Jimmy Coates: Sabotage

“He’s OK,” Felix started, almost breathless with excitement. “He must have planned this whole thing with the CIA without even telling us about it, and then we saw him being shot—but not really shot. And he fell backwards into the river and it really looked like he was dead—but we knew he wasn’t, I mean, he isn’t, because he left us a message before he did it and we worked it out. It was pretty cool the way he fooled them.”

“Wait, slow down,” said Helen. “He was shot?”

“Yeah,” Felix replied. “But it must have been with fake bullets or something.”

“So where is he now?”

“If we’re right,” said Georgie, “then he’s with the CIA.”

“Of course we’re right,” Felix insisted.

“So what are you two doing running away from the CIA?”

Georgie and Felix hesitated, and looked at each other. “Have you seen them?” Georgie asked. “Are they really after us?”

Helen wiped her face with her hands. Very slowly, she nodded. “I’ve been tracking you from the safehouse.”

Georgie knew her mother used to be an NJ7 agent herself years and years ago, but she was still impressed.

“You’ve had two agents on your tail as well,” Helen went on. “If they’re as good as I think they are, they’ll have accessed the satellite surveillance by now. They’ll be here any minute.”

“So what do we do?” Felix gasped.

“Quick,” Georgie whispered. “We should get moving.” She was about to dash back out into the alley, but her mother caught her by the arm.

“Wait,” said Helen firmly. “Why are you running? What do you know that I don’t?”

“The safehouse,” Georgie answered straightaway. “These men came and we had to escape. But they got Felix’s parents.”

“I know,” Helen replied. “I saw it all.”

“You were there?”

“I couldn’t find Chris at the airport, so I was going back to the safehouse. I’d reached the end of the street when I saw the men taking Neil and Olivia. I’m sorry, Felix.” She put a hand on his shoulder and crouched down to look in his eyes. “They’re going to be OK. We’ll find them and sort all of this out. It might take a little time, that’s all.”

Felix looked away. He didn’t like being forced to think about it.

“If the CIA is on our side,” he asked, a little break in his voice, “how come NJ7 knew where the safehouse was?”

“I don’t know,” said Helen. “It could be a million reasons. It might not even have been NJ7.”

“What?” Felix gasped.

“I watched those men. Their methods were…” She searched for the right word. “…different. But NJ7 can’t have a lot of agents posted in America. Most likely, they had to employ MI6 to do the work. Or…” She paused, as if she didn’t want to continue. “Or it could have been the French.”

“What?” Georgie exclaimed. “What are the French doing here?”

“Everything they can to stop America helping Britain.”

“What have my parents got to do with that?” Felix asked.

“Nothing,” Helen sighed. “But the French know about Jimmy. If they can make it look like the CIA failed to protect his friends, they might be hoping Jimmy will turn against America and go back to France.”

Felix’s face was scrunched up in confusion. “Why can’t anything ever be what it looks like?” he whispered.

“You’re right,” Helen agreed. “Look, what do we know for sure?” She counted off the items on her fingers as she went. “First, the safehouse isn’t safe. Second, the area is crawling with agents of all kinds, and third, the CIA is the only organisation likely to protect us.”

“OK,” Georgie muttered, thinking hard. “I suppose we should go with the CIA. I don’t trust them, but at least we’ll get more information that way. We can ask them about Jimmy. That’s the only way we’ll be certain.”

“We are certain,” Felix insisted. “There’s no way Jimmy would let himself be shot like that unless it was on purpose.”

“OK, Felix,” Helen reassured him. “I’m sure you’re right. But in any case, the best way to find out whether we can trust Colonel Keays and his agents is to keep them close. If we run, we’ll never know if they want to protect us or kill us.”

Georgie drew in a deep breath and took a long look at Felix.

“I suppose they were going to catch us soon anyway,” she said. “There’s no way two kids can hide from the CIA.”

“I disagree.” A man’s voice with a New York accent interrupted them. Georgie and Felix spun round to see a thin, chiselled man leaning casually on the dumpster opposite. He was wearing a plain black suit. “I thought you were doing a pretty good job.”

Then he put his mouth to his lapel and whispered into a small microphone, “We got ’em.”

03 NEPTUNE’S SHADOW (#ulink_69e87e5f-44f4-5d44-8a66-2cc846f74bb1)

At 800 kilometres an hour it can be hard to make out what somebody’s saying to you. Jimmy shifted the earpiece in his helmet. It obviously wasn’t designed to fit the head of an eleven-year-old. The wind and the plane’s engine combined to create a powerful roar. Jimmy wanted to concentrate on looking for a break in the clouds beneath them. Every now and again they offered a glimpse of an incredible sight: America’s east coast from 13,000 metres up. But the Growler wasn’t designed for passengers to enjoy the view. With all the dials and switches packed around him, Jimmy found it hard to see anything outside the plane except miles and miles of bright, empty sky.

The plane had only four seats, set out two by two. Jimmy was strapped in tight directly behind Froy. Next to Froy was the pilot, another CIA agent whose name Jimmy didn’t know. He couldn’t even see the man’s face from where he was sitting, just some wild strands of black curly hair creeping out from under his helmet. The seat next to Jimmy was empty.

In the three hours since the pilot had picked up his new passengers, he and Froy had done nothing but argue.

“I told you,” Agent Froy shouted into his headset, “there weren’t any other planes available.”

“So because the hangars were empty you decided to pluck a ride out of the sky?” The pilot’s voice was gruff and Jimmy placed his accent from one of the Southern states. “This isn’t American Airlines. I’m not here to take you and some kid on vacation.”

Jimmy gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to get involved—he was just pleased that at last they were getting wellaway from New York. But Froy was steaming. “You want me to tell Colonel Keays you’re giving us grief?” he yelled.

“Don’t you get it?” came the other agent’s retort. “This plane is still on an operation! I haven’t delivered my package!”

“Give me a break, Bligh,” Froy sighed. “You’re on your way home, you needed to refuel anyway and you were up in the air again in under a minute. What’s your problem?”

“My problem? First of all, I’m not on my way ‘home’. I’m on my way to the data analysis centre in Miami. To drop you over sunny Me-hi-co is a 2500-mile round trip out of our way.”

“Excuse me,” Jimmy asked meekly, “Did you say drop us over, or drop us off?”

“I said drop over and I meant drop over, kid. That’s a parachute strapped to your back.”

Jimmy felt the square pack pressing into his shoulder blades and felt like an idiot for asking.

“And that’s another thing.” Bligh took a deep breath then blew straight on. “This is a spy plane. I’m meant to stay above observable altitude. That’s above radar, above the clouds, above everything. I was meant to refuel in-flight and I’ll have to drop again so you can make the jump to the ground. But coming down sucks! The minute I dip low enough you can forget about the enemy needing radar. My grandmother could have seen us back there—and she’s blind!”