Read Online Agent 21 by Chris Ryan - Free Book Online Page A

nothing to do with the cold night run down his spine. He quickly checked his bearings again and continued heading south-east. Only a little faster this time . . .
    After about twenty minutes the house came into view. The yellow glow of the lights from inside almost looked welcoming.
    Raf was waiting for him in a doorway; Gabs was nowhere to be seen. Raf looked at his watch. ‘Twenty-two minutes,’ he said. All traces of his former comradeship had disappeared and he seemed suddenly rather frosty. ‘We really need to work on your fitness.’
    ‘Did you come straight here?’ Zak asked.
    ‘Of course,’ Raf said. ‘Why?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    Raf shrugged. ‘Go to bed,’ he said. ‘We’ve got an early start in the morning.’
    When Raf said they would work on his fitness, he hadn’t been joking. Both he and Gabs woke Zak at six the next morning. They gave him high-energy foods to eat – bananas and oatmeal – which they consumed in a gleaming kitchen at the back of the house, then handed him some running gear and told him to get changed.
    It was a bright, crisp morning and the first couple of kilometres were almost fun as he tried to keep up withRaf and Gabs. They maintained a punishing pace, however, and his muscles soon started to burn. ‘Keep up!’ Raf shouted as Zak lagged behind. He gritted his teeth, tried to forget about the pain and upped his speed.
    ‘Ten miles,’ Raf told him when they got back to the house. He and Gabs had barely broken into a sweat. ‘We do that every day and increase it by three miles a week. Go and get changed. You’ve got tuition for the rest of the day.’
    It started with Spanish lessons. Then Mandarin. Then Arabic. Both Raf and Gabs were fluent in them all. As Zak was struggling with the Arabic alphabet, Gabs smiled at him. ‘We’ll have you talking like a native in a few weeks, sweetie,’ she said.
    Zak wasn’t so sure.
    The days passed. They turned into weeks. The routine didn’t change. Before long, Zak had almost forgotten why he was here, or the life he’d left behind. The training was everything, and it took up every second of his time. When he wasn’t running, he was pushing weights; when he wasn’t pushing weights, he was studying languages; when he wasn’t studying languages, he was being tutored in the arts of navigation.
    Every night before bedtime, Raf handed him a pieceof paper bearing facts about Harry Gold, Zak’s alter ego. And every night he would learn them. Harry Gold’s life was not so different to Zak’s. He too had lost his parents to illness – his mother to a rare form of cancer, his father to the lung condition that had plagued him all his life; he too was an only child who had gone to live with relatives. When Zak mentioned this to Gabs, she just smiled. ‘Of course, sweetie,’ she said. ‘The best disguises are the ones where you don’t have to try too hard.’
    He considered asking about his own parents again, but something told him Gabs wouldn’t be any more forthcoming than Michael.
    There was a lot to learn. After a week, Zak could recite Harry’s personal details off by heart; after two he knew where Harry had gone on holiday for the past ten years; and after three he could name his imaginary extended family down to the obscurest cousins living in Eastbourne or the great-uncle who emigrated to Mexico fifteen years ago and hadn’t returned to the UK since. Once a week, Gabs and Raf would test him with quickfire questions and Harry’s past started to become second nature to him.
    When Zak wasn’t exercising his mind or his brain, he slept as soundly as the dead. He was four weeks in when he woke to the sound of the regular 6 a.m. knock on his door. ‘Forget the running gear,’ Raf’svoice came from outside. ‘We’re doing something else today.’ Zak changed into his jeans and hoodie then stepped outside.
    ‘Come with me,’ Raf told him.
    ‘Where?’
    ‘You’ll see.’
    He led Zak down into the basement. Zak had never