Authors: Anthony Horowitz
Tags: #Europe, #Law & Crime, #Family, #Action & Adventure, #Juvenile Fiction, #Orphans & Foster Homes, #General, #People & Places, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Terrorism, #Fiction, #Orphans, #Spies, #Middle East
Scorpia Rising (30 page)
“Hello, Tanner,” he said jovially. “Or maybe I should call you by your real name now. Rider! It looks like you’ve reached the end of the line.”
“So have you,” Alex replied. “MI6 has a file on you. You may have been a war hero in Afghanistan, but they know you’ve switched sides and that you’re working for Scorpia. When this is over, they’ll come looking for you. And they’ll find you. There’s nowhere in the world you’ll be able to hide.”
Gunter smiled, but his eyes were troubled. “Maybe I’ll have to change my face,” he said. “Like Julius.”
Julius! So that was his name. It was the first time Alex had heard it.
Gunter glanced at the red welt on the side of Alex’s head, then at the other boy. He scowled. “You weren’t supposed to mark him,” he said.
“He was rude to me.”
“Razim won’t be pleased.”
Alex filed the information away. It might be useful later. Who was Razim? Presumably the man in charge. For some reason he needed Alex not just alive but unhurt. That might be helpful.
Gunter went over to the car and opened the trunk. He leaned in, and when he straightened up, he was holding a sophisticated weapon, a sniper rifle, complete with scope. Alex remembered the golf bag that he had seen at the House of Gold. He had no doubt that this weapon must have been inside. At some time Gunter had slipped a glove onto his right hand. He was holding the rifle by the barrel, taking care not to leave fingerprints.
“Before we go, I want you to take this,” he said. “And don’t get any funny ideas. It’s not loaded.”
“What do you want me to do with it?”
He had no sooner spoken the words than he felt a sharp jab in the ribs. He had been hit, hard, from behind. “You don’t ask questions. You just do as you’re told,” Julius said.
Alex took the gun. It was heavier than he had expected. He held it awkwardly, unsure what was expected.
“Aim it at me,” Gunter said. “Go on. I’m sure you’d love to kill me. Aim it at my head.”
Alex did as he was told.
“Now pull the trigger.”
Alex hesitated.
“Go on. Do it.”
Alex put his finger around the trigger and squeezed. There was a click but no explosion. As Gunter had said, the gun wasn’t loaded.
“I bet that felt good,” Gunter mocked him. “Now—hold it there.” He took out a digital camera and squeezed off a few shots: Alex and the gun, a brick wall behind him, nobody else in the picture. “That’s great,” he said. “That’ll make a nice addition to the Horseman file.” He held out the gloved hand. “Now, let’s have the gun back, please.”
Alex handed it over. He had a good idea what was going on here. He also knew that there was nothing he could do. Gunter put the rifle back in the trunk, then opened the car door. “Get in,” he instructed.
“Where are we going?”
“I’d just do what I tell you—unless you want Julius to hit you again.”
Alex climbed in. Gunter closed the door and wandered around to the driver’s seat. Julius Grief sat next to him, a bundle of scowling, angry energy. Alex guessed that he was still angry at being told off.
They drove back onto the highway and about a mile out of Cairo. The sun was just beginning its downward curve by the time they turned off, following a rough track to a patch of wasteland—yet another unfinished building site. There was a large, old-fashioned helicopter waiting there with a pilot already checking the controls. The helicopter was a Sikorsky H-34, once popular with the U.S. Army but no longer in production, with an engine mounted at the nose and a cockpit big enough for a dozen men. It was much bigger than the machine that Alex had brought down over the river.
“This is as far as I come,” Gunter said. “I have to take the gun back where it belongs. But I’ll be seeing you again the day after tomorrow, Alex. Enjoy the flight! In fact, if you want some advice, you should enjoy everything while you can. You don’t have a lot of time left.”
Alex got out of the car. Julius Grief pushed him forward, his hand slamming into Alex’s back. Alex climbed into the Sikorsky. The cabin had been constructed to house an entire squadron and it was so spacious that he could almost have parked a car inside. There were straps and rigging hanging off the walls and the door slid back far enough to allow parachutists to exit cleanly. Two benches faced each other across the void. Alex wondered if Jack had sat on one of them before him.
Julius had followed him in. “Sit there.” He pointed at one of the benches.
Alex did as he was told. The blades began to turn and he heard the whine of the engine rise up until it overwhelmed him. At last it was ready. The pilot pulled at the controls and the helicopter lurched off the ground. It hovered for a moment, then turned and rose up, carrying Alex away.
18
HELL IS WAITING
THE SCORPION WAS ABOUT an inch long, perched on the windowsill as if trying to catch the first rays of the morning sun. It was an unpleasant color, a strange sickly yellow that was almost transparent against the light. It had barely moved for the last ten minutes, its tail curving above its head. This one had to be a baby. The
Androctonus australis
—or Egyptian fat-tailed scorpion—can be more than four inches in length, and a full-grown adult is one of the deadliest insects in the world, with a sting that is often fatal.
Androctonus australis
—or Egyptian fat-tailed scorpion—can be more than four inches in length, and a full-grown adult is one of the deadliest insects in the world, with a sting that is often fatal.
Alex lay on his bunk, watching it. This was the second scorpion he had seen since he had woken up, climbing over the brickwork on the other side of the bars—and he guessed that there must be a nest somewhere below. Fortunately, neither of them had come any farther into the cell.
He had only a vague idea where he was—some sort of ancient fort in the Sahara desert. The sun had just been setting when they arrived, touching down on an area of sand that must have been treated in some way so that it wasn’t sent spinning into the rotors. As he had climbed out, the first thing he had seen was a miniature fort, about two hundred yards away, that looked like something out of an old film or perhaps a Tintin book. There was no other sign of life. After about a mile, the sand turned silvery gray, and he realized that he was looking at the edge of a huge lake. There was something odd about the water. It looked utterly dead.
The heat was intense, buffeting his face. He could smell aviation fuel from the helicopter. He already knew that even if he managed to escape, there would be no way out. There was simply nowhere to go. Where was Siwa? That was the name on the brochure that he had found. But if the oasis town was anywhere around him, it was out of his sight.
“Get in the jeep, Alex.” Julius Grief had climbed out of the helicopter and stood beside him. “There’s someone waiting to meet you.”
Alex said nothing but did as he was told. The jeep had been waiting beside the landing area with a driver in Bedouin dress and another man with him, carrying a rifle. Alex got in the back. Julius sat in the front. They started up and drove the short distance to an arched entranceway and two massive gates. As they passed into the fort, the gates swung shut behind them, meeting with a solid and conclusive thud.
And now there was activity all around him. As the jeep slowed down, Alex took it all in: Arab guards with machine guns, a radio tower, satellite dishes, more jeeps, watchtowers, and spotlights. There was a man drawing water from the well, another digging at some sort of salt pile. Overhead, a rope and wooden walkway stretched from one side to the other. He counted about a dozen buildings of different sizes, including one that looked like a chapel and one that was more like a doll’s house.
There was no sign of Jack.
“This way,” Julius said.
Alex followed his doppelganger into a long, narrow building set right next to one of the walls. He found himself in a cool, empty space with a fan turning in the ceiling and a wooden floor. There was a desk and a chair with a Cairo College uniform neatly folded and hanging on the back. Two guards, silent and emotionless, stood waiting for him.
There was a movement at the door and another man strolled in. Before the man had even spoken, Alex felt the atmosphere in the room change. He turned and found himself facing a short, very slender man with close-cropped gray hair and round glasses. The man looked too small and girlish to be dangerous, but Alex knew he must be in charge.
He stopped in front of Alex and examined him.
“What happened to his face?” he demanded.
“I hit him,” Julius replied.
“That’s very displeasing, Julius. I specifically asked you not to do that.”
“He annoyed me.”
The man turned to Alex. “Welcome to Siwa,” he said. “My name is Razim, and I’ve been looking forward very much to meeting you. I have to say, you do have a remarkable similarity to Julius Grief, a credit to the artistry of modern plastic surgery. I hope you didn’t find the journey too stressful.”
“Where is Jack?” Alex demanded.
“She’s here. She’s unhurt—for the time being.”
“I want to see her.”
“I’m sure you do, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible. As a matter of fact, I’m afraid you have a rather distasteful experience ahead of you. Believe me when I say that I take no pleasure in it, but I’m aware that in the past you have been equipped with certain ingenious gadgets and I also know that your Mr. Smithers has been in Cairo. So I’m afraid you’ll have to be stripped and searched from head to foot. I won’t actually witness this myself. I’ll spare your blushes. But I would advise you to cooperate with my guards or they will hurt you quite considerably.
“After that, you will take a shower and all your clothes will be replaced. We have a school uniform for you there, on the chair. We don’t want any exploding buttons or anything like that. As you can see, Alex, I am not a man who makes mistakes. You are now in my power and will remain so until the end of your life.”
“That’s not a very long time,” Julius muttered.
“That is indeed the case.” Razim sounded almost sad. “But we can discuss that in the morning. After the guards have finished with you, they’ll take you to a cell. You might be interested to know that we are in an eighteenth-century French fort, and this used to be the prison block. You will be given dinner and then left to sleep. I advise you to take advantage of it. You’ll need all the rest you can get.”
Julius smirked. Razim nodded at the guards, who moved forward.
“Good night, Alex. We will meet again tomorrow.”
“Sleep well!” Julius crowed.
The two of them left together and then the guards began their work. Two hours later, Alex found himself back in school uniform, alone in a cell that measured about thirty feet square with a bunk, a table, and a bucket for him to use in the night. There was a single barred window that looked onto the outer wall with a long shadow stretching out in the corridor in between. After about twenty minutes, the door opened and another guard came in with a tray holding bread, soup, and a bottle of water. This was all he was going to get for the night.
But there was no point in starving himself. Alex ate the food and drank half the water. He curled up on the bunk and a short while later, despite everything, he was asleep.
And now it was the morning, and the scorpion, alarmed by something, suddenly scuttled forward and disappeared over the windowsill. Alex looked up at the sun. He guessed it must be around eight o’clock. A moment later the guard who had brought Alex’s dinner returned, dressed in baggy trousers with a scarf around his head. There was a machine gun slung across his back. He signaled with one hand. The message was clear: Come with me.
Alex was led back out of the cell and down the passageway to the area where he had been received the night before. As he went, he heard a familiar voice.
“Take your hands off me, you creep. Who do you think you are, anyway? Just because you’ve got a gun—”
Jack! Alex hurried forward and there she was, standing in front of the desk, poking her finger into the chest of a man who was twice her size. She was dressed in the clothes she must have been planning to wear for the flight—pale jeans and a shirt tied around her waist. Her hair was a bit bedraggled and there was a tiredness in her eyes, but otherwise she looked fine.
Ignoring the guard who was right behind him, Alex ran to her.
“Alex!”
The two of them embraced. They were surrounded by armed men, but for the moment all of them were forgotten.
“Are you okay?” Alex asked.
“I’m fine. But I told you. You shouldn’t have come.”
“I didn’t have any choice, Jack. I couldn’t just leave you.”
“I know.” She held him close. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I think I’ve found a way out of here.” Then, louder: “Who are these people, Alex? What is this place?”
“I don’t know,” Alex replied. “But I think we’re going to find out.”
“Come. Now.” One of the guards had managed two words of English. He pointed at the door. Alex and Jack were led out of the prison block.
It was early morning, but the sun was already hot. Alex and Jack were led past the main gate and across to the house where Razim lived. Alex looked around him. He had already counted a dozen guards and there were probably more. This was the home of someone who liked to feel extremely secure. Ahead of them, Razim was waiting for them on a small terrace that he had constructed in front of his home. There was a stone table surrounded by dwarf palms sprouting out of terra-cotta pots. A stone lion dribbled water into a basin, the tinkling sound giving an illusion of cool in the desert heat. As usual, he was wearing a white dishdasha that looked brand-new. He was eating breakfast: fresh figs, yogurt, pastries, and tea. There was also a pack of cigarettes—Black Devils—beside him. Alex was glad to see that the table was set for three. It seemed that Julius Grief wouldn’t be joining them.
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