Agent of the State Read Online Free

regarded himself as a Special Branch officer, although he wasn’t allowed to use the term any more. These days, it was all policing by numbers. His élite unit now lay buried in a flow chart.
    The younger and shorter of the cops took a step forward. His face was raw with acne scars and the oversized helmet sat low on his head, emphasising his squatness. He looked unimpressed as he bent down to check Kerr out. ‘Guv’nor says no one’s to come through.’ There was a white flash of spearmint and Kerr felt a speck of saliva against his cheek. He could see the tape of the inner cordon thirty metres ahead and, just beyond it on the left side of the street, the school. He peered through the windscreen at a sniper on the roof opposite. ‘I need to speak with the negotiators right now.’
    ‘Sure you do.’ The cop stood upright and started chewing again, back in his comfort zone. A clipboard had appeared and he made a show of reading it. ‘But you’re not cleared.’ The boy tried to stare Kerr down but stepped back with a snapped tape curling round his boots as the Alfa leapt forward. ‘Oi!’ he called after Kerr.
    Kerr parked on the nearside of the school, out of sight of the stronghold. He spotted a pair of snipers behind the garden walls across the street.
    The primary school was a peeling mid-sixties block with large square windows and a flat roof. Kerr stepped out of the car and held up his ID to the snipers. He looked unofficial in his green-flecked jacket and grey trousers, but Dodge was wearing his suit, so he gestured to him to lead the way. At the school gate a PC was wielding another clipboard, but he was young and Dodge’s fat swagger conveyed seniority.
    The radio crackled with a message from the man on the outer cordon as Dodge introduced himself on the move, shovelling grit into his Belfast accent. ‘Negotiators are expecting us,’ he growled. Senior, experienced and battle-hardened. The PC pointed out the room as they slid past.
    The negotiating cell was in the head teacher’s office. Directions were unnecessary, as they had already taped their sign on the door. Dodge hung around outside to deter intruders and give Kerr time. Negotiators operate in pairs: one to negotiate, the other to signal ideas or reminders. Kerr eased the door open. He entered silently to find two detectives in shirtsleeves and headphones sitting at the cramped desk. They were hunched over the phone, which lay dead in the middle, as if their combined will might bring it back to life.
    He didn’t recognise either of them, which was good. ‘John Kerr, Anti-corruption Unit,’ he lied, offering his hand before they could react. He was expecting the secret Masonic handshake and they did not disappoint. ‘Just checking if you need any more from us.’
    Number One slanted his headphones and pointed to the whiteboard in the corner, used to record threats, demands and deadlines. Trendy waterproof coat slung over the back of his chair, he had gone for the tieless look, with the top buttons of his red check shirt undone and the sleeves tightly rolled to display tanned biceps. Pinned to the wall beside the board was a rough drawing of the stronghold: kitchen, bathroom, front room and bedroom. Communal front door, then a lobby with doors to the two flats. The one to the left led up the staircase, the other into the stronghold. No sign of any rear access. ‘Not unless you can add anything to that.’
    Top left on the white board were Europol mugshots and identities of the two perpetrators with their religion, Muslim, and a scrawled felt-tip summary of the convictions acquired in their rampage through Europe. Two were for armed robbery. Both were flagged as extremely violent, but it was the word ‘RAPE’ that screamed out at Kerr. Under ‘hostage’, where Melanie’s cover name should have been, they had simply scribbled ‘FEMALE’ followed by a question-mark. He needed answers quickly, but his voice was casual as he asked,