CHERUB: Brigands M.C.

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘That’s rough,’ Kerry said. ‘Like, I speak Spanish, French, Japanese and a bit of Mandarin. Because I’ve learned them from when I was six I could easily pass A-levels in them and get into university without doing any hard work.’

  Dante looked at James. ‘And I guess you’re the same with maths?’

  ‘Oh he’s a smartass,’ Kerry smiled. ‘He’s already got three maths A levels, plus physics.’

  ‘Maths is easy,’ James said.

  Kerry wapped him around the back of the head. ‘Oh shut up, you smug git.’

  James moved his pointing finger as if he was going to poke Kerry in the ribs and she burst out laughing.

  ‘You try it and I’ll break that finger off.’

  ‘You two remind me,’ Dante smiled. ‘A nice fit campus girlfriend is another item on my to-do list.’

  ‘We’re just friends,’ Kerry emphasised.

  ‘Obviously,’ Dante said wryly, as he crammed a rasher of bacon into his mouth.

  ‘There’s something else I never got a chance to talk about last night,’ James said. ‘I’m friendly with Terry Campbell, do you know him?’

  ‘CHERUB technical director,’ Dante nodded. ‘White beard, bit of a boffin.’

  ‘That’s him,’ James nodded. ‘You see, I’m really into motorbikes and there’s a battered old Harley stored in the vehicle workshop that I’d love to fix up. Terry says it’s yours.’

  Dante nodded. ‘It belonged to my dad.’

  ‘I’ve been learning about bikes,’ James explained. ‘I read all the motorbike magazines. I could buy it off you. You’d get a fair price.’

  Dante looked surprised. ‘Nah, sorry James. It was my dad’s bike. Our house burned down after he died and the bike is about the only thing of his that’s left.’

  ‘So your dad was into bikes?’ James asked.

  Dante stopped eating and his face flushed red. ‘Sorry,’ he said clearing his throat. ‘It’s complicated and I’d rather not talk about my family to be honest.’

  James was surprised by how upset Dante looked and felt really bad. ‘No worries,’ he said. ‘Everyone on campus has a past and you’re not the only one who doesn’t like dwelling in it.’

  Kerry thought it would be tactful to change the subject and tapped on the CD reviews on the paper in front of her. ‘So, Dante,’ she said. ‘What kind of music do you like?’

  *

  When Neil Gauche woke up the first thing he saw was ants crawling up the arm spread in front of his face. His head throbbed, his ear rang and a bloody cut ran from his temple across to his right eyebrow.

  It was some kind of miracle. He remembered everything, right up until the gun fired next to his ear and the bullet punched the ground a few metres from where he now lay. Then he’d been knocked cold, with a boot or more likely the butt of the gun. But why?

  Maybe the Führer had listened to what he said about the heat he’d bring down if he killed a cop. Or maybe he’d only ever planned to scare him and rough him up. Neil felt his pockets and realised his cellphone and wallet had stayed in the Führer’s Mercedes when he’d stepped out.

  A shocking pain ripped through his head as he rolled on to his back and sat up. The sun was rising, his arm and cheek were pockmarked with the shapes of dry grass and pebbles where he’d lain still for five or six hours.

  The corn was chest high, so all he could see without standing were treetops and sky. A belch came up his throat and a night on tex-mex food, Sol lager and tequila shots sent burning acid up his throat.

  Neil had lost blood and felt weak. But he found his feet, and as he turned around he realised what the Führer had done. Two hundred metres down a mild slope stood a house. Its new owners used it as a holiday home and had spent a lot of money on refurbishment, but Neil recognised it from police photographs and news reports.

  It was the scene of the Scott family murder. Bringing Neil out here and staging a mock execution was the Führer’s way of telling the police that he thought he could get away with anything.

  ‘Arrogant little prick,’ Neil muttered to himself, as he headed towards the house.

  *

  While Neil Gauche and his two man backup crew waited in a Devon casualty unit, the rest of the NPBTF team had been put on alert and arrived in their office at Hornsey police station before 9 a.m.

  Ross Johnson was a trained psychologist. He wasn’t prone to strong emotions and this was the first time many colleagues had seen him lose his cool. A slim female sergeant came into the office as Ross stood brooding by his window.

  ‘Coffee,’ she said, placing a cup on the table.

  ‘Cheers, Tracy,’ Ross said curtly. ‘I need you to get on to Scotland Yard. The Brigands use private investigators. They know Neil’s bike was delivered here and for all we know they have us under surveillance. We need new offices. I don’t care if it’s a rat-infested basement somewhere, but we can’t run a covert operation when our enemy can watch us coming and going.’

  ‘If they’ve had us under surveillance, they could know George Kahn’s identity too,’ Tracy pointed out.

  ‘Possibly,’ Ross nodded. ‘But he’s only been with us three weeks and there are a lot of Asian men coming and going around here.’

  ‘I’ll call the property office as soon as they open and try to get an emergency relocation,’ Tracy said. ‘What’s happening down in Devon? Are we going to arrest the Führer for assaulting Neil? Maybe a firearms charge?’

  Ross shook his head. ‘It’s tough to prove who did what, especially when you’re up against the kind of heavy lawyers that the Brigands always use. And the Führer’s not stupid, he won’t have left any clues, we’ll never find the gun and he’ll have a dozen witnesses willing to swear that he was with them at the time of the incident.’

  ‘It’s like he’s above the law,’ Tracy sighed. ‘What about the bike?’

  Ross sighed harder, then grabbed his coffee. ‘Neil could have been killed, but if we start a formal investigation into who purchased his Harley in such an obvious way we’re going to get bogged down with months of bad feeling. Put the word out: I want the officer who purchased the bike to own up. If they’re still part of my squad, I want them to come into this office with a completed transfer request form before the end of today.’

  ‘Yes, guv,’ Tracy said. ‘What if nobody owns up?’

  ‘Let’s not go down that road unless we have to. It wasn’t you was it?’

  ‘No,’ Tracy said.

  Ross smiled with relief. ‘Thank Christ for that. You and Neil are my two best people.’

  ‘Does my head in thinking how close we came to a dead officer,’ Tracy said. ‘So what do we do now? Our whole operation relied on George making a big gun purchase and Neil being on the ground in Salcombe trying to sniff out how the Brigands brought the weapons into the country.’

  Ross ran a hand through thinning hair. ‘Maybe I should have stuck to my job interviewing child witnesses. Do the interviews, write a report, then pass the whole thing across for the detectives to tie up all the loose ends. Did I ever tell you that it was the Scott family murder that first got me interested in outlaw bikers?’

  ‘When I first came over from drug squad,’ Tracy nodded. ‘You even had the boy who survived living with you for a while, didn’t you?’

  ‘Dante was a great little kid,’ Ross remembered. ‘Absolutely tragic. He still e-mails my daughter Tina once in a while.’

  ‘It’s game over unless we can find another way to infiltrate the South Devon Brigands quickly,’ Tracy said. ‘No disrespect sir, but I think you should go out and give the team a pep talk or something. Everyone’s been working so hard on this and the mood out there is suicidal.’

  ‘Later,’ Ross said, as his eyes widened with a sense of purpose. ‘Maybe we’re not as far up shit creek as everyone seems to think. Close my door on the way out, I need to make a phone call.’

  Once the sergeant was gone, Ross pulled an address book out of the jacket hooked up by the door a
nd looked up M for Mitchum. Jennifer Mitchum’s office said that she’d retired, but one of the administration staff at Nebraska House children’s home called back a couple of minutes later and gave him a home number.

  ‘You came to my rescue when I needed somewhere safe for Dante,’ Ross explained into the handset, after a brief exchange of pleasantries. ‘You only spoke in the vaguest terms about where Dante would go and what CHERUB does, but my investigation just came to a grinding halt and I’m wondering if they might be able to help.’

  17. CHOPPER

  Six days later

  The Bell 430 had taken off from an airfield in North London seventy-five minutes earlier. With a jet engine mounted a few metres behind the cockpit, helicopter travel is never genteel and for police officers Neil Gauche and Ross Johnson the experience became more alien ten minutes after take-off when the co-pilot ordered them to don full-face helmets with blacked-out visors.

  They were only allowed to remove helmets after they’d landed on the helipad in front of the main building on CHERUB campus. With a top speed of more than 250kph Ross realised that the helicopter could have taken him anywhere in England and Wales, or even into the southern borders of Scotland.

  The co-pilot pointed the two officers towards a man in high-visibility white who stood in front of a sinister concrete bunker. Ross felt oddly powerless as he walked, blinded by the sunlight as his eyes adjusted from the blackness under the helmet.

  ‘Steep stairs,’ the man in white warned. ‘Hold the railing.’

  Ross gripped a metal rail and clanked below ground, into a structure that reminded him of Victorian fortifications he’d seen while holidaying on the south coast.

  Inside, another burly guard stood up from behind a desk. Ross and Neil exchanged a glance and Neil quipped, ‘Where do they keep the flying saucers?’

  ‘Welcome to CHERUB campus,’ the guard said. ‘I’m sorry if our security procedures have disturbed you in any way. Now I need you to confirm that you’re carrying no recording equipment, mobile telephones or other electronic devices including hearing aids or pacemakers.’

  ‘The pilot stripped ’em before we left,’ Neil explained, as the guard waved a metal detector wand over their clothing before pointing them towards a row of booths.

  ‘Please step into a booth and remove your clothing, including your underwear, and jewellery including watches and earrings. Then put on the orange suits and sandals provided.’

  The booths were similar to shop changing rooms, apart from the lack of privacy curtains. While Neil and Ross stripped, the guard carefully went through the photographs and documents inside Ross’ briefcase, before transferring the contents to a clear plastic bag. The guard then weighed the bag, and attached a sticky label.

  ‘Don’t dispose of anything from the bag while on campus,’ the guard said, adopting a flat tone that made it clear he’d done the speech a hundred times before. ‘It will be weighed and inspected again when you leave. If you’re given anything to take away from campus, keep it separately and present it for inspection when you leave. Do not remove anything from campus without authorisation. By entering campus, you agree never to mention its existence to anyone.

  ‘You also agree that you may be x-rayed, searched, or given a rectal or oral examination by campus staff. In the event of any security breach before or after today’s visit you may be arrested and detained for an indefinite period. If you agree to all of the following sign the form and proceed through the x-ray barrier. Your liaison is waiting on the other side of the barrier. Have a nice day.’

  The plastic sandals and baggy orange suits didn’t make it easy to move quickly. As police officers, Neil and Ross were used to being in control, but the hooded flight and intimidating security arrangements left them both out of their depth.

  After the x-ray they entered a more familiar space. The waiting room had a filter coffee jug, magazines and a water cooler, but the two cops didn’t need it because a woman and a boy were waiting alongside.

  ‘You must be Chloe,’ Ross said, as he reached across to shake the woman’s hand, before looking at the boy and smiling. ‘And you are a heck of a lot bigger than the last time I saw you.’

  Chloe Blake was CHERUB’s youngest full mission controller. Like most CHERUB staff, she’d once been an agent herself. She kept herself in shape with a tough fitness and combat training routine that manifested itself in a slim but muscular frame, currently clad in Nikes and a cotton sweatsuit.

  Dante smiled and gave Ross a hug. ‘Sorry about the clothes and the security.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Neil grinned. ‘I think the prisoner in transit look suits me. Do you kids have to go through these shenanigans?’

  Dante shook his head. ‘Security sometimes do random searches and stuff when we come in and out, but agents and staff don’t have to go through all that and of course we know where campus is.’

  Chloe cleared her throat and glanced at her watch. ‘We need to go over to the mission control building, it’s a ten-minute walk. And Dante, you really shouldn’t discuss any aspect of campus security with guests.’

  *

  Across campus, Lauren Adams glanced at her watch as she headed out of a girls’ changing room with damp hair and a plastic bag filled with wet swimming kit and rolled-up towel. She was a good swimmer, but she’d just completed a ninety-minute aqua-fitness session, comprising lengths, sprint swims, water aerobics and repeated dives into the deep end to retrieve bean bags and weights from the bottom of the pool. Her shoulders and thighs ached and her face was red from the exertion.

  Her boyfriend Rat waited for her in the hallway. ‘Took you long enough,’ he grouched as they headed towards the exit.

  ‘Of course I take longer,’ Lauren tutted. ‘Your hair is two centimetres long and takes about thirty seconds to dry. I have to shampoo to get the chlorine smell out, then I have to comb it or it dries all straggly.’

  ‘So you want to do homework together or what?’ Rat asked. ‘We could stop off in the dining-room. I fancy one of those hot chocolate croissants they’ve started doing. Or we could go to the library and research that history thing.’

  ‘Can’t,’ Lauren said. ‘I told you, dummy, I’ve got a mission briefing.’

  They passed out of the pool complex and turned south as a group of overheated red shirts passed on either side, heading for an after-school splash in the leisure pool.

  ‘Why are you even going on this mission?’ Rat asked.

  Lauren looked slightly incredulous. ‘Why did I spend all afternoon busting my guts in a swimming pool? What’s the point of being a cherub if you turn down missions?’

  ‘But we were going to the summer hostel together,’ Rat whined. ‘We can’t if you’re going off on some mission …’

  ‘Missing summer hostel is a bummer,’ Lauren admitted. ‘But if I miss out, I’ll get a winter break. I’ll be able to go skiing or something.’

  Rat tutted. ‘But not with me.’

  ‘Well we’re not married, Rat. I’ve always thought that’s the best thing about us. Bethany’s been through about six boyfriends since you and me have been together. She’s all over someone, then it’s finished three weeks later. We just sort of plod along.’

  ‘We did until your red-headed pretty boy came along.’

  Lauren laughed. ‘Dante?’

  ‘Who else?’ Rat said angrily. ‘The way you act around him: Oh Dante, that’s such a funny story. Oh Dante, you’ve got really firm biceps. Oh Dante, I bet your poop tastes like Nutella.’

  ‘Give us a break,’ Lauren sighed. ‘How can you be jealous of him? The guy’s come back after being away from campus for three years. What’s wrong with making him welcome?’

  ‘I’m not jealous,’ Rat said. ‘But the way you fawn over him is totally blatant. And now you’re going off on a mission with him. And instead of going to the summer hostel, you’ll get a winter break. And who’s that gonna be with? Oh yes, the carrot-headed wonder boy.’

  The pair
turned on to the main path through the centre of campus that led towards mission control and the main building. At this time of day it was busy with kids heading towards the lake to do homework in the sun, or going the other way towards the tennis courts with rackets in their hands.

  ‘I just don’t know what to say,’ Lauren said. ‘I thought you were more mature.’

  ‘I’m mature,’ Rat said angrily. ‘That doesn’t mean I want my girlfriend slobbering all over someone else and making me look like a fool.’

  ‘Slobbering!’ Lauren gasped. ‘When was I slobbering?’

  ‘I just want to go to the summer hostel with my girlfriend,’ Rat yelled. ‘What’s so wrong with that?’

  ‘You’re changing the subject,’ Lauren said. ‘When was I slobbering over Dante? When did I do anything, apart from try to be nice and welcome back someone who’s been away for a long time?’

  ‘It’s everything,’ Rat shouted. ‘The way you look at him. The flirty little smiles.’

  ‘You’re jealous,’ Lauren shouted back, as she stopped walking and put her hands on her hips. ‘And totally immature. And I can’t believe you’re accusing me of cheating on you.’

  ‘I can’t believe that you’re denying it when you’re so blatantly trying to get off with him.’

  Lauren looked at her watch. ‘I’m late for my briefing. I’m going on a mission with Dante and my brother. I’ll probably go for a late holiday with them afterwards too and maybe I will ask Dante out, because I’m not putting up with you acting like a moody jealous creep.’

  Lauren stormed off, cutting across the grass because it was a more direct route to mission control.

  ‘See if I care,’ Rat shouted after her. ‘Why don’t you go off and shag the stupid red-headed wanker?’

  ‘He’s got more chance than you’ll ever get, you brainless Aussie twerp,’ Lauren shouted back, before turning around and giving Rat a two-fingered salute with both hands.

  *

  James Adams was sitting inside Chloe Blake’s office in the mission control building when she arrived with Dante, plus Ross and Neil in their orange suits. The office was large, with a suede sofa that was starting to show signs of wear and a floor-to-ceiling window that had a view of the satellite dishes on the grass outside.