Power

by Joe Craig

  “What’s the Disney Channel?” Jimmy asked.

  “Never mind,” said Helen.

  “Actually,” Viggo muttered, “the Disney Channel would probably shoot us too if we tried anything like what we’re about to do.”

  “OK,” said Saffron, holding her hands up. “Shooting us before we’ve completed the job is the extreme scenario. But hopefully it won’t come to that. I think if we act quickly enough they’ll have to respond before they realise exactly what’s going on. First, they’re more likely to cut the power to the studio, or sabotage transmission some other way.” She thought for a second. “Then they’ll shoot us.”

  “I don’t think Jimmy should be doing this,” said Helen quickly. “He can go back to London Bridge. Where he’ll be safe.”

  “London Bridge?” asked Jimmy. “What’s there?”

  “At the moment,” Viggo explained, “just Felix and Georgie. They’re in a safe place in the tunnels underneath London Bridge Station. It’s where we’re based for now.”

  “And it’s where you’re going back to in a minute,” said Jimmy’s mother. “I’ll take you.”

  “Wait,” said Viggo, with a quick glance at Saffron. “I think we’re going to need him.”

  “He’s only…” Helen didn’t finish her sentence. It was obvious to everybody that it made no sense to mention Jimmy’s age. Viggo and Helen were former NJ7 agents and Saffron had been trained to a similar standard, but none of them were capable of some of the things Jimmy had done.

  “Like you said,” Viggo whispered, looking intently into Helen’s eyes. “This is the Corporation. It’s going to take all four of us.”

  Jimmy hated being talked about as if he wasn’t there. “Mum, I’ve…” He wanted to describe some of the things he’d had to do since they last saw each other. He’d blown up an oil rig, destroyed a uranium mine, survived two plane crashes, several explosions, the mountains and the desert. And they were just the first things that came to mind. But he held back. Those things would only add to his mum’s worry, even though they were over now.

  At last Helen announced what she was thinking. “Show me the plan, then I’ll decide whether Jimmy comes with us.”

  Viggo looked from Jimmy to Helen and back. “Maybe first you should watch the clip,” he said. “Then you’ll—”

  “I don’t want to see it,” snapped Helen. “I don’t need to. Let’s sort out this plan, then I’ll decide whether Jimmy is a part of it.” From her tone, it was obvious that the discussion was over. She turned to the papers on the table.

  “OK,” announced Saffron, leaning over the documents. “Here’s what I think we should do…”

  “Be careful with my car,” said Viggo, handing Helen the keys.

  “Be careful with my son,” was the reply.

  Nobody needed to say anything else, but Helen gave Jimmy a last embrace, and a final glare to Viggo. Then she drove the Bentley, alone, out to the power substation at Clapham. It had been a while since she’d been active as a Secret Service operative, but she drove swiftly and it took her only moments to break into the substation. The chain cutters in the back of the Bentley helped too.

  The floodlight left nowhere to hide, and within seconds the night guard spotted her on the security camera. But before he could reach for his walkie-talkie, Helen was already in his booth. She ran up behind him so quickly he couldn’t even spin in his chair before Helen seized his wrist and twisted it over his head. The only sounds were three clear cracks of the man’s bones snapping. Helen pressed her hand over his mouth to stifle his cry and lowered him gently to the floor as he passed out from the pain.

  In less than a minute, she applied the chain cutters to one of the giant transformer boxes and made tiny adjustments to the rusting controls on the machinery. It wasn’t much, but it was easily enough to trigger the system to regulate itself by compensating in other areas of the grid.

  Now all Helen Coates could do was drive back to the rendezvous point, turn on the TV and wait for the others to join her. Phase one of the plan had been completed.

  13 WHAT’S UP. DOC?

  Jimmy, Viggo and Saffron huddled across the street outside the Corporation building at the end of Regent Street. It was past nine o’clock and the few people out on the street were hurrying home, as if London air carried some kind of disease at night. Get home quickly, thought Jimmy, watching them. There’s some great TV on tonight.

  “There it is,” whispered Viggo quickly, nodding up at one of the street lights. Jimmy noticed it too: a slight flicker that told them this section of the grid had automatically switched the source of its power to an alternative substation—a standard failsafe mechanism designed to maintain a seemingly uninterrupted service in the event of a local failure in the grid.

  “How long now?” asked Viggo.

  Saffron gave a tiny shrug. She had kept her eyes at street level, watching the stretch of road down the side of the Corporation building. Jimmy peered impatiently in that direction too, conscious of how exposed they were.

  “I thought this was meant to be an instant response unit,” Viggo muttered.

  “The signal is instant,” Saffron replied. “The electricians were probably having a couple of drinks.”

  Finally a grubby blue van rolled into view, coming up the side road.

  “OK,” said Saffron. The three of them moved in perfect synchrony, panning out across the T-junction. Jimmy walked straight down the middle, waving his hands above his head. Two men stared out of the front windscreen at Jimmy, bafflement on their faces. The van was forced to slow almost to a halt. Before it even came to rest, Saffron and Viggo jumped from the shadows on either side of the van. They pulled the doors open and heaved the two men from their seats.

  It hardly took any force at all—the shock did most of the work. One of the electricians tried to shout for help, but Viggo gave him a sharp slap across the face, which put an end to the resistance before it started. Viggo handed his electrician to Jimmy, while he jumped into the van and backed it up on to the kerb. Once the road was clear, Jimmy and Saffron dragged the workmen by the collar of their overalls and secured them in the back of the van.

  Everything happened with effortless speed. People passed by along the main road, but the ambush was carried out so calmly and quietly that nobody thought anything was amiss. Even when a couple of cars came up the side road and waited at the T-junction, the drivers didn’t notice what was going on, and within seconds everything was happening out of sight, in the back of the van.

  “Overalls,” Saffron ordered. “Boots too.” Her voice was soft but commanding. The men seemed almost hypnotised and rushed to obey.

  Jimmy felt a nasty thrill surging through him. Deep inside he was aware of a shred of pity for these men. The only thing they’d done wrong was to accept this evening shift as on-call emergency electricians for the Corporation. They must be afraid, he thought. They must think we might kill them. But that sympathy quickly detached itself from Jimmy’s brain and withered, and he began to see the two men as lumps of meat, not people.

  Jimmy tossed one set of overalls and a pair of boots to Viggo. Saffron put on the other set, and they shrugged their backpacks on over their overalls. The two electricians instinctively raised their hands, shivering in T-shirts and underpants. Viggo quickly found two tool bags and a coil of power leads in piles of equipment in the van. They used the leads to tie up the electricians and a length of gaffer tape went over the men’s mouths.

  The slamming of the van doors hit Jimmy like a slap in the face and brought him back to his senses. He’d just taken two men hostage. They were tied up and trapped. He couldn’t shake the image of the terror on their faces from his mind.

  “They’ll be fine,” whispered Viggo, seeing Jimmy’s concern. “Come on, we’ve got a job to do.” He picked up his tool bag and threw the second one to Saffron, then slammed the door shut and pocketed the keys. Together they marched off towards the Corporation building. Jimmy hurried behind them, stil
l numb.

  He kept telling himself that none of this violence was his fault. If his father hadn’t blown up a tower block, Jimmy wouldn’t have to terrorise innocent people in order to get that video clip on to the TV. He repeated it in his head over and over, but still couldn’t force himself to accept that these actions were justified. Then he felt another jolt of power. His system flicked aside all of his worries and the question of whether this was justified evaporated. His programming didn’t care.

  Jimmy hung back while Saffron and Viggo swept through the revolving doors at the main entrance of the Corporation building. He knew his task perfectly. His muscles were primed for it, his blood pumping. Just before the door stopped spinning, Jimmy slipped in, keeping so low to the ground he was almost sliding.

  Viggo and Saffron were at the security desk, holding the attention of both guards.

  “We’ve come to look at the internal power relay in Studio 60,” said Viggo in a low voice, avoiding eye contact to minimise the chance of being recognised. He and Saffron simultaneously pulled out the swipe cards that extended on elastic cords from the belt loops of their overalls. They waved them in the air once, then straightaway let them snap back to their hips.

  “These won’t work out of hours,” Saffron announced. “You’ll need to override the internal door locks on the fifth floor.” She tapped the side of one guard’s monitor as she spoke. Everything was designed to prevent the guards actually examining the swipe cards, which bore the headshots of two electricians who were older, whiter and more male than the pair currently trying to gain entry to the building.

  The distraction worked perfectly. The guards looked at each other, their brows furrowed. “I don’t think that…” one of them began, but Viggo interjected.

  “Sorry we’re late. We’ve been tied up.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, another distraction. “According to our beepers you had a power blip a few minutes ago. That’s right?” Viggo nodded firmly at them and in unison the guards nodded back. “And the call went out for the electrics team. That’s right?” Again, the guards could only nod. The force and monotony of Viggo’s questions were conditioning them to it, along with the forceful downward jerk of his head with everything he said. “So we need urgent access to the fifth floor. That’s right.” This time it wasn’t a question, and he didn’t wait for an answer. “Have a great night.”

  He and Saffron moved quickly but calmly past the desk towards the lifts. There was already a lift waiting, with one passenger inside, lurking out of sight by the panel of buttons.

  “That took long enough,” said Jimmy. He let the doors close and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

  “I hate doing that,” Viggo muttered. “I’d rather just…” He clenched his fists.

  “Relax,” Saffron ordered. “It worked.”

  “We think it worked,” Viggo replied. “Until they realise they never checked our ID and they see that the names of tonight’s on-shift electricians are two blokes.”

  “By then we’ll be out of here,” Jimmy cut in. He could feel his muscles thrumming, ready to complete the operation, while his brain fought the same doubts as Viggo. So many times before, Jimmy had relied on his strength and his combat skills. But tonight that would only get them so far. It might enable them to fight their way out, if they needed to, but to get the video clip on to the TV was going to take delicate strategy and timing.

  The lift slowed down as they reached the fifth floor.

  “Remember,” said Viggo, drawing a deep breath, “don’t wait. Do your job, then get out. We’ll meet back at London Bridge Station.”

  “I’ll have the kettle on,” whispered Saffron as the lift doors opened.

  Morrey Levy had worked as a producer and director of TV news broadcasts for nearly fifteen years. Tonight he was in the same position he found himself in almost every night: on the edge of his seat in a bunker-like control room, his eyes flicking around a wall of almost fifty small TV screens. Around him was the focused bustle of his production team, a dozen people rushing to follow every command. At his fingertips was the main desk, a huge bank of faders and buttons.

  The screen in the centre of the wall was marked OUTPUT and displayed what was actually being broadcast. At that moment it was the familiar sight of two shiny-faced news anchors next to each other in front of a garishly designed studio.

  “Go three,” Levy ordered into his microphone, with a click of his fingers. The output screen flicked to a view from a different camera, a close-up of one of the newsreaders. “Ready VT…Roll VT…” He clicked again and the output switched to a pre-recorded report from the wreckage of Walnut Tree Walk. Just then, the door to the control room clicked open.

  “Who are they?” barked Levy, glancing over his shoulder at Viggo and Saffron. “Get them out of here! This isn’t an open day.”

  “Sir,” said one of the technicians nervously, “they’re the on-call electricians. Security buzzed us about them.”

  “Electricians?” Levy spat out the word as if he was trying to chew his own cheek. “Get out!” He flicked his hand in the direction of Viggo and Saffron. “I don’t have time for this. I’m running a broadcast.” He turned back to the monitors, not bothering to see how these two interlopers were responding to his welcome. “This is going out into the homes of millions of people. You think I want you around making a fuss over some tiny glitch that didn’t even register on the desks? Go back home. We don’t need you. We don’t have any problems with the internal…”

  He couldn’t finish. The cold blade pressing on his Adam’s apple was too much of a distraction.

  “You do now,” whispered Viggo, holding the knife steady with one hand while his other was clamped on the back of Levy’s head. After a second he backed away and kicked Levy’s chair, spinning him round so the two men faced each other.

  For the first time, Levy saw that his entire control room staff had been lined up, facing the opposite wall, with their hands on the backs of their heads.

  “How did you…?” he gasped. Then he narrowed his eyes and studied Viggo’s face. “You’re Christopher Viggo.”

  “Put this video clip on TV,” Viggo demanded, nodding towards Saffron, who held out a flash drive. Levy’s face lit up with excitement.

  “This is fantastic,” he beamed. “What a story! Christopher Viggo himself finally captured trying to hijack one of my broadcasts.”

  “Shut up and get it on to people’s screens,” Viggo insisted, turning the knife round and punching the handle into Levy’s chin. Blood seeped on to Levy’s lips, but it didn’t stop him smiling as his imagination swept on.

  “Yes…” he pondered. “An exclusive…Captured and possibly even killed in the ensuing gunplay.” His eyes glinted. “I don’t mind a bit of blood on my control desk. All adds colour to the story.”

  “Take the flash drive!” Viggo shouted. “Cut the news programme and run the clip!”

  “Listen, mate,” Levy replied with a slight chuckle. “I’d help you if I could. I really would.” He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. “I’m not as much of a fan of this Government as you might think. If it weren’t for censorship, I’d be producing comedy sketch shows. But honestly,” he threw up his hands in a show of helplessness. “I can’t help you. It would never work. You see, live TV isn’t actually live any more. There’s a three minute delay to stop anything going out that’s against Corporation policy.”

  “You mean anything the Government doesn’t like,” Viggo sneered.

  “Whatever you call it, it doesn’t matter.” Levy winced and his voice trembled. “Because you can force me to put your clip on, but it won’t be broadcast for three minutes, which means anybody in this studio will have those three minutes to cut it again before it reaches anybody’s TV. All I have to do is hit that.” He jerked a thumb towards the corner of the control desk where there was a red button protected by a flip cover. “And you can’t wait around here for three minutes because security will be on their way sinc
e the last report finished and the news carried on without anybody directing it. They should be here any second. Three more minutes and there’ll be a whole army coming up that corridor.”

  Viggo breathed deeply, absorbing all of this information. “You mean,” he said, “we would have to force you to broadcast our message and then stay here for three minutes, just to make sure you didn’t cut it before it actually went out?”

  “That’s right,” Levy grinned. “And no one can override the system. You’ve lost.”

  “Well, how long do you think we’ve been talking?”

  “Two minutes and fifty eight seconds,” Saffron cut in. Her voice was totally calm. She was standing at the door, her eyes fixed on a stopwatch in her palm.

  “Looks like we didn’t need to override the system,” said Viggo with a small smile, glancing over Levy’s shoulder. Levy spun round in horror. The screen marked ‘output’ was no longer showing a news report, or even any footage from the studio. Instead, there was a slightly grainy film of the Prime Minister pounding his fist on a table. When the clip was finished, it looped back and started again.

  “What?” screamed Levy. He lurched for the red button, but Viggo had complete control over him. He pulled the chair away and the man hit the floor with a bump. “Security!” Levy yelled. But it was too late. The clip was being broadcast.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Viggo firmly.

  Saffron pulled open the door. The sign on the outside read ‘Control Room: Studio 60’ and swarming up the corridor towards them was a phalanx of security guards. But Viggo looked past them, to the other end of the corridor. There, he just caught sight of a shadow darting for the stairs. The door it had come from slammed shut. The sign on that door said, ‘Control Room: Studio 59’.

  Saffron flicked her flash drive on to the control desk and twisted to defend herself from the guards. Later, when Secret Service experts examined the flash drive, they found that the only video footage on it was a Bugs Bunny cartoon.