AFTER THE FUNERAL
The ambulance raced down the Avenue Maquis du Gresivaudan in the north of Grenoble, heading towards the river. It was five o'clock and there was no light in the sky or traffic yet, so no need for the siren. Just before the river, it turned off into a compound of ugly modern buildings. This was the second biggest hospital in the city. The ambulance pulled up outside the Service des Urgences. Paramedics ran towards it as the back doors flew open.
Mrs. Jones got out of her hired car and watched as the limp, unmoving body was lowered on a stretcher, transferred to a trolley and rushed in through the double doors. There was already a saline drip attached to his arm. An oxygen mask covered his face. It had been snowing up in the mountains, but down here there was only a dull drizzle, sweeping across the pavements. A doctor in a white coat was bending over the stretcher. He sighed and shook his head. Mrs. Jones saw this. She crossed the road and followed the stretcher in.
A thin man with close-cropped hair, wearing a black jersey and padded waistcoat, had also been watching the hospital. He saw Mrs. Jones without knowing who she was. He had also seen Alex. He took out a mobile telephone and made a call. Dr. Grief would want to know…
Three hours later, the sun rose over the city. Grenoble is largely modern, and even with its perfect mountain setting, it struggles to be attractive. On this damp, cloudy day it was clearly failing.
Outside the hospital, a car drew up and Eva Stellenbosch got out. She was wearing a silver and white chessboard suit, with a hat perched on her ginger hair. She carried a leather handbag, and for once she had put on make-up. She wanted to look elegant, but she looked like a man in drag.
She walked into the hospital and found the main reception desk. There was a young nurse sitting behind a bank of telephones and computer screens. Mrs. Stellenbosch addressed her in fluent French.
"Pardon," she said. "Je crois savoir qu'un jeune homme a été amené ici ce matin. Son nom est Alex Friend."
"Un instant, s'il vous plaît." The nurse entered the name into her computer. She read the information on the screen and her face became serious. "Puis-je vous demander qui vous êtes?"
"Je suis directeur adjoint de l'académie de Point Blanc. Il fait partie de nos étudiants."
"Connaissez-vous l'étendue de ses blessures, madame?"
"On m'a dit qu'il était impliqué dans un accident de snowboard." Mrs Stellenbosch took out a small handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
"Il a essayé de faire du snowboard dans les montagnes la nuit. Il a été impliqué dans une collision avec un train. Ses blessures sont très graves, madame. Les médecins opèrent maintenant."
Mrs Stellenbosch nodded, swallowing her tears. "Je m'appelle Eva Stellenbosch," she said. "Puis-je attendre des nouvelles?"
"Bien sûr, madame."
Mrs. Stellenbosch took a seat in the reception area. For the next hour, she watched as people came and went, some walking, some in wheelchairs. There were other people waiting for news of other patients. One of them, she noticed, was a serious-looking woman with black hair, badly cut, and very black eyes. She was from England – glancing occasionally at a copy of the London Times.
Then a door opened and a doctor came out. Doctors have a certain face when they come to give bad news. This doctor had it now. "Madame Stellenbosch?" he asked.
"Oui?"
"Vous êtes le directeur de l'école…?"
"Le directeur adjoint, oui."
The doctor sat next to her. "Je suis vraiment désolé, madame. Alex Friend est mort il y a quelques minutes." He waited while she absorbed the news. "Il a eu plusieurs fractures. Ses bras, sa clavicule, sa jambe. Il s'était également fracturé le crâne. Nous avons opéré, mais malheureusement, il y avait eu une hémorragie interne massive. Il est entré en état de choc et nous n'avons pas pu le ramener."
Mrs. Stellenbosch nodded, struggling for words. "Je dois prévenir sa famille," she whispered.
"Est-il de ce pays?"
"Non, il est anglais. Son père… Monsieur David Friend… Je vais devoir lui dire." Mrs. Stellenbosch got to her feet. "Merci docteur. Je suis sûr que vous avez fait tout ce que vous pouviez."
Out of the corner of her eye, Mrs. Stellenbosch noticed that the Englishwoman with the black hair had also stood up, letting her newspaper fall to the floor. She had overheard the conversation and seemed to understand it. She was looking shocked.
Both women left the hospital at the same time, but neither of them spoke.
The aircraft waiting on the runway was a Lockheed Martin C-130 Hercules. It had landed just after midday. Now it waited beneath the clouds while three vehicles drove towards it. One was a police car, one a Jeep and one an ambulance.
The Saint-Geoirs airport at Grenoble does not see many international flights, but the plane had flown out from England that morning. From the other side of the perimeter fence, Mrs. Stellenbosch watched through a pair of high-powered binoculars. A small military escort had been formed. Four men in French uniforms. They had lifted up a coffin which seemed pathetically small when balanced on their broad shoulders. The coffin was simple. Pinewood with silver handles. An English flag was folded in a square in the middle.
Marching in time, they carried the coffin towards the waiting plane. Mrs. Stellenbosch focused the binoculars and saw the woman from the hospital. She had been travelling in the police car. She stood watching as the coffin was loaded into the plane, then got back into the car and was driven away. By now, Mrs. Stellenbosch knew who she was. Dr. Grief kept extensive files and had quickly identified her as Mrs. Jones; deputy to Alan Blunt, head of Special Operations for MI6.
Mrs. Stellenbosch stayed until the end. The doors of the plane were closed. The Jeep and the ambulance left. The plane's propellers began to turn, and it lumbered forward onto the runway. A few minutes later, it took off. As it thundered into the air, the clouds opened as if to receive it and for a moment, its silver wings were bathed in brilliant sunlight. Then the clouds rolled back and the plane disappeared.
Mrs. Stellenbosch took out her mobile. She dialed a number and waited until she was connected. "Die varkies is weg," she said.
She got back into her car and drove away.
After Mrs. Jones had left the airport, she returned to the hospital and took the stairs to the second floor. She came to a pair of doors guarded by a policeman who nodded and let her pass through. On the other side was a corridor leading to a private wing. She walked down to a door, this one also guarded. She didn't knock. She went straight in.
Alex Rider was standing by the window, looking out at the view of Grenoble on the other side of the River Isère. Outside, high above him, five steel and glass bubbles moved slowly along a cable, ferrying tourists up to the Fort de la Bastille. He turned round as Mrs. Jones came in. There was a bandage around his head, but otherwise he seemed unhurt.
"You're lucky to be alive," she said.
"I thought I was dead," Alex replied.
"Let's hope Dr. Grief believes as much." Despite herself, Mrs. Jones couldn't keep the worry out of her eyes. "It really was a miracle," she said. "You should have at least broken something."
"The ski suit protected me," Alex said. He tried to think back to the whirling, desperate moment when he had been thrown off the train. "There was undergrowth. And the fence sort of caught me." He rubbed his leg and winced. "Even if it was barbed wire."
He walked back to the bed and sat down. After they had finished examining him, the French doctors had brought him fresh clothes. Military clothes, he noticed. Combat jacket and trousers. He hoped they weren't trying to tell him something.
"I've got three questions," he said. "But let's start with the big one. I called for help two days ago. Where were you?"
"I'm very sorry, Alex," Mrs. Jones said. "There were … logistical problems."
"Yes? Well, while you were having your logistical problems, Dr Grief was getting ready to dissect me alive!"
"We couldn't just storm the academy. That could have got you killed. It could have got you all killed. We had to move in slowly. Try and work out what was going on. How do you think we found you so quickly?"
"That was my second question."
Mrs. Jones shrugged. "We've had people in the mountains ever since we got your signal. They've been closing in on the academy. They heard the machine-gun fire when the snowmobiles were chasing you and followed you down on skis. They saw what happened with the train and radioed for help."
"All right. So why all the business with the funeral? Why do you want Dr. Grief to think I'm dead?"
"That's simple, Alex. From what you've told us, he's keeping fifteen boys prisoner in the academy. These are the boys that he plans to replace." She shook her head. "I have to say, it's the most incredible thing I've ever heard. And I wouldn't have believed it if I'd heard it from anyone else except you."
"You're too kind," Alex muttered. He had spoken to Fiona for the first time by phone earlier that morning after spilling the beans to MI6, who had informed Sir David about what had happened to Alex. She was overjoyed to connect with him but was horrified to learn that he had nearly died trying to escape Point Blanc. Curious to find out what he had discovered, Fiona and her parents had also been shocked to learn the truth about the school.
"If Dr. Grief thought you'd survived last night, the first thing he would do is kill every one of those boys. Or perhaps he'd use them as hostages. We only had one hope if we were going to take him by surprise. He had to believe you were dead."
"You're going to take him by surprise?"
"We're going in tonight. I told you, we've assembled an attack squad here in Grenoble. They were up in the mountains last night. They plan to set off as soon as it's dark. They're armed and they're experienced." Mrs. Jones hesitated. "There's just one thing they don't have."
"And what's that?" Alex asked, feeling a sudden sense of unease.
"They need someone who knows the building," Mrs. Jones said. "The library, the secret lift, the placement of the guards, the passage with the cells—"
"No way!" Alex exclaimed. Now he understood the military clothes. "Forget it! I'm not going back up there! I almost got killed trying to get away! Do you think I'm mad?"
"Alex, you'll be looked after. You'll be completely safe—"
"No!"
Mrs. Jones nodded. "All right. I can understand your feelings. But there's someone I want you to meet."
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and it opened to reveal a young mature man, also in combat dress. The man was well-built with black hair, square shoulders and a dark, watchful face. He was in his late twenties. He saw Alex and shook his head. "Well, well, well. There's a turn up for the books," he said. "How's it going, Cub?"
Alex recognized him at once. It was the soldier he had known as Wolf. When MI6 had sent him for eleven days' SAS training in Cornwall, Wolf had been in charge of his unit. If training had been hell, Wolf had only made it worse, picking on Alex from the start and almost getting him thrown out. In the end though, it had been Wolf who had nearly lost his place with the SAS and Alex who had saved him. But Alex still wasn't sure where that left him, and the other man was giving nothing away.
"Wolf!" Alex said.
"I heard you got busted up." Wolf shrugged. "I'm sorry. I forgot the flowers and the bunch of grapes."
"What are you doing here?" Alex asked.
"They called me in to clear up the mess you left behind you."
"So where were you when I was being chased down the mountain?"
"It seems you were doing fine on your own."
Mrs. Jones took over. "Alex has done a very good job up to now," she said. "But the fact is that there are fifteen young prisoners up at Point Blanc and our first priority must be to save them. From what Alex has told us, we know there are about thirty guards in and around the school. The only chance those boys have is for an SAS unit to break in. It's happening tonight." She turned to Alex. "The unit will be commanded by Wolf."
The SAS never use rank when they are on active service. Mrs. Jones was careful only to use Wolf's code-name.
"Where does the boy come into this?" Wolf demanded.
"He knows the school. He knows the position of the guards and the location of the prison cells. He can lead you to the lift—"
"He can tell us everything we need to know here and now," Wolf interrupted. He turned to Mrs. Jones. "We don't need a boy," he said. "He's just going to be baggage. We're going in on skis. Maybe there'll be blood. I can't waste one of my men holding his hand—"
"I don't need to have my hand held," Alex retorted angrily. "She's right. I know more about Point Blanc than any of you. I've been there – and got out of there, no thanks to you. Also, I've met some of those boys. One of them is a friend of mine. I promised I'd help him and I will."
"Not if you get killed."
"I can look after myself."
"Then it's agreed," Mrs. Jones said. "Alex will lead you in there but then will take no further part in the operation. And as for his safety, Wolf, I hold you personally responsible."
"Personally responsible. Right," Wolf growled.
Alex couldn't resist a smile. He'd held his ground and he'd be going back in with the SAS. Then he realized. A few moments ago, he'd been arguing violently against doing just that. He glanced at Mrs. Jones. She'd manipulated him, of course, bringing Wolf into the room. And she knew it.
Wolf nodded. "All right, Cub," he said. "Looks like you're in. Let's go play."
"Sure, Wolf," Alex sighed. "Let's go play."