Robert Muchamore was born in 1972 and spent thirteen years working as a private investigator. CHERUB: The Recruit is his first 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 © 2004 Robert Muchamore
First published in Great Britain in 2004
by Hodder Children’s Books
This eBook edition published in 2011
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 91044 5
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?
During World War Two, French civilians set up a resistance movement to fight against the German forces occupying their country. Many of their most useful operatives were children and teenagers. Some worked as Scouts and messengers. Others befriended homesick German soldiers, gathering information that enabled the resistance to sabotage German military operations.
A British spy named Charles Henderson worked among these French children for nearly three years. After returning to Britain, he used what he’d learned in France to train twenty British boys for work on undercover operations. The codename for his unit was CHERUB.
Henderson died in 1946, but the organisation he created has thrived. CHERUB now has more than two hundred and fifty agents, all aged seventeen or under. Although there have been many technical advances in intelligence operations since CHERUB was founded, the reason for its existence remains the same: adults never suspect that children are spying on them.
1. SCIENCE
James Choke hated Combined Science. It should have been test tubes, jets of gas and sparks flying all over the place, like he’d imagined when he was still at primary school. What he got was an hour propped on a stool watching Miss Voolt write on a blackboard. You had to write everything down even though the photocopier got invented forty years earlier.
It was last lesson but one, raining outside and turning dark. James was sleepy because the lab was hot and he’d been up late playing Grand Theft Auto the night before.
Samantha Jennings sat next to him. Teachers thought Samantha was fantastic: always volunteering for stuff, neat uniform, glossed nails. She did all her diagrams with three different coloured pens and covered her exercise books in wrapping paper so they looked extra smart. But when the teachers weren’t looking Samantha was a total cow. James hated her. She was always winding him up about his mum being fat:
‘James’ mum is so fat, they have to grease the bath tub or she gets stuck in it.’
Samantha’s cronies laughed, same as always.
James’ mum was huge. She had to order her clothes out of a special catalogue for fat people. It was a nightmare being seen with her. People pointed, stared. Little kids mimicked the way she walked. James loved his mum, but he tried to find excuses when she wanted to go somewhere with him.
‘I went for a five-mile jog yesterday,’ Samantha said. ‘Two laps around James’ mum.’
James looked up from his exercise book.
‘That’s so funny, Samantha. Even funnier than the first three times you said it.’
James was one of the toughest kids in Year Seven. Any boy cussing his mum would get a punch. But what could you do when it was a girl? Next lesson he’d sit as far from Samantha as he could.
‘Your mum is so fat—’
James was sick of it. He jumped up. His stool tipped over backwards.
‘What is it with you, Samantha?’ James shouted.
The lab went quiet. Every eye turned to the action.
‘What’s the matter, James?’ Samantha grinned. ‘Can’t take a joke?’
‘Mr Choke, pick up your seat and get on with your work,’ Miss Voolt shouted.
‘You say one more word, Samantha, I’ll …’
James was never any good at comebacks.
‘I’ll bloody …’
Samantha giggled. ‘What will you do, James? Go home and cuddle big fat Mommy?’
James wanted to see something other than a stupid grin on Samantha’s face. He grabbed Samantha off her stool, bundled her up against the wall, then spun her around to face him. He froze in shock. Blood was running down Samantha’s face. Her cheek had a long cut where it had caught on a nail sticking out of the wall.
James backed away, scared. Samantha cupped her hands over the blood and started bawling her head off.
‘James Choke, you are in extremely serious trouble!’ Miss Voolt shouted.
Everyone in James’ class was making some sort of noise. James couldn’t face up to what he’d done. No one would believe it was an accident. He made a run for the door.
Miss Voolt grabbed James’ blazer.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Get out my way,’ James shouted.
He gave Miss Voolt a shove. She toppled backwards, limbs flipping helplessly in the air like a beetle turned upside down.
He slammed the classroom door and ran down the corridor. The school gates were locked, but he escaped over the barrier in the teachers’ car park.
*
Jame
s stormed away from school, muttering to himself, getting less angry and more scared as it dawned that he was in the deepest trouble of his life.
He was twelve in a few weeks’ time. He started wondering if he’d live that long. His mum was going to kill him. He’d definitely get suspended. It was probably bad enough to get expelled.
By the time James got to the little playground near his flats he felt sick. He looked at his watch. If he went home this early his mum would know something was up. He didn’t have change for a cup of tea in the chip shop. The only thing to do was go into the playground and shelter from the drizzle in the concrete tunnel.
The tunnel seemed smaller than James remembered. There was graffiti sprayed all over and it smelled like a dog had peed inside. James didn’t mind. He felt he deserved to be somewhere cold that smelled of dog. He rubbed his hands to get them warm and remembered when he was little.
His mum was nowhere near as fat in those days. Her face would appear in the end of the tunnel with a daft grin. She’d speak in a deep voice, I’m coming to eat you up, James. It was cool, because the tunnel had a killer echo when you were sitting inside. James tried the echo:
‘I’m a total idiot.’
The echo agreed with him. He pulled his coat hood up and did the zip to the top so it covered half his face.
*
After half an hour sulking, James knew he had two options: stay in the tunnel for the rest of his life, or go home and get killed.
James stepped into the hallway of his flat and checked the mobile phone on the table under the coat rack:
12 MISSED CALLS
UNIDENTIFIED NUMBER
It looked like school had been trying to get hold of his mum pretty bad, but she hadn’t answered. James thanked god, but wondered why she hadn’t picked up. Then he noticed Uncle Ron’s jacket hanging up.
Uncle Ron had turned up when James was a toddler. It was like having a loud, smelly rug in the flat. Ron smoked, drank and only went out to go to the pub. He got a job once, but it only lasted a fortnight.
James had always thought Ron was an idiot and his mum had eventually agreed and kicked him out. But only after she’d married him and given birth to his daughter. Even now James’ mum had a soft spot for Ron. They’d never got divorced. Ron turned up every few weeks, supposedly to see his daughter, Lauren. But mostly he came when Lauren was at school and he was short of a few quid.
James walked into the living room. His mum, Gwen, was spread out on a sofa. Her feet were up on a stool and her left leg was bandaged. Ron was in an armchair, feet on the coffee table, toes poking out of his socks. They were both drunk.
‘Mum, you’re not supposed to drink with your pills,’ James said, so annoyed he forgot his problems.
Ron straightened up and took a drag of his cigarette.
‘Hey Jamie boy, Daddy’s home,’ Ron said, grinning.
James and Ron eyed each other up.
‘You’re not my father, Ron,’ James said.
‘No,’ Ron replied. ‘Your dad legged it the day he saw your ugly face.’
James didn’t want to say about school in front of Ron, but the truth was eating at him.
‘Mum, something happened at school. It was an accident.’
‘Wet your pants again, did you?’ Ron giggled.
James didn’t want to take the bait.
‘Listen, James, me darlin’,’ Gwen said, slurring her words. ‘Whatever trouble you’re in this time, we’ll talk later. Go and get your sister from school. I’ve had a few too many drinkies and I’d better not drive.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum, it’s really serious. I have to tell you…’
‘Just get your sister, James,’ his mum said sternly. ‘My head is pounding.’
‘Lauren’s big enough to come home on her own,’ James said.
‘She isn’t,’ Ron interrupted. ‘Do what you’re told. He needs my boot up his backside if you ask me.’
‘How much money does he want this time?’ James asked sarcastically.
Gwen waved her hand in front of her face. She was fed up with both of them.
‘Can’t you two stay in the same room for two minutes without fighting? James, go to my purse, buy something for tea on the way home. I’m not cooking tonight.’
‘But …’
‘Get out, James, before I lose my temper.’
James couldn’t wait until he was old enough to batter Uncle Ron. His mum was OK when Ron wasn’t around.
James found his mum’s purse in the kitchen. A tenner was enough for his dinner, but he took two twenties. Ron would steal everything in the purse before he left, so James wouldn’t get blamed. It felt nice stuffing forty quid into his school trousers. Gwen never left anything lying around that she didn’t expect James or Ron to steal. She kept the big money upstairs in a safe.
2. SISTER
Some kids were happy to have one games console. James Choke had every console, game and accessory going. He had a PC, an MP3 player, Nokia mobile, widescreen TV and DVD recorder in his room. He never looked after any of it. If something broke he got another one. He had eight pairs of Nike trainers. A top-line skateboard. A £600 racing bike. When his bedroom was in a mess it looked like a bomb had gone off in Toys R Us.
James had all this because Gwen Choke was a thief. She ran a shoplifting empire from her armchair while she watched daytime soaps and stuffed chocolates and pizza. She didn’t steal, herself. Gwen took orders and passed them down to thieves who worked for her. She covered her tracks, never going near stolen goods herself and switching mobiles every few days so the police couldn’t trace her calls.
*
It was the first time James had been back to primary school since his last day as a pupil before the summer holidays. A few mums stood at the gate nattering.
‘Where’s your mum, James?’ someone asked.
‘Off her face,’ James said sourly.
There was no way James was covering for her after she’d kicked him out of the flat. He saw the other mums exchange glances.
‘I want Medal Of Honour for Playstation,’ one of them asked. ‘Can she get it?’
James shrugged, ‘Course, half price, cash only.’
‘Will you remember, James?’
‘No. Give us a bit of paper with your name and phone number and I’ll pass it on.’
The gaggle of mums started jotting things down. Trainers, jewellery, radio-controlled car. James stuffed the papers into his school blazer.
‘I need it by Tuesday,’ someone said.
James wasn’t in the mood.
‘If you want to tell my mum something, write it down. I won’t remember.’
The kids all started coming out. Nine-year-old Lauren was last out of her class. She had her hands tucked in her bomber jacket and mud on her jeans from playing football with the boys at lunchtime. Lauren had blonde hair, same as James, but she kept asking her mum to let her dye it black.
Lauren was on another planet to most girls her age. She didn’t own a single dress or skirt. She’d microwaved her Barbies when she was five and hadn’t touched one since. Gwen Choke said if there were two ways of doing something, Lauren would always pick the third one.
‘I hate that old bat,’ Lauren said, when she got near James.
‘Who?’ James asked.
‘Mrs Reed. She gave us sums. I did them in about two minutes, and she made me sit still for the rest of the lesson waiting for all the dumb kids to finish. She wouldn’t even let me go to the cloakroom and get my book.’
James remembered Mrs Reed had done the same thing when she was his teacher three years earlier. It was like getting punished for being clever.
‘Why are you here, anyway?’ Lauren asked.
‘Mum’s drunk.’
‘She’s not supposed to drink until after the operation.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ James said. ‘What can I do about it?’
‘How come you got home early enough to pick me up?’
‘Got in a
fight. They sent me home.’
Lauren shook her head, but she couldn’t help smiling.
‘Another fight. That’s three this term, isn’t it?’
James didn’t want to talk about it.
‘What do you want first?’ he asked. ‘Good news or bad news?’
Lauren shrugged. ‘Just tell us.’
‘Your dad’s indoors. The good news is Mum gave us money to get take-away. He should be gone by the time we get home.’
*
They ended up in a burger place. James got a double cheeseburger meal. Lauren only wanted onion rings and a Coke. She wasn’t hungry, so she got handfuls of little milks and sugar packets and made a mess on the table while James ate. She tipped out loads of sugar, soaked it with milk, then shredded the paper wrappers and stirred it all up.
‘What are you doing that for?’ James asked.
‘As a matter of fact,’ Lauren said acidly, ‘the entire future of western civilisation depends upon me making a smiley face with this ketchup.’
‘You realise some poor sod has to clean all that up?’ James said.
‘Not my problem,’ Lauren shrugged.
James tucked in the last mouthful of his burger and realised he was still starving. Lauren had hardly touched her onion rings.
‘You eating those?’ James asked.
‘Have them if you want. They’re stone cold.’
‘This is all we’ve got for dinner. You better eat something.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Lauren said. ‘I’ll make toasted sandwiches later.’
James loved Lauren’s toasted sandwiches. They were mad: she got Nutella, honey, icing sugar, golden syrup, chocolate chips. Whatever sweet stuff was going, all poured on thick. The outside was crispy and the hot gloop was about three centimetres deep in the middle. You couldn’t eat one without burning your fingers.
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