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PrologueSquare OneAugust 2007, Newcastle-Upon-Tyne For the normal residents of the little street in North-East England, they must have been wondering what had hit them. An abnormally large crowd had gathered around the luxury, three-floored mansion, the people spilling off the front lawn and pavement into the middle of the street. Passing cars had to crawl like snails to avoid the rapidly extending obstacle, drivers beeping their horns so that people would get out of the way. And as they passed they would all look over at the front of the house wondering what on earth could possibly be such a big attraction. Perhaps a famous footballer lived there, someone from the local club, Newcastle United – but why should today be so popular with the fans compared to others? The club hadn’t even given a particularly convincing performance in the first game of the season at the weekend. Maybe then there was a special event going on; a neighbourhood barbeque or a household fete, for instance – but then why was everyone simply waiting outside? By that time, most of the drivers were clear of the crowd and facing the open road again. They all had places to go, they all had different things to think. There was no need to ponder over the cause of the large crowd anymore. As the cars picked up speed and zoomed off down the road, only a couple of drivers looked back. The luxury mansion belonged to a rich family that had been living on Tyneside for the past decade. However, despite that the neighbours and local residents didn’t know an awful lot about them. They were aware that there were two parents – probably in their early forties – and four children, as is the way with many affluent families. As far as people knew, only the father had a job but their knowledge on the matter stopped dead at that. A detective could have asked around the whole neighbourhood for details and no one would provide them with more information other than that it was a well-paid job. But the detective could have worked that one out just by looking at the house. No one knew anything about the actual occupation or whether the father had any associates. He only appeared to leave the house in his expensive but modest Mercedes saloon once or twice every week, and as far as they were aware he could simply be popping down to the local supermarket. It was a career shrouded in mystery, but everyone was either too polite or too shy to ever ask him to shed some light on the matter. The four children – the ages ranging from fourteen to ten – attended local private schools and were certainly more accessible than the parents. The eldest – a boy called Charlie – played league football on a Sunday for his local club while his twin sister, Charlotte, could often be found hanging around the Eldon Square shopping centre at a weekend with a large group of mates. However, they didn’t seem to know a great deal about their father’s work either. Charlie once let slip to a close friend that he thought his father might be a big-time drug dealer, but the friend had simply suspected Charlie had made it up just to sound cool. A few years ago, the youngest girl, Megan, had accidentally caught her father examining huge wads of banknotes in a sports duffle bag as she’d passed his office, but had never mentioned the incident to anyone. To be honest, she’d been too young to understand the world of money and business. The world of Barbie dolls and soft, cuddly toys had been more of her forte at the time, but she had managed to work out one thing about her father’s money: whatever she wanted, her father could buy it for her. Or to be more exact – whatever she wanted, her father would buy it for her. All four of the kids were spoilt beyond their wildest daydreams, but in a way that arrangement suited all of them. As long as the kids never promised to question their father about his business, they could have whatever they wanted. The kids all realised soon enough that it was bribery, but when you got brand new laptops, state-of-the-art games consoles, fashionable clothes from all the top brands and tickets for you and your mates to every single music concert worth watching in the whole entire country… then who really cared? All the family members had respected this agreement ever since it was first devised, but in the end it was like everything in the world… Nothing stays secret forever. Today marked the day when the lives of the family would never be the same again. It was to be the start of a new chapter that would make the father bigger and more successful than ever. From the moment he’d answered that phone call on the warm summer’s night last month, their lives were to change completely. The father’s first name was Calvin. The family name was King. *The actual reason for the large gathering outside the luxury mansion was that the King family were moving house. Not to a nearby district or to a large plot of land in the countryside, but to a different continent all together. Calvin King had broken the news to his family last week over dinner after the final details and preparations had been sorted. “We’re moving to Hong Kong,” King said, his voice lacking any sort of emotion. However, the single sentence sparked mixed outcry from all across the table. “Hong Kong?” Kayden yelled. He was twelve years old and heavily into computer games. He liked to boast to his friends at school how his room contained every single PlayStation 3 game that had ever been created. “But that’s bloody miles away!” King raised his eyebrows and stabbed a slice of sausage with his fork. “And?” “I thought Hong Kong was the big gorilla that’s sometimes on TV?” Megan said naively. “That’s King Kong, dear,” Calvin King’s wife, Olivia, replied softly. “Hong Kong is a country in Far East Asia.” “Technically it’s a region of China,” King mumbled with his mouth full. “When did we decide on this?” Charlie said angrily. “It just came out of the blue,” King replied dismissively. Charlie grunted. “As always.” “But what about our friends? Our education? Our lives?” Charlotte protested, equally infuriated. “We’ll start a new life in Hong Kong. There you’ll make new friends and I’ve already enlisted you all in the British International School of Hong Kong.” “But why Hong Kong? Why can’t we move to Paris or New York or Milan? Those cities are about a billion times nicer.” “Because I said so,” King snapped. “I’ve recently been offered a new business deal and it requires me to work full-time in Hong Kong. Case closed.” Charlie rolled his eyes and stared glumly down at the table. Business… it was always about bloody business when it came to his dad. “If it’s so important to you then go by yourself,” Charlotte yelled, “And allow the rest of us to carry on living here where we won’t be surrounded by weird foreigners.” “I agree,” Kayden nodded. “I like it here.” “I don’t want to move to Hing Kung,” Megan moaned. “You’re all being stupid,” King growled. “I can’t leave you here with no one to look after you. You’ll have burnt the bloody house down in ten minutes flat.” “Mum will look after us,” Charlotte said stubbornly. “Won’t you mum?” Olivia sighed. “Sorry, petal, but I’m going wherever your father’s going. And I’m afraid that means you are going to have to come with us.” “This isn’t fair!” Charlotte yelled. “You’ve ruined our lives!” Charlie roared. King slammed his hands down on the table and leapt to his feet, kicking his chair back with such force that it toppled over. His face was red with rage and Charlie and Charlotte instantly started to recoil into their shells. “We are moving to Hong Kong and that’s the end of it,” King snapped. “Our new home has been bought, plane tickets booked and this house put up on the market. We are leaving this weekend and I don’t want to hear any more complaints, is that understood?” The four kids nodded feebly. Olivia picked up her glass of wine and downed the whole thing in one gulp. “Good.” King sat down and they all finished their meal in silence. Now it was the weekend, and after a leaving party on the Friday where Charlie, Charlotte, Kayden and Megan had all invited their friends round to the mansion, they were all packed up and ready to go. Standing in the hallway with their suitcases and luggage by their feet, they could hear the chatter and commotion from the crowd outside. The four kids were extremely popular in the area, not least because people knew how wealthy they were. If someone from school wanted tickets to the next Coldplay gig or wanted to try out the new Call of Duty war game, all they had to do was chum up to one of the King kids and their wishes would come true. Therefore, unsurprisingly, the four kids had accumulated a large amount of followers over the years and a large portion of them had turned up at the mansion gates to see them off and wish them well for the future. Charlie King looked around at the house that he’d been living in for as long as he could remember and couldn’t help feeling slightly remorseful at the thought of leaving it for good. Of course, they couldn’t take all the furniture and the kitchen sink with them to Hong Kong so they’d each been limited to four suitcases for their most beloved and necessary belongings. Four suitcases had been more than enough for Charlie – most of the junk he’d sifted through over the past few days he didn’t even want any more. More often than not, he hadn’t even used them. But for Charlotte it was “I need more room” here and “the suitcases are too small” there. Reluctantly, their dad had granted her another suitcase which she spontaneously stuffed full with an assortment of different footwear. They’d be travelling by private jet, so at the end of the day it didn’t matter how much their luggage weighed. “We all ready to go?” King asked. A few half-hearted nods was all he needed. He opened the front door and they all walked out into the sunlight. The crowd cheered at the family’s appearance and after dumping their luggage at the rear of a waiting van (the family would be travelling by limousine) they all hurried over to the gates to say last goodbyes to their friends. Well, five of them did. Calvin King stayed where he was, making sure that the butler didn’t break anything as he loaded the luggage into the back of the van. Unlike the rest of his family he had no friends. He only had associates and most of them were about as trustworthy as a conman. In his business that’s just the way it worked. “Come on, we don’t want to miss our take-off slot!” King called five minutes later, standing by the white limousine. One by one, the others slowly came trudging over. “Charlotte! I said we need to go!” “You’ll remember to call me, won’t you?” Charlotte’s best friend Kiera said, stifling back the tears. “Every night,” Charlotte replied. “Just you try and stop me.” They hugged quickly, then Charlotte decided not to try and push her luck any further and quickly hurried over to the waiting vehicle. The others were already in by this time, so as soon as she slipped onto the back seat and closed the door, the limousine was off. The crowd parted like the Red Sea to allow them through and they then pounded on the windows as it edged out into the road, the van following it closely behind. Charlotte blew a kiss to no one in particular then burst into tears. “I promise to all of you,” King said, lounging in a seat on the other side of the limo. His face was serious. “This move is going to be better for all of us. Life will be even better for all of us.” “You promise?” Megan said tearfully. Usually she was a bouncy, enthusiastic, fun-loving little girl. The others hadn’t seen her sad like this for a very long time. King paused for a moment and then gave a little nod of the head. “I promise.” “Swear on it,” Charlie said suddenly, his voice steely. He hadn’t been convinced by his dad’s response. “If you’re so confident that this move will do us good then swear on your life.” For a few moments King’s eyes flared angrily and Charlie was once again reminded about his dad’s mysterious career, background and temperament. All he knew so far was that they’d be staying in a luxury penthouse at the top of a skyscraper on Hong Kong Island. Apparently, it was the most expensive and prestigious residence in the whole country. Who paid a man in his forties millions of pounds just to go and work in Hong Kong? It was just one of a million questions that Charlie wanted to ask. And at the moment, Calvin King was protecting the answers to all of them. The anger in his dad’s eyes subsided slightly and King even managed to force a smile on his son’s behalf. “I swear on it, Charlie,” he said. “On my life.” They all looked through the rear windscreen as the limousine reached the end of the street. The crowd was still there; some smiling, some crying, but all of them waving in farewell. And beside them, the grand mansion that so much of their recent life had revolved around stood tall and firm, almost in salute. Charlie felt a tear well up in his eye. Charlotte was sobbing into the sleeve of her Armani cardigan. Megan looked as if she could cry a bathtub full if she tried. Only Calvin King remained emotionless, his eyes staring back down the street with all the sorrow of a pair of pebbles. But all six of them did share one thing in common. Honestly, none of them believed that they’d ever see the luxury mansion again. *The air was hot, humid and sticky as the King family clambered down the steps from the private jet and took in the scene that surrounded them. Hong Kong International Airport was a modern building located on a peninsula attached to the coastline of Lantau Island. If you look towards three points of the compass, all you see are wide expanses of open blue water with the occasional dot of land on the horizon. The fourth direction is the stylish terminal building with the tall island mountains laden with luscious green ferns and forestry behind it, the peaks shrouded by wisps of steam and fog. Certainly there are far more unpleasant places to land an aeroplane, but after a fourteen-hour flight no one was in the mood for taking in the scenery. Besides, if they really were going to live here then they would have plenty of opportunities for sight-seeing in the near future. A little hopper bus was parked by the foot of the steps and the family stepped aboard while their luggage was being unloaded from the baggage compartment of the plane. The whole process took less than five minutes and in no time at all they were in the terminal building, four airport workers wheeling large trolleys burdened with their suitcases ahead of them. Border control was a doddle as they were allowed to pass through a private security point, their passports barely being glanced at by the man on duty, and they emerged into the arrivals hall. “Ooh, a game store!” Kayden grinned, looking over at a shop on the other side of the hall. “Not now,” King said irritably. “But there might be games here that haven’t been released in the UK yet.” “There’ll be plenty of time for shopping later in the week, honey,” Olivia stepped in. “Right now I think we all just want to see our new home.” King was looking carefully around the hall, but it wasn’t for the exit signs or the taxi rank. “Where are they…?” he muttered under his breath. “What was that, dear?” Olivia asked. “Nothing.” “Then don’t you think we should start making tracks?” Olivia started nodding towards the exits leading out onto the pickup lanes. “Just give me a few minutes,” King mumbled and sighed with exasperation. They said there would be a sign. They said they would leave a message. So where the hell was it? An anonymous man coming from the opposite direction walked passed King, accidentally brushing against his sleeve. The man said nothing and King was just about to complain about the lack of an apology when he felt a ball of paper being slipped into his hand. The man walked off, a baseball cap shielding his face, and disappeared off into the crowd. “Well?” Olivia asked impatiently. “Will you excuse me for a moment,” King said quickly. “I need to use the toilet. Wait here and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Before his wife could reply, King turned and followed the large signs towards the toilets, the paper ball held firmly in his fist. Without pausing he hurried inside, found an empty cubicle and locked himself in. Then he unfolded the crumpled sheet and read it in the artificial light. It was a set of instructions written in neat handwriting, each one numbered in chronological order. The sheet wasn’t addressed to King, but he knew it was for him. The anonymous man had been instructed to pass the information onto him. Nor was there a name at the bottom, but that was something King had expected as well. They wanted to make sure he could be trusted before revealing personal information like that. King read through the message three times and, after remembering each instruction off by heart, flushed the sheet of paper down the toilet. Then he stepped back outside, washed his hands to avoid suspicion then met up with his family back in the arrivals hall. “There’s been a change of plan,” King said firmly, looking at his wife. “There’s a white minibus waiting just outside the exit. You five get in and it will take you straight to the new penthouse.” “And what about you?” “I’m not going. There’s something I need to attend to first.” Olivia sighed and folded her arms. “What about house keys?” “Someone will be waiting for you when you arrive. They’ll give you a private tour of the penthouse, give you the keys and then let you settle in. Does that answer your question?” Olivia looked up at him. “Fine, I’ll guess we’ll be leaving then. Come on, kids. Follow me.” She took Megan’s hand and the group of five started walking towards the exit, the four airport workers with the trolleys struggling to keep up. As soon as they were out of sight King turned and started walking briskly across the hall. A wide staircase led him down to an underpass at the end of which there was an underground car park for drivers waiting to collect or meet arrivals. The car park was five storeys high. King emerged on the first. A young couple with an orange tan disappeared down the staircases as one of the lifts opened up in front of King. It was empty. King stepped inside and selected the fourth floor. He didn’t wait for the people that had followed him down the underpass. At the fourth floor, King stopped and looked about. Apart from a blue hatchback pulling out of a space at the far end, he was completely alone. That was when King double-backed, walking over to the staircase and calmly beginning to climb back upwards towards the surface. It took him less than thirty seconds to reach the second floor. As soon as he emerged out into the car park a black Lexus saloon with tinted windows pulled up in front of him. One of the back doors opened from inside. Without hesitating King slipped inside and the car pulled away. The whole process had gone like clockwork. The chauffeur didn’t say a single word for the whole journey, not so much as a “how was your flight?” or a “welcome to Hong Kong”. He kept his eyes fixated on the road and his hands fixed to the steering wheel. King doubted that the driver would be distracted for a second even if a tyrannosaurus rex came charging down the opposite lane. This man was a professional – King could tell that already. Trying to get any information out of him would be like attempting to win a Formula One Grand Prix in a Mini Cooper – you were always going to end up on the losing side. Besides, King had the feeling that it would only be a matter of time before everything started to make sense. He busied himself by admiring the surroundings as the Lexus crossed a long bridge stretching over a wide expanse of water before entering the heart of the city. Instantly they were surrounded by tall skyscrapers, the buildings rising up into the sky like mountains. And they were just as imposing. Having spent pretty much his whole life living and working from Newcastle, King couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer size, professionalism and modernity of the skyscrapers. From afar they all looked very similar, but up close you got to notice fine differences in the shapes and styling. King found himself beginning to wonder which one he would be working in. When the Lexus pulled up about ten minutes later, King was mildly disappointed. The building was tall but ugly, the glass panes of other skyscrapers replaced by masses of thick, dull metal. The windows were small and short in numbers, as if the designers had purposely been trying to limit the amount of light that got in. It was a building designed for strength not style and considering they weren’t too far from the notorious Ring of Fire – a natural ring around the Pacific Ocean compromising of some of the most active volcanoes and lethal earthquake hotspots in the world – maybe that was a good thing. After passing through a manned checkpoint where the interior and exterior of the vehicle was scanned and the driver’s identification details checked, they descended into an underground car park and stopped. The two men got out at the same time and the driver motioned towards a nearby doorway. “Follow me,” he said. Inside there was a neat reception area – smart, modern and efficient – with a single unsmiling woman behind the desk. The driver ignored her and headed straight for the lifts. According to the number of dials there were twenty-five floors in the building. They would be stopping at floor twenty-four. However, before the lift could move, a special code was required to be entered into a keypad in the wall. “Do you need to do that for every floor?” King asked before realising he shouldn’t have bothered. But to his surprise the driver answered. “No,” he said. He seemed to have an accent that King was unfamiliar with; perhaps a local one. “Only for this floor.” He typed in the code and the lift began to move. When they arrived there was no corridor or branch leading out to lots of different rooms. It was just one wide expanse of carpet and air. Even the staircase seemed to bypass it on its way up to the twenty-fifth and final floor. However, despite the space there was not a lot in it; you could have easily fitted in a herd of rhinoceroses. The walls were as blank and bare as a fresh sheet of parchment and the only furnishings were a desk and a couple of chairs. King realised this was the room for a man that had yet to move in… Him. “Ah, Mr King. Please, do come in.” The voice came from the other end of the floor, but because of the lack of obstacles in its way the voice carried as easily as a kite in the wind. King could have been standing right next to the speaker. The driver ushered King forward and he started walking across the carpet. The man that had spoken was sitting behind the desk; his arms folded, his eyes sizing up and inspecting King as he approached. King knew that first impressions were everything and tried to look as confident as he could as he walked. “Take a seat.” The man pointed to a chair on the other side of the desk and King obediently sat down. The man looked over at the driver who was still hovering by the entrance. “That’ll be all, Kwok.” The driver nodded curtly and promptly disappeared back down the lift. For several tense seconds the two men simply looked at each other, both analysing the other like an electronic scanner with a barcode. The man sitting opposite King was in his late thirties, perhaps early forties. He had sandy brown hair, a thickset jaw, tough leathery skin that been exposed to its fair share of fights in the past and deep, mysterious eyes that simply whispered of an unlimited amount of knowledge and experience. “I trust you had no problems getting here?” the man behind the desk asked slowly. It was his way of being polite. King shook his head at all. “None at all… sir.” The man smiled; King knew his place and that was a good sign. “And your family?” “They’ve gone to the penthouse just as the set of instructions stated. They don’t know anything that they don’t need to know.” The man nodded, satisfied by the answer. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you face to face, Mr King,” he said after a moment’s pause. “I have researched and learnt a lot about you.” King forced an unnatural smile, trying to look grateful. “I would have expected nothing less of you, sir. After all, as I understand it, you and your people are always very careful in every department of the business.” The man nodded. “That is correct.” “It is one of the aspects that was most appealing to me in helping to make my decision. I myself am a very careful person… as I’m sure you already know.” King decided to stop there, not wanting to sound overly cocky or arrogant in front of what might become his new boss. He was playing a dangerous game by coming here and there was a thin tightrope on which he had to walk. Lean too far one way and he would topple over the edge from which there would be no way back. But it was also a game that would be extremely rewarding if he played his cards right. The man opened a drawer in the desk and took out a file. He rested his hands on the card folder for a few moments before opening the file out and pulling out the first document. “You have a very impressive track record, Mr King. A very impressive track record.” He tapped a single finger down on the first document. “If my information is correct, you have been in the illegal weapons dealing business for almost two decades now. You started off as, if you excuse my language, a small-time crook in 1989 working for a local group of bikers in your hometown of Newcastle. While you were not a fanatic of motorcycles unlike most of the members, you were heavily interested in the gang’s money-making schemes which revolved around importing illegal goods from countries such as Mexico and the United States before selling them on to rich clients. Your dedication and natural expertise in the market earned you quick and notable promotions in the following five years. However, while you progressed during that time the gang’s success in the market did not. Despite your influence, many key members lost their way and started getting lazy, becoming heavily involved with local turf wars and drugs. When the leader of the gang and his right-hand man were arrested in the spring of 1995 for multiple offences, you decided it was the right time to part ways with the gang and begin your own business. You had the skill, you had the contacts and now you had experience and wealth to go with it.” The man studied King carefully. He was looking for a reaction – King knew it – but for now he didn’t give one. It was like listening to his whole biography on a live audiobook, but King acted only mildly interested. The man continued. “In the subsequent ten years your new organisation went from strength to strength, focusing most of the attention on weapons and arms deals. Regular deliveries arrived by ship from suppliers in other continents, the shipments being collected from a secret dock about ten miles south of Newcastle and facing the North Sea. The police never suspected anything. As an extra precaution to keep yourself from being rumbled, you were never actually involved in any of the physical, dirty work that went on. Before you say anything, I don’t mean that in a negative or criticising way. In fact, that is exactly how I choose to behave. To me it is the only sensible option.” “Great minds think alike,” King said. “They certainly do. You and I, Mr King, are very similar, not least because we are both at the top of the pyramid in terms of organisational structure. We are dictators in the sense that we are the ones who give out all the orders. The workers follow those orders or should be prepared to face the consequences. It is a failsafe system that preserves our secrecy and, as we ourselves should know more than anyone, it brings results. “If I am not mistaken, by the turn of the new millennium, your organisation, Mr King, had become the biggest trader of illegal goods in the whole of Northern Britain. Annual income was…” The man flicked over a page and glanced down at the text. “…well into the millions and you had a loyal workforce of close to fifty people working for you, which isn’t a lot-” “But it means there is less chance of there being a traitor in the ranks,” King finished. “Precisely,” the man nodded, “Although that is one slight difference between your organisation and mine, Mr King.” “In what way?” “Your people work for you because they are genuinely loyal. My people work for me not because they are loyal, but only out of fear. They know that if they betray me, one day I will catch up with them. I always do. And then…” A large black fly – there were plenty of the pests swarming in and around the ideal humid conditions of Hong Kong – had been buzzing around the man’s head. In a blur of limbs, the man’s hand suddenly shot up and squashed the fly between two fingers. “…they die.” Thick dark blood oozed from between the man’s fingers like tar. He pulled out a tissue and wiped the hand clean calmly. “By this time last year, as I’m sure you were aware, you were the single biggest illegal goods dealer in the whole country. Your name, or at least your organisation’s name, became well-known to criminals all across the globe. Clients that sought after you for purchases included a politician, a rich entrepreneur and a medal-winning sportsman.” After that he revealed their names and King couldn’t help releasing a small gasp at the extent of the man’s knowledge. “And through all of this, you barely had to get out of your seat to make the whole thing tick.” The man forced a smile and lounged back casually in his seat. “Have I missed anything?” King had been sitting through the conversation quite comfortably and relaxed until the man’s very last closing sentences. Most of the other information he could have picked up from anywhere and pieced together to form a vague story, but the stating of the famous clients had changed everything. How had he managed to find that out? Who had told him? King found himself scrabbling for answers and his facial expressions started to betray him. The man opposite him lapped it all up like a cat in front of a bowl of milk. “All I’m trying to do is make one thing clear to you, Mr King,” the man smiled. This time there was no need to force it – he was in complete control. “I am the boss here and I have my ways to go about and achieve everything. As long as people stay in line, no harm will come to them. But I like you, Mr King. I admire your personality and the work you have done. You have managed to achieve extraordinary things from humble beginnings and that bodes well for a successful future. And that is why I have invited you here today, to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime.” From the very back of the file, the man pulled out a single sheet of paper and placed it face down on the desk. “Just like your organisation, Mr King, my organisation is on the up. Every week now we are responsible for successful assignments all across the globe. Ministry of Defences are beginning to fear our name and clients are now realising that if they want a job doing properly, we are the only possible option. But now we want to expand. We have earned plenty of money from our endeavours and the time has now come to spend it. Use it wisely and the organisation can become even bigger, even stronger. And so after much deliberation, my colleagues and I have come to a decision. We are planning to take over the whole criminal market one step at a time, beginning with your area of expertise, Mr King: the black-market. Achieve this and we can become the most powerful criminal organisation in the world. “Delving into the black-market will allow my organisation to have a varied and abundant supply of resources, ranging from guns to missiles, body armour to hi-tech machinery. Whatever equipment is required in order to complete an assignment, we will have it readily available. Not only that, but it will also give us the chance to broaden our target market, offering more possibilities to our current and previous clients and raising awareness to new potential customers. Even if someone purchases an item as insignificant as a semi-automatic pistol, our name will now be permanently on their radar. If they need something else, they will know where to come to. It’s called market share, Mr King, and our aim is to end up controlling one hundred per cent of customers in the black-market. “But first we needed someone to control and lead this new sub-division of the organisation which would operate solely in the black-market. Promoting someone already within the organisation was a possibility, but the role was brand new and so no one could be quite sure how they were supposed to act. Therefore, attempting to recruit a new member from outside the fence that had experience in the position was a much more appropriate solution. “Extensive research was put into the hunt until we came down to just one name on the shortlist. Aside from what I have already mentioned, what appealed to us most about you , Mr King, was that you had already had a large, successful, fully-functioning business in place. This meant you had the brains for the business and the contacts. A final meeting between my peers and my myself was held not two weeks ago and this is what we came up with…” The man turned over the sheet of paper and pushed it across the desk towards King. It was a contract, the terms of the agreement laid out in printed words right before his eyes. “What we propose, Mr King, is that you merge your current organisation with ours to create one big new one which you will lead and serve under our guidance. This means a fair chunk of the company will already be in place to begin trade and the rest will quickly follow once the all-clear has been given. Providing you with the money to build and expand will not be a problem, I can guarantee it, and you will work from Hong Kong where we can watch and monitor your progress, hence why I invited you here. That is all that has been devised so far – names, staff and new suppliers will come later. But first we must confirm that you are on board with us, Mr King. Before the new company can begin, I must know that you are willing to work for the organisation and will continue to do so… until death do us part.” The man pulled out a fountain pen from his pocket and placed it carefully on the desk beside the sheet of paper. “Please, Mr King, take your time on this decision,” he said. “Once you sign the dotted line, there is no going back.” King picked up the pen and removed the lid, placing it back down on the desk. He then lowered the nib down towards the paper, allowing it to hover a few millimetres above the dotted line at the bottom of the page. The man’s arms were folded, his eyes flicking between King and the pen. King hesitated for all of half a second, then put pen to paper and scribbled in his signature. He tossed the fountain pen onto the desk. The man smiled and stood up, reaching one arm out across the desk. “A wise decision, Mr King,” he said. “And one you will not regret.” They shook hands. “Welcome to Torpedo.” “When do I start?” King asked. The man looked around him. “This very building will be the company workplace. This very floor will be your own private office.” He looked across at King. “I suggest you start moving in straightaway.” “And orders?” “Your first one has already arrived.” The man calmly pulled out another document from the pile and handed it to King. “A Russian millionaire called Alexei Chakalinov wants a large supply of knockout gas delivered to a night club in Moscow.” The man walked around the desk and patted King on one shoulder. “Make sure you don’t disappoint.” He then started to walk across the room back towards the lifts. King paused for a moment then spun round. “Hang on a minute,” he called. The man stopped dead in his tracks and looked back. “What if I need to discuss problems or urgent business with someone? Who do I talk to?” “I’ve been put in personal charge by the board of overseeing your progress, Mr King,” the man said. “I’ll keep in touch. If you have any… queries… I will be there to answer them.” “But I don’t even know your name…” For a split second, something close to ingenuity passed across the man’s face. “My name is T, Mr King,” he said. “And that’s all you need to know.” Then he turned back round, stepped into the lift and promptly disappeared from sight. 1Coming Of AgeFour years later… Eighteen years old. That was the big one. Jack Knight was up at the crack of dawn, staring out of his bedroom window barely before the autumn sun had had a chance to rise. He hadn’t been able to sleep at all for the whole night, but that didn’t change a thing. He was feeling as alive and awake as he could ever remember. His birthday was all he’d been able to think about for the whole first week of school. He was in his final year at Ashbrook High School – the Upper Sixth. In less than twelve months’ time he will have finished his A-Levels and will be faced with making one of the biggest decisions of his life. But for now, all his attention was on one thing. He was not focused on anything else. Lessons, after-school activities, sports – they’d all gone out of the window. For today was the day when Jack changed from a teenager to an adult… …The day when a boy becomes a man. Jack couldn’t stand around doing nothing any longer. His brain was too active, his body too excited. So as not to awake his family, Jack crept downstairs and walked into the kitchen. All the food and drink for the party was already laid out and waiting on the kitchen counter; large packets of crisps, bowls of nibbles and two litre bottles of fizzy drinks to name but a few items. No eighteenth birthday was complete without a celebratory party. And while Jack had already been and gone to several forgettable parties of his friends in the past few months, he wanted to make sure that this was one to remember. He’d invited thirty mates from school and MI6 to come round, but there were enough snacks and refreshments to satisfy double that amount. Somehow, with house parties, more people seem to turn up than you are expecting and Jack wanted to make sure he was prepared for when that happened. Jack poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the kitchen table. He was now eighteen years old. It was official. The two-hundred and sixteen months of his childhood were now behind him. It was time to start a new chapter of his life. But what did it all mean exactly? What was the significance of the tiny age gap that came between being seventeen and being eighteen? Well, for starters, Jack was now completely free to make his own choices. There were no laws or rules to restrict him anymore and he was aware that if he decided to pack his suitcase and leave this very morning it would be perfectly acceptable. Turning eighteen was the moment that you were supposed to be ready for life and whatever challenges it decided to throw at you. The parents had done their bit and tried their best to prepare you, but only now was it up to you to make all the right choices. It was like learning to ride a bicycle; you start off with stabilisers which are there to guide you, to teach you and make sure that you don’t get hurt. But when you reach a certain point in your progress, there comes a time that you have to remove those stabilisers. You do not need the help of others any more. And that is when you have to be able to pedal and keep your balance by yourself. If you start to fall, no one will be there to catch you. But Jack was better prepared than most for this type of situation. As Chase, one of the MI6 instructors, often liked to quote: no pain, no gain. There are some people in life who never experience the ‘pain’. For them life is easy; they face no challenges and manage to breeze through childhood for one reason or another. Commonly these are kids who have been spoilt and pampered by the people around them, who act as a smokescreen to deflect the problems of life away from them. For example, why should they need to learn to cook when their parents can always do it for them? Why do they need to learn to ride a bike when a chauffeur can porter them everywhere? But without problems, they cannot learn to overcome them. So when it comes to having the stabilisers removed from their life they are not prepared for the ride that follows. Jack on the other hand had fallen off the bike plenty of times in his childhood, both genuinely and metaphorically; a quick glance at the assortment of scars on his chest were enough to put that theory safely to bed. He’d learnt foreign languages, been packed off on character-building weekend MI6 training exercises and had been able to take down a full grown man with a polished karate move barely before he’d started secondary school. In fairness, sometimes the falls had been from a little too high up – and the subsequent landings too painful. The close calls with certain death, the hand-to-hand battles with villains that wouldn’t think twice about killing him; Jack could hardly admit that he enjoyed having a weapon pressed against his skull. And every time he’d return back from a dangerous mission a little part of him would be bruised and damaged. But while physically parts of his body would never recover, it had helped to make his mental side stronger and tougher than before. He’d developed an impenetrable titanium shield around his vulnerability – his very own Kevlar flak jacket. And now, because of it, he was in a much better position in life. Back to the idea of suddenly leaving home one morning… If Jack was to leave with nothing but the very clothes he was sitting in, he was confident he could forge a decent life from somewhere. He didn’t know what, he didn’t know how, but he knew he could do it. When he’d first joined MI6 he’d been an assured, but not overly-confident fourteen year old boy who knew a few karate moves and liked to play football. Now his confidence was at an all time high. He felt like he could take on the world… and win. He’d had his doubts about MI6 over the years and how beneficial the experience actually was for him, but those doubts were well and truly crushed now. It had played an important part of Jack’s early life and he had a feeling that he was going to be eternally grateful for it. For everything that was said of them, they weren’t really bad people. At least, most of them weren’t… There was another thing that came with Jack turning eighteen, other than a new sense of power and responsibility. And this one was related to MI6 itself. It was a feeling that Jack experienced rarely – mostly at the end of a school year when he was saying goodbye to his friends before the summer holidays began – but he could recognise it as clearly as a Ferrari parked out on the street. Jack recognised it now. It was the feeling that came with the end of an era, that weird but strangely satisfying mixture of happiness and sadness that came when you reflected on all the important moments that are but now distant memories. It was a bit like watching the last film or episode of a long-running series. You feel sad that there isn’t going to be another one, you feel sad that you won’t see your favourite characters fight new villains, but you are happy that you managed to see and follow it right to the very end. And that makes it all better. Something like that almost becomes part of you… and when it ends, that little part inside of you can’t help but reminisce about the memories. That was the feeling Jack was experiencing now, but it wasn’t a film series that was coming to an end this time. No, it was something much more important than that. While, at the end of the day, a film was only a piece of fiction brought to life by the power of the media, this was very much a real part of his life. In fact, it was more than that. For the past four years, it had pretty much been his whole life. MI6… that was what this was all about. And it was his career at MI6 that was suddenly coming to an end. Jack had known this day would come for a very long time. Ever since he’d turned seventeen twelve months ago to the day, there had been that nagging thought at the back of his mind that slowly his time in the MI6 Junior Section was coming to a close. Various missions and training exercises since then had helped to push it back from the foreground, but now it was on the advance again. And now, finally, the time had come. It wasn’t that they didn’t need him anymore; as far as Jack was aware, he was still as valuable as ever. Mr Grey could even admit it. No… instead it was simply the rules of the organisation that stated he couldn’t continue anymore. Jack was part of the MI6 Junior Section, a special department set up just over half a decade ago by the Secret Intelligence Services to recruit new and talented young agents. Like Arsenal FC under Arsene Wenger, MI6 had decided that raising and developing young talent was the best solution for a bright future. And unlike the football club, it appeared to have worked. Teenagers possessed advantages that no adult or ‘senior’ agent could ever hope to match. What they lacked in size, strength or experience they made up in determination, speed and agility, but the biggest advantage of all was simply because of who they were: kids. Jack had found this out first hand; villains never suspected that teenagers might be working against them. Whether it was because they were too young, too small, too insignificant or because the idea that the Ministry of Defence could have employed kids to spy on them was too preposterous – they never suspected a thing until it was too late. But age wasn’t the only thing going for them. Each agent was also trained in hand-to-hand combat, discipline, first aid and weapon handling and because they were young they were also quicker learners. Team that up with the fact that they could infiltrate places that no adult could even go near to without appearing suspicious – e.g. a school or youth club – and you had your very own pocket-sized spy. Mr Grey, the Head of MI6, had realised this in the year of 2005 and after a long, measured debate with his superiors where all the pros and cons of the experiment were weighed up it, was finally decided that a six-month test run would be undertaken by the organisation. If the Ministers were pleased with the results they saw then they would consider expanding the idea. So ten teenagers were recruited by MI6, all aged between fourteen and eighteen and all the sons or daughters of current senior MI6 agents. They were given two months of intense basic training before each being sent off on various missions to try and prove their worth. When the results had been handed in at the end of the six months it came with a ninety-per cent success rating including one agent that had managed to bring down a whole illegal smuggling syndicate that had been troubling the local police for months. While many of the officials still had concerns about the safety and reliability of the agents and the amount of flack that they would receive should the idea be discovered by the public, they couldn’t deny that using teenagers as secret agents got them impressive results. And so the MI6 Junior Section was born and selective recruitment began. But while the amount of agents that could work for the secret organisation began to change, the rules and regulations did not. The age boundary for the Senior Section was a minimum age of eighteen years and so, naturally, the Junior Section limit ended at that. It was at that point where teenage agents would come to a crossroads. Two options, one decision: either the junior agents could leave the organisation and pursue another career path in life or they could be promoted to the senior division and continue to be a secret agent. If Jack didn’t have to make that big decision right now, it would only be a matter of time. Also, upon reaching eighteen years old, teenage agents had usually lost that youthful, innocent appearance which made them so useful and deceptive beforehand. Looking in the mirror a few days ago, Jack knew he was a prime example of this development. He was over six foot tall, covered in more faint scars than an amateur boxer and looked about as harmless as a Great White shark. Long gone were the days that villains would dismiss him as nothing but an inquisitive boy innocently sticking his nose in other people’s business. Now he was a real threat. Now they wouldn’t dare to underestimate him. Jack still hadn’t made his mind up yet about what he was going to say when decision time came calling. He knew there couldn’t be long left, but he didn’t want to rush his choice. It wasn’t exactly a lie when he considered it to be the most important decision of his life; depending on what option he chose it would set up and act as the basis for his whole future. For some it was a no-brainer; his best friend at MI6, a Spaniard called Javier Gonzalez, had turned eighteen three months ago and Jack knew he’d already pledged his future to the organisation. But Javier’s whole life revolved around MI6; both his parents had worked there. And considering he wasn’t exactly the smartest fish in the sea – even Javier could admit it – a short career with decent wages and retirement at around the forty mark didn’t look too bad an option. But for Jack it was different. He hadn’t totally given up on getting decent A-Levels and there were still a wide range of options available to him. At the end of the day, did he really want to spend his whole life chasing after criminals and snooping around in dark alleyways? He knew that he had a skill for it – more than one person had made the comment that being a spy was in his nature, that it was in his blood – but, like a professional footballer, if his heart wasn’t into it, no amount of talent would be able to make him perform. What to do? What to do? Jack suddenly realised that, for a few minutes at least, he had completely forgotten about what this day was all about. He’d immersed himself so deeply in his thoughts that for the first time in a week the excitement of his birthday had abandoned him. The realisation served as a reminder: today was a day for celebration, not a day for moping. Today was a day for marking his progress and achievements in life, not for chewing and getting frustrated over a nagging problem. Today was about the present, not the future. For now, the decision could wait… “Happy eighteenth, Jack!” Suddenly three figures bundled into the kitchen and swamped Jack with hugs, kisses and friendly thumps on the back. These were his parents – James and Rachel – and his younger brother, Thomas, who was carrying a roughly packaged parcel in his hands. “Happy birthday,” he said, dumping the present on the table in front of Jack. “I can tell you wrapped this,” Jack muttered, inspecting the wonky strips of sellotape holding it all together. Thomas shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts.” “In that case, thanks very much.” He tore back the wrapping to reveal a small box containing a mixture of top-brand toiletries. “This is from all of us,” Rachel said, smiling down at him. “I know it’s not much, but at your age I’m sure you’ll concede that some money for the future will be a lot more useful to you than a heap of random junk.” She’d chosen the words money for the future very specifically to try and make it sound vague, but Jack already knew what she was hinting at. She’d been going on about the same thing for the whole of the summer holidays. She and James had been arguing almost non-stop about Jack’s choices for the future ever since it became apparent that a decision needed to be made. In recent weeks it had become a tetchy subject in the household and whenever something related to it was mentioned – which was often – the whole dispute would start up again. Rachel wanted him to have a proper education; to go to university, to get a degree and then to find a suitable job based on his qualifications and preferences. James wanted him to follow in the footsteps of Javier and himself by committing to MI6. To put it plainly, Rachel wasn’t impressed by the idea of him fighting criminals and facing danger for another twenty-two years of his life. For her, the past four years had been quite enough. But because it was Jack’s big day and she didn’t want to spoil it by bringing the row up again, she’d purposely tried to avoid mentioning the two dreaded words: university fees. A hint of a scowl flickered across James’ face for a second, but like his wife he wanted to put on an appearance for Jack’s sake and soon broke out in one of his huge beaming smiles. “What would you like for breakfast?” Rachel asked. “As a birthday treat I’ll make you anything you want.” “Actually, I think I’ll just have cereals,” Jack replied, casting an eye over to the stacks of food on the counter. “I reckon there’ll be plenty for me to eat come this evening.” “Probably a wise move,” Rachel nodded in agreement. “The last thing I want to spend tomorrow morning doing is cleaning up your sick.” “Just a quick word of warning,” Jack grinned as he made his way out into the hallway. “It’s not me you should be worried about.” Leaving his family in the kitchen, he bounded upstairs, showered, changed and then checked the time on his bedside clock: a few minutes to nine – he was right on schedule. By the time the minute hand struck twelve his laptop was up and running. He logged onto his Facebook account and there was the first message already sent and waiting: Jessica Miller: Happy 18th, Jack!! xxx Jack read it, smiled and then typed in his reply: Thx, beautiful xxx Jack had to wait all of three seconds for her to get back to him: U havin a party? Jack: Course Jessica: Sorry I couldn’t come. Jack: Wish u could. That was the problem when your girlfriend lived on the other side of the world in Australia. Jessica came over almost every summer holiday and sometimes at Easter or Christmas as well, but it never seemed to be enough. They regularly kept each other updated on all the latest news and gossip, but it wasn’t the same as speaking face-to-face. Nothing could compare to that. Jessica: Hope you have a good time :) Jack: I’ll try There was a notable pause before the next message arrived. Jessica: Staying out of trouble? Jack: Don’t I always? Jessica: Do you really want me to answer that? Jack: Well, no lunatics with baseball bats have broken down the front door and tried to whack me on the head if that’s what you mean. Jessica: I’ll take that as a good sign. Jack: Besides, I might be quitting soon. Jessica: Why??? Jack: Getting too old. Don’t look like a cute innocent kid anymore. Jessica: U still look cute to me ;) Jack: Yeah, but you’re not a psychopathic villain that wants to kill me, are you? Jessica: I should hope not. Jack: My dad wants me to continue. My mum wants me to go to university. They’re blowing the roof off the house with their constant arguing. Jessica: Parents… Jack: Exactly. Jessica: Do u want to know who I agree with though? Jack: Who? Jessica: Your mum. Jack: Well that’s hardly a surprise. Jessica: I’m being serious, Jack. I know why she doesn’t want you to be a spy anymore. Jack: Why? Jessica: She’s scared for you. She doesn’t want to see you get hurt anymore. All these times you’ve ended up in hospital – she’s decided that enough is enough. Jack: How do u know this? Jessica: Because I feel exactly the same way. Just seven words, but they hit Jack with all the force of an atomic bomb. He reread the sentence three more times and each time he did the message would hit home slightly more deeply. He’d known that the two of them disapproved about him working for MI6, but then again probably so would most people if they found out that the government was using teenagers to stop crime. But from what Jessica was saying it almost appeared as if they were frightened by what might happen to him. That every time he came back from a mission hurt and wounded the pain would be inflicted upon them as well. Jack: I’m sorry, I didn’t know. The response came back surprisingly quickly. It was as if she had been waiting to write it for years, but only now had the opportunity presented itself. Jessica: Then promise to me. Promise to me that you’ll leave MI6 as soon as you can. Jack paused for a moment, his fingers hovering above the keys of his laptop: I promise, Jess. Jessica: And promise to me that April was your last mission. I don’t want you to ever go through anything like that again. April… Suddenly all the memories came flooding back. And Jessica was lying: it wasn’t just him that had physically been put through it – she had been part of the whole terrible ordeal as well. Jack took a deep breath and then delivered his answer: I promise. Jessica: Thank youuuuuu!!! If you were here I’d kiss u! You’ve made my week by saying that :) Jack: You’ve wanted me to say it for a long time? He had to know. Jessica: Honestly? Jack: Yes. Jessica: Ever since I first found out the danger you were being put through. Jack: You mean the day you found out I was working for MI6? Jessica: In a word… Yes. That was it. Jack had heard what he wanted to hear. There was nothing more to be said. Jack: Sorry, I’ve got to go now. Jessica: Oh… why? Jack: Party arrangements. Jessica: In that case, enjoy your evening. Have a good one – you deserve it! Jack: Love u. Jessica: Love u 2... and remember your promise!!! Jack logged off. When Rachel walked into his bedroom fifteen minutes later, he was still staring at the blank computer screen. *The party was in full swing. Jack had forced all his thoughts to the back of his head for the next few hours and was determined to enjoy himself. After all, it wasn’t often that your eighteenth birthday came around. For now, nothing else mattered. The world of MI6, universities and promises to girlfriends didn’t exist. It was just him, his friends and the music. At the moment it was a compilation of Black Eyed Peas records blasting out of the loud speakers in the living room after a direct request from Jack’s schoolmate Darren. “I can’t hear myself think,” Matt yelled, trying to make himself heard over the chatter and noise from the other guests. Matt had been Jack’s best friend at school ever since primary school, but it wasn’t until just a few months ago that he’d found out about Jack’s darkest secret: that he worked for MI6. For a while Jack had thought it would affect their friendship because it meant Matt now knew that he’d been lying to him all those times when he gave excuses for missing school. And you don’t lie to your best friend. Under different circumstances, that might’ve been the case. But the only reason Matt had ever found out was because he’d been involved in Jack’s last unofficial mission – the incident in April that Jessica had mentioned that very morning. An old enemy had attempted to get his revenge on Jack by targeting his friends and family and many of them had been put through an ordeal that they’d never encountered before. Certainly, it was not something they were going to forget for a while. They each managed to survive by the skin of their teeth, but without Jack’s late intervention it would have been certain death for them all. In the following weeks, Matt had almost felt compelled to make it up to Jack. More than once he would mention how he effectively owed Jack his life until it got to the point that Jack was so sick of hearing about it. So in the end they struck a deal. If Matt would forgive him for all the lies he was forced to tell in the past, Jack was willing to call it quits between them. Matt had agreed and they’d both been trying to lead normal lives ever since… well, as normal lives as is possible after having an international criminal trying to kill you. Matt had his arm around a girl’s waist. She was a few inches shorter than he was with curly brown hair, a strong physical presence and the attitude of a person who knew how to look after herself. Her name was Chloe Devereux, she was half-Canadian and worked with Jack in the Junior Section of MI6. She had only recently turned seventeen years old making her one of the youngest guests as the party, but Jack knew she could beat up pretty much anybody in the building who made the grave mistake of throwing a punch at her. She even gave him a run for his money. She reminded Jack of a fierce cat, but like every animal she had a soft side. As far as Jack was aware, Matt and Chloe had been seeing each other for several months (it was because of him that their paths had first crossed), but only now were they officially a couple. Like several girls she had previous with Jack, but from now on they were simply friends. Good friends, but nothing more than that. “I’ll go and turn it down,” Jack yelled back, glad for the excuse of doing so. The thumping beats and electro-pop tunes were beginning to do his head in. After grabbing the remote and decreasing the volume a couple of notches he forced his way through a crowd of dancing people blocking the doorway and stumbled into the kitchen. Someone had knocked a bowl of crisps off the kitchen counter and the crushed remains were now scattered across the floor as Jack poured himself a glass of water and downed the cool liquid in a single gulp. Someone had also spilt beer all over the sink and made a right hash of clearing it up, but Jack had seen a lot worse at house parties. So far nothing of his parents’ had been smashed or damaged, nobody had been hit with one of the darts in the games room, a fight hadn’t broken out with the snooker cues as the primary weapons and nobody – as far as he was aware – had decided to throw up all over the floor and left it to him to clear up. So far it had to be considered a success. Jack checked his watch. It hadn’t even reached ten yet and he’d suggested that the first guests should start to clear out at around midnight. That still left two hours of blood-pounding noise and incoherent screaming to contend with. And two hours for things to start going wrong. Jack poured himself another glass of water and gulped it down as Chloe grabbed him by the hand and started tugging him back towards the living room. “Come on, birthday boy,” she grinned mischievously. Jack could smell the strong and distinct scent of alcohol in her breath. Her eyes were a little wild, her voice slightly slurred and she almost tripped over someone’s leg in her high heels as they crossed the corridor. “You owe me a dance.” Jack didn’t have the heart or energy to argue. She allowed him to drag him away onto the makeshift dance floor as I Gotta Feeling started to boom around the house like an explosion. Somehow Jack managed to swallow his emotions and force a smile before Chloe noticed. He took her by the waist, tried to get into beat with the music and then made a few clumsy steps in an attempt to lead. But Chloe was already laughing her head off. Jack sighed and shook his head. It was going to be a long evening. *“Thanks for coming. Don’t throw up on the driveway.” “I’ll try not to, mate,” Darren grinned and stumbled out into the cool night air. Jack rubbed his head tenderly and slumped exhaustedly against the front door. It was now quarter to one and finally there were only a few people left over from the party inside. A couple of Jessica’s old friends and who were still in Jack’s class at school had kindly volunteered to clear up some of the mess in the kitchen while they waited for their parents to pick them up, while Matt and Chloe had disappeared up to his bedroom for some privacy half an hour ago and hadn’t been seen since. His parents had turned in for an early night and locked the door before the party had even begun and Thomas was round at a friend’s house for the night. When the last guests had gone, Jack would be the only one left. “Where do you want me to put this, Jack?” a blond girl called Bethany asked as she poked her head out from the kitchen. She was carrying a black bin bag full of swept-up rubbish in her hand and waved it about as Jack wearily looked over. “Just leave it in the kitchen, Beth,” Jack mumbled. “I’ll take it out with the rest of the trash tomorrow.” “Sure thing.” She smiled at him then ducked back out of view. It was then that Jack’s phone started to vibrate in his pocket. For a few moments he was so out of it he didn’t even realise what was happening. Slowly he pulled the iPhone out of his pocket and peered down at the screen with drowsy eyes: Lightning Electronics. At first Jack didn’t register the name, momentarily passing it off as just a piece of promotional spam from a random company. But then he reread the name of the sender and suddenly the fog clogging up his brain started to thin. The DVD box set: Coming Of Age is now overdue. Return by today (15/09/11) otherwise you will receive a ?10.30 fine. “Oh God,” Jack muttered. “What’s the matter?” someone suddenly asked in front of him. Jack looked up with a start to find Matt staggering down the corridor towards him, one hand dragging a dazed and fazed-out Chloe behind him. Her hair was so dishevelled it looked like a bird’s nest and she looked about on the edge of consciousness. “Um, nothing.” Jack quickly slipped the phone out of sight and nodded over at Chloe, eager to change the subject. “Someone looks like she’s had a few too many aperitifs.” As if in answer Chloe burped, her head lolling about uselessly on her shoulders. “Tell me about it,” Matt muttered. “And she’s supposed to be staying round my house tonight.” “So what?” “So I’ve got to drag the equivalent of a sack of potatoes halfway round the block at one o’clock in the morning.” “Nice way to describe your girlfriend,” Jack grinned. “Anyway, I’d better be off,” Matt mumbled. He slapped Jack on the back and almost stumbled over the threshold as he stepped outside. “See you at school on Monday, mate.” Neither of them knew it yet, but Jack wouldn’t be going to Ashbrook High school again for a very long time. “Yeah, see you, Matt.” Next came Chloe and as she passed him she attempted a quick, clumsy kiss on the cheek. However, she’d misjudged her movements and ended up tripping over and bundling Jack against the wall. “Best party ever, Jack,” she garbled drunkenly. All she could manage was a brief alcohol-fuelled hug before she was forced to make a hasty exit. She staggered outside and had barely reached the bottom step when she threw up onto the tarmac driveway. Matt leapt back in horror and cringed as the putrid odour of sick, beer and partially-digested crisps started to clog the night air. “Better out than in,” Chloe shrugged. “Yeah,” Jack nodded, realising that if she’d been a few seconds slower the puke would have ended it up all over the corridor. “In more ways than one.” Matt wrapped his arm around Chloe’s shoulder and led her slowly down the road as Bethany appeared beside Jack in the doorway and stared down at the mess on the driveway. “Oh dear,” she muttered. “You can say that again,” Jack mumbled. “I’m just glad she missed the cars.” “Do you want me to-?” “No, it’s fine.” Suddenly all Jack wanted was a bit of peace and quiet. “You’ve done enough. You and the others should get going.” “Alright, if you’re sure,” Bethany said hesitantly. When Jack didn’t reply she went to fetch her coat from the back of one of the sofas in the living room and reappeared with both of her friends beside her. She was the last one out of the door. “Thanks for having us, Jack,” she said. “And your parents too.” “No worries, Beth.” He rubbed his eyes and was already starting to dream of the bed that waited for him upstairs. “Have a good night.” “Yeah, you too.” She quickly pecked Jack on the cheek then waved back as the three girls walked down the driveway, turned at the pavement and disappeared behind the hedge. As soon as they were out of sight, Jack closed the front door and pulled his phone back out: 15/09/11 – that was today. ?10.30 – that was in the morning. And as for Lightning Electronics…? “A good night?” Jack mumbled as he started rummaging in the cupboard under the stairs for a bucket and a mop. “Yeah, I wish.” 2The Best In The BusinessThe café in downtown Hong Kong had only just opened for morning business when it got its first customers. Two men dressed in dirty grey overalls and donning the hard helmets of local builders walked in one after the other and ordered club sandwiches and cups of hot tea. They waited by the counter until their order was put together then carried the tray towards a window table. They sat down directly by the entrance and started to tuck in. A few minutes later a young couple with cameras around their necks – they might’ve been tourists – entered and ordered a full continental breakfast. The two builders watched them every step of the way into the café. “Will that be to eat in or to go?” one of the waitresses asked in stilted English. “To eat in, please,” the man replied, placing a few bank notes onto the counter. Definitely tourists, the waitress decided as she gave them their change and told them that they’d bring the food over when it was ready. The couple nodded and without glancing at the two builders retreated to the extra downstairs seating area where they’d be able to eat in private. One of the builders glanced outside onto the street just as a beggar sat himself down underneath the window sill. He was a local in his early-fifties with shaggy black hair, a matted beard and tattered brown robes that would have looked more suitable on a shepherd from the Bible. He had with him a frayed hat which he placed by his feet on the pavement. A few seconds later someone walking by, dropped a few coins into the hat and carried on walking. The beggar nodded gratefully. “Bless you, kind sir,” he mumbled in Mandarin. The builder looked away. Business was brisk with the three staff members behind the counter being kept on their toes by the constant stream of customers coming in and placing orders. In the next ten minutes several business people quickly popped in and out on their way to work to grab a coffee and a fresh pastry while a middle-aged woman carrying bags of early-morning shopping made a small fuss about there being no mozzarella in the salads before finally settling for a toasted Panini and taking a seat at a table downstairs. The beggar also seemed to be doing a roaring trade as the first bank note of the day hit the bottom of the worn fabric. “Your generosity will be rewarded, madam,” the beggar mumbled, his darting eyes glancing up and down the busy street for more potential donators. The woman that had given him the bank note suddenly stopped and looked down at him. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” she commented. “I spend most of my time on the other side of town,” the beggar admitted, replying instantly. “But the local council threw me off their streets last week. I have nowhere else to go now.” “You poor thing,” the woman sympathised. She tossed a few more coins into the ever-filling hat. “I hope your luck changes soon.” “Thank you, madam,” the beggar said and bowed gratefully. “Have a good day.” The woman smiled and continued on her way. It was five minutes later as one of the builders returned back from the toilet that the café door opened again. A single man walked in dressed in a smart, expensive suit with a striped tie and leather briefcase and strode straight up to the counter. “A cappuccino, please - light on the whipped cream,” the man said. The waitress nodded. “Anything else?” “No, that’s everything, thank you.” As she prepared his cappuccino, the waitress sized the new customer up. He was quite handsome, she thought, perhaps in his early forties with dusty brown hair and a well-toned body. Because of the suit he was almost certainly a businessman, but he wasn’t local. And he spoke with a western accent, but not one that the Chinese waitress had ever come across. It could have been English, but there was something specifically different about it. He spoke Mandarin fluently but the weird accent was still strongly detectable. A foreign businessman, she decided. A commuter. Certainly there were plenty of them about at the moment in Hong Kong. “There you are, sir.” She pressed the plastic lid onto the top of the cup and handed it to the customer. “Thank you.” The man placed some coins onto the counter and smiled. “Keep the change.” The waitress watched as he walked off, but instead of heading back out the door like she was expecting he wandered over to the stairs and started to descend down to the extra seating area. She watched the dusty brown hair disappear out of sight then shrugged. The next customer was already ready and waiting. *Calvin King sat down at an empty table in the corner of the downstairs room, dumped his briefcase on the seat beside him and placed the steaming cup of cappuccino in front of him. As he waited for the drink to cool he looked around him. His eyes scanned the young couple with cameras sitting by the stairs, both of them halfway through their continental breakfasts, and then took in a family with a toddler, two giggling teenage girls and the middle-aged woman all sitting at various tables around him. There was nobody else in the room. He’d only noticed two builders and another family upstairs. He barely gave any of them more than a fleeting glance. King started to stir the cappuccino with a spatula, watching as the steam wafted up in front of his eyes. He wasn’t in the slightest bit thirsty this early in the morning, but he’d bought the drink anyway. Better to act normal than to look suspicious. He took a sip of the frothy mixture, cringed as the bitter taste hit his tongue and then pulled back the left-hand sleeve of his jacket. Underneath was his Omega watch, a present that he’d bought himself after his latest annual salary payment, but he didn’t like to go flashing it about. King had found that people who promoted their image by splashing the cash and showing it off were often the ones targeted by big money-making scandals. King was too careful to make such an obvious mistake. He glanced at the watch, registered the time with a passive face then tucked the Omega way. The only noise in the room was the steady chomping of food, the slurping of coffee and the incoherent babble from the two teenage girls on the opposite side. Suddenly King became aware that another customer had joined their midst. He looked up as an Arab man carrying a pink smoothie in a transparent plastic cup reached the bottom of the staircase and started walking over to his table. King could tell he was an Arab because of the way he was dressed. Traditional Middle Eastern civilians have a very strict dress code to do with their religious beliefs and this man was not about to betray that. His head was cloaked with an olive green turban that must have been sweltering in the humid Hong Kong climate. His greying beard was neatly shaped and trimmed, unlike the beggar they’d both passed outside, with the rounded tip coming to an end just below his chest. The rest of his body was covered by an immaculately clean, loose-fitting white robe. “Mr King?” the Arab asked, standing by the side of the table. King replied with a small, discrete nod of the head. The Arab sat down in the seat opposite him. “My name is Sheikh Al-Jaber.” “I know who you are,” King said curtly. There was no need for introductions and pleasantries in his line of business. “In that case…” Sheikh took a sip from his smoothie and placed the cup down on the table. “…we’ll get down to business.” “Sounds good to me.” As King reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a notepad and pen, a lone man strolled down the staircase and looked around. He was wearing a pair of shades and a red baseball cap, the visor pulled down low over his face. He spotted an empty table a few metres from the Sheikh and King and sat down facing the two men. King studied him for several seconds as he pretended to flick through his notepad then finally turned towards the Sheikh. “You said on the phone that you had a big order for us.” The Sheikh smiled. “Big is only the half of it.” “Exactly. So that is the reason, you understand, that we must discuss the terms face-to-face. My organisation gets many small orders that can be settled and paid for over the phone, no questions asked. But with a large order there is a certain amount of risk involved. I have to make sure that you can be trusted.” King smiled thinly and stirred his cappuccino. “It’s nothing personal.” “No, no, of course... I understand where you are coming from.” “First I need identification details.” The Sheikh stared at him in surprise. “I can’t go selling a large supply of expensive illegal goods to any old passer-by.” “Oh right, of course.” The Sheikh fumbled about in his robes and pulled out a United Arab Emirates passport. “Is this alright?” “Perfect.” King clicked open his briefcase and pulled out a flat, square machine which he set on the table between them. It looked a bit like a laptop with a screen on one side and King took the passport before scanning the information page under an infra-red beam. He handed the passport back. The Sheikh tucked it away back out of sight. A moment later a page of classified information rerouted from the organisation headquarters appeared on King’s screen. At the top of the page was a picture of a younger Sheikh Al-Jaber. King quickly read the information, occasionally glancing between the screen and the Sheikh, as if trying to confirm some of the details with his very own eyes. “You work in the steel industry,” King said after a whole minute’s silence. The Sheikh tried not to look surprised. “That’s right.” “And you are a billionaire?” “Uh, huh.” “And family...” King quickly glanced at the bottom of the page. “A wife and two kids – a boy and a girl.” The Sheikh suddenly hesitated. King glanced up at him for assurance. “Yes,” he stammered, almost forcing the words out. King nodded, switched off the machine and locked it back up in the briefcase. “Well, you sound reliable enough to me.” Further and more intensive checks would be made later by some of King’s staff, but for now he was satisfied by what he saw. “Um… thank you.” For some reason the Sheikh sounded slightly flustered, but King thought nothing of it. It was probably down to the sheer enormity of what they were about to negotiate here. “So…” King flicked open the notepad to a blank page and removed the lid from his pen. He briefly glanced over at the man in the baseball cap who was staring down at a black and white newspaper. “…you have a special order for me?” “That’s why I’m here.” King pressed the nib of the pen to the paper. “Name your poison.” “Actually, if you don’t mind, sir, I have a better idea.” The Sheikh reached into his robes and, from the same hidden pocket that he’d pulled out the passport, he took out a folded sheet of paper and placed it on the table. He grinned. “My shopping list.” King reached for the sheet of paper and unfolded it in front of him. The Sheikh simply watched and stroked his beard as King quickly read the list of goods. After about five seconds, his eyes suddenly widened. “Is this for real?” King baulked. “Of course,” the Sheikh replied. “Why shouldn’t it be?” King did a quick calculation in his head. “You’re asking for more than five thousand units from two hundred different products.” He was careful not to use any specific words in case anyone was eavesdropping on the conversation. “So what’s the problem?” “It’s going to stretch all my current and future stock right to the very limit. We might not even have enough to satisfy the demands. And then there’s the question of resources: have you any idea about the workforce that will be required for delivery and transportation of such a bulk amount?” The Sheikh folded his arms. “I was told you were the best in the business.” That hit King hard. He was all too aware about the uncertainty surrounding his organisation ever since Torpedo – a sister-company, main financial backer and the ex-most feared criminal organisation in the world - had folded amid mysterious circumstances last April. He didn’t know how it ultimately happened, but it had been apparent that Torpedo were losing power and reputation months before that. When you’d been in the line of business as long as King had, those sorts of signs became obvious. What had been the final nail in the coffin? King couldn’t be sure. With Torpedo it could have been any of a thousand different things. T would have known, of course. T had been King’s mentor ever since the company – K.O - had first begun. If a question needed answering, and if it was deemed important enough for King to know, T would be the one to give it to him. And because T was one of the main board members of Torpedo – one of the infamous Head of Operations – he would have known everything that was there to be known. But King hadn’t seen T for five months now. In other circumstances, this would not have raised eyebrows. Indeed, after King had quickly settled into the role of Head of K.O under T’s guidance and tutoring, the two men had sometimes gone half a year without making direct contact with each other. There was no need. But this time it was different. King could just sense it. T was gone. Either dead or captured, King wouldn’t be seeing him ever again. And that left a question mark over the future of K.O. It was now an independently run business with almost all links with Torpedo severed to try and maintain security and existence. But that also meant a substantial drop in supplies, resources and manpower, not to mention reputation. Potential customers were beginning to doubt whether the company could be trusted to negotiate orders in the risk-free manner that they so heavily-emphasised. Along with the wide range of illegal goods available, it was their main selling point. K.O was still the biggest sales company in illegal and black-market goods out there, but like Torpedo before them their domination of the market was beginning to fade. And King knew that there would be rival organisations lurking in the shadows, just waiting for their moment to pounce. The King’s crown was beginning to topple. “We are,” King said stubbornly. “Well then…” The Sheikh folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. King stared back down at the order list. Five thousand units… sure it would be a challenge to obtain all the stock and deliver it to the customer, but think of the profits! It would match their total income for the past five months in just one purchase! And then there was the reputation that would come with it; it would show once and for all to rival competitors that K.O was still the boss when it came to illegal goods. In the black-market, status was just as important as sales figures. After all, without customers you didn’t have business. King looked back up at the Arab and nodded. “We’ll have all the stock by the end of the month.” The Sheikh smiled. “That’s what I came to hear.” King forced a smile; he hoped he hadn’t just made a wrong decision. But at the end of the day, business was business. If K.O hadn’t accepted the Sheikh’s order then another black-market organisation would have. King was quietly pleased that the Arab had decided to come to them first. “So now all that leaves is the question of payment,” King said. “All these goods and delivery charges – it won’t come cheap, you know.” “Don’t worry,” the Sheikh said. “You now know that I am a wealthy businessman. Money is one thing that I have no shortage of.” The Sheikh stroked his beard and looked across at King. “Patience on the other hand…” King nodded. He understood the message. “We have a deal, Mr Al-Jaber.” He offered his hand. The Arab hesitated for a moment, then shook it. “You will keep me informed on the latest proceedings?” he asked. King nodded. “I will see to it personally,” he replied. “But we cannot speak over the phone – it is too risky, too dangerous. If we have to talk about business, it must be face-to-face like we are doing now.” “Then how-” “-Do I contact you?” King suggested. He tapped his empty notepad with a finger and placed the pen on the table. “Give me your address, Mr Al-Jaber… and I’ll find a way.” The Sheikh stared down thoughtfully at the notepad, his ringed fingers caressing the straggly hairs of his beard, and then snatched up the pen. In scrawled handwriting, he scribbled down a short address onto the first blank sheet of paper. “Do you have anybody that can translate Arabic?” the Sheikh asked. “I’m sure we can find someone.” “Good.” The Sheikh tossed the notepad and pen back over to King. “Then we should have no problems.” As King tucked the notepad back into his pocket, the Sheikh finished the last of his smoothie and stood up. “One last thing if you please, Mr Al-Jaber,” King said calmly. The Sheikh stared down at him and reluctantly returned to his seat. “What?” “As a matter of interest, what do you intend to with all these weapons?” King tapped a finger down on the shopping list still lying in the middle of the table. “You need to know?” “It’s standard procedure whenever we receive a particularly large order,” King replied. “We don’t want one of our clients attempting to start the next World War, now do we?” “No, I suppose not,” the Sheikh said and looked at King straight in the eyes. “I plan to create a Special Forces division for the United Arab Emirates Army, the country of my birth. At the moment they are skilled enough, but skill alone does not always win you battles. With the weapons I have requested they will also be powerful enough, powerful enough to rival the SAS in Britain or the Navy SEALs in America. There is much turmoil and dispute in the Middle East at the moment as I’m sure you well know. It has hit the headlines in pretty much every city around the globe that has access to world news. Iraq, Afghanistan, Bahrain, Syria – all of these countries, to name but a few, have allowed hatred to boil among civilians because of politics and the way the government is run. Rebels decide to fight back and before you know it you have a civil war on your hands. This disease is spreading across the Middle East and there is no knowing what country could be the next to be hit. If one of these wars breaks out in the U.A.E, I want to be ready. With a strong army under the country’s belt, we will be able to stop it before it reaches critical levels. We will be able to stop the spark before it becomes a fire.” King nodded and after studying the Sheikh’s body language to see if he was spinning a lie, decided to believe him. “A sensible precaution,” he said. He looked down. His cappuccino had gone stone cold. The Sheikh stood up, adjusted his robes and picked up his empty smoothie cup. “I look forward to hearing from you, Mr King,” he said and turned to leave. “And by that time I hope you’ve found yourself a new bodyguard,” King mumbled, twirling the frothy mixture in front of him. The Sheikh spun round. “I’m sorry?” King nodded across the room just as the man in shades and the baseball cap tucked his newspaper under his arm and stood up. “Your man,” King murmured so that only he and the Sheikh could hear. “He sticks out from a bloody mile away.” The Sheikh watched as his bodyguard walked towards the stairs; glancing back once, noticing that the two men were watching him and quickly breaking into a brisk stride. “Well, I had to have some protection, didn’t I?” the Sheikh protested. “Someone to watch my back while the meeting was taking place.” King smiled and shook his head steadily. “You were never in danger, my dear friend.” “And how can you be so sure of that?” the Sheikh asked. “This is just an ordinary public café – I researched it before I arrived, you know.” “Because, Mr Al-Jaber, I have already taken the necessary precautions to neutralise the location.” The Sheikh looked around him, taking in the other customers. “How? “On this floor – the two tourists and the middle-aged woman,” King mumbled. “Up above us – the two builders. Even the old beggar guarding the entrance to the café – they are all armed, they are all on the lookout and they all work for me.” King smiled craftily. “That’s how the professionals do it.” Now that he knew the truth, the Sheikh stared across at the young couple posing as tourists, trying to notice the little details that he hadn’t seen before and that would confirm what King had said was true. But they looked perfectly normal. They were acting perfectly normal. And it was the same with the middle-aged woman. She looked up from her fashion magazine and stared at him blankly. The Sheikh blushed and averted his gaze, still not quite sure if she was real or not. “Goodbye, Mr Al-Jaber,” King said casually. “I’ll contact you when the time is right.” Looking quite bewildered, the Sheikh nodded and started walking towards the exit. King watched him leave, the man in the baseball cap walking in his wake, and then dusted his hands. He took out his phone, dialled a private number and put it to his ear. “Swift…?” King said. He watched as the two tourists got up from their table, placed their rubbish in the bin and started up the staircase. King knew that they would be clearing the exit, scoping the area for danger before waiting out on the street at their designated watch point for King’s personal transport to arrive. If he was not mistaken, the two builders would also be on the move. “Yeah, boss…?” King picked up the Sheikh’s shopping list, folded it into quarters and then tucked it away in his pocket. “I have big news for you,” he smiled. “Very big news indeed…” 3Scouting For GoldDespite a massive hangover, Jack managed to haul his aching body out of bed for nine o’clock. Having not managed to get to sleep till almost half past two what with all the mess that needed to be cleared up beforehand – and even then it came fitfully – this was something of an achievement. However, as he stumbled blindly into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt – at first putting it on the wrong way round – his bones felt like they were made of solid lead. His muscles were so lethargic anyone would think they were allergic to exercise and his eyelids were so heavy they could have been used as anchors on a cruise ship. Looking into his bedroom mirror, Jack took in his pale skin, his dishevelled blond hair and the smears of red lipstick that had accumulated on his cheeks over the course of the party. He looked like a zombie, Jack decided. The plan had been to head to the MI6 Headquarters in London straightaway - grabbing breakfast from a McDonalds drive-thru on the way – but seeing the state he was in via the mirror changed all that. If he was late, sod it. Mr Grey could complain all he wanted. Anything was better than turning up to work looking as if he’d just stumbled out of a night club. Jack staggered into the bathroom, locked the door and quickly showered. The magical elixir of hot water running down his body never ceased in amazing him. He wiped all the lipstick off with a flannel, rubbed soap onto his skin until it was red raw and then rinsed his hair with shampoo so that it was squeaky-clean. Feeling alive and refreshed, he dried off and then glanced at the clock above the washbasin. “Shit!” Jack yelled and quickly dived back into his clothes. He burst out into the corridor and rapped on his parent’s door: “Gotta dash. I’ll be back by this afternoon.” Then he raced downstairs, snatched up his car keys, phone and wallet and stumbled outside onto the driveway. “Wait, Jack. Wait!” Rachel yelled down from the landing. “I need to have a word with you!” But Jack Knight was already gone. *Feeling full-up and content with a hash brown, a bottle of orange juice and an egg and sausage McMuffin in his belly, Jack reached the fourth floor of the MI6 Headquarters in Vauxhall, London and proceeded forwards towards the wooden door at the far end. Staff members that Jack vaguely recognised from previous visits nodded respectively in his direction. After knocking twice on the door and waiting for a reply, he walked in. “Take a seat, please, Jack.” Mr Grey nodded down at the chair in front of him, the grey eyes behind the spectacles training themselves on the new arrival. Jack nodded and sat down in the same chair he’d occupied many a time over the past four years. “You’re not going to complain about me being late?” Jack said hopefully. Mr Grey folded his arms. “While I do not approve of it, I am aware that in some scenarios and on some occasions it cannot be helped. For example: bad traffic, a broken-down vehicle… or a late bedtime the night before.” Jack smiled sheepishly – he knew he’d been rumbled. “How did you know, sir?” “Aside from having your birth details in a top-secret document under your name and putting two and two together when I realised what the date was yesterday?” Jack nodded. The corner of Mr Grey’s mouth twitched – his own unique version and about as close as he was ever going to get to a smile. “Young Mr Gonzalez told me about it when I called him in last week. That and the fact that the bags underneath your eyes are about as bulging as a London Underground tube train at rush hour.” Jack rubbed his eyes and managed to stifle a yawn. “Is it really that obvious?” “Mr Knight, please don’t take me for a fool,” Mr Grey said. “I have been working for the Secret Intelligence Services for over a quarter of a century. I can identify if someone is fibbing to me simply by studying their body language. I can determine the fastest route to a given location simply by glancing at a map. Noticing if someone is a bit weary or not… that, Jack, is child’s play.” Jack smiled and nodded. He realised the Head of MI6 would probably have more trouble tying his shoelaces than noticing something different about a teenage boy he’d known, studied and learnt for the last four years. “So, what is it you wanted to see me for, sir?” Jack asked, swiftly changing the subject. “You mentioned something about ‘Coming of Age’ in the text.” “Yes, I did.” Mr Grey adjusted his glasses and made himself comfy in his chair. “As we have already discussed, you are now eighteen years old. And that means you have come of age, quite literally. You are now old enough to surpass every important age-restricted law and regulation there is. You can buy alcohol, own a credit card… etcetera… etcetera… but we’re not really interested in any of that. What interests us is that you have now become one of the oldest and therefore one of the most experienced members of the MI6 Junior Section. The only people currently older than you and still active are those that have not yet decided on their future.” “But… isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing now?” Jack said frowning. “Isn’t that why you called me in?” “You mean to decide on your future?” “Well, yes.” Mr Grey shook his head and his thin lips began to curl at the edges. “No, not quite yet.” “Then what?” Jack had been so sure that this was what the meeting was about he was left bewildered. “There is one last thing that I would like you to do before we discuss your future and that, as I have already mentioned, is to do with your experience as a secret agent. Not only that, but between you and me, I believe you are the best junior agent the organisation has ever had in its short history.” Jack blushed, his cheeks turning a rosy red. “I’m flattered, sir,” he mumbled. “And so you should be,” Mr Grey continued. “After all, it takes an extraordinary person to defeat a criminal organisation of Torpedo’s calibre four times on the trot, does it not?” Jack shrugged humbly. “I’ve had my fair share of luck over the years.” “Fortune favours the brave, Jack,” Mr Grey replied. “Don’t ever forget that.” Jack nodded. “I won’t.” “And so, because I consider you a role model and a benchmark for all other junior agents that should attempt to follow in your footsteps, I would like you to train them.” “Train them?” “Yes, and that way they can learn the skills and knowledge that it takes to become the very best. You are an expert in karate, foreign languages and weapon handling to name but a few things. It is distinction in all these areas that separates a good agent from a great agent… and you, Jack, are a great agent. I am hoping that if you teach other younger agents to act and perform as you do out in the field, more of them will be able to reach a higher quality.” “So you don’t think the overall standard is good enough at the moment?” Jack asked. “There is always room for improvement, Jack. People can come close to perfection, but no one and nothing is faultless. And I don’t think anyone is going to argue with that. You, Jack, have been there, seen it and done it. You have first-hand knowledge and expertise of what it is like to undertake a difficult mission and work underneath the enemy’s radar. The younger agents will look up to you more than they will with any adult instructor because they can relate to you – at the end of the day, you are still only a teenager. But it is because of that that they are more likely to listen to you, want to impress you and thus pick up the required knowledge for them to succeed – or, more hopefully, excel - in the Junior Section.” Jack nodded; he could see where Mr Grey was coming from and he had to admit it made sense. Understandably, Mr, Grey wanted the younger agents to have the best training possible and at the end of the day there was no substitute for experience when it came to teaching. Jack even liked the idea of passing on his knowledge to less-experienced agents and having them look up at him as if he was some sort of idol. But there were still several problems that needed to be resolved, the first being: “I’ve never taught anyone before in my life.” “I am aware of that, but don’t worry,” Mr Grey said. “I’ll tell Chase or one of the other instructors to give you a quick run-through before training begins. But if you want my advice, just let them know who’s in charge and they’ll listen to your every word – it’s worked for me many a time. Besides, they’re not a bunch of excitable eight-year olds who you need to strap to their seats just for them to listen. They are sensible, mature teenagers that have all passed the recruitment tests in order for them to get here.” A crooked smile slowly crept onto Mr Grey’s face. “And of course, if they do start to misbehave, you will have the licence to sentence them to punishment exercises.” Jack grinned; he was beginning to like the new, reformed Mr Grey. The change had first come about in the spring, soon after the demise of Torpedo and their traitorous leader Craig Taylor. Mr Grey had learnt that the reason Taylor had switched alliances – deceiving and conning MI6 in the process – was because of the way he had been treated by the organisation, in particular by Mr Grey. After making a mistake in an important mission, Mr Grey had fired him and it was because of that that Taylor wanted to seek revenge. He came to realise in the aftermath of Torpedo’s downfall that if he hadn’t been so harsh and unforgiving, none of it would have happened in the first place; Craig Taylor might’ve still even been working for him. Even at his old age, it was an important lesson of life that he hadn’t had the heart to learn: to treat others with respect. And so - to stop a similar incident from ever happening again – the Head of MI6 had decided to turn over a new leaf. He still had the power, the intelligence and the unrivalled dedication of the old Mr Grey, but out had gone most of the stubbornness and aloofness from his game to be replaced by approachability, consideration for others and, for the first time, emotions that weren’t limited to disappointment and high-expectation. As the man himself had already said: nobody is perfect. But he was certainly a lot better as a boss than the previous Mr Grey that Jack had known. “And then there’s the question of timing,” Jack said. “I’ve got important exams coming up which I need to revise for – my mum will murder me if I don’t. I don’t mean to sound reluctant, but how long is it going to take?” “One weekend,” Mr Grey replied. “How does that sound?” “A couple of days.” Jack smiled and nodded. “I think I can manage that.” “Excellent. You’ll be doing me a great favour, I can assure you.” His muscles still aching from the night before, Jack stood up and stretched. “Wait a moment, Jack. I haven’t finished. There is one other thing that I would like you to do for me while you are at the training weekend.” Jack frowned and sat back down. “What is it?” “This…” From a drawer underneath his desk, Mr Grey pulled out a folder and placed it down so that it was facing Jack. Underneath the large, bold, red-printed letters of TOP SECRET were two words: Massacre Chain. “A mission document,” Jack murmured. Mr Grey nodded. “The outline for the mission has already been prepared and is in here.” Mr Grey tapped down on the folder. “However, it requires three junior agents to make up the team - none of which have so far been decided. The truth is: we don’t know who to choose. We don’t know who is talented and capable enough to embark on this mission and infiltrate the enemy. And that is why I want you, while you are at the training weekend, to do a little scouting report for me.” Jack stared down at the mission document and then up at Mr Grey again. “You want me to find three agents to go on this mission?” Mr Grey nodded. “Whoever you think is most suitable for the task. You know the skills an agent needs, you know the personality an agent needs to have…” Mr Grey pulled out a single sheet of paper from the top of the document and placed it lightly in front of Jack. “…You know the loose criteria that the agents need to match. In other words, it’s your perfect job.” Jack looked down at the new sheet of paper. “A girl aged seventeen, and two boys aged fifteen and fourteen. In the mission they will all be posing as siblings from a rich British family.” “That is correct. Aside from that, the decision will be entirely up to you.” Jack nodded as he tried to take in this new sense of responsibility. But should he really be so surprised? Only yesterday he was contemplating what turning eighteen meant and now he knew – others could trust him with important jobs a lot more than before. Jack picked up the criteria sheet and folded it away in his pocket. “I won’t let you down, sir.” “Thank you, Jack.” Mr Grey filed the mission documents away again then nodded towards the door. “You may leave.” *Jack knew the training camp well – it was the same place that he’d passed his recruitment test almost four years ago to the day. Located in an unknown patch of land somewhere in the vast countryside of the Norfolk Broads, it didn’t appear on any maps. There was only one entrance (on the southern side of the campus) and it was constantly manned by at least three guards at any given point. In the rare occurrence that civilians turned up at the main gate, they were told that it was an army training camp and to turn back immediately. At least that explained the gunshots that some locals heard when they were out walking their dogs in the nearby fields. Those that refused to turn back were reprimanded for illegal trespassing and given a stark warning by the police: never appear there again or face a short spell in prison. But that had never happened before and, as far as MI6 was concerned, they hoped it would stay that way. Some smart-arsed journalist once famously said: any publicity is good publicity. Well, not in this case. It was one of the Ministry of Defence’s darkest secrets and that was how they wanted it: a secret. Jack was given a room to share in the instructor’s block which certainly made a change from the smaller bunkers that the agents inhabited. However, he hadn’t got round to deciding yet if that was a good thing or not. Unquestionably, it was roomier and more spacious than the bunker dormitories with a metal locker for your belongings twice the size as normal and a shower room for every ten people as opposed to one for every twenty. It was also warmer inside thanks to the more modern heating systems and the furniture – A.K.A the bed – was newer and more comfortable. However, the experience was let down by Jack’s roommates. While in the bunkers you were surrounded by your own kin – people of your own age who you could chat to easily and share a laugh with – Jack felt uncomfortable surrounded by people who he had grown up fearing and perceiving only as tough, mean MI6 instructors. It was weird seeing them off-duty and also a little intimidating. It hadn’t really occurred to him that they too joked with mates, washed, showered, ate and led social lives. As Chase, the main instructor, described it upon Jack’s readily-anticipated arrival: “Hey, we’re not just here to make your lives a misery.” After one night sharing a room with Chase and his co-instructor Huntingdon, Jack begged to differ. While Jack was in the shower, they hid his combat trousers. When Jack returned from dinner in the mess hall, he found his pillows had been pilfered. And when he was fast asleep during the night, Chase filled a bottle full of cold water and splashed it over his face. They were all just little practical jokes that Jack could deal with on their own, but altogether they started to get him riled. He knew why they were doing it: he was a boy in a man’s world and they weren’t used to him being around. They wanted to show him who was boss while playing all the little tricks that were more expected of from teenagers than adults. They were only having fun, but Jack quickly became sick of being the brunt of their laughs. When he woke up on the Saturday morning to find the shoelaces of his boots tied together with a double knot, he snapped. “Can you not?” Jack yelled, waking up Chase with a jolt as he waved his joined boots in his face. “Sorry, Jack, we were only messing around,” Chase said repentantly. He grabbed a Mars bar from his bedside cabinet and tossed it over to Jack by means of apology. “We won’t do it again, I promise.” So far they’d kept true to their word, but Jack still couldn’t leave the room without glancing warily back over his shoulder. Plus, Chase snored in the night and Huntingdon’s farts were so pungent they made Jack want to retch. Still, it was only for a weekend. There were two hundred junior agents attending the training camp, all aged between the new recruits at fourteen and the more experienced people at seventeen. As far as Jack was aware, he was the only junior agent there that wasn’t taking part in the exercises. They all assembled out in the courtyard in front of the army barracks and Jack stood beside Chase and the other instructors as the last stragglers sprinted out from their dormitories and joined the group. Several agents in the front row gave Jack curious stares as they noticed him teaming with the enemy. Jack simply stared back at them. “Welcome, junior agents,” Chase yelled, stepping forward and addressing the crowd, “To a very special weekend of training. Many of you will have arrived here thinking it will be more of the norm: weapon training, obstacles courses and real-life scenarios. But that is where you are wrong. This weekend we will be introducing a little competition to the training, and by competition I mean…” Chase paused to build up the tension, glancing across at the front row of agents. “…an MI6 Mini Olympics.” The crowd erupted amidst sudden murmurs of excitement. Even Jack was slightly stunned – in all his years at MI6 he’d never participated in anything like this before. If it turned out to be as good as it sounded, he might even start feeling a little jealous. Chase raised his hands and everyone hushed back down. “The Mini Olympics will comprise of twelve events to be completed over the following two days – six today, six tomorrow. You will each be performing individually and your opponents will be classified into age groups: all fourteen year olds will be against each other, all fifteen year old will be against each other and so on… Points will be rewarded in each event depending on how well you do. At the end of the weekend, and after everyone has participated in the twelve events, the scores will be counted up and the respective winners from each category will win a prize.” “What prize?” someone yelled out. “I bet it’s something shit!” another joined in. “Yeah, like a roll of toilet paper!” But Chase just smiled. “Win the competition and you will find out,” he said. “Plus, there’s another additional incentive for you all to do well. The five people that get the least amount of points in each category will receive a punishment for performing so terribly. And this time I will tell you what it is: a ten mile jog around the campus perimeter with a heavy rucksack on your back and accompanied every step of the way by yours truly.” Chase grinned as the whole crowd groaned in horror and despair. Even Jack couldn’t prevent a small smile from slipping out. He wasn’t sure what the worst part of the punishment was: the exhausting ten mile jog or having to spend two hours of your life with Chase kicking you up the backside. “So, in summary, make sure you all try your hardest in every event, but most importantly… have fun. You will now all be separated into your respective age groups so I’ll have fourteen year olds on my left working up to seventeen year olds on my right. Get moving!” Chase back turned to his fellow instructors as the junior agents quickly tried to get themselves organised into separate groups. “A mini Olympics?” Jack muttered to Chase. “This is the first time I’ve heard about this.” “My very own brainchild if I do say so myself,” Chase boasted. “I’ve been storing it in my locker for quite a while, but only now have I been allowed to put it into action.” “How come?” “There are new changes being made to the training regime,” Chase answered, “And this news comes straight from the Big Cheese himself. I don’t know what’s happened to him – maybe he got hit on the head by a falling tree branch or something – but he’s decided that training weekends should now be more enjoyable for the agents.” An instructor called Williams nodded in agreement. “One minute it’s all hard work and crawling in the mud, the next he wants us to shake it all up and start varying the exercises a bit more.” “Isn’t that a good thing?” Jack asked, stifling a wry smirk. Chase shrugged and grinned. “Well, it certainly allows us to be more creative.” He winked at Jack. “Just wait and see what we’ve got in store for them this time…” He turned back to the junior agents to find them all assembled and waiting in their four sections. The group of fifteen year olds was marginally larger than the others, Jack noticed, with about two boys for every one girl overall. He remembered Mr Grey’s request for him to find three agents to embark on the Massacre Chain mission and started looking at the teenagers in front of him, wondering which ones out of the two hundred he would end up choosing. “We will go about the exercise like the months in a year – twelve sections in a continuous, organised loop. There are four groups and twelve events so each group will be divided into three smaller sections to make things easier. This way we will get each event completed quicker and then can proceed swiftly onto the next one. “So first the seventeen year olds…” Chase quickly did a head count and split them into equal groups of fourteen. He then designated each group to an instructor who would be responsible for explaining and leading them to each event. “And I think the third group will be with…” Chase glanced back at his colleagues, trying to pick someone out. “…Mr Knight.” As Jack stepped forward to join his group, Chase handed him an information sheet and patted him on the back. “You’ll find the instructions for each event on here,” he said. “And there’s a map on the back so that you don’t get lost.” “Cheers.” “This is the results sheet where you’ll be expected to record each agent’s points from the twelve events.” Chase handed Jack a clipboard, another sheet and a ballpoint pen. “Contact me on the radio if you have any problems and good luck.” Jack nodded, examined his timetable and led his group off towards the first event. *Event No. 1 – Combat Fighting The first arena was very simple in design – it consisted of just one long, narrow wooden beam with a cushioned padding and a crash mat underneath in the middle of a small enclosure. It reminded Jack of one of the gymnastic beams you often see in the real Olympics, but Jack had a feeling that it wasn’t acrobatic moves that were required this time. Jack ushered his group into the arena and then closed the gate behind him. “Morning everyone,” he said, turning to the fourteen teenagers in front of him. “My name is Jack and I’ll be your instructor for the next two days. This is the first time I’ll be teaching so bear with me if I make any mistakes, but I’ve been in the Junior Section too – I know all the tricks in the book – so I suggest you don’t try pulling the wool over my eyes. That’s just a word of warning before we get going. Now, first of all I need all of your names so I can learn them and write them down on the score sheet.” Jack quickly went round to each agent, jotting their name down in the left-hand column of the score sheet. He then proceeded to introducing them to the first event. “Before you is a narrow beam just fifteen centimetres in width. You will be separated into pairs based on size and gender and the person you are with will be your opponent in this event. The basis of the challenge is a one-on-one combat fight, but instead of duelling on the ground you will each be standing upon the narrow beam. Starting at opposite ends, you will then attempt to knock your opponent off the beam using any means you should deem suitable. The only rule is no contact to the face or neck – failure to comply with this rule will result in automatic disqualification. You will each fight only once and the score system works like this: ten points for a win, two points for a loss and five points for a draw. A draw occurs if the fight surpasses a minute without a victor. This event is designed to test both your fighting skills and your stability. I will now assign each of you to your partners.” Jack had been blessed with a group of even numbers - eight boys and six girls – so pairing them up was no real problem. In the back of his mind, he recalled Mr Grey asking him to find a seventeen year old girl for the Massacre Chain mission and so paid particular attention to the six females as the first pairing clambered up onto the beam. One of them was a chunky Ukrainian girl called Katrina with thighs the size of hams. The other was a slimmer, shorter girl with blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Her name was Ella. If Jack had ever seen a classic case of David vs. Goliath this was it. “Are you both ready?” Jack called, standing by the edge of the crash mat with the other junior agents behind him. Ella raised a thumb in Jack’s direction. Katrina just growled and grinded her feet into the beam like a raging bull. Jack took it as a yes. He put the whistle hanging round his neck to his mouth and took out a stopwatch. He pressed and blew at the same time. Katrina shot off like a rocket. Her hands balled up into fists, she launched herself forward and Jack was reminded of a charging rhino as she swung a punch at Ella’s midriff. But Ella managed to jump backwards at the last moment. Her rear foot skidded on the edge of the beam and for a second it looked as if she was going off, but then she regained her balance and was back into position to parry Katrina’s kick. The crowd started chanting names as Ella slowly worked her way into the fight. When Katrina next aimed a kick at her she managed to grab her foot and only her opponent’s sheer core strength prevented her from toppling over. “Thirty seconds!” Jack called. It was anybody’s for the taking, but while Katrina was clearly the more powerful and aggressive, Ella was managing to hold her own through her defensive techniques. However, it was only a matter of time before her resilience was worn down and when she could only deflect a right hook from one of Katrina’s beefy fists, the following left-hander caught her square in the shoulder. Ella squealed as she tumbled sideways off the beam, hitting the crash mat on her back and rolling off onto the grass. Jack blew his whistle to signify the end of the battle and stepped forward to give Ella a hand standing up. “Yeah! Get in!” Katrina shrieked, pumping her fist as she jumped off the beam beside her fallen opponent. “Thanks,” Ella mumbled as she took Jack’s hand and pulled herself up. The disappointment was clear in her voice and she didn’t look up. “Katrina wins meaning she receives ten points,” Jack announced, jotting the first scores down on the sheet. “Shake hands and then we’ll move onto the next pair.” Someone in the crowd snorted with amusement and Jack whirled round on the spot. He glared at a short, stocky guy with shaven black hair who was smirking at him with obvious disdain. “What’s so funny?” Jack demanded. “We’re supposed to be punching the living daylights out of each other,” he sneered in a gruff, Midlands accent. “Shaking hands afterwards is for queers.” “It’s called sportsmanship,” Jack growled and glanced down at his list. “And seeing as you’re so eager to smash your opponent, Derrick, you can go next.” Still sneering, Derrick stepped forward with his partner and strolled cockily up towards the beam, brushing Jack’s shoulder as he passed…4Points To ProveEvent No. 2 – Monkey Bars As soon as Jack saw the arena, he knew what the event would entail. He’d seen monkey bars in almost every playground he’d been to when he was a kid and, after several falls where his mum was always there to catch him, he’d managed to master them. However, this being MI6, there was a twist. “The bars are covered in a thin layer of grease,” Jack explained to the group. At the back, Derrick was whispering and sniggering to another one of the boys. “This makes keeping your grip on them particularly difficult and slippery. Not only that, but it has another trick up its sleeve. If you fall off monkey bars in a playground, you land on concrete, grass or a cushioned material. If you fall of these monkey bars, the landing will be very much worse.” Jack stepped aside so that the junior agents could take in the obstacle facing them. “The monkey bars are positioned three metres in the air and measure twenty metres in length. Every five metres you will find a different landing, starting with the worse at the beginning and getting progressively better the further you make it. Exhibit A is a patch of stinging nettles – the instructors expect none of you to fall off here. Next there is a pool of thick, oozing mud, a pond of dirty water fresh from the sewers – only joking – and finally a deep pit of sand. Should you fall into any of these patches, I can guarantee that you will feel less comfortable than you were when you began the event. The only question is, by how much? You will get one point for every two metres or four bars that you swing, giving you a maximum possible total of ten points. Are there any questions?” There were none so Jack randomly picked a name from his list – a lanky kid called Jenson – and told him to go first. He was so tall that his feet were almost brushing the top of the nettles as he set off. However, his arms were gangly and had no strength in the muscles so it was no surprise when he let go and splashed down into the thick mud with a terrific squelch. Jack hurried over and quickly marked the point where he’d fallen against the tape measure running adjacent to the monkey bars. “Three points,” Jack announced as a horrified Jenson dragged himself out of the pool and staggered back into the grass. “Francisco, you’re next!” Progress was swift. Jack took surreptitious delight when Derrick slipped at the eight metre mark, plummeting into the mud pool like a falling boulder. The splash went everywhere and Jack couldn’t help letting out a small grin as a soaked Derrick waddled up to him, his combat trousers totally clogged up with heavy mud. “It’s the same advice to you, Derrick,” Jack said. “Try and get as much mud off your trousers as possible using your hands and then leave it.” “Sod that,” Derrick muttered angrily. “It’s going to itch like a bugger.” It’s not the only thing that’s like a bugger, Jack thought silently. He then shrugged. “You’ll get a chance to change your clothes at lunch time. Until then I’m afraid you’re just going to have to ride it out.” “What about rinsing it off with water?” Derrick demanded. “It’s your choice,” Jack shrugged, “But I’m warning you – there is nothing less pleasant than moving about in cold, soggy trousers.” “Humph, we’ll see about that.” Jack was right, of course. The last agent to take on the monkey bars was Ella and after a brief scare halfway through when one hand slipped off the bar, she became only the fifth person to make it right the way across. *Event No. 3 – Code work The last event before lunchtime gave the agents a chance to rest their muscles and instead start exercising their brain. As everyone knew, a good spy had to have intelligence as well as brute strength. Bad news for Derrick there, Jack couldn’t help thinking. Code work was an important subject for any professional spy as it allowed them to write encrypted messages which only allies would be able to solve and understand. An enemy could get their hands on it, but if they didn’t know the secret code to translating it, they couldn’t read it. “I have in my hand fourteen cards, one of which I will give to each of you when it is your turn to take up the challenge. Each sheet has a message of precisely ten words written on it in a special code and it will be your job to translate it. To prevent cheating by telling your mates what the words are, each message is different.” “Will we be told what the code is?” a bespectacled guy called Edwin asked. “Yes. On each card you will find a series of numbers, the big gaps signifying spaces between words. To translate the code you must add four to each number and then reverse the alphabet. For example, if you see the number twenty you add four to make twenty-four. In normal circumstances, ‘x’ is the twenty-fourth letter of the alphabet but you then must reverse it, meaning ‘c’ is the correct letter once solved. Are there any questions about cracking the code?” A girl called Anita stuck up her hand. “You’ve told us how we do it,” she said, an Indian accent clearly detectable, “So doesn’t that make it a bit… well, easy?” Jack smiled. “That’s because I haven’t finished explaining the task yet. After translating the code, you will then have to relay it to me in Morse code using this torch.” There was a box at the entrance to the event enclosure and Jack pulled out a large torch. There were spare batteries inside the box in case it went flat. “Not only that, but you will also be working against the clock. You will have precisely sixty seconds to complete the whole exercise and gain the maximum ten points available. Should you not finish in time then points will be rewarded based on how far you managed to get: half a point for every word you manage to decode and a further half a point for every word that you then manage to convey to me.” Edwin went first – being handed card number one - and Jack was thankful that he remembered his Morse code from earlier training when it came to understanding the message that Edwin flashed to him with the torch. With fifty-five seconds on the stopwatch, Jack compared it to the actual results on the back of his marking card and nodded with approval. “Top marks, Edwin,” Jack said. “Well done.” “Little nerd,” Derrick muttered under his breath as a smiling Edwin returned to the group. When it was Derrick’s turn at cracking the code, he only managed to convey five of the words to Jack before the stopwatch hit one minute. And even then when Jack checked his message most of it was wrong. He then examined the words that Derrick had written underneath the encrypted code and found that most of them were wrong as well. “Three and a half marks,” Jack tutted. “Did you just guess all of them or did your brain melt halfway through?” Derrick was fuming. “This is bogus,” he growled. “We’re given no way near enough time.” “Edwin managed to do it,” Jack replied calmly. “I guess you’re just slow.” Derrick’s eyes flared. “What did you say?” he demanded. “I said you need to go. There are ten more people that need to attempt the event before lunch and you bickering on about how crap you did isn’t helping.” Jack turned his back on Derrick and wrote down his paltry score. “Theo, you’re up next.” *At lunch, Jack heaped his plate with macaroni cheese from the canteen in the campus mess hall and looked around for somewhere to sit. The good thing about being registered as an instructor rather than a junior agent was that you were deemed responsible enough to serve your own food. And that meant larger portions. He realised that most of the teenagers were sitting in the groups that they’d been placed in for the Mini Olympics and were busy chatting away about how they thought the morning’s events had gone. He noticed his own group on the far side, Ella sitting at one end and picking at a bowl of salad. For a moment, Jack considered about heading over there, but suddenly someone tapped on his shoulder and he spun round. “Come sit with us, Jack,” Chase said, beckoning him over to a table. “You’re one of us now.” “You make it sound as if we’re aliens,” Jack said, “Or that we possess some contagious disease.” Chase grinned. “It would explain why the kids hate us so much.” And so Jack sat down with the instructors. Junior agents at nearby tables glanced his way. Now it was officially confirmed – he had joined the dark side. Jack started to shovel macaroni into his mouth. Despite doing nothing but barking orders and writing down scores on a clipboard, he found that he was incredibly hungry. “So how was your first ever experience at teaching?” Huntingdon asked, sitting across from him. By the looks of things, he was a perennial abuser of the instructor’s freedom in the canteen. His plate was piled so high with food it looked like a scale model of Mt. Everest. Then again, Jack thought, at least it explained all the farting in the dormitory. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” Jack shrugged. “The group seems decent enough at the three events so far. I haven’t had to explain too much to them.” “Who’s leading so far?” Jack glanced at the score sheet which he’d laid beside his plate on the table. “A guy called Francisco – he’s built like a tank though so I’m not surprised. Second is a scary girl called Katrina and then another guy called Giovanni – he’s from Latin America, I think.” Huntingdon glanced down at his sheet. Jack recalled that he’d been assigned a group from the seventeen year olds category as well. “Top score?” “Twenty-five.” Huntingdon sucked air through his teeth and shook his head. “Twenty-seven. You’d better buck up your teaching, Jacko, if you want to win.” “Leave it out, Rhys,” Chase muttered and turned to Jack. “So there are no problems that you’d like to mention? Nothing at all?” Jack looked around at the instructors, all of them staring at him, and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Nothing.”*Event No. 4 – Target Practice It was a circus trick with a difference. The target was made out of wood, measured just shy of fifty centimetres in diameter and consisted of three rings, each painted in a different colour; yellow, blue and red. The throwing point was five metres away, marked out by a heavy log which the contestants were supposed to stand behind. And the weapons… “Knives.” From a wooden safety block that could have come straight out of his kitchen back home, Jack pulled out a throwing knife – fifteen centimetres of plastic hilt and cold, jagged steel. “Essentially it is a game of darts with points rewarded depending on which ring of the target you hit. The outer ring – yellow - is worth one point, blue is worth two points and the bullseye – red – is worth five points. You will each have two throws and a practice shot beforehand. However, because these weapons are dangerous in the wrong hands-” Jack resisted the urge to stare at Derrick. “-I am going to have to run through some quick safety precautions. First, when someone is in the process of throwing, all others need to be standing behind this safety line.” Jack pointed to an area cordoned off by red tape several metres behind the throwing point. “Secondly, when you are handling the knife, you must hold it by the hilt, not by the blade.” “Well, duh!” Derrick scoffed from his usual position at the back of the group. “We weren’t born yesterday, you know.” “I’m just making sure, Derrick,” Jack growled. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.” “Yeah, but it’s so obvious, thicko.” “Well, don’t blame when there’s a knife sticking out of your neck,” Jack muttered. He took a few seconds to calm himself back down and then continued from where he’d been interrupted. “Finally, once you have thrown a knife, wait for my permission before going to retrieve it again. Follow these simple instructions-” This time he did glare at Derrick “-and you will come to no harm. Now, for a demonstration.” Jack picked up one of the knives and walked over to the throwing point. “Stand behind the log and then wait for my signal.” Jack took up a stance, raised the knife and aimed it at the target. “Remember to follow the golden rules of knife throwing: control your breathing, keep your arm steady and watch the target not the blade. But most importantly: trust in your own ability. If you can do all those things, you can do this…” Jack let go of the knife. The blade hit the blue ring, the wood splintering from the impact. “Simple.” Jack collected the knife, placed it back into the safety block and consulted his score list. “Hazel, you can go first this time,” he decided. Things went as smoothly as could have been expected, with the creation of a gaping hole in the safety net thanks to a wayward throw from Katrina the only minor setback. The one downside for Jack was when - after missing the target completely with his first throw - Derrick hit a perfect bulls-eye. His smug grin was so wide you could have parked a car in it. *Event No. 5 – Composure Like with the monkey bars, this was an event for the instructors to enjoy. It was also the first event that pitted two opponents together in a direct race against each other. “To complete the event, there are two things that you must do,” Jack said to the group. “You will notice the stepping-stone paths winding from one end of the enclosure to the other. The first thing you must do is walk along the paths starting and finishing at opposite ends. If at any point you fall off the path and touch the grass, you are automatically out of the race. “The second thing you must do is a lot more unusual… and entertaining. To make the race more difficult, both competitors must balance a bowl of water upon their head without the use of hands. Each bowl will contain precisely one litre of water and should that amount decrease to below halfway, you are also disqualified from the race.” “This is stupid,” Derrick muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “How does balancing a bowl of water on your bloody head help to train us?” Jack sighed, his arms folded. “It’s called composure, Derrick,” he replied and turned to the others. “When you are out in the field and working under pressure, you need to know how to control your movements and not make mistakes. This event is designed to test you on those skills. The stepping stones and bowl-balancing will also work you on your stability – another key aspect for any spy. Because it is in the format of a race, it will provide the pressure that you are likely to experience on a mission. Therefore, you are faced with a dilemma: go fast so that you can win the race or go steady so that you don’t get disqualified. It will be up to your sense of judgement to decide what it is going to be. Therefore, Derrick, it is actually a very clever event.” Derrick started scowling, his face like thunder, but Jack simply ignored him. Because size and strength didn’t matter so much on this event, Jack decided to shake up the pairings a bit. First, he called Ella forward and told her to stand on the other side of the enclosure out of ear shot. Then he assigned the fourteen agents random numbers and called Ella back. “One to fourteen,” Jack told her and she began calling out the numbers at random. The most intriguing pairing was selected last: Ella vs. Derrick. Jack barely registered the other agents as their respective races seemed to fly by. Twice did both agents fail to make it to the finishing line, resulting in nought points for both competitors. The four winners each received the maximum ten. After Francisco won his bout comfortably against a far slower opponent, it was finally the moment that Jack had been waiting for. Ella and Derrick lined up at the start of their respective paths and Jack topped up the two bowls with rainwater from one of the large barrels by the entrance. “Are both of you ready?” Jack asked. Ella nodded and smiled at him. Predictably, Derrick just blanked him out completely. Jack picked up the first bucket and placed the helmet attached underneath onto Derrick’s head. He then did the same for Ella. They both did up their own chinstraps. “On your marks… get set… go!” Jack blew his whistle and stepped back as Derrick and Ella moved off at the same time. At once it was clear that they both had very different tactics. Derrick practically leaped across the first few stepping stones and while the water in his bowl sloshed about against the rims, very little of it actually spilled over the edge. His mouth was set with a look of grim determination and by the way he was going about the challenge, Jack knew what he was thinking – no way was he going to be beaten by a girl. Not under any circumstances. If he did, his reputation would be ruined. Ella on the other hand had set off at a steady pace, her eyes flicking quickly between the bowl and the ground in an attempt to keep both in view. Her steps onto the second and third stepping stones were wary, keeping her upper body straight and not allowing her body weight to tip forwards until her foot was firmly planted on the hard, uneven surface. After no more than a few seconds since the whistle, Derrick had pulled out a considerable lead and showed no sign of slowing down. He quickly navigated a tight hairpin loop in the path and then moved onto a winding meander. Ella was now at least ten metres behind. “Come on, Ella,” Jack muttered under his breath. Thankfully he had his back to the crowd and the two competitors were too focused on the path in front of them so no one noticed when his lips moved. “You can do it.” However, with every second that went by, Jack’s hope started to fade. Derrick was clearly a man on a mission and he looked unstoppable. Jack even began to fear that it was because of him that Derrick was in such a mood to win. But then, inevitably, like in famous the fable, the rabbit tripped up… …quite literally. In the end it was spectacular. Derrick was just negotiating the final bend, rounding a gradual curve before arriving on the home straight. He looked up and saw the finishing line and, just for one moment, his concentration wavered. And that was when it happened. He slightly misjudged his next step and the toe of his boot stubbed against the bottom of the stepping stone. With his momentum carrying him forwards, Derrick then lost his balance and toppled like an axed tree. The water went everywhere. Despite himself, Jack winced as first Derrick hit the ground, catching his left elbow on the stone, and then the water came raining down on him like a shower. Derrick yelled out as his whole upper body was drenched in cold liquid and Jack couldn’t help but let out a small snigger. Derrick had only just changed into his spare clothes at lunch time. Now this pair was as much of a drip as he was. Derrick scrambled to his feet and kicked the now empty bowl in frustration. Thankfully though it was made of toughened plastic so didn’t break when it hit the wire fence of the enclosure. By now, Ella had realised what had happened and knew it was hers for the taking. Derrick knew it too and was doing everything in his power to make sure she failed. “Stack it!” Derrick yelled, his cheeks burning bright red like sunburn as beads of water dripped from his sodden hair. He was absolutely mortified and only Ella getting disqualified as well could make it any better. “Get into the kitchen and make me a sandwich.” “Shut up, Derrick!” Jack shouted angrily. “Do you want me to start deducting points?” Derrick scowled, decided it wasn’t worth the argument and skulked off furiously towards the rest of the group. “Biased dick,” he muttered under his breath as he walked. With Derrick safely out of the way, Ella was taking it extra carefully. In a race there was no time limit and so she was sacrificing speed to make sure she made no mistakes. A tiny amount of water accidentally spilled over the edge of the bowl as she stumbled at the apex of a corner, but she quickly regained her composure and Derrick could only watch in utter humiliation as she stepped onto the last stone and crossed the finishing line. “First place,” Jack announced. “Ella wins.” He marked the number ten beside her name on the score sheet and then scrolled down until he found Derrick. Smiling inside, he added a big fat nought to the blank space. *Event No. 6 – Awareness With the light beginning to fade in the autumn sky, the group moved onto the final event of the day. It was also cooler, prompting Jack to stop off at the instructor’s tent to grab a mug of hot chocolate before moving on. The fourteen agents got no such luxury. “This is a game that you will have all heard of before,” Jack said. He could see his breath rise up in front of him as hot air met cold. “But at first glance, like with the last event, you might not understand the basis behind it. Therefore, before any of you start making comments about its usefulness and credibility, I am going to tell you exactly why it is important. “Awareness, like composure, is not something that you can improve on quickly. In some cases, people cannot improve it all. It is not like learning karate moves or a maths equation where you just need to be taught how to do it and then you’re fine. Some people are just naturally aware, while others, unfortunately, are not. Awareness is so important because it can be the slight difference between living and dying in a dangerous situation. For example, imagine you are in an enemy’s house and an armed assassin walks into the room: if you are unaware, you might not hear the floorboard creek or the door move as he walks in. It is not until he is much closer that you finally realise you are in perilous danger. However, if you are aware, you might detect the imminent threat perhaps a second earlier. That might give you the time to draw your weapon, turn around and shoot the assassin while he’s not expecting it. So in that sense, awareness is very important and this game will test exactly how aware you are. “The game is Spot the Difference.” Jack gave it a few seconds so that the news could sink in before continuing. “I have with me two photographs. The first photo that I show you will be the control. The second photo I show you will look the same, but in fact contains ten subtle differences. It is your job to find those ten differences – one point for every correct answer – and you will have sixty seconds to do so. Just a child’s game…? Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” Jack called the first contestant forward – a pretty Welsh girl called Louise – and told her to stand underneath one of the outdoor lights so that there was better visibility. “To make it fair,” Jack said to the group, “You will each be viewing the same photographs. Therefore, to prevent cheating, those that have completed the test will be separated from those who haven’t until everyone has done.” Leaving the others on their own, Jack walked over to Louise and picked out the two photographs from the box on the floor. She handed them to her face down and then reached for his stopwatch. “When I say so you can turn them over, OK?” Louise nodded and gulped nervously. “Your time starts… now!” Louise turned over the cards and instantly started studying them. They showed the picture of a cluttered living room and Jack found himself wondering where the instructors had got it from. Perhaps it was Huntingdon’s, Jack thought. It wouldn’t surprise him if it was. “There!” Louise said and pointed. “The clock from the wall has gone missing.” And barely a second later… “The stool is missing a leg as well.” Jack checked his answer sheet, the ten differences highlighted by red rings, and nodded. “Both correct,” he said. “Keep going.” In the end she found eight out of ten; a sneaky pattern change on one of the armchairs and the dastardly addition of an extra light in the ceiling the two she missed. “A respectable score,” Jack told her. “Well done.” “Thanks,” she said shyly. “Now go and wait over there away from the others. It’s getting pretty cold now, so I suggest you keep moving about to stay warm.” As Louise walked off, Jack turned back to the others. “Let’s get this over with quick so we can get back inside as swiftly as possible,” he said. “I don’t want to be out here and neither do you, so the faster we move the better for all of us.” Jack called out the next name and the game started over again. *Chase was in the shower cubicle as he had been for the past fifteen minutes and Huntingdon was on the phone to his wife outside, leaving Jack alone in the dormitory. His muddy boots lay in a heap beside his bed and his combat trousers and instructor’s t-shirt were strung up inside his locker on hangers. His hair was still damp from coming out of the shower and Jack was glad for the opportunity to wash it. He suspected it might have been from all the flying mud in the monkey bars challenge, but his hair had been clogged with dirt when he’d ran his fingers through it. The truth was, teaching was a lot more stressful than he’d ever imagined. All he’d been asked to do today was supervise a group of teenagers as they completed six simple exercises, but he found himself drained and shattered as he slumped down on his bed. Though Derrick might have something to do with that, he thought. The guy was clearly a knob and Jack loathed him like butternut squash and Tottenham Hotspur, but then again so far he’d been all word and no action. Jack just had enough energy to reach for his clipboard and examine the score sheet on the front. At the halfway stage of the Mini Olympics, the top-5 ranking for Jack’s group looked like this:NameScore (Max: 60pts) Francisco50 Giovanni48 Katrina45 Claude 44 Ella41 Derrick was a further six points down the pecking order, languishing in joint eighth place with Edwin. Jack couldn’t exactly say he felt sorry for the bastard. Just then, Chase and Huntingdon walked in together and Jack couldn’t help but be daunted by the lead instructor’s physique. As Huntingdon walked over towards his locker to deposit his phone, Chase switched off the light and slumped onto his bed by the door. “Hey, switch it back on!” Huntingdon protested. “I haven’t got changed yet.” “Tough, I’m tired,” Chase muttered. Jack saw the opportunity to crack a joke and sat up. “Exactly. And besides, sir, when you take your clothes off, your body will look much better in pitch darkness.” As Chase cracked up laughing, falling off the edge of his bed in the process, Huntingdon simply scowled and folded his arms. “Bloody hilarious,” he muttered and snatched a fresh pair of boxers from his locker. “Classic,” Chase said, picking himself up from the floor and wiping a tear from his eye. “He made you look like a right mug, Rhys.” “Only payback from earlier,” Jack grinned. “Touché,” Huntingdon shrugged and Chase switched the light on just long enough for him to slip into his boxers and clamber into bed. “You know, I think I’m going to enjoy having you around here, Jack,” Chase said, his voice the only noise in the silent dormitory. “Welcome to the team.” Still smiling, Jack lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes. “Thanks, sir.” 5Closer To The EdgeEvent No. 7 – Accuracy “Funnily enough, this is an event that appears in the real Olympic Games…” It was a glorious, sunny morning and Jack was standing with his group in the enclosure after walking directly from the mess hall. He hoped that they’d all had a hearty breakfast because they’d be needing the energy if yesterday’s events were anything to go by. Certainly, nothing seemed to have changed since yesterday; Francisco was still flexing his muscles, Ella was still bouncing around on the spot in anticipation and Derrick was still scowling like someone who’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed. “Clay disc shooting will test both your accuracy and your ability to hit moving targets. The weapon of choice will be a standard air rifle containing a limited ammunition of just ten lead pellets. As for the targets…” Jack picked up a Frisbee-like object and showed it to the group. “These discs will be fired into the sky at varying speeds. They are made of clay and will cleanly disintegrate should one of the pellets collide with it. Your objective is to hit as many of them as possible. However, hitting different discs will give you a differing amount of points. To avoid confusion, the colour scheme is the same as that on the knife-throwing event. Hitting the yellow discs will give you the least number of points – just one point for each. Blue is next with two points per hit with red the most desirable targets at three points each. Therefore, understandably, the red discs will be a lot rarer. Not only that, but the red discs will also be fired at a much greater speed. When it is your turn to fire, you will be left with a choice: try and shot down as many random discs as possible or wait for the red discs and try and claim the larger number of points. Also bear in mind that you only have ten pellets available and that after thirty seconds your time will be up. “In a way, if you’ll excuse the simile, it is a bit like walking into a night club. If you make a move early and grab the first girl you see – or guy – you may not get the best-looking person, but at least you’ll have someone. It’s a compromised decision. However, if you decide to wait around for a while, hoping that Jessica Alba or Leonardo Di Caprio will walk in and they don’t, all the decent people will be taken and you’ll be screwed – metaphorically, of course. Or, alternatively, you might strike lucky and bag yourself the real deal. What I’m trying to say is play safe or take a risk, but make sure it’s the right decision for you.” Several of the junior agents managed to crack a smile as Jack topped up the air rifle magazine with silver pellets and made sure it was in safety mode. Derrick just snorted and muttered an obscene comment under his breath. Because this event required machines to function in the shape of the disc dispensers, a couple of campus technicians were on hand to make sure everything went smoothly. They were both crouching behind makeshift dugouts on either side of the firing range, an assortment of equipment lying beside them. There were eight disc dispensers in total, each one pointing in different directions and at different heights. Top-up boxes filled with spare discs stood a short distance away. “You guys all set?” Jack asked the two technicians. “Just give the word and we’ll begin,” one of them replied. Jack nodded, returned to his group and called Claude – a black, athletic kid from Ivory Coast – forward. “You know what to do?” Jack asked him. Claude nodded and Jack handed him the loaded air rifle. “Then get down on all fours in the firing zone and I’ll tell you when your time starts.” Jack waited for Claude to prepare himself then raised a thumb towards the two dugouts at the other end of the firing range. Two thumbs up came back. “Okay, Claude, your time… starts… now!” The first disc – a blue one - shot into the sky at about head height and Claude instantly fired. The pellet must have come within inches of hitting, but the blue disc carried on its arc unscathed. Claude then picked off two simple yellow discs in quick succession just to get some points on the board before the first red disc appeared. It was a mean one; the disc constantly curving at a steep angle as it soared into the sky. But as it reached the peak of its ascent, the disc paused in the air for about a microsecond and Claude took full advantage. Crack! The red disc burst apart, fragments of clay raining down on the grass below like hailstones. Jack, keeping a running tally mark of the junior agents’ progress, added three scratch marks next to Claude’s name and nodded, impressed by what he saw. Claude then missed a sitter as a blue disc shot straight across his line of fire, but quickly made up for it by bagging a yellow, a blue and then another yellow. He ran out of ammo several seconds shy of the time limit – two red discs leaping up into the air like salmon as if to rub his nose in it – but he finished with a very credible twelve points, temporarily elevating him into first position. Francisco soon corrected that with eleven points of his own while Derrick, annoyingly, posted the highest tally of the day with fifteen. Afterwards, he looked so chuffed and arrogant about it, anyone would have been mistaken for thinking he’d just won the national lottery. That managed to wipe away the scowl from earlier. However, it was a bad day at the office for Ella. She only amassed seven points after wasting too many pellets at the start, the score putting her out of the top five for the first time since the opening event. *Event No. 8 – Gadget Usage By now, Jack had learnt a lot about the fourteen junior agents in his group. For example, he knew who was chatty, who was shy, who was big-headed, who was modest, who was scared of Katrina and who had the eye for Hazel. He also knew each agent’s strengths and weaknesses and as far as he had worked out, they could all be split into three different categories: there were the Francisco’s and Derrick’s in one group – tough, but not always the brightest bulb in the ceiling; the Ella’s and Giovanni’s who were decent at everything – the jack of all trades, master of none; and finally the Jenson’s and Edwin’s who couldn’t throw a shot-put to save their life, but give them a computer and they could probably hack into any secure website in the world. The eighth event favoured the latter of those groups. Jack could almost see Derrick squirm in discomfort as he explained what the challenge involved. “Gadgets are useful pieces of equipment for any secret agent,” Jack said, “And I know that for a fact. I’m not kidding when I say they’ve probably saved my life more times than I have fingers on my hands. Gadgets can come in all shapes and sizes which is what makes them so secret and disguisable. An x-ray camera, a flamethrower bicycle pump and a pepper spray deodorant can are just a few examples of gadgets I have been fortunate to use in my time at MI6. And it’s safe to say that many more will keep on being produced for you lot to use. However, like all machines, they are not always one hundred per cent reliable and that means you need to know how to fix them if something goes wrong.” Jack pointed over at a table draped in a white cloth. The little bumps in the fabric were a clear indication that it was hiding things underneath. “Over there are five gadgets which you may or may not have come across and each one has a small problem. To see how good you are at using your head and repairing equipment with limited time and resources, your task is to fix the five gadgets within the time limit. You will have five minutes in total with two points rewarded for each gadget successfully corrected. Also, the same principle applies as with several of the previous events – to prevent cheating, you will be separated. Ibrahim, you’re up first.” Ibrahim was a weedy kid from the Middle East and so far he hadn’t done too well in the previous events, leaving him languishing in second to last place. But Jack had a feeling this challenge was more up his street and that he could start making up for lost time. Jack wheeled a tarpaulin partition – a bit like the ones you see in hospital wards – to hide the table from the rest of the group and then stood on the other side of the table from Ibrahim. “You may attempt to repair the gadgets in any order you choose,” Jack said, “And I’ll give you a warning when there’s a minute left, understood?” Ibrahim nodded and Jack reached for his stopwatch. At the same time he took hold of the edge of the sheet and then whisked it off the table like an expert magician. “You may begin.” Ibrahim decided to start from right to left, meaning the first gadget he came to was a disabled time bomb. The side of the timer was open to reveal the spaghetti of coloured wires inside. On the table above it, printed on a folded piece of white card, was the instruction: Four of the wires have fallen out of their sockets. Place them back in the correct position so that the time bomb would be able to function normally. Jack watched impassively as Ibrahim reread the instruction and then plunged his fingers into the timer. He grabbed the purple lead after finding one end of it loose and after a moment’s hesitation, attached it to one of the sockets. Now his bony fingers looked a blessing as he intricately rewired all the leads, checking over them once before moving onto the next gadget. The difficulty of each problem ranged from resetting a few errors by altering dials on a radio to replacing broken components from a piece of machinery with working ones. Despite not finishing in time, Ibrahim successfully corrected all four problems that he attempted giving him a score of eight points – his highest mark from any of the rounds so far. Jack knew what the value of praise could do for someone and clapped him on the shoulder as he exited round the table to stand at the other end of the arena. Jack kept the remaining junior agents in suspense as he quickly reset all the problems on the various gadgets and pulled the sheet back over the table. He then clapped his hands together and appeared from behind the screen. “Alright,” he said. “The benchmark is eight points. Who’s up next?” Nobody volunteered so Jack selected Derrick to go next. It turned out to be a bad move. It wasn’t because Derrick was a natural at fixing equipment and rubbed Jack’s nose in it afterwards – in fact, he was hopeless. Instead, it was almost the exact opposite of that. “Time’s up,” Jack announced and started totting up the score. “The lock gun still doesn’t work properly so you get no marks for that and I’m docking off both marks for your repair work on the Berretta pistol.” “What!” Derrick yelled incredulously. “Why?” “Because you’ve bodged it.” “It still works, doesn’t it?” “Up to the point that it explodes in your hand because it hasn’t been fixed properly, yes.” Derrick waved a hand angrily. “That’s an urban myth.” “So is the location of your brain,” Jack muttered under his breath. Derrick’s eyes flared. Clearly, Jack hadn’t been quite as quiet as he’d intended. “What did you say?” he snarled. “I said you still lose the marks,” Jack said quickly, “For creating a death trap. And that gives you a total score of… two, which, quite frankly, borders on pathetic.” He couldn’t resist having another dig at Derrick and there was no way that the burly teenager had misheard that one. “Take that back,” Derrick growled. “Fine, I will.” And Jack snatched the unfixed gadget that was still hanging in three parts from Derrick’s hand. “Run along now.” “Just you wait,” Derrick muttered as he stormed away from the table. For a moment he considered kicking the table leg and sending all the gadgets crashing to the ground, but then thought better of it. It would bring more trouble than it was worth. “I’ll show you who’s boss.” *Event No. 9 – Climbing Wall For the likes of Francisco and Derrick, this was a chance for them to reassert their authority. Speed and strength was what was going to get you through this challenge and even the sight of the obstacle was not one for the faint-hearted. The climbing wall was nine metres of solid rock; none of that pathetic plastic stuff you get in most playgrounds. The width of the wall changed at different heights; sometimes wide, sometimes as narrow as less than a metre. And it was almost exactly vertical. Jack had been on climbing walls before, but nothing on a scale like this. It was a monster of an obstacle. “So, this is all you’ve got to climb up,” Jack said, trying to sound cheery. He tapped the rock face and grinned. “At least it’s not raining.” In case anyone did fall or slip from the climbing wall, there was a ring of crash mats around the foot of the obstacle. Each one was as thick as custard and as soft as a bag of marshmallows. Other safety features included the helmet that each junior agent was made to wear and the safety harness which would be hooked around their waist for the ascent. There was also a first aid kit which Jack, as an instructor, was made to carry around with him in case of an emergency. “So all we have to do is climb the wall?” Francisco asked, the Mexican’s voice husky and as rough as sandpaper. “It sounds simple enough.” “Before jumping the gun, allow me to elaborate,” Jack said. He unfurled his instruction sheet and read accordingly. “As opposed to a predictable straight dash up the climbing wall, this event will also test your endurance skills. This package comes in the shape of a shuttle run. The wall is precisely nine metres high so at every three metre interval there is a button which you must press in order to continue. Once you’ve pressed a button, a horn will sound confirming that you have reached the checkpoint. Starting from the bottom you must shuttle between the three metre and then the six metre intervals, returning to the ground after each one.” Anita stuck up her hand. “Yes, Anita?” “Do you have to press the buttons in that particular order?” she asked. “Yes,” Jack nodded. “As I shall now explain…. When you reach the nine metre interval, you do not need to climb/abseil back down to the starting point. Instead, to complete the event, you must climb up onto the top of the wall and remove your harness. Therefore, if you attempt your shuttle run by climbing to the nine metre interval first, you will have a greater distance to cover. Now, I would like to show you what is on the other side of the wall. Follow me.” Jack led the group round the climbing wall and stopped them a few metres shy of a large swimming pool. It was not permanent, the bottom of the pool resting on the ground as opposed to being buried in it. And instead of being made out of white tiles and concrete it was thick tarpaulin walls, held together by steel bars that could be removed to make the whole contraption portable. That said, it was still almost four metres deep which was important considering… “From the top of the climbing wall, you are then going to jump into the swimming pool. Any hesitation before making the plunge will only count towards your final time. For those of you who are not confident with high jumps into water, I suggest you use the pencil jump by which I mean you keep your legs together, your arms by your side and your whole body straight and rigid like a pencil. This is the safest way down. Only those of you who are either supremely confident in your abilities or a relative of Tom Daley can dive off the climbing wall into the swimming pool. I stress to you now: only dive if you are one hundred per cent sure that you’ll perfect your entry. The last thing I want to be doing on a Sunday morning is carting you off to hospital with a broken spine. “On a brighter note, once you’re in the water, you need to swim and climb out via the ladder as quickly as possible and run across the finishing line behind me to stop the clock.” Jack turned round and pointed so that everyone could see. Two chequered flags fluttered in the breeze with a red line painted between them with a spray can. “This second stage to the event is new to the training regime, but is considered an extremely important skill by both MI6 and the Ministry of Defence alike.” Several of the junior agent’s hands shot up, but Jack waved them down. “Allow me to explain: in some situations, such as you have been trapped and cornered by advancing enemy forces on a balcony or a cliff, your only possible escape route is to jump off the edge and often it is water which you will find down below whether it a pool, a river, a lake or the sea. By doing so you may escape the dangers from above, but unless you know how to land accordingly you’re still as good as doomed. This event allows both you and us alike to see how well you’d cope in such a situation and, if results don’t meet up to standard, further training can be put into place. So with that out of the way, who still has a question they’d like to ask me?” Jack folded his arms and watched with a sense of self-satisfaction as, this time, no one raised their hands. “Terrific. Finally, a quick word on the points scoring system – a benchmark time of a hundred seconds has been decided on and every five seconds you achieve underneath that time will result in one point being rewarded. So, for example, if you completed the course in eighty seconds you’d receive four points, sixty-five seconds = seven points and to get the maximum ten you have to get round in less than fifty seconds; no easy feat, I’m telling you now. However, you may decide to surprise me. Or, alternatively, you will climb like a sloth and get a big fat zero. We shall see. Hands up for volunteers to go first!” Apart from Francisco, no one so much as budged. No surprises there, Jack thought. “Very well, Fran my man – you look as if you’re only the brave/insane guy in the group. Pick which one as appropriate. Get hooked up to your harness and then we’ll get cracking.” The harness was lying in a neat bundle at the foot of the climbing wall where the previous group had left it. Francisco picked it up, fixed it into place around his waist and then gave the rope an experimental tug. He then took up an athletic stance in the marked-out start zone. “On your marks, get set… go!” Jack pressed the stopwatch. The numbers started to move… and so did Francisco. Like a great ape he leapt up onto the rock face, trying to gain as much height as possible while he was still close to the ground. Then he began to climb. Hands then feet… hands then feet… Francisco would waste no more than half a second before choosing his next hand or footholds. And every time he chose correctly. It was as if the rock was a lump of solid iron and Francisco’s limbs were powerful magnets – he just seemed to stick like a limpet to the rock face. Even with his chunky fingers, he managed to cling on to the tiny nooks and crannies in the rock, sometimes by barely a few fingernails. Quickly he hit the three and six metre buttons, returning to the ground after each one, and was now on his way up to the very top, scaling the obstacle with a determination that a monkey might possess after spotting a cluster of ripe fruit in the bows of a tree. He reached the summit without barely breaking rhythm and Jack had a feeling the teenager wasn’t even out of breath. He pulled himself up onto the top of the climbing walls and then knelt there, his eyes looking down at the harness as he unbuckled the straps and then tossed the whole thing off the side. Jack caught it as it dropped to the floor then placed it down carefully, ready for the next person. When he looked back up again, he was expecting Francisco to have already jumped. His ears were already listening out for the loud splash that followed as he hit the pool. But for some reason, Francisco was still up there. In fact, he hadn’t even moved. Still on his hands and knees, Francisco was looking over the edge of the climbing wall, down towards the swimming pool below. His eyes were wide and fearful. All his muscles and joints were locked into place, refusing to move, refusing to listen to his commands. His whole body had become a snowman: frozen solid. “Shift it!” Jack yelled and glanced down at the stopwatch. “The clock is still ticking, you know.” But Francisco didn’t reply. He didn’t even seem to register anybody saying something. And suddenly Jack knew. He’d seen this kind of behaviour before: on the highest point of the obstacle course and on parachute jumps; adults and children; boys and girls – it was always the same. Francisco – for all his strength and power – was afraid of heights. As Mr Grey had said only days ago: nobody was perfect. And this was Francisco’s Achilles heel. Jack decided to take a more sympathetic, encouraging view. “Come on, Fran, one step at a time. You can do it!” Slowly Francisco started to clamber to his feet, but his knees were shaking so much it looked as if he might collapse at any moment. Somehow he managed to stand upright, but then he really did look as if he’d seen a ghost. For someone with permanently tanned skin, he looked as white as snow. “I think I’m going to spew,” he mumbled. “Save it for the mess hall at lunchtime,” Jack called. “Just one jump, Fran, then it’s plain sailing all the way.” Francisco forced a nod, but he didn’t look convinced. Any lead he’d built up from the climbing stage had now been wiped out. He shuffled closer to the edge so that his toes were almost hovering in open air, then shook his head and stumbled back. “I can’t do it.” “Yes you can!” Jack shouted back. “I feel faint.” “Then why not have a refreshing little swim in the pool?” “And I’m too high.” “Maybe you can fly then.” The joke brought the faint flicker of a smile to Francisco’s face. “There’s still several points up for grabs if you make the jump now,” Jack warned, glancing at his stopwatch. Francisco nodded, closed his eyes so they were barely slits and then hurled himself off the edge. He was yelling the whole way down. At the last moment, he remembered Jack’s advice and brought his legs together to make himself more streamline. Francisco punctured the surface of the water like a needle into cloth and disappeared underneath. A second later he emerged again; spluttering, retching, but very much alive. “Swim!” Jack ordered. Francisco wiped water from his eyes and then started thrashing his limbs towards the ladder. He grabbed the metal railing and heaved himself out, tumbling onto the grass on the other side. He then picked himself up and stumbled across the finishing line. Jack stopped the stopwatch and checked his time. “Ninety-two seconds,” Jack informed, adding the mark to the score sheet. “That’s deux points.” But Francisco didn’t even seem to be listening. He was grinning from ear to ear, staring up at the top of the climbing wall with a look of bewilderment and triumph. “Did I really just jump off that?” he muttered. Jack clapped him on the back. “You sure did.” Francisco gasped for breath and wiped droplets of water from his brow with the back of his hand. “You know what? It doesn’t even look that high anymore.” “Then well done – you’ve conquered your fear of heights.” Jack threw him a dry towel. “So next time you find yourself stranded on the cliffs of Dover, it will be easy, yeah?” “Yeah.” Francisco smiled and nodded. He looked chuffed with himself to say the least. “Thanks, Jack.” “Don’t mention it.” Francisco returned back to the group. He may have been shivering, but Jack had a feeling he was anything but cold inside. *Event No. 10 – Languages The arena was situated on the edge of a small wood and Jack soon found out why. The enclosure measured fifteen metres squared – the perimeter marked out by temporary red and white striped police tape – and appeared to contain its own ecosystem. There were about three different trees including an oak, acorns littering the ground as the year moved into the autumn season. There were also large patches of shrubbery, long, thick, wavy grass, clumps of wild flowers such as daisies and dandelions and finally a few discarded logs, the damp, warm underside providing the perfect habitat for snails, slugs and other creepy crawlies. Jack could only begin to imagine what creatures lurked in the undergrowth. The group gathered round outside the wooded area as a few drops of rain started to patter against the ground. According to the weather forecasts it was long overdue. In fact, it was a miracle that the weather had stayed as good as it had for so long. “Ever since you joined MI6, you will have been learning at least three foreign languages. Depending on your own independent choices – both within the organisation and at school – you may be learning more. For junior agents, the compulsory languages are French, Spanish and German, all three of which should be at a satisfactory standard. For senior agents, languages such as Greek, Russian, Arabic and Mandarin become more readily available. Knowing how to speak, write, read and understand a foreign language is extremely important as it allows you to communicate and blend in more convincingly with locals in an overseas environment. Now it is time to see if you know your francais from your espa?ol. “This is how it will be done: Inside the enclosure, fourteen small shirt buttons have been carefully hidden amid all the shrubbery and undergrowth. They have been painted green so that they camouflage perfectly against their background, making them extremely difficult to find. The event will consist of a direct race between you and your opponent. At the sound of the whistle, each competitor will be given an instruction card which you will then read as quickly as possible. This card will give you clues and directions towards the whereabouts of one of the small green buttons. Sound easy enough? Well, unfortunately for you, all the instructions will be written in a foreign language – French, Spanish or German – and, best of all, you will not find out which one it is until you have the card in your hands. Therefore, if you struggle more at German, you may get lucky and receive the instructions in Spanish or French. Or, then again, you might be unlucky. Unless you really do know your languages as well as you are supposed to, I’m afraid the likelihood is that you’re going to be barking up the wrong trees – quite literally.” “What if we just screw the instructions and start looking around for the buttons normally?” a guy called Vincent called out. Jack smiled. “Then you’re going to be looking for a very long time.” “But there are fourteen of them.” “And they’re barely bigger than a fingernail. Trust me, if you start searching around randomly for one of the buttons in this enclosure then it will be like looking for a needle in a field of haystacks. Back to the event – the first person to find their button will receive ten points and the loser will receive two. And remember: at this stage of the competition, every point could make a difference.” Jack examined the fourteen teenagers in front of him, deciding which ones he should pair up together. Statistically, this was an event that would favour the more intellectual members of the group and that thought gave Jack an idea. There wasn’t much to Melissa in terms of size and structure – she was the human equivalent of a stick insect with bony legs, knobbly knees and an extremely lean figure. She had long, very dark brown hair and a fringe that was cut straight across just above her eyes. However, Jack had gathered that she was something of a brainbox – like Edwin – and could have been his twin sister if they actually looked anything like each other. But, more importantly than that, she was a girl and Jack already knew from when he’d faced Ella that Derrick hated losing to the opposite gender. His cheeks had been burning so much Jack was surprised his skin hadn’t melted off. Compared to Derrick, Francisco or Katrina, Ella wasn’t particularly strong, but for her age and gender she was certainly above the average. Melissa on the other hand looked as if she couldn’t squash a fly, let alone a human opponent. So imagine how Derrick would react if he lost to her! The thought had Jack practically frothing at the mouth. “I think the first pairing will be Melissa and… Derrick. Yes – you two haven’t faced other before.” Derrick’s cocky grin once again returned to his face as he threw a contemptuous glance over at the skinny frame of Melissa. That girl was a joke for an MI6 agent, he thought smugly to himself. She should be working in an I.T lab or behind a reception desk, not toughing it out with opponents who could snap her arm as if it was a twig. He was going to absolutely mash her. He grinned to himself. It was going to be a walk in the park. Derrick lined up beside Melissa at the entrance to the enclosure and awaited further orders. Even though Derrick wasn’t the tallest of seventeen year olds, he seemed to tower over the slight figure of his opponent. Indeed, his whole body was almost twice the width. Once again, Derrick couldn’t help drooling over how badly he was going to thrash her once the whistle sounded. Jack stepped forward with a stack of cards in his hand, blank sides up. “Pick a card,” he said to the competitors and spread the cards out into a fan, as if he was a magician about to show off an amazing card trick. Melissa picked one from the side; Derrick the very middle. “On my whistle you can turn over your cards and the treasure hunt begins.” Jack put the cold metal to his lips and the shrill whistle split the forest like a fissure. The two agents flipped the cards over, but while Melissa quickly skimmed over her instructions and started shuffling forward almost immediately, Derrick simply stared down at his hands, his face aghast. “No bloody way,” he stammered, his mouth so wide that if Jack were to punch him – a very tempting prospect indeed – his fist would fit right inside his jaw. “Is there a problem?” Jack asked, trying not to smirk. “I don’t know a bloody thing this stupid card is asking me to do,” Derrick growled. “It all looks alien to me.” “What language?” Jack asked. “French - I bloody hate the language… and the country for that matter. They eat snails and frogs for breakfast and are a population full of drunkards, so why the hell should I learn how to speak to them? I mean…” He stabbed a stubby finger down on the card. “…what the hell does tourner à droite?” “It means: turn right,” Jack said tersely. “It’s basic French.” “Never heard of it in my life. It’s just my bloody luck that I get stuck with French when I could have got Spanish or German. French is such a pointless language.” “If you’re stuck in France and need to find your way back to the airport it’s not so worthless then, is it?” Jack replied. “And you need to be able to speak all three languages fluently, not just the ones you want to learn. If you don’t, you’re never going to make a good secret agent. Especially when you’re found by a French gendarme near the scene of a crime and he arrests you because all you can babble is some incoherent crap in English or Spanish.” “What the hell’s a gendarme?” Jack shook his head. “I give up,” he muttered. “I want to change card,” Derrick yelled and tried to snatch the pile from Jack’s hand, but Jack just managed to dodge out of the way. “French is shit – I want another language. Then I’ll absolutely murk this event.” Derrick sounded like a spoilt, selfish toddler and, like any decent parent, Jack was not about to give in to his demands. “You chose that card,” Jack replied stubbornly. “So you deal with it.” He glanced into the enclosure where Melissa was already pacing over to a tree trunk, murmuring translations under her breath. “And by the looks of things, you’d better do it fast.” Derrick swore loudly and practically barged Jack out of the way as he stumbled after Melissa. Unintentionally, Jack had given him a helping hand by translating that small segment of the instructions, but even after he’d turned right, Derrick still had no idea exactly how far he needed to walk. Angrily, he trampled through a thick bush, kicking leaves out of his way and staring vainly down at the ground as if he’d find one of the buttons hiding underneath. Jack just crossed his arms and shook his head. Meanwhile, Melissa was making steady progress with her treasure hunt. She’d now deciphered the third and final clue to her button’s whereabouts and was proceeding to pull up clumps of weeds from around the roots of the oak tree. According to her instructions, the button was buried underneath one of the weeds on the side facing the enclosure entrance. It was then that Derrick stopped aimlessly crushing the bush and glanced discreetly over towards Melissa. By her sudden flurry of movement and the way she was madly ripping up weeds like a gardener on steroids, Derrick could tell that she was close to finding her button. It was only a matter of seconds before the small green circle was in her hands. She would win. He would lose. Emphasis on would… A sly grin began to spread over Derrick’s face and, pretending to be examining his useless instruction card, slowly, subtly he began to shuffle over towards Melissa. He scratched his head, as if mulling over one of the clues, and then edged forward slightly – stepping over a log - so that he had a perfect view of Melissa’s hands as she grabbed furiously at the weeds. He didn’t have to wait long to put his devious plan into action. Melissa had come to the last patch of weeds and as she tore the plants up, the stubby roots speckled with flecks of soil, something small and green and round dropped to the ground. Melissa gasped and, after chucking the weeds aside, reached down to pick the button up. But Derrick had been ready and waiting for this moment and now, like a hungry lion, he pounced. As Melissa’s hand began to close around the button he suddenly snatched it away and leapt out of reach, dancing with triumph. “I’ve got it!” he yelled, holding the button up in the air like a trophy for everyone to see. “I win.” Everyone else was stunned. “Did that really just happen?” Louise mumbled to Hazel beside her. “The little sneak,” Giovanni mumbled to no one in particular. “That was brilliant and horrid both at the same time.” “Is that allowed?” Edwin asked Jenson. “He didn’t even find the button. It was all Melissa’s work and he just barged in at the last moment.” “Well, against the rules or not,” Jenson replied, “Jack will have the final word, that’s for sure.” In the meantime, Melissa was staring up at Derrick’s jigging figure with a mix of horror and confusion. “That’s not fair!” she protested, summoning up the courage to point an accusing figure at Derrick. “That was my button.” “Tough, I got it first,” Derrick sneered jubilantly. “You’re just too slow.” Now Melissa turned to Jack and he could see that she was close to tears. “He stole my button. That’s against the rules.” “No, it isn’t,” Derrick protested. “All it said was the first person to get a button is the winner – and that’s me. It didn’t say anything about how you got the button or which button you got.” “But I did all the work!” “It’s called opportunism, little girl,” Derrick crowed, “And just goes to show that ingenuity is a lot more useful than worthless knowledge such as being able to speak a crap language. Being cunning and smart on your feet is what makes a real secret agent.” “You cheated!” “Did not!” They both turned towards Jack and yelled: “I got the button first!” “Whoa, calm down both of you,” Jack said, trying to restore order. He then checked his instruction sheet for the rules on the event, but there was nothing about what happened if someone grabbed the button first even though it was their opponent that had solved the translation and found it. It looked like the final decision would be up to him. “Well…?” Derrick demanded. Jack looked between the two agents and made his verdict. “I’m disqualifying Derrick for unsportsmanlike behaviour. That means he receives no points and the win goes to Melissa.” Derrick’s jaw dropped as if it was attached to a falling anvil. For a moment, complete shock was written all over his face. But then, typically, like an active volcano, the anger and rage began to overflow again. “You can’t do that!” he screamed. “I got the button first!” “My decision is final,” Jack replied stubbornly. “You’re so biased!” “And you’re such a cheat. You don’t see me making a meal of it, do you?” As a smiling Melissa returned back to the group, Jack and Derrick were left facing each other off. If Derrick were a bomb, he was about to explode. It was a chilly day, but sweat was pouring down his ever reddening face. “You- you-” Derrick stammered, so angry he couldn’t even get the words out. “Before you say anything you’re going to regret in the future, Derrick, let me remind you of one simple fact – I’m in charge here. And if I say you cheated, you cheated. Now get back to the group and I don’t want to hear another word.” Derrick’s hands had clenched into fists the size of grapefruits and for a moment Jack thought he was going to hit him. Then he really would be for it. But, instead, Derrick just swung lightly at the air and ground his shoes in the earth to release his anger. Before he stomped away he just had one last thing to say: “It’s so obvious that you hate me…” And then he was gone. Jack nodded. “You got that right, Derrick.” 6“There’s Always One”Event No. 11 – Driving Test Of all the events in the MI6 Mini Olympics, this was the one that Jack was most disappointed about not being able to compete in. The one problem of being an instructor was that you were there to instruct, not to take part. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give a little demonstration beforehand… “Everyone’s seen the films,” Jack said to the group as they stopped in front of the largest enclosure yet. “You’re on the run from the enemy and the only way you can escape from them is by road. You leap into your getaway vehicle, gun the engine and the chase is on. It is then that we find out if you’re a Lewis Hamilton or an old granny behind the wheel. Speed, control, fast reactions and bravery is what is required to get you out of that situation alive. Which of those abilities do you have? Well, we’re about to find out… “First, let’s start with the course. On the whistle, you will start forwards and weave through the slalom directly in front of you.” Jack pointed over to a line of bright, fluorescent yellow poles that looked like the sort of thing his manager liked to use during football training. Each one was spaced out at regular intervals of three metres – ample room for a small car to squeeze through. “One second is added to your final time for each pole that is knocked over. The slalom is designed to test you on your control and dodging ability. If you are in a busy road or motorway, the chances are that there will be lots of other cars blocking your way. By weaving in and out, you can avoid the worst of them and maintain a decent speed. “Next you turn left straightaway and reverse park into the makeshift garage.” The ‘garage’ compromised of more of the fluorescent poles, this time in blue so as to avoid any confusion. They were set out to form three sides of a rectangle with the open side facing the slalom. “The garage is large enough for the vehicle to fit inside, but only just. Again, you receive a second penalty for every pole knocked over. This stage of the course will test your precision with the wheel and is important in case you ever need to quickly slip into a tight hiding place. Is everyone following so far?” The majority of the crowd nodded so he continued. “You’ll notice that at the back of the garage is a dummy lying on the ground. This represents a seriously injured person and it is your job to get him to the hospital as fast as possible. Pick the dummy up and put it in the passenger seat – it won’t fit in the boot. Then you’re off again. Climb the steep hill at the back of the enclosure keeping within the tape barriers and then head back down the other side. You’ll need to control your speed on the descent to make sure you don’t smash into the barrier at the bottom. There you will arrive at the hospital where you are required to change vehicle. Get out of the car leaving the dummy inside and get into the van which will be parked next to it. The key won’t be waiting for you in the ignition so before you can get moving you’ll have to find it. And the clock will still be sticking. The only hint I can give you is to remember your training about the most common locations where drivers hide their keys. Once you’ve started the engine, negotiate the tight maze which is there to represent tight city backstreets or winding country lanes and then drive as fast as you dare along the final straight. But be warned: the van contains fragile objects in the back – plates, mugs, etcetera – and half a second will be added for every item that is broken. The clock will stop when you cross the finishing line just over there to my left.” The group looked over to see two chequered flags stabbed into the Earth, forming a sort of gateway for the van to pass through. “Any penalties will be then added and your score calculated. The points system works like that on the climbing wall event. There is a benchmark time of three minutes and points will be rewarded for every five seconds you are faster than that.” “So what about the car?” Claude asked. Jack could tell he was excited, as were most of the other junior agents. Jack smiled. “Wait here and I’ll bring it over.” Jack excused himself from the group and then hurried over towards the far hill. He disappeared behind it and then, a few moments later, they heard an almighty roar as an engine burst into life. “Sounds powerful,” a guy called Suleman said admiringly. “Sounds shit,” Derrick muttered. He was still feeling sore about his disqualification from the previous round. With Jack at the wheel, the car rounded the foot of the hill and came speeding into view. “It’s…!” And then, as they realised what it was, everyone’s faces suddenly fell. Jack brought the car skidding to a halt in front of the group with a handbrake drift and then clambered out. “So… what do you think?” The stunned silence told him all he needed to know. “Uh,” Vincent mumbled. “What exactly is it?” “This, people, is a second-hand Lancia Delta Integrale. Then again it might be third hand… or fourth hand.” Claude screw up his face. “It’s a bloody hatchback.” Jack put up his hands. “Now I know it’s not much of a looker…” “You don’t say,” Giovanni scoffed. “It looks ancient.” “But as we all know, looks can be deceptive. It is a very foolish secret agent indeed that ever underestimates an enemy, a colleague or, in this case, a piece of equipment. For those of you who are still unimpressed, it contains a V8 engine that goes like the clappers and was capable of a top speed of a hundred and thirty-five miles per hour when it was new.” “When was that?” Jenson asked. “Uh… 1989, I think.” “That’s over two decades ago!” “Yes, well noticed. However, it still goes sufficiently fast enough to give you a challenge at the wheel on this event and because it cost MI6 less than two grand to buy and is easy to repair, it doesn’t really matter if you stick into a hedge… not that I’d advise it.” A normal Lancia Delta Integrale in decent condition would cost a lot more than that, but MI6 had got a special deal on this model because of who they were. The Ministry of Defence had picked the vehicle up when it’s owner – a drug dealer operating in Birmingham – had been arrested by local police. The car had then been given to the government’s private vehicle scrapping company to be destroyed, as is standard procedure for any inherited car. It was pure luck that an MI6 official happened to be looking around the yard at the time, on the hunt for new vehicles which the Junior Section agents would be able to hone and develop their driving skills in. He identified the Lancia as a perfect solution and, after a bit of haggling, managed to purchase the car for a knockdown price as well as several others. It was then that Jack suddenly remembered. He reached into the car, switched off the engine and pulled the keys out. He dangled them in front of the group before slipping them in his pocket. “There is one part to the event that I forgot to mention before and it’s an important part. It regards the start of the time trial; in fact, as soon as I blow the whistle. To make it that extra bit harder, instead of simply turning the key in the ignition you will not be given the key at all. That means, unless you have special powers that I don’t know about, the only way to start the engine will be to hotwire the car. That is another reason why the Lancia Delta is so perfect for the job as opposed to a brand new BMW or Porsche. The interior is old and simple, the dashboard probably made out of cardboard or paper towels. That will make it easier for you to get at all the wires behind the steering wheel and hotwire the car. An old vehicle is easier to steal than a new car – any car thief will tell you that.” Jack reached inside the Lancia again, but this time pulled out a white crash helmet which had been lying on the passenger seat. Without even hesitating, he threw it forcefully towards Derrick. “Catch,” he said. Unfortunately for Derrick, as per usual, he hadn’t been properly paying attention. At that moment, he happened to glance uninterestedly over and suddenly jumped with a start as he saw the carbon fibre boulder hurtling towards him. He only had time to raise one arm before the crash helmet smacked him in the midriff. Derrick gasped and reeled back, clutching his winded stomach as the helmet fell to the ground and landed with a squelch in a muddy puddle. When Derrick caught his breath back, he pointed an accusing finger at Jack. “That was on purpose.” “Well, obviously, you idiot,” Jack tutted, rolling his eyes at the same time. “I wasn’t throwing it towards Louise or Vincent, was I?” Derrick scowled as some of the other junior agents snickered behind his back. “I mean you were trying to hit me… deliberately.” “Then maybe you should pay attention next time I talk to you, God forbid,” Jack replied. “Then perhaps you’d be able to catch it like everyone else.” Derrick knew there was no point having a big argument and embarrassing himself further in front of the others. He bent down and picked the crash helmet up from the mud. The thick gloop was smeared down all of one side while brown water had managed to leak into the padded inside. “Ugh, it’s filthy now,” Louise muttered. Jack nodded. “You all have Derrick to thank for that. So if you do end up with worms and other creepy crawlies wriggling through your hair, you know who to send a complaint form to, don’t you?” As Francisco and several others burst out laughing, Derrick snarled and slammed the helmet down on his head. “Would you like me to help you do up the chinstrap?” Jack asked. He said it politely, but it only served to make Derrick even angrier. He barged Jack out of the way without even saying a word and slammed the door as he got into the driver’s seat. Jack got out his stopwatch, glanced through the window so make sure Derrick was paying attention then blew on his whistle. Trying to push his emotions to the back of his mind for once, Derrick ducked down and started fiddling about with the coloured wires just behind the steering column. Jack watched the seconds tick by on the small screen until eventually the Lancia rumbled into life. “Thirty seconds and counting,” Jack yelled out as Derrick slipped the manual gearbox into first and stamped down on the accelerator. “Get moving!” The car reminded Jack quite a bit of Derrick: extremely noisy and rugged, but not as much action as you might have been expecting. The back wheels got bogged down slightly in the soft muddy ground and Derrick had to move up into second before he got any traction. Soon he reached the slalom and began weaving in and out of the fluorescent poles. It turned out to be a lot harder than it looked. The distance between each turn was so short that you didn’t get the chance to put any power down and when you did turn the back end kept on sliding out as if it had a mind of its own. On the penultimate pole, Derrick misjudged his exit point and the rear of the car swiped the pole as he turned. “Bollocks,” Derrick muttered, almost losing it as he struggled to regain control. “That’s a one second time penalty,” Jack muttered, striking a dash next to Derrick’s name. “I wonder how many more of those he’ll be getting…” By now, Derrick had cleared the slalom and was performing a quick J-turn so that he could back up into garage as was instructed. At least, it was supposed to be quick. He lost more time as the Lancia struggled to kick into reverse, prompting an angry outburst of swear words from inside the cabin. And when he did get going, in his haste he moved off far too quickly. He suddenly realised his mistake and slammed on the brakes, but by then it was too late. Despite slotting perfectly between the sides of the garage, the rear end of the car overshot, knocking down the two poles at the back in the process. As Jack added two more tally marks to the sheet, Derrick leapt out and grabbed the dummy up from the floor. It looked like the sort of thing you might see standing in a shop window, except the only clothes this one was wearing was a plain blue hospital robe. Derrick wrenched open the passenger door and thrust the dummy inside, the plastic head knocking against the top of the frame as he did so. Then he sprinted round to the opposite side, leapt in and roared off again. Now it was time for the steep hill and Derrick took the ascent at full speed. Jack could hear the engine whining in protest as Derrick thrashed it relentlessly, cranking it up into fourth gear to try and beat gravity. Despite it sounding as healthy as a toddler with chicken pox, the Lancia reached the peak of the hill in an impressive time. Derrick didn’t hesitate in launching it back down the other side. In fact, he was so exuberant on the accelerator, the car rocked onto two wheels at one point. Jack winced, expecting a crash to come at any moment, but Derrick wisely eased off just enough for the Lancia to regain its balance. If he hadn’t, the group could have been looking at a full-scale barrel roll. However, the journey over the hill appeared to have taken its toll on the Lancia in other ways. As Derrick drifted round the corner and brought the car to a loud stop by the ‘hospital’, Jack couldn’t help but notice the abnormally large amount of smoke that was pouring out of the rear exhaust. If Jack had an infra-red camera, he’d expect the car to be glowing red-hot underneath the bonnet. Derrick scrambled out of the Lancia, leaving the engine on. “Oi! Switch it off!” Jack yelled out, running forwards so that Derrick could hear him. “We’re not made of money, you know.” Derrick knew there was no point arguing, not when he was in a race against the clock. He quickly switched off the ignition, threw the keys against the seat to show what he thought of it, and then sprinted over to the van. It was a bog-standard Ford Transit and, by the look of it, could have been as old if not older than the Lancia. The white paint of the bodywork was peeling in some places, flecked with rust in others. In fact, it had got to the point where it was more brown than white. However, Transit’s were reliable and purposely designed to be basic which is what made them so popular among average van drivers. Any extra unnecessary features only increased the possibility of something breaking… and the price. The whole package had cost MI6 absolutely nothing – if they hadn’t claimed it, it would have already been scrapped to be recycled. Derrick clambered inside - using the side-step to push himself up because of a slight height issue – and set about finding the keys. First he pulled down the sun visor hoping, like in all the movies, that it would just fall down into his lap. However, it was not to be. He then opened the glove box and quickly rummaged inside. He found empty biscuit packets, chocolate bar wrappers and a mouldy banana, but no keys. Cringing with disgust, he quickly slammed the lid shut again. The rest of the cabin was equally as messy, but there was nothing else for it. He plunged his hands into the rubbish and began to search. It was after thirty seconds of no success that, after getting cramp in his thighs, he shifted his body weight and cried out in pain as something sharp dug into his shoulder blade. He turned around angrily… and his eyes widened. The sharp object that had stabbed him was the handle of the key. The rest of the key was slotted into the ignition behind the steering wheel, waiting to be turned. As Derrick suddenly realised the truth – that the key had been hidden in the most obvious place of all – he felt stupid, foolish and embarrassed. How much time had he wasted looking for it when it was right under his very nose all this time? Jack was watching him smugly from the finishing line – he would know how long it had taken him to finally spot it. In fact, he was probably laughing his head off right at that very moment. “Bastard,” Derrick muttered furiously and yanked the key round so fiercely he almost broke it. It took several spluttering seconds for the engine to cough into life which didn’t help to improve his mood. “Come on, you useless pile of shit.” He looked up and saw Jack tapping his watch through the windscreen. “Oh yeah!” he yelled. “I’ll show you!” The van took off at an alarming speed and Jack could only gasp in shock as the whole group heard the tell-tale sound of tableware smashing into millions of pieces. “What the hell is he doing?” Katrina shouted out as Derrick hurled the van into the first tight corner. “He’s gone bloody insane,” Vincent added. “I’ll agree with that,” Jack murmured. Whether it was the vehicle or the driver, Derrick seemed to have lost complete control over the van. Instead of going round a hairpin bend he simply cut straight across the grass, tearing up the tape barriers from the ground. As far as Jack could tell, he didn’t even brake. Soon enough he had red and white striped streamers flapping all around the cabin while there was a metal pole lodged in the radiator grill. The final two corners were supposed to be a slow, weaving chicane but Derrick didn’t even attempt to negotiate them. He just ploughed straight forwards and was soon charging down the finishing straight like a horse at Ascot. Jack could see Derrick hunched behind the wheel, his teeth clenched. And it was then that Jack knew he wasn’t going to stop. “Get out of the way, all of you!” Jack yelled, grabbing Ella by the arm and tugging her to the side. “Move!” The thirteen junior agents scarpered like pigeons in the middle of the road, running off in all directions. Jack, Ella and several others watched from a distance as the van thundered across the finishing line, almost knocking over the two chequered flags. Jack was so stunned he almost forgot to stop the stopwatch. As Jack looked down to check the time, he heard a loud, anguished squeal reminiscent of a pained piglet rip through the cool air. In reality, it was just the worn, rusting brakes of the Ford Transit as they struggled to shackle the huge forwards momentum of the barrelling van. Jack watched, partially through his fingers, as Derrick wrenched the wheel round and the van spiralled round in circles, the tyres tearing up the damp grass, before finally shuddering to a halt. Steam billowing from underneath the bonnet, Jack raced over as Derrick stumbled out from the cabin. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” Jack demanded angrily. Derrick pretended not to hear him. “What was my time?” Jack was astounded. “Have you lost your mind?” “I said: what was my time?” Derrick’s voice was now raised. Reluctantly, Jack read out the time. “Two minutes twenty seconds,” he said. “But that time is now irrelevant.” “Oh, is it really?” Derrick sneered sarcastically, his arms folded. Ignoring him, Jack walked round to the back of the van and opened the doors. The scene inside was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was as if a hurricane had passed through a kitchen store, destroying everything in its path. Pieces of broken crockery littered the floor like leaves in the middle of autumn. On first inspection, it looked as if nothing had managed to survive the journey unscathed. Derrick suddenly appeared beside Jack and looked inside. “Oops,” he grinned. “Did I do that?” “No, a grizzly bear just walked in and knocked the table over,” Jack muttered sarcastically. “Of course you did it!” Derrick smirked, not in the slightest bit apologetic. “Must have been going faster than I thought.” Jack turned around and inspected the damage to the driving course. “You don’t bloody say.” The tape barrier had been left in tatters and dragged through the mud like an old sweatshirt. It would take at least ten minutes to put all that back up. And then there were the vehicles… “I’m no expert, but that van doesn’t look in good shape,” Edwin said. “Yes, thanks for pointing that out, Edwin,” Jack sighed. He slammed the doors close – luckily there were still spare piles of crockery left to replace the broken items – and walked round to the front. He only touched the bonnet with his fingertips but straightaway he could tell that it was boiling. “Shit, that’s hot,” Jack muttered. He tucked his hands inside his shirt to protect them from the heat and then quickly pulled the bonnet up. Steam hit him in the face like a punch, forcing Jack to recoil back and block his face. He felt the water condense as it hit his skin, as hot as ash. Once the majority of the steam had cleared, Jack leaned out over the front of the van and inspected the engine. “Any engine experts here?” Jack asked hopefully, as he started poking around with some of the components. Giovanni pushed his way forwards to the front of the group and took one glance at the engine. “It’s just overheated,” he said instantly. “Give it a few minutes to cool and it’ll be as good as new.” “Oh… okay.” Jack looked over at Giovanni. “How do you know so much?” Giovanni shrugged. “My uncle over in Puerto Rico owns a garage. When I was a kid I used to watch and sometimes help him out as he tinkered with vehicles. I know the difference between an overheated engine and a broken engine – and believe me when I say there are plenty of those trundling around Latin America.” “You see,” Derrick sneered, appearing beside Giovanni. “No harm done.” “I wouldn’t go that far,” Jack growled. He thanked Giovanni for his help and then pulled Derrick over to the side. Derrick tried to resist by stamping his feet into the ground, but Jack was too strong for him. Jack led him over to the shelter of a tree where they wouldn’t be heard and shoved him up forcefully against a tree trunk. “Look, punk,” Jack hissed angrily. “What the hell is your problem here?” “Problem?” Derrick smirked. “I have no problem.” “You know, that was so convincing you could have fooled the FBI,” Jack muttered. “Now start talking or I’ll make you.” “Get off me!” Derrick started to struggle but Jack had his shoulders pinned to the tree. “This is assault.” “So is trying to rundown a group of teenagers in an out of control van.” “I wasn’t out of control.” “You had about as much control over that van as the Blobby party have over Parliament. You crashed straight through the barriers, for God’s sake!” “It’s called taking a shortcut.” Jack shook his head. “I give up.” “I was just using my ingenuity again. If you’re being chased in the countryside and you see a shortcut you should take it, shouldn’t you? In fact, I should probably get extra marks for that.” “Well guess what, smartarse, you’re not.” “Now there’s a surprise…” “And besides, from the amount of plates and mugs you smashed in the process you’ll still be something like two hours in the red.” “Whatever,” Derrick muttered. “No, whatever is not alright,” Jack said angrily. “Do you know how much damage you’ve caused? Do you know how close you came to trashing those two vehicles? This isn’t about you getting a big fat zero on the score sheet – I couldn’t give a shit about that. This is about your attitude and the fact that you could have caused a serious injury because of your actions. You were out of control and you know it so stop pretending otherwise. It’s just stupid and pathetic. Now let me reiterate: I’m in charge here and unless you start cleaning up your act I can not only get you chucked off this course but kicked out of MI6 as well. No if’s, no but’s… you’ll be out for good. So I suggest you now start acting like a mature seventeen year old by using your brain before you react and not behaving like the descendent of a madman and a deranged gorilla. Do we have an understanding, Derrick?” Derrick stared up at Jack and then spat down angrily at the ground. “Get out of my face,” he snarled and barged his way out of Jack’s hold. Jack watched as Derrick stomped back across the grass towards the others, but didn’t chase after him. At the end of the day, he had nowhere to run to. “The little son of a bitch,” Jack muttered and kicked at the ground in his fury. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten this angry. In a way he was annoyed at himself for allowing a good-for-nothing teenager to wind him up so badly, but when it was Derrick you were talking to it was almost impossible. Jack didn’t feeling like continuing with the event. It wasn’t just that the course needed repairing, the crockery needed replacing and the two vehicles were in a bad way, but his heart had gone out of the job as well. He’d come here to help and while instructors weren’t generally liked, they were always respected. Thirteen junior agents knew how the system worked. Clearly one other hadn’t got the message. But, as they say, the show must go on. Jack knew he had a job to do and that Chase and the others were expecting and relying on him to complete it. Even if he wasn’t feeling up to it, he couldn’t let them down. It wasn’t in his nature. And so, with his emotions temporarily forced to the back of his mind, Jack turned around and started barking out the next orders. *Before the last event of the weekend there was a break period where agents could compare scores, replenish their energy supplies and gear themselves up for the final push. Jack decided it was the perfect opportunity to organise an instructor’s only meeting. The twelve instructors – nine males, three females – gathered around a couple of picnic benches outside the mess hall and sat down. One by one, they all looked over at Jack. “So,” Chase asked, sitting opposite Jack at the end of one of the tables, “What’s the problem?” “A boy in my group,” Jack said bitterly. “That’s the bloody problem.” “I thought you said the kids were alright,” Huntingdon asked. “Dicks can grow,” Jack scowled, “And this one appears as if he’s been taking steroids.” “Charming,” Huntingdon muttered. “So who is it?” Chase asked. “A short, beefy kid called Derrick. He’s not the fittest or the most intelligent person I’ve ever seen – not by a long way - but he’s strong, can stick up for himself and if he really put his mind to it he could be a decent secret agent. Therefore it’s a pity that personality-wise he’s an utter knob.” Chase and the other instructors nodded understandingly. “There’s always one,” Huntingdon chipped in. “So, what exactly has he done to annoy you?” “It started off with little things,” Jack replied to Chase’s question. “He would interrupt when I was speaking, act rudely to other agents and generally strut around as if he owned the place. All that I could deal with. He was nothing more than your average bully in the school playground. But in the last few events his actions have got more serious. It’s clear he’s got a grudge against me – he even admitted it himself. The problem is, I have no idea why. And now he seems hell-bent on making my life as miserable as possible.” Chase scratched his chin thoughtfully and then made his decision. “I’ll have a word with this kid after the competition is over,” he said, glancing at his watch. “There’s not enough time left now and we’re already behind schedule. During the last event, just try and ignore him while making sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble. I’ll sort his head straight alright, but if he knows what’s good for him he should do that by himself.” Jack nodded and stood up. “Thanks, Chase.” “Don’t mention it,” the head instructor replied and blew his whistle loudly to signal the end of break. “Now go and kick some arse.” 7Causing A SplashEvent No. 12 – Teamwork As the name suggests, the final event was unique in the sense that it was the first and only challenge that pitted the junior agents together into teams: two teams of seven to be precise. This would allow Jack to see how well certain agents managed to cooperate with others – he already had hunches over who would excel and who would slump spectacularly – and which teams would come up with the best ideas to overcome certain problems. Keeping a close eye on Derrick all the while, Jack led the group over to the river on the western side of the campus. This was one of the many winding confluences that formed the famous Norfolk Broads, but for both safety and secrecy reasons, no tourists on canal boats were allowed to come down this particular stretch. It was strictly off limit to all types of watercraft… except two. Jack stopped on the riverbank next to what appeared at first glance to be two large piles of washed-up driftwood. In fact they were bundles of thick, strong logs, tied all together by coils of red string. Beside each pile was two further planks of wood – long and thin in shape – and finally some tools and equipment. This ranged from fearsome panel saws with long, razor-sharp snouts and dagger-like Stanley knives to the humble pair of pencil case scissors. “Welcome everyone to the twelfth and final event in this MI6 Mini Olympics and if you haven’t guessed already this event is all about teamwork.” Predictably there were a few groans from a couple of boys at the back of the group. Even more predictably, one of them was Derrick. “Arguably, teamwork is the most important skill for any secret agent as sometimes, out in the field, it will not always be possible to complete a task on your own. Sometimes you will need extra help from a colleague or ally and that is why it is so vital that you learn to cooperate not just with your friends, but fellow agents as well. The obstacles ahead are designed to test that skill to the very limit. So… to the task!” Jack split the fourteen agents up into two equal, random groups and then directed them both to a materials pile. “Before you all you will see a large collection of wood, string and tools. The more eagle-eyed of you will also notice the wide river that blocks our path from here to the other side. And now that I’ve said that, I’m sure your first task has become very obvious.” “We have to build a raft,” Hazel answered. “Of course,” Jack nodded, “And you can only use the equipment and materials available here to produce it. As soon as you think your raft is buoyant and shipshape enough to float on the water, you can cast off. The decision on timing is up to you. To prove that your raft can withstand the weight of a human, at least one member of your team must make the journey across the river. This fact is more important than you first realise because there is a second stage to this event which takes place on the opposite riverbank and can only be achieved by human means. Once you reach the other side and leap off the raft, you will see a ring of pebbles inside of which is a pile of dry twigs and bark. Using the survival training which you have been taught over the years, you must then produce a spark from the natural materials available and set alight to the kindling. The first team that manages to get across the river and produce a fire will be the winner and shall receive ten points each. As for the losers… they leave with nothing. Baring that in mind, perhaps you should consider while you work who it will be that is given the responsibility of starting the fire. It’s just a thought.” Jack glanced over and realised someone had their hand up. “Yes, Sulaman?” “Why can’t we just swim across?” he asked. “The river can’t be that deep.” “Because it’s full of man-eating crocodiles, that’s why!” Jack replied with a twinkle in his eye. “Hungry man-eating crocodiles.” “Well, that explains everything,” Katrina murmured. “No word of a lie,” Jack grinned. “And it’s for the same reason that if your raft capsizes on the voyage, you must return to the start as quickly as possible. If you’re too slow or you try to cheat…” Jack drew a hand across his neck. “…you become dinner for some starving reptiles.” He looked around the group, keeping an eye out for any reaction. “And so as not to put you off your dinner, I think I’ll leave it there.” Jack stood back and the two groups positioned themselves around their respective piles. “On my whistle…” The two groups set off like fireworks, instantly grabbing the logs from the top of the piles, pulling them out of the bindings and spreading them out on the grass. “Don’t cut the string!” Jack heard Edwin shout from the group on his left, his voice high and squeaky. “We need them to tie the raft together.” Jack watched as Anita threw down the scissors and instead started to untie the difficult knots by hand. Meanwhile, in the other group… “Derrick! Derrick!” Francisco bellowed, immediately taking control of the situation and barking out orders. “Stop staring at the ground and do something useful!” “Who put you in charge?” Derrick demanded. “I did,” Francisco replied. “Anybody have any objections to that?” Either the others were too busy with what they were doing or didn’t want to get involved in the argument, because no one replied. “There, you see? Now shift your butt.” “How?” Derrick said angrily. “What exactly do you want me to do?” “I don’t know… anything!” Francisco said exasperatedly. “Help Ella tie string around the first few logs.” “Humph, fat chance,” Derrick muttered, but wandered over anyway. Jack paced up and down the riverbank, watching the two groups at work. Despite Derrick doing his best to ruin things (it was the only thing he was doing), Francisco’s group soon began to pull out a slender lead. Vincent lashed together the final bindings around the pontoon and then Francisco – the heaviest member of the group – leapt aboard to see if it would take his weight. Despite some ominous creaks from the logs, it appeared to hold firm. “Quick! In the water!” Francisco, Vincent and Jenson dragged the raft down the slope before allowing gravity to slide it onto the river. As Jack had advised, they’d already decided on who would make the all-important crossing. “On you get Ella, hurry!” Francisco said, holding the raft steady as Ella rushed forward and clambered aboard. Meanwhile Melissa had fetched one of the planks of wood and waited for Ella to reach out before handing it to her. “Why hasn’t it been shaped?” Francisco demanded. “Who was supposed to shape it?” “I don’t know,” Melissa said, shrugging nervously. “Never mind, what’s done is done,” Francisco muttered and turned back to Ella. “Ready?” Ella nodded and spun herself round to face the open water. At the same time, Francisco and Vincent pushed against the back of the raft as powerfully as they could and the pile of logs drifted out into the river. Instantly, Ella started to paddle, digging her makeshift oar into the water on one side and rowing before switching it round to the opposite side to make sure that she continued to move in a straight line. At the halfway stage, Ella glanced back to see the second group just finishing tying their raft together. Any moment now it would be on the river as well. “Keep rowing!” Vincent yelled out from the bank. “Your almost there.” Ella gritted her teeth and continued paddling. The river was ten metres wide at the broadest point and this was the area chosen by the instructors for the event to take place. Ella was no more than two and a half metres from the shore, her rowing strokes still in full flow, when she felt the rear of the raft suddenly go. It was as quick as that. One moment the pontoon was supporting her, the next moment it was not. Ella screamed and toppled backwards as the logs underneath her were pulled away from each other by the water, creating huge gaps in the raft. “No! No! No!” Her teammates anguished cries could be heard from a mile off. Ella plunged into the water head first and was quick to discover that it wasn’t only the widest point of the river but also the deepest point as well. Still submerged underneath the surface, Ella found herself completely disorientated as the murk in the water engulfed her from all sides. She let out a small cry as something slimy brushed her against her leg and a few precious bubbles of air escaped from her mouth. It wasn’t that Ella was a bad swimmer – she wasn’t spectacular, but she was decent. It was the fact that she had no idea which way the surface was. Everywhere she looked through her stinging eyes she got the same image: a brown cloudy fog. Suddenly she thought she caught a glimpse of sunlight off to her right and kicked down, but she must have been a lot closer to the riverbed than she’d thought because her foot whacked straight into solid ground. A sear of pain shot up Ella’s leg as sand and silt exploded all around her. They say you can’t scream underwater. Ella was willing to testify that statement. Back on shore, Francisco and the rest of the group were staring at the point in the river where Ella had last been seen before she’d submerged. She’d now been down there for over fifteen seconds. All thoughts of the raft had now completely diminished; indeed, it was barely even a raft anymore. The logs had drifted apart from each other and were now scattered all across the river like the wreckage from some sunken ship. Jack had seen everything that had just happened and came rushing over to edge of the bank. Even the other team seemed to have stopped what they were doing, watching their rivals as they stared in horror out across the river. “Why isn’t she emerging? Why isn’t she emerging?” Melissa muttered to herself over and over again. As for the group leader, Francisco seemed to have frozen on the spot like an icicle. Eventually it was Jenson who made the call. “She’s not coming up,” he yelled, his voice panic-stricken. “Someone needs to go in there and rescue her.” “Out of the way, I’m on it!” Already Jack had thrown off his combat jacket and was now kicking off his boots, trying to shed as much weight as possible. “I’m the instructor. It’s my responsibility.” He pulled off his jumper and then decided that he couldn’t afford to wait any longer. He sprinted up to the river edge and dived in. The temperature of the water hit Jack’s bare skin like a punch to the solar plexus. Like the weather, it was absolutely freezing. Jack could almost feel the heat and energy knocked out of him as he surfaced and started madly thrashing over to the spot where Ella had gone under. He could hear some of the others shouting out from the riverbank, but he was so focused he couldn’t make out the words. It was hard to tell exactly where Ella had fallen in because there was no landmark or marker point on the surface and the water all looked the same. Jack was forced to make a quick rough estimate, drew in a big breath and then dived under. What struck Jack first was how gloomy and disgusting the water was. Even without pollution, it still managed to make his skin crawl and his eyesight was reduced to barely a few centimetres in front of his nose. He kicked down towards the river bed. “Ella!” he yelled, but the only thing that left his mouth was bubbles of air. However, listening carefully, he thought could hear something thrashing around just a few yards ahead. Jack swam forward and suddenly bumped into something solid. Bumped was the correct word. Whatever it was, it seemed to have appeared from nowhere in front of him. Jack’s head knocked into the solid object, momentarily disorientating him, before he kicked his brain back into focus and moved in for a closer look. It was Ella. She was wriggling about frantically, her face contorted with horror and desperation, but Jack saw a faint glimmer of relief in her eyes as she realised he was there. Jack pointed upwards towards the surface, indicating to her the way out, but she hurriedly shook her head. Jack frowned. What was the problem? Then Ella pointed downwards at the riverbed and Jack found out. Her left leg was trapped and tangled in the long, wavy river weeds and she couldn’t get it free. Jack watched her as she tried to claw herself away, but if anything it made the weeds tighten even more. They were horrible plants, Jack decided, reminiscent of thick green eels or sea snakes. They also had the exact same texture – soft, squidgy and slimy. There were literally thousands of them in this small area alone, all craning up towards the sunlight like monsters in the pit of Tartarus. No wonder Ella had got caught in them so easily. Now Jack had to make sure he freed her whether getting trapped himself. He kicked down, keeping his legs safely behind him, and grabbed a handful of the weeds in his fist. They were coiled round Ella’s calf like vines on a tree trunk, but as soon as Jack had pulled a few strands the chain was broken and the rest came away easily. “Go!” Jack shouted and this time Ella heard him. She kicked up towards the surface, Jack right behind her. They broke to the surface together amid gasps and cheers from the watching crowd. “Are you OK?” Jack stammered as they both spluttered for breath. Ella managed a small nod of the head. She looked pale and weak from her efforts to free herself and Jack was afraid she’d sink back under if she didn’t have the strength. He reached out and grabbed one of the floating logs before pushing it over to Ella. “Hold onto that,” he said. “It will keep you afloat.” “Th- Th- Thanks.” Trembling, she grasped hold of the log and clutched it to her chest as if it was a new-born baby; there was no way she was letting go. “I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing,” Jack muttered, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. “Let’s get out of here.” Jack took hold of one end of the log and together they swam back over to the shore. Louise and Claude were already there waiting and offered their hands as they both scrambled onto dry land. “Cheers,” Jack muttered, taking Claude’s hand and allowing him to drag his body up out of the water. “Towels?” Anita was yelling. “Has anybody got any towels?” “In the box,” Jack stuttered and he and Ella soon had several thin towels wrapped around their shivering shoulders. It wasn’t much, but to Jack it felt like a thick feather duvet on a cold winter’s night. “Is there anything else we can do?” Louise said as Jack and Ella sat down on the grass. “Run up to the medical room and tell someone to come down with a full medical kit and a blanket,” Jack said, already starting to feel warmer. “Ella was in the water for a lot longer than I was and she might catch hypothermia if she’s not treated to properly.” Louise nodded and started to sprint back up the hill towards the main complex. Meanwhile, Francisco was still staring out at the wreckage of his raft. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered. His eyes were camera lenses that had lost their focus – everything seemed blurred. “It shouldn’t have fallen apart. Why did it fall apart?” “It was the back end on the left-hand side,” Vincent said beside him. Jenson nodded as if to back him up. “The knots in the bindings must have come loose causing all the logs to drift apart.” “Then- Then-?” “Then whoever was in charge of doing up the knots on that corner is responsible for it breaking.” That seemed to break Francisco out of his trance. He turned on his heel and looked round accusingly at the six other members of his group, once again exerting his authority. “So come on then,” he demanded angrily. “Who was responsible for that pathetic excuse of a job?” Vincent and Sulaman glanced anxiously at each other. Jenson stared down at his feet. Ella looked as if she was going to pass out. Derrick stood where he was, his arms folded stubbornly. “So no one’s responsible, are they?” Francisco kicked the remaining plank of wood into the water with a terrific hoof. “You’re trying to tell me that no one is brave enough to own up to their own mistake, huh?” And then suddenly a timid voice sounded from the edge of the group: “It was Derrick.” They all wheeled round and stared at Melissa. She was shuffling nervously on the spot, her hands behind her back. “It was not!” Derrick roared. “Was too!” “You’re a liar!” Francisco walked up to Melissa and seemed to tower over her. “Was it Derrick?” he said sternly. Without glancing up at anyone, she nodded. “I saw him. He wasn’t doing up the knots properly. I think he was in a bad mood.” “Why you little snitch,” Derrick growled. “Don’t take it out on her,” Jenson retorted. “It was your fault in the first place.” “Stay out of this, lanky.” “Shut up! I’ll deal with you in a moment,” Francisco bellowed, giving Derrick the evils and then looking back at Melissa. “Why didn’t you say anything before? We could have fixed it and then none of this would ever have happened.” Melissa shrugged a shoulder uncertainly. “I didn’t want to make a scene.” “Well, it’s a bit late for that now.” Then Francisco turned round, strolled up furiously towards Derrick and grabbed him by the throat. “Thought you’d do a half-arsed job did you, huh?” “Get off me, dickhead,” Derrick yelled and tried to squirm free, but Francisco’s grip was made of iron. Jack returned back from wringing out his wet clothes to find that a mass brawl had erupted on the river bank. Francisco had his hands round Derrick as if trying to strangle him while Derrick was attempting to prise him off by punching him in the gut. Meanwhile, Vincent had tried to wade in only to be caught in the nose by a flailing limb. Blood was dripping out into his cupped hand, but thankfully it wasn’t broken. Everyone else was just standing there watching, either too stunned or too scared to try and intervene. Jack dropped his damp shirt onto the ground and sprinted over as fast as he could. “Alright, break it up, guys!” he yelled, grabbing Francisco’s arm and wrenching it away from Derrick’s neck. “The fight’s over.” “He’s crazy, your hear me? Crazy!” Derrick yelled, stabbing a finger into Francisco’s chest and then backing away sharpish. “I’m crazy? Oh that’s rich, coming from the guy who’s so lazy he almost killed a person.” “It was an accident.” “Yeah, well, so is this.” And Francisco pushed past Jack before smacking Derrick painfully round the head. The contact was so loud it could probably have been heard from the other side of campus. “I said that’s enough,” Jack said firmly and shoved Francisco away before he could do any more damage. “Leave it out, Fran. He’s not worth it.” “Yeah, that’s right. Back off like a pussy,” Derrick taunted, but it was clear that Francisco’s whack had knocked some of the confidence out of him as well as a few skin cells. “You’d better watch out, you worthless piece of shit,” Francisco yelled, “Because the next time your arse is turned I’ll be kicking it.” “You need to see anger management I reckon, mate.” “Shut up, Derrick!” Jack shouted. “You’re one to bloody talk.” He turned to Francisco. “Now what was that you were saying about being so lazy that you almost killed a person?” Francisco smirked smugly. “Haven’t you heard? It was Derrick’s shit job doing up the knots that made the raft weak on one corner. It was his fault that it fell apart.” “Who says?” “Her,” Francisco replied and jerked a finger over to Melissa. Jack looked at her inquisitively and she nodded to confirm what Francisco had said. “You lot are taking this way out of context,” Derrick said defensively. “Perhaps,” Jack replied, “But it’s not the first time you’ve caused controversy is it, Derrick?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You know perfectly well what it means,” Jack retorted. “Not a few hours ago I gave you an ultimatum to change your behaviour and it appears to have gone straight through one ear and out the other.” “But Francisco-” “Yes, I know Francisco was in the wrong and he will be punished accordingly, but so you were and unlike him it wasn’t a first offence. Luckily for you, bad language and a cocky personality - while not at all encouraged - aren’t worthy of a serious punishment. However; violence, continuous fighting and a serious lack of judgement and control that has resulted in risks to the lives of your fellow agents on more than one occasion… those, Derrick, are grave offences. Don’t say I don’t didn’t warn you and at the end of the day it won’t be my decision to make, but I’d be extremely surprised to see you hanging around here come next week.” Derrick’s face lit up with fury. “Are you threatening me?” “No, I’m just stating the facts.” But Derrick wasn’t having any of it. He had completely flipped, losing all sense of calm and control. “You’ve had this planned out all along, haven’t you?” he snarled. “Ever since the first event you’ve had it in for me and now the truth comes out. You’re trying to get me kicked out. Why, huh? Is it because you’re scared I’m going to beat the living shit out of you?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jack muttered. “Don’t bloody deny it,” Derrick yelled. “I know it’s true.” “Stop being a tit, Derrick,” Tyson - the final member of the group - tutted. “You’re making a scene.” Tyson had been Derrick’s closest ally over the whole weekend – the one who he was always snickering to when Jack was talking – but now it was obvious that even he was fed up with his friend’s antics. “If you get kicked out it will be because of your own stupid actions, Derrick,” Jack said, the argument quickly becoming tiresome. “End of.” Derrick stared around at the group, not quite able to believe what he was hearing. His lips curled into a snarl as his eyes settled back on Jack. “You’re not fit to teach a cage of rats, let alone teenage secret agents. If you ask me, it’s a bloody joke.” “But do you want to hear the biggest joke of them all?” Jack replied. “Because guess what – I’m looking at it.” The thin tether restraining Derrick back snapped and the seventeen year old charged forward like a kamikaze warrior, his fists raised. His eyes were bloodshot, his veins bulging and Jack knew that he’d now gone way beyond the point of human reasoning. He was mad, he was wild and he was dangerous. But before he could even lay a finger on Jack, someone had stepped in his way and blocked his attack. “Leave him alone,” Ella growled. It was a peculiar sight. Ella’s clothes and hair were still dripping with water, several of the towels draped over her shoulders. Her skin was as white as a sheet and even as she stood, Jack could see her knees shaking. But here she was, standing up to what was almost a full grown man – and an angry one at that - and for several moments Derrick was so stunned he couldn’t even come up with a pathetic taunt to throw back. But that didn’t last for long… “Oooh, look who’s sticking up for the instructor,” Derrick sneered, sizing up his new opponent with contempt. “You two really would make a perfect couple. He’s hopeless at everything as well.” Ella looked as if she was about to argue back, but suddenly a large figure loomed up from behind Derrick. “Is there a problem?” the figure spoke. Derrick spun round and jumped with a start. He was staring up into the stony face of Chase, the main instructor. About a hundred yards behind him, Louise was running back down the hill with a pile of blankets and a medical kit in her arms. “Derrick, I presume?” Chase said, staring down at him. Derrick gulped nervously. “Yes, sir.” “Come with me, please. I’ve heard some very nasty rumours about you that I wish to discuss.” For a fraction of a second, Chase’s eyes flickered over at Jack. He was the only one who saw it. “C- C- Come with you?” Derrick stammered. Despite himself, Jack couldn’t help smirking as the seventeen year old got his just desserts. Jack might’ve been sodden, but at least he wasn’t about to wet his pants. “Yes, right now if you will.” “Uh, sure… of course.” Chase made sure that Derrick was walking ahead of him before casting one last glance over the thirteen remaining junior agents. “I trust you’ll be able to retrieve the logs and start the event again from the beginning, instructor?” he said to Jack. Jack nodded firmly. “Absolutely, sir.” “Good.” Chase returned the nod and then started to walk back up the hill after Derrick. 8Little White Lie“Before I say anything about the competition, I would like to you remind you all that these training weekends aren’t just about winning. Being a winner isn’t all that matters, because while it is highly commendable and at the end of the day you should be proud of yourselves, it is not everything. And in my opinion, it is not even important. “The clue is in the name: training weekend. These courses are supposed to provide you with the chance to learn and improve on your weaknesses. It is not about showing off, exposing the faults of your colleagues and doing everything in your power to succeed. Therefore, arguably, the real winners are those that show the most improvement as opposed to the downright champions. But like any winner, you must also show grace and sportsmanship in victory. There will come a time when you are not so successful and the way you behave to others will then be reflected back on you. If you treat others with respect, they will treat you back with respect. If you treat them badly it will be entirely up to them to treat you badly back. Therefore you cannot complain if you find yourself having a taste of your own medicine. “Many of you will be wondering why I am saying this. Well, allow me to tell you… “Today some very unpleasant and unsavoury behaviour indeed has been taking place within one of the groups – for the sake of those involved, I will not say which. However, what I will tell you is that it’s resulted in one agent being suspended from duty for three months while another agent has been expelled from the organisation permanently. We take discipline very seriously here at MI6, but it appears as if some of you might be beginning to forget that. Violence is not a solution to life’s problems. Nor is fighting back the correct way to deal with it. But even worse, is when – for whatever reason - someone mocks and ridicules their own teammate. That will not be tolerated. I’m not saying that some colleagues won’t have their differences – they will, it’s part of human nature. So if you have a problem with someone, anyone at all, then speak to a member of staff who can deal with the situation properly. Don’t go thinking that you can sort your own battles out because it will just make things worse. Speak to someone who can help. Believe me when I say it will be a lot better for everyone. “That is why I wanted to speak to you now – to remind you that without each other, there would be no MI6 Junior Section. We are a secret, tight-knit organisation and that is why we cannot risk falling out with each other. Indeed, what are you going to do if you’re paired with someone to embark on a highly-important mission? Are you a) going to constantly bicker and fight over who’s better and who does what, or are you b) going to put your differences aside and work as a team for the greater good. “This is what it is all about: teamwork. And it is ironic that the pinnacle of this incident should take place on that very event. It just goes to show how important the ability is and I wanted to make sure that each and every one of you knows it, values it and does it. So if you don’t think you can manage that, I suggest you seriously start reflecting on your position. Do you really want to continue belonging to MI6 or will it be better for everyone if you walked through the exit door? Think about it carefully, please, because there is no room for unsportsmanlike behaviour in this organisation. So there will be no more squabbles, no more violence and no more fights, thank you very much. I expect acceptable behaviour from all of you from now on or the punishments will be severe. You have been told. Don’t say I didn’t warn you… “So with my little rant out of the way, on a brighter note, we will now commence with the MI6 Mini Olympics award ceremony!” Standing at the back of the courtyard with the rest of the instructors, Jack watched as Chase turned away from the microphone and picked up the first trophy from the table behind him. However, there were no prizes being given for guessing the two agents that were missing from the ceremony. Chase’s conversation with Derrick had been brief and direct. Half an hour later, he had packed his bags and was waiting by the main entrance for his dad to pick him up. Most of the agents were going to be taken back home by coach or minibus, but Chase had decided that Derrick wouldn’t be joining them. Now that he was no longer under MI6 rule, another fight could break out all too easily. In comparison, his talk with Francisco was longer, more detailed and in many ways a lot more difficult. Chase knew that Francisco was one of the best junior agents the organisation had – his strength resembled that of an adult bodybuilder as opposed to a normal teenager - and to miss having him for even the briefest of spells would be a blow to their mission hopes. But there was no excuse for the way he’d assaulted Derrick, even if his actions had been provoked. Chase also knew that to avoid appearing biased to other agents he had to be consistent when it came to doling out punishments. If he treated the better agents more favourably, it was sure to cause a massive uproar – something he could certainly live without. Therefore, after giving Francisco a serious lecturing on his behaviour, he eventually decided to suspend him from all MI6 activity for three months. That included meetings, training and missions. When the suspension was served he would be able to resume his career once more. The harsh punishment also presented another benefit, as Chase found out when he broke the news of Francisco’s suspension to the rest of the group. The sheer shock on the teenagers’ faces had said it all. Chase had stressed that he would abide zero tolerance on any further misbehaviour and now it was confirmed. Hopefully, from now on, the fear of being on the receiving end of one of his punishments would be enough to keep them in check. Unlike some instructors he knew, Chase didn’t enjoy chastising the teenagers – while he currently had no kids of his own, he dreamed of one day bearing one with his wife once he was retired and had the burden of MI6 teaching off his back. But when they stepped out of line as Derrick and Francisco had done that afternoon, sometimes he was left with no choice. “I will begin with youngest first,” Chase announced and looked down at the score sheet in his hand. After the final round of events had been completed, each instructor in charge of a group had handed in the final tallies and the overall rankings for each category had been sorted on a computer spread sheet. What Chase held in his hand was the finished article. “So, in third place from the under-fourteen boys category is Hayden Vaughan.” The crowd politely applauded as a little kid bounded up onto the stairs and received his bronze medal from Chase. “Second is Kamui Kawashima – apologies if I pronounced your name wrong.” A Japanese boy with manga style hair accepted his silver medal and then quickly returned back to his spot. “And lastly, with a highly commendable final score of seventy-six out of a hundred and twenty, the winner is… Tobias Schneider.” Beaming every step of the way, Tobias – a stocky kid with wavy, messy brown hair – shook Chase’s hand and then held his sparkling trophy aloft for everyone to see. Jack clapped loudly and couldn’t help feeling slightly sad about seeing a cheerful, bubbly kid so early in his MI6 career as Tobias stepped back into line and Chase reached for the next awards. Four years ago, that might’ve been him walking up to receive a prize in the under-fourteen boy’s category. Now he was an instructor, watching and teaching the next generation as they began to learn the tricks of the trade. Time was moving quickly. He was growing up fast. His childhood was now well and truly behind him. A petite girl called Georgia won the trophy for the females, much to everyone’s surprise. Standing next to Chase as they shook hands she looked like a matchstick, but according to Williams who was standing next to Jack she was a lot tougher than she looked. It turned out to be a huge advantage. In fact, her male opponent had been so cocky going into the combat event that he’d still been smirking as she whacked him off the beam. The trophies for the under fifteen’s and under sixteen’s were handed out in quick succession and then, with the sun just beginning to set on the horizon, Chase arrived to the announcement that they’d all been waiting for. At least, Jack had. “And with a gigantic score of a hundred and one – the highest mark achieved by anybody this weekend – the winner of the under seventeen boys is… Pierre de Villiers.” South African no doubt, Jack thought, as a rhino of a teenager strolled up onto the stage. When he shook Chase’s hand, Jack could almost see the instructor’s finger bones being crunched into a fine dust. Jack had been hoping that one of the junior agents from his group might have been champion, but none of them had even made it into the top three. Francisco had been his best bet for a medal, but even though Chase had allowed his final score to stand, his group had marginally lost in the replay of the teamwork event, the nought points he’d received severely damaging his chances of success. Still, there was always the girls… “And now we come to the final category,” Chase announced, picking up the final three prizes from the table. “The under-seventeen girls. In third place is Alyssa Jennings.” Despite everything, Jack found himself crossing his fingers behind his back. He wasn’t going to pretend: he was a very competitive person and though a good loser he didn’t like it to happen too often. This competition was getting to him a lot more than he first imagined. The way he saw it, if one of his agents did really well overall, it would reflect well on his teaching even if he did only read out some instructions. “In second place is Abby Jorgenson.” Jack silently cursed under his breath. There was only one more slot left… and it was the big one. “And the recipient of the last trophy of the day, with eighty-eight points…” Hang on, Jack thought. That score sounded familiar. “…is Katrina Kirilenko.” “Yeah, get in!” Jack yelled, almost as loudly as the girl herself. Jack found himself punching the air with his fist, much to the bemusement of the instructors around him, as Katrina bounded up to the front and received her trophy from Chase. Jack was still clapping and whooping when he felt a sudden tap on his left shoulder. He spun round to find Huntingdon standing behind him. “Yes?” Jack asked. “There’s someone who wants to see you,” he said. “Follow me.” Jack’s first thought as he reluctantly walked after Huntingdon was: who could it be? Chase was the main instructor so if anybody was going to give him a debrief on his teaching performance it would be him. However, as he could still hear, Chase was addressing the junior agents and commending them on their performance and efforts throughout the weekend. Unless Chase had found some way of appearing in two places at once, it wasn’t him. Huntingdon led him into the main building, down a corridor and then knocked on the fourth door on the right. “Come in.” Jack’s eyes widened as he recognised that voice. Huntingdon opened the door and ushered Jack into the room. “Jack Knight to see you, sir.” “Thank you, Rhys.” Mr Grey was sitting behind a wooden desk, looking uncomfortable. He was in unfamiliar surroundings. With no Miss Woodham, his secretary, to make him a strong coffee, he’d had to make do with a cup of cold water from the cooler across the corridor and by the way he was fidgeting about in his seat, the standard fabric office chair clearly didn’t cut the mustard. It wasn’t often that he was to be seen anywhere other than at his house in Notting Hill or his office at the MI6 Headquarters and he was obviously out of his comfort zone. So whatever it was that had brought him here, it had to be very important. “Sit down, Jack,” Mr Grey said offering him a plastic school chair with a wonky leg. Then he looked up at Huntingdon. “Return to the others. They’ll be wondering where you’ve been.” “Sir.” Huntingdon walked out of the room and closed the door. “So…” Mr Grey took a sip from his plastic cup and shivered, “…How has the weekend been for you?” “Uh, fine,” Jack replied with slight trepidation. “It’s been a good experience.” “I understand you were involved in a little tussle with some of the junior agents.” Jack managed to avoid scowling. “I was just trying to break up a fight,” he replied. “It was nothing. The right people were punished.” “As I understand it, yes.” “I can’t say that I’m going to make a living out of teaching though. All I did was supervise and read out some instructions and even that was stressful.” Mr Grey nodded slowly. “Clearly then, your talents lie elsewhere.” It was then that Mr Grey produced the file that Jack had seen on his desk the day after his eighteenth birthday, the one labelled: Massacre Chain. “You remember the little request I gave you before setting out here?” Mr Grey asked. Jack nodded. “I was assigned to a group of seventeen year olds so I didn’t get the chance to see the other age groups in action, but I’ve been having a word with some of the other instructors and they’ve given me a few hints on who they think would be most suitable.” Mr Grey pulled out a blank sheet of paper from the top of the pile and removed an expensive-looking fountain pen from the chest pocket of his suit. He placed the blank paper down next to another sheet which Jack hadn’t realised, up to this point, was a collection of tables of the top-scoring junior agents from each category. Mr Grey removed the lid from his fountain pen and looked up at Jack. “Your final recommendation for the fourteen year old boy, if you please,” he asked. Jack nodded. He’d learnt the three names off by heart so he wouldn’t forget. “Tobias Schneider,” he said. “He won his category by a significant margin and while he still manages to look young and innocent, he’s actually really strong. Although he’ll be relatively inexperienced, he should bring a lot to the mission.” “A safe choice,” Mr Grey commented, jotting the name down in immaculate handwriting next to the number: one. “Next, the fifteen year old boy…” “Fredrik Carter,” Jack replied. “Fred for short. He won the bronze medal in his category, but according to his instructor he only dropped points and places because he sustained an injury three events from the end.” Mr Grey raised his eyebrows. “What sort of injury?” “Really bad stomach-ache, apparently,” Jack replied. “If I was him, I’d blame it on the food they serve in the canteen. That shit is disgusting.” Mr Grey stared at him. “Oops, sorry,” Jack mumbled. “Slip of the tongue.” “So you don’t think he’s unsuitable personality-wise?” Mr Grey asked. “Desperate excuses are usually the sign of someone who’s arrogant and can’t face up to their mistakes.” “Well, you’d have to be a pretty good actor to fake throwing up on a table of gadgets with real sick, that’s for sure.” Mr Grey appeared to cringe at the description. “Very well, I’ll write his name down.” Jack waited patiently for him to finish. “And finally, the seventeen year old girl…?” Jack notably hesitated this time, as if he was still thinking or having second thoughts about his decision. He bit his lip, prayed that he hadn’t made the wrong choice, and then spoke. “I’ve decided on a girl called Ella Fox – she was in the group that I was, um, teaching.” Mr Grey raised his eyebrows and looked down at his score sheet. “So, as I understand it, was Miss Kirilenko and yet she came top overall. Why do you not choose her?” “Well, um…” Jack found himself clutching at thin air. “While Katrina is extremely strong and obtained a very impressive final score, I thought that the trio needed a good balance between brawn and brains. Tobias has good strength, Fredrik – or so I’ve heard – can be very smart when he wants to be and Ella will be somewhere in-between the both of them. All the important aspects will be covered.” “And you don’t think that the difference in abilities will affect their chemistry as a unit?” Mr Grey asked. “As Chase likes to say, it’s all about teamwork,” Jack replied. “And for each of them to have got such good overall scores, they must have managed to prove themselves on that event.” “Well, as you’ve already mentioned, you were in charge of supervising the group that Miss Fox was in,” Mr Grey said. “So tell me, how did she do in the teamwork event?” “At first, very well. She was organised, calm under pressure, listened closely to the leader’s instructions and then volunteered to be the one to cross the river. In fact, her group would have won comfortably if the raft hadn’t then capsized.” Mr Grey nodded. “Yes, I heard about that.” Jack shifted about uneasily on his wonky stool. “That’s nice,” he mumbled. Either that was all Mr Grey knew or he didn’t want to go into any specific details, because he dropped the subject after that. Instead, he returned back to the matter in hand. “And you’re sure that there isn’t another reason why you chose Miss Fox over Miss Kirilenko?” Jack shrugged one shoulder. “There was one other reason,” he said slowly. The corner of Mr Grey’s mouth twitched without Jack knowing. “Go on…” “Well, I was thinking, if three teenagers are going to go undercover and are targeting the same people then the most obvious cover story is that they are a family. Therefore, as a contributing factor, I decided to pick three agents that could pass off as being relatives. Tobias has German heritage, but was born and raised in Lincolnshire and has an almost faultless English accent. Fredrick is half-Swedish, but the same rule applies. As for Ella, as far I’m aware she’s a hundred per cent British. Plus, it’s not as if they look completely different. If we tried to pair Sulaman Khan and Edwin Van Leeuwen together then maybe a few eyebrows would be raised, but they all have either light brown or fair hair and almost identical skin tones. Katrina on the other hand, despite having lived in Britain for the past five years, still possesses a strong Ukrainian accent which will be hard to disguise. Therefore to avoid ruining the mission, I eventually decided to overlook her and go for Ella instead.” Jack managed a smile. “Have I managed to convince you?” “Uh, yes, very good,” Mr Grey coughed. Although he tried to disguise it, Jack just managed to detect a hint of disappointment in his withered face. “That was very diligent of you to look forward towards the mission with such detail. Well done.” “So you’re going to include Ella as the third agent?” “Yes, I don’t see why not.” Inside, Jack smiled. Mr Grey finished down writing Ella’s name and tucked the sheet back away into the file. “You’ve done extremely well, Jack, as always,” he said. Despite himself, Jack blushed. “Uh, thank you, sir.” Mr Grey excused himself for a few minutes and left the room, closing the door behind him. Jack noticed that he had a mobile phone in his hand as he walked passed. When the Head of MI6 returned again, he noticed Jack glancing down at the file which was still lying in plain sight in the middle of the desk. “Do you want to know what the mission is about?” Mr Grey asked. Jack looked back up with a start and blushed. “Oh, no,” he replied hastily, “I was just looking.” He paused. “Anyway, isn’t it against MI6 conduct to show an agent that isn’t involved in a mission classified information?” Mr Grey twirled his fountain pen casually in his hands. “Strictly speaking, yes, but I’m sure we can make an exception just this once.” “Please, sir, you don’t have to. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been sticking my nose in. It’s got nothing to do with me.” Mr Grey raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t it?” Before Jack could utter a reply, Mr Grey pulled out a second sheet of paper (despite there being a thick wad inside the file he seemed to know exactly where it was) and placed it on the desk in front of him. Then he spun it round a hundred and eighty degrees so Jack could see. “Massacre Chain is a nickname,” Mr Grey began, “And it is a nickname that’s been given to a company. A very big company. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of them, Jack, but their name is K.O.” “K.O?” Jack repeated. “As in Knock-Out?” “No one knows for sure,” Mr Grey replied. “But, yes, it well could be.” Jack stared at the two bold letters at the very top of the sheet. “And what do they do?” “K.O is a goods dealer specialising in the black-market. I suppose you could say they are illegal weapons traders, although they do not stick to just bombs, grenades and firearms. That is their main source of income though. It has been said that if there is anything illegal in the world that you want to buy, K.O can get it for you.” “And can they?” “So I’ve heard, but it comes at a price of course, and that is what has made the company so successful. As of four years ago – and the stat still remains today – they are the wealthiest illegal goods dealers in the world in terms of annual income. The amount of money people say they make… the figure just blows the mind.” “How much?” “We’re talking billions.” Jack whistled. “That’s nearing Apple territory.” “Indeed. And that’s not the only mind-boggling fact. They own an astonishing share of the criminal market and no rival company has managed to get anywhere close to them since. According to statistics, they sell hundreds of grand’s worth of weapons every day and have had customers from every single country in the world. But this is the really impressive one: apparently, they are indirectly linked to half of all gun crimes in the world and two thirds of all terrorist attacks, hence why they have obtained the nickname Massacre Chain from both rivals and the Secret Services alike. It’s supposed to reflect just how much influence the company has on worldwide crime and emphasises more than ever exactly why we need to stop them. A lot of their success is down to the work of their Chief Executive, a Geordie called Calvin King, but they have a special connection to a former famous organisation that I think you’ll find particularly interesting… “…K.O is the sister company of Torpedo.” Torpedo… Five months ago, Jack had thought he’d heard the last of that name. Evidently not. Mr Grey studied Jack’s reaction carefully as first his jaw dropped and then he started trying to make some sense of the situation. “They’re not… back, are they?” Jack said anxiously. “Who Torpedo?” “Yes.” “No, no, they were dead and buried long ago. In fact the only operative we have still yet to catch up with is that Italian, Antonio Falconi. But don’t worry, we’ll find him eventually. No, K.O is now purely independent, but it was their connection with Torpedo that brought them fame and custom in the first place. In fact, without that publicity, the company may never have even taken off. Now, believe it or not, they’re one of the biggest in the world.” “And you want to infiltrate them?” “That’s right.” “How?” “By exploiting their weaknesses.” “Impress me.” “Calvin King and his wife, Olivia, have four children.” “How do you know that?” “Oh, it was easy enough. We knew where the family had originated from – Newcastle upon Tyne, as I told you - and so just started asking a few questions around the neighbourhood. The fact that they had four kids – all now teenagers – was about the only thing that they did know.” “And so?” “And so they are our targets. Currently, the King family live in Hong Kong where the secret headquarters of K.O is supposed to be located. Unfortunately, no one on our side knows exactly where it is.” “Hong Kong?” Jack grinned. “I bet that was a bit of a culture shock for them.” Mr Grey didn’t look amused. “So, posing as a family that are immigrating to Hong Kong for a business-related reason – we haven’t decided quite what yet - the four agents will attempt to befriend the King children and thus infiltrate the family. The next step on from there will be to see if we can find out anything about K.O using our undercover position.” “Hang on a moment,” Jack interrupted. “Did you just say four agents?” “Yes.” Mr Grey stared at him blankly – Jack hated it when he did that. It was like talking to a sixty-five year old brick wall. “But you only asked for me to scout three agents.” Again Mr Grey nodded. “That’s right.” “Then who’s the fourth?” Now Mr Grey looked down at the sheet of paper on the desk. He reached over with a wrinkled finger and pointed to a line of text at the very bottom of the page. “Why don’t you tell me?” he said. Jack looked down and read out loud: “Jack Knight.” He stared up at Mr Grey in shock. “Me?” “Well, I don’t know any other Jack Knight’s, do you?” “But- but-” Jack felt his head start to swim. “Back at the headquarters, you said there were only three agents on this mission.” Mr Grey forced a thin smile. “Then that might’ve been a little white lie. As you now know, Calvin King has four children. It makes sense that we should send out four agents to befriend them.” “So the fourth kid must be…” “An eighteen year old boy, yes.” Mr Grey looked across at Jack. “You see, it all makes sense.” And then a horrible thought struck Jack. “You tricked me,” he said accusingly. “The scouting, this meeting, the top-secret file that you left specifically on the desk so that I would look at it... it’s all been one big scheme to get me on board, hasn’t it?” “I’ve done nothing of the sort,” Mr Grey said defensively. “You were the one that wanted to help out with the training weekend, remember?” Jack silently cursed under his breath. “And what about my free will?” he asked. “Don’t I get to have a choice whether I accept this mission or not?” “Then I think now would be an appropriate time, don’t you?” Mr Grey’s question took Jack aback. “Alright, fine,” he mumbled. “I will decide.” He stared down at the sheet of paper with his name on it; the top-secret file still strategically positioned just above that, almost urging him to take a closer look. For a few moments, he was sorely tempted. But then he remembered his promise to Jessica: No more missions. No more enemies. No more deaths. In all three ways, Torpedo had been the last one. He’d already made his mind up several days ago. This wasn’t his battle to fight. “Sorry, Mr Grey,” Jack said, turning the sheet over and pushing the contents of the file back across the desk. “I’ve had enough. I don’t want to do it anymore. Besides, I’m eighteen – I’m too old for this line of work now.” Something close to sorrow flickered deep inside Mr Grey’s colourless eyes. “What a great… shame,” he said. “I was certain you’d say yes.” “Well, not today.” Jack stood up and nodded down at the old man in front of him. “Goodbye, sir.” He turned to go. “You know, I was so confident you’d agree to it I even had your new passport produced in advance.” Jack stopped and turned around. Mr Grey was holding a small maroon booklet in the air, the front page emblazoned with the famous gold British coat of arms: a passport and it certainly looked genuine enough from where Jack was standing. “Would you like to see it?” Mr Grey asked. Subconsciously, Jack took a step forward, but then suddenly stopped himself. He was allowing his natural intrigue to get the better of his common sense. “No thank you, sir,” Jack replied, suspecting another trick to draw him in. “I’ve already got one at home.” But this time he didn’t turn around. He watched as Mr Grey placed the passport and the sheet back into the file and moved the whole thing to the side of the desk. “Frankly, I’m quite surprised,” the Head of MI6 said suddenly. Jack frowned. “What do you mean, sir?” “Well, I thought you’d really want to sign up to the mission, particularly after finding out exactly who it involved.” “My grudge was with Craig Taylor and Torpedo,” Jack replied. “Not K.O.” “True,” Mr Grey nodded, “But then of course you don’t know about their dirty little secrets.” From one of his drawers he pulled out a blank piece of paper and innocently started writing a formal letter addressed to the Deputy Prime Minister. Meanwhile Jack was left standing there in the middle of the room, the silence hitting him from all directions. “What dirty little secrets?” Jack asked eventually. Mr Grey looked up as if he’d completely forgotten Jack was there. “Oh, forget it, it doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively, waving it away with the flick of a hand. “You’re not even interested.” Jack walked forwards and threw himself back down onto the stool. The wobbly leg almost gave way beneath him. Mr Grey didn’t even glance up. “Tell me,” Jack demanded. Mr Grey sighed and placed the lid back onto his fountain pen. “As you know, while you were safely out of harm’s way with your friends and family in Mauritius, MI6 was busy capturing the last remaining Torpedo agents that hadn’t either died in the war or committed suicide after hearing that their side had lost. In total, there were about two hundred. MI6 were granted a quarter of these prisoners – the CIA, ASIS and etcetera got the rest – and we then proceeded to interrogate each of them in a secure Ministry of Defence facility to find out what they knew.” Jack could tell that Mr Grey was taking deliberate time over his story, adding in unnecessary details to try and build up the suspense. It was working. “Some refused to speak, some garbled utter codswallop that made no sense whatsoever, but the bottom line is that most of the prisoners offered us no information of great importance or relevance. However, there was one operative that did have something interesting to say… something very interesting indeed. As it turns out, he was a Chinese – we had to bring a translator in - who had previously worked for the People’s Liberation Army – the Armed Forces of China – before being exorcised and recruited by the Asian branch of Torpedo five years ago. For the best part of those five years, he had been commissioned at a small Torpedo base in Beijing, but apparently one day he received a call ordering him to travel down to Hong Kong for a special job. He wasn’t going to refuse. “He met an unknown man in Kowloon – believed to be one of King’s associates - and, along with several other random operatives, was transported blindfolded to K.O’s secret headquarters. The blindfolds were only removed when they were safe inside. If they hadn’t taken that precaution, he might’ve been able to give us clues to the location. But never mind. We plan to find out for ourselves.” “The story?” “I’m getting there. As it turned out, the special job our source was looking forward to wasn’t actually that special. Like the other operatives, he was required to stand on duty for twenty-four hours inside the headquarters. That was it. However, over the course of the day, he began to realise why the extra security had been brought in. A very important visitor had arrived in Hong Kong by plane and was being transported to the base to view something. The only reason why he’d come was because he wanted to see it in the flesh.” “And what was this something?” Jack asked. Mr Grey smiled. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? For our source, it soon became apparent that whatever was being viewed was stored in the very heart of the base, in a secret hangar. Whatever it was, it was obviously extremely large. Unfortunately, our source had been posted away from the hangar near one of the secret exits, meaning he didn’t get a chance to sneak a glance at what this something was. But as luck would have it, just before he was transported blindfolded back into Kowloon, he managed a quick conversation with one of the other guards. And this one had caught a glimpse of the something.” “So what was it?” “The details were sketchy,” Mr Grey replied. “Whether this is down to our source or the guard, I do not know. But from what I gather, it was some sort of combat aircraft – huge in size, packed with weapons and fortified like a battle tank.” Mr Grey looked at Jack. “Ring any bells?” Jack gasped. “The Juggernaut,” he whispered. The Juggernaut had been Torpedo’s secret weapon during the secret war against the global Secret Services and Armed Forces, hovering way above the battlefield out of harm’s way thanks to its rotatable engines, but able to cause destruction and havoc to the enemy by dropping down various guided missiles. It very nearly killed them and would have done so but for the sequence of events that soon followed… Mr Grey nodded. “That’s exactly what I thought and means that the person who had come to view it was-” “Craig Taylor.” Jack was already one step ahead of the game. “Precisely. And so if all that is true like we believe it is, then it means that K.O were responsible for producing the monster that killed so many of not just our agents, but agents from all across the globe. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the Juggernaut, that Czech friend of yours… Stanislav Svoboda… might have survived. If you look at it that way, K.O killed him.” “Please, don’t remind me,” Jack muttered quietly, a pained expression on his face. In his darkest hour, when everyone he loved had been taken by Torpedo, Stan had been Jack’s only ally in a world of enemies. Together they’d travelled to New York, broken into the Torpedo headquarters and then flew to Nevada to fight in the war. In the aftermath of Stan's death, Jack had felt entirely responsible. He was the one that had brought him there. He was the one that had brought him to his grave. But maybe it wasn’t just his fault. Maybe K.O had a part to play as well. “Sorry, Jack,” Mr Grey apologised. “I just thought you’d like to know.” “It’s alright,” Jack mumbled. “I’ll get over it.” So Mr Grey continued. “In addition to that, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I found out that K.O had been supplying lots of other weapons to help Torpedo’s cause. After all, what other reason could they have for setting the company up? The bomb parts they used in Mt. Avalanche, the weapons and equipment they used in the gladiator ring in Africa – all those items are right up K.O’s street. “Don’t you see now, Jack, why it is so important that we stop this company? Torpedo might be gone, but K.O is still up, running and in full flow. They’re one of the wealthiest companies in the world, for God’s sake! And so for as long as K.O still exists, they’ll keep on supplying weapons and equipment to their thousands of global customers and thus indirectly keep funding crime. The Ministry of Defence thinks that the best way to cut crime is to capture as many culprits as possible and lock them up for twenty years. But that’s utter rubbish! I say differently. I think that the best way to cut crime is to target the very start of the chain and in this case it’s the equipment. Get rid of the weapons, people have nothing to use. Get rid of the weapons, the amount of crime will drop. It’s like trying to collect as many frogspawn eggs as you can from a pond. Wait for them to develop into tadpoles and they’ll be swimming about all the over place. But grab them while they’re still eggs and it will be as easy as pie.” Jack nodded when suddenly the door opened behind him. “The three agents to see you, sir,” Huntingdon’s voice called into the room. “Thank you, Rhys,” Mr Grey replied. “You can leave them with me now.” Jack turned around just as Huntingdon ushered the three junior agents into the room and closed the door shut. Jack looked at the three teenagers. One of them was Tobias Schneider, another was Fredrik Carter and the final one was Ella Fox. She smiled sweetly at him as their eyes made contact. “I’m afraid I don’t have any more seats left,” Mr Grey said, looking around the unfamiliar room. “Tobias – it is Tobias, isn’t it? – can you go and fetch three spare seats from the room next door, please.” Eager to impress the Head of MI6, Tobias quickly scurried off into the corridor and disappeared. “What are you doing here?” Ella whispered to Jack. She suddenly blushed. “It isn’t about the, you know, raft, is it?” “Oh no,” Mr Grey answered, quickly picking up on their conversation, “Jack’s just here to talk about joining the mission.” Before Jack could utter a single word, Ella squealed with delight. “Oh, you’re on it too, are you?” she beamed. “Huntingdon was telling us a bit about it on the way up here. Isn’t it great?” “Yeah, brilliant,” Jack mumbled, still not entirely convinced about where his loyalty lied. He looked back at Mr Grey. “Well, Jack?” the Head of MI6 asked. “I’ve told you all you need to know. The decision is now entirely up to you.” In the split second that Mr Grey said you, Jack could have sworn he glanced upwards in the direction of Ella Fox. And suddenly Jack knew. Mr Grey had had it all planed out right from the very beginning – the whole thing. Jack had thought he was being tricked by the Head of MI6… and now it was confirmed. Before Jack had even set foot in the room, Mr Grey must have thought that he would refuse the offer of joining mission and he’d been right. But instead of letting Jack leave like any other person, he’d already formulated an alternative idea. A backup. A failsafe. Discreetly toying with Jack here and there while slyly offering little snippets of information about the mission to draw him in, Mr Grey had gradually been turning his mind around. It was like the legend of the Pied Piper with his magical instrument… and just like the village children, Jack had waltzed straight into the trap. Ella’s arrival had been the final piece in the puzzle. It might have appeared sudden, but Jack would have bet his car that it had all been intricately timed to the second by the man sitting across the desk from him. He was now stuck in a hole to which there was only one escape route out of. Jack looked back at Ella and saw her smiling at him. It could have melted the polar ice caps. Then he stared across at Mr Grey and the top-secret mission file that he’d now slipped back in front of him. The Head of MI6 raised both eyebrows as if to say: Well? Jack sighed. He couldn’t believe that it was happening again. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.” 9New In TownFlying under the new surname of Bennett, the family of six watched out of the small, circular windows as the aeroplane broke through the carpet of clouds and started to descend towards Hong Kong International airport on the small island of Lantau. A spectacular sight greeted their eyes: hundreds of lush green islands – some large, some no bigger than a football pitch – almost floating in a wide expanse of sparkling blue water. Pressing his cheek against the plastic, Jack Knight – now Jack Bennett – gasped and grinned as downtown Hong Kong came into sight. If New York was spectacular in the approaching dusk, Hong Kong was in a completely different league. Skyscrapers were lit up like Christmas trees while the whole city just seemed to glow like a hearth fire underneath the mantelpiece. Red, yellow, purple, turquoise – every building seemed to radiate a different colour. This was an area of the city that had no shortage of electricity and it appeared as if they were extremely keen to display this fact. Sitting beside Jack were his younger brothers, Toby and Fred. To fit in with their background story, both junior agents had had to alter their names slightly, but already – thirteen hours after setting off from Heathrow – they had grown accustomed to it. Toby was playing a game on his iPod touch, chewing on a stick of bubble gum so that his ears didn’t get blocked. Fred was reading a non-fictional book about Hong Kong, deciding to brush up on some of his knowledge before they arrived. Ella Bennett was sitting directly in front of Jack and, like her elder brother, was also staring out of the window. “Dazzling, isn’t it?” Ella whispered. Jack nodded and smiled. “You took the word right out of my mouth.” Just then there was a pleasant chime reminiscent of a doorbell being pressed and the seatbelt sign above their heads flashed on for the first time since they’d left England. “Children, put your seatbelts on now,” Mrs Bennett said, reaching backwards and tapping Toby on the knee to rouse him from his game. “We’re almost coming in to land.” “We’re not five, you know, Mum,” Toby mumbled. “I think we can tell when the seatbelt sign has come on.” “Toby,” his mother said sternly. Toby sighed and momentarily turned away from his game. “Fine.” Mr Bennett folded away his Times newspaper and tucked it into the seat pocket in front of him. He then reached over and squeezed his wife warmly on the arm. “Almost there,” he smiled. Of course, they weren’t really husband and wife. In fact, neither of them was even married. The man posing as Jack’s father was Bradley Lancaster – the chief agent from the MI6 Senior Section. Fresh from recovering from a bullet wound to the leg which he sustained during the war against Torpedo, he was keen to see out the final few months of his spy career in style. Jack had worked with Lancaster on several previous missions and knew of him as one of the best secret agents MI6 had ever had in its history. If this – according to Mr Grey – hadn’t been one of the most important missions of the millennium, he might not have come. His ‘wife’ was a younger senior agent called Sophie Parker. Ten years his junior, she was relatively new to the scene having just been transferred from the Special Branch of MI5. However, she came with a wealth of experience, a strong eagerness to prove herself and, as Jack had already found out, a very convincing mother’s moan. All the pointless chit-chat as the plane banked slowly before landing on the runway was just a facade to try and appear like a normal family. However small the chance, there was always the possibility that K.O had an associate on board the plane with them – even if it was the cousin of the wife of one of the worker’s brothers – and so they had to make sure that they were in character at all times. Ever since the taxi from the MI6 Headquarters had dropped them off at the airport, they’d been nothing more than your average family moving abroad to pursue a new job and escape the terrible weather. As always, they’d decided to play it safe with the cover story. As Lancaster always liked to stress when he tested them on their knowledge: keep it simple, stupid. The Bennett family originated from the west end of London having just sold up their luxury house in Richmond to move abroad. The reason: the father, Bradley Bennett, was a rich businessman specialising in the stock market who had just been offered a big promotion by a private company. However, as part of the deal, he would have to move to Hong Kong where it would be more convenient for him to work and stay in contact with his colleagues. And so, obviously, his family would be coming with him. They were Sophie Bennett – the lovely wife who preferred to spend weekday evenings at home with the family than out with friends – and their four kids: eighteen year old Jack, seventeen year old Ella, fifteen year old Fred and fourteen year old Toby. They were all fairly academic, played at least one sport and enjoyed nothing more than causing mischief when their parents’ backs were turned. The first two points had been written down in the official top-secret mission file. The third point had not. It was each member of the family’s job to remember every detail of their cover story off by heart. If one of them was to forget a piece of information when asked or let slip something that went against their story by accident, it could ruin the mission for them all. One little mistake was all it would take for them to be rumbled. None of them planned to be the one responsible for that happening. Once the plane had parked up, the passengers vacated their seats and headed into the terminal building to collect their luggage. The Bennett family had one large suitcase each as well as a rucksack or bag which they were to keep with them at all times. It wasn’t as if they contained knives, hand pistols or expensive gadgets – they never would have made it through customs – but all their valuables were in there and while they were staying in a reasonably decked-out apartment on Hong Kong Island, the mission budget wasn’t enough to cover every phone or iPod that the kids lost. The swish apartment was merely there to support their wealthy cover story. The family had rented a brand new Toyota Freelander to drive around in, the seven seats meaning that they could all fit inside, albeit at a tight squeeze. It was waiting for them in an underground car park next to the airport, a man at the ticket booth inspecting their documents before handing them the keys. The luggage went into the boot and then the family clambered in. Because he was the smallest, Toby was made to sit in the back row. Lancaster at the wheel, they then emerged out into the sunset and got their first proper glimpse of the Hong Kong scenery. As the whole family wooed and wowed as the car crossed the Lantau Bridge, spanning the Ma Wan channel and linking the airport to the city centre, Jack was notably quiet and subdued. “You alright, Jack?” Ella asked, elbowing him gently on the arm. “You look lost – and yet Mum’s the one in charge of the map reading, God save us.” “Hey, I’m doing the best I can,” Sophie retorted, spinning the map round to match the road and accidentally clobbering Lancaster on the side of the head. Jack shrugged, barely registering Ella’s joke. “I’m just thinking, that’s all,” he replied. “Right,” Ella grinned. “So that explains the whirring and clanking noises I’ve been hearing. Thank God, I thought it was the engine.” When Jack didn’t reply she shrugged and looked back out the window. Arriving in Hong Kong had reminded Jack that he wasn’t supposed to be here, that he’d made a promise not just to Jessica but also to himself that he wouldn’t do this again. He should have known that Mr Grey would find a way somehow. He always did. Would Jessica find out? Probably. Would she be angry with him? Almost definitely. Jack sighed. Predictably, James had been over the moon to hear about his latest mission, clapping him on the back straight after he’d broken the news and chanting, “Good on ya’, son. That’s my boy.” Rachel on the other hand had been less than impressed. “But what about you’re exams?” she’d insisted. “Maths, English, Biology – they’re not going to be passed on their own, you know.” “I’m sorry,” was all that Jack could think to say. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” “Well, it’s a bit late for that now.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t say sorry to me, Jack, say sorry to your university prospects. They’re the ones that will be going down the pan.” Jack would have liked to have said more, but he couldn’t – not when his mum was so disappointed in him. He’d barely said a word as he packed his belongings and left for Hong Kong the following morning, James taking him as far as the MI6 Headquarters. In a way that was the worst thing; he’d gone with so much left unfulfilled – and he wasn’t just talking about his algebra homework. Half an hour later, the Toyota drew up next to a modern high-rise building on Hong Kong Island and descended down into another underground car park. With land space so valuable, sought-after and in short supply, it was extremely rare to see residential parking at street level and buildings that weren’t at least ten storeys high. It was easy to see why Hong Kong was one of the most densely populated cities in the world. The Bennett’s owned an apartment on the seventh floor. As soon as Lancaster opened the door, the four teenagers charged inside and sprinted straight for the bedrooms. “I claim this one!” Jack shouted, throwing himself onto the bed so that no one could get to it. “I wanted that one!” Fred complained. “Tough,” Jack grinned. “You know the rules – first come first serve. Now scoot.” An exhausted-looking Lancaster and Sophie started dragging in the luggage from the hallway as Toby and Fred found themselves both standing by the same room. “There’s only three bedrooms!” Toby yelled. “Yeah, I know,” Lancaster said. “So the two youngest are going to have to share.” “What?” Fred yelled. “We’re supposed to be loaded,” Toby added. “Only joking.” Lancaster pointed over to another doorway next to the parents’ bedroom which they hadn’t spotted. “Knock yourself out.” As Toby hurried over to investigate his new room, Jack walked up to his bedroom window and looked out into the night sky. On the other side of Victoria Harbour, someone had let off a load of fireworks. Jack watched as they soared into the air like missiles before exploding in a cauldron of sparkling colour. “Wow!” he could hear Ella saying in the room next door. Jack couldn’t help but agree. “There’s no place like home,” he said, forcing a smile. He turned back round to his suitcase and started to unpack.*“You start school this morning,” Sophie said as she walked into the kitchen. “I’ve already enlisted you all at the Hong Kong International School in Repulse Bay and bought you your new uniforms.” She threw a pile of laundered clothes onto the table, almost knocking over Ella’s bowl of cereal. “Repulse Bay?” Jack mumbled, picking up one of the uniforms and examining the design in disgust. “I’m not surprised.” “Oh ha ha,” Sophie said sarcastically, snatching the uniform away before he could spill milk all over it. “And this one isn’t even for you. Because you’re in the sixth form, you and Ella can apparently wear what you want as long as it’s still considered smart. That means no jeans, no trainers and definitely no football shirts.” She stared meaningfully at Jack throughout the whole sentence. “So what have you got us?” Ella asked. “These,” Sophie replied and held up a charcoal grey suit for Jack and a smart cardigan and skirt for Ella. “I had to guess your sizes slightly, but hopefully they should fit.” “They’re not so bad,” Jack said, taking his suit and placing it on the seat next to him. Just then Toby and Fred stumbled in, rubbing their eyes from a late night of staying up and watching movies. “Check out your new uniform,” Jack grinned and tossed them the two remaining bundle of clothes. Toby caught his and then stared down at in horror. “I’m not wearing that!” he yelled. “It’s hideous.” “You will be because I’m taking you to school in under three quarters of an hour,” Sophie replied. Toby and Fred’s faces drooped. “School!” Fred complained. “When did we agree to this?” “There was nothing to agree,” Sophie said firmly. “But we only arrived two days ago,” Toby added. Today was Thursday. “Can’t we wait till the beginning of next week before starting?” “No, and that’s final. We came here to do a job, remember? Not to relax, stay up late, watch movies and lounge about in your bedrooms from dawn to dusk. There’s no time like the present, and the King children are going to the school so you are going to. The earlier we can start making progress into infiltrating Calvin King’s company the better, so quickly have your breakfasts and I expect you all to be dressed and ready in half an hour at the latest, understood?” “Yes,” Fred and Toby groaned. “Good. Help yourself to cereals. There’s milk in the fridge if you want it.” “God, this is a nightmare,” Fred muttered, pulling up a chair and collapsing at the table. “I’ll tell you one thing for certain – that woman has certainly perfected the art of being a bossy, insufferable bitch.” “All in the cover, I suppose,” Jack shrugged. “Why couldn’t she be one of those cool mums that buy their kids loads of presents just because they’ve drawn a stupid picture or got seventy per cent in their geography test?” “Because your head is so big, you wouldn’t be able to fit any of them in your bedroom,” Sophie replied, cuffing Fred round the head as she suddenly appeared behind him. “Ow!” “Serves you right.” As Sophie returned to the bathroom and Fred started cursing and rubbing the back of his head, Jack and Ella could only smile and snicker into their cornflakes.*The Hong Kong International School was an extremely prestigious establishment that had once been voted the best school in Asia by a leading educational organisation. It also provided the chance to meet lots of different people from lots of different countries and had recently undergone a major new infrastructure development to improve it even further. That was according to Sophie as she drove the four junior agents up to Repulse Bay and dropped them off at the school gates. To Jack it just looked like another boring school with a weird red dragon with a beard as its official mascot. At least the suit fitted. Jack stepped out of the Toyota with the others then they all turned and waved as Sophie beeped the born and pulled away back into the stream of morning traffic. “Uggh, I think I’m going to be sick,” Toby muttered, as he quickly dropped his hand back down to his side. The four of them walked through the school gates for the first time together. Jack was right about one thing – apart from the diverse range of nationalities and ethnicities between some of the students, it could have been any other reasonable secondary school. However, in appearance, it certainly looked a lot nicer then Ashbrook High School where he usually went. Whether it was down to the better weather or more caring groundskeepers, the site was bursting with beds of green shrubbery. Also the bright white walls of the buildings themselves – painted that way to deflect the heat and sunlight away from the classrooms - had been kept clean and free of damage, unlike most of the schools Jack was used to seeing. Kids of all ages and nationalities swarmed around the playground as the four junior agents stepped inside the grounds, all the younger students dressed in either burgundy or white polo shirts. Unfortunately for Toby and Fred, they were stuck with the less fashionable burgundy ones. “What were you thinking?” Fred had exclaimed to Sophie on the way over. “It’s the colour of blood, for goodness sake.” “Well then, when your teacher punches you in the nose for being an annoying little sod it won’t show up, will it?” Jack looked around for his first glimpses of the King family, but it was so crowded he could barely keep an eye on anyone for more than a second before they disappeared. Gathered in the living room the previous evening, Lancaster had shown them all pictures of the King children so that they’d know exactly who they were looking for. The photographs had been taken at school last year – presumably at Hong Kong International because of the distinctive burgundy polo shirts the three younger ones were wearing. They had been difficult to get hold of from the school, but when you had security clearance as high-ranking as Bradley Lancaster did then nothing was impossible. Suddenly a bell rang out across the courtyard signalling the start of school and all the students started to file quickly towards the main entrance. “What do we do?” Ella whispered. Jack shrugged. “Follow the crowd, I guess.” But before they even made it ten yards, two Asian girls that looked identical to each other stepped across their path and smiled at them. They were even carrying identical clipboards. “Hello,” the girl on the right beamed. “Are you the…” She paused to check her clipboard. “…Bennett family, by chance?” the girl on the left finished off. The four of them nodded. “That’s us,” Jack replied. “You are new here, no?” the girl on the right asked. “That’s right,” Ella replied. “We only arrived here in Hong Kong a few days ago.” “Oh, where you from?” said the girl on the left. “England?” Fred nodded before remembering their cover story. “Richmond, which is in London.” “I been to London,” the left girl beamed. “London eye… Buckingham Palace… Madame Two-swords…” “You mean Madame Tussauds?” Jack corrected. “Yes, that is the one!” “And because you are new, we show you around school, yes?” the right girl finished. “Right… okay, thank you,” Jack said unsurely. “Uh, what are your names?” “This is Lola and my name is Lisa,” said the right girl. “And we’re twins!” Lola squeaked. “Yeah, we figured,” Toby muttered under his breath. “So shall we follow you?” Ella asked. Lisa nodded. “Yes, yes, come. We tell you all that there is to know about Hong Kong International School.” “Well, I can’t wait for that,” Jack couldn’t help mumbling. He readjusted the strap of his messenger bag and followed the others into the school. *The first glimpse Jack got of Charlie King was during second period. Predictably, MI6 had managed to manipulate the class system so that each of the junior agents was put into their specific target’s form. After an hour of being dragged around the school grounds by the chatty twins, they’d each been given timetables and a map of the campus before being sent off to start lessons. Ella was both lucky and unlucky in the sense that both Lisa and Lola were also in her form as well as Charlotte King. Jack could practically see the life drain out of her face as Ella was towed along by a babbling Lola towards the science block. Jack’s first lesson – or second lesson according to the timetable – was history. Jack quickly found the right classroom and then knocked nervously on the door. He wasn’t usually shy about meeting new people, but he was in a strange place in a strange country and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The door opened a moment later and an old man with wispy grey hair poked his head through. He quickly examined Jack before selecting a language and speaking. “Uh, hello? What can I do for you?” His voice contained a faint Australian accent. “I’m new to the school,” Jack replied, throwing a quick glance past the old man and into the classroom. He saw about thirty teenagers sitting behind old fashioned school desks, thick text books opened up in front of them. “And I think I’m supposed to be in your class for this period.” “What’s your name?” “Jack Kn-” He had to catch his tongue right at the last second before quickly passing it off as a cough and correcting himself. “Sorry, ahem, Jack Bennett.” “Jack Bennett…” the old man mumbled as he scanned down his register. “Yep, you’re there. In fact, we’ve been expecting you.” He stepped aside to let Jack in. “Find a seat and then sit down. I’ll find you an exercise book and a text book as soon as I can. Have you studied the Manchurian Crisis of September 1931 to February 1932 before?” Jack shook his head. “Uh, I can’t say that I have.” “Not to worry,” the old man beamed. “I’m sure you’ll find it absolutely fascinating and will have caught up in no time. I’m Mr Martin by the way.” They shook hands. “If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask.” Mr Martin returned to the whiteboard at the front as Jack looked around for an empty seat. He spotted Charlie King at the very back of the classroom, slouching in his chair and spinning a HB pencil between his fingers. He wore the expression of a student that was extremely bored indeed. Charlie had tussled blond hair, a large, round face and boyish features. He hadn’t changed at all from the school photograph that Jack had been shown. Underneath his desk, Jack could see that he was secretly playing a game on his Blackberry. Apart from him, no one else seemed to have noticed. Already Jack could tell that Charlie King was a troublemaker and seriously didn’t like the idea of being sent to the best private school in Asia by his parents. But in a way that was a good thing and Jack was glad of it. In a school of top-grade students and what Derrick would describe as ‘goody-goody two shoes’, it would make befriending Calvin King’s son all the easier. The only vacant seat was in the row two in front of Charlie, so Jack strolled over and purposely knocked a student’s pencil case onto the floor as he dumped his bag underneath the table and sat down. As pens and pencils cascaded across the floor like marbles, Mr Martin turned around from the whiteboard where he’d been writing up questions to do with something called the Lytton Report and stared across the classroom. “What was that?” he called. “Sorry, sir,” Jack replied. “I just knocked someone’s pencil case over by accident as I sat down.” “Oh,” Mr Martin replied and turned back to his more interesting questions. Jack smiled to himself as he took out his pencil case and dumped it on the desk. The incident would have been in full view to Charlie King sitting two rows behind and he would’ve been able to see that it was anything but an accident. Looking around, everyone else seemed to be working furiously, glancing up at the questions on the board before checking the answers in their text books and writing it down on lined sheets of paper. Charlie was the odd one out in the sense that he hadn’t even picked up his pen. Well, not for much longer… Instead of reaching for his pen, Jack pulled out a plastic ruler and then pointed to a spare sheet of paper on his neighbour’s desk. “Can I have this?” he asked. The student didn’t seem to understand him so Jack just grabbed it anyway and started tearing the sheet up into narrow strips. Sitting at the front of the class with his head buried in the text book, Mr Martin didn’t notice a thing. He’d even forgotten about getting Jack his new books. When Jack had all his strips, he rolled them up into small, compact balls and placed his ammunition on the desk, hidden underneath his pencil case in case anyone looked over. He then grabbed one of the balls, placed it on the end of his ruler and after pulling the plastic back and aiming, let go. The ball soared through the air as if it had been shot from a cannon, striking the back of the head of a girl by the window. It wasn’t hard or powerful enough to cause any damage, but it was enough for the girl to notice. She turned round and stared across the classroom. The paper ball had fallen underneath her chair. Jack pretended to be scribbling down a sentence on an imaginary piece of paper. The girl returned back to her work. The second time the paper ball struck her in the back of the head, she raised her hand. “Sir,” she called in stilted English, “Something keeps hitting me in the head!” “Huh, what?” Mr Martin sat up straight and adjusted his glasses. He studied his class before peering right to the very back. “Master King, do you have anything to do with this?” So Jack was right – he was a perennial troublemaker. “No, sir,” he replied, raising his hands in innocence. Glancing behind him, Jack could see that the phone was now balanced carefully on his knee. “I think she must be imagining things.” “I-” the girl began to protest, but faltered very quickly. “It must be a fly buzzing around the classroom,” Mr Martin decided, looking longingly back down at his book. “Close the window to stop any more from getting in. The rest of you, you have fifteen minutes to finish the questions. Full sentences, please.” With everyone turning back to their work, Jack took the opportunity to turn round and raise a thumb towards Charlie. “Thanks,” he mouthed. Charlie grinned. “No worries,” he whispered back. Jack decided it wouldn’t be the wisest thing in the world to get a detention in your first ever lesson, so after pestering Mr Martin into eventually fetching him a text book, he managed half of the questions on the board before the bell sounded. “Remember, your essays on the Japanese Army’s motives is due in next lesson,” Mr Martin called as the class rose to their feet and started packing their bags. “You may leave.” Jack felt someone barge past him as he reached the doorway and looked up in time to see Charlie King scamper down the corridor away from the classroom. Jack quickened his pace and decided to follow him. About twenty metres further along, Charlie slowed back to a walk, enabling Jack to catch up with him. “In trouble?” Jack asked as he sidled up to him. Charlie gasped and looked over at him. “You’re English?” he exclaimed. “Last time I checked,” Jack replied. “And going by your accent, I’d say you are too.” Charlie nodded frantically. “I come from Newcastle,” he explained. Even without Mr Grey telling him, Jack would have been able to guess – his Geordie accent was thicker than clotted cream. Jack decided to make the first move and held out his hand. “I’m Jack, Jack Bennett,” he said. “My family moved to Hong Kong a few days ago.” Charlie smiled and shook his hand. “Charlie King.” He tried to crush Jack’s hand in his, but Jack had been expecting it. Before Charlie even had a chance to squeeze, Jack tightened his hand and didn’t let go until he saw Charlie go red in the cheeks. “Shit, you’re strong,” Charlie muttered, rubbing his hand tenderly. “I tried that trick on one of my classmates in my first year and he was crying about it for the rest of the day. Nerd deserved it, if you ask me.” “It’s all about timing and positioning as well as decent strength,” Jack explained. “I’ll teach you a few tricks later if you want.” Charlie shrugged. “Can do.” They both glanced down the corridor as Mr Martin poked his head out of the classroom and looked both ways. “Shit,” Charlie muttered and quickly hid behind Jack as Mr Martin looked their way. Eventually the old man gave up searching for whatever he was looking for and retired back to his reading. “For you?” Jack asked as Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against the wall. “I missed my fifth piece of history homework in a month today,” he answered. “Mr Martin told me to see him at the end so that he could give me a detention slip, but usually he’s so doddery that he forgets for a while. That’s why I had to make it out quick before he remembered.” “Wise move,” Jack replied, “But seriously, fifth piece in a month? What the hell do you do all afternoon?” “It’s none of your business,” Charlie snapped, before suddenly softening and staring down at his feet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be angry, it’s just that I don’t know you that well.” “No biggie,” Jack shrugged. “I understand. I shouldn’t have asked.” “But you seem all right though,” Charlie said. “I mean, a lot better than most of the smart-arsed nerds that crawl around this place.” Jack forced a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Even as he said it, two boys babbling in excited Chinese and pointing to a maths equation in a text book walked passed them in the corridor, almost knocking into Jack they were so engrossed in what they were doing. “Get a life, freaks!” Charlie yelled loudly after them. Jack managed to fake a convincing laugh which brought up a grin on Charlie’s face. “I swear to God that most of the people in this dump have never even heard of the word humour,” Charlie muttered, staring down after the two boys as if they were cockroaches. “And their idea of fun is staying behind after school every day to do extra work – one nutter even admitted to it.” “If it’s so shit then why come here?” Jack asked. “Two reasons,” Charlie replied as they started to head back down the corridor towards the exit. “First, at least the teachers and some of the kids speak reasonable English, which I suppose is something. It’s a hundred times better than going to some local school where the teacher will scream at you twenty four-seven because you can’t understand a bloody word of what they’re trying to say. Some of the teachers are okay. If you do geography you might get Mr Tuilagi – he’s pretty cool. Geography and sports are probably the only lessons I’ve put any effort into for the past four years.” “And the second reason?” “My parents,” Charlie explained and inside Jack’s heart leapt. “What about them?” Charlie seemed reluctant to expand further, but eventually agreed to it. “They’re super rich – at least, my dad is – and they wanted to send me to a private school where I might actually do something with my education. Apparently, this is the best school in Asia or something so they made me and my brothers and sisters come here. The campus is pretty nice, but as I’ve already said, most of the students here are total dicks who think that you’ve got Down syndrome or something if you get less than ninety-five per cent in a test. Between you and me, I can’t wait for the year to end so that I can leave this dump and start running my own life.” Jack nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” He could’ve continued asking questions, particularly revolving around why his dad had become so rich, but he didn’t want to force anything or arouse any suspicion by appearing abnormally keen. Not at this delicate stage. Besides, it was the only first day of school and already he’d begun to make a start… 10The Beginning Of The EndPeople say that your first day at a new school is always the toughest, but with Ella it was for a totally different reason. Unlike many newcomers, she’d settled into her class well. In fact, if anything, that was the problem: she’d settled in too well – and with the wrong people. If Ella was a lump of iron, the Japanese twins, Lola and Lisa, were magnets; constantly sticking to her wherever and whenever she went. It was driving her up the bloody pole. Charlotte was in her class and she’d attempted to strike up a conversation with her on several occasions throughout the school day, but each time the seventeen year old girl had shown a complete lack of interest in her. That wasn’t necessarily Ella’s fault though – as far as she was aware, she showed a lack of interest towards pretty much everything. Unless of course it was Mr Flynn, their young, muscular Maths teacher from New Zealand. By the time the bell sounded to signal the end of school, Ella had made about as much progress as a snail might be expected to achieve in the London marathon – she’d got nowhere. As she hoisted her bag over one shoulder and tucked her chair in, she watched Charlotte’s wavy auburn hair as it quickly disappeared out of the classroom. Ella sighed. It was not the start she’d been hoping for. And as if to compound her misery… “How you get home?” Lisa asked, suddenly appearing beside her as if she’d just teleported there. Ella resisted the urge to scream at her. “By car,” she said sourly. “My mum is picking me up.” “Ah, we picked up too!” Lola exclaimed. Predictably, there couldn’t be one without the other. “We wait with you outside, yes?” “Oh joy,” Ella muttered under her breath as she stomped out into the corridor. She hadn’t seen or heard from the other three since the morning tour so had no idea how well their respective first days had gone. Hopefully they’d done a lot better than her, otherwise the whole day would have been a disaster. She emerged out into the main courtyard, about half of the students making their way over to the left where the various buses were parked. The rest were heading out of the main gates, either walking back home or waiting for a lift like she was. Planning to try and ditch Lola and Lisa in the crowd, Ella sped up to a brisk walk and starting darting in between groups of students as she made her way towards the gates. It was just then that she noticed Charlotte King, slouching alone against the wall with her mobile phone out. Ella stopped and bit her lip as she was faced with a sudden dilemma. Should she dare go over? Should she, horror of horrors, try once more to start up a friendly chat with Charlotte King? She checked her watch. It was half past three – there was still another fifteen minutes until the time Sophie said she’d be there to pick them up. Fifteen minutes to be as productive as possible. Ella sighed and started walking over towards Charlotte King. While there was still breath in her body, she could live and hope… Charlotte didn’t seem to notice her until she was almost standing right beside her. She looked up, realised who it was and scowled. Clearly, Ella was beginning to bug her almost as much as Lisa and Lola were to the former. “What do you want?” she muttered, not taking her eyes away from the phone. “I-” Ella began, but before she could garble even half a sentence there was suddenly a loud call from behind her. “Ella!” Ella spun round to see Jack strolling towards her from across the courtyard. There was a tall boy with messy locks of blond hair swept across his forehead walking along beside him, his jaw chewing on a piece of bubble gum. Ella recognised the new boy as Charlie King, Charlotte’s elder brother. So she’d been right – the others had been faring better than her. “Hi,” Ella mumbled glumly. In a way, Jack turning up had just made things even worse. It was then that, for some reason, Charlotte decided to look up. Maybe she’d heard someone shouting Ella’s name or maybe she’d simply got bored of her mobile app, because she put her phone in her pocket and glanced up towards the two approaching figures. Her eyes suddenly widened, she stopped slouching lazily against the wall and, looking over, Ella recognised a glimmer of interest that she’d only ever seen once before in Charlotte’s body language: when Mr Flynn had addressed the class at the start of Maths. “Who’s that with my brother?” Charlotte asked, raising a painted fingernail to point. Ella looked over. “Oh, that’s my brother,” she said casually, pleased that Charlotte was finally talking to her. “He’s in the year above.” “Your brother?” For the first time ever, Charlotte seemed to regard Ella other than a complete nobody. “Yeah, that’s right.” And then suddenly Ella had a brainwave. “Do you want me to introduce him to you?” Charlotte’s eyes seemed to light up, as if someone had just flicked a switch. “Would you?” “Yeah, sure. No problem.” Jack and Charlie were coming over towards them anyway, deep in conversation. When they were less than two metres away, Ella spoke. “Hey, Jack,” she beamed then nodded over towards Charlotte. “This is Charlotte – she’s in my new class.” Jack understood what Ella was trying to do instantly and smiled warmly at Charlotte; the earlier on they were introduced to each other, the better the chance they had of picking up information. “Hi, Charlotte,” Jack said. “It looks like you’ve already met my little sister.” “Yeah, we were just chatting actually,” Charlotte nodded. That wasn’t strictly true, Ella thought, remembering how Charlotte had fobbed her off at first, but it was a remarkable improvement from this morning for her to be saying anything about her at all. “Jack and his family are new in town,” Charlie said, eager to get in on the conversation. “They moved in a couple of days ago.” “Oh, where do you live?” Charlotte asked. Her question was directed more towards Jack than Ella standing beside her. “Hong Kong Island,” Jack replied. “We’ve got the seventh floor of a skyscraper all to ourselves.” “No way,” Charlotte grinned. “We live on Hong Kong Island as well.” “What a coincidence,” Ella mumbled under her breath. “Based on first opinions, it seems the nicest place around here,” Jack nodded. “You’ve got that right,” Charlie agreed. “Did I mention that we live in the most valuable apartment in the whole country?” “Bullshit.” “It’s true,” Charlotte nodded. “Two floors at the top of a skyscraper with better views of Victoria harbour than you’d be able to get in a helicopter.” “Not to mention four plasma TVs, a gigantic living room, a heated swimming pool and Jacuzzi on the rooftop and huge bedrooms with en suite bathrooms for every member of the family,” Charlie added smugly. Jack could only think of one thing to say: “You lucky sods.” “Tell me about it,” Ella muttered. “So let me guess… this is all down to the same rich dad that pays for you to go to private school?” Jack asked. “You bet,” Charlie grinned. Jack shook his head. “And I thought my dad was pretty loaded.” “What does he do?” Charlotte asked. Usually she never would have asked such a dull question, but this time she’d make an exception. Jack shrugged. “Business crap… something to do with company investments and the stock market.” “Basically it’s so boring, you’d fall asleep just hearing about it,” Ella elaborated. Even Charlotte managed a smile. “What about your dad?” Jack asked. Charlie had been reluctant to give an answer earlier on, so this time he directed his question at Charlotte. However, like her brother, she seemed uncomfortable giving a straightforward answer. “To be honest, I don’t really know much about it,” Charlotte replied slowly. “He prefers to keep family and business separated if you know what I mean.” Jack nodded trying not to show his disappointment. Maybe Charlie and Charlotte weren’t going to be as helpful as they’d first hoped. But there was no time to dwell on the present… Suddenly a car horn sounded from outside the main gates and Jack looked over to see Sophie waving at them from the front of the Toyota. Toby and Fred were already in the back. “Come on!” Sophie yelled, calling them over. “I want to get moving before the traffic gets any worse.” “We’d better go,” Ella said, turning back to Charlie and Charlotte. “You know what mums are like when they get angry.” The two siblings nodded grimly. “Maybe we’ll see you around,” Charlotte said, once again looking specifically over at Jack. “Tomorrow after school, perhaps?” Jack smiled and nodded. “We look forward to it.” Then the two of them turned and hurried over to the waiting car. *“I hear you, Ella, Charlie and Charlotte were getting on well this afternoon,” Bradley Lancaster said as he started slicing carrot with a knife. Jack and Lancaster had been put in charge of preparing dinner today, part of Sophie’s ploy to make sure that it wasn’t always her doing the cooking twenty-four seven. The two of them were supposed to be making bangers and mash with fresh vegetables – one of Lancaster’s favourite meals and, apparently, one of the only ones he’d ever completed successfully. “When you’re in the army, you get given boil in the bag meals which you leave in water for five minutes then eat,” he’d announced to the table last night. “I don’t need to know Jamie Oliver’s top ten uses for saffron or thyme.” But Sophie wasn’t having any of it. “If you don’t cook, no one will,” she said. The four teenagers all thought the same thing. “Takeaway!” Toby yelled. “Chinese!” Fred pleaded. Sophie’s glare could have melted ice. And speaking of ice, as Jack took the sausages out of the freezer to defrost, he considered Lancaster’s question. “To be honest,” he said, “There’s not much competition.” Lancaster finished cutting the carrot and lifted the circular chunks into a bowl. “Meaning?” “Charlie and Charlotte have been going to that school for four years and, as far as I’m aware, they’ve never had a properly good friend. They certainly don’t have one now, that’s for sure.” “Oh, really?” Lancaster moved onto peeling the potatoes. “Why’s that?” “Have you seen the place?” Jack exclaimed. “The students are best friends with their text books, not other classmates. Most of them look like they’ve never kicked a football in their lives and from what I’ve seen so far, they’re all about as fun as a theme park with no rides.” “They’re too smart for you, is that what you’re saying?” Lancaster grinned. “There’s too smart and then there’s just plain boring,” Jack muttered, taking one of the peeled potatoes and squashing it with a potato masher. Honestly, it would be a lot easier if he could just use a hammer, he thought. “Besides, people don’t call it the best school in Asia for nothing, you know.” “Who says that?” Jack jerked a finger towards Sophie who was lounging on one of the sofas with a fashion magazine, revelling in their misery. “Her.” Lancaster nodded. “Well, this is good then,” he said. “What? The food?” “No, you blithering idiot – the mission. If the King children find their other classmates so obnoxious, it’ll be easy chumming up with them. How did Fred and Toby do by the way? Have you asked them?” Jack nodded. “Toby and Megan have exchanged a few words, but nothing major. Apparently she’s quite shy, unlike her elder siblings, so it might be more difficult for Toby to start up a friendship.” Lancaster shrugged. “I guess that’s too bad,” he said. “Mind you, she always was the least likely to know something useful about her dad’s business. What about Fred?” “Better,” Jack nodded. “Fred managed to pick up quite quickly that Kayden was into computer games – apparently he was playing Doodle Jump on his iPhone during the very first lesson – so when they got put next to each other during next period they spent the whole hour just chatting about Call of Duty.” Lancaster nodded. “Excellent.” “Yeah, it was excellent,” Jack agreed. “Right up to the point that the teacher told them off for repeatedly disrupting the lesson. They’ve got a lunchtime detention tomorrow, I think.” Lancaster shrugged. “Oh well, at least they’ll be sitting through it together.” “And finally one last thing…” Lancaster looked up and raised his eyebrows when Jack said nothing. “And finally what?” Jack raised his arm and pointed over to the electric cooker. “The peas are boiling over.” “Shit!” Jack cracked up laughing as Lancaster quickly switched off the cooker and started scrabbling about for a tea towel. *Friday lessons just seemed to fly by and before Jack knew it, it was the end of school and the start of the weekend. “You know, I could get used to this,” Jack grinned as he and Charlie were dismissed from their final class. “School weeks should always be two days long.” “Or how about none at all?” Charlie replied. “Two days is two days too much if you ask me.” Charlotte and Ella were waiting for them near the main gate, exactly where they’d found them the previous day. “So, what’s the plan?” Ella asked. “Do we not want to get changed first?” Jack asked, looking down at his smart suit. “Nah, it’s no big deal,” Charlie said. “Most of the people on the street are workers in suits so we won’t look out of place. And if I accidentally wreck it, my dad will just buy me another one.” “Fair enough,” Jack replied, not wanting to make a meal of it. “Seeing as you’re new here, how about we show you a bit around Hong Kong Island,” Charlotte suggested. “We can get a taxi into the city and then walk around on foot. There’ll be plenty of places to visit: shopping centres…” “Trust you to mention shopping centres first,” Charlie laughed and turned to the other two. “Charlotte spends so much time in the designer clothes shops they’re planning on giving her her own changing room. It’ll practically be a second home!” “Liar,” Charlotte scowled, but she didn’t sound very convincing. “The city sounds good to me,” Ella said, keen to get back on friendly terms. “And I don’t suppose there’s a cinema or something that we could go to afterwards?” “There is,” Charlie replied, “But they only play films in Chinese so we’ll be able to understand shit all of what they’re saying. If you want to watch movies, our place is where you want to be. We’ve got a sixty inch plasma with full high definition and 3D settings plus a surround sound system that is so intense it can make the floor shake. A few weeks ago we were watching a disaster movie on full blast, and the batty old couple down below thought there was an earthquake! They ran out of their apartment and were screaming all the way down to the ground floor. It was bloody hilarious.” “And we’ve even got films that are still out in the cinema,” Charlotte boasted, “Without them being shit pirate copies. Dad’s job means he can get his hands on pretty much anything and all we have to do is ask.” Charlie elbowed Charlotte sharply in the ribs and gave her a hard stare. Standing less than a few feet away, Jack could decipher exactly what it meant: you’re saying too much. So they did know something… at least, more than they were trying to let on. “Would your parents mind if we came round afterwards?” Ella asked. “Nah, not at all,” Charlie replied. “In fact, come to think of it, they’d probably be pretty pleased. They’re always saying that one of us should bring a friend over for dinner one day, but the problem is all the nerds here aren’t our friends. Can you imagine what they’d be like if we sat down to watch TV? They’d all be raving on about the technology behind the screen rather than paying any attention to the actual film.” They walked out of the school grounds and Charlotte hailed down a taxi that was parked across the street. All major cities seemed to have their own distinctive taxi design: in London it was the old-fashioned black cab, in New York it was the famous yellow sedans. Here in Hong Kong, all the taxis were blood red with white roofs, making you think that they could belong to the emergency services. Until that is the driver starts demanding exuberant fares for the journey. But high prices weren’t a problem when you were a teenage millionaire. When you were a teenage billionaire, the thought barely even struck your mind. “Victoria Harbour, please,” Charlotte said, sliding into the back of the taxi and acknowledging the driver. The others clambered in after her. “Budge up,” Charlie muttered, giving Jack a shove as he squeezed inside the vehicle. “You’re taking up the whole seat.” Repulse Bay was on the south of Hong Kong Island, linked to the Northern point by a road that cut straight through the heart of the island. It was only a couple of kilometres long, cutting out all the twisty country roads that would have come with following the coastline, but the driver still asked for double the general amount when he dropped them off near Victoria Park, a short walk away from Wan Chai – one of the main residential and most affluent districts in Hong Kong. “You have four people,” the taxi driver tried to explain as Charlie started to make a fuss about the fare. He listed each person off on four stubby fingers. “Plus peak time – school over.” “Fine, whatever.” Charlie took out some bank notes and stuffed them ungraciously into the taxi driver’s outstretched hand. “You might as well keep the change, you greedy pig.” Before the taxi driver could work out what Charlie had said, they made a hasty exit. “It’s always the same,” Charlie explained to Jack and Ella as they started making their way towards the main entertainment street. “All these taxi drivers think that they’re really poor and that people should feel sorry for them, so when some rich people get in with lots of cash they always want double or triple the amount for the same journey. It’s bloody pathetic… and annoying.” “Maybe it’s time to start walking around in rags,” Jack suggested. Charlie snorted. “That’ll be the day.” Despite Charlie’s earlier preconception, Charlotte managed to drag them into the first shopping centre they came across. According to her it was the best one in Hong Kong in terms of selection of shops and even with Charlie moaning nonstop every time Charlotte disappeared into a changing room to try on more outfits, they actually had a good time. Because he barely had any money with him, Charlie offered to get Jack a new pair of trainers which, according to Charlotte, was “abnormally generous” of him. They were a bit loose, but hey – if this mission was going to last as long as Lancaster thought it might, he’d have plenty of time to grow into them. After Charlie claimed he “might die” if he saw another clothes shop, the group split and agreed to meet up at the food court in thirty minutes. “Actually, better make it forty,” Charlotte said, eyeing a Gucci store on the floor below like a hungry lion might eye a wounded zebra. Jack and Charlie left the girls to it and headed off to the electronics store, not that there was very much point. “My brother Kayden’s already got every single PlayStation 3 game that’s ever come out,” Charlie said as they watched a local kid balls up a free kick on FIFA. “Have you got a console?” Jack shook his head. “It was getting old so we left it in England,” he lied. “Too bad,” Charlie shrugged. “You’re welcome to borrow one of ours though if you want. That is of course unless Kayden has anything to do with it.” “Why’s that?” “He’s as greedy as a pig when it comes to computer games. He’s got thousands and pretty much all of them he never plays with anymore, but for example a couple of months ago when mum wanted to throw some of the old ones out to make more room he practically screamed the whole building down until mum finally gave in. I play quite a bit on the PS3 when I can’t be bothered to do homework-” “So always?” Jack grinned. “Shut up, you mug. As I was saying, I sometimes play – racing games are mostly my forte – but compared to me, Kayden takes it to a whole bloody different planet. I swear down, when he dies it’s going to be sitting in front of a TV with a controller in his hand.” Jack nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard all about that.” “How?” Charlie frowned, stifling a loud snort as the kid with the controller skied an open goal from about five yards out. “One of my younger brothers has got to know him,” Jack explained. He and Charlie both looked innocent as the kid turned round to glare at them. “They’re in the same class at school, a bit like us.” “Fred, is that his name?” “That’s right.” “Kayden mentioned him last night, when he wasn’t raving on about the new Assassin’s Creed that’s coming out, of course.” Then Charlie paused. He must have been thinking pretty hard about something because Jack noticed his forehead started to crease. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” he said eventually. “How we both have three siblings and we’re all in the same year at school. And then on top of that, we all go and get put in the same classes as each other as if we’re identical copies of each other.” “Ooh, very philosophical,” Jack teased, “And the school does that because they want new students to settle in as well as possible. It’s an International school so there are lots of different nationalities represented. If a British family joins like us, then they’ll want to place them in a class with other British students so that there’s someone there who they can speak to and understand. That means they’re more likely to feel at home. That’s all there is to it.” “Oh yeah, I suppose that makes sense,” Charlie said, his face now looking slightly crestfallen, “Because I was about to say, if I didn’t know better, I’d say the whole thing had been rigged.” “Rigged?” Jack laughed. “That’s the sort of crap I’m more used to hearing at home.” Suddenly the kid on the PlayStation finally gave up on ever scoring and ditched the controller before walking off towards his parents. Like a preying eagle, Charlie swooped forwards and grabbed the controller before anyone could get anywhere near it. Within thirty seconds, he’d rifled the ball into the back of the net. “That’s the way you do it, amateurs!” As Charlie stuck his middle finger up at the screen in victory, standing behind him Jack could only wipe the sweat from his forehead and breathe out a huge sigh of relief. 11Friends In High PlacesAfter finally meeting up in the food court – Charlotte and Ella had been so distracted by an end-of-season sale in Topshop that they’d ended up running fifteen minutes late – the former bought them all burgers from a stall and they ate them outside in the setting sun as they waited for a taxi to appear. “Chinese food is alright,” Charlie commented, stuffing fried onions into his mouth as he said it, “But you still can’t beat a good old juicy burger.” Looking at the two girls, anyone would think that they’d just been doing their Christmas shopping. Their arms were as laden down with bags as the branches of an apple tree were with fruit during harvest season. When the taxi parked up beside them, the driver opened the boot, but even then they all had to ride with at least one shopping bag balanced on their knees. Their destination was the Central and Western District of Hong Kong Island, named, appropriately so, because it was located on the most western point of the urbanised northern coast. This was also the area of the island that possessed not only the most skyscrapers, but also the largest. Looking up through the taxi window as buildings and street signs flashed by, Jack spotted one in particular that was even higher than the rest. Charlie noticed him staring and grinned. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Up there.” Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. If the driver hadn’t already picked up by then that they were loaded – quite literally – due to the amount of expensive shopping in his car, that statement confirmed it. When they stopped near to the seafront, the figure that came out of his mouth was more representative of a cricket score than a taxi fare. For the sake of some loose change, they decided not to argue. “See what I mean?” Charlie muttered as they started to walk up to the foot of the skyscraper. “The whole lot of them are greedy bastards.” “So it’s a bottle of Armani Code perfume,” Charlotte muttered. “Or ten minutes in the back of a stinking taxi.” Jack shook his head and couldn’t help smiling. “Dreadful, isn’t it?” Charlie hadn’t been lying when he said they were going up to the top floor, not that Jack had ever doubted them. The man at the modern reception desk seemed to recognise Charlie and Charlotte and nodded politely at them as they strolled by. “We’ve got that guy on a lead,” Charlie boasted as they all stepped inside the lift and selected the top button: 25 – The Penthouse, “Because if we go, he goes.” There were more than twenty-five floors to the skyscraper, but as Charlotte explained on the way up, most of the more luxurious apartments covered more than one floor. Take their home for example – that covered three floors. The hallway as they stepped out of the lift was similar to the one outside Jack and Ella’s apartment, apart from the fact that the floor was made of pure marble, the ceiling bared a chandelier, an ornate rug had been placed down instead of a welcome mat and the door standing opposite them was covered in intricate metal engravings and looked about as secure as the entrance to MI6. “Well, this is it,” Charlie mumbled. “Home sweet home.” There was no need for keys, which was a good job otherwise Charlie probably would have already lost his ten times over. He simple pressed his hand against a panel on the wall and stepped through the opening threshold. Jack and Ella took deep breaths and then followed him in. Into the Dragon’s Den – that was what it felt like. Jack suddenly realised that here, despite now being Charlie’s friend, he was going to have to be extra careful and vigilant. This was the home of possibly the current richest criminal in the world. He was bound to have security devices and safety measures set up somewhere. The hand scanner outside was only the beginning, surely. However, it didn’t look as if he’d just stepped into the home of a major criminal. In fact, Jack was almost expecting Richard Branson or Bill Gates to appear round the corner at any minute. When Jack walked into an enemy compound or a secret lair, he pretty much knew exactly what he was in store for. Here however, there was not a single thing that might give the game away. The open-plan ground floor of the penthouse was even more luxuriously furnished than the hallway. The blue carpet was as thick as a blanket of snow and so soft that Jack felt like he was almost sinking into it. He could already see the plasma TV that Charlie had been boasting about, the screen surrounded by leather armchairs with adjustable backrests and accompanying footstalls. The modern kitchenware was enough to make even Gordon Ramsay swear with jealousy and the dining room furniture looked as if a whole forest of mahogany trees had had to be cut down to produce it. Landscape paintings in chrome frames decorated the walls – no doubt all by famous artists – but none of them came even close to the image visible out of the panoramic windows. Jack had been up skyscrapers before, he’d been on planes before, he’d even ridden a motorbike fifteen thousand feet in the air before (long story), but nothing was quite like the height he now found himself at. Otherwise large cars were mere ants on the street down below, boats patrolling the harbour specks of dust on a camera lens. Looking around, even the other skyscrapers appeared to be dwarfed, almost cowering away they were so inferior. Up here, you got the realest sense that you were literally standing on top of the world. No wonder Calvin King had chosen it… “Holy shit,” Jack could only mutter. “Yes, it is quite spectacular, isn’t it?” a voice said behind him. Jack turned round. So did the others. “Oh, hello, Dad,” Charlotte mumbled. The man smiled at Jack and Ella. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “My name is Calvin King and I am the father, occasionally regrettably, of these two little tearaways.” Charlie rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell, Dad,” he muttered. “You introduce yourself to boring businessmen or my stupid school teachers,” Charlotte added, shaking her head with embarrassment. “NOT our friends.” Calvin King was still smiling. “We don’t often have the honour of guests coming round,” he explained to Jack and Ella, “So I like to mortify them as much as possible when they do.” Jack couldn’t help smiling too, but deep down he was already thinking. First impressions were always important and beforehand Jack didn’t know quite what to expect with Calvin King. But now one thing was for certain – he hadn’t expected him to be anything like this. There was no cold stare that Jack was normally used to from his enemies, no icy chill that ran down his spine whenever they walked into the room. If Jack didn’t know better, he’d say Calvin King was a perfectly normal dad. He certainly looked normal with the usual thinning fair hair that came with hitting your forties and the faint traces of wrinkles in his skin when he smiled. His teeth were white, neat and well-kept – the complete opposite to your stereotype weapons dealer – and if he owned a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders or ripped jeans with enough space in the waistband for a handgun, he wasn’t wearing them now. For a few moments, Jack even found himself wondering if there hadn’t been some mistake. Sure he was wealthy, but did that really mean he had to be a criminal? Could Mr Grey have been wrong about him? But Jack also knew that was impossible. MI6 didn’t make errors like that. Clearly, Calvin King was just very good at disguising his true nature… very good indeed. “Name’s Jack Bennett,” Jack said, deciding to ignore Charlie’s remark about introducing yourself and offering his hand. “And this is my sister Ella.” When Calvin King shook his hand, it felt very normal. His grip was firm but not overly strong and his skin tough but not rough like sandpaper. It occurred to Jack that, if Mr Grey had been telling the truth, he was now making physical contact with the man indirectly responsible for Stanislav Svoboda’s death. He should hate this man. He should want to whip out a knife and stab him right there and then. But from where Jack was standing, he didn’t feel either of these things. He just felt… normal. “Ah, another Bennett,” King said knowingly. Jack suddenly started. “What do you mean?” he said quickly. King jerked a thumb behind him and in the background Jack could now hear the distinct sound of artificial gunfire. “Your younger brother has already been here for several hours,” King explained. “Please don’t tell me you’re addicted to video games too.” “Not us,” Jack said, “But Fred is. He practically breathes the stuff.” “Tell me about it,” King muttered. “Kayden is just the same. But hey, what can you do? They’re modern kids in a modern world so I guess this is what they’re expected of nowadays. As long as they don’t break anything or start fighting, I’m happy.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, enough chit-chat, Dad,” Charlie interrupted. “We haven’t got all night.” “Of course, my apologies.” He smiled at his two guests. “I hope your enjoy our hospitality.” “I really hate it when he does that,” Charlie muttered as they walked over to the living room area. Jack and Ella weren’t really fussed about what they watched so Charlie put on a 3D film and handed out pairs of special glasses which they were supposed to wear to appreciate the full effects. Jack had never seen three dimensional television before and was quite impressed by what he saw. It seemed like every few seconds an object would jump out at you and until you got used to it you’d do well not to try and dodge out of the way each time. “Have you kids already had dinner or will you be eating with us at the table?” Calvin King asked an hour later. Charlie rolled his eyes. “We’re not kids.” “According to you school report last year, you still behave like one sometimes,” King replied. Charlie scowled and folded his arms. “Mr Singh was a retard.” “So you keep saying.” “I don’t know about the others, but I’m not that hungry,” Ella said and then by way of explanation to King: “We each got a burger while we were out in town… sorry.” “Don’t be, it’s no problem,” King replied. “To be honest, I’m used to it by now. Even with the kids being as fussy as Goldilocks when it comes to food, it’s no secret that my cooking isn’t the best.” “Understatement of the century,” Charlie coughed loudly. “He can hardly talk,” Charlotte grinned. “He once broke the microwave when trying to heat up some pizza.” “Shut up,” Charlie muttered, pretending a cushion was Charlotte’s head and giving it a thump. “I’ve told you about fifty times, the electricals were dodgy.” “And I’ve told you about a hundred times, that is the worst excuse in the history of mankind.” “How about some popcorn then?” King suggested, seemingly ignoring the argument that was beginning to broil in front of him. Jack nodded quickly. “That’ll be good, thanks.” The arrival of snacks was enough for Charlie and Charlotte to settle down and they continued on watching the film. However, despite all the amazing graphics, Jack struggled to get into it. It wasn’t just the fact that Charlie was hitting him on the head with a cushion every few minutes; his mind was too active to concentrate on following the plot. Could this really be the home of a major criminal? Despite everything he’d been told my Mr Grey, Jack found himself beginning to doubt it more and more as every second went by. For example, what sort of a criminal handed out bags of toffee popcorn to complete strangers? Jack decided that if any secrets about Calvin King’s true identity were to be found, they were going to be well hidden. Certainly, he wasn’t going to find them lounging on a couch with his face stuffed. “I need the toilet,” Jack announced and stood up, brushing popcorn crumbs off his lap. Charlie had already managed to spill half of his packet onto the floor so he decided it wouldn’t make a difference. “Do you know where it is?” Charlie asked, barely looking up from the screen. “Oh sure, why wouldn’t I?” Jack replied. “After all, I’ve lived in this apartment all my life, haven’t I?” “Alright, I was just asking,” Charlie muttered. “It’s the door with the word toilet on it, so unless you’re blind you can’t miss it.” “Thanks very much,” Jack muttered and – still no closer to finding out the location of the toilet - left them to their film. As Jack had already found out with his own apartment, a single floor by itself isn’t very large. That’s why the designers tried to create extra space by doing without separate rooms and walls. However, when you had three floors all to yourself, that fact doesn’t really come into play. A winding wooden staircase took Jack up onto the second floor. In a room further down the corridor and off to the right, Jack could hear Fred complaining about the recoil on one of his weapons. Jack decided to walk over and stuck his head through the doorway. “Bloody hell, it’s like HMV in here,” Jack commented. The two boys dropped their controllers with a start and spun round as Jack began examining the room. Charlie hadn’t been kidding when he said Kayden owned every single PlayStation 3 game that had ever come out. Apart from his bed (a Need for Speed duvet crumpled in a heap in the middle), a television, his wardrobe, a tiny desk with legs so spindly they looked like pencils and the games console itself, the rest of the room was taken up by row upon row of shelves, all crammed to the brim with game cases. It was any kid’s wildest dream… and any parent’s worst nightmare. Most of them were still untouched, the plastic wrappings reflecting the bright light from the television screen. “Oh, it’s you,” Fred muttered, fulfilling the role of a moody brother perfectly. Jack pretended to gasp. “Holy shit,” he said. “Your eyes have gone square.” It took Fred a second to work out what he meant. “Ha ha,” he muttered sourly. “Not funny.” As Jack left the room, he heard Kayden whisper to Fred. “Who was that again?” Barely glancing away from the screen where he was about to line up a kill in his sniper scope, Fred simply muttered, “A dickhead.” Jack was too busy creeping down the corridor to hear his fake brother’s insult. He knew he had to be careful which rooms he entered; for him the worst possibility imaginable was if he stumbled inside while someone was sleeping, or worse getting changed. Not only would the motives behind the entry be extremely suspicious, but it would also be horribly mortifying. Therefore, Jack only threw quick glances into those rooms with the doors open, deciding on leaving the others for a later date. After all, this was only supposed to be a preliminary sweep. As he’d guessed, most of the rooms were bedrooms – all of which he didn’t particularly like the idea of rummaging through. He’d heard Megan – Calvin King’s youngest daughter – humming to a JLS song in her room so had decided to leave her be before finally finding a separate toilet room at the very end of the corridor. Jack pushed the door open and pulled down on the cord to switch the lights on. The room was in a perfectly clean condition – as sure a sign as any that this toilet was very rarely used. He remembered Charlie boasting that almost all of the bedrooms had their own en suite bathrooms, so presumably they would use them first over this one. Jack stepped inside and turned the tap on, allowing the water to cascade loudly into the sink and down the drain. He then walked back out into the corridor and closed the door. “Hello, Jack.” Jack almost jumped out of his skin. He whirled around to see Calvin King coming down the steps from the third floor, a mobile phone held loosely in one hand. He stopped two steps shy of the ground and stood there, giving the impression that he was looming over Jack like a fearsome giant. But Calvin King’s expression wasn’t one of anger or suspicion. He just looked mildly curious. “Oh, hello, Mr King,” Jack said quickly. “I didn’t see you there.” There were a few moments of uneasy silence. Jack did everything in his power to stop himself from staring down at his feet. “Enjoying the film?” King asked eventually. “Personally it’s not one of my favourites, but the kids seem to like it.” Jack shrugged. “It’s not bad, although the 3D effects perhaps make it seem better than it actually is. I needed the toilet and Charlie didn’t explain to me very well where it was, so I’m afraid I’ve been wandering around on a bit of a wild goose chase for the last few minutes.” “Not to worry,” King smiled. “Although there’s a toilet downstairs near the entrance which I think you’ll find more convenient next time.” “Oh right, cheers.” King continued on down the stairs and for a moment they were side by side in the corridor. Jack glanced down and used the opportunity to flash a quick glance at the mobile phone. Then King was passed and walking away from him. About five metres further down he paused and turned around. If they were in a cartoon, Jack was certain King’s ears would be twitching. “I think you’ve left the tap running, Jack,” he said then walked off without another word. Now that he knew Calvin King was somewhere below, Jack could have had a quick snoop on the third floor if he’d wanted to, but after a quick consideration he decided not to risk it. This was only the first time he’d been inside the penthouse and he was sure that many other visits would follow. There was no need to risk it all so early on in the mission. He’d now got his bearings, met the family, had a rough idea of how the apartment was laid out and all that without Calvin King wanting to shoot him in the head. As far as first days go, it had gone quite well. He turned off the tap, switched off the light and quickly hurried downstairs to catch the rest of the film. He arrived just as the credits started to roll down the screen. Calvin King was on the other side of the room, removing clean plates from the dishwasher. “You took your time,” Charlie muttered, heaving his heavy bones up from the sofa. “Probably because I couldn’t find the toilet,” Jack replied, “And I wonder who I’ve got to thank for that?” Charlie raised his hands in the air. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “Don’t worry, Charles,” Charlotte smirked, “Girls haven’t been looking at you for years.” At that moment, as Jack and Ella both burst out with laughter, Charlie’s cheeks turned the colour of the Hong Kong national flag. “Piss off, Charlotte,” he scowled, “Just because you’re a slut around every boy in the neighbourhood.” But the other weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of giving up that easily. “Oh, she totally owned you, Charles,” Jack laughed, patting Charlie on one of his burning cheeks. “And don’t call me Charles!” Charlie roared. “I hate that name.” “It’s what’s written on your birth certificate!” King shouted over from the kitchen. “Oh great, the world’s funniest dad is joining in as well,” Charlie muttered sarcastically. “Love you too, Charles, my boy,” King called out merrily, prompting another angry outburst from the victim. “That’s it! The next person that calls me Charles will officially get the shit knocked out of them.” “You think so, huh?” Jack grinned. “I’d like to see you try.” “Alright, the joke has gone far enough guys,” King announced before checking his watch. “Jack, Ella – it’s getting towards ten o’clock now. Don’t you think you should be heading back? I wouldn’t want to be called up by an angry parent demanding to know what’s happened to you.” “Yeah,” Jack nodded. “That’s probably wise.” “And don’t forget to take Fred with you,” King added. “Oh yeah, that would be a disaster,” Ella mumbled. A few minutes later they were all standing by the door, Fred included. Despite his desperate pleas to finish just one more round, Jack had eventually forced him to put the controller down and come with him. It occurred to him that he and Kayden probably could have continued playing straight through the night if they’d wanted to. Although the activity was likely to improve their friendship, Jack couldn’t say the same about the mission… or their eyesight. As far as he was aware, they hadn’t moved an inch since the moment they’d arrived. As Charlotte handed Ella a bag of designer makeup she’d promised to lend her, Jack clapped Charlie on the shoulder and said to him: “Sorry about laughing at you, mate. I was out of order. I’ll only call you Charlie from now on, I promise.” By now Charlie had calmed down somewhat and just shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t the one that started the ball rolling,” he said, staring daggers into the side of Charlotte’s head as he spoke. “But hey, you can call me ‘sir’ or ‘your majesty’ anytime you like. Just not ‘Charles’ or ‘posh’ or anything gay like that, OK? Otherwise I mean it when I say I’ll mash your brains out.” “You’ve got a deal,” Jack grinned. “Although, of course, I could beat you up any day of the week if I wanted to.” “Like hell you could.” “Oh please don’t start this again,” Ella moaned. “Is football and fighting all boys talk about?” “Nah, of course not,” Charlie grinned, glancing mischievously at Jack. “We also like to talk about girls-” “And tits-” Jack added. “And sex and-” “That’s it, I’m going,” Ella announced and fled out into the hallway before Charlie could manage another word. “I guess I’ll see you guys around tomorrow or something,” Jack said, looking between the two siblings. “Cool,” Charlotte said. “You’ve got our numbers now. Ring us up if you wanna do anything.” “Will do,” Jack smiled and followed the others out into the hallway. Jack heard the front door close behind him – several large bolts snapping automatically into place as it did so – and watched as Fred and Ella stepped inside the waiting left and quickly pressed the button for the ground floor. “You can walk down,” Ella smirked as the doors slid smoothly together and the lift began to descend. “Bastard,” Jack muttered and looked over at the fire staircase as if it was a pile of double chemistry homework. But he had no choice. If someone was waiting on the ground floor for the lift up, Jack could be standing around for ages. Twenty-five floors and counting, cursing Ella all the while, Jack started dragging his body down the staircase. *As it turned out, learning the layout of the King penthouse wasn’t the most useful piece of information that Jack managed to pick up on the first day. No, there had been something else… something else that it wasn’t until he got back to his own apartment that he managed to decipher. When Calvin King had passed him on the second floor he’d been carrying a mobile phone, but it hadn’t been an iPhone or a Blackberry like he’d been expecting. It hadn’t even been expensive. It had been one of those cheap, cumbersome models – the ones that have tiny memories, awful screen quality and about as many extra features as a pirate DVD. Or, in other words, a pay-as-you-go phone. If you can afford to pay for a lucrative contract with a major mobile company, the chances are that you’ll get a half-decent phone with it. Or, if not, you can probably afford to buy your own expensive one. The only reason people ever go by pay-as-you-go is if they don’t use a mobile phone often. Therefore, they do not need a decent phone as having one would just be a waste of money. And that left Jack asking himself a question: what could one of the richest men in Hong Kong want with a cheap, crappy pay-as-you-go phone? Simple: it was only temporary. Jack found himself recalling a scene from several years ago, when he’d first come to meet the former Torpedo assassin Stanislav Svoboda. He’d been at a train station on the orders of a mysterious letter and was supposed to be meeting the sender who claimed that he could help Jack. He’d just been standing minding his own business when a phone had rung in his pocket… and it hadn’t been his. It had been a cheap, simple, but brand new phone – much like the one King had been carrying that very day. After answering it, Jack had been guided by the caller’s instructions until finally the two of them met up – on a train on the complete opposite side of Euston from where he’d first started. Only then had Jack understood the purpose behind the pay-as-you-go phone and it was that sudden realisation that hit Jack now. Pay-as-you-go phones could be bought and registered from a shop in minutes. And the process is so quick, so sudden that it is almost impossible for the transaction to be followed. A whole new SIM card, a whole new number… a whole new way of communicating safely. And so long as you keep regularly swapping your phone, paying no more than ten quid – petty change for the likes of Calvin King – each time, then enemy trackers will always be one step behind the game. Jack couldn’t be sure that was the definite reason why King had been holding a cheap phone in his hand that evening; there could be any number of different reasons. But something told Jack that it wasn’t anything else, that his theory had been correct all along. And so of course, he knew what that meant… Just moments before they’d met on the stairs, Calvin King had made a private call on his new pay-as-you-go phone. And it had been a call that he wanted no one to know about. 12The Morning After…Jack must have been more tired than he thought, because he didn’t wake up on Saturday morning until gone eleven o’clock. But because there was no school to attend it didn’t really matter. Homework could wait till the evening and there was no Matt or Darren down the street pestering him to come and play football with some of the lads in the local park. He could afford to take as long as he liked. When the clock reached half past he decided he’d pushed the boundaries as much as possible and crawled out of bed. A quick shower revived his senses and he dressed in clean clothes before shuffling out of his room into the apartment. “You’re up late,” Sophie noted. She was sitting at the kitchen table with a laptop out in front of her. Either she was updating the mission progress report, Jack thought, or looking up more tips on how to play the convincing annoying mother role. “Well done, you can tell the time,” Jack mumbled. He snatched a tangerine from the fruit bowl and started to peel it, chucking the skin into the nearby bin. He was up so late it would almost be lunch soon so he wasn’t going to bother having anything heavy. “Care to explain why?” Jack thought on his feet and pointed a finger over towards Ella who was watching an Australian soap on TV. “It was all her fault.” Ella turned around. “What! How?” she exclaimed. “Just what I wanted to know,” Sophie added. “She made me walk down twenty-five flights of stairs with a stomach stuffed full of popcorn,” Jack complained. “By the time I got to the bottom my legs felt like they’d just run a marathon.” “Oh yeah,” Ella smiled sweetly. “I remember that now.” Sophie shook her head. “I’ll just take your word for it.” Jack started eating his tangerine and looked around. Apart from them, the whole apartment seemed to be deserted. “Where’s everyone else?” he asked. “Shopping,” Sophie replied. “For food? But you only went two days ago.” “No, not for food. Ever since he got back last night from the King’s house, Fred’s been pestering us to buy him a PlayStation 3.” “What? What does he think this is… his birthday?” “He claims that by playing online with Kayden King, he will have a better chance of gaining his trust before then and only then beginning to probe him with questions about his dad.” “What a load of bollocks,” Jack muttered. “The only question he’ll be asking is what was your longest kill streak on team deathmatch?” “Exactly,” Sophie replied. “I think...” “And Lancaster went along with it?” “Well, seeing as we’re in Hong Kong – pretty much the mecca for all the latest technology – it’s not so bad. Bradley reckons he can find a second hand one for less than a hundred quid if he searches hard enough and Fred is willing to pay for most of it with his own money so the two of them have gone into town to start looking.” “And Toby?” “Megan King attends a learning support class at Hong Kong International School every Saturday morning for two hours. It’s designed to provide extra learning time under teacher guidance outside of standard school hours, particularly for those students who are struggling in normal lessons or are trying to get one step ahead of the game.” “And which category does Megan King fit into?” Jack asked. “According to Toby she’s a shy but naturally talented girl,” Sophie replied. “So I suspect it might be the latter. Toby found out she was going to these extra lessons during school time yesterday and so suggested to us that he should go too. Considering out of the four of you he is the one that has made the least progress with his respective target, I suppose it’s a wise move. I dropped him off at the school gate an hour ago and need to pick him up again in half an hour.” “Good lad,” Jack nodded. “I knew he wouldn’t give up that easily.” “Oh, that reminds me,” Sophie said. “Bradley wants to hold a mission meeting later today with everyone attending. Consider it a quick progress update. We’ll want to hear everything that you’ve managed to pick up so far, both from Charlie King and your visit to the penthouse.” Jack nodded and smiled. “I’ll start preparing my speech straightaway.”*Three hours later, the Bennett family were sitting around the kitchen table. The dirty plates and cutlery from lunch had been removed and were lying in the sink to be replaced by Sophie’s laptop, a blank word document open on the screen. A secure MI6 e-mail address was on speed dial for when the report was completed. “Ella, do you want to start the ball rolling?” Lancaster asked. They’d decided long ago that the apartment was the only place deemed safe enough for them to speak openly about the mission. Out here safety was everything. If they made a mistake now, there would be no second chance. Ever since the apartment had first been rented by MI6 a fortnight ago, there had always been at least one person inside the building. Now that the apartment was occupied it was less of a problem, but before the agents had flown out here an MI6 guard had had to be posted inside 24-7. They were there to make sure no one came in and that there was nothing inside the apartment that shouldn’t have been there. That didn’t include coatings of dust on the furniture or crumpled up food wrappers in the kitchen bin. What the guards were mainly looking out for were bugs… and not the creepy-crawly kind. Every few hours an electronic bug detector would be switched on and the guards would carefully scan it around each room. If a hidden bug was detected, the machine would wail like a baby without its dummy. The detector worked by picking up electromagnetic waves from a bug so there was always the possibility that if a bug was switched off, the detector wouldn’t find it. Therefore the guards regularly mixed up the scanning times, covering pretty much every half hour slot in the day over the course of the two weeks. Some might call it being paranoid and overly worried, examining the apartment so often when not a single person bar the guards had walked in. Others – MI6 to be exact – would later call it being better safe than sorry. Not a single bug was found over the course of the fortnight, but that didn’t necessarily mean there weren’t still some about. As Mr Grey and MI6 knew all too well, modern technology was changing almost as rapidly as a baby’s nappy. Every day, some random person somewhere in the world seemed to create a new piece of kit that nobody had ever seen before. It was impossible to judge exactly how far the enemy’s resources had developed and that was always going to be the case. But MI6 had their own pieces of revolutionary equipment to counter the punches and, at the end of the day, it was always extremely unlikely that someone had managed to bug the apartment before the guards had got there. And in any case, how would they know? As far as Calvin King was concerned, there wasn’t supposed to be anything wrong. Toby and Fred followed on from Ella in speaking before eventually it was Jack’s turn. He stared off by telling them a bit about Charlie and his personality (“cocky”, “cool” and “crazy” were the first words that came to mind) and assured Sophie and Lancaster that he didn’t suspect a thing. Then he gave them a detailed account of everything that had taken place yesterday afternoon over at the King penthouse before rounding it off with his accidental discovery of Calvin King’s cheap mobile phone. Always save the best till last, Jack thought to himself. That way you keep them listening right to the very end. Lancaster commended each of the agents on their efforts and then spent several long minutes stroking his chin and staring into space. He was supposed to be looking thoughtful and intelligent, but Jack reckoned he just looked like a prat. Eventually Toby got bored and stood up to grab a coke from the fridge, but by the time he got back Lancaster had come up with a decision. “We need to start bugging Calvin King’s apartment as soon as possible,” Lancaster said to the group. “That way, if anything big is going down, we’re more likely to know about it.” He turned towards Sophie. “The listening devices, please.” Sophie already had them with her. She took out a small metal tin from her pocket, removed the lid and set it down on the table. Inside were what looked like a cross between needles and pins. Certainly, they were no larger than a pencil led and the whole tin was full to the brim with them. “Pin head listening devices,” Lancaster announced proudly. “For those of you who have not already come across them, they are the cutting edge in modern spy equipment. They still perform the same function as normal listening devices and to the same level of quality, but like all modern gadgets nowadays – phones and mp3 players, for example – this version is a lot, lot smaller. Therefore, no prizes given for guessing why it is called a pin head listening device. “The listening devices will be activated and controlled remotely, so there is no need to worry about keeping them maintained. As soon as we’re ready, I will rig them all up to Sophie’s computer where we can keep track of them. The only problem we have now is getting them into place.” He turned towards the four agents. “And that is where you lot come in.” “We want a pin positioned in every room that you are able to gain access to,” Sophie continued, taking over seamlessly from where Lancaster had left off. “That includes bedrooms, bathrooms, the kitchen and even the cupboard under the stairs. As far as we know, any place could be a possibility. “This is where the listening device’s minuscule size really comes into its own. Essentially, it is just like a pin that you might use to attach notices to a wall and as long as no one looks too closely, they might even mistake it for one. When you are placing the listening devices, try and choose a spot that is well disguised, but not covered over enough so that it smothers all the sound waves. My personal recommendation is to put it somewhere high up where nobody is likely to find it. Therefore, something like a bookcase will be ideal.” “And what if they’re found?” Fred asked. “Well, it’s your job to make sure that they’re not,” Sophie replied, “But in the event that one is discovered, all is far from lost. As you can see with your very own eyes, they look just like normal pins. That is how they were designed to look. In fact, if I hadn’t just told you about them, that’s probably what you’d think they all were. Hopefully, they’ll just be thrown away with the rest of the rubbish, but if we’re really unlucky and someone decides to smash the head open, they’ll find the intricate circuitry system inside without a question. There is no way around that. We just have to hope that it never comes to that.” “We’ll do our best to make sure they’re not spotted,” Ella said. Sophie nodded. “I’m sure you will.” “When do you want us to do it?” Jack asked. “Preferably at the next possible opportunity,” Lancaster replied. “If you let us know in advance that one or several of you are planning to go round the King’s house then we can set you up with all the listening devices that you’re going to need. But if you wait for a time of day when most of the family is likely to be out then it will give you an advantage.” “Are you planning to meet Charlie this afternoon?” Sophie asked. Jack shook his head. “Not today. I didn’t want to appear abnormally keen to hang out with him and risk creeping him out so I decided to give this day a miss. I’ll call him up later on this evening to see if we’ve got anything planned for tomorrow.” “You do that,” Sophie nodded. “And how about the rest of you?” “Charlotte seems to want to show me some more of the local shopping centres so we might hit the town again,” Ella said. “Apparently there’s a shop in Pacific Place that does the best deals on diamond jewellery.” “Megan was getting confused over some geography homework during class today so I offered to help her,” Toby added. “I don’t know if she’s planning to come here or what, but she was quite pleased to have someone willing to assist her.” “Excellent work,” Sophie nodded. “And Fred?” “The new Resistance 3 PlayStation game is coming out tomorrow and Kayden already has it pre-ordered,” Fred explained. “He wants to complete the campaign mode as quickly as possible so I’ll be there to help him out in case he gets smashed by Chimeran monsters.” “Oh, okay,” Sophie stammered. “How interesting.” “Nah, the campaign mode is only the start. Multiplayer and two-player online co-op missions is where it gets really interesting.” There was nothing else to say. Meeting finished, the four teenagers all got up from the kitchen table and returned back to what they’d been doing. The noise of Fred slaughtering enemy zombies on his new PS3 echoed all throughout the afternoon. *After dinner, Jack closed the door to his bedroom to make sure he was in privacy, picked up his phone from the bedside table and scrolled down his list of numbers until he found the one he was looking for. It didn’t take very long. He only had seven numbers. The new phone was another measure of precaution to make sure that the agents’ true identities remained a secret. While Jack’s favoured iPhone was back home in England, tucked away safely in one of his drawers away from the prying eyes of his younger brother, for the purpose of the mission he’d been given a second-hand, but sufficiently decent BlackBerry Curve. It didn’t have the cool applications and the graphic qualities of the iPhone, but as a communication tool it worked absolutely fine. Gone were all Jack Knight’s phone numbers and past texts – anything that might contradict their tightly-knitted cover story. As far as anyone was concerned, a person with such a name had never existed. And in his place was Jack Bennett, a normal teenage boy making a fresh start on the other side of the world. The first five numbers were those of the five other members of the Bennett family. Like him, they all had second-hand BlackBerrys. The other two belonged to Charlie and Charlotte King and had been added to the address book less than twenty four hours ago. So far neither of them had been used. That was about to change. Jack dialled Charlie’s number and put the phone to his ear, but no sooner had he done so the call stopped ringing and an automated voice told him that the receiving mobile was switched off. Jack frowned. “Strange,” he muttered to himself. If school lessons were anything to go by, Charlie always seemed to be on his phone. Next he tried Charlotte and this time someone did pick up. “Hey, Jack,” Charlotte answered. Jack stuffed a finger in his ear to block out the noise from Ella’s radio. “Have a good day?” “Yeah, fine thanks. You?” “Been better, but any day without school is fine by me.” “Too true. Hey listen, you don’t know what’s up with Charlie do you? It’s just that I’ve tried calling him and his phone is switched off which seemed a bit weird to me.” “What’s the time?” Charlotte’s question took him slightly by surprise. He quickly glanced over at his alarm clock before replying, “Half past nine. What’s that got to do with anything?” “Then it makes perfect sense that he’s not answering.” “Why? I thought he was always on his phone.” “Except weekend evenings.” “What’s special about them?” “Well, let’s just say that he never gets back until two in the morning at the earliest and he’s always as drunk as bees on honey during the summer when he does arrives. Stinks like a brewery all throughout the next day as well, even when he does bother to shower.” “Ah, now I get you,” Jack said. “You’re saying that at the moment he’s too pissed to take any calls and so he’s ditched his mobile.” “That’s exactly what I’m saying. It happens every week.” “So what place is so good that he gets whammed there every Saturday?” Jack asked. “You’ll have to ask him yourself,” Charlotte replied. “When he’s not nursing a skull-splitting hangover that is.” “I’ll try midday tomorrow,” Jack decided. “Hopefully he’ll be awake by then.” “I wouldn’t count on it.” “So you keep saying.” “If you want to pass on a message I can tell Charlie when he gets back. I can’t guarantee that he’ll listen to a word of it, but I can try.” “Nah, it can wait. It’s nothing important.” “Okay, I guess I might see you tomorrow then?” “Sure thing,” Jack replied, “If only to come round and laugh at the state Charlie’s in.” Charlotte laughed. “I’ll bring my camera.” “Cool. Catch you later then.” Jack tossed his phone onto the bed and stood in the middle of the room, surveying his new lifestyle. If this mission was going to stretch on for as long as Lancaster predicted it could, he might as well get used to it. But first things first, a dilemma: finish the biology essay that was in for Monday or go and watch crap Saturday evening television with the others? Jack had to think for about a quarter of a second. Then he rushed over to the door, stepped out into the corridor and was already moving as it clicked shut behind him. *Taking Charlotte’s advice that her brother was still likely to be as active as an extinct volcano come lunchtime, Jack sent Charlie a text message telling him to meet up outside his apartment at four o’clock, setting off himself on foot half an hour before that. It was a glorious afternoon and despite ambling along at a snail’s pace for most of the journey, Jack made it to Tsui Tower – the name of the skyscraper which contained the King’s penthouse - with minutes to spare. He stood outside the main entrance, watching the traffic and pedestrians mill by as he waited for Charlie to appear. He wasn’t surprised when ten minutes elapsed and there was still no sign of his friend, but by twenty he began to wonder whether Charlie had even read his text message. He was just considering getting out his mobile and attempting to call him when the glass doors opened and a figure resembling a horror-movie zombie stumbled out onto the pavement. Except zombies didn’t wear O’Neil polo shirts, Diesel jeans and pairs of mismatching black and blue socks. “Bloody hell!” Jack gasped, walking over to get a better look of the new arrival. “No one told me Charlie Sheen was living here.” “Oh ha ha,” Charlie muttered, rubbing his weary eyes with the back of his hand. “Next you’re going to say it runs in the name.” The bags under Charlie’s eyes were the size of Santa’s sack on Christmas Eve, while dark swellings made it look as if someone had played a practical joke while he was asleep by smearing his face with mascara. Charlotte hadn’t been lying when she said he would smell like a brewery; there were probably more pleasant odours down in the sewage network. “Honestly, mate, you look dreadful.” “Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.” Jack sniffed the air again and detected something other than the stench of alcohol. It was sharp, putrid and felt like it was burning the back of his nostrils. “And have you been-?” “Yeah, yeah, alright. I can admit it, I’m a mess,” Charlie growled. Mess was an understatement, Jack thought; he was surprised his mate could even stand up straight. “There’s no need to rub my nose in it.” “Yeah, it looks like you’ve already been and done that,” Jack said, suddenly recognising the new smell in the air. “Since when did you start taking crack?” “A couple of months or so,” Charlie shrugged. “It’s no biggie.” “This is real shit, man,” Jack protested. “That stuff can kill you.” “Pfft, so can steak and chips if you eat enough of it and that doesn’t stop some people.” Charlie raised a pale, trembling finger and pointed across the road where an overweight man was just leaving a Chinese restaurant. “See what I mean?” “Yeah, but-” “Look, thanks for the lecture in health and medicine, Dr. Doo-shit, but Charlie King is made of strong stuff.” He flexed his biceps as if that was supposed to prove it. “I can handle this shit, no problemo.” Even as he said it, Jack noticed Charlie start teetering like a tree trunk during a hurricane. “Right,” Jack mumbled, not at all convinced by Charlie’s reasoning. “I’ll take your word for it.” “You do that. Now, do you have a reason for dragging me out here or have you just come here to throw shit at me? ‘Cause if so, I’m pissing off straight back to bed.” “Nah, I’ve got a reason,” Jack said coolly. “Which is?” “I was wondering, what’s a guy got to do to have some fun around here? No offence to my family, but come weekends they’re about as entertaining as skids down the inside of the toilet bowl.” “I know what you mean,” Charlie muttered, his head lolling as if it was attached to his shoulders by a spring. “That’s why I hit the town every night, to pack some excitement into my life. If every day of the week was just like school I’d probably kill myself.” “So what bar do you go to?” Jack asked. “I’m guessing it’s not like England where there’s a pub on pretty much every street corner.” “Oh, I don’t go to a bar,” Charlie replied, shaking his head. “I go to a club – special entry only.” Jack grinned. “What? Special needs?” “Piss off!” “Just kidding. What kind of club?” “It’s not a bloody strip club if that’s what you’re thinking.” “Thought never even crossed my mind.” “It’s a club that my dad owns over in Kowloon. He doesn’t go there very often, but I do.” “Holy shit! You’re dad owns his own night club?” “No, it’s not a night club. It’s more of a… I don’t know, a members-only social club.” Jack scoffed. “You mean like a golf association full of O.A.Ps in woollen jumpers nattering on about half-irons and the putting green?” “Hell, no! It’s- it’s- it’s got something to do with my dad’s work, I think. To be honest, I don’t really ask any questions so I don’t know for sure, but it’s got a decent bar, comfy stools and I know some of the lads so it’s all fine by me.” “What’s it called?” “The Golden Sun,” Charlie replied. “Don’t ask me why he chose it ‘cause I don’t know.” “It sounds like a cheap takeaway,” Jack muttered. “I’ll tell him you said that.” “Go ahead, I don’t care.” “Fine, I won’t.” “Would you recommend it?” “To a mate? Yeah. To a stranger? I’d tell them to piss off.” Jack laughed. “Nice. Do I count as a mate?” Charlie shrugged one shoulder. “When you’re not pissing me off about my hangover, yeah, I suppose so. The thing is, the guys at the Golden Sun are a tight-knit community – as I said, its members only. And that means not any old sod off the street is allowed entry.” “Do you think I’d get in?” Charlie looked surprised. “You want to go there?” he asked. Jack shrugged. “For a laugh, why not? It’s Sunday evening after all and who gives a toss about school tomorrow?” Charlie grinned. “I like you’re thinking.” “Well, could you?” Charlie shrugged. “I suppose I could give it a try. I’m not guaranteeing anything, but being the son of the owner does have its privileges.” “And you’re sure your liver will be able to take it?” Jack grinned. “Hey, I’ve been going there ever since I was fifteen,” Charlie crowed. “Standing before you is an experienced pro in the art of drinking. If anything, it’s you that we’ve got to worry about. Half a bottle of cider and you’ll probably be teetering about all over the place.” “Uh huh? We’ll see about that.” “Yeah,” Charlie nodded. “We will.”*Having worked the Hong Kong bar and club network for nearly twenty years, the taxi driver had had far worse passengers than the two teenage boys belching and moaning on the back seats. And besides, any lingering anxieties were instantly quelled by the promise of an extra two hundred Hong Kong dollars (the equivalent of ?16 in Britain) if he got them there without getting caught too badly in the notorious Sunday evening traffic. “I know city well,” the driver boasted over the raging horns of other motorists. “I make sure you arrive in good time.” “Yeah, wonderful,” Jack muttered. “Just get us there, okay?” As long as they didn’t end up down some narrow dodgy alleyway with boarded up windows and hooded figures skulking in the shadows, he’d be satisfied. “What gave your dad the idea about building a club?” Jack asked Charlie, to shut the nattering taxi driver out more than anything else. “He had it built pretty much as soon as we moved in so I guess it has something to do with his work,” Charlie replied. “A place for meetings, conferences and shit like that. Most of the guys there work for him, I think, so it also gives them a place to socialise and hang out. Like you say, it’s a bit like an ordinary sports clubhouse except about a hundred times better and cooler. Instead of trophies or stupid photographs lining the walls it’s all these old fashioned weapons, like rifles and stuff, not to mention the gigantic stacks of booze behind the bar counter.” “Sounds cool,” Jack nodded. “I can’t wait to look around.” “It’s not a bloody museum!” “Fine, correction: I can’t wait to get inside and start slurping beer down my throat. “And don’t I know it,” Charlie grinned. “Trust me, man, you’re going to bloody love it.” 13The Golden SunTrue to his word, the taxi driver got them into downtown Kowloon in good time and it was just approaching six when Charlie told him to pull over on an anonymous street corner. “Drop us off here.” “You is sure?” the driver asked. Looking around, Jack couldn’t help but agree with him. They appeared to be in the middle of nowhere with cheap flats surrounding them in all directions like the battlements of a fort. “I’m not paying you to ask questions,” Charlie scowled. “Here’s fine.” The driver nodded and diverted up onto the pavement. Charlie’s numbed reactions meant that Jack got out first, leaving the former to settle the debt. “Hey! Where my two hundred dollars?” the driver complained as he examined the notes he’d been given. Charlie staggered out of the taxi and slammed the door shut. “Oh piss off, you greedy git,” he shouted and started stomping down the road. With angry insults from the taxi driver ringing in his ears, Jack jogged forward so that he could catch up with Charlie. “Are you alright, mate?” he asked seriously. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Charlie muttered. “Well, you gave that guy a bit of a hard time for starters.” “I hate taxi drivers, you know that,” Charlie snapped, as if that was a reasonable explanation. Then he sighed and Jack could tell he looked absolutely drained. “Sorry, Jack. It’s my hangover – it’s a bad ‘un, I’m telling you. When I woke up this morning it felt like someone was using a power tool to drill into my skull. It frickin’ killed. And now my mood just keeps swinging like it’s attached to a bloody yo-yo.” “Are sure you still want to go to the club then?” Jack asked, his face full of concern. “It’s not too late to head back.” “And face another depressing taxi ride while I’m still sober?” Charlie muttered. “No thanks. Getting drunk is the only thing that perks me up when I’m in this state.” Jack still felt slightly worried, but figured that Charlie was probably a lot more experienced in this field than he was. “If you insist,” Jack said reluctantly. The Golden Sun was a five minute stroll away. Charlie explained why he’d told the taxi driver to drop them off a couple of blocks away as they walked. “Rule number one about belonging to the Golden Sun,” Charlie said, sticking a single finger up in the air. “You don’t tell anyone about its existence. It’s a private thing. A serious thing. Not a pile of junk where any old beggar can crash out for the night.” “You told me about it,” Jack interrupted. “Yeah, but you’re different,” Charlie replied. “Generally it’s strictly workers of my dad’s in there, but I don’t work for him and I’m allowed in.” “Yeah, but you are his son.” “Who gives a shit? Listen, Jack, I was speaking to my dad yesterday – at least, I think it was yesterday – and according to him, you seem pretty safe.” “So what?” Jack said, secretly pleased inside. “Well, that’s the first time he’s ever said that about one of our mates when they’ve come over.” “Only because everyone else at school are feckless turds.” “True,” Charlie nodded, “But trust me, Jack, my dad’s no idiot. He knows a decent guy when he sees one. Just tell the lads at the club that you’ve got Calvin King’s official seal of approval and they’ll treat you like frickin’ royalty.” “What were you saying about limited access again?” Jack asked. “Oh yeah, well, because it’s a private club my dad doesn’t want loads of random beggars banging on the door asking if they can come in and have a pint. What happens in the Golden Sun stays in the Golden Sun. And so the best way to stop people trying to get in is to pretend as if it doesn’t existence. You’ll see in a moment that it looks pretty inconspicuous, even shit from the outside, but in this case, unlike with gals, looks aren’t everything. Inside is where it’s the real deal. So you see, my head’s not as messed up as you might think. I still had enough brain cells to remember to get out several streets away and then walk to the club, meaning the stupid taxi driver doesn’t have a fricking clue what’s going on. Pretty damn smart if you think about it.” “Pretty damn smart,” Jack nodded in agreement. They turned into a desolate street that was a far cry from the luxury and splendour of the Western and Central District. It once again served to remind Jack that, like in many developing countries, Hong Kong was a prime example of a two-faced city. On one side you had the modern skyscrapers and the decked-out apartments full of profligate millionaires, a signal of intent from the government that there were positive times ahead and that the city could soon be seen as a force to be reckoned with. And then on the other side you had this; rundown apartments cramped so tightly together they were barely a finger width apart. It was almost as if they had purposely been designed to look small and insignificant. There were no cars on the street; people couldn’t afford them. But there was plenty of litter, only a small percentage of it packaged in recycled shopping bags that were still hanging around the apartment doorways like a bad odour after the weekly pick-up had decided not to bother turning up. Jack counted the windows and decided there must have been thousands of people living in this short stretch of paving alone. That was even higher than the number of rats about. It was clear that the area hadn’t been properly cared for in a very long time. It was a world that had been left far behind by modern times. “It’s not down here is it?” Jack mumbled. “Nah, don’t be stupid,” Charlie replied. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s down there.” Charlie was pointing to a small turning just up ahead, the mouth almost swallowed up by the increasing darkness. It was a narrow alleyway, but immediately Jack could tell there was something different about it. For starters, unlike the rest of the street, there was artificial light at the end of it. And secondly, there were people. “I’ll handle this,” Charlie muttered and strolled forward as casually as one could with a massive headache. The building itself was plain and anonymous, made of brown bricks and with very few windows. However, unlike most of the places around here, it looked extremely solid and well-built, maintained to a high standard of condition. Certainly it wasn’t going to topple over in a strong gale. There were no obvious signs indicating that it was a club of some sort, but Jack could detect commotion and the odd raised voice from inside. This was it alright. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in?” a voice laughed. Now that he was closer, Jack could make out two people. One was smoking a joint, the thick smoke curling up into the evening air in little ringlets. His teeth were a nicotine-stained yellow in the artificial light and although his gruff voice sounded as healthy as a double cheeseburger, he looked like he could take care of himself in a fight. He was the one that had spoken to Charlie. The other guy remained silent and was dressed in a cheap black suit that looked about as out of place here as a polar bear in the middle of the Sahara. He had a square chin, shaven hair and a look of authority in his body language as he noticed the two new arrivals. A bouncer if ever he saw one, Jack thought. But there was something even more significant about the two men than all those details put together. Neither of them were local. “You’re one to talk, Grimes,” Charlie replied, strolling confidently up to the two men. “You get trashed more times than my history essays.” “Oh yeah,” the guy called Grimes said, sneering slightly, “I forgot you were still at school. What is it now? Year Three?” “Three years higher than you ever managed, dumbass.” It was only then that Grimes seemed to notice Jack hanging in the background. “Oh and look, Baz,” he chuckled, elbowing the other man in the ribs to get his attention, “He’s brought a little friend along too.” “One more than you’re ever going to get, mate,” Jack called out. It was a risky move and Jack wasn’t sure how Grimes would react, but thankfully, after a moment’s pause, he threw back his head and laughed. “This one’s got some balls,” he chortled. “And you don’t?” Jack asked. Grimes looked over at his colleague. “This kid doesn’t have a bloody clue, does he?” he said. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack replied, stepping forward to show he meant business. Grimes ignored him, turning to Charlie instead. “You brought him here,” he said accusingly. “How much does he know?” “Hey, it’s cool, guys,” Charlie said, raising the palms of his hands in the air. “You can trust Jack, he’s safe.” “I don’t care about that crap. I said: how much does he know?” “This place is called the Golden Sun and is a private social club owned by Calvin King,” Jack interrupted. “And by the way, I am here you know. I’m the one who’s new here so leave Charlie out of it.” “Fine,” Grimes said, strolling up towards Jack instead. “So tell me… Jack… what exactly does the word ‘private’ mean?” “It’s the thing that dangles in front of your pelvis,” Jack replied. “Although apparently you don’t have one.” Both the bouncer and Charlie burst out laughing, causing Grimes’ cheeks to redden. “Let me warn you, kiddo,” Grimes breathed, the stench of stale cigarette smoke clogging up Jack’s nostrils like coagulated blood. “I have the means to break every bone in your body and unless you start talking straight, I will. Now answer my question.” “It means only a particular group of people are allowed entry,” Jack said. “Correct,” Grimes nodded. “And that particular group of people is us. Nowhere does it say that random kids - particularly those who behave as if they’re Mickey bloody Flanagan or something – can just stroll in and expect to be welcomed.” “I know Calvin King,” Jack argued. “So does the bloody green grocer,” Grimes retorted, “Doesn’t mean we’re going to invite him in for a pint. What happens inside those doors is serious. The Golden Sun has strict rules and allowing a kid like you in is breaking almost every single one of them. Saying that, I don’t think it’s your fault. It’s his.” Grimes flicked his head over at Charlie. “What the hell were you thinking, you twit? Bringing a random stranger along when you know its members only.” He shook his head. “I knew it was a mistake of Calvin to ever let you in here.” “You reckon?” Charlie growled, a mixture of anger and adrenalin beginning to kick his brain back into gear. “Well, guess what? You may think you’re all high and mighty standing here giving us the lip, but at the end of the day you’re only an employee. You’re not kin. And I could get my dad to fire your fat arse in a heartbeat.” “Don’t make me laugh,” Grimes snorted. “You’re right, you’ll probably end up coughing until midnight,” Charlie said. “Now let us in.” “No can do, I’m afraid,” Baz said, stepping purposely in front of the doorway. “Rules are rules.” “Oh yeah? Let’s see what my dad has to say about that.” The confident looks on Grimes and Baz’s faces wavered slightly as Charlie got out his phone and dialled his dad’s number. Jack stood there watching him, hoping that he wasn’t about to make a huge mistake. “Dad? Yeah, it’s me Charlie.” “Oh hey, Charlie,” King replied, the volume setting high enough for everyone else to hear. “How’s the hangover?” “Fine, thanks,” Charlie muttered, eager to change the subject quickly, “But I’ve run into a bit of a problem down at the club...” He paused for a moment and moved the phone away from his mouth. “A disgusting, smelly problem that thinks he knows everything,” he added afterwards under his breath. “Oh yes?” King said, and at the mention of the club Jack could tell he’d suddenly become serious. “And what might that be?” “The tosser at the entrance isn’t letting me in even though I’m allowed.” “Don’t you think you’ve had enough drink for one weekend?” “I only want to pop in for a quick swig,” Charlie insisted. “Nothing major.” “Very well,” King sighed. “And who’s on duty?” “Grimes.” Charlie pronounced the word as if it left a bad taste on his tongue. “Pass the phone over to him then,” King replied. “I’ll have a word with him.” Smiling smugly, Charlie handed Grimes his mobile. Perspiration starting to drip down his forehead despite it being a mild evening, Grimes took it and put it to his ear. “Sir?” “Grimes, what’s this I’m hearing about you not letting my son in?” “No, sir, you’ve got it all wrong,” Grimes gulped nervously. “Charlie isn’t the problem.” “Then what is?” King demanded, for all the world sounding as if he had much better things to do with his time than argue with an employee. “He’s trying to bring a friend in with him… a non-member.” “Ah… I see.” “I’m just following K.O orders, sir.” “Don’t use that name,” King snapped and, as they all waited for him to continue, Jack could almost hear him think. “Who is this friend my son’s brought along?” “Just a kid from school, sir,” Grimes sneered, making no effort to hide his contempt. “Tall, fair-haired and with the cheek of a boy who needs to learn some manners.” “Jack Bennett?” Grimes was knocked off his stride for a moment, King knowing Jack’s name coming as somewhat of a surprise. “Yes, sir… that’s him.” “Hmm…” King paused again, this time even longer than before. Grimes rubbed a clammy hand on the back of his jeans and took another puff of his joint to calm his nerves. And then King’s voice suddenly returned. “Let him in.” Grimes whole face drooped like a St. Bernard’s. “But, sir!” he protested. “The club rules-” “I said let him in, Grimes,” King snapped forcefully. “And I want to hear nothing else on the matter.” A low hum quickly followed and Jack knew that King had hung up. “Thank you for clearing that up for us, Grimy,” Charlie grinned, pinching his mobile out from Grimes’ hand. “If you want to speak to us, we’ll be inside.” “Nice one, mate,” Jack smiled, patting Grimes playfully on the back as they passed. Baz stepped aside as they reached the door and, one after the other, they walked in. “Holy shit,” Jack gasped as a rabble of commotion suddenly completely engulfed them. Jack had been to a couple of clubs with mates before, but this was like nothing else he’d ever seen or experienced. The first difference that struck him was the lack of dancing. In fact, there wasn’t even a dance floor in sight. The vast majority of the main room – at a guess, fifteen metres squared in size - was taken up by a collection of circular tables, at least six chairs surrounding each one. Many of them were already taken. But that didn’t mean there was a lack of movement. The club was crowded and Jack could tell straightaway that Sunday evenings was peak time. Many of the members had frothing pints of beer in one hand and were sloshing great mouthfuls down in between jokes and banter with the others around them. However, there were others who were a lot more serene and appeared to be involved in serious discussions, only pausing to listen to their colleague or point down at a reference in front of them. To do with business? Certainly, you weren’t going to find two workers discussing finance in the middle of a Soho nightclub. Then Jack noticed the old-fashioned firearms and they really were as impressive as Charlie had said they were. A Lee Enfield rifle from the First World War, an M1897 Trench gun, a .375 Magnum and those were just the ones that Jack recognised. In total there were probably about fifty of them, all pinned up on the wall with little plaques underneath giving their full name and their period of commission. They were the best ornaments Jack had ever seen. “Cool, isn’t it?” Charlie grinned beside him. “You don’t bloody say,” Jack replied, before glancing back the way that they’d come. “By the way, that was quick thinking with the calling your dad thing, mate. How did you know he’d agree to let us in?” “To be honest, I didn’t,” Charlie smirked with a causal shrug of the shoulder, “But I hate that dickhead Grimy so much I thought it was worth a try.” “Good job you did.” Jack was still standing in awe by the entrance, trying to take everything in. “Remind me to thank your dad next time I see him.” “No probs,” Charlie replied. “Now are you gonna stand around like a fricking downer all evening or do you want to grab a beer and start getting pissed?” “Hmm…” Jack said, pretending to mull it through. “You know what, I think I want a beer.” “Then shift your arse and follow me.” The bar ran down one side of the room, about a dozen stools with red leather padding positioned in front of the wooden counter. The lanky, bearded barman was drying a glass with a tea towel as the two boys walked over and Charlie leant casually on the worktop. “All right, Barmy?” he said, carefully scouring the pumps in front of him. “Two pints of Fosters, please, mate. Make sure it’s from the pump.” “Two pints?” Barmy grinned, grabbing a couple of glasses from a crate where they’d been drying. “Or shall I start pouring the other half a dozen now?” “Funny guy,” Charlie said, “But seriously, I’ve decided to take it easy tonight. The hangover this morning almost bloody killed me. One of those pints is for my mate here, Jack.” “I’ve heard that old chestnut before,” Barmy chuckled. He finished pouring one of the beers and set the glass down on a coaster before glancing up. “Jack, is it? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.” “Nah, you wouldn’t have,” Jack replied. “I’m new here. Moved over from London a week back.” “Oh, thinking of joining, are you?” Jack frowned. “Joining?” “Ignore him,” Charlie muttered, grabbing the beer and taking a huge frothy gulp. “He’s talking bullshit.” “He’s one to talk,” Barmy laughed, glancing at Jack. “You should hear the amount of crap that escapes his mouth when he’s under the influence.” He set the second glass down on the counter. “Don’t worry,” Jack smiled back. “I’m already used to it.” “Piss off, you knob,” Charlie scowled and turned his back on the bar, beer in hand. “Good to meet you, Jack,” Barmy said, wiping his damp hand on the tea towel and offering it to Jack. “The name’s Barmy.” They shook hands. “Let me guess, it’s got nothing to do with you being a barman?” Barmy laughed. “Got it in one.” Jack took his beer and then started fumbling about in his pockets for his wallet. “How much for the drinks?” he asked. But to his surprise, Barmy just shook his head. “For any mate of Charlie’s, it’s free,” he replied. “Calvin would have my head if he found out I’d started charging his son for every drink he bought.” “Pity,” Jack shrugged. “By now you’d be a billionaire.” Barmy laughed again. “And don’t I know it.” “See you around,” Jack said and wandered over towards Charlie. He wasn’t particularly thirsty, nor was he too keen to start drinking heavily when he knew he was incognito, but he had to keep up appearances so took three small sips of his beer and then set it down on one of the tables. “So, what else is there to do around here than just drinking the night away?” Jack asked. Charlie shrugged. He’d already demolished two thirds of his pint and finished the rest in a matter of seconds as Jack looked on. “Ah, that hit the spot,” Charlie sighed, slamming his empty glass down on the table. Jack glanced around, looking out for anything of interest. He didn’t particularly fancy joining in with one of the table conversations, particularly as he had no idea what they were all talking about and would most likely just make a fool of himself. The barman seemed alright and Jack knew that the earlier he started making allies the better, but there was only so much socialising you could do while you were still sober. When Charlie was properly drunk and unable to stand on his own two legs that was the point when Jack would start sitting down. So that left just one option… exploring. Jack was aware that it was only a matter of time before the alcohol started to kick in and numb his senses so now was as good a time as any to see what was what. If this really was the private club of K.O, Calvin King’s secret organisation, then he was going to need all the knowledge about it that he could get. “What’s through there?” Jack asked, pointing towards an opening on the opposite side of the room to the main entrance. The door was slightly ajar and Jack could see shadows flickering through the gap. Again, it seemed to take several seconds for the question to process through Charlie’s brain. “Games room,” Charlie mumbled. “Can’t be a club without one.” “Cool,” Jack nodded. Now that sounded more up his street. “Do you go in there often?” “Sometimes,” Charlie shrugged. “When I’m not too pissed to throw a dart or hold a cue.” “I thought you said sometimes?” Jack smirked. Charlie rolled his eyes. “That was bollocks. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get another beer.” Without another word, Charlie slouched off back to the bar. That guy has some serious problems, Jack thought to himself. Of course, he was never going to say it out loud. Jack looked around and realised that no one was paying him any attention. He watched as a guy got up from a nearby table and stumbled towards the marked toilets. He would have crashed straight into Jack if he hadn’t side-stepped out of the way at the last moment. Jack figured there could be no harm in having a brief look around and after one last glance back at Charlie to make sure he was occupied, he pushed open the door and walked into the next room. All the usual things were here: a couple of dart boards, snooker table, table-tennis area and a table football set with two nineteen year olds already engrossed in a heated match. All of them looked brand new. But there were also things that Jack was less accustomed to seeing inside a club: a rowing machine, running machine, several exercise bikes, an assortment of chest, arm and abdominal machines and finally… a full-size boxing ring. 14Fight NightThis was where the majority of the people were crowded around and as Jack looked over, he could see that there were already three people bouncing lightly on their toes in the middle of the mat. “What’s going on?” Jack asked one of the crowd as he edged nearer. “Sparring session,” the guy said, before turning round and realising that he didn’t recognise Jack and that he must be new here. “You see the guy in the red shorts?” Jack looked up and nodded. The boxer the guy was talking about appeared to be the oldest of the three by some distance. He had bristly grey hair, a layer of stubble around his chin and the first signs of wrinkles beginning to appear in his skin. But if his opponents regarded him as an old timer, they had another thing coming. Even from standing on the side-lines, Jack could tell that the guy knew his stuff. For starters, despite the threat of a midlife crisis he’d kept his body in good shape. All the boxers were topless, but only he could boast a ripped chest and six-pack. And then there was his technique. As Jack knew all too well from his karate lessons, there was no substitute for a good technique. You could be the fastest and strongest person in the world, but if you punched like a drunkard then you were never going to win against decent opposition. And this man was no drunkard. “All right, let’s try one more time,” the boxer in red said to one of the other two, both of whom were dressed in blue. “I’m going to stand by the rails with my face to the crowd, giving you the advantage of surprise. When I blow my whistle I’m going to turn around and I expect you to land a punch on me as quickly as possible, understood?” “Yes, Tra- I mean, sir.” “Good, then we’ll begin.” The middle aged man turned on his heel and started strolling purposely up to the ropes. He stopped so that his bare chest was just touching the elastic then put his whistle to his mouth. The fight began. The man spun round like a whirlwind, so fast that if you’d blinked you would have missed it. His opponent had barely twitched, let alone made a move of his own. Advantage gone, Jack could sense that there was only one winner. The older man allowed his opponent to advance, skirting round the edge of the ring and biding his time. The younger man in blue appeared to be waiting for the right opportunity to throw a punch, but the time for that had been right at the start, not ten seconds later. He tried to trick the guy in red by feinting and throwing a dummy punch, but it lacked conviction and his opponent wasn’t fooled in the slightest. Eventually the guy in blue overcame his indecision and jabbed forward. The middle aged man blocked it with a flick of his wrist and his counter punch would have caught his opponent straight in the midriff if he hadn’t leapt out of the way right at the last second. The close call with his opponent’s glove left the blue fighter short on confidence and he backed off, bouncing side to side as he retreated to the middle of the ring. The crowd was less than impressed. “Get a move on you useless turd!” a man a few places to the right of Jack shouted out impatiently. “My nan can hear your knees knocking all the way from Perth!” another yelled out. “Quiet, people!” the red fighter called out. “The lad’s trying to concentrate.” But the crowd’s words had already got to him. With chants of “chicken!” and “pussy!” still ringing in his ears, the blue fighter made a rash, desperate charge forward and swung straight at his opponent’s face. The next thing he knew, a fist had whacked him round the back of the head and he was landing face-first onto the mat with a terrific splat. The crowd cheered. The red fighter offered his stricken opponent a hand and, rather groggily, he managed to clamber back to his feet. A stream of blood was trickling down the back of his neck like molten lava from a volcano, but it was nothing that a damp cloth wouldn’t clear up. “What happened?” the grey-haired man demanded. “Come on, speak to me.” “I lost,” his opponent managed to mumble. This brought a ripple of snickering from the crowd plus several yells of “annihilated more like”. All this only resulted in the blue fighter becoming more and more humiliated. “Yes, it is obvious that you lost,” the red fighter continued, “But you were doing well at the beginning. You were not rushing and you were not making mistakes. Then it was as if you suddenly went suicidal.” The blue fighter glanced over at the crowd, decided it wasn’t worth being called a snitch as well as a pussy, and then turned back to the instructor. “There is no excuse, sir.” “Hmm,” the red fighter frowned. “Then just remember to bring your common sense next time you enter the ring. Get changed, shower, return the shorts and then you can go.” The blue fighter nodded and hurried over to the ropes, eager to get out of the ring and the spotlight as quickly as possible. He swung himself down onto the floor, barged his way through a jeering crowd and then disappeared through a door that Jack now realised was labelled as the changing rooms. Suddenly Jack felt a heavy tap on his shoulder and turned round to see Charlie standing there, beer in hand. “There you are,” he exclaimed, following it up with an alcohol-fuelled burp. “I’ve been looking all over the bloody joint for you.” “Course you have.” By the look of him, Jack found it a miracle that Charlie had even managed to make it this far. “What ya doing?” Charlie asked. Jack nodded up towards the boxing ring. “Watching a weakling get absolutely battered by a middle-aged man while trying not to laugh.” Charlie nodded. “Standard.” “You bet,” Jack grinned. “Hey, have you ever done boxing, taekwondo or something like that before?” Charlie considered the question for a moment then nodded his head vigorously. “Yeah, sure, of course, all the time,” he slurred. “I got my black belt in karate when I was still back over in England.” “Don’t you mean in kung-fu?” Jack corrected. “Uh, yeah, kung-fu,” Charlie stuttered hesitantly. “That’s what I meant.” “Right…” Jack smiled knowingly; clearly Charlie was unaware of that fact that you could receive a black belt for all types of martial arts, not just kung-fu. Charlie’s fib was about as well concealed as an elephant behind a coffee mug. The middle aged man in red shorts took a gulp of water from a plastic bottle in the corner of the ring then walked over towards the crowd. “Would anyone else like to have a go at a bit of martial arts?” he called out. “Then maybe you’ll find out that it’s actually harder than it looks.” At this the vast majority of the crowd started to edge backwards, the image of the instructor trouncing his unfortunate opponent still fresh in their minds. They kept retreating until only Jack and Charlie, still wrapped up in their own conversation, were the only ones left by the ring. “You two!” the instructor called, pointing down at them from above. “Do you fancy a quick bout in the ring?” Jack looked up, glanced across at the crowd and shrugged. “Yeah, alright.” “What about you, Charlie?” the instructor asked. “Feel up to throwing a few punches?” “I can’t,” Charlie slurred and held up his glass of beer for everyone to see. “I’m drinking.” “Nonsense,” the instructor replied. “Put the glass down and shift your butt up here. You’ll be fine.” “But-” “You’re not chickening out are you, Charlie King?” the instructor asked. “Yeah, come on, don’t be a wuss!” someone from the crowd shouted, which Jack found rich considering it had been them that had backed away in the first place. Charlie still seemed unsure, but that all changed when Grimes walked into the room and quickly picked up on what was happening. “Imagine what Calvin would think of this,” he sneered. “His own son; too much of a pussy to even clamber into a boxing ring. He’d be ashamed for life.” The crowd laughed mockingly and Charlie’s cheeks burned red. “Mate, you don’t need to do this if you don’t want to,” Jack whispered to him. “Sticks and stones and all that.” But the taunting from the crowd had made up Charlie’s mind for him. “I’m not a wimp,” he growled, thrusting his beer glass into Jack’s hands and pushing passed him as he grabbed hold of the rails. He swung himself up into the ring and, after a brief wobble, marched across to the instructor. Jack placed the glass down on the floor and followed him up. “Don’t worry about getting changed into boxing shorts,” the instructor said, pleased that he had two new students to mentor. “We’ll only be a few minutes.” “Get to the chase,” Charlie grumbled, eager to get the ordeal over with. “Very well.” The instructor grabbed two pairs of boxing gloves and handed them out. Jack slipped his on and flexed his fingers, getting a feel for the thick padding around them. “Charlie, you start in the blue corner, and, uh- um- sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.” “Jack,” Jack offered helpfully. “Jack Bennett.” “Jack, right. Nice to meet you. My name is Travis. You can start in the red corner. When I blow my whistle, the fight will begin. Full body contact is allowed, but I stress to you now that this is only a practice bout and that I do not expect things to get out of hand. That means minimal blood, no broken bones and no unnecessary trips to A&E.” The crowd groaned with disappointment. “Have I made myself perfectly clear?” Jack nodded. Charlie simply glared at the air directly in front of him, for all the world looking like a raging bull about to be set on the rampage. Travis shuffled to the edge of the ring so that he was firmly out of the way then blew his whistle. Charlie set off as if he’d been fired from a cannon. He made up the three metres between him and Jack in two huge, wobbly strides and then brought his fist swinging round towards Jack’s head. Jack ducked and dodged to the side, swiping Charlie around the exposed area of his back as he passed. Charlie stumbled forwards and would have fallen flat on his face if the ropes hadn’t been there to catch him. The elastic pinged him back onto his feet and he turned to face Jack. Charlie’s eyes were bloodshot and in that instance Jack knew that the mix of alcohol, adrenalin and desperation to prove the crowd wrong had tipped Charlie over the edge. He was now teetering precariously on the edge of losing control. This was a dangerous situation, not just for Jack but for Charlie himself. When your mind was so focused with passionate intensity on just one objective then it was easy to go too far and exceed the limit. Jack could’ve been lying bleeding out on the floor from the first punch and there was a chance that Charlie would still be trying to hit him. Or alternatively, Charlie might push his body too far and end up getting seriously injured. There were always major stories on the news about drunk guys getting themselves killed because they didn’t know what they were doing. Jack decided the only option was to end the fight as quickly as possible, for everyone’s safety. Charlie might feel humiliated afterwards for lasting such a short space of time in the ring, but at least they’d both make it out in one piece. Charlie launched a flurry of wild punches aimed at Jack’s head and although they were so inaccurate that Jack only had to parry one, he could feel the extra strength that Charlie was putting into them as the boxing glove deflected off his own. It was time to act. A final punch from Charlie’s right fist that fell comfortably short of its target left him unbalanced, momentum causing him to stumble forward as if someone had pushed him from behind. As he came within range, Jack caught Charlie around the ribs with a right hook. It wasn’t particularly powerful, but when your opponent had the stability level of a giraffe on a unicycle then it didn’t need to be. Charlie teetered for about half a second on one leg before tumbling over onto his side. He thudded against the mat, sparking a huge uproar of laughter from the watching crowd. Charlie gritted his teeth and tried to force himself back to his feet, but it was as if his bones had suddenly turned to stone. He couldn’t move. His muscles refused to cooperate. The instructor counted out loud up from zero to three then blew his whistle. The shrill noise could barely be heard over the jeers from the crowd. “Knock out!” Travis announced, grabbing Jack by the arm and raising it in the air. “We have our winner.” But the crowd wasn’t listening. A large group, led by a cheering Grimes, rushed up to the ring and started pointing and laughing in Charlie’s face, poking his red cheeks as he lay motionless on the floor. It was a good job that Charlie was so fazed out he barely seemed to notice. “Leave him alone!” Jack yelled, rushing forwards and dragging Charlie’s body into the middle of the ring so that the group couldn’t reach him. “At least he had the guts to come and fight, unlike you wankers.” “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this,” Travis said calmly, strolling up to the crowd. “Alright, guys, you’ve had your fun. Now leave the kid alone or you’ll have me to answer to.” At this, the crowd seemed to calm down and shrink back within themselves. Clearly, they either feared or had a lot of respect for Travis and the way he went about things. Jack had a feeling it might’ve been a bit of both. “Some sips of water should do the trick,” Travis murmured, picking Charlie up as if he was as light as a pillow and slinging him over one shoulder. The two of them clambered out of the ring, Travis set Charlie down carefully on the ground and they shuffled slowly back into the bar. Jack suddenly felt subconscious of himself, standing alone up in the middle of the ring like a politician about to make an important speech to a hoard of journalists. He’d barely broke sweat in the defeat of Charlie, but the way some of the crowd were staring at him he began to wonder if there were big damp patches under his armpits or his flies were undone. Nope, Jack glanced quickly down, they were fine. Then why all the staring? It was then that Grimes pushed his way to the front of the crowd and pulled himself up into the ring. Jack took a step back as Grimes snatched up Travis’ boxing gloves which had been hanging by their cords on one of the ropes and slipped them onto his nicotine-stained fists. “What the hell are you doing?” Jack demanded, taking up a wary stance. “Well, let’s be honest, that useless lout was hardly worthy opposition, was he?” Grimes smirked. “So how about this time we find out how good you really are?” Grimes tightened the straps around his wrists. “You up for it?” Jack shook his head. “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed. “We don’t even have a referee.” Grimes looked down into the crowd and called out. “Hey, Mickey, you fancy being ref?” “Don’t mind if I do,” Mickey shouted back. “There,” Grimes said, faking a sickly smile. “Now there’s no problem.” Jack gritted his teeth. “And what happens when I smash your brains onto the floor?” “You smash my brains out?” Grimes chortled, raising his eyebrows. “That I’d like to see.” “I could beat worthless scum like you any day of the week,” Jack retorted. Grimes laughed coldly and then leant forwards until Jack could smell the stench of tobacco clogging up his nostrils. “Then why don’t you prove it?” Jack folded his arms. “Fine then, I will.” Grimes grinned. “At last.” “But on one condition.” Grimes raised an eyebrow. “I get to decide on the rules.” “Oh, really?” Grimes said. “And what rules do you want enforce? That you automatically win no matter how many times I wipe your face on the floor?” “No,” Jack replied coolly. “All I ask is that it is full body contact and karate rules.” “Karate rules? Meaning?” “We’re allowed to use all parts of our body – feet, knees, not just our arms.” Grimes considered this for a moment then nodded. “Bring it on, Jacko.” Mickey, a black guy with stripes shaven into the side of his hair, scrambled into the ring and took up the same position that Travis had used for the first bout. Meanwhile, Jack and Grimes took several paces away from each other and then stood where they were; fists raised, eyes locked. “We will have three rounds,” Mickey announced, adopting the voice of a cheesy sports commentator. “The winner of each round will be the last man standing and the overall champion decided by a best of three. To defeat your opponent, they must not be able to get off the floor for a full three seconds.” The traditional thing to do now in a martial arts contest was to bow to your opponent out of mutual respect. But that was difficult, Jack thought, when you respected your opponent less than the bowl of cereal you had for breakfast. Grimes seemed to be thinking precisely the same thing as in the brief few seconds after Mickey had finished speaking, neither of them even moved a muscle. “Contestants… are you ready?” “Get on with it, Mickey,” Grimes growled. “I want to finish this son of a bitch off before Travis gets back.” “Not scared of him, are you?” Jack teased. “Oh, you wish.” Mickey didn’t have a whistle, but that was no problem. After a quick glance between the two competitors and a brief pause to consider if it was morally right to let Grimes beat up an innocent teenager like this – a thought he quickly dismissed – Mickey stuck two fingers into his mouth and blew. The shrill whistle cut the tense atmosphere like cheese wire and as the newly reformed crowd started to cheer – only a sparse handful in favour of Jack, the underdog – the two fighters started to move. They both began cautiously, not wanting to make a rash misjudgement which would cost them the first of the three rounds. Whoever lost the first round would face an uphill battle to claw the overall victory back. They circled each other like sharks in the ocean, studying their prey and waiting for the right moment to make their move. Nobody in the crowd was going to dare claim this fight as boring. Grimes had adopted a similar stance to Jack with his fists up close to his chin, his legs bent slightly at the knees and his feet balancing athletically on the toes rather than the heels. Grimes feinted with a quick right-hand jab, but Jack was alert to it and jumped backwards out of harm’s way when his opponent aimed a kick at his crotch. Then it was Jack’s turn to make a move and when Grimes accidentally got too close to the ropes, Jack tried to catch him out with an uppercut to the jaw. It would have knocked him out too if Grimes hadn’t covered-up and blocked it with his gloves at the last moment. Time passes quickly when you’re in the ring and in the next thirty seconds only two semi-blows were exchanged, one in favour of each. Despite being a heavy smoker and a weed addict, Grimes was stronger and quicker than his physique suggested. He lacked brute strength in his punches, but he had a decent arm range relative to his size and an instinctive mind that could read an attack coming barely after Jack had even thought of it. He was also ruthlessly determined and Jack had a feeling that Grimes would find nothing more satisfying right now in the world than crushing him to a pulp. In the end, it was Jack’s predictability that was his downfall. After forcing his opponent towards one of the corners, he tried with a cross-counter punch that Grimes was able to see from a mile off. Grimes bobbed down underneath it, his stunted height now an advantage, and before Jack could retract his arms back into to protect himself Grimes had whacked him in the solar plexus with a straightforward jab. Jack crashed unceremoniously on his arse, all the wind knocked out of him. Remembering what Mickey had said about the three second limit, he quickly tried scrambling back to his feet, but his opponent was one step ahead of him again. Grimes was the pouncing lion, Jack was the wounded antelope. Grimes leapt on top of him and flattened him against the mat, any breath that Jack had managed to recover instantly lost. It felt like his rib cage was being turned into flour. Jack tried to push Grimes off, but now he was facing gravity as well as a ten stone lump. “…Two!… Three!… Grimbo wins the first round,” Mickey announced and the biased crowed roared with delight. But despite the round being over, the force pushing down on Jack’s chest refused to cease. “Get off me, wanker,” Jack managed to rasp. Grimes continued to grin down at him and dug his knee hard into Jack’s back just to piss him off even more. “Come on, Grimbo,” Mickey said, tapping Grimes on the shoulder. “The round’s over. You won fair and square. Let the kid up now.” Reluctantly, Grimes stood up, but only after shoving Jack’s head one last time against the surface of the ring. “Dickhead,” Jack muttered and scrambled to his feet before Grimes could leap on him again. This guy was totally unbelievable, Jack thought, but at the end of the day he was nothing more than your common school bully, albeit with greying hair, a driving licence and thirty years’ worth of tar clogging up his lungs. Jack hated people like this. Always had. The last time Jack had had the misfortune of running into someone like this had been… well, just last week… back in England… at the MI6 training camp. Come to think of it, the similarities between Grimes and Derrick really were remarkable. Here they were on opposite sides of the Earth but the cocky attitude, the love of violence and the desire to humiliate others at every opportunity was still there. Jack even found himself wondering that, in some way, they might’ve been long-lost brothers. Maybe it was easy to get separated when you were fired up from the pits of hell. Right on cue, Grimes came up with another classic. “You need a few minutes to catch your breath, Jacky boy?” he grinned. “Or shall we continue?” Jack wiped sweat on the sleeve of his shirt then took up his ready stance in the red corner of the ring. He didn’t need to say anything. The message was clear. “Are you sure?” Grimes asked, raising both eyebrows. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to just quit now and not risk causing yourself even more damage?” “Kiss my arse,” Jack growled. “If you’re quite certain,” Grimes said smugly. He nodded over at Mickey and then took up his own starting position in the blue corner. The second round began. This time Jack went straight on the offensive, not wanting to give his opponent an early opportunity to strike. All the pressure was now on Jack because if he was beaten in this round, he would lose the whole fight. Grimes knew this and, as a result, was taking things a lot more cautiously. All it would take was one slip up from Jack and the victory would be his. As Jack threw a sudden jab that Grimes easily deflected off his arm, he began to realise that if he was going to beat this opponent he was going to need a change of tack. The standard punch and kick routine wasn’t working. He was pretty sure that he outclassed Grimes in terms of physical fitness – not only was he younger, but he also didn’t smoke crack - and briefly considered trying to wear his opponent out before moving in for the kill. But he quickly realised that it would never work. Boxing rounds were never more than a couple of minutes long – Mickey was timing it on his watch even as he glanced over – and if the last two rounds both ended in stalemates, Grimes would take the victory one win to none. No, if Jack was going to beat Grimes he was going to have to be smarter than that… a lot smarter… “Stop backing into the corners, you pussy,” Grimes taunted as Jack continued to circle round him. “How am I meant to smash your head in when you keep moving?” “You’re not,” Jack muttered back. “That’s the idea.” As the seconds ticked by and an impatient Grimes threw a few harmless punches towards Jack’s nose, an idea started to formulate in Jack’s head. He waited for another thirty seconds, purposely keeping well away from Grimes for the duration, and then called out, “How long left?” Mickey yawned loudly having almost nodded off due to the lack of action and peered down blearily at his watch. “Thirty seconds,” he answered. It wouldn’t have been a proper conversation without Grimes snorting and inevitably chipping in with his own comment. “Not getting tired are we, Jacky?” Grimes lashed out with a right-footed kick and Jack leapt backwards out of range. “You shouldn’t be – you’ve barely done anything for the last ten minutes.” “Maybe it’s passed his bedtime!” someone shouted out from the crowd. Grimes laughed out loud. “Yeah, good one,” Jack muttered. “Ten seconds remaining,” Mickey announced. He looked bored, as did most of the crowd. This round had been about as lively as a crematorium. It looked for all the world as if Jack was simply running down the clock now, conserving his energy for one last push in the third and final round. That was what Grimes thought too. With just eight seconds left remaining, he watched Jack suddenly back off, edging slowly towards his corner of the ring. He looked drained. The boy had given up, Grimes thought scornfully, not that he should be particularly surprised. He’d always held the belief that the cocky teenager was nothing more than a useless prick and now here was the evidence right in front of him. Grimes shook his head in disgust. The round was over. It would be a draw. Grimes started to imagine how he would pulverize Jack in the third as he turned round and slowly retreated back to his corner. That was when Jack made his move. He hadn’t really been tired. He hadn’t really given up. He just wanted Grimes to think that way. With a full three seconds still left of the round, Jack charged forwards across the ring and the crowd gasped in anticipation. Either Grimes sensed the movement behind him or the noise of Jack’s feet thudding on the mat because he suddenly spun round, his face lit up with anger as he realised he’d been tricked. He saw Jack’s right fist rise up into the air like a coiled cobra just before the strike and he instinctively raised his gloves into the peek-a-boo position, ready to block off the attack. What Grimes didn’t notice was Jack’s left hand – his weaker one – slowly building up power at the same time. In boxing terms the move was called the bolo punch and Jack had only ever seen it once in a real life fight – on TV during the Beijing Olympics. It wasn’t a very common technique, usually because it very rarely worked, but when you got it right and positioned your arms in exactly the right place it could also be extremely effective. The purpose of the right glove was a distraction. From the previous round, Grimes knew that Jack was right-handed and so obviously that was the arm that he would always favour. Therefore his eyes had instinctively been drawn to that one. But little did he know it was the left-hand that was going to do all the damage. As Jack feigned with his right, Grimes tensed his arms, ready to anticipate the blow. Except Jack’s right arm didn’t move. Before Grimes could do anything, Jack swung into action. Grimes didn’t even have a chance to think, let alone realise what his opponent was about to do. Jack’s left fist smashed straight into his stomach and he was instantly thrown off his feet. If he could’ve gasped in shock he would have, but at that moment he didn’t have any breath left inside of him. Grimes crashed heavily against the ropes and flipped backwards, spiralling up, over and out of the ring. At the same time as Grimes crashed down on the wooden floorboards, Mickey blew his whistle. It was greeted with a stunned silence. Predictably, it was Grimes who was the first person to react. Rather unfortunately, despite the heavy fall, he didn’t appear to have broken any limbs and was quickly back on his feet, a trickle of red dripping down his front. However, even redder than that were his cheeks. “Son of a whore!” he yelled and Jack had a feeling that if he wasn’t wearing boxing gloves, both his middle fingers would be pointing upwards. “You cheated. You bloody cheated.” Jack laughed incredulously. “And how do you work that one out?” “You tricked me,” Grimes retorted, faltering slightly at the end as he realised his excuse sounded slightly pathetic. He turned to Mickey for support. “You saw him, Mickey. He was returning back to his corner. He’d called time.” “In what possible way?” Jack scoffed. Mickey looked down awkwardly at the floor. “Sorry, Grimbo, but the kid’s right. I don’t think there’s anything in the rule book that says you can’t fake retreating back to your corner.” “Besides, ever heard of keep playing to the whistle?” Jack added. “I don’t suppose you have; you don’t look like the sporty type.” Someone from the crowd came hurrying over with a tissue to try and mop up some of the blood from Grimes’ chest. “Get out of the way,” Grimes growled, shoving the helpful man to the side and striding back towards the ring. “I’ve got a skull to crush.” “Two rounds over, ladies and gentlemen,” Mickey said gingerly. “We’re into a decider. The score is tied at one-all.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jack noticed that in the last few minutes the crowd around the boxing ring appeared to have grown. Clearly, word of the on-going battle had started to spread around the club, drawing in more spectators. Stop it, concentrate on the fight, Jack told himself firmly. He dragged his eyes back to the fuming man standing several metres across from him. “You’re dead,” Grimes growled, the sinews in his head bulging like worms. “You think so?” Jack smirked. “I’m not the one with blood dripping from their chest. “It’s nothing,” Grimes muttered. “Just a scratch.” “Just a scratch – are you sure?” Jack mocked. “Why don’t you give up now and get it properly treated. I think I saw some Winnie the Pooh plasters in the first aid box over there.” “Shut up.” “I’m warning you, Grimy, I could break your neck like a twig if I really wanted to. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you continue to fight I may not be left with much choice.” Grimes snorted and smacked his two fists together. “We’ll see about that, punk.” “You’ve asked for it.” A low hush descended on the crowd as Mickey raised his fingers to his lips. Jack was reminded of watching a penalty shootout on TV with James and Thomas during the last World Cup – the same tension that had been there was here again now; a mix of fear and excitement - at some points you were so anxious you had to watch through your fingers – but you were never going to look away, not for one second. Your eyes were balls of iron and they were being drawn towards a single magnetic field. You can fight arseholes like Grimes, but you can’t fight nature. It’s impossible. Mickey blew a short, sharp whistle and the final round was underway. Bearing no apparent ill-effects from his earlier fall, Grimes was straightaway on the front foot, showing his aggressive demeanour by throwing an early cross punch that just glanced off the top of Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s skin stung slightly where the glove had made contact, but he forced the pain to the back of his mind along with pretty much everything else. The mission, Charlie, his cover story – at this very moment, none of them mattered. It was just him, Grimes and the ring. Not wanting to give Grimes the confidence for another attack, Jack made a move of his own. Dodging Grimes’ mistimed uppercut, he lashed out with a foot and caught his opponent in the thigh. Grimes stumbled backwards and his leg buckled, but crucially he managed to remain upright. Jack wasn’t able to make the advantage count and when he went for a half-uppercut aimed directly at the jaw, Grimes was back in position to block it. The crowd were hooked. Their eyes, as wide and rounded as golf balls, kept on flicking between the two fighters, not knowing which one to watch and where the next decisive punch might come from. If Jack didn’t know better, he might’ve said that their shoes were all covered in superglue. Certainly, they would not be going anywhere for the next one and a half minutes. If the first round was tentative and the second round tedious, the third round was the complete opposite to both of those. Not a single second went by without something happening; Jack feinted, Grimes dodged and they both swung punches in quick succession that missed their targets by mere centimetres. Jack stopped looking around altogether now; even glancing down at the floor to check the position of his feet became a distraction. His footwork became instinctive, as did his attacks. Even the loud drum booming in his chest didn’t register with his mind. “One minute remaining,” Mickey declared. The briefest buzz of excitement rippled through the crowd and then they were back as they had been before; silent, still, staring. The next sixty seconds of boxing was to be the best that they’d ever seen. The final sequence of events began when Grimes got a lucky break. Jack stumbled as he tried to pull away from a Grimes uppercut and while the punch didn’t make contact, the loss of balance sent Jack tumbling to the mat. The crowd gasped and held their breath. A dark shadow loomed over Jack like a storm cloud and he managed to roll to the side just as Grimes’ foot came stamping down where his private parts had been. Jack could have called foul play if he’d wanted to, but even if Mickey agreed to it which was unlikely it would mean winning by default, not by his own accord. Jack knew that he could beat this guy, but he wouldn’t prove that by getting Grimes disqualified. To show that he truly was the better fighter he was going to have to win fair and square. Jack leapt to his feet all in one fluid motion and hurriedly bobbed down to avoid a scything right hook that flashed fast above his head. The crowd oohed as if a firework had just gone off near the ceiling. Jack retreated back a few paces to catch his breath, recollect his thoughts and recover his mind set again. That had been close… too close. Jack had literally felt Grimes’ glove as it had whisked across the top of his head. He had been very lucky and he knew it. Next time, he would not have the same fortune. He couldn’t let Grimes get at him again like that. Otherwise it would all be over. Respite was brief. Grimes charged forward like a kamikaze warrior; one fist drawn back, the other raised as a last line of defence. Jack got ready to dive out of the way when he suddenly had a thought. That was what Grimes was expecting him to do. He’d managed to force Jack back into a corner and so was fully anticipating him to try and make a break for it on either side. So what if Jack didn’t do as expected? What would happen then? There was no time to change his mind now. Grimes was upon him. As Grimes swung forward with the recoiled fist, Jack suddenly dropped down and bounced on his arse on the flexible mat. Grimes punched thin air with all his strength, only to trip over Jack’s tightly-balled body as he tried to slow down. Jack got a boot in the chin for his troubles, but the punishment was far worse for Grimes. Feet trailing, the top of his head smacked straight into one of the elastic ropes. It took up slack for the first few milliseconds, but when the force of Grimes’ whole body became too intense the result was immediate. With the ear-splitting twang of a broken guitar string, Grimes was flung backwards like a ball bearing from a catapult. He somersaulted once in mid-air before crashing down on the other side of the ring. However, once again it appeared as if Grimes was immune to serious injury. Both fighters scrambled to their feet, but while Grimes needed to shake his head to kick his mind back into gear, Jack hit the ground running. A disorientated Grimes looked up just in time to see a red boxing glove hurtle straight into the middle of his face. Thwack! Grimes’ head snapped backwards as a torrent of blood gushed out of his newly broken nose. Pow! Jack spun round on a dime with one leg outstretched, his foot catching Grimes’ just above the ankle and sending him crashing to the floor like a meteorite. Thump! And finally Jack delivered the decisive blow, twisting round as Grimes bounced off the mat and catching him with a roundhouse kick directly in the side of the head. The blood-strewn body hit the mat for the last time, flopping over to one side like a dead fish before coming to a sudden, lifeless stop in the middle of the ring. 15Only The Strong SurviveFor about fifteen seconds there was absolute silence. Jack’s rasping breath as he placed his hands on his hips and doubled over was the only sound in the whole room. And then, like an atomic bomb, everything exploded out at once. A great wave of noise erupted from the crowd and as far as Jack could tell, only half of them were cheering. The others were either booing, gasping or generally just shouting out in shock. However, they all shared one thing in common – they were all staring at the motionless figure in the boxing ring that was Grimes. “Oh no,” Jack muttered, and a sudden gut-wrenching feeling started to take over his body. Three people who’d arrived late to the fight were standing off to one side of the crowd. Two of them were Travis and Charlie. Jack was glad to see that despite looking pale and with bits of sick clinging to his shirt, Charlie was at least able to stand on his own two feet. The third man was dressed in an open-necked shirt and, among others, clearly had some Asian blood in him. His hair was straight and jet black, cut short down to a number three and his jaw was cleanly shaven. His eyes were dark and serious and there was only one reason why Jack was able to tell that – both of them were staring directly at him. Travis was the first to move, swinging himself expertly into the ring like a monkey swinging from a tree before kneeling down beside Grimes’ body. The whole crowd caught their breath. Travis rolled Grimes over and pressed two fingers against his jugular, checking for a pulse. He must have held them there for almost ten seconds before placing Grimes back down on the mat and positioning his cheek over Grimes’ mouth. Again, ten seconds elapsed as Travis carefully carried out his checks. Then he stood up and looked at the crowd. His face was grim. “It’s bad news,” Travis said and the whole crowd gasped in horror. Over twenty pair of eyes all turned to stare in the direction of Jack. “No, he can’t have,” Jack stammered. It felt like he’d just been punched in the stomach. If a hole opened up in the ground now and swallowed him whole, it would be the best thing that could ever happen. “It’s bad news,” Travis repeated, “Because we’re going to have carry on working with this ugly mug for the foreseeable future.” As Jack and the crowd realised they’d been fooled, Travis bent down and gave Grimes an almighty slap across the cheek. Grimes sat bolt upright and yelled out in pain, like a toddler just after waking up from a nightmare. Travis burst out laughing and Jack couldn’t help doing so too, although more out of relief than anything. This set off a chain reaction and soon the whole gym was chuckling away at the sheer audacity of Travis’ trick. It was a stark comparison from the mood just seconds beforehand. “Come on, Grimbo,” Travis said, offering Grimes a thickset arm to grab hold of. “Up you get, you lazy sod.” Together he and Mickey hauled Grimes to his feet and led him gently towards the ropes. Just before he dismounted the ring, Grimes looked around and his eyes settled on Jack. “I’ll get you for that, arsehole,” Grimes yelled, but his voice lacked the usual conviction that Jack was so used to. He was trying to put on a brave face to defend his dignity, but Jack could tell the heavy smoker was now weary of him. “I don’t think so, Grimy,” Jack replied coolly. “At least, not before I get you.” “Alright, that’s enough you two,” Travis said firmly. “The fight’s over. I don’t want to hear another word about it from either of you.” Grimes looked like he wanted to argue, but with mild concussion and a sore arse he decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Travis and Mickey led him quickly out of the gym with the promise of a pint of lager and a cold compress for his bruises. As soon as Grimes was gone, all the attention fell upon Jack. At first they were quiet and Jack was expecting eggs and rotten tomatoes to be thrown at him for almost killing one of their colleagues, albeit accidentally. But when they suddenly piled forward towards the ring it wasn’t with anger or malice, but with applause. “Great fight, sonny, great fight,” one guy shouted, stretching his hand through the gaps in the ropes so that Jack could shake it. Jack had to remove his boxing gloves before doing so. “What a punch! Straight in the old noggin,” another ranted. Jack shook a few more hands and then quickly slipped out of the ring. His shirt was drenched with sweat, but he had no spare clothes to change into so he was just going to have to stay the way he was. Pushing through the congratulating crowd, Jack eventually reached his friend and the man with black hair. Charlie patted him warmly on the back. “Nice one, mate,” he grinned. “The looks on Grimy’s face as he walked by was priceless.” “Just gave him what he deserved,” Jack shrugged. “How are you?” “Oh yeah, brilliant,” Charlie muttered, “That’s why my t-shirt looks as if it’s just been used as a napkin by a one year old.” “I did go easy on you.” “Thanks, Jack, that really makes me feel better.” “And don’t say that I didn’t warn you about fighting in the first place.” “Alright, alright!” Charlie exclaimed. “Just because you win two fights it doesn’t mean you’re automatically Manny Pacquiao.” “I think I’d give him a run for his money.” Charlie snorted incredulously. “Now that I’d pay to see.” As Charlie fell silent, the man with black hair stepped forward and took the opportunity to introduce himself. “The name’s Brian, but most of the people here call me Brain,” he said. “It’s good to meet you.” “Jack Bennett,” Jack replied, shaking his hand. “And I don’t suppose that has anything to do with your level of intelligence?” Brain laughed, but purposely avoided answering the question by changing the subject. “That was some fight up there,” he said, nodding over at the boxing ring. “I’m glad I arrived in time to catch the final round.” “You enjoyed it?” “Best thing I’ve seen all week. One thing’s for sure, old Grimbo won’t be living that down in a hurry.” “So I’ve heard.” “How did you get so good at it? I mean, I was speaking with Travis just a few moments ago and he said that some of your karate moves in the last round were, like, top-notch. And that’s coming from a professional.” Jack shrugged as if it wasn’t a very big deal. “My dad made me go to karate lessons when I was back in London,” he said. “It’s the same with all my siblings.” “Why did he want you to learn karate?” “He called it a character building exercise,” Jack explained. Technically, this wasn’t a lie – it was the main reason James had given him when he’d first started actual lessons over ten years ago. “And you never know - if someone tries to mug you as you’re walking down the street then it might come in handy.” “Sounds sensible to me,” Brain nodded. “Do you fancy getting a drink?” At this Charlie suddenly became interested again. “You look like you need one.” “As a celebration? Yeah, why not?” Leaving the crowd to return to what they were previously doing, Jack and Charlie followed Brain back into the bar. Brain ordered two pints of draught before reluctantly adding a third to the bill after Charlie’s complaints. Then they all sat down at a vacant table to talk. “So, Jack,” Brain said, taking a sip from his glass, “Charlie tells me that you’re new around here.” Jack was straight away on his guard. “That’s right,” he replied. “My family moved in earlier this week.” “And are you settling in well?” Jack shrugged one shoulder. “It’s reasonably cool around here. School’s a doss, but the new apartment’s pretty swish. Couldn’t get a better view if you had your own helicopter.” “I’ll testify that,” Charlie said. “My dad owns three.” “Yeah, well, we don’t all have billionaire parents,” Jack scowled. “So what do your parents do?” Brain asked inquisitively. If the man was trying to test him, he was doing a very thorough job. “He’s a share investor,” Jack explained. “Has just started working for a private firm based here in Hong Kong. It’s a new company, but they’ve got experienced people on board and have played their cards right so far. Please don’t ask me to explain all the finer details ‘cause my mind will just go numb.” “No different to the norm,” Charlie mumbled behind his beer glass. “Nah, don’t worry, I’m not interested in all that stuff,” Brain said dismissively. “To be honest I don’t understand any of it either. And what about your mum?” “Stays at home,” Jack said bluntly. “You don’t need to work if your husband is on over a million pounds per year.” “Nice life for some,” Brain laughed. “You’re telling me.” Charlie had downed the rest of his beer and was now staring into the empty glass, as if he was a fortune teller about to predict the future. But Jack could have done that for him – he was going to get up, head straight to the bar and buy himself another drink. “I’m going to get another drink,” Charlie mumbled and stood up, pushing his chair backwards with his legs. Knew it, Jack thought. “So where do you come from in England?” Brain asked. “By your accent I’d take a punt at London, Buckinghamshire or somewhere around there.” Jack nodded. “Richmond, West London. And by your accent I’d say that you were from further up north. Not Geordie exactly like the Kings, but somewhere nearby. Northumberland, perhaps?” Brain smiled. “Got it in one, although my family originally originated from Kyoto in Japan.” “Never would have guessed that,” Jack replied. He took a small sip from his beer and then looked round the club. “So where do you fit in with all this or are you not allowed to answer that?” “I’m not allowed to answer that,” Brain said with a wry smile. “It’s confidential information – members only.” It was then that Jack was suddenly reminded of something. “The barman asked if I was going to be joining,” he said. Brain raised an eyebrow. “Did he now?” he muttered. “And how did you reply?” “To be honest, I don’t think I did,” Jack admitted. “I didn’t even know what I’d be signing up for.” Brain nodded thoughtfully and took a long while to come up with his next sentence. “It is not often that someone has come in here without either being an official member or a new recruit,” he said. “In fact, as far as I can recall, you are the only one. You must be aware of out strict rules regarding entry to the club?” “I’ve heard it about fifty times,” Jack nodded. “But Calvin King allowed me access – he even spoke to the bouncers on duty personally about it.” “Interesting…” Brain ran a hand over his hair and stared up at the ceiling. “Clearly, he must know something that we don’t.” Charlie was still over by the bar, tasting a handful of peanuts which Barmy had set down on the counter. It was just Jack and Brain sitting at the table now. When Brain looked back down at Jack his face was serious. “Mr King has his reasons, I can assure you of that. It was no friendly leniency because you are the friend of his son that persuaded him to allow you in. As a matter of interest, if I were to ask you now if you would consider joining our organisation, what would you say?” Jack’s heart leapt with excitement – this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for – but he forced himself to calm down, be sensible and not get carried away. “I’m not sure,” Jack said slowly as if he was really thinking about the proposition. “You seem to be a decent bunch of people here – well, apart from Grimes, of course – and the facilities are pretty neat, but I’m still at school like Charlie. Maybe if I knew more about what the organisation did then it would be easier to make up my mind.” Brain nodded as if this was a fair comment, but he wasn’t going to cave in that easily. “I cannot reveal to you our exact line of business,” he said, “But I can honestly say now that a person like you would fit perfectly into the team. And you were only saying a few minutes ago how you couldn’t give a crap about school so what would be the problem in missing out on a few days here and then?” Jack finished his beer and looked across at Brain. “You really think I’d make a good member?” Brain smiled. “From what I’ve seen of you so far, I should say so.” Jack set his glass down on the table and watched the froth as it slid down the sides to the bottom. “I’ll have to think about it,” he said, acting the sensible but interested potential employee. “But I’d love to come back here again – this place rocks.” “Well, don’t think about it for too long,” Brain replied. “We’ve got some very big business coming up, if you know what I mean.” He slapped Jack on the shoulder and then stood up from the table with his empty glass. “I hope to see you around again, Jack. And keep working on those punches!” As Brain left the table, Charlie arrived back with another glass of beer. “Yuck, I hate peanuts,” he muttered, taking a gulp of beer to drown the taste. “The squirrels can keep them.” Jack shrugged. “They’re alright.” He watched as Brain opened a hidden door next to the bar and disappeared inside. Jack just caught a glimpse of an upwards staircase before the door clicked back into place. Charlie had seen him staring. “What did Brain want?” he asked. Jack hesitated, remembering how Charlie had dismissed the possibility of joining the club when Barmy had asked. He wondered how his friend would take to the news that Brain had now officially asked him. “Nothing,” Jack said candidly. “He was just interested to know a bit about my background.” “Right,” Charlie grunted. The conversation fizzled out and Charlie returned back to his drink. *It was past midnight when Jack finally summoned up the urge to head for home. By then Charlie was onto his fourth or fifth drink and was absolutely hammered. “Come on, mate, time to leave,” Jack said gently, putting an arm around Charlie’s shoulder and guiding him towards the exit. “But ma drink,” Charlie mumbled, reaching out for his glass and almost sending the both of them tumbling to the floor. “Oh, no,” Jack said firmly. “You’ve had plenty enough already.” “Laters, Jack,” Travis said, nodding courteously in his direction as they passed. “Yeah, you too,” Jack replied. Jack had become quite a popular figure in the club following his epic battle in the boxing ring. As Charlie had mentioned earlier, the members of the Golden Sun were a close group and the wellbeing of their colleague had been top priority. But after finding out that Grimes only had mild concussion and was in fact milking his injuries a bit, they’d enjoyed taking the piss out of him like any normal mates. So in that sense, Jack thought, it was a win-win situation: Grimes had got his just desserts after mouthing off about how he was going to trounce him and the end result had been that Jack was treated as a hero by everyone else. Not bad for an evening’s work. Not bad at all. Baz opened the door for them and they stumbled outside into the cool night air. “Get a good night’s rest, boys!” the bouncer yelled after them as they started staggering down the narrow street. “You look like you need it.” “Stupid dick,” Charlie muttered to himself. “What does he know?” They walked for five minutes so that they were a sufficient distance away from the club and then hailed a taxi. Jack helped Charlie onto the back seat before clambering in himself. “Where to?” the driver asked. “Tsui Tower,” Jack replied. “And drive slowly – I don’t think this one is up to fast corners.” Charlie burped loudly and slumped back against the headrest. “You can say that again.”*With no traffic on the roads, the ride back across to Hong Kong Island took less than fifteen minutes. The taxi driver dropped them off on the street corner in front of Tsui Tower and Jack paid while Charlie stumbled towards the front entrance. “Cheers, mate,” Jack said to the taxi driver and then jogged quickly after his friend to make sure he didn’t start waking up the whole building. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” Jack held open the front door for Charlie and they both walked into reception. “Good evening,” Jack said, nodding politely at the bored-looking man behind the desk. The middle-aged man looked up from his book and glanced at his watch. “I think you’ll find it’s morning, sonny,” he replied in heavily accented English. “Evening finished over two hours ago.” “Right, thank you very much for that information,” Jack said, leading Charlie over to the lifts. And once they were safely inside and the doors had closed: “Moody old fart.” The lights in the hall had been tuned down to their lowest setting to conserve electricity as Jack and Charlie stepped out on the top floor. “Press your hand on the plate,” Jack said as they stopped by the front door. Charlie lifted his arm up several centimetres then let it flop back down against his side. “God, do I have to do everything around here?” Jack grabbed Charlie’s arm, shoved his friend forwards and then pressed his right hand against the panel. A low whir followed and then the handprint was accepted and the door opened. “In you go,” Jack muttered, giving Charlie a friendly nudge to get him moving. “And try not to wake everyone up.” Charlie didn’t have the energy to reply. He stumbled into the penthouse with Jack close behind him, the door closing soundlessly once they were through. “Let me guess, straight to bed?” Jack asked. “Quit the wise-cracking,” Charlie mumbled. “You’re giving me a headache.” “Oh yeah,” Jack grinned, “And the five pints of beer had nothing to do with it.” “Exactly.” Jack guided Charlie over to the winding staircase then they trudged up to the second floor, Charlie moving like an old granny with a bad case of arthritis. “Which one’s your room?” Jack asked, peering down the gloomy corridor. Of course, he knew which room it was from his earlier snoop-around, but he couldn’t let Charlie know that. “First on the right,” Charlie slurred. He slumped drunkenly against the wall and Jack just managed to catch him before he slipped to the carpet. “Come on, mate,” Jack said soothingly. “Almost there.” Jack opened the bedroom door and Charlie, on his very last legs, practically had to crawl inside. Jack switched on the light to reveal a scene of absolute carnage. Dirty clothes were strewn across the floor, school books stood in disorganised heaps upon an already cluttered desk and Charlie’s duvet was scrunched up into a crumpled ball from when he hadn’t been bothered to make his bed earlier that afternoon. Not that any of that seemed to trouble him. Charlie simply kicked a mound of laundry into the corner of the room and then sat down on the edge of his bed to remove his trainers. The whole process took him well over a minute. “Will you be all right now?” Jack asked once he was done. Charlie nodded wearily. “Yeah, I’m good.” He briefly considered brushing his teeth and changing out of his sweaty clothes then decided he couldn’t be bothered. It was then that Jack had an idea. “Do you mind if I crash here tonight?” he asked, faking a loud yawn. “To be honest, I can’t be arsed to head back to my apartment in this state.” Charlie shrugged a weary shoulder. “Sure, go nuts,” he mumbled. “You can have the sofa downstairs.” Jack smiled gratefully. “Cheers, mate. I owe you one.” “Nah, not after you helped me all the way over here. I’d be lying in a ditch outside the Golden Sun right now if it wasn’t for you.” Jack laughed. “And do you forgive me for whipping your arse in the boxing ring?” By now, Charlie could barely sit upright. “As long as you never mention that ever again,” he said, staring at Jack through bleary eyes, “I think we’re going to get on just fine.” Jack smiled and nodded. “Consider it a deal, mate.” And with that, Charlie swung his legs up onto the bed and laid back. He was fast asleep before his head had even touched the pillow. Jack waited until he could hear the sound of Charlie’s alcohol-fuelled snores fill the room before silently walking over to the bed and rolling his friend over so that his head was facing the wall. Most likely Charlie wasn’t going to wake up now for at least another twelve hours, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Then Jack knelt down on the carpet, undid his laces and removed his right shoe. Jack prayed that someone didn’t walk in now to check up on Charlie, because if they did he’d have a lot of explaining to do. The excuse that there was a stone in his shoe and he was trying to remove it would only work so far. With one final listen to make sure no one was awake, Jack reached inside his trainer and quietly peeled back the inner sole. The small hole had been dug out of the rubber heel for as long as Jack could remember. In fact, it was the first thing he’d done when he’d bought the Nike trainers from the shop several months ago. Jack was no master with a craft knife and the edges had been roughly done, but it still possessed enough space to house several folded-up bank notes or some keys while, most crucially, not affecting the general purpose or comfort of the shoe. If someone else was to wear Jack’s modified trainers, they’d be none the wiser that there was a secret compartment concealed inside. It was more designed with emergencies in mind, such as hiding a gadget away just before the bad guy was due to search you, but Jack found that it worked just as well in lots of other scenarios. Now, for instance. Jack pulled out a small plastic bag with a sealed mouth and then slipped his shoe back on. Inside the bag were about ten of the tiny pinhead listening devices which Lancaster had introduced to them at the dinner table. Jack opened it up and removed one, placing it carefully in the middle of his palm so that he wouldn’t drop it and then sealing the bag back up and placing it in his pocket. If you dropped the listening device on the floor, particularly in a room as cluttered as this, you were going to be searching for it for a very long time. In the dim moonlight streaming through the gap in the curtains, Jack looked around the bedroom for a suitable spot to plant the listening device. His eyes fell upon a dusty bookshelf in the corner; there were only about ten books and most of looked brand new and aimed at younger readers. One thing was certain, Charlie hadn’t been anywhere near them for years. Jack smiled as he realised he’d found the perfect place. He crept over and tucked the pin between two paperback novels before standing back and checking his work. Unless you had a magnifying glass or were purposely looking out for it, you were never going to spot it. In a room where an alcoholic teenager was the only occupant, Jack decided it was more than safe. As he stepped out silently into the corridor, closing the bedroom door shut behind him, Jack took out his phone and started typing a text message addressed to Sophie. Staying round at Charlie’s 2nite. Will try & get up in time 4 school. P.S. There r loads of bugs around the place at this time of night. J Of course, the line about trying to get up for school tomorrow was a blatant fib. Jack was already thinking about the blissful lie-in he would indulge in come the morning as he sent the text. Charlie would be in no fit state to attend school with his inevitable hangover so why should Jack have to go? It was only fair. The final line was the only confusing one… that is unless you knew what it was about. It was a code that had been arranged with all the agents earlier that day and the meaning of it was simple: instead of the bugs signifying insects as most readers would assume, it actually represented the listening devices that Jack was about to put up around the household. Jack knew what it meant, Sophie would know what it meant, as would the rest of the MI6 agents. But anyone else who happened to read the text would, at the very worst, be simply slightly confused by the randomness of it all. Jack deleted the text as soon as his phone confirmed it had been sent, but there was always the faint possibility that someone could intercept it. It was just one of hundreds of safety precautions to make sure their secret identity remained intact. Jack was halfway down the winding staircase when he received Sophie’s reply: Sure, no problem. C u tomorrow. And don’t let them bite!!! Mum x Jack’s smile was briefly illuminated by the light from the phone before he slipped it back into his pocket and crept down the final few steps. Not a creature stirred as Jack made quick work of rigging up the remaining listening devices, stabbing one into the underside of one of the sofas, adding one to the noticeboard by the kitchen and rolling one underneath an ornate cupboard to name but three locations. He then stuffed the empty bag into the bottom of one of the rubbish bins and plodded exhaustedly back into the lounge area. He crashed down onto one of the sofas, his head feeling as heavy as a marble bust, and kicked off his trainers so that he wouldn’t get the leather dirty. Then he stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds before closing his eyes. What an evening! That was his very last thought before he drifted off into a deep and uninterrupted sleep. 16Close CallThe next few days passed as normally and as uneventfully as could be expected from a group of undercover agents trying to infiltrate a major weapons dealing operation. Jack and Charlie returned to school on the Tuesday after having the whole of Monday off and made amends for all the important work they’d missed out on by messing about during lessons and getting a lunchtime detention for throwing someone’s pencil case out of a third storey classroom. However, the teacher on duty had been an old softie and after just fifteen minutes of dawdling on a sheet of lined paper they’d been allowed to leave. The subsequent days had followed in similar unruly fashion. Meanwhile, the others had been making steady progress with their respective targets. Ella and Charlotte had gone out on the Friday night to watch a famous Australian band play at the local arena – both VIP tickets paid for exclusively by Charlotte’s dad – and although the experience had been ruined somewhat by a whining toddler in the box below, the music and the atmosphere had been top quality. On the way back, Ella had managed to steer the conversation towards Calvin King’s business and, as a result, picked up her first proper piece of information. According to Charlotte, she had a suspicion what it was that her father really did to earn a living, but nor did she really care. Calvin King had been working in this same line of business for decades and she trusted him to stay out of trouble. Besides, as long as he kept paying for luxury treats such as private boxes for all the best music concerts, then she couldn’t care less what he got up to. And that was that. Fred now seemed to spend more time round at the King’s house than their own apartment and although the vast majority of that was spent playing video games and hurling insults at the television screen in Kayden’s bedroom, he had at least managed to pick up from where Jack had left off and fitted listening devices into all the other rooms on the second floor during the brief breaks where he convinced Kayden he was hungry or needed the toilet. All twenty-five listening devices were now activated and linked to hi-tech software on Sophie’s laptop which could record and store all the sounds that the devices picked up. So far they’d heard nothing of real interest (apart from an entertaining argument between Charlie and Olivia which had accumulated in Olivia calling her son a “moron”), but it was still early days and there was plenty of time for more snippets to crop up. As for Toby? Well, he was about to make the biggest progress of them all…*“And so if the mean is greater than the median then I suppose the data is negatively skewed.” “Don’t you mean positively skewed?” Megan asked. Toby glanced down at his text book and slapped himself in the forehead. “Shit,” he swore. “That’s what I was supposed to say.” Megan laughed and threw her pencil at Toby’s head. It bounced off his hair and rolled off the edge of the bed. “Come on, wake up, idiot!” “Sorry,” Toby said, smiling sheepishly. “My head’s not with it today.” Megan shrugged. “You still trounced me at the quadratic equation exercise earlier,” she pointed out. Toby shrugged, trying to act modest. “They were lucky guesses, that’s all.” Toby stood up from the bed and stretched his legs, gazing out of the window as the sun began to set behind the urban skyline. It was a glorious evening – not one to be spent cooped up indoors doing homework – but if they got it all out of the way today, then they’d have the whole weekend free to do what they wanted. Megan King was a cute girl with dark brown hair tied back in pigtails and, uncharacteristically when compared to her siblings, she was very academic. She’d already represented her year at the Hong Kong national maths challenge; a feat that her mum had been over the moon with (and her brother, Charlie, had branded “pointless”). She was slim and fit without being particularly sporty and although Toby had found she was extremely shy when she first met someone new, she was actually very easy to talk to once you got to know her. Two weeks into the mission, Toby was finally beginning to approach that stage. At school, Toby had never been top of any of his classes - apart from PE – but he had a logical way of thinking and wasn’t exactly a failure when it came to the end of year exams. Keeping up with the rate at which Megan worked was a challenge, but for the purpose of the mission he was just about managing it. This was the first time he’d been sent out into the field on a real mission and he was determined to impress. This was an opportunity that he was not going to let get away from him. “I think I’m going to go and stretch my legs,” Toby mumbled, pressing the lid back onto his pen. “All this homework is numbing my brain.” “Oh yeah, excuses, excuses,” Megan teased. “Let’s see if it holds up come the test on Monday.” “Ah shit, I’d forgotten about that,” Toby muttered, cursing his luck. “How many pieces of homework do we have left?” “Just biology then we’re done,” Megan replied. “Cool. I’ll be back in ten, then we’ll finish off before dinner, yeah?” “Sounds good to me.” Toby smiled then left the bedroom. His face changed as soon as he was out into the corridor. “Urgh, maths,” he muttered, trudging down towards one of the Kings’ many bathrooms. “The work of Satan if ever I saw one.” He flicked on the light then splashed his face with cold water from the tap. Despite the radiator in Megan’s bedroom being off, Toby found that his ears had gone red from the heat. And it wasn’t just from his brain working overtime to try and solve one and a half pages of chemistry concentration questions either. Toby wasn’t shy around other people like Megan was, but he was only fourteen and had never really put any thought into getting a girlfriend. It wasn’t that he didn’t want one, more that he was just waiting for the right time. As a result, he had never been invited into another girl’s bedroom before in his life. Up until now. MI6 were expecting him to become as close a friend as possible to Megan King and that meant seizing and grasping every opportunity. And so far, he’d achieved everything that they could have hoped for. However, that still didn’t take anything away from the inevitable nervousness that Toby had felt when Megan had invited him round to her house for the first time. It didn’t matter if you were acting undercover or if it was the real deal – it was the same experience, and Toby was sure he’d gone as red as a tomato on more than one occasion. He dabbed his face dry with the hand towel and then stepped back into the corridor. For a family of six plus guests, it was abnormally quiet in the grand penthouse. That might’ve been partially down to the sheer enormity of the place, but Toby also knew it was because most of the residents had gone out. Ella and Charlotte were at another one of their concerts on the other side of town and wouldn’t be back until eleven. Jack and Charlie had served their afternoon detentions and then sloped off to the Golden Sun (Jack had told the other agents all about it as soon as he’d got back to the apartment on the Monday afternoon) for a few drinks. Because it was Charlie, they could return anywhere between two in the morning and five o’clock the following afternoon. Shock of shocks, Fred was over in Kayden’s room having recently moved on to the new Battlefield Bad Company video game and wouldn’t budge an inch unless the whole building caught fire. Megan was in her bedroom, no doubt already speeding through the biology homework that would take Toby twice as long to complete. And then there were the parents. The last Toby had seen, Olivia was downstairs reading a furniture catalogue on one of the leather sofas. All of the kids were now old enough to get on with their own things without having to bother her. As for Calvin, Toby hadn’t seen him at all since he’d arrived straight after the end of school. Either he was out or in his study somewhere. It was that that drew Toby’s attention to the upwards staircase, the one linking the second to the third and final floor. So far none of the agents had had the opportunity to go up there and this thought ate at Toby’s mind as he stood there, calculating the risks. A thorough search of every other room in the penthouse had reaped no reward, leaving the secretive third floor as the only remaining source of information. Only two weeks had gone by since their arrival, but the earlier they started digging deep holes into the mystery that was Calvin King’s business, the better. It meant that there would be less time for major developments to take place, or for things to go wrong. Toby made a snap decision and quietly crept over towards the staircase. With most of the people inside the penthouse otherwise occupied, it was as good a chance as he was ever going to get to have a proper snoop around. One good thing about the staircase was that, like the rest of the interior, it was brand new so despite being made out of wood it didn’t creak underfoot. Toby tiptoed up towards the third floor, taking it slow, hugging his body close to the banister so that his silhouette was less noticeable. He listened out in case someone was coming towards him, but the silence gave nothing away. Toby reached the top step. Taking a deep breath, he quickly scanned his new surroundings. The corridor was similar to that he’d just left except it was gloomier, emptier and with less doors. He was just about to step up onto the carpet when a door opened. Toby jolted with a start and ducked back out of sight behind the bend in the stairs as a figure appeared in the corridor about halfway down. It could only be one person. Toby got ready to run, expecting Calvin King to make for the staircase, but instead he crossed the corridor and opened up a different room. He heard a loud click as a light was switched on then caught a glimpse of white and blue chequered tiles before the door closed. No spooky laboratory or anything – it was just the toilet. So Calvin King was up here. Toby sighed with frustration as his whole plan for the evening crumbled away before him. How was he supposed to have a look around when the enemy was located barely a couple of yards away? Toby shook his head. He’d gone through three hours of mathematics hell for nothing. He turned and was just about to head back down the stairs when he noticed that one of the doors in the corridor was open. It was the one that Calvin King had just left. Toby felt a sudden sense of excitement bubble up inside him as he realised it must be King’s private study. And it was open, right there in front of him! Toby could almost hear it calling out to him, pleading with him to take just a little peek inside. Toby glanced one last time at the bathroom door and then, realising that this was the big opportunity he’d been praying for, hurried up the corridor. He had perhaps a couple of minutes at most to have a quick look round – it depended on whether King was doing a number two or not. Toby slowed down slightly as he passed the bathroom but he needn’t have bothered – the thick carpet absorbed all his footfalls. Then he was standing in the mouth of the open doorway. The study was a reasonable size despite not having very much in it. A large bookcase was on one side, laden with what appeared to be mostly famous classics, leaving the desk and chair to accommodate the other half. The chair had been pushed at an angle to the desk, suggesting King had just got up from it. Also in the room were several filing cabinets – not battered metal ones, but dark brown walnut – a cupboard that appeared to have been squashed into the corner to take up as little room as possible and a leather sofa, identical to the ones downstairs. So on first impressions, this didn’t look like the private office of what was supposed to be the richest weapons dealer in the world. Toby stepped forward and made straight for the desk. It was typically grand, almost two metres long and made entirely out of mahogany. The surface was polished so thoroughly Toby could see his anxious face reflected back up at him. On the desk were many nondescript items, but it was the open laptop that immediately caught Toby’s eye. It was an Apple Mac, brand new and with the screen on. Toby quickly hurried round the desk and stood beside the office chair, studying the screen with his back hunched over. There was an internet page up on the screen, but Toby’s excitement was short-lived. It was only the BBC Sport website, King having been checking the latest team news ahead of Newcastle United’s Premiership clash the following day. However, the bar at the bottom of the screen showed that several other pages were open as well. Toby wiped his hand on his trouser leg to get rid of any moisture then used a single finger to move the cursor down to one of the icons and click. A new page instantly flashed upon the screen and by the columns of digits filling up his vision, Toby quickly realised that it was a spread sheet. Much more like it, he thought. However, barely before he’d even caught a glimpse of the names SA80 and HKG3, out from the corridor he heard the distinct sound of a toilet flushing. Toby’s breath seemed to catch in his mouth. Calvin King was on his way. He had perhaps seconds to get out of here unnoticed. Hurriedly, Toby clicked back on the original web page and then darted away from the desk. However, in his haste, he clattered into a pencil pot on the corner of the desk and sent the contents spilling out onto the floor. “Bollocks,” Toby swore and started stuffing the stationary back into the pot. Later on, he could honestly say that he’d never grabbed a pen before as eagerly as he did then. He stood the pot back on the desk and charged for the corridor- -just as the bathroom door opened. Toby skidded to a halt and double-backed before King, now drying his hands with a plush towel, could catch sight of him. But it would only be a matter of time. With Toby’s only escape route blocked by the very person he was trying to avoid, he was now trapped inside the office – the one place that he wanted to be in less than any other in the world. Out of Guantanamo Bay or King’s study, he would happily be locked up behind bars with a convicted terrorist for a roommate. At least not all the people there would want to kill him. Toby knew he had to hide, but the question was: where? Actually, that was a stupid question – there was only one possibility. As Calvin King switched off the bathroom light and started back towards his office, Toby sprinted over to the small cupboard and wrenched open the doors before flinging himself inside. Cardboard boxes made a comfortable if slightly unconventional landing, but for all Toby cared it could have been filled with hot coals if it meant he could hide before King walked in. He reached out and pulled the door quietly shut before, less than half a second later, a shadow flickered in the doorway and Calvin King himself strolled in. The father of four was humming a famous eighties tune out loud, once again prompting the suspicion inside Toby’s head that maybe he wasn’t a bad guy after all. But then King closed the door and Toby heard a loud mechanical clunk as a steel bar automatically slotted into place, firmly locking it. Why would someone need such high security in his own home study unless he had something to hide? King walked over to his desk and sat down in front of the laptop. He reached out, about to scroll down the page, when something suddenly caught his eye and he froze. Straightaway, through the tiny crack between the two cupboard doors, Toby could tell that something was wrong. The icy chill that ran down his spine at that precise second was enough to make anybody freeze. King pressed a button which switched off the laptop’s screen and then looked once around the room. Toby could almost feel the man’s eyes pierce into him as he skimmed the cupboard. Then King bent down and picked up something from the floor. It was a HB pencil and Toby knew straight away how it had got there. It couldn’t have been anything else. King rolled the pencil in his fingers for a few seconds as if contemplating what to do with it. He was certain that the pencil hadn’t been lying there before, otherwise why hadn’t he spotted it earlier? But then if it had fallen off the desk, how? Toby realised he was holding his breath, if only to try and keep the noise down. Already it seemed as if his heart was pounding louder than Big Ben’s clock. Not only that, but he was also getting cramp in his legs. With more time he would have positioned himself more efficiently in the cupboard, but he’d had less than a few seconds. He was fortunate to have even made it this far undetected. But now the sharp corner of one of the boxes was digging into his thigh and the awkward angle of his other leg was becoming excruciating. Toby clamped his teeth together to stop himself from whimpering, but it was no use. If he didn’t move, he was sure that he would rip a tendon or something. And according to another junior agent who he’d befriended on the training weekend, that was absolute hell. Gently, Toby shifted his body backwards, trying to create more room for his legs. In total he only probably moved about an inch, but it was still enough for disaster to strike. In some circumstances, the line between safety and danger is that thin. One of the boxes crumpled under Toby’s weight and even though he grabbed it in time to prevent the contents spilling out through the holes, the unmistakable sound of tearing cardboard still travelled out into the room. Toby gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, praying that King hadn’t heard it, but he’d probably have more luck hoping that he’d just won the Euro Millions jackpot. When you’d been in King’s line of business for so long, you weren’t going to miss something as blatant as that. Not in a thousand years. Calvin King’s head snapped round at the speed of light and his eyes bore straight at the cupboard doors. They were two red lasers and Toby knew that without the flimsy piece of wood that was now his only cover, they would be burning straight into him. King hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pushed back his chair and stood up. Toby had never been more scared before in his life. His whole body trembled like he was sitting in a deep freezer rather than a cupboard. King took one step, two steps. Although it would be too dark inside for King to see properly, Toby could now clearly examine the man who was about to discover him. He didn’t look angry, but the suspicion and curiosity was written all over his face. His black pupils seemed to be staring straight at Toby’s face. And then a mobile phone rang. Talk about being saved by the bell – by now King was so close to the cupboard he could almost reach out and touch it. Amid the tense situation, the cheerful jingle being projected from the speakers was almost comical. King turned around straightaway, his interest in the cupboard evaporating into thin air, and snatched the mobile up from his desk. It was a cheap basic model, Toby noticed, hardly worthy of a man as rich and successful as Calvin King. “Brain? That you?” Brain. Toby remembered Jack mentioning the name at the dinner table a couple of days ago. He was a leading member at King’s private social club or something… the Golden Sun. “That’s excellent news. I told you he’d do it.” Even though King’s attention was now averted, he was still in the room and Toby was still in danger. He couldn’t relax. His whole body was as rigid as an ironing board. “Hey… what, now?” King asked, his voice suddenly urgent. Toby would’ve paid a million Hong Kong dollars to hear what was being said back to him. “Right, well that changes everything. Yep, sure, I’m on my way now.” King hung up as quickly as he’d answered and was a sudden flurry of activity. He grabbed an overcoat which had been hanging from a peg behind his chair, slung a leather Visconti messenger bag over one shoulder and then hurried for the door. At the last moment he remembered to turn back and switch off his laptop before hurtling out into the corridor. He was a man in a rush, but he still made sure the door was firmly locked before his footsteps disappeared out of hearing range. Toby stayed exactly where he was, not even daring to move a muscle. The last time he’d attempted to do that, it had very nearly got him caught. He counted thirty seconds, then a minute and it wasn’t until number one hundred passed through his head that he decided that King wasn’t coming back. It was safe to get out. Toby kicked open the cupboard door and crawled out on his hands and knees before turning round and inspecting the damage. The crushed box was not as badly broken as he’d first feared, but there were still big dents and creases in the cardboard where the material had buckled. Toby bit his lip with annoyance and tried to straighten it out as much as he could. When that was done, he turned the box round one hundred and eighty degrees so that the undamaged side was showing and quickly adjusted any other objects that he’d accidentally knocked. “There, good as new,” Toby said, slightly unconvincingly. He closed the door shut and the deed was done. The next thing that Toby did was rush straight back up to the laptop. He pulled up the screen and switched it on, glancing anxiously at the door as he waited, as if expecting Calvin King to come charging in with a shotgun at any moment. But he didn’t and soon the laptop had loaded. He clicked on King’s account, but less than a second later an error message flashed up on the screen: Password Required. Toby swore, but in truth he’d been expecting it. What sort of a criminal had a self-bolting door, palm-scanning key, but no password on their computer account? Toby contemplated trying to hack into it, like he’d been taught during basic training lessons, but he didn’t have the right equipment and even then he couldn’t guarantee that it would work. The laptop was just as likely to be rigged for when an incorrect password was typed in, sending out a wailing alarm all around the building. Then he really would be screwed. Toby took out his mobile and took several snaps of the study to use for future reference and then, now that he really was alone, had another quick search around for useful clues. The drawers in the desk were tempting, but when Toby opened them all he found were pads of lined paper, a holiday brochure for Macau and a pair of sunglasses. Therefore he moved on to the three filing cabinets, but, just like with everything else it seemed in the room, it had absolutely nothing to do with Calvin King’s business. However, it was a lot more amusing. Toby shuffled through primary school certificates and sports award for each of King’s four children, the memoirs bundled up in thick labelled folders as chunky as the Bible. Toby laughed when he glimpsed a nursery picture of a five year old Megan waving a paintbrush in the air, sending splashes of red paint all over the irritated toddlers sitting around her. He wondered if Megan remembered it, whether she’d seen it or - like with all of Calvin King’s secrets - if it had ever even set foot outside the study. Toby put the folders away, closed the drawers and stood back. He looked around the tidy room. So were there secret compartments, hidden passageways or reversible walls in here that Toby couldn’t see? Because essentially he’d risked his whole life coming in here, let alone the mission, and all he’d found for his troubles were a pile of boxes and a huge mound of danger. Where was all the information to do with King’s business? Where did he keep it hidden? Despite the fear factor, Toby would have loved to have kept looking around - this was what being a spy was all about. But he suddenly remembered his promise to Megan, how he said he’d be back to do the Biology homework in ten minutes. Checking his watch, Toby saw that he was already five minutes late. He did one last check to make sure everything was exactly how King had left it then hurried to the door. He was just reaching for the handle when he had a better idea. Digging into the depths of his trouser pockets, he pulled out a single pinhead listening device and pressed the sharp end into the very bottom of the wall, hidden from the desk by one of the filing cabinets. Then he tucked his hand into his sleeve so that he wouldn’t leave fingerprints, grabbed the door handle and slipped silently back out into the corridor. 17Ace Of ClubsThis time, there were no questions asked when the two boys arrived at the front entrance to the Golden Sun. The bouncer on duty instantly recognised Jack from the week before, nodded respectfully and then held open the door for them to enter. “Promise me you won’t get trashed like you did last time,” Jack muttered, already rueing another journey of dragging the equivalent of a dead body behind him along the streets. “Can’t I’m afraid,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “This is the only thing that gets me through the school week. A coupla’ pints and all your troubles just float away, you know what I mean?” “I was afraid you might say that,” Jack mumbled. Brain greeted them as they made their way over to the bar. “Jack, my man,” he shouted out, seemingly delighted to see him. “How’s the week been?” “I’ve got school Monday to Friday for over seven hours each day,” Jack replied. “Not exactly utopia, don’t you think?” “Sorry I asked,” Brain mumbled. He ordered a round of drinks from Barmy and then led the two boys over to a table. “Staying out of trouble, Charlie?” Jack snorted. “Unless you count being suspended from school for three days, yeah he’s been as good as gold.” “Shut it,” Charlie muttered, “And you only got out of the same punishment because you’re new to the school and supposedly haven’t grasped the rules yet.” “I know,” Jack grinned. “Mr Yang is such a retard.” “On second thoughts, that was probably a stupid question,” Brain muttered. “If there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the years, it’s that trouble follows young Charlie around as closely as his BO.” “Oh yeah, frickin’ hilarious,” Charlie scowled. “Maybe you should turn this into a real club and start up a comedy evening. You can be the stand-up.” “I’ve heard worse ideas.” “Every time Charlie opens his mouth,” Jack added. “Oh don’t you bloody start as well,” Charlie muttered. Brain took a sip of his drink then stood up. “I’ll be back in a moment, guys,” he said and walked off. Jack watched as, just like the week before, he entered through the secret door behind the bar and hurried up the flight of stairs behind. “I didn’t know there was a second floor,” Jack said nonchalantly, as if he’d only just observed it. Charlie shrugged. “Well, you do now.” “Any idea what goes on up there?” Jack delivered the question casually so as not to provoke a reaction. “All the boring stuff that I couldn’t give a shit about,” Charlie mumbled. “That’s what.” “You mean business stuff?” “Yeah, all that crap.” For some reason, Charlie sounded particularly scathing about it, Jack noticed, which was odd considering it was his dad that ran the business and owned the club. Exactly why, only his friend knew. And then Jack had a thought… It couldn’t be that Charlie disapproved of what his father did, could it? If that was the case, he certainly hadn’t been complaining when he’d been glugging back five whole pints of Fosters last week. “I come here for booze, laughs and fun,” Charlie reiterated loudly. “Not stupid business or paperwork.” “Hear you loud and clear, mate,” Jack said, but his mind was already beginning to wonder. A new question had taken control of his thought chain: why did Charlie act like this whenever his dad’s business was mentioned? Jack stored the lead away, determined to pursue it at the next possible opportunity. “So, have you ever been up there?” Jack asked. “No,” Charlie snapped sourly. “Now shut up. I’ve told you already, I’m not here for a bloody lecture.” “Sorry,” Jack said, raising his hands innocently in the air. About a minute later, Brain returned to the table. “Hey, Charlie,” he said, sitting back down in his seat. “I think Travis wants you over in the gym.” Charlie looked up from his beer. “What? Why?” Brain shrugged. “Something about starting up boxing lessons maybe, I don’t know. He just said to me that he wants to see you.” Charlie dragged his weary bones up from his seat and snatched his beer from the table. Jack could hear him muttering, “I don’t want to start bloody boxing lessons,” as he shuffled away from the table. When Charlie was out of hearing range, Brain leaned forward across the table towards Jack and grinned. “I can’t believe he fell for that old chestnut,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Oldest one in the book.” Jack frowned. “You mean, Travis doesn’t want to see him?” “Not until I asked him to,” Brain replied and then, once seeing that Jack was still confused, explained further. “Travis is going to keep him preoccupied for a few minutes so that you and I can have a little chat about something in private.” “Ah,” Jack nodded, then glanced round at the other tables. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention. “So what do you want to talk about?” “You,” Brain said, clapping his hands together in a business-like fashion, “And before you start shouting out paedophile or something, no, I don’t mean in the sense of asking you lots of personal questions.” “Oh, thank God,” Jack mumbled with relief. “You will remember that last week I asked you to consider a proposal to work for Calvin King’s organisation,” Brain continued. “I have had a private word with him and our stance on the matter hasn’t changed. Both of us were very impressed with your fighting skills in the ring and believe you have the potential to become a very useful employee.” “Uh, thanks.” “Don’t mention it. But like I also mentioned last week, time is short and we have a lot of important business coming up. We need our workers to be fully committed and focused on the job in hand. That is why we want potential new recruits to sign up as soon as possible, you understand?” Jack nodded. “So, if you have made a decision, I would like to hear it.” Jack took a thoughtful sip from his cool beer. “Can I ask you one question first?” he said. “There we go, that was one.” Brain laughed jovially, then nodded his head. “Very well. As long as it’s within reason, one question.” “Why do you never want Charlie around when you’re discussing business?” Jack asked. “I suppose it must have something to do with his foul mood whenever his dad’s work is mentioned.” Jack had made the connection straight away: Charlie’s angry outbursts at K.O and Brain only ever talking about the organisation when Charlie wasn’t around – it had to be for a reason. Brain sighed and ran a hand through his sleek jet black hair. “You’re right, I suppose the two are linked,” he said, “But it all stems from a conversation Calvin had with Charlie about four weeks ago.” “When Charlie turned eighteen.” Brain looked slightly surprised that Jack should know that but nodded regardless. “Yes. Eighteen years old – also your age - is the legal age at which someone can try and join Calvin’s organisation and so, as you can imagine, as the boss’ son Charlie wanted to join up straightaway. As well as being the eldest, out of all four of Calvin’s children he was the one that had always shown the most interest in his line of work. I suppose you could see it as hoping to continue the family business. Anyway, on the eve of his birthday, he asked Calvin personally if he could join the organisation. As you are probably aware by now, he was never the sharpest knife in the chopping block and so this seemed like an ideal solution for him. However, after surprisingly little deliberation, Calvin turned down Charlie’s request. He decided that he did not want any of his children working for the organisation, even though they were still welcome to attend his club any time they liked. But all business-related conversations, exercises, jobs, you-name-it were out of the question and so, ever since, Charlie has maintained his disgust about not being allowed to join and is not afraid to let people know it. That is why he gets so angry when the business is mentioned and likewise why he cannot be around when I want to talk about it.” Brain took a large gulp of his beer to remoisten his pallet and then stared across at Jack. “So, is that a detailed enough explanation for you?” Jack nodded, but he was still slightly confused. “But why doesn’t his dad want him to join?” he asked. “Surely he should be proud Charlie’s following in his footsteps?” “Ah, you said one question and one question only,” Brain said, wagging a finger at Jack. “Now it’s your turn to fulfil the bargain. Think about it carefully, Jack, and then I want to hear your decision. And remember, whatever you say there is no going back from.” Jack swirled his drink in his hands and stared down at the table, apparently in deep thought. He began to mumble random words under his breath for authenticity and scratched the back of his head before finally looking up again and delivering the verdict that he’d decided on even before arriving in Hong Kong. “I’ll do it,” he said and then, as if to back it up: “I could do with some extra money in my pocket.” “Brilliant,” Brain beamed and clapped Jack warmly on the shoulder. “I know you’re not going to let us down. And trust me; it’s going to be worth it for you too.” He then reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of beige paper. “Just the formalities,” he explained, flattening the contract out on the table and pushing both it and a biro pen over towards Jack. “I can assure you that we’re not asking you to jump off a cliff or anything, but feel free to read it if you want and then sign your name on the dotted lines. Then add your signature and fill in all the details on the back. Most of them aren’t very important, but it’s always useful to have them on record in case we need to contact you in an emergency, for example.” “Yeah, sure, no problem,” Jack said, hesitating for a moment so that he did things correctly before writing down his cover name at the bottom of the contract. He then flipped the sheet over and filled in birth details, home address, phone numbers and email. If only Brain knew what his real identity was, Jack thought as he worked. Then perhaps he wouldn’t be so keen to make him join. “There, done,” Jack announced, tossing the contract and the pen back over the table. “When do I start?” “Funny you should say that,” Brain replied, tucking both items safely away back in his jacket, “Because not a few hours ago a little errand came up that you might be interested in.” “Will I get paid?” “Of course.” “Then let’s hear it.” “Alright,” Brain nodded. “It’ll be new information to your ears, I’m sure, but now that your part of the organisation I may as well tell you. You were going to find out sooner or later anyway. To put it simply, Calvin King runs a retail and delivery service - a bit like an online electronics store or supermarket - but the things we sell and transport are not crates of vegetables, boxes of DVDs or anything else you are likely to find on the web for that matter. Our organisation – which goes by the name of K.O – specialises solely in weapons and the black market. Have you come across that term before?” Jack nodded while trying to act slightly surprised, as if this was all new news to him. “Illegal goods,” he answered. “That’s what people deal on the black market, isn’t it?” “Yes,” Brain agreed, “But we are not just people – small time dealers and all the rest of those lowlifes. Our operation is far too sophisticated for that. We do not even consider ourselves a mere company – no, that would be an insult. Instead, we take great pride in the fact that K.O is officially the most successful and highest-grossing weapons dealer in the entire world. And we know this because of how desperately the Secret Intelligence Services are trying to stop us. We are building a legacy which hopefully will remain for decades to come and now, Jack, you are going to be a part of that.” “Wow,” Jack said, faking amazement. “I never had a clue about any of this.” “I’m not surprised and I don’t blame you,” Brain continued. “One of the reasons why the organisation has been so successful is because of how careful we all are. And that ranges from little things like not revealing the location of the club – parking a few streets away and then walking the rest – to the grander scheme of things like only employing workers who I know we can rely on and trust.” Brain put a lot of emphasis on the final word, Jack noticed. It was a sure sign that they were slowly delving deeper into the structure of the company and Jack forced himself to stay relaxed and keep focused. “That is why I or anyone else was not allowed to tell you anything of even the slightest significance until we knew you were going to become one of us. But now that you are, you deserve to know everything.” “So how many workers does the organisation employ in total?” Jack asked. “It depends,” Brain replied. “We have about fifty regular members and about double that in delivery boys, scouts and guards. The regular members are whom you see now in the club and some of them occasionally help out with the deliveries if we’re short-staffed, they’re in need of some extra cash or we receive an abnormally large order. At any given point, there’s probably about a dozen missing because of delivery duties. Otherwise, they all work at Headquarters. “We members are near the top of the food chain and if Calvin King is the brain of the body, we’re the heart that keeps everything pumping and alive. The delivery boys and guards, they can be seen as the muscles – without them the organisation would not move and function properly, but they just do their job and don’t know much about the rest of the system.” “Aren’t you worried that one of them might sell you out?” Jack said casually. After a brief hesitation, Brain shook his head. “They’re controlled by fear,” he answered, “And the lure of a decent wage packet. They know that if we even get a whiff that they’ve been selling secrets, all it would take is a single order for a group of men to come round, string them up from Hong Kong’s highest skyscraper and then cut the wire with a pair of scissors.” Jack gave an uneasy smile, but Brain was deadly serious. “Do you think I’m kidding? If there’s one thing the club will not abide it is deceit. Traitors are the very worst kind of scum there is. And I’ll tell you something now for nothing; when Calvin King gets angry he goes flipping mental. And nothing makes him angry like finding out someone isn’t following the code of conduct. Speaking from experience here, you’d better be hiding in a nuclear bunker or be on the other side of the country when he starts shouting. So probably best to stay in his good books, eh?” Brain noticed that Jack had gone slightly pale and slapped him on the back before breaking into a laugh. “Alright, enough of that. If I’d known you’d shit your pants at the first mention of discipline I wouldn’t have started speaking. But seriously, Jack, don’t get on the wrong side of any of us. I know you won’t – you sound like a good kid – but if you do, it’ll probably be the last thing you ever do. Now, where was I before I got distracted?” “You mentioned something about a job,” Jack chipped in, trying not to gulp. “Oh yeah, the errand.” Brain dug into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper with an address on it. “A couple of days ago we received a small order from a customer in Hong Kong, so he lives locally. However, often this is not the case as we have thousands of contacts from countries all around the world. The goods were collected from our secret warehouse yesterday and so now all that remains to be done is the delivery and the payment. One of our regular and longest-serving delivery boys will pick the stock up tomorrow afternoon, but instead of delivering the package on his own I want you to go with him. You haven’t been here long and so this will give you the opportunity to grasp a better idea of how things work here and pick up some experience.” “Start at the bottom of the ladder and work your way up,” Jack nodded. “Exactly. So if you’re interested I’ll give you the details.” Jack nodded eagerly. “Sounds just what I was looking for. And besides, the earlier I start making a name for myself the better, yeah?” “For sure.” Brain turned the scrap of paper over and quickly jotted the details down with his pen. “Alright, make sure you get here for six o’clock tomorrow and our man will meet you round the back alley. Once you’re there, he will tell you everything that you’re expected to do and then you’ll get moving with the gear. If you’re more than five minute late, he will just leave without you, comprendo?” Jack nodded. “Do you always do the deliveries in the evening?” he asked. “Mostly,” Brain replied. “It’s a lot darker then so our man’s less likely to be spotted and can also easily merge into the crowds of nightclub-goers if some shit does go down.” “Sensible.” Jack pocketed the scrap of paper away as Brain glanced at his digital watch. “Well, I think that’s everything I came to discuss,” he said and stood up. Jack did the same. “It’s great that you’ve decided to join us, Jack. I very much look forward to working with you in the future. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” “Thank you.” Brain smiled and promptly departed. Less than a few seconds later, who should appear at the table but Charlie, still scowling and still clutching his glass of beer like it was it was the World Cup trophy. It looked like Brain had timed his exit perfectly. “Alright?” Jack mumbled. “What did Travis want?” Charlie slumped down at the table and took a swig of his beer. “After seeing me make a fool of myself in the ring last week, he asked if I wanted to do some training sessions so I could get better and exact my revenge.” “And what did you say?” “I told him to sod off and that I had better things to do with my time.” “What like getting hammered every evening?” Jack laughed. “No come on, really. If that was what you actually said to him you’d be sitting in front of me now with a broken jaw and half your teeth missing. He would make a Monday morning hangover feel like a Caribbean holiday lie-in.” “That’s probably true,” Charlie grinned. “Nah, I just politely refused his offer and then he showed me a few of his choicest fighting moves while I was still there. He did this well sick one where you jab your opponent in the nose and then while he’s distracted kick them straight up the balls. He’s done it before on some prick that tried to mess him up at uni and apparently it well hurt. He was crying for hours or something and whenever he saw Trav again, he would always cross to the other side of the corridor out of fear.” “Shit,” Jack cringed. “There goes his chance of having kids, I reckon.” “Yeah, that’s what Travis said,” Charlie continued. “It didn’t look particularly hard though. I think I could probably have a decent crack at it if I was in a reasonable physical condition.” “Or could ever be bothered,” Jack added. Charlie shrugged indifferently. “How about you?” he said. “What did Brain want?” “Oh, nothing.” “Nothing?” “Yeah.” Charlie decided not to push it; it was obvious Jack wasn’t in the mood for telling him anything. “Hey, guys, do you fancy a game of cards?” The shout came across from the next table where four men were gathered round a deck, shuffling the cards. And there appeared to be two seats going. Jack glanced over at Charlie who didn’t seem to be in the shape for a game of anything. But Jack had never played a proper card game with other people before and he was eager to start mingling in with the K.O regulars, as was part of his mission. “You up for it?” he asked Charlie. His friend shrugged a shoulder unenthusiastically, but surprised Jack with his answer. “Go on then,” he muttered. “At least it will give me a chance to win back my dignity with the lads.” So Jack and Charlie stood and picked up their chairs, sitting back down in between two of the men. They were both tough and thickset, in their late twenties and dressed in jeans and t-shirts. One appeared to be Chinese with his long black hair swept across in front of his eyes while the other might have been mixed race. His skin was darker suggesting Indian or Sri Lankan while his hair seemed to have been modelled on a hornet’s nest. The man sitting opposite (the man who had asked them if they’d wanted to join) was most likely Australian with tanned skin, a receding hair line and the rough skin of someone who worked in agriculture. The fourth man -and it was only now that Jack noticed - was Grimes. Jack tried not to stare at him, but he couldn’t help it. Ever since the boxing match last week, it seemed destiny that their paths should cross once again. They made eye contact and Jack felt the cold eyes drill into him like laser beams. Jack looked away. “Hi, my name’s Luke,” the Australian guy introduced - now that he spoke, his accent was obvious. “And these useless lumps here are Hao, Raj and Gareth.” He pointed to each of the others in turn, his finger finally stopping on Grimes. “Nice to meet you all,” Jack smiled and out of the corner of his eye he saw Grimes scowl. “We’re playing Texas Hold’em,” Hao explained, “Which is a version of poker. Do you know the rules?” “Vaguely,” Jack replied. Charlie nodded confidently. “I’m sure they’ll pick the gist up as we play,” Grimes said impatiently. “Let’s just start dealing the cards.” “Someone’s in a hurry,” Jack muttered to Charlie as Luke started to dish out the hands. Each player was given two cards face down which they all picked up and turned over at the same time. Jack studied his cards and chewed his lip; three of diamonds and eight of spades. Jack knew enough about poker to realise that neither of them were particularly good cards. He didn’t even have a high card. He glanced round the table, but everyone already seemed to have their poker faces on, even Charlie. He was holding his pair of cards close to his face so that it hid his mouth, only removing them to take another sip of his drink. Because Luke was the dealer, to the left of him Raj threw in a single $1 chip – the small blind – and Charlie posted double that – the big blind. Then a thought occurred to Jack. “Are we playing for real money?” he asked. Luke smiled cunningly. “If you’re up for it?” Jack looked down at his pile of multi-coloured poker chips, performed a quick head count and realised that there was probably over a thousand dollars’ worth of chips in front of him. Lancaster and Sophie may not mind too much if he spent several tenners on clothes or snacks for his friends, but a thousand dollars all blown on one card game? Jack had a feeling that might be pushing it a bit. “I think I’ll give it a pass,” he said. “Otherwise my dad would have my head for breakfast. Maybe when I get my first pay package?” Charlie shot Jack a suspicious glance, but decided that now wasn’t the time to pursue it further. “Sure, no problem,” Luke replied. “Raj was beginning to run out of cash anyway.” “Shove off, no I wasn’t!” Raj argued. “I won fifty dollars in the pot last round.” “Yeah, but only after you’d lost about five hundred in the previous five,” Luke retorted. “Have you quite finished?” Grimes interrupted, staring round the table as if looking for an answer. “Are you just going to blab all night or are we actually going to start playing some proper poker?” “We hear you, Grumps,” Hao said and looked across at Jack. “Your move, mate.” “Uh…” Jack quickly glanced between his hand and his chips while trying to recall his limited knowledge on the rules of poker. The game began with a “pre-flop” betting round where players could put forward chips depending on how confident they were with their cards, unless of course they were bluffing. The other alternative was to fold and from where Jack was sitting, that option looked pretty appealing. Jack tossed his cards dramatically onto the table and called out, “Fold.” “Ooh, playing it cautious, are we?” Luke observed, gathering up the cards as dealer and placing them at the bottom of the deck. Raj also folded, while Grimes, Luke, Hao and Charlie all threw a preliminary bet of $2 into the pot. Jack could now afford to sit back and watch as the others slugged it out. Luke took three cards from the top of the deck – the flop – and turned them over in the middle of the table. The four players still in the round leaned forward so that they could see what they were then quickly compared them to the two in their hands. Jack looked around and noticed, although he was trying to hide it, definite disappointment in Hao’s face. As for the others, Jack might as well have been staring at a Halloween mask for all the emotion they showed. Jack’s predictions rung true as Hao was the first player to fold. Charlie then increased the bet to $5 and Grimes took over ten seconds of concentrated thought before eventually following Hao’s lead. In comparison, Luke wasted no time in matching Charlie’s bet and the round progressed into a direct one-on-one duel. “Here comes the turn,” Luke commentated, placing down and flipping over a fourth community card. Jack watched as both pairs of eyes quickly flicked to their cards, as quick and sharp as fleas. Looking at him, it was hard to believe this was the same Charlie that had been brooding over his drink not ten minutes ago. Charlie doubled his bet and once again Luke followed. The value of the pot was now nearing $50. Luke turned over the fifth and final community card – the river – and after both players called, they moved into the showdown. The showdown was like the penalty shootout of the poker world – the final hurdle where the result of the round would always be decided. One player would make the jump and carry on to win, the other would fall and nurse their losses. All six players sat upright and leaned inwards intently as Charlie paused for a moment then laid his upturned cards down on the table. Jack cursed his own luck; two queens – why couldn’t he get such blatant good fortune? Paired with the two fours that were already on the table that gave him a double two pairs. Not bad for a first round, Jack thought. Now it was time to see what Luke had to offer. Just before he placed the cards down, the Australian’s mouth twitched into something recognisable as a smile. Then he revealed his cards. “Three of a kind,” he crowed. “Read it and weep.” As the others all stared at the three fours that were now lying in plain view on the table, Luke scooped up his winnings and started stacking the chips up next to his pile. “Jammy git,” Charlie muttered bitterly. “He’s the dealer! The bastard’s cheating!” Raj shouted. “Raj, I’ve never seen such a sore loser in all my life,” Luke muttered, shaking his head. “Maybe if you learnt how to play cards properly instead of shouting all the time, you might actually win a round for once.” “Well said,” Grimes mumbled. Jack glanced over at Charlie and saw a dogged look on his friend’s face that he’d never ever seen before. After losing that hand he felt hard done by and was determined to win his chips back and get back on level terms. As Raj became the dealer and started dishing out the next set of hands, Jack looked around to notice that all the laughs and antics had suddenly stopped. There wasn’t a single player that didn’t have a steely glaze over their face and the message from each was clear: now the game became serious. *It was over an hour since Jack had been knocked out, but he hadn’t lost interest in the game for a second. And now it was beginning to near its climax. Jack had gone out after losing his remaining chips in a three-way duel with Hao and Charlie. Jack had thought he’d won when his Broadway straight had beaten Hao’s three of a kind and had even begun to celebrate only his third victory of the whole game. But that was before Charlie intervened. With a triumphant grin in Jack’s direction, he’d flipped his hand over to reveal a flush (five cards of the same suit), in this case of diamonds. Any regular straight succumbed to a flush, no matter what the cards, and so while Jack underwent the feeling of a wrecking ball smashing into his stomach, Charlie gleefully scooped up the pot and added it to his ever growing pile. The only reason why Jack ended up fifth was because Raj had even worse luck than him when it came to cards and had blown almost half of his chips on one big gamble which had ended up backfiring spectacularly. About twenty minutes later, Hao lost his final chips as well, leaving the title of poker champion evenly poised in a three-way battle. It was approaching eleven in the evening and most of the other club members had called it a day and headed for home. Jack probably should have joined them considering he had his first day of work tomorrow, but the lure of the poker game seemed to have formed an iron grip around his attention that was refusing to let go. Grimes was dealer this time, so after the hands had been distributed and the blinds placed, he was the first one to make his move. He placed a bet of $20 and then stared at his opponents, trying to psyche them out. Luke stroked the wisps of a beard on his chin, then picked up a handful of chips and tossed them into the middle of the table. “Raise,” he said. “$40.” The glass beside Charlie’s right elbow was bone dry, as it had been for over three hours. Surely that must be some sort of record? Jack thought to himself. After losing his best customer, Barmy had packed up and left half an hour ago. Charlie was as stone cold sober as he had ever been on a Friday evening. The others watched him intently as Charlie stared for the umpteenth time at his hand and then pushed the chips forward. “Call.” Now the focus was back on Grimes. If he wanted to remain in the round, he was going to have to match Luke and Charlie’s bets. “Call.” Grimes picked up $20 worth of chips and added it to the pot. Then the first three community cards were revealed: queen of clubs, eight of clubs, queen of hearts. There were small gasps from the three people that were already out as their eyes were immediately drawn to the two queens. The three players remained as still and emotionless as statues, not about to give anything away. Grimes scratched his head and despite his best efforts to hide it, Jack could tell that he was beginning to feel the pressure. “Raise, $100.” The chips clattered onto the wood of the table. “He’s going for it,” Raj muttered beside Jack. Jack couldn’t help but agree with him. The game really was beginning to hot up. “Call.” Luke’s poker chips joined the pot. “I’ll call as well.” Charlie quickly ensured that all three players were still in the hunt as the round entered the next stage. “The fourth street,” Grimes announced, and turned over the fourth community card. It was ten of clubs. Across from Jack, Hao suddenly flinched. Jack looked over at him and noticed that he was staring down at the table. Following his line of vision, he quickly deduced that it must have been something to do with the cards. Now Jack studied them, but at first he couldn’t see anything particularly special. The two queens were the obvious stand out cards, but they’d been drawn in the previous stage. Why the sudden excitement now? Whatever the reason, it certainly seemed to have given the three remaining players something to think about. Grimes chewed on a fingernail thoughtfully as he weighed up his options, twice reaching for his chips only to retract his hand again. Raj made the fatal mistake of faking a snore and Grimes flipped at him. “Shut it, you immature idiot!” he snapped. “Can’t you see I’m trying to concentrate?” He rubbed his temple calmingly with one finger before reaching for his chips for a third time. And this time he stuck with his decision. “Raise $150.” Luke nodded slowly, but had already decided on his next move while he’d been waiting for Grimes. “Call.” Jack found himself looking at Charlie again, his friend staring at the cards in his hand like Kayden might do a television screen. He was completely transfixed and completely focused. Nothing else mattered now. Only victory. “Call again.” Plastic hit plastic. Like the hands on a clock, the focus moved on again – always in a circle, always continuous. Never stopping. Grimes drew a deep, cooling breath. This time, he made no attempt to disguise the perspiration dripping down the side of his scalp. They’d gone way beyond the point of hiding pretences… almost. “The river,” Grimes announced tensely and reached for the fifth and final community card. Aptly named, Jack thought, as Grimes took the card between thumb and forefinger and placed it face down on the table beside the others. A river is like a development, starting off as a small, fresh spring and slowly building up into something big and powerful. That was exactly what had happened to the poker game and it was no longer the cheerful, light-hearted pastime that it had been several hours ago. Now it was a battle to the death. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t any real money involved. These people were playing for pride. Grimes turned over the card- -and this time everyone gasped. Even Jack saw straightaway the significance of the fifth and final card. It was jack of clubs. On its own the card did not boast much value, but when teamed up with three of the others – the queen, the ten and the eight: all clubs – it opened up the possibility of the highest-ranking hand in the game: a straight flush. All someone needed was the nine of clubs and victory would be theirs. Jack stared at each competitor in turn, but none of them were even giving a hint. None of them were about to lose the game… not now. “Your move, Grimbo,” Hao said quietly. Grimes was so focused on the cards, he didn’t even hear his colleague. He rubbed his forehead tensely and glanced between his two competitors. One wrong decision now could ruin his whole game, let alone the round. Already the pot was fuller than it had ever been before. Grimes took a deep, rasping breath. “Check.” Luke nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving his hand, and decided that Grimes was trying to play it safe. That meant he probably had decent cards, but not spectacular ones. Could he beat them? Only time would tell. “Check.” And so finally it was Charlie’s turn. If he called too then the round would enter a showdown. The round had already been through everything. Surely there couldn’t be any more drama? Charlie tapped his lips thoughtfully and looked over at the pot. Eyes on the prize, Jack thought. Before tonight, Jack would have thought it impossible that someone as crazy and drunk as Charlie could ever be this serious. But here he was, rewriting the rule book, and Jack had a feeling that if he asked his friend if he wanted a beer now he would simply tell him to shut up and piss off. For once, Charlie was taking even longer than Grimes, but this time Raj had learned his lesson. Even he could see that this was not the time to make someone rush. “Take your time, mate,” Jack said. “We’ve got all evening.” But Charlie was already prepared. He placed his cards flat down on the table and at first Jack thought he was folding. But then he reached for his mound of chips and pushed every single one into the centre. “All in,” he said calmly. “$452… I think.” “Maths never was your strong point, was it?” Jack grinned, but his comment was only greeted by harsh glares from the other players, particularly Grimes. The atmosphere was now so tense and so silent, you would be able to hear a pin drop or a mouse squeak from the other side of the clubhouse. But Jack could also sense something building up in the air, like the first few spirals of some great tornado. Calm before the storm. “Oh who gives a shit,” Grimes muttered and shoved his chips forward. The towers toppled like axed trees, the chips cascading onto the top of the pot. All eyes turned to Luke. “Sod it,” the Australian said. “I’m all in as well.” “$1200 in the pot,” Raj murmured beside Jack, quite unable to believe what he was seeing. “Just imagine all the cocktails that would buy,” Jack nodded. “Time for the showdown,” Tao announced, taking over the role of commentator and putting on a stupid corny American accent that would have been laughable in any other situation. “Mister Grimes, please reveal your hand.” Grimes smiled smugly at the rest of the group as he smacked his two cards down onto the table. Two queens. Paired with the other two that made four of a kind, the second most valuable hand in the game. Raj gasped so loudly beside Jack that Tom Cruise could have just walked into the room dressed in a banana costume. “Beat that, losers,” Grimes smirked, slouching back confidently in his seat. He looked ready to scoop up his winnings already. “With pleasure,” Luke grinned and now he turned over his two cards. The first card was the two of spades. The second was the nine of clubs. “No flipping way!” Hao stammered. This time Raj was so stunned he actually fell off his seat. “Oh yeah, baby,” Luke grinned, making a gloating face in Grimes’ direction and snatching his booty in both arms. “A straight flush. Luke McQueen owns all.” “Bastard,” Grimes snarled and slammed his fist down on the table with such ferocity that his beer glass tipped over and smashed on the floor. “He’s gotta be cheating. No way is that legitimate.” “You were the one dealing, knobhead,” Luke crowed, prompting Grimes’ cheeks to flush bright red. “Ha ha, who’s laughing now?” “Hang on a minute,” Jack said, raising his arms to try and control the celebrations. “Charlie hasn’t had his go yet.” “What?” Luke yelled, barely seeming to hear him. “I haven’t had my go yet,” Charlie said calmly. “Oh.” Luke paused for a moment, as if he was considering what Charlie’s hand could be. It had to be alright if the kid had gone all in on it, but surely it couldn’t beat his? He’d got a straight flush – the highest ranking hand in the whole game! Luke glanced down at the table, just to check that he was absolutely guaranteed victory, then sighed. He shook his head, smiled and then sat down. He was safe. “Of course, sorry, Charlie,” he said, only slightly apologetically. “I got a bit carried away. Please go on, let’s see how your hand would have fared.” Charlie nodded slowly and laid his cards flat down on the table. First, he turned the left one over: the king of clubs. Luke’s eyes shot towards the community cards. Horror filled his eyes as he combined the king with the queen, jack and ten, but then breathed out a huge sigh of relief as he realised that the nine of clubs had been his card. Charlie was one short. “Not bad,” he said, wiping a bead of sweat from his glistening forehead, “But you’re missing a card.” “Yes,” Charlie nodded. “I am.” And that was when he turned the second card over. Before Jack had a chance to think no, he couldn’t there it was face up on the table in front of him - the final piece to the jigsaw puzzle. The ace of clubs. “A royal flush,” Charlie said. “I win.” Luke’s jaw dropped so low you could have fit an orange inside. He was so shocked, he didn’t even notice as Charlie leaned over and gathered up the poker chips from underneath him. “Mine, I think,” Charlie smirked, dragging them over to his corner of the table. “How-? How-?” Luke stammered. “What can I say? I’m a natural,” Charlie bragged and slapped the Australian hard on the back. “Better luck next time, chuck. And no hard feelings.” On the opposite side of the table, Grimes looked as if he was about to throw up with disgust. “I need a fag,” he muttered and stood up from the table, stepping over the broken glass as he made his exit. Jack watched as he pulled something out of his pocket – a cigarette pack? - and stormed out of the front entrance. “Best finish to a poker game ever,” Raj grinned. “Charlie, you have some luck, my friend.” “Honestly, what were the odds on that?” Hao nodded. “A four of a kind, a straight flush and a royal flush all in one round of poker!” “You’re telling me!” Luke blurted. Jack had a suspicion he hadn’t taken the loss very well. “A billion to one at least,” Raj added. “You’d have more luck winning the lottery or something.” “Oh rub it in, why don’t you?” Luke scowled. “And you can hardly talk – you’re so shit you were out two hours ago.” Jack decided that this was an appropriate time to leave. “All right, we’d best be off,” he said and stood up. “Good game, guys.” “Cheers, you too,” Hao and Raj both replied. Luke continued to stare down at the cards on the table, shaking his head in disbelief. “Come on, mate,” Jack said to Charlie and the two of them left the clubhouse without another word.18First ClassJack didn’t want to create a bad impression by turning up late for his first day of work, so he left the apartment in good time and arrived at the clubhouse at five minutes to six. He stood outside the entrance, his hoodie zipped up tight to the neck and his hands dug deep into his pockets. It was cold. If there had been any passers-by, they probably would have thought he was up to no good. The club only opened at seven on weekends (even later on weekdays) so the cool air was silent as Jack paced up and down, waiting for his contact to appear. It hadn’t been easy explaining to Charlie why he wouldn’t be joining him for a beer this evening without mentioning his new employment under K.O, but he think he’d got away with it. Of course, the truth would come out eventually – it always did – but hopefully by then Charlie would be in a better position to understand. Certainly, his redemption at the poker table last night had helped to improve his mood on the journey back. He’d even managed to make it to his front door without falling over once. A minor miracle, Jack thought with a smile. Suddenly Jack heard a door open from over on the side of the clubhouse and he followed the alleyway round to see a hooded figure dragging a duffel bag out onto the tarmac. A rear door was open and buffeting about in the wind, making a clanging noise every time the hinges reached their maximum angle. The figure didn’t seem to have noticed him. Jack took a hesitant step forward. “Uh, hello?” he called out. The hoodie’s head whipped round and Jack could see straight away that he was local. His Chinese features were unmistakable, as was the jagged scar that slashed over his left eye. With the rest of his face masked by his hood, it was hard to tell exactly how old he was. The hoodie barked something out in Chinese and pulled the duffel bag warily behind him, as if trying to protect it. Jack shrugged his shoulders, helpless. “Sorry, I don’t speak Chinese,” he yelled and raised his hands in the air to signal that he meant no harm. The hooded man stood up straight and took a few steps towards Jack. Now at full height, Jack could see that he was at least several inches shorter than himself, but that didn’t make the guy any less intimidating. By the way he moved Jack could tell he was confident in his own physical ability and the ugly scar just seemed to scream of danger, like a fire alarm. You only got scars like that from one thing and that was a fight. A serious fight. Jack got ready on the balls of his feet and prepared his first angle of attack, just in case things did start kicking off. The hoodie stopped about five metres away from Jack and looked at him. “You are Jack Bennett?” he said in stilted English. Inside, Jack let out a small sigh of relief. He relaxed his legs and nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.” “You helping with delivery?” “That’s what I’ve been told.” The man nodded slowly, accepting Jack’s answers. “My name is Chak,” he said. “You follow me, understand?” Jack nodded. “Cool.” “Come.” Chak beckoned Jack over with one finger. He bent down in front of the duffel bag and, although it looked heavy, picked it up with one hand and slung it easily over his shoulder. Jack peered round the doorframe into the clubhouse and was surprised to find that it led to a dead end. There was no corridor or anything; just a small room reminiscent of a laundry closet with wooden shelves nailed to the walls. It was almost empty apart from a few ominous packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with plastic cord. “Storage room,” Chak informed and kicked the door firmly shut with a bang. Now Jack understood: the room was there purely for the purpose and convenience of the delivery boys. When the club was closed, King obviously didn’t want the hassle of people having to open up the whole building just to grab a delivery bag. Either that or he didn’t trust some of them to behave responsibly when alone inside (on second thoughts, this was probably by far the likeliest). But whatever the reason, this was his solution. And sure enough, now that Jack could look at the door probably, he could see an electronic number pad just above the handle. Presumably, all the delivery boys knew the password in order to gain entry. Jack filed all this new information away in the back of his brain, just in case it ever proved to be useful. “Let’s move,” Chak said and started to lead the way back down the alley. Jack could only tag along behind him. A battered, rusting 1990 Honda Civic was parked about a hundred yards away, its red paintwork crumbling like a Danish pastry. Chak pulled out a key from his hoodie pocket and unlocked it. “Get in,” he said. “We drive.” Jack hesitated. He remembered the famous warning that Rachel had delivered to him when he was still a toddler, for when he was waiting outside the primary school gates to be picked up: never get inside a car with a stranger. Especially one in a hoodie and with a scar across his eye, Jack thought. But Brain trusted the guy and he was no fool. That meant Jack could trust him as well. Jack clambered inside, the wheel axels creaking like a rusty door from the extra weight, as Chak dumped the duffel bag into the boot and got into the driver’s seat. The engine started with a splutter. Chak pulled the hood down from over his head and they set off. Now that Jack had a clearer view of the K.O delivery boy, Jack could tell that he was not a boy at all. He was perhaps in mid-twenties with shaggy black hair, a square chin and a gold stud in one ear. Up close, the scar was even worse that Jack had first thought. At least several millimetres thick, it was a nasty shade of mauve in the centre and by the way his left eye was slightly narrower than his right eye, Jack guessed it was also hampering his ability to see. It gave the impression that the guy was permanently squinting, but Jack had the feeling that if you mentioned that he would break your neck, in the same way that he’d do just that if you asked how he’d got it. In some cases, it wasn’t worth the trouble. “You know the way?” Jack asked. Chak glared at him as if Jack had somehow just insulted his intelligence. “Yes,” he replied sourly. “I know Hong Kong well.” “Just checking,” Jack murmured. “It means that I don’t have to do map-reading duties.” If Chak had understood him, he didn’t show it. Chak was a fast if slightly reckless driver, the sort that always accelerated through an amber light as opposed to starting to brake. Jack tensed in his seat and muttered a silent prayer as a taxi skimmed the side of the Honda, so close that Jack could almost hear the sound of scraping metal. Chak yelled out loudly at the other driver and although he couldn’t speak a word of mandarin, Jack knew he was swearing. Jack was swearing too - swearing that he’d never get inside the same vehicle as a K.O delivery boy again. Not if he wanted to live to see his next birthday. They quickly left Kowloon, weaving in and out of the lanes as they took a coastal road northwards towards the region of Kwai Chung. Jack wanted to point out that driving like a rally car enthusiast wasn’t the best way to stay anonymous, particularly as they had a whole bag of illegal goods in the boot, but there didn’t seem to be any policeman about and Chak obviously knew the area well so Jack decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Kwai Chung was a shipping port, for once the skyline dominated by something other than tall skyscrapers. Huge cargo containers were piled up on top of each by the docks, looking from afar like giant towers made out of LEGO bricks. Huge container ships were moored alongside, easily the length of several football pitches from the bow to the stern. Cranes the height of redwood trees lifted the various containers slowly onto the ship, placing them carefully down on the deck before they were lashed together with wire rope and chains. Everything seemed to be on a grand scale here, none more so than the operation itself. It was the land of the giants, Jack thought. Chak turned off the coastal road and headed back inland, overtaking a slow moving moped and cutting back into the correct lane seconds before an enormous lorry carrying furniture came hurtling passed, horn blaring. Jack slumped back into his seat and muttered, “I’m doomed.” As it turned out he wasn’t, because just a few moments later Chak yanked the wheel round and slammed on the brakes. The Honda mounted the curb and the suspension groaned before the whole vehicle ground to a halt. “Thank God,” Jack mumbled and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Out,” Chak said. “Now we walk.” The smell of sea salt and fried Chinese noodles was heavy in the air as Jack stepped out. There was a greasy restaurant just across the road and the place was packed, adults turning up from all over the block to order a Saturday evening takeaway. Chak opened the boot and grabbed the bag. He nodded down the road and they began to walk. “You strong?” Chak asked suddenly. The question took Jack surprise. “Uh, yeah, kind of,” Jack said hastily. “Good,” Chak nodded. “Look out for snatchers. If they knew what carrying…” Chak shook his head. “Yeah, I get you.” Jack considered asking Chak who the snatchers were, but by the way the delivery boy had spoken Jack already had a pretty good idea. Hong Kong had one of the lowest crime levels in the world, particularly remarkable for such a big and densely-populated city, but like all places that didn’t make it immune to the odd crime. And it was here on the outskirts, where building and street security was at its lowest, that such a crime was most likely. Common burglary and car theft offences weren’t common, but what the region was most famous for was its organised crime. Everyone had heard of the notorious triads – territorial gangs that mainly delved in the racketeering of shops or small businesses, drug trafficking, illegal gambling and prostitution. But really it was organisations like K.O that were the real winners, slipping under the radar of governmental security and calmly carrying on their business without too much trouble. However, you could never be sure if members of a rival triad weren’t on the block and - from stories Lancaster had told him that very morning – it wasn’t unknown for some of them to try and aggravate each other, stripping them of all their possessions and then claiming the triad bragging rights by bringing them back to their leaders. The reason why most of this never reached the press (MI6 only knew because of internal sources) was because it was an inter-gang problem, not to do with society. And so because organised crime does not necessarily equate with street crime, it has been said that the Hong Kong crime statistics could portray a false representation and that there was actually a lot more crime in the region than first meets the eye. They turned off at the end of the road into a narrower, darker street where only half of the lampposts seemed to be working. A group of teenagers were kicking a beer can between each other in the gutter, shouting in rowdy voices that were bound to annoy any sleeping neighbours. “Keep walking,” Chak hissed to Jack as they approached the group. “Don’t look.” In the end they walked straight past, as if they were invisible. The teenagers didn’t even glance in their direction, never mind frown at the abnormally large bag by Chak’s side. They continued on. “This is the place,” Jack said, suddenly recognising the street name from the scrap of paper Brain had given him. Chak nodded. “House fifteen,” he said. “Follow me.” House fifteen was a grotty, narrow terraced dwelling on the right hand side of the road, the white walls stained by years of mould and the peeling front door about as welcoming as a haunted castle. An ancient Yamaha motorbike was parked underneath one of the windows, an oily rag draped over the handlebars. The thin curtains inside the house were drawn and there was a single light on in an upstairs room. Chak stepped in front of Jack as they walked up the weed-infested pathway and knocked loudly on the door. “I talk,” Chak said firmly, his hand tightening around the strap of his bag. “You keep looking.” Jack nodded and glanced behind him down the empty street as a key rattled in the lock and the door creaked open ajar. “What do you want?” a man growled unpleasantly in Chinese. “I have an order for a Mr Yang,” Chak replied calmly, and Jack could tell immediately that the guy had done this kind of thing hundreds of times before. “Is that you?” “Yes.” A pair of yellow eyes stared down at the large bag by Chak’s waist. “But I don’t remember making any orders. Who sent you?” “Pull the other one,” Chak said determinedly, gritting his teeth. “You know who we are.” “The postman? I thought you only arrived on weekdays.” Chak slammed his fist angrily against the door and the decaying wood crunched alarmingly. Any harder and it probably would have crumbled into a pile of driftwood. “Stop wise-cracking with me here, punk,” Chak growled, his temper beginning to flare. “We received an order for two Chinese-made QBZ-03 5.8mm automatic assault rifles from this address and whether or not you were the one who sent it we are going to get paid now. This can take as long as you like, mate – we’ve got all evening – but I’m warning you now, the longer you keep us waiting, the angrier we’ll get. And if you want my opinion, that’s not a very good idea at all.” Jack couldn’t understand a word of what Chak was saying, but by the tone of his voice and his threatening body language, he didn’t need to. The man cowering behind the door closed it shut a little further and in the silence of the night, Jack could have sworn he heard a pair of knees knocking. “Alright,” the man said, his voice trembling. “So I did make the order. But I don’t want the guns anymore. I’ve changed my mind. And if I don’t want them, I’m not paying you.” If only he sounded as defiant as he was trying to make out. Despite having two heavy assault rifles hanging from his waist, Chak charged the door and tried to force it inwards. “You deceitful little bastard,” he snarled, slamming his fist against the door and sending a shower of wood shavings cascading over his head. “No one backs out of a deal with us! No one! Now start paying up or we’ll make you pay in blood instead.” “No! Leave me alone!” The man inside was either stronger than he sounded or had wedged something under the door because Chak was struggling to get through. The wood creaked and strained like a palm tree in a hurricane. But eventually the sheer determination of the K.O delivery boy to get his hands around the man’s neck made the difference and the door suddenly lurched inwards. Chak stumbled forwards and raised his head angrily as the man staggered back, knocking into a photo frame. It hit the floor with an almighty smash. Chak charged forward aggressively, scenting blood, but suddenly, out of nowhere, the man pulled out an old fashioned Walther P38 semi-automatic pistol from the early nineteen sixties and aimed it with a quivering hand at Chak. “Get back or I’ll shoot you,” he stammered. “I mean it.” Still standing outside on the pathway, watching the scene unfold out in front of him with a sense of shock and dread, Jack suddenly realised that the man had had the whole thing planned out all along. Having sent the order to K.O in the first place, he would have had a rough idea about when his delivery was going to turn up. But obviously, since then he’d struck a problem and couldn’t purchase the illegal goods with their exorbitant fees anymore. But he’d also known that K.O wouldn’t take the change of heart lightly and were likely to try and take the money from him anyway. That’s why he’d got himself prepared and made sure he was armed with a weapon of his own, a weapon which he could pull out and use if trouble started to brew. And now it was pointing straight at Chak’s head, just a finger’s twitch away from ending his life. “Whoa!” Chak shouted and raised his hands quickly in the air. “Where the hell did that come from?” “I told you you should have left me alone,” the man said. Chak shook his head. “If you use that, you’re going to be in so much shit,” he said seriously. “Kill me and you’ll have over two hundred of my armed colleagues hunting you down. And they’re not the kind to let a grudge go easily.” “Stop it! Stop talking!” the man ordered and waved the gun about to try and show he meant business. “Choose your next move wisely, Mr Yang,” Chak continued, seemingly unfazed. “Do you really want to live the rest of your life continuously on the run, continuously looking over your shoulder? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you kill me now. My colleagues, they don’t take kindly to someone that kills one of their own.” Particularly when the whole thing only started because the customer had fobbed them off, Jack thought. Mr Yang continued to hold the gun aloft, but now looked as if he was a contemplating an armistice. As a cold-blooded killer, he looked about as convincing as a cheap fancy dress costume. “I’m willing to propose a compromise,” Mr Yang said eventually. Chak frowned suspiciously, but was in no position to ignore the offer. “Let’s hear it then,” he snarled. Mr Yang nodded. “I’ll let you go if you give me the bag.” He nodded at the Nike duffel bag by Chak’s waist. “Including everything inside.” Chak scowled angrily and Jack could tell he didn’t like the idea one bit. It went against the K.O code of conduct to hand over illegal goods without receiving full payment first. Not only that, but once Mr Yang had the package, he would have the upper hand. Chak would have lost his only bartering item while Mr Yang would still be in possession of the Walther and thus retain the ability to kill. How did Chak know that as soon as he handed the bag over, Mr Yang wouldn’t just shoot him anyway? The deal might sound reasonable, but on closer inspection, it looked ominously like a one way ticket to hell. But then again, what choice did he have? Jack realised that he had to do something now before the situation escalated out of control. Mr Yang’s attention was focused almost entirely on the furious Chak, meaning that if Jack could somehow find a way of springing a surprise attack there was a possibility that Mr Yang wouldn’t be able to react to the threat in time. The question was: what could he do? Jack knew he had no time to lose – just a few seconds could make all the difference - and quickly looked behind him, glancing up and down the street in case any weapon-wielding locals happened to be passing by. It was as empty as the inside of Derrick’s skull. Hurriedly, Jack focused his attention on the pathway and that was when it struck him: the motorbike. And soon, he wouldn’t be the only person to be struck by something. As well as several other mechanical components, an oily spring was lying upon a recycled newspaper between the two wheels of the motorbike. Beads of oil had dripped and dried onto the metal surface, spotting it like a Dalmatian. The object caught Jack’s eye as it was just the perfect size and weight for throwing at someone you didn’t like. “Do we have an agreement?” Mr Yang asked. Chak hesitated for a moment then nodded, deciding reluctantly that it wasn’t worth sacrificing his life for the sake of a couple of rifles. “Good,” Mr Yang said and a touch of conviction began to enter his voice as he realised he was in complete control. “Now take it off slowly and hand it over.” As Chak began to lift the strap from over his head, Jack subtly leaned over to one side until his fingertips were brushing the smooth, hard surface of the metal spring. He then closed his hand round it and picked it up gently into the air, the newspaper only making a soft crackle, like a spark in a hearth, as the pressure was removed. Jack had to make sure he didn’t drop the spring as he stood back up straight and started to shuffle into a better firing line. The surface was as greasy as a full English breakfast and it would be all too easy for Jack’s concentration, and his fingers, to suddenly slip. By now Chak had removed the bag and was holding it in one hand, his arm tense. “That’s right,” Mr Yang encouraged, beckoning with the hand that wasn’t holding the Walther. “Now place it gently on the floor and push it over to me. If you try anything during the changeover, I won’t hesitate to shoot you.” Chak hated being pushed around, particularly by such a weak, slimy coward as Mr Yang, but right now his whole future depended on his impending cooperation. The duffel bag touched the floor with a low thud as the two packaged rifles inside collided, but Mr Yang didn’t even flinch and Chak slowly began to push the bag over with the toe of his shoe. Halfway across, he gave it a final kick and the bag skidded forward until coming to rest right by Mr Yang’s feet. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Mr Yang said and bent down to pick the bag up. That was when Jack saw his chance. Mr Yang was still keeping a wary eye on Chak with his pistol poised and ready to fire if needs be, but Jack, standing directly behind the K.O delivery, was in a blind spot and couldn’t be seen. It was perfect. In one fluid motion, so quick that even if Mr Yang had seen him he probably wouldn’t have been able to do shit about it, Jack aimed the spring and threw with all his strength. It hurtled through the air like a meteorite, spiralling twice before striking Mr Yang right on the top of the head. The noise that sounded was like the crack of lightning. The man didn’t even know anything had happened, such was the suddenness of the attack, until that is he found himself crashing backwards onto his arse with his whole head spinning like a teacup ride. The handle of the duffel bag went spinning out of his hand, but miraculously he managed to keep hold of the Walther. Chak could only gape in shock as Jack barged passed him, stomping onto Mr Yang’s wrist just as he tried to raise the pistol. Jack ground bone and flesh into the floorboards with the heel of his trainer and Mr Yang screamed out in pain. “Let go!” Jack demanded. “Let go or I’ll break your wrist.” “No,” Mr Yang protested, but Jack could feel his resistance beginning to slacken. The Walther slipped out of his limp fingers and Chak was on hand to snatch it up. “I’ve got this,” Chak growled and for some reason Jack decided to listen to him. He released Mr Yang’s hand and the middle-aged man crawled up into a tiny ball, like a child. Fresh blood was oozing from the gash on the back of his head, as thick and dark as treacle, but thankfully he didn’t appear to have suffered any serious brain damage. Despite him technically being an enemy for the sake of the mission, Jack wasn’t sure if it would have gone down too well with his conscience. “Please,” Mr Yang stammered and the terrified, frantic voice from earlier quickly returned. “I beg of you, please, have mercy.” His thinning black hair was drenched in sweat, the round bald patch just above his forehead glistening like a tropical lagoon. To Jack, he looked like your average middle-aged man who had suddenly found himself completely out of his depth. Chak, however, was unimpressed. “And I suppose you were showing me mercy and compassion when the gun was in your possession,” he muttered sarcastically. “I bet as soon as I handed the bag over you were going to shoot me.” “No! No! No!” Mr Yang protested, waving his hands around like a lunatic. “You’ve got it all wrong. I was getting to let you go straightaway, I swear.” “Tough, I don’t believe you.” “No, you can’t!” Tears began to well in Mr Yang’s eyes and Jack looked away. “I- I have children… and a wife.” “You must be joking,” Chak snorted. “Who the hell would want to marry you?” “A goat,” Jack suggested and Chak understood enough of it to laugh. “I- I show you picture,” Mr Yang said desperately. “I’m telling the truth.” “I’m not here to flick through your flipping photo albums, you turd,” Chak growled aggressively. “And as for telling the truth – the last time I heard so much shit it was coming out of the hole in my arse.” “Please, no…” “People say, Mr Yang, that you learn something new every day. And what you are going to learn today is this: nobody tries to play games with K.O and gets away with it. And I mean nobody. It might take minutes, it might take days, it might take months – but we will always make sure that we pay back our customers appropriately. Consider it as… running a reliable service. “And now, I’m afraid, we’re going to have to terminate your alliance.” “No!” Mr Yang shouted, but before Chak could shoot, Jack suddenly stepped into his path. “You don’t have to do this, Chak,” he said calmly. “There’s another way.” “He going to kill us both,” Chak growled, hungry for revenge. “This what he deserves.” “But kill him and there will be a dead body to deal with,” Jack argued. “The police will surely sniff a rat, start to investigate and before you know it we’ve got a full blown murder inquiry on our hands. The last thing that K.O needs is the crime squad on their tails, particularly now. Think about it, Chak. Killing the scum isn’t the only solution here.” “You think we let him go free?” “Yes,” Jack nodded, “But with a few strict guidelines first.” “And what makes you think he follow?” Chak demanded. “Look at him,” Jack said and pointed a finger at the quivering wreck that was Mr Yang’s huddled frame. “He’s scared witless of us. Why, he’d probably jump off a building if we told him to.” Chak thought about it carefully, then slowly nodded. “Now, repeated this to him in Chinese: If we let you go, you will pack all your belongings tonight and leave the country immediately.” Jack could tell that Chak was having to force the words out of his mouth, but eventually he got through the sentence. “This is for your own safety. If you make contact with anyone, if you whisper anything about what has happened here tonight then we will hunt you down and make sure your death is the most painful in known history.” Jack paused for a few moments to allow Chak to translate. Mr Yang’s head was nodding up and down so vigorously, it could have been attached to the motorbike spring. “Once gone, you shall never return to Hong Kong again. You will start a new life somewhere where you cannot trouble us and if we even hear a rumour that you might be in the neighbourhood, you know what your punishment will be.” Again Mr Yang nodded, his teary eyes full of sudden hope. “To put it simply, Mr Yang, we are willing to give you a second chance. Make sure you use it wisely.” As soon as Chak spoke the final word, Mr Yang leaped to his feet and clasped Jack’s hand gratefully. Jack shoved him away and the man clattered back to the floor, a bemused look on his face. “That doesn’t mean you can suddenly touch me, creep,” Jack muttered and stepped aside, allowing Chak to resume authority. “So now we’re back where we started,” Chak said, watching with undisguised disgust as Mr Yang crawled to his knees. “There’s just the little question of our payment.” “I don’t have the money,” Mr Yang began but was cut short by a sharp slap across the cheek from Chak’s free hand. “Don’t give us that shit excuse again,” Chak snarled. “Haven’t you got it into your thick skull yet? We’ve come all this way to deliver your order and we’re not going to leave until we receive our full payment so you’d better start coughing up.” Mr Yang did start coughing up, but not in the way Chak was hoping. Clearly, the effects of a heavy metal spring to the head hadn’t totally bypassed him. “No, I mean that I don’t have any money,” Mr Yang admitted. “I lost my job over two months ago and now I’m totally broke. My motorbike’s broken and I can’t afford the repairs while the bills on the house have skyrocketed. I haven’t got a single penny left to spare.” If Mr Yang was looking for sympathy from Chak, he didn’t get it. “Sounds like a good time to move out then, doesn’t it?” he sneered. Then he strolled purposefully across the small entrance hall and started emptying the drawers in the living room, stuffing paperback books and second-hand DVDs into the duffel bag. “What are you doing?” Mr Yang explained, attempting and failing to get to his feet. “What does it look like I’m doing, you dumbass?” Chak yelled. “If you’re not going to pay us, we’re just going to have to pay ourselves.” He squeezed a portable radio set in beside the two weapons and then moved onto the kitchen. He tipped the finest cutlery in on top of the pile and then quickly hurried upstairs, the noise of his thundering feet reverberating in the cramped confinements of the house. Jack found himself guarding Mr Yang for a few minutes as Chak combed the master bedroom and the bathroom before hurrying back down with the duffel bag now bulging to the brim. It was so full, Chak found himself struggling to do the zips up. “That should be enough, I think.” Chak smiled cruelly down at Mr Yang then looked across at Jack “I hit the jackpot upstairs with this,” he announced and held up an almost brand new Samsung android phone with fully functioning camera and touch screen. “Should fetch a couple of hundred dollars at least.” “Hey, I need that!” Mr Yang protested, but he knew it was already a lost cause. “Tough,” Chak snarled. “You should have thought of that earlier.” He tucked the Walther pistol into the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms and nodded at Jack. Together they trooped out of the house and turned round to look at the owner one last time. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Yang.” Then the door slammed shut and they walked back down the pathway onto the street. “I hope you right about that shit leaving,” Chak muttered, adjusting the strap on his shoulder to accommodate the extra weight. “I would have shot him straight in head if you hadn’t… if you hadn’t…” “Intervened?” “Yeah.” “Trust me,” Jack said coolly. “That bastard isn’t going to trouble us again.” The confidence in Jack’s voice diminished any of Chak’s lingering doubts and as they turned off the dingy street and started heading towards the car, the conversation turned to more pressing issues. “Nice throw, by the way,” Chak said, wringing his hands awkwardly as he walked. Jack smiled. “I suppose that’s what you call a first class delivery.” Chak thought about it for a few moments then laughed. “Yeah. But seriously, you probably saved my life by doing that.” This time Jack shrugged. “It’s no big deal.” “Perhaps,” Chak nodded, “But I tell you what is. Few weeks ago, I hear rumours from other members that big order comes in – like, all from same person. Asks for lots of goods and so takes long time, but will need delivering at some point. When happens, I recommend you. You good guy, Jack. Sensible head on shoulders.” Jack nodded attentively as suddenly the future started to make a lot more sense. He remembered what Brain had said last week about “big business” coming up and how the organisation was likely to need as many people as they could get. Now Chak had confirmed that by saying there was one individual customer who had placed one huge order through and that it was so large it was taking extra time to pull all the stock together. Jack knew the clouds were starting to clear and that he was beginning to see the bigger picture. He had a better idea of how K.O operated, had managed to successfully infiltrate the organisation as one of their newest members and now even had clues about what sort of deals were about to go down. And all that while slowly winning the trust of those around him. One by one, the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle were slowly slotting into place. “Cheers, Chak,” Jack said and touched knuckles with his new ally. “I’d like that.” They reached the car and clambered inside, the duffel bag in the boot so heavy that it tipped the whole car back onto its rear axle before the two passengers got in. Chak started the engine and they pulled out into the middle of the road, heading for home. For now, their work was done. 19Heady HeightsLike all aspects of Jack’s new cover life, weekends were beginning to follow the same standard routine: lie in bed until eleven, watch TV with his siblings, discuss progress of the mission as a family at the dinner table and then head off for the Golden Sun with Charlie in the evening. It served to remind Jack just how much he was starting to settle into life in Hong Kong and more than once over the next seven days following his delivery job with Chak, Jack found himself wondering if his real life could ever be this... predictable again. Normal wasn’t quite the word he was looking for. Not only that, but he even considered the idea of this being his actual life. What would happen then? Would he still be happy? They were just two of hundreds of questions continuously circulating his brain, like blood moving around the body. And he hadn’t even started on the questions about K.O yet… The more he seemed to find out, the more possible options that opened up to him. Recently, one of his most pressing questions related to the one single customer that had given K.O – the biggest illegal goods and weapons dealers in the world – such a big order that even they were struggling to keep up. Could they possibly be dangerous? (Being K.O, that was probably a given) And if so, who were they? And what might be the consequences? If the person was trying to buy several kilograms of uranium, for example, surely there had to be a logical reason? But for now, the only thing that Jack could do was to keep digging away and hope that he struck gold. If the answers were going to come from anywhere, they were going to come from hard work, perseverance and progress. And that was why Jack found himself, once again, entering through the anonymous front doors of the exclusive Golden Sun Club with Charlie King walking in his wake. Nothing spread round a group of colleagues like a good rumour and news of Jack saving Chak’s life the week before had caught on like a wildfire. Jack barely had time to draw breath before the whole room erupted in applause and Jack suddenly found himself the centre of attention as people stepped forward to clap him on the back. Charlie looked on enviously and barged his way over to the bar, grumbling something about favouritism under his breath as he went. Jack eventually managed to excuse himself and pushed through the crowd, only to find Brain and, more surprisingly, Calvin King standing in his path. It was the first time Jack had seen the Head of K.O in the Golden Sun before but, on second thoughts, why shouldn’t he be allowed in? It was his club after all. “Jack, just the fella I was hoping to see,” King beamed, although Jack had a feeling that he’d known exactly when he was going to turn up. “Do you mind if we have a quick word? You weren’t planning anything important were you?” “No, no,” Jack said hurriedly and glanced quickly over at Charlie. By the looks of things, his friend was perfectly content where he was. “I’ve got time for a talk.” “Excellent,” King smiled and looked around the busy room, “But perhaps somewhere a little less boisterous.” He pushed open the secret door next to the bar and gestured for Jack to go in. “After you.” Jack forced himself to stay cool and act calm as he stepped out of the bar and started to walk up the narrow staircase towards the private second floor. The carpet beneath his feet was thin and rough, the light just a naked bulb with a plastic shade around it. Jack got the distinct impression that this was an area of the club that not many people had the privilege of seeing. “Go straight on into the meeting room when you reach the landing,” King said helpfully, a few paces behind Jack. Jack nodded and did just that, following the wall right at the top of the stairs and emerging into an open room with a ring of chairs around the outside and one big conference table in the very centre. The ceiling was extremely shallow, barely a few inches above Jack’s head, and Jack realised that it had been specifically designed like that to try and hide the fact that there was a second floor to the club from the outside. The walls were cream in colour and the floor made out of rough nylon. If this really was the secret base of K.O, Jack was less than impressed. “So, this is headquarters, is it?” he said jokingly. “This old dump? You’ve got to be kidding, right?” King replied. “This place wouldn’t be fit to hold a prison ward.” Knew it, Jack thought to himself. This couldn’t have been K.O’s only workplace, it just couldn’t. Now the question was: where else could the business be run from? “Pick a seat, Jack,” Brain said, slouching into a chair just to the side of the head of the table. “There’s plenty about.” “Cool.” Jack pulled up one of the plastic school chairs and sat down. Unsurprisingly, King sat directly next to Brain at the very head of the table. Despite the pleasant atmosphere, the difference in hierarchy was clear. “First and foremost, I must congratulate you on your actions last Saturday,” King began. “As you’d expect, Chak enlightened me with all the important details at the very first opportunity. He gave a glowing report.” Jack shrugged, secretly delighted inside. If there was a better way to improve your status in an organisation than impressing the boss, he hadn’t heard of it. “I was just doing my job, sir,” he said. “Chak warned me that it would be a good idea to stay on my guard.” “And just as well he did,” King nodded. “Otherwise I’d find myself having to look for a new organisation member.” Jack chuckled uneasily. “Yeah, we couldn’t have that, could we?” “Absolutely not. With K.O receiving so many orders every day, our delivery boys are arguably the most important people in the company.” “How did you find your first taste of work anyway?” Brain asked. “Enjoy it?” “Oh yeah, I love it when middle-aged Chinese men point guns at me from point blank range,” Jack joked. “Sorry, perhaps that was a bit of a dumb question,” Brain admitted, “But if you’re up for any more deliveries anytime in the near future then don’t hesitate to say, yeah?” “Sure, Brain, will do.” “Oh, that reminds me.” Brain dug into the back pocket of his jeans and eventually pulled out a couple of crumpled bank notes. At first, Jack thought it was no more than a couple of yen, but that was until Brain pressed the wad of paper into his hands. “Your pay.” “And worth every penny of it,” King added. Jack grinned from ear to ear and tucked it safely away out of sight. “Cheers.” “Don’t spend it all at once.” “Unless of course you fancy blowing it all on the bar downstairs,” King grinned. “Uh, yeah, I’ll think about it.” “Make sure you do.” Feeling a lot more composed now than when he’d first entered the secret room, Jack pulled his chair closer to the table. In fact, it was going so well, Jack decided it was worth a little gamble. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” he said across the table, to neither of the two men in particular. It was King that shrugged. “Depends what it is,” he said, his eyes glinting. “Well, it stems from something that Chak mentioned last week,” Jack said, already beginning to wonder if he’d just made the biggest mistake of the mission. “By the off chance, he said that some customer had recently put in a big order – one so big that it would take several weeks if not months to pull all the stock together – and it got me thinking: do you have any idea or do you even care what your clients do with their purchased goods?” Jack tensed his muscles, expecting a fierce backlash for being so intrusive, but to his relief King stared up at the ceiling and started to nod. “That is a good question,” he mumbled, “And the answer is it depends on the circumstances. I can tell you now for a fact that we receive over a thousand different orders for a single weapon or similar piece of equipment every day and so, as you can imagine, to ask each and every one of them exactly what they intend to do with them would just be insanity. It’s like a supermarket assistant asking every customer what meals they plan to cook with their shopping. Not only is it pointless, but it’s a waste of time. Any honest businessman will tell you that if it doesn’t affect you, it’s not your problem and anyone who says otherwise is either an idiot or a big fat liar. Money is all that matters in the world of business and I am most certainly a businessman. No matter how much some people may not like it, there is no other way around it. It’s as natural a part of life as eating or breathing. “A man isn’t going to take over the world with a couple of hand grenades and an automatic rifle so we can forget about them. Most likely they just want the weapons to impress their mates or defend themselves if they live in a rough area of town. As for those who request illegal items such as tiger furs, ivory tusks or opium plants – they’re hardly likely to be a threat, are they? The only people we are cautious about are those who purchase large volumes of weapons, both over a long period and in one great bulk. So far, we’ve only had a couple of cases where there was the possibility that the decision to sell might come back to bite us (most of the time all they do with the weapons is try and sell them on to others at the more exorbitant street market prices). And for all but one of these times we have correctly and wisely refused the order.” “All but one?” Jack asked. King nodded gravely. “That’s right, and because you have impressed me so much in recent weeks with your skill, professionalism and positive attitude, Jack, I am going to tell you. And it is something that I have not told anyone but the very closest of my allies. “The order came in just over four years ago when I was relatively new to the job. My company had recently just experienced a dramatic new upgrade – part of which was to come and locate here in Hong Kong – and I was looking to make a good impression with my boss and hit the ground running.” “You have a boss?” Jack asked on impulse. “I did, yes,” King replied gravely and decided to leave the matter at that. Jack got the sense that he might have just hit a nerve. “I’d already negotiated several minor deliveries – you know, like the sort that you did last week – but this one order was like nothing I’d ever received before. To K.O it was worth a total payment of over several hundred million pounds and in terms of sheer numbers completely outstripped anything I’d ever dealt with. But do you know what the most peculiar thing was? It wasn’t weapons or your standard illegal goods that they were asking for. “The order came from a multi-millionaire living in Russia and his request was for several thousand microchips.” “Alexei Chakalinov.” Before Jack even knew what he was doing, the name had slipped out. He couldn’t help it. It had become instinctive. It had been several years since the last time Jack had heard the homicidal Russian’s name being mentioned out loud, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember about it. How could he forget? It had been his very first mission working for MI6 and, like King had mentioned, it had occurred just over four years ago. The first of anything important (the first birthday, the first kiss) is hard to forget at the best of times, but this one really stuck in the mind because of the sheer audacity of what Chakalinov had been attempting. And if it hadn’t been for Jack, he would have succeeded. The microchips had been implanted in the brains of people who had attended Chakalinov’s now infamous night club, Thunder Rider, and after the Russian had taken control of each of them with the help of a special electromagnetic remote control, he’d assembled his willing army in London and consequently laid siege to the Houses of Parliament in the middle of an important international conference which all the major governmental powers from around the globe were attending. Once there he’d attempted to pressurise the world powers by force into handing him full control over the planet, all to be announced and aired on live world television. Their punishment if they refused to cooperate? Death to everyone trapped inside the conference hall, including them. What happened next is a long story – one which Jack wasn’t sure his stunned mind would be able to comprehend quite at that moment – but the short of it was that Chakalinov ended up dead due to the digestion of a poisoned sweet (don’t ask) and that the world powers (after eventually crawling out from underneath the table) had resumed control and restored order. The remote control was quickly destroyed before some other power-hungry lunatic in the crowd could grab it and with the microchip in their brains now redundant and no longer functioning, the human robots returned to their normal selves. It was several weeks later before the nightmares finally started to fade from Jack’s dreams. And even now they were not gone forever. Back to the present, King stared at Jack suspiciously and for the first time since he’d arrived in Hong Kong, Jack could see the menace and ruthlessness in the K.O boss’ eyes. “How do you know that?” he asked icily. Jack needed to think faster than a pocket calculator. “It was all over the news,” he blurted hurriedly. “Surely you must have read about it too?” King evidently relaxed, his shoulders slumping, and Jack did too. “Oh yes, of course. How stupid of me.” The smile that followed was as fake as the watches that shopkeepers always seemed to sell on the street corners of Hong Kong. “Sometimes I forget that the whole debacle was being broadcasted on every major news channel in the world.” “Quite alright,” Jack said. “So if that’s the case and you already know what happens, then I won’t bother repeating it all to you. Shame, because it’s quite an extraordinary story. In the end, K.O were the real winners because we received all of the pay and none of the blame - the opposite to Chakalinov - but now that I look back on it – and I do so regularly – I know that things could have so easily been different. Hindsight is a wonderful thing and I often wonder that if I found myself in that same position now, would I still make the same decision? Would I still accept Chakalinov’s offer and deliver over two thousand specially modified microchips – stolen from a giant Japanese electronics company and altered in K.O’s secret work labs to influence neurological control in human brains - to Moscow so freely? Certainly, I had no idea he would try and take over the world with them, but then again, who did? Often those that are the most dangerous are the ones that you least expect. “It was a decision that could have so easily back fired, but right then the company desperately needed the money, you understand? It’s all very well looking at us now and thinking pah, several hundred million pounds is nothing to us. But back then it was and there is no guarantee that the company would ever have become this successful if we hadn’t received that huge sum of money so early on in our history. It is what set us up. It is what enabled us to purchase and create all these new facilities. It is what my boss first commended me for. For me it was a gamble worth taking and, thankfully, it paid off. But it was a gamble nonetheless and in this day and age there is no need to take such risks. There is no need to lay down the joker, because we are the ones with all the cards. “So that is why, with this particular customer, I made sure I asked him exactly what he intended to do with all the goods.” “And what if he lied?” “Then he’d have to be a pretty damn good liar,” King replied. “As you’d expect, I had taken precautions. In the room alone there were three disguised guards all working for me and, like myself, they were all trained in the specialist art of lie-detecting. Nervous twitches, a change in tone or speed of the voice, clammy skin – they are all tell-tale signs that someone is spinning a lie. And all these, plus more, we looked out for. In the end, we passed him as clean, but that wasn’t before we did a full investigation into the man’s lifestyle, background and history records. As I’m sure you’re fully aware by now, Jack, we are not people who like to take many risks.” Jack nodded seriously and contemplated pushing the boat out further, inquiring about the raw details of the deal or the identity of the customer himself. But it was too dangerous; if he let go of the rope or it was picked up by a strong current, the boat would be lost forever. Besides, the way King had informed him about his ability to detect lies had been unnerving. It was like the Head of K.O was trying to look right through him, to find out the real truth. Even after everything, Jack could tell that King didn’t fully trust him. To be honest, he didn’t seem the type to trust anyone. “I understand,” Jack said, keen to dispel the silence. “As my mum, Sophie, used to say when I was little: never trust anybody you don’t know. Or anybody with a beard.” King chuckled loudly and once again he was the kind, welcoming father that had greeted Jack for the first time at his luxury penthouse all those weeks ago. Honestly, Jack thought, the guy could change quicker than a bloody Transformer. “Indeed,” King smiled and then, faster than you can blink, he had become suddenly serious again. “You know what, Jack? We need more people like you working for K.O. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but you bring… a breath of fresh air to the place. Or that might just be because the rest of us are getting old and wrinkly, eh, Brain?” King dug his elbow into his right-hand-man’s ribs, a mischievous smile on his face. Brain smiled politely. “But back on a serious note, honestly, there is something… unique about you, Jack. Right from when we first met, I knew you were going to be special. Don’t ask me why, but I did. That was why I granted you entry to the Golden Sun, even though it was against the rules. If Grimbo would have had his way, you would never have stepped within a mile radius of it ever again. But I wanted to see how you fitted in, how you would cope being surrounded by so many of my workers. I must admit, even then I had secret desires of eventually persuading you to join the organisation: you spoke my language, got on well with my son and looked strong physically. And as for the fight in the boxing ring with Grimbo…” King puffed out his cheeks dramatically. “…that excelled even my expectations.” “And he can be one stingy bugger,” Brain added with a grin. “Quite. It was fortunate that the surveillance camera inside the games room recorded the whole bout, because I can honestly say it was one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen – right after Alan Shearer’s screamer for Newcastle against Everton in 2001 and Cheryl Cole’s arse. I knew then that you had to join and if you didn’t, the organisation would suffer a great loss. That is why K.O needs more people like you, Jack. Your skill and determination, especially when compared to your relative youth, is almost unprecedented. Really, this is the sort of stuff I expect from our best and longest-serving employees.” “Then, why don’t you?” Jack asked. Both King and Brain frowned with confusion. “What do you mean?” Brain asked. “Why don’t you hire someone like me?” King laughed. “If only it were that easy,” he said. “People like you, Jack, are about as hard to find as one of Willy Wonka’s golden tickets.” “Really?” Jack said, faking bemusement. “Well, I know someone.” “You do?” King said, suddenly very much interested. Jack nodded. “Who?” Brain asked eagerly, like a child on the eve of their birthday asking their mum what presents they’d bought. “My sister,” Jack said calmly, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Ella.”*For everyone but Jack, progress had dried up like an African riverbed during the drought season. Ella, Fred and Toby had squeezed as much information as they could out of Charlotte, Kayden and Megan – their respective targets – but now all they were left with were the seeds and the skin. Any original hope they’d had when the mission had first begun had become as stale as mouldy bread. The problem was obvious: the three King children simply did not know enough about their father’s business to be of any use. At first, Lancaster had suspected they were trying to hide some facts, but after another week of persistent questioning they’d learnt nothing new – apart from that Kayden got extremely cross when you were so busy chatting that you kept on mucking up your cornering on Forza Motorsport. As Charlotte had already claimed, she didn’t care what her father did as she long as she kept on reaping the benefits. She’d shown more interest in a ghastly crocodile skin handbag than the basis of all her father’s wealth. It was a similar story with Kayden, except, of course, he didn’t like shopping around for ghastly crocodile skin handbags. So attached was he to his video games, he barely exchanged more than ten words with his dad per day, let alone engage in a full conversation about the latter’s workplace. Fred got the sense that the only time Kayden would ask his dad about illegal weapon smuggling was if it appeared in the next Grand Theft Auto game. And finally, as for Megan… well, she couldn’t have been less of a K.O worker if she’d painted herself pink and dressed up in a ballerina’s costume. If the likes of Grimbo and Travis were Ares, the war god, then Megan was Iris, the rainbow god, in the sense that she was completely against fighting or violence of any sort. In a way, it was a good thing for King that he had a daughter like Megan – someone had to keep up the family credibility. She was sensible and clever and Toby found his test results at school had reached an all-time high, but the downside of their friendship was that Toby found limited opportunities to make a name for himself and find out useful information that would benefit the mission. Aside from the one break where he’d managed to rig up the listening device in King’s office, he’d achieved nothing. For all the good it had done, he might as well have been snoozing in bed all week. The three junior agents didn’t want to admit it as much as anyone, but no matter how disheartening, the truth was the truth. In the grand scale of the mission, the three King children weren’t going to help. They were mere pebbles when what MI6 really wanted to bring down was the whole mountain. It was a tough break, particularly for those for whom it was their first big proper mission, but that was the way it worked sometimes. Life was full of injustice. That was why people like Calvin King were still sniffing around. Friday afternoon, straight after the four junior agents had returned from school, the family had held an emergency meeting. Top of the agenda: what to do about the distinct lack of progress. Lancaster and Sophie had immediately earmarked Jack’s route as the most likely source of information as not only was Charlie the most involved out of King’s children in their father’s business, but Jack had also done the most to win over King’s trust. And, at the end of the day, that might prove crucial in easing King’s obvious reluctance to speak about his most secretive plans. Ella, Fred and Toby would still continue to stay on friendly terms with their respective targets as a sudden lack of interest in their new friends would look suspicious, but Lancaster stated that they should try and chat with King at every opportunity, if only to prove to him that they were a polite, pleasant and definitely not suspicious family in the local neighbourhood. The listening devices planted around the penthouse had failed to live up to their promise, only the bug in King’s office picking up any recordings of direct relevance. And even then, they were only scraps – a few words which Sophie would toil over all afternoon, only to give up when she’d explored every possibility and was still no closer to deciphering the meaning. It seemed Calvin King was a man that stuck very much true to his word: he was not one to take risks. If he needed to make a phone call he would do it somewhere where no one would overhear him. If it was really important, he wouldn’t even bother with a phone. Face-to-face was a lot more secure. Fred suggested trying to tap King’s phone, but the problem with that – aside from the obvious danger and the difficulty of actually getting to it in the first place – was that King changed his cheap, pay-as-you-go phone every few days. It was common knowledge among criminals that predictability could get you killed and Calvin King wasn’t about to fall into that trap. To try and tap each and every one of King’s phones was a near impossibility, if not suicidal. But that still left the vast majority of pressure on Jack and if MI6 wanted as many agents as possible to get in on the act, a change was needed. As any pianist will tell you, two pairs of hands are better than one. After several failed suggestions had been quickly dismissed, somewhat surprisingly it was Toby that came up with the solution. “Why don’t more of us try and become members at the Golden Sun?” he asked. “That way we’ll all be a lot closer to the action.” “Decent idea,” Jack nodded, “But with one fatal flaw. King only allows eighteen year olds and above to join and even then I was turned away at first. No offence, but you and Fred aren’t going to stand a chance. Some of the guy’s there, they’ll just chew you up for breakfast.” “What about Ella though?” Sophie suggested, keen to pursue the idea. “She’s seventeen, only one year below the limit. Might she be able to get in?” “I’m not sure,” Jack said after a moment’s thought. “To be honest, I’m not really the person you should be asking. King is pretty strict when it comes to qualifying to be a member, as he needs to be. Fitting the age limit is the only start. There are a few women at the club I’ve noticed, but nowhere near the number of men. It might be difficult for her to fit in. But I suppose anything is worth a try if it means a better chance of completing the mission.” Lancaster nodded. “I agree. We haven’t come this far to give up now. If we can get Ella inside the organisation as well then the benefits might be extraordinary. Think about it, while one searches a room the other can keep guard and it’s the same for other situations. I say we try and get Ella in at all costs. The possible rewards are too great compared to the risks and if we don’t do anything, we might not get anywhere at all. We’ll be stuck in no man’s land for the rest of the mission.” “That’s settled then,” Sophie said firmly. “It’s up to you, Jack. When the first opportunity comes along, you need to try and get Ella involved with K.O. The whole mission could hinge upon it.” Jack nodded seriously. “I’ll do my best.” *“Your sister?” King exclaimed, not quite believing his ears. “That’s right.” Jack tried to act as if it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. As Sophie said, the whole mission could hinge upon it. “You’ve met her before, sir. She’s friends with Charlotte.” “But- but-” King suddenly seemed to have lost his tongue. “What Calvin means,” Brain interrupted, “Is what makes your, ahem, sister such a strong candidate?” “I know her,” Jack said simply. “And I know that she’d be a great addition to your organisation. We grew up together. Her and I – we share all the same skills. Everything you said about me just now, you could have easily been saying about her. The only difference is that she’s a girl, but that doesn’t mean she should be treated any different. Underestimate her at your own peril.” “But if she’s friends with Charlotte, doesn’t that make her a year younger than you?” King queried, suddenly coming back to his senses. “Yes,” Jack admitted, “But that’s what makes her all the more unique. She’s younger which means she has the ability to learn things quicker. And were you not saying yourself just a few minutes ago how sometimes the best gifts can come from the most surprising packages? If you trust anything that I ever say, sir, then trust me on this: if you allow her to join, she will not let you down.” King nodded slowly, Jack’s words beginning to make some sense, but he wasn’t going to be swayed that easily. “Why the sudden interest in joining?” he demanded. “Presumably, K.O won’t be the only ones to benefit from this?” “You’re right, sir, and the reason she wants to join is because what she’s heard from me. There are a lot harder jobs around than delivering packages to an address and I can guarantee that the vast majority of them offer wages that are nowhere near the level of yours. Credit must be given on your part for that, sir. Therefore not only does it seem a simple way of making a bit of cash, but it also involves skills that she excels at. For example, you wouldn’t become an accountant if you weren’t very good with numbers. Or you wouldn’t become a doctor if you were scared of blood. Ella is quick, agile, strong and determined – everything you look for in a delivery boy or, in this case, a delivery girl. And did I mention that she’s also good at karate? Why, she can give me a run for my money most of the time.” “Intriguing,” King murmured. “You are aware that it is against the club rules to mention internal information to outsiders or non-members?” “Yes, sir,” Jack nodded seriously. “I can only hope that Ella’s actions will make it up to you… if you give her the chance, of course.” “Even when the punishment is immediate expulsion… or worse?” “It is a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Jack replied. “Such is the faith I have in her abilities.” “Hmm...” King stroked his chin thoughtfully, both Jack and Brain watching him intently. “I must admit, it is a most unorthodox case. Not only is she underage, but she is also a complete unknown. We only have your word about her capabilities. Most new recruits already have some reference that we can relate to, such as a stint in the army or martial arts certificates. That makes our decision a lot easier. But I trust you, Jack, and so I think… I think I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt.” “You mean she’s in?” Jack grinned. “No,” King replied firmly. “But I’m willing to give her a chance. Then I can see for myself what she’s really made of.” “And whether she’s really as good as you claim she is,” Brain added. Jack nodded. “That’s fair enough. All I ask is that you give her an opportunity to prove herself. She’ll do the rest.” “You certainly have a lot of confidence in her, I’ll give you that,” King conceded. “But confidence alone is not enough. I suggest formulating a test which will assess her capabilities to the maximum. If she completes the test, then I’ll consider allowing her to join.” “What test?” Jack asked quickly. King smiled cunningly. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it? It is paramount that Ella does not know what to expect, otherwise it would give her an unfair advantage. For example, did you know that the customer was going to pull out a loaded gun on you when you went on the delivery errand with Chak? Being a good delivery boy isn’t just about pure skill, but improvisation and keeping cool on the spot as well. We need to see how well Ella copes in a difficult and abnormal situation. How else can we know for sure that she won’t just hand over the goods to the enemy at the first sign of danger? I know it may sound unlikely, but it’s happened before. We need to know we can fully trust her to follow our instructions and this is the only way.” “Would you excuse us for a few moments, Jack,” Brain said and the two most important members of K.O stood and retreated to the corner of the room. Jack sat in his seat nervously twiddling his fingers as Brain and King engaged in a hushed discussion, gesticulating dramatically and scribbling down notes onto a small notepad. The longer they took, the more agitated Jack became. Eventually, they returned back to the table, the notepad with all the secret details disappearing into Brain’s inside pocket before Jack even had a chance to glance at it. King sat down and stared straight at Jack, his blue irises like ice crystals. “Here’s what I want you to do, Jack,” he said seriously. “I want you to tell Ella to be at Kowloon Park for six o’clock tomorrow evening on the dot. And tell her to be alone…” 20On The RunIt was all up to Ella now and she knew it. The pressure was so immense it felt like the sky had collapsed onto her shoulders. At any moment, she felt she might crumble under the weight. It was two minutes to six and the evening was beginning to close in, like a pack of hungry wolves. The sun had been ousted from the sky and now darkness was rolling overhead, like a blind being pulled across a bright window. This correlated with a sudden drop in temperature and Ella began to wish she’d brought more than just the tracksuit bottoms, t-shirt and thin cotton jumper that she stood in. When she’d picked the outfit for what was likely to be the biggest few hours of her life, she’d only had speed, agility and not comfort in her mind. Now she wasn’t so sure. Ella was standing on the edge of Kowloon Park, her jumper pulled tight around her chest and her hands buried beneath her armpits. She didn’t know what she waiting for, just that she was waiting for something. Jack hadn’t revealed much to her, other than the time and place name, but Ella suspected that was because he didn’t know much of the details himself. In that respect, he was right that Calvin King was one stubborn bastard. But Jack had done wonders just to persuade the Head of K.O to give her a chance. Ella was determined not to let it pass her by. She glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time, but the seconds seemed to be passing by at the rate of a snail. She looked around at the park, taking in her surroundings. It was a little pocket of green in the middle of a concrete jungle, streetlights illuminating the magnificent stone water feature in the very centre. This was surrounded by a large variety of trees, the trunks cast into darkness by the thick greenery above them. Ella found herself staring at each and every of one of them, as if she expected someone to step out from behind them at any moment. It was that sort of night. For that reason, Ella had made sure she was at least partially armed. Tucked in the deep pocket of her tracksuit bottoms, in easy reach of her hands if she needed it, was a ten centimetre flick knife capable of cutting through flesh as if it was melted butter. It had a serrated edge and a curved handle that fitted perfectly in her grip, as if had been tailor made for her. In fact, it was Lancaster’s and had been smuggled over in his suitcase, just in case he happened to need it. It was British made which would tie in with their background story and, God forbid, if a policeman came across it she already had her excuse prepared. It certainly wouldn’t prevent her from spending a few nights in a cell though. Just glancing at the blade, you could tell it was uglier than a Great White Shark… and twice as deadly. But despite the gleaming metal being colder than the Arctic circle, it provided Ella with a morsel of welcome warmth knowing that if she came under attack she wouldn’t be totally defenceless. For this was what it was all about now: preparing for the unknown. Six o’clock… that was what Jack had told her. Ella looked at her watch and counted down the final few seconds. The minute hand hit twelve. Ella’s phone started to ring. She frowned and hesitated for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling it out. She’d received a text, but the sender had purposely withheld their number. That could only mean one thing: the sender didn’t want to be known at all costs. The message itself was only a couple of lines long, but told Ella everything that she needed to know: There’s a parcel behind the tree directly to your right. Pick it up and deliver it to the bus station outside Mongkok Stadium on Boundary Street by seven. I’ll be there waiting. Don’t be late. Ella’s head whipped round, as if expecting the sender to be standing right behind her. Certainly they were watching her right at that very moment. How else would they know her position so accurately? But there was nobody. The park was empty. The street was quiet. Ella was totally alone. Ella shivered, a cold chill suddenly running down her spine, and she turned to face the tree mentioned in the text. She was sure that, if the sender was studying her, this is what they’d be expecting her to do. The tree was an old yew, the trunk gnarled and lumpy like it was covered in warts. The boughs sagged so much the branches were almost brushing the ground, as if all the life had been sucked out of them. Ella now understood why the text sender had used this tree as opposed to any other – it was unmistakable. Ella looked round one last time then started forward, her trainers leaving the pathway and treading into the long grass. She pushed some of the branches to one side and leaves scattered onto her head and shoulders. Ella quickly brushed them off and looked behind the tree. Cloaked in the darkness was a small square parcel, nestled in a groove between two thick roots the width of a snake. Ella stepped forward and picked it up gently in case it was fragile. Then she carried it back to the path so that she could examine it properly. It was about the size of a heart, the box made out of stiff cardboard but wrapped in a sheet of brown paper for further protection. All of it was sealed together by a plastic cord that was impossible to remove unless you cut it. And because of that there was no possible way of Ella seeing inside without the recipient knowing. Probably for the better really, Ella thought. It was like Pandora’s Box – if there was a possibility that you could open it, your curiosity would just keep on building and building until you were unable to stop yourself from looking inside. And we know how that worked out… At least with the parcel being firmly sealed, Ella’s curiosity wouldn’t be tempted. There didn’t seem to be any fragile stickers slapped to the box, so Ella risked a little shake. A dull rattle greeted her, but it sounded just like the polystyrene rods that you find in most Royal Mail packages. Definitely not interesting. The clock was already beginning to tick so Ella figured she should probably start turning her attention to the delivery ahead. She checked her phone again and reread the address: Boundary Street. She knew where that was. In fact, almost everyone in Hong Kong did. The road marked the old boundary between North and South Kowloon when the Republic of China had part-owned Hong Kong (the North) and the United Kingdom the rest of it. That was a couple of centuries ago. Now it was pretty much a historical landmark. At worst, it was a twenty minute walk away and yet Ella had a whole hour to get there and deliver the package by. For an entry test it sounded easy. Perhaps too easy. “Simple enough,” Ella murmured and slipped her phone away. She then tucked the package safely into the sports bag on her back, pulled the drawstring tight and started at a steady pace down the road. Running would look too suspicious, particularly if there were policeman on the prowl (as was likely at this time of the day), but she was in no rush. She had plenty of time and it was better to be safe than sorry. As she walked, Ella began to imagine what might be in the parcel she was delivering. A small grenade? That was about the size of a heart. Or maybe a rare and valuable item of jewellery, stolen from one of the fancy shops on the seafront. Did K.O work in that line of business? If they did, Ella wouldn’t be surprised if Charlotte had already asked her dad to clear out the whole city. Ella waited for the traffic lights to turn red then crossed the road, leaving the park behind her and entering a typically denser part of the city. Here tall concrete buildings were squashed together like sardines in a tin, the odd narrow alleyway only included to house the overflowing rubbish skips. It was a Saturday night and so many of the local restaurants and takeaways were alive with activity. Ella passed by a traditional Chinese and her stomach rumbled as the mouth-watering aroma of fried noodles and sweet and sour chicken filled her nostrils. If someone from K.O was watching her right now, what were the odds that they would disqualify her from the test if she quickly nipped in for a bowl of egg fried rice or some hoisin duck pancakes? Pretty high, Ella thought longingly. Before leaving the apartment, she’d made sure that she hadn’t eaten anything for at least an hour and a half, just to eliminate all risk of contracting a stitch while on the test. Back then she hadn’t known what to expect; they could have asked her to sprint up the flight of stairs in Tsui Tower for all she knew. Now it just seemed like a whole lot of trouble for nothing. Ella quickly left the food district and turned into a more industrialised street, general stores and food markets all shut for the evening with their aluminium blinds pulled down over the viewing windows. It looked abandoned, even ghostly, a stark contrast to the bustle and commotion that Ella was used to when she regularly went shopping with Charlotte. A harsh wind whistled down the street towards her, nipping at her exposed nose and cheeks like a pecking bird. Even if the sun hadn’t fully disappeared, it made no difference when you were surrounded on all sides by solid high-rise buildings. The sky was now as black as coal, only flickering streetlights preventing the darkness from stretching its claws into every nook and cranny. The only store open was at very end of the street and as Ella approached it, she saw why. It was an all-night off-licence, a weak, exhausted bulb illuminating a weak, exhausted man behind the counter. A short, spotty teenager who must have been no more than fifteen years old approached the counter and pointed at the far shelf, at the packs of cigarettes clearly labelled with: not to be sold to under 18s. The shop assistant turned round with all the energy of a corpse and slowly reached up for a pack of Marlboro’s. By the time he turned back to the counter, the teenager had already stuffed half a dozen chocolate bars and mint sweets into the depths of his pockets. It was as Ella looked away from the dim shop window that she noticed the man hanging around in the doorway. He was dressed in a bomber jacket and ripped jeans, a small bottle of whisky (presumably just purchased from the off-licence) clutched in one hand. He put the glass to his lips and threw the bottle back, but even as Ella looked she could tell that the man’s mind wasn’t on the drink. The man was staring at her from across the road, his black eyes like a sniper scope trained on Ella’s head. The eyes followed her as she reached the street corner, the lowering of the whisky bottle to his side only an afterthought. Then Ella disappeared round the corner and the man was gone. Ella shivered and this time it had nothing to do with the cold. There had been something creepy about the way the guy had stared at her, but weirdly it hadn’t been perverted. Ella was used to drunk guys ogling at her and she’d learnt to deal with them. But this guy was different. The way he’d looked at her, it was almost as if she’d done something to offend him by simply being there. And he wanted to set the rule book straight. Ella walked halfway down the street before dropping down to her knee and pretending to tie her shoelace. Only then did she slowly turn her head round. The man had followed her onto the street. He still had the bottle of whisky in his hand, but from the way he walked – purposefully and dead straight – he was most certainly not drunk. His strides were long and regular and every time the heel of his shoes hit the paving stones Ella could hear the noise echo down the silent street. And still he was staring at her. Ella quickly stood back on her feet and continued down the road. Stay calm, ignore him, she told herself, you’re just being paranoid. But even so she quickened her pace and felt for the knife in her pocket. Just in case. At the end of the street she turned around again. The man’s pace had quickened too and this time he was closer, less than thirty metres away. Ella could now see his face clearly; oval, a broken nose, two bushy eyebrows and eyes like two obsidian gemstones. His mouth was set into a determined grimace. Ella saw his free hand start to inch towards his back pocket, as if he was reaching for something. Now she was in no doubt that the man was after her… and she had a fairly good idea why that might be. The package. Ella turned and took a sudden left, sprinting up an anonymous street with blocks of cut-price flats on either side. Behind her, she could hear the sound of shoes smacking into concrete as the man broke into a run as well. This was soon followed by a deafening crash as the man dropped his whisky bottle to shed weight and by the loud splatter of the alcohol on the pavement, Ella got the sense that very little of it had been drunk. Jack had warned her about ‘snatchers’ only the day before. Apparently they lurked the streets, looking out for potential triad (or K.O) delivery people and after identifying one they follow you for a while to make sure you’re legitimate – there was no point diving in straightaway when it could just be an innocent mother returning back home with the weekly shopping. And then, only once they were absolutely one-hundred per cent sure that they’d found their mark, they went for the jugular. Ella realised breaking into a sprint was probably the stupidest thing she could have done – an innocent bystander didn’t run away – but it was too late to do anything about that now. The man was hot on her tail. She had to get away. Ella’s first thought as she pounded down the pavement as fast as she could was trying to lose her pursuer. And the good thing about a city as populated and congested as Hong Kong was that there were plenty of narrow roads to cut down. Particularly as her chaser was both stronger and larger than her, she knew she would never win in a marathon endurance race. Therefore, the only way she could escape was through natural cunning. And Ella had plenty of that. Taking two quick rights, Ella double-backed on herself and sprinted across to the other side of the road, bare moments before a speeding car came hurtling passed. The momentary barricade forced the pursuer to slow down and wait, and although he was only held up by a few fractions of a second it enabled Ella to get precious metres ahead. Rather than run round a parked car blocking the entrance to the next alley, Ella vaulted straight over it, her trainers skidding across the smooth plastic bodywork before she jumped off the end and hit the ground running. She dodged left, right and then right again, following her instinct rather than any specific tactical plan. She’d long ago lost all bearings of exactly where she was, but with a scary, package-hungry man in hot pursuit, that particular problem could afford to wait a while. She must still have what… half an hour to get to Boundary Street? It wasn’t over yet. Not by a long way. Ella dashed across another narrow alleyway, took a further few random turnings and then slowed down to a brisk walk as a young couple sharing a polystyrene dish of stir-fry noodles passed her on the pavement. Ella glanced back anxiously, expecting the man to be right behind her, but apart from the young couple with the noodles the street was totally empty. Had she lost him? It had certainly taken long enough. Panting slightly, Ella quickly darted back into the cover of the high-rise buildings and slumped against an indented doorway. It was hard to believe that no more than five minutes ago she’d practically been frozen to the bone by the cold temperatures. Now she was sweating from head to toe, the cold metal of the door on her back providing a welcome relief as she slowly caught back her breath. It was startling how unfit you could get after three weeks without exercise and suddenly Ella was glad that she’d made the decision of not eating before she’d come out here. She dreaded to think what would’ve happened if she’d got a stitch while running… Ella counted to a minute, then two minutes, all the while listening out for any signs that the man was still pursuing her. After the blood-pounding intensity of the chase, the atmosphere was now eerily silent. A gust of wind howled. A beer can rattled in the gutter. The street was as quiet and motionless as a cemetery at midnight. It seemed, once again, she was totally alone. Ella breathed out a deep sigh of relief and stepped back out onto the pavement. The man was standing right in front of her. They were so close that if she’d taken another pace, they would have collided. Ella could see her pursuer’s face as clear as day now, the distinct broken nose fixed at such a dodgy angle it was almost bent sideways. The man seemed almost as shocked as she was and Ella smelt the faint whiff of whisky on his breath as he stifled a gasp, his obsidian black eyes widening to the size of ping pong balls. It was a good job Ella was the first to react, otherwise she would have been done for. She let out a single shrill, piercing scream and then turned on her heel and ran. She didn’t know where, she didn’t know how, she only knew why. If she didn’t get away now, there was no knowing what the man would do to her. She felt a hand brush her shoulder as the man made a desperate lunge to grab her, but then she was away, her blond hair flying madly in all directions. Suddenly the feeling of safety that Ella had experienced in the doorway seemed a whole lifetime and a whole world ago. The man scrambled to his feet, yelled out in anger and started after her. Head throbbing, Ella swerved round the next corner at a hundred miles an hour… …and, just as suddenly, slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt. There was a second man walking down towards her on this street and at first glance he looked like an almost carbon-copy of the first. Same bomber jacket, same rugged features, the same look of greed, grit and authority that was designed to illustrate to Ella exactly who was in control and that to think anything otherwise would be an extremely foolish thing to do. But then she noticed a small difference with the man’s forearm. This one had his sleeves rolled up to reveal a blood red circle just above the wrist. A simple triangular pattern was in the centre, surrounded by black Chinese writing. Even from a distance, it was exceedingly obvious what it was: An emblem. Or, to be more specific, the emblem of a rival triad. Knew it. In truth, Ella thought, it couldn’t have been anyone else. She spun round on the spot, just as the first man appeared round the corner. He sneered victoriously at Ella; a nasty, sinister grin that would’ve been too much even for a mask on Halloween. The look that accompanied it couldn’t have been more blatant if he’d tried: Got you. With both streets blocked off and the two men rapidly approaching, Ella was well and truly trapped in the middle. The second man was the nearest to her. He stretched out one hand towards Ella, his palm open, while the other remained guardedly by his side. He then spoke loudly in Chinese and Ella was sure it was directed at her. The only problem was, she had no idea what it meant. The man seemed to realise this too and as he took another step forward, he suddenly swapped languages: “Hand it over, little girl, and no one get hurts.” His voice was calm and soft, but Ella could detect the steely edge behind it. “Hand over what?” Ella replied, trying to act dumb. The triad man chuckled to himself. “You know what I want,” he said menacingly. “The package.” “Oh yeah,” Ella growled. “Then you’ll have to get through me first.” In less than the time it takes a person to blink, Ella had thrown herself forward, an expertly executed karate kick heading straight for the man’s jaw. But it was as if the man had always been expecting it, and the hands were raised to protect himself in half that time. Ella’s trainers struck the man’s forearm, almost directly on the triad emblem, and although the man escaped any serious injury the force of the attack still sent him sprawling backwards onto the hard pavement. Ella now had perhaps a few seconds at most before the first man, or both, were upon her. She sprinted down the street as if her life depended on it (which, in more ways than one, it did), hurdling the stricken triad man like a horse at the Grand National. “Get after her!” the first man roared, he too speaking in English. Quickly, another set of footsteps joined the chase. Ella darted down an alleyway, resorting back to agility rather than brute speed. One pursuer had been difficult enough. Now she had two on her case… and they were both angrier than Jack and Charlie’s school teachers (which was saying something). As she ran, she purposely knocked over two large rubbish bins, the contents spilling out into the middle of the alley and forming a blockage reminiscent of a landfill site. Get through that, dickheads, Ella thought determinedly. Her joy was replaced with horror as suddenly a high chain-link fence appeared in front of her, blocking her path. A dead end. Ella swore and quickly grabbed another of the bins, pushing it up against the fence and then leaping on top of it. She almost toppled over as the metal lid gave way underneath her and only a desperate grab onto the fence prevented her from hitting the deck. Meanwhile, the two chasers had both reached the pile of rubbish. The stench was absolutely terrible; a week’s worth of rotting vegetables, sour milk and leftover takeaways all rolled into one. As one faffed about trying to clear a pathway by kicking some of the rubbish to one side, the other seized the opportunity, using his colleague as a springboard to vault over to the other side. He was now less than ten metres behind her… and closing in fast. Ella started to climb for all she was worth, digging the toes of her trainers into the gaps in the fence and then pushing upwards. She reached the top within seconds, but the hardest part was still to come. Hurriedly she pushed herself up, her arms straining under her own weight, and then swung one leg over to the other side. Her second leg was about to follow when suddenly a steel anchor appeared to attach itself to her ankle out of thin air. The first man had made a flying leap at the fence, his outstretched hand catching Ella’s trailing ankle right at the last moment and pulling it downwards. The pain Ella felt was right up there with the very worst and having broken her leg in several places three years ago, that was impressive. It felt like all the tendons in her ankle had been sliced into two by a butcher’s knife all at the same time. Ella screamed and kicked out, sending a sharp impulse shooting up her leg, but it managed to do the trick. The man’s already weak grip loosened and he let go with a yell, smashing into the bin beneath him and sending both him and it crashing to the ground. Ella winced and heaved her injured leg over, before either of the two men could make another grab at it. She jumped off the other end gently, but even so her ankle jarred alarmingly when she landed. She screwed up her face to stop herself from screaming, but tears still managed to escape through her eyelids. It was badly sprained for sure. If she was really unlucky, it might even be broken. If being outnumbered by enemies had been a bad enough handicap to contend with, now she was faced with another one. How she was going to make it all the way to Victoria Street in this state… A roar of outrage from the other side of the fence brought her back to her senses. The man that had fallen was back on his feet and providing a step for his colleague. Knees bent, hands cupped, hair littered with vegetables shavings and cigarette butts, he kept his body firm and rigid as the man with the visible tattoo hoisted himself up onto the fence and started to clamber over. Ella didn’t wait to watch anymore; she turned and ran… well, hobbled was probably a more accurate description. Her injured ankle was seriously slowing her down and if that wasn’t bad enough, she was absolutely knackered. Despite being the size of an orange, the package in her bag seemed to be getting heavier and heavier; weighing her down, slowing her progress. It now felt like she was carrying a whole family takeaway on her back, extra green tea and prawn crackers included. It suddenly dawned on her that she could end it all right now – the pain, the chase, the pain, the danger. All the triad wanted was the package, not her. She could just the hand the package over - one simple movement - and then they’d leave her alone. She’d be free to make it back to the apartment, tend to her injured ankle, step under a hot shower and then crawl into bed. Heaven. But she also knew that Hell would only be lurking round the corner. MI6 were counting on her to pass this test. Jack was counting on her to pass this test. He’d risked all the trust he’d managed to build with Calvin King by asking him to give her a chance. And now she had that chance. She couldn’t let him down. So the thing that Ella knew most of all was that, no matter what happened, she was never going to simply relinquish the package. They could kick her, punch her, shove her and swear at her, but she would never give in. If she gave up the package, she may as well have been giving up her whole MI6 career. The only way they were ever going to remove it from her was over her dead body. And that was a fact. 21Breaking PointUnfortunately, sod’s law seemed to be listening at that particular moment. Ella had barely made it twenty yards when suddenly two, no three more men appeared at the end of the alley. And unlike the other two, they were all wielding guns. They were only small (the men and the guns), but Ella was all too aware that each of them could end her life in a matter of heartbeats. “Oi, you!” one of the new triad men shouted, cottoning on to the fact that Ella only understood English. “Stop right there!” Ella stopped instantly. If she thought she could break through and outrun three fully-grown men then she deserved to be locked up in a lunatic asylum. “Now put your arms where I can see them… slowly.” Ella began to raise her arms, just as she’d been instructed, but ever so slightly reached behind with one hand so that her fingers were brushing her back pocket. She could feel the flick knife inside, pressing against her skin. If only she could reach it, she might have a chance… “Stop!” Suddenly one of the original men from behind hurled himself onto Ella’s back, having seen her reach for the knife and sensing the imminent danger. The two of them went tumbling to the floor, but Ella managed to twist her body round at the last second so that the triad man was underneath. The man hit solid tarmac and screamed, his right arm squashed beneath him at an awkward angle. In comparison, Ella had a much softer landing and quickly rolled back onto her feet. Before anyone could move she lashed out with her uninjured leg, catching the man in the side of the face and sending him crashing into an appropriately positioned pile of black rubbish bags. One down. Four to go. Ella stood up straight, her teeth gritted to fight through the pain barrier, but before she had a chance to face her next target two more men bundled into her, shoving her forcefully to the floor. She hit the ground hard, the bottom of her tracksuit ripping open on the rough, stony surface. Her head was flung backwards and she would have suffered serious whiplash and a nasty headache if a rubbish bag hadn’t been there to comfort the impact. The downside of that? It was absolutely crawling with large, dirty, hairy rats. The alleyway was dark and dingy, the only noise the squeaking of the rats and the low hum of an electricity generator attached to the side of one of the concrete buildings. From down on the ground, it was even darker and even dingier. How had life come to this? Right at that moment she didn’t know what was worse – the injured ankle, the triad men, the awful stench of decomposing waste or the filthy rodents swarming around like flies in her hair and underneath her neck. However, the triad men soon put that straight. One of the men stepped forward and loaded his weapon. Ella could see each silver bullet as he placed them into the magazine, finally clicking the pistol all into place with a satisfying clunk. Two of the other men stood on either side of Ella, making sure she had no chance of escape while the fourth man tended to his stricken colleague – the man that had first started staring at her outside the off-licence. Christ, had it only been that long ago? Counting by the amount of action that had taken place since then, it could have happened last week. Oh well, at least he’d got what he deserved. Stupid, violent perve! The man in charge (by the way he’d taken instant control of the group, Ella presumed he was the leader) crouched down onto one knee so that he was almost eye level with Ella and then spoke. “The package, if you please,” he said calmly. Ella glared at him defiantly. “Piss off, if you please,” she replied. The man sighed. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be making offensive comments, little girl. Allow me to warn you, there is nothing my colleagues would enjoy greater than torturing you and then putting a bullet through you head. Call us traditionalists, but we never have much liked you K.O scum.” “Scum?” Ella snorted. “Look who’s talking. Like assaulting teenage girls, do you?” The man looked away and at first Ella thought he’d given up. But then he spun back round faster than a tornado and slapped Ella straight across the cheek. The noise was like the crack of a whip, so loud that Ella wouldn’t be surprised if it woke up every single resident in the entire neighbourhood. Her cheek throbbed, but this time she managed to choke back the tears. “And I thought I was the girl here,” she jeered. “You slap like a poof.” The man responded to this by booting her in the side of the stomach. If Ella had eaten anything in the last few hours, it would now be lying in a stinky puddle in the middle of the alleyway. When she’d finally caught back all her breath, she coughed, “Is that the best you can do?” “Oh don’t worry, I’m just getting started. Now, how about passing over that package?” “How about no?” The man shrugged as if he couldn’t care less and could carry on like this all night. “Your loss. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The man clicked his fingers and one of the other men stepped forward. Out of his pocket came a dagger, smaller but more pointed than the secret flick knife concealed in Ella’s pocket. The edge was probably less sharp as well, straight instead of serrated… not that it made it any less daunting. It could kill and that was all that mattered. The leader received the knife and threw it in the air, the blade spinning twice before he caught the handle expertly on the way down. He grinned wickedly and then slowly knelt down in front of Ella. Even if her ankle hadn’t been sprained and the two armed men hadn’t been standing either side of her, Ella still wouldn’t have been able to move. She was paralyzed by fear. Pure fear. “You’ll be glad to know that I’m not going to cut off your fingers,” the man said calmly. “You need those for handing over the package. Your little dainty toes and feet, however…” “You wouldn’t dare,” Ella growled. “Oh I’m always up for a dare.” He looked at his two colleagues. “Restrain her.” The two men moved like vultures, swooping down onto Ella and pinning her firmly in place before she’d even had a chance to budge. “Get off me, sickos,” Ella yelled, struggling and resisting for all she was worth. It made no difference; the hands were like two iron vices around her ankles. Acting like he did this sort of thing every day, the leader placed the knife carefully in between his teeth and then slowly rolled up Ella’s right trouser leg to reveal a small area of bare pale skin. “A pity,” he murmured to himself as he took the dagger and held the point close to Ella’s skin, “Such a pretty girl.” “Creep.” “I’ve been called a lot worse,” he laughed. Ella gritted her teeth, ready to face the inevitable pain. The nick came very suddenly, the man’s hand moving in a flash. The sharp point of the knife sliced across her bare skin, so gentle and so quick that at first Ella didn’t feel a thing. The cut was neat and thin, as if had been done by cheese wire rather than a knife. Then the pain began. Ella screamed out as her whole ankle seemed to burst into flames. The wound was burning. She was burning. Little beads of blood trickled down her ankle and soaked into her white socks. It could have been strong acid. “Told you so,” the man smirked, examining the droplets of scarlet clinging to the point of the knife, “And the longer it takes for you to give us the package, the more painful it will get.” “Why am I not surprised?” Ella growled through gritted teeth, now both her ankles throbbing to the point that it felt like they were going to fall off. “The package?” the man demanded. “Up your arse.” The man chuckled and shook his head, as if Ella had just made a grave choice. “You’re not going to give it to me, are you?” Ella shook her head firmly. “No.” The man sighed and raised the dagger. “Then it looks like the knife is going to have a field day.” Ella knew she was doomed in the same way that she knew her surname was Fox and her birthday was in April. It was just a fact. The sky way above them was now as black as her future and all hope of a passer-by noticing what was happening had long since diminished. In all the time she’d been trapped in the alleyway, not even a single car had driven by. If Ella was going to escape, it would all be down to her. But she still had the flick knife – that was the one piece of information that kept her going, kept her spirits up. And the one triad man that had actually seen it was currently lying face first in a bin bag, totally out of it. The rest had no idea. There’s an old famous saying that what you don’t know, can’t hurt you. Well, Ella was about to refute that statement. “What body part should I go for next?” the triad leader mused. “An ear? One of your little toes?” “How about your head?” Before any of the triad men could react, Ella had whipped the flick knife out of her pocket and was holding it up in the air, the lethal point aimed straight at the leader’s throat. “Get back! Get back all of you or I’ll throw!” There wasn’t even a hint of anxiety in Ella’s voice. She absolutely meant it. If all five of the men just suddenly dropped down dead in front of her, it would be the happiest day of her life. Torturing was one thing. Torturing a teenage girl was another. “Whoa, girl!” the leader said, raising his hands gingerly in the air. “There’ll be no need for any of that.” “Are you deaf? I said back off!” Ella swung her knife round like a spear, forcing the surrounding men to jump backwards for their own safety. When they were all at least two metres away from her, she stood up slowly. “Better.” “Come on, little girl, you’re making a scene,” the leader sneered. “You might have a knife, but we have guns. It’s like bringing a crappy hatchback to a Formula One race – you’re always going to be on the losing side. And we outnumber and surround you. Face it, little girl… there is no escape from here. You might as well just hand the package over now and get it done with.” “Never.” But it was true that Ella was completely surrounded: one man in front, one on either side and a high fence behind her. The odds of escape looked impossible. It was all very well having a knife, but its usefulness was limited. It would be able to kill one of the men no problem, but before she had a chance to retrieve it, the other two would be right on top of her. And this time, they would not be so slow to finish her off. So what Ella needed was a way of taking out all of the triad men at once, without injuring herself in the process. Hmm… It was at that second that Ella knew exactly what she had to do. She knew the plan. She knew the target. And, hopefully, it would only take one throw to hit it. If it worked she was officially a living genius. If it didn’t… well, at least she’d tried. Ella raised the knife. She suddenly found herself back at the MI6 training weekend, standing in the middle of the small arena that was the fourth mini-Olympic event. The throwing knife was in her hand, blade pointing skyward and her eyes lining it up with the very centre of the wooden target. The surrounding junior agents didn’t matter to her; in fact she barely even noticed them. It was the same with the group of triad men right now; there was no threat. There were no guns pointed at her. It was just her, the knife and the target. Nothing else. She could hear Jack’s calm voice ringing in her ears as she tried to recall and put into practice everything he’d just taught her: Remember to follow the golden rules of knife throwing: control your breathing, keep your arm steady and watch the target not the blade. But most importantly: trust in your own ability. If you can do all those things, you can do this… I can do it. Ella took a deep breath and pulled her throwing arm back so that the tip of the blade was almost caressing her cheek. Not once did she look away from the target. In the background, the leader suddenly gasped in horror as he realised Ella was now fully committed. “No! Stop!” he stammered, genuine fear in his eyes. Ella wasn’t even aware that he’d moved, let alone spoken anything. Her bicep tensed. Her right eye narrowed. The whole of the target filled her vision. Then… Ella let go of the knife. There was a sudden flash of silver, like a tuna darting through the ocean, and the knife was spinning through the air. The triad leader shrieked and ducked, certain that he was about to be turned into mincemeat. But the knife sailed harmlessly over his head, not even coming close to hitting him. It somersaulted twice more in the air before thudding into the plastic casing of the electricity generator, sinking deep and sticking fast. Everyone paused for a moment, desperately trying to return back to their senses. The silence was deafening. Then the leader stood up straight again and started to laugh triumphantly, the rush of pure relief only a faint flicker in his eyes. The rest of the triad men quickly joined him, reminding Ella of bullies in a school playground. “Ha!” the triad leader boasted, regarding Ella with even more contempt than before. “You missed!” Ella simply raised her eyebrows. “Did I?” It was then that the generator exploded. Ella threw herself down onto the rubbish bags as clumps of shrapnel flew outwards in all directions. Ella hit the ground and rolled over so that her vulnerable head was buried in the rubbish; not the most pleasant thing in the world when it was filled with rats and rotting leftovers. But at least it was better than being hit by flying pieces of plastic and generator. Ella felt the shrapnel rain down all around her like a meteor shower, but although some of the internal electrical parts were hot and sizzled against her clothes, she remained almost perfectly unharmed. However, the same couldn’t be said for the triad men. When all the debris had stopped falling, Ella stood up and sucked in a huge lungful of fresh air. Then she wiped a smear of sweet and sour sauce from her cheek and turned to inspect the damage. When the knife had penetrated the cheap, worn electricity generator it had got caught in the machinery and caused the whole system to grind to halt, even though there was still power trying to turn the cogs and wheels. In a matter of seconds this had led to a huge build up in energy and when the generator hadn’t been able to withstand the pressure any more… well, the results were plain to see. A huge chunk of the concrete wall had been ripped out from the building, revealing a downstairs utility room and laundry machines. A line of washing that had been strung up across the room now hung in tatters, bits of flying masonry caught up in the material. If the whole building hadn’t been alerted by all the screaming in the alleyway, then the explosion had most certainly seen to that. As for the triad men… it wasn’t a pretty sight. The man closest to the generator was the worst affected. He was completely out cold, shards of sharp plastic sticking out from his body like needles on a porcupine. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but that was because none of the shrapnel had been removed. Meanwhile the leader lay on the floor by Ella’s feet, he too unconscious. He’d hit his head badly upon landing and his body was sprawled on the ground in an almost comical position, with all limbs spread out at varying angles. Ella couldn’t help thinking that he deserved it. The two men that had originally chased her through the streets of Hong Kong lay moaning and groaning on the floor, their clothes and skin peppered with little red nicks. Neither of them were in a fit enough state to move, let alone resume chasing her. Ella kicked a rotting apple core into one of the guy’s faces, smug in the knowledge that this time he couldn’t fight back. The final triad member was the most unharmed as he’d been standing on the other side of the alley when the generator had exploded. He writhed on the floor like a snake, blood seeping from a nasty cut above one eyebrow. There was also a piece of plastic lodged in his wrist, directly in the centre of the circular triad emblem. How about that for rubbing it in the wounds? The man opened one eye (the other was clogged up with fresh blood) and gasped with fear as he saw Ella standing over him, her stern face accentuated by the smouldering remains of the destroyed generator. His trembling became even worse and he raised both arms in front of his face to protect himself. “No! You don’t un-” Ella kicked him hard in the side of his head and his body finally stopped squirming. His arms fell limply to his side while his head lolled to the right, revealing a red slash over his left eye. Did she just do that? Ella very much hoped so. Suddenly she heard the sound of raised, confused voices from inside the building and the sound of inquisitive feet thundering down staircases. The locals were coming. It was time for Ella to make her exit. On her two dodgy ankles she managed to hobble out of the alleyway and down the street, each step sending a searing pain through her body. She’d made it twenty yards when the first residents appeared, first gaping at the massive hole in the wall and then inspecting the carnage that waited for them outside in the alleyway. One blamed an arson attack. Another blamed a generator that had been faulty for the past six months. But perfectly hidden in the darkness of the night, not a single one spotted Ella as she limped away from the scene. On the next street corner she slumped down against a lamppost and allowed her body to sag to the pavement. Her energy had been completely sapped and she was sure that if she took just another few steps on her dodgy ankles, they would give way beneath her. Strands of straggly blond hair that hung in front of her eyes were badly singed at the roots and it felt as if a bad-tempered rhino had trampled all over her sore backside. It wasn’t until she felt the small square object pressing into her lower back that Ella was suddenly reminded of what all this was about, why she’d set out in the first place. She hadn’t been chased through Hong Kong, sliced at the ankle with a knife and almost blown up by an exploding generator for nothing. She had a job to do. She had a delivery to make. Deliver it to the bus station outside Mongkok Stadium on Boundary Street by seven… Don’t be late. Seven o’clock… what time was it now? Ella quickly checked her watch; remarkably it had survived through the evening’s events unscathed. It was five minutes to seven… and counting. “Shit!” Ella screamed, suddenly leaping to her feet and instantly forgetting about all the problems she’d been bemoaning just seconds before. Boundary Street… Boundary Street… Hang on, where was Boundary Street? Ella looked around hoping to spot a familiar landmark among the surroundings, but all she saw was anonymous skyscrapers and blocks of flats; she could have been anywhere in Hong Kong and she wouldn’t have a clue. She tried reading the nearest road sign, but it was all in Chinese. The little intricate symbols with their criss-crossing lines made absolutely no sense to her. She was lost. Completely and utterly lost. But even if she did know the way to Boundary Street – which she didn’t – it would have been hopeless anyway because she could barely walk a couple of yards, let alone all the way to her destination. All this left a big problem: how was she going to get there in just five minutes? It took just a few seconds for the answer to miraculously appear in front of her. And by appear it did so quite literally. The red and white taxi was speeding quickly down the road towards Ella, making the most of the lack of traffic. In moments, Ella was on the edge of the curb and waving frantically at it. She saw the driver nod in her direction and start to pull over to the side of the road. Ella had yanked the back door open and hurled herself inside even before the taxi had properly ground to a halt. “Whoa, someone’s eager!” the taxi driver chuckled in his native language. Ella slammed the door shut and stuck her head between the two seats. “Mongkok Stadium, Boundary Street,” she blurted, unable to keep the franticness from her voice. “If you get me there in five minutes I’ll pay you triple.” Pay!? Triple!? The taxi driver responded to the offer like an excited dog after hearing the word ‘walkies’. He stamped down on the accelerator so enthusiastically that he completely forgot about changing gear. The engine whined as it hit the rev limiter, but the taxi driver quickly changed up and the taxi shot away from the pavement like a firework. The driver wrenched the wheel round and the taxi skidded into the next road, flinging Ella right across the passenger street. Her shoulder banged against the door, but she barely felt the pain. She pushed herself back up and quickly clicked her seatbelt into place. She’d planned to keep it undone so that she could make a hasty exit where and when she needed to, but there was no point in doing that if she’d just be knocked unconscious beforehand. And by the way the man was driving – as if he’d just gulped down five large mugs of espresso before climbing behind the wheel – Ella wouldn’t bet against it. “How far to Boundary Street?” Ella asked. Such was the sheer concentration of the taxi driver, it took almost twenty seconds before she got a reply. “About three minutes,” he replied. “I tell you when.” Ella nodded and stared out of the window, her legs and knees jiggling agitatedly. Skyscrapers flashed by as if they weren’t there, the streetlights just a blur of bright colour. Whenever they reached even a marginally straight strip of road the driver took it at full speed, the engine roaring with delight about being able to stretch its legs for once. Thank God no old women with Zimmer frames were deciding to cross the road tonight like they did in the movies, otherwise they’d never stop in time for them. The money! For a few moments, Ella’s panicky mind completely forgot where she’d put her purse. It wasn’t in her trouser pockets. Where was it!? Then she remembered the sports bag on her back. She quickly flung it off and reached inside, her shaky hands scrabbling around for what seemed like ages until her fingers found the soft material she was looking for. She pulled it out, opened it up and inspected the contents. She had about two hundred Hong Kong dollars in notes, the equivalent of about ?16. Oh well, perhaps not triple pay what with all the exorbitant fees, but it would have to do. Ella snapped her purse shut, dropped it back in the bag and threw the whole thing back onto her back. She held the wad of currency tightly in her hands, ready to pass it to the driver when it was time to get out. Suddenly the taxi reached the one-way highway and Ella sensed they were getting near. Here the buildings were slightly more open, the half-crescent moon in the sky now perfectly visible. The taxi driver beeped loudly on his horn as he overtook a slower moving delivery van and then abruptly called out back to Ella. “Mongkok Stadium,” he announced, pointing through the window screen. Ella’s heart did several somersaults as she looked out to see four tall floodlights standing up above the buildings in the distance. They were still at least a mile away, but rapidly nearing. Ella risked another glance at her watch, not sure if her brain would be able to take it. Two minutes till seven o’clock. The taxi driver had been even quicker than he’d promised. Suddenly the whole of Mongkok Stadium came into view and Ella suddenly had an idea. “Stop!” she shouted and the driver slammed on the brakes from over a hundred miles per hour. Both he and the Ella lurched violently forwards but their seatbelts did their job and they crashed back against their seats when the taxi came to a full stop. “Thanks, this is far enough.” Ella threw the bank notes into the front of the taxi and then launched herself out onto the pavement. Not even bothering to close the door, or to see if the driver had managed to reclaim all the money, she started to sprint down the road towards the stadium – now just two hundred metres away. It hadn’t just been a moment of madness that had made her get out of the taxi early… at least, she hoped not. Her reasoning was that whoever was waiting for her at the stadium was probably expecting her to arrive on foot. Ella figured that was why she’d been given such a generous amount of time in the first place just to make it a couple of kilometres. If she turned up in a taxi it might seem like she was trying to cheat or wasn’t taking the test seriously. And after everything that had happened to her, that was the last thing she wanted. This slight detour might take slightly longer – and be a lot more painful – but hopefully it would all be worth it in the end. Ella’s ankles were killing her, but she soldiered on and with less than one minute on the clock she finally saw the bus stop. It was positioned right beside the main entrance to the stadium; a small transparent plastic curve for a roof with a single bench of seating below. As Ella got closer she could see that there was a single person sitting down on the central seat, a dark hood pulled up to hide their face. Ella stumbled forwards, almost having to drag herself the last few metres, but finally, eventually she was there! Ella slumped against the side of the bus shelter, gasping to catch her breath back. Looking down, her sprained ankle had swelled to twice its normal size. The hooded person at the bus stop didn’t look up. Ella removed her sports bag and held it in both hands. Her legs were shaking so much, it was a miracle she didn’t fall over. “Excuse me,” she stammered. “Are you expecting a delivery?” The hooded figure turned and looked up at Ella. The figure gasped. Ella gasped. Jack Knight pulled down his hood and hugged Ella so hard, she thought her ribs might break. But for some reason she didn’t object to it. She even started to hug back. For all she cared, Jack could have carried on hugging her like that all night long if they didn’t have a job to carry out. “Do you have the package?” Jack asked. For some reason, he looked even more surprised at seeing than Ella than she was at seeing him. Ella nodded and reached inside the sports bag. It was only an hour since Ella had last laid eyes on the parcel, but it had changed a lot since then. The brown paper wrapping had torn at the corners from all the times it had been scraped against the floors, the plastic cord was now attached lopsidedly and one side of the box had buckled inwards – probably when the two triad men had shoved her to the floor. But it was still the most beautiful thing she’d seen all week. Jack’s face broke into a huge triumphant grin. Ella smiled back, though more out of relief than anything, and offered it to him. Jack reached out and took it, their hands brushing lightly as he did so. No sooner was it in Jack’s possession, the opening of car doors sounded behind them and they turned round to see two adult men walk towards them from where a black BMW 7-Series had been parked on the grass verge outside the stadium. The surroundings had been so dark and Ella had been so distracted by the bus stop and the hooded figure that she’d completely missed seeing it. One of the men Ella recognised instantly. It was Calvin King, the Head of K.O himself, dressed in an open-necked white shirt and a smart black Ted Baker suit. The other man was Japanese in origin with sleek black hair and an equally crisp suit. Both men were dressed up as if for business. And both of them were smiling. “Ella,” King said, standing beside Jack so that he was facing her. “What a pleasant surprise.” “We certainly didn’t expect to see you here,” the Japanese man added, standing the other side of Jack. Ella frowned. “What do you mean?” “Allow me to explain,” King said calmly, “But first I’d like to introduce you to Brain, my number two at K.O and overseer of all new recruits.” Brain offered his hand and Ella shook it, her mind still ringing with the two men’s first comments. What did they mean they didn’t expect her to be here? She’d been texted specifically! “Your reputation precedes you, Ella,” Brain smiled. “Your brother Jack here has already told me plenty about you.” “Right…” Ella murmured, staring inquisitively at Jack. “Oh no, not in a bad way,” Brain chuckled. “More along the lines of your impressive fighting skills... and your unrivalled determination…” Huh? This was getting weirder and weirder by the second. Ella had just been expecting a client to hand the package over to and then she’d return back to the Golden Sun to be officially congratulated there. Why the need to send three people out, the boss included? In fact, come to think of it, this was the first time Ella had ever heard of King setting foot in a public place. “What time were you supposed to deliver the package by?” Jack asked. “Seven o’clock.” Jack sucked air through his teeth and shook his head gravely. “You were a couple of seconds late, unfortunately.” “No I was not!” Ella shouted incredulously and Jack cracked up laughing. “Only joking,” he grinned. “You had a whole fifteen seconds to spare.” Ella scowled, totally not amused by Jack’s gag, and jabbed him in the stomach. She would’ve kicked him if she’d had the choice because it was harder and more painful, but unfortunately her injured ankles had ruled out that option. Jack laughed and shook his head, but didn’t retaliate. “So, did your run into any trouble on your delivery?” King asked casually. Ella looked down at the state of her clothes; they now had more holes in them than a lump of Swiss cheese and were coated in thick smears of blood, dirt and rubbish. It was quite plain to see that yes, she had run into some trouble, but she didn’t want to sound rude in front of the boss of K.O. That would be suicidal. “Now that you come to mention it.” King nodded his head slowly, understandingly. “Nasty people those triads are, aren’t they?” he said. “They’ve been the scourge of Hong Kong for decades.” Ella frowned. “Wait a minute, how did you-” “-know?” King chuckled to himself. “Well, let’s just say that I had a hunch that they would be there.” I had a hunch that they would be there… Ella cast her mind back to the alleyway, lying on the floor as the four conscious triad men surrounded her. She could hear the leader speaking to her, demanding that she should hand the package over. And it was then that Ella realised something, something that didn’t quite make sense. Back then the triads had been in complete control – even Ella could admit to that. So why then did they keep on insisting for her to hand over the package? They had the numbers, they had the weapons… why didn’t they simply remove it from her by force? And then, like a light bulb switching on in her head, it clicked. “It was a set up,” Ella gasped and stared at King. “You wanted them to be there all along.” King smiled proudly. “I wondered how long it would take for you to get it. Yes, it was a set up. I had the whole sequence of events planned out long before you picked up the package from Kowloon Park.” “So… they were actually all working for you?” “That is correct,” King nodded, still smiling. “All current members of K.O - didn’t have a drop of triad blood between them.” “But the emblem… the tattoos…” “All fake. A quick scrub under running water with a brush and it’ll look as if they’d never been there.” Ella suddenly felt extremely foolish. She’d been so convinced by their disguises, their language, their actions that she hadn’t even paused for one moment to consider that they might actually have been sent there by King as an obstacle to stem her progress. “So delivering the package to this address,” Ella said with new realisation. “That wasn’t the actual test. It was getting passed the group of triads.” “In a sense, yes,” King agreed. “The whole purpose of the test was to see how well you would cope in a difficult situation and, in my eyes at least, there is no more difficult situation for one of our delivery people than being confronted by a group of enemy triads. The team all knew what they were doing – each road leading away from Kowloon Park towards Boundary Street was covered and guarded by at least one member and when one caught sight of you, their instructions were to follow. This was to see how observant you were at sensing danger and then how calm you could remain when you knew you were being tailed. “Slowly the member would pick up the pace until you were forced into a run and we would able to see how adept you are physically and whether your mind is naturally tactical when attempting to escape. If you simply run around in circles screaming your head off, you’re not going to make a very good delivery girl. At the same time, the member called for backup from the remaining team and so we proceed to the final stage of the test. You can take some comfort in the knowledge that it was almost inevitable that the team would corner you eventually. Not only did they outnumber you greatly, but they were also vastly more experienced. “Once cornered, their job was simply to try everything in their power to make you hand over the package. Your job was to try and resist for as long as possible. When they asked for the first time and if you gave in then it would show poor bravery and resilience levels. By your current condition I presume that you went a little further than that and that is a good thing, otherwise you would not have passed. There is no room in K.O for chickens that are willing to sacrifice our goods at the first hint of danger. From then on they would gradually threaten you more and more, and to more and more extreme levels.” “They cut my ankle with a knife,” Ella complained, pulling up her trouser leg to show him the wound. It had now turned a dark shade of mauve, the bleeding having been stemmed by a freshly-formed scab. King nodded as if he’d been expecting this. “A reasonable amount of pain was permitted,” he admitted. “I hope you understand that we couldn’t just threaten you with hollow words, otherwise you would never have been intimidated.” Grudgingly, Ella nodded. “I can see that you’ve done well, Ella,” King continued. “I’m very impressed. And presumably, once you’d resisted for long enough, they allowed you get up and continue on your way? I don’t imagine they would have threatened you much more after the old chopping-off-limbs gag.” Suddenly a sickening, horrible feeling started to swell up like a bruise at the bottom of Ella’s stomach. Her skin turned ghostly pale and she started to feel faint, her head spinning and her mind dizzy. Slowly she brought herself round to look back up at King. “Uh…” “They did let you go, didn’t they?” King asked seriously. Ella’s mind was totally blank. Every single reply she came up with seemed like the totally wrong thing to say. “Yeah, um, sort of,” she eventually mumbled. “What do you mean, sort of?” Brain demanded. Ella stared up into the night sky, hoping a ray of light would shoot down and beam her up. But she had no such luck. She was left with no choice but to tell them the truth. “Well, yeah, they did let me go,” Ella said, “But only after I, um… only after I kinda blew them up.” “You did what?” King exclaimed. “You blew them up?” Brain said aghast. “Not in a serious way,” Ella said, furiously trying to defend herself. “They were only knocked unconscious… at least, I hope so. I mean I think so.” “Jesus Christ,” Brain muttered under his breath. “Well I didn’t know who they were!” Ella argued, suddenly determined to prove her innocence. Here she was expecting congratulations for managing to escape from the triads and instead all they could do was shout and moan. It wasn’t fair! “All I know is that a group of men corner me in an alleyway and then threaten to lop my feet off unless I handed them the package. But I wasn’t going to do that. I was never going to give in, even if it meant them coming at me with a bloody sharp knife. So when I realised a way of escaping, what did you expect me to do? How the heck was I supposed to know that it was only a set up and that in a few moments they were going to allow me on my way as if nothing at all had happened? I had a knife with me and I knew it was my only chance so I threw it at a nearby generator, it jammed the internal motor and caused it to explode. Maybe if they’d been a bit quicker to tell me the truth, they wouldn’t have all been knocked unconscious by the blast.” Ella stood there breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling. Jack and Brain looked shell-shocked, as if they couldn’t quite believe what they’d just heard. But it was Calvin King she was most worried of. The Head of K.O stood directly in front of her, his gaze somewhat slightly out of focus as his business mind chewed over the new information he’d just received. Ella bit her tongue nervously, fearing the worst. And then King did something completely unexpected. He threw back his head and laughed. “Oh I can’t wait to catch up with Chak and all those other lads,” he chuckled. “Outnumbered five to one and they get beaten by a teenage girl.” He shook his head and wiped a tear of joy from his eye. “I’m never going to let them forget this. Never.” “But, sir,” Brain protested. “Ring up the clubhouse and get half a dozen men down to the alleyway immediately to clear up the mess,” King ordered, exacting his authority even though he was still in the process of laughing. “Then take the car down yourself and pick up what’s left of my supposedly formidable team.” “Good idea,” Jack nodded, his mouth breaking into a familiar grin. “It sounds like they need a lift.” “Now that,” King said pointedly, “Was bloody dreadful.” At this, both he and Ella burst out laughing. “Hey, come on,” Jack protested, hands in the air. “It wasn’t that bad.” “Trust me, it was,” King replied before turning back to Brain again. “Take them to the club to get properly treated for any injuries and then give them all a couple of beers on the house. By the sound of things, they’re going to need them. Drown your sorrows - that’s the best way to deal with humiliations like this.” Brain hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Of course, sir. Right away.” Brain retreated back to the car and leapt into the driver’s seat, mobile already by his ear by the time the BMW pulled out onto Boundary Street. Ella watched as it roared passed them and off down the road, soon to be nothing but a red speck of the taillights in the distance. “Did you really blow up five members of K.O?” Jack asked. Ella nodded earnestly. “Wicked.” King coughed loudly, but was still trying not to smirk. “Yes, well, it certainly proves that you know how to deal with a sticky situation. But next time you go around blowing people up, make sure it’s the enemy, yeah?” Ella smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir.” “Excellent,” King beamed. “You know, I had my doubts about you, Ella, when your brother here first suggested trying to recruit you. I had no concerns about your ability, but it takes more than skill to become a K.O member. You need bravery, determination and a cool head as well as skill, and I’m extremely pleased to say that you have shown an abundance for all four of those attributes today. You would have passed the test if you’d simply resisted the team’s threats right up to the body dismembering, but what you showed tonight was about a billion times more impressive than that. To actually escape by your own accord, using initiative and skill to overcome five men twice the size and experience of you as well as a whole number of other handicaps… that is truly astonishing. “And after all that, you still manage to deliver the bloody package in time.” Jack held the battered little box out in his hands and King took it. He tossed it casually in the air like a juggler, caught it and then held it close to his ear. He shook it and inside the contents rattled softly, just as it had done all the way back in Kowloon Park. “Did you ever start to wonder what might be inside?” he asked. Ella shrugged one shoulder and smiled. “It might have crossed my mind a few times.” King pulled out a Victorinox penknife from his pocket, placed it on top of the package and then offered both of them to Ella. “Open it.” “Sorry?” “Go on, open it. You have my permission.” Ella reached out and took both items. She was familiar with the penknife (she had one back home) and found the scissors at the first time of asking. Quickly she cut the cord in two places and then pulled it apart. Now all that remained was the thin layer of brown paper and she was in. She tore back the paper, stuffed it in her pocket and started to pull open the lid of the box. “Ooh, it’s like a present on Christmas morning,” Jack teased. “Shut up, Jack,” King and Ella both said at the same time. The lid came away in Ella’s hands and she looked inside, her eyes wide and her heart pounding with excitement. But she was disappointed just to find a mound of white polystyrene foam, as she’d originally guessed. No small grenade. No valuable jewellery. Just boring old packaging foam. “Keep looking,” King whispered, unable to hide his grin. And so Ella continued to search. She began pulling out all the foam and dropping it onto the pavement, the box quickly emptying it. Whatever it was, it must have been very small. She came to the final few pieces and tipped them out one by one into the palm of her hand. Just packaging foam. Nothing else. “There’s nothing in it,” Ella complained. King smiled. “Look again.” And so she did. There at the bottom of the box, actually written onto the cardboard in black marker pen, was a message: “Congratulations, Ella,” she read out loud. “Welcome to K.O.” “And worth every letter of it,” King beamed. “Hands down, that was the best test performance I’ve ever seen. I’m proud to accept you as K.O’s newest recruit.” As Ella started to sob into her hands with joy, Jack rushed forwards and pulled her into her arms. Ella clung back, her face buried into his shoulder. Her tears left a large damp puddle on his sweatshirt, but right then neither of them could care. They’d done it! They were into K.O together. “I knew you could do it,” Jack whispered, so soft that only Ella could hear. Ella nodded, her eyes glistening like diamonds, and hugged Jack tighter, Calvin King politely averting his gaze so as not to interrupt this priceless family moment. That meant nobody was there to watch as Ella finally broke into a smile. A smile that was as large and bright as the Hong Kong skyline… and just as beautiful. To Be Continued… ................
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