CHERUB: The Sleepwalker - Robert Muchamore Page 0,33

thing she passed was the burned-out shell of Shakeel’s cart. It sat on bare wheel rims, filling its surroundings with a vague odour of burned plastic. James’ team’s buggy was up against the wall at the front and to her relief it hadn’t been stripped down after the race.

After flipping on the lamp over a workbench so that she could see, Lauren found the switch for the electronic door at the front and clambered into the seat. As the aluminium door rolled noisily towards the ceiling, she pressed the start button and the motorbike engine blasted into life.

*

Lauren had learned to drive when she was ten years old and got scheduled for at least an hour’s driving practice every month. CHERUB didn’t encourage agents to go out joyriding, but driving was a vital skill that most agents would use to escape from a sticky situation at some point in their careers.

CHERUB had a variety of pool cars and Lauren had sat behind the wheel of everything from Mercedes and Range Rovers down to Minis and mopeds. The one thing all of them had in common was that the manufacturers had invested millions in their development, making sure all the components worked together and that the steering and handling were expertly tuned.

By contrast, Lauren was now driving a golf buggy that had been converted by her brother and three of his mates. If you did anything more than gently dab the accelerator, the back wheels spun like crazy. The brakes had been designed for sedate progress around a golf course and she was stunned when she first used them and found that nothing happened for almost a second. When she squeezed harder the beefed-up rear brakes bit, sending a shower of sparks flying out from the rear wheels and hurling her forward in her seat.

The most random element was the cornering, which reminded Lauren of Meatball chasing a ball across Zara’s kitchen floor and crashing into all the cabinets. But for all its faults it was a ride home, and once Lauren got to grips with its eccentricities she realised that it was a very fast one.

Not wanting to risk an accident, Lauren kept the speed down. This also meant that the engine stayed quiet and she could hear the voice traffic going between the red and white shirts and the instructors in her earpiece.

For a black shirt it made grim listening. Over the space of three minutes Lauren heard white shirts capturing Kerry, Gabrielle and two other agents, while another group lay in wait ready to ambush the group of six who’d set off before James and Dana. Kazakov sounded like he was enjoying himself and several times he complimented his team on keeping a clean sheet: meaning that nobody had made it back to the main building.

Lauren was confident of becoming the first as she cruised the path at the side of the rugby pitches, with just the tennis courts between herself and the back of the main building. She’d be indoors in under two minutes, showered and snuggled under her duvet in fifteen if she didn’t hang about.

A shout came up over the radio. Lauren recognised the voice of a red-shirt girl called Ryan Smythe. ‘I’m eyeballing James Adams and Dana Smith in the trees by the lake,’ Ryan yelled. ‘I can shoot if you like?’

‘Hold on that,’ Mr Pike replied calmly. ‘Do we have anyone available to intercept?’

McEwen answered. ‘I nailed that groin kisser once and I’m on the quad ready to get him again. Dave Moss is riding with.’

‘OK, Ryan,’ Pike said. ‘I want you to keep them in your sights and report any movement.’

Lauren felt a twang of conscience. If the white shirts had disabled all the electric carts, she had the only available means of besting white shirts on the quad bikes. James was her brother and parts of her wanted to help him out. On the other hand he was also the git who’d kicked a football at her and left a dirty great red mark on her back earlier in the evening.

Her heart leaped as she slowed to a halt. She was less than a hundred metres from the back of the main building. Did she really want to risk it all for the sake of being a hero? And would James do the same for her if their roles were reversed? She liked to think that he would, but was less than convinced.

She looked at the fuel gauge taped to the

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