ALSO BY LUKE FRANKS & SEAN THORNE

Jamie McFlair Vs The Boyband Generator

www.hachettechildrens.co.uk

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO YOU! YES YOU!

THE FACT YOU’VE COME BACK TO JOIN JAMIE FOR

A SECOND ADVENTURE GENUINELY MEANS THE WORLD

TO US AND WE HOPE YOU HAVE A LOVELY TIME!

CHAPTER 1

THE ROFLCOPTER

It was 11 a.m. on a cold February morning when Barry Bigtime’s alarm began to screech. Once upon a time, Barry would have woken up in a luxurious four-poster bed but now he was crammed into the back of a small helicopter with his undesirable roommates, Slottapuss and Flobster. The helicopter brimmed with sad smells. As Barry opened his eyes, Flobster’s ghastly face was only inches away from his own. He sat up with a start. If you’ve ever been annoyed at sharing a bedroom with a brother or sister, Barry Bigtime could assure you things could be MUCH WORSE. You could be sleeping alongside a six-foot rodent with human limbs and a half-man, half-lobster who smelt as bad as he looked.

Only three months ago, Barry had been one of the most influential and affluent men not only in the world of music, but in the whole world of humans. He’d wake up in his beautiful mansion where fresh, deep-fried penguin wings would be served to him by one of his many household staff, fuelling him for a day of dominating the music industry.

Barry’s life came crashing down around him when he created a boyband (in his Boyband Generator) that turned into a MONSTER AT A MUSIC FESTIVAL. Barry had been on the run with his two henchthings ever since. The whole sordid affair is documented in a book called Jamie McFlair vs The Boyband Generator. It really is a WILD tale.

As Barry struggled to sit up, he locked eyes with a photograph of Jamie McFlair that he’d torn out of a newspaper and nailed to a dartboard. Her smiling face was peppered with tiny holes. In Barry’s mind, his niece had been solely responsible for the downfall of his music empire. It was her fault that he now had to live in a helicopter with rat-people and lobster-men. It was her fault he’d had to spend the last month hiding from Detective Lansdown on a deserted island (which, we hasten to add, wasn’t one of those tropical deserted islands but a weird, cold, blustery one off the coast of Scotland). It was her fault that Barry Bigtime had lost … well, essentially everything. ‘She will pay!’ Barry snarled. With no more darts to hand, he picked up a shrivelled easy-peeler orange and hurled it at the dartboard. It jammed on to a dart and sprayed a sleeping Slottapuss with orange goo.

Slottapuss’s long, rat-like muzzle crinkled. He shuffled under the blanket he’d fashioned out of papers covered with Barry’s crazy drawings and mad plans. ‘GET UP, YOU TWO. TODAY IS THE DAY,’ Barry shouted with unnecessary volume. He switched the lights on (they weren’t really lights but four torches gaffer-taped together). The beams shone directly into Flobster’s eyes. His antennae twitched with shock, his long human arms waggled and his under-the-sea claws clicked as he writhed in the nest he’d made out of newspaper.

Barry was already on his feet and whipped away Slottapuss’s blanket of plans. The former showbiz kingpin shuffled awkwardly to the front of the helicopter and spread the papers over the cockpit.

As well as being a musical genius, Barry was also an ACTUAL GENIUS. Some would say he was also an evil genius. A tri-genius, if you will. His Boyband Generator could infuse superstar talent into human brains. You might think that Barry created this to make some great music, but, while some of his creations did make some toe-tapping tunes, the real reason Barry built the Boyband Generator was for fame, fortune and, most importantly, POWER.

With all of that now in the past and in the papers, Barry had been frantically designing a new machine. One that made the Boyband Generator look like one of those old phones that only had one game.

Barry’s crazed eyes studied the plans one last time.

‘DID YOU GET THE BIRTHDAY CARD LIKE I ASKED?’ he yelled.

‘Yes,’ grumbled Slottapuss. ‘I got it when I bought those oranges and almost scared the lady half to death, remember?’

The island they’d been hiding on was completely deserted, apart from one village that felt like it had been frozen sixty years in the past. The islanders hadn’t discovered the internet, 5G, or even national newspapers, so nobody knew who Barry was. Which was ideal, because his face was PLASTERED ON THE FRONT OF HIS HELICOPTER.

‘Are there any oranges left?’ asked Flobster. ‘I’m starving.’

‘You can eat when I’ve got the funds I need to build our new machine,’ barked Barry. ‘And all the other delights that our plan requires …’ What a plan this is, he thought. If this new machine design worked, Barry could become more powerful than ever. It would make him rich again. It would restore his besmirched name. Best of all, it would also DEAL WITH THAT BRAT, JAMIE McFLAIR.

CHAPTER 2

THE ORDER OF MEGACLEESE

‘So to be clear, we definitely weren’t invited to the party?’ said Slottapuss from the pilot’s seat.

‘Of course not. Gregorius Megacleese is one of the most powerful men in the ENTIRE world. There is just one invitation and it’s mine!’

Barry held the invitation aloft and read aloud. ‘“To Barry Bigtime”. See, that’s all it says, just Barry there, look. Just Me. Ahem. “As a member of the Order of Megacleese, you are cordially invited, along with other order members, to celebrate my fiftieth birthday at my private island estate. Do RSVP by 8 August … Gregorius. PS Free food and drink.”’

‘Just so I’m clear … What is the Order of Megacleese, again?’ asked Flobster. The lobster-man was stroking his dangly antennae with the smooth side of his lobster claws. His apron was covered with mysterious juices.

Barry rolled his eyes. ‘How many times do I need to go over this with you two schmucks? You know what it is! We formed it at Billy Clarkson’s sixtieth birthday party at my chateau, after Gerry Fredericks won the limbo. It’s an exclusive order of the richest and most powerful people in the world. They’ll all be at Gregorius’s birthday party. A perfect time for me to acquire the resources I need to build my new machine …’

Flobster and Slottapuss both nodded, silently begging their HIDEOUS BRAINS to absorb every word to avoid a future scolding.

‘And what is your most important task?’ said Barry.

‘Hold our position,’ said Slottapuss and Flobster almost in unison but not quite.

‘Unless you send us the signal,’ added Flobster. ‘And what’s the signal?’ asked Barry.

‘A poop and a fan emoji,’ recited Slottapuss.

‘Precisely,’ said Barry.

‘And you’re sure this Gregorius isn’t a sneaky, telltale snitch?’ asked Slottapuss. ‘He’s definitely not going to call Detective Lansdown as soon as he sees you?’

‘Gregorius and I have been friends for many years. I got him out of a few sticky situations back in our youth. Plus, The Big Time’s TV ratings made Gregorius the most successful head of the Hun TV network of all time,’ said Barry. ‘Besides, the Order is a sacred bond of finance and friendship. Nobody is going to snitch.’

Slottapuss highly doubted the loyalty of a club that was formed during limbo-victory jubilation, but he didn’t dare share that with anyone.

‘I see the island,’ yelled Slottapuss and, sure enough, Gregorius’s private island estate came into view.

‘I see the house!’ exclaimed Flobster.

‘It’s even bigger than yours, boss!’ added Slottapuss.

‘Well, technically it’s not his any more because—’

‘SILENCE, GROTSACKS,’ shouted Barry, half annoyed at the hollering and half annoyed at the fact that Gregorius’s house was bigger than his lovely old chateau, with its lovely gardens, marshmallow room and private pizza restau—Nope, these thoughts were unhelpful. If Barry was going to secure these resources, he needed to focus and put on the performance of a lifetime.

‘Be careful parking the roflcopter, Slotty. Don’t scratch anyone else’s aircraft,’ Barry said nervously as they lowered into Gregorius’s helicopter parking zone … Nervousness was a very new brain sensation for Barry. He didn’t like it one bit. The last time I felt like this was when I would arrive at school and Big Lobber and his crew would spot me and—

This memory was thankfully interrupted as Slottapuss brought the roflcopter down with a slightly uncomfortable jolt. But to be fair, Slottapuss had done some solid helicoptering throughout, SO WELL DONE HIM. Barry stepped out into the brisk breeze, filling his lungs with delicious fresh air. He spruced himself up in the reflection of the helicopter glass and turned to Slottapuss and Flobster.

‘How do I look?’ he asked.

The two beasts looked at each other. They would never say it, but we will. BARRY WAS A SHAMBLES. His once shiny, action-figure skin was now pink and blotchy. His once gleaming eyes were dull and tired. His usually perfectly slicked-back hair was tousled and speckled with shoots of grey. A two-month diet of eating weird, remote-island takeaways had made his belly bulbous and his jowls saggy. His polar bear fur coat still looked on point, though.

‘Yeah, you look great, boss.’

‘Yeah, that look is fire,’ came the desperate replies.

‘Brilliant. Now remember. Hold your positions, unless I give you the signal,’ said Barry. ‘When we leave this island, Barry Bigtime will be back with a vengeance.’

CHAPTER 3

THE DIAMOND ROOM

Barry strode towards the red-brick Megacleese estate. He scrunched his nose at the lack of embellishments – a world away from his once flamboyant decor. There wasn’t even a SINGLE STATUE OF GREGORIUS in sight.

The front door was guarded by two strong-looking men who looked like leathery baked potatoes with arms and legs.

‘Can I see your invitation, sir?’ said Old Potato Man.

Barry gasped. ‘Are you serious? I’m Barry Bigtime!’

Bald Potato chuckled, his head glistening in the winter sun.

‘Ah, Mr Bigtime, I’m afraid I have bad news,’ Bald said, in a tone that Barry was not accustomed to. ‘Your invitation has been withdrawn, mate. Mr Megacleese forwards his apologies.’

A FIERY RAGE bubbled in the pit of Barry’s tummy and he felt his face redden. ‘Mate’? Who do they think they are talking to?

‘Listen here, humpty,’ snarled Barry. ‘If you don’t let me past, I will make sure Gregorius hears of this, and I will personally make sure to airlift you two schlubs back to a body of water of MY choosing where you will then be fed to a snarling, snapping shark of the hungry variety!’

Old and Bald burst out laughing. ‘Think you’ll have a hard job doing that after a little girl stole your house!’ Old mocked.

‘Come on, mate. Sling your hook and we won’t have a little birdie tell the coppers where you’re hiding,’ added Bald.

Barry turned and stormed off, heading towards the side of the house. He needed to get into the estate. Or his plan was already dead. There must be some mistake. Gregorius wouldn’t uninvite him to a birthday party.

That only happens at eleven-year-olds’ birthday parties. OK, it had happened a little too often for young Barry, but that was long ago.

He ignored the shouts of, ‘That’s not the way back to the helicopter parking zone, Mr Bigtime,’ and, ‘Don’t make us have to come get you.’ There has to be some sort of entrance around the side. Something unguarded, like an open window … drainage … ventilation …

Barry’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of leather potato men trying to run. What proceeded to take place was the SLOWEST CHASE in the history of chases. None of these three men had any right to be involved in a chase. Nevertheless, the chase was on. Old and Bald were heaving and wheezing in their leathers as Barry puffed and panted in the sweaty furs of his polar bear coat.

As Barry ran, he noticed a door, next to which was what looked like a cat flap. But larger. Does Gregorius have the biggest cats in the world? Barry suddenly remembered Gregorius was fond of a much more reptilian and DANGEROUS TOOTHY BEAST. The fact that Barry had time to think all these things and still not be that close to the big flap gives you an idea of the pace of this chase. At this point, we’re just filling for time until he gets to the big flap. It’s such a slow chase. Let’s skip to the bit when he gets there …

Barry reached the big flap. Old and Bald were still a comfortable distance away and would have no chance of squeezing through such an opening. Barry dropped down and SLID LIKE A SLUG THROUGH THE BIG FLAP (which was still quite a tight fit). ‘Come on,’ growled Barry. I can’t be stuck. He frantically tried to wriggle himself through the gap, but he was stuck fast. The footsteps and the wheezes of Old and Bald grew closer. There was a click and a creak and the door next to the flap swung open as the potatoes plodded inside.

‘What’s happened here, then?’ asked Old with a smirk.

‘Didn’t fancy using the door?’ added Bald.

Barry, who had absolutely no answer to this question, released some pungent anger words followed by some pungent bottom smells.

‘Well, you’re in big trouble now,’ said Old, grimacing. ‘My Mrs has made me watch that Big Time rubbish for years, and I’ve always wanted to do this …’

He drew back his fist. But before this knuckle sandwich could reach Barry’s chops, a loud voice echoed around the kitchen.

‘Ksssht. Could you bring Mr Bigtime from the kitchen into the dining hall, please. We’ve just seen the three of you waddle past our window.’

It was the voice of Gregorius Megacleese.

Old and Bald marched Barry into the dining hall, where at the end of a long table sat Gregorius Megacleese, head of the Hun Entertainment & News network and THE THIRD RICHEST MAN in the whole of the solar system. He had thin wisps of fair hair and glasses with lenses so tiny it was hard to see the point of them. He was wearing a black turtleneck and an equally black blazer. On his shoulder, however, was a plume of colour – A MECHANICAL PARROT shimmering from blue to gold. Gregorius, like Barry, had always had a strange affinity with animals. The parrot squawked on Barry’s arrival. ‘Bwark. Barry-Not-So Bigtime. Bwark. Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Bwark.’

Chuckles filled the room.

Barry’s eyes darted through the guests surrounding the table, each of them the kingpins of the entertainment industry. The stench of money was thick in the air. Some faces he recognised, like the queen of book publishing, Hilda McKaren; the owner of the Super Awesome Actors’ Dominion, Fredericksen Hansen Christiansen Pedersen Smith; and the duke of radio, a man who just went by the name of TWINKLE. There were many he didn’t recognise. But he didn’t like the way they were looking at him.

‘I uninvited you. Yet you are here anyway,’ said Gregorius. His voice was quiet and dangerous. ‘Maybe I should invest in better security?’

Old and Bald gulped and dropped their gaze.

‘Uninvite me … But why, Gregorius, we are dear friends!’ said Barry in a voice that seemed calm, but the pulsating veins on his head suggested otherwise.

Gregorius rolled his eyes and shook his head as the parrot hopped into his hand.

‘Barry, you are a wanted man. You created four monsters in your laboratory and unleashed them on to a music festival,’ said Gregorius, calm and cold. ‘In what world would you still be welcome at an occasion such as this?’

Barry felt his RAGE oven start to warm. It was important to stay calm.

‘Now hang on, that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t mean for them to be boyband monsters!’ Barry said. Guffaws echoed throughout the dining hall.

‘Don’t try and hoodwink a man who has known you for over fifty years,’ said Gregorius. ‘I warned you about the Boyband Generator. You wouldn’t listen to me back then but maybe you’ll listen to me now. Leave. I’m giving you this chance to go back to wherever you were hiding. Gentlemen, escort Mr Bigtime—’

‘NO, wait!’ yelled Barry. He pulled himself from Old and Bald’s grip and slammed his hands on to the table.

‘You’ll want to hear what I have to say. I’ve got something here that’s huge. Bigger than the Boyband Generator. It will ensure the Order of Megacleese stays in power for ever. We’ll ALL be rich. Richer than we already are.’

Some of the other guests were beginning to lose patience.

‘My caviar’s getting stagnant,’ someone whined.

‘My eyes are saddened by this man’s appearance,’ hollered someone else.

‘He isn’t even rich any more!’ complained another.

Gregorius raised a hand and silence fell. ‘Because you’re an old friend, Barry, I’ll let you talk. But as soon as Beakers here gets bored, I’m afraid your time will be up.’

‘Bwark. I’m all ears. Bwark,’ came the cry from Beakers, the mechanical parrot.

Barry closed his eyes. He couldn’t mess this up. His rage oven was beginning to overheat. He summoned all of his poise.

‘Gregorius, my friend, I understand the Boyband Generator had its flaws. But you’ll be pleased to know I’ve solved them. My new machine could theoretically work anywhere! And it would give us full control of the subject’s ENTIRE BRAIN … and they would be powerless to resist. All the subjects would be controlled from one console, wherever they are in the world!’

A few murmurs of interest started to bubble around the dining table. Barry’s Bigtime-ness was starting to flood back into his brain.

With the glimmer back in his eye, he brandished his dastardly plans that he had scribbled down during his two months in hiding. With every word he could feel each money-hungry face gravitate closer as his plan spelt out big bucks for all.

‘And we found the perfect location. I found it during my time island-hopping. I’ll disclose its location once I have your support, but I tell you, it’s perfect. The plan I’ve spelt out to you CANNOT FAIL. I suggest we start this September. That gives us seven months to get everything ready, which with our collective resources is completely achievable. If, of course, you’re on board. Gregorius, old friend?’

The Order exchanged murmurs and their eyes turned to Gregorius, who had listened intently.

‘Well …’ said Gregorius. He paused. ‘This all sounds very good to me, Barry.’

Barry’s brain began to pump out happiness chemicals for the first time in months.

‘I don’t doubt the science. I don’t doubt the plan,’ Gregorius added, rising to his feet. ‘I just doubt you.’

The warm and toasty happiness chemicals turned into scorched crumbs of shame.

‘Wh-what?’ stammered Barry.

‘The resources to run this would be what, forty … fifty … maybe a hundred million pounds? At least? Why would I trust that to a man who let a little girl steal his house and destroy his legacy?’

‘Even a hundred million is a drop in the ocean to you, Gregorius. Do you still have that entirely diamond-encrusted room, by the way?’

‘I’ve got four diamond rooms now, Barry, thanks for asking. Do you know why I now have four? Because I am not reckless. I am not wasteful. I am not stupid.’ Gregorius’s voice was rising, but Barry had to stand firm.

‘I am the only man on earth who knows how to use this technology. I am the only person who can build this new machine! I beg you, Gregorius, this is zero risk for you!’ Barry said desperately.

‘Beg,’ spat Gregorius. ‘Barry Bigtime begging for bullish bailouts because he’s bankrupt and can’t build his bonkers new blueprint …’ The unnecessary alliteration caused an awkward silence. ‘What have you become? Maybe I should let Rita and Mavis here put you out of your misery.’ Gregorius gestured behind him. Rising on to their hind legs were Gregorius’s toothy reptile friends of the SNAPPING variety. Gregorius not only liked small, friendly robot animals, but much like Barry had Slottapuss and Flobster, Gregorius had Rita and Mavis, two robotic, HUMANOID CROCODILES. They snapped their big jaws at Barry hungrily.

Barry gulped and his legs became wobbly, but he had one last card up his sleeve …

‘One final thing! Here’s your birthday card,’ he said, flinging the purple envelope down on the table.

Gregorius opened the card. Inside were only six words and none of them were ‘Happy birthday’.

Remember Lobber Livingstone.

Remember Farnell Winterbottom.

For the first time, Gregorius’s hard expression wavered as he stared at the card. The two locked eyes for what became a slightly uncomfortable length of time.

‘Finance and friendship, Gregorius, that was what the order was built on,’ said Barry.

‘Finance and friendship,’ agreed Gregorius. ‘Finance that you no longer have. Thank you for the card. As a token of appreciation, I will allow you to be thrown forcefully from this building rather than consumed. Men, get rid of him.’

And with that, Old and Bald grabbed Barry’s arms, but not before Barry whipped out his phone to send poop and fan emojis.

‘Time to take out the trash,’ said Bald, like a cringe movie villain, as he slung the struggling Barry Bigtime on to the front drive. There was more CRINGE to come as the guards fist-bumped before they resumed their positions at the front door of the Megacleese estate.

Barry gingerly clambered to his feet and made a beeline back to the roflcopter. He checked his watch. That was a long struggle. We have to leave as soon as possible. He walked down the long, paved path towards the helicopter park, which was surrounded by tall and immaculately trimmed hedgerows. Once out of sight of Old and Bald, Barry ran as fast as he possibly could.

Flobster was waiting and the roflcopter’s propellers had already begun to spin.

‘Well?’ shouted Barry over the helicopter’s whir. ‘Did it work?’

Flobster was wearing a black ski-mask, but his antennae were waggling happily and his pincers were clicking with excitement. ‘Like a charm, sir. We got the lot!’

Barry jumped into the helicopter. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, also wearing a ski-mask and leather gloves, was Slottapuss. Barry could see him grinning.

‘Do you think this will be enough, boss?’ said the rat, rolling up his mask and gesturing to the back of the roflcopter.

Barry’s eyes almost launched out of his head and into space. What was once their grubby little sleeping den was now a treasure trove full to bursting with sacks and sacks of twinkling diamonds.

‘In a pleasant surprise,’ said Flobster, ‘there were actually FOUR diamond rooms and not just the one like we thought!’

Barry was submerged in the loot, examining each diamond-encrusted trinket with eager eyes. There were DIAMOND FRUIT BOWLS FILLED WITH DIAMOND BANANAS, a diamond cheese grater and even diamond snooker balls.

‘So, I’d say we got way more than what we needed,’ added Slottapuss, examining a heavy, strange diamond pot filled with a dusty, gravelly mixture.

‘This is tremendous work, my grubby friends,’ said Barry, rubbing his hands together.

‘Stealing all of this from one of your oldest friends was a stroke of genius,’ said Slottapuss, snacking on the dry but delicious contents of the diamond pot.

‘I gave Gregorius ample opportunity to help us voluntarily, but he’s always needed me to know what’s good for him. So we haven’t stolen … we’ve just loaned this to ourselves! We’ll pay Gregorius back once this plan makes me the most powerful man in the world. If anything, I’ve done Gregorius a favour.’

‘Of course! We’re not monsters!’ replied Slottapuss with a mouth full of gravelly dust.

The rat-man, the lobster-man and the horrible man all laughed heartily for the first time in months. Operation Rubbslings had begun …