Survival

One minute it was a man-made wonder of the world:
Neptune’s Shadow, the second largest oil rig in the
world. Its lights glowed in the black fog of the North
Sea, like an alien space ship. Towers craned out in
all directions, metal arms trying to grab a piece of
the night, while the pistons and pumps worked
ceaselessly, dragging up the liquor from the belly
of the world.

The next minute, it was a raging mountain of fire
that lit up the whole of the night, a beacon visible as
far away as Denmark. The noise of the blast shook
birds from their nests in Northern Scotland. The
source of billions of pounds for the British Government
erupted with more rage than Mount Vesuvius.

In the morning it blew up again a million times,
flashing across TV screens in digital reconstructions
and vivid newspaper reports, each one exaggerating
the size of the explosion a little more, and on the
Internet, where people discussed why and how it had
happened – and what the Prime Minister was going
to do about it.

And it exploded over and over again in the mind of
the one person who had survived actually being there

– Jimmy Coates.

First it was a light on the dashboard, then a clunk in the
engine. Jimmy had been expecting this for the last three
hours.
I could ditch the plane in the water
, he thought.
At that moment he was somewhere over the middle of
the Atlantic Ocean and a part of his brain was already
working out the best angle for the Falcon 20 to hit the
waves. He could even feel the muscles in his shoulders
warming, preparing for the longest swim of his life.

He gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead out of
the cockpit. He knew ditching wasn’t an option. He had
to reach Europe. Then came the answer.

The plane rocked slightly. A roar drowned out the
sound of the Falcon’s engines. Jimmy peered upwards,
squinting at the brightness of the sky. There it was – the
shadow of a commercial jet looming above him.

“Time to catch a ride,” Jimmy whispered under his
breath. He glanced one more time at the fuel gauges.
They were deep in the red zone. He powered the Falcon
higher, his fingers gliding over the plane’s controls.
Blood covered his palms – black, coagulated blood that
left sticky marks on every switch and button. But they
were healing already. He could feel it. The pain was far
away, buried by his senses. He stared at his hands, but
saw past the shredded streaks of red and black skin to
the dull grey layer underneath.

Next to the Airbus A490, Jimmy’s Falcon was like
a fly around the back end of a hippopotamus. Jimmy
was stunned at the enormousness of the plane. He
guessed it must have been nearly a hundred metres
long, with an even larger wingspan. Its deep rumble
vibrated in Jimmy’s chest.

Sooner than he eXpected, Jimmy was flying just a few
metres beneath it.
Please
work
, Jimmy begged,
searching inside himself. He knew it was the force inside
him that had put this plan into action. Jimmy could never
have dreamed up anything so outrageous without it.

He let the world fall into a blur, focusing all his energy
on a point deep inside, somewhere between his
stomach and the base of his spine. His inner power was
coming. It had to be. It was destined to take over.

Then came the familiar buzz. His muscles flooded
with energy. His neck fizzed and his brain throbbed.
Jimmy was full of hatred and eXhilaration
simultaneously. This would save him, but there was a
tiny voice inside that knew this power would also
eventually destroy him.

Jimmy jerked on the sidestick controller and the
nose of his plane hurtled towards the airbus. Just as
he thought he was going to burn to death in a mid-air
collision, the Falcon was lifted back and upwards,
wafted away on a cushion of air – the slipstream from
the airbus engine.

At that moment, Jimmy cut the power to the Falcon’s
engines. The dull whine disappeared and Jimmy was
deafened by the thundering of the airbus and the roar of
the air blasting past. Violent turbulence rocked him in his
seat. He gripped the flightstick more tightly, desperate
to control the shifting of the plane’s weight. He was
surfing on air.

“Hey, look at this, Pritchie,” said the airbus pilot, sitting
forward in his seat. A fragment of lettuce fell from his
sandwich. His co-pilot had his cap down over his eyes
and didn’t bother to move.

“What is it?” His voice was gruff.

“Message,” replied the pilot, taking another bite of
his sandwich. “En-route controller. Something about a
ghost on the radar.”

“Ghost?” Pritchie reluctantly heaved himself into an
upright position and set his cap back on his head. “That’s,
like, two blips where there should be one, no?”

“Well, it’s not some dude in a white sheet, is it?”

They both peered at the data link system. Then they
checked their panel displays, both suddenly very alert.

“Found anything?” asked the pilot. Pritchie shook
his head.

“Hey, what’s this?” he said. “Another message.”

Together they studied the communications system
again. The pilot shrugged.

“Huh,” he started. “Funny. Must have been a glitch.”

“A glitch?”

“Well, we’ve found nothing and now they’re saying
things are back to normal.”

“Guess that’s why they call them ghosts.”

They looked at each other for a second, each trying
to work out if the other was going to make a big deal
out of this or just get on with the flight. Eventually
Pritchie broke into a smile.

“Let’s hope it wasn’t a flock of birds heading for an
engine,” he said with a rough laugh, reclining in his seat
and putting his cap back over his eyes.

“No worries,” the pilot snorted. “I don’t smell any
roast chicken.”

Jimmy was riding the slipstream expertly. The slightest
twitch of his muscles made tiny adjustments in the
balance of the plane. Gradually he manoeuvred down and
to the centre, where the airflow was strongest. If he was
going to get away with this, he knew he needed to stay
as close as possible to the airbus so the air-traffic
control radar system would read the two planes as
a single entity.

Now all he had to do was stay there until they
reached Europe. Then he’d have to work out a way to
land. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

“Shall we get started then?” Miss Bennett announced
brightly.

Eva Doren felt like a schoolgirl. But unlike most thirteen-year-
olds, she wasn’t at school. She was at an operations
room deep under the streets of Central London, in the
bunkers of NJ7, the most technologically advanced and
well-funded Secret Service organisation in the world.

She didn’t think there were many girls who came to
work every day at a place like this: three breeze block
walls, bare grey except for the multicoloured horizontal
stripes of the electrical circuitry, and a fourth, newly
installed glass partition which allowed extra light in from
the corridor.

The doorway was an empty arch – there were hardly
any doors at NJ7 Headquarters. The place was
designed so that if it was ever evacuated it could be
completely flooded by the Thames within two minutes,
to protect all of the secrets it held.

“I thought we were waiting for someone?” said Eva.

“We are,” replied Miss Bennett. “But he’s late. So
we’ll start without him.”

Eva pulled her ponytail tighter to stop her reddish-
brown hair falling about her neck, and brought out a
notepad and pencil from the top pocket of her shirt. She
was sitting at a glass conference table big enough for
twelve, but for now there were only three.

Miss Bennett was to her immediate right, sitting
totally upright. Her hair was also pulled back in a tight
ponytail, but it was longer than Eva’s and, Eva thought,
glossier. At times Eva almost wondered whether Miss
Bennett became more beautiful with every cruel act.

Miss Bennett sifted through a pile of folders, all of
them plain brown apart from the NJ7 emblem on the
front – a short, vertical green stripe. Then she
produced a tiny digital recorder and placed it at the
centre of the table. She pressed a button, cleared her
throat and began, in a business-like tone:

“Present is NJ7 Field Agent Mitchell Glenthorne and
Support Staff Eva Doren…”

She continued with some of the details of the meeting,
while Eva watched Mitchell, sitting directly opposite her.
His eyes were downcast, as they often were, but his
shoulders seemed to grow broader, pumped with pride at
hearing himself described as a ‘field agent’.

“Oh, and also present is myself, of course,” Miss
Bennett added. “Miss Bennett, Director of NJ7.”

As she finished, a shadow fell across the table.
Standing in the doorway was an incredibly tall man. Eva
thought he was the tallest man she had ever seen, but
he didn’t look strong or muscly. He was so thin Eva
wondered whether someone had stretched him out when
he was a teenager. He had to stoop to enter the room.

“Ah,” Miss Bennett said, leaning back and giving a
dry smile. “It looks like our guest has decided to join us.”

The tall man didn’t respond, but took the seat
directly opposite Miss Bennett. His features looked
vaguely Indian, with a nose that was the same shape as
the rest of him – long and thin. His hair was dark black
and shaved on the sides of his head, which made him
look even taller.

“Do we have to have a kid at every meeting?” the man
asked, even before he had pushed his legs under the
table. He stared at Eva. She felt her heart pounding, but
didn’t flinch. She’d learned to hide her emotions. “I can
understand the need for Mitchell to be here, but, erm…”

“Eva,” said Eva. She felt the urge to stand up, but
resisted. It would only have made her feel even more
tiny opposite this giant. Instead she dropped her eyes to
her notepad and started scribbling.

“Eva plays a vital part in the running of NJ7,” Miss
Bennett explained, “and in particular my office.”

“Isn’t it time we sent her home?” the man protested.

“From what I understand her parents think she’s dead.”
Only now did Eva look up.
Look
homesick
, she told
herself. She was surprised at how easily the fake
emotion came to her. Was it fake?
Play the part. Be the
loyal little girl
. She could almost feel Mitchell’s examining
gaze, but kept her own fixed on this new man’s face.

“How long are you going to maintain that…
situation?” he asked.

“Indefinitely,” Miss Bennett snapped back. “Someone of
your background must know how useful it is for the world
to think you’re dead. By the way, what is your background?”

Eva relaxed a little. Miss Bennett was an expert at
manipulating the conversation. It was a thrill to have
someone so powerful on her side. The man had no answer.
He just gave a reluctant smile, lips pressed together.

It was Mitchell who filled the silence.

“Without Eva,” he explained, “we would never have
been able to kill Jimmy Coates in New York.”

Now Eva’s heart rate leapt again, but this time with
elation. Mitchell was still watching her. She made sure
that her face revealed nothing.
You serve
your
country
, she repeated in her head, telling herself lies
to fool her body.
Jimmy
was a traitor
. At the same
time every sinew buzzed with joy that her friend had
escaped New York in secret – and alive.

At last the man gave a small shrug and pulled out
his files.

“This is William Lee,” Miss Bennett announced to Eva
and Mitchell. “The new Director of Special Security. He
replaces Paduk.”

The tall man offered his hand to them with an over-the-
top grin, revealing a shiny regiment of teeth. Eva
shook his hand, but Mitchell refused it. They had no
choice about the grin.

“You’ve been appointed already?” Mitchell asked,
confused. “Paduk’s body is still warm. Probably.
Wherever it is.”

“It’s highly unlikely that his body is still warm,” Lee
replied calmly, “now that he’s scattered in tiny pieces
around ten square kilometres of the North Sea. Not to
mention all of the bits of him that were probably
consumed by fish…”

“Thanks for the graphic sketch,” Miss Bennett
interrupted. “I think we get the picture.”

“Which picture is that exactly?” asked Lee
sarcastically. “The one in which our largest oil rig
explodes? The one where my predecessor bumbles into
a rescue job and gets himself blown up? Or the one
where our economy and energy infrastructure will
struggle to recover?”

There was silence and they all avoided each other’s
eyeline.

“That’s one of the things we need to discuss, isn’t
it?” Miss Bennett muttered, gesturing at her files.

“Go ahead,” said Lee.

Miss Bennett pulled out several sheets of paper and
spread them around the table. Eva leaned forward to
have a look, but she’d seen them already. Some were
photographs of the remains of the oil rig, but most were
closely-typed pages – the report from the SAS. They all
bore the same bold green stripe.

“According to my forensic team,” Miss Bennett
began, “all the evidence suggests it was a botched
sabotage job carried out by a single agent.”

“One agent?” Lee confirmed. “An agent who didn’t
intend to blow himself up as well as the rig, yes?”

“It was a girl,” Mitchell cut in. Everybody turned to
him.

“Mitchell was there,” Miss Bennett explained. “Part
of the SAS team.”

“I see,” mumbled Lee. “And you saw the agent?”
Mitchell nodded.

“She was masked and covered in oil, but from her
size and capabilities, it was definitely Zafi.”

“Zafi is…” William Lee took a moment to consult one
of the pages in his own files. “…the French child
assassin, correct? Mitchell’s counterpart? Another
genetically modified humanoid assassin?” He grunted a
dry laugh.

“Humanoid?” Mitchell exclaimed in horror. “What do
you—”

“Yes.” Miss Bennett cut him off sharply. “Zafi is the
French child assassin.”

“
Was
,” Mitchell corrected. “She was blown up with
the rig, remember?”

“Do we have her body?” Lee asked brightly.

“I said she was blown up. You know –
kaboom
!” Mitchell
gestured an explosion with his hands. “As in ‘scattered
in tiny pieces around ten square kilometres of the North
Sea’. Do you want me to hunt down all those fish you were
talking about and make them give excrement samples?”

“OK, fine. So the French blew up the oil rig, but now
at least their operative is dead. The question is, how do
we strike back?”

“The PM has my dossier on that,” said Miss Bennett.

“The PM has read your dossier. But I’m afraid he’s been
unwell. Everything goes through me for the time being.”

“You?” Miss Bennett was taken aback, but quickly hid
it. Lee perused his files, then carried on as if Miss
Bennett weren’t even there.

“Mutam-ul-it,” he announced. The strange word
seemed to linger on his tongue and in the air. “I have a
strong suspicion we’ll be going with that option. Have
everybody on standby.”

He got up to leave and Eva was shocked at his
height all over again. It was almost as if he’d grown
during the meeting.

While he gathered his papers a thought struck him.

“By the way, did you see the memo about my
predecessor’s memorial service tomorrow?”

“I see every memo,” Miss Bennett hissed.

“It’s at the Mercantile Marine Memorial,” he
continued. “The PM is expecting everybody to be there.
Paduk was his friend.”

“Of course we’ll be there,” said Mitchell. “Paduk was
our friend too.”

“And one more thing,” Lee added, ignoring Mitchell’s
annoyance. “What about this Jimmy Coates? Anything
to worry about there?”

“The file is closed.” Miss Bennett pulled a slim brown
folder from the middle of her pile and threw it across
the table. One page slid out. In the top right corner was
a grainy image of Jimmy’s face, next to yet another
green stripe. Large red letters were stamped across
his forehead. They read ‘TERMINATED’. Under that was
typed ‘New York, USA’.

“I know all of this,” Lee snarled, looking down his
nose at the file. “But do we have a body yet?”

“Another tasty meal for the fish,” Mitchell cut in
with a smirk.

“There are no fish in the East River,” Lee said,
reading the details more closely. “Too much pollution.”
There was a moment’s pause, then he tossed the file
back on to the table and shot an expectant look at the
others. “Well?”

“We had divers trawl the river,” Miss Bennett
explained with a sigh.

“No bodies?” asked Lee.

“Too many bodies actually.”

“Children?” Lee was shocked.

“This is New York we’re talking about.” Miss Bennett
shrugged. “We’re not the only organisation to use children
as operatives. There’s the Mafia, the Triads, the Capita…”

The thought made Eva’s skin crawl. Could there
really be that many people in the world prepared to kill
children, and to use children as killers?

“In any case, Jimmy could breathe underwater,”
Mitchell put in. “He could have drifted miles before
finally dying.”

Miss Bennett agreed. “The search area is far too big
for us to cover,” she said with another shrug. “And
without jurisdiction…”

“But we’re sure he’s dead,” Lee asked, stooping to
lean one hand on the table. He and Miss Bennett stared
at each other. She slowly nodded.

“That many bullets in him? We’re sure.”

Lee absorbed the information, nodded, then
marched out without another word. Miss Bennett
waved Mitchell out of the room as well. He gave her
an awkward salute before he left and dropped a
nervous glance at Eva.

Before Eva could follow the others, Miss Bennett
held up a hand. She leaned to the centre of the table
and tapped the stop button on the digital recorder.
Concentration furrowed her brow.

“Find out about that man,” she whispered, without
looking up.

“William Lee?” Eva frowned. “Find out what?”

“Everything. Where he’s come from, who he is and
what he wants.”

“What he wants? What do you mean?”

“Everybody wants something.” Miss Bennett slowly
tapped her finger on the table and raised her eyes to
Eva. “If you find out what it is, you find their weakness.”