Pep Squad E-Book

Eileen O'Hely

• Herausgeber: Mercier Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

A fantastic kid's spy adventure set in a secret agent training school   - Similar to the Alex Rider series - Irish-based but with a host of international characters and settings - Author of the Penny the Pencil series for younger readers  Fourteen-year-old Jess Leclair is an exceptional teenager: athletically gifted and academically brilliant. Bored at her conventional Dublin school, she is thrilled to be offered a place at PEP Academy, the training ground for the top-secret PEP (Planet Earth Protection) Squad. During her first term, Jess quickly makes friends with her roommate, extreme-sport-loving Emily Harris, and the Sykes twins, Ben and Matt. Together, they learn the skills they will need to become world-class spies, like lock-picking, making disguises, abseiling, foreign languages and combat training. The teenagers are promised an easy first mission at the end of their first year. But then they find out they must infiltrate a Bavarian castle and steal a sample of a deadly virus that could wipe out all of humanity. Faced with armed guards, a complex security system, an evil genius and a traitor, the trainee spies must save the day or die trying. This is the next big thing in adventure fiction for pre-teens!

Leseprobe

For Emma, Chris, Ben and especially Mattie

MERCIER PRESS

3B Oak House, Bessboro Rd

Blackrock, Cork, Ireland.

www.mercierpress.ie

http://twitter.com/IrishPublisher

http://www.facebook.com/mercier.press

© Eileen O’Hely, 2014

ISBN: 978 1 78117 195 0

Epub ISBN: 978 1 78117 263 6

Mobi ISBN: 978 1 78117 264 3

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Contents

1 Proposal

2 simulation

3 orientation

4 aptitude

5 fitness

6 drama

7 roach

8 abseiling

9 assault

10 break-up

11 audition

12 horsepower

13 duneboarding

14 maze

15 musical

16 skydiving

17 briefing

18 snow

19 plan b

20 cavalry

epilogue

1 Proposal

‘Jess! You look fantastic!’ said Saoirse as Jess stepped out of the changing room.

Jess looked uncertainly at her reflection in the mirror. Apart from her school uniform, she never wore skirts, and as far as she was concerned the mini skirt Saoirse had talked her into trying on showed way too much leg. Not that Jess had bad legs. As a runner and gymnast her legs were perfectly toned, and as she was half Egyptian her skin had a year-round tan. The simple fact was that, although Jess had great legs, she just felt more comfortable with a pair of tracksuit trousers covering them.

Saoirse stood behind Jess and gathered her dark hair into a ponytail. ‘Even better,’ she said. ‘You really should dress like this, you know – it suits you.’

Jess’s fringe fell below her eyebrows. If it wasn’t so late in the term, the school would be sending a note home to her parents advising them to get it cut.

Saoirse’s eyes dropped to her wrist. She gasped and let go of Jess’s hair.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Jess, turning to her friend.

‘The CSPE exam starts in fifteen minutes!’

‘What?’ exclaimed Jess, grabbing her friend’s wrist and looking at the watch herself.

‘I don’t have a spare helmet, but I can give you a ride,’ offered Saoirse.

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ said Jess, ‘race you!’

Two minutes later, Jess was back in her school uniform, sprinting towards the front exit of the shopping centre while Saoirse headed for the car park.

As a gaggle of pensioners with walking frames emerged from a café, Jess swerved to avoid them, tweed skirts billowing in her wake. Dead ahead a toddler was crouched in the middle of the concourse, struggling to open a red plastic packet. When Jess was three feet away the bag exploded, little brown spheres scattering in all directions.

‘Maltesers!’ gasped Jess as her foot landed on a clump of them and skidded out from underneath her. Jess threw her weight forward and managed to regain her balance, surfing one-legged on the Maltesers rolling beneath her school shoe until they crumbled away to a malty, chocolatey mess.

She sprinted down the ramp to the exit, her feet taking on a mind of their own, pumping one in front of the other at a pace that was almost out of control. When she was only metres from the exit, a shop boy lost control of a train of trolleys and got them jammed in the doorway.

Jess was running too fast to stop and the trolleys were completely blocking the exit. She had no choice but to jump, doing a perfect swan dive across the trolleys and landing in a forward roll on the pavement outside.

Not even pausing for breath, she darted along the footpath, dodging prams and little old ladies’ shopping carts (what was it with old women and kids today?) and leapfrogging over postboxes and rubbish bins.

Her biggest hurdle came when she got to the bus stop. The footpath was packed with people looking at their watches and stamping their feet. A bus hadn’t come for some time and they were clearly annoyed about it. Pushing through them would be impossible.

Jess considered detouring around the bus stop on the road side, but there was too much traffic to make that an option. The only way left was to go over it.

She leapt on top of the rubbish bin next to the bus shelter and grasped the edge of the toughened glass. Hoisting herself up onto the roof, she ran across the top of the shelter, acutely aware that the people below could see right up her skirt. When she got to the other side she jumped, somersaulting over the heads of the remaining people and landing four feet away. As she hit the ground, Jess heard a familiar whine and glanced over her shoulder. Saoirse’s baby-blue Vespa was heading towards her, weaving in and out of the traffic. Jess put on a fresh burst of speed.

As she ran hard to keep ahead of the Vespa, her heart was pounding and her muscles complaining about being jolted into action without a proper warm-up. But she had one advantage. While the Vespa had to stick to the roads, Jess could go cross country.

Coming up on the left was a children’s playground. Jess hurdled the boundary fence with ease, scaled the ladder of the slippery dip, then surfed down the slide on her heels. She leapt directly from the slide to the see-saw, running up the slope and keeping her balance easily as she got to the centre and her weight made it flip in the other direction. She slid down the other side and bounced on the very end of the see-saw. The rebound gave her the extra spring she needed to clear the fence on the opposite side of the playground.

Only one more road to cross and she’d be there.

The lights were red and the carriageway was clear, but cars were parked bumper to bumper along the verge. Jess did a sideways roll across the bonnet of an Aston Martin and ran through the gates of Kilmaire College just as the blue Vespa caught up with her.

Jess smoothed down her skirt and straightened her tie while Saoirse parked the Vespa and took off her helmet.

‘Plenty of time,’ said Saoirse, shaking out her hair.

‘Wanna bet?’ said Jess, heading at a run towards the hall, where a man with a crew-cut was pulling the doors closed.

‘Wait!’ yelled Jess as she and Saoirse ran across the schoolyard.

The man’s steely blue eyes bored into them.

‘Miss Leclair and Miss Ahearn, presumably,’ he said flatly.

‘Are we too late?’ panted Jess.

‘Almost,’ continued the man, whose haircut and physique suggested he belonged in the army rather than supervising Junior Certificate exams at a private girls’ school. Jess had tried to blot out the sound of his heels clicking up and down between the rows of desks all week as she sat papers in English, Irish and Mathematics, and, to tell the truth, she found him a little scary. ‘Let’s get a move on.’

Jess took a few minutes to settle into her Civic, Social and Political Education exam, but she got so involved in writing her essay in the final section that she didn’t realise the rest of the class had left early.

‘Time’s up, Miss Leclair,’ said the exam supervisor, standing directly in front of her desk.

‘Oh, sorry, Mr … um …’ began Jess.

‘Parry,’ said the supervisor, adding Jess’s exam paper to the pile he was holding. ‘I was wondering if I could have a word?’

‘I guess,’ said Jess, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms.

‘How do you like school?’ asked Mr Parry.

Jess was expecting to be grilled about her late arrival, so the question surprised her and she wondered where this was going. ‘It’s not my favourite place to be, but it’s OK,’ she admitted.

‘You’re doing very well academically. Straight As for everything, champion for your age group in gymnastics and cross-country – you’re even top of your class at the community Arabic school you attend on Saturday mornings. And glancing over your Junior Cert papers, I’ve yet to see a wrong answer.’

‘Hang on – how on earth do you know all that?’ asked Jess, wondering whether exam supervisors were really permitted to look over Junior Cert exam papers – let alone determine whether the answers were correct – and, even if they were, how he could know all that other stuff about her.

Rather than answering her, Mr Parry pulled a brochure out of his suit pocket and handed it to Jess.

‘What’s this?’ asked Jess, glancing at the flyer for what looked like a posh high school called Theruse Abbey. It was filled with pictures of smiling teenagers in immaculate school uniforms looking studious in class, playing instruments and doing various sporting activities in equally immaculate sports gear.

‘False advertising,’ said Mr Parry.

‘What? You mean the students at this school don’t actually smile the whole time?’ replied Jess, flicking through the brochure.

‘No, what I mean is that the school is a cover.’

‘A cover for what?’ asked Jess.

‘A training academy for secret agents.’

Jess looked up at Mr Parry. ‘Funny. Seriously, why are you showing me this?’ She set the brochure on the table in front of her.

‘I am serious,’ said Mr Parry. ‘That’s the brochure we give to parents of prospective students. This is the brochure we give to the students,’ he continued, handing a sceptical Jess a second brochure.

The photos were of the same teenagers, but this time they were dressed in camouflage gear of different colours. As well as sitting in classrooms and science labs, they were abseiling down cliffs, practising martial arts and doing target practice with what looked like real guns.

‘OK,’ said Jess slowly. ‘What has this got to do with me?’

‘Let me start from the beginning,’ said Mr Parry, pulling the chair out from under the desk in front of Jess and sitting down. ‘Theruse Abbey is a training academy for exceptional students like yourself who go on to work for P.E.P. Squad after graduation.’

‘P.E.P. Squad?’

‘Planet Earth Protection Squad. The most secret spy network in the world,’ explained Mr Parry.

‘You’re kidding me. The most secret spy network in the world couldn’t come up with a better name than P.E.P. Squad?’

‘Admittedly the founder is a rather … unique individual,’ said Mr Parry.

‘And how come I’ve never heard of it?’ asked Jess.

Mr Parry laughed.

‘It’s only the amateur government-run spy agencies like MI6 and the CIA that the public hears about. We’re a secret organisation. We’re the best in the world because we recruit the best and we recruit them young. This may surprise you, but the teenage mind is ideally suited to acquiring secret-agent skills. The brain is still developing and is far more adaptable to learning than an adult brain. The nucleus accumbens, the pleasure centre of the brain, develops quite early, while the prefrontal cortex – which, among other things, curbs dangerous behaviour – develops late, so teenagers are keen to indulge in thrill-seeking activities that many adults think are too risky. This makes you guys far easier to train in basic field-agent skills such as base jumping and high-octane sports – or even your free running,’ said Mr Parry, looking at Jess pointedly.

‘How did you–’ began Jess.

‘You came to our attention some months ago. As well as Junior Cert results, we monitor the results of national academic competitions, like mathematics competitions and the Young Scientist of the Year competition, and we look at the results from interschool athletic meets. When we find individuals like yourself who excel in that type of thing, we dig a little deeper.’

‘You mean you’ve been spying on me?’ asked Jess.

Mr Parry spread his hands almost apologetically.

‘It’s what we do best.’

Jess frowned, wondering exactly how much the man sitting opposite her knew about her. ‘And you’re telling me I should consider going to this secret-agent school?’

‘I know a good candidate when I see one,’ said Mr Parry, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back in his chair. ‘You have all the attributes we look for. Are you interested?’

Ignoring his question, Jess peered around the room suspiciously.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Mr Parry.

‘Looking for hidden cameras. This can’t be real,’ said Jess.

‘I can assure you it is,’ replied Mr Parry. ‘Don’t tell me you’re not interested.’

‘Oh, if it’s real then I’m interested,’ said Jess. ‘It sounds cool. But even if I believed you, my parents would never go for it.’

‘What if I told you they already have?’ said Mr Parry.

‘What?’ exclaimed Jess. ‘You’re telling me that my ridiculously overprotective parents want to send me to a school for spies? No way. I’m going to be stuck at this place for the next three years. My dad’s on the school board.’

‘Actually, your parents were surprisingly easy to persuade. After all, they think you’re going there,’ said Mr Parry, gesturing to the first brochure. ‘We arranged to interview them a while ago – letting them think they came to us, of course.’

‘How, exactly?’ asked Jess.

‘We have very skilled recruiters. In your parents’ case it was easy. Your father’s a dentist, so we arranged to have a new client discuss the school with him.’

‘And he fell for that?’

‘It piqued his interest enough for him to google the school and talk to your mother about it. They were quite impressed with the tour.’

‘They’ve been to the school?’ said Jess with surprise. ‘What did they say about the shooting range?’

‘It’s a simple matter to disguise the shooting range and other speciality training equipment on parent tour days,’ said Mr Parry. ‘As to what your parents thought, they were sufficiently impressed to submit the application forms for you.’

‘Without telling me?’ said Jess sceptically.

‘They wouldn’t be the first parents in the world to arrange a school transfer without telling their child about it until after the fact.’

Jess said nothing. The thought that her parents would do something like this behind her back had taken her totally by surprise.

‘Now I know this is a lot to take in,’ said Mr Parry, standing up. ‘One of the problems we have in recruiting students of your calibre is convincing them that something seemingly so outlandish really exists. So I want you to go home, have a think about it and we’ll discuss it again tomorrow. Any questions?’

Jess shook her head and started towards the door of the exam room, deep in thought.

‘Good,’ said Mr Parry. ‘Oh, and Jess.’ She turned back. ‘Try to be on time for your exam tomorrow.’

2 Simulation

As soon as Jess got home she googled Theruse Abbey. The top hit was the school’s official website, which looked a lot like the first brochure Mr Parry had shown her. There were also Wikipedia entries for the abbey itself and the school. She scrolled down the list further and found entries in the Golden Pages and even an entry for Theruse in the government listing of secondary schools. But there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Jess decided to try a different tack. She typed the address on the back of the brochure into Google Maps, which brought up an image of a headland on the south-west coast of Ireland. There was quite a narrow land bridge out to a cape which spread out to form a roughly triangular shape. Jess switched her view to satellite and zoomed in. There was a grouping of buildings and playing fields that could have belonged to a school at the mouth of the cape. Of course there was. Her parents had been there and seen it. The rest of the area was a mix of trees and open grassy areas, with what appeared to be rocky cliffs stretching down to the sea. She clicked on Get Directions and typed in her home address. The school was over four hours’ drive from where she lived. Definitely too far for trips back and forth from Dublin every weekend, which was probably why Mr Parry was doing his recruiting in Dublin.

Next she logged on to Facebook and tried to set her secondary school to Theruse Abbey. Facebook came back with ‘No information has been provided … yet’ and prompted her to Create a Page. She logged out.

She then typed P.E.P. Squad into the search engine. She got over three million hits but they were all related to American cheerleading, various bands or some low-rating horror movie from the nineties. No mention of a spy organisation.

Having run out of ideas for any other research, Jess decided to start studying for her History exam the next day. She opened her textbook and flipped to the chapter on the Easter Rising, but she couldn’t concentrate and had a second look at the prospective students’ brochure. Although almost any school would be better than Kilmaire, Jess was starting to get really excited about the idea of Theruse Abbey and a career as a secret agent.

The next morning, Jess left early for school. When she got to the end of her street a man stepped out in front of her.

‘Good morning, Jess,’ said Mr Parry.

‘Oh, hello,’ said Jess, a little surprised.

‘How did the research go?’

‘What research?’ asked Jess.

Mr Parry gave her a look.

‘You hacked my computer?’

Mr Parry smiled.

‘If you didn’t go home and immediately try to find out all you could about Theruse Abbey and P.E.P. Squad, then you wouldn’t be P.E.P. Squad material.’

‘Oh,’ said Jess.

‘So, have you made up your mind?’ asked Mr Parry.

‘Yeah. I’d like to give it a go.’

‘Excellent,’ said Mr Parry, walking to the driver’s side of a car parked on the side of the road. ‘Hop in.’

Jess hesitated. Mr Parry was effectively a stranger – a taller, stronger stranger – and she wasn’t sure hopping into a car with him was the best idea. Noticing her reluctance, he smiled.

‘Caution is a good trait to have in our line of business. Got a mobile phone?’

Jess nodded.

‘Know how to use the GPS?’ he asked, reaching into the car and passing Jess a GPS unit. ‘Now, you can watch where we’re going, and the police are just a phone call away. You can even sit in the back seat if you like.’

Jess opened the back door and checked to make sure the child safety lock wasn’t engaged before hopping in and fastening her seat belt. Mr Parry started the engine and pulled out into the rush-hour traffic, not going noticeably faster than Jess could have walked. However, when they got to the turn off for Kilmaire College, Mr Parry drove straight ahead.

‘Uh, weren’t we supposed to turn …?’ began Jess, her thumb poised to dial 999. Then she noticed the smile on Mr Parry’s face and relaxed. ‘You’re not taking me to school, are you?’ she said.

Mr Parry shook his head.

‘What about my History exam?’ asked Jess.

‘You got 96 out of 100. Apparently your knowledge of Neolithic peoples leaves a bit to be desired,’ said Mr Parry. ‘We’ve got a different type of test planned.’

Jess turned to look out the window and smiled. They were heading towards the city and traffic was becoming heavier. As they neared the centre, Mr Parry turned a corner into a narrow laneway. It was a dead end, with graffiti spray painted over the brick walls and nothing but an industrial bin and a steel door with no handle.

‘This is us,’ said Mr Parry, stopping the engine and getting out.

Jess followed as he walked up to the door. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and then placed all four fingertips of his right hand on the rightmost brick above the door. There was a click and the door swung outwards.

Mr Parry ushered Jess inside.

They were in a small, windowless booth, with an LED screen mounted high on the wall in front of them.

‘Agent Parry and prospective student Jessica Leclair,’ announced Mr Parry.

A laser beam shot out from the wall in front of them, scanning their bodies down and up.

‘Identity confirmed,’ sounded a metallic voice.

The wall in front of them slid open to reveal a grey, dimly lit foyer, empty apart from an attractive woman with dark hair swept back into a ponytail.

‘Hello, Marianna,’ said Mr Parry.

‘Nice to see you, Wayne,’ said the woman, clasping his hand in both of hers before turning her attention to Jess. ‘You must be Jessica. I’m Marianna Enigmistica,’ she continued, rolling the r in her name the way Italians do.

‘But all the students call her Signora Enigmistica,’ prompted Mr Parry.

‘Nice to meet you, Signora Enigmistica,’ said Jess.

‘Welcome to P.E.P. Squad’s Dublin branch office,’ said Signora Enigmistica. ‘As well as our regular duties and research and development, we also do the final testing phase of enrolment here.’

‘Testing phase?’ said Jess.

‘Well, we need to see if you really have what it takes. Lieutenant Parry’s been known to get it wrong occasionally. Think of this as a practical exam for a language. Only this practical will be somewhat more energetic,’ said Signora Enigmistica, winking at Lieutenant Parry.

‘Lieutenant?’ said Jess.

‘I spent a little time in military intelligence,’ said Lieutenant Parry vaguely.

‘And if he’s wrong about me?’ asked Jess, turning back to Signora Enigmistica.

‘Then we give you a glass of Memory Wipe, tell your parents that you have not been accepted for admission and all of this goes away.’

‘What’s Memory Wipe?’

‘A special cocktail that erases a select portion of memory, depending on the concentration,’ said Signora Enigmistica, matter-of-factly.

‘Don’t worry, I hear it tastes quite fruity,’ said Lieutenant Parry, noticing the look of alarm on Jess’s face. ‘Besides, I know a good candidate when I see one.’

Jess didn’t like the idea of ingesting a drink that could mess with her brain, especially in the middle of exams. She hoped she wouldn’t need it.

‘Come with me now, Jess. You’ll see Lieutenant Parry again after the test.’ Signora Enigmistica strode through a doorway that had magically appeared in the foyer, and along a corridor. Jess hurried after her. They ended up in a room with a black cylindrical booth in the centre. The cylinder was about three metres high and four metres in diameter. To the side of the room was a single desk with a computer console and a Chinese room divider.

‘Take everything off – and by everything I also mean underwear – and put this on,’ said Signora Enigmistica, pointing Jess in the direction of the room divider and passing her a black body suit, complete with gloves and little booties to cover her feet. It was made of an extremely lightweight fabric Jess had never come across before, which somehow seemed to feel both hot and cold at the same time.

First looking around for hidden cameras or secret doors that might slide open, Jess slid her shoes and socks and knickers off and pulled the bottom half of the jumpsuit up under her school uniform. She slid the bodice up under her dress so that it covered her chest, before pulling off her uniform. Then it was a simple matter of undoing her bra and slipping her arms into the sleeves of the suit. There was also a hood, which she pulled over her head, leaving the skin on her face the only part of her body that was exposed. The suit was very, very tight.

‘Um, excuse me,’ said Jess, poking her head around the Chinese screen. ‘I think I might need the next size up.’

Signora Enigmistica walked over and gave Jess a once-over, saying, ‘Looks like it fits perfectly. Put these on.’

She tossed Jess a pair of trainers. The second the laces were tied, the teacher said, ‘Ready?’

Jess followed her towards the booth.

‘This is state of the art in virtual reality. No need for clumsy helmets and handsets,’ said Signora Enigmistica, pressing a button on the outside of the booth to make a previously invisible door slide open.

‘How does it work?’ asked Jess, stepping inside. Tiny green pinpoints of light appeared all over her jumpsuit.

‘The floor, walls and ceiling have special sensors. When you start to move, the software calculates where you should be in the programme matrix and moves the cell surfaces to compensate,’ explained Signora Enigmistica. ‘Walk to the left.’

Jess walked to the left and the floor moved to keep her in the centre of the booth.

‘Faster,’ said Signora Enigmistica.

Jess broke into a jog and the floor kept up with her.

‘What happens when I want to stop?’ asked Jess.

‘Just slow down. The floor will follow,’ said Signora Enigmistica.

Jess slowed down gently and still stayed in the centre of the booth. She stopped abruptly and the floor stopped with her.

‘This is cool,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Signora Enigmistica, with the slightly amused air of someone who has seen far more amazing things in her life. ‘The cell can simulate gradients and the suit itself can simulate obstacles, so if you’re running straight towards something then you’ll feel the impact when you crash into it.’

‘Good to know,’ said Jess.

‘Now, we are going to run a simulation to test your physical and mental agility while under immense pressure. Try to complete the test in the shortest time possible. Ready?’

Jess nodded.

Signora Enigmistica closed the door.

It was pitch black in the booth. No light snaked in from the edges of the door. It was also soundproof. Jess was starting to feel decidedly uncomfortable when the wall in front of her brightened as though someone was turning up a dimmer switch. It was an image of Signora Enigmistica, so lifelike that for a second Jess thought the teacher had re-entered the booth.

‘How are you feeling, Jess?’ Signora Enigmistica’s voice echoed around the booth.

‘A little nervous but OK.’

‘Touch the inside of your left wrist with your right forefinger,’ Signora Enigmistica instructed.

Jess did so and felt a small, hard lump.

‘That’s a microdot that we’ve had sewn into the suit. Your mission is to deliver that microdot to this man,’ said Signora Enigmistica, holding up a photo of Lieutenant Parry, ‘on the third floor of this building,’ she continued, flashing a photo of the Dublin GPO. ‘Since you’d be sitting your Junior Certificate in History if you weren’t here right now, I don’t need to tell you the name of the building. Good luck.’

The image of Signora Enigmistica faded and was gradually replaced by a noisy cityscape.

Jess found herself next to an air-conditioning vent on top of a tall building on the southern bank of the Liffey. She guessed it was O’Connell Bridge House, as she could see O’Connell Bridge and Street stretching out in front of her with the GPO less than halfway up the street. Once she got to street level, it’d be only a five-minute walk. The task seemed straightforward. Too straightforward.

She headed for the only access point she could see, a door in the middle of the roof. Suddenly it opened. A man in a suit and tie stepped out onto the roof. He looked like an ordinary businessman, apart from the gun he was pointing at her.

The instant before the man opened fire, Jess rolled for cover behind the air-conditioning vent. A volley of bullets clattered against it. The gunfire ceased momentarily and she heard two sets of footsteps running towards her. That meant there were two gun-brandishing businessmen and they could split up and approach her from either side of the vent. She had to move, fast.

Jess scrambled towards the edge of the roof nearest her and stopped short. She was at the far edge of the building from O’Connell Bridge. Below her was a drop of at least seven storeys to the lower, adjoining part of the building she was on. Even with all her free-running training, there was no way she’d survive the jump. However, to the right she could see that the top few storeys of the main building narrowed in like steps. She could possibly jump down one tier at a time, if she could make it to the edge. But that would mean exposing herself to fire.

A sequence from one of her dad’s favourite old-school martial-arts movies entered her head. Those guys never ran in a straight line – they always cartwheeled and flipped so as not to provide an easy target. Although Jess had only come second in the floor routine at the interschool gymnastics championships, she hoped her final tumbling run would be a winner today. She took the longest run up she dared. The instant she saw a gun-wielding arm in her peripheral vision, she launched into a series of back flips towards the edge of the building. Both men fired at her. Although their bullets missed, they flicked up chips of concrete into her legs and arms. And they hurt.

Talk about feeling the impact, Jess thought bitterly to herself as she landed her final flip about a foot from the edge of the building and dived off the top, turning a single somersault in the air and landing on her feet in a low squat. It was a long drop and her ankles rammed painfully into the ground, but she ignored the pain and repeated her somersault over the edge, landing equally painfully on the next floor down.

She pressed herself up against the wall and looked through a window. More gun-brandishing businessmen were inside the building and running towards her. She had to move. She peered over the edge of the building. There was a window-cleaning platform another floor down with a canvas tarpaulin stretched across the bottom of it. Having already proven to herself that she could land safely, although painfully, over such a vertical distance, Jess decided to take the plunge. Being so small, the platform didn’t offer her much room for error or rolling space to break her fall, but it was either that or crash out of the test.

She took a deep breath and dived off the side of the building – but she didn’t calculate the spin correctly and landed heavily on her back on the platform.

Again, the pain was very real, but she had no time to recover from it. Her pursuers had come to the edge of the roof and were firing down at her. She rolled as close to the building as she could for protection, her ears ringing from the impact of bullets on metal.

Surprisingly the men didn’t seem to be aiming for her. Jess wasn’t sure what they were doing until one of the bullets made a different sort of twang as it hit the cable from which the platform was suspended.

She watched in horror as the bullets severed the wire strand by strand. She looked around desperately and noticed the control box on the opposite side of the platform. If she could just reach the Down button. Jess stretched out her arm, but the gunmen were quicker and blew the control box apart.

The platform started to tilt and she knew it wouldn’t be long before the cable broke completely, sending her plunging to the street below. She was still well over thirty metres high. There was no way she could survive the fall.

As the platform tilted, a loose corner of the tarpaulin billowed in the breeze. Jess reached down and touched it. It certainly felt real enough through the glove. She closed her fingers around it and yanked. To her surprise and relief, the tarp came away from the platform floor. Working quickly, the tilt of the platform growing ever steeper as bullet after bullet severed more strands of cable, Jess undid her trainers and tied a corner of the tarp around each foot. She stuffed her feet in their tarp socks back inside her trainers and retied the laces quickly. Then she grabbed the other two corners of the tarp in each hand and jumped.

Base jumping was something that had always appealed to Jess, but she’d never expected to be trying it for the first time with a home-made parachute. Spreadeagled, Jess felt a jerk as the updraft caught in the tarp, yanking her upwards. She felt the corners of the tarp start to slip out of her shoes and looked at how far she had to go. Nine storeys, eight, seven … Jess looked from the building to the ground below. The breeze from the river was pushing her towards a street lamp.

Five storeys, four … Jess tried to steer the makeshift parachute away from the lamp but the right edge caught on it. The sudden stop yanked the tarp out of her hands and pulled her trainers off. She crashed barefoot onto a coffee cart below.

As she picked herself up she heard the audible pedestrian-crossing signal and dashed across Burgh Quay, nearly getting mowed down by a lorry that ran the red light. A big crowd was gathered on O’Connell Bridge, watching a street performer who was asking for a volunteer from the audience to assist with a magic trick. As Jess tried to push her way through the crowd, the magician grabbed her and manhandled her into his supposedly magic box.

Jess quickly felt around the inside of the box but couldn’t find any lever or fake wall that would free her. Luckily the box was made of a lightweight material and reasonably roomy. Determined not to waste any more time, she raised her leg and kicked as hard as she could against the front of the box. The wood cracked. One more kick and she was free.

Jess shot out of the box and raced north across the bridge and up O’Connell Street. The lights at Eden Quay were red, and O’Connell Street was blocked by traffic. Jess wove in between the unmoving traffic, trying to cross the road diagonally, and almost got taken out by a bicycle courier. She ran up the west side of O’Connell Street, having to dodge the usual Dublin bustle. The pedestrian lights changed to orange and Jess put on an extra burst of speed to try to make it across Abbey Street, but she was fractionally too late and a left-turning white van screeched around the corner in front of her. Jess pulled up just in time, feeling the breeze from the van’s passing against her face.

As she waited for the lights to change, she heard footsteps pounding on the pavement. At least six suited gunmen were running towards her down O’Connell Street from the direction of the GPO, blocking her access to the front of the building. Thinking quickly, Jess ran around the corner after the van, picking her time to weave through the moving traffic as she crossed Abbey Street. She could hear the gunmen behind her, but she had a good lead on them. She ducked into William’s Lane when suddenly a motorcyclist turned in behind her, gunning his engine and chasing her along the footpath. Jess made a beeline for a large rubbish bin, leapfrogging it at the last second. The motorcyclist ploughed straight into it and was launched through the air, landing spreadeagled and clearly stunned only millimetres from Jess.

She put on a fresh burst of speed, turning up Prince’s Street and entering the GPO through the side entrance. She was searching desperately for a way up to the third floor when red lettering appeared in front of her, hovering in mid-air. Time Remaining: 10 …

What the hell? thought Jess.

9 …

Time remaining is in seconds?

8 …

Signora Enigmistica definitely didn’t mention a time limit.

7 …

Jess saw a stairwell on the opposite side of the main hall and ran for it.

6 …

When she was halfway across the hall, three gun-brandishing businessmen came in the front door. They took aim, but Jess dived onto the highly polished floor and slid the rest of the way to the stairs on her belly as gunfire raked the floor behind her.

5 …

Jess slammed into the riser of the bottom stair and half crawled, half ran up the stairs.

4 …

One more level to go.

3 …

Footsteps clattered up the stairs behind her.

2 …

Jess ripped the microdot out of her sleeve.

1 …

Jess reached the top of the stairs, where Lieutenant Parry was waiting with his arm outstretched. Jess held the microdot out towards him. At the same moment she felt the muzzle of a gun between her shoulder blades. Then everything went black.