to the side of his head. Then we moved.

    Two large jeeps had pulled up, and hordes of men in camouflage suits poured out. They were holding rifles and pistols. Suddenly they were on us. 

    I don’t remember what I did. My heart pounded as I dodged bullets and spun around. I avoided the blade of a knife. I even knocked out three men. 

    I stopped at the base of the hill I'd climbed earlier and clasped my hands to my knees, trying to catch my breath. Suddenly, without warning, a hand grabbed my shoulder and I was flung, sprawling, to the ground. I

staggered to my feet and once again felt the tight grip of someone’s hand on my arm.

    This was the handiwork of a tall, thickset man in a Kevlar vest, wearing a helmet and brandishing a pistol. 

    ‘You won’t have to die,’ he said gruffly. ‘I can spare your life. Let us do what we were meant to do, and you'll live through it. You can get away now, while you’ve the chance to.’

    ‘No.’ I tore myself away from him. ‘I can’t do that. I won’t do that.’

    With a vicious snarl, the man lashed out. I went sprawling, and landed at the base of the hill with a sickening thud. A trickle of blood slid over my eye. The man’s hand closed around my throat and I gasped, my air lessening. 

    ‘Sam!’ 

    Eagle was standing a good few metres away, but close enough to see what was happening. He raised his hand and suddenly his knife had buried itself in my captor’s shoulder. I nodded weakly towards him in gratitude, then made my way back to the fight. 

    When it was over the rest of the cabins put away their weapons and wiped their foreheads. Only when I was standing still did I realise how much my body hurt.

    My ankle was swollen and my left elbow seemed to have been twisted again. I had a bump on my head and a cut under my chin. There was a deep gash on my right arm and on my leg; my palms were grazed; my shoulders were cut and bruised as well.

    Nurse Flint stared at me as I walked in to the sick room, Eagle supporting me. Dad was there too.

    ‘Sam!’ she gasped. ‘Jake, bring him over to the bed,

quickly!’ So Eagle’s real name was Jake. I couldn’t process the thought. I planted my foot down to walk but it gave way and I crashed to the floor. Dad rushed over, and together he and Jake dragged me over to the bed. I was made to lie down flat on my back, so that all I could see was the ceiling.  Nurse Flint came over and felt my pulse. ‘Sam, those cuts are quite deep. You may have to get stitches.’ I swallowed my fear and tried to focus on something other than the pain I was experiencing. Dad laid a wet cloth on my forehead; and slowly, the voices and images began to dissolve. 

    I woke up in an ambulance. It was rumbling down the road, sirens blaring. Seated beside me and looking anxious, were Dad and Jake. A friendly female paramedic came over and checked my blood pressure. She injected

me with something and I sank back into unconsciousness.

    I was in a hospital next. Dr Sharp looked at me in concern. ‘We’ve given you stitches, Sam,’ he said. ‘We’ve done everything we can to help you, and I suggest you rest. You’re going to need it.’ 

    I wanted to protest but I knew he was right. I didn’t know exactly how long I'd been out for, but it must’ve been a long time since I had no idea about what had happened after I'd passed out at the training centre. I stayed in bed for such a long time my muscles grew stiff. Dad came to see me soon.

    ‘Sam, I'm sorry about what happened.’ He regarded me with concern. ‘It won’t happen again.’

    ‘What happened to Snake?’ I asked hoarsely. 

    ‘He’s in prison,’ Dad answered grimly. ‘We think he was

working for a dangerous foreign agency. We’re lucky we caught him.’

    I wanted to ask him more questions, but the look on his face told me I shouldn’t. ‘Sam, I understand. You’re confused about what happened, and you’re worried it’ll happen again, when you go to the school on your first assignment. I get it. It’s something new, something you didn’t even know about before. I could go myself, but it wouldn’t work. You’re our only chance.’ 

    I gazed at him. I could tell he was worried for me, afraid I'd fail. But then I thought about everything Dad had been through so far. He'd risked his life many times and he'd still showed me I was important to him. That was what mattered most to me. 

    ‘Don’t worry.’ I forced a thin, watery smile. ‘I'll make it through.’ 

    Dad patted my shoulder. ‘I'm glad I own you Sam. I wouldn’t be here without you.’ He paused, letting his emotions die away. ‘Mr Faust says you have to see Smith. He’ll equip you with whatever you need.’

    ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what I'd do without you either.’ I sighed contentedly and laid my head back on the pillow.

    TOYS FOR SCHOOL

    Dad stayed with me all through the time I was in bed. I'd been in bed for two days, but I was finally feeling better. Then Dad told me I had to see someone called

Smith. 

    Smith was a very big man. There was no other way to describe him. He was plump and jolly, with a round head and a tuft of dark hair. He had a small moustached and a thick neck. He and I first met in a small room where Dad had told me to go. We both sat at a desk, on each side. Smith was wearing a pale, pinstriped suit and a cloth cap. He sat down heavily on his chair. ‘Well, Sam, old chap,’ he said, ‘I've been instructed to provide you with some – er – toys.’

    ‘I didn’t think toys would be allowed at a school,’ I commented. 

    ‘Oh, not those toys.’ He placed a large cardboard box on the table. He pulled out a smart watch and handed it to me. ‘This activates the rest of the supplies,’ he explained. ‘It also sends out a distress signal, in case you’re in

danger.’ Next he pulled out a pen, a sharpener and an eraser. ‘The pen acts as a skeleton key,’ he went on. ‘It’ll open just about anything that’s locked. And this eraser is a bug. Stick it on a wall and press the button on your watch, and you'll be able to hear whatever’s happening on the other side of the wall. The sharpener is a small bomb. Place it anywhere you like, press the button on your watch three times, and it’ll detonate.’

    ‘Cool.’ I was drawn to the watch. ‘Is that it?’

    ‘One more thing.’ Smith produced a small rectangular box and opened it. Inside there were four stick-thin batteries. ‘If you strip this aluminium coating off, there’s just a small dart. Its hollowed out and filled with a sleeping-draught. You slip it into this little slot here’ – he showed it to me – ‘and push the back of the box. Then it’ll fire into whoever you want it to, as long as they’re within

twenty paces, and they’ll fall asleep for about half an hour.’

    ‘Thanks,’ I said, pocketing the supplies. ‘I'll try to use them as well as I can.’

    ‘I hope you come back alive, Sam,’ Smith said.

    ‘Me too,’ I murmured. I pushed opened the door and left the building.

    CLARKES’ ACADEMY FOR DISTURBED CHILDREN

    ­The school looked like a prison.

    I was in the front passenger seat of a Mini, sitting next to a thin, unsmiling chauffeur who worked for Mr Faust. The school was painted dark grey, with very few windows. The front door was made of solid oak. There were no children running around in the school yard; there was a gloomy silence hanging in the air.

    I brushed my uniform, which looked ridiculous on me. It was a white shirt and brown trousers, with a brown blazer and a striped tie. I'd been forced to wear a brown

cloth hat as well.

    The Mini cruised up the drive to a small strip of wasteland behind the school, which I guessed was supposed to be a parking lot. The chauffeur helped me drag my luggage out of the boot and into the school. 

    A pretty, middle-aged woman was waiting in an office inside the school. She stood up as we entered.

    ‘Good afternoon,’ she said pleasantly. ‘My name is Anna Walters. I am the housemistress of Notting. You are in Dormitory 30. I will show you there. Please, follow me.’

    I picked up my bags and followed her up a flight of stairs to another wing of the school, where the students of the house Notting slept. Dormitory 30 was right at the

end of the corridor. She opened the door. The room was divided into three cubicles, separated by grey curtains. Each cubicle contained a bed, a chest of drawers and a small desk. One cubicle was empty.

    There were two boys in the room. One was seated on his bed, reading. The other was at his desk, presumably doing his homework. 

    ‘Jack! Paul!’ said Miss Walters. ‘You have a new friend!’ The two boys looked up. The one reading had fair hair and blue eyes. He smiled at me and gestured at the other boy, who had brown hair and an athletic figure. He put down his book and came over to me. 

    ‘I'm Paul,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘That’s Jack. He

doesn’t really talk much.’ I glanced at Jack and thought he looked rather familiar, but it couldn’t be possible. I introduced myself. I grasped Paul’s hand and we shook; then I went over to the empty cubicle. ‘Mind if I sleep here?’ I asked.

    ‘Of course not,’ said Jack, looking up. ‘I'm sorry, but do I know you?’

    ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘But you do look a bit familiar to me.’ He nodded and went back to his work. 

    ‘Well, Sam,’ Miss Walters said, ‘I hope you enjoy yourself. Goodbye.’ And she left the room. Paul, Jack and I were in the same class. I unpacked and changed out of my uniform. It felt good not to be wearing the horrid

thing anymore. We went to the dining hall for supper: dumplings and some kind of stew. I sat at a table with Jack and Paul, and a girl named Anne. Anne turned out to be Jack’s younger sister in Year five. Anne looked almost exactly like Jack. We talked and I wished I could feel at ease with them, but I knew it was impossible. I had a job to do. And once I was done, I'd be pulled out and my friends wouldn’t be my friends anymore. Suddenly I would be dragged out and forgotten.

    The conversation switched to the various lessons and the teachers who taught them. ‘Anne, who’s your maths teacher?’ I asked suddenly, an idea flooding through my head.

    ‘Mr Parker.’ She sounded surprised. ‘Why do you want to know?’

    ‘I thought he might be my Uncle,’ I said without thinking. ‘My mum said something like that. She said he taught at a school for troubled kids. I thought it might have been here.’ 

    Paul patted me on the back. ‘We’ve all come here because we’ve done something wrong. I haven’t, thank goodness, but I have a problem in sitting still. My mom says I'm ADHD – whatever that is.’

    ‘Jack got caught accidently shoplifting,’ Anne said. ‘I only came here since I'm bored at home, and mum said she’d be glad to have me off her hands for a while.’

    ‘We’ll only be here until the end of the term,’ Jack said sulkily. ‘Not until we graduate.’

    That silenced me. Something about the way Jack spoke told me not to intervene again.

    NIGHT CHAOS

    The next day I started lessons. They were really easy. We didn’t even do algebra like I did in my old school. Everything was just so different. At the end of the day we

had ECAs - extracurricular activities – and I'd chosen football and swimming. The pool wasn’t very wide or very deep, so I was able to reach the other side first. Football was harder, thank goodness. At least one thing about this school wasn’t so easy. After supper, we were given permission to watch a movie. We watched Johnny English before going to bed. 

    Late at night I heard footsteps outside. I quickly pulled on some clothes over my pyjamas and steeled out into the corridor. I crept down the softly lit corridor, in the direction of which I heard the footsteps. As I got closer I heard the sound of a young girl gagging, trying to yell while her mouth was blocked. There was sharp bend. I

peered around the wall. A little girl with short, curly hair was struggling against two men almost twice her size. Anger boiled through me. It was unfair, a girl of no more than ten battling against these two thugs. 

    I pulled out one of the batteries from the little box Smith had given me. I stripped off the aluminium cover and inserted the dart into the thin slot on the box. I aimed it at the nearest man, then pushed the back of the box. The dart cut across the air and lodged in the man’s wrist. His face contorted in puzzlement, and he crumpled to the floor.

    His companion exclaimed in surprise. He dropped to his knees, and I got him with a dart too. Both men were out

cold.

    I rushed to the little girl, who was sobbing and trembling with fear. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said as comfortingly as possible. ‘What’s your name?’

    ‘Jenny,’ she sniffed. ‘Can you take me back to my dormitory? It’s number eight.’

    I escorted Jenny to her dormitory. While we walked, she told me she was in Year Five. I said goodnight to her and went to my dormitory.

    Jack was awake when I entered the room. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking dazed. He didn’t even look up as I entered the room. I put my pyjamas back on, but I couldn’t sleep. I felt worried about Jack.

Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. I walked over to his bed. 

    ‘Jack?’ He didn’t move at all. ‘Jack, are you all right?’

    I clapped my hands in front of his face. That brought him back to earth. Unfortunately, it also woke up Paul. 

    ‘Eh?’ he mumbled. ‘What’s going on?’

    ‘I'd like to know the same thing,’ Jack said, and he and Paul both turned on me.

    ‘Look,’ I said, trying to explain. ‘I woke up and Jack was just sitting on his bed and staring into space. It actually scared me a bit. Sorry if I woke you, Paul.’ 

    They both looked at me and nodded. ‘All right,’ Paul said. ‘Everyone back to bed.’

    I got into bed. A confusing torrent of thoughts swirled around in my mind.   But I forgot them as I drifted into sleep. I thought the next day would be peaceful. But, of course, I was wrong. 

    A GAME TO THE DEATH

    After lessons the next day, I took a walk by myself. I walked around the school yard, then decided I'd like to walk outside to the nearby village. I vaulted over the fence that divided the yard and the parking lot. Once in the empty piece of wasteland, I caught sight of two black quad bikes. They had large tyres and the handlebars were polished. I felt a sudden longing to ride one, but I

knew I couldn’t. I pushed the thought out of my mind and continued walking.

    In the village, I went to a little ice-cream shop and sat down to eat one. It tasted pretty good. As I emerged out of the ice-cream shop, I heard a shrill scream. My body froze. Very, very slowly, I turned around. What I saw made me stare in horror. Jenny, the little girl I'd helped yesterday, was being pursued by a man on one of the quads I'd seen earlier. She ran swiftly, but she was outnumbered. I clenched my fists and decided on what I had to do.

    I went back to the other quad, still parked. I jumped on, pressed the starter, and soon I was cutting across sheets

of grass, trying to keep up with the other rider. At least he had a visor helmet and leather jacket. I had nothing but luck. 

    I gunned the engine forward until I was only yards away from Jenny. I met her gaze and mouthed a few words silently. She understood. She followed me as I swerved into an alleyway. ‘Climb on,’ I said.

    She was quavering from head to foot as she swung herself on behind me. Her tiny fingers clutched my waist as I accelerated, trying to find somewhere safe. The man on the other quad saw me. Grinning evilly, he came after us in earnest. My hands tightened on the handlebars. 

    We drove so fast; I was surprised a police officer hadn’t

come after us. I'd finally shaken the man, but I knew he'd be back soon. I dropped Jenny off at a house, where a kind old lady and her granddaughter, Emily, lived. Mrs Drew gladly accepted Jenny. But I didn’t take her hospitality. I said I had a job to do, and I sped away on the quad. 

    The other man snarled when he saw I no longer had Jenny. He raised his left hand, and I saw what he was holding – a gun.

    Panic seized me but I forced it down. Freaking out wasn’t going to help me. 

    ‘Pull over!’ the rider yelled, but I pretended not to hear. Grinding my teeth, I tightened my grip on the

handlebars and shot forward towards a narrow lane. The quad rumbled down it and crashed through a rotting wooden gate. I was now in an open field, and if the man wanted to kill me – which I had no doubt that he did – there wouldn’t be any witnesses around.

    Molten anger boiled inside me. Why should I allow a madman on a quad bike to kill me? My rage grew reckless; I inhaled sharply, trying to calm down. Getting cross wouldn’t help anyone. 

    The engine idling, I stopped under a tree and thought for a minute. I gazed into the hazy distance and saw a low barrier. At first I thought it was some part of a building, but then I realized it was a fence. And judging