Revenge (2 page)

Many of the boys in the hall were chatting and laughing in groups. They all wore the same black tennis shoes and gray overalls. Some sat around tables and played cards. A couple played table tennis while others watched. Jason noticed Andrew and Watson with a group of similarly aged boys. They all wore their collars popped and sleeves rolled up. Watson was bullying a smaller boy. He twisted the boys nipples through his clothing, and the boy cried out in obvious pain, pleading for mercy. He was forced to call Watson all sorts of grand names before Watson finally let him go after a final twist. The boy fell to the ground amid laughter and wiped the tears from his cheeks.

Jason stared at Watson. He hated bullies—this was enough to give him the excuse he needed. After a few minutes, Watson noticed and looked at Jason and then looked away. Jason kept the stare, and after a moment, Watson noticed he was still being glared at.

“What's 'e looking at? Hey, shrimp! What you looking at?” Watson shouted to Jason. Jason shook his head from side to side and gave a dirty, disgusted look.

“He's asking for it,” Watson said and started to stride toward Jason. Andrew and the other boys in the group watched.

“So what you looking at shrimp?” he sternly asked again.

“Sorry, was I staring? But I guess you must get that a lot, being that you're so ugly. I bet when you were born, the doctor took one look at you and then slapped your mama.” Jason smiled broadly and slowly raised himself onto his toes.

Watson's face went bright red, his eyes popping out of his skinny face; he cursed at Jason and threw a punch. Jason ducked and spun around on his left leg and carried out a full roundhouse kick that made contact under Watson's chin. Watson's head jerked back. His teeth clacked together, and he fell on his back. He must have bitten his tongue because blood started to pour from his mouth. Andrew walked forward. Watson was quick to get to his feet and ran at Jason, swinging wildly with his fists. Jason stood firm and blocked each blow with his arms. He then counterpunched Watson, catching him square on the nose.

Again, Watson cursed at Jason, blood running from his nose. He picked up a chair and swung it in Jason's direction. Jason ducked, dove to the floor on his hands, and spun his legs around, sweeping Watson's feet. Watson's legs were thrown into the air, and he fell heavily on his back. Jason pounced on his prey, landing with his knee in Watson's chest. He threw four incredibly fast punches to Watson's face and climbed off him.

“Hmm, some improvement to your face now,” Jason joked. A roar of laughter went up from the other boys who started to gather around them. They went quiet and moved back when Andrew slowly approached.

“Shrimp, you're pretty good. What form of karate do you practice?” he asked with arms folded.

“The name is Steed. Jason Steed. If we're to be roommates,
you
need to know that. I practice tae kwon do.”

Andrew nodded and studied Jason while in deep thought. He ruled juvie—no one had dared speak to him like this before. He watched Jason walk back up the metal stairway and then focused his attention on Watson.

“You are pathetic. You let a little kid do that to you. You're an embarrassment. I can't be seen going around with you. Find yourself some new friends,” Andrew shouted at Watson, who was trying to get up from the floor with one hand while the other hand held his bloody nose.

• • •

Andrew waited until it was bedtime before he returned to his cell.

“You're still here then, shrimp? I thought I told you to get out. Just because you kick the stuffing out of Watson, you think you can ignore me?” Andrew said in the doorway of the cell.

Jason ignored him. He sat on the bottom bunk, picking his feet. Andrew slowly entered and stood in a fighting stance, glaring at Jason.

“I told you my name, Andrew. It's Jason, not shrimp. You're Chinese. Do you want me to call you ‘takeaway'?”

Andrew glared and raised his top lip. He was about to attack Jason when the cell door slammed and Jason heard two bolts being drawn across.

“Night, lads. Pleasant dreams. Good luck, blondie,” said the prison guard. Jason could hear the guard's footsteps fade into the distance. Suddenly, everything was silent. He was alone with Andrew.

Andrew looked at Jason. He was bemused by him. This little pretty boy did not seem to have a care in the world and was not threatened by him.

“I don't get it. You not only move into my cell and kick the stuffing out of Watson, but now you call me ‘takeaway.' Do you have a death wish? Have you any idea who I am?”

Jason stood up. He looked up at Andrew and forced a smile. “I've no idea why they put me in with an older boy or who you are, and I don't really care. Don't blame me for being put into your stinking cell. I'm not a shrimp. I'm just younger than you. We can either fight it out or we just make the most of it.” Jason held out his hand.

Andrew ignored it and walked over to use the toilet, cursing under his breath. He didn't speak. They got undressed and climbed into their bunks. Jason was shaking; he was still nervous. George told him that Andrew and his father were ruthless. If Andrew wanted to strangle him in the night, he was big enough and Jason would have a tough job fighting him off. It was another three hours before he finally got to sleep.

The next few days, Andrew said nothing to Jason. He ignored him, and he complained to the governor about having to share a cell. He was given the excuse that the juvenile center was short of space. Governor Brown told Andrew that he chose Jason because he was small and quiet and should not get in Andrew's way. Andrew, although clearly unhappy, swallowed the story whole.

• • •

George Young held a meeting at the offices of SYUI with MI5, MI6, and Metropolitan police commissioner John Lock. His direct superior, Simon Caldwell, was also there. Caldwell was George's age and slim with short gray hair. He was, as usual, wearing an expensive-looking Italian suit and gold watch. They sat around the large, open office in the dark, looking at images on a projector screen. George's voice clipped with authority despite his heavy London East End accent. He dropped in rhyming slang words at every sentence—something that amused the onlookers. It was sometimes difficult for them to decipher George's meaning. In East London, slang speakers replaced words or phrases with other words that rhymed. For example, bread rhymes with head. So the phrase “loaf of bread” means head. East Enders will say “use your loaf” instead of “use your head.”

George pointed at a large screen with an unlit cigarette. “This is Lin Cho, an evil sod and head of the London Triads. He's bloody ruthless and has a reputation for the most violent crimes. Many people inside his own organization fear him.”

He flicked the switch to show another image: a very large Asian man dressed in a suit. He looked like a sumo wrestler with short, cropped hair, and his neck seemed to be all part of his wide shoulders. “This is Kotang, Cho's bodyguard and driver. He is Japanese and can crush a feller in his bare arms. I wouldn't want to meet up with this bloke on a dark night.”

He showed an image of a Chinese woman in a blond wig. She was wearing knee-length black leather boots, tight leopard-skin pants, and a black leather jacket.

“This is Boudica. She's the ‘Mr. Big'—head of the entire Triad organization in the United Kingdom. In my view, the most dangerous person in the world. Lin Cho is her number two in the UK.

“The new Chinese police commissioner, Lin Tse-Hsu, is tracking her down and trying to stop her corruption back in China. She is sending huge amounts of money back to China from the UK. And I mean huge amounts—in the millions. Intel has it that she is unhappy with the Mao government and the new laws of one baby per family. The rumor is that she gave birth to two children and that one was taken and killed by government officials. Unfortunately, the child she was left with later died of pneumonia. She completely snapped. Three Chinese maternity wards were ripped apart by explosives, killing hundreds.”

“Yes, I remember hearing about that,” John Lock sighed.

“They never found the culprit, but some Chinese detectives think it was her work, and she fled when they got close.”

He showed another image. It was of a young Asian teenager.

“This is Andrew, Lin Cho's only son and a right little terror. He is currently serving time in juvenile detention. We have a man on the inside who is sharing a cell and befriending him. He will get the information about what the Triads are up to out of Andrew Cho.”

“So this inside man, he must be the same age—what? Sixteen? Seventeen?” Lock asked with his eyebrows raised.

“He's not quite that age, but he's the best we have. He holds the Victoria Cross and Queen's Award for Bravery. He's a black belt in more karate disciplines than I can name and is also the youngest qualified pilot in Britain. He is also fluent in a variety of languages.”

“Good God, man. You mean that
boy
—what's his name?—um…Jason Steed? He's barley twelve and just got out of the hospital,” John snorted.

“He's the best there is, mate. Plus, no one will suspect him. He'll get the information we need. I stake my reputation on it,” George affirmed before he turned off the projector.

“I hope you're right, George. We have a lot riding on this,” Caldwell said.

George was confident in Jason. He could think of no one else he would trust to go undercover…and survive.

The fourth day, Jason had still not managed to get Andrew to speak to him. Jason was given mopping duty, and he spent three hours a day mopping corridors and three hours in school.

Every other day, depending on what block they were on, the boys had to shower. Today in Block B, where Jason and Andrew shared a cell, was shower day. As they walked down to the shower block with a towel around their waists, Jason noticed some of the other boys talking and looking back at him. At first he ignored it, but as they approached the shower blocks, it became more obvious to him that something was going to happen.

The shower contained twelve showerheads fixed to a wall, another wall keeping back the water. This also hid users from the view of any passing guards—not that they had ever come into the shower block. It was like a thinly tiled hallway with one entry. The rest of the block was filled with sinks and toilets. Jason went to the far end and started to take a shower. He wanted to keep his back to the end wall so he could see what was going to happen. He knew it was a bad idea to position himself in a dead end, but he was confident in his ability to protect himself.

Andrew entered and took a shower in the center. As Andrew washed his hair, he closed his eyes. The rest of the boys all left the shower area, which left just Jason and Andrew showering. Jason turned the shower to cold; he wanted to keep his body as awake as he could.

Three boys entered the shower; they had their towels in their hands. At the ends, the towels were tied into a pouch with small rocks inside. It made a brutal weapon when swung with force. Watson had one. The other two boys Jason had seen around but could not name them. Another two boys stood at the entrance of the shower. As they twisted the towels, Jason climbed to the balls of his feet. He thought he was going to be attacked by the boys and Andrew, but as they approached, he noticed they were not watching him. Then one put his finger up to his lips and gestured for Jason to remain silent.

It's not me. It's Andrew they're after
, Jason thought to himself.

As they approached, Watson raised his towel and swung it at Andrew, catching him by surprise in the face. He fell back heavily against the tiled wall. The other two also swung at him, but he soon jumped to his feet to defend himself. He was fast and threw out a kick, catching one of the boys in the throat and knocking him to the shower floor. Two other boys entered and jumped Andrew. He was soon overpowered. Two held him with his arms behind his back. Watson approached and swung his towel at Andrew and caught him in his groin. Andrew screamed in pain, and his legs buckled. He was being held up by the arms and blood trickled from his mouth.

“What was it you called me, Cho? Pathetic embarrassment? Who's pathetic now?” Watson shouted. He spat in Andrew's face. “So you think you're ‘Mr. Big'? You aren't so big now, are ya?” He lifted his weighted towel once more to take a swing.

“Leave him alone,” Jason ordered, walking toward them.

“Look, it's Cho's pretty blond boyfriend. I have something else in mind for you, shrimp,” Watson snarled, winking.

Jason ran and jumped. He kicked out at Watson, the heel of his right foot connecting with Watson's nose. Jason ducked as a weighted towel was swung at his head. Andrew's captors released Andrew and turned to fight Jason. One by one, Jason kicked out, balancing on his left leg and switching to his right. He blocked all counterpunches and fought four of the boys single-handed. Blood sprayed a wall as Jason's fist connected with another boy's nose. As he tried to kick out at one boy, Jason's foot slipped on the wet floor. He lost his balance and fell on his back.

Watson had recovered and towered over him about to bring down a heavy, wet towel full of rocks. Jason braced for the hit, raising his arms to protect his face, but before it happened, Watson screamed out in pain and fell to the wet floor holding his leg. Jason jumped to his feet.

What
happened
to
Watson?

Then he saw Andrew throwing a final kick to the face of the last boy standing. He had kicked Watson's leg from behind and shattered the boy's knee. The five young boys lay on the floor, groaning, blood running from their noses and mouths. Watson was in tears, screaming in pain, holding his knee.

Back in the cell, Jason and Andrew got dressed. Andrew gingerly touched his still-bleeding lip.

“It's okay. You don't have to thank me.” Jason grinned.

“I didn't ask for your help. I can look after myself,” Andrew grunted.

“Oh, yeah, how much longer could you have taken being hit with those weighted towels?”

“I didn't
need
your help…but thanks. How did you learn to fight like that?”

“I've been at a load of foster homes, and I always make sure I have my foster parents take me to a local karate school. I'm just good at it.”

“I can't put my finger on it, but something's not right about you.” Andrew sighed and looked deep into Jason's blue eyes.

There
is
no
way
my
cover
is
blown. Shrug it off,
Jason thought to himself.

“Look at you. Good looking, pretty blue eyes, blond hair, and you speak posh. You never swear, and you're always deep in thought. How did
you
learn to fight like that? I'm a black belt—what are you?”

“Black belt. Sorry if I speak posh. I was brought up by a posh family. Is that a crime?”

Jason failed to mention he was a third dan black belt as well as Hong Kong's under-sixteen karate champion. Jason's defeated opponent, Jet Chan, later went on to win the under-sixteen world championship in Jason's absence.

Two hours later, Jason and Andrew were ordered to see the governor.

“I have five boys who reported to the hospital ward. One has a shattered knee. Others have broken noses and cracked ribs. A little bird tells me you two had something to do with it. What happened?” Governor Brown screamed.

Jason shrugged his shoulders.

“The little bird is wrong. I've been playing cards with my cell mate, Jason,” Andrew replied.

Governor Brown noticed Jason's knuckles. His soft skin had broken open, and there was dried blood on his fingers.

“Then how did you do that to your knuckles, Steed? And what happened to your lip, Cho?”

Jason didn't know what to say.
Is
he
going
to
blow
my
cover?

Andrew came to his rescue.

“I said we were playing cards. We played snap, and it got a little rough. He has hands like a baby. And as for my lip, well, I caught my face on the bunk. I'm not used to having to step around a little shrimp all the time.”

“I don't buy that. I will be watching you two. Get out of my sight,” Brown snapped.

Jason, pleased with Andrew's remarks, couldn't help smirking.

“Funny, is it, Steed? We will see just how funny it is when you feel the cane!” Governor Brown shouted. He pulled a cane out of his desk drawer. “Hold out your hand.”

Jason fearlessly held out his hand.

“You can go, Cho.” The guard led Andrew away. Jason expected the governor wanted to talk to him in private.

Whack!

Jason got the shock of his life. When Andrew left, Brown brought the cane down hard on his hand.

“What the—” Jason shouted and held back from cursing at the governor. “You hit me for real,” Jason protested, shocked.

“Hold out your hand again. I have not finished.”

“Are you stupid?” he cursed. “Have you forgotten why I'm here? You don't have to really cane me. Andrew's gone. He won't know you didn't really hit me.”

“Look at your hand, Steed.”

Jason looked at the palm of his hand. He had a red line across it from the cane. It was throbbing and stinging like a bad burn.

“If you go back to your cell without some red marks on your hand, your cover could be blown. I told you no special treatment. Now hold out your hand. You need at least two marks on your hand.”

This
undercover
work
stinks.