I heard gunfire outside. MI6 was here and fighting Scorpia's forces. The balloon was rising out of the dome. The ceiling of the dome had been pulled open by hydraulic arms. Alex and I ran to the balloon. We grabbed onto the ropes hanging from the basket of the balloon. I climbed steadily, one shaking hand above the other. I wasn't afraid of heights, but I was afraid of getting shot by any stray bullets from the fight below. My fears were fulfilled when two bullets hit my back. The impact knocked the air out of my lungs, but I gripped the rope tight enough to keep me from falling. I recovered within a few seconds. Thank God for flak jackets. Finally, we reached the basket and hauled ourselves into it.
"Sorry if I hurt you," I apologized as the balloon floated upward.
Alex rubbed his cheek and smiled. "You can kiss me later."
The balloon was at four hundred feet and rising. We could see the SAS assault team sent by MI6. One soldier fired a warhead rocket at the balloon. I almost screamed, but the missile missed and hit the church instead. The SAS and Scorpia forces engaged in an all out battle. I looked down and saw Nile climbing up the rope. I cursed.
"Cam, the dishes are connected to this box. I think it's the main control." Alex flipped the box over. "We need to cut these wires."
"I don't have anything to cut with."
Alex swore. He put his foot on the box, grabbed a cable, and pulled. I did the same. My muscles screamed as I pulled at the cable. Finally, Alex's cable tore. He fell backward. I yanked a little harder, and mine tore too. Like Alex, I had a pleasant landing on my butt. Two more to go. The control box read eight hundred feet. A blade whizzed passed my ear. I screamed. I turned around – no one. Nile had to be just over the edge. I was right. Nile appeared over the edge of the basket. He reached back for his other sword but hesitated. Alex reacted quickly and punched him in the face. Nile lost his grip and fell. The balloon lurched. Alex looked down and swore as Nile's sword sliced into his left arm. I looked at the control box – one thousand feet. How long had we been at this height? I grabbed a sword and severed the last two cables. Did I cut them in time? Was I too late? Nile hauled himself into the basket and lunged at Alex with a third sword. He was slow and shaky – very unlike Nile. Then it hit me – Nile was afraid of heights. I thrust my sword into Nile's deflecting it. I kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling backward and wobbling over the side of the basket. That bought me some time to cut the ropes holding the balloon at a thousand feet. The flame carried the balloon higher and higher.
"Hey, we're going higher," I taunted.
Nile looked worried.
"Wow, everything's so tiny from up here!" Alex said, catching on.
"Shut up!" Nile raged, lunging for us.
Alex and I stepped out of the way. Nile missed and cut one of the ropes holding the basket to the balloon. The basket tipped slightly.
"Careful, Nile," I sneered. "It would suck if you fell from this kind of height. And we're still going up."
Nile threw his sword at me. I saw it coming, and ducked. The sword cut another rope. We were hanging by only two ropes. Alex took off his baggy sweatshirt and threw it into Nile's face. Nile flailed with insane, blinded terror. He backed up to the edge of the basket, fumbling to get the sweatshirt off his face. Alex and I stooped down, each grabbing one of Nile's legs and tipped him over the side. The assassin fell to his death about fifteen hundred feet below. Alex looked up and cursed.
"What is it?" I asked, looking up too. Holy crap – we're gonna die.
"RAF bomber planes. They're going to shoot the balloon down."
Alex took the sword from me and cut a third rope. The basket tilted at a dangerous angle.
"Alex! What are you doing?!" I screamed.
"Trust me!" Alex shouted back.
I saw that Alex had a backpack on his shoulders. He must have concealed a parachute under the sweatshirt. Alex grabbed the handle of the propane tank, which was pushing the balloon up higher still.
"Hold on to me," Alex commanded. I obeyed.
Alex threw the sword at the last rope but missed. He swore. Then I remembered the earrings Smithers had given me ages ago. I let go of Alex and grabbed onto the last rope. I took out the earrings and attached them to the rope. I held onto Alex again, and he threw his free arm around my waist. We waited for ten seconds and heard a loud pop! The basket fell to the ground two thousand feet below.
"Ready?" Alex asked me.
"Now or never," I replied grimly.
Alex let go of the propane tank and we plunged to the earth. After a few seconds of falling, Alex deployed the parachute, and we floated down toward the chaos below. Alex steered the balloon toward the trees behind the church to avoid the gunfire. As we approached the ground, the parachute caught on a tree. Luckily, we were only about ten feet off the ground. I let go and rolled as soon as I made impact on the grass. Alex shrugged off the backpack, dropped, rolled, and landed beside me. I breathed deeply, trying to recover from the insane adrenaline rush that had gripped me for the past ten minutes.
"We're alive," Alex laughed breathlessly.
I turned my head to look at him. The afternoon sun beamed on Alex's gorgeous face. A light wind whipped his tousled blonde hair around his beautiful brown eyes. I smiled to myself and stood up. Alex followed suit. I bean to walk back toward the church, but Alex caught my hand and pulled me back. He gazed at me longingly.
"What?" I asked him.
"You still owe me a kiss," Alex reminded me. "Remember – for slapping me?"
I smiled. I'd completely forgotten about that. I circled my arms around Alex's neck and kissed him twice.
"There, one for each time I hit you. Satisfied?"
Alex nodded and kissed my forehead. "Now I'm ready to go back."
By the time Alex and I reached the church, MI6 was in control of the situation. A car picked us up and drove us back to the safety of headquarters on Liverpool Street. There we waited for Mrs. Jones and Mr. Blunt to come back from the fighting. Once they did, Alex and I debriefed them on the details of the rest of the assignment. Mrs. Jones then explained to Alex the truth about his father. John Rider really wasn't a Scorpia assassin.
"He was working for MI6 under deep cover inside Scorpia," Mrs. Jones explained.
"If he was working for you, then why did you kill him?" Alex asked.
"We didn't kill him. Mrs. Rothman fell in love with your father, so we decided we should pull him out. We staged a horrible gun fight and captured John. When we exchanged your father for George Adair on Albert Bridge, he wore a squib under his jacket and was shot with a blank. He faked his death so he wouldn't have to go back to Scorpia."
"Where is my father then?" Alex asked hopefully. "Is he still alive?"
Mrs. Jones took in a deep breath – a sign of bad news. "I'm afraid not. You see, Mrs. Rothman found out that she had been tricked. We sent your mother and father on vacation to France. Mrs. Rothman placed a bomb on their plane. You were supposed to be with them, but you had an ear infection at the last minute and had to stay home."
Alex sighed sadly.
"John Rider was the best spy to ever work for MI6 – even better than your uncle," Mr. Blunt said. "We really hope that you will follow in his footsteps."
Alex looked up at Mrs. Jones and Mr. Blunt. "I don't know about that. But at least I can be proud of my father."
"And now about Camryn…" Mr. Blunt mused.
"What about me?" I asked.
"We need to figure out who is going to look after you."
"I'd be glad to adopt Camryn," Mrs. Jones chimed in.
"What? Are you serious?" I asked. All of a sudden, everyone wanted to adopt me…
Mrs. Jones nodded. "I'd hate to see you living with foster parents you don't know. Besides, most American foster children change homes every few months."
"I'd have to become a British citizen. I'd leave behind my home that I grew up in. I'd have to resign from the CIA and deal with a ridiculous mass of paperwork. I'd have to ship everything I own over here. It's going to be some messy business."
"Do you think it's worth the trouble?" Mrs. Jones asked me.
I thought about it. My friends in New York probably won't miss me too much. Besides, I've been in the U.K. for four months, and none of my friends have called me in three months – pretty pathetic. I glanced over at Alex for a sign of what he thought about the situation. He just smiled at me. I made up my mind.
"Yeah, it's worth it."
I'm sitting in History again, but I'm not complaining this time. It's so nice to get back into the normal rhythm of life. I'm just a kid again. I'm struggling to stay awake in class instead of struggling to survive on Malagosto. I'm battling homework instead of battling world-renowned assassins. I never thought I would say this, but a boring life is somewhat nice. I mean, no cares, no worries. No being chased by assassins in the middle of nowhere, no dealing with mad women who want to kill children for money, no parachuting out of hot-air balloons. I smile to myself, now grateful for the life I have. I wonder if my mission partner feels the same.
I glance over at the boy sitting next to me. His head is resting on his arms on his desk. His dusty blonde hair hangs over his closed eyes. His shoulders and back move up and down to his rhythmic, peaceful breathing. Mr. Oakland slaps his meter stick on the boy's desk. He jolts awake and rubs his face sleepily.
"One more time and it's detention for you, mister," Mr. Oakland warns.
The boy mumbles something under his breath at our teacher. I bite my lip to stifle a giggle. It's hard to believe that this boy saved our entire class – more than that – every fifteen-year-old in London. And who is this boy, you ask?
His name is Rider…Alex Rider.