by Joe Craig
“English radio,” she replied. “We listen to the BBC.”
That explained her strange way of talking, thought Jimmy. “What do you mean, ‘we’?” he asked.
Marla froze up. “You want my life story now?” she snapped.
Jimmy missed a step to stay level with her. “I’m sorry…” he stammered. “I just…”
“They are dead!” she screamed. “You cannot see?” She started crying, but kept her body totally controlled.
“My whole town… We are fighting for years to control this place. That is my life story. Now I am here and I am the only one left. The others I killed!”
“How could you have—?” Jimmy tried to calm her down, but she cut him off.
“We came in after the first missile,” she said, her eyes glazing over. “I went straight to the block that was hit. There.” She pointed behind them, where the smoke was thickest. Jimmy couldn’t see anything through it.
“I led my unit into the fire,” Marla went on. “We had to find out why the British had targeted that block. I thought there had to be something in there and if we were quick we could take it. Some piece of machinery, or some information at least.”
“You did the right thing,” Jimmy said in his most soothing voice. He held up his hands and edged closer to her. She reacted with an explosion of rage.
“It was the canteen block!” she yelled. Jimmy jumped back.
“But it wasn’t the fire that killed them – it was the second British missile, wasn’t it?”
“We saw it coming.” Marla was trembling slightly now. “I never thought they will hit the same building twice. I ordered the others to stay where they are – to keep them safe, you know?” She looked up at Jimmy for the first time and he saw the fury in her expression, mixed with desperation.
“I ran into the open to see which building the missile was heading for. I thought…” She tailed off and stood there, her heart almost visibly crumpling.
Jimmy stayed silent. He had never seen any face so vulnerable. How could he ever have doubted that this girl was anything but totally human? He wanted to tell her she’d done the right thing. She’d been trying to protect the people fighting alongside her. She’d made logical decisions, he wanted to say. Jimmy couldn’t imagine how hard those decisions must be without that genetic force inside, making them for her. But he knew that didn’t matter to Marla. Logic wouldn’t bring back her friends.
Should he tell her how much, despite everything, he longed to know what it was like to have to make those judgements himself? As a normal, 100 per cent human?
Suddenly the nervous silence was cracked by a blast from Jimmy’s radio. The words came in French, but Jimmy hardly noticed the difference in language now.
“Are you there, Jimmy?” It was Stovorsky.
Jimmy unclipped the radio from his belt and was about to speak into it when he caught sight of Marla’s reaction.
Jimmy had explained everything about himself, but he’d been a little hazy about the fact that he had been sent here by the French so they could take over the mine again. Now, if Marla’s face was anything to go by, it was becoming clearer. She’d obviously worked it out. To her, Jimmy was suddenly an enemy again. She was ready to kill. The muscles in her shoulders tensed and she set her legs ready to pounce.
“Stop,” Jimmy told her, as calmly as he could. “It’s not what you think.”
“You are using me,” she whispered. “I should have guessed the French would send an English boy to trick us. They must be desperate.”
The radio crackled again. “Jimmy,” came the voice. “Do you copy?”
Jimmy’s finger hovered over the controls, his mouth five centimetres from the device, but he didn’t respond. “I’m not working for them,” he insisted. “They just think I am.” Marla’s face didn’t change. “I’m working for me. For my family. I’m going to make them do what I say.”
At last he squeezed his thumb against the large white button on the side of his radio.
“I copy,” he said, slipping into French without thinking about it. He kept his eyes firmly on Marla, who was still watching suspiciously. “There’s nothing here but body parts. But everything is so messed up it’s hard to find my way around.” He glared at Marla.
Stovorsky replied, but Jimmy wasn’t paying attention. He and Marla were having a tough conversation – without saying a word. Had either of them done enough to show they could trust the other? At last Marla dipped her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. Jimmy felt a sudden stab in his chest – the look reminded him of Georgie.
He smiled a flat smile and Marla’s expression softened. Then she jerked her thumb at the next building, a long, low concrete bunker, and together they jogged towards the entrance.
“How are my mum and my sister?” Jimmy asked softly, into the radio.
Stovorsky replied straight away. “We’re working on it.”
Jimmy put his radio back on his belt and entered the bunker. It felt like a rabbit warren. He walked cautiously down the dark staircase, followed by Marla. Just when he thought the steps might carry him down to the centre of the Earth, he came to a reinforced metal door that was slightly ajar
“Actinium,” Marla whispered. “Are you ready?”
Jimmy pushed the door open and went through cautiously. The light was dim, but his eyes adjusted quickly. The bunker looked like a large science lab, but it was in disarray: broken glass, chairs tipped over, laptops smashed.
“They left in a hurry,” Marla explained.
“Not too much of a hurry to destroy the place first.” Jimmy circled the room, inspecting the vandalism. “If they didn’t want anybody using the actinium, why didn’t they just take it with them?”
The middle of the room was dominated by a huge floor-to-ceiling cylinder. It was made of the fattest layer of glass Jimmy had ever seen. It must have been at least thirty centimetres thick. He moved towards it, scrutinising the bolts and steel brackets that held it in place, because inside this unique cabinet, on a small shelf, stood a single silver canister, about fifty centimetres high. The only way to reach it was through plastic glove holes hidden behind a lead screen, which was also bolted in place.
Jimmy didn’t need a degree in nuclear physics to work out that the canister contained the actinium.
“They did not have time to take it with them,” Marla explained. “The British deliberately took them by surprise. The actinium is most delicate. There are procedures for removing it. It takes hours. They make, um…” She struggled for the words. “…vacuum? …de… contamination?” She pointed to a line of large silver suitcases, some of which had obviously been used to smash the computers and other instruments. “Leadlined,” Marla explained. “But to put the actinium into it needs proper equipment and many scientists. And now, without even these…”
She kicked at a pile of half-burned rags and melted plastic.
“They set light to their hazmat suits?” Jimmy muttered.
Before Marla could react, Jimmy grabbed the handle of one of the lead suitcases and slammed it into the glass cabinet. Marla jumped back with a cry of shock. Small cracks shot through the glass. Jimmy heaved the suitcase round again and smashed it into the cabinet a second time.
The suitcase should have been incredibly heavy, but Jimmy’s arm muscles locked and swung it with huge momentum. His blows came harder and faster. He felt the sweat forming on his neck and grunted with the strain, but kept going.
For the first minute, Marla could only stand by in amazement. But then, to Jimmy’s surprise, she heaved on the handle of a second suitcase and joined in. She couldn’t match Jimmy’s force or speed, but every impact counted. Together they attacked the same single point in the glass.
At last they broke through. Jimmy didn’t hesitate. He brushed away the shards from the edges of the hole in the glass and pulled out the canister. It was nowhere near as heavy as he had been expecting. Was there really so little actinium in the world? He was beginning to realise j
ust how valuable this mineral must be.
“So this is it?” he asked. “The whole mine – for this?”
“No,” Marla replied, still panting. “There is another bunker for the uranium. Bigger than this one. They find more of it. Then it goes to the dock.”
Jimmy planted a hand on the lid of the canister, ready to open it, but his arm muscles jerked awkwardly. His heart tripled its pace. He suddenly felt the urge to run out and as far from Mutam-ul-it as possible. Was that his assassin instinct or his human fear? The two melded together until he couldn’t feel the boundary between them. It’s OK, he reminded himself, breathing deeply to settle the doubt that swirled through his muscles.
He glanced up at Marla. The mixture of fear and respect in her expression was obvious. It sent an unexpected shiver of pride through Jimmy. Before he could have any more second thoughts, he gave the canister lid a sharp twist. It opened with a click and Jimmy’s face was lit up by a pale blue light.
Here it was: a small mound of stones at the bottom of the canister that looked like they contained tiny light bulbs. There was no smell – just the magical appearance and a waft of warmth. He felt like some kind of demon or a crazy scientist in an old horror film. Despite all of the fear, the one thought he couldn’t get out of his head was: Felix would love this.
At last he was able to tear his eyes from the mineral, and when he smiled at Marla, he saw the wonder on her face as well.
Jimmy quickly opened the lead-lined suitcase and poured in the stones as carefully as he could. His hands were trembling. And were they also turning red? It’ll fade, Jimmy told himself. It can’t affect me. Then he slammed down the lid of the suitcase, shutting off the blue light. He grinned at Marla, an unnatural confidence surging through him.
“What are you going to do with it?” she asked. “Sell it? I know people who would pay millions for this. Even small amounts of black market uranium have funded my people for years – and that is just uranium. But this…”
Jimmy didn’t answer. He wasn’t even listening. Instead he grabbed the radio from his belt and mashed the button on the side.
“You there, Stovorsky?” he barked. A second later came the reply.
“Go ahead, Jimmy.” The reception was crackly because they were so far underground, but the words were still clear.
“Listen carefully,” Jimmy snapped into the radio. “You’ve got twelve hours to radio me with evidence that my mum, my sister and Felix are safe. After that, I destroy this mine and everything around it.”
Immediately he switched the radio off and thrust it into Marla’s hand. “Take this,” he ordered. “I don’t want them tracking me.”
“But what are you doing?”
“I told you,” said Jimmy. “I’m working for me, not them. I have to make certain the French are going to do what I ask. The only way to do that is to have something they value. Something they really value.”
He lifted the suitcase slightly. Marla backed away instinctively, even though the actinium was insulated now.
“They told me this actinium was valuable to them,” he went on. “And I plan to make it even more valuable. They’ll have no choice but to help me.”
Together they started back up the stairs. At the top Jimmy hesitated. “You want to help me, right?” he whispered.
“I want to help you if you are against the French,” replied Marla.
“Meet me at midnight in the dock,” Jimmy said quickly. Through his mind flashed the plans of the Mutam-ul-it complex – dozens of images every second. He hadn’t even realised while he’d been looking at Stovorsky’s laptop that these diagrams would take root in his head so strongly. “At the fifth pier,” he announced. Marla nodded. “Bring a balaclava. And paper clips. Lots of them. Oh, and transport. Something fast, but small…”
“Wait,” said Marla. “Midnight? That is only seven hours.”
“I know. Counting is one of my special powers.”
Jimmy turned and pressed his hand on the door, but Marla stopped him.
“What if that man radios with what you asked for? What if they take your family out of danger?”
Jimmy hesitated for only a second, then, just as he burst out into daylight, he announced his decision. “They won’t.”
“Evidence?!” raged Stovorsky. “Twelve hours?! How dare he!” He jumped up and down next to the off-roader, not caring that he was stumbling in and out of the shade and the top of his head was getting burned.
“But it’s OK,” urged his driver, trying to remain calm.
“Zafi can make them safe, then we’ll let Jimmy know.”
“But what if she can’t? We’re not Jimmy’s personal family protection force, we’re the French Secret Service!”
At last Stovorsky stopped jumping. There was an uneasy silence. Then he ripped off his raincoat and hurled it into the back seat. The sweat marks on his suit made him look like a balding, angry panda.
“Send a message to Zafi,” he ordered. “Get that evidence. We can’t risk the mine.”
“Tell her to get Jimmy’s family to safety?”
“No!” barked Stovorsky. “I don’t care whether she actually does it – as long as we can give Jimmy some kind of proof. Whether it’s real or not.” He stared blankly at his laptop screen. “We can’t risk the mine,” he whispered.
After a moment of thought, he tapped at his laptop again. The only way they could watch Jimmy was through the satellite aerial feed to the computer. Stovorsky studied the images. They were amazingly detailed, but large areas were obscured by the smoke still billowing from the mine compound across the desert sky.
“Where are you, Jimmy?” said Stovorsky, his voice rising with frustration. Then he launched a violent attack at the flies round his head. “Jimmy!” he yelled, flapping wildly.
“Calm down!” pleaded the young soldier. “We can still control what he does.”
“Control him?” said Stovorsky. “He’s gone rogue. You don’t control a rogue. You destroy it.”
Jimmy deliberately aimed for the thickest areas of the smoke. He knew they’d give him the perfect protection from the satellite imagery. He marched through the compound. When he reached the perimeter he didn’t stop. The wire fence was over twenty metres high, but even with the fingers of his right hand locked around the handle of the lead-lined suitcase, he scaled it in seconds.
On the other side he waited just a few seconds, trying to read the gusts of wind that came in off the ocean and carried the smoke over the desert in a dense plume. That was his escape – his way out of Mutam-ul-it while Stovorsky was watching him from above.
He chose a moment when the smog was at its thickest and advanced. He stood as straight and as tall as he could, consciously making every step exactly the same length. And he counted each stride. One, two, three, four…
18 22,000 PACES
“Georgie!” Felix yelled over his shoulder. “There’s a French super-assassin here to murder us. What should I do?”
Zafi couldn’t help laughing. “You’re lucky NJ7 can’t hear a word we’re saying right now, thanks to a wedge of your disgusting English cheese and a flock of pigeons.”
She moved quickly into the flat, shut the door firmly behind her and brushed past Felix.
“My cheese?” Felix asked. “Whatever. I knew all that, you big… weirdo.”
Georgie ran into the hallway. When she saw Zafi she froze in shock. The last time they’d seen each other felt like a lifetime ago – Zafi had once been sent to persuade Jimmy to join the French Secret Service and she’d delivered the message a little too violently for Georgie to remember the meeting fondly.
“What are you doing here?” Georgie asked sharply.
“Where’s your mum?” Zafi replied.
“She’s out. She’s looking for…” Georgie stopped herself and pointed around the corners of the ceiling. “Can they…?”
“We’ve got about two minutes before NJ7 have their surveillance back. So talk fast then I’ll tell you e
verything you need to know. After that you call me Rhys and pretend I’m here to hang out with you. I might even need to stay the night.”
“Why are you here?” asked Georgie.
“Have you found my parents?” Felix cut in. “I knew you’d do it! The moustache man got in touch with you, didn’t he?”
Zafi pushed the hoodie from her head. Her hair tumbled down round her shoulders and she turned to smile at Felix. “I’m sorry, Felix; 80 per cent of the time I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“It’s more like 95 per cent for the rest of us,” Georgie chipped in.
“I don’t mind,” Zafi added. “You’re still cute.”
Felix’s grin nearly burst the sides of his cheeks.
“Would you hurry up and explain, please?” Georgie insisted.
“I was sent here by Uno Stovorsky,” said Zafi quickly. “I have to protect you. That’s all I know. If we need to move out of here, I’ll take care of it. So relax.”
“Is it…” Georgie looked across at Felix and broke into a smile. “It might be because of your parents, or it might be Jimmy.”
“I just follow my instructions,” said Zafi with a shrug.
“He’s coming back, isn’t he?” Georgie asked, growing more and more agitated. “To stop Britain attacking France, right? I saw it on the news: Dad said… I mean, the Prime Minister said the French blew up that oil rig. But it was Jimmy, wasn’t it?”
“Jimmy blew up an oil rig?” said Felix. “He must be having so much fun while we’re…”
“Don’t worry, Felix,” Zafi cooed. “We can have fun too.”
Felix’s mouth dropped open.
“You are so cool,” he gasped.
Georgie was still thinking aloud. “But if Jimmy did blow it up and he comes back to prove it wasn’t the French, he’ll be putting us in danger. So—”
“Time’s up,” Zafi announced. “Get to know Rhys.” She quickly wrapped her hair into a bundle and stuffed it back into her hoodie, which she pulled over her head again. “What is there to do around here?”
