No Hero by Jonathan Wood Read Free Book Online Page A

and too big and too frightening.
    But part of me is thinking that it’s also kind of cool.
    I really need to not watch quite so many movies.
    “Look, Detective,” Shaw says as I dither. “Arthur. You’re not the first person to take an interest in Kayla’s work. But you are the first to track her down. That makes you interesting. I’ve reviewed your police record, and it’s exemplary. That makes you very interesting. And I’ve watched you today, as you absorbed what I’ve had to tell you. I want you on my team. I need you on my team. Kayla cannot defend Ophelia. I don’t know why, but that doesn’t make it less true.”
    Beside Shaw, Kayla shifts, a pent-up anger in her limbs, a desire to dismiss Shaw’s statement but an inability to do so.
    “But what Kayla can’t do,” Shaw continues, “I think you can. And I think, after all you’ve seen, you want to do it.”
    I look away for a moment, back at the door, away from the pool. It would be so much easier to walk away. In the long run. Bollocks, in the short run. Just so much easier.
    I look back at the pool. At the two girls looking at me, both smiling softly. And what I have to do is obvious really. Terrifying and exciting and obvious.
    “I’m in,” I say.
    Shaw smiles. Kayla looks away.
    “Excellent,” says Shaw. “Welcome to the team.”

6
    And that’s it. I really am in. I’m a government agent. A member of a clandestine organization. No longer Detective Wallace, but Agent Wallace. Agent bloody Wallace. My mum would be so proud.
    Well... if I could tell her she would be proud.
    Well... actually, she’d probably be more impressed if I demonstrated competence at ironing. But...
    Bollocks to it. This is exciting. Even if I do have to work with a terrifyingly psychotic woman who seems more likely to stab me than to actually support me in my attempt to... Jesus... to save her kids.
    Jesus.
    I’m actually pleased with how together I think I managed to seem at MI37’s headquarters considering how freaked I was, and I was planning to freak out significantly more at home but Shaw has given me two little off-white pills saying they’d help with healing, and five minutes after I take them everything goes fuzzy and it’s sort of fun to say, “Agent Wallace, Agent Wallace, Agent Wallace,” over and over in my head, and then the curtains seem to come down rather hard and—
THIRTY-SIX HOURS LATER
    A knock on the door wakes me. I manage to unglue my face from the couch cushion I’ve been drooling on and stagger to my door to find the bloke in fatigues from outside the book room standing there. He’s left his machine gun behind, though, and he’s nice enough to let me shower and collect my somewhat scattered thoughts. I’m toweling off before I realize that I can breathe again, that I’ve only got a tiny scar on my chest instead of a great bloody sword-inflicted wound. I am healthy and whole.
    Honestly, I think Shaw should give up the MI37 thing and take over National Health.
    Anyway, then it’s off through the tortuous streets of Oxford in a miniature Fiat, through three hundred different security locks, and I finally end up in empty corridors deep underground being marched to my first briefing. It’s bloody brilliant.
    “We don’t feckin’ need him.”
    Kayla’s Scottish brogue is sharp enough to puncture my good mood. I hear her speaking around a corner, out of sight. I put my hand on my chaperone’s shoulder. I don’t particularly want to hear this, but I’d rather not confront Kayla before my first big meeting. Urine stains tend to make bad impressions.
    “It’s not your decision, Kayla.” Shaw’s tone is placatory but firm.
    “They’re my girls.”
    “We all want the best for them.”
    “And he’s the best?”
    Ouch. But the problem is that, somewhere in the back of my head, there is a gnawing fear that Shaw is clearly two sandwiches shy of a picnic if she thinks I can help her out in any way at all.
    “He’s the best I can