CHERUB: People's Republic (8 page)

Ning had no appetite for surrender. If the cops got her and things went badly, they’d ship her off to the toughest reform school they could find and keep her there until she was eighteen. With the orange pack slung over her shoulder, she dashed to the window, turned the handle and threw it open. The jump was a metre more than her drop from the fence, and this time she’d be landing on gravel over concrete rather than a soft lawn.

‘Let’s not have trouble, Mrs Fu,’ the older cop shouted, sounding like he’d reached the top of the stairs.

Ning gulped air and felt sick as she stepped up on to the window ledge, but before she got her other leg up the young cop stood in the doorway with his gun pointing right at her.

‘Freeze, freeze!’

He was handsome, no more than twenty-two, and he looked as frightened as Ning felt. She took a look down at the gravel.

‘If you jump, you’ll probably break your legs,’ the cop said. ‘And if you don’t I’ll shoot you in your back as you run away. So show me your hands and step away from the window.’

9. NURSERY

Ning felt beat as she turned towards the cop with her hands in the air. Maybe if she got in close she could knock the gun out of his hand, but that would be tough and even if she pulled that move off his partner would be pointing his gun at her by the time she got the job done.

‘Is she alone?’ the older cop shouted.

‘Was it just you?’ the cop asked.

Ning paused for an instant before nodding. Her hesitance dented the young officer’s confidence in her answer.

‘This isn’t exactly the town centre,’ the officer said. ‘How’d you get way out here on your own?’

‘A friend lives in the village a mile away. His dad dropped me behind the field out back.’

By this time the older cop was in the hallway. His red face and short breathing made him look like a candidate for a heart attack.

‘Says she’s alone, but I think we need to check the place out,’ the younger cop said, as Ning wondered if Ingrid had been brave enough to jump out of a window. ‘I’ll call for backup just in case.’

‘You bloody won’t,’ the older cop said firmly. ‘The boss will rip us one if he finds out we let them sneak in. The wife is no threat, probably passed out drunk somewhere. Get this lady cuffed, then help me look for mother.’

The young cop took handcuffs off his belt and threw them to the floor at Ning’s feet. ‘Pick them up, and snap them over your wrists.’

Ning bent forward, but a gun went off as she grabbed the cuffs. The younger cop crashed forward. A mist of blood sprayed Ning’s face, as she took the best cover she could by diving towards the wall behind her upturned bed.

The next two shots hit the older cop, knocking him down the hallway towards the stairs. Another crack came and this time the bang was so close that it made Ning’s ear pop as it smashed through the young cop’s skull.

The commotion had thrown up clumps of feathers and Ning fought a cough as Ingrid hopped across the carpet holding a large automatic pistol.

‘Where’d you get that?’ Ning shouted, over the ringing in her ears.

‘Stashed in the nursery, with money and everything else we need,’ Ingrid explained.

There was a smell of gunpowder, mixed with shit from the young cop’s ruptured intestine. Seeing death up close was a first for Ning, but more shocking was Ingrid’s clinical shooting. The young cop had a bullet through the stomach and another through the head. The older one out in the hallway had been hit through the heart, followed by an execution shot through the forehead.

‘They’re dead,’ Ning said, dumb with shock.

‘No good to us alive, were they?’ Ingrid said.

‘When did you learn to shoot?’

‘I told you before. I was a medic in the British Army before I met your father.’

Ning had heard Ingrid mention her spell in the army. But it got treated as a joke: like finding out that your fat uncle once ran marathons, or that the cop in the family used to be a car thief.

‘I was a crap soldier and a piss poor medic,’ Ingrid explained. ‘But I could always shoot straight.’

Ning followed Ingrid across the hall to the nursery. She’d always found the changing table and the baby toys depressing. Ingrid had miscarried four babies before the Fus adopted Ning, but the nursery remained, awaiting a biological miracle.

But Ning now saw another reason for keeping the cot. Its foam mattress had been ripped apart in the search, but the officers hadn’t discovered the false panel in the cot’s underside, which had dropped open to reveal a hidden compartment when Ingrid unscrewed the wooden legs.

As well as the gun Ingrid had already used, there was a second smaller pistol, six clips filled with ammunition and a mound of cling-film-wrapped wads filled with yuan, euros, US dollars and gold ingots.

The presence of this cache caused a radical shift in the way Ning thought of her family. When she woke up that morning, she’d believed her stepfather was a hardworking businessman. Remote, and occasionally scary, but definitely not the kind of man who kept money and guns in the nursery.

‘I have to know what’s going on,’ Ning shouted. ‘I have to know
now
.’

Ingrid looked uncomfortable. ‘Babes, I swear on my life I
will
tell you, but we can’t stick around here.’

Ingrid found a wheeled suitcase in one of the wardrobes, and began stuffing it with money and ammunition.

‘There’s a red emergency bag already packed in my wardrobe,’ Ingrid said. ‘Grab that, then wash that blood off your face, but don’t take all day over it.’

Ning did as she was told, feeling sick as she wetted a flannel. When she was clean, she ditched the cat suit and slipped into jeans, hoodie and trainers.

She met Ingrid by the utility room door, assuming they’d walk back to the BMW.

‘It’s a waste of time walking across country again,’ Ingrid said. ‘It’ll be a while before they realise what’s happened here. We’ll drive the cop car back into the city. It shouldn’t take long, we’ll be going against the rush hour traffic.’

‘Then what?’ Ning asked, running around to the passenger side of the brown car as Ingrid took the driving seat.

When they were belted up and the engine was running, Ingrid handed Ning her mobile. ‘Call Wei and tell him I’ve got the money,’ she said.

The villa had a long front driveway with gates that parted automatically as the brown car approached. Ning’s heart was thudding, but the ringing from the bullet had died back to a hum and she drew some comfort from Wei’s involvement in their escape plan. He was soberer and less impulsive than Ingrid.

‘Ning, is that you?’ Wei said warmly, when he answered. ‘How are you coping?’

‘Not brilliantly,’ Ning admitted.

The car jolted and nearly went into a dramatic stall as Ingrid slotted the police car into fifth gear, when she’d been going for third.

‘Chinky shite box!’ Ingrid shouted.

‘What’s going on?’ Wei asked.

‘Ingrid just asked me to call you and say that she has the money,’ Ning said, fighting a wavering voice.

‘Good,’ Wei said. ‘I’ve set you up at the Pink Bird Motel. It’s dingy, but it’s out of the way and any taxi driver will be able to find it for you. You’re booked in under the name of Gong. The room has been paid for in cash.’

‘Pink Bird, name of Gong. Got it,’ Ning said.

‘Don’t go to the check-in desk. It’s room 205 on the second floor. The room is unlocked, you’ll find your key in the bathroom, tucked inside a towel. It’s better if you stay out of sight as much as you can, but you’ll need to eat. There’s no room service, but there’s a supermarket and a couple of cafes across the parking lot. Someone should be in touch with instructions within forty-eight hours.’

‘Will you come and see us?’ Ning asked.

‘Can’t,’ Wei said firmly. ‘Ingrid understands and you should too. You’ve
got
to avoid all unnecessary contact. That includes rogue calls to school friends or that boy you fancy. The cops can triangulate your position from a cell phone signal. Both of you to ditch your mobiles as soon as this call is over.’

‘Right,’ Ning said sadly. ‘We might never see you again.’

‘Never is a long time,’ Wei said. ‘But not any time soon.’

Ning hung up and gave the hotel details to Ingrid, who fought the gear lever as they approached the on-ramp leading up to the highway.

‘We’ll take the car into town and pick up a taxi,’ Ingrid said. ‘Maybe even a couple of taxis to throw them off the scent. Where’s your phone?’

‘Inside my boot, back at LS18.’

‘Just as well,’ Ingrid said, as she snatched her phone from Ning.

With one hand on the steering wheel, Ingrid pressed the button to open her window, then flung her phone into the overgrown area separating them from the oncoming traffic.

‘Time to vanish,’ she said.

10. PARTICIPATE

Amy had worked hard persuading Dr D to use a CHERUB agent to infiltrate Gillian Kitsell’s home, and her new career at TFU depended on the success of the mission. She was too professional to let Ryan sense her angst, but she wanted him on top form and pampered him with a beautifully cooked breakfast of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon and mushrooms.

Ryan was paying the price for pounding the heavy bag the night before, with stiff knuckles and a bruised toe. But he was too proud to admit it and was actually in a decent mood because Amy’s plan gave him hope.

Ryan had been enrolled in seventh grade at Twin Lakes Middle School. Santa Cruz had a reputation for good state education, so even wealthy kids like Ethan Kitsell attended regular schools.

For their plan to work Ryan had to arrive late to third period gym class. He avoided the school bus and Amy drove him an hour later in a Mercedes SL. With the sun up, the roof down and Muse blasting on the stereo, it was a perfect California moment.

Twin Lakes Middle School had grown with the population. Amy parked in front of an old brick schoolhouse that was now used for admin and remedial classes. Beyond was a shabby block of one-storey classrooms built in the sixties and a more recent block with a banked roof that led up to a sports hall at the far end.

‘Got everything you need?’ Amy asked, as Ryan stepped out of the Merc.

‘Checked and double-checked,’ Ryan said.

‘Great,’ Amy said. ‘And no pressure, but I was up half the night locating that set of master keys, so if you screw this up I might kick your arse.’

Ryan knew Amy was joking and gave her the finger, before slamming the car door and heading up the steps into the admin block.

The bleeps for the start of third period went as Ryan handed over an absence note, explaining that he was late due to a small burglary at their home.

‘I hope they didn’t steal anything valuable,’ the elderly school secretary said.

‘My dad scared ’em off,’ Ryan explained, as he stood with his elbows resting on a high counter. ‘They didn’t get much, but we waited ages for the cops to arrive, and they wanted to question all of us.’

The secretary wheeled her chair back towards the counter. ‘Are you English?’ she asked, as she slapped a mauve hall pass on the counter in front of Ryan.

‘Yeah,’ Ryan said. ‘My dad’s moved out here for work.’

‘My brother was stationed over there. USAF missile base, back in the eighties.’

‘Cool,’ Ryan said disinterestedly. ‘So I show this to Mr Oldfield when I get to the gym?’

The woman glanced at her watch. ‘If you move fast, you’ll only miss a couple of minutes.’

But Ryan needed to work in an empty changing room, so he ducked into the toilet for a while, before slowly crossing a sunny courtyard and entering the new building.

His trainers squeaked on scuffed tiles as he walked the length of a deserted corridor. When he reached the Phys Ed department, he stood outside the boys’ changing room and pretended to drink from a water fountain.

When boys got changed they made a racket, but it was quiet which meant they’d already moved into the sports hall. Unfortunately Mr Oldfield had locked the outer door of the changing room, so Ryan had to walk into the gym, dodging three classes of girls running basketball drills, while seventh-grade boys ran laps around the perimeter, except Yannis who sat on a bench in his regular clothes, no doubt claiming an asthma attack for the seven hundredth time.

Mr Oldfield was bald, thickset and had a moustache. He hadn’t got the memo about really tight gym shorts being out of fashion, so he always looked like he’d just returned from a gay pride march.

‘Hall pass,’ Oldfield said, as he ripped it from Ryan’s hand, then looked at his watch. ‘This says 10:48. Where you been these past eleven minutes, son?’

‘I had to walk right down from the admin unit, sir.’

Oldfield made a contemptuous sucking sound. ‘You think kicking your heels means you won’t have to participate?’ he said, as he pointed across the gym to the inner door of the changing room. ‘Well you got that wrong. And you’d better be out here in four minutes or you can see me after school Monday for detention.’