Of course. Joe Byrne had told him he had someone on the island.
“I’m sorry I’ve had to be so unfriendly to you,” Tamara said. She gave him a dazzling smile, as if it was something she had been wanting to do all along. “I’m sure you understand. It was my cover.”
“Sure.” It all made sense. “How did you find me just now?” he asked.
“You’d already told me where you were going,” Tamara explained. “I don’t know why, but I was nervous and I decided to follow you. I went into your room and grabbed the inhaler. I thought it might be useful and I was right. Then I swam out. I was just nearing the site of the wreck, when I saw the boat heading back without you and I guessed what must have happened. So I came down to find you.”
“Thank you.” Alex was feeling drowsy. The late afternoon sun was beating down on him and he was already dry. “So what happens now?” he asked.
“You tell me.”
“I think Drevin may be planning to leave tonight.” Quickly Alex told her about the phone call he had overheard.
But Tamara looked doubtful. “I can’t believe that,” she said. “The launch tomorrow … Ark Angel. It means everything to him. He’s been working on it for months. Why disappear now?”
“I agree. But he definitely mentioned a boat. It’s arriving at eleven o’clock.”
“Then we have to be there. There’s a backup unit waiting in Barbados. If Drevin tries to leave, we can contact them and they’ll be here in minutes.”
“What do we do until then?”
“You’d better wait here. I’ll go back to the house and get you some clothes. And something to eat and drink.” She studied Alex closely. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. Thanks, Tamara. You saved my life.”
“It’s great to be working with you, Alex. Joe told me all about you.”
Tamara slipped away, leaving Alex on his own. He watched the waves breaking gently on the white sand. The sun was beginning to set and the first shadows were already stretching out, reaching towards Alex and silently warning him of the dangers of the coming night.
TROPICAL STORM
At ten o’clock that night, Alex and Tamara were waiting on the edge of the rainforest, looking down the track towards the wooden cabins where the guards got washed and changed. Both of them were dressed in dark clothes. Tamara had picked out combat trousers and a long-sleeved black T-shirt for Alex. He was too hot. The night had brought with it a clammy heat that clung to his skin, and he could feel the sweat snaking down his back. But this way there was less chance of being seen, and he was protected from the worst of the mosquitoes.
Tamara was also in black. From somewhere she had produced a gun, a slim Beretta, which she was wearing in a holster under her arm. She also had a radio transmitter with which she was planning to contact the CIA back-up team – although she was worried about the reception. The clouds were thick, obscuring the moon, and it looked as if it was going to rain. Getting a decent signal in the middle of a tropical storm wouldn’t be easy.
Alex was glad she was with him. He had been alone too long and it seemed to him that the two of them were well suited. Tamara had told him that she was one of the youngest agents working for Joe Byrne; she had been recruited when she was just nineteen. She didn’t look much older than that now, crouched beside a giant flamboyant, the umbrella-shaped tree common to much of the eastern Caribbean. He sensed that this was one big adventure for her. Maybe that was the difference between them. She enjoyed her work.
There were three cabins, connected by covered walkways, beside the track. They were fairly primitive: dark wooden planks for walls, roofs made from palm fronds. About twenty metres further down, Alex could make out the electric gate and the checkpoint guarding the launch area on the other side. There were three guards on constant patrol, one of them inside the control box, the other two shuffling back and forth in front of the ten metre high metal fence. The whole area was illuminated by a series of arc lights shining down from metal watchtowers. Alex could see hundreds of moths and mosquitoes dancing in the beams.
The guards were relieved at ten fifteen. As Drevin’s personal assistant, Tamara had been able to see the roster and she knew that the second night watch would be arriving at any moment. Alex glanced back down the track in the direction of Drevin’s house. He thought briefly of Paul. Presumably he would have been told that Alex had drowned … a terrible accident. He wondered what Paul would be thinking, and he was sorry that Tamara hadn’t seen him when she’d gone back to the house to fetch him some clothes.
But he couldn’t worry about that now. It was time. The track was still empty; there was no sign of any electric buggies coming either way. Tamara nudged him and he crept forward, keeping close to the undergrowth, making his way to the first of the three cabins. Very carefully he opened the door. There had been no sound or movement for twenty minutes, but even so there could still be someone asleep in there.
The cabin was empty. Alex slipped inside and found himself in a small, rectangular space. There were a couple of old sofas, a fridge and a table with empty beer bottles, some pornographic magazines and a deck of playing cards strewn across the surface. A fan stood in one corner but it was switched off. The room reeked of stale cigarette smoke, and the air was sluggish and still.
He passed through this cabin and into the next, an even smaller one with four shower cubicles and a row of wooden benches. The floor was tiled. Damp towels hung on hooks. Again, there was nobody in sight.
It was in the third cabin that he found what he was looking for. This was where the guards got changed for work. Uniforms, freshly ironed, hung in metal lockers; polished boots were neatly lined up against the wall. Exactly as Tamara had described.
Alex couldn’t help smiling to himself as he reached into his pocket and took out the bottle that Smithers had given him. He glanced at the name on the label – STINGO – then opened it and sprinkled the contents over the guards’ uniforms. The liquid was colourless and didn’t smell of anything. The guards wouldn’t have any idea what was about to hit them.
He heard a low whistle from outside: a warning from Tamara. There was a second door leading out of the cabin and Alex slipped through it into the darkness. Outside, he heard an approaching buggy. Perfect timing.
It was the changing of the guard. As Alex rejoined Tamara, a buggy drew up and three men dressed in baggy shorts and T-shirts got out. Alex recognized one of them. It was Kolo, the diver who had left him to die. He was pleased. If anyone deserved to suffer, it was Kolo.
“Is this going to work?” Tamara whispered as the three men disappeared into the changing room.
“Don’t worry,” Alex replied. “Smithers has never let me down.”
About five minutes later, the three men reappeared, now dressed in their grey overalls. Alex and Tamara watched as they approached the checkpoint to swap places with the three guards there. They exchanged a few words in low voices, then took up their positions. The three who had been relieved went back into the cabin to change and drove off in the buggy a few minutes later.
“Let’s get closer,” Alex whispered. He was keen to see whatever was going to happen.
Kolo was sitting in the control box, in front of a bank of telephones and monitors. The window was open so that he could communicate with the other two, who were now armed and standing together in front of the fence. It was a thankless task, Alex thought, hanging around all night, waiting for something to happen. And although none of them knew it, it was about to get worse.
Alex noticed it first. The cloud of insects visible in the beams of the arc lamps had thickened. Before there had been hundreds of them. Now there were thousands. It was impossible to tell what kind of bugs they were: beetles, flies, cockroaches or mosquitoes. They were just black specks made up of frantically beating wings, antennae and dangling legs. There were so many that the light was almost obliterated.
Kolo slapped his face. The sound was surprisingly loud in the thick heat of the
night. One of the other guards muttered something and scratched under his arm. Kolo slapped his face a second time, then the back of his neck. The other men were beginning to shuffle around edgily, as if performing a weird dance. One ran the stock of his machine gun down his chest, then reached over his shoulder, using it to scratch his back. Inside the control box, Kolo was swatting at the air in front of his face. He seemed to be having trouble breathing, and Alex could see why. The air all around him had been invaded by thousands and thousands of insects. Kolo couldn’t open his mouth without swallowing them.
The mosquito lotion that Smithers had created was awesome. Every insect on the island had been attracted to the three unfortunate men. The two outside were out of control, slapping themselves, whimpering, jerking around like electric shock victims. Kolo screamed. Alex could see a huge centipede clinging to his neck. Very little of the man’s skin was visible now. He was covered in a mass of biting, stinging insects. They were crawling into his eyes and up his nose. Still screaming, he punched himself frenziedly. The other two men were doing the same.
There was a small explosion and a shower of sparks as one of the television monitors, invaded by insects, short-circuited. It was the final straw. Blind and swearing, Kolo staggered to his feet and tumbled out of the control box. The other two guards fell onto him, clinging to him for support, and the three of them began to grope their way towards the showers and the changing room. A huge cloud of insects followed them.
Suddenly everything was silent.
“You were right,” Tamara observed. “Your Mr Smithers is pretty good.”
The two of them hurried past the now deserted checkpoint, through the gate and along the track on the other side. The rainforest soon ended and they could make out the gantries with the rockets ahead. There was still no moon.
Tamara looked up. “We’re going to get wet,” she announced.
She was right. A few minutes later, the clouds opened and they were instantly drenched. The rain was warm and fell from the sky as if poured from an enormous bucket. A sheet of lightning pulsed over the sea, reflected in the ground that was being churned up all around them. Everything had become black and white.
“What will happen to the launch?” Alex shouted. There was no longer any need to whisper. Tamara could hardly hear him against the crashing rain.
She shook water out of her eyes and shouted back, “It won’t make any difference. The rain won’t last long. Everything will be dry by tomorrow morning.”
In fact, the storm couldn’t have broken at a better time. The launch area was a quarter of a mile of completely open land and Alex had wondered how they would cross it without being seen. He had no doubt that there would be other guards on patrol and probably closed-circuit TV. The rain provided perfect cover. In their dark clothes, he and Tamara were invisible.
The second jetty was on the western point of the island, connected to the rocket gantries and the various control buildings by a white cement track. Alex and Tamara were jogging towards it when a light suddenly burst out, cutting through the rain. It was mounted on a boat that was heading towards the shore, fighting its way through the tumultuous waves.
“This way!” Tamara yelled and pulled Alex towards a brick outbuilding with a tangle of metal pipes and gauges outside. As they ran, she tripped. Alex managed to catch her before she fell, and a few moments later they were safely concealed behind a water tank. The jetty was right in front of them. Alex wondered if Drevin was about to appear.
The boat reached the jetty. The rain was coming down even more heavily and it was difficult to see what was happening. Someone jumped down with a rope. More figures appeared on the deck. Alex had thought that Drevin was planning his exit from the island, but it looked as if the boat had brought new arrivals – people who didn’t want to be seen.
Alex heard a sound behind him and turned to see Magnus Payne and two guards drive down the track towards the boat. The ginger hair and lifeless skin of the island’s head of security were unmistakable even in a tropical storm. They reached the jetty and Payne got out. Four men climbed down from the boat. Alex grabbed hold of Tamara, shocked. He knew who the men were, even though he had never learnt their real names.
Combat Jacket. Spectacles. Steel Watch and Silver Tooth.
Force Three had come to Flamingo Bay. But why? What did it mean? Magnus Payne was shaking their hands, welcoming them. This was the terrorist group that had sworn to destroy Drevin. But they were being greeted like old friends.
And then a voice crackled out of the storm, amplified by hidden speakers, echoing all around.
“Do not fire! We know you are there. Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up.”
The five men froze. Two of them pulled out guns. But the words weren’t being addressed to them.
If Alex had any doubts that it was he and Tamara who were being targeted, they were dispelled a few seconds later. Four more buggies had come racing out of the rain. They slid to a halt, facing him, their headlights dazzling him. A dozen black shadows came tumbling out and took up positions around them. Next to him Tamara tensed, then sprang into action, drawing her gun. There was a single shot, fired from one of the buggies. Tamara cried out. Her gun spun away. Blood began to seep from a wound in her shoulder, spreading rapidly down her sleeve.
“That was your last warning!” the voice boomed. “Stand up and move slowly forward. If you resist, you will be shot.”
How had they been found? Alex thought back and remembered Tamara stumbling. A tripwire. That had to be it. As they had run, she had triggered an alarm.
Magnus Payne pushed his way through the line of guards. The four members of Force Three followed. The whole area had been empty only minutes before; now it was swarming. Tamara was clutching her wounded shoulder. Alex stood next to her, sick at heart.
And then Nikolei Drevin appeared, dressed in a light raincoat and – bizarrely – holding a brightly coloured golfing umbrella that shielded him from the downpour. He seemed relaxed, as if he’d simply decided to go for a late-night stroll. He stood in front of Alex and Tamara. There was very little emotion in his face.
“Miss Knight,” he said, and although he spoke softly, the words carried even above the sound of the rain. “I always did have my doubts about you. Or rather, I suspected that the CIA would try to infiltrate my operation, and you seemed the most likely choice. How very sad I am to have my fears confirmed.”
“The boy…” Magnus Payne had reached Drevin’s side.
“Yes. It seems your man didn’t quite finish the job.” Drevin stepped forward until he was centimetres away from Alex. Alex didn’t flinch; rain streamed down his face. “Tell me, Alex,” Drevin asked. “I’d be interested to know who you’re working for. Is it MI6 or the CIA? Or perhaps both?”
“Go to hell,” Alex replied quietly.
“I’m truly sorry that you chose to make yourself my enemy,” Drevin continued. “I liked you from the start. So did Paul. But you have abused my hospitality, Alex. A great mistake.”
Alex was silent. Next to him Tamara had gone very pale. She had one hand clamped over her wound and was obviously in pain. But she was still defiant. “The CIA know we’re here, Drevin,” she said. “You do anything to us, they’re going to be crawling all over you. You’re not getting away; you’ve got nowhere to go.”
“Whatever made you think I was planning to go anywhere?” Drevin retorted. “Lock the girl up,” he ordered. “I don’t want to see her again. Magnus – bring Alex Rider to the main hangar. I want to talk to him.”
Drevin turned and walked away. It only took three paces and he had disappeared into the rain.
PRIMARY TARGET
The main hangar was huge. Perhaps this was where the Cessna was kept when it wasn’t in use. The roof was a great curve of corrugated iron. One wall slid back to allow access to the launch site. There were various pieces of machinery and a few oil drums scattered around, but otherwise the hangar was bare. Alex was tied to a wooden
chair. Drevin was sitting opposite; Magnus Payne was standing beside him. Combat Jacket, Silver Tooth, Spectacles and Steel Watch were grouped together a short distance away. They had been invited to the party but it was clear that Drevin didn’t expect them to join in.
The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started. Alex could hear the water still gurgling in the gutters and there were a few last drops pattering on the roof. The air in the hangar was warm and damp. He was soaked. Payne had used a length of electrical wire to bind him to the chair and it was cutting into his flesh. His hands and feet were numb.
Drevin was wearing a light blue cashmere jersey and cords. He was relaxed, holding a giant brandy glass in one hand, two centimetres of pale golden liquid forming a perfect circle in the bottom. He raised it to his nose and sniffed appreciatively.
“This is a Louis XIII cognac,” he said. “It’s thirty years old. A single bottle costs more than a thousand pounds. It’s the only cognac I drink.”
“I knew you were rich,” Alex said. “I also knew you were greedy. But I didn’t know you were boring as well.”
“There are five men here who would be only too glad to deal with you if I were to allow it,” Drevin replied mildly. “Perhaps you would do better to keep your mouth shut and listen to what I have to say.”
He swirled the brandy and took a sip.
“I have to confess, I’m fascinated by you.” The grey eyes studied Alex closely. “When Magnus told me you were an MI6 agent, I laughed. I simply couldn’t believe it. But when I look back over everything that’s happened, it makes perfect sense. I met Alan Blunt once and thought him a most devious and unpleasant individual. This confirms my impression. Even so, I find it hard to accept that he sent you after me. Is that what happened, Alex? Were you planted from the very start?”
“He’d been shot,” Payne growled. “I’ve seen copies of his hospital records. That was real enough.”