‘What is this?’ the pilot asked, trembling. ‘Is this a joke?’
Ryan kept his voice firm, but felt terrible inside. ‘Tracy, you need to keep your voice down. You need to listen carefully and do everything I tell you to. If you do exactly what I say, your husband and sons will be released unharmed.’
The pilot trembled as her eyes fixed on the photograph. ‘What do you want?’
‘Speak quietly,’ Ryan ordered. ‘Take deep breaths. Walk with me.’
Ryan pocketed the phone and began a slow walk, leading Tracy back towards the passenger lounge.
‘Me and my people came on that big Ilyushin parked out on the tarmac,’ Ryan explained. ‘But we need a plane with flight clearance to get cargo into the USA.’
‘What kind of cargo?’ Tracy asked.
Ryan ignored the question. ‘We’ve got friends behind the scenes at this airport. Right now they’re loading your 737 with our stuff. You’re scheduled to fly to Atlanta in four hours. You’re going to take off on schedule, but once you’re in US airspace, you’ll put out a mayday and do an emergency landing at a small airfield in central Alabama. By the time the authorities realise what’s happened, we’ll have emptied our cargo and vanished. You and your family will be released unharmed.’
‘I want to talk to my husband,’ Tracy said.
‘You can want whatever you like, you’re getting Jack shit.’
‘How do I know that picture isn’t Photoshopped?’
Ryan hated what he was doing, but faked a mean smile as he looked back. ‘You want your boy Christian to lose a thumb?’
‘You’re just a kid yourself,’ Tracy stuttered, as she touched a wet eye. ‘Who are you working for?’
‘They like to call themselves the Islamic Department of Justice,’ Ryan said. ‘But I don’t work for them. Me and my dad are just in this for the money.’
2. SKIDS
The English weather wasn’t bad for late November. A bit of a sting when the wind blew, but the sky was bright. The four CHERUB agents wore their combat trousers and training boots, but nothing with the CHERUB logo on was allowed off campus, so their T-shirts and hoodies were plain.
‘Where the hell are they?’ Leon Sharma asked, as he lay flat on a bench, six rows up a decaying wooden grandstand.
Ryan’s eleven-year-old brother Leon was the youngest of the quartet. The other three all had a Ryan connection too: Alfie DuBoisson was one of Ryan’s best mates, Fu Ning was a good friend and Grace Vulliamy had been Ryan’s girlfriend. Or maybe still was his girlfriend, depending on who you asked.
‘Why make us get up so early?’ Leon moaned, as he glanced at the clock on his iPhone. ‘I hate waiting around.’
‘Beats lessons,’ Alfie said, as he lobbed a piece of gravel that bounced harmlessly off Leon’s belly.
‘I looked this place up on Wikipedia,’ Ning said, though nobody seemed interested.
Three days past her thirteenth birthday, the broad-shouldered Ning sat near the top of the grandstand, with a view over a long tarmac straight, faded Dunlop and Martini billboards and the steel frame of a much larger grandstand which had buckled in a fire.
‘I can’t get my Facebook,’ Leon said, scowling at a battered BlackBerry. ‘Maybe they forgot about us. There’s not even a mobile phone signal.’
‘Stop complaining,’ Alfie said, his French accent strong as his bulky frame loomed over Leon. ‘You do my head in.’
‘I looked this place up,’ Ning repeated. ‘Wikipedia says there hasn’t been a professional race on this track since 1957. A Bentley went over the banked kerb, burst into flames and killed seven spectators.’
But Grace wasn’t listening and Leon was unnerved by Alfie’s presence.
‘What you gawping at?’ Leon asked.
Rather than reply, Alfie uncupped a hand and flicked a small spider on to Leon’s chest. Leon sprang off the bench, flailing his arms and screaming his head off.
‘You dick,’ Leon screamed, swiping at imaginary spiders as he scrambled over the rows of wooden benches towards the racetrack. ‘Where is it? Get it off me!’
Grace couldn’t resist. ‘I think it’s in your hair!’
‘Jesus,’ Leon shouted, as he frantically flicked his hands through his hair. Then he started unzipping his hoodie and reaching up inside his T-shirt. ‘Is it gone?’ he screamed. ‘Don’t laugh, it’s not bloody funny.’
Grace wore a huge grin. ‘It’s at least moderately funny, Leon.’
Alfie was howling. ‘Ryan told me you were scared of spiders, but I never expected that drama.’
‘I can’t help it,’ Leon spat.
Leon had finally convinced himself that he’d brushed the spider off, but he glowered as he stepped