by Joe Craig
“Once you’ve eaten,” he ordered, “get some sleep.” He slammed the money on top of the TV. It sprang into life, suddenly showing a clear image for the first time.
“Don’t worry, Chris,” said Neil Muzbeke. “I’ll take care of things here.” Viggo nodded uncertainly, then, without making eye contact with anybody, he marched out.
“He’s a bit grumpy, isn’t he?” Jimmy asked.
“He’s always a bit grumpy,” Felix replied.
Jimmy shrugged. He was thinking back to the first days he had known Viggo. In the short time since then, so much had happened that they had all changed. But with Viggo, something seemed wrong.
“He must be upset about Saffron,” Jimmy suggested.
“I think you’re right, Jimmy,” Felix’s father answered. “We all are, aren’t we? And it must be hardest for him.”
Jimmy nodded. Of course Viggo was sad about what had happened to Saffron. But the stiffness in Viggo’s face didn’t look like sadness. His gruff attitude, his short temper and his secrets… It looks like he’s angry, thought Jimmy. Angry and impatient.
“Anyway,” Felix chirped. “Noodles all round?” He snatched the top few bills off the bundle and dashed to the door. “Back in a sec!” he shouted.
“Hey, where are you off to?” yelled Neil Muzbeke, pulling himself to his feet, but Felix was already out on the landing.
“Yo, ladies!” he yelled. “Say ‘no’ if you don’t want noodles.”
After a half-second pause, Felix’s feet hammered down the stairs.
His father ran out after him and shouted, “You go for food then come straight back, OK?” There was a distant holler from Felix, then his father peeked his head back round the door.
“Back in a sec, Jimmy,” he mumbled. “I’d better watch Felix. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but he does tend to get distracted.”
Jimmy laughed, but it was half-hearted. He was mesmerised by the love and care that Neil Muzbeke had for his son. He couldn’t help trying to remember the way his own father had acted towards him. This is the way things seemed, he told himself. But it was all fake.
“So far there has been no explanation from the energy companies for the sudden disruption in electricity supply that has struck across the nation at various times in the last few days.” Jimmy was crouched by the window, deliberately avoiding the TV screen. It was hard. American news bulletins seemed a lot more colourful than British ones, even though they didn’t seem any better at providing information.
“They’re not telling us anything,” exclaimed Neil Muzbeke.
Jimmy ignored him and stared at the rain. He chomped through another mouthful of noodles, while Felix gulped down more Coke. Jimmy had never really liked Chinese food – especially if he had to use chopsticks. But the cardboard container in his lap was almost empty and most of the food had gone in his belly, not down his front. Either American Chinese food was very different or Jimmy’s tastes were changing with time.
“Meanwhile,” the news continued, “let’s return to our top story: President Grogan’s announcement, ahead of the UN Summit tomorrow, that he’ll be seeking to ease the diplomatic tension between Great Britain and France.” On the screen, Grogan was smiling and waving to a crowd. He was a large man, with round, bulging cheeks that were surprisingly pink for a man in his mid-fifties. Beneath his eyes were the grey sacks that come with running a country.
“Can we turn it off, please?” Jimmy asked.
Neil hauled his bulky frame off the sofa and hit the switch. The picture cut to black just as President Grogan was replaced on screen by an image of Ian Coates.
“I don’t want to see that man,” Jimmy rasped, turning back to the window.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” Neil reassured him, gently. “He betrayed us all, and he doesn’t even deserve you being upset about it.”
On the outside, Jimmy smiled and nodded. But his heart was infected with anger. Neil’s words sat in his head: ‘He doesn’t deserve you.’ Jimmy wanted to scream: What does he deserve? But he stayed silent.
Jimmy snapped out of his sleep. In less than a second he was fully awake. He lay still, his eyes open. His head was throbbing. A multicoloured neon haze seeped through the tattered curtains. The light was boosted by his night-vision, giving everything a blue tinge that made it look almost like being underwater.
The street still sounded busy, but obviously far less than it had been earlier that evening. Its noises were drowned out by Neil Muzbeke’s snores and the ticking of the clock. Jimmy turned over. They’d pushed the two large mattresses together to give them as much sleeping space as possible, but now there was a dip sucking Jimmy towards the huge mound of Neil Muzbeke. Another body twitched and wriggled every few seconds, and was much smaller: Felix. He was kicking at the makeshift sheets – some coats and old cushion covers they’d found in a closet. Everything smelled bitterly of damp.
Jimmy guessed it must be the small hours of the morning, though he couldn’t be sure – the clock didn’t seem accurate and Jimmy’s own sense of time was more confused than ever. However late or early, Viggo clearly wasn’t back yet. Whoever his contacts were, Jimmy thought to himself, they must have a lot to discuss. But that was far from the only thing on his mind.
Jimmy sat up and wiped his eyes. Sweat matted his hair, even though it wasn’t hot in the room. It was the images. The pictures from his dreams had returned stronger than ever. In the half-light, even objects in the room took on the shape and colour of his dreams:
Thin horizontal strips in the colours of the rainbow.
Splashes of red and yellow against a dirty cream background.
A white number 53 on a green background.
The letter K, bold and black on a bright white wall.
Jimmy crawled out of bed and reached for his notebook. Flicking through the pages, he found everything that he had just seen in his sleep. They were even more vivid in his head this time. The colours were brighter. The outlines of the shapes were sharper. What did they mean? It wasn’t just the images. It was the feeling that went with them. Jimmy heard his pulse pounding inside his head. With each beat, it intensified the terror in his gut.
He threw down the notebook. It landed with a big black K staring up at the ceiling. Jimmy shuffled towards the bathroom. The bare floorboards sent a welcome chill up through his bare feet. There was a draft coming through the bathroom window. Jimmy breathed it in, grateful for some freshness, despite the fact that it smelled a little of the restaurant’s refuse. He splashed water on to his face. It came out of the tap in a dribble and was ice cold. There was no towel, so Jimmy just leaned on the sink, letting drips run down his neck.
He stared at himself in the mirror. His bluish vision exaggerated how different he looked now from the Jimmy who had jumped out of his bedroom window, trying to escape two mysterious men in suits. He didn’t like it. If there was one thing Jimmy wanted above anything else, it was to go back to before that time. But he knew it was too late. Despite his strength and speed, despite the instincts of a lethal predator, time still travelled only in one direction.
He closed his eyes and tried everything he could to relax. Gradually, the images faded from his mind. With a few more deep breaths, the feeling of doom subsided as well. Then he heard a click.
His eyes shot open. In the mirror he caught sight of his pupils dilating rapidly. A shiver ran over his skin. His muscles tensed. A warm current surged through him – his programming swooping into action. Something was wrong. But Jimmy was ready to deal with it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN – CLEAN STRIKE
Jimmy stayed absolutely still. Could the noise have been Viggo coming back? The bathroom door was still open. Jimmy glanced in the mirror, waiting for the living-room light to come on or Viggo himself to appear. He counted the seconds. Nothing changed.
He couldn’t even be sure where the click had come from. The front door of the apartment? The bedroom? The fire escape? Very slowly, not making a sound, he turned rou
nd. He peered at every detail of the apartment. Night-vision is never crystal clear, so Jimmy had to analyse each outline to work out whether anything had changed.
CRASH!
Something slammed into Jimmy’s back. The wind was knocked out of him. He fell forward and smacked his chin against the wall. He tasted blood, but didn’t have time to do anything about it. As soon as he hit the wall, he spun off it again. Just in time – a fist plunged down at him, aiming a knife at exactly the point where the back of his neck had been. The blade scraped against the tiles.
Jimmy looked up to see two intruders. Both were covered head to toe in black. Their faces were obscured by balaclavas with tiny slits cut for their eyes. The one furthest from Jimmy pushed the bathroom door shut. Then he flicked on a torch and shone it right in Jimmy’s eyes.
“Is that him?” he whispered.
“That’s him.”
Their voices were muffled by their headgear and in any case, Jimmy didn’t have time to analyse how they sounded. The closer man raised his fist above his head. A sliver of moonlight outlined his knife. There was nowhere for Jimmy to go. The bathroom was barely big enough for one person – let alone three.
With the torch in his eyes, all Jimmy could see was the flashing of the knife blade. Without thinking, he felt his arm snap out to the side. He snatched two toothbrushes from the sink and pulled his hand back. His programming was in control now, but that was exactly what Jimmy needed to stay alive.
Squeezing the toothbrushes together in his fist, Jimmy pushed them towards his attacker. He caught the knife blade between them. With a twist of his wrist, he plucked the knife from the man’s hand. It spun into the air and both men made a grab for it. They both missed and scrabbled on the floor to find it.
Jimmy used one man’s back as a springboard, climbing over him to jump up on to the sink. He nearly slipped, but steadied himself with a hand against the opposite wall. He stood with one foot on either side of the basin. He had to bend his head forward to avoid hitting the ceiling.
Before the men could even gasp, Jimmy smashed his heel against a bottle of mouthwash. It exploded in a minty-fresh cascade of foamy liquid. The combination of the mouthwash and the splinters of glass all over the floor made it impossible for either man to find the knife. The torchlight danced around frantically.
Jimmy took a breath to yell for help.
“He—!”
The sound was cut off before it had even started. The two men grabbed one of Jimmy’s ankles each and yanked him down. It was an awkward fall. Jimmy jerked his head to one side to avoid smashing his skull on the porcelain. There was a tumble of bathroom items all about him. He landed on the floor with a bump. The men loomed over him, both bending down to strangle him.
“Wait,” Jimmy gasped. “You left the toilet seat up.”
With the punch of a heavyweight boxer, he slammed the toilet seat down on the torch man’s head. It rang out like Big Ben. With his other hand, he splashed mouthwash into the second man’s face, then grabbed at something from the floor.
He was moving too fast even to know what he was doing. In no time he had yanked out a metre of dental floss. He spun it round the knife man’s ankles, then flung one end over the rail that held up the shower curtain. When he caught the end again he heaved on it with his whole weight. The man was completely upended. His limbs flailed about and he landed in a splat on his back. Jimmy dusted himself off, gritted his teeth and quipped, “Always floss.”
By now the torch man was rubbing his head and staggering to his feet. Jimmy gave him a firm push that sent him tumbling backwards into the bath. The man grabbed hold of the shower curtain, but it couldn’t take his weight and ripped down with him.
Finally, Jimmy ran his arm across the shelf by the bath. It sent half a dozen bottles of shower gel clattering to the floor. Some looked like they had been there for years gathering mould. Just as one of them hit the floor, Jimmy stamped his bare foot down on it. Bright green gel burst out of the top. It was aimed perfectly – right in the knife man’s eyes.
Now Jimmy had a chance to call the others. He drew in a breath, but stopped himself. Another click. More attackers? A million thoughts rushed through his head. He glanced at the two men writhing about the bathroom in pain. Neither one was capable of making any effort to hurt Jimmy now. These weren’t trained men, Jimmy thought. This whole confrontation had been too easy. But if these men weren’t from NJ7 – who were they?
Jimmy reached for the knife man’s balaclava, snatching a roll of toilet paper with his other hand, ready to shove it into the man’s mouth to keep him quiet. But there was somebody in the living room. Jimmy’s programming surged up again, reaching a level of intensity he never realised was possible. He kicked open the bathroom door and dived into a combat roll.
He leapt up and seized this new attacker by the collar. The momentum carried them both to the other side of the room. Jimmy pressed him up against the wall. This one had no balaclava. In Jimmy’s night-vision, his face was a blurred pattern of blue light. Jimmy hurled the toilet paper across the room. Perfect aim – it flicked the light switch on.
Jimmy turned back to the man. He was eyeball to eyeball with Christopher Viggo.
“What’s going on?” It was Neil Muzbeke, rushing from the bedroom in his boxer shorts. His belly wobbled and his knees shone in the light.
Jimmy jumped back to let Viggo pick himself up. For a second, they were both speechless. Jimmy put all his effort into forcing his programming away. It’s over, he urged himself. The fight is over. Inside him it felt like there was a wild beast reluctantly turning back to its cage. When Jimmy spoke, it came out like a growl.
“Bathroom,” he blurted, pointing in that direction.
Viggo and Neil Muzbeke rushed over to the open door. Jimmy turned, expecting to find out at last who had attacked him. But the bathroom was empty. All he saw was the moon reflected off the windows of the apartments opposite, shining through the broken pane and reflected again in a lake of mouthwash. The shower curtain fluttered in the breeze. Jimmy shivered and moved closer.
Blood was splattered across the bath, the floor and some of the tiles on the walls. The knife was gone and so were the men.
“Looks like he escaped the way he came in – the window and the fire escape,” Viggo muttered, sticking his head out into the night.
“There were two of them,” said Jimmy. His voice was croaky, still having to fight its way out through the swirling energy in Jimmy’s lungs.
“Tell me what happened,” Viggo ordered.
“It wasn’t NJ7,” Jimmy started. “They were strong, but with no combat skills.”
“Wait,” Viggo interrupted. “Slow down. Just tell me what happened. They came through the window, yes?”
“If they weren’t NJ7,” Jimmy went on, ignoring what Viggo had said, but staring straight at him, “who were they?” His anger rose up, forcing him to shout, “Who were they, Chris?” Viggo stared back, shocked at the violence in Jimmy’s voice. But Jimmy wasn’t finished.
“There’s us in this room and there’s them upstairs!” he shouted. “Who else knows we’re here?” Viggo finally realised what Jimmy was suggesting.
“This has nothing to do with my contacts,” he insisted.
“Who are they?” Jimmy yelled. “Who are these people that you trust so much? And why did they send two men to kill me?”
Jimmy felt like his gut was about to bubble up and burst out of his mouth. He couldn’t take any more lies. His programming twisted through his body, pulsating up his neck and taking over his brain. For a moment, it threw up the echo of Jimmy’s very first mission – kill Christopher Viggo. Jimmy heard unfamiliar thoughts whipping through his head. He despised himself for thinking them, but at the same time, the sensation of hearing them felt wonderful. His eyes saw nothing but Viggo. Lie to me and I’ll kill you, said a voice in his head. Even if you’re my father, I’ll kill you.
Jimmy let out a cry of anguish and shuddered at the notio
n that had just gone through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, wrestling to take control of himself.
“My contacts are protecting us,” Viggo insisted, “not attacking us.”
“Well, they’re not doing a very good job, are they?” Jimmy whispered. He had no more strength to shout. “We have to get out of here.” He dashed round the room, gathering the few items he had brought, including one of the toothbrushes that had saved his life tonight. He was determined not to stay in that apartment any longer.
“No,” Viggo insisted. “Jimmy, stop!” He rushed over and seized Jimmy by the shoulders. “You’re not thinking. Do you know how long it takes to find secure rooms? Do you know what went into setting up this place? There’s nowhere else to go. NJ7 has satellite surveillance covering the entire globe. As soon as we step outside these walls, we’re in danger.”
Jimmy pulled himself away. Viggo’s words were beginning to get through to him.
“I’ll go to meet my contacts again first thing tomorrow,” the man went on. “I’ll ask what they know about these two people who broke in tonight. I’ll insist on extra protection. They’ll sort it out.” He brushed his hair out of his face and sighed heavily. “Besides, if these two men came to kill you, they didn’t do very well, did they? You don’t look dead to me. Dead grumpy maybe, but not dead.”
Jimmy tried to compose his thoughts. At last, his blood was cooling. Maybe Viggo was right. Jimmy had easily seen off the two intruders, and relocating to another apartment now would just be inviting new dangers – far more threatening ones.
“The best way to find out who they are,” Viggo continued, calmer now, “is to stay here and wait for them. If they really want you dead, they’ll come back. And when they do, we’ll be waiting.”
