Robin Hood 2

by Robert Muchamore

  With three raucous brothers and a pregnant stepmum who peed six times a night, Marion had taken to sleeping in the upstairs den with Robin. Robin would never admit that he sometimes got scared at night when he was alone, but he liked having Marion around, apart from now when he had to sneak out without waking her up.

  After swinging his bow and a bunch of arrows over his shoulder, Robin hooked his walking boots over his fingertips and crept towards the door on socked feet. Marion had her mattress against the wall behind the little sofa. She’d nodded off while reading, and music fizzed from an earbud that had dropped onto her pillow.

  Marion would flip if she found Robin sneaking off with Flash, but if things went to plan he’d be back by sunrise. He tried to ignore feelings of betrayal as he opened the door. There was no squeak, because he’d planned everything out and oiled the hinges the day before.

  Robin had been attacked in his den by Gisborne’s people a couple of months earlier, so now Indio or Karma put a motion-sensor alarm by the sports store’s entrance when they locked up at night. Another sensor pointed down from the top of the escalator, and Will Scarlock had arranged night-time security patrols so that an armed guard was never further than a thirty-second sprint.

  These sensors had been the biggest problem with Robin’s escape plan, but he’d found another way out. Outside of the den, he crossed to the back of the store’s upper level, occasionally flicking a torch to avoid clattering into the scooters and Lego that Marion’s brothers left lying about.

  A double black door opened into a stockroom, whose shelving racks had once housed several thousand pairs of sports shoes. Robin sat on the floor to put his boots on, then reached up to grab a rucksack he’d stashed there a few hours earlier.

  It was a heavy lump, containing his laptop, tools, computer cables, water, chocolate bars and extra arrows that bristled out of the top. Opening the emergency exit onto the fire escape would have triggered an alarm, but there was a large cargo elevator at the back of the stockroom.

  It hadn’t moved in years, and the inside reeked because Otto and Matt used the open car as a urinal, but Robin had found a service panel in the floor. He’d unscrewed two catches and prised it open with a big screwdriver three days earlier.

  When Robin had practised his escape route, there had been chinks of daylight coming from skylights. But now it was night and he peered through the open hatch down an elevator shaft that was pitch black. The cargo elevator only went one storey, but Designer Outlets’ shops were built with high ceilings, so it was more like dropping two storeys in a house.

  The jump was complicated by the weight of Robin’s pack. He didn’t want to throw the bag down and risk breaking his laptop, but he could also damage it if he didn’t land on his feet. Ideally he would have found some rope to slide down, but he’d only had five days to plan everything, so he’d had to cut corners.

  But Robin was a born daredevil, who’d been scrambling over rooftops and running narrow beams almost since he could walk. After making sure everything strapped to his back was tight and sitting with his legs through the slot, he grasped the rim of the service panel and swung himself through.

  To minimise the drop, he dangled briefly by his fingertips before plunging into the shaft. With no light the ground came faster than Robin expected. His ankle jarred and one knee touched down, but the only damage was his utility knife dropping out of his pocket. He flicked on his torch and found it on the floor amidst thick dust and the skeleton of a snake.

  Robin hadn’t managed to budge the elevator doors when he’d surveyed the exit from the outside, but he’d unscrewed a metal panel alongside and now it clanked as he lifted it out. He squeezed through a gap between layers of foam insulation and stepped into outdoor air.

  Robin was now on a high kerb, designed so that trucks could back in and unload without needing a ramp. The service road past the delivery bays was a couple of metres below the mall parking, and rust-streaked signs pointed to long-dead shops:

  Maureen’s Bed & Bath – Bay 126

  Chester House Shoes 127

  XXX Skate Outlet 128–131

  Robin’s phone said 00:27. Flash was due at 00:30 but Robin figured he’d get started on the next step of the escape plan.

  Security cameras are cheap, but when you’re protecting a space as big as Designer Outlets, the system designer must balance the number of cameras with the ability of security staff to watch all the feeds.

  Will Scarlock had decided it was better to have thirty-six cameras covering the most important areas of Designer Outlets, rather than the several hundred it would have taken to cover every shop and several kilometres of hallways.

  The video output from the cameras wasn’t encrypted, so Robin had been able to log into the mall network from his laptop. He’d made sure there was no camera covering the cargo bay behind the sports store, and just one covering the huge expanse of overgrown car park separating the mall from dense forest.

  Robin sat on steps at the edge of the steep kerb and pulled out his laptop. The screen lit his face as he logged into the mall network with an administrator password that he’d taken from a Post-it inside Will’s server cabinet. He then typed an operating-system command that brought up a list of every device logged into the mall network, from computers and printers, to dozens of phones using Wi-Fi, and the all-important security cameras.

  After identifying the camera in the list that overlooked the car park, Robin pasted its details into a protocol diversion program that was a basic part of every hacker’s toolkit.

  When Robin clicked run script, the program made the security camera vanish from the network. It was replaced by a recording Robin had made from the same camera the night before, so, for the next seven hours, anyone watching in the command tent would see footage from the previous day.

  After double-checking that everything had worked properly. Robin put his laptop away and still had to wait ten nervous minutes before Flash arrived, covered in lipstick smudges.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Can’t keep the ladies off me!’

  Robin felt wary as his brain threw up Marion’s voice, warning him not to get involved with Flash. But Robin had been impressed with the plan, and he was handling all the technical stuff. All Flash had to do was get him to the location.

  ‘I’ve dealt with the camera,’ Robin said, as he stood up, ‘but we could still be spotted by a guard in the watchtower. They’ve got rifles, so use the tallest weeds as cover and move fast.’

  He held out the big backpack.

  ‘Why have I got to carry it?’ Flash asked childishly.

  ‘It’s got all the gear and you’re twice my size!’ Robin snapped back. ‘And you’re late, so we need to get moving.’

  15. FLASH WINS AT EVERYTHING (ALLEGEDLY)

  Robin had only lived in Sherwood for the three months since his dad got framed by the cops. He found navigating the forest confusing in daylight, and terrifying at night.

  But people who’d been there for years were experts, with intricate mental maps that picked out vague footpaths and landmarks such as oddly shaped trees or derelict buildings. If you wanted to keep safe, you also had to avoid hazards such as bears, traps and packs of thugs who’d drop from trees and rob you.

  Robin wasn’t impressed when Flash arrived late, but his confidence was restored as they marched through forest. While Robin fought to keep the brutal pace, Flash told endless bawdy stories.

  Robin heard about fist fights, daring raids, beautiful women and drunken brawls at the Brigands Motorcycle Club camp. He was especially hooked by stories of long-running scraps between Brigands and rival motorbike gangs.

  ‘Biker runs make you feel invincible,’ Flash said, as Robin trailed breathlessly. ‘We take all our bikes out of the forest and meet up with Brigands chapters from other parts of the country. Two or three hundred bikes roar along the seafront, or through the capital. We make so much noise everyone is scared. Even the cops run away!’

&nbs
p; ‘Your dad kicked you out though,’ Robin said.

  ‘They’re always broke,’ Flash said airily. ‘When I rock up with piles of cash, it’ll be all hugs and forgiveness.’

  As the march went on Robin noticed that in Flash’s stories he won every fight, every hand of poker and barely had to look at a girl before she snogged him. But Robin didn’t call out the lies, because the stories were funny and took his mind off eight kilometres of tough forest.

  Their first stop was an abandoned electricity substation close to Old Road. Robin was intrigued by the rusted cables, bird-poop-splattered capacitors and faded DANGER OF DEATH signs with pictures of stick men getting zapped.

  Old Road was a meandering north–south route that had existed since Roman times, but power lines and traffic had been redirected when the immense Route 24 highway was dynamited through the forest.

  The four-lane road was now controlled by King Corporation, under a highly profitable forest-management contract dished out by Sheriff Marjorie. The company spent as little as it could get away with, leaving Old Road with faded markings, severe cracks from flood damage and poor lighting. They’d also replaced regular Forest Ranger patrols with camera drones.

  A battered Subaru pickup with two dirt bikes on the back was parked on low ground beside the substation. It was out of sight from the road and the lights were off, but it wasn’t the kind of place where you wanted to be alone after dark. The woman at the wheel was taking no chances, with an assault rifle across her lap.

  Flash winked his torch three times. The woman flashed back with headlights then stepped out of the driver’s side door.

  ‘Agnes, baby!’ Flash said, as he jogged up and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  She was no older than twenty. Dressed in a stiff red skirt and a striped red-and-white blouse with the Seven Stars Petroleum logo printed on the pocket.

  ‘Look at you!’ Flash said cheerfully. ‘Corporate slave with the polyester uniform.’

  Agnes pinched Flash’s cheek and pushed him away when she saw the lipstick smears.

  ‘You’re such a rat!’ she fumed. ‘You stink of beer and armpits.’

  ‘I hiked two hours,’ Flash said. ‘You expect me to smell of roses?’

  Agnes made a disgusted grunt. Flash changed the subject by introducing Robin.

  She shook Robin’s hand and gave a curtsy, like she was greeting royalty. ‘The famous Robin Hood!’ she said sarcastically.

  It was too dark for anyone to see Robin blush, but not so dark that Robin didn’t see scarring on Agnes’s right cheek. It ran on down her right arm and the back of both hands. He was too polite to ask, but it was over such a wide area that she must have been burned rather than cut.

  Flash had moved around to the back of the pickup to check out the bikes.

  ‘These look solid,’ he said, as he squeezed a rear tyre.

  ‘It’s wiped my whole savings,’ Agnes said. ‘Two thousand, and I want that back before we split the rest of the money.’

  ‘Tested?’ Flash asked.

  Agnes nodded. ‘Circled the paddock behind my house. I’m no mechanic, but they seemed tight.’

  Robin felt nervous as he looked at the smaller of the two bikes, which was meant for him. He’d only ridden a few times, and never in the dark.

  16. WHO NEEDS HELMETS?

  After they’d gone fifteen kilometres north along Old Road, Agnes pulled the pickup in behind a dead burger joint with a caved roof and wrecked kids’ playground.

  ‘I’m due on shift at 3 a.m., but sometimes my boss hangs around cashing up,’ Agnes said. ‘Give it half an hour to be sure he’s cleared out.’

  Robin helped Flash untie the bikes and roll them gently off the back of the pickup before Agnes drove it away. Flash knew bikes and seemed pleased after he’d checked the brakes and started both engines.

  Flash told Robin to get a feel for riding in the dark with a couple of circuits around the burger joint.

  ‘Helmets?’ Robin asked, realising he hadn’t seen any.

  ‘You only need helmets if you crash.’ Flash laughed. ‘So don’t crash.’

  The bike was heavier than the ones Robin had ridden before and it felt scary at first, circling around the parking lot and drive-thru lane with the only light from a puny headlamp. After a couple of circuits Robin started enjoying himself and sped up, but Flash waved him down.

  ‘Your noise is gonna alert any baddies within five clicks,’ Flash said. ‘We’ll ride up slowly. The road is in poor shape. A big pothole can throw a rider off, so stick behind me.’

  Robin hadn’t heard any traffic on Old Road since they’d pulled in. It felt spooky, riding behind Flash with trees towering over both sides and cats’ eyes down the middle reflecting their headlamps.

  It only took a couple of minutes to reach their target. Back in the days before Route 24 opened, Seven Stars Services had been a major rest stop halfway through the forest. It had a huge canopy that once covered six rows of petrol pumps. Now, all but three pumps closest to the payment window had been capped off.

  The scenic forest-viewing platform was burned out and the restrooms and coffee shop were permanently shuttered. At this time of morning, the large shop was closed and Agnes worked her shift at a till behind a bulletproof service window. There was a big chute alongside so that she could pass out items from the store.

  As Robin and Flash stepped off their bikes, Agnes backed away from the window and opened a side door to let them in.

  ‘Bikes OK?’ she asked.

  ‘Sweet,’ Flash agreed.

  ‘Cameras in here?’ Robin asked as he entered.

  Agnes pointed towards a service counter which was used in daytime when the shop was open. Robin slid over and found a little hard-drive video recorder attached to the underside of the counter with Velcro.

  Agnes had told him the box wasn’t connected to the internet, but after blowing thick dust away Robin inspected it carefully for any signs of Wi-Fi before crossing the floor and dumping it in the big backpack.

  ‘Security here’s a joke,’ Agnes said. ‘I’ve got bulletproof glass in the window, but that door I let you through has a skinny bolt like a bathroom stall. And we’ve got panic buttons, but the Forest Ranger station is twenty kilometres south and only staffed until 9 p.m.’

  ‘I’ll bash up the door so it looks like we kicked our way in,’ Flash said, as he opened a fridge and helped himself to a can of Rage Cola. ‘You want me to tie you up or something when we’re done?’

  Agnes snorted. ‘I’ll tell the cops you were gentlemen and that I did what I was told.’

  Robin grabbed a bottle of cola for himself. He was thirsty after the long walk, so he downed most of it in three gulps and belched proudly as he headed deeper into the store.

  Beyond the modern counter and fridges up front, the store looked like a place you could shoot a movie set thirty years in the past. Along with sagging shelves filled with car accessories and Sherwood Forest souvenirs, there were ancient slushy and coffee machines, an out-of-order photo booth, a Hipsta Donut cabinet full of dead bugs and a dusty Mario’s Melts sandwich counter with signage offering a £2.99 Halloween Meal Deal that expired before Robin was born.

  Robin was here for the equally ancient QT3.14 cash machine. He squatted down and rapped on the wobbly orange surround that covered the machine’s internals.

  ‘How does it look?’ Agnes asked.

  There was a crash in the background as Flash battered the side door with a fire extinguisher to make it look like they’d forced their way in.

  ‘Looks good,’ Robin said. ‘There are few of this design left, and they’re scrapping them faster since my last robbery got so much publicity.’

  ‘Can you rob newer machines?’ Agnes asked, as Flash whacked the door again and whooped like he was enjoying himself.

  ‘It’s harder,’ Robin explained, as he unzipped the backpack. ‘Every cash machine has better security than the previous generation, but there are heaps of smart hackers alw
ays looking for new ways to rip them off.’

  ‘The security van came and refilled it this morning,’ Agnes said. ‘But it’s the only ATM in a ten-kilometre radius, so a lot of Forest People come in here and withdraw large amounts.’

  ‘It’s good that it’s busy,’ Robin said, as he turned on his laptop and methodically laid out the tools and cables he needed for the job. ‘The busier the machine, the more cash they put inside.’

  ‘You’ve got a customer!’ Flash yelled, as he pulled up the battered door and ducked out of sight.

  Robin got to work as Agnes hurried to the service window to sell a driver forty pounds worth of petrol, a large tea and a bag of mints.

  17. MARIO’S MELTS MAYHEM

  Robin’s first step was to strip the cash machine’s outer panel. This needed a T-shaped key/lever that had been 3D printed for his last job.

  He got a fizz of excitement as he pulled the panel away, catching a warm dusty smell with a hint of burning. The inside looked exactly as he’d expected, apart from a stubby plastic aerial balanced on top of the display unit. It looked like the ones that stick out the back of a wireless router and was held in place with a blob of Blu-Tack. Its bright white plastic looked newer than the rest of the machine, which was over twenty years old.

  This wasn’t a situation where you wanted surprises, but Robin tried to stay calm. He felt better after he’d followed the wire coming out of the little aerial to the network socket on the back of the PC.

  It was the same slot where the other machines he’d robbed connected to the bank, so he figured it was just that the machine was in a remote area and connected wirelessly. Most likely via a satellite dish on the gas-station roof.

  The next step was to take out this cable and plug in his laptop. The hack required two steps. First, installing a program that gave him remote access to the aged computer inside the cash machine, then getting the machine to reboot, running hacked software.