CHERUB: The Recruit (15 page)

‘I can’t do this,’ James said.

‘You haven’t got a choice.’

They were at the end of the pool.

‘Dive in,’ Arif ordered.

James stood at the edge and hesitated. Arif and Paul each took an arm and a leg and flung him into the water. It was freezing. Salt burned James’ eyes. James tipped his body forward to start swimming. His head went under and he breathed a mouthful of salty water. He started panicking. The side of the pool was only a few metres away. He struggled to the side, pulled himself up and took a long gasp of air.

‘One minute,’ Arif said, looking at his diver’s watch.

James could hardly see.

‘Please don’t make me.’

‘Thirty seconds,’ Arif said.

‘Please, I can’t do this,’ James begged.

Paul took James by the arm and marched him to the end of the pool.

‘If you dive in you get an easier start than if we throw you,’ Paul said.

‘Time,’ Arif said.

James tried not to think about the fifteen metres of freezing water below him. If he could just get his stroke going and not drink any water it wouldn’t be so bad. James managed to swim ten metres, but the salt was blinding him and he had to give up.

By the fourth attempt James was used to the salt and cold. He made it nearly halfway along the pool, as far as he’d ever gone without stopping.

‘Brilliant,’ Amy shouted. ‘You can do this, James.’

James was tired but Arif and Paul showed no mercy, giving him one minute and making him dive back in. James only got a few metres before his aching arms got the better of him.

‘Not good enough,’ Arif said. ‘You don’t deserve a rest.’

James could hardly hear above his pounding heart and gasps for air. They marched him up the pool and James jumped rather than suffer the humiliation of being thrown. He was so tired he’d forgotten to be scared. He swam a few metres, but his stroke was weak and he swallowed some water. Paul had to lift him out of the pool. James started coughing up water and snot on the poolside. Arif found a cloth and threw it at James.

‘Wipe it up, fast.’

James meekly bent over and wiped the tiles. He was in a state, but he didn’t want Paul and Arif to see. Paul grabbed him to march him back to the top of the pool. He broke free and swung a wild punch.

‘Leave me alone,’ James shouted.

Paul grabbed his arm and twisted it tight behind his back. James sobbed in pain.

‘You think you can beat us up, James?’ Paul asked. ‘I’m twenty kilos heavier than you and I’ve got black belts in judo and karate. The only way you can beat us is to swim that pool.’

Paul let go of James’ arm and shoved him into the water.

‘Twenty metres this time, James,’ Paul shouted. ‘You want to punch me? Twenty metres or you’re eating my fist.’

James started to swim. He was shattered, but he was scared of what Paul would do when he got out of the pool. James managed twenty metres and a couple more. He swam back to the side. Paul reached to lift James out of the water. James grasped his hand nervously.

‘Not bad,’ Paul said. ‘That’s thirty minutes. You’ve got a ten-minute rest.’

James slumped at the side of the pool. Amy rushed up and handed him a carton of orange juice. Arif and Paul sat down a few metres away.

‘You OK?’ Amy asked.

‘Never better,’ James muttered, gulping back a sob.

‘Don’t cry, James,’ Amy said. ‘This is tough, but so are you.’

‘I’m not crying,’ James lied. ‘It’s the salt in the water.’

James sucked his juice and worked something out. If he was able to swim fifty metres, his best chance would be when he was refreshed after the break. If he couldn’t do it straight away, he was in for another half hour of humiliation. The prospect of being dragged about and forced back in the water seemed worse than drowning. If he passed out, so what? Anything was better than more of this.

‘Time,’ Arif said.

James walked to the end of the pool. It sounded fine in his head, but the pool still looked terrifying when his toes were curled over the edge. He started swimming strongly. He got some water in his mouth and spat it out. For the first time ever it didn’t freak him out. Twenty-five metres. It didn’t feel too bad. It was a personal best anyway.

James managed another ten metres. His pace was slowing. It was hard to keep his head up long enough to breathe. By forty metres his shoulders were agony. Amy was screaming her head off, James couldn’t understand a word. The more effort he put in, the slower he seemed to get.

‘Nearly there, James,’ Amy screamed. ‘Come on.’

The last few metres was just mad thrashing about. He’d lost his breathing pattern, swallowed gallons and was holding his breath. But he made it. James lifted his face out of the water and took in the most beautiful air of his life.

Amy lifted him out and gave him a hug. She was crying, which made James start crying again. He walked over to Paul and Arif.

‘I can’t believe I’m saying this,’ James said, ‘but thank you.’

‘Your fear of us has to be greater than your fear of the water,’ Paul said. ‘It’s not fun, but it works.’

James was due at the basic training compound at 5 a.m. He set an alarm and left it on his bedside table. Worrying about training kept him awake for ages. When he woke it was light. It’s never light at 5 a.m. in November. This was bad.

The alarm clock was gone. Not set wrong. Not tipped on the floor and the battery dropped out. Someone had crept in while he was asleep and taken it. Kyle warned him they’d play tricks, but James hadn’t expected them to start before he’d even arrived.

Clothes and a backpack had been dumped on the floor. There were two differences from standard CHERUB kit. The T-shirt and trousers had white number sevens on them. Second, instead of being fabric-conditioned and pressed, everything was wrecked. Big stains, rips in the trousers. The underwear was disgusting and the boots had done hard time on somebody else’s feet. James moved the backpack. There was tons of equipment in it. He probably should have got up early and looked at everything.

James had to wear the wrecked T-shirt and trousers because they had numbers. But he had his own pristine underwear, and boots that were broken in and only smelled of his own feet. Would he get punished for not wearing the clothes on the floor? Or would he get laughed at for being the only one dumb enough to put on second-hand underwear? The state of the boxer shorts made his mind up. He was wearing his own stuff.

There was no time for teeth, comb, or shower. He ran out with the backpack. The lift took ages, like it always does when you’re in a rush. There were two older kids in the lift. They knew where James was going from the numbers on his uniform.

One of the kids looked at his watch.

‘You starting basic training this morning?’ the kid asked.

‘Yeah,’ James said.

‘It’s half past seven,’ the kid said.

‘I know,’ James said. ‘I’m late.’

The kids burst out laughing.

‘You’re not late. You’re dead.’

‘So dead,’ the other kid said, shaking his head.

*

The training building was a concrete box in the middle of a huge muddy enclosure, with no windows and no heating. Five-metre-high fences separated it from the rest of campus. Just the look of the place scared James.

He ran inside, puffed from running. The room had ten rusty beds with wretched looking mattresses. Three girls and four boys were in front of the beds, crouching on the balls of their feet with hands on heads. After about ten minutes in that position the bottom of your legs goes dead. Six of the seven had been that way for two and a half hours, waiting for James. The odd one out had done an hour.

The head instructor, Mr Large, and his two assistants stood up and walked towards James. Large’s white CHERUB T-shirt was the biggest size you could get, but it still looked like all the muscles inside wanted to burst out. He had buzz cut hair and a bushy moustache.

James flinched when Large reached out and delicately shook his hand.

‘Good morning, James,’ Large said in a soft voice. ‘Smashing of you to pop in. Nice breakfast, was it? Put your feet up, did you? Good read of the papers? No need to worry, James. I didn’t want to start without you, so I made all your new friends wait in a highly uncomfortable position until you arrived. Should I let them stand up now?’

‘Yes,’ James said weakly.

‘OK, kiddies,’ Large said. ‘Up you get. James, why don’t you shake all of their hands as a little thank you for waiting.’

The kids stood up, groaning in agony and trying to wriggle cramp out of the backs of their legs. James went along the line, shaking everyone’s hand and getting killer looks.

‘Stand at bed seven, James,’ Large said. ‘Nice clean boots, I see.’

Large lifted up the leg of James’ trousers and peered at his sock. Large’s wrist was bigger than James’ neck.

‘Clean socks too,’ Large noted. ‘Anyone else wearing their own boots and clean socks?’

James was relieved that a few hands went up.

‘Very sensible,’ Large said. ‘Sorry about putting those filthy rags and boots out. Must have been some kind of terrible mix-up. Still, you’ve only got to wear them for a hundred days.’

James smiled and got daggers from the red-headed girl standing on his right in filthy boots.

‘Now, before I make my welcome speech,’ Large continued, ‘let me introduce my two wonderful friends who’ll be helping to look after the eight of you. Mr Speaks and Miss Smoke.’

If you wanted two people to make your life a misery, Speaks and Smoke looked ideal. They were both in their twenties and almost as muscular as Mr Large. Speaks was black, shaved bald, sunglasses. Total hard case. Smoke had blue eyes, long blonde hair and was about as feminine as a dustcart.

‘Miss Smoke,’ Large said, ‘would you kindly fetch me a bucket. And James, would you be sweet enough to stand on one leg.’

James stood on one leg, trying to keep his balance. Smoke handed Large a metal bucket.

‘Hopefully this will teach you to be more punctual from now on.’

Large stuck the bucket over James’ head. James’ world turned black and the smell of disinfectant blasted his nose. He could hear the other kids laughing. Large pulled a baton out of his belt and rapped it over the top of the bucket. Inside the noise was deafening.

‘Can you hear me speak, number seven?’ Large asked.

‘Yes sir,’ James said.

‘Good. I wouldn’t want you to miss my speech. The rule is, every time your foot touches the floor you get another crack with the baton, like this.’

The baton whacked the bucket again. James was learning that standing on one leg is harder when you’re blind.

‘So kiddies, you’re mine for the next hundred days,’ Large said. ‘Every day will be equally joyous. There are no holidays. No weekends. You will rise at 0545. Cold shower, get dressed, run the assault course. 0700 breakfast, followed by physical training until school starts at 0900. Lessons include Espionage, Language, Weaponry and Survival Skills. At 1400 you run the assault course again. Lunch at 1500. At 1600 two more hours of physical training. At 1800 you return here.’

James’ foot touched the floor. Large smashed the baton into the bucket. The noise inside was incredible.

‘Keep that foot up. Where was I? At 1800 you return here. Another shower, warm water if I’m feeling kind. Wash your clothes in the sinks and hang them up so they’re dry for morning. Then clean and polish your boots. At 1900 you get your evening meal. 1930 to 2030 homework. Brush your teeth, lights out at 2045. There will also be trips off campus for survival training, the last of which will take us to sunny Malaysia.

‘If anyone is accusing me of cruelty, I remind you that the fences that surround us are not to keep you in, but to keep your little chums from slipping in and giving you a helping hand or a tasty snack. You are free to leave the training facility at any time, but if you wish to be a CHERUB agent you will have to resume basic training from day one. If you get an injury that stops you training for more than three days, you start again from day one. James, put your foot down and take off the bucket.’

James lifted the bucket off his head. It took his eyes a few seconds to readjust to the light.

‘You were very late this morning, James, weren’t you,’ Large said.

‘Yes sir,’ James said.

‘Well everyone, because James is still so full after his lie-in and his cooked breakfast, I think you can all skip lunch. Not to worry though. It’s only eleven and a half hours until dinner.’

*

The eight kids in training were split into pairs. The first pair, numbers one and two, was Shakeel and Mo. Shakeel was as big as James but only ten years old. Born in Egypt, he’d been at CHERUB for three years and in that time he’d learned a lot that would help in basic training. James realised he was going to be at a big disadvantage to trainees who had spent years in a red shirt.

Mo was another veteran, three days past his tenth birthday. A policeman had found him abandoned at Heathrow Airport when he was four. Mo’s parents were never found. Mo always jiggled his bony arms like he was trying to swat flies off himself.