‘Yoink!’ Leon said, as he grabbed the strap and started running.
‘You’d better give that back,’ Alfie roared.
Alfie was speedy in a straight line, but he was more battering ram than ballet dancer and Leon’s whippy frame gained ground as he hopped across the wooden benches towards the top of the grandstand.
‘See how you like it,’ Leon shouted, as he flung Alfie’s backpack over the rear of the grandstand into a mass of overgrown bushes.
Alfie got within a couple of benches of Leon, but his boot slid and he bashed himself.
‘I will kill you!’ Alfie shouted, as he rubbed his kneecap. ‘Go get that back.’
But Leon was sprinting across the top of the grandstand, and when he reached the end he turned towards Alfie and gave a succession of two-fingered salutes.
Alfie realised he had little chance of catching Leon and decided to lure him out instead.
‘OK,’ Alfie shouted, as he stepped back towards where Leon had been lying. ‘You throw my backpack away. See what I do to yours.’
When Alfie reached his target, he raised a size 7 boot and stamped down on a Puma backpack. There was a sound like a ruler snapping, and a pop of a yoghurt carton. Then Alfie took a step back and booted the backpack high into the air towards the racetrack.
‘Happy now?’ Alfie shouted, but he couldn’t understand why Leon was still smiling.
‘My bag’s up here,’ Leon said.
As soon as Leon said this, Ning remembered that she’d left her backpack down there. And the one she’d seen cartwheeling through the air looked awfully similar …
‘Alfie!’ Ning shouted, as she stood up.
Few girls, even grown women, would intimidate Alfie, but Ning was a former Chinese boxing champ and when she threw a punch you knew all about it.
‘I thought it was Leon’s,’ Alfie said, holding his palms out meekly as Ning steamed towards him. ‘He tricked me.’
‘You started it with the spider,’ Ning said, as she picked up her backpack and unzipped it. ‘I told you to pack it in.’
Ning looked furious as she stared into the backpack, seeing science textbooks and a calculator smeared in yoghurt.
Ning turned back towards Leon. ‘You wipe that smirk off your face and go look for Alfie’s pack in the bushes,’ she demanded. Then she thrust her pack into Alfie’s belly. ‘I don’t know how you’re gonna clean that out, but you’d better or you’re buying me a new one.’
Ning’s steely glare made it clear that she meant business. Alfie started hunting in his pockets for a pack of tissues and Leon headed behind the grandstand to retrieve Alfie’s pack, but before either made much progress they were distracted by the sound of cars on the track.
‘Finally,’ Leon said.
Grace was now highest up the grandstand and got a glimpse over treetops at two VW Golfs – one silver, one blue – driving in close formation on the far side of the track. Tyres squealed on a tight corner as the engines grew louder.
On the final approach to the straight in front of the grandstand, the silver car in the lead put its rear end out and there was a hairy moment as the other Golf nearly clipped it before overtaking on to the main straight.
When it reached the grandstand in front of the kids, the man driving the blue car hit the brakes and threw the car sideways into a donut, throwing up clouds of choking grey rubber smoke. As it did this, the silver car stopped more sedately and a crash-helmeted driver stepped out.
‘All right, boys and girls,’ the driver said, as he unbuckled the helmet. ‘You’re all here for the Advanced Driving course?’
When the helmet came off, Ning liked what she saw. The instructor was six feet tall, in his early twenties with a solid physique. He had blue-green eyes, and blond hair just long enough for the helmet to have mussed it up.
‘I expect my good buddy Mr Norris will be with us when his ego calms down and the tyre smoke clears,’ the instructor said. ‘But I’ll introduce myself first. I’m Mr Adams, but I’d prefer it if you call me James.’
3. CARGO
Until late 2010, the Islamic Department of Justice (IDoJ) was regarded as one of many obscure militant Islamic groups mainly known for posting anti-American and anti-Israeli material on the Internet.
This changed in October 2011, when IDoJ kidnapped two wealthy American executives attending a conference in Cairo. Sophisticated techniques used during the abduction suggested IDoJ members had received Special Forces-style training.
After a video was released showing the beheading of one kidnappee, the family of the other victim defied US Government wishes and paid a ransom of several million dollars. It is now believed that this money has been used to fund further terrorist activity.
Nothing more was heard from IDoJ until March 2012 when a woman was arrested in Paris while conducting a cyber-attack on the French train-signalling system. She had proven links to IDoJ and further investigation revealed a credible plot that might have resulted in the hijacking and deliberate collision of two high-speed passenger trains.
This threat to a prestigious European target elevated IDoJ to a top priority for global intelligence agencies. However, the suspect arrested in France gave little away under interrogation and the rest of the organisation slipped back under the radar.
The next sign of IDoJ activity was picked up when the group attempted to hire a large cargo aircraft from the Kyrgyzstan-based smuggling outfit known as the Aramov Clan. Fortunately, this organisation has been under the effective control of US intelligence for some months, and we are now presented with a unique opportunity to infiltrate and destroy the IDoJ terror group.
Extracted from a CIA anti-terrorist briefing, given to the United States President, October 2012.
Ryan had been chosen to deal with Tracy’s capture because he was strong enough to handle her physically, but would look less suspicious than some adult goon as he moved her around the airport.
He’d role-played at the Kremlin, with TFU agent Amy Collins acting as Tracy. Ryan’s first job was to freak the pilot out with the picture and nasty mental images of what might happen to her family, but after this Tracy had to play the part of an untroubled pilot preparing for a routine flight, so Ryan moderated his voice and started acting nicer.
After taking Tracy’s mobile phone, Ryan stood close by while she used a disabled toilet. She had to go to the pilots’ lounge to file her flight plan, and Ryan watched her through a glass door as she checked weather data and used a PC to log her flight plan.
‘You’ve got a missed call,’ Ryan said, when Tracy came back into the corridor. ‘Atlanta HQ. You need to act normal.’
Tracy nodded as she took her cheapo Android phone off Ryan. Even on a routine trip, a flight plan requires complex calculations on fuelling, weather and cargo weight. Major airlines like Globespan require pilots to e-mail flight plans to headquarters as soon as they’re filed and Tracy worried that her nervous state had led to an error.
But the Globespan employee was calling about a crew problem. ‘Phil Perry ate some bad crabmeat at his hotel and he’s doubled over,’ the woman explained. ‘Luckily the local crewing agency has dug someone up. He’s an Indian named Elbaz and he should be with you shortly.’
Until now, Tracy had drawn comfort from the assumption that she’d be sharing her ordeal with a familiar co-pilot. ‘Is Elbaz security-cleared for flights into the USA?’ she stuttered.
‘Full clearance,’ Atlanta confirmed. ‘He’s already on airport property and he has your number if he can’t find you.’
‘Great,’ Tracy said, trying to hide her nerves. ‘Is that it?’
‘All good to go, Tracy. Fly safe.’
Tracy looked at Ryan as she handed back her phone. ‘Do you know about Elbaz?’
Ryan nodded. ‘He’s working with us.’
‘Is Phil Perry OK?’
Ryan only knew a few details of IDoJ’s plan, but they were a ruthless bunch with no reason to keep the co-pilot alive after pointing a
gun at his head and ordering him to call in sick.
‘I’m sure Phil will be fine if he behaves himself,’ Ryan lied. ‘We’ll head to your plane now. There should be plenty of spare time when we get there, I’ll see if they’ll let you call your husband.’
Tracy nodded as they walked side by side, crossing the little terminal in less than a minute.
‘You need a pass,’ Tracy said, flashing an ID hooked to her belt as they approached the doors leading out on to the runway. But the airport security officer let Ryan through with a nod.
It was getting lighter, but they still got blasted with rain as they stepped on to a paved verge and followed a striped yellow walkway towards the three parked planes.
‘They’ve got things sewn up tight,’ Ryan said, hoping that giving some info away would help Tracy to feel more in control of her own destiny. ‘During quiet periods, there’s only a couple of customs officers and a small cargo crew on duty here.’
‘So your people bribe or threaten ten men, and you’ve got control of the whole airport?’ Tracy said.
Ryan nodded, as he flicked his fringe back to keep the rain out of his eyes. ‘I’m told they searched the globe to find an American airline flying a plane big enough for our needs into an airport small enough for a few men to take control for a few hours.’
‘So the customs officer got shown a picture on a mobile phone too?’ Tracy asked acidly.
‘Something like that,’ Ryan said, as they reached the nose of the custard-yellow Boeing. ‘They don’t tell me a lot; I’m not exactly senior management.’
‘How does a kid get mixed up in this?’ Tracy asked.
‘There’s enough money in this for my dad and me to start a new life in the USA.’
‘Do you know what they’re putting on my plane?’
Ryan pointed at the big Ilyushin. ‘We picked up a bunch of military explosives in China. Apparently a piece the size of a ping-pong ball will blow up a car and we’ve got eleven tonnes of it.’
‘And I’m flying it to America,’ Tracy said, with a sob in her voice as she looked up at the sky. ‘What did I do to deserve this?’
‘Think about your family,’ Ryan said. ‘Nobody will blame you for protecting them.’
They were now within a few metres of the yellow 737 and a man was coming down a set of steps towards them.
‘Has she been behaving herself?’ a handsome Indian asked, when Ryan got close.
This was Elbaz. Tall, stubbly beard. He looked like a Bollywood actor, dressed in a pilot’s uniform with aviator shades and bleached white teeth. He spoke with the posh English accent you pick up at the best Indian boarding schools.
‘She’s fine,’ Ryan said.
‘Have you filed our flight plan?’ Elbaz asked.
Tracy nodded.
‘Then get up into the cockpit and run our pre-flight checks,’ Elbaz ordered.
‘The boy said I might get to speak to my husband,’ Tracy said, as she put her shoe on the bottom step.
Elbaz glowered at Ryan, before turning to Tracy. ‘We’ll see about that.
‘You get back to the Ilyushin,’ Elbaz told Ryan, as Tracy clanked up metal steps towards her cockpit. ‘You’re too young to be out here and not everyone is working for us.’
Elbaz was right, but Ryan resented his tone. He was supremely arrogant, never saying thanks, and always assuming that he was in charge.
Ryan jogged fifty metres through the gloom and walked up the cargo ramp at the back of the big Ilyushin. Most of the bulbs inside the fuselage had burned out and the smell was a mix of oil and cigarettes. Kazakov was the only man inside, sitting up in the cockpit with tired eyes staring at nothing.
‘All set, Dad?’ Ryan asked. After seven months undercover, calling the CHERUB instructor Dad had become second nature.
The muscular, silver-haired Ukrainian was dressed in an oil-stained string vest and battered khaki mechanic’s overall. ‘Explosives are all rigged. This old wreck will blow up four hours after we leave in the Globespan 737.’
‘Is our crew gone?’
‘They’ve transferred all the cargo to the Boeing. Now they’re driving to the Colombian border, with false IDs and pockets full of dollars.’
Ryan studied the IL-76’s filthy interior, imagining the dramas that had taken place over thirty-seven years and resenting the tiredness caused by his sleepless, deafening journey from the Kremlin.
For this one-way trip, the Aramov Clan had patched up a plane that had spent two years decaying in a hangar. It had to be destroyed where it now stood: nobody would dare crew it once the Americans learned of its role in a terrorist attack and IDoJ were too smart to leave a rich haul of forensic evidence standing in an Ecuadorian airport.
‘What do you reckon on Elbaz?’ Ryan asked.
Kazakov looked wary. ‘Obnoxious prick, but undoubtedly impressive. His people took Tracy’s family and the co-pilot without a hitch.’
‘They’ve got everyone who matters at this airport in their pocket,’ Ryan said, as he nodded in agreement with Kazakov. ‘Customs waved me and the crew through. Could we have underestimated IDoJ?’
‘IDoJ set up the kidnappings and organised everything here at Manta,’ Kazakov said. ‘But our people scouted and organised the landing site in Alabama. We’ll be landing on home turf and the Feds will be waiting for us.’
Ryan knew how the rest of it was supposed to go down: the FBI would wait until the plane made its ‘emergency’ landing in Alabama and see who turned up to meet them. In one swoop, they’d capture Elbaz, his two companions, members of IDoJ who’d been working inside the United States, and eleven tonnes of high grade explosive purchased from a corrupt Chinese general. In Atlanta, a second FBI team would storm Tracy’s home in a surprise raid, ensuring the safety of her family.
But the plan didn’t feel as solid as it sounded as Ryan looked out of the open cargo door at rainswept tarmac.
‘If something does go wrong, we’ll be responsible for delivering eleven tonnes of high explosive to a bunch of nutty terrorists,’ Ryan said.
Kazakov raised one cheeky eyebrow and broke into a broad laugh. ‘Never liked the bloody Yanks anyway.’
As Ryan rolled his eyes at Kazakov, Elbaz’s silhouette appeared in the shaft of light coming through the open cargo door.
‘We’re about to close up the cargo door on the 737,’ Elbaz said. ‘I take it you two are coming aboard?’
Kazakov stood up and nodded. ‘Mrs Aramov would get cross if we lost sight of our explosives before she got paid.’
4. REPUTATION
‘I’ve heard of you,’ Leon said, as James Adams approached. ‘You’re the guy that started the epic food fight in the campus dining-room.’
James smirked. ‘Good to know my legend lives on.’
‘I bow down before you,’ Alfie said. ‘You’re the guy that had sex in the campus fountain.’
Grace shook her head. ‘No, that was Dave Moss.’
James was supposed to set an authoritative tone, but couldn’t help laughing. ‘A couple of my girlfriends fighting caused the food fight, but I doubt anyone has ever had sex in the campus fountain. The water’s freezing.’
Bruce Norris was another ex-CHERUB, a year younger and a few centimetres shorter than James.
‘Winner of his weight class in the campus Karate Tournament six years running,’ Leon said, as Bruce approached. ‘Your name’s engraved on the trophy currently residing in my room.’
Grace tutted. ‘And we’ll never hear the end of that, will we, Leon?’
‘All right, you know who we are,’ Bruce said. ‘And you saw me overtake James for a spectacular victory, but we’re here to work, so shut your yap-holes.’
James took up where Bruce left off. ‘This is the CHERUB Advanced Driving course. You’ve all learned basic driving skills, but over the next five days you’re going to learn advanced techniques, both on this track and on the roads between here and campus. You’ll sample a variety of vehicles from motorbikes to
limousines. You’ll practise skills ranging from skidpans to evasive manoeuvres and running roadblocks. This is the course that everyone wants to be on, and I’m not gonna deny that some parts are fun. But cars are not toys. If you don’t pay attention, you, and more importantly me, could end up in A&E. So, if you mess about, I’ll kick you off the course. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the kids said snappily.
‘It’s probably been a few months since most of you got behind the wheel of a car,’ James said. ‘So we’ll each take two of you and you’ll take it in turns driving around the track, starting off slow, then building up speed. Once you’ve got a feel for the cars, we’ll show you a few special moves, and if you’re very lucky you can finish the day with a race.’
‘Leon Sharma and Grace Vulliamy, you’re with me,’ Bruce said. ‘Fu Ning and Alfie DuBoisson get to ride with the runner-up.’
‘Get a crash helmet from the back of my car before we start,’ James said. ‘Any questions?’
Leon’s hand shot straight up.
‘Go on?’ James said.
‘Sir, if you never tried having sex in the campus fountain how do you know that the water’s too cold?’
James didn’t mind having a laugh, but the kids had to respect him if he was going to get the best out of them and he wondered what a full-fledged CHERUB training instructor would have done. Before he could speak, Bruce grabbed Leon by the scruff of his hoodie and yelled right in his face.
‘Tell you what, Leon. This circuit’s about four kilometres. Instead of riding in my car, I think you should familiarise yourself with it on foot.’
‘What?’ Leon said dopily.
‘Get running,’ Bruce said.
James smiled at his old friend, then looked at his two pupils.
‘Right,’ James said, as Leon set off jogging. ‘Crash helmets on, Alfie starts behind the wheel. Three laps, then Ning takes control. And try not to run Leon over … ’
Kazakov armed the master detonator aboard the IL-76 and set the hydraulic rear door to close, jumping out as it began rising up towards the tail. He was last up the steps on to the Boeing and one of Elbaz’s men closed the door and signalled to a member of the ground crew to pull the steps away.
Black Friday Page 2
