Endgame (Agent 21) by Chris Ryan Read Free Book Online Page B

then, his food and tea arrived. As the guy serving him walked away, he saw the three young men nod imperceptibly at each other. They stood up. And as Ricky cut into his sausage, they walked over to where the mum and her child were sitting. One of them started making a real fuss of the kid. The little boy cooed delightedly at him. Another loitered a metre or so away, while the third engaged the mum in conversation.
    ‘He’s very cute,’ the guy said in a pronounced London accent. ‘What’s his name?’
    Ricky ate, but his eyes were firmly on the woman’s purse.
    ‘Andrew,’ said the woman.
    ‘Hey, that’s
my
name!’ said the young man. He turned to the baby. ‘All the best people are called Andrew,’ he said.
    Ricky had to admit grudgingly that it was a good take. Just as the woman looked proudly at her cooing baby, the guy deftly took the purse. He immediately passed it on to the guy loitering by the door, who slipped it into the right-hand pocket of his coat. Then he straightened, making ready to leave.
    Ricky stood up.
    – Mate, stay out of it. It’s nothing to do with you.
    – Trust me. I can deal with these jokers.
    – Ricky, what is it with you and cafés? You’re on holiday, remember?
    But Ricky was already stepping towards the door. ‘Excuse me, mate,’ he said to the guy who had the purse.
    The pickpocket’s expression changed. His eyes looked wary, and as Ricky stood right in front of him, he could feel the guy’s muscles tensing up. Flight or fight.
    ‘What?’ The guy raised his arms, palms outwards, as if to say:
I didn’t do anything.
    ‘You left your newspaper at your table. Mind if I take it?’ As Ricky spoke, he looked over the pickpocket’s left shoulder, knowing full well that the guy would follow his gaze. It gave him the fraction of a second he needed. Ricky slipped one hand into the guy’s pocket and retrieved the woman’s purse.
    ‘Whatever.’ The guy shrugged.
    Ricky smiled at him. ‘Thanks very much, mate,’ he said brightly. He pushed past the others and retrieved one of the newspapers. By the time he was walking back past the woman’s table, the three guys were outside, striding hurriedly away. Ricky bent down and pretended to pick up the purse. ‘I think this fell off your table,’ he said, and he handed it to the woman. She looked a bit flustered, but grateful.
    – Very flash.
    – Thanks. I thought so.
    – Any chance you could stop looking quite so smug? It’ll put the other diners off their food.
    Ricky took his seat again and started wolfing down his breakfast. As he ate, he saw the three guys on the other side of the street. Two of them had turned on the third – the one they expected to have the purse – and were shoving him in the chest. Looked like he was in for a bad morning.
    Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy
, Ricky thought.
    When he’d finished, he folded up his newspaper, shoved it under his arm and wandered up to the counter to pay. Then he made to leave the café. Just as he was stepping outside, however, he froze. The three guys were no longer on the other side of the street. They had crossed over, were standing just a few metres from the entrance to the café, and they seemed to have made up their differences.
    They also seemed to have worked out what had just happened.
    Not good news for Ricky. He’d just broken the first law of the street: don’t mess with someone else’s job.
    Ricky gave them his most winning smile. ‘All right, lads?’ he said, holding their gaze so that they didn’t notice how he was tightly rolling up his newspaper.
    ‘What’s your game?’ the guy on the left said.
    All three of them stepped a little closer to Ricky.
    Ricky thought about Felix. His handler was always telling him to be careful how he used his recently acquired skills. That if he found himself getting into street fights, he was turning back into the boy he once was.
    But Felix wasn’t here now, surrounded by three pickpocketing thugs who wanted