CHERUB: Black Friday

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘I got such a crush on you, but I felt like a nobody,’ James confessed. ‘You were all mature and sophisticated.’

  James wasn’t sure Amy heard what he said, because she’d pushed the pool’s main door and stepped into a lobby. James followed, enjoying the warmth, while breathing chlorine and hearing the familiar rumble of the pool’s ventilation system.

  ‘I fancy a swim,’ Amy said.

  James could hear kids shrieking in the adjoining leisure pool as he studied the notices in the lobby: No outdoor shoes. No running. No screaming. No using the pool when lifeguard is not present.

  ‘There’ll be towels in the changing room,’ James said.

  Amy slid her coat down her arms and dropped it on a bench as she stepped through a pair of doors that led to poolside. James was allegedly a grown-up now, but he was still awed as he watched Amy kick off her shoes and start unbuttoning her blouse.

  ‘You joining me?’ Amy asked, as she dropped her skirt and started peeling off one stocking. ‘Or do you plan to keep staring like a pervert?’

  ‘Pervert,’ James said, but he’d already started pulling his T-shirt over his head. Amy had dived in by the time James had his jeans around his ankles and the first thing Amy did was dig both arms into the water and give him a soaking.

  ‘Mind my clothes!’ James yelled. ‘We’ve gotta walk back and it’s cold.’

  ‘Stop me,’ Amy said, as she splashed again.

  As James kicked his clothes bundle against the wall and dived in, Amy started an athletic swim towards the deep end. He couldn’t catch up, but James eventually got Amy cornered and she looked amazing as she trod water in the half-light, with reflections dancing across her face.

  ‘You’ve still got one sock on,’ Amy said.

  As James looked down to confirm that he was sock-free, Amy used the instant of distraction to try swimming out of her corner. If she’d wanted to escape she could have climbed out of the pool, but this was a game and she’d made for a gap where there wasn’t one. Almost as if she wanted James to grab her.

  James felt awkward as he got an arm around Amy’s waist. He kept his grip loose so that Amy could break free, but she pulled in close and relaxed her body like she wanted to be kissed.

  ‘Where’s this going?’ James stuttered. ‘I had no idea you liked me.’

  Amy laughed. ‘Back when you were eleven? No! But a girl can do worse than James Adams at twenty-one.’

  James had fantasised about Amy since he’d first got interested in girls. Kerry flashed through his mind, but this wasn’t something he could turn down.

  ‘Mind you, I’ve spent the last seven months living in a country where most men smoke sixty a day, bathe monthly and get their brides by kidnapping them. So my standards might have dropped a little.’

  They kicked into shallower water, kissing on the mouth when they reached the side of the pool.

  ‘Just so you’re clear, there’s nothing to this,’ Amy said, as she broke off. ‘Two old mates who fancy each other. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ James said, as Amy’s fingers dug into his back and her mouth closed in for another kiss.

  9. CUT

  The guy with the teenage moustache drove for twenty minutes, then ditched the old taxi in an empty high-school parking lot. He then drove on with Ryan squeezed in the middle seat of a Chrysler sedan, between Mumin and Kazakov.

  An hour later, they turned off a remote highway and clattered over a mile of dirt to a farm property with a foreclosure notice and Sale by Auction sign by the entry gate.

  Ryan didn’t know agriculture, but guessed this had been a dairy farm, based on outdoor pens tall enough to hold big animals and refrigerated tanks at the side of a huge aluminium-sided shed.

  Ten trucks were parked in front of a big ranch house, but these were smaller than the ones that picked up the cargo at the airport. A mobile home stood on bricks a couple of hundred metres from the main house. The Chrysler dropped off Ryan, Kazakov and Mumin there, while Elbaz and the teen rolled on to the house.

  The mobile home was grotty inside, with the smell of stale piss coming out of the bathroom and a summer’s worth of dead insects dotting the floor.

  ‘It’s not great, but you’ll be here less than twenty-four hours,’ Mumin said, before pointing at two black wheelie cases lying flat on a sofa in the bay window at the far end. ‘That’s what you’re here for.’

  Kazakov unzipped the bags and threw back canvas flaps, unveiling stacks of fifty- and hundred-dollar bills. IDoJ believed that the Aramov Clan needed this untraceable cash inside the USA to pay for clan matriarch Irena Aramov’s cancer treatment. In reality, the FBI was paying for Irena’s treatment and the cash was an excuse that enabled Ryan and Kazakov to track the IDoJ operation from Kyrgyzstan to the US, via China.

  ‘Two million, cash,’ Mumin said. ‘Count if you like, but it might take a while.’

  ‘I’ll trust you,’ Kazakov said. Then added casually, ‘People who short-change the Aramov Clan don’t usually live for long.’

  ‘The remaining four point two has been transferred to your listed bank accounts in sums ranging from twenty to eighty thousand dollars,’ Mumin continued. ‘Your people should be able to confirm receipt shortly after the banks open tomorrow morning.’

  As Mumin continued, Ryan was transfixed by the contents of the battered wheelie cases. ‘You have television and a shower. We put a couple of bags of groceries in the cupboard. I checked the microwave, but unfortunately there’s no gas bottle for the cooker.’

  ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere,’ Kazakov noted. ‘We’ll need a vehicle to take us out of here.’

  Mumin nodded. ‘When our vans leave, you’ll be given keys to a hire car. Nobody will come looking for the car until the seven-day hire ends. Dump it when you’re done.’

  As Kazakov zipped the wheelie cases and tested their weight, Ryan slid his backpack down his arm and braved the evil-smelling bathroom.

  ‘We’re not locking you in, but we’d prefer it if you didn’t wander,’ Mumin said. ‘The fewer people who see your face the better.’

  ‘And vice versa,’ Kazakov said. ‘We’ll shower and sleep. Maybe catch a couple of quarters of football.’

  The cramped plastic toilet had yellowed with age and there was stomach-churning filth on the toilet brush. Ryan turned the tap for the shower and got a drizzle. There was a half-bottle of flamingo-pink shampoo that looked like it had been left by the previous owners and two raggedy towels that Ryan wouldn’t have wiped his arse on.

  When he’d finished peeing and stepped out, Mumin was gone and Kazakov was filling a titchy electric kettle he’d found in one of the cupboards.

  ‘So how are we doing?’ Ryan asked warily.

  There was a chance the van was bugged, so Kazakov set a tap running full blast and beckoned Ryan closer before speaking quietly.

  ‘They’re ruthless,’ Kazakov said. ‘They wouldn’t have brought us here if they wanted us dead.’

  ‘Is the money real?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘As far as I can tell,’ Kazakov said. ‘And they think we’re who we say we are.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘They haven’t searched us, or taken our phones,’ Kazakov said. ‘IDoJ are clearly hoping for an on-going relationship with the Aramov Clan, so they can’t treat us like prisoners.’

  ‘What about the explosives?’ Ryan asked. ‘There’s been no sign of them, except the first few minutes when we pulled out of the airport.’

  ‘We changed cars; if the explosives are coming here they’ll almost certainly change trucks too,’ Kazakov said. ‘It takes time to load and unload, and they’ll take different routes to avoid suspicion.’

  Ryan nodded, as he pulled out his phone and switched it on. ‘So it’s unlikely they’d get here before us, but we should keep an eye out for trucks arriving.’

  Kazakov had switched the kettle on and by this time it was making enough noise for him to
turn off the tap.

  ‘Do you think the FBI tracked us here?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘No way to know,’ Kazakov said. ‘If they did, lucky us. But we have to assume that we’re on our own and act accordingly.’

  Ryan looked at the face of his phone and saw the no- signal bar. ‘I guess it was never likely to work out here in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘We’ve only got one bathroom,’ Kazakov said. ‘If I get in the shower and take my time, how about you take a stroll up to the house and try working out what’s going on?’

  ‘And if I’m caught?’

  ‘Don’t sneak around,’ Kazakov said. ‘Stick your hands in your pockets and take a stroll. If they stop you, just say your guts are playing up. Your dad’s in the shower and you were looking for somewhere to take a shit.’

  ‘Right,’ Ryan said. ‘Shall I go now?’

  Kazakov shook his head. ‘Give it half an hour. Rest up and give them a chance to let their guard down. Plus it’ll be nearly dark by then.’

  As the sun set in Alabama, it was 4 a.m. on CHERUB campus. James Adams was sleeping in the third-floor quarters he was sharing with Bruce when he got woken by an unfamiliar ringtone.

  ‘Are you gonna answer that?’ James shouted, as he sat up.

  Single staff quarters on campus were similar to the kids’ rooms on the upper floors, except there was a sliding partition between the bedroom and living area, plus a mini kitchen with oven and hob.

  Bruce was on a sofa bed in the living-room and he yelled back. ‘It’s your phone.’

  ‘I know my own ringtone,’ James said irritably.

  ‘It’s coming out of your trousers.’

  James huffed as he threw his duvet off, flicked on a bedside light and got up to investigate.

  ‘Told you,’ Bruce said, as James pulled the ringing iPhone from his jeans.

  But not only did James not recognise the ringtone, he didn’t recognise the name Dr D flashing on the screen.

  James pressed the answer button. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Amy, it’s Dr D. There’s a problem with Ryan and Kazakov. You’ll have to let Zara Asker know ASAP because this could turn bad.’

  ‘Hold your horses,’ James said. ‘Amy’s not here, but I can find her if it’s urgent.’

  James had no idea that Dr D was Amy’s boss, but she sounded furious. ‘Why do you have her phone? Who are you?’

  ‘I know where she is,’ James said, ignoring Dr D’s question. ‘I’ll get her to call you right back.’

  ‘How’d you get Amy’s phone?’ Bruce asked, once James had hung up.

  James started pulling on his jeans so that he could walk down the corridor to the room where Amy was staying.

  ‘After dinner me and Amy went skinny-dipping,’ James explained. ‘Amy said she fancied me, so we ended up bonking on a pile of swimming floats.’

  Bruce tutted. ‘Right, James. In your dreams!’

  James grinned to himself, because he’d told the truth knowing that Bruce wouldn’t believe it.

  ‘How can you be so certain?’ James asked.

  ‘First, Amy’s always gone for older guys,’ Bruce explained. ‘Second, Kerry’s got you on a tight leash, and third, you’ve always been a colossal bullshitter.’

  ‘Well argued,’ James said. But he’d lost his smile as he headed out of the door because Bruce had put Kerry’s name in his head and this was only the third time he’d cheated on her since retiring as a CHERUB agent.

  Amy was four doors along the hallway and the door wasn’t locked.

  ‘You’ve got my iPhone,’ James said accusingly, as Amy rubbed her eyes. ‘Someone called Dr D rang for you.’

  ‘Shit, that’s my boss,’ Amy said, as she sprang up. ‘That must be your phone in the charger over there.’

  James picked his phone out of the charging cradle as Amy called Dr D. As the call rang in her ear, Amy made a shoo gesture at James.

  ‘I’m sorry but it’s confidential,’ Amy said. ‘Do you mind?’

  10. RANCH

  A double-trailer truck pulled up at the ranch house as Ryan stood by the mobile home’s open doorway. He felt trapped, by their predicament and by the sweaty T-shirt glued to his back. He needed sleep badly, but he got a mental image of Tracy’s blood spattered on cockpit glass every time he closed his eyes.

  Kazakov knelt on the sofa at the bay window, peeking between filthy net curtains into the twilight. He caught the reflection on an aluminium air-cargo box as it got wheeled from the truck’s rear trailer.

  ‘Explosives?’ Ryan asked, as he came close to see what Kazakov was looking at.

  ‘Can’t see what else it would be,’ Kazakov said. ‘The timing fits: half an hour behind us.’

  They watched for a couple more minutes and Ryan thought he recognised some of the guys who’d been at the landing strip. Kazakov had put a TV on, but the signal was poor and Ryan took a couple of seconds to make out the news anchor on screen with a burning plane in the background.

  ‘Did you turn the sound off?’ Ryan asked.

  It was an ancient set with a knob for the volume and Kazakov demonstrated by raising his beefy arm and twiddling it.

  ‘Speaker cuts in and out,’ he explained. ‘Loose wire or something. I’ve read a couple of on-screen banners. One FBI officer dead when they tried boarding the 737, and the stadium got evacuated, in case there were further explosions.’

  When the wavy TV images grew frustrating, Ryan looked out the window towards the ranch house. Elbaz was up there, out of pilot’s uniform but now looking even more Bollywood in a bright pink shirt with fat collar. There was no sign of Mumin, but there were about a dozen young men and a couple of girls helping to wheel the pallets of explosive into the six-car garage beside the house.

  ‘They seem happy enough up there,’ Kazakov said.

  ‘You think they’re suicide bombers?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘Possible,’ Kazakov said. ‘You can park a truck full of explosives outside a building. But driving into your target at speed is usually much more effective. On the other hand, there’s an awful lot of them.’

  Ryan looked confused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Even amongst fanatics, people don’t exactly line up to kill themselves. Most suicide attacks are one or two man operators.’

  ‘What about 9/11?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘There’s an exception to every rule,’ Kazakov said, shrugging. ‘So it’s getting pretty dark. How about I take my shower, and you go for that wander?’

  ‘Makes sense,’ Ryan said. ‘But we’re in the middle of nowhere and I’d bet the perimeter’s guarded. So even if we find out what they’re up to … ’

  Kazakov spoke before Ryan finished his thought. ‘One step at a time. Get information, then we’ll work out what to do with it.’

  Ryan slid bare feet into his Converse, then did a double tap behind his ear to activate the com unit.

  ‘Hear me?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘Loud and clear,’ Kazakov said, after his own double tap. ‘Don’t overuse the com. The batteries are tiny and they can’t have much juice left.’

  ‘Gotcha,’ Ryan said.

  The fourteen-year-old clanked down the mobile home’s front steps. The temperature had dropped with the sun and Ryan rubbed his arms as he walked towards the ranch house. The unloading seemed to be over and the bad guys and girls were heading inside.

  From fifty metres out Ryan realised that the ten small trucks lined up in front of the ranch house were the same model. All had clean black tyre walls, shiny glass and none of the scrapes or dents you’d expect on a commercial vehicle.

  The only difference between trucks was that they were painted in the liveries of several big US retail chains. There was a light on in the cab of a dark blue Office Megastore van and a tiny woman with a fat bum crawled about inside. She would have seen Ryan if she’d looked, but she was stretching for something in the footwell.

  As the woman slid down from the cab, Ryan ducked behind a tree and unbuttoned
his jeans so that he could say he was peeing if someone spotted him. The woman took a few backwards steps and flicked a switch on a control box, which made the truck’s headlamps come on.

  Her next button-push set the engine running and as the mechanic backed off further, she pushed forwards on a control stick and drove the dark blue truck twenty metres forward. After coming to an abrupt stop, the woman reversed the procedure, backing the van into its spot between the others and switching the lights off.

  Ryan resumed his walk as the woman headed into the garage, and was soon within hearing distance.

  ‘The battery wasn’t rigged right,’ the woman told a colleague as she headed into shafts of light coming through the huge garage’s raised doors. ‘It’s fine now, but we need to get all the others double-checked.’

  Ryan cut across the pathway leading up to the ranch. From this side he got a view between two parked vans and a section of the garage. The crew he’d first seen at the airfield were taking pizza-box-sized slabs of explosive out of the cargo containers and slicing off plastic wrapping with craft knives.

  At the rear, a pair of more skilled operators sat at workbenches, using magnifiers as they soldered components of what Ryan guessed was either the radio control system for the trucks or detonators for the explosives.

  Ryan reckoned he’d been lucky, learning so much without getting within thirty metres of the house. But while it was now clear that the plan was to pack the ten trucks with explosive and use a radio control system to smash them into their targets, he didn’t know what the targets were or when the attacks would take place.

  He’d heard Mumin telling Kazakov that they’d be held here for less than twenty-four hours, but was that when the explosive-packed trucks were going to be sent to their targets, or, seeing as America was a huge place, was the plan to distribute the vans all over the USA and attack days or weeks into the future?

  Ryan would only learn more by getting nearer to the house, perhaps picking up snippets of conversation by an open window. After cutting between the vans, he had to choose house or garage, but it was clear what was happening inside the garage, so it made more sense to approach the house with his needing a crap excuse.