Jimmy Coates: Revenge

It was a few minutes before they found candles and some matches. Eventually they crowded round Viggo in the living room.

“You know what?” he announced. “I actually missed all you ugly mugs.”

“I bet you thought we couldn’t survive without you,” Jimmy chuckled.

Viggo broke into a broad smile. “Without me,” he said, “I thought you wouldn’t even be able to wipe your—”

“That’ll do, Chris,” Jimmy’s mum cut in, placing a hand on his shoulder. Felix tried hard to stifle his laughter, and Jimmy felt his tension dissolve. But there was still a dark question on his mind. It was Georgie who asked it first:

“How’s Saffron?”

Viggo’s mood suddenly changed. He sucked some air in through his teeth.

“She’s going to be OK,” he said. Everybody sighed with relief. “I found someone who could help and she’s being looked after. I think she’s safe.”

“And she’s recovering?”

“It was touch and go when I left, but more touch than go.”

“Wait, which one’s good?” Felix chipped in. “Touch or go?”

“What I mean is,” Viggo explained, “she seemed to be getting better. But slowly – her recovery will take time. And unless Jimmy has developed the power of a Delorean, time is what we don’t have.”

“What’s a Delorean?” Jimmy asked, his face screwed up. Georgie and Felix were pulling the same expression. Felix’s dad let out a deep, explosive laugh.

“It’s from an old movie,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Shouldn’t you have stayed with Saffron?” asked Felix’s mum.

“I wish I could,” Viggo replied. “But she’s safer without me there – apart from Jimmy, I’m NJ7’s most wanted. As soon as I can, I’ll go back for her or get her to join us. But for now, we’ve got a great opportunity to escape. And we have to take it quickly. It looks like the only reason NJ7 haven’t found us already is because something threw them off the scent.”

“That was Zafi,” Jimmy said firmly.

“Zafi?” spluttered Viggo. “Who or what is Zafi?”

“ZAF-1,” Jimmy replied, feeling the words stick slightly. He’d never said this out loud before. “She’s the French version of me.”

“Bloomin’ brilliant,” muttered Viggo, rubbing the back of his neck. “This gets better and better, doesn’t it? Well, you don’t have to worry about what this Zafi person told you. I’ve got some new contacts of my own. It’s a huge chance for us. They’re going to help us get out.”

“Out of the country?” asked Georgie.

“That’s right – out of the country and into hiding.”

“We’re running out of money,” Helen interjected. “And I can’t exactly withdraw cash from my account. You realise that, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry.” Viggo dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. “It’s all taken care of.” Helen raised an eyebrow.

“Where are we going?” Jimmy and Felix asked at almost exactly the same time,

Viggo couldn’t help smiling now – and smiling properly, with his teeth glinting. He stood up, stretched, then took Jimmy by the shoulders and announced, “New York City!”

Jimmy, Felix and Georgie were overjoyed. The boys jumped up and down, punching the air, nearly knocking over some of the candles. Georgie let out a tiny scream and slapped her hand over her mouth.

Jimmy had heard so much about the USA. It was the place where all the great products came from – the best games, the best clothes, the best music. But most of it was only available in the UK if it was imported illegally. Ares Hollingdale had gradually made it harder and harder for foreign companies to sell their products in Britain. He’d hated anything that wasn’t British. Even American TV shows were heavily censored – sometimes the jokes didn’t even make any sense, although Jimmy realised that might not have been to do with the censoring. In any case, that had been the only way for him to learn about the USA. He had never imagined that he would have the chance to go there.

Jimmy’s mother was more subdued. She moved closer to Viggo and asked under her breath, “Who are these new contacts, Chris?”

“I’ll explain later.” They stared into each other’s eyes for a second before Viggo finally looked away. “Everything’s arranged. There’s a van outside – the one I came here in. In the morning we’re all driving to Heathrow. These guys will get us through customs and everything.”

“Must be pretty powerful contacts,” muttered Helen. Only Jimmy noticed her unease. Everybody else was celebrating. An extra cheer went up when the lights suddenly came back on. In the split-second before anybody had adjusted, Jimmy caught sight of Viggo’s face. Why wouldn’t he explain who these contacts were, Jimmy wondered. He could feel his insides shifting like quicksand. There was something wrong here. What bargaining had Viggo conducted to set up such an easy escape? And what sacrifices was Jimmy going to have to make in order to fulfil that man’s side of the deal?

“We’ll leave early,” Viggo proclaimed. “Everyone should try to get a few hours’ sleep.”

It was only on his way up to bed that a new worry hit Jimmy. America was where Ian Coates was. The Prime Minister of Great Britain, the man Jimmy now referred to, in his head, as his “ex-father”, was in Washington to meet the President and the US Senate.

Am I cursed? Jimmy thought. Do I have to follow that man wherever he goes? At least his ex-father would be in a different city. There was some comfort in that. Nevertheless, Jimmy went to sleep with one fear – that if the two of them ever met again, Jimmy didn’t know what his instincts would make him do.

“Miss Bennett, I don’t get it.” Mitchell was hunched forward at his desk in one of the briefing rooms at NJ7. He was alone in there with the director of the agency. The surroundings were as bare as they could be – slabs of concrete for walls, with a few exposed wires snaking their way around. This briefing room, like all the others, also had a few desks and an overhead projector attached to a laptop. Mitchell noticed that the logo on the back of the laptop didn’t belong to any huge American corporation. It was a simple green stripe.

“Why aren’t you sending somebody else instead?” he went on. “I’d understand that. But there’s nobody going after Jimmy Coates at all.”

Miss Bennett was busy at the laptop, but after a few seconds she looked up at Mitchell.

“Oh, you’d understand it, would you?” she said sarcastically. “If I sent somebody else to kill Jimmy Coates? After you were in a position to kill him twice and failed? That’s so understanding of you.”

Mitchell hadn’t been to school in a while now, but that feeling of being the least significant person in the world flooded back. He bowed his head and stared at his desk.

“Oh, cheer up, Glenthorne,” Miss Bennett insisted. “You’re still the best thirteen-year-old, genetically programmed assassin we’ve got.” She laughed, and after a couple of seconds Mitchell did too. He buzzed with the excitement of being back in the briefing room. It could only mean a new mission. And if it wasn’t Jimmy Coates, Mitchell had no idea what it could be.

The overhead projector flashed to life. Emblazoned across it in massive letters was ZAF-1.

“ZAF-1,” announced Miss Bennett.

“Yeah,” Mitchell muttered, “I can read.”

Miss Bennett glared at him. He shrunk into his chair. Clearly, sarcasm was a one-way street.

“Dr Higgins’ papers seem to suggest that for over a decade, the DGSE, the French Secret Service, have had access to the assassin technology that built you.”

Mitchell tensed up. Suddenly, he was paying closer attention. Miss Bennett went on, her voice sounding just like a teacher explaining part of some textbook.

“At first we thought ZAF-1 referred to a second French intelligence agency. Now we’ve realised, of course, that there’s hardly enough intelligence in the whole of France for one agency – let alone two.”

Mitchell chuckled.

“Our current theory,” Miss Bennett went on, “is that ‘ZAF-1’ refers to a French assassin. The oldest he could be is about twelve, and if he were any younger than nine he would be almost completely ineffective.” She pressed a button on the laptop to flick to the next screen. Nothing happened.

“Oh, blast,” she exclaimed. “I hate PowerPoint.”