6.37 am, Sunday, 27th March

Brecon Beacons, Wales

Alex sat hunched up in the back of the low-flying C-130 military aircraft, his stomach churning. There were eleven men sitting in two lines around him - his own unit and two others. For an hour now, the plane had been flying at just three hundred feet, following the Welsh valleys, dipping and swerving to avoid the mountain peaks. A single bulb glowed red behind a wire mesh, adding to the heat in the cramped cabin, and Alex knew if he pulled back the sleeve on his oversized flying suit, there'd be a matching glow on his own wrist.

The thought of jumping out of a plane with an oversize silk umbrella would have made Alex sick with fear - but only that morning he'd been told that he wouldn't in fact be jumping. A message from London. They couldn't risk him breaking a leg, it said, and Alex guessed that the end of his training was near.

He wasn't sure how to feel about that. On one hand, it terrified him - even more so than the thought of jumping. But on the other hand, the sooner this ridiculous mission started, the sooner it would end, which meant the sooner he'd get to go home and see Ian again.

"P minus five".

The voice of the pilot came over the speaker system, distant and metallic. Alex gritted his teeth. Five minutes until the jump. He looked at the other men, shuffling into position, checking the cords that connected them to the static line. He was sitting next to Wolf. To his surprise, the man was completely quiet, unmoving. It was hard to tell in the half-darkness, but the look on his face could almost have been fear.

There was a loud buzz and the red light turned green. The assistant pilot had climbed through from the cockpit. He reached for a handle and pulled open a door set in the back of the aircraft, allowing the cold air to rush in. Alex could see a single square of night. It was raining - what a surprise.

The green light began to flash. The assistant pilot tapped the first pair on their shoulders and Alex watched them shuffle over to the side and then throw themselves out.

For a moment they were there, frozen in the doorway.

Then they were gone like a photograph crumpled and spun away by the wind. Two more men followed. Then another two. Wolf would be the last to leave - and with Alex not jumping he would be on his own.

It took less than a minute. Suddenly Alex was aware that only he and Wolf were left.

"Move it!" the assistant pilot shouted above the roar of the engines.

Wolf picked himself up. His eyes briefly met Alex's and in that moment Alex knew.

Wolf was a popular leader. He was tough and he was fast - completing a thirty-mile hike as if it were just a stroll in a park. But he had a weak spot. Somehow he'd allowed this parachute jump to get to him and he was too scared to move.

It was hard to believe, but there he was, frozen in the doorway, his arms rigid, staring out. Alex glanced back. The assistant pilot was looking the other way. He hadn't seen what was happening. And when he did? If Wolf failed to make the jump, it would be the end of his training and maybe even the end of his career. Even hesitating would be bad enough. He'd be binned.

Alex thought for a moment. Wolf hadn't moved. Alex could see his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to summon up the courage to go. Ten seconds had passed. Maybe more. The assistant pilot was leaning down, stowing away a piece of equipment. Alex stood up.

"Wolf" he said, but the man didn't hear him.

Alex took one last quick look at the assistant pilot, then kicked out with all his strength. His foot slammed into Wolf's backside. He'd put all his strength behind it. Wolf was caught by surprise, his hands coming free as he plunged into the swirling night air.

The assistant pilot turned around and saw Alex.

"What are you doing?" he shouted.

"Just stretching my legs" Alex shouted back.

The plane curved in the air and began the journey home.

8.23 am, Sunday, 27th March

Brecon Beacons, Wales

Mrs Jones was waiting for him when he walked into the hangar and he knew that his earlier premonition of his training - if you could even call it that - being finished was true.

She was sitting at a table, wearing a grey silk jacket and trousers with a black handkerchief flowing out of her top pocket. His flying suit was sticking to him, and he knew that his hair was damp from the rain. He wondered, distantly, what she saw when she looked at him - a child, in over his head? Or just another pawn on the grand chessboard of MI6?

"Alex" she greeted.

He looked at her but said nothing.

"It was my decision to stop you from jumping" she said, "I hope you're not disappointed. I just thought it was too much of a risk. Please. Sit down. I have something that might cheer you up; I've brought you some toys".

Was she for real? Blackmailing him into working for MI6, microchipping him like a dog, sending him off with no backup to investigate a crazy millionaire who had already killed a far more qualified and fully trained field agent - and now she wanted to treat him like a baby?!

"I'm too old for toys".

"Not these toys".

She signalled and a man appeared, walking out of the shadows, carrying a tray of equipment that he set down on the table. He was bald with a black moustache and wore a pinstriped suit.

"Smithers" he said, nodding at Alex, "Very nice to meet you, old chap".

"What have you got for him?" Jones demanded. Alex was surprised at her shortness.

"I'm afraid we haven't had a great deal of time, Mrs J" Smithers replied, "The challenge was to think what a fourteen-year-old might carry with him - and adapt it".

He picked the first object off the tray. A yo-yo. It was slightly larger than normal, black plastic.

"Let's start with this".

Alex shook his head. He couldn't believe any of this.

"Don't tell me" he said, "It's some sort of secret weapon".

"Not exactly. I was told you weren't to have weapons. You're too young".

And wasn't that just ironic? He was too young to be given a weapon, but not too young to be made into one.

"It's a yo-yo" Smither pulled out the string. "However, the string is a special sort of nylon. Very advanced. There are thirty yards of it and it can lift weights of up to two hundred pounds. The actual yoyo is motorised and clips onto your belt. Very useful for climbing - And then there's this!"

Mr Smithers produced a small tube. Alex read the side: ZIT-CLEAN. FOR HEALTHIER SKIN.

"Nothing personal" Smithers went on, apologetically, "But we thought it was something a boy of your age might carry. And it is rather remarkable. Completely harmless when you touch it. But bring it into contact with metal and it's quite another story".

"Anything else?" Mrs Jones asked.

"Oh yes, Mrs. J. You could say this is our pièce de résistance".

He picked up a brightly coloured device that Alex recognized at once as a Nintendo Switch.

"What teenager would be complete without one of these?" he asked, "This one comes with four preloaded games. And the beauty of it is, each app turns the device into something quite different-"

"Yes, yes, we get the idea" Mrs Jone interrupted, "Have a lab tech write down what the different games do, and I'll add it to the file".

Mr Smithers looked rather put out, and Alex couldn't blame him. Things were finally starting to get interesting, after all.

"Thank you, Smithers" Jones said, rather pointedly, and the man slowly, unsurely, stood up.

"... My pleasure, Mrs J. I hope to see you again, Alex. I've never had to equip a boy before. I'm sure I'll be able to think up a whole host of quite delightful ideas".

As much as he liked the cheerful man, Alex couldn't help but hope that he never got the opportunity to "equip" him again.

8.31 am, Sunday, 27th March

Brecon Beacons, Wales

As soon as the door shut behind him, Mrs Jones turned to Alex.

"You leave on Tuesday for Port Tallon. You'll be going under the name of Felix Lester - You'll find everything you need to know about him in here".

He reached forwards to take the file, and the sleeve of his flying suit moved up. Her eyes immediately latched onto the glowing red beacon beneath his skin, and for a split second, her face contorted in rage.

Alex jerked back, startled - and the moment passed.

Jones sat back in her seat, opened her mouth to say something, but then paused. Serious dark eyes drifted back to the tracker that was now covered once more, before she wordlessly shook her head, reached into the briefcase at her feet, and pulled out a black-and-white photograph.

It showed a man in a white t-shirt and jeans. He was in his late twenties with light, close-cropped hair, a smooth face, and the body of a dancer.

"This man" she started, voice somewhat tight, "is Yassen Gregorovich. He was born in Russia, but he now works for many countries. Iraq has employed him. Also Serbia, Libya, and China".

"What does he do?" Alex asked, wondering why she was telling him this.

"He's a contract killer, Alex. We believe it was he who killed our agent in Port Tallon".

There was a long pause.

"This photograph was taken six months ago, in Cuba" Mrs Jones continued, "It may have been a coincidence, but Herod Sayle was there at the same time. The two of them may have met. And there is something else - our man used a code in the last message he sent. A single letter. Y".

"Y for Yassen".

"He must have seen Yassen somewhere in Port Tallon. He wanted us to know…" She trailed off and shook her head. "If you see him, if Yassen is anywhere near Sayle Enterprises, I want you to contact us at once".

"And then?"

"We'll pull you out. It doesn't matter how old you are, Alex - If Yassen finds out you're working for us, he'll kill you too".

"You mean like how Blunt will kill Ian if you do pull me out?"

Her expression turned sad, remorseful even, and Alex found himself wondering if she was a mother. If so, she could well have a son his age.

"Alex…"

Her gaze drifted back down to his wrist, and with a jolt, he remembered that Alan bloody Blunt wasn't just recording him - he was recording her too.

"... If you see Gregorovich, tell us" she finally finished, taking back the photograph, "You'll leave here Tuesday morning at eight o'clock. Be careful, Alex. And good luck".

9.14 am, Sunday, 27th March

Brecon Beacons, Wales

Alex walked across the hangar, his footsteps echoing. Behind him, Mrs Jones unwrapped a peppermint and slipped it into her mouth. Her breath always smelled faintly of mint. As head of Special Operations, how many men had she sent to their deaths? Perhaps it was easier for her if her breath was sweet.

There was a movement ahead of him and he saw that the parachutists had gotten back from their jump.

They were walking toward him out of the darkness with Wolf and the other men from K-Unit right at the front. Alex tried to step around them, but he found Wolf blocking his way.

"You're leaving".

Somehow he must have heard that Alex's training was over.

"Yes".

There was a long pause.

"What happened on the plane…"

"Forget it, Wolf" Alex said, "Nothing happened. You jumped and I didn't. That's all".

He held out a hand.

"I want you to know… I was wrong about you. You're alright. And maybe… one day it would be good to work with you".

He hoped not.

"You never know" Alex said instead.

They shook hands.

"Good luck, Cub".

"Goodbye, Wolf".

And may we never meet again.

5.11 pm, Tuesday, 29th March

Port Tallon, Cornwall

The silver-grey Mercedes slowed to a stop in front of a fantastic sprawling house. It was Victorian, redbrick topped with copper domes and spires that had long ago turned green. There must have been at least a hundred windows on five floors facing the drive. It was a house that just didn't know when to stop.

The Mercedes pulled up in the front and the driver got out.

"Follow me."

"What about my luggage?" Alex asked.

"It'll be brought".

Alex and the driver went through the front door and into a hall. There were artworks everywhere, and the carpet was so thick that he almost bounced. The man led him into a vast, cathedral-like room.

"Mr Sayle will be here shortly".

Alex looked around him. This was a modern room with a curving steel desk near the centre, carefully positioned halogen lights, and a spiral staircase leading down from a perfect circle cut in the ceiling about fifteen feet high. One entire wall was covered with a single sheet of glass, and walking over to it, Alex realised that he was looking at a gigantic aquarium. The sheer size of the thing drew him toward it. It was hard to imagine how many thousands of gallons of water the glass held back, but he was surprised to see that the tank was empty. There were no fish, although it was big enough to hold a shark.

And then something moved in the turquoise shadows and Alex gasped with a mixture of horror and wonderment as the biggest jellyfish he had ever seen drifted into view. The main body of the creature was a shimmering, pulsating mass of white and mauve, shaped roughly like a cone. Beneath it, a mass of tentacles covered with circular stingers twisted in the water, at least ten feet long. As the jellyfish moved, or drifted in the artificial current, its tentacles writhed against the glass so that it looked almost as if it was trying to break out. It was the single most awesome and repulsive thing Alex had ever seen.

"Physalia physalia".

The voice came from behind him and Alex twisted around to see a man coming down the last of the stairs.

Herod Sayle was short. He was so short that Alex's first impression was that he was looking at a reflection that had somehow been distorted. In his immaculate and expensive black suit with gold signet ring and brightly polished black shoes, he looked like a scaled-down model of a multimillionaire businessman. His skin was dark and his teeth flashed when he smiled. He had a round, bald head and very horrible eyes - the grey pupils were too small, surrounded on all sides by white. Alex was reminded of tadpoles before they hatched.

Alex had started to feel almost hopeful for this mission when Blunt had told him about the wonderful things the man had done - such a kind person would surely have found it in his heart to help him out of this sticky situation, wouldn't they? But now, as Sayle came to a stop next to him and he saw that the man's eyes held less warmth than the jellyfish, Alex started to doubt that he'd receive any form of help from the millionaire.

"The Portuguese man-of-war" Sayle continued. He had a heavy accent brought with him from the Cairo marketplace. "It's beautiful, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't keep one as a pet" Alex said.

"I came upon this one when I was diving in the South China Sea". Sayle gestured at a glass display case and Alex noticed three harpoon guns and a collection of knives resting in velvet slots. "I love to kill fish, but when I saw this specimen of Physalia physalia, I knew I had to capture it and keep it. You see, it reminds me of myself".

"It's ninety-nine per cent water. It has no brain, no guts, and no anus".

Alex had dredged up the facts from somewhere and spoken them before he knew what he was doing. Ian would have head-slapped him for his rudeness.

Sayle glanced briefly at him, then turned back to the creature hovering over him in its tank.

"It's an outsider" he said, "It drifts on its own, ignored by the other fish. It is silent and yet it demands respect. You see the nematocysts, Mr Lester? The stinging cells? If you were to find yourself wrapped in there, it would be an unforgettable death".

"Call me Alex".

He'd meant to say Felix, but somehow it had slipped out. It was the most stupid, the most amateurish mistake he could have made. But he had been thrown by the way Sayle had appeared and by the slow, hypnotic dance of the jellyfish.

The grey eyes squirmed. "I thought your name was Felix".

"My friends call me Alex".

"Why?"

"... After Alex Ferguson. He's the manager of my favourite soccer team".

It was the first thing Alex could think of. But he'd seen a soccer poster in Felix Lester's bedroom and knew that at least he'd chosen the right team.

"Manchester United" he added.

Sayle smiled.

"That's most amusing. Alex, it shall be. And I hope we will be friends, Alex. You are a very lucky boy. You won the competition and you are going to be the first teenager to try out my Stormbreaker. But this is also lucky, I think, for me. I want to know what you think of it! I want you to tell me what you like… what you don't".

The eyes dipped away and suddenly he was businesslike.

"We have only three days until the launch" he said. "We'd better get a bliddy move on, as my father used to say. I'll have my man take you to our room and tomorrow morning, first thing, you must get to work. There's a maths program you should try - also languages. All the software was developed here at Sayle Enterprises. Of course, we've talked to children. We've gone to teachers, to education experts. But you, my dear… Alex. You will be worth more to me than all of them put together".

As he had talked, Sayle had become more and more animated, carried away by his own enthusiasm. He had become a completely different man. Alex had to admit that he'd taken an immediate dislike to Herod Sayle - but now he was forced to think again.

He was standing opposite one of the richest men in England, a man who had decided out of the goodness of his heart to give a huge gift to English schools. Just because he was small and slimy, that didn't necessarily make him an enemy. Perhaps Blunt was wrong after all.

Perhaps Alex could still escape the nightmare he found himself trapped in.

5.35 pm, Tuesday, 29th March

Port Tallon, Cornwall

"Ah! Here's my man now" Sayle said, "And about bliddy time!"

The door had opened and a man had come in, dressed in the black suit and tails of an old-fashioned butler. He was as tall and thin as his master was short and round, with a thatch of close-cropped ginger hair on top of a face that was so pale it was almost paper white From a distance it had looked as if he was smiling, but as he drew closer, Alex gasped.

The man had two horrendous scars, one on each side of his mouth, twisting up all the way to his ears. It was as if someone had at some time attempted to cut his face in half. The scars were a gruesome shade of mauve. There were smaller, fainter scars where at one time his cheeks had been stitched.

"This is Mr Grin" Sayle said, "He changed his name after his accident".

"Accident?"

Alex found it hard not to stare at the terrible wound.

"Mr Grin used to work in a circus. It was a novelty knife-throwing act. For the climax, he used to catch a spinning knife between his teeth. But then one night his elderly mother came to see the show. She waved to him from the front row and he got his timing wrong. He's worked for me now for a dozen years and although his appearance may be displeasing, he is loyal and efficient - Don't try to talk to him, by the way. He has no tongue".

"Eeeurgh!" Mr Grin said.

"Nice to meet you" Alex replied faintly.

"Take him to the blue room" Sayle commanded. He turned to Alex. "You're fortunate that one of our nicest rooms has come up free - here, in the house. We had a security man staying there. But he left us quite suddenly".

"Oh? Why was that?" Alex asked, casually.

"I have no idea. One moment he was here, the next he was gone". Sayle smiled again. "I hope you won't do the same, Alex".

Was that a threat? Or an off-hand remark?

Mr Grin gestured at the door, and leaving Herod Sayle standing in front of his huge captive, Alex left the room.

5.49 pm, Tuesday, 29th March

Port Tallon, Cornwall

He was led back along a passage, past more works of art, up a staircase, and then along a wide corridor with thick wood-panelled doors and chandeliers. Alex assumed that the main house was used for entertaining. Sayle himself must live here. But the computers would be constructed in the modern buildings he had seen opposite the airstrip. Presumably, he would be taken there tomorrow.

His room was at the far end. It was a large room with a four-poster bed and a window looking out onto the fountain. Next to the window was a table with an evening meal already laid out for him: ham, cheese, and salad.

His luggage was lying on the bed.

He went over to his case - a Nike sports bag - and examined it. When he had closed it up, he had inserted three hairs into the zip, trapping them in the metal teeth. They were no longer there. Alex opened the case and went through it. Everything was exactly as it had been when he had packed, but he was certain that the sports bag had been expertly and methodically searched.

He took out the Nintendo Switch and - remembering the note that Smithers had left him - tapped on the Speed Wars app. At once the screen lit up with a green rectangle, the same shape as the room.

He lifted the device up and swung it around him, following the line of the walls. A red flashing dot suddenly appeared on the screen. He walked forward, holding the Nintendo in front of him.

The dot flashed faster, more intensely. He had reached a picture, hanging next to the bathroom, a squiggle of colours that looked suspiciously like a Picasso. He put the Switch down, and being careful not to make a sound, lifted the canvas off the wall. The bug was taped behind it, a black disk about the size of a dime.

Alex looked at it for a minute wondering why it was there. Security? Or was Sayle such a control freak that he had to know what his guests were doing, every minute of the day and night?

Alex lifted the picture and gently lowered it back into place. There was only one bug in the room. The bathroom was clean.

He ate his dinner, showered, and went to bed. As he passed the window, he noticed activity on the grounds near the fountains. There were lights coming out of the modern buildings. Three men, all dressed in white overalls, were driving toward the house in an open-top jeep. Two more men walked past. These were security guards, dressed in the same uniforms as the men at the gate. They were both carrying semi-automatic machine guns.

Sayle didn't just have a private army - he had a well-armed one.

Alex got into bed. The last person who had slept here had been the field agent Blunt had sent in as security. Had he seen something, looking out of the window? Had he heard something? What could have happened that meant he had to die?

He wondered what his uncle was doing right now. It had been three weeks since he was kidnapped, after all - how long did the police even search for missing kids? Ian had to be going out of his mind with worry, and as much as Alex didn't want to admit it, he knew that his uncle probably thought him dead. Blunt was smart enough not to leave a trail behind, and if the police couldn't find anything… then chances were, Ian wouldn't be able to find him either.

The red glow on his wrist seemed brighter than ever.

Sleep took a long time coming to the dead man's bed.