Revenge

by Joe Craig

  Jimmy turned his brain inside out, trying to work out how to get through. Then he spotted something. Just above the first R of KNICKERBOCKER, tucked in where the letters touched the ceiling, there was a small white box. It was about five centimetres square and as grimy as the rest of the door. Out of one side of the box came a thick white cord – some kind of electrical wire, Jimmy assumed. It ran down the edge of the doorframe and disappeared into the wall at floor level.

  Jimmy felt his insides rumbling – his programming was churning, then it sent a rush up Jimmy’s spine that swooped through his neck and gripped his brain. In a flash so strong it nearly knocked him sideways, Jimmy knew what he had to do.

  He took one step back, then a running jump at the door. In mid-air, he stretched his arm up and gave the box a tweak. It clicked round by a millimetre, then snapped back into its original position. Even before Jimmy landed he could picture the current surging down the wire and releasing the electromagnet that kept the hinges locked in place.

  He was dazed by his new-found understanding of simple electrical systems, but he had no time to lose. Straight away, he leaned on the door. There was no resistance. It didn’t even squeak. A door that looked this old, yet opened without a creak? That’s when Jimmy was sure he was on to something that people weren’t meant to know about.

  He carefully closed the door behind him and stood in the darkness. His eyes itched for a moment as his night-vision kicked in. Directly in front of him was a short staircase. He crept up it until he could see over the top step, then lay flat on his stomach. His nerves hummed inside him. This place was far from welcoming.

  Jimmy was looking into a large carpeted room, with a complex arrangement of corridors, pillars and an incredibly high ceiling. Nothing was very clear though – his night vision could only give a guide to outlines; everything looked blue and fuzzy.

  There was a something in the middle of the room that might have been a desk or a bar, and behind that was a huge staircase. It swept round in a grand curve, leading to a balcony. That was bad news for Jimmy. As if there weren’t enough hiding places in the room already, from the balcony anybody could be watching, waiting to ambush an intruder.

  The place was cold and smelled a bit like the toilets at school, but the last thing Jimmy wanted to do was leave. He stayed flat on his front and pulled himself forwards on his elbows. His eyes roamed the room, taking in the swirls that ran up and down the walls.

  Then he started picking up sounds, impossibly quiet but unmistakable: footsteps creeping round the room. They came from everywhere. Jimmy tried to work out the positions of the other people or even how many there might be. One on the balcony, he thought. No, two. And one in the corner up ahead. No, wait, the opposite corner. The noises seemed to shift like the whispers of a ghost.

  Then came a sound that ripped through the darkness and stunned Jimmy’s ears: gunfire. It came with an explosive flash. Then there was another. Jimmy felt a cloud of dust fly into his face. Like a panther, he launched into a sprint. In less than a second he was sheltered round the corner of a partition wall.

  Another flash. Another blast from a machine gun. As soon as it came, Jimmy ran to a pillar and wrapped his limbs around it. His only chance to avoid getting trapped was to keep moving and to head towards whoever was firing. Who could these people be? Then he had a sudden thought – these contacts were on his side, weren’t they? They were only firing because they didn’t realise the intruder was him – Jimmy. One of the gunmen could even be Viggo himself.

  “Hold your fire!” Jimmy yelled. “It’s me – Jimmy Coates! It’s Jimmy!” As he shouted, he kept climbing. His fingers dug into the plaster and his arms strained to pull him up, metre by metre. At last he was able to grab the balcony and haul himself over.

  Then came another shot. This one slammed into the top of the pillar he’d just left. A block of plaster crumbled away and crashed down to the floor.

  “Stop!” Jimmy shouted – he had to give it one more try, in case they hadn’t heard. “Chris! It’s me – Jimmy!” Whoever it was, they had heard. And Jimmy was giving away his exact position.

  Another peal of machine-gun fire – Jimmy dropped flat on the floor. He felt the bullets graze the back of his T-shirt before they tore chunks out of the wall next to him. If he stayed where he was, the next shot would be aimed a centimetre lower. Who are these people? screamed a voice inside his head.

  Jimmy pushed himself into a forward roll and came up running. He moved as swiftly as he ever had, panic jarring through his muscles – but it wasn’t swift enough.

  In the next instant there was another flash and another machine gun roar. Jimmy felt a smack in the back that came with the force of an elephant impaling him on a tusk. He stumbled forwards. The air seeped out of his lungs. His vision faded to a purple blur. He reached out for something to hold on to – anything. He found the railing of the balcony, but the momentum of the shot sent him straight over the top of it. He tried to hold on, clutching at the cold metal like it was life itself.

  The strength in his fingers evaporated. Jimmy tumbled through the air, head over heels. Time stretched as he fell, tormenting him with the chance to remember the first day he had discovered his strange abilities. I’ve fallen before, Jimmy heard himself thinking. I can survive. I must survive. But at the same time he knew it was the bullet, not the fall, that could bring him down forever.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN – COLONEL KEAYS

  Despite the carpet, Jimmy’s landing was unforgiving. He wished he wasn’t strong enough to stay conscious – the pain in his back quadrupled when he slammed into the floor and bounced. Every bone seemed to judder. For a second, he kept his eyes closed, waiting for the pain of the bullet wound to take him over completely.

  But it didn’t. Instead, as it spread from the point of impact, it faded. Very carefully, Jimmy rolled his shoulders. His joint clicked, but there was no jab of pain. The moment of agony had passed. Then he noticed something else. He felt around with his hands. The carpet beneath him was dry – no blood.

  He was surprised to find the breath flowing back into his lungs without any discomfort. He knew he was strong, but surely being shot in the middle of his back by a machine gun should have caused more damage than this?

  At last he found the confidence to roll on to his side. The gunfire around the room had stopped and before Jimmy could get to his feet, the lights came on. Jimmy blinked.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” came a shout, echoing around the hall. “This exercise is over.” It was a deep American boom, with a coarse texture that suggested it came from an older man.

  “A bit late now,” was the response – in a familiar English voice. “You’ve already shot Jimmy.” It was Viggo.

  “Chris?” Jimmy called out. “Why did you let them shoot me?” He was shocked to hear his own voice coming out so clearly, and that he had no shortness of breath. Had he really been shot at all or had he imagined it?

  He peered into the murky corner of the hall where the voices had come from, his head still on its side. Even sideways, though, he was able to recognise Christopher Viggo running towards him.

  “I told him to stop them,” Viggo said in a rush, “but he wouldn’t. Are you OK?”

  “I was shot,” Jimmy said softly, not able to believe what he was saying.

  “Ha!” Behind Viggo marched a stocky man of about sixty. He was dressed in dark blue army uniform, with a chest so covered in ribbons and medals it looked like a patchwork quilt. His shoulders were broad and he carried his cap under one arm, which exposed his thinning hair. “Ha!” he laughed again, throwing his head back to show off his speckled and wobbly chin. “Are you dead?” Jimmy didn’t know what to say. “Are you dead, Jimmy Coates? You don’t look dead to me! Ha!”

  The man reached where Jimmy was lying and tilted his head to examine Jimmy’s face.

  “Step down, gentlemen,” he called out, without turning away. Looking over the man’s shoulder, Jimmy saw two huge men un-strap machine g
uns from their shoulders, unclip night vision goggles from their helmets and salute.

  “Sir, yes, sir!” they shouted as one, then marched smartly away.

  “You should have stopped the exercise as soon as we saw him come in,” Viggo insisted.

  The American shrugged. “I wanted to see how my men would cope when an unexpected element gatecrashed their party,” he snarled.

  “And how did they cope with this ‘unexpected element’?” Jimmy asked, anger bubbling over in his voice.

  “Very well,” came the reply. “They shot it. Ha!” The soldier threw his head back again, then ran a hand over his skull, smoothing down what little hair he had left.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Jimmy,” he said when his cackle had died away. “Perhaps this wasn’t the best way for us to meet, eh? I’m Colonel Keays.” He held out his hand and fixed Jimmy with a stare.

  Jimmy looked at Viggo, whose expression was almost pleading. It was several seconds before Jimmy reached out to take the Colonel’s hand. When he did, the man hauled Jimmy up with hardly any effort. He may have looked old, but it was immediately clear to Jimmy that Colonel Keays had led a life where strength meant everything.

  Straight away, Viggo turned Jimmy round to examine his back.

  “Is it bad?” Jimmy asked, rolling his shoulders again to see whether it hurt. It didn’t.

  “That’s amazing,” Viggo gasped.

  “Told you,” Keays muttered. “Not a scratch.”

  Jimmy and Viggo both looked at him as if he had landed from another planet.

  “Top-secret, state-of-the-art technology,” he explained. “We call them ‘laser-blanks’. We’re still testing them, but so far it looks like they’re perfect for training exercises.”

  “Laser-blanks?” Jimmy repeated, bemused. “I don’t understand.” He squirmed at the thought of a laser going into his back.

  “Each shot is actually a photon-cluster – basically, a packet of energy that’s designed to mimic exactly the behaviour of a real bullet. You can use them with regular guns, they don’t leave shells on the ground, or make a mess like that ridiculous paintballing, and, best of all, they hurt like hell when you get hit. That means that even in training there’s a genuine desire to avoid getting shot – which is a good habit to have in combat.” He paused to brush some dust off his cap, and polish the eagle insignia with his sleeve. Jimmy was still too shocked to start thinking about who this man was or who he worked for.

  “The difference is,” the solider went on, “with laser-blanks, you’re up on your feet again in no time. Now, with a regular target there’d still be considerable pain after the event and some nasty bruising the next day, but I’ve heard you’re no regular target.” He stroked his chin and looked Jimmy up and down, a strange smile on his lips.

  Jimmy didn’t know how to react. He’d never expected to encounter the US army and especially not in such unusual surroundings. He was about to ask Viggo what was going on, but he was cut off.

  “You shouldn’t have followed me,” growled Viggo. “Why did you do it?”

  Jimmy was taken aback by Viggo’s anger and tried to avoid his glare.

  “To find out who your contacts were,” he snapped.

  “I said I’d tell you when you needed to know.”

  “Well, I needed to know now, OK?” Jimmy couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice. The two of them stared at each other, fuming. Jimmy wasn’t going to back down.

  “Hey, hey, take it easy,” Keays urged, placing a hand on Viggo’s shoulder. “Don’t be mad at the poor little killing machine.” He winked at Jimmy. Jimmy felt like his face had been slapped. How could this man call him that and then find it funny? Jimmy’s eyes burned. But it was worse than just a cruel description – it revealed how many of Jimmy’s secrets Viggo had shared.

  “He was following his natural instincts to make sure he and his family were safe,” the Colonel went on and patted Jimmy on the back. “Well, you’re safe now, Jimmy. You’re with the CIA.”

  “The CIA?” Jimmy gulped.

  “That’s right, buddy.” The Colonel blasted out another raucous laugh and rocked his head back. “The Central Intelligence Agency – defending the land of the free by any means necessary.”

  Jimmy quickly ran through the events of the past few days. It seemed obvious now. Only an organisation with the power, the expertise and the budget of the CIA would have been able to get all of Jimmy’s group out of Britain, through US immigration and into a safehouse in Chinatown. But why would they go to so much trouble? There was suddenly so much running through Jimmy’s mind. He stared at Viggo, full of doubt.

  “I had to keep it secret,” Viggo said, still furious. “You should be thanking me. Do you know the risks I took to get in touch with the CIA? You can’t just call their fugitive hotline, you know.”

  Jimmy felt a heat building inside him. He fought to keep control and hear Viggo out.

  “It was the best thing for you,” Viggo went on. “And would you have come to America if I’d told you my contacts were another government agency? No way – you’d have refused to get involved with them. I know you don’t have a lot of trust left for governments.”

  Jimmy’s anger jumped up in his chest, but then he realised Viggo was right. First, they had gone through the terror of escaping NJ7, then the French Secret Service had let them down to serve their own ends. The last thing Jimmy would have done was willingly put himself in the hands of a third country’s Secret Service. And so far, it looked like Viggo had done the right thing by getting the CIA to help them.

  “OK,” Jimmy mumbled, dropping his eyes to the floor. “But you should have…” He didn’t even bother finishing his sentence. There was far too much for him to worry about. He didn’t want to waste his energy in endless arguments with one of the few men he could trust.

  “Good, that’s good,” Colonel Keays announced, nodding his head and smiling. “Now that we’re all friends again – welcome to the Knickerbocker Hotel.”

  “What?” Jimmy exclaimed. For the first time since the lights had come on, he allowed himself to look around the place. Dust covered every surface and even seemed to clog the air. The walls were a deep red, with golden swirls decorating the corners, all the way up to the ceiling. The banister of the staircase was gold as well, and incredibly ornate. Jimmy’s mouth dropped open when he looked straight up and saw the biggest chandelier he could have imagined. It was draped in giant cobwebs. All around him was a scene of faded glory, frozen in time.

  “In the 1920s this was a popular place,” the Colonel explained, striding towards the stairs. “The guests were so well looked after they even had their own door straight on to the subway so they could avoid the weather outside. That’s the only entrance these days.” He climbed as he spoke, waving his cap around at the surroundings. “Look at the place! The Knickerbocker is perfect for simulating warfare in an urban environment – the balcony, the pillars, even the elevators. It all makes a fascinating challenge to a Secret Service commando unit.”

  Jimmy imagined teams of soldiers securing positions all around the vast lobby.

  “The other great thing,” Keays shouted, his voice echoing down from the balcony, “is that they converted the upper floors into a cinema. We can make as much noise as we want; test weapons, explosives – anything. Everybody assumes it’s Dolby Surround Sound. Ha!”

  Jimmy tried to smile with the Colonel, but he just wasn’t in the mood.

  “What does he want from us?” Jimmy whispered. Colonel Keays was too far away to hear now.

  “He wants to find a way to relocate us,” Viggo replied, glancing sideways at Jimmy. “That’s what we’ve been discussing: going into hiding with false identities.”

  “But what’s he doing it for?” Jimmy insisted. “All this money and help he’s given us. What does he want in return? Me?” He almost choked on the word.

  Viggo looked up at Keays nervously, but it was OK – the Colonel was strolling about the upper level, still
proclaiming about how clever the CIA was to use the Knickerbocker.

  “He wants the same thing we want,” Viggo whispered. “To smash NJ7.”

  Jimmy felt a jolt of shock. It looked as if there was suddenly a demon in Viggo’s eyes. That’s what you want, Jimmy thought. I just want to be left alone.

  “Look what they’ve done to us,” Viggo went on. “And to Britain.”

  Jimmy didn’t know how to respond at first. From the aggression all over Viggo’s face, it didn’t look like he was thinking of Britain – or even himself.

  “The CIA isn’t helping us because they care about Britain,” Jimmy suggested.

  “So what? They’re on our side now. It’s our chance to grind NJ7 into the ground – for everyone they’ve lied to, for everyone they’ve betrayed, and everyone they’ve shot in the back.”

  Viggo turned away and hid his eyes with his hand. “Let’s make them pay,” he muttered under his breath.

  “But we came here to hide,” Jimmy countered, “not to fight back. We might be able to get away to somewhere they’ll never find us.”

  “Wake up, Jimmy!” Viggo yelled. The Colonel had seen they were talking and was coming back to join them. “There’s nowhere to hide,” Viggo continued. “Any ten-year-old kid can search Google and watch live satellite feeds of every centimetre of the earth’s surface. Can you imagine what NJ7 is capable of? With billions of pounds diverted from British industry and welfare to pay for military technology?” He drew in a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. “They could find a gnat on the back teeth of a sardine at the bottom of the Indian Ocean. So wake up to reality. It’s time to be as smart and as devious and as cruel as they are. Maybe that’s going to be nasty – violent even. Maybe it could even cause a war. I don’t care any more.”