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