Read Online Survival by Joe Craig - Free Book Online Page A

all, they had more in commonthan most other people.
    We were half-brothers , Mitchell reminded himself.He shook off the thought with a shudder. It was the lastthing he wanted to think about. For all he knew, it couldbe a lie anyway.
    The video came to an end and straight away thephone on Mitchell’s desk rang. It made him jump. Hepicked it up, but before he could say anything, MissBennett’s voice came through the receiver.
    “Seen enough?”
    Mitchell hauled his concentration back to the video.He ran his finger across the screen, tracing the framedpictures on the wall behind Viggo’s head. They were tooblurred to make out, but he knew NJ7’s data teamwould have been able to enhance the image.
    “Where was this filmed?” he asked.
    “A snooker hall in Camden.” Miss Bennett soundedcalm, but Mitchell had spent enough time with her toknow there was something extra in her voice today.Fear, he wondered? No. More like excitement.
    “He’s less than six kilometres from where you’re sitting,”she said. “And he dares to make a speech like that.”
    “Did we track him?” Mitchell asked. “Whoever tookthis film—”
    “Lost him. It wasn’t an agent, just a loyal memberof the public. Out of nowhere, Viggo pops up at asnooker hall, makes that speech, then disappears.Who knows where else he’s been doing it and howmany times? It can’t happen again.”
    “Who’s he working with? He’d need help to disappearlike that.”
    “No he wouldn’t,” Miss Bennett scoffed. “He’s ex-NJ7.He could be alone or he could have built up hisown private army. But either way…”
    Mitchell’s stomach turned over. It was a mixture ofthe assassin power inside him stirring and his humanpsyche making him sick with fear. Mitchell wallowed inthe sickness until it turned into strength. His voicecame out sounding more confident than ever.
    “So you want me to—”
    “I want you to send him an invitation to yourfourteenth birthday party.”
    There was an awkward silence. Mitchell knew MissBennett must be joking, but couldn’t work out why shedidn’t laugh.
    “Do I have to spell this out?” she snapped. “Find him.Kill him.”
    The line went dead.
    Jimmy’s hands and feet were back in bandages, but thistime his right wrist was cuffed to the bed. He hadn’tbeen able to convince the doctors that the bandageswere unnecessary and cuffs were useless. If he wantedto break free he knew he could. But now there didn’tseem much point.
    Some sheets from the newspaper lay open on hislap. One of the guards was so scared he’d agreed to doalmost anything Jimmy asked. Salvaging the newspaperfrom the courtyard was a simple place to start andJimmy was beginning to get the hang of moving thepages around with the ball of bandage.
    He stared at the picture on the front. Nothing in thenewspaper’s text added much; the picture said it all.Jimmy’s mind went round and round in circles,retracing the same thoughts, throwing up the samefurious frustrations. Britain had struck, and in a waythat was obviously meant to be direct retaliation for theFrench blowing up the British oil rig. Except the Frenchhadn’t blow up the oil rig. Jimmy had.
    As far as Jimmy could work out, a British destroyerhad blown up a French facility in West Africa known asMutam-ul-it. The paper was a bit sketchy on whatactually went on there, but there was plenty of indignantdiscussion about how tragic it was for France to havean evil dictatorship for a neighbour. Try living there ,Jimmy thought to himself.
    “For a dead boy, you’re making a good recovery.”
    Jimmy was startled out of his thoughts. The voice wasdeep and flat and the English was perfect except for aslight French accent. Jimmy looked up. In the door of theward was a short man with only a sprinkling of hair on hishead and a face like misery. His shoulders hunched up asif he was trying to keep his earlobes warm, and the tailsof his long grey overcoat brushed on the floor.
    “Uno Stovorsky,” Jimmy gasped.