Free Divine Madness by Robert Muchamore Page B

were there, along with a psychology professor from Brisbane University called Miriam Longford. James immediately recognised her name from one of the books he’d skimmed through on the flight over.
    Longford had counselled hundreds of ex-Survivors who’d been traumatised during their involvement with the cult. Recently, she’d been involved in a legal wrangle with the Survivors over a book she’d written about them.
    Although Longford had done criminal profiling work for ASIS and the Queensland police, she’d only been sworn to secrecy and informed about the existence of CHERUB a few hours earlier. She was fascinated by the psychology behind using children in undercover operations.
    As the meal stretched through dessert, coffee and three extra rounds of drinks, Longford answered dozens of questions from the kids and threw dozens back. By the time they left, the three cherubs felt they had a much deeper understanding of the Survivors than ever could have been gleaned from books.
    It was dark by the time Abigail drove them home in their smart E-class Mercedes wagon. James was relieved to find himself feeling sleepy at the right end of the day, but he was depressed at the prospect of having to sit through school in the morning.
    *
     
    At least the uniform wasn’t bad: polo shirt with the school logo on the breast, navy cargo shorts and you were allowed to wear trainers and whatever socks you liked. Before joining ASIS, Abigail had worked her way through university in the kitchen of a top hotel. She set the three youngsters up for the day with a blinding cooked breakfast plus a fruit garnish and French toast on the side. Their packed lunches had fancy-looking rolls, with fresh fruit salad and handmade cake from a bakery Lauren had spotted on the drive back from the supermarket.
    The three kids set off on bikes at 8:40 a.m. As they got closer to the school, the population of bikes grew, until they pulled into a noisy mass of youngsters jumping off and walking their bikes under a covered shed, before locking them to the metal railings spaced every few metres.
    ‘Later,’ James said to his real and pretend sisters, as he headed off to a formroom that had been pointed out by the deputy headmaster the afternoon before.
    James moved slowly, anxious not to make the wrong impression on his new classmates. Until now, James’ missions had required him to get in with a bunch of boys with a similarly lax attitude to work and class discipline to his own. On this mission, James had to override his natural instincts to muck around and be one of the lads. He had to appear shy and troubled, a kid who’d been upset by his parents splitting up and being forced to move into a new neighbourhood.
    Even the youngest Survivors were asked to prowl for potential recruits and the idea behind James acting this way was to pique the interest of the seventy-odd pupils of North Park High School who lived in the nearby Survivors’ commune. That meant, on average, there were two Survivor children in each class. Unfortunately, ASIS had planned the mission at short notice and hadn’t been able to identify whether there were any Survivor students in James, Lauren and Dana’s tutor groups.
    As James stepped out of the bright sunlight into a classroom, he deliberately found a lonely seat in the back corner where he could study his classmates. Every kid wore school uniform, but James had learned that Joel Regan didn’t splash out on designer gear for the children who lived in his communes around the world. He scanned along the rows of kids. Nike Air trainers, expensive backpacks, flash watches or jewellery were all signs that you didn’t live at the commune.
    It took a couple of minutes for James to spot something he liked the look of: at the front of the classroom in the good-kid zone, a boy and girl sat together. The girl had a fit body and a nice face, but her long hair was tied back into a severe bun, her uniform looked like a hand-me-down and she