Read Online CHERUB: The Sleepwalker by Robert Muchamore - Free Book Online Page B

he was clever, good-looking and still only fifteen years old. He had a comfortable room and enough money to make life pleasant, while his occasional stints helping out the training instructors and his natural ability in maths meant that he was coping with lessons – although nobody would have accused him of being top of the class. He had loads of good friends, a little sister who was basically cool and he was nuzzling a pillow that smelled like the girlfriend he loved.
    Unfortunately, James Adams wasn’t the only person on CHERUB campus who’d noticed the comfortable little rut he’d drifted into.
    ‘Get up, you scum-sucking, pinko-loving, marigold-sniffing son of a bag of horse shit,’ said a deep voice as his bedroom door crashed open and torchlight blasted his eyeballs.
    James was muscular, and at seventy-three kilos he weighed as much as many grown men. But that didn’t stop a colossal set of arms from plucking him off the mattress and driving him down against the springs with such force that two wooden bed slats cracked beneath him.
    ‘Jesus,’ James groaned, as a hand pressed down on his forehead.
    ‘Fairycake-eating, panda-shagging grease ball. I’m gonna pee in a bucket and tip it on your Weetabix.’
    Another voice came from behind. It was friendly but its owner was clearly getting a rise out of seeing James suffer. ‘All right James?’
    It’s hard to make sense of anything when an enormous psycho is pitching you around like a squeaky toy in the mouth of a pit bull, but after a second James realised the second voice was Dave Moss. Dave had been the senior agent on two of James’ early CHERUB missions, but he’d left to go to university and James hadn’t seen him in almost two years.
    ‘I see you’ve met my good pal, Jake McEwen,’ Dave said. ‘Although he prefers it if you ditch the first name.’
    ‘Call me Jake and I’ll rip off your testicles and feed them to your sister,’ McEwen explained.
    James had never met McEwen, who’d left campus before he was recruited, but he’d heard all about him. McEwen’s name was engraved on dozens of trophies in the dojo, and legend had it that McEwen had floored the legendary training instructor Norman Large with a single Karate blow when he was thirteen years old.
    ‘Dave,’ James spluttered.
    He could only manage one word but it meant a lot. It meant: Hello Dave I’m surprised to see you , it meant: Dave I thought we were mates could you please tell me what the hell is going on? and above all else it meant: Dave I think this nut job McEwen is going to kill me and I wonder if you’d be kind enough to stop him .
    But before James could get any more specific, McEwen had crammed a rubber gag into his mouth, then flipped him around, pressed a colossal knee against his back and ripped a set of handcuffs from his belt. James continued to struggle by tucking one of his wrists under his body.
    ‘Gimme that hand, Marigold, or I’ll rip your shoulder out of its socket and stick my boot so far up your arse that you’ll taste black polish in the back of your throat.’
    James realised that heroism was going to get him nowhere and he let out a huge groan, before allowing McEwen to lock on the cuffs and drag him to his feet.
    ‘One black T-shirt, one pair of shorts and his boots,’ McEwen said.
    James stood by while Dave Moss flicked on the light and picked two items of clothing and James’ muddy boots off the floor. With the light on, James saw that Dave had let his hair grow way down his back and had a long beard to go with it. With his army boots and white CHERUB T-shirt, Dave looked like a cross between a Hell’s Angel and Jesus.
    ‘There’s a rumour going around campus that you’re getting soft,’ Dave explained gently. ‘So Mr Kazakov has devised a little tune-up exercise.’
    ‘Enough chit-chat, you lollypop-sucking flower-arranger,’ McEwen said, as he shoved James in the back. ‘Let’s get you out to the training compound where no one can