Under Cover (Agent 21) (15 page)

Then he turned.

‘No,’ he said.

Silence.

‘Would you like to explain why?’ Felix asked, his voice quiet and steady.

‘You said you’d like to think I’ve got some sort of moral code. Well, here it is. My older sister killed herself because her foster parents were violent towards her.
Killed
herself, Felix. She wasn’t much older than Izzy Cole.’

Ricky was determined not to let the tears come. He stared fiercely at Felix.

‘It’s not OK to send Izzy Cole back into a house where she’s going to be beaten up. I saw the picture of her. It was bad.’

‘But the
codes
, Coco.’

‘That’s a grown-ups’ problem. You need to find a grown-ups’ solution, not just enlist a bunch of kids to do your dirty work. Or maybe you can ask big bad Agent 21, if you can persuade him that it’s OK for an adult to slap a kid around.’ He looked at the room again. Sure, it was swish. Warm. Comfortable. But he’d lived without it before, and he could live without it again. ‘I’m done with all this,’ he said, and he walked out of the room.

He stormed into his bedroom, stuck his hand under his mattress and grabbed the sock where he had been carefully stashing his weekly money. It was empty. Ricky hurled it across the room. He didn’t know how or when it had been emptied, but it just made him more angry. More determined to leave. He still had a bit of money in his trouser pocket – a few notes and a handful of change. That would have to be enough.

On his bedside table he noticed the snap gun Felix had given him on his first day, and which he’d gradually mastered over his time here. Could be useful, for a thief. He chucked it in a rucksack, then pulled on a thick jumper and coat. He grabbed a Nike baseball cap and put it on, the peak pointing backwards.

– Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

– Yep. It’s over. I don’t want to be part of this any more.

He returned to where Felix was still sitting in the main room.

‘You can’t bring your sister back by saving Izzy Cole, you know,’ Felix said quietly.

Ricky felt like spitting. ‘Nice knowing you,’ he said. ‘Don’t bother sending anyone to follow me this time. You know I’ll only lose them.’

Felix didn’t reply, so Ricky turned his back on him and left the flat, slamming the door behind him.

More than ever before, Ricky felt the need to be aware of people following him as he stormed out of the apartment block. He wasn’t even subtle about checking for tails this time – he didn’t have the patience any more. He just stopped every ten paces and looked around. Rather to his surprise, he didn’t see anyone suspicious. A tall young woman with white-blonde hair cast him a sidelong glance as she walked past him, but moments later she had disappeared round a corner and Ricky noticed nobody else who looked even remotely out of the ordinary.

Maybe Felix really was just letting him go.

The night was bitterly cold so he couldn’t stay on the streets. He needed somewhere to spend the night. But where?

– You could always go back to the apartment if you’ve quite finished with your little tantrum.

– No way. Me and Felix are finished.

He saw a cab coming from the opposite direction. Its orange ‘For Hire’ light was on. Ricky started to raise his hand to flag it down, but then he lowered it, aware that he had very little money now. He turned his baseball cap so the peak was pointing forward, then hurried over to the underground station. Down by the ticket barriers, he was about to swipe his Oyster card when he stopped himself again. Could Felix, or the strange, shadowy people he worked for, track him using the Oyster card? It wouldn’t surprise him.

He bought himself a ticket instead, and took a train into Piccadilly Circus. Then he walked through the back streets of Soho – a stone’s throw from Keeper’s House – until he came to a busy little coffee shop on Frith Street that he knew was open all night. For the price of a few hot drinks, he could stay here till dawn.

He took a seat by the steamed-up window and ordered a hot chocolate, which he sipped slowly. There was a free newspaper at his table, which he pretended to read. In reality, his mind was churning over what he’d learned during the past couple of hours. Jacob Cole, MP. Nuclear submarines. These sounded like things that belonged to somebody else’s life, not his. Why should he have to worry about them?

– You’re being childish.

– Well, get over it. I
am
a child.

– And how long are you going to use that as an excuse for doing nothing with your life? What do you want to be, the oldest pickpocket in town?

– Shut up, Ziggy.

The voice in his head fell silent and Ricky sipped at his coffee. He looked around the café at the other customers. They were a mixed bunch: a few young couples; a little group of teenagers. An older man in the corner nursing a small espresso. A boy about Ricky’s age, maybe a little older, with a red baseball cap worn backwards, sat at a table with a blond-haired man with a serious face. His older brother maybe? None of them paid Ricky any attention. Ricky realized his brain was in record mode, just like Felix had told him it must always be.

The door opened. An old lady shuffled in. She was probably in her seventies, wore tatty clothing and carried a full plastic bag close to her chest. She sat down at the table next to Ricky and started counting out a few coins in her grubby hands. When she was sure she had enough, she flagged down the waiter. Ricky felt sorry for her. He was sure she wouldn’t have enough money to stay here till dawn, and he wondered where she would end up spending the night.

– Maybe you’re not quite as heartless as I thought.

– What are you talking about? I’m not heartless.

– Really? Could have fooled me. You seem quite happy to leave people to die.

– Don’t be stupid, Ziggy. I’ve never left anybody to die.

– Oh, really? And what happens if the wrong people get hold of the codes for those nuclear submarines? Who do you think comes off worse in the disaster that follows? People like Jacob Cole, MP? Or people like
her
?

Ricky found himself looking at the old bag lady. Then he stared around the café at the other customers. And he realized that the voice in his head was right. It wasn’t Felix he had just deserted – it was ordinary people who knew nothing of what was going on. Ordinary people like his mum and dad and Madeleine, if they had lived. He couldn’t help them; but he
could
try and stop anyone else losing their family too . . . try and do the right thing.

– You want to pretend it’s not your problem. But it is now. It’s just a question of whether you do anything about it.

– I’m not going to force Izzy Cole to go back to her dad. I saw what he did to her.

– Maybe she doesn’t have to. Maybe there’s another way. And in any case, don’t you think Izzy should be allowed to make that choice for herself?

The voice fell silent.

Ricky stirred his hot chocolate. Then, suddenly, he stood up and left, taking his newspaper with him. It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn that the boy in the baseball cap had caught his eye as he left.

Jacob Cole sat behind his desk in the first-floor study of the White House. Opposite him were two police officers. They were in full uniform and looked rather uncomfortable.

‘And you’re sure, Mr Cole, that you can think of no reason why Izzy would want to run away?’ one of the police officers asked.

Cole’s lips grew thin and his eyes narrowed. ‘As I have told you and your colleagues more than once,’ he said in little more than a whisper, ‘my daughter is a rather foolish, extremely hot-headed young lady. It would be just like her to do something silly like this. Now, if I were in
your
position, I would be searching
all night
for my daughter, under every last stone, not sitting here at almost
midnight
asking me
damn fool questions
.’ He said these last words with an emphasis that made the two police officers look anxiously at each other. ‘I should tell you that I am personally acquainted with the commissioner, and I’m quite prepared to speak to him about the high level of incompetence being demonstrated by this investigation.’ Cole stood up and gripped the edge of his desk. ‘
Find . . . my . . . daughter . . .
’ he said. ‘Now, it’s very late. Please leave.’

The police officers silently stood up and left the room. Cole sat back down again. His blood was boiling with anger. Anger at those idiotic police officers, and anger at his idiotic daughter. Did she have any idea of the problems her stupidity was causing him? Now, of all times, he did not need the glare of publicity shining on him. As it was Christmas, he’d managed to keep Izzy’s disappearance out of the newspapers, but for how long?

He took a key from the pocket of his suit jacket and used it to open the top right-hand drawer of his desk. It contained a manila folder. Cole didn’t remove it. He didn’t even touch it. He just wanted to make sure it was still there. He closed the drawer again and locked it securely.

He stared at the mobile phone on the table, willing it to ring. The sooner he made his deal with the Russians, the better. Once they had the information, they could do what they wanted with it. Cole would have his money, and that was all that mattered.

His wife appeared in the doorway. He noticed that she had been crying again. There were dark streaks under her eyes. She stared at him with loathing, but didn’t say anything before disappearing again.

Stupid woman, he thought. Perhaps, when the deal was done, he would leave her, claim that the stress of their daughter running away had forced them apart. Then he would be free to enjoy his money by himself.

Five minutes after leaving the café, Ricky found himself once more outside the entrance to Keeper’s House. The snow had stopped and his footprints were the only fresh ones in the street. His breath steamed in the cold, but he felt his blood pumping hard. Returning to Keeper’s House was a risk. The Thrownaways could be volatile. More to the point, Hunter didn’t fully trust him. He wouldn’t want to give him access to Izzy.

But Ricky had to try.

He opened up his newspaper and laid it in the snow. Carefully, he folded it in half several times, just like Felix had taught him, until he had a sturdy truncheon. He gave it a couple of whacks against his open palm. Good and solid. No doubt Hunter and his Thrownaways would have more dangerous weapons than this in their basement, but Ricky felt a little bit better now he had something with which to defend himself.

The main door to Keeper’s House was unlocked. It squeaked as he opened it slowly. He crept silently down the stairs into the basement. When he reached the door to the main basement room, he stopped and listened.

Silence.

– Is everyone asleep? Maybe you could wake Izzy without the others knowing . . .?

Very slowly, he pushed the door open with the tip of his newspaper truncheon.

It was completely dark in the basement and Ricky heard nothing but the gentle rise and fall of heavy breathing. He stayed perfectly still for a minute, allowing his eyes to get used to the blackness. Gradually, he made out dark shapes dotted around the room: furniture, and sleeping bodies.

He found himself automatically dividing the dark room into cubes. He scanned each one carefully, looking for movement.

There was none.

– That doesn’t mean they’re all asleep. Be very careful. If Hunter finds you in here, he might get violent . . .

He crept inside, his own shallow breath drowning out the heavy breathing of the others in his ears. He moved very slowly, to keep the sound of his footsteps to a minimum.

Three metres in.

Five metres.

Someone stirred on the far left-hand side of the room. Ricky froze.

Silence again.

He fixed his eyes on the dark, murky outline of the door at the far side of the basement room. It was, he thought, slightly ajar. He started walking again. Creeping, silently, towards it.

– No!

From behind, a hand had clamped over his mouth. Ricky’s instinct was to shout out in alarm, but he managed to stay quiet, though his muscles tensed up – it was as if they knew they might be needed in a fight. He raised his truncheon, ready to strike if he had to . . .

The hand fell away. Cat-like, his truncheon still aloft, Ricky turned round to find another face centimetres from his.

Tommy
.

Tommy’s face was hard and suspicious. But he hadn’t raised the alarm, and Ricky took that as good news. Very slowly, he lowered his truncheon and raised one finger to his lips.

Very,
very
quietly, Tommy whispered: ‘
Don’t wake Hunter!
’ Then he retreated into the darkness. Ricky inhaled deeply to steady his nerves, then kept walking towards the far door. He slipped silently into the next room, then paused for a moment with his back to the door. Having memorized the layout without even thinking about it, he knew from his previous visit that the floor here was littered with mattresses. His sharp eyes picked them out in the darkness and he started to weave his way in and out of them.

Halfway across the room he stopped again. Something told him he was being watched. He looked up and saw a figure standing up with her back against the wall. It was as if Izzy knew he was coming for her. Or maybe she just couldn’t sleep and he’d disturbed her when he entered the room? Either way, she hadn’t raised the alarm, so Ricky kept walking towards her.

‘We need to talk,’ he whispered when he was just a couple of metres from where she was standing.

‘I’m not going back home,’ she breathed.

‘I know. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to. But can we just talk? Outside, away from here?’

A pause.

Izzy slowly raised her right hand and Ricky took it. Her hand was icy, and it trembled.