CHERUB: Man vs Beast

by Robert Muchamore

  Robert Muchamore was born in 1972 and spent thirteen years working as a private investigator. CHERUB: Man vs Beast is his sixth novel in the series.

  The CHERUB series has won numerous awards, including the Red House Children’s Book Award. For more information on Robert and his work, visit www.muchamore.com

  Praise for the CHERUB series:

  ‘If you can’t bear to read another story about elves, princesses or spoiled rich kids who never go to the toilet, try this. You won’t regret it.’ The Ultimate Teen Book Guide

  ‘My sixteen-year-old son read The Recruit in one sitting, then went out the next day and got the sequel.’ Sophie Smiley, teacher and children’s author

  ‘So good I forced my friends to read it, and they’re glad I did!’ Helen, age 14

  ‘CHERUB is the first book I ever read cover to cover. It was amazing.’ Scott, age 13

  ‘The best book ever.’ Madeline, age 12

  ‘CHERUB is a must for Alex Rider lovers.’ Travis, age 14

  BY ROBERT MUCHAMORE

  The Henderson’s Boys series:

  1. The Escape

  2. Eagle Day

  3. Secret Army

  4. Grey Wolves

  5. The Prisoner

  Coming soon

  The CHERUB series:

  1. The Recruit

  2. Class A

  3. Maximum Security

  4. The Killing

  5. Divine Madness

  6. Man vs Beast

  7. The Fall

  8. Mad Dogs

  9. The Sleepwalker

  10. The General

  11. Brigands M.C.

  12. Shadow Wave

  CHERUB series 2:

  1. People’s Republic

  2. Guardian Angel

  Coming soon

  www.hodderchildrens.co.uk

  Copyright © 2006 Robert Muchamore

  First published in Great Britain in 2006 by Hodder Children’s Books

  This eBook edition published in 2012

  The right of Robert Muchamore to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means with prior permission in writing from the publishers or in the case of reprographic production in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency and may not be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 444 91049 0

  Hodder Children’s Books

  A division of Hachette Children’s Books

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  An Hachette UK company

  www.hachette.co.uk

  WHAT IS CHERUB?

  CHERUB is a branch of British Intelligence. Its agents are aged between ten and seventeen years. Cherubs are mainly orphans who have been taken out of care homes and trained to work undercover. They live on CHERUB campus, a secret facility hidden in the English countryside.

  WHAT USE ARE KIDS?

  Quite a lot. Nobody realises kids do undercover missions, which means they can get away with all kinds of stuff that adults can’t.

  WHO ARE THEY?

  About three hundred children live on CHERUB campus. JAMES ADAMS is our fourteen-year-old hero. He’s a well-respected CHERUB agent with several successful missions under his belt. KERRY CHANG is a Hong Kong-born Karate champion and James’ girlfriend. His other close friends include BRUCE NORRIS, SHAKEEL DAJANI and KYLE BLUEMAN.

  James’s sister, LAUREN ADAMS, is only eleven, but is already regarded as one of CHERUB’s best agents. On campus she’s inseparable from best friend BETHANY PARKER. She’s also very friendly with GREG ‘RAT’ RATHBONE, who was recruited by CHERUB after becoming entangled in James and Lauren’s last mission.

  CHERUB STAFF

  With its large grounds, specialist training facilities and combined role as a boarding school and intelligence operation, CHERUB actually has more staff than pupils. They range from cooks and gardeners to teachers, training instructors, nurses, psychiatrists and mission specialists. CHERUB is run by its chairman, Dr Terence McAfferty, who is commonly known as Mac.

  CHERUB T-SHIRTS

  Cherubs are ranked according to the colour of the T-shirts they wear on campus. ORANGE is for visitors. RED is for kids who live on CHERUB campus but are too young to qualify as agents (the minimum age is ten). BLUE is for kids undergoing CHERUB’s tough 100-day basic training regime. A GREY T-shirt means you’re qualified for missions. NAVY – the T-shirt James wears – is a reward for outstanding performance on a single mission. LAUREN wears a BLACK T-shirt, the ultimate recognition for outstanding achievement over a number of missions. When you retire, you get the WHITE T-shirt, which is also worn by some staff.

  1. MORNING

  Andy Pierce’s bed felt fantastic. His duvet was wrapped around his chin, his muscles felt relaxed and his warm pillow fitted snugly under his head. But the gash of sunlight leaking between the curtains was tormenting him.

  The fourteen-year-old didn’t have the heart to crane his head up and look at the bedside clock, but he knew he had to get up. In less than an hour he’d have his elbows propped on a desk and a tie around his neck for the waking nightmare that was Monday morning: English, French and drama. Today would be even worse than usual because Andy was going to get nailed for not doing his Macbeth homework.

  He pictured the dirty look he’d get off Mr Walker as his bedroom door swung into the room.

  ‘I called you three times already,’ Andy’s mum shouted, as she bounded across the carpet towards the window.

  Christine Pierce looked like a sour-faced angel: dressed for work in a white polo shirt, white trousers and white canvas plimsolls.

  ‘There’s toast on the table downstairs. Stone cold now, I expect.’

  The room exploded with light as Christine swished the curtains apart, then whipped away the duvet covering her eldest son.

  ‘Mummmm,’ Andy moaned, as he shielded his eyes with one hand and put the other over his privates.

  ‘Oh, give over,’ Christine grinned, giving her son a friendly slap on the ankle. ‘You’ve got nothing down there I haven’t seen a thousand times before.’ Her expression turned to revulsion as she caught a whiff of the duvet hanging over her arm. ‘When exactly did you last change these sheets?’

  Andy shrugged as he rolled on to his bum and grabbed a pair of clean boxers he’d set out the night before.

  ‘I dunno … Last week I think.’

  ‘Pull the other one. Those pillowcases are yellow and I don’t even want to think about the smell.’

  ‘It’s not that bad.’

  Andy watched his mum’s lips thin out as he yanked a school shirt sleeve up his arm. Thin lips meant he had to be careful: she was on the verge of going thermonuclear.

  ‘When I get home from work this evening, I expect to see that disgusting bed linen washed and hanging on the rotary line out the back. And you can do your brother’s while you’re at it.’

  ‘What?’ Andy gasped. ‘Why have I got to do Stuart’s bed?’

  Andy recoiled as his mother jammed her pointing finger under his nose. ‘You claim you’re old enough to stroll in from the cinema with your mates at a quarter past eleven.
In my book, that makes you old enough to start taking more responsibility around this house. This isn’t a hotel, and I’m your mother, not your cleaning lady.’

  ‘Yes, your majesty,’ Andy said sullenly.

  Christine glanced at her watch and sounded more friendly as she backed away. ‘I’ve got to run. You know, it would make my life easier if I got a little bit more cooperation out of you.’

  Andy had heard this guilt trip before and wasn’t buying it. ‘Where’s my lunch money?’ he asked, as he kicked both feet in the air and hitched black school trousers up his legs.

  ‘There’s bus fare on the kitchen worktop. Ham, tomato and mustard sandwich in the fridge.’

  ‘Can’t I get chip money?’

  ‘Don’t start on that one again. You know I haven’t got thirty quid a week for you and Stuart to spend on junk food.’

  Andy tutted. ‘Everyone goes round the chippy. Sandwiches are totally embarrassing.’

  ‘Go whine to your father. His wife’s driving round in a new Focus, while I’m maxed out on three credit cards.’

  This guilt trip worked better. Andy had grown to realise that his dad was a total scumbag. His mum had to put in a ton of overtime just to keep their heads above water.

  ‘I should be home by seven,’ Christine said, leaning forwards and kissing her son on the cheek. ‘And I’m not joking about changing those beds, you hear me?’

  Leaving a smudge of lipstick on her son’s face, she backed out of the room and set off downstairs. The teenager was half a minute behind, threading his belt into his trousers as he walked.

  Stuart was in the kitchen and irritated his big brother by being perky and neat as usual. The eleven-year-old had his hair combed, blazer and tie on and Bugs Bunny blaring out of the portable TV. As Andy grabbed a triangle of cold toast, the two boys exchanged grunts.

  ‘Mum’s stressed out,’ Stuart said sourly. ‘Why you gotta keep winding her up all the time?’

  Andy wasn’t proud of the way he got into rows with his mum, but he didn’t mean it. It just kept happening, part of being a teenager or something. Whatever his true feelings, Andy wasn’t going to give his little brother the satisfaction of a straight answer.

  ‘Why don’t you mind your own?’

  Stuart sucked air through his teeth. ‘You’re so selfish.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  ‘Don’t start, you two,’ Christine shouted from the hallway. She had a bag over her shoulder now and the car keys in her hand, all set to leave. ‘You’ve got ten minutes or you’ll both be late for school. Don’t forget to turn the deadlock in the front door as you leave.’

  Andy gave his mum a nod. ‘Later Mum, have a good day at work.’

  ‘Not much chance of that,’ she answered gloomily.

  Andy waited for the front door to close before scowling back at his brother. ‘You’re asking for a punch with that smart mouth.’

  Before Stuart could think up a comeback that was nasty enough to sting but not so nasty it earned him a dead arm, a scream erupted out on the driveway.

  It could only be their mum and it wasn’t an I’ve seen a spider scream or the way she’d screamed at their father when they were getting divorced. It came from deep inside, like she was in a lot of pain.

  The two lads bolted out of their seats at the dining table and raced down the hallway towards the front door.

  A Balaclava-clad man smashed Christine’s car windscreen with a mallet as Andy burst out on to the driveway. Christine writhed in the gravel, screaming and spitting. Her face and hands glistened with red paint that had been thrown in her face.

  The man popped two more windows along the side of the car, but Andy fixed on his accomplice, a stocky dude looming over his mother. He wore camouflage trousers, a black Balaclava and looked ominously like he was about to stick the boot in. Andy didn’t even have shoes on, but couldn’t stand there while someone laid into his mum.

  ‘You’re dead,’ Andy screamed as he charged forward.

  He was stocky, but the teenager wasn’t up to fighting a grown man. The masked dude wrapped an arm around Andy’s neck and planted a gloved fist hard into his face.

  ‘I’m not the killer here,’ the dude snarled, as Andy’s nose exploded in pain.

  Andy toppled backwards into a hedge, before a giant boot sank into his belly, pushing him deep into the tangled branches. As Andy wiped a bloody nose on his white sleeve, the Balaclava-clad men jogged off towards a battered Citroën parked across the end of the driveway.

  The little getaway car lurched as Andy experienced the most desperate feeling of his life. It wasn’t just the pain in his nose, or worrying about his mum, but a feeling of total inadequacy: he’d let the thugs who’d attacked her get away and hadn’t been able to stop them because he was only a kid. As Andy untangled himself from the branches and staggered on to his feet, he could hear her moaning.

  ‘I can’t see,’ Christine sobbed.

  Stuart stood on the doorstep, chalk white and rigid.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, moron,’ Andy yelled as he stumbled towards his mother. ‘Get inside, call a bloody ambulance.’

  As Stuart came to his senses and raced for the phone, Andy noticed that a hangman’s noose had been spray-painted on to the garage door and a message written alongside it:

  QUIT YOUR JOB AT THE ANIMAL LAB

  NEXT TIME YOU DIE

  BY ORDER – THE ANIMAL FREEDOM MILITIA

  2. PUTTY

  ‘Doctors fear that the thirty-six-year-old woman may have suffered permanent damage to her eyesight. This is the latest in a string of increasingly violent attacks by the Animal Freedom Militia. Avon police say they are doing all they can to protect employees of Malarek Research, but with more than two hundred workers at the laboratory, their resources are stretched to the limit …’

  The news item came from a screen hanging on the wall beside James Adams’ head, but he wasn’t listening. He was in the dining-room on CHERUB campus and those of his mates who weren’t away on a mission sat around their usual table: Kerry, Bruce, Callum, Connor and Shak.

  It had been a couple of minutes since Bruce had gone arse over tit, spilling a tray of macaroni and 7up over a girl sitting a couple of tables across, but everyone was still winding him up about it.

  James had a stack of chicken bones on the plate in front of him. His bloated tummy dug into the waistband of his jeans and he was content to sit back and let the conversation pass him by. Kerry had finished eating as well and she’d sprawled out in her chair, slipped her feet out of her sandals and rested her ankles across James’ lap.

  She could have put her feet on one of the empty chairs at the next table, but she hadn’t and James appreciated the affectionate gesture. It meant Kerry was in a good mood and with luck they’d be heading upstairs for snogging and homework once their food settled.

  Shak sat on James’ right and took a quick glance at Kerry’s feet. ‘Your feet’re really small. Kerry. What size shoe do you take?’

  ‘Size two.’

  Shak nodded. ‘I found out why women have smaller feet than men the other day.’

  Kerry looked baffled. ‘On average, women are smaller than men all over.’

  ‘Who wants to know why women have smaller feet than men?’ Shak asked, breaking into a grin.

  The kids around the table didn’t look enthusiastic.

  ‘Is this another one of your lame jokes?’ Bruce asked.

  Shak grinned. ‘My jokes are quality.’

  Everyone except Shak either spluttered or shook their heads.

  Callum summed up the mood. ‘If you say so, dude.’

  ‘Fine, if you don’t want to hear it …’

  Bruce tutted. ‘Tell us the stupid joke, Shak. Otherwise we’ll never hear the end of it. Why do women have smaller feet than men?’

  Shak’s grin grew until it ate up his whole face. ‘So they can stand closer to the kitchen sink when they do the washing-up.’

  The joke was as bad as everyo
ne expected, but it raised a laugh because the boys were already in a jovial mood. James managed a quick grin before he turned and caught the frosty look on Kerry’s face.

  ‘Male chauvinist pigs,’ Kerry snapped, as she pulled her feet off James’ lap and faced him off with her hands on her hips.

  ‘Hey, I didn’t tell the joke,’ James said, raising his palms defensively.

  Kerry glowered. ‘But you laughed.’

  There was a loud crack as she slapped James across the cheek.

  ‘Jesus, Kerry,’ James said, raising his arms in front of his head to stop her getting another shot in. ‘Keep things in proportion, why don’t you?’

  ‘You’d all better wipe those smirks off,’ Kerry said, shooting thunderbolts at the other boys around the table. Then she zoomed in on Shak. ‘You reckon sexist jokes are so funny? How would you feel if I sat here telling Paki jokes?’

  There was a tense silence as Kerry grabbed her food tray and steamed off. James sheepishly rubbed the stinging red mark on his face.

  Callum and Bruce creased up as soon as she was out of sight. ‘Did you hear that crack!’ Callum yelled.

  ‘That was baaaad,’ Bruce said, as he exuberantly slammed his hand against the table.

  James turned sourly towards Shak. ‘Thanks for winding my girlfriend up.’

  ‘No snogging for Mr Adams tonight,’ Callum grinned.

  The lads all snickered at James’ expense.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re all looking so happy for,’ James said. ‘Where have all your girlfriends got to tonight … ? Oh, wait, I remember. None of you losers have girlfriends.’

  ‘I’ve got Naira,’ Callum said.

  Bruce laughed. ‘You had two snogs and she’s been away on a mission for six months.’