DEVIL'S PAWN
An Alex Rider Adventure
CHAPTER ONE: Devils and Donuts
Paris, France
January 3, 2005
The men gathered around the large oak table were
totally silent. Not a cough escaped their lips, no
creak was heard from the chairs they were seated in.
You could say this was out of respect for the man who
had just spoken, but in truth it was only because they
could think of absolutely nothing to say. The man at
the head of the table had just spoken. How were they
to respond to what had been said?
Finally someone broke the silence. "Alex Rider lives?"
The man nodded, unfazed by the bluntness of Levi
Kroll's question. Kroll was, by nature, blunt, and
unafraid to ask the hard questions. But now his
normally domineering voice had lost an ounce of its
conceit. The empty space was filled by shock.
"Yes," the man, known only as Dr. Three, responded.
"We have just received the intelligence. From our
insider, naturally."
"That is... most unfortunate." This was voiced with an
Australian accent. Dr. Three gazed across the table at
the man who had spoken. An Australian, obviously, but
one who had long ago disbanded the name he had been
given. Not much was known about him, only that he was
rich, driven, and an active terrorist. "How did it
happen?"
A black man, one with eyes from Japan and one tooth
cut from diamond, coughed and leaned forward. "The
bullet was blocked by a rib. Being of low caliber, it
did not penetrate." His voice was Japanese, as well.
"But Mr. Mikato, this is disgraceful!" Kroll
announced. "How can Scorpia be properly feared when
our own sniper cannot act out revenge?" Grinding his
teeth, the Israeli sat back. His beard was flecked
with spittle.
The black man began to rebut the attack, but Three
held up his hands for silence. "Gentleman, please. I
have good news. Our informant had good information to
go with the bad. In light of this information I have
formulated a plan that will solve both the problem of
Mr. Rider and supply us with a large amount of money."
"What is this plan you speak of?" asked Mr. Mikato.
Dr. Three allowed a rare smile to come across his
lips. "I have taken the liberty of naming it Devil's
Pawn..."
Sleep didn't come easily to Alex Rider. The pain in
his chest was immeasurable, and whenever he rolled
over it sent spasms through his body. The fact that
his temporary bed was a small cot didn't help matters,
either. It was because of this that he awoke
frequently during the night. But sunlight spilled in
through the hospital window, and the digital clock on
the bedside table read 7:32. A full night's sleep,
Alex thought. Amazing.
He rubbed his eyes, careful not to bring up his left
arm too quickly. He had done it enough times to know
that quick movement was not worth the amount of pain
it inflicted.
He contemplated calling a nurse, but quickly thought
better of it. They were too doting. He had been here
for only a week, and already he was tired of them. He
could get his own breakfast.
His mind made up, he stood from the bed and pulled on
the hospital robe, almost crying out as his chest
spasmed. Best not wake his roommate, though. She had
been mumbling to herself for some time now, and Alex
was perfectly happy not to get to know her. She should
be in the mental ward, after all, not recovery. Or
maybe mumbling was part of her recovery...
Alex pocketed a few quid and stepped out of his room.
The hall was empty, save for the empty stretchers that
lined its walls. He turned left and started walking,
careful to go slowly. The vending machines were
somewhere around here.
There. Alex trudged over to the machines and used the
money to buy himself an orange juice and a candy bar.
Breakfast is served...
He walked back to the room. He was almost at the
doorway when something caught his eye. A foot, one
that was attached to a leg... He knew that leg.
Alex stepped inside. "Hello, Mrs. Jones."
The deputy head of MI6 Special Operations turned to
him. "Good morning, Alex," she said, picking up a box
from the bedside table. "I brought you some donuts."
"I've got my breakfast already, thanks," Alex said
bluntly, beginning to unwrap his candy bar. It was
obvious Mrs. Jones was trying to be nice, but things
had changed since his would-be death. He felt unsafe
around the people from MI6. Though he knew Scorpia
thought he was dead, something told him that it was
unwise to remain in contact with the intelligence
agency. However, when they showed up in his hospital
room with a box full of donuts he couldn't exactly
throw them out.
She sighed. "It seems like you're recovering well."
The teenager nodded and took a bite of the chocolate.
It was good, however much it hurt him to chew. "Yeah,
I guess. The movie on television last night was
horrible, though. All about some talking dog. I mean,
who the hell cares about a talking dog?" He fell into
silence, confused by his own sarcasm. Was it the pain
that was making him short-tempered? Pain was good, he
reminded himself. Pain meant he was alive.
But was life better than death?
He sat down on the edge of the bed, his head aching.
There was a long silence. Finally Mrs. Jones broke it,
and the mystery of her appearance was put to rest.
"Mr. Blunt would like to see you. When you've
recovered more, of course."
Alex muttered an obscenity. He wanted to see him?
After all that had happened? After he had come so
close to death because of the work that they had
forced him into? Christ, it was a crime...
Mrs. Jones coughed, bringing him back to reality.
"Alex?" He looked up. She was holding out a cell
phone, one of the late model ones with touch screen
buttons and a digital camera. "I know how you feel...
but he just wants to talk. Give him that, at least."
Her voice sounded sympathetic, and he caught himself
wondering how anyone could be sympathetic towards
MI6's head of Special Ops.
"We'll call you in a few weeks, Alex. After you've had
a little more time." Another awkward silence; Alex
fiddled with the phone. She stood up and shrugged on
her coat, walking to the door. "I hope you'll come in.
We may need you."
Need me? He thought, pulling up Tetris from the games
menu. You needed me before. That's why I'm in the hospital.