Jimmy Coates (13 page)

Jimmy raced through the grounds of Chisley Hall, constantly scanning the surroundings to judge the timing of his explosions. He set off two in quick succession, distracting and dispersing the security force. One of the earlier blasts had sparked a small fire. The flames were just visible, threatening to leap over from outside the wall into the gardens.
Chaos
, thought Jimmy.
Perfect.

He twisted through a walled rose garden, crunching the gravel with confidence and strength. His pre-planned escape route was waiting, and there was nothing to get in his way. If only he could be as certain that Saffron had escaped ahead of him. Where was she?

For Jimmy, getting out of the house had been a relatively simple matter of using the narrow corridors to his advantage. One attacker at a time, he'd fought his way out with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of efficiency. Chisley Hall may have been a fortress, but it wasn't designed to defend against attackers who were already inside.

He emerged from the rose garden by the perimeter wall, but his pace never relented. He ran through the flowerbeds along the line of the wall, flicking his eyes ahead, searching for his marker. Less than an hour before, he'd found the only corner of the estate that met woodland, not open field, and he'd expertly cut the branches of the trees outside the wall. He'd created a blind tunnel – a passage away from the perimeter wall that was completely masked from the security cameras. As long as he found that spot again, he'd be invisible.

There it was: the white streak down the wall that told him where to climb. Slipped between curls of barbed wire at the top of the wall was the upturned cone of the third Cornetto, the ice-cream filling melted into a clear marker-line down the brickwork.

In seconds Jimmy scaled the wall, one-handed: the box of the computer was held firm under his left arm. The fingers of his right hand dug into the bricks like tunnelling worms, sending tiny cascades of red dust to the ground and gradually accumulating a sticky covering of vanilla ice cream.

At the top, he perched precariously and laid his coat over the barbed wire. He pulled himself over the wall without hesitation, leaving behind the shouts of panic and the sirens. His only obstacle was a fat wood pigeon trying to get to the Cornetto cone. The swivelling security cameras held no threat for him. His preparation with the handsaw had been perfect.

As he scrambled over the bracken, Jimmy pulled his coat back on and awkwardly snatched his phone from the pocket, still careful to keep hold of the computer, and checking that the kiosk hard drive was still in his pocket. The responsibility of carrying people's votes seemed to make all the equipment heavier.

“Where are you?” he barked as soon as Saffron picked up. He hadn't expected her to answer. If she was able to answer her phone it meant she wasn't in danger, and if she wasn't in danger, why hadn't she been there to help him?

“I made it out, Jimmy,” she announced, “I'm OK.”

For a second Jimmy was angry that she'd assumed he would be OK. He swallowed the emotion and ran on, batting away branches from his face.

“You need to come back here and pick me up.” Jimmy glanced around him. Something in his body had kept track of his precise position. “I'm halfway across the field a kilometre to the south of Chisley Hall. I can see a road up ahead. What happened to you? Did you get the data?”

“I'm sorry, Jimmy,” said Saffron. “There were too many of them. They dragged me out of the control room and up to a holding cell. But they couldn't hold me.” Now Jimmy could hear the smile in her voice. “It sounded like there was an explosion in the basement, and they panicked.”

“I'm glad I could help,” Jimmy muttered. “Did it cross your mind that I could have been in trouble?”

“Why would anybody but you be blowing things up in the basement?” Saffron asked with a soft laugh. When Jimmy heard her voice again, it wasn't through the phone. “And if you're blowing things up I know you're OK,” she called out from the window of the Bentley, pulling up on the other side of the road. Jimmy's face melted into a grin.

“So stop moaning and get in,” said Saffron.

 

Christopher Viggo listened to his own heartbeat, consciously willing it to slow down. He breathed deeply, counting the rhythm of his pulse. He didn't know exactly what the Capita had injected into his spine, but whatever it was he had to delay its course through his body. He had to stay focused, stay functioning, and reveal nothing about the H Code. His life depended on it, and so did the lives of Jimmy and all the others. If he revealed his secret, they would be killed as soon as they turned up at the rendezvous.

Viggo couldn't see anything because of the black linen bag tied over his head, so he focused on his other senses. He knew his wrists were bound together behind his back and his ankles were tied to the chair legs. But what had the Capita used for ties? If he could work that out he'd know whether it was worth trying to free himself – and what he would need to do.

Just as he started rubbing his wrists together to test the bindings, he heard the door open.

“Ready for more?” It was the small Capita woman called Miranda by her colleagues. “You should find it very easy to talk to me now. You can't fight what's in your bloodstream.” Viggo didn't respond. Instead he listened. Every piece of information was a vital weapon in his war to stay conscious, to keep his secrets and ultimately, to escape.

“Where is the H Code?” Miranda asked, with a sigh. When there was no reply, she muttered, “You're a fool.”

“What does that make you?” Viggo rasped. His throat was so dry, but he couldn't let his weakness show.

Miranda said nothing. Instead, she slammed her fist into Viggo's stomach. Viggo gasped for air and strained to double over, but the wrist and ankle restraints held him in place.
Pain is good
, he told himself.
Pain will keep you focused.

“How does your precious democracy feel now?” Miranda snorted. “Come on, you had your chance to change the world. You failed. You must be hungry, thirsty… in pain. Give it up,” she insisted. “Give us the H Code and you can go home.”

Viggo heard the clink of glass.

“Tell me now and we can share a lemonade,” said Miranda. Viggo heard her scrape the bottle against the wall to remove the cap. The cool fizz of the drink seemed to rush through Viggo's blood, spreading pain, desperation.
No
, he told himself.
The others will come.
Hold on.
Just a little longer.
But the noises tormented him: Miranda glugging the liquid down her neck, her satisfied sigh, the metal bottle cap still tinkling on the concrete floor.

“A toast,” Miranda announced. “To democracy!”

Without even waiting for Viggo to respond, she thumped the base of the lemonade bottle into his cheek so hard that he reeled backwards and toppled to the floor, still attached to the chair.

Rope
, Viggo realised at last, crashing on to the concrete.
They've used rope.

 

“How long until the meeting with the Capita?” Jimmy asked, as the countryside rushed past at Saffron's usual sharp pace.

“Long enough,” said Saffron. “We need to get this stuff straight to the UN Inspector first.”

“What if we have… nothing.” He drummed his fingers on the black computer box in his lap, while the smaller hard drive nestled in his coat pocket.

“We have no choice,” Saffron said, not sounding certain. From her face, she was obviously still working things out in her head.

“But what if we give it to the UN guy,” said Jimmy softly, gathering his composure, “tell him everything we know to convince him to have a look at it, then when he does it turns out to be full of, I dunno, the laundry receipts. We'll be going in to face the Capita with nothing!”

“There must be
something
on there,” Saffron muttered, sounding like she was trying to convince herself.

Jimmy smoothed his hands across the metal casing, brushing off the dust and debris from his escape from Chisley Hall. They had to take the risk of presenting what they had to the UN Inspector while they could still get to him. If they had nothing, at least they might convince the man to investigate further.
We'll be persuasive
, Jimmy thought, in a voice that wasn't his own. It felt vicious, determined. But it felt so right.

“I'll text Mum,” he announced suddenly, trying to distract himself from the violence lurking inside. “I'll tell her we got it.” He pulled out his phone and started texting. “They'll need to keep the UN guy at the hotel until we get there. How long?”

“Am I driving too slowly for you?” Saffron slammed her foot down and the Bentley smoothly surged forward. It was like sitting in a rocket – a rocket with heated seats and full leather interior.

 

Another plane ripped through the clouds overhead and Georgie couldn't help following it with her binoculars.

“This one's going to Spain,” she muttered, not expecting her mother to hear. Georgie's binoculars were pressed up against the window, which she could feel vibrating with the drone of the plane even though it was the thickest pane of glass she'd ever seen. Helen Coates was sitting on the bed behind her, checking her phone.

“Keep your eyes on the limos,” she said firmly.

They were on the fifth floor of the hotel opposite the Langley Georgian, in the cheapest room available that overlooked the Langley's forecourt. Georgie swivelled the binoculars back to where they were meant to be aimed.

“They're on their way,” Helen announced, a slight tremor in her voice.

“Did they get it?” Georgie asked.

Helen took a deep breath. “Jimmy said they did,” she sighed, not at all convinced.

“That's great!” Georgie turned from the window and was surprised by the serious expression on her mum's face. “Isn't it?”

“We'll see,” said Helen calmly. “It's only half the job, isn't it? It's going to take them a while to get here. An hour or two at least. According to Eva, Dr Longville's meant to leave on a plane in forty minutes.” She let the numbers hang in the air for a moment, then nodded towards the window. “Keep watching the drivers. They'll tell us when our target's on his way down.”

Georgie didn't need to keep watching much longer.

“I think it's happening,” she said less than a minute later. “They both just got a phone call within a few seconds of each other.”

“Now what are they doing?” Helen jumped up and joined her daughter at the window.

“The one that's been asleep for ages is putting his tie back on. The other one's checking himself in the rear-view mirror.”

“Signal Felix,” Helen ordered. “Time to move.”

 

Felix wandered through the corridors of the Langley Georgian Hotel, which stretched out for what seemed like miles. He had never seen a hotel so big, nor one with a fountain and a grand piano in the lobby. But now he felt like the carpeted quiet was closing in around him, stifling his breathing. He knew that at every step he was being tracked by cameras. How much longer did he have to pretend to be making his way to his parents' room? If any hotel staff happened to notice him on surveillance, his casual air wouldn't help him. He'd be challenged. Politely at first, but then he'd quickly be in trouble.

He could feel the sweat crawling down his neck. From somewhere the drone of a Hoover started up. Felix had already passed two cleaners, one of whom had eyed him suspiciously. He hoped his smile had been enough to stop her enquiring about him. Now that noise drilled into his head.
How does Jimmy live like this all the time?
he asked himself. Suddenly he jumped and let out a silent gasp. It was a moment before he realised that what had shocked him was the vibration of his mobile phone in his pocket.

It buzzed once, then stopped. That was the only signal he needed. It was time to move. He picked up his pace and strode towards the lobby. He got there just in time to see Dr Newton Longville, Chief UN Inspector, exiting the lifts with an entourage of three other men.
Security
, Felix realised with a jolt of panic. But he couldn't change his plan now. Dr Longville was already marching past the fountain towards the door. In another second he'd be gone, and any chance of exposing the corruption of the election would go with him.

“Dr Longville,” Felix panted, scampering after him. Two of the security agents swivelled to face him. Longville just glanced over his shoulder, while the third security guard stood in the doorway. All around them hotel staff looked on. The receptionists obviously weren't sure whether to intervene. If anybody else had tried to intercept such an important American guest, the security guards and the hotel staff would instantly have swooped into action to put a stop to it. But this was a child. And that had made them hesitate. That's why Helen had sent Felix to do the job. He could still hear her instructions in his mind:
you have to delay him. Do whatever you can to keep him at the hotel.
It had sounded to simple, but now Felix could feel everybody's eyes on him.
Time for a show
, he thought.