Authors: Robert Muchamore
The Australian headed through the lobby and straight for the elevator. With no idea what floor he was staying on, Bruce had no option but to stand alongside his target and wait. He felt nervous, but if the Australian remembered him from the train, he wasn’t showing it. Or maybe he did remember, but wasn’t sweating over the presence of a thirteen-year-old boy.
The elevator made a
bing-bong
sound and the doors slid, revealing a glass-sided lift with a marble floor. Bruce let the Aussie step in and press the button for the nineteenth floor. As the door closed, Bruce reached towards the buttons and made an
oh
sound, as if to say,
my goodness, we’re on the same floor
.
This was easily the most suspicious thing Bruce had done, but again the Australian took it in his stride. As the elevator moved slowly up the outside of the hotel, both passengers stared out of the glass sides at the surrounding skyscrapers and the view over Hong Kong harbour. A giant cruise liner heading for the ocean terminal was ablaze with yellow light.
‘That’s one
beautiful
rowboat,’ the Australian said, leaning his giant hands on the leather-padded railing.
Bruce was tense and got thrown off balance by the sudden outbreak of conversation. ‘Um, yeah. Probably stuffed with fat old people though.’
The Aussie laughed. ‘You’re probably right. Whereabouts is that accent from, London?’
Bruce shrugged. ‘My parents came from Wales originally, but my dad works for a bank and I’ve lived all over the world.’
By the time Bruce said this, the elevator had slowed and the doors were splitting open.
‘Well goodnight, son. Enjoy your stay.’
Bruce stepped out of the elevator and pretended to be confused by the sign with the different room numbers and arrows pointing in three directions. The Australian strode past a line of massive cacti and purposefully onwards down a thickly carpeted corridor towards his room.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have far to walk. Bruce panicked as he looked around and saw that the Australian had stopped outside the second room along and was already pushing his door open.
‘Hey mister,’ Bruce shouted. ‘I think you dropped this.’
The man looked mystified as he backed out of the doorway.
As Bruce strode quickly towards him, holding out the first random scrap of paper he’d found inside his jacket, he reached into the opposite pocket and slipped a brass knuckleduster over his fingers.
The Aussie was a big bugger and Bruce wasn’t taking any chances.
As he closed in, Bruce glanced inside the Australian’s hotel room. The lights were off, so it looked like he was alone.
‘Did you just follow me up here, kid?’
The man’s expression was curious rather than fearful. If Bruce had been an adult, he would have instantly suspected the Hong Kong police or Chinese secret service. But he assumed that the slim thirteen-year-old with a mass of tangled hair was just a lonely kid who’d taken the casual conversation in the elevator for more than it was worth.
‘I don’t know what your problem is, son, but – I’m really sorry – I’ve got things to do.’
The man put up no defence as Bruce landed a quick jab with the brass knuckle. It sliced open the side of the Australian’s head and sent him stumbling backwards into the room.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the knock-out blow Bruce had hoped for. As the door of the hotel room slammed shut behind him, Bruce landed a roundhouse kick in the man’s stomach. But when he closed in to take another swing with the knuckleduster, the dazed Australian kicked back. Bruce dodged and the kick only glanced across his ribs, but his opponent was twice his weight and it sent him slamming against the doors of a wardrobe.
The Aussie wiped his mouth on his jacket before facing Bruce off in a serious-looking fighting stance.
‘So, you know some moves, eh?’ he grinned, as blood trickled down his head. ‘What are you, the world’s titchiest mugger?’
‘Something like that,’ Bruce said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
Now he’d lost the element of surprise, Bruce was worried that he’d be outmatched by a significantly larger opponent who’d clearly done martial arts training.
‘Why don’t you back out the door and we’ll forget about this?’ the Australian asked. ‘I won’t call the cops on you, I don’t want any trouble.’
Bruce considered the offer while his heart banged in his ear. His opponent was huge, fit and knew how to fight. The most important thing you learn in combat training is that you should never bite off more than you can chew.
‘Right,’ Bruce said, backing gingerly towards the door and even managing an uneasy smile as he grabbed the handle. ‘Even stevens.’
Bruce tugged at the heavy door, keeping one eye on his opponent. As he was about to step out, the Australian suddenly jerked forwards and began spewing up on to the carpet. Realising that the blow to the head had taken more out of his opponent than he’d thought, Bruce let the door go, then used it as a kickboard to gain explosive speed. He crashed into his weakened opponent with a powerful kick to the head.
The Australian collapsed backwards into a writing desk, clutching a dislocated jaw as Bruce knocked him out cold with another jab. After being momentarily revolted by the chunks of puke all over his hand, Bruce’s CHERUB training kicked in.
Priority one was to defend the room in case someone else turned up. Bruce twisted the lock and then flipped across the manual bolt. It’s tricky to judge how long someone is going to stay unconscious, so step two was to secure the victim. Bruce grabbed the desktop lamp and ripped it out of the wall socket. He grabbed a multitool from his tracksuit bottoms and cut the plastic flex from the base of the lamp. Then he folded the free cable into equal lengths and sliced it in two.
The unconscious Australian was slumped backwards over the desk. Bruce slid off the knuckleduster and pulled on a pair of disposable gloves, before grabbing the quilt off the bed and throwing it down to cover the puke on the floor. He knelt in front of his victim and began tying his ankles with the flex.
After binding ankles and wrists, Bruce realised his victim was struggling to breathe. He prised open the Australian’s mouth and was rewarded with a dribble of sick. Bruce turned his head away from the nauseating smell, then plunged two gloved fingers down his throat to clear out the muck.
Once Bruce was certain that his victim was breathing properly, he used all his strength to lower the unconscious body to the floor on top of the quilt. Then he adjusted the limbs into the recovery position so that his victim didn’t choke while he was unconscious.
Now the room and victim were secure, Bruce switched the soggy gloves for a fresh pair before pulling his mobile out of his jacket.
‘John, it’s me.’
‘Bruce, where are you?’
It was only as he stood with his mobile to his face, staring at his giant victim trussed up on the floor, that Bruce got a realistic sense of what he’d just achieved. There
had
to be a navy shirt in this.
‘I’ve got him good,’ Bruce said jubilantly, almost laughing. ‘I’m at the Crowne Residence, room nineteen-eleven and our oversized friend is tied up at my feet.’
John sounded pleased. ‘Good job. Was he armed?’
‘Nope,’ Bruce said. ‘He didn’t seem the type, so I risked it.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Except for the dude’s puke all over my jacket, yeah.’
‘Right,’ John said. ‘Do you feel safe up there?’
‘I think,’ Bruce said. ‘I haven’t had much chance to look around, but it seems like he’s the only person staying in this room. Are you gonna send in the cavalry, or what?’
‘What type of joint is it?’
‘Swank,’ Bruce said. ‘Five stars, easily.’
John tutted. ‘Place like that is gonna have security cameras everywhere and who knows if the bad guys are friendly with the management. Did he see much of you before you knocked him out?’
‘Enough to make a positive ID. We rode up in the elevator together and ended up having a tussle before I knocked him out. He’s a bit bloody and I think his jaw might be broken, but he’ll still be breathing when the chambermaid finds him.’
‘Right, in that case, I want you to make it look like a mugging. Take photographs for identification purposes, then steal his passport, money, documents, watch, jewellery and anything else that looks like it’s worth money. Put it all in one of his bags and walk out the front door.’
‘OK boss. It’s a big hotel, there was a line of taxis out front when I came in. Shall I head back in one of those?’
‘Sounds good,’ John said. ‘Don’t head directly to the apartment. Ask the driver to take you to the Great Northern Hotel and I’ll meet you in the lobby.’
‘Who’s staying there?’
‘Nobody, but it’s not far from where I am staying. Best to cover our tracks.’
Bruce smiled, realising he was being daft. ‘Yeah, of course.’
‘Call me when you get in the taxi.’
Bruce ended the call and pocketed the phone. He crouched over the unconscious man, slid a hand inside his suit and found a wallet. He flipped it open and read the man’s name off a credit card: Barry M. Cox.
*
It was gone ten o’clock when Bruce emerged from a cab outside the lobby of the Great Northern Hotel. John grabbed a smart leather bag as Bruce paid the driver.
‘Keep the change.’
‘We’ll head straight back to my hotel,’ John said, as the cab pulled away. ‘It’s only a few hundred metres. How do you feel?’
‘No injuries,’ Bruce said. ‘But I’m knackered. Can we stop somewhere and get a Coke or something?’
‘There’s a mini bar in my room,’ John said, as he set off briskly. ‘We’re in a rush: Chloe and Kyle are waiting for us.’
‘Waiting for what?’
‘Chloe’s going to take all the documents and paperwork you stole from Cox back to the apartment. She’s gonna scan them and e-mail the whole lot through to MI5 for analysis. You said you had a handheld computer?’
Bruce nodded. ‘Yeah, quite a flash one, it was in his jacket. I tried getting something out of it while I was in the cab, but it’s got a password.’
‘That’s no major surprise,’ John said. ‘I’ve got you booked on a BA flight leaving at one a.m. Last check-in for business class is at midnight, which gives you two hours to get yourself cleaned up, fed and headed off to the airport. Chloe has brought your passport and a change of clothes over to my hotel room. It’s a thirteen-hour flight. You land in London at seven a.m. GMT.’
‘Why am I leaving?’
‘Help Earth always uses strong encryption. Any useful data on that PDA is going to take serious computer power to decode and that means I want that machine at MI5 headquarters in London ASAP. An intelligence officer will meet you at the gate when you get off the plane and take it off you.
‘You’ll be taking it because the sooner you’re out of here the better. You’ve almost certainly been filmed by a security camera entering that hotel and then leaving with Barry Cox’s bag. Hong Kong makes a lot of money out of foreign visitors and the police take crime against tourists seriously. They’ll be on the lookout for a kid fitting your description.’
‘That’s if it gets reported to the police. Cox might prefer to stay out of their way.’
‘The hotel management are bound to call in the cops when they find him trussed up. Whether Cox files a complaint or not is another matter.’
‘I cleaned up my fingerprints and I wore gloves during the search, but someone might still pick up traces of my DNA in that hotel room.’
‘We’ll deal with it,’ John said. ‘Hong Kong was a British colony for a hundred and fifty years and MI5 still has deep roots around here. Once the heat dies down, we’ll make sure any evidence linking you to that hotel robbery goes walkabout.’
Bruce nodded. ‘Do you think there’s any chance I could be picked up at the airport?’
John shook his head. ‘A hotel mugging isn’t going to spark a full security alert.’
The pair stopped at a crossing and waited for a walk sign.
‘So what are you lot gonna be doing while I’m flying back?’
‘We’re discussing various options,’ John said. ‘I’ve given campus all the details we’ve got so far. Hopefully they’ll come back with solid info in a few hours and we’ll be able to start making some decisions.’
Kerry was woken by the doorbell at 6:45 the following morning. She rubbed her eyes as she wandered into the kitchen dressed in a grey vest and knickers. A motorcycle courier stood in the doorway and Chloe was signing for a small padded envelope.
‘What’s going on?’ Kerry yawned, as Chloe pushed shut the door. ‘You look a state.’
‘Thank you, Kerry.’
‘Sorry,’ Kerry said. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude …’
‘I know you didn’t,’ Chloe smiled. ‘I’m sure I do look pretty rough. My head hasn’t touched a pillow yet. Neither has John’s.’
‘Why not?’ Kerry asked.