“Actually, I have designed some rough images ready for transmission. I thought this would be the perfect way to implement the Reflex Plan.”
Miss Bennett seemed to freeze. This was the first time Mitchell had seen her remotely close to being dumbfounded, but he had no idea what this ‘Reflex Plan’ was. Gradually, Miss Bennett’s expression melted into one of utter glee.
“Well, that would mean I could assign this young gentleman another mission.” She was almost talking to herself, but Mitchell knew she meant him. Then she leapt up and her words reverberated around the bunker. “Well, what are you waiting for? We can improve the images as we go along. For now – start transmitting the signal.”
“Miss Bennett,” Stanton smirked, “we already are.”
Jimmy knew not to look the checkout girl in the eye. But his new appearance made him seem older than nearly twelve, and he could think of a much more natural way for a teenage boy to act. When he took his change he lifted his head and smiled.
“Thanks, love,” he grunted. Then he winked and swaggered away.
His hair was bleached blond now, and spiked. It wasn’t inconspicuous, but it was certainly different to the pictures of him on the news. His new look, combined with his confident demeanour, meant there was no way that checkout girl would connect him to the boy everyone was after.
Jimmy moved briskly down the street. Since Zafi had left them, they had spent three days in hiding at the Bed and Breakfast place. Too long, Jimmy thought. Despite Zafi telling them to move on straight away, they had stayed put, waiting for Christopher Viggo. But now, even in this short walk back from the corner shop, Jimmy saw threats on every side. Every shadow twitched; every sound was a cocked rifle; every passer-by was an NJ7 agent about to pounce.
Jimmy pulled his hoodie over his head and quickened his stride. His heart picked up its pace as well. There was something wrong. It was in the rhythm of his steps – they had an echo. Somebody was following him. He stopped dead. One step later, so did whoever was following. Jimmy pretended to be looking in a shop window. He studied the reflection, comparing every shadow to what he could remember of the street behind him. What had changed? He could feel his gut churning, but was it his programming preparing for a strike, or his fear?
A breeze sent a chill through his body. He couldn’t stay standing in the street like that. It was too exposed. Should he run? I shouldn’t have come out at all, he thought. Even though it was starting to get dark, he felt far too visible. He knew the others were just as vulnerable to an ambush by NJ7. Any of them could be recognised, but Jimmy was the only one equipped to deal with the danger, except for his mother. She had once been a fully trained NJ7 operative, but she’d already been out for a pile of second-hand clothes, the bleach for Jimmy’s hair and basic food supplies. It was too risky for the same person to go out again and they’d needed to replenish their stock of fresh groceries.
Jimmy’s eyes flicked from side to side, checking for even the slightest hint at the presence of the Green Stripe. Am I imagining things? he wondered. Noises, shadows, suspicions – was this the only evidence he had that he was being followed? The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Get back, he ordered himself. Quickly. His instincts were screaming it.
When he turned to carry on walking, he was sure he caught a glimpse of a figure crouching behind one of the cars. Attack me, he urged inside his head. Please, attack. At least if they did, Jimmy would know that he wasn’t going mad and then maybe this whole thing could be over. But no attack came.
Eventually, he was back inside the refuge of the Bed and Breakfast.
“We’ve got to move on,” he shouted out. One by one the others emerged into the hallway. “This is crazy. They know we’re here. I can feel it.”
“Calm down,” his mother reassured him.
“You’re the one that’s crazy,” added Georgie. “If NJ7 knew where we were they would have come to get us.”
“Somebody was following me out there.” Jimmy looked at the faces of the others. Each of them was more filled with doubt and fear.
“Are you sure?” his mother asked. Jimmy didn’t answer. He knew he couldn’t be sure, but he was almost overwhelmed by that jittery feeling. His programming was warning him that there had been somebody else out there in the street. And Jimmy had learned that when his programming told him something, he should trust it – without question.
“We have to wait for Chris,” Helen Coates insisted.
“Why?” Jimmy snapped back. “Why do we have to wait for Chris?”
His mother was astonished. “What do you mean?”
“If this were an NJ7 operation,” Jimmy went on, “would we wait for Chris? Would we? I’m telling you, it’s the wrong decision. We’re running out of money already, and for all we know Chris might not be back for weeks. What if he can’t find a doctor who will help Saffron in secret? What if—”
“We have to give him every chance,” his mother cut in. “Otherwise we’re abandoning the one man who’s done most to help us, aren’t we?”
“Is that really why we’re waiting for him, Mum? Because he helped us?” Jimmy dropped the groceries and rubbed his eyes. “What good does it do him if we wait here? Does he need us? Or do we need him? Do you need him, Mum?”
Everybody stared at him – Felix and Georgie, Felix’s parents, and Jimmy’s mother. Even the couple who used to run the B&B shuffled down the stairs to see what the shouting was about. Jimmy longed to know what was going on in his mother’s mind.
“What if he doesn’t come back at all?” he whispered.
Everybody in the hallway took on a look of horror. But gradually, Jimmy realised none of them was looking at him any more – they were staring straight over his head.
Jimmy spun round to see a black silhouette in the frosted glass of the door. Before he could move, the door handle slowly turned. With a click, the door opened just a crack, and four fingers curled around the wood. The wind swept in, bringing with it the words, “You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked.”
With that, Christopher Viggo was back.
CHAPTER SIX – TWENTY-SEVEN LIVES
Eva stepped into the spotlight with a heavy sigh. The panel had allowed her a break, but it had seemed like only a few seconds – one deep breath and it was over. She had no idea what time it was because the room was one of NJ7’s concrete bunkers, completely enclosed from the outside world. When she turned to face the panel again, she felt like they had been going so long and worked so hard that they had pummelled time itself out of existence.
Her reddish-brown hair was tied back in a pony tail. Her head was spinning and her eyes throbbed from the hours under the intense illumination. She couldn’t even see the people interviewing her from here, though she knew it was a man called Ark Stanton, a psychologist called Dr Amar and a graphic designer. The designer had a clipboard on his lap and the sound of his felt-tip pen scratching against the paper ground at Eva’s nerves. A bead of sweat tickled the back of her neck.
“Let’s return to Jimmy’s temper,” Dr Amar began. His voice was high-pitched – a smug, Scottish whine. “If a wasp stung him, would he respond a) with indifference, b) by saying ‘ouch’ and frowning, c) in some more physical manner or d) by chasing after the wasp and trying to kill it?”
Eva wiped her brow. “I don’t know,” she whimpered. “I told you, I don’t know things like that. This whole thing is ridiculous.”
She couldn’t see the panel, but she could feel them glaring at her even more intensely than the 400-watt bulb that shone in her face. She knew she had to help