CHERUB: The Syndicate

3: Dark

All of the Cherubs had a break before lessons started again the next week. Usually George would have spent a couple of days playing games in his room or joining in the occasional football match when the weather was dry, but he'd been on campus for six months and he'd got bored of that. Instead, he made his way down to the technical department to meet with Terry Bradshaw, the head boffin on campus.

"Morning George," Terry said, putting down his mug of tea as George sauntered into the office. "How was fitness training?"

"Brutal," George replied, cracking a grin. "Looks like you'd have benefitted more than me, anyway."

Terry wasn't overweight, but his age had given him a rounded belly. "Cheeky, better watch that tongue or I'll have you running laps."

George took a seat on an ancient chair with foam falling out of it and swung his legs. "So, anything going on today?"

"Just the usual golf cart maintenance and a few tweaks to the pool cars. Apparently someone on a mission in Scotland has bashed up one of the nippy Volkswagens, but it won't be back here until the afternoon."

"Shame," George replied. He'd got interested in cars on his last mission and had done enough good work in the technical department that Terry trusted him with repairs, so a bit of cosmetic work on a pool car was probably something he would have been trusted to do by himself.

"Anyway, let's get cracking. I want to have most of it done by lunchtime," Terry announced, draining his tea and getting up. "Go and fetch one of the carts that are lined up by the doors and bring it into the workshop, if you don't mind."

George jumped up and jogged over to the cart. He enjoyed working with Terry, who was always nice and never handed out punishments for the slightest thing, and actually being helpful on campus meant that he wasn't the first one picked when the staff were handing out annoying tasks like supervising red-shirts or shifts in the recycling centre.

Terry was going through the finer details of the exhaust system on a van that CHERUB had modified when there were a series of loud knocks on the door of the workshop.

"See who that it, George," Terry said, his voice muffled by the spanner he was holding in his mouth.

George rolled out from under the van and wandered over to the door. Waiting for him was Rose Cameron, his handler and an all-round hardcase who never gave George an inch.

"Morning Terry," she shouted, spotting his legs protruding from under the van.

"Hello Rose," Terry replied, "Give me a minute."

"Don't worry, it's George I want," she said, before turning the evil eye onto George. "Young man, aren't you supposed to be somewhere else?"

George racked his brains. "Um..."

Rose tutted. "Does a meeting in the mission preparation centre ring any bells?"

Usually George would have remembered whatever it was Rose was going on about and been sent on his way, but this time he really was clueless. "Sorry miss, I still don't know."

She produced a yellow swipe card which George instantly recognised. Usually getting one meant you'd landed a mission, and he could feel himself getting excited.

"Don't get your hopes up, I'm told it's only a training mission," Rose said sternly. "You should have been told about it last night. I got this off the desk in your room."

George grinned sheepishly. He'd actually spent the previous evening playing FIFA in Ralph's room until the early hours before falling asleep there, and he'd only been back to his room for a quick shower and change of clothes. Anything on his desk had escaped his notice.