CHERUB: People's Republic (29 page)

‘IDC,’ Ryan said. ‘And where I fitted in.’

Amy nodded. ‘Are you and I on speaking terms after everything that happened in Santa Cruz?’

‘I think this counts as speaking,’ Ryan said, keeping one eye on Leon and Banky as they rapidly sorted clothes.

‘You know what I mean,’ Amy said. ‘Things were awkward when I left you at the airport in San Francisco, and things weren’t exactly rosy when we spoke on the phone. I should have been more supportive.’

Ryan shrugged. ‘It’s awkward when you’re in a new job,’ he said. ‘I basically acted like a tosser when I shoved Dr D, so I reckon we’re about even.’

‘Cool,’ Amy said. ‘Because you’re up to speed with most information on the Aramov Clan and Zara says she’s happy for you to be involved in a recruitment operation.’

‘Now you’ve lost me,’ Ryan said. ‘First you said Aramov Clan, now I’m recruiting a new CHERUB agent. Which one is it?’

‘Both,’ Amy said. ‘I’ve prepared this file for you. If half is true it’s a hell of a story. It also contains personal information that mustn’t be spread around campus. Treat this file as you would a mission briefing document.’

Ryan took the folder and saw a centimetre-thick wodge of interview statements, translations of Chinese newspaper articles, e-mails and photographs. The sheet stapled to the front cover of the picture was a standard form CHERUB used for potential recruits. Ryan saw the photo of an Asian girl and began reading aloud.

‘Fu Ning,’ he said. ‘Turned twelve last Wednesday. Speaks fluent English and Mandarin. High IQ, champion boxer. Sounds like CHERUB material to me. So what’s the Aramov link?’

‘Fu Ning was picked up at Liverpool Central station just over a month back. It was near midnight. A station guard alerted the transport police because she was alone. She’d been travelling around for a few days trying to find an aunt who came from Bootle. She was dirty, she had cuts on her hand and wrists, a broken toe that hadn’t been set properly, a burn on her chest, and eighteen thousand US dollars in her backpack.’

‘Sad,’ Ryan said, as he tried to imagine how all those injuries could have happened to the innocent-looking girl in the picture.

‘Ning claims to have travelled from China to the Czech Republic, via Kyrgyzstan. Along the way she encountered Leonid Aramov. Ning is currently in an IDC in Scotland and I’m booked on a train. I’ll meet Ning this evening and try to find out how much she learned in Kyrgyzstan.’

‘Then she’ll come back here for recruitment tests and you want me to look after her?’ Ryan said.

Amy nodded. ‘On paper Ning is prime CHERUB material, but she’s suffered a lot in the last two months. Until I actually meet Ning, I can’t gauge how it’s affected her mentally.’

37. BLUE

Whatever hand fate dealt, Ning always seemed to end up in a room filled with bunks. This one was in Kirkcaldy Immigration Detention Centre. Her two roomies were Veronica, a sixteen-year-old Jamaican who was awaiting deportation after serving a short sentence for smuggling cocaine, and Rupa, who was eight months pregnant. She couldn’t be sent back to Bangladesh until after her baby was born.

The regime at Kirkcaldy was relaxed. People wore their own clothes and picked and chose when to eat or sleep. But there were still bars on the windows, the showers and toilets were grim and every expense was spared on the food.

Ning’s block held women under twenty-two and quite a few of them had babies or toddlers. There was a cute little chap who gave Ning cuddles and sat on her bunk playing with toy cars, but at other times the screaming babies and brats charging up and down the hallways did her brain in.

The staff were mostly OK, though like any place some were better than others. Lucy Pogue was a tough-looking officer who ran Ning’s block. She was usually grumpy, but had reason to be: in the three weeks since Ning arrived, she’d seen Lucy punched and kicked, get piss thrown in her face after a search team confiscated drugs, and dealing with a detainee who’d tried killing herself by slashing her wrists.

‘So, how’s it going?’ Lucy asked casually, as she came into Ning’s room.

Rupa was at a doctor’s appointment and Veronica had her iPod blasting, so Ning’s was the only reply.

‘Dull as,’ Ning said.

‘Have you been to school this week?’ Lucy asked.

Girls under sixteen were supposed to attend school, but it wasn’t strictly enforced.

‘It’s pointless,’ Ning said. ‘Five- to fifteen-year-olds in one class, speaking twenty different languages.’

‘I need you to come over for an interview,’ Lucy said. ‘Bring your immigration papers. They’re waiting for you.’

Ning was surprised. She’d had several meetings with the immigration officer dealing with her citizenship application, but the others had been scheduled in advance. Ning took a minute to slide on trainers and get copies of her paperwork out of her locker before Lucy led her downstairs.

The route to the administration building took them across a blustery courtyard with swings and a roundabout. The interview room was small. It always seemed stuffy and a couple of degrees too hot. Ning’s Immigration Case Officer was called Steve. He had red hair and a shaving rash, and you could see nipples through his thin white shirt.

‘Afternoon, Ning,’ Steve said politely. ‘Take a seat.’

Ning sat in an orange plastic chair, while Lucy stayed back near the door.

Steve clicked his pen and spoke. ‘I have the usual boxes to tick,’ he said. ‘First of all, I understand that you speak English and do not require a translator?’

‘Yes,’ Ning said.

‘Secondly, your legal aid representative cannot be present this afternoon. But he will be notified of this meeting. You’ll get an opportunity to talk to him by telephone if you wish to do so later.’

Ning nodded. Steve ticked another box on his form, then tapped his papers against the desk.

‘Now,’ Steve said seriously, ‘I have some unfortunate news today. I’m going to read a prepared statement as it’s a legal requirement:
After consideration of your application for British citizenship, it has been decided that you have no proven basis to obtain British citizenship, or to remain in Great Britain for any other reason. You will be given full details of why we reached this conclusion. You have a limited right of appeal as per the provisions of the 2002 Immigration and Nationality Act. We have notified the Chinese authorities of our intention to return you to the People’s Republic of China
.’

Ning felt like she’d been punched. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said shakily. ‘Ingrid was British, I was legally adopted.’

Steve tipped his chair back and interlocked his fingers. ‘Unfortunately, we’ve been unable to trace any details of this
Ingrid
.’

‘She worked as a stripper,’ Ning said. ‘Maybe Ingrid Hepburn was her stage name. And weren’t you going to check with the army?’

‘The army has no record of an Ingrid Hepburn,’ Steve said. ‘I also had a fellow officer visit the address in Bootle where your aunt is supposed to have lived. The current residents had been there for two years and we were unable to trace previous occupants.’

‘Well what about my accent then?’ Ning said desperately. ‘Everyone here takes the Mickey and says I speak English like a Chinese scouser. I got that from Ingrid. Where else could it have come from?’

‘An accent is not grounds for citizenship,’ Steve said. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve thoroughly investigated your interview statements. There are no grounds for you to remain in the United Kingdom.’

‘What about compassionate grounds, or refugee status?’ Lucy asked.

Steve looked uncomfortable. ‘China has a functioning child welfare system. Child protection officers will meet Ning when she lands in Beijing.’

‘Child protection,’ Ning said angrily. ‘They’ll dump me in some reform school a thousand miles from anywhere.’

‘Ning, I’m not unsympathetic,’ Steve said. ‘But I work within a framework of rules and guidelines. I have no personal discretion.’

‘What’s the bloody point?’ Ning shouted as she shot up from her seat, lifted the desk and slammed it against the floor. ‘Why do I bother with anything?’

Lucy put a reassuring hand on Ning’s shoulder.

‘There’s only one flight a day from Edinburgh to Beijing,’ Steve said. ‘I believe there are seats available on tomorrow’s flight.’

Ning was shaky and had tears welling in her eyes as she walked back across the courtyard with Lucy.

‘China probably won’t be as bad as you think,’ Lucy said, as she left Ning at the door of her cell.

Lucy meant well, but Ning was irritated because she’d spent the first four years of her life in a Chinese orphanage, while Lucy knew nothing about them.

‘You look beat up, girl,’ Veronica said, pulling an ear bud out as Ning sat down. ‘They booked your flight?’

Ning got on OK with Veronica, but her mix of London and Jamaican slang was tough to follow.

‘Looks like tomorrow,’ Ning said sadly.

‘It’s a rip-off,’ Veronica said. ‘End of the month, innit? They gotta meet their quota and a whole buncha girls gets marching orders. I’m flying out tomorrow, man. Not that I care, cos I haven’t seen my mum or my cousins in like the
longest
time. We’ll party and the drug people owe me money for six months of my life, innit?’

‘It’s not really their fault,’ Ning said. ‘Steve tried to help me.’

‘Don’t believe none a that shit,’ Veronica snorted. ‘Them people don’t lift a finger, right? No
way
any decent country should send you home to Chinaland. No way!’

‘I suppose,’ Ning said weakly.

‘I’ve got a tradition,’ Veronica said, as she reached into her locker and pulled out a small bottle of whisky. ‘When I leave a place I make my mark.’

Booze always made Ning think of Ingrid and she shook her head. ‘I hate the smell,’ she said.

Veronica laughed as she unscrewed the cap. ‘Who says it’s for drinking? You got anything valuable, pack up now cos I’m burning this room up.’

Ning watched as Veronica splashed the whisky over her mattress. Seeing that Veronica was serious, Ning raced to her locker and grabbed her backpack. They’d taken her money away when she’d arrived, but she still had her yellow box and some clothes.

‘What about
your
stuff?’ Ning asked, as she threw the backpack over her shoulder.

‘Don’t want none of it,’ Veronica said. ‘Everything stink like prison.’

‘But Rupa,’ Ning said, as Veronica scrunched up pages of a magazine and threw them on to her bed to act as kindling. ‘She’s really poor. People have given her clothes for the baby and stuff. It’ll all go up in smoke.’

Veronica pulled on a sweatshirt and stuffed her iPod and charger in the front pocket.

‘Rupa’s stuck up. Looks down her nose at me.’

‘She’s just shy,’ Ning said. ‘She can hardly speak English.’

‘Why you take everyone side but mine?’ Veronica said accusingly, as she threw deodorant cans and bottles of perfume from her locker on to her whisky-soaked mattress. ‘Aerosol gonna explode. Boom!’

Ning thought about all the baby stuff, plus the immigration papers Rupa would need for her appeal.

‘Stop it,’ Ning ordered.

‘Who do you think you are?’ Veronica said. ‘Try stopping me, see what you get.’

Ning thought about running down the hallway and yelling for Lucy, but Veronica smoked. She could use a match and light up the bed in an instant, so Ning closed in and shoved Veronica back against the wall.

Veronica turned swiftly and aimed a slap at Ning’s face. Ning ducked, then bobbed up and slugged Veronica in the gut. Ning moved forward to hit Veronica again, but she stepped on to one of the torn magazine pages and her foot slid. It wasn’t dramatic, but it gave Veronica time to shove Ning backwards.

As Ning crashed against the frame of her bed, Veronica grabbed a matchbook from her bedside shelf. Ning found her feet, but Veronica lit and threw the match. The whisky erupted in a sheet of blue flame as Veronica ran for the door, laughing madly.

The magazine pages caught light. As Ning grabbed her pack and headed for the door, Veronica yelled down the hallway, sounding like a wounded cat.

‘Ning set my bed on fire. All my stuff is burning! Oh my sweet lord, Jesus!’

Veronica gave Ning a
screw you
smile, then turned to run. Ning punched Veronica in the back. It was only a glancing blow, but it knocked her off balance. She sprawled across the hallway floor as the smoke alarm went off.

Girls hurried out of their rooms into the corridor as Ning jumped on to Veronica’s back. She was angry at everything and punched Veronica out with a ruthless left-right combo to the head. As Lucy appeared from her office by the stairs, a stocky Nigerian detainee ripped Ning away from Veronica. But Ning’s flailing arms and legs meant she couldn’t keep hold of her.

‘Evacuate,’ Lucy was shouting, as Ning began sprinting down the corridor. ‘Fire marshals, check rooms. Quickly, quickly. Make sure you’ve got all the kids.’

The flames from Veronica’s mattress were now licking the ceiling and a curtain of dark grey smoke was forming along the roof of the hallway. As Ning and a bunch of other girls raced down the stairs the sprinklers kicked in, drizzling them with cold water.