Revenge (10 page)

Despite the carpet, Jimmy’s landing was unforgiving. He wished he wasn’t strong enough to stay conscious – the pain in his back quadrupled when he slammed into the floor and bounced. Every bone seemed to judder. For a second, he kept his eyes closed, waiting for the pain of the bullet wound to take him over completely.

But it didn’t. Instead, as it spread from the point of impact, it faded. Very carefully, Jimmy rolled his shoulders. His joint clicked, but there was no jab of pain. The moment of agony had passed. Then he noticed something else. He felt around with his hands. The carpet beneath him was dry – no blood.

He was surprised to find the breath flowing back into his lungs without any discomfort. He knew he was strong, but surely being shot in the middle of his back by a machine gun should have caused more damage than this?

At last he found the confidence to roll on to his side. The gunfire around the room had stopped and before Jimmy could get to his feet, the lights came on. Jimmy blinked.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” came a shout, echoing around the hall. “This exercise is over.” It was a deep American boom, with a coarse texture that suggested it came from an older man.

“A bit late now,” was the response – in a familiar English voice. “You’ve already shot Jimmy.” It was Viggo.

“Chris?” Jimmy called out. “Why did you let them shoot me?” He was shocked to hear his own voice coming out so clearly, and that he had no shortness of breath. Had he really been shot at all or had he imagined it?

He peered into the murky corner of the hall where the voices had come from, his head still on its side. Even sideways, though, he was able to recognise Christopher Viggo running towards him.

“I told him to stop them,” Viggo said in a rush, “but he wouldn’t. Are you OK?”

“I was shot,” Jimmy said softly, not able to believe what he was saying.

“Ha!” Behind Viggo marched a stocky man of about sixty. He was dressed in dark blue army uniform, with a chest so covered in ribbons and medals it looked like a patchwork quilt. His shoulders were broad and he carried his cap under one arm, which exposed his
thinning hair. “Ha!” he laughed again, throwing his head back to show off his speckled and wobbly chin. “Are you dead?” Jimmy didn’t know what to say. “Are you dead, Jimmy Coates? You don’t look dead to me! Ha!”

The man reached where Jimmy was lying and tilted his head to examine Jimmy’s face.

“Step down, gentlemen,” he called out, without turning away. Looking over the man’s shoulder, Jimmy saw two huge men un-strap machine guns from their shoulders, unclip night vision goggles from their helmets and salute.

“Sir, yes, sir!” they shouted as one, then marched smartly away.

“You should have stopped the exercise as soon as we saw him come in,” Viggo insisted.

The American shrugged. “I wanted to see how my men would cope when an unexpected element gatecrashed their party,” he snarled.

“And how did they cope with this ‘unexpected element’?” Jimmy asked, anger bubbling over in his voice.

“Very well,” came the reply. “They shot it. Ha!” The soldier threw his head back again, then ran a hand over his skull, smoothing down what little hair he had left.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jimmy,” he said when his cackle had died away. “Perhaps this wasn’t the best way for us to meet, eh? I’m Colonel Keays.” He held out his hand and fixed Jimmy with a stare.

Jimmy looked at Viggo, whose expression was almost pleading. It was several seconds before Jimmy reached out to take the Colonel’s hand. When he did, the man hauled Jimmy up with hardly any effort. He may have looked old, but it was immediately clear to Jimmy that Colonel Keays had led a life where strength meant everything.

Straight away, Viggo turned Jimmy round to examine his back.

“Is it bad?” Jimmy asked, rolling his shoulders again to see whether it hurt. It didn’t.

“That’s amazing,” Viggo gasped.

“Told you,” Keays muttered. “Not a scratch.”

Jimmy and Viggo both looked at him as if he had landed from another planet.

“Top-secret, state-of-the-art technology,” he explained. “We call them ‘laser-blanks’. We’re still testing them, but so far it looks like they’re perfect for training exercises.”

“Laser-blanks?” Jimmy repeated, bemused. “I don’t understand.” He squirmed at the thought of a laser going into his back.

“Each shot is actually a photon-cluster – basically, a packet of energy that’s designed to mimic exactly the behaviour of a real bullet. You can use them with regular guns, they don’t leave shells on the ground, or make a mess like that ridiculous paintballing, and, best of all, they hurt like hell when you get hit. That means that even in
training there’s a genuine desire to avoid getting shot – which is a good habit to have in combat.” He paused to brush some dust off his cap, and polish the eagle insignia with his sleeve. Jimmy was still too shocked to start thinking about who this man was or who he worked for.

“The difference is,” the solider went on, “with laser-blanks, you’re up on your feet again in no time. Now, with a regular target there’d still be considerable pain after the event and some nasty bruising the next day, but I’ve heard you’re no regular target.” He stroked his chin and looked Jimmy up and down, a strange smile on his lips.

Jimmy didn’t know how to react. He’d never expected to encounter the US army and especially not in such unusual surroundings. He was about to ask Viggo what was going on, but he was cut off.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” growled Viggo. “Why did you do it?”

Jimmy was taken aback by Viggo’s anger and tried to avoid his glare.

“To find out who your contacts were,” he snapped.

“I said I’d tell you when you needed to know.”

“Well, I needed to know now, OK?” Jimmy couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice. The two of them stared at each other, fuming. Jimmy wasn’t going to back down.

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Keays urged, placing a hand on Viggo’s shoulder. “Don’t be mad at the poor little
killing machine.” He winked at Jimmy. Jimmy felt like his face had been slapped. How could this man call him that and then find it funny? Jimmy’s eyes burned. But it was worse than just a cruel description – it revealed how many of Jimmy’s secrets Viggo had shared.

“He was following his natural instincts to make sure he and his family were safe,” the Colonel went on and patted Jimmy on the back. “Well, you’re safe now, Jimmy. You’re with the CIA.”

“The CIA?” Jimmy gulped.

“That’s right, buddy.” The Colonel blasted out another raucous laugh and rocked his head back. “The Central Intelligence Agency – defending the land of the free by any means necessary.”

Jimmy quickly ran through the events of the past few days. It seemed obvious now. Only an organisation with the power, the expertise and the budget of the CIA would have been able to get all of Jimmy’s group out of Britain, through US immigration and into a safehouse in Chinatown. But why would they go to so much trouble? There was suddenly so much running through Jimmy’s mind. He stared at Viggo, full of doubt.

“I had to keep it secret,” Viggo said, still furious. “You should be thanking me. Do you know the risks I took to get in touch with the CIA? You can’t just call their fugitive hotline, you know.”

Jimmy felt a heat building inside him. He fought to keep control and hear Viggo out.

“It was the best thing for you,” Viggo went on. “And would you have come to America if I’d told you my contacts were another government agency? No way – you’d have refused to get involved with them. I know you don’t have a lot of trust left for governments.”

Jimmy’s anger jumped up in his chest, but then he realised Viggo was right. First, they had gone through the terror of escaping NJ7, then the French Secret Service had let them down to serve their own ends. The last thing Jimmy would have done was willingly put himself in the hands of a third country’s Secret Service. And so far, it looked like Viggo had done the right thing by getting the CIA to help them.

“OK,” Jimmy mumbled, dropping his eyes to the floor. “But you should have…” He didn’t even bother finishing his sentence. There was far too much for him to worry about. He didn’t want to waste his energy in endless arguments with one of the few men he could trust.

“Good, that’s good,” Colonel Keays announced, nodding his head and smiling. “Now that we’re all friends again – welcome to the Knickerbocker Hotel.”

“What?” Jimmy exclaimed. For the first time since the lights had come on, he allowed himself to look around the place. Dust covered every surface and even seemed to clog the air. The walls were a deep red, with golden swirls decorating the corners, all the way up to the ceiling. The banister of the staircase was gold as
well, and incredibly ornate. Jimmy’s mouth dropped open when he looked straight up and saw the biggest chandelier he could have imagined. It was draped in giant cobwebs. All around him was a scene of faded glory, frozen in time.

“In the 1920s this was a popular place,” the Colonel explained, striding towards the stairs. “The guests were so well looked after they even had their own door straight on to the subway so they could avoid the weather outside. That’s the only entrance these days.” He climbed as he spoke, waving his cap around at the surroundings. “Look at the place! The Knickerbocker is perfect for simulating warfare in an urban environment – the balcony, the pillars, even the elevators. It all makes a fascinating challenge to a Secret Service commando unit.”

Jimmy imagined teams of soldiers securing positions all around the vast lobby.

“The other great thing,” Keays shouted, his voice echoing down from the balcony, “is that they converted the upper floors into a cinema. We can make as much noise as we want; test weapons, explosives – anything. Everybody assumes it’s Dolby Surround Sound. Ha!”

Jimmy tried to smile with the Colonel, but he just wasn’t in the mood.

“What does he want from us?” Jimmy whispered. Colonel Keays was too far away to hear now.

“He wants to find a way to relocate us,” Viggo replied, glancing sideways at Jimmy. “That’s what we’ve been discussing: going into hiding with false identities.”

“But what’s he doing it for?” Jimmy insisted. “All this money and help he’s given us. What does he want in return? Me?” He almost choked on the word.

Viggo looked up at Keays nervously, but it was OK – the Colonel was strolling about the upper level, still proclaiming about how clever the CIA was to use the Knickerbocker.

“He wants the same thing we want,” Viggo whispered. “To smash NJ7.”

Jimmy felt a jolt of shock. It looked as if there was suddenly a demon in Viggo’s eyes.
That’s what you want
, Jimmy thought.
I just want to be left alone
.

“Look what they’ve done to us,” Viggo went on. “And to Britain.”

Jimmy didn’t know how to respond at first. From the aggression all over Viggo’s face, it didn’t look like he was thinking of Britain – or even himself.

“The CIA isn’t helping us because they care about Britain,” Jimmy suggested.

“So what? They’re on our side now. It’s our chance to grind NJ7 into the ground – for everyone they’ve lied to, for everyone they’ve betrayed, and everyone they’ve shot in the back.”

Viggo turned away and hid his eyes with his hand. “Let’s make them pay,” he muttered under his breath.

“But we came here to hide,” Jimmy countered, “not to fight back. We might be able to get away to somewhere they’ll never find us.”

“Wake up, Jimmy!” Viggo yelled. The Colonel had seen they were talking and was coming back to join them. “There’s nowhere to hide,” Viggo continued. “Any ten-year-old kid can search Google and watch live satellite feeds of every centimetre of the earth’s surface. Can you imagine what NJ7 is capable of? With billions of pounds diverted from British industry and welfare to pay for military technology?” He drew in a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. “They could find a gnat on the back teeth of a sardine at the bottom of the Indian Ocean. So wake up to reality. It’s time to be as smart and as devious and as cruel as they are. Maybe that’s going to be nasty – violent even. Maybe it could even cause a war. I don’t care any more.”

Jimmy was staggered by the violence in Viggo’s voice. He had never seen him so passionate.

“They’ve done enough!” Viggo bellowed. “They have no feelings. They kill without question. It’s time we stopped feeling too.” A tear crept down the side of his nose.

Jimmy could hardly breathe, he was so stunned. A part of him wanted to console his friend, but his feet were rooted to the spot and his voice had died in his chest. Then, inside him, came the rumbling of his programming. It was like a sleeping monster, stirring at
the noise coming from the entrance to its cave. It longed to kill.

Was it really time to stop feeling and kill without question, Jimmy wondered.
But feeling is the part of me
that’s human
, protested a quivering voice inside his head. But that voice quickly faded away.

Suddenly, Jimmy stumbled to one side and clutched his ear. He cried out in pain. It felt like a drill was forcing its way into the side of his head.

“What’s the matter?” Viggo asked urgently.

Jimmy couldn’t even speak.

“Same as last time?” Viggo asked.

Jimmy nodded, breathing deeply. He leaned on a pillar to support himself. After less than a minute, the attack passed.

“What’s this about?” asked Keays.

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said softly. He wiped his face with his hands and found they were shaking.

“He’s been like this for days now,” Viggo said with concern. “And he sees strange images too. Is there a CIA doctor who could take a look at him?”

Jimmy knew at once that a doctor wasn’t going to help. His programming was sending him a powerful message. He felt like the only way to deal with the
attacks and the images was to respond to what it was telling him.

“I don’t need a doctor,” he blurted out.

“Are you sure?” Viggo started. “Before, you said that…” But Jimmy cut him off.

“Someone’s going to kill the President.”

Jimmy knew they would probably think he was crazy, just as Georgie had warned him. But he was face to face with a senior officer from the CIA. Jimmy felt he had to say something. If he didn’t, the consequences would be his responsibility.

Viggo and Keays were both taken aback. “Can you predict the future now?” Keays quipped.

“Jimmy, you’re not thinking straight,” said Viggo. “Is that what you think the images in your head are telling you?”

Jimmy refused to let Viggo make him feel stupid. “I
know
it’s what they’re telling me,” he insisted. “And they’re getting stronger. If I close my eyes I can see the President’s face, and I know there’s an assassin being sent to kill him.”

“How could you possibly know that from what you see in your dreams?” asked Viggo, exasperated. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Jimmy could hardly hold back the anger that bubbled in his gut. “How’s this for ridiculous – I thought I was a normal kid. Now I can see in the dark and breathe underwater. How come that’s not ridiculous, but this is?”

Viggo and Keays looked at each other, unsure what to say.

“I’m telling you,” Jimmy went on, “someone’s going to try and kill President Grogan – and soon. My programming must have noticed something, maybe from the news, or maybe it just knows how NJ7 works.” Now there was panic in Jimmy’s voice. He shifted from foot to foot as he spoke, unable to contain the energy buzzing through him.

“NJ7?” Viggo repeated. “So you’re saying you think it’s NJ7 that will send someone to kill the President?”

“I can just feel it,” Jimmy said weakly. He dropped his eyes to the floor, suddenly embarrassed that he’d brought up the subject at all.

“Why would NJ7 want to kill President Grogan?” Viggo asked. “He’s their ally. He can help them if there’s a war against France.”

Jimmy shrugged. He could hear how outrageous he must have sounded. He had no evidence to go on, just his faith in his own instincts. Even that was beginning to weaken.

Keays cut through the awkward silence. “Actually,” he said quickly, “that’s the information that was given to the public.”

“What?” Viggo asked, shocked. “Grogan has suddenly become an enemy of Britain?”

“Not quite,” Keays explained. “But it’s very unlikely that the President will get US troops involved in another
expensive foreign war just to help out the British. Especially since Britain closed its doors to American businesses.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if Grogan refuses to help, and NJ7 thought there was anybody else who would be more sympathetic, then they’d have every reason to try and eliminate the current President. It’s one of the scenarios we’ve had to consider in my department.”

Jimmy felt his faith in himself cautiously returning. Then Keays snatched it away.

“But that’s exactly why the President is safe,” the Colonel insisted. “We’ve already thought of this and covered every possible angle.”

Jimmy searched his mind for some indication of what to believe. How could he know what was a justified fear and what was paranoia?

“Hey, look,” Keays began again, “it can’t have been easy you telling me this.” His eyes twinkled at Jimmy, like drops of ink drying on parchment. “But you can relax. The President is perfectly safe – he’s at the United Nations right now, which is one of the most secure locations in the world. This afternoon he has a press conference with the British Prime Minister, and there’s no way anybody could harm him there. For a start, nobody except the Security Services even knows where the press conference is going to be until I
announce it in an hour’s time. After that,” he paused and Jimmy thought he saw a smile flicker across his face. “Well, let me show you.”

Colonel Keays marched quickly away, disappearing into the darkness at the other end of the hotel’s vast lobby. Jimmy was alone with Viggo, but the man remained staring down at the carpet, lost in his own thoughts. Jimmy watched him, not blinking, studying Viggo’s face. He was searching for something – a familiar movement, a likeness, or even just a feeling that there was a connection. He was searching for any sign of himself.

Is this…?
Jimmy couldn’t even finish the question inside his own head. His mouth opened as if he might ask it aloud, but his voice was wrapped up in his chest, a long way from coming out. He was still staring at Viggo as Keays tapped away at a laptop on the hotel reception desk. Just next to it, a projector flickered into life. Jimmy would need more time if he was going to work out for himself whether he was looking at his father.

“What are you staring at?” Viggo hissed. Jimmy looked away.

“Here’s a treat for you, Jimmy,” announced Keays, raising his voice above the distant rattle of a subway train. He pointed up at the wall behind Jimmy. “Blueprints.” The beam from the projector threw giant images across its entire breadth. It was showing
detailed technical drawings of the layout of a building, against a bright red background.

“But these are red,” Jimmy pointed out.

“Some names just stick, kid. Ha!” Keays exploded into a laugh and slapped his legs. “Last I heard, you folks were still calling Britain ‘Great’.” Viggo tutted and turned away.

“Now tell me, Jimmy,” Keays went on, growing more excited, “Can you see a weakness?”

“What?” Jimmy exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at MoMA – the Museum of Modern Art,” Keays explained. He flicked through a series of images, tapping a key on the laptop every few seconds to move to the next one. “It’s all here in front of you – schematics for the whole place. Construction, ventilation, power lines – everything. These are the sightlines” He traced the cursor across the blueprints. “These stars are the principal security posts.” He walked across the room and pointed out dozens of them, but way too fast for Jimmy to follow. “And this…” He reached the wall and patted a point on a blueprint. The red light was painted across his body and face, making him look almost demonic. “…is where the President will be standing.”

Jimmy was so bamboozled by all the information, Keays could have been telling him the President would be standing on the ceiling. That’s how little sense it made.

“A press conference at MoMA?” Viggo asked softly. “That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”

“Security,” replied the Colonel. “We use a different location each time the President makes a public appearance. We have to keep the terrorists guessing.” He was deadly serious.

Meanwhile, Jimmy’s eyes darted all over the blueprints. It made him dizzy.

“So can you see a weakness, Jimmy?” barked Keays.

“I-I—” Jimmy stuttered. “I don’t know. I’d have to study these plans I guess.” He forced himself to keep staring at the wall, but there was too much information to take in. As soon as he thought he’d worked out what a line meant, it seemed to shift into a totally new position, and then Jimmy lost it.

“These plans look pretty thorough to me, Jimmy,” said Viggo. “Should you be showing us this, Colonel? Isn’t it classified information?”

“Ha!” Keays roared. “Of course it’s classified. These are top-secret documents. But you guys are with me now, aren’t you?”

Jimmy and Viggo shot each other a quick glance.

“Of course we’re with you,” Viggo said hurriedly.

“Yeah, of course,” Jimmy muttered, though it took a lot of effort.

Keays moved back towards the beam and tapped more keys on the laptop. The blueprints disappeared
from the wall. It was dark again. Jimmy tried to cling on to the maze of lines and symbols, but the more he tried, the less he could remember. It was as if the lines of the schematics twisted into a net that wrapped round Jimmy’s brain and cut off the blood.

“You’re still not sure, are you?” Keays asked. Jimmy didn’t react. However much Colonel Keays worked to convince him, there was still that terror gripping Jimmy’s heart. The images from his dream hardly left his head now. It felt almost as if death itself had made its way inside him to share its secrets.

“Hey, listen,” Keays went on at last, “if you’re still convinced that something is going to happen to the President, then I’d be a fool to ignore your warning. So I tell you what – I’ll review every security precaution personally over the next few hours. Even better than that – I want you to come to the press conference yourself to keep an eye out for anything you think is suspicious.” He reached into the top pocket of his jacket and pulled out two laminated security passes on black cords. “Will you take one of these?”

“You want me to come?” Jimmy was stunned. He was pleased that the Colonel was taking his premonition seriously, but he had never expected this.

“You too, Viggo,” the Colonel announced, offering a security pass to him as well. He held one in each hand, waiting for Jimmy and Viggo to take them.

“Look,” Viggo said cautiously, “we appreciate all your help, but I don’t think we should be the ones protecting the President.”

“Ha! You won’t be protecting the President.” Keays’ gleaming smile stood out in the gloom. His arms were still stretched out in front of him. “That’s my job. You two will be my guests. That’s all. But if you do spot anything you think I’ve missed, you’ll be doing America a great service by pointing it out.”

Viggo hesitated. Then he said, “What I mean is, it’s not safe. We’re here to hide. The sooner the CIA can relocate us, with new identities, the better. Meanwhile, we should stay out of sight and out of trouble.” He looked at Jimmy, his eyes almost pleading him not to agree with the Colonel.

Jimmy tried to make his decision rationally. Of course, the safest thing was to go back to Chinatown and hide. But the strength of his desire was compelling. He forced himself to think through all the consequences of him being at the press conference, but it was all shoved aside by an overwhelming urge taking control of his muscles. It was as if his hand reached out by itself. Even if he’d tried to hold back, the movement was stronger than Jimmy’s willpower – he could do nothing to stop himself taking the security pass. His body wanted him to be there. Somehow, the images in his head made it impossible for him to go anywhere else.

As soon as Jimmy’s fingers touched the plastic, Viggo gasped.

“Jimmy,” he exclaimed, “think about it. NJ7 will be all over the place. We shouldn’t even be in the same city.”

“Rubbish,” scoffed Keays. “They’ll have a couple of agents acting as bodyguards – nothing more. And I’m in charge of the operation. I can make sure any British agents are posted somewhere they’ll never see either of you.”

Jimmy watched as his arm drew the security pass towards him. He was no longer responsible for any movement his limbs made, but it felt good – as if, at last, he was in control.

“Jimmy, stop,” Viggo urged again. But Jimmy couldn’t stop – and he didn’t want to. He knew exactly what Viggo was going to say next.

He looked Viggo in the eye. It was almost a challenge.
Say it
, Jimmy was thinking.
Tell me my father
will be there
. There was a tortured delight in Jimmy’s heart when he saw the reluctance on Viggo’s face to say what he had to.
You know it’s a lie, don’t you?
There was a twist in Jimmy’s stomach. It sent a shiver up through his body and tears to the corners of his eyes.
Say ‘father
’.

Viggo’s voice was barely a whisper:

“Your father will be there.”