Free Fightback by Steve Voake

was right. The reason they’d tracked him down was simply that they knew his father’s address.
    â€˜OK. So what do you want me to do?’
    â€˜Just before he was killed, your father sent back some information about a planned bank robbery. Latest intelligence says it’s due to take place in three days’ time. We just need you to stay out of sight and take a few photos of the suspects.’
    â€˜That’s it?’
    â€˜For now, yes.’
    Jackson opened a white A4 envelope and handed Kier a grainy black and white photograph. It showed a wiry man of about fifty in a dark suit and tie, the angular face, short haircut and neatly trimmed moustache giving the impression of someone who had led a disciplined life. An ex-soldier perhaps. Kier studied it for a while before placing it back on the table.
    â€˜Who is it?’
    â€˜We don’t know. But it was one of the last photographs your dad took, so there’s a strong chance he’s involved in some way. If he shows up when it all kicks off, I want you to get some pictures and follow him. Forget about the others. I want to know who this man is. He’s our number one priority.’
    Kier frowned. ‘OK. So I sit outside a bank, take a few photos and follow this guy if he shows up. No problem. But if that’s all you want me to do, what was the point of all that training?’
    â€˜This is only the beginning,’ said Jackson, pouring another cup of tea and sliding it across the table. ‘Your training is for what comes afterwards. And of course you won’t be working alone. Another of our operatives flew out there today. Says she’s very much looking forward to working with you.’
    As Jackson leaned across the table and offered Kier his hand, Kier imagined Saskia sailing through passport control and disappearing into the crowd.
    â€˜Welcome aboard, Kier.’
    â€˜Thanks,’ said Kier, shaking his hand. ‘I think.’
    Later, as he packed his new leather holdall with the neat little phone-camera and selection of crisp new clothes that had been left out for him, he felt a tingle of excitement.
    He was going back to London.
    He was going to see Saskia and track down the people who had turned his life upside down.
    But this time things would be different.
    This time he would be ready for them.

THIRTEEN
    Kier sat outside the cafe off Baker Street and watched the steam rise from his cappuccino. It was already mid-August and people were out in shorts and T-shirts, eating ice creams and trying not to think about the jobs and offices they would soon be going back to.
    He watched the two men walk by on the other side of the street, held the phone-camera to his eye and used the powerful zoom function to take a few quick shots. Then he swung it nonchalantly forty-five degrees and took a couple more of some pigeons on a rooftop. To anyone watching, he would just be some tourist taking holiday snaps with his phone.
    â€˜Excuse me?’ Kier held up a finger at the waitress who was wiping down the table next to him. ‘Could I get a blueberry muffin here?’
    â€˜Sure,’ she said. ‘Won’t be a second.’
    Kier took a sip of coffee and imagined Saskiastepping off a tube somewhere, walking through the shadows into the light. Not looking directly at anyone, seemingly lost in her own little world. But he knew she would be noticing everything, storing it away in case she needed it.
    â€˜Here you go. One blueberry muffin.’
    The waitress smiled, put it down on the table and placed the bill underneath the plate. Kier noticed that she was pretty and reminded himself to focus. Picking up the muffin, he put a five-pound note in its place.
    â€˜Thanks. Keep the change.’
    Ten minutes later the two men were still there, walking nervously up and down. But there was no sign of the man in the photograph.
    Kier took a couple more pictures and then turned to see the waitress, who had now