Brigands M. C. (39 page)

‘Sure you will,’ Martin said. ‘I just hope whoever Teeth sends over as a replacement is as cute as you are.’

‘What are the odds of that happening?’ James grinned. ‘Ten million to one?’

‘How’d Ashley take the news that you’re going back to London?’

James shrugged. ‘She seemed underwhelmed. I don’t think it’s gonna go down as one of my greatest romantic entanglements.’

‘You can knock off now if you like,’ Martin said. ‘Is there anyone you want to say goodbye to or anything?’

‘I’ve gotta go up and give my security pass to Teeth in the office, but that’s about it … Oh, and if Noelene’s around I might tell her that she’s a stuck-up wrinkle-faced ho.’

As James undid his apron he was surprised to see Nigel and his brother Will approaching.

‘My sister Anna’s heartbroken that your little brother’s leaving,’ Will complained. ‘When are you off ?’

‘Tomorrow,’ James said, before turning to Nigel. ‘How’s it going?’

‘My life is absolutely and completely down the shitter,’ Nigel said, faking cheerfulness.

‘I saw the story about weapons getting seized on the local news Monday night,’ James nodded. ‘There’s all sorts of rumours buzzing around college.’

‘Cops busted me Sunday morning,’ Nigel explained. ‘Hauled me in. Searched my house. They found my stash and a bunch of fish-stinking clothes that screwed up whatever chance I had of an alibi.’

‘So they’ve charged you?’ James asked.

Nigel nodded. ‘I’m out on bail. The Brigands have sorted me a decent lawyer, but even if I plead guilty she says I’ll be looking at time locked up in young offenders’.’

‘Shit,’ James said sympathetically. ‘Any idea how long?’

Will answered. ‘Lawyer reckons between eighteen months and three years. With so much publicity around gun crime she says it’s a bad time to stand in front of a judge on a weapons smuggling charge.’

‘And finding three ounces of spliff under my bed doesn’t help,’ Nigel sighed. ‘I already got a caution for possessing marijuana last year.’

James liked Nigel, but struggled to find something suitably grave to say. In the end he gave up and went with, ‘I’m sorry for you, mate.’

‘Not as sorry as me, I’d bet,’ Nigel grunted.

‘So, has anyone seen that snitching sack of shit Julian?’ Will asked.

‘Nah,’ James said. ‘Not at school or around here.’

‘He won’t show his face,’ Nigel said. ‘There’s too many bikers around and he knows he’ll get his head caved in. It’s my own stupid fault for getting Julian involved: way out of his depth. It’s no surprise that he panicked and went running to his dad.’

‘He might be getting a slap on the wrist from the law, but he’d better start running when he sees me,’ Will growled. ‘I understand his daddy’s Jaguar has already had an unfortunate encounter with some pickaxe-wielding Dogs of War.’

‘Ashley says she overheard one of the teachers talking about Julian going private for his last year of school,’ James explained.

‘Figures,’ Nigel said. ‘Boarding school probably, and his dad owns a flat in London, so I’d say the chances of seeing Julian’s face in these parts are about zero.’

‘Paul Woodhead is a retired full-patch Brigand,’ Will noted. ‘So he’d better watch his back.’

James shrugged. ‘But on the other hand, with Julian’s dad being a judge and the Brigands focused on repercussions of the Rebel Tea Party, they might lay off him.’

‘It’s barely even registered with my dad,’ Martin agreed. ‘Priority one is dealing with Sealclubber and the London Brigands. Then he’s got to re-establish the Brigands’ status in the pecking order by waging war with the Vengefuls and the other gangs.’

James was surprised by Martin’s comment. In all the hours they’d worked together in the crêperie this was the first time he’d ever heard him comment on Brigands affairs.

‘So anyway,’ Nigel said, tapping a pound coin on the counter top. ‘Before I’m locked up eating soggy shepherd’s pie with dead bugs in it, I might as well treat myself. Gimme a banana, almond and honey filled crêpe, with extra cream and rum-raisin sauce.’

*

Back at the house Dante was in his room, packing tops and underwear into a blue crate. When it was full he clipped on the plastic lid and grabbed the handles to go stack it up in the hallway downstairs, but he stopped when he passed Lauren’s room. Her door was slightly open because of the heat and he could see her lying on her bed, facing the wall.

‘Are you OK?’ Dante asked, as he leaned in the doorway.

‘Yeah,’ Lauren said, but an involuntary sniff gave the game away.

Dante stepped inside, dodging four half-packed crates. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

Lauren hesitated for a few seconds. She considered telling Dante to mind his own, or pretending like nothing was wrong, but realised she needed to talk to someone.

‘I was thinking about Joe,’ Lauren explained, as she sat up. ‘I know it’s stupid. I’m a trained agent and I’m supposed to be wary of forming close bonds on missions and blah, blah, blah.’

‘Anna’s pretty sad that I’m leaving too,’ Dante nodded.

Lauren smiled. ‘It’s funny, all the boys on campus brag about going on missions and getting off with girls. And for the girls it’s supposed to be like,
oh god some horrible boy is gonna try and get his hands on me.

Dante laughed. ‘Either that or you’re labelled a maneater or a slut.’

‘Exactly,’ Lauren said, smiling and sniffing at the same time. ‘But Joe is
such
a nice guy. When I first met him, with all his mates and his designer label clothes and his cockiness I thought he was a knob. But now we really get along. At first he was
so
sweet. He’d never had a girlfriend before and he was really nervous.’

‘He’s a good guy,’ Dante agreed. ‘I’m surprised you’re not together for your last night.’

‘I know,’ Lauren sulked. ‘His aunt’s just had an operation. He got dragged to visit her with his mum.’

‘That’s really shit,’ Dante said. ‘Anna’s got swimming club, but she said she’ll drop by on her way to school tomorrow.’

‘So, have you got feelings for her?’

‘Some,’ Dante said awkwardly. ‘But – and don’t spread this around on campus, this is between you and me – there was a girl called Harriet when I was on my mission in Belfast. We went out for over a year and because of the way my mission ended, we never even got to say goodbye.’

‘Oh that’s
really
sad,’ Lauren said.

Dante pulled a Velcro wallet out the back of his shorts. He dug his fingers inside and took out a crumpled passport picture of a dark haired girl with a round face and big brown eyes.

‘She’s beautiful,’ Lauren said. ‘I guess I’ve been lucky, really. Unless you include horses, this is the first mission I’ve been on where I’ve really fallen for someone.’

‘I’m sure we’ll both survive,’ Dante smiled, as he backed up towards the door. ‘I’d better get my box downstairs.’

Lauren pointed out the boxes spread over her floor. ‘I think I’m with you on that score,’ she grinned.

Out in the hallway, Dante put his photograph back in his wallet and picked up the box of clothes. As he walked down he thought about Joe and his mum being out. After stacking his clothing on top of the other crates in the hallway, he took his mobile out of his shorts before stepping on to the doorstep.

The sun was down and a hairy moth circled around the carriage lamp beside him. He slid his mobile open and dialled Joe’s house. Joe and Marlene were at the hospital and Martin was working with James at Marina Heights. But where was the Führer?

Just as Dante expected an answerphone to cut in, he heard the Führer’s voice. ‘Yeah, who’s this?’

Dante didn’t speak, but his heart quickened. He hung up. The sky was black and the fields behind the house rustled in a gentle breeze, just like the night his parents died five years earlier. He thought about his recurring nightmare: running through the fields, with the Führer wielding his gun and his baby sister’s body slippery with blood.

Now the Führer was home alone and with the mission over this was his only chance for revenge. After racing up to his room, Dante dragged a backpack filled with espionage equipment out the bottom of his wardrobe and unzipped to make sure he had everything he needed.

Dante pulled a hooded sweatshirt over his head, then put a knife, a lock gun and pair of disposable plastic gloves into his front pockets before slinging the pack over his shoulder.

Lauren was packing in the room next door, and Chloe was in the dining-room typing up a mission report on her laptop. He could go out the front door, but thought it was best if he appeared to be home if either came looking for him, so he dashed into his en-suite bathroom and let his shower run cold. Back in the bedroom he switched on his bedside radio and laid a set of clothes out on his bed so that it looked like he’d put them on when he came out.

Dante thought about timings as he opened his bedroom window. He could run the kilometre to the Führer’s house in four minutes. If he was in the house for six minutes and ran back again his trip would take about the same amount of time as a leisurely shower.

The knife dropped out of Dante’s pocket as he landed on the hard ground outside his first-floor window. He’d made quite a noise, but looked up at Lauren’s room and was relieved to see her moving a stack of hanging clothes from her wardrobe on to her bed.

Seeing Lauren made Dante pause for thought. He was trained well enough to kill the Führer without leaving conclusive evidence, but even though the Führer had lots of enemies, if Chloe and Zara were smart enough to join the dots he’d be kicked out of CHERUB.

But looking up at the window reminded Dante of his sister Lizzie and how she’d spent the last seconds of her life lowering Holly to safety. Scotty had always told his sons that men fought their own battles and Dante couldn’t help but agree as he started running: for all the good intentions and hard police work, the Führer had got away with four murders and lived in a luxurious house, with millions in the bank and loyal followers prepared to fight and kill for him.

At the bottom of the street, Dante crossed over the road and vaulted a fence. The cross-country route would add a couple of minutes to his trip, but he wouldn’t be seen by passing traffic.

The ground was hard as he ran flat out across open fields, slowing only for a low hedge and a metal gate. The Führer owned a good stretch of the sloping land beyond his house. Dante could have vaulted the wooden fence with a short run-up, but he’d damage plants and might leave footprints if he landed in soft earth, so he cut back on to the road. He used the main gate and walked up the front drive, taking cover only when he got to within twenty metres of the house.

The lights were off, except the front hallway, the kitchen and an upstairs bedroom. It was a warm night and he’d hoped one of the downstairs windows would be open, but they were all locked.

He considered ringing the front doorbell, but after recent events the Führer would be cautious about opening up, so Dante crept around to the conservatory. He peered through the French doors towards the kitchen and saw that nobody was inside. The sliding glass had locks that were only accessible from within, so he moved towards the wooden door at the back of the kitchen.

After putting on plastic gloves, Dante tried the handle and found it locked. This wasn’t a huge problem: the door only had a basic lock. He clipped the right sized pick to the end of his lock gun and a squeeze of the trigger and two seconds of jiggling saw the door opening up into the kitchen.

Dante stepped inside, closed the door quietly, then checked his watch. He’d left home less than six minutes earlier. The next task was to find the Führer before the Führer found him. He moved stealthily into the hallway that led towards the front door. The back living-room was open. He noticed that the windows had been fixed and the pool table had been stripped down to its slate base in order to have the felt replaced.

The front living-room door was shut. No light crept from around the door frame and there was no sound when Dante put his ear to the door so he headed upstairs. After passing Joe and Martin’s rooms, Dante saw that the Führer’s bedroom door was ajar. The hallway light was off, but there were flashes of blue and pink light and the sound of a voiceover from a TV.

Dante moved swiftly towards the bedroom, then crouched down low and peered through the gap. The Führer sprawled on his bed in a towelling robe with a beer can in hand and a bag of kettle chips wedged between his thighs. The window was open and the net curtain wafted into the room as an F16 launched off a carrier deck on the TV.

‘
As well as being the most modern ship in the Nimitz Class, the
Ronald Reagan
is home to more than seventy of the world’s finest fighter pilots and the qualified mechanics who keep their lethal war birds in the sky
. ..’

The Führer’s presence made Dante feel sick. If he’d been forced into a surprise encounter, Dante would have gone for a knock-out blow and then used his knife, but from the point of view of leaving forensic evidence it was better to use something from the house.

Dante jogged down the hallway to the study at the rear end and flipped on the light. He paused for an instant in front of the picture of the Brigands 2002 Summer Barbecue before grabbing a crossbow pistol with an optical sight – deliberately avoiding the one he’d handled in front of Anna on Saturday – and loaded three bolts into the firing mechanism.