by Joe Craig
“Dunno,” he shrugged, trying to sound casual about it. The truth was, the pain wasn’t the only new phenomenon Jimmy had woken up with. There was something else. Something much more worrying to him. He had tried to bring it up a couple of times – with Felix and with the others too – but each time he had stopped himself because it sounded so insignificant. The last thing he wanted was more attention on the tiniest detail of his development.
Jimmy and Felix – or Sam O’Shaughnessy and Billy Gutman – handed over their passports. They nodded their heads obediently at all the questions – small lies that went towards the bigger one of escaping the country. The whole process went smoothly, but that was just the first step of a long journey. Jimmy couldn’t relax.
As they walked away from the desk, he took a deep breath. He had to get something off his chest.
“I dreamed something,” he muttered.
“What?”
“I dreamed,” Jimmy repeated, louder this time. “And I remember it. Bits of it anyway. Images.”
“So what? It’s just a dream. I had this dream once – oh my God, it was so real. I dreamed I was looking out of my bedroom window and this giant porcupine landed – it was from space, obviously – and all these cartoon characters came out…” Felix rattled on and Jimmy let him. He needed to gather his strength to explain what was on his mind. “…and they were like an army and they took over the garden and then I looked down and I was wearing this T-shirt and it had this logo on it and it was, like, the head of a cartoon character cos, get this – I was on their side!”
“But I dreamed,” Jimmy insisted. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“It’s just a dream,” Felix said. “Don’t tell it me. Other people’s dreams are dull.”
“You don’t get it!” Jimmy shouted, then immediately regretted it and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t have dreams. I’ve never dreamed in my life. I train. My training is telling me something.”
Suddenly, Jimmy’s programming swirled in his stomach like a bad fry-up. His senses magnified everything around him. The sounds of the terminal intensified, as if he could hear every word of idle conversation within a 200 metre radius. The scent of metal polish and bleach filled his head.
“What’s up now?” Felix whispered.
“Keep walking,” Jimmy ordered under his breath. “Keep looking straight ahead.” In his mind he replayed the images that had put him on alert. He knew he’d spotted something. Was it a silhouette darting round the end of the check-in counter? Could he be sure? Yes, he was beginning to form a picture now – it was two figures, in fact, outlined against the lake of white light reflected in the floor. Why had they moved away from Jimmy and Felix so sharply and without their shoes squeaking?
“We’re being followed,” Jimmy muttered.
“You’ve got mental problems,” Felix countered. “But all right, I’ll play along.”
They moved towards passport control as normally as they could, but Jimmy felt the desperate drive to get there quicker.
“Come on,” he urged. By the time they handed their passports to the security officer, Jimmy was virtually dragging Felix by the arm.
“Let go,” Felix insisted. “We’re not married.”
Perhaps it was the humour in Felix’s comment. Perhaps it was Jimmy’s conviction that there were two strange figures following them. Whatever it was that distracted them, Jimmy and Felix didn’t notice when the security officer smiled. He always found aliases amusing. He nodded to his colleague at the x-ray machine.
The two boys were still anxiously glancing behind them for two phantom shadows when they were waved through the security checks. From then on, their passage on to the plane was easy. Far too easy.
Thin horizontal strips in the colours of the rainbow. Splashes of red and yellow against a dirty cream background. A white number 53 on a green background. The letter K, bold and black on a bright white wall.
Jimmy forced himself to focus on these images, bringing them into the forefront of his mind, stronger each time. They were the images he’d seen in his sleep – fragments of the first dream he had ever remembered when he woke up. He closed his eyes. The plane hadn’t even taken off yet and he was already driving himself mad with these vivid pictures in his head. It even overshadowed the excitement of being on a plane for the first time.
He pulled out a set of felt tips and a notepad he’d bought in the departure lounge shopping centre. He gripped the pens and tested each colour. Then he started to draw. At first all the images fitted on one page. Then he turned to a clean sheet and drew bigger, bolder – one image per page: horizontal strips in the colours of the rainbow. Splashes of red and yellow. The number 53 – but this one was white, so he drew a green outline and coloured in the outside space. Finally, a thick K – black on white. Then his concentration was broken by an announcement from the captain over the loudspeakers.
“Good afternoon, everybody. I apologise for the short delay…”
“What are those pictures?” Felix asked, at last looking up from his in-depth study of what was going to be showing on the TV during the flight.
Meanwhile, the captain continued over him: “…We were experiencing minor interference with our computer systems. There must be an electrical storm on the continent. But there’s nothing to worry about…”
“They’re stuck in my head,” Jimmy rasped. His throat was suddenly dry.
“It’s easily fixed,” the captain droned on, “so we’ll make up the time in the air and should be landing at JFK on schedule.”
The flight was turbulent, but nevertheless Jimmy was determined to get some sleep. He wasn’t really tired, but he knew he wouldn’t be happy until he found out whether he was going to dream again. He half expected that he’d imagined the whole thing and convinced himself that these images were inside his head – just like he now doubted whether there really had been two people following them at the airport.
It wasn’t until several hours later, when the stewardess was handing round the immigration cards for US customs, that Jimmy finally dropped off. His card sat on his lap, unnoticed.
Jimmy only woke up when the plane touched the ground at John F Kennedy International Airport, New York City. All the excitement about coming to America was gone. There were just four things in Jimmy’s head: thin horizontal strips in the colours of the rainbow. Splashes of red and yellow against a dirty cream background. A white number 53 on a green background. The letter K, bold and black on a bright white wall.
Jimmy reached for his pens.
CHAPTER NINE – FATAL THUMBS
Jimmy’s first experience of the United States was waiting in line at customs. He felt a little woozy from the flight, but kept a constant check on his surroundings. He deliberately stirred up his programming every few seconds so that it was never far from the surface.
“Hey,” Felix whispered, sidling up to him. “Is your immigration card already filled in?”
Jimmy glanced down at them, clutched in his fist. Before he could check, Felix pulled them towards him to see for himself.
“Isn’t that a bit weird?” he asked.
Jimmy didn’t know what to say. Had one of the stewards on the flight been Viggo’s contact? Were they being smuggled into the US by a renegade airline company? For Jimmy, nothing seemed too ridiculous after everything he’d found out in the last few weeks. He peered further back in the queue, where Viggo was waiting with Helen and Georgie. Viggo gave Jimmy a slow nod of reassurance, but it did nothing to calm the boy’s nerves.
“I don’t trust any of this,” Jimmy muttered. Anger infused his voice. A surveillance camera swivelled over the crowd. Jimmy dropped his head.
“Take it easy,” Felix urged. “We’ve made it, haven’t we?”
“You really think that? Look up there.” Jimmy nodded to the head of the queue, where the customs officials waited in their high-sided booths. “First those guys will scan our passports. Then they’ll check our forms. All the time
we’re on camera. The computer is already comparing our faces against a database of the faces of millions of criminals. Then they’ll take our thumbprints using an electronic reader that automatically scans the database for matches.”
“But—”
“Exactly – NJ7 probably put all our fingerprints on that database. As far as Interpol is concerned, we’re criminals. We’ve got perfect passports and documents. We even look a little different from usual, but Felix – we don’t have fake thumbs. And what about retinal scanners? Even with your eyes closed, the laser can read the identity that’s imprinted on the back of your eyes. Ask Chris how his ‘contacts’ are going to fix that.”
Felix was silent, staring at his thumbs. As they shuffled together up to the desk, the fear in them both grew deeper. Jimmy closed his eyes and rolled his thumb over the electronic reader. His head drowned out the clatter of the hall. All he could hear was his own breathing and the ticking of the custom man’s watch. His fear connected directly to that darkest point, somewhere behind his stomach. It sent a vibration up the side of his body, which then wrapped around his brain.
Against his will, he started visualising his escape. Wait until the last possible second, he could hear something saying inside his head. He screamed at it to stop, knowing that if he tried to run, he would feel the thud of a dozen bullets in his back. But the instructions became stronger as the time ran out – and more violent, until Jimmy’s imagination was drowned in a savage but efficient bloodbath. Any second he would burst into action, unable to control the destructive cravings that would surely cause nothing but his own death.
Finally, his swirling thoughts were pierced by the coarse twang of the customs official. “Thank you, sir. You can go.”
From customs, they made their way separately to a rank of hire-cars, where a mini-van was waiting, while Viggo picked up the keys. Moments later, they were all on their way to Manhattan.
“Now can you tell us what’s going on?” Jimmy exclaimed as soon as the van door was shut.
“You know what’s going on,” Viggo replied. “Your life is being saved and so are the lives of the people you love.” He slammed his foot down on the accelerator. Jimmy’s mother was sitting in the front passenger seat. She put a hand on his shoulder.
“Calm down,” she said softly. “We’re all just relieved, that’s all.”
“Well, a bit of gratitude would be nice,” Viggo grumbled.
“Gratitude?” Jimmy exploded. “I thought I was going to get shot back there. Why didn’t you tell me someone had hacked into the airport computer? Or however else they got us through. How about sharing a little information about what’s going on?”
Viggo could barely contain his anger. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” he seethed. “Do you think any stage of this operation hasn’t been completely thought out in advance? I told you they’d get us through customs. You’ve got to trust me. Have a little faith in the people we’re working with.”
“But we don’t know who we’re working with!”
To that, Viggo gave no answer. Jimmy shrank back into his seat. He looked around at the others in the back of the van: Neil and Olivia Muzbeke, Georgie and Felix. Nobody made eye contact. Surely they agreed with him?
Jimmy couldn’t help thinking that after the amount of trouble these contacts must have gone to, they would eventually want something in return. It was so frustrating that his fate was completely in the hands of people he knew nothing about. Jimmy had lost control over his own life again. Of course, he was grateful that these people weren’t trying to kill him, but that seemed almost irrelevant now. Whoever they were, they had stolen control.
“Maybe you could just tell us where we’re going,” Helen Coates suggested.
“OK,” Viggo sighed. “As long as you understand that what I don’t tell you, it’s best that you don’t know.” He paused and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve.
“We’re going to Chinatown,” he explained. “We’re meeting a Mrs Kai-Ro. She doesn’t know who we are or anything about us. But my contacts say she can be trusted and she doesn’t ask questions.”
Jimmy tried to imagine Chinatown, but he had no idea what it would look like. And wouldn’t they stick out if they weren’t Chinese?
“That’s it,” Viggo insisted. “There’s nothing more to know. Once we get there I’m going to meet with my contacts again and discuss the next step. But for the time being, I can’t think of a better place in the world to hide than Chinatown.”
CHAPTER TEN – STORM IN A TEACUP
Mitchell pulled his coat tight around him. Spring must have been late in Paris this year. Surrounding him were tower blocks that seemed to lean out over the pavement. They turned the streets into concrete tunnels that channelled the wind so it blew the litter around his ankles and the dust into his face. This wasn’t the picturesque, historic Paris that so many millions of people love. This was Fontenay-aux-Roses, a filthy and forgotten banlieue on the edge of town. It was also Mitchell’s rendezvous.
He crossed into a park and headed towards a garish funfair. It was a flashing, blaring mess, spewing out a cloud of fast-food wrappers and stray helium balloons. In ten minutes, he was to be at the candyfloss machine to receive information on his target. NJ7 contacts had been investigating at the DGSE offices nearby.
Mitchell sneaked through the temporary fencing and pretended to smile at the kids who were doing the same. Then he discreetly checked his watch. Early. He walked slowly around the edge of the fair and ended up in the queue for one of the rides. He was killing time.
All around him was the unnecessary noise and fake excitement of a modern funfair. There was no charm to the place and the promised thrills of the rides meant nothing to Mitchell now. He watched some older kids hiding round the back of the burger vans. That’s where I’d be, he thought, imagining how things would have been different if he’d been born in Paris. Then he realised there was no luck involved in where he had been born. He had been designed and created. All of his existence had been set out for him. But it still felt right. It still thrilled him to be doing his job – and to be doing it well.
Mitchell saw one of the kids throw an empty can at an unsuspecting passer-by. The others let out a chorus of laughter and, for some reason that he couldn’t explain, Mitchell wanted to laugh too. But it felt as if the laugh itself was weighed down by a block of granite in his chest. Mitchell couldn’t remember the last time he had just hung out like that. He could hardly even remember the boys who used to be his mates.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a nudge from behind. He spun round to see a boy who must have been only about five. The child’s face was nothing but congealed ice-cream and a disgusted frown. Mitchell realised he had reached the front of the queue. He glanced at his watch again. It wasn’t time yet. In any case, he didn’t want to arouse attention by deciding not to get on the ride after all.
It was a giant waltzer – eight huge teacups, each on the end of a metal tentacle. Mitchell carefully stepped into his compartment and pulled the restraint over his shoulders. There were three seats in each cup so the five year-old stomped in as well, staring at him, still not smiling. The third seat was left empty.
“Where’s your mum?” Mitchell grumbled. The child stared. A dribble of snot crept down his upper lip, mingling with the ice-cream. Mitchell grimaced and looked away.
Slowly, the machinery chuntered into action. In the centre, where the spokes met, there was a cramped booth. In it, a scruffy young man leaned on a set of levers. But he wasn’t paying attention to the ride. He was looking out for any girls walking past.
The giant cups lifted high into the air. Four of them, including Mitchell’s, kept rising once the others had stopped. He looked out across the fairground, trying to ignore the breeze that chilled his neck. Then the machinery gave a heavy KERCHUNK and the tentacles starting going round. The four higher ones went in the opposite direction to the cups beneath. Then all of them started spinning.
&nbs
p; It was slow at first, but Mitchell’s view of the fairground quickly became a blurred smear of colour. The kid next to him started screaming his head off. The wind blasted into Mitchell’s face. Then French pop music started blaring out from a set of huge speakers. It all blended with the drone of the machinery to make a truly hideous sound.
The only thing Mitchell could see properly were the people in the three other compartments that were whirring round at the same rate. It was then that he noticed the girl.
His first sight of her sent a shudder across his skin and something forced him to look for her again. His cup spun on its own axis, faster and faster. Every time Mitchell was facing the right way, there she was: staring at him from the teacup opposite.
She looked like she was about twelve. Her hair was a sleek auburn and she had wide blue eyes. She wasn’t blinking. Despite being hurled round in a never-ending circle, this girl had an air of stillness, as if she had slowed down time.
There was a smile on her face, but not the wild enjoyment of the kids around her. They were getting their kicks from the ride. This girl was happy about something else – and Mitchell got the feeling it was something nasty. He couldn’t help staring back, craning his neck to see her every time the ride spun him round the wrong way.
Then he heard it. At first, he thought it was the wind, the music, the machinery or the screams of the child next to him.
It flew into his ears as a whisper: “Mitchell.”
He looked for the girl. She was still staring at him. It sent blades into Mitchell’s chest. His programming whirred round his belly. This girl was bad news. At last he saw her move.
She took in a deep breath and yelled at him over the din of the ride: “I know about you, Mitchell.” Her voice was high, piercing the racket. She had a very faint French accent. “I know what you’re looking for. I’ve seen your agents investigating at the DGSE.”
She grinned at him. Her teeth glinted in the neon light. In his shock, Mitchell tried to stand up before he realised that the safety restraint was locked in place. Mitchell pumped that extra strength into his arms and there was a click as the hinges snapped.