Cherub: Guardian Angel: Book 14
Page 24
Ryan shouted after Grace as her hockey boots clattered down the corridor. ‘Give ’em back, you stupid cow.’
Grace lobbed her hockey stick on her bed, then rushed into her bathroom and bolted the door.
‘You psycho,’ Ryan shouted, banging on the door as she turned on her shower. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m giving your books a little wash,’ Grace shouted. ‘Humanities is starting to look soggy. Maths is getting wet and your French vocabulary book is floating across my bathtub.’
‘Open that door,’ Ryan roared, as he shoulder-charged.
But the door didn’t budge.
‘Right,’ Ryan shouted, as he grabbed a whole bunch of stuff off Grace’s desk. ‘You’re not the only one who can trash stuff.’
He opened Grace’s window and lobbed the whole lot over her balcony.
‘What was that?’ Grace shouted.
‘That was books,’ Ryan yelled. ‘And this lot’s clothes and shoes.’
The bathroom door shot open as Ryan dumped an armful of clothes out the window. The books had plummeted into bushes seven floors below, but wind caught some of the lighter clothes and sent them billowing towards distant treetops.
‘AAARGH!’ Grace screamed, as she reached for the hockey stick.
But Ryan shoved his hand in her face and grabbed it himself. Grace landed on her bum but before Ryan could move any further she locked her legs around the back of his knees and jerked forward, pulling him down on top of her.
A wave of pain shot up from Ryan’s bruised ribs as he found himself lying across Grace.
‘Now you’ve got me,’ Grace said, letting her body relax.
Ryan looked into her eyes. Grace either wanted to kiss, or she was making it look like she wanted to kiss as part of some evil plan to knee him in the balls or gouge out an eyeball. But although Ryan was angry, Grace had the cutest expression and her body looked really fit.
Theo stood in the open doorway watching the action and covered his eyes as Ryan kissed Grace on the lips.
‘Sicko,’ he yelled.
Ryan felt like he’d been lured into a trap and as Grace’s hand grabbed his bum, he sprang up like he’d been zapped with ten thousand volts.
‘You’re cute, but you’re insane,’ Ryan said, as he stumbled back towards the door. ‘I don’t want anything to do with you.’
Grace’s eyes narrowed and it looked like she was going to go for the hockey stick again, but the carer Beatha was storming down the hallway.
‘What idiot threw stuff out of the window?’ Beatha shouted, knocking Ryan into the wall as she stormed Grace’s room. ‘Someone could have been hurt down there.’
Neither Ryan nor Grace answered, so Beatha pointed at the floor.
‘OK then,’ she said. ‘If I’m getting the silent treatment, you two can go down to the Chairwoman’s office and discuss it with her.’
‘It was only a few clothes,’ Ryan said defensively. ‘It’s not like anyone’s gonna get knocked out by a flying bra, is it?’
Beatha inhaled deeply. ‘Both of you go down and pick it all up. If one of the senior staff sees that lot you’ll be in serious trouble.’
Grace pointed at Ryan. ‘He threw it out, he should pick it up.’
‘Grace, we’ve discussed your anger issues and you are on thin ice already. Now if I hear one more word it’ll be fifty punishment laps each.’
Ryan looked pissed off as he headed out of Grace’s room, staring at the hallway floor, with Grace a couple of steps behind.
‘Cock,’ Grace whispered, as they waited for the lift.
‘Loony,’ Ryan replied.
‘This isn’t over.’
Ryan looked at the numbers over the lift doors and saw that the right-hand car was heading their way.
‘You come near me with your hockey stick again and I’ll break it over your head,’ he said.
Grace snorted. ‘You’ll have a hard time breaking it over my head when I’ve already rammed it up your big fat arse.’
‘You’re so immature.’
‘You’re the immature one,’ Grace replied.
‘I bloody hate you,’ Ryan said as the lift doors came open.
‘And I hope you drop dead,’ Grace snapped back, as she followed him in. ‘I’m gonna miss hockey practice because of you.’
‘It’s a bloody stupid sport anyway,’ Ryan said.
The two thirteen-year-olds glowered at each other as the doors rolled shut, but their expressions had softened by the time a couple of other kids got in on the fifth floor. As Ryan backed up to give the new arrivals space, he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss Grace or punch her lights out.
The only thing he knew for sure was that she completely did his head in.
The adventure concludes in CHERUB: Black Friday
US Intelligence has taken control of the Aramov Clan, but can they shut down the sprawling criminal network before it splinters into dozens of smaller, more dangerous groups?
Ryan is heading for the USA, trying to stop terrorists who want to blow up malls on the busiest shopping day of the year, while Ning and Ethan must help track down Leonid Aramov – before he can revive the family business …
Read on for an exclusive first chapter of the next CHERUB book, Black Friday.
1. THANKSGIVING
November 22nd 2012, Manta, Ecuador
Manta Airport’s only terminal felt like its best days were behind it. Built to serve a United States Air Force squadron running anti-drug operations, the Yanks didn’t like it when the Ecuadorian government kicked them out and before leaving they’d stripped everything from the main radar in the control tower to the benches at the departure gates.
Fourteen-year-old CHERUB agent Ryan Sharma squatted on a canvas backpack in the airport’s sparsely populated passenger lounge, hearing cheesy piped music compete with rain pelting the metal roof.
Ryan had barely slept during a twenty-hour journey from Kyrgyzstan. The long flight had given him a sore throat and bloodshot eyes. A hot shower and soft bed would have been perfection, but it would be a long time before he got near either.
For the past seven months, Ryan had been based at Aramov Clan headquarters in Kyrgyzstan – known as the Kremlin. Ryan’s job was to scrape gossip out of the smuggling operation’s employees and family members.
The Kremlin didn’t offer much in the way of entertainment and the main hangout for teens was an outdoor yard full of weightlifting equipment. Ryan had pumped enough metal to put ten centimetres on his chest. He liked the way he looked with his shirt off now, and so did the girl he’d fallen in love with.
Three aircraft could be seen through plate glass windows across the shabby lounge. It was early morning, but clouds blotted the sun and it felt more like twilight. The smallest plane was a turboprop flown by the Ecuadorian Post Office; next door was a Boeing 737 cargo jet with custard-yellow hull and the logo of Globespan Delivery. The company’s slogan was painted beneath it: Anywhere, Anytime, On Time.
The third much larger aircraft loomed behind these two, standing on eighteen threadbare tyres, with flaking paint and patched-up bullet wounds. It looked badass, like it might roll up to the two smaller planes and make them hand over their lunch money.
It was an Ilyushin-76. The four-engined Uzbek-built freighter had rolled off the production line in 1975 and could swallow a truck through its gaping rear cargo door. This old bird first saw action when the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan. Records showed the Soviet Air Force selling her for scrap in 1992, but in reality the old freighter had spent twenty years flying the world, carting everything from stolen Mercedes coupés, to Class A drugs.
Anyone could hire her if the money was right, and besides the naughty stuff the Ilyushin had dropped bags of food in earthquake zones, and made deliveries for the US military in Iraq. Over the years, the plane had worn the insignia of twenty different airlines, two national governments and the UN, but anyone smart enough to follow a paper trail of forged mainten
ance logs and dodgy holding companies would always have found that the real owners were the Aramov Clan.
Ryan had to block out the cheesy airport music as a low voice sounded through the invisible communication unit buried inside his left ear. ‘Has she moved?’
The voice belonged to CHERUB instructor Yosyp Kazakov, currently playing the role of Ryan’s dad.
Ryan looked up slightly, catching a woman in the corner of his eye. She was touching thirty, sat in a battered armchair, wearing a pilot’s uniform. A cap with the Globespan Delivery logo on a yellow band rested on the next seat.
‘Not yet,’ Ryan said, putting a hand across his mouth so that he didn’t look like a some loony talking to himself. ‘Size of that latte she bought, she’s gotta need a piss soon.’
‘What’s she doing?’ Kazakov asked.
The pilot was reading a copy of USA Today. She’d made it through the paper itself and now studied a wodge of advertising pull-outs. Home Depot, Wal Mart, Target, Staples. Black Friday Special – 40 Inch Sony $399, Two Part Air Con $800, Complete Harry Potter Blu-Ray $29.99.
‘She looks depressed,’ Ryan said.
Kazakov snorted with contempt. ‘It’s Thanksgiving. She wants to be home in Atlanta, watching NFL with hubby and the rug rats.’
Ryan felt a stab of guilt. What he was about to do was hopefully for the greater good. It might save thousands of lives, but this pilot was about to go through the most horrifying experience of hers.
‘You really have it in for the Americans,’ Ryan noted.
The voice that came back in Ryan’s ear was grudging. ‘You’ve got three brothers, Ryan. How would you feel if the Americans had sold a missile to a bunch of terrorists that killed one of them?’
Before Ryan could answer, he saw the pilot fold the crumpled newspaper and post it beneath her seat. As the woman stood, she tucked her cap under her armpit and grabbed the briefcase standing between her legs.
‘Showtime,’ Ryan mumbled.
He let the woman take a couple of steps before standing up himself. As he swung his pack over one shoulder, Ryan realised the woman was hurrying. Either late for something, or desperate to use the bathroom.
‘Shit,’ Ryan mumbled, knowing it’s much harder to follow someone in a rush.
‘Problem?’ Kazakov asked.
‘I can handle it,’ Ryan said quietly, as he tried to catch up without making it too obvious.
‘Try getting her in the corridor.’
‘I know,’ Ryan whispered irritably. ‘I can’t think with you babbling in my earhole.’
Although Manta wouldn’t handle a passenger flight for another six hours, there was still a newsagent and café open and a few other people in the lounge. There was a chance the pilot might freak out, so Ryan didn’t make his move until she’d walked into a deserted corridor, passed a speak-your-weight machine and was turning into the ladies’ toilet.
‘Excuse me,’ Ryan said loudly.
The pilot assumed Ryan was speaking to someone else, until he repeated the call and tapped the back of her blazer. She looked startled as she turned, then a little irritated.
‘Can I help you, son?’ she asked, sounding cocky.
‘I need you to listen carefully,’ Ryan said, keeping his voice flat as he pulled a large touchscreen phone out of his pocket. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
The woman raised both hands and took a step back. Ryan’s olive complexion meant he could just about pass for a local.
‘No money,’ she said frostily as she swiped a finger across her throat. ‘It’s bad enough kids begging on the street. Clear off before I report you to security.’
Ryan switched on the phone and turned the screen to face the pilot.
‘Stay calm, don’t make a sound,’ Ryan said.
The pilot dropped the cap under her arm as she saw the picture on screen. It was her living room. Her husband knelt in front of the couch, dressed only in pyjama bottoms. A hooded man stood behind, holding a large knife at his throat. On his left stood two small boys, dressed for bed. They looked scared and the older one had wet pyjama legs from pissing himself.
‘What is this?’ the pilot asked, trembling. ‘Is this a joke?’
Ryan kept his voice firm, but felt terrible inside. ‘Tracy, you need to keep your voice down. You need to listen carefully and do everything I tell you to. If you do exactly what I say, your husband and sons will be released unharmed.’
The pilot trembled as her eyes fixed on the photograph. ‘What do you want?’
‘Speak quietly,’ Ryan ordered. ‘Take deep breaths. Walk with me.’
Ryan pocketed the phone and began a slow walk, leading Tracy back towards the passenger lounge.
‘Me and my people came on that big Ilyushin parked out on the tarmac,’ Ryan explained. ‘But we need a plane with flight clearance to get cargo into the USA.’
‘What kind of cargo?’ Tracy asked.
Ryan ignored the question. ‘We’ve got friends behind the scenes at this airport. Right now they’re loading your 737 with our stuff. You’re scheduled to fly to Atlanta in four hours. You’re going to take off on schedule, but once you’re in US airspace, you’ll put out a mayday and do an emergency landing at a small airfield in central Alabama. By the time the authorities realise what’s happened, we’ll have emptied our cargo and vanished. You and your family will be released unharmed.’
‘I want to talk to my husband,’ Tracy said.
‘You can want whatever you like, you’re getting Jack shit.’
‘How do I know that picture isn’t Photoshopped?’
Ryan hated what he was doing, but faked a mean smile as he looked back. ‘You want your boy Christian to lose a thumb?’
‘You’re just a kid yourself,’ Tracy stuttered, as she touched a wet eye. ‘Who are you working for?’
‘They like to call themselves the Islamic Department of Justice,’ Ryan said. ‘But I don’t work for them. Me and my dad are just in this for the money.’
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CONTENTS
1. SHORTBREAD
2. KEBABS
3. GREY
4. KREMLIN
5. GLASS
6. ANGEL
7. SCHOOL
8. RYAN
9. LOCK
10. ACHES
11. HORMONES
12. SCHOOLS
13. UNIFORM
14. HAPPY
15. DIVERSION
16. FUEL
17. PERSUASION
18. CHANCES
19. LOCKS
20. PIPE
21. BONE
22. SUNGLASSES
23. MARCH
24. KANYE
25. EMBED
26. SOLDIER
27. GEEKS
28. LUNCHBOX
29. BLOCKS
30. FTP
31. SHARJAH
32. DUBAI
33. SHOWDOWN
34. NEWS
35. KUBAN
36. WAREHOUSE
37. CANCER
38. CHOCOLATES
Sneak Peek
The Adventure Continues in CHERUB: Black Friday
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