CHERUB: The Fall - Robert Muchamore Page 0,27
outnumbered. As the driver reached for his holster, Ewart pulled the stun gun and gave him fifty thousand volts. He dragged him out on to the tarmac and gave him a right- hander before snatching the cop’s gun from its holster.
‘Back it up,’ Craig shouted.
Ewart was surprised to find himself taking rather than giving orders, but Craig clearly knew his stuff. Ewart jumped into the driver’s seat, belted up, put the gearbox into reverse and sped backwards towards the second police car as it came through the barrier. It was one of the little Russian jobs and the back end of the pickup reared up over its bonnet, severing the windscreen pillars and concertinaing the roof.
Ewart crunched the pickup back into first gear, but the rear wheels were off the ground and it wouldn’t budge from its position mounted on top of the little car. This was a pain: they could have used it to drive up the taxiway. He jumped out of the cab as he was deafened by the passing jet. The pilot had to apply full reverse thrust to slow her craft before it ran out of icy runway.
As aircraft tyres squealed, Ewart peered into the little cop car with the pickup driver’s pistol in his hands. The sudden reverse had taken the two men inside by surprise and their seatbelts had kept them pinned in position as the rear end of the pickup crushed them. It wasn’t something you’d want to look at twice.
Ewart looked around for Craig and spotted him smacking the guard’s head against the Plexiglas inside the security booth.
‘Plane’s on the ground, Craig,’ Ewart shouted. ‘Let’s move.’
It was six hundred metres to the runway and the icy ground made it difficult to achieve anything faster than a brisk walk. Up ahead, the co-pilot opened up the small passenger jet and dropped a set of steps as Irene wheeled James alongside.
‘Do you need a carry?’ the co-pilot asked James, as Irene took off the blanket and helped him to his feet.
James shook his head as he stumbled forward and grabbed the railing at the edge of the steps. ‘We’ve got two more coming,’ he said.
The co-pilot looked surprised. ‘You were supposed be ready and waiting.’
‘The police turned up,’ Irene explained anxiously. ‘My husband and his companion should be here any second.’
As soon as James was inside the cramped jet, he collapsed into the leather chair nearest the door and gasped for breath. The cockpit door was open and the pilot nodded from her position in front of a line of dials and computer screens.
‘Hey,’ James said, smiling with relief.
‘What’s the delay, kid?’
‘Two more coming,’ James said. He thought about adding hopefully, but didn’t.
The runway was pitch black and he was alarmed to see two more sets of headlamps coming up the narrow road towards the security barrier.
Irene stood out on the tarmac, shouting her head off. ‘Craig, where are you?’
The pilot craned her neck to look backwards out of the cockpit, before shouting to the co-pilot. ‘We’ve got snow and ice building up on the wing. De-icing is on, but if we don’t get off the ground in a minute or two, someone will have to climb up there and give it a scrape.’
As James watched the police cars turning through the security barrier, Irene finally heard a shout over the idling jet engines.
‘It’s Craig,’ Irene shouted. ‘They’re coming.’
But the headlights were coming faster.
‘Get inside and pull up the steps,’ the pilot shouted. ‘I’m turning ready for take-off.’
The co-pilot practically shoved Irene up the steps. ‘You can’t leave my husband,’ she begged.
James watched anxiously as the co-pilot grabbed the handrail to raise the steps a few centimetres, so that the pilot could turn the aircraft without them scraping along the ground. A deafening blast of air came through the door as the pilot gave a tiny boost to the right engine, enabling the aircraft to swing a hundred and eighty degrees.
The headlamps looked even bigger when James stared out the opposite side of the aircraft, but he still couldn’t see Ewart or Craig.
‘We’re going,’ the pilot shouted, as she started flicking switches and pressing buttons.
‘You can’t leave them here,’ Irene shrieked.
‘They’ve got a gun,’ the co-pilot said firmly. ‘That gives them a chance of getting away. We’ve got three thousand litres of fuel in the wings and an auxiliary tank in the cargo bay. If one bullet hits us we’ll go up like a bomb.’
As if to emphasise the point, the muzzle of an