Survival (9 page)

So instead of cutting the wires, magnetising the
boxes or even nudging the dishes off target, Zafi
reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a large
wedge of brie. She ripped the plastic from the cheese
with violent energy because the packaging was covered
in Union Jacks – the corner shop she’d found had only
sold British cheese.
English brie
, she thought.
Ridiculous
. Even the smell, which would usually have
made her mouth water, turned her stomach.

She carefully laid the cheese at the heart of the
network of electrical devices, right on top of the hottest
of the metal cubes. That was all she needed to do. A few
minutes later she spotted Felix and Georgie arriving home
together. Shortly after that, Zafi saw the same gang of
kids hanging about outside the estate. Everything was
falling into place and by now the brie was melting into the
receivers.
Just a little more
, Zafi thought, delighted that
the stench of cheese was getting stronger.

At last the first pigeon flapped down.
Time to go
,
thought Zafi. She sprinted back across the roof and
down the fire escape. How long would it be before the
glutinous coating of cheese disrupted the NJ7
surveillance? And when an NJ7 engineer or agent came
to investigate, there’d be a flock of feasting pigeons
pecking the wiring to tatters. Too bad she wasn’t going
to be around to see the result of her handiwork.

Keeping her head low, she charged across the road.
There was no time to waste. Who knew how long it
would be before NJ7 solved their surveillance blackout?
Zafi headed straight for the raised walkway outside
Felix’s front door. The boy with the bike saw her straight
away. Then his mates did too and they moved like a pack
of dogs to cut her off.

Not yet
, thought Zafi, counting down the seconds in
her head –
ten, nine, eight
… The boys caught up with
her a couple of metres from the front door of the flat.
Do nothing
, Zafi could hear in her head.
Seven, six
,
five
… In the corner of her eye she could see the
plasterer across the road, watching. She turned and
saw the parking attendant bending his head for a better
look at what was going on.

BAM!

A fist slammed into the back of Zafi’s head. She
stumbled forwards, thinking her eyes might fall out of their
sockets, but still counting:
four, three, two
… She heard
the cackles of the group of boys. Then came a knee,
punching into her nose. Zafi jerked her head backwards,
absorbing the force of the blow, but still didn’t fight back.

The seconds ran out. She glanced back towards the
road. There it was – the next bus. It pulled up at the bus
stop. Lightning fast, Zafi’s eyes flicked in the direction of
the plasterer, then the parking attendant – the bus cut
off their sightlines. Zafi exploded into action.

She kicked both legs up behind her, flipping on to her
hands. Her feet connected with two of the boys, instantly
flattening them. Zafi completed the flip, her heels
crunching into another boy’s head on the way down. The
oldest boy reached for a knife in his pocket; Zafi had
already read the contour of his jeans. She swivelled on
the ball of her foot, snatched the bike and twisted the
handlebars. The front wheel chopped into the boy’s knee.
He crumpled. Zafi snapped the handlebars the other way
to send the back of the wheel into his groin.

That was all it took. As one, the boys staggered
away from her, desperate to escape. Before they
could run, Zafi grabbed the smallest by the shoulder.
In one movement, she slapped his arms above his
head and hauled off his hoodie. Just as the bus closed
its doors, Zafi planted her cap on the boy’s head, spun
him round and pushed him away to follow his friends.
She pulled on the hoodie the exact moment that
the bus pulled away, then she went for the front
door of the flat.

While three NJ7 agents were arguing with a pest
control expert and an engineer on the top of the Gregor’s
Elbow pub about how to clean their surveillance equipment
of cheese and pigeons, an undercover plasterer and a
fake parking attendant saw a young boy in a hoodie waiting
at the front door of the flat they were watching.

They both shook their heads in disappointment –
they’d seen the gangs hanging around and now it looked
like Felix and Georgie had fallen in with the wrong
crowd. There was nothing worth reporting though. They
even thought nothing of the massive grin on Felix’s face
when he answered the door.

Contact had been made.

The PVP 360 was proving to be a poor operations centre
for Uno Stovorsky. With the roof up there was limited
communications access, but without that roof the desert
sun was unbearable. To compromise, he’d had to instruct
his driver to pull back to the nearest town, Tlon, where they
were parked in the shade of a fading Coca-Cola billboard.

Then a message buzzed on his phone. It was from Zafi.

“Good news,” said Stovorsky, sitting in the passenger
seat, but with the door open and his feet planted on the
ground. “Our London operative has made contact.” Despite
the sweat dripping down his neck and the flies dancing
round his bald spot, he sounded relatively satisfied.

“Do you want me to radio Jimmy?” asked the driver, a
young soldier. “He’ll be pleased.” Stovorsky huffed and
shook his head. “Are you contacting Zafi then?” the
younger man continued, peering over Stovorsky’s shoulder,
trying to get a look at the computer. “She’ll wait with the
subjects until you issue the extract and secure order.”

Stovorsky shrugged. “It might suit us more,” he
explained, “if Jimmy thinks his family is still in danger,
for now.”

“You don’t trust Jimmy?”

“Do you?” Stovorsky looked up for the first time and
gave the driver an examining stare. “But that’s not what
matters,” he said casually, returning to his laptop. “We
need to keep him in the dark for now because
he
doesn’t trust
me
.”

“I don’t get it.”

Stovorsky sighed. “Jimmy thinks that by showing NJ7
he’s alive he can somehow stop Britain attacking
France.” His fingers tapped away at the keys while he
spoke. “But if he turns up NJ7 will immediately use his
family against him. So as long as Jimmy thinks his family
is still being looked after by NJ7, he’ll stay out of sight
and do this job for us.” He looked up again, a businesslike
calm on his face. “As soon as he’s secured the
mine, I’ll give him the good news.”

Jimmy kept his head down and his eyes firmly on his
feet while he stomped through the mine compound
alongside Marla. It was almost as if he was trying to
keep pace with the words rushing off his tongue.

At last he ran out of steam. He knew he had left
out so much, but couldn’t bring himself to say any
more. He looked across at Marla and waited anxiously
for her reaction. He couldn’t remember the last time
he’d had to tell anybody so much about himself.
Hearing it aloud felt as foreign as the desert setting,
and as frightening as the burnt-out shells of the mine
buildings and the lumps in the ground where the wind
was quickly covering bodies with sand.

Marla nodded slowly. “There is a man you should
meet,” she said.

“Is that it?” Jimmy gawped. He wasn’t sure what
reaction he’d been expecting, but such a calm one
shocked him. “I just told you I’m 38 per cent human and
that’s all you can say?”

“What do you want me to do?” Marla asked. “Cry?
Shout? Pretend I do not believe you?”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know.” Jimmy could hear
agitation in his voice and he felt anger in his chest.
Relax
, he told himself.
She’s helping
. But the thoughts
came with a rush of suspicion. “How do you speak
English so well?”

“English radio,” she replied. “We listen to the BBC.”

That explained her strange way of talking, thought
Jimmy. “What do you mean, ‘we’?” he asked.

Marla froze up. “You want
my
life story now?”
she snapped.

Jimmy missed a step to stay level with her. “I’m
sorry…” he stammered. “I just…”

“They are dead!” she screamed. “You cannot see?”
She started crying, but kept her body totally controlled.

“My whole town… We are fighting for years to control
this place. That is my life story. Now I am here and I am
the only one left. The others I killed!”

“How could you have—?” Jimmy tried to calm her
down, but she cut him off.

“We came in after the first missile,” she said, her
eyes glazing over. “I went straight to the block that was
hit. There.” She pointed behind them, where the smoke
was thickest. Jimmy couldn’t see anything through it.

“I led my unit into the fire,” Marla went on. “We had
to find out why the British had targeted that block. I
thought there had to be something in there and if we
were quick we could take it. Some piece of machinery,
or some information at least.”

“You did the right thing,” Jimmy said in his most
soothing voice. He held up his hands and edged closer
to her. She reacted with an explosion of rage.

“It was the canteen block!” she yelled. Jimmy
jumped back.

“But it wasn’t the fire that killed them – it was the
second British missile, wasn’t it?”

“We saw it coming.” Marla was trembling slightly
now. “I never thought they will hit the same building
twice. I ordered the others to stay where they are – to
keep them safe, you know?” She looked up at Jimmy for
the first time and he saw the fury in her expression,
mixed with desperation.

“I ran into the open to see which building the missile
was heading for. I thought…” She tailed off and stood
there, her heart almost visibly crumpling.

Jimmy stayed silent. He had never seen any face so
vulnerable. How could he ever have doubted that this girl
was anything but totally human? He wanted to tell her
she’d done the right thing. She’d been trying to protect
the people fighting alongside her. She’d made logical
decisions, he wanted to say. Jimmy couldn’t imagine how
hard those decisions must be without that genetic force
inside, making them for her. But he knew that didn’t
matter to Marla. Logic wouldn’t bring back her friends.

Should he tell her how much, despite everything, he
longed to know what it was like to have to make those
judgements himself? As a normal, 100 per cent human?

Suddenly the nervous silence was cracked by a blast
from Jimmy’s radio. The words came in French, but
Jimmy hardly noticed the difference in language now.

“
Are you there, Jimmy
?
” It was Stovorsky.

Jimmy unclipped the radio from his belt and was about
to speak into it when he caught sight of Marla’s reaction.

Jimmy had explained everything about himself, but
he’d been a little hazy about the fact that he had been
sent here by the French so they could take over the
mine again. Now, if Marla’s face was anything to go by,
it was becoming clearer. She’d obviously worked it out.
To her, Jimmy was suddenly an enemy again. She was
ready to kill. The muscles in her shoulders tensed and
she set her legs ready to pounce.

“Stop,” Jimmy told her, as calmly as he could. “It’s
not what you think.”

“You are using me,” she whispered. “I should have
guessed the French would send an English boy to trick
us. They must be desperate.”

The radio crackled again. “
Jimmy
,” came the voice.
“
Do you copy
?
”

Jimmy’s finger hovered over the controls, his mouth
five centimetres from the device, but he didn’t respond.
“I’m not working for them,” he insisted. “They just think
I am.” Marla’s face didn’t change. “I’m working for me.
For my family. I’m going to make them do what I say.”

At last he squeezed his thumb against the large
white button on the side of his radio.

“I copy,” he said, slipping into French without thinking
about it. He kept his eyes firmly on Marla, who was still
watching suspiciously. “There’s nothing here but body
parts. But everything is so messed up it’s hard to find
my way around.” He glared at Marla.

Stovorsky replied, but Jimmy wasn’t paying
attention. He and Marla were having a tough
conversation – without saying a word. Had either of
them done enough to show they could trust the other?
At last Marla dipped her head to one side and
narrowed her eyes. Jimmy felt a sudden stab in his
chest – the look reminded him of Georgie.

He smiled a flat smile and Marla’s expression
softened. Then she jerked her thumb at the next
building, a long, low concrete bunker, and together
they jogged towards the entrance.

“How are my mum and my sister?” Jimmy asked
softly, into the radio.

Stovorsky replied straight away. “We’re working on it.”

Jimmy put his radio back on his belt and entered the
bunker. It felt like a rabbit warren. He walked cautiously
down the dark staircase, followed by Marla. Just when
he thought the steps might carry him down to the
centre of the Earth, he came to a reinforced metal door
that was slightly ajar

“Actinium,” Marla whispered. “Are you ready?”

Jimmy pushed the door open and went through
cautiously. The light was dim, but his eyes adjusted
quickly. The bunker looked like a large science lab, but
it was in disarray: broken glass, chairs tipped over,
laptops smashed.

“They left in a hurry,” Marla explained.

“Not too much of a hurry to destroy the place first.”
Jimmy circled the room, inspecting the vandalism. “If
they didn’t want anybody using the actinium, why didn’t
they just take it with them?”

The middle of the room was dominated by a huge
floor-to-ceiling cylinder. It was made of the fattest layer
of glass Jimmy had ever seen. It must have been at
least thirty centimetres thick. He moved towards it,
scrutinising the bolts and steel brackets that held it in
place, because inside this unique cabinet, on a small
shelf, stood a single silver canister, about fifty
centimetres high. The only way to reach it was through
plastic glove holes hidden behind a lead screen, which
was also bolted in place.

Jimmy didn’t need a degree in nuclear physics to
work out that the canister contained the actinium.

“They did not have time to take it with them,” Marla
explained. “The British deliberately took them by
surprise. The actinium is most delicate. There are
procedures for removing it. It takes hours. They make,
um…” She struggled for the words. “…vacuum? …de…
contamination?” She pointed to a line of large silver
suitcases, some of which had obviously been used to
smash the computers and other instruments. “Leadlined,”
Marla explained. “But to put the actinium into it
needs proper equipment and many scientists. And
now, without even these…”

She kicked at a pile of half-burned rags and melted
plastic.

“They set light to their hazmat suits?” Jimmy muttered.

Before Marla could react, Jimmy grabbed the handle
of one of the lead suitcases and slammed it into the
glass cabinet. Marla jumped back with a cry of shock.
Small cracks shot through the glass. Jimmy heaved the
suitcase round again and smashed it into the cabinet a
second time.

The suitcase should have been incredibly heavy, but
Jimmy’s arm muscles locked and swung it with huge
momentum. His blows came harder and faster. He felt
the sweat forming on his neck and grunted with the
strain, but kept going.

For the first minute, Marla could only stand by in
amazement. But then, to Jimmy’s surprise, she heaved
on the handle of a second suitcase and joined in. She
couldn’t match Jimmy’s force or speed, but every
impact counted. Together they attacked the same
single point in the glass.

At last they broke through. Jimmy didn’t hesitate. He
brushed away the shards from the edges of the hole in
the glass and pulled out the canister. It was nowhere
near as heavy as he had been expecting. Was there
really so little actinium in the world? He was beginning
to realise just how valuable this mineral must be.

“So this is it?” he asked. “The whole mine – for this?”

“No,” Marla replied, still panting. “There is another
bunker for the uranium. Bigger than this one. They find
more of it. Then it goes to the dock.”

Jimmy planted a hand on the lid of the canister, ready
to open it, but his arm muscles jerked awkwardly. His
heart tripled its pace. He suddenly felt the urge to run
out and as far from Mutam-ul-it as possible. Was that
his assassin instinct or his human fear? The two melded
together until he couldn’t feel the boundary between
them.
It’s OK
, he reminded himself, breathing deeply to
settle the doubt that swirled through his muscles.

He glanced up at Marla. The mixture of fear and
respect in her expression was obvious. It sent an
unexpected shiver of pride through Jimmy. Before he
could have any more second thoughts, he gave the
canister lid a sharp twist. It opened with a click and
Jimmy’s face was lit up by a pale blue light.

Here it was: a small mound of stones at the bottom
of the canister that looked like they contained tiny light
bulbs. There was no smell – just the magical
appearance and a waft of warmth. He felt like some
kind of demon or a crazy scientist in an old horror film.
Despite all of the fear, the one thought he couldn’t get
out of his head was:
Felix would love this
.

At last he was able to tear his eyes from the mineral,
and when he smiled at Marla, he saw the wonder on
her face as well.

Jimmy quickly opened the lead-lined suitcase and poured
in the stones as carefully as he could. His hands were
trembling. And were they also turning red?
It’ll
fade
, Jimmy
told himself.
It can’t affect me
. Then he slammed down the
lid of the suitcase, shutting off the blue light. He grinned at
Marla, an unnatural confidence surging through him.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked. “Sell
it? I know people who would pay millions for this. Even
small amounts of black market uranium have funded my
people for years – and that is just uranium. But this…”

Jimmy didn’t answer. He wasn’t even listening.
Instead he grabbed the radio from his belt and mashed
the button on the side.

“You there, Stovorsky?” he barked. A second later
came the reply.