Clare: Robin still hiding at Designer Outlets?
Daddy: For sure. That dirty hippy Scarlock has security well organised, but I’ve found some good people. Former special forces soldiers. They’re confident they can put together a snatch squad, overwhelm Scarlock’s guards and kidnap Robin.
Clare: What about the Sheriff?
Daddy: Marjorie won’t like me making a move for Robin inside Sherwood Forest, but it’ll be worth the risk when he tastes my whip!
42. ALL IN THE TIMING
It was just after 8 a.m. Robin had eaten two bananas and a breakfast wrap and now sat on the floor of the tent he’d slept in, pouring paintballs into the gun propped between his legs. He was dressed in camouflage, with goggles and an action camera wrapped around a black combat helmet that was too big for him.
‘Sleep OK?’ Freya asked, as she stepped inside and squatted on a fold-out stool in front of a pair of toughened laptops.
‘I did,’ Robin said, as he turned the gas cylinder making his gun hiss. ‘Once we got the internet going, I was wiped.’
‘Flip your camera on,’ Freya said.
Robin reached up to his helmet and tapped a rocker switch. After a couple of seconds, his view appeared in a box on one of the laptop screens.
‘Say something,’ Freya said.
‘Hello. I’m Robin Hood, and I’m about to kick some butt!’
‘Sounds good.’ Freya gave a thumbs up. ‘I’ll check Chris and Adrianna’s cameras, then your team can ship out.’
‘I’ll go pee,’ Robin said, hanging his paintball gun around his neck and grabbing a backpack that weighed half what it had when he’d left Designer Outlets.
‘Catch!’ Azeem shouted, when Robin came back from watering a tree.
There was a clanking sound as he plucked a metal cylinder out of the air.
‘Smoke grenade,’ Azeem explained. ‘We’ve got more than we need. Could make your life easier if you’re in the woods trying to get away.’
‘Hopefully it won’t come to that,’ Robin said, as he hooked the grenade to his belt.
Someone’s watch bleeped in the background and Lucy took charge, clapping and shouting: ‘Team A, it’s go time!’
Freya was having a problem with Adrianna’s helmet camera and rushed inside to grab a spare. But Lucy stopped her.
‘One less camera isn’t the end of the world,’ she said. ‘But our timings are crucial.’
One of the tunnellers handed out walkie-talkies before leading Team A out of the camp. He was followed by Robin, the vets Chris and Adrianna, then sisters Lyla and Azeem looking tough at the rear.
‘Keep safe,’ Indio told Robin firmly. ‘Stick close to Azeem. Her number-one job is to protect you.’
Robin gave Indio a quick hug before scrambling off. It was half a kilometre from camp to the tunnel, and the walk was easy because the tunnellers had trampled the path down over several days.
Robin felt intimidated when the fence around Sherwood Castle’s hunting grounds came into view. Ten metres high, with thick concrete posts, it stretched as far as he could see and was clearly designed to keep humans out as much as animals in. The top was barbed wire and the base was set in a deep concrete-filled trench, so you couldn’t burrow beneath.
Team A settled in a well-shielded area thirty metres outside the fence, awaiting the signal for their next move. A Castle Guard patrol drone set everyone on edge but zipped over without slowing. Then there was eerie calm as they watched a young deer chewing on shrubs inside the fence.
Nobody spoke, but they all knew if they didn’t stop the trophy hunt, there was a chance the deer would get shot by hunters or become lunch for one of the more powerful animals that would be released into the hunting ground to entertain the guests.
The team had been squatting for five minutes when a siren broke in the distance. It had been triggered by an AFM activist crashing a truck into the northernmost section of the hunting ground two kilometres away. The raid organisers hoped some of the depleted security team would be sent to investigate, leaving fewer staff to deal with the real raid.
Robin looked up as another drone skimmed towards the siren, and a minute later they heard engines.
Lucy’s voice came over everyone’s radio. ‘Team Z has breached the fence and sighted security teams on quad bikes. Team A, it’s showtime!’
‘Copy that, Team A is go!’ Azeem told her radio, as she scrambled after the tunneller.
Smashing through the concrete below the fence would have triggered an alarm, so the tunnellers had found a spot hidden by the branches of two large trees. They’d dug two-and-a-half-metres down, then tunnelled nine metres horizontally beneath the fence, exiting with a gentle slope amidst thick shrubs inside the castle grounds.
‘Air is pretty foul, so best to take a deep breath and hold it while you’re in there,’ the tunneller warned.
As Robin clambered down footholds cut into the mud, he realised how tough it must have been for the team to dig the thick clay soil in a few days. While Robin took off his pack, the tunneller used a plastic bowl to bail water that had collected in the bottom overnight. The tunneller then crawled in, unrolling heavy plastic sheeting ahead of himself to save the others from crawling along a muddy floor.
At the far end, the tunneller knocked away branches covering the exit. Azeem went in next, and her shoulders were almost broad enough to touch both sides. Robin slotted his pack into the tunnel mouth and slid it along the plastic in front of himself as he crawled on his belly.
He tried not to breathe, but it was hard work and Lyla dropping her pack in behind shut out all the light. Robin didn’t like the dark and took a panicked breath that smelled like mushrooms and made him cough.
The walls and ceiling seemed well braced, but Robin was relieved when the tunneller helped him to his feet and pointed him towards Azeem in a copse a few metres away.
43. SHOOT TO MISS
Sebsebe was in hospital after a flight in an air ambulance and Barnsdale School awoke in uproar. Luckily for Little John, his 07:15 helicopter pickup meant he got away before the headmaster called the whole school into chapel for a dressing down and a lecture on the dangers of alcohol.
Shortly after take-off, he was pleased by a short message from Clare.
My head hurts! Thx for saving me last night!
John had barely slept because he was worried about Robin and he’d crept into Clare’s room a couple of times to make sure she was OK.
It was too noisy to use his phone in the chopper, but once John hit the landing pad at Sherwood Castle, he hurried to his room, bolted the door of his en-suite bathroom and called the lawyer, Tybalt Bull.
‘You gave me this number when you were helping my dad,’ John told Tybalt’s voicemail. ‘The number I have for Robin is dead, so please call back because I need to get in touch urgently. He’s in danger, and I know you have ways to contact the leaders at Designer Outlets.’
After leaving the message he rubbed his tired eyes and splashed water on his face.
As he stepped back into his bedroom, he saw a traditional hunter’s field suit had been laid out on his bed, complete with baggy plus-four trousers, long socks and a tweed cap. There was also a long walnut box containing a matching shotgun and hunting rifle. John knew nothing about guns, but the beautiful wooden box made him suspect they were expensive.
He hated the idea of hunting and wanted to confront his mum. But John knew he’d get bulldozed and wind up dressed in a silly suit shooting at furry things no matter what he said. So he decided the easiest option was to play along and shoot to miss.
John stepped out of his room and saw that his mum was heading out, but his phone rang before he got a chance to say good morning. It was an unrecognised number, but Tybalt’s voice came on the other end.
John didn’t go into his friendship with Clare, or how he’d unlocked her phone. He just told Tybalt that Gisborne was hiring a posse of special-forces soldiers to snatch Robin.
‘I’ll feed
your info straight to Will Scarlock,’ Tybalt said. ‘I’ll also put feelers out to see if anyone else has heard anything.’
‘Thank you,’ John said. ‘Gisborne seemed really confident that this team could snatch Robin from the mall. What do you think Scarlock will do?’
‘My expertise is in the courtroom not the forest,’ Tybalt said. ‘But Scarlock is crafty. I’m sure he’ll take the threat seriously and find a way to keep Robin safe.’
‘I hope so,’ John said. ‘Me and my brother have our differences, but that doesn’t mean I want Gisborne getting hold of him.’
‘And your father cares deeply for both of you,’ Tybalt stressed. ‘He’s worried about Robin’s situation.’
‘Have you seen my dad since he was sentenced?’ John asked.
‘I have many clients in the Pelican Island prison complex. If I have time, I visit your father when I’m over there.’
‘How’s he doing?’
‘The bikers are making sure Ardagh is well looked after and protected from any friends of Gisborne. Obviously it’s impossible for Robin to visit, but your father is sad that you haven’t seen him.’
‘My mum says her assistant filled out an application but they haven’t approved my visitor status yet.’
Tybalt coughed awkwardly. ‘I hate to call your mother a liar, but there’s no approval process for close family. You can book an inmate visit through the Pelican Island website.’
John tutted and shook his head. ‘I’ll nag Mum again. If you see my dad, tell him I love him.’
‘I’ll do that, and I’ll contact Will Scarlock immediately,’ Tybalt said. ‘Enjoy your weekend.’
‘Thanks,’ John said. Then, after Tybalt hung up, ‘I certainly won’t.’
44. HUNTING FOR DUMMIES
While hunters in natural settings trek through kilometres of difficult terrain and often spend days tracking large prey, Sherwood Castle’s carefully designed acreage was more like a hunters’ theme park. The trees were spread out and the undergrowth closely cropped so that animals couldn’t hide, while neat bark-covered paths were wide enough for hunters to shoot from the comfort of an SUV.
‘Are we sure there’s nothing out here that’ll eat us?’ Robin asked warily, as Team A dashed between trees, dodging open ground populated with deer.
Adrianna answered. ‘Exotic animals get shipped in for trophy hunts and cost a heap of money. Sheriff Marjorie won’t have them roaming around eating King Corporation’s deer, unless someone is paying to hunt them.’
‘Makes sense,’ Robin said, but kept glancing around suspiciously. ‘Is it true you worked here?’
Adrianna nodded and pointed to the other vet. ‘Chris and I both did work experience when we were training.’
‘We said one day we’d do something about the trophy hunts,’ Chris added, as he smiled at Adrianna. ‘And here we are.’
Team A had been jogging inside the fence for a kilometre when they came to the southern edge where the hunting ground met the castle resort. There was a corrugated metal building, sixty metres long, with giant slow-turning ventilation fans at each end.
As Robin got close, he caught animal sounds and a funk of manure.
‘Helmet cams on,’ Azeem said.
Freya’s voice came over the walkie-talkie. ‘I have strong signals on all cameras. Lyla, you have a dead bug on your lens.’
As Lyla wiped the camera strapped to her helmet, the young vets and a few others who didn’t want be identified pulled on balaclavas and Azeem tried the metal door at the back of the shed. When it didn’t open, she banged on the metal and waited.
‘Nobody home,’ Azeem said.
But as she reached for a crowbar to break the lock, a worker in wellies and filthy blue overalls leaned out and looked startled when he saw the five members of Team A.
‘What in the –’
Before another word came out, Lyla grabbed him around the neck and nipped him with a stun gun on its lowest setting.
‘Who else is in there?’ Azeem demanded, wrenching the worker’s arm behind his back and dropping him to his knees.
‘Just me.’
‘What about the office?’ Adrianna asked.
‘A young lass. A student.’
‘Call her,’ Azeem demanded.
‘No funny business,’ Lyla added, as she brandished the stun gun. ‘Unless you want a taste of this on the high setting.’
‘Xolani,’ he shouted.
Robin dry-heaved at the stench of urine and manure coming out of the door as they backed out of sight.
Xolani was a small, stocky teen and Azeem watched through a ventilation shaft as she approached the end of the shed and spoke suspiciously.
‘Gene, what’s up? Who’s out there with you?’
Robin tried to figure how Xolani had spotted them and guessed she’d seen shadows shifting through vents in the shed walls.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Gene said. ‘Just some questions about the schedule for the hunt.’
Xolani must have sensed nerves in Gene’s voice, because she spun around and started running.
Azeem and Lyla charged in after her. The shed had animal pens and barred cages on either side, tightly packed with big cats, zebras, bears and ostriches, while the central channel between them was thick with straw and muck.
Xolani was speedy, but Azeem caught her up as she fumbled to open the door at the opposite end.
‘We’re not hurting you!’ Azeem said. ‘Just shut up and let us do our job.’
Xolani grabbed the door handle and tried to wriggle out, but Azeem swung her around into the bars of a cage and Lyla closed in with the stun gun.
‘Who are you?’ Xolani spat furiously, as she raised her hands.
‘Animal Freedom Militia,’ Lyla said proudly.
‘Turn around, put your hands behind your back,’ Azeem demanded.
As Lyla looped plastic handcuffs through a barred gate then locked them on Xolani’s wrists, Chris marched Gene back inside and did the same.
‘Stand still and mouths shut,’ Azeem said. ‘This will be over in minutes and you won’t get hurt unless you give us a reason.’
45. WHEN MUM PICKS YOUR CLOTHES
Little John’s size meant he got stares wherever he went. Wearing baggy trousers tucked into long socks, plus a tweed jacket and matching deerstalker made him feel like Sherlock Holmes in a school play as he rode down in the penthouse’s polished brass lift.
Soft-spoken waiters bowed as he entered Sherwood Castle’s Dome restaurant.
‘Good morning, Mr Kovacevic. Your mother has a seat for you at her table.’
The Dome usually served a generous breakfast buffet to golfers, wedding guests and conference attendees, but on this Saturday regular guests had to eat in a windowless conference room, while this glass-domed space was cordoned off for elite trophy hunters.
Piped classical music had been replaced with a live string quartet, the buffet’s bacon and hash browns swapped for ice sculptures and, instead of grabbing your own plate, bow-tied waiters delivered platters to tables and eagerly refilled glasses from giant jeroboams of champagne.
John felt less awkward when he realised most guests were in traditional hunting gear similar to his own, but that only lasted until he dopily bumped into Lucasta Twist, the pop princess whose hit song had everyone bopping at his primary-school leavers disco.
‘Sorry,’ John said, starstruck.
Lucasta hadn’t made a hit in five years, but the diamond on her wedding ring was the size of a grape.
The famous and beautiful had been given the most visible tables, while Little John found his mother with two overweight men in a discreet booth off to one side. Their table bore enough fancy food platters to eat for a week, and John noticed that the champagne on this table was in tatty regular-sized bottles, that he suspected were very old and far more expensive that what everyone else was quaffing.
‘At last, we meet the long-lost son!’ one of the men said, as he pulled up his bulgin
g frame to shake hands.
‘John, this is Richard King III,’ Marjorie said proudly.
John shook hands with the jovial Richard King, then his brother John King, who was much younger. His huge eyebrows and dark hunting tartan gave him a vampire-like air.
Little John had seen the billionaire brothers in news stories, from the owners’ box at Macondo United matches to shifty appearances in front of government committees investigating riots at their network of private prisons. Ardagh often went into a rant and called the King brothers crooks when their names came up, and John felt uneasy having them sat across the breakfast table.
‘Pleasure to meet, young man,’ John King said, raising one of his caterpillar-sized eyebrows.
‘My mum talks about you all the time,’ Little John told Richard.
Richard laughed. ‘Good things, I hope.’
‘Always,’ Marjorie grovelled to Richard. ‘You’re my mentor, and a true friend.’
Marjorie’s anxiety was noticeable because it was the first time Little John had seen his mother in a situation where she wasn’t bossing people around.
Little John’s words dried up after the handshakes, so he grabbed an empty plate and began scoffing meat sliced so thin it was transparent.
‘You have a great turnout this year,’ Richard King told Marjorie, as a waiter filled Little John’s glass with mineral water and offered him a menu.
‘Just bring another bottle of the ’85 Moët and platter of the good sashimi!’ Marjorie ordered. ‘And more carpaccio – my boy seems to be enjoying that.’
46. NOT SO FRESH IN HERE
Robin was the last member of Team A to enter Sherwood Castle’s animal shed. Sheila’s chicken coops could get fragrant on a warm morning, but the stench and heat of two hundred large animals crammed into the gloomy shed was like the Locksley High boys’ toilets times a billion.
The two vets unzipped their backpacks and began pulling out ziplock bags filled with scraps of meat, sugar cubes and grain.
‘Lyla, keep lookout,’ Azeem ordered.
Robin wished he was the one getting out of whatever nastiness was squelching under his boots. Instead he got handed a video camera fitted with a rectangular panel light to point at the two masked vets.
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