Agent 21 (3 page)

He walked to the park. It was busy – lots of younger kids out playing football or mucking about on the swings. A few people walking their dogs. Zak sat apart from them all on a wooden bench in the dappled shade of a tree. He sipped his Coke slowly and watched everybody enjoying their Saturday morning.

By the time Zak saw him, he didn’t know how long the man had been standing there. He was about fifty metres away, alone by the park railings and looking directly at Zak. He had hair down to his shoulders and a tanned, lined face. There was no doubt about it – he was the same man who had followed him and Ellie yesterday.

Zak felt himself crushing the Coke can slightly. Half of him wanted to stand up and rush away; the other half wanted to sit here. To stare the guy out.

The other half won.

Zak felt his skin prickling as the man walked towards him. Even though it was hot, the man wore a heavy coat and had his hands plunged into the pockets. He didn’t look directly at Zak, but kept his gaze elsewhere; and when he sat next to him on the bench, he barely seemed to know that Zak was there. He removed a silver cigarette case from his pocket and lit a thin, black cigarillo. The sickly smell of cherry tobacco filled the air.

Zak played it cool. He took a sip from his Coke before speaking. ‘Feel like telling me why you’ve been playing follow-my-leader?’ he asked.

‘It’s a beautiful day, Zak. A lovely day for a walk.’

Zak tried not to look surprised that the man knew his name.

‘Tell me what you want, or I’m out of here.’

Only now did the man look at him. He had piercing green eyes that looked rather youthful despite his leathery tanned face and long, grey hair. He also looked mildly surprised. ‘You’re free to go, of course, Zak, at any time at all.’

A pause.

‘So why have you?’ Zak asked.

‘Why have I what, Zak?’

‘Been following me?’

The man smiled. ‘Because I’m interested in you, Zak. I was very sorry, by the way, to hear about your parents.’

‘You seem to know a lot about me,’ Zak said.

‘Oh,’ the man replied, ‘I do. More than you might imagine. Congratulations, incidentally, on your achievement in your physics lesson yesterday. I understand that you were the only one who succeeded in making a transistor radio. A sound knowledge of electronics could be a useful skill, in certain lines of work.’

As he said this, he raised an eyebrow. It made Zak feel distinctly uncomfortable. He downed the rest of his Coke, crushed the can completely and stood up. ‘I’m out of here,’ he said. ‘Stop following me, all right, otherwise I’ll call the police, tell them I’ve got my very own stalker.’

The old man inclined his head, as if to say,
It’s your choice
. Zak started walking away.

‘Just one thing, Zak.’ The man’s voice stopped him short, but he didn’t turn round. ‘If you want to know the real reason your mum and dad died, we might want to talk some more.’

Zak didn’t look back. He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t move either.

‘I’ll be here tomorrow,’ the man continued. ‘Half past eleven. Think about it.’

Elsewhere in the park, children were shrieking with pleasure. A cloud briefly covered the sun, then drifted away again. Zak experienced it all in slow motion as the old man’s words echoed in his head.

He turned.

The wooden bench was empty. And when he cast around trying to find where the stranger had gone, the old man was nowhere to be seen.

Zak’s bedroom was tiny, with just a bed and a bedside table, an alarm clock and a framed picture of his parents. There was no desk for him to do his homework, and as he wasn’t allowed to do it at the kitchen table it meant he had to study lying on the floor. The wallpaper was old and flowery – the sort of thing an eighty-year-old lady might like.

He didn’t sleep well that night. It was hard to say what spooked him more – that the old man had been following him, that he had known his name, or that his words had confirmed something that Zak had thought all along: that his parents’ death wasn’t what it seemed. More than once, as midnight crept into the small hours, he thought he might be going mad. He’d read about it, after all. When something bad happens to people, they start imagining things. Maybe the old man was just that – a figment of his imagination. An invention.

But deep down, Zak knew he wasn’t going mad. He
knew what he’d seen, and what he’d heard. He also knew that nobody else would believe him except, perhaps, Ellie, and something warned him against getting her mixed up in all of this.

He nodded off just after dawn, and woke with a start when he heard a knock on his door. His alarm clock said 10 a.m.

‘Yeah?’

The door opened and Ellie appeared. ‘Can I come in?’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ said Zak, and he sat up.

She had toast for him, and a cup of tea. Zak knew what she was doing – trying to make up for the fact that her parents hadn’t included him yesterday. ‘You didn’t have to do this,’ he told her.

‘I know. I just thought today, maybe we could—’

‘I’ve got to be somewhere,’ Zak interrupted.

Ellie blushed. ‘OK,’ she said, before standing up.

‘I’ll be around this afternoon,’ Zak said. ‘Let’s do something then.’

Ellie’s eyes softened. ‘Yesterday was
really boring
,’ she whispered with a smile. ‘Just thought you’d like to know.’ She left the room.

Zak got dressed: jeans, trainers and a black hooded top. Normally he wore a hoodie because he liked the style. Today he was glad to be able to hide his face. He didn’t know why.

On the driveway in front of the house, Uncle Godfrey had the bonnet of his Ford Mondeo up and was peering closely at the engine. ‘Isn’t it working?’ Zak asked him.

His uncle glanced up at him. ‘Don’t you worry about it, Zachary. I can sort it out.’ He climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. The car coughed and spluttered, then fell silent. His uncle tried again. Same result.

Zak glanced into the engine. It didn’t take him more than a couple of seconds to work out what was wrong – one of the spark plugs was loose, stopping the engine from firing. Hidden by the raised bonnet he put his hand in, found the plug and tightened it by a turn and a half. He just managed to get his hand out before his uncle tried the ignition again and the car purred into life.

‘Told you I could sort it,’ his uncle said as he got out again. ‘Well, don’t stand there gawping, Zachary. Haven’t you got anything to do?’

Zak allowed himself a brief smile. ‘Yeah,’ he said, walking away from the house and wiping his oily hand on his jeans. ‘Actually, I have.’

He arrived at the park early. He wasn’t sure why – it just seemed like the right thing to do. It was even busier than yesterday – the weather was warm and it was
Sunday morning. He avoided the bench. Instead, he headed to a copse of trees about thirty metres away. It wasn’t thick, but one of the trunks was sturdy enough to hide behind and it gave him a view of the bench.

He looked at his watch. 11.21. No sign of the man. The air was filled with the shouts of children playing on the swings and slides. In the trees, he heard a bird call and instantly recognized the trilling for what it was: a chaffinch, warbling in the gentle morning sun.

11.25. Nothing. Zak didn’t know why he felt nervous. Obviously the guy wasn’t coming. He’d been stupid even to turn up.

The kids continued to play.

11.30. Two women with prams sat on the bench and started gossiping.

‘You’re an idiot, Zak,’ he murmured to himself, glad that he hadn’t gone straight to the bench, because sitting there by himself would have made him feel even more stupid.

‘I wouldn’t say that.’

Zak felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach just as the aroma of cherry tobacco hit his nose. He spun round and there he was, standing about five metres behind him: the man, wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

‘How did you get there?’ Zak demanded. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

The man looked unsurprised. ‘You weren’t supposed to hear me,’ he said.

Zak was feeling angry now. ‘Why didn’t you just go to the bench, like we said?’

The stranger raised an eyebrow. ‘Why didn’t
you
?’ he asked. And when Zak didn’t reply, the man said, ‘You could think of that as your first test. Or maybe your first lesson. Trust nobody. After everything I’ve heard about you, Zak, I’d have been a little disappointed if you’d trusted me, of all people. Someone you’d never met before. Someone whose name you don’t even know.’

‘I’m going home,’ Zak said, turning away. ‘I’ve had enough of these riddles.’

The man inclined his head. ‘You could,’ he said. ‘Only of course it isn’t really home, is it? Not really.’

Zak stopped. The man’s words had sent ice down his spine – not because he seemed yet again to know so much about Zak, but because they were true.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know my name?’ the man said.

‘I’d like to know what you’re playing at.’

‘I’m not playing, Zak,’ the stranger said. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. You can call me Michael.’

Zak looked at him. ‘What do you mean, I can
call
you Michael? Is that your name or isn’t it?’

Michael raised an eyebrow. ‘Names, Zak, are like
clothes. Easily changed. And just because a person has more than one, it doesn’t mean that any of them are any less real. Yes, Michael is my real name. One of them, anyway.’

‘That doesn’t make sense.’

‘Not now perhaps. But if you come to work for me, it soon will.’

This crazy old man and his riddles were starting to get to Zak. ‘Work for you?’ he said. ‘What are you talking about? I’m not in the market for a job. You know, being thirteen and everything.’

For the first time, Michael smiled. ‘The market for a job?’ he said. ‘Very good. Very good, Zak.’ He brushed a strand of hair off his forehead and his green eyes twinkled. It made him look, for a moment, much younger. ‘I’ll enjoy working with you. Mr Peters said I would.’

‘What? Peters? What’s he got to do with this?’

‘A great deal, Zak. Mr Peters is one of our most accomplished people, and a very valued talent scout.’ A weary look crossed his face. ‘You aren’t about to ask me about
his
name as well, are you?’

Zak thought of his physics teacher – the cross, pinched face, the bad skin, the awful clothes and zero personality. The only thing that man was accomplished at was being a bore and a bully.

‘You look surprised, Zak. It’s worth remembering
that people are not always what they seem. Call that lesson two, if you like.’

‘I get enough lessons at school.’

‘Of course,’ said Michael. ‘And by all accounts you are uncommonly good at them. But those sorts of lessons are a little limited in scope, are they not? That’s why we sent Mr Peters in. To find out how you might cope if we were to school you in certain topics lads your age don’t normally find on their curriculum. I’m happy to say that his reports have been extremely positive. Shall we walk? Or would you really prefer to leave without hearing what else I have to say?’

The chaffinch trilled again in the trees. ‘We’ll walk,’ Zak said.

They walked together away from the playground and into the green, open common beyond.

‘I’ll be straight with you, Zak,’ said Michael.

‘That would make a nice change.’
Seeing as how so far you’ve been about as straight as a paperclip
, Zak thought.

‘I work for a government agency. You don’t need to know which one. In fact, it wouldn’t make any difference if I told you because you won’t have heard of it. Hardly anyone has. Even the Prime Minister is kept in the dark about us. So if you decide at the end of this conversation that you want nothing more to do with us, my advice is to keep quiet about everything
I’ve told you. You won’t find us mentioned on the news, or on the Internet. Try to persuade people we exist, and they’ll just think you’re imagining things.’

‘Sounds like you’re the one who’s imagining things.’

Michael appeared not to hear him – or if he did, he ignored Zak’s comment and just carried on talking.

‘People don’t apply to work with us. They can’t. It’s not exactly as if we can just put an advertisement in the paper. We have to find them. That’s why we have people like Mr Peters. All schools need temporary teaching staff now and then, and it’s a very useful cover for us to insert our scouts. But the people we’re looking for are of a very particular type. It’s a crude way of putting it, but they fit a profile.’

Michael stopped, and so did Zak. They looked at each other.

‘
You
fit a profile, Zak,’ the old man said. ‘A very precise one.’

He continued to walk. Zak had to jog a little bit to keep up with him. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘What sort of profile?’

‘Intelligent,’ Michael replied. ‘Oh, your school grades are very good, of course, but that’s not quite what I mean. You have a particular aptitude for certain disciplines: science, languages. You’re physically fit, and as you proved just a few minutes ago, you have exceptionally good intuition.’ He
smiled. ‘You remind me a bit of myself as a young man, in fact.’