CHERUB: Black Friday

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘OK,’ Andre said, picking up the receiver, but stalling before dialling 8. ‘I don’t know what they have.’

  James shrugged. ‘Cooked breakfast, cereal, juice, tea, coffee. I’m in the mood to be a pig, so order me some chocolate chip pancakes, with a side of mango slices. Black coffee and some freshly squeezed orange juice.’

  ‘Chocolate pancakes,’ Andre said, smiling. ‘I’ve never had pancakes for breakfast.’

  ‘Give ’em a go then,’ James said, as he rolled out of bed scratching under his armpit. ‘And I’ll have to get you a couple of smaller T-shirts. That thing looks like a dress.’

  James went for a quick shave and shower and was surprised when he came out to find a sixteen-year-old navy shirt wheeling in two stacks of chocolate pancakes.

  ‘Jake Parker on punishment in the kitchen,’ James said, smiling. ‘Not like you to be in trouble.’

  Jake smirked. ‘And you were an angel in your day, weren’t you, James?’

  ‘Do we need to tip room service?’ Andre asked.

  James laughed. ‘Yeah, I’ve got a tip for Jake. Get a new hairstyle, it looks shit.’

  Jake smiled as he backed out of the room. ‘Next time I deliver your breakfast, I’ll spit in it.’

  Andre joined the laughter as he pulled a chair up. James sat opposite at a fold-out dining table.

  ‘I’m gonna break you in gently,’ James said, biting a triangle of pancake off his fork as Andre peeled foil from a bottle of strawberry-flavoured milk. ‘I’ll start you on the firing range. Then I’ll take you to the dojo for some basic combat moves, then I’ll put you in a car for a little drive. That should get you warmed up nicely. After lunch I’ll take you out to the training compound for something tougher.’

  Andre looked wary. ‘Tougher how?’

  James smiled. ‘Let’s just say you’d best pay attention this morning, because you’re gonna need everything you learned this afternoon.’

  By mid-morning Andre had shot a pistol, a rifle and a machine gun, done some basic low-speed driving on the roads around campus and worked up a sweat in the dojo. There was no time to learn complex techniques so Martial Arts Instructor Takada had devised ten ninety-minute sessions, during which Andre would be taught basic knife skills and simple hand-to-hand techniques targeting the body’s most vulnerable areas.

  James made sure nothing was too difficult and went heavy on the compliments. By lunchtime, Andre was sweaty-but-cheerful and he rabbited enthusiastically as he scoffed a bowl of veggie pasta in the staff dining-room.

  ‘That machine gun,’ Andre blabbed. ‘Oh my god! When I pulled the trigger it was like raw power. And the targets exploding everywhere. What was the little gun called again?’

  ‘That was an Uzi.’

  ‘When can we go to the firing range again?’

  ‘We’ll go back in a couple of days,’ James said. ‘But it’s not a major part of your training. You’re going undercover to find your dad. There won’t be too many blazing machine guns, unless things go badly wrong.’

  Andre laughed. ‘And driving?’

  ‘Yeah, you’ll do more driving tomorrow,’ James said. ‘Handling a car is a useful skill for emergencies. But there’s going to be a lot of classroom work too: communication protocols, stuff like that.’

  Andre kept talking as they walked across campus, but first sight of the basic training compound and adjacent height obstacle straightened his smile.

  ‘Am I going up there?’ Andre asked, as he eyed the wooden towers linked by poles and beams over which CHERUB agents were expected to run at full pelt.

  ‘They wouldn’t let me,’ James said. ‘You’ve only got ten days and there’s about a one in six chance of an injury the first time a trainee goes over that.’

  ‘Has anyone ever been killed?’

  ‘Nobody so far this year,’ James said, neglecting to add that nobody had died in any other year either.

  By this time they were up to the barbed-wire-topped gates of the compound where CHERUB agents lived during basic training. The current basic training group were overseas and Andre found himself standing in the bare concrete dorm where they slept. The beds were made immaculately and the items in twelve kit lockers were lined up to match perfectly. At the far end of the room was an open shower, and a row of sparkling toilets with no partitions between them.

  ‘Is this where I’d train if I had more time?’ Andre asked. ‘You just have to sit and crap in front of everyone else?’

  James let Andre’s questions hang as he remembered that his basic training had been so exhausting that he hadn’t given privacy a thought. Taking a crap had just been a rare opportunity to sit still for a couple of minutes.

  Andre turned when he heard footsteps, and saw a tough-looking Asian girl a full head taller than he was. James had asked her to dress scarily and she’d done a great job, all in black from military boots to the baseball cap on her head. The look was accessorised with studded leather wristbands and a half-metre wooden cosh swinging off her belt.

  ‘This is Fu Ning,’ James said. ‘The thing is, Andre, I can teach you a million things. But what really matters is, can you keep your shit together when the pressure’s on? I have to know you can do it when the consequences of failure are more than just having to get up and try again.’

  The confident, chatty Andre from the canteen had vanished as he nodded and looked at the floor.

  ‘Fu Ning was a boxing champion. She’s also a black belt in judo and Karate. She’s very fast, very strong, and she’s got a major bone to pick with you.’

  ‘I’ve never met her before,’ Andre said. ‘I don’t understand.’

  James looked at Ning. ‘Tell Andre about your stepmother.’

  ‘Kidnapped,’ Ning spat. ‘Tortured for two days. They also beat me, broke my toe and sprayed lemon juice in my eyes. Then when my stepmum gave up the information they wanted, they strangled her.’

  ‘What was the guy in charge called?’ James asked.

  ‘Leonid Aramov,’ Ning said.

  James tapped his lower jaw. ‘Now isn’t that a funny coincidence?’ he said, looking at Andre. ‘Why don’t you tell Fu Ning what your name is?’

  Andre was backing up to one of the beds. ‘No,’ he said firmly.

  ‘You’re no fun at all!’ James teased. ‘Fu Ning, meet Andre Aramov. He’s Leonid Aramov’s favourite son.’

  ‘Liar!’ Andre gasped, backing up further. ‘I hate my dad. I helped my grandma get rid of him.’

  Ning knew the truth, but James had told her to act like it was a big revelation.

  ‘Oh, you’re a dead little squirt,’ Ning shouted, as she ripped the baton off her belt. ‘I’ve waited a long time to kick some Aramov butt.’

  But Andre was unconvinced as he ducked behind James. ‘You said you didn’t want me to get injured on the height obstacle. So she can’t beat me up, can she?’

  James smiled. ‘We can’t predict how you’d get injured if you fell off the obstacle. But Ning is highly trained, aren’t you, petal?’

  Ning smiled and nodded. ‘Don’t worry, boss. I can inflict massive amounts of pain without doing any lasting damage.’

  ‘Right,’ James said, looking at his watch. ‘So the gates of the training compound are locked. It’s six minutes past two. I’m going to give you a two-minute start, then I’m going to send Ning out after you. You’ve got to survive for one hour. If Ning catches you, she gets three minutes to do her worst, then she has to set you free and give you another two-minute start.’

  ‘I didn’t agree to this,’ Andre protested. ‘I don’t want to do it. I thought you were my friend, James.’

  James nodded. ‘I am your friend, Andre. I like you so much, that I’m not prepared to send you undercover until you’ve grown a pair of balls.’

  ‘Please,’ Andre begged.

  ‘Two minutes’ start … Now!’

  Andre hesitated for a couple of seconds, but as soon as Ning took half a step forwards he bolted out of the trainin
g building like his arse was on fire.

  ‘Ninety seconds until I release Ning,’ James shouted. Then he turned to Ning and spoke in his normal voice. ‘Nice outfit. I’m almost scared of you myself.’

  ‘So what now?’ Ning asked.

  ‘I reckon Andre will spend a good thirty minutes running around in a blind panic,’ James said. ‘We’ll watch where he goes on CCTV and I’ll send you out to make some noise and give him a scare when you almost catch him. Then come back here. Ten minutes before the end, go out again and grab hold of him.’

  ‘What should I do?’

  James shrugged. ‘Find a nice muddy puddle and throw him in. Scream a lot, but don’t do any real damage.’

  ‘Simples,’ Ning said, nodding.

  ‘Might as well put the kettle on while we’re waiting,’ James said, as he pulled a key from his pocket and headed for the instructors’ office. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’

  The small office had a bank of screens, each showing the outputs from the many CCTV cameras inside the training compound.

  ‘Look at him go,’ Ning said, grinning, as she watched a black and white image of Andre sliding frantically down an embankment, then looking anxiously over his shoulder before sprinting off again. ‘He’s bricking it.’

  James smiled, as he clicked on the kettle then opened a snowman-shaped biscuit barrel that played ‘Jingle Bells’ when he lifted the lid. ‘Oooh, Jaffa Cakes.’

  27. RUN

  Ten days later

  The Kremlin had become eerily quiet. Take-offs and landings had dropped from four an hour to one or two per day. It was five days until Christmas. The remaining bar staff had spread purple and green tinsel trees around the public areas on the ground floor, but these somehow made the worn Seventies decor seem even more depressing.

  While any aircrew who had somewhere to go to had left, Amy wanted to create the impression that the wind-down was just for the short term. The hangars by the airfield bustled with mechanics painting and overhauling elderly planes, for a resumption of operations that would never happen.

  The school bus had also been mothballed because all but four kids had left, and it was easier for the ones that remained to share a taxi. And the four kids were only ever three, because Natalka hadn’t been to school since she’d heard about her mum being arrested. As far as Ryan could tell, she’d barely left her room.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Ryan asked, as he knocked gently.

  Natalka didn’t answer, but her door wasn’t locked. The silence scared Ryan as he stepped in, half expecting to find Natalka swaying from a noose, or wrists slashed in the bathtub. The truth was less dramatic. Natalka was on her bed wearing bright orange headphones. The photo albums were out on the kitchen counter. There were scattered food tins, which looked like they’d been scooped out cold, and an eye-stinging haze of cigarette smoke.

  ‘What the hell!’ Natalka shouted, throwing off the headphones and rearing up. ‘Piss off. You can’t just barge in.’

  ‘I knocked,’ Ryan said, then pointed at a pair of sodden Converse that he’d deliberately soaked before coming up. ‘My spare trainers are in here and these ones are wringing.’

  Natalka reached across the room and flung a trainer at Ryan’s body. ‘Now go,’ she shouted.

  ‘Is the other one over there?’

  ‘Look for it then,’ Natalka said, sighing and pointing to the mound of tangled sheets kicked off the end of her bed.

  Then she turned to face the wall and buried her head in a pillow. Natalka was only wearing a nightshirt and Ryan couldn’t help staring at her legs as he closed in to hunt for the trainer.

  She was dead sexy, even with hair that hadn’t been combed in a week. Ryan had been in despair ever since she’d dumped him. He couldn’t bear coming home from school each night and sitting alone in his room, remembering Kazakov being there and thinking about Natalka. He’d started taking long runs around the airfield in the dark, pushing himself until everything was blotted out except muscle pain and a fight for breath.

  ‘Got it,’ Ryan said, as he grabbed the trainer. ‘Would you like me to clean up? Take the tins out and put them down the rubbish chute.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Natalka asked, still staring at the wall.

  Ryan’s heart fluttered, sensing that she might be ready to make up. ‘I’m a guy that cares about you,’ he said.

  But Natalka snorted. ‘Cut the crap,’ she said. ‘I’ve remembered the first time I saw you.’

  ‘Down in the lobby, my first day of school.’

  ‘No,’ Natalka said, as she sat up. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past few days. When you first turned up with your dad, I had this weird feeling I’d seen you before. And I just remembered: Ryan Brasker.’

  Ryan gawped. Brasker had been his alias on the first part of this mission, when he’d befriended Ethan Aramov. He tried to hide his shock and figure how Natalka could possibly know that name.

  ‘You need some air, Natalka,’ Ryan said. ‘Take a shower, go for a walk. I’m not saying you’re losing it, but … ’

  ‘I was helping Ethan Aramov find out if Leonid had murdered his mum. He was getting information on how to hack computers off a friend in California. I only glimpsed the picture on Facebook once and I only made the connection last night. You looked familiar because I’d seen your photo on Ethan Aramov’s Facebook page, before you ever arrived at the Kremlin.’

  Ryan shook his head, keeping his face calm but panicking on the inside. At least his Ryan Brasker identity had been wiped, so there was no question of Natalka getting proof.

  ‘You’re imagining things. You’ve been in this room for days churning stuff over and over in your mind.’

  ‘What else did you lie to me about?’ Natalka said, keeping an eerie calm.

  ‘You’re grieving,’ Ryan said firmly. ‘Memory isn’t perfect. Half the time you can’t remember where you put your keys down the night before, but suddenly you’re accusing me of being some other person who you glimpsed in a Facebook photo six months ago. You’ve barely left this room in ten days; you’re eating junk food out of tins. It’s not good for you.’

  ‘You’re a shit,’ Natalka said. ‘I really liked you – loved you actually – but you lied about everything.’

  ‘Take a shower, put a dress on, go and get a proper cooked meal from the bar,’ Ryan said. ‘I know you’re sad, but this isn’t good for you.’

  Natalka looked uncertain for a second before turning angry again. ‘You’ve got your trainers. Now get out of here.’

  Ryan backed into the hallway with his fingers looped through the laces of his trainers. He leaned a shoulder to the wall and let out a big gasp.

  Natalka’s grieving mind had stumbled precariously close to the fact that he was a spy. Ryan and Kazakov had first been sent to the Kremlin when TFU was desperate to get any kind of access. Nobody had considered that Ryan would keep this role up for more than a few weeks, or that Ethan might have revealed details of his secret friend Ryan Brasker to anyone else.

  The good news was that Natalka’s rambling story about seeing her ex-boyfriend’s picture on Facebook eight months earlier didn’t have much credibility given her current mental state. Ryan knew he ought to tell Amy about this security breach, but her most probable solution would be to insist that Natalka immediately be sent back to live with her aunt in Kiev and he couldn’t bear the idea that he’d never see her again.

  When Ryan got to his room, he scoffed a couple of pieces of fruit, then changed into the cotton tracksuit and mud-crusted New Balance that he used for running. After tuning the Voice of America on a tiny shortwave radio he’d bought at the bazaar, he jumped the stairs three at a time and burst out of a Kremlin side entrance on to the footpath towards the airfield.

  As Ryan ran, the Voice’s 5 p.m. news bulletin announced that thirty-two male aircrew and one female pilot had been charged in front of a US military tribunal convened at an airbase in Poland, while in Louisiana the US President had attended a memorial ser
vice for those who’d died in the Black Friday attacks.

  ‘In a press briefing, a presidential spokesman refused to be drawn on whether further military action or arrests were expected in relation to the Black Friday terror raids … ’

  Eighty minutes later Ryan came back to his room and a voice in the dark scared the crap out of him.

  ‘Jesus,’ Ryan gasped, hoping for Natalka but seeing Amy reach out and flip on his bedside lamp.

  ‘Nice to see you too,’ Amy said, then sounded more alarmed as she saw that Ryan’s tracksuit leg was ripped and blood pooled in his sock. ‘What happened?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Ryan said, still catching his breath from the run. ‘I was on a steep track coming down the side of the valley and I lost my footing.’

  ‘That’s not nothing,’ Amy said, pointing to a tatty armchair. ‘Sit down and take your sock off.’

  ‘Don’t make a fuss,’ Ryan said irritably. ‘Why were you sitting in the dark?’

  ‘Because the less we’re seen together the better, and people might know I was waiting for you if I left the light on.’

  ‘You know what blood’s like,’ Ryan said, as he sat down. ‘It always looks dramatic, but when you wipe it off the cut’s the size of a pinhead.’

  Ryan winced as Amy rested his foot on the edge of the bed and started peeling off his sock.

  ‘I’m getting worried about you,’ Amy said.

  With the sock down and his tracksuit leg pulled up, Amy had revealed a bloody mass of grazes going up to the knee.

  ‘You’re not to run down the valley in the dark any more,’ Amy said. ‘Run in daylight, or stick to the airfield perimeter.’

  ‘OK, Mom,’ Ryan said acidly.

  ‘I think you’re depressed,’ Amy said. ‘I have to consider your welfare as well as the mission.’

  ‘I’ve been happier,’ Ryan said. ‘Natalka dumped me and Kazakov was a grumpy sod but I got fond of him. But don’t worry. I’m not gonna jump off a balcony or do anything else that makes you look bad.’

  Amy walked to the kitchenette and hunted around for a piece of clean cloth to wipe his leg down. ‘Christ, Ryan, you need to clean this sink. Is that pee I can smell?’