CHERUB: People's Republic

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘I need money to book myself the Easy Jet back to England,’ Kenny said. ‘Keep my head down for a few months. Work in my ma’s cafe and generally not tangle with any crazy Russians. So I appreciate you’re a kid, but you must have some money for food and shit. I’m just asking for a taste, you hear?’

  Kenny’s desperation seemed real enough, but Ning wanted to hang on to as much money as she could.

  ‘All I have is a few hundred US dollars.’

  Kenny pondered this. ‘I can change dollars easily enough. How many is a few?’

  ‘About four hundred,’ Ning said. ‘I’ll pay you three. That leaves a hundred for me when I get to England.’

  ‘Show me.’

  Ning had split her money as Chun Hei had recommended. She leaned against the wall of the trench, pulled off her trainer and peeled out three hundred and fifty dollars tucked beneath the inner sole.

  ‘Kinda smells of feet,’ Ning said, as she passed it over. Then she made a big thing out of rummaging in her jeans for what she’d said was her last fifty.

  ‘Smells like money and it’s enough for a flight,’ Kenny said happily. ‘Unfortunately my wheels are parked outside Derek’s place, but we’re only a couple of Ks from where I can put you on a lorry heading for Britain. You up for walkies?’

  29. CHIPS

  The truck stop wasn’t designed for pedestrian access, so Kenny and Ning took their lives in their hands, straddling roadside barriers and carving through six lanes of speeding traffic. The place was recently built, with a cheap hotel, shops and two restaurants.

  Ning’s eyes were drawn to a parked cop car as they pushed through a hedge and walked briskly across tarmac marked out with truck-sized parking bays.

  ‘Don’t sweat over the fuzz,’ Kenny said, as he headed for a burger joint. ‘Derek keeps them happy.’

  Kenny had a pal called Steve, who was skinny and kind of weird looking. They found him in a quiet corner tucking down a bacon cheeseburger and fries.

  ‘Watch what you say in front of this one,’ Kenny warned, as he pointed at Ning. ‘She’s got perfect English.’

  ‘Looks bad with Derek,’ Steve said, sounding depressed. ‘I told him not to dick with those Russian headcases, but he wouldn’t have it. You think we’re even gonna get paid for this?’

  ‘I reckon it’ll blow over,’ Kenny said. ‘Whatever happens someone will need lads to run the route.’

  ‘You said you’d go home sooner than work for Russians,’ Steve said.

  ‘I’ve reconsidered,’ Kenny said. ‘I’ll stick by you, mate, don’t lose any sleep over old Kenny.’

  Ning knew Kenny was lying. But was he lying to Steve about staying, or had he lied to her just to shake her down for a few hundred dollars? Whatever the truth, Kenny clearly wasn’t happy having Ning around and pointed out two women sat a few tables across.

  ‘Go sit with the old grannies,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you some chips in a minute.’

  Ning felt uncomfortable as she joined the two women. One was a Chinese lady called Mei; she was about forty and looked like she’d led a hard life. The other was a slim Bangladeshi who spoke English with a posh accent.

  The women said hello to Ning, but their expressions were disapproving, most likely because she was young and they suspected she was destined to become some paedophile’s plaything. Ning fidgeted with drinking straws and listened to the women’s conversation. It hadn’t occurred to either that she might understand English and they chatted away like she wasn’t even there.

  Mei was travelling to Britain to work; she’d apparently spent years working in a biscuit factory near Birmingham, only to be deported after an immigration department swoop. The Bangladeshi didn’t say her name, but told Mei that she was returning to Britain after going home to look after an elderly relative.

  Mei seemed impressed as the Bangladeshi explained that she was a fully qualified British driving instructor, who could earn twenty pounds an hour teaching girls to drive in Southall on the outskirts of London.

  Kenny threw a packet of soggy chips and a can of Coke on the table and gave Ning a wink. ‘Thanks for keeping your trap zipped,’ he whispered. ‘Best if nobody knows I’m going until I’ve gone, you understand?’

  Mei took a few chips when Ning offered, but the Bangladeshi lady recoiled. ‘They’re probably fried in beef fat,’ she explained.

  The Russian gangsters had rattled Ning, but her mind was eased by this scene with the two middle-aged women, who apparently regarded being smuggled across borders as little more than an inconvenience.

  ‘Steve’s had a call from your driver,’ Kenny said. ‘Truck’s only about six Ks out, so if you ladies need to use the shitter you’d best make it quick.’

  ‘Did you hear the route?’ the Bangladeshi lady asked.

  ‘Straight through Germany and France. Ferry from Dieppe to Newhaven. He’s a good driver, used him a million times.’

  But the two older women looked unhappy.

  ‘What’s so bad?’ Ning asked, surprising them by speaking English.

  ‘Six hours at sea,’ Mei explained. ‘The Calais–Dover route is much faster, or the Eurotunnel.’

  ‘But I’ve heard Eurotunnel is most risky,’ the Bangladeshi woman said. ‘More searches and suchlike.’

  ‘I just hope the driver gives us fresh air when he takes his break,’ Mei said.

  ‘How long will it take?’ Ning asked.

  ‘Sixteen hours if we’re lucky,’ Mei said. ‘But it can be much more if the driver stops overnight, or you have to wait for the ferry.’

  Ning followed the two older women to the bathroom. Steve was in a big hurry when they came out because their truck had pulled in earlier than expected. By the time they reached it, Kenny had opened up the back doors. He tied a scarf over his face, before reaching in and grabbing a lidded plastic drum. He then waddled a few steps before tipping it up, spilling a stew of turds and urine around the base of a small bush.

  As Ning gagged from the stench, Steve ran across from a nearby car, carrying a crate of half-litre water bottles and a carrier bag filled with chicken pies, chocolate bars and individually wrapped muffins. Someone inside moaned that it was hot.

  ‘I can’t leave the doors open,’ Steve said unsympathetically. ‘There’s cops swarming, now get back, people need to get in.’

  Mei looked unhappy as she threw her bag into the truck. Ning came next and was shocked by the heat and a smell that was like a blocked toilet mixed with bad socks. The official cargo was boxes of copier paper, stacked a metre high on wooden pallets. There was about sixty centimetres between stacks of paper and one or two bodies could wedge into each gap.

  Fifteen people were inside already. There was one family with three small boys curled around them and two young men. The rest were all pretty young things aged between fifteen and twenty.

  ‘Find a good spot before the doors close,’ Mei told Ning, in Chinese.

  A sweat-soaked girl touched Ning’s hand as she walked by. ‘Are we near the ferry now?’

  ‘Czech–German border,’ Ning said, to the girl’s obvious disappointment.

  A second later the back doors clanged and they were in darkness. The only light came through small vents in the ceiling. Someone lit a small torch to help the new arrivals find space. Mei took Ning’s hand as she felt her way forward, apologising when they stepped over someone or had to shift a piece of luggage.

  ‘This isn’t bad,’ Mei said, when they were almost up by the driver’s cab. ‘If we squeeze together, we won’t get thrown about when the truck moves.’

  The air was so hot that Ning could hardly breathe. She didn’t understand how anyone could eat in such a stench, but she heard muffins and pies being torn from wrappings. Someone down by the doors was banging on them, demanding they be left open until the truck moved.

  ‘Shut your yap or I’ll come in and belt you one,’ Steve shouted.

  Mei’s body fat made a good cushion and Ning settled with her head against he
r arm.

  ‘Keep hold of your backpack,’ Mei said. ‘Someone robbed eighty pounds from me the last time I came over.’

  ‘It’s so hot,’ Ning said. ‘I’m dripping already.’

  ‘Mind over matter,’ Mei said, as she patted Ning’s leg. ‘Breathe slow and keep sipping your water. It’s the ones that yell and panic who pass out.’

  As Ning shuffled about to get comfortable, the engine came to life. There was a hiss of hydraulic brakes and a clank of metal as the big truck rolled out.

  30. TEXAS

  Ryan woke up in the T-shirt, shorts and Converse trainers he’d worn the evening before. His eyes were gluey, his nose clogged and the bed was full of sand. He sat on the edge of the mattress blowing his nose and feeling achy and miserable.

  Ryan didn’t remember anything about the room. He’d crawled under the sheets without even bothering to switch on the light. There were two double beds, and judging by the ball of blankets and the roller case with Don’t mess with Texas sticker, Ted had spent the night in the other one.

  After grabbing toiletries from his bag, Ryan brushed his teeth and took a shower. Ted had already used the only bath towel, leaving him with a skimpy hand cloth. He felt tired, but was curious about the progress of the mission and decided to get dressed.

  Ryan assumed it was about half-eight, but when he clipped his watch on he saw it was nearer ten. The sun was bright as he stepped outside, heading for the family room two doors down. Two black-suited FBI dudes guarded the ends of the balcony, and a scrum of press reporters and TV news vans had been penned into the farthest corner of the parking lot.

  ‘How you feeling?’ Amy asked brightly, as she let Ryan in. She looked like she’d been out for a run, dressed in Lycra shorts and a sports bra, and dripping sweat.

  ‘Shitty,’ Ryan said.

  There was no sign of Ted or Ethan. Dr D sat at her laptop, almost as if she hadn’t moved since he’d left the room the night before.

  ‘You hungry?’ Amy asked. ‘We’re thinking of going across the street in a minute. The FBI guy said they do a good steak and eggs.’

  ‘I could eat something,’ Ryan said, as he leaned into the side room with the two bunks. ‘Where’s Ethan? You want me to try getting more out of him?’

  ‘We’re tracking him,’ Dr D said, tapping her laptop screen.

  ‘Pardon me?’ Ryan said.

  ‘After you went to your room, we got intel from headquarters in Dallas,’ Amy explained. ‘The duty IM used the Echelon monitoring network to scan cellphone traffic in the Paolo Alto area, trying to detect anyone using the keywords Kitsell or Aramov.

  ‘She picked out a few calls. We haven’t identified the Lombardi who Ethan spoke to, but we found his associates. They knew Ethan was staying at this motel with a neighbour’s family. Their plan was to send people posing as child protection officers to come and collect Ethan from us.’

  ‘Did we get them?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Amy said.

  ‘We fitted a tiny tracking implant into Ethan’s buttock,’ Dr D explained. ‘A man and woman claiming to be child protection officers got here just before midnight. They showed impeccable fake credentials to the FBI teams outside and we let them leave with Ethan while he was still sedated.’

  Ryan wasn’t impressed. ‘Tell me you’re kidding?’

  ‘Ryan, this is fantastic news,’ Dr D said, as she stood up with a huge smile on her face. ‘This tracking device opens a potential doorway to the deepest roots of Aramov Clan operations in the United States and worldwide.’

  ‘Bravo for you,’ Ryan said. ‘But what about Ethan? He’s been run over, his mum and his best mate have been murdered, and now he’s gonna wake up in a strange place with people he’s never met. He’s gonna be terrified.’

  ‘I know it’s not ideal,’ Dr D said. ‘But we had to make a rational calculation. TFU’s job is to bring down sophisticated criminal networks. We can track Ethan’s movements and mount surveillance operations on everyone he comes into contact with. It’s likely we’ll unearth Lombardi and other key players.’

  ‘I was only scratching the surface with Ethan last night,’ Ryan said angrily. ‘We were really connecting. I think he had a lot more to tell regarding what his mum was up to. We could have helped him and got the information we needed.’

  ‘Ryan, you need to calm down,’ Amy said firmly.

  But Ryan ignored her. ‘I never would have signed up for this if I’d know we were going to use a kid as a pawn, without any consideration of how it would affect him.’

  Amy put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. ‘It was a finely balanced decision,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s not that we don’t see what you’re saying, but you must understand the other side of the argument. You know what the Aramov Clan does. How many people die from one Aramov Clan shipment of guns, or fake pharmaceuticals?’

  Dr D took a step closer to Ryan. ‘You’re filling our space with negative energy,’ she said. ‘You should take some deep breaths. Positive vibrations will help you feel better, and strengthen your immune system against your cold.’

  ‘Positive vibrations!’ Ryan said incredulously, stepping up to Dr D and yelling right in her face. ‘How can you be so full of this new age crap, yet not give a damn about Ethan? You saw him when he was freaking out last night. What if he tries to kill himself?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Dr D said furiously. ‘Maybe you don’t share my personal philosophy, but here’s the bottom line, Ryan. I am a senior officer in a unit of the United States Secret Service. You are a twelve-year-old kid assigned to work for me. You’re entitled to voice your opinion, but I had to make a difficult decision. Now I expect you to obey the chain of command like a grown-up.’

  ‘So it’s great when I help you, but now I’m just a kid?’

  ‘Ryan, that’s not what she’s saying,’ Amy said, as she put a hand on Ryan’s arm. ‘You need to back off.’

  ‘Stop touching me,’ Ryan shouted. ‘You’re just sucking up to your new boss. CHERUB wouldn’t treat someone like this.’

  ‘Ryan, give over,’ Amy said. ‘CHERUB is like any other intelligence organisation. They’ll try and avoid it, but sometimes the little people have to suffer to help develop the bigger picture.’

  Ryan was furious and felt outnumbered with Amy taking Dr D’s side. ‘I’m telling you, I could have got so much more out of Ethan.’

  Dr D glanced impatiently at her watch. ‘I have a million things to do this morning. Ryan, you have no further role to play in TFU operations. Amy, take him across the street to get some breakfast. I’ll call Dallas and get him booked on the first available flight back to Britain.’

  Ryan had a pretty even temper, but he’d become fond of Ethan and felt that Dr D was patronising him.

  ‘You’re just a hard old bitch,’ he told her, before turning towards Amy. ‘And you’re not who I thought you were, either.’

  ‘Let’s get breakfast,’ Amy said, tugging Ryan’s arm for a third time.

  Ryan resented Amy grabbing him, and the self-satisfied smile on Dr D’s face made him so mad that it felt like a bomb going off. He lunged forward and gave Dr D an almighty two-handed shove.

  ‘Ryan, no!’ Amy shouted, as Dr D went flying.

  The elderly American tried saving herself by grabbing the desk, but it was out of reach. She crashed hard on her bum and thumped the back of her head against a wooden chair.

  Ryan was tempted to swing at Amy as she dragged him back and threw him across the double bed, but he’d seen her kickboxing skills and fortunately the red mist cleared before he gave her an excuse to kick his ass.

  ‘Have you any idea how hard I had to work to persuade TFU to use you?’ Amy steamed. ‘You’ve wrecked my credibility with a stupid childish tantrum.’

  Ryan rolled on to his back, as Dr D rubbed her head. Amy tried helping her off the carpet.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ Dr D screamed. ‘Just get him out of my sight.’

  Amy held open the motel-ro
om door, and Ryan got a gut-churning feeling that he’d just blown his career as a CHERUB agent as he stepped out on to the sun-bleached balcony.

  31. TRANSIT

  They got ten minutes’ fresh air and five extra passengers when they stopped in a picnic area near Dieppe. Ning’s only previous nautical experience was a hovercraft between Hong Kong and Macau when her stepdad wanted to gamble, but this was creepier, sealed in a swaying container in pitch darkness. She threw up four times and Mei was a saint, holding back her hair, wiping her face and fetching water to help wash out her mouth.

  Nerves peaked as they disembarked from the ferry. All smuggling works on the principle that customs can only search a small proportion of what enters a country, whether it’s a drug mule flying in with a kilo of cocaine, a fishing boat picking up a crate of guns, or illegal immigrants hidden amongst a hundred and fifty trucks coming off a ferry at Newhaven.

  The odds of getting caught are always slight and after twenty hours in stinking darkness, Ning jumped from the back of the truck on to British soil. Her eyes took a while to adjust to fading light. It was a blustery autumn evening and they were at the back of a dilapidated warehouse. It wasn’t raining but it had been, and a group of thuggish-looking men didn’t want them standing around outdoors.

  ‘Inside, out of sight. Move it.’

  The warehouse interior was stacked high with bundles of old newspapers. Crumpled and sweating, the illegal immigrants queued in front of a small Asian woman holding a clipboard. First to be ticked off and set free were the family with the three boys, four black men who’d boarded in France and the Bangladeshi driving instructor, who stopped to wish Mei luck before heading to a waiting taxi.

  It was Ning’s first chance to study her fellow travellers in the light and she realised the remainder divided into two groups. Nine were young women destined for the sex trade. Most were Chinese girls in their late teens, but there were a couple of Russians who looked slightly older. The other six were like Mei: older women who’d travelled from China to work illegally in low-paid jobs that British people turn up their noses at.