Fightback (2 page)

By the time he got off the tube at Russell Square it was past midnight and Kier was exhausted. As he took the lift and walked out into the empty street, the reality of what had happened began to sink in. The father he barely knew had been murdered in front of him. For some reason, his father hadn't wanted him to go to the police. And now the men who had killed him obviously wanted Kier dead too.

He was hungry and thirsty, with no money and no idea what to do. All he had was a vague idea that there was some kind of spike buried somewhere in Great Russell Street. It was crazy. But then, watching your father get killed and having to run for your life was pretty crazy too.

Fern behind a fox …

Kier sat on the wall outside the British Museum and looked up and down the road. Opposite him was a row of shops, all closed of course – a bookshop,
a shop selling souvenirs of London, but no sign of any foxes or ferns.

He turned and peered through the railings that surrounded the museum, but everywhere was stone and concrete except for a large rectangle of grass in the centre. Hardly the kind of place someone would choose to bury a secret spike. Turning his attention back to the street, Kier decided his best hope was to check around the base of the trees which grew along the pavement. Although the earth around them was covered in gravel and pale dust, there was at least a possibility that something could be buried there. No sign of any ferns of course, but Kier guessed he'd have to work with what he had.

It was only after scuffing his foot unsuccessfully around the base of the seventh tree that he saw it.

A hundred metres or so down on the other side of the road.

Trees.

Lots of them.

Trees, bushes and grass.

A park
.

Standing outside the railings, Kier saw that, apart from an old man sleeping on a bench, the park was deserted. To his right was a small children's playground with a plastic slide and some painted
animals on springs. There was a black and white cow, a duck and a sheep. But no fox. At the front of the park was a statue of some old guy in a toga and sandals. Behind him, to the left of the path, was a circular patch of ground surrounded by a waist-high beech hedge. Kier could see that there were several flowerbeds surrounding a paved area in the middle of the park. He guessed if there was a spike, it could be in any one of them. If it was there at all. He stood for a moment, watching the red tail lights of late-night taxis and wondering if he was wasting his time. Then he looked at the statue again and saw that there were three words written in the middle of the plinth. The words said: CHARLES JAMES FOX.

Thirty seconds later, Kier was climbing through the beech hedge and staring at the shade-loving plants that grew beneath the tree in the centre. Pushing their way up through the groundcover of geraniums and ivy and foxgloves were three large ferns, shaped like green shuttlecocks.

Kier felt the tips of his fingers tingle.

Fern behind a fox …

This was it. This was the place.

Getting down on his hands and knees, he began to crawl around, searching for any signs that the ground might have been disturbed. But the soil was
soft and deep, layers of rich, dark earth spread out beneath the plants. As he raked methodically through it with his fingers, Kier remembered how he used to plunge his hands into the lucky dip at school fairs, trembling with excitement at the thought of what he might find.

He was trembling now, but for very different reasons.

Moving to the last of the ferns, Kier dragged his fingers through the soil once more and almost immediately felt his middle finger snag on something. Brushing away the earth, he saw a loop of plastic protruding from the earth. It came out easily, bringing with it a black plastic tube the size of a toilet roll.

On the end of the tube was a spike.

Kier whistled softly.

‘Jackpot,' he said.

Unscrewing the cap, he pulled out a thick roll of fifty-pound notes. He guessed there had to be several thousand pounds' worth. Stuffing the money into his pocket, he held up the tube and peered inside, but there was nothing else.

No note, no clue.

No nothing.

‘Damn it.' Kier threw the empty tube into the bushes, sat back and wiped his hands on his jeans.
Although he was a good deal richer than he had been thirty seconds ago, he was no closer to finding an answer. But at least now he could check himself into a hotel, take a hot shower and get a good night's sleep without some nutcase trying to blow his head off.

He stood up, stretched, then suddenly his legs buckled and he was face down staring at the dirt.

‘Don't move,' hissed a voice, ‘or I'll tear your throat out.'

As if being thrown to the ground wasn't enough of a surprise, Kier now had to take in the fact that the person kneeling on his back sounded very much like a girl.

‘Get off me,' he said, twisting his head around.

For the second time that night, he found himself staring at the point of a knife.

‘Do that again and you'll regret it.'

Kier turned his head back until he was looking at the trunk of the tree.

‘OK,' he said wearily. ‘I won't do that again.'

‘Why are you here?'

The voice definitely belonged to a girl. A strong one, too. Probably one of those bodybuilder types.

‘I dropped some money.'

‘Liar.'

As the grip tightened around his neck, Kier
stared at the earth and tried not to think about the knife.

‘It's true, I swear.'

Well, it
was
true, in a way. He had dropped some money once. A couple of years ago.

‘How much?'

‘Oh, I dunno. Couple of quid.'

‘You expect me to believe you were grubbing around in a park at two in the morning for the sake of a couple of quid?'

She obviously wasn't convinced.

‘Look, I'm short of money, OK? I can't afford to lose two quid.'

‘Is that so?'

The girl thrust her hand in his pocket and dropped the bundle of notes in front of his face.

‘So you're short of money, eh?'

Kier suddenly felt very tired.

‘Look, just take it, OK? I don't want it. It's yours.'

‘I know it's mine. But what I want to know is, how did you know it was there?'

Kier closed his eyes and decided he couldn't keep this up any more. And he really, really didn't want to get killed.

‘My dad told me,' he said.

‘Your
dad
?' The girl sounded genuinely surprised.

‘Yes, my dad. Something bad happened to him,
OK? I guess he must have wanted me to have it or something.'

‘What's your dad's name?'

‘David. His name was David West.'

Kier felt the pressure release on his neck. When he turned around, he was surprised to see a petite girl of about sixteen kneeling in the earth beside him. Beneath the curtain of dark, glossy hair, a pair of emerald-green eyes widened in the half-light.

‘My God,' she said. ‘You must be Kier.'

‘How do you know my name?' asked Kier.

The girl shrugged. ‘Your dad spoke about you sometimes,' she said. ‘I think he wished he could see you more often.'

Kier stared at her, this stranger who seemed to know more about his father than he did. She stared right back at him and Kier could see a fierceness there, a steel in her eyes that helped him understand how she had floored him so easily.

‘He told you that?'

‘He didn't have to.' She folded the knife and slipped it back into the pocket of her blue corduroy jacket. ‘You said something bad happened to him.'

‘Yeah. He kind of … died.'

The girl took a sharp intake of breath and, as she ran her fingers through her hair, Kier saw that she was genuinely upset.

‘What happened?'

Kier thought about the bizarre direction his life was taking. Sitting in a park in the middle of the night, talking to a strange girl who not five minutes ago had knocked him down and threatened to kill him.

‘Why don't you tell me? I mean, since you seem to know so much about him.'

The girl nodded.

‘Maybe later. But from what you say, I think we should probably get moving.'

Kier frowned.

‘Who
are
you?'

For the first time since they met, the girl almost smiled.

‘I'm Saskia,' she said, sticking out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Kier.'

This was certainly an interesting way of doing things, thought Kier. Attack someone and then introduce yourself as if you're at a dinner party. But he took her hand and shook it anyway.

‘Likewise, I guess.'

He let go of her hand and wiped dirt from his forehead.

‘So, Saskia. Are you going to tell me what's going on?'

Saskia nodded.

‘Yes. But not here.'

She picked up the bundle of notes and put them in her pocket.

‘You look as though you could do with getting cleaned up. Maybe we should get a hotel for the night.'

Kier raised an eyebrow. ‘I hardly know you.'

‘I meant
separate
rooms,' said Saskia.

But when Kier looked at her, he saw that she was smiling.

He was woken the next morning by a knock on the door.

‘It's me, Saskia. Meet you for breakfast in fifteen minutes.'

Kier was relieved and somewhat surprised. She had refused to talk to him last night, telling him he needed to get some rest. He had half-expected to find her gone this morning. But, well, here she was.

‘OK,' he said to the door. ‘See you there.'

Stumbling across to the window, he pulled back the curtains to reveal a beautiful blue sky. Looking out at the streets bathed in sunshine, it was hard to believe that the events of yesterday could have happened. It felt like a horrible dream. But as he looked at the bruises on his legs, he knew it was true. His father
had
been murdered and he
had
jumped from a second-floor window to escape from
his killers. And now he was about to have breakfast with a girl whose idea of a polite introduction was to shove your face in the dirt.

In the shower he allowed himself to cry for the first time, tipping his head back and letting the water wash away his tears. But the years away from home had taught him to stay strong. After five minutes, he climbed out and splashed his face with cold water until the redness around his eyes disappeared.

‘OK,' he said. ‘That's it. No more.'

Saskia was sitting at a table by the window, coolly sipping her orange juice as if staying in fancy hotels and fighting with strangers was part of her everyday routine.

‘Morning,' she said as Kier sat opposite her.

‘Hungry?'

‘Starving.'

She nodded towards the self-service buffet.

‘Then eat.'

Kier returned with bacon and eggs and looked at the people out on the terrace. They were all smiling and enjoying the sunshine, believing that the world was a safe and wonderful place.

‘So,' said Kier. ‘Are you going to tell me?'

‘I think,' said Saskia, carefully spreading honey
on her toast, ‘I'd better leave that to someone else.'

‘Someone else? What do you mean?'

Saskia looked around to make sure no waiters were hovering within earshot.

‘I had to make a phone call last night. Just to check you're who you say you are. And to find out what they want me to do.'

‘They?' Kier was getting frustrated now. ‘Who are they?'

‘Shhh,' said Saskia. ‘Keep your voice down.'

Kier leaned across the table and lowered his voice.

‘Who are they?'

‘The people your dad worked for. The people
I
work for.' Saskia finished her orange juice and placed the empty glass on her plate. ‘And the people you're going to work for too.'

‘Me?'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘Oh no. No way.' Kier balled up his paper napkin and pushed his chair back. ‘You know what? Forget it. I'm going.'

‘Going?' Saskia raised her eyebrows and regarded him dispassionately across the table. ‘Going where exactly?'

She was right, of course. He had nowhere to go.

‘I don't know. Back to school.'

‘You're on holiday, remember? And anyway, who do you think pays your fees?'

Kier stared at her, unable to believe what he was hearing.

‘Please, Kier, sit down.' She nodded towards the waiter. ‘Just relax. Here comes your coffee.'

Kier sat down and took a sip of espresso.

‘I don't understand any of this,' he said.

‘Of course you don't,' said Saskia, pushing the remains of her toast to one side. ‘But you should know that these men, the ones who came after your dad – they're bad people. Very bad.'

‘You don't say.' Kier took another sip of his coffee. ‘I kind of figured that one out for myself.'

‘Yeah, but the thing is, Kier, there are lots of them, all working together. And they'll get rid of anyone who stands in their way.'

‘But I'm not standing in their way. I'm running as fast as I can in the opposite direction.'

‘Ah, but you've seen them, haven't you? They're not going to risk the fact you might be able to identify them. It's easier for them just to kill you too.'

‘But it was dark and they had their hoods up. I'd never be able to identify them.'

Saskia shrugged.

‘You mean they'd kill me anyway? That's crazy.'

‘I know.' Saskia licked honey from her fingers and wiped them on a napkin. ‘Welcome to my world, Kier.'

Kier stared at her, this small, neatly dressed girl sitting opposite him with her blue corduroy jacket and expensive haircut, and for a moment he wondered if she was some kind of nut-job. But she'd known about his dad, hadn't she? And despite her innocent appearance, she could fight like a tiger. He watched her fold up her napkin and lay her cutlery neatly on top of it.

‘So what is your world, Saskia? And where exactly do you fit into all this?'

‘Let's just say I work for one of the good guys.'

‘Oh yeah, and who's that? Batman?'

‘No, just someone who doesn't like the way the world's turning out. Someone with enough time and money to do something about it.'

‘Which is how my father got killed?'

‘Standing up for what you believe in is a high-risk business, Kier.'

‘Is that why you do it? Risk your life because you believe it's right?'

‘Partly.' Saskia smiled and patted her pocket. ‘And partly because the pay's pretty good.'

‘I don't get it. What are you saying, exactly?'

‘I'm saying that you need to have all this properly explained. And here is not the place to talk about it. Besides, we really need to get your passport.'

Kier frowned.

‘My passport? Why?'

‘Because we're going on a trip. You do
have
a passport, right?'

‘You mean like this?' As they walked out of the dining room, Kier reached into his pocket and pulled out a little red booklet. Noticing Saskia's puzzled look he added, ‘I needed it to prove my identity for the British Karate Tournament.'

Saskia smiled and pressed the button for the lift.

‘I think you're going to like your new job,' she said. ‘It's got your name written all over it.'