Under Cover (Agent 21) (6 page)

‘Everywhere.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Felix, dropping his rucksack on the floor. ‘If you’d looked
everywhere
, you’d have found it.’

‘Well, OK, but nobody can look absolutely
everywhere
 . . .’ Ricky walked towards the kitchen.

‘Course they can. They just need to know how. Want me to tell you?’

‘Er . . .’

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Felix. ‘If you’re not going to have a shower, stick the kettle on and make me a brew. Have one yourself, if you like, but my need is greater – I’m going to be doing a lot of talking and you’ll be doing a lot of listening. Lessons start now, Coco. Put your brain into gear and get ready to learn.’

Five minutes later they were sitting in the front room, cups of steaming tea in their hands.

‘So when you were looking for the key, you just searched in random places, right?’ Felix said. ‘You thought about
where
it might be, looked in that place, then moved on to another place that popped into your head.’

Ricky peered at him. ‘Have you been spying on me again?’ he said.

‘Not at all. You just did what most people do. You searched without any kind of method. But that’s not really searching at all. That’s just looking around.’

Ricky opened his mouth, wanting to argue. But then he remembered himself opening random cupboards in the kitchen and realized that Felix was right.

‘Maybe you’ve got a point,’ he said.

‘How kind of you to say so.’ Felix looked around the room. ‘So why not try this. When you search a room, divide it up into smaller cubes – in your head, I mean. Search each cube thoroughly before moving on to the next.’

Ricky frowned. ‘But some of the cubes will just be empty space,’ he said.

‘Then they won’t take you long to search.’ Felix drained his tea and stood up, wincing as he put pressure on his bad leg. ‘Here endeth the first lesson,’ he said. ‘Now find that key.’

‘You could just tell me where it is,’ Ricky said. He was feeling rather grumpy about the whole key thing.

‘Of course I could. But where would be the fun in that? Now find it.’

‘What are
you
going to do?’

‘If it’s all the same to you,’ Felix said, ‘I think I might have another cup of tea, and perhaps just one more jelly baby.’

As Felix limped off to the kitchen, Ricky stood up. He looked to one end of the room. ‘This is stupid,’ he muttered. But in his mind, he divided that end of the room into invisible cubes. One of the cubes contained a low wooden dresser, which he searched thoroughly – even going so far as to remove the drawers and check their undersides. Another cube contained a picture on the wall, which he removed to check the back. No key. He looked over his shoulder to see Felix standing in the doorway, watching him intently with a second mug of tea in his hand.

– This is a waste of your time.

– So what? If it keeps him happy, and means we get to stay here . . .

Ricky smiled at Felix, and went back to his searching.

He found the key ten minutes later. It was stuck with a piece of Blu-tac to the pelmet that covered the curtain rail. Ricky was surprised to feel a little surge of triumph as he held it up. ‘One key!’ he announced.

‘Well done,’ said Felix.

‘You don’t look all that impressed.’

For the first time since they’d met, Ricky saw a flash of irritation cross Felix’s face. ‘What did you want, Coco? A street parade?’

Ricky felt himself blushing.

‘I certainly hope you didn’t think that was tough, young man, because you’ve hardly even started. By the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll be—’

‘The best-trained little sneak thief on the streets of London?’ Ricky filled in. ‘Because that’s what you want me for, isn’t it? Nobody looks at a kid, nobody suspects a kid. So you need a kid to do your dirty work for you, stealing and stuff. Am I right?’

Felix’s face gave nothing away. ‘It’s complicated,’ he said.

Ricky felt a surge of irrational anger at having his phrase thrown back in his teeth again.

‘Of course,’ Felix continued, ‘keys are rather limited in their application.’

‘Eh?’

‘What I mean is, generally speaking, one key will only open one door. It would be much more useful, don’t you think, if we had a key that would open
any
door.’

‘I guess.’

Felix smiled. He looked around the room for his rucksack and rummaged inside it, then withdrew what looked like a large staple gun, with a long, narrow blade protruding from one end.

‘What’s that?’ Ricky asked.

‘That,’ said Felix, ‘is a snap gun. Unbelievably useful. Think of it as a gift, if you like.’ He threw the snap gun across the room to Ricky – who caught it just in time. ‘I’ve got something else in here for you,’ Felix added as he looked inside his rucksack again, before pulling out a solid mortise lock. ‘You can practise on this if you like. You just insert the snap gun into the lock, then start squeezing the handle until you get a fit. You’ll soon get the hang of it.’ He flung the mortise lock across the room as well.

Ricky caught it with his free hand, but winced as it bent his fingers back. Felix, though, already had his attention on something else. He felt into the inside of his jacket pocket and withdrew a book – a paperback, rather dog-eared. He spun it across the room to Ricky, who had to catch it in the crook of his arms because his hands were full.

‘You like reading,’ Felix said. ‘So read.’

Ricky didn’t even look at the cover. He just let the book fall onto the coffee table, then laid the snap gun and mortise lock down next to it. ‘What good are books to a thief?’ he said.

Felix gave him a serious kind of look. Then he limped over to join Ricky on the far side of the room by the window. He pointed out towards London. ‘See that,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Canary Wharf. The City of London. And beyond that, the Houses of Parliament. There are just as many thieves in those places as there are in any prison. Which ones do you think have read more books? The ones in power, or the ones in jail?’

Ricky was silent.

‘Read the book, Coco,’ Felix said as he stumped back towards the exit. ‘And stop calling yourself a thief.’

‘Why?’ Ricky said. ‘It’s what I am, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, you never know,’ Felix said, passing one hand over his bald head. ‘One day you might surprise yourself.’

He left the room. Ricky stood by the window and listened to the sound of his strange new acquaintance letting himself out of the flat.

As Ricky stood in the shower, watching the dirty water sluice down the plughole, he had to admit that Felix might have been right. He
was
filthy. He doused himself in shampoo and soap and came out feeling cleaner than he had done in months.

In the bedroom he found that the clothes hanging in the wardrobe and folded in the drawers fitted him perfectly. He chose a pair of jeans, a Hollister top and some brand-new Nikes, and tried not to think too hard about who had put these clothes here and how they knew his exact size. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he had to inhale sharply. Sure, his hair was still shoulder-length and straggly, but he suddenly looked more like the kid he’d been a year ago: the ordinary kid, with a mum, a dad, a sister and a home to call his own.

He felt that pang of solitude and sorrow that always wormed its way to the surface when he thought about his family. But he quickly buried it again. He was on his own now, and he couldn’t afford to start feeling sorry for himself.

He stepped back into the main room. Felix’s book was still lying face down on the coffee table.

– Are we going to read it?

– Have you got anything better to do?

The answer was no. Ricky picked up the book and read the title.
Kim
, by Rudyard Kipling. The pages were yellowed and had the musty smell of old libraries. Ricky liked that smell. He nestled down on the sofa and started to read.

For several hours, he was lost in the book. The story unfolded of an orphaned kid on the streets of India, a strange tale of adventure and mystery. Ricky was transfixed as Kim came under the influence of the British Secret Service, and his eyes were glued to the page as a jewel merchant – himself a Secret Service operative – started training Kim in the techniques of spycraft.

Spycraft
.

By the time he turned the last page, it was dark outside. Ricky’s eyes lingered on the final paragraph. As he regretfully closed the book, he also closed his eyes.

– Is the book some sort of message? Is that what he’s trying to do, turn me into some sort of . . .

Ricky couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘spy’. It just sounded too ridiculous. And yet here he was, plucked from the streets and surrounded by—

‘Good book?’

Ricky started. Across the gloomy room he saw Felix standing in the doorway.

‘I didn’t hear you come in,’ Ricky accused.

‘No,’ said Felix. ‘It’s something I’m very—’

‘Yeah, yeah, don’t tell me, it’s something you’re very good at.’ For some reason Ricky felt incredibly angry. Like he’d been duped. Felix hadn’t mentioned anything about spying. Now Ricky felt like he was just playing stupid,
stupid
games. ‘What is it this evening? Wine gums?’

‘God, no. Can’t stand them. But if you’d like a cola bottle—’

‘I’m going out,’ Ricky shouted.

He stormed past Felix, who watched him without expression, slamming the front door of the flat as he left. The lift on the other side of the corridor was waiting for him, and it moved maddeningly slowly as it carried him down to the ground floor. Here a concierge sitting behind the large marble reception desk nodded politely. Ricky felt the concierge’s eyes follow him as he crossed the entrance hall, and he felt a moment of paranoia. But when he looked back over his shoulder, the concierge was simply reading a magazine.

It was humid outside. The apartment block faced out onto a large pedestrian square with small, neatly trimmed trees spaced symmetrically, and benches around the edges. Only a few of the benches were occupied. A couple kissing at the far end. A tramp, fiercely clutching a can of beer. Next to him were two youths, a boy and a girl, their faces covered with piercings. They were Thrownaways, Ricky could tell at a glance. He kept his distance, but found himself wondering where
they
would be sleeping tonight.

The thought stopped him in his tracks. He looked back up at the apartment block behind him.

– Where will
you
be sleeping, Ricky, if we just walk away now?

His eyes crept up to the top floor. He wondered if Felix was at the window, looking out.

– If you walk away now, what are your chances of coming back? You’ve got an opportunity, Ricky. It won’t last for ever, but while it does you should milk it for all it’s worth. Smile sweetly at the guy. Listen to everything he has to say. You can do a runner any time you like.

‘Just not tonight,’ Ricky muttered out loud. He did an about turn and walked back into the apartment block lobby. This time, the concierge’s eyes really did follow him all the way to the lift.

Back on the top floor, he let himself into the flat with the key he’d had such trouble finding. Felix was still there, looking out of the window as Ricky had imagined him. He turned and raised one eyebrow.

‘Sorry,’ said Ricky. He did his best to look like he meant it. Like he hadn’t just returned because he didn’t have anywhere else to go. ‘Got a bit freaked out.’

‘Don’t apologize, Coco. You can leave whenever you want.’

‘I . . . I don’t want to.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Felix held up a pack of playing cards. ‘Let’s play Kim’s game.’

Ricky blinked at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I thought you said you’d read the book.’

‘I have.’

‘So you’ll remember the jewel game.’

Ricky nodded. Now he thought about it, he
did
remember it. In the book, a servant had shown Kim a tray full of jewels. When the tray was covered up, Kim had to describe what jewels were there. The agent had practised it over and over, with different objects, until he was able to memorize almost anything at a single glance.

‘Can’t stretch to jewels, I’m afraid,’ Felix added. ‘We’ll use playing cards. That’s how I learned it in the army. All special forces practise this till they’re blue in the face.’

They sat opposite each other on either side of the coffee table. Felix laid out ten cards and gave Ricky twenty seconds to memorize them. He got seven right.

‘Not bad, for a first time,’ Felix said. But Ricky could tell by the way he looked at him that he was more impressed than he wanted to let on. ‘Now try again. I’ll shuffle the pack.’

It took eight goes before Ricky could memorize all ten cards. Felix reduced the time he was allowed to look at them to fifteen seconds. Then ten. It was tiring work but when, after an hour, Felix called a halt, Ricky was strangely disappointed. He was in the zone and wanted to continue.

‘It’s getting late, Coco,’ Felix said. ‘You need your beauty sleep.’ He frowned. ‘No offence intended.’

Ricky ignored that comment. He watched Felix collect the cards and stack them neatly on the coffee table.

‘That thing you mentioned,’ he said. ‘About learning this game in the army.’

‘What about it?’

‘Is that where you lost your leg? In the army?’

Felix sniffed. He looked as though he was deciding whether or not to answer. ‘Yeah,’ he said finally.

‘What happened?’

‘I already told you. A bullet.’

‘Yeah, but . . . how?’

‘I was an intelligence officer. And I made a mistake. A very bad mistake.’ He gave Ricky a piercing look. ‘It’s always your mistakes that get you. Remember that.’

‘What was yours?’

‘I used a torch.’

Ricky blinked, not understanding, so Felix continued.

‘I went undercover into an enemy-held village. It was night time. I needed to search an empty house and I used my torch to help me see. Trouble is, if someone’s watching, a torch is the worst thing to use at night. When people see a light moving around inside a house, it always raises their suspicions. The best thing to do is switch a lamp on. Nobody bats an eyelid about that. But there was no lamp inside the house, and I didn’t have night-vision goggles . . .’