Target (18 page)

B
EFORE ANYONE COULD
react, Mitchell snatched Jimmy by the collar and dragged him until his head was sticking out of the window.

“Stop!” shouted Georgie. “He’s got Jimmy!”

“Keep driving,” ordered Viggo.

Jimmy could hardly hear the voices inside the vehicle. Mitchell’s eyes ripped into him as powerfully as the wind that rushed past. Mitchell took him by the throat. Jimmy strained every muscle in his neck. Then he felt hands on his legs. Viggo was trying to pull him back in from inside the cab.

Jimmy darted his eyes to one side. A truck was charging straight for his head. Jimmy kicked Viggo off, drew his hands out of the broken window and grabbed Mitchell’s shirt. Then, at the instant the truck lurched past, Jimmy pulled himself completely out of the taxi. He flipped over and landed with a thud on top of Mitchell.

Inside the cab, Felix ducked instinctively as a dent appeared in the roof. “How did he find us?” he cried.

“Chris,” Helen hissed under her breath, “we still have tracking chips in our heels.”

“They put tracking chips in your heels?” Georgie said in astonishment. “And you
forgot
about them?”

Viggo grunted in frustration. Then he twisted to peer out of the back window up at the sky. “How did they get a chopper up there so fast?” he snarled.

Georgie bent to see for herself. Sure enough, a helicopter hovered above, haunting them like a spider crawling across lead.

On top of the cab Jimmy and Mitchell exchanged blows with the speed of machine-gun fire. Jimmy spun and ducked on his knees, sliding on the smooth surface of the roof. They moved like break-dancers, yet lashed out with devastating force.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jimmy yelled. Mitchell responded only with his fists. Jimmy parried the blows and tried again, shouting, “You don’t have to be a killer. This is your programming. You can control it.”

“I
am
my programming,” Mitchell snarled back. “There is nothing else.”

The taxi whisked round a corner, flinging them both out to one side. Jimmy’s arm snapped out to catch the radio aerial. He curled his fingers around it so tight they were hooks of white muscle. He hung off the side of the vehicle. Then, just as the taxi straightened out from the
turn, Jimmy kicked himself off the door. Keeping hold of the aerial, he swung round the front of the cab in almost a complete circle. He half twisted in mid-air, aiming his knee at Mitchell’s jaw. They collided with a perfect crunch.

“Pass me that pen,” ordered Viggo inside the cab. Felix plucked a biro from the dashboard and handed it to Viggo. In an instant, Viggo had his shoe and sock off.

“They’re following the signal from the tracking chips,” he went on. “They’ll have a visual on the vehicle any second. Every truck you see, drive alongside it. Head for every tunnel you can.”

He dug the nib of the pen into his foot without making a sound. Only the grimace on his face betrayed the pain. Blood spurted out, mixing with the pool that grew slowly beneath Saffron. After less than a minute, Viggo twisted his pen and out flicked a tiny metal ball. Georgie picked it up and wiped off the blood.

“Don’t throw it out yet,” Viggo ordered, in obvious pain. “Wait until we have all of them then throw them out together. That way NJ7 will keep following them and lose us.” Georgie nodded.

“Your turn,” Viggo said leaning over to Helen. She swung her legs round until she could barely see over the top of the steering wheel. Still she kept the taxi snaking between obstacles. Viggo stabbed the biro into her heel
and almost immediately plucked out another small metal ball. Georgie collected that one too and examined it, amazed at her mother’s resilience. Despite the ribbons of blood and the pain, Helen Coates plunged her foot back on the accelerator. Their speed hardly dropped.

Jimmy was operating at the very limits of his ability. He could feel his programming blossoming within him with every second, adapting to the new situation, learning at every turn. Still there was the human locked inside.
Why is nobody helping me?
he thought. He realised that his mother had to keep the taxi moving. It was vital that they get out of the city before NJ7 could catch up with them. But surely Viggo could reach out of the window and drag Mitchell off the roof? Before the thought was finished, Mitchell was at him again.

“Do it quickly,” gasped Saffron, lying on the floor of the cab. “Then help Jimmy.” Her face was like death and her eyes had lost their colour.

“You won’t survive,” Viggo croaked, the words catching in his throat. Saffron forced a smile. To Georgie she looked like an oasis of beauty amid the blood and chaos.

“You have a simple choice,” Saffron whispered. “You either throw out the tracking chip or you throw out…me.”

Viggo had tears overflowing in his eyes now. “You’re not going to die,” he sobbed.

Saffron nodded serenely.

On the roof of the taxi Jimmy pressed Mitchell’s face against the metal. His programming roared inside him, forcing the human part back. Suddenly, Mitchell’s body jerked. In a flash, he flipped over, throwing Jimmy off him. Jimmy was startled at the force with which Mitchell escaped his hold. Then he felt the full weight of the older boy crash on top of him. The air to his lungs stopped. Mitchell’s forearm clamped down on his neck with the power of a hydraulic press.

“You should have stayed in the shredder,” Mitchell barked. He knelt over Jimmy, squeezing the life out of him. Jimmy’s face flashed red then blue. As the oxygen ran out, his mind threw up tricks. He saw images of his bedroom at home. He knew he would never go back there, but he could see it now as if it were all around him. He could hear Georgie’s voice playfully mocking him.

Jimmy’s vision blurred as the world flew by. He tasted blood.
Where did that come from?
he wondered. He tried to throw Mitchell off by sweeping his arm up underneath the other boy’s body. Mitchell saw it coming and grabbed Jimmy’s wrist with his other hand.

Inside Jimmy’s head, his programming swirled, utterly confused. Then, beneath it, Jimmy made out a small voice.

It was a human voice – his own. It was his only chance. Slowly, Jimmy’s lips began to move.

“What’s that?” bellowed Mitchell. “Your last words?”

“Mi…Mi…Mitchell,” panted Jimmy, straining to shape the words. His tongue felt cold in his mouth.

“How about I kill you first,” crowed Mitchell, “and then you tell me your last words?” He forced out a laugh. It took all his strength to hold Jimmy in position. Then, at last, Jimmy heaved out his message.

“Your brother’s still alive.” Jimmy felt the shock jar through Mitchell’s body. His grip relaxed.

“What?” Mitchell gasped.

In that instant of hesitation, Jimmy pulled his wrist free from Mitchell’s clutch. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the only weapon he had. His programming had been so strong that he’d forgotten about it until now – the key to the lift doors.

Jimmy jabbed it into Mitchell’s side. Immediately, he felt the life surge back into him as Mitchell jumped back, letting go of Jimmy’s throat. Not stopping even to breathe, Jimmy kicked out with both feet, slamming them into Mitchell’s face.

Mitchell reeled backwards. Jimmy turned and watched Mitchell’s despairing grasp as he slid off the taxi into the road. “Jimmy!” he screamed, rolling on to the pavement.

Jimmy rested for a moment on the roof of the taxi. He looked back and saw Mitchell lumbering to his feet,
clutching the key that was embedded deep in his side. Their eyes met.

Jimmy saw Mitchell shouting something. He strained to hear it above the noise of the traffic. Then the words echoed into his ears: “Where’s my brother?”

For the first time in a long while, Jimmy felt no anger. The fighting instinct inside him ebbed away. All that was left was the deep sadness, mirrored in Mitchell’s expression. The two boys stared at each other until the taxi whipped round a corner.

As soon as Mitchell was out of sight, Jimmy eased himself back into the belly of the taxi with a sigh. Inside, he saw at once why Viggo had been unable to help him.

The man was bent over Saffron, who was lying on her front. Viggo clasped a pen in his hand and his shirt was spattered with blood. His face was scrunched, totally focused, as he teased at Saffron’s wound, searching for the bullet.

T
HE TAXI SPED
along the banks of the Thames. No longer in Central London, the river was far more peaceful here. As they charged across Kingston Bridge, Georgie turned to the cracked hole in the window beside her. With all her might, she flung out the three tracking devices, aiming for a boat that was about to pass beneath them.

Three small metal balls soared through the air for several seconds then came to land, bouncing along the deck. Above them, the drone of a helicopter grew more and more faint. But the danger hadn’t passed. Jimmy saw the tears in the eyes of every one of his companions. None of them met his gaze directly.

Saffron was lying face down in blood. Jimmy knelt above her, holding her head so that she could breathe while Viggo tended to the wound. He looked hard at Viggo and saw a reflection of his own anguish. The man’s eyes were shot with red. Every few seconds he had to wipe the tears away with the back of his sleeve.
Wait,
thought Jimmy,
do I do that when I’m wiping my eyes?
It was a gesture that anybody might make, but Jimmy couldn’t help peering closer at Viggo.
Do we look the same?
The strength in his arms vanished and he nearly dropped Saffron’s head.

“Steady, Jimmy,” Viggo muttered. He was unaware of Jimmy’s scrutiny. He lowered his head until his mouth was right next to Saffron’s ear. “Don’t worry,” he mumbled. “You’re going to be fine.”

The man’s voice trembled and Jimmy could only just make out his words.

“I will always love you,” he hissed, almost silent. “And I’ll get revenge for this.”

Revenge. The word chimed in Jimmy’s head.

The rest of the journey was silent. Jimmy’s mind ached with questions, but every time he thought to speak, the words seemed to evaporate on his lips. Nobody wanted to distract Viggo. He spent every second ministering to Saffron’s injury. They would have been arrested immediately had they tried to take her to a hospital.

At last they reached the village. The Muzbekes had been right to choose this place, thought Jimmy. It was small and perfectly innocuous. The houses were a dull, grey brick and each one looked identical to its neighbour. This was no tourist spot. It was the sort of place even the residents forgot about.

Jimmy’s mother slowed down so they could search for
the right building. Then Jimmy saw it – up ahead, a dilapidated sign hung above a front door. It bore only one ‘B’ – the other had rotted away.

“Looks like this place is on its last legs,” Jimmy said quietly.

Next to the building was a driveway. Helen turned down it, pulling into a small, closed courtyard.

Felix was the first to jump out of the taxi. He ran to the door of the old guest house. “Mum!” he shouted, “Dad!”

Before he even reached the door, it burst open. Neil and Olivia Muzbeke smothered Felix in their arms. His cries of joy were stifled in the enormous hug. The family was reunited. Georgie was next to be inside with them and the sounds of delight didn’t stop.

Jimmy stepped out of the cab slowly and lingered in the courtyard. He could hear Felix gabbling inside at a thousand miles an hour. Jimmy knew he would be recounting the tale of flying to France, then how he had come to be in England and everything else that had happened. Jimmy wasn’t in the mood for it. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to be thanked again.

“Helen, wait.” It was Viggo, stepping out of the cab and wiping blood from his hands. Jimmy’s mother turned.

“How’s Saffron?” she asked.

“It’s touch and go. But I think she’ll be OK – as long as I find her a doctor.”

Helen hesitated, so Jimmy asked the question she must have been thinking. “Where are you going to find a doctor who won’t…you know, ask about us?”

Viggo sighed. “I’m going to try to track down some old friends of mine. There are still some people in this country who remember what a real democracy is. Any day now, more and more of them will want that back.”

“Do you need help?” Jimmy asked immediately. “Do you want us to come?”

Viggo grunted the closest thing to a laugh he could manage. “No, Jimmy. But thanks for your help. You stay here. You’ll be fine. You’re in good hands.” He looked up at Jimmy’s mother. “The best.”

Helen handed Viggo the key to the taxi without a word. They stared at each other for what Jimmy thought was an awfully long time, and embraced. Then Viggo ruffled Jimmy’s hair and jumped into the taxi. In a few seconds, he was backing out of the courtyard. Through the glass, Jimmy caught sight of his face as it flashed past. He looked like a man whose work was just beginning. By the time Jimmy raised his hand to wave, Viggo was already gone.

“Are you coming in, Jimmy?” his mother asked gently.

Jimmy snapped out of his daze, but hesitated. He suddenly felt as if a huge weight was pushing him down. He wanted to crumple into the ground. He couldn’t look at his mother.

“Who is my father?” he whispered. He spoke so quietly that he could barely hear himself.

“What did you say, Jimmy?”

Jimmy looked up at his mother.
What secrets does she have?
This time, he asked more boldly: “Who is my father?”

Helen Coates was absolutely still, stunned by the question. “Your father…” she started, but trailed off.

Jimmy fixed her with a stare. “He told me. He said he wasn’t my father.” Jimmy spoke slowly and clearly. His mother put a hand to her mouth. After a few seconds she took Jimmy under her arm. They walked together to the far corner of the courtyard and perched on a couple of upturned flowerpots.

“That was a terrible thing for him to say,” she began, trembling. There was a long pause. Jimmy waited, impatient for her explanation. “Scientifically, it’s true,” she continued at last. “There is another man whose genes you carry. But that’s not all it means to be a father. Your father is also the man who raised you and loved you – and I’m certain that he still loves you.”

Jimmy gazed straight ahead, not focusing on anything. “Who is the other man?” The words rushed out of his mouth. He felt his mother tense up and turned to look at her. He saw again the toughness that had been in her face when they had been in their most dire situations.

“Jimmy,” she said, “you are your own person.” She
studied his expression. “You have a chance that I never thought you’d have. You can live a life away from NJ7. Maybe not here because they will come after you again. But you’ll be ready.”

Jimmy looked away, frustration rising inside him.
Why won’t you tell me?

“Who is my biological father?” he insisted, closing his eyes for a moment as if to shut out his mother’s long explanation.
Just a name,
he thought,
that’s all I want.

His mother drew in a deep breath. “One day I think you’ll understand why I can’t tell you,” she announced.

Jimmy’s eyes shot up to meet hers. He wanted to plead with his mother to tell him, but something in her face froze the words in his throat.

“I know you’re going to think about it a lot and that’s OK,” his mother continued, “but all you need to know is that the man is dead.”

Jimmy felt something inside him crumple. His question still hadn’t been answered. Then she said it again, louder this time, and with a categorical wave of her hand: “The man is dead.”

With that, she squeezed Jimmy close to her and ruffled his hair. “You come in when you’re ready,” she whispered. Then she pushed herself up, glanced at Jimmy with a smile and limped back to the house. Her steps left bloody footprints on the gravel.

Jimmy couldn’t move. He was only just able to hold himself from crying. He used to have a normal life. He
used to go to school, watch TV, play computer games. He thought he used to have a father.
How can he be my father,
he asked himself.
My real father is dead.
He was suddenly flooded with anger. It was more intense than he had ever felt. His hands were shaking and his face was hot. A million thoughts blasted through his mind.

His mother had lied to him all his life. And still she kept the truth from him. What had he done to deserve this life of secrets and violence? It was no longer just the programming inside him that pounded with the urge to kill. The lies of his parents had forced him into brutal fights.

He walked towards the guest house and greeted his friends with a fake smile. He knew very well how to act automatically. More than ever before, he felt like someone had stolen away his humanity, and the man he blamed was the Prime Minister.

Ian Coates fingered his glass of brandy nervously. The flight was rock steady and the private plane was the quintessence of understated luxury. Nevertheless, Coates’s troubles were etched into his brow. The hand that wasn’t fiddling with his drink clasped a phone to his ear.

“I don’t want your excuses, Miss Bennett,” he growled, “I want a nation ready for war.” Around him, his entourage busied themselves with piles of papers.

“Forget Dr Higgins,” the PM continued. “He’s gone. We need the very best man to replace him and that’s Ark Stanton.” The earpiece of the phone almost exploded with a tirade from Miss Bennett.

“I don’t care how many times he’s been sacked, Miss Bennett, or how many terrorist organisations he’s associated with. The man’s a genius and he’s the only person who can possibly replace Dr Higgins.” Coates paused again, but this time he cut off Miss Bennett’s protestations.

“Listen,” the Prime Minister snarled, “if we have to go to war with France, we need two things – the USA on our side, and the most advanced technology. I’ll make sure of the first one and you do the second by getting me Ark Stanton.”

He was about to slam the phone down, but something Miss Bennett said stopped him. He listened intently. Over the next few seconds, his face faded to an almost pristine white. When Miss Bennett’s voice stopped, he said nothing. Then, very slowly, he dropped the receiver of the telephone into its slot at his side.

“Paduk,” he whispered. His voice refused to come out. He cleared his throat and repeated, “Paduk.” The huge agent bounded up the aisle of the plane and slid into the seat opposite the Prime Minister.

“What is it, sir?”

“Miss Bennett…” Ian Coates began.

“Yes, sir, what about her?”

“She assigned a couple of agents to clear Dr Higgins’s files.”

“I know,” Paduk interjected, sounding far more confident than Coates. “She wanted them to go through the files and find whatever information they could that might be useful to his successor.” There was a pause that betrayed the Prime Minister’s horror.

“What did they find out?” Paduk gasped.

Ian Coates spoke slowly, dropping his voice in the hope that only Paduk would hear him. “Thirteen years ago Dr Higgins worked with Memnon Sauvage on the NJ7 team, before Sauvage fled.”

Paduk nodded. “I know,” he said. “They were friends.”

“But…when Sauvage defected…” Coates rasped, “…some kind of secret project.”

“Project? What project?”

“They were working on their own project. A third chip.” Paduk looked confused. “A third assassin chip,” Coates repeated, raising his hand to his mouth in fear of the very words he spoke. “Each assassin is programmed using a unique computer chip. A third chip means…” He tailed off. His eyes wandered the room. “When Sauvage went to France, he took with him the means to build…”

His voice seemed to disintegrate. He finished his sentence with only air escaping his mouth. Paduk leaned in closer.

“…a third assassin.”

Ian Coates downed his brandy with a jerk of his head then began fixing his tie. In a few minutes, the plane would start its descent into Washington DC.

That night Jimmy, Felix and Georgie shared a room again. It turned out that the bed and breakfast hadn’t had guests for years, but the elderly couple were more than happy to accommodate everybody.

Jimmy lay in the dark, his mind growing more tired every moment. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the pool of blood surrounding the agent on the floor of Neil Muzbeke’s cell. In his imagination he could feel the warm liquid lapping at his feet. He didn’t have the energy to stop himself reliving those horrible moments. Then, hardly realising it, his concentration was invaded by thoughts of his father. Where had the man been when NJ7 had sent Mitchell after him? What about years before, when Viggo escaped NJ7 for the first time? Had Jimmy’s father been there? Or had Ian Coates been out in the field, at work to support his wife and baby daughter – killing?

Jimmy opened his eyes. If those were the thoughts sleep had in store for him, he’d rather stay awake. He sat up in bed and glanced over at Georgie. He couldn’t tell whether she was asleep or not. Should he tell her everything he had found out about their father?
Not now,
he decided.
Probably not ever.

“Hey, what’s up?” It was Felix, whispering through the darkness.

“Hey,” Jimmy replied, a little taken aback.

“Are you awake?”

Before Jimmy could reply, Felix asked, “Are we going to stay here, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Jimmy whispered back. “I doubt it.”

“You’re right. We have to keep moving.” Then Felix’s eyes sparked. “I know, we should get ourselves a boat, and load it with all these computers, and live like techno-pirates—”

“What are you two on about?” Georgie was sitting up in bed now. She didn’t look like she’d been asleep at all.

“Well, we could, like, live off squid…” Felix started, and off he went on one of the finest rants Jimmy had ever heard. It sounded like being back with his parents had inspired Felix to greater madness. Jimmy soaked it all in. Georgie couldn’t help but laugh and after a minute or so it infected Jimmy as well. Gradually, with every chuckle and every smile that his sister threw across the room, the distress in Jimmy’s heart deflated from the size of the whole globe to a football then a ping-pong ball.

They sat up half the night like that, until none of them had any energy left. Then, much later, when they were all lying down, just as they were dropping off to sleep, Jimmy heard a tiny whisper.

“Do you think Saffron’s going to be OK?” Felix asked.