“Bet you a pound there’s nothing up there,” James said.
Kerry didn’t find him funny. “There better be after all this messing about.”
She went up the ladder first. There were no windows in the loft, so it was safe to switch on the lights. Even before James got up the ladder, he could tell they’d found something good from the grin on Kerry’s face.
• • •
Kyle woke up at 3:30 a.m., in a smoky room snarled up with sleeping bodies. He didn’t know if he’d passed out or fallen asleep, or what the stain on his trousers was, but he remembered it was the wildest party of his young life. The host would be grounded for years when her parents got back from the Lake District.
Kyle had hammered himself with alcohol and thumping music. Now he was suffering. Anyone else would have crashed back to sleep, but Kyle wanted to get home, have a shower, and put his clothes to soak. He’d always been neat. One of his earliest memories was of chucking a tantrum over going on to a beach with a load of other kids because he didn’t like getting sand in his clothes.
It took Kyle a while to find the room where he’d dumped his sweatshirt. He got abused when he trod on some naked guy’s ankle in the dark. He stepped over more kids crashed out on the front lawn as he went out of the front gate towards the bus stop. He waited forty minutes for the night bus, which dropped him on the wrong side of Thornton at half-four in the morning. Everything looked wrong as he stumbled towards the house: All the lights were on and there was a gray Toyota he didn’t recognize parked on the drive.
Nicole wasn’t home, but everyone else was in the living room. Lauren had dropped to sleep on the couch. Ewart had his laptop computer on the coffee table. A balding man in a suit and tie sat next to him.
“What’s going on?” Kyle asked. “Did I miss something good?”
“Yeah,” James grinned. “It turns out bringing Kerry on this mission wasn’t a dumb waste of time after all.”
Kerry gave James a look, but she was too full of herself to get offended.
Zara introduced Kyle to the stranger. “This is John Jones. He’s in charge of the MI5 taskforce that’s targeting KMG, so we called him over to look at the pictures.”
John Jones reached over and shook Kyle’s hand before speaking. “You kids are amazing,” he grinned. “When Dr. McAfferty offered me a CHERUB unit, I thought it was some kind of joke.”
James looked surprised. “You must have heard about missions where cherubs have done a good job.”
John shook his head. “I’d been an MI5 agent for eighteen years without ever hearing of CHERUB.”
Zara explained. “Thousands of people work for MI5, but only the most senior ones know about CHERUB. People like John only find out if they have to work with us.”
“Even then,” John said, “there are forty-three MI5 agents working on Operation Snort and I’m the only one who knows about you kids.”
“So what’s happened?” Kyle croaked, his throat raw from the smoke at the party.
“Come and look at the pictures James and Kerry took,” Zara said.
Kyle leaned over the laptop screen while John Jones explained what had been photographed.
“KMG smuggles in cocaine at a very high purity, ninety percent or more. The stuff that gets sold on the street is between thirty and fifty percent pure. What you see in these pictures is a production plant. The pure cocaine gets mixed with borax and some other stuff in those aluminum vats. Then . . .”
John Jones clicked on the mouse, changing to a different picture.
“The machine in this picture is a real beauty. It must have cost over fifty thousand pounds. It’s designed to package seasonings, like soy sauce or pepper. You turn it on, load up a roll of polyurethane bags, and tip your powder or liquid in the top. This one has been set up to package one-gram bags of cocaine.”
“So did you find much coke?” Kyle asked.
“None at all,” Kerry said.
“There could be drugs hidden in the warehouse,” John said. “Or somewhere else on the Thunderfoods site, but I doubt it. Most probably, a couple of guys turn up with a few kilos of cocaine, spend a few hours mixing and bagging it, and then take it away with them when they leave.”
“So,” Kyle asked, “are you gonna bust this place up?”
“No,” John said. “We’re going to put it under surveillance. We’ll get an undercover team to rig the loft up with video cameras and microphones. We’ll watch who comes and goes and where they’re coming from and going to. Hopefully, we can track the drugs that are processed at Thunderfoods back to wherever they’re being smuggled in.”
“So it’s really only the beginning,” James said.
“You kids have got our foot in the door,” John said. “That’s not the same as bringing down KMG, but it’s going to be a lot easier now we know where their cocaine is being processed.”
John shook everyone’s hand before he left. The sun was on its way up and Lauren was the only one who’d managed any sleep.
• • •
It was three in the afternoon when James surfaced from under his duvet. He was busting for a pee, but Kerry was in the shower, merrily singing her head off. Lauren had left a note on the kitchen table.
James
U looked peaceful! Didn’t want 2 wake U up. CU soon.
Lauren
XXX
James was miffed. He’d wanted to say a proper good-bye and wish Lauren luck in training. He sprinted back upstairs as soon as he heard Kerry unlock the bathroom.
“What took you so long?” James gasped, lifting the toilet seat and starting to pee without bothering to close the door behind him.
“Sorry,” Kerry said, toweling her hair. “Have you seen Ewart or Zara?”
“Not yet. They’re at the supermarket.”
“They want a word with us later on,” Kerry said.
“You think we’re in trouble for not asking before we broke in?” James asked.
“Lauren got a blasting from Ewart before she left.”
“Was she upset or anything?”
Kerry shook her head. “She seemed to handle it OK.”
“So, what do you reckon they’ll do to us?”
“Kyle overheard Ewart and Zara talking,” Kerry said. “Apparently we’ve landed ourselves washing-up duty for the rest of the mission.”
James shrugged. “We could have got worse, I suppose.”
Chapter 15
CONTENDER
Not much happened in the three weeks after they broke into Thunderfoods. That’s how undercover mission usually work: You find a few things out quickly, then it starts getting tougher. You have to be patient, slowly winning the confidence of your targets and working your way deeper in to the organization.
Meryl Spencer sent James an e-mail to say Lauren had completed her first week of training and was coping well.
Nicole had put listening devices and miniature cameras around Keith Moore’s house. James still liked Nicole, but he hadn’t kissed her after the first time because he was more interested in Kerry.
Kerry had wired Mr. Singh’s house with microphones and was spending a lot of time with Dinesh, trying to squeeze out more information. James still hadn’t found the right moment to tell Kerry how he felt about her. At least, that’s what he told Kyle. There had been loads of opportunities, but James always chickened out.
Kyle had given up targeting Ringo Moore and was helping a couple of Year Ten kids make deliveries for KMG on weekends. James still couldn’t get his head around Kyle being gay, but it hadn’t changed anything in their day-to-day lives.
Some days, James almost forgot he was on a mission. It was like being a normal kid: getting up and playing with Joshua, going to school, sitting through boring lessons or bunking off, coming home, and eating whatever frozen delight Zara had warmed in the oven, then going out making deliveries.
It wasn’t a bad life. There was a hundred a week in drug money to spend. James had got new jeans and tracksuit t
ops, video games, and the dearest Nike trainers he could find. School was a doss and Junior and James always messed around and had a laugh. The two boys had loads on common: They both supported Arsenal, hated school, liked PlayStation, and had similar tastes in music and girls.
• • •
James hadn’t been in a proper three-round fight yet, but he’d done some sparring and loved the buzz you got in the boxing ring. As soon as you get punched, the chemicals in your body rise up and make you mad, like somebody plugged you into the electricity. Your bad side takes over and you’re not scared of anything.
James couldn’t manage Ken’s target of a hundred and fifty skips a minute, but he’d got well past the stage where the other boys pissed themselves laughing every time he picked up a rope. He stopped skipping and mopped the sweat off his face when Kelvin called him to ringside.
“One round sparring with Del,” Kelvin said.
Del had a longer reach and seven fights under his belt, but James wasn’t worried as he stepped through the ropes wearing gloves and a head guard. James was built for boxing: solid arms, big shoulders, and strong enough to take a punch.
“Touch gloves,” Kelvin said, stepping back from the two fighters.
James charged forward on the bell. Del landed the first hit, a glancing blow on the side of James’s head guard. James hit Del’s head harder, sunk another punch in Del’s guts, and then covered his face, blocking Del’s jabs while spying for an opening through the crack between his gloves. When it came, James pounced forward and landed his glove in Del’s face. The next punch caught Del off balance, sprawling him out over the canvas.
James wanted Del to get up so he could thump him again, but Del waved his gloves in front of his face and crawled to the ropes. James was disgusted. He spat out his mouth guard before tugging off his glove and hurling it at Del’s back.
“Call that a fight?” he shouted. “Come back for some more, you little wimp.”
Kelvin grabbed James by his shoulders and pulled him backwards. “Cool it, tiger,” he grinned. “Try and remember this is amateur boxing. You win on the number of clean punches you land, not on how hard you punch or even how many times you knock the other guy down.”
“I wanna fight somebody really good next time.”
Kelvin laughed. “You’re a strong lad, James, but you need to work on your speed, so don’t start getting cocky.”
James unbuckled his head guard and jumped out of the ring. Junior was walking towards him.
“You almost look good enough to fight me,” Junior said, smiling.
“I’d fight you now if they’d let me.”
Del had staggered around from the other side of the ring. His hair was soaked in sweat where it had been trapped under his head guard.
“You’re too strong for me,” Del gasped.
“Sorry I called you a wimp,” James said. “I got carried away.”
Del and James gave each other a sweaty hug. It was always the same: in the ring you wanted to kill someone, but once you got out you were mates again. As James walked over to his training pals, Kelvin called him back.
“I hear you’ve been a reliable delivery boy since you started,” Kelvin said. “Don’t think it’s gone unnoticed.”
“Cheers,” James said, his mind still fixed inside the ring.
“You fancy a little train ride tomorrow evening?”
“How far?” James asked.
“We need a package delivered down St. Albans way. You up for it?”
“Sure.”
“There’s twelve kilos of coke split into four bricks. Get someone you can rely on to help you carry it. You’ll earn forty pounds each.”
“Sounds fair,” James said. “Where do I pick the stuff up?”
“You know Costas?”
James nodded. “I’ve seen him around.”
“He’ll meet you in the Thornton playground at about six o’clock. Bring your mate so we can check him out.”
• • •
Kyle was on another delivery, so James offered the job to Kerry.
“It’s fifteen minutes’ ride on the train,” James said, “and we’ll be earning twenty pounds each.”
Kerry shrugged. “I was gonna do homework with Dinesh after school, but I’m not getting anything new out of him.”
It was a drizzly night, so nobody else was in the playground. Costas was a burly sixteen-year-old who’d dropped out of school the year before. His face was a mass of zits and he didn’t like the look of Kerry.
“Are you kidding me?” he asked. “You weren’t supposed to bring your girlfriend. You need someone with a bit of presence in case there’s trouble.”
“This was arranged at short notice,” James said. “Kerry’s all I could get and she’s well up to the job.”
Costas looked at Kerry. “No offense, babe, but we don’t use little girls.”
Unless you were a very large person, preferably armed with a baseball bat, calling Kerry “babe” was a seriously bad idea.
“I’m not your babe,” Kerry sniffed. “And I’m quite capable of defending myself.”
“I’m sure you are, sweetie,” Costas sniggered. “Sorry, James, but this is not gonna happen. Bringing a chick on a delivery, man . . . What are you thinking?”
“Give us those drugs,” Kerry said furiously. “Or you’re in deep trouble.”
James smiled at her. “Kerry, calm down. I’ll make a couple of phone calls and smooth this out.”
“No,” Kerry said. “I’m not letting this bag of pus talk to me like that.”
Costas snorted noisily.
“What you gonna do, baby cakes, pull my hair?”
Kerry lunged forward, slamming a karate chop into the front of Costas’s neck and sweeping his legs away as he stumbled backwards. Costas was on the ground with Kerry’s knee crushing his windpipe before he even realized the fight had started.
“Baby cakes?” Kerry shouted, pressing her knee in harder as Costas gasped for breath. “Nobody calls me baby cakes.”
“OK,” Costas gurgled. “I’m sorry. You can go with James.”
Kerry stood up and let Costas sit while his face returned to its normal color.
“You surprised me,” Costas said angrily, as he got to his feet. “But you better not try anything like that again or I’ll seriously hurt you.”
Kerry couldn’t help grinning. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
Costas made sure nobody was around before unzipping his backpack. Kerry and James each grabbed two plastic-wrapped bricks of white powder and tucked them in their backpacks. James started walking away.
“Hang on,” Costas said. “Unless you want me to keep the eighty quid.”
Kerry snatched the money out of Costas’s hand.
“Pleasure doing business,” she said.
She started jogging after James.
“Eighty quid, James?” Kerry said angrily. “I can’t believe you tried to rip me off when you’ve got a roll of twenties in your pocket and I’m only getting pocket money.”
“It was a mistake,” James lied. “You can have half, of course.”
“I’m keeping the lot,” Kerry said, tucking the money into her jeans. “Unless you want to fight me for it.”
Chapter 16
LOST
James and Kerry stepped off the train on to the platform at St. Albans.
“It’s a shame we couldn’t have got here earlier in the day,” Kerry said. “St. Albans is really historic. There’s Roman ruins and mosaics and stuff.”
“Tragic,” James said sarcastically. “Nothing gets my pulse racing like a good mosaic. We’re not going into town anyway. We’ve got to get out to some housing area.”
Taxis were lined up outside the station. The driver wanted to see James’s money before he’d take them anywhere. The ride took them past farms and some seriously expensive houses, then from nowhere they found themselves surrounded by graffiti and concrete. It was like an alien spaceship had sucked a nei
ghborhood out of the middle of London, then decided it didn’t like the look of it and dumped it in the middle of nowhere.
The cab pulled up outside a shopping arcade. Everything was boarded up, except a pub that had been converted into a snooker club. It had a reinforced metal door and bars over the slits of glass that passed for windows.
Kerry looked around nervously as the cab pulled away. It was already turning dark.
“It must be the pits living in a place like this,” James said. “Thornton may be a dump, but at least it’s near to town. Out here you’ve got nothing.”
It turned out the shops were the high point of the area. Beyond them were eight low-rise housing blocks. Three were boarded up, with CONDEMNED BUILDING notices and signs warning people not to go inside without masks to protect them from the asbestos dust. There was a pack of dogs roaming around, druggies in dark corners, and the only normal-looking people you saw walked fast, like they were afraid of being mugged.
James got the directions out of his pocket.
“Twenty-two, third floor, Mullion House.”
They found Mullion House, then walked up a foul-smelling staircase and along the third-floor balcony. The door numbers ended at twenty. James rang the bell and an Eastern European–sounding woman shouted out of the letterbox in bad English.
“What is you like?”
“Do you know where number twenty-two is?” James asked.
“What?” she shoutd.
“Number twenty-two.”
“Wait. I fetch my son.”
The kid who came to the letterbox was about ten. His English was perfect.
“There’s no number twenty-two,” he explained. “I think all the floors are the same. It only goes up to twenty.”
“Cheers,” James said miserably, turning away from the letterbox. “Sorry to bother you.”
“What do we do now?” Kerry asked.
“There’s obviously a mistake with the address,” James said. “I’ll call the lady who rings my deliveries through. She’ll sort it out.”
James pulled the mobile out of his tracksuit and dialed. The phone made a bleep and a message flashed on the display: NO SIGNAL. Kerry tried hers and got the same.
The Dealer Page 11
