The Great Escape (16 page)

‘It’s a good question, though,’ said Ben, tapping away at the keyboard, flicking through page after page of information, his eyes barely seeming to scan the screen before he
dismissed it and moved on.

‘I don’t know,’ he said at last. ‘Vakkson don’t seem to be doing anything in this country.’

‘Nothing at all?’ asked Jake.

His brother shook his head.

‘Well, why do they have a lab in Haverham, then?’ Millie asked.

Ben frowned and typed some more.

‘They don’t, really,’ he exclaimed. ‘They used to have a department here, then they moved operations to Germany two years ago. They tried to sell it, but there were no
takers, so they’ve leased it out.’

‘He is even more alarming than you, Millie,’ said Max, looking at Ben with awe.

‘They leased it to Arthur Shepard?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘So this
is
his . . . private project,’ said Jake. ‘But why does he want to make talking cats?’

‘I’ve tried to remember everything I heard while I was there,’ said Max. ‘But the technicians didn’t seem to know anything. They hardly spoke to us at all, except
to ask us stupid questions about whether or not we felt nauseous.’

‘Well, let’s think.’ Millie was frowning again. ‘It’s going to cost a huge amount of money to rent a building that size, isn’t it?’ They all agreed.
‘And you were there for at least a few weeks?’ she checked with Max, who nodded his head. ‘And you weren’t the first cat there? So some of them might have been there for a
few months?’ He nodded again, his long, grey whiskers waving as he moved. ‘And,’ Millie continued, ‘Shepard’s paying for separate security, well, house-breakers, on
top of the guards who look after the building, who are paid for by Vakkson?’

‘That explains why that guard was so useless – Vakkson probably use good people for places which they actually
use
. All they need for a lab they’re renting out to
someone else is a bloke to make sure windows don’t get broken, or squatters don’t move in,’ said Jake.

‘And he’s paying for the technicians . . .’

‘And he has a really nice car,’ added Jake.

‘So it’s probably a big company that’s bankrolling him, but not Vakkson, do we agree?’ asked Millie.

Everyone nodded. Then they all stopped, realising they had come to a dead end.

‘Did none of you see
anything
? Anything that might give us a clue?’ Ben asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Jake.

‘No,’ said Max.

They all looked expectantly at Millie.

‘The only thing I did see . . .’ She trailed off. It was too stupid. She had checked it once and found nothing. But it was the only thing she could think of that had been out of the
ordinary. ‘There was a newspaper in the rubbish,’ she said. ‘They lined the cages with paper, which I think is why it was there. Only, it was missing its middle pages, and I
thought someone had taken them out to read them – it was just one big sheet, you see, which wasn’t enough to line a cage with. So I thought maybe there was something important in the
paper, and that’s why they’d kept it away from the cats.’ Millie carried on, aware that Ben and Jake were looking increasingly underwhelmed: ‘And I checked it at the
library, but I think it was just a picture they’d taken out. Only, why take the whole page?’

Ben twisted his mouth as he thought. Jake patted Millie on the shoulder and said, ‘You know that just because they can talk doesn’t mean they can read, don’t you?’

Max pulled a huffy face, and failed to mention that he wasn’t much of a reader himself yet.

‘Which newspaper was it?’ asked Ben.

‘
The Times
,’ said Millie, surprised he was taking it seriously enough to ask.

‘Mum and Dad get that,’ said Jake. ‘What was the date?’ he asked.

‘Erm, about three weeks ago,’ she said, as she struggled to remember.

‘Jake!’ exclaimed Ben. ‘Have Mum and Dad taken the papers to be recycled yet?’

‘Don’t be silly, little bro.’ Jake ruffled his hair. ‘Have you heard an almighty crash as Europe’s largest paper mountain collapses to the floor of the
garage?’

‘Not since about May,’ admitted Ben.

‘Then the papers are all still there, aren’t they?’ said Jake. ‘Why do you ask?’ Ben gave him a hard look. ‘Oh,’ Jake grinned. ‘I see.’

They traipsed out to the garage and gingerly approached the leaning tower of papers. They took them carefully from the top, trying not to damage the infrastructure of this impressive piece of
engineering. Max remained out of harm’s way, as he rightly suspected that if this pile of paper collapsed, he might never be seen again.

‘How came the council don’t collect your paper?’ asked Millie. ‘They take ours every week.’

‘Mum and Dad never remember to put it out, till there’s so much the council won’t take it,’ replied Ben.

‘Sometimes we think about doing it, to save them the trouble,’ added Jake cheerily. ‘But it just encourages them.’

‘That’s it,’ said Millie, as they reached the edition that she had fished out of the rubbish. ‘Here.’ She flipped through the pages until she found the middle
sheet.

‘Phwoar,’ said Jake, looking at the large picture on the front.

‘Urgh,’ said Ben, poking his brother in the ribs. ‘She looks like a giraffe in a dress. And that’s not even really a dress. It’s more like string.’

‘Well, that’s why the page was taken out,’ said Jake simply. ‘I’d have taken it myself if I’d seen it.’

‘There must be something else,’ said Ben, turning the page.

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Millie. ‘But if there is, I don’t know what it is.’

Ben scanned the business pages, just as Millie had, shaking his head in disappointment as he finished reading.

‘Well, I’m still taking this upstairs,’ he said.

They all read and re-read the missing pages.

‘Share prices,’ Jake moaned. ‘What do they even mean?’

‘It’s how much a company is worth, I think,’ said Millie. ‘The share price is high if lots of people want to buy them, and low if no one does. People want to buy shares
in companies that are doing well – you know, selling lots of stuff, or whatever.’

‘What do they buy from telecom companies? What do they sell?’ asked Jake.

‘I have no idea,’ she admitted. ‘But, see, this company, Playmatic’ – she pointed to a brief article about a toy and games manufacturer – ‘their shares
are worth less, because they’ve lost their director. He’s left, and taken some of their best-selling toy ideas with him. See, it says that they’re trying to sue their lawyers, for
letting him have a contract that . . .’ Her voice petered out as she noticed that Jake’s eyes had glazed over. He came to with a jolt.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Were you still talking?’

‘She does that a lot,’ sympathised Max, thinking of how he had felt when Millie tried to explain computer security to him.

‘I don’t get that,’ said Ben.

‘Really?’ asked Jake, cheering visibly.

‘No, I mean, I understand it,’ said Ben. ‘I just don’t
understand
it.’

‘Oh,’ said Jake.

‘I mean,’ said Ben, loudly, ‘why would Playmatic not be worth loads? They make the Plastidroids. Those are so cool.’

‘Plastidroids . . .’ Millie murmured. ‘Those bendy robot things?’

‘They’re just the best,’ agreed Ben. ‘I wanted one so badly last Christmas, but you couldn’t get them any . . .’ He stopped talking, distracted by
Millie’s expression. She suddenly looked as if someone had switched on a light in a dark corner of her brain.

‘What is it?’ asked Max, who had noticed this as well.

‘Arthur Shepard had one,’ she said. ‘In his office, when I was there. On the filing cabinet. Why would he have a Plastidroid?’

‘Present for one of his kids,’ said Jake promptly.

They all stared at him.

‘Does he have children?’ Max asked in some horror.

‘Yup,’ said Jake. ‘Three, aren’t there?’

Ben absent-mindedly picked up a sheet of paper with ‘Confidential Census Information – Do Not Print’ written across the top.

‘Urgh,’ said Millie. They all shuddered. ‘Anyway, I don’t think Arthur Shepard is the kind of man to buy presents for his kids, do you?’

‘No,’ said Max.

‘So, why did he have a Plastidroid?’ asked Ben.

‘Could we look up Playmatic?’ asked Millie.

Ben began to type. ‘Here we go,’ he said.

‘What does it say?’ asked Jake.

Millie summarised: ‘Playmatic’s share price has gone way down, even though they made the coolest toy in the world last year.’

‘Why?’ asked Max.

‘They underestimated demand,’ explained Ben. ‘It says here that they made about a hundred thousand droids. The writer reckons they could have sold ten times that many in this
country alone.’

Millie took up the story again. ‘So then the men who run the company had a meeting and decided to fire the director. They blamed him for messing things up. They could have made loads more
money if they’d made more toys.’

‘I see,’ said Max.

Ben had now read another article and said, ‘The director was forced to leave, even though the Plastidroid was his idea. And when they got rid of him he took his idea with him, and now
he’s set up another company to make them for this Christmas.’

‘They let him take their best-selling toy with him when he left? Surely they would have been better keeping him
and
the toy?’ asked Max, thoroughly confused.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ whispered Jake. ‘Normally I’m the one asking stupid questions.’

Max raised his eyebrows infinitesimally, then remembered that Jake had sustained an injury helping him to rescue his friends and lowered them again.

‘No – well, yes.’ Millie was very excited. ‘That’s what the thing was about in the paper. His contract should have prevented him from taking any ideas away if he
left. Or even working for any other toy company for ages—’

‘Five years, minimum, it says here,’ said Ben, who was still reading happily as he spoke. ‘But some lawyers messed things up. Look, there’s a quote from a spokesman at
Playmatic. He says they’re going to have the best Christmas toy ever this year. He says no one’s going to want anything except what Playmatic is bringing out. Apparently, they’re
going to make Plastidroids ancient history.’

‘They have Plastidroids in ancient history?’ asked Jake. ‘I thought it was just Romans and sandals and stuff.’ Ben looked at him in disgust. ‘Sorry,’ he
finished.

‘That’s far stupider than what I said,’ Max pointed out.

Jake sighed. It was true.

‘What will the new toy be like?’ wondered Ben, tapping eagerly on the keyboard. Several minutes later, he still looked puzzled. ‘Hmm. It doesn’t say anywhere.’

‘Let’s think about that later,’ said Jake. ‘Why did we even start talking about this?’ He was regretting having brought up the fact that he didn’t understand
share prices.

‘Arthur Shepard,’ said Millie. ‘He had one of the robots in his office. They were virtually unobtainable – Ben couldn’t get one, nor could anyone else I know. So
how did he get one? Could he have contacts at Playmatic?’

Ben scoured the internet again. ‘I’ll be a few minutes,’ he said.

‘I’ll go and get some food,’ said Jake. ‘Anyone else hungry?’

Max’s ears pricked up and Millie nodded – they hadn’t eaten for hours. She and Max went down to the kitchen with Jake. Max was delighted to discover that Jake’s parents
weren’t vegetarian and had a fridge well stocked with ham and cold chicken. Millie and Jake made sandwiches and took one upstairs to Ben. He was concentrating too hard to hear them come, it
seemed, because suddenly he shouted, ‘Jake!’

‘Aahhh,’ said Jake, dropping the sandwich on the floor. ‘Don’t shout!’

‘Sorry,’ said Ben, picking the sandwich up off the carpet, dusting it off, and beginning to eat, his eyes never leaving the screen. ‘I’ve found it,’ he said.

‘Found what?’ asked Jake.

‘Playmatic has been paying Arthur Shepard hundreds of thousands of pounds a month,’ said Ben, hopping up and down with glee.

‘You’re kidding,’ said Millie, racing over to look at the screen. ‘I wonder if
he
took that page out of the newspaper. I guess he’s probably quite interested
in their share price, if he’s working for them.’

‘Excuse me,’ asked Max. ‘Is that Arthur Shepard’s bank account that you two are looking at?’

‘Mmm,’ said Ben. ‘This bank should work a bit harder on its security if you ask me.’

‘Yes, I agree,’ said Max.

‘They’re paying him
how much
?’ asked Jake.

‘Two hundred thousand pounds a month. Some of which goes to Vakkson, some to the security men, a big chunk to some other people who, I think, must be the lab techs, and about a quarter he
keeps,’ said Millie, reading quickly.

‘So what does that tell us?’ asked Jake. ‘I told you I always have to ask the stupid questions,’ he muttered to Max.

‘It tells us that Playmatic are very confident that their new toy is going to be a huge hit,’ said Millie. ‘So confident, they’re investing a fortune in it.’

‘And Arthur Shepard is involved? What is the new toy?’ asked Max.

Millie looked at Ben, her eyebrows forming a question. He nodded slowly.

‘Well, don’t take this the wrong way,’ said Millie. ‘But you are.’

Max’s fur bristled like a force-nine gale had just passed through the room.

‘
What?
’ he said softly.

‘I said, you are,’ Millie repeated. She looked at him, her brow creased with concern. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, realising as she spoke how feeble she sounded.

Ben and Jake looked embarrassed, both feeling that they were intruding on a private scene. Max was still rigid: his tail, his fur, his ears were all pointing at the ceiling. Millie just
couldn’t think of anything else to say. Max hadn’t been stolen by someone trying to find a cure for cancer or a treatment for Alzheimer’s, and even if he had been, she would still
have found it appalling. But this was so much worse than anything she had even considered. He had been stolen to make a toy, a disposable plaything for spoiled children and their loathsome parents
who thought that an animal was no different from a plastic model that you controlled with an aerial and a battery pack. Millie was suddenly deeply ashamed to be human.