Target (4 page)

They drove along the line of the river into the centre of the city. Viggo’s fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. “Clear?” he called out.

“Clear,” responded Saffron.

Suddenly, the truck lurched to one side. Jimmy was thrown across his seat. They mounted the pavement and slipped through a narrow opening in the wall that ran alongside the road. It led to a cobbled ramp and in seconds they were driving right beside the Seine. Viggo slowed down drastically until the truck was growling along, centimetre by centimetre.

They stopped under the arches of the next bridge and Jimmy looked through the rain at the surface of the water. He shivered as they climbed out into the thick shadows. Water poured from the arches above his head, forming a curtain between him and the rest of the world. Here, the river exuded an eerie, sulphurous mist.

In silence, Viggo signalled the way. They ran through the rain, up a flight of thin stone steps on to the Pont de Sully. There, blending into the stonework, was Uno Stovorsky. In these conditions, his raincoat made perfect sense.

Still without a word, they followed Stovorsky along the bridge, on to the Tie St Louis. Jimmy gave up trying to keep the rain off. He wasn’t even wearing the special shirt he’d been given by NJ7. He was shivering, but he would rather have drowned in the rain than wear the Green Stripe again.

Stovorsky unlocked an inconspicuous door and guided the others through a courtyard and into a building. When they reached the fourth floor, they stepped into a small office with a balcony overlooking the courtyard. Around the walls were bookcases stacked with leather-bound tomes. Stovorsky quickly pulled down the blinds. It was strange – Jimmy didn’t feel any warmer in here than he had in the street.

Finally, Stovorsky spoke. “We don’t have long. So I don’t want any messing about.”

“Messing about?” Viggo retorted. “You think it’s messing about to make it into Paris undetected? Why couldn’t we meet nearer the farmhouse? Somewhere in a wood maybe?”

“Chris, take it easy,” Saffron cut in. “He’s helping us out.”

Stovorsky’s response was icy. “Maybe in Britain you have secret meetings in the woods all the time,” he mocked, “but this is France. We’re still an old-fashioned
democracy. This is a safehouse, Viggo. Do you have a clue what that means?”

Jimmy thought he saw Viggo about to apologise, but Stovorsky rattled on. “It means we can jam listening devices, and it means we have routes to and from here that are sheltered from satellite surveillance. Now, you can go mess about in the woods if you want to or we can get down to business.”

Jimmy held his breath and watched Viggo out of the corner of his eye. The man nodded solemnly.

“Right then,” Stovorsky continued. “We know where the boy’s parents are being held.” Jimmy’s heart leapt.

“Well then,” Viggo insisted, “where is it?”

“The French Embassy in London.”

Jimmy was buzzing – the natural buzz of excitement, not the sensation of his programming taking over. This was a huge step towards rescuing the Muzbekes.

“Wait a minute,” Helen Coates cut in. “How did you find this out?”

Stovorsky nodded as if he had been expecting the question. “We have sources in England,” he stated, then quickly added, “Reliable sources.”

Saffron turned to Helen and Viggo, concerned. “What if NJ7 planted that information? Do you think it could be a trap?” she asked.

Jimmy took in her sombre mood and his initial excitement faded.
Don’t ruin this,
he thought.
Just go and rescue them.

‘There’s only one way to find out,” Viggo mumbled. “How do we get to London?” Jimmy loved Viggo’s determination.

“I shouldn’t be doing this, you know,” Stovorsky sighed.

Before Viggo could respond, Saffron took control. “We really appreciate it, Uno,” she said with a voice coated in honey.

Stovorsky looked away for a second. Then, when he spoke again, Jimmy noticed that he looked anywhere except at Saffron. “OK,” Stovorsky began, “here’s the situation. The French Ambassador to London has been kicked out. Apparently, he provided transport to a group of dissidents.”

Viggo looked sheepishly to the carpet. “Yeah,” he muttered, “that was me.”

“I realised that when we recovered the EC975 in the field behind your farmhouse.” Stovorsky’s tone was disapproving, but Jimmy detected a hint of respect in his half-smile. “The DGSE can provide cover for one of you to go in on a diplomatic visa. Officially, you’ll be on the staff of the new Ambassador.”

Viggo stroked his chin, unsure how to ask for what he needed. Saffron did it for him.

“We need cover for two,” she stated boldly.

“She’s right, I won’t be able to do it alone,” Viggo added.

Stovorsky looked between the two of them, scratching his head. “OK,” he conceded with a sigh, “I think that can be arranged. So am I to assume that it will be you two?”

Again Viggo hesitated and Helen broke the silence. “Yes, it’s those two,” she said.

Stovorsky nodded and pulled out a mobile phone. He held it up and took one picture of Viggo then one of Saffron. Then he buried himself in the keys, sending an encrypted text message.

“Who’s going to examine Jimmy?” Viggo asked. Stovorsky furrowed his brow without looking up from his phone. “What?” he muttered.

“In return for helping us,” Viggo went on, “I assume one of your scientists will examine Jimmy?”

Jimmy prickled at the idea of being ‘examined’. He realised it wouldn’t be quite like going to the doctor. More than that, he felt indignation bristling in him again. Viggo was using him to negotiate, treating Jimmy as a commodity. The hurt quickly faded. All this was for Felix’s parents – and Felix.

“I’m ready,” Jimmy blurted out, aware that his voice betrayed his nerves. “I don’t know everything about myself yet, but I’ll show you what I’ve learned.”

Stovorsky at last finished with his phone. He stared at Jimmy, incredulous. “No,” he scoffed, “I told you. We don’t need that information.” Jimmy’s tension eased.

“Then what do you want from us?” Viggo asked.

“Just this: you’ll be working for the DGSE. We want any intelligence you can pick up while you’re there. Particularly, what NJ7 knows about us.”

“So you’re asking us to spy on the British Government?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

The response was blank looks.

“That’s fine,” Viggo said at last.

Jimmy was surprised at the ease with which Viggo and Saffron accepted Stovorsky’s price. Viggo had worked against the British Government for years, but always for himself and his democratic ideals – never for France.

Stovorsky glanced again at his mobile phone. “We have to move,” he said, striding to the door. “You two come with me.” Viggo and Saffron followed obediently. “You two,” Stovorsky indicated Jimmy and his mother, “get out of Paris. Now.”

M
ITCHELL STOOD BOLT
upright in front of Dr Higgins’s desk. On the doctor’s lap was a wiry black cat and in his hands was a photograph. Behind him were the other two people who had taken over Mitchell’s life. First was the huge frame of the man who had brought Mitchell in. His military uniform was as crisp as the edges of his regulation haircut. This soldier’s identity was a mystery; Mitchell knew him only as Paduk.

Dr Higgins had the power of science at his disposal and Paduk was as physically intimidating as any man Mitchell had ever seen. But the person he was most afraid of had a lipstick-red smile curling up one cheek and one eyebrow permanently cocked in an expression of disdain. Mitchell had no idea how a woman so beautiful could be so severe, but he couldn’t imagine anyone disobeying Miss Bennett.

“You’re ready,” Miss Bennett announced, clearly relishing the moment. The sickness in Mitchell’s
stomach hadn’t disappeared, it had just mutated into something else. An eerie power waiting to explode. He had to know when to push it down and when to let it take him over.

“Your target is dangerous,” Miss Bennett continued. “We need him dead and you back here alive. You were very expensive.” Mitchell nodded. It was almost an automatic response. “And if you attract the attention of the French police, you’ll be useless on any future missions. So blend in and make it look like an accident.”

She was about to walk away, but one more thought occurred to her. “There’s no chance of you going off-mission, is there?” Her eyes narrowed. Mitchell shook his head hurriedly. “Remember: there’s nowhere you can go that we can’t track you. And working with us is the only chance you have to be forgiven for what you did to your brother.”

Mitchell nodded again, this time trying to make it seem like the most natural thing in the world. He had no intention of going “off-mission” as Miss Bennett called it. The second he had seen his brother’s battered face, he had begun to hate his human weakness. Learning that only 38 per cent of him was human had come almost as a relief. Now he needed to build a new life. Killing an enemy of the state was the first step towards doing that.

He followed Paduk through the dark corridors of NJ7 headquarters. His mission had begun.

Dr Higgins tutted wearily.

“Get over it, Kasimit,” snapped Miss Bennett. “Soon only one of your babies will be left alive.”

“Oh, they were never really my babies,” Dr Higgins sighed, gently stroking his cat. “The true genius behind them was chased out of NJ7 thirteen years ago.”

He closed his eyes and let the photograph in his hand fall to his desk. It was remarkably detailed considering it had been taken from 200 kilometres above the Earth’s surface. Every feature of Jimmy Coates’s face was clearly visible as he ran across the roof of a French farmhouse.

Jimmy tried to sleep on the way back from Paris, but tension hunched his shoulders. The roads were quiet. It was easy to see no one was following and his mother drove smoothly.

Jimmy leaned his head against the window. The vibrations of the truck drummed into his head. The road flashed past outside, but Jimmy wasn’t watching that. In the corner of his eye he could make out his mother’s face reflected in the glass.

Do I know her?
Jimmy wondered. He knew he could trust her, but he no longer knew anything about her. She was just another ex-agent now, so different from the time before any of this business started. Jimmy wished he had happy memories of a normal family life, but he couldn’t think about that time any more without
bitterness. His parents had been keeping secrets from him. Not just secrets about themselves and their jobs, but about him, Jimmy Coates, and who he was.

Helen glanced across at him as if she knew that he was thinking about her. Jimmy forced a smile then turned away.
What makes her right and dad wrong?
he wondered. His father supported Hollingdale’s view that the public shouldn’t be allowed to vote because they weren’t qualified to know how to run the country. So what? That wasn’t hurting anybody, was it? And if the Prime Minister held on to power through force, well, how was that different to Helen being prepared to use force to get rid of him?

“You OK, Jimmy?” his mother asked suddenly, interrupting the drone of the motorway.

“Yeah, I think so,” he replied. He was going to leave it at that, but something was on his mind more than ever. “Mum,” he started. His voice croaked so he cleared his throat before going on. “If they’d examined me, what would they have found?”

Helen Coates didn’t divert her eyes from the road, but Jimmy could see that his question had affected her. “I’m not a scientist, Jimmy,” she said.

“But you are my mum.”

There was a long silence. Helen’s eyes flickered in the lights of the road. “I don’t understand it completely,” she said at last, “but I know that they programmed a special
computer chip, and that chip controlled a laser – I think it was called a microlaser. The laser operated on a single strand of DNA, which eventually created you.” She glanced across at her son. Jimmy was engrossed.

“But was I a baby like everyone else?” he asked.

“You were a beautiful baby,” his mother said, smiling. “They put you in my womb, and they even implanted the computer chip into you when you were just an embryo so that nothing could go wrong while you were growing inside me.”

Jimmy tensed up again. There was a chip inside him? His mother noticed and gave a short laugh.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “The chip was completely absorbed into your body by the time you were born. That’s what guarantees you’re unique.”

They drove on in silence for a few more miles. Jimmy marvelled at the years of research that must have gone into him. He tingled with excitement at the thought of the world’s top scientists poring over his chemical make-up. But one thought still wouldn’t let his mind relax.

“When Mr Stovorsky was at the farm, he said there was another one of me.”

His mother took her time answering, clearly choosing every word carefully. “There’s only one you, but yes, there were two chips. There was another assassin. He would be two years older than you, but they don’t know where he is. He ran away from his home. He’s probably leading a normal life somewhere. I’m sorry you can’t do that too, Jimmy.”

“It’s OK, I suppose,” he replied, trying to work out how he felt.

“Jimmy,” his mother said hesitantly, “if I’d known…” she trailed off. Jimmy watched her.

“If you’d known what, Mum?” Jimmy asked.

“Nothing,” was the response. “It’s just that…things were different back then.”

“When?”

“When I agreed to be your mother.”

Jimmy tried to imagine his mother as a younger woman. He shuddered at the thought of her standing with Dr Higgins, Paduk and Hollingdale, acting as one of them. Couldn’t she have known then the whole thing would lead to trouble?

“Why did you do it?” Jimmy asked.

His mother took in a deep breath. “A lot of reasons,” she began, sounding distant, as if remembering was difficult – or painful. “It had to do with me and your father. It had to do with Georgie. She was a baby then. I suppose I thought that it would be a way for me to stay working for NJ7, but not
really
be working for them, do you see what I mean?”

Jimmy shook his head, but his mother wasn’t watching him.

“It was a way out. I thought it would give me eighteen years of a relatively normal life.”

“But what about me?” Jimmy whispered, unable to force out his proper voice.

“I knew that once you were eighteen you’d work for NJ7. But by then, with your programming fully developed, I thought you’d want that life.”

Jimmy couldn’t help himself. His brain vibrated with the words: /
won’t have a choice.

Helen reached across and ruffled Jimmy’s hair. “I didn’t realise you’d be…you,” she added, trying a smile. Jimmy could see how sad she really was. He didn’t smile back.

More than an hour later Jimmy shuffled into the farmhouse, ready to fall into bed. But as soon as they opened the front door, Jimmy heard whispers in the kitchen. He looked up at his mother, who gave a weary sigh.

“Well
I’m
going to bed,” she whispered.

Jimmy smiled, totally exhausted, but desperate to share everything that had happened. In the kitchen, Felix, Eva and Georgie were sitting round the table.

“Jimmy!” exclaimed Felix, jumping to his feet. “What happened?”

Jimmy didn’t know where to start. “Ares Hollingdale is holding your parents at the French Embassy,” he blurted.

“And Chris and Saffron are going to bust them out?” Felix beamed, one big ball of energy.

“Something like that,” Jimmy laughed.

Felix grinned one of his unmistakable grins. Eva and
Georgie didn’t look quite so happy. “At least
someone
will be getting out of prison,” Eva grumbled.

“Yeah,” Georgie added, “who’s going to rescue us?”

“What do you mean?” Jimmy asked.

“I mean that we’ve all been stuck in this house for days.” Jimmy’s sister toyed with a stale hunk of baguette. “It’s no wonder we can’t sleep – we don’t do anything all day.”

“At least we don’t have to go to school,” Felix chipped in with a bounce.

“So what?” Eva shrugged. “I’d rather go to school than be stuck in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even have my phone with me.”

Jimmy considered everything for a moment. He never liked it when Eva moaned, especially when Georgie started moaning with her, but she had a point. It did feel like being imprisoned.

“I’d rather be back with my parents,” Eva went on, “and they’re a pain. I bet they aren’t even looking for me.” Jimmy remembered Eva’s parents with a shudder of disgust. They were supporters of the undemocratic British Government.

Suddenly, Felix cut in. “Stop moaning,” he said quickly. “This is the best night ever.” Then his face suddenly changed, scrunched up in thought. “You’re right though. We’ve been stuck in the house long enough. If anybody’s coming for us, they would have come by now. Tomorrow I’ll persuade your mum to let us go out.”

“Whatever you say.” Jimmy shrugged and forced out
a yawn. “Let’s convince Mum in the morning. You do the talking. I’ll watch.”

Miss Bennett followed the tunnels of NJ7 not to Downing Street, which was still being rebuilt, but to the deepest part of the complex. There, in a stark bunker, surrounded by three men in SAS uniform and another two in NJ7 suits, Ares Hollingdale was huddled over his desk. Opposite him, leafing through a dog-eared orange folder, was Ian Coates.

“Who’s there?” the Prime Minister panted when he heard his visitor enter. “An assassin! Security!”

The soldiers around him looked confused. They all recognised the Director of NJ7.

“It’s OK, Prime Minister!” shouted Ian Coates. “It’s Miss Bennett.”

“Ah yes, of course. Stand down, men, you’re dismissed. I know this woman.” Hollingdale’s eyes darted around the room as if every second something tapped him on the shoulder unexpectedly.

“Mitchell Glenthorne has been deployed, sir,” Miss Bennett announced once the room had emptied of security attendants.

“Don’t let that thing near me,” Hollingdale muttered. “I’ve seen what they’re capable of.”

“Prime Minister,” Miss Bennett continued, “it’s not too late to call him back.”

Ian Coates jumped to his feet, startled. “Miss Bennett,” he said, “if there’s a way to safeguard our Neo-democracy without hurting Jimmy then please don’t keep it to yourself.”

Miss Bennett flashed him a patronising smile, then continued to address Hollingdale directly. “Now that we have found where Jimmy Coates is hiding, in less than an hour a single UAV could flatten the entire area.”

Ian Coates sunk back into his chair, his face suddenly pale.

“Sending out another assassin is an unnecessary risk,” Miss Bennett went on. “Haven’t we learned anything from the last time we did it? Order the UAV strike.”

“Are you mad, Miss Bennett?” the PM cried. “You’re talking about sending an unmanned plane to bomb French soil!”

“The French would probably retaliate,” Miss Bennett said, her voice devoid of emotion, “but it’s nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Hollingdale’s hands were shaking. He swung round in his chair to face the wall and waved over his shoulder. Ian Coates took that as his cue to stand again, and explain.

“The Prime Minister feels that provoking the French would be far too dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” Miss Bennett asked flatly.

Hollingdale spun back round and pounded his fists on his desk.

“Sauvage!” he screamed, eyes flashing. “Until we know what the French are capable of we must proceed with extreme caution.”

Miss Bennett inspected the faces around her, each one rigid with anxiety. Ian Coates continued his explanation.

“We have reason to believe that when Dr Sauvage fled he passed classified technology to an agency called ZAF-1.”

“ZAF-1?” queried Miss Bennett.

“Possibly the French equivalent of NJ7,” Ian Coates replied. “We don’t know. The details are encrypted in these files.” He threw the folder on to the desk and pulled out a bloodstained orange flash drive in a clear plastic bag.

“And for eleven years nobody has told me about this?” She was furious.

“Nobody knows about this, Miss Bennett,” the PM said. “Even within NJ7. If Dr Higgins knew that we had this flash drive, the only explanation would be that we killed Dr Sauvage. If he finds that out he might be dangerous.”

“You’re completely paranoid!” Miss Bennett shouted. “Dr Higgins isn’t dangerous no matter how many of his friends we kill. He could decrypt those files in minutes.”

Ares Hollingdale twitched almost imperceptibly. Miss Bennett sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “So,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “the French
could possess weapons far more powerful than we thought.”

“Exactly,” Hollingdale snapped. “And they could use them.”

Miss Bennett paced across the room. “But hold on,” she said, “we have no intelligence suggesting they have these weapons.”

“We have
this
intelligence,” Coates insisted, pointing at the flash drive.