Survival (14 page)

Zafi waited for the silence to fill the whole sewer. She
held Viggo’s intense gaze. “That’s a long message,”
she whispered at last, raising one eyebrow.

“Will you pass it on?”

Zafi shrugged very slowly and shook off Viggo’s grip.

“I might forget it,” she whimpered. “I’m only a child,
remember?” She gave her sweetest smile, then
brushed past Viggo to the other exit. “I’ll find my own
way out, thanks.”

Jimmy felt consumed by heat. Sweat crawled all over him.
His mind was a mess of colours and shadows.
I’m not
dreaming
, he told himself.
I don’t see my dreams
. He
didn’t feel asleep, yet he knew these visions weren’t reality.

It’s a drug
, Jimmy finally remembered.
Where am I
?
The parade of images flashed faster and faster, and the
colours became objects: a mug of tea, a black K, a green
stripe, a paper clip, Marla’s face, the fuel gauge of an
aeroplane, his old bedroom, the freezer from the kitchen
at home… they all spun into each other. Then suddenly
they vanished and Jimmy saw a clear, hot, blue sky.

It’s not real
, he told himself.
It’s still not real
. But he
wasn’t sure any more. He saw that he was lying on his
back in the desert. And bent over his middle, their
heads dipped, was a flock of huge brown vultures.
Jimmy wanted to shoo them away, but couldn’t move.
Then that urge melted and he felt a strange new feeling
rush over him. Was that gratitude? Were these
vultures trying to help him?

Wake up
, Jimmy screamed inside his head. The cry
was lost in the heat and the sounds of the birds
pecking. That noise grew louder and louder until finally
the largest of the birds lifted its head and stared
straight at Jimmy.

In his delirious apparition, Jimmy felt genuine horror.
This bird wasn’t like the others. It was a deep black, not
brown, and where the others had eyes like glowing blue
pebbles, this one had no eyes at all. And yet Jimmy still
felt it staring. Then he saw its beak – a thick, green hook.
From it hung a smooth pink ball, dripping with blood.

Jimmy realised that the birds had ripped open his
belly and were consuming the contents. The black bird
was eating Jimmy’s stomach. It opened its beak, while
the entrails dangled out of the corner, and let out a
squawk. Jimmy had never felt such terror. The noise
exploded from the bird’s throat and seemed to form
a word that blasted across the desert:

“Lies!”

Jimmy screamed. He felt it in his chest and almost
ripping the lining of his throat. His eyes shot open. His
heart was hammering. He couldn’t see anything – just the
inside of a black linen bag and a bright white light behind it.

“
E
svèglio
,” said a man’s voice.

Jimmy’s mind absorbed the words and understood
them without him even realising they were Italian.
He’s
awake
, they’d said.

Yes
, Jimmy thought.
I think I am now
.

He tried to move, but discovered his hands, ankles
and knees were fastened to the wooden chair he was
sitting in. He strained them again. They were held
tight. He poured everything into breaking free. He
shook his whole body violently, letting out a great roar
of effort. He could feel the cuffs stretching against the
arms of the chair, which told him they must be plastic
hand ties, but they refused to snap. The attempt had
only made him hotter.

It seemed that the heat in his hallucination had been
real, even if it wasn’t from the desert sun. Jimmy
guessed that if he’d been able to remove the bag from
his head, he’d have seen a huge halogen lamp about 30
centimetres from his head. An old interrogation tactic.
The question was, who was interrogating him and what
did they want to know?

“Where am I?” Jimmy cried. His voice caught in his
throat, it was so dry. “Who are you?” Then,
unexpectedly, that force swept up his neck and surged
through the muscles in his face, like black honey
pumped at a thousand miles an hour. He felt his lips
moving and his voice emerging: “
Dove sono?
” he said,
repeating his questions in Italian. “
Chi sei?
”

There was no response, but Jimmy heard his voice
echoing back to him. He repeated himself, but not for
answers this time – to listen to the echo. As the words
bounced back to him, he felt lines forming in his head.
His mind’s eye was constructing the shell of a building,
estimating the size and shape of his surroundings
based on how his voice rebounded off the walls.

A high ceiling
, Jimmy thought, seeing it take shape
in his head like an architect’s drawing.
Probably about a
hundred metres up, possibly domed. Stone walls, but
enclosing a narrow space, like a long hall
. And there
was something else… Jimmy shouted again. His breath
was hot against the inside of the bag – almost stifling –
but he focused his concentration. His hearing broke
down the echo into hundreds of separate components,
including the tiniest sub-echoes that would be lost to
normal ears.
That’s it,
Jimmy thought in triumph
. A line
of pillars on either side of the hall
.

Then Jimmy started to listen to the breathing of
people around him. Their presence had affected the
echo too and now he started to place them around him,
like dolls in his mental dolls’ house.
Five of them? Six?

Jimmy was only wearing socks, so he could feel the
texture of the floor. It was rough.
Flagstone?
The floor
was cold too, despite the heat coming from the lamp. It
was obvious to Jimmy he wasn’t in Africa any more.

Memories rushed back to him – first the face of Josh
Browder, then, more importantly, what the man had
said about the organisation he worked for: that the
Capita had grown out of old organised crime networks.

Now Jimmy was ready to make his guess. “Rome
has such beautiful churches, doesn’t it?” he announced.

There it was – a barely audible response. Somebody
behind him had changed their breathing pattern. They’d
stifled a gasp. Jimmy smiled.

Suddenly the bag was whipped off his head. Jimmy
was almost blinded by the white light blasting into him
from the spotlight.

“Are they coming?” asked an English voice softly.
Jimmy recognised it as Josh Browder’s.

Jimmy squinted and ducked his head to lessen the
intensity of the light on his face. “I came to you for help,
Browder,” he said calmly. “What do you want from me?”

“Are they coming?” Browder asked again.

“I think I need another cup of tea,” Jimmy snapped back.

Browder laughed. “Your nice cup of tea wore off a long
time ago, Jimmy,” he chortled. “We’ve injected plenty
of other things into you since then.”

Jimmy squirmed again, pulling at the ties that bound
his wrists to the chair.

“It’s nothing serious,” Browder added. “Just
something that will help you tell us the truth. Now…”
He enunciated every word as slowly as possible.
“Are… They… Coming…?”

Jimmy couldn’t see him, but the man’s voice was
circling him.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Jimmy
insisted. “If you think somebody’s coming to find me,
search me for a tracking device.”

“We did,” Browder replied immediately. “We found
nothing.”

“So this is all just for fun?” Jimmy asked quietly. He
could feel his anger stirring in his head, mixing with
the whispers of the invisible figures around him. How
many were there? Then the image of the vultures
chewing on his digestive system lurched back at him
through the glare of the light.

“We’re not playing games, Jimmy,” said Browder
slowly. Then he exploded with rage. “ARE THEY COMING?”

“WHO?!” Jimmy bellowed back, fighting off the
torment in his mind.

“The DGSE? NJ7? CIA… ANYBODY!?”

Jimmy clenched his jaw and rocked ferociously,
battling away the beaks of the vultures. The chair
rattled on the stone floor. “Nobody’s coming!” he cried,
squeezing out every scrap of strength his body could
push through his muscles. “Nobody!”

At last Jimmy felt a blast of power. He slammed his
feet down on to the floor, thrusting his whole body
backwards and the chair with it. The wooden back
landed with a clatter, sending a judder through the
structure. At the same time Jimmy wrenched his arms
upwards, straining against the plastic ties. They didn’t
break – but the chair did.

In a shower of wooden struts and splinters, Jimmy
jumped to his feet. The remains of the chair scattered
about him.

Immediately the people around him pounced. Jimmy
was out of the spotlight now, but its glare had left him
temporarily blinded. All he could see was a black void
and random flashes of dim colour. He felt the first
hands on his shoulders and swivelled sharply to throw
them off. He felt his hand chop into a man’s elbow,
heard a crack then a yelp of pain.

Still unable to see, Jimmy listened. He pinpointed
every attacker’s position by the tap of his step, the shuffle
of his heel or the sharp intake of breath before action.
Every time, Jimmy struck with minimum movement at the
last possible moment. His core stayed almost motionless
while his fists and feet swung around him like a dancer’s,
connecting with the impact of a cannonball.

But there was one noise Jimmy dreaded. And there
it was: the swish of metal on leather. Someone had
drawn a gun from a holster. Jimmy ducked and
swerved. Which way was the exit? Then came the click
of the revolver. Jimmy had to find a way out.

“
Basta!
” The new voice was barely above a whisper.
It was almost drowned out by the sounds of the fight,
but it carried around the church and seemed to stab
straight into the hearts of every one of Jimmy’s
opponents. They all froze. Suddenly there was near total
silence – except for the heavy breathing of half a dozen
men, the blood rushing through Jimmy’s own body and
something else – a tiny buzz and the squeak of rubber
on stone. What was that?

Jimmy squeezed his eyes tight shut. His vision was
starting to clear. Somebody was approaching, but they
were directly in front of the spotlight. Jimmy shielded his
eyes and peered closer. All he could make out was the
outline of a person sitting down. Where had the second
chair come from? Then Jimmy realised – the buzz he’d
heard was the tiny motor of an electric wheelchair.

“Who are you?” Jimmy whispered into the shadows.

The response was even quieter. A man’s voice – old,
with a strong Italian accent – ever so softly announced,
“I am the Capita.”

Jimmy leaned in towards the man to hear the words
more clearly.

“It means ‘the head’,” said the voice, still quiet and
a little croaky. “And a head is all I am. My body gave
up a long time ago.”

“I don’t understand,” Jimmy whispered. “I thought
the Capita was an organisation.”

“It is,” Browder cut in, still panting from the fight.
“Large, rich and powerful.”

“And it’s mine,” said the husky Italian voice. “Most
of the people who work for me don’t even realise
that the Capita is a single person. But here I am,
Jimmy.”

Jimmy could feel his hands trembling. Why did this
person make him so nervous? He took a deep breath
and demanded, “What’s your name?” Everybody
around him laughed.

“Just call me the Capita,” replied the man in the
wheelchair. “Or if you’re not a fan of Latin, I don’t mind
if you call me the Head.”

Jimmy craned his neck to try to avoid the light and
get a better look at this man. His vision had cleared
now and he could see that he’d been right about the
building – he was standing in the central aisle of an old
church, between the rows of battered wooden pews.
There was a medium-sized dome above him, a row of
columns along each wall and stained-glass windows
higher up, letting in very little daylight. But there was
only one thing Jimmy was interested in seeing and
that was the man in the wheelchair. He edged closer.

“Stay there, Jimmy,” said the Head. His tone made
Jimmy stop dead. “You don’t need to see my face. You
never will. And I know you could end my life easily, but
I know you won’t try. You need my help too much, just
like I need yours.”

Jimmy could feel his breathing getting heavier.
Were there still drugs in his system, or was it fear?

“I’m sorry I had to put you through that
examination,” the Head continued. “I had to make sure
you weren’t still working for anybody else. I know now.
If you were working for someone you wouldn’t have
tried to escape. You would have taken everything –
even torture – and waited for them to track you.”

“I told you,” Jimmy insisted through gritted teeth,
“I’m not being tracked. I can’t be. It’s how I was…” His
voice dropped, as if the thought didn’t want to come
out aloud, “…designed,” he added under his breath.

The Head ignored this. “What you did at Mutam-ul-it,
Jimmy…” The man’s voice never rose above a
whisper and he pronounced the name of the mine with
a strong Italian lilt. “It was very impressive. And it
probably did a lot of good – for you. But for us, it
created one big problem. We’re not a charity, Jimmy.
We don’t help the people of Western Sahara because
we love them or because we feel sorry for them. Our
training and hardware is in return for small amounts
of smuggled uranium that made us large amounts of
money. When you destroyed the mine you cut off a
very profitable revenue stream.”

“So now you want the actinium,” Jimmy said,
almost to himself.

“Where is it?”

Jimmy felt his tension ease slightly. “You can have
it,” he announced brightly. “It’s buried in the desert.”

“The Sahara is a big place, Jimmy. You’d better give
us co-ordinates.”

Jimmy thought for a second, a smile creeping over
his face. “Then you’d better use your large, rich,
powerful business to get me to England.” Jimmy
couldn’t disguise his excitement. Only a few minutes
before he had been feeling despair and desperation.
Now he was buzzing with power.

“Sounds like you’re a businessman,” announced the
Head after a long silence.

“Sounds like we have a deal,” Jimmy replied. He
tried his best to keep his voice calm, while inside
he was leaping with joy – he was going to make it back
to the UK to find his mum, his sister and Felix. And he
was going to stop Britain attacking France.

“My people will take you to the English Channel,” the
Head agreed.

“What about getting into England?”

“We’ll arrange that too. We have a good network
for moving people around without immigration
services. But that will only happen when you’ve given
us the co-ordinates of the suitcase. Joshua Browder
will escort you as far as the Channel. Tell him the
co-ordinates when the time comes.”

“When do we leave?” Jimmy was beaming. He
looked around to find Browder. The big redhead was
directly behind him, smiling back. Jimmy couldn’t help
feeling positive towards him, despite what the man
had put him through. He could well understand the
Capita’s eagerness to protect their privacy, as well as
their longing for the suitcase of actinium.

Then Jimmy was distracted by the tiny sound of an
electric motor. But by the time he’d turned round, the
Head was already disappearing through a door at the side
of the altar. All Jimmy saw was the back of a very large
wheelchair, with a strange glass dome sticking out of the
top of it.
Maybe he really is just a head
, Jimmy thought,
trying to work out whether that was even possible.

The rest of the Capita’s men filed out through a
different side-door, taking with them the remains of
Jimmy’s chair, the power cables for the spotlight and
the lamp itself. For the first time, Jimmy got to see
the men properly.

They were a strange collection of people and most
of them were limping or holding their heads after the
fight with Jimmy. They were all different heights and
ages, but all were packed with muscle and scowled
cruelly. As they left, Jimmy was sure he saw that one
of them was in an NJ7 suit, the same as Browder.

Now only Browder was left, waiting at the front
entrance to the church, leaning against a pillar. Jimmy
was about to go to him, but something caught his eye.
He stared into the dim corners of the building,
through the streaks of multicoloured dust picked out
by the stained glass. Sitting in the penultimate row of
seats was a dark face with long black hair.

“Marla?” Jimmy called out, hardly believing it. “Is
that you?” He ran up the aisle towards her.

“Do not come too close!” Marla shouted. “I might…”

Jimmy slowed to creeping pace, but didn’t want to
stop. “You don’t need to worry about that,
remember?” he said softly. “I’m…”

“Oh yes,” Marla gave a little laugh. “Of course.”

Jimmy was close enough to see her properly now
and shuffled along the bench towards her.

“I am so used to it,” Marla explained. “They made
me travel in a separate car with a driver who does not
know about what happened to me. They are all scared
they might become poisoned by being near me.”

“I don’t mind.” Jimmy tripped over his words as he
sat down next to her. “Being near you, I mean. But
not, you know…”

“It is OK.” Marla smiled and reached out to pat
Jimmy’s hand. He flinched at her touch, but not
because of the radiation poisoning. It felt so strange
to be touched when it wasn’t part of a fight. The
tenderness was unfamiliar.

Marla pulled her hands away and clasped them
under a roll of her jumper. For the first time, Jimmy
saw evidence of her illness in her face. Her eyes
seemed hollow and the colour in her cheeks was much
less intense.

“I am so sorry, Jimmy,” she said, looking down at
her lap. “I did not know they were going to treat you
like this. I told Josh you had taken the actinium and he
said he was going to help you.”

“It’s OK,” Jimmy reassured her. “He is helping me.
But what are you doing here?”

“The Capita was grateful for everything I did for
them and has agreed to find a doctor who can treat
me. If I get better, they think perhaps I am useful in
training other people. And they say they are always
short of girls. Especially black girls.”

Unknowingly, she raised her hands to push her hair
away from her face. Jimmy noticed something. He
grabbed Marla’s wrist and studied her fingers.
Straight away, she pulled her hand back, but not
before Jimmy had confirmed what he’d seen: the base
of her fingernails was tinged with blue.

“Is that…?” Jimmy gasped.

“It is fine,” said Marla harshly. “The doctor will help me.”

“But—”

Jimmy was cut off by a shout from the main
entrance of the church.

“I’ll start the car, Jimmy.” It was the cheerful
northern brogue of Josh Browder. “Don’t try going
anywhere without me. The exits are manned.”

He stepped outside and Jimmy and Marla were left
alone, staring at each other.

“Do not trust Browder,” Marla whispered. “He does
not believe in anything.”

“Except money,” Jimmy replied. “That’s why I can
rely on him.”

“For now.”

“Now is good enough. I’m not marrying him. I just
need him to get me to England.”

“Be careful, that is all.”

Jimmy gave a quick nod, but he couldn’t
concentrate. All he could think about were the blue
patches on Marla’s fingernails and the poison
attacking her body.

“Time to go,” Browder called out, startling Jimmy.

“Good luck, Jimmy,” said Marla.

“You too.” He stood up. There was a lot more he
wanted to say, but the thoughts jammed in his brain.
Marla gave him a small smile, which sent a lurch of
excitement through him. He smiled back and went to
Browder. When he looked over his shoulder, Marla
had turned away. He looked a second time, but she
was sitting in the deepest shadow.

He couldn’t tell whether she was looking back or not.