The Great Brain Robbery Read online

  ‘It’s all right, Timmy,’ said Frankie, who could see the shoelace thinning fast. ‘Try to keep still.’

  Frankie shuffled along the branch to get closer. But Timmy hadn’t finished. The apologies kept coming in big salty waves.

  ‘I’m sorry for being so mean to you,’ he burbled, ‘for leaving you out and everything. It’s just that . . . I was new and . . . if I didn’t have so many toys . . . nobody would want to play with me.’ Timmy let out a short sob. ‘They only play with me because I have all the best toys.’

  Frankie couldn’t believe his ears. He had never seen Timmy in such a state. Timmy who was always so popular, so sure of himself. Little Timmy Snodgrass, prince of the playground.

  The shoelace was unravelling fast and looked set to snap.

  ‘Keep still, Timmy!’ Frankie yelled. But it was too late.

  ‘They call me Timmy Snotty-paaaaaaants!’ Timmy bawled, as he plummeted towards the ground.

  ‘Timmy!’ Frankie shouted after him in horror. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. As he waited to hear the terrible thud, he felt as if his heart had stopped beating. Poor Timmy! he thought. Poor, poor Timmy Snottypants. Frankie had been so upset by Timmy’s teasing, it had never occurred to him that Timmy might also be afraid – afraid of not being popular enough, of not really being liked, of not having any real friends. And now he was going to end up, splattered like an egg, on the ground below.

  But the thud didn’t come. Frankie gulped and peered down through the branches, terrified of what he might see. And he was right to be terrified. In the dim glare of the moonlight, he saw two furious grey eyes looking right back at him.

  ‘Ach!’ shouted a cross French accent. ‘What did I tell you? That machine was never meant for four whole kiddlers!’ Alphonsine was standing at the foot of the tree holding a trembling Timmy in her arms.

  Frankie felt his whole body flood with relief. He had never been so happy to see little Timmy Snodgrass. He thought he might actually dissolve with joy. Frankie forgot his fear of heights and, laughing loudly, he began to swing himself back down to the ground.

  ‘It is no giggling matter, Frankie!’ puffed Alphonsine. ‘You is lucky! Very lucky you is not dead as a doughnut!’

  ‘Sorry, Alfie,’ said Frankie, as his feet touched the earth. Alphonsine shook her head in annoyance then placed Timmy gently on the grass.

  As Alphonsine and Eddie helped the others out of the tree, Frankie sat down next to Timmy, who was trembling like a bag of jelly.

  ‘It’s all right, Timmy,’ said Frankie. ‘You’re safe now.’ Timmy looked at Frankie with large wet eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry . . .’ he sniffled, ‘really sorry. Do you forgive me?’

  ‘Sure I do,’ said Frankie, without hesitation. He could see that this time Timmy meant every word he said. Neet and Wes wandered over to where the two of them were sitting. ‘We’re your friends. Aren’t we, guys?’

  ‘Of course,’ smiled Neet, ‘and believe me – it’s not because of your toys!’

  ‘Really?’ Timmy sniffled.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Neet. ‘I never want to see another toy again in my life!’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Timmy. ‘And you know what? As soon as I get home, my letter to Santa is going straight in the bin – all twenty pages of it!’

  The children giggled with relief and exhaustion. But there was no time to rest.

  ‘We’ve got a lot of work to do,’ said Frankie, checking his watch. ‘We need to get to the computer lab at Marvella’s before dawn and undo all the damage Gore has done. It’s time to put a stop to all this.’ He looked at Timmy. ‘Are you coming with us?’ Timmy smiled and wiped away his tears.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Count me in!’

  Frankie fidgeted nervously. They were in the computer lab at Marvella’s headquarters, surrounded by dozens of blinking monitors. Wes had set to work on the computer systems, Alphonsine, Eddie and Colette were waiting below on the getaway bike and Timmy kept lookout at the door. Frankie parted the office blinds with his fingers. The morning star was glowing ever more brightly on the horizon. He let the blinds snap shut and let out a shaky sigh. Wes had been tapping away at the computers for a couple of hours now, but Frankie had no idea if he was making any progress.

  ‘How’s it going, Wes?’ he asked, cracking his knuckles anxiously. Wes was glued to the monitors, his fingers flying over the keyboards like tap-dancing spiders.

  ‘Getting there . . .’ he said, ‘. . . slowly. If I can hack into Dr Gore’s account then I should be able to delete all the Marvella logos from the hard drive.’ Frankie scratched his head. He wasn’t sure he understood.

  ‘You mean you can get everyone’s memories back to the way they were?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Wes, his fingers still tapping away. ‘Then we can send those memories back to the Mechanimals and the whole process will be reversed.’

  ‘Can we delete all the Marvella logos from children’s memories tonight?’ asked Neet.

  ‘Everyone is still asleep,’ Wes nodded. ‘So we should be able to do it before sunrise.’

  ‘Genius,’ smiled Neet. Wes blushed with pride. Then his face lit up like a beacon.

  ‘That’s it!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m in!’

  Dr Gore’s log-in page flashed on to the screen. It displayed a photograph of the scientist on holiday wearing a rubber ring in the shape of a duck. Frankie spluttered with laughter, but there was no time for giggles. Wes was working so fast that Frankie couldn’t keep track of all the clicking and tapping. Then, after ten minutes or so, he touched down triumphantly on the keyboard.

  ‘It’s working,’ he said, pointing at the monitors. Frankie looked up at the screens that panelled the walls of the room. Dozens of children’s memories flashed past at high speed as if they were on fast-forward. As they sped by, Frankie saw birthday parties, visits to grandparents, sports days and school playtimes all crudely splattered with Marvella Brand logos and Marvella Brand toys. But Wes’s reprogramming seemed to be working. As soon as the memories appeared, the logos were rapidly erased. Frankie breathed a long sigh of relief.

  ‘These cleaned-up memories are being sent straight back to the Mechanimals,’ said Wes, still tapping at the keyboard. ‘Within the next half hour, the Mechanimals will restore everyone’s memories and everything should be back to normal.’ Frankie punched the air with joy.

  ‘You did it, Wes!’ Frankie laughed. ‘You did it! It’s over! Neet, it’s over!’ But Neet didn’t look so sure.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Frankie, deflated. ‘It’s over . . . isn’t it?’ Neet shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘For now,’ she said glumly, ‘but Dr Gore is still out there. What’s going to stop him doing this all over again, or worse?’ Neet was right. It was just a matter of time before Gore hatched another evil plot in that swollen brain of his.

  ‘I agree. But what can we do?’ said Wes shaking his head in despair. ‘We’d need a whole army to stop Dr Gore.’

  Suddenly, Frankie had an idea. Maybe the best idea he had ever had.

  Neet’s grin spread wider and wider as Frankie explained his plan. ‘Brilliant,’ she smiled. ‘I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had!’

  ‘Do you think you can do that, Wes?’ asked Frankie.

  ‘Easy-peasy,’ nodded Wes, flicking back to the photograph of Dr Gore on holiday. ‘All I need is this photo here, and I can do that straight away . . .’

  ‘Fantastic!’ smiled Neet, clapping her hands together. ‘Gore won’t know what hit him!’

  But Wes’s fingers had barely touched the keyboard when a red-faced Timmy burst into the room.

  ‘Guards!’ he burbled, waving his arms in the air. ‘We need to leave! Quickly!’

  ‘Just one second . . .’ Wes replied, tapping away furiously.

  ‘No, really!’ squeaked Timmy, turning pale. ‘We have to go! Right now!’ But Wes wouldn’t be torn away from the keyboard. He was almost there . . . almost ther
e . . .

  ‘And . . . it’s . . . DONE!’ he cried. ‘OK. Let’s get out of here!’

  But it was too late.

  The doorway darkened. There was no way out. Marvella’s henchmen, Donner and Blitzen, stormed in and seized a child in each of their massive fists. Frankie kicked and wriggled in panic as the guards hauled them down to an underground car park and tossed them into the back of a waiting van. Frankie saw that there was somebody in the driver’s seat.

  ‘Help! Help us!’ he yelled, rattling the bars that separated him from the driver. But the driver was doing no such thing. He turned his head to inspect his captives with his strange yellow eyes. His moustache twitched with amusement. It was Dr Calus Gore.

  The children howled and hammered on the doors with their fists as the van screeched out of the car park and sped off down the motorway.

  ‘Where are you taking us!’ yelled Neet.

  ‘Ah ha!’ grinned Dr Gore, as if he were planning a lovely surprise. ‘That is for me to know and for you to find out. Don’t be so impatient, Miss Banerjee.’

  Frankie stared through the cloudy windows at the back of the van, wondering if he could smash through them. But it was useless. Even if he could, they would only end up splat in the middle of the motorway. Frankie felt a wave of despair rising in his throat.

  But then he heard a sound he knew only too well. At that moment it was the most wonderful sound in the world – the ferocious growl of a motorbike engine. Frankie pressed his nose to the glass. A few hundred yards behind them, a large black bike roared into view. Alphonsine, Eddie and Colette were on their tail and catching up fast. The children all glued themselves to the window, yelling and waving frantically. Yes! Alphonsine had seen them and gave them a sly wink from behind her goggles. But Gore had seen her too. He put his foot on the gas and swerved left and right through the traffic, chuckling like a demented chipmunk.

  ‘Just you wait!’ Neet yelled, as she was hurled from one side of the van to another. ‘Alphonsine won’t listen to any of your nonsense!’

  ‘Oh I’m not worried about that old handbag,’ sneered Dr Gore, his mouth turning sourly at the corners like the skin of a dried lemon.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Frankie, feeling a strange sense of dread spreading through his limbs.

  ‘I thought she might be sticking her old proboscis in,’ the scientist sighed. ‘So I had Rudolph do a little work on that banger of hers. Simple little trick – if her motorbike goes over seventy miles per hour, its tyres will burst.’ He made a small exploding gesture with his fingers. ‘POP!’

  The friends all gasped in horror.

  ‘You’re crazy!’ shouted Neet, flinging herself at the bars with rage. ‘Completely bonkers!’

  Dr Gore chuckled. ‘Perhaps you’re right, Miss Banerjee.’ Then his grin turned into a steely snarl as he pushed his foot down on the pedal.

  Frankie started to panic. He could see the trembling needle of the speedometer creeping slowly upwards as they approached a high bridge over a wide, cold river. Sixty-six . . . Sixty-seven . . . Sixty-eight . . .

  Frankie flew to the back of the van and started signalling wildly for Alphonsine to slow down. Alphonsine and Eddie looked back at him with puzzled expressions. Only Colette seemed to understand. The white pom-pom on the end of her tail stopped wagging. She looked up at Alphonsine with two wet eyes and howled for all she was worth. But it was too late.

  As they struck out across the bridge, Frankie heard a chilling bang. Then everything seemed to move in slow motion. Alphonsine’s bike spun out of control and, as Frankie looked helplessly on, it lurched over the edge of the bridge and disappeared from view.

  Frankie felt as if he had been plunged underwater. His vision went blurry, his ears seemed blocked off and he couldn’t breathe.

  ‘They’ll be OK . . .’ Neet stammered, not knowing what else to say. ‘You know Alphonsine. They’ll have swum to safety. I’m sure . . .’ Frankie nodded silently and squeezed her hand. He couldn’t bear to think about it.

  The van stopped sharply, throwing the children to the floor. The two henchmen bundled them out of the back and dumped them on the ground like a pile of bin bags. Frankie sniffed. His nostrils filled with sharp, salty air. Sea air. Looking up, he saw the sides of ships, glaring white in the morning sun. They were at the docks. Large liners were ploughing in and out of the deep, watery bays while cranes swerved slowly overhead, transporting cargo to the waiting vessels. Frankie sat up and saw that they were surrounded by stacks of steel containers, each of which was stamped with the huge, grinning face of Teddy Manywishes. Frankie shook his head in dismay. The Marvella corporation was preparing to send its mind-mashing toys all around the world. Frankie looked at the sides of ships – India, China, Australia, the USA. Nowhere was safe.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ demanded Neet crossly, jumping to her feet and dusting herself off.

  ‘Temper, temper, Miss Banerjee!’ Gore smirked. ‘I’m sending you all on a little cruise.’ Donner and Blitzen sniggered like a pair of mutts.

  ‘But I don’t want to go on a cruise!’ Timmy panicked. ‘I want to go home! I want to go home!’

  Dr Gore rolled his yellow eyes. ‘Don’t be such moaning minnies,’ he snapped. ‘You’ll have a splendid time. But do watch out for the polar bears, they are a little grouchy at this time of year.’

  ‘P-p-polar bears?’ Wesley stuttered. ‘You mean, you’re sending us to the Arctic?’

  ‘Bravo, Master Jones!’ smirked Gore. ‘You always were the clever one. Yes indeed, I am sending you to the Arctic. Seeing as you are all incapable of staying out of my way, I shall have to dispose of you along with the other toxic waste.’ Dr Gore gestured towards a nearby ship that was loading up with dirty-looking containers full of the filth and rubbish from Marvella’s factories.

  ‘But . . . but we’ll freeze to death!’ Wesley stammered.

  ‘Or we’ll be eaten by killer whales!’ Neet howled.

  ‘Well, children,’ smiled the crazy old scientist as if he were giving them a sermon, ‘that will teach you a valuable lesson, won’t it? Good children get presents, naughty children get eaten by whales. Such is life.’

  The ship’s horn gave a long, loud blast. Frankie looked wildly about him for an exit route, but they were blocked in by containers and closely guarded by Donner and Blitzen. If only Alfie and Eddie were here, he thought to himself. They’d know what to do. Frankie strained his ears, hoping against hope that he would hear the sound of a distant motorbike. But all he heard was the croaking of seagulls and the creak of cranes. Frankie’s heart felt as heavy as a stone . . . until . . .

  Wait . . .

  Listen . . .

  Frankie wondered if it was his desperate imagination. But no. He heard something in the distance. It wasn’t a motorbike, but he could definitely hear something. Something coming steadily closer. Something unstoppable. Frankie held his breath and glanced across at Wes. Wes was smiling faintly. It looked like their plan was beginning to work.

  ‘Throw them in with the cargo,’ snapped Dr Gore.

  Donner and Blitzen hoisted all four children off the ground and started to march them towards the gaping black mouth of the cargo hold. The friends shouted and squirmed.

  ‘I don’t want to go to the Arctic!’ Timmy bawled hysterically. ‘I left my mittens at home! I’ll catch a cold! Heeeeeeeeelp!’

  Then, suddenly, the guards stopped in their tracks. They turned and looked about them, sniffing the air like a pair of nervous bison.

  ‘Stop dawdling!’ snapped Dr Gore. ‘Throw them in the cargo hold, chop-chop.’ But then Dr Gore heard what they were hearing. His tufty ears pricked up in alarm. They could all hear it. Nearer and nearer, closer and closer – the march of thousands of mechanical feet.

  Donner and Blitzen didn’t hang about. They dropped the children like hot potatoes, raced to the van and roared away in a billow of dust, leaving Dr Gore to fend for himself. Gore’s eyes flashed around him like torch-beams.<
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  ‘What’s going on?’ he shrilled. ‘What have you done this time, Blewitt?’ The sound of footsteps grew louder and louder and the air was filled with a distinctive series of pips and bleeps. Then they arrived. From every direction, from every corner, dozens and dozens of Mechanimals. Sparky the Squirrels, Gigawatt the Gila Monsters, Gadget the Rabbits – and they were all homing in on Dr Gore.

  ‘What the devil?’ Dr Gore spluttered in alarm.

  ‘They’ve been reprogrammed . . .’ Frankie shouted over the clamour, ‘. . . to recognise you. They think you’re their owner now.’

  ‘That’s right,’ yelled Neet. ‘You’re their new best friend and they’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Whether you like it or not!’

  Suddenly the steel containers started to rattle and shake. Dozens of new Mechanimals were tearing themselves out of their packaging and crawling robotically towards their target.

  ‘Get them away from me!’ Gore yelled. The Mechanimals’ mind-sweepers were switched on and they were aiming directly at Dr Gore’s enormous forehead.

  ‘Keep them away from my brain!’ The scientist tried to make a dash for it but every way was blocked. He was completely surrounded by the advancing toys.

  Dr Gore was panicking like a snake in a sack.

  ‘Turn them off!’ he shouted. ‘Take their batteries out!’

  But Frankie and his friends stayed right where they were. The Mechanimals wobbled robotically forward, chanting in their high, tinny voices, ‘Caaaaluuus! Caaaaaaluuus! Be my frieeeeeend!’

  ‘Waaaagh!’ yelled the scientist, backing himself into a corner. Seeing that his threats weren’t working, he tried another strategy. ‘Children, children!’ he pleaded. ‘You’re making a big mistake here. You’re missing a huge opportunity. We could work together! Think of all the extra pocket money you could make! And the freebies! You’ll have freebies coming out of your ears! Just turn off those blasted chunks of plastic!’

  ‘No way!’ Frankie shouted back. ‘You’ve done enough harm as it is. It’s about time somebody gave your mind a makeover!’