Target (3 page)

“I
T’S BEEN THREE
days,” Jimmy muttered almost to himself. “If I don’t get outside soon I’ll go mad.” The kitchen was thick with the smells of cooking and Jimmy ripped into a bunch of parsley with bored vehemence. The bandage was gone from his wrist. The cut was hardly visible now – like a smudged line of biro.

“You know, that happens a lot,” Felix chirped, struggling to hold on to a potato. “People don’t go outside and then they lose their minds, and then they think the rest of the world has been destroyed by aliens or nuclear war or something, and—”

“You’re holding the peeler upside-down,” Jimmy interrupted.

“Oh. Oh yeah. I
thought
it was a bit dodgy. So what was I saying?”

“The DGSE left three days ago,” Jimmy went on, ignoring Felix’s daydreams. “Don’t you think we should have heard something by now?”

Felix shrugged and stared at his peeler, scrunching his face into a puzzled ball. “How come Yannick’s mother gets to go into the village,” he asked eventually, “but the rest of us have to stay indoors?”

“Well, somebody has to bring us food, and all the clothes and stuff.”

“But won’t she get spotted by imaginary intelligence?”

“It’s ‘imagery intelligence’,” Jimmy corrected. “From satellites. But she’s always going into the village. It would look more suspicious if she didn’t go.”

“So I suppose bringing back nine times the amount of groceries, buying every item of clothing from some grimy charity shop and being picked up in the truck by her son – that’s not suspicious at all.” Felix raised his eyebrows so high it looked like they might fly off his head at any moment.

“You’ve got a point,” admitted Jimmy. “It’s risky, but it’s necessary, isn’t it?”

Felix shrugged again. “S’pose,” he mumbled. Then he tried juggling with three of the potatoes. He didn’t have much success.

Jimmy turned his attention back to the cooking. His wrist flicked the knife through a carrot with the skill of a chef but the enthusiasm of an eleven-year-old boy. The heavy metal pans huffed and bubbled with delicious-smelling stews.

“And why have I done all the cooking?” Jimmy groaned.

“If you didn’t want to cook,” Felix replied, “you should never have helped out that first night we were here. Then we would never have found out that it’s one of your, you know, skills.”

Before Jimmy could respond, Georgie bounced in.

“When’s dinner?” she asked, poking around the various ingredients that lay on the work surfaces.

“When it’s ready!” snapped Jimmy. He dropped the knife and flung the slices of carrot into a simmering pot. “Where’s Yannick?”

“Outside. Let him have a break.”

“Oh, ‘let him have a break’,” Jimmy mocked. “Looks like I’m the one who’ll spend my life cooking now.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

Jimmy tried to hold back his anger. “Sorry, Georgie,” he said. “I shouldn’t take it out on you. It’s just that…” he paused mid-sentence to baste a chicken. “I hate this. How come I can cook?”

“It’s your programming,” Georgie answered as gently as she could.

“That’s what I told him,” Felix chipped in.

“But it’s a stupid skill,” Jimmy grumbled. “It’s like whatever dumb idea Dr Higgins had eleven years ago is inside me.” He felt himself becoming more and more worked up, and he couldn’t hold it back. “They don’t know where I am,” he yelled, “and they don’t know what I’m doing, but NJ7 is still controlling me.”

Helen slipped into the kitchen with concern on her
face. “What’s all the noise about?” she asked, picking up a potato from the floor.

“Jimmy doesn’t want to cook,” Felix announced.

“That’s OK,” Helen said immediately. “I’ll help and—”

“No!” Jimmy screamed, “I don’t want to be
able
to cook and I don’t want to be
able
to kill.”

Jimmy’s mother looked across at Georgie, then back at her son. There was one thing they had to discuss, so she forced herself to bring it up. “Look,” she began, “I know this must be confusing for you both. About me and your father, I mean.”

Jimmy glanced at his sister then dropped his eyes to the floor. Felix shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

“Er,” he stuttered, “I have to, er, go finish my…” He edged towards the door, “…you know, on that…string.”

Once Felix had gone, Jimmy found the atmosphere even more stifling.

“Whatever happens,” his mother continued, “none of this is your fault – either of you. Don’t blame yourselves.”

Jimmy let the words bounce off him. He knew what his answer was, but he refused to let himself say it. Then his sister said it for him.

“I don’t blame myself,” she mumbled. “I blame you and Dad.”

Jimmy didn’t know where to look. His sister’s words had stoked the anger inside him. He noticed his hands were shaking slightly, then saw that his mother’s were too.

“OK,” sighed Helen, “that’s fine. But we both still love you just as much. And I know you still love your father.”

“How can you still love someone,” Jimmy flashed back, “when you know what they’re doing is wrong?” He immediately regretted his words, but couldn’t take it back now. His mother said nothing. She had no answer. For a few seconds she stared at Jimmy and Georgie, then she backed out of the kitchen. As she did, the seething liquid in one of the pots bubbled over.

Helen walked straight into Christopher Viggo, who caught her delicately by the shoulders and looked into her face.

“What’s going on?” he whispered. Helen made sure the door was shut behind her so that her children couldn’t see.

“It’s nothing,” she quivered. “Forget it.”

“Listen,” Viggo rasped, “the kids are just restless. They need to get out of the house – let off some steam.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Viggo looked deep into Helen’s eyes and let out a sigh. “Yannick says the village up the road is pretty small. The risk of NJ7 picking it out is minimal. He says there’s a lake nearby and stables…” He softly lifted Helen’s chin. “Let them have some fun. It could be days before we hear from Stovorsky.”

“You think I’m being overprotective,” Helen whispered, “but they’re my children.” She held his gaze for a moment then pulled away and hurried upstairs.

Viggo was about to follow, but there was a pounding on the front door. Jimmy had heard it too and rushed out of the kitchen followed by billows of steam. He looked to Viggo for guidance and the ex-agent shook his head as if to say, “Don’t worry”. At that instant, Felix came tearing down the stairs.

“Who’s at the d—” he started. Viggo grabbed him and put a hand across his mouth. He was too late. Whoever was outside had heard them and hammered again.

“Coming!” Viggo called out, then stuttered the same thing in French:
“On arrive?’

Jimmy pointed at the shadow in the crack under the door. There was clearly only one person there, but what if there were others further from the door? They couldn’t look out of the windows as Yannick had boarded them up after the DGSE had smashed them.

Jimmy ran upstairs and approached a window that overlooked the front of the building. Crouching low, he scanned the horizon. He could just discern the rooftops of the village up the road, but nothing out of the ordinary. His heart was pumping and he was almost relieved that at last he had something to occupy him.

He opened the window as quietly as he could and squeezed out, trampling the carnations in the window box. The wind tousled his hair; what a great feeling it
was to be outside again. From here he could only just make out the person waiting at the front door – the overhang restricted his view. Jimmy quickly moved up the side of the building, clinging to the timber, each finger hard as rock.

It was a matter of habit now to call up his programming when he needed it. When the swirl from his belly engulfed his brain then saturated every muscle, it was a kind of comfort. Too much of a comfort in fact. He had to keep a part of his human self active. He knew how easy it would be for him to slip into the evil ways his body craved. He knew also that the programming would grow more powerful every day until he was eighteen. It was designed to completely swamp the human in him by then. That was a terrifying thought.

Jimmy reached the roof and stalked along until he was directly above the front door. Then he jumped. The wind rushed into his face. His eyes watered, his stomach lurched, then…

BAM!

Jimmy landed right on top of the figure, flattening him. Jimmy held him down, but couldn’t see anything. His face was full of flowers. The man under him was terrified, cursing in French. The front door swung open. Viggo was ready for action.

But there wasn’t any – just a flower delivery man, quaking with fear. Jimmy brushed the man down while they were still on the ground, then rolled to one side,
spat out a flurry of petals and made a mental note to land with his mouth closed in future. Viggo seized the mangled bunch of flowers and flicked a tip into the dust. Jimmy muttered an apology and skulked back indoors where Felix was laughing hysterically.

“That was so funny,” he howled. “Did you see the look on his face?”

“What’s going on?” It was Saffron, her eyes wide and expectant as if she too were ready for a fight. But then she saw the flowers in Viggo’s arms and her expression melted.

“Oh, Chris,” she gasped, “for me? They’re so…squashed.”

“They’re not for you,” he huffed. “I mean, they’re not for anyone.”

“If they’re for Helen, just tell me now.”

“No, they’re—” Before he could finish, Felix jumped in and grabbed the card.

“The flowers are just a discreet way for Stovorsky to send us a message,” explained Viggo. “Now what does he say?”

Felix’s face was scrunched up in confusion. “It’s gibberish,” he said. “Just letters and numbers: ‘Pp18N.2300’.”

“He’s going to help,” Viggo beamed. “We have to meet him in Paris.”

St James’s Park, in the very heart of London, was as serene as ever. The thick bushes kept out most of the traffic noise, but there was the sound of two runners pounding along a path. Mitchell easily kept pace with the huge man at his side. His body was exhilarated by the crisp air, while Paduk breathed it in with heavy panting. This was the only part of Mitchell’s training that took place outside the murky tunnels of NJ7 HQ: a daily run.

Mitchell asked no questions and made no objections. In fact, he had thrown himself into the training with more dedication than he had shown for anything in his life. It seemed to suit him. Yet still he could sense the unease of the people training him. He didn’t know it, but the same team had trained Jimmy Coates. This was the same routine Jimmy had followed. This was the same run.

Paduk slowed to a walk and took a swig from his water bottle. Mitchell did likewise, though he didn’t need to. Then they stopped completely. Paduk was staring through the foliage. At first Mitchell thought the man was simply catching his breath, but then he followed Paduk’s eyes beyond the limits of the park. Buckingham Palace shone out, a majestic pearl.

Apparently unprovoked, Paduk spoke. “Mitchell,” he began in an undertone, “you might be tempted to think that you’re invincible.” He wiped the sweat from his brow and cracked his jaw. “Don’t. You’re not. But nor are your enemies.”

Without a glance at Mitchell, he ran on. Mitchell followed, keen to impress, but confused by Paduk’s words.

As soon as it was dark, Helen, Saffron, Viggo and Jimmy crammed into the dilapidated truck. Felix banged on the window of the farmhouse and showed Jimmy a supportive fist. Jimmy smiled. It was great to see Felix in such good spirits, despite him being so worried about his parents. Felix was the one who had most to lose in this operation, but he hadn’t complained once about being stuck in the farmhouse. While Eva, Jimmy and even Georgie had been going stir-crazy, Felix was nothing but supportive.

“What a bucket of tin,” Viggo groaned as he started the engine.

Jimmy wondered whether Viggo would drive as wildly in this truck as he had at the wheel of his Bentley. That car had been abandoned in the garage of Viggo’s restaurant, along with the rest of his London existence.

“It’s only a couple of hours to Paris, but try to get some sleep.” Viggo was addressing all of them, not just Jimmy. “After we’ve met Stovorsky, Saffron, you drive Jimmy straight back to the farm. Try to get back before the sun comes up. Helen, you and I will be heading for England.”

“Hey,” Saffron interjected, “I thought we were all going.”

“It’s too risky.” Viggo bundled the truck over the rough tracks. “Helen and I are trained agents.”

“And what am I?” Saffron snapped back. “A babysitter?”

“Who’s a baby?” Jimmy remarked, indignant.

“She’s right,” Helen said calmly. “You should go with Saffron. I haven’t been active for years and…” She drew a deep breath, “I don’t want to leave the kids.”

“Oh, Mum,” Jimmy groaned, “you’re being—”

“I know – overprotective. But whatever you say, I’m driving back to the farm with you, Jimmy.”

They had reached a main road now and Viggo picked up the pace.

“Why am I even coming then?” Jimmy mumbled. Saffron’s response was firm.

“You’re the only asset we have to offer. Without you, there’s no reason for the French Secret Service to help us.”

An ‘asset’. Jimmy never thought he’d hear himself described like that. He realised it might be true, but it made him feel like an object. Saffron noticed his silence.

“Sorry, Jimmy,” she added. “I didn’t mean it like it sounded. An ‘asset’ can mean a person as well, you know.”

Jimmy felt comforted by that. If he was ever to feel like a normal person again, the last thing he needed was for everybody around him to treat him as a machine. He smiled cautiously. Saffron smiled back.

There was a steel behind her grace that Jimmy admired. He’d seen Saffron in action and had no doubt that she should be the one to accompany Viggo back to London. He found it hard to imagine his mother being as effective if it came to a fight.

In Paris it was raining heavily and the traffic was as bad as the weather. Viggo spat and cursed as he manoeuvred the truck through the back streets. All the time, Saffron kept her eyes on the wing mirror, watching for any patterns in the vehicles behind them. It was imperative that they weren’t followed.