Chapters (88)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dear Reader …
- Also by Robert Muchamore
- PART ONE
- Walter J Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- PART TWO
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART THREE
- Walter J. Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- PART FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- EPILOGUE
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- Have you read KILLER T?
- 1 SLASHED RUBBER
- 2 NOT HARRY POTTER
The diesel generators were in good form and the house felt wonderfully cool as Julius grabbed a well-stuffed and knotted black bin liner off his bedroom floor and moved swiftly downstairs to the kitchen.
The maid was vacuuming in the living area, but the kitchen was eerily empty, with everything stacked away and Orisa’s house sandals and apron folded by the rear door.
Between the kitchen and the back exit was a windowless laundry room. A large Samsung washer was spinning, rattling the baskets of old toys, stacks of plates and the oversized pots Orisa used for family gatherings.
Julius slid his arm behind a bag of Gabe’s outgrown clothes and pulled out a flat green cap and tattered Nigerian army combat jacket. He’d bought these for 
10,000 from one of the terminally bored soldiers who guarded the front gate.
The black bag gave Julius reason to visit the big trash containers in the courtyard behind the kitchen. The army cap and jacket meant he’d be mistaken for one of the soldiers on guard, if the guard in the CCTV room didn’t look hard.
Julius got a blast of heat and a faint whiff of trash as he turned the knob on the back door and stepped outside onto dusty tiles. He’d been fascinated by the matrix of screens in the security room when he was younger, and still remembered the camera positions.
After six swift strides, Julius ducked into a blind spot between the perimeter wall and a huge wheeled trash container. He ripped open the black bag, revealing a backpack with his skateboard poking out. Then he donned the army cap and jacket, before stepping up to a heavy steel-barred gate. Julius tapped a six-digit code and it opened with a click, followed by a three-second buzzer.
This was the riskiest part. Julius knew an alarm would sound in the security room when the gate opened. He tried to act normal but held his stomach and pushed his head back, hoping to disguise his distinctive posture. With luck, the guard in the security room would peek up from whatever he was doing to pass time and see a soldier stepping out for a perimeter patrol or a sneaky errand.
It worked to Julius’s advantage that most of the men sent from the local barracks were scruffily dressed, unarmed and barely older than he was. While Adebisi family guards and drivers provided everyday security, government soldiers were a visible insurance policy. It took a hefty bribe to the commander of the local garrison to have a couple of dishevelled teen soldiers sat in front of your home or office, but the service was backed by an understanding that the entire local garrison would go after the bad guys if you got kidnapped or robbed.