Endgame (Agent 21) (10 page)

‘What’s the best way to get there?’ Ricky asked. ‘When flights are working, I mean.’

‘You need to get to a place in Alaska called Nome. That’s where the flights go from—’

As Malcolm spoke, there was a knock on the door. Everyone fell silent.

‘Expecting someone?’ Zak breathed.

Malcolm looked terrified. ‘I’ve never had a visitor,’ he said.

There was a horrible silence in the room. Zak cursed himself for not having been more vigilant. He’d broken one of the fundamental rules: always have an escape route. They were three storeys up, and there was no window-cleaning cradle to save him this time. He and Ricky should never have stayed here . . .

He immediately looked around for something that might be used as a weapon, then grabbed the broom leaning up against the wall, while Ricky picked up a wireless keyboard from the desk and made a slicing motion through the air with it. As weapons went, they were pretty feeble – especially against an armed response unit.

Another knock. Harder this time. Impatient.

‘Answer it,’ Zak whispered.

‘What if it’s the Agency?’ Malcolm said.

‘Surely they wouldn’t knock,’ Ricky breathed. Zak wasn’t so sure, and he gripped his broom handle a bit harder.

‘Nobody’s
ever
knocked on my door,’ Malcolm said uncertainly.

‘Just open it.’

Malcolm approached the door diffidently. He slowly undid all the locks as Zak and Ricky took up positions just behind him – the room was too small for them to pretend they weren’t there.

The door opened.

A man. Early twenties. He had long, greasy hair and very grubby clothes. He hadn’t shaved for days, and his eyes had a spaced-out, faraway look to them. His lips were twitching. His hands were behind his back, and Zak had long ago learned never to trust someone whose hands he couldn’t see.

The man didn’t even seem to see beyond Malcolm, whom he addressed in a vague tone of voice. ‘Lend us some sugar, mate.’

‘You’re the person from downstairs,’ said Malcolm.

‘Give the boy a prize.’ He was looking beyond all of them, at the computer equipment in the flat. ‘About that sugar . . .’

‘I don’t like sugar,’ said Malcolm.

The guy sneered. ‘No need to be like that,’ he said. He took a step forward. As he did so, his hands appeared with surprising speed from behind his back. He was holding a knife. Five inches. Sharp.

Zak and Ricky moved suddenly and in unison. Ricky grabbed Malcolm by the shoulder and pulled him back, away from the door. Zak slammed the broom pole hard against the man’s wrist. There was a sickening cracking sound. The knife fell to the floor. Ricky kicked it away, then fronted up to the man.

‘You heard him,’ Ricky whispered. ‘He doesn’t like sugar. Probably best you go now.’

The stranger’s spaced-out eyes had gone wild. He was clearly startled by the way he had been so suddenly disarmed. Clutching his wrist, he stared at Ricky, then Zak. He managed to look both shocked and angry. But he knew when he was beaten. He turned and scampered back down the stairs.

Zak watched as Ricky closed the door and bolted it again. He had to admit, they made a pretty good team.

Dawn came. Zak ached with tiredness. Dealing successfully with their midnight intruder hadn’t made them any less anxious. Quite the opposite. The guy from downstairs had seen that Malcolm had possessions worth stealing. There was every chance that he could get some mates together and have another go at robbing him. Zak wasn’t concerned about winning a fight. But fights could mean the police being called, and that was the last thing they wanted.

So it was a tense, irritable trio that waited for the post to arrive. At 9 a.m. Malcolm gave them bowls of cereal moistened with water from the tap – there was no milk – while Zak and Ricky took up positions at the window. They were watching for the post, but also for any other suspicious activity. Zak fixed the images of passers-by in his mind, so that he would recognize them if they passed a second time – a sure sign that Malcolm’s flat was under surveillance. But he saw nothing that aroused his suspicions.

At nine-thirty, Zak noticed that Malcolm had fallen asleep at his terminal, his head lying on his folded hands.

‘I feel bad about leaving him,’ Ricky said quietly. ‘He couldn’t have dealt with that guy from downstairs by himself. What if he comes back?’

‘He’s more capable than he seems,’ Zak said. ‘We were in Africa once and he got us out of a pretty tight situation. Listen, Ricky, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s not up for negotiation.’

‘Go on.’

‘Cruz Martinez and I used to be friends, kind of. Since then, he’s done some terrible things. I’ve always thought he’d see the error of his ways. Always thought that maybe I could turn him back to the boy he used to be. Turns out I was wrong.’ He looked down. ‘When . . .
if
. . . we finally catch up with him, he’s mine to deal with, OK?’

Ricky gave his companion a calm look. ‘What if he deals with you first? You’re walking into his trap, you know.’

‘Of course I am. But it’s a trap set for one person. And we’re not going to be one person, are we?’

Zak was stopped from elaborating by a red post van pulling up outside. A postman got out, package in hand, and posted it through the door.

‘I’ll get it,’ Ricky said quietly. Zak nodded his agreement.

Two minutes later, Ricky had returned, a brown Jiffy bag in his hand. He locked them back in, then opened up the envelope. He pulled out a fresh passport, checked the ID page and handed it to Zak. Zak gave it the once-over. It was a perfect, authentic passport, with Zak’s photo but in the name of Charlie Fletcher. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ricky looking through his own passport.

Then he heard his companion cough meaningfully. Zak looked up. Ricky was holding open a third passport at the ID page. It had Malcolm’s photograph on it.

‘Either he’s booked a holiday,’ Ricky said, ‘or he wants to come with us.’

The two boys looked towards Malcolm. He was still sleeping. In fact, he had just started to snore. Zak smiled. Ricky looked astonished. ‘You
want
him to come with us?’

‘Sure,’ Zak said. ‘But I didn’t want to force him into it. It had to be his choice. That trap Cruz has set for one person will have to manage three. Gives us the upper hand, don’t you think?’ He walked over to Malcolm and shook him gently by the shoulder. ‘Wakey-wakey, brainiac,’ he said. ‘It’s time to go.’

– Money won’t be a problem, then?
Ziggy, the voice in Ricky’s head, observed drily.

– Guess not.

Ricky’s eyes widened at the contents of the three boxes Malcolm pulled out from under his sofa bed. They were cornflake boxes, just like the ones in his kitchenette. But they didn’t contain breakfast cereal. They contained bank notes – fresh, crisp twenties. There had to be several thousand pounds there.

‘Where d’you get all that cash?’ Ricky asked. ‘Wait, don’t tell me, you hacked a cash machine.’

Malcolm blinked at him. ‘Of course not,’ he said.

‘So what
did
you do?’

‘I hacked the Bank of England mainframe,’ Malcolm said with a perfectly straight face.

– OK, I’ll admit it, I’m beginning to see why Zak thinks this guy is so useful . . .

– Useful when he’s behind a screen, sure. But out in the field?

‘We need to be careful how we carry it and how much we take,’ Zak said. ‘If we get stopped and searched at customs, it’ll be suspicious if we’re carrying massive amounts of cash. We don’t want anyone to question us too closely. Malcolm, I’m taking it you have an untraceable credit card.’

‘Of course,’ Malcolm said. ‘I told you – I can get anything I want.’

‘Then I say you bring that, and we take a couple of hundred pounds each in our wallets. Everyone agreed?’

Ricky nodded, though he couldn’t help his eyes lingering on the boxes of money. Old habits die hard. He pointed to the computer screen where Malcolm had been working for the past ten minutes. ‘You sure you’ve got us onto the flights?’ he asked. ‘Just like that?’

He received another strange look from Malcolm, as though it was a rather stupid question. ‘Of course,’ Malcolm said, rather testily. ‘We’re on the 13:00 flight from Heathrow to Seattle, then the 20:45 from Seattle to Anchorage. I’ve altered the manifests on both flights and made it look as if the seats were booked seven weeks ago.’

Ricky turned to Zak. ‘You’re sure this is going to work?’

‘Hope so,’ said Zak. ‘It’s a hell of a long way to swim.’ He pointed to the wall plastered with CCTV images of himself. ‘Can you get into the government’s facial recognition files?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Malcolm said.

‘My guess is that they’ll have cameras at all the major borders, scanning for me and Ricky. Can you corrupt the files so that our faces don’t trigger an alarm?’

Malcolm didn’t reply. He just set to at his terminal again. Five minutes later he nodded. ‘Done,’ he said.

‘Good,’ Zak said. He drew a deep breath. ‘Then let’s go.’

Ricky saw threats everywhere. As they left the house in Lexington Street, two female police officers turned the corner and appeared to stare curiously at the three teenagers leaving the building together. As they walked back towards Piccadilly Circus, he glanced frequently at the windows of the shops they passed, and in the side mirrors of any parked cars, checking that they weren’t being followed. When a middle-aged man in a tweed jacket who he’d seen in Lexington Street reappeared in Golden Square, he opened his mouth to warn Zak, but didn’t get a chance to speak.

‘I know,’ Zak interrupted him. ‘If we see him again, we’ll take precautions.’ The man didn’t reappear.

As Ricky had predicted, Malcolm was a lot less useful on the street than he had been in front of a computer screen. He was the only one with any luggage – he had a bulky laptop case slung over his shoulder. He flinched almost every time someone passed, and hugged the laptop close. His obvious nervousness clearly attracted attention.

On Piccadilly, they ducked into a chemist, where Zak bought two pairs of thick-framed reading glasses. They were very weak, and didn’t spoil Ricky’s eyesight too badly. He was glad to have them. Malcolm might have been able to fool any computers that were trying to recognize them, but humans were harder. If their photos had been circulated, they needed to disguise themselves as best they could.

The Piccadilly line train took them straight to Heathrow airport. The last time Ricky had been there was during his days as a thief, picking the pockets of tourists sleeping around the terminals as they waited for connecting flights. He’d been on the lookout for security guards then, just as he was now.

As they stood in a line on the travellator that took them towards the terminal, his eyes lingered on the numerous armed airport security guards. Was it him, or were there more than usual?

‘Stay close,’ Zak murmured. ‘They’ll be looking for two people together. If we look like a group of three, we’ve a better chance of being ignored.’

They left the travellator in a huddle. The terminal was swarming with people. Before heading to the check-in desk, they went shopping. ‘It’s midwinter,’ Zak said. ‘The Alaskan terrain will be brutally cold.’ Each of them selected a sturdy rucksack, which they stuffed full of foul-weather gear: windproof jackets, base layers, fleeces, hats and gloves. Malcolm paid for them with his credit card. Then they went to the Bureau de Change to change their notes into dollars. Only then did they move to the check-in desk for the flight to Seattle. Malcolm handed them each a slip of paper.

Zak checked his, then swore under his breath. ‘What’s up?’ Ricky asked him.

‘Look at it.’

Ricky examined the slip of paper in his hand. He immediately saw what was wrong, and groaned inwardly. He looked at Malcolm. ‘You put us in first class, mate?’

Malcolm blinked. ‘Yes?’

‘Leave it,’ Zak muttered. Ricky silently agreed that there was no point giving Malcolm a hard time. He had the impression that their computer genius friend wouldn’t understand that three teenagers in expensive first-class seats were more likely to attract attention than if they were sitting in economy class. And there was nothing they could do about it now. Wordlessly, they headed for the first-class desk. ‘If anyone asks,’ Zak said, ‘we’re cousins, visiting our grandparents for a few days before term starts. Got it?’

There was no queue here. Zak went first, Malcolm immediately after. Ricky kept watching them, looking to see if either of his companions were getting any trouble. But he himself was called fifteen seconds later. Heart pumping, he approached the desk and handed over his passport.

The check-in assistant scrutinized it closely.

– I think she just frowned.

– You’re paranoid.

– And I haven’t got good reason?

Ricky tried to look casual as she scanned his passport, then double-checked the likeness of his photo.

‘One minute, sir,’ she said. She stood up from her desk and walked over to one of her colleagues.

Ricky’s stomach hit the floor. He told himself that he needed to keep looking casual and relaxed, but he couldn’t help glancing around to see what his exit options were.

– You should run. Now.

– If I do that, I’ll just draw attention to myself.

– If you don’t, you’re done for. Why’s she talking to that guy?

Ricky didn’t know the answer. But he decided that it was better to stand here and see how the situation evolved than to run and risk having to answer some uncomfortable questions if he was caught.

The check-in assistant was walking back now. Her face was unreadable. Ricky felt a bead of nervous sweat trickling down the side of his face.

‘Sorry about that, sir. Random checks.’ She smiled at him, then handed over a boarding card. ‘Enjoy your flight,’ she said with a smile.

Fat chance
, Ricky thought, breathing deeply to stop himself shaking. But he nodded, pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and walked back out onto the concourse where Zak and Malcolm were waiting for them.