Chapter 1: Alex
I was so close. So friggin' close. Rung after rung I climbed, my arm muscles screaming. But I'd done this before. Heck, I did it last year, under much different circumstances. Still, it was basically the same thing.
"Come on, Alex!"
Trust Tom Harris to be supportive. Unlike everybody else. That's why he was my best friend, and I haven't been seeing much of those lately.
I was almost across. James Hale was waiting, holding out an arm. Right. I still had James. That was something to be thankful for, now wasn't it?
So… close…
I swung back and forth, building up my momentum. Then, I jumped.
James grabbed my arm and pulled me across the bridge.
"Thanks," I muttered, as we ran across it to the pole.
"No problem," he said. "Can't have you failing this, now can we?"
"Then you'd be all lonely," I told him.
James shrugged. "Could be worse."
I knew he needed me up there with him. Tom had already failed on the steps. The steps! I wouldn't let him forget that, even though I didn't blame him: he usually was a rival to me when it came to sports, but today he must've just not been feeling right.
Now, it was just me, James, and two other boys from my geography class. Dave and Ross. They shouldn't be hard to beat. My real problem was James, actually. The last portion of the race was a puzzle, and he was rather good at those.
Come off it, Alex, I thought to myself. You're good at those too. How many times have you figured out escape routes and secret passageways with MI6?
Well, that was the problem. Dr. Grief hadn't asked me, 'Alex, if you can solve this puzzle, I'll let you skip off home,' before he almost had me dissected alive. And Winston Yu hadn't been the clue-and-riddle type before he was very close to having me operated on.
A whistle blew. "Fifteen minutes, boys!"
That was the P.E. teacher. Fifteen minutes? That was too short! I clenched my teeth, and followed James and the others across the bridge and toward the pole.
Dave pushed me aside, and started to slide down. Then came Ross. I jumped onto it before James could, and slid down with ease. I hurried to catch up with the other boys, and started to climb up the ladder.
The ladder lead to the platform with the puzzle written on a table. Ross had already read through it, but Dave just stood there and stared blankly at the letters. Could he read them? I doubted it.
A detective —
Oh, no. I already knew how this would end.
A detective is investigating an illegal oil seller. They found a note at the scene of the crime, with these letters: 710 57735 34 5508 51 7718. There are three suspects: Bill, John, and Todd. Who is the oil seller?
I read the riddle twice, then memorized the numbers. 710 57735 34 5508 51 7718. What did it mean?
James finally made it up the ladder. Had he had trouble going down the pole? I shook off the thought and went over the riddle again. An oil seller? That's the best they could come up with? I was hardly impressed. I looked for any words that could be switched or had double meanings. None that I could see. But what about the suspects' names? Bill, John, and Todd. Who did it?
The numbers were beginning to blur in my vision, taunting me. It sounded so easy. Why couldn't I crack this? Alex Rider, teen superspy, 14-year-old who took down generals, smugglers, and double-crossing charity owners, couldn't solve a riddle at a school competition! MI6 would have a field day with that one.
I tried to focus. The numbers were there for some reason. I walked around the table, and looked at them upside down. Then, it was there, plain as day:
BILL IS BOSS HE SELLS OIL
"FINISHED!" I yelled down to the teachers below.
Ross glared at me, Dave didn't even look up, and James just shook his head.
The P.E. teacher climbed up the ladder. "You've finished, Alex?" he asked me.
I nodded. "Yes, sir."
"So who sold the oil?"
I smiled. "Bill did, sir."
The P.E. teacher stole a look at his clipboard. Then, a smile slowly started to creep onto his face. "Congratulations, Alex. You've won."
I smiled. "Thank you, sir."
Ross rolled his eyes. "That's only because he cheated, sir!"
The teacher looked back at me. "Is this true?"
I shook my head. "Of course not, sir."
He turned back to Ross. "Don't be such a sore loser, Mr. McNeil."
Ross's face turned red, but he didn't say anything. I climbed down the ladder to meet Tom.
"That was brilliant, Al!" he said. "How'd you know?"
I told him what I'd done. James nodded. "That makes sense."
The bell rang, and we ran inside.
. . .
The spy set down his binoculars. "Congratulations, Alex," he said softly. "You've won the game. But the battle has just begun."