Sitting Target (3 page)

Lee slid down the ramp, picked up his wheelchair and scooped up his things. He looked down at the dead man in the flowers. Then he looked at
his watch. Five to two. He only had five minutes to find Georgi.

Back in his wheelchair, Lee scooted back into the clinic. He edged through the door and past the queue inside. He swept past, heading for the doors marked ‘Short Stay Unit'. He didn't look back as he sped towards the swing doors. He knew he had to be quick. Time was running out – fast.

The clinic was a maze of corridors. At last Lee came to a flight of stairs with the sign: ‘PRIVATE WARDS – top floor'. There was no way he could get up there in time. He'd have to take the lift.

As he skidded into the lift, Lee thumped the button for the top floor and the doors slid shut. It was only then he thought,
What do I do now?
He was about to ask for a list of names from a stranger who was dying. It all seemed hopeless. He'd never get to the room in time. Not if he
still had to get past the police guard. And where was the dreaded Zeta?

The lift stopped and the doors opened. Lee raced out into a long corridor full of hospital smells – but no people. The shiny floor and white doorways were empty – apart from a cleaner in green overalls. And at the far end, on a chair by a door, sat a policeman. Lee headed towards him. A doctor in a white coat swept past without taking any notice. That was a good sign. Lee clearly didn't look out of place. A nurse came past with a trolley. “Hello, love,” she smiled.

The policeman was reading a book, but he looked up as Lee got closer.

“What can I do for you, young man?”

Lee pulled an envelope from under his cushion. “I've made a card. A ‘Get Well' card.”

“Really?” the policeman frowned. “Who for?”

Lee looked up at the door. “For the person in room 12.”

“Do you know him?”

“I'm doing a project at school. To visit sick people. Can I give it to him?”

“Afraid not, son. No visitors allowed. Give me the card and I'll pass it on.”

Lee feared this would happen. He'd have to use the pin in his pocket. He jabbed it into his leg and his eyes watered. “But I've come a long way and I made it all by myself. I just want to cheer him up to help him get better.” The tears spilled down his face. “I used to be in that room. After my accident. I know what's it's like to be stuck in there with no visitors. Please let me say hello. My teacher is waiting for me downstairs. I won't take long. It'll make my day. Please.” He sobbed into a hanky and waited.

The policeman sighed. He peered through the
small window in the door. “He's awake but it's more than my job's worth. I guess it won't hurt. You don't look like an assassin! Just say hello and give him the card. That's all. Be quick. Come straight out again. Is that clear?”

Lee's face lit up. “Thank you!” He pushed through the door, which swung shut behind him.

A man lay propped up in bed. He looked very pale, with dark rings round his eyes. He was young, but totally bald. His eyes were closed as he listened to an iPod. Lee's chair knocked the bed and the man opened his eyes – startled.

Lee whispered, “Your brother Alex told me to come. He told me to say PRO PATRIA. I don't know what it means, but…”

The man leaned forwards. “At last. I'm so glad you're here. I just heard on the radio that my brother was killed. We knew it was a risk. PRO PATRIA means ‘for our country'. You are helping many people back home. The evil men
out there tried to kill me. I am sick but I need to send a message fast. You have a phone?”

“Yes.” Lee held it out. He was amazed that Georgi didn't look as if he'd die at any minute.

“Please let me use it. The police think I am a bad man who should not be in this country. They do not let me use a phone. Zeta stole my passport and papers. He also stole my hair. It all fell out after he put poison in my food.”

He tapped a list of names into the phone.

Lee looked at his watch. It was two o'clock. Why did the man in the ambulance say Georgi would soon be dead? Suddenly, there were voices just outside. Lee turned towards the door. He pulled himself up to look through the glass. The policeman was talking to the cleaner in green overalls. Lee gasped. The lower part of the cleaner's ear was missing.

“It's Zeta! He's out there with a gun.”

For an ill man, Georgi moved very fast. “Quick, into the bathroom. Leave your chair. Give me your baseball cap.”

Lee threw him the cap as he scrambled through the bathroom door. Georgi stuffed pillows in his bed and another on Lee's chair. Then he threw the red cap on top so it looked from behind as if Lee was still sitting there. Georgi struggled into the bathroom and shut the door. They both sat still, Georgi panting and trying hard not to cough.

Out in the corridor, Zeta had knocked the policeman to the floor with one chop to the neck. He barged into Georgi's room, aimed a pistol and pulled the trigger. Three shots slammed into the bed. One after another. Three holes ripped through the sheets into the pillows underneath. In the next second, Zeta pointed the gun at the back of Lee's chair. He pulled the trigger again – twice. A hole punched through the chair. Another ripped through the baseball cap. As it flew across the room and hit the bathroom door, Zeta turned and ran.

The ‘killing' was over in seconds. But the intended victims sat alive and well in the bathroom. Both were stunned and breathless as they slowly emerged from their hideout. Feathers and dust still danced above the bed. Lee picked up his cap, his finger poking through the scorched bullet hole. He turned to Georgi with wide eyes. Still shocked, they shook hands. Only then did they dare to smile.

Georgi held up the phone. “Message sent and received. Success at last! We've done it. All thanks to you.”

Lee's face beamed. He wasn't useless after all. He'd made a difference at last.

The policeman crashed into the room. He held his nose as blood dripped through his fingers.

“I need that chair of yours, son,” he shouted. “Quick!”

“Yes, of course. I'll get you a nurse,” Lee said.

“Not for me. I need wheels. I'm going to get him.”

He pulled the chair through the door into the corridor. Pushing it in front of him, he began
running. As he gained speed, people in the corridor leapt out of his way. They pressed themselves against the walls. A nurse screamed and ran for cover.

Zeta had already reached the end of the corridor. He'd changed from his overalls and now wore a doctor's white coat. No one stopped to take any notice of him. He walked quickly towards the stairs. Within minutes he'd be out of the building and away. That was his plan. But the policeman had other ideas. He was already hurtling towards the top of the stairs at full speed. So fast that nothing could stop him.

After just a few steps down the stairs, Zeta turned to look behind him. His head was level with the floor of the corridor. He saw the wheelchair shooting towards him. In horror, he reached for his gun. He raised his arm to fire. But it was too late.

The policeman fell to the floor as the wheelchair took off from the top step. It shot through the air and flew at Zeta's head. It struck him in the mouth. Both he and the chair smashed into the railings and flipped over the top. They fell with a crash and clattered to the stairs below. His gun flew into the wall with a deafening shot. It fired into the seat of the chair. A bullet ripped through it and into Zeta's back. Both man and wheelchair thudded onto the bottom step. The wheels spun with a whir, but Zeta lay still.

The policeman looked over the rail. “That'll teach you. You're under arrest.”

But it was too late for that now. Zeta was dead.

*

“Can I come back to see you tomorrow?” Lee asked Georgi. “If they let me.”

“I hope so,” he said. “You're a brave boy. I'd like to know how you got into all this. I want to hear about my brother, too. You were one of
the last people he spoke to. I want to tell you how that message we sent will change things for the better. My country will be a safer place. The bad men on that list will now be exposed for being killers back home. You'd make a good secret agent, Lee!”

They shook hands.

The policeman carried Lee to the lift. “It's just as well I let you in, young man,” he said. “You took a mad risk, but you saved Georgi's life. But I'm afraid you need to know the bad news. Your wheelchair is a wreck. It's all bent. But don't worry – they're getting you a smart new one. Top of the range. A James Bond model!”

“Cool!” Lee grinned. “But I'd like to keep my old one to show people. Proof of the day I became a spy and saved the world. Well, I saved Georgi at least.”

By the time he'd finished talking to the police, Lee's mum was pulling into the car park. She
was bound to make a fuss that he still hadn't seen the physio yet. She'd probably get in another of her bad moods.

“Hi, love. How did you get on?” She got out of the car with a wave. “Did you cope?”

“I think so, Mum. Rather well, I think.”

“Look at the state of your jeans! You look a mess. Where's your silly red cap?”

“It got shot.”

“Don't be stupid, Lee. You watch too many spy DVDs. And where's your chair?”

“That got shot too. They've given me an upgrade.” He laughed and pointed at his new wheelchair. “I spy with my little eye something beginning with M.O.W.”

“M.O.W.?”

“Yeah, ‘Meals on Wheels'. I fancy a bag of chips in my new turbo-charged spy machine!”

“Come on then. I'll treat you to chips and a pizza. I just got you another treat, too. A new DVD. It's about a boy who's a spy. A bit far-fetched… as if that could really happen.”

“Thanks, Mum. Cool! You seem in a good mood all of a sudden.”

She giggled. “Do you know – I can't believe my luck. I just went in to pay the gas bill. They said someone had already paid it. In cash. The garage said the same about my car bill. They must have made a mistake, but I wasn't going to argue. So shh, don't tell a soul!”

Lee smiled. “I won't say a word.” And he meant it. He'd become skilled at keeping secrets… and an expert at escape. Escape from feeling a victim… and from being no more than a sitting target.

THE END