by Joe Craig
“What the hell happened to your ear, Stanton?” Miss Bennett asked.
“Just an experiment that went wrong.” He glared at Mitchell, his Irish accent a little stronger than before.
“I think this belongs to you,” Mitchell announced casually, holding out a diamond earring. Ark Stanton pocketed it abruptly.
It didn’t take long for the man to find some bandages and patch up his ear properly. Then he pulled a mirror from Dr Higgins’ old desk and wiped most of the blood from his face. His shirt was almost completely red, blending in with the worn, leather worktop.
“Well?” barked Miss Bennett. “What have you got for me? I’ve been told you’re a genius.” Before Stanton could even smile, she added, “I never trust what I’m told.”
In response, Stanton could only sneer. When he started his explanation, there were daggers in his voice.
“As you know,” he began, “Jimmy Coates doesn’t transmit a signal.” He pulled out a pile of papers from a drawer and slammed them down in front of him on the desk. “He was designed that way so that no enemy could trace him. Unfortunately, it means that we can’t trace him either. So I wondered whether, instead of transmitting a signal, he could receive one. He wasn’t designed to receive signals electronically, but I studied Dr Higgins’ old notes and I believe that if we transmit a series of strong enough images, bombarding every frequency, it could be enough to jam Jimmy’s programming.”
“What do you mean, jam his programming?” Miss Bennett scoffed. “He’ll just fall over and melt?”
“No, he won’t even realise it’s happening, but we could force him to do certain things he would never usually do, or go places without knowing why. All the time, he’d feel like it was his programming compelling him to act. But it’ll be us.”
Mitchell looked across at Miss Bennett’s blank expression. He wasn’t great with computers, but this seemed like technical talk that was fairly simple to understand.
“You mean it’ll be like hacking into him and giving him a virus.” He tried to sound casual about it, but really he thought Stanton’s idea was one of the most fantastic he had ever heard. Miss Bennett glanced at him. He didn’t look back, but couldn’t hide his proud smile.
“Yeah, that’s sort of right,” Stanton replied. His ear may have been bandaged now, but he hadn’t forgotten about his run-in with Mitchell. He glared at him a moment longer than was necessary. “Except that we can’t just email it to him,” he went on. “We need to transmit it through the airwaves and force it on him. So it’s everywhere around him – in the very air he breathes.”
“But we don’t know where he is,” Miss Bennett interjected. “We’d need a transmitter strong enough to cover the whole country.”
“Or a network of transmitters.” Stanton let his full lips curl into a smile. His eyes twinkled like the earring Mitchell had ripped out.
“You look like a man who has something in mind, Ark,” Miss Bennett cooed.
“Mobile phone masts.”
“Yes, of course,” Miss Bennett gasped, leaning back in her seat. Her eyes seemed to go misty for a second or two and her words were faint. “Even if we can’t find him,” she whispered, “we can control him.”
“The signal might periodically jam some other electrical systems,” Stanton interrupted, “but nothing serious.”
“Like what?” Miss Bennett asked suspiciously.
“The power supply, air-traffic control, TV reception.”
“Air-traffic control isn’t serious?”
Stanton shrugged. “Were you thinking of flying somewhere?”
Miss Bennett stroked her chin for a second, then also shrugged.
“What about me?” Mitchell asked. “Won’t I also, you know, pick up the signal?” He squirmed a little – referring to himself as if he was a radio didn't come naturally.
“Forget about it,” Stanton told him. “You might get headaches or muscle cramps, but the signal’s designed for Jimmy’s psyche, not yours.”
Mitchell nodded uncertainly.
“So,” Miss Bennett cut in, “apart from control over every phone mast in the country, what else do you need?”
“I need to know everything there is to know about Jimmy,” Stanton gabbled, delighted that his plan was being taken seriously. “For maximum impact I’ll need a psychologist, a graphic designer, and a complete behavioural and emotional profile of the target.”
“You need to know how Jimmy behaves and feels?”
“Yes – I need to get inside his head. Will I have any chance to interview the Prime Minister? He would know him best, wouldn’t he?”
“No time for that,” Miss Bennett murmured. “He’s in America.”
She thought for a moment and looked sideways at Mitchell. He always assumed he had done something wrong when she did that, but he held his chest out, not wanting to seem uneasy.
“Eva Doren,” Miss Bennett announced suddenly. “The girl’s known him for years through his sister. Recently she was even living with him. She must have observed something. I knew that girl would be useful to this organisation.” Miss Bennett jumped up, full of excitement.
“What about her family?” Stanton asked. “Are they still looking for her?”
“Unfortunately, yes. They’re a nuisance.”
“What if they find out she’s here and take her away? I don’t want to lose Eva halfway through the project. I’m not so worried about her parents, but those two brothers of hers are angry. I heard they were smart too. They could cause problems. And Eva’s intelligence will be integral to this project.”
Miss Bennett raised an eyebrow. “Is she that clever?”
“This isn’t a joke, Miss Bennett. You know I mean the vital information she can provide us about the target.” Stanton’s expression was becoming more fraught. Miss Bennett raised a hand to calm him down.
“I’ll deal with them,” she said softly. “Her parents and her brothers. Don’t worry. But wait a minute, if we’re going to control Jimmy, we have to decide what we’re going to make him do…”
Stanton smiled, relaxed once more and leaned forward to conspire closer.
“Actually, I have designed some rough images ready for transmission. I thought this would be the perfect way to implement the Reflex Plan.”
Miss Bennett seemed to freeze. This was the first time Mitchell had seen her remotely close to being dumbfounded, but he had no idea what this ‘Reflex Plan’ was. Gradually, Miss Bennett’s expression melted into one of utter glee.
“Well, that would mean I could assign this young gentleman another mission.” She was almost talking to herself, but Mitchell knew she meant him. Then she leapt up and her words reverberated around the bunker. “Well, what are you waiting for? We can improve the images as we go along. For now – start transmitting the signal.”
“Miss Bennett,” Stanton smirked, “we already are.”
Jimmy knew not to look the checkout girl in the eye. But his new appearance made him seem older than nearly twelve, and he could think of a much more natural way for a teenage boy to act. When he took his change he lifted his head and smiled.
“Thanks, love,” he grunted. Then he winked and swaggered away.
His hair was bleached blond now, and spiked. It wasn’t inconspicuous, but it was certainly different to the pictures of him on the news. His new look, combined with his confident demeanour, meant there was no way that checkout girl would connect him to the boy everyone was after.
Jimmy moved briskly down the street. Since Zafi had left them, they had spent three days in hiding at the Bed and Breakfast place. Too long, Jimmy thought. Despite Zafi telling them to move on straight away, they had stayed put, waiting for Christopher Viggo. But now, even in this short walk back from the corner shop, Jimmy saw threats on every side. Every shadow twitched; every sound was a cocked rifle; every passer-by was an NJ7 agent about to pounce.
Jimmy pulled his hoodie over his head and quickened his stride. His heart picked up its pace as w
ell. There was something wrong. It was in the rhythm of his steps – they had an echo. Somebody was following him. He stopped dead. One step later, so did whoever was following. Jimmy pretended to be looking in a shop window. He studied the reflection, comparing every shadow to what he could remember of the street behind him. What had changed? He could feel his gut churning, but was it his programming preparing for a strike, or his fear?
A breeze sent a chill through his body. He couldn’t stay standing in the street like that. It was too exposed. Should he run? I shouldn’t have come out at all, he thought. Even though it was starting to get dark, he felt far too visible. He knew the others were just as vulnerable to an ambush by NJ7. Any of them could be recognised, but Jimmy was the only one equipped to deal with the danger, except for his mother. She had once been a fully trained NJ7 operative, but she’d already been out for a pile of second-hand clothes, the bleach for Jimmy’s hair and basic food supplies. It was too risky for the same person to go out again and they’d needed to replenish their stock of fresh groceries.
Jimmy’s eyes flicked from side to side, checking for even the slightest hint at the presence of the Green Stripe. Am I imagining things? he wondered. Noises, shadows, suspicions – was this the only evidence he had that he was being followed? The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Get back, he ordered himself. Quickly. His instincts were screaming it.
When he turned to carry on walking, he was sure he caught a glimpse of a figure crouching behind one of the cars. Attack me, he urged inside his head. Please, attack. At least if they did, Jimmy would know that he wasn’t going mad and then maybe this whole thing could be over. But no attack came.
Eventually, he was back inside the refuge of the Bed and Breakfast.
“We’ve got to move on,” he shouted out. One by one the others emerged into the hallway. “This is crazy. They know we’re here. I can feel it.”
“Calm down,” his mother reassured him.
“You’re the one that’s crazy,” added Georgie. “If NJ7 knew where we were they would have come to get us.”
“Somebody was following me out there.” Jimmy looked at the faces of the others. Each of them was more filled with doubt and fear.
“Are you sure?” his mother asked. Jimmy didn’t answer. He knew he couldn’t be sure, but he was almost overwhelmed by that jittery feeling. His programming was warning him that there had been somebody else out there in the street. And Jimmy had learned that when his programming told him something, he should trust it – without question.
“We have to wait for Chris,” Helen Coates insisted.
“Why?” Jimmy snapped back. “Why do we have to wait for Chris?”
His mother was astonished. “What do you mean?”
“If this were an NJ7 operation,” Jimmy went on, “would we wait for Chris? Would we? I’m telling you, it’s the wrong decision. We’re running out of money already, and for all we know Chris might not be back for weeks. What if he can’t find a doctor who will help Saffron in secret? What if—”
“We have to give him every chance,” his mother cut in. “Otherwise we’re abandoning the one man who’s done most to help us, aren’t we?”
“Is that really why we’re waiting for him, Mum? Because he helped us?” Jimmy dropped the groceries and rubbed his eyes. “What good does it do him if we wait here? Does he need us? Or do we need him? Do you need him, Mum?”
Everybody stared at him – Felix and Georgie, Felix’s parents, and Jimmy’s mother. Even the couple who used to run the B&B shuffled down the stairs to see what the shouting was about. Jimmy longed to know what was going on in his mother’s mind.
“What if he doesn’t come back at all?” he whispered.
Everybody in the hallway took on a look of horror. But gradually, Jimmy realised none of them was looking at him any more – they were staring straight over his head.
Jimmy spun round to see a black silhouette in the frosted glass of the door. Before he could move, the door handle slowly turned. With a click, the door opened just a crack, and four fingers curled around the wood. The wind swept in, bringing with it the words, “You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked.”
With that, Christopher Viggo was back.
CHAPTER SIX – TWENTY-SEVEN LIVES
Eva stepped into the spotlight with a heavy sigh. The panel had allowed her a break, but it had seemed like only a few seconds – one deep breath and it was over. She had no idea what time it was because the room was one of NJ7’s concrete bunkers, completely enclosed from the outside world. When she turned to face the panel again, she felt like they had been going so long and worked so hard that they had pummelled time itself out of existence.
Her reddish-brown hair was tied back in a pony tail. Her head was spinning and her eyes throbbed from the hours under the intense illumination. She couldn’t even see the people interviewing her from here, though she knew it was a man called Ark Stanton, a psychologist called Dr Amar and a graphic designer. The designer had a clipboard on his lap and the sound of his felt-tip pen scratching against the paper ground at Eva’s nerves. A bead of sweat tickled the back of her neck.
“Let’s return to Jimmy’s temper,” Dr Amar began. His voice was high-pitched – a smug, Scottish whine. “If a wasp stung him, would he respond a) with indifference, b) by saying ‘ouch’ and frowning, c) in some more physical manner or d) by chasing after the wasp and trying to kill it?”
Eva wiped her brow. “I don’t know,” she whimpered. “I told you, I don’t know things like that. This whole thing is ridiculous.”
She couldn’t see the panel, but she could feel them glaring at her even more intensely than the 400-watt bulb that shone in her face. She knew she had to help NJ7 so that she could keep pretending to be on their side. They mustn’t suspect for an instant that she was still loyal to Jimmy and, of course, her best friend Georgie. In the long run, she was sure that it would turn out to be the right decision – she could do her friends more good as a spy within NJ7 than if she’d also escaped. But that meant she could never refuse to cooperate with the Government. If they suspected her deceit, she would be finished.
But today, they had taken a sudden extra interest in her. They’d subjected her to these strange and intense conditions, then interrogated her with hardly a moment’s pause. Hours and hours, with more and more questions – all about Jimmy. Surely this meant they had found her out.
“We need to know, Eva,” Ark Stanton said firmly.
“Erm…” Eva squirmed and fought back the tears. Any second she knew she would break down and confess everything. She could picture herself doing it and a huge part of her longed to give in.
“Make your best guess,” Dr Amar insisted. “Is it a, b, c or d?”
Eva was genuinely trying to work out the answer, but could hardly remember the question. Her thoughts were continually invaded by memories of her friends. She missed them all even more than she missed her own family. The feeling was so strong it made her feel sick. She peered into the light, shielding her eyes with her hand.
“I’m sorry about the extreme conditions, my dear,” the psychologist added. “They are necessary so that we can scrutinise your physical responses as well as your verbal ones. We need a thorough psychological profile of the target.”
“The target?” Eva repeated instinctively. She did her best to hide her distress, but how could she conceal anything under this much scrutiny? The light burned into her forehead. The designer’s pen tapped against his clipboard, and each tap pounded through Eva’s head. They know, she thought. They know I’m a traitor. Admit it and they won’t kill you.
Her breathing was rapid. Each breath felt like sandpaper in her throat. A tear dripped through the sweat on her face. She opened her mouth, about to spill everything, but suddenly… blackness.
Stanton had switched off the spotlight. Eva’s eyes took several seconds to adjust to the normal light of the room.
“I think we’ve got as much out of you as we can for t
oday,” Stanton muttered. “You’ve done well. Thanks, kid.” Eva couldn’t speak. She choked back a scream and looked around her, dazed.
“We can carry on tomorrow,” Stanton continued. “Thanks, doctor.” He signalled to the psychologist and the graphic designer. Both nodded, gathered their notes, and left. On his way out, Dr Amar took the film from a camera that had been trained on Eva the whole time. Then she was alone with Ark Stanton.
“That was tough, wasn’t it?” he started, his soft voice coming like an embrace to Eva’s ears. “Your intelligence is vital, you know. Dr Higgins would have had all the answers, but he’s gone. Miss Bennett knew Jimmy well as his form teacher, but that’s old data now. You are the last person to have spent time with Jimmy. The last person on our side anyway. You can tell us how he thinks, how he acts and how far his capabilities have developed.”
“Maybe it would help if I knew what all this was for,” Eva suggested. If she knew what was going on, she might be able to help Jimmy.
Stanton thought for a second, then nodded. “Let me show you what we’re going to use it for. You deserve it. You’ve worked hard.”
He dashed out of the room and came back cradling a cat in his arms. Its fur was black and ragged, sticking out from a tough, wiry frame.
“Say hello to Miles,” Stanton announced, shaking the cat’s paw in Eva’s direction. “This used to belong to Dr Higgins. He left it here when he deserted.”
Eva was so confused she didn’t know what do with herself. Seconds before, she thought she was going to be exposed as a double agent – now she was being introduced to the staff pets. She could feel her knees quivering and had to consciously try to relax them.
“This isn’t an ordinary cat though,” Stanton explained, placing the animal carefully on the floor. He pulled his chair up behind his desk and tapped a few keys on his computer. His eyes were still on the screen as he spoke. “When Dr Higgins and his team were designing the organically programmed assassins, they needed a prototype.”