Authors: Robert Muchamore
Until recently, the
Tarasov
brothers led remarkably parallel lives. They both married in 1985 and spawned a son and daughter.
Leon married
Sacha
Arkady
. Sonya was born in 1989 (now sixteen) and Maxim in 1991 (now thirteen and known as Max). Nikola married Paula Randall. Their children are
Piotr
, born in 1986 (now eighteen and known as Pete) and Liza who was born in 1990 (now aged fourteen).
Paula
Tarasov
left Nikola and her children in 2000 and remarried shortly afterwards. After a prolonged bout of ill health, Nikola
Tarasov
died of pneumonia in December 2003. Custody of his children was awarded to Leon, without any contest from the children’s mother.
Leon and
Sacha
currently share two adjoining flats on the Palm Hill estate with their son, daughter, niece and nephew.
M
ONEY
Leon
Tarasov
fell apart in the aftermath of his brother’s death. He drank heavily. The pub and car dealership were both in debt and there were rumours that Leon had run up a large gambling debt with a ‘serious’ underworld figure. Many believed that it was only a matter of time before Leon lost his businesses.
The Palm Hill police were among those relishing the imminent demise of Leon
Tarasov
.
Tarasov
had been a thorn in the side of the law, both through his own illegal activities and through the fact that his pub provided a hang-out for other criminals. An internal police memo described Leon
Tarasov
as:
‘A
man keen to portray himself as a community leader, but in actuality
Tarasov’s
criminality is a cancer that undermines much good work done by others in the neighbourhood. Leon is believed to be heavily involved in local car crime and fencing stolen goods. He was suspected of running a protection racket amongst local shopkeepers for a number of years. More recently he has become involved in a violent turf war with a nearby community of travellers.’
But by the end of 2004
Tarasov’s
luck had changed for the better. He’d caught up with payments on all his loans, purchased a new car and snapped up the lease on a pub at the north end of the Palm Hill estate. He spent a significant sum refurbishing this second pub, before renaming it the Queen Of Russia.
Over the past year, the joke around Palm Hill has been that
Tarasov
has either won the lottery or robbed a bank. Having established that Leon did not win the lottery, the police are anxious to find the real source of
Tarasov’s
newfound wealth.
T
HE
CHERUB M
ISSION
Leon
Tarasov
has succeeded in avoiding anything other than a modest court fine in more than thirty years of dubious activity. He keeps his affairs close to his chest and all attempts at using police informants (grasses) and undercover operations have failed.
The thousands of hours wasted on trying to catch Leon
Tarasov
have made the Palm Hill police increasingly reluctant to put any more effort into nailing him. Millie
Kentner
has become frustrated with her colleagues’ lack of enthusiasm and has asked if her old friends at CHERUB would be able to help out.
Two experienced CHERUB agents will move into a vacant flat on the same landing as the
Tarasov
family. The younger agent – James Adams, thirteen – will target Max and Liza. The older agent – Dave Moss, seventeen – will target Sonya and Pete.
Dave will pose as Dave Holmes, a young man who has recently been released from foster care. James will pose as his younger brother, who is still in care but who has been allowed to move in with him. Senior Mission Controller Zara Asker will organise the mission, while Millie
Kentner
will run the operation on a day-to-day basis.
M
ISSION
O
BJECTIVES
(1)
To infiltrate the Tarasov family unit and try to obtain as much evidence as possible about criminal activity.
(2)
To infiltrate Leon Tarasov’s business, in particular his car dealership which is believed to be the hub of his criminal activities.
(3)
The main goal is to try and uncover the source of Leon Tarasov’s recent financial good fortune.
THE CHERUB ETHICS COMMITTEE ACCEPTED THIS MISSION BRIEFING WITHOUT RESERVATION.
This mission has been classified LOW RISK. Experienced agents will be allowed to operate without close supervision from a mission controller.
James and Dave drove to Palm Hill in a battered Ford
Mondeo
. It was a Saturday morning, the rear seats were folded down and the back of the car was packed up to the roof with stuff. The air conditioning was busted, so they fought the heat by hurtling along the motorway with the windows down and a jet of air turning their hairstyles crazy.
This was James’ second mission with Dave. The seventeen-year-old sat at the wheel, with longish blond hair, big blue eyes and a handsome face that seemed a year or two younger than the muscular body attached to it. James was heavier set, with a flatter nose, but it didn’t take any stretch of the imagination to believe that the two lads were brothers.
Dave was into old-school rock, and the journey passed with a mix of Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and The Who. James preferred more recent stuff, but by the time the CD was on its third spin, he was playing air guitar in the passenger seat.
It was early afternoon when they arrived at Palm Hill, pulling into a courtyard filled with a mix of shabby family saloons and more exotic fare, including BMWs and Audis belonging to the trendy young professionals who had begun purchasing flats on the better parts of the estate. The three-storey housing blocks surrounding the courtyard on all sides had recently been refurbished: brickwork cleaned, windows repainted and secure doors installed at the bottom of every stairwell.
As James stepped out of the car and walked off the stiffness from a three-hour car journey, he glanced through the gap between two blocks and spotted the crates of empties stacked at the rear of the King Of Russia pub.
James and Dave grabbed a bag each from the back of the car and headed towards the stairs. As they walked up, James felt the mix of excitement and anxiety that you get at the start of every mission, but this time he was also glad to get away from campus. He didn’t want to be around when Lauren, Kerry and everyone else got back from the hostel with their golden tans and anecdotes about all the fun they’d had.
The flat was twenty metres along the first-floor balcony; four doors away from the two homes occupied by the
Tarasovs
. It had the musty smell of a place that hadn’t been aired in months. You could only guess at the original colour of the carpets and the previous owner’s taste in patterned wallpaper and plastic chandelier light fittings was pretty horrific.
‘Not much furniture,’ James said, as he stuck his head into a living-room containing a single sofa and a coffee table with a cracked glass top.
Dave nodded. ‘You read the briefing. Kids released from care get a three hundred quid grant for furniture. We can drive out to
Ikea
in the week and get beanbags and stuff, but nothing flash.’
James carried on inspecting. The kitchen and bathroom weren’t too horrible, but the main bedroom contained only a metal clothes rail and a brand new bed. It had flamingo pink carpet and flock wallpaper.
‘Gross,’ James said.
Dave barged in behind him. ‘The other bedroom’s white, you want that one?’
James shrugged. ‘OK.’
‘Cool,’ Dave grinned, as he bounced on the double bed. ‘I’m gonna have a different chick in this every night.’
James grinned back and shook his head. ‘You reckon, do you?’
James’ room was smaller, with a few girlie touches and a single bed. It made him a little sad because it reminded him of the room he’d had when his mum was alive. As he sat back on the mattress – which was still sealed in plastic with the price ticket on it – he could imagine banging on the wall to tell Lauren and her mates to shut up during one of their sleepovers, or his mum’s snores vibrating through the wall.
*
James was boiling by the time he’d made ten trips carrying things up the stairs, so he took a shower and changed into clean shorts and one of his Arsenal shirts. They’d brought a few cans of Coke and some junk food from campus, but the boys needed milk and other fresh stuff. They’d spotted a Sainsbury’s down the road when they arrived, so James headed off while Dave washed.
He stocked up on the basics, like bread, milk and breakfast cereal, before heading towards the ready-meal cabinet. He grabbed microwave Chinese, some pasta dishes and a couple of curries for Dave. As he headed back into the courtyard around the flats he got his first sighting of a
Tarasov
: thirteen-year-old Max and a couple of his pals whizzing past on bikes.
James got up to the locked door at the bottom of the stairs and realised he’d forgotten to put his keys into his clean shorts when he’d changed. He hit the intercom button for their flat and waited. After half a minute he pressed the button again and shouted tersely into the speaker.
‘Dave, let me up.’
After another thirty seconds, James started getting seriously impatient. He glanced at his watch, and after deciding that Dave couldn’t possibly still be in the shower, he jabbed the buzzer half a dozen times and yelled:
‘Dave you moron, buzz me in. Are you deaf or what?’
A girl’s voice came at James from the first-floor landing directly above his head. ‘Are you stuck?’
James stepped backwards so that he could get a good look at her. He guessed the girl was a year older than he was.
‘My brother won’t let me up. He’s either gone deaf or he’s trying to wind me up.’
The girl smiled. ‘I’ll open up for you.’
James watched her come down the staircase through the safety glass in the door. First a set of flip-flops and purple-painted toenails on the top step. Tanned legs and a little denim skirt emerged as she moved further down. She gave James a big smile through the glass and flicked back her long hair as she released the catch on the inside of the door.
‘Cheers,’ James grinned back.
‘I saw you and that other guy carrying your stuff in. My name’s Hannah. I’m next door but one.’
‘I’m James,’ he said, as he followed the girl up the stairs with a Sainsbury’s carrier bag in each hand. ‘That other guy was my brother, Dave.’
‘I only saw the two of you. Where’s your parents?’
‘Six feet under,’ James said, as he rounded the top of the staircase and stepped out of the half-light on to the balcony.
‘Oh … I’m sorry.’
James realised he’d imparted the information too casually and shocked Hannah. ‘I was four years old,’ he shrugged. ‘I can barely remember them.’
‘How come the two of you are allowed to live on your own?’
‘We were in foster homes, but Dave’s just turned seventeen so he gets a flat. I’m allowed to live with him on a trial basis, but we’ve got a social worker who’s gonna be checking up on me a few times a week.’
Hannah giggled. ‘So you can’t go
too
wild.’
‘Nah, I’m afraid not,’ James said, as he stopped outside the door of his flat and rang the bell. He could hear music thumping inside.
‘So, it was good to meet you, James. I expect I’ll see you around.’
James smiled. ‘Are you doing anything? You want to pop inside and say hello to my brother?’
‘Why not?’ Hannah shrugged.
A blast of
Baba O’Riley
by The Who hit them as Dave opened the front door, dressed in nothing but a pair of cargo shorts.
‘Where’s your key?’ Dave asked.
‘Up my butt,’ James said irritably. ‘What do you think? I forgot it. Maybe if you weren’t trying to deafen the entire neighbourhood you would have heard me buzzing the intercom.’
Dave raced into the living-room and turned the music down so they could hear each other speak. He reached out to shake Hannah’s hand and she went all gooey.
‘Good to meet you, Dave.’
James had managed three proper girlfriends and got off with a few other girls at parties and stuff. He didn’t think he was doing too badly for thirteen years of age, but Dave still made him jealous. When girls met Dave they turned bright red and giggled at all his jokes. He’d had a string of beautiful girlfriends, and according to most people you talked to on campus, he’d treated every one of them like dirt.