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
Julius tutted. ‘You’re not getting paid. I’ve covered your ass a million times.’
‘Finally got a girlfriend to sneak around with?’ Gabe teased. ‘I’ve had four – you’re starting to look bad.’
‘You’re ten. You wouldn’t know what to do with a girl if you got one.’
‘Price might rise if you keep that up,’ Gabe said. ‘And I’m not covering if I don’t know what this thing is.’
Julius drummed fingers on his board.
‘I know a guy,’ he began reluctantly. ‘He’s taking me to a skating spot he’s found. It’s supposed to be legendary, with ramps, drops and all sorts.’
Gabe looked wary, moving further from his friends and lowering his voice. ‘There’s kidnappers everywhere. Uncle is state governor. Mum says we’ve got targets.’
‘Mummy says,’ Julius squeaked, mocking Gabe’s unbroken voice. ‘I’ve got regular clothes in my bag. I’ll just be another kid on the street. And nothing happens any more. When did you last hear of an actual kidnapping?’
‘You’d better not get caught,’ Gabe warned, smiling devilishly at the prospect. ‘Mum will have one of the bodyguards take you in the garage for a beating.’
‘That’s my problem, brother. Simeon will be up here looking for you soon. Are you going to help me or not?’
‘Still got that New York Islanders cap? I always liked that …’
Julius tutted. ‘OK. It’s yours, you thief.’
Gabe cracked one of his winning smiles as the brothers sealed the deal with a fist bump. ‘And if Mum won’t pay your kidnappers, I can have your big bedroom …’
TWO
Disused Mr Carpet warehouse – Leighton Buzzard, UK
Drone racing used to be fun. Georgia was Daddy’s girl, legs swinging off a table, drinking Coke while her crew changed propellers, debated software updates and huddled over her quadcopter like surgeons. Entire days went by, waiting for races that lasted minutes. Georgia would bring her tablet, playing games or churning through entire seasons of Friends and Brooklyn-Nine-Nine.
Georgia was talented too. UK Open Specification champion at under nine and under ten. Runner-up in the European under-eighteens when she was only eleven. Back then, she practised flying most days after school, and the tournaments gobbled every alternate weekend during the season.
But Georgia was fourteen now, and over it. She hated the kitschy retro bowling shirts the team wore, with Drone Pack embroidered on the back. She’d evolved from sitcoms to Game of Thrones or Rick and Morty, but unlimited screen time no longer compensated for long drives, fast food and trying to do homework in budget hotel rooms while her dad watched football.
The worst thing about drone races was the men. From the geeky boy pilots who eyed Georgia up, to Steve, Drone Pack’s bearded technician. He always knew best, even though she was the team’s best pilot and understood the technical stuff as well as he did.