Black Friday (CHERUB) - Robert Muchamore Page 0,31

over the bed and twenty pairs of girls’ shoes lined up by the window.

He smelled grungy, and when Ryan opened an eye the camouflage backpack he’d brought from Kyrgyzstan was on the floor by the bed, plus his stained T-shirt and crusty jeans. The only things missing were his blood-spattered Converse, which he’d last seen getting dropped into an evidence bag at the sheriff station.

Ryan suspected he’d been carried upstairs to bed. He had dirt packed under his nails and blood matted in the hairs around his left wrist. Two red fingertip-shaped smudges from where …

He sat up in shock: Kazakov’s blood. Dead man’s blood.

The kick of grief made Ryan feel like his chest was in a vice. Kazakov had only been his pretend father, but they’d worked undercover together in Kyrgyzstan for the past seven months. They’d argued like you’d expect any adult and teenager living in cramped quarters to argue, but they’d also become friends.

Ryan also felt survivor’s guilt. Maybe Kazakov would be alive if he’d made it to the getaway car quicker. Or if he’d killed the guard instead of wasting time tying him up. Or if he’d dragged the guard deeper into the bushes so that he’d been harder to find …

Ryan sat on the side of the bed, head between his knees, catching a vague whiff of his own armpits and feet. He’d felt this same deep hurt when his mother died. It would pass, but knowing that didn’t make the moment any less desperate.

Close to tears and with no idea who he’d find downstairs, Ryan pulled his dirty jeans on and peeked out on to the landing.

‘Hello?’

There was no answer, but he could hear a TV, so he headed down four flights clad in shaggy beige carpet. There was something comforting about finding himself in someone’s home, even one clearly run by a man, with photos of college football teams along the stairs, a dartboard by the front door and lumps of motorbike engine spread over the dining table.

‘Hey there, Ryan,’ Ted Brasker said warmly.

Ted was a big grey-haired Texan, and Dr D’s deputy at TFU. Ryan knew Ted well because he’d been another of Ryan’s fake fathers during the first phase of their mission to destroy the Aramov Clan.

The other person in the room was Ethan Aramov. The same age as Ryan, he was the grandson of Aramov Clan head Irena. He now lived with Ted under protective custody, because his uncle Leonid wanted him dead.

Ethan was weedy and felt jealous when he saw Ryan’s chest. ‘You’ve been working out,’ Ethan noted.

‘You hungry?’ Ted asked. ‘How you feeling?’

‘Like shit,’ Ryan said, relieved to be amongst friends as his eyes were drawn to a huge LCD screen showing the news. ‘What’s the latest?’

‘Ten trucks,’ Ethan said. ‘Two didn’t get out of Oak Ranch. Four have been found without incident, one exploded killing six people at an intersection. One hit its target, ripping up half of a shopping mall in Atlanta.’

‘Crap,’ Ryan said. ‘Lots of dead?’

Ethan shook his head. ‘All the malls within striking range have been ordered to close. The only casualties were a security guard and two teenagers making out in the empty parking lot.’

‘And the last two trucks?’ Ryan asked.

‘They’re keeping us worried,’ Ted said. ‘The whole country’s on the lookout for 2012 model GMC Savannah trucks, painted with the logos of major retailers. To have stayed out of sight this long they’ve either pulled into a garage somewhere or transferred the explosives to another vehicle.’

‘So IDoJ still has two tonnes of high-explosive on the loose,’ Ethan added.

Ryan had assumed it was morning, but the clock on the TV put the time nearer to three in the afternoon.

‘That was quite a sleep,’ Ryan noted. ‘I need a shower, but all my clothes are disgusting.’

‘You can borrow some of mine,’ Ethan said. ‘We’re the same height. Only thing is my feet are smaller.’

‘Guess we’ll have to buy you some sneakers,’ Ted said, as he handed Ryan a glass of iced orange juice. ‘But it won’t happen today. There’s not a shop open within a thousand miles of here.’

‘Thanks,’ Ryan said, sipping the orange before looking across at Ethan. ‘So how’s Texas working out for you?’

‘I’m enrolled in a nice private school,’ Ethan said. ‘Rules and uniform piss me off, but I’ve got a couple of decent mates. I’ve also taken up the drums and I’m the best player on the chess squad.’

Ted snorted. ‘Still haven’t persuaded him to try out for the football