Revenge (12 page)

“K,” Jimmy blurted out.

“What?” said Viggo.

“Where’s there a K? A black K on a white background.”

Viggo shrugged and looked around him, but the CIA team was already running towards an adjoining hallway. Jimmy followed, his limbs buzzing with anticipation.

There, by the base of the escalators, was a service door. It, like the walls, was pristine white, but in its centre a sign stood out:
STAIR
K. The writing was big and black, with the K larger than any of the other letters.

Jimmy didn’t hesitate. He clattered through the door, a line of Secret Service agents behind him, with Viggo rushing after them.

Jimmy found himself at the bottom of a narrow stairwell. The neat design of the rest of the place was gone. This was a service area – not meant to be seen by the public. It was still white though, and when Jimmy looked up he could see the silver banister glinting at him from the very top, ten floors up.

Jimmy dashed up the stairs. The hammering of the agents’ boots nearly drowned out the cheering that was coming from the lobby.
The target has arrived
, thought Jimmy.

The next floor up he barely paused. There was
nothing out of the ordinary there – just a door out into the gallery and more stairs. So Jimmy kept running. With each flight of stairs, he felt his confidence rising. Was it his programming drawing him closer to the assassin or was it Jimmy – the real Jimmy – boosted by the company of half a dozen agents? They were following him, trusting him, relying on him.

But then Jimmy had to stop. There were no more stairs. He’d reached the top floor sooner than he’d expected, and though he was barely out of breath, he felt that lurch of doubt again. There was nothing here.

“Rainbow stripes,” he announced quickly. “That’s the next thing. Where are they?”

There was nothing to see. The walls were as white here as they were everywhere else.

“Where are they?” he yelled.

“Jimmy, calm down,” Viggo panted, resting with his hands on his knees. “There’s nothing here. You must have made a mistake.”

“No!” snapped Jimmy. But one of the agents was already murmuring into his radio.

“There’s nothing up here,” he was saying. “You can let the President into the main hall. Proceed as planned.”

Jimmy spun round, desperate for the next clue. Nothing was going to stop him. There was no time to wait around and no chance of him giving in. Inside, his programming was crying out, hungry to move on. But
where was there to go?

“What’s up there?” Jimmy asked, frantic. He was pointing above his head, to the light embedded in the ceiling panels.

“I take it you’re not asking whether there’s a heaven,” Viggo replied, raising an eyebrow. “But otherwise, you’re just pointing to the ceiling.”

“There’s nothing up there,” one of the CIA agents cut in. “You can unscrew the light fitting to access the wiring, but it’s nowhere near big enough for a person to fit through.”

Jimmy looked around at the agents. They all had broad shoulders and muscles that looked like bridges across their chests – even the women. But recently, Jimmy had come to know that sometimes the deadliest packages are also the smallest.

“What about a child?” he snarled.

Jimmy slipped his radio into his pocket and climbed on to Viggo’s shoulders. Balancing on his knees, he reached up to the light fitting. The light beamed into his face. It was so strong he had to look away, but he felt round its edges.

“Ah!” he cried, pulling his hands away. “It’s hot.”

“Of course it’s hot, you idiot. What did you expect?” Viggo’s voice came out strained. Jimmy was obviously heavier than he’d expected.

Jimmy took a deep breath and went back to the task. He was just going to have to shut out the pain. He summoned his programming from within. It quickly swirled round his head, and now when Jimmy reached for the edges of the light fitting, the burning was reduced to a tingling. With one tug, the fitting came loose and Jimmy unscrewed it until the light was dangling from its wire. That left a hole about fifteen centimetres across – not anywhere near big enough for Jimmy to fit through.

He slipped his hand into the hole and reached for the edges of the ceiling panel. His fingers brushed over a screw at the corner.

“How about going a little slower up there?” Viggo called out sarcastically.

Jimmy responded by digging his heel into Viggo’s chin. Gradually, one by one, Jimmy was able to undo the screws that held the panel in place. Then he carefully lifted the whole thing off its resting place. The square hole was still only about thirty centimetres by thirty centimetres, but just as Jimmy had expected, it was now possible for a child to crawl into the ceiling.

Jimmy hauled himself up. It was a tight squeeze. He went head first. He had to wriggle and push to get his shoulders through, but he made it.

“Looks like you’re on your own, mate,” said Viggo, his face red from holding Jimmy up for so long. “When you’ve realised there’s nothing up there, I’ll be waiting here.”

Jimmy nodded, refusing to let Viggo’s doubt get to him.

“And if you do find anything,” added one of the agents nervously, “use your radio.”

Jimmy didn’t even wait to nod again. With only enough room to lie flat on his belly, he shuffled away.

It was much darker up here. The air was dusty and hot. He was closed in on either side by metal struts that created a narrow path, barely wide enough for him to
crawl through. He moved himself steadily onwards with his elbows, not even knowing which direction he was going in. Yet the more he thought about it, the more certain he became.

There was no evidence to back up his premonition, but it made absolute sense to him that somewhere up here there was an NJ7 assassin waiting for the chance to kill the President. And it had to be Mitchell. Who else from NJ7 could fit through these small spaces?

Jimmy wiped his face with the back of his hand. The dust was getting up his nose. He tried to see what was waiting for him up ahead, and his night-vision helped to enhance the shapes, but there were too many obstacles in the way – metal struts, wires, pipes and all kinds of debris. It was like a maze that nobody was ever meant to wander into.

Jimmy kept going, breathing hard. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and his muscles started throbbing from his awkward position. Then something in the dust caught his attention.

If nobody had ever crawled around up here, how come there was an area where the dust had been wiped away? It looked like a trail. Jimmy pushed more strength into his arms, picking up his pace, but remaining silent. The noise and lights of the Museum seemed like a different world from this. There was only silence up here. Once he thought he could hear Viggo
shouting to him, but it was impossible to make anything out clearly.

Jimmy followed the trail, a smile breaking out across his face. Mitchell had thrown him into an industrial shredder and nearly strangled him on top of a taxi. Both times Jimmy had been taken by surprise.
Your turn now
, Jimmy thought. The idea of getting his own back sent a gleam to his eyes. They flashed in the shadows.

Then, up ahead, he saw the silhouette of a figure.
Definitely a child
, Jimmy said to himself with delight. The figure was outlined against a grate of some kind. It threw strips of bright light onto his back. Jimmy realised that Mitchell was looking out over the main hall, watching the press conference – waiting to kill.

Jimmy felt a warm surge of confidence. He had been right to trust in his programming. It had led him to the assassin and he was going to save the President’s life. For a second, he thought about using the radio to send out an alert. But he immediately realised that would be the worst thing he could do. The noise would tell Mitchell he’d been discovered and he’d shoot straight away. There wouldn’t be time for the agents on the floor of the hall to pull the President to safety.

Jimmy inched closer. But as he did, he saw that the silhouette wasn’t Mitchell at all. Jimmy gasped. He
couldn’t help it. As soon as the sound escaped his lips, the assassin in him regretted that momentary lapse of control. The figure turned to look at him. It was Zafi.

She didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second. Her speed took Jimmy by surprise. She rolled to the side, grabbed one of the metal struts and swung herself round it, launching both feet at Jimmy’s head. They landed with an awesome crunch in his jaw. Jimmy’s head rocked back with the impact, jarring his neck.

He wasn’t going to let that finish him off though. Far from it. Jimmy used the impetus of Zafi’s kick to pull himself out of her reach. He flipped on to his back and grabbed the wires that ran along the ceiling. Zafi kicked out at him again. Just in time, Jimmy pulled himself completely off the floor. Zafi’s legs swept beneath him, hurting nothing but the air.

The next second, Jimmy dropped himself down. He caught Zafi’s ankle and skilfully redirected it towards one of the support struts. Bone clanged into metal.

“
Zut!
” Zafi exclaimed, wincing at the pain in her ankle. She quickly brushed it off and the pair of them swung round the struts. Sometimes they used them for protection, then the next moment they would launch themselves off them into their opponent. It was a horizontal acrobatics display, with the pace and power of fireworks on fast-forward.

Jimmy ducked behind a strut. For a split-second he was sheltered. He reached into his pocket, clutching at his radio set, fumbling for the alert button.

“That won’t work up here,” Zafi announced in a scolding tone. “These are structural supports.” She crawled towards him, tantalisingly slowly. “We’re surrounded by so much metal and concrete that the only signal that makes it through is from the cellphone mast on the roof. And that’s only because it’s right above our heads, and it’s about ten thousand times bigger than the aerial on your radio.”

Jimmy mashed the alert button over and over, but he knew Zafi was right. Nothing was happening. Then, in the instant that Jimmy’s fingers were occupied on his radio set, Zafi launched a devastating attack. She swooped between the struts. Jimmy swerved to the side. He thought he was out of Zafi’s way, but she twisted in a zigzag and landed with her head in Jimmy’s midriff.

Jimmy crumpled in half.
How does she put so much
power into a single blow?
his mind cried out. He pushed away the pain, letting his programming swallow him up. Zafi shoved him against the side and pulled his hands behind him. Jimmy’s face pressed up against the grate. He could feel Zafi’s breath on the back of his neck and the warmth of her body squeezed up against his. Her hair smelled of coconut. He wrenched his shoulders round to shake her off him, but Zafi had him locked down.

While he was blinking at the dazzling white on the other side of the grate, Zafi sent two sharp kicks at one of the iron supports. The top of it snapped like it was made of chocolate. Then Zafi heaved on it with all her weight, bending it down and twisting it, still managing to keep Jimmy in place with her thighs. She crushed his hands under her knee. Finally, she pulled the metal strut over Jimmy’s wrists.

He could wriggle and shout, but he was stuck.

“Nice to see you, Jimmy,” Zafi cooed. “But don’t disturb me at work again.”

Jimmy didn’t bother struggling any more. He pushed his hands apart to try to break the metal, but his arms were behind him and that made them much weaker. He twisted his shoulders, trying to loosen the metal. His wrists grated against the sharp edges.

A centimetre from his eyes was the lattice side-panel, and beyond that a perfect aerial view of the press conference. The hall was packed with journalists, all fighting to get their questions answered before anybody else’s. Dozens of bald heads bobbed up and down for attention.

Security agents lined the walls and the area in front of the two heads of state. Jimmy immediately recognised Paduk, He was a lot taller than any other agent, with a skull that looked as if it was constructed out of industrial scaffolding.

Behind him stood Ian Coates. They weren’t directly above him, so Jimmy could see the man’s face. He
gulped at the sight of his ex-father, expecting to be overcome by sadness, or anger, or even relief – anything. But everything inside him was numb. His gut contorted, desperate to grab hold of any emotion. But Jimmy’s head refused to feel.
He doesn’t deserve that
, he thought.
He’s nothing
.

A click pulled Jimmy out of his thoughts. He looked up at Zafi. Her attention was focused on a black metal rod nearly a metre long. She carefully screwed it into something shaped like the handle of a revolver. The light shimmered off it. Zafi was building her assassination weapon. Her slim fingers worked efficiently, covered in those black leather gloves she had been wearing last time they met.

When the rod was in place, she reached to her side and from a brown leather satchel she produced a coil. It was about half a metre of thick metal and the silver shone out of the shadows. Zafi placed it over the metal rod and secured it in place. If this was a gun, it wasn’t like any one Jimmy had ever seen.

“How’s Felix?” Zafi asked, without even turning to look at him. Even so, Jimmy knew there was a hint of a smile on her face. Clearly, all this was still amusing to her. She flicked her hair back behind her ear.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jimmy replied, choking back the dust in the air. “There’s no reason to kill anybody.”

“What if it avoids a war?” Zafi shot back immediately. “Killing could save lives.”

Jimmy didn’t know how to answer. “But, but…”

“Stop snivelling,” Zafi ordered. “This is nothing to do with us.”

“What? So who else is there up here?”

Zafi giggled.

“You’re cute,” she mewed. “But you know what I mean. This isn’t our responsibility.” Her hands were busy mounting her weapon on a tripod that she’d put together out of the pieces in her bag. Then she detached the leather strap of her satchel and fastened it to her weapon, tying the other end round the tripod. Everything was held in place perfectly. “Nothing we do is up to us. It’s in our blood. It’s in our instincts. Don’t you feel it too?” At last she glanced at Jimmy.

Her eyes caught the light. The sight of her, so calm, almost smiling, with one gloved hand wrapped around the handle of her weapon, sent a ferocious anger through Jimmy’s veins.

“Take control!” he yelled. “Of course it’s your responsibility. Who else has their finger on the trigger?”

“Oh, Jimmy,” Zafi sighed, smiling sweetly. “That’s just the last moment in a chain of events that started a long, long time ago. It’s not my fault. It just happens to be my finger. My actions obey my programming, and my programming had nothing to do with me.”

She turned back to look down the length of the metal rod. She took aim.

“Stop!” Jimmy pleaded. He writhed against his makeshift handcuffs, squirming with all the strength he could muster. But there was nothing he could do.

Zafi pulled the trigger.