Read Online David Trevellyan 03 -More Harm Than Good by Andrew Grant - Free Book Online

you’re doing and get lost.”
            The guy who’d spoken to
me picked up an empty can from the ground, tossed it in the air, and headed it
into a bush.
            “Going to make us?” he
said.
            One of the others climbed
on the back of the bench and started to tight-rope-walk from one end to the
other. The third stood up and looked a little lost for a moment. Then he pulled
a flat, half-size bottle of generic supermarket whisky from his inside pocket,
twisted off the lid, and took a long swig.
            “I’ve warned you,” the
guard said, after staring at each one in turn. “I’ve given you a chance. Be
gone in five minutes or I’ll be back with the police.”
            “He won’t,” the tallest
one said in my direction as the guard slunk away. “He always threatens us. But
he never comes back.”

 
    I sat in the garden for another twenty minutes, and saw that the lout
was right. The guard didn’t return. I was wondering whether he’d ever intended
to, if this was such a frequent occurrence. Or whether he always tried, but
could never get the police to show any interest. They must have bigger fish to
fry than a trio of half-hearted vandals. And the more I thought about it, the
more I began to suspect the threat was just an excuse to walk away.
            Two minutes later a pair
of nurses opened the door the guard had used. They paused for a moment while
they took in the way the group was behaving, then backed away. That meant no fresh air for them, after all, which didn’t seem
right. It made me wonder whether I should have given the guard a hand, earlier.
I could have shown him a more practical approach to the problem. I was still
mulling this over, debating whether to have a little word with the lads before
heading upstairs to see if the MI5 agent was back in her room, when the door
opened again. And, as if she’d known I was thinking about her, the agent
appeared.
            She wheeled straight out
onto the path. It seemed like she was looking in my direction, but I knew her
peripheral vision would be locked onto the yobs . The
residual twigs and broken branches made it hard for her to move, and as she
struggled forwards the three lads stopped what they were doing and stared at
her. She drew level with them, and the tall one reached into the bush to
retrieve the can he’d headed there earlier. She kept going, apparently
oblivious, until she was fifteen feet beyond their bench. Then the guy threw
the can. It looped up in the air, in a big lazy arc, and crashed down against
her right shoulder. She stopped. I held my breath. I guessed it would be too
much to ask for her to stand up, draw her Sig, and scare the life out of them,
but I was sure she’d do something to bring them into line.
            She stayed still, and
did nothing.
            Then it dawned on me.
She wouldn’t want to blow her cover. I didn’t have to worry, though, so I shot
her a look:
            Want me to care of this?
            She shook her head, and
started moving again. So did the hooligans. Two of them caught up with her
before she’d traveled three more yards, and the third - the one with the whisky
bottle - was only a couple of paces behind them. They shadowed her for a
moment, looming over her from behind, leering at their prey , then the tall one took hold of the chair’s hand grips. He pushed down and the
chair tipped, its front wheels leaving the ground. The agent let out a little
scream and the idiots around her grinned. The one holding the chair spun her
round in a complete circle and then let go, leaving her to crash down and roll
diagonally until her wheels became snagged with debris once again. She glanced
round, checking on their positions, then looked straight at me.
            Stay where you are. Don’t interfere, her eyes were saying.
            I didn’t understand. I
assumed she was getting ready to make some kind of