by Joe Craig
The man hunched his shoulders and scurried to the registration table, while Felix and Georgie burst out laughing.
“You can’t do that!” Georgie protested, her giggles telling a different story.
“Votes might win an election,” Felix said grandly, “but make people laugh and you rule the world.”
Georgie shook her head in despair.
“If you had me at every polling station all over the country,” said Felix, “we’d win this, no problem.”
“Or we’d all get put in a loony bin.”
“That, my friend,” Felix replied, grandly, “is entirely possible.”
Jimmy stalked in front of the giant window on the top floor of Viggo’s headquarters, glimpsing London through the gaps in the blind. The vertical slats were beginning to feel like iron bars. He’d watched the lights come on as the afternoon faded into evening, and now the darkness seemed stronger than the illumination, as if it was creeping across the whole city, smothering the place completely.
Two copies of The Times lay on the sofa behind him, folded open to the puzzles. There was no message yet from Eva. It was too soon, and he knew that, but he’d still used the puzzles to find the message board and checked for messages every hour. It was as if his body relished the new element to his routine.
A message would come eventually. Jimmy had confidence in Eva. The only question was whether it would come too late. Despite his desperate attempts to find a doctor, and his near-obsession with learning about the effects of radiation, he had to admit he had no idea what it was doing to him.
All he had to go on was what he could see and what he could feel. His head was pounding and his muscles felt weaker than he’d ever known them to be. He flexed his fingers instinctively but closed his eyes, forcing himself not to examine them again. The blue stain made him feel like he’d dipped his hands in pure terror and couldn’t wash it away.
Now it was all he could see, as if the radiation gripped his brain and shifted every image into the shape of death. There was no comfort in the blackness. Yet Jimmy had been alone with the shadows all day, and now late into the night. He was the only one who was still being actively pursued by NJ7. Even standing this close to the window was a risk – if the Government had the building under observation, which was almost certain, Jimmy knew that advanced imaging techniques might pick out his silhouette and enable them to identify him.
I’ll be ready for them, he heard himself thinking. A rush of adrenalin fizzed through his body. But was it adrenalin, or his programming eager for action? Jimmy pictured millions of tiny tigers charging through his blood, with his body as nothing but a giant cage.
A flash made Jimmy open his eyes. Something had reflected off the window of a passing vehicle, and even with his eyes closed his retina was so sensitive he’d been aware of the change. At the very edge of the room, his back to the wall, Jimmy peeked out of the window, down to the street.
Lights. At the front of the building, right by the main gate, was a TV news van. Whatever they were filming was obscured by the trees and the top of the security fence.
Jimmy turned to look at the TV. He’d had it on constantly in the background with the sound muted. Even though he knew that every channel was controlled by the Government, he’d wanted to keep up with the events of the night. Now he realised he’d been so distracted by his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed how quickly the results were coming in from the polls across the country.
Now Christopher Viggo was on the screen with a clutch of microphones thrust towards his face. Jimmy quickly realised the scene was taking place outside the building he was in, the campaign headquarters. Jimmy rushed to turn the sound on. Had Viggo won the election already? Surely it was still too early for a result.
On TV, Viggo was talking rapidly about the election campaign and the state of the country, but Jimmy didn’t understand the context. He wished he could go downstairs to see what was happening in the flesh. If this was Viggo’s acceptance speech, Jimmy wanted to be there with him. If Viggo was Prime Minister already then maybe Jimmy could go outside freely. He could live without the unseen eyes of the Secret Service scouring the streets to find him and eliminate him. Jimmy felt relief rising up inside him, but forced himself to hold it in check. Not yet, he told himself. Find out for sure.
Then Viggo’s words started to sink in:
“…with thankfully little disruption, and what looks at the moment to have been a cleanly fought ballot…”
Jimmy noticed now that the man’s voice seemed unusually hollow – not the slow, resonant tone he had always used for his speeches before. He was also glancing down at a sheet of notes, which wasn’t like him, and his eyes darted around anxiously.
He’s tired, thought Jimmy. But he quickly realised it was something more.
“Thanks to the amazing technology,” Viggo went on, “the running total of votes has been made available to us much sooner than expected.” Was his hand trembling? Jimmy couldn’t tell. There were dozens of camera flashes exploding on the man now.
“Of course, there is a great deal of formal procedure still to unfold, with the numbers being checked and tallied… but nevertheless, the time has come when I am forced to admit that it is no longer possible for me to win this election.”
There was a rising chatter of questions from a clutch of journalists off-screen. Viggo ignored them and carried on, leaning into the microphones.
“I had hoped that today would mark the beginning of a new era. A new hope for Britain, for democracy… for change.” There was a catch in his voice as he said it. “You, the people of Britain, have decided that the time is not yet right to embrace that change. So I concede defeat. But I will be back another day.”
With that, Viggo’s face seemed to relax for a second, before he turned away from the camera and hurried through the gate into the grounds of his headquarters.
Jimmy found himself at the window again, watching the tiny figure of Viggo below, rushing back towards the building. Had it really just happened? Had Viggo just lost the election?
“No,” he gasped aloud. How was it possible? How could it have happened so quickly? Even if the votes could be counted straight away, how could the public have turned against Viggo? How could people have voted for Ian Coates? For this Government?
“They don’t know…” Jimmy said softly, unable to keep his thoughts inside. “They don’t know about NJ7.” His chest was churning with the shock. For a moment he was sure he was going to throw up. He felt an uncomfortable tingle in his nostrils. Another nose bleed, he thought, squeezing the bridge of his nose to cut it off. Then, with what felt like the force of a hurricane, Jimmy’s programming swept through him. He leapt off the sofa and turned off the TV, then he dashed across the room and hit the lights.
His head throbbing, Jimmy ran to the side of the window again and peered between the slats of the blind. It’s happening, he could hear in his head. While half of him still refused to believe that Viggo might have lost the election, the rest of him was already dealing with the consequences. If the election was over, and if the Government had won, NJ7 could attack at any moment. Jimmy could almost hear the whiz of the bullets. In his mind, he saw the glass shattering. His head was already plotting his strategy – evasion, survival. How could he escape the building?
“Stop!” Jimmy shouted. His voice reverberated round the room. This was madness. There was nothing to suggest that the Government was about to attack. But Jimmy’s mind swirled with doubt. He couldn’t work out whether this was his paranoia or a legitimate reaction to a genuine risk. Had he unknowingly seen something out of the window that suggested an imminent attack?
Jimmy held his head and scrunched his fingers into his skull, as if he was digging for the answer. Then he had to find a tissue from his pocket and wipe the blood that was trickling from his nose.
Suddenly there were noises. The corridor. Voices. Footsteps. Jimmy felt his muscles awash with power. The door burst open and the light flicked on
.
“Jimmy?” It was his mother. “You OK? Why are you in the dark?”
Jimmy held himself still. It took all his effort. He diverted the tissue in his hand to wipe the sweat from his face and scrunched it up to hide the spots of blood. But before he could say anything, Viggo burst in, past Jimmy’s mother.
“NO!” he roared, not even glancing at Jimmy. He charged at the sofa and kicked it a dozen times.
“Chris, calm down!” yelled Helen Coates. From behind her came Saffron Walden, making soothing noises. She tried to take Viggo by the shoulders, but he turned away and landed a sharp kick in the centre of the TV screen. The glass cracked and the whole set toppled over.
Jimmy heard a gasp and noticed that Felix and Georgie were lurking in the corridor, unable to stop themselves watching, but sensibly staying out of the way.
“Chris, stop this!” Helen shouted. Viggo stopped trying to destroy things, but Jimmy thought it was only because he’d run out of furniture to kick. “What did you expect?” Helen asked. “That you were invincible?”
Viggo turned away, resting with his hands against the window, breathing heavily.
“You’ve done a great thing,” said Saffron softly. “You should be proud. You established an opposition… you forced them to have an election in the first place… you—”
“I lost!” Viggo exploded with rage again. Jimmy had never seen him like this. All the man’s power and charisma had fractured into a burning fury.
“So you’ll keep fighting,” Helen suggested. “You have to. We’ll find a way – somehow. We’ll prove that the ballot was rigged.”
Everybody turned to look at her.
“Oh, come on,” said Helen. “You all know it must have been.”
“Those machines…” said Saffron, nodding. “It’s obvious. NJ7 must have got to them, or to the central computer…”
“They didn’t,” Viggo groaned, hardly audible. “Don’t you think I expected that? Don’t you think I had staff working to stop it happening? To gather proof if it was happening?”
“Your staff?” Helen asked, with acid in her voice. “Where are your loyal staff now? If they were so good at their job, and so loyal… where are they now?” There was no reply. Helen marched to the window and pulled back the blind. “Look!” she ordered.
Gradually, figures appeared in the grounds of the building. They were scurrying away, towards the gate. Viggo’s campaign staff were abandoning him.
“It’s a stampede!” said Helen, as they watched the trail of figures swell into a crowd, then a rush for the gate. Soon they would all be gone. “The building’s empty, Chris,” Helen continued. “They couldn’t have got out of here faster! Apart from us, there’s nobody here!”
“That’s not quite true.” The voice came from the shadows of the corridor behind Georgie and Felix. They both let out a startled gasp. It was a woman’s voice, delicate but insistent. “You’re not alone, Mr Viggo.”
“Who are you? How did you get in?” Saffron Walden fired out her questions. At the same time she jumped to one side so she was blocking the new woman’s view of Viggo. Jimmy knew instinctively she was in the firing line.
Saffron pulled her mobile phone from her pocket and hit two keys.
“Stop,” said Viggo softly.
“I’m calling security,” Saffron replied, pressing her phone to her ear.
“It’s too late,” said Viggo, guiding Saffron aside. “She’s already here. That means security is already compromised.”
Finally the woman stepped through the doorway, into the light. Jimmy was surprised to see that she wasn’t much taller than himself. Her small, round face was framed by hair so black it seemed to swallow all the light in the room, while her skin was a deep olive brown. It was a contrast to the bright white of her wool coat, which entirely enveloped her.
“He’s right, Miss Walden,” the woman announced, cocking her head to one side. “Security is… compromised.” There was a twinkle in her eye that sent a shiver through Jimmy. It immediately reminded him of Miss Bennett, another woman full of smiling cruelty. But there were differences – this woman’s voice was much harsher and couldn’t hide her anger, or she chose not to. It was in the downward curve of her mouth and the tense lines round her eyes.
“What do you want?” asked Viggo. Something in his tone made Jimmy study his expression. Viggo was afraid, but trying to hide it.
“Do you have it?” The woman asked the question with a quiet intensity. She was staring directly up into Viggo’s face, ignoring everybody else in the room, but the assassin in Jimmy noticed that she had positioned herself so that nobody could get behind her or leave the room without her being in the way.
“What?” A look of shock crossed Viggo’s face.
The woman snorted. “Do you have it?”
“Let’s talk alone,” Viggo said, almost pleading.
“We don’t need to talk, Mr Viggo. I just need to know the answer: do you have it?”
Jimmy watched Viggo’s eyes flick across the faces of everybody else. Why was this woman dangerous? She certainly seemed hostile, but Jimmy had confidence in his skills. He could already feel that buzz in his blood, his second soul putting every fibre on alert. The side of her skull, it seemed to whisper to him. Two fingers. One jab. He could see the exact spot, just above her ear. It may as well have had a target painted on it. Take her down, but keep her conscious.
His programming was straining for action. Every second of delay was a second in which the potential danger increased. Still, Jimmy fought to hold himself steady. Wait, he begged himself. He was gripped by curiosity – about Viggo. In the seconds since this woman arrived, Viggo had revealed more about himself than he had in the last six months. Jimmy was desperate to find out more.
“You know I don’t have it,” said Viggo, between gritted teeth.
He’s trying to seem strong, Jimmy thought, but even from a couple of metres away he could pick out the rapid movement of Viggo’s pupils and the man’s shallow, irregular breathing.
“What’s going on?” asked Jimmy’s mother, directing the question towards Viggo, but keeping her eyes on the new woman. “Who is this?”
The woman snorted again, but this time it sounded more agitated. She was getting angrier.
“You have a problem, don’t you?” she said. Only now did Jimmy detect a slight accent in her English. Jimmy’s mind reverberated with an instant playback of every vowel sound that had left the woman’s mouth since she’d arrived. Was it Irish, or a hint of something Mediterranean?
“Who is this?” Saffron echoed Helen, more insistent. “Chris?”
Viggo ignored her and stepped closer to the woman, as if he hoped to speak without anybody else hearing.
“I said I’d give it to you when I won…” Viggo argued. His voice trailed away.
“And do you have it?” asked the woman.
“I… I didn’t win,” Viggo stammered.
“You lost.” The woman smiled for the first time, but her eyes remained stern and her head was still cocked to one side. Jimmy felt a heat rising up in his chest. The urge towards violence was unbearable now. He couldn’t contain it. It was infecting every thought.
“Chris!” Helen shouted. “Who is this? What’s happening?” Now she grabbed Viggo by the collar, pushed him back and took his place directly in front of the new woman. “Who are you?”
“I work for a large company,” came the reply, straight away. “Your friend Mr Viggo spent a lot of our money in his election campaign and made certain promises about how that debt would be repaid. I have come to see that those promises are fulfilled.”
“I promised it to you when I won!” Viggo shouted. Jimmy was amazed to see such a strong man shrinking smaller and smaller. His face was crumpled in anguish and he was supporting himself on the back of the sofa. “I said I could never give it to you unless I won. That’s what I promised!”
“As of now,” the woman sneered in response, “your promises have cha
nged.”
“You can’t do that!” came a voice from the corner of the room. It was Felix. “Whoever you are. You can’t change someone’s promise after they’ve…” He swallowed the end of his protest as the woman slowly spun to face him. “…you just can’t,” he mumbled, shrinking back to his corner.
“Idiot!” Helen whispered to Viggo. “Is this why you wouldn’t tell us where your money came from? You’ve been borrowing from crooks?”
“We’re not crooks,” said the woman. “We’re called the Capita.”
The truth bit into Jimmy’s senses. He’d never forget the Capita. It was a huge organisation that had started by covering all of Europe, and had now spread out into every corner of the world. As far as Jimmy understood it, the Capita was a modern, streamlined version of old criminal networks like the mafia. They’d joined together and become more efficient, more ruthless… more businesslike.
“The Capita are worse than crooks,” he announced quietly. The woman turned to him. He ignored her face and noticed only the speed and balance with which she moved. This woman was strong.
“Hello, Mr Coates,” she announced. “I’ve heard everything about you.”
And I know more about the Capita than you’d like, Jimmy thought to himself. His previous encounter with the Capita had started off as cooperation. They’d helped him escape the French Secret Service in West Africa and brought him through Europe, all the time keeping him safe from the French and the British. Jimmy remembered how impressed he’d been by their operations, but also the frightening way in which they secured and used their power. To the Capita, torture, deceit and murder were just business expenses. The organisation was made up of lifelong criminals, retired Secret Service agents and ex-soldiers from around the world who were all united in their love of money. Unfortunately, Jimmy had also found out how easy it was to be betrayed when money was the basis of an agreement with the Capita.
