The General

  There were bulbs ablaze in some apartment blocks two streets away. James shuffled up near to the windows where the pages caught the stray light. He blew away the sand on the floor between his legs, spread his cards out and started to read.

  After a couple of chapters devoted to basic blackjack strategy and some short biographies of ‘Blackjack Hall of Fame’ members who’d made fortunes and were now banned from every casino in the world, James passed on to chapters detailing the mathematics and strategies used by the most successful card counters.

  Most people would have given up on seeing the first simple equation, but James’ inner maths geek liked the idea that you could actually use mental arithmetic and a few relatively simple strategies to beat a casino and win millions of dollars.

  As James read more he realised that card counting didn’t even require you to be brilliant at maths. What it required was the ability to keep count of five things at once: the dealer’s current hand, your current hand, the running count of high and low cards, the total number of cards left in the card shoe and finally – if you wanted an extra edge – a separate count of the number of aces left in the deck.

  According to the book, anyone practising with a pack of cards a couple of hours a day could master basic card-counting skills within a few days. James already understood standard blackjack strategy in terms of when to stick and when to ask the dealer for an extra card. The next step was to practise the rapid dealing of blackjack hands, trying to play with perfect strategy while keeping a basic count of every card dealt.

  James began to flick the cards down on the concrete between his legs, starting off slowly and building up speed as he got a feel for it. There was no rush: it was ten hours until sun-up and four and a half years until he’d be old enough to sit at a casino table.

  *

  ‘Morning, knob-head!’

  James’ head hurt as he opened his eyes and jerked forward. The low sun blitzed his retinas and he half expected to find the muzzle of a gun in his face. Much to his relief, his eyes eventually focused on Gabrielle’s pencil thin legs in a pair of running shorts.

  ‘What’s with the cards?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s my brother,’ Lauren smirked. ‘Always playing with himself.’

  James hadn’t had anything like a full night’s sleep and it took him a few seconds to suss everything out: his neck ached because he’d fallen asleep sitting against a concrete wall while dealing cards. Lauren and Gabrielle were here because he’d radioed the coordinates on his GPS through to Kazakov the night before. The girls had come out to meet him because he needed a set of civilian clothes before he could move safely in daylight.

  ‘How’s things?’ James asked, holding his back and groaning as he stood up.

  ‘Kazakov’s on cloud nine because the army is on the run. The drones are wiped out, General Shirley is going psycho in his command post, changing his orders every few hours, running around like a headless chicken and generally making sure that he never gets a second star on his helmet.

  ‘The SAS have recruited and armed sixty bored college kids and wiped out more than a hundred and fifty US troops. Oh, and Andy gave Bethany a massive love bite.’

  This last piece of information made James laugh. ‘What a slapper! How many boys has she snogged?’

  Lauren tactfully ignored the jab at her best friend and picked James’ book off the floor. ‘The Ultimate Blackjack Manual,’ she snorted. ‘Gimme a break. You don’t seriously think you can beat the casinos do you?’

  ‘It’s a proven technique,’ James said, snatching his book back.

  ‘All credit though,’ Lauren grinned. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen you with a book that doesn’t have pop-ups.’

  ‘Why, you’re so funny this morning,’ James said sarcastically, as Gabrielle handed over a set of his clothes. ‘Did you have a tough time getting over here?’

  ‘We picked our moment,’ Gabrielle explained. ‘The bug Kazakov placed in the army control room means we know what orders the troops are getting before they do. General Shirley gave orders to step down the checkpoints because our snipers kept picking them off and lobbing paint grenades at them.’

  ‘The only trouble is, we couldn’t get you on your radio,’ Lauren complained. ‘Deaf git.’

  ‘Sorry,’ James yawned. ‘Earpiece must have fallen out while I was sleeping.’

  ‘The Americans don’t like it,’ Lauren grinned. ‘One of the General’s criteria for success is minimum civilian casualties. Every time an explosion goes off at a checkpoint half a dozen civilians end up getting blasted.’

  James spoke admiringly as he swapped his army kit for ripped jeans and battered Adidas running shoes. ‘Kazakov’s a natural born warmonger. I mean, he may be psycho but you’ve got to have a certain admiration for the guy.’

  ‘He hates the Yanks so much,’ Lauren nodded. ‘I think he wishes that the weapons were real.’

  *

  Inevitably the Americans had uncovered some caches of weapons, brought some insurgents in for questioning and inflicted a few casualties in more than twelve hours of intense cat-and-mouse through the streets of Reaganistan.

  As soon as General Shirley gave the order for his troops to retreat to base, Kazakov – who’d slept for less than an hour – gave orders for all the insurgents to change positions. Instead of meeting up at the apartments, Lauren and Gabrielle took James to Kazakov’s detached house.

  They stopped off at one of the small supermarkets along the way and spent fifteen Reaganistan dollars on bacon, readymade pancake batter, orange juice, icing sugar, Nutella, aerosol cream and maple syrup so that Lauren could make breakfast.

  Rat, Bethany and Andy had already arrived at the house with a cache of weapons, while Mac was being guarded by a five-man SAS team in the house next door. Gabrielle offered to help make the pancakes, but Lauren enjoyed cooking and said she didn’t want anyone to see her secret recipe.

  Gabrielle ended up on one of two large couches in the living-room, facing James.

  ‘Comfy,’ James yawned, as he lay on the couch and wriggled about to scratch his back. ‘Sand gets everywhere.’

  ‘It’s inside the buildings and you can’t keep it out because none of the doors and windows are properly fitted,’ Gabrielle said, as she caught on to James’ yawn. ‘Had a shower at the apartment last night. Put on clean clothes, but ten minutes later I’m scratching like crazy.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ James nodded.

  ‘You’ll tear all your skin off,’ Gabrielle warned, as she stepped over to James. ‘Let me do it.’

  James sat up as Gabrielle came over. She laid her palm on the back of James’ shirt and rubbed it up and down.

  ‘Ooooh, that’s the spot,’ James purred. ‘I’ll shower after breakfast, if I can stay awake that long.’

  ‘So how are you dealing with stuff?’ Gabrielle asked. ‘I mean, over Dana.’

  This was awkward. James knew that Michael and Dana going off with each other had hurt Gabrielle more deeply than it had hurt him.

  ‘I thought something was up,’ James said. ‘One day everything was fine: had a big bash for my sixteenth birthday and the next few weeks we were like a couple of randy rabbits. Then all of a sudden Dana doesn’t want me touching her and she’s saying it’s all too much.’

  Gabrielle smiled. ‘I didn’t get that with Michael. I think he was quite happy to have two girls on the go at once! I was on campus, so I knew he was spending time with Dana. But when I confronted him he said I was being paranoid and that they were working on some history project together.’

  ‘Babymaking project by the sound of things,’ James grinned.

  ‘I guess it’s one to chalk up to experience,’ Gabrielle sighed. ‘But they say your first love is the hardest to get over and I really, really loved him.’

  James reached up and touched Gabrielle’s arm. ‘You two were so close. Us lads did awards for all the girls one time and you won girl most likely to get married first.’


  Gabrielle laughed. ‘When was this?’

  ‘Ages ago, like summertime or something. We were on one of those boring mission safety courses and all the lads started talking about girls and making up stupid categories.’

  ‘What did everyone else get?’

  ‘I probably shouldn’t say,’ James grinned. ‘Amy Collins was sexiest retired cherub. Kerry got best legs and hardest to get into bed.’

  ‘I’ll tell Kerry that,’ Gabrielle laughed.

  ‘Bethany won the best younger girl category, although I voted for her in girl you most want to smack in the mouth,’ James continued, knowing he was probably saying more than he should but delighted that he was making Gabrielle laugh.

  ‘Did Dana get anything?’

  ‘Best tits,’ James nodded. ‘I was dead proud.’

  ‘You boys are so classy,’ Gabrielle snorted, laughing so hard that she had to sit on the arm of the couch next to James. ‘What else?’

  ‘We came up with loads,’ James grinned. ‘But it was yonks ago. I can’t remember all of it.’

  ‘You’re a funny guy, James,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I think that’s why you get away with so much.’

  ‘You know I’ve always liked you,’ James said coyly, before reaching up to put his arm around Gabrielle’s back. ‘I mean we’re both—’

  ‘No, no, noooo!’ Gabrielle shrieked, jumping out of the way before laughing even harder. ‘Us girls were talking about you trying to get off with Kerry the other night. Lauren and Kerry both said you were such a randy git that it was only a matter of time before you hit on me.’

  James felt the colour drain out of his face. ‘Kerry told you about that?’

  ‘You know girls,’ Gabrielle said. ‘We like our gossip.’

  James looked serious. ‘Does Bethany know? She’s got a big trap and if Bruce finds out he’ll kick my head in.’

  Gabrielle shook her head. ‘Just me and Lauren.’

  ‘Pancakes,’ Lauren said cheerily, as she came into the room holding two plates stacked with freshly cooked pancakes mounded with cream, sugar and chocolate spread. ‘What’s so funny?’

  Gabrielle pointed at James, before roaring with laughter again. ‘Guess what he did?’

  ‘I told you,’ Lauren shrieked, as she handed James his plate and a knife and fork. ‘Five minutes alone with anything vaguely female …’

  James was embarrassed, but he was also starving hungry and the orangey smell rising from Lauren’s calorie-packed pancakes made his stomach growl.

  ‘Oh he’s sulking now,’ Lauren teased, as James stared down at his plate. ‘Poor little lamb.’

  James had made a complete tit of himself and was smart enough to know that anything he said to defend himself now would only put him deeper in the hole.

  ‘Nice pancakes, sis,’ he said, trying to ignore the giggling and hoping that they couldn’t see him blushing.

  ‘I wish I had my phone to text Kerry,’ Gabrielle snorfled. ‘She’s going to love this.’

  29. ICE

  After a 4,000-calorie pancake breakfast and a shower, James found pillows and a duvet in a wardrobe upstairs and crashed out on a squeaky-framed bed. His body clock had barely adjusted to American time and losing a night’s sleep was the last thing he’d needed.

  The sun was bright and the curtains tissue-paper thin. James buried his head but still couldn’t sleep. He ended up putting his earpiece back in and passing three restless hours listening to communications between the exuberant Kazakov and his various teams.

  Because the checkpoints had proved so vulnerable to attack from grenades and snipers, General Shirley’s latest strategy was based around snap searches: well armed convoys of open-topped Hummers would halt outside a building, troops would steam inside, force everyone to lie face down on the floor and then search for weapons, radios or any other sign that they were part of the insurgency. This strategy was effective at unearthing enemies and their weapons but the suspicion and rough handling by the soldiers didn’t win many friends amongst the civilians.

  ‘Everyone’s going down the road to get burgers in a minute,’ Rat said, stepping into James’ room without knocking. ‘You coming?’

  James peeked from under the duvet and checked his watch: it was just gone noon. ‘Who’s everyone?’

  Rat shrugged. ‘Lauren, Jake, Bethany and me.’

  ‘Gabrielle?’

  ‘Nope,’ Rat said, breaking into a smile. ‘Kaz sent her out on some op with Bruce. I heard you’d made a tit of yourself. Is that why you’re looking like a wet weekend?’

  ‘Along with a few other things,’ James moaned, as he threw off his duvet and grabbed his jeans.

  ‘What have you got to be miserable about?’ Rat asked.

  ‘Where to start,’ James said. ‘My anti-terrorist mission went belly up, Dana dumped me, I’ve got a blinding headache ‘cos I missed a whole night’s sleep and apparently every girl on CHERUB campus thinks I’m a dickhead.’

  Rat fought back the urge to smile. ‘Not all of them.’

  ‘I’m ice cold,’ James complained, as he stuffed his feet into his trainers and looked around for the Velcro wallet with his Reaganistan dollars in it. ‘Dana dumped me, Kerry doesn’t want me back, Gabrielle doesn’t fancy me and even the random babe I chatted up in the casino shop started taking the piss out of me …’

  ‘Yeah right,’ Rat said. ‘You have such problems with the ladies. You’ve had a girlfriend practically since the day you arrived on campus, plus loads more on missions. Thinking about it, that’s probably half your problem.’

  ‘Eh?’ James said.

  ‘You know,’ Rat shrugged. ‘Imagine you’re a prospective girlfriend. Everyone on campus knows what you’re like. You cheated on Kerry about six times then dumped her—’

  ‘It wasn’t six,’ James interrupted. ‘Three . .. Four tops.’

  ‘Then you got off with Dana and slept with some random girl the first time you were out of her sight. I mean, a girl like Gabrielle knows your reputation and she’s not gonna be looking at you and thinking you’re great boyfriend material, is she?’

  ‘S’pose,’ James said. ‘Although why I’m taking advice from someone who fancies Lauren is frankly beyond me.’

  ‘Fine, ignore me,’ Rat said smugly, as they started heading down the stairs. ‘But I’m telling you, with your reputation you’re gonna have to work hard if you want to get anywhere with any girl on campus.’

  ‘I’ll have to rely on good looks and charm then,’ James smirked, putting on his watch as they headed into the main hallway.

  ‘What charm?’ Lauren asked from the bottom of the front staircase. ‘I’ve stepped in turds with more charm than you.’

  ‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ Jake complained, as he opened the front door. ‘I’m absolutely starving.’

  Jake was alarmed by the sight of three Hummers filled with soldiers pulling up outside. ‘Holy shit!’ he gasped, slamming the door shut.

  ‘Don’t move!’ a soldier shouted over a PA system built into one of the Hummers. ‘Remain calm!’

  ‘If James hadn’t taken so long we’d have been out of here already,’ Bethany said.

  ‘Jake, you’re cutest,’ Lauren said, instinctively taking charge. ‘Answer the door, act scared and stall ‘em for as long as you can.’

  The house was stuffed with guns and equipment, so there was no way to hide their links with the insurgency. In real life the threat of a dozen highly-trained US soldiers might have brought on a surrender, but as they were only facing simulated rounds the five cherubs pulled on their goggles and prepared for a rumble.

  James and Rat bolted back up the staircase. Lauren and Bethany ran into the kitchen to grab their rifles as Jake cautiously opened the front door.

  ‘Why’d you close the door?’ a major in mirrored sunglasses barked. ‘Who else is in there?’

  Jake put on his best scared little boy act. ‘I’m alone, sir. My dad’s out buying cheeseburgers.’

  ‘
Don’t worry, boy,’ the major smiled, resting a paw on Jake’s shoulder. ‘We’ve got a job to do, but we’ll be in and out in a flash.’

  Three more soldiers were running up the driveway, while squads of four ran around the back of the house on either side.

  ‘Come in then I suppose,’ Jake said sheepishly.

  Upstairs, James and Rat found their packs. They tooled up with grenades and clipped fresh magazines into their rifles. They had to keep low so that they couldn’t be seen by the soldiers running around the back of the house.

  ‘I’m counting twelve men,’ James whispered, as he bobbed up to glance out of the window. ‘I’ll cover the staircase, you shoot from up here.’

  Lauren and Bethany made similar preparations in the kitchen.

  ‘You’ve got nothing to be scared of, son,’ the major said calmly, as he nudged Jake down the hallway and through to the living-room. ‘But I need you to kneel on the floor with your hands on your head.’

  Three colleagues rushed in after the major with their guns raised. One followed the major into the living-room, one headed back towards the kitchen, while the third started creeping up the stairs.

  ‘Radio,’ a lieutenant said anxiously, as he spotted someone’s headset on the floor.

  The major glanced at it suspiciously, before eyeballing Jake and speaking in a much firmer tone. ‘Does that belong to your father?’

  Jake scrambled for an excuse. ‘I was playing outside and found it in the street.’

  ‘You don’t say?’ the leader said happily, bending over to pick it off the floor. ‘We’ve been on the lookout for one of these so we can hear what our enemies are talking about.’

  Jake was on edge, knowing that things might kick off any second. The soldiers all had guns, the other cherubs all had guns and he didn’t fancy being stuck in the middle when the shooting started. His only hope was a pistol he could see holstered under the major’s jacket.

  The first sign of trouble was the near simultaneous blast of two paint grenades in the back garden. Lauren and Bethany had pulled pins and dropped them silently through a vent in the kitchen window, before ducking down behind the cabinets.