CHERUB: The Sleepwalker - Robert Muchamore Page 0,86

a tree trunk. He thought about using the big spanner, but he faced the same problem as the armed police officers: Hassam only needed a fraction of a second to cut Fahim’s throat with the knife, and with the blade so close, even a stumble or sudden movement might lead to Fahim’s death.

Jake couldn’t leave things to chance. He had to move in and take control of the blade before Hassam even knew he was there. But this was easier said than done, especially as Jake was a smallish eleven-year-old while Hassam was a heavily built man.

The spanner was too clumsy, but as Jake turned back for another glance at Hassam he remembered the tyre pressure gauge and pulled it out of his pocket. The chromed gauge was shaped like a fat pen, and while the ends were hopelessly blunt, the shaft had an arrow-shaped metal clasp that enabled it to clip over the edge of a pocket. It wasn’t sharp, but the point would puncture flesh if he used enough force.

Jake bent the clip outwards, then experimentally gripped the shaft of the gauge inside his fist with the clip protruding between his fingers. It made a pretty feeble weapon, but Jake was confident that it would do the job he had in mind.

After switching off his phone in case it rang and taking two deep breaths to calm his nerves, Jake dropped on to his belly and began crawling the five metres towards the tree where Hassam held Fahim captive.

‘He’s your son,’ one of the armed policewomen shouted, more in hope than expectation, as Jake closed in. ‘Do you really want him to die?’

‘He’s no son of mine,’ Hassam shouted back. ‘He works for you lot.’

Jake checked the ground carefully when he reached the base of the tree. He leaned cautiously around the trunk, ending up with his head just centimetres from the heel of Hassam’s shoe. His attack would rely upon basic knowledge of human reflexes, which he’d learned in combat training. When you’re surprised, everyone’s nervous system reacts identically. Jake knew that Hassam’s arms would fly outwards if he got stabbed below his ribcage, but he had to be certain that the knife wasn’t being held in such a way that the reaction would draw the blade along Fahim’s throat.

‘Dad,’ Fahim sobbed, as a bead of Hassam’s sweat hit the mulch just centimetres from Jake’s face. ‘I’m sorry.’

Fortunately for Fahim, you need to dig a knife deep behind the windpipe to cut someone’s throat effectively. As the stand-off dragged on, Hassam moved the blade a few centimetres from his son’s skin to stop his trembling hand causing more accidental damage.

From such close range, Jake’s position would be given away by a breath or a downwards glance. He acted the instant he knew that the blade was in a safe position. His training kicked in and he felt strangely confident as he fixed his eyes on the serrated blade.

‘Don’t shoot,’ Jake shouted, as he thrust up from the ground and jammed the point of the tyre gauge beneath Hassam’s ribs. As the arm holding the knife flexed outwards, Jake smashed the spanner against the back of Hassam’s hand.

Fahim ducked out of his father’s grasp and the cops closed in as Hassam’s fingers sprang open and the knife clattered to the ground. Hassam looked down and gave Jake a brutal kick in the ribs as the eleven-year-old scooped the knife off the ground. Fahim made it on to the fairway of the first hole as Jake caught his breath and stumbled away with the knife. The cops stopped when they got within three metres of Hassam and kept the guns trained as the two male officers closed from behind.

‘Hands in the air,’ one of the women shouted.

‘I’ve got a gun,’ Hassam smiled as he plunged his hand into the pocket of his blazer.

With hindsight, it might have seemed obvious that if Hassam had a gun he would have already used it, but the four firearms officers each had to make an instant decision and the woman closest to him didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. The bullet carved into Hassam’s chest, passed straight through his heart and caused a shower of razor-sharp splinters as the bullet exited and slammed the tree trunk.

As Hassam slumped to the ground dead, Mac dived out of the back gate of number sixteen and raced towards the two boys, who’d collapsed on to the fairway of the first hole less than a metre away