Bionic Agent

by Rose, Malcolm

  The sinking of Cara Quickfall’s boat meant that Red Devil could be lying at the bottom of the river estuary. But almost everyone in the affected area had been accounted for. There was one exception. Jordan caught his breath when he saw it. A schoolteacher called Salam Bool had never been traced after the explosion. After a year, his name was the only one left in the category of Missing. If the bomber had died that day, it was either Mr. Bool or an outsider.

  Jordan felt nervous as they entered Lower Stoke. He’d promised himself always to look to the future but this assignment was a step back into his past. He reminded himself that it had been his own idea. He’d made the decision to return, and it felt good, after a year of being dependent on others, to be in control of something. Even so, he was uneasy.

  He wanted to take a look inside the sports centre because Mr. Goss’s heavies used to hang out there. If a new gang had moved into the area, he’d soon see the changes.

  Winter wouldn’t let him get out at Shepherds Way. That was where Ben Smith used to live and Winter didn’t want the residents to see a boy gawping at the houses. Instead, she agreed to drive past slowly. Even so, Jordan’s jaw dropped. By the light of the streetlamps, he could see that it was all different. Ben’s home had gone. Totally. Number fourteen and the house next door – number sixteen – were identical new properties. Most of the nearby sheds and garages had vanished. Many had been replaced. Number twelve was a mosaic of the original house and new building. Further along, a terrace of houses with tiny gardens had been squeezed into the space where there had been three roomy homes. Jordan barely recognized the neighbourhood.

  Winter stopped the Audi just round the corner from the sports club and turned to Jordan. “Are you sure this is where you want to be?”

  He nodded. “Amy’s dad owns it. At least, he used to. It was full of kids, but Mr. Goss’s people were always there as well. They broke fights up. There’s a door in the corner that’s always locked. Only Mr. Goss’s heavies went in. If someone new’s taken over, everything’ll be different and I might hear something.”

  “All right,” Winter said. “But remember it’s been rebuilt. Part of it anyway.”

  “Just like me,” Jordan replied.

  “I showed you the plans.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Remember your brief as well,” she said. “Avoid confrontation. If it looks like there’s going to be trouble, don’t get involved. Just leave.”

  “Sure.”

  “Tell me the first rule of Unit Red.”

  “Have you forgotten it?” Jordan said. Because he wasn’t really in the mood for joking, he wiped the forced smile from his face and answered properly, “We’re always undercover. We never ever mention Unit Red.”

  Winter nodded, apparently satisfied. “I can’t stay here without raising suspicion. I’ll be round the corner in the car park.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I’ll be online.” She pointed at the laptop on the back seat. “You can log on any time.”

  “All right.” Jordan got out, closed the door, and took a deep breath of Lower Stoke air. It was surprisingly fresh. The oil refinery and gas terminal had gone. Their tall cylinders were no longer silhouetted against the darkening sky.

  At least the rain had stopped. The sports centre’s entrance was lit brightly in the evening gloom. As he walked towards it, he remembered how he used to hog the tennis court at the back of the building and, even though he was really young at the time, he’d twice taken the place of a drummer who’d been too ill to perform a gig at the club. Those memories were off limits now. They would only get in the way of what he had to do.

  The past is past, as his mum used to say.

  He wondered who he would see inside. He would have to play the part of a stranger if he recognized anyone.

  Walking past a group of girls drinking cider on the pavement, Jordan didn’t linger outside. He had a feeling that, if he hesitated, he might lose his nerve. He opened the door and went straight in. At once, a bouncer had him by the arm. His right arm. Jordan yanked it out of the big man’s grasp.

  “Hey!” Clearly surprised by Jordan’s strength, the bouncer snapped, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  It hadn’t been like this a year earlier. Amy’s dad didn’t put heavies on the door. “Someone said you’ve got snooker tables.”

  “This your first time?”

  “Yes,” he lied.

  “Well, no one gets in without being frisked. Arms and legs out.”

  The bouncer ran his cupped hands up each leg and said, “What’s this bulge?”

  Jordan was hardly going to explain the battery implanted under his skin. He pulled up his right trouser leg and replied, “There’s nothing. It’s swollen, that’s all. A medical condition.”

  The doorman began to feel along both sleeves. Jordan knew that his right arm would not pass for normal. His coat and synthetic skin might disguise its true nature but the flawless fingers would give it away. From a distance they looked real but, close up, they were clearly fake.

  “What now?” the bouncer exclaimed.

  “A false arm. I lost mine in a car accident.”

  Unsure, the doorman grimaced. “Well...”

  “You’re not going to stop me because I’m disabled, are you?” Jordan hated that word. He wasn’t disabled. He was more than able. He was enhanced. But he was willing to exploit the word when it worked in his favour.

  “Can you play snooker with it?”

  He nodded.

  The bouncer eyed him suspiciously and then carried on with the search. His hands patted Jordan’s back and chest. Then he stepped away. “Okay. You’re in. But no funny business.”

  The sports hall looked different. Less busy, but still well used. The snooker and pool tables were on the left. Beyond them was the entrance to the gym, climbing wall and boxing ring. Table tennis and a suite of computer games were on the right. The dartboards at the back were unused. The door at the far end was still there and so was a sleazy group of people in their twenties and thirties.

  And the racket! Maybe it had always been noisy and he’d never really noticed. Now, with fantastic hearing, it was like being surrounded by chanting football fans. Yet Jordan didn’t want to turn down the volume. He was trying to pick out any conversation that might tell him if this bit of Mr. Goss’s territory was under new management – and, if so, who was in charge. Instinct told him to get as close as possible to the group at the far end. They were just hanging around, not playing games, in the area that Mr. Goss’s heavies used to occupy.

  Strolling down the aisle between the various games, he spotted only a few faces that were familiar. Two boys playing pool used to be in one of Ben Smith’s classes. He recognized three younger girls chatting near the computer games, but he didn’t know their names. A lot of the people were beyond school age and new to him. The sports centre was attracting a different crowd altogether.

  Lingering near the final snooker table, Jordan soon realized what the men by the door were doing. Watching them and catching snatches of whispered exchanges told him that they were dealing drugs. Jordan was shocked. Mr. Goss wouldn’t have allowed it. Amy’s dad wasn’t exactly on the same wavelength as the law but, as far as Jordan knew, he didn’t do deals with children. His heavies would have moved in on anyone trying to take advantage of the local kids. After all, he had a daughter to protect from that sort of thing.

  “Oi!” one of the dealers shouted. “What are you doing?”

  Jordan was nearly deafened. “Nothing.”

  Two of them came over to him. “That’s what they all say. At first. What are you after?”

  “I’m looking for a friend,” Jordan replied. “Nothing else.”

  The two men laughed. One yelled over his shoulder, “He’s just looking for a friend!”

  “Haven’t heard that before. Bring him over here.”

  Jordan felt a hollowness in his stomach as the dealers pushed him in the back and the pack parted to
let him through. Before he’d worked out what to do, he had his back to the door and a threatening mob in his face. He wasn’t certain but two of the young men might once have been Mr. Goss’s heavies.

  The ringleader said, “You come to buy or you keep clear. If you come to spy...” He shrugged theatrically. “What are we supposed to make of that? We might think you had something to do with the law. That wouldn’t be good for your health. Know what I mean?” The man’s mouth was a black hole within a circle of bushy beard but the top of his head was completely bald.

  Jordan’s terahertz vision told him that, underneath the man’s sweatshirt, he had a gun tucked into his trouser belt.

  After all he’d been through, Jordan thought he’d outlived the fear of being hurt. But he was still scared. He could feel sweat running down between his shoulder blades like a cold glass marble. “Kids my age don’t become cops,” he said.

  “You don’t look like a customer either. So, I ask myself, what are you?”

  “I haven’t been here before. I didn’t know what was going on so I came to check it out. That’s all.”

  The dealer interrupted. “Do I look like someone who believes in fairy stories?”

  No. He looked like a thug. “I didn’t mean to...”

  “You said you were looking for a friend. Changed your mind?”

  Jordan shrugged.

  “You’re on your own. What are we?” The big guy looked from side to side. “Eight? Ten? All used to taking care of business. Know what I mean? You’re cornered. Up against a locked door. No way out.”

  Jordan should have been able to open a link to Winter’s laptop with his brain/computer interface and ask for backup. With these guys in his face, though, he couldn’t summon up the necessary concentration. Anyway, he hated the idea of admitting he needed help within minutes of his first job.

  He knew he should have taken Winter’s advice already to get out before trouble started. He hoped he wasn’t too late. He took a deep breath, twisted and stabbed his false fist at the door. The wood was too thick to splinter but the lock could not withstand the force of his punch. It shattered and the door swung inwards.

  Jordan dashed inside while the men stood and stared in amazement. He knew he only had a moment before the heavies on the other side of the door reacted. He scanned the room. Large grey filing cabinets, a huge desk, a safe and a fire exit to the right. On the left, there was some sort of laboratory bench. His amplified sense of smell detected something vaguely chemical.

  He turned towards the only exit but didn’t dare to move towards it. The guy with the gun had stepped into the room. He wasn’t hiding the weapon any more. He was pointing it at Jordan’s chest.

  Jordan stopped and put his hands up.

  “You’re not in a cowboy film,” the man said with a cruel grin. “You’re in deep trouble.” The smirk was replaced by an expression of sheer malice. “No one comes in here. And no one messes with us like that. No one. The boss’ll want to meet you.”

  It wasn’t an invitation. It was a demand.

  “Who’s that?” Jordan asked. Trying to keep his voice under control, he lowered his arms.

  “Come with me.”

  It was an opportunity to find out who had taken over the club from Mr. Goss, Jordan realized, but it was too risky. It would be pointless to discover the godfather’s identity but not get out alive. If these people had blown up half of Medway, they wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of one fourteen-year-old boy. After all, he didn’t officially exist and they might have killed him once already. “I don’t think so,” he replied.

  “I’ll end it here and now, then.” The thug took aim.

  6 HURT

  Jordan didn’t know what he’d said, seen or done to provoke such an extreme reaction. Facing execution, his legs were quaking. But he remained alert. His eyes picked out the first movement of the man’s forefinger on the trigger. Jordan thought of his bionic arm protecting his heart. Immediately, his arm moved in front of his chest and the bullet clanged against his hand. The force of the blow knocked his forearm harmlessly into his body and the bullet bounced away. There was no blood, no wound.

  The gangster’s mouth and eyes opened wide. He took at least five seconds to respond. “Who are you?” Astonished, he added, “What are you?”

  Jordan was stunned as well. His tense fingers locked onto the desktop and his right hand began to crush the wood. “Just a boy,” he said, pretending to be calm as the adrenalin surged around his body. Then he lifted the entire desk and threw it at the startled bunch of dealers. He didn’t wait to see it hit home. He didn’t wait for the havoc it would cause. As he made for the fire exit at full speed, he heard the crash, the cries and swearing behind him. His right arm hit the door first and it burst open. He dashed round the tennis court and onto the club’s football pitch.

  He didn’t hesitate in case any of the men had recovered from the shock and were about to chase him. Wishing he had bionic legs as well, he doubled back. He didn’t turn right to return to the crossroads where Winter would be waiting in the car park, because the streetlamps along the straight road would keep him in view for several minutes. Instead, he went to the left and, after a few metres, right into Button Drive. Grateful for the darkness, he was out of sight of the club within seconds. Besides, no one would expect him to go in that direction. Almost everyone thought of it as a no-through-road, but not Jordan. He hurried to the end and sprinted round the back of the flats. He scrambled over the wooden fence and hurtled across the narrow field towards the farmyard and its grain silos.

  Jordan didn’t try to count the metal containers but there seemed to be fewer than he remembered. Panting, he came to a halt between three of the silos, hidden from the world, and sank onto the damp ground. It was only after he’d got his breath back that he blinked and scanned the blackened gap with infrared vision. He let out a gasp. Two paces away, there was a yellow and red glow in the shape of a human figure crouching in the darkness.

  “Hello?” Jordan called. “Is someone there?” Of course, he knew that someone was lurking in his secret hideout.

  A familiar voice called out, “Who are you?”

  Amy! Jordan hoped that she didn’t hear him gasp again. At least the darkness hid the emotions on his face. She was a gleaming warmth to him but he’d be a bare outline to her. “Jordan,” he said.

  “Sounds like you’ve been running.”

  Straight away, he recognized an opportunity. “I...er...got into trouble with the guys in the sports centre.”

  Amy’s voice became urgent and edgy. “They aren’t following you, are they?”

  “No. Do you know them?”

  “I used to know the people who ran it, but not this lot.”

  The glimmer was not exactly Amy-shaped. She was taller now. But it was definitely Amy plus a year. Talking to her, Jordan’s heart was hammering as much as it had when he’d confronted the dealers, but for an entirely different reason. “They didn’t seem very nice.”

  “No.”

  He wanted to rush over to her, give her a hug and whisper, “It’s me. I’m back.” But that was one thing he could never do. In his enthusiasm, he might even have hurt her. He tried to focus on what he was supposed to be doing. Those drug dealers were clearly operating with the full knowledge of the new owner. “Who are they?” he said. “Who runs it now?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Perhaps she was suspicious. Perhaps she thought he was asking too many questions. “Do you know what’s weird?”

  “What?”

  “You haven’t asked me why I’m here.”

  “Why are you?”

  Amy paused. “Because I meet my friend here.”

  So, she had a new friend. Or she was trying to give the impression that someone could turn up at any second because she felt threatened. “When’s he coming?”

  “Who said it was a he?”

  “I just...assumed.”

  “Another thing that’s weird. You told me your name but you
didn’t ask me mine.”

  “I was scared you might think I was...you know.”

  “Chatting me up?” Amy laughed softly. “You can’t even see me.”

  “No.”

  “Your voice is a bit strange. You speak like a local but you don’t go to our school.”

  “Home tuition,” Jordan replied. He knew that today was the first day of the summer term but it made no difference to him.

  “So you go to the club because you don’t do sport at school.”

  Jordan nodded but, remembering that she couldn’t see him, he said, “Yes.”

  “Bad mistake,” Amy muttered. Then she added, “I don’t like the people in charge – to put it mildly – and they don’t like you. I suppose that puts you and me on the same side.”

  “I guess.”

  Amy drew in a deep breath. “Everyone around here’s too frightened to talk...” She went quiet for a few seconds. “The new Mr. Big isn’t Mr. Big at all. It’s Ms. Big, I suppose. My dad says it’s someone called Melissa Pink.”

  “A woman. When did she take over?”

  “Straight after the river blast. A year ago. He said she’s not from round here.”

  At once, Jordan’s brain fumbled around for the right thoughts that would log him on to Unit Red’s system. Melissa Pink. Criminal activity.

  When he established a link, the visual effect was like looking at a shop window. He would see the display inside and, at the same time, a reflection of what was behind him. Right now, Amy’s shape shone through the scrolling pages of Melissa Pink’s file.

  It seemed that Pink was the mastermind behind the Midlands crime scene. She’d never been convicted of a serious crime, but the police were in no doubt that she was responsible for much of it. They also regarded her as ruthless and vicious. Even so, Jordan did not spot any references to bombings in her record. If she’d moved in on Kent with a devastating explosion, she’d also stepped up several leagues in violence.

  “You’ve gone quiet,” Amy said. “Have you heard of Pink?”