‘Go!’ Rat shouted, as he leaned over his trolley and kicked against the back wall.
‘Cheat!’ Jake shouted. ‘I wasn’t ready, you Aussie butt licker.’
The trolleys were around waist height and packed with tools and equipment which rattled like crazy. The slope was steep and large rubber wheels enabled them to gather considerable speed as the four boys clattered towards the front wall.
Rat led the way, but his trolley snagged on the stuck-up corner of a carpet tile. It spun three hundred and sixty degrees before crashing into the side of a console. Andy rammed him from behind and crashed to the floor as his trolley tumbled over on top of him, but not before Jake and Kevin squeezed through the remaining gap at speed.
The two lads were determined to make it to the bottom first and the ride turned into a game of chicken as they picked up speed while getting ever closer to the bottom of the slope. Both lads dived clear, barely a second before the pair of trolleys smacked into the wall.
Lauren and Bethany had arrived at the back of the control room, both covered in powder from fire extinguishers.
‘What the hell,’ Lauren laughed, as she saw the metal trolleys with their drawers hanging open and bits of rogue computer equipment scattered all along the slope.
The four boys were quiet for a few seconds as they stood up and inspected their injuries, but they were all OK.
‘Good job we jumped off,’ Kevin said, as he inspected a huge dent in the wooden panelling where his trolley had hit the front wall. ‘That could have been my head.’
‘Wouldn’t have made much difference,’ Jake snorted.
As Kevin flicked Jake off, Rat looked along the aisle between two rows of consoles and noticed an engineer’s open tool case and one of the display screens with the access panel underneath left open. This wouldn’t have grabbed his attention, but for the steam rising off the cup of coffee standing on the desktop above it.
‘Lauren,’ Rat shouted. ‘I think we’ve got a problem.’
‘What?’ Lauren asked curiously as she strode briskly down the slope towards the scene.
Rat dabbed his fingertip in the cardboard cup. ‘Black coffee still almost boiling. One of the engineers must have been working late.’
‘I thought that BMW you boys trashed was a bit flash for a security guard,’ Bethany noted.
Jake groaned. ‘Well why didn’t you say so at the time?’
‘We’d better hunt him down,’ Andy said.
‘What’s the point?’ Lauren said, shaking her head. ‘There’s got to be two hundred rooms in this building and he’ll have called the cops already.’
‘Great,’ Kevin moaned. ‘We’ve got no transport and we’re five kilometres from where Dennis is picking us up.’
‘Ronan,’ Rat shouted into his phone. ‘Where are you, mate? You what? Right … Right, I understand. You’d better get your butt down here sharpish.’
‘What’s up with him?’ Lauren asked anxiously, as Rat snapped his phone shut.
‘Ronan went up to the first floor and started trashing a refreshment area, but he saw a woman running along a hallway.’
‘A woman as well,’ Jake gasped. ‘What was she, a cleaning lady or something?’
‘The engineer was a woman,’ Rat said, shaking his head.
Bethany glowered at her brother. ‘You’re such a sexist pig.’
Lauren gave Bethany a little shove, as if to say don’t you two start arguing now, then she looked at Rat. ‘So why didn’t Ronan tell us?’
‘It’s just happened,’ Rat explained. ‘He tackled the woman, but she got away and now she’s barricaded herself into an office. But she dropped her handbag, so Ronan checked the call log on her phone. She called an emergency number, eleven minutes ago.’
‘Must have heard us smashing up the car,’ Lauren sighed. ‘They could be here any second. We’ve got to get out of here.’
As Lauren said this, all the lights and screens in the giant room flickered before going out. The control room was below ground level with no windows and the dark space turned eerily silent as the air conditioning system and the whirring fans inside hundreds of computers came to a stop.
‘Someone pulled the electricity and the backup generator,’ Rat said, his voice echoing around the room.
‘OK,’ Lauren said, trying to sound calmer than she was. ‘They’re probably going to be military police, which means they’re tough and they’re gonna know what they’re doing. I’d say our best chance is if we split up.’
‘Agreed,’ Rat said, and the others all murmured as they heard Ronan running down the hallway and bursting through the doors.
‘I just ran through reception and saw them,’ Ronan gasped, in a state of complete panic. ‘There’s two vanloads of soldiers, plus coppers, and they’re unloading dogs from the back of their vans. We have got to get the hell out of here.’
*
James had been arrested a few times. It was never pleasant: the cops shoved you around, then you’d spend for ever stuck in an evil-smelling cell with nothing to eat or drink and a toilet that was invariably busted.
So he didn’t fancy getting pulled and the cops bursting out of the hotel rooms in front of him would take a few seconds to get into position, so he sprinted forwards with no idea whether Bradford would have the presence of mind to go with him.
An officer went flying as James clattered into him and he almost hit the carpet himself as a hand grabbed his ankle, but James kept going. He looked back and saw Bradford bundled to the ground by three officers as more piled in from the opposite end of the hallway and used a battering ram to shatter the door of Rich’s hotel room.
There were armed officers on the scene, but James wasn’t too worried. Police marksmen have strict rules of engagement and he knew they wouldn’t shoot unless he posed an immediate threat to someone.
As he reached the main staircase, the female lookout officer he’d glimpsed moments earlier stepped in front of him and swung her baton, trying to hit him in the stomach. But she was small and she moved too early. The blow swept harmlessly across James’ jacket and he was moving so fast that he knocked hard into her.
She bounced off the wallpaper and her cap flew down the staircase as the back of her head hit the wall with a nasty thunk. As the officer grappled the banister trying not to fall down the stairs, James charged down taking three steps at a time with no clue what he was going to encounter when he reached the next landing.
‘What’s going on …’ he mumbled to himself as he reached the first floor and looked over a long balcony into the hotel’s main lobby. To his left and right were grand staircases leading down to ground level, but half a dozen yellow-jacketed cops stood around in the lobby.
James’ boots and bright green hair didn’t exactly blend into his surroundings, so he slowed to walking pace and tried a set of double doors behind where he was standing. These led into an empty function room and he managed to slip inside before any of the cops downstairs spotted him.
The room had dining chairs stacked up against the wall, and large chipboard-topped tables designed to be disguised with fancy table linen. At the back of the room were a fire exit and a small bar. James vaulted over the polished bartop and crouched down low between the beer taps and the glass-doored fridges filled with soft drinks.
He needed to know what was going on, but he didn’t have his mobile so he grabbed the telephone on the wall next to the packets of peanuts and was pleasantly surprised to find that he remembered his mission controller’s mobile number.
‘John, what’s going on? Why’s the joint swarming with cops?’
‘Eh?’ John exclaimed. ‘Who says it is?’
‘ I say it is,’ James said angrily. ‘They just busted Rich and Bradford and I don’t know what to do … You mean you know nothing about this?’
‘No,’ John said, flabbergasted. ‘I … There must be another team working the case, or something.’
‘Arse and balls,’ James spluttered bitterly. One of the greatest problems with highly secretive operations is that occasionally two different teams end up working independently on the same case. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Get out if you can, but don’t take any stupid risks. If you get nicked, I’ll find out where you’re going and pull you out ASAP.’
‘Right,’ James whispered. ‘Where are you …?’
‘Parked up near a country pub about half a—’
James didn’t hear the rest because a bunch of cops were running into the room.
‘Green-haired bastard must have gone through here,’ one cop said, as he raced across the carpet towards the fire exit.
‘Gotta go,’ James whispered, but he couldn’t reach up to replace the receiver without his arm being seen.
The officer shoved the fire door and an alarm rang out. ‘Can’t have got through here without setting it off,’ he noted. He turned towards the bar as one of his colleagues searched behind an elaborate Christmas tree and the other leaned forward looking under the tables and behind the stacks of chairs.
James half smiled as the burly cop leaned across the bar and looked down at him.
‘What can I get you, officer?’ James asked. ‘Beer, wine, peanuts?’
He thought about springing up and having a go but the officer went for his stun gun and James had no appetite for 50,000 volts.
‘On your feet, hands on head,’ the officer barked.
As James stood up, the other two officers grabbed him by the arms, yanked him across the top of the bar then slammed him hard against the floor before tying a set of plasticuffs tightly around his wrists.
‘Suspect in custody,’ one cop said into his radio, as another sarcastically read James his rights.
James had his face down on the floor and couldn’t see much except the officer’s boots, but he noticed a smaller set of boots coming across the carpet. The shiny black toes stopped just in front of his nose.
‘All right,’ the officer said, ripping her baton out of her belt before crouching down in front of James.
He looked up and knew what was coming as soon as he saw the bloody-nosed officer he’d bundled down the stairs.
‘Wanna mess with me now you little punk?’ the officer shouted, as she stood up and smashed James in the back with her baton, before taking a short run-up and booting him in the kidneys.
‘Jesus,’ James groaned, as the female officer joined her colleague in pulling him to his feet.
‘You don’t like that, tough guy?’ she grinned. ‘Well you wait and see what happens when we get you in the back of our van.’
CUPBOARD
Jake, Ronan and Kevin sprinted out of a set of fire doors at the rear of the air traffic control centre. The military police were taking their time getting organised at the front of the building, but it was pitch black and the three boys pulled their hoodies up to stop their faces catching any stray light.
‘What’s the plan?’ Kevin asked warily.
Jake shrugged. ‘Run like hell and try climbing over the fence.’
‘Does that actually count as a plan?’ Ronan asked.
Jake huffed. ‘Ronan, I’m all ears if you’ve got a better one.’
Kevin thought aloud as they crept along close to the concrete wall: ‘That fence is four metres high with razor wire on top. We can’t climb over but I’ve still got the cutters I used to make the hole.’
Ronan smiled. ‘I’ve got a pair too.’
‘So we’ve got both pairs of wire cutters?’ Jake said. ‘What about Rat and the others?’
‘Who gives a toss?’ Ronan said. ‘Lauren’s been bossing us around all day. She’s so smart, let her sort it out.’
‘Ronan’s right,’ Jake said. ‘It’s every man for himself and we’re never gonna find them in the dark anyway.’
*
Rat and Lauren took a riskier strategy, racing through reception seconds before the RAF police officers entered and heading along the corridor to the room where the female security guard was tied up.
‘Hey sister,’ Lauren said, as she shone her torch at the guard. Her limbs were bound tight, but she’d freed the tape over her mouth and spat out her gag.
‘Kiss my arse, brat,’ the guard shouted.
While the two females scowled at each other, Rat found the security guards’ outdoor jackets on a row of coat hooks along the back wall and he searched pockets until he’d found two sets of car keys.
‘Fiat or Volvo?’ Rat asked.
‘Volvo’s bound to be heavier for smashing through the fence,’ Lauren said. ‘But take both sets. The Fiat might be parked further away from the cops.’
*
Andy and Bethany sprinted across the muddy field at the rear of the compound as the police Alsatians barked in the distance.
‘Don’t like that sound one bit,’ Bethany gasped. ‘You’d better put that torch out; the cops will spot us a mile off.’
‘I definitely saw it round here somewhere on the way in,’ Andy said irritably, as he swept the ground with the beam of his torch. ‘A dirty great builder’s tarp stretched over a hole.’
‘Maybe we should just try climbing over the fence,’ Bethany suggested.
‘Go try if you want,’ Andy said. ‘But it’s eight strands of razor wire in a V shape, with coils of barbed wire running through the middle. Snag your leg in that lot and it’ll come out in ribbons.’
‘There, beside the shed,’ Bethany said, as she saw an orange glow in the beam of Andy’s torch.
They raced forward, finding the heavy orange tarpaulin stretched over a circular hole which would eventually house the rotating base of a large satellite dish. It was only held in place with breeze blocks and the pair moved around the edge of the hole kicking the blocks away.
When there were only a couple left along the far side, Andy gave the heavy sheet an almighty tug. This shifted the tarp, but at the same time drenched Bethany with the rainwater that had been lying on top of it.
‘AAARGH,’ Bethany shuddered, as freezing cold water dripped out of her hair and ran down inside her clothes. ‘You bloody idiot!’
But the pair didn’t have time to argue. The police were finally getting organised and a dozen RAF police had spread out to form a search line. Torch beams swung methodically over the ground as they marched briskly away from the control centre. Behind the search teams were dog handlers with Alsatians. Luckily, Bethany and Andy were less than sixty metres from the fence.
*
When the cherubs split up Jake had taken a more cautious approach than Andy and Bethany. He was still creeping around the outside of the air traffic control building, behind the search team that had set off across the grounds.
He peeked around a far end of the building, then stepped back and looked at Ronan and Kevin.
‘Three guards and two dogs,’ Jake whispered. ‘They’re just milling around, less than fifteen metres away.’
Kevin was scared. ‘We’ll never make it,’ he said, looking at the twenty metres of open ground between the end of the main control centre building and an ancillary building designed for admin staff.
‘We haven’t got a choice,’ Jake said, struggling to keep up the spirits of his slightly younger companions. ‘Just move quietly. Go!’
As Jake ran out, he tripped on a metal doorstop sticking up from the ground and grazed his hands as he sprawled over the damp concrete. Ronan grabbed Jake’s collar to help him up, but Jake couldn’t help moaning and the Alsatians reared up on their leads, barking, the instant they heard.
‘Visual,’ one of the RAF officers shouted, as he blasted his torch beam in Ronan’s face.
Ronan was taller and stockier than Jake and he yanked the older boy to his feet.
‘Come on,’ Kevin shouted, as he ran across the gap between buildings before looking back at the others.
Jake’s knee buckled as he took his first step. Realising that he wasn’t going anywhere fast, he shoved Ronan away. ‘Get out of here.’
Ronan started running, but after less than three steps he looked over his shoulder and saw the huge Alsatian charging across the concrete. It pounced and knocked Ronan forward, but before the dog could bring its whole weight on top of him it crumpled to the ground with a pitiful yelp.
Ronan was mystified until he’d made it a couple of steps and glimpsed Kevin aiming his slingshot at the second dog.
But Kevin only had shadows to aim at and his second shot vanished harmlessly into the darkness.
Jake screamed in terror and tried to crawl as the Alsatian’s narrow snout closed in on his arm. He managed to wriggle clear, but only for the dog’s sharp teeth to pierce Jake’s tracksuit bottoms and sink deep into his buttock as a pair of dog handlers charged forward to save him.
‘Oh god,’ Kevin trembled, as he looked at Ronan. ‘Maybe we should surrender.’
Ronan shook his head. ‘Surrender is weak. With two sets of cutters we’ll be through that fence in no time.’
The pair ran off desperately, knowing the military police and their dogs wouldn’t be far behind. Jake sobbed with pain as dog handlers ordered their Alsatians to heel, while a burly military policeman hauled him up with one hand and shoved him up against the wall.
‘You’re in a lot of trouble, young man,’ he barked, before laughing as he shone his torch beam at Jake’s torn and bloody tracksuit bottoms. ‘And I bet you won’t forget Fluff the Alsatian in a hurry either.’
*
There were footsteps and torch beams in the vandalised lobby by the time Lauren and Rat emerged from the security office, cutting off their route to the car park.
‘Dammit,’ Lauren said.
As she tried remembering the building plans she’d seen back in her room on campus, Rat moved confidently in the opposite direction. Lauren followed, sticking close to the wall to minimise the chance of being spotted by a torch beam.
‘There’s stairs at the end,’ Rat explained. ‘We can go up to the first floor, double back, run the entire length of the building, then go down the fire stairs into the car park.’
Rat was intelligent even by the high standards of CHERUB agents. He had one of the highest IQs on campus and a superb memory, but he also had a planet-sized ego so Lauren made a point of not offering a compliment.
As they neared the top of the stairs, they stepped through water trickling down the steps. It ran from a bathroom flooded by Ronan The first-floor hallway had also been completely trashed. Two vending machines were toppled, dozens of polystyrene ceiling tiles were poked through with the end of a broom and light fittings and glass panes inside several doors were shattered.
‘Ronan’s a destructive little bugger,’ Lauren smiled, as she shone her torch around.
Rat climbed over the first vending machine blocking the hallway, before peeking out of a window. There was enough light coming from car headlights, flashing blue lamps and torch beams for him to get a good idea of what was occurring. More police were arriving, along with backup teams from the RAF base and even a local TV news van with a satellite dish on top.
‘Crap,’ Lauren said. ‘That’s something we could do without.’
‘Somebody must have tipped the press off,’ Rat nodded. ‘And we can say goodbye to missions for a couple of years if we land a starring role on the evening news …’
They moved down the corridor as fast as darkness and the need to keep quiet would allow. After passing above the reception area they opened a set of doors and found themselves on a gallery overlooking the huge control room where they’d crashed the engineers’ carts a few minutes earlier.
The emergency lights had been turned back on and a mixture of regular and military police officers swarmed around between the consoles on the floor below them.
‘Kids,’ a peak-capped RAF officer said, as her civilian counterpart took flash photographs of the destruction. ‘Planned it all out, tied up the guards … Unbelievable.’
The gallery was exposed, but luckily the flooring was still being laid. Lauren crawled along behind a giant roll of carpet with Rat directly behind her. She had to go up on her knees to open the door at the end of the gallery. The hinge had a squeak, but nobody down below seemed to notice and the pair passed into a bare office.
The narrow room had large square windows along one side and an emergency door leading on to metal fire-escape stairs at one end. The engineers were in the early stages of installing the wiring and reels of cable littered the floor.
‘Mind you don’t trip,’ Rat said, hopping over the cables.
When Lauren reached the fire exit, she stared out of the large window alongside it and cursed their luck. ‘Cops everywhere.’
‘It’s not our night tonight,’ Rat sighed.
They were in a bare room with no hiding places and it could only be a matter of minutes until the police teams sweeping through the building caught up with them. Rat ran to the opposite end of the room, looking out of the windows as he went.
‘I see the Fiat,’ he said. ‘I can’t see anyone down this end. Do you reckon we could jump down?’
Rat grabbed the handle on the side of the plastic window frame and pushed it open. Cold air blasted Lauren’s face as she peered down into the darkness.
‘I’ve dropped from twice that height in training,’ she nodded. ‘Bit of a squeeze-through though.’
Rat quickly closed the window and grabbed another handle on the side of the frame. This made the entire square of glass swivel on a central pivot designed to allow the outside of the glass to be cleaned from indoors.
‘Even your big butt should fit through there now,’ Rat said.
‘Smartarse,’ Lauren replied, as she swung her leg up on to the window ledge. Rat quickly flicked on his torch to make sure she wasn’t going to land on anything apart from an empty parking bay. It was a four-metre drop and Lauren couldn’t help groaning as she landed heavily on her ankle.
Rat came down a few seconds later and quickly found his feet. ‘You OK?’ he asked edgily.
‘Twisted,’ Lauren said as Rat helped her up.
Fortunately the little Fiat Punto belonging to one of the guards was parked in front of a hedge less than ten metres away.
‘I’ve got you,’ Rat said, taking the car keys from inside his jacket before grabbing Lauren under the arm and making a dash towards the car. As they got close Rat pressed the plipper to unlock the doors. The car emitted a double blip and all four indicator lights blinked in the darkness.
‘Visual,’ a policeman shouted. ‘The Fiat!’
Lauren moaned in pain, clambering in the back door as Rat fumbled with the ignition key up front. He fought to get the little car into reverse gear as three RAF police officers charged towards them. The swiftest officer grabbed the door handle as Rat lifted the clutch. The door flew open, but the car shot backwards, tearing the officer’s fingers away before the flapping door knocked him down.
Every car has a slightly different feel that takes time to get used to. Rat stalled the engine as he juddered off in the wrong gear.
‘Shite!’ he yelled, as he jangled the key to restart the engine.
‘I thought you knew how to drive,’ Lauren shouted frantically.
‘Your sarcasm really helps my concentration,’ Rat shouted back as he found the right gear and made a successful second attempt at driving away.
The front bumper shattered as the car hit the kerb at speed and reared up into the mud. Rat straightened up the steering wheel, floored the accelerator and aimed straight for the fence.
COPS
James lay face down on the floor of a speeding police van, plasticuffs tearing into his wrists and four officers sitting on the wooden benches alongside him. The female officer he’d knocked against the wall kept a boot on the back of his head, pressing his face against the floor and forcing him to breathe the smells of urine, dog and whatever else ends up stuck to the bottom of a police van.
‘Here driver,’ one of the cops said loutishly, as he leaned towards a grilled porthole and looked into the cab. ‘Can’t you find some nice bumpy roads for our boy on the floor here?’
The cops were breaking all sorts of rules on the handling of prisoners, but if you assault a police officer you can be sure they won’t treat you nice when they arrest you. Not that James needed any extra bumps: police vans have firm suspension designed for speed not comfort and every pothole or dink in the road sent a jarring pain through the spot on his back where he’d been whacked by the baton.
‘Conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism,’ one of the three male officers said cheerfully. ‘Possession of a deadly weapon, assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest. You’d better get yourself a good lawyer.’
‘Not to mention a criminal hairstyle,’ the woman added.
As a CHERUB agent James knew he’d never face any of those charges but the ribbing still riled him as laughter filled the steel box. More came when his body flew up and slammed the floor as they rode up over a speed bump at more than thirty miles an hour.
‘Ooopsie daisy!’ someone laughed.
The driver shouted through the grille between the cab and the rear compartment. ‘Was that too fast?’
‘I dunno,’ the female officer said, as she pressed the heel of her boot down a bit harder. ‘We’ll find out if you drive round the block and go over it again.’
‘Quite a pretty boy too,’ one of the men joked. ‘The gays in prison will love you.’
James was close to blowing up, but sensible enough to realise that it would be all the excuse they’d need to lash out with their batons and maybe throw in a few volts from their stun guns for good measure.
After a slam from another speed bump the van slowed right down, and while James couldn’t see where they were going it was obvious they were pulling into some kind of parking compound.
‘On your feet, toss-pot,’ the biggest officer ordered, before opening the back doors and jumping out.
James rolled on to his back, but with his hands cuffed behind him it was tricky getting off the floor and jumping out. He looked around and saw that he was in the well lit parking lot at the rear of a police station.
‘Getcha butt inside,’ an officer barked nastily. He poked James in the back, but his body language changed when he saw a superintendent accompanied by another man walking across the tarmac towards them. James was relieved by the sight of Mission Controller, John Jones.
‘Is this your boy?’ the superintendent asked John.
John nodded and looked at the giant officer. ‘Slice his cuffs and return his belongings.’
The female officer looked pissed. ‘What’s going on, boss? The little shit was in the meeting with Bradford. Then he body-checked me and damned nigh threw me down a flight of stairs.’
‘Ours is not to reason why, Catherine,’ the superintendent said firmly. ‘The green-haired boy got away. Anyone who says otherwise can expect the remainder of their police career to be brief and unpleasant. Is that clear?’
‘Crystal, boss,’ the woman sighed, shaking her head as another officer sliced the plasticuffs off James’ wrists.
‘Have a nice life, officers,’ James chirped.
‘I don’t care who you are, boy,’ the woman growled. ‘I wouldn’t recommend showing your face around these parts ever again.’
James waved his hand contemptuously. ‘Why don’t you go home and shove a broom handle up your—’
‘Hey, hey, hey,’ the superintendent interrupted.
‘Don’t make a bloody scene,’ John growled, as he grabbed James by his arm and shoved him towards a Jaguar parked on the opposite side of the car park.
‘My back’s killing me,’ James moaned, as he lowered himself into the front passenger seat. ‘Bitch slammed me in the back with her baton.’
‘Sounds fair enough,’ John said sarcastically as he started the engine. ‘Pushing that nice lady officer down the stairs.’
James shook his head. ‘She might be small but she certainly paid attention the day they did baton training at the academy.’
‘Oh yeah,’ John smiled. ‘I knew some seriously vicious WPCs when I was on the force and the titchy ones always compensate for their size by acting like hard arses.’
‘What the hell happened back there anyway? Who was running that surveillance? Who made the arrests?’
John waited until he’d negotiated the tightly packed police parking lot and pulled into the street before starting his explanation.
‘I haven’t heard all the details yet, but it comes down to a freak coincidence. Apparently Rich lost a bank card under his Richard Kline alias. He went into the branch to order a replacement, kicked up a bit of a fuss for some reason and it turned out that one of the tellers was a Belfast boy who recognised him as Rich Davis, ex-IRA. He called Special Branch anti-terrorist unit and they put him under surveillance at the address where they sent the replacement card.’
‘When did that happen?’ James asked.
‘Over the last two or three weeks,’ John said, as they stopped at a red light. ‘Pure coincidence: MI5 and the anti-terrorist squad working the same case from different ends.’