‘I guess,’ James shrugged. ‘And I kind of miss Kerry. I haven’t heard from her in over a week.’
‘Neither have I,’ Gabrielle said. ‘But the last message I got said she’d arrived in Japan and was going deep undercover, so it’s hardly surprising.’
James nodded. ‘I spoke to her mission controller on the phone. He says everything’s fine and hopefully Kerry will be home in a month or so.’
‘What about Lauren?’ Gabrielle asked. ‘How’s she getting on with basic training?’
‘You know how it is,’ James said, ‘you only ever hear rumours, but I think she’s doing OK.’
Gabrielle started to laugh. ‘Remember when we were in training? Me and Kerry locked all you guys out on that hotel balcony and made you grovel to get back in?’
James allowed himself to smile a little. ‘Yeah, we never got you back for that.’
Something cold touched the back of James’ neck. He looked around and realised he and Gabrielle had been splashed with Coke and ice by the gang of sixteen- and seventeen-year-old boys who were playing the next lane. They were acting rowdy, rucking and throwing stuff around.
‘Oi,’ Gabrielle stormed, as she scowled over her shoulder at a mass of acne in a Tottenham Hotspur shirt. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Sorry,’ the kid said, grinning mischievously at the ice in the bottom of his cardboard cup. Gabrielle got the impression he wasn’t sorry at all.
‘James,’ Kyle shouted. ‘Your frame.’
James got out of his seat and grabbed a bowling ball off the rack. He’d picked up a coupon and taken a couple of free bowling lessons, so when James was on form he looked the business: delivering the ball in a powerful arc and racking up respectable scores. But not tonight. In fact, James’ mood had nothing to do with missing Kerry, or worrying if Lauren would pass basic training. James was feeling down because he couldn’t aim a bowling ball to save his life.
He lined up, holding the heavy ball under his chin. He took a good smooth swing. The ball crashed nicely into the front three pins, and for a second James thought he’d scored his first strike in ages. But pin seven, at the back on the far left, merely wobbled and number ten on the extreme right didn’t even have the decency to do that. James couldn’t believe his rotten luck.
‘Seven-ten split,’ Kyle shouted, slapping his thighs deliriously. ‘You’re going
down
again, Adams.’
James glanced up at the scoreboard. When they bowled in a group, James usually fought Kyle for first place and won more than he lost. But he’d already lost two matches tonight and was thirty points behind Kyle in this one, with four frames left to play. James thought Kyle rubbing in the misery was harsh, conveniently forgetting he would have acted exactly the same if it had been Kyle having a bad night.
James grabbed his ball as soon as it clattered on to the rack and stopped spinning. He lined up to take his second shot, glowering at the two pins standing on opposite sides of the lane.
To make a seven-ten split, you need to hit one pin so hard that it bounces against the wall behind, then spins out and knocks down the pin on the opposite side. The shot requires a hefty chunk of luck and even a world championship standard bowler wouldn’t expect to make it often.
‘You’ll never hit both in a million years,’ Kyle goaded.
James turned back and smirked at Kyle, struggling to fake an air of confidence. ‘Sit your butt down and watch the master at work.’
James swung the ball as hard as he could, but when you bowl fast you lose control. The ball did a little bobble as James let go. It had plenty of pace, but James knew straight away that it wasn’t right.
‘Turn back,’ James gasped desperately, as the ball edged closer to the gutter. ‘Come on
nnnnnn baby
…’
The ball thunked into the gutter a couple of metres shy of the pin. James put his hands over his eyes and cursed under his breath. He almost couldn’t bear turning away, knowing he’d catch sight of Kyle’s smug face.
‘Eight points and a gutter ball,’ Kyle said happily. ‘Maybe you should wander down to the bumper lanes and ask the supervisor if you can play with the little red-shirt kids.’
James huffed as he slumped back into his seat next to Gabrielle. ‘The way I’m going tonight, I reckon the little kids would beat me.’
‘You’re doing better than Callum and Connor, though,’ Gabrielle said sympathetically, pointing up at the TV screen with the scores on it.
‘Some consolation that is. Those two are hopeless.’
Gabrielle smiled and brushed the back of her hand against James’ leg. ‘Just not your night, I guess.’
As she said it, both their backs got sprayed with more Coke. They turned quickly to see two beefy looking guys in football shirts wrestling in a puddle on the floor. James waited until they broke apart before having a go at them.
‘What are you two retards playing at?’ James barked furiously. ‘I’m bloody soaked.’
‘My top’s all marked,’ Gabrielle said, looking anxiously down her back and wondering if the stains would come out.
The two lads were giggling as they got to their feet. ‘We’re just having a laugh,’ the one in the Tottenham shirt said.
The other lad looked less sympathetic. ‘There’s loads of empty seats over there,’ he grunted. ‘Why don’t you just move?’
‘Because this is
our
rink,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I don’t want to walk five miles every time I take my shot.’
‘Yeah,’ James agreed. ‘Why should we move, just because you want to roll around the floor with your boyfriend?’
The kid jabbed James in the back. ‘Are you calling me a queer?’
James and Gabrielle stood up and turned around to face the two lads, who towered over them.
‘I didn’t come here for a row,’ James said.
‘Nor did I,’ the tough guy said. ‘But you’re going the right way about getting into one; so why don’t you just take your little
wog
girlfriend off and sit somewhere else?’
The tough guy had twenty-five centimetres and fifteen kilos on Gabrielle, so he never expected what happened next. Gabrielle, who was a second-dan Karate black belt, launched a high kick over the row of plastic seats. Her bowling shoe slammed into the thug’s kidney and by the time he’d got his breath back, he was pinned to the ground with a bloody nose and an orange painted thumbnail digging into his cheek.
‘Call me that again,’ Gabrielle screamed, as she bunched up her fist. ‘Go on … I dare you.’
Her voice echoed across the bowling alley’s metal roof as a hundred sets of stunned eyes turned towards her. The whole place went quiet, except for the sound of a couple of squealing toddlers and the blipping of arcade machines.
James quickly straddled over the rows of seats and rested his palm on Gabrielle’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Gabrielle,’ he said soothingly. ‘Cool it. It’s not worth getting upset over the likes of
him
.’
Gabrielle released her hand from her victim’s face and stood up. James thought he’d defused the situation, but then he realised four other lads were moving in to surround them. As he stepped forward to walk back to his lane, a clumsy punch glanced across the side of his head.
James instinctively swung back with his elbow to take out his assailant, catching him full in the face and deftly sweeping away his opponent’s legs as he stumbled backwards. The other three lads didn’t like this one bit. Two lunged at James, while the guy in the Tottenham shirt tried to take down Gabrielle by jumping on her back.
CHERUB had trained James to handle himself in a fight, but there’s a limit to what you can do against three significantly larger opponents at close range. Luckily, the other cherubs were rushing to his defence.
Kyle, Connor and Callum all piled over or around the seats and launched themselves at the thugs. James caught a second punch and his bowling shoe squealed as he lost his balance on the polished wooden floor.
He tried to get back on his feet, but found himself trapped on the ground, while a tangle of limbs waged war overhead. He caught sight of Kyle’s knee hitting someone in the guts and Tottenham-shirt guy getting pulled into a painful arm-lock by the twins.
By the time a group of adults – including the two CHERUB supervisors looking after the younger kids in the bumper lane – charged in to break up the fight, there was no doubt about the result. The five yobs were crawling around on the floor in varying degrees of pain, with a ring of steely-faced CHERUB agents surrounding them, defying them to make another move.
James rolled on to his back and took a big gasp of air. He got a little rush from being on the winning side, even though his main contribution had been getting thumped in the head and falling over. He reckoned the older kids deserved what they’d got; the way they’d started on Gabrielle was totally out of order.
But James’ mood darkened as he levered himself up on to the plastic seats. His head hurt, his clothes were filthy and there were going to be consequences when they got back to campus.
*
Dr Terence McAfferty, usually known as Mac, stared at the five kids lined up in front of his big oak desk, wondering exactly how many times he’d faced similar line-ups of worried faces in the thirteen years since he’d been appointed chairman of CHERUB. He was sure the number ran into thousands.
‘So,’ Mac said wearily, ‘what caused the fight at the bowling alley earlier this evening?’
‘This guy on the next rink had a go at Gabrielle,’ Kyle explained, stepping forward and taking the lead role because he was the oldest. ‘They were chucking their drinks around and acting like idiots. We all kind of lost our temper and piled into them.’
‘You all
simultaneously
decided to pile in,’ Mac said, clearly not finding this explanation likely. ‘And I suppose none of you is any more to blame than anyone else?’
‘That’s right,’ Kyle lied.
The rest of the line-up nodded. They’d huddled together and sorted out their cover story on the mini-bus ride back to campus. Gabrielle had started the punch-up, of course, but she’d been racially abused and none of the other kids thought she deserved to cop all the blame.
‘I understand,’ Mac said reluctantly. ‘If that’s the way you want me to deal with this, so be it. But I spoke to the staff members who were at the scene and I think I have a pretty accurate idea of what
really
happened.’
As he said this, Mac cast deliberate glances at Gabrielle and James.
‘I shouldn’t have to tell you how serious this incident could have been,’ Mac continued. ‘It’s been drilled into you all time and again. What is the number one priority for groups of CHERUB agents when they’re off campus?’
The line-up droned the answer, at different speeds and with varying degrees of gusto: ‘Keep a low profile.’
‘A
low
profile,’ Mac nodded. ‘CHERUB is a secret organisation. The safety of your colleagues who are currently away on undercover missions depends upon the fact that nobody knows we exist. When you’re off campus, I expect you to behave in a manner that doesn’t attract undue attention. I expect you to avoid trouble at all costs, even under extreme provocation. Is that clearly understood?’
‘Yes sir,’ everyone nodded sombrely.
‘A whole bunch of people saw your little display of fighting skills at the bowling alley this evening. Don’t you think they’re going to be extremely curious about who you are and how a group of youngsters might come by advanced martial arts skills like that? Can you imagine the fuss that would have been caused if one of the boys you assaulted had been seriously injured? I know you’re all trained in unarmed combat and had the good sense to use minimal force, but freak accidents can still happen.
‘On top of that, you can count yourselves extremely lucky that I have connections at the local police station. I had to use all my leverage to ensure that the five of you aren’t sitting in a police cell at this very moment facing criminal charges. So, your punishments.’
It was midnight. The kids had been tired and fidgety while they listened to the lecture, but they snapped to attention at the mention of punishments, anxious to know what they were going to get.
‘First of all, you’re all banned from going into town for the next four months,’ Mac announced. ‘Secondly, we’re always short of pupils at CHERUB and right now we’re getting desperate for new blood …’
Mac reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a pad of pre-printed mission briefings. James let out a little groan as he realised he was about to be sent off to some strange children’s home to recruit a new CHERUB agent. James had never been on a recruitment mission before, but everyone he knew who had said they were a complete nightmare.
It was near midnight when Lauren and Bethany finished readying the snowmobile for its journey the next morning. The vehicle was designed to be taken from its packing crate and assembled, lubricated and fuelled by anyone who could follow basic instructions.
The girls zipped their sleeping bags together and snuggled up. If you believed the cold weather survival manual, sleeping in individual bags was warmer. But textbooks don’t take into account the comfort factor of falling asleep beside your best friend, even when the fleece-covered arm she wraps around your back stinks of petrol.