Free Under Cover (Agent 21) by Chris Ryan

actually . . .’ Felix replied. He rummaged in his rucksack again and pulled out a newspaper. ‘This morning’s
Times
,’ he said.
    Ricky was still rubbing his neck. He peered at Felix. ‘You’re joking, right?’
    ‘Not at all. Very effective weapon, a newspaper. Watch.’
    Felix sat down at the coffee table and started folding the newspaper in half, then in half again. After several folds he had a thick, sturdy truncheon of paper. He swiped it gently through the air, as if weighing up its heft. Then, very suddenly, he slammed it against the table. Ricky started. He looked at the coffee table to check that the glass hadn’t cracked. It was still OK, but that didn’t put his mind at rest. ‘Tell me you’re not going to try that thing on me,’ he said.
    ‘Of course not,’ Felix said. He sounded slightly hurt. Then he whacked the truncheon against the coffee table again. And yet again, Ricky started. It was quite obvious that Felix’s makeshift truncheon could do someone a lot of damage. ‘Would you like a go?’ Felix asked him.
    Ricky held out his hand and grabbed the truncheon as Felix got to his feet. It felt solid in his fist as he tapped it a few times against the palm of his free hand.
    ‘Try and hit me with it,’ Felix said, hitching the rucksack over one shoulder.
    This morning was getting crazier by the moment. ‘Why?’ Ricky asked.
    ‘Just try it, Coco.’
    ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ He was sarcastic.
    ‘I promise not to cry.’
    Ricky sighed. He looked at the floor. Then, with a sudden movement, he stepped towards Felix and raised the truncheon. When he was half a metre away, he started to bring it down towards Felix’s head.
    Once again, Felix took Ricky by surprise. The older man twisted his rucksack shoulder towards him, and with one hand raised the rucksack itself. As Ricky brought the truncheon down, it hit the rucksack harmlessly. In another quick movement, Felix removed the pack from his shoulder. He flipped it so that the flaps were facing outwards, then deftly slung them over Ricky’s head. With one strong arm he twisted Ricky’s body so that he was facing away from him, the strap of the rucksack crossing his Adam’s apple.
    Then he pulled. Tightly.
    For the second time that morning, Ricky found himself struggling for air. He dropped the truncheon and tried to grab the straps to pull them away from his neck, but Felix’s grip on the rucksack was too firm.
    He started to feel dizzy.
    His knees went weak.
    He was going to faint . . .
    Only when he was sinking to the floor did Felix release the rucksack. Ricky fell to his knees as he inhaled several noisy lungfuls of air. Felix stood above him, an embarrassed frown on his face. He stretched out one hand to help Ricky to his feet.
    ‘Are you OK?’
    ‘No!’ Ricky rasped. ‘I nearly passed out!’
    Felix nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose that could happen.’ He looked around the room at the pen, the book, the newspaper and the rucksack in his arms. ‘Improvising,’ he said. ‘Very important. Forget knives and guns. Most of the time we just have to use the tools that are available to us. Here, you can have this.’ He handed Ricky the rucksack and limped towards the exit. ‘I think that’s about enough for today,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow. We’ll start learning about surveillance. Very important technique for a soldier.’
    ‘What do you mean,
for a soldier
?’ Ricky gasped. ‘
You’re
the soldier, not me.’
    Felix smiled. Then he pulled his ever-present bag of sweets from his pocket and popped one in his mouth. ‘If you say so,’ he said, before turning his back on the sore and battered Ricky, and leaving the room.

8
SURVEILLANCE
    ‘Meet Scruffy,’ Felix said the following day when he turned up at his usual time. He handed Ricky a small, creased photograph of a golden Labrador with big, sad eyes. When Ricky gave him a confused look, he added: ‘Scruffy’s your dog.’
    ‘What are