Grandpa's Great Escape Read online

  In the corner of the small grey room the two detectives huddled together, like rugby players discussing tactics. Bone gave the orders to Beef.

  “Look, Kimberly, we’ve been through this before. We do the good cop, bad cop routine. It always breaks them in the end.”

  “Yes!”

  “Great!”

  Beef thought for a moment. “Which one am I again?”

  “The good cop!” Bone was becoming quite agitated now.

  “But I want to be the bad cop,” protested Beef. He was definitely the more childish of the two.

  “I’m ALWAYS the bad cop!” said Bone.

  “Not fair!” wailed Beef, acting as if a bigger boy had stolen his ice cream.

  “All right, all right!” conceded Bone. “You can be the bad cop!”

  “YES!” Beef punched the air in triumph.

  “But only for today.”

  Jack was starting to feel impatient and called over from the table, “Sorry, are you going to be long?”

  “No no no. We won’t be a moment now,” replied Bone, before turning back to his crime-fighting partner. “All right, I’ll go first. As the good cop, I’ll say something nice and then as the bad cop, you say something nasty.”

  “Got it!” replied Beef.

  With confident strides the two detectives returned to their seats. The thin man spoke first.

  “As you know, criminal damage is a serious charge. But you must remember that we are your friends. We are here to help you. We just need some answers as to what you were up to with those old fighter planes?”

  “Yes,” chipped in Beef. “If you would be so kind.”

  Detective Bone groaned in despair.

  25

  Deeper Doo-Doo

  Things were not going to plan in the interview room. Detective Bone dragged Detective Beef back to the corner. “You fool! You are meant to be the bad cop! You can’t just say ‘if you would be so kind’.”

  “No?” asked Beef innocently.

  “NO! You have to be menacing.”

  “Menacing?”

  “YES!”

  “I am not sure I can be menacing. It’s hard to be menacing with a name like Kimberly.”

  “I don’t think they know that’s your name.”

  “You’ve said it a hundred times!” exclaimed Beef.

  “Oh yes. Sorry, Kimberly,” replied Bone.

  “You just did it again!”

  “Apologies, Kimberly.”

  “And again!”

  “I promise it won’t happen again, Kimberly.”

  “Please stop saying my name! Maybe it’s best that I am the good cop, after all.”

  “But you just said you wanted to be the bad cop!”

  “I know…” Beef looked very sheepish. “But I have decided I would like to swap. If you would be so kind.”

  Bone hastily agreed. The interrogation was fast turning into a farce. “All right, all right. Have it your way. You be the good cop, Kimberly, and I’ll be the bad cop.”

  “Thank you. And remember, please don’t call me Kimberly in front of the suspect.”

  “Sorry, did I call you Kimberly again?”

  “Yes, you did,” declared Beef.

  “Sorry, Kimberly,” replied Bone.

  Jack couldn’t help himself any longer and a laugh leaped out of his mouth.

  “Ha ha!”

  “What’s so funny?” demanded Beef angrily.

  “Nothing, Kimberly!” snickered the boy.

  Kimberly looked as furious as someone called Kimberly could look. “Now they know my name is Kimberly! And it’s all your fault!”

  Bone was not ready to accept all the blame. “I think your mother and father are most at fault really, naming you ‘Kimberly Beef’ in the first place. Why on earth would they give you a girl’s name?!”

  “Kimberly is not a girl’s name!” Beef shouted. “It’s unisex!”

  Other supposedly ‘unisex’ names Mr and Mrs Beef could have called their bouncing baby boy include –

  “Oh yes, of course it’s a unisex name, you meet so many men called Kimberly,” muttered Detective Bone, before composing himself. “Now look, we have an interrogation to do, remember?”

  “Yes. Yes. Sorry.”

  “And remember you are now the good cop, so try and be nice.”

  “Yes yes yes, I am the good cop. Good cop good cop good cop,” Beef repeated it over and over again like a mantra, so he wouldn’t forget.

  “Let’s do this!” said Bone confidently.

  “Is there time for a very quick pee?” asked Beef.

  “No! I told you to go before we started!”

  “But I didn’t need to go then!”

  “You’ll just have to hold it in!”

  “How?”

  “Cross your legs or something! Whatever you do, don’t think of a trickling stream!”

  “Now all I can think about is a trickling stream!”

  “Detective Beef! You are making us both look highly unprofessional!”

  “Sorry!”

  “We are meant to be two of Scotland Yard’s finest detectives.”

  “The finest!”

  “Then let’s do this!”

  Beef and Bone strode back over to the table with a renewed sense of purpose.

  “Right…” began Beef, “…would you like to come over for dinner?”

  Jack and his grandfather looked at each other in disbelief. “That’s too nice, Kimberly!” Bone shouted.

  “But you told me to be the good cop!”

  “That doesn’t mean you are so nice you invite them over to dinner.”

  Beef thought for a moment. “Lunch?”

  “NO!”

  “A coffee morning?”

  “NO! Look, Kimberly…”

  “Don’t call me Kimberly…”

  “Kimberly, let me run this interrogation from now on. OK?”

  Beef descended into a humongous sulk. This sulk was so humongous that now the detective refused to speak, nod or even look anyone in the eye. Instead he just shrugged at everything.

  Bone returned his steely gaze to Grandpa, and soldiered on alone. “Three priceless antique aircraft were badly damaged today. Would you care to explain yourself?”

  “He didn’t mean any harm by it!” protested Jack. “It was just an accident! I promise!”

  “You’ve been very quiet, old man, what do you have to say for yourself?” demanded Bone.

  Jack’s eyes darted to his grandfather. Was the old man about to say something that would drop himself

  even

  deeper

  in

  doo-doo?

  26

  Turning the Tables

  Down in the underground interview room of Scotland Yard, Jack looked nervously at his grandfather. What was the old man going to say? Grandpa straightened his RAF club tie before looking Detective Bone straight in the eye. “I have questions for you…!” he declared.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Jack whispered.

  “The only way to beat the Gestapo is to play them at their own game,” Grandpa whispered back.

  “No! You don’t have questions for us, old man! That’s not how this works,” replied Bone, a note of disbelief in his voice.

  Little did the detective know that Grandpa was not a man who would take no for an answer. “When is the launch date for Operation Sea Lion?” he demanded.

  “Operation what?” asked Beef.

  “Don’t play the fool with me! You know darned well what I am talking about!” shouted Grandpa, as he stood up and started pacing the room.

  The two detectives shared a look with each other. Now they were even more confused than Grandpa. The pair had absolutely no idea what the old man was on about. “We really don’t,” replied Bone.

  “You can never win this war of yours. And you can tell your friend Mr Hitler that from me!”

  “I’ve never even met him!” protested Beef.

  “Neither of you a
re leaving this room until you tell me the start date for the ground offensive!”

  Having been an officer in the RAF Grandpa carried with him a natural sense of authority. The two detectives were cowering at having the tables turned on them. Jack was impressed.

  “But I am meant to be playing badminton later…” pleaded Bone.

  Grandpa stopped pacing the interrogation room and leaned over the table. He brought his face close to Beef’s and Bone’s. Despite his age, the old man was a formidable character. “You are not leaving this room until you tell me!”

  “But I really need to pee!” begged Beef. “I’m gonna wet myself.” The poor man looked as if he was going to burst into tears.

  “TELL ME THE START DATE FOR OPERATION SEA LION!”

  “What shall we do?” whispered Beef.

  “Let’s just say anything!” replied Bone.

  They both answered Grandpa at exactly the same time.

  “Monday!” “Thursday!”

  This had the effect of making them look like liars. Which of course they were.

  “Come on, Squadron Leader!” ordered Grandpa, and Jack stood up to attention. “Let’s leave them in here to sweat it out. We’ll be back in the morning!” Grandpa spun back towards the policemen. “You better tell us the truth then, or my goodness there will be trouble!”

  With that, the old man marched over to the huge metal door of the interrogation room and Jack followed closely behind. The two detectives watched in stunned silence. Thinking quickly, Jack swiped the keys from the lock and pulled the door shut behind them. His heart was racing as he turned the key once more and locked the two men in.

  CLICK.

  Just at that moment the detectives realised they had been had. They raced towards the door to try and open it. They were too late. They started pounding on it for help.

  “Brilliant work, sir. Now… let’s run!” said Jack as he tugged his grandfather’s sleeve.

  “There is one last thing, Squadron Leader,” replied Grandpa. He slid open the hatch in the door and shouted through it to the two detectives.

  “By the way, Kimberly is definitely a girl’s name!”

  Then Jack and his grandfather raced off down the corridor, up the stairs and out of Scotland Yard.

  27

  Behind Enemy Lines

  From his RAF training, Grandpa knew very well how to evade capture behind enemy lines. Every pilot had to. The chances of being shot down over occupied territory were high.

  Together he and Jack kept off the main roads and stayed out of the glare of streetlamps. When it was dark enough, the pair scaled a wall at the nearest London train station and climbed up on to the roof of the train they needed. Freezing cold and clinging on for dear life, they rode all the way back home.

  “W-w-why do we n-n-need to be up here, W-w-wing C-c-commander?” asked Jack, shivering as he spoke.

  “If I know the Gestapo they will have already boarded the train and be checking every passenger’s identification papers, looking for us. We are much safer up here.”

  Just then behind Grandpa, Jack saw that the train was speeding into a tunnel.

  “G-g-get down!” shouted the boy.

  The old man looked around and then flattened his body next to Jack’s on the roof of the carriage. Just in time. When they had passed through the tunnel, Grandpa pushed himself up to his knees. “Thank you, Squadron Leader!” he said. “That was a very close shave.”

  At that moment, a low branch of a tree whacked him on the back of his head.

  THWACK!

  “Ow!”

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Yes, I am fine, old boy,” replied Grandpa. “Darned enemy putting that blasted branch there!”

  Jack was pretty sure Mr Hitler and his Nazi friends had very little to do with it, but he let the comment pass.

  It was close to midnight when they finally arrived at the station. Soon after, they reached Grandpa’s road. The plan was to hide out in the old man’s flat for a while. After all that had happened at the Imperial War Museum and Scotland Yard, the boy thought it best they didn’t go to the family home.

  To Jack’s surprise, there was a light on in Raj’s shop. The newsagent was still up, taking in the bundles of tomorrow’s newspapers that had just been dropped off outside. The boy knew they could trust Raj. Just as well, as he and his grandfather were now on the run from the police.

  “Raj!” called Jack.

  The newsagent looked out into the darkness. “Who goes there?”

  The pair tiptoed along the street. They stayed close to the wall, avoiding the light. It was a few moments before the newsagent could see them.

  “Jack! Mr Bumting! You gave me a very bad case of the willies!”

  “Sorry, Raj, we didn’t want to frighten you. We just didn’t want to be seen, that’s all,” said the boy.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a long story, Char Wallah!” replied Grandpa. “I look forward to telling you over a few pints of ale in the officers’ mess.”

  “I am so pleased you were found safe and well, sir!” exclaimed the newsagent.

  A car turned into the road. The headlamps shone on them.

  “We better get inside…” said Jack.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” replied Raj. “Come in, come in. And bring a bundle of newspapers in for me, please!”

  28

  A Costly Call

  The newsagent opened the door to his shop and ushered Jack and his grandfather inside. Once in his emporium, he gestured for the old man to sit on one of the piles of newspapers. “There we are, sir.”

  “Most kind, Char Wallah.”

  “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Please, Master Bumting, help yourself to anything in the shop.”

  “Really?” asked Jack. To a twelve-year-old boy this was quite an offer. “Anything?”

  “Anything!” exclaimed Raj. “You two are my favourite customers in the world. Please, please, be my guests. Take whatever you want.”

  Jack smiled. “Thank you so much.” After the day’s adventure, he was in desperate need of some refreshment. So the boy helped himself to a few items for himself and Grandpa. A packet of crisps, a couple of chocolate bars, and two cartons of fruit juice.

  To the boy’s surprise, Raj began ringing all the items up on his till. “One pound, seventy-five pee, please.”

  Jack sighed and reached into his pocket for some change, which he placed on the counter.

  “There you go, Raj.”

  “Mr and Mrs Bumting called round here some hours ago. Wondered if I had seen either of you. They both looked worried sick.”

  “Oh no.” In all the excitement the boy had not really given his parents a second thought, and now he felt very guilty. “I better call them right away, Raj. Please can I use your phone?”

  “Of course!” said Raj, as he placed the telephone on the counter. “For you, there is no charge to make a call.”

  “Thank you,” replied the boy.

  “Just keep it very brief, please. No more than four or five seconds if you can.”

  “I’ll try.” Jack looked over at his grandfather, who was happily munching a chocolate bar and muttering between mouthfuls, “Jolly good show on the rations, Char Wallah.”

  “Sorry we are all out of biscuits,” called the newsagent. “My Aunt Dhriti broke in here last night and managed to get through four boxes of them. She even chewed the cardboard.”

  “Mum? It’s me!” said Jack into the receiver.

  “Where on earth have you been?” replied his mother. “Me and your father have been driving around all day and night looking for you!”

  “Well, I can explain, I—” But before he could finish his mother butted in.

  “We had your teacher, Miss Verity, call the house to tell us what happened at the Imperial War Museum today. You broke a Spitfire!”

  “That wasn’t my fault. If the security guard hadn’t been so heavy—”

  Mum was in no mood to liste
n.

  “I don’t want to hear it! She said your grandfather had turned up at the museum, of all places! And that he had been arrested by the police! And when me and your dad got all the way to Scotland Yard they told us that the pair of you had escaped!”

  “Well, yes and no. We just walked out of there really…”

  “SHUT UP! NOW WHERE ARE YOU?”

  Raj butted in. “Might you be so kind as to ask your mother to call back? We are already on one minute, thirty-eight seconds and it is going to be very expensive!”

  “Mum? Raj says can you call back?”

  “Oh, so you are at Raj’s shop, are you?! STAY RIGHT THERE! WE’RE COMING OVER!” With that, the boy’s mother slammed the telephone down.

  CLICK!

  WHIRR.

  When Jack looked up, he realised Raj had been staring at his watch the whole time. “One minute and forty-six seconds. Tut-tut.”

  “My mum said they’ll be straight over to pick us up.”

  “Splendid!” replied the newsagent. “Now, while you are waiting, can I interest you in a complimentary browse of my brand-new Christmas cards?”

  “No, thank you, Raj – it’s January.”

  “This one is particularly Christmassy,” said the man as he showed Jack what was, in fact, a completely blank white card.

  Jack looked at the card, and then at Raj. He thought for a moment that the newsagent might be losing his marbles. “But that’s got absolutely nothing on it, Raj.”

  “No no no, that’s where you are wrong, young Master Bumting. It is in fact a close-up picture of some snow. Absolutely perfect for the festive season. Just one pound for ten cards. Or I have a special offer on…”

  “That’s a surprise,” muttered the boy.

  “If you will take a thousand cards off my hands then I can do a very good price!”

  “No, thank you, Raj,” replied Jack politely.

  But the newsagent loved to haggle. “Two thousand?”

  Just then police sirens howled outside.

  ‘The enemy’ was closing in.