Kerry punched him hard in the ribs.
‘Owww,’ James gasped, as Kerry stood up. ‘You made me bite my tongue.’
‘What planet are you on, James?’ Kerry growled, as she pushed James away with her foot.
‘I’m only messing,’ James said.
‘I cried for days after you dumped me for Dana. Now she dumps you, and a week later you expect me to throw myself at you like nothing ever happened?’
‘Sorry,’ James said, realising that the enticing thought of Kerry being naked under the robe had made him move way too fast.
‘You’re disgusting,’ Kerry shuddered. ‘Bruce is supposed to be one of your best friends and he has more respect for me in his little fingernail than you have in your whole body.’
‘Kerry, you know I still have feelings for you. I got carried away and I’m really, really—’
‘Just leave,’ Kerry growled. ‘Forget it happened, but don’t try it on like that again.’
*
After two days of private planes and luxury suites came the harsh reality of a 5.30 a.m. checkout and a four-hour drive to the Fort Reagan training compound in one of the remotest areas of the Nevada Desert. The Reef concierge took Mac aside and gave him a tacky plastic VIP card which would enable him to earn casino points on a future visit, plus a two-for-one coupon at any of the restaurants.
The tone was polite, but the implication crystal clear: you didn’t gamble enough to justify all the freebies we gave you and if you come back you can pay for your own damned room. There was also a conspicuous absence of help with the luggage and all the kids had to make several runs up and down in the lift to get Kazakov’s stash of equipment down to their pick-up point.
Their ride was a shabby green bus, with UNITED STATES ARMY stencilled along each side. The driver was a heavy-set black man, who saluted Kazakov before issuing everyone with hospital style identity bracelets that included a microchip and a tiny photograph. Once fixed on, the plastic bands could only be removed with scissors.
The bus was large and everyone was still sleepy, so the cherubs spread out and kept quiet as they cruised through the Vegas suburbs and into the open desert as the sun broke the horizon.
James ended up near the back of the bus with a rather sorry-looking Mac sitting opposite. He kept coughing, so James passed over the bottle of mineral water from his day pack.
‘Cheers,’ Mac said, keeping his voice down because Jake was dozing in the row of seats in front. ‘So what did you make of Vegas?’
‘Very cool,’ James said. ‘I’m definitely going back when I’m older. How did it go at the tables after dinner?’
Mac had always been a big man on campus. He seemed different dressed in a crumpled shirt, with stubble and a hangover.
‘Dropped another eight hundred bucks,’ Mac smiled. ‘Which was nowhere near enough to keep Julio happy.’
‘And your lady friend?’ James asked boldly, half expecting Mac to revert to being an authority figure and telling him to mind his business.
|
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‘She was totally in cahoots with Julio,’ Mac said. ‘I was staggering back to my room just after one this morning and she says: “Julio says you ain’t gambled enough for a freebie, so it’s six hundred dollars if you want to sleep with me”.’
James laughed loud enough to make Jake open one eye. ‘Did you pay her?’ he gasped.
‘What kind of person do you think I am?’ Mac said incredulously. ‘I told her I’d rather have a nice cup of tea and sent her packing.’
*
By 8 a.m. they were on an Interstate eighty miles outside of Las Vegas. There were strips of fast-food joints and shops every few miles, but they had to stop at a particular one which Kazakov had already phoned to order thirty kegs of beer.
‘I don’t know what Kazakov’s plan involves,’ Mac grinned, as they stepped off the bus into a parking lot and stretched their legs.
‘I’m not even sure that I want to,’ James smiled. ‘The part with the beer kegs looks like fun though.’
Kazakov, the bus driver and a guy who’d come in especially early to open up his liquor store loaded the kegs into the base of the coach as the cherubs headed towards a twenty-four-hour diner. Inside it was about eighty per cent full and the sweat-glazed hostess had to split the party of twelve between two tables, with a bunch of uniformed US soldiers at the table in between.
James ordered something called a Cake and Steak Grand Slam, which was a giant platter of just about everything on the menu, including a large T-bone steak and side stack of pancakes in a swimming pool of maple syrup.
Kazakov arrived at the table before the food, but their driver spotted some colleagues from Fort Reagan and went to sit with them.
‘You all going up to the Fort?’ the waitress asked, as she doled out the breakfasts. ‘Looks like there’s another big exercise starting there this morning.’
Her name badge said she was called Natasiya and Kazakov gave her a smile.
‘What’s a nice Ukrainian like you doing way out here in the desert?’ he asked.
‘Paying the bills and raising my kids, same as every other waitress,’ she smiled. ‘Most people think I’m Russian.’
‘English speakers can’t tell,’ Kazakov tutted. ‘I get the same thing in Britain. Some people even think I’m Polish.’
James had twice as much food as anyone else and Bruce shouted over the US soldiers at the table in between, ‘You gonna eat all that, fat boy?’
James knew he’d never get through it, so he let Lauren and Rat take one of his pancakes and Kevin had two rashers of crispy bacon to go with his French toast.
‘You sure you don’t want some, Bruce?’ James shouted. ‘Put some meat on them skinny bones?’
‘Might be skinny but I could kick your butt any day,’ Bruce shouted back.
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A female soldier at the next table turned angrily to James. ‘Would you two mind?’ she drawled. ‘Can I eat my breakfast without you boys yellin’ in my ear?’
‘Sorry,’ James smiled, before turning back and starting to cut his steak.
A corporal sitting directly behind Kazakov stood up with an empty maple syrup jug and rudely ordered the waitress to give him a refill.
‘Goddamn service here sucks,’ the soldier complained, as he sat down. ‘That Russian ain’t getting no tip out of me. Reckon she learned her waitressing skills in the Gulag.’
Kazakov slammed his coffee down and swivelled around to face the corporal. ‘Why don’t you shut your mouth and learn some manners?’
The corporal bared his brite-white twenty-something teeth at Kazakov as Natasiya arrived with a jug of hot syrup. ‘Maybe you should mind your business, old man.’
Kazakov shook his head and turned back to his breakfast. ‘Typical Americans,’ he muttered loudly. ‘Ignorant, loud and stupid.’
The burly corporal bolted out of his seat and tapped Kazakov on the shoulder. ‘I happen to take offence at foreign people coming to my country and talking like that.’
Meryl smiled. ‘Why don’t we all stop mouthing off and have a nice breakfast?’
Kazakov ignored her and spoke loudly so that everyone in the diner could hear. ‘In my country we love your American flag. We cut the soft fabric into little rectangles and then we wipe our asses on it.’
James and Rat struggled not to laugh as soldiers and civilians at the surrounding tables jeered with outrage.
The corporal’s eyes bulged as he leaned towards Kazakov. ‘You wanna take this outside?’
‘Anytime, cowboy,’ Kazakov grinned, as he stood up.
The corporal looked surprised by Kazakov’s bulk. He’d started an argument on the basis of Kazakov’s grey head in the row of seats behind, but now found himself nose to nose with a physique and scarred face that looked like it had won several wars all by itself.
‘Change your mind, cowboy?’ Kazakov sneered. ‘Guess I’m bigger than the girls on your high school wrestling team.’
The restaurant went quiet as people stopped eating and turned to watch the testosterone fuelled drama. James glanced around and didn’t like the fact that at least six other booths were filled with soldiers and none of them looked like they were about to add Kazakov to their Christmas card list.
‘Not worth fighting over, boss,’ James said to Kazakov, as he tugged on the Ukrainian’s shirt.
The female soldier was doing a similar job trying to settle down her buddy and the giant bus driver had come across from his table to urge calm.
After a few seconds where it could have gone either way, Kazakov and the corporal settled back into their seats. But then every eye in the restaurant turned towards the distinctive ratcheting sound of a shotgun chamber being loaded.
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A tough-looking female chef had stepped out of the kitchen and had both barrels aimed at Kazakov’s head.
‘Ma’am, there’s no need for that,’ Mac said anxiously.
‘No need?’ she said incredulously. ‘I got two sons and a daughter in the armed forces, mister, and you can get your anti-American ass the hell out of my restaurant.’
Diners cheered and clapped as Kazakov stood up and backed away from his table.
‘And the rest of yous,’ she added, waving the gun at James and the others.
Mac pointed at Kevin and Jake. ‘We just brought the children in for some breakfast.’
The chef looked at the two boys before yelling at one of the waitresses. ‘Natasiya, make this order to go. ’
The Ukrainian waitress rushed over with a heap of cardboard cups and polystyrene food boxes. It wasn’t ideal, but Mac nodded appreciatively at the gun wielding cook as James and the rest of the party hurriedly scraped food from plates into boxes and poured drinks from glasses into cardboard cups.
‘Thank you ma’am,’ Mac said, as he reached inside his jacket.
‘Keep your damned hands where I can see ‘em,’ the cook screamed, stepping forward so that the barrels were right in Mac’s face.
‘Cool it!’ Mac gasped. ‘I’m reaching for my wallet.’
By this time, Kazakov and the rest of the CHERUB party were on their way to the door with their hastily boxed food.
‘Showed you, asshole,’ one soldier shouted. ‘Got your ass kicked by a girl!’
James’ face burned with embarrassment as they moved through the automatic exit door, pausing only to grab serviettes, straws and plastic cutlery. Kazakov bristled as a chunk of corn bread hit him in the back of the head, but Meryl jabbed him in the back and told him to keep moving.
‘American cocks,’ Kazakov shouted, turning around and flicking off the diners as he made it out into the morning sun.
Mac was last out of the diner, and everyone turned on Kazakov as they hurried back towards the coach.
‘I don’t care who you people are or what your rank is,’ the driver shouted. ‘You pull another stunt like that and you can get off my bus and walk.’
‘Are you out of your bloody mind?’ Mac shouted. ‘Picking a fight with thirty soldiers! We’re lucky we only had a gun pointed at us.’
‘Ignorant American scum!’ Kazakov screamed. ‘Their missile killed my baby brother and their crooked casino robbed my three thousand dollars.’
Meryl groaned as she climbed aboard the bus. ‘You’re a big boy, Kazakov. You shouldn’t gamble what you can’t afford to lose.’
James crashed in a seat behind Bruce. He grabbed the steak out of his box and tore off a massive chunk with his teeth.
‘Shame it didn’t kick off,’ Bruce smiled. ‘I haven’t been in a decent fight for months.’
‘Psycho,’ James grinned. ‘Steak’s bloody good though. Maybe we can stop in again on the way back…’
FORT
If the bronze bust of America’s fortieth president on the front gate had been replaced with Mickey Mouse, the entrance to Fort Reagan could easily have passed off as a theme park. The army bus joined a queue of traffic at the entry gate to a massive parking lot which was losing a battle with encroaching sand. James’ eye followed the perimeter fence until it vanished over the horizon.
Military personnel arrived in buses and got waved through an express line, while the civilian traffic had to bide its time as soldiers checked their paperwork, searched trunks and inspected the underside of cars with mirrors held on the end of long stalks.
The vehicles were mostly cheap starter cars and the passengers inside were usually young. Most were college students looking to pick up eighty dollars a day, but to enhance the realism of the eight-thousand strong civilian population the US army had also recruited older couples, kids’ soccer teams, a blind hiking club and two disabled basketball squads.
‘The Americans don’t do things by halves, do they?’ Bruce smiled.
Everyone was impressed by the scale of the operation as they peered through the windows of the army bus at lines of parked cars and boisterous college students carrying backpacks and beer coolers towards the main entrance.
Mac and Kazakov stayed aboard the bus as it passed through the military entrance. Meryl led the kids with their wheelie bags on a kilometre-long walk towards the entry plaza. The corrugated metal building was the size of an outlet store, with a thousand strong queue snaking through lines of barriers outside the main entrance.
Soldiers with megaphones were shouting orders. ‘Have your identity documents, legal documents, social security and medical history forms ready for inspection.’
The queue was horribly slow and James heard the message thirty times as he inched forward with his eyes fixed on the bodies of high-spirited college girls who all wore matching jackets with USC Soccer written across the back.
While they waited the queue almost doubled in length. Jake and Kevin swung on the barriers until Meryl yelled at them, while an old couple fussed over sunglasses and double-checked their luggage to make sure they had the right medication.
Things moved more efficiently once they got inside. There were counters numbered A through W, like customs at an airport, and a soldier told everyone what queue to join.
‘Welcome to Reaganistan,’ a female soldier told Meryl, as the CHERUB party reached the yellow line at the head of queue R ‘Papers please.’
Meryl had a whole bunch of passports and forms at the ready, but they all got waved through because they’d already been issued with their identity bracelets. It was the same story at the next set of counters where everyone else lined up to get their picture taken.
After passing through the processing building in less than ten minutes, they followed a red line to a second building called Equipment and Briefing.
‘Pack contains safety goggles, emergency alert alarm and food supplies for your first three meals,’ a soldier announced, before repeating the same sentence for the people behind.
At the next station everyone had the chips in their identity bracelets scanned, before a laser printer churned out individual accommodation assignments, along with a map of Fort Reagan and a set of directions. At the final stop, everyone was handed a Fort Reagan safety manual and, most importantly, a zip-lock bag containing five hundred Reaganistan dollars and an apartment key.
The notes came in denominations of one, five, ten and twenty dollars and had a bizarre design which mixed the US Army logo and pictures of weapons with lots of Arabic-style script and a picture of a nondescript man in a turban.
James pulled out a twenty and read the disclaimer on the back of each note aloud. ‘This note remains the property of the United States Government. It is designed to purchase food, meals and other essential items within the confines of Fort Reagan military training compound and has no value as currency. You must surrender all notes when leaving Fort Reagan and failure to do so may result in federal imprisonment and a fine of up to fifty thousand dollars.’
‘Guess they don’t want them going on eBay,’ Lauren smiled.
A long corridor led to a carpeted waiting area which already contained more than a hundred people. An LCD screen on the wall told them that the Next showing of the Fort Reagan introductory film and safety briefing begins in 14 minutes.
After riding on the bus and then spending an hour queuing and being processed, everyone needed the toilet, which was OK for the boys but the girls all had to join an enormous queue and they barely made it back before sets of automatic doors opened and people started heading into a large auditorium.
Three hundred people crammed on to backless benches before the lights went down and the automatic doors closed.
‘I want popcorn,’ James giggled, as the screen lit up with an aerial shot of Fort Reagan and a cheesy voiceover.
‘The twentieth century saw the largest and bloodiest military conflicts in the history of mankind, but as the third millennium dawned a new kind of warfare emerged around the world.’
The screen cut to pictures of smiling American troops driving Hummers through the streets of Baghdad, and soldiers walking up a hillside in white United Nations helmets, waving to friendly peasant women.
‘These twenty-first century battles don’t take place on the high seas, on marked battlefields, or even in the air, but in densely populated urban environments. Instead of battling tanks or artillery fire, the American soldier of today is likely to find himself fighting insurgents and terrorists using roadside detonations, car bombs, hostage taking, extortion and kidnapping. The military must learn to fight not just in open battle, but against a ruthless enemy who uses the civilian population as his or her shield.
‘In order to train for these situations, the Defence Department realised that soldiers needed a twenty-first-century training facility in which to train for twenty-first-century warfare. Built at a cost of over four billion dollars, Fort Reagan is the result.
‘By coming here to Fort Reagan, you’ll be playing a vital role in training American troops and helping to save real American lives in the battlefield. Every aspect of our training exercises is meticulously planned and designed for utmost realism, but individual safety remains paramount. So please relax and pay attention as we guide you through safety procedure at Fort Reagan – the world’s foremost urban warfare training facility.’
*
After a safety briefing filled with advice ranging from always carrying your safety goggles and putting them on if you see people shooting simulated ammunition, to being told not to run on staircases and to ‘stand well clear of moving vehicles’ the crowd was moved into a thousand-seat outdoor grandstand, where they waited for another half hour before two army officers stepped on to the sand-covered stage and began speaking a touch self-consciously.
‘Citizens of Reaganistan, thank you so much for attending this town meeting. I am United States General Shirley. I am the commander of the one-thousand-five-hundred strong American-British taskforce that has been sent to restore peace in your small country.
‘The role of our taskforce is to support the democratically elected government of President Mongo and help to eliminate the terrorist Reaganista movement. In particular we are searching for the Reaganista leader known as Sheikh McAfferty.’
All the cherubs smiled as the screen behind the general showed a blurry twenty-year-old picture of Mac.
‘McAfferty is believed to be responsible for more than one hundred terrorist acts over the past three months. Our task is to arrest McAfferty and his lieutenants, seize their supplies of weapons and ammunition and bring a halt to their terrorist action.’
The general paused. A few members of the crowd clapped and there were even a couple of shouts of ‘ USA! ’
‘Unfortunately, ten per cent of the civilian population supports and sympathises with these insurgents. No doubt this includes some of you sitting here listening to me now. We also believe that they have up to one hundred expert military personnel, trained by a foreign power.
‘Over the next two weeks, my men will be conducting patrols and searches of your town, fighting terrorists and trying to stop the violence. We apologise in advance for any inconvenience caused.’
James looked at the other cherubs and shook his head. ‘How cheesy is this?’ he grinned.
‘Somewhere between mature cheddar and stilton,’ Rat nodded.
The general continued speaking. ‘If any of you have any questions or—’
James flew about a metre into the air and hundreds in the audience screamed as a huge bang and a ball of flame blew up behind the seats. A bloody-faced actress came bounding down the grandstand steps, holding a baby and crying her eyes out as a second blast erupted off to one side and an emergency siren started to wail.
The general spoke again. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it appears we are under terrorist attack! Please remain calm and return to your homes in an orderly fashion.’
The audience realised it was a special effect designed to set up the atmosphere of conflict, but it had given everyone a scare and the crowd was wary – half expecting more bangs as they hurried out of the grandstands with their luggage and their twenty-four-hour food supplies.
‘Cheesy, eh?’ Lauren grinned, as she jostled down the grandstand steps behind James. ‘You looked like you were gonna shit yourself.’
There were no more bangs, but a smoke machine had been turned on under the grandstand and another in the street outside, forcing the crowd to scatter before they could pull out their maps and work out where they were heading. It was all designed to make the civilians uncomfortable and it seemed to have worked.
The grandstand had a newly built tarmac road, but leading off it was a maze of oddly sized white buildings and narrow alleyways designed to mimic the layout of an ancient city.
Meryl led the ten kids a few hundred metres away from the smoke before pausing to look at her map.
‘It’s under two kilometres to our accommodation,’ she said. ‘According to this there’s supposed to be a bus service that circles the compound.’
‘Wasn’t there a bus stop back the way we came?’ Kevin asked.
‘I think that was the massive queue we walked past,’ Bethany said. ‘We’ll probably be better off walking.’
HOME
Like most real developing-world towns, Fort Reagan had few street signs, and to confuse troops the maps everyone was issued with contained many inaccuracies. Of course, this also confused civilians and Meryl and the ten cherubs ended up doing several detours before they finally found their homes for the next two weeks.
Fort Reagan had sections designed to mimic different real-world cities, so the accommodation varied from low concrete sheds made to resemble shanty towns, to large private houses and high rise blocks. Meryl’s party had four apartments on the fourth floor of a drab concrete block. Kazakov and Mac had been allotted a pair of detached houses in the next street.
The apartment interiors had been designed to minimise the chances of anything getting broken by the bored and frequently drunk college students who usually occupied them. They had bare concrete walls, white tiled floors and bathrooms with indestructible steel fittings like you’d expect to see in a prison cell. The kitchens had a few cheap utensils, plastic plates, plus a fridge and rather sorry-looking cooker and washing machine.
‘Depressing,’ James said to Rat, as they unpacked their clothes in a cramped bedroom with two single beds covered with army issue blankets and a sign on the wall saying that the United States Army reserved the right to charge for property damage.
‘I like the bare concrete walls and the vague whiff of plumbing,’ Rat smirked.
‘Aye aye,’ James said, staring out of the window and seeing a college girl standing in the opposite block. She was reaching back to put her long hair into a clip and her raised arms accentuated her breasts. ‘Oh for a face full of those beautiful watermelons.’
The thought of watermelons sent Rat charging towards the window, but he was slightly disappointed. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘But they’re mangos at best. You were doing better than that with Dana.’
James turned sharply towards Rat. ‘Don’t talk about her.’
Rat didn’t answer because the college girl had spotted them ogling her and was flicking them off and mouthing something that ended with the word perverts.
‘Aww, come on baby,’ James shouted. ‘Give us a flash.’
Rat collapsed on the bed laughing as the girl opened her window and yelled at James. ‘I’ll get my boyfriend over there and he’ll kick both your asses.’
‘I’ll pay five Reaganistan dollars per nipple,’ James shouted, as the girl furiously slammed her window shut and pulled down her roller blind.
Rat thought this was hilarious, and he was still lying on the bed convulsing half a minute later when Lauren walked in.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ Rat snorted. ‘Just observing James’ ultra-smooth technique with the ladies.’
Lauren waved a hand in front of her face. ‘It’s probably better if I don’t know … Meryl had a phone call from Kazakov. He’s calling a strategy meeting in fifteen minutes, he says we’ve got to get ourselves organised before the Americans start searching.’
James stepped out into the hallway and was surprised to find a heavily built Englishman peering out of the living-room window. He was only average height, but he was almost as wide as tall and he definitely wasn’t the kind of guy you’d want to mess with.
‘Have you met the sarge?’ Lauren asked. ‘He’s on the level, he’s worked with CHERUB before.’
‘Sergeant Cork, SAS,’ the big man said, raising one eyebrow as he gave James and Rat crunching handshakes. ‘We’ll have sixteen of my boys helping out Kazakov with the day to day running of the insurgency.’
‘Cool,’ James said. ‘And what’s so exciting about our balcony?’
‘Looks like you can clamber on to the roof from that window ledge. We’ll be able to set up a lookout and see any army patrols coming all the way down from their base.’
‘Sounds a bit much,’ James said.
‘Not if we want to keep our weapons for more than a day or two,’ the sarge smiled. ‘I’ll pencil you in for a midnight to four a.m. watch, shall I?’
‘Not bloody likely,’ James grinned. ‘Besides, if you start using kids as lookouts the Yanks will suspect us. Better to use one of your boys.’
To minimise suspicion they walked to Kazakov’s house in small groups. James went with Rat and Lauren. At the end of their street was one of the two dozen cafés run by soldiers which would sell you a meal for two Reaganistan dollars. Despite his giant breakfast James stopped off for a burger while Lauren and Rat bought cans of drink and samosas.
As they stepped out with their food a pair of patrolling soldiers offered them a polite good afternoon and said that there was a hundred Reaganistan dollars for anyone who gave them accurate information about weapons or insurgents.
‘There are a few shops in the town centre that sell PSP games and stuff,’ one soldier added. ‘So it’s worth your while if you hear anything.’
‘Thanks,’ Lauren said brightly, as the soldier looked away. But her tone changed once they were out of earshot. ‘Everyone in town is gonna snitch on us if they go around doing that.’
‘At least the veggie samosas are good,’ Rat said, before looking up towards a faint buzzing sound in the sky overhead.
The pilotless white drone had a reflective dome built into its belly, which bristled with surveillance equipment.
‘No expense spared,’ James said warily, as he looked up. ‘Those things have laser guidance systems controlled by the remote pilot. They fire an invisible beam down at the target. The missile detects the beam and it hits the target dead on.’
‘Can’t blow buildings up on a training exercise,’ Rat said. ‘But that thing would certainly spot one of Sarge’s rooftop lookouts in two seconds flat.’
*
Kazakov’s house was luxurious on the outside, with a mowed lawn and neatly trimmed hedge, but apart from the rooms being bigger it was fitted out in exactly the same spartan style as the apartment where the kids were staying.
The eleven CHERUB agents, plus Meryl and the SAS sergeant gathered in a basement room which couldn’t be looked into either from the paved street or from the apartment block directly behind it.
‘I’ve split insurgent operations into three cells,’ Kazakov explained. ‘The sarge and I are the only contact points between them. Cell one is already working to create a secure environment for Mac. Cell two consists of the majority of the SAS team, who will be working with our eight hundred civilian sympathisers.’
‘We just got offered money to snitch on the way over here,’ Lauren said. ‘How do we know we can trust them?’
‘You can’t be totally sure,’ Kazakov said. ‘But the insurgents are on an extra twenty dollars a day and they won’t get that if they switch sides. Plus, I’ve been given my own supply of Reaganistan dollars so we can do some bribery of our own if the right opportunity arises.’