Survival (6 page)

“Nobody in Britain would see it!” Jimmy shouted,
desperate to be heard. “You know that. They control
what’s on TV and what British people can find on the
Internet. All that would happen is…” Jimmy found it
harder to form his words. “My family. They’re being
watched by NJ7. I told you. My mum. My sister. Felix
too. As soon as they know I’m alive, they’ll…”

“Ah,” Stovorsky sighed, deliberately over-the-top.
“Now we hear the real problem. You want to save the
world, but you don’t want anybody to hurt your precious
family.” Stovorsky injected every word with scorn and
each syllable wrenched Jimmy’s gut. He needed help,
not ridicule. Stovorsky went on before Jimmy knew what
to say. “Would you rather see two countries at war?”

“Than what? Than know I put my family in danger?”

“Pretty selfish, aren’t you?”

Jimmy felt sick. Uno was twisting his words, making
them sound worthless. Then his sickness shifted to
despair. He felt his face creasing into a deep frown.

“And you came to see me,” Stovorsky said quietly,
“because you thought I could get your family to safety.
Is that right?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Can you do it?” he asked meekly.

“What makes you think I even know where they are?”

Suddenly Jimmy’s meekness exploded into anger.
“You can find them, can’t you?” he yelled.

“I can try to help you, Jimmy,” said Stovorsky softly,
coming closer. He slowly opened his fist and
unscrunched the front page of the newspaper. He
flattened it firmly on the bed to push out some of the
creases in the picture of Mutam-ul-it.

“But I came here,” he whispered, “because I need
you to help me.”

“Mutam-ul-it,” Stovorsky announced, swivelling his
laptop round to face Jimmy and pushing it across the
table. “On the coast of Western Sahara. It’s the largest
uranium mine in the world.”

Jimmy ignored the laptop to concentrate on his
burger. He demolished it in seconds and leaned back in
his chair, satisfied for the first time in ages. They’d driven
out to a nearby service station for something to eat.

It had been dark for ages, but Jimmy had lost track
of the time. All he knew was that until a few seconds
ago he’d been starving. The only people around now
were the attendants at the food outlets and a cleaner,
winding through the plastic landscape with his mop.

“It’s always been under French control,” Stovorsky
explained, pushing the laptop closer to get Jimmy to
look at it. “Until now. We think the British meant for it
to remain operable so they could go in and take over.
But they messed up.”

“They wanted the uranium?” Jimmy clicked through
dozens of windows as they talked, soaking up images,
charts, maps and diagrams. In seconds he was familiar
with the layout of the mine, its position on the coast, the
buildings in the dock it was attached to. Then there was
the street map of the nearest town, Tlon, 12 kilometres
up the coast to the north.

All the information distracted from the pain in his
hands and feet. His fingers were a greyish yellow, but
some of the feeling had returned. At least that meant
he could control them well enough to eat a burger and
use a laptop.

“No,” Stovorsky replied. “Actinium. Within the
uranium ore, in minuscule amounts, is 90 per cent of
the Earth’s actinium.”

Jimmy had never heard of it. He tried to think back
– had he heard about actinium at school? He’d never
paid much attention in science.
“I’ve missed a few chemistry lessons,” he said. “This
‘actinium’ – it’s valuable? Dangerous? What?”
“Both,” said Stovorsky. “It’s highly radioactive and
incredibly rare. All of the naturally occurring actinium in
the world would make a lump not much bigger than your
burger was. Without this mine, the French Government
would have to manufacture it using neutron irradiation.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like making a cake, but with more lasers.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Well, how do I know what it is?” Stovorsky shrugged
and looked away. “But apparently it would cost billions.”

“Billions?”

“Put it this way,” said Stovorsky. “I’d give you twenty
oil rigs for a handful of actinium.”

Jimmy examined the man to make sure he was being
serious. Stovorsky looked like he had never told a joke
in his life.

“What’s this actinium stuff for then?” Jimmy asked.

“Does it matter?” Stovorsky snapped back. “Trust
me,” he insisted, leaning forwards. “If it were just the
uranium, Mutam-ul-it would hardly be worth fighting for.”

Jimmy hesitated.
Never trust a man who says “trust
me
”. “So send in the army,” he declared. “You don’t
need me.” He pushed himself up from the table and
turned away, heading for the exit. He didn’t know where
he was going, but he didn’t care.

“Wait,” Stovorsky called out.

Jimmy spun round. “If this actinium means so much
to the Government,” he whispered furiously, “send the
army to storm the mine. Post one unit at Tlon, another
to the south and—”

“The army can’t go near it.”

“You’re lying.”

“The blasts from the British missiles have ionised the
uranium and the actinium – maybe. We don’t know. If it
has it’s highly unstable and nobody can go near it until
it’s properly insulated.”

“It’s not properly insulated anyway?”

“Not the uranium. It’s not that dangerous under
normal conditions, so they store it in aluminium. They
never thought anybody would be stupid enough to do
anything to destabilise it. Now if it has been ionised, any
human going into the mine will get a massive dose of
radiation poisoning. So we need you—” Stovorsky
stopped himself suddenly.

Jimmy’s face was white.

“Because I’m not… human?” His voice came out as
a raw hiss. His words echoed round the food court and
seemed to linger long after they should have died.
Jimmy wiped his face and stared down at the plastic
table-top. “How do you know it’s safe for me if it isn’t
safe for a… for the army.”

“We know all about you, remember? We’ve
studied…” Stovorsky dropped his voice and shifted in his
seat. “We’ve studied Zafi and she’s also… like you.”

Jimmy didn’t know how to respond. Stovorsky’s
words were hardly going in. He rocked forwards and
had to support himself with a hand on the table. “Why
not send Zafi?” he asked.

“Doesn’t it make sense for her to stay in Britain and
extract your family while you carry out the mission?”

“Zafi’s in Britain?”

Stovorsky gave a small nod. “I meant what I
promised, Jimmy,” he said softly. “If you do this for
me, in return I’ll get your mother, your sister and Felix
out to a safehouse. All you have to do,” he went on,
“is this: go into the mine, take some readings from the
computers to assess the state of the radioactive
material in the mine. That’s the uranium and the
actinium. Communicate that information to me. If the
area is unstable I’ll have a clean-up team talk you
through the containment process, then come in to
take the actinium away and get the mine working
again. I need you to do this, Jimmy.”

Stovorsky sounded more agitated now. “The British
are still waiting off the coast in their destroyer.
A
destroyer
, Jimmy.”

He emphasised the word, but Jimmy stood
motionless, his face blank. His mind was tearing itself
apart.
I am human
, he wanted to scream. But his
programming wouldn’t let him. It was rolling through
every sinew:
38 per cent
, it seemed to whisper.
Only
38 per cent human
.

“They call them destroyers for a reason,” Stovorsky
continued. “Not just ‘big ships’. When the Brits work
out there’s no way of them taking over the mine, they’ll
destroy it.” He clasped his head in frustration and let
out a grunt. “It’s so simple!” he cried. “I could train a
monkey to do it if I had time.”

“But instead of a monkey,” Jimmy murmured, “you
found me.” He felt like a black wave was overpowering
his senses. He fought his way back to the surface. “So
this is the way it works,” he muttered.

“What’s that?”

“You lie to me to get me to go on some mission that
has nothing to do with me except that you think I’m the
only person who can do it.”

For a moment Stovorsky was taken aback. “You’ve
changed,” he said.

“I used to be easier to fool.” Jimmy was barely
holding back his temper. “I told you I need to get back
to Britain and you want to send me to Africa.”

He saw a smile creep on to Stovorsky’s face. It
creased up the man’s cheeks and made his eyes as
small as pinholes. “You’re better at geography than
you are at chemistry,” he announced. “I don’t blame
you for not trusting me.”

“Why?” Jimmy barked. “Because you’re lying?”

“No.” Stovorsky’s smile vanished. “Because I have no
reason to tell you the truth.”

Jimmy was thrown. His wanted to trust the man, but
he remembered how wrong he’d been about Colonel
Keays. Was Stovorsky any different? He certainly
seemed more desperate for help.

Forget what you think
, Jimmy told himself. Instead he
closed his eyes and delved for guidance from inside. At
first all he could feel was his burger.

I don’t have to do this
, he thought.
Walk away. Stay dead
.
He felt a kick through all of his muscles. His programming
was blaring out a warning, like a buzzer in his ears.
I
can’t trust him
, Jimmy thought, forcing away the noise.

That second the fear for his family connected with
that massive drive inside him – the urge for control. He
knew that if he wanted his family out of reach of NJ7,
the best way to do it was to exploit the DGSE resources
at Stovorsky’s disposal. Then he could do whatever he
wanted – disappear, return to Britain to try to prevent
the war…
or destroy NJ7
. Jimmy shuddered violently.
Where had that thought come from?

He made a decision.
It doesn’t matter
if he’s lying.
Let him think he’s using you. Use him
.

His eyes burst open. He stared at Stovorsky.
Suddenly the bright lights of the service station seemed
to pierce Jimmy’s skin and ignite his veins. He sat down
and his hands grabbed for the laptop. He pulled it close
to disguise the fact that he was trembling. Still, his brain
was throbbing. Words screamed through his head:
no
more mistakes
. They came with a fizz that thrilled every
part of him. If it was safer not to trust Stovorsky, he
wouldn’t.
My rules this time
, he thought.
My mission
.

When he looked up Stovorsky was grinning. “Thank
you, Jimmy.” Jimmy ignored him. “We’re on the same
side now,” Stovorsky went on. “So don’t worry. I’m
going to help you.”

“I know,” Jimmy replied. Because
I’m going to force
you to
.

Jimmy held himself stiff in the back of the off-roader.
To the right was the ocean, while to the left was the
desert. It was as if each one was trying to stretch out
further than the other. But Jimmy didn’t feel like taking
in the scenery.

He breathed deeply, hoping the ocean wind would
settle his nausea, but the air was so hot and dry it felt
like it was going to burn through his sinuses into his
brain. It just made him feel more sick and he clutched
his stomach.

The Panhard PVP 360 hurtled south along the coast
of Western Sahara, bouncing as if it was trying to take
off. The driver showed no inclination to ease his foot off
the accelerator. Unusually the top was down. That was
so the integrated armoured steel hull didn’t interfere
with the satellite signal to Uno Stovorsky’s laptop.

Another clump of wet sand smeared across Jimmy’s
cheek. He wiped the back of his sleeve across his face.

The material of his camo suit was rough and it smelled
as if it hadn’t been washed since the last time it had
been worn, but at least it fitted him, which was better
than the clothes he’d been wearing for a while.

Jimmy noticed that Stovorsky hadn’t changed out of
his suit and raincoat.
This is the desert
, he thought.
Don’t you even want to loosen your tie?

“Fortunately actinium has a very short half-life,”
Stovorsky shouted over the noise of the truck and the
wind. He was leaning back in the seat next to Jimmy.
One arm was dangled over the side of the PVP while
the other tapped away at the laptop balanced on his
knee. “It will still be a year before we can safely
operate the mine, but without you doing this for us it
might be a hundred years – or more.”

Jimmy didn’t understand a word Stovorsky was
saying and he didn’t care. He just wished the man would
be quiet so he could concentrate on not throwing up.
Actually
, Jimmy thought,
maybe I should throw up. At
least that might shut him up
.

“There’s just one more thing you need to know,”
Stovorsky went on. Jimmy’s patience ran out.

“Only one thing?” he snapped.
One thing you
haven’t
mentioned in the last six hours of endless talking
?
“That’s great news.”

“I don’t mind your sarcasm, Jimmy,” replied Stovorsky,
still in that loud monotone, still not looking up from his
laptop. “By the time you’re eighteen the assassin in you will
have forced it out of your system. If you survive that long.”

Jimmy felt a surge of anger, but he had no reply.
Stovorsky’s words were terrifying because they were
probably true.

“You might find some bodies in the mine complex,”
said Stovorsky, ignoring Jimmy’s furious glare.

“I thought you said the French team all managed
to evacuate.”

“They did. But on their way out they crossed paths
with some lunatics who were fighting their way in.”

Jimmy drew in another deep breath and half closed
his eyes, trying to shut out the bumps and lurches of
the journey to concentrate on information that might
be important for his survival.

“That’s why I can’t just send a hazmat team,”
Stovorsky went on. “If anybody’s left alive in there, they
might be dangerous.”

This gets better all the time
, Jimmy thought to himself.

“And you’re sure I won’t need a protective suit or
something?” he called out.

“I told you,” Stovorsky replied. “You don’t need one.
And a hazardous-materials suit seriously restricts your
movements. You’ll need to be ready to defend yourself
if necessary.”

Jimmy shot him an uneasy look.

“For years,” Stovorsky explained, “there’s been local
resistance. The natives had a problem with the French
running the mine. They thought they should have been
allowed to do it themselves. They put together some kind
of nationalist force. Mostly they weren’t very effective,
but lately they’d seemed a bit more organised.” He
shrugged. “Nothing to worry about now. The Brits blew
most of them up. That was the blast we’re worried about
– the one that might have ionised the actinium.”

Jimmy couldn’t believe the casual way that Stovorsky
was talking. People had been blown up. Jimmy
wondered how many. He was going to ask, but then a
horrible shiver came over him. He realised that soon he
might see for himself.

“We should be thankful to them, I suppose,”
Stovorsky continued. “They’re probably the reason why
the British messed it up in the first place. Otherwise
there’d be a Union Jack flying there right now.”

Stovorsky flicked a finger in the direction they were
travelling, but he still didn’t look up. For a second Jimmy
didn’t know what he meant. Then, in the corner of his eye,
he caught a glimpse of something on the horizon. He turned
his head, squinting against the sand and dust in the wind.

The beach stretched out ahead of them for miles
and miles. It shimmered in the heat, blurring the
horizon so that the blue of the sky melted into the sand
and the sea. But somewhere in that haze was a short
slab of black. Even from here, Jimmy could recognise
the outlines of Mutam-ul-it’s vast machine halls and the
trace of smoke still rising from them.

“Here’s your radio, Jimmy,” said Stovorsky, turning to
look at Jimmy at last. He tossed a large white handset
into Jimmy’s lap. It landed with a thump. “The signal’s
encrypted and you’ve got lithium batteries in there with
twenty-four hours’ charge, so you can leave it on in case
we need to contact you before you contact us. And
we’re watching too, to check you’re OK.” He tapped the
screen of his laptop.
To check I’m OK
, thought Jimmy,
or to check I’m doing what you want me to do
?

Stovorsky reached forwards and gave the driver
a jab in the shoulder. “This is about as close as we
can go, Jimmy,” he announced. The driver slammed
on the brakes and the PVP skidded across the sands.
“It’s up to you now.”

Jimmy clipped the radio to his utility belt and stared
out in the direction of the mine. He knew he still had a
choice. He could still refuse to go. Inside him was a cloud
as dark as the smoke rising from the mine, and hotter.

The line between his programming and his own
mind was more blurred than ever. He didn’t know who
was making decisions any more – Jimmy Coates the
boy, or Jimmy Coates the assassin.
Does it matter
?
he wondered, crushing the trepidation in his stomach
with huge mental effort.
I know what I want
. He glared
at Stovorsky.
You’re going to give it to me
.

Without hesitating another second, he pushed open
the door and set off across the sand.

* * *

Zafi Sauvage dipped the end of her little finger into the
froth on her hot chocolate and tried to draw a smiley
face.
Looks more like a dead rabbit
, she thought to
herself with a smile. She sucked her finger and went
back to staring out of the window of the coffee shop.
Rivulets of rain zigzagged down the glass. With that,
and the cap pulled down low over her face, she knew
there was no way Mitchell Glenthorne would notice her.

He’s meant to have the skills of a top assassin
, she
thought, wanting to snigger, but controlling herself. She
knew that luck was on her side for now – it was only this
easy to shadow him because he was preoccupied with
shadowing somebody else.

At the moment her subject was leaning back on a
bench across from the coffee shop, pretending to read
a film magazine. It occurred to Zafi that whoever he was
following might even be sitting in that same coffee shop
where she was. She didn’t care. She had her target;
she just needed to find her moment.

Just then she was distracted by a soft vibration in
her hip pocket. She pulled out her phone and discreetly
checked the message. It was encrypted of course.
Whoever had sent it would have used a Secret Service
computer, or a mobile phone that bounced everything
through a DGSE server. But Zafi didn’t need any
software to decipher the text. She had found out very
young that she had the ability to retain incredibly long
strings of letters and numbers in her head. Complex
algorithms were reduced to simple codes, as if she was
seeing the symbols in three dimensions, with space
between the shapes for their meanings.

The message was from Uno Stovorsky.

Zafi let out a sigh of disappointment at what it said.
She downed her hot chocolate in one massive gulp,
then dashed out into the rain of North London. Her
target would have to wait. She had confidence she’d be
able to find him again fairly easily.

Her new assignment was a strange one: track down
the mother and sister of Jimmy Coates. Make contact.
But she wasn’t to do anything else until she’d received
another message – not kill them, nor protect them.
Just find where NJ7 was housing them and make
contact without the British Secret Service noticing her.

There was an unfamiliar churning in her gut as she
jogged down the escalator into Camden Town station.
Did it mean something, or was it the effect of British
hot chocolate? It slowly worked its way from her
stomach to her mind. Could it be confusion that she
hadn’t been ordered to kill these new subjects. Or was
it fear that she still might have to?