by Joe Craig
Jimmy was staggered by the violence in Viggo’s voice. He had never seen him so passionate.
“They’ve done enough!” Viggo bellowed. “They have no feelings. They kill without question. It’s time we stopped feeling too.” A tear crept down the side of his nose.
Jimmy could hardly breathe, he was so stunned. A part of him wanted to console his friend, but his feet were rooted to the spot and his voice had died in his chest. Then, inside him, came the rumbling of his programming. It was like a sleeping monster, stirring at the noise coming from the entrance to its cave. It longed to kill.
Was it really time to stop feeling and kill without question, Jimmy wondered. But feeling is the part of me that’s human, protested a quivering voice inside his head. But that voice quickly faded away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – BLOODPRINTS
Suddenly, Jimmy stumbled to one side and clutched his ear. He cried out in pain. It felt like a drill was forcing its way into the side of his head.
“What’s the matter?” Viggo asked urgently.
Jimmy couldn’t even speak.
“Same as last time?” Viggo asked.
Jimmy nodded, breathing deeply. He leaned on a pillar to support himself. After less than a minute, the attack passed.
“What’s this about?” asked Keays.
“I don’t know,” Jimmy said softly. He wiped his face with his hands and found they were shaking.
“He’s been like this for days now,” Viggo said with concern. “And he sees strange images too. Is there a CIA doctor who could take a look at him?”
Jimmy knew at once that a doctor wasn’t going to help. His programming was sending him a powerful message. He felt like the only way to deal with the attacks and the images was to respond to what it was telling him.
“I don’t need a doctor,” he blurted out.
“Are you sure?” Viggo started. “Before, you said that…” But Jimmy cut him off.
“Someone’s going to kill the President.”
Jimmy knew they would probably think he was crazy, just as Georgie had warned him. But he was face to face with a senior officer from the CIA. Jimmy felt he had to say something. If he didn’t, the consequences would be his responsibility.
Viggo and Keays were both taken aback. “Can you predict the future now?” Keays quipped.
“Jimmy, you’re not thinking straight,” said Viggo. “Is that what you think the images in your head are telling you?”
Jimmy refused to let Viggo make him feel stupid. “I know it’s what they’re telling me,” he insisted. “And they’re getting stronger. If I close my eyes I can see the President’s face, and I know there’s an assassin being sent to kill him.”
“How could you possibly know that from what you see in your dreams?” asked Viggo, exasperated. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Jimmy could hardly hold back the anger that bubbled in his gut. “How’s this for ridiculous – I thought I was a normal kid. Now I can see in the dark and breathe underwater. How come that’s not ridiculous, but this is?”
Viggo and Keays looked at each other, unsure what to say.
“I’m telling you,” Jimmy went on, “someone’s going to try and kill President Grogan – and soon. My programming must have noticed something, maybe from the news, or maybe it just knows how NJ7 works.” Now there was panic in Jimmy’s voice. He shifted from foot to foot as he spoke, unable to contain the energy buzzing through him.
“NJ7?” Viggo repeated. “So you’re saying you think it’s NJ7 that will send someone to kill the President?”
“I can just feel it,” Jimmy said weakly. He dropped his eyes to the floor, suddenly embarrassed that he’d brought up the subject at all.
“Why would NJ7 want to kill President Grogan?” Viggo asked. “He’s their ally. He can help them if there’s a war against France.”
Jimmy shrugged. He could hear how outrageous he must have sounded. He had no evidence to go on, just his faith in his own instincts. Even that was beginning to weaken.
Keays cut through the awkward silence. “Actually,” he said quickly, “that’s the information that was given to the public.”
“What?” Viggo asked, shocked. “Grogan has suddenly become an enemy of Britain?”
“Not quite,” Keays explained. “But it’s very unlikely that the President will get US troops involved in another expensive foreign war just to help out the British. Especially since Britain closed its doors to American businesses.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if Grogan refuses to help, and NJ7 thought there was anybody else who would be more sympathetic, then they’d have every reason to try and eliminate the current President. It’s one of the scenarios we’ve had to consider in my department.”
Jimmy felt his faith in himself cautiously returning. Then Keays snatched it away.
“But that’s exactly why the President is safe,” the Colonel insisted. “We’ve already thought of this and covered every possible angle.”
Jimmy searched his mind for some indication of what to believe. How could he know what was a justified fear and what was paranoia?
“Hey, look,” Keays began again, “it can’t have been easy you telling me this.” His eyes twinkled at Jimmy, like drops of ink drying on parchment. “But you can relax. The President is perfectly safe – he’s at the United Nations right now, which is one of the most secure locations in the world. This afternoon he has a press conference with the British Prime Minister, and there’s no way anybody could harm him there. For a start, nobody except the Security Services even knows where the press conference is going to be until I announce it in an hour’s time. After that,” he paused and Jimmy thought he saw a smile flicker across his face. “Well, let me show you.”
Colonel Keays marched quickly away, disappearing into the darkness at the other end of the hotel’s vast lobby. Jimmy was alone with Viggo, but the man remained staring down at the carpet, lost in his own thoughts. Jimmy watched him, not blinking, studying Viggo’s face. He was searching for something – a familiar movement, a likeness, or even just a feeling that there was a connection. He was searching for any sign of himself.
Is this…? Jimmy couldn’t even finish the question inside his own head. His mouth opened as if he might ask it aloud, but his voice was wrapped up in his chest, a long way from coming out. He was still staring at Viggo as Keays tapped away at a laptop on the hotel reception desk. Just next to it, a projector flickered into life. Jimmy would need more time if he was going to work out for himself whether he was looking at his father.
“What are you staring at?” Viggo hissed. Jimmy looked away.
“Here’s a treat for you, Jimmy,” announced Keays, raising his voice above the distant rattle of a subway train. He pointed up at the wall behind Jimmy. “Blueprints.” The beam from the projector threw giant images across its entire breadth. It was showing detailed technical drawings of the layout of a building, against a bright red background.
“But these are red,” Jimmy pointed out.
“Some names just stick, kid. Ha!” Keays exploded into a laugh and slapped his legs. “Last I heard, you folks were still calling Britain ‘Great’.” Viggo tutted and turned away.
“Now tell me, Jimmy,” Keays went on, growing more excited, “Can you see a weakness?”
“What?” Jimmy exclaimed. “What do you mean?”
“You’re looking at MoMA – the Museum of Modern Art,” Keays explained. He flicked through a series of images, tapping a key on the laptop every few seconds to move to the next one. “It’s all here in front of you – schematics for the whole place. Construction, ventilation, power lines – everything. These are the sightlines” He traced the cursor across the blueprints. “These stars are the principal security posts.” He walked across the room and pointed out dozens of them, but way too fast for Jimmy to follow. “And this…” He reached the wall and patted a point on a blueprint. The red light was
painted across his body and face, making him look almost demonic. “…is where the President will be standing.”
Jimmy was so bamboozled by all the information, Keays could have been telling him the President would be standing on the ceiling. That’s how little sense it made.
“A press conference at MoMA?” Viggo asked softly. “That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”
“Security,” replied the Colonel. “We use a different location each time the President makes a public appearance. We have to keep the terrorists guessing.” He was deadly serious.
Meanwhile, Jimmy’s eyes darted all over the blueprints. It made him dizzy.
“So can you see a weakness, Jimmy?” barked Keays.
“I-I—” Jimmy stuttered. “I don’t know. I’d have to study these plans I guess.” He forced himself to keep staring at the wall, but there was too much information to take in. As soon as he thought he’d worked out what a line meant, it seemed to shift into a totally new position, and then Jimmy lost it.
“These plans look pretty thorough to me, Jimmy,” said Viggo. “Should you be showing us this, Colonel? Isn’t it classified information?”
“Ha!” Keays roared. “Of course it’s classified. These are top-secret documents. But you guys are with me now, aren’t you?”
Jimmy and Viggo shot each other a quick glance.
“Of course we’re with you,” Viggo said hurriedly.
“Yeah, of course,” Jimmy muttered, though it took a lot of effort.
Keays moved back towards the beam and tapped more keys on the laptop. The blueprints disappeared from the wall. It was dark again. Jimmy tried to cling on to the maze of lines and symbols, but the more he tried, the less he could remember. It was as if the lines of the schematics twisted into a net that wrapped round Jimmy’s brain and cut off the blood.
“You’re still not sure, are you?” Keays asked. Jimmy didn’t react. However much Colonel Keays worked to convince him, there was still that terror gripping Jimmy’s heart. The images from his dream hardly left his head now. It felt almost as if death itself had made its way inside him to share its secrets.
“Hey, listen,” Keays went on at last, “if you’re still convinced that something is going to happen to the President, then I’d be a fool to ignore your warning. So I tell you what – I’ll review every security precaution personally over the next few hours. Even better than that – I want you to come to the press conference yourself to keep an eye out for anything you think is suspicious.” He reached into the top pocket of his jacket and pulled out two laminated security passes on black cords. “Will you take one of these?”
“You want me to come?” Jimmy was stunned. He was pleased that the Colonel was taking his premonition seriously, but he had never expected this.
“You too, Viggo,” the Colonel announced, offering a security pass to him as well. He held one in each hand, waiting for Jimmy and Viggo to take them.
“Look,” Viggo said cautiously, “we appreciate all your help, but I don’t think we should be the ones protecting the President.”
“Ha! You won’t be protecting the President.” Keays’ gleaming smile stood out in the gloom. His arms were still stretched out in front of him. “That’s my job. You two will be my guests. That’s all. But if you do spot anything you think I’ve missed, you’ll be doing America a great service by pointing it out.”
Viggo hesitated. Then he said, “What I mean is, it’s not safe. We’re here to hide. The sooner the CIA can relocate us, with new identities, the better. Meanwhile, we should stay out of sight and out of trouble.” He looked at Jimmy, his eyes almost pleading him not to agree with the Colonel.
Jimmy tried to make his decision rationally. Of course, the safest thing was to go back to Chinatown and hide. But the strength of his desire was compelling. He forced himself to think through all the consequences of him being at the press conference, but it was all shoved aside by an overwhelming urge taking control of his muscles. It was as if his hand reached out by itself. Even if he’d tried to hold back, the movement was stronger than Jimmy’s willpower – he could do nothing to stop himself taking the security pass. His body wanted him to be there. Somehow, the images in his head made it impossible for him to go anywhere else.
As soon as Jimmy’s fingers touched the plastic, Viggo gasped.
“Jimmy,” he exclaimed, “think about it. NJ7 will be all over the place. We shouldn’t even be in the same city.”
“Rubbish,” scoffed Keays. “They’ll have a couple of agents acting as bodyguards – nothing more. And I’m in charge of the operation. I can make sure any British agents are posted somewhere they’ll never see either of you.”
Jimmy watched as his arm drew the security pass towards him. He was no longer responsible for any movement his limbs made, but it felt good – as if, at last, he was in control.
“Jimmy, stop,” Viggo urged again. But Jimmy couldn’t stop – and he didn’t want to. He knew exactly what Viggo was going to say next.
He looked Viggo in the eye. It was almost a challenge. Say it, Jimmy was thinking. Tell me my father will be there. There was a tortured delight in Jimmy’s heart when he saw the reluctance on Viggo’s face to say what he had to. You know it’s a lie, don’t you? There was a twist in Jimmy’s stomach. It sent a shiver up through his body and tears to the corners of his eyes. Say ‘father’.
Viggo’s voice was barely a whisper:
“Your father will be there.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – STRIPS, SPLASHES, 53, K
From the top of the Cranberry Tower in Brooklyn Heights, the view of Manhattan was spectacular. But nobody ever came up to see it. According to public records, the building didn’t even exist – despite the fact that it was pretty hard to miss. All seventy-eight floors of it. Among the exclusive residential enclave, this was the only building that was strictly business – and it was Government business.
Zafi picked it out from over a mile away – it was the only building in the area without ‘Keep Clear’ signs covering every fire door. But Zafi had the benefit of an aerial view, in restricted airspace. She pointed at the building out of the side of the helicopter as the door slid open. The pilot nodded patiently. He’d seen it too.
They buzzed down like a bee circling a flower. The more the tiny helicopter rocked, the more Zafi smiled. To her left sat Uno Stovorsky, a senior agent in the French Secret Service. He’d turned green as soon as they left the ground in Paris. In contrast, Zafi loved flying and found it hilarious to listen for Stovorsky’s groans over the white noise of the flight.
As well as Zafi, Stovorsky and the pilot, there was a fourth man. He was posing as a diplomatic attaché, but really was just cover to get Zafi into the country as his daughter. He’d be watched closely for his whole stay in the US, while Zafi would be left to move through the city unobserved. The Americans were never smart enough to suspect that a child would be on a mission.
And Zafi was on a most vital mission.
The helicopter landed with a bang and bounced up a couple of times. The three passengers jumped out even before it had come fully to rest. Zafi ripped off her helmet and walked with her ‘father’ across the asphalt, following Stovorsky. She attempted in vain to smoothe her hair down and tried not to think about the horrific outfit she was wearing as part of her cover – white frilly socks, a tartan skirt and a white blouse buttoned all the way to the top.
A woman was there to meet them. She was in her thirties, wearing a black business suit, too much makeup and her hair in a tight bun. She ushered them as far from the helicopter as possible – right to the edge of the roof. The noise of the chopper, combined with the blustery wind, made conversation almost impossible, so it was understandable that this woman didn’t waste time on niceties.
“The President was upset when he read your message,” she yelled. “Britain is an ally. Why go to war with them?”
“It must be the season,” Stovorsky barked back. His long grey raincoat wrapped around him in
the wind. “If the President is on Britain’s side, why did you arrange for us to meet with you?”
“Just because we are friendly with them in public, it doesn’t mean we can’t hear arguments from both sides – in private, of course.” The woman’s face still revealed no emotion.
Stovorsky looked back at Zafi. She smiled sweetly, as if she hadn’t heard a word. Stovorsky smiled too, knowing that she had understood everything. He turned back to the American, his expression serious again.
“So can we count on the President’s support?”
“President Grogan has considered your position,” the woman announced. “I’ve been instructed to tell you that current US policy is not to intervene in foreign conflicts. However, the President places great importance on the historical friendship between our two nations.” She reeled off her speech as if the words meant nothing to her. “Therefore, he would like to offer you a package of the finest military hardware the US industry has to offer.”
“How much?” snarled Stovorsky, without missing a beat.
“Eighty billion dollars.”
“Tell Grogan that if I’d wanted to go shopping I would have landed at Bloomingdales.”
Before the woman could even draw breath, Stovorsky spun round. He winked at Zafi and marched back towards the helicopter, signalling to the pilot to start it up again. Zafi fluttered her eyelashes at the American woman, but didn’t move. Nor did the man next to her. They stood together as Stovorsky issued one more instruction. His words were almost lost in the wind.
“Look after my new attaché and his daughter!” he hollered, taking his seat in the helicopter. He was quickly several metres off the ground. “Show them the sights – especially the art galleries.”
Jimmy felt the rumble of a helicopter in the air. He instinctively ducked his head and sidestepped into the shadow of a doorway. Then came the swish of a rotor overhead. Jimmy kept his face down towards the pavement so that it was invisible from above.
