of course, I shall expect you to write an essay on the Gariep region when you get back – so pay attention.”
Why do teachers always have to spoil our fun?
Mom was acting as if I’d never had to survive without comforts like piped water or her cooking. But William and I had got by without those luxuries when we were fugitives in Europe, and with even less when we spent a couple of days in the International Space Station.
But of course she knew nothing of that.
“The nights can be chilly, Alex,” she warned and packed the red beanie and woollen scarf that I had worn on our trip to New York.
I sighed, and quietly took them out again when she wasn’t looking.
William was snoring in his basket in the corner of my room. He pretended to use the basket when Mom was in my room; otherwise he slept on my bed, stretched out with his head on a pillow. We could use a little more space, I thought. A tree house would be great.
At last everything was ready and my backpack was packed. The school bus was leaving the next day at eight o’clock sharp.
William Makes His Own Plans
“Alex, did you see the car keys?”
It was seven thirty. I was dressed in my soccer shirt and track pants, my backpack slung over my shoulder: ready to go.
“Aren’t they in your handbag, Mom?”
She fretted. “I’ve checked it twice already. I’m sure I left the keys on the table in the hallway like I always do.”
William was stretched out on the carpet, snoring away and oblivious to our problem. Mr Harlech-Jones had warned us that the bus would not wait for anybody. I couldn’t be late!
I started searching, too. Perhaps Mom had dropped the keys when she’d brought the groceries in the previous afternoon. But there were no keys in the car or anywhere on the garage floor. I heard my mom’s heels clicking nervously in the hallway. There was no time to lose.
William got up, yawned and stretched himself lazily. There were the keys, lying on the carpet on the spot where he’d dozed.
“Mom,” I yelled, “I found the keys!”
I prodded William aside and scooped up the keys, scowling. I knew he’d hidden the keys on purpose. Maybe he was only acting up because I was leaving him behind. I suddenly felt guilty and gave him a quick pat. “Be good, boy. I’ll be back soon.”
But he ignored me, yawned and started turning circles on the carpet like he usually does before settling in for a nap.
Mom stormed past me, grabbing the keys. “Hurry, Alex!”
It felt as if all the traffic lights were against us on our way to school. When we finally arrived, there were so many cars parked all the way up the street that we couldn’t find a parking spot close to the bus.
“Just drop me here, Mom,” I pointed to a loading zone. “If I run, I may just make it.”
She stopped the car. I smacked a lopsided kiss on her cheek, grabbed my stuff and hurried towards the bus. A few clingy parents were still lurking on the sidewalk, and one of the teachers was shuffling the last pieces of luggage into the hold.
I thought that no one would notice my late arrival, when . . .
“Psstt! Alex!”
A car had drawn up to the curb and its passenger door opened. There was my dog William, sitting on the seat.
I froze in my tracks.
“William, what are you doing here? How did you get here so quickly? And who is . . .” I gestured towards the driver of the car, a man in a dark suit and sunglasses, who was staring straight ahead.
“Get in!” William said.
“Are you crazy? This is no time for one of your silly games!”
“Hurry up, before someone sees you.”
“William, I am going to the Orange River with my classmates. Deal with it. I’ll be back in less than a week. Just wait for me – you’ll be fine. We’ll build that tree house when I’m back, I promise.”
“Tree house, my tail! And forget about the Orange River. We are off to catch some diamond smugglers.”
Diamond smugglers? I hesitated just for a second too long, and the bus pulled off.
I dropped my backpack on the curb. They’d left me behind – all was lost!
“Take cover!” William urged, and instinctively I dived down. I peeped through the window of the car and saw my mom drive past. She waved at the departing bus through her open window, clearly convinced that I was safely on board.
“Why didn’t they wait for me?” I moaned. “They should’ve known I was on my way!”
“No, you’ve sprained your ankle too badly to go on this trip. When you fell out of the tree, remember? That sort of thing often happens when you try to build a tree house.”
“I what? William, did you tell the teachers that?”
“Yes. I sent a note. In your mom’s name, with a doctor’s certificate and all. You are officially excused from the trip.”
I stamped my feet in anger. “William how could you? I wanted to go, and . . .” I thought about Carla’s blue eyes and campfires beneath the stars on the sandy banks of the river.
“Get in the car, Alex, and stop complaining. We’re going to have much more fun than them. You wouldn’t want to be mucking about on a muddy river when you could go on a great adventure in the Namib Desert, would you?”
“The Namib?” I asked, still glaring at him. “That’s the great desert in Namibia you’re talking about?”
“Of course the Namib is in Namibia. Where else would it be?”
The man with the sunglasses turned around and asked: “Are you two ready to go? The chief inspector wouldn’t like you to keep the plane waiting.”
Chief Inspector Spears? A plane?
William nodded, as if I’d asked these questions out loud.
I picked up my backpack and lunged it onto the back seat of the car. I got in and shut the door. Sunglasses-guy pulled away and we joined the rush-hour traffic.
It wasn’t the first time that I’d been swept away on some unexpected, secret mission. And it was very possibly going to be more exciting than a school trip.
Our Help Is Needed
“Max cannot deal with these smugglers on his own,” Chief Superintendent Spears said on the video connection. We were on our way to the airport, and his image was projected on a screen fixed to the back of the driver’s seat. Superintendent Spears was in his office in London. A picture of Boris and her six pups was on the desk next to him. The three that looked a lot like William were called Sherlock, Clouseau and Poirot. The more fluffy ones were named after Russian space dogs: Laika, Belka and Strelka.
By now I’d almost forgotten about the trip to the Orange River. Once again I was caught up in the world of espionage and intrigue – the world I shared with my famous pet: Dogtective William.
“Diamond smuggling is a serious matter,” Spears continued. “For a time the authorities had it under control, with only a few small diamonds disappearing occasionally. But now things have changed. I am told that almost twenty per cent of all the diamonds that have been mined have been lost to these crooks, whoever they are. We’re talking about mines in a part of Namibia previously known as the Sperrgebiet – a German word meaning ‘forbidden area’.”
“They