Jet Skis, Swamps & Smugglers

by Robert Muchamore

  CONTENTS

  The Story So Far . . .

  Part I

  1. Dino Bullcalf

  2. Man on the Inside

  3. Sherwood Screens

  4. Wasps Are Gits

  Part II

  5. Finally, Our Hero

  6. Built for Smuggling

  7. Pills and Thrills

  8. Double Choc Magnums

  9. Vengeance Shall Be Mine

  10. They Seem to Just Vanish

  11. Just Do It

  12. The Great White Whale

  13. Landing Dock Y

  14. Blood and Bullets

  15. Getting Lucky

  16. The Beard Grabber

  Part III

  17. Old Ma Bullcalf

  18. Punishment Smorgasbord

  19. President Marjorie

  20. Afternoon Sulk

  21. Rising Damp

  22. Neo-Skegness

  23. Strip Archery

  24. Best-Laid Plans

  25. Getting Wet

  26. Legendary Footage

  27. Lovely Day at the Beach

  28. Aaaargh, Snakes!

  29. Down the Drain

  30. Set an Example

  31. Two Tu

  32. Across the Fence

  Part IV

  33. Leaving the Station

  34. Award-Winning Toilets

  35. Death Star Stuff

  36. Little Ol’ Convoy

  37. Roll Up, Roll Up

  38. The Big Boss

  39. Hold the Baby

  40. Packing Up and Moving Out

  41. Roadside Leak

  42. One Goes Bang

  43. Nurse Diogo

  Part V

  News Update

  44. You Can Only Kill Me Once

  Extract from Drones, Dams & Destruction

  Robert Muchamore’s Robin Hood series:

  Copyright

  THE STORY SO FAR . . .

  It is a troubled time in Sherwood Forest . . .

  Evil gangster Guy Gisborne has the declining industrial town of Locksley under his thumb, controlling everything, from petty drug deals to police and judges.

  He works in an uneasy alliance with the Sheriff of Nottingham, Marjorie Kovacevic.

  The ambitious Sheriff likes to portray herself as a successful businesswoman and get-tough politician, who locks up criminals and cracks down on immigration. But deep in Sherwood Forest, Sheriff Marjorie has a private army of guards who deal brutally with anyone who gets in her way.

  But good folks are fighting back!

  For more than a decade, Emma and Will Scarlock have fought to protect the thousands of vulnerable people who live in Sherwood Forest. From their base inside an abandoned outlet mall, their team provides shelter, healthcare and food to anyone who needs it.

  And a new hero is rising . . .

  When Ardagh Hood spoke out about corruption in Locksley, Guy Gisborne had him framed by crooked cops and sentenced to three years in prison.

  Nobody expected his thirteen-year-old son Robin Hood to fight back, but so far Robin has shot Gisborne in the plums with an arrow, staged a daring robbery to raise money for Forest People and helped sabotage a big-game hunt at Sherwood Castle Resort.

  Now Robin is in danger!

  With Robin’s name graffitied on thousands of walls, and videos of his actions watched by millions, Sheriff Marjorie fears Robin could spark a rebellion and destroy her political ambitions.

  So she’s agreed to help Gisborne hunt Robin down, using a posse of former special forces soldiers.

  PART I

  1. DINO BULLCALF

  The rooftop market at the abandoned Sherwood Designer Outlets was a bustling social gathering for the rebels, runaways and refugees who lived in Sherwood Forest. Traders travelled overnight, emerging from dense forest dragging their wares in nylon bags and backpacks as they crossed the mall’s weed-strewn car parks.

  A bunch of stalls in the centre of the market sold hot food. Harsh sunlight hit Dino Bullcalf’s bald head as he strode between them, catching whiffs of shish kebab, curry, baby back ribs and stale cooking fat.

  Bullcalf had been a judo champion, an elite Italian army paratrooper and most recently a man with a reputation for finding people who didn’t want to be found. But at seventy-six years old his haggard face made it easy to ignore a frame that could run 5K without breaking sweat and bench-press more than most men half his age.

  One of Bullcalf’s tattooed hands held a cardboard coffee cup. After swallowing the last mouthful he shuffled into a gap between two stalls and bumped a woman energetically sweeping dropped food under her burrito stand.

  ‘You’ve come the wrong way, fella!’ the woman said cheerfully, as she pointed the old man back to the customer side.

  Bullcalf acted doddery and confused. ‘So hot today!’ he said breathlessly, with a Neapolitan accent that hadn’t faded in the forty years since he’d fled Italy. ‘I hate litter, but I can’t see a bin.’

  ‘Gimme,’ the woman said, reaching out to take the cup.

  As she turned away and flipped the cup into a bin under her stall, Bullcalf deftly pulled a plastic-wrapped packet from his trouser pocket. The outside had pads of double-sided tape, while the inside contained finely ground aluminium powder and a delicate glass vial filled with green fluid.

  Without opening the packet, Bullcalf crushed the vial, enabling the liquid to start mixing with the powder. Then he reached under the burrito stand and felt the contents start to fizz as he stuck the package to the bright red gas cylinder that fuelled the grill.

  In a few minutes, the chemical reaction inside the plastic bag would reach a critical temperature, making the aluminium powder explode in a white flash. This would fracture the metal cylinder and ignite the pressurised gas inside. If things went to plan, the resulting bang would be loud enough to distract the market’s heavily armed security guards.

  ‘Grazie, my dear!’ Bullcalf told the burrito chef once she’d binned his coffee cup.

  ‘No problem,’ she answered cheerfully.

  Once he was away from the food stalls, Bullcalf dropped the doddery act and walked fast. The other four members of the posse Guy Gisborne had hired to capture Robin Hood were standing near the edge of the mall’s flat roof.

  Hughes, Denton and Zev were tough-looking blokes who’d done time in the army and knew their stuff. The fourth – and the man Gisborne had put in charge – was Venables. He had buzz-cut red hair, a round freckled face and he irritated Bullcalf every time he opened his mouth.

  Venables had convinced Guy Gisborne that he could put together an elite squad to track down Robin Hood. He’d even talked the notoriously tight gangster into paying thirty thousand up front for expenses.

  But when Bullcalf asked around he’d discovered that his new boss was all talk. Venables had no experience tracking people down, the military exploits he boasted about were bogus and he was wanted by the police in Capital City for a series of armed robberies targeting wealthy pensioners and charity fundraisers.

  ‘Still alive, grandad?’ Venables carped as he slapped Bullcalf on the back and checked the time on his gigantic diver’s watch.

  ‘We need to move fast when that cylinder blows,’ Bullcalf said curtly. ‘Is everyone set?’

  ‘I’ve tied off the ropes,’ Zev answered. ‘Denton is gonna whack the nearest security camera when the blast happens, so it’ll look like the explosion knocked the camera out.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Bullcalf said appreciatively.

  Venables was supposed to be in charge and hated it when the three younger men showed Bullcalf respect.

  ‘Do you need to sit down, old man?’ Venables said. />
  How many times can you make the old-guy joke? Bullcalf thought to himself.

  A younger Bullcalf would have ripped Venables’s head off. But he’d grown patient with age and Venables was going to get what he deserved soon enough . . .

  2. MAN ON THE INSIDE

  Ninety seconds later, the gas bottle ruptured. The blast shook the entire mall roof as the flaming metal canister rocketed thirty metres into the air.

  Market stalls toppled as traders and shoppers dived for cover. There were screams and objects clattering. The burrito chef looked back at her wrecked stand and realised she was only alive because she’d stepped away to flirt with the pit master on the barbecue stall.

  After flying more than seventy metres, the spiralling, red-hot cylinder crashed into one of the mall’s rooftop greenhouses. A quick-thinking gardener rushed to the scene, edging between jagged glass and smothering embers with shovelfuls of damp compost.

  Although the rooftop market was open to anyone who handed over their weapons and passed through an airport-style scanner, the mall’s interior was strictly residents only. Bullcalf was pleased to see a guard sprint towards the food stalls, while another helped a distraught old lady who’d been trampled by panicked shoppers.

  ‘Move out!’ Venables ordered enthusiastically.

  Hughes, Zev, Bullcalf and Venables slid eight metres down a rope slung over the side of the mall roof. Their landing spot was a narrow ledge, formed by the top of the letters ET on an immense SHERWOOD DESIGNER OUTLETS sign.

  The plastic signage was crusted with bird poop and creaked alarmingly under the weight of the four burly men. Venables was no fan of heights, and as he tried not to look at the concrete twenty-five metres below, Hughes used a crowbar to lever open a rusted metal access hatch.

  Hughes squeezed through the opening and dropped into a narrow hallway. His boots made the only prints in the dust, suggesting he was the first to walk this route in years. Denton had stayed back to wreck the rooftop camera, so he came last and needed a tug from Zev to drag his stomach through.

  ‘Denton ate all the pies!’ Zev joked. ‘Did anyone see us drop down?’

  Denton shook his head as Venables turned a corner and reached a narrow metal door. It clanked, but after opening a few centimetres a padlock and chain snapped tight.

  Venables fumed as he peered through the fist-sized gap. ‘Mr Khan, are you there?’

  Sneakers moved warily up metal steps on the other side of the door. ‘It’s me, Khan,’ a man answered. ‘Are you Venables?’

  ‘Who else?’ Venables spluttered. ‘Father Christmas?’

  Mr Khan coughed nervously. ‘Mr Venables, you are going to get everything we agreed to. But I must protect myself. There are five of you, and if you killed me you wouldn’t have to pay my ten thousand.’

  Venables battered his palm against the door. ‘Listen, dirtbag, a deal is a deal . . .’

  Bullcalf set his hand on Venables’s shoulder and warned him to stay cool.

  Mr Khan’s gold-ringed hand appeared briefly and flicked a folder filled with papers through the gap in the door. ‘That’s a map showing where Robin Hood is hiding,’ he explained.

  ‘I heard Robin got sent away from here,’ Bullcalf said.

  ‘He was away for a while,’ Mr Khan said. ‘But he had a couple of run-ins with bandits chasing the bounty on his head, so Will Scarlock decided Robin was safest back here. There’s always a guard, but they stay outside the main door of Robin’s new den, and that map shows how to access the room via a hatch at the rear.’

  ‘If you’re lying, you’d better pray we all get killed,’ Venables warned.

  ‘I have all my family here at the mall,’ Khan said gently. ‘I know better than to betray a powerful man like you.’

  Venables was easily flattered and cracked a smile.

  Bullcalf inspected the document pouch Khan had passed through. It contained a folded architectural plan of the mall. A route marked out in pink highlighter showed how to reach Robin Hood’s hiding place and an escape route via the sewers.

  ‘Give him the money,’ Bullcalf whispered to Venables. ‘It’s not like we have a choice.’

  Venables reluctantly passed a stuffed envelope through the crack in the door and they heard Khan tear it open and fan the notes.

  ‘Satisfactory!’ Khan said.

  ‘Open up,’ Venables demanded.

  ‘It’s a combination lock,’ Mr Khan explained, calmer now he had his cash. ‘Eight, seven, six, one, two, three.’

  Bullcalf realised the combination lock was a smart move. If Mr Khan had opened the lock or handed over a key, the posse would be through the door in seconds. But it took Venables almost a minute to reach around the door and dial in six numbers, by which time Khan had vanished down the metal steps on the other side.

  The five men were relieved as the lock clicked open and the chain clanked to the floor. Mr Khan had left a battered army kit bag on the landing and Venables looked chuffed as he unzipped it and checked the contents.

  ‘Two guns, knives, ammo, tools and keys,’ he said as he rummaged. ‘I can taste Guy Gisborne’s money!’

  ‘Good stuff,’ Bullcalf said, as the younger men behind him made happy noises. ‘Let’s go find Robin Hood.’

  3. SHERWOOD SCREENS

  Venables led the way across the mall, though he was puzzled until Bullcalf made him turn the map the right way up.

  They were directly below Designer Outlets’ roof, and after crossing a metal gantry that had a view down at the lighting and ventilation of a store that had once sold pricey suits, they jogged the length of a bare concrete hallway, went down four flights of steps and through a fire door propped open with a plastic chair.

  Bullcalf’s nose tingled from a musty smell as his boot squelched mildewed red carpet. A Rage Cola vending machine had been tipped over and trashed, while kids had drawn boobs and willies on the COMING SOON posters for fifteen-year-old movies.

  ‘Sherwood Screens,’ Denton read aloud, then felt hunger pangs as he passed an ad for a Quad Combo Deal – Nachos, Popcorn, Hot Dog & Frozen Cola. JUST £12.99 . . .

  ‘My first-ever date, I took a girl to see Blade: Trinity,’ Zev said fondly, as he spotted that movie’s faded poster. ‘I spilled Fanta in my lap and the girl said she wasn’t walking home with a guy who looked like he’d wet himself.’

  Denton and Hughes snorted with laughter. Bullcalf thought they were making too much noise, but before he could tell them to can it, he felt his phone vibrate. He answered in a whisper, as Venables located a door that led through a staff break room, then upstairs to the cinema’s projection booth.

  Bullcalf spoke softly into his phone. ‘Mamma, what’s the matter? OK, OK, calm down. Listen carefully . . . You can’t find Cairo’s food because he’s not with you any more. You haven’t had a cat for six years . . . I can’t visit today because I’m working, but Andrea will call in on her way home . . .’

  Venables rounded the top of the stairs into a gently curved room with four projectors along each side and two at the far end. Sherwood Screens closed before cinemas went digital, so old-skool mechanical film projectors pointed through slot windows into the cinema’s eight auditoriums.

  A hole in the roof brought sunlight and fresher air than downstairs, but there were heaps of fizzing wasps and a nest bulged from a ceiling vent.

  ‘Wasps are the worst,’ Denton said, as he swatted.

  Venables jolted as a wasp buzzed close to his ear, while Bullcalf was still speaking to his mum.

  ‘I have to go, Ma. Stop crying. You know I love you, but I’m far away at work. Put the TV on and do your breathing exercises until Andrea gets there.’

  ‘Hard to believe your mother’s still kicking,’ Venables boomed as Bullcalf pocketed his phone. ‘What is she – two hundred years old?’

  Bullcalf wanted to punch Venables more than he’d ever wanted to punch anyone. But they had to stay focused.

  ‘Keep the noise down,�
� Bullcalf warned as he flicked a wasp off his brow. ‘Venables, what screen is Robin supposed to be in?’

  ‘Five,’ Venables said.

  ‘Which one’s five?’ Zev asked.

  Hughes had already noticed that the projectors were numbered. He stopped by number five and peered through the rectangular hole in front of the lens.

  It was one of the smallest auditoriums and around half of the fifty seats had been stripped out. A huge electric fan was spinning and there was a double airbed and a tent in the open space. Archery targets had been pinned to the cinema screen, and there were so many holes in some spots that parts of the screen were in tatters.

  ‘Bullseye,’ Hughes whispered.

  Bullcalf and Venables knocked skulls as they rushed to peek through the little window.

  ‘That’s Robin’s den all right,’ Venables said happily.

  ‘Can’t see the kid though,’ Bullcalf said.

  Six eyes scanned the gloomy auditorium and Hughes spotted something first.

  ‘Third row of seats, one from the aisle,’ Hughes whispered. ‘See?’

  Venables and Bullcalf locked eyes on a mop of scruffy hair sticking above the seat line, silhouetted by bluish light from a laptop screen.

  ‘No point sticking around,’ Venables said keenly. ‘Let’s do this.’

  ‘There’s an access hatch down to the screen,’ Hughes said, as he knelt in front of the projector and saw two bolts. ‘Drop is two metres, maybe three.’

  ‘I know what I’m doing, Hughes,’ Venables said, tapping his map. ‘What about you, Bullcalf? Can those old hips handle the drop?

  Zev got stung by a wasp and yelped as Bullcalf backed away from the projector.

  ‘Hips work fine,’ Bullcalf said acidly. ‘But remember – your friend Khan told us there’s a guard out front who might start shooting or run off and raise the alarm. I’ve got the second gun, so how about I head to the front of screen five and take out the guard?’

  ‘Obviously,’ Venables said, though he clearly hadn’t thought of it. ‘Do you need one of the others?’