Cherub Black Friday (11 page)

‘Many of you will have seen the news about terrorist activity in Alabama over the past few hours. I can confirm that one CHERUB agent and one member of staff have been involved in trying to foil the IDoJ terror plot. Both were at the Oak Ranch shortly before it exploded. The agent escaped and is now resting in Dallas, unharmed. Tragically, Instructor Yosyp Kazakov was shot during this escape and he died, either from his wound or during the explosion shortly afterwards.’

Zara paused as shock filtered through the gathering.

‘Yosyp Kazakov was fifty-three years old. Born to a military family in the Ukraine. His brother died while fighting alongside him during the Russian invasion of Afghanistan, and we know that Mr Kazakov has an adult son with whom he’d lost contact.

‘During the 1980s, Kazakov was selected for Soviet Special Forces work. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Kazakov joined NATO as a defence analyst, and helped to train Special Forces in the United Kingdom, the US and many other countries.

‘He joined CHERUB as a training instructor in 2007, but while most of you will remember him in this role, Kazakov’s background and experience also made him useful in undercover work, including the mission on which he had been deployed for the past seven months.

‘All lessons and training have been cancelled for the rest of the day. Details of a full memorial service will be announced shortly. In the meantime, carers and other staff are on hand if you want to talk about what has happened or just need—’

Zara stopped talking and made a slight sob.

‘A shoulder to cry on,’ she said, as she dabbed her eyes and backed away from the microphone.

Zara’s tears had set off quite a few staff and cherubs and once it was clear that she couldn’t carry on, Head Training Instructor Mr Pike stepped up to the microphone.

‘Kazakov was a man’s man,’ Pike said firmly. ‘Some of your memories of being trained by him might not be happy ones.’

A few restrained laughs went through the audience.

‘But Kazakov wasn’t cruel. He cared about the people he trained. I remember him in the instructors’ hut, worrying about how he was going to get a kid past their fear of heights. I remember Yosyp spending a whole evening with a trainee who was struggling with her language assignments, even though he needed to be up at three a.m. to set up the following day’s training programme. Kazakov worked you hard, but he worked himself harder, and you’re
all
better CHERUB agents because of him.’

A well-muscled black-shirt girl standing near James shouted out the CHERUB training chant. ‘This is tough, but CHERUB is tougher.’

She got a couple of weird looks, but then a bunch of her friends repeated the chant.

‘This is tough but CHERUB is tougher.’

By the third chant, half the room was in on the act. The chant became official when Mr Pike said it through the microphone and the next time it became a roar.

‘This is tough but CHERUB is tougher.’

Burly black shirts, tiny red shirts, carers, mission controllers, chefs, tech-support, right the way up to Zara Asker, who was now at the rear of the stage with husband Ewart’s arm around her back.

‘This is tough but CHERUB is tougher.’

People had tears down their faces, but they were stamping their boots and making the training chant louder than they’d ever made it before.

Fu Ning remembered Kazakov’s proud expression when she’d pulled on her grey shirt at the end of basic training, Bruce Norris welled up as he remembered Kazakov getting him out of bed to test the mettle of a new CHERUB recruit in the dojo, while James Adams fondly remembered working with Kazakov on his first ever casino scam.

‘This is tough but CHERUB is tougher,’ they shouted.

They were all sad, but the strength of the CHERUB family made hairs stand up on four hundred necks.

Ryan had struggled to stay awake while a young FBI special agent debriefed him on every minuscule detail of who and what he’d seen at Oak Ranch. He’d finally crashed out aboard a small business jet taking him to Dallas and remembered nothing that happened after take-off when he woke in an attic room with a Nirvana Nevermind poster on the angled wall over the bed and twenty pairs of girls’ shoes lined up by the window.

He smelled grungy, and when Ryan opened an eye the camouflage backpack he’d brought from Kyrgyzstan was on the floor by the bed, plus his stained T-shirt and crusty jeans. The only things missing were his blood-spattered Converse, which he’d last seen getting dropped into an evidence bag at the sheriff station.

Ryan suspected he’d been carried upstairs to bed. He had dirt packed under his nails and blood matted in the hairs around his left wrist. Two red fingertip-shaped smudges from where  … 

He sat up in shock:
Kazakov’s blood. Dead man’s blood
.

The kick of grief made Ryan feel like his chest was in a vice. Kazakov had only been his pretend father, but they’d worked undercover together in Kyrgyzstan for the past seven months. They’d argued like you’d expect any adult and teenager living in cramped quarters to argue, but they’d also become friends.

Ryan also felt survivor’s guilt. Maybe Kazakov would be alive if he’d made it to the getaway car quicker. Or if he’d killed the guard instead of wasting time tying him up. Or if he’d dragged the guard deeper into the bushes so that he’d been harder to find  … 

Ryan sat on the side of the bed, head between his knees, catching a vague whiff of his own armpits and feet. He’d felt this same deep hurt when his mother died. It would pass, but knowing that didn’t make the moment any less desperate.

Close to tears and with no idea who he’d find downstairs, Ryan pulled his dirty jeans on and peeked out on to the landing.

‘Hello?’

There was no answer, but he could hear a TV, so he headed down four flights clad in shaggy beige carpet. There was something comforting about finding himself in someone’s home, even one clearly run by a man, with photos of college football teams along the stairs, a dartboard by the front door and lumps of motorbike engine spread over the dining table.

‘Hey there, Ryan,’ Ted Brasker said warmly.

Ted was a big grey-haired Texan, and Dr D’s deputy at TFU. Ryan knew Ted well because he’d been another of Ryan’s fake fathers during the first phase of their mission to destroy the Aramov Clan.

The other person in the room was Ethan Aramov. The same age as Ryan, he was the grandson of Aramov Clan head Irena. He now lived with Ted under protective custody, because his uncle Leonid wanted him dead.

Ethan was weedy and felt jealous when he saw Ryan’s chest. ‘You’ve been working out,’ Ethan noted.

‘You hungry?’ Ted asked. ‘How you feeling?’

‘Like shit,’ Ryan said, relieved to be amongst friends as his eyes were drawn to a huge LCD screen showing the news. ‘What’s the latest?’

‘Ten trucks,’ Ethan said. ‘Two didn’t get out of Oak Ranch. Four have been found without incident, one exploded killing six people at an intersection. One hit its target, ripping up half of a shopping mall in Atlanta.’

‘Crap,’ Ryan said. ‘Lots of dead?’

Ethan shook his head. ‘All the malls within striking range have been ordered to close. The only casualties were a security guard and two teenagers making out in the empty parking lot.’

‘And the last two trucks?’ Ryan asked.

‘They’re keeping us worried,’ Ted said. ‘The whole country’s on the lookout for 2012 model GMC Savannah trucks, painted with the logos of major retailers. To have stayed out of sight this long they’ve either pulled into a garage somewhere or transferred the explosives to another vehicle.’

‘So IDoJ still has two tonnes of high-explosive on the loose,’ Ethan added.

Ryan had assumed it was morning, but the clock on the TV put the time nearer to three in the afternoon.

‘That was quite a sleep,’ Ryan noted. ‘I need a shower, but all my clothes are
disgusting
.’

‘You can borrow some of mine,’ Ethan said. ‘We’re the same height. Only thing is my feet are smaller.’

‘Guess we’ll have to buy you some sneakers,’ Ted said, as he handed Ryan a glass of iced orange juice. ‘But it won’t happen today. There’s not a shop open within a thousand miles of here.’

‘Thanks,’ Ryan said, sipping the orange before looking across at Ethan. ‘So how’s Texas working out for you?’

‘I’m enrolled in a nice private school,’ Ethan said. ‘Rules and uniform piss me off, but I’ve got a couple of decent mates. I’ve also taken up the drums and I’m the best player on the chess squad.’

Ted snorted. ‘Still haven’t persuaded him to try out for the football squad.’

Ryan smiled at the idea of Ethan’s scrawny bod on a football field. ‘What about your grandma Irena? Have you visited her?’

Irena Aramov had controlled the Aramov Clan for more than thirty years, but she’d allowed Dr D’s TFU unit to take her operation over, on condition that she was given immunity from criminal prosecution and was allowed to travel to the USA to receive an experimental cancer treatment.

‘Been up to New York to see her a couple of times,’ Ethan said. ‘Treatment worked for a while, but she’s crashing again. I don’t think she’s got long now. Last time I was up there she barely knew who I was.’

Ted put a hand between Ryan’s bare shoulder blades and spoke firmly. ‘I’m real sorry about Kazakov. He was a good guy.’

‘He was,’ Ryan said sadly.

‘So,’ Ted said, trying to break the silence, ‘you still a pancake man?’

Ryan had fond memories of Ted’s pancakes and edged into a smile. ‘Blueberry?’

‘I can dig out some blueberries,’ Ted said. ‘You go get yourself cleaned up. Ethan will lend you some clothes, then you can fill your face while we work out what happens next.’

After being interrupted for the announcement on Friday afternoon, the advanced driving course had continued through the weekend and Monday was the final day.

Ning felt nervous as she sat in front of campus’ main building at the wheel of a large but badly mauled Opel saloon car. It was ex-police, with the high-vis stickers still along the side and filler in the roof where the flashing blue lights had once been bolted through.

James was in the front passenger seat, looking round impatiently with a clipboard resting on his lap. ‘Have you seen Alfie this morning?’

‘At breakfast,’ Ning said. ‘He went upstairs for something he’d forgotten, but that was
ages
ago.’

‘I sent him a text,’ James said, as he glanced at the clock on the dashboard. ‘If he’s not here in four minutes  … ’

But Alfie came charging out of the main building before James finished his sentence.

‘Sorry,’ Alfie blurted, as he climbed in the back. ‘Got collared by my science teacher. The dickhead wants me to redo a whole bunch of work because it’s
sloppy
.’

James should have been annoyed, but he’d spent plenty of time hiding from teachers who were after him for homework when he’d been a cherub.

‘Who needs to know about molecules anyway?’ Alfie asked. ‘I’ve got my career all mapped out.’

James laughed. ‘And what’s that?’

‘I’m gonna be a professional rugby player, but if that fails I’ll become a porn star.’

‘Very sensible,’ James said, as Ning smirked.

‘Oh,’ Alfie added. ‘And they announced on the news that the FBI raided some warehouse. Found the last of the explosives and they reckon they’ve busted IDoJ’s top man in the US.’

‘Good,’ Ning said. ‘Means Kazakov didn’t die for nothing.’

‘OK, that’s enough distractions,’ James said. ‘Bruce, Leon and Grace left ten minutes ago. Have you both read the briefing?’

Ning and Alfie nodded.

‘You’re going to be tested on everything you’ve learned over the past four days,’ James said. ‘Drive fast, but
always
put safety first. Today won’t be easy, but you’re both good enough to pass this course.’

‘Slay them, Ning,’ Alfie said, as he buckled his seatbelt. ‘Also, please try not to kill me.’

‘Same to you,’ Ning said, smiling warily as she started the engine, dropped the handbrake and pulled off in first gear.

There were often little kids running around, so campus had a strict 10mph limit. Ning rolled down the gravel path that led from the main building to the security gate, but James told her to pull over before she got there.

‘What?’ Ning asked.

James tutted. ‘This is
really
basic. What do you do when you get into a strange car?’

‘Check that the car is mechanically safe from the outside. Check mirrors, familiarise yourself with the controls.’

‘Right,’ James said. ‘How far are we driving?’

‘You said thirty miles.’

James pointed to the fuel gauge. ‘Is that going to get you thirty miles?’

‘Oh,’ Ning said, when she saw the gauge on empty. ‘Shouldn’t the red warning light be on if it’s that low?’

‘It should,’ James agreed. ‘But this car is twelve years old. What did I tell you about old cars?’

‘Old cars are shit,’ Alfie said. ‘You can expect everything to go wrong.’

‘Exactly,’ James said. ‘The warning light could be faulty. Or the fuel tank might be brim full and the gauge itself could be faulty. But you set off without any awareness of a possible critical fuel problem.’

Ning looked sour. ‘So do I lose a mark for that?’

‘One mark,’ James said. ‘Eight more and you fail the course.’

‘So, I should check the fuel tank, or what?’ Ning asked.

James gave Ning a stern look. ‘This is the final test. You’ve read the briefing, I’m not making any decisions for you.’

Alfie decided to help Ning out. ‘I’ll look in the back and see if there’s a spare fuel can. You see if you can look into the tank and check the fuel level.’

‘That’s more like it,’ James said, as the pair jumped out of the car. ‘But make it snappy.’

Ning was back a couple of seconds later, fumbling around hunting for the fuel flap and boot release buttons.

‘I’m just nervous,’ she told James anxiously. ‘I always mess up tests like this.’

‘Funnel and petrol!’ Alfie said triumphantly, as he pulled a metal can out of the trunk. ‘Do I get a bonus mark for saving Ning’s butt?’