rubble inside the terminal as James jumped on to the steps leading up to the cab. He grabbed Savvas by his overall, but Savvas’ shoulders were wedged and his breathing was laboured.
As James tried to undo the chin strap on Savvas’ helmet, a blast of automatic gunfire gave him the fright of his life. He slipped off the steps and put his trainer down awkwardly, turning his ankle and collapsing on to his heavily padded behind.
James glanced around warily. There was no sign of Bruce or the Kruger brothers and the gunfire seemed to have come from behind the remains of the security booth. The officer inside had dived out before it was destroyed, and now used the debris as cover as she shot at the wheels of the black vans less than ten metres from her position.
The getaway drivers had no option but to reverse through the mangled gates at speed. As James stood up it seemed everyone else had made it into the vans and his only company was the half conscious Savvas.
He thought about running for it, but with someone shooting from behind the booth and the two police cars sure to close in now that the Krugers weren’t covering his back, surrender seemed like the only sane option. Then he eyed Sasha lying flat in the doorway of the bus.
*
Michael was a good marksman. He’d practised extensively with his compact pistol and the Runt who’d stabbed Gabrielle was crossing the playground less than ten metres away. It was an easy shot.
Cherubs are taught only to shoot when they’re in immediate danger and the Runt didn’t even know he was being targeted. But Michael’s training was mangled by his love for Gabrielle. He wanted the person who’d almost extinguished her life to suffer and his rage was almost overpowering.
Can I get away with it? Probably. Could I live with myself? Definitely. Wouldn’t killing him make me just as bad as him? Could I really kill another human being?
Much as he hated the Runt, Michael was surprised to discover that he didn’t have the heart to kill in cold blood. He lowered his aim and thought about shooting the Runt up the arse or in the leg, but wherever a bullet enters you can be dead inside three minutes if it hits an artery.
A slamming door made Michael look back and he heard running in the corridor behind him. His first thought was of the two Runts who’d been inside the car. But he could hear voices: a near hysterical woman and an older man trying to calm her down. The cops had given top priority to a call from a primary school.
‘This is the police, can you hear me?’
Michael took a quick glance back out of the window and saw that the Runt had stopped moving. He’d lost Michael and had no idea what to do next.
‘I can hear,’ Michael shouted back.
‘I want you to put your gun down and slide it across to the far side of the room,’ the cop said calmly. ‘I need to be able to see your weapon when I open the door.’
Michael considered bursting out of the triangular door and going after the Runt, but firearms teams work in pairs and the most likely outcome would be a bullet in his own back. Even with body armour and nanotubes, he didn’t fancy it.
‘Quickly,’ the cop shouted.
‘I’m putting the gun down now,’ Michael shouted back.
He clicked on the safety and removed the clip, then threw both against the far wall of the room. One of the cops must have been peering through the door at the back because he charged in instantly, pointing his handgun at Michael as Alex Rider and a display of Horrible Histories clattered to the floor.
‘Hands on your head, on your head!’
Michael did what he was told as another officer stormed into the room.
‘Get up, face the window.’
While the officer slammed Michael against a bookshelf and locked handcuffs behind his back, the Runt spotted a police uniform inside the library and began sprinting towards the school gate.
‘OK, mister,’ the officer said, as he jerked Michael away from the window and shoved him forward so that his colleague could pat him down. ‘You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, but anything that you do say can be taken down and used in evidence against you.’
‘He’s wearing full body armour,’ the other cop said incredulously, as he pulled a hunting knife and a cellphone out of Michael’s