*
The white shirts took their time rescuing James from the net and McEwen didn’t bother letting it down gently.
‘You extra-soft-toilet-tissue-using, worm-like bag of gloop,’ McEwen screamed, as he gave James an almighty kick up the arse.
‘Hey, there are rules,’ James yelled. ‘You can’t kick me.’
‘Do I look like someone who gives a shit?’ McEwen grinned, pointing his rifle at James’ nuts. ‘Get moving.’
The delay in letting James down meant that Dana actually returned to the starting point in the far corner of campus before him. James gave her a kiss before throwing over her boot.
‘What’s the situation?’ James asked, as he looked around and saw several other black shirts preparing to set off for a second run. The instructors, Kazakov and Pike, were monitoring communications from the warmth of their hut.
‘It’s grimmer than a shit sandwich,’ Dana reported. ‘At least half of us have been captured once already, it sounds like several others are pinned down under fire from the red shirts and I’ve not heard from anyone who’s made it more than a few hundred metres on to the open ground. There’s at least ten quad bikes out there and the red shirts are lined up on the edge of the woods acting as scouts and snipers. A group of six black shirts set off a few minutes ago, but I knew you were due back so I told them I’d wait.’
‘Do you think a bigger group might get somewhere?’ James asked. ‘We could wait for more people.’
Dana raised an uncertain eyebrow. ‘I guess if they all rushed out at once, most of them would get picked up, but one or two might get away. But it’s going to get harder as the night goes on. I mean, once people start escaping there are going to be more white shirts after fewer targets.’
‘See your point,’ James nodded.
‘The only good news is that a few of the red shirts have had their equipment taken and two more were in an accident with a quad bike, so this time there should be fewer guns pointing at us.’
‘What about Lauren?’ James asked. ‘Any sign of her?’
‘Not that I’ve heard,’ Dana said, as she looked at her watch. ‘It’s slow going through those ditches though. I expect she’s only just reached open ground.’
‘There’s no point trying to run out in the open with no equipment,’ James said, frustrated. ‘Ambushing and nabbing equipment is the only way for us to go.’
Dana nodded. ‘Lure in one of the quad bikes and knock the rider off, but it won’t be easy. So many of us black shirts got caught so quickly that we’re all gonna be trying the same kind of tactics.’
‘We might as well be moving as standing here,’ James said, and Dana nodded.
They headed towards a white shirt called Jennie Ross. She stood at the edge of the clearing with a clipboard and a pen behind her ear.
‘Ready for another shot?’ she asked cheerfully. ‘Agents were made of tougher stuff in my day.’
‘Seems the birds were a lot uglier though,’ James grinned.
The white shirt took a whistle out of her jacket. ‘You’ve got forty seconds’ immunity from when I blow the whistle.’ Then she turned and shouted into the trees. ‘Two more suckers heading out on my mark.’
14. SPEED
A shot cracked the air and hit the ground a metre past Lauren. She dived behind a line of shrubs as a second shot whacked the heel of her boot, then looked up and peeked between the branches. Night vision showed her a single red-shirt sniper lying on the flat roof of the vehicle workshop.
Lauren thought about starting a shoot-out, but the red shirt had the dual advantages of body armour and a radio to call for backup. So she shouted out, trying to sound younger than she was.
‘Don’t shoot,’ she squeaked. ‘I’m a friendly but my headset has broken.’
She watched the red shirt swing around suspiciously and raise his hand. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ he asked.
Lauren smiled; the youngster hadn’t considered that another red shirt might have had their night-vision goggles snatched.
‘Three fingers,’ Lauren shouted, as she stood up and gave a friendly wave. Although she was smaller than any of the other black shirts, she was still bigger than any red shirt and she hoped that the boy wouldn’t work this out until she got up close.
‘How’d you bust your radio?’ the red shirt asked.
‘I fell in a ditch and it got a soaking,’ Lauren explained as she jogged up to the side of the building. Even if the red shirt realised who she was now, he’d have to lean awkwardly over the guttering to get a shot in.
‘What’s happening on the radio?’ Lauren asked. ‘Have you had contact with any black shirts?’
‘It’s dead over here,’ the red shirt said dejectedly. ‘They sent me to check on anyone coming through the training compound, but all the action’s on the other side of campus.’
‘Same here,’ Lauren said. ‘I haven’t seen a sausage. I might head over there; do you want to come with?’
The red shirt swung his legs over the side of the roof and dropped down. Before he got his balance, Lauren launched a vicious Karate kick. Her boot thumped the little red shirt’s stomach and he doubled over.
‘By the way, I lied,’ Lauren smiled, as she swept the red shirt’s feet away and pinned him down in the gravel.
The red shirt cursed his luck: he’d fallen for Lauren’s ruse because her voice seemed familiar. But she wasn’t a fellow red shirt; she was the girl who helped the little kids in the junior block. He made a desperate grab for the transmit button on his microphone, but Lauren ripped the headset away from his mouth before digging the point of her elbow against the back of his neck. Shards of gravel dug into his face.
‘Glad you volunteered for this little game?’ Lauren snarled. ‘I want your jacket, your ammunition and everything else you’ve got. Then you’d better walk back to the junior block ’cos if I see your face again tonight I might not be such a sweetie pie.’
‘OK,’ said the kid, making the gravel shuffle as he tried to nod.
Once she’d stripped the red shirt’s equipment and sent him on his way, Lauren fixed on the headset so that she could listen to all the communications going back and forth between the white shirts and the instructors. Finally she squeezed into the red shirt’s coat. It was too small to button up and short on the sleeves, but it had a fur lining and it was bliss to have something covering her arms.
Despite the red shirt’s solemn promise, Lauren knew he was angry and would probably try reporting what had happened. She had to move fast, so it was a relief that the back door of the vehicle workshop had been left unlocked. This was common on campus, where burglars were unheard of and rogue cherubs knew they’d be caught on CCTV if they tried stealing anything.
The first thing she passed was the burned-out shell of Shakeel’s cart. It sat on bare wheel rims, filling its surroundings with a vague odour of burned plastic. James’ team’s buggy was up against the wall at the front and to her relief it hadn’t been stripped down after the race.
After flipping on the lamp over a workbench so that she could see, Lauren found the switch for the electronic door at the front and clambered into the seat. As the aluminium door rolled noisily towards the ceiling, she pressed the start button and the motorbike engine blasted into life.
*
Lauren had learned to drive when she was ten years old and got scheduled for at least an hour’s driving practice every month. CHERUB didn’t encourage agents to go out joyriding, but driving was a vital skill that most agents would use to escape from a sticky situation at some point in their careers.
CHERUB had a variety of pool cars and Lauren had sat behind the wheel of everything from Mercedes and Range Rovers down to Minis and mopeds. The one thing all of them had in common was that the manufacturers had invested millions in their development, making sure all the components worked together and that the steering and handling were expertly tuned.
By contrast, Lauren was now driving a golf buggy
that had been converted by her brother and three of his mates. If you did anything more than gently dab the accelerator, the back wheels spun like crazy. The brakes had been designed for sedate progress around a golf course and she was stunned when she first used them and found that nothing happened for almost a second. When she squeezed harder the beefed-up rear brakes bit, sending a shower of sparks flying out from the rear wheels and hurling her forward in her seat.
The most random element was the cornering, which reminded Lauren of Meatball chasing a ball across Zara’s kitchen floor and crashing into all the cabinets. But for all its faults it was a ride home, and once Lauren got to grips with its eccentricities she realised that it was a very fast one.
Not wanting to risk an accident, Lauren kept the speed down. This also meant that the engine stayed quiet and she could hear the voice traffic going between the red and white shirts and the instructors in her earpiece.
For a black shirt it made grim listening. Over the space of three minutes Lauren heard white shirts capturing Kerry, Gabrielle and two other agents, while another group lay in wait ready to ambush the group of six who’d set off before James and Dana. Kazakov sounded like he was enjoying himself and several times he complimented his team on keeping a clean sheet: meaning that nobody had made it back to the main building.
Lauren was confident of becoming the first as she cruised the path at the side of the rugby pitches, with just the tennis courts between herself and the back of the main building. She’d be indoors in under two minutes, showered and snuggled under her duvet in fifteen if she didn’t hang about.
A shout came up over the radio. Lauren recognised the voice of a red-shirt girl called Ryan Smythe. ‘I’m eyeballing James Adams and Dana Smith in the trees by the lake,’ Ryan yelled. ‘I can shoot if you like?’
‘Hold on that,’ Mr Pike replied calmly. ‘Do we have anyone available to intercept?’
McEwen answered. ‘I nailed that groin kisser once and I’m on the quad ready to get him again. Dave Moss is riding with.’
‘OK, Ryan,’ Pike said. ‘I want you to keep them in your sights and report any movement.’
Lauren felt a twang of conscience. If the white shirts had disabled all the electric carts, she had the only available means of besting white shirts on the quad bikes. James was her brother and parts of her wanted to help him out. On the other hand he was also the git who’d kicked a football at her and left a dirty great red mark on her back earlier in the evening.
Her heart leaped as she slowed to a halt. She was less than a hundred metres from the back of the main building. Did she really want to risk it all for the sake of being a hero? And would James do the same for her if their roles were reversed? She liked to think that he would, but was less than convinced.
She looked at the fuel gauge taped to the dashboard and part of her hoped it showed empty, but it was three quarters full.
‘Can’t believe I’m doing this,’ Lauren grunted, as she jabbed the throttle and jerked the steering wheel. The cart almost threw her out as the back wheels squealed and she spun to face in the opposite direction.
Lauren had a big speed advantage over the white shirts, but the quads had four-wheel drive and big tyres designed for mud and hills, whereas her cart had a low chassis and titchy wheels. It was meant to run on flat paths and trimmed grass.
She blasted away from the main building, hardly able to believe she was being so nice. After half a kilometre she was alarmed by the outlines of two quads on a hilltop, but they didn’t come after her. She was heading away from the main building and they must have thought she was a member of staff.
Judging from the radio traffic, it sounded like a massive ruck had broken out in the bushes. The group of six black shirts had got hold of some weapons and were in a shoot-out with white and red shirts. Pairs of white-shirt units were moving in to collect them and Lauren knew she had a chance to help.
She pressed the transmit button and spoke into her microphone, deliberately talking quietly so that her voice was hard to recognise. ‘I’m over on the west side,’ she lied. ‘Five black shirts just came out the front of the basic training compound. I need urgent assistance.’
‘Can you confirm your ID and location,’ Kazakov answered.
‘Sorry base, can’t understand … Weak signal … My earpiece got some water in it earlier. I repeat, I’m close to the exit of the training compound. I see five black shirts coming towards me, but I can’t take all of them out on my own.’
Kazakov started to panic. ‘I want all units patrolling the lake to move west and intercept by the training compound. All rear units move forward to the lake. Don’t you dare let anyone through because there’ll be no safety net behind you.’
Lauren grinned as a sequence of will dos and roger thats came through her earpiece. The two quads she’d passed moments earlier roared away from the hilltop heading for the lake, while in the distance she could hear a whole fleet moving towards the training compound. It made her feel pretty good, but if one of the nuttier white shirts like McEwen got hold of her after that stunt, they’d kick her arse whether it was against the rules or not.
It took another two minutes to pass the last of the football pitches. She took a right and sped down the track leading towards the lake, all the time trying not to think about how she could have been tucked up in bed by now.
15. LAKE
James and Dana crouched in the trees, watching the quads roar past in the darkness.
‘They’re heading for the training compound,’ Dana whispered.
‘You think it’s Lauren?’ James asked.
Dana shook her head. ‘They wouldn’t send all that lot after one person.’
They could hear the six black shirts and the white shirts fighting in the woods less than a hundred metres away. James and Dana considered joining the fray, but both sides seemed to have guns and simunition, while all they had was a big stick and a ropey plan.
‘If half of the quads have gone west and loads of other white shirts are in a rumble over there we could try making a break for it,’ James suggested.
But Dana didn’t sound keen. ‘After my last attempt I don’t fancy our chances on foot. We should stick to our plan. One of the quads has got to come up close eventually.’
Over the next couple of minutes they heard more shooting and watched a bunch of black shirts break out of the trees and make a run downhill towards the lake. They had no vehicles, but most of them had grabbed weapons from the red shirts and some even seemed to have retrieved well-fitting clothes and body armour from the whites.
As the massed group sprinted around the edge of the lake, a single quad closed in on James and Dana’s position. Dave Moss had gone after the non-existent group in the west, leaving McEwen to hunt James and Dana alone.
McEwen was confident that with a gun and body armour he’d be able to capture them both, but as he stood up astride the quad and glanced around to eyeball them with his night vision, he was stunned to see the pair running right at him. They were two metres apart, and they held a thick branch between them at shoulder height.
McEwen ducked and went for his rifle, but he was too slow. The branch smashed into him. As he tumbled off the quad and on to his side, his boot caught the hand throttle and the quad engine roared. Dana moved fast, landing heavily on McEwen’s stomach and knocking the wind out of him.
‘I’m under attack,’ McEwen shouted into his mouthpiece. ‘Get some backup over here.’
McEwen was much bigger than Dana and she knew he’d beat her if she gave him time to catch his breath. Kevlar armour covered all of McEwen’s vulnerable body parts, so Dana went for his goggles, punching them with such ferocity that the plastic bridge between the two sides cracked and blood spewed out of his nose.
‘Where are you, James?’ Dana screamed, as she looked around briefly before grabbing the handcuffs off McEwen’s belt and locking them over his wrists while he was dazed.
Getting the better of McEwen felt good, but
they needed the quad to get home. James had made a lunge as it began to roll, but it was heavy and his fingers had no grip after being out in the cold. He ended up sprawled in the grass.
As he scrambled to his feet, the rolling quad’s front end turned gently into the slope and gathered speed as it rolled downhill towards the lake. James broke into a sprint, but couldn’t make up any ground. His last hope was the hedgerow along the lakeside. With luck it would be enough to stop the quad, or at least slow it sufficiently for him to catch up and grab hold of it.
The muddy front tyres reared up as evergreen leaves rustled and branches crunched. All four wheels were off the ground as James made a desperate final charge. He reached out to grab the fender over the back wheels, just as the front wheels tilted forward and raised it beyond his grasp.
The gravel path between the hedge and the lake was fairly flat and the quad crept towards the water less than two metres away. James vaulted the breach in the hedge, confident that he had time to catch up and grab the handlebars before it crashed into the lake, but as he moved out a simulated round thumped him in the back.
James collapsed as a second slammed the back of his bare leg. He spun around and saw Ryan Smythe and another red-shirt girl running downhill towards him. After straightening his safety goggles, James ducked behind the bushes as the front of the quad tipped over the edge of the lake. The water was almost a metre below the embankment and the quad teetered precariously.
The red shirts were too titchy to risk hand-to-hand combat, but they stood their ground until they spotted Dana charging down the hill towards them. One girl made a run for it, but Dana flew in with a two-footed tackle and knocked Ryan flying.
‘Goggles and rifles, short arse,’ Dana yelled, as she held Ryan down. ‘Make it snappy or I’ll throw your butt in the lake.’
James thought about going after the red shirt who was running away, but Dana had now floored McEwen and a red shirt. He figured they had two rifles and two sets of night-vision goggles, so he decided to rescue the quad bike. However, the red shirt who was on the run knew the quad would enable James and Dana to get back to the main building. When she noticed that James wasn’t coming after her, she dropped into a firing position and took aim.