42. CHASE
Ning felt weak as Shawn marched her up a steep flight of stairs, behind a Turkish social club. The rooms had been a dental surgery in a past life, and there was still a slight mintiness in the stale air.
Ning got a rickety chair in what had been a waiting room. The sprinter had sat behind her in the car, so Ning got her first proper view of him as he sat opposite. Dark-skinned, handsome, no older than twenty. His T-shirt bulged over massive arms and chest and in different circumstances Ning would have considered him hot.
‘Goldfarb Dental Surgery,’ Ning said, slurring her words as if she was on the edge of consciousness and knowing – or at least fairly optimistic – that James could hear over the com. ‘Turkish social club. What you taking me here for? Is Eli Turkish?’
‘Cut the yap,’ Shawn said, as he pulled out his phone.
As Shawn dialled, two of the other three heavies were in the doorway. The third couldn’t resist going into the dentist’s room across the hall and messing around with the chair. Ning felt queasy every time she looked at her upper arm, with the broken bone supporting a huge dome of painfully bulging flesh, getting bigger all the time from internal bleeding.
She closed her eyes, hoping she’d faint and come around in a better place, but James’ voice brought her back into the room. It seemed loud because the tiny speaker was inside her ear, but nobody else could hear it.
‘Roger your location,’ James said, as his motorbike rumbled in the background. ‘I’m gonna pull over and look it up.’
Shawn on his mobile sounded like some comedy sidekick, getting slapped down for incompetence. When he ended the call with Eli, he acted like nothing had happened and took his anger out on his henchmen.
‘Why did all four of you go after her?’ Shawn shouted, as he pointed at Ning. ‘Eli wants both girls and no excuses.’
‘It was like that other girl had a rocket up her arse,’ one of the guys said.
Another added, ‘Usain Bolt or something . . .’
‘You should be able to catch one schoolgirl between four of you,’ Shawn spat.
One of the guys in the doorway didn’t like Shawn’s tone and faced him off. ‘Maybe you’d have caught her, if you hadn’t let a fifteen-year-old girl take you down.’
Shawn stepped up and went eyeball to eyeball. ‘You think you’re someone now, boy? I was working for Eli when you still had stabilisers on your bike.’
The guy facing Shawn off stood his ground. ‘I know exactly who you are,’ he sneered. ‘Jumped-up errand boy, for the leader of a crew that’s got no balls. We should be out on the street taking care of Hagar’s crew, not worrying ourselves over a couple of schoolgirls.’
Ning perked up, hearing her captors fighting amongst themselves, and couldn’t resist stirring it. ‘He’s got a point you know, Shawn.’
Shawn swivelled and scowled at Ning. ‘You want me to break your other arm?’
Ning shrugged. ‘I can’t believe you all left with me,’ she said, trying to sound as chipper as the pain allowed. ‘When Fay saw you all leaving with me, she’ll have gone straight back to the shed to pick up our gear. If one of you had stayed behind you’d have had a chance, but by now? She’ll be on a train to somewhere far away.’
‘Who asked you?’ Shawn spat.
‘She’s right though,’ the sprinter said, as he played with the wedge of bloody tissue stuffed up his right nostril.
‘Jesus!’ Shawn shouted, as he spun furiously and slammed his mobile phone at the wall. ‘Why do I have to work with you idiots?’
The Samsung flip phone separated from its battery as it spun to a halt under the chair next to Ning. She used her good arm to pick it up and spoke in her most deadpan voice.
‘I think you’ve broken it.’
Shawn’s head was bright red and his eyes looked like they were about to shoot out of their sockets.
‘You,’ he said, pointing at the sprinter. ‘Stay here, don’t take your eye off her. The rest of you, put your heads together. Get out on the street and look for Fay Hoyt.’
‘Look where, boss?’ the one who’d been messing about in the dentist’s chair asked.
Ning heard James over the com. ‘We’ve located the club. We’re less than two minutes away.’
She took note of we’re and wondered if Ryan was his backup.
‘Go back to the shed on the allotment,’ Shawn ordered. ‘Look for clues. Letters from relatives, old train tickets, that kind of shit. Fay’s been living in that shed. There’s got to be some indication of who she knows or where she’s going.’
The three burly men sulked like kids who’d just been given a detention as they headed sourly towards the door.
‘Five seconds,’ James told Ning. ‘Stun grenade.’
Ning glanced towards the window as the top of an aluminium ladder hit the wall outside. The man who shot up it wore a black riot helmet. He thrust a padded glove through the glass and lobbed a grey cylinder inside. As Shawn and his crew looked towards the noise, Ning dived across the waiting room chairs, wrapping her good arm over her eyes and keeping her mouth open so that the blast didn’t make her eardrums pop.
As a sharp bang and bright blue flash erupted, something smashed the door in the club downstairs.
‘Police. Everybody, down, down, down.’
Four cops in riot gear started running up the stairs. The one on the ladder kicked his way through the glass, followed by James, who was more cautious than the cops because he was in T-shirt, jeans and motorcycle helmet.
‘On the ground!’ cops shouted. ‘Hands on your heads.’
Ning enjoyed seeing a huge riot cop body-slam Shawn.
‘Kidnapping,’ the cop told him. ‘That’s ten years, pal.’
James winced when the smoke cleared and he saw the state of Ning’s arm. ‘You OK?’ he shouted.
‘Just the arm,’ Ning said.
‘I won’t bother waiting for an ambulance,’ James said. ‘I’ll get one of the cop cars to take you to hospital and I’ll follow on my bike.’
The chaos settled down to grunts and moans as the cops got everyone in cuffs and started reading them their rights. The muscular sprinter had put up the biggest fight and it took three officers to get his hands into position for cuffing.
As the breathless cops backed away, Ning noticed the weapon holstered to James’ belt.
‘Is there a cut on my back?’ Ning asked. ‘I think I can feel blood.’
As James leaned forward to take a look, Ning snatched the Taser from his belt. Running on rage, she aimed it at the sprinter’s back from less than a metre, and pressed the trigger. A metal barb shot out, punching through his T-shirt and delivering fifty thousand volts between the shoulder blades.
As James spun around, Ning gave a second squeeze on the trigger and yelled, ‘That’s for breaking my arm, you son of a bitch.’
‘Whoa!’ James yelled.
James had shown the cops his intelligence service ID, but they had no idea about CHERUB and he had to step in the way to stop the cops from arresting Ning too.
‘She’s good,’ James shouted. Then more quietly to Ning as he snatched the Taser off her and gestured for the cops to back off, ‘That’s not cool!’
But although James was determined to prove himself as a mission controller, he still had a lot of empathy with the stuff that young CHERUB agents have to go through and he couldn’t help seeing the funny side of what Ning had done.
‘You’re lucky there’s so many cops around,’ Ning yelled, as James pushed her backwards. ‘Or I’d keep zapping until the battery ran out.’
43. MASSAGE
Three months later
‘I love what you’ve done with this place,’ Ryan said, as he stepped into James’ quarters on CHERUB campus, straddling piles of dirty clothes and almost knocking a pile o
f well-thumbed motorbike magazines and a coffee mug off the edge of the kitchen cabinet.
‘Have you met Kerry before?’ James asked, glancing towards the attractive Asian woman on the sofa.
‘I’ve seen you around,’ Ryan said, as he reached across and shook her hand. ‘James talked about you all the time when we were on the mission.’
‘Good things I hope,’ Kerry said.
‘Slagging you off constantly,’ Ryan joked. ‘How long are you over from the States for?’
‘Two weeks,’ Kerry said. ‘I’m attending an academic conference in Cambridge.’
‘Cool,’ Ryan said, as James walked behind the sofa and gave Kerry a kiss.
‘Hope I’m not late,’ Ning said, coming through the door. ‘Traffic jam on the way back from physiotherapy. I brought popcorn. Chocolate or salty caramel . . . Kerry, hi!’
‘How’s the arm?’ James asked.
‘Weak and pale,’ Ning said, as she held it out with a floppy wrist. ‘Apparently it’ll be at least six months before it’s back to full strength. But hopefully I can go on some missions before then.’
Ning tripped on James’ dirty running gear as Kerry stood up to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Congrats!’ Ning said. ‘Show us the ring.’
‘Ring?’ Ryan said.
‘How did you know?’ Kerry asked, as she showed off her engagement finger. ‘It’s supposed to be under wraps.’
Ning shrugged. ‘You know campus gossip. I think everyone knows.’
‘Knows what?’ Ryan asked.
‘James popped the question,’ Ning said. ‘How can you not know that?’
Ryan shrugged. ‘That’s girly gossip. So when’s the baby due?’
‘Oh you’re funny, Ryan,’ James said. ‘How about you sit your arse on my sofa before I kick it?’
‘I would if it wasn’t covered in porno mags and dirty clothes,’ Ryan answered.
‘He’d better improve his personal habits if he thinks he’s gonna marry me,’ Kerry said.
‘Have you set the day?’ Ning asked, as she dropped on to the sofa next to Kerry.
‘It won’t be for a good while,’ Kerry said.
‘It’s really because we’re living apart,’ James explained. ‘I’m working here, she’s still studying in America.’
‘We’ve been going out since I was twelve, on and off,’ Kerry said, as she smiled at James. ‘He said it’s time we really committed to each other. Long-distance relationships are hard, but this one’s worth fighting for.’
‘Now where’s this bloody preview disk?’ James asked.
‘I don’t know how you can live in this squalor,’ Kerry said. ‘You must waste half the day just trying to find stuff.’
‘I know where things are, as long as people don’t keep moving them,’ James said.
After a couple of minutes, James worked out that the disk he was looking for had been in his DVD player all along and pressed play.
‘So this is a preview of a BBC Panorama programme that’s going out next Tuesday,’ James said. ‘It’s all about the Crewdsons, The Hangout and the whole scandal.’
‘The one I so brilliantly uncovered,’ Ryan said, as James realised there was no room on the sofa and wheeled the office chair over from his desk.
‘If your head gets any bigger, Ryan, you won’t get it through the door,’ Ning said.
‘You and Ning should totally get it on,’ James said.
Kerry nodded in agreement. ‘There’s definitely chemistry between you two.’
Ning scoffed. ‘He’s got his psycho girlfriend Grace, and I’ve got more sense.’
‘Does Hagar get mentioned in this documentary?’ Ryan asked, keen to change the subject.
James shook his head. ‘Hagar seemed like the big cheese, but in the end he was just one of fifty street operators who sold gear for the Crewdsons. Fay and Ning trashed Hagar’s grow house and his supply of coke and heroin went down the pan. One of the cops told me that Eli’s still limping along, but Hagar’s vanished.’
‘I don’t suppose he’s short of a few quid, mind,’ Ning said.
‘I still can’t believe that Barry guy was a drug kingpin,’ Ryan said. ‘Clarks shoes, ginger beard. He just seemed like a science teacher, or some other massive knob.’
‘Isn’t that exactly why the Crewdsons got away with it for so long?’ Kerry asked.
‘All right, it’s playing,’ James said, as he reached over the back of the sofa and grabbed a handful of popcorn. ‘Everyone shut the hell up.’
*
Fay Hoyt gripped Warren around the waist as their bicycle came to a halt under a huge oak. She grabbed four neatly folded bath towels out of a saddlebag and cradled them in her arm as she gave Warren a long kiss on the lips.
‘The nurse look is sexy,’ Warren said, as he admired breasts packed inside a crisp white polo shirt, which went along with navy trousers and new white pumps.
‘Kinky,’ Fay teased, as she cradled the back of Warren’s neck and blew gently inside his ear. ‘I love you.’
‘Stay on the bike then,’ Warren said. ‘We’ll just keep on riding.’
‘Nah,’ Fay said, giving a slight smile as she took a single step backwards. ‘I’ll be fifteen minutes, tops.’
Fay looked back and blew a kiss as she started down a footpath between tall trees. She’d expected to feel more nervous, but low sun cutting through branches and golden leaves crunching underfoot gave her a sense of calm.
Alessandro’s Health Resort nestled deep in woodland. A huge two-storey cabin, clad in Douglas fir beams, with steam rising off hot tubs on guest balconies and a car park stuffed with very expensive metal.
Fay slid a magnetic pass through a lock on a side door. For eight hundred pounds a night, the guests walked on marble and thick carpet, but Fay found herself in a windowless service corridor, its breeze-block walls lined with electrical ducts and exposed water pipes.
She moved briskly. A maintenance man with a bunch of keys the size of a football hanging off his belt didn’t bat an eyelid as Fay walked past. She had every detail right, from the corporate logo embroidered on her trouser pocket to the ultra-plush towels on her arm.
Another swipe with the pass took Fay into the piped jazz and vanilla-scented air of the health spa’s treatment area. A client had dripped her way along the marble tiles, but a cleaner would be along within a few moments to mop up.
The corridor forked. Fay glimpsed people in gym kit, drinking mocktails, as she took a left at a sign pointing to Treatment Suites 11–19. Fay knocked on the door of suite seventeen, and shuffled in without waiting for a response.
The man lying on a massage table was mixed race, early forties, a touch overweight. The massage therapist wore too much make-up and had the bulky shoulders of a tennis pro. She turned swiftly, and barked when she saw that Fay wore the uniform of Alessandro’s junior staff, ‘This room is in use. Come back to clean later.’
Fay put on an east-European accent and sounded sheepish. ‘Are you Magdalena?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s a personal call for you at the front desk. I was asked that you must come, urgently.’
The therapist looked startled. ‘Is it my mother? Why can’t they transfer the call here?’
‘I don’t know,’ Fay shrugged. ‘It’s my first day.’
Magdalena apologised to her client and wiped massage oil off her hands, before heading out of the room. The massage suites were lit with flickering LED candles and the atmosphere was kept humid. Sweat beaded on Fay’s back as she stepped up to the massage table.
‘It’s Erasto, isn’t it?’ Fay said, dropping the accent.
The man was on his belly, with his face staring at the floor through a hole in the massage table.
‘Do I know you?’ he
asked, propping himself on his elbow and looking around.
‘You used to prefer Hagar,’ Fay said, as she studied a long pink scar over the man’s heart. ‘I heard about your little health scare. This place seems to be working out though. You’re looking very trim.’
Hagar realised who he was sharing the room with and sat up straight. Fay knocked two of her four towels on to the floor, unveiling a silenced pistol.
‘I’m afraid this health kick isn’t going to work out for you, Erasto.’
‘I’ve got money,’ Hagar begged. ‘I can make you rich . . .’
Hagar raised his hands as Fay aimed the gun. ‘My mum taught me to shoot,’ she said. Then in a sing-song voice, ‘One through the heart, one through the head. Then you know he’s really dead.’
Fay pulled the trigger twice. It was a good silencer, there was very little noise. She put the smoking gun back amidst the four towels and felt heat from its barrel as she headed out, opening the door with a kick so that she didn’t leave DNA or fingerprints.
She walked briskly towards Warren and the bike. He baulked at the kiss she offered, grossed out by the tiny blood specks on her cheek and the matter-of-fact way she’d just made him an accessory to murder. But she put a hand on Warren’s heart and it was insanely good feeling her warmth as he pedalled away.
‘You and me are gonna grow old together,’ Fay said softly.
Prologue
The stage is a vast altar, glowing under Texas moonlight. Video walls the size of apartment blocks advertise Rage Cola. Close to the stadium’s fifty-yard line, a long-legged thirteen-year-old is precariously balanced on her big brother’s shoulders. She’s way too excited.
‘JAY!’ she screams, as her body sways. ‘JAAAAAAAY I LOVE YOU!’
Nobody hears, because seventy thousand people are at it. It’s noise so loud your ears tickle inside. Boys and girls, teens, students. There’s a ripple of anticipation as a silhouette comes on stage, but it’s a roadie with a cymbal stand. He bows grandly before stepping off.
‘JET!’ they chant. ‘JET . . . JET . . . JET.’
Backstage the sound is muffled, like waves crashing against a sea wall. The only light is a green glow from emergency exit signs.
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