CHERUB: Class A - Robert Muchamore Page 0,81

giant one-way mirror in one wall that looked into an interrogation room. Keith Moore was in there. He stared into space, nervously drumming his fingers on the table in front of him. His T-shirt was bulked out by the dressing wrapped around his shoulder.
‘You’ll have to keep quiet in here,’ Beverly said. ‘It’s quite a thin partition.’
She walked out, leaving James with the eerie sound of Keith’s breathing, amplified through the tinny loudspeakers in the ceiling.
Seconds later, Beverly walked into the interrogation room behind John Jones.
‘Good morning,’ John said, pulling out a chair opposite Keith and sitting down. ‘My name is John Jones. I’m here to help you out.’
‘I want a lawyer,’ Keith said. ‘I’ve been shot. I’ve had no sleep. You can’t question me like this.’
‘I’m with British Intelligence,’ John smiled. ‘I have no authority here in the United States. All we’re doing is having an informal chat.’
‘I don’t care if you’re the grand wizard of the Ku Klux Klan,’ Keith said. ‘I’m not saying one word until I see a lawyer.’
‘The local cops found a deceased member of the Lambayeke cartel and a bunch of unlicensed firearms in your house,’ John said. ‘Somebody killed him, and unless the bad guys decided to start shooting one another, you’re the main suspect.’
‘I want a lawyer,’ Keith said sourly.
John turned and looked at Beverly. ‘What’s the standard sentence for a drug-related murder in Florida?’ he asked.
‘Life without parole, on a good day,’ Beverly said, smiling. ‘Though if the judge doesn’t like the look of you, he might bump that up to death by lethal injection.’
‘What if Keith claims self-defence and puts in a guilty plea to a charge of manslaughter?’ John asked.
‘Between twenty and fifty years in prison,’ Beverly said.
‘Man,’ John Jones laughed. ‘They’re certainly tough down here in Florida. Keith Moore, I believe you’re in a big heap of trouble.’
‘I’ve got money,’ Keith said, trying to sound confident. ‘I can afford a very smart lawyer.’
‘You reckon this case will ever make it anywhere near a courtroom?’ John asked.
‘Why shouldn’t it?’ Keith asked.
‘You’ll be charged with murdering a member of the Lambayeke cartel,’ John said. ‘You’re a foreign citizen on a murder charge, so there’s not a hope in hell you’ll get bail. You’ll be banged up on remand, awaiting trial, in a Florida prison stuffed with members of the Lambayeke cartel. How long do think you’ll last before one of them sticks a knife in your back?’
Keith looked a lot less sure of himself when he thought about this. John theatrically slammed his mobile phone on the desk.
‘There’s my phone, Keith. Go ahead, call your big-shot lawyer if you want to. The Florida legal system will take you under its wing and you’ll be a dead man by Christmas.’
‘So what’s my alternative?’ Keith asked.
‘You’ll have to sign a deal,’ John explained. ‘The DEA will grant you immunity from prosecution in the United States, if you give a full and accurate account of your dealings with the Lambayeke cartel over the last twenty-whatever years. And you’ll have to agree never to set foot in the United States again.
‘The DEA will pass all the information you give to the British police. I’m sure you’ll have given them enough to prosecute you. You’ll face the full weight of British justice, which will probably be a twenty to twenty-five year prison sentence. With remission for good behaviour, you could be a free man inside fifteen years.’
‘Why not leave me out here to rot?’ Keith asked.
‘This deal makes everyone happy,’ John said. ‘The Americans get lots of valuable information on the Lambayeke cartel, rather than a big bill for prosecuting you and trying to keep you alive in prison. Back in Britain, the Home Secretary gets to stand up in parliament and mouth off about the success of Operation Snort and his big crackdown on drugs. And most importantly, you’ll still be alive this time next year.’
‘What if the Lambayeke cartel comes after me in Britain?’ Keith asked.
‘They might try to get at you,’ John said, shrugging. ‘But Lambayeke members are thin on the ground in British prisons, whereas you’ll be on home turf. I expect a man with your resources will be able to find plenty of friends to protect you.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out,’ Keith said, shifting uneasily in his chair.
‘This is a once in a lifetime deal,’ John said. ‘There won’t be any negotiation. You’ve got one hour to make a decision.’
Keith leaned back in his chair and ran a hand