Free Agent 21 by Chris Ryan

somebody carrying one, duck.’
    Zak nodded.
    ‘We’ll start with the handgun,’ Raf said. ‘Put these on.’ He handed Zak a set of protective headphones, then he and Gabs both put some on themselves. Zak watched as Gabs picked up the Browning Hi-Power and inserted a magazine into the handle with a satisfying clunk. She approached one of the firing ranges, unlocked the safety catch and raised the handgun.
    She fired three shots. One hit the target square in the forehead; the other two made holes in the centre of the chest. Gabs switched the safety back on and handed the gun to Zak.
    He handled it gingerly at first. ‘Don’t be scared of it, sweetie,’ Gabs said. ‘You need to respect your firearm, but remember that you’re in charge. Now, switch off the safety and raise your arm.’
    Zak did as he was told.
    ‘Steady yourself,’ Gabs told him. ‘When you firethere’ll be a recoil. You need to be ready for it. Take a shot in your own time.’
    Zak lined the sights up with the target’s chest – for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to attempt a head shot. He took a breath and fired.
    The recoil was worse than he was expecting, jarring his arm up and to the left. He looked hopefully at his target, but there wasn’t even a single mark on it.
    Raf and Gabs glanced at each other. ‘We’ll practise every day,’ Raf said. ‘We’ll soon get you—’
    But Zak was hardly listening to him. He had already lined up the sights with the target once more and this time he knew what was coming. He steeled himself, then fired again.
    This time he didn’t miss. A small hole appeared just above the heart area. Zak switched the safety back on, lowered the gun and removed his ear-protectors. He turned to his guardian angels. ‘Every day, right?’ he asked as Raf and Gabs shared an astonished look.
    He returned to the table, and put the gun back in its place.

8
AGENT 17

    As the weeks went by, Zak’s training grew more intense. The runs grew longer, the weights heavier. His mind swam with new facts and techniques, his Spanish, Arabic and Mandarin became practically fluent and he learned to live with the constant bruising on both shoulders as he practised with the assault rifle. Raf taught him to drive, using an old Land Rover that bumped over the rough terrain around St Peter’s Crag. ‘Try not to break the vehicle,’ he said without a hint of a smile. ‘The RAC don’t come out this far.’ It was slow-going at first, but Raf was patient and in a couple of weeks Zak was driving like he’d been doing it all his life.
    One day he ran with Gabs to the eastern edge of the island. Before they turned back, however, she stopped. ‘Wait up, Zak,’ she said. ‘We’re doing something different today.’
    Zak nodded. He’d grown fond of Gabs. She wasstraight-talking and no-nonsense. When your world had changed, you needed someone like that.
    They were on top of a cliff and there was a stiff breeze. Gabs pointed out to sea. In the distance there was a tanker, grey against the horizon.
    ‘See that ship?’ she asked.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Why?’
    Zak gave her a puzzled look. ‘What do you mean? Because I’ve got eyes and it’s there. What are you talking about, Gabs?’
    ‘All right then,’ she smiled at him. ‘When you’re running about the island, do you ever see any animals apart from birds?’
    Zak thought about it. ‘No,’ he admitted.
    ‘Why not? After all, you’ve got eyes, and I can promise you they’re there.’
    ‘What are you getting at?’
    ‘Concealment, sweetie. There’ll be times when you need to hide. To camouflage yourself, either because someone’s hunting you down or because you’re observing them. You can’t do that effectively unless you know why things are seen. Walk with me and I’ll explain it to you.’
    They started strolling away from the cliff edge. ‘The first thing is shape,’ Gabs explained. ‘You knew that was a ship because you know what a ship looks like. Iknow what