CHERUB: People's Republic

by Robert Muchamore

  38. TRAIN

  It was after nine and Ryan still had a stack of homework to do, but he sat at the desk in his room with the pages of Amy’s report spread around him. He had Google Maps up on his laptop screen, centred on the point where the police had found Leo unconscious behind the wheel of his Peugeot.

  Ning didn’t know where she’d been held captive, but told the police that it had taken forty minutes to drive from the house to the point where she’d run off. Leo had regained consciousness in an ambulance and discharged himself from hospital before the cops were able to question him.

  All signs pointed to Leo being an illegal immigrant. He’d made no attempt to reclaim his car from the police impound. The vehicle had no insurance or registration documents and carried a cloned number plate from an identical vehicle. Like the police and TFU before him, Ryan couldn’t see any way to trace the house where Ning had been staying, or the sandwich factory stuffed with illegal immigrants.

  ‘You don’t have a lot of luck, do you?’ Ryan told himself, as he looked at Ning’s picture.

  The door swung open and Max burst in, dressed only in luminous orange stretch briefs and brandishing a large black gun.

  ‘Hold on to your girlfriends, cos Max Blaaaaaack is here,’ he yelled cheerfully.

  ‘Nice pants,’ Ryan said. ‘I seriously doubt any female on earth will be able to resist you.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Max said as he slammed the gun down on Ryan’s papers. ‘Now, stop focusing on my pants and check this baby out.’

  Ryan knew a real gun when he saw one, and this wasn’t. ‘It’s paintball.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Max said. ‘But saying that this is only a paintball gun is like saying a Lamborghini is only a car. This is an RAP4 T68. Three hundred rounds per minute, upgraded for automatic burst fire. Comparing this to those weedy little guns they’ve got in the campus paintball zone is like comparing a rat turd with a big ball of elephant dung.’

  ‘Great,’ Ryan said wryly. ‘You have a totally awesome gun, which means you can shoot the crap out of everyone. Which means nobody is ever gonna want to go paintballing with you.’

  Max smiled. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, smarty pants. Because I’ve got eight of ’em, along with all the trimmings: hoppers, loaders, compressed air tanks. Even some decent goggles that haven’t got five years of crud stuck all over them.’

  Ryan looked suspicious. ‘And where did the money for all that lot come from?’

  Max gave a sly smile. ‘Let’s just say I was on a mission and a small quantity of cash found its way into my hands.’

  Ryan tutted. ‘It’s against the rules for us to keep money we make on missions.’

  ‘Is it?’ Max said, grinning. ‘Guess I forgot.’

  ‘I’m already in Zara’s bad books,’ Ryan said. ‘So no offence, but find someone else to play with, OK?’

  ‘Come on,’ Max begged. ‘You, me and Alfie plus some other guys. Tomorrow night, as it’s getting dark. Running round, getting muddy, having a laugh. Where’s your spirit of adventure?’

  ‘I expect I’ll be in recycling,’ Ryan said, as he pointed at a mound of textbooks. ‘Or working my way through that lot.’

  ‘So what’s this?’ Max asked, as he snatched a photo sticking out from Amy’s folder. ‘Aww, that’s revolting. What happened to her?’

  Max had picked out a copy of a photo of the burn on Ning’s stomach, taken by a doctor who’d examined her the morning after she’d been picked up.

  ‘No joking around,’ Ryan said angrily, as he snatched the photo and gave Max a little shove. ‘She’s a potential CHERUB recruit, but what she’s been through is awful.’

  ‘So what are you doing with it?’

  ‘I’m helping Amy with her candidate assessment. And if she does come here, you’d better not say anything about seeing that picture because I’ll kick the shit out of you.’

  ‘Christ,’ Max said, raising his hands and taking a step back. ‘You’re wound up tight. You need to chill out.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but reading this file doesn’t put you in the mood for joking about,’ Ryan said. ‘I’ll try and make time for paintballing tomorrow night. But I can’t promise cos I’ve got so much on.’

  *

  Amy’s train was due into Edinburgh at eight-thirty. She was supposed to pick up a hire car and drive to Kirkcaldy IDC, where she’d arranged to interview Ning at a quarter to ten. But the train in front broke down and Amy spent an hour marooned near the Scottish border, without even a mobile phone signal.

  When her train finally got moving they were stuck behind a slow-moving freight train. She reached Edinburgh at a quarter to eleven, only to find the car-hire desk had shut fifteen minutes earlier.

  Amy called Kirkcaldy, but got a recording on the other end.

  ‘We only accept telephone enquiries between eight-thirty a.m. and seven p.m., Monday to Saturday, and between twelve and six p.m. on Sunday. If you’d like to leave a message, please speak clearly after the tone. All messages will be forwarded to the relevant staff member or detainee within twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Hello,’ Amy said, rapidly trying to think what to say. ‘My name is Amy Collins. I spoke with Officer Lucy Pogue in section D early yesterday morning. I was supposed to interview detainee Fu Ning, but my train into Edinburgh was very late and the car-hire desk is closed. I’m also jet-lagged, so I’m going to book into a hotel and try making it up there early tomorrow morning. Thanks, bye.’

  *

  The segregation cell was designed so that inmates had nothing to break. The plastic mattress and pillow were moulded to the floor, there were no sheets, and the toilet, shower and sink were a single pressed aluminium moulding, with water controlled by heavy-duty floor pedals. To minimise suicide attempts, the lights stayed on 24/7 and inmates were stripped of everything but underwear.

  There was no TV, books or radio and the only sounds Ning heard were footsteps passing by and a man two cells down who was completely mental and kept screaming that rats were biting him.

  She spent hours rolling about, sticking to a mattress that reeked of disinfectant. It was three a.m. when she dozed off, but she was woken just over an hour later.

  ‘I’m Joan Higgins,’ the woman said, as Ning sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘We’re going to be alongside each other all the way to Beijing, so I hope we can be civil.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Ning said. ‘They took everything away when I got in here. Have you got my bag?’

  Joan nodded. ‘It’s outside. I’ve found you some clean clothes, shampoo, a towel and a flannel. It’s a long journey. There’s time to freshen up if you’d like.’

  Joan waited outside while Ning showered and put on clean clothes.

  ‘I’m told you’re a wild one,’ Joan noted, as they walked to the front of the building. ‘You don’t seem wild to me, but I have to put plastic cuffs on until we board the plane.’

  Ning said nothing as she went through formalities in the detention centre’s processing area. She signed a form to say she had all her personal property and another saying that she accepted the verdict of the immigration officer. The government had no grounds to seize her eighteen thousand dollars, so she was also given an envelope containing a cashpoint card, pin number and thanks for opening an account letter.

  Joan fitted the plasticuffs, but left them loose so that Ning could have fought her way out of them if she’d wanted to. But she’d lost the will to fight or run away. Coming to Britain now felt like a childish fantasy and while Ning didn’t want to kill herself, there didn’t seem much point in being alive either.

  Joan led the way into an empty visitors’ car park. The sky was black and the floodlights illuminating the perimeter of the detention centre had an eerie blue shimmer.

  ‘How long will it take?’ Ning asked when they reached a Ford Focus.

  ‘Our flight to Beijing leaves at seven-fifty, total flight time is about thirteen hours.’

  Joan popped the button for the central locking and opened
the driver’s door.

  ‘What happens when I arrive in China?’ Ning asked, as she got in the passenger side.

  ‘Someone from Chinese immigration will meet us in Beijing. I’ll pass you over, and after that you’re in their hands.’

  39. PLANE

  Amy’s journey had been crap, but she’d compensated herself with a room in the five star Balmoral Hotel next door to the station and eight hours’ sleep in a huge cashmere-topped bed. She wanted to be at Kirkcaldy IDC by ten, so she ordered breakfast in her room for half-seven and was downing porridge and black coffee in bed when her mobile rang.

  ‘Amy, it’s Lucy Pogue from Kirkcaldy. I got your message, but I’m afraid Fu Ning’s deportation papers came through yesterday. She was booked out of the detention centre shortly after four this morning.’

  Amy practically choked. ‘How did this happen?’ she spluttered. ‘I’ve flown all the way from Dallas to interview her.’

  ‘We had problems involving Fu Ning yesterday afternoon and we took the decision to accelerate her departure. I know we spoke, but with everything that was going on your interview request slipped my mind.’

  ‘Do you have her flight details?’

  ‘There’s only one daily flight from Edinburgh to China,’ Lucy explained. ‘I don’t know the exact time.’

  Amy did a quick mental calculation. The drive from Edinburgh to Kirkcaldy took just over an hour, so Ning would have been at the airport by five-thirty. For an international flight she’d need to check in two hours before departure, so her flight could be leaving at any point from about seven-thirty onwards.

  ‘Thanks for getting back so early,’ Amy said, with angst in her voice. ‘I’ll try catching her before the plane leaves.’

  Amy’s phone said 7:42 a.m. She tapped the screen to open the browser window and Googled Edinburgh Airport Departures.

  The phone was only connected using 3G, so she had an agonising wait while the main page of the Edinburgh Airport website downloaded. Another click took her to a departure board. She scanned down the list and found Ning’s flight:

  CI208 Beijing 7:50 Last Call

  Throwing her breakfast tray aside, Amy yanked jeans up her legs as she called 999 using the hotel landline. She asked to be connected to the Edinburgh Airport emergency number.

  ‘That isn’t how it works,’ a soft-spoken operator explained. ‘If you explain the nature of the emergency, I will direct your call as required.’

  Amy grunted angrily. ‘I’m an American security agent. There’s a person on board a plane who I need to interview. I need you to connect me to the airport security chief.’

  The operator sounded confused. ‘Did you say you’re a security agent?’

  ‘Yes,’ Amy yelled. ‘Please, I’m begging you, just put me through.’

  ‘I’m going to have to speak to a supervisor,’ the operator said. ‘Can you hold for a moment?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ Amy shouted.

  The clock on Amy’s phone was now on 7:45. As she held the landline to one ear waiting for the operator, she flipped through her mobile phone’s memory until she came to U for Unicorn Tyre Repair.

  ‘It’s Amy Collins, former agent 0974,’ she yelled, when someone picked up. ‘I need a passenger stopped at Edinburgh Airport. Name of Fu Ning. She’s on flight CI208 to Beijing.’

  Amy was reassured by the voice of Chief Mission Controller Ewart Asker.

  ‘You’re cutting things fine,’ Ewart said. ‘But I’ll see what I can do.’

  Meantime the 999 operator had come back on the landline. ‘Hello,’ the woman said. ‘I’ve spoken to my supervisor. She wants to know if you’re reporting the possibility of an imminent threat to an aircraft.’

  Amy decided to leave stopping the plane to Ewart, but she was still furious and gave the operator a mouthful. ‘No there’s not a terrorist threat,’ she yelled. ‘And the speed you work at it’s a bloody good job as well, isn’t it?’

  *

  Jean put her hand on Ning’s knee as CI208 taxied towards the runway. The safety demonstration had just ended and the seatback screens had gone blank. Ning was in a window seat and she looked out, wondering if the sunrise and the expanse of concrete would be her last ever sight of Britain.

  A woman with a Chinese accent came over the intercom. ‘Good morning, lady and gentlemen, this is your co-pilot speaking. Welcome to China International. Sorry we are a few minutes late backing away from gate, but I am pleased to say we have not lost our departure slot and are expecting to take off within the next few minutes. Weather forecast for our arrival in Beijing is eighteen degrees with light showers. Our flight time will be twelve hours twenty minutes. Flight crew, secure doors and take positions for take-off.’

  Ning had flown often, but still felt a jolt of anticipation, glimpsing the runway lights as the Airbus turned into its pre-take-off position.

  *

  Amy didn’t bother with niceties such as socks or a bra, just a T-shirt, jeans and trainers. She bounded down to the Balmoral’s lobby with a bag slung over her shoulder and her mobile in hand. There was a taxi rank right outside.

  ‘Really sorry,’ Amy said as she bumped an elderly American couple from the head of the taxi queue and jumped into a waiting cab. ‘Airport,’ she told the driver. ‘Any idea how long it takes to get there?’

  ‘Twenty minutes if the traffic’s good,’ the driver said. ‘Twice that if it isn’t.’

  Fortunately they were half an hour from peak morning rush hour, and once out of the city centre they were going against the traffic.

  Amy called TFU headquarters in Dallas, and asked them what the chances were of stopping a China International flight once it was in the air.

  ‘Not a hope in hell,’ the duty officer told her. ‘Unless there’s an immediate security threat you’d be creating a huge diplomatic shit storm. Your best bet would be to put in a request to interview Fu Ning when she reaches China.’

  ‘That’s what I thought you’d say,’ Amy said. ‘I just hope we caught her before that plane took off.’

  When Amy hung up, she saw that she’d missed a call from CHERUB campus. Ewart had left a voice message.

  ‘Amy, it’s Ewart. Fu Ning is a confirmed passenger aboard CI208. I got a call through to Air Traffic Control at Edinburgh. They were going to try pulling the flight, but I don’t know if we’ve caught it in time.’

  Amy tried calling Ewart back, but he was engaged, so she opened her web browser and refreshed the flight information page:

  CI208 Beijing 7:50 Gate Closed

  By this time Amy’s taxi was passing a big yellow and black sign saying Welcome to Edinburgh International Airport. She saw that it was quarter past eight, and realised there was no point panicking: Ning had either flown or she hadn’t. Running around wouldn’t change a thing.

  ‘Good drive,’ Amy told the cabby as she handed him a twenty-pound note and jumped out. ‘Keep the change.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ the driver shouted after her.

  Amy turned back, thinking she hadn’t given the driver enough money, or that she’d left something in the taxi, but the driver pointed at her face.

  ‘I know you’re in a hurry, lass,’ he said, ‘But I thought you’d like to know that you’ve got a blob of something on the end of your nose.’

  Amy smiled as she rubbed her hand across her face, then looked at porridge smeared across her palm.

  ‘Messy eater,’ she explained, as she gave the driver a thumbs-up. ‘Thanks, mate.’

  All the junk Amy had hastily stuffed into her bag rattled as she walked through the automatic doors into the airport check-in area. She looked up at the giant destination board and liked what she saw:

  CI208 Beijing 7:50 No Information

  She wasn’t sure where to go next. She figured airport security was best and headed for an information counter, but her phone rang before she got there. The man on the other end had a thick Scottish accent.

  ‘Miss Collins?’ he asked. ‘When y
ou reach the airport I’m at the fast-track security gate at the extreme left of the terminal.’

  Amy looked up and saw a stout little police inspector speaking into a mobile phone less than twenty metres away.

  ‘Did you stop the plane?’ she asked, as she dodged baggage trolleys and rushed across the concourse.

  *

  The pilot told the passengers that they’d been called back to the terminal for technical reasons as he peeled off the runway. The plane rolled across the airport for more than ten minutes, passing the entire length of the terminal building and stopping on a stretch of bare tarmac.

  ‘This is odd,’ Jean said, as Ning watched airport security police wheeling metal steps towards the main door at the front of the Airbus.

  People in the rows on either side spoke with a mix of curiosity and suspicion as four armed policemen raced up the steps and moved swiftly down the plane’s single aisle. Jean and Ning were surprised as the lead officer stopped by their row and spoke after a quick glance at the seat numbers.

  ‘Fu Ning?’ the officer asked. ‘We’ve been asked to remove you from the plane.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Jean asked, as she pulled out her immigration service ID. ‘I’m accompanying her.’

  ‘Nobody tells us anything,’ the officer said. ‘We need you to come with us.’

  Everyone looked around as Jean and Ning walked towards the front of the plane.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is your co-pilot. As you can see we’ve been called back to the terminal for the removal of two passengers. Unfortunately regulations do not allow us to fly with checked baggage unless the passenger is present. We’re hoping that a baggage cart will be available shortly, but we may be subject to …’

  The airport security police seemed pleased to have a bit of drama on their hands. Besides the four cops who’d boarded the plane there were two more at the bottom of the stairs and another bunch in the arrivals lounge when they reached the top of a long metal staircase.