Bionic Agent

by Rose, Malcolm

  “No,” he answered.

  “She’s vile, according to Dad. Way beyond cruel.” Looking like a candle flame that had suddenly elongated, Amy got to her feet. “I’m off,” she announced abruptly as she walked away. She’d done it so often in the dark that she didn’t bump into the sides of the silos.

  Jordan called after her, “If I see your friend, I’ll tell him you’ve gone.”

  For a moment, the flame flared yellow. “I don’t think you’ll see him. It’s too late.”

  Abandoned, Jordan watched her stroll down the track. When her radiance faded to nothing, he experienced a twinge around his stomach. One of his wounds there hadn’t healed properly. The hurt had never really gone away and he was left with a sensitive scar. That’s how he felt over Amy as well.

  In the Gillingham safe house, Winter gazed at him like a mother who had just heard a pack of lies from her son. “So, it all went smoothly. You didn’t bump into anyone you recognized, you saw drug dealers who weren’t there before the big bang, and you heard them saying a woman called Melissa Pink is in charge?”

  Jordan nodded. “That’s it.” He was determined to keep quiet about meeting Amy.

  “Took a long time.”

  Jordan shrugged. “They talked about a lot of other stuff first.”

  “Such as?”

  “Football.” Trying to avoid further interrogation, Jordan said, “What I don’t know is whether Melissa Pink planted the estuary bomb or just took advantage of it. Maybe she made her move on Mr. Goss’s business when everyone was...you know...”

  “Panicking?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And while you were listening to the football chat, you smelled a chemical sort of smell.”

  “Like, from a lab.”

  “But you don’t know what it was?”

  “No.”

  To Jordan, Winter didn’t look like a mother. She looked stunning, even though she was about thirty. An occasional peek with terahertz vision was impossible to resist.

  She’d taught him the Unit Red rules, but Jordan preferred his mum’s nuggets of advice on life. His mum had been full of them. She never went on, though. Her advice came in pithy one-liners, like proverbs. Often, they were serious. Sometimes, they weren’t. Her advice on women? “When you’re living in a house with the opposite sex, don’t leave the toilet seat up.” Jordan’s inward smile was sad and wry.

  Winter gulped back some coffee. “I think our chemist ought to take you through a few smells in case you can pin it down. Starting with the whiff of a bomb-making factory. And we need to know a lot more about what Melissa Pink’s up to. Then there’s the disciplinary action against you.”

  “What?”

  She smiled and pointed to his right hand. “Damaging government property.”

  Jordan glanced down at the patch of artificial skin that the bullet had ripped out. “Ah, that.”

  She nodded. “How did it happen?”

  He didn’t want to admit to his handler that, on his very first outing as a Unit Red agent, he hadn’t obeyed her instruction to keep out of trouble. “I...er...caught it on the door. I’m still a bit...you know.”

  “Economical with the truth?”

  “No. Clumsy.”

  Winter shook her head, laughed and swigged the rest of her coffee. “The technician who’ll repair it will work out what caused it and tell us, even if you won’t.”

  “Changing the subject...” he said.

  Winter’s mug was decorated with two cartoon frogs. She put it down and gazed at him.

  “I think you should trace Salam Bool’s mobile. It went missing the same day as the explosion.”

  Winter was taken aback. “How do you know?”

  “He was one of my...I mean, one of Ben Smith’s teachers. And he was in a temper because someone had nicked it.”

  “I’ll get onto it. I want to figure out if we can get you close to Melissa Pink as well, but it’d be pushing you in at the deep end. Especially now her people have seen you. So, let’s try something else first. A shallow-end tactic.”

  “Like what?”

  “I think you should make friends with the Quickfall kids. See if you can find out anything about the family’s animal rights and environmental activities. The question is, would they go as far as bombing? Are they that radical?” She stood up. “That’s after a visit to the lab to get your hand fixed – and before you forget that smell.”

  7 KNIFE

  The train ran alongside the river estuary on its approach to Southend Central. The wrecks of Ocean Courage and the oil supertanker were no longer cluttering the waterway. They had been salvaged and removed to clear the important shipping lane.

  Just before the train rattled through Chalkwell Station, it passed some small boatyards on the right. Jordan watched out for them because Cara Quickfall had kept her boat there until it went missing. Straight after the station, on the left, were the tennis courts where Cara’s sons went after school every Tuesday and Thursday.

  Jordan looked down at his robotic arm. His attitude to it had changed. Had it been only flesh and blood, he would not have got out of the sports club alive. The mechanical hand was perfect again. The technician had diagnosed the damage straight away. “Someone’s hammered a pointed tool against it or you’ve been shot.” The patches on Jordan’s face that were natural skin had turned bright red. Without mentioning Amy, he’d admitted what had happened. No doubt the story would make its way to Angel and Winter so he expected a telling-off soon.

  Back in the Unit Red labs, he’d been taken to the chief chemist. She’d listened to him and then said, “You probably got a whiff of a volatile solvent.” She’d taken him to a fume cupboard and asked him to sniff a series of liquids. The first one to catch his attention had been acetone. “It’s not quite right,” he’d told her, “but it was something like that.” She’d thought about it for a few seconds, mixed two solvents together and told him to try again. And that was it. Exactly. She’d nodded. “You said they were dealing drugs. That was the clue. It’s not about bomb-making. A one-to-one mix of diethyl ether and acetone is the classic solvent for purifying cocaine. It’s more than likely you stumbled across an illicit drug lab.”

  That was probably why Melissa Pink’s henchmen had turned so nasty. He’d seen the laboratory and they were not going to let him leave with that knowledge.

  “Shouldn’t we send the police in?” Jordan had asked.

  “I’ll mention it to Angel, but I know what he’ll say. It’s too late. They’ll have moved the operation as soon as you compromised it. Drug factories appear and disappear all the time. Otherwise, they’d get caught.”

  The train jerked and Jordan swayed in his seat. He looked at the girl sitting opposite him. She almost returned his smile but carried on reading her magazine. She had no idea that he could listen to every conversation in the coach, detect passengers with bad breath, and see straight through everyone’s clothes if he turned on his terahertz vision with a single thought. He wouldn’t try it all at once, though, because he would be overwhelmed, like a website crashed by information overload.

  The train arrived only two minutes late. Jordan had time to stroll along the esplanade on his way to the tennis club.

  The front had been battered by the force of the estuary blast and, in places, it was still being mended. The long pier had been mangled but emergency repairs had made it serviceable. One of the boathouses remained out of action and a nearby block of flats was covered with scaffolding. The riverside gardens had mostly recovered. They were lined with benches in memory of people who’d died in the explosion. Jordan stopped to gaze sadly on the memorials for a few seconds. So many benches squeezed together. There were more benches than people on the front to sit on them.

  Jordan had learned the route to the tennis club but, if he got lost, he could go online and consult a map in his mind. He checked the time. It was very important for him to be precisely on schedule. Turning his back on the seafront, he went along C
halkwell Avenue, under the railway bridge, and up to the club. He arrived at the same time as two rough men who, judging by their physique, spent a lot of time in a gym. He stood aside to let them in first.

  Jordan had also memorized pictures of Cara Quickfall’s sons. They were twelve and thirteen years old, white and fair-haired. Their upmarket clothes suggested that they weren’t short of cash. He found them in the changing rooms. But the two beefy guys had found them first.

  The brothers were pinned against a row of lockers and one of the muggers was shouting, “Come on! Mobiles, cash and iPods. Now!”

  Turning on his terahertz vision, Jordan saw that the man who was shouting had a knife in his trouser pocket.

  “Oi!” Jordan said. “Leave them alone.”

  “Stay out of it, you.”

  Jordan refused. “Pick on someone your own size.”

  Angered by his intervention, both men turned and came threateningly towards him. “You’re closer to our size.” The first thug delved into his pocket, extracted the knife and thrust it in Jordan’s direction.

  Jordan dropped his sports bag. His right arm shot out and snatched the knife before the mugger could react. Jordan wrapped his fingers around the blade and bent it back on itself as easily as folding paper. He handed the buckled knife back to its owner without a word.

  The man stared at the useless thing in his palm. “How did you...?” Instead of finishing his question, he turned tail and ran away, along with his mate.

  The Quickfall boys stood and stared at Jordan. Then the younger one cried, “That was awesome!”

  “Thanks,” his brother said.

  Jordan shrugged. “No problem.”

  It really wasn’t a problem. The men were Unit Red agents and they’d staged the attack. They’d expected Jordan to step in and save the boys. The whole set-up was Winter’s idea to give Jordan a way of befriending the Quickfall brothers.

  “Look, er...” The older boy hesitated. “What’s your name?”

  “Jordan.”

  “I’m Brady and he’s Reece. I don’t fancy staying here. Not after that.”

  Reece hesitated. “We can’t go! What if they’re waiting for us outside?”

  “I’ll come with you, if you like,” Jordan said. “They won’t take on three of us.”

  “Not after what you just did.” Brady shook his head in disbelief. “Is your hand okay?”

  Jordan held it out. “Fine.”

  “Hey. What is that?” Brady prodded it with his forefinger.

  Jordan stuck to the explanation he’d agreed with Angel to avoid awkward questions. “It’s false. A car crash got rid of my real one.”

  “Cool!” said Reece. “Is that how come you can bend metal – because you’re bionic?”

  “I’m not bionic,” Jordan lied, “but a false arm has its uses.”

  Reece seemed fascinated. “Can you take it off?”

  “Not really. I don’t wear it like a shoe or anything. It’s attached.” He could easily remove individual fingers or the hand, but not the whole arm. To do that, he’d need the help of a Unit Red engineer.

  “You’d make a neat bodyguard,” Brady said with a grin.

  “Yeah. You already saved us,” Reece added.

  “I bet Mum’d like to thank you,” Brady said. “Do you want to come back to our place?”

  Jordan hesitated. He didn’t want to appear too eager.

  “Go on,” said Reece. “We’ve got some pretty hot computer games.”

  “Well, they’ve got to be better for you than tennis,” Jordan replied.

  “How come?”

  “You don’t get beaten up while you’re getting ready.”

  For a moment, Brady looked puzzled. “How did you know we were going to play tennis?”

  Jordan felt a jolt inside as he realized his mistake. Trying not to show it, he shrugged. “It’s a tennis club.”

  “That’s not all. There’s a gym and a pool.”

  Reece groaned at his suddenly suspicious brother.

  Jordan decided to take a risk. “I saw a tennis racket in your locker, didn’t I?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Brady. “A bit of a giveaway. What are you doing here?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Were you going to play tennis as well?”

  Reece butted in. “You’d be great.”

  Jordan shook his head. “I could probably serve faster than anyone else on the planet and put enough spin on the ball to win every point. But one of the rules says, ‘Every player must hold the racket with a real arm.’”

  Giggling, Reece replied, “It’d be fun, though.”

  Jordan nodded. “Sure would.”

  “So, what are you here for?” Brady asked.

  “The pool,” Jordan told him, picking up his bag. “I was going swimming.”

  “Do you go rusty?” said Reece.

  Jordan laughed. “I shower every day and it hasn’t happened yet. Swimming’s supposed to be good for my muscles.”

  Satisfied at last, Brady nodded.

  Reece sighed with relief. “Are you coming home with us, then?”

  Jordan pretended to think about it. He wasn’t proud of tricking the Quickfall boys, but he was on a mission. That was his excuse for being devious. He glanced at his watch and then said, “All right. But...”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be any good at computer games. Because of this.” He waved his artificial arm.

  The Quickfalls’ energy-efficient house looked a bit like Unit Red’s headquarters, without the gravestones and secret network of underground rooms. The front was largely glass and odd angles. The roof was a mass of solar panels and the gutters fed rainfall into a large tank. Standing inside, Jordan could hear the quiet rumble of a pump. It was bringing up water from pipes buried deep in the garden, using the natural warmth of the earth to heat the house.

  Jordan listened to Reece’s booming voice whilst trying to eavesdrop on the whispered conversation between Brady and his mother in the next room.

  “Did it hurt?” Reece asked. “I mean, when your arm got ripped off.”

  “But who is he?” Cara’s hushed voice said in the background. “You’ve got to be careful after what happened.”

  “No,” Jordan answered. “I was unconscious, I suppose. More than that. My heart stopped beating so I guess I was sort of dead. Didn’t feel a thing.”

  “You died?”

  Meanwhile, Brady was whispering to his mum, “I know, but he’s okay. He saved us.”

  “Saved you?”

  Brady began to tell his mum about the incident with the knife while Jordan replied to Reece, “They resuscitated me. That’s when it hurt. When I came round it was agony. They gave me bucketfuls of painkillers.”

  Realizing that Jordan was distracted, Reece said, “It’s only mum checking up on you.” He shook his head and sighed. “She gets in a state about who we mix with.”

  Just a mother taking care of her sons, Jordan thought. If only he still had a mother... But there was no point in feeling sorry for himself. He had Angel, Winter and a whole gang of Unit Red technicians to take care of him. Yet somehow, they didn’t make up for his parents. In a way, he still felt alone.

  Like any normal family, the Quickfalls probably wanted to murder each other half of the time, but they would always support each other in adversity. Jordan had neither the frustrations nor the safety net of a family now.

  Reece was setting up some games when Brady and his mum came in. Cara Quickfall had short dark hair and a pair of glasses resting on top of her head. Jordan wondered if her hairstyle had been designed to keep her spectacles stable. Balanced there, they served no obvious purpose. They were more fashion statement than visual aid. She looked at the visitor and said, “Hi. Brady’s been telling me what you did. I appreciate it. Very much. What did you say your surname was?”

  “Stryker. Jordan Stryker.”

  She nodded. “Where do you live?”

  “
London.”

  “Oh. What are you doing here?”

  “My folks have come for the day. They’re into boats. They let me go to the sports club instead.” He checked his watch. “I’ll have to go and meet them in an hour.”

  “We used to have a boat,” Reece said.

  Cara Quickfall cast a warning glance at her son. “Reece...” When she looked back at Jordan, the stern expression had gone. “What about school?” she asked.

  “I don’t go.”

  Reece interrupted. “Lucky you.”

  “I get home tuition.”

  Brady stared at his mum. “Interrogation over yet?”

  Cara smiled. “Just one more question. Can I get you a drink? And something to eat? Any of you?”

  She didn’t have fizzy drinks, only fruit juice that tasted far too healthy. She didn’t have crisps, only wholesome biscuits that tasted of nothing. But Jordan was getting what he needed most: the friendship and trust of the Quickfall kids. Despite his best efforts, though, he could not think his way into the family’s computer.

  He looked at Reece and said quietly, “Your mum didn’t want you talking about the boat you had. What’s that all about?”

  The two brothers eyed each other before Brady replied, “Sore point.”

  Reece took up the story. “You know the explosion a year ago?”

  Jordan nodded. “It was all over the internet and telly.”

  “Well, whoever did it nicked our boat. That’s how they got out to the wreck.”

  Jordan did his best to look surprised. “No. Really?”

  Reece nodded. “She won’t get another one. Says it’s too dangerous.”

  “As if it could happen again,” Brady muttered.

  “Hey,” Jordan said, “does that mean you were all suspects?”

  They nodded.

  “I bet the police were all over you.”

  “Mum and Uncle Henry.”

  “Amazing.” Lowering his voice, Jordan said, “Do you think they had anything to do with it?”

  “Not Mum,” Brady replied at once. Acting as if he needed to supply proof, he added, “She didn’t go out that night.”

  “But Uncle Henry...” Reece shrugged.