Class A (2 page)

‘You sound like you swallowed the textbook,’ James said.

‘I was on the same first aid course as you, James. Only I didn’t spend the entire three days trying to get off with Susan Kaplan.’

‘It’s a pity she had a boyfriend.’

‘Susan doesn’t have a boyfriend,’ Bruce said. ‘She was just trying to get rid of you.’

‘Oh,’ James said, crushed. ‘I thought she liked me.’

Bruce didn’t answer. He was biting down on the strap of his backpack. He didn’t want anyone in the villa to hear if the pain made him scream out.

James lined up his tweezers. ‘Ready?’

Bruce nodded.

The thorn slid out easily enough. Bruce moaned as a fresh dribble of blood trickled down his hand. James mopped it up, rubbed on antiseptic cream and wound a bandage tightly between Bruce’s fingers.

‘All done,’ James said. ‘Are you right to carry on?’

‘We can’t turn back after going this far.’

‘You rest for a minute,’ James said. ‘I’ll sneak up to the fence and check out the security.’

‘Watch out for video cameras,’ Bruce said. ‘They’ll be expecting us.’

When James switched off the torch, there was only moonlight left. He shuffled to the fence on his belly. The villa looked impressive: two storeys, four-car garage and a kidney-shaped pool out front. The lawn sprinklers chugged gently, the spouts of water illuminated by the porch lights. There was no sign of any cameras or hi-tech security stuff; just the yellow siren box from a cheapo burglar alarm, which would be switched off while anyone was in the house. James turned back towards Bruce.

‘Get up here. It doesn’t look too serious.’

James got out his wire cutters and snipped links in the fence, until there was a slot big enough to squeeze through. He followed Bruce over the lawn, crawling swiftly towards the house. James felt something squish against his leg.

‘Oh … man,’ James said, sounding totally revolted. ‘Jesus.’

Bruce hushed him up. ‘Quiet, for god’s sake. What’s the matter?’

‘I just dragged my knee through a colossal pile of dog crap.’

Bruce couldn’t help smiling. James looked set to puke.

‘This is bad,’ Bruce said.

‘Tell me about it. I’ve had it on my shoe before, but this is on my bare skin.’

‘You know what a massive pile of dog mess means?’

‘Yeah,’ James said. ‘It means I’m extremely pissed off.’

‘It also means there’s a massive dog around here.’

The thought focused James’ mind and got him crawling again. They stopped when they got to the wall of the villa, adjacent to a row of French windows. Bruce sat against the wall and checked out the room inside. The light was on. There were leather sofas and a snooker table inside. They tried sliding the French doors, but every one was locked. The keyholes were on the inside, so there was nothing to use their lock guns on.

WOOF.

The boys snapped their necks around. The mother of all rottweilers stood five metres away. The huge beast had muscles swelling through its shiny black coat and strings of drool hanging off its jaw.

‘Nice doggy,’ Bruce said, trying to keep calm.

The growling dog moved closer, its black eyes staring them down.

‘Who’s a nice doggy-woggy?’ Bruce asked.

‘Bruce, I don’t think it’s gonna roll over and let you tickle its tummy.’

‘Well, what’s
 
your
 
plan?’

‘Don’t show it any fear,’ James quaked. ‘We’ll stare it down. It’s probably as scared of us as we are of it.’

‘Yeah,’ Bruce said. ‘You can tell. The poor thing’s cacking itself.’

James began creeping backwards. The dog let out more volcanic barks. A metal hose reel clattered as James backed into it. He considered the reel for a second, before leaning over and unrolling a few metres of the plastic hose. The dog was only a couple of steps away.

‘Bruce, you run off and try to open a door,’ James gasped. ‘I’ll try fending it off with this pipe.’

James half hoped the dog would go after Bruce, but it kept its eyes fixed, pacing closer to James until he could feel its damp breath on his legs.

‘Nice doggy,’ James said.

The rottweiler reared up on its back legs, trying to knock James over. James spun away and the paws squealed down the glass door. James lashed out with the hosepipe. It cracked against the dog’s ribcage. The beast made a high-pitched yelp and backed up slightly. James cracked the pipe against the patio tiles, hoping the noise would scare the dog away, but if anything the whipping seemed to have made it crazier.

James felt like his guts were going to drop out, imagining how easily the huge animal could rip into his flesh. James had nearly drowned once. He’d thought nothing could ever be scarier, but this had the edge.

A bolt clicked behind James’ head and the French door glided open.

‘Would Sir care to step inside?’ Bruce asked.

James threw down the hose and leapt through the opening. Bruce rammed the door shut before the rottweiler made a move.

‘What took you so long?’ James said anxiously, trying to stop his hands from shaking. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘No sign,’ Bruce said. ‘Which is definitely weird. They’d have to be deaf not to hear that psycho mutt barking at us.’

James grabbed one of the curtains and used it to wipe the dog crap off his leg.

‘That’s so gross,’ Bruce said. ‘At least it’s not on your clothes.’

‘Have you checked all the rooms out?’

Bruce shook his head. ‘I thought I’d make sure you weren’t being eaten first, even if it meant we got caught.’

‘Fair play,’ James said.

They worked their way across the ground floor, creeping up to each door and checking out the rooms. The villa looked lived-in. There were cigarette butts in ashtrays and dirty mugs. There was a Mercedes in the garage. Bruce pocketed the keys.

‘There’s our getaway vehicle,’ he said.

There was no sign of life on the ground floor, which made the staircase likely to be some sort of trap. They stepped up gingerly, expecting someone to burst on to the landing pointing a gun at them.

There were three bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor. The two hostages were in the master bedroom. The eight-year-olds, Jake and Laura, were tied to a bedpost, with gags over their mouths. They wore grubby T-shirts and shorts.

James and Bruce pulled the hunting knives off their belts and cut the kids loose. There was no time for greetings.

‘Laura,’ James barked. ‘When did you last see the bad guys? Have you got any idea where they might be?’

Laura was red-faced and seemed listless.

‘I dunno,’ she shrugged. ‘But I’m busting to pee.’

Laura and Jake knew nothing about anything. Bruce and James had been expecting a battle to get at them. This was far too easy.

‘We’re taking you to the car,’ James said.

Laura started limping towards the bathroom. Her ankle was strapped up.

‘We don’t have time for toilet breaks,’ James gasped. ‘They’ve got guns and we haven’t.’

‘I’m gonna wet my knickers in a minute,’ Laura said, bolting herself inside the en-suite bathroom.

James was furious. ‘Well, make it snappy.’

‘I need to go too,’ Jake said.

Bruce shook his head. ‘I don’t want you disappearing. You can pee in the corner of the garage while I start the car.’

He led Jake downstairs. James waited half a minute before thumping on the bathroom door.

‘Laura, come on. What the hell is taking you so long?’

‘I’m washing my hands,’ Laura said. ‘I couldn’t find any soap.’

James couldn’t believe it.

‘For the love of god,’ he shouted, hammering his fist on the bolted door. ‘We’ve
 
got
 
to get out of here.’

Laura eventually hobbled out of the bathroom. James scooped her over his shoulder and sprinted downstairs to the garage. Bruce sat at the steering wheel inside the car. Laura slid on to the back seat next to Jake.

‘It’s kaput,’ Bruce shouted, getting out of the car and kicking the front wing. ‘The key goes in but it won’t turn. It’s showing a full tank of petrol. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.’

‘It’s been sabotaged,’ James yelled back. ‘I bet you any money this is a trap.’

Bruce looked awkward as the realisation dawned.

‘You’re right. Let’s get out of here.’

James leaned inside the Mercedes.

‘Sorry you two,’ he said, looking at Jake and Laura. ‘Looks like we’ve got to make a run for it.’

But it was too late. James heard the noise, but only turned around in time to see the gun pointing at him. Bruce screamed out, as James felt two rounds smash into his chest. The pain knocked the air out of his lungs. He stumbled backwards, watching bright red streaks dribbling down his T-shirt.

2. STINGING

Fired from close range, the next paintball knocked James backwards on to the concrete floor. Kerry Chang kept the gun on him as she closed in. James had his hands in the air.

‘I surrender.’

‘Pardon?’ Kerry said, blasting a fourth paintball into James’ thigh.

It wasn’t going to do permanent damage but, fired from close range, the paintballs had left him in a heap on the ground.

‘Kerry, please, not again,’ James gasped. ‘That
 
really
 
hurts.’

‘Pardon?’ Kerry said. ‘Can’t hear what you’re saying.’

She stood astride James, pointing the muzzle of the paintball gun at him. On the other side of the car, Bruce screamed as Gabrielle shot him a couple more times.

Kerry fired into James’ stomach from less than a metre away, doubling him over.

‘You mad
 
cow
,’ James howled. ‘You could have my eye out doing that. You’re supposed to stop shooting as soon as I surrender.’

‘Did you surrender?’ Kerry grinned. ‘I misheard. I thought you said,
 
Please shoot me again
.’

The girls rested their guns on the roof of the car.

‘Did we whip your little pink butts?’ Gabrielle whooped in her thick Jamaican accent. ‘Or did we whip your little pink butts?’

James struggled to sit up, clasping his hands over his stomach. The pain was bad, but losing to the girls on a stupid training exercise hurt a hundred times more.

The powered garage door started rolling upwards. A huge man stood silhouetted against the moonlight. It was Norman Large, CHERUB’s head training instructor. He had the rottweiler on a leash at his side.

‘Well done, ladies,’ Mr Large shouted. ‘You’ve distinguished those pretty little heads on this one.’

Kerry and Gabrielle smiled. Mr Large stopped walking when his size fifteen boots were almost touching James’ leg. James put his hand over his face, shielding his nose from the growling dog’s rank breath.

‘That thing’s not gonna bite me, is it?’ James asked.

Mr Large laughed. ‘Luckily for you and Bruce, Thatcher has been trained to pin a man to the ground and never bite. Her brother, Saddam, now that’s a different question. He’s trained to sink his teeth in. We’d have been picking chunks of flesh off the lawn if you’d been up against Saddam. Unfortunately, the chairman banned me from using him … Anyway, James, get on your feet. Gabrielle, help that other little idiot to stand up.’

Bruce limped around the car, using the bonnet for support. The yellow paint from Gabrielle’s gun trickled down his legs. Both boys stood with their backs against the car. Mr Large hollered right in their faces:

‘Tell me everything you did wrong.’

‘I’m… not sure really,’ James shrugged.

Bruce looked down at the floor.

‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ Mr Large bawled. ‘Why did it take you so long to reach the villa?’

‘We jogged all the way,’ James said.

‘Jogged?’ Mr Large shouted. ‘If I’m being held hostage at gunpoint, I at least expect my rescuers to have the decency to
 
run
to my rescue.’

‘It’s boiling hot out there,’ James said.

‘I could have run,’ Bruce said, ‘but James was knackered after ten minutes.’

James gave Bruce a fierce look. Teams were supposed to stick together, not drop one another in it at the first opportunity.

‘Can’t manage a little ten-kilometre run, eh, James?’ Mr Large said, breaking into an evil grin. ‘Looks like you’ve let yourself get out of shape holidaying out here in the sunshine.’

‘I’m fit,’ James said. ‘It’s just the heat.’

‘So, because you took so long to arrive, it was dark when you got to the villa, making it much more difficult to survey. Not that it matters, because you didn’t do a proper survey anyway.’

‘I had a good look through the fence,’ James said, defensively.

Large banged his fist on the roof of the car.