CHERUB: Shadow Wave (8 page)

‘Is that your mobile?’ Aizat asked.

Kyle grabbed the side of the boat and leaned forward, unzipping a Nokia from a waterproof jacket balled up near his feet.

‘Hello,’ Kyle said, but immediately regretted not checking the caller display before answering.

‘You bloody traitor,’ Lauren Adams roared furiously. ‘I thought we were a team.’

Lauren was ten years old and had been given a hellish ditch-digging punishment for hitting instructor Norman Large with a spade. Kyle had been serving an identical punishment for smoking marijuana on his previous mission.

‘Lauren, listen,’ Kyle said soothingly.

But she wouldn’t let him get a word in. ‘I can’t believe you sneaked off. Now I’m gonna be stuck out there, up to my waist in that stinking filth with nobody even to talk to all day.’

Kyle felt bad. ‘Look Lauren,’ he explained. ‘It was Christmas morning. I was going upstairs after we’d opened our presents and Meryl Spencer was asking for someone to urgently fly out to Malaysia because one of the training instructors had been injured. Nobody else would go, because it was Christmas, but I snaffled it because it got me out of my last two weeks’ ditch digging.’

Lauren tutted. ‘Well bully for you,
mate.’

Lauren made the word
mate
sound like an accusation and Kyle felt guilty.

‘I should have told you, Lauren. But I literally had to pack a bag, get in a car and get driven to Heathrow. I knew you’d be upset and I didn’t want to ruin your Christmas day, but I bet you would have done the same if the opportunity to get out of your punishment came up.’

‘Maybe,’ Lauren sighed. ‘But I would have at least spoken to you.’

‘I know we had some laughs, but your punishment won’t last any longer because I’m not there.’

‘I’m just so tired,’ Lauren moaned. ‘Having the odd laugh with you has been the only thing that’s made it bearable.’

‘I’ll bring you back something nice, OK? Oh, and tell James that my notes on
An Inspector Calls
from last year are in the grey file box under my desk if he needs them.’

‘Right,’ Lauren muttered. ‘Try not to enjoy yourself
too
much.’

As Kyle ended the call, he looked towards the island and spotted a luxurious resort, with a white sand beach and dozens of large huts linked by a network of bobbing pontoons. People could dive from the balconies of plush rooms straight into warm seawater.

‘That looks awesome,’ Kyle said admiringly.

Anger flashed across Aizat’s face. ‘If the governor has his way, our whole island will look like that soon enough.’

Kyle didn’t know how to reply and decided that it was going to be one of those days where it’s better just to keep your mouth shut.

Their destination was a beach at the extreme north-western tip of Langkawi. Beyond a sorry stretch of sand strewn with litter and seaweed lay two shabby storeys of the Starfish Hotel. It had peeling white walls and tatty plastic furniture below faded sun shades.

A girl in short and vest ran barefoot towards the sea as Aizat cut the outboard motors and let the boat drift into shallow water. As he lashed it to a wooden post and stepped into the surf, Kyle jumped from the opposite end of the boat. He ducked under a wave, happy to let warm seawater drench his clothes and wash away the sweat after his long journey.

‘How was your flight?’ the girl asked as Kyle waded ashore. Her accent was Scottish. Her brow poured with sweat and her face burned red, as if she’d been exercising hard.

‘Long,’ Kyle answered with a smile. He looked the girl up and down. She was eleven or twelve with blond hair down her back. Her limbs were well tanned, but sliced and bruised from ninety-seven days of basic training. He’d seen the girl on campus, but didn’t know her well.

‘It’s Iris, isn’t it?’

‘Iona,’ the girl corrected. ‘Iona Hardy. Mr Large says he wants you to bring everything ashore, then come over to the pool to see him as quickly as possible.’

Aizat handed Iona a bag filled with camping equipment. It was too heavy for her to carry up the beach, so she dragged it, leaving a rut in the sand behind her. When they reached the hotel a porter loaded everything on trolleys and wheeled them into a lounge.

Kyle wanted to know if he could speak freely. ‘Are there any other guests at the hotel?’ he asked Iona.

‘Just CHERUB people,’ Iona said. ‘Mr Large, Miss Speaks plus the six surviving trainees.’

‘How’s Mr Pike doing?’ Kyle asked.

‘His appendix burst,’ Iona explained. ‘They took him by boat to the mainland on Christmas Eve and that’s all we’ve heard. Now I’d better run back, before Large starts yelling at me.’

Alongside the small hotel was a paved terrace with a dilapidated swimming pool, surrounded by sun loungers and a decrepit diving board. The enormous figure of Norman Large stood at the edge of this, staring through the fencing around two sand-swept tennis courts.

Mr Pike’s exploding appendix had put a dent in Large’s carefully laid plans for a tough climax to the hundred-day basic training program, but that hadn’t stopped him from finding ways to make Iona and five other trainees suffer.

‘Push-ups, twenty,’ Large shouted. ‘And make it snappy!’

It was nearly thirty degrees. The youngsters on the courts looked like they were about to collapse as they dived forward and started doing push-ups.

‘Sir,’ Kyle said.

But Large ignored him as he counted out exercises. ‘That was horrible,’ Large yelled through the fence when he’d reached twenty. ‘Now I want you running around the court. Fifteen laps and the last one to finish gets to do it all again carrying a bag of wet sand above their head.’

Iona led the way around the edge of the tennis courts, but a dark-skinned boy named Reece held his stomach and staggered across towards Large.

‘I need water,’ Reece begged, as he clutched the chain link fence to hold himself up. ‘I feel faint.’

‘You’re lucky I’m a kind and gentle man,’ Large growled, and passed a water bottle through a hole in the fence. ‘But that drink cost you and all the other trainees ten more laps.’

The trainees were too exhausted to groan as Mr Large turned towards Kyle and looked him up and down with contempt. ‘So they sent
you,’
he sniffed. ‘Still, you’re a decent enough swimmer, as I remember.’

‘I’m OK,’ Kyle nodded.

‘I devised a four-day final exercise,’ Large explained. ‘The plan was for the kids to each drag canoes and heavy equipment up to the highest point of the island and then sail down a river. I tried to get training extended, but Mac says a hundred days is enough and won’t let me extend. So, thanks to Mr Pike and his appendix we’ll be setting off this afternoon on a truncated two-day exercise. I’ll need you to help set things up, and act as a safety monitor during the exercise.’

Kyle nodded, though in his mind he sighed because the immediate start meant he wouldn’t have any time to get over his jet lag. But anything was better than digging ditches in the freezing cold.

‘Miss Speaks is in the jungle with two of our guides, setting up a few nice little surprises for the trainees. Right now I need you to take our quad bike along the beach and pick up fresh food from the fishing village. When you get back …’

Large stopped talking because the ground lurched, throwing him off balance towards the tennis-court fence. The water in the swimming pool behind sloshed like a giant bathtub, and an ankle-deep wave lapped over the edge, running across paving slabs and charging onwards across the tennis courts.

‘Earth tremor?’ Kyle said curiously.

A collection of plastic loungers and tables got washed into the pool as grateful trainees broke off their run to scoop cool water and splash it up over their bodies.

This outraged Large so much that his eyes practically popped out. ‘Did I give you permission to stop running?’ he bawled. ‘You do not stop training, just because the planet does a little fart. Now get those legs moving you useless bloody lot.’

‘Never felt one of those before,’ Kyle said.

‘Just an aftershock,’ Large sniffed. ‘We had a couple of bigger ones about an hour ago.’

The overheated trainees splashing in the water had pissed Large off and he pointed back towards the hotel.

‘Quad bike’s out front,’ he told Kyle. ‘Get on it. Collect the vegetables and fish. Then I want your arse back here helping me sort out the canoes and equipment.’

Kyle drove the quad bike three kilometres, towing a trailer across soft sand, but occasionally having to cut on to a single track road where the tide was in. The first sign of the village was Aizat’s motor boat, which had been dragged across the sand and now rested keel-up beside the largest hut.

There were eleven huts in total, each mounted on stilts to protect from flooding. Young boys played football in the sand, their ball only half inflated and fishing nets hanging off bamboo canes for goalposts. Nearer to the huts two old women sat under a tarpaulin watching a quiz show on a tiny Sony TV.

‘Excuse me,’ Kyle said.

‘No English,’ one woman explained, before shouting, ‘Aizat!’

Aizat came out the side of a hut. He’d taken off his shirt to reveal a muscular chest and his hands were blackened with engine oil. Kyle took one look and decided that he wouldn’t have minded a roll on the beach with him.

‘Are you in charge of
everything
around here?’ Kyle asked, smiling as Aizat jumped down into the sand.

‘Pretty much,’ Aizat agreed. ‘You got old-timers and kids, but almost all of our parents live and work away from the village. In factories on the mainland, or the hotels. That leaves me and a couple of old men to fish, farm and generally run the show.’

‘I don’t know what I’m here to collect,’ Kyle explained.

‘I’ve packed it all up,’ Aizat said. ‘Vegetables, cooked rice and dried fish. You look thirsty, want a shot of my grandma’s beer?’

Kyle knew Mr Large wanted him back quickly to start preparing the equipment for the two-day trek, but he liked the idea of spending time with Aizat.

‘Quick one can’t do any harm,’ Kyle said. ‘Even if it is a bit early in the day.’

As Kyle hopped up on to the balcony around Aizat’s house, the higher vantage point gave him a view of some metal scaffolding less than a hundred metres beyond the village.

‘Building something pretty big up there,’ Kyle noted.

‘Another hotel, almost finished,’ Aizat spat. ‘Five stars, air condition, three restaurant, two pool. I learn good English, so if I’m lucky they’ll give me a job washing pots or cleaning toilets when it opens. In the meantime, the builders drink our wells dry and throw waste into the sea, killing our fish.’

‘Sounds rough,’ Kyle said, as he stepped inside. ‘Can’t you complain or something?’

Aizat’s answer was a contemptuous tut.

The hut was shady and surprisingly cool. Aizat’s eight-year-old sister Wati was curled up on a big cushion listening to her Walkman. All around were photos and piles of junk, while one of the outboard motors from Aizat’s boat was spread across the floor in a dozen oily pieces. Pride of place went to a football shirt pinned to the back wall.

‘Arsenal fan,’ Kyle noted.

‘The greatest,’ Aizat nodded. ‘Premiership champions, unbeaten in thirty-eight games. Do you follow football?’

‘Not much,’ Kyle said, shaking his head. ‘But my mate James is a
mental
Arsenal fan. I expect you’d get right along with him.’

‘Here we go,’ Aizat grinned, as he grabbed a green wine bottle off the shelf, pulled a cork and poured out two beakers of a thick, cream-coloured liquid.

Kyle grabbed the beaker - which had Garfield and Odie printed on the side - and gave an exploratory sniff. ‘Is this beer?’

‘I just call it that,’ Aizat said, and took a long swig.

Kyle took the liquid into his mouth and swallowed a small mouthful. The sensation that rose up his throat was like the time a wasp stung his neck, mingling with the hottest chilli he’d ever tasted.

‘Holy mother!’ Kyle gasped, his voice reduced to a croak. ‘That’s fire water.’

Aizat’s sister took off her headphones and howled with laughter as Kyle turned red, clutched his stomach and erupted into a rasping cough.

‘Good eh!’ Aizat beamed. ‘One of my uncles went blind after drinking this stuff.’

‘I’m not bloody surprised,’ Kyle croaked. ‘I feel like my head’s on fire.’

Kyle took a second sip, but there was no way he could drink the rest. Aizat had downed his own glass without fuss, and now snatched Kyle’s and drank it in three quick mouthfuls.

‘You’ll be drunk again,’ Wati said bitterly.

‘Who asked you?’ Aizat shouted back, and threw the plastic beaker at his sister. ‘Sitting on your arse all day, when the place is a pig sty.’

The girl poked her tongue at Aizat, then picked up her headphones from the floor and disappeared through a bead curtain into a side room. Kyle looked along a set of bookshelves and was surprised to find lots of very deep stuff: Marx, Freud, Kafka and other highbrow writers, mostly written in English.

‘These yours?’ Kyle asked.

Aizat nodded. ‘I like to read. I have lots of pen friends too. One in China, a girl in Italy, a boy in United States. He’s really cool. We’ve been writing each other since we were seven and he burns CDs with all the latest stuff on it. You like the Foo Fighters?’

‘I can take ‘em or leave ‘em,’ Kyle shrugged. He glanced at his watch, and imagined Large yelling at him for coming back late with booze breath.

‘A British pen friend would be good too,’ Aizat said. ‘But you always say no.’

‘Who says no?’

‘Mr Large comes here, once or twice every year,’ Aizat explained. ‘Each time he brings different kids for the jungle expedition. When I ask one of them to be my pen friend, they always say no.’

Kyle understood now. Cherubs are discouraged from speaking with any outsiders they meet during basic training and Large would go bananas if any trainee was found with a stranger’s address in their backpack during kit inspection.

But Kyle wasn’t a trainee, and he thought Aizat was cute. ‘I’ll be your pen friend,’ he said. ‘Can’t promise I’ll write very often, but I’ll try anything once.’