his pocket to call Lauren.
‘How’s it going?’ she asked.
‘We’ve got the security team all bound up out here. You’d better head inside and grab that last man before he starts wondering why all his buddies have gone so quiet.’
9. RICH
He might have called himself Rich Kline, but as soon as the door of his hotel suite opened James recognised Rich Davis. He was fatter, balder and the seventies-style sideburns were gone, but this was definitely the man who’d once topped the Ulster Constabulary’s most wanted list.
‘Mr Bradford,’ Rich said, as he grudgingly reached out to shake hands.
James was pleased to see clean laundry hanging on the wardrobe door and half eaten room-service sandwiches. These personal effects would make planting the tracking device much easier.
‘Everyone calls me Bradford,’ he smiled, as his big hands met with Rich’s. ‘Good to finally meet you.’
‘Wish I could say the same,’ Rich said, before breaking into a rattly cough. ‘I never thought I’d be out on the streets again, Bradford. Cops gave me thirty years on fit-up charges. If it wasn’t for the peace accord I’d still be in maximum security lockup. The British government did everything they could to get me and now you’re public enemy number one, they’ll do everything they can to get you.
‘If they can’t get you the honest way, they’ll fit you up and you’ll be doing twenty-five years before you know it. That’s why you can’t take stupid risks, like turning up here in that shit-box car with a kid with bright green hair.’
‘He’s sixteen,’ Bradford said defiantly. ‘Knows how to fight. Too young to be a cop or a journo.’
James knew Rich Davis was trying to establish dominance: making them wait, the overbearing tone and the slab of a bodyguard standing in the doorway behind them cracking his knuckles. Davis didn’t want to negotiate with Bradford, he wanted to show him who was the boss.
Davis addressed his bodyguard. ‘Check both of them for bugs, then take the boy downstairs and buy him a lollipop.’
‘James stays here with me,’ Bradford said, trying to sound tough, but a tremor in his voice gave him away.
The bodyguard grabbed a bug detector and closed up behind Bradford, sweeping it over his clothes. James had a listening device and two trackers but wasn’t worried: CHERUB used technology way too advanced for such a crude device to pick up.
‘No phones, no bugs, guv,’ the guard said to Davis. He turned to James. ‘Come on son, let the grown-ups talk.’
James gave the bodyguard evil eyes. He had to gather intelligence and plant the tracking device and he couldn’t do either if he wasn’t in the room. On the other hand, forcing the issue would risk destroying the relationship between Bradford and Davis before they learned anything about the Irishman’s weapons smuggling operation.
‘I want him to stay,’ Bradford said. ‘You can’t order me around like this.’
‘You need to learn some manners, son,’ Davis snarled.
‘Who do you think you are?’ Bradford shouted, as the bodyguard put a meaty hand on James’ shoulder.
The guard had been behind the door when they entered which meant James hadn’t been able to size him up, but the casual way he was manhandling James showed that he didn’t rate him as a serious threat.
‘OK, fine,’ James said, acting the stroppy teenager as he raised his hands and turned to face the bodyguard.
‘Green-headed ponce,’ the bodyguard laughed, before shoving James in the back.
Bradford had made it clear that he didn’t want James to leave and the insult gave James an excuse to lash out. As soon as there was a metre of space between himself and the bodyguard, James launched an explosive roundhouse kick.
The bodyguard clattered backwards into a chest of drawers and James felt a jolt of panic as he reached inside his jacket for a gun. James closed in, grabbing the bodyguard’s thumb and twisting it back until the bone snapped. A knee in the stomach sent the guard crashing to the ground.
‘You want to take the piss out of my hair?’ James shouted, booting his opponent in the guts before leaning forward and ripping the gun from the holster under his jacket.
‘Still want to shoot me?’ James asked.
The bodyguard was coughing blood and wouldn’t be getting up any time soon, so James pointed the gun at Davis.
‘Whoah! Careful son,’ Davis said, waving his hands warily. ‘We can talk about this.’
‘Don’t patronise me,’ James shouted. ‘If you offer to buy me a lollipop again, I swear to god I’ll take this