Agent 21 (7 page)

He looked at the name on the documents. Zak Darke was nowhere to be seen. It was like he’d been
scrubbed from the face of the planet and somebody else had parachuted in to take his place.

‘Meet Harry Gold,’ Michael said. ‘The new you.’

Zak continued to stare at the documents. They made him feel incredibly uneasy and he was only half listening as Michael continued to talk.

‘When I say “the new you”, what I mean is
one of
them. Part of your training, Zak, will be to assimilate new identities, quickly and thoroughly. Harry Gold has not led a very interesting life, but even dull lives are full of facts. You need to know everything about him – not just the big things, like where he lives or what schools he’s been to, but the little things too. His favourite food. What he likes to watch on TV. We have planted these little nuggets of information in the public domain, to make Harry seem like a real person. If somebody suspects you’re not who you say you are, they’ll test you by asking you about one of these inconsequential facts. And let’s just say it’ll be the kind of test where only ten out of ten will do. Do you understand?’

Zak nodded.

‘Only four people in the whole world will know your real identity, Zak, and three of them are standing in the room right now.’

‘Who’s the fourth?’ Zak demanded.

Michael carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘It will be
necessary for other people to know of your existence, but not of your identity. They will know you only by the codename Agent 21.’

‘Why 21?’ Zak asked. ‘What happened to Agents 1 to 20?’

A bland smile from Michael, and again he continued as though Zak hadn’t even said anything. ‘For the next few weeks, you will undergo a rigorous training schedule. Raf and Gabs will be your new teachers. Apart from them and myself, the only person you might see is an old man called Stan. He lives in a hut on the beach, and it’s his job to make sure nobody arrives on this island without us knowing, and to take occasional deliveries of supplies – we don’t want you starving, after all. If you see anyone else, it’s time to worry. Is that clear?’

Zak blinked. This was all going so fast.
Too
fast. He didn’t know who these people were. He didn’t know if he could trust them. He was beginning to think he’d made a terrible mistake. ‘I want to go home,’ he said.

The other three exchanged a long look. ‘People in your position always say that at first,’ Michael said quietly. ‘It’s quite impossible, of course, but you knew that all along, didn’t you?’

Zak didn’t answer, so Michael continued as if nothing had happened.

‘Good. Pay attention to Raf and Gabs, Zak.
Everything they teach you will have the potential to save your life.’ He fixed Zak with a steely glare. ‘I just hope you’re as fast a learner as they say.’

Zak looked at the three of them in turn. They all looked deadly serious as they returned his gaze.

Me too
, thought Zak.
Me too
. But he didn’t say it. He stuffed the documents back into their envelope. ‘Isn’t there something you’ve forgotten?’ he asked.

Michael raised an eyebrow.

‘When we met in the park, you said you’d tell me about my parents.’

A silence descended on the room. He was aware of Raf and Gabs glancing briefly at each other. Michael turned and walked over to the window, where he looked out towards the sea.

‘As time goes on, Zak,’ he said, ‘you’ll learn that too much information can be a dangerous thing.’

Zak felt himself flaring up. ‘No way,’ he said. ‘You told me—’

Michael turned and held up one palm. ‘Please, Zak, let me finish. Too much information can be a dangerous thing. So can too little. What is important is that you know what you
need
to know.’

‘I
need
to know about my parents.’

‘And you will,’ said Michael, his voice calm, ‘when the time is right.’

‘
No!
’ Zak shouted. ‘We had a deal. You said you’d
tell me. You better had, otherwise I’m leaving. I don’t care
what
you say.’

‘Leaving?’ Michael said. ‘And how exactly do you propose to do that, Zak? I know you’re a clever lad, but I’d be surprised if your skills extended to the flying of helicopters just yet. And the water really is rather choppy for swimming.’

Zak felt a twist in his stomach.

‘And even if you do make it back,’ Michael continued, ‘what will you tell people? They certainly won’t believe you about us, and if you can’t come up with anything convincing, I’m afraid the only conclusion they’re likely to come to is that you were in some way involved in the robbery of your uncle and aunt’s house.’

Zak stared at him in disbelief; Michael avoided his gaze.

‘Of course, I doubt your relatives would want to extend their hospitality to you if that were the case. You could always be fostered, and it’s true that there are some excellent care homes, but I’m not sure that’s a better option than 63 Acacia Drive, is it?’

Zak continued to stare. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Michael had trapped him, and there was no way he could get away . . .

Michael continued talking as mildly as if he was discussing the weather. ‘I have instructed Raphael and Gabriella to identify your weaknesses and build on
your strengths. We have everything here that we need to do this. I might as well tell you now that you will only be able to gain access to those rooms in this house for which you have clearance.’

‘Why?’

‘Well,’ said Michael, ‘it’s perhaps a little melodramatic to say that this house has secrets but . . . it does. Any rooms for which you have not been cleared will be impossible for you to enter, much like the two doors you just tried outside your own room.’

Zak shot him a quick look and Michael smiled. ‘All the door knobs have fingerprint recognition technology,’ he said. ‘Only people with pre-approved fingerprints can gain access to certain rooms. In addition, the technology will check the temperature and pulse of anyone who tries to use the door knobs. Can you think why that might be?’

Zak shook his head.

‘Well, Zak,’ Michael explained, ‘it would only be a moment’s work to remove the hand of an authorized person from their arm and use it to gain access to restricted areas. Pulse recognition ensures that the hand is still . . . ah . . .
attached
to its owner.’ The old man let that sink in before he continued. ‘It might appear to you, Zak, that we are treating you unfairly. Nothing could be further from the truth. Our purpose is only to protect you until such time as you are fully
able to protect yourself. There are a great many people out there who don’t play by the same rules as ordinary folk. You are already their enemy. If they could get their hands on you right now, they would. No place is entirely safe.’ He looked around. ‘Even here. You would do well to remember that and work hard during your training period. It’s for your benefit, after all.’

A stillness descended on the room as the adults stared at Zak. To break it, Michael addressed Gabs. ‘Perhaps, Gabriella, you could take Zak back to his room,’ he said. ‘Our friend has a lot to think about, and I imagine he could do with some sleep.’

‘Get some rest, sweetie,’ Gabs had told him once she’d delivered him back to his room. ‘You’ll need it. And don’t look so worried, Zak. Michael can be a little abrupt at times, but he’s a sweetheart really. And we’ll take care of you.’ She put one hand on his shoulder, squeezed it slightly, then left.

Zak sat on the edge of his bed, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. He felt exhausted, physically and mentally. He also felt like he’d been conned. Michael hadn’t forced him to come here, it was true; but he’d made it impossible to leave.

And then there was Raf and Gabs. Raphael and Gabriella . . .

Zak frowned. Something he only half remembered was nagging at him. He stood up and tapped the screen on the wall. The web browser instantly appeared. Another tap and a virtual keyboard covered the bottom half of the screen. Zak started typing. He concentrated on Raphael first, and soon had the information he wanted.

R
APHAEL – THE ANGEL OF HEALING

He stored that information away, then started searching not for Gabriella, but for . . .

G
ABRIEL – THE ANGELIC MESSENGER, BEARER OF TRUTH AND JUSTICE

Raf and Gabs weren’t their real names. Somehow it didn’t surprise him. And it didn’t surprise him, either, when he continued searching and found . . .

M
ICHAEL – THE GREAT ARCHANGEL

Zak sneered. So Raf and Gabs were his guardian angels, and Michael was their leader. At least that was how they saw themselves.

To Zak they seemed more like his jailers.

Six thousand miles away, in Central America

It was still early in the morning, but the sun was already fierce. All the cars around Mexico City had their windows firmly shut and the air conditioning on full blast – including the large black Range Rover that edged its way slowly out of the city. Whereas lots of vehicles were beeping their horns at each other in frustration, the Range Rover drove slowly and carefully. Its driver patiently waited at red lights; if another car cut across his path – and it happened often – he let them in. He did nothing to draw attention to himself. That would be stupid.

The further the Range Rover drove from the centre of Mexico City, the less heavy the traffic became. The driver was able to move faster, but he was still careful to stay within the speed limit as he headed south on the road to Cuernavaca. After forty-five minutes,
however, he veered off to the right, following a small, windy road. The vehicle passed through tiny villages, where the inhabitants looked at it with interest. Big cars like his might be common in the capital city, but out here they were rare. The only cars these poor villagers were likely to drive were dust-covered and more than twenty years old.

‘Stop.’

The instruction came from a man sitting in the back seat. It was a good job the windows of the Range Rover were blacked out, because if they weren’t he would have attracted a lot of attention. He was, after all, a remarkable-looking man. He was incredibly skinny, and at some point in the past he had lost his right eye. He never spoke about how it happened, but most people who met him assumed it was as a result of violence.

Violence attracts violence, and this was a violent person.

The skin in front of the missing eye had grown over. There was only the faintest hint of a scar, which you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know it was there. So to most people, the man in the back seat of the Range Rover looked as if he had been born with only one eye. His hair was shaved to hide the fact that it was balding, but he had a few days’ stubble on his face. And even though the air conditioning in the
car was on, he was sweating profusely. He always did.

His name was Adan Ramirez. Behind his back, everyone called him
Calaca
– ‘skeleton’. To his face, they called him ‘Señor’.

The Range Rover stopped and the driver looked over his shoulder at Calaca. ‘Here, Señor?’

Calaca looked out of the tinted window. The road was no longer winding, but straight. It stretched for a good two miles in either direction and there were no vehicles approaching. He nodded at the driver.

‘Shall I do it, Señor?’ the driver asked.

Calaca shook his head. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘You will wait there.’

He opened the door and stepped outside into the brutal heat, where he instantly started sweating even more. Calaca walked round to the back of the Range Rover and opened up the boot. His lip curled when he saw what was inside.

It was a man. His mouth was gagged, his feet bound together and his hands tied behind his back. He scrunched his eyes shut because of the sudden influx of sunlight, before slowly opening them again. When he saw who was looking at him, he started to make squealing noises. He knew Calaca’s reputation; he knew to be scared.

Calaca ignored the noises. He grabbed the man by his hair and pulled him out of the Range Rover. He
fell with a painful thud to the dusty road. Calaca kicked him. ‘Get to the side,’ he instructed. ‘Now.’

The man couldn’t get to his feet, so he shuffled like a worm to the edge of the road. Calaca bent down and removed the gag. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ he whispered.

‘P . . . p . . . please,’ the man stuttered. ‘I will do whatever you want.
Please
.’

But Calaca shook his head. ‘It is too late for that,’ he said. ‘You stole from my employer. You know what that means, don’t you?’

The terrified man shook his head manically. ‘It wasn’t me. You’ve made a mistake.’ Then he gave a low groan as Calaca pulled a gun from his pocket.

‘You will tell me the truth,’ he said.

‘I swear, Señor, there is nothing to tell.’

‘I will count to three. Tell me the truth and I might show you mercy. One . . .’

The man shivered on the ground. ‘
Please
, Señor . . .’

‘Two . . .’

‘It’s not me you want.’

A horrible pause.