CHERUB: Brigands M.C. - Robert Muchamore Page 0,95

Jr roared. ‘But you just gave the game away, didn’t you?’

‘We followed you,’ Will explained. ‘And we waited a good few minutes for you to get out so we know you did more than swap shirts.’

‘I don’t get why you’re so shy about it,’ Minted laughed. ‘If I went into the Flesh Tent and scored I’d be screaming it from the rooftops.’

‘OK, I shagged her,’ James admitted reluctantly as he drained his beer bottle. ‘I can’t help being gorgeous. It’s no big deal, girls throw themselves at me all the time.’

‘Big-headed bastard,’ Will smiled as he offered James a high five. ‘Good on you, mate.’

But before James could raise his hand there was a huge bang near the edge of the Brigands’ camp. Everyone looked around thinking it was early fireworks.

‘Oh shit,’ Will said as he looked over tents at a pair of flaming Harleys that had been doused with petrol. ‘I think World War Three is about to break out.’

Other Brigands rushed forward and wheeled their Harleys away from the flames, while the two London Brigands whose bikes were burning sprinted towards the breakdown truck to grab fire extinguishers.

‘That’s the two whose mate got stabbed in the Flesh Tent,’ Minted said. ‘It’s gotta be Satan’s Prodigy.’

‘They’ve gotta be insane,’ Will said, as the faster of the two fat Brigands reached his bike and began blasting it with white carbon dioxide powder. ‘Satan’s Prodigy are outnumbered ten to one by Brigands.’

‘They’ve teamed up with the Vengefuls,’ Minted said. ‘They must have done.’

James smiled. ‘Unless someone who wants us to start a war with Satan’s Prodigy did it.’

‘Could be,’ Will admitted. ‘There are some sly people around.’

The heat from the flames expanded the air in the motorbike tyres. As the two owners desperately fought the flames, one tyre blew and the two blubbery men jumped back in fright and tripped over each other. It was high comedy, but nobody laughed.

‘Those bikes are wasted,’ Will said. ‘Even if they get the fire out before the petrol blows everything will be warped from the heat.’

As more extinguishers arrived and the flames were finally engulfed by the clouds of white powder, seven Brigands chapter presidents gathered for an urgent fireside conference. The voices were angry and James heard every word from thirty metres away.

Sealclubber was the most vocal, demanding that everyone tool up and immediately attack Satan’s Prodigy. The Führer urged him to calm down and not act until they were sure who was behind the attack.

‘You’re full of shit,’ Sealclubber screamed into the Führer’s face. ‘I’ve got a man stabbed, two of my full-patches’ bikes burned up on the grass and you’re telling me to hold back. I say we move now, and wipe Vengefuls and Satan’s Prodigy off the face of the earth.’

The Führer tried to calm Sealclubber down, but he wasn’t having it. The Führer realised that he was in a minority of one as dozens of inflamed full-patch Brigands gathered around him. The presidents took a vote and the Führer lost five to two.

‘Guns, knives, bats,’ Sealclubber shouted to the cheering crowd. ‘Tool up and ship out, the Brigands are going on the warpath.’

34. BUOY

The sea and moonlight gave Nigel and Julian an eerie sense of calm as they came up from the crew quarters and stepped out on to the rear deck. Rods hung over the side, giving the impression of a boat hired for a night fishing trip.

‘What’s going on?’ Julian asked, unaware that his tall frame and curly hair were blocking the lens of a button-sized camera stuck to the doorframe above his head.

Riggs sat up on the bridge, while Paul Woodhead stood on deck shining a powerful lamp over the sea.

‘The Towmaster SONAR located our packages on the sea bed,’ Woodhead explained. ‘We’ve sent a signal to release the buoys attached to the packages. I need you two to open up the hold and set the ramp.’

The hold was accessed through a hinged metal cover. It took two arms to lift and the stench of rotting fish hit the two seventeen-year-olds as the hatch slammed down on the deck.

‘Sighted,’ Woodhead shouted up to the bridge, as the first of three fluorescent pink buoys broke the waterline thirty metres from the boat.

Riggs gave the engine a blast of power and threw on full rudder.

Woodhead eyed Julian and Nigel. ‘What are you standing there for? One of you get down there and set the bloody ramp.’

Nigel wasn’t keen, but Julian had done him a favour by agreeing to