CHERUB: The Fall - Robert Muchamore Page 0,10

the whys and wherefores and concentrate on not ending up in a cell facing an angry Vladimir Obidin and his blow lamp.

James charged into the light, clattering into his assailant as he swung the heavy cigar lighter and smashed it into the side of the man’s skull. It was too dark to see if the first blow had knocked him cold, but the second left no room for doubt. James spotted a holster under the man’s jacket and reached towards it, but found two men plucking him off the ground before he got hold of the gun.

Each man tucked a hand under one of James’ armpits and made the room shudder as they slammed his back against the wall. The larger man punched him in the stomach.

‘Keep him conscious,’ Vladimir shouted from the kitchen. ‘He’s our only link to those bastards.’

The punch would have crumpled most grown men, but James had taken worse in combat training and surprised his attacker by kicking him in the balls. As his assailant doubled over and stumbled backwards into the coffee table, James reached out for the other man and grabbed his long hair. He quickly looped some hair around his wrist. The man threw a soft punch as James snapped his arm backwards.

The hair pulled tight and the dude’s neck crunched. He went down so fast that James barely managed to let go before going down on top of him.

After a panicked breath, James ran forward to finish off the man who was trying to untangle himself from the coffee table. There was enough light from the abandoned torch for James to see him reach for his gun. James grabbed his wrist, twisted the pistol out of his grasp and pulped the man’s face by repeatedly smashing the barrel against the bridge of his nose.

Three down, one to go, James thought, backing up to the wall as he inspected the automatic pistol in his bloody left hand. He wasn’t familiar with the type, but it looked like it was ready to shoot.

Vladimir Obidin shouted from the kitchen. ‘Mikhail, what’s going on? Cuff the boy and start searching.’

James only had seconds before the lack of a reply made Vladimir suspicious. He used them to shut off the torch and creep out into the hallway.

‘Mikhail?’ Vladimir repeated, sounding a touch uneasy now. ‘Did he get away?’

James crouched down low. A flickering light came through the kitchen doorway, suggesting that Vladimir was nosing around with a torch.

‘Have you got the boy or not?’

James was tempted to throw a smartass line back at Vladimir. But he thought he’d leave the comebacks to Hollywood and let Vladimir stay confused.

‘Guys?’ Obidin said, with something in his voice that James had never heard before: fear.

Buoyed by Obidin’s discomfort, James crept right up to the kitchen door as Obidin turned off his torch. James would have happily made a run for the front door, but he’d have to pass the kitchen to get there and that would give Vladimir an easy shot at him.

James considered backing up and jumping off the living-room balcony, but they were two storeys up and even if he landed without injuring himself, he’d probably be spotted by the rentacops who stood guard at the front of the building.

As James crept closer to the kitchen door, he heard Vladimir whispering into his police radio. ‘This is VO1. Requesting urgent assistance. All nearby units come to Brezhnev Apartments, flat two stroke seventeen. Searching for a boy aged fourteen or fifteen. Blond hair, stocky build. Looks like he’s taken out three officers already.’

James realised that he had to deal with Obidin and get out of the building before he had half of Aero City’s police force on his back. Judging by Obidin’s voice, James reckoned he was near the washing machine at the back of the room.

He poked his arm through the doorway and fired three shots into the darkness. If Obidin had kept still, James would have shot him in the chest, but Obidin had also decided to take the offensive and was walking towards the door. As James’ bullets ripped through the metal shell of the washing machine, he sensed Obidin standing less than a metre away from him.

James practically swallowed his tongue with fright, but he had his finger on the trigger and realised that whoever got the first shot in would win the duel. While Obidin took aim, James fired, shooting Obidin in the thigh from point-blank range.

The force of the bullet knocked Obidin backwards.