Chris,” she gasped, “for me? They’re so…squashed.”
“They’re not for you,” he huffed. “I mean, they’re not for anyone.”
“If they’re for Helen, just tell me now.”
“No, they’re—” Before he could finish, Felix jumped in and grabbed the card.
“The flowers are just a discreet way for Stovorsky to send us a message,” explained Viggo. “Now what does he say?”
Felix’s face was scrunched up in confusion. “It’s gibberish,” he said. “Just letters and numbers: ‘Pp18N.2300’.”
“He’s going to help,” Viggo beamed. “We have to meet him in Paris.”
St James’s Park, in the very heart of London, was as serene as ever. The thick bushes kept out most of the traffic noise, but there was the sound of two runners pounding along a path. Mitchell easily kept pace with the huge man at his side. His body was exhilarated by the crisp air, while Paduk breathed it in with heavy panting. This was the only part of Mitchell’s training that took place outside the murky tunnels of NJ7 HQ: a daily run.
Mitchell asked no questions and made no objections. In fact, he had thrown himself into the training with more dedication than he had shown for anything in his life. It seemed to suit him. Yet still he could sense the unease of the people training him. He didn’t know it, but the same team had trained Jimmy Coates. This was the same routine Jimmy had followed. This was the same run.
Paduk slowed to a walk and took a swig from his water bottle. Mitchell did likewise, though he didn’t need to. Then they stopped completely. Paduk was staring through the foliage. At first Mitchell thought the man was simply catching his breath, but then he followed Paduk’s eyes beyond the limits of the park. Buckingham Palace shone out, a majestic pearl.
Apparently unprovoked, Paduk spoke. “Mitchell,” he began in an undertone, “you might be tempted to think that you’re invincible.” He wiped the sweat from his brow and cracked his jaw. “Don’t. You’re not. But nor are your enemies.”
Without a glance at Mitchell, he ran on. Mitchell followed, keen to impress, but confused by Paduk’s words.
As soon as it was dark, Helen, Saffron, Viggo and Jimmy crammed into the dilapidated truck. Felix banged on the window of the farmhouse and showed Jimmy a supportive fist. Jimmy smiled. It was great to see Felix in such good spirits, despite him being so worried about his parents. Felix was the one who had most to lose in this operation, but he hadn’t complained once about being stuck in the farmhouse. While Eva, Jimmy and even Georgie had been going stir-crazy, Felix was nothing but supportive.
“What a bucket of tin,” Viggo groaned as he started the engine.
Jimmy wondered whether Viggo would drive as wildly in this truck as he had at the wheel of his Bentley. That car had been abandoned in the garage of Viggo’s restaurant, along with the rest of his London existence.
“It’s only a couple of hours to Paris, but try to get some sleep.” Viggo was addressing all of them, not just Jimmy. “After we’ve met Stovorsky, Saffron, you drive Jimmy straight back to the farm. Try to get back before the sun comes up. Helen, you and I will be heading for England.”
“Hey,” Saffron interjected, “I thought we were all going.”
“It’s too risky.” Viggo bundled the truck over the rough tracks. “Helen and I are trained agents.”
“And what am I?” Saffron snapped back. “A babysitter?”
“Who’s a baby?” Jimmy remarked, indignant.
“She’s right,” Helen said calmly. “You should go with Saffron. I haven’t been active for years and…” She drew a deep breath, “I don’t want to leave the kids.”
“Oh, Mum,” Jimmy groaned, “you’re being—”
“I know – overprotective. But whatever you say, I’m driving back to the farm with you, Jimmy.”
They had reached a main road now and Viggo picked up the pace.
“Why am I even coming then?” Jimmy mumbled. Saffron’s response was firm.
“You’re the only asset we have to offer. Without you, there’s no reason for the French Secret Service to help us.”
An ‘asset’. Jimmy never thought he’d hear himself described like that. He realised it might be true, but it made him feel like an object. Saffron noticed his silence.
“Sorry, Jimmy,” she added. “I didn’t mean it like it sounded. An ‘asset’ can mean a person as well, you know.”
Jimmy felt comforted by that. If he was ever to feel like a normal person again, the last thing he needed was for everybody around him to treat him as a machine. He smiled cautiously. Saffron smiled back.
There was a steel behind her grace that Jimmy admired. He’d seen Saffron in action and had no doubt that she should be the one to accompany Viggo back to London. He found it hard to imagine his mother being as effective if it came to a fight.
In Paris it was raining heavily and the traffic was as bad as the weather. Viggo spat and cursed as he manoeuvred the truck through the back streets. All the time, Saffron kept her eyes on the wing mirror, watching for any patterns in the vehicles behind them. It was imperative that they weren’t followed.
They drove along the line of the river into the centre of the city. Viggo’s fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. “Clear?” he called out.
“Clear,” responded Saffron.
Suddenly, the truck lurched to one side. Jimmy was thrown across his seat. They mounted the pavement and slipped through a narrow opening in the wall that ran alongside the road. It led to a cobbled ramp and in seconds they were driving right beside the Seine. Viggo slowed down drastically until the truck was growling along, centimetre by centimetre.
They stopped under the arches of the next bridge and Jimmy looked through the rain at the surface of the water. He shivered as they climbed out into the thick shadows. Water poured from the arches above his head, forming a curtain between him and the rest of the world. Here, the river exuded an eerie, sulphurous mist.
In silence, Viggo signalled the way. They ran through the rain, up a flight of thin stone steps on to the Pont de Sully. There, blending into the stonework, was Uno Stovorsky. In these conditions, his raincoat made perfect sense.
Still without a word, they followed Stovorsky along the bridge, on to the Tie St Louis. Jimmy gave up trying to keep the rain off. He wasn’t even wearing the special shirt he’d been given by NJ7. He was shivering, but he would rather have drowned in the rain than wear the Green Stripe again.
Stovorsky unlocked an inconspicuous door and guided the others through a courtyard and into a building. When they reached the fourth floor, they stepped into a small office with a balcony overlooking the courtyard. Around the walls were bookcases stacked with leather-bound tomes. Stovorsky quickly pulled down the blinds. It was strange – Jimmy didn’t feel any warmer
