LITMIR.BIZ

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they? What about the undercarriages?

      Jimmy rounded a corner and realised that his body had subconsciously guided him to one of the station’s service entrances. He moved without hesitation, keeping his head ducked low behind the mounds of discarded plastic crates. This was where the stock was delivered to the retail and refreshment outlets. It was a little late for a delivery, but if any supply lorry had been held up it could provide Jimmy with two things: a much needed breakfast and a potential escape opportunity.

      Within seconds, Jimmy’s prayers were answered. A white van swung into one of the bays. It backed up to a set of loading doors and stopped. Jimmy waited for the driver to get out. He’d have to choose his moment carefully. What was in the van, he wondered. Sandwiches? Crisps? Muffins? There was nothing on the van that gave any clue—no writing, no logo… But Jimmy’s chance to find out didn’t come.

      The van simply waited for about a minute, then pulled off again. Jimmy let out a soft grunt of annoyance. His stomach turned over. Why on earth would a van pull up, wait, then pull off again? It didn’t matter. Jimmy had a choice: find a way into the station through the doors and swipe some food, or wait here for another van to show up. He wasn’t in a waiting mood.

      Checking the positions of all the security cameras, Jimmy crept out from his hiding place. He had to move slowly, letting his inner voice guide him through the lines of sight of all the cameras as they swivelled. He was only a few steps from the doors when he heard the squeak of old brakes. In an instant he dived behind another pile of crates, just in time to watch the same white van return to the bay it had left barely minutes before. Jimmy hunched low, peering between the plastic slats. Now he was intrigued.

      Again, the van did nothing but sit there for about sixty seconds before roaring off. This time Jimmy didn’t move. Instead he counted. He couldn’t help it. A part of him longed to get into the back of the station and keep moving. But his programming froze his limbs and wouldn’t let them budge. After three minutes his patience was rewarded. The van returned.

      Jimmy tried to get a look at the driver, but he couldn’t see past the reflection on the window before the van drove off again, only to be back three minutes later. It must be circling the station, Jimmy realised. But why? Was it some kind of signal? Was the driver waiting for instructions? Was he looking for someone? Jimmy couldn’t help wondering whether this van was part of the operation that was searching for him. But that didn’t feel right. Why would NJ7 have a single white van circling the station and returning to the same bay every few minutes?

      The mystery only deepened when the van next returned. This time the driver gave two short blasts on the horn. Two well-built men in grimy blue overalls emerged from the station and immediately flung open the back of the van. Then they started loading it with crates, which were all either sealed or covered in grey blankets. As the first one emerged from the darkness of the station, Jimmy’s skin prickled, but he didn’t know why. He peered more closely at the crates.

      They were obviously very heavy and the men were taking great care handling them. They wore huge gloves and set each crate down in the van like they were putting a baby to bed. Jimmy wanted to creep closer to work out what was going on. Something inside him seemed to be drawing him forwards. He took a deep breath to calm himself, but it only intensified the feeling. Then he realised why: it was something in the air.

      Nitroglycerin.

      The word seemed to lurk in his brain without him realising how it got there. It was as if he’d breathed it in. At first he wasn’t even sure what it meant, but then a low hum vibrated through his body, bringing with it a frightening certainty: highly volatile explosive.

      Felix Muzbeke opened his mouth as wide as it would go —which was wider than most—and in a single bite consumed more than half a bagel.

      “You’re disgusting,” said Georgie Coates softly.

      Felix grinned, which allowed a strand of pastrami to escape his lips and hang from the corner of his mouth.

      “How come you’re not fat?” Georgie asked, chomping down on her own bagel. Felix shrugged and kept chewing. A businessman shoved past them to reach the front of the queue so Felix and Georgie hurried out of the way and back on to the main concourse of London Bridge Station.

      “What is it about Chris and stations?” Felix asked, once his mouth was at last free of bagel. “We’re going to spend the rest of our lives hiding in underground passages.”

      “They’re good places to hide, I guess,” replied Georgie. “We don’t exactly want Miss Bennett to be able to drop in any time she likes. Chris is the Government’s biggest enemy.”

      “Apart from Jimmy,” added Felix, with a hint of pride.

      “Maybe.”

      Georgie’s eyes were constantly scanning the faces of everybody else in the station. Any of the security staff could be looking for them, acting on instructions from NJ7. Any of the commuters could be plain-clothes security staff.

      Meanwhile, Felix watched Georgie carefully. She was paying more attention to the surroundings than she was to her bagel. Every now and again Felix wondered whether she might have hidden inside her some of the same powers that Jimmy had. Perhaps she just hadn’t discovered them yet. Felix didn’t dare to ask, but he was amazed at how well Georgie adapted to this life of hiding, of constantly monitoring everybody around her, of surviving on station food when every journey in public was a potential death trap. He felt almost as reassured being with her as he would have with Jimmy. Plus, there was the chance that she wouldn’t finish her bagel and he’d get the leftovers.

      “Come on,” said Georgie firmly, “we’d better get back. We’ve been in the open too long already.” They hurried across the station forecourt.

      “It’s not my fault,” replied Felix. “They took ages to make my bagel.”

      “Next time just have something normal. You know, from the shelf.”

      “What’s wrong with pastrami and pineapple?” Felix polished off the last bite with a grin and took Georgie’s bottle of smoothie from her hand.

      “Hey!” she protested.

      “Just a sip.”

      “OK, but drink with your head down.” Georgie flicked her eyes towards the security cameras. Felix struggled to drink from the bottle while keeping his face turned towards the floor.

      “Do you think Jimmy can drink without moving his head?” he asked.

      “Most people can drink without moving their…” Georgie turned to see that Felix had ended up with a dribble of smoothie down his chin. “OK,” she corrected herself. “Most sane people.”

      Felix wiped his mouth and couldn’t help chuckling. He’d never imagined that he’d end up being such close friends with Georgie. Not only was she a girl, but she was two years older than him. Despite that, it didn’t feel weird. There was nobody else for him to spend time with. No school, no socialising…No family, he thought. He felt a chill run through his bones. The idea crept up on him without warning.

      Felix’s parents had been seized in New York by men who looked like NJ7 agents. They hadn’t been seen since. But they were constantly on Felix’s mind, on the edge of every thought. He used to think he’d seen them every time he was in a crowd of people, but such illusions quickly faded. He couldn’t let the hope that he would see them again do the same.

      “Hey,” he said brightly, trying to distract himself, “what do you think Jimmy feels like when he’s doing all that stuff?”

      “What stuff?” Georgie asked. “You mean his…” She dropped her voice and whispered, “Powers?”

      “Do you think it’s like an electric shock?” Felix wondered aloud. “Or like a hot shower?”

      “Oh, I would so love a hot shower,” Georgie groaned.

      “He could have so much fun,” Felix went on. “I mean, you know, if

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