CHERUB: Divine Madness

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘Apparently they’ve rigged up a gadget, using a radio-controlled buggy with a video camera and a hydraulic gun mounted on it.’

  Dana half smiled and shook her head. ‘James Bond eat your heart out.’

  A couple more runners had finished and were heading into the changing room. As Abigail turned and hurried away, Dana gave them her sweetest Survivor smile.

  ‘Great work girls.’

  ‘Thank you, Dana,’ Eve said, as she swept her long red hair off her face.

  Instead of going into the shower, Dana locked herself into a toilet cubicle. She sat down and slid the radio out of its bag. It was flexible, less than a millimetre thick and five centimetres long. The back had a small solar panel, like on a calculator, and two flat buttons: an on/off switch and one you had to press down to transmit.

  She folded open a narrow sheet of instructions:

  Ultra low power, multispectrum transceiver.

  Range: under 2km.

  Battery life: 2 hours.

  Solar panel recharge: 12 hours.

  Quick charge: 15 minutes’ bright sunlight will provide 10

  minutes’ emergency talk/receive.

  Conserve power by leaving the unit off when not in use.

  Keep transmission time to a minimum.

  Dana scrunched the instructions up and popped them in her mouth. Once they’d turned into a soggy pulp, she spat it into the toilet and flushed.

  She felt miserable as she slipped off her trainer, peeled out the insole and hid the radio beneath it. Dana had finished with top marks in every piece of CHERUB training she’d done, yet she’d never gotten the breaks on any of her missions.

  Dana didn’t want to hate James and Lauren; they were good agents and nice people, even if James was full of himself at times. But she was going to be stuck at the mall while they were getting all the glory inside the Ark and she couldn’t help resenting it. Especially Lauren: she already had her navy T-shirt and she was eleven, for god’s sake.

  There was a bang on the door, followed by Eve’s voice. ‘Are you OK in there?’

  Dana gritted her teeth. The Survivors didn’t even like you getting five minutes to yourself on the toilet without making sure you weren’t having any negative thoughts.

  ‘I’m wiping my arse,’ Dana said irritably, struggling to contain her anger as she pulled her trainer back on.

  ‘Oh,’ Eve said, disturbed by the graphic description. ‘It’s just that Ween wants to see us after school, so don’t go to your work assignment today.’

  Dana remembered Lauren’s comment about Ween having a plan for her, but she was way too cynical to get her hopes up. She poked out her tongue and gave Eve the finger behind the toilet door as she replied cheerily:

  ‘Thank you for telling me, Eve. I’ll look forward to that.’

  James asked around and found out that a paddling was a rare event for any kid who didn’t go looking for trouble. Most of his roommates had been at the school for years and had only received a standard dose of a dozen licks on a couple of occasions. Still, while the paddling had made James’ introduction to life inside the Ark painful and shocking, it had formed the basis of a valuable friendship with Rat.

  After a morning of lessons, a poor excuse for lunch and the afternoon service, James was hitting his stride and felt a lot more confident as he walked down a sunlit path for his second day of work and met his boss, Ernie, along the way.

  ‘Howdy partner,’ Ernie said, clapping his hands happily.

  ‘Yo,’ James answered enthusiastically.

  Ernie was a lively man in his sixties, who’d sold his home, abandoned a bunch of rowdy teenage kids and switched to the Survivor lifestyle. You could have put him on a Survivors poster: handsome and bronze-skinned with a bushy moustache. The sort of man you’d expect to see playing a friendly grandfather in a TV commercial.

  Ernie drove a delivery truck which took letters and parcels to a post office in a one-shop town a hundred kilometres to the east. He’d never had an assistant before and had no idea why he’d suddenly been given one, but Ernie wasn’t the sort to ask questions and seemed perfectly happy having James for company.

  The delivery van lived beneath the canopy of a vehicle compound, alongside two dozen other cars and commercial vehicles, including Joel Regan’s Bentley and the bulletproof limo he’d used for public events when he was in better health.

  The sacks of mail ran down a metal chute from the adjacent offices. James and Ernie grabbed the sacks two at a time and hurtled them into the back of the truck. Ernie took the driver’s seat and floored the gas pedal as soon as they’d passed through the vehicle gate in the turret.

  Ernie claimed that there wasn’t a speed trap within five hundred kilometres and cruised at one hundred and fifty kph, which was about as fast as the truck would go without things getting seriously hairy.

  As they jiggled and clattered over badly cracked tarmac, James sat in the passenger seat, watching the plume of dust they were throwing up in the door mirror. It was good to have a couple of hours in his schedule to chill out; just a pity they weren’t allowed a radio because a few tunes would have made it perfect.

  29. HOLIDAY

  ‘Take a seat,’ Ween said, waving a hand towards the sofa at the back of her office.

  Eve and Dana were still in school uniform as they sank on to the foam cushions.

  ‘Joel Regan believes that women are the key to our survival after the apocalypse,’ Ween began, as she propped herself against the edge of her desk, facing the two fifteen-year-olds. ‘Most of the senior positions inside the Ark and our communes are taken up by women. Our ceremonies are always conducted by women. After the dark time, girls such as yourselves will become the bedrock of our new civilisation: mothers, wives and leaders.’

  Dana had been with the Survivors long enough to know that this kind of flattery always led up to somebody wanting something.

  ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t go to the Ark boarding school with your siblings, Dana. Eve, you’re easily bright enough to attend yourself, but your work with our most difficult teenaged recruits has been magnificent. We simply couldn’t spare you. But we have found a special project that suits both of your talents. It will only take a few days, but it will get you both noticed at the highest level inside the Ark.’

  Dana glanced at Eve’s excited face. She found it extraordinary that someone as bright as Eve could have mastered all the manipulative skills of the cult, without being able to see that she was being manipulated herself. Nevertheless, Dana was intrigued and felt slightly excited herself. Maybe it wasn’t just James and Lauren who’d have a role in this mission.

  ‘The Survivors is a vast organisation,’ Ween continued. ‘Our financial obligations are equally vast. The Ark under construction in Nevada will cost seven billion dollars and the planned arks in Europe and Japan will require the purchase of huge tracts of land in countries where space is precious.

  ‘Our church desperately needs money to complete these projects and you girls have been selected to help. Before I can continue, you must swear to absolute secrecy. You’ll have to hide the real purpose of your mission, even from your friends and family.’

  Ween reached across her desk and grabbed a Bible and a copy of The Survivors’ Manual. ‘You must take these books and swear our highest oath.’

  Eve clutched the two books to her heart and looked at Dana, as if to say, Oh my God, isn’t this the most amazing thing ever?

  ‘I swear on these sacred books as an angel, on pain of eternity in a fiery hell.’

  Dana took the books and tried to add gravitas to her voice as she repeated Eve’s oath.

  ‘You mustn’t tell a soul,’ Ween repeated. ‘Tell your parents and siblings that you are being taken for a short course at the Sydney commune.’

  ‘But what exactly is the mission?’ Dana asked.

  Ween shook her head. ‘I am not allowed to know. But the request came directly from Susie Regan: two girls, strong athletes, and strong
swimmers. If you both accept this honour, I’ll arrange for immediate flights to Darwin.’

  *

  Lauren had no time for boys: she found them loud, obnoxious and didn’t care for either their obsession with sports or their apparent reluctance to wash after playing them. Even when her best friend Bethany briefly took leave of her senses and got off with a boy called Aaron – whose breath always smelled of cheese and onion crisps – she wasn’t tempted by any of the invitations for a double date.

  So it surprised Lauren that she found herself liking Rat. He was big for eleven and stood with the tip of his nose just level with Lauren’s eyes, which somehow seemed exactly how it should be. Rat was good-looking apart from the squashed nose, obviously clever and the way he stood up for himself against the odds made him seem heroic and vulnerable at the same time. Above everything else though, Rat was a good laugh.

  As Lauren worked efficiently, delivering messages, mastering the photocopier and generally being an obedient little Survivor, Rat constantly mucked around. Two staplers became yapping dogs that skidded around a desktop farting and humping each other. Rat demonstrated his toughness by betting Lauren that he could put the tip of his tongue on the hot bulb inside a desk lamp and hold it there for ten seconds. He lasted less than three before sprinting off to the water cooler in agony. He also proudly gobbed into the steaming coffee mug of a barrel-shaped accountant who’d scolded Lauren for fetching the wrong file.

  Of course, boys always showed off and tried to get attention, but Rat was easier to swallow because his outcast status meant that he didn’t have a line of idiotic mates pushing him to take things too far.

  As six o’clock and the end of their work assignment drew near, Rat approached Lauren holding out a slim leather binder.

  ‘How’d you like to meet Le Grand Fromage?’

  Lauren smirked: she knew it meant the big cheese in French. ‘Joel Regan?’

  Rat nodded as he opened the binder, revealing freshly printed letters and cheques stacked inside rows of cream-coloured slots.

  ‘My dad has to sign this stuff. You just take it out to the residence, knock on the door of his room and wait by his bed while he deals with it.’

  Lauren nodded enthusiastically. She realised that the walk to the residence and back would probably make her late for dinner, but she’d heard tons of stories about Joel Regan’s mega-opulent residence and there was no way she was going to turn down a chance to meet him.

  Rat, who appeared to have intimate knowledge of every underground tunnel and room inside the Ark, drew the quickest path from the office to the residence on the back of a compliments slip. The journey involved taking a spiral staircase two floors below ground level and then heading several hundred metres along a cramped passageway that had condensation on the ceiling and patches of mildew on the walls.

  This ended at a heavy doorway, which budged after a few worrying seconds during which Lauren thought she wasn’t strong enough and might have to walk all the way back. The door took her into the luxurious ambience of the residence.

  There was none of the woodchip wallpaper, growling air vents and acres of magnolia paint that dominated the rest of the Ark. The broad corridor was lined with white marble and the air was scented with vanilla. At one edge, there was a twenty-centimetre gutter into which water trickled and fresh white flowers bobbed around in floating glass pots.

  Lauren saw that Rat had drawn a left-facing arrow, followed by a long curve, on his set of directions. The curve was an upwards ramp. One side was fronted with floor-to-ceiling glass and overlooked an outdoor spa. The other was hung with large paintings. Lauren was no art buff, but even she realised that anything three metres wide with Picasso’s distinctive signature in the bottom corner must have cost millions.

  ‘Can I help you, young lady?’

  Lauren looked up to see an Asian man dressed in a three-piece suit, leaning over a chrome railing.

  ‘I’m from the office,’ Lauren explained, feeling underdressed in her scruffy rugby shirt and oversized shorts.

  ‘Ahh,’ the man said. ‘Where is Rathbone?’

  Lauren answered as she turned on to a flight of stairs and began stepping up on some extraordinarily deep carpet. ‘He got held up doing some filing, so they sent me.’

  The butler walked in front of Lauren. His white gloved hands were joined behind his back, except when he leaned forward theatrically to allow her through one of the solid maple doors.

  Several turns and five doors took the pair into a darkened room. The curtains at two giant windows were closed. There was a bed in a gloomy corner, containing a breathless man, who sat up dressed in silk pyjamas.

  ‘Your correspondence, sir,’ the butler said grandly. Then he looked at Lauren. ‘I’ll wait outside and lead you back.’

  As Lauren stepped up to Joel Regan, she caught a whiff of disinfectant and noticed that the old man had an oxygen tube running out of his nose.

  ‘You must be Lauren,’ Regan wheezed.

  Lauren was surprised that Regan knew who she was, and must have looked it.

  ‘I may be frail, but I still keep up with the gossip – Come closer.’

  As Lauren stepped forwards, Joel wrapped his silk-covered arm around her back and pulled her into a hug. She hated this, because his face was covered in bristles and his pyjamas smelled vaguely of sick.

  ‘You’re a beautiful angel,’ Joel said, as he let Lauren go. ‘I sense great power in you and a dazzling future.’

  ‘It’s so amazing to meet you,’ Lauren said, gushing like she knew a Survivor should.

  But all she could think about was the smell and the miserable, wasted lives of thousands of Survivors around the world.

  ‘Specs and pen,’ Regan said, pointing his finger towards a bedside chest.

  Once Lauren had fetched them, Regan pushed the glasses up his nose and began slowly pulling the letters and cheques out of their slots. He signed his name with a trembling hand and shooed Lauren away when she leaned in to steady the signature book.

  A side door opened without a knock and Susie Regan stormed to the bedside. She snatched the signed letters and began inspecting them. Lauren hadn’t met Susie before, but recognised her from photographs.

  ‘Are you reading these, Joel, or just signing whatever she puts in front of you?’ Susie asked aggressively. ‘Have you seen this one?’

  Joel downed his pen and looked wearily at his young wife. ‘Sweetheart, Eleanor knows what she’s doing.’

  ‘Does she,’ Susie said. ‘This one is a power of attorney for our shares in Nippon Vending Industries. Shouldn’t I at least fax it to Brisbane and get our people to check it out?’

  Joel shook his head. ‘Our people? Don’t you mean your people?’

  ‘The Spider is trying to cut me out,’ Susie said, clacking the heel of her leather boot against the wooden floor. ‘You might be dying, husband, but I’ve still got a lot of living to do and that bitch daughter of yours wants me on the first flight out when you croak. Is that what I deserve? Do you want to see me spending the rest of my life in squalor? I want joint control over the companies. How many times do I have to say it?’

  Joel swiped his hand in front of his face. ‘You’ll be provided for, petal. Eleanor is my daughter.’

  ‘Pity she’s not the one over here at four in the morning, calling out your doctor and swabbing chunder off your face.’

  Joel pointed at Lauren. ‘Can we not do this when the girl is here? You’re embarrassing her.’

  ‘Don’t try weaselling out of it that way.’

  ‘I’m sick of this,’ Joel shouted, his voice carrying surprising power for such a frail-looking man. ‘I need rest to get my strength back, not this constant earache from you.’

  With this, Joel picked up the leather binder and flung it at his bedside cabinet. The letters fluttered out in all directions and the binder hit a vase of flowers. Lauren jumped back as it hit the ground near her feet. She expected the vase to shatter, but it bounced off t
he floor and the water inside began pouring out.

  After standing the vase up, Lauren instinctively grabbed a handful of disposable towels off the cabinet and crouched down to mop up the water before it spread.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Susie shouted, turning her spite on Lauren. ‘Did I ask you to do that? Get out of here, you foul brat.’

  Lauren straightened up abruptly, shocked by the tongue lashing.

  ‘What about the letters?’ she asked edgily.

  ‘Tell the office that Susie Regan will show them to her husband when he’s well enough to deal with them.’

  Lauren nodded, before turning and hurrying for the exit.

  As she reached for the doorknob, Susie came charging across the floor and grabbed Lauren by the neck, clawing her with painted nails.

  ‘You speak to Rat,’ she spat. ‘You tell him that if he wants favours from me, then it better be him that comes with the letters from now on. And when he does, he brings them to me.’

  ‘OK,’ Lauren nodded, as she felt her pulse hammer inside the tightly wrung skin around her neck.

  ‘And,’ Susie added, sinking her nails in deeper, ‘you keep your mouth shut, madam. If you spread around what you just saw here, I will find out about it. I’ll call up the school and have them paddle you so hard that you don’t walk for a month. Understood?’

  Lauren nodded as Susie let go and shoved her towards the door.

  30. FLOWERS

  Dana used the radio in her trainer to brief Michael on her flight details before getting into the cab to Brisbane airport. He said he’d arrange for an ASIS team to cover them when they arrived in Darwin. The agents would then tail her to wherever she ended up and keep watch from a position close by.

  Eve always acted confident around the mall: efficient nods, tight-lipped smiles and a purposeful walk. But the sudden absence of routine turned her into a wreck. She’d lived in the commune since she was eight years old and her head was so full of devils, angels and other Survivor gibberish that the real world spooked her.