Jimmy Coates: Target

They had reached a main road now and Viggo picked up the pace.

“Why am I even coming then?” Jimmy mumbled. Saffron’s response was firm.

“You’re the only asset we have to offer. Without you, there’s no reason for the French Secret Service to help us.”

An ‘asset’. Jimmy never thought he’d hear himself described like that. He realised it might be true, but it made him feel like an object. Saffron noticed his silence.

“Sorry, Jimmy,” she added. “I didn’t mean it like it sounded. An ‘asset’ can mean a person as well, you know.”

Jimmy felt comforted by that. If he was ever to feel like a normal person again, the last thing he needed was for everybody around him to treat him as a machine. He smiled cautiously. Saffron smiled back.

There was a steel behind her grace that Jimmy admired. He’d seen Saffron in action and had no doubt that she should be the one to accompany Viggo back to London. He found it hard to imagine his mother being as effective if it came to a fight.

In Paris it was raining heavily and the traffic was as bad as the weather. Viggo spat and cursed as he manoeuvred the truck through the back streets. All the time, Saffron kept her eyes on the wing mirror, watching for any patterns in the vehicles behind them. It was imperative that they weren’t followed.

They drove along the line of the river into the centre of the city. Viggo’s fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. “Clear?” he called out.

“Clear,” responded Saffron.

Suddenly, the truck lurched to one side. Jimmy was thrown across his seat. They mounted the pavement and slipped through a narrow opening in the wall that ran alongside the road. It led to a cobbled ramp and in seconds they were driving right beside the Seine. Viggo slowed down drastically until the truck was growling along, centimetre by centimetre.

They stopped under the arches of the next bridge and Jimmy looked through the rain at the surface of the water. He shivered as they climbed out into the thick shadows. Water poured from the arches above his head, forming a curtain between him and the rest of the world. Here, the river exuded an eerie, sulphurous mist.

In silence, Viggo signalled the way. They ran through the rain, up a flight of thin stone steps on to the Pont de Sully. There, blending into the stonework, was Uno Stovorsky. In these conditions, his raincoat made perfect sense.

Still without a word, they followed Stovorsky along the bridge, on to the Tie St Louis. Jimmy gave up trying to keep the rain off. He wasn’t even wearing the special shirt he’d been given by NJ7. He was shivering, but he would rather have drowned in the rain than wear the Green Stripe again.

Stovorsky unlocked an inconspicuous door and guided the others through a courtyard and into a building. When they reached the fourth floor, they stepped into a small office with a balcony overlooking the courtyard. Around the walls were bookcases stacked with leather-bound tomes. Stovorsky quickly pulled down the blinds. It was strange – Jimmy didn’t feel any warmer in here than he had in the street.

Finally, Stovorsky spoke. “We don’t have long. So I don’t want any messing about.”

“Messing about?” Viggo retorted. “You think it’s messing about to make it into Paris undetected? Why couldn’t we meet nearer the farmhouse? Somewhere in a wood maybe?”

“Chris, take it easy,” Saffron cut in. “He’s helping us out.”

Stovorsky’s response was icy. “Maybe in Britain you have secret meetings in the woods all the time,” he mocked, “but this is France. We’re still an old-fashioned democracy. This is a safehouse, Viggo. Do you have a clue what that means?”

Jimmy thought he saw Viggo about to apologise, but Stovorsky rattled on. “It means we can jam listening devices, and it means we have routes to and from here that are sheltered from satellite surveillance. Now, you can go mess about in the woods if you want to or we can get down to business.”

Jimmy held his breath and watched Viggo out of the corner of his eye. The man nodded solemnly.

“Right then,” Stovorsky continued. “We know where the boy’s parents are being held.” Jimmy’s heart leapt.

“Well then,” Viggo insisted, “where is it?”

“The French Embassy in London.”

Jimmy was buzzing – the natural buzz of excitement, not the sensation of his programming taking over. This was a huge step towards rescuing the Muzbekes.

“Wait a minute,” Helen Coates cut in. “How did you find this out?”

Stovorsky nodded as if he had been expecting the question. “We have sources in England,” he stated, then quickly added, “Reliable sources.”

Saffron turned to Helen and Viggo, concerned. “What if NJ7 planted that information? Do you think it could be a trap?” she asked.

Jimmy took in her sombre mood and his initial excitement faded. Don’t ruin this, he thought. Just go and rescue them.

‘There’s only one way to find out,” Viggo mumbled. “How do we get to London?” Jimmy loved Viggo’s determination.

“I shouldn’t be doing this, you know,” Stovorsky sighed.

Before Viggo could respond, Saffron took control. “We really appreciate it, Uno,” she said with a voice coated in honey.

Stovorsky looked away for a second. Then, when he spoke again, Jimmy noticed that he looked anywhere except at Saffron. “OK,” Stovorsky began, “here’s the situation. The French Ambassador to London has been kicked out. Apparently, he provided transport to a group of dissidents.”

Viggo looked sheepishly to the carpet. “Yeah,” he muttered, “that was me.”

“I realised that when we recovered the EC975 in the field behind your farmhouse.” Stovorsky’s tone was disapproving, but Jimmy detected a hint of respect in his half-smile. “The DGSE can provide cover for one of you to go in on a diplomatic visa. Officially, you’ll be on the staff of the new Ambassador.”

Viggo stroked his chin, unsure how to ask for what he needed. Saffron did it for him.

“We need cover for two,” she stated boldly.

“She’s right, I won’t be able to do it alone,” Viggo added.

Stovorsky looked between the two of them, scratching his head. “OK,” he conceded with a sigh, “I think that can be arranged. So am I to assume that it will be you two?”

Again Viggo hesitated and Helen broke the silence. “Yes, it’s those two,” she said.

Stovorsky nodded and pulled out a mobile phone. He held it up and took one picture of Viggo then one of Saffron. Then he buried himself in the keys, sending an encrypted text message.

“Who’s going to examine Jimmy?” Viggo asked. Stovorsky furrowed his brow without looking up from his phone. “What?” he muttered.

“In return for helping us,” Viggo went on, “I assume one of your scientists will examine Jimmy?”

Jimmy prickled at the idea of being ‘examined’. He realised it wouldn’t be quite like going to the doctor. More than that, he felt indignation bristling in him again. Viggo was using him to negotiate, treating Jimmy as a commodity. The hurt quickly faded. All this was for Felix’s parents – and Felix.

“I’m ready,” Jimmy blurted out, aware that his voice betrayed his nerves. “I don’t know everything about myself yet, but I’ll show you what I’ve learned.”

Stovorsky at last finished with his phone. He stared at Jimmy, incredulous. “No,” he scoffed, “I told you. We don’t need that information.” Jimmy’s tension eased.

“Then what do you want from us?” Viggo asked.

“Just this: you’ll be working for the DGSE. We want any intelligence you can pick up while you’re there. Particularly, what NJ7 knows about us.”

“So you’re asking us to spy on the British Government?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”