Free CHERUB: The Fall by Robert Muchamore Page B

alleyway. He hurt in twenty different places, his jeans were soaked in melted snow and he was shivering badly.
    ‘What did you hit him with, a steamroller?’ Slava grinned, as he stepped up to James and pulled a set of handcuffs out of his jacket. ‘On your feet, boy.’
    Not wanting another beating, James tried standing up.
    But he only managed to prop himself on one knee before he felt faint and slumped back against the wall. As James made a second attempt, Joe grabbed his arm and yanked him up. Slava jerked James around to face the wall and locked the cuffs behind his back.
    ‘You boys help me walk him to the car,’ Slava said. ‘Then you’d better clear out of here.’
    Joe nodded eagerly. ‘My name’s Josef Novosi, sir. Do you think you could put in a word for me? Maybe get me some work with Mr Obidin? I’m real strong. I did wrestling and gymnastics when I was younger; won medals and everything.’
    Slava shrugged. ‘Things are mental after last night, but I’m sure the Obidin family will appreciate what you’ve done, so I’ll see what I can do.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Joe gushed.
    One of the younger skateboarders opened up the 4•4, enabling Joe and Slava to bundle James across the back seat. He got a face full of leather smell and warm air, but pain erupted across his face as his nose hit the seat cushion. James reckoned the first whack with the skateboard had broken it.
    Seconds later, he heard Slava getting in the front, clicking on his seatbelt and starting the engine. The potholed roads made James’ aching head bounce. Slava spoke as James struggled to sit himself up.
    ‘So why did MI5 decide to kill Denis Obidin?’
    ‘What are you talking about?’ James mumbled, as it occurred to him that Slava had spoken in English, with an American accent.
    ‘They killed him, James old boy.’
    James was covered in blood, his head was thumping and he had a splitting pain in the bridge of his nose. It was hard to think straight and he decided it would be best to keep his trap shut.
    ‘How’s your sister Lauren doing these days?’ Slava continued. ‘Is John Jones your mission controller on this one, or someone else?’
    James was stunned. Slava knew about CHERUB, which was impossible .
    ‘My handle’s Eric Partridge,’ Slava continued cockily, as he took a sharp turn. ‘I’m with the CIA weapons proliferation unit. Spent most of the last four years infiltrating Obidin’s organisation. I’ve gotta admire the balls of you Brits though: no messing about, you just send a couple of dudes in, set up a meeting and kill the top dog.’
    James suddenly wanted to say a few things, but all he could manage was a shake of the head and a few mumbled words. ‘How come … You … My sister?’
    Slava – or rather Eric Partridge – cracked into a big smile. ‘I’ve been on Obidin’s security team these past eighteen months. Been all around that big house planting bugs. Obidin had his own video surveillance system installed and we’ve tapped into that too.
    ‘A couple of weeks back, my colleagues in Washington DC started picking up interference when they were transcribing the recordings from our bugs. The boffins told us it was crosstalk: two coded listening devices of a similar type interfering with each other.
    ‘So I checked the security cameras to see if there were any new faces inside the compound. Would you believe that the interference started the first day that you turned up to give little Mark Obidin an English lesson?
    ‘I had one of my field operatives follow you back to your apartment. He poked around inside the next day when you were at school. Picked a few hairs off pillows and took swabs from your toothbrushes. We sent them back to our DNA lab and the damnedest thing happened: Uncle Boris and Auntie Isla drew blanks, but your DNA brought up a match to a highly classified file. Took us more than a week to get access. The request had to be approved by the heads of the CIA and the FBI.’
    ‘What