Jimmy smiled, totally exhausted, but desperate to share everything that had happened. In the kitchen, Felix, Eva and Georgie were sitting round the table.
“Jimmy!” exclaimed Felix, jumping to his feet. “What happened?”
Jimmy didn’t know where to start. “Ares Hollingdale is holding your parents at the French Embassy,” he blurted.
“And Chris and Saffron are going to bust them out?” Felix beamed, one big ball of energy.
“Something like that,” Jimmy laughed.
Felix grinned one of his unmistakable grins. Eva and Georgie didn’t look quite so happy. “At least someone will be getting out of prison,” Eva grumbled.
“Yeah,” Georgie added, “who’s going to rescue us?”
“What do you mean?” Jimmy asked.
“I mean that we’ve all been stuck in this house for days.” Jimmy’s sister toyed with a stale hunk of baguette. “It’s no wonder we can’t sleep – we don’t do anything all day.”
“At least we don’t have to go to school,” Felix chipped in with a bounce.
“So what?” Eva shrugged. “I’d rather go to school than be stuck in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even have my phone with me.”
Jimmy considered everything for a moment. He never liked it when Eva moaned, especially when Georgie started moaning with her, but she had a point. It did feel like being imprisoned.
“I’d rather be back with my parents,” Eva went on, “and they’re a pain. I bet they aren’t even looking for me.” Jimmy remembered Eva’s parents with a shudder of disgust. They were supporters of the undemocratic British Government.
Suddenly, Felix cut in. “Stop moaning,” he said quickly. “This is the best night ever.” Then his face suddenly changed, scrunched up in thought. “You’re right though. We’ve been stuck in the house long enough. If anybody’s coming for us, they would have come by now. Tomorrow I’ll persuade your mum to let us go out.”
“Whatever you say.” Jimmy shrugged and forced out a yawn. “Let’s convince Mum in the morning. You do the talking. I’ll watch.”
Miss Bennett followed the tunnels of NJ7 not to Downing Street, which was still being rebuilt, but to the deepest part of the complex. There, in a stark bunker, surrounded by three men in SAS uniform and another two in NJ7 suits, Ares Hollingdale was huddled over his desk. Opposite him, leafing through a dog-eared orange folder, was Ian Coates.
“Who’s there?” the Prime Minister panted when he heard his visitor enter. “An assassin! Security!”
The soldiers around him looked confused. They all recognised the Director of NJ7.
“It’s OK, Prime Minister!” shouted Ian Coates. “It’s Miss Bennett.”
“Ah yes, of course. Stand down, men, you’re dismissed. I know this woman.” Hollingdale’s eyes darted around the room as if every second something tapped him on the shoulder unexpectedly.
“Mitchell Glenthorne has been deployed, sir,” Miss Bennett announced once the room had emptied of security attendants.
“Don’t let that thing near me,” Hollingdale muttered. “I’ve seen what they’re capable of.”
“Prime Minister,” Miss Bennett continued, “it’s not too late to call him back.”
Ian Coates jumped to his feet, startled. “Miss Bennett,” he said, “if there’s a way to safeguard our Neo-democracy without hurting Jimmy then please don’t keep it to yourself.”
Miss Bennett flashed him a patronising smile, then continued to address Hollingdale directly. “Now that we have found where Jimmy Coates is hiding, in less than an hour a single UAV could flatten the entire area.”
Ian Coates sunk back into his chair, his face suddenly pale.
“Sending out another assassin is an unnecessary risk,” Miss Bennett went on. “Haven’t we learned anything from the last time we did it? Order the UAV strike.”
“Are you mad, Miss Bennett?” the PM cried. “You’re talking about sending an unmanned plane to bomb French soil!”
“The French would probably retaliate,” Miss Bennett said, her voice devoid of emotion, “but it’s nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Hollingdale’s hands were shaking. He swung round in his chair to face the wall and waved over his shoulder. Ian Coates took that as his cue to stand again, and explain.
“The Prime Minister feels that provoking the French would be far too dangerous.”
“What do you mean?” Miss Bennett asked flatly.
Hollingdale spun back round and pounded his fists on his desk.
“Sauvage!” he screamed, eyes flashing. “Until we know what the French are capable of we must proceed with extreme caution.”
Miss Bennett inspected the faces around her, each one rigid with anxiety. Ian Coates continued his explanation.
“We have reason to believe that when Dr Sauvage fled he passed classified technology to an agency called ZAF-1.”
“ZAF-1?” queried Miss Bennett.
“Possibly the French equivalent of NJ7,” Ian Coates replied. “We don’t know. The details are encrypted in these files.” He threw the folder on to the desk and pulled out a bloodstained orange flash drive in a clear plastic bag.
“And for eleven years nobody has told me about this?” She was furious.
“Nobody knows about this, Miss Bennett,” the PM said. “Even within NJ7. If Dr Higgins knew that we had this flash drive, the only explanation would be that we killed Dr Sauvage. If he finds that out he might be dangerous.”
“You’re completely paranoid!” Miss Bennett shouted. “Dr Higgins isn’t dangerous no matter how many of his friends we kill. He could decrypt those files in minutes.”
Ares Hollingdale twitched almost imperceptibly. Miss Bennett sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “So,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “the French could possess weapons far more powerful than we thought.”
“Exactly,” Hollingdale snapped. “And they could use them.”
Miss Bennett paced across the room. “But hold on,” she said, “we have no intelligence suggesting they have these weapons.”
“We have this intelligence,” Coates insisted, pointing at the flash drive.
“Call that intelligence?” Miss Bennett mocked. “I’ve had enough of your sort of intelligence, Coates.”
“I don’t like your tone, Miss Bennett,” Coates replied calmly, his eyes piercing Miss Bennett’s.
“Why are you even in this office?” she sneered. “A month ago you were sitting at home with your feet up. Do you think your opinion matters? If you’d raised that boy properly we wouldn’t have this problem. You’re no better than Christopher Viggo.”
Ian Coates looked away. Christopher Viggo’s name sent a pulse of anger across his face.
“Miss Bennett, that’s enough,” Hollingdale barked, “lan’s opinion is of the highest importance to me. His loyalty has been tested and he has proven himself.” He rubbed his hands together, every vein clearly visible. His cuff rode up slightly, revealing a small tattoo of a green stripe on the inside of his left wrist. “We don’t know for sure what the French are capable of,” he continued. “Until we do, we must attack Jimmy Coates, not France.”