Read Online Cherub Black Friday by Robert Muchamore - Free Book Online

an unbuilt extension.
    The front door was on the latch and Ryan stepped in purposefully, knowing that people are less suspicious when someone looks like they know where they’re heading.
    There might have been people in any of the rooms, but all the noise came out of an open-plan kitchen diner. It was a no-expense-spared German job, but wires hung through holes where the ceiling lights should be.
    While a $4,000 Swedish-made oven sat by the sliding doors cased in polystyrene, a lively crowd surrounded a veiled teenager who grabbed pieces of chicken from a bucket of marinade and threw them on to a line of disposable charcoal barbecue trays.
    ‘Ryan,’ Elbaz said, coming out of some sort of cupboard under spiral stairs leading up to the first floor. ‘Did Mumin not ask you to stay in the mobile home?’
    It came across more like a straight question than a rebuke, and Ryan had his excuse ready.
    ‘My dad always takes years in the shower. Flying so long and not eating properly has done my stomach in.’
    Elbaz laughed. He didn’t seem like the arrogant man who’d flown out of the Kremlin with them a day and a half earlier. Ryan figured that the change was down to growing confidence as IDoJ’s operation drew nearer to completion.
    ‘Toilet’s across the hall,’ Elbaz said. ‘Do you go everywhere with your father?’
    Ryan nodded. ‘My mother died when I was a baby. Since then we’ve come as a package.’
    ‘And people don’t suspect you’re a smuggler when you’ve got the kids in tow,’ Elbaz added.
    ‘We’ve got out of a few tight spots like that,’ Ryan agreed, before pointing at the toilet door. ‘Do you mind?’
    ‘Better in there than out here,’ Elbaz joked.
    Ryan felt tense as he entered a large marbled toilet cubicle with the face of a young Clint Eastwood etched into one mirrored wall. After bolting the door, he sat on the toilet lid and stayed there for about as long as he’d normally take to have a dump. He made things seem real by flushing and washing his hands before exiting.
    He walked across to the kitchen, with a backup excuse of wanting to thank Elbaz. But Elbaz had vanished and nobody stopped Ryan striding to the heart of the huge kitchen and standing by the central island between one of the terrorists who’d travelled with them on the plane and the moustached teenager who’d driven the taxi from the landing strip.
    ‘Grab some chicken,’ the teenager said warmly. ‘It’s good.’
    Ryan smiled as he reached across the countertop and grabbed a paper plate and a drumstick stained with the orange marinade. After eating nothing but tinned food and sandwiches for thirty hours, fresh-cooked spicy chicken hit the spot and he followed up by grabbing two lamb skewers off a passing tray.
    ‘I saw your money when the suitcases arrived,’ the teenaged driver told Ryan.
    ‘Not my money,’ Ryan said, as he tried the lamb. ‘Wish it was, but I’m just the delivery boy for your couriers.’
    There was a lull in the conversation, and although Ryan had worked out that it wasn’t going to be a suicide raid, he thought it might be a good way to open a conversation.
    ‘So, are you mad bastards gonna be blowing yourselves up?’ he asked.
    The teenager scoffed at the suggestion. ‘Yeah, we’re all suicide bombers.’
    ‘Sorry,’ Ryan said. ‘Just  …  me and my dad saw all the trucks.’
    On the other side of the counter, two guys who were twenty at most recognised each other before exchanging a hug. They called one another cousin and started a How have you been, what time did you get here kind of conversation. Both looked Arab or possibly North African, but their accents were pure Texan drawl.
    As Ryan finished his second lamb skewer the taller of the two cousins said, ‘My aunt’s after a sixty-five-inch LCD for Black Friday. I paid a guy to steal her car so that she can’t go out in the morning.’
    The other cousin laughed. ‘This your aunt in Houston?’
    The guy nodded.