by Joe Craig
Eventually, Ian Coates said it: “There is no need for war.”
“And I ask the French to agree to settle our differences peacefully.”
“And I call on the French nation,” said the Prime Minister, “to join me in exploring a peaceful resolution to our differences.” Jimmy clenched his jaw, growing nervous about his father’s changes to his speech.
“What the country needs now,” said Jimmy firmly.
“What the country needs now…”
“And the only right way to run Britain,” Jimmy went on.
“And the only right way to run Britain…” Ian Coates slowed nervously.
“…is for people to vote.” Jimmy spat the words viciously, as if he could stab each one on to his father’s tongue so he could never shake them off. But his father was silent.
“Say it,” insisted Jimmy. “The only right way to run Britain is for people to vote.” All he could hear was his heart thudding hard inside him. How could he force his father to call a democratic general election? It would change everything. And it would also go against everything Ian Coates believed in.
The silence stretched out so long Jimmy could feel his muscles trembling, preparing for action. But he knew there was no fight that could help him now. It was words that would win this battle. But then Jimmy felt his muscles trembling harder, almost violently. Something inside him had realised that he wasn’t completely powerless.
Jimmy’s throat erupted with a flaming sensation. The breath caught in his chest and his mouth seemed to swirl with every fear and every joy he had ever known. His lips parted and he knew what sound was going to come out.
“What the country needs now,” he said, his words booming around the room. It was easily loud enough to be picked up by the microphone in Eva’s hand, and it was the voice of his father. “The only right way to run Britain is…”
“…is for people to vote.” It was the real Ian Coates that finished the sentence. He said it quickly, like he was spitting out a sour sweet. Jimmy coughed and spluttered, but he managed to force out the next words, again in his father’s voice.
“A democratic gener…”
“General election.” Again, the real Ian Coates completed the phrase carefully articulating every syllable in a breathless, flat tone. Jimmy watched, aghast. His father ran a trembling hand through his hair, then pulled in a deep breath and puffed his chest out even further. “I’m calling a democratic general election,” he repeated. This time his voice was firm and smooth. Along with his voice, his body was changing too. His muscles relaxed. Within a few seconds he looked stronger —commanding.
“You will have the chance to vote for who you want to be the leader of this country,” he said, without waiting for any prompting from Jimmy. He didn’t need it. Now he knew what Jimmy had been planning. And he’d gone along with it. “The era of these monstrous attacks on Britain must be brought to an end. We must unite our great nation once more.” Jimmy couldn’t believe what he was seeing—and hearing. His father, Ian Coates, the leader of the Neo-democratic state of Great Britain, was ending Neo-democracy and calling for a free vote. An election. Jimmy’s whole body was hot with excitement.
At the same time, his father was transforming from an invalid pretending to be strong, to a man with power coursing through him. It was as if the man had been taken over by inner powers of his own—those of a politician. “To do that,” he went on, “I’m calling a general election.” He leaned forward slightly, then jabbed two weak fists at the camera. “And I intend to win it.”
The final, smug grin that Ian Coates gave the camera made Jimmy want to throw up. He watched the screen on his phone fade to black, then looked up to see Mitchell putting the camera down. Only now did the words of his father’s speech sink in.
“You’ve done it,” Jimmy whispered. “You’ve ended Neo-democracy.”
Ian Coates stared blankly across the room. Jimmy didn’t care. His speech on TV was enough.
“You will have an election?” Jimmy asked, buzzing with triumph, but nervous about celebrating prematurely.
His father nodded, scowling. “I have to now,” he said. “People will expect it. If I look like I’m changing my mind after what I just said, I’ll lose all authority. So yes, there’ll be an election. But as soon as I’ve won—”
“You won’t win,” Jimmy insisted. “People won’t—”
“People will do what they’re told.” Ian Coates paused, then added, “If they’re told in the right way.”
Jimmy opened his mouth to argue, but something sent a ripple through his muscles. A noise. He looked across at the others and realised that only Mitchell had heard it too.
“They’re outside,” said Mitchell. “They’re coming in.”
“Quick,” said Jimmy to his father. “If you’re feeling stronger, we can get you out into the corridor. Then we’ll find a different room and lure Miss Bennett’s men in here. We’ll—”
“There’s no need for that now, Jimmy,” said Ian Coates calmly.
“Come on!” Jimmy insisted. “We’ve got to move!” His father stayed put, and when Jimmy looked across at Mitchell and Eva, they weren’t moving either.
“Jimmy,” said Eva gently. “He’s shown the country he’s alive and that he’s in charge. They can’t kill him now. Miss Bennett would never be able to take power without everybody knowing what she’d done.”
“She’s a killer, Jimmy,” added Ian Coates, “but only in secret. Her secrets are her strength.”
“Your plan worked,” Mitchell insisted. “You put Mr Coates on TV so that Miss Bennett couldn’t try to take over.”
“So why are they…?” Jimmy’s words dried up when he saw the eyes of Eva, Mitchell and the Prime Minister all boring into him.
“They’re here for you, Jimmy,” announced Ian Coates, with no emotion.
“Me?” Jimmy’s throat was so dry his voice hardly registered.
“I expect you made quite a scene on your way in,” said the PM. “Did you think that would go unnoticed? Or that the agents you knocked out wouldn’t come round eventually? I’m surprised it took them this long.”
Jimmy heard the lift shaft bringing NJ7 closer and the pounding of feet on the stairs. His hearing heightened every sound in the building, and his muscles seemed to reach out, probing for vibrations.
“Then there was the broadcast,” Ian Coates continued. “The general public might not have realised what was happening, but Miss Bennett would have known straight away. She probably had her technicians enhance the sound of your whisper.” He hesitated to clear his throat. “No, I’m sure of it. That’s her NJ7 reinforcements. And they’re here for you.”
Everything inside Jimmy was driving him to move. Escape he heard in his head. Survive! Move NOW! But he fought his own limbs and forced all his energy to work against that potent voice rooted deep inside him. He wanted to stay. He wanted answers.
“Why would they…” he began, but couldn’t finish. He stared into his father’s face and could feel the heat rising inside him. “You’re in charge again,” he insisted. “You can tell them…”
Ian Coates’ expression made Jimmy’s words meaningless. The man was trying to look calm, but to Jimmy the fear in his eyes was obvious. From the corridor came the sound of the lift doors opening.
“You can’t do this,” Jimmy begged. “Give them new orders! You’re my father!”
From the corridor came the sound of scuffling feet. Were they searching the rooms? How long did Jimmy have? He could feel his programming charging his muscles.
“I care about you Jimmy,” replied Ian Coates. Jimmy’s senses were too overwhelmed to work out whether it sounded true. “But even if I was your biological father, I’d still be the Prime Minister. I have responsibilities.”
“I don’t understand!” Jimmy protested. “Why is it your responsibility to kill me?”
“You’re a threat.”
“To who?”
“To everything the country sta
nds for!”
“That’s not true!” Jimmy screamed it, not caring if it gave away his position. “I saved you!”
“But you’re still my enemy!” his father bellowed back. “How many times have you refused to work for this Government? How many times have you deliberately sabotaged British operations? And now that there’s going to be an election, you’re going to fight for Christopher Viggo, aren’t you?” The man was smouldering with rage. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands trembled. “So don’t you question what my responsibilities are!”
Ian Coates at last tore his gaze from Jimmy. He turned to Mitchell and hissed, “Your country needs you.”
Zafi’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out with a huff of annoyance as she slipped her way through the crowds. Even as she read the message, she kept up her pace, snaking across London on foot.
In an instant, the string of letters and numbers on her phone danced into new positions, twisting in her head to reveal the message. It was another update from her bosses at the DGSE. They’d just intercepted a broadcast from Ian Coates on Corporation TV and they advised Zafi to check the hospitals to complete the assassination.
Zafi snorted a dry laugh. She was already sprinting across Westminster Bridge, towards St Thomas’.
Jimmy’s world swam. He couldn’t shout. He couldn’t even think. The effect of Ian Coates’ words was ferocious. It was the stab of betrayal in a wound that was already gaping. And it was the crumbling of every emotional defence he thought he had built up against his father. Every organ in his body seemed to turn to ash.
Meanwhile, Mitchell responded as if a bolt of electricity had been shot through him. He stood upright and every muscle tensed.
“Mitchell!” gasped Eva, but she held herself back. Was it from shock or because she still needed to appear loyal to the Prime Minister?
Jimmy realised Mitchell was hesitating. That’s the only reason I’m still alive, he heard himself thinking. He could feel the weakness growing inside him, latching on to his emotions and spreading through his entire body. Tears came to his eyes. No! Jimmy forced himself to search for his inner assassin. It had no emotions. It had no weakness. Crush this pain! Jimmy begged his own body.
Then Mitchell’s face contorted into a stern grimace. His lips opened like a crack in a rock and his voice came out in a coarse rumble: “I obey orders.”
In a move so fast, Jimmy didn’t even see it begin, Mitchell scooped up the TV camera from the floor and hurled the whole thing across the room. It came like a giant bullet. Jimmy couldn’t duck in time. He was only just able to shield his head with his arms. The camera sent him flying to the floor with the force of a traffic accident.
The sound of Eva’s scream jolted Jimmy’s muscles to the next gear. He rolled across the lino just in time to avoid a body slam from Mitchell. At the end of his second roll, Jimmy’s hands landed perfectly on the shaft of the boom mic. In one smooth sweep, Jimmy slammed the big fuzzy end into Mitchell’s midriff and used the force of the impact to push himself to his feet.
Before he even knew what his body was planning, Jimmy sprinted towards the window, still holding the boom mic. At the last instant, he leapt into the air. I’m going to die, he thought, but his programming punched through his brain and pounded his fear to dust.
Jimmy led with his feet, slamming them into the middle of the glass. At the same moment, he trailed the boom mic behind him, and without even looking back he used the end of the pole to scoop the sheets from his father’s bed. Glass exploded into his face. Then he hit the cold air and plummeted towards the ground.
23 BURYING A HATCHET
Jimmy felt his body hurtling downwards. Blood rushed to his face. He even tasted some in his mouth. He couldn’t believe he was plummeting from the same hospital for a second time in twenty-four hours. But once again his programming was in control. His arms swirled the boom mic in a huge circle above his head. The hospital bed sheet whirled round like a sail caught on the blade of a windmill.
Jimmy pumped harder and harder. His shoulders were burning. The air still rushed past, and the shadows of the ground loomed upwards. But the effect of the swirling sheet was half-parachute, half-helicopter. It was never going to be as effective as either of those would have been, but it did something. Then Jimmy’s mind threw up one image that his programming had locked away in his memory—the trees lining the river outside the hospital.
Jimmy crunched through the branches then hit the pavement feet first. His legs crumpled and he landed cruelly on his hip, then his shoulder slammed into the stone. The impact jarred his whole body, thrusting an involuntary cry from his chest. For a second he lay on the pavement, seeing the world in a sideways blur. In his weakness, a crazy idea flashed across his mind: maybe he’d landed so hard his powers had been smacked out of him. Maybe he could just lie there and let pain take him over—normal, wonderful pain.
Get up, he heard in his head, crashing through his fantasy. He dropped the boom rod and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It came away smeared with blood. Jimmy didn’t have time to care. He staggered to his feet, but he could barely stand and his left leg was numb. He glanced up. Was Mitchell following him? The bed sheet was stretched out in the branches, obscuring the view.
Jimmy tried to run, but after two hobbled steps he half-collapsed and had to support himself with a hand along the low wall. This wasn’t going to work, even though he could already feel the thrumming of his programming sending relief to the bones in his leg.
The answer was obvious. The speedboat he’d used as a ramp was still there—overturned on the wall a few metres away. Without hesitating, Jimmy vaulted over the wall and threw himself into one of the other boats. The roar of the motor sent a shiver of exhilaration through his muscles. The Thames sprayed around him, a huge arch on either side. He swung the boat into the centre of the river, cranking it up to full power.
Still wincing from the pain through his whole body, and tilting heavily to one side, Jimmy roared forwards. On his right was the hospital; on his left were the Houses of Parliament. Jimmy ripped towards Westminster Bridge, splitting London in two.
Eva let out one piercing scream, then pulled herself together. Mitchell and Jimmy had whirled around each other in the centre of the room so quickly they almost melted into one. Then came the crashing of the window. Eva instinctively shielded her face and flinched away from the glass. Her view of Jimmy hurtling out of the window was blocked by the flapping of the bed sheets that trailed behind him like a huge flag of surrender.
He’s going to die, Eva thought. He can’t survive that fall. She looked to Mitchell, but he was already climbing out through the broken pane of glass.
“Is he…?” Eva called out. She couldn’t finish and Mitchell didn’t respond. He simply climbed out and disappeared, without even looking back. Did that mean Jimmy was still alive? Had Mitchell seen him? Eva’s head was pounding. Her heart wouldn’t stop hammering. It took her a long time to realise that now she was alone with Ian Coates. The Prime Minister was sitting awkwardly on his bed, his paisley pyjamas completely exposed now that his sheets were gone. He was staring vacantly after the two boys.
“Do you think…?” Eva began.
Coates turned to her, but his thoughts were obviously far away. Flashes of confusion and anger alternated on his face. He was about to speak, when the door burst open.
“What was that?” It was Miss Bennett.
“You!” gasped Coates. He swung his legs round and tried to stand, but it took more effort than he’d expected and he ended up perched on the edge of the bed.
Miss Bennett marched straight over to the window. Three men followed her in, all of them built like upturned mountains. They had earpieces and on their lapels were green stripes.
“Send out the word,” Miss Bennett muttered. “The target’s loose.”
Eva felt her heart lurch again. Jimmy was still alive. She didn’t know how, but he had to be. Otherwise Miss Bennett’s reaction would hav
e been very different.
“Secure the rest of the building just in case,” Miss Bennett went on. The three men rushed away. “And check the roof. I heard something.”
Finally, Miss Bennett turned to Ian Coates. Even in these extreme circumstances she leaned against the empty window frame with no visible tension in her body. She dipped her head slightly to one side and brushed a hair from her face. Eva was fascinated. With that softness round her eyes and her lips pursed, she looked like she could either kiss you or kill you, Eva thought.
“I enjoyed your speech,” she said softly.
“I hope it made a better impression than the last speech of mine that ended up on TV.”
“People seem satisfied,” said Miss Bennett. “They’ll be a bit confused, I think—a Neo-democratic Prime Minister calling for a general election. As if you returning from near-death wasn’t enough. But…” She shrugged. “The public is always confused. It’s better that way. As long as they’re not rioting, who cares what they think?”
“We have to care now,” Coates insisted. “I’ve called an election. It was the only way…”
“Don’t worry,” Miss Bennett purred. “We’ll win the election. Who’s going to be our opposition? Christopher Viggo? We can handle him.”
Eva watched Ian Coates carefully. He was shivering and his eyes were flickering rapidly. “What about William Lee?” he asked. “Is he the one who poisoned me? Was he trying to take power?” His voice rose and fell wildly as he spoke, as if he couldn’t control it.
“He was trying to take power,” Miss Bennett replied. “But he didn’t poison you. I’m fairly confident of that.”
Eva couldn’t understand what was happening. Ian Coates knew Miss Bennett was the one who had tried to poison him. She and Mitchell had told him themselves. Eva shot a glance at Miss Bennett, who glared back with the power of a precision laser.
“Personally,” said Miss Bennett lightly, “when anything goes wrong, I find it best to blame the French.”
