4.13 pm, Monday, 18th April
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
It was raining in London, the sort of rain that never seemed to stop. The early evening traffic was huddled together, going nowhere. Alan Blunt was standing at the window, looking out over the street, when there was a knock at the door. He turned away almost reluctantly, as if the city at its most damp and dismal held some attraction for him.
Mrs Jones came in. She was carrying a sheet of paper. As Blunt sat down behind his desk, he noticed the two words MOST URGENT printed in red across the top.
"We've heard from Alex" she said.
"Oh, yes?"
"Smithers gave him a Euro-satellite transmitter built into a portable CD player. Alex sent a signal to us this morning, at eleven twenty-seven hours, his time".
"Meaning…?"
"Either he's in trouble or he's found out enough for us to go in. Either way, we have to pull him out".
"I wonder…"
Blunt leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. As a young man, he had gained a degree with honours in mathematics at Cambridge University. Thirty years later, he still saw life as only a series of complicated calculations.
"Alex has been at Point Blanc for how long?" he asked.
"A week".
"As I recall, he didn't want to go. According to Sir David Friend, his behaviour at Haverstock Hall was, to say the least, antisocial. Did you know that he nearly got Friend's daughter killed in an incident in a railway tunnel? And I haven't heard anything particularly notable from his tracker, either".
Jones slowly sat down, already not liking where this was going. "What are you saying, Alan?"
"Only that Alex may not be one hundred percent reliable".
She couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"He sent the message. For all we know, he could be in serious trouble! We gave him the device as an alarm signal, to let us know if he needed help. He's used it. We can't just sit back and do nothing!"
"I wasn't suggesting that". Blunt looked curiously at his head of operations. "You're not forming some sort of attachment to Alex Rider, are you?"
Mrs Jones quickly looked away. "Don't be ridiculous".
"You seem worried about him".
"He's fourteen years old, Alan! He's a child, for heaven's sake!"
"You used to have children".
She froze, her breath catching in her throat. For him to say- for him to remind her of- to threaten her with- that heartless bastard just-
Alex, she quickly reminded herself, focus on Alex.
"Yes". Jones turned to face him again, willing her expression to remain neutral. "Perhaps that does make a difference… But even you must admit that he's special. We don't have another agent like him. A fourteen-year-old boy! The perfect secret weapon. My feelings about him have nothing to do with it. We can't afford to lose him".
Every single word of it was a lie; but at least it got him off her case for the time being.
"I just don't want to go blundering into Point Blanc without any firm information" Blunt said, "First of all, this is France we're talking about - and you know what the French are like. If we're seen to be invading their territory, they'll kick up one hell of a fuss. Secondly, Grief has got hold of boys from some of the wealthiest families in the world. If we go storming in with the SAS or whatever, the whole thing could blow up into a major international incident".
"You wanted proof that the school was connected with the deaths of Roscoe and Ivanov" she countered, "Alex may have it".
"He may have it and he may not. A twenty-four-hour delay shouldn't make a great deal of difference".
"Twenty-four hours?"
"We'll put a unit on standby" he continued carelessly, "They can keep an eye on things. If Alex is in trouble, we'll find out soon enough. It could play to our favour if he's managed to stir things up. It's exactly what we want. Force Grief to show his hand - and get a direct recording of it too".
"And if Alex contacts us again?"
"Then we'll go in".
"We may be too late".
"For Alex?" Blunt showed no emotion. "I'm sure you don't need to worry about him, Tulip. He can look after himself".
The telephone rang, and Blunt answered it. The discussion was over. Jones got up and left to make the arrangements for an SAS unit to fly into Geneva, both to have a team ready to go as soon as possible, but also to have an excuse to leave, to hide her shaking hands from him, to hide her emotions from him, to hide herself.
And besides - Blunt hadn't given her any orders on which SAS unit she should send in...
It was only twenty-four hours.
She would just have to hope that Alex could survive that long.
8.51 am, Tuesday, 19th April
Point Blanc, the Alps
More than twenty hours had passed since he had pressed the Fast Forward button on the Discman. Alex wasn't sure what he had been expecting. A fleet of helicopters all flying the Union Jack would have been reassuring. But so far, nothing had happened. He even wondered if the alarm signal had worked.
At the same time, he was annoyed with himself.
He had seen Grief shoot the man called Baxter in the operating room, and he had panicked. He knew that Grief was a killer. He knew that the academy was far more than the finishing school it pretended to be. But he still didn't have all the answers. What exactly was Dr Grief doing? Had he been responsible for the deaths of Michael J. Roscoe and Viktor Ivanov - and if so, why?
The fact was, he didn't know enough. And by the time MI6 arrived, Baxter's body would be buried somewhere in the mountains and there would be nothing to suggest there was anything wrong. Grief had even used a silencer when he'd shot the man, so the stupid listening device in his arm wouldn't have even picked up the sound of a gunshot - if Alex had even been close enough to pair for it to do so in the first place.
When MI6 arrived, if they arrived, Alex would look like a fool. He could almost imagine Dr Grief telling his side of the story - "Yes. There is an operating room here. It was built years ago. We never use the top two floors. There is an elevator, yes. It was built before we came. We explained to Alex about the armed guards. They're here for his protection. But as you can see, gentlemen, there is nothing unpleasant happening here. The other boys are fine. Baxter? No, I don't know anyone by that name. Obviously Alex has been having bad dreams. I'm amazed that he was sent here to spy on us. I would ask you to take him with you when you leave-"
And if they did, if MI6 or Blunt or Jones or whoever did take him with them when they left - what would happen to him? To Ian? Alan bloody Blunt had made it perfectly clear that Alex was treading on thin ice with him already after almost telling Yassen Gregorovich about the blackmail situation he found himself in - so how would he react if he was forced to extract Alex before he'd found any concrete information or evidence for him?
He had to find out more - and that meant going back up to the third floor.
Or, perhaps, down.
Alex slipped into the library. He had woken up still smelling faintly of soot and had no intention of making his way back up the chimney. Instead he crossed over to the suit of armour - which he now knew disguised a pair of elevator doors after seeing Grief use them yesterday. They could be opened from inside. Presumably there was some sort of control on the outside too.
It took him just a few minutes to find it. There were three buttons built into the breastplate of the armour. Even up close, the buttons looked like part of the suit - something the mediaeval knight would have had to use to strap the thing on. But when Alex pressed the middle button, it moved.
A moment later, the armour split in half and he found himself looking into the waiting elevator.
This time he went down, not up. The elevator seemed to travel a long way, as if the basement of the building had been built far underground. Finally, the doors slid open again. Alex looked out, then ducked back. A guard sat at a table at the end of the corridor, reading a newspaper. Would he have heard the elevator doors open?
Alex leaned forward again. The guard was absorbed in the sports pages. He hadn't moved. He slipped out and crept down the passage, moving away from him. He reached the corner and turned into a second passageway lined with steel doors. There was nobody else in sight.
Where was he? There had to be something down here or there wouldn't be any need for a guard.
Alex went over to the nearest door. There was a peephole set in the front, and he looked through into a bare, white cell with two bunk beds, a toilet, and a sink. There were two boys in the cell. One he had never seen before, but he recognized the other.
It was James Sprintz.
Alex examined the door. There were two bolts, but as far as he could see, no key. He drew back the bolts and jerked the door handle down. The door opened.
James stood up, astonished to see him. "Alex! What are you doing here?"
"We haven't got much time" he whispered, "What happened to you?"
"They came for me the night before last" James said. "They dragged me out of bed and into the library. There was some sort of elevator…"
"Behind the armour".
"Yes. I didn't know what they were doing. I thought they were going to kill me. But then they threw me in here".
"You've been here for two days?"
"Yes".
Alex shook his head. "I saw you having breakfast upstairs fifteen minutes ago".
"They've made duplicates of us". The other boy had spoken for the first time. He had an American accent. "All of us! I don't know how they've done it or why. But that's what they've done. I've been here for months. My name's Paul Roscoe".
"Roscoe! Your dad's…?"
"Michael Roscoe".
Alex fell silent. He couldn't tell this boy what had happened to his father and he looked away, afraid that Paul would read it in his eyes.
"How did you get down here?" James asked.
"Listen" Alex said. He was speaking rapidly now. "I was… sent here by MI6. My name isn't Alex Friend. It's Alex Rider. Everything's going to be okay. They'll send people in and get you all freed".
"You're a spy?" James was obviously startled.
Alex nodded. "I'm… sort of a spy, I suppose".
However bloody reluctantly.
"You've opened the door. We can get out of here!" Paul Roscoe stood up, ready to move.
"No!" Alex held up his hands. "You've got to wait. There's no way down the mountain. Stay here for now and I'll come back with help. I promise you. It's the only way".
"I can't-"
"You have to. Trust me, Paul. I'm going to have to lock you back in so that nobody will know I've been here. But it won't be for long. I'll come back!"
Alex couldn't wait for any more arguments. He went back to the door and opened it.
Mrs Stellenbosch was standing outside.
He barely had time to register the shock of seeing her. He tried to bring up a hand to protect himself, to twist his body into position for a karate kick. But it was already too late.
Her arm shot out, the heel of her hand driving into his face. It was like being hit by a brick wall. Alex felt every bone in his body rattle. White light exploded behind his eyes.
Then he was out.
12.51 pm, Tuesday, 19th April
Chelsea, London
"Rider".
"It's me".
Ian paused and looked up from his laptop where he had been gathering all the information he could about Herod Sayle and the Stormbreaker fiasco.
"Wolf? What have you heard?"
"Nothing much" he grumbled, "But I've just been yanked away from my own bloody unit by public enemy number one!"
It was only then that Ian picked up the sounds of other voices and some sort of low thrumming noise in the background that reminded him of an airport for some reason.
"You're on the move?"
"To the French Alps, if you can believe it, as part of a retrieval team. It's all been very hush hush so far, but apparently, the reason I was chosen as commander is because I know the target". There was a stagnant pause. "And the place we're going to is a school for fourteen-year-boys".
Alex.
"Have you been given a name? Or a photo? Anything?!"
"Not yet, but I don't exactly know any other fourteen-year–old brats. I also got the feeling that I was chosen specifically and the woman in charge gave me more than a few pointed looks during the whole debriefing".
"The woman in charge?" Ian frowned, leaning back in his seat, "Mid to late forties? Dark skin? Short hair?"
"That's the one. She a friend of yours?"
"... I didn't think so, but if she chose you for a reason, then…" he trailed off, wondering just what, exactly, Tulip Jones was playing at.
"There's something else, too". Wolf's voice had become quieter, more serious. "It wasn't said to us outright, but it was sort of heavily implied on numerous occasions that we're being sent in a day late. The woman wasn't happy about it, either, but I got the impression that it hadn't been her call".
No. It would have been Blunts.
"In fact, the only reason we're going in now instead of later tonight is because their guy on the inside apparently recorded something. SO has got a positive on his location, but they also have some sort of listening device - an earpiece, or the like" he continued, "And I was thinking… well. If this is Cub, and he does have an earpiece, then… maybe that explains why he didn't say anything to us at Brecon Beacons. I mean, I know I acted kind of like a dick to the kid, but if I'd been in his position, then I'd still have at least tried to say something!"
"And the reason that Alex didn't, is because he knew that MI6 would hear him" Ian realised, "But why not take out the earpiece? Or destroy it, for that matter?"
"I don't know". He could practically hear the man shrug. "But like I said, they've got a tracker on him too - maybe the brat was worried that SO would realise what he'd done and come after him for it. I can't exactly think of any other bloody reason Cub wouldn't have said something to us".
Ian ran a tired hand over his even more exhausted eyes.
If Blunt had placed a GPS tracker in Alex's shoes or clothes, then that could possibly explain why he hadn't run away from them yet. The earpiece, too, wouldn't make escaping very easy - especially since his nephew had never handled an earpiece in his life and likely had no idea how to turn it off or deactivate it.
But still…
Alex was a bright kid. He would have - should have - found a workaround by now, and the fact that he hadn't, was making Ian feel very very uneasy about the whole thing.
"'Course, that also means that I can't grab him" Wolf continued, "I don't even have my own unit as back-up, first of all, but if Cub's got a hidden listening or tracking device on him, then there's nowhere safe I could take him, either. Also - did I mention we're going to the French bloody Alps? Not exactly a whole lot I can do in a frozen barren wasteland whose language I don't even speak!"
The man sighed, and in the background, Ian heard the thrumming sound get louder. He must be in a plane then, getting ready to take off.
"Listen, I don't have much time. Is there anything you can think of, anyway I could get a message to Cub from you?" Wolf asked, "I can't kidnap him, even if he's already kidnapped right now, and the entire safehouse is going to be crawling with spooks, so it's got to be something subtle. Something that no one would else understand if they overheard - which, again, they will, because I'm currently surrounded by a dozen black suits and sunglasses".
A message that no one else would understand…
Ian quickly racked his brains for something, anything, that he could say to be passed onto Alex. To let him know that he was fine and that he knew what had happened and that he was coming for him. To let him know that he loved him and was trying to protect him and would stab Alan fucking Blunt in the eyeball with a letter opener before breaking both of arms bone by bone until hot red blood poured to the surface for ever sending his child on a fucking mission to the French fucking Alps and-
Oh.
When Alex had been six years old, they'd spent a few months living in Bordeaux. It had been a dry, cool morning when they walked through narrow winding streets that were packed with people, enjoying day two of L'Escale du Livre. Ian had turned his back for only a second - a split second - and in that time, Alex had vanished.
When he'd found him, not even five minutes later - Ian had been one of MI6's best agents for a reason, after all - the boy had been huddled against a wall with a strange man looming over him saying "Viens avec moi! Ton oncle m'a envoyé. Come with me! Maintenant!"
So Ian had broken his arm, grabbed Alex, and ran.
It was only a few days later that he'd first started teaching the six year old Aikido and karate, never wanting to leave him in a situation where he couldn't defend himself ever again, but it had only been a few hours later when he'd crouched down in front of the scared, tear flushed face, and said "Let's play a game".
Together, they had come up with a code word, a verbal password as such, that would let Alex know when his uncle had sent someone else to pick him up. It was a smart idea, in the long run, in case he was ever involved in some sort of accident or needed to move Alex to a safe place quickly.
Their code word was "robin".
"So if anyone ever says that I sent them to get you, but they don't have the password, what do you do?"
"I kick them really really hard and then punch them in the neck and run!"
"Exactly. And always remember that the password is robin, okay? That way you'll know that I asked the person to bring you to me".
"Okay, but... but what if they're a bad person and- and they forced you to tell them the password?"
Only six years old, and he'd already been thinking like an operative.
"Then you ask them for the second password" Ian had replied, "If they say green, then you know that they're safe to go with. But if they're dangerous, then I'll lie to them and give them the wrong password so they'll say-"
"Red! Red, like a robin! Like the first password!"
"Jaguar?"
Ian blinked and quickly turned back to his phone.
"Yeah, there is... Tell him, uh… Tell him 'robin'".
There was a brief pause at the other end of the line, and he could only imagine the man's face scrunching up in confusion.
"You want me… to tell Cub… robin?!"
"Robin" he confirmed, "Don't worry - he'll know what it means".
2.47 pm, Tuesday, 19th April
Point Blanc, the Alps
"Open your eyes, Alex, Dr Grief wishes to speak to you".
The words came from across an ocean. Alex groaned and tried to lift his head. He was sitting down, his arms pinned behind his back. The whole side of his face felt bruised and swollen, and the taste of blood was in his mouth. He opened his eyes and waited for the room to come into focus.
Mrs Stellenbosch was standing in front of him, her fist curled loosely in her other hand. Alex remembered the force of the blow that had knocked him out. His whole head was throbbing, and he ran his tongue over his teeth to see if any were missing. It was fortunate he had rolled with the punch - otherwise she might have broken his neck.
Dr Grief was sitting in his golden chair, watching Alex with what might have been curiosity or distaste or perhaps a little of both.
"You have put us to a great deal of inconvenience" he said.
Alex straightened his head. He tried to move his hands, but they had been chained together behind the chair.
"Your name is not Alex Friend. You are not the son of Sir David Friend. Your name is Alex Rider, and you are employed by the British secret service".
Grief was simply stating facts. There was no emotion in his voice.
"We have microphones concealed in the cells" Stellenbosch explained, "Sometimes it is useful for us to hear the conversations between our young guests. Everything you said was overheard by the guard who summoned me".
"You have wasted our time and our money" Grief continued, "For that you will be punished... It is not a punishment you will survive".
The words were cold and absolute, and Alex felt the fear that they triggered. It coursed through his bloodstream, closing in on his heart. He took a deep breath, forcing himself back under control. He had signalled MI6 - and what's more, they were currently hearing the exact same thing he was. They would be on their way to Point Blanc. They might appear any minute now. He just had to play for time.
"You can't do anything to me" he said, only barely managing to keep the tremble out of his voice.
Stellenbosch lashed out, and he was almost thrown backward as the back of her hand sliced into the side of his head. Only the chair kept him upright.
"When you speak to the director, you will refer to him as Dr Grief!"
Alex looked around again, his eyes watering.
"You can't do anything to me, Dr Grief" he said, "I know everything. I know about Project Gemini. And I've already told London what I know. If you do anything to me, they'll kill you. They're on their way here now".
Grief smiled, and in that single moment Alex knew that nothing he said would change what was about to happen to him. The man was too confident. He was like a poker player who had not only managed to see all the cards but had also stolen the four aces for himself.
"It may well be that your friends are on their way" he said‚ "But I do not think you have told them anything. We have been through your luggage and found the transmitting device concealed in the Discman - it can send out a signal but not a message".
Alex had to bite back a somewhat hysterical laugh. It was true that the transmitter couldn't send out any messages to Alan bloody Blunt - but the other transmitter buried deep in his wrist did that job for him.
"Let us assume that your friends do come calling. They will find nothing wrong. You yourself will have disappeared. I shall tell them that you ran away. I will say that my men are looking for you even now, but that I very much fear you have died a cold and lingering death on the mountainside. Nobody will guess what I have done here. The Gemini Project will succeed. It has already succeeded. And even if your friends do take it upon themselves to kill me, it will make no difference. I cannot be killed, Alex. The world is already mine".
"You mean, it belongs to the kids you've hired to act as doubles" Alex said.
"Hired?" Grief muttered a few words to Stellenbosch in a harsh, guttural language. Her thick lips parted and she laughed, showing heavy, discoloured teeth. "Is that what you think? Is that what you believe?"
"I've seen them-"
"You don't know what you've seen! You have no understanding of my genius! Your little mind couldn't begin to encompass what I have achieved!" Grief was breathing heavily. He seemed to come to a decision. "It is rare enough for me to come face-to-face with the enemy. It has always been my frustration that I will never be able to communicate to the world the brilliance of what I have done. Well, since I have you here - a captive audience, so to speak - I shall allow myself the luxury of describing the Gemini Project. And when you go, screaming, to your death, you will understand that there was never any hope for you. That you could not hope to come up against a man like me and win. Perhaps that will make it easier for you".
"You've already said you're going to kill me" Alex couldn't help but quip, "I didn't think that meant you were going to bore me to death".
Stellenbosch coughed on her cigar and advanced on Alex, her fist clenched. But Grief stopped her.
"Let the boy have his little joke" he said, "There will be pain enough for him later… I am telling you this-"
Alex blocked him out as the doctor started his tirade once more. On the one hand, it was good that he was telling him all of this - it meant that someone at MI6 was hearing every word too, and that, even if Grief did kill him, his plans would still be stopped… But on the other hand, Alex really really really didn't want to die. Not now. Not here. Not ever, if he could help it, but definitely not without going home even for just one last time - without seeing Ian again and telling him what had happened, how he hadn't run away, how he wasn't dead, how Alan Blunt had kidnapped him and threatened him and blackmailed him and-
He couldn't let Grief get away with this - couldn't let Blunt get away with this. Whatever he had planned for him, however he planned on killing him, Alex would find a way out.
He had to.
"-well, I have achieved that dream!" Grief finished, and Alex belatedly realised that he waiting for a response.
"... If you want a round of applause, you'll have to take off the handcuffs".
"I don't want applause!" he snarled, "Not from you. What I want from you is your life, and that I will take! You have caused me a great deal of annoyance. I propose, therefore, to make an example of you".
Dr Grief reached into his pocket and took out a device that looked like a pager. It contained a single button, which he pressed.
"What is the first lesson tomorrow morning, Eva?"
"Biology" Mrs Stellenbosch replied.
"As I thought. You have perhaps been to biology classes where a frog or a rat has been dissected, Alex?" he asked, "For some time now, my children have been asking to see a human dissection. Tomorrow morning, at half past nine, their wish will be granted. You will be brought into the laboratory and we shall open you up and have a look at you. We will not use anaesthetic, and it will be interesting to see how long you survive before your heart gives out… And then, of course, we shall dissect your heart".
"You're sick!" Alex yelled. Now he was thrashing about in the chair, trying to break the wood, trying to get the handcuffs to come apart. But it was hopeless. The metal cut into him. The chair rocked but stayed in one piece. "You're a madman!"
"I am a scientist!" Grief spat the words. "And that is why I am giving you a scientific death. At least in your last minutes you will have been of some use to me… Take him away and search him thoroughly. Then lock him up for the night. I'll see him again first thing tomorrow morning".
Alex hadn't heard the guards come in. He was seized from behind, the handcuffs were unlocked, and he was jerked backward out of the room. His last sight of Dr Grief was of the man stretching out his hands to warm them in the fire, the twisting flames reflected in his glasses. Mrs Stellenbosch smiled and blew out smoke.
Then the door slammed shut and Alex was dragged down the corridor knowing that Blunt and MI6 had to be on their way, but wondering whether or not they would arrive before it was too late.