Agent 21 Read Online Free PDF Page B

sound for a second time he realized it had a different quality. He also realized it was getting closer to his bedroom.
    Zak sat up and threw the duvet off. His breath was suddenly heavy and his pulse was racing. When he saw his door open, he shivered and couldn’t tell whether it was fear or excitement. A bit of both, probably . . .
    A figure entered and quietly closed the door behind him. The only light in the room came from the glow of the alarm clock, so Zak couldn’t make the intruder out very well – all he could tell was that he was tall, wore dark clothing and had a balaclava over his head.
    ‘Turn off the clock.’ The man’s voice was so quiet, it was little more than a breath.
    ‘Why?’ Zak asked.
    ‘You need your night vision. The clock compromises it. Turn it off and don’t ask any more questions.’
    Zak flicked a switch on the alarm clock. Darkness filled the room.
    He heard the man’s voice again. ‘Take your pyjamas.’
    Zak wanted to ask why, but didn’t dare. He removed the pyjamas from under his pillow and then, almost as an afterthought, groped in the darkness for the picture of his mum and dad. ‘Leave it,’ the man breathed.
    ‘No way,’ Zak said. ‘I’m—’
    He didn’t finish the sentence. The man stepped forward, grabbed his hand and forced him to return the picture to the bedside table. ‘Let’s go,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t make a sound.’
    Zak’s eyes were growing used to the darkness now, but as they trod lightly out of the bedroom, he saw that the bathroom door was open and a street lamp from outside gave them some light to work with. They crept downstairs. And at the bottom of the stairs, Zak stopped.
    Even in the darkness he could see that the place was in chaos. The hallway was home to a chest of drawers that contained hats, scarves and other outdoor gear. Only now it didn’t, because its contents were scattered over the floor, as if someone had been rummaging through them, looking for something.
    ‘Come on,’ breathed the man, and he headed down the hallway to the front door. As Zak followed him, heglanced into the front room. The coffee table was upside down; the TV was missing; the whole place had been ransacked.
    The door was open and the man was gesturing at him. Zak, still clutching his pyjamas, followed him out into the early morning air. The intruder closed the door so quietly that Zak didn’t even hear it click. Only now did he remove his balaclava. He was probably in his late twenties and had a square face with thick blond hair. His nose was flattened and his forehead was set in a permanent frown. He nodded at Zak without smiling, then swiftly turned and walked down the street.
    Zak followed. They didn’t have far to go. The man stopped by a vehicle parked about twenty metres away – a white van with misted rear windows and a sign on the side with a phone number and the words ‘Emergency Plumbing Service – 24 hour call-out’.
    ‘I thought people like you were supposed to drive Aston Martins,’ Zak said. He tried to sound confident, but his voice trembled slightly.
    ‘People like me,’ replied the man, ‘drive whatever makes them anonymous. Aston Martins don’t do that.’ He opened the rear doors and Zak saw the family TV lying on its back, along with the DVD player and various other items he couldn’t quite make out.
    ‘You did all that just now?’
    ‘Get inside.’
    ‘I didn’t hear you break in.’
    ‘I’m quiet. Get inside.’
    Zak had a moment of doubt. He looked over his shoulder back at the house he had just left. The street lamp outside it flickered slightly; 63 Acacia Drive was bathed in its yellow glow. Zak had no fondness for that house, but now it was time to leave, a part of him wanted to run back inside to the familiar flowery wallpaper. Back to his ordinary life. To get into this van was to take a step into the unknown . . .
    ‘Why have I brought my pyjamas?’ he asked suddenly. Nervously.
    The man didn’t explain. He