Agent 21 by Chris Ryan Page A

than twenty years old.
    ‘Stop.’
    The instruction came from a man sitting in the back seat. It was a good job the windows of the Range Rover were blacked out, because if they weren’t he would have attracted a lot of attention. He was, after all, a remarkable-looking man. He was incredibly skinny, and at some point in the past he had lost his right eye. He never spoke about how it happened, but most people who met him assumed it was as a result of violence.
    Violence attracts violence, and this was a violent person.
    The skin in front of the missing eye had grown over. There was only the faintest hint of a scar, which you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know it was there. So to most people, the man in the back seat of the Range Rover looked as if he had been born with only one eye. His hair was shaved to hide the fact that it was balding, but he had a few days’ stubble on his face. And even though the air conditioning in thecar was on, he was sweating profusely. He always did.
    His name was Adan Ramirez. Behind his back, everyone called him
Calaca
– ‘skeleton’. To his face, they called him ‘Señor’.
    The Range Rover stopped and the driver looked over his shoulder at Calaca. ‘Here, Señor?’
    Calaca looked out of the tinted window. The road was no longer winding, but straight. It stretched for a good two miles in either direction and there were no vehicles approaching. He nodded at the driver.
    ‘Shall I do it, Señor?’ the driver asked.
    Calaca shook his head. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘You will wait there.’
    He opened the door and stepped outside into the brutal heat, where he instantly started sweating even more. Calaca walked round to the back of the Range Rover and opened up the boot. His lip curled when he saw what was inside.
    It was a man. His mouth was gagged, his feet bound together and his hands tied behind his back. He scrunched his eyes shut because of the sudden influx of sunlight, before slowly opening them again. When he saw who was looking at him, he started to make squealing noises. He knew Calaca’s reputation; he knew to be scared.
    Calaca ignored the noises. He grabbed the man by his hair and pulled him out of the Range Rover. Hefell with a painful thud to the dusty road. Calaca kicked him. ‘Get to the side,’ he instructed. ‘Now.’
    The man couldn’t get to his feet, so he shuffled like a worm to the edge of the road. Calaca bent down and removed the gag. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ he whispered.
    ‘P . . . p . . . please,’ the man stuttered. ‘I will do whatever you want.
Please
.’
    But Calaca shook his head. ‘It is too late for that,’ he said. ‘You stole from my employer. You know what that means, don’t you?’
    The terrified man shook his head manically. ‘It wasn’t me. You’ve made a mistake.’ Then he gave a low groan as Calaca pulled a gun from his pocket.
    ‘You will tell me the truth,’ he said.
    ‘I swear, Señor, there is nothing to tell.’
    ‘I will count to three. Tell me the truth and I might show you mercy. One . . .’
    The man shivered on the ground. ‘
Please
, Señor . . .’
    ‘Two . . .’
    ‘It’s not me you want.’
    A horrible pause.
    ‘Three.’
    Calaca cocked his handgun.
    ‘
Señor!
’ the man squealed. ‘I am sorry! Please, I beg your forgiveness. Spare me.
Please spare me
. . .’
    The one-eyed man nodded and a calm smileappeared on his thin lips. When he spoke again, he sounded almost pleased.
    ‘This,’ he announced, ‘is from Cesar Martinez Toledo. It is what happens when you betray him. You can expect your family to receive the same treatment.’
    And without another word, Calaca opened fire.

7
LOCKED AND LOADED

    It was night, and Zak had awoken suddenly. For a few seconds he was confused and, not knowing where he was, started looking for the alarm clock he kept by his bed in Acacia Drive. Then he saw Raf standing in the doorway of his room, his flat-nosed, frowning face illuminated by the