Target (17 page)

“S
IR, WE’RE UNDER
attack,” Paduk repeated. “We think it’s the French.”

The Prime Minister seemed reluctant to move. At last, he nodded and crossed the office to the door.

“It is a matter of national security that the prisoners do not leave this building alive,” he ordered.

Paduk was well schooled in detecting the secrets behind the tremble in a man’s voice or the shiver in his eye. For him, it wasn’t hard to see that Ian Coates’s decision had wrenched his heart in two.

“Yes, sir,” Paduk replied. “But my job is to make sure you
do
leave the building alive.”

Ian Coates nodded and patted Paduk on the shoulder in a gesture of thanks. Paduk was surprised to feel a surge of compassion threaten his calm disposition. As a soldier, he had very little room for emotion. But Paduk knew, of course, that one of the prisoners was Ian Coates’s wife. He respected a man who could place the
safety of his country above the woman he loved. It was a wretched choice to have to make. He knew that from experience.

In the corridor, Paduk’s elite team was waiting to escort the Prime Minister off the premises. They hurried to the end of the corridor where Paduk unhitched a clasp hidden in a ventilation grate at the level of his shin. A section of the wall slid a few centimetres to the side, revealing a sliver of the darkness behind. Paduk efficiently replaced the grate and guided his team into the secret passageway.

“Sir,” Paduk whispered as they scurried down a dim staircase, “If I may suggest – we still have one card to play.”

The Prime Minister didn’t answer immediately. He knew what Paduk was about to suggest. “I know,” he muttered, “but they are not to be hurt, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Paduk replied.

“OK,” the Prime Minister began quietly. “Have someone radio the agent. Tell him to bring Georgie and Felix to me at Westminster.” All the power in his voice seemed to evaporate for a moment as he added: “We can use them as hostages.”

In less than a minute the Prime Minister was stepping into an unmarked car in the side street next to the Embassy. A limousine pulled away in front of them – an obvious decoy, but it worked in a surprising number of situations.

“How is this possible?” Ian Coates seethed when his car was safely a few streets away. Paduk shifted uncomfortably next to him.

“It’s unfortunate, Prime Minister,” he muttered, cracking his jaw. “Two security issues at the same time.”

“I could have foreseen that the French would respond with a guerrilla offensive,” Coates whispered, “But how have they responded so quickly?”

“RAF shot down an unmanned French transporter over the North Sea a few minutes ago.”

“Good. We’ll need that evidence if we want international support.”

“International support?” Paduk gasped.

“Of course – we can’t go to war without the USA on our side.”

War – the word shot deep into Paduk’s brain. He tried to ignore it, but it sat there, enormous and horrible.

“I’m sorry, Prime Minister,” Paduk sighed, “but as Head of Special Security I have to ask you this: do you think your son is part of French plans or is he working alone?”

Ian Coates drew in a sharp breath and averted his gaze. “He’s not my son,” he fumed, his breath fogging up the window. “You know that very well. I won’t have him referred to as my son any more.” Coates turned back to Paduk, his nerves once again steady. Then the Prime Minister spat his final condemnation. “He’s nothing but a traitor.”

It took no more than a second for Jimmy’s night vision to kick in. Nobody else in the basement was so lucky. In the eerie blue haze, Jimmy made out their expressions of shock and, in some cases, fear. But they still knew which direction the lift was in and exactly where Jimmy had been standing. There was only the slightest hesitation before the agents opened fire.

That hesitation was enough. Jimmy lunged to the floor and rolled out of the lift. Staying low, and moving as quietly as possible, he pelted through the crowd. Around the room blazed dozens of flashes as the agents fired at where Jimmy had been standing. Then some of them pulled out torches, which streamed through the darkness in an ever shifting web. Jimmy ducked and twisted to avoid being spotted.

Why are the lights out?
he wondered. It was nothing to do with him, and it didn’t look like NJ7 had done it on purpose because the agents hadn’t been ready for it either. Jimmy fixed his eyes on Miss Bennett, but suddenly he was aware of a dark figure charging through the basement alongside him. At first, he thought it was his own shadow, but when he glanced across it was gone. He knew there was something there – it swept between the torchlights just as he did, but it did more. All around him, NJ7 agents were inexplicably crying out and falling to the floor, hacked down like corn at harvest time.

Jimmy was drawn to find out what could possibly be causing it, but he had to focus on the immediate threat. Miss Bennett felt for one of the security guards and snatched his torch. She raised her gun, holding the torch on top of the barrel to illuminate her target. The beam pinned the four prisoners to the back wall of the cell. Miss Bennett was about to shoot…

Jimmy threw himself through the door in the perspex screen that Miss Bennett had left open. He battered into her back, knocking the wind out of her. The gun went off. It fired straight into the ceiling. Jimmy had her pinned to the floor, but he couldn’t stay there – the other NJ7 agents heard the shot and found her with their torches.

As she brushed the dust off her skirt, she was suddenly washed in an intense light. Someone had flicked on the headlights of the digger. Jimmy skipped to the side, just out of their range. Miss Bennett shielded her eyes and scrabbled for the gun. The digger rumbled doggedly towards her. Despite their artillery and their numbers, NJ7 couldn’t stop it.
Who is in there?
wondered Jimmy.

Miss Bennett snatched her torch from the floor. She panned the beam across the shadows. It hit Jimmy. The heat of the beam was nothing, but on his face it felt like a laser.

“There!” shouted Miss Bennett. Nobody could hear her, but a couple of agents saw her pointing. They
plunged towards Jimmy. He ducked into the shadows. Still they came for him, aiming their torches as well as their guns.

“Can’t you drive?” Felix shouted, his fingertips white from hanging on to his seat.

“Of course not!” Georgie shrieked back as the taxi swerved all over the road. “Can you?”

“No,” Felix shouted. “But I know you’re meant to go in a straight line.”

Georgie was struggling with the gears, let alone the direction of the car.

“OK,” Felix announced, “you do the gears, but let me steer.” He reached across the cab and planted his hands firmly on the wheel. Immediately, the car steadied. Georgie reluctantly let go and looked down at her feet.

“I think I’ve got the hang of it now,” she said.

Suddenly, a voice came crackling over the radio. “Location Tricolore under attack,” it said. Georgie and Felix looked at each other.

“Watch the road!” Georgie cried.

The radio continued: “Bring the two children to Westminster as hostages. Do you copy?”

There was a moment’s pause. Felix and Georgie glanced at each other. The only noise was the roar of the engine and the crackle of static on the radio. Then Felix plucked up the mouthpiece. “Copy,” he huffed, putting on
his deepest voice. “On my way.” With that, he clicked the radio off.

“Location Tricolore,” Georgie gasped. “That has to be the French Embassy.”

“Yeah,” cried Felix, bouncing with excitement, “And it’s under attack – that has to be Jimmy!”

“Well, let’s get there. He’s going to need a getaway car.” Georgie forced her foot down on the accelerator but instead of roaring forwards, the taxi hopped and lurched.

“Hey!” protested Felix, “Warn me before you do that!”

“Sorry.”

“And where are we going?”

“It’s Central London, isn’t it?” Georgie muttered. “Just keep going this way and there’ll be signs.”

“Turn on the SatNav,” Felix chirped, reaching for the gadget on the dashboard.

“Yeah? And what address are you going to put in?”

“Oh. Let’s stop and ask someone.” Felix cast his eyes around for a pedestrian.

“No way. Look at a map.”

“Erm, I’m no good with maps. What’s wrong with asking for directions?”

“And we won’t look at all suspicious?” Georgie shouted sarcastically.

“Fair point,” Felix grumbled. “But this is ridiculous. Let’s get a cab.”

“We’re
in
a cab.”

“I mean one where the driver knows how to drive.”

Georgie thought for a second, examining the dashboard in bewilderment. “You’re right,” she announced. “I thought it would be easier than this.”

She managed to bring the car to a stop, with Felix aiming it gently towards the side of the road. They both jumped out and ran along the pavement.

“Do you have any cash on you?” Georgie asked.

“Of course. I’m always prepared for action.” Felix flicked a piece of soap out of his hair.

Then, reaching her arm up to the sky, Georgie spun round and yelled with all the air in her lungs, “Taxi!”

Jimmy ran towards the agents, zigzagging to escape the light. The agents caught glimpses of him too quick to shoot. When he was close enough, Jimmy dropped to the floor and snapped one of the agent’s knees with a vicious chop. By the time the other agent had swivelled to fire in the right direction, Jimmy was on him. He leapt in the air, rotating as fast as he could, and landed, feet first, in the man’s face, like a giant drill. Jimmy rolled forwards then jumped to his feet.

At last, the digger crunched through the perspex security barrier, flattening the sliding doors and a metal detector. That didn’t even slow it down. It kept coming. Miss Bennett rolled out of its way just in time. Then the digger’s teeth crunched into the iron, twisting the bars
with a screech. It echoed the question screaming in Jimmy’s head:
Who is driving that digger?

The four prisoners ran from the rubble – Stovorsky, Viggo, Saffron and, finally, Helen Coates. Jimmy wanted to embrace her, but this wasn’t the time. They couldn’t stop moving. Jimmy led them straight for the lift, blasting through any agents who stood in his way. All the time he felt an extra presence – someone was helping him. It wasn’t any of the prisoners he had just freed. It was somebody else, or more than one person – a team of dark figures he could only glimpse, even with his night-vision.

Helen and Stovorsky reached the lift with Jimmy. They hauled themselves up through the hole in the ceiling. Jimmy waited on the ground, watching in desperation as Viggo and Saffron ducked and dodged, seeing only by the reflected light of the torches. At last Saffron was close enough. Jimmy snatched her into the lift.

“You’re in the lift,” Jimmy whispered. “You can climb the wires to the lobby.” He bent down to give her a leg up, but she didn’t move.

“Where’s Chris?” she asked.

Jimmy looked out into the basement. Viggo was only a few metres away. An NJ7 team was running towards them, coming to block off the only escape route. Jimmy closed his eyes and searched internally for his programming. He knew exactly how to draw attention away from the lift. His programming responded to the call. Jimmy felt a grating in his chest, an itch in his
throat. Then he barked at the top of his voice, “Head for the cells!”

But it wasn’t his voice, it was his father’s, and it sounded like it was coming from a distant corner of the hall. The very noise turned his stomach, but it worked. Like a school of fish, the agents changed direction.

Viggo dived to the floor and rolled into the lift. He jumped up straightaway to reach the hole in the ceiling. But behind him was a woman as glamorous and as terrifying as any Jimmy knew: Miss Bennett. The lone beam of her torch pierced straight through to the lift. She drew up her gun.

Jimmy mashed the panel of buttons with the palm of his hand. The lift doors started sliding closed.

“Go!” Saffron shouted to Jimmy. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Jimmy stretched up his arm and thrust himself off the ground. He easily caught the crumbling concrete ridge.

The lift doors were only open a crack now. Miss Bennett stopped running. She took aim. Marksmanship was not her speciality, but her bitter determination more than compensated. She pulled the trigger, releasing a single bullet. It whistled through the air as the lift doors slid closer together. They were almost completely shut now, allowing only the tiniest sliver of torchlight through. The bullet shaved off the edge of the rubber that would seal the doors tight. That didn’t deflect its course. It was heading straight for the base of Jimmy’s spine.

That split second Jimmy’s ears picked out the tiniest noise, hidden deep among the chaos. Into his brain came a high-pitched hiss – the sound of the miniature torpedo spinning through the air from the barrel of Miss Bennett’s gun. He didn’t even have time to think about it. It was instinct. The noise connected directly with the muscles in his arm. They contracted instantly, throwing him up through the hole in the lift ceiling. But, just as she had promised, Saffron was right behind him.

Jimmy found himself standing on top of the lift, face to face with Viggo. Beneath them, Saffron let out an anguished gasp. Jimmy saw the terror crack Viggo’s face. Viggo dropped to his knees. His arm plunged down. He caught Saffron by the wrist.

Her grip was weak. He heaved her up to join them on top of the lift where she slumped into his arms.

J
IMMY WATCHED THE
steady drip of blood falling past him, pattering on to the floor. He looked up. Viggo was dragging himself up the wire with one hand. Over his other shoulder was Saffron.

Jimmy pulled himself up towards the light of the lobby. NJ7’s constant efforts to breach the lift hammered in his ears. In no time, they would prise the doors apart.

At last, Viggo passed Saffron gently into the lobby where Jimmy’s mother and Stovorsky took her. But there were other figures silhouetted there. Surely it couldn’t be more NJ7 agents.

“Faster!” came a shout from above. Jimmy could hear the rattle of the lift doors beneath him. The agents had broken through. He didn’t look above or below, just concentrating on moving himself up the lift shaft as fast as possible.

Then there was a crackle. A spark lit up the darkness. As it rushed past Jimmy’s face, he picked out the unmistakable whiff of dynamite.

“Move!” came another shout. Whose voice was that? It had a strange accent.

Jimmy blistered his way up the wire. The stick of dynamite tumbled through the air, end over end. Jimmy was nearly at the lobby. He wasn’t going to make it before—

BOOM!

Jimmy felt as if his head had burst at the sound. He pushed his legs off the wire with all the strength he could muster. A scorching heat rose to hit him. The force of the dynamite carried Jimmy upwards, stretching his leap. He caught the floor of the lobby and pulled himself out of the lift shaft. A tower of flames coursed past him. Jimmy crawled frantically away from the intense heat.

“Jimmy!” called a familiar voice.

Was that Eva? Jimmy’s hearing was still muffled from the explosion. He pushed himself up. There she was: Eva Doren, peeking out of her hiding place behind the reception desk.

“Eva, are you OK?” Jimmy asked, dazed.

“The whole place is under attack,” Eva panted.

“That’s why we’re leaving.”

“Oh, Jimmy!” Helen shouted, running to embrace him at last. “Have you heard from Georgie and Felix?”

Jimmy looked at his mother’s face. It was twisted with worry. “They should be at the safehouse.”

“So they’re in
England?”

“Yes. Why?” Jimmy asked, “What happened?”

His mother didn’t answer. Then Jimmy was distracted by Stovorsky, who strode forwards to shake hands with three figures who were covered in black combat armour.

“Thank God you made it,” he muttered in French.

Images sped through Jimmy’s mind: the basement of the Embassy in utter devastation; a carpet of NJ7 agents groaning and quivering. This team had done that.

“You sent for an assault team?” screamed Viggo, jabbing a finger towards Stovorsky.

“There’s no time to argue,” he replied. “Let’s get out of here.” He strode off towards the exit.

“All this could have been avoided!” Viggo screamed after him, “What if…?” He dropped his voice, and glanced down at where Saffron lay groaning, blood seeping out from under her. He bent down and gently lifted her up.

“Come on,” Helen cut in. “We have to move.” She guided him forwards, but Stovorsky stopped dead and turned to face Viggo.

“What did you expect me to do?” he bellowed. “Call on my country to attack the British just to save my own skin?” Viggo didn’t have an answer, but he was seething with rage.

Stovorsky continued, “I called for help only when Coates committed an act of war against France.”

“You put us all in danger,” Viggo whispered, venom in his voice. “You told us the DGSE had no idea where you were.”

“You were a fool to believe me.”

Stovorsky waved a hand in Viggo’s direction then marched away. The three soldiers escorted him out. By the sound of it, there were more in the building, somewhere up the stairs, holding off the rest of NJ7. They moved with an efficient swagger. It was strange, they were all the same height except for one, who seemed much too small to be assigned to a French military assault team. Yet there was a power about them all Jimmy couldn’t explain. He couldn’t take his eyes off them, but he knew that above all things, they were killers.

Jimmy felt a sickness swirling in his chest. Then Stovorsky and his soldiers were gone.

Jimmy’s mother grabbed him by the shoulder. “Come on,” she insisted.

They all sprinted out of the Embassy. Jimmy could hear sirens somewhere in the distance. Viggo was fuming with aggression when they hit the street. He was still carrying Saffron in his arms, dripping a trail of blood behind him.

“You did this!” he screamed. Stovorsky was nowhere to be seen.

“No,” came a cry from above them. Jimmy looked up. There were the DGSE attackers, surging elegantly up a rope ladder, almost at the top of the building already. A few metres below them was Stovorsky.

“Britain did this!” he shouted. “And the next time we
come to Britain it will be at the head of an army!” With that, he clawed his way up to the roof.

Jimmy had no idea how they would escape from there. He listened for the roar of a helicopter or even a plane. He heard nothing but the approaching sirens. Perhaps there was transport waiting for them in Hyde Park on the other side of the building. Whatever it was, Jimmy trusted completely that this devastating team would find a safe means to take themselves and Stovorsky back to France.

At that moment, Jimmy was snatched from his thoughts by the revving of an engine. He looked up and down the street. From out of a side road roared a black cab, gliding towards them. It pulled up outside the Embassy. In the back seat was a sight that flooded Jimmy’s heart with joy – Felix. He stuck his head out of the window and chirped, “Taxi, anyone?”

“Felix!” exclaimed Jimmy’s mother. Then she saw Georgie was in there too. “Georgie!” she cried, running round to give her daughter a huge hug.

“Hi, Mum,” Georgie answered as calmly as if nothing was happening. “How’s it going?”

“I thought you’d…” Helen gasped, tears in her eyes. She held Georgie’s face in her hands.

“What are you crying for?” Georgie asked. Her mother just smiled and they hugged again. “All right, Mum,” Georgie said uncertainly. “I’m glad to see you too.”

Meanwhile, Viggo and Jimmy had climbed into the back of the cab. Together they lay Saffron across the floor.

“Come on,” Jimmy urged. “Let’s get out of here.” Jimmy’s mother let go of Georgie and heaved open the driver’s door.

“Oil” shouted the driver. He was an old man with a face so worn it looked like a map of London.

“Out!” Helen ordered.

“What?” The driver’s voice had more gravel in it than the River Thames. “No way.”

At that, Helen grabbed him by the collar, undid his seat belt and heaved him out of the taxi.

“Sorry about this,” she said as she planted the poor man in the road. “We’ve got your details on your licence. We’ll make it up to you.”

The driver’s face went a colour Jimmy had never seen before on a human – such dark purple that he was sure some bits were black. Helen ignored his ranting and took her place at the steering wheel. Felix scurried into the front passenger seat with a gleeful smile.

“Let’s go,” he shouted. The sirens were growing louder.

“Wait.” It was Eva, still standing in the doorway of the Embassy. Jimmy jumped out of the taxi to drag her away with them. But she didn’t move. What was so important that it delayed their escape?

“They’ll keep coming for you, Jimmy,” Eva said softly. “They’ll never stop.”

Jimmy looked at her hard. What was she thinking? The sirens howled more intensely. Any second, they might be overrun from every direction by security services.

“They trust me,” Eva continued. Jimmy had never seen her so unsure of herself. “If I stay here I can help you. If I go, they’ll come after us both.”

Jimmy didn’t know what to say. He was astounded at what she was suggesting. She had already done so much to help him, putting herself at enormous risk. Standing in front of him now, she was a completely different person to the girl he used to find so annoying before any of this started. He had never realised how smart she was or how brave. And he knew she was right.

If Eva escaped with them now, Miss Bennett would hunt them both down. If she stayed, she could be Jimmy’s informant. It was a huge risk. Here was Eva Doren, volunteering herself as a double agent.

They stared at each other, each one trying to understand the other. Without another word, Eva turned round and disappeared into the Embassy. Jimmy almost wanted to stop her. Such a big decision needed time for consideration. But they had no time.

He forced himself to dash back to the taxi. “OK,” he announced, his voice slightly croaky. “Now let’s get out of here.”

At last they moved away, roaring down the street and
passing a cavalcade of police cars that were rushing back the other way. As they passed, Felix slid back the perspex screen and leaned over his seat.

“I knew you’d do it, Jimmy,” he beamed, throwing him a playful punch. “I declare Operation Thumbjam a complete success.”

“What’s that stuff in your hair?” Jimmy asked.

Felix picked out some dried gunk. “Er, disguise?”

“Where am I going?” Helen asked as she powered the taxi through the traffic of Central London. She snatched an old A-Z from the floor and threw it back to Jimmy. He leafed through and in a couple of minutes found the page he wanted.

“There,” he announced, his finger firmly planted on the map, in the middle of an expanse of green.

“What’s there?” Felix scoffed. “It’s the middle of nowhere.”

Jimmy looked at him and allowed himself a sly smile. “Your parents.”

Felix went into a full celebration. He bounced in his seat, punching the air. But Jimmy was looking at Saffron. More colour drained from her face every second.

“She’ll be fine,” insisted Viggo, seeing Jimmy’s concern. “So long as there are no more jolts to her system and we get her somewhere I can operate.”

THUD!

“What was that?” shrieked Felix.

“Did we hit something?” Viggo yelled.

BANG!

A meaty hand slammed through the window. Glass spattered the floor of the cab. Then a face appeared upside down outside the window. Somehow, Mitchell had landed on top of the taxi.