a regular Paris schoolgirl. She’d spent her thirteenth birthday in Paris. After lessons her dad had taken her to a fancy patisserie with three friends and they’d acted grown up drinking coffee and eating miniature cakes from a three-tier stand in the middle of the table.
Rosie missed her dad and felt like her childhood had ended the day he died. She attended parachute school, instead of an English-language school in Paris. Instead of her dad waking her up to say happy birthday it was her fifteen-year-old American boyfriend. She wasn’t unhappy, but with all that was happening in the world and her own life she wondered where she’d be on her next birthday. Would she even be alive to celebrate it?
‘Are you OK?’ PT asked, as he pulled Rosie tighter.
PT made her feel secure and she smiled at him. ‘I’m fine.’
The wall clock now told the right time and when Rosie realised that they’d all have to get up in a few minutes, she decided to wake her brother. There were twelve beds and only six kids, with Paul at the opposite end near Takada’s private room.
On her way she passed Luc, asleep. He was sprawled on top of his blankets, bare-arsed and face-down. He had scratches on his shoulder and bloody bandage wound around his arm. It looked grim, but the thought of Luc getting bitten by a dog after perving at girls had made her howl with laughter the night before and she couldn’t help smiling again as she pictured the scene in her mind.
‘Happy birthday,’ Paul said, as Rosie gave him a hug. His eyes were all glued up but he noticed that Rosie looked upset. ‘What are you crying for?’
‘I dunno,’ Rosie said, half sad, half smiling, as she squeezed her brother tighter. ‘Thanks for the drawing. It’s nice having you as a little brother.’
Paul smiled, as Joel made a retching sound in the background.
*
While Takada was away with Group A, Khinde and Rufus had taken over training the six members of Group B. Rufus was a slim man with a horrible smoker’s cough, so he concentrated on setting up equipment and supervising with firearms and sabotage training. Khinde dealt with fitness and combat training, but although he looked scarier than Takada he didn’t push the trainees as hard.
Troy had been in full training for five weeks. He wasn’t the strongest of the six trainees, but physical speed and a sharp brain had marked him out as a star pupil. It was noon and he crouched behind a moss-covered stone in the graveyard fifty metres from the school building. He was cold, dirty and short of breath, but he tried not to pant because his prey was in sight.
Joel’s brother Sam had no idea he was being watched as he ran between the trees carrying two triangular pennants mounted on short sticks. Sam was also doing well in training, but at ten years old he was younger than the others in Group B and often had to work harder than the older lads to achieve the same result.
The rules of the flag game were simple. Six trainees were divided into two teams and sent out to hunt thirteen flags hidden throughout the village and surrounding countryside. The first team to find seven flags and return them to the yard outside the school building won the game.
It was designed to make the trainees operate under pressure and think as a team. It was also meant to toughen them up, so the rules allowed ambushes, traps, fighting (except blows to the head and groin) and any other devious tactic that might help you to win.
Sam was a good kid and Troy wasn’t proud of what he was going to do, but he wanted to win and Sam had been on his team in other games when they’d acted just as ruthlessly.
At the first squelch of Troy’s boot, Sam’s head snapped around. He saw Troy spring up from behind the headstone of Lydia June Carter 1845–1899.
Sam gasped with shock and considered turning around. Troy assumed Sam would turn, but instead the younger boy used his forward momentum, picking up speed and charging head first into Troy’s stomach.
Troy hadn’t expected Sam to attack, and found his feet lifted off the ground as he was driven back and slammed hard against the gravestone.
Sam had used the surprise move to his advantage, but he was three years younger than Troy and stood no chance in a straight fight. As Troy groaned from