Free Cherub Black Friday by Robert Muchamore Page A

but there was a second ring with a key, a plipper and an enamel fob with a car rental company logo on. Finally, Ryan pulled out a semi-automatic pistol tucked down the back of the guard’s boxers. He checked the chamber and found a full clip.
    Ryan double-tapped to activate his com. ‘Dad, you hearing?’
    Kazakov’s voice came back inside Ryan’s ear canal. ‘What’s up?’
    ‘I circled around, there’s only one guard. He’s out cold. I’ve got a Beretta and keys to a hire car.’
    ‘Nice,’ Kazakov said. ‘Go up to the house and try identifying the car. I’ll grab our stuff and be right up behind you.’
    Ryan kept off the path and stayed low as he walked towards a dirt patch beside the ranch house where most of the bad guys had parked their cars. The garage doors had been shuttered, but the sliding glass at the rear of the kitchen was open and the gathering inside had turned more solemn, with a single voice speaking in Arabic.
    There were a dozen cars parked on gravel alongside the house: dreary Chrysler saloons and Hyundai mini-vans, all with car rental company stickers on the rear screens. Ryan was about to press the plipper to see which car he had keys for when a voice came through the walkie-talkie.
    ‘Daniel, where are you, my man?’
    Ryan recalled the name Daniel from the ID in the guard’s pocket. He was about to warn Kazakov on the com when a second message came out of the walkie-talkie.
    ‘Daniel’s been tied up,’ the voice blurted. ‘Tell Elbaz, get some guys down here, stat!’
    Ryan grabbed the guard’s walkie-talkie and keyed up, hoping that his signal would stop the terrorists from communicating.
    Kazakov’s voice came into Ryan’s ear, sounding urgent. ‘I broke some guy’s neck, but he got a message out first. How’s it going with the car?’
    Ryan pressed the plipper and got a flash of indicator lights from one of the mini-vans. As he moved towards it, the single voice inside the kitchen had stopped and there were shouts of outrage. Mumin and two other dudes with M16 submachine guns ran out the front of the house and down the path towards Kazakov as Ryan slid into the mini-van and put the key in the ignition.
    It was dark and he fumbled with the controls, wasting seconds as he studied the automatic transmission, trying to find the override switch you needed to press to engage reverse. More guys were charging out of the house with guns and a couple of them looked Ryan’s way as he rolled back.
    All kinds of shouts were going up. As Ryan reversed there was a blast of gunfire. He thought they were aiming at him, but the muzzle flashes were down by the mobile home.
    Once he’d cleared the parking space, Ryan put the transmission in drive and squeezed the gas pedal. His only experience behind the wheel was a few short practice drives during a beginners’ course on CHERUB campus and the top of the mini-van clattered overhanging branches as he turned on to the path.
    He fumbled for the headlight switch as he drove past a couple of armed guys, who fortunately assumed that Ryan was one of them. When the beams came on, Ryan had to swerve immediately to avoid two machine-gunned bodies and Mumin writhing about clutching a bloody stomach. Kazakov had apparently pulled some fancy move, grabbing one of the machine guns and taking three guys out.
    Ryan shouted. ‘Where are you? Are you hit?’
    Kazakov came back through the com. ‘Pull up beside the mobile home. I’ve got our stuff and I’m ready to jump in.’
    Ryan was a nervous driver and turned too fast, almost tipping the mini-van over. He stopped sharp, making a cloud of dust as more shots rang out, then jumped with fright when Kazakov ripped open the passenger door. The big instructor placed a machine gun on the dashboard before hurriedly lobbing Ryan’s backpack and his own luggage over on to the back seats.
    As the dust cleared, some of the guys running towards them opened fire. A bullet slammed the back of the car and Ryan