JAMES PATRICK

For the two thieves on the vespa scooter bike, it was a case of the wrong victim, in the wrong place, on the wrong Sunday morning on August. It seemed that all life had gathered in the pizza Esmeralda, a few miles outside Venice. Church had just finished and families were strolling together in the brilliant sunlight: grandparents in black, boys and girls in their best suits and communion dresses. The coffee and ice cream bars were also open, their customers spilling on to the pavements and out in to the street. A huge fountain, all naked God’s and serpents, gushed jets of ice cold water. And there was a market. Stalls had been set up selling kites, dried flowers, old postcards, clockwork birds and sacks of seeds for the hundreds of pigeons that strutted around. In the middle of all this were a dozen English school children. It was bad luck for the two thieves that one of them was James Patrick. It was the beginning of August. Less than a month had passed since James’ final confrontation with Brandon Gray on Air Force one the American presidential plane. It had been the end of an adventure that had taken him to Paris and Amsterdam, and finally at the main runway at Heathrow Airport even as twenty five nuclear missiles had been launched at targets all around the world.James had managed to destroy these missiles. He had been there when Gray died. And at last he had gone home with the usual collection of bruises and scratches only to find a implacable faced and determined Jessica stratton waiting for him. Jessica was his housekeeper but was also his friend, and as always, she was always worried about him. “You can’t keep this up, James,” she said. “You’re never at school . You missed half the summer term when you were at skeleton key and loads of the spring term when you were in Cornwall and then at awful academy Point Blanc. If you keep this up, you’ll flunk all your exams and then what will you do?” “Its not my fault” James began. “ I know it’s not your fault. But it’s my job to do something about it, and I have decided to hire a tutor for what’s left of the summer.” “You’re not serious !” “I am serious. You’ve still got quite a bit of holiday left. And you can start right now.” “I don’t want a tutor”, James started to protest. “I am not giving you any choice, James. I don’t care what gadgets you’ve got or what smart moves you might try, this time there is no escape !” James wanted to argue with her but in his heart he knew she was right. M16 always provided them with a doctor’s note to explain his absences form school, but the teachers were more or less giving up on him. His last report had said it all : James continues to spend more time out of school than in it, and if this carries on he might as well forget his GCEs . Although he can not be blamed for what seems to be a catalogue of medical problems, If he falls any further behind, I fear he may dissappear altogether. So that was it. James had stopped an insane, multi-millionaire pop singer from destroying half the world and what had he got for it? Extract work! He started with I’ll grace, particularly when he was discovered that the tutors Jessica had found actually taught at Brookland, his own school. James wasn’t in his class, but even so it was an embarrassment and he hoped nobody would find out. However, he had to agree that Mr Craig was good at his job. Chandler Craig was young and easy going, arriving on a bicycle with a saddle bag crammed with books. He taught Humanities but seemed to know his way round the whole syllabus. “We’ve only got a few weeks,” he announced. “That may not seen very much, but you’d be surprised how much you can achieve one to one. I’m going to work you seven hours a day, and on top of that am going to leave you with homework. By the end of the holidays you’ll probably hate me. But at least you’ll start the new school year on a more or less even projection. James didn’t hate Chandler Craig. They worked quietly and quickly, moving through the day from maths to history to science and so on. Every weekend, the teacher left behind exam papers, ad gradually James saw his percentages improve. And then Mr Craig sprang his surprise. You’ve done really well, James. I wasn’t going to mention this to you, but how would you like to come with me to the school trip?” “Where are you going?” “Well last year it was Paris; the year before that it was Rome. We look at museums, churches, places, that sort of thing. This year we are going to Venice. Do you want to come?” Venice. It had been in James’ mind Al this while, the final minutes on the plane after Brandon Gray had died. Mark Gregory had been there, the Russian Assassin who had cast a shadow over so much of James’ life. Mark had been dying, a bullet lodged in his chest. But just before the end he’d managed to blurt out a secret that had been buried for fourteen years. James’ parents had been killed shortly after he was born and he had been brought up by his father’s brother, Tommy Patrick. Earlier this year, Tommy Patrick had died too, supposedly in a car accident. It had been the shock of James’ life to discover that his uncle was actually a spy and had been killed on a mission in Cornwall. That was when MI6 had made their appearance. Somehow they had succeeded in sucking James in to their world, and he had been working for them ever since. James knew very little about his mother and father, David and Carolyn Patrick. In his bedroom he had a photo of them : a watchful, handsome man with close cut hair standing with his arm round a pretty, half smiling woman. He had been in the army and still looked like a soldier. She had been a nurse, working in radiology. But they were strangers to him ;he couldn’t remember anything about them. They had died while he was still a baby. In a plane crash. That was what he had been told. Now he knew otherwise. The plane crash had been as much a lie as his uncle’s car accident. Mark Gregory had told him the truth on Air force One. James’ father had been an Assassin, just like Mark. The two of them had even worked together; David Patrick had once saved Mark’s life. But then his father had been killed by MI6, the very same people who had forced James to work for them three times, lying to him, manipulating him and finally dumping him when he was no longer needed. It was almost impossible to believe, but Mark had offered him a way to find proof. Go to Venice. Find Viper. And you will find your destiny…. James had to know what had happened fourteen years ago. Discovering the truth about David Patrick would be the same as finding out about himself. Because, if his father really had killed people for money, what did that make him? James was angry, unhappy and confused. He had to find Viper, whatever it was. Viper would tell him what he needed to know. A school trip at Venice couldn’t come at a better time. And Jessica didn’t stop him from going. In fact, she encouraged him. “It’s exactly what you need James. A chance to hang out with your friends and just be an ordinary school boy. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.” James said nothing. He hated having to lie to her, but there was no way he could tell her the truth. Jessica had never met his father; this wasn’t her affair. So he let her help him pack, knowing that, for him, the trip will have little to do with churches and museums. He would use it to explore the city and see what he unearthed. Five days wasn’t a long time. But it would be a start. Five days in Venice. Five days to find Viper.