CHERUB: Mad Dogs (3 page)

‘OK, I’ll pick it up,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I’m just saying that it’s rank.’

‘I know it’s dodgy. That’s why I want a girl for this. The cops don’t have two brain cells to rub; they’ll think you’re somebody’s bitch.’

‘What’s the brother look like?’

‘What brother?’

Gabrielle groaned; Dee was high for sure. ‘The guy I’m meeting. Unless you want me to hand a big bag of cocaine to the first random soul that comes my way.’

Major Dee didn’t sound sure. ‘Just get the bag to the Green Pepper. Someone will be expecting you.’

The call went dead and Gabrielle looked around at Michael.

‘Pickup?’ Michael asked.

Gabrielle nodded. ‘But it’s weird. He wants me to go into the Green Pepper with a whole K of coke.’

‘Did you tell him that’s insane?’

‘He reckons the police won’t suss me because I’m a girl … I mean, I know the police aren’t genius IQ, but I think they can get their heads around the idea of a female drug dealer.’

‘He’s probably mashed,’ Michael reasoned. ‘Knowing Dee he’s smoked about twenty joints and hasn’t even been to bed yet.’

‘If I get arrested it’ll wreck the mission.’

Michael thought as Gabrielle pulled a T-shirt over her head. ‘Here’s what we do, Gab: we grab the coke from the park, but once you’ve got it you give Major Dee a call and say that there’s a cop car circling around the Green Pepper and that you’ll have to meet the dealer somewhere else. He won’t want to risk losing a whole kilo of cocaine, no matter how stoned he is.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Gabrielle nodded, as she kissed Michael’s shoulder and nuzzled his neck. ‘But I don’t like this one little bit.’

James opened his eyes and saw the crab rear up and open its armoured pincers. But the bravado didn’t last and it scuttled off towards a shallow pool. The ground was James’ friend and he felt like hugging it, but he had to free the chute from his back before the wind caught hold.

He rolled on to his chest and was relieved to discover that nothing hurt as he looked along the plain of sand and caught a sight worthy of a soft-drink commercial: palm trees, blue sky and orange parachutes billowing in the warm breeze.

Dana had made a perfect landing three seconds after James and was jogging towards him. Parachute gear isn’t exactly feminine, but she still looked good with long hair floating behind her.

‘How’s it going down there?’ she smirked, as James pulled his chute off his shoulders and began to unbuckle his helmet.

He wasn’t sure how to act. Dana was great and he didn’t feel too bad now that he’d made the jump. But it’s hard to ignore when your girlfriend shoves you out of an aeroplane.

‘You …’

‘Are you hurt or not?’ Dana said bluntly, placing her hands on her hips.

‘You should have seen the crab …’ James smiled as he pointed towards the glistening pool.

‘I saw you lying there; I thought you might be hurt.’ As Dana spoke she edged in to peck James on the cheek, unsure how he’d react.

‘Quite a buzz,’ James shrugged, not sounding as cool as he’d hoped. ‘I arsed up the landing, but I guess I wouldn’t mind doing it again some time …’

‘
Riiiiight
,’ Dana smiled, as she stepped backwards. ‘If you’re OK I’ll go pack up my chute.’

James grinned as he knelt on one knee in the sand and began gathering the waves of rustling fabric. He imagined himself fifty years in the future, an old dude surrounded by kids and grandkids, telling them about the day his wife shoved him out of an aeroplane …

Jumpers rolled their chutes at landing sites at hundred-metre intervals along the beach. When James’ chute was half packed, the two-way radio in his trouser pocket made a double bleep.

‘Yeah,’ James said.

Mr Pike sounded like he was running. ‘James, Dana, I’m down, but I’ve had a peek through my binoculars. I can see a chute a couple of hundred metres ahead of you and there’s nothing going on beneath it. Leave your equipment and get over there.’

When James first looked around, all the chutes had been in a similar state. Now, one billowed conspicuously, tethered to the ground by the weight of the trainee wearing it. As James set off, he was aware of Dana racing up behind him. She was a triathlete and by the time he was half-way towards the stricken jumper Dana had passed him in a blaze of flying sand.

The wind was light and Dana found a ten-year-old girl tangled in cords and nylon.

‘Jo, sweetheart, what happened?’

James arrived as Dana peeled away the layers of fabric. At first Dana assumed that Jo McGowan was unconscious, but she was just in mild shock. James recoiled when he saw that Jo’s boot was twisted at a weird angle. She’d clearly broken a bone.

‘What happened?’ Mr Pike puffed, as he stopped running beside James.

James kicked at a chunk of reinforced concrete lying on the sand. ‘Looks like she hit this as she came down and turned over on her ankle.’

Mr Pike shook his head as he looked around at acres of level sand. ‘We surveyed this beach,’ he said bitterly. ‘It’s gotta be a million to one that you hit something.’

It looked as if Jo was fine apart from her ankle, but Dana didn’t want to move the trainee until she was completely sure. She unfolded a toothed blade from her multi-tool and hacked the parachute harness away from the youngster’s shoulders.

‘Does it hurt anywhere else?’ Dana asked.

Jo shook her head as she struggled to sit up. ‘Maybe it’s sprained,’ she sniffed. ‘Maybe I can walk it off.’

But Jo knew better when she saw the way her boot was pointing in the wrong direction. Jo was a sweet-faced girl with long black hair, but James had the misfortune to see the moment when her heart broke. After ninety-six days of training, she was devastated.

Jo was athletic, bright, a natural leader and as close as you ever get to a cert to pass basic training. But she’d been done in by debris washed up on the last tide and you’re not allowed to resume basic training. When the ten-year-old recovered she’d have to restart from day one.

Dana gave Jo a tight hug and spoke comfortingly, reminding her that she was young and that nobody would blame her for failing, but Jo’s future had just imploded and there was no consoling her.

Meanwhile, Mr Pike was burrowing into Jo’s backpack, throwing equipment into the sand until he came across a red wallet containing a first-aid kit.

‘We need to get that boot off before the ankle swells,’ Mr Pike explained, as he slid out a syringe containing local anaesthetic. ‘But that’s gonna hurt, so I’ll numb it off first.’

Although Jo’s injury was serious, it was treatable. Mr Pike sounded much calmer now that he was getting a grip on things. He worked expertly, slicing a hole in the leg of Jo’s padded jump suit before swabbing the patch of skin underneath with alcohol and telling her to look away before pushing the needle into her leg.

‘It’ll take a minute to go numb, but you’ll be a lot more comfortable after that.’

Meanwhile, Mr Kazakov and the other trainees had folded their chutes up and were rushing over to see what was going on. The youngsters babbled about how bad it looked until Mr Pike lost patience with their noise.

‘You all have orders and a rendezvous point for twenty-one hundred hours,’ he shouted. ‘Training doesn’t stop just because one of you is injured. If you don’t make it by twenty-two hundred you’ll not be getting dinner, so I
strongly
suggest that you prepare your equipment and set off towards your first marker points.

‘Mr Kazakov, organise the collection of the parachutes and jump clothing and stow it on the boat for the ride back to the mainland.’

As Dana continued to comfort Jo and Mr Pike began picking the lace out of her boot, all of the trainees except Kevin Sumner began peeling off their padded jump suits, revealing tanned skin and lightweight jungle clothing.

‘Sumner, why are you standing there?’ Mr Kazakov shouted, as he faced Kevin off. ‘You’re getting on my tits today. I can see you ending up with my boot up your backside.’

James wasn’t comfortable with the way Kazakov picked on Kevin and leapt to his defence. ‘Jo’s his training partner,’ James explained. ‘Their briefings are in two languages and he can’t do the mission alone because he can’t understand Jo’s instructions.’

Kazakov was inexperienced and looked confused, but Mr Pike quickly interrupted. ‘Are you up for a jungle hike, James?’

No cherub in history had ever wanted to do a jungle hike, but the course had been designed for ten-to twelve-year-olds with heavy packs. James was fifteen and it would be well within his capabilities.

‘I guess,’ he said. ‘But I’m not arsing around with some stupid briefing written in gobbledegook. I’m gonna fetch my GPS receiver off the boat and I want the coordinates.’

Mr Kazakov bristled. ‘Kevin needs a challenge; it’s not fair on the other trainees.’

James pointed at Jo. ‘Since when was basic training ever fair? Or I tell you what, Kazakov, I’ll stay here and pack up the parachute equipment and you can do the twenty-kilometre hike your way.’

The newly appointed instructor didn’t like that suggestion one bit.

‘Not keen?’ James carped.

While James and Kazakov postured, Kevin stripped out his former training partner’s pack. As well as grabbing all of Jo’s rations, he took out some essential shared equipment and replaced his spork.

He eyed Jo guiltily as he worked. ‘I feel like a vulture picking over your bones.’

Despite her pain, Jo managed an encouraging smile. ‘You’ve got to carry on, Kev. I really hope you last out. You deserve your grey shirt.’

Kevin tried not to cry as he grabbed Jo’s filthy hand and squeezed it tight. ‘You don’t deserve this; you’ve helped me out a million times. I wouldn’t be here if—’

Mr Kazakov gave Kevin a shove in the back. ‘Get a move on,’ he growled. ‘I want that jump suit before you cry all over it.’

‘You’d better get ready, Kev,’ Jo said. ‘You’ll be all right with James on the hike.’

James gave Kevin a sympathetic look. ‘I’ve got to fill my canteen and put some equipment together for the hike,’ he said. ‘Finish saying your goodbyes and I’ll meet you over by that sand dune in five minutes.’

As James turned away, he saw that the other three pairs of trainees were putting on sunscreen and stripping unnecessary weight from their packs in preparation for a four-hour hike in blistering heat.

His mind wandered as he jogged towards a wooden cargo boat. It had been moored at high tide and was now marooned, several hundred metres from the sea.

James hated school work and had agreed to help out the training department instead of doing extra GCSEs. The arrangement suited him, even if it didn’t always make him fabulously popular with the youngsters he had to train. But he’d been working with the instructors for four months now and he’d slowly come to realise that he didn’t have the ruthless streak that all good instructors needed.

As James stepped into the hull of the small motor launch and tried to find his day pack amidst cartons of equipment and tins of food, his eyes welled up as he pictured Jo and Kevin with their hands locked together and tears streaking down their cheeks.

Owen Campbell-Moore was a dreadlocked Jamaican who worked as a groundsman at the playing fields a couple of kilometres from the Zoo. Gabrielle and Michael found him on a deckchair inside his lock-up, with his socked feet resting on a ride-on mower. There was damp in the air, mixed up with the smell of cut grass and fumes from a Calor gas heater.

‘How are me young lovers today?’ Owen asked cheerfully, as he touched fists with Michael. When he stood up, his giant woolly hat brushed the corrugated roof.

‘We’re good,’ Michael nodded, as Gabrielle smiled in agreement.

‘And life in the Zoo?’ Owen asked. He’d lived there himself a dozen years earlier and always made a point to ask.

‘In-bloody-sane, as always,’ Gabrielle smirked. ‘Girl cut herself in the bathroom two nights ago and they still haven’t cleaned up.’

Owen shook his head and sucked air between his teeth. ‘My old home, I miss it so,’ he said, before bursting into laughter. ‘So you here for a K bag? You know, I almost fell on me arse when Major Dee called up so early.’

‘Same here,’ Michael nodded, as Owen guided his socks into a pair of muddy workman’s boots and stood up without bothering to tie the laces.

He put on a pair of gardening gloves before grabbing keys from a catering-sized coffee can and strolling outside towards the men’s changing block. Owen wore his jeans down low, with his boxers showing, but it was a younger man’s look and it didn’t seem right.

Gabrielle followed Owen and Michael into the tiled men’s changing room. The floor was covered with chunks of dry mud stamped out with the shape of football studs, and she could see past the clothes hooks and benches into a toilet cubicle with damp tissue across the floor and diarrhoea sprayed up the seat.

‘Do you need me in here?’ she said, gagging on the combo of old sweat and blocked toilet.

‘Wait outside,’ Owen snorted, as he grinned at Michael. ‘It’s not really suited to the delicate nostrils of females in here.’

As Owen stepped on to a metal changing bench and reached up to grab a kilo of cocaine from behind a ceiling tile, Gabrielle backed into the crisp March air. She tried to wipe the foul smell from memory as she buried her fists in the front pockets of her hoodie and studied the cold breath curling in front of her face.

The playing fields were deserted, except for a dude thirty metres away, sitting on a concrete bench behind a set of goalposts. He was a little older than Gabrielle, maybe seventeen: Adidas tracksuit, with a bike flat on the pavement in front of him and a mobile phone touching a cheek covered in zits. She wouldn’t have given him a second glance, but for his shocked expression when he realised she was looking his way.

He snapped his phone shut, sprang off the bench and wobbled all over the place as he began pedalling away.

‘All set,’ Michael said, zipping the bag of white powder into a Fila pack. He handed it over to Gabrielle as Owen locked up the changing room.

‘Do you recognise that guy on the bike?’ she asked, but the rider had disappeared into the glare of the low sun.