24: Pickup
It was slightly warmer the next morning with occasional outbreaks of sunshine. George had woken when it started to get light, and by sunrise they had the tent packed and were already moving. The one benefit to the soft ground was that when Michael took a dump on the other side of the wall, it was easy to bury.
George's legs were stiff from the previous day, but Michael set another blistering pace, and George found himself having to stretch himself to keep up. They were covering ground quickly, though, and apart from passing the occasional hiking group later in the day, they were closing in on their destination by the afternoon. George was desperate for a proper rest and some real food, instead of cold high-energy bars which they'd been eating during their short rests. Michael, on the other hand, seemed completely happy and possibly even like he was enjoying himself. The final stretch was downhill, then across some flat paths around the edges of farmland until they came out in a town, glad for the extra degrees of warmth and the ability to visit a real shop. Michael waited outside just in case while George bought hot sausage rolls which they both ate quickly as soon as they were outside again.
"When I was in the jungle I never thought I'd be standing here eating a British sausage roll," Michael commented, licking flakes of pastry off his fingers.
George laughed. "Seems a long time since we were down in London and you were trying to recruit me, right?"
"Too right," Michael smiled. "Seems like a lifetime ago, really."
They reached the rendezvous point that James had marked on the map, but there was no sign of anyone waiting for them. The plan relied on someone picking them up from here and surreptitiously getting them back to campus, but there was no guarantee of anyone being able to make it, so the final option was that if nobody showed by six in the evening, they'd have to go to the police station and hand themselves in, or risk another night camping. Michael seemed confident they could camp again, but luckily just when George was wondering about risking sending a text to James a battered-looking Vauxhall Corsa in a lurid green colour pulled up in front of them.
"Someone ask for a ride home?" Jules Richardson asked, trowelling on his posh accent with a smirk.
"Nice wheels," George grinned. "How much did these set you back, twenty quid?"
"Probably not even that," Jules laughed.
"Shotgun," Michael said, jogging around to the far side of the car triumphantly.
"This thing doesn't have back doors so you'll need to let George get in first," Jules pointed out.
George groaned. "No chance you splashed out on the in-car entertainment system?" he asked, clambering behind the front seats to the tiny back.
"There's half a packet of toffees in the glove compartment, and if you're lucky I think there's a bottle of water somewhere," Jules told them, rolling up the window and setting off. "I reckon it's four hours back to campus and we're not stopping, so get comfortable."
"Might need that bottle for pee, then," Michael laughed. "Good to see you, Jules."
Jules reached out his hand and Michael grasped it.
"We're all just pleased you're back safe," Jules told him. "I'm risking my neck to do this, mind. When James asked me for a favour last night I knew something was up."
"What's the situation on campus?" George asked, stretching out across the back seats as much as he could.
"The phoney security mission unravelled pretty much straight away, I'm sorry to say. Zara's been away at a meeting in London so Ewart's been running around like a headless chicken, demanding situation reports every twenty minutes. One of the ladies in the control centre managed to divert the police for an hour or so to let James and Lucy get back last night, but Ewart was rabid. Zara rushed back from London in a borrowed government car and went ballistic. I think Lucy's been booted straight off campus and James is in the doghouse, although he's basically best mates with Zara so he'll get away with it."
George shook his head. "And you decided to wade into all this?"
"Screw Ewart, he's a dick," Jules said, uncharacteristically. "Some of the Cherubs got wind of you being back, Michael, and wanted to organise a vigil in the chapel, but Ewart put a stop to that. It was practically a mutiny."
Michael grinned. "There's never a shortage of drama on campus."
"I've been putting in solid performances as a mission controller for years now but Ewart has never liked me, so when James texted me I thought, why not?"
"I won't forget it, Jules, you have no idea how much I appreciate this," Michael said, sounding serious. "When they say CHERUB is like a family they really mean it."
"Also, while we're on the topic of drama, turns out Zara is retiring as chairwoman," Jules went on, and George's mouth dropped open.
"Eh? Since when?" George asked, shocked.
"Since this big meeting in London. She's been chairwoman almost ten years and her kids are growing up, so I think she just wants to step back and be a bit less busy."
"Do you know who's her replacement?" Michael asked with a knowing smile.
Jules chuckled. "There will have to be a formal process, but it's got to be Ewart, surely. He's been a senior mission controller since forever."
"No, not Ewart," George complained. "I'll have to start behaving myself."
"He's not so bad when he's not losing his temper," Jules said, shrugging.
"Yeah, to be fair, he was OK as a mission controller on my mission," George conceded. "But I'd still prefer someone else."
"He's been overseeing the campus reconstruction ever since Dr. MacAfferty retired in 2006 so there are a lot of good reasons to choose him," Jules went on. "In any case, we'll see. I like Zara, but if Ewart wants to be a mini-dictator I've got other options."
"I should probably be sucking up to him, anyway," Michael said. "Him and Zara are the only thing standing between me and a long stretch in Wormwood Scrubs, it seems."
It was dark and had started to drizzle by the time Jules pulled up in the campus car park. George had anticipated that they'd go straight to Zara's office for the inevitable dressing-down, but they didn't even have the chance to get that far. Almost as soon as Jules had parked, a couple of guys in a uniform George didn't recognise had jogged over to the car and pulled open the passenger door.
"Michael Jaarsveld?" one of them asked, grabbing Michael's upper arm.
"That's me," Michael said, squinting as a torch was shone at his face.
"Come with us," the other man said, and they half-guided, half-dragged Michael out of the car. He complied with them and as they walked him over to a car with blacked-out windows parked nearby, a pair of plastic handcuffs were slipped over his wrists.
"Come on, George," Zara said, surprising George who'd been watching, shocked, out of the car window. "Let's go."
Zara looked tired and her hair seemed greyer than ever as George climbed out of the car and Jules got out of the other side.
"Who're they?" George asked Zara, but Jules replied.
"MI6 security, I recognise the uniform," he said, briskly.
"You keep quiet," Zara snapped at him. "Are you okay, George?" She asked, looking at his muddy trousers and boots.
"Hungry, a bit tired," George admitted. "Otherwise all intact."
"No Ewart?" Jules asked, doing a good job of sounding casual.
Zara rolled her eyes. "He's assisting the police with their enquiries at the moment," she said. "Thanks to the half-baked scheme you idiots cooked up, there's a pretty big mess to untangle, and you should be grateful to Ewart for doing the heavy lifting of sorting it out."
"I am grateful, but he needs to go on a few management courses," Jules replied, forthrightly. "I'm not the only member of staff who thinks he could do with treating people a bit more nicely."
Zara held up her hands. "This isn't the place for a discussion of my husband," she said. "I'm knackered and all I can say is that all of your concerns will be heard. First things first, let's get inside. I'm sure you could do with a shower, George."
"What's going to happen to Michael?" George asked, as the three of them headed for the main building.
"If any of you had bothered to actually ask," Zara said, "You'd have known that he's wanted for questioning, not for arrest. He's a known associate of a guy called Yamake and both MI6 and the French DGSE want any information they can get on him."
"So he's not going to prison?" George asked, with some relief.
"I didn't say that," Zara said, carefully. "If he's been committing crimes then he needs to answer for that. If it's something minor then often we can pull a string or two to get things overlooked, and we'll set him up with a top lawyer, but beyond that, he's an adult. He made his own decisions and he needs to own up to the responsibilities. CHERUB can't protect him from that."
After soaking in a hot shower for twenty minutes, wolfing down microwave lasagne and changing into an immaculately clean uniform, George smoothed down his navy t-shirt and checked his reflection before leaving his room. He was fifteen years old, with a new girlfriend who he thought was pretty fit, and he'd just helped to bail one of his best friends out of a bad situation. He couldn't resist striking a pose in front of the mirror and grinning, but then he remembered that he was on his way to a meeting with Zara and he was pretty sure he was, somehow, in even bigger trouble than he'd ever been before.
"Wakey wakey, rise and shine," George warbled outside Bianca's door, banging on it. There was no sign of life coming from inside so he banged again. "Come out, come out, Bianca the beautiful, Bianca the incredible, Bianca-"
The door swung open and Bianca stared at him, her hair a bird's nest, wearing fluffy pyjamas.
"What on earth do you want at half past six in the morning," she hissed, looking daggers at him. "My alarm doesn't go off for another hour."
George stepped into her room, which was dark with the curtains shut and the bed a mess. "I woke up half an hour ago and I've showered, taken some clothes down to the laundry and tidied my room already," he announced as she shut the door.
"Who cares," Bianca said, flatly, but she was more awake now. "Anyway, how did it go last night with Zara? Everyone is dying to know."
"I wanted to tell everyone yesterday, but I was exhausted and needed an early night," George told her. "In any case, I've somehow survived with just a weekend of Heavy Drill and three months of cleaning duty in the old gym."
Bianca wrinkled her nose. "It's always nasty in there, though," she pointed out. "The dunnies are foul and people always trail in mud from the cross-country course."
"By the time super-mop George Knight has finished, the place will sparkle," George grinned.
"Well that's fine for you, super-mop, but there's absolutely no snogging when you smell of gym toilets," Bianca warned him.
George laughed and swooped in to kiss her quickly.
"I must have terrible morning breath," Bianca admitted.
"I shared a wet tent last night with a fourteen stone man who hadn't showered in over a week," George told her. "A bit of dainty morning breath won't do me any harm."
Bianca laughed. "Bit of a weird way to tell me you're gay," she teased.
George sat down on the bed next to her and they snogged for a while until Bianca pulled away.
"You're in such a weirdly good mood for someone who just got punished," she giggled.
"It'll wear off when I crash later, but I'm making the most of it now," George said.
"What about Michael?" Bianca asked, looking anxious for a second.
George shook his head. "No idea, to be honest. It's even out of Zara's hands."