“Kaspar mentioned outer space,” Alex said. “He didn’t seem too happy about the idea.”
“Kaspar is a fanatic,” Crawley replied. “It’s true that a few wild birds got wiped out on Flamingo Bay when the launch pad was set up. As a matter of fact, there aren’t any flamingos there any more. Friends of the Earth and the World Wildlife Fund got a bit upset about it, but you don’t see them going around murdering people. Force Three’s a different matter.”
“What do you know about them?”
Crawley scowled. “Not a lot. Before this year, nobody had ever heard of them. Then a woman in Germany wrote an article about them in Der Spiegel and a few days later she was shot in the street. The same thing happened in London just over a week ago. A chap by the name of Max Webber denounced them at a conference on international security and got blown up as a result. We’re looking into both deaths right now – that’s why Mrs Jones is in Berlin. Force Three seems to be something quite new. Eco-terrorists … I suppose that’s what you’d call them. It’s all very alarming.”
“What about Kaspar?”
“Apart from what you’ve told us, we hardly know anything about him.”
“Well, he should be easy enough to catch.” It was something that had puzzled Alex from the start. The tattoos. “With a face like his, you’ll be able to spot him a mile away.”
“At least we know what we’re looking for. As for Drevin, he can take care of himself, I imagine. He’s got plenty of security out on Flamingo Bay. Our real worry is that Force Three might have a crack at Ark Angel. They’ve already blown up a car manufacturing plant, a research centre and quite a few other installations. Of course, they’ll have their work cut out. After all, Ark Angel is three hundred miles up in outer space. But none of this is any concern of yours.”
Crawley stood up. “You did a superb job, Alex,” he said. “I’m sure Drevin is enormously grateful. I wouldn’t be surprised if a large cheque didn’t turn up in the post. At the very least, you might get a couple of tickets to see Stratford East play.”
“I don’t want a cheque,” Alex said. “I just want to go home.”
“I hear the doctor says you can leave this evening.” Crawley slid the tape recorder into his pocket. “I’ve stayed long enough,” he said. “Very good to see you, Alex. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
I’m sure we’ll meet again.
Alex remembered the words now as he ate his scrambled eggs. Did Crawley really think he would ever work for MI6 again? If so he was very much mistaken. The strange thing was, he could think of dozens of boys at Brookland School who probably dreamt about being a spy. They’d imagine it would be fun. Alex had discovered the unpleasant reality. He’d been hurt, threatened, manipulated, shot at, beaten up and almost killed. He’d found himself in a world where he couldn’t believe anybody and where nothing was quite what it seemed. And he’d had enough. In two years he would be taking his GCSEs. From now on he was going to keep his head down, and the next time four terrorist kidnappers broke into a hospital he’d simply turn over and go back to sleep!
Jack Starbright had almost finished eating and Alex realized she hadn’t said a word since she had sat down. She’d been very quiet when she picked him up from hospital too.
“Jack, are you angry with me?” he asked.
“No,” she said. But the single word told him the exact opposite.
Alex put down his knife and fork. “I’m sorry.”
Jack sighed. “I don’t know what to say to you, Alex,” she said. “I’m not sure I can look after you any more.”
“Are you going back to America?”
“No! I don’t know.” She looked at him sadly. “You have no idea what it’s been like for me recently. First you tell me you’re going on vacation in Venice. The next thing I know, you’ve got caught up with some international band of criminals and then you get shot. How do you think I felt when they told me? But somehow you pull through and you’re in hospital, and any other kid would just stay there and get better. But not you! You have to take on a gang of kidnappers and nearly get killed all over again.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Alex protested. “It just happened.”
“I know. That’s what I tell myself. But the fact is, I feel completely useless.” She fell silent. “And I don’t want to be sitting here next time when they tell me you didn’t make it. I couldn’t bear that.”
Alex went over to her. “There isn’t going to be a next time,” he said. “And you’re not useless, Jack. I don’t know what I’d do without you. There’s no one else to look after me. And it’s not just that. I sometimes think you’re the only person who really knows me. I only feel normal when I’m with you.”
Jack stood up and gave him a hug. “Just my luck,” she said ruefully. “All the fourteen-year-olds in the world, and I end up looking after you.”
The phone rang in the hall.
“I’ll get it,” she said.
Alex took the plates over to the dishwasher and began to stack them. About two minutes later, Jack came back in. There was an odd look on her face.
“Who was it?” he asked.
“It was for you. I don’t believe it! That was Nikolei Drevin.”
“He rang himself?”
“Yes. He’s invited you to have tea with him this afternoon. He’s giving a press conference at the Waterfront Hotel and he wanted to know if you’d come along and meet him afterwards.”
“What did you say?”
“Well, I told him I’d ask you and he said he’d send a car.” She shrugged. “I guess he expected you to say yes.”
Alex thought for a moment. Mr Crawley had said that Drevin would probably get in touch. “Do you think I should go?”
Jack sighed. “I don’t know. I suppose he wants to thank you. After all, you saved him one million pounds. And you stopped his son getting hurt.”
Alex remembered Paul Drevin. He wondered if the other boy would be at the hotel.
“I could call him back and say you’re too tired,” Jack added.
For a moment, Alex was tempted. The last time he’d met a multimillionaire, it had been Damian Cray – and the experience had nearly killed him. On the other hand, this was different. Drevin was a target. It was the man called Kaspar who was the enemy. And it was fair enough that Drevin should want to meet him after what had happened. Alex felt awkward about saying no.
Sometimes it’s the tiniest things that can mean the difference between life and death. A few centimetres of kerb had saved Alex when he stepped off the pavement on Liverpool Street just as a sniper fired at him. Now two words were going to drag him back into the world he thought he’d left behind.
“Let’s go.”
AT THE WATERFRONT
The Waterfront Hotel was brand new – a silver and glass tower rising above the Thames at St Katharine’s Dock. Looking up the river, Alex could see Tower Bridge with HMS Belfast moored near by. He didn’t look the other way. He was only a few miles from where he’d been held prisoner. He didn’t need any reminder of that.
Behind him, Jack Starbright stepped out of the ordinary London taxi that had brought them here. At first she had been a little disgruntled. “So what happened to the Rolls-Royce?” she wondered out loud. But in the end she agreed that Drevin had made the right decision. The last thing either of them wanted was to make a grand entrance.
They walked into a foyer where everything seemed to be white or made of glass. A young woman was waiting there to greet them.
“Hi,” she said. “You must be Alex Rider and Jack Starbright. Mr Drevin asked me to look out for you.” She spoke with an American accent. “My name’s Tamara Knight. I’m Mr Drevin’s personal assistant.”
Alex cast an eye over her as they shook hands. Tamara Knight was twenty-five, although she looked much younger. She was not much taller than he was, with light brown hair tied back, and attractive blue eyes. Alex felt that the formal business suit and brightly polished leather shoes didn’t suit her
. He also wished she’d smile a bit more. She didn’t look at all pleased to see him.
“Mr Drevin is still tied up with his press conference,” she explained as she led them across the central atrium of the hotel. Silver and glass lifts rose and fell around them, travelling silently on hidden cables. A group of Japanese businessmen walked across the marble floor. “He said you were welcome to look in if you wanted to. Or you can wait for him in his private suite.”
“I’d like to know what a suite costs here,” Jack muttered.
Tamara Knight smiled coldly. “It doesn’t cost Mr Drevin anything. He owns the hotel.”
“Let’s take a look at the press conference,” Alex said.
“Of course. He’s talking about Ark Angel. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.”
She led them up a wide flight of stairs and along a corridor until they came to a pair of smoked glass doors. Two large men in suits were guarding this entrance. “We’ll slip in at the back,” Tamara whispered. “Just take a seat. Nobody will notice you.”
She nodded and one of the men opened the doors.
Alex went through and found himself in a wide, imposing room with large windows giving a panoramic view of the river. There were about a hundred journalists sitting in rows facing a long table on a platform. The words ARK ANGEL had been spelled out in solid steel letters, each one two metres high, and there were photographs of the earth, taken from space, suspended on thin wires. Three people were seated behind the table. One was the minister for science and innovation. The other looked like some sort of civil servant. Alex didn’t recognize him. The man in the middle was Nikolei Drevin.
Drevin was unimpressive. That was Alex’s first thought. If he’d bumped into him in the street he might have mistaken him for a bank manager or an accountant. Drevin was a serious-looking man in his forties with watery, grey eyes and hair that had once been fair but was now fading to grey. He had bad skin; there was a rash around his chin and neck as if he’d had trouble shaving. All his clothes – his suit, his shirt with its buttoned-down collar, the plain silk tie – looked brand new and expensive. But they did nothing for him. He wore them with as much style as a mannequin in a shop window. Alex noticed a gold watch on one hand. There was a ring made of platinum or white gold on the other.
Drevin seemed dwarfed by his surroundings. He was physically smaller than the two men who were sharing the platform with him. The minister had been answering a question when Alex came in. Drevin was fidgeting nervously, twisting the ring on his finger. Tamara gestured to a seat and Alex sat down. The minister finished talking and the other man looked around for another question.
One of the journalists raised a hand. “I understand that Ark Angel is now two months behind schedule and three hundred million dollars over budget,” he said. “I’d like to ask Mr Drevin if he now regrets getting involved.”
“You are mistaken,” Drevin replied, and at once Alex could hear the accent in his voice. It was more pronounced than his son’s had been. He spoke slowly, accentuating each word. “Ark Angel is actually three hundred million pounds over budget. This is a British project, you must remember.” There was a murmur of laughter around the room. Drevin shrugged. “Some difficulties were to be expected,” he went on. “This is the most ambitious building project of the twenty-first century. A fully functioning hotel in space! But do I regret it? Of course not. What we are talking about is the beginning of space tourism, the greatest adventure of our lifetime. A hundred years from now, it will not only be possible to travel to the edge of the universe, it will be cheap! Maybe one day your great-grandchildren will walk on the moon. And they will remember that it all began with Ark Angel. It all began here.”
Another hand went up. “How is your son? Does it concern you that the people who tried to kidnap him are still at large?”
Jack nudged Alex. They had arrived at the right time.
“I do not normally speak about my family,” Drevin replied. “But I will say this. These people – Force Three – claim they are fighting for the environment. It is true that the wildlife on Flamingo Bay was disturbed when we launched our first rockets, and I very much regret that. But I have only contempt for these people. They tried to extort money from me. They are common criminals and I have every confidence that the British or European police will soon bring them to justice.”
“Absolutely!” agreed the minister.
“We have time for just one more question,” the second man said.
A bearded man sitting in the front row raised a nicotine-stained finger. “I have a question,” he said. “I’ve heard rumours that the federal government of the United States is currently investigating Mr Drevin. Apparently they’re looking into certain financial irregularities. Is there any truth in that?”
“Mr Drevin is not here to answer questions about his personal affairs.” The civil servant scowled and the minister nodded.
Drevin cut in. “It’s all right.” He didn’t seem concerned. He looked the journalist straight in the eye. “I am a businessman,” he said. “I am, you might agree, a fairly successful businessman.” That produced a few smiles. Everyone in the room was aware that they were being addressed by one of the richest people in the world. “It is absolutely true that the CIA are looking into my affairs. It would be surprising if they weren’t. It’s their job. But…” – he spread his hands – “I have nothing to hide; indeed, I am willing to offer them my full cooperation.” He paused. “It is possible that they will find some irregularities. I went out to lunch last week and forgot to keep the receipt. If they decide to prosecute me because of it, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.”
This time there was real laughter and even a scattering of applause. The man with the beard blushed and buried himself in his notebook. The other journalists stood up and began to file out. The press conference was over.
“He’s such a brilliant speaker,” Tamara Knight said, and Alex couldn’t doubt the enthusiasm in her voice. She led Alex and Jack back the way they’d come, then across the atrium and over to one of the lifts. Once inside, she produced a key. The building had twenty-five storeys; the key activated the button for the top floor.
The doors closed and they were whisked upwards at speed. Alex felt his stomach sink as the atrium disappeared beneath them. Twenty floors up, the lift entered a solid shaft and the view was blocked. Another few seconds and they slowed down. The lift stopped and the doors slid open.
They had arrived.
They were in a huge room with windows on two sides giving breathtaking views over St Katharine’s Dock, the yachts and cruisers resting at their moorings far below. Tower Bridge was close by. It looked unreal, a toy replica, sitting in the afternoon sun. Alex looked around him. The room was simply but expensively furnished with three Persian rugs spread over light wood floorboards. The furniture was modern. On one side stood a dining-room table with a dozen leather chairs. A corridor ran past a black Bechstein grand piano to a closed door at the end. There was a sunken area in the middle of the room with three oversized sofas and a glass coffee table. Tea – sandwiches and biscuits – had already been served.
“Quite a place!” Jack said.
“This is where Mr Drevin stays when he’s in London.” Tamara Knight pointed out of one window. “You see the boat third from the left? The Crimean Star. That belongs to him too.”
Jack gasped. The vessel was gleaming white, the size of a small ocean liner. “Have you been on board?” she asked.
“Certainly not. My work with Mr Drevin doesn’t allow me to enter his private quarters,” she explained primly.
Just then the door at the end of the corridor opened and Nikolei Drevin came in. It occurred to Alex that there must be a second lift, bringing him up to another part of the penthouse. He was alone, hands clasped in front of him, his fingers tugging at the ring. “Thank you very much, Miss Knight,” he said. “You can leave us now.”
“Yes, Mr Drevin.”
“Have you mad
e the arrangements for Saturday?”
“I’ve left the file on your desk, Mr Drevin.”
“Good. I’ll talk with you later.”
Tamara Knight nodded at Alex. “It was good to meet you,” she said – but without a lot of enthusiasm. Then she turned and walked back into the lift. The doors closed and she was gone.
For the first time, Nikolei Drevin seemed to relax. He walked up to Alex and rested a hand on each shoulder, and for a second Alex wondered if he was going to kiss him. Instead Drevin held him firmly in what was almost an embrace. “You’re Alex Rider,” he said. “I am very, very happy to meet you.” He let Alex go and turned to Jack. “Miss Starbright.” He shook hands with her. “I am so glad you were able to come. Please, will you sit down?” He led them to the sofas and picked up the teapot. “Tea?” he asked.
“Thank you.”
Nobody spoke while he poured. At last he sat back and studied his two guests. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am, Alex,” he said. “Although I hope you will permit me to try. You quite possibly saved my son’s life. Certainly you saved him from a terrible ordeal. I am very much in your debt.”
“How is he?” Alex asked.
“Paul is well, thank you. Please, help yourself…”
Jack took a sandwich but Alex wasn’t hungry. He was feeling a little uncomfortable being this close to Drevin. The man was only a few inches taller than he was, and still seemed very ordinary. And yet he radiated power. It was the same with all the rich people Alex had met. Their money, the billions of pounds in their bank accounts, spoke before they did.
“I should be asking how you are, Alex,” Drevin went on. “I understand you were recovering from a chest injury. A bike accident?”
“Yes.” Alex hated lying but that was the story that had been agreed.
“Alex is very accident-prone,” Jack muttered, holding up her sandwich.