Tanisha nodded. 'There were more than a hundred private-hire taxi firms in Birmingham back then. Price cutting, fare poaching and n.o.body making any money. Then rival firms started sabotaging one another. Started off with fake calls, and blocking radio signals this was before everyone had mobile phones. Then windows got smashed, cars vandalised. People started getting their legs broken and their houses burned down. After a few years, Uncle's crew got the upper hand and you wound up with three big taxi firms for the whole of east Birmingham. All owned by Uncle, or his close friends.

'He also made money in the sc.r.a.p business, set up taxi firms in London and Manchester, and when the taxi business took a downturn, he started extorting money from shopkeepers, landlords, restaurant owners.'

'And the law just let him?' James asked.

'There's a lot of politics involved,' Tanisha explained. 'First off, when Uncle started, there wasn't a single dark-skinned officer in the Birmingham police force. And how do you report a crime when you don't even speak the same language as your local cops? By the time Birmingham started getting Asian police officers, Asian councillors, Asian Members of Parliament, Uncle was so ingrained in the system that most of them were his people. They'd condemn him in public, but behind closed doors they'd talk him up.

'Uncle keeps the drug dealers out of Asian neighbourhoods. Uncle paid for repair work on the mosque. Uncle stops the developers moving in and closing down Asian-owned businesses. And when it came to election time, they'd be lining up to ask for campaign donations. Labour, Conservative. Uncle would donate to both sides, as long as they didn't rock his boat.'

James was fascinated. 'And Uncle's influence extended to your newspaper?'

'G.o.d yes,' Tanisha nodded. 'We knew his name, but we were never allowed to publish it, to preserve the great mystery. If you published an article about some charity donation made by one of his taxi firms, you'd have the phone ringing off the hook with advertisers. But if you published anything critical, Uncle would send out an edict. Any business that dared to advertise in your newspaper would get a petrol bomb through their letterbox, and no newsagent would dare to sell the paper with the article inside.'

'Clever,' James admitted.

Now Tanisha narrowed her eyes accusingly. 'And you know what really p.i.s.ses me off?' she said, wagging a finger. 'People have known about Uncle for years, but the police always claim not to have resources to investigate. Your intelligence lot are only interested in a tiny number of radicals, while a ma.s.sive crook sits in the background pulling levers for half of Birmingham.'

James smiled. 'I'm here to help.'

'You're young and idealistic,' Tanisha said. 'But the system is rigged against ordinary decent people. I even know what your next question is going to be.'

'You do?' James asked.

'You're going to ask me if Uncle turned into some crazy radical, and if he's donating profits to radical groups.'

'That's what I need to know,' James admitted.

Tanisha snorted. 'Uncle has grandparents, cousins and a half-brother in Pakistan. He sent money to them over the years, enabling them to become quite influential in their region. In 2013 there was an American drone strike close to the family compound. Two of Uncle's nephews and his eight-year-old G.o.ddaughter were killed. I'm also told that some of his cousins were arrested and beaten by Pakistani troops who were hunting for Taliban in the area.'

'How do you know this?' James asked. 'You don't work for the newspaper any more, do you?'

'When cla.s.sified advertising went online, the Echo went under, like most local newspapers,' Tanisha admitted. 'I have two office cleaning jobs and I volunteer in a women's shelter. But I still live in the community and I still hear things.'

'So your source on this was reliable?'

'My source was a housekeeper who worked for Uncle's third wife. I don't know her well, but she had nothing to gain by lying to me.'

'So Uncle turned radical?'

Tanisha looked slightly irritated by this comment. 'Uncle drinks alcohol and holidays in Las Vegas, his latest wife and four of his six children aren't Muslim. So he's not about to grow a beard and start living under the principles of Sharia Law. But after the drone strike, he is violently opposed to western interference in the Middle East and North Africa.'

'And is he active?' James asked. 'Does he donate to causes?'

'Uncle has the morals of a sewer rat. He's had drivers run over by their own taxis, blackmailed local planning officials, petrol-bombed family businesses that don't pay his protection fees and beaten two of his ex-wives into the hospital. He now makes four or five trips a year to the Middle East. I have no idea what he's up to, but if I were you, I'd be looking for something that's unsavoury and highly profitable.'

21. JUDO.

Ryan met the twins as they headed out of school. They grabbed McDonald's, then drove to the Sunray Travel office. Monty and a guy with a hipster beard were doing design work in the office, as the three brothers ripped up carpet tiles in the print room.

Just before six, Monty went out and got coffees for everyone. The quintet sat around having their break when a key turned in the main door. The new arrival was short, sunburnt skin peeling off his nose, and ten years older than in police surveillance photos. But it was unmistakably Uncle.

He was accompanied by a broad-shouldered Asian woman, dressed in canvas pumps and a jogging suit.

'Uncle,' Monty said, trying to sound warm, but obviously cacking himself as the little man looked around at the whirring humidifiers and glue patches where the carpet had been ripped up.

'What's all this then?'

Monty looked sheepish. 'We had a flood.'

Uncle gave his accomplice a nod. She gave Monty a brutal punch in the mouth, followed by an expert knee in the ribs. Then she ripped his arm up behind his back and splayed him face first over a desk.

'Did you just lie to me?' Uncle said calmly, as hipster-beard and the three CHERUB agents looked on warily.

'No,' Monty said, then as Uncle stepped closer, 'OK, yes ... Trey told me to.'

'Who do you work for?' Uncle demanded. 'Me or Trey?'

'You, sir,' Monty begged, as the woman tightened the wrench on his arm.

'Who is the manager of this print shop?'

'I am, sir,' Monty snorted.

'I'm told I need a 950L printing machine, for the princely sum of seventy-two grand,' Uncle said. 'And I'm not paying for that, Monty. You are.'

'I don't have that kind of money,' Monty begged. 'There's no way ...'

'Your parents own their house, don't they?' Uncle teased. 'And the bakery? I'm sure they can get another mortgage.'

'My parents worked all their lives,' Monty gasped. 'They're in their sixties.'

'I don't give a s.h.i.t how you get my money,' Uncle shouted, then looked at his female bodyguard. 'Give him another taste, sweetheart.'

She moved ruthlessly, a knee in the kidneys, then flipping Monty on to his back and boxing him with a barrage of head shots.

'You have one week to come and tell me how you plan to pay for my new printer,' Uncle said.

Blood streamed from Monty's mouth as the kickboxer yanked him up and shoved him out into the hallway. Hipster-beard looked terrified as Uncle approached, pulling something out of his back pocket.

The bearded designer was relieved by the sight of two twenty-pound notes.

'Taxi Monty to the hospital,' Uncle ordered. 'Keep your trap shut.'

The designer trembled as he scrambled out, half expecting the kickboxer to sprawl him with a kick up the a.r.s.e.

This just left Uncle, bodyguard and the Sharma brothers, still holding their drinks.

'I hear you boys are a bit tasty,' Uncle said, raising his fists like a boxer. 'Messed up Trey and his idiot driver. Any of you prepared to show my girl Mya what you've got?'

Ryan figured it was his job, since he was oldest. 'I'm game if she is,' he said, putting his coffee on a desk and stepping forward.

Expecting a c.o.c.ky teen who'd probably done a few judo cla.s.ses, Mya kept her hands low as she stepped forward and launched a vicious thigh kick. The blow hurt, but Ryan was taller and lunged with his right arm.

Ryan caught Mya under the chin with his palm, then took her by the throat, driving her backwards across a desk top. He narrowly avoided a kick in the face as he let go, and rather than take the opportunity of a knockout blow, he flipped the desk.

Mya crashed off the back, accompanied by pens and a tape dispenser. Then Ryan leaned on the underside of the desk, pinning his opponent between the desk top and the wall behind.

'You can't do that,' Mya protested, arms flailing as she tried to break loose.

'You kept your arms low,' Ryan said, matter of factly. 'You showed me a lack of respect.'

Uncle was smiling as Ryan took his weight off the table. Mya furiously launched herself back at Ryan. He went low and used Mya's momentum to roll her over his shoulder, judo style.

'Enough,' Uncle yelled, stepping between as Mya hissed.

Mya got up in such a fury that she caught her ankle on a cable, tugging a lamp off a desk top. The twins smirked as Ryan and Mya eyeballed furiously.

'How old are you?' Uncle asked.

'Seventeen,' Ryan said. 'My brothers are fourteen.'

Uncle smiled. 'You like hurting people?'

'Only if I have to,' Ryan said.

'How's your moral compa.s.s?' Uncle asked.

'What do you mean?' Ryan asked.

'I mean, if I pay you a hundred quid to go smack someone into next week.'

Ryan shrugged, so Leon answered. 'If he won't, I will.'

'I know potential when I see it,' Uncle smiled, looking at Mya and wagging a finger. 'You're living at Nurtrust, right?'

Ryan decided to push his luck. 'I asked Beast about a job at the sc.r.a.pyard. Full time, part time. He'll tell you I'm a hard worker. I just moved into the neighbourhood and I'm flat broke.'

Uncle shrugged. 'Come by my office at the yard tomorrow morning. I'll see what we can do.'

'Awesome,' Ryan grinned. 'Thank you so much.'

'Now I need some quiet,' Uncle said, as he made to sit down at one of the desks. 'You boys better clear out.'

'But Trey said we should-' Ryan began.

Uncle laughed as he sat in an office chair. 'Trey's lucky that his father is one of my oldest friends. He can get down on his knees and pull up carpet tiles for himself.'

As the boys headed out, Uncle opened a MacBook and the microphone under the desk recorded his login.

22. ROCKY.

It was Sat.u.r.day morning. With no school, kids at Nurtrust were pottering around in nightwear and grabbing breakfast to eat in bed. Ryan hated his cramped room with tiny escape-proof window, so he settled on a sofa in the TV lounge with bacon and hash browns. Rhea sat alongside, tucking her feet under her b.u.m and smiling as she sipped hot chocolate.

'We could do something tonight,' Rhea said. 'You got an ID? There's a club called Pa.s.senger, not far from here.'

Ryan raised his hand. 'What about my little brother?'

Rhea shrugged. 'Leon's cute, but he's just a kid.'

'I can't,' Ryan said. 'I like you, but I'm not gonna start some huge row with Leon.'

Ryan was in shorts and he found Rhea's hand touching just above his knee.

'I can be very persuasive,' she purred.

Daniel picked that exact moment to step in from the hallway.

'A word, brother,' he said, taking a superior tone.

Ryan apologised to Rhea as he ditched breakfast and headed out into the hallway.

'Leon's not gonna like that if he finds out,' Daniel said, smirking as he led the way to their rooms.

'I just got a text,' Daniel explained. 'James wants the three of us to drop by the flat in half an hour.'

They knocked on Leon's door, and found him towelling off after a shower.

'Nice zit on your back,' Ryan teased. 'Want me to splat it?'

'So what does James want?' Leon asked, as he dropped the towel and went for jeans, which still had yesterday's briefs lined up inside.

'Probably wants to tell me how great I am,' Ryan suggested. 'How the whole mission was going nowhere, until my magnificence stepped in and saved the day.'