Jimmy Coates: Blackout

Each question was written on an official form, and Eva had no idea how Jimmy had managed to slip an extra one into her pile. She could still feel the chills she got when she reached the page. Even before she’d read it, she’d known who it was from because of the handwriting. When she’d looked up, she’d noticed the hunched back of a civil service cleaner lumbering away. Had that been Jimmy in disguise? Or was Eva’s mind thinking up phantoms to explain what had happened?

All the note had said, in Jimmy’s scratchy pencil lettering, was that they had to meet at a nearby car park late that night. Jimmy needed Eva to bring information from Dr Higgins’ computer about the genetic design of the assassins: Jimmy’s DNA.

Suddenly a noise sent a shiver through Eva’s body. Somebody was coming, and there was nowhere to hide. At NJ7 there were no doors to the rooms, just one huge network of tunnels with open areas for desks and office space. She slammed her palm on the desk in frustration, leaving a sticky handprint on the leather which she immediately wiped off with her sleeve. The footsteps in the corridor mixed with the pounding of her heart. She would have to come back another night, when she had gathered all the access codes she needed.

Quickly and efficiently, she shut down the computer, wiped the keypad clean, and went to the filing cabinet. It was locked.

“How do they run this stupid department!?” she muttered under her breath. But she refused to let it ruffle her. On top of the filing cabinet was a yellow document box. On the spine was the number seven and another green stripe. Any information was better than nothing, Eva reasoned. The alternative was to meet Jimmy empty-handed, which was no alternative at all.

She opened the document box to find a stack of thinner, coloured folders, old computer printouts and some loose, handwritten notes. There was enough dust on the document box to suggest it hadn’t been checked in a while, so Eva quickly extracted sheets from the most dog-eared and tattered files. If there was going to be anything here about the design of the assassin DNA, Eva thought, it would be on the oldest pages. Where the folders themselves were thin enough, she grabbed them whole.

She was careful to wipe her finger marks from the dust when she closed the document box, then slipped out of Dr Higgins’ old office with a bundle of papers and folders under her arm. There were two NJ7 technicians hurrying towards her, involved in their own hushed conversation. Eva watched their faces as she passed them. Had they noticed where she’d been? All she saw were expressions of calm efficiency, but that still fuelled the anxiety in her gut.

With every step through the network of tunnels it took a huge effort to maintain an air of confidence. Only looking like she was on legitimate NJ7 business, sent by Miss Bennett, would keep her from being scrutinised. Even though she was only thirteen, the other NJ7 employees had grown used to her being around and had either accepted it, or were too scared of Miss Bennett to question Eva’s presence.

The corridors of the NJ7 tech department were less familiar to Eva than the rest of the complex. The murky haze of energy-saving light bulbs cast orange shadows around the concrete. Eva longed for the brightness of the proper light bulbs in Miss Bennett’s office. She had long since become used to the lack of sunlight.

Eva clasped the piles of papers and kept her head down, doing her best to walk at a steady, confident pace. Every time she turned a corner she was met by more tunnels stretching out for hundreds of metres, or larger rooms where teams of agents were working at banks of computers. In her head she ran over the errands she could say she was on if she was stopped.

Tell them you’re taking a message from William Lee to Miss Bennett, she decided. The two most senior people in the Government were known to hate each other. William Lee was the Government’s Head of Special Security. Once he’d tried to take over Miss Bennett’s position as Director of NJ7 – he’d even tried to become Prime Minister himself. Miss Bennett had put him in his place.

Eva could use the games they played against each other to her own advantage now. But what message was being sent? Of course: a top secret one. She wasn’t allowed to reveal it to anybody. That’s what she’d say if an agent questioned her.

The idea was still smouldering in Eva’s mind when she turned another corner and found herself in a deserted lab full of computer screens and whirring technical equipment. At the other end of the lab she realised that it wasn’t quite deserted. Sitting at a computer station, staring at her over his shoulder, was the one man on whom Eva’s cover story wouldn’t work: William Lee.

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William Lee jumped up, leaving his chair swivelling dizzily behind him. Eva was frozen to the spot, staring up at the unnaturally tall Eurasian man.

“Eva,” Lee growled, the tower of hair on top of his head swaying slightly as he spoke. “Shouldn’t you be with Miss Bennett?”

“Yes,” Eva replied hurriedly. “Of course. I’m on my way now.”

There was a horrible silence. In Eva’s mind it lasted an eternity. She watched Lee’s eyes scan her up and down, lingering on the folders and loose pages under her left arm.

Since Miss Bennett had outwitted him, there had been something physically weaker about this man, as if he’d actually shrunk a couple of centimetres, but his mind was still sharp. Eva thought frantically of what she could possibly say to explain what she was doing, but at the same time she knew that too much explanation would sound suspicious. Why wasn’t Lee asking her what she was doing? Eva was almost desperate to have the chance to come up with an excuse. The silence did her no good at all.

At last, Lee spoke again. But it wasn’t what Eva was expecting.

“I was just having a look at the satellite surveillance,” he muttered. “It’s been playing up.” He stared blankly into Eva’s eyes. She just nodded. Why was he explaining himself to her? Had Miss Bennett really weakened his confidence that much?

“I’m seeing if I can fix it,” Lee went on.

“Should I fetch a technician for you?” Eva blurted out, eager to get away as quickly as possible.

“No, no,” insisted Lee. “It’s just a minor glitch. I have it under control.”

Eva nodded again, and deliberately held her breathing steady as she turned to leave. Don’t look back at him, she told herself. And don’t rush away too fast. The papers under her arm had taken on the weight of bricks.

At last she heard the squeak of Lee’s chair and the tap of his computer keyboard. Finally Eva was striding away down the next corridor. Relax, she ordered herself. He didn’t suspect. He didn’t ask.

But then the squeak of the chair echoed down the corridor. Could she really hear Lee’s footsteps coming after her, or was she imagining it? The corridor stretched out in front of her, with a crossroads about twenty metres ahead. Maybe if she could reach that she could disappear and Lee would let her go – for now. But it was too far away. She’d never make it before Lee came round the corner.

Then she saw her chance. There was a slim gap in the side of the tunnel. It was less than half a metre wide, and completely dark. Eva thanked her luck – she’d found a remnant from when different service tunnels had been joined together to create the NJ7 labyrinth. She rushed towards it, and stepped into the shadows.

To her shock, her step faltered and she nearly fell. The opening in the concrete was in fact a staircase leading downwards. Eva could make out a sliver of light at the bottom. She gingerly stepped down towards it, her shoulders brushing against the cold concrete on both sides.

She paused halfway down to listen for Lee’s footsteps. There was no noise coming from behind her. There was, however, the sound of quiet conversation coming from below. Eva crept further on, but lurked in the shadows. When her eyes adjusted to the bright light of the room in front of her, what she saw banished any worries about William Lee.

Half a dozen NJ7 technicians were hurrying around the room, passing each other papers and mumbling instructions to each other. Their white coats almost glowed under an intense green light. In the centre of the room, on a large metal slab, was the scarred and scorched body of what looked like an older teenage boy. His limbs were being held in place and gradually manipulated by metal clamps. Aimed directly into his eye was an intense green laser being fired from a large machine attached to a computer.

Eva couldn’t look away from the boy – not because of the laser, or the obvious injuries from these strange operations, but because his chest was steadily rising and falling. This boy was alive.

Jimmy took a twisting route through London, constantly scanning his surroundings. His brain was building millions of fragments of information into an instinct he couldn’t explain. Someone was out there. Someone was following him.

Get over it, he urged himself. If somebody from NJ7 was on to him they would have struck by now. It’s nothing, he insisted in his head, pausing to check the reflection of the street in a darkened shop window. Just paranoia. He rubbed his eyes hard. Every bit of him ached in a way he had never felt before: like his limbs were being compressed from every direction and his head was trapped under a spinning washing machine. He searched inside himself for the power of his genetic programming. It was constantly swirling in him, ready to burst through his veins and take him over in an instant. Jimmy relied on it more and more. Without it, the agony was too much.

He drew on that inner strength, a centre of burning power that felt like it came from just behind his stomach. It flooded through him with a violent surge, swamping the pain. Jimmy couldn’t help letting out a gasp of relief, but it was combined with a low growl of aggression: the two sides of him battling together to sustain the whole.

He sprinted off with renewed energy. There was a buzz in the air in London’s streets and Jimmy imagined it seeping into his skin. There were hundreds more people out than usual, because of all the rallies in support of both sides – final preparations before the ballot the next day. He found his way to Trafalgar Square, where a pro-government rally was just coming to an end. He mingled with the crowds to further protect himself from anybody following.

How can all these people support the Government? Jimmy wondered, looking around at the placards and banners. He considered whether they’d been paid to come out tonight, or even forced by NJ7. At the southern end of the square there was a big screen flashing messages and government slogans into the night: “Efficiency. Stability. Security.” Jimmy couldn’t help letting out a huff. In front of the screen was a middle-aged woman ranting into a microphone about how the Government would keep taxes low and manage the country better than Viggo ever could, because he had no experience.

“…And why should you have the stress of making important government decisions?” she went on. “Government is for governments! Giving people a say in what happens to the country just creates muddled decisions and confusion!” There was a general murmur of approval. “Why should you have to worry?” Everybody cheered, but Jimmy huffed again, a little too loudly this time. A bald man with a thick puffer jacket and a government placard looked round and glared at him.

Jimmy hurried to the other end of the square where a large group of Viggo supporters had set up their own, slightly smaller screen and were chanting in support of freedom, democracy and everything Viggo stood for. Viggo’s smile flashed up on the screen and Jimmy couldn’t help smiling too. For a few seconds he slowed down to watch, proud of the part he’d played in making this possible.

“Join me and change the country!” declared Viggo from the screen. It was showing some of the best bits of his speeches from the last few months. “Believe in change! Believe in democracy! Believe in freedom!” Each sentence drew a cheer from the pro-Viggo half of the square. Even the sight of the man’s face, blown up so large on the screen, seemed to have the crowd mesmerised. Jimmy delighted in the genuine enthusiasm around him. Whole families were there, including people of about Jimmy’s age. For the first time, Jimmy really felt part of something special, something historic. The country’s going to change, Jimmy thought. It’s going to be great.

Then something cut through Jimmy’s excitement. A shout was out of place. Jimmy looked round and saw the crowd from the Government rally was dispersing and some of the supporters had come over to the pro-Viggo end of the square. The bald man with the puffer jacket was waving his placard and booing. Jimmy was ready to ignore it all and run on, but a Viggo supporter in a high-visibility jacket tried to wave the bald man away. Whatever he said, it wasn’t taken well.

The bald man’s face reddened and creased into fury. Suddenly he shoved his placard into the other man’s chest. The Viggo supporter staggered backwards for a second, then hurled out his fists one after the other, trying to fight back. Jimmy responded immediately. He wove through the crowd, snatching a ‘Vote Viggo’ cap from the head of a teenager on his way past. He kept his head low, then at the last second jumped up and brought the cap down over the face of the Viggo supporter. In the same movement, he dragged the man backwards and took his place.

The bald man swished his placard clean over Jimmy’s head. Immediately Jimmy delivered a jab to the man’s gut with the knuckles of his left hand, then landed his right fist in exactly the same spot with a powerful cross punch. The man’s puffer jacket wasn’t nearly enough to cushion the blows. His eyes widened and he flailed at Jimmy even as he gasped for breath. Finally Jimmy extended his right thigh and held it steady while the lower part of the limb flicked out. His toes hit the man’s kneecap like a spike in a pinboard.

Jimmy felt a rush of calm aggression urging him to deliver one more blow – a fatal one. No, Jimmy ordered himself, locking his arms and legs. After half a second, he snatched the ‘Vote Viggo’ cap again and mashed it on to the bald man’s head.

“What was that?” the man gasped, rolling on the floor and clutching his knee. Jimmy was already sprinting away, but he heard the answer flashing through his head: that was a fouette. How did he know that? That swift kick was a move he hadn’t used before, but its devastating effect was obvious. Suddenly a new world was flooding through his mind: La Savate combat technique. His programming was still adapting, still growing.

At the edge of the square he glanced back and saw more men and women in high-visibility jackets making sure the brief eruption of violence was definitely over. Jimmy crouched in the darkness of a doorway. La Savate combat technique, he thought to himself, stretching his limbs. I like it.

Eva shivered and hugged her coat more tightly around her. It was difficult, though, with such a pile of papers hidden in her arms. How much longer will I have to wait? she wondered. She was on the ninth floor of a multi-storey car park on Great College Street in Westminster, Central London. She rocked from foot to foot and peered around her into the deep shadows.

It had taken longer than she would have liked, but she had eventually managed to slip away from the NJ7 labs unseen. Now moonlight streaked in between the pillars of the car park, casting a dim sheen over patches of empty concrete. The rest was blackness. Only the silhouettes of a couple of cars interrupted the empty expanse. Probably stolen or abandoned, she thought to herself.

Suddenly she felt hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Don’t turn round,” came Jimmy’s voice in a whisper.