Jimmy Coates: Blackout

Jimmy Coates: Blackout
Joe Craig

Seventh action-packed adventure for Jimmy Coates – part boy, part weapon, totally deadly…Jimmy Coates seems like an ordinary boy, but he’s not. He’s genetically engineered to grow into the perfect government assassin. Speed, strength and deadly instinct - it’s all in the blood. He has to fight not to kill, while his government fights to kill him.Jimmy Coates can only trust one man to bring the country back from the brink of chaos. When that man disappears, Jimmy must battle the shadow of corruption. But the shadows are darker than they seem, and the darkness reaches further than Jimmy could ever imagine.

For Mary-Ann

Contents

Title Page (#u503562ab-abce-5552-8a8e-26be0daee732)

Dedication (#u5b40ca26-5643-5f94-ac9d-9155327019ff)

The Bodies (#ulink_c9663cfa-1758-584c-8179-7435761f87b4)

01 - Nothing Applies (#ulink_477ef522-725e-5a57-aad4-9d5fb773acf9)

02 - The Living Boy (#ulink_84dc2cee-4415-578a-b709-646e6d0d24d3)

03 - The Class of Scientists (#ulink_2db7bbfb-188f-5de0-ac73-bcda7344c895)

04 - French Champagne (#ulink_a3b7cb99-5b2e-5d54-ba28-7ed94ed29408)

05 - Operation Blackout (#ulink_2b5a03e7-65c2-5c42-9c12-7022c895bc5c)

06 - You’re Never Alone (#ulink_64acebdd-769e-594d-a9b7-7ce23ade4e99)

07 - Do You Have It? (#litres_trial_promo)

08 - They Know, They Don’t Know (#litres_trial_promo)

09 - Maltese Illusion (#litres_trial_promo)

10 - Find Some Shadows (#litres_trial_promo)

11 - Chisley Hall (#litres_trial_promo)

12 - Decommissioned (#litres_trial_promo)

13 - Checking Out (#litres_trial_promo)

14 - You’re Right, But You’re Wrong (#litres_trial_promo)

15 - Alphabetical Advantage (#litres_trial_promo)

16 - Catching a Plane (#litres_trial_promo)

17 - A Leash Loosened (#litres_trial_promo)

18 - LOCO (#litres_trial_promo)

19 - Extraction (#litres_trial_promo)

20 - This isn’t Genetics (#litres_trial_promo)

21 - Blackout, Whiteout (#litres_trial_promo)

22 - He Didn’t Stand a Chance (#litres_trial_promo)

23 - Lee Makes Sparks Fly (#litres_trial_promo)

24 - Shadows and Echoes (#litres_trial_promo)

25 - Fallen Idol (#litres_trial_promo)

26 - Half a Reunion (#litres_trial_promo)

27 - Everybody’s Listening (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Joe Craig (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher

Jimmy Coates can only trust one man to keep the country from falling into chaos. But that man has disappeared and everything and everyone is at stake…

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Buried four kilometres below ground and embedded in a concrete crust fifty metres thick, one of the British Government’s seven supercomputers was about to be breached. It was housed beneath Menwith Hill Royal Air Force Station in North Yorkshire, but nobody on the base could have any idea the attack was underway. The battle was lost as soon as it began, when a new string of computer code flickered into life.

Instantly, it began worming through the system, a mere twinkle in a constellation of electrical impulses. Imperceptible. Insignificant too, if it hadn’t been for the fact that at the exact same moment, hundreds of kilometres to the north and eleven kilometres above the earth, an Aurora Blackbird SR-91 plane pierced British airspace.

The two events were timed to perfection. The worm wriggled through the computer network exactly as it had been designed to do, creating a tiny corridor in the British satellite surveillance system – a sliver of shadow, which the Aurora Blackbird ran through like a fencer’s blade. The precisely pinpointed surveillance blackout rendered the plane effectively invisible. It was high enough and fast enough to be missed by conventional, ground-based radar defence systems; its black neoprene-titanium panels didn’t glint in the night, and even the fuel was caesium-based so that the exhaust fumes would be transparent.

In no time, the plane passed over the islands to the north of Scotland and reached the mainland. It was still travelling at 1,900 kilometres an hour when the doors in its undercarriage slid open. Two black body bags dropped from the plane’s belly. Then it immediately wheeled away to leave British airspace as discreetly as it had entered.

The packages hurtled down through the atmosphere. They had reached terminal velocity even before they plunged through the clouds. They twisted as they fell, the wind pummelling the linoleum-coated material to reveal the contours of the bodies inside.

After a few seconds, two black parachutes unfurled automatically and the descent slowed. The body bags drifted and eventually bumped on to the heather, sixteen kilometres from the nearest road. That’s where they lay for almost two hours, ten metres apart, motionless but for the buffeting of the wind.

Then, at the same moment, both bags twitched. They rolled over until their zips faced upwards. On any normal body bag the zips would have been accessible only from the outside. But these were different.

Simultaneously, the two bags peeled open and out climbed two people. They staggered to their feet – a man and a woman, both tall and dressed in black jumpsuits. They peered through the darkness to each other, not making a sound. They stretched and rubbed their heads, but both moved freely enough. The man blinked rapidly and shook his brain back to full consciousness, tangles of straggly black hair blustering around his head. The woman did the same a moment later, then they both gathered in the parachutes, piling up the black silk on top of the protective body bags.

The man produced a matchbox and two boiled eggs from his pocket. In seconds the parachutes and body bags were lighting up the hillside. They waited together in silence, controlling the fire with a ring of damp heather while they carefully shelled and consumed the eggs. Soon they were able to stamp out the embers, leaving no trace of the equipment that had enabled them to survive their epic fall unharmed.

Still without a word, the woman pulled out a compass and they marched south.

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Two security guards strolled back to their booth, sharing a joke.

“All clear,” said one into his walkie-talkie, still chuckling.

“Thanks, beta station,” came crackling back. “Next patrol at 0400.”

“Just enough time for a brew,” muttered the other guard in a soft Irish accent.

They clicked off their torches and hurried into the booth, eager to get out of the wind. The two men could have been built from the same Lego set: a square block from the shoulders all the way down to the ground. They wore blue uniforms with peaked caps, which revealed only the greying edges of their hair.

The booth was only just big enough for them to sit side by side, but they settled in and inspected the line of CCTV screens in front of them. From here they could watch the whole perimeter of the building they’d just been patrolling: a small glass office block set within its own walls on London’s South Bank. From here a man called Christopher Viggo had been running his election campaign – the only legitimate opposition to the British Government – and it would have been impossible for anybody to approach the main gate from the street without being in clear view of the booth window.

“What’s that?” muttered the Irish guard. He reached forward and tapped his finger on one of the screens. “Which camera is that?” The image was grainy, enhanced by the camera’s infrared night mode, but there was one spot of brightness showing two broad silhouettes in a hut.

“That’s us,” replied the other guard.

“I know that, you idiot, but what’s that?” He jabbed his finger on the screen again. “This booth doesn’t have a dome on the roof.” They both leaned forward to examine the screen more closely.