back of the deck that looks like a missile or something. It’s got the name Towmaster on it and a company name, something like ANT.’
Neil tapped ANT Towmaster into his laptop. Google asked if he meant AMS Towmaster. He clicked yes and the first link on the answers page took him to a page with a picture of a yellow torpedo-like tube.
‘Advanced Marine Systems, Towmaster six-sixty,’ Neil said, reading from the screen. ‘Sensitive sonar system for marine survey. Number one for marine salvage, nautical archaeology and the oil industry.’
‘So that’s how they’re working it,’ McEwen breathed as he lowered the binoculars. ‘Big boat sails into shallow water and drops off a package of drugs, guns or whatever. Then Brixton Riots goes out, picks it off the sea bed and brings it back to shore.’
‘How do you think we should play it?’ Neil asked.
‘Miniature cameras and microphones on the boat,’ McEwen said. ‘I can sneak on board and stick them somewhere. If anyone asks, we’re a couple of tourists interested in a fishing trip. We’ll put more cameras on shore to film them leaving and arriving. We’ll watch from the car and follow them wherever they take the cargo when they land.’
‘That should cover all the bases,’ Neil said. ‘I reckon we could do with some backup from my department and some crews on standby in case of a lengthy pursuit.’
‘Can never have too much manpower on an op like this,’ McEwen agreed. ‘Speak to Ross Johnson. If he can’t do it I’ll try getting someone flown down from CHERUB campus.’
‘What about surveillance equipment?’
‘I’ve got nothing in the car,’ McEwen said, ‘but Chloe will have a suitcase filled with surveillance equipment back at the house in Salcombe.’
Neil looked at his watch. ‘One o’clock,’ he said. ‘It’s tight, but we should be able to get this sorted.’
*
Just after 1 p.m. Dante, Joe, Lauren and Anna approached the fortified entrance of the Brigands clubhouse, each dragging a shopping trolley or a wheeled suitcase behind them. Joe looked left and right before swiping a magnetic card through the entry point and giving the door a shove.
The hall inside was ghostly. Their breathing echoed across a high-ceilinged expanse tinged with cigarette smoke. The only light came from sunbeams piercing three skylights in the roof.
‘Anybody home?’ Anna shouted.
The four teens had made it across to the self-service bar area when a hungover man hobbled down from the bunkhouse upstairs wearing boxers and a pizza-stained vest. The quartet had no business in the clubhouse and Joe decided that attack was the best form of defence.
‘Aussie Mike,’ Joe said. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be working security? What if I’d been a crack team of enemy bikers come to burn down the clubhouse?’
Aussie Mike ran his hands through a long tangle of hair. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I’m Joe, the Führer’s son. He told me to check up on you.’
The Führer’s name made Aussie Mike stand bolt upright and point up the stairs. ‘Ahh yeah,’ he said in his Aussie drawl. ‘Saw you coming in, didn’t I? I mean, didn’t know exactly who you were, but I’ve seen you about. Got the old shotguns up there if anyone had come looking for trouble.’
‘Cool,’ Joe said, raising his hands. ‘We’re having a little get together at my parents’ place tonight. My dad said it was OK to come by and pick up some snacks and fizzy drinks.’
‘No worries,’ Aussie Mike said, as he turned around and started sauntering back upstairs to the bunkhouse. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
The four kids all smiled at each other once Aussie Mike was out of sight.
‘Sucker,’ Joe grinned as he swiped his dad’s security pass in a door marked no admittance and led the quartet into a sizeable stock room. One end was dominated by the silver doors of a giant fridge and freezer where the Brigands stored meat for their barbecues, but the kids were more interested in the pallets of beer cans on the floor and the spirit and wine bottles lined up on chipboard shelves.
Dante looked at the beer. ‘You said about twenty kids, so if we have four beers each we’ll need a hundred cans.’
‘More than that,’ Joe said. ‘I’ll probably drink twelve or fifteen cans just myself.’
Lauren burst out laughing. ‘What are you, a professional darts player?’
Dante laughed as well. ‘I’d love to see you drink ten beers, Joe. You’d pass out after three.’
‘Three lemonade shandies,’ Anna said, as Lauren’s eyes fixed on a line of green