The yacht looked empty. No lights had come on behind the tinted windows, at least not as far as he could see. Nobody had come onto the deck. But Alex was certain there must be someone there. Otherwise, why would there be any need for the guards? It had to be Jack Starbright. This was where she was being kept. If he stood up and shouted her name, she might even hear him. Unfortunately, so would the guards.
As he sat there with his empty glass in front of him, all sorts of memories came tumbling through his mind. Jack dragging him out of bed, getting him ready for school. Jack making him breakfast, cutting his toast into soldiers, even though she knew he was far too old for it. Jack sticking an Elastoplast on his knee after that first fight in Stryker’s car demolition yard. Jack always worrying about him, waiting for him when he came home from every mission. Alex had no parents and MI6 had more or less torn his life apart. In the end, she had been the only constant, the one person he could rely on. He had thought she was dead. Now it was possible that she was just a few metres away. She had managed to send him a message, perhaps risking her life. He was going to get her out.
Alex didn’t much like it but he had worked out a plan and knew what he had to do. He paid his bill, then got up and walked along the harbour to the far end where steps led down to a strip of shingle with shallow water and small waves breaking against the shore. He had thought he might need a torch but the moon was out and there was enough light to see around him. He was looking for something and soon found it: part of an old wooden crate, thrown out by a fisherman perhaps and washed up here. He dragged it towards him and examined it. It was exactly the right size. It would do perfectly.
He waited another hour, hoping that the moon would disappear behind a cloud and give him the cover of darkness, but it was a clear, still night and eventually he realized it wasn’t going to happen. Alex was getting tired. He was still jet-lagged after flying from San Francisco to Cairo and knew he needed to make his move. He took the laptop out of his backpack and laid it flat on the wooden lid of the crate. He would be sorry to lose it. It wasn’t just a question of the cost. It wasn’t even the data that it held. He’d already uploaded everything that was important and emailed it back to himself. It was the machine itself. He remembered saving up for it. He’d had it for two years and it had become a part of him. Well, there was no other way. It simply had to go.
He waded out into the water, shivering as it rose up to his thighs. The temperature had already begun to drop as autumn drew near. Three more steps and he was swimming, kicking quietly with his legs and at the same time pushing the little raft with his computer ahead of him. Quicksilver was over to his left, towering above him.
He wasn’t too worried about being seen by the two men. They were high up and their eyes were fixed on the quayside. Once he got closer, he would be well concealed by the bulk of the yacht itself. Alex was more afraid of being spotted by someone in one of the restaurants or perhaps on one of the other, smaller boats moored further out. If they saw a lunatic kid going for a midnight swim and decided to raise the alarm, the police would arrive and then it would definitely be game over.
Six … seven … eight … he tried to keep his movements as rhythmic as possible, counting the strokes. His hands were still stretched out, guiding the raft. He felt his clothes tugging at him as he swam. Perhaps it would have been more sensible to strip off before he went in – but it was too late to think about that now.
He swam until he reached the slanting white wall of Quicksilver, then made his way back towards the quay until he was underneath the gangplank. This was the crucial moment. Treading water and being careful not to make any sound, he drew the laptop towards him, then partly opened it, keeping the glow of the screen concealed. It occurred to him that he had never asked Shadia to turn the computer into a weapon and although he was grateful to her, there was a part of him that resented it too. What was it she had said? Pressing CONTROL three times and X would turn the laptop into a bomb with a fifteen-second fuse. With difficulty, kicking out to keep himself afloat, Alex did exactly that, then gently pushed the raft so that it floated towards the front of the ship, taking the computer with it. Then, he swam under the gangplank and out the other side, putting as much distance as he could between himself and what was about to happen. He could imagine the two men standing directly above him, unaware that anything was wrong. That was about to change.
Alex counted to fifteen. Nothing. Had Shadia got it wrong? Could she have been joking? Alex swore quietly. Then, a second later, the computer exploded, an orange fireball blossoming out of the surface of the sea. It looked more like a giant firework than an actual bomb. It had made little noise but the flames were reflected in the water and seemed to spread across the entire harbour. The computer didn’t sink immediately. It was almost as if it had decided to help Alex one last time. What was left of it stayed where it was, floating on the piece of crate, cheerfully burning.
Alex had started moving the moment it had detonated. He lunged upwards and grabbed hold of the gangplank with both hands, then drew himself out of the water. The two men had vanished. Everything was happening exactly as he had hoped. They had run down to the front of the boat to see what was going on. Of course! They needed to see what was burning on the surface of the water. They might be under attack. His greatest fear had been that one of them would stay behind, but in the heat of the moment, they hadn’t taken that elementary precaution. The entrance was clear. Alex hoisted himself onto the gangplank and ran on board. He was dripping water and he was afraid that the puddles would give him away but finally the moon had done him a favour and found a cloud to hide behind. There were lights in all the restaurants and the fire was illuminating the sea, but the yacht itself was dark.
He slipped through a set of double doors and paused for a moment to allow his eyes to get used to the gloom. He was in a saloon, surrounded by expensive white sofas and chairs. Even in a house, the room would have felt huge. On a boat, it was almost beyond belief. A white grand piano stood in one corner. A whole wall was given over to a cinema screen with a sophisticated projector bolted into the ceiling. Alex noticed four shelves of DVDs, a drinks cabinet, a coffee table with a few magazines. Everything was brand new, cleaned and polished until it looked like something out of an advertisement.
He was still soaked, dripping water onto the highly polished wooden floor, and he quickly stepped onto a thick rug, then rolled on it to dry himself off. It wasn’t ideal but at least when he stood up he was damp rather than drenched. He glanced out of the windows. The two guards were still out at the bow but already the fire was going out. Alex could see the flickering flames on the other side of the glass. It was time to move on. With his clothes sticking to him and his trousers already chafing between his legs, he crept over to a second door and went into a dining room with an oval table, a great expanse of shining mahogany surrounded by fourteen chairs – more white leather. There were no plates, no glasses. Alex got the sense that nobody had eaten here for some time. The ceiling was low with recessed lights, all of them turned off. But for the glow coming from the restaurants on the harbour front, he would have been unable to see. He almost sneezed, holding it back at the last moment. He was cold. He remembered the pool of water he had left in the first room. If the guards saw it, it would lead them straight to him.
He wanted to hurry on but at the same time he knew he had to take care. It was something he had learned when he had been training with the SAS in the Brecon Beacons. Two simple rules. Never enter enemy territory unless you’ve established your way out and never leave your path of retreat unprotected. If the guards came after him, everything would be on their side. Alex didn’t know where he was going. He was unarmed. He was walking into a self-made trap and before he went any further he had to adjust the odds, to move them in his favour.
But how? He looked around him. There was nothing in the dining-room, no knives or forks or anything he could use as a weapon. A second door led into a high-tech kitchen: stainless-steel s
urfaces, an American fridge-freezer, an industrial-sized oven. Quickly, Alex searched through some of the drawers. There were plenty of knives to choose from but, thinking about it, he didn’t fancy the idea of a knife fight, not when the guards would almost certainly have guns. He found a utility drawer with candles, matches, Sellotape, string. Everything every household ever needs. An idea came to mind. It would take him a few minutes to set it up. Was it worth the time? Alex remembered the SAS training sergeant, screaming into his face. Yes. It definitely was.
Three minutes later, Alex was on his way again, climbing down a staircase which he had found on the other side of the dining room. The steps were covered with thick-pile carpet and he was grateful for it dampening any sound. A gleaming silver handrail swept round, inviting him further into the belly of the beast. He listened for any sound of movement but there was nothing, a silence that seemed to intensify as he went down. He came to a corridor, stretching into darkness. Down below, with no windows on either side, he couldn’t see anything. Alex reached into his backpack. He had managed to keep most of it out of the water while he swam. He took out his mobile phone, turning on the torch function. The sharp white beam picked out a series of doors. Bedrooms – or staterooms, he supposed he should call them. Boats had their own language, their own way of life. What did it matter? Jack might be in one of them. He was sure he was getting close.
He tried the nearest door. It opened into another oversized room with a king-sized bed, a dressing table, wardrobes, floor-to-ceiling windows. Once again, everything looked untouched, as if the entire boat was there to be shown off rather than used. Could he be wrong? Could anyone actually be living here? Perhaps the two guards had been paid simply to protect the property, the fixtures and fittings.
The next stateroom was the same. Alex padded down the corridor, the phone spilling light out of his hand. It was only when he opened the third door that he knew something was different. For a start, the air conditioning was on. He felt it stroking his face and his neck even as he tiptoed in. And this room was occupied. He saw a suitcase resting against a wall. The curtains were drawn. There were some paperback books thrown onto a table.
There was someone in the bed. Alex could tell from the shape beneath the covers. He saw red hair, spilling onto the pillow. He closed the door behind him. His heart was racing.
“Jack?” he whispered.
Nothing.
“Jack!” He tried again. He wanted to go over to her and shake her.
He didn’t need to. She had become aware of his presence and he saw her body shift. She turned over. A hand reached out to turn on a lamp on a bedside table and yellow light flooded the room. She twisted round and sat up.
It wasn’t Jack.
Alex found himself staring at an unattractive woman with a slightly masculine face and grey, lifeless eyes. She was much older than Jack, wearing a pink, semi-transparent nightie that hung awkwardly off her shoulders. She had gone to bed wearing lipstick. It had smeared across her mouth.
“Who are you?” Dragana Novak demanded.
“I … I’m sorry!” Alex didn’t know what to say.
“What are you doing here?” She spoke with a foreign accent that chewed the words. She was Eastern European. She looked furious to have been woken up.
“I was looking for someone,” Alex said. “I came into the wrong room. I’m very sorry to have disturbed you.”
He turned his back on her, reaching out for the door handle, but the woman called out to him. “Shtopp!”
There was something in her voice that made Alex hesitate. He turned around and saw that the woman had snatched up an odd-looking gun that had been resting on the table, right next to the bed in case she needed it. It was lightweight and seemed to be made out of some sort of white plastic. She brought it round to aim at Alex. At the same time, she swung herself out of the bed. Her legs, poking out beneath the pink nightie, were thick and blotchy, with a fine covering of hair.
“I was looking for a friend of mine.” Alex was already thinking ahead, trying to find a way out of this situation. He was annoyed with himself. The thought of seeing Jack had made him careless. He shouldn’t have just gone blundering into this room. “She told me she was staying on a boat called Silver Streak. I must have got the wrong one! Go back to sleep! I’ll show myself out…”
“No!” The woman was still aiming the gun at him. There was a dull excitement in her eyes. She licked her lips. Alex knew at once that she wanted to fire the weapon at him. Not because he was a danger to her – but because she would enjoy it. “You are not allowed on this boat. You sneaked in. You are a spy!” She spat out this last word with a sense of triumph.
“No,” Alex said. “I’m just a schoolboy. I’m just on holiday.”
“You are lying.”
“Please. Have a heart!”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I came here by mistake. Cross my heart!” Alex tapped his chest. “I’m fifteen. I’m nobody…”
Everything depended on the next few seconds. Either she was going to shoot him or she was going to call the guards. Alex made his move. Ignoring the woman, he half twisted round and grabbed the door handle. Dragana Novak fired. A tiny needle, two centimetres long and tipped with the deadly poison tetrodotoxin, shot silently across the room and penetrated his jacket. Alex jerked backwards, his shoulders slamming into the door, his phone dropping to the floor.
His eyes widened. He tried to speak. Slowly, he slid down to the floor and lay still.
FIRE AND WATER
Dragana Novak gazed curiously at the boy lying on the floor, in the corner. She wished now that he had told her his name before she killed him. Not that it mattered, really, but she was curious. Certainly, he had deserved to die. It wasn’t just that he was an intruder, creeping into her cabin in the middle of the night. He had woken her up! It was particularly annoying, as she had gone to bed with a headache and didn’t want to be disturbed.
She had spent the day shopping in Saint-Tropez. After the drabness of her life in Serbia, she felt she had come alive in the South of France: the sunshine, the bright colours, the shops so full of beautiful things. The pink nightie she was wearing had cost two hundred euros, an incredible sum of money – more than a month’s salary back home. After that, she’d had lunch in a busy restaurant near the seafront. Unfortunately, she had drunk too much wine. The third bottle was definitely a mistake and she had felt quite giddy as she had climbed into the taxi which had taken her back to Quicksilver. She had eaten some chocolates and then collapsed gratefully into bed, falling asleep almost at once.
Who was the boy? And how had the guards let him get past them? Dragana decided that he must be carrying some sort of ID and she would check it before she called them down.
Alex heard the bedsprings creak as the woman stood up. He was lying exactly how he had fallen, his arms and legs splayed, his head to one side. His eyes were closed but he took the risk and opened them just enough so that he could see her coming towards him. He had to know exactly where she was.
She had the most hideous feet. Her toes were stumpy with the sort of nails – thick and yellow – he would expect to see on an elderly man. He could just make out the hem of her nightie. Her lower legs reminded him of joints in a butcher’s shop. Her heel was a lump of dead skin.
Alex was alive because of a combination of luck and trickery. The luck was his wallet and passport in the inside pocket of his jacket. They might just have been thick enough to provide a shield for a bullet. Certainly they had protected him from the dart which, he guessed, must be tipped with some sort of poison. But he’d had to trick the woman too – and he’d done it using something else that he’d once learned from his uncle, Ian Rider. The power of suggestion, Alex. It’s what stage magicians use. They make you think you’ve got a free choice but actually they’re secretly influencing you. That’s what Alex had remembered in the moments before the woman had fired. He had told her to have a heart. A moment later,
he had repeated it, “Cross my heart.” When he was pleading with her, he had deliberately tapped his chest. In reality, he was telling her where to aim and, just to be sure, he had turned his body so that the target was obvious. And she had obliged. The tip of the dart hadn’t come anywhere near his flesh. After that, it was simply a case of pretending, providing her with what she expected to see.
The woman was standing over him. Alex didn’t move. He tried not to breathe. She was still holding the gun and it might hold a second needle. He could actually feel the weight of her, pressing down on the floor as she caught her breath. Now he could smell her. She had soaked herself in expensive perfume, presumably bought in Saint-Tropez, and smelled like a flower shop on a hot day. There was a rustle of material as she bent down towards him and that was when Alex knew he had to act. In an instant, his entire body sprang to life. His shoulders crashed into the side of her leg and at the same time, he whipped a hand round her ankle and pulled with all his strength. The woman cried out, losing her balance. Alex rose up, still holding her ankle. The woman struggled, her arms flailing. For a moment her eyes blazed into him. Her mouth was a snarl of rage. Then she toppled backwards.
He had hoped she would hit the floor but for once things didn’t go his way. Her head and shoulders slammed into the bed – and the mattress had the effect of a trampoline, bouncing her up again, back onto him. It was the last thing Alex had been expecting. With a cry of triumph, she launched herself at him, her hands reaching for his throat, and now the two of them fell together. Alex felt the breath being driven out of his lungs as she landed on top of him. He had twisted to one side to stop the needle being pushed through the wallet and the passport but he knew at once that it was the least of his problems.