CHERUB: Guardian Angel by Robert Muchamore Read Free Book Online

spot where they’d landed, staring at the stars and feeling sorry for themselves.
    ‘I just know the solution is gonna be something simple,’ Ning said, as she warmed her hands close to the flames. ‘We’ll kick ourselves so hard.’
    ‘At least it’s over,’ Leon said. ‘Get back to campus tomorrow. Proper hot shower, clean clothes, big greasy breakfast.’
    ‘And all our mates taking the piss because we failed training,’ Daniel added sourly.
    Leon’s stomach rumbled as he sifted small pebbles between his fingers. ‘Even if we worked out what we were supposed to do now, it’s probably too late to get it done.’
    ‘Maybe the instructors forgot something,’ Ning said. ‘I mean, some piece of equipment we were supposed to have, because I just can’t think of a way to do this.’
    As Ning spoke, Daniel heard a buzzing sound in his pocket. He dived into his shorts and pulled out a matchbox-sized walkie-talkie.
    ‘We’ve been expecting your call all day,’ Instructor Speaks said cheerfully. ‘Wearing those grey T-shirts yet?’
    ‘No, sir,’ Leon told the walkie-talkie miserably.
    ‘Ask him for a clue or something,’ Daniel whispered. ‘Can’t do any harm at this stage.’
    Speaks’ crackly voice came over the intercom. ‘I didn’t copy that, trainee.’
    ‘It was nothing, sir,’ Leon said. ‘Just Daniel asking for a clue.’
    Mr Speaks gave one of his most evil laughs, and the trainees were pretty sure they could hear Mr Kazakov chortling in the background too.
    ‘A clue,’ Speaks said incredulously. ‘How about I tell you what the glass is made of?’
    ‘I guess that could help,’ Leon said.
    ‘It’s bullet-proof glass,’ Speaks explained. ‘The kind you’d fit in the window of a presidential limousine. It’s designed to withstand three thousand degrees heat, or a direct hit from an artillery shell travelling at supersonic speed. Your chances of breaking it with anything on that island were nil.’
    Leon gasped. ‘So there’s some other hidden T-shirts on the island somewhere?’
    ‘Nope,’ Speaks said.
    Leon sounded irritated. ‘So how are we supposed to get our grey T-shirts?’
    ‘Trouble is, twelve trainees started basic training and with only three left we couldn’t really have any more dropping out on the last day. But rather than tell you you’d passed, we thought we’d make you suffer until the last moment.’
    ‘So this was impossible?’ Leon said, as Ning and Daniel joined him in staring incredulously at the walkie-talkie. ‘Does this mean we get our shirts?’
    ‘Mr Kazakov and I are about to get in a motorboat and come across from the next island. I’ve got some chicken and rice in a hot box, a few cold Cokes and three grey CHERUB T-shirts. I reckon you’ll be wearing them before midnight. Speaks out.’
    ‘This better not be some twisted joke,’ Ning said, as Leon put the radio back in his pocket. ‘If it is, I swear to God I’ll castrate one of those instructors.’
    *
    One of the few good things about being at the Kremlin – at least if your surname was Aramov – was the catering. Ethan set his alarm for 7.20 on school days and ten minutes later a woman would knock and bring in a tray of whatever he’d ordered from the basement kitchen before going to sleep the night before.
    It had taken the chef a while to master American-style pancakes with bacon, but now that they’d had decent maple syrup flown in from Canada it was as good as anything Ethan had been served in a flash hotel.
    But once Ethan’s stomach was satisfied there was only the prospect of a grim Tuesday of school and another evening of movies or video games. When Ethan got to the school bus he was pissed off to find Natalka talking to Vladimir, the sixteen-year-old son of an aircraft mechanic.
    Very few boys stayed at school beyond the age of fifteen and Vlad was no exception. He was using the bus to hitch a ride into Bishkek and he seemed to be trying to persuade Natalka to bunk off