Deep Trouble

by Rob Stevens

  Archie couldn’t quite work out how he’d found himself in this situation. He was only meant to be a reserve, but now he was standing in the middle of a boxing ring facing Dougie McLeish, a snarling red-haired boy with baboon-like arms. If Malik was Evelyn Tension then there was no need for him to keep up this pretence. But Archie understood that until Malik had been confirmed as the assassin, Operation Gumshield was still very much active and he couldn’t risk blowing his cover.

  Archie jigged about a bit, removed his dressing gown, had a squirt of water and squared up to his growling pitbull of an opponent.

  His head was buzzing so loudly he didn’t hear a word the referee said. Then the bell rang and Dougie held out a glove in a sporting gesture. Archie bumped the glove with his, then bounced back on the balls of his feet.

  Springing from side to side Archie threw a couple of straight left jabs while his adversary advanced. Dougie blocked the first with his glove and ducked the second. Archie threw more punches and pranced around the ring, circling his opponent. Hunched low with his hands at head height Dougie stalked him relentlessly, watching his every move between his gloves.

  Growing in confidence, Archie started to put together more combinations of punches but they were all blocked or didn’t make contact at all. For over a minute and a half Archie danced and threw punches while Dougie paced after him, without firing any back.

  ‘Does this guy know he’s supposed to box you?’ Barney’s voice chirruped in Archie’s earpiece. ‘You must be way ahead on points.’

  ‘This guy’s not worried about the points, though,’ Gemma stated. ‘He’s looking for a stoppage.’

  ‘I just can’t penetrate his guard,’ Archie panted.

  ‘Can’t you use some of your karate?’ Barney asked.

  ‘I could flatten him with a roundhouse kick or a sweep,’ Archie puffed, firing out a left-right combination that landed harmlessly on Dougie’s forearms. ‘But I don’t think the Queensberry Rules allow for that.’

  ‘What about working his body?’ Gemma suggested. ‘Get in close and use your uppercut.’

  Archie was blowing hard now, his lungs heaving in his chest. For over two minutes he had skipped around the ring throwing punches constantly and his arms were starting to feel sluggish. Taking Gemma’s advice he stepped forward, ducking to the right as he unleashed a savage uppercut to his opponent’s stomach. Dougie dropped one arm across his body and swatted Archie’s fist away with a look of disdain.

  Archie pushed off his front foot to skip back to a safe distance but fatigue was setting in and he wasn’t moving as nimbly as he had been. Dougie, who had conserved his energy up till now, reacted to Archie’s sluggish retreat, suddenly exploding with venom and power. Launching himself forward, Dougie twisted his torso and whipped an arm over the top of Archie’s gloves, dropping his right fist on to Archie’s cheek like a bomb.

  ‘Look out!’ Gemma screamed but it was too late.

  The punch felt like a cricket ball slamming into Archie’s face. The flesh of his cheek was pummelled against his teeth and a warm salty fluid leaked into his mouth. Staggering backwards, Archie tried to protect his face but his arms were flailing feebly and no match for Dougie’s heavy artillery. The second punch came from the left, snapping Archie’s chin to the side, where it was sent back again almost immediately by another thump from the right.

  Archie was vaguely aware of the ropes pressing into his back but as the thunderous blows hammered into his head and stomach he felt strangely peaceful. His head dropped and all he could see was a blur of gloves and tangled arms and legs. Then he toppled over, crumpling into a heap as his head bounced off the canvas and the lights went out.

  The next thing Archie knew, he was sitting on a stool in the corner of the ring. His gloves were off, his arms were spread and resting on the ropes and he was slumped back on the ringpost. His vision was blurry but he could just recognise Gemma kneeling in front of him with a first-aid kit open next to her. Numerous faces crowded out the ceiling as they peered down at him. The fight, the Student Games and Operation Gumshield came flooding back. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he tried to smile but his top lip felt fat and numb. ‘What are you doing here, Vanessa Wallis?’ he mumbled, his hair flopping into his eyes.

  ‘I was worried about you, Danny Hook,’ Gemma whispered.

  ‘Thanks.’ Archie nodded. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way but considering you are only a first-aider . . . is there any chance you could make room for, like, an actual doctor to take a look at me?’

  ‘The match doctor is on his way,’ Gemma replied.

  Archie heard Barney’s voice in his earpiece. ‘How are you doing, Yankee?’

  ‘Tired,’ Archie whispered. ‘I’ve been flat out.’

  ‘At least you took it on the chin. Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘Oh yeah. After two minutes in the ring I was hooked.’

  Barney chuckled. ‘You were a knockout.’

  Just then the blur of concerned faces parted and the tall, fat match doctor knelt down and started prodding Archie with his cold sausagey fingers. After a few minutes of gentle requests and affirmative uh-huhs, while shining lights into every hole in Archie’s head, Dr Thomas pronounced his verdict.

  ‘Well, young man, I don’t think you’re concussed but it certainly looks like you’ve sustained a number of forceful blows to your head.’

  ‘D’you think?’ Archie asked sardonically.

  The doctor prescribed aspirin and rest, and Archie felt a strong grip underneath one arm as he was levered to his feet. ‘Come on, sunshine.’

  Archie could just make out Ivan’s featureless profile as he helped him back to the changing rooms and sat him on a bench.

  ‘You just sit here and keep sipping,’ said Ivan, handing Archie a bottle of water. ‘The doctor will come back in about half an hour to check you over.’

  As Ivan’s fuzzy form receded towards the door Archie fumbled in his rucksack for his spectacles and slid them on. Toby Winchester was no longer warming up in the locker room and Archie assumed he must have gone into the arena to complete his preparations ringside. Archie’s head was pounding as he leaned it gently against the wall behind him. I’m not sure I could possibly feel any worse right now, he thought.

  Then a voice in his earpiece proved him wrong.

  ‘Attention, all units,’ Hugh Figo ordered. ‘Pravin Malik is clean. I say again, Malik is clean. Tension is still at large. Maintain positions and stay alert. Skywalker is due in the ring in ten.’

  Archie felt strangely embarrassed that his suspicions about Malik had proved misguided. He’d thought he’d cracked the case but actually he’d simply diverted the Secret Service’s attention away from the real villain – wherever she was hiding. A sense of abject despair sunk through him and he closed his eyes as if to shut himself away from his failings.

  No more than a couple of minutes passed before he heard the changing-room door swing open and his head snapped upright instinctively. Although not completely sharp, his vision was already much clearer and he smiled when he saw Gemma enter.

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised,’ Archie smiled. ‘What’s up?’

  Gemma shrugged. ‘Just doing a routine sweep. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’d feel a lot better if I hadn’t screwed up.’

  Gemma nodded. ‘Don’t feel bad. Your hunch was worth a shot. She’s close – I can feel it. If we don’t find her soon she’ll slip away faster than you can say “Speedboat down the Thames”.’

  As Archie started to nod, a sharp pain shot down his neck and he grimaced.

  ‘You need to close your eyes for a while,’ Gemma suggested. ‘I’ll call you if anything comes up.’

  Archie leaned his head back and allowed his eyelids to shut. He heard the changing-room door swing open, then close. Then it was quiet.

  He had no idea how long he’d been asleep when he was disturbed by someone bursting into t
he locker room. He opened his eyes to see Pravin Malik stride past him.

  All right?’ Archie slurred.

  ‘Not really, man.’ Malik laughed. ‘But on balance I’m better than you though. What happened? You look like you were hit by a truck.’

  Archie nodded. ‘A truck called Dougie McLeish.’

  ‘Ah well, no shame there. He’s brutal, man.’

  ‘You don’t say.’ Archie smiled. ‘Anyway aren’t you supposed to be boxing?’

  ‘They agreed a ten-minute delay – sort of.’ Malik sounded agitated. ‘My whole routine’s out of whack though. I got arrested by some guys from MI5 or 6 or whatever. They cuffed me and asked me all these questions, took my prints and samples of skin and everything.’

  ‘No way!’ Archie immediately thought he’d overdone his surprise but Malik was too het up to notice.

  ‘Anyway they let me go but I’ve got no time to warm up. I’ve just got to grab my gloves from my locker and go.’

  ‘Well, good luck.’ Archie held up a fist. ‘Let him have it.’

  Closing his eyes and leaning his head back again, Archie listened to Pravin Malik’s footsteps recede to the rear of the changing room. The sole of his boxing shoes squeaked on the shiny floor as he turned the corner at the end of the passage and took four more steps before stopping. Archie heard the clunk of the key turning the deadlock, and then the rattling sound of Malik struggling to open his locker. Finally came the metallic twang of the door popping open.

  ‘Hey!’ Malik yelped.

  A dull clanging noise echoed round the changing room for a few seconds, as if someone was beating sheet metal with their hand. Then silence.

  Archie sat upright, eyes darting about as he strained his ears for any clues about what was happening.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he enquired.

  There was no answer.

  ‘Pravin?’ he called, a slight tremor in his voice. ‘Are you all right?’

  Again there was no reply.

  Archie jumped to his feet, trying to ignore the pounding in his head, and crept along the corridor of lockers towards the back of the room. As he neared the T-junction at the end he could hear an indistinct sound from round the corner, like someone shuffling about.

  It’s almost like a body being dragged along the floor, he thought chillingly.

  Whatever grisly fate had befallen Pravin Malik outside his locker, Archie would have to face it. Feeling a giddying mix of total terror and a powerful sense of duty, he raised his hands in preparation for battle.

  OK, he thought resolutely. Whoever you are, you’ve picked the wrong guy to mess with today.

  With that emotion swelling his chest Archie leaped from his hiding place, adopting the wide-legged crouch and open-palmed stance of a deadly ninja. Then he froze as he came face to face with the person lurking outside Malik’s locker.

  Pravin Malik was dressed for the ring in his white silk dressing gown and blue boxing gloves. Slightly stooped, with his hands raised, he was warming up for his match by throwing some gentle punches at an imaginary opponent. He was wearing a pair of white headphones, which explained why he hadn’t responded to Archie’s calls.

  As he skipped forward his back foot scuffed the floor, making the shuffling sound Archie had identified as a body being dragged along. Seeing Archie poised for action, Malik dropped his hands and smiled.

  ‘Who do you think you are?’ he said, taking his headphones out of his ears. ‘Jackie Chan?’

  Blushing, Archie relaxed his stance. ‘I heard you shout “Hey”’ He shrugged. ‘I thought maybe you were in trouble.’

  Malik laughed. ‘Oh yeah. I thought someone had nicked my gloves but they were under a load of other stuff. I get worked-up, man, what can I say?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I totally get that,’ Archie insisted. ‘I’m totally wired before I box. Like, totally.’ He smiled weakly, hoping he’d sounded convincing.

  ‘OK.’ Malik smiled uncertainly. ‘Listen, I’ve got to get out there and fight but you take it easy, man.’

  Archie nodded and held out a fist.

  Malik reached out an arm, gently bumping his glove against Archie’s knuckles. As he did so, something caught Archie’s eye. It was only for a fraction of a second but it was enough to freeze the blood in his veins.

  ‘You OK, man?’ Malik asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  Quickly Archie shook his head and smiled. ‘Just feeling a bit dizzy, that’s all.’

  ‘You need to kick back, man,’ Malik suggested, heading towards the door. ‘I’ll be back in five – after I’ve murdered Toby Winchester.’

  As Archie watched the boy’s shoulders rolling away from him he felt a torrent of panic rising inside him. Had he really seen what he thought he’d seen? Or had his blurry vision been playing tricks on him? Closing his eyes he pictured Pravin Malik’s fist bumping his and what he saw left him in no doubt.

  As Malik’s arm had extended towards him, about four inches of the skin on his forearm had been exposed – between his glove and the sleeve of his dressing gown. His skin had been smooth where it protruded from the cuf, but where it met the glove it had been wrinkled, as though it had ridden up somehow. Like a tight-fitting sleeve that had been pushed back, the skin hadn’t covered all of Malik’s wrist. And Archie was sure that the inch in between had been made of metal, entwined with wires and circuitry. It seemed almost too bizarre to comprehend but there was only one conclusion to be drawn: Pravin Malik had a mechanical arm.

  As Archie hurried towards the arena, Malik’s final words echoed hauntingly in his head.

  I’ll be back in five – after I’ve murdered Toby Winchester.

  An incredible roar erupted from the crowd as Archie entered the arena through the south entrance.

  ‘What’s the fuss about?’ he demanded, touching his earpiece.

  ‘Darth Vader is in the building,’ Gemma replied.

  ‘What? Right now?’ Archie’s voice was taut with anxiety. The Prime Minister had arrived and Pravin Malik was on the loose. And this time Archie was sure Malik was an impostor.

  ‘That’s affirmative,’ Barney chipped in. ‘The kingfisher has dropped in to watch his lion cub, er . . . boxing.’

  ‘What’s his location?’ Archie asked, scanning the banked seating.

  ‘North-east entrance,’ Gemma replied. ‘He’s with four PPOs and there’s about fifty undercover operatives in his seating block.’

  Beyond the martial-arts areas and between the boxing rings Archie saw a slim figure in a navy suit and green tie acknowledging the crowd with a regal wave as he took his seat in the front row. Shortening his focus, Archie saw Malik’s rolling gait approaching the boxing ring, where Toby Winchester was already running through his final pre-match warm-up.

  Archie strode out briskly and touched his earpiece. ‘All units, this is Agent Yankee,’ he announced. ‘This is a Priority One. I have a positive ID on the suspect who is approaching Vader and Skywalker and must be intercepted without delay.’

  ‘Yankee, this is Figo.’ Archie felt relieved that Hugh Figo was listening. On his command Pravin Malik would be crushed by a mountain of Special Forces soldiers. ‘Can you identify the suspect and describe the nature of the threat?’

  ‘The suspect is . . .’ Archie paused, realising his credibility was about to crumble beneath him. ‘The suspect is Pravin Malik?’ he said, unable to keep the question mark out of his voice.

  ‘Is this some sort of joke, Yankee?’ Figo’s voice blared. ‘Malik has already been detained and questioned. He is clean.’

  Archie stepped up his pace as Malik neared the boxing ring. ‘But that’s not the real Malik. It’s an impostor. He has a mechanical arm, sir,’ he protested, recoiling inwardly at how ridiculous his claim sounded.

  ‘I can assure you, Yankee, that Malik was given a thorough physical examination and was found to be in possession of precisely no mechanical arms.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts, agent Yankee,’ Figo
roared. ‘If you have some personal vendetta against Pravin Malik, then I suggest you slug it out with him like a man.’

  As Pravin Malik came within yards of the boxing ring Archie broke into a jog. ‘Sir, this is a matter of life and death. You have to stop—’

  ‘How dare you tell me how to run my operation, you impertinent child,’ Figo’s voice quavered with simmering rage. ‘I have over a hundred real agents positioned around the venue who are all highly trained field personnel but you expect me to focus my attention on your schoolboy fantasy about some bionic man?’

  ‘It’s not a fantasy, sir—’

  ‘That was a rhetorical question!’ Figo exploded. ‘You are obviously still dazed from the thrashing you took in the ring and incapable of rational thought. You are hereby removed from this operation . . . and suspended from duty immediately.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Stand down, Agent Yankee! That is an order.’

  Hugh Figo’s reaction took the wind out of Archie’s sails and he stopped for a moment, feeling strangely alone amidst thousands of cheering people. He glanced across to see Gemma kneeling ringside and looking sadly over at him. In the press enclosure Barney lowered his camera and shook his head sympathetically.

  That’s it, Archie thought. There’s nothing more I can do.

  But as he watched Pravin Malik being reminded about his timekeeping by the ringside judge Archie felt a spark of resolve in his belly. He had to trust his instincts.

  Like a sprinter bursting out of his blocks Archie broke into a run, pumping his fists furiously as he pelted across the crash mats. He weaved between two judges and hurdled a pile of sports bags. Pravin Malik was just fifteen metres away and Archie had a clear path ahead of him. Nothing could stop him now, he thought, as Malik turned to climb into the ring.

  ‘Tango Six has contact with a young male approaching Darth Vader and Skywalker.’

  In his adrenalin-charged euphoria Archie thought the transmission from an anonymous undercover agent referred to Malik.

  ‘Take him down.’

  ‘Copy that.’

  Yes! Archie thought, as he hurtled towards the ring. Take him down now!