Shoot to Win Read Online Free PDF

make an excellent federal agent, Ollie – you’ve certainly got the self-confidence – but you know you’d need top marks in all your exams to be accepted into the intelligence services. . .”
    Jamie drew a football on his book. Then he started to sketch in the mouse’s eyes and ears.
    â€œ. . .about you, Jamie?”
    Jamie looked up blankly. He hadn’t been listening.
    â€œI asked you what career you’re interested in, Jamie.”
    Jamie should have just said doctor or dentist but, before he’d allowed himself a second to think about it, he’d already blurted it out: “Footballer, miss. I’m going to be a footballer.”
    The class started laughing again and Claunt marched over to Jamie.
    â€œShow me your exercise book,” she demanded.
    â€œWhy, miss? I—”
    â€œLet me see it!”
    Jamie handed it over.
    â€œNot that side! The other side! The one you’ve been scribbling over all lesson. . . And what’s this?” she shouted, holding the book up so the whole class could see Jamie’s step-over sketches.
    â€œIt’s a . . . football skill, miss . . . I just had it in my head . . . I was still listen—”
    â€œRight – that’s it!” said Claunt. “I’m not having people sitting here drawing cartoons in my lesson. I’ve had enough. Get out!”
    â€œAh, sorry, miss,” said Jamie. “But it’s the truth! I am going to be a footballer!”
    Again the class started laughing, which only made Claunt angrier. Now there was no way she was going to accept his apology.
    â€œI don’t care what you think you’re going to be!” she screamed. “You can tell the head teacher when you explain to him why you’ve been sent out! Now get out!”

 
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    Ian Reacher was in an empty cafe. He had just got back into town. He had been away for a long time, but now there was a reason to come back. He put down his coffee and stared hard at his newspaper. He couldn’t take his eyes off that boy’s face in the team photo at the end of the line; the one that was so familiar to him.
    He read the story again:
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    He looked at the boy’s fair, reddish hair. His face was older now than the last time he had seen it. The boy was beginning to turn into a man.
    But when he stared into the boy’s eyes, he recognized the same brooding ambition that had always been there.
    Yes, he was sure he was looking at his son’s eyes.
    They were Jamie Johnson’s eyes.

 
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    It was 4.30 by the time Jamie eventually got out of school. Mr Patten, the head teacher, had given Jamie the worst punishment for being sent out; he’d had to clean the floor of the boys’ toilets.
    It was disgusting: none of the boys lifted up the toilet lid when they did a wee. They seemed to spray all over the floor. It was sticky and smelly with yellow stains everywhere.
    What had made it even worse was that Hansard had walked past just as Jamie was scrubbing the floor. “You’ve missed a bit, Johnson,” he said, almost gleefully.
    Jamie felt like chucking the stinking cleaning rag right at Hansard’s face but, for the sake of his Cup Final place, he didn’t.
    When Jamie had told Jack about his punishment and that he’d be late out of school, she’d laughed. “Don’t worry,” she’d said. “I’ll wait for you – as long as you promise not to touch me until you’ve had a shower!”
    Now as he walked to meet Jack at the top gate, Jamie’s mind turned to the weekend. He was looking forward to relaxing outside with her. It was going to be hot – they could go to the park and have a kickaround . . . or whatever.
    But as Jamie got closer to their meeting point, he was met by a sight that made him feel physically sick. Jack was there as she’d said she would be – that wasn’t the problem. The problem was she