8.54 am, Friday, 1st April

Port Tallon, Cornwall

They came for Alex the following morning.

He had spent the night handcuffed to a radiator in a small dark room with a single barred window. When Alex opened his eyes, the grey first light of the morning was just creeping in. He closed them and opened them again. His head was thumping and the side of his face was swollen where Mr Grin had hit him. His arms were twisted behind him and the tendons in his shoulder were on fire.

But worse than all this was his sense of failure.

It was April first, the day when the Stormbreakers would be unleashed. And Alex was helpless. He had let down MI6, his uncle - and himself.

He could only hope and wish and pray to whatever deity out there that Blunt or Jones had figured out what had happened. Surely they had heard the guard find Alex the night before, heard the blaring alarms after the guard's unconscious body had been found?

But even as the questions arose, he already knew the answers.

Nobody had used the word "biochemical virus" out loud, after all - and Alex had been knocked unconscious before he could say a thing.

It was just before nine o'clock when the door opened and two guards came in with Mr Grin behind them. The handcuffs were unlocked and Alex was forced to his feet. Then, with a guard holding him on each side, he was marched out of the room and up a flight of stairs. He was still in Sayle's house. The guards half dragged him through a doorway and into the room with the aquarium. There was a high-backed wooden chair in front of it. Alex was forced to sit down. His hands were cuffed behind him again.

The guards left.

Mr Grin remained.

He heard the sound of feet on the spiral staircase and saw the leather shoes coming down before he saw the man who wore them. Then Herod Sayle appeared, dressed in an immaculate pale grey silk suit. Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones had been suspicious of the Egyptian multimillionaire from the very start. They'd always thought he had something to hide. But even they had never guessed the truth. He wasn't a friend of England. He was its worst enemy.

"Three questions" Sayle snapped. His voice was utterly cold. "Who are you? Who sent you here? How much do you know?"

"I don't know what you're talking about" Alex said.

Sayle sighed. If there had been anything comical about him when Alex had first seen him, it had completely evaporated. His face was bored and businesslike. His eyes were ugly, full of menace.

"We have very little time" he said, "Mr Grin?"

Mr Grin went over to one of the display cases and took out a knife, razor-sharp with a serrated edge. He held it up close to his face, his eyes gleaming.

"I've already told you that Mr Grin used to be an expert with knives" Sayle continued, "He still is. Tell me what I want to know, Alex, or he will cause you more pain than you could begin to imagine. And don't try to lie to me, please. Just remember what happens to liars. Particularly to their tongues".

Mr Grin took a step closer. The blade flashed, catching the light. Alex very quickly decided that Blunt's secrets weren't worth his own life.

"My name is Alex Rider".

"Who sent you here?"

"The same people who sent the last guy you killed".

There was no point in lying. It didn't matter anymore. The stakes had become too high.

"MI6?" Sayle laughed without any sign of humour. "They send fourteen-year-old boys to do their dirty work? Not very English, I'd have said". Now he walked forward and sat down behind the desk. "And what of my third question, Alex? How much have you found out?"

A plan started to slowly form in his mind. Sayle was a narcissist - that much was for certain, so if he played his cards right, and acted appropriately humbled, then maybe he'd be able to get the man to explain his entire plan out loud - with the man himself being none the wiser that someone at MI6 was listening to his every word.

Alex shrugged, trying to look casual, to hide the fear he was really feeling.

"I know enough".

"Go on".

Alex took a breath. Behind him, the jellyfish drifted past like a poisonous cloud. He could see it out of the corner of his eye. He tugged at the handcuffs, wondering if it would be possible to break the chair.

There was a sudden flash and the knife that Mr. Grin had been holding was suddenly quivering in the back of the chair, an inch from his head. The edge of the blade had actually nicked the skin of his neck. He felt a trickle of blood slide down over his collar.

"You're keeping us waiting" Herod Sayle said.

"Alright! When the last agent was here, he became interested in viruses. He asked about them at the local library. I thought he was talking about computer viruses. That was the natural assumption. But I was wrong. I saw what you were doing last night. I heard them talking on the speaker system. Decontamination and biocontainment zones... They were talking about biological warfare. You've gotten hold of some sort of real virus. It came here in test tubes, packed into silver boxes, and you've put them into the Stormbreakers. I don't know what happens next. I suppose when the computers are turned on, people die. They're in schools, so it'll be schoolchildren. Which means that you're not the saint everyone thinks you are, Mr Sayle. A mass murderer… A bliddy psycho, I suppose you might say".

Herod Sayle clapped his hands softly together.

"You've done very well, Alex" he said. "I congratulate you. And I feel you deserve a reward... So I'm going to tell you everything".

Jackpot.

10.21 am, Friday, 1st April

Port Tallon, Cornwall

If you had asked Alex how he had imagined himself dying someday, his top number one would most definitely not have been "being stung alive by a brainless ten-foot fish".

And yet here they were.

Alex gasped for breath as his head broke through the surface of the water. He couldn't break the glass in the massive water tank that Nada Vole had pushed him into. He couldn't climb out because of the metal cage surrounding it. He also couldn't avoid the touch of the jellyfish forever.

Although he had taken all the gadgets Smithers had given him, none of them could help him - and then Alex remembered the zit cream.

He let go of his injured arm - courtesy of the ornamental rocks - and ran a finger up the side of the aquarium. The tank was an engineering marvel. Alex had no idea how much pressure the water was exerting on the huge plates of glass, but the whole thing was held together by a framework of iron girders that fitted around the corners on both the inside and the outside of the glass, the metal faces held together by a series of rivets.

Treading water, he unzipped his pocket and took out the tube. The jellyfish was drifting toward the back of the aquarium. Alex waited a few moments, then swam forward and dived for a second time.

He held the tube against the metal corners at the front of the tank and did his best to squeeze a long line of cream all the way down the length of metal, using his other hand to rub it in around the rivets.

He kicked his feet, propelling himself across to the other side. He didn't know how long he would have before the cream took effect - and anyway, Vole was already aware that something was wrong. Alex saw that she had stood up from her "observational seat" and was speaking into the mobile phone, perhaps calling for help.

He had used half the tube on one side of the tank. He used the second half on the other. The jellyfish was hovering above him, the tentacles reaching out as if to grab hold of him and stop him. How long had he been underwater? His heart was pounding. And what would happen when the metal broke?

He just had time to take one breath before he found out.

Even underwater, the cream burned through the rivets on the inside of the tank. The glass separated from the girders, and with nothing to hold it back, the huge pressure of water smashed it open like a door caught in the wind. Alex didn't see what happened next. He didn't have time to think. The world spun and he was thrown forward, as helpless as a cork in a waterfall.

The next few seconds were a twisting nightmare of rushing water and exploding glass.

Alex didn't dare open his eyes. He felt himself being hurled forward, slammed into something, and then sucked back again. He was sure he had broken every bone in his body. Now he was underwater. He struggled to find air. His head broke through the surface, but even so, when he finally opened his mouth, he was amazed he could actually breathe.

The front of the tank had blown off and a thousand gallons of water had cascaded into Herod Sayle's office. The water had smashed the furniture and blown the windows out. It was still falling in torrents through the holes where the windows had been, the rest of it draining away through the floor.

Bruised and dazed, Alex stood up, water curling around his ankles.

Where was the jellyfish?

He had been lucky that the two of them hadn't become tangled up in the sudden eruption of water. But it could still be close. There might still be enough water in Sayle's office to allow it to reach him. Alex backed into a corner of the room, his whole body taut.

Then he saw it.

Nadia Vole had been less lucky than he. She had been standing in front of the glass when the girders broke and she hadn't been able to get out of the way in time. She was floating on her back, her legs limp and broken. The Portuguese man-of-war was all over her. Feeling sick, Alex backed away to the door and staggered out into the corridor.

An alarm had gone off.

He only heard it now as sound and vision came back to him. The screaming of the siren shook him out of his dazed state. He was in Cornwall, at least a five-hour drive from London, and with the alarms sounding, the armed guards, and the razor wire, he'd never make it out of the complex in time.

Find a telephone? No. Vole had probably been telling the truth earlier on when she said they were blocked. And, anyway, how could he get in touch with Alan Blunt or Mrs Jones at this late stage? They'd already be at the Science Museum - and hopefully, if they had any sense at all, they'd be using the information Sayle himself provided just over an hour ago to shut down the Stormbreaker machines…

But what if they weren't?

Alex was soaking wet, battered, and almost exhausted - but he knew what he had to do.

He spun around and began to run.

10.49 am, Friday, 1st April

Port Tallon, Cornwall

Alex burst out of the house and stopped in the open air, taking stock of his surroundings. He was aware of alarms ringing, guards running toward him, and two cars, still some distance away, tearing up the main drive, heading for the house.

It looked like he was too late. Sayle's private helicopter had already gone. Alex was still reeling from what he had heard. The multimillionaire was completely insane! What he was planning was beyond belief, a mass murder that would destroy Britain for generations to come.

He didn't know how much of the man's speech MI6 had heard - or even if they'd heard any of it at all - but he refused to take that chance.

Only the cargo plane was left. If Alex was going to reach the Science Museum in London in time, he had to be on it. But the cargo plane was already in motion.

Alex looked around and saw an army jeep parked on the drive near the front door. There was a guard standing next to it, a cigarette slipping out of his hand, looking around to see what was happening but looking the wrong way.

Perfect.

Alex sprinted across the gravel. He had brought a weapon from the house. One of Sayle's harpoon guns had floated past him just as he left the room and he'd snatched it up, determined at last to have something he could use to defend himself. It would be easy enough to shoot the guard right now. A harpoon in the back and the jeep would be his-

But Alex knew he couldn't do it.

Whatever Alan Blunt and M16 wanted to turn him into, he wasn't ready to shoot in cold blood. Not for his country. Not even to save his own life.

The guard looked up as Alex approached and fumbled for the pistol in a holster at his belt. He never made it. Alex used the handle of the harpoon gun, swinging it around and up to hit him, hard, under the chin.

The guard crumpled, the pistol falling out of his hand. Alex grabbed it and leapt into the jeep, grateful to see the keys were in the ignition. He turned them and heard the engine start-up. He knew how to drive. That was something else Ian Rider had made sure he'd learned - as soon as his legs were long enough to reach the pedals.

Alex just never thought he'd be using that skill like this.

He reached into his pocket and took out the yo-yo that Smithers had given him. There was a metal stud on the belt he was wearing and he slammed the yo-yo against it, feeling it click into place. Then, as quickly as he could, he tied the end of the nylon cord around the bolt of the harpoon.

The plane was facing down the runway. Its propellers were at full speed.

Alex wrenched the gear into first, released the hand brake, and gunned the jeep forward, shooting over the drive and onto the grass, heading for the airstrip. At the same time, there was a chatter of machine-gun fire.

He yanked down on the steering wheel and twisted away as his wing mirror exploded and a spray of bullets slammed into the windshield and door. Alex tried to go faster, but it was already too late. The cars with the guards in the back had reached him, and for one horrible second, he found himself sandwiched between them, one on each side.

There was only one thing to do.

He slammed his foot on the brake, ducking at the same time. The jeep skidded to a halt and the other two cars flashed past him. There was another chatter as both machine guns opened fire. Alex looked up. The two guards had squeezed their triggers simultaneously. They had both been aiming at him, but with the jeep suddenly out of their sight, they had ended up firing at each other.

Alex slammed the car back into first gear and set off again. Where was the plane? With a groan, he saw that it had begun rolling down the runway. It was still moving slowly but was rapidly picking up speed. Alex hit the tarmac and followed.

The jeep was doing about seventy, but it wasn't fast enough. And straight ahead of him, the way was blocked. Two more cars had arrived on the runway. More guards with machine guns balanced themselves, half leaning out of the windows. They had a clear shot. There was nothing to stop them from hitting him.

Unless…

He turned the steering wheel and yelled out as the jeep spun across the runway, behind the plane. Now he had the plane between him and the approaching cars. He was safe. But only for a few more seconds. The plane was about to leave the ground. Alex saw the front wheel separate itself from the runway. He glanced in his mirror. The car that had chased him from the house was right on his tail.

He had nowhere left to go.

Alex let go of the steering wheel, grabbed the harpoon gun, and fired. The harpoon flashed through the air. The yo-yo attached to Alex's belt spun, trailing out thirty yards of specially designed advanced nylon cord. The pointed head of the harpoon buried itself in the underbelly of the plane.

Alex felt himself almost being torn in half as he was yanked out of the jeep on the end of the cord. In seconds he was forty, fifty yards above the runway, dangling underneath the plane.

The wind was rushing past him, battering his face and deafening him. He couldn't even hear the propellers, just above his head. The belt was cutting into his waist. He could hardly breathe.

Desperately, he scrabbled for the yo-yo and found the control he wanted. A single button. He pressed it and the tiny powerful motor inside the yoyo began to turn. Very slowly, an inch at a time, Alex was drawn up toward the plane.

11.53 am, Friday, 1st April

London, England

Unsurprisingly, Mr Grin had become a very obedient pilot after Alex had threatened to shoot him - and fifty minutes later, the clouds rolled back and the late morning sun brought the whole city of London into view.

When he had gotten into the plane, he'd intended to use the radio to call the police or anyone else who might be listening. But seeing Mr Grin at the controls had changed all that. He remembered how fast the man had been when he encountered him outside the bedroom. He knew he was safe enough in the cargo area, with Mr Grin strapped into the pilot seat at the front of the plane. But he didn't dare get any closer.

Even with the gun, it would be too dangerous.

He had thought of forcing Mr Grin to land the plane at Heathrow. The radio had started squawking the moment they'd entered London airspace and had only stopped when Mr Grin turned it off. But that would never have worked. By the time they reached the airport, touched down, and coasted to a halt, it would be far too late.

And then, sitting hunched up in the cargo area, Alex had recognized the two bundles lying on the floor next to him. They had told him exactly what he had to do.

"Eeerg!" Mr Grin said. He twisted around in his seat, and for the last time, Alex saw the hideous smile that the circus knife had torn through his cheeks.

"Thanks for the ride" Alex said, and jumped out of the open door.

The bundles were parachutes. Alex had checked them out and strapped one onto his back when they were still over Reading. He was glad that he'd spent a day on parachute training with the SAS, although this flight had been even worse than the one he'd endured over the Welsh valleys. This time there was no static line. There had been no one to reassure him that his parachute was properly packed. If he could have thought of any other way to reach the Science Museum in the seven minutes that he had left, he would have taken it. There was no other way. He knew that.

So he'd jumped.

Once he was over the threshold, it wasn't so bad. He was dangling in the air, underneath a comforting canopy of white silk. He felt as if he wasn't moving at all. Now that he had left the plane, the city seemed even more distant and unreal. It was just him, the sky, and London. He was almost enjoying himself.

And then Alex heard the plane coming back.

Fucking Grin.

It was already a mile or more away, but now he saw it bank steeply to the right, making a sharp turn. As the plane drew closer and closer, he could imagine the man's neverending smile behind the window of the cockpit. Mr Grin intended to steer the plane straight into him, to cut him to shreds in midair.

But Alex had been expecting it.

He reached down and took the Nintendo Switch out of his trouser pocket. He had slipped one of the controllers out a long time ago and slid it across the floor of the empty cargo plane. That was where it was now. Just behind Mr Grin's seat. A smoke bomb. Set off by remote control.

He pressed the start button three times.

Alex watched the plane dive. He could imagine Mr Grin blinded, fighting for control - and the thought brought with it an odd sense of peace. The plane began to twist, slowly at first, then faster and faster. At the last minute, Mr Grin managed to bring up the nose again. But it was much too late. The plane smashed into what looked like a deserted piece of dock land near the River Thames and disappeared in a ball of flame.

Somewhere outside the museum, a clock struck twelve.

Alex heard the clock from about five hundred feet up, with the roof of the Science Museum rushing toward him.

He had seen the building just after the plane had crashed. It hadn't been easy finding it, with the city spread out like a three-dimensional map right underneath him. On the other hand, he had lived the past three years in West London and had visited the museum often enough. As Alex dropped, he seemed to be moving faster. The whole city had become a fantastic jigsaw puzzle and he knew he only had seconds to piece it together.

And there it was.

Alex pulled at the parachute, guiding himself toward it. How small it looked compared to the other landmarks, a rectangular building jutting in from the main road with a flat grey roof and, next to it, a series of arches, the sort of thing you might see on a railway station or perhaps an enormous conservatory. They were a dull orange in colour, curving one after the other. It looked as if they were made of glass. Alex could land on the flat roof. Then all he would have to do was look through the curved one.

Somehow he managed to manoeuvre himself over the museum. But it was only as he fell the last five hundred feet, as he heard the clock strike twelve, that he realised two things.

He was falling much too fast.

And he had missed the flat roof.

In fact, the Science Museum has two roofs. The original is Georgian and made of wired glass. But sometime recently it must have leaked because the curators constructed a second roof of plastic sheeting over the top.

This was the orange roof that Alex had seen.

He crashed into it with both feet at about thirty miles per hour. The roof shattered. He continued straight through, into an inner chamber, just missing a network of steel girders and maintenance ladders. He barely had time to register what looked like a brown carpet, stretched out over the curving surface below. Then he hit it and tore through that too. It was no more than a thin cover, designed to keep the light and dust off the glass that it covered.

With a yell, Alex smashed through the glass.

12.01 pm, Friday, 1st April

London, England

Wolf stared, frozen in place, as the roof of the Science Museum shattered around them.

"What the fu-"

His comm buzzed.

"This is a red alert! Secure the area!"

He immediately snapped to attention, raising his hand and signalling for the rest of his unit to follow. They expertly weaved their wave in between the three hundred people attending the convention - some of whom had been hit by the broken glass.

The hostile's parachute had caught on a beam and he now dangled in midair, three stories up.

Wolf and his team swarmed the floor, weapons raised even as the civilians started screaming around them and the hostile's parachute ripped, sending him plummeting down another dozen feet.

"Secure the area! Secure the area!"

His gun was raised, pointed directly at the enemy as the other units on security fanned out around him, as the secret service in the back tried to haul the prime minister to safety, as the lunatic who had parachuted through the bloody roof spun around to face him and-

"Cub?!"

The boy's wide-eyed gaze immediately latched onto him.

"Wolf!"

The man quickly lowered his weapon and pressed the radio call button.

"Hold your fire, he's with us!" he barked into it, "I repeat, hold your fire! He's a friendly!"

The other soldiers looked at him as if he was crazy - and maybe he was, because Cub showing up here, at the exact same babysitting gig K-Unit had just been sent out on, not two days after Jaguar had told him that SO had kidnapped this exact same kid - that sure as fuck couldn't be a coincidence.

"Give me the gun!" Cub looked scared, terrified even, yet oddly determined. "Now!"

At the same time, a new voice came over his comm - a woman.

"Don't shoot! Repeat - don't shoot! Await my command!"

The boy stared back at him, bloody and bruised but not at all broken.

… Fuck it.

Wolf switched the safety on and tossed it to him.

"Get down! Now!"

And Cub emptied the gun.