by Joe Craig
Manhattan was just across the river. In the corner of his eye Jimmy could see the giant buildings squeezed into every possible space. But Roosevelt Island was completely different. There were no skyscrapers. Just a single road winding through a deserted medical centre, and the walkway along the river that Jimmy was on.
He closed his mind to the surroundings. All he could see were the two remaining images: the ruin and SILVERCUP. All he could hear were the squawks of the seagulls. They were like sirens warning him of the danger. Then came the first gunshot – Paduk was behind him. But the man wasn’t giving chase. Instead, when the shot missed, Jimmy heard the crackle of Paduk’s radio. Jimmy knew all he’d find at the tip of the island would be scores of NJ7 agents. And they’d be ready for him.
The end of the path came quickly, but Jimmy knew he wasn’t at his destination yet. Ahead of him was a high metal fence, with a sign saying SOUTH POINT – NO TRESPASSING NO LOITERING. Jimmy didn’t have time to pay attention to that. He knew what was waiting for him on the other side of the fence. He leapt up and caught the metal. In under a second he had scrambled to the top. This was no obstacle to him – and NJ7 knew it. But they had to make it seem like it had been difficult for Jimmy to get there. A trap that’s easy to walk into is easy to spot.
Jimmy jumped down on to the other side. Here the island was a wasteland – just a rubbish tip surrounded by weeds and discarded Christmas trees. Jimmy ran on past the rubbish. The wind whipped around him, swooping in off the river. And then, at last, there it was: the ruin.
It was exactly as he’d pictured it. A crumbling brownstone building with holes where there should have been windows. Jimmy couldn’t have known, but it was actually the remains of a nineteenth century smallpox hospital for children. Thousands had died there. This morning, NJ7 planned to kill one more.
Jimmy heard the metal fence rattling. Paduk was catching up. But that was the least of his problems. Suddenly, from out of the silence of the early morning, there came the buzzing of motors. Jimmy turned to look across the water and straight away saw the foam tracks of six military speedboats jetting towards him, against the stunning backdrop of Manhattan. One building stood out: the United Nations.
The boats scythed through the water. Jimmy had reached the ruin and sprung the trap, but for a second he couldn’t move. He was imagining the lies that had filled that building this week: Ian Coates pretending to negotiate for peace, while all the time preparing for war.
The boats reached the shore. From further down the river came six more. Jimmy didn’t need to see them to know that on the other side of the island there would be another six. Each boat carried two riflemen, with their long black barrels loaded on their shoulders. Jimmy was startled into action.
With a desperate glance at the sky, he pushed off his heels and made for the ruin. It was the only protection from the guns. He clambered over the rubble – the roof of the place had collapsed almost a century ago. Then he hauled himself up the inside of the wall, gripping the dead ivy. So far, this was not how he’d planned for things to go.
“Jimmy!” The shout echoed through the ruin, then was lost in the open air. Jimmy kept moving, trying to work out where the voice had come from and who it could be.
“Jimmy!” it came again. “Give up. You’re surrounded.” Only now did Jimmy realise it was the shout of a thirteen-year-old boy.
“Is that what you’d do, Mitchell?” Jimmy yelled back. He found a ledge where there used to be a floor and edged his way round it. There was nothing in the middle of the ‘room’ but a big hole. A single floodlight illuminated the place as if it was some kind of tourist attraction. Long corridors of light beamed up from ground level. Jimmy kept to the shadows.
He could hear the rustling of the long grass outside the ruin. The snipers had him encircled, but as long as he stayed within these walls, they couldn’t shoot him. However, the walls held other dangers.
Mitchell’s shadow appeared on the wall next to him. Jimmy jumped across to it, catching the brickwork. Broken rocks pattered down to join the rubble below.
“I hear you, Jimmy!” Mitchell cried. “Better get out of here while you can.”
Jimmy kept moving. “You’re on the wrong side!” he yelled, throwing his voice to try and confuse his opponent, though he knew Mitchell would be doing the same thing. “NJ7 tricked you. I told you that: they have your brother.”
“I know,” Mitchell countered straight away. His shadow shifted again. Jimmy moved with it, on the ledges around the barren spaces that had once been second floor rooms.
“So you should be attacking them, not me!” Jimmy yelled. “Take your revenge.”
“Everybody wants revenge!” Mitchell bellowed, so loud Jimmy thought the whole ruin might crumble away. But Mitchell followed it with a whisper: “I already got mine.”
Suddenly, Jimmy pinpointed the source of the voice. He whipped his head round. Mitchell was in mid-air, looming down at him, arm raised, ready to strike. Jimmy caught Mitchell’s wrist a centimetre from his throat and lurched backwards. He dropped on to his back – there was barely enough space on the ledge. He used Mitchell’s momentum to hurl the boy away, over his head.
Mitchell caught the ledge on the other side of the hole and swung himself to his feet again.
“I hated my brother,” he grunted between gritted teeth, then jumped back at Jimmy. Jimmy spun on his back and pushed his legs against the wall. That sent him hurtling into Mitchell’s midriff like a battering ram. He twisted in the air and the two of them, locked together, fell through the hole on to the pile of rubble right in the centre of the ruin.
Mitchell slammed two fists into the small of Jimmy’s back. Jimmy felt it like a bomb going off inside him, forcing out all the air. For a second he lay face down on the rubble, helpless. But his programming lurched up a gear.
He rolled to the side just as Mitchell’s hand chopped down, splitting a slab of stone. Jimmy pushed himself to his feet. The two boys circled each other, their postures identical, arms spread, ready for action.
“Because of you I failed another mission,” Mitchell sneered.
“So you didn’t catch Zafi?” Jimmy smiled to himself.
“She’s crawled back to France. But I’ll get her. Right after I’ve killed you.”
Jimmy glanced quickly up at the sky again, as if any moment he expected to sprout wings and be able to fly into the heavens. It was getting lighter all the time. The shadows were fading as the floodlight gave way to natural light – the sun would be up soon.
“Expecting help from above?” Mitchell quipped.
Jimmy ignored him. Then, at precisely the same moment, they both drew their arms in and wiped the sweat from their faces with their sleeves.
Mitchell didn’t even notice what he’d done, but Jimmy felt like he was looking in a mirror. It hit him harder than any of Mitchell’s blows and made any pain in his muscles seem insignificant. Realisation flooded through him.
“Your brother,” Jimmy gasped. “Is he your…”
Mitchell didn’t flicker. His eyes were steady, waiting for that opening in Jimmy’s defences. Then he mumbled, “NJ7 wheeled him away to be a human guinea pig. That’s what I call revenge.”
“But he was only your half-brother,” Jimmy whispered, as if explaining it to himself.
Mitchell’s confusion showed now, but he was still just as lethal. He dipped his shoulders to the left, then ducked down and grabbed for Jimmy’s waist.
Jimmy was quick and alert. He gave a small skip, planting his foot on Mitchell’s neck and launching himself off again. Mitchell controlled his fall, and rolled back to his feet.
“My half-brother?” he shouted.
Jimmy nodded. “And so am I.”
Just then, the ruin shook with the noise of a helicopter. Jimmy smiled and dashed for the other end of the ruin. Mitchell was frozen to the spot.
Jimmy threw himself out of the ruin so fast that he had made it twenty metres before the snipers even took aim. T
he helicopter roar grew louder and a cloud of dust rose from the ruin, sucked into the whirlwind of its blades. He cemented the memory of Mitchell’s confused expression in his mind. The same man had to be the father of both of them, he thought. But they were so different. And if the same man could produce two such different sons, did it matter who the man was?
He hurtled towards the very tip of the island. The sun was creeping up over Queens, turning the UN building into a dazzling orange monolith. It was the first real sunshine of the year. Jimmy felt it warming his cheeks. Then he heard the click of a sniper’s trigger behind him. A noise like that cuts through everything else. He threw himself into a roll, avoiding the bullet, but he wouldn’t be so lucky with the next shot. There were too many agents behind him, all expert marksmen.
Finally, Jimmy ran out of island. He reached the flimsy gauze fence between him and the water. He turned to face the snipers. For a split-second, the sun almost blinded him. Then he made out dozens of crouching figures, all with their guns pointed at him. As one, they all pulled their triggers.
Jimmy’s programming was processing information so fast, he could see the bullets spinning towards him, glinting in the sun just as brightly as the UN building. Is this it? he heard a voice ask in his head. It asked without fear, without indignation. It felt like his entire body was as empty as the universe was large. Is this how I die?
But the bullets never reached him.
The helicopter plunged down, hovering centimetres from the ground, right between Jimmy and the gunmen. The bullets tore into the side of the chopper.
There were only two people inside. Two masked men – a pilot and a passenger. They both picked up machine guns and now it was their turn to shoot at Jimmy. Nobody could get in the way this time.
Jimmy raised his hands, but too late. His chest reverberated with the repeated pounding and blood spurted into the sunlight. Jimmy’s eyes widened. He staggered backwards, leaning on the gauze fence. Then he toppled over it. The last thing he saw as he fell into the East River was a huge advertising hoarding overlooking the water from Queens. It was decades old, and the arched red letters were accentuated by the sun streaming through them from behind. At last, thought Jimmy. The prophecy of his final image had been fulfilled. He’d seen SILVERCUP.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - PROFESSIONAL REVENGE
Georgie and Felix jumped out of the back of the truck before it had even come to a complete stop. They waved their thanks to the driver as he sped off again and brushed the cabbage from their clothes.
“Come on, let’s go!” Georgie insisted, sprinting away.
“Wait, I think I’ve got cabbage in my shoe.” Felix half-ran, half-hopped after her.
“OK, great, so we’ll be killed by the British Secret Service,” Georgie mumbled, “but at least your shoes will be free of pak choi.”
Felix put in a burst of speed and caught up.
“I’m sorry,” Georgie said, her tone changing. “I didn’t mean your mum and dad would…”
“It’s OK.” Felix shrugged and tried not to look sad. “I know.”
There wasn’t time for being miserable – that could wait. The last thing Felix wanted to think about was the look on his mother’s face as his parents had been dragged away.
“How did they find us?” he asked, sneaking a look over his shoulder.
Georgie didn’t answer straight away. She and Felix exchanged a glance, both thinking the same thing. If the CIA had been protecting them, how had NJ7 found the safehouse?
They ran on like they never had before, not only because there could be agents chasing them, but because they feared for Jimmy. What was he trying to do at Roosevelt Island and why hadn’t he told them? Now finding him was their only chance of finding safety – neither one trusted the CIA any more than they trusted NJ7.
They reached the corner of the block and Georgie grabbed the map from Felix.
“Give me that,” she ordered. “I know what you’re like with maps.”
“Hey,” Felix protested. “I can find anything on a map. I just can’t find things in real life.”
“This way.” Georgie stuffed the map into her pocket and set off again, not waiting for either of them to catch their breath. It wasn’t long before they reached the edge of Manhattan.
“There it is,” Georgie announced, bending double and pressing a hand on the stitch in her side.
Felix shielded his eyes from the sun as it rose over the river. The island was only a short distance away across the water. He peered towards it.
“Hey!” he gasped. “There’s Jimmy!”
Georgie followed where he was pointing. Together they saw a fleet of military speedboats close in on the island. They watched in silence as Jimmy emerged from the ruin. To them he was a tiny figure, silhouetted against the rising sun, but they gaped at his speed.
His speed wasn’t enough.
“NO!” Georgie screamed. “JIMMY!”
Felix couldn’t even speak.
They saw the helicopter swoop down and cut off the sniper fire. Then they watched, helpless, as the masked men in the helicopter opened fire and Jimmy’s chest spattered a shower of red into the air. Georgie’s face was white. Her hands clamped over her mouth. This time, her scream came out as nothing but a desperate wheeze of air. As her brother hit the water, she broke down. Her sobs wrenched her whole body and she collapsed on the pavement.
“Didn’t you see…?” she panted. Felix was as still as a lamp-post. “Why aren’t you…?”
“Wait, no,” Felix protested. “It’s not…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he held up Jimmy’s notebook, open to the last page. On it, in bold red capitals, was written:
DON’T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU SEE. REMEMBER THE STICK INSECTS.
“Remember?” Felix asked, his eyes lit up with excitement. “Some of the stick insects looked dead, but they weren’t.” “What?” Georgie sobbed, trying hard to control herself until she knew exactly what Felix was talking about.
“That’s what he’s telling us. He probably didn’t think we’d see it in real life. He probably meant for us to see this on TV or something, but if everybody thinks he’s dead, NJ7 will stop chasing him. And, wait…” He looked out again at the island. “I don’t know how they did it, but I think I know who was in the helicopter. I think Jimmy planned this.” He turned back to Georgie and hauled her on to her feet. “I think he’s going to be OK.”
Georgie looked at him, then over to the island. She replayed in her head the horrific scene she’d witnessed. She couldn’t stop herself wincing, then she read Jimmy’s message again. Her tears stopped. She wiped her face and blinked hard. At last, a tiny smile made her lips quiver. Then she said, “Look’s like my brother’s not such an idiot.”
“Smartest guy I know,” Felix agreed. “But now we have to look after ourselves.”
Georgie nodded. “What do we do?” she asked. “Go to the CIA?”
“Do you trust them?”
They looked at each other for a long time, neither one knowing what to say. Then they held each other’s shoulders to gather their strength. Each of them took a huge deep breath and ran.
* * *
Jimmy pulled himself up on to the rocks that ran alongside the promenade at the other end of Roosevelt Island. He flopped on to the walkway with a desperate lurch. Black water gushed out of his lungs and his body convulsed, thrusting a massive gulp of air down in place of the liquid. Before he could move, a strong hand clamped on to his shoulder.
“Good job, Jimmy,” came a deep, American voice. “Don’t worry. You’re with the CIA now.”
Jimmy wanted to say “thanks” but he didn’t have his breath back yet. The current in the East River had been stronger than he’d expected. Instead, he rolled over on to his back and reached into his shirt. One by one, he pulled off the burst sachets of ketchup that he’d stuck all over his chest. He laughed when he noticed that he’d accidentally used one mayonnaise sachet as well. He gathered the wrappers tog
ether and handed them to the CIA agent, who dropped them into a litter bin. He was a big broad man, but in casual clothes, not military uniform.
“We’d better move,” he announced.
Jimmy stood up and ran unevenly to a long black car that was waiting with the door to the back seat open. All his energy dropped away when he slumped into the seat. There was a towel waiting for him and he buried his head in it. He didn’t know what to feel. The emptiness hadn’t gone away yet. His friends and his family would watch him being killed on the next TV news bulletin. But his enemies had already seen it, and that was what counted.
The CIA man followed him to the car, but paused to pick up a ragged scrap of white paper that had fallen out of Jimmy’s back pocket.
The helicopter tipped from side to side, buffeted by the wind. The pilot’s crash course in how to fly wasn’t much good now because his hands were on a machine gun instead of the controls. Even after Jimmy tumbled backwards into the water, the two men in the chopper kept firing for several seconds. Then at last, the peal of their bullets died away, and only their joint war-cry rang out:
“REVENGE!”
Before the word was even completely out of their mouths, the team of NJ7 agents stormed the aircraft. The two men were bundled out of the cockpit and found themselves with their faces pressed into the Roosevelt Island mud. Each one had an NJ7 knee in his back. Eventually the helicopter was brought safely to rest.
“SECURE!” yelled one of the agents. That was the signal for their commanding officer to step off one of the speedboats and approach the scene.
“Take off their balaclavas,” Miss Bennett ordered. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”
She stayed a safe distance away, and tried to maintain her composure, but when she saw the faces of the gunmen, she bristled and pulled her long black coat tighter around her.
