by Joe Craig
14 POWER AND LOYALTY
Jimmy sped away from Studio 59, hurtling up the stairs of the Corporation building three at a time. He slipped the green flash drive—the one from Eva—into his pocket. The crashing of hundreds of heavy boots echoed up to him, mixing with panicked shouts. It filled Jimmy with such joy that it could have been music. It meant he had succeeded. The clip of Ian Coates ordering the bombing of Walnut Tree Walk had been broadcast across the nation and now Corporation security was trying to reclaim control of their own studios.
Jimmy burst out on to the roof, relishing the cool night air against his skin. He couldn’t help peering over the edge of the building. The place was surrounded. Police vans and long black cars formed a ring several vehicles deep.
Jimmy sprinted round the edge of the building, weaving between the vents. The whole roof was dominated by the giant structure in the centre—the transmitter. It towered up into the sky, its full height only visible because of the flashing light at the top. It was almost exactly the same shape as the Eiffel Tower and about half the size. This was the transmitter that sent the Corporation’s TV signal around the southern half of the country and to a handful of similar transmitters that relayed it across the rest of Britain. And for a few vital seconds, Jimmy thought to himself with pride, he had taken control of it.
The control room of Studio 59 had been empty and the distraction in the studio next door had allowed Jimmy to work calmly, unnoticed by anybody. At first he’d been overwhelmed by the scale of the production console, but very quickly the faders and monitors had twisted in his mind into the shapes of basic building blocks, revealing the paths of their circuitry. In essence, the studio’s operating system was very simple. It was designed that way: to allow creative TV producers and executives to control their shows with limited technical expertise. It had been no challenge to Jimmy’s programming.
When he reached the other side of the building Jimmy peered into the darkness and waved his arm above his head. Straight away a silhouette on the roof of the next building waved back. He couldn’t help breaking into a huge smile. Even with everything that had happened to him, he’d never expected to be escaping from the roof of the Corporation with his mum’s help.
Helen Coates hurled one end of a multi-fibre climbing rope across the divide between the buildings. It uncoiled and landed at Jimmy’s feet. Tied on to the end were three loops of nylon—a hand-strap each for Jimmy, Saffron and Viggo. Jimmy knew he needed to get higher so he could slide down the rope to safety.
His body was already responding. He held the end of the rope over his shoulder and heaved himself up the struts of the transmitter like he’d broken into a giant’s adventure playground. His muscles throbbed with energy. It almost felt as if his biceps were growing thicker.
Despite the wind blustering round the legs of his trousers, Jimmy’s hands and feet moved in perfect coordination. At times he was balanced on only one point of contact. As soon as the rope was taut between the two buildings, Jimmy tied up the end on one of the horizontal struts of the transmitter. At first his fingers felt clumsy, struggling in the cold and still marked by severe burns. But his blood soon brought a core of stability through his hands. They stopped trembling. The interlocking fibres of the rope moved exactly as he wanted, twisting round the metal into the simple but robust form of a perfect buntline hitch knot.
He slipped his wrist through one of the loops and gripped the upper part of it with both hands, then pushed himself off with a mighty kick. Suddenly, he was swooping through the sky. The pace of his slide stole the breath from his lungs and he thought his stomach must have been left behind on the transmitter. Every tiny irregularity in the rope juddered through him, jarring his shoulder sockets and digging the nylon hand-strap harder into his wrists.
Before he knew it, his feet dragged against the landing zone. He tucked up his knees and had to scrabble for control. He nearly scraped all the skin from the front of his legs, then ended up flat on his back, staring at the stars.
“Jimmy, you did it!” Helen’s words took a second to reach his consciousness. She heaved him up and pulled him into a tight squeeze, ruffling his hair.
“It worked?” Jimmy asked, pulling his face free from his mum’s shoulder.
“Look,” said his mum. She let him go and picked up a mobile phone that was resting on top of her bag of equipment. “It’s still going out.” The phone was streaming live TV, and the image of Ian Coates pounding the table flickered across the screen. The footage was all too familiar to Jimmy now. He was almost numb to it. But when he looked back up at his mum, her smile had disappeared.
“He’s crazy,” she whispered, a crack in her voice. “I never knew he could…” She turned away and wiped her eyes.
“Mum, it’s OK,” said Jimmy, but he sounded far from sure of himself. With a burst of anger he snatched the phone from her hands. His mother was startled, but Jimmy could see he’d done the right thing. She needed to be focused on helping Viggo and Saffron.
In fact, that was the moment Jimmy caught sight of the two figures scurrying across the roof of Corporation House.
“Get out of here, Jimmy,” said Helen. “I have to stay for Chris and Saffron, but you get back to London Bridge. Do you know where to go?”
“I saw it on the map.” Jimmy wanted to protest and wait with his mum for the others. He knew their escape must have been much harder than his, and that Security Forces would have chased them up to the roof. But it looked like Viggo and Saffron had enough time to make it to the rope—they were already climbing the transmitter.
Jimmy ran down the fire escape and slipped away behind the backs of hundreds of Security Forces, police and NJ7 agents.
Mitchell finally decided he’d had enough of the SAS combat simulator on his PS8 console. His thumbs were aching and made him wonder how he could play for so long without noticing the time passing. He threw the controls to the floor and kicked the console off at the switch on the wall. His underground room at NJ7 HQ may have been stocked with luxuries that no other British teenager had access to, but after so long stuck here waiting for a mission, it felt like a cage.
Mitchell prowled the room, wondering whether he should go for a run or try to beat his personal best for non-stop sit-ups. It was almost a minute before he noticed the images that had replaced the combat simulator on his TV screen. When he did, he froze. He was immediately transported back to that meeting at Number 10 Downing Street. It was as if his own memory had somehow been captured and re-enacted on the screen.
At last he forced himself to move. He rushed to the TV remote control. Surely this isn’t actually on TV, he thought. He flicked through the buttons, desperately trying to figure out what had gone wrong with his entertainment system. But there was nothing wrong with it.
He dashed out of the room, still clutching the remote, and tore through the corridors of NJ7. He felt the slap of cold concrete on his bare feet.
“Miss Bennett!” he yelled, his voice booming through the passageways. He twisted past NJ7 workers, pushing them out of the way to make it to Miss Bennett’s office. At last he rounded the corner into her room. As usual when he confronted Miss Bennett, he felt that stab of insecurity in his stomach.
“On the TV!” he announced. “He’s on…the Prime Minister…”
Miss Bennett’s smile made Mitchell’s voice choke in his throat. She was leaning back in her chair, behind her large, leather-topped desk.
“Join us,” she said calmly, extending a hand to an empty chair opposite. Only then did Mitchell notice that Eva was there too. He cautiously took a seat next to her, trying to gauge from her expression what was going on. Eva looked either confused or frightened. He couldn’t work out which.
“But—” Mitchell tried again to explain what he’d seen. Miss Bennett raised a finger to cut him off.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “That’s all easily explained.” She ran her thumb over her bottom lip, thinking for a moment. “I’m glad you’re here
, Mitchell,” she purred. “Eva and I were just having a little chat about loyalty.”
Mitchell knew he’d never been good at working out what Miss Bennett was up to, but now more than ever she had him transfixed and confused. Didn’t she care that somebody had filmed the Cabinet meeting? Or that the film had been put out on TV? Especially when NJ7 was responsible for what the Corporation broadcast, and that meant that Miss Bennett…
Finally, Mitchell realised what was happening. He felt an ice cold trickle down his neck. He couldn’t stop looking into Miss Bennett’s eyes, two sparkling balls of wickedness.
“You put that film on TV?” he gasped.
“No, no, no,” replied Miss Bennett. She stood up slowly and moved round her desk, speaking softly and clearly. “It’s impossible to say that. Or, more importantly, it’s impossible to prove that. No— Jimmy Coates somehow managed to get hold of that video clip and managed to beat Corporation security.” There was a gleam of delight in her face. “This country can’t have a weak Prime Minister,” she went on. “And Ian Coates is very, very ill. The latest reports from the hospital are not encouraging I’m afraid.” She pouted a little, putting on a look of exaggerated sadness. “Which means power will pass to the new generation of Neo-democratic leaders.” She leaned on the desk and bent forwards, bringing her face so close to Mitchell’s he could see the perfect line of her eye make-up. “It’s my generation now. If you like,” she added with a smile, “it’s a very quiet revolution. And I want you two to be a part of it.” She turned to Eva and broke into a huge smile. “You’ve been extremely helpful—both of you.”
Miss Bennett extended a finger and pushed a stray hair from Eva’s face. Mitchell felt an unexpected rush of emotion, but couldn’t identify it. Excitement? Jealousy? Miss Bennett drew out the long, thin green clip from her own hair. She inclined her head and seemed to drift into a dream as she transferred the clip to Eva, pinning the girl’s hair into a neat, stylish arrangement just like her own.
“Your loyalty will not be forgotten,” said Miss Bennett dreamily. “Loyalty to NJ7.” Her voice took on a harsher edge. “Loyalty to me.”
15 ERT IT
Mitchell saw Eva’s lips trembling and suddenly felt the urge to barge Miss Bennett away from her. The only thing that stopped him was the sound of panting at the entrance to the office. Mitchell twisted in his chair to see the elongated frame of William Lee bent almost double in the doorway, supporting himself on the wall.
“How did a camera get into that meeting?” he demanded.
Miss Bennett hadn’t bothered to look up yet. She finished tidying Eva’s hair before calmly replying, “We’ll need to look into that, won’t we?”
“Look into it?” Lee raged, slowly getting his breath back. “Somebody needs to—”
“Is Corporation House back under control?” Miss Bennett interrupted.
“Yes, but Viggo got away.”
“Did you say Viggo?” Miss Bennett asked, almost simpering.
“Christopher Viggo.” Lee spat the name violently. “Him and his friends. The boy, Jimmy Coates, was one of them.”
“Oh, so it was them,” Miss Bennett gasped. “They’re the ones who put this horrible video on the TV…”
Mitchell was staggered at how easily Miss Bennett disguised her emotions. At the same time she was able to flash her eyes at Mitchell, then at Eva, as if they were sharing a secret. Mitchell felt a rush of confidence, but hated himself for it.
“It’s more than horrible,” Lee scowled. “It’s treason.” He ran his hands through his hair, looking for a moment as if he was going to tear it all out. “I’ve ordered the Corporation to shut down all TV transmission and the Internet. I’ve taken down the mobile phone networks as well, but now people are coming out on to the streets. They’re not happy, Miss Bennett. There could be riots!”
“I presume the police and the army are already on alert…?” said Miss Bennett calmly.
“Of course,” replied Lee. “But I need…” He paused, took a deep breath, then his gaze settled on Mitchell.
“Me?” said Mitchell, taken aback. “I can’t stop a riot.”
“Maybe not,” Lee snapped. “But you’re not doing any good sitting here, are you?”
Mitchell turned to Miss Bennett, unsure what he was allowed to do. She gave him permission to leave, nodding firmly and waving him away. He tried to make eye contact with Eva as he left, but she held herself still, staring at her notepad and pen.
As soon as Mitchell and William Lee were out of Miss Bennett’s office, Lee set a quick pace, marching along the corridor.
“What was Miss Bennett saying to you?” Lee whispered. Mitchell was shocked.
“What do you mean?”
“Come on!” Lee growled. “I know she was talking to you and Eva about something. I could hear her. Voices travel for miles along these tunnels. I would have heard everything for myself if I’d come a few seconds earlier.”
Mitchell’s head was suddenly a swirling mess. His mouth opened, but words refused to form.
“Never mind,” Lee grumbled eventually. “You weren’t designed to talk, were you?” Again, Mitchell didn’t know how to respond. The dim strip lights of the corridor seemed to seep into his brain, stopping him from grasping exactly what was going on. Part of him was pre-occupied trying to picture what was happening on the streets above his head.
“Are there really riots?” Mitchell asked.
“Not yet,” muttered Lee. “But forget about that, Mitchell. It’s not your problem.”
“But I thought…” Mitchell was even more confused.
“I’m not sending you out on to the street,” Lee explained. “Using you to stop rioting would be a tragic waste of your unique… disposition. That was just to get you away from Miss Bennett.” At last a smile crept on to his face. “She’s been keeping you on a leash, hasn’t she?”
“I s’pose.” Mitchell could feel his gut roaring, something in his programming jumping at the thought of finally getting into action.
They rounded one last corner and Mitchell found himself in a part of the NJ7 network he hadn’t seen before—a huge laboratory. Dozens of technicians in white coats were moving bottles and liquids around, that Mitchell assumed were chemicals of some kind, and the whole room was full of the whine of the computers that lined the walls.
“I’m going to give you what you deserve.” Lee put his hand on Mitchell’s shoulder and brought him over to one of the computers. “A mission.”
Jimmy hurried through the streets. He’d never seen London like this. There were no cars clogging up the junction at Oxford Circus. There was very little noise. Then, one by one or in small groups, people appeared to fill up the pavements and roads. They didn’t seem to be going anywhere, and they weren’t saying anything to each other, but they were scowling. Some of them were wiping away tears or openly crying.
A nasty tingle crept through Jimmy’s flesh. He thought this might be how a wild animal felt when it knew a storm was coming. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact, and hurried south towards Piccadilly Circus. But as more and more people came on to the street, he couldn’t help knocking against them to make his way through the crowds. It was eerily quiet.
He wouldn’t usually have pulled out a mobile phone surrounded by so many hostile looking people, but his curiosity was too strong. As soon as he looked at the screen of the phone he noticed there was no coverage for calls. Was that coincidence, or was NJ7 trying to stop people who’d seen the TV broadcast spreading the news to those who hadn’t? Jimmy wanted to check what was on the main channels, but when he opened that function on his phone, there was simply a blank screen, with the time in the corner. It was the same on every channel. After a few seconds it was replaced by a Union Jack. There was no sound to go with it. The Corporation had nothing to show.
Around Jimmy was a low murmur of voices, steadily growing, then a few isolated shouts. Most people were heading in the same direction now, washing Jimmy along with th
em. He realised they were heading towards Westminster, and the Houses of Parliament. Suddenly, the sound of glass breaking smashed the silence. Straightaway there was a second crash.
Jimmy picked up his pace. He could almost smell the anger. The air was heavy with it. The crowds were made up of people of all ages, but even the other kids had looks on their faces as angry as any adult. Jimmy saw a boy about his age who was walking alongside his father, copying the man’s shouts.
“Get him out!” he grunted, and others were shouting it too. Jimmy assumed they were talking about the Prime Minister, and getting him out of office, but there was something more to their words—a physical power. It was as if they wanted to drag Ian Coates through the streets. A homeless man was burning a newspaper with the Prime Minister’s photo on the front.
Jimmy clenched his fists and forced back a lump in his throat. He pressed on, weaving through the crowds, letting his shoulders buffet the people around him as if he could knock away his own emotions. Then he reached Piccadilly Circus, where people were spilling out over the roads. The glare of the huge neon hoardings flickered on people’s faces, lighting them in bright reds and greens that changed with the displays.
Jimmy wanted to break away from the crowd, but before he could force his way through, the street lights went out. Then the lights in the shop windows. Finally, a second later, every neon sign that covered the walls of every building round Piccadilly Circus shut down. London was cast into blackness.
William Lee brought Mitchell to one of the computer stations in the NJ7 lab. Mitchell could feel the rush of exhilaration that came with any mission. Finally, he thought, he was going to be allowed to do what he did best—what he was made for.
“We’ve traced the poison,” Lee began, his eyes shifting around the room to check on the activities of the scientists.
